#Backup Text Messages

[tirfpikachu]

LOST MY JOB OUTTA NOWHERE

GOT AN INTERVIEW WITH A CLIENT FROM SAID JOB

LITERALLY THE SAME DAY ?????????

omfg i went from crying in despair to crying in relief in the same day i am so freaking drained emotionally oh my god. but also super happy. and if this doesn't work out i have a paid job finding program i can do for july! so may/june would be a bit tough but i'd be okay!!! :']

life finds a way my gyns. doors close and windows open instead. i'm gonna keep trying keep moving along despite all the chaos!!

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Gamers I think this may genuinely be the end of the line for my phone

[news4nose]

If you have an iPhone, you can likely retrieve those deleted messages if you act quickly. Know how to get those deleted messages back.

[carlthecloaked]

Wrong Number, Right Person

tried writing something after a while :3| 1.3k words | no cw |

|chapter 2|

Steve was pissed.

This date was not working out. At all.

He thought he was going out with this sweet guy from California. At least, that’s what his Tinder profile had made it seem like. But clearly, he had been very wrong.

Where would he even start?

First of all, the guy wouldn’t shut up about his ex.

Like, she sounded great and all, but maybe don’t talk about her the entire time we’re on a date?

Secondly, he wasn’t even listening to what Steve was saying. Half the time, he was scrolling through Instagram, looking at his ex's profile. Laughing at whatever post he was looking at, or he was texting someone else.

Third—and perhaps the worst part—the guy had the personality of a wet sock. Zero energy. No conversation skills. Just dull. Clearly not the charming, funny guy he’d seemed to be over text.

Steve sighed internally. Guess that was his fault for believing his Tinder profile was real.

And then, as if the date wasn’t already bad enough—

“So, are we going to your place or mine? "

Steve barely stopped himself from gaping. He forced a polite smile instead, setting down his drink.

“Yeah, I don’t think this is working out,” he said smoothly, placing his half of the bill on the table. “I have to go.”

The guy blinked, as if he hadn’t just bombed the entire date.

“But wait—”

Steve walked fast out of the cafe, he had to get out of there quickly.

“Ugh, that was the worst. I have to go tell Robin.”

While walking to the subway, he winced as he opened his backup phone. It wasn't as good as his currently broken phone. He totally didn't drop it in the toilet. Nope, that never happened.

He sighed, scrolling through his messages. He still hadn’t updated his contacts, so every number looked unfamiliar. Normally, he’d recognize Robin’s name instantly, but now? It was just random numbers.

He just figured he would text the most recent number, It'll probably be fine.

Steve: WORST date ever. like worst ever. robs i swear to god i wish i could turn back time and never swiped right on him at all. if you ever see me texting him again, throw a microwave at me

Unknown Number: any personal preference or do i just chuck it at you

Steve: chuck it

Steve: robbie i swear it was SO bad

Unknown Number: oh i didn't realize you'd actually think i was your friend

Unknown Number: uh yeah so this is not robbie

Oh. Steve blinked at his phone.

Huh.

That was… unexpected. But not bad, necessarily. Just—Huh.

He stared at the message for a second longer before shaking his head, exhaling through his nose. This was fine. Totally fine.

Steve: oh god

Steve: i'm so sorry wrong number

Unknown Number: it's fine lol

Unknown Number: but how bad was it though, like on a scale of “awkward as hell” to “can the ground swallow me whole?”

Steve hesitated.

He shouldn’t keep talking. He should just apologize again and move on.

But… what else was he doing today?

Steve: definitely “can the ground swallow me whole?” territory

Unknown Number: okay now i'm definitely invested. spill the tea

Steve: dude. he kept on going on and on about his ex, i swear it went on for 30 minutes. THIRTY. MINUTES.

Unknown Number: 🚩🚩🚩 IMMEDIATE red flag, redder than the color red

Steve: RIGHT??? and when he finally stopped he just kept scrolling on his phone

Steve: he was stalking her insta too 😭

Unknown Number: are you fr???

Steve: i wish i was lying but nope

Steve: then when i tried talking about literally anything else other than his ex he’d just respond with “yeah” or “whatever”

Unknown Number: what does that even mean??????

Steve: i have literally no idea

Steve: he even had the NERVE to ask if we would go to his place or mine

Unknown Number: the AUDACITY. the sheer unhinged delusion. did he think he was charming?????

Steve: LMAO stop i can't💀

Unknown Number: i bet he thought you 'd swoon bat your eyelashes and say “oh my god, yes! let's go to another place where you can pretend i'm not there!”

Steve lips curled at the stranger’s response before replying back

Steve: honestly i wouldn't be surprised if he thought that i should be grateful for his presence

Unknown Number: i can't believe you suffered through that

Unknown Number: no wait, you didn't suffer. you endured and you survived. for that you deserve an award. a dramatic opera performance

Steve: i hate how funny you are

Steve grins at his phone.

Unknown Number: you can repay me by continued conversation ;)

Steve: okay but you have to say who you are though

Steve: please don't tell me this is my professor🙏

Unknown Number: lol no definitely not your professor

Unknown Number: but i kinda want to keep it secret now, adds to my mysterious aura

Steve: no hints? :(

Unknown Number: i have hair

Steve: wow that really narrows it down. i totally know who you are.

Unknown Number: good luck finding it out ;)

Steve tilted his head, amused.

There was a pause.

Steve stared at his phone for a second, drumming his fingers against the back of it. He wasn’t sure why, but something about this felt… different. Not bad, just—unexpected.

He should probably just let it go. It wasn’t like it mattered who this guy was, right?

Still.

Steve: so are you gonna give me a real hint or do i just have to suffer

Unknown Number: hmm. suffer sounds fun

Steve let out a small, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. Great. Just his luck to end up texting someone who enjoyed messing with him.

And, okay. Maybe he didn’t mind that much.

The subway car jolted slightly as it began to slow, Steve barely looked up from his phone, used to the way the train moved as it went into the station. The train came to a stop, the doors opening with a mechanical chime, letting in the sound of city noise and passengers.

He stood up getting out and walking to his and Robin’s apartment nearby, glancing at his phone occasionally to check if the stranger texted again.

Steve barely had the door open before Robin’s voice rang out from the couch.

“Finally! What took you so long? Did the date go well?”

Steve groaned, kicking off his shoes and collapsing onto the couch next to her.

“You have no idea. I swear to God, worst date ever.”

Robin gasped dramatically, “Worse than the girl who ordered an expensive meal and made you pay?”

“Way worse”

“Way worse than the one who left you at the bar for three hours?”

“Robin.”

“Okay, okay tell me everything.”

Steve launched into the whole story, how the guy wouldn’t stop talking about his ex, stalking his ex’s instagram, the dry-ass responses and the sheer audacity of asking if they were going to his place or their shared apartment.

“That’s tragic Steve, how are you so unlucky at this?”

“I have no idea man, I guess I just attract weird people.”

“Why didn’t you text me?”

Steve suddenly sat up, remembering. “Oh, speaking of.”

Robin narrowed her eyes.

“So, uh I may or may not have accidentally texted a stranger about it.”

Robin grinned in amusement. “What?”

“I thought it was you!” Steve said defensively. “I haven’t updated my contacts on this phone yet, and I just picked the most recent number in the list.”

Robin stared. “Wait. Hold on. You had a whole conversation with a stranger instead of asking who they were like a normal person?”

Steve shrugged. “They were funny.”

Robin gasped again, dramatically. “Oh my god. You like them.”

“What? No. I dont even know who they are!”

“But you want to”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, then closed it.

Robin grinned, throwing a pillow at him. “You absolute idiot. We’re figuring this out right now.

Steve caught the pillow. “Fine. But if this turns into some embarrassing rom-com nonsense I’m blaming you.”

“Oh it’s already a rom-com, Stevie. You just don’t know it yet.”

Steve sighed, but smiled anyway.

Maybe he did want to know.

[rueclfer]

and for my second requestttt

prohero katsuki with a hospital surgeon reader who gets annoyed at him everytime he shows up at the hospital because then they have to work overtime and stuff

(nobody hates pros more than healthcare workers)

but this time all the people are fine and katsuki is the one that gets really hurt

so the reader scolds them

sorry if i got tooooo specific with this one..

"no one hates pros more than healthcare workers" oh you are absolutely cooking omfg wait i love this dynamic!!!!!!

prohero!katsuki // job fair

event m.list

it’s been three hours since katuski’s surgery and four since when you were supposed to clock out. with your schedule clear for the rest of the night, you’ve done nothing but pace around his room with his chart tightly clutched under your arm and your ears sharp on the monitor tracking his heart rate.

“we expecting someone?” you hear muffled from the head of the hospital bed.

an air of relief left katsuki’s mouth once your face came into view- even if it did look like you were about to finish the villain’s job.

your hand comes up and brushes a stray piece of hair off of his forehead, and drags your fingers down to rest on the side of his face where a bandage had covered the majority of his cheek.

“you idiot. i should fucking kill you right now,” you softly say, “three villains and you didn’t even bother calling for backup? are you stupid?”

“all i’m hearing is that i’m keeping you employed,” he faintly chuckles, “sorry you had to see my ass in your hospital again.”

katsuki winces as he brings his hand up to touch yours, lightly resting his fingertips on top of your knuckles.

“making me see you on my operating table definitely takes the cake for the most annoying thing you’ve done. didn’t think you could be any more insufferable, but you surprise me everyday, dynamight.”

“katsuki,” he corrects, “and glad to be of service.”

a beat of silence looms over you as you inspect each other’s faces. katsuki notes the dark circles under your eyes and twitchy fingers pressed against his cheek. you notice the rare softness in his face as he looks up at you.

“don’t scare me like that again, okay?” you whisper, “i didn’t appreciate the heads up text either.”

“didn’t like that? thought i was doing you a favor.”

“you could’ve died and your last text to me could’ve been about fucking voice to text recognition, katsuki.” you exclaim, “how fucked up is that?”

“better that than nothing at all. if i was going to die i would’ve sent a better one, but i knew i wasn’t.” he rolls his eyes, “so stop yelling at me when i’m all cut up in this fucking hospital bed.”

you scoff, moving your hand to your side, “you pros are nothing but a bunch of cocky do-gooders who cause trouble for everyone else to clean up after.”

“well lucky for you, i’m out of business for a while."

you begin gathering your items from the chair off to the side, stuffing your paperwork and notebooks into your bag.

"good. maybe you can reevaluate your lifestyle choices and start prioritizing your health or something.”

after slinging your bag over your shoulder and giving your tired eyes a good rub, you scan over the room, making sure it’s set for the overnight nurse and for katsuki's comfort.

“why would i do that when this is the easiest way to see you?”

your breathing goes uneasy for a second. if it was you that was hooked to the monitor, you were sure that it would be reading as a cardiac arrest.

“i promise you that there are easier ways. especially if it’s you,” you quip, “the overnight nurse should be checking in soon, but you have my number,” you narrow your eyes to his, “don’t abuse it, but message me if you have any questions.”

katsuki trails you as you double check the IV bags and monitors connected to him one last time as if the moment you left those doors, he might not be alive the next day. it was easy for him to see- that despite your protests and constant denial, you care a lot more than you let on.

[cheriedivine]

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 | chapter 4

previous | chapter 4 | next

꩜ synopsis: you’re best friends. just best friends. except when she lingers a little too long at your door. except when she calls you her favorite, and it doesn’t feel like a joke. except when her fingers graze yours and neither of you pull away. except when you start to wonder if she’s wondering, too…

꩜ Pairing: Ellie Williams x fem reader (no use of y/n)

꩜ CW: swearing, mentions of smoking, tension, yearning (lmk if i missed any)

꩜ WC: 9.7K (UMMMMM)

꩜ A/N: this is a LONG ASS chapter, and holy fuck it is some chapter, i’m edging yall atp. (if u caught the jackieshauna reference i love u)

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

Since the shopping trip with Ellie and all the unspoken tension that came with it Friday flew by. The diner was as packed as ever, but with Maria’s guidance, you held things down. Before you even realized it, you’d survived your first week as assistant manager. You gave yourself a well deserved mental pat on the back.

