#think of all the filler i just cut out

[asterdeer]

spent 80% of my day making the pain-in-the-ass squares for my ace jon quilt and consequently my body is 80% pain now

[padfootastic]

Foundations of Decay — Chapter 6!!!!

[cainite-bite]

it gets me how its a popular in think to shit on the re3make because “it feels like a filler game!” “it came out too soon after 2! rushed!” “it reused assets!”

as if that wasn’t how the og3 was to begin with? like way back in the day when you found criticism it was exactly that and the fact they didn’t even give you too many new enviornments to look at. Just people largely ignored it because either they had a boner for jill or a boner for nemisis

so it really strikes me as funny that the very group who shut down those criticism to begin with are now the very same ones regurgitating it all because the remake is new

[s-soulwriter]

Things Real People Do in Dialogue (For Your Next Story)

Okay, let’s be real—dialogue can make or break a scene. You want your characters to sound natural, like actual humans talking, not robots reading a script. So, how do you write dialogue that feels real without it turning into a mess of awkward pauses and “ums”? Here’s a little cheat sheet of what real people actually do when they talk (and you can totally steal these for your next story):

1. People Interrupt Each Other All the Time In real conversations, nobody waits for the perfect moment to speak. We interrupt, cut each other off, and finish each other's sentences. Throw in some overlaps or interruptions in your dialogue to make it feel more dynamic and less like a rehearsed play.

2. They Don’t Always Say What They Mean Real people are masters of dodging. They’ll say one thing but mean something totally different (hello, passive-aggressive banter). Or they’ll just avoid the question entirely. Let your characters be vague, sarcastic, or just plain evasive sometimes—it makes their conversations feel more layered.

3. People Trail Off... We don’t always finish our sentences. Sometimes we just... stop talking because we assume the other person gets what we’re trying to say. Use that in your dialogue! Let a sentence trail off into nothing. It adds realism and shows the comfort (or awkwardness) between characters.

4. Repeating Words Is Normal In real life, people repeat words when they’re excited, nervous, or trying to make a point. It’s not a sign of bad writing—it’s how we talk. Let your characters get a little repetitive now and then. It adds a rhythm to their speech that feels more genuine.

5. Fillers Are Your Friends People say "um," "uh," "like," "you know," all the time. Not every character needs to sound polished or poetic. Sprinkle in some filler words where it makes sense, especially if the character is nervous or thinking on their feet.

6. Not Everyone Speaks in Complete Sentences Sometimes, people just throw out fragments instead of complete sentences, especially when emotions are high. Short, choppy dialogue can convey tension or excitement. Instead of saying “I really think we need to talk about this,” try “We need to talk. Now.”

7. Body Language Is Part of the Conversation Real people don’t just communicate with words; they use facial expressions, gestures, and body language. When your characters are talking, think about what they’re doing—are they fidgeting? Smiling? Crossing their arms? Those little actions can add a lot of subtext to the dialogue without needing extra words.

8. Awkward Silences Are Golden People don’t talk non-stop. Sometimes, they stop mid-conversation to think, or because things just got weird. Don’t be afraid to add a beat of awkward silence, a long pause, or a meaningful look between characters. It can say more than words.

9. People Talk Over Themselves When They're Nervous When we’re anxious, we tend to talk too fast, go back to rephrase what we just said, or add unnecessary details. If your character’s nervous, let them ramble a bit or correct themselves. It’s a great way to show their internal state through dialogue.

10. Inside Jokes and Shared History Real people have history. Sometimes they reference something that happened off-page, or they share an inside joke only they get. This makes your dialogue feel lived-in and shows that your characters have a life beyond the scene. Throw in a callback to something earlier, or a joke only two characters understand.

11. No One Explains Everything People leave stuff out. We assume the person we’re talking to knows what we’re talking about, so we skip over background details. Instead of having your character explain everything for the reader’s benefit, let some things go unsaid. It’ll feel more natural—and trust your reader to keep up!

12. Characters Have Different Voices Real people don’t all talk the same way. Your characters shouldn’t either! Pay attention to their unique quirks—does one character use slang? Does another speak more formally? Maybe someone’s always cutting people off while another is super polite. Give them different voices and patterns of speech so their dialogue feels authentic to them.

13. People Change the Subject In real life, conversations don’t always stay on track. People get sidetracked, jump to random topics, or avoid certain subjects altogether. If your characters are uncomfortable or trying to dodge a question, let them awkwardly change the subject or ramble to fill the space.

14. Reactions Aren’t Always Immediate People don’t always respond right away. They pause, they think, they hesitate. Sometimes they don’t know what to say, and that delay can speak volumes. Give your characters a moment to process before they respond—it’ll make the conversation feel more natural.

Important note: Please don’t use all of these tips in one dialogue at once.

[mr-ribbit]

not to keep harping on this but if you HATE shaving your body or any other part of your "beauty routine": stop doing it. just stop doing it, at least for a little while (maybe when you don't have a lot going on if that helps) and HONESTLY gauge how it makes you feel. is this feeling better or worse than the amount of time, stress, and money the routine takes? do YOU actually prefer how you looked before, or are you only worried about what others think? if you stopped doing the routine forever, could you find other ways to feel better about yourself with that energy?

when I was like 19 and the idea of not shaving my legs anymore first occurred to me (bc I had a Cool Progressive Boyfriend that Didn't Care) i just stopped and it was immediately like... a quantifiably large chunk of unnecessary anxiety just sloughed off my life forever. instantaneously I got rid a bunch of effort and stress I had been accepting as normal, and replaced it with more time to do what actually made me feel 'ready' in the morning, like hygiene, coffee, preparing for my activities etc.

and i DONT feel self conscious about body hair personally but even if I did, no amount of shame over hair could outweigh how much easier my life is. not just bc 'shaving annoying' or 'long showers' or whatever, but like. yeah I don't waste as much time getting ready anymore, and I also don't have to realize last minute before some leg-showing event that im unfit for display and have a whole self-esteem plummeting anxiety attack about whether I should rush it unsafely and risk being late, cut up, and stressed out before the event, or go With Hair and feel judged the whole time. i don't have to go through any of those emotions and when anyone does comment on my hair rudely, im in a much healthier place to deal with it and tell them to fuck off rather than validate THEIR fucked up standards by feeling bad.

once I realized I didn't give a shit and neither did anyone I cared about, it also gave me the freedom to cut out a bunch of other shit I was only doing (or Thinking I Should) bc it was what girls Have To Do to be presentable. fuck shaving fuck waxing fuck eyebrow shaping fuck concealer fuck multi step skincare fuck shapewear fuck lip fillers fuck contouring fuck teeth whitening fuck all of it, you do not need to change ANYTHING about how you look Every Single Day.

for those of you about to say "but I like being shaven/wearing makeup/literally pulling hair out of my face painfully every day etc etc etc":

have fun and mod your avatar all you want but for gods sake if you hate it and complain about how long it takes and all the stuff you "have" to buy or do just to "get ready" - you do not have to. you're not just having fun. you are not getting Ready, you are making your mood and experience worse for yourself, which is going to make you feel unready and unprepared for actually being yourself comfortably.

[queers-gambit]

Tower Scrolls

prompt: during the Siege of Eregion, Elrond barters for his fiancé's life, and her life's work.

pairing: Elrond x intended!female!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 4.1k+

note: brain go wonky, don't take this too serious

warnings: we got angst! we got drama! we got spoilers! i think it's more hurt and comfort, but to each their own! there's cursing, character injury, canon-complicit character death, blood, depiction of abuse and torture, violence, is this a reader insert? i don't know anymore, but i think so. oneshot, filler, very abrupt ending.

Fire rained from the sky. Ash snowed on once white-sand buildings. Tension permeated the air. Blood irrigated soil.

Eregion was under attack.

Elves screamed in despair, Orcs snarled from outside the city walls, and no matter where you turned, you were trapped in this never ending barrage of violent misfortune. To the best of your ability, you manned the city walls and ordered the citizens of Eregion to find shelter, tunnel out of the city, or pick up arms and fight - fight for their homes, their families, their lives.

It was nearly a natural succession of power after dedicating majority of your life to Eregion and Lord Celebrimbor; a common presence, friendly face, such an outstanding ally that few hesitated to take your command. Yet you were met with resistance, some Elves rejecting your orders in favor of this "Annatar, Lord of Gifts," apparently sent from the Valar themselves to aid Celebrimbor in his creative work. They thought he was Lord of Eregion now, and since you were loyal to the previous Lord - who Annatar claimed had lost his ever sharp mind - you were looked upon with the same frown.

So, you did the only thing you thought you could do.

You protected your Lord, almost to the extent of your life. Too many had already fallen, you refused to follow; insisting on remaining with Lord Celebrimbor for the duration of his efforts so long as Annatar was in Eregion. The immortal being wasn't keen on the idea, but Celebrimbor was much soothed around you - so, he agreed, on the condition that your Lord finish his work on the Nine Rings.

After escaping before, Annatar thought the best suited idea would be to chain Lord Celebrimbor to his work bench; knowing you did not have the means to break him free and feeling it was a safe move. However, as you witnessed, the will of the Lord of Eregion was by far stronger than that of The Deceiver.

"I cannot!" You begged your Master. "No, you will not ask this of me! The audacity you possess - "

"You must!" Celebrimbor insisted, taking your cheeks in hand to smush your lips in a pucker. "Listen to me - listen! You have always known right from wrong, but now is not a time for rationality, it's a time for action. He mustn't get the Rings, I need you to run with them. Run away - far, far away from here, use the tunnels - "

"I will not abandon you," you snarled, "nor will I abandon this city, not while she still stands!"

"This is bigger than us, bigger than Eregion," Celebrimbor tried to convey his severity, forcing the Rings in your hand - but you were stubborn. For all the traits he loved, he despised your pigheadedness the most - despite admiring it once upon a time. So, he managed to convince you to cut just his thumb off after originally asking you to take the whole hand so the cuff could slide off, but he downgraded to just his digit for the same desired effect.

"Go," you begged him, tears in your eyes as you wrapped his hand with a clean(ish) cloth to staunch the bleeding. "Go, please, before He returns. Do not look back, my Lord."

"Come with me - "

"I'll hold Him off to give you more time. Now, go. Go!"

It wasn't easy, but Celebrimbor left you behind. No sooner had you confirmed his escape did Annatar return; surveying the workshop and you with sinister eyes.

"Where is he?"

"With luck? Far from here. With hope? Even past that," you answered, stood in the middle of the room - looking as if nothing could phase you. All a lie, of course, but Sauron didn't need to know you were close to pissing your pants out of sheer intimidation. "So... You're Him? I have to admit," you gestured at him, "it's a bit of a let down."

"I have many names - "

"Oh, spare me the personal lore all of Middle-earth knows," you snipped, offering a stale look. "You need a new story."

However, Sauron smirked and circled you, taunting, "I know you know where he went. I know you know where the Rings are, too."

"Then have a look in my mind, see for yourself," you smirked back, "go ahead and see that I purposefully did not ask and my Lord did not tell. Go on, if you do not believe me, have a look and know you are wrong - " You were cut off by your own gasp when Sauron's eyes rolled before he brandished a sword to pierce through your foot and into the floor.

"Where. Is. He?" Sauron seethed in your face; hot breath fanning the fly away hairs.

"Away from you," you managed to grit, the sword in too deep to yank free by yourself. "You'll never find them," you laughed without humor when Sauron's anger got the best of him; storming through the workshop, tearing it apart, searching in vain for Nine Rings that were not there. In his anger, you obtained a series of fresh blemishes as he threw anything he could to the sound of your amusement.

Yet any glimmer of hope in your chest was doused, all traces of faith and humor vanishing when guards lead Celebrimbor back into the workshop; discovering the destroyed forge and you, pinned by a bloody foot in the midst. You couldn't move from your place as the guards surrounded Sauron with the intention to apprehend him, yet you saw the threat before anyone else. You begged the guards, your kin, your brethren, to back away, to take your Lord and flee! You begged them to run. You begged them to listen, to hear you!

But it was too late.

Sauron turned your people on one another and had them slaughter each other before disposing of the final guard himself. You screamed at Celebrimbor to run, nearly tearing the blade through bone as you attempted to reach for the man who had taught you your entire life. The man who gave you a chance. The man who built you a home. The man who introduced you to your intended. The man you loved like a father.

But Sauron's grasp extended to all.

Celebrimbor was beaten senseless, the Dark Lord trying to pry information about the Nine from him by any means. Yet your Lord did not budge... And that's when Sauron turned to you. "Please, no! Don't! She doesn't know anything! I swear, please, spare her!" Celebrimbor pleaded when Sauron ripped the sword from your foot before knocking you to your knees; bowstring pulled back, arrow armed and aimed at your calf. "She doesn't know amything!" Celebrimbor screamed as your first tear fell.

"But you do," Sauron narrated, loosing the arrow into your flesh. You tried to subdue your screams, but the immortal took to alternating between shooting you and Celebrimbor with arrows; though his struck lethally, yours struck painfully. To Sauron, you were a plaything; a token to negotiate with, attempting to withdraw information by offering you harm, thinking it was enough to break Celebrimbor.

He was mistaken.

You panted as blood dribbled from the corner of your mouth, wincing as Sauron's boot came down on your knee; smearing his heel into an open wound with you flat on your back. "She... She doesn't know," Celebrimbor tried again. "She is... She's the Lady of Eregion now, and I would not curse her with such a burden as you have me!"

"Oh, a promotion?" Sauron mused, glancing at you - but you saw his underlying desperation.

"Eregion is no more," you whispered, head lulling on the floor to meet Celebrimbor's eyes and smile sadly. Blood lined your teeth. "It would've been the honor of my life should I have been able to defend your city, my Lord."

"Our city."

"How touching," Sauron's eyes rolled.

"She doesn't know," Celebrimbor repeated in anger.

