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solxamber · 2 days ago

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Winner Takes It All

The one in which they're too late.

Characters: Ace - Deuce, Leona - Vil, Jamil - Kalim

Angst no comfort!

divider credits to @chocolatebearstrawberry i love you <3

Ace - Deuce

"So, uh..." Deuce's face is redder than Riddle's hair as he fidgets with the hem of his uniform jacket. "We wanted to tell you something."

Ace glances up from his phone, sprawled across his bed in their shared dorm room. "Yeah? Did you finally figure out that two plus two equals four, Juice?"

You elbow him lightly, but you're smiling—that soft, fond smile that makes something warm unfurl in Ace's chest every single time. The same smile he's been hoarding like treasure for months, telling himself he has all the time in the world to make it his.

"Be nice," you chide, and God, he loves when you do that. Loves the way you defend Deuce but still laugh at his jokes. Loves how you've somehow managed to make your chaotic trio work when by all rights, it should have fallen apart ages ago.

"We're dating now," Deuce blurts out, and the words hang in the air like a death sentence.

Ace's phone slips from his fingers.

For a moment, the room is so quiet he can hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. Can hear the way his breath catches in his throat like he's been sucker-punched. Can hear the world reshuffling itself around him, rearranging into a configuration where you belong to someone else.

Where you belong to Deuce.

"Oh," he says, and his voice sounds strange and distant even to his own ears. "Oh, cool."

You're watching him carefully, your expression uncertain. "Ace? Are you okay?"

And that—that breaks something in him. Because of course you'd be worried about him. Of course you'd care about his reaction even in your moment of happiness. You've always been like that, always putting everyone else first, always making sure no one gets left behind.

He should have known you'd fall for someone who does the same thing.

The laugh that bubbles up from his chest tastes like blood and sounds like broken glass. "Okay? I'm great! This is hilarious." He sits up, forcing that familiar cocky grin onto his face even though it feels like wearing a mask made of knives. "Deuce actually managed to get a partner before me? Man, I really am losing my touch."

Deuce flushes darker. "It's not a competition, Ace."

"Isn't it though?" The words slip out sharper than he intended, and he sees you flinch. Sees the hurt flash across your face, and he wants to take it back, wants to swallow the poison before it can spread. But it's too late. It's always too late with him.

"I mean," he continues, dialing back the venom and cranking up the trademark Ace Trappola charm, "someone had to win eventually, right? And hey, at least it wasn't some random guy from another dorm. That would've been embarrassing."

You and Deuce exchange a look—one of those silent conversations that couples have, and isn't that just perfect? You're already developing your own language, your own secret world that doesn't include him.

"We were worried about telling you," you admit quietly. "We didn't want things to be weird between us."

Things are already weird, he wants to scream. Things have been weird since the day I realized I was in love with my best friend and did absolutely nothing about it.

Instead, he shrugs. "Why would it be weird? You're both my friends. I'm happy for you."

The lies taste like ash in his mouth.

"Really?" Deuce asks, and there's something fragile in his voice. Something that makes Ace remember they're supposed to be best friends too. That he's supposed to care about Deuce's happiness.

And he does. That's the worst part. Even through the jealousy and the pain and the way his chest feels like it's caving in on itself, he genuinely cares about Deuce. Loves him like a brother. Which makes this whole situation feel like a betrayal and a tragedy all rolled into one.

"Really," Ace says, and this time he almost means it. "You're good for each other. Deuce needs someone who'll keep him from running headfirst into traffic, and you need someone who actually listens when you talk."

Unlike me. The words hang unspoken in the air.

You beam at him, relief written all over your face, and lean over to hug him. For a moment, you're in his arms again—warm and familiar and perfect—and he lets himself pretend. Lets himself imagine this is you telling him you love him back, not you saying goodbye to whatever chance he never took.

"Thank you," you whisper against his shoulder. "This means everything."

You mean everything, he doesn't say. You meant everything, and I was too much of a coward to tell you.

Instead, he pats your back and grins when you pull away. "Yeah, yeah, don't get all sappy on me. Save that for lover boy over here."

Deuce groans and covers his face with his hands. "Please don't call me that."

"Oh, I'm absolutely calling you that. And Juicy. And honey bun. And—"

"Ace!" you and Deuce protest in unison, and the sound of your laughter mixing together is beautiful and terrible and everything he'll never have.

Later, after you've both left to go celebrate or whatever it is new couples do, Ace lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling. His phone buzzes with notifications—probably Cater posting something stupid on Magicam, or Grim demanding tuna.

He ignores it all.

The thing is, he'd always just assumed. Assumed you'd be there when he was ready. Assumed that someday, when he'd gotten his act together, when he'd figured out how to be the kind of guy who deserves someone like you—someday, you'd still be waiting.

He'd been building himself a fence, thinking he was being smart. Playing it cool. Not wanting to ruin the friendship if you didn't feel the same way. Too scared of rejection to risk it all.

But while he was busy protecting himself, Deuce was being brave. Deuce was showing up. Deuce was becoming everything Ace was too much of a coward to be.

And now Deuce gets to hold your hand in public. Gets to kiss you goodnight. Gets to wake up every day knowing he's the one you chose.

The winner takes it all.

Ace rolls over and buries his face in his pillow, finally letting the mask slip. Finally letting himself feel the full weight of what he's lost, what he never even tried to win.

His phone buzzes again. A text from you: Thanks for being so cool about this. Love you, Ace.

He stares at those three words until his vision blurs, knowing you'll never mean them the way he does when he types back: Love you too, loser.

The gods threw their dice, and someone way down here lost someone dear.

And all Ace can do is smile and pretend his heart isn't breaking.

Leona - Vil

The words hit him like a physical blow.

"Did you hear? They're dating now—officially."

Leona's grip tightens around his phone, knuckles going white as Ruggie's voice continues on the other end, oblivious to the way his housewarden's world just tilted off its axis.

"Vil and—"

He hangs up before he can hear your name spoken in the same breath as his. The phone clatters onto his desk, and Leona stares at it like it's personally offended him. Like it's the messenger he wants to shoot.

But the damage is done. The words are already echoing in his skull, bouncing around like shards of glass.

You're with him now.

Leona sinks back into his chair, one hand dragging down his face as something hot and vicious claws at his chest. It burns—Sevens, it burns like he's swallowed fire, like there's molten metal pooling in his lungs. He can't breathe around it.

He should have seen this coming. Should have known that someone like you wouldn't stay single forever. Should have known that when he let his pride and his fears drive you away, someone else would be there to catch what he'd been too much of a coward to hold onto.

And of course it had to be Vil.

Perfect, untouchable Vil Schoenheit. Everything Leona isn't and never will be. Where Leona is rough edges and lazy afternoons, Vil is polished perfection and ambition that burns brighter than the sun. Where Leona pushes people away with his sharp tongue and sharper truths, Vil draws them in with charm and grace.

The worst part? He can see it. Can see exactly why you'd choose Vil over the memory of what you had together. Vil won't make you feel like you're asking for too much when you want to hold his hand in public. Won't make you question if he actually cares when he gets distant and cold. Won't make you cry in empty hallways because he's too proud to say the words you needed to hear.

Leona's jaw clenches so hard it aches.

He wants you in his arms instead. And that's the thing that's killing him—you had belonged there. In his arms, in his space, in his life. You'd fit against him like you were made for it, like the universe had crafted you specifically to fill the hollow spaces he'd carried around his whole life. And for a while, a brief, shining while, he'd let himself believe it could last.

But he'd been a fool. Playing by rules he'd never understood, building walls when he should have been building bridges. Every time you'd reached for him, he'd pulled back. Every time you'd needed reassurance, he'd given you silence. Every time you'd tried to make it work, he'd found a new way to sabotage it.

Because that's what second sons are good for, right? Destroying things. Being the one who doesn't get the crown, doesn't get the happy ending.

The chair groans as he pushes back from his desk, stalking to the window. The sun is setting over the garden, painting everything gold and orange, and he wonders if you're watching it too. If you're watching it with him.

His reflection stares back at him from the glass—tired eyes, bitter smile, the face of someone who's lost everything that mattered and knows it's his own damn fault.

"The winner takes it all," he murmurs to his reflection, voice rough with something that might be tears if he were anyone else. If he were the kind of person who got to cry over lost love instead of just... enduring it.

But he's not. He's Leona Kingscholar, second prince of the Sunset Savanna, and he doesn't get to fall apart just because the best thing in his life chose someone better.

Even if it's ripping him apart from the inside out.

Even if he'd give anything—his pride, his title, his very soul—for one more chance to hold you and do it right this time.

Even if the thought of Vil's hands where his used to be makes him want to scream until his throat bleeds.

The sun disappears behind the horizon, and Leona closes his eyes.

Why should I complain?

Jamil - Kalim

"Jamil! Jamil, you'll never guess what happened!"

Kalim bursts through the door of Scarabia's lounge like a miniature sun, all bright smiles and boundless energy. He's practically vibrating with excitement, and Jamil doesn't need to guess what's put that particular glow in his eyes.

He already knows. Has known since he saw you and Kalim dancing together at last night's party, saw the way you laughed at something Kalim whispered in your ear, saw the way Kalim looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

"Let me guess," Jamil says, not looking up from the paperwork spread across the coffee table. His voice is perfectly level, perfectly controlled. Years of practice have made him an expert at hiding the cracks in his composure. "You asked them out."

"Yes! And they said yes!" Kalim spins around, arms spread wide like he wants to embrace the whole world. "Can you believe it? I was so nervous, but you know how you always tell me to just be honest about my feelings? So I did, and—Jamil, I think I'm in love."

The pen in Jamil's hand stops moving.

Be honest about your feelings.

Of course. Of course that's the advice that would come back to haunt him. How many times has he told Kalim exactly that? How many times has he watched him succeed simply by wearing his heart on his sleeve, by being brave in all the ways Jamil has never allowed himself to be?

Jamil clears his throat, forces the words out.

"I'm happy for you."

And the truly devastating part is that he means it. Even as his own heart is crumbling to dust in his chest, even as every breath feels like swallowing glass, he genuinely wants Kalim to be happy. Because that's what he's been trained to do his entire life—put Kalim's happiness above his own.

Even when it destroys him.

"I have to plan the perfect date," Kalim continues, oblivious to the way Jamil's world has just collapsed. "Maybe a carpet ride at sunset? Or we could have a picnic by the oasis! Oh, or—"

"The carpet ride," Jamil interrupts quietly. "They mentioned once that they'd always wanted to try flying."

You'd mentioned it to him. During one of those late-night conversations when it was just the two of them in the kitchen, when you'd help him prep for the next day's meals and talk about everything and nothing. You'd looked so wistful when you said it, so quietly longing, and Jamil had filed it away in his heart like every other precious detail about you.

He'd planned to take you himself. Had been working up the courage for weeks, crafting the perfect moment in his mind. After the next exam, he'd told himself. After Kalim's birthday celebration. After the inter-dorm tournament. Always after, always waiting for the perfect moment that would never come.

"Really?" Kalim's face lights up even brighter, if that's possible. "You always know exactly what people want, Jamil. You're the best!"

The praise feels like a knife between his ribs.

"I should go tell them now!" Kalim heads for the door, then pauses and turns back. "Actually, wait. You don't mind, do you? I know you two are friends, and I don't want things to be weird..."

Mind? Jamil wants to laugh, wants to scream, wants to grab Kalim by the shoulders and shake him until he understands that this isn't just friendship, that Jamil has been desperately, hopelessly in love with you for months.

But he can't. Because Kalim is looking at him with such genuine concern, such innocent worry about disrupting a friendship, and it's clear that Kalim has no idea. No clue that Jamil's feelings run deeper than casual companionship.

And why would he? Jamil has spent so long hiding, so long keeping every emotion locked behind layers of duty and propriety and fear. So long being the perfect servant who wants for nothing, who exists only to facilitate his master's happiness.

"Of course not," Jamil says, and his voice doesn't even waver. "Why would I mind? You're perfect for each other."

More perfect than we could ever be.

The thought tastes bitter as poison. Because it's true, isn't it? Kalim can offer you everything Jamil can't. Freedom. Adventure. A future without the weight of servitude hanging over every moment. Kalim can love you openly, publicly, without having to hide behind carefully constructed walls.

Kalim can give you the world. Jamil can barely give you an honest conversation about his feelings.

"Thanks, Jamil!" Kalim beams and rushes out, leaving Jamil alone with the wreckage of his carefully guarded heart.

The paperwork blurs in front of him. The numbers don't make sense anymore, each figure dissolving into meaningless shapes as something hot and desperate claws at his throat.

He'd been so careful. So cautious. Waiting for the right moment, the right words, the right everything. Terrified of rejection, yes, but more terrified of what acceptance might mean. How could he ask you to tie yourself to someone who isn't even free? Someone who can't promise you anything beyond stolen moments and hidden affection?

But while he was busy protecting himself, protecting you from the complications his feelings would bring, Kalim was simply... being Kalim. Open. Honest. Brave in the way that only someone who's never had to hide can be.

The winner takes it all, and the loser has to fall.

Jamil sets down his pen and buries his face in his hands, finally allowing himself this one moment of weakness. This one moment to mourn what never was and never could have been.

Tomorrow, he'll smile and congratulate you both. He'll help plan the perfect dates and give the perfect advice and be the perfect friend, because that's what's expected of him. That's what he's good at.

But tonight, in the silence of his own failure, Jamil lets himself grieve for the love he was too afraid to fight for.

Masterlist

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uncuredturkeybacon · 24 hours ago

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𝚖𝚒𝚌’𝚍 𝚞𝚙 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which it’s just you, paige and a camera you forget is there

You’ve done this a hundred times—more, probably—but today feels different.

The studio is quiet except for the soft hum of LED panels and the occasional creak of your chair as you adjust your posture for the fifth time in ten minutes. Your assistant, Em, is in the editing bay making last-minute tweaks to the intro roll, but you can still feel her watching you through the glass with that knowing grin. She’s already teased you enough this morning.

“You’re fixing your hair again,” she says into your earpiece, voice crackling through the comm. “It looks fine. You look fine. Stop.”

You roll your eyes and shoot a sarcastic thumbs-up at the one-way glass, ignoring the slight heat in your cheeks.

Fine isn’t good enough today.

Because today, your guest isn’t just a guest. She’s the guest.

Paige Bueckers.

And yeah, sure, you’ve interviewed top tier athletes before—Megan Rapinoe, Candace Parker, even Serena Williams via video call once—but something about Paige is different. Maybe it’s the way she plays like poetry in motion. Maybe it’s how she carries herself—quiet, thoughtful, deadly on the court and disarmingly soft off of it. Maybe it’s just the damn smile you’ve seen in a hundred slow motion TikToks that fans lovingly post after every Dallas Wings game.

Or maybe, more realistically, it’s that you’ve had a crush on her since UConn, and you’re two hours away from sharing a couch and a mic with her for an hour straight.

“She Scores” has always been your passion project. What started as a niche podcast in your college dorm now pulls millions of listeners every week. You’re known for being sharp, knowledgeable, casually flirty without being pushy, and for asking questions no one else thinks to ask. But beneath all the polish and prep, you’re still just a massive women’s sports nerd who gets giddy when you get to sit down with the athletes who shaped the game.

You run through your notes again—childhood, UConn, transition to the W, off-day hobbies, rapid fire—but you already know you won’t stick to them perfectly. You never do. The best conversations happen when you let things drift. You’re just hoping you don’t drift too far into Oh my god she’s so pretty, stay normal territory.

Em buzzes back in.

“Just got word—she’s on her way up.”

You freeze for a beat, then rise from your chair and take a deep breath, brushing invisible dust off your vintage Lisa Leslie hoodie. You’re wearing sneakers that cost too much and jeans that hug just right, and your hair has been sitting at an intentional degree of messy for the past hour. Cool. Collected. Professional. Mostly.

The knock at the door is soft. You turn as your producer opens it, and there she is.

Paige Bueckers.

And she’s early.

You didn’t expect that.

She’s dressed in a simple grey zip-up and black sweatpants, no makeup, hair pulled back into a loose bun. Effortlessly beautiful. A little taller than you imagined—though that might be the sneakers. Her eyes meet yours, blue and steady, and she smiles.

“Hey,” she says, voice quieter than you thought it’d be. “I’m Paige.”

As if you didn’t know.

You step forward, trying not to radiate pure gay panic. “Hey! Welcome. I’m so glad you could make it. And you’re early, which automatically makes you my favorite guest.”

She laughs, short and real. “I was scared of LA traffic. Got lucky, I guess.”

You offer her water. She takes it. Her fingers brush yours for a second too long. Or maybe not long enough.

“You good to hang out in the green room for a bit?” you ask. “We don’t record for another half hour, but I figured it might be nice to talk first. Get comfortable.”

“I’d like that,” she says, and your heart taps out a Morse code you hope doesn’t show on your face.

You lead her to the smaller side room off the main studio, a cozy space with a worn leather couch, some plants that are somehow still alive, and shelves lined with sports memorabilia—signed basketballs, framed jerseys, candid photos with former guests. She walks past the wall and pauses when she sees the signed Sue Bird jersey.

“You’ve had Sue on here?” she asks, blinking.

You grin. “Yeah. She wore that jersey the first time we talked. She signed it after I beat her in a game of HORSE.”

Paige raises an eyebrow. “You beat Sue Bird in HORSE?”

“Well, technically, I distracted her by asking about her some dumbass question, but a win is a win.”

She smiles again—wider this time—and sinks into the couch, folding one leg under herself.

“So, do I get the same treatment?” she asks. “You gonna ambush me with personal questions?”

“Nope,” you reply, sitting across from her. “I already know pretty much a lot. Twitter’s been over that since the UConn days.”

She groans softly, tipping her head back. “God. Twitter knows too much.”

You watch her for a moment, just… existing. Relaxed. Present. And you realize she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who enjoys small talk for its own sake. But you also don’t want to jump right into deep questions.

“You nervous?” you ask instead. Simple. Honest.

She shrugs. “A little. I’ve seen your podcast before. You don’t really let people off the hook.”

You smirk. “That’s true. But you’re in good hands.”

She looks at you, and something flickers between you. Not full-blown tension yet, but something.

You glance down at your phone, pretending to check the time. You’re stalling, which is dumb. You never stall.

“You wanna run through the outline real quick?” you offer. “Just to know what’s coming.”

She tilts her head. “Or… we could wing it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Winging it with a podcaster is dangerous, Bueckers.”

“I like dangerous,” she says, then blinks like she didn’t mean to say it quite like that.

You catch it. You catch everything.

“Well,” you say, standing, “let’s give the people what they want.”

She follows you back into the studio, her presence magnetic even in silence. Your team starts final checks—lighting, mic levels, camera angles. You settle onto the couch next to her, not too close, not too far. You adjust your notes, but your hands aren’t shaking.

Not anymore.

She turns to you, just before you go live.

“You good?” she asks.

It’s simple, but the way she says it—grounded, like she sees you—settles something in your chest.

“Yeah,” you say, meeting her eyes. “You?”

She nods once. “Let’s do it.”

The red light is on, the music fades out, and you smile into the mic.

“Welcome back to She Scores, the podcast that unapologetically talks all things women’s sports—from buzzer beaters to backdoor cuts and everything in between. I’m your host, and today… listen. You already know. I don’t even need to hype this up but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

You turn your body slightly, just enough to face her.

“Joining me in the studio is a certified bucket. UConn royalty. NCAA Player of the Year, ESPY winner, national champion, and now… Dallas Wings rookie and all-around media mystery—Paige Bueckers. Paige, hi.”

She’s already smiling, eyes wide and slightly amused. She leans forward, adjusting the mic with practiced ease.

“Hey. Wow. That was… a lot.”

You smirk. “Too much?”

“No,” she says, laughing. “Just… you made me sound way cooler than I feel.”

“That’s kind of my thing,” you tease. “Making legends sound approachable.”

She lets out a little breath, like she’s trying not to smile harder than she should. Already, the chemistry crackles—not obvious to the untrained eye, but fans at home are going to pick up on this. Especially the ones with compilation and edit accounts.

“So how does it feel?” you ask. “The WNBA. First season. First media tour. Sitting across from me. Try not to be overwhelmed.”

She laughs again, easing into her seat. “It’s surreal. All of it. Some days I wake up and still feel like I’m on a college schedule. Like I’m supposed to be running sprints at 6AM.”

“Trauma.”

“Literal trauma,” she confirms, mock serious.

You nod. “We’ll get into UConn trauma in a second. But first, let’s take it back. Way, way back. Minnesota. Hopkins. Little Paigey. What’s your first basketball memory?”

She pauses thoughtfully. “I think I was maybe three? My dad had this mini hoop in our living room. The kind that’s too low for anyone over four feet tall.”

