#and I don't got Ao3 or anything like that

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission

Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

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Masterlist

Chapter two - See them Truly

This was going to be hard. In moments like this, you wished you had inherited some of your siblings' intelligence— well, Bruce's kids', really. It would also be hard to stop thinking about them as family.

You realized that while trying to fall asleep. You don't know anything about the outside world, or how to manage money nothing. You're only 12! You just wanted to worry about getting a good grade so Alfred would give you ice cream, not about getting tortured by some clown-painted lunatic. The upside is, that won't happen for a few years, so you have plenty of time to hide from the Joker's eye and think about what you're going to do with your life once Serelith shows up… unless you end up bringing her into this yourself just to get out of this strange family as soon as possible. The downside is that you want to figure something out now, and it's really hard to think when Tim's trying to brush your hair in front of the mirror in his room, where he dragged you earlier this morning.

—If you’re doing this so I won’t say anything about— He cuts you off before you can finish. —I'm doing this because I want to. I trust you enough to know you won't tell anyone… That includes Bruce and the others, okay?—he asks as he keeps trying to make your hair look somewhat decent.

After reading the comics, you learned a lot about everyone else's skills. Sure, you already knew Tim was smart—you'd asked him for help with your homework more than once just as an excuse to spend quality time together. But you didn't know he was on Batman's level, or that he figured everything out when he was nine. Yeah, you're way out of his league. If you were him, you wouldn't bother teaching some kid basic algebra either, not when you've got complex cases to deal with. …Although, he’d probably teach Serelith if she asked him…

The point is, once you woke up with a clear head and your emotions under control, you'd decided not to tell anyone about the comics. Which means you'll have to be really careful around someone like Tim.

—I won't tell Bruce or anyone else. I promise.— You give him a half-smile, one he definitely notices… When did you stop calling Bruce “dad”? Wasn't it just you and Damian who used to call him that?

Maybe Damian had something to do with your anxiety attack—now that Tim thinks about it, Damian’s so-called “company” probably just means fights and arguments. It was really stupid of him to think Damian treated you differently just because of some fight from years ago. Besides, you don’t know anything about Damian’s past! To you, he probably just seemed like a troubled kid. Tim should’ve paid more attention to you. He shouldn’t have kept his distance just because of his own issues with Damian. He shouldn’t have looked away just because everyone else did.

He won’t take his eyes off you, not until he’s sure you’re not close to another breakdown like last night’s. Not until he knows nothing’s going to hurt you again.

—Ow!— You wince as he tugs too hard on your hair with the brush. He mutters a string of repeated apologies, mixed with complaints about how hard it is to deal with your hair, though really, it’s just lack of experience.

After some struggle and a few tips from you on how to do it right, he managed to do a decent job brushing your hair and even put in a slightly crooked flower clip.

—Thanks,—you mutter, somewhat indifferent. Tim wasn’t exactly close to you not that anyone in this family really was, unless you counted Damian’s short conversations with his arrogant attitude. So Tim’s strange behavior today is a surprise. A part of you wanted to hug him and tell him about your day, ask about his likes, and knit him something out of wool with a design he might like, now that his eyes were on you. But the other part of you, the bigger part, wanted to throw in his face how, in the comics, he was so desperate to find Serelith, sleepless nights without rest, with such a tired and loving look aimed only at her, never noticing your absence. Why was he looking at you now? Was it because of what happened last night? He was surely making sure you wouldn’t cause any trouble. Once he was certain you wouldn’t make another “drama,” he’d go away. You shouldn’t get your hopes up about him; you can’t look at him with love because he won’t look at you that way. That belongs to his real sister, not you. You have to try to act normal about his sudden concern; you’ll only make things worse if you tell him what you saw.

Tim swallowed hard at your tone, yet he kept his eyes fixed on his task. He would make sure to learn properly later.

—I’ll walk you out,—he gave you a half smile, though it looked more like a grimace trying to escape the awkwardness. You just nodded, letting him accompany you to your bedroom door. —I homeschool,—you replied, returning the same awkward smile, which in your case looked more like a dry smile— —I just have to go to the study room. —Ah…— His uncomfortable smile faltered a bit. Why don’t you go to school? Did you even go once? Now that he looked at you properly, he should have known—you’re not wearing any uniform. —I’ll walk you there then.

You nodded, and Tim led the way to your door, then stood there still. Which was your study room inside the mansion? Maybe you studied in the library? Apparently, you noticed his confusion and walked past him, now leading the way yourself. In a few minutes, you showed him how to get to your study room. It was near the library, and he didn’t waste time analyzing the place as much as he could with a quick glance. It was a slightly small room compared to the usual rooms in the mansion, with several of your study things near a small worn-out stool, scratched in bright colors with different little animals. Inside was an older man, unknown to him, accompanied by Alfred, who gave a somewhat surprised look upon noticing him.

—Master Drake?—Alfred asked, while the man, who Tim assumed was your teacher of some unknown subject, looked at him with curiosity. —Oh… hello, Alfred. I didn’t mean to interrupt.— He looked at the stranger in front of him suspiciously while nodding in greeting. Could this man be the reason for your near breakdown? —Good afternoon. I didn’t mean to impose.

you entered the room, walking right past him, , and sat on your little stool in silence. Had you always been this quiet? Or were you only acting this way because the teacher was present? Did he intimidate you?

—Can you leave so I can focus?—you asked. You didn’t mean to sound harsh, but your tone wasn’t exactly gentle either. You just wanted space and to study without his strange behavior weighing on you. If he stayed, you felt like at any moment you might break down in front of him—run to hug him without caring about Alfred or your teacher being there. You didn’t want that. You couldn’t do that. You didn’t have the right.

Tim blinked once. The request caught him a little off guard. First you kicked him out of your room, and now your class? You? Didn't you know that he could teach you the same class you were taking without any problem? He lowered his gaze a bit, didn’t say anything right away, wondering if maybe he was overthinking it all. —Of course,—he finally replied, with that same smile that, after seeing it so much, gave you a strange chill. —I don't want to bother. He took a step back. Then another. Carefully, trying not to make unnecessary noise, like he was afraid of being a distraction even as he left. —Good luck with your studying,—he murmured before turning fully and disappearing down the hallway, his footsteps nearly silent.

He was already thinking about quickly finishing the case at hand to start investigating you, and all your teachers. Maybe he could even convince Bruce to let him take you to his apartment and homeschool you himself. That way he could be absolutely sure no teacher was hurting you. He didn’t trust any of them. Even if he investigated every teacher in Gotham, you’d still be safer if he was the one doing the teaching.

Alfred followed him with his eyes for a moment, then turned his gaze back to you, one brow slightly raised. Your behavior lately had been… unusual. You hadn’t come down for dinner last night or for breakfast this morning. He’d also noticed how young Master Drake had rushed through his breakfast and ran straight back upstairs. At first he thought it was because of the case he was working on—until he saw you with him.

Normally, he would’ve been glad to see the two of you spending time together. That finally, after all these years, someone in the family was looking at you the way you’d always wanted… But your behavior, the way you spoke to him, and that empty, pained look you gave him…

Alfred could only politely bid farewell to your teacher and to you, leaving you to study alone while he headed out to take young Master Damian to school. Who, by the way, was in a foul mood today—more than usual. Ever since he noticed your absence at dinner last night, and all the way until he got into the car this morning.

Grumbling in the back seat, the green-eyed boy sat with his arms crossed, not even bothering to hide his annoyance from Alfred, who glanced at him now and then through the rearview mirror.

Where the hell were you?

Damian hadn’t seen you since you returned from your shopping trip with Pennyworth, jumping around excitedly after buying some ridiculous comics. He had hoped, really hoped, to at least see you at breakfast, hear you talk about what you’d read while he pretended to be annoyed. But you weren’t there. If Pennyworth hadn’t told him you were fine, he would’ve gone to look for you himself. And if it weren’t for his father, he would’ve stayed home to study with you.

Not that he needed to. Obviously. He already knew everything they taught. But at least he would’ve listened to you, would’ve looked at you when you asked about something you didn’t understand, and then he could’ve mocked you and explained it himself afterward.

But Richard says “you need to make friends,” and his father agrees. He can’t argue against both of them, so if he has to socialize, why aren’t you coming along too? You, who don’t even have a double life as a vigilante, should be the one socializing more, getting friends in your civilian life, not isolating yourself in a room.

Though… part of him was glad you didn’t have anyone else. And he suspects that’s exactly what his father wanted when he decided you’d be homeschooled.

With a grunt, Damian got out of the car when Pennyworth parked in front of Gotham Academy.

—She’s acting like an idiot,—he muttered with a rough, irritated tone.—It’s not normal.— He glared at the butler for a few seconds, his annoyance clearly showing—though beneath it, so did his concern.

Alfred watched him for a moment before answering, his face composed as always, though carrying that same faint concern.

—I’ll take care of her. Master Damian should focus on school for today.

Damian turned his gaze away, jaw tense as he realized Pennyworth was trying to calm him down about his half—no, his sister.

—I’m not a child. I don’t need to be calmed.

—Yet you throw tantrums like one,—Alfred replied with his usual sarcasm. Damian only scoffed in response and started walking away, pausing only briefly to mutter something under his breath.

—She shouldn’t lock herself up like that. It’s pathetic.

When Damian first arrived at the mansion and met you, he thought you were pathetic.

Everyone else was a vigilante, everyone went out to fight at night—even Gordon found a way to stay useful after losing the ability to walk.

You weren't. You were just someone he shared half blood with. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn't pay attention to you for a while, just insulting you and telling you what a nuisance you were whenever you came near. It only took two interactions for you to realize you didn't want to be around him. It bothered him a little for a while, more than the others' attitude toward him.

He didn’t know why you, specifically, annoyed him—until eventually, he realized you were just like him in this family.

Clearly, compared to him, your combat training was nonexistent, your intelligence was average, and your hands were clean. He was the son of a devil, and you were just the daughter of a pretty model. He was a child whose father never knew existed, and you were a child who was always planned.

And yet somehow, the family treated you both the same. Except for Pennyworth, he seemed more familiar with you.

You were two kids who didn’t fit. Two kids the family didn’t quite know what to do with.

You both reacted differently to being treated that way. He fought back when necessary, every time someone dared to mess with him. You, on the other hand, smiled… and then ran off to cry. It was pathetic—but he hated it. He hated how you cried from the way others treated you. He understood, to a degree, that he came from a very different world than this one. But you? You were born here. You were supposed to be more loved, because you were cleaner, because you were wished for.

But somehow, the opposite happened. Eventually, he adapted. And somehow, they adapted to him. he made a place for himself. And somehow, they ended up loving him.

And though he’d never admit it, and he’d rather cut out his tongue than say it out loud, he loves them too.

And he knows, somehow, he knows, this family loves you. And he hates how, even so, you still don’t have a place here. They never adapted to you, not even when you keep trying to adapt to them.

Eventually, he chose of his own willto be around you. He found a way to make you interact with him again. It was difficult and strange at first, but he made it work

You weren’t close. You never have been. And he won’t allow it… not yet. Not when his mother put a price on his head and was capable of killing him. Not when that man is capable of putting Gordon in a wheelchair, capable of killing and torturing Todd, and capable of nearly doing the same to Thomas.

He wasn’t going to risk you. He’s already risking too much with the Joker knowing everyone’s identities. He’s already risking too much just by sharing a last name with you. Getting closer would only put you in more danger.

You have to stay in your place—clean, untouched.

Reluctantly, and only after Richard explained things to him, he came to understand that somehow, the situation you were in was the safest way to keep you alive.

So for now, he only comes close enough so you don’t cry because you feel lonely. He’ll send Titus to play with you, let you pet Alfred the cat, and listen to you rant about your latest wool creation or how tough a particular class was. He’ll come near and keep his eyes on you during breakfast, lunch, and dinner—even if his father doesn’t come down to eat with you. He’ll be there, talking with his usual attitude and way of being. He doesn’t act differently around you; he treats you the same as the others. And that probably doesn’t bother you… does it?

He’ll keep up that same routine until one day, he’s completely sure you’ll be safe. That you won't suffer for the life this family you were born into chose. When that day comes, he’ll allow himself to get close to you the way he’s always wanted.

If his grandfather saw him now, he’d tell him how pathetic he is for getting attached to you. And to some extent, he is. It’s pathetic how he gets angry when you don’t attend classes with him, even though he knows it’s a thousand times safer for you, according to his father.

It’s pathetic how he sneaks into your room at night just to steal a wool keychain you made and didn’t have the courage to give him. It’s pathetic how he keeps it in his pocket and carries it everywhere, wishing you’d make more wool creations for him, like you did with the oven mitts or Pennyworth’s scarf.

It’s pathetic how much he hates Drake after finding out he stayed the night in your own bed. Doesn’t he see that puts you in danger? And why did you even let him into your room in the first place?

And it's even more pathetic that he keeps thinking about all this. I'm sure by the end of the day you'll get over that attitude of yours, and at dinner you'll finally talk about the comics you brought yesterday.

He just hopes you don't look at him and think he's pathetic, how pathetic he is just because of his beloved sister.

Okay, two weeks as I promised… plus a two-day delay, dear god. The worst part is that this chapter was already written since the synopsis...

Ahem, even though I still plan to keep the two-week schedule for each chapter (now every Saturday), for now it'll be every three weeks, mainly because I’m planning the direction of the story better and figuring out how I want to develop it. I also prefer publishing chapters with a good chunk already done, not just writing as I go. And unfortunately, under my hyper-fixation on the Bat-Family, which makes it very difficult for me…In fact, I wasn't even sure I'd put Damian's thoughts on Reader so quickly, but I think they'll be important for the rest of the story. So yeah, thanks for your understanding.

On another note, I’m really grateful for all the support! I wasn’t expecting so much love and such sweet messages. I love you all, internet strangers. I tried to tag things as best I could, but one or two might have ended up mislabeled. Well… love you lots!

Taglist

@lettucel0ver @sirenetheblogger @mourart7 @yhin-gg @cssammyyarts @pearlyribbons @ottjhe @devils-blackrose @mindscape123 @rad4bean @cruzerforce4256 @allycat4458 @passingthroughlegume @bunbunbread @aaaashiiii @wizzerreblogs @ratterpatter @cluelessteam @kore-of-the-underworld @simpingpandas @rosy-myhouse34 @shqyou @kitkatq05 @charlenexoxo1 @astrid-ash @nisararelle @teamintwithice @bluepanda08 @k-anaru @totired0-0 @niamcarlin ​ @iwannaflyaway @overlyobsessivefangirl @mikusamsan @wishiwaswritingrn @random4137 @mallowryblog @darkmoka @starslightzz @hearts4mica @justonerandomreader @zhentheraven @lystaaae @oliviaewl @cynniee

[happyk44]

[Text ID: 1. #literally #i stopped posting because no one engages with my fics at all #it's not a pleasant feeling #i don't want to have to join fucking discord servers or some other forums just for the off chance that people might be discussing my fic #you have to leave comments on fics #or else what is the point

2. #how infuriating to know there are people saying nice things about you who won't say them *to* you

3. #i remember finding out once #that a group of mutual fandom acquaintances had an entire roleplay server based off one of my fics #meanwhile it was sitting at 50 hits 3 likes and 0 comments #then they got upset at my for shelving the fic like #what did you expect

4. #yeahhhhhhhh #every day my desire to write again is knocked down by shit like this

5. dude feed your writers and your artists #making art is lonely and we share it to find community

6. #ao3 #fandom #i struggle with the lack of comments so much #like I legit feel like there's no point in posting sometimes might as well just keep shit in the google docs

7. #my non-secret AO3 account's been updated recently and there hasn't been much engagement #it kind of soured me on updating those stories for awhile

8. why is there this weird push to make fandom less accessible to OTHER FANS?

