#while simultaneously making me insane

[angel-fruitcake]

please destiel, i beg of you. distract us from the horrors

[gen4grl]

a nap in the sun

[tiptoethewordsgo]

hello gravity falls tumblr, someone write a fanfic where the pines family have to break bill out of rehab to help defeat a greater evil and my life is yours

[astrobei]

DID I JUST READ THAT YOU'RE GOING TO WRITE A CAITVI FIC omg one of my favorite byler writers (i've been out of ST fandom for like over a year now but i still reread some of my favorite fics occasionally) finally getting into Arcane and writing caitvi is the best news for me. I love my girls so much and the world always needs more beautiful caitvi stories from talented writers. Sorry i just got excited lmao

tentative yes! i’m wary of talking about my wips or ideas too much as of late since i’ve Just dug myself out of a creative rut and telling people my ideas is generally the best way to ensure i never actually write them lol. but i’m really enjoying the challenge of new characters and dynamics and i love the little concept i’ve come up with so i’m really hoping to see this through! here’s a little teaser, i give you all permission to clobber me over the head if this one ends up in the wip graveyard 🫡

[stinkylandersuwu]

argle bargle, i might make this unspecified project of sorts a kind of 'academy rewritten' type deal, 'cause i don't have any special gimmick ideas and academy (trying not to step on any toes) low key annoys me a lot, and I wanna have a little spin at how I personally would try and go about writing a "skylanders show"

because god, I have ideas, but I dunno if they'd work as a game really.

[bbutterflies]

Adrino week day 7 - Sleepover

Something to dream about - read it on ao3 or below!

It was impulse, really. Chat Noir hadn’t thought. He’d seen Nino on the sidewalks, talking with some other boy – flirting, if Chat knows anything, and he definitely does – and Chat couldn’t have that.

So what if he’d been mid patrol with Ladybug?

All he knows is now he’s wrapping an arm around Nino’s waist and carrying him back up to the Paris skyline.

Nino shouts in surprise, clinging desperately to Chat’s shoulders as he’s swept off the ground. “What’re you doing?” he shouts.

“Saving you,” Chat answers.

Nino clings a little tighter as they soar higher. “I wasn’t in danger.”

“You definitely were.” Chat sets Nino down on a rooftop, though he’s sad when Nino’s hands are planted firmly on his own hips. “You were in danger of an awful conversation.”

“What? No. I was enjoying myself.”

Chat rolls his eyes. “C’mon. That guy was lame, I can tell.”

“Says the guy in a leather catsuit,” Nino says with a snort.

“Oh, you like it?” Chat asks, posing dramatically. He doesn’t mind showing off. “It's sweet of you to notice.”

Nino shakes his head.  “It doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

Chat picks a new pose. “So you’ve been paying attention? How sweet.”

“Okay, man, you’ve made your point. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

Chat doesn’t stop, though. He just smiles at Nino. “Admit it. You’d rather hang with me tonight.”

Nino tries to keep a straight face, but a smirk breaks through. “I was actually trying to ask him out.”

“Well, now I’m asking you out.” Chat drops his pose to extend a hand instead. “Trust me. You’ll have a way better time with me.”

Nino chews on it. He studies Chat’s hand and then meets his eyes. “Yeah?” he asks. “You promise?”

“Absolutely. Besides, what could be better than a date with a superhero?” Chat doesn’t consider the implications of what he’s saying, or that Nino is his alter ego’s best friend. Right now, all he cares about is the smile on Nino’s face as he takes his hand.

And now Chat needs a plan for an incredible date. Fortunately, he’s something of an expert in that department, and being a superhero means he’ll have access to whatever he needs to make it happen.

Maybe with a little help from his partner so he doesn’t have to leave Nino’s side.

An SOS text to Ladybug for help and just a few minutes later (with a sly, all-knowing smile and a wink from Ladybug), Chat and Nino are set up on a rooftop with a blanket, a projector, flowers, candles, and more food than they could possibly eat.

“Alright,” Nino says as they settle down next to each other. “I have to admit it. You were right.”

“Oh?” Chat prods for more.

Nino gives in. “This is way better than anything I could’ve done with that guy tonight. You were right.”

Chat nudges Nino playfully with his elbow. “Told you so.”

“Plus I’m always swayed by free food.” Nino reaches for the first takeout bag. “And, I mean, what a night. A date with a superhero? My friends are gonna freak.”

Chat ducks his face before Nino can see. Yeah, Adrien was definitely going to have to fake a good surprised reaction to this news.

Right now, though? Chat Noir just wants to enjoy himself and get Nino to laugh.

Chat Noir wakes up with someone in his arms. His back hurts, and he realizes it’s because he’s on a rooftop. He’s not in a bed.

And he’s holding Nino, who’s snoring on his chest.

All things considered, he was calling the night a success.

But they both need to get home. It was late, the sun long gone, and Nino deserved to sleep in his own bed. “Nino?” Chat says gently, nudging his shoulder.

Nino doesn’t even flinch, undisturbed in his sleep.

Oh, man. “Nino,” Chat says louder, prodding a little harder. Still nothing. “Nino, wake up.”

Nino mumbles something unintelligible and wraps his arms around Chat.

Okay. Not ideal, but Chat is still calling this a win. He can make this work. Nino’s cute in his sleep, anyway, and this will be hilarious to tease him about later.

The objective still stands – get Nino home. He doesn’t need to be awake for that. Carefully, Chat sits up. Nino holds onto him still, pressed against his chest.

At least Chat won’t drop him while carrying him home. Not to mention he’s enjoying this, too, but that’s not the priority.

Carefully, Chat maneuvers Nino in his arms until he can hold him securely with one arm. He’s actually impressed at Nino’s ability to sleep through it all. Nino’s still snoring, and the sound is adorable. Chat hopes he gets to hear it again.

Priorities. Chat starts towards Nino’s apartment, holding onto him tight with one arm to make sure he stays safe. Though Nino, honestly, is doing an impressive job of holding on in his sleep.

Chat’s starting to worry about getting him to let go. Like, ever. He didn’t know Nino was this heavy of a sleeper, or he’d have probably made sure they didn’t fall asleep on a random rooftop.

Or, well… no, he might’ve still done it, because Nino was clinging to him so tightly right now and Chat was pretty sure there was no other way he could’ve made that happen. Was that selfish? Maybe. But Nino’s content murmurs in his sleep and the smile on his face were more than enough to satisfy Chat Noir.

He manages to carry Nino back to his apartment, and by some stroke of luck the bedroom window is even unlocked. Carefully, Chat maneuvers them both inside. Almost there.

He sets Nino down in bed – or at least tries to. Nino is still clinging to him with no signs of letting go. He tries pulling Nino’s arms off from where they’re strung around his neck with no luck. He doesn’t want to be too forceful or aggressive – Nino’s somehow still asleep, after all – but he really needs Nino to let go.

“Nino?” Chat says, and he’s not surprised when Nino doesn’t respond at all. He tries gently poking him, and gets the slightest wriggle out of poking him in his side. It feels a little cruel, but he’s desperate. “Nino, let go,” Chat says, poking again.

Nino grumbles in his sleep, adjusting his grip, and Chat seizes the opportunity. He manages to get Nino’s arms loose and swiftly sets him down in bed. Carefully, Chat takes off Nino’s glasses and pulls the blankets up over him. Nino sinks deeper into the bed with a content sigh.

Yeah. This night is a success.

Chat tries to leave. He does, actually. He really tries. He makes it almost back to the window, too, before he’s held back by his belt.

Strange.

A glance backwards shows Nino has Chat’s belt in hand. And Nino’s eyes are open (barely, but still).

“Chat?” Nino mumbles.

Of course he’s awake now. Chat smiles at him. “Go back to sleep.”

“Stay?” Nino asks.

Chat shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But… “Okay,” he says. He walks back over to the bed and sits on the edge, intending to not get much closer than that, but Nino tugs on his arm.

So Chat lays down next to him.

(Look, he’s not going to argue about it. He would really like to stay with Nino some more and a guy can only have so much willpower in one day.)

“Yay,” Nino says, and it turns into a yawn. He wraps his arms around Chat Noir and pulls him even closer. Seconds later, he’s snoring again.

Chat settles into Nino, limbs a tangled mess. This will probably be hard to explain in the morning – and even worse if someone walks into Nino’s room – but he’s quite content to drift off here in a quiet mix of snores and purrs and pure bliss.

[shezamaverick]

If I don’t get a cantina chicken taco inside my body asap I’m going to lose my mind

[mogamingcanthink]

Stu Animal Crossing is nonbinary and no this doesn't make sense unless you are me but you should know it is true

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids (pt.2)

[<- part 1]

"Oh, yeah," John jerks his head up like he just remembered the fact people are supposed to have names at all. He gestures to the kids, pointing to each of them as he introduces, "Daniel, Daniel, and Danielle."

This time, all three kids flip him off simultaneously. Bruce clears his throat, trying to figure out if Constantine is messing with him and, if so, in which parts. Since, so far, everything the man has said sounds like a poor attempt at pulling his leg.

"I don't think they like those," he cautiously says, and the kids whip their heads at him, nodding furiously. Bruce can't help but be just a little enamored with the way they behave.

"Of, sod off, at this point I don't care what they like," John straightens up with a dismissive, albeit weak, wave of his hands, and rubs his face, "They are menaces. Sometimes by accident, but mostly on purpose. Their grandfather thought it would be easier to handle them if they were not teenagers, and while I agreed with his reasoning at the time, I-" he glances at the kids, who all have displeased grimaces of various levels on their faces, "I have been made to reconsider. I swear that ancient bitch is laughing his ass off wherever he is now."

The kids suddenly grin. They are not very friendly, nor polite smiles - if anything, they look a bit nightmarish. An old grandfather's clock in his study makes a very loud ticking noise.

"See?" John whips his head to look at said clock, the expression on his face bordering on insane. His eye twitches.

If Bruce doesn't do anything now, he might become one of the very few people who managed to witness John Constantine, the Laughing Magician, have a meltdown. So he sighs and decides to solve the problems one at a time.

Which means that no matter how alarmed or suspicious he is, his first move would not be to interrogate either the man or the kids.

"You can sleep in one of the guest rooms, I trust you can find it on your own," he tells John, almost softly, as he catches the girl from slipping away from his lap, "Is there anything I need to know about children before you fall unconscious?"

John slumps with relief, so obviously that Bruce almost smiles. Hardships of raising - or, watching, for that matter - kids, he understands.

"Yes," he breathes out with an air of exhilaration and turns to the kids again, pointing to the middle child, "Danny is the original. He is from this dimension and timeline, that is. Dan," he turns his finger to the older boy, "is in the wrong timeline, he's Danny's future evil self redeemed into older bratty brother. Dani," he switches to the girl, "is Danny's clone, made by his arch-nemesis of a godfather. If she starts melting at any point, wake me up immediately. If any of them start floating, sprouting tentacles, speaking to walls in static, or glowing, don't."