“Unfair advantage,” you interject.

“Exactly. But I remember shooting on that every day. He taught me how to pass. We’d play these one on one games—he’d let me score just enough to keep me hooked. And then when I finally beat him for real, I cried.”

“Wait, you cried?”

“Yeah,” she says, almost sheepish. “Like ugly cried. I didn’t know what to do with the win.”

“That’s deeply poetic,” you say. “Beating the person who taught you. The origin story of a future number one overall pick.”

She shrugs, but she’s glowing a little. “I just liked the sound of the ball going through the net. I still do.”

There’s a moment there—small, golden. You don’t rush it.

“You talk about that sound like it’s music.”

She glances at you. “It kinda is, right?”

Your smile deepens. “See, this is why I’m glad this isn’t a live podcast. People would already be tweeting unhinged things. Like we’re flirting.”

She laughs, but there’s something in her eyes—a flash of interest, maybe curiosity. “Are we?”

“Dunno,” you say, flipping a pen between your fingers. “We’ll let the comment section decide.”

She leans forward a bit more, playful. “Dangerous game.”

“I like dangerous,” you echo, and there it is again—like you’re circling something neither of you fully plan to name. You redirect, but only slightly. “So when did it get serious? Like, serious serious. When did Paige Bueckers go from ‘cute kid with a mini hoop’ to ‘national recruit and Gatorade Player of the Year’?”

Her smile fades into something more grounded, thoughtful.

“Probably middle school. I was playing up against older kids. My coaches were honest with me early—they told me I had potential, but I had to want it. Like, really want it.”

You nod, sipping from your water as you watch her speak. “And you did.”

“I did,” she says. “I still do. I don’t think that’s ever changed.”

You scribble something in your notebook, not because you need to, but because you need to look away for a second. The way she talks—low, deliberate, with that quiet confidence—makes it a little hard to keep your cool. You’ve interviewed charismatic people before. But Paige? She’s that rare mix of humble and magnetic. The kind that makes you forget you’re working.

“Talk to me about Hopkins,” you say. “You were a walking headline by, like, freshman year.”

Paige makes a face. “Ugh. I was also a walking awkward phase.”

“You and every lesbian born in the early 2000s,” you reply.

She laughs, covering her mouth for a second. “I didn’t even know back then—”

“Oh, sweetie,” you say, deadpan. “We all knew.”

She tilts her head, pretending to be scandalized. “Are you outing me on my own episode?”

“Absolutely not. But girl, be so for real right now.”

“Wow,” she says, laughing, “this is targeted.”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Just doing my journalistic duty.”

The banter flows, faster now. She’s open, unguarded. You ask about pressure, expectations, media narratives. She gives measured but honest responses. You don’t grill—never do—but you go deep, and she meets you there.

You click your pen like it matters, but you’re not taking notes anymore. Not really. You’re just watching her speak—fluid, honest, careful in a way that doesn’t hide anything but still keeps a part of her close to the chest.

“So, let’s talk about it,” you say, leaning back in your chair, mic close to your mouth. “The elephant in the room.”

Paige raises an eyebrow, amused. “There’s an elephant?”

“There is,” you nod seriously. “Its name is Geno Auriemma.”

She laughs—light, warm, fond.

“Oh, God.”

“No, no, we’re gonna go there,” you grin. “Because we’ve talked about Minnesota, we’ve talked about middle school, we’ve talked about how you terrorized local basketball courts by age twelve. But I want to know—why UConn? Why Geno? You had offers from literally everyone.”

She exhales slowly, as if this is a question she’s answered before but never gets tired of answering.

“I think... deep down, I always knew.”

“Why though?”

“The legacy,” she says first. “The culture. The players who came before me. It wasn’t just about playing at a top program. It was about pressure. UConn has this... weight to it. You don’t go there unless you’re willing to be great.”

You tilt your head, lips curling.

“So you just wanted to be surrounded by greatness?”

She smirks back. “Yeah. Kind of like right now.”

You cough, trying to cover the grin that breaks out too fast.

“Wow,” you say, shaking your head. “Are you flirting with your host mid answer?”

“You started it.”

“Very unprofessional. I’m literally just doing my job.”

“And doing it very well,” she says, with zero hesitation.

You blink. The room feels warmer. Or maybe it’s just you. You pull it back together, even if it takes effort.

“Okay. Back on track before I combust,” you mutter. “UConn. Talk me through it. Year one. Year two. Everything.”

She exhales again, a little softer now.

“It changed me,” she says simply.

You let the pause settle. “How?”

She looks at the ceiling, then down at her hands, fingers lightly curled in her lap. “I think there’s this myth that when you get to a place like UConn, you arrive fully formed. Like, you’re already who you’re supposed to be. But I wasn’t. Not even close.”

You nod, gently. “None of us are at eighteen.”

“I was scared,” she admits. “I was confident on the court, yeah. But everything off it? The pressure. The expectations. The comparisons. It messed with my head.”

There’s no pity in your expression—just knowing. You’ve watched too many athletes burn out under the same spotlight.

“I got hurt, too,” she continues. “Sophomore year. That knee.”

Your voice softens. “I remember.”

“Everyone remembers. It’s weird, you know? Being reduced to a timeline. ‘Six weeks out. Six months. A year. Will she be back for March? Is she ever gonna be the same?’ I stopped being a person and started being... a question.”

You don’t rush in with sympathy. You just let her have the silence. She fills it naturally.

“But I had people,” she says, voice gentler now. “My teammates. The trainers. Geno.”

“What was he like through that?” you ask. “Because people love to paint him as this gruff, yelling machine.”

She grins. “He is. But also... he listens. When you let him. When I was quiet—too quiet—he noticed. And he pulled me aside one day after practice. Didn’t yell. Just said, ‘I know it sucks. But you’re still here. That matters.’”

You write that quote down before you realize you’re doing it.

You glance at her again, and she’s watching you with a kind of cautious ease, like she’s not used to people writing her words down without turning them into headlines.

You smile. “You grew up at UConn.”

She nods. “I really did.”

“Who was your rock while you were there?”

“Azzi,” she says immediately.

There’s a new kind of stillness in her voice. Familial, rooted, undeniable.

“Azzi was—she is—one of the most disciplined people I’ve ever met,” Paige continues. “Like, I’d be on the couch recovering and she’d come in from shooting for two hours and say, ‘Want to play Uno?’ Like it was nothing.”

You laugh. “What’s the Uno score between you two?”

“Oh, I stopped keeping track when I realized she cheats.”

“She what?”

“Allegedly,” Paige adds, eyes twinkling.

You grin. “I’m putting that in the episode title. ‘Paige Bueckers Accuses Azzi Fudd of Cheating at Uno.’”

“She’s gonna kill me,” Paige laughs.

“She’ll love it.” You hesitate. “It sounds like you really leaned on her.”

“I did,” she says. “But not just for the injuries or the hard stuff. For the little stuff too. Like, post-game takeout orders. Netflix recs. The stupid stuff that makes it all feel normal.”

“And what about team chemistry?” you ask. “Because from the outside, that UConn squad felt... locked in. Like you’d die for each other.”

“We would’ve,” she says softly.

You’re quiet for a beat. “That real, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, we had our fights. We had our off days. But we always knew how to come back to center. I think that’s what made it work.”

You sit in that. The weight of it. The warmth.

“What was the moment you knew,” you ask slowly, “that you weren’t just good—you were built for this?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her mouth moves around the air like she’s sifting through time.

“There was a game my junior year,” she says. “We were down at halftime. I’d missed, like, seven shots. Geno told me I looked like I forgot who I was.”

You smile at the phrasing. “Classic.”

“Yeah. But it hit me. Because he was right. I’d let doubt take over. So the second half, I didn’t think. I just played. And I think I had, like... seventeen points in the third quarter alone.”

You whistle. “That’s not just playing. That’s poetry.”

She shrugs. “That’s UConn.”

You glance down, heart still tight from the way she said all of it—like she left pieces of herself behind on that court.

“You ever miss it?” you ask gently.

She nods, quick. “All the time.”

“What do you miss most?”

There’s a pause. Then, “The routine. The locker room. The smell of old sweat and bad jokes. Running suicides and pretending not to cry. Group chats about who forgot to bring their shoes. You know—real team stuff.”

“God,” you murmur, laughing, “that’s weirdly specific and deeply nostalgic.”

She grins. “It’s the stuff no one sees that sticks.” You nod again, feeling it. You’ve never been a college athlete, but you’ve been on enough sidelines to understand how those echoes live in you long after the lights fade. “And I trusted my gut when I went there. I still do.” You lift your gaze. Her voice drops, just slightly. “It’s never let me down.”

Your breath hitches.

Something about the way she says it—low, unwavering, not for show—cracks open a tiny place in you. You mirror it without thinking.

“I know what you mean,” you say. Your voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be.

There’s a beat. Neither of you look away. Neither of you speak. The silence stretches—not uncomfortable, not forced. Just... full.

If Em were in the room, she’d throw something at you. If your editor were watching live, they’d be marking timestamps for clips. You only break the stare because you have to. Not because you want to. You glance down at your notes, which might as well be written in a foreign language now. Nothing on the page matters as much as the thing still buzzing between you and her. When you look back up, Paige is watching you like she’s been doing it the whole time.

You clear your throat. “Well. That was a moment.”

She tilts her head. “Was it?”

“I think I blacked out.”

She laughs, soft and low. “You should trust your gut more.”

You smile, a little breathless. “I think I just did.”

The mics are still rolling. But it doesn’t feel like they’re there.

You ease into the next part of the conversation with practiced grace, but inside, your heart’s still caught on that last moment. The weight of her words. The look that didn’t blink. You’ve had sparks with guests before, but this… this isn’t a spark. It’s a slow burn, one you feel blooming low in your chest, rising like tidewater. Dangerous. Delicious. And entirely unprofessional. But you’re past the point of pretending you don’t enjoy it.

“So,” you say into the mic, voice steadied by muscle memory more than calm, “we’ve talked childhood. We’ve talked college. Let’s talk now. Dallas. Big city. New team. WNBA life. What’s that been like for you so far?”

Paige shifts in her seat. She’s a little more relaxed now—arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly spinning the cap of her water bottle. She smiles, slow and thoughtful.

“It’s... a lot,” she admits, almost laughing at herself. “There’s no other way to say it. It’s fast. Like, faster than I expected. Not just the game—though the speed of the league is insane—but everything. Schedules. Flights. Practices. Media. I feel like I live out of a suitcase now.”

You lean forward a little, eyes on her. “No more dorm room comfort zones.”

“Exactly. I miss knowing where everything is. My spots. The routine. But this—this is pushing me. It’s making me grow. I like that.”

“Tell me about the team,” you say, pen loosely tucked behind your ear, even though you’re not using it anymore. “Because that’s not just any locker room. You’ve got Arike. You’ve got DiJonai. That’s some serious personality to walk into.”

She laughs, head tilting back for a second. “It’s wild. In the best way. Arike’s got this energy that’s just... loud in the most joyful, chaotic way. She’ll walk into practice already roasting everyone. And DiJonai is the most stylish person I’ve ever met. She’ll show up in a full fit at 8 a.m. like it’s fashion week.”

You grin. “Do you feel like the rookie?”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, smiling again. “They keep me humble. Arike made me carry her bag once just because I beat her at a shooting drill.”

“That’s hazing.”

“She called it character building.”

“Same thing.”

“She’s lucky I like her.”

“You like them both?”

“I do,” she says, with warmth that feels earned. “It’s different from college. You don’t have that built-in family right away. You’ve gotta prove yourself. Earn their trust. But they’ve been really supportive. Even when I mess up. Especially when I mess up.”

“Do you mess up a lot?”

She shrugs. “I think everyone does. But I try to learn fast.”

“And leadership?” you ask. “You were the leader at UConn. Now you’re the rookie again. How’s that shift been?”

She hesitates—just enough for you to catch it.

“It’s humbling,” she says after a beat. “At UConn, people looked to me. Now I’m learning to speak less, listen more. It’s weird, finding your voice again. In a new system. A new city.”

You nod. “For what it’s worth? You’re doing a good job here.”

Her eyes flick to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ve got presence. And you don’t dodge the real stuff.”

A pause. Not long, but full. Charged.

“I think that’s the best compliment I’ve gotten all week,” she says, voice low.

“Maybe I’ll try to beat it before we’re done.”

“Now that’s dangerous,” she says, echoing the phrase from earlier, lips twitching at the edges.

The air between you pulls tighter, warmer. You push forward before it swallows you whole.

“All right,” you say, clearing your throat like that’ll clear the heat in your chest. “Walk me through a day in the life of Paige Bueckers. Not game day. Just... a random off-day in Dallas.”

She exhales like it’s a relief to shift gears.

“I wake up late,” she admits, eyes flicking to yours like she’s confessing a crime. “I’m not a morning person unless I have to be. So maybe 9:30, 10?”

“A rebel,” you murmur.

She smiles. “I stretch. Journal sometimes. Depends on the mood. Then maybe a walk. I like walking. Especially in new places.”

“City walks? Nature? What’s the vibe?”

“City. I like the noise. Headphones in. No destination.”

You hum. “You people watch?”

“Always.”

“And the music?”

She smirks. “What do you think I listen to?”

You blink, caught off guard by the pivot. “Oh, we’re flipping the interview now?”

“Just curious,” she says, but there’s a glint in her eye. “What does your gut tell you?”

You lean back, arms crossed, mock-thinking.

“You strike me as an R&B girl,” you say. “Smooth, layered, a little introverted. You’ve definitely got some SZA in rotation. Maybe Summer Walker. Some old Alicia Keys when you’re feeling dramatic.”

She raises an eyebrow, impressed.

“But,” you continue, slowly, “I also think you secretly listen to sad Taylor Swift songs on planes.”

That does it. She laughs so hard she folds in on herself, hand over her mouth.

“I—how did you—”

“I knew it,” you say, victorious. “You’re a ‘Clean’ or ‘The Archer’ type, huh?”

She’s still laughing. “You don’t miss.”

“You are the archer,” you tease. “Careful aim. Hidden feelings. Lowkey brooding.”

“Oh my God,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You’re exposing me.”

“You exposed yourself, Bueckers.”

She grins. “You’ve been studying me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Just doing my homework.”

“Dangerous,” she repeats again, softer this time.

You catch her gaze, and there it is—something wordless passing between you. Not scripted. Not planned. Just real.

Em’s voice crackles in your ear piece again, distant but amused, “Tell them to get a room.”

You cough. “Sorry, my producer says we’re flirting too hard.”

“Is she wrong?” Paige asks, still smiling.

“Isn’t that for the audience to decide?”

You both laugh. But it’s different now—layered. Knowing. You glance back down at your outline and realize, again, that you haven’t touched it in ten minutes.

“Any hobbies?” you ask, lighter now. “Other than walking with your headphones in and contemplating your entire emotional landscape through sad pop lyrics?”

She groans. “Stop.”

You grin. “Never.”

“I read,” she offers, regaining composure. “Mostly sports bios, but sometimes fiction. Stuff that lets me disappear a little.”

“And when you want to reappear?”

She looks at you, half-tilted smile, eyes softer. “I guess… I come back to things like this. Conversations. People who see me.”

You weren’t ready for that one. You blink, breath catching in your throat.

“Well,” you say, voice suddenly a little unsteady, “hi.”

She mirrors your tone. “Hi.”

And for the third time in less than an hour, you forget entirely that there are cameras on.

You lean back into your chair, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“All right,” you say, tone shifting into something more playful, “you’ve survived the deep dive. You’ve given us poetry, heartbreak, growth arcs. But now it’s time for the real journalism.”

Paige raises a brow, lips twitching. “Oh no.”

“Rapid fire round,” you announce, adjusting your mic dramatically. “No overthinking. Just say the first thing that comes to mind. You ready?”

She nods slowly, suspicious but smiling. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Favorite cheat meal.”

“Chick-fil-A. Spicy deluxe.”

You fake a gasp. “Problematic and spicy. Bold choice.”

She snorts. “Gotta be honest.”

“Pre-game ritual?”

“Getting lost in the music. Right sock on before the left.”

“Superstitious or just vibing?”

“Superstitious. Like, irrationally.”

You make a note. “We’ll revisit that in therapy.”

She laughs, shaking her head.

“Biggest pet peeve?”

“People chewing with their mouths open.”

“That’s fair. What are you bad at?”

There’s a pause, a beat longer than expected. She licks her lips, almost shy.

“Texting back,” she admits.

“Oh?” You lean forward, faux serious. “We’ve found the flaw.”

“Hey,” she says, defensive but laughing. “I read them! I just… don’t reply. Or I do, like, in my head. It’s a problem.”

“You know,” you muse, “that’s dangerous behavior for someone flirting on a podcast.”

She meets your gaze, eyes gleaming. “Who says I won’t reply to you?”

The silence after that is louder than anything you’ve recorded today.

You raise your brows, smirk playing at the edge of your mouth. “We’ll circle back.”

She grins. “Looking forward to it.”

You break eye contact because if you don’t, you’ll fall face-first into it again. Instead, you shuffle your notes, breathe slowly, and shift the tone with practiced ease.

“So,” you say, quieter now, “can I tell you something?”

Paige blinks, surprised by the sudden turn, but nods. “Yeah.”

You rest your elbows on your knees, fingers laced loosely. The studio feels smaller now, intimate. Like the lights have dimmed without anyone touching a switch.

“I started this podcast in my college dorm,” you begin. “Borrowed mics. Blankets tacked on the walls for soundproofing. No sponsors. No following. Just… this need to make space for women’s sports. For athletes who were always doing the most and getting the least attention.”

Paige’s expression shifts—softer, listening in a different way.

“I was mad,” you continue. “That no one was talking about it. Mad that I had to dig through forums and niche blogs to find out when a W game was airing. Mad that girls were breaking records and getting two seconds of coverage between football updates.”

You glance at her, and she’s not smiling anymore. She’s just watching you, gaze warm and unwavering.

“So I built this,” you say. “One episode at a time. And now we’re here. You’re here. And it means a lot.”

She sits with that. Doesn’t rush to respond. Just lets it breathe.

Then she says, quiet and sincere, “Thank you.”

You look up. “For what?”

“For doing it,” she replies. “For caring. For showing up. For giving people like me space to be more than stats and soundbites.”

It hits you harder than you expect. You swallow, nod.

“Sometimes it feels like yelling into the void,” you admit.

“Well,” she says, voice steady, “I hear you.”

And God, the way she says it. Like it’s not just about this podcast. Like she sees more than you’re willing to show. Like she’s been listening to you, even before she stepped into the studio.

The moment lingers. Longer than it should. Neither of you moves. Neither of you speaks. You’re the first to shift, eyes flicking down to your notes. But your voice is soft when you ask the next question.

“All right. Last one. No pressure.”

She leans back a little, sensing the shift. “Hit me.”

“What’s something people always get wrong about you?”

There’s a pause. A long one. Paige’s gaze drops to her hands, fingers twisting the cap of her water bottle again. She breathes in slowly, then out.

“That I’m always put together,” she says finally.

You don’t speak. You just let her keep going.

“I think people look at the highlights and the press and assume I’ve got it all figured out. That I’m calm. Collected. That I don’t break down. But I do. A lot. I get nervous. I overthink. I put so much pressure on myself it sometimes feels like I can’t breathe.”

Her voice doesn’t shake, but it thins a little at the edges.

“I smile through it, because that’s what people expect. But inside? I’m scared all the time. That I’m not enough. That I’ll mess up. That they’ll stop believing in me.”

You nod, slow. “That’s real.”

She exhales. “Yeah.”

You glance at her, and your tone gentles even more.

“Me too,” you say.

She turns toward you.

“I get nervous before every interview,” you admit. “Even now. Especially now.”

Her brows lift slightly. “With me?”

You nod. “Yeah. You’re… more than I expected.” That makes her smile again. Small. Honest. “You’re doing great,” you tell her.

“So are you,” she replies, and something shifts again in the air—like a curtain pulled back, or a room getting quieter when someone important walks in.

The lights haven’t changed. The mics are still on. But everything feels different. You don’t need to say anything else. You just sit in it. Together.

You’ve never wanted an interview to end less.

It’s not just that the episode’s been good—though, objectively, it’s been one of your best. The pacing, the banter, the rhythm. The intimacy that crept in somewhere around the midpoint and never left. It’s all been magnetic. Electric. Like your favorite kind of story, the one you fall into so deeply you forget you’re holding the book.

But time’s up. You feel it before Em signals it in your ear. Before the last question fades into a silence thick with things unsaid.

You tap the edge of the mic once and clear your throat, voice calm but low.

“Well… that’s gonna do it for today’s episode of She Scores.”

Paige’s eyes are still on you, softer than they were an hour ago.