"I know," Sauron nodded, "I looked in her mind. Still, the bond between you is greater - perhaps, you'd be more inclined to share with her?"

"He'd never," you chuckled in delirium, "he'd never sacrifice this world for the likes of you." Another arrow thumped into your shoulder, making you groan as Sauron angrily tossed the bow aside. Fearing your life was soon to be extinguished, you whispered, "I-I'm so sorry, my Lord. I failed you."

"No, do not say such a thing," Celebrimbor insisted, Sauron stalking over you before squatting in front of the Elven smith, "for it is I who failed you..."

Sauron sighed, sounding condescending yet soft as he reached over to stroke Celebrimbor's cheek, "Look what you have done to yourself."

You didn't care for his poisoned words, knowing your time was limited - just like Celebrimbor's. Yet the Dark Lord tried one last tactic: mercy. He promised to end your joint suffering should the location of the Nine be revealed. Your Lord was defiant still. So, Sauron tried gaslighting, and when that didn't work, he begged, "Please."

Still, it did not work and Celebrimbor affirmed his time was ending... So, naturally, after he plucked up a spear, Sauron threatened, "There are ways of keeping you both alive." In Sindarin, he added, "Friend." To the look of horror on Celebrimbor's bloody face, Sauron offered, "Must I show you my mastery of that craft as well?"

"'Craft'?" Your Lord chuckled ruefully. Then he spat, "Your only craft is treachery. So pure, it shall betray the very hand that forges it."

Sauron stepped over your limp, bleeding form too casually, quietly seething, "Your words are empty."

"No," Celebrimbor insisted, sitting himself up slightly. "No, hear me. Hear me!" Your dimming eyes widened as your Lord found his feet, back against the stone pillar he had once slumped against as support. "Shadow of Morgoth! Hear the dying words of Celebrimbor! With only Y/N, Lady of Eregion as witness!" You didn't move, you couldn't... You were defeated, you knew there was no way Sauron would let you leave this tower alive. So, you listened and bore witness for as long as you were capable of doing so. "The Rings of Power shall destroy you. And in the end, I foresee one alone shall prove your," he shouted, "utter ruin!"

"NO!" You screamed when Sauron turned, shouting in anger as he strode over you and stabbed Celebrimbor with his spear. You could only watch in fearful disgust as the Dark Lord, still in fair form, hoisted the Lord of Eregion up the stone pillar as if a flag on a pole.

Celebrimbor was in obvious pain, mouth agape, blood dribbling from his slathered lips. Sauron's words were still heard despite the low, quiet register, "You're wrong. I am their Creator." He growled, "I am their Master!"

"No," Celebrimbor's head shook as if pitying the immortal. "You are their... Prisoner. Sauron, Lord..." He trailed as his life's light was snuffed, "of the Rings."

You let your grief manifest in tears, watching as Celebrimbor's eyes found yours - conveying his goodbye as he mouthed one last apology... Then deflating as his soul, as promised, vacated this form to return to the shores. You didn't voice your note of Sauron's single tear, just staring at your Lord in disbelief - until the Dark Lord planted the end of his spear to the ground, staking Celebrimbor above all.

"N-No, no, wait!" You begged, trying to turn over onto your stomach to pull yourself across the ground. "No, please, please, take him down - get him down from there! Please, do not - do not leave him up there!" You cried out as arrow shafts were irritated back to life, reaching blindly - helplessly - upward as if you could reach the Lord of Eregion from his hoist.

Sauron watched you for a moment, the Orcs heard marching up the tower. With a swift swing of his leg, Sauron kicked your jaw - effectively knocking you out and overturning your body to your back; splayed out as if on display... Similar, but not akin, to Celebrimbor - whose pooling blood soaked into your gown.

Through your unconsciousness, Sauron eventually ordered Eregion be razed to the ground, every Elf slaughtered, and the Elven leaders be brought before him - unharmed. He gave specific instruction for every scroll in Celebrimbor's workshop to be torched; his way of punishing you for your insolence over supporting and protecting Celebrimbor.

When you awoke, the tower was quiet. You stiffly lifted your hand to your jaw; rubbing it tenderly, letting your sight refocus and being acutely aware of every feeling in your body.

"Fuuuuuuuck," you whimpered, trying to sit up but being unable due to protruding arrows. You went limp again, feeling a single twinge of anger you had to wake up because your eyes caught sight of and stared at Celebrimbor.

You failed...

You gasped shrilly when hands seized your upper arms and heaved; lugging you over the shoulders of two Orcs as a third swiped at the arrows to break them in the most painful way possible. Considering their brutish nature, you would've thought they'd have lopped your head off and moved along - but instead, they began carrying you towards the door.

"Wha-What's happening?" You asked through a slur, feet dragging under you, spying one of the Orcs gathering scrolls and tomes you spent your life writing alongside Celebrimbor in their dirty arms. "Wait - wait - what're you doing? What're you doing!?"

"Quiet!" An Orc snarled, dropping the hilt of his dagger to the soft part of the base of your head where it connected to your neck. You were silent out of sheer pain.

Down the tower you were drug, brought into the devastated courtyard where Orcs snarled at you from all sides; the two that carried you dropping you on your shattered knees. You were held at knifepoint as Orcs streamed from the tower and dropped your scrolls and tomes in several different piles a short distance away. Head injury caused your sight to blur in and out, but you knew what they were doing... What they intended.

"Please, please, don't do this," you whimpered, hearing several Orcs laugh. "No... No, no, no, no, please! Don't - " You had no more fight as collectively, your records were so extensive that several piles were made, few set ablaze.

All around you, Elves were slaughtered mercilessly, bodies left behind where they fell; the sounds of the city dying with them as the Orcs ran out of the innocent lives to claim. You could only watch. Before you, the Orcs tossed banded lassos around the decorated statue of Faenor, evident their desecration knew no bounds.

Yet hope sparked... The blade at your neck tightening when you perked up upon seeing several Orcs leading few saved Elves into the courtyard - your fiancé one of them.

"Elrond!" You cried, the Orc snarling a hiss as the hand in your hair yanked back. You struggled to the point of blood draw when Elrond's sight casted on you - trying to escape his captors, but being held back.

"Y/N!" He called back, the High King Gil-galad at his side and finding you amongst the rubble, too. The King muttered something you couldn't hear, but to Elrond, he understood the Sindarin word: wait.

"Hey!" You snapped, blade drawing a line of blood from your neck; pressure mounting as he pressed closer. You growled in annoyance.

Faenor toppled to the ground, shattering the heart of any Elf left to witness - Orcs mounting him, ravaging for hidden and seen treasures. With Gil-galad, Elrond, and other survivors, the Orcs moved inward as if to ensure the Elves had a front row viewing to the incineration of their culture.

"Y/N," Gil-galad called to attention, earning several snarls and hisses, "where is Lord Celebrimbor?"

"Dead," you whimpered, Orc growling at you in reprimand.

Elrond's eyes swept over the scene and swiftly understood the impending doom. The largest of the scroll piles was before the Elves now, an Orc pacing around it with his torch alight, tears down your cheeks as you couldn't look away as if in a trance you did not realize.

"No, Uruk! No!" Elrond begged when the Orc went to drop the flame; you struggling against your captor, both hands around his meaty wrist.

"No!" Gil-galad's beg echoed around you.

"That is the full record of Celebrimbor's works," Elrond tried to make the Orcs understand potential ramifications. "The wisdom of all who ever dwelt in this place, all accounted by the Lady Y/N, whose work cannot be found outside Eregion! Its value is beyond jewels or even blood! Take our lives," Elrond gestured to himself and the King, you struggling again on horridly abused knees, "but leave it be, I beg you."

Perhaps you were far too used to people listening when your fiancé spoke because you eagerly sat forward best you could while thinking perhaps the Orcs would listen to Elrond. Imagine your acute and heavy despair when the Orc laughed manically and turned to shove the torch into the bundle of fragile parchment. "NO!" You sobbed uselessly, watching the last of your life's work go up in flame.

You fought against the Orc's grip as Gil-galad snarled, "Cowardly traitors!"

"You fucking bastards!" Your head reared back to (painfully - nobody wins with a headbutt) break the Orc's nose. He released you as other Orcs were wrestling Gil-galad to the ground, able to pick up a blade and take out three too-close enemies.

It was the first time Elrond heard such language fall from your lips, but all he could register was the Orc punching you in the jaw in an attempt to subdue you - blood spitting to the side, seemingly darkening a bruise already blooming. He's never felt such rage.

Elrond fought with his bare hands; elbowing the Orcs behind him, punching the ones before him, fighting to get closer to you. He got ahold of a torch, screaming in white-hot anger as he set the Orc that hit you ablaze; dropping the torch and taking you into his embrace.

"My love," he breathed in your ear, able to peck your cheek just as the snarling Orcs forcefully ripped you out of his arms. "No, no!" He tried to reach out for you, but both were wrangled in.

"Please, don't! NO! No, no, no!" You gasped when Elrond was taken in custody, yet it wasn't you who saved him.

Another Orc reminded, "No! Lord Sauron wanted their leaders unharmed."

"Well, what about her? She looks injured," A different Orc growled, jostling your shoulder and pointing his dagger at your throat. Elrond was forced to his knees as you were, facing one another.

"Lord Sauron did that, said to discipline her should she resist," the Orc answered in a hiss, others shoving more Elves into the courtyard - including Arondir from the battlefield. A blade was held to Elrond's throat as your head bowed in the heat of the bonfire; being ripped up by your hair and forced to turn to watch the flames. The Orcs noticed the pair of you seemingly cared more about the literature than your lives, so, they thought you should relish in this moment.

So Elrond was held in a similar position, but his sight was on you; watching you crumple into despair while more Orcs tossed the last of the scrolls into the flames. Your life, since a youthful student, had been spent intermittently in Eregion under the care of Lord Celebrimbor, whom you thought of as an adoptive father, learning heraldry. He let you work at his side, keeping accurate, detailed record of his philosophies, ideas, processes, and creations for the histories. Yet, now, they wafted into the air as ash - lost to this Age, never to be recovered or duplicated or seen again.

Once more, you dropped your head, earning a backhand to the temple. Gritting your teeth, you let the Orc force your head up but shut your eyes tightly, defiantly; hearing their breathing turn ragged. "Cut her eyelids open!" An Orc barked.

"That's not what Lord Sauron said," another seethed with refusal.

"She's resisting!"

An Orc scoffed and stabbed your thigh with a dagger, eyes flying open as you gasped in pain. "There! See!" It laughed, holding you in a chokehold as tears leaked down your cheeks. Elrond struggled and shuddered against his captors, hating the sight of you dismantling yourself emotionally, but to witness your abuse, he hated more.

Then, from a short distance, a horn bellowed.

"Dwarves!" King Gil-galad identified, the Elves rejuvenated by the surprise (and delayed) arrival of aid. In tandem, they began to resist; yourself included by ripping the dagger from your thigh and driving it into your captor's ribs; praying flesh came too when the blade was ripped free.

He grunted and shoved you forward onto your chest and hands, able to flop over to watch your approaching demise - only to discover Elrond surging up to the Orc and snapping its neck with his bare hands.

"Elrond!" You gasped when the Orc fell to the side... Dead.

"C'mere," the half-Elf you intended to marry panted, reaching down to yank you onto your bloody feet; catching you on his chest when your weight buckled. "I got you, I've got you, love, you're safe," he whispered, hoisting you into his embrace before turning for the stream of Dwarves. "Durin!" He greeted jovially.

But when the Dwarf turned, it wasn't the ginger prince Elrond knew like a brother. The dark haired Dwarf heaved a sigh, informing, "The Prince... Is in mourning," before rushing off into the fray.

"'Mourning'?" You repeated in a daze. "Over Disa?"

"His father, perhaps?" Elrond guessed, tightening his arms to lift you and turn away from an Orc rushing forward. He blocked the enemy's advance, trying to keep secure hold of you - leaving an opportunity for you to use the last of your strength to drive your dagger (still in hand) into the Orc's throat. "Good girl," Elrond praised as the creature fell, panting from exhaustion. "Can you still fight?"

"I can barely stand on my own, Elrond," you whimpered, gripping his neck and shoulders in a vice grip to remain upright.

He nodded, "Right." With a sniffle, he lifted you again and rushed for an alcove, depositing you in rubble before caressing your face. "How bad?" He asked softly.

"Enough."

"Let me see - "

"Elrond, there's no time," you snatched his hands when he attempted to reach for your skirt, "the city is under attack, it's falling to Sauron - you need to help them. Go, go fight."

"I won't leave you."

Your ears rang with the same words you told Celebrimbor.

"You have to, this is bigger than any of us," you repeated what you'd been told.

"Elrond!" Gil-galad was heard calling, Arondir appearing in the mouth of the alcove.

"Over here!"

When the High King arrived, he paused to take in the sight of the pair of you. "Good," he panted, "you're both alive. The Dwarves are aiding our escape, we must leave now... The city is fallen," he directed at you.

"You should all go," you sniffled.

With confusion, Elrond snapped, "Without you?"

"I've business to see to in the tower."

"The tower will fall," Arondir explained, slowly lowering to a squat to put himself on your level. "Whatever you think is left is lost, my Lady."

"Celebrimbor's in there. I was taken before I could get him down."

"'Down'?" Gil-galad repeated, "What does that mean?"

Tears filled your eyes, telling the trio what Sauron did to you and your Lord; the King insisting hope was lost and it was time to go. "I cannot walk," you whispered, shaking your head, "and my injuries surpass - "

"I will carry you," Elrond rushed, holding your cheek gently, "I will not leave you behind."

"No... She will walk," Gil-galad stepped forward, revealing his Ring of Power, Vilya. You were unsure what his intention, but Elrond moved behind you to let you lean back into his chest as the King chanted his prayers.

Yet you passed out before fully healed.

