#this moment... ouch Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[dotted-clouds]

Replaced.

[matteoberrettini]

i just wanna change, i just wanna change

[stardustamaryllis78]

"Claudia, you must go!"

"I can help you!"

"I will not...watch another daughter die."

Hello yes, 911, I need an ambulance right now.

The more I think about their father-daughter relationship, the more its ruining me (affectionate) 😭💖

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

my favorite mulder moments from s6

doing his best to analyze the fragments of the x files left after the fire in episode 1, because he will never give up on anything he sets his mind to

veeeeery carefully handing the mystery beast’s claw to scully for analysis ("is that an animal?" "ain't rupaul")

accidentally traveling through a time warp in episode 3 and attempting to convince the ww2 soldiers that the war is actually over, then giggling at his own luck in tracing down the missing ship (NERD! nerd)

then finding ww2 era scully and being so confused as to why she doesn’t know him because… that’s scully!!! who knows him better than anyone in the world!

being trapped in the body of someone else in episode 4, and when he sees the photo of that guy’s wife and kids, he sadly whispers “scully” (and then when his “wife” slaps him awake, he AGAIN mumbles “scully”... yeah, she really is your family, huh?)

trying so hard to convince scully it’s really him trapped in someone else’s body: “your mother’s name is margaret, your brother’s name is bill jr. he’s in the navy and he HATES me” and the desperation in his voice when she still doesn't believe him :(

episode 5: “hey scully? i, uh, know it’s not your normal life, but thanks for coming out there with me” (there will always be bonus points for emotional communication and then even MORE bonus points for his reaction to discovering the waterbed right after. i'd frame it if i could)

maurice roasting him in episode 6 for being “prone to obsessive compulsiveness, workaholism, antisocialism- fertile fields for the descent into total wacko breakdown” <- get his ass

“you know why you think you’ve seen the things you do?” “because… i have seen them?” <- the SASS in that delivery! oh my!

finding the case file that spender shredded up in episode 7 and taping it together so he could investigate himself… lmao, that’s a man that gets results!

and then his great strategy for getting answers on that case being to annoy a demon until something happens... and it works <3

his reaction in episode 8 to scully being referred to as “the missus”; he mouths “oh!” and fidgets a bit, looking both terrible awkward and pleased, haha

and who can forget the iconic “i do not GAZE at scully”? surely not i!

finding skinner sick in his office late at night in episode 9- claiming he's just saying hello, then asking him if he’ll be okay, turning off all of the lights so he felt more comfortable, and angling a desk lamp so scully could inspect him

getting very jealous when scully gets assigned to the case of the mysterious death photographer in episode 10 without him: “i’m thinking murder by telekinesis. i’m thinking maybe a shamanistic death touch. i’m thinking about the muslim superstition that to photograph someone is to steal their soul” (and his righteous fury at the idea of them being separated 🙁)

being nosy throughout the whole episode because somehow he ended up with the files from kersh’s computer and calling her for frequent updates (and using a silly voice to say “we used to sit next to each other at the FBI” to make her smile while she's super annoyed with terrible agent ritter)

hunting through the FBI archives at 9 am to track down information for scully’s case, and when he learns that she is in danger and not picking up her phone, immediately calling trash agent ritter to go check in on her

when said trash partner SHOOTS and nearly KILLS scully, he goes to visit her in the hospital a week later, and corners him, saying only that he is a lucky man. you KNOW he wanted to get violent. amazing self-restraint on him!

grabbing scully’s hand in her hospital bed and smiling, telling her the doctor said her recovery is amazing- she’s still so sad, and he says “death only looks for you once you seek its opposite”

gym mulder in episodes 11 and 12... the basketball... yeah ❤️

trying to be kind in episode 13 and it immediately backfiring in that cringe-inducing fashion that only he is capable of achieving: “stay there, mrs. suarez. we're going to make sure your baby makes it safely into the world” “well, thank you, but i’m not in labor. and my name is not suarez, it’s villareal. he tells people i’m his wife. like he’s so macho”

the wind-up chattering teeth on the desk in episode 14 <3

how wildly excited he was to play house in episode 15- “hey, oooh wait a minute, you didn’t let me carry you over the threshold”

and then taunting all of the neighbors with his stupid basketball hoop, LMAOOO

in episode 16, he knows off the top of his head how many years ago the wanshang dhole went extinct

rare communication w for mulder in episode 17 when they get into their usual spat about his theory not being scientifically possible and he decides to instead focus them on what they both agree on: the need to find june

opening up about how important baseball is to him in episode 19: “it’s like the numbers talk to me, they comfort me, they tell me that even though lots of things can change, some things do remain the same. it’s-" "boring?” (pouty mulder face as scully teases him)

AND his recitation to arthur dales of how many home runs mickey mantle hit with each hand

chatting with arthur dales and telling on himself when it comes to his feelings: “do you believe that love can make a man shapeshift?” “i guess… women change men all the time” “i’m not talking about women” (they then share hot dogs, pizza, and chinese takeout)

AND paying that little boy to help him surprise scully with the baseball date- sharing something that is both personal to him and plain fun with her

scully asks him what more he hopes to find in episode 22, and he answers “my sister” 💔 because that is still at the heart of every single action he does after all of this time… no matter which way the plot veers, who the bad guys of the week are, or where life leads him, it's always about samantha and that guilt he harbors over her

[elementalladymallorie]

"No. I will not abandon this task. I love you, I love our home, but I can do this. I can do this. Do you believe that I can do this without the help of my friends? Do you believe that I can help them? Do you believe in me father? Do you believe in me? That is all I ever wanted. Do you believe in me father? Why do you pause? The people that spoke with me did not pause."

-Dorian asking his father the heavy question

[ghostenluvs]

chat pray for me.

i have the world's most forgiving teacher who allows us to submit our final projects months late because she's a saint, but life got lifefull and i have the object permanence of a dead baby goldfish.

i now have to cram finish eight final projects from different classes.

[i mean ive done signifigant work on many of them but there are SO MANY.]

i may very well be cooked.

[notactuallyhere23]

weird ass thing i noticed but the treatment of gale in the bg community, especially in the beginning, was so akin of NTs treatment of autistic people i-

[violetandviolent]

" do you remember your nightmares ? "

From, THE SOUNDS OF NIGHTMARES SENTENCE STARTERS .

𖤉 Sat atop a small hill, with a view of the sky stretching endlessly above, Vi found herself beside her sister, Jinx, looking down on The Haven. It was the place where their father, Vander, was being cared for—his battered, broken body tended to by Viktor’s strange, Hextech healing methods. Vi’s breath caught slightly as she took in the sight of it. It was a serene scene, but one laced with a great weight of emotion.

She broke the silence with a soft smile, her voice warm, though tinged with the familiar ache of longing. "How’d I know I’d find you here?" The words hung in the air, gentle yet laced with unspoken history. While Vi hadn’t often sought solace in this spot—only visiting it once or twice—she knew it was a place Jinx might find herself when everything became too much. They had been apart for years, their lives taking wildly different paths, but Vi knew her sister well enough to understand the need for distance, for space to think, or to escape. And after everything that had happened, after their reunion that felt both like a relief and a weight, it wasn’t hard for Vi to expect Jinx might pull herself away to this quiet place, if only for a moment.