You glance at her, smile twitching at the corners of your mouth.

“Paige Bueckers, thank you for coming through, for sharing your story, and for ruining all other guests for me from this point forward.”

She laughs under her breath. “High praise.”

“I mean it,” you say, more serious now. “This was special.”

She doesn’t speak right away. When she does, her voice is quiet.

“I had fun,” she says.

You nod once, throat tightening for some reason you don’t have time to name.

“I’m your host,” you say into the mic, still looking at her, “and if you need me, I’ll be rewatching this episode on mute just to study eye contact.”

She lets out a full laugh—quiet, disbelieving, charmed. You don’t break the stare.

“And as always,” you finish, voice slow and warm, “thanks for listening. We’ll see you next time.”

The red light clicks off.

The studio doesn’t move right away. It rarely does. Your crew’s used to your pacing, your cadence. They let the moment breathe. But eventually, lights dim to neutral, camera arms swing away, and a few muted voices pick up as people begin unplugging cables and shutting down feeds.

You lean back in your seat, drawing a slow breath.

She stretches her legs slightly, then looks over at you. “That went fast.”

You nod. “That’s how you know it’s good.”

She stands first. You do the same. Neither of you rushes.

Em walks past the set, holding a half-rolled cable over her shoulder. She catches your eye and smirks. You ignore her.

Paige lingers by the couch, hands in her pockets, looking around the studio like she wants to memorize it.

You don’t say anything. You just watch her watching everything.

After a beat, you walk over and gesture toward the door.

“I’ll walk you out.”

She nods. “Cool.”

You step into the quiet hallway side by side. The air’s cooler here, and the low hum of fluorescent lights follows you down the corridor until you reach the side exit near the green room. You stop there, under a small overhead light. It's soft. Pale. Like a halo waiting to happen.

Paige turns slightly and leans back against the wall, her shoulder brushing the cool brick, arms crossed loosely.

“You’re really good at this,” she says.

You tilt your head, amused. “The podcast?”

She shrugs. “All of it. This space. The way you talk to people. It feels... safe.”

That takes the wind out of you a little. In the best way.

You take a small step closer.

“You made it easy,” you say, voice low.

She smiles again. Not wide. Just real. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then—without a word—she pulls out her phone and holds it toward you, screen lit up on the contact page.

“In case I need help prepping for interviews,” she says. You take the phone, eyebrows raised. “Or something like that,” she adds, teasing but quiet.

You type in your number, thumb hovering for a second before you hit save. You don’t add an emoji or anything extra. Just your name. Clean. Simple. But your heart’s not moving simple. It’s skipping. Tripping.

You hand the phone back and she looks at it for a second, nods once, then locks the screen and slips it back into her pocket.

“Well,” she says.

“Well,” you echo.

The silence stretches again, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Just unfinished.

You don’t hug. You don’t say too much. You don’t have to.

She opens the door and steps out into the early evening light. You watch her walk down the path toward the lot—hair catching gold from the sunset, one headphone already in.

She doesn’t look back.

But you stay there, standing in the doorway, your hands tucked into your pockets like maybe they’ll keep you from feeling too much.

A moment later, Em walks up behind you, pausing in the doorway.

She glances at Paige’s retreating figure. Then at you. “You are so down bad.”

You exhale. Slow. A smile cracks the corner of your mouth.

“I know.”

You don’t deny it. You just watch the door swing slowly shut, and try not to already miss her.

It’s just past 8:30 p.m. when a knock comes.

You’re on your couch, bare-faced, in sweats, hair tied up in a lopsided bun. The post-interview high has settled into a quiet hum in your chest, the kind that doesn’t want to fade but also can’t be sustained. You haven’t eaten yet. A half-empty glass of wine sits on the coffee table. The remote’s resting on your stomach. You were debating rewatching the episode clips Em already sent you—Paige’s soft laugh on loop, her eyes lingering on yours like there was more she wasn’t saying.

You haven’t even touched your phone. You’ve been too afraid to find out whether she texted or didn’t.

The knock happens again.

You freeze.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Not food delivery, not friends, not—

No.

No way.

You rise slowly, heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears, and pad barefoot toward the door.

When you open it, you forget how to breathe.

Paige Bueckers is standing on your doorstep, backlit by the hallway’s overhead glow, a bunch of wildflowers in one hand and two overfilled grocery bags in the other. She’s wearing joggers and a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, hair down, glasses slightly crooked, like she threw the whole look together in a rush.

You stare.

She blinks, then offers a crooked smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you echo, dumbly.

She lifts the flowers a little. “So… I might’ve told Em I wanted to see you again and she might’ve given me your address.”

You narrow your eyes. “That little traitor.”

“She said, and I quote, ‘She’s down bad so don’t mess this up.’”

You groan into your hand.

“You’re not the only one,” Paige adds, laughing.

You step back and open the door wider. “Get in here before someone sees you and sells the story to DeuxMoi.”

She steps inside. You take the grocery bags from her hand, eyes scanning their contents—pasta, wine, garlic bread, salad mix, two pints of ice cream, and a suspiciously expensive-looking block of parmesan.

You blink. “This is… a lot of food.”

“I panicked,” she admits, cheeks pink. “I was going to ask you out for dinner tomorrow, but then I realized I didn’t want to wait.”

You look up at her.

She shrugs. “Is that weird?”

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s—God, it’s not weird. It’s really not weird.”

“Good.” She shifts the flowers in her arms. “Because I was kind of already halfway here when I realized I didn’t actually ask.”

You reach for the flowers. “Consider me asked. And saying yes.” You pause. “Like… yes, yes.”

“Yeah?” she asks, a little breathless.

You grin. “Yeah.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re both barefoot in your kitchen. She’s stirring the sauce while you try, and fail, to open the bottle of wine. Soft music plays from the speaker you usually reserve for sad Sunday cleaning sessions.

There’s flour on your cheek, red sauce on her hoodie sleeve, and an entire salad still untouched in a bowl because the two of you got distracted talking about pre-game pump up songs and you accidentally brought up her Rookie of the Month highlight reel with a little too much enthusiasm.

“I knew you watched that ten times,” she teases, hip bumping you lightly.

“I was doing research.”

“For what? Your dreams?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

She sets the spoon down and turns to you, leaning her hip into the counter. “This is nice.”

You nod, heart thudding against your ribs. “It is.”

You’re quiet for a second. Not uncomfortable—just full again. The kind of silence where things settle without losing spark.

Then she tilts her head.

“I didn’t want the night to end,” she says, voice lower now. “After the podcast. I kept thinking about everything I didn’t say.”

“Like what?” you ask, careful not to move too fast.

She meets your gaze. “Like how I didn’t want it to be just one interview. Or one conversation. Or one night.”

Your breath catches.

She steps a little closer, the space between you narrowing to something charged.

“I know we’re both busy,” she murmurs. “Schedules. Travel. Different States. Media stuff. But I wanted you to know that I meant it—when I said you made me feel safe. Like I could be myself.”

You swallow. “You were yourself.”

“Because of you,” she says, no hesitation.

You’re close enough now to feel the warmth of her, the steadiness in her voice. Her hand brushes yours on the countertop.

“So,” she says softly, “if this is just dinner, that’s okay. But if it’s something more—if it could be more—I’d like that.”

You don’t speak. You just lean in and press your forehead against hers, eyes fluttering shut, everything inside you humming.

“I’d like that too,” you whisper.

Her fingers graze yours, then hold.

Outside, the city keeps moving—cars passing, lights blinking, lives rushing past. But in your kitchen, time slows down. The sauce simmers. The wine breathes. And for the first time in a long time, so do you.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #paige bueckers fanfic #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers uconn #paige buckets #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #dallas wings #wnba x reader #wnba #wnba players #wlw #lesbian #wuh luh wuh

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watchmegetobsessed · 1 day ago

Text

AUGURI

A/N: this is my current fantasy, being on an italian vacation with my fiancé, that's it, that's the fic.

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

SUMMARY: A glimpse into being freshly engaged, on vacation with your fiancé who is obsessed with seeing a ring on your finger.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

If you told your younger self that in a few years you would be sitting on the floor of an Italian villa, doing your makeup, getting ready for dinner at a restaurant down by the beach while your fiancé is out on the balcony making phone calls, you would have laughed at the image. You never thought you’d fit into the picture, with a man like none other than Harry Styles, who is one of, if not the biggest name in business.

And you are his fiancé.

Well, you’ve been his fiancé for just a little over 24 hours, it still feels like a dream, the memory of the sunset walk you took to a secluded part of the beach, then he got down on one knee and said the most beautiful things as he asked you to marry him. There was no doubt you’d say yes and now the diamond ring on your finger is proof that it wasn’t just a dream.

Your skin is glowing from the day spent on the beach, tanning and swimming, sipping on cocktails and reading. You haven’t decided what to wear yet, so you’re still wrapped in a towel after your shower you shared with Harry when you came back to the villa.

Once you’re finished with your makeup you gather the mess you made on the floor and then move to the closet to find something to wear. You brought way too many clothes, but you couldn’t help yourself. Harry made sure to go all out and you traveled with a private jet so you had no restriction about how many suitcases you bring. Not that he would have ever said no if you wanted to check five bags if you didn’t travel with the jet, Harry is always eager to cater to your every wish.

You choose a light summer dress and grab a scarf you can wrap around your shoulders if the night grows colder. Standing in front of the mirror you’re trying to figure out what shoes you should wear when you hear footsteps from the bedroom and a moment later Harry’s tall figure appears behind you.

He has always been touchy-feely but ever since his proposal he just can’t take his hands off you. From behind, he wraps his arms around your waist, his face instantly buries in your neck as he peppers your glowy skin with kisses.

“You look stunning,” he murmurs and you flash him a smile in the mirror before turning your head so your lips could meet in a kiss. “Can I call the driver or do you need more time?”

“Call him, I’ll be done in five.”

“Alright. I’ll be downstairs, because if I stay here, we will not leave in five.”

You laugh at his words as he presses one last kiss to your shoulder and wills himself to walk out. You grab a pair of sandals that match your dress and then fix your hair quickly, before heading down after Harry. The car is already waiting, Harry is standing by the open door, scrolling on his phone, but once he sees you he locks and puts the device into his pocket, turning his full attention to you.

He is always busy, someone always needs him, but whenever he is spending time with you he makes sure to limit his time spent working to the bare minimum, squeezing calls into the time you spend getting ready, calling your mom or when you’re in the bathroom, though he very much likes to join you in the shower.

“Ready?” he beams with a smile as you walk over and he instantly kisses the top of your head before going for your lips.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

For dinner you’re meeting some of his friends that live nearby. He chose a nice restaurant that has a terrace facing the water, an incredible view for the amazing food. You’re having a great time, Rocco and Bianca congratulate you on your engagement and the conversation moves to discussing their own wedding that happened three years ago. They reminisce about how fun the whole party was, they danced all night with their friends and family.

A warm hand moves to your thigh under the table, when you glance over to Harry he is already peeking at you, a tiny smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. For a moment, you feel breathless, looking at him with his light sunburn on his cheeks and nose, the breeze is tangling his locks that turned lighter thanks to the time spent out in the sun. Behind him it’s the endless blue sea, the waves seem to move slowly from this far. The Sun is dipping under the horizon, painting the clear sky vibrant shades of orange and red.

Your heart has never felt fuller.

Your hand finds his on your thigh and gives it a squeeze. His palm covers your hand, his thumb running back and forth over the ring on your finger, as if he needs to touch it to believe it’s actually there. His smile grows wide, eyes shining as he just stares at you in awe.

Leaning closer he steals a quick kiss and you swear you hear a content sigh from him before you both tune back into the conversation by the table.

The dinner stretches long, most tables are cleared around you when you finally decide to head home. Rocco and Bianca came with their own car so you say your goodbye before parting ways. When Harry is about to call the driver, you stop him, putting a hand over his phone.

“Why don’t we walk home? It’s just about thirty minutes.”

“Sure,” he nods smiling and taking your hand in his, you head back to the villa.

Walking down the streets you pass by a house with an open window, music flowing out into the evening and Harry surprises you by pulling you against him and starts swaying to the rhythm.

You remember when you met him, he claimed he is not the romantic type, that those small gestures you see in movies don’t come to him naturally. Turns out he just needed to meet the right person to bring it out of him.

And that person is you.

Your head falls back as you laugh and dance with him, he even starts humming the melody as he twirls and moves you with ease, leading you in this impromptu choreography. When he dips you, a gasp slips past your lips, but he just grins and then kisses you, slowly pulling you back up while not breaking the kiss.

When he pulls back he brings your hand between the two of you, his fingers once again playing with the ring and while Harry’s gaze is glued to the diamond, you can only look at his face, so bright and happy.

He places a soft kiss to the ring on your finger, then hooks an arm around your shoulders and you keep walking.

In front of one of the houses near your villa, there’s some kind of family gathering happening, people are sitting around a table, eating, laughing and singing, having a fantastic time. You watch them happily, it’s always so great to see people enjoy life to the fullest.

An older man shouts something your way in Italian that you don’t understand, but Harry chuckles and shouts back.

“Le ho chiesto di sposarmi due giorni fa!”

The man starts clapping and shouting, a few other people joining in and you still have no idea what they are talking about.

“Auguri! Tanti auguri per una vita felice insieme!” they all chant together, raising their glasses in your way.

“What was that?” you ask Harry chuckling, as you keep walking. A cheeky grin tugs on his pink lips.

“He told me we look good together and I should never let you go. I told him I just asked you to marry me.”

“He said that? For real?” you ask, your own grin growing wider.

“See, everyone knows we belong together,” he hums, his lips pressing against yours again, but he doesn’t stop after just a short kiss, he deepens it, tongues melting together, his hand tangling in your hair or feeling up your back through the thin fabric of your dress. It escalates quickly, you can feel his erection pressing against your lower stomach as he pushes you against the wall of one of the houses. Open mouthed kisses trail down the column of your throat and you can’t hold a moan back when he wedges a thigh between your legs, giving you a chance to grind against it for more friction.

“I love you so fucking much,” he breathes against your mouth and you’re ready to take it further right then and there, but then you hear shouting from near.

“Vergogna! Go away!”

An old lady is waving your way from a nearby window and you start running, Harry takes your hand and you’re both laughing as you speed up the rest of the street to the villa. At the gate, he pulls you back into his arms and you feel like horny teenagers, can’t get enough of each other. It’s like that tiny ring on your finger has doubled the lust that was already pretty high when it came to you and Harry.

“Mm, let’s take this to the bedroom, where no old ladies can scream at us for indecency,” you chuckle, when his hand slips under your skirt.

“Whatever the future Mrs. Styles wants,” he grins and before you could get another word out, he picks you up, bridal style and carries you to the bedroom and continues what you started on the street, this time without an audience.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

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kukinkrim · 11 hours ago

Text

so... demons?

saja boys x manager!fem!reader

part 1.

your fingers drummed against the cool surface of the table.

the five idols—er, demons? demon idols?— occupied the seats around the table, meekly looking at you like lost little puppies.

honestly, after almost losing your soul and witnessing the whole nation teeter on the edge of destruction, you could say you've grown quite numb to such tactics. the horrors you’d seen—what these five could do with just a snap of their fingers… yeah, no. you weren’t going to be swayed by wide eyes, pouty lips, or whatever cheeky charm they tried to conjure.

they weren’t the innocent idols you once knew. the ones who had nothing but talent and a pair of skinny jeans going for them. the ones you saw performing on the street, eyes bright and full of untapped potential. they could be something, you thought. they could be up there. high. above everyone else. you were the one who reached out, the one who said, “you’ve got something.”

and boy, did they.

they had something alright.

something from the depths of hell.

now, half of south korea nearly got turned into an all-you-can-eat buffet for demons, and guess who helped usher in the end of the world with a smile and a snazzy press release?

ding ding! you, their manager.

the onr who saw the fucking demonic seduction and said, "oh! you've got something!"

the untapped potential you saw was probably their thirst for souls.

honestly, the betrayal would’ve stung more if you weren’t so tired and traumatized.

“so,” you said flatly, lacing your fingers together. “anyone want to explain why I had to had to argue with a talking fire yesterday?”

the room went silent.

like, guilty silence. the kind only five demon idols with centuries of mayhem behind them could pull off.

"that... was gwi-ma," jinu mumbled.

you deadpanned. "i know it was gwi-ma, jinu. he introduced himself mid-scream while threatening to turn me into a 'wretched slab of salted flesh because that's all i deserve as a poor excuse of a human.’"

“oh, he loves that phrase,” mystery muttered.

"he cooked with that one, honestly." abby chimed in.

you sighed exasperatedly. who knew manager work for five little shits were going to be this exhausting?

"you're all i could think of, every drop i drink up!" you read the lyrics of a piece of paper, their debut song where it all started. mystery inched closer to the table, eyeing the paper you on your hands. "don't tell me you were pertaining to our souls?"

romance whistled, "you're so perceptive!"

"so smart." added baby, throwing you a bored thumbs-up like you’d just solved a puzzle and not, you know, uncovered a century-long soul-harvesting scheme disguised as bubblegum pop.

"you didn't know?" mystery stares at you, probably—you couldn't really tell behind his long hair.

"how was i supposed to know you're all demons dressed in pretty pastels and shitty hawaiian shirts?!" abby feigns an offended look as he clutched the front of his 2D printed tropical button-up like you’d just accused him of a fashion crime. “this is balenciaga-inspired hellwear, thank you!”

“no, that’s a polyester war crime,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “and this lyric—” you waved the page dramatically, “this was your debut song! you performed this on national television! i helped film the music video where you were literally throwing hearts at people and covering the whole city with bubbles. I THOUGHT IT WAS CGI.”

"who do you think storyboarded that scene?” abby added with a smirk. “we all pitched in but,” he pulls jinu im a headlock—though the black-haired idol merely laughs awkwardly. he still doesn't look you in the eye. he seems to be the only ome taking your feelings and concerns seriously among the five. "this one was behind it all though. my boy, jinu!"

you groaned. “i can’t believe i survived a near-apocalypse only to realize i was managing the kpop equivalent of satan’s got talent.”

“that’s a great tour title!” romance beamed.

“no,” you said instantly.

“but imagine the merch—”

“no.”

“a little pitchfork-shaped lightstick—”

“no.”

you sighed, dropping the lyric sheet on the table like it physically pained you. “i need a drink. a nap. a portal to a universe where i’m not legally responsible for any of you.”

"too late,” baby said, leaning against the chair with that stupid little tilt to his lips. “you already sold your soul to us the day you signed that first contract.”

you stared at him.

he laughed.

“kidding! he's kidding!” jinu yelled too quickly.

“…mostly." baby added.

you slowly turned to face the window, muttering under your breath. "oh, i should've pushed them all off the stage when i had the chance."

there was a beat of laughter—soft and awkward, like everyone was still afraid to be loud around you in case you get really angry. the five were afraid. perhaps, they even feared your wrath even more than they did with gwi-ma.

it was left unspoken for a long time. demons were not good with dealing with feelings, but they know they have to talk to you.

you, their kind manager, deserved much more than just little demons hiding behind their cowardice.

silence.

and someone speaks up first.

“y/n,” jinu’s voice cut through it. no teasing lilt. just your name, spoken like a confession.

you turned to see him no longer smiling awkwardly like he was about to piss his pants. just jinu. the first one who held your gaze when you saw them on that street corner. the first one who reached out when you offered your hand. their makeshift leader.

"i'm–we're sorry,” he said, the words hung in the air. “for putting you through all of that.”

his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, a rare tell for someone as confident and outspoken as him. he seems to be struggling to speak, unsure what correct words to say. “you didn’t deserve to be dragged into that mess."

you blinked. the meeting room had felt like a joke for so long. always half a step away from chaotic laughter and cursed energy drinks.

now, jinu was looking at you with something genuine.

in fact, they all were. gone were the rowdy bunch who always had a quick way with words, replaced by five people who had done you wrong and are making up for it. taking responsibility for the harm they have caused you sincerely—because that's how much you worth to them. you mean something.

“jinu…” you started, hand trailing down to hold his that trembled slightly.

"and i know we caused it,” he continued, eyes darting away. “the whole mess. gwi-ma may have put us all into it, forced us, bound us—but we still started it.”

