#it needs to be perfected this is just the first draft

[sowerpatch]

terms of play [chapter 9 - off the bench]

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: The spotlight follows Paige, but Azzi’s eyes never leave her. Between rooftop parties, silent understandings, and a coffee table no one asked for, the shape of their relationship starts to shift. What was once careful becomes comfortable, and what was once tentative turns certain—with nothing left to prove.

Warning: Jake is here

Author's note: I hope it met your expectation. Probably the longest chapter I wrote for this series.

Word count: 6,412

Fudd Holdings, San Francisco. June 2025. 

The sunlight cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows didn’t soften the edge in Nika’s voice as she flipped through the printed contract. 

“If we fast-track this, we’ll need the final numbers from legal before Wednesday.” 

Azzi sat at her desk, posture perfect, pen poised over a draft that had already been signed twice. She didn’t look up. 

“I’ll have Ines coordinate with compliance.” 

A buzz sounded from the corner of the desk. 

Neither woman acknowledged it at first. Azzi’s eyes remained fixed on the page, but her hand hovered slightly, as if instinct wanted her to reach before her mind allowed it. 

Another buzz, longer this time. Then two in a row. 

Nika raised her head. 

“Someone’s persistent,” she said lightly. 

Azzi didn’t move. “It’s nothing.” 

Nika set her papers down. “That didn’t sound like nothing.” 

Before Azzi could stop her, Nika reached across the desk and picked up the phone. 

“Nika,” Azzi warned, but it was too late. 

Nika’s eyes scanned the lock screen. She let out a low whistle. 

“Instagram, Twitter, ESPN, even Bleacher Report. All Paige, all day.” Nika raised an eyebrow as she held out the phone. “You really weren’t going to say anything? Or were you hoping no one would notice you’ve got alerts turned on for your favorite All-Star?” 

Azzi stayed quiet, her face unreadable. 

Nika arched a brow, still grinning. “You really keeping tabs on her like that? Thought you didn’t care for social media.” 

Azzi leaned back, voice smooth. “It’s in my job description. Player oversight.” 

“Player oversight my ass.” 

“Language, Muhl.” 

Nika gave a short laugh, “Come on. You really going to sit there and act like that’s all it is?” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Azzi finally took the phone back, clicking the screen dark with a touch that was sharper than necessary. She slid it face down on the desk. Her voice was calm. 

She hesitated, gaze lingering on the turned-over phone like it had asked her something she didn’t want to answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was even, but softer than before. 

“Admitting things complicates them.” 

Nika leaned back in her chair, arms folded, eyes sharp with amusement. 

“Or maybe it just makes them real. You ever think of that?” 

Azzi didn’t respond right away. She reached for her pen again, clicked it once, then set it down without using it. 

Nika’s grin widened. “You know, for someone who built a multi-million-dollar roster from scratch, you’re really bad at pretending this isn’t obvious.” 

Azzi finally looked over, brows raised. “You finished reviewing the clause?” 

Nika laughed. “Sure. But you might want to start reviewing your poker face, boss.” 

The phone buzzed once more. This time, she didn’t stop herself from reading it.  

Paige’s name flashed on the top banner.  

Just a tweet — a screenshot of the announcement, her own words captioned underneath: 

wtf y’all. okay i’m crying. 

Azzi’s thumb hovered over the notification. She didn’t open it. 

But the corners of her mouth lifted, just barely. A quiet smile, not meant for anyone else in the room. 

She turned the phone over slowly, face down again, and set it aside. Then reached for her pen, signing the next page without a word, the smile still lingering, soft and unmistakably proud. 

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. June 2025.  

Azzi tied her hair back loosely, letting the silk tie settle at the nape of her neck as she leaned toward the mirror. Her movements were methodical, practiced. The soft white light of the bathroom washed over the marble counter and the screen propped beside the sink. Paige’s face lit up the phone, cheeks flushed from excitement, expression animated even through pixels. 

“…and then the trainer told me, ‘You’re going to have to start charging people for autographs now.’ I swear I almost choked on my milkshake.” 

Azzi reached for her cleansing balm, the container cool in her palm as she unscrewed the lid. Paige’s voice filled the space, fast and unfiltered, words tumbling over each other. 

“I mean, I knew people liked me, but number one? Babe, that’s insane. Over actual legends. This is like, not real. Are they sure they counted the votes right?” 

Azzi smiled faintly, dabbing the balm across her cheekbones with her fingertips. Her voice was calm, but there was warmth under it. 

“They were right. You earned it.” 

There was a pause on the other end before Paige laughed again, head falling back onto what looked like a hotel pillow. 

“I swear, I don’t even know what to say. I’ve been smiling all night.” 

Azzi began to massage the balm into her skin, small circles along her jawline, voice steady. 

“You should. I’m proud of you.” 

That quieted things.  

Azzi didn’t notice at first. She moved to rinse her hands under warm water, the faucet humming low. It wasn’t until the absence of Paige’s voice stretched too long that Azzi glanced toward her phone again. 

Paige wasn’t talking anymore. Just watching. 

Azzi blinked once, turning the tap off before reaching for a towel. 

“What?” 

Paige tilted her head slightly on the screen, lips tugging into a lazy smile. 

“You look really pretty.” 

Azzi exhaled, soft and exasperated. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

Paige shrugged, chin propped against her knuckles. “Maybe. But you do. That robe is kind of cheating, though. You look like you should be drinking wine and reading poetry.” 

Azzi glanced down at her ivory robe, expression unreadable. “It’s my skincare robe.” 

“Right. Your skincare robe.” Paige grinned, teasing now. “God, even your skincare routine is hot, ma.” 

Azzi shook her head, but the faintest smile curved her lips as she reached for her toner. 

“Do you ever stop?” 

Paige was still smiling. “Only when you make me.” 

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She swept the cotton pad gently over her cheek, gaze flicking to the screen again.  

Paige hadn’t looked away. Her expression had softened, a little slower now. A little closer to something that mattered. 

Azzi took a breath. “You should get some rest.” 

Paige smirked. “I will. Eventually. You staying on the line again?” 

She just set the phone back against the sink, making sure the camera still caught her face. 

“Wash your face first, Rookie.” 

- 

And then, just barely, her smile returned. 

Conrad Indianapolis, Indianapolis. July 2025. 

The couch was soft enough to sink into, which Paige had already done with her usual chaotic sprawl. One leg hooked over the backrest, the other stretched long, toes nudging a pillow that looked designer. Her hoodie was half-zipped, and the All-Star patch stitched on her sweatpants caught the gold of the suite’s warm lighting every time she moved. 

“That lamp’s gotta be a thousand easy,” she muttered, eyes scanning the room. “And that side table? Solid marble. Top five, easy.” 

She rolled to her stomach, chin propped on a throw pillow. 

“I’m ranking the most absurd things in this suite. Right now, it’s a tie between the curved art sculpture and the fruit bowl that looks like it’s never seen fruit.” 

From the kitchen island, Azzi’s fingers hovered over her laptop. She hadn’t typed anything for minutes. Paige’s voice filled the space like she belonged in it. 

“I thought you had press,” Azzi said. 

“I did.” 

Azzi turned her head slightly, enough to catch Paige’s smirk over her shoulder. 

“I needed to recharge,” Paige said. “With my non-girlfriend girlfriend.” 

Azzi looked back at her screen, but her lips gave her away. The edge of a smile, impossible to hold down. She clicked once, then again, more to keep her hands busy than anything else. She didn’t answer right away, and Paige caught that too. 

“You like when I say that,” Paige teased as she sat up on the couch. “Admit it.” 

“You’re delusional,” Azzi murmured. 

Paige grinned wider. “And you’re blushing.” 

Azzi closed her laptop without replying. She walked over with that composed stride she always carried, then knelt beside the couch and brushed Paige’s hair from her face. 

“You’re anxious.” 

Paige didn’t deny it. Her fingers tugged at a loose thread on the blanket as she sat up, gaze drifting past Azzi to the windows behind her. The city view blurred with night, unfamiliar and too far away. 

“I’m excited. But it feels like everyone’s expecting me to prove something. Like one wrong step means I was a fluke.” 

Azzi climbed onto the couch, one knee sliding between Paige’s thighs before she settled directly in her lap. Her hands rested at Paige’s shoulders, fingertips brushing the base of her neck. 

Paige leaned back into the cushions, body already relaxing under the weight of Azzi’s presence. 

