#the vibe for this fic is so so so specific

[writingbuckets]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐢

paige bueckers x podcaster!reader

wc: 3.7k

a/n: and we're backkk! there's only a few parts left to this fic, so i've started to write out the beginnings of new fics, specifically some one shots, so anticipate those. requests are open as i'm searching for some new one shot ideas <3

The late afternoon sunlight poured through the wide windows of Paige’s apartment, bathing the living room in a warm, golden hue that softened everything it touched. The air smelled faintly of something savory—garlic and herbs, maybe—and the sound of soft music playing from a speaker on the counter added a lazy, tranquil ambiance to the space. The place felt like her—equal parts cozy and effortlessly inviting.

You were curled up on her oversized couch, legs tucked beneath you, scrolling idly through your phone, though you weren’t really paying attention to the screen. Most of your focus was on Paige, who moved around the kitchen with an ease that only came from familiarity. She’d kicked off her sneakers hours ago, padding barefoot across the tile floor, opening and closing drawers like she already knew where everything was.

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” you called, tilting your head to get a better look at her.

Paige glanced back over her shoulder, strands of her blonde hair escaping from the now loose bun she’d tied the day before. She was wearing one of her UCONN hoodies, the fabric fitted to her frame, the hem brushing her hips. Beneath it, her pajama pants, relaxed and slouching slightly, added to the casual, cozy vibe she exuded, making it clear that she was at ease in the moment, her usual confident exterior softened by the comfort of her home. The look was casual and unintentional, but she somehow managed to make it distractingly appealing.

“Nope,” she replied, her lips quirking into a smug smirk that made her dimples appear. She lifted a knife and pointed it in your direction playfully before turning back to the cutting board. “I’ve got this. Just relax, superstar.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, though you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face. It was a teasing moniker she’d given you after you’d shared the news about landing a sponsorship for your podcast, and she’d been insufferable about it ever since. “I don’t know if watching you struggle to chop vegetables counts as relaxing,” you quipped, leaning your head against the back of the couch to watch her work.

Paige gasped in mock offense, clutching a hand dramatically to her chest. “Wow. The disrespect. In my own home, no less!”

You laughed, setting your phone down on the coffee table. “Okay, Chef Bueckers. Go ahead and impress me.”

Paige gave you a mock salute, her grin widening. “Don’t worry. By the end of this meal, you’re gonna feel so bad for doubting my skills that you’ll be begging me to cook for you every night.”

“Big words for someone who just fumbled a clove of garlic two minutes ago,” you teased, crossing your arms as you leaned into the corner of the couch.

She muttered something under her breath, turning back to the counter with a shake of her head. “Don’t worry about what happened with the garlic. That’s in the past now.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls and mixing with the quiet music. The ease between you two was palpable, and it filled the space with a sense of lightness you’d grown increasingly fond of. It was amazing how natural it all felt—how seamlessly you’d slipped into this routine of spending time at her place, teasing her from the couch while she experimented with new recipes.

Occasionally, she glanced over at you, her smirk softening into something more affectionate. You caught her looking once, and she quickly turned back to the cutting board, pretending to be overly focused on dicing an onion.

“You know,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips, “if you keep staring at me, we might not get to eat until midnight.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Paige shot back, though the faint blush creeping up her neck betrayed her.

“Sure,” you replied, stretching out on the couch with an exaggerated yawn. “Take your time, Chef. I’ll just starve quietly over here.”

Paige laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Keep talking, and I might just burn your food on purpose,” she said, tossing a sliced pepper onto the cutting board with a flourish.

“Wow, threatening your guest? That’s bold.”

“You’re not a guest,” she countered, her voice softening in a way that made your chest tighten. “You’re... you know.”

The way she trailed off, the weight of the unspoken words hanging between you, caught you off guard for a moment. But then she glanced over her shoulder again, her smile small but genuine, and the tension in the air shifted into something that felt more intimate than playful.

“You’re impossible,” you said quietly, though your tone held no real annoyance.

“And yet, here you are,” Paige replied, her smirk returning as she turned back to her work.

The scent of whatever she was cooking began to fill the apartment in earnest, rich and inviting. The golden hour light streaming in through the windows caught the edges of her hair, turning it almost honey-like in color, and for a moment, you forgot about the meal entirely, too caught up in watching her.

