#they truly cared about what they were making

[marysfics]

Yours to Hold

Your girlfriend shows up unexpectedly just when your mind is in turmoil.

Angst, Fluff

Short one shot.

The apartment was a mess. Dishes sat unwashed in the sink, an old coffee mug had been abandoned on the couch, and papers were scattered across the table, some of them torn, some crumpled, all of them evidence of a restless mind.

You sat on the floor, your back resting against the edge of the couch, your knees drawn up to your chest. The notebook in your lap had more scratches than words, your pen etching frustration into the pages. Your hand trembled slightly as you pressed too hard, as if carving your thoughts into the paper would somehow make them more legible, more acceptable.

It wasn’t working.

You weren’t sure when things started spiraling, but it had been days since you’d felt remotely like yourself. Maybe weeks. The usual hum of self-doubt had grown into a deafening roar, and today, for the first time since you had started dating Alexia, you felt truly lost. You hated feeling like this, but more than that, you hated the thought of her seeing you like this.

So, when your front door opened unexpectedly, your heart stilled.

You barely had time to react before Alexia’s familiar voice called out, soft and warm like a blanket on a cold day.

“Cariño?”

You froze, your fingers tightening around the notebook as you stared at the mess around you, the version of yourself you didn’t want her to see. But there she was, standing in your doorway, wearing the coziest-looking oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Her hair was tied back lazily, a few loose strands framing her face, and despite the concern in her eyes, she looked so effortlessly comfortable, so completely at home in her own skin.

You envied her for that.

Alexia’s brows furrowed as she took in the state of the apartment, her gaze then shifting to you on the floor, to the notebook clutched tightly in your hands, to the tension in your shoulders. She didn’t say anything at first. She just walked toward you, slowly, cautiously, like approaching a wounded animal.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice was quiet, careful.

You swallowed, lowering your head. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

She exhaled softly before sitting down beside you, her knee brushing against yours. “Tonta,” she murmured, though there was no malice in it, only affection. “You could never bother me.”

You shut your eyes, pressing your lips together to keep the emotions at bay. You felt vulnerable. Small. But then Alexia’s hand reached for yours, warm and steady, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she admitted, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze. “Talk to me, amor.”

You hesitated. You weren’t sure where to start, but when you finally opened your mouth, the words spilled out in a hushed, broken confession. You told her about the thoughts weighing you down, about the frustration of feeling inadequate, about how your own writing felt like a stranger’s language to you, how the sight of your apartment mirrored the chaos inside your mind.

Alexia listened. She always listened. Not just to respond, but to understand.

When you finished, she shifted closer, her arms wrapping around you as she pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “I’m here,” she whispered against your hair. “I’ll always be here.”

You nodded, breathing her in, finding solace in her presence. But then you noticed the way her hoodie draped over her frame, how cozy it looked, and something inside you ached. You wanted that comfort. Needed it.

You pulled back slightly, glancing down at your own clothes—plain, uncomfortable, too tight against your skin. When your eyes met hers again, there was a hesitance in them, a quiet plea that she noticed immediately.

“What is it?” she asked gently.

You hesitated for only a moment before murmuring, “Can I wear your hoodie?”

Alexia blinked, then a small, knowing smile touched her lips. She didn’t hesitate. Instead, she reached for the hem of her hoodie, pulling it over her head in one swift motion before handing it to you.

The second you slipped it on, a deep, almost desperate sigh left your lips. It smelled like her. It felt like her. Safe, warm, like home.

Alexia chuckled softly, watching as you hugged the fabric closer to your body. “Better?”

You nodded, feeling the weight on your chest lighten just a little.

She reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You can keep it,” she murmured. “As long as you need.”

You smiled for the first time that day, the warmth of her words settling deep in your heart.

You weren’t okay yet. But with Alexia beside you, you knew you would be.

[pbaz7]

FLIGHT 2136: PART 3

paige x azzi

warning: mentions car accident

word count: 10.3k

A/N: I have literally never written anything like this so I hope it comes across correctly. I swear some of your answers are in this chapter just be patient. Let me know what you think please 🫶🏼

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3rd Person POV - Friday

The morning light filtered softly through the hotel curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Azzi blinked a few times to adjust her eyes to the bright rays filing in, slowly waking her up to the quiet stillness of the room. Her gaze naturally drifted to Paige, who was still fast asleep beside her, the steadiness of her breathing reflecting her deep slumber.

Azzi watched her for a moment, taking in the sight of her in a way she hadn’t been able to before. The blanket had shifted considerably, low on Paige’s waist, and she was lying on her stomach, her hair a little messy on the pillow. Azzi’s gaze softened as she noticed how naturally beautiful Paige was, the little details that made her feel more real, more alive. The sunlight caught in Paige’s hair, highlighting certain strands that framed her face, even in her sleep.

Her eyes traced the sharpness of Paige's jaw, the arch of her nose, the curve of her lips that were relaxed in slumber. As Azzi looked at her she noticed that there was a scar, small and barely visible, near Paige's hairline. Azzi’s finger itched to trace it, to figure out the story associated with it, but she stayed still, careful not to disturb her. The quiet intimacy of the moment was too precious to ruin with a thoughtless action like that.

Her gaze moved lower, her eyes looking at the scar on Paige’s torso—the one from last night. It was more visible when Paige was facing her, but now, with her turned on her stomach, Azzi could only make out a small portion of it, curving along her side and reaching toward her back just slightly.

In the stillness, Azzi felt the weight of the moment, the growing sense of curiosity she had about Paige. She realized, then, just how little she truly knew about her—the person she had shared what felt like many lingering moments with in the past few days. Still, there were so many layers left to explore, so much left to understand.

It wasn’t lost on Azzi how much she wanted to know, how much she yearned to unravel the mysteries that Paige held beneath the surface. It felt like the beginning of something important, something bigger than just a random night in a hotel room. For now, though Azzi was content to just be here, beside her, breathing in the quietness of the morning as she gathered her thoughts.

Azzi lay there for a moment longer, watching Paige as she slept, it was all so peaceful. It felt weird, she could’ve stayed in that moment forever, but after a while, Azzi shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Paige. She slowly reached over the edge of the bed to grab her phone from her pocket, making sure not to make too much noise.

She unlocked it and couldn’t help but chuckle when she saw a text from Caroline pop up first: You still alive? Hope it was good.” Azzi typed a reply, “Yes, I’m alive and please relax.” A few more notifications popped up and Azzi spent a few minutes responding, her fingers moving across the screen.

The next time she glanced over at Paige, she noticed the subtle shift in her posture. Paige’s eyelids fluttered a little, and the quiet signs of waking up were starting to show. Azzi couldn’t help but smile to herself, lowering her phone as Paige slowly began to blink her eyes open.

Paige squinted slightly, clearly still adjusting to the morning light that filtered in through the window. Her eyes, that seemed to be a deeper blue with the way the sun was hitting them, met Azzi’s, a soft glimmer of awareness and curiosity in them. There was something so serene about the way Paige looked at her, a sense of familiarity already settling in, even though they had only known each other for such a short time.

Paige stretched a little, still blinking as she finally spoke in a raspy morning voice, “Morning.” She looked at Azzi for a beat longer, still processing the shift from sleep to reality.

Azzi couldn’t help but grin, the corners of her mouth moving upward as she replied, “Morning. You look like you just got out of a coma.”

Paige’s lips twitched, her eyes still half-lidded as she fought a smile. “Yeah? You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Azzi laughed softly, the moment between them feeling more natural than anything they had shared before. The tension that had once seemed so thick between them now seemed to have lifted, replaced with something lighter.

Paige’s gaze flickered to Azzi’s phone, still in her hand. “Telling your friends how good I was already?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Sure something like that,” she replied playfully. She lowered the phone and moved it to the side before she turned back to Paige. “So, how’d you sleep?”

Paige stretched once more, the slight stretch of her body revealing more of the scar near her side that Azzi had seen the night before.

"Like a rock," Paige said, her voice still a little horse. "You?" she asked, turning to Azzi who had the sheet covering her chest.

Azzi chuckled. "Yeah, better than I’ve slept in a while."

Paige kept her gaze fixed on Azzi, still lying there with her head on the pillow. "So, what now?"

Azzi smiled a little, the corners of her lips curling up. "I was hoping you'd know."

Paige returned the smile, raising an eyebrow. "Me? I thought you were the one with all the answers."

Azzi shrugged, not answering right away. Instead, she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "What time is your flight?"

"6:15," Paige replied.

Azzi hummed quietly, not saying anything else for a moment as she just looked straight ahead. Paige, still looking at her, propped her head up with her hand, studying Azzi’s profile as her eyes danced over Azzi’s face.

Azzi shifted slightly, meeting Paige’s gaze again. "Stop looking at me like that."

Paige grinned. "Like what?"

Azzi let out a soft sigh. "Like you just had sex with me last night."

Paige laughed softly, the sound completely unguarded. "I did have sex with you last night."

Azzi smirked, shaking her head completely at a loss for words. The atmosphere between them felt so easy.

Randomly Azzi says, “Tell me something about you.”

Paige chuckled as she sat up, her shoulder brushing against Azzi’s. “What do you want to know?” she asked, her amusement with the question clear.

Azzi shrugged, her brown eyes warm but curious. “Anything.”

Paige thought for a moment, tilting her head slightly before offering, “Um…Well I’m 22.”

Azzi immediately cut in, unimpressed. “That’s boring, and I already know that.”

Paige laughed. “You didn’t even let me finish.”

Azzi smirked, motioning for her to continue. “Alright, go on.”

Paige licked her lips, thinking for another second before continuing, “I’m 22. My birthday is October 20th. Um… I like purple.” She trailed off, her mind suddenly blank on what else to add.

Azzi gave her an exaggerated look before deadpanning, “Wow. I feel like I’ve known you for years.”

Paige scoffed, shoving Azzi’s arm playfully. “Shut up.”

Azzi grinned, shaking her head. “I’m serious, that was definitely life-changing information.”

Before Paige could respond her phone ringing cut off her thought process, making both Paige and Azzi glance toward the desk where it was sitting. Paige sighed before pushing herself up, stretching her arms over her head as she walked over in just her boxers and sports bra. Azzi’s eyes lingered for a moment, biting her lip slightly as she took in the way the light outlined the toned muscles of her back.

Paige glanced at the caller ID before answering. “Hello.”

Azzi stayed in bed, half-listening as she tried to piece together the conversation once she heard Geno’s voice. She could hear his voice through the speaker, though not clearly enough to make out every word. Something about wanting Paige to come by campus for a bit before her flight since she didn’t have much time to officially meet the team and hangout with them yesterday. Paige hummed in response here and there, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk when she noticed Azzi watching her.

Paige hung up a few moments later, still smiling as she turned back toward the bed. Before she could explain, Azzi’s phone started ringing. She frowned when she saw Geno’s name on the screen, glancing at Paige, who shrugged before disappearing into the bathroom.

Azzi exhaled and answered. “Hey, Coach.”

“Paige is coming to campus in about 20 minutes. I’m sending her your number so she can call you when she gets there. Make sure she feels comfortable,” Geno instructed, his voice casual yet expectant.

Azzi bit back a smile even though he couldn’t see her. “Yeah, I got it. Don’t worry.”

Geno seemed satisfied with that and ended the call. Azzi sighed, tossing her phone on the bed before standing up and stretching. While looking for her shirt her eyes landed on Paige’s black oversized shirt from yesterday, thrown over the chair. Without thinking much of it, she grabbed it and slipped it on. It was small, but she caught a faint trace of Paige’s scent on the fabric and it felt strangely intimate. As if they hadn’t just woken up in the same bed.

She walked toward the bathroom, leaning against the doorway as she watched Paige brush her teeth.

Paige caught Azzi’s reflection in the mirror, her gaze flickering down to the black shirt draped over Azzi’s frame before meeting her eyes again. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she mumbled through the toothpaste, “Looks good on you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, shifting her weight against the doorframe. “Please don’t start.”

Paige chuckled, spitting into the sink before rinsing her mouth. She turned around, leaning back on the counter as she reached for the towel. “I’m just saying.”

Azzi scoffed, but there was a slight tug at her lips, betraying what she was about to say. “Don’t get used to it.”

Paige just smirked, tilting her head slightly as she looked at Azzi like she knew something she wasn’t saying. Azzi held her gaze for a moment before shaking her head, pushing off the doorframe. “Hurry up,” she said, turning back toward the bed. “I’m not gonna be the reason you’re late.”

Paige watched her go, her smirk still lingering as she wiped her face.

Paige walked out of the bathroom and settled for throwing on a hoodie and a pair of sweats. Turning back toward the bed, she grabbed an extra pair of sweatpants and some boxers and tossed them to Azzi.

Azzi caught them easily saying. “Thank you,” as she slipped them on.

Once they were both ready and Azzi grabbed all of her clothes, they stepped out of Paige’s room.

When they got outside there was a slight breeze as they made their way to Caroline’s car. Azzi unlocked it and slid into the driver’s seat while Paige got in the passenger seat, a lingering smile still tugging at her lips.

Azzi caught the look and sighed, shaking her head as she started the car. “You’re still smirking.”

Paige shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”

Azzi gave her a pointed look before exhaling a small laugh. “You don’t have to, it's litrally all over your face.”

Paige chuckled but didn’t say anything else, letting the conversation fade into a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the car filling the space between them as they drove toward campus.

When they arrived, Azzi pulled into Caroline’s usual parking spot and turned off the engine. They stepped out, making their way up the stairs to Azzi’s suite.

The second Azzi pushed open the door, she was met with Caroline and Ice lounging on the couch. Both of them took one look at her, eyes dropping to the clothes in her hand before flicking to the shirt and sweats she was wearing. Matching smirks immediately spread across both of their faces.

Azzi paused for half a second before exhaling through her nose, already regretting the situation.

Paige followed, moving into view just enough to lift a hand in a wordless acknowledgment. Ice and Caroline’s eyebrows lifted slightly, clearly not expecting to see her here, both of them thankful they kept their mouths shut for a second.

Azzi kept her expression neutral as she said, “Geno wants us all to hang out with her today before she leaves.”

They both nodded, but the smirks never left their faces. Azzi didn’t entertain it, instead glancing at Paige for a second. She immediately noticed the shift—how Paige’s energy had seemed to dim. Her entire demeanor was more reserved now, quieter, a stark contrast to how she’d been that morning in the hotel of just moments ago in the car.

Azzi frowned slightly before saying, “You can just come with me until the rest of them get here.”

Paige met her eyes briefly before nodding, following Azzi deeper into the suite and into her room.

When they got to Azzi’s room, she shut the door behind her while Paige settled into the chair in front of her desk. Azzi moved to her closet, tossing her clothes inside before straightening up and turning back toward Paige.

Paige was looking around, taking in the space with quiet curiosity. Azzi leaned against the closet door, watching her for a moment before asking, “Is it what you expected?”

