#but lemme know if you want me to change anything

[lupinqs]

CRUSH CULTURE ━━ paige bueckers x reader

☆ ━ summary: paige has a hopeless crush on you, a cheerleader.

☆ ━ word count: 5.4K

☆ ━ warnings: alcohol consumption, kissing, this one’s tame

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, inspired by this request (lol i know this was forever ago)

☆ ━ author’s note: hiii i hope y’all enjoy—lemme know if you guys want a part 2 and if so send in ideas for it!!! i have been hopelessly uncreative recently!!! also yes i have been writing tmtc and safe and sound i promise—new chapter of tmtc should be out sometime this weekend, no idea on safe and sound because goddamn that fic takes me forever to write

PAIGE HAS ALWAYS noticed you—though, funny enough, at first it wasn’t because you cheered. That part didn’t even register until her junior year, when she started paying attention to things off the court. But she’d first noticed you back in her sophomore year, in that one class she didn’t feel like she needed at all. She’d often zone out, either doodling in the margins of her notebook or letting her eyes drift around the room as she let her mind wander. Her gaze would skip over classmates until, one day, it stopped on you.

And, God, she remembers that moment. The way she’d blinked, like she needed to reset her brain for a second because… well, you. It wasn’t anything specific, nothing she could even name at the time. But there was this something about you that made her stomach flip. From then on, whenever she zoned out, her eyes would find you before she even realized it. You’d be focused on your notes or lost in thought, completely unaware, and Paige would catch herself staring just a little too long.

She’d think about talking to you, but for some reason, you made her nervous. And that wasn’t something Paige was used to feeling—not with girls. She’d been confident her whole life, even a little cocky when it came to flirting, and her reputation certainly proceeded her. But with you, all of that confidence vanished. Her brain would go blank, her hands would fidget, and her heart would pound just watching you, sitting across the room. The idea of walking up to you, striking up a conversation, felt almost laughable. You’d somehow managed to turn her, Paige Bueckers, into a stammering mess with just a look.

And then there was the other part—the part that kept her from making a move even when she managed to work up the nerve. You looked so…straight. She knows it’s a stupid assumption, but something about the way you carried yourself—she’d convinced herself that you had to be straight. Maybe it was the way you fit in with the other girls, how they flocked around you like they were all in some effortlessly straight, picture-perfect group. Whatever it was, Paige felt certain you’d never look at her the way she looked at you.

So she let it go, or at least, she tried to. But you kept slipping into her thoughts, distracting her in that class, making her mind wander back to you when she least expected it. Her silly little crush on you lingered all through sophomore year, and even when summer rolled around, she found herself thinking of you every now and then, imagining what it might have been like to know you outside of that class.

Then junior year rolled around, and her whole world changed with that ACL tear. Benched for the season, her focus shifted in ways she never anticipated. Instead of charging down the court, she found herself sitting on the sidelines, watching, observing things she normally wouldn’t have noticed. And it was during one of those games, one of those long, frustrating nights when she just wanted to play, that she saw you again—this time, on the court as one of the cheerleaders.

At first, she couldn’t believe it. She actually had to blink a few times, like her brain was trying to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. This was her third year at UConn, and she hadn’t noticed you were a cheerleader ever. Maybe she really was just unobservant, but it truly shocked her. You looked completely different from how you did in class—more animated, more alive, like you were in your element. And when you started that long, impressive tumbling pass down the court, her jaw dropped. She didn’t even know you could do that, and it left her staring, heart hammering in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. (And maybe the tiny little uniform helped speed it up, too.)

From then on, Paige couldn’t keep her eyes off you during games. She’d always find herself watching you, wondering if you’d somehow feel her gaze, hoping that maybe, just once, you’d look her way. She spent so many games like that—sneaking glances, letting her mind wander, imagining what it might be like to finally work up the nerve to talk to you. But game after game, you never seemed to notice her, too focused on your routines, your teammates, and the cheering crowd around you.

And Paige? She knew she was hopelessly stuck. She’d sit there on the sidelines, feeling ridiculous, pining after a girl she couldn’t even talk to, a girl she thought she’d never really have a chance with. It was her worst crush yet—the kind that left her feeling off-balance, stumbling over her own thoughts, trying to convince herself that it didn’t matter—and she’d never even spoken to you. But each time she saw you out there, smiling, moving with that same effortless grace, she’d feel that same pull, that same quiet, persistent ache.

It’s senior year now, and Paige has one thing on her mind: basketball. It’s been more than a year since she’s played, and she’s determined to make this season count. All summer, she told herself the same thing over and over: Stay focused. Don’t get distracted. No more drifting thoughts, no more daydreams, and absolutely no more pointless crushes on girls she can’t have. And especially no crushes on you.

You, the cheerleader she’d spent too many junior year games staring at from the sidelines. You, the girl she still thought about when her mind wandered late at night, even though she knew better. No, this year, she was locking in. She’d worked too hard, too long, to let her head get all twisted up over you again. She was here to play basketball, not to chase after some unattainable crush.

But as she jogs onto the court for warm-ups, trying to ignore the butterflies that come with her first game back, her eyes somehow find you anyway. Just like they always do. And it’s like no time has passed at all. You’re laughing with the other cheerleaders, your hair perfectly styled in a half-up-half-down, a bow nestled in it, your uniform hugging you just right. The lights catch on your skin, giving you this soft glow, and your smile—God, that smile, so open and sweet and painfully distracting—has her heart skipping a beat before she even realizes it. Paige quickly snaps her eyes away, reminding herself she’s here to play, not to get lost in some imaginary world where she has a chance with you. This is her first game back, and even if it’s just an exhibition against Dayton, she’s got to make it count.

With a deep breath, she manages to brush you off. The pregame excitement kicks in, and her focus sharpens as the game begins. And it’s everything she’s been waiting for—the sounds of the court, the rush of the crowd, the thrill of moving with the ball in her hands again. She’s finally back, and for the first quarter, she’s locked in, feeling the rhythm of the game, feeling unstoppable.

