fuddsgf

[fuddsgf]

tag, you’re it - matt sturniolo

summary𞠬: daisy is new in town. her neighbors are friendly—too friendly.

pairing: matt x oc

warnings: stalking, obsession, invasion of privacy, non-consensual photography, mild language

takes place in boston and the triplets aren’t famous during this

ALL OF THIS IS FAKE THIS IS PURE FICTION!

tags: @patscorner @wintersstan @bernardsbendystraws

log in

username: mattsturniolo

password: ********

open file 5521?

yes  no

–

file opened

name: daisy rose larson

birthday: july 10th, 2004

siblings: alison larson (12)

parents: violet and james larson

just moved in. four houses down. lives alone. nineteen. college student.

she unloaded boxes by herself. no boyfriend. no roommates. just her. valedictorian. likes to read a lot. same with writing. keeps to herself. does not like to party. doesn't know who i am. at least not yet.

-

matts eyes flickered up from the screen just in time to see her, daisy, turn the corner on her afternoon jog. same time everyday. just like clockwork.

he ducked slightly. letting the curtain fall back into place.

"matt!" nicks voice rang from the kitchen. his heart jumped. he slammed the laptop shut and walked out casually.

"what?"

"we figured we'd go say hi to the new neighbor," chris added, already tying his shoes, "you in?"

-

the sound of knocking startled daisy. she paused her show, made her way to the front door.

three boys stood at her porch.

"hi?"

"hey!" said nick smiling brightly. "we live a few houses down. figured we'd come and introduce ourselves"

"oh! hi, i'm daisy," she said, shaking his hand "i'm nick. this is chris and that's matt." her eyes lingered on matt for a beat too long. he smiled, soft, quiet.

"come in?"

they stepped inside. matt scanned everything, from the pictures on the wall to the barely-decorated corners of a life just beginning.

"your place is nice," he said

"thanks. i'm still making it mine."

-

friday, march 16.

she says she's still decorating, but i think it's perfect. i even memorized the layout already.

i follow her sometimes . not too close. just enough to make sure she's okay.

she walks to class. i'm there.

she checks her mailbox. i'm watching from the upstairs window.

she lingers too long at the bookstore window? i buy the book and leave it on her porch.

no note just her name.

-

matt shut the door to his room, locked it, and dropped to his knees.

he pressed his palm against the warped floorboard until it popped up.

beneath it was a box. filled with polaroids, receipts, and trinkets.

a bottle cap from the cafe she loves. the ribbon from a gift she had gotten. new photos slid in beside the old ones. her, last tuesday. hoodie and messy bun. headphones in.

-

that morning, daisy opened the door to leave for work.

a box sat on the mat. no address. no sender. just her name in a soft cursive.

curious, she brought it inside and opened it with scissors.

inside: a bottle of perfume. the exact one she'd paused to admire at the mall a week ago. she hadn't told anyone.

weird.

but... maybe she mentioned it? maybe her mom remembered?

she sprayed it once, and smiled.

and that's how it started. every time she liked something, a candle, a sweater, a book, it showed up at her door.

she told herself it was sweet, her parents must be spoiling her.

she didn't see the camera

-

april 15

she loves the gifts. i know she does.

she doesn't know it's me

she can't

not after eliana.

this time it'll be different.

she's different.

-

one afternoon, matt pulled up besides her mid-jog.

"hey," he smiled "ice cream?"

daisy hesitated. then laughed. "it's my cheat day. lets go."

he took her to tipping cow. she'd never been. she smiled the whole time like a kid in a candy store.

he watches her eat like he was watching a miracle.

that night, she walked to the grocery store alone. 10:30pm.

she liked how quiet it was.

but the silence broke behind her. steady footsteps.

she sped up. the footsteps did too.

when she finally turned, a man in all black was following her.

she ran. bags swinging, her lungs burning.

she didn't stop until she was behind locked doors.

-

weeks passed.

the paranoia faded. she let herself believe it had been nothing. a coincidence.

until one day, she saw him again. the same man. this time, standing still. just watching.

she ran all the way home. slammed the door shut. locked everything. pulled the curtains tight.

her phone rang startling her. her hands shook as she answered. "hello?" a pause, then "you really think you can run from me?" his voice was low. distorted "you can't hide, daisy. you're mine."

that night, she slept with the bat beside her bed. nothing happened. but in the morning, she found an envelope in the mailbox. no return address. bold black ink:

DAISY LARSON

inside were dozens of polaroids.

her. on her walk, in her college lecture, buying groceries, brushing her hair by the window.

on the back of the last one was scribbled in red ink:

say cheese.

"say cheese?" she whispered aloud. something moved behind her. a cloth pressed to her mouth. darkness.

delete file 5521?

delete save

logout?

yes no

daisy woke up in darkness. her limbs wouldn't move. tied at the wrists and ankles. a bandanna presses against her mouth. she tried to scream. but nothing would come out.

the room smelled like mildew. cement walls. old pipes overhead. her eyes adjusted just enough to see it. painted in thick dripping red across the wall in front of her

TAG, YOU'RE IT. ;)

[fuddsgf]

prologue

birch lake, new hampshire — july 5, 1985

“the lake doesn’t take things. it waits.”

—

JOURNAL ENTRY — 07/05/85

the lake doesn’t take things.

it waits.

that’s what people get wrong.

they think stillness means peace.

but it just means no one’s looking closely.

the truth is still down there.

waiting for someone to breathe it in.

waiting for someone like me.

the sound of a camcorder clicking on is heard.

first: static. then the lake comes to view.

it’s dusk, and the water glows with that strange golden light. pine trees stretch behind it, soft and motionless. elise chevalier’s voice—young, steady, too calm—cuts through the stillness, off-screen.

“don’t go too far out, jules.” she warned from the dock

julien decker grins over his shoulder. he steps into the canoe. the oar drags a ripple across the surface like a knife. for a moment, the entire screen is just water.

then a plash.

not from him.

elise lowers the camcorder. her brows pinch.

“did you hear that?” she whispered looking at julien.

silence.

behind her, the lakehouse. white paint peeling, windows cracked. laughter spills out the upstairs window. someone’s lighting a fire. someone’s drinking too much. the past starts to smolder.

elise drops the camera, it landing sideways. the final shot before the tape ends:

a gold bracelet, half-buried in the dirt.

the initials E.C. engraved on it.

⸻

later, when the police ask her, elise says she never saw that bracelet before.

the footage ends too soon.

the lake was calm.

that nothing ever really happened at all.

tags: @patscorner @kmoneymartini @authentic-girl03 @vamptizm @wintersstan

new series ! hope i can make it to yalls expectations and yall enjoy it :)

[fuddsgf]

elise chevalier… the enigmatic, emotionally guarded daughter of a wealthy family. her parents own the lakehouse. she’s always composed… until the cracks start to show.

azzi fudd… loyal, steady, protective. she’s elise’s girlfriend, but not all of their friends know they’re together. azzi doesn’t trust easily—and now someone’s trying to frame her.

logan pryce… charming, manipulative, ex to sienna, always has a camcorder.

sienna lang… chaotic energy, always pushing boundaries. doesn’t believe in “truth.”

riley moore… everyone’s therapist. the one who knows too much.

cassie hart… a local girl who somehow ends up at the lakehouse that weekend.

julien decker… the kind of boy you couldn’t ignore—even if you tried to forget him.

