#Collection 2022 Paris

[newestcool]

Rick Owens f/w 2022 rtw Creative Director Rick Owens Fashion Editor/Stylist Tyrone Dylan Photographer Armando Grillo  Newest Cool

[toutsurlabeaute]

The Row Spring 2022 Ready To Wear

[sincericida]

ANDREW GARFIELD

collecting these Valentino shirts, but we’re not complaining, and the terracotta shirt is the newest of this collection.

(based on this other post here)

[allboutculture]

“Universal Passport” Burberry Spring/Summer 2022 Menswear Collection

Paris Fashion Week 2021

[contemposter]

A.B.C of things 2022

Dumpling Books, Paris, France Sérigraphie 120 × 80 cm France

https://www.centrenationaldugraphisme.fr/en/collection

[fuddaroundandgetbueckets]

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: Sexual content (lowkey rated R srry), swearing probably

WC: ~10k

A/N: Apologies for the delay life is lifing blah blah blah. I am headed to Paris on Wednesday for a few days so hopefully this will sedate everyone until I’m back lol shoutout to whoever is still following this!! Also these songs are what I listened to for each part but to each their own!! Lmk what you think xoxoxo

A Long Time Coming Part 11 – Just like the Movies

Summer/Fall – 2022

After they kissed for the first time, the morning after wasn’t awkward like either of them expected. Paige had leaned over and showed her a funny trending TikTok, Azzi had laughed, and then they smiled goofily at each other for an insufferable amount of time before parting ways. Azzi even gave her shoulder a hard punch as she left.

Everything was fine.

They didn’t discuss what the kiss meant or how they felt about each other – the only thing that hung between them was the quiet buzzing of anticipation of when they would kiss again. Which, as it turns out, would be the very next day.

And every day after.

Monday

Get it together, Azzi thought.

The squeaks of shoes against laminated hardwood floors filled her ears. Palms sweaty, Azzi lined herself up to shoot a free throw and…missed.

Missed.

The team was having a late practice. The last of the afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of the practice gym, momentarily blinding her.

Yeah. That’s why she missed her shot.

Not because of a blonde watching her from the sideline, 10 feet away.

Definitely not that.

Azzi let out a deep exhale as Caroline passed her the ball to shoot again, trying her best to refocus. Her periphery worked against her, though, as she caught sight of Paige throwing her head back at something she had said to CD.

Focus, she told herself.

She twirled the ball in her hands, forcing her eyes to zero in on the rim and shot again.

Missed. Again.

Her teammates beside her sprung into motion as they followed the play of the ball, continuing their scrimmage. Azzi felt herself going through the motions with them, but her feet felt slow and her eyes couldn’t help but involuntarily make their way over to the bench. To Paige.

Get it together.

Azzi played on like that for fifteen more minutes before the screech of Geno’s whistle blew, signaling the end of practice. Her teammates and her gave a collective sigh of relief, trudging slowly and out of breath to where Geno stood expectantly to give his post-practice monologue. Her elbows bumped with Amari’s as they shared tired smiles, semi-focused on any reprimanding from their head coach.

Feeling a slight pressure on her back, Azzi felt her spine stiffen as a familiar hand found home there for the huddle. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it belonged to, as she’d somehow grown a sixth sense over the years when it came to Paige. To Azzi’s dismay, their shared kiss the night before may have heightened it even further.

Azzi stood still, stiff as a board. Every part of her wanted to pay attention to her head coach, listen to his words of wisdom and requests to the team, but all her ears could hear were static. Because all she could do was feel.

Feel Paige’s fingers that pressed over her jersey carefully. Feel the tips of Paige’s sneakers tap the back of Azzi’s shoes as she shuffled behind her. Feel Paige’s breath ghosting the back of her neck.

Her chest hammered, and she fidgeted with a loose string at the bottom of her jersey. You need to relax, she told herself. They had shared their first kiss less than twenty hours ago, and she would rather jump out of a moving airplane than out herself for freaking out at being in Paige’s orbit.

Though, there she stood – freaking out about Paige’s chest brushing her back. Embodying the complete opposite of the calm, chill, cool girl she was this morning leaving Paige’s apartment. She released a long exhale through her nose.

When Geno called the huddle and excused everyone, Azzi sidestepped away so fast she nearly knocked Paige over, ignoring the side glances received at her abruptness.

Turning her back to her team as they shuffled to the locker room, she made her way to the rack of basketballs that lined the back wall of the court. Halfway through the scrimmage, she had mentally decided to stay late and shoot around solo as self-punishment for her lower-than-Azzi-Fudd-standards practice. It hadn’t been necessarily pitiful, but it wasn’t pretty either. She knew from the way Geno’s eyes had followed her a little too closely, and how she wanted to kick herself repeatedly for her thinking how goddamn pretty Paige looked in her pink UConn sweatshirt when she was supposed to be shooting a goddamn basketball.

Picking up a ball, she dribbled until her mind cleared and she no longer heard voices echo in the gym. The silence eased the hammering in her chest that hadn’t stopped since the huddle, and she felt something eerily similar to peace. She closed her eyes, letting the ball dribble between her legs, releasing a deep exhale through her nose.

She was in her element.

Well, she was.

“The princess is putting in hours, huh,” she heard from her left side. Immediately, Azzi’s hands stuttered on the ball she had been dribbling and fell out of its rhythm, rolling away from her.

Towards Paige.

Of course she had stayed after practice.

Paige scooped up the ball at her feet slowly, her knee still constricted by her brace. She had been cleared from her crutches by her doctor earlier in the day (resulting in Azzi receiving a video of her doing a crutch-less dougie in celebration). Watching her finding her way back to normalcy made Azzi’s lips quirk reflexively as their eyes met. The hammering in her chest returned.

She feigned a nonchalant smile, “Not my best practice – can’t let Geno down.”

Paige tossed the ball back and forth in her hand, tilting her head to the side. With all the audacity in the world and a smirk, she said, “Something on your mind, Az?”

One second passed. Then another.

Azzi felt her lips part and an incredulous breath escape her. This was their first face-to-face interaction since she left Paige’s apartment this morning, where they had viciously attacked each other’s faces – and enjoyed it. Now, Paige stood several feet away and was teasing her?

A second huff left Azzi’s lips.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the flush that was creeping up her neck. “Yeah, right,” she mumbled, walking toward her favorite three-point spot. She stuck her hand out, “Ball.”

Paige stared at her a moment before walking toward her leisurely, still tossing the ball back and forth between her hands. As she got close enough to where Azzi could see the freckle that lived on the side of her jaw, she dropped the ball in Azzi’s open palm.

Turning to face the rim, Azzi dribbled once, twice. She realized in that moment that Paige watching her shot so closely was worse than any stadium filled with thousands of screaming fans telling her to airball. And then, she realized missing her shot with Paige so close to her was somehow worse than that. So, her hands were tied.

Dribble.

Swish.

She turned back to Paige, catching the way her eyes lingered below her neck before slowly trailing back to meet her gaze. Azzi tilted her head to the side, feeling like herself again as the thump in her chest became steadier. She smirked, “Something on your mind, P?”

She watched Paige’s eyes flitter up to Geno’s office that watched over the court. Seemingly satisfied, she looked behind her at the exit doors, giving them a nod. As her eyes found Azzi’s again, a smug-looking smile spread across her lips. She stepped closer, hands sliding into the pockets of her joggers. At their proximity, Azzi could see the flecks of grey in her irises.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

After several beats of silence, Paige said simply, “Yeah, there is.”

Azzi’s breath caught as Paige lightly gripped the tip of her chin and kissed her so gently, she felt like she would melt to the ground had Paige’s other hand not been steadying her at her hip.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Paige pulled away momentarily before pressing a second soft kiss to her lips, as if Azzi were made of glass – but more so like she couldn’t help herself. She hovered there, letting the tips of their noses brush.

When she pulled away, she slid her hands off Azzi achingly slow before finding their way back to the pockets of her joggers.

Walking backwards, a lopsided grin grew on her face. “Get your shots in, princess. ‘Imma wait for you in the car ‘til you’re ready to go.”

With that, Paige walked out of the gym.

Azzi didn’t realize her mouth was hanging open until the loud click of the door echoed around her.

Tuesday

Every Tuesday, Azzi had an accounting lecture at 11am.

She always came prepared – hoarding two protein bars in her backpack at all times, pencils and notebook in case her laptop died, and ready to intensely write notes as her professor spoke.

This Tuesday, Azzi found herself daydreaming in class, scribbling soft nonsense in her planner as her eyes lost focus ahead of her. It was an anomaly.

She was, of course, daydreaming about Paige.

About Paige’s lips, specifically. And the way her thumb had gently glided over Azzi’s jaw and guided her face close to hers just yesterday. And also, the day before that. The low noises she had made as their kiss deepened.

She felt herself trace her fingers over her upper lip absently, a flash of white heat growing at the base of her stomach. She pictured Paige laying down, slightly out of breath as she kissed down her neck. She wondered what noises she would make then, how fast her heart would beat if she ran a hand down her chest, or gripped her hips –

The sounds of chairs scraping back brought Azzi out of her haze with a blink, and she was suddenly aware of her classmates getting up to leave around her.

Her mouth quirked in annoyance; she would have to rewatch her accounting lecture online tonight.  

As she rose from her seat, her cheeks flushed as if the people around her could read her thoughts. As if they had any insight on the embarrassment she felt from realizing how far gone she was for her best friend. It was one thing for her to work consciously with her deep adoration for Paige, it was completely different to navigate the apparent sexual deviant she was becoming from their lips touching on Sunday.

Because, Azzi realized, she was deeply, deeply attracted to Paige. In the way that made her want to scream. And blush.

The only thing that waived the fantasies that recently riddled her mind was the taco bar that waited for her at the women’s basketball dining room (it was Taco Tuesday, naturally).

As she trudged across campus, her thoughts fluctuated –

Should I get shrimp or beef today?

Wonder if Paige likes being kissed on the neck.

Stupid – everyone does.

Who can I ask to send me the accounting notes from today?

Wonder if she likes giving kisses on the neck back.

Like obviously, who doesn’t.

I hope they have chips and guac.

Her thoughts carried her all the way into the dining room, her body moving on its own in grabbing a plate as her mind was elsewhere. She hummed happily, the smell of the room lighting up a wave of dopamine only Mexican food could ignite. Beginning to load her plate, she paused at the protein selection: beef… or shrimp.

Beef.

Shrimp.

Beef.

Shrimp.

She felt a tug on her braid and heard a casual, “Yo.”

Paige. Of course.

Azzi turned and gave her a once-over. Her face was bare, with her ponytail loose and low at the base of her neck, strands wisping around her cheeks. Purple glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, blue eyes locked in on Azzi. Following the length of her body that had somehow grown another inch or two on Azzi in the last few months (to Azzi’s annoyance), her left leg adorned its brace. She was the picture of casual and relaxed, while Azzi felt like the snap of a twig would have her dragging her to the nearest closet to kiss her senseless.

“Any day now, Az.”

Azzi blinked. “Hm?”

Paige’s lips lifted in amusement, motioning her hand dramatically toward the buffet.

“Oh.”

Robotically, she grabbed two shrimp tacos and continuing piling on her plate, avoiding the smile she knew was growing on Paige’s face.

“Stop it,” Azzi grumbled.

Azzi could hear the mirth in Paige’s voice as she replied, “I didn’t do anything.”

Without taking her eyes off the options of food, Azzi shouldered her in the chest, eliciting a chuckle from Paige.

They loaded their plates in silence for several beats before Paige said, “I could eat chips and guac every day of my life, swear.”

She sounded so nonchalant. So…Paige. Like she hadn’t thought about their kisses every hour since they happened (like Azzi).

Azzi’s eye wanted to twitch.

She gave a hum in reply, focusing on piling refried beans on her plate. She didn’t even like beans like that.

Her body was acutely aware of Paige hovering next to her. She knew she was staring at her side profile, eyes bouncing from the crown of her head to her seriously full looking plate.

“You think I could make good guac?” Paige asked.

That got a snort out of Azzi. “Paige, you can’t even make eggs.”

“Where’s your faith in me?”

“It’s back at my parent’s house – circa 2020,” Azzi said, finally looking up at her. “When you made our fire alarm go off. Making ramen.”

Their eyes crinkled at each other at the memory, Paige shaking her head with a smile. Azzi felt a blush creep up her neck, and she wasn’t sure at all why.

“Give me some credit – there were no instructions,” Paige paused, eyes locked on hers. “You know with practice I pick up things fast. And I’m good with my hands – as you know.”

Azzi’s mouth fell open slightly, and she was pretty sure she looked like a blowfish.

As you know? Did she have an early death wish?

On paper, there was nothing wrong with what Paige had said – but it was in her tone. Her voice had dropped, like she meant something else. Or maybe Azzi was reading too much into it. Her eyes looked down briefly to Paige’s long fingers that held her plate. Gripping firmly, slender, veiny –

Azzi pursed her lips and wordlessly turned around, joining Nika and Aalyiah at their table. She was definitely blushing now, and this time she knew why. She gave the pair a strained smile in greeting, taking a large gulp of her water.

Paige sat down next to her slowly, scratching her upper lip to hide the smug expression on her face. “Wassup,” Paige said, turning to their friends.

“Aaliyah won’t let me visit her in Canada,” Nika pouted.

Aaliyah rolled her eyes. “I never said that.”

“Why not?” Azzi asked, shoving a taco in her mouth.

“I asked her what the name of that gross cheese thing they eat was.”

Aaliyah scoffed. “It’s poutine. And you asked if I had a pet moose.”

Nika turned to her with a quirked brow. “Well, do you?”

Azzi and Paige snorted at that.