Paige, as usual, noticed. “Now you’re staring,” she said without turning around, her voice full of teasing smugness.

“Am not,” you shot back, though the warmth in your cheeks said otherwise.

“Caught in 4K,” she retorted, glancing at you over her shoulder with a grin that made your stomach flip.

You shook your head, laughing softly as you leaned back against the couch, letting the easy rhythm of the moment wash over you. If this was what life with Paige looked like, you couldn’t wait to see where it went next.

The past few months had been everything you didn’t know you needed. What began as slow steps into something new had quickly blossomed into a rhythm that felt effortless, as if this was where you were meant to be all along. The awkward tension of your first date, with its nervous laughter and overthinking, had melted away after that night, replaced by an ease that sometimes made you question if it was too good to be true. And yet, every time Paige looked at you with that lopsided grin or sent a teasing quip your way, you realized this wasn’t a dream—it was your reality.

You and Paige had settled into a flow that worked, balancing your busy schedules with the demands of her games and your growing podcast. It wasn’t always easy, but it was worth it. Early mornings were spent sharing hurried cups of coffee, and late nights often found you curled up on her couch or yours, laughing at something silly on TV or talking about nothing and everything. Somewhere in the middle of all that, you’d discovered how much you loved these quieter moments, the ones that felt suspended in time, like lazy afternoons when the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

Being with Paige had surprised you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. On paper, she was a phenomenon: the Paige Bueckers, basketball prodigy, fan favorite, and media darling. She was a star in every sense of the word, with a presence so magnetic it felt like it could pull the tide. But with you, she was just Paige. Goofy, thoughtful, endlessly witty, and endearingly competitive about everything from who could open a jar faster to who had the better taste in music.

She was the kind of person who would call you at midnight just to tell you she’d heard a song on the radio that reminded her of you. She was also the kind of person who would take ten minutes to pick out the right snack from a convenience store and then tease you for your “unrefined” candy preferences. With her, everything felt easy—like finding the right piece to a puzzle you hadn’t realized was missing.

“You’re quiet,” Paige’s voice broke through your thoughts, casual but laced with curiosity as she worked at the counter.

You blinked, her words pulling you back to the present. She hadn’t turned around, too focused on her task, but somehow, she always knew when your mind wandered. “Just thinking,” you replied, trying to play it cool.

Paige glanced over her shoulder, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Thinking about what? Or should I say… who?”

“Wow, conceited much?” you shot back, trying to ignore the slight flush that crept up your neck.

Her grin widened as she turned fully, holding up a cutting board with half of a neatly sliced pepper. “Just admit it,” she said, her tone smug.

“I wasn’t thinking about you,” you lied, though your cheeks betrayed you.

“Oh, really?” Paige placed the cutting board down and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. The playful glint in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t letting this go. “So, what was it? World domination? Your podcast’s next big scoop? Which player’s sneakers squeaked the loudest during the last game?”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. “None of the above. I was thinking about…” You trailed off for dramatic effect.

“About?” she pressed, leaning in slightly as if your answer were life or death.

You smirked, deciding to turn the tables. “About how you always insist on using the tiniest cutting board in existence for way too many vegetables. Seriously, do you not own a bigger one?”

Paige gasped, clutching a hand to her chest in mock offense. “This cutting board and I have history! Don’t disrespect it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was insulting a family heirloom,” you teased, folding your arms across your chest.

“It practically is,” she shot back with a grin. “We’ve been through a lot together. College dorm meals, team dinner cooking fails… it’s seen things, Y/N.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And yet it’s still too small.”

Paige laughed, pushing off the counter and returning to her task, her shoulders shaking with amusement. “One day, I’ll upgrade. But until then, this little guy gets the job done.”

“Barely,” you quipped, earning another laugh from her.

She reached for a pan, humming softly to the tune playing throughout the apartment. Watching her like this—barefoot in her hoodie, completely at home in her own space—made your chest ache in the best way. 

“Careful,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “You might actually impress me with your cooking skills.”

She glanced over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, I will. And when I do, I expect a full public apology for all the trash-talking you’ve done about my culinary expertise.”

You snorted. “Culinary expertise? Paige, I’ve seen you eat cereal straight from the box because you didn’t want to wash a bowl.”