[fuddsgf]

if looks could kill - ines bettencourt

summary𞠬: two spies, one mission. only one can walk away— unless they choose to walk together.

warnings: gun violence, injury, blood, emotional distress, themes of betrayal and sacrifice, action/thriller intensity, implied loss, open-ended fate

pairing: xoc

tags: @patscorner @kmoneymartini @authentic-girl03 @vamptizm

spy au 1 2 3 4

the cabin was quiet. too quiet.

ines sat near the window, gun in her lap, eyes scanning the treeline as dawn broke through the woods in pale gold slivers. summer lay on the couch, arm bandaged, body still. for the first time in weeks, her face looked peaceful.

ines watched her.

she wasn’t supposed to care. not about her. not about the girl from the south side with a scar above her collarbone and too much fire in her eyes.

they were supposed to walk away after this.

but ines wasn’t sure she could.

a soft click too sharp for the old wood, cut through the silence.

ines froze.

then she was on her feet.

“summer,” she whispered, rushing to her side. “we’re not alone.”

summer’s eyes opened immediately. her hand reached for the pistol beneath the blanket. “how many?”

ines glanced out the window. “three men. west side uniforms.”

summer’s breath caught. “fuck”

ines nodded grimly. “they don’t want either of us walking away.”

“how’d they find us?”

“doesn’t matter. we have to go. now.”

gunfire shattered the window before the sentence ended. glass exploded inward as bullets tore through the wooden walls. summer rolled off the couch, hissing in pain but moving fast. ines returned fire through the broken window.

“garage,” ines yelled. “there’s a back door.”

they ran, ducking and weaving, gunshots ringing through the quiet morning. the cabin groaned under the assault, decades-old wood splintering with every shot.

they burst into the garage, and there, under a tarp, two motorcycles. black. sleek. fast.

“when did you have time to bring these here?” summer asked, half-laughing.

“a magician never reveals her secrets, princess,” ines replied, tossing her a helmet.

summer climbed on, gritting her teeth against the pain. “that’s crazy.”

they kicked up gravel as they tore out of the garage, the sound of engines loud and hungry beneath the rising sun. bullets chased them into the trees.

but they were gone.

into the blur of morning mist and adrenaline.

into the final stretch of the game.

they didn’t look back.

couldn’t afford to.

not with the black vans barreling down the mountain roads behind them, not with gunmetal slicing through the trees like angry bees.

summer yelled against the loud sound of the motorcycle engines.

“half a mile to the drop point. we just have to make it.”

ines nodded even though summer couldn’t see. she tightened her grip on the handlebars, eyes sharp, breath shallow.

the sun had climbed higher now, bleeding gold over the treetops. the world felt unreal, like maybe if they made it to the clearing, they’d get to breathe. start over.

like maybe this was the kind of story that could have a happy ending.

“when we get out,” summer said through the wind, “i have something to give you.”

ines almost smiled.

“me too.”

but the words had barely left her lips before it happened.

a flash of silver.

the whine of a sniper round.

then a sickening thud.

summer’s bike swerved violently, veering off the dirt path, flipping once, then crashing into the underbrush.

“summer!” ines screamed, braking hard, skidding sideways, gravel burning her skin as she dropped to the ground.

she ran. didn’t think. didn’t breathe.

just ran.

summer lay crumpled beside the wreck, blood blooming on her shirt, one hand still curled around something.

ines dropped to her knees, grabbing her, shaking her.

“no, no, no, look at me. stay with me, summer. please.”

summer coughed, a weak smile flickering across her lips.

“you’re so pretty,” she whispered, voice trembling like a radio cutting out.

ines let out a broken laugh, one hand cradling the back of summer’s head.

“shut up, you’re bleeding, you idiot. we’re not done yet, remember?”

“i know,” summer breathed. her eyes fluttered.

ines blinked back tears. “you said you had something to give me?”

summer nodded faintly, fingers twitching around the small object in her palm.

she tried to lift it, but her strength was gone.

ines took it gently.

it was a chain.

a locket.

scratched and bloodied.

inside, was a folded piece of paper etched in shaky handwriting, “find me again. in another life.”

ines stared at it, unable to speak. her lips parted, but it was too late.

summer’s hand fell away.

her eyes stilled.

ines didn’t scream.

she couldn’t.

it was a silence louder than gunfire.

behind them, the engines grew louder again.

ines stood slowly, face streaked with dirt and tears, and picked up summer’s gun.

her eyes, once warm, turned cold.

she slipped the locket into her jacket.

and without a sound, turned and disappeared into the trees. alone.

“if i don’t make it, tell ines i was going to choose her. always her.” were summers last words to connie.

[fuddsgf]

if looks could kill - ines bettencourt

summary𞠬: two spies, one mission. only one can walk away— unless they choose to walk together.

warnings: gun violence, injury/blood, car chase, implied emotional tension, brief mention of alcohol

pairing: x oc

tags: @patscorner @kmoneymartini @authentic-girl03 @bueckersverse @vamptizm

spy au 1 2 3

the tires screeched as ines swerved out of the private estate’s hidden exit, gravel spraying behind them like shards of glass. summer clutched the dashboard with one hand, the flash drive tight in her fist with the other.

“you know where you’re going?” she asked, breath ragged.

“i always know where i’m going,” ines replied, eyes flicking to the rearview. “but we’re not alone.”

a sleek black sedan emerged behind them, headlights off, riding low and fast.

“shit,” summer muttered.

then the bullets came.

cracks of gunfire lit the night like lightning. the back window shattered, glass raining down as summer ducked instinctively.

“glovebox!” ines shouted.

summer yanked it open. a pistol. extra mags. no hesitation.

she rolled the passenger window down, leaned out, and fired.

the gun kicked in her hands, sharp and angry. the wind howled in her ears, pulling at her hair, but she kept steady.

a return shot sliced through the air. then another.

a scream tore from her throat before she even realized it had left her lips.

ines cursed. “summer?”

“keep driving!” summer yelled back, teeth gritted, still firing with her left hand as blood bloomed down her right arm.

one of her bullets hit. she saw the spark at the enemy’s hood, and the sedan swerved off-course, disappearing into the woods as ines made a hard turn down an unmarked road.

minutes blurred.

dirt roads. trees. silence.

they pulled up to a small, forgotten cabin deep in the woods. covered in moss and shadows, it looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.

“inside,” ines said, already out of the car.

summer tried to move.

tried.

but her vision swam, and the pain finally caught up. her knees buckled.

ines caught her just in time. “god, summer,” she whispered. “why didn’t you say anything?”

“adrenaline,” summer muttered, her voice thin. “and pride.” she said with a grin.

ines guided her inside, flipping on a single, flickering light. dust floated in the air like old ghosts.

she set summer down on the wooden table, already tearing into a cabinet for supplies. a first-aid kit. half a bottle of vodka. cloth.

“jacket off,” ines said softly, but firm.

summer hissed as she peeled it back, the torn fabric sticking to the blood. her skin was slick with sweat, pale and trembling now that the rush had faded.

ines crouched in front of her, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she cleaned the wound. “clean entry. through the muscle. you’re lucky.”

summer laughed once, dry. “funny definition of lucky.”

ines didn’t smile.

she wrapped the bandage tight, then met summer’s eyes—closer now, breath mingling.