“we're sorry, y/n,” he said again, softer.

you stared at him, a thousand emotions crawling up your spine; rage, exhaustion, fondness, resentment, some weird trauma-induced affection—but all that came out was a quiet, “thank you.”

because deep down, you understood.

you understood that they were forced to.

that it wasn’t some grand scheme of betrayal, no matter how much it felt like one at the time. that gwi-ma had them all bound; tied to a leash that seared their skin and soul every time they even thought about stepping out of line.

and you saw it. when you woke up during that concert.

you saw jinu holding you close, ignoring the pain on his body as he protects you from the demons that dared to get too close. you saw the four who were out of breath, running everywhere all at once, despite their tattoos burning all over their bodies and the defeaning voices im their heads. the many demons they fought and your life they had protected.

you saw them fall apart while gwi-ma roared in the back, as they were being punished—tortured—because they dared to protect you.

because they dared to choose you.

you clenched your fists at the memory. they could’ve let it happen. could’ve turned away, watched your soul be taken.

instead, they defied the king of hell himself.

they were hurting. controlled. bruised and burned and still, they protected you.

“you saved me. all of you,” you said, looking around at the group. “even if it was your fault, even if you were the reason i needed saving at all... you still did it. so, thank you."

"you're not mad? even after everything?” romance chimed in.

you exhaled. “i didn’t say i forgive you all completely. you still lied. a lot. and nearly had half the population disappear.”

“valid,” baby muttered.

“but i saw what it cost you to stand by me. i saw the pain, and i saw you fight through it anyway. i won’t forget that.”

then abby, the menace, replied with a sniffle. “are we hugging now?”

“no,” you said instantly.

“because i'm so ready to trauma-cuddle—”

“no.”

the room broke into snickers. abby slumps, looking ready to crush you in a bone-breaking hug but he respects you enough to sit it out lest he really makes you angry.

then you clapped your hands once, loud, business-mode sliding back into place. everyone's eyes snapped towards you in question. “now. let’s talk about your new concept for the next comeback.”

five pairs of demon eyes blinked at you.

baby groans, shovimg his head onto his folded arms on the table. "ugh, i thought we'd be on hiatus or something."

“oh?” romance, however, leaned in, grinning. he was excited to be on stage again. more so, eve more excited to still be working with you. “how about demons—you know, lean into the whole ‘true form’ angle? dark wings, red eyes, maybe a full transformation during a dance break?”

mystery adds, "but demons don't look like that-"

“hell no.”

“okay but—literally hell, yes?” romance offered, raising his hand helpfully.

“i will personally drag each of you to church myself.”

mystery hisses at the thought as the four grimaced. you held in a laugh.

“how about monster boyfriends?” abby recovers, flexing his biceps as he seemed to adore the absolute monstrosity of an idea. you start to wonder what the hell is going on in his head.

“absolutely not.”

“siren concept! we already sing souls out of people anyway—”

“STOP BRAGGING ABOUT THAT!” you groaned, a hand massaging your temple. seriously, what did they want? make the people relive their near-deaths or something? it was good enough that the fans had, somehow, forgotten what happened thanks to a certain girl group's help—but now they want to fucking relive it?!

"fine,” jinu said, crossing his arms. “then what do you suggest, o great wise manager of ours?"

the smirk that played on your lips made him regret asking.

“soft boy cottagecore. think: lace, florals, boys running through fields of wheat. redemption arcs. barefoot in the grass. everyone’s petting sheep.”

they all stared at you like you’d just suggested group baptism. they looked at you in horror. what the fuck was wrong with your head?

“i hate it,” baby said, visibly cringing. he shivered as he imagined himself in your little scenario and he swore he could throw up at any moment.

"angels. absolute angels." you announced through gritted teeth.

you were not suggesting.

“...i love it,” jinu said too quickly, catching on. “I will wear a bonnet.”

“i guess that... could work," romance hums, actually giving it a thought. he thinks he could actually make it work.

“you’re not helping,” mystery hissed.

you leaned forward, calm, smiling at them so wide. “you wanna keep performing without alerting a secret demon-hunting girl group? then you’re going to touch some flowers and look repentant. understood?”

“...fine,” they all mumbled.

you sat back with a smug smile. “perfect. gotta get back to work, boys.”

baby groaned into his hands. “i already miss the end of the world.”

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whytheylosttheirminds · 3 days ago

Text

make this place your home - r.c.

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

summary: Rafe has been begging you to move in with him, but when you finally show him the place your heart belongs to, he realizes he'd do anything to make you happy.

content: fluff, angst, a drizzle of spice, semi-canon obx if you were to eliminate some pretty important things lol

cw: mentions of blood and injury, suggestive comments, closed-door romance, mentions of abusive parents (Luke)

note: my contribution to @zyafics mrga campaign <3

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“Don’t open your eyes yet!”

“I’m gonna trip over something and fall on my ass. Or run into something. This is The Cut, who knows what junk is just lying around. I’m gonna get tetris or some shit.”

You laughed out loud. Rafe nearly opened his eyes to figure out why.

“See, now you’re laughing at me, you better not be doing some dumb shit to me for a Tiktok,” he warned.

“Oh my god, you’re such a baby, calm down,” you chuckled. “I’m laughing because you’re cute. It’s tetanus, not tetris.”

He should feel embarrassed, but the sound of your laugh and of you calling him cute calmed every muscle in his body. You were a balm that went straight to his agitated heart.

You were the only one who could disarm him when he got irritated like this. You told him once that you don’t take his bad moods personally because you can see them for what they are - he’s not angry, he’s anxious. He realized then that you’re the only person who’d ever really understood him, that you might understand him better than he understands himself.

It’s why his shoulders relax now, it’s why he can take a deep breath. There was no one else in the world who could convince him to let them drive his boat while he’s blindfolded or walk through the tall, marshy grass without knowing where he was going. Only you.

“Can I open my eyes now?” He asked.

“We’re not there yet,” you shook your head, hand still on his arm to lead him closer to your surprise. “You can go one more minute without seeing where you’re going.”

“Maybe, but I don’t know if I can go another minute without seeing you,” he flirted.

You smiled, tempted to rip the blindfold off him and forget all about the surprise. Too bad for him you already knew all his tricks.

“Nice try, Cameron.”

As you got closer, your stomach twisted. Maybe this was stupid. After all, wouldn’t it be underwhelming to Rafe after all he’s seen? This place meant so much to you, you didn’t know if you could handle any criticism from him. You considered turning around, but you’d already made such a big deal out of this, how would you explain it to him?

“Okay, this is a good spot, I guess,” you said, your voice shaking with trepidation.

“You good?” Rafe asked. Of course he could tell your mood shifted without even looking at you.

“Yeah, I think, just open your eyes.” At this point you just wanted to get his inevitable disappointment over with.

Slowly, Rafe opened his eyes. He blinked a few times to adjust to the blinding Carolina sunlight before finally sizing up your big reveal.

It was your house, the one he’d been to a hundred times before - sneaking into your window so your brother wouldn’t hear, showing up in the night to investigate when you “heard a noise,” defending you from Luke when he got violent. Except, this wasn’t the same house. It was bigger, for one. And slightly bigger, with new walls, new roof, and a big, hand painted flag in your brother’s handwriting: “Poguelandia.”

It wasn’t much, but it was your dream come true. In your eyes, you may as well have been standing in front of a magic castle. As you watched Rafe’s expression stay completely unchanged you realized that to him, it probably still looked like some shitty shack on The Cut. You wished you never brought him here.

“This is what you guys have been working on this whole time?” He asked, still looking at the house and not at you.

“Yeah, I mean, and the store,” you gestured to the dock behind you where you and your friends had built yourselves a small business. Another thing that would surely seem pathetic compared to what Rafe was used to.

“It’s nice, I like it,” Rafe said.

“No it’s okay, you don’t have to lie,” you said, voice small. You started to turn to leave. “I shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it, let’s just go-”

“Hey, woah, woah,” Rafe interrupted you gently.

He approached you from behind, arms twisting around your waist, forcing you to turn back and look at your home. He had to duck down to slot his chin into your shoulder, swaying you both gently.

“If I had to come all this way, I think I at least deserve the grand tour, don’t I?” he mumbled into your ear.

Your smile returned, you nuzzled your cheek into his, heart swelling.

“I guess, if you insist,” you said with a cheeky grin.

“I do,” he nodded, tickling your neck with his buzzed hair. He tilted his head down to place a sloppy kiss into the crook of your shoulder. “I’m especially looking forward to seeing your bedroom.”

“You mean the one I share with your sister?”

He groaned, “why do you torture me like this?”

“Because it’s fun.” You twisted away from his hold and slid your hand down his arm to interlock your fingers with his.

Rafe followed you onto the porch. You paused at the front door for dramatic effect.

“Hello MTV, welcome to my crib!”

Rafe smiled as you cracked up at your own joke, but his momentary joy turned sour when you opened the door and revealed an unwelcome sight on the other side; the Pogues.

The lively discussion that had been filling your shared living room stopped dead in its tracks. The room turned cold. Six icy stares were aimed in your boyfriend’s direction.

You understood why they disliked him so much. He didn’t put much effort into changing their minds. But he’d changed yours. And though you’d tried for years not to, you loved him. Neither of you had said it yet, but you knew it was true, at least for you.

There had been countless arguments between you and your brother and the shared friends that were basically family about Rafe. Countless fights you’d stopped between JJ and Rafe, countless nights begging Rafe just to try a little harder, begging JJ just to give him a chance. They both cared for you enough not to kill each other, but it was a reluctant ceasefire. A fragile peace you were always vigilant to protect. A truce that could be broken at any moment. You prayed this wasn’t that moment.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you guys were home,” you explained. The six pogues shared concerned glances with each other, something unsaid that you felt had nothing to do with you walking in with their least favorite person. “What’s going on?”

Kie stood, shot a brief but blazing glare towards Rafe, and handed you a piece of paper. You read it carefully, your eyebrows creased in confusion that was slowly morphing into great concern. Rafe read over your shoulder.

It was an official warning from the Kildare City Council. The land you were standing on and the home you’d built would be rezoned. They were taking Poguelandia.

“What the hell?” You shouted. “Can they actually do this?”

“Looks like they already are,” John B confirmed.

“No, no. There has to be something we can -”

“There’s not!” JJ stood from his seat at the far end of the room.

You could see it all over his face, the anger that was always lying just beneath the surface starting to make its way to the top. Everyone thought of JJ as a happy-go-lucky, silly, mischievous kid. And he was all those things, but he was something else, something only you really saw; a hurt kid who never healed.

“There’s never something we can do,” JJ continued, stalking slowly toward you, but keeping his eyes locked on Rafe the whole time. “Not when Kooks are involved. They always win.”

“Back up, Maybank,” Rafe snarled, looking down at JJ, who’d gotten close enough to break the barrier of Rafe’s personal space.

You stepped between them instinctually, a move you’d made a hundred times before.

“Stop.” You put a gentle hand on JJ’s chest to back him up, but he didn’t budge. “This isn’t his fault, J.”

“How do we know that, huh?” JJ finally tore his eyes off Rafe to look at you. “How do we know he’s not behind it somehow? Trying to steal our land for another bougie ass development project. You can’t trust these people, sis. How many times do we have to get screwed by them before you realize it?”

You and your brother looked at each other for a long time. The rest of the room watched as the two of you seemed to have a conversation none of them could hear; the unspoken language of siblings who’d been to hell and back together.

After a long moment, you turned your gaze toward Rafe.

“Do- do you know anything about this?” You asked him hesitantly.

His face fell. A series of emotions flashed across his features so quickly, you were sure you were the only one in the room who caught them all; surprise, betrayal, hurt, anger, and finally, back to his go-to: detached stoicism.

“That’s really what you think of me? That I’d do something like this?” His tone was even, his voice far away even though you were inches apart.

You knew you’d hurt him by even entertaining the idea that he’d betray you like this. But this ground was shaky, and you had been screwed over by Kooks your entire life. The trust you put in him did not come easy, and sometimes it wavered, even though he’d never given it any reason to.

Rafe’s jaw clenched when you didn’t answer. He nodded once, his lips twisting into the kind of smile that had absolutely no joy behind it.

“Unbelievable.” He muttered.

He took one last searing look around the room, twelve hateful eyes met him, and he didn’t look at your watery ones before turning and storming out of the house, the newly installed screen door banging shut behind him.

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Your knees were tucked all the way to your chest, your chin resting on them as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to manufacture any sort of comfort. It wasn’t working.

The zone change notice sat on the bed in front of you. You read it over and over, as though if you just wanted it badly enough, the words would change into something less devastating.

You were going to lose your home. You’d probably lost the love of your life, before you could even tell him he was the love of your life. Your brother was one step from completely falling over the edge, the rocky path toward destruction that you’d pulled him back from your whole lives getting steeper by the minute. A few hours ago you were excitedly cleaning this room so you could show Rafe. How could so much change in so little time?

A knock at the door pulled you from your spiraling thoughts.

“Come in,” you said quietly.

The door creaked slightly despite it being brand new. Sarah tiptoed into the room gently, searching you for any signs of distress.

“Sar, you don’t have to knock to come into your own room,” you told her.

“I know, I just thought maybe you needed some space.”

You shook your head and scooted over on the bed to make space for her. She took your invitation with a smile and settled in next to you.

“So…how’s your day going?” She asked in a singy-songy voice.

You both erupted in bittersweet laughter.

“Oh y’know, I’ve had better.”

She nudged your arm with her elbow.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, you know.” She assured you.

“Is it though? I mean really, Sar, is it?” No laughter hung in the air now. “I mean, what if I just lost my home and my boyfriend? Or worse, what if I just lost my home to my boyfriend.”

“You really think Rafe would’ve done something like this?” She asked.

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to. You heard him though, when I asked him about it, he didn’t deny it.”

Sarah sighed, a deep exhale that usually signaled she was about to say something she didn’t want to.

“What?” You prodded.

“Look, I’m not my brother’s biggest fan, you know that,” she began.

“Um yes, you’ve made that very clear,” you chuckled, thinking of all the times Sarah had warned you not to get involved with Rafe.

“But, just this one time, I’m going to…” She paused dramatically, her eyes screwed shut with reluctance. “...defend him.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Be honest, how hard was that for you to say?” You teased.

“I’m holding back vomit right now,” she laughed.

“Well then defend him quickly before you yack on my bed.”

“Okay, I just,” she paused to consider her words carefully. “I know you know Rafe really well. I mean you’re the only one he’s ever really let in, so you probably know him better than anyone. But I’ve known him longer than anyone. I’ve seen every version of him. I knew Rafe before he met you, and now I know him after he met you, and believe me when I tell you, those two are not the same guy. As cliche as it sounds, you changed him.”

You sat in silence, letting the words settle over you, surprised by how emotional they were making you. You willed the tears forming in your eyes not to fall.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a dick,” Sarah added. You were grateful for a reason to laugh before you started crying. “But he’s not the same. There was a time where I’d say ‘absolutely, Rafe definitely did this just to screw us over,’ but not anymore. Not since he fell in love with you.”

You looked up in surprise, the tears at your lash line threatening to finally spill over.

“You think he loves me?”

“Girl, be so for real. That man has never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Believe me, he’s yours.”

Your heart skipped, and the tears finally fell. You rose from the bed so suddenly, Sarah almost fell back onto the mattress. You didn’t know what had taken over you, just that you needed to go, now. Everything in you was being pulled toward him, like sand being dragged back out to sea by the tide. If you spent one more minute of your life without him knowing what you were so certain of now, you might not make it.

Sarah smiled at you, she read it all over your face.

“Go!” She urged.

“Love you!” You shouted over your shoulder as you raced out of your bedroom.

“Love you too, you freak,” she smiled to herself, knowing you were already long gone.

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Where could he have gone? Your mind flipped through all the possibilities as you ran across the lawn toward the dock. JJ would probably be pissed that you took The Snapper without asking first, but didn’t even care about that right now. You just needed to find Rafe.

You didn’t have to search for long.

As soon as your feet hit the wooden dock, they stopped in their tracks.

At the end of the pier sat Rafe’s boat bobbing in the water. The long figure of your boyfriend leaned over the bow. You watched with a big, bright smile as he untied the line, then retied it, then untied it, and retied it once more. He was clearly having a silent disagreement with himself. All that mattered to you was that he hadn’t left.

You approached slowly, avoiding the planks in the dock you knew would creak and give away your presence. The closer you got to him, the faster your heart beat. The words you were dying to say sat perched at the end of your tongue, you knew they wouldn’t be able to hang on much longer.

Half way through untying the boat again, Rafe stopped and sighed.

“Need a push?” You said.

His eyes shot up to yours, startled. Tension filled his shoulders as he took you in, his shock quickly fading to something softer, yet still unsure.

“That depends,” he squinted in the sun to see you better.

God, he was gorgeous. You could not let him get away.

“Depends on what?” You played along.

“If my girlfriend will forgive me for being a dismissive prick,” he said.

You forced your lips not to twist into a smile, pretending to consider his words.

“I think she might. If you forgive her first,” you said.

His eyes softened, lips twitching. You were both failing not to smile at each other now.

Rafe finally tied up the boat for good, hopping up onto the dock. You admired every movement of his body as it drew closer to yours. When he reached you, he placed his hands on your waist, your arms drawing up to wrap around his neck, stretching up on your tiptoes to get as close to him as possible.

“She has nothing to apologize for. The only home she’s ever known is being threatened. She’s just scared. I get that.”

Every word fanned over you like a soft summer breeze. Your heart warmed, impossibly full despite all the anxieties today had brought. He just got you, he understood without you having to say it. This must be the closest two people can get to making magic, you thought.

“Thank you,” you let your head fall forward to rest on his chest. He kissed the top of your head.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispered into your hair.

You looked back up at him, shaking your head.

“How is everything gonna be okay, Rafe? What if there really is nothing we can do? I mean, who’s even behind this?”

Rafe didn’t answer, but one name popped into his mind. Even with his suspicions, he didn’t know if he could help you. Helplessness was the feeling he despised more than any other, especially when it came to you.

“I don’t know,” he said, his heart breaking at the despairing look on your face. “But you’ve still got me. You could always move into the condo with me, like I’ve been begging you for months.”

“Can I bring my friends with me?” You scrunched up your nose, hoping he’d find you cute enough to say yes.

“I love you, but there’s no way in hell…”

A bolt of lightning shot through you, goosebumps erupting over your entire body. Did he really just say…?

He instantly read the shock on your face, but there was no look of regret on his.

“What? Haven’t I said I love you before?”

“Umm, no, I think I would’ve remembered that!” You couldn’t help the big, goofy grin taking over your whole face.

“Oh, well that’s weird,” he shrugged, his hands sliding from your waist to your lower back, wrapping his strong arms around you and lifting you off your feet. “Because I do love you, so fucking much.”

You yelped as he lifted you into the air, head falling back in laughter as he almost tumbled you both off the dock in his effort to sweep you off your feet.

You looked down at him and he lowered you slowly, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, arms still wrapped around each other like you’d never let go. You stood there embracing for a long time, so long that the sun was starting to set, casting a golden shimmer across the water.

Finally you said, “I never gave you the grand tour.”

“And I was really looking forward to seeing your crib,” he teased, his lips brushing against the skin of your neck when he talked.

“Well, c’mon then.” You grabbed his hand, leading him back toward the house, both of you buzzing with the excitement that there was something much better than a tour waiting for you inside.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

“...And this is John B and JJ’s room,” you opened the door only a crack, afraid to unleash the stench that permanently filled the space. “They insisted on getting bunk beds even though they’re, like, forty. And Pope insisted on having his own room because, as he said, ‘JJ is a walking biohazard.’ Which is…fair.”

Rafe was just watching you with adoration as you showed him around the house. He was barely looking at the rooms you were showing him because he was so focused on the way you glowed with joy. It was true that he wanted you to move to Bayline with him, it was his life’s goal to get you there, actually, but he had to admit that you seemed like you really belonged here. He’d never seen you look more at home.

“And this is our gallery wall.” You gestured to the display of framed photographs hanging in the upstairs hallway.

Rafe surveyed them dutifully with his hands tucked politely behind his back, like an old man in an art museum. Most of the photographs were of you and the pogues at various times in your life. Out fishing in the marsh, riding dirt bikes, post-surf at the beach. You admired the way Rafe was looking so intently and resisting the urge to grimace at so many photos of you with his once sworn enemies.

He explored the wall, eyes lingering on any photo of you a little longer than the rest. The hall continued to lead down toward your bedroom. At the very end, in a high corner, just above a series of photo booth pictures you’d taken with Sarah and Kie last summer, hung a delicate circular frame featuring a worn-out picture almost too small to see. Rafe leaned in for a better look.

In the photo, which was a tad faded and clearly taken several years ago, was a young guy, probably about 30, holding two young kids on his lap. The slightly bigger one, a boy, held up a trout he’d just caught, flashing a toothless grin. The little girl beamed at the man holding her.

It took Rafe a moment, but when he felt your weight shift next to him uncomfortably, he put it all together. The photo was you, JJ, and Luke. Probably the only one you had. And despite everything Luke had put you through, you’d hung it on the wall to see everyday.