Vi walked over to Jinx, her footsteps light but purposeful. As she reached her sister, she paused for a moment, taking in the quiet, the distance between them that felt both familiar and foreign. Without another word, she swung her legs over the edge, dropping down beside Jinx. The movement was swift, but calculated—her palm pressed against the ground to steady herself, softening the impact of her descent. There was a brief, almost imperceptible brush of her shoulder against Jinx’s, a reminder that, despite everything, they were still here—together once more.

Vi sat silently for a moment, her hand still on the earth beneath her fingers, grounding her. She looked at Jinx, who appeared distant, lost in her own thought as the silence between them stretched, thick with layers of emotion. It was a quiet that was both comforting and filled with unspoken questions. They were together again, but for how long? And at what cost? They’d been through so much, separated by time and circumstance, and yet their bond still existed, though it had been fractured in too many ways that neither of them could easily repair. Vi let out a heavy sigh, her gaze drifting towards the place where Vander was being cared for, and then back to her sister.

"Do you remember your nightmares?"

The question was so casual, but it hit Vi like a hammer. She froze, her lips parting slightly, almost as if to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Her gaze flickered back to Jinx, searching her face for some clue as to whether she truly wanted to hear the answer. But before she could respond, Vi’s eyes fell back to the distant Haven, the weight of her past pressing down on her chest. A lifetime of pain, memories, and guilt—all of it resurfacing in a single, simple question. She knew Jinx had nightmares, just as she did. The demons of their past weren’t so easily escaped.

“That’s a… loaded question,” Vi muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. There was so much she wanted to say, but there was no time to unravel everything in her mind. The nights spent in that cell, trapped in the darkness, unable to escape the echoes of what had happened, haunted her still. And then there was the guilt. The guilt of losing Jinx, the complex pain that still held weight from Caitlyn and of not being able to protect those she cared about. The weight of it all was unbearable at times, and no matter how many rounds she fought in the Undercity Pit or how much alcohol she consumed to numb the pain, it never went away.

“I… can’t remember the last time I had a dream,” she said quietly, almost as if she were questioning herself. Her words felt hollow like she was trying to convince herself of something she didn’t believe. But it was easier to say nothing, to avoid the pain of delving too deep. Jinx didn’t need to know everything; she didn’t need to hear about the nights that left Vi writhing in fear and regret. The guilt would always linger, but perhaps this wasn’t the moment to confront it.

Without another word, Vi reached for Jinx’s hand, her fingers gentle as they wrapped around it. She gave it a soft, reassuring squeeze, her thumb brushing over her sister's knuckles. It was the kind of comfort that didn’t need words, a touch that spoke volumes. There was so much they hadn’t said to each other, so many things left unsaid, but for now, this was enough.

"I think the nightmares have scarred us, but they've also made us who we are now—stronger, even if it's... hard to see sometimes," Vi said, her voice steady, though there was an honesty there that was raw and real. She looked back at the Haven, at the figure of Vander within, healing and struggling, a reminder of everything they had fought for, everything they had lost. “But I’m not leaving you again.” The words hung in the air, heavy with promise and a sense of finality. They had both suffered, they had both been scarred, but they were together again, and Vi would be damned if she let Jinx slip away from her again.

[pixelateddragonet]

Oh stabbing rib pains how i have NOT missed you </3

[nxthingmxtters]

‘You have a nice smile.’ Unprompted

"Why, thank you! You know, I made it myself, HaHaHaHaHa!" Martha cackles. Svelt lips pull back into their perpetual grin, one that had been widened haphazardly by self-inflicted wounds. Teeth can be seen going back all the way as the older woman laughs and laughs, her very stitches straining themselves to keep flesh together. As suddenly as she starts laughing, Martha stops, pulling her gaze from the sketchpad up to the girl holding it. "How about you, dearie? You have such lovely writing, but nothing to say! What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? HaHa!"

[stranger-simp-143]

WHATTTTTT

(me yapping at the tags)

EXCUSE ME???

[relto]

holy shit they even executed the servants and blamed it on corvo. taking examples from the other traitor huh? telling lies??

[mirroringshards]

cute bpd things!!

paranoia

*small inconvenience* BREAK UP BREAK UP BREAK UP BREAK UP

yeah im fine lol look at this meme :D

paranoia

mood depending on them

every text hurts or feels way too good

intrusive thought yeouch okay ouch thats another one yeOOUCH

the 50000+ articles on how youre abusive

paranoia

fp is bad for me but its ok i love them<3

"if i hurt someone its gonna be myself"

becoming completely obsessed with someone the moment they give you the slightest attention

never being able to cut anyone off ever. immediately go running back

cry because theyre talking to someone that IS NOT ME

oh my fp isnt here. okay. oh im dissociating okay i dont have any purpose to continue living without them okay my life literally revolves around them i want to die where are they are they safe i dont know what to do with myself

"just leave. everyone does anyways"

5 minutes later theyre the worst person ever

*looking for an identity* hmmm, where could it be?

dependent on fp like theyre a parental figure you never had

paranoia

[mssorceressupreme]

You Belong With Me | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: it almost felt like unrequited love to you, until you agreed to go to the Yule ball with George, causing his twin brother to get jealous.

Warnings/tags: jealousy, arguing, dancing in the rain, kissing in the rain (when's it gonna be my turn), mutual pining, fred longs for you <3, ending is soo fluffy

———

The cool autumn breeze swept across the courtyard as you and Hermione lounged on a stone bench, basking in a rare moment of calm amidst the Yule Ball frenzy that had overtaken the castle. The two of you were deep in conversation, discussing something far removed from the glittering event.

Hermione was talking about her fascination with ancient runes, her voice animated.

“I just think it’s incredible,” she said, her fingers tracing an invisible symbol in the air. “Languages so old they’ve shaped magic itself. Imagine being able to read something no one else in the room understands.”

You smiled, leaning back against the bench. “I’ll stick to words I can actually pronounce, thanks. Besides, isn’t it enough that half the textbooks at this school might as well be in a foreign language?”

Hermione laughed softly. “Fair point. But honestly, there’s something thrilling about deciphering mysteries.”

You were about to respond when Cho Chang appeared, her face lit up like a thousand fairy lights. “Guess what?” she exclaimed, plopping down beside Hermione, who immediately brightened at her arrival.

“What?” Hermione asked, leaning forward with curiosity.

“Cedric asked me to the ball!” Cho squealed, clutching her hands together.

Your grin mirrored hers. “That’s amazing, Cho! He’s one of the most sought-after guys in school. Everyone’s going to be jealous.”

Cho flushed with delight, her excitement infectious. “I still can’t believe it. He just came up to me after Charms and asked. Like it was nothing!”

The three of you giggled, and soon the conversation shifted to the ball itself—who would ask whom, what dresses to wear, and how the hall might be decorated.

“Have you two thought about who you might ask?” Cho asked, leaning forward with a curious glint in her eyes.