Paige glanced at her and nodded. “Surprisingly, yeah.”

Azzi chuckled, grabbing her phone and sending a message to the group chat, telling them all to come to her suite courtesy of Geno. Almost instantly, the message started getting likes, but she didn’t linger on it. Placing her phone down, she looked back at Paige.

“I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go brush my teeth and make myself presentable,” Azzi said.

Paige gave a small nod, and with that, Azzi slipped out of the room, making sure she shut the door behind her.

Left alone, Paige let out a soft exhale, her gaze drifting across the room until it landed on a corkboard hanging on the wall. It was filled with pictures—Azzi’s life in high school and college. Paige leaned forward slightly, eyes tracing over the pictures, and before she realized it, a small smile had formed on her lips.

When Azzi returned from the bathroom, her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, a few loose strands framing her face. She shut the door behind her again and moved to lean against the desk, standing just a few inches from where Paige was sitting, her leg brushing against Paige’s knee.

Paige glanced up at her, eyes flicking to her hair before smirking slightly. “Cute.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Me or the bun?”

Paige shrugged. “Both.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the way her lips twitched. “You’re lucky you’re charming.”

Paige leaned back in the chair, spreading her legs a bit more. “I know.”

Azzi gave her a look, smiling at her. “Oh, you’re back now, huh?”

Paige tilted her head. “Back?”

Azzi motioned toward the door with her chin. “You got a little stoic out there.”

Paige exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. “Just wasn’t in the mood to be the center of attention first thing in the morning to strangers.”

Azzi studied her for a moment before nudging her knee with her own. “Well, it’s just us now.”

Paige grinned up at her. “Yeah?” Paige licked her lips as she looked up at Azzi, “So what you wanna do about it?”

Azzi shook her head, biting her lip slightly to stop a smile. “I should’ve left you in the hotel.”

Paige chuckled, tilting her head back against the chair as she looked up at Azzi. “Too late now.”

“Unfortunately.”

Paige kept her eyes on Azzi, her gaze unwavering. It made Azzi shift slightly, the intensity of it throwing her off.

“Stop,” Azzi muttered

Paige raised an eyebrow. "Stop what?"

"You’ve had that look on your face since you woke up."

Paige just hummed in response, the smirk never leaving her lips as she continued looking up at Azzi.

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Can you at least tell me what you’re thinking?”

Paige slouched further against the chair, her legs spread slightly, and lazily shook her head. “No.”

Azzi didn’t respond immediately, just studied her, trying to decipher whatever was running through her mind. Paige, still lounging effortlessly, absentmindedly started playing with the hem of her shirt that Azzi was wearing.

Azzi glanced down at her hand before raising an eyebrow. Without hesitation, she swatted Paige’s hand away.

Paige scoffed at the action.

From down the hall, the sound of voices grew louder, the unmistakable clamor of the team filling the suite.

“I think the team’s here,” Azzi murmured, straightening up from the desk as she glanced toward the door.

Paige didn’t respond. Instead she took a moment before she stood up, immediately in Azzi’s space—close enough that Azzi could feel the warmth radiating off her. They both noticed the closeness but neither of them moved, locked in a quiet stare.

Azzi looked Paige up and down with a small smirk playing on her face. “You know if you want to–”

KK’s voice rang out through the suite and interrupted whatever Azzi was about to say, “Azzi, stop hogging the recruit!”

Azzi chuckled, while Paige simply exhaled through her nose. Without a word, she stepped back, casually shoving her hands into her pockets before following Azzi out of the room.

As they stepped out of Azzi’s room, the noise in the suite became more apparent. The team was already gathered, everyone lounging in comfortable clothes—sweats, sweatshirts, sneakers—looking relaxed. No one made any formal introductions again, but the moment Paige stepped into the living room, the attention shifted to her. They all greeted her, some with friendly smiles and others with more playful words trying to immediately make her feel comfortable, but the ease of the atmosphere didn’t seem to reach Paige fully as she sat down on the couch and Azzi walked to the other side of the room.

As soon as Paige sat down KK took a seat next to her, KK’s natural energy radiating off of her as she looked at Paige. “So,” KK said, trying to strike up a conversation, “What makes you not boring like everybody else? Gimme something good.”

Paige glanced over at her, her lips curling up in a small, reserved smile. “Um, I don’t know,” she said, shrugging slightly. “I play basketball. That’s pretty much it.”

KK groaned but pressed on. “Okay, but what do you like to do when you’re not playing? There has to be something interesting about you.”

Paige didn’t answer right away, her gaze flicking to the others in the room as if searching for something to latch onto. Finally, she let out a breath and gave a half-smile, her eyes momentarily flicking back to Azzi who was standing by the counter. “I don’t have much time for hobbies these days honestly. Mostly just rehab and working out, been doing a lot of visits and when I’m not doing any of those I watch my team practice. Homework I don’t know.”

Aubrey nodded, chiming into the conversation. “That’s fair,” she said. “But I mean, everyone has something outside basketball, right? You like any movies or music? Come on, give us something. You sound like a robot dawg.”

Paige’s jaw tightened slightly, and she leaned back a little more on the couch, her posture still casual but distant. “I mean yeah I like music. R&B, mostly, a little of everything though” she replied, her voice steady but a little guarded.

The conversation kept going, but it was clear that Paige wasn’t opening up much. She was here physically, but emotionally she was closed off. There was confidence in her responses—no hesitation, no awkwardness—but not much more. She didn’t offer much beyond what was necessary to keep the conversation moving or to answer direct questions they asked her.

Azzi caught the shift in Paige’s demeanor the moment she looked over and saw Paige staring off into space, her finger absentmindedly spinning the ring on her hand. It was subtle, but Azzi noticed. Azzi pushed off the counter, excusing herself from the conversation with Ashlynn and Jana, and made her way over to where Paige was sitting on the couch.

She lowered herself into the seat next to her, close enough that their legs brushed together.

“Whatcha thinkin about?”

Paige blinked, breaking out of her thoughts, and her eyes slowly shifted over to Azzi. A faint smile appeared on her face. She shook her head. “Nothing much.”

Azzi didn’t buy it. “I don’t believe you,” she said simply.

Paige chuckled, a small and unconvincing sound, before her gaze shifted back to the group as the noise around them seemed to fill the air.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Paige quickly shook her head. “Not uncomfortable, just… not much to say really.”

Azzi muttered under her breath, almost too quietly to hear, but Paige caught it. “You sure had a lot to say last night.”

Paige chuckled at this, tilting her head slightly as she met Azzi’s gaze. “I don’t think you wanna get into that with me right now,” she murmured.

Azzi held her gaze, her lips twitching, but before either of them could push further, a voice cut through the moment.

“Yo, Paige!” Aubrey called from across the room.

Paige let the stare linger for a second longer before finally tearing her eyes away, turning toward Aubrey. “Yeah?”

“How tall are you?” Aubrey asked, her expression unreadable.

Paige blinked, thrown off by the random question. “Six foot.”

Aubrey nodded. “You can shoot?”

Paige huffed a small laugh, still confused but playing along. “Yeah.”

Without another word, Aubrey simply nodded again and went right back to her conversation, as if she hadn’t just stopped the room to ask.

Paige frowned slightly, looking over at Azzi, who just shrugged.

Paige’s time with the team went like this for about another hour—mostly talking to Azzi, though every now and then, someone would chime in with a random question that Paige would answer. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to talk to people. She just didn’t do well with new people, with people she didn’t know. Simply because she didn’t like small talk much. It was one of her pet peeves that had formed some time ago when her step mom would force her to talk through the pain in her ribs with pointless questions and comments.

After a few hours of chilling with the team it was time for Paige to head back to her hotel so she could go to the airport. She stretched slightly as she stood up, glancing at Azzi, who was already watching her.

“You heading out?” Azzi asked.

Paige nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

Paige didn’t argue, just slipped her hands into her pockets as she followed Azzi toward the door bidding goodbye to everyone before they walked out.

The two of them stood outside waiting for Paige’s uber not saying much. Paige rocked back on her heels, hands in her pockets, glancing at Azzi, who was leaning against the railing, arms crossed.

Azzi glanced at Paige. “So.”

Paige smiled softly, tilting her head. “So.”

Azzi exhaled, watching her carefully. “When are you making your decision?”

“I have to visit a few more schools first,” she admitted. “But soon.”

Azzi hummed at this, nodding slightly. Before either of them could say anything else, the Uber pulled up. Paige stood there for a second, looking at Azzi, searching for something in her expression. Then, a small smile tugged at her lips.

“How do you wanna play this?” Paige asked, her voice quieter now.

Azzi shrugged, her face unreadable.

Paige smiled at that before stepping forward, pulling Azzi into a hug. It was brief but firm, lingering just long enough before they pulled away.

Azzi met her eyes. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Paige smirked. “You have my number Azzi.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually going to text back?”

Paige shrugged. “Guess we’ll have to see.”

Azzi scoffed, shaking her head. “You aren’t as mysterious anymore. So your little ominous comments don’t work.”

Paige laughed at that, reaching for the car door. “I’ll text you.”

Azzi crossed her arms, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’ll text back.”

Paige met her gaze one last time, her expression softer now. “I’ll see you soon, Azzi.”

With that, she slid into the Uber, shutting the door behind her. Azzi stood there, watching as the car pulled away, her arms still crossed, her smile lingering, before she walked back upstairs.

…

After that day, Paige and Azzi kept in touch—not constantly, but enough. Their conversations were never rushed, never forced. A text here and there, one of them sending something random. Azzi sending a meme, Paige sending a highlight clip, both of them sending song recommendations that neither of them ever admitted to actually listening to.

Their texts always stretched over days. It would start off as a constant back and forth, but then one of them would respond hours later, sometimes even the next day, but neither ever seemed to mind. Azzi would send something sarcastic, Paige would respond with something equally dry, and it would spiral into playful messages until one of them finally let it die out—only for another conversation to start days later in the same effortless way.

What surprised Azzi the most during this time was that Paige always answered her FaceTime calls. She’d roll her eyes and act inconvenienced, but she never ignored them. “I told you I don’t like FaceTime,” she’d say when she picked up, usually lying in bed or at a random gym. Azzi would just smirk, tilting her head. “Then why do you always answer?”

Paige never had a real answer for that. She’d just shake her head, fighting a small smile before changing the subject.

Through these scattered conversations, Azzi learned more about Paige. She found out that Paige was at a small Division II school in Minnesota, though she rarely talked about it unless Azzi pried, mumbling about how Azzi asked way too many questions. Azzi learned that Paige hadn’t played her freshman year because of the accident, and after tearing her ACL this past year, she still had two years of eligibility left. Though she planned to use just one—coaches seemed to think that was all she needed to prove that she could still perform on the big stage.

Azzi also learned little things. Like how Paige always listened to music when she couldn’t sleep, nothing too loud, just playing softly in the background so she could listen to the lyrics instead of all the random thoughts swirling in her head. She learned how Paige had a habit of spinning the ring on her finger when she was thinking or when she got a little nervous or uncomfortable. How she spaced off in the middle of conversations and came back to earth like nothing happened. How she only drank coffee if she was desperate, otherwise she stuck to water or the occasional shirley temple.

It was a slow process, getting to know her. Paige didn’t just offer things up freely, but Azzi didn’t mind the wait. The more Paige revealed, the more Azzi realized that, beneath all that confidence and “mystery,” she was someone who chose her words carefully. Someone who didn’t say things unless she meant them.

Paige learned about Azzi just as Azzi had learned about her.

It was almost effortless—Azzi carried most of their conversations, filling in the silences that Paige left behind. That was the first thing Paige realized: Azzi wasn’t necessarily talkative, but with her, she was. Because she knew Paige wouldn’t speak much unless she was eased into it first. If they were ever on FaceTime around Azzi’s team they were the one’s talking and yelling while Azzi usually just sat there offering a small comment here and there.

Paige learned that, despite being one of the healthiest people she had ever met, Azzi had an undeniable sweet tooth—so much so that if she could, she’d probably marry a sweet treat. Paige learned that Azzi loved to read, losing herself in books when she needed a break from the world. She learned that Azzi loved talking about the books she was reading when she was done, even when Paige had no idea what she was talking about most of the time.

She learned about Stewie, Azzi’s dog, and how just talking about him could make Azzi light up. Paige learned about the little things—the things that made Azzi smile, the things that made her laugh, the things that made her feel at home when she was away at school and missed her family.

And now, about a month or so later, they were about to see each other again.

Azzi hadn’t expected to see Paige. As far as she knew, Paige was still making her rounds, visiting schools, weighing her options. They had texted earlier in the day like usual—short, easy messages that stretched over time—but Paige hadn’t mentioned anything about being at the game.

The arena was loud, packed with energy as UConn went through their usual warmups. The rhythm of bouncing basketballs, sneakers squeaking against the hardwood, and the music blaring through the speakers filled the space. Azzi was locked in, focused on her silent routine, until a glance toward USC’s bench made her freeze for half a second and do a double take.

Paige was there. Sitting just behind their bench, in nearly the same spot she had been when she watched UConn play before.

Azzi’s eyebrows lifted slightly, her grip tightening around the ball in her hands as she tried to process the sight. Paige, of all people, at the USC game—against UConn, no less.

Paige, of course, had seen Azzi notice her. And, because she was Paige, she smirked, leaning back slightly in her seat when she caught Azzi’s eyes.

Azzi blinked, exhaling a short breath as she shook her head, trying to fight the smile tugging at her lips. This girl.

…

From the moment the ball tipped off Azzi spent the entire game battling against USC’s defense, which had clearly done its homework on the shooting guard. Every time she tried to move off the ball, two defenders shadowed her. Every screen she ran around, they fought through, or two people jumped at her. UConn’s offense, usually fluid and dynamic with the ball in her hands, felt a little stagnant without her usual rhythm.

Paige could see it—the way Azzi’s frustration built with every contested shot, every missed opportunity. She wasn’t playing badly by any means, but she wasn’t playing as freely as she usually did. From where Paige was sitting, she could see ways Azzi could create more space for herself. Small adjustments, little shifts in movement that could’ve made a difference. But all she could do was sit there and watch it unfold behind USC’s bench.

The game was tight all the way through, every possession feeling heavier as the clock wound down. But in the final minutes, USC managed to stay just a step ahead.

When the buzzer finally sounded, the scoreboard read 83-79 in USC’s favor.

The home crowd erupted in celebration while UConn’s players sighed, some shaking their heads, others already replaying the game in their minds. Azzi, standing near the baseline, exhaled sharply, hands on her hips as she looked up at the scoreboard.

From her seat behind USC’s bench, Paige simply watched it all unfold.

A few minutes after the game, once the immediate post-game chaos settled, Paige and Azzi finally made their way toward each other. Paige had stepped away from the crowd, having a few moments to herself while USC went to have their post-game talk. Azzi, fresh off the handshake line, was still coming down from the intensity of the game.