Rafe turned to you, you were looking down at your feet, toes digging anxiously into the rug. His heart ached. If anyone knew what it was like to have a complicated relationship with their father, it was him. The fact that you’d still given Luke some dignity in this house he almost destroyed so many times said so much about you, and reminded him why he loved you so much.

“You wanna show me your room now?” He asked gently.

You looked up at him with glassy eyes and a small smile, “yeah.”

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The door clicked closed softly. Rafe took in the room, immediately identifying which bed was yours and which bed (the messy, half-made one) was his sister’s.

“Sarah doesn’t spend much time in here,” you admitted.

“No?” He asked, keeping his eyes off of you, the closed door suddenly adding a nervous energy to the room he wasn’t expecting.

“She mainly sleeps with John B.” Rafe grimaced, you hurried to reassure him. “Like, in his bed I mean, or his bunk I guess. Not, like sleep with him sleep with him, although I’m sure there’s plenty of that -”

“I’m literally begging you to stop talking,” he said, his eyes finding the ceiling, no doubt trying to erase the mental picture you just created for him.

“Sorry,” you chuckled.

Rafe wandered around the room some more, taking in all your decorations. He never understood why someone could collect so many knick-knacks that seemed to be worth nothing, but there was something endearing about it that drew him to you even more. Just another in a long line of things that would annoy him with someone else, but enchanted him with you.

As your time alone in the room dragged on, the air became tenser. You felt yourself watching him, but unable to move, back pressed up against the door, frozen in anticipation.

You and Rafe had been alone together before - and you had been together before - but something had shifted out on that dock. Something that you knew you couldn’t take back, and didn’t want to. In fact, you only wanted to solidify it more.

“Rafe,” you said softly, finally pulling his attention away from your decor.

He looked up at you expectantly, like he had been waiting for you to give him permission to. He didn’t respond, just walked slowly toward you, his eyes on yours the whole way. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” you said, trying to laugh to break the tension, though the sound came out more like a hiccup.

“Has something changed?” He wondered aloud.

“Yeah, I guess it has.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “Because today I realized two important things.”

“What two things?” He asked, surprised, and a little alarmed, by your answer.

“The first is that this is my home, and that in a way, it will always be my home. And yet at the same time, I also realized that you’re my future, and I love you.”

Rafe’s smile spread slowly, like he was taking in each word one at a time. His blue eyes sparkled - like actually sparkled - with joy. Maybe you were imagining it, but it didn’t matter, you just wanted him to keep looking at you like that.

“Oh you love me, huh?” His voice was low and dangerous, he stepped closer until he was towering over you.

“Yeah, haven’t I said that before?” You echoed his words from earlier back to him.

He just shook his head at you, tucking his tongue in the corner of his cheek to try and tame his smile. His hands found your waist like they were made to fit there. His voice carried down to your very core as he leaned in.

“You know you can’t take it back now, right?”

“Why would I take it back? I mean it, Rafe, with everything I have. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And he showed you. His body enveloping yours as he backed you up against the door and kissed you deeply. A whole new energy between you now, your need and your affection for each other stronger than ever.

Before you could get carried away, footsteps on the stairs reminded you of a very crucial step of bringing your boyfriend home.

“Wait, hold on.” You pulled away from Rafe and he frowned. His disappointment was so cute you were tempted to kiss the pout right off of him, but first you rummaged through a drawer in you and Sarah’s shared dresser.

“What is that?” Rafe asked when you pulled out a conch shell glued to a piece of twine.

“Just a little system Sarah and I have.” You winked at him, opening the door just a crack to hang the shell from the doorknob.

“Do I want to know?” Rafe asked.

“I don’t know, do you want to talk more about your sister’s love life, or work on ours?” You bit back your smile when he cringed at your words, suddenly realizing Sarah’s use for the shell with a shudder.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he said, before scooping you up and carrying you over his shoulder, just to drop you on the bed with a bounce.

“Yes, I am,” you smiled up at him.

And he showed you, over and over, just how lucky you were.

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It was different this time, more passionate, more intense, more everything. And when he held you after, whispering more I love you’s into your hair, and neck, and the side of your face, you knew it must’ve felt the same for him, too.

You laid tucked into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders so he could intertwine his fingers with yours as you both stared up at the ceiling in pure bliss.

You sighed a happy, airy sigh and nuzzled closer to him.

“You know I just mean for now, right?” You said.

He twisted his neck at what must’ve been an uncomfortable angle to try and see your face.

“You just love me for now?” He asked, incredulous.

“No, no!” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant to say, this is just my home for now.”

“Oh, okay,” he rested his head back onto the pillow. “That’s better, I guess.”

You sat up, shuffling through the sheets so you could see him. You brought your legs up and sat criss cross on the bed next to him. Rafe lazily reached out a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear as he waited for the words he knew you were trying to formulate. He loved that you thought so hard before speaking, always determined to say what you mean. You loved that he waited to hear what you had to say, a patience he reserved almost exclusively for you.

“I know it must seem weird,” you began, “that I’m so attached to a place with so many bad memories. And I know you want me to live with you, and I want that too, eventually. But you have to understand, for so much of my life, it was just me and JJ. It was just us in this house. Even though a lot of it was us hiding from Luke or fending for ourselves when he didn’t come home for days at a time, there are good memories hidden in all the bad ones. Like, at the bottom of the stairs, there’s a spot where JJ and I accidentally ran our sled into the wall when we were stair-surfing. We covered it with chewed bubblegum and colored it in with marker, and Luke never noticed. Or in the kitchen, there’s tally marks under the countertop where we used to keep track of how many beers Luke had so we knew when it was time to go to John B’s for the night. And on the old dock, where our store is now, we made each other a pinky promise that someday we’d grow up and make something of ourselves and buy this house right out from under him. And we did it! And now, they’re just going to, what, take it away? Punish us for rising above the low expectations that they set for us? We were hurt here, yeah. But we also survived here. We did it together. I can’t leave that, or him, not now, not yet.”

Rafe drank in your words, and when tears came, he didn’t wipe them away or tell you to stop crying, he just let them fall. Let you feel what you needed to feel. His hand stayed firmly rested on your leg, there to hold only if you wanted it.

Through sobs you finally said, “this is our home, Rafe. We’re gonna lose our home.”

He’d heard enough. He stood from the bed quickly, pulling on his khakis and polo wordlessly.

“Where are you going?”

Rafe turned to look at you, saw the worry in your eyes and leaned over your bed so his face was level with yours. You would have been frightened by the steel in his eyes if you weren’t so excited by it.

“You asked me how it was going to be okay, right?” He said, voice low and tinged with danger.

You just nodded, unsure what to make of this sudden change in demeanor.

“It’s going to be okay because I’m going to make it okay.”

With that he stood and stalked toward the door, stopping to look at you one more time.

“Get some sleep, yeah? I’ll be back in a bit.”

You didn’t bother to ask where he was going, you knew he wasn’t going to tell you. When he had a plan like this, there was no slowing him down. Usually, his plans were self-serving. He was a strategist, like his father. Only now, it seemed, you were the beneficiary of his plot, and you weren’t sure what to expect.

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It sure as hell wasn’t the doorbell ringing at two in the morning.

It had started to storm and the thunder was rumbling through the house. It took a few rings before you could even hear the doorbell over the sound of the rain. Sarah lay on one side of you, Kie on the other, Cleo at the foot of the bed. They’d come to comfort you after Rafe left and you all cried yourself to sleep talking about the future of Poguelandia.

You accidentally kicked Cleo when you got up, who then kicked Sarah, who reached over and hit Kie in the arm as if it was her fault. Everyone was awake now.

“Noise. Bad. Make it stop,” Sarah grumbled into her pillow.

“Hit me again and I’ll make you stop breathing,” Kie said, her threat a little deflated considering she made it with her eyes still closed.

The doorbell rang out again, in rapid succession this time, causing everyone to groan and cover their ears.

“Who the hell rings the doorbell at 2 a.m.?” Sarah whined.

“If it’s those goddamn Jehovah’s Witnesses again, I’m gonna shove their little pamphlet down their throats,” Cleo said.

“I’ll get it,” you said through a yawn.

“Wait, you’re gonna go alone?” Kie grabbed your hand to pull you back.

“What if you get murdered?” Sarah said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

Kie and Sarah both climbed out of bed with you, but Cleo didn’t budge.

“If you get murdered let me know,” she said, pulling the blankets tighter around her. “I will avenge you.”

Kie rolled her eyes and pulled the blankets off Cleo, Sarah grabbed her hand to drag her from the bed.

“You’re coming with us, babe,” Sarah said over Cleo’s protests. “And bring your knife.”

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Lightning struck somewhere across the marsh at the exact second the door flew open. You and all three girls, wrapped in your blankets and holding various kitchen utensils, screamed at the sight on the other side. A dark figure of a man stood on the front porch, too far from the light for anyone to make out his identity. Cleo stepped in front of you all with her knife wielded.

“Hey! You better show yourself or get lost,” she shouted at the figure.

As the man slowly made his way into the flickering porch light, you realized you recognized the broad curve of those shoulders, the slope of that neck.

“Rafe,” you whispered.

Just as you identified him, the porch light swept across his face, and all four of you gasped.

The same places on his face you’d laid gentle kisses just a few hours ago were now black and blue, except in the places they were bloody. And he wasn’t walking slowly toward the light, he was limping, barely able to stand. He leaned against the door frame, holding his right hand in his left, his knuckles were raw and wounded.

“Rafe!” You repeated, pushing past your friends to get to him. You tried to support his weight but you couldn’t manage it alone. Sarah came to his other side to help catch him as he stumbled forward.

Kie, however, took a defensive step backward, her arms crossed over her chest. Cleo kept her knife raised.

“Think you can put down the knife now, babe,” Sarah told her.

“You never know,” Cleo said, narrowing her eyes at Rafe.

“Cleo, look at him,” you scolded.

She gave Rafe a once over, finally determining he wasn’t a threat in this state.

“Let’s get him on the couch,” you told Sarah. “Quickly, before he falls.”

Cleo stepped away to allow you to walk Rafe further into the living room. Kie created more distance between herself and your bloodied house guest. You searched her face quickly, it was a mixture of alarm and defensiveness. You could see the decision as it was being made, you tried to stop her but you were too late.

“Kie, wait!”

But she was already running up the stairs, surely to wake the boys. There was no version of these circumstances that would be made better by your half-awake, hotheaded brother.

You and Sarah finally got Rafe on the couch. He leaned forward, grimacing in pain as he propped his head in his hands. You knelt in front of him, trying to find his eyes with yours.

“Rafe, baby, what happened? Are you okay? Please talk to me.”

You placed your hands on his legs, rubbing soothing circles, begging him to fill the silence with an explanation. You looked at Sarah with pure panic in your eyes, she looked back with concern. Whether it was for you or for her brother, you weren’t sure.

“Rafe, it’s okay, whatever it is, you can tell us,” she encouraged him.

You’d never been more thankful for your best friend. You knew how much it took for her to offer him comfort like that.

You reached up to cup Rafe’s cheek in your hand, touching gently so as to not worsen his pain.

“Please, baby, what happened?”

He finally looked at you, and your heart skipped a beat. You thought maybe he was going to confess something terrible, or else cry out in agony. But instead, he just smiled that soft, sleepy half-smile of his and placed his hand over top of yours, caressing your skin with his thumb.

“I made it okay,” he whispered to you.

Before you could react, footsteps thundered down the stairs behind you, the fury of their descent louder than the storm outside.

“What the hell is going on?” JJ bellowed.

“What are you doing here, Cameron?” Pope followed up.

John B rushed to Sarah’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Everything okay?” He asked the both of you.

“I don’t know,” you shook your head, rising to sit next to Rafe on the couch, slipping your hand into his. The sight only enraged JJ further.

“You have ten seconds to explain yourself and stop bleeding on our fucking couch, Rafe.” JJ barked.

“Jay, can’t you see he’s obviously hurt?” You snapped at your brother.

“Looks more like he did the hurting,” JJ replied.

“You don’t know that! You always assume the worst!” You yelled.

“Because he is the worst!” JJ yelled right back.

You stood in anger, ready to fight your own brother in defense of the man at your side. But Rafe grabbed your hand and pulled you back towards him, not lifting his head as he held you in place. His other hand reached into his back pocket, pulling out a piece of paper that had been folded to protect it from the rain.

Rafe looked up finally, but not at you, at JJ. He extended his arm to offer JJ the piece of paper.

JJ tiptoed over as if Rafe had somehow booby trapped the floorboards between them. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics.

With all eyes on him, and no sound but the storm outside, JJ unfolded the piece of paper. He read it for a long time. Like, a really long time. The little sister in you had to bite back a joke about his intellect, and you met eyes with Pope to see he was holding back the same comment. Even in this incredibly adult moment, you were kids together.

Finally, JJ looked up from the paper. Staring incredulously at Rafe.

“Is this for real?” JJ asked him, eyebrows raised.

Rafe just nodded, the movement causing the cut on his lip to open, making him wince in pain. You sat down beside him again, watching him anxiously for signs that he was hurt elsewhere.

JJ just stared at the two of you for a moment before turning and leaving the room, dropping the piece of paper on the coffee table as he left. Pope and John B went to it immediately to read what had caused JJ to storm out, but you didn’t even care at this point, all that mattered was Rafe being okay, you needed him to be okay.

Except, JJ hadn’t stormed out. He had only gone to the kitchen, from which he was now returning, a bottle of whiskey and a bag of frozen peas in hand. He offered both to Rafe, Rafe opted for the whiskey. He twisted open the cap and took a sip, wincing as it went down.

You grabbed the peas from your brother, holding them up to Rafe’s black eye. He flinched at the contact but settled after a minute. JJ watched as Rafe placed his hand on your leg gratefully and handed back the bottle of whiskey.

“What’s the bourbon for? Drowning our sorrows?” Cleo asked.

“No,” John B said, he and Pope looking up from the paper with disbelieving grins. “Celebrating.”

“What does it say?” Kie asked, stepping further into the room, though she continued to eye Rafe like he was a wild animal that could go feral at any minute.

“We got the land back. They’re not rezoning,” Pope explained. “We’re keeping Poguelandia.”

The room froze for a minute, then erupted in a burst of hoots and hollers. Finally, the storm had some noise to compete with. The others hugged and cheered. Sarah rose from the couch and threw herself into John B’s arms.

“How’d you do it, man?” John B asked Rafe.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rafe said, squeezing your leg three times. “I just took care of it, okay?”

He sounded aggressive, like he always did when addressing these six people, but you saw this for what it really was - a peace offering. A grand gesture. A declaration of his love for you. He gave you your home back, he gave you everything.

As the others continued to celebrate, the volume in the house reaching new heights as they passed around the bottle of whiskey and toasted Poguelandia, you leaned into Rafe, your chin tucked into his shoulder so you could whisper something in his ear.

He smiled at your words, raising his arm to wrap around your shoulders and curling you toward him so he could bring his lips to your temple.

“I love you, too.”

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a/n: had to come out of retirement for this one, missed my boy too much. and holy shit did I have fun writing for rafey again. also this is as canon as I'll write Rafe lol

oh, and what did rafe have to do to get Poguelandia back? That stays between me and him xoxo

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karvokr · 1 day ago

Text

ok because you definitely mention to satoru one time off-handedly about making a sex tape and he is so serious about it.

like you’re giggling when you tell him. you’re half-dressed and laying across his lap. “we should film it. get an onlyfans or something.”

he just freezes, then grins. “say less.”

“‘toru, no–”

“no, we’re doing it. lights, camera, action, baby,” he says as he pulls out his laptop, already shopping for a ring light.

next thing you know, he’s testing angles and moving everything around just to get the shot perfect. he’s posing you on the bed like a movie director. fixing your bra strap himself like he’s head of costuming. bites your thigh and leaves a mark for “aesthetics.”

then, he starts filming and it’s almost like a switch is flipped.

“c’mon baby– look at the camera. there you go. don’t cover your face, baby, let ‘em see how good i fuck you– that’s it, mama, fuck, you look amazing.”

one hand is holding the camera while he’s thrusting into you, and the other is pushing your thigh flush to your stomach, holding you open so he can focus his phone on the “money shot.”

the angle he’s going in is brutal– punishing even– and you’ve already cum after only a few minutes.

“who knew a camera got you so worked up, baby? just a little flash photography and you fuckin’ cum,” he teases, thumb moving to your clit. his mouth drops open when he looks at you, watching your mouth drop into a moan and seeing the white on your knuckles where you’re grabbing at the bedsheets. “one more for the camera– c’mon, mama, we’re not done. want me to stop? huh? yeah, didn’t think so. you love this dick, huh?”

and when you finally finish, three orgasms deep and legs feeling like jelly, he runs his hand up your stomach, settling it on your throat and giving it a squeeze before panning the camera back down, zooming in on where his cock is still stuffed inside, his cum starting to leak out. his thumb moves over your clit lightly again, and you can hear him chuckle when you spasm, clenching down on him. then he turns the camera to himself– smug, hair messy, and his chest littered with scratches and crescents from where you were grabbing him while he destroyed your guts.

“and that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you make a star.”

#if satoru were my man #the VIDEOS i would have on my phone #karvo thinks thoughts #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jjk fic #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru smut #gojo smut

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asherwesley · 3 days ago

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“You taste like honey”

Simon “Ghost” Riley x You

⟢───────⟢⟢───────⟢

It starts as a joke. You’re curled on the couch, legs in his lap, flipping through your phone as he idly runs a hand up and down your shin.

“Alright,” you say, smiling a little, “if I were an ice cream flavor, what would I be?”

He snorts. Doesn’t even look up.

“That a real question?”

“Yup.”

He’s quiet for a second.

“Honey almond.”

You blink. “That’s weirdly specific.”

He shrugs, but you see it. That faint twitch in his jaw. He’s trying not to look sentimental.

“Why?”

He exhales. Still not looking at you.

“It’s… soft. Warm. Doesn’t try too hard. Bit sweet, but not fake.”

He pauses. Fingers still on your skin. Then, low:

“Feels like home. The kind you don’t wanna leave.”

You swallow.

He finally glances at you. “Knew it were dumb the second I said it.”

You shake your head, voice caught in your throat. “It’s not.”

He shifts, a little embarrassed now. Mutters: “And you always smell like that one. Even if you don’t wear it. Dunno how.”

“You’re such a sap.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, tightening his hold on your leg. “You asked.”

You want to tease him again – something smug, something flirtatious – but you don’t get the chance.

Because suddenly his hand slides up behind your knee and pulls, dragging you closer across the couch cushions. You yelp, half-laughing, but he’s already over you – eyes dark, hungry, burning with something too sharp to be called playful.

He hovers there, nose almost brushing yours.

“You wanna keep talkin’” he murmurs, voice low and thick, “or d’you want me to remind you of what I truly think you taste like?

Your breath stutters.

“You’re blushing,” he says, amused now – teasing but hoarse.

Then, without waiting, he dips in and kisses you. Hard. Deep. As if the admission flustered him and this is the only way he knows to deal with it – to shut you up, to cover it, to claim it back.

His tongue brushes past your lips and tastes you like you’re the only sweetness he’s ever craved.

And when he finally lets go so you can catch your breath, his eyes are already on yours.

“Yeah. Definitely honey. Fuckin’ addictive.”

You’re dazed. Lips tingling. Breath shallow.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whisper.

“Mhm,” he hums, pressing his mouth to your jaw. “Still want me to list more flavours? Or should I use my mouth for something else?”

⟢───────⟢⟢───────⟢

You taste like comfort. Like softness.

Like something he never thought he’d be allowed to keep – but desperately, quietly hopes he can.