Then it happens. KK makes a bad pass, and Paige is already in motion, chasing down the ball to save it from going out of bounds. She dives, stretching to reach it, but it’s just out of reach. Before she can stop herself, she’s crashing full speed into the sidelines—right into the cheerleaders.

Right into you.

The impact is quick and jarring, and she scrambles to her feet as fast as she can, heart hammering in her chest. She’s prepared to rattle off an apology when she realizes who she’s just barreled into. You’re significantly smaller than her, and her stomach drops as she takes in your wide eyes and the faint wince that flickers across your face. But you handle it with the same grace she’d always admired from afar, waving her off with a laugh and saying, “It’s fine! You’re good!” Your smile is easy, casual, and she’s even more mortified by how sweet you’re being about it.

She tries to apologize again, but you’re already brushing it off with that smile, and she feels her face heating up as she mumbles something unintelligible before hurrying back onto the court. But now her head’s a mess, all her carefully built-up focus gone, replaced by the embarrassing replay of what just happened. She tells herself to get it together, but it’s no use. Her mind keeps drifting back to the look on your face, to the sound of your laugh, to the softness in your smile when you waved her off.

The rest of the game passes in a frustrating blur. She’s off her rhythm, missing open shots she’d normally sink with ease, getting caught in rotations she usually anticipates. By the end, she’s only scored eight points—a painfully low number, especially for her—and she feels the weight of it like a stone in her stomach. She should be thinking about the game, her missed shots, how to get her focus back. But as she sits on the bench, watching the last few minutes tick away, all she can think about is you standing there, laughing off her clumsy collision, looking up at her with that easy, unbothered smile.

So much for not getting distracted.

After the game, Paige is still kicking herself over how sloppy her performance was. She lingers in the locker room, hoping to avoid any unwanted run-ins. But finally, when she’s convinced she’s given it enough time for everyone to clear out, she heads out into the quiet halls of Gampel Pavilion.

Except, of course, her luck isn’t that great. Just as she’s walking out, she spots you—still in your cheer uniform but with a UConn sweatshirt thrown over it, heading down the hall, cheer bag on your back. Her first instinct is to turn around, bolt back into the locker room, and hope to avoid any more humiliation, but it’s already too late. You look up, and your eyes meet, and suddenly she’s frozen in place, panicking because she’s actually staring straight into your eyes.

And then you smile at her. That smile, the one that sends her brain into a meltdown every time. But it’s so much worse now because your smile is directed at her. And, suddenly, you’re walking up to her and saying, “Hey, good game tonight,” and Paige is pretty sure her heart has stopped.

She tries to seem casual, to play it cool, but all she can manage is a shrug and a half-hearted, “Eh, wasn’t my best.” She’s hoping you don’t notice her stutter, but her cheeks are burning, giving her away.

You just wave it off, your dimple showing as you grin up at her. “Nah, this was just your warm-up. You haven’t played in, like, over a year. Next game you’ll drop thirty.”

Paige blinks, and the fact that you know she’s good at basketball—even though everyone knows she’s good at basketball—is enough to send her into a coma, she thinks. “Oh, gosh,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck, struggling to find words. “Gonna have to now, just for you.” The second it’s out of her mouth, she mentally facepalms. That totally sounds like she’s trying to flirt with you.

But you just laugh, eyes crinkling as you look at her, completely unfazed. “I’ll hold you to it,” you say, and that smile doesn’t waver.

There’s a pause, and Paige knows this is where you’re about to say goodbye, and she panics because, after two years of thinking and practically obsessing over you, she’s finally talking to you, and it feels too short, too fleeting. Before she can second-guess herself, she blurts, “Oh—uh, hey, about earlier… when I ran into you. I’m… really sorry about that.”

You shake your head, smiling even wider, brushing it off with an easy laugh. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time; more than you’d think.”

There’s something so casual and warm about the way you say it, and she feels herself relax a little, caught up in the fact that you’re looking right at her, not at all bothered, almost… endeared? And for some reason, seeing your dimpled smile has her stammering like she’s never done before.

“So… uh…” Paige stumbles, her words failing, her confidence gone. “Are you, um, going to Ted’s tonight?” She bites her lip the moment it’s out, but she presses on. “You know, a lot of people go there after the first game—it’s kinda, like, a…thing. Which, y’know, I guess you probably already know about because… you’re, like, not a freshman…” She sounds so stupid. God.

You tilt your head slightly, considering, before you smile at her again. “I wasn’t really planning on going, but…” You pause, looking at her with a bit of a spark in your eyes, and for a second, she feels like she might actually combust. “Should I?”

Paige’s eyes widen, and she’s nodding before she can stop herself. “Y-yes! I—I think you’d have a good time.” She mentally scolds herself for the stutter, but you’re just nodding, still smiling, still looking so effortlessly at ease while she’s a nervous mess.

You laugh softly, a sound she’s sure she’ll replay in her head all night, and say, “Alright. I’ll think about it. And if I do decide to go, I’ll see you there, Bueckers.”

And with one last smile, you turn and walk away, leaving her standing there in shock, her heart racing and her mind replaying every word you just said. She’s tempted to pinch herself, convinced this has to be some elaborate daydream because there’s no way she actually just talked to you.

She doesn’t move for a long moment, replaying the way you said her name, the sound of your laugh, and the chance that she might actually see you tonight.

IT’S LATER in the night at Ted’s, and Paige is doing her best to stay composed, talking with one of the guys from the men’s team. Dirty Shirley in hand, she’s feeling just the faintest buzz, not enough to loosen her grip on reality but just enough to feel the edges of her confidence soften. She’s nodding along to something the guy’s saying when, over his shoulder, she spots you walking in.

Paige’s attention falters as she takes you in. You’re in baggy jeans that hang low on your hips, and a leather tube top that clings in all the right places, dipping enough to make her gaze lower slightly. She can barely tear her gaze away as you head over to the bar with a couple of friends, both of whom Paige recognizes from the cheer team. You’re laughing, leaning into one of them, completely at ease, and she can’t stop watching.