Bruce looks down to the kids. So, definitely metas, that would explain the government trying to get them... Or, no, it wouldn't because he is fairly certain no government is going to blatantly ignore the Meta Protection Acts.

"Don't let them raise the dead, and if you give them food, make sure it doesn't have a face. If you find more than three of them, it means one of them has duplicated, don't worry, they will absorb it back later. Absolutely don't let them touch any guns," Constantine is backing down to the door as he speaks, his gaze flickering from the kids to Bruce and back every second. Like he is leaving a ticking bomb in Bruce's lap, and not three children. "Danny is, comparatively, the most responsible one, the other two are up for any dubious trouble they can get to at any moment. Oh, and their memories are wonky because of de-aging, they remember some things but not others, so if they say something particularly disturbing, it's most likely some random piece of knowledge they managed to keep."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He did get the part about the kids being, well, abnormal in the matters of their origins, but the disjointed set of rules and advices doesn't help as much as Constantine probably thinks it does.

"Allergies, preferences, ages they were before?" He tries to get at least some more info down before John disappears through the door. Actually, maybe he should send someone to handcuff the man to the bed lest he disappears completely.

"None, but don't let them eat cutlery. Danny likes space, Dani has a thing for exploring, and Dan likes violence." The older kid stirs in Bruce's lap and says something in the direction of Constantine. No sound comes out, but the man seems to get what he's trying to say anyway, "Okay, yes, that was rude of me, sorry. Dan likes... exercise," he ends up with, and that placate the boy enough to slump down and cross his arms. John sighs, "They were seventeen, fourteen, and twenty respectively. Now," he snaps his fingers, and suddenly Bruce can hear the girl - Dani - humming a tune under her breath. So, he lifted the silence spell, it seems.

"Good fucking luck," John wishes to Bruce, earnestly, and all but vanishes away.

Bruce sighs and looks down to the kids.

"Are you hungry?" He tries, and all eyes are on him at once, attentive and unblinking.

"Fruitloops," Danny says, and while Bruce is positive that's the name for a cereal, he gets a feeling that's not what the kid meant.

[corinthianism]

SOMETHIN' STUPID || VIKTOR

pairing: viktor (arcane)/fem!reader additional tags: viktor's pov, viktor is a certified yearner, maybe ooc, unrequited love that's actually requited, no physical descriptions for reader other than having dainty fingers and being shorter than viktor, hopefully correct use of czech pet names, barely proofread synopsis: the ever-brilliant viktor finds himself drowning in feelings for his colleague, so what does he do? bury them, of course.... until he learns that love is not something you can just ignore.

author's note: hello everyone! it's been a long, long while since i've written anything so i thought i would try and see if the ol' writing machine (aka my brain) still works lol. this is more of a blurb than anything so please go easy on me. also trying out something new by writing in present tense (lmk if it flows well!) viktor might be a little ooc but i'm still trying to fully understand him. hopefully my characterization of him in future fics (if any) will be more faithful to the viktor you're all familiar with. anyways, enjoy 2k words of viktor yearning like CRAZY 🫶🏼

Viktor doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. How many more times would your eyes meet from across the room at one of those parties he never really wanted to attend in the first place? How many more times would your fingers brush in the early morning, when he accepts the steaming sweetmilk that you so kindly got for him? How many more times would your laughter intermingle softly late into the night, when exhaustion took over and your writing started to look more like chicken scratch rather than letters?

He might just go insane.

How was it possible to want someone this much? Maybe he’s experienced something like this before, in tiny amounts, for people he hasn’t thought about in years. Deep down, he knows that even if he added all of those fleeting romances together, it would still only be a fraction of what he feels now. For you.

He can’t pinpoint that exact moment in time when everything changed. There were definitely a few of those moments that stood out more than others, but none of those instances were the catalyst for whatever this is. But they certainly don’t help his case.

A few words of encouragement.

A book recommendation.

A smile— so soft, so intimate, he briefly allows himself to believe that it was meant just for him. Something precious for him to keep, to be his and his alone.

In the dim light of the lab, he finds you asleep on your desk. The humming glow of the hex crystals leaves you blanketed in a gentle blue. He’s heard tales of this before, from when he bothered to listen to such things. It would happen just like this, they said: his heart would beat so fast, it threatened to leave his chest entirely. His skin would burn with something unmistakable, a feeling that left one in a state of simultaneous confusion and clarity.

He feels it all now and he finds it polarizing. It’s too much and not enough. He chases and runs away from it at the same time. A part of him wants it to stop, to go away and leave him forever for the sake of ending this game he’s painfully losing… but a greater part of him hopes that it will grow and grow to the point where maybe you’ll notice and do something about it. His palms get a little sweaty just thinking about making the first move. Symptoms of a lovesick fool.

The soft sound of your breathing quiets the pounding of his heart, prevents the wretched feelings from overflowing and spilling everywhere. Even if it was just for tonight. Tonight, he keeps his lips sealed, fights to keep himself from reaching for you. It would be unbecoming of him.

His eyes land on you again, observing how your head rested on your arms. Understanding hits him then, why you’re so bothered by seeing him stay at the lab so late that he ends up falling asleep. That position couldn’t have been comfortable. Of course, he knew that from experience, but it’s your comfort he’s thinking about right now. He wonders if this is what you felt whenever you woke him up and implored him to go home.

Surely not.

No, he can’t wrap his head around you possibly viewing that act the same way he does. Not when he wants to bottle this moment, wants to capture the preciousness of seeing you like this. It just can’t be the same.

So can you really blame him if when he finally rests a hand on your shoulder to wake you gently, he lets it linger there for just a little longer? An infinitesimal piece of time that he claims for himself. He never thought himself to be the sentimental type, but he cherishes it all: he cherishes the way you blink slowly as you returned to the waking world, and your tired murmur of his name that makes his chest tighten.

It’s just a wisp of a moment, never really tangible enough for him to hold in his hands, but he cherishes it all the same. It’s burned in his memory, in his very being, the same way everything else about you is. Every piece of you that you so generously gifted him.

“You should go home, darling.”

The word slips past his lips before he could even think about it. But he allows himself this one indulgence. He can’t help it. He’s always been a bit greedy.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Far too late for you to be here,” he answers.

You huff out a breath of a laugh, “That’s rich coming from you.”

He finds himself smiling. How does someone manage to be so endlessly endearing without even trying?

It takes an embarrassing amount of effort for him to pull back his hand from your shoulder. Had you been more awake and had the room been brighter, he might’ve schooled his expression into something more neutral. Something to hide the unbridled adoration in his eyes. He doesn’t do that now. With the shield of darkness to protect him, he lets the mask come off. He lets his affection for you wash over him in waves. It would’ve been liberating, if it wasn’t for the tiny detail that that affection was unrequited.

Still, he says your name with utmost care. “You must go home and rest.”

To his surprise, you listen. You mumble a tired "okay” and gather your belongings, slipping on your coat. “You should go home, too, Vik.”

“I will. Soon. I just need to finish a few things.”

Your face twists into a frown, “No, you’ll do that tomorrow.” Before he can interject, you speak up again, “Just… come with me? It’s late and I don’t want to walk home alone.”

His brain refuses to reconcile with what his eyes see: the trepidation written all over your features, the way you clutch the lapel of your coat just a little tighter. He knows it’s a trap, you just want to get him out of the lab but how could he possibly reject the promise of a few more minutes with you? The chance to pretend, even if it’s just for those precious few minutes, that he was taking you home as someone more than a colleague? More than a friend? Only a fool would say no to you. Or perhaps he was a fool either way. He really must be going insane.

He says yes almost instantly.

It’s cold in Piltover tonight. It makes his bad leg ache more than it already does, and so his strides are a bit more careful. He doesn’t say anything about how you also slow down to match his pace but he appreciates your considerate gesture nonetheless.

The moon hangs in the sky big and bright, making everything around you seem softer. It’s picturesque. Almost romantic. He tries his best not to entertain that thought for much longer. Instead, he focuses on what you say to him so he could ignore the traitorous thoughts his mind conjures up and the way his knees were protesting because of the cold.

Conversation with you is easy— terrifyingly so. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when you first met.

Early on in the process of finding sponsors and securing funding, him and Jayce quickly realized that they needed help. Yes, Jayce is a friend of the Kiramman family. Yes, Viktor is Heimerdinger’s protégé, but they’re academics. At the end of the day, Jayce’s warm personality could only do so much when he was still greatly inexperienced with navigating these more political spaces and for all of his experience and perceptiveness, Viktor knows he’s no good at sweet-talking sponsors, either.

Enter, you.

Caitlyn Kiramman was the one to recommend you, her former tutor. Jayce was quick to back her up, remembering that you were also Academy alumni; a particularly strategic businesswoman. Viktor was hesitant at first, knowing that a third party could complicate things. Hextech was born out of the dream to help people. He worried that bringing business and politics (even though he knew it was necessary) into the mix would warp Hextech into something it wasn’t. Jayce convinced him to take a gamble, and it seemed that the potential of Hextech was enough to bring you back to Piltover from your travels across Runeterra.

It took him a while to warm up to you. You weren’t nobility, but most definitely well-off. Even more so after your years as a business consultant to organizations all over the continent. He respected you, sure, but Viktor had a hard time trusting someone who was so… privileged. How could you possibly understand how important it was that Hextech remained a beacon of hope for the less fortunate? Perhaps it was naive of him to think that way, as much as he hated to admit it.

But true to your reputation, you delivered exactly what they needed. You bridged the gap between Viktor and Jayce’s hopes for Hextech and the support they needed from sponsors, protecting them and their inventions from being taken advantage of.

Suffice to say, you earned his admiration.

Never in a million years would Viktor imagine that you would captivate his entire being, too.

It was daunting. Scary, really. Especially now that he’s beginning to understand the full extent of his affections. Years and years of burying that softness from his youth deep beneath the armor of his intellect— all that hard work diminished by a pretty girl. Gods, he really is just a man. Not even that. With you, he feels like a highschooler with a crush. It’s painful. Downright humiliating. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not when you link your arm around his, laughing at something he said. Was he really that funny? Probably not. He’s just happy to make you laugh.

“You don’t have to be nice about it. Salo is a grade-A asshole,” you grinned. “We both know it. If I have to spend another dinner with him present I might actually stab a fork in my eyes.”

He smiles, “Ah, but that wouldn’t save you from his incessant chatter.”

“I’ll stab the fork into my ears too."

“I might just follow after you,” he hums, “you’ll have to check if it works first, though.”

Your friendship blossomed when your visits to the lab became less for work and more for leisure. You wanted to visit, wanted to learn more about what he and Jayce were working on and why. Everything after that was just dominoes. You, with all your fiery passion and sharp wit, have become a permanent fixture in his life and now? He could hardly imagine life without you in it. You're one of his dearest friends and, much to his dismay, that makes his current predicament even more challenging than it already is.