“you shouldn’t have leaned out like that,” ines said, her voice low. “you could’ve died.”

summer looked at her for a long second. “you would’ve, if i hadn’t.”

a silence settled between them, charged and full.

ines looked away first. but her hand stayed on summer’s.

steady. grounding.

“rest,” she said quietly. “i’ll keep watch.”

summer nodded her head heading towards the room down the hall.

[fuddsgf]

zero alliance masterlist

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

[fuddsgf]

if looks could kill - ines bettencourt

summary𞠬: two spies, one mission. only one can walk away— unless they choose to walk together.

warnings: violence (implied/threatened) weapons, espionage themes, tense situations / threat of death deception / betrayal

pairing: x oc

tags: @patscorner @kmoneymartini @authentic-girl03 @bueckersverse @vamptizm

spy au 1 2 4

the last notes of the waltz faded into silence, replaced by polite applause. ines leaned in, her breath warm on summer’s neck.

“north wing. now,” she whispered.

then she slipped away, disappearing through an ornate hallway beneath a painted arch.

“connie,” summer murmured, already moving, “she’s headed to the target.”

“stay sharp,” came the reply. “we still don’t know her angle.”

summer’s heels echoed softly down the corridor, the murmur of music fading behind her. she reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh—just in case.

the study doors were already ajar. candlelight spilled into the hall.

inside, ines stood in the center of the room, her back to summer. before her sat a man—gray suit, crimson tie, face slack with something too still.

too perfect.

“don’t,” ines said softly, without turning. “it’s not him.”

summer hesitated in the doorway, her grip tightening on the handle. “what?”

ines turned slowly. her expression was unreadable. “it’s a decoy. facial structure’s close, but the mole’s on the wrong side. and he’s wearing contacts over prosthetic lenses. look closer.”

summer stepped in, carefully circling the chair. the man didn’t move.

a mannequin. hyper-realistic. but not real.

“why the hell would someone plant a fake?” summer asked.

“because we’re the real targets,” ines replied. “this entire op is compromised.”

static buzzed in summer’s earpiece.

“summer—get out of there. abort. abort. we’ve lost visual on your position and the comms are—”

dead air.

summer ripped the piece out. “jammed.”

ines gave a grim nod. “we were lured here. both sides.”

a slow, dawning silence filled the study.

summer’s eyes flicked to the lone painting on the wall—a woman in black, watching with an empty gaze. something shifted in her gut.

“you knew,” summer said. “you knew it wasn’t him, but you still led me here.”

ines didn’t flinch. “i needed to see if you’d follow.”

their eyes locked—sharp, searching, something old and fragile blooming between the tension.

footsteps echoed from the hall.

“time’s up,” ines murmured, pulling a flash drive from her coat and tossing it to summer. “take it. it’s the only real intel in this entire building.”

summer caught it. “what’s on it?”

“the list. agents marked for disposal. including me. including you.”

another beat of silence.

“what now?” summer asked.

ines’s smile was grim. “now we run.”

a crash from the hall—someone breaching the ballroom doors.

summer looked at ines. no disguise. no lies. just chaos, choices, and a thousand buried truths between them.

she nodded.

they ran.

together.

[fuddsgf]

summer… trained to survive, built to protect, and torn between duty and the girl who makes her question everything.

ines… a walking contradiction—deadly, poised, and quietly yearning for something she swore she’d never need.

[fuddsgf]

alternative universes

zero alliance ines bettencourt masterlist - more

[fuddsgf]

when it rains - juju watkins

summary 𞠬: when long-distance and growing silence wedge space between you and juju, what was once a passionate connection starts to fray under the weight of unspoken hurt. late-night calls turn to missed voicemails, and love becomes an echo you can no longer chase.

warnings:emotional neglect, angst, heartbreak, breakups, hints of emotional burnout/loneliness, unrequited feelings emotional themes throughout. lmk if i missed anything

tags: @patscorner @cherryswisherz @kmoneymartini @authentic-girl03 @bueckersverse @vamptizm

“i don’t know where you go, hard for you to share your home”

you sighed as you leaned your head back against the wall, phone pressed tight to your ear. ringing. then voicemail. again.

you hung up locking your screen, your exhausted reflection staring back at you. eyes half-lidded, hoodie too big, heart aching. you had a feeling that you knew where she was—some party in L.A., somewhere that screamed bright lights and blurred loyalty.

it wasn’t the first time juju disappeared on you like this. left you with more questions than comfort. promises drowned in the pulse of whatever club she let herself get lost in.

-

the texts became infrequent, rushed and distracted calls. you’d hear music in the background, sometimes laughter. she’d say something like, “sorry babe, i’m out with the team. you know how it is.”

but she never asked how you were. never listened when you tried talking about your day or how geno kicked paige out of practice because of her ankle.

the first few times, you brushed it off. juju was busy—so were you. the season was heating up, and uconn didn’t exactly hand out breathers. but eventually, your excuses for her felt paper-thin.

“Cause you don’t want it all, is what we have disposable?”

you’d stay up after practices, phone in hand, waiting for her to call like she promised. sometimes she did. most of the times, she didn’t.

the silence was starting to weigh down on you like any game loss.

one random night after a double practice that left your knees shaking and your chest burning, you sat in the locker room long after everyone had left.

aubrey sat down next to you on the bench, “rough day?” she asked grabbing her water bottle and handing it to you. eyes gentle as she scanned your red eyes.

you tried nodding but your chin wobbled instead. “i just… i have this feeling l-like im being forgotten in real-time you know?” you expressed looking at her tears starting to fall down your cheeks.

she didn’t push you to continue, didn’t ask who or what. she sat with you until the ache in your chest had softened.

the locker room was silent except for the low hum of the lights in the vending machine. rain tapped against the window like it knew what you were feeling. you watched the raindrops trial down the window blurring the outside lights like tears you were too tired to shed.

your phone buzzed.

juju💕: sorry babe. long night i’ll call you tomorrow, pinky promise.

you stared at it, thumb hovering over the notification. but you didn’t reply.

because tomorrow never really comes anymore. you placed the phone face-down on the bench, as if not seeing the words would conceal you from its existence. now it just felt like a delay. a stall. like juju was always out of reach—calling from noisy hallways, sending half-hearted messages between practices, classes and parties.

you used to be her world. now you’re just orbiting it. you grabbed your zip up hoodie, “i didn’t mean to cry,” you mumbled more to the empty room than to aubrey.

“you don’t have to mean it to need it,” she said barely above a whisper. it wasn’t deep or profound. but it settled in your bones like truth.

“let’s head back to the dorms before we get locked in here,” she said getting up and grabbing her duffel, you soon followed her lead grabbing your stuff.

“thank you for being here aubs you’re a great friend,” you said hugging her outside the gym heading towards your car before she could even get a word out.

-

“feels like im on my own, please don’t try to ignore that”

it was past midnight when your phone rang.

juju 💕 calling…

you stared at your screen for a beat debating if you should answer, but you did. “hey,” you said voice quieter than you intended.

static. laughter in the background. music. then her voice—a little slurred, all sugar and sunshine like if she wasn’t calling 4 days late.