"You didn’t tell me you were coming," Azzi said as soon as they were close enough. The fans near them yelling to get Azzi’s attention.

Paige let out a soft laugh. "You always lead with something I don’t expect. Never a hello."

Azzi shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I don’t have a lot of time," she admitted, glancing over her shoulder toward the tunnel, where her teammates were heading in. "But I wanted to see where you were staying."

"The Marriott, a few minutes from here," Paige answered easily.

Azzi hummed at this. "Hm. Us too."

Paige chuckled, tilting her head slightly. "Guess I’ll see you later, then."

Azzi was about to respond, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw the final straggler from her team disappear into the tunnel. She knew she couldn’t afford to linger any longer, especially after a loss. Exhaling softly, she glanced back at Paige.

"I’ll text you," Azzi said instead.

Paige gave her a small nod. Azzi held her gaze for just a second longer before turning and walking toward the locker room.

…

Later that night, Paige was lying in bed, scrolling aimlessly through her phone, when a soft knock echoed through her hotel room. She blinked at the door before pushing herself up, already knowing who it was but still peeking through the peephole out of habit.

A smirk tugged at her lips as she swung the door open, revealing Azzi standing on the other side in an oversized hoodie and pajama shorts. Paige’s gaze dropped to the shorts, taking in the tiny red hearts printed across them.

“Nice hearts,” Paige teased.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips as she reached out and shoved Paige’s shoulder—though Paige barely moved.

Without another word, Azzi stepped inside, her expression expectant as she looked at Paige. Paige furrowed her brows slightly before realization dawned on her features. Without hesitation, she reached out, wrapping Azzi in a long, lingering hug.

Azzi let out a quiet sigh as Paige wrapped her arms around her, melting into the hug like it was exactly what she needed. Paige held her close, resting her chin on Azzi’s shoulder, feeling the tension still lingering in her body from the game.

"Long day?" Paige murmured.

Azzi huffed a soft laugh. "You could say that."

Paige smiled, pulling back just enough to look at her. "So, what? You came all the way up here just for a hug?"

Azzi raised an eyebrow. "Would that be weird?"

Paige shrugged. "Nah. I get it. I’m me."

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, she wandered further into the room, glancing around before flopping down onto Paige’s bed like she’d done it a hundred times before. Paige smirked at this.

"You make yourself at home real quick, huh?"

Azzi glanced up at her. "Well, you did say you’d see me later."

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head before pushing off the wall and making her way toward the bed. She sat at the edge, glancing over at Azzi, who was already sprawled out against the pillows, arms tucked behind her head, looking completely at ease.

Azzi turned her head slightly, her gaze settling on Paige. “How’d I play?”

Paige shrugged before shifting to lay beside her, mirroring her position. “Pretty good.”

Azzi arched her brow. “Not great?”

Paige shook her head. “No, not great.”

Azzi sighed, tilting her head back against the pillows as she mumbled “I hate basketball sometimes.”

Paige turned her head slightly, studying her before adding, “Their defense was basically ‘anyone but Azzi Fudd’ so don’t think about it too much.”

Azzi let out a quiet groan, staring up at the ceiling. "Tell me about it," she muttered. "Felt like they had three people trailing me at all times."

Paige turned her head slightly, glancing at her. "They did," she confirmed. "But you were still getting good looks. You just weren't creating enough space."

Azzi gave her a side-eye. "Oh, so now you're my coach?"

Paige laughed. "I'm just saying, I saw a few ways you could’ve gotten open."

Azzi rolled onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. "Yeah? Like what?"

Paige mirrored her, facing Azzi. "Couple times, you could’ve used your off-ball movement better. They were biting hard on screens—if you slipped off quicker, you would've had more separation. I don’t know if you had anyone to make the pass but still. And when you did get the ball, you hesitated just a little too long. You let them recover."

Azzi stared at her for a moment, her competitive nature flaring just slightly. "You really sat there analyzing me the whole game, huh?"

Paige smirked. "What else was I supposed to do? Watch USC?"

Azzi scoffed. "Yeah, actually."

Paige chuckled, nudging Azzi’s arm with her elbow. "Seriously though, you played well. USC just had a good scouting report."

Azzi sighed, rolling onto her back again. "Yeah. Sucks, though."

"Would've helped if you had a more consistent shooter."

Azzi turned her head toward Paige, raising an eyebrow. "Ashlynn can shoot."

Paige shrugged. "She can, But if she doesn’t make her first few shots, she’s nonexistent the rest of the game."

Azzi hummed at this but didn’t argue, staring up at the ceiling in thought. After a while she tilted her head to look at Paige who was just staring at the ceiling now. Azzi propped her head up on her hand again as she said, “Enough about me. How was your visit?”

Paige shrugged, not offering anything more.

Azzi gave her a pointed look. "How many times do I have to tell you? Shrugging isn’t a proper form of communicating."

Paige chuckled, finally breaking her silence. "It was alright, I guess."

Azzi narrowed her eyes. "Wow. Raving review. So... USC’s out of the running?"

Paige nodded. "Yeah."

Azzi hummed, studying her. "That was quick."

Paige smiled slightly. "I know what I want."

Azzi tilted her head. "And USC wasn’t it?"

Paige shook her head. "Not even close."

Azzi’s lips curled slightly, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she just traced Paige’s arm with her fingers. "Guess that means you’re running out of options, huh?"

Paige glanced down at her arm where Azzi was touching before saying. "Guess so."

Azzi shifted slightly, resting her cheek against her palm as she eyed Paige. “How many do you have left?”

Paige knew what she was asking—how many visits, how many schools still in consideration. She exhaled softly. “Two.”

Azzi nodded, her fingers idly playing with the string of her hoodie. “Are you actually considering them?”

Paige turned her head, meeting Azzi’s gaze for a brief moment before answering. “Not really…I have to go, though.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Paige laughed. “Because they’ll report all the other schools to the NCAA if I don’t.”

Azzi let out a laugh, shaking her head. “You really have schools breaking rules for these ‘unofficial’ visits?”

Paige just chuckled, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “Guess I’m a hot commodity.”

Azzi laughed at this and the room settled into a quiet stillness, the only sound the faint hum of the hotel’s air conditioning. Paige’s eyes flickered over Azzi’s face, taking in the way the dim light softened her features, the way her lips parted slightly like she had something to say but was hesitating. Azzi, normally composed, seemed almost hesitant now, her fingers playing with the string of her hoodie as she held Paige’s gaze.

Finally, Azzi exhaled. “Can I kiss you?”

Paige smiled a little at the question and gave a small nod.

With the confirmation, Azzi closed the distance between them, her fingers brushing gently against Paige’s jaw before tilting her chin up and capturing her lips in a slow kiss. Paige exhaled steadily against Azzi, her hands finding their place on Azzi’s hips.

Not long after the kiss started Azzi tilted her head, deepening it, and Paige followed her lead, nipping at Azzi’s bottom lip just enough to make her sigh.

The sound sent a warmth through Paige’s chest, and before she could process it, Azzi shifted forward instinctively, settling more comfortably in Paige’s lap, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of Paige’s waist.

Paige’s hands slid upward, fingertips grazing the skin just beneath Azzi’s hoodie, tracing patterns. After some time, Azzi pulled back slightly, her lips parting as she exhaled.

“We can’t,” she murmured, her voice breathy but firm.

Paige, still beneath her, let out a low chuckle, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles against Azzi’s waist. “I know.”

Azzi blinked, slightly thrown off by Paige’s lack of protest. “You know?”

Paige nodded, her blue eyes flickering with amusement as she tilted her head back against the pillows. “Yeah. You spent all day yesterday texting me about how bad your cramps were,” she reminded her. “And how none of this actually makes sense because men are the ones with Adam’s apples.”

Azzi huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head as she sat back a little, still straddling Paige. “Hm. I sure did say that.”

Paige hummed in acknowledgment, her fingers still lazily circling Azzi’s waist, her touch lingering. She was looking at Azzi in the way she seemed to do a lot lately—like she had her completely figured out.

Azzi shifted slightly, her gaze flickering between Paige’s eyes as she noticed the way Paige was just… staring at her. Not in a way that made her uncomfortable, but in a way that made her feel like Paige was seeing right through her—like she was memorizing her, like she was thinking about something she wouldn’t say out loud.

Azzi’s voice was quiet when she finally asked, “What do you think about when you look at me?”

Paige’s fingers were still circling lazily against Azzi’s waist, her touch warm. She blinked at the question, lips parting slightly before she simply answered, “Too much.”

Azzi hummed at this, tilting her head slightly. “Why?”

Paige sighed, her expression shifting into something a little more distant. She took a moment, as if deciding whether she wanted to answer, before finally saying, “Don’t wanna make the wrong decision.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away, but her silence and the look she was giving her encouraged Paige to continue.

Paige inhaled deeply before saying, “Life has a way of being unpredictable and a little cynical, regardless of your intentions. So I think about everything I’m doing way too much, hoping I can control the outcome… even though chances are I can’t.”

Azzi studied her, processing the weight behind Paige’s words. Without thinking, her fingers moved to the ring on Paige’s finger, gently spinning it the way she had seen Paige do. She hesitated before asking, “Is it because of the accident?”

Paige didn’t answer right away, but the way her jaw tightened—how her fingers briefly stilled against Azzi’s waist—was answer enough. After a second, she gave a small nod.

Azzi kept her touch light as she continued to toy with the ring, her voice even softer when she said, “You don’t talk about it much.”

Paige let out a quiet breath, eyes flickering away for a moment. “Not much to say.”

Azzi shook her head slightly. “I think there’s a lot to say. You just don’t want to.”

Paige chuckled under her breath, but there was no humor in it. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“It’s not bad,” Azzi murmured. “Just… something I’ve picked up on.”

Paige exhaled, staring past Azzi for a moment, her thoughts somewhere else. Then, with a small shake of her head, she finally admitted, “It’s just… easier. Not thinking about it, not talking about it.”

Azzi watched Paige carefully, noting the way her fingers twitched slightly against her waist. She let the silence settle between them for a moment before asking, “Have you ever talked to anyone about it?”

Paige’s lips pressed together briefly before she shook her head. “No.”

Azzi’s brows furrowed slightly. “Why not?”

Paige exhaled through her nose, then looked up at her with a soft smile. “You ask a lot of questions, pretty girl.”

Azzi huffed a soft laugh. “And you usually answer them, gorgeous.”

Paige let out a breath, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. She glanced away before finally saying, “No point. Every time I try, I just end up thinking about all the different decisions I could’ve made. Doesn’t do me any good.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away, just watching Paige as she absentmindedly traced circles against her skin. There was something raw in Paige’s admission, something unspoken lingering between them.

“You know there’s nothing you could’ve done. You can’t control the world Paige.”

Paige nodded, but she didn’t speak, her eyes fixed somewhere past Azzi’s shoulder. Azzi could tell she wasn’t fully convinced—just because she knew it didn’t mean it was easy to accept.

“I know,” Paige finally said, her voice quiet. “But there’s just a lot from that day that could’ve changed things.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly. “Like what?”

Paige hesitated. Azzi saw the way her lips parted like she was about to say something before she stopped herself, debating.

But then Paige’s gaze shifted, fully looking at her—the way Azzi was straddling her hips, the way she was still idly playing with the ring on her finger, the way her brown eyes were searching but so patient and warm.

Suddenly, Paige just started talking. “You know my little brother, Drew?”

Azzi nodded.

Paige stared past her for a second before continuing. “That day, he was bugging me all afternoon to go get ice cream. I mean, non-stop—every few minutes for some reason. But I was tired from the games that week, and I had a workout later that day, so I didn’t really want to leave the house before I had to. But I promised him we would go… just not right then.”

Azzi stayed silent, just listening as Paige’s voice took on a more distant quality.

Paige chuckled dryly. “When it was time for my workout, I couldn’t drive because I didn’t put gas in my car the night before, so we all went together—me, my dad, my stepmom, and Drew. Ironically we had never even done that before, that was the first time everyone was coming to one of my workouts. We left a little earlier than we needed to, and when Drew noticed he asked if we could stop for ice cream.” Paige let out a small, humorless huff, eyes still unfocused as she spoke. “My dad looked at me in the rearview mirror and said it was my workout so it was up to me. And I always hated saying no to Drew and I had said no so many times that day already, so I said of course.”

Azzi saw the moment Paige started slipping away, her expression flattening, her words turning mechanical, like she wasn’t even processing them as they left her mouth.

“So instead of going straight, we turned right,” Paige said, her voice distant, like she was narrating someone else’s life. “A few blocks later, one light before we were going to turn into the coldstone, there was this Pepsi truck. I guess he was coming off the highway too fast or something. He couldn’t brake in time, so he ran the light while we were in the intersection.”

She swallowed hard.

“The truck hit the side of the car my stepmom and I were on…They say your brain is supposed to block out things like that. Make it easier. But I remember everything. I just—” Her voice faded, like the words had dried up in her throat. Her eyes were glossy, unfocused, trapped in a memory she couldn’t shake. She blinked once, slowly, then murmured, “And yeah. That was that.”

Paige let out a shaky breath before continuing, her voice rough.

“And I hated the world for so long. Sometimes I still do honestly,” she admitted, a bitter edge creeping into her tone. “Because I—I did everything right. I prayed every night, I gave back, I was generous, selfless, I worked hard, I did everything they say you’re supposed to, and that still happened. But then I remember I can’t hate the world. Because we’re all still here and healthy. I still get to play the game I love. I’m still so blessed. So I can’t even give myself the grace to be upset about everything.”

Silence settled between them as Paige just stared into space.

Azzi glanced down at Paige’s hands, noticing how cold they had become. She squeezed them softly, rubbing her thumbs over the backs of Paige’s knuckles, trying to get the blood flowing again.

“Paige,” Azzi said gently, her voice barely above a whisper. She squeezed her hands again, firmer this time, tilting Paige's head slightly to meet her eyes. “Hey.”

Azzi watched as Paige slowly came back to herself, the distant haze in her eyes clearing as she blinked a few times. Her gaze refocused, landing on Azzi like she had just remembered she was there.

“Hm?” Paige murmured.

Azzi softened her hold on Paige’s hands, giving her the space to pull away if she wanted to—but she didn’t let go completely. She just held on. “What do you need?” Azzi asked gently.

Paige exhaled, her fingers flexing slightly in Azzi’s grasp. “I’m good,” she said, but there was no real conviction behind it.

Azzi didn’t argue, didn’t push. She just said, soft but firm, “Paige.”

Paige licked her lips, taking a slow breath. “Tell me something about you.”

Azzi studied her for a moment, then nodded, shifting slightly where she sat. She thought for a second before a small smile tugged at her lips.

“Okay,” she said, tilting her head. “During CoVid, my brothers and I got so bored one day that we decided to go out on the patio and I gave them haircuts.”