“I’m trying to hold it together,” she said. “But I just wanted to see you first.” 

Azzi shifted closer, thumb tracing over the edge of Paige’s jaw. 

“You’ll be fine,” she said. “You belong there.” 

Paige’s hands slid up Azzi’s back, slow and certain. 

“I want to kiss you so bad.” 

Azzi didn’t move away, but she didn’t lean in either. Her eyes held steady. 

“You said you didn’t want to share,” she said quietly. “That was your term.” 

“And you haven’t ended it,” Paige replied. “With him.” 

Azzi nodded once. “I know.” 

The air between them stretched. Paige didn’t fill it. She just watched her, fingers curled gently into Azzi’s waist like she was trying to be patient. 

Azzi took a breath. 

“I want you. But I want to come to you clean. I don’t want our first anything built on someone else's name still in the room.” 

Paige pressed her forehead against Azzi’s collarbone. She didn’t speak, just stayed there with her eyes closed and her arms wrapped tighter. 

- 

Azzi stayed right where she was, holding on just as hard. 

Astrea Rooftop Bar, Indianapolis. July 2025. 

The rooftop bar was already warm with too many bodies and expensive cologne. Strings of low lights crisscrossed above them, casting soft shadows over gold glassware and open jackets. The crowd was loud in a familiar way, full of players riding post-game adrenaline, media professionals lingering near the most photogenic faces, and agents circling like polite sharks. Everyone wanted to be seen. 

Paige was impossible to miss. 

She stood near a heat lamp with her sleeves shoved up, drink in hand, a group of players pressed around her. Her All-Star teammates flanked her like an unofficial security detail, but it didn’t stop people from drifting in and out, trying to catch a word, a smile, a picture.  

Paige kept laughing. Shoulders back, confidence effortless. The light caught the All-Star patch on her chest, and her grin made it look earned. 

From across the deck, Azzi watched. She stood near the bar with a drink untouched in her hand, nodding occasionally as someone in a linen blazer droned on about sponsorship deliverables. Her posture didn’t falter, but her attention clearly had. Her gaze kept returning to the same point, always landing on Paige. 

The woman beside Paige was older, polished. Hair sleek, heels impractical for the wood floor. She laughed too loudly, touched Paige’s elbow like they were already familiar. Azzi saw the way Paige didn’t move away. She leaned in, said something with a crooked smile. The woman laughed again. 

Azzi’s grip on her glass shifted slightly. 

She didn’t hear the end of the man’s pitch. When he finally excused himself, Nika slid into the space beside her. 

“You look like you’re working,” Nika said, eyes tracking the same scene. 

“I am.” 

Nika took a slow sip of her drink. “Is that what we’re calling jealousy now?” 

Her lips parted slightly, then closed again, whatever words she considered left unsaid. 

The woman leaned in closer to Paige. Something she said made Paige tip her head back and laugh. Then Paige looked the woman in the eye, hand resting on her own chest like she was setting a boundary and not apologizing for it. 

“Can’t,” Paige said loud enough to carry. “I’ve got a scary-hot non-girlfriend back at home who would absolutely murder me.” 

It drew another wave of laughter from the crowd. Paige raised her glass like a punchline. The woman laughed too, then slipped back into the flow of the party. Paige’s grin didn’t falter, but she turned toward the bar, eyes scanning the deck until they found Azzi. 

Azzi’s expression didn’t change, but the fingers around her glass eased. 

“You going to talk to her?” Nika asked, amused. 

“I have nothing to say.” 

“Right.” 

Nika lingered only a second longer before she disappeared into another group. 

Later, Paige approached alone. Her sleeves were still shoved up. Her cheeks were flushed from too much attention or maybe just the heat. Azzi hadn’t moved far, still half in the shadows near the edge of the rooftop. Paige leaned beside her on the railing, facing outward toward the skyline. 

“You looked like you were about to commit a felony earlier,” Paige said lightly. 

Azzi didn’t look at her. “And you looked like you wanted me to.” 

“I was being good.” 

Azzi’s voice was even. “I doubt that.” 

Paige turned toward her, expression teasing but something sharper beneath it. 

“Jealousy looks good on you.” 

“It doesn’t suit me.” 

“Still. You looked ready to ruin her life.” 

Azzi’s gaze didn’t waver. “She wouldn’t have been the only one.” 

Paige didn’t laugh. She reached out, fingers brushing Azzi’s wrist before dropping away again. 

“You know I didn’t mean anything by it.” 

Azzi looked down at the half-full glass in her hand, then back at Paige. 

“I know,” she said. “But that doesn’t make it easier.” 

Paige’s voice softened. “Then why are we still here? Stuck like this?” 

Azzi exhaled, slow. “Because I haven’t done what I need to.” 

“Then do it.” 

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. July 2025. 

The sound of heels on polished hardwood echoed faintly through the open-concept condo. Nika moved through the entryway with a familiar ease, her arms full of slim folders and a small parcel wrapped in navy paper. The late afternoon light stretched through the windows, casting long shadows across Azzi's sculptural furniture and untouched white walls. 

"I brought the updated contracts from Boston," Nika called, placing them carefully on the marble counter. 

Azzi stepped out of her home office, barefoot and understated in a charcoal sweater and fitted slacks. Her hair was loosely pinned, a single strand tucked behind one ear with casual precision. She glanced at the documents without moving closer, then lifted a hand in mild thanks. 

Nika turned to speak again, but her eyes caught on something unusual. 

A large brown box sat by the wall near the couch. Its sides were unmarked except for the taped shipping label, creased slightly along the corner like it had been dropped. It looked completely out of place in Azzi’s space. A raw, cardboard rectangle in a room made of intention. 

She raised her eyebrows. “Is that... from Amazon?” 

Azzi moved toward the sink and poured herself a glass of water. “It’s a coffee table.” 

Nika walked over, inspecting the box like it might be mislabeled. “Since when do you buy furniture from Amazon?” 

Azzi’s voice remained even. “It was recommended.” 

“By who? Your interior designer having a breakdown?” 

There was a pause. Azzi’s eyes shifted toward the box, then back to her glass. “Paige sent me the link.” 

Nika blinked. She stepped away from the box and crossed her arms. “Hold on. You mean Paige Bueckers Paige?” 

Azzi gave the smallest nod. 

Nika stared. “You’re letting your starting point guard pick your furniture now?” 

“She mentioned the table I had was a hazard.” 

“Well, she’s not wrong. That thing looked like it belonged behind velvet rope.” Nika’s eyes narrowed. “So she just... replaced it for you?” 

“She offered to help. I didn’t object.” 

Nika circled the box once, grinning. “And you’re letting her build it?” 

Azzi hesitated. Her fingers traced the rim of the water glass without lifting it. “She said it would make the place feel more like a home.” 

That landed heavier than either of them expected. 

Nika gave her a look, somewhere between amused and affectionate. “You let someone tell you your space feels inhuman and your reaction was to let them fix it?” 

Azzi didn’t respond right away. She picked up one of the folders and turned it in her hand, even though she wasn’t reading the label. 

“She said the table was cold. And that real people live around clutter and scratches and things they built themselves.” 

Nika watched her, something like wonder blooming in her expression. “You’re letting Paige build you a life.” 

“It’s a coffee table,” Azzi said quietly. 

Nika smiled. “Sure. And next, she’ll be moving your wine glasses lower because they’re not reachable for people under six feet.” 

Azzi didn’t look up from the folder. Her lips curved slightly, barely there. 

“I’m bringing wine next time I visit,” Nika said, heading for the elevator. “I want front-row seats when she uses the Allen wrench like a power tool.” 

She left without another word, her laughter echoing faintly down the hallway. 

Azzi stayed at the counter, eyes on the box. She didn’t open it. She just stood there, picturing the way Paige had smiled while adding it to the cart. How she’d said it would be easy to build. That she wanted to help make the place less of a showroom and more of a space where people could laugh and exist and feel. 

It was only a coffee table. But the weight in Azzi’s chest told her it might be more than that. 

- 

Steak 48, Los Angeles. July 2025. 

The restaurant was lit in a curated kind of warmth, the kind that softened sharp edges and helped people forget the weight they walked in with. Tables were spread apart with intention. Conversations were low but not hushed, each table a small world, unaware of the others. Somewhere near the bar, a piano filled the air with notes that tried their best to feel elegant. 