She realizes she’s staring a little too long, so she quickly excuses herself, not to talk to you—God, no, she can’t even think straight around you—but to hide by her teammates before she does something stupid. Her teammates notice her the moment she approaches, grinning as they watch her flustered expression.

“You see who just walked in, P?” Azzi teases, nudging her.

Paige groans, cheeks burning. “Don’t start.”

But they’re all laughing, and Ice is elbowing KK with a smirk. Nika, who’s been listening with a barely disguised grin, rolls her eyes. “Okay, this is ridiculous. You’ve had a crush on this girl since, like, forever. Go talk to her.”

“Are you kidding? I can’t. She’s—” Paige doesn’t even finish the sentence, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see you at the bar, waiting for your drink. She’d be lying if she said her confidence hadn’t evaporated the moment you walked in, looking like that.

“Girl boo,” KK sighs dramatically, before grabbing Paige’s wrist and dragging her toward the bar. Paige stumbles after her, mumbling weak protests, but KK is determined, practically hauling her across the crowded floor until they’re standing right next to you. KK orders a Sprite, leaning casually on the bar and glancing over at you with a grin. “Hey, girly pop! You cheer, right?”

You smile, looking more at Paige than at KK, and Paige’s heart thuds against her ribs. “Yeah, I do,” you say, introducing yourself and holding out a hand to KK, but your gaze flickers right back to Paige, who’s half-hiding behind her friend, cheeks pink and looking slightly caught. “Hi, Paige.”

Paige’s voice comes out a little sheepish. “Hey.”

KK smirks, clearly satisfied, and gives Paige a quick wink before excusing herself, leaving Paige standing there alone with you.

There’s a beat of awkward silence as Paige shifts on her feet, trying to keep herself from looking like an idiot, which is hard considering how aware she is of every single thing about you—your posture, your smile, the way you’re leaning in just close enough that she can catch a faint hint of your perfume.

“So,” Paige says, trying for casual. “You glad you came?”

You tilt your head, your lips quirking up. “Hmm, not sure yet. I’m not too impressed so far.”

She nods, stifling a wince, feeling more awkward than she can ever remember. And yet, her mind’s racing, urging her to just go for it, because this is her moment. She’s Paige Bueckers—she’s supposed to be confident. She always is. Besides, if you’re not interested, at least she’ll know. And if you are…

She hesitates, then swallows, trying to keep her voice steady as she says, “Um… can I buy you a drink?”

There’s a flicker of something in your eyes—maybe amusement, maybe surprise—and she’s mentally bracing herself for you to say no when you glance at the bar and say, “Actually, I just ordered one.” Her heart sinks a little, but she forces a smile, trying to play it off. Of course you’re not interested; she should have known better—

Then you’re leaning closer, nudging her elbow with yours, and you smirk, your voice soft and playful. “But you can buy my next one, if you want.”

Paige’s brain short-circuits as your words settle in, her mouth going dry as she realizes what you just said. “Uh, y-yeah, totally,” she manages, trying to keep from looking as giddy as she feels. “I…I’d love to.”

Your smirk turns into a grin, and you’re looking at her like she’s the only person in the room. She’s trying to come up with something smooth to say when, suddenly, one of your friends pops ups beside you and Paige, tugging on your arm, pulling you off the barstool and towards the crowd with a teasing, “Come on!”

Paige opens her mouth to protest, but before she knows it, you’re being swallowed up into the throng of people—not before you send her a quick, apologetic look over your shoulder, your friend still dragging you. Paige frowns, a little disappointed, but quickly catches herself. It’s fine, she thinks, though a twinge of regret lingers. She pushes it aside, grabbing her drink from the bar and returning back to her table, telling herself to focus on celebrating. She’s finally back on the court, and after such a long, difficult recovery, tonight is meant to be about unwinding. So she does, letting her team hype her up as they cheer and clink their drinks in her honor, pulling her deeper into the night.

As the time passes, Paige’s frustration eases, replaced by a warm buzz that dulls everything except the elation of being surrounded by her friends. But even as she sips her drink, she can’t help but think about where you’ve disappeared to, if you’re still here, still laughing with your friends somewhere across the bar. She finds herself scanning the crowd more than once, looking for a glimpse of you. She tries to push it down, laugh it off with another round, but every time she looks around, her gaze seems to search for you.

Eventually, the heat of the crowded bar gets to her. She feels flushed, dizzy from the alcohol and the mass of people, so she slips out the back door for some air. The cool breeze hits her face, and she closes her eyes for a second, sighing as the sounds of the bar fade behind her. She barely has a moment to herself before she notices a figure sitting just a few feet away.

It’s you, sitting on the curb, looking down at your hands as if lost in thought. Paige blinks, unsure if she’s seeing things. But then you look up at the sound of the door closing and smile, that familiar, gentle smile that makes her heart stutter. You seem just as surprised to see her, but your expression softens, like you’re genuinely happy she’s there. And that’s all the encouragement Paige needs.

“You care if I join?” she asks, trying to sound casual, even though her heart’s racing.

“Not at all,” you reply, and she takes a seat beside you, a bit closer than she planned. She feels your warmth even in the night air, and it makes her head spin in a way she can’t blame on the alcohol.

There’s a pause, a comfortable silence stretching between you. Paige watches as you draw patterns in the gravel with your fingers, the lights from the bar casting a soft glow over your face. She swallows, summoning up the nerve to say something—anything that might keep you sitting here with her.

“Why you out here?” she starts, genuinely curious.

You shrug, glancing back toward the bar. “Got a little claustrophobic in there,” you say, voice soft.

“Yeah… me too,” Paige nods, grateful for the fresh air and this quiet moment with you. The silence returns, but this time, it’s charged, heavy with something she can’t quite put into words.

Finally, Paige finds her voice again, her words slipping out before she can think them over. “You’re a good cheerleader, y’know. You do all those flips and shit—it’s impressive.”

You let out a small laugh, looking away for a second as if flattered. Paige is almost certain she sees a faint blush on your cheeks, and the sight makes her smile a little, lips curving upward. “Didn’t know you really paid attention to the cheerleaders,” you respond, teasing.