Back at your apartment, Sally was nowhere to be seen. You figured she was probably out with her boyfriend, which meant you had the place to yourself. Heaven. You took your time unwinding, long shower, soft pajamas, candles lit, and the warm flicker of the TV glow filling the room.

You curled up on the couch with dinner and a dumb sitcom playing in the background, halfway through your meal when it hit you: you hadn’t texted Ellie all day. That was... rare. But understandable, with the week you’d both had and her prepping for the gala, you juggling work.

You reached for your phone and opened her contact.

“Hey there, how’s everything going?”

Her reply came seconds later:

“helloo, sorry I've been arranging all my shit for tomorrow, hbu?”

“Just chilling, long day. Glad it’s finally the weekend.”

There was a short pause before the next message came.

“Can I be honest for a sec? I’m kinda terrified about tomorrow.”

That one made your chest ache a little. Ellie always had a hard time accepting good things, like she didn’t deserve them, or worse, like she might mess them up before they could even begin.

You didn’t waste time replying. “I get it, Els. But you’ll do amazing as always, and you’ll look hot while doing it, so there’s really no need to worry.”

Ellie stared at the message a little too long. Her stomach twisted, but this time, not from nerves.

It was almost midnight. You yawned, stretching out.

“You should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. We don’t want you walking around like a zombie out there.”

She smiled, already feeling lighter.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sleep deprivation is getting to me. I’ll pick u up tomorrow at 6pm sharp.”

“Yes ma’am. Goodnight, Ellie ;)”

“Night :)”

She tossed her phone onto the bed and groaned, flopping backwards like gravity was suddenly ten times heavy. “What am I doing?” she muttered to no one. Eventually, after flipping around and staring at the ceiling like it held answers she finally drifted off, all her worries vanishing away. Tomorrow would be a whirlwind.

Late morning sunlight cut through her curtains, hitting her square in the face. Ellie groaned, eyes scrunching shut before she blinked awake, freckles bathed in warm light. She sat on the edge of the bed, hair sticking up in every direction, she rubbed the sleep off her eyes, staring at the neatly folded clothes on the armchair laid out with unusual care the night before.

White button up. Black slacks. Blazer. Loafers, cleaned and polished. She made her way to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, blinking at herself in the mirror. Wide eyed. Awake now. After that she headed to her small kitchen, grabbing some milk and cereal for breakfast. Could never go wrong with it.

Her camera bag was sprawled on the small dining table, along with all the equipment she had already double checked, but would probably check it again later. She’d charged all her batteries, packed backup lenses, made sure she had her extra SD cards. She could do this in her sleep. Still, her leg bounced as she sat, stomach tightening.

This wasn’t just another gig. It was the gig. The one that could open doors, land her work in bigger publications, finally get her name out there in the way she always said she didn’t care about. But now that it was here, she did care. A lot.

And then there was you.

Her chest tightened at the thought of seeing you in that dress. Standing beside her. Laughing. Maybe letting your arm brush hers like you always did, like you didn’t even notice it anymore, though she always did. You were going to be there. Looking…well. However you were going to look, it would be stunning. You always looked good no matter what.

But tonight? In a dress? At her side? Ellie felt like she needed to lay down. Again.

She needed to stop these thoughts, you probably weren’t even thinking about her like that. Shit maybe, you didn’t even notice it. But the truth is, you noticed. Every little detail. The way her eyes glistened when she saw you, or her nose scrunched just a bit when she laughed. It made her feel like an idiot, but she couldn’t bring herself to face… whatever this was.

She ran her hand through her hair and stood up, forcing herself to move. Shower. That would help. Hot water and routine. Maybe call Joel too.. She peeled off her hoodie, grabbed a towel, and headed into the bathroom. But the second the water turned on, her thoughts spiraled again.

What if you looked too good? What if people thought you were her date? Worse—what if they didn’t?

What if you felt out of place? What if you regretted coming?

“Get it together, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, scrubbing her hair like it personally offended her. “It’s just a job.”

But even as she said it, she could already picture the way your eyes would light up when you saw the venue. Or how you’d lean in to whisper something, your shoulders brushing hers.

Her stomach flipped.

She got out of the shower and dried off quickly, throwing on a clean shirt and boxers before stepping back into her room. Her phone buzzed with a text. It was you.

“Morning sunshine. Ready for the big day?

Ellie smiled, thumbs hovering.

"I’ve been triple checking all my equipment since last night, I think I'm getting there."

You smirked at the message, still laying in bed, too warm to get up.

“Well, if it makes you feel better I already looked up pictures of the venue and the fundraising and everything”

“lol, you’re a weirdo”

“u love it”

You tossed your phone to the side, finally getting out of bed, saturdays were always for slow mornings, you didn’t care about waking up early. The apartment was quiet as usual, just the sounds of the outside world, and the soft hum of the tv in the living room.

Sally sat curled on the couch, coffee in hand. “Morning. There’s still some in the pot.”

“You are an angel.” you replied, heading to the kitchen counter and pulling your favorite mug out of the small cabinet, the mug felt warm in your hands, steam blowing out of the dark liquid. You joined Sally at the other end of the couch. Both of you falling into the usual chatter, tv playing in the background with some news channel. You really enjoyed Sally’s presence, even if both of you were extremely different, you got along well.

You made some actual breakfast (which was more of a brunch considering the time) and ate it on the table, gossiping every now and then or just doom-scrolling on your phones. You checked the time and it was almost 3p.m., time to start getting ready. Standing up you excused yourself off the table and dropped both plates on the sink, heading to the bathroom to brush your teeth and do your skincare routine.

Sally hung in your room for a bit, helping you get your hair done, tossing it into rollers that made you look ridiculous but she swore the blowout would be worth it. You trusted her.

Barely.

Still, your brain kept drifting. Would Ellie think you looked good? Was it too much? Too little?

Your overthinking wasn’t helping at all. You reached for your makeup bag and started applying your foundation with a soft brush, blending it carefully all over your face, while a playlist hummed from Sally’s phone, you continued applying more products while she did your hair, it was almost therapeutic.

Meanwhile, Ellie stared at her open closet like it was some kind of puzzle she couldn’t solve.

The button up was already laid out. crisp white, freshly ironed. Beside it, black slacks and the blazer she wasn’t sure looked cool or like she was going to a job interview. She adjusted the sleeves again for the fifth time, then stepped back like that would somehow make the outfit look better.

This was stupid. It was fine. It was neutral and professional and not trying too hard. Except… her brain wouldn’t stop poking at the same thought over and over again: What if you looked at her and didn’t feel anything at all?

She huffed and ran a hand through her hair, combing it with her fingers.

There was nothing else to tweak about her camera bag. She’d gone over every lens, every battery, every backup memory card like a maniac. Her whole gear kit was triple checked, zipped up, and ready to go by noon. Which meant the rest of the day was just… waiting. And spiraling.

She sat on the edge of her bed, fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve, before grabbing her phone. She dialed Joel’s number.

“Hey kiddo, everything alright?” His voice was warm, grounding.

“Hey Joel... yeah. I guess. Just a little nervous about this gig I’ve got later. It’s kinda a big one.” She tugged at her shirt hem as she talked.

“You mean that fancy fundraiser thing? Where you gotta play nice with the rich folks?” He chuckled.

“Yup. That’s the one.”

“Thought you said you weren’t worried about that?”

“I wasn’t. Now I am.”

Joel was quiet for a beat. “This about the gig... or the girl?”

Ellie groaned. “Don’t start.”

“Can’t help it. You’ve only mentioned her about two dozen times.”

“She’s coming as my plus one,” Ellie muttered. “Not—like—not a date. Just… kind of.”

Another chuckle. “Ellie, I’ve seen you more relaxed on a rooftop during a thunderstorm. You sure you’re just nervous about the photos?”

She went quiet.

“Look,” Joel said, his voice softer. “You’ve done way harder things than dress up and take pictures. You’ve worked your ass off. You deserve this. And from what I’ve seen, that girl’s lucky to be standin’ next to you tonight.”

Ellie rubbed her forehead. “I just… don’t wanna mess it up.”

“You won’t. You’re gonna knock it outta the park. Just be yourself. Take the shots. Let yourself enjoy it. And maybe, if the moment’s right, don’t be afraid to tell her how you feel.”

But that’s the thing. Ellie didn’t know how she felt. And it was killing her inside.

Ellie gave a breathy laugh. “Now you’re pushing it.”

“Maybe. But sometimes you need a little push. I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

She smiled, a quiet warmth settling in her chest. “Thanks, man.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

She hung up, feeling just a little calmer.

She laid back down, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, it was still early to pick you up, so she decided to have a smoke, maybe that would relax her a bit. She leaned against the window, cigarette burned between her fingers, smoke curling lazily toward the sky.

She took a drag, exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dance in front of her.

You were probably finishing your makeup, or fixing your hair. Maybe pacing. Maybe not even nervous at all. That made her stomach twist worse.

“This is so stupid,” she muttered to herself, flicking ash onto the pavement. “It’s not even a date. Just work, a big one.”

Except it wasn’t just work. And it did feel like a date. Because you’d said yes. Because you were getting dressed up for her. And that meant something.

She finished the cigarette, stomping the butt on the ashtray by her bedside. Then she glanced at the time.

5:30 PM.

“Shit.” she grabbed her camera bag, along with the case that contained her tripod and stepped out the door.

You smoothed your palms over your dress for the fifth time.

Sally was standing behind you in the mirror, carefully removing the last roller from your hair like she was defusing a bomb. “Okay,” she said, voice hushed with reverence. “Turn around.”

You did. Slowly.

And when she beamed, hands clutched dramatically to her chest you knew she wasn’t faking it.

“Oh my god. Babe. You look hot. Like... ruin-a-man’s-life hot.”

You laughed, nervously adjusting the straps. “It’s not too much?”

“It’s perfect,” she said, tugging your hands away from your waist. “Stop fidgeting. Ellie’s jaw is gonna hit the floor.”

You tried to play it off with a shrug, but your heart was pounding. You’d never gone all out like this. Not for a date, not for anyone. But tonight? You didn’t want to just look nice. You wanted to look like someone Ellie couldn't look away from.

Back in your room, you added the final touches. Lipstick. Perfume. Earrings that caught the light. You stood in front of the mirror, hands on your hips, trying to steady your breathing.

“You’ve got this,” you whispered to your reflection. “It’s not a date. It’s just... a gala. With Ellie. Who is your best friend. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. You were spiraling.

What if you were overdressed, or worse, underdressed? What if she looked at you and saw right through you? Saw all the messy, fluttery feelings you kept trying to shove into the background?

The knock on the door snapped you out of it.

Sally opened the door, greeting Ellie politely, like she had done before.

“She’s just adding the final touches—” Sally said as she let Ellie in the apartment “she’ll be out in a second, have fun at the gala” and with that she disappeared into her room. Ellie sat on the couch, hands clammy, hair tied in a half up, half down bun. Suddenly she heard your voice down the hall.

“Sorry, I was battling with these earrings but I’m all done—” Your gaze hadn’t met hers yet, but when it did, the world narrowed to one thing: her.

Ellie stood there, hands stuffed into her pockets, blazer sharp, button-up crisp. But that wasn’t what stopped you cold.

It was the look on her face.

Like she’d just forgotten how to speak.

Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “���Wow.”

You laughed under your breath. “Good wow or bad wow?”

She blinked hard, eyes dragging down the length of you and back up like she was trying to memorize every detail. “Good wow,” she said, finally. “Like… insanely good. Holy shit.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile.

She scratched the back of her neck, looking helpless. “You, uh… you clean up nice.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you teased. “Very professional.”