“That’s called efficiency,” she shot back, turning her attention back to the stove. “You wouldn’t understand.”

The playful banter filled the space, bouncing off the walls with an energy that contrasted beautifully with the softer, quieter moments you shared. It was hard not to feel light in moments like this, when everything about her felt so natural and unguarded. Paige had a way of making the world feel a little less heavy, a little more vibrant, just by being herself.

“Paige,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

She glanced over her shoulder, her expression shifting from playful to attentive in an instant. “Yeah?”

“I was just thinking…” You hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Paige turned off the burner and set the spoon down, giving you her full attention. She leaned against the counter, her arms crossing loosely over her chest. “That sounds serious,” she teased gently, though her tone was laced with genuine curiosity.

You smiled, trying to push past the nervous energy bubbling up. “It’s not, really. Just… us. How this feels.”

Her eyes softened, the teasing completely gone now. She pushed away from the counter and walked over to the couch, dropping down beside you. “What about it?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, searching for the right words. “I guess I didn’t expect it to be this easy. Being with you.”

Paige tilted her head, watching you closely. “Easy in a good way, I hope?”

You nodded quickly, laughing softly. “Yeah, in a really good way. I mean, I knew you’d be funny and smart and all that. But I didn’t think…” You trailed off, suddenly shy under her gaze.

“That I’d be this irresistible?” she offered, a smirk tugging at her lips, though her eyes betrayed her vulnerability.

“Obviously,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. Then you sobered, reaching out to take her hand. “I didn’t think I’d feel this comfortable. Like we’ve been doing this forever.”

Paige’s fingers curled around yours, her grip warm and steady. “Same,” she admitted. “I was worried at first, you know? That I’d mess things up or… that maybe it’d be too much.”

Your brows furrowed. “Too much?”

She shrugged, her thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. “With basketball, the attention… my life isn’t exactly low-key. I didn’t want that to make things harder for you. But you’ve just… you’ve handled everything so well.”

You squeezed her hand, your chest tightening at her honesty. “Paige, I knew what I was signing up for. And yeah, maybe it’s not the most ‘normal’ relationship, but it’s ours. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Her smile was small but radiant, the kind that made your stomach flip. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against hers. “Right back at you.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the silence filled only by the soft hum of the kitchen appliances. Then Paige shifted slightly, her free hand brushing against your cheek.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” she murmured, her voice almost a whisper.

You pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “Me too.” 

Her eyes softened, and before you could say another word, she leaned in, closing the small distance between you. Her lips brushed yours gently at first, a soft, lingering kiss that seemed to hold everything unspoken between you. The warmth of her lips sent a shiver through you, and as she deepened the kiss, everything around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that quiet moment. It was slow, tender, the kind of kiss that told you more than words ever could, words you desperately wanted to say. When you finally pulled away, your breath was shallow, and the world outside felt a little less important.

Paige smiled, her thumb gently tracing your bottom lip. “I meant that,” she whispered, her voice low and full of meaning.

“I know,” you replied softly, your hand instinctively finding her waist, pulling her just a little bit closer.

The look in her eyes was so tender, so full of affection, that you felt like you might melt under its weight. And you couldn't help but think that for all the unexpected twists and turns life had thrown at you, this—being here, with her—was exactly where you were meant to be.

Eventually, she slid a plate in front of you with a dramatic flourish. “Voilà,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sophistication. “A masterpiece, handcrafted by yours truly.”

You raised an eyebrow, eyeing the dish. “Looks edible,” you said, hiding your smile.

She gasped, feigning offense. “Excuse me? That’s not the enthusiasm I was hoping for. Where’s the applause? The standing ovation?”

You picked up your fork, taking a small bite to appease her. To your surprise, the food wasn’t just good—it was amazing. The flavors were rich and perfectly balanced, the kind of dish you’d expect at a nice restaurant, not from Paige’s kitchen.

Your eyes widened, and Paige immediately noticed. “I knew it,” she said triumphantly. “You love it. Go ahead, admit it.”

You tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible. “Okay, fine. It’s good. Like, really good. How did you pull this off?”

Paige leaned against the counter, her smirk turning smug. “Told you I’m full of surprises, superstar.”