Paige scoffs, shrugging as if it isn’t a big deal, even though she feels like she’s been caught in some sort of confession—which, she kinda has. “Well, I did sit out for a year, so… I had to find something to watch.”

You tilt your head, smirking as you ask, “So you chose to watch me?”

Paige’s cheeks warm, and she silently thanks the alcohol for the courage that lets her meet your gaze. “Yeah,” she murmurs, watching as you look away, biting your lip as if trying to hide a smile. The sight makes her heart skip in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

After a moment, Paige adds, “I think we… had a class together, couple years ago?”

You nod, eyes lighting up at the memory. “Yeah, we did. Sociology, right?” you reaffirm, nodding in tandem with her. “’M surprised you remember that—you always seemed so disinterested.”

Paige nearly blanches, genuinely surprised you’d noticed her too. She didn’t think you’d have remembered her, much less noticed her back then. The notion gives her some of her usual confidence beck and she manages a chuckle, shaking her head and tilting it slightly toward you as she murmurs, “Ah, so you were watching me too, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you as you nudge her shoulder. “Shut up,” you mutter, but the blush on your face doesn’t go unnoticed.

There’s another pause, the two of you sitting side by side in the quiet, both of you lingering on the edge of something unsaid. Finally, you break the silence, voice soft and hesitant. “How come you never said anything before?”

Paige swallows, the question catching her off guard. She doesn’t know how to answer without giving herself away, without admitting the way her stomach twists every time she sees you around campus. So instead, she asks, turning the question back on you, “How come you never did?”

You don’t seem to mind that she didn’t really give you an answer. Instead, you just shrug, looking down at your hands. “I don’t know… you make me kinda nervous.”

The confession makes Paige’s heart alight, feeling like it’s on fire and might spread throughout her whole body. She’s used to people being in awe of her for basketball, for her skills on the court. But hearing you say that you feel that way too, like she’s someone more than just her reputation, shakes her. Besides, you’ve always seemed so incredibly at ease around her, never even bothering to look her way. So, almost incredulously, she asks, “Why?”

You scoff, looking at her like she’s missing something obvious. “Um, because you’re Paige Bueckers. Basketball prodigy, campus celebrity.” You raise your eyebrows at her. “I think most people would be.”

Paige feels a rush of warmth at your words, the way you say her name like it means something special. She searches your face, feeling the air grow thick around you, heavy with something she couldn’t quite name. And maybe it’s the alcohol in her system, maybe it’s the way you’re looking at her like she’s somehow both intimidating and endearing at the same time, but she’s feeling bold. Bold enough to keep this conversation going, to see where this moment might lead.

She clears her throat, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Well, if it helps… you make me nervous.”

You laugh, a little breathless, clearly surprised. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” Paige insists. “You ain’t see the way I stuttered around you earlier? Ion know, ma, you just kinda fuck with my head.”

She watches, grin widening, as you blush at her words, the color blooming across your cheeks. It’s addictive, seeing you react like that—because of her. She doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when you ask, gaze set out in front of you instead of on her, “Why would I fuck with your head?”

It’s a good question, one Paige asked herself for a long time. It never took her long to figure out the answer. Though, she’s a little nervous to explain herself.

And she gets even more nervous when your gaze slides back onto hers, your head turning towards her. Paige’s smile falters, just slightly, at the eye contact. It’s intense, the kind that feels like it’s holding the world still for a second. Paige’s heart is a drum in her chest, each beat vibrating through her veins. Her eyes slide across your face, your features, tracing the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the faint shimmer glitter swiped along your eyelids. She catalogues every detail as if she’s never going to get this close again—a very real possibility if she doesn’t up her game.

Finally, she leans in—just slightly—her voice low and steady as she answers you. “You got this positive energy that makes you just… stand out in front of a crowd. Big smile. Bright eyes. Mm, I just… like seeing that in people.”

The words settle in the space between you, warm and lingering. Paige hesitates, letting them wrap around you both before adding, her voice dipping lower, her boldness shooting upward, “And it doesn’t help that you’re too beautiful for your own good.”

You blush deeper this time, cheeks tinted more red than pink, and it makes Paige’s heart skip. She can’t help the way her lips twitch into a grin. She’s waited so long to see this—see you flustered because of her. It’s everything she imagined and more.

“Stop,” you protest, fighting a smile as you push at her hands, your tone not carrying any weight behind the word. Paige just laughs, soft and easy, catching your hand in hers before you can pull away. She lifts it slightly, letting her thumb brush over your knuckles as she murmurs, “Nah, really.”

It’s then that the air changes—shifting into something heavier. The space between the two of you is practically nonexistent at this point, your sides tucked right into each other. You’re staring at one another, and Paige can’t help it when her gaze flickers down to your lips, just for a second. But it turns out to be enough. Because then she sees your eyes dart to her mouth in return, lingering there. And that’s when Paige knows.

Still holding your hand, she locks her gaze on yours, her voice firm but soft when she repeats, “Really.”

It’s like that word unlocks something between you because suddenly you’re leaning in, and Paige is doing the same, her breath catching the moment your lips touch hers. It’s soft, tentative at first, like neither of you are quite sure if this is real. But then you press into her just slightly, and Paige swears the whole world tilts on its axis.

The kiss deepens, slow but deliberate, and Paige feels her whole body light up. Your lips are warm, soft, and you taste faintly of tequila and strawberry chapstick. It’s intoxicating, the way you move against her, gentle but with enough purpose to make her head spin. Paige’s hand slides up to cradle your jaw, her thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

Your fingers grab at her bicep, holding on like you don’t want to let go, and it sends a thrill through her. Paige’s lips part slightly, and when you follow, letting her slip her tongue into your mouth, it’s like a fire ignites somewhere deep inside her. The kiss isn’t frantic or messy—it’s unhurried, like the two of you have all the time in the world to explore this. She can feel the heat of your skin where her hand cups your face, and she wants to memorize every second, every sensation.

The way you tilt your head just a little, giving her more access, nearly undoes her. Paige tilts her own in response, deepening the kiss further, her fingers slipping from your jaw to the back of your neck. The touch is light, almost reverent, but the closeness makes her heart race.