“Good,” she muttered. “Cause I’m gonna be winging the hell out of this.”

You both laughed, the tension breaking slightly, but the air between you still buzzed with something you refused to address.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then Ellie glanced sideways at you, her voice softer. “Seriously… you look incredible.”

And despite your best efforts, you blushed. “Thanks, El.” you said, eyes falling into the poorly tied tie around her neck. It made you giggle.

“Ellie,” you breathed out a laugh, stepping closer. “What the hell is this?”

“I know, I know,” she groaned, hands raised in surrender. “I watched three YouTube videos and still managed to screw it up. It’s cursed.”

“Come here,” you said, tugging gently at the fabric.

She swallowed hard as you stood close. Close enough to smell your perfume, to see the tiny shimmer of highlighter on your cheekbones.

Your fingers worked quickly, but your eyes kept flicking up to hers. “You really didn’t have anyone growing up to teach you how to do this?”

“Joel wears bolo ties,” she muttered. “The man’s useless in the formalwear department.”

You giggled and kept tying.

Ellie couldn’t focus on anything. Not your hands, not your lips, not how soft your voice got when you whispered, “There we go. All fixed.”

She looked down at you. You looked up at her.

And for a second, everything stilled. The hallway faded. The air crackled with electricity.

Neither of you moved.

Then you gave her tie one last tug, playful but firm. “Okay, now you look like you know what you’re doing.”

She cleared her throat, stepping back. “Cool. Cool, yeah. You, uh. Ready to go?”

You nodded, clutching your purse, heart pounding in your chest.

Sally popped her head out from her bedroom. “Don’t you two look fancy. Have fun and don’t let the rich people steal your souls.”

“Noted,” Ellie said with a salute. You waved goodbye and stepped out into the doorway beside her.

Your fingers brushed as you walked side by side. Neither of you pulled away.

The drive started quiet. Ellie’s truck hummed steadily down the road, golden hour casting everything in that honey glow. You sat with your hands folded in your lap, legs crossed at the ankles, feeling the nervous heat spread through your skin like your body couldn’t decide if it was freezing or burning up. Maybe both.

You fidgeted nervously with the zipper of your purse, pulling it up and down, up and down, the faint zip sound filling the silence in between the songs. Meanwhile, Ellie’s fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel, pinky twitching, ring finger drumming.

You caught her stealing a glance.

Quick. Like she hadn’t meant to.

But she did. And you did too.

You turned your head slightly, eyes meeting hers for half a second before she snapped them back to the road. The corner of her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

Then Ellie cleared her throat. “So uh… the venue’s downtown, just off Main. It’s at this weird, bougie museum-turned-ballroom thing. Pretentious, honestly.”

You laughed gently. “Sounds perfect for you.”

“Oh, 100%,” she nodded, finally letting out a real smile. “Nothing says Ellie Williams like white wine and too many people pretending they’ve read The New Yorker.”

You grinned, relaxing into your seat a little more.

The car turned onto a wider avenue. The sun had started to dip behind the skyline now, streaking the sky in lavender and rose. You could still feel her sneaking glance, watching you when she thought you weren’t paying attention. Your hands. Your legs. The way your lips moved when you smiled at something on the radio.

Her knee bounced.

Your heart did too.

You turned slightly, voice softer now. “You okay?”

Ellie nodded quickly, eyes on the road. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just…” She exhaled through her nose, then gave you a sideways glance. “A little nervous.”

You smiled shyly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re going to do amazing Ellie, there’s no need to worry.”

The tension softened but it didn’t go away. It just shifted. Only if you knew that the thing making her nervous was you in that dress…

The closer you got to the venue, the more your stomach fluttered. Ellie turned onto a side street, passing a long line of fancy cars parked in front of the tall glass and marble building up ahead.

People in gowns and suits walked across the entrance plaza under strings of lights, the early evening glow making everything look like a scene out of a movie.

Ellie pulled into a parking spot a few blocks away, engine cutting out. Neither of you moved for a second.

She looked over at you again, this time slower. A little longer. “Ready?”

You nodded, voice quiet. “Yeah.”

You both stepped out of the truck, feet clicking softly on the pavement.

Ellie walked a half-step ahead of you as you made your way toward the venue, but she kept glancing over her shoulder to make sure you were close behind. Your dress swayed with every step, catching the soft breeze, and Ellie despite the nervous buzzing in her chest managed to hold the door open for you like it was second nature.

The moment you stepped inside, your breath hitched.

“Holy fuck,” you murmured.

The lobby alone looked like something out of a dream, gleaming marble floors, tall arching ceilings wrapped in soft, golden light, modern art installations scattered between sculpted pillars. A string quartet played somewhere deeper inside, the music echoing through the open space like silk in the air.

Ellie let out a low whistle next to you. “Jesus. This place is… yeah.”

You both stood there for a second, completely still, like tourists in a museum too fancy to touch anything. And for a moment, it didn’t matter that Ellie was here to work, or that this was technically a fundraiser gala. It just felt like the two of you had stumbled into someone else’s glamorous night.

She turned to you, lips parted to say something, but stopped herself. Her eyes flicked down your figure and back up again, slow, deliberate, a little dazed.

You blinked at her. “What?”

She shook her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Nothing. Just—hope you’re ready to be the hottest person in the room.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed. “Please. I’ve never seen anyone look better in a suit.”

Ellie laughed, tugging at said blazer like she’d just remembered she was wearing it. “Alright, alright. Let’s find the event coordinator so I can check in. Then we’ll scope out the best free food.”

You gave her a mock salute. “On it, boss.”

Ellie led the way deeper into the venue, camera bag slung confidently across her shoulder now, while her other hand gripped the tripod case firmly, shoulders squared like she was finally slipping into her zone. But every few steps, her hand would twitch like she wanted to reach for you. Every time someone walked by and glanced at you both, she’d glance back just a second too long. Protective.

You couldn’t stop glancing either.

She looked like someone out of a magazine, tie straight now, eyes focused, jaw clenched just enough to make your heart jump. The same Ellie you knew, but sharper, more composed, like she didn’t realize the effect she had on you.

The ballroom was even more breathtaking up close. Tall arched windows framed the setting sun, casting soft golden light across linen-covered tables topped with elaborate floral arrangements and flickering candles. Staff moved like clockwork, setting wine glasses, placing silverware, adjusting napkins folded like origami swans. It reminded you somehow of the diner, but way less fancy.

Ellie scanned the room quickly, eyes sharp behind her lashes. “There she is.”

You followed her gaze to a woman in a sleek pantsuit, clipboard in hand, giving instructions to a cluster of servers. Ellie straightened her posture and motioned for you to follow before approaching with practiced ease.

“Hi, Eva is that right?” Ellie said, offering a small but confident smile. “Ellie Williams, photographer.”

Eva turned to her with a brisk nod and a once-over glance at her equipment bag. “Perfect. Glad you’re here on time. We’re expecting guests to start arriving within the hour. You’re cleared to shoot during the cocktail hour, dinner, and key speeches. Avoid flash during performances or when people are eating.”

“Got it,” Ellie said, already mentally running through the list. “Any VIPs I should keep an eye out for?”

“The keynote speaker—Dr. Rosalind Carter. She’ll arrive closer to seven. And the foundation’s director, Mr. Bennett, and of course Dr. Anderson, he will want a group photo with the board around dessert. I’ll flag you when it’s time.”

“Cool. Mind if I set up now?”

Eva nodded and gestured toward the far end of the room, near the stage. “There’s a designated corner for your gear and charging station. If you need anything, I’ll be by the entrance.”

With that, she disappeared into the controlled chaos.

Ellie exhaled through her nose. “Alright. Showtime.”

You trailed behind as she headed to the gear table, helping her unpack her bag and started working in focused silence. Out came two camera bodies. one with a wider lens, one with a longer zoom followed by her trusty light meter, extra batteries, a pouch of memory cards, and a tripod she tucked discreetly behind a curtain near the back.

You watched her slip seamlessly into her element, eyes sharp, fingers steady. She checked her white balance, adjusted her strap, wiped a smudge from her lens, and held one camera up to her eye, framing a test shot of you.

“Hey!” you muttered under your breath.

She glanced over, smirking slightly. “What?”

“Focus on the real celebrities here”

Ellie blinked at you, she knew what she was doing. A little pink crept up her neck, but she tried to play it cool, swapping cameras like it was no big deal. “Yeah, well. I needed to test the lens.”

You laughed and leaned against the nearest table, still watching her move. Focused, grounded, magnetic.

The ballroom started to fill slowly as the first guests arrived, well dressed couples stepping through the main doors, the soft hum of classical music weaving through their chatter. Ellie slipped her camera over her shoulder and gave you a quick look.

“I’ll be around. Try not to fall in love with any rich assholes while I’m gone, alright?”

“How could I?” You rolled your eyes, but she was smiling as she turned and walked into the crowd, lens raised, already disappearing behind a group of socialites in tailored suits.

You wandered toward the refreshment table, a glass of something bubbly in hand, not quite champagne, not quite soda. trying not to look out of place as the room filled with soft laughter and swishing fabric. The guests were glamorous in that effortless kind of way. It was clear who belonged here… and who felt like they were just tagging along.

Still, you held your head high and smiled politely at anyone who made eye contact. Fake it till you make it, right?

“First gala? Never seen you before” a voice said beside you. Smooth, and a little amused.

You turned, nearly spilling your drink when you caught sight of the broad-shouldered woman in a tailored black tux with her blonde hair pulled back in a braid. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine ad for expensive cologne and probably lifted weights for fun.

“Uh—yeah, kind of obvious, huh?”

She smiled, teeth sharp. “Nah, you’re pulling it off. Most people don’t know how to stand near the wine table without looking like they want to run away.”

You laughed, grateful for the ease in her tone. “I’m doing my best. You a regular at these things?”

“More than I’d like,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “My dad hosts these every year. Fundraising, networking, all that jazz.”

Wait.

“Wait—your dad is…?”

“Dr. Anderson,” she said with a small, self-aware bow. “Abby.”

You blinked. “Oh. Wow. Nice to meet you, Abby.”

She smirked. “You too. And you are…?”

Before you could answer, a voice cut in tight and familiar.

“Dude this place is huge—”

You turned slightly to find Ellie standing a few feet away, camera strap across her chest, expression carefully neutral but her eyes—her eyes were screaming "What the fuck?"

Abby raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. “You’re with the photographer?”

“Yeah I invited her” Ellie said quickly, too quickly. “I’m her… friend.”

She was absolutely spiraling.

Abby chuckled. “Right. Got it. Guess I’ll behave, then.”

She turned to Ellie, a little too pleased. “Anyway, I think you’re supposed to get a shot of me and my dad before he heads to the stage.”

Ellie cleared her throat, clearly trying to refocus. “Yeah. Right.”

You watched as Abby waved over Dr. Anderson, who approached with the kind of air only people who owned entire institutions carried. He smiled warmly at Ellie.

“Ms. Williams, pleasure to have you here tonight. Eva tells me you come highly recommended.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ellie said, lifting her camera. “Just over here by the floral arrangement, if that’s okay?”

Dr. Anderson nodded, and Ellie snapped a few quick photos. Abby standing beside her father, one hand in her pocket, posture relaxed. When they were done, he gave Ellie a respectful nod and turned toward the stage.

The lights dimmed slightly as the event coordinator stepped up to the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, please find your seats. We’re about to begin.”

You and Ellie locked eyes briefly as everyone started moving toward the rows of tables. She walked backward, camera raised, already snapping shots of the crowd settling in, the soft lighting glowing over their shoulders.

Dr. Anderson took the stage, greeted by polite applause. Ellie raised her camera again, eyes in the viewfinder, already focused.

“Thank you all for joining us tonight,” he began. “This fundraiser is not only about financial support—but about vision. About believing in the stories we still have to tell…”

You found your seat near the edge of the room, heart still racing a little. Half from Abby’s easy charm, half from the look on Ellie’s face when she saw it.