9. #writing #i get kudos nearly every day and it's lovely #but i get comments like #once every few months #people are reading but not leaving their thoughts and ngl that kinda sucks

10. #How are writers supposed to know you like their work if they CANOT see it??? #How are they supposed to stay motivated and write more if they cannot see how many people actually like it??? #I am writing 13k - 15k chapters; do you know how LONG that takes??? How much time and effort??? #It's why I reblog the chapter index as much as I do; I NEED people to tell me if they like them #Otherwise it just feels like I'm posting my stuff on a brick wall that nobody is looking at #It's SO demotivating; to the point where I start to wonder if it's even worth continuing at times

11. #Brb literally crying at the very idea of how cheated I would feel if people did this for my fics

12. #(I keep discovering people that have - according to them - been gushing about my writing on discord) #(often I didn't even know these people existed because they never left me a comment) #(sometimes it's only months later through discord that I learn lots of people loved a scene that I thought totally flopped-) #(-because nobody ever once said anything about that scene in my comments.) #(if nobody says they liked it - I assume nobody liked it. please tell me if you like it.) #(you can tell your friends too but I'm gonna get more out of it than they are.)

13. #yeah I got six kudos the other day on a 150k fic from three years ago #and i was like ok clearly someone has shared this in their discord group and they've all read it and that's lovely! #they must have said really nice things about it for the whole group to presumably have about it a lot (it is 150k of fic) #wish a single one of them had said that in a comment instead of me having to just imagine the situation!

14. #fics literally need comments to survive like #yeah it's for yourself and for the job of creating #but it's a STORY #with detail put into it and plot twists and things that I want to #i'm TELLING YOU a story #of course I want to see how the people I'm telling the story to think lol #PLEASE comment

15. #i tried to get back into writing fic #but the sheer lack of comments made me feel less motivated #kinda need feedback or i feel like my writing is getting lost into the Void #so i deleted the fic and gave up

16. #this #like my god why go to such lengths to NOT tell the author you liked their fic #this sort of thing leads to despair and to writers quitting #please let writers know you appreciate their work #please #why must we beg for crumbs

17. #yeah #I try to avoid being driven or encouraged by comments too much #no matter how much I deeply love and appreciate everyone who DOES take that time #because people are tired and busy #but that feeling of if I stopped 10000 people would take my place #that hit kinda hard today

18. #I had this experience #people were talking about my fic on a server I wasn't on #meanwhile I was having an existential crisis because no one was commenting on the fic itself #i was ready to abandon it until someone told me about the server #only a few years ago i could expect at least 20 comments on each chapter #now if i hit double digits that feels like a win #fic writing woes

19. #please do this #writing is hard #[left arrow] prev tags #Ain't it #I see people rave about my stories on rec lists or see lovely comments in the bookmarks #You're already writing all that down #Why would you not tell ME #You know I am a human person right? #I publish these this for you to enjoy; I want to SHARE them with you

20. #sometimes i will get half a dozen kudos on the same fic in one day #(my fics are not popular so this is notable for me lol) #and it does make me wonder if the link just got posted in a group chat somewhere that i'm not part of #i did once get added to such a group chat and i was like... why didn't any of you comment?

21. #yeah I had dozens of docs on ff.net #ao3? 2 #what's the point of writing fanfiction when it can stay perfect in my head and I get the same level of engagement anyway #I posted to find people to talk about the stuff I liked #nobody wants to chill so I don't post anymore

22. #THIS #I'll randomly get an uptick of kudoses on an older fic and know someone shared it in a group chat #But no comments :/

23. #jfc that just makes me want to scream #hey kids guess what - if you create these little book clubs and exclude fic authors #you won't get any more fic #i can't tell you how much the comment count on my fics has gone down over the years #because this generation of fans think that kudos or inbox-squeeing or DMs is a substitute for an actual comment

24. I've been told by a reader "they love your fic in my server" and like oh.... Okay, guess I'll never find out. Oh well.

/end ID]

someone I follow on the bird app just announced they’re starting a very exclusive private fic server because they and a bunch of other people want to talk about how much they love the fics they’re reading, and as an author can I just say that a really great place to talk about a fic you love is in the comments for that fic

I understand that people are trying to create safe spaces, but as the number of comments that I get on my fics dwindles with each passing year, knowing these spaces exist where my fics are being discussed, places that I am excluded from, makes me want to write fic LESS

I mean I guess who cares, right, because if I stop writing, there’s 10,000 other people that will continue…but if you participate in a fic “book club” server and you say nice things there about a fic you loved, maybe copy and paste that into a comment on AO3?

the only thing fanfic writers are asking for in return for hours of hard work is attention. please don’t rob us of the one thing that we hope for when we hit “post”

[azzibueckers5]

i want you to need me (need to want something more)

part 2: in which paige is so up. like so fucking up.

(ao3 link) (part 1) (wc: ~ 8k) (read iwkpa before this series)

cw: sexual content

AN: i hope this fixes the heartache adequately? if not don't let me know I'll cry <3 ummm I wrote the majority of the smut having been up for like 36 hours straight and then edited it after three glasses of wine? so uh good luck— ill go through and edit again in a couple days lmfao but im warningggg you i got really lazy towards the end like. i’m sorry <3333333 also pls suspend your disbelief about the wings theoretically making the playoffs in 2026 cause... whewwwww not looking likely. also this is literally twice as plotless as the last chapter of iwkpa... and three times as nonesensical and ridiculous so just like. keep that in mind. also it wasn't supposed to be this smutty man idk it got away from me. happy day!

+1 october 2026, dallas, texas

paige’s phone finally rings with the familiar ringtone she’s been waiting on for what feels like hours, just as she’s ushering her straggling teammates out of her apartment. she’d hosted a watch party after practice for the final game of the liberty–mystics semifinals, and though she loves her teammates, she’s been subtly (and then entirely unsubtly) trying to kick them out since the final buzzer in dc’s overtime loss. 

nai and lyss had tried valiantly to cheer her up, but not being able to be there for azzi and having to watch her expression crumple through the television screen had been entirely awful and she’d just wanted to sit on the alone couch in silence until her girlfriend called. 

the silver lining of their loss meant that azzi might be able to make it to her semi game tomorrow night, but she puts that thought on the backburner when she answers the facetime, jumping straight into sympathetic girlfriend mode. 

azzi’s already talking on the other side of the line, hammering on angrily about “the fucking shit ass refs” and how it was a “rigged ass fucking game,” and paige fights to keep her smile at just seeing azzi’s face on her screen a secret. post-loss azzi is a force to be reckoned with and she won’t jeopardize putting herself as the target by showing positive emotion.

it seems azzi has skipped being sad about it entirely and jumped straight into being pissed, which is precisely paige’s post game specialty, and she lets her ramble, chiming in here and there with indignant comments on how bad the refs were and agreements with how poor their screens had been. 

azzi had, surprise surprise, played spectacularly, and had unofficially locked in rookie of the year with a 27 point effort, but paige knows the competitive nature of her girlfriend is cut from the same cloth as her own, and her main goal is to try and keep azzi’s anger directed away from her very few mistakes and make sure she doesn’t veer into self-deprecation. 

she’s mostly successful, and by the time azzi leaves the facilities, she’s calmed down enough to let the loss sink in a bit more. when she finally climbs onto the bus that will take them back to the hotel, she seems to relax even further, and lets out a quiet “i miss you.” 

paige’s face softens immediately. “miss you too, az. so bad.”

“booked a flight already for tomorrow morning, but i might not get in early enough to see you before the game.” she says it apologetically, like she’s sorry she can’t charter a flight there herself, and paige smiles a little bit at how in sync they are, how much she can tell they both just want a hug. 

seeing each other four times over a four month span wasn’t exactly conducive to a honeymoon phase, and though they were putting up a valiant effort anyways, she craved azzi’s physical presence more than anything. paige doesn’t think she’d ever been on facetime this much, and that’s including the month before she’d quarantined with the fudds and had been stuck inside all day, on the phone with azzi every millisecond. 

it still isn’t enough, though, and her heart rate speeds up at just the thought of having azzi within arms reach in only a day’s time. 

“s’okay, i’ll play better even just knowing you’re in the stands,” she says, and means it. azzi has always been the best motivator.

“you better. one of us has got to wi-”

“shhhh,” she cuts azzi off, “don’t jinx me.”

“yeah, yeah.” she pauses for a second, just looking at paige through the screen, and then there’s commotion on the other end and she gets distracted for a bit, clearly trying to negotiate seating arrangements. when she turns back, she sighs, “listen, baby, i’m gonna hang up so no one kills me for being on the phone on the bus, but i’ll text you when i get to the hotel.”

paige pouts. “how about you call me when you get to the hotel.”

azzi’s face is soft and knowing when she says “you’re gonna be asleep by the time i get there.”

“nuh-uh,” she claims, fighting a yawn. “gonna wait right here, awake, on the couch till you call.”

azzi just laughs. “if you say so. i’ll see you tomorrow, baby. love you.”

paige hangs up with an i love you too and a smile, and is only a little guilty when she thinks about how excited she is that azzi is coming to dallas tomorrow, instead of having to wait longer for their teams to arrange it.

she wedges herself further into her couch cushions, and puts on a random show, determined to stay true to her word and wait up for azzi’s call. 

she must fall asleep like that, though, nestled into the couch, because she wakes what feels like hours later to the gentle sensation of hands in her hair and the murmur of her name. 

she blinks, disoriented and disbelieving, to the sight of azzi standing above her, looking soft and delightful and angelic. 

paige stares. 

“hi,” the vision before her says, bashful, and paige’s brain suddenly registers that she’s not dreaming and that azzi is in fact, standing in front of her. 

in her living room. in dallas.

she shoots up from her position on the couch to sit up and pull azzi down into a hug, and the brunette sinks into her, pressing her face into paige’s neck like she’s needed the contact just as badly. 

“az, wh- what’re you doing here?” 

her words are slurred into azzi’s shoulder, voice thick with sleep and confusion, and she can feel azzi’s laugh at her bewilderment against her chest, because azzi here. in paige’s arms. 

what.  

“changed my flight, couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” she says, and paige’s heart swells. she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to hearing azzi say things like that and knowing that she means for them to come across exactly as paige’s heart interprets them. “needed a consolatory cuddle.”

paige just hums and burrows closer, relishing in her presence. “what time s’it.”

“little past three. told you you’d fall asleep.”

paige slides her hands up underneath azzi’s sweatshirt just to feel more of her skin and ignores the opportunity to argue with her about how she’d only fallen asleep because azzi took too long to call, and instead leans back to press a gentle kiss to her mouth. “missed you.”

“mmhm.” azzi knocks their foreheads together in agreement, kisses her again, short and sweet, and then climbs off paige’s lap, ignoring her grumbling protests.

she holds her hand out, waiting, and says “c’mon. more of that after but in your bed.”

and well. paige would be crazy to refuse. 

she latches sleepily onto azzi’s back as they stumble down the hallway, and paige knows azzi has missed her because she doesn’t complain when she stays tucked up against her side throughout their entire nighttime routine– even while they brush their teeth at the same time, knocking elbows– and making the process of getting ready for bed highly inefficient. 

they shed their day clothes simultaneously, and paige bats a t-shirt out of azzi’s hands when she goes to put one on, pressing her now naked front up against azzi’s bare back and running her hands down from her ribs to her hips, grunting in protest at the idea of azzi covering any skin. azzi glares, entirely non-threateningly, over her shoulder.

“s’too late for that. sleep only. save it for tomorrow.”

“yes, ma’am.” she presses a kiss to her shoulder, “just like to feel you.”

azzi melts immediately– score– and when they climb into bed, paige instantly pulls azzi into her arms, relishing in the skin on skin contact and burrowing them under the covers.

she curls closer, trying to crawl inside azzi’s skin, and presses a contented sigh into her shoulder as their legs tangle. “goodnight, rookie of the year azzi fudd.”

her responding giggle is soft and just for paige, and she wants to bottle up the sound and keep it for a day when she’s desperately missing this. “night, p. love you.”

they drift off in seconds, and paige sleeps better than she has in weeks. 

…

when she wakes, a second time, it’s to little rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks in her blinds and the vision of azzi sleeping peacefully next to her, head pillowed on paige’s bicep and face relaxed. 

her heart clenches in her chest at the view and she takes a second to imprint the sight to memory, eyes tracing the slope of azzi’s nose and the birthmark on her jawline and the dark smudge of her lashes. it feels peaceful in a way that waking up first in their dorms in storrs and watching azzi sleep had never been.

aside from the fact that she’s only gotten to wake up next to her a measly four times since july, she also relishes in the security of an azzi that was entirely hers in her arms. 

she’d spent years stirring to the same sight, but never for the reasons paige had so desperately dreamed of, and it was surreal, in a way, to know that she could gently shake azzi awake and kiss her as much as she pleased. 

she’d done just that their first night together, in this very bed. paige had jerked awake before dawn with wet eyes and the crippling fear that she’d dreamed up the entirety of the prior day's events, and even the sight of azzi sleeping steadily beside her hadn’t been enough to stop the racing of her heart. she’d coaxed azzi awake, gently, just to kiss her, to cement it as real, and azzi had caught on immediately to her insecurity, whispering reassurances and apologies into paige’s skin until they’d both drifted off again, appeased. 

paige loves her so much. 

she’d almost forgotten, in the year they’d started referring to as the between, how well they could read each other's thoughts, and she’d missed the intimacy and comfort of just being so wholly understood by someone else. 

they’d slotted right back together as if they’d never been separated, except this time with awesome things like blatant flirting and sex and transparent feelings, and after spending so many years pining after azzi and thinking hopelessly that she’d never have her in the way that she truly wanted, whenever she’s reminded that she does have her, she gets a little bit breathless.

her attention is pulled from her nauseatingly sappy thoughts when azzi begins to stir, blinking awake slowly, and paige watches, enraptured, trying to catalogue every flutter of her eyelashes, every shift of her brow. she opens her eyes briefly, and glances at the way paige is unashamedly observing her, before closing them again and nestling closer, smile growing on her face. 

paige curls the arm azzi’s been using as a pillow tighter around her side, wanting her even closer, and is delightfully reminded by the bare skin of azzi’s lower back that they opted out of clothes the night before. beautiful. past paige was so thoughtful. 

“s’rude to stare, y’know,” azzi mumbles into the skin of her shoulder, eyes still shut. 

paige debates if she wants to be sentimental or annoying in response. being strictly sentimental might have quicker morning sex odds, but why choose one path when you can have both? 

“can’t help it, you’re too beautiful.” her voice comes out raspy in the way she knows azzi loves, and she fights to keep her smirk internal when the brunette’s cheeks flush. incredible. she’s so in there.

azzi pokes her gently in the stomach, yawns (extremely cutely), and says “corny this morning.” 

“s’not corny if it’s true.”

“that just made it doubly as corny.”

“whatever. missed you while we were sleeping.” paige’s grin is wide and pleased, and azzi fights a smile, nose scrunching. paige wants to bite her nose. mornings apparently give her cuteness aggression. 

“how’s that possible when you told me on facetime last week that you dream about me every night.” 

paige brushes a thumb over the smooth skin of azzi’s cheekbone, soft and fond. “s’not the same as the real-life thing.”

azzi rolls her eyes, disbelieving. “alright prince charming.” 

paige flicks her forehead affectionately, and they lapse into a comfortable silence for a minute.

and then azzi makes a point to be a pest and drags her frigid toes up paige’s calf, nudging at the back of her knees, and it’s extremely annoying, and entirely unsexy. 

in an completely unrelated turn of events, heat pools like lava in paige’s core, and her abs clench on instinct. 

azzi laughs, disbelieving and gleeful, and pushes up on her arm a little bit to look down at paige. “there is no way that turned you on.” 

paige has been more or less half turned on since the second azzi got here last night. 

