#i feel like i’m kinda just forcing myself to talk

[bingbongsupremacy]

Pretend Date

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Warning: slight reader insecurity

Summary: Peter likes MJ. You really like Peter. When Peter asks you to pretend to be his date to a party to make MJ jealous, at first you're hesitant. You end up giving in and agreeing. After all, how bad could it really be?

*Not Proof Read*

���□□□□□□□

I should’ve known something was up the second Peter Parker sat down next to me at lunch, his face scrunched in the same way it did whenever he was overthinking—eyebrows furrowed, lips pressed together, and one of his hands fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater. He looked nervous, which wasn’t uncommon. Peter was always nervous.

But Peter was nervous around me, which wasn’t normal.

"Hey, uh, can I ask you something?" he said, pushing his food around his tray. His brown eyes flickered up to meet mine, then darted away just as fast.

I swallowed my bite of sandwich. "That depends. Is it about physics? Because if so, I’d like to remind you that I barely passed the last test, and I am not the study partner you want."

His lips quirked up for a second before he shook his head. "No, it’s, um, something else. It’s kind of a favor?"

Peter Parker, my best friend, the boy I had been quietly in love with since freshman year, was asking me for a favor. That was dangerous. Because if he asked me for anything—literally anything—I would probably do it, no questions asked.

"Okay…" I said slowly, setting my food down and shifting to face him fully. "What’s up?"

His fingers drummed against the table, and I could practically hear his heartbeat speeding up. Finally, he sucked in a sharp breath and blurted out, "Would you be my date to Flash’s party?"

I blinked. "Your what now?"

"My, uh—my date. To Flash’s party. This weekend. As in, like, we go together. You and me." His words tumbled over each other like he was trying to outrun his own embarrassment.

My brain short-circuited. I had spent so many years pining after this boy, replaying every moment he smiled at me, convincing myself that was all it would ever be. And now he wanted to go to a party together? As a couple?

It was too good to be true.

And, as always, it was.

"Peter," I said carefully, already feeling my stomach twist in warning. "Why?"

His head snapped up, eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. "What—why? I mean—why not?"

I sighed. "Peter."

He groaned, running a hand through his already-messy curls. "Okay, okay. Look, it’s—it’s stupid, okay? But MJ’s going."

There it was. The punch to the gut.

MJ.

I forced my face to stay neutral, even as my heart dropped into my stomach.

"You want to make MJ jealous," I said flatly.

"No!" he said quickly, then winced. "Well, maybe? I don’t know. I just—she and Brad are kinda, y’know, a thing now, and I—look, I just need her to see me as… something else. Like, maybe if she sees me with you, she’ll—I don’t know. Notice me?"

Ouch.

I let out a short, humorless laugh, glancing down at my hands. My nails were chipped, and I had bitten them too much again.

"Peter," I started, my voice quieter now. "You don’t have to prove anything to MJ."

"I know," he groaned, slumping forward against the table. "But—ugh, I’m such an idiot."

Yes, he was. But not for the reason he thought.

Because he was blind.

Blind to the way I looked at him. Blind to the way my heart ached every time he talked about MJ like she was the sun and stars, when I would’ve set the whole galaxy on fire just to make him smile.

I wasn’t MJ. I wasn’t small or effortlessly cool or mysterious. I was… just me. Too much in some ways, never enough in others.

And yet, as I stared at Peter, his face full of hope—hope that I could give him something—I caved.

Because I always would.

"Okay," I said finally.

He perked up. "Wait—really?"

I smiled, even though it hurt. "Yeah. Let’s go be disgustingly in love at Flash’s party."

Peter beamed. "You’re the best."

Right.

The best.

But never enough.

It turned out that playing Peter Parker’s fake girlfriend was harder than I thought.

First of all, I wasn’t exactly comfortable at parties. Flash’s house was massive, filled with way too many people, all of them effortlessly cool in a way that made my insecurities bubble up like a shaken soda.

Second, pretending to be Peter’s girlfriend was… dangerous.

Because Peter, being the absolute menace that he was, was really committing to the act.

His arm stayed wrapped around my waist. He whispered jokes in my ear that made me laugh so hard I had to lean into him. And every time we locked eyes, I swore my heart tried to escape my ribcage.

To everyone else, it must’ve looked so real.

To me, it was torture.