Before he knew it, the two of you were standing in front of your apartment building— one of the most luxurious in Piltover. He could only imagine how much it cost, though he knew for certain that your penthouse probably barely made a dent in your wealth. He’s gotten somewhat used to your differing lifestyles, but he’s never completely able to not marvel at it. A gust of wind kissed his skin once more as he turned to look at you.

“This is me,” you say, gloved hands in your pocket and your lovely, lovely face framed by your hair and ruby red scarf. He recognizes it as the gift he gave you a year ago now. A spur-of-the-moment purchase on one of the rare occasions he was actually outside Academy grounds. He remembers thinking that the color would look nice on you. He was right. He finds himself holding onto the seconds before he has to go. “Thank you for walking me home, Viktor.”

“Of course,” he nods but the calmness of his voice don’t match the way his eyes bore into yours. “It’s only proper.”

“Proper?”

“Yes. Proper. I am a gentleman, after all.”

His accent comes out thicker, emphasizing the words more than he means to.

“I didn’t take you for someone who cared much about propriety,” you tease.

“Is it because I’m from the undercity?” he deadpans and he relishes in the look of horror on your face that replaces your grin.

“What? No!” you exclaim, smacking his arm when you realize he’s just joking. “You. Are. Impossible.”

A laugh bubbles out of his chest, “Oh, that’s cruel. You would hit a defenseless man? How heartless.”

“Shut up. That cane of yours is a weapon of war. Don’t think I haven’t seen you smack Jayce with it.”

“If I hit him with it, he probably deserved it.”

“Poor Jayce,” you laugh as well. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Viktor smiles.

“I do not think you could even if you tried, lásko."

He freezes and so do you. The laughter—the music—that you shared for the briefest of moments was thoroughly snuffed out, leaving you both in a silence that threatens to swallow him whole. He didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to speak so gently, but there is not a part of Viktor that could withhold this sincerity from you. Specks of the truth, of the confession he’s barely managed to wrangle into submission and lock away somewhere dark and unreachable.

He pulls back on instinct. He’s shown too much, said too much. You don’t move. He is petrified.

Your eyes widen and he sees his reflection in them, staring back at him. This is it, he thinks. He’s crossed the line and he’ll have to deal with the crushing blow of your rejection.

You manage to compose yourself and what you say next is… well, unexpected. Your tone is light, clearing the air and allowing him to breathe again.

“Do you say that to every woman or am I a special case? I’d hate to be part of a roster.”

He’s taken aback, but he feels a weight lifted off his shoulders. You are a miracle in his eyes. Washing away his worries with a kind smile and a few choice words. He laughs again and this time, he doesn’t stop himself from speaking the truth. It’s now or never.

“Surely you know by now that you are singular,” he whispers, his accent a pleasant drawl in your ears. He takes a step forward. It is gravity that pulls him in, not the Earth’s, but yours. A force that he can’t help but be drawn to. Not that he would ever dare to resist it now that his fear has shrunk down to something a little less debilitating.

His face is inches from yours. You don’t move. He gets a little braver.

“I do not appreciate your implication that I would pay attention to anyone else,” his voice is low, honest. “As if anyone could compare to you. As if you don’t hold my very being in the palm of your hand. Miláčku, I adore you. Don’t you know that?”

There is a hint of pleading in his tone, begging you to understand the full scope of his feelings from those few words so that he wouldn’t unravel before you, a bundle of nerves and petals the same shade as your scarf.

“Say something. Please,” his fear rears its ugly head once more. “Say the word and we’ll pretend this never happened. I will remain your colleague and nothing more. A friend, if you would allow it.”

“What if I don’t want that?” you ask, your own voice a little shaky with uncertainty. Maybe it was also fear. That, he’s not quite sure.

Viktor doesn’t fully trust what he’s hearing, thinks it to be a figment of his deluded imagination, but his heart is screaming at him now to push forward.

“What is it you want, lásko? Tell me and it shall be yours.”

You're almost breathless when you finally respond, “You. I want you."

The world stills. Time itself screeches to a halt. There is only you and him, together in this moment that he knows will be woven into the threads of his soul. He has never known euphoria quite like this. He can’t name it yet, doesn’t know if this is love. He can only hope that it will be.

When he looks into your eyes again, he does not see his own terrified reflection. He just sees you. And the sheer intensity of your gaze that rivals his own. Have you always looked at him that way? Was he just too blind to see it?

“Do you mean that?” he finds himself asking. He has to— has to make sure that this is real.

You smile again, dainty fingers intertwining with his. It is a gentle smile, a hopeful smile that answers his question before you even open your mouth.

“I do,” your voice is so gentle and yet it squeezes his heart. “I’m yours, Viktor, if you’ll have me.”

He brings your knuckles to his lips, places a reverent kiss on them like you’ve given him the world. In a way, that’s exactly what you did. Maybe his lips were always meant to be on your skin, worshipping you like the goddess you are. It feels too natural for it to mean anything else.

And for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to hope.

“I would love nothing more.”

[meganegatari]

i was busy having a mental breakdown only i saw this art and just about creamed my pj pantaloons so i needed to do something about that!!!!! cait i love you my beautiful princess with a couple disorders but that should be me RAHHH hi vi nation i have something for yall (also written in like 2 seconds be nice)

nsfw drabble—overstimming vi. 18+ content. sub!vi, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, brief mention of masturbation, vi body hair mention (you already KNOWWW) + aftercare.

orgasms climbing high into the double digits—yet you still weren't done with her. actually far from it, you felt like pushing her buttons, both literally and figuratively.

vi is spent, so limp and exhausted laying next to you, powdery blues begging for your mercy. but you didn't falter. you sat on your knees to the fiery haired woman's side, your fingers—coated with her slick from previous rounds—prancing upon her defined abs. you traced from under her ribcage, to each individual muscle on her torso, down to the wispy strands of magenta hair of her happy trail increasing in thickness until you reached the vermillion tangle resting on her mound, but before you could part her swollen lips once more, you heard her wince from above.

“fuck babe— s'too much, im- hahh, i dunno how much more…” she trails off, her whiny voice music to your ears, the sweetest candy to your sadistic soul.

her eyelids fluttered open while her chest heaved and head lolled against the pillow underneath—strings of hair stuck to her forehead. her face was shiny, with sweat or even tears, it made her shimmer. the apples of her cheeks were as crimson as prime picking season, a stark contrast from the vulgar mess between her trembling thighs.

her hips twitch—the smallest jerk upward—paired with a woeful plea from her clenched jaw, she needed you again. enough time had passed, and you were ready to give her everything you had.

“one more?” you quip at her, honeyed voice deepening her blush.

with that, she manages a brisk nod.

and like so, that was your cue to resume your descent.

you watch her like a hawk, grazing her skin with an agonizing feather-light touch, revel in how her breathing visibly quickens—gods this sexual intimacy was otherworldly.

tattooed biceps rise to shield her face, arms crossing and settling atop her eyes, but you still had a good view.

your stare unmoving, you skip down to tease her inner thighs, kneading the flesh lovingly—playing with the webs of essence that decorated her.

a whine fills the air, she was growing impatient.

you comply, finally moving your hand up to where she needs you most, you part her and break your line of sight away from her face to marvel at how she sucks your middle two digits in, her back arching.

she lets out a breathy moan—an unguarded sound that makes your own core ache, and you find her thumping clit and press on the bud with your thumb.

you see her mouth fall open, her shallow heaves quickly turning into animalistic pants, the release was bubbling inside her already.

you begin to circle her bundle of nerves gently, your two digits simultaneously pumping in and out of her quivering walls—her sounds only growing more and more lewd. this was pornographic, but the way she didn't hold back flipped a switch inside you.

you press down harder, then flick her swollen clit up and down until she jolts, your assault on her g-spot inside causing spurts of pearlescent cum to land on your hard at work forearm.

you were so mesmerized, so focused, you could even call it entranced by her. you had to fight the urge to shove your free hand down your own undergarments and soothe the build up there but you resisted, this was about her.

her whimpers and groans came in time with your rhythmic, regular thrusts, you felt her pussy spasming as another orgasm rushed through her, overtaking her entirely.

the sight, the syrupy squelching sounds and the smell of her sex drove you insane.

you continue to fuck her all the way through the high, until her eyes were welling up with tears and her knuckles lost their color from how hard she was gripping at everything around her—her hair, the sheets, you.

when it got too much, she squirmed away from you instinctively, and you obeyed to not hurt her. you'd never do so.

“you're so fucking hot vi, fuck—the things you do to me…” you mutter under your breath, taking in the sight of her fucked out form. she really was ethereal.

you put your fingers in your mouth to clean up, sighing at her sweetness.

she continued to lay there before you, only this time with a faint smile on her pretty lips.

her eyes were closed, and she looked so peaceful. before she fell asleep you dashed to get a damp washcloth and very gingerly wiped up the remnants of her pleasure from her creamy skin, grinning all the while.

when you were done, you tossed it to the side and joined her horizontally, nuzzling into her embrace.

deciding to make a joke, you try, “what do you say, one more?”

luckily you're met with a belly laugh from your love, and a playful shove to your shoulder.

“not a chance. next time it's your turn, i'll make you cum until you cry.”

taglist: @vifilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ne @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @mascdom @ashaynep @angelynn-nicole @ellabbss @aylabv02108 @lonelyfooryouonly @melsmunch @e11williamsgf @imdrowningindespair @spncrrdlvr @cheyisagirlkisser @thatgyalfisher @eroselless @i-dont-know-00 @ithinkimfuckincrazy @liaponderstings @lesbian-useless @slutzandcuckz @finalgirllx

[alchemistc]

Inspired by Lou mentioning that we're getting B**** f*********

"Tell me about your old captain," Bobby says. It's not a question. It's not a suggestion - or if it is, Tommy doesn't have the ability to view it as anything but a demand.

Bobby's eyes catch the bob of his throat as he swallows.

They're in Bobby's office. Tommy's pretty sure he's been in this office twice since Bobby took over - he doesn't do things in any sort of official capacity, seems to hate the four walls and the door like a man with experience stuck in tight spaces.

"Off the record, of course."

Tommy's a grown ass man who's been through more Captains and Sergeants and other miscellaneous authority figures than Bobby can count on fingers and toes.

There's just something about Bobby that makes him feel wrong-footed. Like he's simultaneously the most comfortable he's ever been and the most terrified he'll ever be. Like he has to get this right.

"Sir?"

Bobby tosses a balled up piece of paper at Tommy's forehead. That's fair. That's absolutely fair. Tommy blinks, and the nerves sort of just... fall away.

"He was a homophobic, racist, misogynist prick and I still hate that I followed along like a little duckling."

Bobby purses his lips. Widens his eyes with brows raised.

The silence and the eye contact stretches.

Eventually, Bobby steeples his fingers, leans his chin on them. Stares. "We can circle back to the second part in a moment. I'm asking because I sent in your transfer papers last week."