“bruh,” paige turns her face away from azzi in defiance and grunts, “it didn’t.”

“really,” the brunette’s fingers tease down paige’s stomach, and she grins, taunting, when goosebumps erupt across paige’s abdomen. “so you’re saying if i move my hand down-” she drags knuckles lower and ghosts a touch over the apex of her thighs “-here, i won't find you wet?” 

her voice comes out low and intentional, and paige doesn’t know how the mood switched so fast but she’s absolutely not complaining one bit. 

it’s too early to come up with a quick response, so instead paige just surges up to kiss her, tongue slipping in almost immediately, and she shifts azzi fully on top of her when she returns the kiss with the same fervor. 

it’s languid and heated all in one, and paige lets herself bask in the feeling of having azzi on top of her for the first time in weeks, dragging her hands across her back and down to grip her ass, swallowing her moan at the contact. 

“g’morning,” azzi says when they break apart to breathe, smile radiant and achingly beautiful, and paige can feel her own answering grin splitting across her face. 

“excellent, fantastic morning.”

azzi giggles– paige wants to wake up to that sound for the rest of her life– before dragging her mouth down to paige’s neck and trailing kisses down her throat to her collarbone, careful not to leave any marks. this cautiousness must fly out the window when she gets to paige’s tit, however, because she immediately sucks a bruise into the soft skin of her flesh, before continuing on a warpath down across paige’s abdomen. 

she starts at her navel, biting a mark into the muscle of her stomach and pausing to admire, before repeating the process twice more, moving down. by the time she gets to paige’s pelvis, she’s downright dripping, hips twitching against azzi’s arms and begging for contact. 

“azzi, baby, you’re killin’ me,” she slurs, when the younger girl sucks a particularly deep bruise into the meat of her inner thigh, so close to where paige needs her. 

“i’ll get there, be patient,” she says, voice unfairly clear in comparison to paige, eyes dark and teasing. paige has never been particularly patient to begin with, and if she expects her to start now, she’s sorely mistaken.

“need it now, please,” she keens. it seems she’s not above begging this morning, and she’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how hot the brunettes gaze is, how affected she looks from between paige’s legs.

“need what?” she simpers, the bitch, breath blowing across paige’s cunt in a way that must be intentional. 

paige nearly cries at the ghost of sensation, arching her back in search of more, and whines out “your mouth, please azzi, need it,” hands coming down to tangle in her hair.

it seems azzi is feeling accommodating this morning, because she smiles, bites at the mark she’s just left high on paige’s quad, and then dives in, flattening her tongue immediately and lapping at paige’s dripping center like she’s starving for it. 

and jesus christ, paige is so super not gonna last if she keeps this up. because paige is worked up from the teasing, and from azzi’s general presence, and from the fact that she just slept naked next to her after almost a month of not seeing her. and also the fact that azzi has decided to fucking devour her, hands pressing into paige’s thighs to keep her steady, tongue dragging down to her hole and circling before tracing back up to suck at her clit. 

she repeats that motion several times, before moving down to focus at paige’s cunt, thrusting her tongue inside and letting her nose brush the bundle of nerves above, and. 

and usually, under normal circumstances, paige takes a minimum of ten minutes to come. usually, also, however, paige is not being given the most attentive head of her life, and isn’t coming off a month of being touch starved.

thus, it only takes a few minutes before she’s slurring out  “fuck, azzi m’gonna come fuck,” hips trying to grind up into the younger girls tongue. 

azzi nods, the movement nudging paige’s clit, and breathes out “want you to, please.”

she sounds almost as desperate for it as paige is, like she needs her to come this instant, and this thought combined with another purposeful lick at paige's entrance has her coming with a cry, the world falling away beneath her. 

her vision goes white, hips twitching as her orgasm crashes down onto her, and her legs tighten around azzi’s head. 

but azzi keeps going, flicking her tongue around to trace at paige’s entrance as she spasms, and she whines when paige tugs her off, like she’s actually upset. 

jesus fuck.

if paige hadn’t come literally seconds prior, the sound alone would’ve pushed her off the ledge. 

her whole body is buzzing, limbs lax against the sheets, and she grins lazily down at azzi when her body begins to resume normal functioning. 

“be honest, are you cheating on me?”

“baby, what,” azzi laughs, full and surprised, as she crawls up paige’s stomach and returns to prime kissing range. 

this means that paige has to kiss her for a second, slow and intimate, and she gets distracted by the taste of herself on azzi’s lips and how hot it is to have her in her lap again, nerves still buzzing with her release. 

and then they part for a second, and paige remembers her question. she elaborates,“how did you get better at that. gonna make a girl suspicious.” she pairs this thought with an exaggerated pout for good measure. 

“you’re ridiculous,” azzi says, smiling, trying to lean back down and slot their lips back together, but paige holds her still, stubborn.

“you didn’t deny it.” 

“oh my god. there’s only you, p.” 

“swear?”

“swear,” she says firmly, indulgently, and pairs it with another lingering kiss. 

and then azzi shifts on top of her, but she’s too distracted by her mouth to notice the new placement of azzi’s legs until she grinds down, and paige’s brain shuts off when she realizes that azzi has maneuvered their hips so that their cores are aligned, clits grinding together whenever she rocks down. 

it should be too much sensation– and it is, she’s just come– but she chases the feeling anyways with a strangled cry, feeling her entire body shudder when she realizes what azzi’s goal is.

she wrenches their mouths apart when azzi grinds down again and her head drops back against the pillows. “azzi, fuck,” she moans, and her hips move away from the feeling on instinct, still reeling from her first orgasm. 

“s’it too much?” azzi breathes, and. isn’t that a great question. 

because it is– she’s so sensitive that the pressure of azzi’s hips on her own hurts a little bit– but she doesn’t really want azzi to stop, despite that, so she just chokes out a groan and holds the brunette’s hips above hers for a second, giving herself time to breathe.  

azzi’s kneeling, a little awkwardly, above, and it would be an uncomfortable position to hold steady if it weren’t for the strong muscle of her thighs, flexing a little bit as she hovers, looking like a fucking godess-sex-demon-angel-creature. or something. 

she’s looking down with half-lidded, knowing eyes, and she keeps eye contact as she drags two fingers through the slick at her own core and then grazes paige’s, hips twitching, before mixing their wetness together on her fingers. 

paige watches, in a trance, and her blood gets so hot at the vision that she has to look away for a second to contain herself. 

“fuck, azzi.” 

she doesn’t think she’s said anything but those two words for the past ten minutes. 

“you wanna taste?” she asks, and before paige answers, she’s moving her fingers up to paige’s mouth and asking for entrance and jesus fucking christ. 

paige’s body might ascend to a higher plane

she opens, immediately, and the taste of them mixing together on the pads of azzi’s fingers has her moaning, desperately and without restraint, hips moving up to find azzi’s again despite the sensitivity. she licks at azzi’s two fingers, sucking them further into her mouth and watching the azzi’s expression, her eyes stay transfixed on paige’s mouth. distantly, she appreciates how turned on and wild the other girl looks too, her composure slipping with every movement of paige’s tongue, every meeting of their hips.

“we taste good together?” she asks, voice low, before removing her finger from paige’s mouth to allow her to answer. 

paige can only nod vigorously, though, not sure that she’s capable of words right now considering azzi is trying to kill her. 

the brunette grins wickedly. “wanna taste it.”

she repeats the process from before, dragging her fingers– still damp from paige’s tongue– through her own slick, before sliding them briefly into paige’s entrance. the intentional stroke leaves paige gasping, but she doesn’t get a chance to catch her breath because instead of bringing her fingers to her own mouth, azzi returns to paige’s, pressing them down on her tongue and ensuring their mixed wetness coats her mouth before she’s dipping down to kiss her, hungry and desperate. 

holy fucking shit. 

the action has paige already close to the edge of another orgasm like it’s nothing, hips grinding together and mouths moving messily. she doesn’t know where azzi learned this, doesn’t even want to know, but she just counts her lucky fucking stars that she gets to experience the hottest thing in the universe. 

in an ideal world, paige would wait for azzi to work herself up in tandem with her, would be able to stave off her own orgasm until they could come together. this simply is not possible, however, with how keyed up she already is from getting eaten out, and how hot it is to have azzi moving above her, just as desperate, and the vision of her, fucked out expression and curls bouncing as she grinds their cores together with reckless abandon. 

she grips azzi’s hips to assist her, adding more force to her thrusts, and azzi must be able to tell that she’s close from the noises she’s making– paige has long since stopped paying attention to the string of needy whines coming out of her mouth, too pleasure drunk to care– because she asks, voice desperate, “you gonna come for me again, paige?”

paige keens an affirmative “yeah, gonna come, fuck,” and azzi makes an approving noise in the back of her throat, reaching down to tug at one of paige’s nipples. 

the new sensation, combined with a particularly delicious grind of their hips and the view of azzi’s concentrated, pleasure-ridden expression has paige arching off the bed and coming with a scream, azzi’s name tearing from her throat. 

blood rushes to her ears, muscles spasming, and she tugs azzi off immediately, pulling her up to straddle her abs as paige’s body tries to catch up to the earthquake that just tore through her. 

she’s sure she takes a minute to come down, and when she blinks her eyes open, she’s met with the sight of azzi hovering over her, looking like she’s desperately trying not to grind too hard into paige’s stomach, biting her lip, and the view almost makes her come again on the spot. 

she looks angelic— in a demonic, sinner sort of way? if that’s possible?— curls framing her face, lips bitten raw, a flush spreading down from her cheekbones to her chest. 

“you back with us?” she asks, self satisfied and teasing. which is like. fair, because she’s just absolutely ruined paige, twice, but also. paige needs to even the playing field a little bit. can’t have her getting too big a head. 

there’s a reason paige usually gets her off first– more than just for her own enjoyment of seeing azzi fall apart. because if she doesn’t fuck an orgasm out of the younger, coax out the needy side, she gets an ego like this. paige is determined to fix that. 

she raises an eyebrow and tightens her hold on azzi’s hips in response, before pulling her down so her cunt grinds hard, on the taught skin of paige’s abdomen. 

immediately, she keens, head thrown back, and her hands fly up to her chest to play with her own nipples, fingers tracing the skin of her areola and squeezing. she’s dripping, slick pooling on paige’s stomach, and the feeling of it makes paige dizzy with the desire to get her off.

she keeps her hands rocking azzi down into her stomach and back up, watching the arousal echo across her face and down the rest of her body, and when azzi moans particularly loudly at the feeling of her clit pressing down, paige smirks. “you wanna come, baby?”

azzi keens. “yeah. please.”

paige just hums, and stops the movement entirely, holding her still and relishing in the broken whine that she releases when paige prevents her from grinding down again to get friction. 

she curls her hands behind azzi’s thighs and tugs, almost moaning at the feeling of the strength of her quads and the drag of azzi’s wetness up her navel and in between the valley of her breasts. she looks confused for all of two seconds before realization crashes over her face, and she keens, even before paige tugs her over her mouth. 

she pulls azzi fully over her, gazing at her fluttering cunt, the soft pink just begging for her mouth, and when azzi whines again, waiting, paige listens, settling her over her mouth and immediately getting to work. 

she drags her tongue through her soaked folds, and she feels like a dying man in a desert who’s just found an oasis, moaning at the taste of azzi on her tongue and relishing in the answering moans she can hear above her. 

she sucks at her clit for a few seconds, and smirks into her when azzi’s thighs twitch, before switching to her entrance, tracing slowly and then thrusting in, slick dripping down her chin. 

“please, paige– i need it please– love your mouth so much–” azzi sounds absolutely wrecked above her, and paige thinks that if she could pick the way she dies this would be her choice in a heartbeat: azzi, needy and pliant above her, blissed out expression on her face and moans of paige’s name tumbling from her lips, the muscle of her thighs caging paige in and the taste of her, sharp and sweet, flooding her senses. 

she knows she’s close, can feel it in the tremor of her legs and the grind of her hips and the clench of her walls around her tongue, and when azzi breathes out “so close, please,” and throws her head back, paige drags one of the hands that’s been holding azzi’s thigh to her entrance, curling two fingers immediately into her cunt to press down on her g-spot and sucking at her clit, hard. 

and azzi positively sobs above her, clamping her legs down firmly and cutting off paige’s ability to breathe as she comes, wetness flooding out of her. paige keeps at it, licking her through it, watching as she keeps her head tipped back, fingers still clutching her breast. she looks positively sinful. 

azzi slumps backwards when the last of her orgasm washes away, and paige reaches up to maneuver them into her desired post-sex cuddle position– fronts pressed together and legs tangled. 

it’s a little sweaty, and there’s slick all over paige stomach and thighs, and more on azzi, but they curl into each other anyways, contentment settling deep in their bones. 

“missed that,” she says, pressing a messy kiss to azzi’s forehead, “solid elven out of ten.”

she mumbles “fourteen,” in response and bats at paige’s shoulder lazily, somehow pressing even closer, and paige laughs softly at how needy azzi always gets after sex, wanting to be practically inside paige’s skin. she’s never once minded, knows with certainty she never will. 

she wonders if there will ever be a time when she gets used to the sex– both how good it is, always, and just how unreal it feels to have azzi like that, under her or above her but always wholly paige’s. 

she doubts it. 

she thinks that if she had to pick a moment to hold on to forever it would be this one, them tangled together, skin on skin, just basking in the warmth of each other, and the intimacy of it makes her feel light headed in the best way possible.

they doze for a bit, sun casting shadows through the blinds over azzi’s back and making her look holy in the morning light. 

azzi starts drawing lines, softly, over her stomach at one point, and paige glances down at where her fingers are tracing the marks she’d left on paige’s abdomen and then back to azzi’s self satisfied face. “possessive, hmm?’

“yeah,” she breathes, and then presses down on the biggest one. “mine.” 

and. well. paige is wet again. 

she rolls her eyes a little bit at azzi’s conviction, like she has the need to scare everyone else off, which is absurd. “been yours since we were, like, sixteen.”

“yeah.” azzi smiles and nips paige’s shoulder. “been yours too, y’know. even if i didn’t know the depth of it.” she laughs a little before continuing, “used to get so fucking jealous when you would flirt with girls in front of me, but i convinced myself it was cause they didn’t deserve you.” 

“yeah?” paige grins, wide and happy, something settling in her stomach at the idea that azzi had been just as possessive as her in college even if she didn’t know why. 

azzi nods in paige’s shoulder. “mmhm. i was so stupid. teenage paige was much smarter, should’ve just listened to her.”

“maybe, maybe not. she was a little overeager,” paige says, wistfully. her sixteen year old self had thought they’d be locked in by the time they were twenty, probably would’ve, like, proposed by twenty-two. she’d definitely be a little disbelieving at how long it took them to get here, but she’d think it was all worth it if paige gave her the details. especially if she emphasized how pretty azzi sounds sitting on paige’s face. 

azzi breathes out a laugh, seemingly agreeing. “true. it’s probably a little soon to be married with like, seven kids which is i’m guessing what we’d be according to her life plans.” 

she says it so casually, like the thought of marrying paige, having kids with her, isn’t some ridiculous idea but instead a given. as if it was obviously part of their future one way or another. paige’s heart flutters sickeningly in her chest. 

her grin is a little soft on her face when she asks “yeah? gonna let me put a ring on you?”  and it’s supposed to be teasing but she just sounds entirely soft and hopeful. whatever. 