They sat together, close as usual. Azzi’s heart was stammering slightly, which she was chalking up to her coffee from this morning. Because she was absolutely fine being this close to her best friend she made out with less than 48 hours ago, and then again on the practice court less than 24 hours ago.

She shoved a spoonful of beans in her mouth, her knee bouncing.

As Nika and Aaliyah dove into an animated pretend argument over if Canadian or Croatian food was better, Paige pressed her right thigh into Azzi’s.

Azzi looked down at their sweatpants covered legs. The touch wasn’t new by any means – except, yes, it was. Because she knew Paige was doing it on purpose; to make Azzi feel her, feel something.

Fine, she thought.

Azzi pressed her thigh back.

Having been leaned with her forearms over the table, Paige gave her a glance over her shoulder. Her expression was blank, but she looked for one, two, three seconds. Azzi counted.

Wordlessly, Paige shifted her gaze back to their friends and leaned down to scratch her right leg. Azzi stiffened as Paige’s shoulder brushed her chest, and her heart might have actually stopped when she felt her hand lightly touch her calf. Slowly, Paige dragged her hand up her leg to end at her knee, giving it a squeeze. It stayed there for five seconds – Azzi counted that time too.

This is new, she thought.

Paige let her finger brush Azzi’s thigh as she lifted her hand to scratch the underside of her jaw, pretending like nothing happened.

Technically, nothing did happen. They’re best friends. Very comfortable best friends. The flutters in her stomach were from the suspicious looking beans on her plate.  

I am not turned on from a calf touch, she told herself. Or a knee squeeze. I am stronger than this. Resilient.

(She was not).

She got up slowly, patting her stomach appreciatively in the hopes of mimicking fullness. “Gonna take a nap before my next class,” she waved, grabbing her plate with her free hand. “See you guys later.”

Unassuming, her friends waved and chorused goodbyes after her – Paige remaining silent. They locked eyes momentarily, but Azzi knew she had to get home before she did something ridiculous like lay Paige flat on the table and make everyone throw up their lunch.

Suddenly feeling a sense of false urgency, she hurriedly dropped off her plate with the dirty dish pile and left the dining room, feeling unfocused as her thoughts were filled with bed, bed, bed and Paige, Paige, Paige.

So unfocused, she didn’t hear her name being called.

So unfocused, she didn’t realize someone had grabbed her by the arm and shoved her in the nearest janitor’s closet until the smell of Windex invaded her nose.

“What the –” she started but went mute when the light flickered on and she saw who was in front of her.

Paige.

Obviously.

“I was calling after you,” Paige chuckled, already reaching for Azzi’s jaw and rubbing a thumb over her cheek.

“Oh.” Azzi blinked at her, feeling slightly dumbfounded at, well, everything in this moment. Paige’s hand on her cheek, gentle but firm. The dingy janitor’s closet. But mostly that Paige was standing so close, and Azzi could smell the Dove soap she used.

Paige tilted her head, looking down at her with a soft smile. “Stupid,” she whispered as she closed the distance between them, kissing her tenderly – once, twice, three times.

Azzi felt like her brain was short circuiting.

In the span of a few days, Paige and Azzi had gone from never having crossed the boundary of physical intimacy in their several years of friendship to suddenly being unable to keep their hands off each other. And Paige was acting so…calm about it. And it felt unfair.

If steam could come out of Azzi’s ears, they would in this moment.

So, she decided to level the playing field.

Gripping the collar of Paige’s hoodie, she tugged until their lips crashed together.

After a quick grunt of surprise, Paige’s hands instantly found her waist, tugging her closer as their kiss deepened. With their hips touching, Azzi felt like her body was pulsing.

More, more, more.

Azzi let her tongue outline the shape of Paige’s mouth, which she parted eagerly. In a swift motion, Paige moved to hold Azzi against the door, their tongues meeting with a fervor they hadn’t experience together yet.

Paige slid a hand down the side of Azzi’s body, firmly stopping at her hip bone and tugging forward. The move had Azzi feeling dizzy with want, and it was overwhelming. So much so, she gently pushed Paige away before she did something embarrassing like fall to her knees.

Breath's mingling, Paige stared at her with heavy eyelids. She wet her lips, a lopsided smile etching onto her face. “I think you like kissing me.”

Azzi let out a breathy scoff, pushing her back slightly. “You’ve kissed me first every time.”

“Yeah,” Paige agreed, smile still on her lips, “And you kiss me back every time.”

Azzi’s cheeks warmed and she turned her attention to the cleaning supplies that lined the wall next to them. She sniffed, “Next time pick somewhere that doesn’t have us next to a mop bucket.”

If Paige’s grin could get any wider, her face would split in half.

“Next time?”

Azzi feigned annoyance with a roll of her eyes. “Maybe.” Inside, she was screaming.

“You’re obsessed with kissing me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah. I would.”

Azzi’s blush was beaming now as she tried to cover it with a scratch to her neck. Paige caught her hand there, sliding it down and loosely dangling their fingers together.

Quieter now, she said, “You wanted a nap before class, right?”

Azzi looked up at her from her lashes, nodding.

Paige looked at her fondly, twisting a loose curl that hadn’t made it in Azzi’s braid. “Alright, lemme walk you back. But don’t get any ideas – I’m not just a piece of meat.”

“You couldn’t be more irritating.”

Wednesday

The library was empty for once.

Azzi sat at a table with Caroline, Nika, and Paige, working on their individual assignments. Azzi purposely chose the seat across from Paige instead of next to her as per usual so she could focus, and it almost worked – had Paige not been brushing her foot against Azzi’s ankle. It was almost impressive how good Paige was at getting under Azzi’s skin with little to no effort.

Without looking up from her textbook, Azzi pushed back on Paige’s foot as a warning to stop. Of course, Paige didn’t pay her any mind, and when her foot came back it began tracing up Azzi’s calf.

Azzi closed her eyes briefly, letting herself enjoy the feeling for a single moment before standing up and mumbling something about finding a textbook. She ignored the feeling of Paige’s eyes following her as she walked away. She also ignored the way she liked it.

Walking deep into the shelved rows of the library, her fingers dragged along the spines of books she passed. The row smelled of stale paper and the subtle air freshener spritzed throughout the library. It made her happy.

She paused and her eyes landed on a book covering Latin American history, which would be perfect for the class she planned on taking to fulfill her history elective next year –

A hand landed above her head, and she looked up to see Paige giving her a soft smile. In the quiet of the book-covered shelves surrounding them, she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thought you got lost,” Paige murmured.

Azzi leaned on the shelf to her side, letting her body fall slightly under the umbrella of Paige’s arm that was still extended. “Right,” Azzi murmured back, “Makes sense.”

In their hushed tones, Azzi felt a different kind of unsteady thumping of her heart. This one was accompanied by less anxiety and more of a pull towards Paige, butterflies at the pit of her stomach. It was addicting, honestly.

Paige let her eyes drag across Azzi’s face languidly before leaning her head down to speak quietly, “You look nice today.”

A familiar blush creeped up Azzi’s neck as her chest bloomed with the compliment. Maybe she had purposely put on mascara and blush this morning, along with wearing Paige’s favorite purple hoodie because she knew they would be together later.

Who’s to say, really.

“Thanks, Boogers.”

Paige winced, replying loudly, “Bad nickname.”

Azzi’s eyes widened at her volume, “Paige, shush.”

A goofy grin grew across Paige’s face. Her level of volume stayed the same as she replied, “What? I’m not talking loud.”

“Yes, you are. Stupid.”

“Shut me up then.”

They stared at one another, unblinking. An unspoken challenge flashed in Paige’s eyes. Azzi cocked her head to the side, thinking.

Paige loved to push Azzi; it might be time for her to push back.

“Fine.”

Stepping forward, Azzi placed a hand on Paige’s chest and a lingering kiss on her left cheek. She could feel the long exhale Paige released through her nose as it hit her neck. Ghosting her nose along Paige’s cheek, she leaned over and placed a second long kiss on the opposite side of her face. Dragging her nose along the underside of her jaw, Azzi placed a kiss there as well.

Paige exhaled through her nose again, and Azzi could feel the swallow of her throat as she gave the column of her a neck an open-mouth kiss.

Finally, Azzi brushed her lips so lightly over Paige’s, it was like she was never there at all.

Stepping back, Azzi smiled ruefully at Paige’s closed eyes and parted lips. She patted the center of Paige’s chest, whispering, “Don’t get lost on the way back.”

Paige peeked an eye open in time to catch Azzi’s grin as she stalked away.

Thursday

Paige and Azzi had been shopping for hours in the Storrs mall.

Prior to this, Azzi had called Paige complaining that she had nothing to wear to their annual team dinner tomorrow night.

At hearing her distress, Paige mumbled into the speaker, already lacing up her shoes, “Be ready to go in five.”

Now, in the Nordstrom changing room, Azzi was trying on dress number four. Paige sat on the cushioned bench outside her stall, hunched over with her elbows on her knees, fingers tapping her cheekbones patiently.

Azzi stepped out of her dressing stall, her curly bun slightly frizzy from tugging the simple olive dress over her head. Her cheeks looked flushed from the fluorescent lights of the room.

She twirled, arms extended, “Well?”

Unmoving from her position, Paige smiled, “Looks nice.”

Azzi pouted. “You said that about the last one.”

“And I meant it then too.”

Azzi huffed, spinning back to the stall, yanking the curtain. Her eyes landed on the last dress she had picked out to try – It was black, simple, figure-hugging. She could wear it a million times for any occasion.

Practical, pretty, and $200.

Meaning, too expensive.

She would just try it on for fun and wouldn’t get sad that she wasn’t buying it. Definitely.

Slipping the dress over her head, her bun grew more lopsided. Staring in the mirror, the dress was unfortunately…perfect.

She turned to the side, taking in the way it hugged her in the all the right places and still looked modest at the same time. She felt mature. Pretty. Confident. She sighed, yanking the curtain back to let Paige see.

Paige’s eyes perked up as she came into view, sitting up straight. She was smiling so fondly at her, Azzi thought her heart might split open.

“That’s the one, Az.”

Azzi looked down and slid a hand down her side, pursing her lips. “I know. I wish it wasn’t so expensive.”

“You want it?”

Azzi didn’t look up as she let her fingers caress the fabric. “Yeah, but I can’t justify spending that much.”

“Get it.”

She looked up then, caught off guard by the intensity in Paige’s eyes. Azzi’s brows scrunched as she said, “I just said –”

“You look good,” Paige said, sounding slightly in pain. “If you’re not going to buy it, ‘Imma buy it for you.”

Azzi let out a burst of a laugh at that. “Paige, that’s ridiculous. I can’t let you do that.”

Paige stood then, walking towards her slowly with her hands in her pockets. She stopped when their chests nearly touched and leaned her head down. In a soft voice, she said, “I think you look really pretty in the dress – and it’s the first one today you’ve tried on I can tell you feel good in.”

Paige leaned her face closer and gave a gentle peck to Azzi’s cheek. Azzi felt the kiss like an electric shock to her system, goosebumps rising on her skin everywhere. Her eyes wanted to flutter shut, but she refrained to take in the tender way Paige was looking at her.

“’Imma buy you this dress,” Paige muttered low, “And we can go get dinner. ‘M starving and know you are too.”

Azzi looked at her through her eyelashes. “I’m paying you back.”

Paige gave her a lopsided smile and turned her around by the hips, her fingers trailing along her lower back as she gave her a gentle push towards the changing room. “Sure,” she said lightly, like it was funny of her to even suggest that. “Go change.”

As Azzi tugged the curtain closed, she put a hand on the wall beside her for a moment. She had known for however many months about her feelings for Paige, but the way Paige stared at her and took care of her had her genuinely weak in the knees. She would almost be embarrassed if she heard anyone else describe this feeling but living it herself was entirely different. Her crush on her best friend wasn’t just growing – it felt nuclear.

When Azzi emerged from the changing room sheepishly, Paige tugged the dress out of her hands before she could hide it from her.

As promised, Paige bought her the dress.

And refused to let Azzi carry the bag.

Azzi tried to stop the heart eyes she was giving the back of Paige’s head; she really did.

————————-

Soft R&B filled the quiet space of Paige’s car as the girls rode back to campus. The sky was pitch black, and Azzi leaned her head back in the seat, stealing glances at Paige’s profile illuminated by her dashboard. Their Chick-fil-A order sat protected in Azzi’s lap, the smell wafting throughout the car.

“Bro, I’m starving,” Paige grumbled.

“We’re almost home.”

“But I am so hungry. It’s painful.”

“The dramatics.”

Paige looked over and pouted at her, making Azzi smile.

“Do you want to find a spot and pull over?” Azzi relented.

Paige pumped a fist. “Thank god – yes.”

The next thing Azzi knew, Paige was swerving into a nearby bank parking lot, quickly putting the car in park.

Paige snatched the bag from Azzi’s lap, finding her chicken sandwich before handing Azzi her own without tomatoes. Before Paige could open her sandwich, Azzi grabbed her hand and poured hand sanitizer in her palm. Paige nodded silently, rubbing it in as Azzi poured it in her own hand. They ate in comfortable silence for several minutes, watching the cars pass on the busy road next to them.

Besides the constant whirring noise of passing cars, the quiet of the car offered a sort of stillness and feeling of solitude Azzi couldn’t remember the last time she felt with Paige. There were no walls shared with roommates here, no janitor’s closet down the hall from where their friends sat, no eyes to see them.

Just them. Alone. Ten miles from campus.

The quiet felt vulnerable. In this moment, they felt vulnerable.

With a mouthful of chicken, Paige said, “I like kissing you.”

Azzi snorted, answering back with similar amounts of chicken in her mouth, “Me too.”

They sat in comfortable silence again for several minutes, before being interrupted by Paige once more, “Like, I really like kissing you.”

Azzi gave her a sidelong glance. “I figured.”

“Alright, cocky.”

“What? You kissed me first.”