As you laughed, the late afternoon sun began to dip lower, casting the room in softer, golden hues. The conversation flowed effortlessly as you ate, touching on everything from her upcoming games to your plans for the next podcast episode. She listened intently as you spoke, her gaze warm and unwavering, and you found yourself marveling again at how easy it was to just… be with her.

When dinner was done, Paige stood and started clearing the plates, but you stopped her.

“Hey, you cooked. Let me handle this.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Deal. But if you break one of my glasses, you’re banned from entering my kitchen forever.”

“Noted,” you said with a laugh, collecting the dishes.

By the time you’d finished tidying up the kitchen, the faint hum of the TV and the soft glow of the living room lights welcomed you back into the cozy space. Paige was sprawled out on the couch, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, she’d taken down her bun and her golden hair was tousled from running her fingers through it. She held the remote in one hand, scrolling through Netflix with a look of mild concentration.

Hearing your footsteps, she glanced up, her face breaking into a soft smile. “There you are,” she said, patting the empty space beside her. “Come here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Crossing the room, you sank into the cushions beside her, instantly enveloped by her warmth as she draped an arm over your shoulders and pulled you close. Your legs tangled together naturally, the scent of her familiar—clean and comforting.

“Miss me already?” you teased, resting your head against her shoulder.

“Always,” she shot back smoothly, her lips quirking into a grin as she pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“What are we watching?” you asked, glancing at the TV, where the endless carousel of titles continued to scroll.

“Not sure yet,” she admitted, her thumb hovering over the remote. “But I’m vetoing any true crime. I don’t feel like sleeping with the lights on tonight.”

You laughed, snuggling further into her side. “Fair point. Let’s go with something cheesy, then. Rom-com or bust.”

“Rom-com it is,” Paige agreed, scrolling until she found a movie with a predictably charming cover: a couple laughing together in a picturesque park. She clicked play without much thought, settling back into the cushions with a contented sigh.

The movie began, its upbeat opening credits accompanied by a lighthearted soundtrack, but your attention drifted almost immediately. Instead of focusing on the predictable meet-cute unfolding on the screen, you found yourself drawn to the small, absentminded gestures Paige made—the way her fingers gently traced slow, lazy patterns along your arm, the way her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm that matched the quiet calm of the moment.

You tilted your head to look up at her, catching the soft lines of her profile as she watched the screen. Her expression was relaxed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips every time something particularly cheesy happened.

“What?” she asked, not looking away from the screen but clearly sensing your gaze.

“Nothing,” you replied, though the warmth spreading through your chest begged to differ.

Minutes passed like that, the comfort of her presence and the warmth of the room lulling you into a blissful haze. Then Paige’s voice broke the silence, softer now, almost hesitant.

“Hey,” she murmured after a while, her voice breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

She shifted slightly, enough that you could feel her looking down at you. When you tilted your head up, her blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. There was something searching in her gaze, like she was trying to find the right words.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

You nodded, your heart picking up slightly at the unexpected vulnerability in her tone. “Of course.”

Her fingers stilled against your arm, but her hand didn’t pull away. She took a breath, her chest rising and falling beneath your touch, before speaking. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think I could feel this way about someone.”

The weight of her words settled over you, heavy and full of meaning.

She continued, her gaze unwavering, as if grounding herself in your presence. “It’s like… no matter how crazy everything gets—basketball, the media, everything—you’re this constant. And I’ve never had that before. Not like this.”

Your throat tightened, emotion swelling in your chest. Paige wasn’t someone who opened up easily. She carried so much of the world on her shoulders, and yet here she was, baring a piece of herself that felt achingly real.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached up, your fingers lightly brushing against her cheek. “Me neither,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

She leaned into your touch, her eyes closing for a moment like she was savoring the weight of your hand against her skin. When she opened them again, the vulnerability in her expression was replaced by something softer—an undeniable warmth that made your chest ache in the best way.

“I mean it,” she said, her voice steady but still tender. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The words hit you with a force you hadn’t expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t find your voice. All you could do was shift closer, wrapping your arms around her as you buried your face against her shoulder.

Paige held you tightly, her hand finding its place at the small of your back. Her lips brushed against your temple, lingering there as if to ground herself in the moment.

“I don’t think I could do this without you,” she murmured.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. “You could,” you said firmly, though your voice trembled with the weight of your own emotions. “But I’m glad you don’t have to.”