“yeah,” azzi smiles radiantly right back. “if the ring’s big enough, probably,” she adds airly. 

paige laughs, bright and disbelieving. “liar. you wanna marry me so bad.” she basks in the thoughts of their future, giddy. “an’ imma put at least seven kids in you, mama. prolly more.”

azzi hums happily in agreement. “i’m maxing you out at ten.” 

“so we can run five on fives?”

“exactly.” 

they sit in contented silence for a minute, and paige lets herself revel in the future that azzi is laying in front of them as the other girl curls closer, hiding her face from the blonde. 

“speaking of like- putting a baby in me,” azzi starts, and paige’s ears perk up. this promises to be a delightful sentence. 

she fiddles with paige’s fingers and stays buried in her shoulder, shy. “could we maybe- if you like- if you like wanted- maybewecouldgetastrap.”

the last part comes out jumbled together, and it takes a second for paige to process. and then.

her brain whites out. 

wow her life was awesome. like so, so awesome. 

despite the fact she just came, twice mind you, heat pools immediately in her core, and she feels a little lightheaded from the idea. her imagination is having one of its best days in a while. oscar worthy film productions are being written. 

they are so having sex again before they get up. 

a slow, obscene grin drifts across her face. “azzi fudd, you’re filthy.”

“whatever. your hips just twitched.” she burrows further into paige’s neck.

“i’m ordering one as soon as we get out of bed,” paige agrees, and then, just to be annoying, “gonna get a neon green one for the wings.” 

“absolutely not,” comes azzi’s indignant response, though paige can feel the smile against her skin.

she gasps in mock offense and rolls them over so she can look down at azzi’s wonderful, flushed face beneath her. she pouts.  “you sayin’ you won’t love our children if they turn out a little green? i can’t help what i am.”

it says something about how sickeningly in love she is, probably, that they’re discussing sex toys and she’s focussed on the thought of how endearing it would be to have imaginary little green alien kids of theirs running around. whatever.

azzi rolls her eyes, affection seeping out of her pores. “i’m saying that if you come anywhere near me with a chartreuse dick i’m calling the police.”

paige is sure her grin is enormous. “yeah, baby? what’re you gonna tell ‘em– that your incredibly hot girlfriend wants to fu-”

azzi cuts her off with a kiss. “shut the fuck up.”

they absolutely have sex again before they get up. 

…

paige has to be at the practice facilities at one, so they eventually drag themselves out of bed around eleven, the blonde grumbling the entire time about leaving the warmth of her comforter. 

they bicker in the shower over where they should go on vacation during the offseason (they settle on azzi’s idea, hawaii, because paige relents immediately when she mentions the word bikini), argue about how many vegetables azzi puts in paige’s omelet while they’re cooking (“you need nutrients, paige, they’ll make your muscles stronger.” “you seemed to think my muscles were plenty impressive earlier, given the bite marks on my abs.��� “just shut the fuck up and eat your eggs.”), and fight over who has to sit on the rickety bar stool while they eat (they compromise with azzi on paige’s lap on the good stool, and only feel half as ridiculous as they should.)

it's the best morning paige has had in quite some time. 

and then azzi drops her at the facilities, driving paige's car, with a lingering kiss over the console and a “love you, baby, gonna kill it,” before promising to go grocery shopping and stock up on even more vegetables to torment paige with, and she could cry at the domesticity. 

she doesn’t, but. it's a near thing. 

she walks into their shoot around with the most lovesick smile on her face, feeling like she’s floating on air.

the aces won’t know what hit ‘em. 

…

the game is physical in the way only the knockout game of a playoff series can be– elbows jabbing with a little more force than usual and boxing out more aggressively than strictly necessary. paige is expecting this, is prepared for this, and even knocks in her own unusually rough shoulder bump when an aces player throws too much weight behind a screen. 

it’s a close but winnable game by the time the fourth quarter rolls around, and paige can taste the championship finals. she’s proud of her efforts, 21 points overall and 12 from the three. (she always shoots threes a little better when azzi is near, like her impeccable form rubs off on paige).

the wings start really trailing away after a three from maddy puts them up by 9 with four minutes remaining, and las vegas goes from physical to downright reckless, trying to do anything to get a block, a steal, some points. 

young gets the ball to start the aces next play, and paige narrows in to guard her, aware that there’s a screen incoming. it still catches her off guard, however, when a player– she can’t even tell who it happens so fast– collides with her back and gets tangled with paige’s already moving body, somehow catching on her jersey and sending them both tumbling, hard, to the ground. 

paige lands smack on her back, head thumping against the floor, and she takes a second to evaluate the damage. her head is throbbing, dull ache already spreading through her skull, but her limbs seem to be relatively fine, and her jersey is rucked up high on her chest somehow from how the aces player– whose identity is still a mystery to paige and who is lying in a heap a foot away. she covers her face with her hands in an attempt to block out the noise of the crowd and decipher if this feels like a minor annoyance type of injury or a big fuck up. 

nothing seems broken, which is good. 

a little deliriously, she wonders if maybe this clip will go viral, what with her abs being out and her head tipped back in pain. is that weird to be thinking about? she doesn’t really care. 

when she establishes that she’s pretty sure she doesn’t have a concussion, she widens the fingers over her eyes and peeks up at the circle of teammates around her. 

she’s expecting to see some concerned looks, considering she just fell pretty hard and might have hit her head, which is why she’s bewildered by their smirks of amusement, and only a few concerned comments.

“you okay there, lil’ paigey?” says nai, who’s squatting to her left, positively gleeful, and instead of gesturing at her head, like a good, concerned teammate, pokes paige in the stomach, laughing. 

“bruh, what the fuck,” she grits out, and covers her eyes fully with her hands again. maybe if she acts more injured, dijonai will stop being so annoying. 

but even maddy, usually a little more motherly in that regard, looks at paige a little funny when she asks sympathetically, “how bad does your head hurt?”

before she can respond, jj piles on immediately with shit eating grin on her face, saying “her head or her stomach,” and paige finally sits up enough to glance down in confusion. 

distantly, she hears nai say “we should ask azzi,” but she’s too busy looking at the unmistakable trail of marks starting from her navel and sensually trailing down past her waistband from where azzi had been focussed this morning. 

and ohmygod. 

paige now understands why everyone is trying not to laugh at her. 

she jerks her head back up in panic, frantically shoving her jersey back down across her stomach, and generally contemplates how bad it would be to try and hang herself from the basketball hoop. 

jesus fuck she is going to kill herself. 

the hickies were, like, so extremely visible. to everyone. for at least fifteen seconds.

to like. the entire arena probably. and the millions of people watching on tv–

“i don’t- um. it’s not,” she stutters, hands trying to shove her jersey back into the waistband of her shorts while still sitting, eyes wide and cheeks burning. 

this might be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to her. probably. 

azzi is going to murder her. 

the medical staff crowd in just as arike whistles out a low “she claimed yo ass reallll nice huh, paigey. gotchu all marked up.” fucking bitch. 

and paige has no response, couldn’t even give one if she wanted to anyways because their trainer is helping her onto her feet, and grilling her about her fall. 

she actually thinks she might collapse from the humiliation. 

her ears and cheeks are probably redder than a tomato. 

as the medical staff usher her over the bench to get her evaluated, she glances involuntarily over to where her family and friends are sitting courtside. nika and kk are on either side of azzi absolutely cracking up, and surely saying something exceedingly inappropriate, while azzi stands in the middle, hands over her face. 

awesome awesome awesome. 

it's not like they’d been trying to hide their relationship– it’d be kind of hard to come up with excuses as to why they’d been spotted flying to random cities just to get less than 24 hours together and posting random funny anecdotes from their time together on social media– but this is a level of out there that was sort of undeniable if you were paying attention. it was quite clear that someone had given paige those marks– she supposed a cupping excuse wasn’t going to cut it– and it wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together on who that had been, especially given the fact that azzi had been spotted in the dallas airport the night before. the plausible deniability of the nature of their relationship had sort of just crumbled into nothing.

cool cool cool cool cool. 

like azzi can feel her eyes from across the court, she lifts her hands for a second and makes eye contact with paige. her cheeks are crimson, concern and embarrassment warring across her face and eyes wide like she can’t believe that's just happened, and yet. 

she looks like the prettiest girl in the arena, prettiest girl in the world. 

and paige can’t help the lopsided, guilty grin that spreads across her face. she’s sure this will be clipped a million times, but she doesn’t even care because the embarrassment is sort of fading away. 

because everyone with half a brain cell now knows that paige definitely belongs to azzi fudd. and that’s the best thing she’s ever accomplished– certainly not something to be ashamed of– and. whatever. let people talk. 

paige can see azzi roll her eyes from all the way in her spot on the sidelines, and her smile only grows, pleased and unabashed, and then turns to give the poor trainer her full attention. 

the short rest of the game involves paige enduring a litany of comments from the bench while trying to convince the training staff and coach to let her back in, insisting that she’s not concussed. she’s unsuccessful, but the wings pull off the win anyways, and then she gets to bask in the glory of a trip to the league championship, which is fucking awesome.

she breezes through the post game handshakes and celebration with her head held high, humoring the comments about making sure she ices her head and her stomach, and simply sits with the euphoria of winning the series. 

when her friends and family are finally allowed onto the court, she’s still sweating, confetti sticking to her jersey and grin wide across her face as she catches drew when he leaps into her arms. 

“you and azzi are nasty,” he says, instead of congratulating her. of course. brotherly love in all its wonderful glory.

“bruh shut up,” she says, shoving him off with a hand to his forehead. “fuck outta here.” 

he just cackles maniacally, and runs off, surely going to find dijonai, his favorite. 

and then azzi herself is in front of paige, smiling small and proud, a little sheepish. 

paige’s grin turns impossibly fond, a little cocky. “hey there, baby.”

“hi,” she says, eyes furtively looking around to see who’s paying attention to them. she must either not realize that the answer to that is everyone or decide she doesn’t care, because she brings a hand up to paige’s cheek and asks earnestly, “you okay? it's not a concussion, right?”

paige smiles at the concern- it's ridiculous how a simple gesture like that can make her cheeks flush– and shakes her head. “nah, we chillin’. you can still kiss it better though.”

azzi just groans, and pulls the older girl in for a hug. “bro. imma kill myself. or you. haven’t decided which yet.”

“nooooo,” she drags out, wrapping her arms tighter around azzi’s back and pulling her closer. “don’t do that, i like you possessive. gotta make sure everyone knows i won jus’ for you.”

azzi huffs, sending goosebumps skittering across the skin of paige’s shoulder, and pokes paige’s side. “makin’ it real hard to want to congratulate you.”

paige grins into her shoulder. “you gonna let me kiss you as a prize since everybody knows i’m yours now?”

“no,” azzi whines, emphatically, and then hums like she’s reconsidering, smile pressed into her skin, and paige knows she doesn’t really care that everyone will be in their business now either, can feel the humiliation in azzi falling away. “beat the liberty for me and i’ll think about it.”

as motivators go, it’s a fairly good one. 

(the wings do not win the championship, and it’s a heartbreaking, well fought loss, but azzi kisses her anyways– wet cheeks and cameras around them be damned– and as consolation prizes go, it’s pretty up there. paige promises sweetly that they’ll win it the following year against the mystics and gets an elbow in the stomach as retaliation.)

(a clip of that interaction goes almost as viral as the tv clip of paige’s fall in the semis: her, getting dragged to the floor by her jersey and immediately covering her face in pain, the hickies ridiculously visible to the camera, and carrying an undeniable insinuation. the broadcast must desperately want to change the stream to a less graphic display because they immediately switch it to the camera view of paige’s family and friends, who begin to realize what’s on paige’s abdomen and who immediately turn to azzi in amused disbelief. the announcers stumble through a comical explanation of the people in frame, and one laughs when the other says and that is azzi fudd, probable rookie of the year for the mystics and paige bueckers’ uh. close friend.)(it's not the worst thing that’s ever been part of paige’s digital footprint, even if her mother disagrees.)

AN: badda bing badda boom. such concludes this journey fr fr fr this time. this was ridiculous I'm. deeply sorry if you wanted plot. if you give me a comment/ask/anything I will personally kiss you on the mouth I'm so serious they make me so happy and motivate me so much. ily for reading <333333 ok bye

[chahnniesroom]

no place like home

pairing: none (platonic ot8 & reader)

summary: when you start to feel well, you're determined to continue on as normal. as your condition worsens, you try your best to pretend everything is fine, but your body has other plans.

word count: 6.2k

tags/warnings: 9th member au, illness, gagging/throwing up, hospitalisation, angst

a/n: this is the last of the 9th member au fics that i have planned! wanted to do a classic sick fic. as always, thanks to @kangaracha for motivating me and mostly just listening to me complain. if you haven't already, please go read queenmaker. also, i finished this super last minute and have not proofread this at all.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

As a trainee, one of your favourite places was the dorms.

It was always a relief getting back to your room at the end of a long day, even if it was shared with five other girls, because it was one of the few places that you weren’t being monitored as closely. When you had first joined JYPE, your first friends were your roommates and it had been incredibly difficult to see them move out, whether it be because they left the company or debuted.

It was hard to continually watch people come and go and you no longer automatically befriended everybody who joined the dorm. You remained polite, tried to help them out if you could, but you had learned that keeping to yourself was the safest option - it made it easier when they inevitably left you.

When you debut as a member of Stray Kids, you're not exactly surprised that they keep you in the dorms, but the change in atmosphere means that you do everything in your power to avoid spending time there. It helps that your schedule is crazy enough that you barely get any time to rest, let alone have free time.

Your roommates had been excited for you to debut, but it hadn’t taken long until their jealousy took over. You’re not surprised, you knew all too well how bittersweet it was to see someone else in a position that you had hoped to have.

It starts small, you’re pretty forgetful and not the most organized person in the world, but you know it's not a coincidence when your favourite skincare products, newest makeup, or nicest jewelry started going missing. 

The other girls weren't considerate about your schedule since you no longer had lessons, went to the company, ate, or slept at the same time as them. Even when they knew you had important schedules the next day, they were loud when you were trying to sleep and complained if you accidentally woke them up when leaving early.

Gradually, they started to get more bold, critiquing you when they knew you were in the room or pretending to accidentally break your things, even if it was obvious that it was on purpose. 

You didn't tell anybody about it, even if you knew that you should. But as much as you resented the situation, you were pretty sure that for as long as you lived in the trainee dorms, complaining wouldn't do anything but make things worse. If this was the price to being an idol, you were more than happy to pay it.

But when JYPE offered you your own place, you said yes almost as fast as when they had asked you about joining Stray Kids. It's a no brainer, you don't even have to share with any of the boys.

It's only when you got the keys and saw your new home for the first time that you realised why they've given it to you so freely.

The room is so small that it astonished you. You're pretty sure that it must have been lived in by a junior staff member or something because it's similar to a gosiwon. It just barely fits a bed, tiny bathroom, and a counter space that doubles as a desk and kitchen area.

You’re lucky that you don’t have many personal belongings so that you don’t have any trouble moving from the dorm to your new place on your own. You knew the boys would offer in a heartbeat to help you carry things, but you didn’t want them to.

In fact, even months after your move, you still haven’t let them visit, although not for a lack of trying on their part. It wasn't that you were ashamed, you just knew they wouldn't understand that you were satisfied with the space that you had. And that you were pretty sure that there wouldn't be enough space for all 9 of you, let alone spaces to sit.

You learned quickly that the walls and floors are paper thin which means that it’s freezing in the winter, boiling in the summer, and there’s no proper ventilation so it’s stuffy all the time. Not only that, but you can hear all too easily that your neighbours are up at all hours of the day and when the people living above you shower for longer than 10 minutes, water starts to drip down into your unit. You have a bowl and towel permanently placed under the place that leaks the most, located easily because it’s marked by rings of discolouration where your ceiling is stained from the water damage.