“baaabe,” juju cooed “i miss you, im so sorry i’ve been like M.I.A. you know how crazy it gets after a win. team went out, we hit this rooftop bar— there was a DJ, you would’ve loved it!”

your silence must’ve stretched for a bit too long.

“baby?” she said again. you closed your eyes taking a deep breath “yea. i’m here.”

“good, i was worried you were mad.” she giggled. “don’t be mad, okay? i swear i’ll call you for real tomorrow morning. pinky promise.”

tomorrow. that damn word again.

you swallowed hard. “juju…when was the last time you asked how i was doing?”

she paused. the music dipped lower, or maybe she had stepped away from it. “what?”

“i mean it,” you said voice steadier now, sharper at the edges. “you talk about your games, your team, your wins… but you don’t ask about me anymore! you don’t call when you say you will. you don’t even notice when i’m not okay”

“don’t do this,” she sighed. “you know how my schedule is–”

“no, juju. you don’t know mine. you haven’t asked. not once.” there was a pause. a longer one. you imagined her frowning, that defensive tilt in her voice building even before she spoke.

“look, i’m trying, okay? i’m just- i’ve got a lot going on.”

“yea,” you said, quietly “so do i.” you could hear the next words forming in her throat, some half assed apology or excuse dressed up for love. but you don’t wait for them.

“i have to go,” you quickly said. “i’ve got an early practice.” 

“oh. okay. love you” she said softly.

but you didn’t say it back. you ended the call. sat there in the quiet with the buzzing silence of everything that was left unsaid.

-

“help me remember that i want more, something beautiful”

you sent it without thinking. a voice message. no script. just the raw truth.

“hey. i don’t think this is working out anymore. i kept waiting for it to feel like it used to– like i was still important to you. but it’s just not there anymore. and i can’t keep shrinking myself to fit into the margins of your life. i deserve someone who shows up. so, this is me letting go.”

delivered.

read.

no reply.

-

the crowd was electric. the cameras are everywhere. this is the stage. the rivalry. but for juju, it’s personal now.

juju spots you in warmups. headphones in. eyes sharp. you don’t even glance her way.

you’re walking off the court when aubrey jogs up beside you, bumping her shoulder into yours playfully, handing you a towel.

you laugh, not forced. not hollow. it’s the kind of laugh that used to belong to her. but it hasn’t in a long time.

juju watches from across the floor. she watches the way you light up when aubrey leans in to say something only you can hear. the way your eyes linger on her a little too long. the way you don’t flinch when aubrey’s hand brushes against your lower back, steadying you as the crowd roars. and suddenly it hits her.

she lost you.

not because of one mistake, but a hundred small ones. missed calls. half-hearted “tomorrows.” apologies that never came.

and aubrey? she was always there. just out of focus, until now.

maybe uconn won. maybe they didn’t. but either way, the game wasn’t what stuck with juju.

it was the image of you in the tunnel. leaning against a wall, smiling as aubrey talks with her hands, animated and flushed from the win. you’re listening, really listening, with a soft look in your eyes.

the one juju used to know.

and when aubrey brushes your knuckles with hers, and you don’t pull away juju finally understands.

juju stood there, jersey soaked, hands clenched at her sides, watching the two of you disappear down the hallway.

she didn’t call your name.

she knew it wouldn’t change anything.

because this time, tomorrow came.

but it didn’t have her in it.

[fuddsgf]

OMG I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE ITTT

Where It All Started

paige bueckers x hometown best friend!reader

for @uncuredturkeybacon !

Paige just got back to her small town after years of living in the big city and sees her childhood best friend who she's been in love with, for the first time since she left.

Late summer 2020

It starts raining the second she loads the last bag into the trunk.

Of course it does.

Because the universe has always had a flair for the dramatic when it comes to the two of you.

You’re standing there on the curb in an oversized crewneck and bare legs, soaked to the bone, arms wrapped tight around your chest like you’re holding something in.

She’s quiet. Her hoodie is damp, hair curling at the ends. Her keys jingle in her hand like a countdown.

And you can’t take it anymore.

“Don’t go,” you blurt out.

Paige freezes.

The rain soaks her shoulders. Drips from her lashes. Her eyes meet yours like she didn’t expect you to say it—even though she had to know.

“Say something,” you beg. “Please. Just—say anything that makes this make sense.”

She opens her mouth. Nothing comes out.

You step forward. The water splashes under your shoes. “You said we’d figure it out. But you’re not even trying.”

Paige’s jaw tenses. “I have to go.”

“No,” you shake your head. “You want to go. That’s different.”

She winces.

And you’re crying now. You don’t care. Your hair’s plastered to your face and your lip is trembling and you’re so in love with her it’s unbearable.

“Why won’t you stay?”

Her voice is soft. Almost cruel in its gentleness.

“Because if I stay… I might never leave.”

You stare at her.

That’s the first honest thing she’s said all day.

You take another step.

So does she.

And then—your faces are inches apart.

Rain between you. Breath shallow. Your lips so close you can feel her exhale.

You reach up, hand cupping her jaw. Her eyes flutter closed.

“Just kiss me,” you whisper. “Please. Just once. If this is it, let me have it.”

She doesn’t move.

You lean in.

Your lips brush.

And it’s everything.

It’s years of love and ache and wanting.

It’s a gasp against her mouth and the sound of your heartbeat cracking open.

But then—

She pulls away.

One hand on your arm. Gentle. Final.

“If I kiss you, I won’t be able to walk away.”

And she does. She walks.

She opens the car door. Climbs in.

You don’t chase her.

You don’t scream.

You just stand there in the rain, lips still tingling, chest split wide, watching the girl you love drive away—

Without ever really saying goodbye.

—-

Summer 2025 - Present

There’s something cruel about the way small towns don’t change. The diner still has the same flickering “Open” sign. The same cracks run through the basketball court behind the school. Even the air feels stuck—humid with memory, heavy with things you never said out loud.

Paige Bueckers had left here with a duffel bag, a scholarship, and a heart already fraying at the seams. She comes back with WNBA jerseys stitched with her name, a surgically repaired knee, and a hollow kind of ache that cities, cameras, and championships never quite numbed.

Paige had only come back to her small town in Minnesota for a few weeks. Just to breathe. Just to be Paige, not the name in lights. Her mom told her the fair was still going on, same time it always had. Funnel cake, ferris wheel, little league dunk tank.

She didn’t expect to find you.

You’re working a lemonade stand.

Not in a movie way—no cinematic lighting, no slow-motion music swell. Just real. Real as hell. You’re wiping sweat off your brow with the back of your hand, laughing with a kid too young to remember Paige from the court. A soft breeze tosses your hair—brown and curled like you finally mastered that iron you used to burn your forehead with. Your makeup’s minimal, skin sunkissed and freckled like always, and your smile—god, your smile.

It knocks the breath from Paige’s lungs.

You don’t see her at first. You’re too busy leaning over the counter, handing someone a paper cup with a lemon slice wedged on the rim. You wear an oversized tee tied at the waist, jean shorts, and those battered Converse Paige once wrote her initials on in Sharpie during junior year.

She stares.

And stares.

And stares.

Because holy shit, you grew up. And you didn’t just grow up—you glowed up. And Paige feels it in her ribs like a bruise.

She takes a step forward, heartbeat thunderous, and then another.

You glance up mid-laugh—and stop.