Your other hand moves, grazing against her side before resting lightly on her hip. Paige’s stomach flips at the contact, her body leaning instinctively closer to yours. She swears she can feel the warmth of your breath between kisses, the subtle hitch when she nips at your bottom lip.

It’s slow, it’s sweet, but it’s intoxicating. Paige swears she’s never kissed anyone like this before, never felt this much just from simple lip-locking. When you pull back slightly—not breaking the kiss entirely, just catching your breath—she can’t help herself. She follows you instinctively, her mouth chasing yours in a way that feels both vulnerable and utterly fearless. You allow her to, tongues half entwined between your swollen lips.

When you finally part, Paige keeps close, her forehead gently pressing against yours, her hand still cradling your neck. Neither of you moves far, the space between you so small your breaths still mingle, soft and warm against each other’s lips. Paige’s eyes flutter open, but she doesn’t look away from you, her gaze locked on yours like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—which, right now, you might as well be.

Her voice comes out lower than she intends, husky and laced with something she can’t quite hide as she murmurs, “You gonna let me buy you that drink now?”

Your lips curve into a slow, easy grin, and Paige feels her chest tighten, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of it. You’re so close she can see the faint glimmer of mischief in your eyes, the way they soften as you look at her.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice soft but sure, “I’d like that.”

The way you say it, the way your smile widens just slightly after, makes Paige’s heart race all over again. She can’t help the small, satisfied smile that spreads across her face. Paige leans back just enough to take in the sight of you—your flushed cheeks, the way your hair’s slightly mussed, and that lingering, breathtaking smile she knows will haunt her in the best way.

“Good,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing your jaw lightly one last time before she pulls away completely, standing up and offering you her hand. When you take it, she holds on a little longer than necessary, leading you back into the bar, already planning how she’s going to keep you smiling for the rest of the night—and, hopefully, much longer afterwards.

[dr-hanwool]

Hanwool felt as though the atmosphere between himself and Rain was relaxed tonight, due to a mixture of their drinks and their light-hearted conversation. Sure Hanwool was flirting, but Rain being responsive and flirting back with him. If Rain was offended, if the other wasn't into it, if the escort was uncomfortable, Hanwool would stop. He knew he was the client here - Hanwool was paying, he could ask anything of Rain, he was well within his right to as per the The Playroom rules, but how could he, when it would make his partner unhappy? Or angry? Or upset? That was the last thing Hanwool wanted. And even if he desired Rain so deeply, carnally, with every fibre of his being, he would not force him into the backroom like how some of the other low-life clients at this place would.

When Rain joined him there, it would be because they both wanted it.

Seeing that Rain was enjoying his jokes was enough for Hanwool for now, who kept them coming. The escort looked as though he were trying not to show that he was amused, but the crinkle next to his gorgeous eyes was telling of his true feelings. Hanwool liked that Rain was still trying to keep up his appearances - it made their time in the booth all the more special. Like they were in on a secret that nobody else was aware of.

One of the rare, genuine requests that Hanwool had for Rain was that the escort call him 'hyung'. It wasn't just because he was more used to Korean, he wasn't exactly missing the language since he spoke it fairly frequently even in Thailand to his family and his patients, but more because it was a way for he and Rain to connect a little more deeply. He knew that to Rain he was just a meal ticket, but if tonight was any indication, they could become closer. They didn't have to remain client-and-escort forever.

Truly, Hanwool wasn't expecting Rain to actually say it, especially after he commented that Hanwool was feeling comfortable. He was, he would admit it, but so was Rain, so could the escort blame him? Hanwool wouldn't have been mad if Rain continued to call him Khun. But then, the escort surprised him - that was happening a lot tonight.

"But since I asked, I guess I have to do it... Right, Hyung?"

Hanwool let out a shuddering breath, his eyes darkening at the way Rain uttered his name. The man was an expert at working his client, that was for sure, and Hanwool was all the more thankful for it. He wondered what Rain would sound like moaning that repeatedly in his ear while Hanwool fucked him deeply.

"I'll call you 'hyung' if you want me to but only if it's just the two of us. In front of everyone, you're Khun Hanwool, understood?"

Hanwool's composure returned as he smiled at the escort, nodding his head once. "Perfectly fine with me." He said, once again amused by the confidence of the escort. Setting his own demands, even after a client request - Hanwool wondered if only Rain could get away with such things. In the drinks he shared with other patrons of The Playroom while he waited for his booking time, Rain was discussed as the only escort who posed such a challenge for his clients. There were even discussions of which person would eventually crack Rain's code, get him into the backroom and make him eat those words, repaying him back for all the swats on the arm. Hanwool hated that talk, and would glare at the other patrons while they laughed about it. But Hanwool knew that his Rain would never allow such a thing to happen to him. That fire, that spirit - it kept him alive in this life, especially in a place like this.

When Hanwool bought up the backroom, Rain asked him if that's what he had been thinking this entire time. He shook his head no, because there were other thoughts occupying his mind, though they did mostly centre around the escort beside him. Since when did the two of them get so close, by the way? Hanwool had inched closer when he had felt Rain's heart, but it appeared that the two remained in proximity. He could feel the warmth of Rain's body beside him, their shoulders almost touching.

Asking for a kiss on the cheek was bold, Hanwool knew, but he figured if Rain didn't want to do it, then he wouldn't. It had been proven to Hanwool time and time again that whenever Rain didn't want to engage in an activity, he made it clear.

So when instead, Rain's hand was gently placed on the side of Hanwool's face and the escort tongue his lips and leaned forward, Hanwool was so shocked he could hardly move.

Rain's plush and wet lips brushed up again Hanwool's own, the residual saliva cool on the doctor's skin where it dragged against his mouth and cheek.

"You moved." Rain whispered, though Hanwool had done no such thing. Did that mean...

Rain had wanted to kiss him?

It was a small hope, and Hanwool reached out to hold onto Rain's arm, gently, keeping him close. He leaned forward, dark eyes curiously peering into Rain's, trying to decipher the reason. He would not have kissed him just because Hanwool had asked - there had to be another explanation.