There's that fear crawling right back in. He'd never even fucking tried it, under Gerrard. Too afraid to watch him crush that dream, too afraid to make a move for himself.

He'd mentioned flying offhand, a month and a half ago, a second serving of roast melting on his tongue while Howie stole potatoes off his plate.

Two days later Bobby'd pulled him aside and told Tommy he'd reached out to Harbor - that Harbor had an opening in air ops and he'd asked them to hold the position internally for an extra day or two. In case Tommy wanted it.

("I saw the way you look when you're talking about flying, kid. If I overstepped, tell me to shove it, but the 217 could use a man like you."

Tommy's had the words 'man like you' running on a loop in his head ever since.)

"Did they fill the spot?"

He hasn't let himself get excited about it. Hasn't told a soul other than Bobby that he's even thinking about it. He never would have done it without that push, and he's already gearing up to make himself not resent Bobby for even putting the thought in his head.

Bobby smiles. "They did."

Tommy would love it if the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

"Their newest pilot is going to be Thomas Kinard. Pending my approval, of course."

His heart does something strange in his chest. A squeeze, a jump, a flurry. He's gonna be in the air again. Going to have to use whatever's left of his mind to learn new birds, to teach someone else, one day. That's not as daunting a task as it would have been, a year ago.

Tommy squints, because Bobby looks entirely too pleased with himself for nearly giving Tommy a fucking heart attack. "What does that have to do with Gerrard?"

Bobby tips his head side to side, fidgets with a pen. Tommy never knows if that's a nervous habit or if he's so committed to the "fucking with you" bit that he's adopted a bunch of other people's tics.

"He tried to block it," Bobby tells him, a little solemn, finally. Tommy can feel his teeth clenching. His body tightening. His arms are crossed over his chest and he doesn't remember the act of raising them from the armrests. "I told him, respectfully, where he could stick it."

Bobby has this insane ability to ease a thousand worries with just a turn of phrase, a tone of voice. Tommy can feel the ire melting right off. "You already did it?"

Bobby huffs a soft laugh. "Professional disagreement. We don't see eye to eye on your talents. Harbor was fairly easily convinced, once I started listing them."

The lump in his throat makes it a little difficult to forge ahead. "Why'd you ask about him, then?"

Bobby's soft grin turns to a full on smirk. "Because I thought, given that this is your last week here, you might want to get it off your chest, Firefighter Pilot Kinard."

[koishikei]

since tumblr will only show me the fucking passionfruit ad and literally nothing else despite me reporting it probably 100 times...

i am taking it as a personal attack and that @staff is intentionally trying to drive me off of the site by making it inaccessible to me

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── GARDEN PARTIES ♡

♡ pairing: dreamy milf!reader x rafe

♡ summary: an interaction at your friend’s party causes something to awaken in you.

♡ warnings / tags: smut, masturbation (f&m) MDNI!

♡ author's note: how we feeling about dreamy milf!! send me asks abt her.

DREAMY MILF MASTERLIST RAFE MASTERLIST

james always told you that even when he couldn't attend events you two were invited to, you always had to attend them, no matter if you were sick with a fever. that you had to be there to represent both of you as his wife, and that was how you ended up standing amongst a group of women at rose's stepson's 'welcome home' party, the only woman without their husband present.

"oh, oliver surprised me last night with a getaway, we're going to be spending the two weeks laying on a beach in fiji. and we agreed, no phones.." one of the women exclaimed, causing the group around to let out a simultaneous 'aww!' along with compliments about her husband, while you did your best to feign the friendliest smile you could muster up. "you went to fiji, didn't you? i saw your posts online." the woman turned to you, unknowingly twisting the knife in your chest.

"oh, yes." you cleared your throat, "james was too busy with work, though, so i went with my friend gabrielle. it was gorgeous, i'm sure you two will have the best time." "oh, james is such a hard worker! you're a lucky woman." tina, the woman standing next to you gushed, placing her hand on your shoulder, your throat drying up at her words. "yes. he's a great man." you said, trying to cover up the strain by finishing your champagne, "excuse me ladies." you smiled sweetly at them, starting to walk away, the circle of women closing up once again as soon as you were gone.

you placed the empty champagne flute on one of the tables, no one noticing the way you rounded the corner behind the cameron residence, finally finding a place that wasn't gushing with people. your back hit the cold wall and you closed your eyes, lifting your chin up and taking in a deep breath, your right hand going to fidget with the engagement ring and wedding band on your ring finger, your head filling with all the comments of how others saw you and your husband.

"oh, he's such a thoughtful husband!" "he's such a hard worker!" "i swear, he's spoiling you." "you two are so adorable together!" "you must be so happy."

"didn't expect to find you here."

you were startled out of your thoughts by statement a deep voice let out next to you, and when you opened your eyes and looked to the source of it, a young man was standing there, his buzzed head leaning against the wooden wall, a cocky grin on his face. he looked familiar, but you couldn't quite place a name to the face.

"i'm... i'm sorry, do i know you?" you asked, and the boy tutted his lips, his hand going to his heart, feigning offence, "i'm wounded, mrs. kingston. you come to the welcoming party of someone you can't even remember. such a cruel woman."

the boy's words caused a proverbial lightbulb to turn bright over your head, your eyes widening slightly, the boy clearly catching your moment of realization, his grin widening slightly. "you're ward's son... rafe...?" "one and only." "sorry." you cleared your throat, "you look very different..."

"you don't." rafe's eyes trailed up and down your figure, the younger boy shamelessly checking you out as you crossed your arms in front of your chest, his icy eyes on you making you much too aware of yourself. "welcome back, rafe." you cleared your throat.

"thank you, mrs. kingston. tell me, where's mr. kingston?" "oh, james couldn't make it." you said, feigning the best smile you could, the rings on your finger feeling as if they were suffocating you, "he had work. but he told me to say that he sends his best." "mmhm. i'm sure. he's fucking insane."

"excuse me?" you furrowed your brows, your tone starting to turn defensive, "i'm just saying." the boy shrugged, "if i was married to someone as hot as you, i'd rather hang myself than make you go to one of these things alone." his words made you clench your jaw in slight irritation, your eyes narrowing, "what makes you think he's making me do anything?" "the fact that you're sulking here instead of getting day drunk off of champagne with the real hagwives of kildare island."

the unexpected comment made you let out a soft snort as you looked away from him, "you've got jokes." "well, it's not a joke that i knew your little husband wouldn't treat you right as soon as you married him." you rolled your eyes, "you don't know me."

"what, you telling me he makes you happy? that you came here alone 'just cause'?" rafe took a few steps closer to you, eyeing you up, "i would treat you a lot better."

"i bet you're not even old enough to drink legally." "and i bet i fuck better than that husband of yours who needs little blue pills to even get his dick to work. that is, if he even puts in that little of an effort."

your eyes widened at the boy's words; you felt like slapping him. you should slap him. but all you can do is look up into his icy eyes, looking down at you as if calculating how many seconds it'd take him to have you with your back against the wall.

"you don't gotta answer. your silence tells me enough." rafe's hand trailed down a loose strand of hair, "does he even touch you anymore?" his long fingers let go of the strand of hair, starting to trail down your neck, the coldness of his skin causing you to suspend your breathing. "i bet he doesn't." rafe's other hand went to your waist, and your brain was screaming at you to take his hands off of you and to slap him across the face, even if it would've put you on ward and rose's bad side, but for some reason, you were frozen.

"i bet..." rafe's hand trailed back up your neck until his large hand was cupping your jaw, your lips slightly parting in anticipation, his thumb going to rest on your lower lip, pulling it down slightly, "you can't even remember the last time he kissed you..."

his eyes flitted from your eyes down to your lips, trapping his own lower lip between his teeth, his hand squeezing your waist, all the oxygen somehow disappearing from your lungs, your eyes closing in anticipation of him leaning forward, bringing his lips to yours...

only for the boy to let out a chuckle, pulling both his hands off your body. you opened your eyes, clearing your throat, feeling your face starting to warm up in embarrassment. rafe looked you up and down one more time before pulling out a cigarette and placing it between his lips.

"i'll see you around, mrs. kingston." rafe pushed himself off the wall, leaving you there in your flustered state.

the buzzing, bullet-shaped toy between your legs was doing nothing to relieve the ache in your abdomen, your nipples painfully pebbled against your nightgown as your clit throbbed against the vibrator.

usually, you'd think about some character you'd seen on tv you found attractive, but tonight, you couldn't help but think about the boy from earlier. couldn't help but think about how it'd feel to run your hand over his buzzed hair, to have the long fingers that trailed your skin, stuffing into you, curling inside of you...

for some reason, the boy was able to read you perfectly, able to know the fact that your husband didn't touch you, didn't kiss you anymore, making you wonder if he was aware that such a simple interaction made you ache.

what you didn't know was that the boy living in the house next to yours had your instagram open, rafe's eyes on one of the several bikini pictures you'd posted, his free hand jerking his cock, imagining what it'd be like to sink himself into you...

taglist: @raahosh @nemesyaaa @purpleplumpudding @littlelamy @dollyfiles @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @tinythebunni @fratbrochrisgf @ariieeesworld @silkylovey @izumis-salty-penis @cameronsbabydoll @love-ella333 @haylorbestie @k4yr14

[thewriterg]

mr and mrs ‘let me do it’

A/n; I haven’t wrote for marvel in so long… anyhow, headcanons because I can and I want to

warning(s): both miles are stubborn in their own ways, mrs independent woman reader, slithers of mama Rio, a little bickering, mentions of social norms, pet names, rusty spanish, and language l

earth 1610 miles! who’s love language is acts of service, —as well as physical touch— in which it literally makes him go insane when you don’t let him do something for you. drastic or mundane you volunteer yourself everytime and he hates it

earth 1610 miles! who has to learn to somewhat bully his way into doing things for you… you guys sitting together during lunch and you forgot to get utensils? before you can even swing your leg over the bench of the cafeteria table he’s already up walking back to the cart that carries condiments, napkins, plastic packaged utensils and things of the sort

earth 1610 miles! where you both turn it into a little competition on who can help the other one more. you ask him to hold your phone so you can tie your shoe? that’s cute, meanwhile he fully gets down on one knee and ties them for you. Oh, his dorm is messy and he can’t find his notes he needed to finish over the weekend back home? meanwhile, your in your own room copying down what you you wrote from your notes filled with scribblings of words onto his semi empty notebook.

earth 1610 miles! who likes to do something to make your life a little easier no matter how big or small. your about to have a study session and you ran to the bathroom? guess who taking all the text books and notes out of your bag so you don’t have to rummage thought it? Well miles of course :)

earth 1610 miles! who loves you because you think about him and your actions really show it. he had to patrol and couldn’t watch the new episode of his favorite super hero, guess who recorded the who thing start to finish so he could watch it in his down time?

earth 1610 miles! who is in a healthy happy competition of completing services for one another with you because “Te amo aunque seas terco, mi vida.”