"Hey," Peter murmured, tugging me a little closer as we stood in the kitchen. "You doing okay?"

I nodded, even though the lump in my throat begged to differ. "Yeah, just… parties aren’t really my thing."

He smiled, eyes soft. "Yeah, same."

Liar. He wasn’t miserable. He had a goal.

I could feel it, the moment MJ and Brad walked into the room.

Peter tensed. His fingers twitched against my waist.

And then, before I could react, his hand slid up to cup my face—gently, carefully, like I was something fragile.

"Pete—"

He kissed me.

It wasn’t long. It wasn’t dramatic.

But it broke me.

Because it was soft and warm, and his lips pressed against mine like he meant it. And for those few, fleeting seconds, I let myself believe it was real.

The moment Peter pulled away, I knew I was in trouble.

Because I wasn’t breathing.

I couldn’t breathe.

His lips were gone, but the ghost of his touch lingered, the warmth of his palm still cupping my cheek like I was something precious. Like I was his.

But I wasn’t.

Because the moment his eyes flicked over to MJ—just a quick glance, barely a second—I felt the floor beneath me crack.

Of course.

The kiss wasn’t for me.

It was for her.

And yet, despite the hurricane of emotions storming inside me, I still smiled like it was nothing. Like my heart wasn’t currently bleeding out on Flash’s ridiculously expensive marble floors.

I forced myself to speak, but my voice came out thin. "Did it work?"

Peter turned back to me, blinking like he’d forgotten I was there. "What?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and jerked my head toward where MJ and Brad were standing by the counter. "Did it work? Is she looking?"

Peter hesitated, then glanced over again.

MJ’s expression was unreadable, her lips pursed as she sipped from her red solo cup. Brad was saying something to her, but she wasn’t listening. She was watching us.

Peter let out a breath. "Yeah," he murmured, a strange sort of relief washing over his face. "I think so."

And that was my cue.

I stepped back, untangling myself from Peter’s grip. His arm, once snug around my waist, fell away like a rope being cut. The absence of his touch left a hollowness behind, and I hated myself for missing it.

"I need some air," I mumbled, already turning away before I could see his reaction.

I pushed through the crowd, weaving past drunk classmates and the pounding bass of some overplayed pop song. The front door was too far, so I ducked out onto the balcony instead.

The night air was cold against my overheated skin, but I welcomed it. It was better than the suffocating weight of pretending.

I leaned against the railing, gripping the cool metal with both hands as I tried to steady my breathing.

I was so stupid.

Of course Peter didn’t mean it. Of course it wasn’t real.

I was just a stand-in. A prop in his mission to win over MJ.

And the worst part?

I let him do it.

I let myself hope.

The sound of the door creaking open behind me made me tense.

Then—

"Hey."

Peter.

Of course.

I clenched my jaw, schooling my expression before turning to face him. "Hey."

He hesitated in the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. His hair was messier than usual, like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times.

"You okay?" he asked.

I forced a laugh. "Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?"

Peter stepped closer, his brows knitting together. "I don’t know. You just… ran out of there pretty fast."

I shrugged, looking away. "Just needed some air."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Was it the kiss?"

My stomach dropped.

I looked at him sharply, my heart thudding in my ears. "What?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting on his feet. "I mean, I—I didn’t think it would freak you out or anything, but if it did—"

"Freak me out?" I repeated, a bitter laugh bubbling up before I could stop it. "No, Peter, it didn’t freak me out. I just—" I exhaled sharply, running a hand over my face. "God, you really don’t get it, do you?"

Peter blinked. "Get what?"

My hands curled into fists at my sides. The words were clawing up my throat, demanding to be said, but if I let them out—if I told him—then everything would change.

And I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

But wasn’t I already suffering?

Wasn’t I already breaking my own heart every time I watched him look at MJ like she was the only girl in the world?

At least this way, it would be over.

I inhaled deeply, steeling myself.

"Peter," I said, my voice quieter now. "You better than anyone should know what it feels like to be in love with someone who doesn't feel the same."

His lips parted slightly, confusion flickering across his face. "What—"

"What you're going through with MJ, I'm going through with you!"

The air between us went still.

Peter’s face slackened, his brown eyes searching mine. "What?"

My heart was hammering. My fingers dug into the railing, my breath unsteady.