A slow, grateful smile spread across her face, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against yours. The space between you felt almost sacred, the air charged with unspoken promises.

The movie played on in the background, forgotten as you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms. The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was this moment, and the quiet, unshakable love that filled the space between you.

[dvchvnde]

PRAIRIE WOLF | moodboard

You didn't know what want—desire and hunger and need—was until he laid his warm, rough hand over the swell of your belly, eyes dark in the wintergloom.

And it's a funny thing, really. To want. To feel comfort. You've lived a life where safety, security, was a thing found only in fairytales, in tangled memories. Dreams. Ones kept so far out of reach. A life divided in being wanted (hands on your thigh, around your throat) and unwanted (skin marbled with pain, cutting through tissue), but with him—you feel it. All of it. An acute ache in the middle of your chest.

John tucks his hand over your nape, pulling you into the warm bracket of his neck where his pulse beats steady under your forehead. Firm. Strong. All heat.

"I'll protect you," he rasps, chest rumbling under the swell of your belly. The rasp—brassbound, ferric: a promise and a threat—glues to his words. Sinking deep. "Both of you, Coyote. Always."

And despite everything that tries to convince you otherwise, you believe him.

PINTEREST.

[bunnieswithknives]

Wow Dale I didn't know you liked entomology! 💕

[sforzesco]

"Since you've named yourself after Julius fucking Caesar, perhaps I'll follow in your lead and choose one of the conspirators." "Interesting," says Giuliano. "Should I worry about finding you at the center of some kind of conspiracy that ends with my death?" "Not from me," replies Ascanio. He sounds tired. "Not anymore."

informally, some kind of. conversational follow up to the last comic. I'm trying to get the atmospheric conversational whimsy out of my system because I have a vision of the vatican as a body in active decay, a point of infection spreading out and poisoning the well, a jaw unhinged that people walk into over and over, and I am so close to figure out how to convey this visually. maybe.

[bixels]

I feel like I've seen most of what interests me in FiMFiction for the time being, so I read through some good ol' reliable Stardew Valley fanfics last night, only to realize.

Haley x Female Farmer is basically Rarijack. Rarijack adjacent.

[queenhawke]

the thing is u gotta not be too preoccupied with pleasing other people. u gotta cater to yourself bc that freak shit will inevitably resonate with other people and it'll make you feel so good. stop vying for clout and find your freaks!!!!

[padfootastic]

one of my longest standing fanfiction dreams is to write a dimension travel fic. i am so, so obsessed with the trope and i just need. a battle hardened harry being dropped into another universe where his parents and godfather are alive, and he’s stumbling around trying to manage his trauma and keep them at arms length but none of them will let him because it doesn’t matter if he’s from another world, he’s still their baby, they can feel him in their magic and they’ll be damned if they let him feel unloved in any capacity.

i just need. james and lily potter healing harry, gently, carefully, unconditionally. sirius black holding him together as he falls apart in a way he’s never been allowed to before.

[king-candybug-backup]

I'm noticing an uptick in comments complaining that most of the current WIR fandom content is Turbo instead of the other characters and, like... you guys know you can search other characters by their specific tags, right??? Or exclude Turbo from search results by temporarily blacklisting him in your filtered tags?

Idk, it's just weird to me to be discouraging towards people making fandom content just because it's not the specific content you want to see, like, it's ok to want to see other content, but complaining about how other people aren't catering to your tastes enough instead of just making the content you want to see yourself is kinda bad vibes, y'know?? (And that's not to say that I think those comments are intended out of malice of course, I really don't think they are, I just wanted to point out that it can come off as a little entitled, as well as discouraging towards people who just want to draw Turbo, which is something that should be fine if that's what they want to do. Fandom should be fun for everybody, and there's lots of tools available to curate your experience with it!)

[moeblob]

So… do you ship Gavin with anyone *cough* Nines *cough* or do you prefer platonic content of Gavin?

I'm gonna be so real with you. My entire exposure before playing DBH was Reed900 fics and the Decharts streaming on twitch (where i heard "28 stab wounds!").

So I'd read lots of fics and that's why I love Chris so much honestly. He's such a good guy! I love straight wingman Chris to his volatile friend who has a crush on an android but was in denial. But yeah my main experience was people putting a guy with minimal (angry) screen time and a guy with no spoken lines in romantic settings.