It’s like time hiccups.

Your eyes meet hers and freeze. Lemonade spills a little over the edge of the cup you’re holding, and your smile falters—not completely, just enough. Just enough to let her know you weren’t ready either.

She wants to turn around. She wants to run, or rewind, or disappear into the sticky air.

But you clear your throat and straighten, voice cool and polite. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

There it is.

That edge. That tension. That years-of-silence-and-a-half-kissed-goodbye bitterness.

Paige swallows.

“I didn’t know you still worked the fair.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I don’t. Just helping out for the week while Mrs. Patty is with her grandchildren”

“Right,” she says. “Of course.”

You hand over the cup. You don’t ask what she wants.

Paige studies your face like it’s a photograph she forgot how to look at—freckles across your cheeks, lips chapped but soft.

“I like the curls,” she blurts.

You blink.

“They look—good. You look good.”

There’s a pause, and then you smile, but it’s not the kind of smile that forgives. It’s the kind that says I’m fine now. Without you.

“Yeah,” you say, tone light but dangerous. “Turns out I figured some things out while you were gone.”

Paige flinches at that. She deserves it.

“I didn’t know how to come back,” she admits, voice barely above the fair noise. “Didn’t know what I’d find.”

You glance at her, eyes sharp and glassy.

“And what do you see now?”

Her answer gets caught in her throat, like it might kill her to say it.

“Everything I ran from.”

And this time, you don’t say anything.

You just turn, grab another lemon, and slice it clean through the middle—like that moment never happened.

But Paige doesn’t move.

Because something about you, standing there—sunlight catching in your lashes, curls brushing your shoulder, jaw tight from holding back everything you don’t say—makes her realize:

She never stopped loving you.

And now?

“you end when the sun goes down?” She asks softly.

You barely look up — knowing if your eyes met those icy blue ones that never seem to change even after years of distended you’d break.

“Yea… but honestly if you wait— I can’t promise i’ll want to talk to you— so maybe do what you did last time and walk away,” you say softly, paige face drops almost like she can hear your heart breaking as you cut into the lemon—

Now it might be too late.

—

The fair shuts down slowly.

Screws creak. Lights flicker out. The last of the kids trail off with cotton candy fingers and sleepy whines. But Paige doesn’t leave.

She’s sitting in her car, windows cracked, music off. Just watching. Watching the stand where you’re still cleaning up. Alone now.

You’re wiping down the counter, humming to yourself, hair now frizzing just slightly from the humidity, curls softer, more unraveled. You’ve got your back to her.

She shouldn’t go over there.

She knows she shouldn’t.

She’s done enough damage for one lifetime. But she’s not sure she can stand the weight of almost anymore.

So she moves.

The gravel crunches under her sneakers as she walks—slow, hesitant. Your head tilts at the sound, but you don’t turn.

She stops a few feet behind you. Doesn’t speak.

You do.

“I’m not mad anymore.”

Your voice is calm. Flat. It knocks her sideways.

“I thought I would be, if I ever saw you again. I spent years writing angry letters in my head. But the truth is…” You turn around now. Eyes on hers. “I’m not mad.”

Paige swallows, jaw clenched. “You should be.”

You shrug. “Maybe. But I was also the one who let you leave without stopping you.”

She steps forward, just once. Her throat works like she’s trying to keep something down.

“You didn’t owe me that.”

“I didn’t owe you silence either.”

God.

Paige flinches like you’ve cut her open. Because you have.

You lean back against the counter, arms crossed, looking at her like you want to be fine but you’re so tired of pretending. The floodlights from the empty parking lot cast sharp shadows between you.

“I used to dream about this,” you admit. “Not just you coming back—but you walking up to me like this. Apologizing. Saying it meant something.”

Paige’s hands curl into fists at her sides. “It did. It does.”

You exhale. “you know… It felt like you didn’t even flinch when you let me go.”

“I flinched every single goddamn day,” Paige whispers.

Your eyes snap to hers. That old wildfire look. The one that always made her lose the play.

“You had a funny way of showing it.”

Paige steps forward again—closer this time. One step from touching. One breath from breaking.

“I thought leaving was the only way I could become something.”

“You already were something to me,” you shoot back, “to this town.”

And there it is.

That moment.

That sharp, holy silence when everything is too true to be spoken again.

“I don’t want your pity,” you say after a beat. Softer now. Tired.

Paige shakes her head. “This isn’t pity.”

You look away. “Then what is it?”

She hesitates. Then:

“It’s twenty-seven unsent messages. It’s crying in dorm bathrooms during that first year at uconn because I saw a girl who looked like you. It’s wearing the chain you gave me under my jersey. It’s every moment I wished I’d turned around when you ran after me.”

Your jaw trembles. She sees it. You hate that she sees it.

“I’m not mad anymore paige— I-I just don’t know if I forgive you,” you whisper.

“I’m not asking you to,” Paige breathes. “I just… I never stopped being yours. Even when I left.”

You close your eyes like it hurts to hear. Maybe it does.

When you open them, she’s standing right in front of you. Hands still at her sides, but shaking.

“I still taste that last moment,” Paige murmurs.

The almost kiss.

“Yeah?” you rasp.

She nods. “It ruined me.”

The air is thick. Sweet with leftover sugar, sharp with ghosts. You reach up slowly—fingers brushing her wrist. Not enough to hold. Just enough to make her ache.

“I don’t know how to let you back in,” you admit.

She leans in close. Mouth barely a breath from yours.

“Then don’t. Just—let me stay a little longer.”

You don’t speak for a while.

Just sit on the folding table, hands in your lap, watching Paige stand a few feet away like the air between you is barbed wire. Her arms hang loose at her sides, fingers twitching. She looks like she’s about to say something—but doesn’t. Not yet.

“I used to think I made it all up,” you finally say, voice low. “What we were. What we almost were.”

She looks up sharply. “You didn’t.”

“Didn’t feel real,” you murmur. “When you left. No goodbye. No explanation. Just… nothing. I thought maybe I’d imagined it all. That maybe I was just your boring hometown best friend, and you were always meant to outgrow me.”

“I didn’t outgrow you,” Paige says, too fast. Her voice cracks. “I loved you.”

You close your eyes like that might stop it from hurting. It doesn’t.

“Then why didn’t you say it?” you whisper.

Paige runs a hand through her hair, jaw tight. “Because I didn’t know how to love you the right way back then. I didn’t know how to choose you without feeling like I was giving up everything else.”

You nod slowly. “So you chose everything else.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s honest.”

That hangs in the air like thunder.

“I watched every game,” you say, voice shaking now. “Every single one. Even when it made me sick. Even when the camera zoomed in on your face and all I could think was: she never looked at me like that.”

Paige’s face crumples.

“I thought about you every time I made a three,” she whispers. “Every time they chanted my name. I’d look up and picture you in the stands. And it was never enough.”

You laugh—but it’s hollow, bitter. “Guess we were good at missing each other.”

She steps forward now. Slow. Like she’s afraid she’ll spook you.

“You’re the only thing I ever wanted that scared me.”

That stops you cold.

Your throat closes. Your vision blurs. “Why?”

“Because you knew me before. Before the hype. Before the name. You knew me when I was just Paige who couldn’t parallel park and cried during The Fault in Our Stars. You looked at me like I mattered without all the noise.”