"I like you, Peter," I said, the confession cracking in my chest like thunder. "I have for years. And you—you kissed me, and for a second, I let myself believe that maybe—maybe it meant something. But it didn’t, did it?" I swallowed, my throat burning. "It was just for her."

Peter’s eyes widened. "No—"

"It’s fine," I cut in, forcing a tight smile even as my vision blurred. "Really. I knew what this was. I just—I guess I didn’t realize how much it would hurt." Panic rises in my chest. I just messed this up. What if he doesn't want to be friends anymore? " We just need to forget about this. I'm sorry for making this so fucking awkward. We-we can just pretend this didn't happen, alright? You go back to liking MJ and I'll be the supportive friend." I try to patch the situation.

Peter was staring at me, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came out.

I push myself away from the railing. "I should go."

I turned toward the door, but before I could take a single step-

"Wait."

His hand caught mine.

I froze.

"Don’t," he said, his voice strained. "Please, just—don’t go. We need to talk about this."

I hesitated, my pulse pounding beneath his fingertips. Slowly, I turned back to him.

Peter’s expression was wrecked. His eyes were wide and desperate, his grip on my hand tightening.

"I’m an idiot," he breathed, shaking his head. "God, I’m an idiot."

I frowned. "Peter—"

"I didn’t kiss you for MJ."

The words knocked the breath from my lungs. "What?"

Peter’s fingers curled around mine, like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. His eyes were so earnest, so real, and I was terrified.

"I kissed you because I wanted to," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because I—God, I don’t even know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, it stopped being about MJ. It stopped being about anyone else." He exhaled shakily, squeezing my hand. "It’s just you."

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

"You," Peter repeated, softer now. "It’s always been you."

My heart stuttered.

Then, before I could second-guess it—before I could run—I surged forward, crashing my lips into his.

And this time, it was real.

[finalhaunts]

Man.

[e77y]

Glad I’m starting therapy so soon after moving out ☝️ I am already feeling the helplessness and loneliness

[saintlesbian]

hm. having a mini gender crisis in the middle of my shift again

[indie-rock]

.

[lady-grace-pens]

Hey writers

Has anyone else ever had this thing when they’ve been between projects for a while and haven’t been writing much, and they’re getting antsy for something new? And they have ideas they like, but they like. Literally just got them. Like a week ago. Or just yesterday.

And planning take a while. A lot of time and energy. You can’t really force it even though you try. So now you’re in this weird messed up grey area where you’re excited but absolutely terrified of starting something new. And you’re also being extra hard on yourself because you have to make it perfect, it has to click immediately, otherwise you feel useless simply resting and not being creative/productive. So you tend to obsess over planning to the point of anxiety, which only makes you stress out more and feeds this negative cycle. But you have passion for the ideas, you do, and you want to work on them. But you stress yourself out so easily because you’re so antsy and you haven’t had a project in a while.

Anyone else get that?

[nightly-ruse]

I think I may be a little odd

[that-dreaded-wolf]

.x

[gentlemanpiraate]

.

[no1ryomafan]

Also despite last post and the fact “damn my tumblr has a lot of dumb first impression opinions but I keep them up anyways” I was looking at kikaider on my search cause tags are easy to find of my post, saw one of my rants and went “let me just *press delete button*”

[kavehayati]

Do I have to start saying not that anyone would care in that super duper passive aggressive way to guilt people into caring or what

[gregmarriage]

yo! this guy doesn’t know how to literally just say ‘hi’ to his friends, because he feels deep seated embarrassment at his very existence, and a simple ‘hi’ even feels bothersome, even to the people who love and care for him. let’s take him out back and kill him!!!

[theyzilla]

😀

[emmyrosee]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a modern!au sukuna x fem!reader in which they're dating and they're babysitting little yuji for the day, going to the park, grocery store, or whatever, and some old lady thinks yuji is their son and sukuna and reader had yuji as teens so she starts judging, making comments and kinda insulting them for having a kid so young. (but yuji is just sukuna's little brother)

I hope what I said made sens 😅 and feel totally free to ignore my request if you don't want to do it or if you're not taking requests at the moment :)

tw// mean old ladies, insinuations of s3x in teenage years, sukuna talking back, lots of swearing, mentions of death, I wouldn’t normally put warnings but juuuuuuuuuust in case

There’s a scoff that rings out in the air as the last of your footstep passes her. It’s enough to make Sukuna stop on impact. You turn to him, and Yuuji in his stroller looks up to see what the stop is, but Sukuna’s eyes are firm in annoyance, the vein in his forehead pulsing.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, spinning on his heel. “Is there a problem, maam?” His voice dribbles sarcasm, and you feel your heart rate pick up from anxiety.