"Did you do that because you wanted to? Or because I asked?" Hanwool was curious as to the answer the escort would give him. "If you wanted to kiss me on the lips instead of the cheek, all you have to do is say so." Hanwool told him softly. "You're the escort and I'm the client, but we both know by now that you're not one to be controlled. And I like that about you." Hanwool admited. "If you want something from me... tell me, and I'll give it to you. Like you allowed me to feel your heart, I can give you something too. Do you want me to kiss you, Rain? Do you want me to touch you and make you feel good? Because I can. I can do it, but only if you want me to."

Hanwool's fingers released the hold they had on Rain's arm. He stroked the bare, smooth skin with the back of his hand, his touch lingering far more than he was probably allowed with Rain. But as usual, if Rain wanted to smack his hand away, he would. It wouldn't offend Hanwool or pain him at all - but it would hopefully tell him what Rain was okay with, similarly to the questions he had just asked the escort.

Hanwool felt lighter than he had in years the more he and Rain interacted. The way they were talking right now made it seem as if they had known each other for years, the conversation and flirtations flowing easily from both sides. Both. Whatever Hanwool said to Rain, the escort was responding in kind, showing the doctor pieces of his personality. Rain portrayed himself with confidence, not afraid to swat his clients' wandering hands whenever they got too close, and shut down all kinds of suggestive talk. He had done it to Hanwool too, many times,. so the doctor very rarely got to see this side of the man. Almost playful, light-hearted, challenging.

The smile that barely showed on Rain's lips was evidence enough for Hanwool that the escort was enjoying himself. Whether or not he was doing so as part of the job, Hanwool didn't care because it was different than normal. It was progress. So, Hanwool continued with his pick-up lines, his smile growing when he saw how Rain was unable to hide his own. The younger man even chuckled, the sound soft but light, pleasant on the ears, indulging the doctor's flirting.

"Are you gonna use more cheesy pick-up lines to get my heart racing? Because I'm gonna tell you now, Khun, they're not working."

Hanwool took a little sip of his drink after hearing that, his eyes shining playfully as he gazed longingly at the man beside him. Rain claimed they weren't working, but Hanwool was sure they had some effect on him - the teasing, the flirting back, the smiling, the light laughter... all of that was proof. Maybe Rain's heart mightn't be racing as the escort so claimed, but Hanwool was sure that at the very least it was beating faster than normal, from the excitement and the freshness of a new experience between them.

There was a change in the atmosphere between them, when Hanwool forwent his flirting to instead assure the other of his honesty. About how he wanted Rain to know he wouldn't hurt him, that he wanted to earn his trust. Rain's reaction reflected the shift from playful to seriousness, if only for a moment. Then, the escort spoke again.

"That's your purpose. To save people. I admire that. But you can't save everyone, Doc."

Hanwool was silent for a moment, before he let out a singular, rough laugh. "Ha!" He exclaimed, shaking his head and instantly reaching for the alcohol. "Can't save everyone. Isn't that the sad truth of this world..." He mused, talking mostly to himself than to Rain, before downing whatever was left in the glass in one full swoop, letting it burn his throat. The doctor knew from his profession that Rain was right. Medically speaking, there were many cases that could not be solved successfully, no matter how hard Hanwool tried. He found himself internally agreeing. No, Hanwool supposed. He couldn't save everyone. There were many people he had failed, including the one person who should have mattered to him most. He hadn't saved Yeong.

But he could save Rain, in his place.

Hanwool put his glass down, not quite yet done with the alcohol for the night but not asking Rain to pour him anymore. The escort had asked him something, sliding in closer to the booth beside him, so close that if Hanwool reached out he would be able to touch him again. Feel that firm chest, that held his beating heart beneath.

"You still have a lot of time. And you paid extra. Anything else you want me to do for you? Anything you want me to call you? I guess it's your lucky night tonight."

"Hmm..." Hanwool hummed, tapping his fingers on the table as he contemplated Rain's request. His teasing smile returned and he leaned in closer, eyes shining anew. "You can call me yours."

He was joking, on the outside. Rain didn't need to know how serious he was on the inside.

"I'm kidding," Hanwool assured the other, lest he get swatted for his cheesy and outdated pick up lines again. He was already testing that with how close he was sitting to the escort, and how the hand he had been resting on the table was slowly inching its way towards Rain. "But... I would rather you not call me Khun, anymore. Could you instead call me Hyung?" A change in honorific might help further establish how close Hanwool had become to Rain, during the course of the month he had been visiting The Playroom.

"If all else fails, we could just go to the backroom." Hanwool teased again. It wouldn't be an escort service date with Rain without Hanwool fooling around about the two of them using the private rooms in the back, despite both of them knowing that was never going to happen. "Or... a kiss on the cheek?" He said playfully, tapping his cheek. He wondered if Rain, in his relaxed state, would actually do it this time. If not... ah, well. A love slap was also welcome.

[daydrcamings]

@fcdcdmcmories

"uh... are... are you okay?" bella questioned, nervously clearing her throat. "sorry you just... you kinda seem to be looking at me for a while. do... do i have something on my face?" she didn't wait for his answer, rubbing around her mouth with her sleeve in case that was the case. "is... is everything okay?" she questioned, brows furrowed in confusion. was he another vampire? could he sense how uncomfortable he was in the situation and was waiting to take advantage? or just some human planning something?

[slenderfurry]

My attempt to make a slenderpossum fursona

For @poorlydrawnsplendorman :3

[anonnikulaphon]

dinner party

Timeline: 2024 October 21st, Monday evening. Location: Sangchareon's ancestral home outside Bangkok. Attire: See this post. Boy is looking good, dressed but showing off so much skin at the same time 😏 With: @reddevildaeng and his and Red's families

Red was finally discharged from the hospital, after nearly twenty days of recovery despite most of his wounds being superficial. The doctors had kept Red a little longer, in the hopes that his missing memory would return, but it looked like that wouldn't happen. Anon didn't mind that - these past few weeks with Red had been the best he had ever spent with the man. There was no animosity or hatred between them, and Red actually wanted to talk to Anon and spend time with him. There was sweetness between them, and Anon never thought he'd get with Red before the man had had his accident.