Hermione glanced away, suddenly absorbed in adjusting the clasp of her cloak. “I—I don’t really know yet,” she mumbled.

Your stomach twisted slightly at the question, though you kept your face neutral. “No one in mind,” you said lightly, though your heart was screaming a different answer: Fred.

The thought of him filled your mind, as it often did lately. His quick wit, the sparkle in his eyes when he was planning a prank, the way his laughter could light up the darkest of days. You could barely imagine him asking you, but the hope lingered all the same.

Cho giggled, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Well, whoever you pick, you’ll have to tell me everything! It’s all anyone’s talking about in Ravenclaw Tower.”

The conversation drifted to Potions, which happened to be our next class, but your mind remained on Fred. Would he ask someone else?

___

The next afternoon, the library was quieter than usual, save for the occasional scratch of quills on parchment. You were deeply engrossed in your Potions notes when George slid into the seat beside you.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said with a grin, tossing a book onto the table.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Shouldn’t you be off plotting your next big prank with Fred?”

He clutched his chest with a dramatic gasp. “Ouch. I’m perfectly capable of studying, thank you very much.”

You chuckled, turning back to your notes as he whipped out his textbook.

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm of studying, punctuated by George’s occasional quips and your amused replies. It was comfortable, even fun. Halfway through, he leaned closer, his tone suddenly earnest.

“So, the Yule Ball,” he started, tapping his quill against the table.

You looked up, curious. “What about it?”

He grinned, though there was something tentative about it. “Well, I was wondering if you’d go with me.”

Your heart stuttered. For a split second, you pictured Fred’s face instead of George’s, and disappointment flooded your chest.

But then you saw the hope in George’s eyes and felt a sense of guilt. He was lovely in his own right, and you couldn’t imagine saying no to someone so kind.

“Sure,” you said after a moment, offering a small smile. “I’d love to Georgie.”

He was one of your closest friends after all, how could you say no to George? Besides, at least you wouldn't be attending the ball alone. ___

Later that day, you found yourself in the Great Hall during study period. The long tables were packed with students working on essays and assignments, and the low hum of conversation filled the space. You sat with Hermione, Harry, and Ron, your quill scratching against the parchment as you tried to focus.

The doors swung open, and your heart skipped a beat as Fred entered, his presence commanding the room without even trying. His tie was slightly askew, his hair tousled in that effortlessly handsome way of his.

You quickly looked down at your parchment, forcing yourself to concentrate. But then Fred sat across from you, and ignoring him became impossible.

“Looking forward to the ball?” he asked casually, his eyes meeting yours.

You managed a nod. “Yeah, should be fun.” If you went with me.

George, seated beside you, grinned and announced loudly, “Right?We’re going together!”

The group erupted in congratulations. “So, you two, huh?” Ron teased, his eyebrows waggling.

You forced a smile as the attention turned to you and George. Across the table, Fred’s expression fell, though he quickly masked it with a laugh.

"You two? That'll be entertaining. Best put extra protection over your toes Y/N, George isn't exactly the best dancer."

The laughter around the table grew louder, students chiming in with their own quips and jokes about the Yule Ball. You tried to join in, but your focus kept slipping back to Fred.

Every time George leaned closer to you or made you laugh, Fred’s jaw tightened, his fingers drumming against the table in a steady, agitated rhythm.

George, oblivious to his twin’s mood, grinned and nudged you with his elbow. “You’ll see, Y/N. Fred might think he’s the charming one, but wait until you’re spinning across the dance floor with me. I’ll have you thinking I invented the waltz.”

Fred scoffed audibly, folding his arms. “Yeah, right. And she’ll probably need a Healer for her toes by the end of the night. Smooth moves, George.”

George chuckled, brushing off the jab. “Jealous much, Freddie?”

That struck a nerve. Fred’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. “Jealous? Of you? You’re dreaming, mate.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like it’s a crime for her to have a decent time at the ball.”

“Decent time? That’s rich, coming from the guy who can’t even sit still during dinner without knocking something over.”

George’s grin faltered, his tone sharpening. “What’s your problem? You’ve been acting like this since I asked her.” He asked, loud enough for only him and Fred to hear. But George, knew exactly what was up.

“Maybe my problem is you jumping in when you knew—” Fred stopped abruptly, clenching his jaw as if he’d said too much.

The table grew quieter as Snape walked by, making sure students were doing work without chatting away, a few heads turning toward the brewing tension. Your heart raced as you glanced between them, unsure whether to step in.

“Knew what, Fred?” George pressed, his own temper starting to rise.

Fred opened his book, a little too harshly, his voice low but laced with frustration. “Forget it. Enjoy your ‘decent time,’ George.”

Not long after, you all found yourselves immersed in studying.

Moments later, Fred tossed a note to Ron, saying “Get a move on, or all the good ones will have gone.”

Ron groaned. “Who are you going with, then?”

Fred didn’t reply. Instead, he rolled another paper ball and lobbed it at Angelina, who turned to Fred, mouthing "What?"

He asked her to the ball. He asked her to the ball. When she nodded in response, your chest tightened painfully.

You felt your chest constrict as you watched the exchange. He asked Angelina. The words echoed in your mind, drowning out the noise around you.

You buried your face in your parchment, pretending to be absorbed in your work, but Hermione’s hand on your arm told you she saw right through you.

Fred glanced at you briefly, his gaze almost apologetic, but you refused to meet his eyes. Instead, you leaned closer to Hermione, trying to block him out.

Whatever, you were going with George anyway, why did Fred matter.

___

The night of the ball arrived, and you met George at the entrance. He was charming as ever, complimenting your dress with a sincere warmth that made you feel beautiful.

“You look stunning,” George said as he approached, his grin warm and genuine.

“Thanks, and you look very handsome” you replied, offering a small smile as he led you inside.

The Hall was breathtaking, transformed into a winter wonderland. But as your eyes scanned the room, they immediately found Fred, your heart faltered at the sight of him with Angelina. He looked devastatingly handsome in his dress robes, his hair neatly combed, though still with that familiar unruly edge.

Fred caught your eye for a fleeting moment, his lips curving into a faint smile, but he quickly turned away. You forced yourself to smile and focused on George, determined not to let your emotions show.

“Let’s say hi,” George suggested, steering you toward his twin.

Fred’s eyes met yours as you approached, and for a moment, everything else faded away. But then he turned to Angelina, jealousy flashing in his gaze before he quickly hid it.

The night went on, the music swelling and laughter filling the air. You danced with George, smiled for the photos, and laughed with friends, but your heart wasn’t in it. Fred was never far from your thoughts, and you couldn’t stop glancing his way.

You sat at the table with George, Lee and Oliver, having some punch to hydrate yourselves after all that dancing.

Across the room, Fred’s gaze kept finding you, a flicker of longing evident in his eyes, though you never noticed.

When he wasn't looking, your eyes found him, and when you glanced away, his gaze found you.

You watched as he laughed with Angelina, something stirred inside you, wishing that was you. Around the room, couples were dancing happily, laughter echoing throughout the room which you drowned out.