Azzi didn’t remember the name of the place. Jake had made the reservation after knowing she will be in town for the Sparks versus Valkyries game. He mentioned it earlier in the week with the kind of confidence that came from Yelp reviews and corporate dinner experience.  

She had said yes out of habit, not excitement. That was the pattern lately — her calendar was full, her days structured, and Jake had learned how to slot himself in with efficiency. 

He sat across from her in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to look casual. His watch caught the light as he gestured, recounting the chaos of a server failure during a mid-tier client presentation. He was good at this. Charming in a low-maintenance way. Polished, but not flashy. The kind of man who knew how to invest, how to explain blockchain to aging board members, how to turn minor annoyances into compelling stories. 

Azzi heard the shape of the story but not the details. Her attention hovered somewhere above the table, above the candlelight, above the space between them that felt increasingly hollow. 

She wasn’t present. And she hadn’t been for a long time. 

Across from her, Jake smiled. “The whole system nearly crashed. I stepped in, rewrote the line in real-time. CTO was impressed, told me I saved the pitch. Got a bonus out of it.” 

She nodded, the motion small and polite. 

Jake picked up his glass, took a sip, then shifted the conversation. “I’ve been thinking about us.” 

That made her look at him properly. 

He didn’t hesitate. “After the season ends, maybe we take a few weeks. Get out of the city. You’ve been in overdrive, Azzi. You need air. We both do.” 

She said nothing. He took that as permission to go on. 

“I can work remote, so I’ll block off the time. Doesn’t have to be anywhere dramatic. But we’ve talked about Japan, right? Or Portugal? Somewhere new. Somewhere that lets us stop being... whatever this pace has turned us into.” He paused there, watching her. “I want to be with you when things slow down. Really with you.” 

Azzi was motionless, watching him. 

He’d said it with hope, not desperation. But the words hung between them, and in the stretch that followed, she felt a slow tightening in her chest. Not because she was moved — but because she wasn’t. 

He wanted stillness with her. She only wanted to leave. 

The realization wasn’t sudden. It had been unfolding for months, slow and private. She had told herself it was stress.  

Pressure.  

The newness of the team. That she didn’t have space to be open, not now, not with all eyes on her. But those were excuses dressed as logic.  

The truth was more precise. She didn’t feel anything for Jake beyond appreciation. Gratitude. Politeness. 

And he deserved more than that. 

But what haunted her most was that she hadn’t even missed him when she had been away. Not once. Not even in the kind of way that felt obligatory.  

She had thought of someone else instead. Not in theory. Not as fantasy. But as the first person she wanted to call when her day went well. Or badly. Or when it was so heavy that only one person’s voice could cut through it. 

Paige. 

That name didn’t exist at this table, but it was everywhere inside her. 

Jake was watching her now, waiting for the kind of response that might unlock something. 

Azzi lowered her eyes to her plate, then back up to him. Her expression stayed careful. But inside her chest, the decision solidified. 

She wasn’t going on a vacation. She wasn’t planning a future with someone she didn’t ache for. She wasn’t lying to herself just because it made sense on paper. 

When she finally spoke, her voice didn’t falter. 

“I can’t go with you, Jake.” 

He tilted his head slightly, confused. “Go where?” 

“On that trip. Or forward.” 

He blinked once. “Azzi…” 

“I’ve tried,” she said gently. “More than I probably should have. You’re everything someone would want. But I don’t feel it. I’ve been trying to make sense of it for weeks. But I think I’ve always known.” 

He sat back in his chair, processing. The waiter approached, then wordlessly retreated. Azzi didn’t shift. She let the weight of what she’d said settle. 

“Is there someone else?” 

She hesitated, just for a second. “Yes.” 

The word landed without embellishment. 

He didn’t flinch. Just looked at her with a kind of tired understanding. “Of course there is.” 

She wasn’t cruel enough to say it wasn’t what he thought. That it was complicated. That nothing had happened the way people assume it would. 

“I didn’t mean for it,” she said. “But it’s not going away.” 

Jake exhaled, jaw tight. “You could have just told me. Earlier.” 

“I was waiting for the feeling to change. I thought maybe I was just tired. Or closed off. But the truth is, I’ve never really been in this the way you deserve me to be.” 

Jake leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “That’s the worst part. You mean that. And I can’t even be angry about it.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly, searching hers like he was piecing together a puzzle she hadn’t finished. 

After a moment, Jake’s gaze sharpened. “Is it that rookie? The one you always pause for, even when you act like you don’t notice?” 

She looked away for just a second, and when she met his eyes again, she nodded. 

Jake let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve seen the way you light up whenever her name is mentioned. It’s different. Real. Something I’ve never been able to reach with you. I thought maybe I was missing something, that it was just me not being enough. But seeing you react when she’s the topic—it’s like you become someone else. Someone alive.” 

Her jaw tightened, tension pressing behind her words. “It’s not like that, Jake. You make it sound like I’m chasing after a prize, or like I’m throwing you away for some fleeting thing.” 

He shook his head, voice low but firm. “This isn’t a game. I’m not stupid. You’ve been distant for months. And I see it in your eyes when you talk about her. Don’t pretend it’s casual.” 

Azzi’s voice softened, the edge of regret clear in her tone. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t know how to say it before. I thought if I waited, if I tried harder, maybe I’d feel something. But I can’t lie anymore—not to you, and not to myself.” 

Jake took a moment to absorb her words, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough. “Thank you for saying that.” 

She swallowed hard, the mix of guilt and relief heavy in her chest. “You deserve more than I’ve given.” 

He nodded slowly, voice steady but carrying a hint of sadness. “Yeah. I guess I do.” 

Azzi’s throat tightened. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. That he’d never done anything wrong. But words tangled somewhere deep inside. 

Jake stood, brushing a stray crumb from his shirt. “You also deserve to be with someone who makes you feel like that all the time. Not just sometimes, or in moments you’re not trying to hide it.” He looked down at her then, the smile faint but genuine. “I just hope you find that, Azzi. Even if it’s not with me.” 

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. July 2025. 

The sun filters in through the tall windows of Azzi’s sleek downtown condo. Half-assembled pieces of an Amazon coffee table are scattered across the floor, cardboard and Allen wrenches everywhere.  

Paige is cross-legged on the rug, sleeves rolled up—well, no sleeves really. Just a faded tank top clinging to her back in the July heat, collar tugged loose from wear. Her arms flex slightly each time she tightens a bolt, jaw clenched in mock frustration. 

Azzi sits nearby, leaning against the couch, holding a bag of screws she’s forgotten to hand over. She’s trying to stay helpful, but her attention keeps drifting. She tells herself it’s just the light or the novelty of seeing Paige out of her usual game-day gear. But the truth is, it’s distracting.  

Unfairly distracting. 

There’s something about the casual way Paige exists in her space, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She’s cracking jokes and cursing the instructions, a thin sheen of sweat on her collarbone, and Azzi can’t help but watch her.  

And not just watch—want her, in a way that’s starting to feel impossible to ignore. 

Paige mutters, “I swear this thing came with thirty-two bolts just to test my patience.” She bites her lip, adjusting her grip on the wrench. “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve cursed Amazon this week, I could retire early.” 

Azzi hums, distracted, trying not to stare. She fails. 

Paige glances up and grins, her mouth quirked, teasing. “Wonder what your boyfriend would think if he saw me doing manual labor in your living room. Might start to get jealous.” 

Azzi’s smile falters, and for a second, she debates brushing it off. She could make a joke, deflect, like usual. But something about the way Paige says it—so light, so easy—makes it harder to keep hiding. 

“I ended things,” she says quietly. 

Paige’s hand stills. She blinks, surprised. 

Azzi keeps her gaze low, voice steady but soft. “I broke up with Jake.” 

Paige straightens up a little, trying to read her. “When?” 

“Last week when I was in LA.” 

“When we played against the Sparks?” 

Azzi nodded.  

Azzi had said it so quietly. I ended things. 

She’s still crouched on the floor, tank top clinging to her back in the heat, sweat glinting along the line of her collarbone. Her breath is shallow—not from the work, but from the shift that just happened in the room. 

The Allen wrench slipped from Paige’s fingers, hitting the hardwood with a soft metallic sound that seemed louder than it should have. She didn’t move to pick it up. She stayed crouched where she was, hands braced on her knees, breath uneven.  