When you turn to face the old woman, her face is twisted in judgement, wrinkles furrowed deeper than natural as she glares past Sukuna and burrows her sights onto you. A chill shrills down your spine as her cold gaze fixes on you.

“Babies having babies,” she snarls cruelly, and you see Sukuna’s knuckles lighten from the force of gripping the handles. “You couldn’t keep it in your pants, and you couldn’t close your legs, hmm? Reproducing when you shouldn’t be. You ought to be embarrassed.”

You cheeks heat up in embarrassment, but when you look up at sukuna again, his grin is curled devilishly. You sigh, “sukuna, come on-“

“No,” he hisses. “I want to hear what the crypt keeper’s gotta say. One foot in the grave, one on a fucking oil spill and you’re wasting your breath spilling bullshit? You oughta be embarrassed.”

She clutches her chest in offense, “I can’t stand you youths these days, wasting your life on each other, disappointing your parents. Why they’d ever approve of you keeping that sin in the carriage is ridiculous.”

You’re quick to grab Sukuna’s collar and keep him from launching at the lady. He’s not happy about being stopped, he’s practically frothing at the mouth in rage, but at your grip, he stands down.

His mouth however, does not.

“I’m offended people like you even get to breathe my air,” he snarls, and you try to ignore the look the old lady gives you- she looks almost prideful to be getting such a reaction. “That child is not sin, that’s my fucking little brother- and even if it was, if you looked at him and the first thing you thought of was my girlfriend and I smashing, you need to tell your fucking hospice nurse, you pervert.”

“Sukuna-“

“It’s not my fault nor concern that your husband died from an asthma attack your dusty old pussy gave him, but if you ask me, he dodged a fucking bullet because holy fuck if I had to spend my days waiting for you to die first, I’d pull the plug myself.”

“Sukuna!”

“You think you get to sit here and judge my girlfriend, my self, my fucking brother without consequence, you are sadly mistaken. And I sincerely hope that, with the bottom of my soul, that when your decrepit heart finally decides to stop and bless the world by taking your life, no one bats an eye. If this is how you treat strangers with a child, I would love to see how you treat your loved ones. Sit on it and fucking twist, you old bitch.” Then, he flashes her a smile, “have the day you fucking deserve, you twat.”

The woman stares at him, eyes wide and jaw agape. You also, stare at him with wide eyes and an agape jaw, and it isn’t until he wraps his arm around your waist and starts to push the carriage again, that you follow.

“Sukuna,” you say, voice shaky. “Why…?”

“Because no one gets to look at my fucking family in any way other than damn respect,” he growls, fingers digging into your hip from anger. “No one.”

“No, I mean…” you swallow thickly. “Why do people feel the need to be so cruel?”

“The world is cruel,” he says flatly. Then, he sighs and shakes his head, “but I have no issue in putting terrible people in their place. Especially for yuuji. Especially for you.”

You smile softly and lay your hand on his, lacing your fingers with his as they rest on your hip, “we’re lucky to have you then, aren’t we?”

He chuckles, “it’s about time you appreciate it.”

[luveline]

Heyyyy can you do a Hotch x reader where readers just kinda been down all day but doesn’t wanna tell Hotch because she’s kinda used to being the badass with all her walls up? And hotch kinda pulls her to the side and forces it out of her 😊😊

thank you for requesting!! fem, 1.2k

Hotch has dark hair. He’s an older guy but he’s yet to grey, hair like the strands are soaked with coal pitch, even darker under the office lights. He braces his hand on the desk and ducks toward Spencer’s computer screen, pointing at a corner with patience. 

“This one,” Hotch says. 

“Why would they organise it like this?” Spencer asks, his voice bordering incredulous. 

“I’m not sure. You’ll remember where this is?” 

“Do you usually have to tell me more than once?” Spencer says lightly. 

“Ask your licence to carry.” 

You’d laugh, his wit quick and poor Spencer a good sport, but your head feels heavy with a forming upset. Like your mind has turned to thick porridge. You woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but you don’t feel angry, more magnificently empty. Nothing is touching beyond your surface level. 