Paige’s brows lifted slightly, intrigued.

Azzi grinned. “And not just any regular haircuts. I was cutting shapes into their heads. Like, just completely ruining them. I had no idea what I was doing, but they let me do it anyway.”

Paige huffed a small laugh, and Azzi could see the lightness in her eyes start to return.

“I drew a basketball in one of their heads, even added my jersey number,” Azzi continued, laughing at the memory. “It was awful. Just—bad all around. But we were dying the whole time. Even my parents came out to watch.”

Paige chuckled, the sound quiet but genuine. “They actually let you do that?”

“Oh yeah,” Azzi nodded. “We were locked in the house for months; we needed entertainment. I think they regretted it as soon as they saw their reflections, but at that point, it was too late.”

Paige shook her head, smiling softly. “That’s ridiculous.”

Azzi shrugged. “Definitely. But I think it’s one of my favorite memories. Just us being stupid and not caring about anything else.”

Paige looked at her for a long moment, then exhaled. “Sounds nice.”

Azzi gave her hands another squeeze. “It was.”

They stayed like that for a few beats, the weight in the room a little lighter now. Azzi watched Paige carefully, making sure she was really back, that she wasn’t slipping away again.

“You good?” Azzi asked quietly.

Paige nodded, her fingers brushing against Azzi’s where they were still intertwined. “Yeah,” she murmured.

Azzi studied her for a moment before speaking softly. “Thank you for telling me that.”

Paige didn’t say anything at first—just nodded again. Then, with a gentle tug on Azzi’s hoodie, she pulled her down, closing the space between them. Their lips met in a kiss that felt different from all the others—not rushed or hesitant. It was just them, existing in this moment, wrapped up in each other.

Azzi sighed into the kiss, her hands moving instinctively to cup Paige’s face, her thumbs brushing over her cheeks. Paige’s fingers curled around the fabric of Azzi’s hoodie, holding her close, like she needed this—like she needed her.

The kiss continued to slowly deepen, neither of them in a rush to pull away. It was a quiet kind of intimacy, one that didn’t need words.

Then—

A knock at the door.

Azzi broke the kiss, her head moving toward the sound as her breath came a little uneven. Paige groaned, her head dropping against the pillow.

Azzi exhaled a quiet laugh, still slightly dazed as she glanced down at Paige. “You expecting someone?”

Paige shook her head. “No.” She tapped Azzi’s leg, silently telling her to get up. With a small sigh, Azzi slid off Paige’s lap, settling back against the pillows as Paige stood and walked toward the door.

Azzi couldn’t see who it was from where she sat—the way the hotel room was laid out blocked her view—but she heard the confusion in Paige’s voice when she opened the door.

“Wassup?”

A second voice answered, a little sheepish. “I think I left my charger here earlier. And I know you’re leaving tomorrow, so I didn’t wanna be SOL.”

Paige chuckled. “Hold on, I’ll grab it.”

She stepped back into the room, her eyes scanning for a moment before she spotted a charger near the couch. Grabbing it, she walked back toward the door.

“Thanks,” the voice said.

“No problem,” Paige replied easily before shutting the door behind her.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching slightly. “I didn’t realize your hotel room doubled as lost and found.”

Paige laughed as she sat back on the bed. “Ha ha, very funny.”

Azzi tilted her head. “Who was that?”

“Just one of the girls from the USC team,” Paige said casually.

Azzi’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at this, and Paige immediately caught on, shaking her head. “It’s not what you think.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

Paige scoffed. “It was all over your face.” She shifted, propping herself up on her elbow as she continued, “A couple of them came over yesterday before the game and just chilled here with me because my flight’s early tomorrow.”

Azzi hummed at this, but Paige could tell her mind was still working.

“What?” Paige prompted, watching as Azzi hesitated for a moment before finally asking, “Have you slept with anyone since me?”

There wasn’t a single beat of hesitation before Paige answered, “No.”

Azzi didn’t say anything for a moment, her gaze lingering on Paige. Paige studied her in return, waiting, until the silence stretched a little too long.

Finally, Paige spoke again. “There’s no one else, Azzi.”

Azzi looked at her, eyebrows furrowing slightly as if processing the weight of the words. Then, softly, she responded, “I know. I’m just processing why the thought crossed my mind.”

Paige chuckled, leaning back on the bed with a casual smile. “I already told you why…You were way too interested for it to be just one night.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but there was a softness in her expression now. “You’re full of yourself,” she muttered. “I miss when you didn’t speak unless spoken to.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the bed with a smug smile. “Really?” she teased.

Azzi sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “No,” she said, her voice softening. “I don’t miss it, but it was... easier.”

Paige chuckled. “I’ll remember this when you’re begging me to say more than two words on FaceTime.”

Azzi smirked. “I’ll give you at least three. You probably say ‘I don’t know’ more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Paige’s lips twitched as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You say ‘I don’t know’ just as much as I do. Don’t act like I’m the only one with the habit.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “I do not.”

Paige grinned. “You literally said ‘I don’t know’ like five times today before noon.”

Azzi rolled her eyes again, though it was clear she was trying not to laugh. “Okay, maybe once or twice,” she conceded, but then pointed at Paige, “But that’s because you’re always asking me impossible questions.”

Paige laughed fully. “Impossible questions? I ask things like, ‘How’s your day?’”

Azzi raised her hand in mock surrender. “Fine, I’m outnumbered.”

Paige smiled, her eyes warm with affection. “Yeah, you are.”

Azzi's phone rang from the nightstand next to the bed, interrupting their playful exchange. She glanced at the screen, letting it ring a few times.

“You gonna get that?” Paige asked with a smirk.

Azzi rolled her eyes but picked up her phone. “I was about to, if you give me a second.”

As Azzi answered, Caroline’s voice instantly filled the room, loud and clear. “Stop having sex with the recruit and come back to the room. CD’s having room checks soon.”

Azzi let out a laugh. “If I was having sex, I wouldn’t have answered the phone, babe.”

Caroline’s voice came back with a sigh. “Whatever. You’ve got like fifteen minutes.”

Azzi sighed, glancing at Paige as she responded, “Okay, bye,” before hanging up. She tossed the phone onto the nightstand, her expression now amused as she met Paige’s gaze.

Paige’s eyebrows were shot up in disbelief. “Sex with the recruit?”

Azzi gave her a pointed look, rolling her eyes. “Shut up.”

Paige stood up, slipping on her Ugg Tasman slippers. “Come on, let’s get you back,” she said, glancing over at Azzi.

“You don’t need to walk me to my room.”

Paige shrugged casually, her usual nonchalance apparent. “I don’t mind.”

Azzi pushed herself off the bed, and as she reached for her phone, Paige grabbed her phone and keycard. The two of them walked out of the room, moving silently down the hall.

The walk to the elevator wasn’t awkward—just quiet. Azzi was lost in her thoughts, her mind drifting to places she hadn’t quite sorted through yet regarding the game.

Once inside the elevator, Paige leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. The hum of the elevator made the moment feel peaceful, a brief pause in their whirlwind of thoughts.

It was then that Azzi finally spoke, her voice soft but laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

Paige opened her eyes slowly, tilting her head slightly toward Azzi. She nodded, the motion small.

Azzi watched Paige as they stepped out of the elevator and began walking down the hall toward her room. She raised an eyebrow, noting the quiet shift in Paige’s energy. “Why’d you get all quiet on me?”

Paige glanced at her, a faint smirk pulling at her lips. “I didn’t. I was just letting you think.”

Azzi chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Right.”

When they reached Azzi’s door, she leaned casually against the wall, her arms crossed. Paige stood in front of her, looking down the hallway for a moment before meeting Azzi’s gaze.

Azzi hesitated, then said, “I probably won’t see you for a while.”

Paige nodded, not offering much else. Azzi studied her, noticing the subtle shift in her posture. “You did get quiet on me. What’s up?”

Paige shook her head. “Nothing. I’m good.”

Azzi gave her a pointed look, not buying it. “You sure about that?”

Paige sighed, looking down at her shoes for a moment before meeting Azzi’s eyes. “I’m just gonna miss you.”

Azzi softened at the admission. “Keep going,” she said quietly, sensing there was more to it.

Paige hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. “It’s just—my thoughts are a lot quieter when you’re around, for some reason. It’s just a little jarring going back to that after you leave.”

Azzi’s expression softened as she let out a small pout, tugging on Paige’s shirt, pulling her closer. “You know, you make it hard to leave when you say things like that.”

Paige chuckled softly, a sheepish smile on her lips. “My bad.”

Azzi couldn’t help but smile at the unnecessary apology, her heart softening a little. “Come here.”

Paige hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer, the space between them closing. As soon as she was near enough, Azzi reached out, pulling Paige in by the waist to connect their lips.

The moment their lips met, Azzi felt Paige’s tense jaw, the tension still lingering in her. Azzi gently traced her finger along the curve of Paige’s jaw, coaxing her to relax. Paige let out a soft sigh, her body responding as she melted into the kiss, her hands coming to wrap around Azzi pulling her closer.

They stayed like that for several minutes, the world outside disappearing as they simply focused on the feeling of being with each other in the hallway. When Paige finally pulled back, her breath uneven, she murmured quietly, “Thank you.”

Azzi chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind Paige’s ear. “You don’t need to thank me for that.”

The two of them lingered close, their foreheads nearly touching as they just savored the moment in silence, comfortable in each other’s presence. Eventually, Paige stepped back, putting her hands in her pockets, though Azzi noticed how her fingers absently toyed with the ring on her finger.

Azzi laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re cute sometimes.”

Paige glanced at her with a playful smirk. “Thanks.”

Azzi turned toward the door, her hand moving to unlock it. "I’ll call you tomorrow," she said, her voice carrying the same familiarity that made everything feel a little more comfortable.

Paige nodded, her gaze softening. "Okay," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

The brief silence between them lingered as Azzi slowly pushed the door open, stepping inside. She paused for a moment, eyes meeting Paige's one last time, before closing it behind her. Paige remained where she stood, her expression lingering. The soft click of the door locking was the only sound that followed, leaving Paige standing in the hallway for just a moment longer before she turned to walk away.

[tojisun]

some more of my current brainrot (‘space cowboys’) of detached reader x traumatized simon prev: a, b, c

simon returns home after a long and gruelling mission. the anticipated time of completion was two weeks; and yet, he and garrick were stranded in the safehouse for two months.

survival, of course, was his primary objective, followed by ensuring that his sergeant was alive and well, but—

he kept thinking of her, day in and day out. he wondered if she’d missed him; if she was even waiting for him, even as the days kept crawling by. did she know that he was finding a way to come back to her?

christ, what if she thought that he left her too?

simon stuffed all of these in his heart as he made his way back home.

home. that’s funny — simon used to think that home is just some flat he renter somewhere in downtown. a place to crash at when laswell kicks them out of the base. but never thought that he’d find one as warm and tender as hers. one that is welcoming; that is accepting.

simon walks in, careful not to make too much noise in case she was asleep. he never really thought about what he’d do when he finally sees her so when he finds her curled up on the couch, buried beneath her weighted blanket, all he feels was the clenching of his heart. she looks so much smaller than he remembered. he doesn’t mean her body, but the… life around her.

oh.

oh, sweetheart.

he swallows down the lump in his throat, and rumbles, “i’m home.”

simon’s lungs burn at the way her head swivels towards him, her eyes wide as she blinks rapidly, like she couldn’t fathom that he really returned. that he didn’t just leave her and abandon her like he knew she was used to. his lips wobble, and he thinks, fuck it, before dropping his bag and marching towards her.

her lips part open, the beginnings of his name dripping from her tongue, but simon’s missed her too much to wait any longer, and instead, he pulls her close and breathes her in. and god, she smells—

she smells like his shampoo.

fuck.

simon tightens his arms around her, nuzzling close until he’s rubbing his face on the crown of her head in a bastardized version of a kiss, because he’s truly missed this — the careful ways that she’s showing that she… loves him back; the wordless acts of her affection.

his chest rumbles with her muffled voice. he pulls back just for a bit, not truly willing to let go of her, not just yet.

“wh’was that?”

she licks her lips. simon pretends he isn’t enraptured by her.

“i said,” she mutters, breathy with the twitch of a smile on her face. “welcome back, si.”

simon wonders if it’s too soon to truly and properly kiss her.

[whatifchilchuckwasadog]

hi not to derail i just am filled with the need to really highlight the "i'm not going to attempt to pronounce this" issue. it pisses me off so much for so many reasons.

do you not know how to look things up. if you don't know how to look up pronunciations why am i listening to anything you're saying. you clearly didn't look stuff up you're just talking out of your ass

i don't care if it's unfamiliar to you. everything is unfamiliar for someone every day. are you a coward? or just, in many cases, racist?

it's not even always racist (i grew up with a "difficult" name with english origins in the united states, i'm white, most people mispronounced it and because of demographics of where i grew up and the circles my parents ran in, most of them were also white) BUT it is always disrespectful. if someone tells you face to face how to pronounce their name and you won't do it correctly or if you assign them a nickname without their consent you're an asshole. imo the most respectful thing you can do if you really truly cannot pronounce their name is just to try it a few times to make sure you get it right, ask them to correct you, and then use their name regularly the first few times you see them even if you don't use people's names often so it sticks in your brain. no one i've ever met with a "difficult" name has ever posed an issue with this, and it's personally my preferred way to be approached.

if it's something you found in a book or on the internet and you haven't heard people pronounce it - there are websites for that. there are websites where people pronounce things for you. practice it. it's not going to kill you to look up how to make certain ipa sounds. you aren't on such a strict schedule that you can't spend 5 minutes googling and practicing.

this one isn't even about respect to where the word is from it's just about respect for your viewer. i mostly encounter this in video essays. video essays are really good background noise. i get to learn things while i work or do chores. it's great! but if you make me put down what i'm doing because you're a slimy little bastard who refuses to respect other people to go and rewind your video to where you had it on the screen, i'm really just as likely to pick a different video by someone who has more respect for their subject and their audience.

youtube should give viewers the option to grade video essays like it's a high school english class assignment and if the median grade is below passing then they stick a huge png over your video advising that this is a vlog with slide show components. if the youtuber ever goes "umm. I'm not going to attempt to pronounce this" at any point then they're genetically altered to be able to survive underground and let loose in an endless series of catacombs built beneath their home to live the rest of their life as the fabled town troll.

[gooobraghhh]

Somno as a way to brat tame is so underrated

Imagine a brat, tired from a long day of acting up, never truly giving in the whole time but they’re completely exhausted after putting up a fight for so long. They innocently fall asleep, proud of their defiance and you just let It happen because you know their training is about to start.