Still, you didn't complain because you still considered it better than the trainee dorms, which is exactly where they would probably ship you back to if you showed that you were ungrateful. 

Most of all, you’re happy to have a place all to yourself where you don’t have to worry about pretending to be a perfect idol. You’re free to decorate as you please, buy snacks that you know definitely do not follow your diet plan, and for the first time in your life, you feel like you have a little bit of independence.

—

Maybe it's just that time of the year. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of sunlight, longer nights, busyness of your schedules or all three, but you feel yourself starting to get worn down.

It's a number of little things, minor health problems that can be easily disregarded. It's when you start to dread dance practices, usually your favourite part of preparing for comebacks, that you really notice something might be wrong.

As a trainee, you never had trouble remembering choreography, in fact that was what you were best known for, but this comeback you’ve been forgetting steps left and right. When you start to struggle with songs that you’ve been performing since debut, you get a bit worried. You haven’t drastically changed anything in your routine or diet that would explain these difficulties.

Add that to the fact that you can feel tension slowly building in your head, signalling that you're starting to develop a migraine, your concentration starts to slip even more.

“Hey,” Minho calls gently, pulling you off to the side when the group has a water break. “Is everything okay?”

“What? Yeah, of course I’m fine,” you say unconvincingly. You’ve seen the group’s schedule for the next few weeks and you know that you can’t afford to skip out on the little practice time that you have.

“I can tell you’re in some sort of pain,” he says. “What’s bothering you?”

“I’m getting a bit of a headache,” you admit. Minho’s brow furrows as you continue speaking. “And I don’t know, I just feel more clumsy than usual. But it’s not that big of a deal-”

“That doesn’t sound good, Y/nnie,” he says.

“It’s okay, let’s just get through this practice, then I’ll go home and get some rest.”

“Y/n-ah,” he warns you.

“Really, oppa. I don't have any lessons after this, I'll go straight home,” you promise.

“Message me a picture the second you get back, okay?”

“Fine,” you say, rolling your eyes even though it just makes your headache even worse.

Somehow you make it through the rest of practice. You can tell that Minho is watching you carefully the entire time, but near the end it takes so much effort to just try to keep up that you forget all about it.

You don't have to be prompted to go home when you're done. You get a manager to drive you back and beeline to where you keep your medicine, popping a couple of your strongest painkillers and washing them down with a large glass of water. As quickly as possible, you change out of your sweaty clothes, wipe yourself down a bit, then collapse into bed.

Your head is absolutely splitting, making it feel impossible to fall asleep, but you must be able to because you keep experiencing time jumps. Each time you wake, you feel disoriented and woozy, but it seems to help because you feel mostly back to normal by the time your morning alarm goes off.

You don't want to worry the boys, but when you make it to the company, the first thing you do is ask one of the managers to schedule a doctor’s appointment on one of your upcoming days off. It’s coming up to your yearly check-up anyway so it doesn't hurt to make your visit sooner rather than later.

You tell your doctor how the headaches started and never really stopped even though you don’t have a history of migraines. You explain that you think it’s related to instances where you’ve had a hard time concentrating or remembering things, then also bring up the coordination issues you’ve noticed.

When they ask about any other symptoms, you don’t even bother to mention the chronic fatigue, achyness in your joints, or constant tightness in your shoulders and neck. They're nothing new and you don’t have to be a doctor to know that you’re overworking your body - it’s something that comes with the job and you’ve accepted that.

Your doctor listens and takes you seriously, but admits that it’s too general for them to pinpoint the source of the problems or even to confirm whether they’re related without further testing. They take your blood and let you know that they’ll contact you or your manager if they find anything to be concerned about.

A few days later, your manager pulls you aside quietly and lets you know that your bloodwork came back without any flags other than a slight deficiency in iron. He tells you that the doctor said to monitor your symptoms and return if they get significantly worse, but that at the moment, there’s nothing they can do to treat you other than prescribe an iron supplement and a general multivitamin.

It’s about what you expected, but you still feel disappointed and guilty. You knew one of the main concerns from the company of having you as a member of Stray Kids was whether you’d be able to keep up with the boys and you had insisted that you could. It’s not like girl groups had it any easier and you weren’t afraid of hard work. 

It was one of the main criticisms that fans had, especially in some of the variety content where the group often played sports. Jeongin was naturally clumsy and it was a running joke that Minho was terrible at any game involving balls, but you also suspected that some of the boys didn’t try their hardest when they were against you. You hated the idea of being Stray Kids’ weakest link, it scared you as much as it motivated you.

So even though the last thing you want is to be diagnosed with a condition or illness, you had hoped that they would find a reason that you’ve been having so much trouble lately, some sort of explanation for how bad you’ve been feeling.

—

Like always, the time continues to pass. You push through your comeback period and have already begun preparations for the next. You help with brainstorming the main concepts, working on recording guides, and throwing around ideas. 3racha has a backlog of hundreds of partially completed or completed songs and you pick through those too, trying to see if any of them spark inspiration.

You take your supplements and vitamins religiously, cut out any junk food and caffeine from your diet, and spend most of your free time trying to catch up on sleep.

For the first time since moving in, you actually get to spend a considerable amount of time in your apartment. All the extra rest doesn’t seem to help though. The migraines you've been experiencing have gotten to the point where a bad one makes you non-functional. If anything, you're just getting worse.

You’re tired all the time, but just can't fall asleep at night. It's a classic case of insomnia, but when you ask Chan about it, none of his advice makes a difference. It's strange though, you've never had this much trouble falling asleep, even when you shared a dorm with five other girls who had no regard for your sleep schedule.

You had thought that the source of your headaches was lack of sleep, but now you're not so sure.

It seems like your throat is more easily irritated and you hate the way that your voice is so much weaker than before. At random times during the day, your throat tightens and nothing you do can stop the subsequent coughing fits. You don’t think you're sick, but that’s the only explanation that you can think of.

Lastly, you keep forgetting things, and it's not just the usual like misplacing your keys or not being able to remember dance moves. You've missed dinners with the members because you can't remember them inviting you, you find yourself retelling stories multiple times to the same people because you hadn't realised you had already told them before, and you start to have more and more blank spots in your memory. Worst of all, you forget that you're forgetting things.

You've been trying to record all of your symptoms so that you can report them accurately to your doctor, but by the time that you get a chance to write things down, you can only recall whatever is bothering you at that exact moment. You know that you have been having all these problems, but you just can't describe the details.

You bring it up to your manager again and schedule an appointment with another doctor, only to be disappointed again. They go through the same battery of tests just to give you a similar, but slightly different regiment of supplements.

Even though you made your manager promise not to tell the boys about these health concerns, they must have been able to quietly organize your schedule to be as efficient as possible. It’s the little things that you only notice after a few days, too many coincidences in a row. Your solo recording sessions are right before or after group ones so that you can go home first, something that the members usually fight to have, and all of your lessons have been ending early for no apparent reason.

You feel a mixture of gratitude and guilt because you can tell that the boys are becoming suspicious and maybe a little annoyed by this special treatment. In the lead up to a comeback, everybody is suffering from a lack of sleep and you’ve been trying your best to either push through your migraines to hide them, even though it makes you feel even more like garbage when you finally get back home.

And, of course, you lose your appetite. It's actually the only good thing that comes out of all of this because one of your least favourite recurring events is the bi-weekly weigh-ins that JYPE requires all artists to do. Management claims that it’s just to assist the wardrobe team as they plan outfits for future schedules, but nobody is convinced that’s the real reason. Half the team doesn’t care anymore, but you’ve never been able to fully ignore the inevitable criticism whenever you don’t reach your target weight.

You've always had trouble following the diets that are assigned to you, but you find it's significantly easier when even your favourite foods are no longer appealing. 

At the team’s next weigh in, not only are you below your target weight by over a kilogram, you’re pretty sure you're the lightest that you’ve been since before debut. Your brow furrows in disbelief as you stare at the number. Although you have a few upcoming photoshoots that you want to look good for, you haven’t even been trying to lose weight.

In the past, your goal has always been to be one of the members that got to skip the mandatory lecture about how they had dieticians on staff for a reason and that everybody should be following their recommended diets. They sometimes even pulled up statistics and figures on what fans considered to be the ideal body type, drawing from comments on recent videos, posts on social media, and even fan art.

But now, you don’t feel any pride, no sense of accomplishment, not even any relief. You just feel so tired.

You slink out of the room, escaping to one of the studios to kill time before group dance practice. Nobody comments when you rejoin them at the start of practice, instead focusing on perfecting moves and making sure that everything is in sync in the short time that you have the room booked for. By the time the two hours have passed, you're more than ready to collapse into bed.

You try your best to sneak out before anyone realises you're leaving and make it halfway out the door before you're stopped.

“Y/n-ah,” Changbin calls after you.

You pause in your tracks, but don’t reply right away, trying to steel yourself for the conversation that you know you’re about to have. You know that he’s just concerned about your well-being, you would be too if the situations were reversed, but you can’t help but feel annoyed, especially because you hate the way that you can feel the rest of the group members silently watching to see how you’ll respond.

“Yes?” You turn around slowly.

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to join us for lunch,” Changbin says, instead of directly mentioning the elephant in the room.

“I-” You try to frantically come up with some sort of excuse.

“I know you don’t have any upcoming schedules,” Jeongin inserts himself into the conversation, looking up at you pleadingly. “Come on, we haven’t all eaten as a group in so long!”

“Fine,” you concede, unable to withstand the power of his puppy-eyes. You can see Minho and Chan exchange a glance and you inwardly wince. You’re not trying to avoid spending time with everybody else, but the way that you're reacting definitely makes it seem that way and you know it's just another thing they're going to worry about.

You end up at a barbeque restaurant that you’ve heard some of the members rave about. The second you walk in, you’re hit with the smell of grilling meat and for the first time in weeks, your stomach growls and you’re actually excited to eat.

You’re practically bouncing in your seat as you wait for the meat to cook and the rest of the boys look amused by your enthusiasm. They forgo the usual tradition of serving Jeongin first, giving you the first piece of meat that’s cooked.

“Oh, this is so good,” you groan the second that the beef touches your tongue. “How come you’ve never taken me before?”

“Yah, I’ve mentioned this place half a dozen times in the past few months!” Jisung whines. “It's your fault that you've never joined us before.”

“Sorry, I promise that going forward, I'll always make sure to take your food recommendations seriously,” you reply solemnly, before automatically ducking out of the way when Jisung leans over to swat at your arm. 

It's enough to break through most of the lingering awkwardness at your initial almost refusal to join them. Everybody starts to serve themselves and chat with whoever is closest to them. You get pulled into a conversation about what Hyunjin should do with his hair for the next comeback which turns into a full blown debate about long hair versus short hair with a side tangent on blond versus black.

You’re not even halfway through your meal and still enjoying yourself when all of a sudden, your stomach turns. You force yourself to continue chewing and swallow the food in your mouth, then try to excuse yourself in a way that seems natural.

“I have to go to the toilet,” you say quietly, trying to hide the gag that you aren't able to suppress. You take a few deep breaths through your nose and dig your nails into your palms to distract yourself from the sudden nausea.

“Are you okay?”

You hadn't even noticed that Seungmin is trailing behind you worriedly.

“I'm fine,” you say quickly, trying to wave him off without having to say too much.

“Are you sure? You don't look so good.”

“Yeah, I-”

You reach the bathroom doors just in time as you start to gag again. Not caring if Seungmin is still following you or not, you push through and make it into a stall just in time to throw up into the toilet. It's not more than a couple of mouthfuls, but it's enough to make you feel disgusting. Even though your stomach seems to settle immediately after, your appetite is long gone.

Seungmin watches you silently as you flush the toilet and rinse out your mouth, even going so far as to pass you a tissue to dab at your watery eyes.

“Sorry,” you say finally, with a hoarse voice.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asks. You stare at him in surprise for a second that he's not asking what's wrong.

“Yeah, I think so,” you reply.

“Let's go back then.” Is all he says, before taking your hand and leading you back to the table.

“Everything okay?” Jisung is the first to notice that the two of you have returned.

“Yup,” you say, at the exact same time that Seungmin announces “Y/n-noona threw up.”

“What? Are you not feeling well?” Chan immediately stands up and walks over to you.

“Seungmin,” you groan.

“What? You thought I was just going to let you pretend nothing happened?” Seungmin says instead of apologising.

“Y/nnie,” Changbin says cautiously. “You know that you can tell us anything, right? You don't have to go through this alone.”

“No, I'm okay!” you say quickly. “I just think I ate too fast or-”

“Y/n-ah,” Chan says sternly. You close your mouth so fast that your teeth click together. “Please don’t lie. We won’t be mad, whatever it is, I promise. We just want to help, we’re concerned about you.”

“I know this looks bad, but I’m not dieting right now or restricting myself at all,” you start. “I swear.”

“Okay,” Felix says, not sounding convinced.

“But I don't know what's wrong with me lately, I just can't eat lately,” you say.

“Can't?” Felix tries to clarify. “Or won't?”

“I promise, I’m trying. I want to eat, I do!” you reply frantically. “I'm not just saying that, really!”

“Hey, hey,” Chan soothes you, rubbing your back. “It’s okay, we believe you.”

“I hate this,” you say miserably.

“Let’s just take it slow, okay? Tell us how you’ve been feeling and we’ll see if we can do anything to help,” Minho says carefully.

“Uhm, not much appetite, even when I can tell I’m hungry, nothing really sounds good. I don’t know, I’m just tired a lot? But I’ve been having trouble sleeping at night.” You bite your lip, trying to remember if there’s anything else. “And headaches, but I think that might just be because I’m not sleeping and eating well.”

“Right, the migraines,” Chan nods thoughtfully. You narrow your eyes at Minho, the only one that you’ve mentioned your migraines to. He just shrugs his shoulders in response.

“But it's fine,” you say.

“It's quite obviously not,” Seungmin replies. “Whatever this is, it doesn't sound like something that will go away if you just try to power through.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist. “I went to two different doctors, but they both couldn’t find anything. All my bloodwork came back clear, okay?”

“How come you didn't tell us?” Jeongin asks, sounding hurt. “You thought it was bad enough that you went to the doctor twice and we didn't know?”

“I didn't mention it, because it really is nothing! I didn't want you guys to worry for no reason. I wanted to be cautious, but if the doctors said there was nothing I could do, there was no point to let you guys know. You guys know that I would have said something if they said it was serious,” you tell them.

There's a moment of silence while everybody processes what you've said.

“If you're sure,” Hyunjin says reluctantly.

“I am. Please, trust my judgement and trust what the doctor says. I’m going to take it slow, but I still want to be involved in all of our schedules,” you plead.

“We can do that,” Chan eventually agrees, even though he doesn't look too happy about it. “Just, if anything happens then please let us know, okay?”

“Yes, dad,” you say, rolling your eyes. Everybody laughs at Chan's indignant ‘hey!’ in response and things settle back to normal. You can tell they're all still worried, you feel them watching you as you pick at your food for the rest of the meal, but you know that everyone feels a bit better after finally talking about it.

—

You’re exhausted.

The last few weeks actually haven't been as bad because while the boys have been respecting your wishes to stay involved in every schedule, they have been taking care of you more than usual. They make sure that you always have simple and light, but nutritious meals available, are more strict about taking breaks and not staying up too late, and just overall make you feel loved.

By now, you've mostly gotten used to dealing with all of these symptoms, but today seems worse than usual.

Even the motion of fumbling to turn off your blaring alarm seems to drain your limited energy and it takes everything in you to force yourself to sit up in bed. 