"My King - "

"She's alive," Gil-galad soothed Elrond, the hand hosting Vilya laid to your forehead, "just exhausted. She's been through much, far more than I care to fathom. Sauron took it easy on her, he used mortal weapons against her."

"He didn't intend to kill her?" Arondir questioned.

"He needed her alive - whatever the reason," Gil-galad frowned.

"Will she wake?" Elrond worried.

"I have faith she will, trust in the Valar," the King nodded. "Now, if you intend to fight another day, we must go. Now."

And so, the Lady of Eregion was smuggled out of the smoking city in the arms of the Elf she loved, leaving behind all she knew and created. By the Third Age, at least one scroll written by her hand could be found in every library of Middle-earth; and in the Great Library Elrond built for her, detailed accounts of Lord Celebrimbor's work as recalled and honored by his adopted daughter, future Lady of Imladris.

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[prentissluvr]

flower shop, 11:00 a.m. — dean winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, pet names (sweetheart), unedited, 644 words. requested ! for my 800 followers event [ open ] .

summary : dean doesn't really like flowers, but he thinks he likes you.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

dean does not know how to shop for flowers, and it’s abundantly clear to you as you watch him wander through the small shop. his eyes just about glaze over as he takes in all of the options. he’s clearly overwhelmed by the pure amount of different colors and types of flowers.

from where you stand, cleaning up a small water spill for your coworker, who’s sweet self gets too nervous after accidents to help customers for a solid five or ten minutes. he’s adorable and very kind, and you understand his anxiety, but sometimes you’d rather talk to handsome customers than help him out.

but the spill is small, and cleaning it takes up little time. you don’t put the cleaning supplies in the right spot in favor of approaching this mystery man. you really hope that he’s not looking for flowers for a partner.

he looks like the sort of guy that doesn’t like asking for or receiving help, but he also looks so clueless that it would genuinely be bad customer service not to offer your help. he also looks too handsome to pass up talking to.

“hi,” you greet him with a small smile. he turns to look at you, a confident smile replacing his confused features when he sees you. the bright mid-morning sunlight streams in through the shop’s wide windows, hitting his face and illuminating his unfairly pretty features. his eyelashes are long and gorgeous and his eyes are even more stunning. the sunlight makes them a pale green and his expression tells you that he knows he’s handsome.

“are you looking for something specific?” you ask, somehow keeping a hold of your composure.

his expression changes again, turning the slightest bit sheepish. he rubs the back of his neck, and you have to force yourself to focus on his words rather than the strength of his upper arms and the expanse of his chest.

“actually, yeah, i’m, uh, looking for somethin’ for my mom,” he explains. that’s the best answer he could’ve given you. a hot man looking to buy flowers for his mom? that’s a big fat yes, please from you. “nothing too fancy, just somethin’ simple for her birthday. think you could help me out, sweetheart?

you like the way he cuts the word something short, his slight accent almost as charming as his flirty smile and casually uttered pet name of sweetheart.

“i think i can,” you grin, giving your own version of the charming smile and motioning for him to follow. “i’d recommend a simple arrangement of lilies or tulips,” you say, showing off a few different color options. you go on to explain a few different routes he could take without saying too much to overwhelm him with too much information.

eventually, he decides on tulips, with no filler flowers. he really meant it when he said simple, but you agree with him aloud that you like the simplest arrangements as well.

as he pays, he looks sort of unsure. you raise your eyebrows at him, as if to ask what’s wrong.

“you know, i’m not sure if she likes flowers,” he suddenly confesses. you laugh softly, in a bit of surprise. “i- i haven’t seen her in a while.” the way he says it sounds complicated and much heavier than just not having seen her in a bit, but you don’t question it.

“well, even if she doesn’t like them, i think she'll appreciate the gesture,” you assure him. “you can always pair them with a good bottle of whiskey or something, and she won’t be able to complain then, right?”

he grins, and it’s a real smile. “i like the way you think, sweetheart.” dean doesn’t like flowers too much, and this place intimidates him and makes him feel out of place. he likes you, though, so he’ll be back.

[tteotlma]

Sugar and Skin

3. Subtle Connections || Previous

a quiet morning shifts as an unexpected request and a teasing confession leaves you with more questions than answers.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (1.5wc)

tw: 18+ MDNI; mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of smoking, implied deception a/n: this is definitely a filler chapter rn but i think im finally getting the ball moving! as always im open to suggestions and ideas

Your fingers worked methodically across the counter, muscle memory guiding the rag over scattered crumbs and coffee rings. The morning rush had left its usual aftermath of scattered napkins, and spent sugar packets littered across table tops. You could feel the tension slowly unknotting from your shoulders as the cafe settled into its familiar mid-morning quiet. 

Then you saw him. 

First it was his shadow, moving across the sunlit rectangles on your checkered floor. Then leather—dark and worn in all the right places—as Bucky passed by the store windows. His head was ducked slightly, hands buried deep in his pockets. The cherry of a cigarette glowed between his lips as he exhaled, smoke curling around his profile in the morning light. You watched, hand frozen mid-wipe, as he paused just past the window, taking in another long drag that hollowed his cheeks. 

Your breath caught when he turned toward the door, and casually flicked the butt in the outdoor ashtray. 

You turned so quickly your elbow caught the edge of the counter, sending a sharp sting through your arm as you collided directly into Sam’s chest. The to-go cup in his hand tilted dangerously, lid threatening to pop off. 

“Woah, earth the Y/N!” His free hand steadied your shoulder, coffee miraculously staying contained.

“O-oh, sorry, I–” The bell above the door cut you off, its gentle chime making you lose your train of thought. You felt Sam’s grip on your shoulder tighten slightly before letting go. 

“Oh,” was all he said, but you saw the way his jaw clicked shut, the subtle shift in his stance too obvious to ignore. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything though, keeping your eyes fixed on the counter as the scent of lingering smoke drifted through the space behind you. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught your attention. 

"Morning." Bucky's voice was rough, still carrying traces of smoke, and you forced yourself to turn around. The movement made your arm throb where you'd hit it, a dull reminder of your graceless panic moments ago.

He stood closer than you expected, enough that you had to tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze. The scent of smoke clung to his leather jacket, mixing with something else—maybe sandalwood, or pine—that made your head swim slightly. Your eyes caught on a small tattoo peeking out from the collar of his shirt, dark lines disappearing beneath the fabric in a way that made your throat go dry.

Before you could speak Sam’s voice broke the tension, startling you slightly. “Morning. Picking up for Steve?”

Bucky’s gaze flicked toward him, then landed back on you briefly before he gave a curt nod. “Yeah.”

You both watched as Sam turned away, leaving the two of you alone.

You swallowed, quickly turning back to the counter and reaching for the small box already prepared with Steve’s name on it. Your fingers felt clumsier than usual, the weight of Bucky’s presence pulling at your senses.

Sliding the box across the counter, you noticed his eyes had shifted to the little display atop it—a small chalkboard perched against a tiny stand, the handwriting on it a messy scrawl. His brow furrowed slightly as he tilted his head, clearly trying to make sense of the text.

“Oh,” you blurted, breaking the silence. “Um, Peter likes to do the boards.” Your voice carried a nervous edge, words tumbling out faster than intended, and you hoped he couldn't tell. “They’re not always the most… legible, but he’s...passionate about it.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, one brow raising slightly. You shifted, brushing your hands against your hips as you continued, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “He’s actually gotten better, though. Since he started doing it every day.”

“Every day?” His voice was low, curious, and it took you a moment to realize he was responding.

You blinked, nodding quickly. “Hm? Oh, yeah.” You gestured vaguely toward the case, your hand brushing against the edge of the counter. “I try to make a different pastry every day.” 

His gaze followed your gesture to the display case, where today's pastries sat under the soft morning light. Something in his expression shifted, but before you could place it, the sound of the kitchen door swinging open made you both straighten slightly.

"That's... ambitious," he said after a moment, his voice quieter than before. The word hung between you, carrying a weight that made your fingers twist in the fabric of your apron.

For a beat, neither of you moved. Then, he nodded toward the case. "Think Steve would want one of those?"

Your brows knit together briefly. "He hasn't mentioned it, but... maybe."

Bucky's lips twitched, the smallest hint of a grin. "Add it to his order. Just in case."

You hesitated, something about the request stirring your curiosity, but you nodded and moved to grab one. As you placed the pastry in a small bag, you could feel his eyes on you, the air thick with something unspoken.

He pulled out his wallet, but you shook your head quickly. "Steve's good for it." The words came out softer than intended.

His eyes met yours for a brief moment before dropping to where your hands were carefully folding the top of the bag. He nodded, a short, quick movement, the morning light catching the sharp line of his jaw.

"Thanks." He gathered both bags, his fingers brushing against the counter where yours had been moments before. You watched as he turned to leave, the bell above the door chiming softly as he disappeared into the morning light.

Sam's presence materialized beside you, his arms crossed. "Since when does Steve get extras?"

You kept your eyes on the window, where Bucky's shadow was already fading from view. "Maybe he's branching out."

The look Sam gave you said he wasn't buying it, but you busied yourself with straightening the display case, pretending not to notice. The lingering scent of smoke and sandalwood (or was it pine?) drifted away as the morning lull continued on.

—

Later that day, as the sun dipped low and cast long shadows across the café, you wiped down the last of the tables. The bell above the door jingled, pulling your attention from your work. Without glancing up, you called out, "We're actually closed."

"Even for me?" Steve's familiar voice carried warmth, and you couldn't help but smile.

"Especially for you," you teased, finally looking up and gesturing to him in. "What brings you by?"

Steve strode in with a relaxed air, his eyes sweeping the quiet, dim space. "Just wanted to see how everything's going. Looks like you've been keeping the place in top shape."

"Thanks," you said, moving back behind the counter. "Just finishing up for the day."

He leaned casually against the counter, watching you as you straightened the last few items. "Actually, I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in catering an event. We're putting something together to celebrate the store finally coming together. And I thought you guys would be a perfect addition, considering our friendship and whatnot."

"Friendship? I thought this was strictly a transactional thing," you said, your tone laced with feigned indifference.

He put his hand to his chest, and collapsed dramatically against the display, "You wound me."

"I'm obviously kidding," You swiped him with the dry towel in your hand. Your heart lifted at his suggestion right away, a spark of excitement igniting. "I'd obviously love to help. That sounds great!"

Steve lifeted his head off the glass and his smile widened. "Perfect. I'll send you the details soon."

You nodded, a thought suddenly surfacing. "You know, that's actually perfect timing, considering Bucky brought you a different pastry today."

Steve's brow furrowed slightly. "What pastry?"

"The croissant," you said, watching him carefully. "You know, the one Bucky brought you this morning."

Steve's expression flickered with a hint of confusion before he quickly covered it up. "Oh, right. The hazelnut one."

You tilted your head slightly, a small smile playing at your lips. "What? Raspberry."

"Riiiight, raspberry. That's what I said." He gave a quick nod, brushing it off. "Slip of the tongue." He shrugged, waving his hand in the air.

The evening light caught a gleam in his eye, and you felt a sudden warmth creep up your neck. You narrowed your gaze at the blonde in front of you.

"Well," Steve pushed off from the counter, that insufferable grin still plastered on his face. "I should get going. I'll text you about the event."

You nodded, eyes not leaving his face. "Yeah, sounds good." You turned your attention towards the register, grabbing the rolls of coins.

Steve paused at the door, his hand resting on the handle. He turned back, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Actually, now that I think about it," he began, his voice laced with amusement, "I don't think I did get an extra pastry today."

You blinked, the weight of his words not quite hitting. "Sorry?"

He gave a light snicker, shaking his head. "Never mind. Gotta go." With a quick salute, he slipped out the door, leaving the bell to jingle softly in his wake.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the door as it swung shut behind him. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you replayed the morning’s events, the lingering looks, the quiet pauses, and now this—this small, unspoken something Steve seemed to know about but wasn’t saying.

With a soft exhale, you shook your head and returned to your work, though the warmth lingering in your chest wasn’t so easy to brush away.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway as the last rays of sunlight stretched across your checkered floor. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you recalled the way Bucky's broad shadow danced across the tiles.

The thought made something flutter in your chest, but you pushed it away quickly, turning back to your closing duties with renewed focus. Still, as you moved through the quiet café, you couldn't quite fight the small smile that kept trying to surface.

The windows had turned to mirrors in the fading light, reflecting your movement as you went through the familiar motions of shutting down for the night. The hum of the fridge filled the silence, joined by the soft clink of mugs being stacked and the faint rustle of the pastry bag you tied up for tomorrow’s batch.

But your mind wandered, unbidden, back to Steve’s words—and more so, to the subtle curve of Bucky’s lips when he’d asked about the pastry. You tried to convince yourself it was nothing, just a friendly gesture. Still, the memory clung stubbornly, threading through the quiet like the scent of coffee and sugar that still lingered in the air.

As you wiped down the last of the tables, your gaze flickered toward the display case one last time, catching the faint reflection of yourself in the glass. The café felt too still, too calm, and your mind too loud. You sighed softly, shaking your head as if to dislodge the thought, and flipped the switch, plunging the room into a soft shadow.

Stepping toward the door, you turned the lock with a satisfying click. The bell didn’t jingle this time, its usual cheer subdued as you pushed the door open and stepped outside. The cool evening air swept over your skin, grounding you, though the warmth lingering in your chest was harder to ignore.

—

a/n: again just a filler chapter but i think i know where this is going from here huhuhu~ please reblog to support! I also love feedback, and comments :)

taglist (lmk if you want to be added!) : @cheezemanz @shirukitsune @miharuwrites @multifandomkid @violetpassionfruit @sapphirebarnes @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @angelbabyyy99 @theendofmaterialgworl @venuslovey

[citrustan]

dating girl (jjk) #2.2

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: you try to convince yourself that you're really okay with 'casually dating' your crush.

genre & note: college au, fwb kinda thing but more than friends ygm? angst! - here are the links for the original and the follow-up parts to be read before this one - it's giving filler chapter... 🤐

It's awkward.