You always knew you liked Fred, but this was the first time your emotions felt stronger than ever. You'd never dare admit it, but your heart ached for him, and tonight was the tipping point.

Turning to George, you excused yourself for some air, slipping out into the courtyard as tears welled up.

The first raindrops began to fall as you sat on a bench, cold air biting against your skin as your tears slowly spilled over despite your efforts to hold them back.

You didn't care about the rain; you just sat there.

___

Back inside, Fred’s eyes followed you as you left, a slight frown played upon his lips as he watched you scurry out.

“Go,” Angelina said softly, nudging him.

“What?” Fred asked, startled.

“She likes you, Fred. And it’s obvious you like her too, I see the way you look at her. Stop being an idiot and do something about it.” She chuckled.

Realisation dawned on his face, and without another word, he ran after you.

The rain was pouring by the time he found you. Without thinking, he took off his blazer and held it over your head as he approached. You looked up seeing a tall figure tower over you, holding a blazer over you.

He got soaked, but didn't mind one bit, as long as it kept you dry.

“Mind some company?” he asked, sitting beside you, now extending the blazer over his head too, leaving the two of you huddled under his blazer together.

“Fred, just go,” you said, not looking at him.

“Not a chance,” he replied, his voice soft. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. Crying, no less.”

You turned to him, your heart breaking all over again. “Shouldn’t you be with Angelina?”

Fred shook his head. “There’s nothing between us." He continued, "You do know that she has a thing for George, right?”

“Then why didn’t you—” You stopped yourself, unable to finish the thought.

“Because I was too much of a coward to ask you,” Fred admitted, his voice raw. “George knew that, so he stepped in, he just needed to push my buttons that git. But it’s always been you. Only you.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the world stood still.

“Fred...”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “You’re the one I’ve wanted all along.”

Tears welled up again, but this time they were different. You laughed softly, shaking your head. “How did the wrong twin ask the wrong date to the ball?”

Fred chuckled, his hand reaching to tuck a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “Guess we’re both idiots.”

You leaned closer, and Fred closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that made everything else fade away.

The kiss was as sweet as his words were, you tasted a linger of punch he drank from earlier, "Mhm, sweet." You giggled. He smiled into the kiss, before leaning back in for another kiss, removing the blazer from above so he could hold you closer to him.

Fred pulled you closer by the waist, holding you like he was going to lost you. "Merlin, you're the most beautiful girl to ever exist." He complimented sincerely.

You blushed, looking down, "Stop it..." you scoff but bit back a smile.

His inspected your face, eyes darting from your eyes to your lips, smiling as he did so. The look of love. And you into his, those warm hazel eyes you always dreamed of, finally looking at you in this light.

The soft hum of music floated through the night air, carried from the Great Hall to the quiet courtyard. The sound of a slow, enchanting melody was muffled by the rain but still audible enough to make your heartpace increase.

“They’re playing a slow one now,” he said, his gaze fixed on you.

His hazel eyes warmer than the rain, a playful yet nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Dance with me.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“Dance with me,” he repeated, standing up and holding a hand out to you. Raindrops clung to his hair, the dim light from the castle casting a faint glow around him. “It’d be a shame to let a good song go to waste.”

You stared at his hand, your heart fluttering as you hesitated. “Fred, it’s raining.”

“All the better.” He grinned, his usual confidence creeping back into his voice. “Come on, Y/N. You’re already soaked, and we’re already out here. What’ve we got to lose?”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re absurd.”

“And yet, here you are, sitting next to me.” He wiggled his fingers, his hand still extended. “Now, are you going to make me stand here looking like a git, or are you going to dance with me?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile spreading across your face. With a sigh of surrender, you placed your hand in his, letting him pull you to your feet.

The rain was cool against your skin as Fred tugged you closer, one hand resting lightly on your waist, the other still holding your hand.

You hesitated, unsure of where to place your free hand, and he chuckled, guiding it to his shoulder.

“There,” he said softly. “Not so hard, is it?”

The music from the hall swirled around you both as he began to sway, leading you gently. You stumbled at first, unprepared for the sudden closeness, but Fred’s grip was steady, his steps smooth and sure.

“You’re not bad at this,” you teased, looking up at him.

He smirked. “Told you. Miles better than Georgie.”

That made you laugh, and the sound seemed to light up his whole face. The tension from earlier melted away, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the music or the rain.

The world around you blurred, the rain and the music creating a cocoon of quiet intimacy. Fred twirled you unexpectedly, making you gasp before pulling you back against him, his grin wide and mischievous.

“Show-off,” you said breathlessly.

“Only for you,” he replied, his voice softer now, his teasing tone giving way to something more sincere.

You looked up at him, rainwater dripping from your hair, and for a moment, you forgot about the ball, about Angelina, about anything else. It was just Fred—Fred with his warm eyes, his heartfelt grin, and his hands that held you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Fred…” you started, unsure of what you wanted to say.

But he stopped swaying, his hand gently brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured. “It’s always been you, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, his words sinking in like the rain soaking through your clothes. “Fred, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I just…I needed you to know.”

For a moment, you stood there, staring at him, the music from the hall swelling in the background. Then, without thinking, you leaned up on your toes, closing the space between you.

The kiss was soft and slow, rain falling around you as if the world had stopped for just the two of you. Fred’s hand cupped your face gently, the other still resting on your waist, pulling you closer. When you finally pulled back, he was grinning, his forehead resting against yours.

“So, how’s this for a Yule Ball memory?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing.

You laughed, your cheeks flushing despite the cold. “It’s perfect.”

“Good,” he said, spinning you one last time before pulling you back into his arms. “Because I don’t think I’m letting you go anytime soon.”

And as the rain continued to fall and the music from the Great Hall drifted through the night, you realised that, for once, you didn’t mind getting soaked.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜

in which you talk trash but she isn't afraid to talk back

warning : sexual content included - minors dni

By the time the buzzer rang to open the Aces vs. Wings game, the entire league had been waiting for this moment.

The reigning MVP versus the new golden girl.

You stood at half court, bouncing on your heels with your signature grin tugging at your mouth. Your braid was pulled tight. Your sneakers already squeaked with heat. The ball hadn’t even tipped, and you were locked in, eyes narrowing across the line at Paige Bueckers.

“Ready to see what the WNBA really feels like, rookie?” you called, voice casual, but loud enough that the nearest camera mic picked it up.

Paige just rolled her eyes. “You done rehearsing that line in the mirror?”

Your smirk widened. “Oh, I’ve got a whole setlist ready for you.”

Paige didn’t flinch. She didn’t need to. Her hands settled on her hips, her expression unreadable beneath the calm ice of competition she wore so well. But you knew the look. That stubborn Bueckers fire was already catching.

First possession, you made a show of it.

Between-the-legs dribble, behind the back, hesitation at the arc. Paige didn’t bite. But the second she leaned the wrong way—barely, just a twitch—you stepped back and drained a three right over her outstretched fingers.

“Welcome to the league,” you called, backpedaling. “First lesson’s free.”