Ellie stayed standing, moving like a shadow along the edge of the room, capturing the moment in quiet bursts of the shutter. But every now and then, her eyes flicked back to you.

And your eyes flicked right back. Magnetic.

Dr. Anderson’s voice flowed through the speakers, confident, practiced, charismatic. He spoke about stories that shaped communities, about the importance of funding creative programs, about the photographers, writers, and artists who hadn’t yet been discovered.

You sat quietly, watching him, trying to absorb the atmosphere. The clinking of glassware, the hushed murmurs of the crowd, the way the light reflected off the hanging chandeliers like golden dust in the air.

Ellie had moved closer to the stage now, snapping photos from different angles. Dr. Anderson behind the podium, the crowd’s reactions, the attentive expressions, the elegant chaos of the evening frozen in delicate frames. She moved like she belonged there. Like she was in control of the moment.

But even through the lens, her focus kept drifting.

She found you in the crowd, the soft slope of your shoulders relaxed, your eyes fixed on the stage with that thoughtful look she’d seen a hundred times before at the diner, across a booth, behind a coffee mug.

She adjusted the lens.

Click.

You turned slightly, just enough for the soft lighting to kiss the side of your face.

Click.

You didn’t even notice her. You were too focused. Too beautiful.

Her heart beat faster.

She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. But—

Click.

One more. Just for her eyes to see.

After the speech, soft music filled the room again and waiters began to circulate with trays of fancy entrees and drinks. Dr. Anderson stepped down from the stage to applause, mingling quickly with key donors and guests. The fundraiser had officially shifted into cocktail hour.

You stood from your seat, smoothing your dress and heading toward the refreshment table again—half for something to sip on, half to keep your hands busy. You felt lost without Ellie, but she suddenly reappeared beside you, camera now resting against her chest.

“Hey.”

You turned toward her, smiling. “Hey. You killed it up there.”

“I just pointed and clicked,” she said, brushing a hand through her hair.

You gave her a look. “You also climbed on a chair at one point.”

Ellie shrugged, smirking. “Gotta get the shot.”

A pause settled between you both. Soft, warm. Your shoulders nearly touched. The hum of music and voices blurred into the background.

“You looked like you belonged up there,” you said quietly.

Ellie’s eyes searched yours for a beat. “You’re bluffing.”

You blinked. “You know I would never”

She shifted her weight awkwardly. “Are you enjoying it? Or you’re too bored without me?”

It came out in that teasing tone of hers.

“Well I was having fun with Mrs. muscles until someone cockblocked me” you gave her a slight shrug.

“Oh yeah right, this is your way of getting at me for Cat”

You smiled “Why you jealous?”

“Why would I? I’m prettier” she scoffed, but the red on her cheeks was giving her up.

A waiter passed and you grabbed a small plate of hors d'oeuvres, offering it to her. Ellie shook her head, probably too nervous to eat but she lingered close.

Your eyes flicked toward her camera. “Did you get good shots?”

“Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “Some good crowd reactions. Got Abby and her dad. Anderson’s speech.”

You tilted your head. “Can I see?”

Ellie stared at her drink. Remembering the candids she had taken of you. Fuck. “It’s boring really”

You gave her a look. “Ellie come on.”

“Fine…” You practically snatched the camera off her hands, flicking through the pictures until you came across some photos that definitely weren’t Dr. Anderson. Your stomach fluttered at the sight.

You blinked. “These are boring too?”

She rubbed the back of her neck. Slapping herself mentally. “The lighting was good. I just… I wanted to remember it. That’s stupid. Forget I said that.”

Your chest ached, but in the good way. The fuck, say it again way.

You touched her arm lightly. “I love them Ellie.”

She looked up. Your eyes met again, that same magnetic, breathless tension pulsing between you like a second heartbeat.

And then someone called Ellie’s name. One of the event staff, and the spell broke.

She cleared her throat, stepping back. “I, uh—I’ll be right back. Save me some fries.”

You nodded, watching her disappear into the crowd. Her camera bouncing gently against her hip, her tie still just slightly crooked from earlier.

You touched your lips without realizing it. Had she taken those voluntarily? She thought you looked good. And of course the Abby thing made her jealous. She was a bad liar. But then again, it was funny seeing her get all red and jealous of that. After all, it is kind of a payback for Cat.

The fundraiser buzzed with renewed energy now that the formalities were done. Music had shifted to a softer jazz track, blending with the ambient clinks of glasses and low conversations. You wandered through the crowd with a fresh drink in hand, soaking it all in, the clothes, the artwork on display, the glittering city skyline beyond the ballroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows.

That’s when you spotted Abby again.

She leaned casually against a pillar near the hors d'oeuvre table, nursing a glass of something that looked expensive. Her suit jacket was off now, sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing toned forearms that didn’t seem fair on someone also so confident.

She caught your eye and smiled. “Hey, it’s the mystery date.”

You laughed, half-glancing behind you. “You know my name.”

Abby grinned. “Yeah, but this way I get to keep asking.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Is that your go to line?”

“Only when it works.”

She was charming. There was no denying that. And there was a spark of playfulness in her tone that made it hard not to lean into it just a little. So you did—trading jokes and playful banter while your drink slowly disappeared.

Across the room, Ellie watched with her jaw clenched so tight it could’ve cracked her molars.

She was adjusting her camera settings, trying to get better lighting near one of the centerpieces, but her gaze kept sliding over to you and Abby laughing, leaning in a little closer, your lips parting around something you said that made Abby smile like that.

Ellie didn’t hear what you said.

Didn’t matter.

She looked away. Back to the camera. Check the aperture, adjust the white balance, focus, click. Her finger tapped against the shutter button harder than necessary.

She wasn’t jealous. Of course not. Why would she be?

You weren’t hers.

She didn’t have a claim. Couldn’t even bring herself to say half the things she wanted to. God she couldn’t even acknowledge all these feelings she’s been pushing down. Could barely meet your eyes when you fixed her tie earlier without burning alive on the spot. So what right did she have?

Still, when she glanced back and saw Abby tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with a teasing smile. Ellie nearly dropped the camera.

“Fuck” she muttered under her breath, turning sharply away.

Her expression tightened, mouth set in a hard line as she walked toward the other side of the room to "get some crowd shots," even though the lighting was worse over here and she’d already covered it twice.

She needed to do something.

Anything but stand there and watch you smile like that for someone who wasn’t her.

The conversation with Abby flowed easily. She was charming and smooth with her words, making you laugh a few times. But still, your eyes kept drifting to the crowd, scanning for a familiar auburn head of hair.

Eventually, you made your way back from the refreshment table, balancing a small plate of appetizers in one hand and french fries in the other. Your eyes moved carefully across the room until you spotted Ellie off to the side, fiddling with her camera strap. Her jaw was tight, shoulders stiff like she was holding herself together by threads..

You approached her with a soft smile. “Hey, thought you might be hungry. I grabbed you something.”

She glanced at you barely, and then looked back down at her camera. “Thanks,” she muttered bitterness in her tone, but didn’t take the plate.

Your smile faltered. “I—I mean, it’s fine if you’re not. I just figured…”

Ellie let out a breath through her nose. Not quite a sigh, but close enough.

“I’ve gotta go take some shots of Mr. Anderson with a few of the donors,” she said quickly. “He just gave me a list.”

“Oh. Right.” Your throat tightened.

She still wouldn’t look at you. And you had no idea why. You hadn’t done anything wrong. But Ellie’s head was a mess tonight, jealousy clawing at her chest, and she couldn’t trust herself to say anything without it spilling out sideways.

You tried to keep it casual. “Okay. No worries. I’ll just… wait here for you.”

Ellie finally looked up, just for a second. Her eyes softened like she wanted to say something. Needed to…but swallowed it instead. “I’ll be right back,” she said quietly.

She felt like the worst person in the world. That look on your face, she’d put it there. And it made her heart ache. But she needed space. Just for a minute. Not from you, but from her feelings.

You nodded, stepping back, the plate still in your hands. “Yeah. Of course.”

And then she was gone. already walking across the ballroom, camera raised, posture sharp like she had something to prove.

You stood still, the noise of the crowd growing distant. The laughter, the clink of glasses, the low hum of chatter, it all blurred. Like you were underwater. You didn’t know why her sudden coldness cut so deep. Or what had even triggered it.

Maybe she was just stressed. Maybe she couldn’t get the right shot?. Maybe you were overthinking it.

Still, the ache didn’t go away.

You sat back down in silence, surrounded by strangers, the plate of fries growing cold in front of you. The one person who brought you here felt miles away.

Thirty minutes passed, and no sign of Ellie. Your stomach twisted with irritation, your appetite long gone. You set the plate aside and rose to your feet, deciding to take a walk around the exhibits. Maybe clear your head. Maybe have a smoke.

You checked Ellie’s camera bag she’d left it on her seat, and found the Altoids tin tucked inside like you knew it would be. You slipped it into your purse and started wandering through the venue’s wide halls, taking your time with each display, forcing yourself to admire the artwork even as your thoughts drifted.

Eventually, you found a side exit and stepped out into the cold evening air. Marble stairs led down into a quiet courtyard. You sat on the top step, reaching for the tin, taking a cigarette between your lips.

“Fuck,” you muttered. No lighter.

Of course. Ellie had it. She’d used it earlier before leaving her apartment. She always kept it in her pocket.

You sat there defeated, arms wrapped around yourself, cigarette untouched. The cold settled in, seeping into your bare shoulders.

A few long quiet minutes passed.

Then, without a word, something warm draped over your back. You turned quickly.

It was Ellie. Her blazer resting across your shoulders. She didn’t say anything at first, just pulled the lighter from her pocket and flicked it on, igniting the cigarette still tucked between your lips.

Your eyes met hers.

Both static.

The flame hovered for a second longer than necessary, and then she let it go out, the soft click of the lighter closing cutting through the silence like a spark.

There was this look in her eye, a spark of regret glistening in her gaze, Ellie sat down beside you without a word, elbows on her knees, hands clasped loosely between them. The silence lingered for a few moments, just the soft sound of you exhaling smoke and the distant thump of music echoing from inside the building.

“I thought you had ditched me for a second” she said finally, her voice low.

You glanced at her, brows lifting slightly.

“I was a dick,” she continued. “And I’m… I’m sorry.” Almost like she hated saying it out loud.

You didn’t answer at first, just took another drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke sit in your lungs a second longer before exhaling. “Yeah,” you said softly. “You kinda were.”

Ellie winced a little but nodded. She deserved that.

“I don’t know why I acted like that,” Ellie said, thumb running over a scratch on her knuckle. But deep down, she knew exactly why. “Actually—I do. I just don’t wanna say it because it sounds pathetic.”

You looked at her again, eyes softening just a little. “Try me.”

Ellie let out a bitter huff of a laugh. “I just—it’s stupid but, seeing you with Abby, laughing and flirting with her… It made me feel so—I don't know—replaceable? Like maybe you don’t need me at all. And it sucks because I think I might always need you.” Her voice caught at the end, a knot forming in her throat.

You blinked, caught somewhere between shock and the tiniest flicker of hope.

“It’s stupid because you can talk to whoever the hell you want. I just—” she paused, jaw tightening. “I hated how much I hated it.”

You were quiet again, the smoke curling lazily from the end of your cigarette.

“Ellie,” you said softly.

Her eyes met yours. Both of you were facing the other now, close enough that your knees almost brushed. The space between you felt like it was narrowing by the second.

“I could never in a million years replace you. There’s no one quite like you. Abby didn’t mean anything at all. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You know that, right?”

But oh, how you wished it could be more than just that.

“Yeah, I know,” Ellie murmured, but her chest ached. Was that all she’d ever be to you?

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

You gave her a soft smile. “You didn’t ruin anything, Els. The night’s not over yet, you know?”

Ellie snorted gently. “Yeah. I’m still supposed to be working though.”