Anon just hoped that if Red's memories did come back, the time they spent now would be enough to push out whatever prejudices his fiancée had for him in the past.

Both the Sangchareon and Nikulaphon families were excited to welcome Red back to his home, organising a dinner party in the evening in celebration of the man's recovery. The two families had not been together since the engagement almost a month prior, and the reunion was a happy one for almost everybody in attendance. Anon's nieces and nephews were entertaining his mother-in-law, while his grandfather and parents were in conversation with his father-in-law - who was doing much better after his heart attack - and P'Dan. Suri was... Anon didn't know, honestly. They made eye contact, and that was it.

After dinner, Red took Anon into a private room of his home, away from the laughter and chatter of their combined families.

"P'Red, what are we doing here?" Anon asked, curiosity in his voice as they sat next to each other on the couches of the guest living room, his smiles coming more easily to his lips these days. "Was it getting too overwhelming for you, with everyone?" Red had been in a quiet hospital room for days now, so Anon thought that maybe he wanted some time away from the noise of their families.

Anon had been sitting beside Red a lot, these days. And the other never made a motion to push him away, usually instead trying to draw him forward. Most of Red's injuries had healed, but he still wore some of his bruises from his accident on his skin - yet, it didn't take away from the man's handsomeness. Anon had become even better acquainted, with Red's gorgeous face, and now, seated beside him on the couch, was no different.

[purgatored]

STATUS : closed for @hcartcorruptcd ! LOCATION : in front of benny's diner !

CHERRY HAS DONE A LOT OF STUPID SHIT . she can admit that to herself if no one else . sometimes something seems like a really great idea in the moment, and then once the heat of it all dies down well, it seems less great . and maybe this was one of those decisions . but cherry can't exactly worry about that now . after all she's got a fuckin' monster to run over . she knows that all the taunting was probably to get her out here in the first place . and maybe she was kinda stupid for letting it work . but how could she not ? between the fucking storm and the pile of bodies, between el's leg and emerson's fucking carcass, it was like this place was taunting them . insistent and cruel, every fucking day without fail . so yeah, this time when one of those things tapped on her window picking a fight, cherry decided to take the fucker up on it . it was a decision made in anger, sure, but most of cherry's decisions were born in rage, so it's not like that was some big change . she uses emerson's window to sneak the fuck out, picks the lock and makes her way out where those things aren't . runs whilst they walk . revs the engine of the truck while they stroll eerily in the headlights . cherry has never backed down from a fight . maybe she should learn to, but she hasn't . if she could just fuck one of them up . if she could just run one of them over, then it would be like a bit like justice . then it'd even the playing field at least a little bit . anger could blind you . cherry knew it . it's why she felt clever with the knicked talisman in her back pocket . granted, she had no fucking idea it would work . it was mostly just a guess . an impulse really . so it's kind of dumb luck, honestly . but cherry's always been kinda lucky . she tries to make those fuckers into speed bumps exactly three times before one of them slashes the tires with their weird nails . the car skids and that really should've been it . cherry should've reasonably went fucking splat . but the car spins out a bit and she only gets a forehead banged against the wheel for her efforts, well, that and a resulting killer fucking headache . yeah maybe she feels a bit dizzy for a hot second, sees double of the talisman swinging on the rearview mirror, but she's alive . not for lack of trying, mind you . they knock on the windows all fucking night . rock the car too . talk sweetly to her . pick more fights . everything under the sun . but they can't get in . it's like a miracle . a purely accidental one, but a miracle nonetheless . cherry tries to focus on that instead of her pounding head . maybe she is god's favourite after all . after all, she makes it until morning . exhausted and aching but in one piece once the sun comes up . she cracks open her eyes to the brightness of the sunlight with truly no idea when she closed them and has to blink at the silhouette outside the driver's window . not one of those things thankfully . no, the sunlight framing the figure would have given that away . but even if it didn't cherry's pretty sure she could recognize el in the dark anyways . she truly would've almost mistaken the whole thing for a dream if there weren't people milling about, gawking, gossiping, pointing . as it is she still has to blink when she gingerly unlocks the door . " ... mornin' ." cherry mumbles as she moves to shift, an act truly easier said than done . she winces a bit at the renewed ache in her head before squinting at the sun, or more the height of it in the sky . " or fuck, afternoon, i guess ." a beat then as her brows furrow before she's rubbing at her forehead, her fingers touching something tacky and sticky and matted into her hairline . " ... the fuck's everybody starin' at ?"

[angclnumber]

CLOSED STARTER FOR: @persephonyed ! BASED ON: this and this !

"OKAY, FULL DISCLOSURE I'M ... STARTING TO FEEL the effects of the tequila here ." oz admits with a tilt of their head, their gaze still intent on her as they try and get their mouth and mind to work in tangent . "so, i'll probably, maybe regret saying this in the morning but ... that doesn't make what i'm about to say any less legitimate . cause it is . legit i mean ." they swallow thickly . "... the truth is i think about kissing you, like ... all the time ."

[truly-quirkless]

[@mxndjxcker || Because we are both filthy enablers (/lh).]

First day of school...Fin hadn't really been thinking too much about it, to be honest. Outside of hiding from the kids who went to do their first round of Hero course training, they'd mostly stayed away...until the final bell had rung, and they were all but sure a grand majority of the students had gone home. That was when they'd been wandering the halls of U. A.,...

And spotted a student, still in the halls. Their head tilted slightly, letting their pace increase from its moderately-slow walk to a more average speed.

"Kid? Whatcha still doin' on school grounds? Didn't th' bells ring...I'unno, an hour ago?" They slipped their phone out of their pocket- eyes sliding over the time before finding the teen's visage again. Their phone was once more pocketed, head tilting slightly to the side. "Y'waitin' on someone?" Although this didn't seem like 'waiting for someone'...