“I still do,” you breathe.

Her hand brushes yours. Tentative. Barely there.

“I don’t need noise anymore,” Paige says. “I just need you.”

You should walk away.

You should protect yourself. You know how this story goes. Paige Bueckers shows up, says all the right things, and the world still pulls her away.

But god—she looks so lost in front of you now. So open. So wrecked.

“You really loved me?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“more then anything,” she says. “More than I knew what to do with..”

You look at her. Really look at her.

Eyes tired. Heart wide open. Hands shaking.

She’s yours. She’s always been yours.

And for the first time in years, you let yourself hope.

“I still have your class ring,” you say.

Paige looks down. Breath catching. “You do?”

“It’s in a box in my drawer. I almost threw it away. So many times.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I was waiting for this,” you whisper. “This moment. To see if it would still mean something.”

Paige takes your face in her hands, gently—like you’re breakable. Like you’re holy.

The silence stretches between you like a fault line.

Paige is standing too close now—close enough that her breath brushes your cheek when she exhales. You can feel the tension in her jaw, the hesitation in her body. Like she wants to reach out, like she almost does.

But you don’t move. And she doesn’t either.

Not yet.

“I still love you,” she says.

The words drop like a stone.

You blink. Look away. Something inside you flinches hard.

“Don’t say that,” you whisper.

Her brow furrows. “Why?”

“Because it’s too easy to say now,” you murmur, voice trembling. “When the lights are off. When the season’s over. When it’s just me standing in front of you again, like I always was.”

Paige takes a step back, barely. Just enough to breathe. “It’s not easy for me. It’s never been easy.”

You stare at her—at the girl you used to know, and the woman in front of you now. Both of them are breaking your heart in different ways.

“Then why does it always feel like I’m the one left carrying it?” you ask, quiet but sharp. “All of it. The waiting. The not knowing. The what-ifs.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Runs a hand through her hair like she’s trying not to fall apart right there in front of you.

“I didn’t think I could have both,” she says finally. “You and basketball. You and everything else. I thought if I stayed here—if I stayed with you—I’d lose my shot.”

You nod slowly. “And now?”

She looks at you, and her eyes are so open, so ruined, it almost makes you forgive her.

“Now I know I lost something way more important.”

Your chest tightens. You look away.

The wind kicks up, rustling the empty cups on the counter behind you. The fairgrounds are dark now. Quiet. Everything around you feels like the past, like memory stretched too thin.

Silence.

It’s too quiet for either of you to lie.

She steps forward again, but this time—this time, you put a hand on her chest.

Not to pull her in.

To stop her.

She steps forward again.

And your hand shoots up—flat against her chest, right over her heart.

Not to pull her in.

To stop her.

Her breath stutters.

Your voice is low. Steady. But shaking just beneath it, like if you don’t say this exactly right, you’ll break in two.

“Don’t.”

Her brows knit. “What—?”

“Don’t kiss me,” you whisper. “Don’t touch me, not if you’re going to walk away again. Not if you’re going to disappear when the season starts or when things get hard or when the lights come back on and it’s easier to love me in the dark.”

She freezes.

And you—God, you can’t stop now.

“Because I’m not a layover. I’m not the place you come back to when the world chews you up. I’m not your unfinished sentence. I’m not—” Your voice breaks. “I’m not going to let you wreck me twice.”

Her face crumples. Her mouth opens, closes, like she’s drowning in what she wants to say. In everything she never said.

You press your palm harder to her chest, as if you’re holding her heart in place.

“So if you’re going to touch me,” you say, quieter now, “you better mean it. You better stay. You better show up for me the way I showed up for you—every goddamn day you didn’t.”

You drop your hand. Step back. Shaken. Done.

And for a second, Paige just stands there.

Crushed beneath the weight of everything you said.

But then—quietly, wrecked—she says it.

Her hands shake at her sides.

And then she says—barely above a whisper, eyes locked on yours.

“I couldn’t stay back then. I didn’t know how.”

A breath. Then softer.

“But you were always the thing I wanted most. Even when I chose something else.”

You look away. Your throat’s tight.

But then Paige takes a single step forward—not touching, not begging, just there.

And her voice is so raw, it cuts like glass:

“You were never a distraction. You were the dream I didn’t think I was allowed to have.”

Your chest caves.

And then, quiet—heartbreaking:

“I can’t be two people. But if there’s a version of me that wins it all, and another that stays in this town forever—I promise you, every single version still finds their way back to you.”

Silence.

Your throat catches.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” she whispers. “I don’t care how slow it has to be. I’ll show up. I’ll stay. Even if you never touch me again—just let me be close to you.”

You grip the edge of the table as your breath escapes your throat with struggle and unevenness. The Minnesota air warm kissing your freckles softly as the wind blows past the two of you, the crickets sing loud around you as if nothings wrong.

“Was it always this hard?” she asks softly.

You glance over. “What?”

Paige’s fingers twitch in her lap. “Loving each other.”

You hesitate. “No.”

And then—quieter: “It was easy. That’s what made it so hard to lose.”

She nods.

You both stare forward, like if you look at each other it might tip everything over.

But then—

You do.

You look.

And she’s already looking at you.

Eyes wide. Wrecked. Full of everything she hasn’t said.

And something shifts.

Paige leans forward just barely—not to kiss you—but to let her forehead rest against yours.

You breathe the same air.

You feel her shake.

“I don’t want to be brave tomorrow,” she whispers. “I want to be brave right now.”

Your breath catches.

And when her hand rises to brush your cheek—tentative, trembling—you don’t stop her this time.

You don’t pull away.

You close your eyes, and when her lips touch yours—

It’s not hot.

It’s not rushed.

It’s devastating.

It’s sixteen years old and a missed goodbye.

It’s the years she was gone and the days you waited.

It’s not a kiss.

It’s a homecoming.

And when you finally pull back, she exhales like she’s been underwater this entire time.

“I should’ve come home sooner,” Paige breathes.

You shake your head, thumb brushing her jaw.

“No,” you whisper. “You came when I needed you most.”

And this time—you kiss her.

Slow.

Certain.

Like there’s no version of you that doesn’t end up right here.

Because you were convinced in every universe, no matter how or when, you were meant to love Paige Bueckers. No matter how many times you tried to turn away, tried to bury the feeling beneath a thousand quiet goodbyes, she was always there — a gentle ache beneath your ribs, a soft light that never quite faded. Loving her is like breathing through a storm, fragile and fierce all at once. She is the part of you you didn’t even know was missing until she stood there, close enough to break you and heal you in the same breath. And even if this world tries to tear you apart, tries to rewrite the story in shadows and silence, some loves are written in stars — unbreakable, endless, the kind that break your heart open so wide it can only be filled by her.

[fuddsgf]

wings win, paige first tech, pazzi hard launch

WE’RE SO UP

[fuddsgf]

just like candy - nika mühl

summary 𞠬: what nika thought were meaningless hookups makes her realize that maybe hookup culture wasn’t for her.

warnings: slight angst, explicit language, sexual content (implied), infidelity (in the context of undefined boundaries), emotional vulnerability, regret and self-blame, reconciliation lmk if i missed any

tags: @patscorner @cherryswisherz @kmoneymartini @authentic-girl03 @bueckersverse @vamptizm

“it’s just sex, right?” she questioned, zipping up her dress and fixing her hair in the mirror like she hadn’t just made a mess of the sheets.

i smirked from the bed, head tilted as i watched her. “totally. like how tequila’s just a drink?”

she rolled her eyes, grabbing her purse like she didn’t just leave her necklace behind on purpose.