You look around for a moment, trying not to feel like a loser who got ditched.

There are very few seatings available and none of them were occupied currently. You felt like even bigger of a loser because you'd be the only girl just sitting there. Nor do you want men to take it as a hint to approach you. You're rethinking coming at all.

You blow air out of your mouth as a self-soothing gesture, deciding to go grab another drink.

Suddenly remembering that you had other friends at this party, you decide to text them asking if they were around. You loosely recollect reading about their bar hopping plan on the group chat, so you're not sure. You'd have joined in if you had Jungkook to tag along. He's fun to cling to when you're drunk.

Sometimes you fake being so piss drunk that you can't move by yourself just so Jungkook would hold you up or lift you in his arms.

Thinking about this is really ruining your mood though. Because tonight, that other chick is going to enjoy his company while you act like a cunt towards your date because you can't stand up for yourself.

As you make your way back to the table, you spot Jungkook not too far from it.

Boy, is just everywhere tonight or what.

You freeze for a moment, unsure if you should approach Jungkook, or if you’d rather just stay out of his way. But before you can make up your mind, he’s already walking to you.

“Hey,” he says, lowly, as he stops a few inches beside you.

You give him a tight smile, trying to keep your tone neutral, “Hi.”

He looks around, almost as if he’s unsure of what to say next. “Mr. Tooth Fairy had to leave?”

You hum, glancing toward the door where Hoseok disappeared. “Yeah, something came up.”

Jungkook nods, his eyes flicking back to you, “I see.”

An awkward silence stretched between the two of you like a thin, fragile thread.

Finally, Jungkook clears his throat, breaking the tension, “Listen... about earlier-”

You hold up a hand, cutting him off, “Yeah, I'm sorry, I did not mean to do that. It was uncalled for."

This was too awkward. You don't know how to act around him. All you want to do it grab his head and smush your lips together.

"No, you're fine. I meant to text you back, you know?"

Right.

"Yeah, well, either way, I get the message loud and clear," you reply simply, staring him down.

"I wasn't sending any messages, _____."

"Well, yeah!"

"_____..."

"Can we not do this? I told you I hear you loud and clear. Let's move on." You were agitated.

Jungkook knows you've misunderstood his silence but he doesn't want to piss you off anymore today.

He sighs softly, tilting his head as if to study you. “Hoseok, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say, almost defensively. “He’s nice.”

“Nice,” Jungkook echoes, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly, though you can’t tell if it’s amusement or something else entirely. “That’s good. You deserve... nice.”

The way he says it makes your stomach twist. You ball your hands into a fist. You wish he'd stop rubbing it in.

“Is that supposed to mean something?” you ask, sharper than you intend.

Jungkook raises his eyebrows, his expression unreadable, “No. Just a statement.”

You let out a breath through your nose, already feeling the hair on your nape stand, “You know, if you’re trying to say something, you could just say it instead of whatever... this is.” You wave a finger at him.

Jungkook’s jaw ticks slightly, and for a moment, you think he’s going to brush you off. Instead, he takes a step closer, “Fine. I don’t like him.”

Your eyes snap to his. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t like him,” Jungkook repeats, slower this time.

"Yes, you do? He's YOUR friend." You're stunned.

"Yeah, well, I don't like him around you." He'd almost seem childish if it weren't for the way he was looking at you. Like a... predator? Not in a creepy way because this was very invited.

Your brain scrambles to process his words but all you can focus on is how it makes you feel. A shiver runs down your spine.

“Jungkook,” you say finally, forcing your voice to stay calm, “you don’t get to have an opinion about that.”

He opens his mouth like he’s about to argue, but you cut him off before he can speak--- “You’re the one who wants this,” you speak a bit quieter, "-but I..." You abruptly stop yourself, biting the inside of your cheek.

"You what?"

You hesitate, but there’s no point in holding back now. “I didn’t want this,” you admit. You could hear your heart pounding. “And I didn’t have a choice, did I? Because if I said no, you would’ve walked away. And I didn’t want that either.”

Jungkook stares at you, his jaw tight and brows furrowed, like he’s holding himself back from saying something he’ll regret.

Jungkook looked genuinely confused, “That’s not fair. You can't put this on me."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "I know. I'm not blaming you."

There's another moment of silence.

"I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says finally, his voice was more gentle now, leaning towards apologetic.

You nod.

“Then maybe we shouldn’t have started this,” you could barely get the words out.

“I didn’t think it would get this complicated,” Jungkook admits, almost like he’s talking to himself.

You almost want to ask to be exclusive. Just the two of you. You really needed to retire that kind of wishful thinking.

Jungkook looks away and chugs his drink in a go. You hadn't noticed he even had one.

He avoids looking at you, choosing to observe random partygoers instead. You want to know what he's thinking.

You glance at his hand tucked into his pocket, briefly contemplating grabbing it.

Just when you slyly begin to inch your fingers closer to his, a third hand blocks you. It links itself with Jungkook's. You can only stupidly stare at their arms joined together, while yours hangs awkwardly mid-way.

Floor open. Swallow. Into the ground. Anytime now would be great.

"Jungkook, I'm ready to go. Take me home?" The blonde from earlier begins massaging his shoulder while you stare at the couple, dumbfounded.

Jungkook looked just as confused as you did, "Now?"

She leans in closer to whisper something into his ear, at the same time, allowing her hand to freely rub his chest, letting out a sensual giggle.

It's so obvious what she's trying to do here. Putting on a show just for you. She must see you as threat.

Jungkook briefly pulls away and glances back at the blonde, "Fine. Wait for me by the door?"

Her smile drops a little but she recovers with an exaggerated pout, "I don't know if I can be left unaccompanied any longer. Like five guys have tried to talk to me already. But I told them I'm here with you." She pokes his cheek.

That wasn't a very subtle jab at you and Hoseok.

As much as you want to push her off of Jungkook, you can admit she's not wrong. He's here with her. And the man you came with has left (momentarily or not, he still left the party.)

You don't know what you're doing standing there. There's no need for you to watch them, especially when Jungkook hasn't said a word to you in over five minutes.

Even though your conversation is long from over, it was apparent that nothing was happening today. It makes the most sense for you to walk away from them before you start crying.

Feigning disinterest, you pull your phone up and shoot Hoseok a quick text explaining your absence.

The party spirit has officially been sucked out of you by Jungkook through a giant straw jammed into your skull.

Jungkook's still speaking to his date but you've forcefully tuned them out, thinking about how you're going to take a long hot shower and change into freshly laundered clothes and hop into your comfy bed.

It's only when you abruptly walk away that you hear him call out to you. He sounded almost frantic.

"Is Hoseok back?"

You pause at that, "No, I'm heading back home as well."

"We'll walk you." Jungkook offers. It was more of a statement though.

You consider it just because of how pissed off his date looked. Her smile has been wiped off and she glared at you, daring you to accept Jungkook's offer.

Well, you guess you're both going to be having a bad night now.

"You know what? I'd like that."

note: so like it's my birthday (woohoo 🎉) and this is a little gift from me to you.... 🧍‍♀️

[rosemariiaa]

03 ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅs

𐙚—pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚—rosie’s note: i was being nice with the fluff and ok ok ik i said i was gonna post last night but you guys know i just talk a lot.. sooo good morning (it’s 5) and here you go!! this is just one flashback and it’s kinda just a filler so sorry but next chapter..juicy asf, send live reacts please i love them!! tysmm for 800+ roses ily kisses, happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚—links: rosie’s bookshelf, series masterlist, prologue

𐙚—themes: angst, hurt/comfort, acl tear, language, fluff

𐙚—taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @bueckersbitch @imaginespazzi @makethemhoesmad @sierrale8ne @ohbueckers @juspeaks @pazzilover101 @lupinqs @kmoneymartini @pbaz7 @absolutelydreadful @patri-ots87 @ashortyluvsports

enjoy!!!

USA Basketball U18, Colorado Springs 2019

The gym is loud—sneakers screeching against polished wood, the low hum of the crowd settling into her bones. The air is thick with sweat, adrenaline, and something else—something heavier. It presses against Paige’s chest, curling tight around her ribs.

She blinks hard, her body jolting forward.

She knows where she is. 2019.

Her stomach drops.

This is the game where Azzi tears her ACL.

A chill creeps up her spine despite the heat of the gym. She spots Azzi easily, cutting through the defense—sharp, quick, deadly. Damn, she’s good. Paige swallows hard.

She could stop this.

She should stop this.

But Azzi drives to the basket, her movements effortless, fluid. She leaps for the layup, stretching toward the rim. And then it happens, a defender slams into her mid-air. Azzi’s body twists awkwardly.

She comes down wrong and her right knee gives out.

The pop is sickening.

Paige doesn’t hear the whistle, doesn’t hear the gasps from the crowd. All she hears is the scream. Azzi’s scream. It cuts through the noise like a blade, sharp and panicked, laced with pain in a way that makes Paige’s stomach churn.

She’s moving before she can think, shoving past bodies, dropping to her knees beside Azzi. “Hey, hey,” she rushes out, reaching for her. Azzi’s hands are gripping her knee, her face twisted in agony.

“Paige,” Azzi gasps, her voice strained and broken, thick with something Paige never wants to hear from her—fear. “Something’s wrong. I—I felt it pop—”

Paige’s stomach lurches. “Okay, okay, just breathe, Az.”

Trainers rush over. Coaches bark instructions. The crowd is silent. But all Paige can focus on is Azzi—Azzi shaking, Azzi gripping her wrist like she’s terrified of letting go.

Paige squeezes back. “I got you,” she murmurs. “I got you, okay?”

Azzi doesn’t answer. She just squeezes her eyes shut.

And then, she’s gone—taken away by the medical staff, leaving Paige kneeling on the court, her hands curled into fists against the hardwood. She could’ve stopped it.

But she froze.

And now, the damage is done.

—

The hospital room is too damn quiet.

Azzi stares at the ceiling, fingers twisting into the blanket draped over her legs. The faint beeping of a heart monitor in the hallway fills the silence, but it’s not enough to drown out the weight pressing against Paige’s ribs.

Azzi’s mom is sitting near the door, phone clutched tightly in her hands. She keeps checking it, jaw clenched, leg bouncing. She had called Tim over and over, but the reception at his basketball camp was awful. He didn’t answer until it was already too late.

Paige can still hear the way Katie’s voice had cracked when she finally got through to him.

“She tore it,” she had whispered, barely holding it together.

Silence.

Then, finally, Tim’s voice, hoarse and uneven: “No.”

Paige closes her eyes. Even through the phone, she could hear the heartbreak in his voice. The helplessness.

He had cried for four days . He had nearly gotten sick when he called back.

Azzi hasn’t said a word since the doctor confirmed it—the ACL tear.

The feeling is worse than the first time paige experienced this.

She watches as Azzi shifts slightly, wincing at even the smallest movement. The cast on her leg feels too big, too final, the kind of thing that makes it impossible to pretend this isn’t happening.

Paige swallows, chest tight. She doesn’t know what to say—what the hell is there to say?

This is Azzi’s worst nightmare.

And Paige has lived it twice now.

The first time had been unbearable. Sixteen and seventeen, sitting in another hospital room, staring at another blank wall while Azzi fought to keep from breaking in front of everyone.

Paige had been there through all of it—the surgery, the rehab, the quiet frustration when Azzi’s body refused to move the way she needed it to. The nights where she’d swear she was fine but Paige would catch the way her fingers dug into her hoodie sleeves, the way her breath hitched when she thought no one was listening.

Paige had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t have to see Azzi go through it again.

She had convinced herself that it was over. That they’d gotten through it.

And yet—

Here they were. Here she was, not by choice though. She has no idea why she is even in this flashback and not trying to keep Azzi away from- Azzi shifts, drawing in a shaky breath. “I don’t—” She stops, pressing her lips together, shaking her head.

Paige leans forward forgetting her thoughts. “You don’t what?”

Azzi swallows hard. When she finally looks at Paige, her eyes are glassy, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

Paige doesn’t hesitate. “You heal. You come back stronger.”

Azzi lets out a hollow laugh, swiping at her eyes. “You make it sound so simple.”

Paige exhales sharply. It’s not simple. It never was.

But Azzi is Azzi—fierce, disciplined, unwilling to let anything keep her down.

Azzi stares down at her knee, her jaw tight. “I was so careful,” she mutters. “I did everything right. And still—” She gestures toward her leg, voice cracking. “Still, this happened.”

Paige hesitates, then leans in. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now,” she says carefully, “but this doesn’t change who you are.”

Azzi scoffs, her fingers tightening around the blanket. “Doesn’t it?”

“No.” Paige shakes her head, firm. “You’re still the hardest worker I know. You’re still Azzi.”

Azzi’s jaw clenches. “You say that like it’s enough.”

Paige meets her gaze. “It is enough, I promise”

—

Few weeks later (still in 2019)

Azzi’s basement has always been my second home, it actually makes me happy to be here again. Her parents always say they should start charging me rent. Not that I’d pay, but still. I’m sprawled out on the floor, a half-empty pint of ice cream balanced on my stomach, while Azzi is curled up on the couch, wrapped in way too many blankets, her knee propped up on pillows. Frozen is playing on the TV, and even though she’s still in recovery mode, she looks pretty comfortable.

I, on the other hand, am suffering. Because Azzi is ignoring me.

And I can’t let that slide.

I turn my head and watch her pretend to focus on the movie, her eyes locked on the screen like she’s actually paying attention. Which, okay, maybe she is, but that’s not the point. The point is, I don’t like being ignored.

So, naturally, I poke her arm.

No reaction.

I poke her again.

Still nothing.

I narrow my eyes. “Azzi.”

Silence.

I scoot closer. “Azziii.”

Azzi exhales slowly, like she’s meditating through the pain that is my presence.

Challenge accepted.