She looked up slowly, her voice losing its usual edge of humor. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Azzi sat curled on the edge of the couch, her legs folded up, arms wrapped around her knees. The packet of screws she had been holding crinkled under her fingers. She didn’t look at Paige right away. Her eyes followed the lines of the floor like she could find the answer in the pattern of the grain. 

“I didn’t know how,” she said, her voice small and steady. “It felt like unraveling something I hadn’t dared to look at too closely.” 

She paused, her throat working through the words. 

“It’s not like I’m not over him. I didn’t love him like that—not the way you’re supposed to when you say forever. But we were together for a year. He saw me through shit most people don’t even notice. And he cared. Even when I pulled away, he stayed. That kind of steady doesn’t just leave quietly. Even if it was never right.” 

Paige’s mouth parts slightly, heart kicking up in her chest. She leans back on her heels, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands. “I didn’t mean to come between anything,” she says. Her voice sounds too big in the room, like it doesn’t belong in this hushed, aching space. “If I hadn’t said all those dumb things, kept pushing maybe you guys would’ve worked it out.” 

Azzi looked at her then, eyes soft but steady. There was something delicate in the way her expression shifted, a sadness not for what was lost, but for how long she had waited to let it go. 

“You didn’t take anything from me,” she said. “You were just the mirror. I couldn’t keep pretending once I saw what I actually wanted. Once I realized I was reaching for my phone every night hoping it was you.” 

Her lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, but something close. 

“And maybe,” she added, her voice lighter now, “I dragged it out because I liked that you kept flirting with me anyway. Like I was yours already.” 

Paige let out a laugh, half breath, half disbelief. “I was committed to the bit.” 

Azzi tilted her head, amused. “I know.” 

The space between them grew warmer, softer. Paige’s teasing faded, replaced by a gentler tone. “I’ll flirt with you forever if you let me.” 

Azzi moved without a word, crawling across the floor. She didn’t look at the mess around them. Her eyes were locked on Paige. She reached out and casually brushed a screw from Paige’s lap, then another, until all the clutter was gone between them. 

Then she climbed into her lap. 

Paige’s brows lifted, just a little, her whole body going still as Azzi straddled her thighs. “Oh,” she said, breath catching. “So that’s how it’s gonna be?” 

“Should I stop?” she teased, her lips brushing close. “You look like you’re about to pass out.” 

Paige grinned slowly, cocky and amused, but there was a tightness in her chest she didn’t know what to do with. “You’re lucky I like bossy women crawling on top of me. Kinda my weakness.” 

“Yeah?” Azzi leaned in, her voice warm at Paige’s ear. “Thought your weakness was getting beat by furniture instructions.” 

“You wanna talk or kiss me?” Paige asked, hand already sliding up Azzi’s thigh like it had been waiting for this opening all week. 

Azzi laughed, not backing off. “You always this smooth?” 

Paige tilted her head, eyes flicking to Azzi’s mouth. “Only when I actually want someone.” 

That made Azzi pause. Just long enough for the weight of Paige’s words to settle deep in her chest. Her gaze dropped to Paige’s mouth, and her restraint thinned in the space between them. Something shifted in her eyes, softening, like the wall she always kept so carefully in place had finally started to lower. 

Then she kissed her. 

Azzi leaned in slowly, not out of hesitation but intent. One hand lifted to cradle Paige’s cheek, her thumb grazing the skin just beneath her eye. Her lips found Paige’s with a tenderness that carried everything she had never said out loud. It was a kiss that held its own kind of gravity, pulling Paige in without urgency, just certainty. 

She kissed her like she meant it. Like she had thought about this moment so many times she knew exactly how to make it last. Her mouth moved with purpose, firm and slow, her other hand sliding around the back of Paige’s neck, holding her steady, holding her close. 

Paige melted into it, drawn to her like breath to lungs. Her fingers tightened on Azzi’s waist, grounding herself in the reality of this—of being wanted, of being chosen. She kissed her back with a kind of awe, every motion an answer to a question neither of them had dared to ask. 

Azzi deepened the kiss. Not to take more, but to give—her quiet, buried feelings spilling through every press of her mouth, every inch of closeness. She tilted her head, fitting herself closer, and Paige responded with a soft sigh, her body instinctively angling to meet her. 

When Azzi finally pulled back, her hand lingered at the curve of Paige’s jaw. She rested her forehead against hers, her breath still mingling with Paige’s, lips parted from the closeness. 

Her fingers stayed curled at the back of her neck, unwilling to let go just yet. Holding on like the moment might slip through her hands if she stopped touching her. 

Then, like there was no caution left, Azzi moved like she had been holding back for far too long. The restraint had burned away.  

Her mouth found Paige’s with a kind of urgency that left no room for doubt. Her lips pressed firm, her breath warm, and when Paige opened to her, Azzi deepened the kiss until it was everything she had been trying not to want. 

Her other hand slid beneath Paige’s shirt, splayed against her back, drawing her closer. Paige let out a low sound in response, hands curling into Azzi’s neck, holding her right there. 

“Fuck, baby.” 

When they stopped for air, Azzi’s lips were swollen, her pupils dark, and her voice was teasing but breathless. “What?” 

“You’re ridiculous. You’ve been sitting next to me all day acting like we’re building a table, not dancing around this.” 

Azzi shrugged, pretending to be innocent, though her fingers were already on Paige's defined abs. “I thought we were building tension.” 

Paige laughed, short and low, chasing her mouth again. “Well, congrats. You built it. Now you’re dealing with it.” 

She kissed again her like she meant it. Azzi kissed her back harder, hips shifting again like she wanted to feel every inch of Paige pressed beneath her. Her shirt rode up, and Paige’s hands found bare skin, her touch rougher now, her breath uneven. 

“You know,” Azzi said between kisses, “I kind of hate how good at this you are.” 

Paige smirked against her mouth. “Told you I had talents.” 

“Oh yeah? Like what?” 

Paige’s hand slipped up Azzi’s back, holding her firmly as she shifted their weight. Azzi let herself be guided down onto the floor, her back hitting the rug with a soft thud. Paige hovered above her, a smug glint in her eyes and breath hot against her mouth. 

“Why don’t I show you?” Paige murmured, her voice thick with heat. 

Then she paused. Smiled. Slower this time. 

“Or better yet, why don’t I take you out for dinner first?” 

Azzi blinked, caught between the tension thrumming through her body and the sudden, unexpected softness in Paige’s voice. She stared up at her, lips parted, flushed and confused. 

“Are you seriously trying to be romantic right now?” 

Paige shrugged, one hand resting lazily on Azzi’s waist, the other brushing hair away from her cheek. “Yeah. I am. Sue me.” 

Azzi let out a noise of protest, half frustration, half disbelief. “You’ve got me like this—” she gestured between their tangled bodies “—and now you want to go on a date?” 

Paige grinned, entirely unbothered. “Exactly. Because if I keep kissing you right now, we’re not stopping. And I actually want to do this right.” 

Azzi squinted up at her. “Right? You mean like, feelings right?” 

“I thought we already established I like you?” Paige leaned down, nuzzling along Azzi’s jaw, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, just barely not kissing her mouth. “Don’t wanna sneak around, not acting like it’s nothing. Just you and me. I want to know what it’s like to take you out, not just take you apart.” 

Azzi sucked in a breath and turned her head slightly to hide her face, but Paige caught the hint of a smile anyway. 

“It’s not a good idea,” Azzi murmured. “Us going out. Not in public. Remember our terms?” 

Paige’s expression softened. “It’s not gonna be public. Just dinner. My place. Your favorite food. Me pretending I know how to use the stove.” 

Azzi turned back to her, her frustration melting into something gentler. Her voice was quiet, and the edge was gone. “Okay. Yeah. Yes.” 

Paige smiled, satisfied, and kissed her again before Azzi could second-guess it. Slower this time, deeper. Less frantic than before, but no less hungry. It was a kiss full of promise, and Azzi kissed her back like it meant something. 

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Paige smirked and glanced sideways at the mess around them. 

“You know,” Paige said, glancing at the half-built disaster beside them, “that coffee table is gonna need therapy after this.” 

Azzi snorted, her fingers idly tracing the hem of Paige’s shirt. “We didn’t assemble it, we emotionally damaged it.” 

“Pretty sure we voided the warranty just by looking at it wrong,” Paige muttered, shifting to dislodge a rogue Allen key from under her thigh. “It’s definitely judging us.” 