I love platonic relations though... so that's been the more prominent feature in my art as I adjust and learn how to draw the cast!

I also have a lot of ideas for Gavin and other DPD crew/Nines interacting. I just haven't had energy sadly! They're written down for later!

And fun fact: I've been told it's basically my brand to have mutual pining as a defining relationship trait. Guess what I like about Reed900. It's the fact a lot of fics are catering to me and mutual pining. They've catered to me since before I played the game.

[s0fter-sin]

has anyone written a shameless x cod crossover bc i don’t know how to explain it but that’s exactly how i see the 141

[psybrepunk]

Sometimes I like to remember back in 2020 when I fell HARD for Nick Valentine and was reading every NSFW fic I could find and anyways there was this one smut one-shot where Sole undoes Nick's trousers and he's got an LED LIGHTED CYBERDICK and I've just never really gotten over the shock and mental image of that

[daisychainsandbowties]

Rating: E [13k] Summary:

when Ava meets Lilith, she thinks she's found the strangest thing there is. a 500-year old vampire who owns exactly two appliances: a blender (concerning) and a refrigerator (normal). Lilith who has, inexplicably, fallen in love with her.

and Ava's a physicist, so she does what she does. she takes notes, she makes measurements. she has a crappy tape recorder and a feeling that this might all end badly, but she's not about to let anyone forget it.

or, the interview with the vampire au

//

(i wanted to go)

Ava writes this later, in the notebook with the birds on it.

(and it wasn’t about how she took my hand and it felt like when you’re holding a match. watching the fire race toward your fingertips, fascinated. i always let it go, until it plunged me into shadow again. burns on my fingertips for years)

(i wanted to go)

Ava is so good at begging the question, flicking her tongue out to taste the cigarette-scent of this untidy kitchen. Neons overhead picking up the bulge of condensation on a beer bottle. she is thinking, in fact, about another kitchen. another beer bottle. 

last night the girl who said she was a vampire had it balanced at the very edge of the table. 

this amused her.

she is conscious, in her kitchen, that already this story begs the question. why? why go home with something impossible?

because i wanted to

but why, Ava? why did you want to?

(some burnings)

she writes so carefully now, with a sweet ache in her skin and her hands, poor physicians, disturbing the scabs on her neck, her wrist, underneath the slant of her ribs.

(are beautiful)

god, shut up.

because i wanted to.

her, specifically. to fuck her or to know her. to irritate her pretty mouth with the taste of cheap cigarettes.

read on ao3

[autisticlancemcclain]

part one

———

Hearing his boyfriend’s voice on that radio call, as staticky and panicked as it had been, had made Lance cry. Hunk and Pidge had looked at him in mild concern — they were definitely relieved too, but no one else reacted like Lance did — but he’d paid them no mind, letting the teams stream down his face and desperately thanking any gods that had answered his prayers. He could feel Red’s relief overwhelmingly in his head, mirrored only by his own.

But none of that raw feeling, none of the pure alleviation of grief, compares to the feeling of finally watching Keith’s ship touch down in the hangar after months of fear. He doesn’t bother waiting for the craft to power down, sprinting towards it so fast he’s not even sure his feet touch the ground. He’s halfway there when the side door slams open and a black and purple clad blur comes sprinting out, meeting Lance halfway and slamming into him so hard it would hurt them both were they not wearing armour.

“Oh, God,” murmurs a voice Lance has not heard in person in half a year, clutching him tightly, one arm squeezing his waist and the other wrapped around his head, pressing him into Keith’s body, nearly suffocating him.

Lance doesn’t care. He’s gripping Keith just as tightly, hands almost clawing at his shoulders in a desperate attempt to prove to himself that it’s real, Keith’s real, he’s here and he’s alive and safe and they’re together, again, finally.

“You’re alive,” Lance sobs, barely even managing the words. He struggled to breathe over his choked words, barely remembering to inhale and exhale and keep his heart flowing. All he thinks is Keith Keith Keith Keith Keith, all he feels is solid armour and thick hair and the wet of Keith’s tears on his skin, the press of Keith’s lips to his cheeks and brow and temples as he kisses anywhere he can reach, as desperate to touch Lance as Lance is to him.