You both sat there in a silence that felt lighter now, as if something had finally been unclenched between you.

Ellie glanced over, her voice quieter now, sincere. “You look beautiful tonight,” she said. “Meant to say that earlier. Didn’t.”

You looked at her. Really looked at her. Hair a little messy, shirt slightly wrinkled, the tie now hanging loosely around her neck like she’d forgotten it was there. And those eyes…open, unsure, and a little scared.

You nudged her shoulder. “You look pretty good too. Even when you’re being a jealous asshole.”

Ellie smiled real and warm.

“Still mad at me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Your faces were so close now, just inches apart.

You took one last drag from your cigarette, and without thinking, Ellie reached out and gently plucked it from your lips, slipping it between hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Maybe,” you said, your breath fanning her cheek.

“How much?” she asked, her eyes flickering from your mouth to your eyes again—lingering this time.

Your heart was pounding. Her fingers were still brushing yours from the cigarette exchange. You could feel her breath now, warm and shallow, and your lips were so, so close.

Ellie leaned in—just a few centimeters more and—

“Miss Williams!”

The voice shattered the moment like glass.

You both startled slightly, turning toward the source. It was the event coordinator, heels clicking against the marble as she approached in a hurry, clipboard in hand.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I need you immediately. Dr. Anderson’s about to do the donor photo and you’re the only photographer he’ll work with.”

Ellie blinked, her jaw clenched like she wanted to scream. “Right. Yeah. Coming.”

The woman was already walking off, clearly expecting her to follow.

Ellie looked back at you, guilt flashing behind her eyes. “I—shit. I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Go.”

She hesitated for a second longer, then stood up, fixing her tie absently as she followed the coordinator inside.

You sat there alone on the steps, your skin still buzzing from the almost.

And all you could think about was how close she’d been. How close you had leaned in. And how it had almost happened.

You stayed outside for a minute longer, letting the night air calm the fire still burning under your skin. The almost-kiss sat heavy on your lips, like a phantom touch. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, how close she’d been, the way her breath had hitched, how she’d looked at you like you were something sacred.

Eventually, you rose from the marble steps, brushing off the back of your dress and adjusting Ellie’s blazer on your shoulders, as you made your way back through the halls, heart still thudding.

The ballroom was less crowded now, the lighting slightly dimmed to a golden hue. The gentle hum of music played under the laughter and clinking glasses. You kept your head high as you re-entered, trying to blend back in like nothing had happened. Like you weren’t seconds away from kissing your best friend out on the stairs.

You spotted Ellie immediately. Of course you did. She was near the podium now, snapping shots of Dr. Anderson with his donors. Her camera was up, but her eyes kept shifting. Scanning. Searching.

For you.

She found you in an instant, her breath catching when your eyes met. And for a moment, everything stilled.

You gave her the softest smile, the one you knew only she got to see. She blinked, like you’d just knocked the air out of her lungs. Then her camera moved again too quickly. She almost fumbled it, forced herself to look away and pretend like she wasn’t absolutely spiraling.

Ellie tried to focus on the shot, adjusting the aperture, lining up the angle, but every frame looked wrong. The lighting was too harsh, the smiles too forced. Her mind was still outside on the steps, with you. The curve of your mouth. The softness in your voice when you said “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Friend.

She cursed under her breath and took another picture, jaw clenched.

Neither of you could pretend it didn’t happen. And neither of you could figure out what the hell came next.

Her hands were steady. At least, that’s what she was trying to do.

Focus. Aperture. Composition. Lighting.

She adjusted the zoom with mechanical precision, the lens shifting slightly as she snapped another picture of Dr. Anderson with one of the donors. The camera’s shutter clicked, a sound she usually found soothing, grounding. But right now, it just felt like static.

Because all she could fucking think about was you.

You, sitting on the stairs in that dress that made her heart stop. You, leaning into her like maybe—maybe, you were about to kiss her. And then the goddamn coordinator’s voice cutting through the moment like a knife.

She hated how fast she stood up, like she’d been caught. Hated that you pulled away so quickly, face flushing as if maybe you regretted it.

She didn’t even get to say anything. Didn’t get to ask if you’d mean to.

Now, you were somewhere in the crowd probably trying to act normal and she was up here trying to be a professional while her chest was in knots and her brain was looping the moment on repeat like a broken record.

Ellie lifted her camera again. The lens focused on Dr. Anderson shaking hands with a man in a green suit. Her fingers pressed the shutter. One click. Two.

She barely registered the images. Her throat was dry, and she realized she hadn’t spoken in a while.

“Can we get one more, just by the stage?” the coordinator asked.

“Yeah. Sure.” Her voice cracked slightly. She cleared her throat.

She repositioned herself, stepping back and lifting the camera again. But her eyes flicked sideways, automatically. Searching for you. Needing to know where you were.

And there you were, leaning quietly against the far wall, Ellie’s blazer still draped over your shoulders, looking so painfully soft it made her knees weak.

You gave her a small smile when your eyes met, and it wrecked her. Gentle. Reassuring. A little sad, maybe.

She should’ve said something out there. Should’ve kissed you.

But now she was here. She forced herself to look away again. Let the camera be her shield.

Because if she didn’t, she was going to walk across that ballroom, wrap her arms around you, and kiss you in front of every single donor in the room.

And she wasn’t sure she’d survive what would come after.

She was on her way back to you. Eyes already scanning the crowd for the familiar shape of your shoulders, the soft curve of your profile. The blazer still hung loosely around you and Ellie swore she’d never wanted to be a fucking jacket more in her life.

She’d barely taken two steps when someone called her name.

“Miss Williams?”

She turned, a tight smile forming automatically. A tall man in a tailored suit, gray streaks at his temples, glass of champagne in one hand, walked toward her. He looked vaguely familiar. Probably one of the board members Dr. Anderson had introduced her to earlier.

“Yes?” she said, polite.

“I just wanted to say—your work is phenomenal,” he said, “The way you capture people—it’s got heart. That’s rare.”

Ellie nodded, eyes flicking again toward you. You were sitting at a table near the far end, fiddling with a fork, head tilted slightly like you were deep in thought. You looked tired. Beautiful. Miles away.

She forced herself to smile at the guy. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

He kept talking. Asked about her process. About gear. Lighting. “Do you do exhibits? Ever consider a book?”

All she could think about was the way your lips had parted earlier. The way your eyes dropped to hers. The way her heartbeat had been deafening in her ears.

She gave him a few more distracted answers, promised to email a portfolio link, and then finally, finally, the man was called away by Dr. Anderson himself.

Ellie made her way back across the room in a daze, her footsteps slower now. Nervous. Her fingers still tingled from where they’d grazed your hand earlier.

You didn’t say anything when she sat down beside you, but you did nudge a plate toward her. Fries, a little cold now. Chicken skewers. A tiny cupcake. A napkin folded under the fork with her name scribbled on the corner. Her chest ached.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, eyes down.

You just nodded.

Ellie started eating—not because she was hungry, but because her mouth needed something to do other than say something stupid. Like” Were we about to kiss? Or, Did you want me to?”

The silence between you wasn’t awkward, just… careful. Like neither of you wanted to say it first. Neither wanted to break the spell if it turned out it had all been in your heads.

So you both sat there, shoulders brushing, not talking about it at all.

The music dimmed. The lights shifted.

People began leaving in pairs or clusters. Thank you speeches echoed distantly. Ellie chewed on the edge of a fry, eyes still on you.

And still, not a single word about what almost happened. Because it’s easier to pretend it didn’t. Even when both of you are sure it did.

The gala wound down slowly, the last of the champagne glasses emptied and the string quartet packing their instruments in velvet-lined cases. People exchanged cards and polite goodbyes.

You helped Ellie gather her gear, carefully placing her backup lenses in padded compartments, holding her camera bag open while she zipped everything up with methodical precision. Her fingers moved quickly, like muscle memory, but her eyes kept darting to you. Like maybe you’d disappear if she looked away for too long.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, slinging her camera strap over one shoulder. “Gonna give these to Dr. Anderson and the coordinator.”

You nodded. “I’ll wait by the truck.”

She watched you go, the hem of your dress swishing softly with each step. A part of her wanted to call after you. To say something real. Something brave.

Instead, she turned and approached the crowd of remaining staff, handed out the cards, exchanged quick thank-yous and nods. Dr. Anderson complimented her again, and asked her about future projects. She smiled, but her mind was already in the parking lot.

By the time she got back to her truck, you were leaning against the passenger door, arms folded gently across your chest, face lit by the soft amber of the lot lights.

“All done?” you asked.

“Yeah.” she said unlocking the door.

The ride was quiet at first, the city bleeding past in blurred streaks of gold and blue. Then Ellie started talking, voice low and a little raspy from the long night.

“Some of the donors came up to me,” she said. “Said nice shit about my work. One of them asked if I ever thought about putting together a gallery, which is… ridiculous, but whatever.”

Your head dipped against the seat, lids heavier with each word.

“It would be amazing honestly,” you said softly. “All your best pieces of work gathered together, I think you could do it”

Ellie glanced over. “Someday maybe”

You were dozing. Lips slightly parted. Hands curled in your lap.

She smiled, soft and aching.

“I don’t really care what they say, though,” she whispered. “Not really. Not if you’re not the one saying it.”

You stirred faintly, but didn’t wake.

The rest of the drive was filled with low music and even lower thoughts.

When she finally pulled up to your place, she cut the engine, letting the silence settle between you before reaching over gently.

“Hey,” she murmured, brushing your arm.

You blinked awake, groggy. “We’re here?”

“Yeah.”

You yawned, stretching, eyes half-lidded as you turned to her. “Thanks, Els. For taking me. I really enjoyed tonight….”

Ellie chuckled quietly. “Yeah. Me too.”

She walked you to your door, hands in her pockets.

You turned to her, suddenly unsure if you should say something else. But instead, you just leaned in—arms wrapping around her shoulders, her face pressed briefly into your neck.

The hug lasted a second too long.

Neither of you moved to let go right away.

And when you finally did, Ellie gave you a small smile.

You took off the blazer from where it previously laid. Warm on your shoulders, handing it back to Ellie, fingers brushing at the exchange.

“Goodnight Ellie” you said, going up to your doorstep.

“Goodnight” she whispered, backing down.

You watched her go, heart thudding loud against your ribs.

And then she was gone, taillights glowing dimly as her truck rolled out into the quiet street, taking your almost-kiss and every unsaid word with it.

You stepped into the apartment, the door clicking softly shut behind you. With a sigh, you kicked off your heels, letting them fall where they may, and pulled your phone from your purse, fingers trembling.

The weight in your chest had been building all night, tightening with every glance, every unsaid word, every almost. You couldn’t hold it anymore.

You found Dina’s contact and hit “Call,” bringing the phone to your ear as it rang once… twice…

“Hello—”

“I think I’m in love with Ellie.”

You said it before she could even finish her greeting, the words pouring out in a single breath, rushed and delicate—but honest. So honest. And the second they left your lips, something unknotted inside your chest. A confession, quiet but earth-shaking.

Simultaneously, Ellie sat in her truck, hands gripping the steering wheel long after the engine had gone quiet. The hum of the night outside her window did little to quiet the storm inside her chest.

She stared out through the windshield, heart thudding like a drum in her throat. Her tie was still loose around her neck, the scent of your perfume lingering faintly on her blazer. That almost-kiss haunted every corner of her mind.

She pulled out her phone, thumb hesitating for a second before tapping Jesse’s name. It rang twice before his voice came through, hoarse and confused.

“Dude, it’s midnight. What the fuck—”

“I think I’m in love with her.”

The words came out low, like if she said them too loud, they’d become too real.

There was a pause on the other end. “With… her her?”

Ellie slumped back in her seat, covering her eyes with her hand. “Yeah. Her her.”