ミ★ミ★ミ★

earth 42 miles! who is quite literally wont take no for an answer. it got to a point where he would just start doing things for you instead of asking. you look like you’re carrying too many bags on your mini splurge at the mall? welp now you’re carrying NOTHING.

earth 42 miles! where you both grew up around the social norm of ‘the man should pay for dates with a woman’ and rather he knew it or not, miles subconsciously adapted it into his life. you on the other hand couldn’t call bull shit fast enough to save your life. however, while miles really did value your core beliefs he couldn’t really be bothered to break the habit. he wasn’t wealthy per say, but he had enough to simultaneously spoil you with things as well as help his mom with necessities.

earth 42 miles! who mutters a “watch out ma” when you even try and reach for your purse to pay for ANYTHING. total of $8.67 at the bodega trying to get snacks for your movie night? “I got it.” total of $78.92 after having appetizers, meals, and dessert? “I got it.” $250 to go get some self care done “I got it.”

earth 42 miles! that gets you so frustrated that you guys start to have petty arguments that mama Rio doesn’t stand for. yes you’re lovers, but she will still make you hug in the oversized, OVERSIZED, tshirt until you figure it out like you’re siblings.

earth 42 miles! who you have to learn just loves that way and if you want a change you have to force it yourself. the look he gave you when you came back from the “restroom” on your next weekly date having found out when he waived down your waiter that the meal was already paid for was priceless and so was the small twitch of his lips upward at the bright, proud look on your face.

©2024 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

[azzibueckers5]

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

(ao3 link) (read iwkpa first) (wc: ~9k)

five times paige bueckers curses azzi fudd's entire existence and generally wants to die, and one time she curses azzi fudd's entire existence but for really awesome reasons this time so it's chill.

part 1 (of 2): in which paige is down horrendous. like horrendously horrendous

AN: hi hello looky here, i did indeed write more of these idiots. enjoy angtsy paige as promised. i swear the second chapter will make up for it. i hope. i smoked a joint by myself and listened almost exclusively to waiting room while writing the majority of this... so that's your warning in terms of angst levels and editing levels lmfao i'm sorry <3 (also there's a BRIEF mention of religious guilt but its like so super light- but if you're worried at all just message me)

1. june 2020, arlington, virginia

the dc humidity is stifling as paige races up the last stretch of asphalt after azzi and turns up the driveway to the fudd’s house, breathing heavily and trying to muster up enough remaining energy to catch the younger girl in the last stretch of their run.

the air is heavy around them, thick with an incoming summer storm, and paige doesn’t even have the breath to groan aloud when azzi’s finger’s graze the basketball hoop’s post at the top of the driveway a second before her own, their designated finish line. 

“i win again, fuck you,” azzi wheezes, the pride in her voice still audible even through her heavy breathing.

paige’s eyes do not catch on the strip of skin exposed between her waistband and the bottom of her shirt when she pulls her arms up to rest them on her head. they do not. 

she slaps at azzi’s leg half heartedly and attempts to keep both the fatigue and petulance out of her voice when she whines, “you cheated- grabbed my back when we turned up the hill.” 

they both know that paige was already losing. 

azzi doesn’t dignify it with a response, and only shoves her leg back in retaliation, which. rude. 

“so hot out. wish it would start raining already,” is what she says instead, and it's a testament to how long their run was that she’s not fighting the cheating allegations. 

paige grunts in agreement and hunches over, hands on her knees, trying simultaneously to catch her breath and also valiantly to ignore the sight of azzi stripping off her tank top in her periferal. and then she discovers that if she leans over far enough, her ponytail will fall over her eyes and she can inconspicuously ogle azzi from behind strands of her hair. 

delightful.

she’s too busy letting her eyes roam across the smooth, taut skin of azzi’s stomach that’s being revealed and involuntarily tracing the sweat droplets on her abdomen to notice that azzi throws the damp shirt at paige’s head, until it hits the side of her face and drops to the ground next to her foot. 

it takes a concerning amount of strength for paige to not reach down, bring the teal material to her face, and do something entirely insane like inhale it. or worse, lick it, which she’s pretty sure isn’t something you’re supposed to want to do when confronted with your best friend’s sweaty work out top. 

belatedly, she says “ew azzi, that’s nasty it’s all sweaty,” and hopes the disgust in her voice is convincing. she wishes azzi’s sweat was as repulsive as she’s trying to make it seem, but instead it just makes her desperately want to put her mouth on the places that produce it. 

there might be something wrong with her. probably.

and then azzi’s head tilts, in the way that almost always leads to trouble, “yeah?” 

and paige’s disgust was either too convincing and azzi feels like being a shithead, or not convincing enough and still azzi feels like being a shithead but for entirely different reasons, because the brunette smirks, and proceeds to wipe a hand across the moisture on her abdomen and then shove it in paige’s face.

paige wants to die. like genuinely. death. drowning. incineration. a bolt of lightning perhaps. 

instead, she shrieks, catching azzi’s wrists in her hands, and tries to shove her sweaty forehead into azzi’s neck, wrestling with her hands to get one free and lift her own shirt up to wipe the damp material across azzi’s side. 

they’re both squealing, giggling in between indignant grunts, and the struggle lands them pushed up against the plastic of the garage door with a thud, paige pinning azzi’s hips to the surface with her own. 

and this. backfired. a little bit. because now she’s pressing a sweaty, wriggling, half naked azzi against a hard surface. with her own body. 

her brain whites out for a second, and azzi must notice because she takes advantage of her hesitation to do anything and flips them, wiping her face down paige’s arm. 

and paige isn’t like, turned on by that, but she’s not not turned on either. what the fuck.

she can’t even come up with retaliation, too focused on how close they are and how warm azzi is, and the feeling of her skin pressed up against paige’s, and. she’s going a little bit insane, she thinks.

azzi stills then, too, at paige’s non-reaction, and then they’re just staring at each other, hands still gripping each other’s in a now forgotten attempt at defense, air thick with more than just the humidity. 

they stand there for a second, just looking, chests heaving, and paige isn’t going to kiss azzi, obviously, that would be stupid, but she’s certainly thinking about it, and.

and then thunder claps, loud, above them, warning of an imminent downpour, and azzi jumps away from paige like she’s been burned, stumbling backwards. 

her face is contorted, a little shocked, like she doesn’t know what just came over her. paige wishes she knew the feeling, but unfortunately she knows all too well what just came over her. 

her head falls back against the garage door, arms going limp, and she watches, dazed, as azzi disappears into the house, calling out something about how winners get to take the first shower over her shoulder, the screen door banging behind her.

she lets out a groan loud enough to be mistaken for another roll of thunder and wonders how long this silly crush she has will continue to torment her. 

this awkwardness– usually the result of paige getting to close, touching too much– has been happening more often recently, ever since she eagerly embraced the fudd family’s hospitality to let her stay with them through quarantine. 

if she’s honest with herself, which she usually isn’t, the tension has always been there, she’s just now letting herself notice it more, and she wishes– especially in instances like this when azzi gets particularly close to letting paige cross lines before shoving her away– that she’d never let herself pay attention to it all. 

because it aches a little bit, in a masochistic, addictive sort of way, the exhaustion of having azzi close in every way but one– the one she only lets herself think about in the darkness of the middle of the night, with azzi’s slow breathing only inches away. 

she wonders when, if ever, she’ll have the courage to do something about the way her stomach flips when azzi smiles at her a little too long, or the way her fingers tingle when azzi grabs her hand during movie nights. 

she knows the other girl like the back of her hand though, knows that she isn’t ready yet, doesn’t know if she’ll ever even be ready, so she shoves her fascination with azzi’s sweat into the corner of her mind labeled things i shouldn’t think about and presses a hand to her forehead, hard, trying to physically force it back. 

she stays outside long after azzi disappears, body cooling all the way off, and doesn’t follow her until the rain starts, until the water droplets pour down onto her and cruelly wash away the traces of azzi’s sweat from her skin.

2. november 2022, storrs, connecticut

paige has had maybe the worst day ever. 

okay not really, but certainly the worst day she’s had in a while. she’s not dramatic enough to say it beats that one in august, the scar on her knee is too heavy a reminder of that, but it’s up there, just mundane enough to be brutal in the quieter ways, the ones that add up.  

it had started, this morning, when instead of waking to the movement of azzi disentangling herself from paige’s comforter, the blonde had been jerked awake by the sounds of jana and ice bickering, loudly, outside her door and an empty left side of the bed. 

azzi and her had fought the night before– nothing big, just a flare up of irritation that happened sometimes when they spent too much time together– and she’d left their weekly movie night early instead of curling up against paige’s pillows and falling asleep like usual, leaving a lingering annoyance over paige’s mood already. 

so, naturally, she’d started her day in shitty spirits, and they’d only worsened through a particularly brutal PT session. 

and then she’d had to sit through a team meeting preparing for an upcoming game that she’d spend sitting, uselessly on the bench, had gotten a paper back with a less than stellar grade, and had been caught in the rain on her walk back from the dining hall with nika. 

all she wants to do now is to wallow in self pity, make azzi cheer her up, and tuck herself into her favorite spot between the brunette’s head and shoulder and let her hands in paige hair wash away the day. 

they’d made up from the night before at practice this morning, when paige had been incessantly annoying, throwing basketballs at azzi’s shots during warm ups until she’d dropped her stupid ignoring paige act, and she’s looking forward to finally unwinding in front of one of the only people she’s ever been vulnerable in front of. 

azzi hasn’t responded to paige’s text about coming over by the time she gets out of the shower, but she doesn’t really care, too sulky to wait for her to be done with her homework or whatever she’s deemed more important than tending to paige’s ego, and she trudges down the hallway and up the stairs between their suites with more drag in her feet than usual. 

caroline is sitting on the couch when paige barges in, and she looks surprised to see paige here, which is odd considering she spends equal time in this apartment as she does her own, but paige ignores the hesitancy on her face in favor of starting down the hall, too tired to care. 

but then caroline says “ wait, no,” shrilly, a little panicked, when paige makes it about halfway through the living room after a muttered hello, and stands up off the couch, as if she needs to physically interrupt her movements. 

and that stops paige in her tracks, because what.

“bruh- what,” paige bites out, and if it's a little rude, sue her. “azzi’s here, right?”

caroline hesitates. “yes, but-”

but paige isn’t listening, and caroline will understand, anyways, that paige really just needs azzi right now, so she cuts the brunette off, mumbling “kay, catch you later,” before walking the short rest of the way down the hall and to azzi’s door.

she can hear caroline protesting behind her, more urgently, but paige is having none of it, and pushes open azzi door without knocking. 

and stops short. 

there is a boy in azzi’s room. 

there is a boy on azzi’s bed . 

in paige’s spot. on azzi’s bed. 

there is a boy in azzi’s room on azzi’s bed sitting next to azzi, touching azzi’s thigh. 

paige feels like she might throw up. 