Making your way to the bathroom feels like a dream, you’re unsteady as you walk, like your muscles can’t remember what to do. Turning on the lights makes your headache spike, so you end up going through your morning routine in darkness, fumbling to brush your teeth and brush out your hair. You can’t even remember what you’re getting ready for, but you know that it’s something important, something that you can’t postpone or miss. 

You must take longer than usual to get ready because you’re in the middle of applying skincare when you hear your phone ringing from where you’ve left it in your bed. It must be your manager, calling to say that they’re outside, which means that you’re late. You abandon the rest of your routine, turning to go to your closet to change. 

Before you can take a step, a wave of dizziness washes over you and your vision practically whites out. By the time it fades, you find yourself slumped on the ground, unsure when you stopped standing or how you made it back into your bedroom.

As you lie there, you realise that you’ve never noticed how comfortable your floor is, even though you haven’t bothered to get any carpeting or rugs. Just like how you hadn’t realised how hot you’re feeling until you rest your cheek on the ground, letting out a sigh of relief at the coolness of the fake hardwood. Involuntarily, your eyes flutter closed.

You wake up in bed. 

The second you fully regain consciousness, your eyes shoot open, body filled with adrenaline. Never mind the fact that you have no idea how you got into bed, you're likely extremely late for your schedule now and the guys probably hate you. 

You sit up, ignoring how it makes your head spin. It's only when you move your arm to try and stand that you notice a sharp prick of pain.

When your vision clears, you find yourself staring in confusion at an IV that's taped to the crook of your elbow. Further inspection reveals that you're not in your room at all, but wearing hospital clothes and in an unfamiliar room.

Your stomach drops. You've lost time before, had periods of a day that just slipped away, but never this bad. You don't know if you've been unconscious this whole time or just can't remember anything that happened since the morning.

You startle back when someone cups your cheek in their hand. You raise one of your hands slowly to touch it.

“-you hear me?” 

“Chan-oppa?” You squint up at him, now noticing that he also has his other hand wrapped around your shoulder, trying to keep you in place. You have no idea how long he's been trying to talk to you.

“Y/n-ah,” he says, body sagging with relief now that you seem more aware. “You're awake. I gotta- let me tell the guys to come back.”

“I- what happened?”

“You weren't answering your phone,” Chan says. As he speaks, he guides you back to lean back against the bed, adjusting it so that you're sitting upright.

“I’m sorry.” You swallow thickly. “I- I don't really remember-”

“No, it's okay,” he assures you. He takes your hands in his and fiddles with your fingers. “They uh- well we were all concerned so they got the spare key to get into the building. You didn't answer the door either so they went in and-” Chan clears his throat roughly before continuing. “They said you had collapsed in your room and wouldn't wake up. So they called 119 and an ambulence brought you here.”

“Oh,” you say. “That was this morning?”

“Uhm, that was yesterday. You've been out for a while, I think they did a bunch of tests but-”

Both of you look up as the door bursts open. A doctor walks through, then the rest of the members spill through the door and rush to your bedside.

“Y/n-ssi,” the doctor says. “Good to see you awake, you gave these boys quite the scare.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, blushing as the everybody continues to crowd around you.

“How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine-” you start, then correct yourself. “I'm confused mostly and still a bit tired, do you know what's wrong with me?”

“Y/n-ssi, have you had any changes to your regular diet recently?” the doctor asks instead of directly answering your question. “Have you eaten anything unusual, maybe a bit before you started experiencing any symptoms?”

“No,” you say after a second of thought. “I don't recall eating anything out of the ordinary lately. But my diet- I mean I haven't had much of an appetite lately anyway.”

“Okay,” the doctor says, making a couple notes. “Have you ever heard of mycotoxicosis? We ran a series of tests and one of them identified elevated levels of some mycotoxins. We also found some damage to your lungs that may be related.”

“Sorry, what do you mean?” Hyunjin interrupts, looking confused and alarmed. “Toxins? Has she been poisoned by somebody?”

“Not exactly,” the doctor clarifies, which doesn't exactly make any of you feel better. “These mycotoxins that were found are naturally produced by certain types of fungi.”

“She had poisonous mushrooms?” Jisung looks like he's going to cry as he asks.

“To put it simply, we believe that Y/n-ssi has had consistent and long-term exposure to a dangerous type of mould and that is the cause of a number of symptoms she is experiencing,” the doctor explains. “This is most commonly caused by consumption of food that has mould such as nuts, cereal, or coffee beans, although it's also possible that it is something in her environment that she could be inhaling or coming in contact with.”

“We share most meals during schedules, so it can't be that. I don't prepare much food when I'm at home, I mostly order out,” you say. 

“She lives by herself,” Changbin shares with the doctor. “But it's been months, you don't think-”

“That could very well be the cause,” the doctor says. “Are there any visible signs of mould in the apartment?”

The members exchange glances.

“We've never been there,” Minho says slowly, narrowing his eyes at you.

“There's a bit that grows on the tiles in my bathroom because the ventilation isn't good,” you say quietly. “But I try to clean it off as soon as I notice it. And- there's a history of water damage from the unit above me so…” You shrug.

The doctor nods and writes a few more notes.

“You can do testing to confirm, but it does sound likely that there is mould in the ceiling or walls that has been affecting you.”

“So what is being done to treat her?” Seungmin asks.

“If her apartment truly is the source of the mould, then we've already done the most important thing. We've removed Y/n-ssi from the toxin so that she is no longer exposed and her illness shouldn’t develop any further. We're also providing her with some antifungal medication that will assist her body in killing off any mould as well as general supplements to help strengthen her immune system and heal the damage caused by the toxins. We'll keep her here for a couple more days to ensure that she's getting better, but expect that over the next few months, she will be able to make a full recovery.”

After a brief period where the boys pepper the doctor with questions, he bows and leaves. 

—

When you're finally released from the hospital, all the boys insist on escorting you back to your place, even if it means taking two vehicles. They hover around you as you walk up the front steps and fight to be the ones that get to cram themselves into the elevator with you.

Even though the doctors said that the mold was harmful due to your prolonged exposure, everybody has secured on face masks and you plan to keep the visit short. You just need to grab some essentials and the rest of the members are curious what your place looks like. The company has assured you that everything else, like the packing, moving, and especially cleaning, will be taken care of by them.

You’re so used to being by yourself that it feels strange to return with the boys trailing behind you. You unlock the door without any fanfare and lead the way, turning around once everybody has made it in. It's not that comfortable, not everyone fits in the main room without really squeezing in, but at least they're able to close the front door.

“Tada,” you say flatly. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

“This is the whole place?” Jisung asks, shocked as he looks around, eyes wide.

“Well, I don't need much space-” you start to reply.

“I can touch all the sides of your bathroom without having to move!” Hyunjin exclaims.

“Luckily my arms aren't freakishly long like yours-” you say, before Minho interrupts.

“No wonder you always try to come over for meals,” he muses. “There's practically nowhere for you to cook!”

“I can still cook!” you defend yourself. “There's a mini fridge under the counter and I have a hot plate and a rice cooker in the cabinet. I just like your food better.”

“Where do you even keep all your clothes?” Jeongin asks, opening one of your cabinet doors to reveal where you stuff all your electronics. Your hair straightener dislodges from where it must have been leaning against the door and clatters loudly to the ground, pulling a series of wires along with it. You wince and rush over to stuff everything back into place.

“I don't need much,” you explain. “I have storage under my bed and there's space over on that side.”

“But what about-”

“I like the way that you've decorated the room,” Seungmin cuts him off. His voice is calm and measured, especially compared to the chaos of the other boys. “It feels very comforting and safe.”

“Thank you,” you say, blushing underneath your mask. “I- I know it's not much, but I did the best that I could.”

“Sorry, Y/nnie,” Hyunjin says. “We’re not trying to criticise. It's just-”

“It's okay,” you reassure all of them. “I mean, as much as I consider this place my home, there is a lot to hate about it.”

“Yeah, let's not forget about the fact that it's not an exaggeration to say that staying here sent you to the hospital!” Seungmin chimes in. “And that the only reason we are here right now is to clear everything out because it is legitimately unsafe for Y/nnie to continue living here.”

“Speaking of, I'm pretty sure that we're supposed to limit the amount of time we spend in here, I thought this was a grab and go kind of visit?” Changbin asks.

“Yup, let's not stay here longer than we have to,” you agree.

After living there for almost a year, you would have thought that you'd be at least a little bit sad to have to move out of your apartment. But as you finish packing up your essentials, all you can think is that you're lucky that instead of a place, you consider your home to be these eight boys.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

[sunandflame]

Hiii, I found your blog recently and got addicted to your writing,l💕

If I can request something, can I request a scenario with Paulie post enies lobby, with reader being worried about his injuries and him in general, maybe with both of them pining after the other but still haven't confessed yet

Sorry if it's too specific as a request🥹

I actually love when a request gets specific, so I know in which direction I can go, so never apologize for that 😚

Don't Pull Away

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 947

Pairing: Paulie x Reader

crossposted on AO3

The scent of saltwater and fresh-cut lumber fills the late afternoon air. You find him, as usual, in Dock One—shirt open, bandages loosening, sweat beading on his forehead as he hammers something entirely too hard.

He winces mid-motion.

"Paulie." Your voice is soft, careful, but it still makes him jump like you'd fired a cannon at his back. He spins halfway, rope dangling from his shoulder, chest heaving.

"D-Don’t sneak up like that!" he barks, though it doesn’t quite have bite—not with how flushed he is seeing you.

You step closer anyway. He tries to hide the red stain creeping through the edge of his bandage.

"You’re bleeding again." You reach out without asking, fingers brushing the edge of gauze where his ribs are wrapped.

He inhales sharply—not from pain. From the closeness.

"‘S nothing," he mutters, refusing to meet your eyes. "Just opened a little, I’m fine—really."

You give him a look. The kind that makes his stomach drop and heart race. "You're not fine."

A pause. Wind rustles the tarp above you both. Somewhere in the distance, a saw screeches, but it feels like the world’s gone still.

"...Why do you keep doing this?" you ask softly. "Working yourself to the bone, pretending you’re invincible. You almost died, Paulie."

He stiffens. For once, he doesn't know what to say.

You don’t wait for him to come up with a joke or excuse. You press your palm to his chest—over his heartbeat, warm through his skin—and feel it stumble.

"I was terrified when I saw you like that."

He swallows. His voice is hoarse. "You were... worried about me?"

"Of course I was." You look up, finally daring to say more. "I always worry about you."

Paulie stares. His eyes—blue and stormy—search your face like he’s afraid he’s dreaming. Then, without thinking, he covers your hand with his own. Big, calloused, trembling just slightly.

"I thought about you, too," he says quietly. "When I got hit... when I passed out. I kept thinkin'—shit, I might not get to see you again."

Your breath catches.

"Why didn't you say something before?"

He laughs under his breath, strained and sheepish. "Cause you’re... y’know. You. And I’m just—"

"Paulie," you cut in, finally meeting his eyes. "You’re not 'just' anything."

There’s a long, heavy silence. His grip on your hand tightens just a little, like he’s scared you’ll pull away.

He doesn’t kiss you. It was close, but he doesn’t dare it. He leans in, forehead brushing yours, just to pull away in the next moment.

~~~

It’s been a week since you nearly kissed. Since Paulie stood inches from you, heartbeat against yours, that raw look in his eyes—and then he stepped back like the moment never happened.

Since then…

He's been distant. Polite. Friendly. But his eyes won’t meet yours for long. He laughs a little too loud. He leaves the room a little too fast. And every time you reach for closeness, he dodges like it hurts him.

You try to be patient. You try to understand. But tonight? You’re done waiting.

~~~

You find him alone in Dock One, late, under a grey sky. Rain starts to tap against the roof above. He’s bent over some blueprint, but the lines blur—because he’s not really working. Just hiding.

"You’re avoiding me."

Paulie flinches. Doesn’t turn. "What? No, I’ve just been busy, the dock needs—"

"Busy? Paulie, you bled through your bandages again yesterday, and I didn’t even see you. You won’t let me help. You won’t talk to me."

He stiffens. Fingers tighten on the pencil he’s holding. His voice is low. Tight. "I told you, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me."

You walk closer, jaw clenched. The words sting. They always sting. "That’s not the point. I want to worry. You make it impossible."

Now he turns—slowly. His eyes are unreadable. "What do you want me to do, huh? Just fall into your arms and pretend none of this is dangerous? That I’m not walking around with a target on my back? That I’m not scared shitless of ruining what we have by wanting more?"

Silence. Heavy. Bitter. Rain starts dripping through a hole in the ceiling. He doesn’t apologize. He never does when he's hurting.

You step in, barely breathing. "So you do want more."

His breath catches. He looks at you like you’ve just peeled the last layer off him. "Of course I do," he says—broken, angry, soft. "But I’m not gonna drag you into this mess. You deserve someone who’s not held together by rope and sheer stubbornness."

You stare. Something sharp and vulnerable breaks inside you. "You don’t get to decide what I deserve." Your voice wavers. "You don’t get to look at me like that and then pretend it meant nothing."

Paulie opens his mouth. Closes it. His chest rises and falls like he’s drowning in the air between you.

And then—your voice cracks: "Why do you always pull away, Paulie?"

He looks like he might shatter. "Because if I don’t, I’m gonna kiss you. And if I kiss you, I won’t stop. And if you ever regret it, I won’t survive it."

The rain grows louder.

"Then kiss me." You’re trembling, soaked in emotion and silence. "Because I won’t regret it. I’ve been waiting for you to stop running."

Paulie stares. Then something inside him finally snaps—the rope breaks—and he surges forward.

The kiss isn’t perfect. It’s messy, rough, wet with rain and longing and fear. He grips you like he thinks you’ll disappear, mouth clumsy with hunger and months of held-back need.

He kisses you like he’s dying—and you’re the only thing that’s ever kept him alive.

[batrogers]

NIGHTMARE

Summary:

Sky is surprised it took weeks to have a nightmare while travelling with the Chain; normally they happened much more often.

Rated T for suggestive themes and scary imagery/fear.

LU Sky & dreaming of Ghirahim

Also on AO3

IIII

Honestly Link was surprised it was weeks before he had a bad nightmare with the Chain; at home, it seemed like he woke his Zelda in their shared rooms on the surface every few nights. But here, the changed setting he supposed helped.

But they'd been swimming and visiting hot springs, and Link supposed that was bound to cause problems.

The worst part was the touch.

He was, at least, mostly aware he was dreaming -- at least his worst dreams gave him that much. He knew it wasn't real, knew it was a twisted memory, knew Ghirahim wasn't really there and wasn't touching him... but he could feel it clear as day, nails wound around his aching throat. He was choking on the smoky air, despite knowing that wasn't possible. The earrings protected him -- had protected him ever since he got them from that caustic air.

"How did such a fragile, worthless little bird destroy me?" Ghirahim purred. "It doesn't bear thinking about, does it? You and your miserable tendency to always be in my way."

Link jerked away and those biting nails let go. He stumbled, reached vainly for the wall of the pit before him and fell onto the steep, sandy rock before him. He thought he'd grabbed the lip -- maybe he did.

If he did (he still wasn't sure) Ghirahim ensured he failed. That pale boot slammed down on his fingers and Link let go with a scream as he tumbled onto a slope he couldn't escape. He struggled to control the slide but it felt like everything he tried to do went wrong.

And the further down he went, the more patches of that gleaming silver water appeared.

His heart pounded in his throat. Wake water.

Sometimes it woke him up.

Sometimes it woke Guardians into his dream instead.

There was a pillar, somehow, right before a pool of it so deep he could drown appeared. Link seized it and clung on, even as his arms burned and Ghirahim appeared above him. He reached down again and wound fingers into Link's hair, nails teasing his scalp in all-too-familiar a way.

"I didn't know you were so desperate for my company," he mocked. "You don't want to leave me so soon? I'm touched."