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lomlsatoru · 1 day ago

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best friend!jinu remembers your coffee order by heart and knows your favourite snacks and foods. you claim he’s obsessed but he said its just because he’s a good friend.

best friend!jinu pokes fun at you and you poke fun at him. you tease and mock and its all lighthearted and fun. people say you’re flirting but you call them crazy.

best friend!jinu looks for you first when he enters the room — if you’re not already arriving with him. he scans everywhere top to bottom and can only calm down when he hears you greet him in that sweet voice of yours, “jiji!”

best friend!jinu is your unpaid, unofficial bodyguard. anywhere you go he’s two steps behind you. you know that audio, walk him like a dog sis, walk him like a dog. yeah, that’s you two.

best friend!jinu lets you pinch and shove him. it doesn’t hurt but having you hands on him makes his tummy all weird.

best friend!jinu doesn’t drink much if you’re at the party with him. he wants to make sure you’re okay, safe and comfortable.

best friend!jinu stares at you from across the room. he says he’s only keeping tabs, but when you glance and catch his eyes, he turns his head so fast you can almost hear it crack and his cheeks goes up in flames.

best friend!jinu doesn’t really know how to handle how touchy you are with him. your hand is on his bicep, back, shoulders and suddenly he can’t remember his own name.

best friend!jinu lets you become his forever passenger princess. his car is littered with your stuff, your scrunchies, lip balms, tissue packets, rings all in the crevices in his car.

best friend!jinu loves how much you depend on him. your bag? he’s holding it. your lip gloss? in his pocket. your card? he’s taking care of the bill.

best friend!jinu who stutters when you get too close. he doesn’t mind if you get in his personal space, if anything he prefers it. but the moment you smile at him, his brain short circuits.

best friend!jinu is a loser in a hot body and only you know that. you see that side of him more than anyone else — mostly because he only shows them to you.

best friend!jinu doesn’t really compliment you explicitly. mostly because he’s shy, scared that he’ll come off as creepy or someone with an ulterior motive. but you are truly breathtaking to him and he can’t think sometimes.

best friend!jinu acts like your boyfriend. he’s protective, cares too much about you, pays every time you guys go out but also doesn’t stop you when you want to spoil him.

best friend!jinu is easily spoiled by movie marathon, late night ice cream runs and pizza parties. he also likes feeling like to feel pampered but you can smile at him and that would be enough.

best friend!jinu gets nervous when people mistaken you as his girlfriend. he denies but always as the famous follow up question, why do you say that?

best friend!jinu doesn’t know when he started feeling weird around you. good weird. but he’s not surprised. you’re kind, sweet, caring and you like spending time with him. and! you smell nice, and you share food with him, and you play with his hair, and- (okay thats enough jinu!)

oh… best friend!jinu thinks he likes you more than a friend now.

reblog for a smooch 😘 check out my other works <3

#⋆⋅☆ hana’s writing!#a different spin on my other jinu works but i love it all the same #best friends to lovers oh my favourite trope #will definitely elaborate more soon <3 #lmk what u think!#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #jinu kpop demon hunters x reader #jinu kpop demon hunters #jinu kpdh x reader #jinu kdh #jinu x reader #jinu kpdh #saja boys #saja boys x reader

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33lol · 1 day ago

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Truth or Dare

Pazzi (paige x azzi)

warnings: mention of sexual content, sexual tension, sex positions, grinding, lap dance, mention of kinks

wc: 3.4k

It was a Friday night, in which Geno gave the team the day off for team bonding. Some of the girls thought well what better way to spend it than playing some games?

KK texted in the group chat,

Huzzkies🫦🏀

KK: Day off + team bonding = meet in Azzi and Ice’s dorm at 7 tn… bring food, drinks, and vibes🫡

Ice: I wasn’t aware my room volunteered itself

Azzi: Yeah now I have to clean bitch

Nika: LFG I’m down

Carol: You’re up to something aren’t you??

KK: …Let’s just say, what happens in the dorm stays in the dorm😏

Paige: Carol, KK is always up to something

Jana: Y’all wild

(Hearted by the rest of the team)

It was supposed to be a simple night—drinks, food, maybe some Dance Moms that Ice has been obsessing over—but KK had other plans.

The girls all trickled in slowly with snacks, stuff for dirty Shirley's, and lots of TruFru. They ordered pizza and clicked the episode of Dance Moms Ice was currently in the middle of while they all ate.

Azzi was in the kitchen making her plate and a drink while everyone chilled in the living room. She thought she was alone until she felt a warm presence come up behind her and rest her head on her shoulder—Paige. Azzi turned her head to look at her,

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah.. just wondering what KK is plotting”

Azzi giggled, “She’s so immature”

Paige smiled and lifted her head from Azzi’s shoulder, “Need help carrying stuff over?”

Azzi smiled softly at Paige’s offer, “Sure, thank you”

Paige helped her carry her food and drink over while looking for a place to sit. Everyone had pretty much taken up the furniture—except for the small loveseat that was definitely not big enough for the two of them. Paige sat the food on the side table while Azzi held her drink watching her. She sat down in the chair spreading her legs comfortably and patted her thighs while looking up at Azzi, “Come here.”

Azzi didn’t argue or even give it a second thought. She smiled and plopped herself right on to Paige’s lap with her legs draped over Paige’s thighs. Their teammates all gave looks, but never said a thing. Just small side eyes to each other and smirks from across the room.

The two have always been clingy and touchy with each other. It’s just known to the team that they are like that. What the pair doesn’t know is the team has already secretly planned their wedding and made bets on when the two will profess their love for each other. Until then, the two best friends just flirt with each other, brushing it off as “their dynamic”—while silently wishing the other knew their feelings.

Eventually everyone was done eating and started to get antsy after the episode ended. KK straightened up looking around, “Alright how bout we play some games now!”

Caroline rolled her eyes, “KK your games are never just games”

Nika laughed, “Yeah last time we did something like this, I couldn’t remember my name the next morning from being so shitfaced”

KK scoffed, “Ok well that’s because you wouldn’t answer any questions! This is gonna be better, trust”

Ash waved her hand, “Go on”

KK smiled devilishly, “OK so it’s a mix of spin the bottle and truth or dare. Rules are simple: spin the bottle and whoever it lands on gets to pick truth or dare. If you don’t answer or complete the dare then you drink… drink can be of your choosing, you’re welcome, Nika.” Nika rolled her eyes playfully.

Azzi adjusted herself on Paige slightly, “I’m in”

Paige tickled the sliver of Azzi’s stomach that was showing making the younger girl giggle, “Fine I’ll play”

KK clapped dramatically, “Yay, the parents have spoken!”

The group laughed and all scooted closer. Ice grabbed an empty bottle from the kitchen and placed it in the middle. KK spun the bottle first and it landed on Ash.

KK rubbed her hands together like she was starving, “Truth or dare Ash”

“Uhh truth I guess”

“Ugh ok fine we’ll start off easy.. what is your guilty pleasure movie?”

Ash blushes slightly, “Hmm.. probably Fifty Shades of Grey”

Aaliyah chokes on her drink, “Damn Ash, I didn’t know you were down like that”

Ash and the group laugh as she spun the bottle which landed on Nika.

“Truth or dare”

“Dare”

“I dare you to send Nahiem a nude and then tell us his response.”

Nika throws her head back knowing he’s with his family right now, “Oh my fucking god. Fine.”

A few moments later her eyes widened at his response. The group yells at her to read it.

Nika blushed while reading, “You gonna show me how you took that pic later or what, ma?”

Jana stood up and clapped while others whistled and laughed. Nika shook her head and spun the bottle, which landed on Azzi.

“Truth or dare”

“Truth. Make it count” she said while smirking.

And Nika did just that, “What’s a big kink of yours, Az?”

Azzi’s face went red and she covered her mouth with her hand, “You freak” she murmured.

“Umm.. I mean I’m into spitting.”

The room went silent for a second.

“OH MY GOD”

“BITCH YOU‘RE CRAZY”

A few of the girls said while a chorus of laughter and “oohs” went around the room. Paige tried to hide her smirk, making a mental note of this fact. She pulled Azzi closer to her, leaning in so only she could hear, “What that mouth do tho mama?”

Azzi smacked Paige’s thigh giving her a glare, “Now I’ve got you curious, don’t I?”

Paige just smirked at her with that same confident look she always had. Azzi leaned forward to spin the bottle, making her ass push right up against Paige—which she may have done purposefully. Paige looked down briefly but not before Carol could say, “Eyes up Bueckers.”

Paige’s face went red and she flipped Carol off. Carol just smirked like the rest of the group but Azzi only smiled, not giving in to the satisfaction of turning around to look at her. Azzi’s spin landed on Ice.

“Truth or Dare Isuneh?”

“Truth, Princess”

Azzi narrowed her eyes at her and tilted her head, “Craziest place you’ve had sex?”

Ice giggled knowing her answer immediately, “Your room”

“What the fuck Ice!”

Ice was wheezing now, “I’m kidding! Gampel bathroom at half time.”

“Bro, how is that even possible?” Aaliyah asked.

Ice sighed dramatically, “Let’s just say anything is possible when he lasts two minutes.”

That got the room cackling. KK was bent over from laughing so hard, “I know you did not just say that”

She sighs, “Unfortunately.”

Ice spun the bottle and the game went around the circle for a while. Some girls refused to answer the out of pocket questions and do the crazy dares people came up with, in turn making them extra tipsy (maybe more than that). Eventually it got around to Paige. Aaliyah was the one who had spun and her face lit up when it landed on Paige.

“Truth or Dare Buckets?”

Paige smiled, “Dare”

Aaliyah smirked knowing she saved this one for one of the lovebirds.

“I dare you to demonstrate your favorite sex position with the person of the group’s choosing”

Paige’s stomach immediately got butterflies while her jaw hung open. Azzi tried not to have too much of a reaction but when the group noticed her face flushed all pink, they all pointed at her.

“Azzi you got this one girl!”

“Yeah you don’t want her to have to drink more do you?”

Her mind started racing, but before she could get too lost in her thoughts she felt two hands circle around her waist. Paige leaned near her ear, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Az. I’ll take a shot so fast I sw—”

Azzi cut her off with a soft smile that she only reserved for Paige, “It’s okay, I wanna do it.”

Paige didn’t have time to let those words or their meaning settle before she was pulled up by Azzi.

“Show me whatcha got P”

Paige could feel her face get darker by the second with all the eyes on her. Azzi leaned in a little closer to Paige, “Focus on me. It’s just me.”

But that was the issue. It’s Azzi—her best friend, her soulmate, her person—who she is in love with but can’t seem to get the guts to tell her.

Paige took a short breath and nodded, searching Azzi’s face for any sign of hesitation. All she saw was.. excitement from Azzi.

Paige smirked a little and said to no one in particular, “I don’t have much experience (she actually had only had sex one time but it was uncomfortable and didn’t satisfy her, but the group didn’t need to know that) but this one is an intimate one.”

Azzi tried to keep a neutral face, but as she looked around the room she saw the whole team leaning in with smirks and raised eye brows like this was a telenovela. Azzi locked eyes with Ice and mouthed “Die.” Ice just chuckled, continuing to watch the scene unfold.

Paige sat on the floor with her back against the chair with her legs spread. She motioned to Azzi to sit down, “Sit on my lap and face away from me.”

Azzi did as she was told, trying to ignore the sudden heat rising in her stomach. She gripped Paige’s thigh subconsciously, just as something to hold on to, but Paige took it as a different sign. “We can stop if you want,” she said while looking Azzi in the eye with caution, care, and something else Azzi couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Azzi smiled softly, nodding “I’m ok, I want you to keep going.”

The whole team was entertained at this point, eyes locked and leaning forward.

Azzi now sat on Paige’s lap with her back to her chest. In a low voice really only for Azzi to hear, Paige continued, “Alright now spread your legs for me and pull your knees up”

She obeyed and Paige wrapped her hands around Azzi’s thighs, rubbing soft circles on them. Azzi tilted her head back to look at Paige for the first time in a minute. She would be lying to herself if she said she’s never dreamed about being with Paige like this, but she’s just never wanted to ruin anything good in her friendship with her.

Paige smiled at her like she always smiles at Azzi—eyes sparkling, flushed face, quiet confidence. Then she turned to the group and added nonchalantly, "Preferably we’d be in front of a mirror and she’d be riding a strap.”

Azzi’s breath hitched as Paige turned her head back to her. She was still smiling, but it was softer now.

The group stayed silent, with their jaws on the floor and on the edge of their seats.

Eventually KK says, “Ash here’s your real life person version of Fifty Shades”

Nika cackled and added, “Even I’m wet from watching that”

The group all choked and wheezed for a good two minutes. However Paige and Azzi stayed rooted in the position they were in, still frozen and shocked while looking at each other. The laughter died down a bit and Azzi let her legs fall closed while returning her attention to in front of her, not before Paige caught the subtle smirk on her face. The two got up and sat back in the seat in their original position of Azzi in Paige’s lap.

Paige spun the bottle which landed on Jana.

“Truth or Dare Miss Egyptian queen?”

“Truth”

“What’s your body count?”

“Easy, 3” Jana deadpanned.

Paige rolled her eyes and Azzi giggled.

“Alright my turn,” Jana said excitedly.

She spun the bottle and of course, it lands on Azzi.

Aaliyah laughs from the corner of the room, “Truth or dare Azeray.. choose wisely.”

Azzi tapped her finger to her chin like she was debating what to have for dinner, “Dare.”

“Mmm feisty, I like it” Jana said

“I dare you to give the person of the group’s choosing a lap dance.”

Azzi wasn’t sure if she heard that right, “I’m sorry what?”

“You heard me” Jana said with a knowing smirk.

The group all laughed then said, “Paige!” in unison.

Paige’s face immediately turned a shade of crimson and dragged a hand down her face. Azzi closed her eyes and took a deep breath realizing what kind of night KK intended for this to be—messy.

“I’m drinking,” Azzi said plainly.

The group immediately busted out into protests,

“WHAT NO!”

“Nah you’re lame”

“C’mon Azzi!”

Paige said in disbelief but with a glint of mischief, “Nah y’all crazy for that one… unless,” she said grinning up at Azzi.

Azzi turned around with a gasp, “Not you ganging up on me too”

Paige giggled but softened her gaze silently telling Azzi she doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t wanna do.

Azzi stared into those big blue eyes and realized she actually wanted to feed into the chaos.

“Fuck it” she said while standing up.

“Wait actually?” Paige said a little too fast and very eagerly.

“Yep. Stand up.”

Paige grinned from ear to ear, “Mmm yes ma’am”

Azzi shook her head at the older girl’s antics but couldn’t stop her own smile from crossing her face.

Azzi went and grabbed the chair from her vanity in her room and pulled it into the circle of the team.

“Sit,” she said while patting the back of the chair.

Paige did as Azzi said and ignored the comment from Ice saying, “If she told you to bark you’d do it.”

Paige sat down and looked over at KK who was on her phone with a smirk, scrolling. A Brent Faiyaz song started coming from her phone speaker and everyone started howling. Azzi ignored the group, but actually appreciated the background noise as it made it less awkward on her part.

Azzi circled the chair in a slow and smooth rhythm, eyes on Paige the entire time. Paige knew this was what KK meant by “what happens in the dorm stays in the dorm” so before anything could happen she looked around the room and said with a serious face, “If you post these videos anywhere I will actually kill you.”

The group laughed and Paige looked back up at Azzi. Azzi could see the hesitation all over her face. She leaned down to Paige’s ear and whispered, “I will stop if you tell me to, just focus on me remember?.”

Paige nodded while giving her a shy smile. Azzi placed her hands on Paige’s shoulders, slowly running them lower down her chest while breathing down her neck. Paige could immediately feel slick start pooling in her underwear and her breaths coming out short. She closed her eyes trying to hide from the embarrassment but Azzi was quick to say in a low voice, “Paige I want you to watch me.”

Paige opened her eyes that were half-lidded and tried to control her breathing. Azzi had made her way around now standing in front of Paige. Azzi bit her lip as she lifted her leg and climbed into Paige’s lap. Paige had just had her hands resting in her lap not knowing what to do with them and only wanting to do what Azzi said. Azzi saw her fingers twitching and waiting to be given instructions. Without saying a word, Azzi took Paige’s hands and rested them on her hips under her tank top.

The team had been videoing the whole thing so far, still with the music playing and everyone’s baffled faces in the background.

Azzi rested her own hands on Paige’s shoulders and leaned in so her mouth was by her ear, “Can you relax for me P? I got you, just wanna make you feel good.”

Paige pulled her bottom lip between her teeth while squeezing Azzi’s hips tighter. Azzi took this as a sign to keep going. Azzi started her movements, keeping eye contact with Paige the whole time. She started grinding slowly, keeping in mind they still have an audience. She moved her hips in precise circles right over Paige’s core, which was now soaking at this point. Azzi wasn’t doing much better, despite the collected look she had on her face.

Azzi kept grinding at the steady pace, but leaned back slightly only holding one of Paige’s shoulders now and the other holding the side of the chair. This gave Paige a better view of Azzi’s body and that damn belly button piercing she’s never gotten over. Azzi leaned back just enough to the point where Paige slid her hands down to grab Azzi’s ass, just in case she fell back as Paige claimed.

Paige kept her eyes on Azzi, every so often dipping her gaze to her lips. Azzi smiled when she saw Paige’s eyes on her lips which in turn made Paige smile back even wider. At this point they both had taken enough shots earlier in the game to feel a warm buzz that made them feel looser. They were just starting to have fun with each other now.

Azzi moved her body back forward now so she was flush against Paige’s chest. Paige didn’t move her hands from Azzi’s ass, but instead squeezed tighter. Azzi let out a soft whimper only really loud enough for Paige to hear. Paige groaned loudly at this with a toothy grin and slapped Azzi’s ass hard. Azzi halted her grinding and hid her face in Paige’s neck. They both broke into giggles at this and the group immediately turned to chaos.

KK jumped up from her chair running circles screaming

Jana immediately sent her video to the group chat with the words, “Mom and dad gettin naughty🙈”

Nika started rolling on the ground with her hands covering her eyes

Carol announced, “Alright I’ve seen enough porn for tonight.. I’m gonna head out!”

The rest of the group jumped up from their spot getting the memo as well. Even Ice piped up, “I’m staying with Ash tonight!”

Azzi had not moved her head from the crook of Paige’s neck, now realizing how far they had taken it. But she wasn’t embarrassed out of regret, she was slightly embarrassed because she didn’t regret grinding all over Paige in front of her entire team. Paige didn’t move either. She cradled Azzi’s head and held her lower back. Only when she heard the door click and complete silence after her teammates left, did she shift. Paige tapped ass to get her attention.

“Az”

“I can’t look at you”

Paige giggled softly, “Well I’m gonna need you to look at me mama. It’s just us now”

Azzi slowly moved back and lifted her head but still didn’t make eye contact yet. Paige saw her face was warm and flushed. She cradled Azzi’s face with her hands guiding her to look up. Azzi finally looked at her and smiled shyly. Paige just kept looking at her, eyes filled with all the unspoken feelings that have been simmering for far too long.

“What?” Azzi said feeling exposed and seen.

Paige didn’t say anything, she brushed a curl out of Azzi’s face and caressed her finger over her jaw. Paige looked down at Azzi’s lips then back up at her eyes. She thought about everything she could say, but all that needed to be said was, “I’m so in love with you.”

Azzi’s breath hitched and her lips were slightly parted, not expecting Paige to say that. “Are you sure it’s not just the effects of the lap dance talking?”

Paige chuckled at this and inched her face closer, “Baby, I wouldn’t have done anything we did tonight with anyone else. I love you. And I’ve been too scared to say that for some stupid reason. I guess I was worried you didn’t feel the same or that it could ruin our friendship.”

“I love you too P”

“Good… wanna show me some more moves?” Paige asked smirking.

“Depends.. will you demonstrate some more of yours?” Azzi countered with her eyes brows raised.

Paige laughed and tilted her head before leaning in and connecting with Azzi’s lips. The kiss wasn’t rushed like their actions earlier, but slow—purposeful. They stayed like that for a minute, then Azzi pulled back.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before running her tongue over it. Then she asked in a low, rough voice, “Can we go to my room now?”

Paige smiled genuinely and nodded softly at the curly haired girl. She grabbed the back of Azzi’s legs and lifted her up while standing and took them to Azzi’s room, where they would finally share the love they’ve been feeling.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi smut #pazzi

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moondustbaby · 3 days ago

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Made For Me

blue collar!Rafe x sahm!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

cw: lactation kink, big boobie appreciation, soft dominance, postpartum body comfort, oral (f. receiving), fingering, praise kink, unprotected piv

mdni 18+

summary: Rafe comes home from work to find you tired and leaking through your nursing bra—but all he sees is how beautiful you are. With gentle hands and loving words, he shows you just how much he adores every part of you, especially the ones you feel most insecure about.

⸻

You’re folding laundry in nothing but your robe, half-open because it doesn’t quite fit your chest anymore. One side of your nursing bra is unclipped, and you keep forgetting to fix it—too tired, too distracted. You barely even notice the way milk slowly dampens the cup of your bra.

But Rafe notices.

He notices everything.

You hear his boots on the hardwood before you see him, the door creaking open as he walks in from work, cheeks flushed from the heat, Carhartt shirt sticking to his chest.

“Hey, baby,” he calls, eyes landing on you—and then his voice dips, goes all honeyed and low. “Damn.”

You glance up, flustered. “What?”

He drops his tool bag in the mudroom and walks in slow, his eyes locked on your chest like he hasn’t seen you in days, not just eight hours. “You know what that robe does to me,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your cheek, then down your neck. “S’like you’re beggin’ me to come home and ruin you.”

You roll your eyes, but your body reacts anyway—hot under his gaze. “I didn’t even notice it was falling open.”

He runs a thumb gently under the edge of your bra, where the fabric’s gone damp. “Yeah, you did.” His voice drops to a whisper. “You’re leakin’, baby.”