“Yeah, but you kissed me back.”

“Yeah, I think that’s how making out works.”

“So, you admit you like it too.”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Just making sure we’re on the same page. You know, in case you want to stop.”

Azzi looked at her fully then, wiping her face and fingers with her napkin as she finished her sandwich. Softly, she said, “No, I don’t want to stop.”

Paige glanced at her, taking a sip of her diet coke. “Cool. Me neither.”

Silence ensued again. Cars whirred by. Paige’s hand rested dangerously close to Azzi’s on the center console.

Azzi looked at her again. “You know you can kiss me now, right?”

Paige turned her head and blinked at her. Wordlessly, she leaned her forearm on the console. Azzi leaned forward as well, her hands sliding on her thighs. They stared at each other for a moment, as if soaking the other in. Memorizing each other. Like they hadn’t already, secretly.

Paige angled her face, letting her eyes fall to Azzi’s lips. “C’mere,” she whispered, pulling Azzi in by where her jaw and neck connected.

The kiss was languid and slow in the best way. Azzi felt herself falling into it, her stomach doing flips at the way Paige caressed her mouth so carefully with hers, like she could do this forever. Kissing Paige felt like a drug to her, inducing a craving at her core she never knew she had.

And when their tongues traced each other, Azzi wanted to sigh into her mouth. Maybe she did, because she felt Paige smile against her, clearly amused. Azzi pulled back a centimeter.

“What’s so funny,” Azzi mumbled against her lips. Paige gave her a peck, not moving back.

“You’re crazy,” Paige said, making Azzi’s lips vibrate with each word.

Azzi let the back of her knuckles trace the edge of Paige’s neck. “Not very nice,” Azzi said into her mouth.

She could feel Paige’s smirk grow again, “I’ll make it up to you.”

Friday

Fridays were supposed to be Azzi’s easiest class day. Her accounting pop quiz had other plans.

She walked solemnly into her apartment late that afternoon, giving a disheartened hello without looking up.

From her living room couch, she received a chorus of Hey’s back, one standing out in particular. Her head snapped up to see Amari, who was painting Ines’ nails, and Paige. Her gaze locked with Paige’s for a beat too long, something unspoken flashing between them.

“What’s wrong?” Paige asked, preparing to stand. Azzi noticed her hair was down, slightly wavy from braids she wore yesterday. Light was catching on her blonde strands through the window, making some pieces look almost white. The tops of her high cheekbones looked rosy in the way Azzi knew she must have spent some time outside today, catching the last of Connecticut warmth.

She’s so pretty, Azzi sighed internally.

Shifting her backpack on her shoulder, she said, “Nothing, Accounting just kicked my ass today.” She walked past the living room, ready to lay down for the foreseeable future until she had to get ready for Geno’s dinner.

Entering her room, she dropped her backpack in the corner, immediately flopping on the side of her bed, letting her legs dangle and back decompress. She knew without saying anything that Paige would follow her there, and she smiled to herself as she heard a dramatic grunt and the drag of her slippers over the vinyl apartment flooring.

Like clockwork, Paige entered her room a second later. She tapped her foot against the door, letting it close enough to give them privacy. 

“Hey,” she said, letting out a breath as she mirrored Azzi and laid next to her. With their necks turned and ears flat against the comforter, there was nowhere else to look other than into each other’s eyes.

Azzi’s lips quirked. “You already said Hey.”

“Yeah, well,” Azzi watched as Paige’s cheeks got rosier. “Whatever.”

They watched each other as seconds ticked by. Paige’s eyes flickered to the soft smile playing on Azzi’s lips. Azzi caught the tension in Paige’s jaw, looking like she was restraining herself from something. From her.

“Class wasn’t so good?” Paige asked, but her eyes were following Azzi’s tongue as she licked the corner of her mouth.

Without answering, Azzi propped herself on her elbow and leaned over. She slowly slid a hand along Paige’s waist under her shirt, letting her fingers drag lightly over her stomach near her belly button. She watched as goosebumps raised along the skin she touched, the contrast of Paige’s warmth and her cold hands leaving her own fingertips tingling. Azzi wasn’t sure when she had become so bold, but she just couldn’t stop.

Her eyes flicked up and saw Paige watching her with lips parted. She inched closer, letting her head tilt as she took in Paige’s blue eyes and fanned out hair under her.

Azzi leaned down and gave her a slow kiss on the cheek. With her lips staying there, she whispered, “You look so pretty.”

Azzi knew she probably shouldn’t be acting like this, especially with their friends and them only being separated by the thin connected wall of her bedroom and living room. But she felt like a girl possessed as she nudged Paige’s nose with her own, and captured her lips in a kiss. Their lips pressed together firmly, eliciting a quiet guttural groan from Paige as she instantly wrapped her arms low around Azzi’s waist.

They kissed slowly; tortuously so. As their tongues connected, Azzi let her knee slide over Paige’s leg, to which Paige let her hand drag over her sides and under her thigh, holding her there. Azzi’s lower stomach fluttered

“You guys getting ready for dinner?” They heard Amari call from the living room.

The two girls pulled apart and stared at one another, eyes crinkling as they gently touched foreheads. The look they exchanged held a promise – they’d find time to be alone again soon.

-------———-

Geno held his annual team dinner at Storrs Country Club as a final hoorah before preseason crept up.

Although originally arriving together, as the group of girls shuffled in, Azzi and Paige were separated. They found themselves sneaking glances from across the room, wishing they were sat next to each other instead of two tables apart.

Instead, Azzi sat next to Caroline, who was animatedly discussing her aversion to the grey jerseys they would have to wear this fall.

“It’s just so unflattering,” Caroline continued, unaware of Azzi’s wandering eye to a nearby polo-wearing blonde.

“Totally,” Azzi mindlessly agreed, this time catching Paige’s eye as they made prolonged eye contact. Azzi smirked, whipping out her phone to text quickly You’re staring.

She was too, but that’s besides the point.

Watching Paige look down at her phone, they locked eyes again.

Azzi, trying to hide her smile, mouthed, what?

Paige bit her lower lip and shook her head slightly as she scratched the underside of her jaw in an attempt to cover up the blush that was creeping up her neck.

Satisfied, Azzi turned back to Caroline now, attempting to be an active participant of the conversation.

“And, who even looks good in cellblock grey,” Caroline said, sounding disgusted.

Azzi nodded, “You’re so right, absolutely no one.”

Well, she thought, maybe one person.

They continued back and forth for several minutes before Azzi saw Paige approach Caroline from behind and tap her on the back. “Hey, switch seats with me?” Paige asked her.

Caroline stared at her with furrowed brows, “Uh, no?”

Paige leaned her forearms on the back of her chair, sighing quietly. She leaned down and whispered something in Caroline’s ear, causing her to roll her eyes and scoot the seat back. Standing now, she turned to Azzi, “See you, Az.”

At the sight of Caroline leaving and finding Paige’s original seat, Azzi couldn’t help but laugh at the abruptness of it all. She turned to Paige, who was making herself comfortable next to her. “What was that?” she asked, confused but entertained.

“Wanted to be closer to Geno’s podium,” Paige deadpanned, “Bad eyesight, you know.”

Azzi huffed a laugh. “Right. And I’m the princess.”

“You are,” Paige agreed, taking a sip of water.

Azzi rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself.

When the dinner started to roll out, Azzi felt her mouth water. That is, until a platter of roasted brussels sprouts landed in front of her as an appetizer. She stared at it, scrunching her nose as she pushed it away from her.

“Gross,” she mumbled to herself. The memory of her throwing up the night before last year’s championship game flashed through her mind, making her frown subconsciously.

Paige caught it all, pausing before flagging down a waiter. One came quickly, leaning his head down to listen as Paige requested, “Can you take this away, please?”

She pointed to the platters of brussels sprouts in front of herself and Azzi.

Wordlessly, the waiter nodded and lifted the plates away from the pair. Azzi looked at her from the side, offering a small smile as a thank you. Paige stared at her, letting her hand rest on her knee under the table.

She squeezed three times. Azzi counted.

She thought then, if it wasn’t obvious before, Paige Bueckers was her person.

Saturday

Paige had asked her to come over and watch the Aces versus Sparks game. The game being on West Coast time had it starting at 10pm in Connecticut. Translation: a sleepover was inevitable.

Azzi and Paige had had so many sleepovers it was easier to track the times they didn’t sleep together than not.

But that was before, and Azzi found herself shaving her legs thirty minutes before embarking for Paige’s apartment. For what – she didn’t know. But there she was, doing it anyway.

Now, she lay on Paige’s bed with her with baby-smooth-dolphin legs, feeling like an idiot because Paige had barely touched her. Fully invested in watching A’ja Wilson dominate, the blonde had her right hand in a permanent fist, pumping every five minutes as she said, “My GOAT.”

They lay side by side; shoulders attached like Velcro. Azzi had her neck craned down, playing Smurfs on Paige’s Ipad.

“You’re not even paying attention.”

“Yes, I am.” Azzi’s eyes never lifted from the tablet.

“You don’t even know what’s goin–”

“A’ja has seven assists and four blocks. Rae has six points. Chennedy has eleven. The Sparks need to stop handing out turnovers.” Azzi gave her Smurfette a cute little purple hat to wear.

Paige was staring at her with her mouth slightly agape, looking unnerved.

Azzi gave her a glance out of the corner of her eye. “You were saying?”

Paige’s lips split into a grin as she hooked her arm around her shoulders. Azzi felt a cheek land on the top of her head.

Azzi smiled to herself, leaning further into Paige’s warmth.

Eventually the game concluded, with the Aces winning 98 to 87. The girls went through their nighttime routine, as it was somewhat a science at this point. They brushed their teeth together, Azzi flicking Paige in between the eyes after she hit her in the thigh with her good leg. Azzi slipped a pimple patch on Paige’s cheek because she claimed she was too tired. They jointly stacked Paige’s extra pillows off her bed and onto her desk chair. Paige grabbed the extra throw blanket she kept for Azzi when she got cold at night.

It was all so routine, Azzi had accepted tonight would be the first day of the week the pair did not share a kiss. Part of her felt relief in the fact that her and Paige could still maintain a level of normalcy after the week they had had, and another part of her craved their newfound intimacy. Craved Paige’s affection. Her unsubtle tenderness.

They laid in the dark now, both facing the ceiling with eyes wide open. The pipe outside Paige’s window rattled slightly with the wind. It made Azzi want to fidget.

“I thought about you a lot this week,” Paige spoke first, still facing the ceiling. Azzi felt her heartrate pick up.

“Like what?”

Azzi felt Paige’s shrug as their shoulders were pressed together. “Just how much I liked what we were doing.”

The rattle of the pipe filled the quiet of the room for a moment before Azzi replied, “Me too.”

A beat passed. And then another.

“Do you ever think about doing more than kissing?”

Paige laid quietly next to her, staring up at the ceiling, seemingly unprovoked by Azzi’s question. “Yeah.”

Azzi’s heart thumped faster. “With me?”

“No, with Geno.”

Silence stretched between them for several moments before Paige continued softly, “Yes, with you.”

“Oh.”

Azzi turned her head to face Paige slowly, taking in her profile. “You know you can, right?”

She watched Paige pinch the bridge of her nose. “Can what, Azzi.”

“You can do other things with me.”

A long breath left Paige’s mouth. Several seconds passed.

In a fluid motion, Paige turned on her side and tugged Azzi towards her, slanting their lips together.

Finally, Azzi sighed in her head, a smile dancing on her lips.

Attempting to hide the immediate glee she felt from their mouths being attached again, Azzi pressed into her harder. They kissed like they were trying to prove something; to themselves, each other – it was unclear. What was obvious, was that Azzi was getting turned on. Quickly.

She sighed softly as Paige kissed across her cheek and over her jaw, her tongue darting out with the movement of her lips. Azzi tilted her head to give her better access to her neck, a breathy short moan escaping her as Paige simultaneously hooked Azzi’s leg over her hip, slotting their legs together, and leaving a trail of kisses down the column of her throat.

Azzi felt her core tightening as Paige glided a firmly gripped hand over the side of her butt, down her thigh and all the way down to her calf.

Thank God she shaved.

Paige repeated this motion several times, her fingers trailing along the inside of Azzi’s thigh as she gripped her hamstring. Their lips found each other again, tongue clashing instantly.

The way Paige held her made Azzi feel like the sexiest woman alive. Paige kissed her like a woman starved, like Azzi was the only woman to ever exist. That made her feel a little bold.

Unbreaking the kiss, Azzi reached for Paige’s hand that rested on the underside of her thigh and dragged it until it rested on her ass. She smirked at Paige’s groan she felt against her lips.

Paige squeezed her hand, dragging her by the ass until their hips were firmly pressed together. With the way Paige was holding onto her, Azzi thought she was going to have indents on her left butt cheek in the morning.

Not that she minded.

It turned Azzi on to the point where she let her hand dragged across Paige’s jaw, roughly down her chest, and reaching to grab her hand again. This time towards the front waistband of her boxers.

Paige groaned again, and Azzi felt her core pulse as her fingers skimmed underneath the band, teasing the top of her underwear. Azzi didn’t know if she wanted to squeeze her legs together or let them fall apart – everything felt so good and Paige hadn’t even touched her yet.

Paige broke their kiss, the pair breathing raggedly. She glanced down at where her hand was resting on Azzi’s stomach. Her eyes glanced back up at Azzi’s, an unspoken question hanging between them.

Azzi realized Paige was leaving the ball in her court to decide her next move; that in itself made her heart flutter. Suddenly, the weight of what could happen next hit Azzi like a truck.

Maintaining her eye contact with Paige, she nodded slowly. She watched Paige swallow.

In a shuddering breath, Paige let her fingers slowly drag under the waistband of Azzi’s boxers, gliding over the top seam of her underwear. Her fingers moved, finding the crevice of where Azzi’s hip and inner thigh met.