Link ground his teeth rather than answer, but it grew harder as Ghirahim (as unaffected by gravity as he had always been) appeared next to him instead of above and bent to flick that awful tongue over his ear. The tip wound around the shell and tucked itself not into the ear but the edge of his mouth. Teeth grazed his skin, sharp enough he felt blood trickling along the curve.

It's a dream, he repeated. If I just let go I might wake up.

Or I might drown with Guardians hunting me again.

As Ghirahim's hand walked down his spine, the choice grew harder and harder to make. What was worse? Was anything worse? If he let go, Ghirahim might 'save' him, too, and he didn't want that either. He didn't...

Please, he begged, and someone slapped him across the face.

Linke woke gasping. He lunged for his sword, as if it were still where he kept it by his bed at home, and felt the scabbard be shoved against his chest. He curled up around it, around Fi's comforting heat and sobbed into his knees.

After a few seconds, he finally realized someone was talking: someone had woken him up.

"It's okay," Warriors said, in the tone of someone repeating words over and over. "It was just a dream."

He didn't even have the words to say thank you.

[rebldomak1tty]

REQUESTS OPEN

Hello, true crime community!!

I'm opening my fanfic / oneshot requests, after what feels like forever! Got something devious to request? Want someone to write self ship oneshots for you? I'm your girl!

But first, lets lay out some guidelines.

1.

Under 16+? Please do not submit any form of NSFW requests. This includes gore or self harm.

Under 18+? Please only submit mild NSFW requests. I will happily do gore or violent content, and light smut.

Over 18? Submit anything you want!

I will allow anonymous requests, but I hope you will honour my boundaries around NSFW work.

2.

Anything I would consider particularly NSFW will only be uploaded in its entirety on AO3. This is because I don't want to violate the community guidelines any more than posting true crime content already does.

3.

My fanfics will typically only be Columbine-based. If there's a particularly high demand for a particular case or perp, then I will do my due diligence and research them in order to be able to write fanfic for them.

4.

Got a fanfic idea that's burning you up inside? Want me to write a longer form version of your one-shot? Want something that is explicitly self ship and don't want it posted publicly? Message me! We can discuss any of this in messages or over discord.

5.

I will be following a tagging system! Mostly just to differentiate which posts are Eric or Dylan, and which are full posts and which are partial!

#dylan💟

#eric⬛️

#🩷 - will indicate full posts

#🖤 - will indicate partial posts

Thank you for reading, and I look forward to being able to write about my two favourite boys again!!

[undecided-ninja]

Please don't leave (Mapi x Ingrid One-shot)

Wrote something to get my mind of the game, not proofread

Read on Ao3 or read below

Wc: 2,000

The couple was nearing 3 years together. Mapi remembers it like yesterday when the new signings were announced. She had mindlessly been staring into space when she heard the most beautiful voice she had ever heard. The Spaniard had looked up and instantly found the green eyes of their new signing, the Norwegian midfielder Ingrid Engen, and Mapi swears her heart stopped. While the defender had fallen hard, things didn’t start until later. They hung out after practice, instantly forming a bond and creating a friend group with Aitana and Fridolina Rolfö, Ingrid’s best friend who also got signed. It wasn’t until a year after that they confessed their feelings, having taken a vacation together with a few friends, and alone on the beach watching the sunset loving stares had turned into a hesitant kiss, which turned into two and the rest is history. They had become a power couple on and off the pitch, making each other better in every way. Time together was split between the two players’ apartments, though most of the time was spent at Mapi’s place since Bagheera had all her things there. 

One morning Mapi woke up in her bed, light streaming in from the small gap left between the curtains, with light snores coming from the person beside her. She tiredly blinked her eyes open and as she laid eyes on the figure next to her, she smiled so big. Next to her was her dear Norwegian, still sleeping peacefully and Mapi had never seen anything more beautiful and wished she could wake up to this everyday but that wasn’t the case. Despite being together for almost three years they hadn’t moved in together, both having their own apartment. The days before an international break Ingrid would go to her own place, mostly to pack her bags but also because she would be getting up so early for her flight so she didn’t want to disturb the Spaniard. For Mapi, waking up early would be a small price to pay to be able to wake up with Ingrid like today, she would even drive her to the airport if it meant no more mornings without her Norwegian.

—

“I can feel you staring at me” Ingrid mumbled, barely awake

Mapi hadn’t realised Ingrid had woken up.

“Sorry, I can’t help it, you are just too beautiful” Mapi confessed, a smile on her face.

“Stop that” the Norwegian said as she cuddled into the pillow.

“Why stop when it’s the truth?” the Spaniard asked.

That made Ingrid turn to face Mapi, a smile on her face.

“You know I love you so much, right?” the midfielder asked.

“I do, and I’m so lucky to have you, love you mi amor” the defender answered, leaning forward to press a small kiss on her partner's lips.

“I’ll go start some breakfast, you keep resting” she finished before getting out of bed to get dressed.

“I think that makes me the lucky one, getting breakfast from the Mapi León?” Ingrid spoke with a teasing voice.

“For you? Anything my princesa” the Spaniard told her lovingly before going to the kitchen.

As breakfast was nearly done, Mapi heard the shuffling of feet as Ingrid came to join her, wrapping her arms around the Spaniard from behind.

“Smells good” the Norwegian told her.

“Good, I made you a coffee” Mapi responded as she nodded over her shoulder, gesturing to the hot cup of coffee that stood on the countertop.

“My hero” Ingrid said as she kissed Mapi’s cheek, going over to grab the cup.

As the two players settled down with their plates of food and cups of coffee, Mapi spoke up.

“I was thinking, after practice, do you want to do something? I saw there was a market downtown or we could just chill at home” the Spaniard asked, realizing her mistake.

Home

She had called her apartment home instead of just her place because it felt like a home with Ingrid there. But they hadn’t really talked about moving in together and the Spaniard didn’t want to scare Ingrid away.

The Norwegian hadn’t noticed Mapi’s moment of panic or choice of words as she went to answer.

“I actually need to stay after training today, I’ll probably take my own car” Ingrid said.

“Oh, I didn’t realise, do you have rehab or something?” the defender asked curiously, not being able to think of another reason Ingrid would need to stay after practice.

“I need to talk about my contract, it runs out this summer” the midfielder said with a small voice.

“Oh, right…I hadn’t thought about that” Mapi responded quietly.

“I’m not sure how long it will take but we can do something tomorrow instead” Ingrid said.

“Sure” the Spaniard responded with a sad look on her face.

—

Training came and went, Mapi and Ingrid going their separate ways as the Norwegian went in to discuss her future with the club and the Spaniard going ho- to her apartment, alone. It didn’t even take 10 minutes of being alone before she was on her way to Alexia’s apartment. Mapi went to her door, knocking carefully. It took a minute before her captain opened the door, seemingly a bit confused to see her best friend at the door.

“Hey, do you have a minute to talk?” Mapi asked.

Alexia just nodded while opening up the door more, gesturing for her friend to come in.

“What brings you here? I thought you would be with Ingrid, you’re like attached at the hip” the captain wondered, letting out a small chuckle.

“She’s at the stadium, discussing her contract that runs out this summer” Mapi said.

“Oh, Mapi I didn’t know” Alexia confessed.

“What if she doesn’t stay?” the defender asked her friend.

“I-” not letting her answer, Mapi continued.

“I called my apartment home today because with her there it feels like a home. I want her to move in and be able to wake up to her everyday and I might lose that before I even get a chance to live it”

“Mapi, does she know you feel this way? Have you told her?” Alexia asked.

Mapi could only shake her head, tears threatening to escape.

“Oh cariño, come here” the captain said as she embraced her friend, trying to console her.

It wasn’t long after that that Mapi decided to go back to her apartment, wondering if maybe Ingrid was done at the stadium when she got back. She got her answer when she opened the door to her apartment and found Ingrid standing in the middle of the living room.

“Hey, I was just about to call you, you weren't here when I came back so I didn’t know if you had gone out or something” Ingrid said with a little worry in her voice.

“I was at Alexia’s, sorry for not texting you” Mapi responded with a slight sniffle.

“Amor? You okay?” the Norwegian asked when she noticed the redness in her eyes.

“I-I just…oh god” the defender tried but failed.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me” Ingrid tried again.

“Please don’t leave” Mapi whispered.

“What” the midfielder asked, thinking she hadn’t heard her correctly.

“Please don’t leave me” the Spaniard said, louder this time.

“Elskling, why would you even say that, I would never” Ingrid said as she tried to approach Mapi, but she took a step back.

A look of hurt was etched on Ingrid’s face.

“Don’t say something you can’t promise” the Spaniard said.

“Maria, where is this coming from?” the Norwegian tried.

Mapi took a deep breath before speaking.

“I love you so much and I love what we have created together. Waking up to your beautiful face and spending time together is something I want to do forever and having you move in instead of jumping between apartments would be wonderful but none of those things can happen if you leave Barcelona” Mapi said, on the brink of tears when she finished.

Ingrid’s head was hung low, a deep breath before she spoke.

“This is about my contract, about me staying behind today” the midfielder stated.

The defender could only nood.

“Mi amor, come here” Ingrid said as she finally embraced the Spaniard.

They stood there for a moment, evening out their breathing before Ingrid spoke again.

“You’re not losing me” she whispered quietly in Mapi’s ear.

“Don’t give me false hope” she mumbled back.

This made the Norwegian release the defender from the hug and look her in the eyes.

“Maria, you’re not losing me” Ingrid said again.

The look that she was giving her told her something else, could it really be?

“You mean…you’re staying?” Mapi looked at her with hopeful eyes.

“It’s not gonna be official yet, maybe a few days but yes, I’m extending my contract” Ingrid told her with a big smile.

The Spaniard began kissing her all over her face before placing a final one on her lips, a kiss filled with every emotion she has felt today and one she hoped told Ingrid everything she wanted to say.

Thank you for loving me, thank you for staying

Once they parted from the kiss they stayed there embracing each other until Ingrid spoke up.

“So…what was that I heard about wanting me to move in?” she asked with a grin.

—

A few days later, Ingrid and Mapi were at the Norwegian’s apartment packing up the last of her things, the apartment being left cold and bare after removing all the furniture and artwork that belonged to the midfielder. During the emotional afternoon that took place a few days ago it was decided the two players would move in together but not to Mapi’s apartment. The two had found a bigger place that they could call their home, starting a new chapter together.

“I think that’s everything, now we just need to get all the boxes out of here” Ingrid announced.

“I’ve already called for backup” Mapi said proudly.

Alexia had been confused when she got the text to meet Mapi at Ingrid’s apartment. This couldn’t end well, just a few days ago she was an emotional wreck on her couch. As the captain arrived at the apartment and knocked on the door she was met with Ingrid, beyond her stood stacks and stacks of cardboard boxes. 

Moving boxes.

“Oh Ingrid, I-” but before she could say anything else, Mapi stepped into her view, a big smile on her face.

“Hola capi!” the defender said cheerfully.

“Mapi? I thought…wait why are you so happy? What’s going on?” Alexia asked, clearly confused.

“What? Why wouldn’t I be happy?” Mapi wondered, even more confused.

“A few days ago you were a wreck on my couch and now…” the captain couldn't even finish her sentence.

“Maria…did you not tell Alexia?” Ingrid wondered.

“Tell me what?” Alexia asked.

“Oh, yeah…everything is good, Ingrid is staying and we’re moving in together” Mapi just said casually.

Alexia’s head was about to explode.

“You let me worry for days about you being okay and you tell me this now??”the captain asked.

“Sorry?” Mapi spoke, shrugging her shoulders.

“Dios mío” Alexia said while pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Alright, now that that is over, Frido, Aitana and Esmee are on their way so let’s get going” Ingrid announced, clapping her hands to get their attention.

Alexia couldn’t be mad for long, not when she saw the way Mapi looked at Ingrid, she was happy her best friend had found someone that made her have the biggest smile on her face, like Ingrid had hung the moon.

—

It was a few days later, the couple settled in at their new apartment with a few boxes still around until they figured out where to put everything. Sitting cuddled up on their couch scrolling social media you could see the information that was made public just a few minutes ago

Norwegian international Ingrid Syrstad Engen renews with Barcelona until 2027

[gotstabbedbyapen]

Thanks for the tag <333

Favourite colour: Black, Cyan, Yellow and Purple

Currently watching: I've been too busy for movies :(((( But if we still count the last thing I watch, it'll be The Gaslight District. I'm also planning to see Blood of Zeus season 3 to see how it'll end and for more Hyapollo/Hyacinthus crumbs in it.

Currently reading: The boring answer would be my German course book :))))) The interesting answer would be "The Secret Garden" by Frances Hodgson Burnett, a children novel which I assigned to my younger cousin to translate to practice his English, and I have to read it to check on his work. Though I'm reading the PDF file instead of the physical book.

Last Song: "Deniro" by Alec Benjamin

Coffee or Tea: Coffee in the morning ☕️ tea in the afternoon 🍵

Currently craving: Crispy street food, I'm talking fried fish balls and fried cheese tofus. And there are so many new Hyapollo fics on AO3 that I haven't gotten to read yet :')))))

Last book opened: Again, the boring answer would be my German course book :)))) The interesting answer would be "Self Mastery Through Conscious Autosuggestion" by Émile Coué, the physical translation copy.

Earbuds, Headphones or nothing: I used to like wearing headphones, but after a while I got earwax building up. So now I prefer not wearing anything. Don't worry, I only blast audio in my room, never in public!

Favourite chip flavour: Cheese and steak are my go-to flavors.

Last place I went other than home: The company I'm interning at.

A colour that looks good on you: I don't really have a fashion taste, but people have said I look good with rose-red and black.

Last trailer you saw: "Doraemon: Nobita no Esekai Monogatari" (trans: Doraemon: Nobita's Adventures into the World of Paintings). I actually watched the trailer before considering taking my cousins to see the movie.

Open tag for everyone!

Tagged by: @wizardysseus 💕

favourite colour: Purple! Bluer shades preferred, but any purple a good purple. currently watching: The Murderbot TV series (you're lucky this came out now otherwise I'd have to answer 'nothing' lol). currently reading: Scum Villain's Self-Saving System (... second reread, I went completely off the deep end a couple weeks ago idk), and Rouge Protocol, on my whatever round of rereading The Murderbot Diaries. last song: The City and the River by the Rescues. coffee or tea: Tea, green or black! currently craving: Uhh... chocolate ice cream, maybe? Fic and RP for my current fave ships (Menelaos/Paris and, uh. :v Original!Luo Binghe/Shen Yuan) last book opened: The Iliad! Caroline Alexander's translation for English, but I opened the Greek, too. I needed to check the spoken lines between Helen and Paris so I could put my own versions of them in the relevant scene in The Long Years. earbuds, headphones, or nothing: Headphones. Specifically, noise-cancelling headphones, my beloved. favourite chip flavour: Plain salt. last place i went other than home: Work! (Which happens to be a library-archive institution.) a colour that looks good on you: Noooo idea. I wear my favourite colours if I can get clothes I like with them and that's it. last trailer you saw: The first trailer for the Murderbot TV series.

tagging: @dilutedh2so4 @kebriones @gingermintpepper @edaigoa and whoever else wants to!

[scarapanna]

Calm before the storm [Wavering Lies!AU]

After having faced the first half of his sentence, Shadow Milk Cookie reflects on what transpired days prior. Alone with only himself, his confinements, and his thoughts.

This, unfortunately for the beast, is not bound to last for long.

clank…clank…clank

Absentmindedly, the captive beast would play around with his restraints, letting the chains keeping his wrists close to one another clash together repeatedly.