After a while, long enough to where they’re deeper in sleep, it’s all to easy to pull their clothes aside and start gently teasing wherever they’re most sensative. For some that might be their chest, but more commonly clit/ tdick/frenulum will do the trick. Carefully start circling it and tracing it up and down at a painfully slow pace. Normally this would be torturous but their sleeping body is gonna take whatever you want to give it, no complaints. Then just take your time and have patience. You get to enjoy the show of hearing their little soft breathy moans and seeing their face wince between whines. An honest expression of how good they feel, a refreshing change from the normal defiance and snarky comments.

The goal from here on out is just to tease them for as long as possible. Enjoy feeling as they get miserably hard or messy. You want to toy with them an amount they absolutely could not withstand if they were awake. Just be careful not to push them over the edge and actually let them cum, they need to ride that line for as long as possible. Once they’re sufficiently primed and you’ve gotten a good eye and earful of their embarrassing involuntary reactions just fix their clothes a bit and pretend to roll, or nudge into them in your sleep. Not so much that it’s obvious you’re doing it on purpose but just enough to wake them up inconspicuously.

If all goes well they’ll groggily get up and get hit by a wave of crippling arousal. Almost as if they’d been getting denied for hours. It’s hard to even rationally with how deliriously needy they feel but your brat will quickly realize they have a decision to make. Do they wake you up so you can help relieve them, or do they try to get themselves off without you knowing. Going back to bed is nearly impossible at this point so it’s going to be one or the other.

If they wake you up make sure to really rub their face in how embarrassing this is. Have them communicate in detail how desperate they are and make them beg, apologize and humiliate themselves for your help. They should be essentially broken by the beginning thanks to your hard work. You can either not mention that you toyed with them in their sleep and just start letting them believe they’re so much of a slut waking up desperately horny is a new trait they have or around the time you get them close to finishing you can tell them all the details of what you did, and how cutely they reacted, let them realize how easily they were trained to obediently come to you for relief.

If they try to get off themselves that works too. Just pretend to sleep while you listen carefully to their moans and whines. When they start getting more frequent and hectic, letting you know they’re close, simply wake up and catch them red handed. Then you get to tease and make fun of them for being so much of a pervert they tried to get off next to you while you weren’t awake. You’ll watch their face get all red and shy, a lot more pleasant than the usual defiance. Then they are faced with another decision, do they keep going and jerk off in-front of you like a depraved whore, or do they now start begging you for your help. I think that’s definitely the most humiliating combination of outcomes. But after all that teasing and almost getting close themselves, they’re just gonna be desperate for bodily relief, dignity at the wayside. You can really make them beg after that level of humiliation. Then you can hold how desperate they were over their head. After all, that was all of their own volition, as far as they know you didn’t do anything, only have themselves to blame. You can keep up consistent night training if you really want to ensure their obedience. generally just consider adding somno to your routine brat training, it really messes with their head more than most other methods and has them convinced they’re a total needy pervert.

[insidekatmind]

Headcannons~Cho Sang-woo

Wearning: +18,mention of smut, possessive.

Request:yes!

•Sang woo is very protective and possessive and doesn't like it when a girl gives you too many looks;

•Sang woo takes care of you and spoils you;

•He is a gentleman: he will always open the car door for you, every door, if you are cold he will give you his jacket and when your feet hurt he will carry you in his arms;

•Sangwoo struggles to express his feelings and often keeps everything inside until he bursts. He would never hurt you, but his jealousy often leads to arguments. This insecurity comes from his deep fear of being abandoned by the one person who truly matters to him,you;

•He is altruistic: he always thinks of your good before his;

•He doesn't like your low-cut and revealing clothes (because he doesn't like others looking at what's his) but when you go out he makes you wear them anyway but he will keep an eye on you and will be ready to give dirty looks to anyone who looks at you;

•He's borderline obsessive;

•He is obsessed with you and would never look at another woman;

• He is the brains of the couple, when you are with him you let him guide you, loving when he takes the lead. Sang-woo also loves that you trust him;

• Sang woo loves watching you. You can feel his adoring, loving gaze towards you but he becomes possessive especially if you are wearing a dress or shirt that is too revealing;

•His accent is thick and heavy and he uses it to his advantage. he loves to talk you through it especially for degrade and praise you right after,whispers in your ear the things he wants to do to you even in public;

•Sang woo always shows you that he cares about you and loves you. He would do everything for you, he worships you as if you were a goddess;

•Sang woo always teases you especially when you're out and about: he touches your thigh more than he should or puts his hand on your butt keeping it there.

[thetadispatcher]

Vincent looked up at him and gave him a small smile, showing he appreciated the gesture. He knew it probably didn't mean that much to other people, but to him it meant a lot.

He liked knowing he had other people outside of those who called him family that cared, and didn't mind showing it to help him understand situations or just feel better about them.

The AP700 rested his head back against the other android, deciding he'd completely ignore Dan and Rook to focus on what Bishop was doing.

Nines gave him a calculating look, he had experience with people who would use anything to try to upset him. His human partner did it almost constantly to him, so he could easily recognize when someone else was attempting to do the same.

The only thing he needed any time to figure out was why, it seemed like everyone always had a different reason for why they were trying to get a reaction out of him. Gavin's was just because he liked to be an annoyance, and the fact he couldn't get Nines to react upset him.

Not that he cared, as he enjoyed watching the detective flush with anger whenever Nines didn't give him the reaction he was looking for. Not that he would show the human that he found his small shows of anger endearing.

"I am not that rebellious, no more then Connor is." He wouldn't call Sixty rebellious as the RK800 seemed to be down to do just about anything, he was more of an accidental troublemaker.

"And it's not like the military could do anything about it now if they did find out." Androids had rights now, and they couldn't do anything about the military androids Cyberlife failed to destroy as they were considered people. Also it would likely cause a lot of issues that wouldn't be worth the time and money to deal with.

John didn't see them doing anything about it ever, the androids didn't know anything he would consider damaging if it were to get out. And he never saw service, so he never learned any truly damaging information that the military would be concerned about.

"He might be, considering the fact he was already deviant when he was deactivated as we didn't have to convert him." Dan wasn't sure what to make of that possibility, but Kelvin was the oldest recorded deviant they knew of so far.

He just wasn't about to share that information as he felt the last thing androids needed was to know their god might be real, some might be a little disappointed to find out what he was like.

"I never said he was dumb, he can do some very complicated tasks quite well. Sure he does have his moments where he does something that one would call dumb, but he can hardly be held accountable for it considering his condition." Kelvin was surprisingly good at things one wouldn't expect someone in his condition to excel at, even if he did have times where he acted more childlike then a normal android.

"We are trying to teach him sign language and how to write, but it's a slow process as he sometimes will need to be retaught things he already learned. But if you think she can talk to him, you're welcome to try. It would be nice to better understand Kelvin just in case there is some mental trauma we don't know about. I would hate to learn about it by accidentally upsetting him and still not fully understand the reaction, it would make helping him calm down hard." Even a little more information would be useful, as it might give them a hint on where to look for more.

"Yes, that is correct. He was a gift to the studio that they really didn't care enough to keep, they deposed of him the first chance they got." Brent didn't seem bothered by the studio's blatant disregard for him, in fact he seemed to have expected the treatment and felt nothing about. The JB300 was one of the androids that showed no mental affects from being thrown away, and he even seemed thankful it happened.

"We have a few other ones, ones that you would recognize as a lot of people from your generation are the ones who were ordering these custom units." He could see why someone would want an android of their favorite characters, but he could also understand why they'd be thrown away. They only lasted as long as their novelty or until they needed an expensive repair thanks to being custom.

"Only one other one is present on the property currently, if you'd like I can introduce you to him." Dan knew he would be less bothered by being recognized as a fictional character, Brent just seemed to hate it as he wanted to be his own person and not Data. But the JB300 was okay with it if the person respected the fact he had picked a new name and didn't constantly remind him of his appearance.

The android looked over once again, waiting for Rook to snap back at him. When it was clear she intended to leave him alone he glanced back to Vincent. If his communication skills were poor, he felt he was about to set a new low, but still reached to give his friend a gentle pat in reassurance. Everything was fine, they were just having a feisty mutant over for a bit.

Bishop smirked. That gave him something to work with.

"Yes, that is expected behavior from the rebellious youngest brother."

Even the most collected deviant had to deal with their own emotions and while he couldn't say for sure how prominent Nines' ego was, Bishop would still poke at him until he got a reaction.

It was entertaining enough to him, in any case. He had no reason to stop.

"That's typical of private contractors." he mused, "So you were saved entirely by greed alone. I suppose there is some irony in that."

Much like the fact that androids were simply being tossed in a landfill instead of being recycled. It seemed Cyberlife's entire existence was simply tainted by incompetence.

Rook watched the way Dan's skin regenerated, glad to see no damage was done. The last thing she wanted was to be accused of having hurt the most important guy in the house, especially when she had done nothing but ask questions.

"Who knows, maybe he's patient zero." She shrugged, "Maybe he's like Sixty and likes the way he is. It's never good to assume somebody who's very energetic and content with what they have is dumb. I have a friend who is just as bouncy as Kelvin and she's smarter and wiser than most people."

It didn't look like Kelvin was causing real trouble on purpose. He just moved quietly and that made it easy to forget he was even there doing his own thing.

"So that's why you've got Commander Data running about. Maybe you could ask Willow to talk to Kelvin. He can't talk to you, but she can probably translate for him."

[solxamber]

vil, romantic, "By Birthright" by glaive. for the valentines event.

thank you! i love your writings and hope you have a good day/night!

thank you! hope you like my take on it <3

"Yours, By Fate or By Choice" || Vil Schoenheit

����𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: By Birthright by glaive

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 890

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Mild Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Vil was used to being loved.

No, not loved—admired. There was a difference.

He had been admired since the moment he first stepped into the limelight, sculpted into something unattainable, something people would whisper about in reverence but never truly touch. To be Vil Schoenheit meant to be adored from a distance, to be placed upon a pedestal so high that no one could see the cracks beneath the surface.

And yet, you never seemed to look at him like the rest of the world did.

It had unnerved him at first, the way you treated him normally, as if he were just another person rather than a name to be worshipped. You didn’t hesitate to scold him when he pushed himself too hard, nor did you hold back your laughter when he said something ridiculous. You never fawned over his beauty like others did, but you looked at him with something softer, something steadier, something real.

At first, he had thought you simply didn’t understand. That you hadn’t yet realized what being with him meant—the expectations, the scrutiny, the inevitable comparisons to whatever untouchable image the world had created for him.

So he waited.

For the moment you would hesitate. For the day you would begin to look at him with doubt, wondering if this was too much, if he was too much.

But that moment never came.

Instead, you stayed. You fit yourself into his world so easily, so naturally, that it left him reeling. Mornings with you wrapped in his sheets, complaining about the early hour but refusing to let go of his hand. Afternoons spent curled up beside him, reading while he worked, never demanding his attention but always there, a quiet, steady presence. Evenings where you pressed against his side at galas and public appearances, undeterred by flashing cameras and murmured gossip.

Your love was not the kind he was used to—loud, extravagant, built on expectations. It was simple, solid, given not because of what he was but because of who he was.

And that terrified him.

Because if your love was real, if it wasn’t something he had to earn, then what was stopping you from waking up one day and realizing he wasn’t enough?

The night it finally came to a head, the air was heavy with unsaid words.

You were seated beside him on the couch, one leg tucked beneath you, scrolling absentmindedly on your phone while he flipped through a script. The soft glow of the lamp cast golden light over your features, and for a moment, all Vil could do was stare.

You were beautiful. Not in the way the world demanded beauty to be—carefully curated, painfully refined—but in the way that made something ache inside his chest.

And before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

"I don’t understand you."

You blinked, setting your phone aside. "What do you mean?"

His grip on the script tightened. "I don’t understand how you can sit there and look at me like that. Like you see me."

Confusion flickered across your face. "Vil, I—"

"You say you love me," he interrupted, the words coming out sharper than intended. He turned to face you fully, violet eyes searching yours for something—hesitation, doubt, anything that would make sense of this. "Do you really mean it? Or is it just another thing people say when they think they know me?"

Your brows furrowed, and before he could retreat into himself, you reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his with deliberate care.

"Of course I mean it," you said softly. Then, as if sensing the storm beneath his skin, you shifted closer, pressing your forehead against his. "I love you, Vil. Not the person in magazine covers, not the idol people worship. You."

He wanted to believe you. God, he wanted to. But belief had never come easily to him.

"You don’t have to say things just because—"

Your hands cupped his face, tilting it so he had no choice but to meet your gaze. "I love you," you repeated, each syllable deliberate, unwavering. "Not because I should, not because you’ve earned it, not because of some fate written in the stars. I love you because I chose to."

Something inside him broke.

It was such a simple truth, one he should have known, should have accepted. But it was different hearing it from you, from the one person who had never treated him as anything but Vil.

His throat felt tight. He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. And when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"Then I’ll hold you to that."

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. "Good."

Vil had spent his whole life thinking love was something he had to fight for, something that could be taken away the moment he faltered.

But here you were, holding his hand, staying by his side, loving him without conditions or expectations.

And for the first time, he allowed himself to believe it.

It didn’t matter if the rest of the world saw him as untouchable, unreachable, forever performing.

Because you had chosen him. Not as a perfect idol, not as a destined love story, but as something real.

And as long as you were by his side, that was enough.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[umbrella-show]

꒰ ʚ 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁 ɞ ꒱

You can't help but feel bad for her yearn for praise she rarely gets.

Lazy little drabble. Written before Beast Yeast ep 8

This, you thought as your stature only seemed to tense even more the longer you were here, this is not fun. You had been brought here by Candy Apple cookie, who basically tried to persuade you into joining Shadow Milk cookie. She insisted you would be ‘a perfect fit’ or whatever. She forcefully dragged you to this little meeting against your will as you were wandering around the spire, looking for your friends.

You averted your gaze to the floor as Candy Apple cackled next to you, something about the Gingerbrave gang being fools for trying to fight against Shadow Milk cookie. Pure Va-..Turthless Recluse only blankly looked to the side, in his own thoughts. You glanced at him for just a second, only to look away when his gaze met yours. 

Truthless Recluse brought a feeling of unfamiliarity and unease to you whenever you were near him. It made you miss your friend, Pure Vanilla cookie, who would never make you feel this way. He would smile and put his hand on your shoulder and attempt to ease your worries with soft, comforting words. He would open his eyes when talking to you. Truthless Recluse barely spoke to you, only bringing you more discomfort when he did approach you. His eyes, once soft and filled with warmth, were cold and dark. In times when he did speak to you, his tone would be void of any emotion. 

The sight of your friend like this made you feel guilty. You wished you could have something, anything, to prevent Pure Vanilla cookie from becoming whoever this stranger was. You wished you could have maybe reassured him you were there for him, and that you were always willing to help him with whatever. He most likely knows of this feeling you get from him, with how obvious you were with body language, but you figured he didn’t really care.