It was real. It was undeniable. She was in love with her best friend, like some fucking cliche and the weight of it settled over her chest like a secret too big to hold. It pulsed through her veins, raw and terrifying, because loving you wasn’t something she could undo, and the thought of it never being returned made her feel like she might break open right there in the quiet of her truck. It was everything, and it was too much. And still, she wouldn’t take it back.

.

taglist <3

@liasxeatt @80saturn @eleanorsghost @youusunshineyoutemptress @jazzyxox @lesoulew @fangirlinc @hitmehardmommy @liztreez @chwekriz00 @vahnilla @elliespotion @haithone @stwolfhardimaginez @thxtmarvelchick @purinukie @lavenderseedling @elliesfavwife @mikellie @iadorefineshyt @thebadwritersposts @gayandsuffering26 @flynnph0bias @adoreasellie

lmk if anyone else wants to be added !

[joaeriz]

8 LETTERS (Paige Bueckers x Fem!Reader)

📎 inspired by “8 Letters” by Why Don’t We 📖 fluff | slow burn | soft romance | college AU 💌 word count: ~2.8k

summary: When Y/N is assigned to write a feature on UConn’s star player Paige Bueckers, the last thing she expects is late-night FaceTimes, secret hangouts, and catching real feelings. As the line between friendship and something more starts to blur, both girls are left wondering if they’re brave enough to say the eight letters that could change everything.

authors note: (Okay, so before you jump in—I just wanna say I had so much fun writing this. It’s honestly a mix of two of my favorite things ever: Paige Bueckers (who I adore) and “8 Letters” by Why Don’t We (which lives rent-free in my head, always). The idea hit me out of nowhere—like, what if that kind of soft, slow, “I love you but I’m scared to say it” kind of story played out between Y/N and Paige? And it just spiraled from there in the best way. I got way too emotionally invested in these two (not sorry), and writing all the cute moments, the late-night FaceTimes, and the feelings they’re both too scared to admit? Ugh. I loved every second.So if you’re into a little angst, a lot of softness, and some seriously sweet vibes, I hope this gives you butterflies the way it gave me butterflies writing it. Thanks for reading—it means so much. — Jo)

P.s: this is my first fic i have posted on here!! Im not new at writing, but let me know if you guys want more :)

You weren’t supposed to fall in love with your story subject.

That was rule number one of journalism school. No dating your interviewees, no crushes on profile pieces, no getting involved. But rules felt irrelevant the first time Paige Bueckers smiled at you like you were more than another face with a notepad.

Your assignment was simple—write a semester-long feature on the UConn women’s basketball team for the student paper. Paige, naturally, was the center of the piece. A star on and off the court. Already a national name. Every sports journalist dreamed of covering her.

You were supposed to remain objective.

Instead, you were falling for her.

Hard.

—

It started with a dead recorder.

Your first real conversation wasn’t planned—unless you count fate as a planner. You’d been huddled near the sideline at practice, trying to record a quote from one of the assistant coaches when your recorder sputtered out and died mid-sentence. You swore under your breath and slapped it, like that ever helped.

Paige had been walking by, sipping on a water bottle, and stopped. “Need backup?”

You looked up, startled. “Only if you’ve got a time machine.”

She smiled. “Nope. But I’ve got the Voice Memos app.”

She handed over her phone like it was no big deal—like she hadn’t just offered you her lifeline. You blinked. “You trust a random reporter with your phone?”

“You don’t seem like the type to scroll through texts.” She leaned in with a smirk. “Besides, you’ve got an honest face. And a tragic relationship with electronics.”

You laughed, cheeks heating. She stayed next to you for a few minutes, watching as you wrapped up your interview with her phone in hand. When it was over, she texted you the audio file with the message:

“Try not to let your technology trauma ruin your career.”

You responded with a lame thank-you and a joke about threatening your recorder with a hammer. You didn’t expect her to reply.

But she did.

“Violence is rarely the answer, but I’ll allow it.”

From there, it snowballed. Texts turned into full-blown threads. Threads into daily check-ins. She started sending random memes between practices—some sports-related, some completely unhinged—and you’d match her energy with cursed TikToks and sarcastic commentary.

Then came the first FaceTime.

You were editing audio at 11:47 p.m. when her name lit up your screen. Paige Bueckers is FaceTiming you.

You stared at it for a second. Then answered.

She was wrapped in a hoodie with damp hair and tired eyes, lying in bed. “Hey,” she said softly. “Didn’t wanna be alone tonight.”

That first call lasted three hours.

You talked about everything: your major, her injuries, your complicated relationship with your hometown, her fear of letting people down. She confessed that sometimes, the pressure made her want to run away to a place where no one knew her name.

You said you understood.

After that, it became routine. Late-night FaceTimes. Morning Snapchats. Study breaks where she'd call and say, “Tell me something random,” and you’d ramble about your day while she half-listened, half-dozed.

—

The first time you hung out outside of school was under the guise of an interview follow-up.

She invited you to a local coffee shop—some cozy little place with plants in every window and tables just slightly too small. You showed up with your laptop and pages of notes. Paige showed up in a hoodie and beanie, no makeup, looking infuriatingly good.

You talked for two hours.

Only twenty minutes was about basketball.

She paid for your drink when you weren’t looking.

“I’ll Venmo you,” you said, pretending to dig for your phone.

She just shrugged. “Nah. Call it a reporter’s hazard fee.”

After that came more not-quite-dates. Study sessions in the campus library where she never actually studied. Walks through the trail behind the dorms where she'd kick pebbles and talk about life like it was something she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

One night, she invited you to “movie night” with the team.

You showed up with snacks and nerves, expecting a whole crowd.

But it was just her.

Two mugs of hot chocolate already on the table. A blanket tossed casually over the couch. She tried to play it off. “The others bailed,” she claimed with a sheepish shrug.

She was a terrible liar.

You stayed anyway.

She fell asleep halfway through the second movie with her head on your shoulder, and you didn’t dare move.

After that night, everything shifted.

—

There were moments. God, there were moments.

The way her hand would brush yours when she passed you something and linger—just a second too long. The way she’d light up when you walked into a room, like you were the only one she’d been waiting for. How she’d say things like:

“Sometimes I forget how to breathe around you.”

And then immediately pretend it was a joke.

You wanted to say it.

You almost did—on Valentine’s Day, when she left a note in your dorm mailbox with a chocolate bar and the words “you’re my favorite notification.”

But you chickened out.

Because if she didn’t feel the same way, you’d lose her. And that possibility was more terrifying than staying quiet.

But then came the silence.

She started pulling away. Fewer texts. Missed calls. Short replies like:

“Practice ran late.” “Sorry, just tired.” “Talk soon?”

And soon became never.

Until the day it broke.

—

It was cold. Rainy. The kind of day that made everything feel heavier. You were walking past the practice facility, hood up, heart aching, when you saw her.

Paige. Alone. Leaning against the wall like she was waiting for something—or someone.

You slowed. She looked up.

“I think we should stop,” she said.

Your stomach dropped. “Stop…?”

“This. Us. I don’t know what this is to you, and I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with not knowing.”

You blinked, throat closing.

“I’m not asking you to guess,” you managed to say.

“Well, then tell me,” she whispered. “Because I think about you all the time, and I don’t know how to make it stop. And it hurts, Y/N. It hurts not knowing if I’m just another story to you.”

And finally—finally—you said the words.

“You asked what love looks like to me.”

She held her breath.

“It looks like you. Like FaceTime calls at midnight and cold coffee on a Sunday morning. It’s how you fight through everything and still smile like you’re not carrying the weight of the world. I didn’t say it before because I was scared, but I’m more scared of losing you.”

Her eyes glossed. She stepped closer.

“You love me?” she asked, barely a whisper.

“I do.”

And when she kissed you, it was soft and shaky and real. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

—

That night, your article sat unfinished.

She lay beside you on your tiny dorm bed, her hand brushing yours under the covers, the silence between you humming with peace.

“Say it again,” she murmured.

You smiled.

“I love you.”

Eight letters.

—

It had been twenty-six days since you told Paige you loved her.

Twenty-six days since she kissed you in the rain like her world had just started spinning again.

Twenty-six days since things finally became real.

And every single one of those days had felt like waking up in the softest dream.

Being with Paige wasn’t loud or flashy—not most of the time. It was slow mornings in bed, tangled limbs and quiet whispers. It was FaceTiming just to sit in silence while you both worked. It was warm hoodies borrowed without asking, and her stealing your socks because “they’re the soft ones.”

It was peace.

One Sunday morning, you found her asleep on your couch, wearing your crewneck and hugging your stuffed animal. She’d crashed the night before after watching movies in your room, the two of you curled together on your tiny dorm bed until she got too warm and rolled onto the floor, dramatically sighing, “This is why we need a queen-sized mattress and a lease.”

You’d laughed, thinking she was joking.

Then she blinked up at you and said, totally serious, “Like… a place. You and me. Off campus. Someday.”

Your heart soared, and you tucked the idea away like a wish on a star.

Later, she sleepily mumbled, “I want you in my mornings and my nights.”

And you knew she meant it.

—

Dating Paige came with little adventures.

Like the time she surprised you with a picnic—on a Tuesday.

You’d been having the worst week: deadlines, papers, zero sleep. Paige texted you in the middle of class: “Be ready at 6. Trust me.”

You met her behind the student union, expecting takeout and a movie.

Instead, she’d laid out a blanket under a canopy of fairy lights she somehow got from the volleyball team’s gear closet. There was music playing from a Bluetooth speaker, a thermos of your favorite hot cocoa, and a little box of cupcakes from the bakery you once mentioned you liked.

“I know you’re overwhelmed,” she said, pulling you into a hug. “So I’m forcing you to pause. Just for tonight.”

You nearly cried.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered.

She kissed your forehead and grinned. “Nah. We deserve each other.”

—

Her love came in a thousand small ways.

When your period hit hard, she showed up with snacks, heating pads, and the world’s ugliest cartoon pajamas she said were “scientifically proven to improve moods.” (They did.)

When she won a game, she didn’t go out with the team—she came to your place and danced with you barefoot in the kitchen to 2000s R&B.

When you got a bad grade on a paper and spiraled about being “not good enough,” she held your face in her hands and said, “You’re brilliant. One grade doesn’t get to rewrite the story.”

She never let you forget your worth—even when you did.

—

Your favorite tradition was Sunday mornings.

You’d wake up slow—her arm slung lazily around your waist, her cheek against your shoulder. She always looked soft in the mornings, voice scratchy, hair messy, face unfiltered.

“Don’t look at me,” she’d mumble, burying her face in the pillow.

You always did anyway.

You’d take turns making breakfast—read: burning toast and debating whether Pop-Tarts counted as a real meal. You’d play records on your vintage player, dance around the room in socks, kiss in the doorway like it was a scene from a movie.

She called you “home” once.

You didn’t say anything in return.

You just pulled her into your chest and held her tighter than words could manage.

—

There were no more secrets now.

People knew. Slowly, sure. But Paige had started holding your hand in public. At first on quieter streets, where no one looked. Then at campus parties. Then at a game.

After a home win, she ran over to the bleachers—where you were waiting—and kissed you in front of a thousand fans and a dozen cameras.

“I love you,” she said breathlessly. “Needed you to know before anything else.”

The video went viral. The team teased her endlessly.

She didn’t care.

Neither did you.

—

One night, lying in bed with your laptop open on your stomach and Paige half-asleep beside you, you said, “This is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

She looked up. “Because of me?”

You smiled. “Because of us.”

She kissed your shoulder and whispered, “Let’s stay like this forever.”

And maybe the future held more challenges—graduation, jobs, long-distance talks if things got complicated.

But for now, you had everything you needed.

Her heartbeat beside yours. Her laughter echoing in your chest. And the words you once feared to say now lived freely between you.

“I love you.” Eight letters. Forever on repeat.

[cinnamonlouu]

Where the line is

A continuation of “in his quiet”

Smoke (elijah) x black!reader

Synopsis: after that night Elijah’s words stuck with her so she wonders how far she can go and see what he does.