It had been a few days after his capture, he still recalled everything. The fight, the unfair odds against him, the sheer luck those crumbs had been blessed with…and his embarassing defeat.

What happened after? A good chunk of it, he didn't recall. He was down for who knows how long before waking back up in a cell similiar to the one he was currently held in.

The past week? Went by quickly, in all honesty. He remembered his multiple attempts to break out during those council meetings, back when he still had all of his power…

…back when that MAT hadn't convinced everyone to forcefully snatch it away from him.

Now? He had been sentenced to a seal. No, not like that rotten old tree..but somehow just as, if not WORSE that it. Thanks to it, he couldn't accest his power, he couldn't shapeshift NOR summor anything. He couldn't access his other-realm anymore…he just

couldn't

do

ANYTHING.

He HATED it.

The beast would look at his hands, then at his wrists..before violently yanking his whole body forward in frustration.

His magic was like a part of him, something he had since his baking. It felt just as important as lifepowder to a beast, it was part of him. A component now crudely ripped out of his dough.

Without it he felt severely impaired. So…weak. Frail. Defenseless..

He never wanted this, it was the worst kind of dreadful….

HE HATED IT

He'd yerk forward once more, at full force…but to no avail. To ensure his stay, those rotten pests had put him in chains. CHAINS! Around his legs, his neck, his wrists…the last he dreaded he most, considering those restraints served two functions.

That of keeping him here AND prohibiting his access to magic.

He felt like he was some sort of cakehound.

However, before he could thrash a third time in frustration, the beast would be alerted by some chattering outside of his cell door. At this hour? How strange…

The noise seemingly came from two or three cookies conversating…one voice was freakishly familiar.

it was HIM..

"Oh no no, I'd rather be alone this time. Thank you for the offer."

Soon, he'd hear two of the figures leave, signaled by faint footsteps growing farther and farther..

..next, someone would turn the key to his cell door, which would would creak open, bringing with it that dreaded confirmation.

He stiffened, narrowing his eyes at the figure.

That THIEF.

..___________________..

"..Shadow Milk Cookie."

The beast would look up, stiffing his posture at the one before him.

"What do you want?"

He'd bark out, irritated. Pure Vanilla knew the reason why.

"I just wanted to pay you a visit."

The ancient carefully closed the door behind him, snuffing out the noise coming from the outside all over again.

"How are you faring?"

No response.

"..hm, I see."

He'd walk closer, before searching for something inside his cape. Pure Vanilla would then find what he had been looking for after a small struggle, and would pull out something from a small pouch.

The sweet, easily recognizable smell would manage to catch his predecessor's attention. That frown remained…yet his eyes quickly locked on the unexpected "gift".

A small victory for the healer.

"I've brought some jellies with me, would you like any?"

Holding one of his hands out, he'd offer a few to the cookie of deceit…He might have been hungry, he figured.

He only recieved a glare.

"…I suppose not."

The healer would retreat his hand, putting back those few jellies in that pouch.

Tension was only rising the more they stayed inside, just the two of them.

Usually, Shadow Milk was notorious for his chatter. It was an aspect Pure Vanilla's been told about many, many times during the week he'd spent imprisoned in the republic. Outside of council meetings the jester's behaviour would have been reported many, many times as well. Mostly by guards venting out their frustrations with him.

Now, the atmosphere was much much different. Both had fallen silent for a good while until the ancient decided to resume their one sided "discussion"

is there an--"

"Shut up."

Though it seemed Shadow Milk wanted to hear none of it.

"…just answer my question, and scram. I don't want to be interrogated by the likes of you."

The beast bared his teeth, his words oozing pure hatred and venom from each and every letter.

With his magic gone, Pure Vanilla figured anyone wold be upset. But this had to be done to ensure everyone was safe. He didn't want to risk the lives of many by letting a beast loose.

He'd sigh, turning to the ground.

"Well….I was wondering if you'd reconsider my proposal."

No response.

He'd turn to Shadow Milk's face, returning his stare.

"Do you still want to keep this incessant fighting…or would you rather settle this once and for all?"

The beast looked at him, then at his souljam, and then back to the ancient. His eyes widening as he'd repeat his words.

"….once and for all..

you…

…YOU!!!--"

After a beat of silence, Shadow Milk sent him glare. And thightly clenched his fists. Shaking in sheer fury, he'd start stomping his feet to the ground, immediately rejecting his successor's offer…just like he'd done many times prior.

"HOW DARE YOU!!"

He'd spat, violently yanking the chains holding him in place.

"DO YOU REALLY THINK I'D ACCEPT YOUR PATHETIC TRICKS? YOU…YOU TOOK MY EVERYTHING! My other-realm, MY SOULJAM!"

Pure Vanilla frowned, retreating his hand..but not faltering in front of the beast.

Deep down, he doubted Shadow Milk really regretted any of his actions. That was certain. The way he boasted and congratulated himself for his victories, how prideful it made him..deception never really left this cookie, but meaning surely did. This scene before him was…sad, dare he say even pitiful.

However, it wasn't his turn to talk just yet.

That cookie of deceit, depowered and weak, had only paused to catch his breath. In fact, he still had the energy for more crude, unfiltered jabs at his successor.

He grit his teeth, glaring at the ancient in fury.

"And still..you weren't done tormenting me, oh no no no.. You still stole the last bit of freedom I had left! All that was ME ..my POWER, MY STRENGHT!! YOU.. YOU FRAUD!!!"

The sound of his furious yelling and clattering bindings would echo around the room, yet still failed to convey the full extent of the ex-virtue's thrashing. With all of his might, he'd push himself forward twice, as if trying to yank his body right in Pure Vanilla's direction. If he wasn't binded, he'd probably lunge at him.

Pure Vanilla didn't waver, and waited as the beast tried again and again to free himself. To somehow break those chains and get back his seized freedom.

The healer observed as he gradually started to tire out, his wild yanks growing weaker and weaker…until he nearly fell over, fatigued. With his head hanging low, that cookie would tremble and pant in exhaustion. The concept of not having that revoked power, the power to break free with little to no difficulty still appeared alien to the beast. Even from an outsider perspective.

"Once I get it back….you'll wish to have crumbled in my spire."

Despite everything, Shadow Milk still kept stubborn. He forced his head up, to look back at the ancient.

"Mark.

My.

WORDS."

Right after that one final threat, he'd collapse to his knees. In silence, he only kept trembling and breathing heavily. Clearly impaired by the lack of remaining energy to yell at his successor.

The ancient's gaze would soften.

"Stop overexerting yourself, Shadow Milk. You're tired. You'll risk hurting yourself that way."

Without hesitance, Pure Vanilla would step towards the restrained beast. The space between the two of them growing smaller.

He'd glance at him, with a glimpse of sympathy in his eyes..before shaking his head to finally speak the truth. His truth.

"I'm not trying to force you into a friendship, Shadow Milk. We still have our…differences. For the time being, I believe it wouldn't work out. We both, for our own reasons, are not yet ready…. but-"

He'd look away, facing the entrance to that cell. It felt much, much more distant than when he first entered…but he wouldn't care. He was here for a reason, and that reason was to try and talk. To fully understand what caused Shadow Milk's fall. To fully understand why he was so…lost compared to when he'd last seen him.

Just what transpired after he left?

"-- if we could stop this…constant back and forth, even just for a short while then.."

He'd take another step, closing the large gap between them just a little more.

Turning around, Pure Vanilla placed one hand on the bottom of his souljam's brooch. His gaze directed towards the item for a moment…before going back to the chained beast.

"…I could show you a better way. I want to show you a better way. A way that doesn't give short-term glee and satisfaction, or a short-lived escape…but true, long-term fulfillment."

He opened his eyes.

"This is why, back in that spire, I've offered you my friendship."

He'd take another step. Determined.

"We don't have to fight forever, we don't have to clash against eachother. War, revenge…it doesn't bring true happyness."

The beast didn't respond. He didn't, in fact, even try to look at him. And only kept facing the ground troughout his entire speech. His expression? Unreadable..

..until he'd crack a smile..

"…he…ha ha…. hahahaha.. "

Before Pure Vanilla was able to question him, he'd be interrupted by a burst of laughter.

".. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!! YOU HYPOCRITE!"

Shadow Milk would lift his head back up, still on his knees, and now with the word amusement plastered on his face. He'd keep giggling uncontrollably, driven to the point of tears by the sheer hilarity of what he'd just heard.

As he'd recollect himself, the jester would manage to wipe a tear with one of his restrained hands. A newfound grin plastered on his face.

"Do you really think anyone would believe you? If revenge brings "nothing but emptiness" …then I wouldn't even BE here! In fact, I wasn't even doing anything wrong!"

Pure Vanilla would narrow his eyes and shake his head. No, he didn't share the same sentiment.

"You've still harmed cookies, and that brings consequences. Even with understanding, those actions aren't justified."

The ancient spoke from his heart..yet the beast didn't seem to care, as per usual.

His smile dropped a little, and he'd glare at the healer.

If anything, all he seemed interested in doing was wearing down his will. And so, he'd make another attempt to do just that.

"Deep down, I know what you are. I can tell how much fear my mere presence instills in you, it is glaringly obvious! I bet you even have.. GASP n-n-n-n-nightmares? Oh you poor, poor thing. Otherwise, why would you sentence me to this?..Justice? Safety? HA! How utterly HILARIOUS."

He'd only keep going, just as his target kept not giving him the reaction he wanted.

"This idea of friendship you have is merely a ploy to get what you want, selfishness masked as selflessness…easy-peasy! Out of everyone, do you really expect me to fall for that? pfft.. HA HA HA HA HA!!

…You truthly are pathetic."

Afterwards, the room would fall in complete and utter silence once more. Both parties stared at eachother, undoubtedly, with no victory or loss. If anything, they'd reached not a conclusion..but rather a stalemate.

Pure Vanilla took the next move.

"…very well then."

Shadow Milk would jerk back, confused.

"what?"

He'd move backwards a bit, giving the weakened beast some space before taking on a more formal demeanor.

"I'm here to tell you something else. Other cookies refused to come…so I've volunteered to do so instead."

He'd move a hand on his mouth, clearing his throat before continuing.

"Tomorrow, you will be allowed outside…that is, without magic and under supervision, to ensure no one is hurt. These are the terms decided by the council."

Having informed that cookie, his duty was done, and Pure Vanilla would turn to start walking back towards the cell door. He'd gently open it, a soft creaking echoing trough the room.

Before leaving, he looked back at Shadow Milk for one last time.

"..if you want to change your mind one day, my offer still stands."

He recieved only a scoff...and a possible warning in response.

"Tch, you're just being delusional."

Of course, he'd expect the beast to still refuse his proposal. It was, arguably, predictable…but he woudn't give up just yet.

He gave him one small smile before closing the door behind him.

"..goodnight."

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

Waiting for chapters to come out for a novel is a Sisyphean task. Read new chapters, wait for chapters. Read new chapters, wait for chapters... everyday I walk into this hell of my own free will and leave with nothing but a deeper obsession that threatens to ruin me.

Whether it's the MTL, official or fan translation, the guarantee of tested patience is no different, only that some will bless you with a little more time spent in a world where time is unbound by reality.

Yet the desire to know more sooner draws a greater allure by the day, sometimes waning only to explode in raucous applause at the time of posting, reading ravenously, blessed in morsels, then being left starving as if the food had been oxygen to a smoldering flame, consuming the sanity faster.

I will wait for new chapters. I will read them and stoke the fire without regard of the damage, only understanding the cold in my bones, so I alight and burn to ashes. Those ashes will be gathered to a semblance of humanity as time passes, with a blistering, bubbling patience like boils on my flesh and skin, twisted healing that resembles disease. Then, I will be offered more to read, and I know the flames will burn but there is a numbness that comes with scorched nerves and I am left with warmth unimaginable. It can convince even a human that they are an immaterial fire.

I was born with an inferno in my heart, and just as it burns me it also births me anew, in a twisted and broken reenactment of the myth of the phoenix. Lacking wings or claws, I have only the feebleness of a human body.

Torn asunder, I read.

[nebula-remnants]

HEY So, quick side note i've decided to restrict availability to anything on ao3 IM in charge of posting because of the ai scrapping issue (I got spooked so this was a little last minute.)

if you aren't a registered user or logged into your account you won't have access to the stuff posted there. I was also planning (waiting for confirmation from writing buddy) to post the next chapter of Saddle up homos real soon, and i'm aware actually GETTING an account can take a week or more because you get put on a waitlist.

IF YOU ASK IN DMS IM VERY WILLING TO SEND YOU WHATEVER'S PUBLIC IF YOU EITHER CAN'T MAKE AN ACCOUNT FOR WHATEVER REASON OR DON'T FEEL LIKE WAITING

also aware I don't have a very big presence in the writing part of this community yet but, I may as well give out the options just In case.

(I won't go into a major tangent about AI because everything i've said has already been said, and mostly i'm just tired of having to limit and restrict myself just to make sure my art doesn't get stolen. Art theft was ALREADY an issue- but now we've just made it easier for any asshole to just stroll over and collect a massive amount of art from REAL people with REAL passion and a thought that PROVOKED that passion in the first place, steal it, then have a computer shit out some crappy attempt to mimic what it means to be human.)

[direwombat]

listen. i'm always happy whenever someone leaves a comment because they enjoy my writing. whether it's a quick "love it!" or a longer dissection of whatever they've read, it warms my heart that they took the time out of their day, however brief, to let me know that they liked my work. i don't consider myself entitled to receive comments for posting my work, which makes every single one i get a gift!

but comments like these (particularly ones that come from profiles that haven't posted fic and are aggregates of bookmarks*) really do leave a bad taste in my mouth:

so, let me spell some things out for anyone who may be unaware:

I don't write for you.

I write for myself.

I am writing fic for free in the little spare time i have.

You are not entitled to my (or anyone else's) work

i haven't posted fic to ao3 since literally january of this year. i also wish i were posting fic more frequently, trust me. the only thing worse than writing is not writing. but asking "where's the rest????" and "part 2????" only activates my spite response to not post. you'll get updates to fics when you get updates. writing fanfiction is a hobby for me. i do it for fun. but i also take my craft (writing) very seriously. i want to write a good, compelling story and i take great care in the writing process. it's laborious to begin with, and on top of that, i am a meticulous planner. it takes me much longer to write a fic than it does for you to read it -- yes, even for the short ones and smutfics!

it's the famous "pick two: high quality, cheap, and fast", and unfortunately for all of us, if you want my "not bad"-writing and have it also remain free, then you're gonna have to be patient.

*i'm not saying that this is an incorrect way to use ao3. if you're using ao3 as a place to keep track of the fics you like, that's a valid way to use the site, and not what i'm mad about. it's the entitlement.

[teh-nos]

this is very petty but since i found out that some unknown number of people bookmark every fic they read on AO3 so they know if they've read it or not (since at the top you'll then see 'Edit Bookmark') i've been a bit annoyed that this makes bookmarks meaningless as an indicator of reader enjoyment and turns it into a smaller hit counter. except i think *most* are people wanting to bookmark fic they liked so they can find it again. so i can't even just dismiss it either. fandom has invented a new form of torment.

[breadbut3d]

Sometimes I remember that time someone compared shipping in the life series to using the members in political propaganda.

The weirdest part was I don't even ship anything in the life series! And I'd already said that multiple times! Some people are just weird.

[vulpinesaint]

did 90 pages of my reading for three different classes is everyone proud of me :) finished the chapter on judaism for my sacred texts class, read "an apology for poetry" by sir philip sidney for my lit theory class, and did my two chapters of reading from the truth about stories by thomas king for my folklore and mythology class. and wrote a summary paper on that sacred texts chapter. and did my little writing assignment for my french class. all while sick. who is going to kiss me on the forehead and tell me i did a good job