The crowd erupted. Camera flashes. Someone on the Dallas bench whistled. You winked.

It was electric.

Paige came back harder, of course. Her first possession ended in a sharp cut to the elbow and a smooth jumper, her footwork so precise it looked choreographed. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. She just glanced your way as she jogged down court like, your turn.

The game unfolded like a symphony of pettiness and skill. You pushed her. She shoved back. You jab-stepped and faked. She clamped down on your drives. It was basketball in its purest, grittiest form—trash talk over rhythm, mind games wrapped around talent.

You stole a pass from her in the second quarter and went coast to coast, finishing with a spin move layup that sent the Aces’ bench to their feet.

“Gotta protect your lunch, Bueckers,” you said on your way back down. “You’re in the big leagues now.”

She didn’t break stride. “Pretty bold for someone who needs the whole highlight reel just to score.”

“Ouch,” you said. “You rehearse that one too?”

Mid-third quarter, she clipped you on a drive—light, but enough that you stumbled. The whistle didn’t come. You both kept going. Next possession, you bumped her hard on a screen.

“That for the foul or the ego?” she muttered under her breath, eyes locked on you.

“Bit of both,” you said, grinning. “But mostly the ego.”

There was something in the way you danced around each other—tension, sure. But not the hateful kind. The kind that buzzed with familiarity, with too much awareness. The way she stole glances at you when she thought you weren’t looking. The way you always knew exactly where she was on the court without trying.

You were in her head. She was getting in yours too.

By the fourth quarter, it was still tight. 81-80. Your shoulders were damp with sweat, but your eyes were clear. Laser-focused.

A timeout was called with thirty seconds left. You and Paige walked to your benches, but not before you brushed shoulders at mid-court.

“You get extra points for rookie takedowns?” Paige asked, low.

“No,” you said, mouth curling. “But I do count them.”

She huffed a laugh and didn’t look away.

You finished with 24 points, 7 assists, 3 steals. Paige had 18 and 6.

You won the game.

But afterward, when you walked past her in the tunnel and caught her already watching you—arms crossed, sweat still clinging to her hairline—you didn’t throw another jab.

You just slowed.

She raised a brow. “What, no more trash talk?”

You shrugged, eyes dropping to her lips for half a second too long. “I save some for the rematch.”

Paige tilted her head, stepping closer. “I’ll be ready.”

You leaned in, voice a low hum. “Hope so. Would hate to keep schooling you like this.”

And just for a heartbeat—one quiet, pulsing moment—neither of you said anything else.

But everything shifted.

Paige sat between DiJonai and Arike, a towel draped around her neck and a tightly wound rubber band holding back her hair. She had showered, sure, but the flush on her cheeks hadn’t faded—not from the cardio. Not from you.

The press room was hot. Cameras clicked. Reporters raised their hands. Paige tried to focus.

“Tough game out there tonight, Paige. How would you describe going up against the reigning MVP?”

Paige’s lips twitched.

“She’s… a lot,” Paige said, her tone dancing that tightrope between admiration and irritation. “Talks a mile a minute. Doesn’t shut up.” She paused, letting the laughter build. “But she backs it up. You can’t really be mad when someone’s cooking and making it look that easy.”

Nai grinned beside her. “She called you rookie at least six times on the court.”

“Seven,” Paige corrected under her breath.

“Eight,” Arike added, scrolling on her phone. “Twitter’s keeping count.”

Laughter in the room.

Another reporter chimed in, smirking. “Any chance this is the start of a new rivalry?”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Is it a rivalry if she keeps winning?”

“She said she’s saving more talk for the rematch,” the reporter added.

Paige’s smirk deepened before she could stop it. “Then I guess I better be ready for a whole TED Talk next time.”

Cue another wave of chuckles, and Nai glancing over like, “Girl…”

You strolled in like you weren’t fresh off twenty-four points and a nationally televised clinic. One hand in your hoodie pocket, the other holding a Gatorade. Cool, cocky, unreadable—until they asked about her.

“That was your first time going head-to-head with Paige Bueckers in the W. Thoughts?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“She’s solid,” you said, sipping. “Moves well off the ball. Smart with the rock. She’s gonna be a problem once she stops getting cooked by me.”

Laughter erupted.

“She said you talk too much,” another reporter added.

“She said that?” you said, feigning offense. “Damn. Thought we were bonding.”

You leaned back in your chair, gaze unfocused for a beat before landing on the reporter again. “Nah, she’s tough. But I like testing people. See what they’re made of.”

“And?”

“And she didn’t fold,” you admitted. “She took everything I threw at her and came back sharper each quarter. It was fun.”

Someone from the back asked, “Any truth to the rumors that you two were seen talking in the tunnel post-game?”

You cocked your head, slowly grinning. “We talkin’ basketball? Or… talking?”

The room laughed nervously. You just winked. “Next question.”

@/user: Paige: “She’s a lot. Doesn’t shut up. But she backs it up.” Y/N: “Is she talking about basketball or feelings?” 

@/user: THE TENSION. THE BANTER. THE RIVALRY. I’M SICK. GIVE ME A 7-GAME SERIES.

@/user: The MVP vs. The Rookie. We need a documentary already. #TrashTalk #WNBArivalries

@/user: Not Paige smiling like that when they asked about the MVP. She’s so cooked. #WNBA #AcesVsWings

Her room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of her phone screen. Paige lay on her side, one arm tucked under her cheek, scrolling through a storm of notifications.

Clips of you calling her “rookie.”

Clips of her face after you hit that step-back three.

Clips of her biting back a smile when the reporters pressed.

And then—your post.

@/yn “Welcome to the league.” [Photo: You, mid-dribble, eyes locked on Paige. Captioned with a single flame emoji.]

The comment section was on fire.

@/user: she’s so disrespectful and yet… correct

@/user: the look she gives Paige at half court… I FELT THAT

@/user: why do I feel like they’re gonna kiss and then fight and then kiss again

Paige stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the Like button.

She didn’t like it. She didn’t comment. She did something worse. She opened your DM.

paige: cute caption. did your media team come up with that or are you just naturally annoying?

She hovered.

Deleted “annoying,” typed “relentless.”

Deleted that too.

paige: cute caption. you always this cocky or do i bring it out of you?

She hit send.

And instantly regretted it.

Until the little typing… bubble popped up.

You replied almost right away.

you: i was gonna ask the same thing you always this flustered or do i bring it out of you?

Paige bit her lip.

Her fingers hovered again.

paige: i’m not flustered

You replied immediately.

you: then why’d you wait till 1:30 am to message me? 

She stared at it.

Paused.

paige: had to wait until i cooled off. you ran circles around me all night.

you: oh baby. you have no idea what i plan for the rematch.

might have to start charging rent with how much space i’m taking up in your head

Paige groaned. Tossed her phone face down. Picked it up again thirty seconds later.

paige: cool. i’ll bring the eviction notice. and maybe dinner. idk. depends how the game goes.

You liked the message.

And for the first time all night… Paige smiled.

The Vegas skyline blinked through your window, lights still alive long after the city should’ve slept. You were stretched on your couch, hoodie draped over your chest, fingers absently spinning a basketball on the tips.