Your cheeks flush. “I know. I meant to go pump after I finished—”

Rafe pulls the robe open the rest of the way. “Nah. Don’t pump.”

You blink, heart skipping. “Rafe—”

“Lemme have it.”

The way he says it—like it’s a craving, a need, not a request—makes your knees weak. He drops to his knees in front of you, big hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the robe off your shoulders so you’re bare from the waist up, swollen and sensitive and too full.

He looks up at you like you’re the sun. “These tits…” He groans softly. “Fuck, baby. Look at you.”

Your arms twitch like you should cover yourself, but he gently pushes them down.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the underside of one heavy breast. “They’re so fuckin’ perfect. So big. Full. Made for me.”

You let out a shaky breath. “They make me look huge.”

“They make you look like a woman who carried my baby and feeds him with these pretty tits.” His voice is rough now. “You don’t look huge. You look hot.”

You whimper when he kisses the side of your breast, mouth warm and open. He flicks his tongue over your nipple, licking up a little spill of milk that escapes, and groans low in his throat like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“God, baby,” he pants. “You know what this does to me.”

Your knees buckle, and Rafe guides you to the couch. He lays you back, mouth never leaving your chest. He palms your breasts, heavy and tender in his hands, then wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks.

Hard.

You gasp. “Rafe—”

“I’ll be gentle,” he says, mouth still on you, hand sliding between your legs to tug your panties down. “You just sit there and let me taste what’s mine.”

You’re so wet you can feel the air on your thighs when he spreads them. He slides two fingers through your folds, then sinks one in slow, just to tease.

“Already so fuckin’ wet down here,” he murmurs, kissing a wet trail across your chest. “So good for me.”

You arch under him when his fingers start moving—slow, firm, curling just right. But it’s the way he keeps suckling your breast, switching sides every few minutes, moaning every time he gets another rush of milk, that makes your eyes roll back.

“Rafe,” you pant. “That feels—oh my god—”

“I could stay right here all night,” he mutters, dazed with it. “My perfect girl, all swollen and drippin’ for me. Tastes so sweet, baby. Bet you’re just as sweet down here too.”

He trails kisses down your stomach, then licks a stripe between your legs before you can even form words. You jolt, fingers sinking into his hair.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he says, like it’s sacred. “You do so much, baby. Always takin’ care of everyone. Lemme take care of you now.”

He eats you like he means it—slow, reverent, with just enough filth to make you cry out. He never stops touching your breasts, even as he licks and sucks your clit, his hands full of you, massaging and squeezing and occasionally dropping back to your nipples for another taste.

Your thighs are shaking. “I’m gonna—Rafe, I’m—”

“Yeah, you are,” he growls. “Come on, babygirl. Give it to me.”

You come with a choked moan, trembling all over, his name tumbling from your lips as he licks you through it. He pulls away only to crawl up your body, kissing every inch as he goes. You can feel him hard against your thigh, straining in his jeans.

“Take it out,” you whisper, still dazed. “Wanna see you.”

He does—slowly, like a reward. His cock springs free, flushed and dripping. He watches your eyes go wide and grins, settling between your legs, stroking himself while cupping one breast again.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “My pretty girl. My perfect mama.”

You reach up to touch him, but he pins your wrist to the couch cushion. “No, baby. Not this time. You just lay there and take it.”

You whimper, legs falling open for him. “Please, Rafe—”

He lines himself up and pushes in—slow, deep, like he’s savoring every second. You both moan at the stretch, the way your body gives so easily for him.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re always so tight for me. So wet.”

He sets a steady pace, hips rolling while he bends down to kiss your breasts again, licking away more milk as it leaks from you, moaning like he’s drunk on it.

“You were made for this,” he pants. “Made to be mine. Made to carry our baby.”

Your whole body is burning—overstimulated, full, loved so deeply you could cry.

“Ray—oh my god—”

“Shhh, I got you.” He holds your leg up, angling deeper. “Gonna come with me, sweetheart? Gonna give it to me again?”

You nod, nails digging into his back. “Yes—yes—”

He groans your name, slamming into you harder, then stills as you both come—him spilling inside you, face buried in your neck, you shaking from the intensity.

Afterward, he kisses your chest one more time, softly now. “Still worried they make you look big?”

You laugh breathlessly. “Not when you talk to them like that.”

He grins, hands still full of you. “Can’t help it. These titties are heaven.”

a/n: this one goes out to the girlies with big boobies who just wanna feel hot, soft, and so loved—because Rafe sees those big tits and thinks: jackpot. I had so much fun writing this, and I hope it makes you feel as adored and worshipped as you deserve 🫶🏻

♥️ lani

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Masterlist

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urmum-lovesme · 1 day ago

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WE WANT MORE TOXIC DAD!!!

Toxic!Dad!Rafe is so protective, and although he is toxic no-one's allowed to talk shit about his girl- (except for him obviously but thats different duh)

The sun is out, the country club buzzing with chatter and the occasional thwack of a golf club striking a ball. Y/N is settled in a shaded area, her baby girl sitting in the grass, her tiny hands grabbing at the white golf balls, rolling them back and forth as she giggles at the way they wobble on the lawn. Rafe is standing a few feet away, talking with Topper, Kelce, and some other guys Y/N doesn’t really know. Some trust fund babies, probably. The type who think their daddy’s money makes them invincible. She doesn’t care to know because right now, her attention is on their daughter, the way she beams when Rafe glances over at her, proudly showing him her new 'toys.'

“Yeah princess, you got ‘em.”

His voice is soft when he talks to her, completely different from the cocky, arrogant way he speaks to everyone else. Y/N watches with a smile as he grins, winking at their little girl which makes her giggle, before he's going back to his conversation. She’s just about to pull out her phone and snap a picture when she hears one of the guys laugh. A little too loud, a little too amused.

“Guess it worked out for her, huh?”

It’s casual, muttered between swigs of beer to the other new guys, but it makes her stomach drop.

“Got kicked to the curb by her family—”

Her heart rises to her throat.

“—but hey, at least she had Cameron to knock her up. Now she’s set for life, right?”

Silence.

The kind that makes the hairs on the back of Y/N’s neck stand up, she knows exactly what’s about to happen. She watches the way Rafe's shoulders stiffen, the muscle in his jaw ticks, his grip on his beer tightening like he’s two seconds away from crushing the glass.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

His voice drops slow and controlled but lethal. The guy, oblivious or maybe just plain fucking stupid, grins and shrugs.

“Chill, man. I just meant- ”

Wrong move.

Y/N is already standing, her heart in her throat. She doesn’t give a fuck about the comment itself— it’s Rafe she’s worried about. Rafe, who’s already moving. He steps forward, beer bottle still in hand, shoulders squared.

“Nah, go ahead. Say it again.”

He challenges the guy who now shifts on his feet chuckling, but there’s an edge of nervousness evident in his actions.

“Jesus man, it was a joke.”

“Oh yeah? Not fuckin’ funny.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches at his petty excuse. Y/N barely has time to react before he shoves the guy back.

Hard.

Not enough to knock him down- but enough to make a statement. Enough to make everyone around them go silent. His fist tighten by his sides and Kelce mutters something under his breath looking over to Topper who sighs, shaking his head.

“Don’t fuckin' talk about her like that.”

His voice is deadly, protective, and it makes Y/N’s breath catch. Her throat is tight, her skin burning. Not because of what the guy said- but because he wasn’t entirely wrong. She’s heard it before.

Lucky to have Rafe.

Lucky to have their daughter.

Lucky because otherwise she’d have nothing.

She swallows hard, blinking fast but Rafe sees red and he shoves the guy again, harder this time. Kelce lets out a low whistle and Topper rubs a hand down his face. Y/N moves quickly, stepping between the two guys, one hand pressing against Rafe’s chest. She can feel how hard his heart is pounding, how tense his muscles are, like he’s just waiting for an excuse to swing.

“Rafe, stop.”

He doesn’t move. Just stares the guy down, nostrils flaring as he opens his mouth again to say something but is cut off- a tiny giggle.

Y/N whips around at the sound.

Their daughter is still sitting in the grass, completely oblivious to the tension, laughing as she claps her hands, watching her daddy like she thinks this is just another game. It’s enough to make Y/N’s stomach drop. Rafe must notice it too, because his shoulders drop slightly. He doesn’t turn away from the guy, but he exhales sharply through his nose.

“You’re fuckin’ lucky I have my kid with me.”

The guy doesn’t say anything. Just nods before stumbling back, shoving his hands into his pockets. Rafe rolls his eyes at him, shaking out his shoulders. Y/N stares at him, momentarily unsure of what to say as she watches the guys walk away.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

He scoffs.

“Yeah? What, I’m just supposed to let him run his mouth?”

“You have your daughter with you, Rafe.”

That’s what matters. That’s what she cares about. Rafe’s gaze flickers to their baby girl, still sitting on the grass, still smiling at him and something softens in his expression. He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before bending down and scooping her up.

“C’mon, princess. Let’s go home.”

Y/N doesn’t argue. Just lets him lift their daughter into his arms as he adjusts her small white hat, her tiny hand clutching onto his shirt. She watches him as they walk towards the car, feeling exhausted but knowing one thing for certain:

Rafe Cameron will never let anyone disrespect his family.

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littlegrapejuice · 1 day ago

Text

Grid Mum 7 | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Kimi gets his first podium, and you're crying like you just witnessed your kid walk for the first time. Bonus: Franco being bullied on a plane.

Author's Note: I'm still so so happy ab kimi's podium, i was fr super proud and i can't wait for him to get others + for the rest of the rookies to get one in the future🤍

F1 MASTERLIST🏎 | Previous Part | Next Part

Kimi didn’t care about what people would think. He didn’t care about how it would look when his first instinct after hugging his team was to make his way towards the sea of Red Bull employees. Because amongst those employees who were here in parc fermé to celebrate Max’s P2, there was you.

Your smile was wide, cheeks almost hurting. And as soon as your eyes met Kimi’s, you grinned harder – if that was even possible.

“You did it!” You told Kimi once his arms were around you.

“I did it!” He echoed your words. His voice was muffled by his helmet, but the happiness and joy were obvious.

Pulling back from his embrace, your hands went to hold Kimi’s helmet. The rookie noticed that your eyes were tearing up a bit, and his couldn’t help but do the same too.

“That was a wonderful race, Kimi. I’m so proud of you.” Your tone was soft, conveying how genuine you were.

“Thank you!” Kimi’s eyes were enough to express his gratitude for your support, and they showed that he was smiling under his helmet. When someone from his team called him for his post-race duties before the podium, he quickly turned towards the voice then met your eyes once again. “Bye, I love you!” Next thing you know, he was gone from your side.

It wasn’t supposed to be such a big deal that Kimi was saying that he loved you – you had been mothering him since the season had started and had supported him through his unfortunately numerous DNFs. But still, it made you feel warm inside.

You observed as Kimi hugged George once again before Max went to congratulate him as well. You obviously would’ve loved to see your boyfriend winning this race, but this would definitely be one of your favourite podiums of the year – it wasn’t everyday that one of your grid kids featured on it. And such a wholesome scene it was to watch, as Max had a wide smile on his face while spraying Kimi with champagne. The tension between him and George had dissipated despite the accusations they had made against each other during the safety car earlier. They were just both enjoying their podiums and appreciating their own success – they also had to play pretend at being a happy little family to not ruin Kimi’s first podium.

You were truly over the moon for both Max and Kimi, so you obviously wanted to celebrate with them. And despite Kimi desperately wishing he could say yes, he had been forced to refuse:

“I can’t go partying… I got homework”, he reminded you as he thought about his final exams awaiting him.

“Then we’ll celebrate later if you graduate”, Max said with a shrug.

“When you graduate”. You sent a look to Max, one that meant to be invested in Kimi’s education even if Max’s hadn’t been his focus years ago.

“Yeah… if, when… same thing.”

“It’s not!” You and Kimi both argued.

“Have some faith in me, mate. I studied hard for this”, Kimi claimed.

“We studied hard”, George added as he joined the conversation.

“You’re not the one doing the exam, though. Not sure you could even manage”, you teased him.

“Please, I could ace it.” George raised an eyebrow at you, a challenging look in his eyes. “Could you?”

“I’m pretty sure I helped Kimi more than you did. Weren’t you the one who delegated the work to the engineers?”

You and George held eye contact for several seconds, neither of you looking away. That was until Kimi intervened.

“Okay guys, please no weird tension.” Kimi waved his hand in front of your and George’s faces, thus breaking the eye contact between the two of you. “Max and George finally figured their shit out – kinda, I don’t need another Verstappen-Russell fall out.”

“Good thing I ain’t a Verstappen, then.”

Yet, Max wanted to add. Even Kimi and George thought the same thing, both of them knowing that it was only a matter of time before it would eventually happen. You were practically one already, and it wasn’t an actual change in last names or a ring on your finger that would ever affect how you relationship with Max already was.

…..

Despite you skipping the F1: The Movie premiere in NYC, it almost felt like you were there with how much the rookies were talking about you. Due to the drivers all going to the same place, it made sense that some of them would be sharing a plane. So that was how Ollie, Franco, and Gabriel ended up travelling together with Lando.

“You should’ve forced her to come with us if you were gonna miss her that much”, Lando complained. He was so close to texting you to leave Max wherever he was and to come get your kids.

“Max didn’t want to come so… whose plus one she would’ve even been?” Ollie asked. “I have my girlfriend already.”

“Same,” Gabriel said with a nod.

“I would have gladly taken her if I didn’t care about the risks of Max running me off track once the pictures would be released. Imagine this: Max’s girlfriend was Lando’s plus one at the premiere, I’m done for!”

“I could have taken her”, Franco chimed in.

“Oh trust me, we know.” Gabriel rolled his eyes at Franco's words, and leaned back in his seat.

Lando and Ollie looked at each other, not sure whether they understood what was going on.

“Are we missing something?” Lando wondered.

Gabriel opened his mouth to explain the situation, before Franco interrupted him:

“Nothing’s going on, no. You’re not missing any vital piece of information.” Franco put on his best innocent smile and tried to think of a way to change the topic.

“That’s a lie”, Gabriel argued. “See, little Franco there did the only thing we had told him not to.”

“Which was?” Lando asked.

But Gabriel didn’t even have time to reply, that Ollie immediately understood what had happened.

“You did not?!” His accusatory tone was directed towards Franco, as Ollie couldn’t believe it.

“Maybe…?” Franco looked away, not liking his business being aired out.

“When was it?” Ollie questioned both Gabriel and Franco, his eyes darting between the two rookies.

“When was what?” Lando was completely lost, and he was definitely not enjoying being excluded from the drama.

“We gave one rule to Franco before Imola,” Ollie finally explained. “Just one tiny little rule.”

“Don’t flirt with Max’s girlfriend”, Gabriel added.

“Okay.” Lando was carefully listening and nodding, showing his investment in the story. “And how long did it take him to break it? Two, three weeks?”

“A day”, Gabriel said.

“A day?” Ollie repeated. “That’s insane, Franco. Imola was…” Ollie started counting in his head, to figure out when it had happened. “More than a month ago! We should revoke any grid mum privilege you’ve ever had.”

“I didn’t have many to start with”, Franco muttered.

“Does Max know?” Lando had no idea whether he expected a positive or negative answer, just wanting to know more about the situation.

“He apparently threatened Franco”, Gabriel explained with a snicker.

“That was traumatising. I had Mad Max in front of me,” Franco dramatised.

“Now that’s something I would’ve liked to see!” Lando started laughing, imagining how Max had intimidated the young driver. “He hasn't driven you into the wall since then, though. So consider him being generous with you.”

“Wanna know what I think?” When the three drivers nodded, Ollie shared his thoughts. “I feel like Max didn’t actually see you as a real threat. Sure you tried to flirt with his girlfriend–”

“Extremely fucked up of you to do that”, Gabriel interrupted Ollie to add his comment.

“Agreed. But yeah, Max is definitely not the guy to get insecure. He knew you had no real chance anyways”, Ollie finished explaining.

“Damn… you have no game, mate.”

“Lando, please don’t bully me as well.” Franco sighed. “I have game! But obviously, it works better when I’m not going after a taken woman!”

“We have yet to see this skill of yours this year”, Gabriel teased.

“Oh God…” Franco groaned as he put his head in his hands.

The Argentinian wouldn’t hear the end of it until the plane had landed. And he knew that once Isack as well as Liam would know, those two would definitely gang up on him too – spoiler: they did.

…..

Meanwhile, in Belgium…

Max had offered you to come see him race in Spa, and you had gladly accepted to show him your support while he pursued this new interest of his. You hadn’t given it a second thought, not really caring about missing the F1: The Movie premiere. Max might have taken you if you had truly wanted to go, but he hadn’t hidden at all the satisfied grin on his face when you had told him that you didn’t want to see Brad Pitt overtake your boyfriend and win all the races that Max had actually won last year.

So while most of the drivers were on their way to New York, you and Max were currently on your way to Spa after a quick pit stop back home. You had just finished typing a text to wish Kimi luck for his final exams, when your nose suddenly started itching right before your body forced you to sneeze.

“Bless you”, Max simply said without looking up from his phone. “Hope no one’s talking badly about you.”

“It might just be allergies”, you argued.

“Or the rookies not being able to shut up about you”, Max teased.

It was honestly your allergies acting up, but Max was also not wrong to trust a silly superstition for once.

..........

Taglist: @umm-i-love-u @callsign-mirage @freyathehuntress @elieanana @suns3treading @fastandcurious16 @l3thal-l0lita @urmomsgirlfriend1 @guacala @delululeclerc

Hope y'all enjoyed this!! I'm honestly loving writing short chaps in between double/triple headers bc it's like a nice change of pace so don't hesitate to tell me if y'all like them too :)

I think isack was acc on the same plane as them (idk ab liam bc bro appears nowhere) but when i eventually noticed, it was too late to change and i was too lazy to add him🤗

Also we reached 500 followers!! It still feels insane that there are this many people supporting me and my silly fics so thanks y'all🫶🏻🫶🏻

See you soon, take care of yourselves, love y'all xx

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x you #max verstappen x you #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv1 x you #grid mum series<3

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alinathinkstoomuch · 3 days ago

Text

CLOCKED IN

pairing: aaron hotchner x fake!fiancee!reader summary: hotch is trying his hardest to keep it together when your so-called friends crash the night out, good thing the bau are world class shit stirrers, based on this request. warnings: fluff, protective hotch but also protective bau!! brief reference to them meeting which can be read here word count: 1.3k

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

Hotch was, against all odds, and probably his own expectations, actually having a good time. Shocking, really. But he knew exactly why, it was you. You sitting under the glittering mirrorball light, talking with your hands mid-explanation.

It was your first official time meeting the team, and he wasn’t even a little bit surprised by how quickly you charmed every single person at the table. You had that effect on people. It was something he’d always admired about you, and okay, maybe envied a little too. He wasn’t exactly known for being warm or approachable. His voice didn’t magically pull smiles from strangers. Yours did.

And yet somehow, you—completely out of the blue—had walked into a bar similar to this one and asked him, a total stranger, to pretend to be your fiance for the night. Still one of the most absurd things he’s ever heard and he deals with absurd for a living.

Maybe that bit of envy came from a selfish place, though. Because he liked to think that the effervescent side of you was something you saved just for him, but it wasn’t because you were like that with everyone. All grins, all giggles, all theatrics because that’s who you were. And it made him furious inside to imagine anyone taking advantage of that. Like those awful friends who made you feel like you had to lie in the first place.

Still, in a roundabout, slightly messed-up way, he guessed he owed them one. Because their cruelty had delivered you straight to him.

He was mid-sip of his drink when he caught the way your smile wobbled. And when you did a double take towards the front door, his eyes were inclined to follow to see who or what he was going to have to glare at for sucking the light from your face that fast.

He didn’t even try to hide the exasperated sigh that left him.

“Oh boy,” you muttered, eyes still on the door.

“Do you know them?” JJ asked, leaning forward over a cluster of empty cocktail glasses. “Because they’re pointing.”

“And coming over,” Morgan added, eyebrows raised.

You straightened in your seat. “That’s…the quarter of the group responsible for me meeting Aaron.”

“No!” Penelope gasped, hand flying to her chest. “You mean those friends? The ones you had to lie to? The whole fake-fiancé saga?”

“In the flesh,” you confirmed, grabbing your drink and taking two very necessary gulps as Aaron braced himself for the evening to dissolve into performative lunacy.

You shifted in your seat beside him, shoulders going stiff in that I’m fine, this is fine way that meant the opposite. And yeah, his jaw clenched. Because the idea of you having to perform just to feel safe, or liked, or respected? Made his blood run hot. Especially when you were surrounded by people who actually saw you—really saw you—and didn’t need a single performance to adore you.