“Thank you, sir,” Spencer says. 

You ignore the weight of a gaze on you while you click through your emails, prioritising what needs to be answered before the end of the day, the end of the week, and the end of the month as Hotch taught you to. You double click an email chain from a consult you’d been assigned from out of state and reread your response, nervous that your lack of confidence today might have shone through blunt wording. Hotch is looped into the chain —he can correct any glaring errors should you have made them. 

“Hey,” Hotch says when you don’t look up. He doesn’t use your name, and he doesn’t need to. “I’d like to talk to you. Let’s go up to my office.” 

“Can I have a half hour to work through my emails?” you ask apologetically.

“I’d prefer we talk now. Any overdue reply can be blamed on me,” he says. 

The way he talks is natural to him but perhaps strange if it were another person, with another disposition. You know Hotch to be both gentle and stern at once. His tone leaves little room for debate, but it reassures you to hear the measured cadence of each word without rush. The openness of his expression is similarly comforting, and though he doesn’t know it —you would never own up to feeling this way, verbally or physically— you’d quite like to be comforted by him. Even if he takes you to the office to reprimand you, you’ll at least have been near him for long enough to forget your odd aching. 

Hotch doesn’t walk until you do, taking each step by side until he gets to the office, where he opens the door to encourage you in. 

You drift a few feet inward, shoes soft on clean, crisp carpeting. Hotch closes the door, where he stands momentarily, silence held.

“Everything okay?” you ask. 

Hotch pulls out one of the two black chairs in front of his desk and gestures for you to sit. “Everything’s okay,” he says, standing back to give you space to sit, his hand moving to rest on the back of the chair as you sit. It whines as you shift to see him. “With me, everything’s okay. How about you?” 

“Everything’s fine with me.” 

You’d pad your explanation out if you didn’t think he was about to tell you what you’re in the brig for. No one likes a nervous Nelly. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

You glance at his hand behind you and he moves it swiftly. “Hotch?” you ask tentatively. 

“I’ve noticed you aren’t yourself today.” 

“I’m completely myself.” 

“It’s not like you to stare into space.” He frowns. “I want to sit down because I don’t like towering over you, but I don’t want you to internalise this as a meeting.” 

“You’re not towering over me, Hotch.

His frown doesn’t ebb. “…We each have our own unique levy to carry the weight of, I know that. But it’s not… nice, to see you like this. I’d like to know what’s wrong.” 

Again, no nonsense and reassuring at once. 

Maybe he is towering a little. You avert your gaze from his, feeling uncharacteristically meek for a weak moment. 

“I think I woke up mixed up,” you confess eventually, picking at a stray thread on your skirt until the tips of your fingers burn. “Like, nothing happened to upset me, but I…” 

“You do feel upset.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“You’re not sure why?” 

“Not really. I think that–” You lick your lips nervously, not finding the right words, wanting to be vulnerable and simultaneously reluctant to show him anything he might not like. “I think it’s lots of smaller things and they’re layering on top of each other. Do you get that?” 

“All the time. Though usually my way of dealing with it is less pleasant for others.” He looks down at you steadily. “And yours,” —he aims enough fondness at you to stop your heart— “is self-contained. But I don't want you to think you’re walking through life unseen.” 

“Unseen,” you repeat. 

He stands very still. “Can I touch your face?” he asks quietly. 

You don’t know why he’d ask, but you say, “Yes, please.” 

“Please,” he says. You’re repeating each other. The air in the room feels thicker as he lifts his hand to your cheek and cups it gently. “When you’re upset, I notice. I can’t help but notice.” Your face lists into his palm slowly, worried he’ll move, but he holds you and he watches you with care. “Is there anything I can do to make it all feel better?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. “No?” 

You close your eyes. “No,” you say, matching his volume. 

“I don’t know what to do now,” he murmurs. 

“Sorry, I’m okay,” you say, asking yourself to move away from his touch, but unable to force it, “I’m gonna…” 

It’s a boundary crossed, but you and Hotch are good at that. He’s constantly treating you with more sweetness than a boss should show toward his employee, and you eat it up despite every instinct in you that says you shouldn’t. So you won’t tell him you’ve had a bad day until he asks, and even then, you have nothing permanent to offer him for fixing, and still he’ll hold your face and make it feel ordinary. Like he’s touched you a hundred times, something about it feels right, and real. Your cheek feels softer under his tracing thumb. You could fall asleep in his hands. 