Your phone buzzed.

Incoming FaceTime: Paige Bueckers

You didn’t hesitate.

The screen lit up with Paige’s face—soft from the glow of her bedside lamp, one cheek pressed into a pillow, blonde curls mussed, barely holding her eyes open.

She blinked once, smirked. “Did I wake you?”

You arched a brow. “You think I sleep before 2am? Cute.”

She let out a soft laugh. “You looked cozy.”

You stretched, deliberately cracking your neck. “Just waiting on your call, actually.”

She snorted, and you caught the slight flush on her cheeks. “You were not.”

“Was too. Knew you’d cave eventually.”

Paige rolled her eyes and adjusted her grip on the phone, the screen bouncing slightly. “I’m not caving. I’m scouting. Big difference.”

“Oh, so you called to study film?” You grinned. “How’d I look from your angle?”

Paige laughed, tucking the blanket tighter around her. “Like someone who says way too much and doesn’t shut up.”

“You liked it though.”

She hesitated. You caught it—just the smallest pause, the kind that said don’t get cocky but also you’re not wrong.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I liked beating your screens. Liked catching you off guard with that crossover. Liked that look you gave me when I stripped the ball in the third.”

You stared at her for a moment. “You replay that in your head a lot?”

“More than I should,” she admitted. Quiet. Barely a breath.

Silence stretched between you like a string pulled taut.

“You ever think about how we’d be on the same team?” you asked, voice lower now.

Paige blinked. “You mean if I’d gone first in the draft?”

You nodded. “Could’ve been assists for days. You setting me up for corner threes. I could’ve made your stat sheet look beautiful.”

“I do just fine without you,” she said, but it was softer than usual. Playful. Curious.

“Do you?”

Paige held your gaze. No grin. No smirk.

Just... honesty.

“You got under my skin,” she said.

“I know.”

“And I didn’t hate it.”

Your voice dropped. “Good. Because I’m not done.”

Her smile returned—small, tired, real. “What’s next then?”

“Rematch in three weeks,” you said. “In Dallas.”

“I meant after that.”

Your chest tightened.

You ran a hand through your hair, suddenly aware of how much she was looking at you. Really looking.

“I guess,” you said slowly, “I ask if dinner after the game is still on the table.”

Paige’s lashes fluttered, amused and warm all at once. “Depends. You still planning to talk the entire time?”

“Only if I’m trying to distract you.”

She smiled. “You already do.”

A beat.

Then she yawned, blinking heavy eyes. “Okay. I have to sleep or I’m gonna show up to practice tomorrow thinking about you again.”

“Don’t act like that’s new.”

“Shut up,” she whispered, cheeks pink.

You grinned. “Sleep good, rookie.”

“Night, MVP.”

And when the call ended, neither of you slept for a while.

You both just laid there. Smiling. Thinking.

Plotting.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when Paige texted “Come over. Dinner?” but it definitely wasn’t her answering the door barefoot, in sweats and a tank top, holding a wooden spoon like she’d been born in a kitchen.

She looked… soft.

“Don’t say anything,” she warned as you stepped inside.

You smirked, glancing around the cozy Dallas apartment. “What, no red carpet? No velvet ropes for the MVP?”

She shoved your shoulder lightly. “Keep talking and you’ll be eating cereal.”

You leaned against the doorframe that led to the kitchen, arms crossed. “That’s bold, considering you texted me.”

“I was trying to be nice,” she muttered, turning her attention back to the pot on the stove. “I regret it already.”

You watched her stir something that smelled like garlic, tomato, and whatever softness she wasn’t saying out loud.

“You cook now?”

“I survive,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “You want wine?”

“Paige Bueckers offers wine before a game?” you teased, walking in slowly, deliberately, letting the tension simmer.

“Just one glass,” she said. “Don’t get clingy.”

You stepped up behind her, reaching for the bottle on the counter beside her. “I only get clingy if I win.”

She looked at you from the corner of her eye. “You planning on winning tomorrow?”

You poured two glasses and handed her one. “You planning on stopping me?”

Her fingers brushed yours as she took the glass. Neither of you moved for a second too long.

Paige broke it. “Sit down. Dinner’s almost done.”

You sat, but not before trailing your fingers along the back of one of her kitchen chairs—watching her the whole time.

Pasta. Something with a kick. You hadn’t expected that either.

“You surprise me,” you said between bites.

Paige shrugged. “You think I don’t know how to live alone?”

“I mean you do have a deal with DoorDash.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I like quiet. Cooking helps with that.”

You leaned back in your chair, glass in hand. “You get a lot of quiet now?”

She hesitated. Stirred her pasta. “More than I thought I would.”

You didn’t ask what she meant. Not directly. But she looked up, and you knew she saw the question in your eyes.

“Everyone expects so much,” she said softly. “On the court, off of it. Sometimes I just wanna…” she trailed off.

“Be a person,” you finished.

Paige nodded. “Exactly.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just let the silence sit between you.

You asked, “So why me?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You invited me over. Of all people. Loud. Cocky. Trash-talker extraordinaire.” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes yet. “I thought I’d be the last person you’d want around when you’re looking for quiet.”

She held your gaze.

“Because,” Paige said slowly, “you’re loud, yeah. But you’re honest. And you’re one of the few people who doesn’t expect me to be perfect.”

You leaned forward, elbows on the table. “That why you couldn’t stop looking at me during the last game?”

She smiled, sheepish now. “Part of it.”

Your heart beat a little harder.

“So what is this then?” you asked, quieter now. “Us?”

Paige stood up slowly, collecting your plates. Her back was to you when she answered.

“I don’t know yet,” she said honestly. “But I wanted to see you again. Without cameras. Without noise. Just… this.”

You got up too, coming to stand beside her at the sink. “You could’ve just said you missed me.”

“I could’ve,” she said, bumping your hip with hers. “But then I’d owe you another glass of wine.”

You laughed, low and warm. “You owe me that either way.”

You stood there, hoodie back on, keys in hand. Paige leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, hair tucked behind one ear.

Neither of you moved.

“Good luck tomorrow,” she said, eyes softer now.

You leaned in, barely an inch between you. “You mean that?”

She smirked. “No.”

You grinned. “Good. Because I don’t either.”

A beat.

Her voice dropped. “But I’ll be watching you.”

You met her gaze, serious now. “I always do.”

And you left.

But neither of you stopped thinking about the other for the rest of the night.

The arena was already humming before the tip. Dallas fans packed the seats, jerseys and signs waving, anticipation thick in the air. Everyone was here for the rematch.

Aces vs. Wings.

You vs. Paige Bueckers.

Again.

Only this time, it wasn’t just a headline. It was personal.

You were warming up on the sideline, sinking threes like they owed you rent, when you spotted her.

Paige.

Stepping onto the court in navy and white, hair in a high ponytail, face unreadable except for the unmistakable twitch of a smirk when her eyes met yours.

She walked past your half of the court without breaking stride, but she said just loud enough for you to hear. “Hope you stretched. I don’t carry people who cramp up in the third.”