“oh- i’m. oh-” is all she gets out, as azzi jumps off the bed like she’s been burned, the stupid boy’s hand falling limply off her leg in the process. 

“paige! what’re you- hi- what’re you doing here?” she says, eyes wide and flustered, like she’s been caught. 

because she has, a little bit. they don’t exactly talk about the people they hook up with, but paige usually has some semblance of idea on what azzi is doing, enough to know when she needs to let nika get her uproariously drunk, or call drew for a couple hours to take her mind off things. 

they also don’t really ever bring people back to their rooms– in the rare event paige is feeling particularly horny, she’ll always go to a girl’s room, never bringing them back to hers. because her room is her and azzi’s space, and she’d kinda thought azzi’s room was too, seeing as the brunette had never brought anyone back either. until now, of course. 

on a fucking random thursday evening. fuck.

paige is reeling, and the entire day’s worth of shitty events comes crashing down on her. 

“m’sorry- sorry i was just- i’ll just-” she flips a finger over her shoulder at caroline behind her and backs slowly out of the doorframe, trying to stave off the tears welling in her eyes until she’s alone.

“wait, p, are you- are you okay?” asks azzi, hands wringing together in front of her. she looks torn, and paige is genuinely offended that this mediocre boy is enough to even hold a candle to her, enough to make azzi glance back and forth between the two of them like they hold equal weight in her life.

stupid-ugly-boy has been entirely silent throughout this horrifically awkward interaction, head moving between the two of them in uncomfortable confusion, and paige really wants to kick his face in. 

instead, she mumbles out a “no yeah- i’ll just. come back later,” and her voice sounds shaky. what the fuck.

azzi tilts her head and asks, imploringly, “you sure?” and paige almost wants to just break down right then and there, and cry about physical therapy and the rain and her stupid knee and her stupid paper and how this fucking guy messing everything up, but she glances at ugly-stupid-boy still sitting on azzi’s bed, and nods once, before turning on her heel. 

“m’sure. see you like- tomorrow. or whatever.” 

her voice doesn’t crack, which is something, and she hears azzi ask again but she’s already halfway back down the hallway, speeding past caroline and her pitying expression to get the fuck away from whatever is about to happen in azzi’s room. 

she pauses once she gets outside their apartment’s door for a second, half expecting azzi to be right behind her with a dismissive excuse for ugly-stupid-boy and soothing words for paige, because azzi always knows when she’s upset, always prioritizes fixing it, but when she realizes after five seconds that azzi isn’t coming, she starts down the hallway and lets the tears begin to fall.

she hasn’t cried over azzi in months, ever since she decided that she was going to have to be fine with being just friends, just best friends, that it was enough, but by the time she gets back to her room, she’s full on sobbing, and she collapses down onto her bed, muffling her cries into the st. john's basketball sweatshirt that azzi had left two days ago when she’d been there for a movie night and had ended up sleeping over. 

she doesn’t even have the right to be upset, not really, and this somehow makes it hurt worse. 

because azzi and her weren’t dating– weren’t anything– and she didn’t owe paige an explanation for what she did with her life, her body. even if it was with really stupid ugly boys. especially then. 

her heart feels like it's been hit with a hammer anyways, though, and she takes back the thought that she’d had earlier– that she wasn’t dramatic enough to say this was the worst day ever– because this was now officially tied with the day she’d torn her acl. 

at least that had had a fix- a surgery, and a rehab regimen, and doctors telling her how to get better, get stronger. she even had a return date, a definitive end to the injury, even if it was far off. 

but this feeling in her chest, the absolute panic coursing through her veins? there was no doctor that could cure it, and no timeline on when it would get better. 

she was starting to think it never would.  

…

paige must fall asleep like that, curled around azzi’s sweatshirt crying, because she wakes to the feeling of azzi pulling the hoodie out of her arms. 

she blinks blearily up at her, eyes puffy and disoriented, and she hates herself a little bit for immediately noticing how soft and pretty azzi looks in the dim light of the room.

“can i-” is azzi’s sheepish, whispered question, gesturing down at paige’s arms. 

even in her sluggish state, she knows she should say no. even in normal friendship circumstances, crawling into each others beds after having sex with other people is considered fucking weird. 

but paige is a weak, sad, little idiot, and she does not say no. she nods instead, and azzi visibly sighs in relief, before slipping into paige’s arms like she has a thousand times before and tangling their legs. 

and paige’s heart hurts, because how dare azzi seek her out after breaking it so casually. and how dare her dumbass self let her. 

she doesn’t know why she asks, but she can’t stop the question once it pops into her head, and she waits a few moments, like maybe if long enough time passes azzi will fall asleep and she won’t have to hear the answer, and then:

“did you- did you fuck him?” she whispers, and the word fuck comes out harsh, vulgar. 

azzi stiffens in her arms, and there’s silence for a few beats, before she exhales a quiet “ paige,” and it’s answer enough. 

it cuts deep, so, so deep, and paige should cry, and yell, and kick azzi out of her bedroom, because that’s not fair , that she gets to sleep with other people and then come crawling back to paige, traces of someone else’s hands all over her, but instead she just inhales quietly against the stinging behind her eyes.

she shifts them on the bed, so azzi is curled up with her head on paige’s chest, and tilts her head back so the younger girl won’t be able to feel her tears when they inevitably fall.

and as azzi drifts off, paige wonders what her last straw will be, because she’s creeping closer and closer to the point of no return, the heartbreak of no return. 

she’s weak for azzi though, knows she’ll let the girl do almost anything, and as she lies awake, tears dripping quietly, uncomfortably into her ears, she knows she’ll always let azzi come crawling back, always give her whatever she wants. 

it’s not at all a comforting thought.

3. april 2025, tampa, florida

the music in the hotel suite they opted to turn into an impromptu after party is just on the side of loud called obnoxious , but paige can’t bring herself to give a fuck when azzi is singing along to the song emphatically next to her, smile wide and notes slightly off key as she tries to drag paige in closer to dance with her. 

her hair is damp from the earlier spray of champagne, and there’s confetti stuck to her forehead, and paige thinks she’s the most beautiful woman that's ever graced the earth. 

and she knows they’re both like, really, truly, exceptionally drunk, but she really hopes she’ll remember this moment in the morning: her and azzi, tangled together on the dance floor, pure joy splashed across the brunettes face, their teammates in various stages of hammered around them, champagne still flowing and laughter echoing through the room. 

she feels like she’s on cloud nine, like nothing could pull her down from  the high of the natty, and azzi’s unwavering attention, and her beautiful, strong, pretty hands that are tangled in the net still dangling from paige’s neck. 

when people start winding down (see: caroline carrying kk upstairs, and ice and jana passing out on the couch in the corner), paige and azzi drag themselves off to paige’s room. 

and in her haze, paige doesn’t really know why, but they stay tangled together on their waltz to the elevators, and in the elevators, and then back down the hall towards the room, and when paige almost trips over the door frame after fumbling with the key card, azzi laughs so hard she almost causes them both to crash to the ground, and.

and azzi’s laughter is still the best sound she’s ever heard– and she’s heard the buzzer at the end of a national championship game win– and paige really wants to taste it. 

and then. and then she is tasting it because she’s kissing azzi, wide and messy and giddy. 

and azzi’s kissing back, she’s kissing paige back, and this is definitely the best day of paige’s life, no doubt about it. 

they stumble through the door into the main room, bumping into the dresser in their insistence upon staying attached to eachother, but paige can’t be bothered to actually pay attention to where they’re going because she’s kissing azzi, and azzi’s hands are underneath her shirt on her stomach and her hands are in azzi’s hair– and holy fuck.

azzi makes a needy little noise in the back of her throat when paige tugs at her shirt, and their lips part for a second so she can yank it off, and paige wants that noise imprinted in her mind forever . 

she tosses the offending material behind her just as azzi turns around and launches herself onto the bed, giggling all the way, and paige takes a second, in her absolutely sloshed state, to appreciate the sight of a happy, half naked azzi climbing off balance onto the bed and waiting to be kissed, just as giddy as paige is. 

she’s so pretty. and she’s waiting for paige to come and kiss her, and fuck.

this is even better than raising the trophy over their heads, even better than cutting the net. 

and then azzi whines out a needy “ paige,” and she scrambles to follow, because what the princess wants, the princess gets. 

she giggles aloud at that thought– and then realizes when azzi makes an indignant noise that it hadn’t been just a thought but she’d said it out loud too. oops.

azzi pulls paige down on top of her the second she gets close, and she falls, limbs knocking and tangling in an unfortunate manner, but then their mouths are melding together again and paige doesnt care at all that her leg is trapped because they’re kissing . 

she moves her mouth down for a second, just to suck a mark into the skin of azzi’s chest, and azzi moans into her ear, and jesus christ. paige is overwhelmed. she pulls her head back with a nip of her teeth, and the sight of the darkened skin, red and angry and proof that azzi is hers, is enough to make her throb in her sweats. 

she surges back up to kiss azzi again when the younger girl's hands tangle in her hair, tugging like she’s just as needy for it as paige is, and.

and she doesn’t mean to– really, she doesn’t– but she’s still riding the high of the game, and azzi is spread out underneath her, clad in only a sports bra and sweats, kissing her, and there’s so much champagne running through her veins, and so much skin to put her mouth on and. she just loves azzi so, so much that she has to tell her. 

“fuck, az. love you- love you so much,” she mumbles, pressing the words into azzi’s neck, and dragging her tongue across her collarbone. “m’so in love with you,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. 

it seems like something azzi should know, probably, since it's so awesome and they’re kissing . 

except– azzi stiffens.

“no p, shhhhh– why’d you ruin it, c’mere,” azzi slurs, lazily, one hand pressing over paige’s mouth, and. 

and paige's heart cracks in her chest. 

she pulls back and blinks down at azzi, trying to come up with a coherent response while her mind catches up to the reality of what she’s just said.

“wha’” she says dumbly, at a loss, white noise suddenly filling her ears. 

“can we just. can this just be kissing– i don’ wanna complicate…” azzi trails off, and then when paige says nothing, tries to drag her in for another kiss, eyes unfocussed.

paige lets her, for a second, before her mind catches up to it, and then she jerks her face back, trying to ignore the keening noise azzi makes when she does, because. 

because she’s just told azzi she was in love with her, and the response had been don’t ruin it. she wanted to die.

“azzi, i can’t–” 

she frowns, eyebrows drawing up comically, and has the audacity to sound annoyed. “why not?”

paige cannot do this right now.

“can we just– can we just talk about this in the morning?” she asks, voice cracking on the last word. at azzi’s grumpy huff, she adds, a little desperate, “azzi, promise me we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

and azzi must be really drunk, because her eyes are drooping, but she agrees. “yeah, promise, p.”

paige doesn’t believe her, doesn’t even know why she wants to talk about it in the morning anyways, but as she glances down at the mark, now taunting, that stares up at her from azzi’s collarbone, dread settles heavy in her gut.