An explosion of confetti and streamers made you jump out of your dough momentarily as Shadow Milk cookie made his dramatic entrance. Candy Apple cookie squealed in delight to see him.

“What a performance!~ Truly a masterpiece! Oh, how entertaining!~”

Shadow Milk cookie smiled widely, levitating and floating in Candy Apple cookie’s general direction. She began ecstatically ranting and asking for praise for her performance. However, Shadow Milk cookie only flew past her, approaching Truthless Recluse and praising him for his act. You blinked in confusion, glancing back at Candy Apple cookie. On her face was an expression of confusion and dejection as she stared at the Beast cookie. The sight made you feel bad for her. You looked back at Shadow Milk cookie, who was pestering Truthless Recluse. However, the latter didn’t seem to care and was unaffected by the praise. 

Looking back at Candy Apple cookie’s disappointed face, you let out a small sigh. Sure, you didn’t really like her. After all, she was the one who forcefully pulled you here and works for Shadow Milk cookie. However, despite her devotion, she hasn’t made any effort to harm you. You felt she was misguided. You gently tapped her shoulder, beckoning her closer as she tilted her head in confusion. Leaning down, you quietly spoke to her with a small smile.

“I think your performance was amazing.”

She seemed to perk up, looking at you with big eyes.

“R-Really?”

You nodded, your smile widening as her eyes lit up and she regained her previous excitement.

“Whatcha chattin about, hmm?”

Looking over at Shadow Milk, he was grinning widely towards you. You shrugged. Candy Apple cookie joyously giggled at his presence. You patted Candy Apple cookie’s head while looking at him.

“Candy Apple cookie did pretty great on her performance, right?”

Shadow Milk cookie’s smile fell as he glanced at Candy Apple cookie and let out a dismissive hum.

“Hm, sure.”

Candy Apple cookie’s eyes widened and she jumped up and down in joy, not noticing Shadow Milk cookie’s displeased glance towards her as he floated away. You did hear him mutter something as he left, but you didn’t quite catch it. Your breath hitched when Candy Apple cookie grabbed your arm and pulled at it as she gushed about the praise she had gained from Shadow Milk cookie. You sweatdropped from her excitement, but nonetheless, smiled at her as she ranted. She seemed to really take Shadow Milk cookie’s praises to heart. You forgot the dislike you previously had for her in the moment as she skipped away while holding your arm close.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Hello, I hope you are well.

eI'm thinking A LOT about a reader who is completely obsessed with Logan, like they're in a relationship, and she doesn't hide the fact that she's completely in love and compassionate with him because she knows everything this poor man has been through and just wants to take care of him and make him happy, and Logan is kind of lost because no one has ever done this for him and he feels very loved and wants to reciprocate. anyway it's just an idea, thankssss :)

Hello! I'm doing well and I hope you are as well. Thank you for this request! I loved writing it and I hope I did it justice and that you enjoy it!

At first, he would get flustered when you openly showed how much you loved him. He knows you loved him, obviously you did or why else would you be with him? But he wasn't used to someone being so open with PDA.

The two of you had planned a night out with some friends. The plans were simple, a dinner and some light shopping. Logan wasn't expecting you to still stick to him closely as you do when the two of you are alone, but he wasn't upset about it either. The two of you sat on one side of the booth while your friends sat on the other. Light conversation was flowing with ease as you began to cuddle into his side. He just wrapped his arm around your shoulder as he continued talking to your friend about the latest hockey games score when he felt you twiddle with his fingers. He froze mid-sentence and looked down at you to see what you were doing, and his heart skipped a bit when he noticed you were talking to your friend, and you were completely playing with his finger absentmindedly. He never truly realized how easy it was for you to love on him openly until this moment.

He also wasn't used to someone putting their life on hold to do something for him.

He was having an awful day, and he just couldn't find it in himself to function properly anymore. He knew you had a busy day today so he was planning on going to bed to sulk until you got home and then he would make dinner for the two of you. As he got home, he was taken back by the sight of you already there. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't going to be home until eight?" He asked in a hoarse tone. Your heart ached for the man as you took in his beaten down form, "I took the rest of the day off, you sounded off earlier on the phone, thought you might need someone." You went to him and stood on your toes to kiss his cheek. "Want to help me make dinner?" He could feel his heart swell with the amount of love you give him. "I'd love to" He muttered with a soft smile. As the two of you danced between one another in the kitchen, he felt his body finally ease from carrying all the tension he collected throughout the day.

The longer Logan is with you the easier it is for him to open up, to love freely, and there isn't a day that goes by that he isn't completely and utterly in awe by you. You chose him, something he'll never be able to wrap his head around, but he never wants to witness you loving someone as easy as you love him.

Taglist:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

@eyes-ofhell

@sad0ni0n

@fries11

@slowlikehoneyyy

@brisinggamenwearer

[asterafroditis]

𐔌 . ⋮ too late to speak .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Azul Ashengrotto x gn! reader

𓏵 879 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, no pronouns used, unestablished relationship with reader, angst, hurt/no comfort

might give this a part 2 with a happy ending if I feel like it or anyone asks (-ω-；) feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Azul always knew you were kind.

Not just polite or charming, but truly, genuinely kind. The kind of person who greeted everyone by name, who asked how their day was and actually listened to the answer. The kind of person who saw past his sharp businessman’s smile, his smooth-talking arrogance, and treated him as if he was worth more than just a contract.

But that was just how you were with everyone.

He told himself that, over and over again. That you were just friendly. That there was nothing special about the way you spoke to him, that he was foolish for thinking he meant anything more to you than the next student you happened to befriend.

So he waited.

Waited for a sign. For proof that you might see him the way he saw you. Because Azul Ashengrotto didn’t take risks he couldn’t afford to lose, and losing you—the idea of you rejecting him, looking at him with pity—was something he could never gamble on.

So he said nothing.

And in turn, neither did you.

You used to think Azul would be the one to confess first.

He was strategic, after all—always had a plan, always thought five steps ahead. If he wanted something, he found a way to get it. And for a while, you let yourself believe that maybe, maybe, you were something he wanted, too.

You caught the way he lingered whenever you spoke, how his usually quick-witted tongue tripped over itself when you leaned a little too close. The way his gaze softened when he thought no one was looking.

You noticed it all. And it made your heart race, made your stomach twist in that agonizing, hopeful way.

But Azul never acted. Never said a word.

So, eventually, you convinced yourself you had imagined it.

That if he truly wanted you, he would have done something by now.

That maybe, despite the way you thought he looked at you, despite the way you wanted him to look at you—he never actually felt the same.

But you had to be sure.

So you tested him.

"Azul, I need your help."

He looked up from his ledger, barely registering your words at first. He had spent the past hour going over the Lounge’s weekly earnings, making adjustments, analyzing profit margins—but all of that became meaningless the moment you stepped into his office.

You were smiling. You always smiled.

"Of course," he said smoothly, placing his pen down. "What can I do for you?"

You hesitated, shifting on your feet. That wasn’t like you. You were usually so confident when asking him for favors, teasing him about his endless contracts and over-the-top business plans.

This time, though, you looked... nervous.

"I... well, you know I’ve been spending a lot of time with—" you said a name. Azul barely heard it. His mind had already started ringing, a dull roar drowning out the sound of your voice.

No. No, no, no.

Not that name. Not them.

"I think I like them, Azul," you admitted, fingers gripping the hem of your uniform. "And I—I want to tell them. But I don’t know how to do it without making a fool of myself."

Your heart was pounding. It was humiliating, really, standing here, asking him of all people for help with this.

Because you weren’t just asking for advice. You were waiting. Watching.

For the slightest change in his expression. A flicker of something—anything—that might prove you hadn’t been wrong.

That all those moments weren’t just in your head.

That Azul wanted you.

But Azul didn’t react.

He blinked once, his expression unreadable, and then—he smiled.

The same careful, practiced smile you had seen him use a hundred times before.

"I see," he said, voice perfectly even. "Well, that is quite the dilemma."

A laugh escaped you—light, relieved. That was that, then.

It was never real, was it?

Azul had never liked you the way you liked him.

His throat closed up. His hands curled into fists beneath his desk.

You—you were asking him for advice on how to confess to someone else.

He should’ve seen this coming. He did see this coming, deep down. But he had been too much of a coward to act. Too afraid of rejection to reach for the one thing he wanted more than anything.

And now?

Now you were asking him to help you love someone else.

He couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

"Azul?" Your voice was so soft, so sweet. So unfair.

He forced himself to smile. To laugh.

To play the part of the perfect, unaffected friend.

And when you beamed at him, oblivious, he knew—he had already lost.

You had your answer.

It stung. More than you wanted to admit.

But at least now you knew.

At least now, you wouldn’t spend another second waiting for something that was never going to come.

You smiled at Azul, one final test, but he didn’t hesitate. He launched into his usual confident spiel, offering you advice like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t crushing your chest with every word.

And for the first time, you really believed him.

Azul didn’t want you.

Not like that.

And if that was the case, then maybe moving on really was the right choice.

[hansmic]

🫧 𝓈𝑜𝒻𝓉 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 🫧

dad! han jisung x female! reader.

summary: The tiny, everyday things Jisung does for your baby—like making silly faces to make them smile, or holding them gently.

genre: romance, fluff

word count: 1.4k

a/n: I personally loved writing this so I hope you enjoy it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽

Jisung had always been a natural when it came to caring for babies. From the very beginning, he was incredibly gentle and attentive. He knew just the right way to hold our son, how to rock him to sleep, and how to make him laugh.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

• Today, as you watched him from afar, you were struck by the tenderness with which he interacted with our little one. He would make silly faces at the baby and gently tickle his tiny feet, causing giggles to escape our son's sweet lips.

You watch as Jisung slowly rocks your little one in his arms, his hands moving in a familiar and gentle rhythm. Your heart melts at the sight, knowing that Jisung truly cares for your child.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

• After a long afternoon of playtime, your son gets fussy and upset. Without hesitation, Jisung immediately scoops him up and begins rocking him back and forth, trying to calm him down.

His voice is soothing and calming as he sings a gentle lullaby, his soothing words and rhythm slowly causing your son to quiet down and relax in his arms.

He slowly lifts the hand up and blows a soft raspberry onto your baby's tiny fingers, making your little one let out an uncontrollable giggle. Jisung's eyes sparkle at the sound, his heart clearly melting with affection and joy.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

•In the middle of the night, your baby's crying suddenly jolts Jisung awake. Without protest, he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he gently scoops your little one into his arms.

He starts to rock him back and forth, his voice a soothing and steady hum as he tries to soothe the baby back to sleep.

"Shh, it's alright. I'm here now. Go back to sleep, buddy," he mutters tenderly, his face full of love.

You walk into the room, having heard the cries, only to see Jisung gently carrying your little one in his arms. His face is still slightly puffy from sleep, but his eyes are soft and full of love.

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay…" he whispers in a hushed, soothing tone.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

•One particular memory still stands out for you—it's when Jisung first held your son.

He had cradled your baby tenderly in his arms, as if he had held a newborn many times before. The way he had supported the baby's head effortlessly, as if he had an inherent talent for it, had taken your breath away.

"He feels so tiny in my arms," Jisung had said in a soft voice, a smile playing on his lips.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

•It's a quiet afternoon, and you find yourselves in the nursery together. Jisung is gently tapping his fingers on the bassinet, his eyes fixed on your baby.

He continues this for a while, before speaking up, his voice hushed and full of love. "Hey, you know what I just realized?"

Your eyes dart up to meet his, curious about his sudden revelation. "What is it?" you respond, an amused smile gracing your lips.

Jisung's smile widens, a twinkle in his eyes as he speaks. "Our baby looks a lot like me."

Your eyebrow raises in surprise, a playful expression on your face now. "Oh yeah? What makes you think that?"

Jisung chuckles, a hint of smugness on his face as he responds, his finger still tapping on the bassinet.

"Well, for one, he has my nose. And his eyebrows are definitely my shape. But mostly… look at his face shape."

You look closely at the baby's face, and you can see what he means. The little one has the same soft, round cheeks that Jisung has.

"Well, I can't argue with that," you concede with a laugh, grinning at his observation.

Jisung grins, clearly pleased with your agreement. "Exactly. He has my cute cheeks. No one can deny that."

Jisung leans back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. "And don't even get me started on his lips. Look at those tiny, adorable things," he continues, gently reaching out to flick the baby's puckered lip.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head in amusement. "He must have gotten those from you too."

Jisung grins, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean? Do you think my lips aren't cute enough?"

He feigns a mock-offended expression, making a show of looking hurt at your comment.

You can't help but chuckle at his exaggerated response, amused by his playful display. "Of course your lips are cute too," you say, shaking your head in amusement.

"But I'll have you know that they're extra cute when they're on mine," you add, unable to resist the urge to tease him back.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

•The baby is lying in his crib, his tiny hand tightly grasping onto a soft toy nearby. Jisung is standing next to the crib, watching with a small smile on his face. Suddenly, the little one lets out a series of happy coos, his face lighting up in a wide, toothless grin.

Jisung can't help but chuckle at the adorable sight, his heart melting a little more. He reaches out to gently tickle the baby's belly, causing him to burst into a fit of giggles and squeals.

The baby's giggles fill the room, his little body wriggling as Jisung continues to tickle him. "You're just too cute for words, you little rascal," Jisung mutters as he watches the baby's face light up with joy.

He eventually stops the tickling, just in time for the baby's laughter to subside into a contented coo. Jisung lets out a small sigh, his eyes still fixed on the baby's face.

Jisung reaches down and gently scoops the baby up from the crib. He easily lifts the little one up into the air, his tiny feet kicking happily as he goes.

The baby lets out a gleeful squeal at the impromptu picking up, his arms reaching out to grab on to Jisung's shirt.

He gently bounces the baby up and down, eliciting more giggles from the little one. Jisung makes a few silly faces and noises, each one drawing out a new laugh from the baby.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

•Jisung is now playing a simple game of peek-a-boo with the baby. He covers his face with his hands for a few seconds, then surprises the baby by revealing himself again.

The baby giggles every time, his face lit up with wonder and joy at the little game. He tries to reach out and grab Jisung, but his tiny arms always seem to fall just short.

Jisung grins, loving the sight of the baby's small, flailing arms. "Oh no, you missed me!" he says in a mock surprised tone.

He laughs and pretends to be scared, trying to run away from the baby's tiny grabby hands as he goes "Ahhh, you got me!"

The baby just grins and squeals happily, clearly enjoying the game of chase that Jisung has started.

They continue like this for a few more minutes, the baby's laughter filling the room as he tries to grab Jisung, who playfully tries to evade, before the two fall into a heap on the ground, Jisung finally collapsing onto his back with the baby on top of him.

Jisung giggles under the baby, the baby's tiny body warm and light against his chest. "I think I've been defeated," he murmurs, feigning surrender.