[northernsunsets]

AU where Shen Yuan transmigrates into PIDW, but he's never read PIDW because it was never published. Airplane drafted it but never actually got around to publishing it, Shen Yuan only goes in by some luck of some system somehow getting their hands on it falling in love and snagging some guy to put in it or something.

Our Luo Binghe is of course drafts Binghe who sits alone on a throne. Not a single wife, a dead and tortured abusive shizun, and a future of being on this throne until he fades to nothing.

The system decides it wants to play out the cycle of abuse again. Little boys who have nothing but an oblivious girl at their side, who are beat into the dirt until they fight back and then become more powerful than the man who beat them down. So Shen Yuan is transmigrated into a demon servant boy, specially picked by Luo Binghe to be a servant boy when he massacred Shen Yuan's home village.

The system tells him he has to endure the abuse for a while and then it'll turn him into essentially god. Shen Yuan is friends with a young girl who's the daughter of a dancer who performs for Luo Binghe a lot. He's very partial to her and while it is innocent the adults in her life are banking on her becoming Luo Binghe's first wife once she comes of age. Shen Yuan being her friend is what brings Luo Binghe's attention back to him. This little girl is like the one light in Luo Binghe's miserable life these days and he hates when she just wants to talk about her friend. So he has Shen Yuan transferred so he's doing more personal work for Luo Binghe so he can keep him too busy to play, pick his work apart and hopefully one day get rid of him.

So like perfectly cycling, and Shen Yuan is so down to play this all out exactly how the system wants. He has to undergo the abuse but there's a light at the end of the tunnel where he gets to kill his man and then the system will guide him to essentially becoming the god of this world and then he can do whatever he wants. Everything is going great, he undergoes the abuse, then someone high up in Luo Binghe's army takes a shining to Shen Yuan and Binghe lets him take on Shen Yuan seeing this as his opportunity to get rid of him. Shen Yuan however sees this as what it narratively is, his teacher who is gonna give him the opportunities he needs to take down his abuser. He's being turned into a perfect little child soldier who will eventually be an essential part of a coup.

All part of the plan he has to act like he's loyal to Luo Binghe, and in typical Shen Yuan fashion faking it is So cliche, he's taking it to like protecting his little Bunhe levels. Luo Binghe is like "what the fuck??" rightfully cause why tf is this little boy he beat the snot out of for years doing trying to sacrifice himself For Luo Binghe at every turn. He's not like complaining he's gotta die one of these times, and then he gets exactly what he wants.

Shen Yuan is so patiently waiting for the day he gets to turn this all around and pull a fantastic betrayl. Luo Binghe is cool, and maybe if he'd gotten to read his story he would have loved his character, but this has been his real life for years and it's not endearing or inspiring he wants to finally bite back.

So he plays good little soldier, for decades, but the coup never comes to fruition. The timing isn't right, bad luck kills essential parts of the plan left and right, and eventually after a particularly bad battle Shen Yuan is all that is left. He can do it anyway, he's climbed the ranks initially very reluctantly by Luo Binghe but as time goes on the little girl this was all for anyway grew up, Luo Binghe didn't marry her, he found her a nice spouse and now she isn't really in either of their lives. Shen Yuan is a good pawn and that's all he is.

Then some new coup plan that had happened separately from Shen Yuan comes to fruition, and while participating once it's happening would help his goal, that'd be stupid as fuck! How dare these people have a coup without Shen Yuan! There's no guarantee he'll get anything out of this. Also as Shen Yuan fights bravely as one of very few people still on Luo Binghe's side, imagine how much more devastating his eventual betrayal will be. So Shen Yuan helps him fight back the coup and suddenly he's like the only person Luo Binghe trusts.

He's completely neurotic, despite everything he almost lost everything, everyone turned on him and being the strongest man on earth almost didn't save him, how can he trust in anything now? Anything, except Shen Yuan, who he seems to have beaten into a pure dedication years ago, who would have died right there for him, who's been willing to die for him for decades.

Shen Yuan is suddenly Luo Binghe's entire world, the only thing he can trust. Even when he gets a letter from the girl who started this all he wonders if even she would be so loyal, after all Ning Yingying lied in court for him, even if it was just that once before she left unable to bear what had become of everyone she once loved. Look where that got Shen Qingqiu, buried deep in the ground, torn limb from limb.

Shen Yuan keeps waiting for the day to perform his own coup, but it doesn't come. Taking Luo Binghe out like this wouldn't be cool, and it is so clear when one day Luo Binghe basically begs Shen Yuan to kill him. Everything is weighing down on more than he can handle, and if Shen Yuan would just do it it will grant no one satisfaction and with the axe in hand and the permission to take Luo Binghe's head off his shoulders he finds he can't do it. He tells himself it's because where is His cool moment? Why is he not allowed to be the one to take this man down to this level himself? Why is he relegated to the final act as a mercy kill? Where is His chance to rise above it all with an iron fist and everyone relishes in the satisfaction of it all? System, where did it go? Why is he staring down at the man who hurt him over the affections of a girl, who rules all the world, and seeing a soaked puppy in a cardboard box?

Shen Yuan swings the axe down... and it lodges itself in the floor far away from Binghe's neck. Instead he offers a plan, they blow everything up, descend the merged realms into chaos and run away from it all. Someone gets what they want, but first they have to deal with all that mess, and that's when Shen Yuan gives up all his own ambition, ruling the entire world sounds like a lot of work anyway, too much for a guy that was just gonna idle his days away a lifetime ago.

They give it all up, all their dreams of something more and they run away to a little cottage somewhere. Luo Binghe cooks a meal that is the best thing Shen Yuan has ever tasted, he offers Shen Yuan to cook for him every day with variations, and Shen Yuan who has no idea what love comes with those words readily agrees.

Anyway also throughout all of this Shen Yuan is named some shit like Four Eyes and he bitches about it for about 5 seconds before deciding he's Four Eyes forever

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hey can you do task force DEFY and the sangvis with a touch starved s/o if not that's fine but I would really like to see it if possible

(GFL) AK-12, AN-94, AK-15, RPK-16, and Angelia with a touch starved S/O

Just DEFY for now since I'm operating on minimum brain cells...Also the fact that this was sent in November 14th, 2024 and has been sitting in my drafts since then...

12 would immediately notice how relaxed S/O would become if she got near them just from reading their vitals.

At first, she thought that was just her effect, because she's JUST that good.

Well, yes that was a good part of the reason, but it was also because they craved ANY kind of physical affection given to them, teasing or otherwise.

12 didn't think too much on it. Humans were naturally drawn to that kind of need biologically anyway. She won't be going full PDA on them either way due to just how she acts, but she's not heartless.

...Most of the time.

She'll yank back her hand just to see their reaction, smirking at their pout. Or better yet-

(AK-12) "S/O! I need a hug...~"

(S/O) "Wha-? Twelve, I'm carrying this crate-"

(AK-12) "Whaaat? You won't?"

She immediately broke character with a light giggle, hearing them sigh. S/O knew better than to give into her goading.

...But damn it, if it didn't want to make them drop the crate every damn time. Hell, sometimes they did.

When she acted like she was about to jump anyway, only to stop herself gracefully and feign innocence.

(AK-12) "Oh wait, you're right! I should wait.-"

(S/O) "TWELVE!"

Regardless, the reactions always entertained 12.

Honestly? If 94 wasn't a T-Doll, she'd also be just as touch starved as S/O.

Human affection was always an oddity to her. Or so she thought.

Getting verbal praise from AK-12 or Angelia always made her happy, for a mission well done she was content with only that.

But it wasn't until S/O fell in love with her that she realized she needed more. She wasn't even aware that she could want more.

One day when 94 decided to try that "hugging" thing she had seen other T-Dolls do, she realized how happy it made S/O.

And so, she began doing it more whenever the two had a moment, and quickly S/O reciprocated her love.

Each time their arms embraced her, 94 lips formed a smile, hearing her own core heat up, that fact never seeming to bother S/O.

Sometimes she'd get teased by Angelia for holding hands with S/O, but at the end of the day, she doesn't mind. If it made S/O happy, then she'd give them all the hugs they need.

And truth be told, she was more than happy to receive the love back.

(AN-94) "If you are not busy...would...you like to 'cuddle', S/O?"

15 knew that humans couldn't live without some kind of physical sensation. Or at least, thats what she read about them some time ago. It never really came into the forefront of her mind considering she was a machine of war first.