“go to sleep, az,” she whispers, and tucks a curl behind her ear.

“‘kay,” she replies, sleepily, drunkenly, and paige thinks fuck.

and she doesn’t know how that started and ended so fast— they were barely in the elevator like ten minutes ago— but paige feels her whole world come crashing down. 

and when azzi falls asleep almost instantly, half on paige’s side of the bed, curls tangled and face peaceful, like she didn’t just shatter paige’s whole entire heart, paige thinks that this might be the thing that finally kills her. 

she’s still drunk, so drunk, and the room is spinning from the liquor and blurring from the tears. 

she tries to muster up sleepiness that won’t come, tries to shut down the searing panic that’s thrumming through her, but the only coherent thought in her head is fuckfuckfuckfuck.

she’d known, on a deeper level, that azzi probably didn’t feel the same, but the way she’d been looking at paige recently, they ways she’d clung to her tonight, the way they’d just been fucking making out , it had made paige think, just maybe, that she’d had a chance, that maybe azzi’d felt it too.

but now she knows, with certainty, from the way azzi had callously rejected her, that azzi didn’t feel the same. 

if her entire body wasn’t so paralyzed with dread, she thinks she would probably throw up.

eventually, on what should be the happiest day of her life so far, championship net still tangled around her neck, dreams achieved, and the love of her miserable life next to her, she falls asleep crying. 

because she knows, with all the drunk certainty in the world, that this has fucked them up, fucked paige up, in a way that will be impossible to fix.

the taste of champagne on azzi’s lips and the echo of the words why’d you ruin it follow her into her dreams. 

and when azzi is gone when she wakes up, she’s not even surprised.

4. april 2026, indianapolis, indiana

the arena is deafening with the wrong crowd’s noise, almost suffocating, sky blue and yellow confetti falling around the sea of people on the court, as paige watches in despair as ucla celebrates their thorough defeat of uconn in the national championship.

the huskies had barely stood a chance, in all honesty. sarah had gotten hurt in the semis- a strained ligament after a particularly hard fall in the paint that didn’t pose serious long term concerns but had sidelined her for today’s game, and kk hadn’t been able to clear concussion protocol after a hard hit during the first quarter. 

which left azzi, and the rest of uconn, limping through what would otherwise be a quite competitive match, and just trying to not get blown out. 

azzi had played spectacularly too, in paige’s deeply biased but correct opinion, keeping it close enough to not be embarrassing and racking up 33 points and 4 steals. 

but it hadn’t been enough, and even from a hundred feet away, without having talked in months, paige could see how upset azzi was, how hard this loss would be felt. 

it made her want to bundle azzi up in her arms and hide her from the rest of the world– tuck her away and talk her down from the spiral that paige knew with certainty her brain was already starting to spin. 

except she doesn’t have that privilege anymore, and it was killing her. 

she’d sat with nika and a couple other ex teammates, so they get to go down onto the floor to give consolatory hugs and apologies, but by the time paige gets through kk and geno and all the other people who want to talk to her, azzi has already disappeared into the tunnel. 

caroline takes one look at paige’s faraway gaze following the back of azzi’s head, and shoves her towards the entrance. “go find her. gonna be the only one who gets through to her anyways.”

and it should be reassuring, that caroline thinks paige is still the right person to go after her, but it only adds to the pool of dread in her stomach. regardless, though, with a pat on nika’s shoulder, paige slips away into the tunnel, knowing without a doubt that azzi is hiding in an empty room somewhere, trying to compose herself enough to talk to the media. 

she ducks into three different doorways with no sign of the brunette, before coming across an empty office, lights off but an achingly familiar back profile visible through the window in the door. 

paige pauses, hesitating. a year ago, she wouldn’t miss a beat, would already be next to azzi telling her a stupid joke and trying to get a smile out of her, but she’s not sure azzi wants that from her anymore. paige hasn’t exactly been a stellar friend, avoiding alumni events and dodging texts, and the guilt is suffocating. 

still though, azzi is hurting, and paige will never be able to sit and watch her be upset without at least trying to do something about it.

cautiously, she raps her knuckles against the doorframe, before pushing in, not waiting for azzi to turn around. 

she does a double take when she turns enough to see that it's paige, and her heart breaks in her chest at how surprised she looks that it's the blonde, and how upset she looks at the loss.  

they stare at each other for a second, and it's almost awkward– a reminder of the last year that's aged them and driven them apart– and paige’s heart constricts. azzi looks so tired. 

she doesn’t know why she says it, why she thinks it will be funny, but she makes a pathetic attempt at breaking the tense silence by blurting “miss me out there?” and immediately regrets it. 

azzi’s face falls, cautious expression morphing into blatant hurt, and she curls in on herself. and fuck. paige is really stupid. 

“no, azzi, i didn’t-” she stutters out.

and then without thinking, with only the visceral need to comfort the younger girl running through her, paige closes the space between them in three steps and wraps her arms around azzi, one hand cupping the back of her head and nestling azzi into her neck. 

and then they’re hugging, and azzi relaxes into her, curling so tightly together that maybe they’ll be able to forget about the distance of the last year.

“m’really proud of you,” she presses into azzi’s hair. “still the best shooter in the nation, forreal.”

“i still lost ,” comes the response, ever the pessimist. 

“not your fault. played better than last year, even, and you were the mop .” 

paige pauses, assessing the mood, and then adds, still into azzi’s hair, “gonna go number one next week, az. i just know it. dc’ll love you. they already do.”

“maybe, but i’d probably pick lauren, cause y’know, she won,” she protests, and paige can feel the tears soaking the collar of her t-shirt. 

“hey.” 

she gently tugs azzi’s head back and out of her shoulder to look at her for a second, faces close. 

which is a mistake, because now they’re inches apart and azzi is so beautiful, even crying like this, and paige has missed her so badly, but she needs to make sure azzi believes the next words out of her mouth. 

“if they don’t pick you, they’re fuckin’ stupid, okay?” she reassures, wiping a thumb under azzi’s eye. 

she inhales shakily but nods, and paige can’t resist adding “besides. either way you’re still gonna lose to me in the league,” with a lopsided smile.

azzi collapses back into her, with a weak groan, laugh muffled into paige’s shoulder, and it sounds more like a sob, actually, but it’s something , and paige just tries to hold her, tries to lessen the pain with physical touch alone. 

the last time they’d been this close without awkwardness had been almost exactly a year ago, and they’d been kissing, and. 

paige forcefully shut down those thoughts. she has azzi here, in her arms, and she isn’t going to waste it. she closes her eyes and tries to memorize the feeling of azzi’s strong body pressed up against her, the tickle of her curls against paige’s neck, the grip of her fingers against the back of paige’s shirt, the way she smelled, still sweaty from the game. 

because she doesn’t know if she’ll ever get this again, have azzi this close.

they’re quiet for a bit, just breathing each other in. 

and then azzi mumbles “i’m really mad at you,” into her shoulder, in lieu of all the distance between them, the awkwardness that they both know is paige’s fault, and guilt floods her senses.

paige thinks azzi can’t possibly be more mad at her than she is at herself.

“yeah,” she breathes out. “i know,” and tightens her hold. 

she wants to apologise, to get on her knees and beg for forgiveness and convince azzi to forgive her, to let her back in. that leads to hurt, though, so instead, she just grips her a little harder, like maybe telepathically she can convince azzi how much she misses her, how much the last year has fucking sucked.

the seconds tick by, and paige hopes that this is as healing for azzi as it is hurting for herself. 

and then a staff member paige doesn’t recognize comes barrelling into the room, shattering the sanctuary of peace that they’ve carved out, and azzi wrenches herself from away paige’s grasp, face wet and hands shaking.

“oh- i’m so sorry- i didn’t realize…” the woman trails off, seemingly processing that she’d just interrupted azzi fudd and paige bueckers.  

azzi wipes at her eyes frantically, and stutters out “no it’s um- it’s fine i think i have to go do press,” before darting out of the room with only a glance back at paige, eyes wide and expression weary. 

and then she’s just. gone. 

the woman looks between paige’s stock still position and the space by the door that azzi just fled from and starts profusely apologizing, but paige cuts her off with a gruff “its fine,” and the woman stops, before nodding and radiply following azzi out the door.

and then its just paige, and the lingering scent of azzi’s hair, and the ghost of her touch in this fucking empty office. 

she wishes, often, that she could hate azzi, because it would make this whole thing easier. but this is only a reinforcement of how she will never be able to do that, will probably spend the rest of her life loving her and missing the feeling of them pressed together. 

she stays in the room for ten more minutes, trying to compose herself, and when she’s more emotional for the rest of the day than she otherwise would be, she just blames it on ucla.

5. july 2026, dallas, texas

sometimes, on her darkest days, when she wakes up with azzi’s phantom touch on her face or her laugh still ringing in her ears, paige wonders if loving azzi as much as she does, without reciprocation, is her punishment for being gay, because it aches a thousand times worse than any injury she's ever had to endure. it's the kind of hurt that feels like it has to be caused by some higher power, has to be some sort of eternal damnation. 

this morning is one of those days, and she wakes with the echo of azzi’s name on her lips, only to be reminded of the harsh reality of her empty dallas apartment upon opening her eyes. 

she sighs, long-sufferingly, into her pillows, who offer her no advice, and resigns herself to another hollow day. 

there is no part of her, anymore at least, that struggles with her relationship with god and her sexuality– ironically enough it had been azzi that had talked her through her guilt-induced panic attacks during high school– but the feeling of punishment still lingers, occasionally, like maybe god was spiteful that she’d always worship azzi just a tiny bit more. 

she sighs again, this time to her ceiling, which remains as mockingly adviceless as her pillows, and counts to three in her head before dragging herself out of bed to get ready for practice. 

basketball is usually a sure bet at a good distraction, but today, they’re prepping for the next three games. 

which means they’re prepping for the mystics. 

which means paige has to see azzi’s fucking perfect (face) shooting form seventeen different times, and endure sideways glances from everyone in the room, as if knowing that azzi would be here, in dallas, in a weeks time wasn’t nauseating enough as is without everyone pitying her. 

only dijonai and arike knew the gut wrenching truth: that they had been neither lovers nor strictly just friends, but something worse, in the middle, just teetering on the knife’s edge that was more , until paige had knocked them off balance and the blade had eventually sliced through her head and heart and cut her open, leaving azzi with only a few knicks

the team was still aware, though, that they were on less than stellar terms– probably thought they were exes like the rest of the fucking world– but that didn’t spare paige from having to offer up intel, as coach had put it, on slowing her down 

(her quiet loyalty to azzi has no limits, it seems, because she only offers up a meager statement about the shooting guard occasionally favoring her left leg, which isn’t even really true anymore.  not that paige paid enough attention to azzi’s games to notice that progress. at all.)

film, evidently, drags by, and even the abnormal amount of stupid jokes from dijonai isn’t enough to distract paige from the miserable anticipation of having azzi in the same city. 

practice afterwards is even worse, somehow, and paige is uncharacteristically sloppy, getting told on three separate occasions to lock in. 

she lets arike trail after her when she hits the weight room instead of the showers, if only because she doesn’t have the energy to protest, and prays that the older girl, who has become something of a mentor, and who at least somewhat understands the predicament, leaves paige to her thoughts. 

surprise, surprise, her prayers go unanswered, and she makes it barely three reps into her chest presses before arike breaks the weighted silence.