The baby laughs again, his face nestled against Jisung's chest, clearly enjoying his little victory.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

• Jisung is shown to be a loving and caring father who adores your child and is always careful and kind around them. He is also shown to be very playful and playful with your son, always making an effort to make him happy and laugh.

He is also shown to have a very soft side, and is willing to put aside his "cool" image to be gentle and sweet around your little one.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽

thank you so much for reading this I hope you liked it!

masterlist is here

[4vanaa]

WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 20

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: none | masterlist | 19 | 21 |

The group was buzzing, the energy in the club electric after the wedding rehearsal. Everyone had fallen into their own rhythm—JJ and Cleo tearing it up on the dance floor, Topper and Kelce playing some obnoxious drinking game, and Sarah holding court with John B by one of the lounge booths.

You stood by the bar, waiting for your drink, the crowd shifting and pulsing around you. The sleek black dress you wore fit like a second skin, the neckline daring, the slit high enough to turn heads. Your hair fell in soft waves over your shoulders, catching the soft glow of the club’s neon lights.

You weren’t trying to get attention, but you weren’t blind to the effect you had—least of all on him. You felt it before you saw it, that familiar, heavy stare. Your skin prickled as you glanced sideways, catching Rafe standing a few feet away. He leaned casually against the bar, his sharp jaw illuminated by the amber glow of a nearby light.

His drink hung lazily in his hand, but his piercing gaze was anything but casual, trailing over you in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” you said, your voice low but cutting as you turned to him fully.

Rafe didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk deepened. He pushed off the bar slightly, stepping closer, his towering frame making the space between you feel even smaller.

“Why not?” His blue eyes flickered down to your lips for just a moment before meeting yours again. “I like looking at you.”

You faltered, swallowing thickly under his gaze. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I really don’t.”

He shrugged, though his smirk gave him away.

“Just noticing you, Sunshine. Can’t help it when you look like that.”

His eyes flicked down, slow and deliberate, taking you in. Your lips parted, your breath hitching slightly. You recovered quickly, crossing your arms in front of your chest, your lips curving into a faint, teasing smile.

“Careful, Cameron,” you said, leaning slightly closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“You’re starting to sound a little obsessed.”

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes.

“Oh, I passed a little a long time ago.”

Your cheeks heated, but you refused to let him see you squirm. Instead, you tilted your head, your gaze locking onto his like a challenge.

“You know my boyfriend’s right over there, right?”

Rafe’s smirk twitched, and you could see his jaw tighten just slightly. “Yeah,” he said, his voice lower now, quieter. “Doesn’t change anything.”

Your heart stuttered, and you hated the way it did. Hated the way his voice still had this effect on you, the way he seemed to see right through you.

“Rafe,” you warned, your voice soft but firm.

“What?” he asked, leaning in just enough that you could smell the faint mix of his cologne and whiskey.

“Am I not allowed to notice how good you look? You’re impossible not to look at, Y/N. Impossible to ignore.”

Your breath hitched again, and you couldn’t stop the slight flutter in you chest, no matter how much you tried. You leaned back slightly, your fingers curling around the bar for support.

“You should try harder.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Believe me, I’ve tried.” Something about the way he said it—low, honest, like a confession—made your chest tighten.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I came here to apologize, not... this.”

“For what?” His voice softened, his smirk fading.

“For what I said to you at the chateau,” you admitted, fidgeting with your drink straw. “I didn’t mean it, not all of it. I was angry.”

“It’s fine,” he murmured, leaning closer, his voice low and deliberate. “You don’t owe me anything, Y/N. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel how I feel.”

“You were right, though. I haven’t done much to prove you wrong.”

You sighed. “Still. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

There was a pause, heavy with unspoken words.

“Y/N,” he murmured, stepping closer, “do you ever think about—”

You cut him off, stepping back. “Rafe, stop.”

But he didn’t. “What if you just let yourself—”

“Rafe.” Your tone was firmer this time, but the way your cheeks flushed betrayed you.

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, your tone lighter again, teasing even.

“And you’re beautiful,” he shot back without hesitation, his voice soft but firm, like he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Before you could respond, the bartender slid your drink in front of you, breaking the moment. You grabbed it quickly, needing the excuse to pull away.

“Look,” you said quietly. “I don’t want this to be weird during the wedding. Sarah’s my friend, and—”

“I’ll behave,” Rafe cut you off, his smirk returning. “Scout’s honor.”

“Good,” you replied, stepping back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Enjoy the rest of your night, Cameron,” you said lightly, your tone airy as if you weren’t fighting the heat rising to your cheeks.

Your turned on your heel, walking back toward Noah. You felt Rafe’s eyes burning into you as you moved.

When you reached Noah, you didn’t hesitate. “Hey, babe,” you said, your voice soft and warm as you slid an arm around his waist.

He turned to you, his face lighting up instantly. “Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

“Perfect,” you murmured before standing on your toes and pulling him into a slow, deliberate kiss.

Noah blinked in surprise but quickly melted into it, his hand resting lightly on your lower back. When you pulled away, you smiled up at him, your gaze warm and steady.

Rafe watched from the bar, his drink untouched in his hand, his jaw tight. The knot in his chest grew tighter, the sharp sting of jealousy and longing intertwining in a way that made him dizzy.

You caught his eye over Noah’s shoulder as you walked past, your expression unreadable but deliberate.

It was a silent message, and it hit its mark.

Rafe’s grip on his glass tightened as he downed the rest of his drink in one go, the burn doing nothing to dull the ache.

🏷️: @xoxo-ada @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sleepiibunniiii @urbrunettebombshell @sideboobrry11 @acidfeens @marleymarleymarleymarley @hadids-world @ursogorgeous13 @louxmcl @cyberkitty1 @pogueprincesa @drewrry @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not

a/n: i was very inspired by this edit. GO BIRDS 🦅 🦅

[hard-core-super-star]

OWN MY MIND [wandanat]

pairing: top!wanda maximoff x bottom!natasha romanoff

summary: wanda's crush on natasha has grown to nearly unbearable levels. instead of pining after her, she decides to do something about it during a party.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! -> porn with plot; wanda has a crush and she's about to make it EVERYONE'S problem; semi-public sex; slightly obsessive wanda go brr; so much teasing; the clothes stay on because i say so; thigh-grinding; fingering [nat receiving]; neck kisses; i got hooked on the idea so there's a lot of expostion; shitty dirty talk; so much bickering

wordcount: 3.8k

a/n: I'M ALIVE! i did not mean to disappear again but life had other plans 😅that being said, I'M OKAY! i survived a very stressful january and my writer's block seems to be easing somewhat. every year i say i'll be more active on here and it doesn't always work very well BUT i'm trying! anyway, i hope you guys are doing well, my askbox is always open for you all. that being said, i hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

There wasn't much Wanda was sure of anymore.

At some point, she'd been sure her and her family were going to be safe. She'd been proven wrong the day a Stark Industries missile crashed into her living room, sending all her childish hopes of safety with it.

After that, she'd been sure she'd never leave her brother's side, even agreeing to become an experiment for HYDRA to guarantee their safety. Their powers had helped and even when Ultron appeared, she was sure they'd figure things out together.

That dream had instantly been shot down, along with Pietro and the remnants of her home, after Ultron's attack.

She hated thinking about it. About everything she lost. About the dreams she'd held onto for most of her life that were meaningless now. That didn't serve any purpose other than reminding her she was alone.

Sure, she had the Avengers now but...they didn't understand her. Not the way her brother had.

Clint tried his hardest to be there for her before he left to be with his family, do doubt feeling guilty over something that wasn't his fault. He wasn't to blame for Pietro's sacrifice and they both knew blaming him wouldn't bring the speedster back anyway.

In a weird way, though, the archer was the only one who truly understood her grief so when he left...Wanda did what she had always done. She retreated into herself, ignoring the looks of the rest of the team and Vision's borderline annoying insistence that she talk to someone.

She didn't need to talk about anything. There was nothing to talk about. Nothing that could change the pain she carried every day.

Nothing...except Natasha Romanoff.

Their friendship hadn't come out of nowhere despite how hard the older woman liked to act otherwise. Even without her powers, she knew Clint had been the one to push Natasha in her direction. It was also obvious that the Widow had no idea what to do.

It was weirdly charming.

Despite how hard she tried to act like she cold and heartless, Natasha cared. She cared a lot more than she wanted to. Especially about Wanda.

So, when the older woman started appearing outside her door at ungodly hours of the night, seemingly unaware of the tear that stained the witch's cheeks, and inviting her to train with her...Wanda decided trusting her wouldn't do any harm.

That much was true. No real harm came from getting close to Natasha. If anything, she helped more than anyone at the Tower had even tried. She didn't care that Wanda didn't want to talk about what happened in Sokovia, that her inner demons showed their face every night and left her with nightmares too intense to ignore, that her powers grew stronger every day.

The Widow didn't seem to care about the details. She simply cared enough to be there. Sometimes she showed up earlier, before any nightmares could haunt her dreams, other times she showed up later and with a tea in hand that she quickly offered to her. There were no words exchanged but she knew.

And that meant more to Wanda than she could even put into words.

Those feelings, though, quickly grew out of her control. It happened almost on accident, practically without thinking. All she knew is that one day she felt...drawn to Natasha in a way she hadn't noticed before.

To the curve of her neck, the flex of her biceps, the tension in her jaw when she throws a punch. All the little details came together and left her feeling far too confused for her liking.

Confused and yet far too in control.

And to say Wanda was slowly becoming obsessed with control would be an understatement.

This flurry of thoughts is what leads her to do something too far out of her comfort zone. It's a shitty idea, she knows that, but when Vision off-handedly tells her of the party Tony will be throwing later that day, a plan slowly starts forming in her head.

A plan that involves a certain redhead and the confusing feelings that settle low in her stomach when they're alone together. Of course, she's not a stranger to desire, she knows what her feelings really are, but that doesn't mean she's exactly okay with them. With the suddenness and the intensity of her thoughts. Of the fantasies she longs to make a reality.

She's just as patient as she is stubborn, though, so she waits. Waits until the party is in full swing, until she's all dolled up in her favorite dress, paired with the leather jacket she never gave back to redhead, and then she strikes.

It must look weird. It certainly feels weird, stepping out into the crowd instead of avoiding everyone in her room. She has to step out of her comfort zone if she wants to go after what she wants, though, and she's determined to sink her teeth into Natasha before the end of the night.

Thankfully, she doesn't have to wait long for her opportunity.

As soon as she makes her way into the bustle of the party, she scans the room for the Widow. She finds her by the bar, chatting with Tony and Rhodey with a drink in hand.

Even though she wants to waste no time, she decides to linger. To let the anticipation build and see how long it'll take Natasha to bite. It's both torturous and enticing. A borderline perverted mix of longing that makes her heart threaten to burst out of her chest.

When Natasha's eyes finally meet her gaze, she sends a soft smile her way before pretending to be incredibly interested in her drink. It's a cheap strategy, she knows that, and yet it's one that works in her favor.

She only has to wait a few more minutes before the Widow untangles herself from Tony's drawn-out (although probably annoyingly entertaining) story and makes her way over to her.

"I didn't take you for a beer girl," she says, raising a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at her.

"There is a lot you don't know about me," Wanda replies, her accent coming out strong. It's half on purpose and half on accident. It tends to slip out easier when she's around people she's genuinely comfortable with.

And Natasha is right at the top of that list. Even if she doesn't fully know it.

The Widow lets out a soft huffing sound in response. It's not quite a laugh, but there's an edge of fondness to it that neither of them can fully ignore. It's not every day she allows herself to be so unguarded.

"You're pretty and witchy, what else is there to know?"

The teasing remark only makes the younger woman's smile grow wider. "Does that mean you think I'm pretty?"

Wanda accompanies her question with an alluring tilt of her head, watching in amusement as Natasha takes a long sip of her drink to avoid answering. Even if she doesn't say the words, she's been caught red-handed and the witch couldn't be happier about it. Maybe her sudden desire for the woman isn't as one-sided as she'd allowed herself to believe.

"What are you even doing here?" Natasha asks, her tone far too casual for the intensity in her gaze. "You hate Tony and you hate parties."

The witch in question simply shrugs. "I was tired of sitting on my ass."

This time, the Widow actually laughs. "Clint should have never taught you that phrase."

"I don't know, I think it's quite fitting." She pauses for a moment, letting the air between crackle with a hard to define energy. One just as powerful and unpredictable as her own powers. "You seem to like looking at my ass."

The older woman's eyes widen before quickly darting around them. Sure, they're leaning up against the ridiculously placed bar but no one around them is paying attention. Tony and Rhodey left to find someone else to bore with their competitive stories and everyone else is scattered around the room, too engrossed in their conversations or their drinks to pay them any mind.

Not to mention, Wanda would never allow them to notice them. It's not mind control, not really, which means she feels no guilt at manipulating reality for a few moments.

"Since when are you so bold, Maximoff?"

"Since I decided to start going after what I want." 

This time, she pairs her words with a subtle step forward. It's not enough for their bodies to press together, but the intention is more than clear. It's a hint and a warning all wrapped up in one. One the Widow could easily ignore if she wanted to.

Wanda almost expects her to, considering how shifty her eyes are. How her attention seems to bounce around the room more and more. She's sure she's never seen the older woman so nervous before. It's as cute as it is enticing.

Finally, Natasha relents. She lets out a long sigh, her gaze shifting back to Wanda's. "You couldn't find a more appropriate time for that?"

The younger woman's smile turns into a smirk. Her free hand reaches out, manicured fingers running down the length of the redhead's arm. "We could always...sneak away, just the two of us..."

Natasha lets out a soft chuckle at that, her resistance clearly wavering, even as she tries to hold strong. "I don't think that's a smart idea, princess."

Wanda's pout is almost enough to make her melt. Almost.

"Why not? Aren't we on the same page about this?"

"It's not that simple."

The witch knows she should at least ask why. That she should pretend to care about the hesitations she knows are swimming around in Natasha's head. She doesn't need to read her mind to know what they are, why they matter. But it's hard to think straight when her advances aren't being rejected. When she's so close to getting what she wants.

So, instead of doing any of the rational things the Widow seems to be struggling with, she wordlessly grabs her hand and leads her away from prying eyes. They're a few ways away but still near the hustle and bustle of the party. Far away to fully hear each other but close enough to be caught if someone decided to wander around.

She's not fully thinking about that possibilty, though. All her focus is on Natasha and getting her to admit how much she wants her. How much she needs this too.

Without thinking about the consequences, she pushes the older woman up against the wall, their eyes meeting once more. The bright green flecks of Natasha's eyes seem to sparkle almost dangerously. Unfortunately, Wanda is too far gone to heed the warnings.

"Wanda, we can't." There's no real discomfort in the Widow's voice. No real attempt at getting the younger woman to stop.

So, she doesn't.