“you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re coming back next friday.”

she paused by the door. “i haven’t decided yet.”

but her smile said otherwise.

-

it was next friday. another party. loud music. sticky air. that taste of bad decisions hanging sweet in the room like perfume.

and there she was.

backlit by flashing lights, wearing red and temptation. laughing like she didn’t know i was watching. like she didn’t remember the sound she made when I bit her lip and pulled her hair.

but she knew.

i leaned against the kitchen counter, solo cup in hand, and waited.

didn’t take long before she made her way through the crowd, fingers brushing mine as if by accident. she leaned in, voice low, lips near my ear.

“this doesn’t mean anything.”

“sure,” i said, eyes already on her mouth. “just like candy doesn’t rot your teeth.”

she kissed me anyway. but this kiss felt different, something i’ve never thought i would feel.

i pulled apart looking her in the eyes before i pulled her into an empty room.

before the door could close i was already on her, lips trailing her body, the body i love to hold, the mouth i love to kiss, the eyes i love to see, the smile i lo- no.

i don’t love her. this is just a meaningless hookup. nothing more

she moaned into my mouth as i pinned her against the door, hands already under her dress. it was a routine by now—every touch rehearsed, every sigh expected.

but this time… it wasn’t.

she looked at me like she saw through me. like she knew there was a war going on in my chest. her hands cupped my face for a second too long, thumbs brushing under my eyes like she was memorizing me.

she tilted her head back, i kissed her neck to drown out the thoughts i had.

because if i let her say anything, i might say something i can’t take back.

like “i think i want you more than just a hookup.”

Or worse— “i think i like you”

-

later, when she was asleep beside me, hair spread out like a halo, i lay there staring at the ceiling. her leg was still slung over mine like it belonged there.

this wasn’t just sex. not anymore.

i didn’t know what to do and if i didn’t do anything about it soon it might break me.

i got up and quickly got ready to leave i figured that if i left quicker, didn’t look at her when she smiled or if i kissed her harder than maybe just maybe everything would go back to how it was, just meaningless hookups.

i slept with someone new the next weekend a beautiful blonde i met at the bar, she kissed me like she had something to prove and touched me like she wanted to burn herself in my memories.

but all i could think about was her hands, her mouth, her laugh. and when the blonde whispered, “fuck, you’re so beautiful,” my heart stopped because that’s what y/n would tell me.

i sneaked out a little bit after she fell asleep, i was disgusted with myself how could i have done this to her? i know we’re not together but how could i have slept with someone else when i had my girl?

i kicked a stone trying to distract myself from the disgusting and empty feeling.

i didn’t even remember the blonde’s name.

that should’ve been the first sign.

the street was quiet, still heavy with night air, but my thoughts were loud—louder than they’d ever been. every step i took away from that apartment felt like i was running further from myself. from her.

y/n.

her name burned in my throat like something sacred i’d spoil.

it wasn’t just guilt. it was worse than that. it was regret.

i pulled my hoodie tighter around me and kept walking, replaying the moment i told myself it didn’t matter. that she didn’t matter. that what we had wasn’t real.

but it was real. god, it was so real.

i stopped in front of a corner store, its closed sign staring back at me like judgment.

“i fucked up,” i whispered to no one.

because the truth was, i didn’t just want her. i missed her. i needed her.

and i was finally starting to realize—

i'm in love with love her.

i’m in love with y/n.

her named was pounding in my head louder than my footsteps against the concrete. my chest burned with every step but i couldn’t stop. i had to tell her how i feel before its too late.

the familiar apartment building come into view as i ran inside speeding through the stairs, i stopped at her door knocking rapidly.

“nika?” she said, rubbing her eyes. “what are you doing here?”

before i could even process what i was doing, i kissed her.

“i’m in love with you,” i said breathlessly. “i didn’t want to admit it, but i am. i realized it at zoe’s party– i thought it was just the drinks, but it wasn’t. then I hooked up with some random girl, and i can’t even remember her name, and that’s when it finally hit me. i don’t want anyone else. i just want you.”

i looked at her, searching her face, terrified she’d shut the door. terrified she wouldn’t say anything at all.

she stood there, frozen. blinking. processing.

i could feel my heart hammering in my chest, begging for an answer. a word. a sign that I hadn’t just ruined everything.

“say something,” i whispered.

her eyes softened, and i saw it- the shift. the hurt i’d caused. but also the love i’d been too blind to see.

“you really hurt me,” she said quietly. “i tried to move on. i thought you didn’t care.”

“i know,” i said, voice cracking. “i didn’t know how to. but i do now. i care so much it scares the hell out of me.”

a long silence passed between us. and then, finally, she stepped forward.

”it scares the hell out of me too, but i know that i love you too,” she said before she leaned in to kiss me.

the faint taste of her cherry chapstick and how addictive it grew to be, she tasted just like candy.

[fuddsgf]

no 😒 (yes i’ve missed you smmmm) (we talk everyday but idc i’ve missed you on here)

you guys still fw me or nah?

[fuddsgf]

te acuerdas de mi - ayanna patterson

advertencias: insinuaciones sexuales, menciones de alcohol y cigarrillos.

tags: @patscorner @cherryswisherz @kmoneymartini @authentic-girl03 @bueckersverse @vamptizm

la música vibraba en el suelo, los bajos haciendo eco en tu pecho mientras te abrías paso entre la multitud. siempre ibas a fiestas pero esta no era tan divertida. estabas por irte cuando la viste.

ayanna patterson.

no la conocías, pero era imposible no notarla. alta, confiada, con una sonrisa que parecía desafiar al mundo. tus miradas se cruzaron por casualidad o quizás no. un segundo después, ella ya caminaba hacia ti.

“¿quieres un trago?” preguntó, como si ya te conociera.

dijiste que sí. uno se convirtió en dos, luego en risas, miradas largas y roces intencionales. no hablaron de sus vidas, ni nombres completos. no lo necesitaban.

en algún cuarto oscuro de la casa, entre besos desesperados, el olor a alcohol y cigarro, sus cuerpos se encontraron. lo único que quedó fue el eco de tu perfume en su piel cuando te fuiste antes del amanecer.

-

dos semanas después, era el primer día de clases. caminabas por el campus, café en mano, cuando sentiste unos ojos clavados en ti.

ella.

ayanna estaba apoyada contra la pared del pasillo, hablando con alguien, pero su mirada estaba fija en ti.

no sabías que iban a la misma universidad.

pasaste junto a ella, fingiendo que no la reconocías. no por maldad, sino porque cómo le explicas a alguien que no recuerdas nada de esa noche?

pero ayanna sí lo hizo.

no por tu rostro, ni por tu voz. fue tu perfume.

ese aroma dulce, floral con un toque cálido a vainilla… ella lo había sentido antes. en su cuello. en su piel. en su cama.

y cuando te vio pasar, sus ojos se entrecerraron y sonrió apenas.