“How can I make you feel better?” he asks again. 

“It’s not that bad.” 

“But what can I do?” 

You want to ask for a hug, but even the idea of it is too much to think about. Miss Independent admitting she needs more than this? When it’s already more than you should have? 

Profilers profile, and somehow you give yourself away. 

“Come on,” he says softly. 

He hugs you. His hand falls from your face to your shoulder, wrapping behind it, encompassing you in a strong arm as he bends down to embrace you fully. 

“I wish you’d ask for more,” he says, his free arm slinking between your arm and side, hand to your back, encouraging you to hug him back. 

You don’t know what to do with your arms. Each movement feels stilted, but Hotch makes up for it. He hugs you without inhibition, like he’s wanted to do it for a long, long time. 

[azzibuckets]

want you for myself [paige bueckers]

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: some cute fluff where paige gets jealous of all the attention her brother is getting from you

a/n: i kinda rushed this so😭 it didn’t turn out the way i wanted

word count: 1.3k

masterlist

Normally, Paige loved how good you were with Drew. How whenever he started talking about school or basketball, you always raptly paid attention, asking questions and making jokes. She loved how gentle you were with him, how when he was being too loud you always managed to bring his energy down to a more appropriate level without yelling at him.

But right now, she couldn’t help but feel annoyed at how focused you were on Drew when you were supposed to be focused on her.

“And Dad bought me three new skins for my birthday! Here, let me show you all of them.” Drew scrambled to find his iPad, and for what seemed like the millionth time, Paige leaned into you, tugging your shirt sleeve at the elbow.

“Can we go now?” she whined. “You said we would watch the wolves game together.”

“Just give me a few more minutes,” you whispered back, not even bothering to look at her. “Let me see Drew’s skins.”

Paige loudly huffed. She was bored out of her mind. “The game’s starting in five minutes, you know,” she urged, widening her eyes to show her eagerness.

“I know, you just said that two minutes ago. You go on up first, I’ll be there in a few,” you said dismissively before enthusiastically throwing yourself into yet another conversation with Drew about Fortnite.

Grumbling under her breath, Paige went up the stairs, making sure to aggressively stomp to get her impatience across. When she reached the top, she turned around, but you didn’t seem to have noticed her attitude at all, eyes totally glued to Drew’s screen.

The Timberwolves vs Mavericks game started, but Paige couldn’t enjoy it without you. Her annoyance grew as she heard you and her little brother’s raucous laughs echoing from the basement. She clenched her jaw, wondering how you were more interested childish things like Fortnite (as if she hadn’t played that game for hours every night the past month) than a basketball game with your very sexy girlfriend.

Paige was able to ignore her frustrations momentarily and get lost in the game, but when Anthony Edwards scored a buzzer-beater three to end the first quarter and she jumped up and down, instinctively going to grab you out of excitement, she realized again that you still hadn’t come up. With a groan, she headed back downstairs.

This time, you and Drew were playing on the Nintendo, both of you fully zoned in on building your Minecraft world. “Hey.” You felt a flick on your head and turned around to see a grumpy Paige. “You just missed Ant’s best moment of the season,” she declared, hoping you’d feel disappointed at having missed the highlight.

But you only said, “Oh, damn,” before turning back to the screen.

Paige sighed and decided to try again. “He shot from full court to put the wolves up at the end of first,” she prodded, hoping you’d get excited. But you merely nodded before turning to Drew and asking if he wanted to switch to creative mode.

Paige switched tactics. “Drew,” she said in a sing-song voice. “I think your screen time is up.”

Drew wrinkled his eyebrow, not tearing his gaze from the TV. “I don’t have a screen time.”

Paige stepped in front of the TV, forcing both of you to finally look at her. “Do either of you want ice cream?” she tried, smiling hopefully. “I’ll drive us to Baskin Robbin’s.”

“I’m still pretty full from lunch,” you said, “but thanks babe.”

“Yeah, me too,” Drew agreed. “Can you move now?”

Paige begrudgingly moved aside, jaw tightened as she grinded her teeth. Returning back upstairs, she watched the rest of the NBA game in a brooding silence. She felt slightly immature for being jealous of the attention her brother was receiving from you, but she’d had a long day and all she wanted was to be in your arms, watching her favorite team play.