And it was because of that, 15 genuinely had no idea how to comfort S/O. She was a war-machine, a fighter, not a lover.

Still, she tried her best. Such as nearly crushing S/O with her arms.

While uncharacteristically being highly embarrassed by that blunder, once they recovered, 15 tried again, keeping some of the strength there but not enough to harm them.

15 felt their heartbeat quicken, but they melted deeper into her strong embrace.

She stands there awkwardly for the first few times, not really knowing where to move her arms at all, but overtime she allows S/O to get close and guide her as needed.

Which was ironic, since it was supposed to be 15 helping them and not the other way around.

But at the very least, S/O could teach her how to be a better lover, though they'd argue she was perfect already.

(AK-15) "I believe using a pillow would be more comfortable rather than using me, but if it puts you at ease, I cannot object..."

16 could tell just how often S/O stared at her hands that they craved her affection.

And this time, she could tell it was a quirk unique to them. Well, at least of the humans she met.

She'd act mysterious about it, teasing them to say what they wanted.

(RPK-16) "Oh? Why are you staring at my hand? Is there something that interests you?"

16 would indulge them, finding the affection of a human quite novel indeed. Especially the physical side of it.

(RPK-16) "Are humans so easily satisfied that they don't even need another flesh and blood being to comfort them? Hm, no, I am not judging. Just observing.~"

It really was amusing how easy it was to get them relaxed.

Generally, one shouldn't find the concept of hugging a killer android soothing, but to each their own.

Angelia herself is somewhat touch starved, but she never really thought about it considering her profession.

Anyone that got close to her was inevitably going to get hurt, or worse. No need to care if she didn't get a hug or whatever.

...And yet, S/O was always clinging onto her in private, and she didn't entirely have the heart to push them off.

One, because they looked so damn happy holding her hand, prosthetic or not, that'd be like kicking a puppy. She WOULD tell them off if they got a bit too trigger-happy in public or she had places to be.

But generally, she'd just quietly have a hand on theirs, her face not changing too much but the light blush told S/O everything.

In bed, she didn't mind having S/O hold her close. It was jarring, honestly. To receive such love again, the last time she really recalled so was from her parents.

Angelia leaned further back into them, still never making a comment, yet never refusing them outright in private.

(Angelia) "...You sure are clingy."

(S/O) "I-Is that a problem?"

She squeezed their hand tightly.

(Angelia) "Did I say it was?"

[athenasdaydreams]

hi! idk if this is how you do requests 😕 it is my very first time to do one!

so I would like to request a bucky x swiftie!reader, where reader is in their apartment doing some chores while watching The Eras Tour Movie. So Bucky and reader are in a relationship for so long already that they decided to live in together. Bucky been trying to find the perfect moment to propose to reader but couldn't feel that PERFECT moment as of now... not until she saw reader in their living room map in their hands, hair in a messy bun, in pajamas and singing at the top of her lungs and dancing to Taylor's songs! That's when Bucky decided it is the PERFECT moment to propose. So when the bridge of Love Story came Bucky kneeling on the side of reader during the "He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said, "Marry me, Juliet""

it's been a long time coming.......

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: just look at the request i think thats a good enough summary haha

chapter warnings: established relationship (i mean its a proposal fic)

A/N: wait this is so good i stopped drafting my literature review to draft this out... hope you like it babes!

Bucky didn't understand

Not at first.

He didn’t understand why you lit three different candles just to clean the apartment. Why your playlist jumped from “august” to “Enchanted” to “Style (Taylor’s Version)” like a fever dream. Why you grinned like a maniac when The Eras Tour Movie dropped, then cried halfway through All Too Well, then started vacuuming like your life depended on it when Ready For It? came on. But he did know something. He loved you. More than he loved the quiet calm of early mornings, more than the weight of the winter wind against his skin, more than the first sip of coffee on a slow Sunday — he loved you.

The soft hum of the vacuum mingled with Taylor’s voice spilling from the speakers, filling the apartment with something tender and alive. You pushed the vacuum back and forth over the rug, your hair thrown up in a messy bun, a few rebellious strands falling into your eyes. You were in your favorite oversized hoodie — the one Bucky always joked was big enough to fit both of you — and worn pajama pants that had seen better days.

On the TV, the Eras Tour Movie played, each song unfolding like chapters in a story only you truly understood. Your lips moved along with the lyrics, sometimes loud enough to carry across the room, sometimes soft and breathy.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a fond smile he couldn’t quite hide. You were radiant like this—completely yourself, without any pretense. Your eyes sparkled every time the stage lit up on screen, your feet moving with the rhythm even as you cleaned.

“Wait,” Bucky said, his voice cutting through the music as he cocked his head, squinting at the screen. “So… she just pops out of those giant parachutes? What are they even doing with parachutes on stage?”

You paused the vacuum, looking over your shoulder at him with a grin. “Those aren’t parachutes, dummy. They’re fans. She’s surrounded by them, rising up with them. It’s the Lover era”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “So, the pink one. Got it.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed, setting the vacuum aside and grabbing a nearby mop. “Come on, Mr. Darcy needs a dance partner.”

Bucky smirked and stepped forward, plucking the mop from your hand. “Mr. Darcy?”

You nodded solemnly. “Yep. Because he’s my knight in shining armor, mopping away the mess.”

“Only you would name a mop,” Bucky muttered, but there was no hiding his smile.

You twirled around, singing along to Cruel Summer, voice a little shaky but full of life. The mop became a microphone; your feet moved to the beat, and for a moment, the world outside the apartment vanished.

Bucky settled on the couch, watching you with a warmth that made his chest tighten. He didn’t always get all the details about Taylor or her eras, but he got you. He got how much these songs meant, how much you felt every lyric like it was stitched into your soul.

As The Man started, you sang louder, dancing over to him and plopping down beside him with a breathless laugh.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, bumping your shoulder against his.

He just grinned. “I try.”

The movie rolled on, a kaleidoscope of colors and emotions flickering over the walls. You reached for the remote and rewound the last song, eyes gleaming.

“I love this one,” you said softly. “Ready?”

Bucky shrugged, watching you as you got up to grab a cup of coffee. You returned with the cup in both hands, sitting close enough that your legs touched.

He traced idle patterns on your ankle, feeling the smooth skin beneath his fingers.

There was something sacred about these quiet moments, the easy closeness, the way your presence filled the room with light.

Bucky swallowed, nerves fluttering in his gut. He’d been carrying something for months, a secret wrapped in hope and hesitation, and jeans. Yes, Bucky carried around the ring in his back pocket every day. Waiting for the right moment felt like waiting for a sunrise you knew would come, but you never knew exactly when the sky would turn pink.

The Love Story song was coming up soon, but you had no idea what was about to happen.

And he wanted it to be perfect.

The song shifted, the mood softening. You got up and wandered to the window, pulling the curtain back to watch the city lights blink alive in the dusk.

Bucky followed you, wrapping an arm around your waist, resting his chin on your head.

“You know,” you said, voice low and dreamy, “sometimes I think about how we ended up here. You and me, this apartment, all these silly little traditions.”

He smiled against your hair. “You mean naming the mop Mr. Darcy?”

You giggled. “That, too. But more than that. How it’s been almost three years now.”

“Three years,” Bucky echoed. “Feels like a lifetime and no time at all.”

You pulled away to look at him, eyes shining. “I love this — us. The mess and the music and the way you pretend to hate Taylor but secretly hum along to anti-hero.”

He laughed. “Hey, don’t tell anyone.”

You bumped his shoulder again, playfully. “I won’t.”

The TV chimed as Fearless started, and you immediately started singing along, voice light and full of joy.

Bucky watched you, marveling at how effortless you were, how much light you brought into this space.

He didn’t say it aloud, but inside, his heart was pounding.

Soon.

The music swelled, and you danced barefoot across the living room, arms wide as if trying to catch every note floating through the air. Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the way your feet barely seemed to touch the ground. You spun, giggling, breathless and happy.

He reached for your hand, pulling you gently down onto the couch beside him. You settled in with your head against his shoulder, legs curled up beneath you.

“Do you ever think about what life was like before us?” you asked softly, voice muffled against his shirt.

Bucky thought for a moment, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm.

“Harder. Louder. More… dangerous,” he said quietly. “But nothing felt right until you.”

You sighed contentedly, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. The warmth in your eyes made his heart ache.