I nudge her knee. “Az Az Az Az.”

Azzi finally turns her head, eyes dark with warning. “What.”

I grin. “Hi.”

She stares at me for a long moment. “…Get out of my house.”

I gasp, clutching my chest like she just personally wounded me. “After everything I’ve done for you? The ice cream? The emotional support? The world-class entertainment?”

Azzi deadpans. “You tickled me all last night.”

I smirk. “To cheer you up.”

“You almost killed me.”

I hum, tilting my head in fake thought. “Mmm. Jury’s still out on that one.”

Azzi glares. “I hate you.”

I beam. “Love you too.”

She groans, sinking deeper into the couch like she can escape me.

She can’t.

Because if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s being a persistent pain in the ass. I lean over slightly, watching her pretend to focus on the TV again, and poke her cheek.

She smacks my hand away.

I poke her shoulder.

She smacks it away again.

I poke her arm. “Hey.”

“I swear to God, Paige—”

“Do you wanna build a snowman?” I sing, voice purposely awful.

Azzi finally looks at me, expression blank. “If you don’t shut up, I’m using my crutches as a weapon.”

“Violence?” I gasp. “From you? I’m shocked.”

She rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the way she hides her smile behind the blanket.

I take that as a win and scoot even closer, fully invading her personal space. “Wanna watch something else?”

Azzi shakes her head, gaze flickering back to the TV just as Olaf waddles onto the screen. And I swear, she softens.

“You love him,” I tease.

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do. You wanna build a snowman so bad.”

She grabs a pillow and chucks it at me without hesitation. I let it hit me right in the face, because honestly? Worth it.

We fall into a comfortable silence, the kind I know she needs. The kind I’m willing to give her—until I decide she’s had enough peace.

I nudge her side. “You doing okay?”

Azzi shrugs, fingers picking at the blanket. “Yeah. I mean, not really, but yeah.” I nod, waiting a beat before smirking. “Want me to start singing Let It Go to cheer you up?”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “Paige, pleas—”

I cut her off, launching into the most dramatic, off-key performance of my life.

Azzi groans, dragging the blanket over her head like it’ll save her.

It won’t.

Because yeah, she’s going to have her bad days.

But me? I’m not going anywhere.

A few minutes later, the movie’s still playing when we hear footsteps coming down the basement stairs. I don’t think much of it—probably Katie checking in or Jose grabbing something—but then I hear a familiar voice, and suddenly, my mood plummets.

“Yo, Azzi!”

I swear I hear Azzi sigh before she even turns her head.

Jose comes into view first, hands in his pockets, looking way too amused for my liking. He steps aside to let Jake through, and I watch as Azzi shoots her brother a look that practically screams Why’d you let him in here?!

Jose just shrugs, grinning like this is the funniest thing ever. “He asked for you.”

Azzi closes her eyes for a second, like she’s praying for patience. Meanwhile, I shift up from my spot on the floor, propping myself up on my elbows, already annoyed.

Jake’s got that usual smug, overconfident energy as he plops down on the other end of the couch, way too close to Azzi’s feet. “Damn, Azzi. You still out of commission?”

Azzi glances at me for half a second, then back at him. “Yep. Still injured.”

Jake leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression all concerned—or at least, his version of it. “That’s rough. You need anything? I can grab you some food, bring you something from Chipotle—”

Azzi cuts him off before he can get too comfortable. “Nope, I’m okay. Paige and I already ate.”

I smile at that.

Jake barely reacts, like he didn’t even hear her. “Well, if you ever need somewhere else to hang, I was thinking—”

Azzi interrupts again. “Me and Paige were actually gonna start another movie soon.”

I grin at that.

Jake doesn’t get the hint. “Right, right. But listen, there’s this beach party in a couple weeks—”

I already heard this once before, yeah, no. Not happening.

Before he can even get the full invite out, I sit up straighter, eyes wide with fake realization. “Oh, shoot! Azzi, don’t you have, like… a full week of rehab that week?”

Azzi catches on instantly. She tilts her head, playing along. “Oh, yeah. Right. Full week. Super intense. No free time at all sorry.”

I nod. “Yeah, it’s really important.”

Azzi nods solemnly. “The most important.”

Jake frowns. “Oh. Well… maybe another time then?”

Azzi offers the most unconvincing, “Yeah, maybe,” I’ve ever heard. Jose snickers from the doorway.

Jake finally, finally seems to realize he’s not wanted, because he pushes himself up off the couch, forcing a laugh. “Alright, alright, I get it. You two are busy.”

Azzi gives him a thumbs-up. “Super busy.”

I beam at her.

Jake just sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, well, see you later, Az-” He quickly glances at me and clears his throat, “My bad, bye Azzi.”

Yeah cus you know.

Azzi nods. “Mhm.”

He throws me another glance before heading upstairs, and the second the basement door shuts behind him, Jose loses it, doubling over with laughter. “Oh my god.” He shakes his head, looking at Azzi. “You’re so mean.”

Azzi shrugs, completely unbothered. “I’m injured.”

I snort, leaning back into the couch. “Yeah, Jose. Have some sympathy.”

Jose rolls his eyes, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He pauses, glancing between the two of us, and then his smirk turns downright evil. “Just… try not to get too cozy down here, alright?” He wags his eyebrows. “I know how you two get.”

I freeze.

Azzi scoffs, tossing a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

Jose dodges it easily, laughing. “I’m just saying! If it were me, I wouldn’t trust myself alone in a basement with someone I—”

“Bye,” Azzi cuts him off, pointing at the stairs.

Jose grins but finally backs away. “I’m just looking out for Mom and Dad.” He throws me a glance as he goes. “And for Paige’s dignity.”

The second the door closes behind him, I let out a very shaky breath.

Because oh my god.

If only he knew. Well…he did know unfortunately I wasn’t that secretive back then, well now, anyway-

I make the mistake of glancing at Azzi, and of course she’s already looking at me, her expression unreadable. There’s this slow, knowing smirk tugging at her lips, and I suddenly forget how to breathe.

Azzi tilts her head slightly. “You good over there?”

I wave her off, forcing out a laugh that hopefully doesn’t sound as nervous as I feel. “Pfft. Yeah. Totally.”

Her smirk grows. “You sure? You look kinda—”

“I’m fine,” I cut in, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth before I can say anything stupid.

Azzi hums, like she doesn’t believe me at all, but thankfully, she lets it go.

But the problem is… I don’t. I never do.

Because now, I can’t stop thinking about later tonight.

And how way too soon, we’ll be alone again.

A few hours later, we’re tangled up in Azzi’s bed, watching All American—or, at least, one of us is.

Azzi’s fingers comb lazily through my hair, her nails grazing my scalp in a way that makes it really hard to focus on anything but her.

I barely register whatever drama’s happening on screen because I’m too busy staring at her.

Her face is so unfairly pretty—the soft curve of her cheek, the way her eyelashes flutter every time she blinks, the slight crease in her forehead when she’s actually paying attention to something. It’s like she’s in her own world, completely unaware of the fact that I’m losing my mind over her years later, obviously she wouldn’t know that but anyway.

But, Azzi doesn’t miss anything.

“Paigey,” she murmurs, her lips quirking up as she glances down at me. “You want me to pause the show? Seems like you’re real focused on something else.”

I should’ve looked away the second she caught me, but now it’s too late.

I roll my eyes, playing it cool. “Please. I wasn’t even lookin at you.”

Azzi’s smirk deepens. “Mmm. Sure.” Her fingers pause in my hair, and suddenly, I miss the feeling. “You wanna tell me what you were looking at, then?”

I narrow my eyes. “I was trying to watch, but someone keeps distracting me.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Me?”

I scoff. “Yes, you.”

Azzi tilts her head, the smirk on her lips turning into something softer, something dangerous. “I’m not even doing anything.”

I open my mouth, ready to argue, but then she shifts, leaning in just slightly, and every single thought in my head vanishes.

She’s so close now.

Close enough that I can feel her breath ghost across my lips, close enough that I could close the space between us in one second if I wanted to—

And I do.

Azzi lets me make the move. She always did.

Our lips meet, slow at first, like we’re savoring the moment, like we’ve done this before and know exactly how to do it right.

Because we have.

Four times in the last year—I counted. Still counting.

I kiss her deeper, my hand slipping into her curls, and she sighs against my lips, like this is exactly where she wants to be.

Azzi pulls me in, shifting so that I’m almost on top of her, and my entire body feels like it’s melting against her warmth.

It’s not rushed, not something we’ll pretend didn’t happen in the morning. We didn’t, we woke up that morning doing the same thing for 15 minutes, I counted.

She hums into the kiss, her fingers sliding under the hem of my hoodie, tracing circles against my skin, and a shiver runs down my spine.

I swear I could do this forever, just lose myself in her, but then—

Azzi breaks the kiss with a soft laugh, her forehead pressing against mine.

“We should sleep,” she murmurs, breathless.

I huff, still catching my own breath. “Wow. That’s rude.”

Azzi grins. “You’re the one who’s always talking about my recovery.” She nudges my side. “Don’t you want me well-rested?”

I groan dramatically, burying my face in her shoulder. “Fine.”

Azzi chuckles, pulling me closer, and just like that, we settle in, the weight of the day slipping away as sleep creeps in. And as much as I love sleeping next to Azzi like this every night, I desperately wish I was home now.

[cvt2dvm]

Primal Chic: The Princess Saves Herself & The Planet in this It Girl meets Survivalist Lifestyle

If you think it girl, you may think of high maintenance, high consumption, pampered, luxe living. I want you to take a step back from that idea with me and introduce a new mindset, Primal Chic. Borrowing from the Clean Girl, GORP Girl, It Girl, Stoic, Survivalist, and Prepper, Primal Chic is all about minimizing your impact on the planet, maximizing your self-sufficiency, and building meaningful sisterhood.

Primal Chic in 3 Words is: Sustainability, Self-Sufficiency, & Sisterhood.

Body: Fuel, Movement, & Beauty

Fuel: Our bodies and minds need high-quality fuel, and that's offered by a whole-food, paleo diet. Many of the foods on the market are heavily processed and loaded with low-quality fillers that drive calories and macros up without meeting our micronutrient needs. On top of this, a huge segment of the market is imported from outside of our local communities, adding heavily to the carbon footprint of our foods. Choosing locally grown, non-GMO, organic produce and proteins from fair trade, regenerative, or woman-owned agri-businesses is a fantastic stepping stone if you can't generate your own food due to time, space, or monetary constraints. I love shopping locally owned health food stores, farmers markets, and farm stands. The price of organics also goes down if you shop store-brand organics. There are also Facebook groups and Pinterest boards dedicated to Paleo recipe swaps. You also want to make sure you're honoring your body's needs in all of it's areas, rest, relaxation, movement, and nutrition.

Movement: Functional, outdoor movement benefits body, mind, and soul. A good hike, a lake swim, or even just a good jog with your pets are all great ways to get your cardio in. Outdoor yoga, rucks, rock climbing, and calisthenics are low-cost, high-reward strength and conditioning exercises that help you to keep toned and ready for action in your day-to-day life. Don't forget ROM either, active recovery walks, daily yoga, and deep stretches ensure you remain flexible and reduce pain from tight, stiff muscles and joints. Adding in a few friends allows you to build sisterhood and meet your social needs too, and being outdoors helps with the chronic vitamin D deficiencies most modern women face.

Beauty: Choosing clean, sustainable beauty and reducing the number of products used is good for your body due to fewer toxins, your mind with lower body and facial dysmorphia from high glam makeup looks, and the planet with less harsh manufacturing processes. Consider switching to multi-use products, reducing the number of products in your skincare & makeup routines, and swapping to washable/reusable body, skin, and feminine hygiene products to care for yourself and our planet. I'll be going into more detail on the swaps I made personally in a blog post next week.

Side Note: Planning a girl's weekend yoga retreat or having a buddy to do the Whole30 (a great intro to Paleo eating) with you is a great way to build up your sisterhoods and your own resolve for this new lifestyle.

Mind: Clarity, Wisdom, and Continuous Growth

Stoicism: The serenity prayer is a fantastic example of the basis of stoicism, letting go of the things you can't control or change, courageously sticking to your values and virtues and changing or controlling the things you can, living in harmony with nature, practice emotional mindfulness and emotional chastity, and practice resilience, learning to bounce back from failures and misfortune. With all things in life there is a learning curve, and allowing yourself to be ruled by algorithms, propaganda, and impulses reduces your own personal power.

Minimalism: Cut out overconsumption to help save the planet, save your wallet, and save your space. Choosing quality, durable, practical, and multi-purpose items allows you to spend less time organizing and cleaning and more time with friends and family, and doing the things that truly feed your soul. You don't have to have a spartan, sterile, white living space to embrace minimalism either, you can still inject your own personal style and personality into your choices, but be more mindful about where and how you're spending your hard-earned money.

Dedication to Continuous Growth: Instead of doom-scrolling or watching brain-rotting television, try switching out social media for micro-learning, soaps for documentaries, and limiting screen time to 1-3 hours per day. Try switching out happy hour for a self-defense or first aid class. Get involved with book swaps and information databases or group PDF sharing.

Heart: Love Thyself, Love Thy Neighbor, Love Thy Planet

Self-Love: Forming a sisterhood and meaningful community starts with loving yourself. You can't draw from an empty well, so being honest and vulnerable with yourself and taking care of yourself is the first step in being able to be there for others at your most authentic. Reminding yourself of your inherent value is important.

Earth: The frequencies of the earth are often interfered with by our man-made surroundings, taking time to ground yourself and connect with the world around you, either on your own, or in a group, is good for the heart. Try and take an hour or two per day and spend it outdoors, really soaking in the beauty you may have been numbed to by having it become mundane.

Connection & Community: Not everyone you meet deserves your whole heart and mind, however, they do deserve basic human dignity and respect, for those closer to you, they do deserve having a reliable friend who they can turn to in times of need and times of victory. Forming meaningful connections across generational divides makes us stronger as women and enriches our lives.