You grinned, spinning the ball in your hand. “You planning on keeping up with me this time, rookie?”

She turned to walk backward, meeting your stare mid-stride. “I’m planning on dropping 20 while shutting you up. Two birds. One game.”

“You flirt like you defend,” you called after her. “Too slow.”

Her laugh echoed behind her as she joined her team.

And just like that, the game was on.

You drew first blood.

Step-back three from the left wing. Nothing but net.

You didn’t even look at the basket.

You looked at her.

She raised a brow and pointed to her chest. “Me?”

You nodded. “All day.”

Paige responded with a mid-range pull-up off a screen that made your rookie guard stumble.

She jogged back past you, leaning in for a split second. “That one was for you. Little love tap.”

You bumped her shoulder. “You flirt like you finish—average.”

She grinned. “I’ll show you finish.”

The trash talk wasn’t the only thing heating up.

You stole the ball, fast break, blew a kiss as you laid it in.

She hit a contested three from deep and winked as she backpedaled. “Try guarding me next time.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet laughing. “You’re cute when you lie.”

“You’re cute when you lose.”

“Wouldn’t know the feeling.”

The arena didn’t know who to root for—every moment between you two was its own show. Cameras didn’t just follow the ball anymore. They followed the glances. The words. The closeness.

You were defending her now, full-body contact, not because you had to—but because you wanted to be that close.

“You always breathe this heavy when I’m on you?” she whispered.

You didn’t blink. “Only when I’m bored.”

She chuckled and faked a step—then leaned in and drew a foul.

“Touchy, aren’t you?” she teased as the whistle blew.

“I could say the same.”

Thirty seconds left. You had the ball.

Paige was guarding you, chest to chest, eyes locked on yours.

“Go on,” she said, breathless. “Show me something.”

You dribbled once. Twice. Crossed over.

“Still haven’t figured it out?” you murmured. “It’s never about the first move. It’s the last one.”

And just like that—spin, pivot, fadeaway from the baseline.

Cash.

The crowd lost it.

Tie game.

Paige just shook her head. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“You love it.”

She hesitated.

“...Yeah,” she said. “Kinda do.”

You lost—barely. Paige had hit the game-winning assist in the final second. But as the buzzer rang, neither of you looked at the scoreboard first.

You looked at each other.

She found you at half court, still flushed, still catching her breath.

“Dinner’s on you,” she said, grin wide and triumphant.

You tilted your head. “I drop 28 and lose by one, and you get the prize?”

She stepped closer. “I always get the prize.”

You eyed her. “So what am I?”

She didn’t flinch. “The main course.”

You blinked. Laughing, stunned, heart racing.

“Well damn, Bueckers,” you muttered. “You keep that up and I might actually let you win next time.”

She leaned in, voice barely above the noise. “Or we stop keeping score and just… see where this goes.”

And that?

That stopped everything.

Even the noise in your chest.

The cameras stopped at the court’s edge.

Reporters peeled off toward locker rooms.

But you?

You waited.

Leaning against the cool cinderblock wall deep in the bowels of the Dallas arena tunnel, sweat still drying on your skin, adrenaline still humming in your blood. The beat of the game was gone, but something else—something louder—was still thudding in your chest.

You heard her before you saw her.

Quick footsteps. A laugh. The soft thunk of her water bottle against the wall as she rounded the corner, alone.

Paige froze the second she saw you.

"Stalking me now?" she asked, trying for lightness. Her voice came out breathier than expected.

You pushed off the wall slowly. “Just figured you owed me a goodbye.”

“From the girl who called me a rookie all night?” she teased, stepping closer.

You didn’t smile. Not really. “From the girl who can’t stop thinking about how you looked when you hit that last assist.”

Paige licked her lips, heart in her throat. “That pass?”

You nodded. “The way your face lit up when it went in.”

Her laugh was softer now. “You watched my face?”

“Always.”

She stood just a foot away now.

The tunnel buzzed with overhead fluorescents, but the corner you were in was quiet. Tucked. Yours.

“I like when you talk,” Paige said, eyes sharp and unblinking.

“I like when you listen,” you said, voice lower now. “Even when you pretend you’re not.”

Her hand brushed your forearm.

It was light. Testing. And yet, it landed like gravity.

“I haven’t stopped replaying that dinner,” she whispered. “You didn’t kiss me.”

You looked at her like she’d just stepped into your mind. “Didn’t want to rush it.”

Paige stepped into you, chest brushing yours. “Rush it now.”

You didn’t move.

Not yet.

Instead, you reached up slowly—grazed your fingers under her jaw, tilting her chin so she had to look up at you.

“Still want me to shut up?” you asked, voice husky.

She smiled.

“I want you to shut me up.”

And that was it.

You kissed her.

Not like a rivalry.

Like a reward.

Like a promise that tomorrow, and every time after, would be more than just trash talk and triple-doubles. It would be this. Quiet corners. Loud hearts. Something neither of you could defend against.

Her fingers clutched your jersey. Your hand slipped into her hair. Neither of you pulled away for a long, long time.

When you finally did, she didn’t let go. Just whispered, “still calling me rookie after that?”

You grinned. “Only if you keep looking at me like this when I say it.”

The drive was quiet.

Not awkward—just heavy with everything that had already been said without words. You sat beside her, thumb grazing the inside of her wrist as she drove one-handed, the city lights streaking across the windshield. Paige didn’t speak until the car slipped into the garage.

“You want to come in?”

The question was soft. Careful.

You nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Her apartment was dim, quiet. You’d been here before—dinner, laughter, that lingering stare as you left—but it felt different now.

Now, you weren’t dancing around anything.

Now, it was humming in the air between you.

She dropped her keys on the counter, turned to you, arms still crossed like she was holding something in.

“You really got under my skin tonight,” Paige said.

You stepped closer. “On the court?”

She shook her head. “Everywhere.”

You stood in front of her, barely inches between you. The low kitchen light spilled golden down the side of her neck.

“You gonna let me fix that?” you asked, voice low.

You didn’t let her answer. You just stepped into her space—into her warmth—and kissed her again. This time deeper, slower. Less teasing, more want.

She melted into it, fingers curling into your shirt as you backed her gently toward the couch. She dropped onto it with a soft gasp, legs still between yours. You hovered, foreheads brushing.

“You good?” you asked, your voice soft but firm.

Paige nodded, breath catching. “Yeah. Really good.”

You took your time. Kissed her again. Traced your hands up her sides, lifting the hem of her hoodie slowly. She raised her arms without question. Underneath was just a sports bra. You dragged a finger along the band.

“This okay?”

She nodded again, quieter now. “Please.”

You leaned down and kissed just under her jaw—then lower, slow and reverent. Her breath hitched when your mouth pressed to the top of her chest, still covered, but not for long.

You pulled her bra off gently, eyes locked with hers as you did.

She flushed under your gaze, arms instinctively twitching like she wanted to hide.

“Don’t,” you murmured, kneeling in front of her. “You’re beautiful. Let me see you.”

The blush deepened, but her arms dropped. Her legs parted slightly.