“Oh my god! Okay! We all have very important parts to play,” Penelope whisper-yelled at the table.

“Just don’t make it weirder than it has to be,” Emily muttered, toying with her paper straw.

“You want another drink?” Rossi nudged Aaron who just glared at the older man. “Come on, lighten up. I didn’t get to see you in fiancé-action last time.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Hotch said dryly, reaching over and resting his hand over yours in a squeeze.

You turned to face him and the panicked look on your face made his stomach knot. “I’m sorry for this. I had no idea they’d be here, I haven’t even spoken to them in months.”

“You don’t owe me an apology, just like you don’t owe them a damn thing.” His tone softened. “But if you want an out, just say the word, I’ll make up an excuse and we’re gone.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but it was too late.

“Wow,” came a voice you knew all too well. “Look who it is.”

“Veronica.” You offered a perfectly polite, perfectly fake smile. “Dani,” you added, glancing at her tagalong.

“Mind if we sit with your fiancé and friends?” Veronica asked, already pulling a chair over from the table behind because she wasn’t actually asking or waiting for permission. She wedged herself in between you and Emily.

Dani copied her motions, plopping herself down between Penelope and Spencer. The poor genius looked like he was calculating the fastest way to disassociate, especially when Dani’s manicured hands rested a little too close to his drink.

“So,” Veronica said, all teeth. “Are you going to introduce us?” She glanced around the table. “How do you all know the happy couple?”

“We work with Hotch,” Morgan answered smoothly, lifting his glass. “FBI.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s… intense.”

“Depends on the day,” Emily chimed in, “But yeah, keeps us busy.”

Veronica’s icy gaze slid to you, her mouth twitching. “Must be nice. All that… structure and stability. Probably pays off a little more than fashion, huh?”

You barely had time to get a word out before Penelope jumped in for you. “Oh, sweetie. One campaign of hers pays more than my entire annual salary. And I’m not exactly working for peanuts.”

You let out a sheepish laugh, just as Aaron’s thumb pressed gently against your hand, as if reminding you to breathe.

“Anyway,” Dani piped up, suddenly remembering she had both a voice and a personality, “how’s wedding planning going? You must be deep in it by now, right?”

“Weren’t you just looking at venues?” Rossi added with a grin, like he’d been personally waiting for this moment. Hotch made a mental note to get him store-brand whiskey for his next birthday.

“We were,” Hotch replied as casually as he could manage. “She wants a beach wedding. I want one where her dress doesn’t blow into the ocean.”

Morgan snorted while JJ shook her head, trying and failing to hide a smile.

“Tell the truth,” Emily grinned. “You just don’t want sand in your shoes.”

“I don't want sand in my everything,” Hotch said flatly, taking a sip of his drink at the involuntary conversation.

“Fair,” Morgan laughed, tipping his glass towards him. “Sand gets everywhere. Man’s got a point.”

“Well, the guest list must be pretty large then,” Veronica went on, smiling just a little too sweetly. “Half the FBI, and of course us, your best friends. You’ll need something that can accommodate everyone.”

“We’re keeping it small,” Hotch almost snarled, his tone landing somewhere between polite restraint and you’re not fucking invited. Not that there was an actual wedding, but if he ever did marry you, those two would be the last names on the list.

“Oh! But you have to have bridesmaids, right?” Dani pressed on, gesturing between herself and Veronica. “I mean, you’re probably thinking of us, your best friends—”

“We haven’t gotten that far,” you cut her off.

“Besides,” Emily added with a shark-like smile, “it’s so hard to find dresses that don’t clash with fragile egos.”

Your eyebrows shot up before you could stop them. Morgan was grinning like a man thoroughly entertained. JJ stifled a laugh behind a cough. And Spencer? He just looked politely baffled, having subtly nudged his drink as far away from Dani’s claws as possible without making it look like he was giving it to Rossi.

Hotch, meanwhile, added a new line to his growing mental list: whatever bottle Emily wanted for her birthday, she was getting the top shelf version. Hell, maybe two.

Some of the tension in his chest eased a little and he hoped yours had too. Because if there was one thing his team excelled at, it was rallying around someone they’d decided was theirs. And judging by the grins, side-eyes, and Emily’s very intentional lack of filter, the BAU had officially clocked in.

Not for a case.

For you.

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lilirae00 · 3 days ago

Text

Hard Launch - Part 1

Paige x Azzi

Word count: 3k

Warnings: just fluff, enjoy :)

a/n & update: decided to make this a two-parter because I loved the idea of how they handle the launch, so part 2 coming up soon.

——

The Dallas Wings had just closed out one of their biggest wins of the season. The energy in the arena buzzed like electricity still trapped in the rafters. Paige was riding high off the adrenaline and her first career triple-double—twenty-two points, ten assists, eleven rebounds, and three steals—and now she was heading straight into the post-game press conference.

She should’ve been focused on the game breakdown. But all she could think about was the girl in the front row wearing her jersey.

Azzi.

Azzi had flown in earlier that morning, slipping into town just in time for tipoff. And now there she was—sitting courtside like a secret Paige couldn’t keep much longer. Her long legs crossed, curls pulled back in a half-ponytail, and Paige’s blue #5 jersey hanging oversized on her frame like it belonged there.

Which it did.

Paige had tried not to look too much during the game. Had tried not to stare. Had tried to stay composed when Azzi smiled at her after a tough finish at the rim. She didn’t want to give anything away.

But she was already too far gone.

Now, seated at the table with the mic in front of her, bright lights overhead and cameras rolling, Paige took a sip from her water bottle and shifted in her chair. Reporters peppered her with the usual questions—game strategy, her chemistry with her teammates, how she feels about her triple-double.

And then a different voice cut through.

“Paige, there’s been some buzz online recently—not just about Azzi Fudd sitting courtside again tonight in your jersey, but about a photo she posted a few weeks ago. Fans noticed the phone case she was holding said ‘Paige Bueckers’ girlfriend.’ Do you want to comment on your relationship with her?”

It hit like a full-body static shock.

Paige blinked. The words came before she could stop them.

“I mean… it’s not a secret,” she said, her voice a little softer than usual. “She’s… she’s someone really important to me.”

A few reporters smiled knowingly. Some just raised their brows and started typing.

“I guess if you’re asking if we’re together… yeah. We are,” Paige added with a nervous laugh. “And I’m lucky as hell.”

There was a pause. Not uncomfortable—just charged. And then came the next question, and the conference moved on like nothing happened.

But Paige’s heart was pounding like it had just sprinted a full-court press.

—-

She slipped out of the press room five minutes later, ditching the rest of her team’s entourage to head back toward the tunnel. Her hands were jammed in her pockets, and her hoodie was pulled up over her bun like a kid trying not to get caught skipping school.

When she rounded the corner and spotted Azzi waiting near the bench, that nervous beat inside her exploded.

Azzi was standing casually, still wearing the jersey, arms crossed and eyes locked right on her. Paige stopped short a few feet away.

“Hey,” she said.

Azzi tilted her head, lips curling into something equal parts amused and affectionate. “Hey.”

“Sooo… I might’ve… hard launched us.”

“In the press conference?” Azzi asked with a hint of surprise.

Paige nodded slowly. “Like… national media hard launched.”

Azzi walked forward, closing the distance between them. “What’d you say?”

“That you’re important to me.” Paige looked down, then back up. “That we’re together. And that I’m lucky.”

Azzi’s smile deepened. “You are.”

Paige let out a breathy laugh. “Don’t gas me up right now, I’m freaking out.”

“You’re fine.” Azzi reached up, gently pulling Paige’s hoodie back. “You looked hot tonight, by the way.”

“I scored twenty-two points,” Paige said, mostly to hide how much her cheeks were burning.

“And you still couldn’t stop looking at me,” Azzi teased.

“Not my fault you looked like a walking fantasy in my jersey.”

Azzi leaned in, brushing a kiss to her cheek. “I love you.”

Paige stilled. Not because it was the first time—it wasn’t—but because it always landed with the same quiet force.

“I love you too,” she said. “Even when you make me sweat bullets in front of a dozen reporters.”

Azzi laughed and took her hand. “Let ‘em sweat. You’ve got nothing to hide anymore.”

—-

They kicked off their shoes the second they walked into the apartment. Paige dropped her bag by the door and tugged off her hoodie, the post-game haze finally catching up to her. Azzi didn’t say much—just beelined to the couch, where she threw herself down, still wearing Paige’s Wings jersey and looking completely at home.

Paige walked past the kitchen. “You want tea?”

“Nope,” Azzi called, already pulling out her phone. “I want the internet.”

Paige groaned, spinning on her heel. “Please tell me you’re not checking Twitter.”

“I am absolutely checking Twitter,” Azzi said, already scrolling. “We’re trending.”

“Kill me.”

Azzi grinned. “Okay wait—listen to this one. ‘Paige Bueckers dropping “she’s someone really important to me” like she wasn’t about to break every sapphic heart in America.’ And—wait—‘Hard launched like a NASA rocket and I’m here for it.’”

Paige flopped down next to her and let her head fall into Azzi’s lap. “Why do I sound like I was about to propose?”

“Because you kind of did,” Azzi said, brushing fingers through her hair. “You were nervous. But it was adorable.”

“I was losing my mind,” Paige muttered into her thigh. “I think I blacked out after I said ‘important.’”

Azzi laughed. “You said you were ‘lucky as hell’”

“God.”

“You want a massage? I feel like that level of emotional panic requires some kind of body work.”

Paige grinned into her lap. “Maybe. But only if I can pretend I’m not seeing every post about us.”

Azzi kept scrolling with one hand while the other gently worked at the knots in Paige’s shoulders.

She continued to read the tweets out loud so Paige could hear.

@wnbafanatic: UMMM PAIGE BUECKERS JUST CASUALLY CAME OUT AND SAID AZZI IS HER GIRLFRIEND???

@wingsupdates: Paige saying she’s “lucky as hell” re: Azzi has me kicking my feet.

@queerhoops: We finally got the #Pazzi confirmation we needed and DESERVED. 🥹🏀💙

@barstoolcollege: Paige & Azzi might be the power couple of the decade.

@pazzi4life: Yeah okay, fork found in kitchen. We been known, Paige. 🥹

Paige sighed and turned over to sit up beside her. “Okay. Real talk?”

Azzi nodded, instantly setting her phone aside.

“I wasn’t scared to tell our parents when we did. Or our friends. Or the team. I mean, they already knew,” Paige said, pulling the blanket up over both their legs. “I was scared to tell… them.”

“The world?”

“Yeah. The internet. The fans. The media. All of it.”

Azzi watched her, quiet.

“I’ve spent my whole life being ‘Paige Bueckers,’ you know? This brand, this idea, this… golden girl. I didn’t know how people would take it if I let them see you. Us.”

“You didn’t want to break the illusion,” Azzi said gently.

“I didn’t want to give them something to tear apart.”

Azzi leaned closer. “I get it. It’s not nothing, coming out publicly. Especially in our position.”

Paige looked down at their hands. “I didn’t want anyone to ruin this.”

Azzi squeezed her fingers. “Then don’t let them. They don’t get to touch this unless we let them.”

Paige exhaled. “You’re so sure.”

“I am,” Azzi said. “Because I love you. And I’m not scared of people seeing that.”

Paige was quiet for a beat. “I think I am… but I’m done hiding more than I’m scared of being seen.”

Azzi smiled. “Then we’re good.”

They leaned into each other, kissing slowly, wrapped up in warmth and familiarity. The rest of the world faded out with each soft brush of lips, each lazy laugh between kisses. Eventually, Azzi tugged Paige down with her, their bodies curling together beneath the blanket.

Paige shifted so her hand brushed under the hem of the jersey Azzi was wearing. Azzi responded instantly, deepening the kiss, hands moving to Paige’s waist.

“I meant what I said,” Paige whispered into her mouth. “You’re mine.”

Azzi’s breath hitched. “Then show me.”

—-

Paige stirred awake to sunlight leaking through her bedroom curtains, warm and golden across the sheets. For a minute, she didn’t move—just let herself feel the weight of Azzi’s arm across her stomach, the soft rise and fall of her girlfriend’s breath at her shoulder.

Everything was still. Quiet. Safe.

And then it hit her.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, eyes widening.

Azzi blinked awake beside her. “Mmm?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Paige turned her head slowly. “I said it. Out loud. On record. In a press conference. That we’re together.”

Azzi smiled into the pillow, eyes still mostly closed. “You did.”

Paige groaned and rolled onto her back, covering her face with both hands. “I hard launched us in front of the national media.”

Azzi laughed now, fully awake. “And it was kind of perfect.”

Paige peeked through her fingers. “Was it?”

Azzi propped herself up on one elbow. “Yeah. You were honest. Sweet. Brave.”

Paige went quiet for a moment. “I wasn’t trying to be brave. It just slipped out. But then afterward, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the people who are gonna have opinions about it.”

Azzi’s smile softened. “You wanna talk about it?”

Paige exhaled, turning onto her side to face her. “It’s not that I didn’t want people to know. I just… we’re already so visible, you know? Everything we do gets watched, commented on, judged. Coming out—publicly—it feels like giving people even more to pick apart.”

Azzi nodded slowly, eyes full of understanding. “I get it. I felt the same way.”

“When you asked me if you could post the phone case selfie, you were so sure. Were you not worried?” Paige asked.

Azzi smiled. “I was, but I wanted you to know I was ready, even if you weren’t yet.”

Paige’s heart clenched a little at that. “You weren’t trying to speed up the launch?”

“No,” Azzi said immediately. “I just didn’t want you to think I was ashamed or hiding.”

“I never thought that,” Paige said softly. “I’ve just been scared. Not of being with you—never that. Just scared of what people might say. The fallout. The attention.”

Azzi reached out and laced their fingers together. “The people who love us already know. The rest will catch up or get over it.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then we still have us,” Azzi said. “And I think that’s enough.”

Paige nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I think it is too.”

Azzi leaned in to kiss her forehead. “You’ve got practice soon, rookie. Better get moving.”

Paige groaned again. “Think if I fake a sprained ankle, Coach’ll let me skip it?”

“Not a chance.”

—-

Practice was in full swing when Paige jogged into the gym, hair still damp from her shower and a faint flush clinging to her cheeks that had nothing to do with running drills.

Arike was the first to greet her.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Paige ‘lucky as hell’ Bueckers,” she teased, grinning from across the court.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Oh god. Not you too.”

“Rook, the entire internet is quoting you.”

Dijonai walked by and bumped her shoulder. “That was a hell of a hard launch.”

Lyss followed, looping her arm around Paige. “More like a detonation.”

Paige groaned. “Y’all are relentless.”

“Hey,” Arike said, smirking. “We’ve known about you two forever. You just made it public. We’ve been sitting on our hands not tagging Azzi in thirst tweets out of respect.”

“You’re welcome,” Dijonai added with a wink.

Lyss leaned in. “But for real… we’re proud of you.”

Paige looked around at her teammates—all smirking, playful, and totally in her corner.

“Thanks,” she said, meaning it.

And just like that, they were back to business. But Paige felt different. Lighter. Stronger. Seen.

And lucky as hell.

—-

Later that week, Paige and Azzi were getting ready for a charity gala. The apartment smelled like curling iron heat and perfume. Music played low in the background, a chill playlist on shuffle while the girls moved around each other—Azzi perched at the vanity in a silk champagne dress, Paige pacing near the closet in a deep navy suit that clung to her frame in all the right places.

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the floor,” Azzi teased, watching Paige pace.

Paige paused mid-step and met her eyes in the mirror. “You look so good it’s actually stressful.”

Azzi smirked as she added a dab of highlighter to her cheekbones. “We’re just going to a gala.”

“We’re going to a gala sponsored by my team, where we’ll walk a red carpet together, as a couple, for the first time,” Paige countered, adjusting her cuff links. “I think stress is valid.”

Azzi stood and walked over, smoothing down Paige’s lapel with practiced ease. “Then let me help you chill out.”

She leaned in and kissed her—softly, just a breath of pressure—and Paige visibly relaxed.

“You ready now?” Azzi asked.

Paige nodded. “Yeah. Let’s blow up the internet.”

—-

The car rolled up to the venue entrance, where a navy carpet stretched out under bright lights and a flurry of camera flashes. Other players and VIPs were already arriving in designer fits and sparkling gowns, but the energy shifted the moment Paige stepped out in her suit.

A few cameras flicked toward her—then froze when Azzi followed, hand sliding into Paige’s as they walked.

There was no hiding it tonight.

Photographers lit up like fireworks.

“Paige! Over here!”

“Azzi, give us a smile!”

“Ladies, together, please—look this way!”

Azzi felt Paige squeeze her hand.

“You okay?” she whispered.

Paige looked at her and smiled, “yeah let’s do this.”

Paige kept Azzi close, one hand securely on her waist as they posed together in front of the Dallas Wings media wall. When Azzi leaned in to say something, a photo caught Paige mid-laugh, head tilted, entirely smitten.

“Y’all are trending already,” muttered one of the Wings’ PR staff with a grin, holding up her phone.

As they made their way inside, Paige felt the nerves start to dissipate—not because the cameras stopped, but because Azzi was calm. Confident. Like this was just another date night. Like it was safe.

The event buzzed with Dallas media, corporate sponsors, and familiar WNBA faces. Paige and Azzi moved from group to group—greeting Wings staff, chatting with teammates and partners, posing for a few more photos inside.

“Paige, wow,” said the team’s marketing director as she shook her hand. “You clean up nice. And Azzi—so great to finally meet you in person. We’ve seen you at games, of course, but it’s nice to put a name to the face.”

Azzi smiled graciously. “Likewise.”

“You two look amazing together,” the woman added, almost in a hushed tone, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to say it.

“Thanks,” Paige said, squeezing Azzi’s hand. “We feel amazing together.”

A few feet away, one of the event’s older donors—a man in a crisp gray suit—caught sight of them and leaned in toward a colleague. “Oh, that’s Bueckers’ friend. The UConn kid.”

Paige heard it.

Azzi did too.

And while Azzi gave the man a gracious nod as they walked past, Paige didn’t let it slide.

She slowed, turned slightly, and said loud enough to be heard: “Actually, this is my girlfriend. Not just a friend. I know the difference.”

The man stammered—something about meaning no offense—but Paige was already walking away, Azzi’s hand tucked tightly in hers.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Azzi said quietly.

“I wanted to,” Paige replied. “I’m not letting anyone downplay what we are. Not anymore.”

—-

They collapsed into the Uber like they were finally exhaling after holding it in all night. Paige tugged her tie loose while Azzi kicked off her heels and tucked them beside her on the seat, her bare feet sliding over the leather.

Azzi leaned back, dress pooled around her thighs, and opened her phone. The screen lit up instantly.

“Oh my god. We’re everywhere,” she said, scrolling through mentions. “Twitter. TikTok. WNBA Reddit. There’s a clip of you calling me your girlfriend with this dramatic music under it. The lesbians are unwell.”

Paige grinned and rested her head against the cool window, one arm casually draped across Azzi’s lap. “Good. Let ’em spiral.”

Azzi clicked over to her camera roll and scrolled until she landed on the photo—the one from the carpet where Paige had her arm wrapped tight around Azzi’s waist, both of them looking at each other instead of the camera, smiling like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

She held it up. “What about this one?”

Paige glanced over and immediately nodded. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

“We posting it?”

“Together?”

Azzi smiled. “Hardest of hard launches. No going back.”

Paige sat up and reached for her phone too. “Let’s do it.”

They sat side by side in the dark Uber, phones glowing between them as they each uploaded the photo.

Azzi typed first:

“Couldn’t be prouder to stand beside you, on and off the court 💗 #HardLaunch”

Paige stared at her screen for a beat, then typed:

“Took my shot & she said yes 🥹 #LuckyAsHell”

They looked at each other and tapped post at the same time.

Seconds later, their phones lit up in tandem—likes, comments, reposts already flowing in like a tidal wave. But for once, Paige didn’t care what any of them said.

Azzi leaned into her side. “How do you feel?”

Paige turned toward her and answered without hesitation. “Like I’ve never been more proud of anything in my life.”

Azzi’s lips curled. “Not even your triple double last week?”

“Not even close.”

She took Azzi’s hand, threading their fingers together.

“Tonight,” Paige said, eyes locked on her, voice low and warm, “you made me feel like the most complete version of myself. And it’s not because of the cameras or the suits or the headlines. It’s just… you. You make me feel like I don’t have to hide any part of me.”

Azzi swallowed, visibly moved.

Paige leaned in and kissed her—soft, but certain.

They pulled back only when the driver cleared his throat and announced, “You’re home.”

But in Paige’s head, the word didn’t mean the apartment.

It meant the girl sitting next to her.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige and azzi #pazzi #paige x azzi

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