“¿te acuerdas de mí?” te dijo al día siguiente, acercándose a ti en la biblioteca.

tu cuerpo se tensó, la taza en tu mano tembló un poco. la miraste, sorprendida.

“perdon?”

“esa noche en la fiesta” susurró con una sonrisa. “te reconocí por tu perfume.”

tus mejillas se encendieron.

“pensé que no te acordarías.”

“cómo olvidarlo? si yo fui aquella que bailo contigo” susurro con una sonrisa picara.

la biblioteca estaba silenciosa, una tensión que no se veía, pero se sentía en cada mirada. el aire se volvió espeso con solo estar tan cerca.

ayanna te miraba con la misma seguridad que aquella noche. sus ojos oscuros recorrían tu rostro con calma, como si cada centímetro le recordara lo que pasó.

“¿qué quieres decir con que te acuerdas?” preguntaste, bajando la voz, como si alguien pudiera escuchar el secreto que aún tú estabas procesando.

ella se acercó un poco más, apenas lo suficiente para que su perfume se mezclara con el tuyo.

“sería interesante que fueras mi amante” susurró, con una media sonrisa ladeada. “un juego excitante” dijo mientras observaba tu rostro con atención

tus labios se entreabrieron, sorprendida. ¿lo decía en serio? o acaso estaba jugando contigo?

tu cuerpo respondió antes que tu mente. te acercaste un paso más, tus respiraciones ahora chocando como olas suaves. el recuerdo de su piel, de sus manos, de su boca, volvió a ti de golpe como un flash que nunca supiste si soñaste o viviste.

“¿y qué pasa si no me acuerdo de todo?” la retaste, con una sonrisa traviesa.

ayanna te sostuvo la mirada.

“entonces déjame ayudarte a recordar todo” susurro viendo tus labios.

silencio.

no sabías si era el peligro, la tentación o el simple hecho de que querías que lo hiciera.

ella dio un paso hacia atrás, agarrandote por la mano y saliendo de la biblioteca

-

“no se que me hiciste pero me envolviste” dijo cerrando la puerta y besándote.

[fuddsgf]

i’ve been praying - nika mühl

summary 𞠬: nika does anything possible to get you back

warnings: mentions of death in a subtle way.

tags: @patscorner @cherryswisherz @kmoneymartini @authentic-girl03 @bueckersverse @vamptizm

1 2

she whispered it to the dark — your name — like a habit she never managed to break. some nights it sounded like a plea. others, like a warning.

it echoed in rooms you never stepped into, hung in the air like smoke that wouldn’t clear.

she did everything.

she traced the path you used to walk home, retraced old messages like maybe she’d missed a sign.

called your phone, not expecting you to answer — but needing the ring.

needed to hear something.

she begged gods she didn’t believe in. swore she saw your shadow once, chased it until her knees bled.

people told her to move on. that time would do its job. she smiled. nodded.

“let them talk.” she told herself

they didn’t understand — you weren’t gone. you were missing. there’s a difference.

you didn’t say goodbye, you didn’t finish your sentence, you didn’t stop loving her, so she couldn’t stop either.

even when the trail went cold. even when your voice slipped from memory. even when the pictures stopped looking like you.

but your name — your name was the only thing she never let go of.

even after everything else was gone. even after it should’ve been impossible.

even after the ground settled.

she didn’t go looking for it.

she’d stopped going anywhere with purpose a long time ago. but her hands had a way of opening drawers without thinking, of digging through the past like it still had something left to offer. it was buried under an old sweatshirt.

the one she used to steal from you. the one she kept because it still smelled like winter and you.

a small envelope, soft at the edges.

her name on it — in your handwriting. slanted. rushed. familiar.

“nika”

she didn’t breathe as she opened it. didn’t blink. her hands were shaking as she slowly opened it.

inside: a folded scrap of paper. one sentence.

“if anything happens, i’m sorry.”

that was it.

no explanation. no date.

just that.

and suddenly the silence made sense.

suddenly, everything she’d refused to believe folded in on itself.

you weren’t missing.

you weren’t out there waiting to be found.

you’d already been lost.

and maybe— just maybe you knew.

maybe you tried to warn her.

she read the note until the ink blurred.

until her fingers went numb.

then, for the first time, she said your name like it hurt.

because this time, it did. she didn’t cry. not at first.

she just sat there, note in hand, the world suddenly smaller.

quieter.

as if even the walls understood now — there was no one left to wait for.

the hoodie slipped from her lap.

she didn’t reach for it.

the ache wasn’t loud anymore. it wasn’t wild or burning it was tired.

the kind of tired that lived in her bones, where your laugh used to echo. she looked around the room — at the photos she couldn’t take down, the messages she never deleted.

each one proof of how hard she tried. how long she fought the truth.

but it was here now. in her hands. in your words.

“if anything happens, i’m sorry.”

you knew.

and somehow, so did she.

some part of her always had.

it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t right. but it was real.

and this time, when she whispered your name, it wasn’t to bring you back. it was to let you go.

not because she wanted to.

but because holding on was killing what was left of her.

so she folded the note — carefully, like it might break — and placed it back beneath the sweatshirt.

she just stood. and walked away.

and that was the first step. not toward forgetting.

but toward surviving.

because heaven knew your name she was always praying to have you here by her side.

“heaven knows your name, i’ve been praying to have you come here by my side” - i love you too much, the book of life.

[fuddsgf]

your name - nika mühl

summary 𞠬: nika does anything possible to get you back

warnings: none (?)

tags: @patscorner @cherryswisherz @kmoneymartini @authentic-girl03 @bueckersverse @vamptizm

1

the gym echoed with nothing but the soft thud of a lone ball, rolling away from the three-point line where she’d frozen. her hands trembled slightly, still outstretched, still pretending she could pass to you—like you’d be there waiting.

but the air stayed still.

she blinked hard, jaw tight. “you always believed in me more than i did. even when i didn’t deserve it. even when i missed the shot.”

she picked up the ball again, holding it close like it was something fragile. “i swore i’d fight for us. i swore i’d make it back to you. and i am. i will. just… just give me one more chance, alright?” she said into the air tears pooling at her eyes. the gym didn’t answer. just the hum of lights overhead, the creak of old wood, the kind of silence that never felt empty until now.

she turned her head toward the bleachers, half-expecting your laugh, the way it always broke through her seriousness like sunlight through stormclouds.

nothing.

still, she smiled through the ache. “you said i was stubborn. that i didn’t know when to stop.” a breath. “well, you’re right. i don’t.”

she tossed the ball. swish.

“but i’ll keep showing up. i’ll keep playing. and maybe— just maybe that’s how i’ll find you again.”

-

there were days when nika swore she could still hear your voice—echoing through her apartment, from the pages of books you’d underlined, in the wind when she ran alone through the park. it was a cruel kind of comfort.

she found your journal one afternoon, tucked behind her old photos. her hands trembled as she turned the pages. every word, every scribbled note in the margins, was soaked in you—your sarcasm, your curiosity, your quiet awe of the world.

one entry started with her name.

“nika, if i could write your name into the sky, I would. you made me feel like i belonged in the world. that’s a rare thing. that’s love, right?”

she sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, your journal on her lap. she hadn’t spoken to anyone about you in months. people stopped asking. grief made people uncomfortable when it lingered too long.

but your name—your name was the only thing she never let go of.