Azzi felt like the skin Paige touched was on fire. Their mouths hung open, close, and they breathed raggedly. Paige touched her like she was a landmine; careful and like she was memorizing every point that made Azzi’s breath hitch.

Finally, Paige dragged a single finger down the front of Azzi’s underwear and over her folds, where she had begun to get wet thirty minutes ago.

Paige’s lips parted, her breathing coming out soft but uneven as her and Azzi stared at each other with half-lidded eyes. “Is this okay?” She whispered, voice low. She circled two fingers on Azzi’s clit over her underwear, pressing lightly to feel the wetness starting to seep through. 

Azzi swallowed. “Yeah,” she said breathily. She spread her legs a little wider, which Paige took as invitation to press her fingers a little harder as she continued her ministrations. 

Paige dragged her nose along Azzi’s neck, her lips only brushing faintly over her skin. She gave a feather-light kiss right below Azzi’s ear, her lips staying on her skin as she asked in a low voice, “Does it feel good?” 

Azzi slid her hand up Paige’s cheek, slightly digging her fingertips into her hairline. She watched as Paige’s eyes rolled back slightly. “Yes,” Azzi said, her lips barely parting. Good didn’t even begin to cover it; she thought if Paige kept it up long enough, she could finish just from this.

Paige used three fingers to rub slowly up and down the front of her underwear, circling her clit when she got back to the top. She pressed as her underwear dragged into her folds, feeling wetter every time she rubbed up and down. 

Azzi was panting quietly now, her eyes fluttering. Paige leaned down to ghost her lips over hers, their unsteady breaths intertwining.

“Do you want me to touch you?” She asked, but it sounded more like a plea. Azzi nodded, gasping as Paige made it back to her clit. 

“Tell me.” 

Azzi was starting to involuntarily lift her hips up, her body following Paige’s movements. She dragged her fingertips to the underside of Paige’s scalp and pressed. “Please,” she breathed. 

Paige hooked a finger, dragged Azzi’s underwear to the side. They both released a shuddering breath as Paige finally circled her fingers there.

Azzi was rocking her hips up now, wetting her lips as their husky eyes met. Paige leaned over, kissing below her ear as she slipped a finger inside her, pumping in and out.

Azzi’s mouth dropped open.

“You like that?” Paige asked her in her ear. She licked along her neck.

Azzi tried to respond, but it became incoherent as Paige slipped a second finger inside her, alternating between circling her clit and pumping her.

“What’re you tryna say,” Paige mumbled huskily. “Lemme hear you.”

Azzi turned her head, lips falling open and resting on Paige’s as she moaned as quietly as she could. “Feels so good,” she breathed into Paige’s mouth. At the praise, she felt Paige work faster, press a little harder.

Azzi’s head fell back, mouth open. She was so close.

Paige stared at her in awe, her eyes looking drugged. “You’re so fucking hot, Az.”

Azzi croaked, her mouth unable to close. Her brows furrowed as Paige picked up her pace – circling, pumping, crooking her finger and –

Oh.

My.

God.

“Paige,” Azzi breathed, trying desperately to stay quiet. She was fully panting now, and Paige was staring at her like she was the last piece of food on Earth.

“Fuck,” Paige groaned, kissing Azzi hard. She mumbled against her lips, “So fucking pretty.”

Azzi was on fire. Her entire body pulsed, and she felt like she was gasping for air when suddenly Paige’s thumb pressed over the most sensitive part of her in that way and –

She fell apart.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”

Her head fell back on the pillow, her mouth open in a silent moan as her eyes squeezed shut. She covered her mouth to not wake anyone up, her body shaking in the peak of her orgasm. But Paige kept going.

“Paige, I –” Azzi saw stars. Her whole body had chills as she felt herself building up again and –

She pressed her hand into her mouth again, feeling a second orgasm course through her, shaking her to her core. Her body was twitching, writhing, all of the above. Her mind was blank as the pleasure coursed through her, apart from Paige, Paige, Paige.

“You’re so perfect,” Paige whispered, finally easing the pressure of her hand. “So perfect.”

Azzi’s hipa twitched, her hand finding her chest as she took in large breaths. Paige removed her hand from Azzi’s underwear, their eyes locking. Their expressions mirrored each other; euphoric, wild, scared.

“Holy fuck,” Azzi whispered.

Paige tucked a piece of Azzi’s hair behind her ear, letting her hand drag down the side of her face. “That was okay?”

Azzi nodded, her lips slightly parted. “Very much more than okay.”

A beat passed before they grinned at one another. Paige leaned over and cupped her jaw, giving her a soft kiss, rubbing her thumb across her cheek. She leaned her forehead against Azzi’s as she pulled away. Azzi closed her eyes in content, a small smile playing on her lips as their bodies tangled.

“Two times, huh?”

She popped an eye open to see Paige’s shit-eating grin.

“Shut up.”

Sunday

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The pipe outside Paige’s bedroom window sounded louder than usual. She sat at her desk, iPad open to an assignment she’d lost focus on thirty minutes ago. She turned to the window, shooting the darkening clouds outside and the pipe she couldn’t see a glare.

The drip was distracting her.

She stood then, letting out a low grunt as her joints adjusted. She unconsciously reached for her left knee – a precautionary reflex. Her hands found her hips, and she began a slow pace around her room.

Her eyes glided along the wall above her bed, decorated in her favorite album covers.

Music.

Yes, she should put on some music.

Pause, she thought.

She couldn’t put on music, because that would require going on her phone. And if she went on her phone, she would find herself staring at her text thread with Azzi, whom she hadn’t spoken to the entire day.

It wasn’t on purpose. Azzi had spent most of the morning lounging with Paige in bed, their fingers loosely hooked and laughing over something stupid. When she’d left at noon, shooting Paige a coy smile through the door as she stepped out, Paige thought it was in both their best interests to go about their days (primarily before Paige’s heart jumped out of her chest, or she never let Azzi leave her room again).

But now in the solidarity of her room, where Azzi was just taking up space eight hours ago, Paige was starting to pace.

Her mind was running like an engine; back to Azzi’s soft lips. The way her breaths came out short when Paige touched her there. The way she had been fantasizing about doing everything they did last night for months, and it was somehow better than how she imagined. Azzi was more beautiful, more perfect, softer, breathier, firmer, than in her dreams.

Paige was fucked.

Because it wasn’t even just that now she knew what got Azzi going – it was the fact that over the course of this week, Paige had a taste of what it was like to be with Azzi. Stealing kisses, subtle touches, quiet words no one else had to hear. Her rock. Her best friend. The girl she was falling for.

Paige was ruined for anyone else.

Roughly, she dragged both hands down her cheeks, squeezing.

She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 9:37pm.

Yeah. She was going over to Azzi’s apartment.

She slipped on her slides and grabbed her hoodie off her desk chair, putting it on haphazardly as she blindly reached for her keys and nearly bolted out the door.

Azzi’s apartment was only down the block, so as light droplets of rain covered her, she didn’t mind. Honestly, the cool of the rain helped combat the steam that was surely rolling off her head from overuse.

Then, the rain picked up. Paige blinked, and suddenly she was in a torrential downpour.

“Of course,” She mumbled to herself, not fighting the water that pelted on her in every direction. She walked, no, stomped, for five minutes, eventually making it to Azzi’s front door. She banged her fist on the door twice before stuffing her hands in the pocket of her hoodie.

She heard shuffling and laughter, and like a beacon Azzi opened the door with the living room lights illuminating behind her.

Paige could imagine how ridiculous she looked standing in front of this damn near angel, sopping wet as the storm raged on behind her. Feeling water in every crevice of her body, her heart pounded as hard as the thunder outside as Azzi gave her a wide-eyed stare. Glasses were perched at the bridge of her nose; her hair was in a messy bun at the top of her head, and she wore an oversized Nickelodeon shirt with boxers that were probably a decade old. Poop emoji slippers adorned her feet.

Fuck me, Paige thought. I love her.

After the initial shock of seeing her in her soaked state, Azzi immediately stood aside and ushered her in. “Oh my gosh, what is wrong with–” Azzi started. Before she could finish, Paige was fisting her shirt collar with both hands and kissed her.

Azzi gave a small noise of shock but quickly grabbed Paige’s shirt in her own hands and kissed her back with equal fervor.

They kissed like they were starved.

Deprived.

Hungry.

Paige’s hands went to Azzi’s jaw as she cupped her face, their lips finding each other like they had done this their entire lives instead of just one week. Her lips tasted like the mint chocolate chip ice cream Paige knew she had after dinner. It made her smile as she broke the kiss, leaning her forehead against Azzi’s.

Their chests moved in unison as they regained their breaths, eyes crinkling at one another like a joke was being told that only they knew.

“Hi,” Azzi beamed, a breathy laugh escaping her.

“Hi,” Paige smiled back, only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

“You’re drenched,” Azzi snorted, pulling away slightly.

Paige grabbed her biceps before she could get too far, leaning in to mumble against her lips, “Didn’t notice.”

“Oh my god?”

Paige and Azzi turned their heads slowly to the side, as neither of them had spoken. Staring at the pair, unblinking, with mouths dropped was Amari and Aaliyah on the couch.

Paige blinked once.

And then again.

She took a large step to her right away from Azzi, leaning one hand on the nearby kitchen island and the other on her hip.

“Hey guys,” Paige said, voice cracking. “What’s up?”

[magalhaessims]

VON HAUNT ESTATE REDUX - MAXIS-MATCH CC BUILD

Recently restored, the former residence of Lord and Lady Shallot has been transformed into a public museum. Inside, visitors can explore the personal art collection and treasured belongings of the estate’s previous lords.

NOT CC FREE 

Lot Type: Chalet Gardens

Size: 40x30 

World: Windenburg 

Enable bb.moveobjects before placing in your game!

Gallery ID: MagalhaesSims (remember to enable custom content on!) DOWNLOAD

CC USED IN THIS BUILD:

NOTE: For convenience, some of the CC is included in the Download Folder. Please put it in your Mods Folder along with the CC linked below:

CharlyPancakes: Weeds Terrain Paint || Felixandre: Chateau | Colonial (2022) | Estate | Paris || Harrie: Klean | Smor || SixamCC: My Purrfect Cat Café | Parisian Sweet Corner || Valia: Wisteria

The CC Sets above are the main ones I used to decorate this specific building and you can find all the links to the creators’ sites on my Resource Page. However, if you can’t find something specific, you can send me a WCIF and I’ll try to help you find it!

My content will always be free and right away available to everyone, but if you want to, you can show your support through my Ko-Fi Page. Your donation will always be much appreciated!

Thank you for reblogging: @maxismatchccworld @mmfinds @s4realtor @coffee-houses-finds @farfallasims and everyone else for helping me boost this post!

[kovilm]

Rada Krivokapic Radonjic is a famous fashion designer and stylist whose signature style of classic, elegant yet luxurious ready-to-wear helped introduce ease and streamlined modernity to 21th-century dressing.

Early life

Rada Krivokapic Radonjic is originally from Kotor, Montenegro. Her parents are father Djuro Krivokapic and mother Vidosava Kaludjerovic. She also has an older brother named Radoslav Rajo Krivokapic. Her brother is a sailor, her mother a health care worker/nurse at Kotor General Hospital, and her father a factory worker.

Education

Talking about her educational background, she passed her Master's level in 2018. The program was funded by the German Government and was also designed according to the German education system. She had enrolled in Law, Professional, and Occupational Pedagogy, Trade, and Economy. She joined the School of Fashion and Specialization for Fashion Designer and Stylist. She graduated from this school of fashion from Belgrade in 1996, which was under the Paris system in collaboration with the Academy of Fine Arts. For her fashion school, she did an internship under Giorgio Armani Milan in 1997. Working for one of the world's most famous fashion creators, she got the opportunity to meet the best fashion creators to advance her knowledge base. Likewise, she completed her Ph.D. in Fashion Design in Belgrade in 1998.

Rada Krivokapic Radonjic, a visionary in the world of fashion, hails from the picturesque town of Kotor, Montenegro. Her creative journey has been nothing short of exceptional, combining classic designs with a deep commitment to sustainability. Born into a humble family, Rada’s passion for fashion stemmed from her early exposure to the industry through her work with esteemed designers like Giorgio Armani, Gianni Versace, Valentino Garavani, Karl Lagerfeld, and Roberto Cavalli.

Professional Life and Career

Talking about her professional life, she is famous as a designer and a stylist. She is the founder of Rada Krivokapic Radonjic, Kovilm and Rada Radonjic luxury clothing brands. They were established in the city of Kotor, Montenegro. In 2006, she designed the collection "Ostvarene Rijeci". The collection was inspired by her deceased father. Moreover, she collaborated with model Filip Kapisoda in 2010 and had a number of fashion shows in 2018. Furthermore, she also organized several fashion shows in the city of Yugoslavia. She also work as Costume Designer in Kotor. Moreover, Rada also designed a new fashion accessory called "Kovilm". She designed it for the 2019 fashion show called "Svijet Bez Sukoba". Kovilm is a garment worn around the neck, which symbolizes the transformation from tie and bow-tie. Additionally, Rada has also written the books 'Odijevanje' that translates to "Dressing" and 'Krojenje i sivenje' that translates to "Tailoring and sewing". Her books are related to the issues in the fashion and clothing world, which is influential for aspiring models, designers, and stylists. She is mostly based in her hometown Kotor. However, she also has her professional links in Podgorica, the capital of Montenegro. She designed common folk costume called Zentivns 2022.

Awards, Net Worth

Rada Krivokapic Radonjic has won several awards for her humanitarian contributions and assistance. She has also received Humanitarian Contribution Awards. In 2023, Rada Krivokapic Radonjic is The World's Best Fashion Designer of The Year 2023 London, United Kingdom by Corporate LiveWire.