During dinner, Paige stayed quiet as you and Drew continued your conversation about whatever new game you’d moved onto playing. You were totally oblivious to her irritation of being neglected, thinking she was just sleepy. Paige perked up after dinner, thinking Drew would fall into a food coma and escape to his room, but instead he insisted on showing you two the clothes he’d bought recently.

“I saved the best for last,” Drew announced after twenty minutes of giving you two a detailed and intricate fashion show. He ran to the bathroom, then quickly reappeared in a neat black tuxedo, with a navy pin stripe tie finished with shiny leather oxfords.

“Oh my god!” you squealed, bending down to squeeze his cheeks. “You look so adorable.”

Drew blushed at the attention as you continued to shower him with praises. Paige’s mouth dropped as she glared at the two of you. “Are you serious?” she complained. “You never react like this when I show you my shopping hauls.”

You raised an eyebrow at your girlfriend. “Maybe that’s because you buy the same grey sweatpants each time.” Drew snickered and gave you a fist bump as Paige fought back a smile, trying to mask it under feigned annoyance.

“You two are unbelievable,” she declared. “I regret letting you guys meet.”

“You’re just mad your girlfriend likes me more than she likes you,” Drew shot back, earning another high five and round of giggles between the two of you.

Paige made a show of getting up from her seat. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone since you guys hate me so bad,” she said dramatically.

It was almost 1 AM when you silently crept up to Paige’s childhood bedroom. You and Drew had stayed up gaming for hours, long after Paige had gone up to finish some homework and study. You expected the blonde to already be fast asleep, but when you opened the door, she was using her phone in bed.

“P?” You whispered, startling her.

“Dude.” Paige fixed you with an unforgiving look after recovering from her shock. “It’s literally one. What were you guys doing that took so long?”

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, letting the door quietly shut behind you. “We were really getting into it.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Paige said, rolling her eyes. She plugged a charger into her phone and set it on the bedside table, clearly ready to go to sleep. You shrugged and headed to the bathroom to brush your teeth and get ready for bed. But when you climbed into bed and leaned over to give the blonde a kiss, she dodged it. Ignoring your confused stare, she rolled over, turning her back on you.

“Woah.” You tapped her shoulder. “What’s up with you?”

“What’s up with me?” Paige suddenly shot up straight in bed. “You spent the entire day ignoring me. I’m starting to think you’re only dating me to become friends with my little brother,” she complained.

A small smile slowly worked its way onto your face as realization dawned on you. Paige hadn’t been tired all day. “Aw, Paige,” you teased. “Are you jealous of your 10 year old brother right now?”

Realizing how ridiculous the situation sounded, Paige avoided eye contact with you, instead concentrating on pulling the comforter around her. “No,” she said unconvincingly, her voice tiny.

“I know you’re lying, baby,” you chuckled. You reached over to cup the blonde’s face in your hands, giving her an adoring look. “You’re so cute.”

“Stop it,” Paige blushed, swatting you away. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Hey, I never see your brother!” you defended. “You can’t get mad that I’m excited to see him.”

“I know,” Paige whined. “But you don’t have to totally ignore me.”

You felt a slight pang of guilt as you thought back to how you’d completely forgotten about the Timberwolves game that Paige had been so excited to watch with you. Granted, she was excited about every wolves game, but still. “Paige Madison Bueckers,” you intonated slowly, clasping your hands together. “I am immensely sorry for the pain I have caused you today.” You planted a big and sloppy kiss smack in the middle of her forehead, causing her to groan and wipe away the slobber. “You are the light of my life,” you said solemnly. “The apple of my eye. My favorite person on earth.”

Paige pursed her mouth, trying to prevent the corners of her lips from curving upwards. “And?”

“Never again will I ignore you or miss a wolves game.” You hesitated. “Wait, can I take back that last part? You watch so many of their games it’s hard to keep up-”

Paige’s eyes narrowed and you decided to cut yourself off before you dug a deeper hole. “Nevermind!” you said brightly. “I will never again forget to watch a wolves game with my beautiful, sexy, gorgeous, incredible girlfriend.”

The blonde beamed up at you. “That’s more like it.”

You toyed at the collar of her shirt, letting your fingers brush gently across the soft skin on her neck. Looking up at her through your lashes, you said as seductively as you could, “Now can I kiss you?”

“Fuck yeah,” she muttered, grabbing your hips and pulling you in.