Soul: Mindfulness, Purpose, & Resilience

Mindfulness: Meditation, nature walks, situational awareness, and group activities keep the mind and soul well-fed and the senses sharp should the need arise for defense. Live in the moment as much as you can, rather than drift aimlessly through life without a plan of attack. Spontaneity can still exist here, as you should have a balance of routine and flexibility.

Purpose: What drives you? Who drives you? What values are at your core? Answering these questions allows you to live a purposeful life where you are true to yourself and your community. If your values don't align with the life you're living what changes do you need to have them align?

Resilience: You don't have to make your life harder, but preparing for life's rough times through mental, spiritual, physical, financial and material preparedness is still important. Building a solid community will help with this, but ensuring you yourself have the tools and skills necessary for survival will help even more so.

Planet: Stewardship, Sustainability, and Conscious Consumption

Stewardship: Bring a bag with you on walks and hikes to collect trash and follow the old Girl Scout principle of leaving things better than you found them. Encourage sustainable practices with where you shop and invest your time and resources, and take advantage of your local parks and wild spaces.

Sustainability: Opt for natural materials in clothing, decor, & home goods. Choose materials like wood, cotton, real fur, leather, and linen rather than plastics and petroleum-derived products or "natural" materials with harsh production processes like viscose or bamboo fiber. Reduce your consumption of new products, and shop thrift or vintage where you can, and go as ecologically friendly and durable as you can afford when buying new.

Conscious Consumption: Shop local, woman-owned, small business, and fair trade products wherever you can, skip out on mega polluters like Amazon or Shien, and avoid sweatshop and slave labor wherever you can. Before making purchases, ask yourself if you truly need an item or if you're just looking for a quick dopamine hit. Mend your things if possible rather than trashing them, and opt for donation of things in good condition that no longer fit with who you are.

All in all, the Primal Chic lifestyle is attainable for everyone, and about making conscious, cognizant steps toward a more meaningful, impactful, and mindful life where you live sustainably, & self sufficiently while building meaningful community and sisterhood.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER TWO ━━ Quickly-Growing-Maybe-Soon-Best-Friend

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 3.6K

❀ ━ warnings: allusions to sex but not much

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: paige is so down bad already and girl doesn’t even realize it…….. also my bad this is such a filler

PAIGE THINKS she might be in love with Jo Jacobson.

Not like that, of course. It’s not romantic, not even close. It’s more of an “I think this person is becoming my favorite human” kind of thing. Paige can’t really explain it, but there’s just something about Jo—and these past three weeks of living together have only solidified it.

From the first night in their shared apartment, when they’d sat on the couch in their living room in awkward silence, to now, where there’s never really any silence at all, one of them constantly talking the others ears off like they’ve known each other forever. Paige has always been the kind of person to warm up to others quickly, her extroverted energy practically bursting out of her, but Jo? Jo’s a little quieter, slightly more reserved. She’s not shy by any means, but there’s a certain softness to her that makes Paige want to protect her from anything and everything.

Paige adores that softness. Jo’s the kind of person who makes you feel calm just by being near her, like she has this invisible aura that radiates peace. She’s always smiling—bright and genuine, like she’s just happy to be here, happy to exist. Paige can’t help but smile back whenever Jo’s around. It’s infectious, really.

Truthfully, their personalities shouldn’t blend as well as they do—Paige’s loud, chaotic voice nervy should theoretically overwhelm Jo’s somewhat quieter demeanor—but somehow, it works. They’ve fallen into this easy rhythm of teasing each other, sharing random late-night thoughts, and laughing until their stomachs hurt over the dumbest things.

Like last week, when Jo walked in on Paige attempting to balance her basketball on her head for no reason other than she was bored. Instead of questioning it, Jo just laughed so hard she almost fell over, and then proceeded to try it herself. They spent the next several minutes in a competition over who could balance it the longest, which, for the record, Jo totally won. Paige pretended to be mad, but she wasn’t. She was too busy fighting back a grin as she watched Jo laugh loudly, making an L with her fingers and putting it right in front of Paige’s face.

Paige doesn’t know if she’s pushing it, but it’s been a while since she’s felt this connected to someone so quickly. Yes, she has her circle of close friends on the team—Azzi, Nika, Caroline, the list goes on—but there’s something different about Jo. Something special. Maybe it’s the way Jo listens so intently when Paige is ranting about some random topic. Or the way she’s always down to join Paige for a late-night shooting session, no questions asked. Or maybe it’s just the way Jo seems to understand Paige, even without her having to say much at all.

And don’t even get Paige started on their on-court chemistry. It’s almost ridiculous how well they mesh. They’re both natural point guards, which should make things complicated, but instead, it’s like they just get each other. During practices and scrimmages, it feels like Paige always knows where Jo is without having to look, and vice versa. They’ve perfected this unspoken language of no-look passes and perfectly timed cuts, and it’s perfect. Paige is convinced that when the season starts in November, they’re going to be unstoppable.

Today, they’re matched up against each other in their five-on-five, full-court scrimmage. Paige thrives in this environment, where the game is fast and physical, where every decision has to be made in a split second.

Right now, though, Jo is making Paige work.

Jo has the ball at the top of the key, her dribble steady and deliberate as she surveys the court. Paige crouches low in her defensive stance, her arms extended, her gaze locked on Jo’s every move. Jo’s face is calm, composed, but Paige can see the wheels turning. She’s looking for an opening, one Paige isn’t about to give her.

“Whatchu got, JoJo?” the blonde teases, voice light but goading.

Jo doesn’t take the bait, hardly even glancing at her, but Paige can see the corner of her mouth twitch like she’s fighting back a smile. It’s enough to make Paige grin, but she quickly suppresses it. She tells herself to focus.

Jo dribbles to her right, testing Paige’s reaction. Paige shifts with her, staying low and quick on her feet. Jo pivots, fakes left, then spins back to her right, her movements so smooth and seamless that Paige almost gets caught off guard. Almost.

The blonde recovers quickly, sliding her feet to cut Jo off, and the two of them are chest to chest now, close enough that Paige can hear Jo’s steady breathing. “Come on, freshie,” Paige whispers lowly, smirking, her tone playful but challenging.

Jo still doesn’t respond, focus unshakeable, not the type to yap on the court. She steps back, creating just enough space to pull up for a three. Paige jumps to contest, her hand outstretched, but the ball is already in the air. It arcs perfectly, hitting nothing but net.

As Jo lands, she jogs backward, prepared to get back on defense. But as she catches Paige’s eye, she sticks her tongue out at her. The gesture is quick, cheeky, and it makes Paige shake her head, biting back a grin. “Okay,” she mutters under her breath, “I see you.”

And she does. God, does she see her—and, God, does she understand why Jo was the number one recruit in the nation.

The next possession, Paige has the ball. She brings it up the court with that signature strut in her step, the kind that says she knows she’s about to make something happen. Jo’s in front of her, her stance low and her eyes locked on Paige like she’s dating her to try something.

Paige smirks. She loves a challenge.

She dribbles left, then crosses over to her right, her movements sharp and quick. Jo stays with her, her defense tight, and Paige feels a flicker of frustration. Jo’s good—really good. It’s annoying, but also exciting. Paige thrives on competition, and Jo is proving to be one of the best matchups she’s had in a while.

Paige steps back, her dribble steady, and sizes Jo up. She tilts her head for a second, blue eyes locked on brown. And then, in a flash, she’s driving to the basket, using her speed to get a step on Jo.

But Jo recovers fast, her arms reaching out to contest as Paige goes for the layup. The ball rolls off the backboard and through the net, and Paige lands with a triumphant grin. She turns to Jo, who’s already jogging back to the other end of the court.

“Close,” Paige calls after her. “But not close enough.”

Jo doesn’t say anything, just glances over her shoulder with a knowing smile that makes Paige’s chest tighten.

The scrimmage continues, and it’s a back-and-forth between Paige and Jo’s teams. On offense, Jo’s movements are deliberate and precise, her passes crisp and her shot deadly. Her connection with Dorka is impressive, the brunette getting past Paige’s defense too many times for her liking, sending the Hungarian dime after dime. On defense, Jo’s relentless, always in Paige’s space, always making her work for every point. And it only gets worse when Nika and Jo double-team her, two of the best defenders on their team.

But Paige gives as good as she gets. She uses her quickness and court vision to set up her teammates, threading passes through tight spaces and hitting open shooters. She drives to the basket with her usual confidence, finishing through contact.

At one point, Paige gets the ball on the wing, Jo right in front of her. She dribbles a few times, rocking back and forth like she’s deciding what to do. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, she blows past Jo and pulls up for a mid-range jumper. The hall swishes through the net, and Paige can’t help but shoot Jo a quick, cocky grin as she hits back on defense.

Jo shakes her head, her own smile breaking through despite herself. “Not bad,” she says softly, just loud enough for Paige to hear.

“Not bad?” Paige echoes, feigning offense. “That was textbook.”

Jo just laughs a little, her eyes crinkling at her corners, and Paige feels the need to fight back one of her own. She shoves it down, focusing on the game, but the need is there, lingering, buzzing at the edges of her thoughts.

By the end of the scrimmage, both of them are drenched in sweat, their faces flushed from exertion. Jo’s team wins by a single point, thanks to a clutch three she drains in Paige’s face.

As they walk off the court, Paige shakes her head, a mix of frustration and admiration swirling in her chest. “You’re lucky I like you,” she says, bumping Jo’s shoulder with her own.

Jo grins, glowing with the face of someone who’s just won. “You just can’t handle the face that I’m better than you,” she teases, nudging her back.

Paige laughs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, yeah, keep dreaming ‘bout that one.”

But as they head to the locker room, Paige can’t stop the smile that tugs at her lips. There’s something so effortless about it all—like Jo’s meant to be here, meant to be Paige’s teammate, her roommate, her… quickly-growing-maybe-soon-best-friend?

Paige thinks back to one of their conversations a few nights ago. Jo had been sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through her phone while Paige was sprawled on the floor, eating Hot Cheetos, not paying any attention to the Grey’s Anatomy episode that was playing on the TV. They two of them had been talking about everything and nothing—summer classes, music, how gross Amari’s pasta was that she made the night prior. At one point, Jo had said something about how surreal it still felt to be here, with everyone, preparing to play Connecticut basketball.

Paige had looked up at her then, really looked at her, and felt this overwhelming sense of pride for someone she’s only known for a few weeks. Jo deserved to be here. She deserved every bit of success coming her way, and Paige couldn’t wait to see it all unfold.

And Paige thinks that again now, as they walk side by side, knowing how much Jo Jacobson’s managed to make herself matter to Paige within a few measly weeks. Once again, not in a romantic way—because Jo’s in love with that boy, and it’s looking like she’s about as straight as they come—but in a way that feels just as significant. Jo isn’t just her teammate or her roommate. She’s almost like her person, or at least, she’s quickly becoming something of the sort.

JO WAKES UP groggy, her body tangled in sheets that suddenly feel too warm. Her head pounds slightly, though not from drinking—she’d been stone-cold sober last night. No, her headache stems from the distinct lack of sleep caused loud, unmistakable sounds that had her burying her head under her pillow to drown them out. She stretches out in bed, her limbs tangling in the sheets as her brain sluggishly catches up to the morning.

The muffled, rhythmic noises that had bled through the thin apartment walls are still fresh in her memory, making her cringe and laugh all at once. Paige has been away some nights due to certain… activities… but yesterday was the first time she brought the activities home. Jo groans, dragging a hand over her face.

She grabs her phone off the nightstand, squinting at the brightness of the screen. 11:07 AM. Too late to justify staying in bed any longer but not quite late enough to feel and about sleeping in. With a sigh, she swings her legs over the side, her bare feet hitting the cold floor.

The idea of a run floats into her mind—something to shake off the sleep-deprivation gaze and clear her head. She pads over to her dresser, grabbing her tiny back Lululemon shorts that are probably a little too short for decency and a snug tank top that clings to her in all the right ways. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she ties her hair into a ponytail. Good enough.

If it was any other day, she’d knock on Paige’s door and ask if she wants to come along. They’ve started running together some mornings, and Paige’s competitive streak always makes it fun. But this morning, she doesn’t even consider it.

Jo knows Paige had company last night. Loud company. She rolls her eyes just thinking about it, fighting off a smirk. Paige wasn’t exactly subtle, and Jo doesn’t need the details to know what went down in the room across the hall. Whoever the girl was probably slept over, and the last thing Jo wants is to walk into Paige’s room and catch them in some awkward post-hookup moment.

With a sigh, she leaves her room and heads to the kitchen. The apartment is quiet now, a contrast to last night. Jo opens the fridge, pulling out what she needs to make herself a smoothie. As she gathers them, she shakes her head, still bemused by Paige’s complete lack of shame. It’s not like Jo’s a prude—she’s in a long-term relationship herself—but Paige’s ability to just… live her life so unapologetically is both baffling and oddly admirable.

Jo starts piling everything into the blender, her movements slow and deliberate as her tired bran catches up with her body. The faint hum of the apartment feels peaceful—until she hears the quiet freak of a door behind her.

Jo turns, expecting Paige, but her eyes widen slight at the sight of that greets her instead.

Celeste Sinclair.

The team’s media girl.

Jo blinks, not quite believing her eyes. Celeste looks like she’s just stumbled out of a damn tornado. Her fiery red hair sticks up in every possible direction, and her oversized T-shirt is unmistakably inside out. Her cheeks are flushed—whether from embarrassment or something else, Jo isn’t sure—and she’s moving with the caution of someone who really doesn’t want to be noticed.

Well, too late for that.

Jo bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from outright laughing. Of all people, Paige chose her? It’s not like Jo’s judging—she’s not. But the sheer audacity of Paige hooking up with the team’s media girl is enough to make Jo want to burst out laughing. Like, she knows Paige is kind-of unapologetically a slut, but damn.