Personal Life

Reflecting on her personal life, Rada Krivokapic Radonjic gave birth to four children Nedjeljka Nadja Radonjic (1999), Valentina Radonjic (2001), Nebojsa Radonjic (2007) and Teodora Radonjic (2013). Furthermore, she maintains a good professional and personal life, free of scandals and controversies.

[hearthvkoo]

Happy and loud

"That feeling of freedom I felt in Paris."

We all know what happened in Paris...🤭🤭🤭

So true anon!

[evermore-fashion]

Did I make a mistake?

As you're all well aware of I said goodbye to my blogs and Tumblr thinking my decision was final. However after reading all your wonderful messages I started to have doubts about my decision. So for the last few weeks I've been trying to pinpoint why I thought I had fallen out of love with high end fashion as well as Tumblr itself and the answer has been in front of my face for the best part of four years. A broken down friendship that has been plaguing my mental health… until recently and I'm going to finally explain why. I had a best friend for the best part of 15 years that went downhill both slowly and unexpectedly. We met on a forum back in 2005 and hit it off instantly. We then met up and went on various holidays, attended concerts together, did mini weekend breaks away and got to know each other's families really well. More importantly they were the only person in my life who knew about this blog and shared my love for high end fashion. Like most friendships though it had its ups and downs but no matter what we always gravitated back towards one another, until March 2020. A week or so before COVID and lockdown took hold of our lives they told me they had met someone. I was genuinely happy for them, except for the fact they had let slip that I was the last person to know. This broke my heart and their trust as they continued to let slip more details that indicated that I was being pushed out in favour of a new crowd (aka university friends who they had told me they disliked a few months beforehand) alongside their new partner. They stayed with their partner on and off throughout COVID and I was either pushed out the door or let back in depending on their relationship status. The relationship came to an end for good towards the end of 2022 and as always I was let back into their life with plans for 2023 being made. However I held back knowing the hurt it would cause me if things suddenly changed again. This was also my breaking point with them as I wanted to protect my heart from anymore hurt, and I believe this is where my love for creativity began to faulter. Whilst I found my love for gaming I felt this mental block around Evermore-Fashion and Evermore-Grimoire which I thought was down to my passions changing. I was clearly wrong. The friendship was up and down for another six months, until last summer. They had got back in contact with me despite the fact they had started acting cold towards me which manifested in a crap Christmas and Birthday. Yet I was still willing to hear their side of the story, but it never came as they ghosted me and I haven't spoken to them since which hasn't been fun to deal with both mentally and emotionally. Although I now fully believe this is what was killing my spirit and everything I had loved for so long. Anyway fast forward to January 2024, I've said goodbye to my blogs and Tumblr when lo and behold I come across a social media post that changed everything. The ex friend had written something personal that contradicted everything they had told me (over their relationship break up) which not only angered me but it lit a fire under my butt to stop stewing in the "what ifs?" as well as holding on to a small bit of hope that they'd finally apologise for treating me like a piece of shit on the back of their shoe for so long. Not only that but I started to miss why I enjoyed being online in the first place. I checked out Vogue to see what was occurring during Paris Fashion Week and I yearned to share the Spring 2024 Couture collections on Tumblr (even though I still think it's still a toxic cesspit). Yes I could easily start this up on Wordpress or Instagram but let's face it, Tumblr is still the easiest place to start blogging creatively. So here I am. The fog surrounding my love for fashion has lifted alongside the mental and emotional baggage I've been holding on to for far too long. There's just one thing I'm still wondering though… do you guys forgive me (as I feel like I've messed you all around ) and is it okay to come back? 🥹

[newestcool]

Heliot Emil f/w 2022 rtw Creative Director Julius Juul  Newest Cool

[loganes]

Okay, okay. Tennis anon again. This is going to be long, so I apologise in advance

The rivalry starts when Carlos is 15 and Jannik 17, and Carlos beats Jannik at the Alicante challenger. Very impressive considering how big a two-year gap feels at that age, in terms of development. Jannik will later say that he was "impressed straight away" by Carlos (could we say that they have... played against each other for so long?)

Their first match up on the official ATP tour is Paris 2021. Carlos wins again and, when they hug at the net, Jannik says the iconic "I hope we play some more". Still one of the most unhinged sentences of all times tbh

2022 offers one of THE Sincaraz moments of all times: the Umag final. Jannik wins, but you couldn't tell if he wasn't holding a giant blue trophy because Carlos is absolutely beaming. Then, they giggle throughout the entire award ceremony and watch fireworks together (Leno is there in spirit!!)

Some gifs here: https://www.tumblr.com/tennis-kittens/705783293734518784/santa-clara-collection-jannik-sinner-carlos?source=share

2023 starts with back-to-back match ups at the Sunshine double. Featuring one of the most incredible points they ever played (that you can watch here: https://youtube.com/shorts/0vOoQzTFd9E?si=mkyIwjwHr0ooH16A). Jannik will later react to the clip, forget that he won that match, and say that the point got more talked about than Carlos' (non-existent) victory

2024 is honestly kind of insane in terms of content. They meet in the semifinals of the French Open, where Carlos wins (he will then go on to win the whole tournament). He walks around the net to hug Jannik, giving us some of the best pictures of them in my humble opinion (wide shot here: https://images.app.goo.gl/5qwqpQJ2D92ZWQr39)

They play the final in Beijing, where Carlos wins again and Jannik puts his plushie in Carlos' trophy. And they meet in the final of the Six Kings' Slam, an exhibition tournament that Jannik wins. Cue them being insane about each other in freaking Saudi Arabia (Jannik taking confetti out of Carlos' hair. Carlos not letting go of Jannik's waist as they walk towards another group of photographers. Jannik saying he wakes up thinking of Carlos. All normal stuff)

https://www.tumblr.com/curlyhairedredheads/764805141000044544/so-did-you-just-tell-us-that-every-day-you-wake?source=share

And

https://www.tumblr.com/kb9-ships-mistercriky/764897065885138944/pure-gold?source=share

2025 is packed already. Jannik comes back from his 3 months suspension to play his home tournament in Rome. He somehow gets to the final, where he loses to Carlos in straight sets. Carlos smiles throughout Jannik's speech (in Italian, which he told him he'd understand) and everything is fine and good. Until they meet in the final of Roland Garros, which Jannik loses in the most heartbreaking way after being up 2 sets and break, having 3 consecutive championship points and the possibility of serving for the match. Truly brutal

The h2h is becoming more and more lopsided, and the fans are worried about a sincaraz divorce. Obviously, the freaks prove all of us wrong with the Wimbledon final, a mix of ptsd, redemption and behaviour that warrants no heterosexual explanation (Jannik winking at Carlos twice, the praise in the acceptance speeches, the 2927 posts in which Jannik tags Carlos and that Carlos likes within minutes. But you probably know that part)

Many other moments are talked about here: https://www.tumblr.com/romanticrivalries/786283796837318656/what-are-they-sincaraz-lore-with-receipts?source=share

Finally, Jannik does have a harem of brunette men going after him: his "very good friend" Jack Draper (jacknik tag on tumblr is full of great content), fellow Italians Lorenzo Sonego and Matteo Berrettini (*clears throat* https://www.tumblr.com/jordi98russell/735080848899096576/im-sobbing?source=share), balding bisexual Bulgarian Grigor Dimitrov who, even after getting injured, had to touch that ass (https://www.tumblr.com/inkyself/788451588279877632/on-a-lighter-note-can-we-take-a-moment-to?source=share). And others, at times

I'll maybe write more about the parallels with the wacklins universe in the future, but this is more than enough for now. Sorry again for yapping. I hope this is compelling enough!

no this is SO compelling thank you for this whole ass primer writeup!!!!

i love love love a good rivals story and love even more that carlos is the younger one but he's BETTER and maybe that gets to jannik at times but there is so much mutual respect and companionship and genuine like of each other i'm pretty sat and i will be reading fic. two guys who should dislike each other because of how they're pitted against each other but instead seem to want each other to succeed..... sickos meme dot jpeg

that grigor ass grab was out of pocket i'll say i honestly didn't realize tennis athletes were getting that homoerotic on main but maybe i shouldn't be surprised by anything in sports anymore

i'm still on this pic it's so dramatic

edit: actually i have to add this point really was insane and i don't even know tennis like that jesus

[sunsetchicane]

Postcards - Part 3 [LN4]

lando norris x [travel] journalist fem!reader

find the series here

word count: 5.2k

summary: The one where you're in Paris and you can't stop thinking about him and you find yourself giving him a call.

warnings: angsts again (sorry! I swear it's turning around), swearing, innuendo, unedited!

author's note: hey...sorry this took so long??? college is crazy guys. but anyways, I'm a little rusty so be gentle lmao. please enjoy and I'll see you guys SOON!! feedback, comments, likes whatever you feel like is so much appreciated. Lots of love [xoxo elle]

Lando

Nov. 2022

The lights of Abu Dhabi blind Lando as he stands next to his car and removes his helmet from his head. Ending P6 was respectable, a good end to a mediocre at best season. His head swims with the noise that swallows the track and the flashing lights that light up the night race. Another season was officially in the books. There’s always a bittersweet feeling that hits all the drivers as they jump out of their cars for the last race of the season, letting the months past become another chapter of history. An excitement for the break ahead and the promise of a new season buoys their spirits, but it’s a hard goodbye nonetheless. 

Lando absentmindedly walks around to congratulate everyone, shaking hands and sharing smiles. Though, his heart isn’t in it. His focus splintered the second he left the car. Thoughts drift towards you. They always do. There’s never a day that passes that you aren’t on his mind, on his heart.

Flashing cameras surround him, capturing this moment. He thinks of you.

Journalists with microphones tucked into their hands yell words into a camera lens. He thinks of you.

Faces flashing in and out of sight, bodies swarming around him as his eyes search the crowd. He’s looking for you.

But you aren’t there. There was no reason for you to be there. The last time you spoke, the London night surrounded you and held you together. To this day, when he closes his eyes, he can still feel your lips on his. Somedays, he makes it through with just this memory alone spurring him on. He promised to see you in Monaco, but every time he called your office, you were gone. Every time he showed up at your cubicle, it was deserted. A layer of dust collected over everything. 

A thin layer of dust covering a framed picture of Big Ben lit from behind by the setting sun.

After so many futile attempts of trying to find you, to connect again, he slowly stopped trying. There was an obvious truth behind the estrangement of your paths: you were avoiding him. 

At first, he rejected the idea, claiming to only himself that you wouldn’t do that. He was convinced that you felt the same way that he did. There was something between the two of you that was beyond anything he had ever felt. Your passion inspired him. Your humor warmed him. Your presence set him at ease in such a way that the whole world could be burning and he would be perfectly content to just hold you in his arms. 

He’d never felt that way about anyone. Not even close.

So for a long time, longer than he would ever admit, he clutched onto hope. 

But with each passing week with not a single word from you, faith began to slip. With every message that went unanswered and phone call that went straight to the voicemail of your office phone, his grip on you loosened. 

He’d be the first to admit his lack of maturity. He wasn’t ashamed of still being a kid. Instead, he wore it like a badge of honor, making it part of his personal brand. If it wasn’t for you, he would never have thought twice about growing up to be the man that you deserved. But now that you’re gone, slipping into memory, he’s found himself back in his comfortable corner of immaturity. 

So, after hurrying through all of his post-race interviews and duties with the team, he finds himself taking solace in the night life of Abu Dhabi.

Alcohol had never really been his thing, but recently the appeal has been becoming more and more obvious to him. Round after round is poured down his throat, burning every memory of you away for the night. Intoxication holds you at bay, at least for a while. 

“Slow down, mate.” Max laughs into his ear while Lando tosses back yet another shot of something. He’s had enough that everything tastes the same now.

“I’m celebrating!” Lando slurs, shoving Max square in the chest. They stumble together, laughing as they nearly fall over. The world is a haze of flickering neon lights. Music and voices blend into a loud hum, everything becoming one to drunk ears.

Lando collapses haphazardly onto the couch in the club, quickly followed by Max. With hooded eyes, they watch the dance floor in front of them. The mass of the crowd seems to move as one, enchanting Lando’s drunk mind. The night coalesces and crests like a wave, ebbing and flowing as one singular, living thing. Everything seems interconnected and endless. If he could, Lando would stay in this feeling forever. Nothing hurts, nothing is joyful, everything is completely numb.

“I miss her.” He says, but the usual pain that accompanies those words is nowhere to be found.

“I know,” Max says, his head falling back while he closes his eyes.

“I hate her.” Lando says emotionlessly. Max doesn’t respond. It isn’t true. They both know that it isn’t. But for tonight, they can pretend. 

Lando can pretend that it doesn’t matter that he pushes himself off the couch when he catches the eye of a girl that looks somewhat like you. He can pretend that he doesn’t think about you as he dances behind her, his hands gripping her hips to hold her close. He can pretend that he doesn’t wish it was your neck that his lips trail up towards her jaw. He has to pretend when he finds himself asking her to leave with him. 

And when he finds himself that night, tangled up with a girl who’s name he doesn’t bother to remember, he gives up pretending and thinks only of you. Of your lips, of your body, of the way it would feel to have you around him. Your voice calling out his name in the quiet hours of the morning. 

He hates you.

He hates not having you.

This isn’t the first time that he’s tried to heal his sorrow with momentary pleasure. No, in fact, he’s done this a handful of times and each time he tries he hopes that this will be the girl to erase you from his life. But she never is. He’s a fool for trying the same thing over and over again expecting a miracle.

“Stay,” she mumbles into her pillow, a delicate hand draping across his chest. It’s cold against his hot skin. He turns his face away from her so she can’t see him cringe. Gently, Lando slides her hand away and returns it to her side. 