“you can’t go on like this forever, p. you know that,” is her really chill, lightweight conversation starter. always to the point. 

“dunno what you’re talking about,” she says, stubbornly, sulkily. 

arike doesn’t even glance up from her own rack, like paige’s denial doesn’t deserve a response, before sighing.

“i’m talkin bout you barely being able to say the name of a girl you haven’t spoken to in months, haven’t been alone with in a year.”

paige resists the urge to tell her that, actually, paige had been alone with her in april, and it had hurt so badly to be that close to azzi that she’d nearly fled the state that night. it probably won’t help her case. 

“i can say azzi’s name. i just don’t like to.” her voice comes out relatively smooth, and paige mentally pats herself on the back.

“you grippin’ the bar so hard i’m worried you gon’ snap it in half.”

whatever. at paige’s stubborn silence, she continues. 

“look. i get it, okay, i do. but you need to at least try and move on. take advantage of what’s left of the break. take a pretty girl out on a date-”

“ rike-” paige starts to protest, but is ignored.

“you don’t have to marry her, paige. you don’t even gotta kiss her. but this sulking thing has got to stop.”

“i’m not sulking,” she says. not at all in a tone of voice that could potentially be mistaken for sulking. 

arike just raises an eyebrow. “i have a friend, jadyn, she’s cool. used to hoop. she’s asked about you before, definitely your type. lemme set you up, please. if not for your sake then the rest of us who’ve had to watch you mope since you got here.”

“how do you know what my type even is,” paige says, stubbornly. 

arike lets the bar fall out of her hands post-squat with a loud thump, before beginning to gather her things. mockingly, she asks, “do you want me to answer that?”

paige does not. she switches gears. “i’m not moping.”

unimpressed, arike squirts some water from her gatorade bottle down at paige as she walks by in response. “yeah, sure. just think about it, okay? baby steps.”

…

paige contemplates arike’s offer on the drive home, and in the shower, and even throughout her automated, rather lacking post shower routine. 

the last time she’d hooked up with someone had been a few months after the natty. paige had been hammered after a win with dijonai, had tried to take a random girl home from the bar, and had proceeded to call the poor girl azzi while they were making out against the door of her apartment. it had been as disastrous as you’d expect, and paige hadn’t tried since. 

she hopes, maybe, that the older girl has dropped it, and paige won’t have to either awkwardly shut it down again, or worse, suffer through a date with an unsuspecting stranger. but then as she’s pulling on a pair of sweats, her phone lights up in front of her with a text from the devil herself. 

arike: im sending jadyn your number, pleaseeee just give it a shot. 

she sighs, and glances at the mirror across from her. even now, a year since being anything remotely azzi’s, she still looks at herself and only sees traces of the younger girl. 

her third piercings that she’d let azzi coax her into (she had been staunchly against it until azzi had said, casually, “it’ll be hot” and paige had agreed in a matter of milliseconds.)

her hair, damp from her shower, smelling like the shampoo paige had been using since freshman year at uconn because azzi had said it smelled nice once. 

even her t-shirt, subconsciously chosen out of her drawer, was the color blue that azzi had said matched her eyes. 

it was ridiculous, after all this time, all this silence– silence that was paige’s doing– how firmly intertwined azzi still was in her life. her claws were still buried in paige’s whole being, dug just as deep as they’d ever been. to be fair, she’d never actually tried to dislodge them, beyond the whole no speaking thing, but still. 

she knows that probably needs to change, knows that part of the reason for putting distance between them was so that eventually paige could think about her without a knife between her ribs, but the thought of moving on feels wrong. even the idea of changing her fucking shampoo feels like a step too far. 

because paige doesn’t want to forget. there’s almost comfort in the misery: missing azzi– loving azzi– is as familiar as breathing, even if that breath feels like it's being ripped from asthma ridden lungs.

arike is right though, paige needs to at least try. she thinks about the words baby steps , and tries to ignore the nausea in her stomach.

she glances back down at her phone on the dresser when it lights up with another text, but her eyes skip over the notification from arike without reading it, and land on the time: 5:55. 

she only knows about angel numbers because azzi had gone through a brief phase during her second acl tear that she’d called her spiritual awakening (paige had called it azzi’s trip to crazy town ), but still, she remembered what 555 had meant. transformation. it had stuck with her, a little more than she’d expected, and she glances at her framed uconn #5 jersey that hangs next to the door to her closet. 

she can hear azzi’s voice in the back of her head, reading out of some voodoo book she’d picked up on a trip to her favorite bookstore, reverent even with paige making fun of her every thirty seconds. 

555 signals change and new beginnings, suggesting you should let go of old patterns that no longer serve you and embrace the significant shifts and personal growth that are on the horizon. 

god. she’d give anything to be back in that tiny dorm room in storrs, curled around azzi like nothing outside of her room had existed and listening to her drone on about tarot cards and spiritual realms. before paige had gone and fucked everything up.

but she’s not- she’s in dallas and azzi is in dc, she thinks , she doesn’t even know for sure, because they haven’t talked in months and- paige needs to get a grip.

and when the third 5 ticks to a 6 and her phone buzzes again, this time from an unknown number, paige resigns herself to trying . 

she’ll try to listen to this girl arike is convinced paige will like, and not picture azzi in her place; try and relax and let loose and embrace the possibility of moving on. maybe she’ll even let herself be taken home, she doesn’t know. 

but this moping thing is really getting old, and she knows it can’t last forever. over a year is already teetering on the edge of pathetic, and that's without considering the part about how paige is wallowing over a girl she didn’t even date. 

embracing change and new beginnings or whatever. she can do that. 

… 

god is laughing at her. he must be. embracing change this ass. 

as she sits in her car outside the apartment building she’s just fled from, trying to calm herself down enough to not be a danger on the road on her drive home, she curses her entire existence. 

herself, for just generally being a pathetic idiot, the stupid fucking angel numbers, for giving her the entirely false impression change was coming, and god, for making her life one long-running, miserable joke.

and most importantly, azzi fudd. for being like, so impossibly wonderful that paige is on the verge of a panic attack just from hearing her voice for the first time in months. 

how did she know. 

panic courses through her, more potent than the venom of a snake bite. all it took for paige to resort back to hopelessly, impossibly azzi’s, despite the taste of someone else on her lips, was a phone call that lasted less than 2 minutes and azzi saying i miss you.  

she feels like the scene is frozen (surprise, surprise, even the metaphors she makes up in her head about her own life are straight from azzi’s favorite movie) where ana begins to climb up the side of a cliff, huffing and puffing and evidently feeling like she’s made an exceptional amount of progress, only for the shot to pan out and reveal that she’s only a couple inches off the ground. 

because she hasn’t had to interact with azzi at all in the last year really, aside from painful group events and ignored texts, and she’s self aware, knows that getting over azzi is gonna take more than a year of just trying and failing not to think about her, but she didn’t realize how easily she’d fall back into her old feelings after a god forsaken two minute phone call. she’s been trying, slowly, to make progress, reconcile with what her life looks like without azzi in it, and had almost convinced herself real headway was being made, only for the last twenty minutes to completely shatter that mirage. 

paige knows she shouldn’t read into it, let azzi voice in her ear spark anything but regret and hurt.

except azzi misses her .

the ten minute drive back to hers is a miserable affair of trying not to think about the hurt in azzi’s voice following jadyn’s question in the background, and the fact that azzi said she’d text, and. 

and the fact that she’d called paige. drunk. saying she missed her.

paige has the backbone of a worm.

she’s returning from an otherwise very decent date and hookup and of course azzi as is the only thing on her mind. of course. 

she feels a little bit guilty, too, as if she was like. cheating on azzi. which is fucking ridiculous, she feels ridiculous. but she can’t fully squash the thought that azzi somehow knew that paige had just been kissing someone else and pretending the straight, silky hair in her hands had been curly and wild instead. 

whatever. 

she allots herself five more minutes to freak out, before resigning herself to the fact that she has to get out of the car, but as she goes to turn it off, her eyes catch on the time on the dash: 1:11am. 

the voice in the back of her head that sounds like azzi says the law of attraction and manifestation. 

she slams her head on the steering wheel in despair. 

…

sleep that night comes slowly, fitfully, morning even slower, and paige tries valiantly to set her overeager expectations that azzi will text to a very manageable zero.

she’s never been good at wrangling her mind into reason when azzi is involved, though, and when she rolls over at 8:30 and has no new notifications, she takes the pillow she’d just been lying on, presses it to her face, and tries to smother the side of herself that is still pining, nine years strong. 

(she fails.)

but then, after dragging herself out of bed, while her head is stuck deep in her closet, trying to pick out which depression hoodie she wants to wallow in today, she hears the distinct sound of a text tone from where she’d left her phone on the bed. 

she jams her elbow into the shelf, and then again into the doorframe in her haste to check her phone, but she can’t even pay attention to the sharp pain of her funny bone, because there, against her lockscreen of drew in a uconn bueckers jersey, is a text from azzi fudd. 

azzi 💗: you gonna show me your cowboy boots collection or what

and every (meager, pitiful) ounce of progress from the last fifteen months that hadn’t already disappeared the night before flies out the window. 

if paige were a smart woman, with her best interests at heart, she would reply with something dry and dismissive, push azzi away and resort back to the moping that’s been occupying her life for the last year. 

unfortunately, paige is a fucking idiot, through and thorugh, and azzi remembered to text, and is trying, again, despite paige’s track record of ignoring her, and. 

paige really, really misses her. 

and she hasn’t exactly made a lick of progress in this whole distancing herself thing, and really, what could one hang out do. it’s not like paige can fall more in love with her.

she waits for what she believes is a respectable, chill, not too eager amount of time– time in which she passes by pacing holes in her floor and trying not to throw herself out the window– and then responds an hour later. 

she can do friends. she can do one game and a hangout and not lose her mind. definitely. 

when paige has grey hairs in five years, she’s billing azzi for the dye treatment.

AN: peace and love <3 as always pretty pretty please tell me how you liked it. i BEG. wait also the title comes from lizzy mcalpine's pushing it down and praying, and it's the line that directly follows I wanna know peace again, wanna sing a different song which I thought was quite fitting. ALSO! the second chapter (the +1) should be out in the next couple of days i just wanted to get this out first don't worry. i will redeem myself from the angst and give you fluff and smut i swear on my life.