Wanda merely lets out a soft hum but makes no attempt to step away or fully listen to the older woman's complaints. Instead, she leans in more insistently, her lips trailing up Natasha's neck and leaving heated kisses on her skin.

The redhead wants to pull away. To tell Wanda to stop and let her walk away before they do something they'll regret. It's impossible to fight against her, though. Especially when her hands join the slow exploration.

"Why can't we?" The witch asks, her hands settling on Natasha's hips. "Why do you want to pretend like you don't want me?"

The sound the redhead makes is somewhere between a huff and a groan. "That's not what I'm doing. I'm just trying to be smart about this." 

"There's nothing smart about this," she replies. "But I want you and you want me. What more do we need?"

Natasha opens her mouth to answer but Wanda doesn't give her a chance. In one swift move, she hooks the redhead's leg around her waist before pressing herself against her, drawing a soft gasp from her parted lips.

"You were saying?"

"You're so annoying, little witch."

The teasing nickname makes Wanda huff. Sure, it also makes her heart skip a beat but mostly, it annoys her. "Then tell me to stop, 'Tasha."

"Just shut up and kiss me already."

There it is. The permission she'd been waiting for. The clear admittance that their feelings were the same. That the sparks of desire she'd been feeling during training weren't one-sided delusions.

The witch wastes no time in connecting their lips once the realization hits her. Despite the intensity of their desires, the kiss is surprisingly soft. 

It's still more than a little desperate and yet there's an edge of affection that makes them melt. That leaves them craving more.

Thankfully, they both have more than enough ideas on how to fix that craving. The youngest of the two takes the leap first, though, not one bit embarrased of showing how desperate she is for more.

 Wanda grinds her hips up against Natasha's, slowly hiking her dress up to reveal the smooth skin underneath the fabric. There's something about both the setting and their outfits that drives them both mad. Something about being so exposed and yet so composed at the same time. Something about the matching black fabric of their dresses that turns them on more.

Her lips leave the Widow's just to trail down her jaw, her hands moving down her body with purpose. She grips her hips hard enough to move the older woman against her as she easily slots one of her thighs between her legs, giving her the perfect surface to grind against.

"You're so quiet, 'Tasha," the witch teases, unable to stop her flourishing dominant side for rearing its head.

Natasha knows she's allowing herself to slip. That she shouldn't be letting her guard down like this. Shouldn't be giving Wanda this much control over her.

It's not like she can help it, though. There's an intensity behind the younger woman's movements that she doesn't want to fight against. She wants to let it consume her until there's nothing left. No trace of her fears or hesitations.

She's not about to admit that any time soon, though. Even as her bucking hips give her away.

"That's because we're in public," she replies, keeping her voice as even as she can. "I can actually control myself unlike some people."

Wanda chuckles, keeping up her slow movements. "That's not what your hips are telling me."

"You're the one moving them," she shoots back.

The witch leans back slightly, a smirk forming on her face and pairing beautifully with her dialated pupils. "Is that so? If I move my hands away, you'll stop trying to hump my leg?"

Without waiting for an answer, she moves her hands away from the redhead's hips, allowing her fingers to trail up her torso toward her chest. She keeps her touch light and teasing, using it to further draw out the other woman's desires.

"That's not fair," Natasha huffs, her cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as the attention piles on. "You're the one that started this, you have to finish it."

"But we haven't even started yet, have we? You still have too many clothes on."

Wanda's fingers linger on the strap of Natasha's dress, sliding it down just enough to allow her lips to connect to the exposed skin. She focuses her attention on that spot just enough to make the older woman's hips buck against her.

"Fuck," she groans. "This is so unfair."

"I think it's more than fair. I can feel how much you want me. You're soaked, aren't you?"

Her question is met with another groan, this one in a sightly higher, more desperate, pitch. The witch is right, of course. She's already drenched and all she's done is lazily grind against her thigh.

It's practically impossible to stop her body from responding to her, though. Even without reading her mind, she knows her cues all too well after spending so much sparring with her.

Then again, she's pretty sure she wouldn't mind allowing her to invade her thoughts. Something about the lack of control makes her gush.

The low chuckle Natasha's thought is met with makes her eyes widen in response, her hands coming up to grip the younger woman’s shoulders. “Are you seriously reading my mind right now?”

Wanda knows the redhead is trying to sound intimidating but she’s far too breathless, far too wet against her thigh, for her to feel anything but satisfaction. “I couldn’t help it, your thoughts are so loud.”

The response is exactly what she had been expecting and all she can do is huff. “Don’t make it a habit.”

Her words only make Wanda bolder. With her words, her touch, her unbearable need to make the other woman fall apart just for her. “I thought you wanted me in your mind, ‘Tasha?”

The Widow knows she's been caught. That even if the witch didn't spend much time in her head, she knows how much she loves this. How much she wants this. This back and forth dance that will no doubt end with her on her knees.

And still, she's far too stubborn to admit it.

"Shut up." It's a weak remark but it's the only one she has. The only two words she can coherently form as her hips roll against the hard muscle pressing so insistently against her heat. "If you wanted to talk so much, you should have taken me on a date."

"If you don't like me talking so much, why are you so wet?"

It's infuriating. For every snarky response she can form, Wanda has two more waiting for her. It's like she knows exactly how to work her up, exactly how to meet her where she's at instead of trying to change her. It's more than infuriating, it's...it's sweet. In its own complicated, slightly fucked up way, the witch is being sweet.

Maybe it's that realization that makes her melt. Or maybe she's just too pent up to care anymore. She knows what the answer is, but she ignores it in favor of gripping Wanda's wrist and guiding it between her legs.

"I'd prefer it if you stopped talking and started doing, princess."

The witch's body tenses for a second, almost like her brain is struggling to catch up to reality, but then her fingers are working their way into Natasha's underwear and they both let out twin moans at the feeling.

Instead of taking a moment to tease her, Wanda dives right in, her patience fading with every buck of the older woman's hips. She sinks two fingers into Natasha's aching cunt, barely reminding herself to take it easy. To draw her pleasure out until she's writhing and groaning.

"Is this better for you, 'Tasha?" She asks, her lips making their way to Natasha's neck once more. She knows better than to leave too many marks behind, but she can't help her urges and she sinks her teeth into the side of the older woman's neck.

Natasha's walls clench around her fingers, nails digging into the witch's jacket as sparks of pleasure shoot up her spine. She arches her back into her touch, her hips bucking a little too wildly for her taste. It's not like she can help her movements. Not when it feels so good.

"Wanda," she moans, her cheeks heating up as she realizes how desperate she sounds. "Fuck, don't stop."

If Wanda was slightly more sadistic she would push her to beg. As enticing as that sounds, she'd much prefer to show her how good she can make her feel instead.

"I won't," she says as her thumb finds its way onto Natasha's swollen clit. "Not until you fall apart for me. Until you admit how good I make you feel."

Her pride seems like a small price to pay for the pleasure that's turning her brain to mush. She opens her mouth to stroke Wanda's ego some more when the younger woman speeds up her movements, her fingers curling just enough to leave her gasping.

She pushes her hips into her fingers with every thrust, looking far more needy than she ever allows herself to be. "Right there, fuck, feels so good."

Natasha's never really been one for talking during sex, far too accustomed to selfish lovers who don't need her approval to feel like they're doing things right. It's different this time, though. Not just because she genuinly feels good, but because it's so clear that Wanda feels good. That this is what she wants. Touching her, pleasing her, driving her to the brink of madness. The witch has never looked more comfortable, more in her element, than she does right now.

"You gonna cum for me already?" The witch teases, pretending she's not doing everything in her power to make the older woman fall apart. "Here? Where anyone could see you? See how desperate you are for my fingers?"

The slight degradation shouldn't turn her on more, but it does. It makes her head fall back as an incoherent string of curses leave her lips. She knows she should at least feel a little emberrased but she can't. Can't think about anything except Wanda's fingers pistoning in and out of her wet pussy.

"Yes," she replies breathlessly. "I need- need to cum."

Wanda doubles her efforts as soon as she hears Natasha admit how close she is. Her thumb presses down on her twitching clit, rubbing fast circles against it until the Widow's walls are spasming around her fingers. 

"That's it, let go for me, 'Tasha. Make a mess on my fingers."

She doesn't have to be told twice.

The coil in Natasha's stomach snaps almost instantly, leaving her clinging to the witch as the pleasure crashes into her all at once.

Wanda watches her with wide eyes, greedily drinking in every twitch of her face, every desperate sound she can't hold back. She's sure she's never seen anything so breathtaking in her life.

All it does, though, is make her realize how much more she wants. How badly she needs Natasha. How her mind has filled up with fantasies she's not sure she can live without.

After losing everything she's ever had, she has to have the older woman.

That will come later, though, right now, she has more important things to focus on. Like making sure Natasha can walk long enough for them to retire to her room for the night.

* * * * * * *

taglist: @boredandneedfanfics

[celerydays]

long time no see…

Hey, hi, hello~

I don't know if anyone is still around this little blog o' mine or if I'm just showing up suddenly on the dash and whoever is seeing this might not recall ever even following me lol.

But – whether you remember me or not – I'm just dropping by to say that...I've missed you and that I truly hope you're doing well 🫂💗

I...have not been doing so well. But I've been working on it.

In a way, it's been healing to reshape my approach to things like journaling and capturing photos. I've been taking the time to develop a practice in documenting daily life – the people I care about, the places we visit, and all the random little moments in between – with more intentionality and care than I have in recent years.

(tw: grief and loss/death under cut)

I lost my mom very suddenly last November – and things have been unbearably hard the last few months.

In a lot of ways, 2024 was one of the best years: my partner and I traveled to Japan for the first time ever, my family had a small reunion in our hometown to watch the total solar eclipse together, my best friends got married, and we went on so many amazing trips and had the type of outings that made me so inspired, optimistic, and excited about life and the future.

But in so many other ways, it was also one of the worst years I've had in a long time: starting with a hard-learned (but perhaps overdue) firsthand lesson and reminder on how scary and mean the internet can be, followed by losing both my grandfather in the spring and then my mother just before the winter holidays.

I'm not particularly good when it comes to emotions– forget about even processing grief or putting into any sort of meaningful words how it all feels. But I guess all of this has made me shift my mindset when it comes to wanting to just...remember. To not forget.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On documenting life through journaling...

I had always journaled in some way or another all my life, but I only really started considering it a serious practice and hobby sometime around 2020. But I had lost my way with it in recent years, treating it solely as some kind of aesthetic-only venture, and only dedicating the time if I knew that I could make it "pretty" and "palatable for sharing".

And so, many entries were missed; days and weeks lost to fuzzy recollection, months bled into each other, and little moments only existed as vague and passing snapshots on my phone gallery (if I even remembered to take a photo).

But I now wish I had just written it down; whatever it was – big, small, angry, funny, sad, happy – just wrote it all down. It didn't have to be an aesthetically collaged spread or artful doodle or drawing. I wish I had documented some of the last times I had seen or spoken with my mother; what she had said, did, or how she reacted to silly news or quips I told her. I barely remember anything even just from the last year.

So now I write it all down, day after day: I'll write what's on my mind, what we did before, what I'm doing currently, what I'm planning to do. If someone calls or my partner walks in to my studio while I'm working and tells me something that has me reacting in the moment I'll jot down a little "omg!!" or "lol" or "holy shit" next to whatever they said or did.

If I get little scraps from the day – receipts, tags, tickets, wrappers – I'll paste it in wherever it happens to fit in my journal, with a little note of the date or what the outing was. And every so often, I'll print out photos to paste in with notes relating back to past entries or junk journal spreads.

Is always pretty? No, but it's pretty in its chaos. Is it always even chronological? Not at all, but I've embraced the organic nature of pages and dates that sort of jump around, just as long it gets recorded. Does it always make sense? Not really, but it makes sense to me and that's really all that matters. And I love every page so, so much more than anything I had carefully curated before in my previous journals.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On documenting life through photos...

I had once carried a camera with me everywhere before phone cameras became decent enough that I didn't feel the need to have a dedicated tool for just taking pictures anymore.

It wasn't until we were all looking through our collective family photos to use for my mother's memorial service and headstone that it hit me that I just don't take as many pictures as I used to– and even when I did, they just don't compare to the ones that I took years ago when I did carry a camera with me on every outing and trip.

We ended up choosing a photo of her that I had taken on my once-beloved dSLR camera I used to haul around with me almost 10 years ago; she was smiling, strong, radiant, beautiful– and it was just a random moment I took my camera out in a Taiwan hair salon while she was waiting for me and my sister to get our hair done for our cousin's wedding.

A bit indescribable – and not even something I realized was missing – but there's something about having an actual camera on hand that pushes me to take more photos, and somehow better and more mindful photos at that.

And so I made the decision to invest in a new camera. An absolute necessity to take photos? No, of course not; I do still have my phone camera after all. But they say (apparently) that "the best camera is the one that you actually use"– and I was most definitely not using my phone as much as I could have been.

This new camera though? Only time will truly tell, but the past has shown that I've worked better with a dedicated camera on hand and already I can't begin to explain the difference it's made in the last week alone since I picked up the habit of carrying a camera around with me again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

This was a crazy long post that sort of got away from me. Not sure where I want to go from here – I guess I just want to say that if you ever felt called to document your life in some way, it's never too late to start; you'll only wish that you had begun sooner.

If you're still here– I love you. I hope you're taking care of yourself.

And thank you for reading along with my incredibly longwinded life update of what was essentially just "I'm grieving so I started journaling more and also bought a camera" lol.

💗

[arkofblake]

im gonna try to give the short version here so let's see how i do lol

in regards to his relationship with katniss: gale hawthorne is not good. he guilt trips her a lot and never truly listens to what she says to him. he's insecure and makes her feel bad for a lot of shit that she shld not feel bad about. i DO, however, think he does care about her and her family. katniss told him to look after her mom and prim when she went into both games, and that's exactly what he did.

in regards to the bomb: all he did was have the idea. him and beetee designed the bomb as a last resort and not to be used on children. he did not deploy the bomb. he did not know prim would be there.

in regards to him as a character: he has not done anything wrong in terms of what side he stands in the war. he's also a child (him and katniss are like a yr or so apart in age if i rmb correctly) so his impulsivity and wanting to make change in the world makes sense.

tl;dr, gale hawthorne is a complex character who is simply a product of his environment that he grew up in. yes, he has his flaws (just like katniss, peeta, finnick, johanna, haymitch, effie, etc. etc.) because he is a human. im not saying you would do the exact same things he did, but im sure if you were in the same situation he was (lol we're about to be if it keeps going the way it does), you would do similar things to protect yourself and those who you care about.

edit: realizing i never tagged @rafeysbabydoll for her to see all this LOL soz

click cute - 1

next -> | masterlist

his phone

her phone

oh my god the fucking HOOPS i had to go through to get this done. normally this would be where i put the tags but i'm doing that in the comments because tumblr is gonna make me kms