“Can’t,” He says while sliding to the edge of the bed and away from her. For a few moments while he rubs the sleepiness from his eyes, he listens to her groan and complain. He’s so tired. With a huff, he stands and collects his clothes that are strewn about the luxurious room. 

As he pulls his clothes on, he listens to the soft rustling of silk sheets and the steady in and out of sleeping breaths. But everything seems a thousand miles away, so cold and distant. In the slight hours of the morning, nothing feels real. He’s numb and tired. He’s cold and exhausted of feeling the same pain from the moment he wakes up to the time he finally is graced by merciful sleep. 

Spiraling thoughts plague Lando’s mind as he wanders the slips into the back of an uber. Glossy eyes scan the world as it streams by him in the back window of some random car. How many times has he lived this night? Every car ride back to his apartment or hotel room feels the same, blending into one continuous stream of dull memory. 

Stumbling into his hotel room, he heads straight to his bed without a second thought. Discarding his clothes onto the floor for the second time tonight, he can’t help but wish he’d been here sooner. There isn’t solace for him in someone else’s bed, and when he’s alone he doesn’t have to pretend there is. He’s sick of playing pretend and putting a mask on for himself, for his friends, for his team, and the millions of people watching him under a microscope. The truth and the pressure of that truth has weighed on him for months.

He’s heartbroken. He’s suffering. And there’s nothing to be done about it. He hasn’t had the chance to heal and he doesn’t know when he will–if he will. Because when he thinks of you, it’s like a knife of what could have been to the chest; and when he blocks you from his mind he feels guilty and hopelessly alone. 

A spinning ceiling and tears in his eyes coax him to sleep.

He dreams of you, of course. Even sleep can’t free him of you.

You

The City of Love and Lights has been a whirlwind for you over the last few days. This new piece on an up and coming grunge artist hailing from the infamous streets of Paris has become larger than you originally thought. Night and day, you’ve been chained to your laptop, cranking out a story worthy of its subject matter. 

Tonight, you’ve decided to dive into your work at some random cafe down the street from where you’re staying. Headphones on and phone turned off, you’ve been plugged in for hours. Countless cappuccinos have been downed since you came in which could be three days or minutes ago, you wouldn’t know. Only when the noise at the bar grows from a quiet, sporadic chatter to a distracting, constant hum of voices, do you look up from your work. 

The sun has set, giving the streets a chance to live up to the name “City of Lights.” People and cars whiz past you, everyone on their way somewhere. The crowd at the cafe has gone from a few coffee sippers to a mass of people huddled around the bar ordering drinks for them and their friends. 

Realizing you’ve lost yourself in your work, you rub the heels of your hands against your tired eyes. With a sigh, you fold up your notes and tuck them away into your bag along with your laptop. You gather up your empty dishes and mugs, placing them in the bin above the trash.

Just as you turn towards the exit, ready to slip to your bed and sleep for hours and hours, cheering rises up around you. A name you take care to avoid ripples through the crowd. A small group of people are huddled around the bar, chests pressed to backs, heads leaned in, trying to get a glimpse at something.

Biting hard on your bottom lip, you fight yourself. Your eyes flicker out to the darkened streets of Paris and then back to the group of people who must be watching the season’s final race. As much as you hated yourself for it, of course you kept up with the Formula One season. It was the only connection you had to Lando. Distant, impersonal, and safe. You could keep your eye on him, see his face every once in a while, but not fall in again. At least that’s what you told yourself every time you went out of your way to stream a race, no matter where you were. 

It had been ages since you saw him in London. Some days it feels like a lifetime ago, and most times it feels as fresh as yesterday. You wake up with the feeling of his lips on yours, his arms wrapped around you. 

And maybe it’s the romantic in you that you’ve tried to kill and bury your whole life, but the thing you miss most about him is his stupid smile. There’s such complete joy behind that smile. It lights you up in your darkest moments, lifting you up and warming you. There isn’t anything that you wouldn’t give to be able to see that smile just one more time.

But you can’t. So, you turn your back on the crowd of Formula fans and walk out onto the street. 

As you walk, you try to distract yourself by taking in the scenery or by thinking of your story. But of course every train of thought leads back to him. You know Lando would love Paris. He wouldn’t admit it, of course. He would rather die than let anyone know how much of a romantic he is. The two of you are similar in that way.

At least you think so. So much time has passed, you can’t really say that you know him at all. Sure, you’ve spent a little time together, but life is constantly changing. You don’t know who he is today, what he hates today, what he loves. All you’ve ever gotten of each other is fleeting moments. And you’re to blame.

Countless times you’ve gone over it in your head. Playing every single scenario out over and over, trying to find the one where it could work between you two. But every time, you come to the same conclusion: it never will.

Even if you could convince yourself not to run at the first chance, which you always will, your lives are too different. His job would be pulling him one way while yours would be pulling you to the opposite corner of the world. Constantly in motion, but never intersecting. No matter how much you want it to, his and your futures won’t bend to fit. It tears you apart.

When you’re not traveling or writing for work, you find yourself filling pages with his name and the pain that comes with it. Your messy, ink blotted notebooks are filled cover to cover with insane ramblings of a broken heart. You can’t bring yourself to think of anyone else that way. When you try, it falls short and you do what you do best: you run.

The walk back to your hotel is blessedly quick. Being alone with your thoughts right now is torture, especially with idle hands. Everything seems a little bit easier when there’s a pen held in your fingers. 

Walking through the lobby, you try to keep your head down, not wanting anyone to bother you tonight. Bee-lining for the elevator, you wish you were already in your room. But, as the button lights up under your finger and the numbers above the doors make their descent, you can’t help but wonder what solace a lonely hotel room would bring you. Trapped in a shoebox of a room with nothing but an empty bed and a full mind. A premonition of staring at the ceiling for the next few hours, slowly driving yourself insane flashes in your mind’s eye.

Glancing over your shoulder, you look at the small bar off to the side of the lobby. It’s blessedly empty, only a few randoms sitting quietly here and there. Abandoning the elevator, you walk over to the bar. 

Drinking at a hotel bar isn’t an unfamiliar low for you. It might be sad and slightly pathetic, but it’s better than any other option you have right now. Actually, drowning your sorrows in Paris doesn’t really sound half bad, right? It could be an interesting anecdote in the long, melodramatic tale of your life post-Lando that you could tell Bobbi. She would laugh and commiserate with you over shitty frozen pizza that her son loved and a sweet wine that she loved.

With that thought, you order three vodka shots and a Diet Coke. Dropping your bag and coat in the seat next to you, you haul out the book you’ve been trying to chip away at when you have enough focus to read. Then you crack open your Coke and take two of your shots. Tossing your head back, you relish the burn of the liquid as it slides down your throat, but quickly chase it with your Coke to ease the pain.

Leaning forward onto the bar, you pry your book open and try to focus on the words inked onto the pages. 

Within minutes, your fingertips are buzzing and your face feels flushed. The words in front of your swirl and sway. Pausing your “reading,” you toss back your last shot, grimacing at the taste. Still, you tap the bartop with your fingers, signalling the bartender that you’re in need of his services.

The bartender is quick to place a new shot in front of you. Reaching out, you play with the small glass between your fingers while you continue to read. You don’t know how long you sit like that, your head battling between the effects of the alcohol and your desperation to focus on your book. 

Suddenly, a rhythmic buzzing pulls your already splintered attention away from the stupid book. You rummage through your bag, looking for your phone. When you find it and turn it over, you're met with a blank screen. There are a few random notifications from earlier that day, mostly work emails you hadn’t been bothered to respond to yet. 

“Salut,” The bartender says as he presses his phone to his ear. You watch as he turns away from the bar and mumbles into the receiver of his cellphone. Shamelessly, you watch the hushed conversation of the young, brunette bartender play out. He’s splashed in the soft orange light that filters through the rows of bottles against the wall of the bar. He laughs quietly while leaning his hip against the counter. The white button up of his uniform, his dark hair, and tanned skin are reminiscent of someone you’ve been trying to avoid thinking about all night. It’s surprising you’ve just noticed now. 

You don’t have to speak perfect French to know what he was talking about on the call, or who was on the other end. He was swaying and smiling, his fingers brushing across his lips while his eyes lit up with the fireworks you could practically hear going off in his chest.

A sharp pang of loneliness erupts in your chest.

You take another shot and wait. Abandoning your book, you trace the grain of the wood bartop with featherlight fingers. Time slows and your vision goes a little bit hazy. A sweet peace crashes over your consciousness. Your thoughts begin to slide together so you can’t identify where one thought starts and where a feeling ends. Everything feels delightfully airy and heavy at the same time, making your reality feel a little less real.

“Can I buy a bottle?” You ask suddenly. You weren’t really sure if you said it outloud or not, but when the bartender walks over to you with a bottle of vodka he’d been giving you shots from and tells you the price, you don’t even hesitate as you toss a few bills on the counter, covering everything. He bids you a goodnight as you snatch up the bottle along with your other belongings and make your way back to the elevator. 

The walk feels much easier the second time. You feel so much lighter, so much better. Your thoughts are far away, not plaguing you like they were earlier. Laying on your empty bed and losing yourself in an overly expensive pay-per-view movie sounds far more appealing than it did an hour ago as well.

You take the elevator to your floor, stumbling to your door. Fumbling with your key, you open the door, toss your stuff on the ground, and flop onto the bed, bottle in hand. Almost instantaneously, you turn on the television and peruse the movies. You buy The Proposal and lean back into your pillows while the title sequence plays. 

As you take another burning pull from the bottle in your hand, you think distantly that you should be ashamed of yourself. Drowning your sorrows alone in a hotel room in Paris. The word pathetic echoes around your head. You try to kill the thought with yet another swallow of alcohol. 

With a hazy mind, you watch as a badass, albeit definitely bitchy, Sandra Bullock string along a charismatic and endlessly sarcastic Ryan Renolds. 

“She’s not that bad,” You say into an empty room as she tears her jerk employee a new one. “She’s just career oriented.”

Projecting much? Your subconscious whispers to you.

You tip the bottle back.

And that sequence continues to happen as you watch the movie. Every time something touches a little too close to home, you drink. It’s like some sad drinking game that you’ve forced yourself to participate in.

By the time the credits roll, you’re plastered. Eyes trained to the ceiling, you try to sling together a single coherent thought. But you can’t. Everything in your mind seems to pop up quickly and then slip away before you can grab a hold on it.

Everything except one thought, one name. Lando.

Your drunken mind whispers his name. You want him right now, right next to you. The thought of his big hands in your hair, against your skin, between your legs, is nearly enough to be drunk on alone. And nothing is stopping you now, not even yourself. Intoxication has given you the freedom to do whatever you damn well please. 

Fumbling for your phone, you don’t even really think about what you’re going to say. Instead, you open up your contacts and press on his contact for the first time since you made it. He’d called your work phone months ago and left his number. You’d debated even saving his contact, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Though, you’d never messaged him, never gave him a call. Until now.

Clicking on the call button, you don’t flinch as it begins to ring. It rings…and rings…and rings. His voicemail message sounds like heaven to your wary ears. 

“Landooo, it's…uh…it's me. I’m in Paris on assignment. I bought you a postcard, don’t worry. Listen, I don’t really know why I’m calling. Actually, that’s not true. We both know exactly why I’m calling.” A hiccup breaks up your monologue before you continue. 

“Give me a shout whenever you have the chance, alright? Wanna hear your voice, babe. Good nigh–oh! Good job this season, by the way. Ok, good night, Lan.” You slur into the receiver. There are a million things you want to say, but you know you can’t. Not tonight.

Sleep takes you just as you end the message.

–

“Holy shit.” Fear seizes your chest as you pick up your burning hot phone. It’s nearly dead, but alive enough to show you just exactly what horrible decision you made last night. Lando Norris’ name in red is at the top of your recently called list. You called him last night, which is a horrible grievance in and of itself. What’s worse is that you have zero recollection of what you said. And you don’t trust drunk you to keep her cool. 

“Shit, fuck…shit, shit, shit!” You cry as you dig the heels of your hands into your aching eyes. Your mind races with the million and one things that you’ve wanted to say to Lando in the last months, ranking them from most to least pathetic. You can only hope that you were too drunk to make any sense and he’ll disregard the strange phone call from a number he doesn’t know. He must get dozens of phone calls a week, so there’s no chance that he’ll end up listening to your message. Right?

With a hangover made worse by your intense worrying, you crawl out of bed. You’re unsurprised to find you’re still dressed in your clothes from the day before. Not sparing a glance in the mirror, you strip bare and take a steaming hot shower. Unfortunately, the sting of the water does nothing to burn your spiraling thoughts away. 

As you get dressed, you glance at your phone laying face down on the bedside table. You’d plugged it in before getting in the shower, but hadn’t turned it all the way off. Something kept you from ignoring the damn thing. Curiosity killed the cat and it’s well on its way to killing you too. A twisted, borderline masochistic part of you hopes that he finds your message, no matter how humiliating it is. The truth is that you do miss him and maybe it takes a little bit of liquid courage (foolish courage) to do something about it. 

Questions go unanswered as you do everything to avoid opening your phone. Notifications are still silenced, so you would be none the wiser if it was ringing off the hook or completely bone dry. Instead, you fiddle with a coffee machine, do your makeup, iron out your schedule for the day, and send a few emails from your laptop (which you don’t have your number connected to for the sake of a nonexistent work-life balance).

By the time you’re done, a solid couple of hours have passed. It’s time that you check your phone. You’ve been avoiding the inevitable for too long. Plus, you’ve undoubtedly missed a message or ten about work-related happenings. 

Standing up, you push the desk chair you’ve been perched in back with your legs. A slow breath fills your lungs as you flex your hands by your sides and then shake them out. Nerves prickle down your neck, spilling into a shiver that runs the length of your spine. You’ve always been balls to the wall and nothing so trivial should force you to quiver in a corner with your proverbial tail between your legs. A string of affirmations flood your mind as you turn on your heel and trudge over to the bed. 