You kissed down her sternum, her stomach, her waistband—letting your mouth worship her inch by inch. When you hooked your fingers into her shorts, she lifted her hips, silently giving permission. You stripped her bare. Slowly. Thoroughly.

She was breathless before you even touched her.

You leaned in between her thighs, spreading them with your palms until her knees fell open completely.

Then you looked up at her, waiting.

Paige met your eyes, voice barely there. “Yes. Please.”

So you did.

You licked her slowly—soft at first, like you were memorizing her. She gasped when you flattened your tongue against her clit. Her hands clutched at the couch cushion beside her thighs. She was trying to stay quiet. Trying and failing.

You hummed gently against her, mouth never letting up, fingers gripping her hips to keep her steady.

“Let go, Paige,” you whispered into her. “You can be loud with me.”

And she was.

You slipped one finger inside her, then another—slow, deliberate, curling in rhythm with your tongue. Her moans were half-breathed whimpers, choked off by the shock of pleasure every time you hit that spot.

She reached down, fingers tangling in your hair, hips grinding against your mouth without shame.

“You feel so good,” she whimpered. “God—you’re…”

You kissed her inner thigh, then went back to work, flicking your tongue, curling your fingers harder now.

She cried out, head tipping back, voice ragged.

“Don’t stop—please, don’t—”

And she came.

Hard.

Body trembling. Back arching. Hands shaking in your hair.

You slowed down, kept your mouth soft against her until she whimpered from oversensitivity. You pulled back and kissed her knee, her hip, her stomach, working your way up as she caught her breath.

When you finally reached her lips again, her arms pulled you down, clinging.

“I’ve never…” she whispered.

You smiled. “You will. As many times as you want.”

And she did.

Sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains like it was trying not to wake anyone too suddenly.

You were already awake.

Not moving. Not thinking too hard. Just… watching her.

Paige lay on her stomach, one arm tucked under the pillow, the sheet barely clinging to her waist. Her hair was a gentle mess across her face and shoulders, strands catching the light like gold thread. Her cheek was soft, slack with sleep. She looked younger like this. Softer. Like nothing in the world had ever hurt her.

You didn’t move. Not for a long time.

Just traced slow patterns on the bare skin of her back with your fingertips. Circles between her shoulder blades. Lines down her spine. She shivered slightly but didn’t stir.

Eventually, though, her lashes fluttered. She blinked herself awake slowly, adjusting to the warmth at her side.

“Morning,” she rasped, voice still low and hoarse from sleep—and maybe from the night before.

You leaned in and kissed her shoulder. “Morning.”

She rolled onto her side, tucking the blanket around her chest and nestling closer to you, thigh sliding over yours.

“You’re still here,” she murmured, as if surprised.

You looked at her.

“I wasn’t going to leave before you woke up.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “That’s dangerously sweet.”

“You bring it out of me.”

Paige reached up, fingers brushing your jaw. “You leave today?”

You nodded slowly. “Flight’s in a few hours. Back to Vegas.”

Her smile faded a little—not sad, just reluctant. “Can’t believe you lost and still ended up in my bed.”

You smirked. “Can’t believe I lost and still feel like I won.”

That made her blush, eyes falling for a moment. She tucked her face against your chest.

You wrapped your arm around her, holding her there, like you could stall time with the weight of your body alone.

“I had fun last night,” she said quietly. “Not just the game. Not just the…” She trailed off, shy again.

“I know what you mean,” you murmured. “Me too.”

Neither of you said anything for a while. The air between you was warm. Safe. The kind of stillness you don’t find in most lives lived at full speed.

Paige lifted her head, chin resting on your chest.

“You’ll text me when you land?”

“Of course.”

“You’ll… let this be a thing?”

You looked at her—really looked.

One hand rose to brush a strand of hair out of her face. “Paige. It’s already a thing.”

She nodded once, a soft smile returning. “Okay.”

And that was it. No big goodbye. No grand confessions. Just two athletes caught between cities, schedules, games—and this thing neither of them asked for but weren’t ready to give up.

She walked you to the door an hour later, wearing your hoodie and nothing else, mug in hand.

You kissed her one last time.

It wasn’t rushed.

And when you walked out, her voice followed you.

“Don’t forget I dropped 21 on you.”

You turned over your shoulder. Grinning.

“Don’t forget you begged after.”

Her laughter rang through the hallway as the elevator doors closed.

[valeisaslut]

any scandals on both sides before they met? (caught with drugs, at a strip club, fucking a higher up, etc?)

oh nonnie. you just know these two have scandalous backstories. before they met? absolute chaos on both ends. ellie was worse tho, but here are the biggest:

COLLIDE ROCKSTAR!ELLIE SCANDALS:

⭑.ᐟ the strip club birthday video leak

ellie’s 21th birthday ended with her in a NYC strip club, only in a sports bra, a dancer grinding on her while she poured some VERY expensive champagne down her chest. dina was yelling in the background. it got leaked on reddit. she refused to apologize.

“i support small businesses.”

⭑.ᐟ caught with drugs… on camera

grainy paparazzi photo of ellie backstage holding what was very clearly a baggie of coke.

she tweeted “it’s powdered sugar. chill.”

it was not powdered sugar.

her label did PR damage control for weeks.

⭑.ᐟ fucked a Rolling Stone writer

like, literally. she slept with a much older female journalist who’d been covering the fireflies’ tour. when the profile came out and was weirdly flattering, fans immediately knew.

you can’t write “her voice sounds like sex and cigarettes” and pretend you’re objective.

⭑.ᐟ got into a fistfight with a sound tech at a festival

apparently he said something misogynistic about her band and she decked him. the festival banned her for a year. she wore the ban like a badge of honor.

⭑.ᐟ hooked up with a married tour manager in berlin

it was a mess. security footage leaked of them kissing in the VIP booth and reddit sleuths figured out the woman was married. four (4) kids. ellie said nothing. the tour manager resigned.

COLLIDE POPSTAR!READER SCANDALS:

⭑.ᐟ allegedly had a fling with a very famous female creative director

she was nearly 20 years older. fans still speculate that your breakout song was about her. when asked in interviews, you just smirk and say “she was inspiring.”

⭑.ᐟ accidentally flashed the crowd during a wardrobe malfunction at a NYE special

you trended for 3 days and tweeted “wow. a woman with nipples. someone call the police. btw. i have great tits”. your streams tripled.

⭑.ᐟ the “i fucked her for the verse” situation

an up-and-coming rapper claimed you slept with her to get a feature. you never responded. the song dropped. it went platinum.

fans still debate if it was true.

you don’t care.

⭑.ᐟ kissed another popstar girl on stage “as a bit” and ignited rumors for months

it was not just a bit. there was tongue. she later told Vogue, “i was the one who caught feelings. she didn’t.”

ouch.

⭑.ᐟ drunkenly called a major pop award show “soulless” on a hot mic

you didn’t win anything that night. but your fans made t-shirts out of the quote.

(ellie would later say that’s the moment she became obsessed with you.)

and then they met.

and all hell broke loose.

together? a PR team’s worst nightmare. and a fan’s dream.