Celeste freezes when she sees Jo, her eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. For a long moment, neither of them says anything, the awkward tension hanging thick in the air.

Finally, Jo decides to break the silence. “Hi, Celeste,” she says slowly, keeping her tone light and her smile as kind as possible. She’s not about to be rude—that’s not who she is—but the situation is so ridiculous it takes every ounce of self-control to not smirk, let alone cackle at the girl before her.

“Hi, Jo,” Celeste replies, her voice barely above a whisper. She shifts awkwardly, clearly mortified with the whole situation.

Jo glances back at the blender, pretending to focus on it to give Celeste a moment to collect herself. “Um…” Jo begins, trying to think of something to say that won’t make this worse. Keeping her tone as genuine as possible, she gestures to the blender and asks, “Do you want a smoothie?”

Celeste’s eyes widen even more, and she shakes her head so fast her hair bounces. “Thanks, but um—I’ve got to go,” she says, her words tumbling out in a rush. Without waiting for a response, she bolts for the door like her life depends on it.

It clicks shut behind her, and the apartment falls silent again. For a moment, Jo just stands there, staring at the spot where Celeste had been.

And then she loses it.

Jo leans over the counter, her forehead pressing against her folded arms as laughter shakes from her shoulder. She turns the blender on as she tries to stifle it, the sound of the mixing swallowing the sound of Jo’s giggles. The entire situation—the ungodly loud moans from last night, Celeste’s walk of shame, the inside-out shirt—is just too ridiculous.

She barely registers the sound of Paige’s door opening again until her roommate’s voice cuts through the hum of the blender.

“You gotta be doin’ that right now?” Paige asks groggily, her words slow and raspy from sleep.

Jo lifts her head slightly, peeking out between her fingers to see Paige standing there, rubbing her eyes with one hand and bracing herself against the doorframe with the other. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun at the nape of her neck, strands falling loose around her face. She’s wearing plaid pajama pants that hang low on her lips and a black Nike sports bra, her toned arms and midriff catching the faint morning light streaming through the blinds.

Jo doesn’t answer right away, partly because she’s still laughing and partly because her gaze catches on the faint purple mark blooming on the side of Paige’s neck.

That does it. Jo’s face drops back into her hands as another wave of laughter overtakes her, her shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“What’s funny?” Paige asks, her voice tinged with curiosity and laced with a tired, small smile that tugs at the corners of her lips. She crosses her arms loosely over her chest, leaning against the doorway as she watches Jo with a bemused expression.

It takes Jo a full minute to catch her breath. When she finally looks up, her cheeks ache from smiling, and her stomach feels sore from laughing so hard. She swipes at the corner of her eye, blinking away the last remnants of her amusement before finally answering.

“Celeste is crazy, P,” the brunette says, shaking her head as if she can’t quite believe it herself.

The effect is immediate. A pink flush creeps up Paige’s neck and into her cheeks, the color depending as she straightens up slightly. Her arms uncross, and she fidgets, her fingers curling against the hem of her pajama pants.

“You saw her?” Paige asks, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. For a brief moment, Jo notices something she doesn’t usually associate with Paige: embarrassment. It’s subtle, but it’s there, a flicker of vulnerability in the way Paige avoids her eyes and rubs the back of her neck. It surprises Jo—the blonde has never seemed particularly guilty when discussing her extracurricular activities with their teammates, so why would this be any different?

“Heard her, too,” Jo says, her grin threatening to split her face. Her tone is teasing, light, but she doesn’t miss the way Paige’s blush deepens. Jo can’t resist pushing it just a little further. She leans forward, putting on her best mock-whiny impression of Celeste, and moans dramatically, “Paige! Oh, Paige, don’t stop!”

Paige’s eyes immediately widen in horror, and her mouth drops open in indignation. “Shut up!” she exclaims, grabbing the nearest thing she can find—Jo’s stuffed animal, Bubbles—and tossing it at her with as much force as she can muster.

Jo catches it with ease, still laughing as she hugs the plush turtle to her chest, feigning offense. “Hey! Don’t be throwing Bubbles like that,” she pouts, sticking her lower lip out in exaggerated mockery.

Paige rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath as she shuffles toward the counter. She drops onto one of the barstools, her elbows propped up on the surface as she buries her face in her hands for a moment. When she looks up again, she’s rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

“Sorry,” she says softly, her voice tinged with genuine guilt. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

Jo arches a brow, her amusement softening into incredulity. “Literally nothing could’ve put me to sleep during that,” she deadpans, turning back to the blender and shutting it off.

Paige straightens up slightly, defensive now. “Well, you’ve always got your fuckin’ noise machine so loud. I thought that might drown it out!”

Jo shakes her head, still grinning. “Nothing could’ve drowned that girl out, P.” Her tone is teasing, but there’s no malice behind it. She doesn’t actually care—not really.

Paige frowns, mumbling, “Sorry,” again as she picks at the edge of the counter.

Jo places Bubbles down gently, her smile softening. “It’s okay,” she says, and she means it. Jo isn’t the type to hold grudges, especially not over something as silly as this. Besides, Paige’s bashfulness is almost endearing—it’s not a side of her Jo sees often.

She pours the smoothie into two glasses, sliding one across the counter toward Paige before taking a sip of her own. The cool, fruity flavor is refreshing, cutting through the heaviness of the morning.

“Get changed,” Jo says after a moment, her tone light and commanding. She flashes Paige a cheeky, sunshine-stained smile. “We’re going on a run.”

Paige groans, leaning back dramatically. “Do we have to?”

“Yes,” Jo replies, her grin widening. She lifts her glass in a mock toast before adding, “And you’re paying for my post-run cake pop.”

That earns her another groan and a half-hearted glare from Paige, but Jo knows she’s already won. The promise of Starbucks is enough to get Paige moving, even if she grumbles the whole way there.

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER SEVEN

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @patscorner @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @h34rtsformilli @uconnpazzi @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @ch12334 @wbb4l (sorry about these ones that didn’t work ☹️) @yassedsblog @jissy22 @blank-blank80 @brynslverr @melinaaa3 @alex-1347 @lolbods @girlypop05

kalena speakss 🪽! this is a filler chapter, everything starts to ramp up and get more messy (as if it isn’t already) starting next chapter ;)

June 2025 — New York City, New York

“Don’t even bring that up, oh my God.” Rickea laughs, reaching one of her long arms over to slap at my knee.

Rickea, Cameron, and I sit soundly in the green room, makeup placed deliberately on our faces. We played the Liberty last night, in a game with an outcome I would rather forget than talk about.

But today, after the team hopped on the first charter back to LA, we had a date with GQ. They called it The Teammates Quiz, and we were given the honor of being the first women’s sports team with the opportunity. I thought it was a cool idea, a game that I would certainly win because I know my teammates well.

However, it seems like these two know me just as well because they are airing my business out to everybody in this room right now. Well, maybe not all of it, but close enough. 

“Kea, you fell on your face in the middle of downtown LA. I’m with P, I’m so bringing it up.” Cameron laughs.

“I was drunk!”

“You were more sober than P. And she drinks like a man going through a divorce.” I instantly pull back from my makeup artist, looking over at my teammate incredulously.

“I do not!” I attempt to defend. “You two insisted on buying drinks after the draft, not me.”

Cameron, who’s seconds away from bursting out in tears of laughter, speaks up through her ragged breaths. “You got so drunk you were making out with random girls in the club.”

“Least I ain’t fall on concrete in the middle of LA.” I laugh, sitting back in my seat and allowing Joanna to get back to doing my makeup. I let her and Brittany take control of my look, they know best after all. 

You would think with the way the three of us all talk to each other that our on court chemistry is terrible, but it’s the complete opposite. Probably why GQ asked us to do this little segment today. I cut my attention back to my teammates when Rickea’s voice cuts through the air again.

“Have you talked to Raye lately?”

The way she asks it seems skeptical. Like she knows something, or is suspicious of something and I can’t pick up why. We’ve been keeping our friendship pretty cordial— at least to our friends and in public.

Maybe Maraye told her about the kiss. Maybe Maraye told her literally nothing, and Rickea is just trying to pry as she does often.

“Uh yeah, we hung out a few nights ago.” I respond, so lucky that Joanne is angling my head in the opposite direction, successfully hiding my growing red face from my teammates. “She’s pretty cool.”

Which isn’t a lie, we did hang out a few nights ago. Only my lips start tingling whenever I think about it. I swear I can taste her still on them all these hours later; like a mix of every single dessert on the planet. So damn sweet. I wonder if she always tasted like that, or if she tasted different elsewhere. 

And yes, Maraye is pretty cool. Pretty funny, pretty smart, pretty talented, pretty. So fucking pretty.

I’m realizing now that three days has been too damn long. To see her damn near everyday, then not at all for a week, then again in which I end up with my tongue down her throat. To not have been within inches of her for 72 fucking hours has me going just a bit crazy.

“I didn’t know y’all were hanging out.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to tell you that.” I fire back too quickly. It makes it seem defensive, and it’s not. I have nothing to hide. 

Well yeah I do, but I think I’m pretty good at hiding it.

“Paige.” Cam says, cutting into the conversation awkwardly. “Please don’t tell me you did something stupid.”

I slouch back in my seat and Brittany, who I swore just magically spawned behind me, slaps my shoulder telling me to sit up. “I didn’t! You guys can’t ever just trust me.” I laugh.

“‘Cause you get caught doing stupid shit!” Rickea explains.

“Caught?”

“Caught? Again?”

“You haven’t seen twitter?”

Those four words always make my heart beat out of my chest. The internet is cool when it comes to me, out of pocket sure, but cool. But on the off occasion that they aren’t, it’s because they are either making shitty posts about what i’m doing on the court, writing think pieces, or minding my business rather than their own. I’m assuming, in context to Maraye, that it’s the latter.

“The fuck happened this time.” I ask with a huff. The first time, I had gotten too comfortable at the club. Which was admittedly my own drunken fault. The second time I was trending because people swore up and down I was making goo-goo eyes at Taylor Rooks. Which I was, she’s absolutely unreal. And now here we are.

Cameron is the one who looks first, and by the look of her face I assume it’s pretty telling. Rickea hands me her phone. I take it, slightly shaking and I don’t know why. 

My eyes are stuck to the screen, and it’s four pictures. I’m not sure who took them, but Maraye has reached A-list status and I forget the Paps are everywhere when it comes to her. 

The first is us leaving the bar in Atlanta. Maraye’s head isn’t in the shot, she’s busy hopping into the backseat of our uber, but mine is. It’s very obviously me, my signature braids down the side of my face rather than in the usual ponytail. My hand is stuck comfortably in the pocket of my zip up while the other holds the door open for her.

The second photo is from when we’re seated at Waffle house. I’m showing all 32 while Maraye talks, and it makes us look like a fucking couple. Her arms rest on the table, head slightly tilted. From the angle, again, you can’t see all her face but her side profile is obvious. Anyone could point it out and recognize her.

But it’s the last two that make us look the most guilty. My arm draped over her shoulder is very incriminating. She held her pink lemonade flavored slushee in her hand, looking up at me. One more swipe and I’m looking at myself paying for those two slushee’s. It doesn’t help that my jacket from earlier that night is now zipped up over her body. 

‘Paige Bueckers and Maraye Carter in atl this weekend 😲’  Reads the tweet. It’s messy, even more when I scroll further and see people putting pieces together. The replies are full of videos from opening night, screenshots of my recent activity in her instagram likes, and of course, of course, someone had to have seen me in my seat at her concert.

It looks bad. I would say worse than it is, but it all doesn’t even scratch the surface. 

“We just friends.” I mumble, I wouldn’t be surprised if my nose grew a centimeter or two. “Y’know how people get.”

I hand Rickea her phone back. She’s the one I should be scared off, Cameron has been done with my relationship issues since I first met her as kids. But Kea? After the talk about leaving Maraye alone, and how I know better, and how I don’t need to get hurt. I’m terrified that I’m about to get caught.

“Has she seen these?”

“Ion know.” She responded. “Probably. But If you two are jus’ friends’, then don’t sweat it. Hollywood moves fast.”

Really fast. 

—

June 2025 — Los Angeles, California 

“You’re literally a fan, shut up.” I joke at the blonde sitting besides me.

She’s messily scarfing down her chipotle bowl as we sit in her car. The windows are tinted nicely and my album shuffles through her speakers, even though she swears up and down that she didn’t add it to her library.

“Am not.”

“Yeah yeah, pinocchio.”

It’s my first time seeing her since the night in my condo, and it’s awkward. Which is weird because Paige and I have never been awkward together. Everything was always smooth, fluid, when it came to her. But now I don’t know what to say.

I blame it on the kiss.

It should’ve never happened. She knows that, I know that. Even then I don’t regret it. 

I’ve never in my life had feelings for a woman before, until now. And it’s so weird because I think I still have feelings for Julian too. It’s not the same thing though. Julian is perfect for me. Good job, family man, tall, handsome, the most gorgeous and perfect curly hair I’ve ever seen. Then there’s Paige, and she just might be perfect for me too. Work oriented, funny, insanely smart even though I tell her she’s not. 

So I sit silent in her passenger seat, not a clue in the world of what I should say to her. She makes me nervous, she makes the bottom of my stomach twist up whenever I look at her and see those beautiful blue eyes. I shouldn’t feel that way, I know that. But damn does she make it hard.

“Maraye?”

“Yeah?”

Paige chuckles, reaching over to wipe a bit of Vinaigrette from my lip. “I said ‘you good?’”

I nod and my head moves slightly away from her reach. “Yeah. Why?” I ask, taking a generous bit from my burrito.

“Because you’re sittin’ there all quiet.” She explains. “I know we kissed and all that but I ain’t think you would stop bein’ cool around me.” She says in an attempt to ease the atmosphere, the obvious tension that bounces off walls.