The affirmations break down into a waterfall of nervous swears as you take your phone in your hands, pulling it off the charger. It feels oddly delicate in your hands, as if you’re deactivating a bomb. Holding your breath, you slide the control center down and turn your notifications back on. When you return to your home screen, you’re bombarded with a constant stream of notifications from a variety of apps. Your mind goes blank as you skim over everything, looking for the green icon of a message or phone call. Everytime you see one, your heart jumps so far up your throat you think you might vomit. But everytime, it’s just a colleague or your manager or an acquaintance you’ve made while traveling.

Not a single message from Lando. Not a voicemail, not a missed call, not even a short text telling you (rightly) to fuck off. 

Your heart drops into your stomach and the nausea you’d warded off this morning comes back at full force. Managing expectations hadn’t worked. All your worrying had been for nothing. And you’d been a fool to hope. With everything you’ve done to him, effectively ghosting him until just now, months after you’d promised to see him, you’re in no position to be upset that he couldn’t be bothered to respond to you. Let alone the fact that he’s a world famous driver that probably doesn't blink twice at a number he doesn’t know before deleting and blocking it. 

You know you should be relieved that he didn’t listen to your message. Though, some undeniably masochistic part of you wished deeply that he had. Was it unfair of you to force him into the battle that you’ve been waging with yourself over the last year. One day you were willing to give everything up just to see him, then the next you assured yourself that you’d made the right decision by staying away. You were a loose cannon and you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you hurt one of the only people you cared so much about.

And maybe you did. Maybe he got your message and he chose to ignore it because he was in pain over you.

Or worse, he didn’t care to respond anymore.

Your mind reels and spins and a pain grows in your chest so severe you think you might have a heart attack. Tears prick at your eyes, blurring your vision of your stupid hotel room that holds everything too close. Memories suffocate you as you hold a phone filled with every notification you don’t want to see and lacking the one that you need.

After a few minutes of much needed cathartic sobbing, you stand up and begin cleaning up your room. Packing is what you’re best at. You’ve perfected it over the years. Everything you own could be stuffed into a few suitcases at a moment's notice. Even your apartment back in Monaco was sparsely decorated and home to only a few dishes and necessary furniture. Traveling from place to place for your job was no different. Rarely did you switch up what you packed into your favorite suitcase. Everything had its spot within. Everything knew where it was supposed to be and where you could find it. It was one of the only constant things in your life. No matter how much you needed constant change, you had this one consistency to keep you grounded. 

It’s worked for your entire life. But now, as you pack everything into its place, it seems slightly duller, more futile. 

Once everything is packed away and your room has been scoured corner to corner for anything you might have forgotten (which you know you hadn’t), you sit on your bed with your suitcase and stare absentmindedly at your laptop screen.

You wonder how many dozen times this exact scene has played out in your life. Something comes up that scares you or you can’t handle, you pack a bag, you sit at the edge of whatever you’d been sleeping on recently, and you wonder where exactly it is you plan on going next.

It’s always been exciting to you, adventurous and whimsical. But now it feels hollow and pathetic. You feel hollow and pathetic and all you want to do is go home.

But where’s home? You’ve made sure that you don’t have anywhere to call home because it’s always been exactly where your feet are. 

So, you decide to go to the next best place.

With a few swift clicks, you buy yourself a train ticket to Nice, Italy. You’re going back to Monaco.

Lando

With his headphones over his ears, he sits in the back of the jet while everyone else sleeps. For what seems like the thousandth time, he presses play on your message again. You’re drunk, he can tell. The voicemail is all slurred words and hiccups, but he can’t find it in himself to care. 

When it ends, he’s angry. Angry at you for calling out of blue because it wasn’t fair. Angry at himself for not picking up. Angry that he isn’t there to make sure you’re alright. Angry because he shouldn’t care this much.

But when he plays the message once more, his anger melts away. Relief floods in at hearing your voice for the first time in months.

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t responded yet, or why he didn’t immediately return your call. Instead, he’s decided to play it safe and protect himself for a little bit longer. His plan is already in motion, it has been since before he got on the plane back to Monaco.

He’s going to find you if it’s the last thing he does. He’s going to get real, concrete, honest answers out of you. The game is ending on his terms. 

-

taglist: @sarx164 @f1fantasys

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

🐑 model au, one night stand <3

VELVETEEN

Valentino's brother is in town for his birthday. It's not unusual. Pecco has met Luca before, rides with him every so often around the Ranch, even though by the time he'd joined the Academy Luca had already quit racing. Pecco smiles at Luca, knows it comes out as more of a wince. It's not unusual, but it's the first time they're in the same place since they—well, since they fucked.

luca marini has the face for modeling and thank god he knows that. here he gets to use it

so. around 2011-2012-ish luca is made (maybe by external combined forces of valentino and stefania, maybe mostly by stefania) to drop out of racing. decides to pursue a modeling career. drops out of school to spite his family and moves to milan

he starts the thankless grind in overcrowded apartments, living with other models. has an army of neutral casting shirts and hilariously has to worry less about his weight than he used to when he was racing

luca starts making a name for himself and gets a quiet but steady career. after things smooth it out with valentino and stefania again, valentino starts keeping a collection of luca's best shoots and walks like a proud mother. luca goes back to fluttering around tavullia again every so often, when he was time

reconnects with franky and mig. and meets valentino's new racer pet projects

pecco knew that valentino had a brother who was a model. remembers racing with luca when they were kids. it's so different to feel gawky and unrefined around him though, in his loose sweaters, while luca keeps a curated wardrobe and curated manners and curated aura

but it's also different to make him ugly laugh. to help him ice his stress acne. so they are friends sort of. not the closest. but pecco would like to call them friends (pecco would like to fuck luca sloppy style and then have a summer wedding in turin. anyway)

pecco drags around his crush for years until his 2022 championship party. and he's feeling like the best. he's drunk more champagne and lukewarm beer and shots than should be possible

pecco can be many things but he isn't a coward. they fuck. then luca leaves for an event in france. then things are heating up for the fashion weeks in milan and paris. then he starts spiraling

[fatehbaz]

Work acquaintance, ostensibly as a joke about me and my interests, asked if I had any educational reading recommendations about "Santa's sleigh"

So, to pass the time, I thought we'd have a dialogue about the history of urban vehicularization, pedestrian encounters with vehicles, and control of space and mobility, through the "vehicle" (pun intended) of a case study of carriages and sleighs in eighteenth-century Amsterdam.

---

And none of this is to be taken seriously, I'm just saying words recreationally.

But Amsterdam is important in the history of urban space. It was the site of early speed limit regulations for vehicles: In 1681, a bylaw limited vehicle speed to walking pace (stapvoets), and a 1696 deposition describes the servants of a sheriff stopping a driver for driving too fast. By the 1770s, the sleigh-man's guild had 285 sleigh-men active year-round, not counting unregistered personal sleighs, or those who used sleighs over snow in winter. The (colonialism-fueled) expansion of the city's infrastructure (in the context of maritime trade and East India Company profits) allowed sudden, dramatic architectural expansion, though there was uneven adoption of new transportation methods of wheeled vehicles in newly-built edges of the urban area (where textile factories were situated) while maintaining the architecture of the dense streets of the medieval city core, so that sleighs and carriages existed side-by-side in a way that was distinct from the streets of Paris and London.

In 1790, visiting German scientist Georg Forster described Amsterdam as such: "The whole day long, a continuous thunderous roaring dominates. The manifold carriages of mayors, councilors, state officials, directors of the East India Company, physicians and the lavishly rich, the unremitting transport of goods [...] obstruct the way of passage and cause a constant yelling and rumbling [...]."

But history scholar Bob Pierik (in an article that opens with Forster's lamentation) describes how Amsterdam was an early site of "vehicularization" and related street regulations, and he finds this notable and worth considering because it anticipated and predated the more famous and more widely discussed urban regulations and policing of properly-industrialized nineteenth-century London, which allows us to perhaps rethink the historiography and "teleological narrative" of modernity.

Since vehicles, pedestrians, and their attendant regulations were experimented with in the Dutch metropole decades before the mechanized transportation and "politics of paving" in Victorian Britain, there were what Pierik calls "multiple modernities" existing simultaneously in the streets of early modern Amsterdam (a "proper metropolis" at that time).

---

Evidently, "sleighs had been an important part of street life in Amsterdam long before coaches and chaises." Indeed, Pierik invokes the observation of English author Samuel Ireland from 1789, describing a visit to Amsterdam: "[C]arriages with wheels, except for the use of the nobility and gentry, were not suffered here for many years […]. A sleigh, as the Dutch term it (the French a traineau or pot de chambre) is now in use: it is the body of a coach, without wheels […]."

And guess what? They dragged those sleighs over pavement. No wheels, but only "an oily cloth (a smeerlap) was used to smoothen the passage."

A piece of rhyming graffiti, written on a wagon, and collected by Hieronymus Sweerts between 1683 and 1690, reads:

Who drives fast make a quick start

But easily loses their horse and cart

Careful and sen-

Sible is a good carriage man.

(For all excerpts and arguments here, by the way, see: Bob Pierik. "Coaches, Sleighs, and Speed in the Street: "Vehicularization" in Early Modern Amsterdam." Journal of Urban History, Volume 50, Issue 4. First published online 2 September 2022. All of this research was done by Pierik.)

Along with sleighs for transporting goods and products, there were sleighs for personal transport: a toeslee (closed sleigh) and koetsslee (coach sleigh).

---

And what of the pedestrian? Early on, at least in the Netherlands, vehicles were perceived as dangerous to pedestrians, and it could apparently be seen as arrogant to flaunt aristocratic wealth by gallavanting around in an expensive personal carriage in the city center, and so regulations and public opinion seem to indicate that pedestrian right-of-way was prioritized. An Amsterdam bylaw from 1528 indicated that drivers of sleighs could not sit upon their vehicle but had to walk beside it, because:

"[D]riving caused great disorder, often mixed with malice, as people, specifically women and children, are at great danger of being driven over."

An important city bylaw in 1634 banned the use of coaches within city walls. But the prohibition was gradually loosened, such that conflict between coach-drivers and pedestrians was frequently mentioned in depositions. But by the 1730s, something had changed. In Pierik's words:

[Quote.] Pedestrians now shared space with vehicles and had a new responsibility to protect themselves […]. [T]he language used in Bicker’s chronicle is very telling: In 1734, exactly a century after the vehicle ban, he wrote of a coachman who “had the misfortune of driving over a poor woman who died shortly thereafter.” Here, rather than the “women and children first” rhetoric that we have seen in the sixteenth-century regulations on the sleigh-men in the previous section, the coachman was also presented as a victim, and the right of the coach’s presence on the streets remained undisputed. Similarly, in 1746, Bicker Raije wrote of a nine- or ten-year-old boy who was “negligently watching around him” moments before he was killed by a sleigh horse. [End quote.]

The trend continued, and in the nineteenth century, British authorities would notoriously enact sweeping policies to control mobility in and access to urban space, in ways that prioritized "economic" activity while reinforcing class hierarchies. In fact, Pierik sees this vehicularization of the early modern city as "at once a civilizing and a colonizing project" in the same vein as what Koslofsky described as "nocturnalization," or the way in which, in London and Paris, "the elites of the court and the city colonized the urban night" with their affordance of transportation and a mobility not always shared with those lower in the hierarchies.

---

We are, of course, reminded of another aristocratic figure who, traveling through the night, engaged in this civilizing mission of nocturnalization and colonized public space with their vehicle. Someone who, like the early modern vehicle regulations of Amsterdam, is associated with Dutch tradition. Someone whose persona is closely connected to mobility, even hyper-mobility, drawn forth by their sleigh:

Santa Claus.

[flightfoot]

ML Fanfic Recs for Completed Fics 70K+ Words

13 fics here in all! 8 of them are even above 100K! That's some impressive dedication.

All of these fics will be in my Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2024 Collection, and if you like that, please consider checking out my other collections, Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2023, Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2022, and Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics - Misc. Years.

---

Open My Eyes by @buggachat

Adrien smiles as he eats breakfast with Nathalie, smiles as he walks through the halls of his new lycée, smiles as people stop him on the street and tell him time and time again what a "hero" his father was. (Adrien wishes he could've been a hero, too. He should've been. Maybe then his father would still be alive.) (But he's surviving. Everyone may be treating him as though he were made of glass, but he can still go through the motions, he can prove them wrong, he can still smile.) “And you’re… happy,” Marinette spoke carefully, a nervous tilt to her voice, “... right?” (Adrien has some things to find out.)

If you want to see Adrien's response to finding out - well, everything - then this might be the fic for you! He's breaking down pretty badly even with just being an orphan now, so finding out all the awful truths? It's a lot. If you want to see some major emotional reactions and blow-ups, this is the fic for you! Though of course Adrien's put back together at the end as well, buggachat isn't the sort to just leave Adrien to flail without support for long or to have Adrien's and Marinette's relationship remain super strained.

---

The Course of True Love by @nedjsmlfavs

Dark Cupid haunts Marinette. Do the events of that fateful day mean that Adrien isn’t her True Love? With a little help from Chat Noir - who has absolutely no personal stakes in this matter - she’s sure to find out. She’ll also learn the unfortunate truth: the course of true love never did run smooth.

So this is adorable, there's some nice Ladrien dating in here! Though also some angst, Chat Blanc still takes place in this storyline, as does a Hawkmoth takedown, and all the angst and trauma that goes with those things. But with Marinette and Adrien together, the two of them can handle anything.