“I never imagined someone like you,” you whispered. “Someone who could make me feel safe without even trying.”

He kissed your temple gently. “You’re my home.”

The TV flickered, shifting into the next era’s set list, and you sat up, eyes wide with anticipation.

“That’s You Belong With Me coming up,” you said. “This one always gets me.”

Bucky laughed, watching you bounce on the couch cushions.

“You’re a mess.”

“And you love it.”

He did. More than anything.

The room filled with golden light as the opening chords rang out. You sang along, voice trembling with nostalgia.

Bucky watched you glow, hair messy, cheeks flushed, the kind of beauty that made him forget the world outside these walls.

You curled your fingers around his hand, squeezing it tight.

“No matter what happens,” you murmured, “I’m so glad it’s with you.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Soon.

He’d waited for this moment to feel exactly right — for the world to slow, for the love to be undeniable.

And now, with Taylor’s soft voice wrapping around you both, he knew it was time.

The crowd on screen screamed.

And the room around you stilled.

You didn’t move from the couch, eyes fixed on the glowing TV, but your fingers dug just a little deeper into his. You were already brimming with tears before the first notes hit.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “Bucky. BUCKY.”

He leaned closer. “Yeah, baby?”

“It’s Love Story.” You were already laughing through the emotion. “I’m gonna lose it. You remember what happens during this one, right?”

His mouth quirked into something soft. “Mmm. Let’s see. Something about a castle, a balcony, and a very dramatic dress?”

You smacked his arm without looking away from the screen. “No. This is the one where all the girls got proposed to at the concert. During the bridge. Remember the TikToks? The ones I made you watch?”

“Oh, I remember,” he murmured.

Of course he did.

He remembered all of it. The way your eyes had gone soft and hopeful watching those videos. The way your hand had drifted unconsciously to your chest every time Taylor sang “He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring…”

He remembered the way you'd sighed, almost to yourself, “God, imagine being loved like that.”

And in that moment — in that one stupid TikTok — he'd made up his mind.

Because he did love you like that.

You shifted on the couch, rising to your knees on the cushion, leaning forward like a kid seeing magic for the first time. On screen, Taylor stood in her glittering ball gown, lights glowing like fireflies around her. The melody slowed, sweet and aching.

🎶 We were both young when I first saw you… 🎶

You pressed a hand to your heart.

“I swear,” you whispered to no one. “This one gets me every time.”

Bucky rose slowly from the couch.

You didn’t notice.

You were too busy swaying to the rhythm, mouthing every word, a tear slipping down your cheek.

🎶 I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress… 🎶

He stepped forward.

🎶 He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said— 🎶

You turned to look at him.

And stopped breathing.

Because there he was.

In front of the couch. On one knee.

Holding a ring that sparkled like a thousand stars trapped in silver.

For a heartbeat, you didn’t move.

Then: “Are you—oh my God, are you kidding me right now?!”

He smiled, soft and trembling.

“Nope,” Bucky said. “Not kidding. I’ve been carrying this around since March. Thought about doing it at the diner where we had our first date. Or on the fire escape with the skyline. But then today…”

He looked around the room — the half-mopped floor, the forgotten coffee on the table, the flicker of golden light from the screen dancing on your face.

“You were dancing in that ridiculous hoodie, yelling about mops and glitter and girlhood like your heart was on fire. You were happy. So alive. And I just knew.”

Your hands flew to your mouth. You were already crying — real crying now, hiccuping with disbelief, one foot still on the couch like you hadn’t quite landed in this moment yet.

“I know I didn’t plan some grand event,” he went on, voice thick. “And there’s no fancy dinner or hidden photographer, or… whatever people do these days. But you once told me the dream was a living room and love that doesn’t fade.”

He held the ring up higher.

“So,” he whispered, eyes locked to yours, “marry me?”

You dropped off the couch to your knees in front of him so fast you nearly knocked him over.

“Yes. Yes.”

He let out a sound — somewhere between a laugh and a breath of relief — and cradled your face in one hand, slipping the ring on with the other. It fit like it had always belonged.

On screen, the crowd roared.

Taylor’s voice soared.

And you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in like your life depended on it.

“I can’t believe you did this,” you whispered into his shoulder. “During Love Story.”

He laughed softly, pressing his lips to your cheek, your temple, your jaw. “Cliché,” he murmured. “But good cliché.”

The two of you stayed like that — tangled together on the rug, blinking through tears, breathing each other in — while Taylor sang the final chorus in the background.

You were still crying when you looked down at the ring.

Still in pajamas. Still barefoot. Still wearing remnants of your morning cleaning routine like armor.

Bucky thought you'd never been more beautiful.

“You really proposed in front of a mop,” you said suddenly.

“You were holding it like a mic,” he said. “I saw my window.”

You laughed again. Then looked at him, eyes shining, and kissed him long and slow, the kind of kiss that tasted like a thousand mornings and forever after.

Outside, the city blinked quietly. Inside, your world had just changed.

And neither of you ever needed a big stage or fireworks to feel it.

You had each other.

And a love story that was yours.

Forever.

wc: 2k

[stygiansauce]

How do you decide what’s important enough to put in your story/chapters? Or, how do you make filler.. not filler..? Something I struggle a lot with in multi chapter fics is how to move along the plot without either rushing through the slow burn or ambling along aimlessly (and running out of steam + ideas on the way)

Everything you write seems so thought out and purposeful. Like, it’s crazy. I can’t even imagine the story going any other way? They’ll do or say something, and I’ll be like “of course they’d do that!” Like it’s so perfect … dies. You make the characters feel alive. I think that’s really what drew me in to your work. They feel real, like they’re breathing through the words and actually feeling every emotion you toss to them. It’s amazing.

Also how do you not lose track of exactly how they’d react, come any situation? Relationships, especially complicated and overlapping ones like in MoE, are sooo tough to capture without just making everyone behave like the plot demands. The way you incorporate their flaws and quirks and make it affect the story is so… real. Gah.

Sorry for the scrambling thoughts, it’s nearly 5am and to be brief I’m goin through it lol. Your posts, wips, extensive rambles and enthusiasm are definitely a highlight rn. Keep being you dude! 🦃

Hi turkey!!!

Okay, this is such a tough question. I'll try my best to answer in a way that might help you. I think there are two major ways I write. 1) It just happens. It comes out of my brain that way and it ends up working great! 2) So. Much. Thinking. I mean like I never stop thinking about it.

So! Lets talk about it!

When you're writing a scene you always need to ask yourself its purpose. There really is no such thing as filler if you plan it right. Going into a scene, ask yourself the questions, what is happening? Why is it happening? How does it effect the character?

Let's take MoE chapter four for example. The first scene of Fire Line is actually a set of three scenes that flow into eachother (this will happen in chapter five too). the first is Tango and Etho arriving, this happens before Tango enters the kitchen. The prupose of that scene is to establish the chapter. It sets up the place the characters will reside, the characters the will be there, and the general tone of the chapter. How does this effect Tango? It makes hims nervous. He's excited to see Jimmy, and he feels like he's intruding on a FAMILY event where he is very much not family.

Now what if a scene doesn't have doesn't have a narraive purpose? MoE chapter three scene one, the whole Snail conversation. This doesn't mean SHIT to the general plot and I could have cut it all together. I forced a purpose on it by establishing an emotional purpose. Tango has some pretty big realizations about Jimmy in this scene. he starts to understand that he's crushing now, not just flirting for fun.

I think it's easier to for MoE to feel very purposeful because it's an emotional story. The plot IS the ranchers relationship. sure, some other things happen along the way but all those events happen the way they do because it's lead by their relationship. I think my other fics struggle because I'm looking for an emotional plotline when I really need a physical one.

So how do I pick a scene? uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'll be so honest a lot of my ideas for MoE came from like, yapping with people. I talk about my story and I make some haha funny jokes/headcanons and eventually a scene is there. Like, chapter five only exsists because I wanted to make a joke about the hat rule. I kind of make challenges for each chapter, that the ranchers have to overcome. I really have no clue how I came to the plot I did. just a lot of thinking.

How do I know/keep track of how my characters are feeling and how they might react? I DON'T. okay I do, but like it takes many many many drafts to get the point across sometimes (ugh chapter five is one of those). The first thing to do is to look at your guy and try to understand why they're doing something.