It started with something small.

She came home later than usual, her phone dead.

No call. No text.

The doorman let her in with an apologetic smile. “Mr. Moore is in the kitchen.”

Marie smiled, shook the chill from her shoulders, and took the elevator up. When she stepped into the condo, she found Elijah in the kitchen.Plain white tee, dinner still warm on the stove.

He didn’t ask where she’d been.

Didn’t raise his voice.

Just looked her over once, poured her a glass of wine, and set a plate in front of her.

“Eat.”

She didn’t speak.

He didn’t either.

But when she slid into bed later that night and curled against him, his arm wrapped around her waist like a lock.

Not too tight.

Just enough to let her know this was not something he wanted her to do again.

⸻

A week later, she didn’t answer when he called.

Twice.

She saw the name on the screen. She was out shopping, loud music in the background, joking with Camryn about shoes that cost more than her rent.

She waited until she was back in her car to call him back.

“Hey, sorry, I was with Cam—”

“Learn how to use your phone or you won’t have one at all.”

She paused. “What?”

“Elijah—”

“You wanna keep this light?” His voice was calm. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Later that night, she found her phone face down on her nightstand, screen cracked. Elijah handed her a new one at dinner.

“Yours was glitchin’.”

The new one had all her contacts. Same background. Same apps.

She didn’t ask how he transferred everything. She didn’t have to.

⸻

Then came the party.

Not a test. Not at first.

Just a friend’s rooftop birthday — Marie showed up alone. Elijah had a meeting downtown, said he’d come later if it ran short.

He didn’t.

So Marie danced.

Just a song or two, nothing wild. She laughed, held a drink in one hand,and laughed her night away.

It was a man she didn’t know well. Brandon “Damn, you glowing. Ya man better be treating you right.”

She smiled. “He is.”

“You sure? Ain’t here, is he?”

Marie tilted her head. “He doesn’t have to be everywhere.”

Brandon chuckled. “You right. But if you ever need a backup plan—”

“I don’t” she turned her body walking away

her phone buzzed.

1 new message from: Elijah 🥰

“Come home.”

She froze.

She hadn’t told him where the party was.

⸻

Making her way in the penthouse, she walked into the kitchen and found him cooking.

“Who told you where I was?”

Elijah didn’t look up.

“The dress would’ve looked better in white,” he said, sliding the pasta onto her plate.

Marie blinked. “That wasn’t my question”

“I’m always where you are.”

⸻

The last time?

It was on purpose.

She caught attitude. Over shoes “I wanted these in red bottoms elijah” she snarled “store closed you’ll get it when they open” he responded taking his watch off, putting it back in his collection in the walk in closet.

“How did you even forget, red bottoms are not everyday shoes like these that’s why I like to do shit my fucking self.

You turned around to him right there staring down at you.

“I don’t know what soft ass nigga you been dating?” he said. “Men who let you talk to them any kind of way and roll your eyes like a child, not over here fix it before I fix it for you.”

“And you’re my father now?”

“No.” His voice dropped lower. “But I’m the only man in your life and it’s gon stay that way for a long time.”

Marie swallowed.

Hard.

Because it wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them, with that look in his eyes like he already had the outcome in hand. Like her rebellion was cute, but not real.

She pushed past him, sat on the edge of the bed, towel clutched tighter.

“Fine,” she muttered.

But he wasn’t done.

He sat beside her, hands resting loosely on his knees.

“You get one warning,” he said. “You catch an attitude with me again, I’ll remind you who you belong to.”

Her breath caught.

She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he didn’t own her, that she wasn’t some little girl who needed disciplining — but part of her liked the way he said it.

Liked the weight of it.

Liked knowing there was someone who wouldn’t bend.

She shifted. Didn’t meet his gaze.

“You forget sometimes,” he said, voice quiet now. “How I handle you with care. But don’t confuse what I do for you for weakness.”

Marie looked at him, finally.

Her eyes weren’t angry. Just vulnerable. Like she wasn’t sure if she’d crossed a line.

He saw it.

“Fix your attitude and go get dressed Marie ”

She nodded walking into the closet.

—————

“Feet up.”

She obeyed.

And when she tucked her legs under his arm, leaned into his shoulder, he finally spoke again.

“You keep testing me ‘cause you wanna know where the line is. But there ain’t one. Not with you.”

He leaned in, kissed her cheek.

Then her neck.

Then her mouth.

“Take your panties,” he said, calm as ever. “Before I tear em.”

Marie didn’t argue.

Didn’t roll her eyes.

Because deep down, she knew something she hadn’t wanted to admit:

She needed a man like Elijah.

Not because he was rich. Or protective. Or because he made her feel wanted.

When she caught a attitude.

He stopped her.

Put her back where she belonged, safe, seen, and his.

[jo-com]

pls alex albon fic next🙏🤞parang awa mo na teh

──★ ｡🫧⋆｡˚ The Backup Plan

Alex Albon x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: You’ve had a long-standing pact with Alex: If you’re both still single by 30, you’ll marry each other...You’re engaged to someone else now… until Alex drunkenly posts the pact on Twitter. It blows up—and fans vote that you should dump your fiancé.

୨ৎ Genre: Slight angst?, a little smau and a happy ending or nah? read to find out ;)

୨ৎ Note: Send request y'all, also hope you like this! has some grammatical error and stuffs

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

They were sitting on the roof of his apartment, legs dangling over the edge, two beers between them and an entire city below. It was 2:08 AM, the kind of hour that made everything feel quieter, closer, truer.

You were both twenty-one. Young enough to believe in forever, dumb enough to talk about it like it was something you could schedule.

“I’m never gonna find someone,” Alex said, head tilted back to look at the stars. “They either want the driver or the version of me they think lives on yachts.”

You snorted. “Yeah, god forbid someone loves you for your sparkling sarcasm and sleep deprivation.”

He smiled, soft and sideways. The kind he only gave you. “You’re not exactly thriving in the romance department either.”

You leaned back on your elbows, the breeze catching your hair. “I’m holding out for a golden retriever in a human man’s body. Loyal, dumb, likes snacks.”

“That’s literally me,” he said, deadpan.

You turned to him, smirking. “You’re not dumb.”

He blinked. “That’s what you took from that?”

You were quiet for a moment, the laughter settling into something gentler.

And then you said it—half a joke, half a wish:

“Okay, if we’re both still single at thirty, we get married.”

Alex didn’t laugh. He didn’t even hesitate. He looked at you with that warm, steady certainty that always threw you off.

“Deal,” he said, holding out his pinky.

You looped yours with his.

“We’ll probably forget we even said this.”

But deep down, you knew you wouldn’t.

Neither of you ever did.

...

Years slipped through your fingers like sand—quiet, unnoticed, until they weren’t. Now, at twenty-eight, you and Alex were two almost-strangers orbiting around what used to be everything. Birthdays, wins, late-night calls—once sacred little rituals—were now reduced to muted texts and empty-hearted “miss you’s.”

The milestones still came. But they came alone.

The big 3-0 was creeping up now—no longer a distant joke or a silly pact sealed on a rooftop, but a deadline that loomed like a memory you hadn’t made peace with. It sat in the corners of your thoughts, like dust you kept forgetting to clean.

Only this time, something was different.

You were engaged.

To someone steady. Kind. Good. To someone who wasn’t him.

And for the first time since that night on the roof, the deal—the pinky promise you once held like a lifeline—felt like something you had quietly buried in the past. Not because you forgot.

But because remembering it hurt.

...

The proposal had been perfect.

A quiet dinner. Your favorite restaurant. Warm lights, soft music, a ring that sparkled in just the right way. He’d gotten down on one knee and asked, and you’d said yes with a smile that felt real.

It was real. But it wasn’t whole.

Because the first person you wanted to tell—the one person who would’ve rolled his eyes and said “finally, someone’s dumb enough to marry you”—wasn’t there. Not in your inbox. Not in your messages. Not even in your life the way he used to be.

You sent him a picture of the ring anyway.

No caption. Just that. He didn’t reply.

And maybe that should’ve been enough for you to let it go. To finally move forward with both feet planted where they should be.

...

username NOT ALEX ALBON SOFT LAUNCHING HIS HEARTBREAK AT 3AM 😭😭😭

username whoever that girl is… break up with your fiancé. it’s for the grid. for the sport. for the legacy 🏁💍🚩

username no bc if alex tweeted this about ME i would be at his door in a wedding dress IMMEDIATELY 👰‍♀️💅

username the way this man just said “i’m emotionally unavailable but loyal” in one tweet 🥲

username imagine being engaged and the ENTIRE F1 fandom is telling you to go back to alex albon. i would simply fold.

username this tweet has more chemistry than most paddock couples. i fear this ship is sailing with or without her 😭🚢

username alex albon said “what if i caused emotional damage AND chaos in 140 characters” and honestly? he succeeded ✨

username “they forget” — YOU KNOW SHE DIDN’T FORGET BRO 😭 this is pain. i’m feeling it in my chest.

...

Two months later—on a regular Tuesday, when the sky was gray and your phone was face-down—he tweeted it.

Your eyes widened instantly as you red between his tweet— Your breath caught without permission.

And that feeling—the one you'd spent months, maybe years, trying to bury—rose fast and vicious in your chest. That familiar tightness. That ache between your ribs. The one that only ever belonged to him.

Confusion hit first. Then came the anger.

What was he thinking? why now? why publicly?

And then came the other realization.

Why do i care so much?

Because everything was different now. You had a ring on your finger. A man who loved you. A wedding date marked in ink.

You were getting married.

Just not to the boy who once pinky-promised you forever at 2:08 a.m.

And that’s the problem.

...

You didn’t hear him come in.

You were still sitting on the couch, phone limp in your hand, the tweet burned into your retinas like some kind of confession you hadn’t meant to write—but somehow belonged to you anyway.

“Y/N?”

Your head snapped up. He was standing in the doorway, coat still on, holding a takeout bag and a look that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed. “Hey. You’re back early.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just walked in slowly, set the food on the counter, and stared at you in that quiet way he always did when he was thinking too hard and trying too hard not to show it.

“You’re trending,” he said.

Just like that.

You opened your mouth, but there was nothing ready to come out. Not an excuse. Not an explanation. Nothing that could make this better.

He sat across from you. No anger. No raised voice. Just… restraint.

“That tweet,” he said softly. “The one about the marriage pact.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

He let out a breath. It wasn’t a laugh. It wasn’t a scoff. It was disappointment, paper-thin and sharp.

“Do you love him?”

Your heart stuttered.

“No,” you said too quickly. “I mean—not like that. Not now. I don’t—”

“But you did.”

Silence.

He nodded, slow and defeated, like the answer had already been written in every pause, every time you’d flinched at Alex’s name, every time you smiled too softly at an old memory.

“I know I’m not him,” he added, barely above a whisper.

And the worst part was—you didn’t even know if that was meant to comfort you or remind you.

“I’m trying, Y/N,” he said. “I’ve been trying. But I feel like I’m holding a place someone else still owns.”

The room felt small. The air too still.

“I chose you,” you whispered. “I said yes.”

“But have you let him go?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it?

[slut-for-slutty-fictional-men]

More Than a Plus One

Pairing: Harry Lewis x Reader

Warnings: Fake dating, jealousy, sexual tension, wedding night mischief, possessiveness, slightly rough moments, language.

Summary: You beg Harry to pretend to be your boyfriend at your ex’s wedding. What starts as a harmless charade soon turns into something much more real.

Word count: 1600

Masterlist

You had spent the past hour pacing your room, phone clutched tightly in your hand, your thoughts a tangled mess. The idea had been bouncing around in your mind all afternoon, and now, with your ex’s wedding rapidly approaching, you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

You weren’t going alone. That was non-negotiable. You needed a buffer, someone to make the night bearable, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to pretend — just for the night.

A text to Harry seemed like the only solution.