More like 'getting the courage to leave'. But- Fin had never been that good at reading people unless they were actively threatening them, so...who were they to judge?

"...or do y'need a minute...?" They stopped short of the edge of a safe distance, far enough away to quickly leave if it was wanted- or walk closer if they thought it was needed.

[darcyxpalmer]

status: closed with @akhilaasthana location: on the deck, towards the tip of the cruise ship

"Help! Somebody! Heeeeeelp!"

The cries of help were piercing through everything suddenly and Darcy moved without even thinking twice - it seemed like people for the most part were okay (as much as they could in a situation like this and as much as Darcy could determine, of course), but they were still in a ship that was tilted over, there were dangers and somebody was literally screaming for it.

She burst through a door and the fresh air hit her in the face, the crashes of the waves getting that much stronger, but as she looked around, there was nobody in distress.

There was, however, another person looking around, possibly looking for the source of the voice as well, so Darcy headed over. "Have you heard the cries too? Do you have any idea where--"

"Somebody please! I don't want to die, please, somebody help!"

the voice came again and Darcy looked around again. "It's almost like the person is--" her eyes landed on the railing in the direction where the sounds came from and it finally hit her. "Shit," she cursed and moved immediately, hoping the woman was following.

[brokendreamscreation]

@timelostobserver liked for a Lil Lucid Verse starter!)

Heaven has indeed partaken in many questionable endeavors, but the latest one truly seemed ghastly. The creation of a new seraph from the very same dust as their fallen brethren. And not only that, but crafted in his image as well. The name to many felt like a mockery of their lost brother, a full future replacement for what Lucifer Morningstar could have been. And despite heavy disagreement against this angels creation, it was done and a new life was brought into existence among the other seraphim.

Lucid Eveningstar, the future Angel of Dreams & Illusions, is nothing more than a wee cherub in the beginning. Created as an infant to raise and guide instead of serve and obey from the start. It’s hopeful that this growth will allow better shaping and development for the angel Heaven needs and to curb any unwanted behaviors early on. They could not risk another Lucifer, and this is the only chance they have at creating a proper replacement.

Of course the baby is none the wiser. His needs are simple, but demanding, and like clockwork Lil Lucid is passed from brother to brother to be cared for among the Archangels. Some are more diligent than others, and still the young angel seems to have a knack for getting into things.

Small hands reach at a long cloth hanging over a table, gripping at the fabric. The cherub pulls at it playfully, blissfully unaware of the knick-knacks on top. Each tug scoots them ever closer to the edge, one thumping over against the table top as it’s jostled.

[slumpcd]

" i don't wanna talk right now, i just wanna watch tv. " // @mccntower

[worshippedhips]

closed  for  @nosaintz .

“   and  that’s  it  from  your  local  how - to  girl .   ”   florence  clicks  her  phone  camera  off ;   another  successful  addition  filmed  for  her  vlog .   her  following  had  been  growing  lately ,   and  she  wanted  to  venture  away  from  her  usual  content .   which  is  how  she  ended  up  outside  a  church  just  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town .  from  what  florence  had  been  told ,   the  congregation  were  actually  all  a  part  of  some  cult .   her  dark  eyes  roams  the  corners  of  the  church  blessed  by  light ,   her  feet  guiding  her  through  the  space .   rounding a pew ,   where  candles  flicker  beyond ,   she  is  met  with  a  man  …   dressed  as  a  priest .   eyes  immediately  widen   &   she  lets  out  a  yelp .   “  oh ,   god   !   ——-   sorry   !   sorry ,   i  didn’t  see  you  there   !   ”

[clxscdeyes]

@thundheir

May Crownings

Pink daisies, marigolds, and bluebells are all woven together to make a relatively nice flower crown. that's not all though. She's weaved some of one with just bluebells, others with just the marigolds, and some with just the daisies. She may have placed some other trinkets into them. She has a plan. A plan to give these out to a select few people she finds important and thankful for.

Part of her wonders if this is actually a bad idea. She should've stayed home, inside.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She quickly withdraws her hand from accidentally bumping it into someone else's. Looking over though, she notices just how beautiful this man's flower masterpiece is.

"How did you get it to look like that?"

[wcrldcffantasy]

@diotheworldus

A gasp escaped Chel as she had bumped into something hard as she was trying to make her escape from...well, from the very people that she thought she could steal from and run away scot-free.

Dark eyes widened at the sight of this strange foreign man, mouth agape before she soon heard the thudding footsteps and made a quick move to hide behind him.

She was starting to murmur in another language for a second, until she realized this person probably is not fluent and was quick to say in English, "Hide me!"

[purgatored]

STATUS : closed for @puzzzlepieces ! LOCATION : inside lost and found !

" YOU HERE TO BUST ME OR TO TAKE THE EDGE OFF ?" cherry asks conversationally, her brow arching at the sight of gabriela . she doesn't know exactly what to do with the appearance to be fair . after all, things could really go one of two ways . still, cherry finds that if gabriela did have intentions to sit and drink she wouldn't exactly be opposed to the company . but that's probably got more to do with the third shot she's got paused half way to her mouth than any real logical thought . " because whatever those motherfucker's are saying i did, i'm innocent ." cherry doesn't exactly know what anyone is saying she did, but considering that's generally the kinda shit she sees gabriela for she figures she better get ahead of it . she raises her free hand in innocence as if to make a point, brows arched high even as she moves to take a sip off the shot where it's overflowing . " and you've got no proof ."

[angclnumber]

CLOSED STARTER FOR: @springbreezc ! BASED ON: this plot !

"THIS IS BULLSHIT !" swearing bloody in the backseat of a car wasn't quite how kidney thought this hold up would end, but life is chock full of surprises . especially with the emphasis on bloody . she's gripping the back of the driver's seat with one hand, gritting her teeth until it almost hurts . "we can't just walk away fucking empty handed ! we basically fucking earned that money ! we gotta go back in there and — shit !" kidney flinches with a hiss of pain through her teeth, trying to stifle it before grinding out, "god, please tell me you actually know what you're doing or didn't fucking... google how to patch up a bullet wound ?"