Lets look back at MoE 3, Southern Hospitality. In this scene Jimmy is very defensive and it happens in a snap. Tango says something that sets Jimmy off and the reader is sent into a spiral with him. Why does he do this? becasue he's hiding something. A person that's hiding something is going to be defensive about it, especially when they feel secure in that secret. Tango figured out Jimmy's birthday with no prompting, and that was threatening to what Jimmy has built. So whats the natural progression from that? for Jimmy, he keeps his secret. he feels out what Tango knows and is able to calm himself down when he see's the threat isn't real.

I think the big thing with character choices is to remember where they're coming from and what the most realistic response would be. If someone hits you and gets you kicked out of an important game you wanted to play--you're going to be mad. Now how do you feel that anger? do you yell? do you cry? do you keep it all bottled up till it spills out and you hookup with the guy that hit you?

I spend A LOT of time thinking about my characters and what they're going through. I mean like...all of my time. I really don't think about much else. I talk it out with people and get their opinions. I sit down and look at their goals, morals, and their limits.

I can talk a little more about it when 5 comes out. but Tango has a big scene in 5 where he looks at his morals and his goals and decides where his limits are...or finds out where his limits are. He's pushed up to the edge and has to make a choice.

I do a lot of writing something and then not being able to use it because it just doesnt fit the character anymore. tango's choice has changed about four times and I'm still not happy with it yet.

the hard part here, is when they're being unreliable narrators. characters, in the pov I have set up (limited pov, third person, present tense), don't know what the other is thinking. They make inferences and have thoughts about other peoples actions. their perpective might not be the same as the others.

for example, aough and I love this bit I'm so proud of it. In chapter three, Jimmy does the "he hates when tango looks at him like that" bit? To Jimmy, in that moment, the face is seeing too much of him. It's Tango knowing something that Jimmy doesnt want him to know. and he explains that he's seen the face before and thought it was cute, how tango knew little things about him. This is too much though, now it's threatening.

in chapter four, tango makes the same face and we get to see it from his pov. To tango, the face is disarming. it's reassuring and trying to show Jimmy he cares.

Jimmy recoiling at the face, doesn't make sense to Tango. he doesn't understand it. but as the reader, we know that Jimmy is feeling seen, too seen. When Jimmy wuickly bounces back, Tango is confused how he's able to do that so fast. If we, the reader, compare what we know from chapter 3, we can assume Jimmy is rationalizing, talking himself down and forcing the thought away in favor of the present. we could also assume that he's pushing it down...something something he hopes they’ll die before he has to deal with them again.

so it's really fun to play with!! to decide how an action presents itself to a character vs the intention behind the action. ohhhh humanity is so much fun. again, its all thinking and talking and writing till it feels right.

Thank you for thinking my work is so put together! I promise it's really not ToT. My writing is a total shit show up and through beta reading. When MoE 5 comes out, and if you wanted to chat about that more in depth, I would love to make a little post about Tango's internal thoughts and why he makes the choices he does. It's really sweet that you view my writing this way turkey <3 I'm not classically trained or anything, I took a few CW classes but I never finished the sequence. I think art is just what you make it. I keep saying it, but MoE is my love letter to writing and I'm really having fun exploring all these aspects of humanity and how they work together.

okay! I have yapped enough my goodness. Hope this helped, nothing about my process is offical. it works for me but might not work for you!

Take everything i say with a grain of salt <3

[mirkwood]

Oh no.... what is happening to me.....

[defiledtomb]

we're so fucking back baby

[leadendeath]

face reveal x

creature jumpscare.

[kumakuma-circus]

just randomly remembered that during my like 10+ attempts at the shadow yukiko fight i more or less consistently ran out of revival beads so yosuke was just dead (well unconscious but whatever) on the ground for like half the fight gfhfjvhfhfhd-

[another-faceless-girl]

okay trying to be coherent now. (it wont work cause its night and i cant be normal at night)

so as soon a silco meets powder he just... hugs her and accepts her willingly without any alterior motive like it would better for silco to leave powder but he doesnt because as soon as he meets her he decides that this is his daughter and he is going to keep this child.

now my father cant even accept me now. after fucking years of me trying and working my ass of for his approval he just cant be bothered i guess. but silco just does it and freaks me the fuck out. because a father!??!?! loving his daughter!?!?!?!? unconditionally!?!?!??!

and jinx is also comfortable around silco. she does his eye drops because he trusts her and she trusts him and i think my father would rather naw off his own leg than let me do that to him.

my father pretends to be a good man around other people. he loves children, hes funny hes smart hes good with his own kids and everyone believes him because who would believe me over him? hes a bad father though. a terrible father he doesnt listen to me he doesnt care about my interests and i feel like i cant tell him anything i cant do anything to make him proud. but hes still - however much I hate it - a 'good person.'

but silco is a terrible person and he doesnt even try to hide it. he hits he bribes and he doesnt care who gets in his way because he is getting what he wants if you like it or not. but around jinx hes - im not going to say good because he can do a lot better - a father to jinx and him and jinx are father and daughter no matter how fucked up it might be. he accepts he no matter because to him she is perfect even if its a rubbish concept of perfect. so silco is a terrible person and a - kinda - good father.

because i imagine when you watch it as someone who has a good relationship with your father you think silco is terrible and he is! but to me hes everything a father should be even if hes a monster. Hes protective hes caring and he trusts her he actually likes spending time with her and not just because hes her father and its a duty because he isnt jinxs father. so maybe i sound like a broken record but silco is everything i want my father to be and my father is still himself.

[good-beans]

Hi! "ML Up until now it's been like a dream" sounds interesting!

Aw thanks! I'm impressed you could scope out my one Mikoto wip...

It's a little normal au 0309 thing from Fuuta's pov. The general premise is that Mikoto crashes his bike on his way to work, gets a concussion, has (non-John-related) memory issues, and Fuuta is compelled to look after him. I wanted a fun comparison of videogame restarts/second chances -- Fuuta says something rash and the conversation gets weird, until a few minutes later when Mikoto has a lapse in short term memory, and Fuuta gets to try the exact same situation again. By the end of the day, Fuuta is using the situation to very carefully test out compliments/confessions since there's no pressure it'll be remembered and he'll have to deal with the consequences. It's basically my timeloop fic without a timeloop 😂

The title was the first thing that popped into my head (as all my first working titles are) and comes from a story from my dad's childhood when he got a concussion and his short term memory kept resetting. He kept telling his family "You know, up until now it's been like a dream!" until his brother quoted it back to him and he went "how did you know I was gonna say that??" It started as a silly joke title, but Mikoto has the whole line about dreaming, so I'm keeping an eye out if there's a way I can actually work it into the fic !!

[jem97-writes]

first draft hit 4.5k time for bed

[camgoloud]

me, idly thinking, earlier today: oh wait that's an interesting idea for a flash piece, actually, why don't i sit down tonight for an hour or so and see if i can't bang out something super rough and casual about it. this will be good practice for me at actually putting Words On The Page without stressing too much and over-editing as i write! :)

me tonight, three hours deep, frantically googling crime statistics, rainfall patterns, and multiple WHO databases so i can get this single specific sentence Just Right: hmm. well.

[rarepairnation]

1300 words and counting on umbar fic today we are SO BACK (i have not touched rivendell since tuesday. it is so so so so so over)

[kirnet]

I think I need to rewrite the next few actium chapters :(

[popodumsqueries]

I HAVE BEEN SAYING THIS FOR YEARS. YEARS I TELL YOU. WE NEED TO BRING BACK THOSE OLD HANDHELD CAMERAS WITH THE FLIPPY SCREEN AND RECORD EVERYTHING ON THEM FOR LIKE A WHOLE 2 MONTHS AND JUST LET THE QUALITY BE BAD. YOU DON'T NEED TO CHASE PROGRESS AND PERFECTION IN ORDER TO DEVELOP. YOU CAN JUST HAVE FUN WITH YOUR SILLY HANDHELD CAMERA WITH THE FLIPPY SCREEN. MEDIA IS MEDIA IS STILL MEDIA, YOU CAN SURVIVE WITH LESS THAN WHAT SOCIETY TELLS YOU THAT YOU NEED TO BE HAPPY

I know I bring it up every 3-5 business days but so many horror, fantasy, and period film/tv would benefit from being shot on film. it’s better if we don’t see the details! it’s better if the haze smooths out pores and the prosthetics! if there’s more shadows & grain! not everything is not meant to be consumed in 4k