“It’s not that.” I mumble.

She puts the lid on her bowl, reaching towards the back seat to drop the trash in the brown chipotle bag. When she turns back to face me, I get a great look at her for the first time all night. Her hair is in a messy bun, strands slightly framing her face.

“Then what is it, Raye?” Paige slouches in the seat. “‘Cause don’t get me wrong, I feel some typa way about you but we’re friends first—”

“I wanna kiss you again.” I blurt out. It’s word vomit, like I can’t help but tell her how badly I want her lips on mine and her tongue in my mouth. Hands on my waist, my ass, in my hair. 

She laughs, and I pray to God she’s not laughing at me. “That’s why you can’t talk to me anymore?”

“I wanna kiss you, but I know how wrong that is. I have a boyfriend, and everyone already thinks something is going on here.” My finger gestures between the both of us.

“You saw the pictures?” Paige cuts me off. Her hand slips forward to grab her phone.

“Did you?”

“Kea showed me them yesterday.”

We sit in silence. I’m trying to process her response. 

“Did, uh, did Julian see them?” She asks.

Shit. Julian. It seems like I’m constantly forgetting about him whenever I’m with her. Always. I’m such a fucking asshole. 

“No, I-I didn’t show him. I don’t think I needed to.” I explain through my stutter. He didn’t need to see them. One, because it wasn’t anything serious. The photos made Paige and I look bad, sure, but there was nothing to worry about. It would only make me and him argue, and we do enough of that already.

“Good.” She nods. “He probably shouldn’t anyway.”

“Yeah.”

“Y’know I really wanna kiss you too.” Paige says. I thought that was it. The kiss happened once, and we were back to being friends. Being normal.

“Paige—”

“I can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

“P, quit it.”

“I keep thinking about how you taste. Like all day. And I shouldn’t, I know that, but you make it fuckin’ impossible.” The blonde sighs. Her eyes fall shut like it’s painful, painful to not kiss me. 

I shake my head, hoping that it’s enough for her to stop talking about it. “Paige, you and I are friends. That’s it. I have a boyfriend, and you’re not a home wrecker. We aren’t doing that again.”

She goes quiet. Then her eyes open and she turns back towards the wheel. It’s 10:30 at night and she has a game in the morning. Paige’s hips raise slightly to fix her sweatpants. A pulse races through me when it happens. 

“You understand? We can’t.” I ask, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Yeah. Yeah, just friends.” Paige says.

I want to believe her. I really do. But the look in her eyes tells me I shouldn’t. Those blue orbs I know so well are suddenly a deep color, pupils wide. She slightly bites the corner of her lip, staring at me like I could run away.

“Stop looking at me like that.” I push at her shoulder, a chuckle escaping my lips. “I’m serious. No kissing, no flirting. I’m not a cheater, P. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“I know, I know. I won’t.” She responds. “But if it happens?” Paige leans into me again. Her hand flicking a curl away from my face before playing with it. She stares at me with intensity.

“It won’t.”

“If it does, I’m not apologizing for it.”

And then she pulls back, sitting in her seat and pulling her seatbelt over her body. She turns the engine on without even a second thought.

I sit there speechless, burrito growing cold between my hands. And I know, without a doubt, no matter how badly I want to hold out and follow through on my promise.

Paige is dangerous, and I don’t think I have it in me.

She’s gonna win. Again.

[propertyofwicked]

SECRETS part 5 - LN

content warnings: FULL SMUT, cute sex, oral (fem receiving), unprotected - MDNI !!

this is lowkey a filler chapter, so you can skip it and read part 6 if you dont want to read smut :) - i have kept the same taglist so if you have been tagged but dont wish to read this part please do skip <3

previous part -> next part

masterlist the playlist

“morning,” lando’s rough morning voice travelled through the hotel room as he saw y/n’s eyes open below him. during the night, y/n found herself wrapped around him, her leg slung over his whilst her head rested on his chest, her arm stretching over him, pulling him in closer.

lando had been awake for a while. he’d decided that today, they would drive down to max’s and try and talk some sense into him. he’d woken up to a text from P, telling him to come to the house and talk to max in person - she was equally as fed up with his foul mood and angry outbursts.

“how d’you sleep?”

“shush,” she hushed him, “still sleeping.”

“i was thinking we should go see max and talk to him in person. today,” he said, earning a groan from the half-asleep woman who rolled off him to lay on her back and stare at the ceiling.

“and i was thinking i could just change my name, cut all contact with everyone i know and live the rest of my life in the woods.”

“i don’t think that will work,” he said, laughing softly at her remark.

“yeah? i dont think your plan will work either so at least were both coming up with stupid ideas today,” she said, as he rolled onto his side to face her.

“you always look pretty in the morning,” lando announced, ignoring her insult.

“you always lie in the morning,” she replied. once again, he ignored her insults, moving to press a quick kiss to her lips. well, he intended for it to be quick, but before he knew it, she was straining her neck up to join their lips together again.

“i could get used to this,” he said, grinning against her mouth.

“not if max has anything to say about it.”

“y/n,” he groaned, still hovering above her, “im trying to be romantic and you’re talking about your brother, fuck him.”

“and fuck you instead?” she quipped.

“well, if you say so,” he hummed, taking the opportunity to kiss her again and shift his bodyweight so he was hovering fully over her, using his arms to hold himself up. she deepens the kiss, tracing her tongue over his bottom lip while burying her fingers in his curls to pull his face closer. his head drops to her neck, pressing small kisses along her skin.

“if you don’t want max to rip your balls off, i recommend you not leave marks on my neck, lan,” she said breathlessly, his breathe tickling her skin as he laughs.

“i’m going to fuck you so hard you forget all about your stupid brother and the things he said about you,” he grunted in her ear, lowering his hips to roll over hers. and for the first time that week, she couldn’t think straight enough to respond with anything other than a quiet moan.

lando slides down the bed, pulling at the waist band of her shorts as he goes, but looking up at her. she nods at him, and he pulls her shorts down her legs, discarding them off the side of the bed. her fingers lace through his curls, her eyes focused on his head tilting to the side to press kisses to the inside of her thigh. he nips down on the skin, sucking slightly, leaving bruises in his wake. at least max wont see those, she thought to herself.

with no warning, his face dived into her folds, her hips arching up, pulling him in closer. he parts his lips, dragging his tongue up to circle her clit.

“taste so good,” he muttered, “wanted this for years.” another moan fell from her lips, spurring him on. one arm came to wrap around her waist, holding her hips down. the other arm reached up, pushing her top up, his hand kneading at her breast.

“fuck, lan, keep going.”

her view is something she wish she could take a picture of and tattoo on her arm. lando’s veiny arm pinning her hips down, his jaw muscles peaking out as his tongue moves in a steady rhythm, his curls falling over his forehead, as his eyes glance up to see her facial expressions. the arm on her breasts drops down to her heat, parting her folds and his fingers pushing gently into her. her hips struggle against his arm, desperate for more.

within a matter of seconds, two of his fingers are twisting into her, hitting that spot that has her almost purring for him repeatedly. before she knows it, she cums around his fingers with no warning, legs shaking, loud moans filling the room. lando crawls back up her body, grabbing her jaw with one hand, opening her mouth and pushing his fingers slowly into her mouth. her tongue moving to lick up the length of them, tasting herself on his calloused fingers. the moment he retracts his hand, her hand is pulling his head down to hers, kissing him hastily as his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

he used one arm to balance himself, the other moving down between them to tug at his own shorts. he grabbed himself, rubbing his hand up and down and few times before sliding his cock through her fold, eliciting small whimpers from her as he hit her sensitive spot.

“you sure you want this? there’s no going back after this, he mumbled in her ear.

“i never want anyone else for as long as i live.”

slowly, he entered her, pushing into her slowly. her face screwed up slightly from the stretch.

“you’re ok, you’re ok,” he reassured her, stroking the side of her cheek softly, waiting a moment before he retracted and pushed back in.

“you’re doing so well f’me.”

his began to build up his pace, the headboard moving with each thrust. y/n moaned out beneath him, grabbing his arm to stabilise herself. her noises encouraging him more, he grabbed her thigh, pulling her leg up to wrap around his back, hitting new angles that brought out obscene noises from the two of them. y/n’s hands wrapped around the back of his head, pulling lightly at the hair at the top of his neck, his own hand moving down again to play with her clit. he could feel her walls tightening around him, pulling him closer and closer to his own finish.

“fuck, lan. don’t stop,” she cried out, her head rolling back on the pillow.

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he remarked, his thrusts getting faster and faster with each pant.

“i’m gonna c-”

“i know baby, come for me, come with me,” he said, wrapping himself around her to bring them closer together as they both reached their orgasms.

he waited a few moments, before pulling out of her, flopping down on the bed beside her, both of their chests heaving with heavy breaths.

“stay there,” he said, kissing the top of her head before rolling out of the bed, and walking to the bathroom. he returned with a damp cloth and a glass of water, handing her the drink he then crawled back to clean her up.

when he did return to lay next to her, his arms instinctively moved to pull her in closer.

“so… when should we go and break the news to your brother?” he asked, grinning.

“id so nearly forgotten about him,” she groaned in annoyance.

“clearly, i need to try again,” he said, still smirking at her.

★ ☆ ✦ ✧ ✩ ✶

tag list: @harrysdimple05 @scopeiguess @hiireadstuff @landosgirlxoxo @natt9598 @phantomxoxo @val-writes @secretgal66 @ririyulife @littlehoneyfreak @leclercdream @mehrmonga @eviethetheatrefreak @thatoneembarrasingmoment @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @formula1mount @lottef1 @rayna-s @5starl1ght @cthgee @thesiduation @urfavsgf @littlehoneyfreak

[speakergame]

Progress Update - 3/4/24

Hello and happy March!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? 😅 Well, I finally have some good news for you this time: I have some actual news!

I'm happy to be able to announce at last that an update is on its way! I’ve still got some assets to make and code cleanup and testing to finish, but I should finally have something to show you soon.

I’ll put a cut at the end of this and go into more detail about the what and why of what I’ve been working on during this long and unintended hiatus, but the tl;dr is that I hope to have an update out by the end of the month, and that said update will break any saves made in Chapter 4. Unfortunate, but unavoidable, since Chapter 4 had to be recoded from the beginning 😞

I just want to thank all of you once again for sticking with me through my extended silence! Especially to my patrons who’ve put up with me putting everything on pause month after month while I dealt with my real life shit, and to everyone who’s sent me kind and supportive messages to let me know Speaker hasn’t been forgotten. It really means a lot to me.

Okay, enough of that sappy shit! I’m gonna get back to work finishing this up 😁 I’ll put out another update later this month once I have a more definite release date.

Thank you all for reading! I hope you’re having a fantastic 2024 so far, and that the rest of the week treats you kindly. See y’all soon! 💙💙💙

(For those who want a more detailed breakdown on what’s been happening and what to expect, hit the readmore)

I won’t go into the personal life stuff I’ve been dealing with this past year that has slowed down my work, but as far as the actual game goes: 

To put it simply, I just wasn’t happy with it. Some of it could be because of how many times I had to reread the same section while I was coding the scenes that would’ve taken place after the last update, but no matter how much I edited or rearranged it, I didn’t like how that scene turned out. There was something… formulaic that had been happening with the way I always laid out scenes, and a bit of stagnation in the story, character, and relationship development that bothered me.

So I rewrote it. And when I still didn’t like it, I rewrote it again. And I still didn’t like it. I thought about scrapping the whole thing on more than one occasion as I struggled to get out of the corner I’d written myself into.

Inspiration finally struck at the beginning of this year, thanks in part to another interactive novel I follow, and I really like the direction I’ve taken it now. 

Instead of the RO split scenes happening where the last one left off, Speaker, Seer, and Gavin are gonna have a chat about Things™ to move the next story arc forward. Then Speaker will get some downtime, by themself at first and then in an extended scene split with the RO of their choosing. 

All the Big Plot Things that were going to happen in Chapter 4 will be moved to Chapter 5 instead, and 4 will be a bit more of a filler episode. A deep breath before the plunge, as it were.

This split won’t just be a quick conversation/reaction from the RO, but a full on different direction for the rest of the chapter based on who you choose. Most of them will involve leaving the house; all of them will involve actual one-on-one time (or one-on-two time, as the case may be) away from the others. And though romance isn’t required, all of them will have the potential to really move the romance forward if you so choose. One or two might even have a lock-in choice (maybe. I’m not 100 percent on that, so don’t hold me to it) 

These scenes won’t be in the next update, because they’re all very complex, but the update will definitely have the Seer chat and at least some of the by-yourself stuff. The update after will have the rest of the alone time stuff (including the clothes/body CC you’ve all been waiting for), and then the one after will start the RO scenes. I think.

I may actually split the RO scenes into separate updates, and let my darlings over at Patreon vote for the order they’re released. That way I can focus on one at a time instead of trying to split my attention six ways at once.

Okay, that’s enough rambling for me today. Time to get back to work! Still got a lot to get done before this is ready, but it’s so close now.

[no-oneknowsmyname]

I love how Etho edits like he knows he's the last one to upload his POV of various interactions. He always gives a personal verbal explanation for group activities, and with random interactions he'll edit in a way that repeats all the funny things but makes them quick and snappy, cutting out filler conversation you could easily get from someone else's video, sometimes adding in clips that didn't appear in other POVs for the goofs and giggles.

Idk man I just adore how even though he's usually the last to upload on interactions involving him, he always makes his videos interesting and fun anyways, focusing a lot on narrating what he's doing and what personal projects he's working on and sprinkling in interactions for transitions and flavor. I know Ethos talked about how he edits before, but I don't think he gets enough credit for how skilled he is at it. Like, even though I've already seen most the interactions he's had through the other perspectives I watch, I'm never bored, and I never skip them.

IDK MAN. It's just Etho appreciation hours. I'm just rambling.