It takes Lance time to catch his breath, to convince himself that Keith won’t disappear if he pulls away, if he loosens his grip. Even still he tells his hands to move, his arms to hold less tightly, and they don’t listen, drunk off the need to clutch Keith closer.

He finally manages to pull himself away; not far, nowhere out of Keith’s reach — not that Keith would let him — but enough to finally see his boyfriend’s face. See his strong nose and thick brows, his wild hair and dark, clear eyes.

He looks like home.

“You’re taller,” Lance croaks, realizing for the first time that he has to look up significantly to meet his boyfriend’s eyes.

Keith laughs wetly, bending down slightly to rest his forehead to Lance’s. His eyes close, but Lance can’t yet follow his example, can’t manage to tear his gaze away lest he wake up to find he’s dreaming.

“I hope that’s okay,” he says wryly. “I know that two inches was ever so important to you.”

“Stick around for a bit and I’ll tell you how I feel,” Lance quips back, watery smile the most genuine he’s had in months. “Asshole.”

Keith chuckles again, so softly, and the sound makes Lance shiver, so much better than through a screen or not at all. He slides his hands into Keith’s hair, relishing in the feel of it again, and angles his head, leaning closer and finally fluttering his eyes shut.

“I’m so glad you’re back, Willie Nelson,” he murmurs, so close that their lips brush with every word. So close that he feels Keith’s huff on his own skin, breath warm and sweet, somehow.

“I haven’t seen you for two years and that’s the most affectionate name I get, huh?”

Lance frowns. He pulls away to look at Keith in alarm, eyes wide and brows knit. “Two years? What do you mean, two y—mmf.”

Keith’s gloved hands are warm on his cheeks, and his lips are so familiar, the tilts of their heads and the slide of their noses as they sink into their places, into the action they’ve done thousands of times in thousands of different ways distracting him from his concerns.

He has Keith again. He has Keith again. Regardless of how long it’s been, he has Keith now, in his arms and pressed against him, body warm and skin chapped and smelling of pine and sandalwood, somehow, still. Lance can’t help but sink into him, forget anything and everything else. Nothing else is as important — not Voltron, not the universe, nothing. Lance already put them first for months. He gets to be selfish, now. He gets to choose himself, and choose Keith.

Finally.

“Okay, I think a what the fuck is in order.”

Keith pulls away.

“No,” Lance whines, reaching up to try and pull him down again. “Ignore them. They can figure it out. Context clues. Come on.”

Keith indulgently leans back down to press a quick and chaste kiss to his lips, then pulls back away. “We’re on a time limit. I got distracted.”

Lance fights down a smirk, well aware he isn’t very successful. He slides one hand out of his boyfriend’s hair and down his neck, his collarbones, resting flat on his chest. He blinks his eyes rapidly, letting his pupils get bigger so they almost swallow the brown, tilting his head up — he can work with this new height thing.

Keith wants a distraction?

Lance is excellent at distracting him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Keith pleads. “I’ve been stuck in space for two years, baby, I only have so much restraint left.”

Someone clears their throat from behind them. Lance glances over Keith’s shoulder, fully prepared to tell them to fuck the hell off — Lotor and Allura are just fine on their Oriande thing, Lance deserves a single fucking minute of Keith all to himself — but does a double take when he fully registers to person next to the pod Keith flew in.

He narrows his eyes in shock. “Is that your — did you disappear in space and find your fucking mother?”

Keith snorts. “Nothing gets by you, huh.”

“Keith,” the woman says, before Lance can speak any further. “The problem at hand? That holds the universe in balance?”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” Keith startles like he’s just remembering, pulling away from Lance enough to face the rest of the team, although he still curls a possessive arm around Lance’s waist, hand hot on his hip.

“Lotor is evil. And we’re all in danger.”

[marypsue]

something about how short fic / one-shots tend to be places where I get the most mileage out of getting excited about character interactions, and long fic / multichapters tend to be places where I get the most mileage out of getting excited about the setting and its vibe.

[waywardstation]

WIP FRIDAY

I apologize for getting this out two days late, I’ve been busy with lots of packing and events! But I have a little reprieve, so I wanted to post another WIP; this one is from Heart Full, Bowl Empty.