---

Finding A Way by @uptoolateart

Collège is nearly over! And what better way to celebrate than a class trip to Costa Rica? But with only a month left to tell Adrien she loves him, Marinette is feeling the pressure. Then – an accident at sea leaves them stranded together on a tropical island…alone. Or are they? Because those footprints in the sand don’t resemble any bird they’ve seen before. And what’s that roaring sound coming from the jungle? ‘Adrien…where ARE we??’ ***** A Jurassic Park / Camp Cretaceous AU that’s been kicking around in my head for over a year

I love the sense of danger permeating this fic, it really feels like Adrien and Marinette are stranded on Jurassic Park (well it's called something else in order to integrate it better into the ML universe, but it operates like Jurassic Park). They're making the best of it though, doing their best to survive - and along the way, getting closer together.

I like that it's not JUST them though, Gabriel and Nathalie find out where they ended up pretty early on and go to rescue them, with Alya and Nino stowing away. It was cool to see that side of things as well.

Oh yeah, this fic is rated M for violence and gore. It's because dinosaurs eat people alive and leave their body parts everywhere. If you can handle the Jurassic Park movie (or presumably the book the movie was based on, but I haven't read that), then you should be just fine.

---

Symbiotic Whiskers by B1ackout

Adrien Agreste aka Cat Noir was given the cat ring miraculous to help Ladybug in protecting Paris. But something had found him first, a silent companion that granted him strength and power he never knew existed. Bonded with a symbiote, Cat Noir faces Paris alongside Ladybug without even knowing that someone left a magical ring in his room. (Canon Divergence)

This is a phenomenal fic that deserves more attention. It's kind of funny how he just goes "hey I've got superpowers, she says that the thing we have that gives superpowers is called the Black Cat Miraculous and that the being that gives them is called a kwami, obviously that must be what I have!" though that gets stretched more and more as Adrien's experiences with the symbiote contradict what he's heard about how kwamis work, and Tikki gets increasingly worried about "Plagg's" weird behavior. It's a dark, somewhat brutal fic (people die permanently, and they're not always villains), and it's absolutely worth a read, this is an excellent crossover!

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Perfectly Platonic (Unless...) by @frostedpuffs

After accidentally revealing their identities in less than ideal circumstances, Adrien and Marinette must navigate their newfound relationship as both partners and friends. Becoming best friends was a quick process, but when romantic feelings begin to bleed into what's supposed to be a platonic connection, their friendship starts to change in more ways than one. Surely it can't be that hard to hide their feelings from their best friend? (A post-reveal, pre-relationship fic full of romantic crushes, best friend shenanigans, and a whole lot of dumbassery.)

If you just want a straight-up romance slowburn with these two just somehow being convinced their relationship is platonic (or that the other person wants it to be platonic at least), you'll find little better to scratch that itch than "Perfectly Platonic (Unless...)". It's a little smutty and definitely earns its M rating because of that. If you want mutual pining, there's a ton of that here!

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Dreaming Wide Awake by @uptoolateart

Gabriel died a hero. He sacrificed himself in the final battle against Monarch. Or so Adrien's been told. At least he has his mother there to help him through the grief. So what is this niggling feeling that this isn't how the story was meant to go? And why does he keep having flashes of another world that lies just beneath their own? --------- A follow-up to the Season 5 finale because I am inexpressibly disappointed by what happened in Re-Creation.

So if you wanted an exploration of what could happen post-season 5 and a fix-it for that season's finale, I highly recommend checking out this fic. I love how it explores Adrien's deteriorating mental state over time, how much he's struggling with what he's heard about his father and reconciling that with the abuse he's gone through at the man's hands. And then there's "Cerise" showing up, who rubs him the wrong way for reasons he can't fully lexplain, even to himself...

Pay attention to the title, it's not just there for flavor, it means something.

This fic is rated Mature, but I have no clue why. There's no sexual content and there's pretty minor amounts of violence or gore. I guess Adrien's not in the best place mentally, but it's nothing worthy of an M rating.

---

Boulangerella by @aidanchaser

Once upon a time, magic was wild. The two princes of the kingdom have been tasked with choosing their brides by the end of their 21st birthday celebrations. Crown Prince Adrien Agreste will have to choose between a woman who can protect his kingdom, a woman offering the power to wake his sleeping mother, and the woman he has loved and admired for the past year. Then there's also the seamstress that he is suddenly falling for. By the time he realizes he doesn't have the power to choose at all, it may be too late.

I love a good fairy tale AU, and this is no exception. Aidanchaser started writing it before Season 5 came out, so it's wrong about some things. Most notably, Felix's posthumous father was a good and decent person here, and one of the twin rings is Felix's Amok while the other one is Adrien's Amok, instead of both of them being Adrien's Amok.

This was a well-crafted tale, with kwamis operating as Fae: they can give power, but only if the wielder gives something up to pay for it. For temporary usage of their power, it can be something small and innocuous, such as giving Plagg cheese in exchange for his help. More expansive uses of their power requires greater sacrifices however, even sacrificing more nebulous things such as memories or hope.

The kingdom's currently being terrorized by this unknown villain, Hawk Moth, as in the show. Ladybug and Chat Noir emerge to battle him, but for some reason (*cough, cough*), King Gabriel isn't fond of the superheroes and wants them captured.

Gabriel isn't the only threat out there, Lila's skulking around, hinting that she knows how to wake up Emilie from her mysterious illness, if only Adrien marries her. And she's not about to take no for an answer.

If you've been wanting a fairy tale/fantasy Miraculous AU, I recommend giving Boulangerella a shot!

---

If I hold you too close by @bbutterflies

Paris didn’t come to a screeching halt for akumas anymore. They were so commonplace, so frequent, no one stopped their lives unless they were in danger. They trusted the heroes to fix everything if something did go wrong, save them if they got hurt. Adrien was still fighting the urge to find Plagg and go running into battle. Plagg wasn’t here, though. --- Post-season 5 where Adrien got sent to London sooner and gave up his Miraculous to keep Paris safe.

If you know this author, then you've probably already guessed that this is an Adrino fic (seriously if you like Adrino, check out bbutterflies fics, though honestly if you ARE an Adrino fan, you probably already have).

So in this scenario, Adrien was sent to London and didn't get to return, so he gave Plagg the ring so he could find another Holder. In this case, Nino. After a few years, once he's an adult, Adrien manages to come back from London, but he's in ROUGH shape. He drinks a lot, he has a reputation for partying hard and causing disruptions, and is really depressed and hates himself, and hates Felinoir (Nino's Black Cat form) even more, for having what he lost.

But even while Adrien's pushing everyone away to protect himself, his old friends refuse to give up on him, even though he's given up on himself.

While Adrien's problems are the primary focus of the fic, they're not the entire focus. Nino gets a POV, and he has personal issues and insecurities of his own. He has trouble holding down relationships, he doesn't have a lot of close friends these days, and he's struggling to keep up in school with all the akumas he's had to fight. He and Ladybug are fine coworkers, but they aren't much more than that - they aren't friends like Chat Noir and Ladybug were.

Oh, also, Nino's a transman. That's also caused some issues in making and keeping friends.

It's a beautiful story of one person hitting rock-bottom and gradually being pulled back out of it again, until they can stand on their own and push themselves up the rest of the way, and of a friend who discovers their childhood best friend (and crush) has changed enormously since they last saw them, and not in good ways - only to find that their friend is, at their core, still there. They just need help seeing it themselves.

---

A Small but Stubborn Fire by @cardiac-agreste

What if you were the parent of a teenage superhero, but didn't know they were? All you know is the nightmares, the panic attacks, and the bruises. She's missing school, she's disappearing on you, and she's not telling you anything. So you assume the worst: Assault. Depression. A permanent rift in the family. And what do you do when you realize you weren't thinking dark enough? Because your fourteen-year old daughter is the hero who flirts with death on the nightly news. -- Come inside and read about one mother's struggles to raise her daughter in a dangerous world while avoiding the mistakes her own mother made with her.

This is a more serious take on the consequences of Hawk Moth's war on Paris, with actual bloody, painful deaths as a consequence of many akumas, and Parisians developing PTSD because of what they've gone through. Ladybug can fix all the physical scars, but not the mental ones, including her own.

I love the focus on Sabine here. She's not just presented as being a mom - though of course that IS an important role she has. But she's explored as a character in her own right, one with a lot of emotional baggage as a result of her abusive mother, and trying to not fall into her mistakes, but sometimes doing so anyway out of fear for Marinette's safety. She's a really fleshed out, humanly flawed character, sometimes admitting that she would do something selfish if it means protecting the people she cares most about, like her daughter, even if its at others expense. She grows and changes a lot throughout the course of the story, her perspective on many matters changing multiple times as a result of getting new information or seeing the consequences of her previous approaches, and adjusting as a result.

If you want a fic that more realistically explores the dark consequences of Miraculous's setting, that fleshes out Sabine, or just develops a character in a complex way, then I highly recommend you check "A Small but Stubborn Fire" out!

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Made Miracles series by InkyIbis

A rewrite of Miraculous Ladybug (specifically with the miraculouses lore) with endgame Adrino! It mostly builds off the beginning canon and loosely off the later seasons with a lot more consequences than what the show has for when a magical terrorist shows up out of the blue. In that way, each book is considered like a season with the chapters being the episodes.

First fic in the series: Awaken

The previously white butterfly, now oozing black and purple as a conduit of the butterfly miraculous powers, flutters softly within the silvered-gloved hand. It sits there for a long time. "Go, my akuma," The soft sigh pushes the butterfly, the akuma, out towards the despair of a love not returned. The same ache within his chest. On a level so great that he's willing to sacrifice the city to mend it. It's okay if he's the villain for now. He'll force the miraculous of creation and destruction to be revealed, and once he gets his hands on them, none of this pain, none of his loss, will ever happen.

I put the first fic on my reclist for 2023, and now that the series is completed, I'm putting the whole thing on my reclist for 2024. If you want a rewrite of the series that gives Adrien top-billing, evens out Ladybug's and Chat Noir's power dynamic, is darker, and has Adrino as the main ship, then this series should be right up your alley.

---

To Catch A Thief by @jheqiawrites

As a newly minted agent of INTERPOL, Marinette Dupain-Cheng scores the catch of a lifetime - nabbing the infamous thief and con artist Cat Noir. However, she's the only one who knows that he let her catch him. Soon her life turned upside down by a handsome, not quite reformed, thief who says she is the only person he trusts and they have bigger fish to fry: a secret criminal organization called AKUMA. Together, they solve cases and follow the illusive whispers about a man calling himself Monarch who never leaves a trace. What all is Cat Noir hiding? Will they expose the criminal underworld to the searing light of justice? And will Marinette fall for the man behind the masks?

This fic is inspired by a tv show called "White Collar", about a criminal informant and his handler solving cases. It does not follow the plotlines of that show, however, just the basic concept. While this is a No Powers AU, so there's now superpowers, the kwamis are human, etc, characters' personalities are still pretty intact.

Anyway, it's a lot of fun! I loved seeing Adrien's and Marinette's relationship develop, and the bureau slowly growing to like and trust Adrien, to want him to be safe and happy and to help him with his problems (it helps that his problems tend to be their problems as well, AKUMA doesn't like Chat Noir much.)

---

A Breach In The Brooch by @piromina

Ladybug and Chat Noir are the heroes of Paris. Hawkmoth is Chat Noir's father. Chat Noir is aware of this. Hawkmoth is not.

So this is an interesting spin on the classic "Gabriel recruits Adrien early on to help him" plotline. Mostly because Adrien is still Chat Noir in this AND still helping Ladybug as a superhero - Gabriel has no clue about his secret identity.

Plagg, unsurprisingly, isn't thrilled about Adrien refusing to tell Ladybug what he knows about Hawkmoth's identity, and that Adrien keeps following Gabriel's orders, even when he knows they're wrong. Though he figures out before Adrien does that Adrien's compulsion to follow his father's orders isn't just a psychological thing...

I really love Plagg in this especially, he's the MVP. He knows what it's like to be compelled to do or not to do certain things, so he's good at comforting Adrien over it and at finding loopholes for him.

---

Withered Wings by @11jj11

Nino wasn’t sure if anyone had ever willingly took the akuma butterfly before him, but with his mind completely open to this apparent son of Hawk Moth he knew that he couldn’t turn him away. Not someone that was so afraid, not someone who would be left at the mercy of Hawk Moth.

This fic is amazing! Just... some absolutely stellar Adrino, with some nice Alyanette on the side, AND it's one of the best Enemies AU (well, sort of. Adrien's on Hawkmoth's side, but Nino isn't, exactly), in the fandom! I love how much we get of Nino's perspective, his determination to save this boy who's been thrown into these battles, who clearly doesn't want to hurt people but is compelled to do so, while balancing it with trying to prevent damage to anyone else as well. He has to be the one to look after Adrien, because no one else will do so.

I also love the focus Alya gets here, as Marinette's partner. She does an amazing job in the role, with every Miraculous she gets, even though she isn't a perfect wielder.

That's something else, I like the bits of worldbuilding this adds in, with people who fully embody the aspect a kwami represents being able to transform more fully. That does not mean, however, that an imperfect match is a bad thing, the kwami and wielder can still be very strong together and get along well, even if they don't perfectly align.

I adore how Nino had to balance his roles in this, helping Adrien without hurting others, even fighting back against the heroes as needed, as much as he didn't want to. And how understanding people were when they found out the full story of what was going on. It's a truly fantastic story that anyone who likes Enemies AU, Adrino, or just want to read a good Miraculous fic should check out.

I do want to warn that Gabriel and Nathalie are significantly OOC in this. Gabriel's even more abusive and colder than he is in canon, and Nathalie is WAY worse. This fic started before season 5, so it wasn't known what Nathalie's red line would be. As a result, Adrien's more downtrodden than he is in canon, since the consequences of disobedience are worse than being cut off from friends, or even being made to sit in a blank white room indefinitely.