BE AWARE THAT THIS SEGMENT INVOLVES A CONVERSATION REVOLVING AROUND UNWILLING BUT INTENTIONAL STARVATION. I know there are people who say they can’t read this fic because of themes like this, so be aware of this before reading this WIP!!

I included this snippet in today’s WIP because I have like three versions of the entire segment this snippet is from. I feel like it’s a really important segment with a really important conversation, and I’ve had a hard time balancing all the emotions the way I want to between Ingo and Akari, with frustration, sadness, anger, and empathy, to realistically get them to the resolution I want at the end of it.

The final version will probably only include a few parts from this particular segment.

Enjoy!!

—————

“I knew it! You’re doing it again!” Akari’s eyebrows scrunched, trying to understand through the frustration. “You said you wouldn’t!”

“Circumstances will improve soon.” Clearly done with the conversation, that was all Ingo said, but it was confession enough that he had fallen back on his word. Shame contaminated his voice, but if there was any regret, he hid it well.

“No, it won’t!” They were not even half-way through winter yet. “And you know it won’t!”

Ingo said nothing as the kits carefully moved around his slumped form, finding comfortable places to settle around him. She didn’t know if he intended to snuff the conversation out with angered silence, or if he was just too exhausted to care about arguing with her anymore. If it wasn’t for his small occasional signs of movement or acknowledgement, she’d think he was actually sleeping.

Akari carefully stepped into the nesting layers, moving to sit down next to Ingo. She settled with her back against the cavern wall, pulling her knees close as a few kits shuffled around to accommodate her. “You know I’m right.”

Huffing out an irritated sigh and nothing more, it didn’t seem like Ingo had any intentions to engage with her argument anymore.

“You couldn’t even pull yourself up over the ridge,” She prodded at him again, trying to motivate more conversation out of him. “I had to help you!”

“There are many, many factors that go into that.” A reluctant answer, perhaps a reflexive attempt to quell her worry; Ingo feebly rubbed his wrapped hand, almost as a display for his excuse.

“I’ve seen you do more when you’ve been hurt worse.” Akari retorted, a little softer now but still cold.

Ingo’s eyes remained closed, though his hardened expression implied that it came across as more accusatory than she’d intended. But perhaps it was precisely the time to be accusatory.

“Ingo, you’re so tired all the time now – you stopped coming to the training grounds because you just can’t make the trips all the time anymore! And you’re sleeping so much more than you used to, and it’s like you’re always hungry all the time, even though all I see you doing anymore is gathering food!” Akari’s voice grew more jagged as she continued to jab at him, entirely uninterrupted.

It was getting difficult. With Ingo’s tunic still sopping by the bucket, still somewhat red from the exhausted effort of washing out the blood, it could not hide the ribs that pressed out just a little bit more, or help fill out what the waistline had lost under the loosening belt. The abject dread of directly acknowledging that was too much.

“And- and look! You aren’t even willing to hold a conversation with me anymore, and I don’t know if it’s because you just won’t, or because you can’t!” The kits shifted uncomfortably as Akari retreated back into her own frustration instead. “People think you’re sick, Ingo! They’re asking me about you! What are you doing?”

The exhausted man remained where he laid in the nesting material, only moving his hands to rub at his face and sigh — a deep, forced sigh that swelled his side before releasing. Akari almost didn’t think he’d answer her, but with some effort, he propped himself up first onto his elbows, then slumped forward. The teen watched him run shaky fingers through his hair as he sat next to her.

“…I don’t know what I should do.” The guilt. The weary guilt cracked his voice and tore Akari’s anger down to heartache.

[tinynerdycthulu]

fem!, modern moshang!!! sqh writes scum gong cheap shou novels in this au and constantly has to self-censor before the chinese government does <3 when she transmigrates into one of her novels she tries to seduce beibei because everyone knows there are only three types of female characters in BL: bitch, fujoshi, lesbian, and she'd probably get murdered by sj or lbg if she wrote rpf of them. now, you'd think that their relationship explicitly being NON-platonic would make them communicate but they're still moshang so...

oh and in this universe i think shen yuan's meimei should be the one who transmigrates bc i have this vague memory of her canonically reading hardcore bondage danmei (maybe it was a headcanon?) but i feel like she'd still have discerning taste...yk maybe she hooks up with minglingning