“Hey, I need your help. I know this is weird, but I need you to come with me to a wedding. My ex’s wedding. Please.”

You stared at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard, before you hit send. It was a request you never thought you’d make, but there was no way you were going without backup. You just didn’t know if Harry would agree.

The response came quickly, almost instantly. “A wedding? Is this a ‘pretend to be your boyfriend’ situation? Because I’m down for that.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Of course, Harry would be down for it. He never backed down from a challenge. You were just hoping it didn’t turn into something you couldn’t control.

“Exactly. I need you to be my boyfriend for the night. Just for appearances, okay?”

There was a pause. Just a few seconds. And then he replied, his words light, but with a playful undertone you could almost hear through the screen. “I can definitely play the part. When and where?”

Your heart skipped a beat. That was too easy. Too good to be true.

“Tonight. I’ll pick you up at 6.”

“Perfect. I’ll be ready.”

And just like that, you had a date. Well, kind of. You were both pretending, but the way your pulse quickened at the thought of being with him tonight? It was anything but pretend.

Later that evening, you stood in front of the mirror in your childhood home, feeling slightly ridiculous in your formal dress. It wasn’t even the dress itself that made you feel out of place. It was the entire situation — you’d never needed a fake boyfriend before. But here you were, playing this role to perfection.

The doorbell rang, and your heart skipped. You opened the door to find Harry standing there, dressed to the nines in a sharp black tuxedo. His smile was crooked, his eyes bright with mischief, and the sight of him made your breath catch.

“Well, well,” he said with a low whistle, looking you over. “You clean up nice.” He winked, his voice teasing but warm.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep it together. “Don’t get any ideas. This is just for show.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “Of course. Just for show.” He stepped closer, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. “But I can’t help it if you look too good for me to keep my hands to myself.”

You felt your heart race at his words. God, he was good at this. Maybe too good.

You gave him a playful shove. “Come on, we don’t have time for this.”

Harry chuckled, his hand brushing yours as he followed you inside. “Right. Let’s get this charade over with then.”

But even as you said the words, the truth was that this wasn’t just some charade. Not for either of you. Something was simmering beneath the surface — a spark of attraction neither of you had fully acknowledged. Not yet.

And tonight, you were both going to pretend that it didn’t exist

The ceremony is everything you expected—beautiful, elegant, nauseating. You stand with Harry near the back row of the outdoor garden setup, sun blazing through the trees, the officiant’s voice floating over the hush of seated guests.

Harry leans down, lips ghosting your ear. “Think he’s gonna cry?”

You shoot him a look. “Probably. He always did like theatrics.”

His fingers brush the small of your back, subtle. “He’s already looking over here.”

You glance across the aisle and catch your ex—James—in a tailored navy suit, standing stiffly at the altar. His jaw clenches when he sees Harry’s arm resting behind you.

You smile sweetly. Hook your hand around Harry’s forearm like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this isn’t the most absurd lie you’ve ever told.

Fake boyfriend. At your ex’s wedding.

What could possibly go wrong?

After the ceremony, guests filter into the reception hall—floor-to-ceiling windows, golden string lights, flower arrangements that probably cost more than your rent.

Harry holds your hand like it’s second nature, guiding you through the crowd, always a half-step behind you, always watching.

He’s too good at this.

When you finally reach your assigned table, James is already seated—next to his new wife, of course—but his eyes flick up immediately, narrowing on Harry’s fingers loosely threaded with yours.

“Didn’t know you were bringing someone,” he says, smiling tight.

You return the smile, sharper. “Oh, I thought you saw us during the vows. You kept looking.”

Harry lets out a quiet laugh.

James’ wife, to her credit, seems oblivious. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she says, offering Harry a polite hand. “You two have been together long?”

“About a year,” Harry says smoothly. “Right, babe?”

Your stomach flips at the pet name. You nod. “Time flies.”

James shifts uncomfortably. “That’s funny. Because last I checked—”

“I didn’t realize you were still checking,” you cut in, voice calm. “Seems a little… weird, considering you’re the one who left.”

The air at the table shifts.

Harry squeezes your thigh beneath the linen-draped table. A small reminder. I’ve got you.

The dinner is a slow-burn nightmare—cutlery clinking, James watching Harry like a hawk, your skin prickling every time Harry rests his hand just a little too high on your leg.

When the dancing starts, Harry offers his hand. “Care to put on a show?”

You hesitate. Glance toward the bar.

“I need a drink first.”

You’re halfway through your second glass of champagne when James corners you near the photo booth.

“Really?” he says, eyes scanning the dance floor. “Harry Lewis?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s your point?”

“He’s a bloody YouTuber. This feels desperate, even for you.”

You laugh, cold and hollow. “Desperate? You invited me to your wedding. That’s desperate.”

His smile drops.

“You’re still bitter.”

“No,” you say, voice quiet. “I was bitter for a long time. But now? I’m just done.”

“Are you actually with him?” he asks. “Because I saw the way you looked at me when I walked in.”

You step closer, breath barely brushing his cheek. “You saw what you wanted to see. But trust me—he is the only one I’m looking at now.”

You turn—and nearly crash into Harry.

He’s already got his jacket off, sleeves rolled, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He looks every bit the devil-may-care heartthrob he plays online—and yet, right now, there’s nothing playful in his eyes.

“Everything alright?” he asks, gaze flicking between you and James.

“Peachy,” you murmur.

James scoffs and walks off.

Harry watches him go, jaw tight. “He always that charming?”

You force a smile. “Want to dance?”

He offers his hand. “You read my mind.”

The music pulses low, romantic, just slow enough to make it dangerous. You’re on the edge of the dance floor, wrapped in Harry’s arms, your cheek against his chest.

“Thanks,” you say softly. “For coming. For pretending.”

He leans down, voice brushing your ear. “You really think I have to pretend?”

Your breath catches.

“You’re a good liar,” you whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His hands on your waist tighten.

“I’m not lying,” he says. “Not about any of this.”

You try to speak, but he cuts you off with a kiss—soft at first, then deeper, more desperate, like he’s been waiting all night to stop pretending.

Somewhere behind you, someone whistles. You pull back, flustered.

Harry just grins. “We should stop pretending.”

Your laugh is breathless. “Yeah. We should.”

The wedding winds down. You and Harry sneak away before the sparkler send-off.

Back in the hotel suite, it’s quiet—just the buzz of the city outside and the pounding of your heart.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at your heels on the floor.

“Hey,” Harry says, crouching in front of you. “You okay?”

You nod. “He tried to say you weren’t real. That I wasn’t over him.”

Harry tilts his head. “And are you?”

You meet his gaze. “I was never the one who needed to be over someone.”

There’s a beat of silence.

And then he leans in. Kisses you again—hungrier, messier this time. Like he’s spent all night holding back and finally, finally, he’s allowed to want.

You melt into him. His hands push the straps of your dress down your shoulders. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

Everything tastes like champagne and heat.

He lays you back on the bed, whispering your name like a promise, like something sacred.

And this time, there’s no pretending.

Just you, him, and everything you never thought you’d get to feel again.

[prettydaisygirl]

streamer!James Potter x superfan!reader who finally gets noticed in his chat ✿ 680 words

cw: I don't think I wrote any identifying traits for reader, but I had fem!reader in mind when writing, the marauders as live-streamers, chat being chat, the tts bot, reader is obsessed with James (Prongs)

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

next part

You rush into your apartment, tripping over your own feet as you kick off your shoes. You catch yourself before you fall on your face, rushing through your living room and into your bedroom, to your laptop. 

You open the laptop, typing in your password and quickly navigating to your favorite live-streaming website. It’s 4 pm, which means he is streaming. Your favorite streamer and internet crush: Prongs. 

You’ve been a dedicated fan of Prongs for several months now. He is part of a streamer group known as the Marauders along with his friends: Padfoot, Moony, and Wormtail. The four men play games, make jokes, talk shit, and have a very, very dedicated fan base. 

You join the stream while he is still on his ‘stream starting soon’ screen. You quickly type in the chat.

yourusername: hello prongs! hope you’re having a good day <3

Your message is probably lost in the sea of the hundreds of hello messages taking over the chat as people begin joining. You can only hope he sees yours among the rest. You wonder what he does before stream while his starting soon screen plays. Is he at his desk reading chat? Eating a last minute snack?

You jump onto your bed, resting on your belly as you kick your feet in the air. Prongs’ face appears, as handsome and charming as always. His curly hair is unruly, headphones making a dent in the brunette waves where they sit on his head. Your heart flutters when you see him, a giant smile on your face as he greets the chat. You send a second hello then too, eyeing the other messages.

marauders_fan420: play fortnite

thatpenelope: hi prongs!!! ur so hot!!!

prongs_upmyahss: hello chat

Prongs and the other marauders begin playing some new horror game you don’t recognize. You grab a snack from your kitchen, carrying your laptop with you so you don’t miss any part of the stream. As you settle back onto your bed, you get a notification in the chat box. 

It is time to renew your subscription! Announce your resub?

You smile brightly, quickly moving to announce your support of your favorite streamer. You spend a few minutes thinking of what you want to say before sending your message.

You hear Prongs’ subscription announcement alert sound, the talk-to-speech bot reading out your message to him while he plays the game.

TTS Bot: yourusername has resubscribed for 12 months. Hi Prongs! Happy one year. I just wanted to say thank you for all of the good times you have given me over these last 12 months. You always manage to cheer me up when I’m sad and you always know exactly how to make me laugh when I’m stressed. I love you and here’s to another 12 months <3

Your heart pounds as the text to speech bot reads your message, a smile blossoming on the handsome streamer’s face as the robotic voice reaches his ears.

“yourusername, happy one year, love! Boys, it's our anniversary!” Prongs laughs, flicking some hair out of his face. You hear the laughter of the other boys too. Prongs' fingers move over his controller, eyes glued to the game, but his mind on your message. “I’m glad that I’m able to cheer you up when you’re sad. I love you too, angel. Here’s to another year!”

You think you might die, heart skipping several beats in your chest, eyes wide. He loves you too!!! And he called you angel!!!

You do a happy dance in your bed, watching the clip of him reading your name and saying he loves you over and over again. You save it. And you make a backup. You might just be another fan to him, but he is your idol, your dream man, your everything. 

You settle back onto your bed, happier than ever, beaming. You sigh happily as your gaze settles back onto Prongs' face, entirely focused on him and his interactions with his friends.

You reach down to type another message into the chat. Who knows, maybe he’ll notice you again?

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[pbaz7]

ONE SHOT: WHAT YOU HEARD

paige x azzi

warning: drinking, sexual content, cheating

word count: 13k

A/N: Someone asked me to do a one shot based on Sonder What You Heard so this is my attempt at that. It was a little hard but I tried my best. This is also for all the whores who wanted a “bonus” scene from against the tide. It’s not post library but it’s something! Lmk what you think and leave live reacts 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

The locker room was nearly silent, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the space as Paige pushed the door open. She had just finished talking to Geno after practice, her mind still half in the conversation. But when her eyes landed on Azzi, sitting alone on the bench, her brow furrowed and her phone resting limply in her hand, she paused mid-step.

“What’s wrong Az?” Paige asked, her voice softer than usual.

Azzi didn’t look up immediately. Instead, she pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Nothing,” she muttered under her breath, but even that word cracked with doubt.

Paige leaned against the row of lockers, crossing her arms as a scoff escaped her lips. “Bullshit,” she said bluntly. Her eyes darted to the phone in Azzi’s hand. “He still hasn’t texted you back, has he?”

Azzi hesitated, her face tightening before she sighed. “He’s busy. You know how he is.”

“Busy my ass, Azzi,” Paige said, the irritation in her tone clear. “He’s on the football team, and they’re not even that good.”

Azzi’s head shot up, a glare in her eyes. “You just don’t like him,” she shot back defensively.

Paige didn’t flinch, didn’t even pretend to deny it. Instead, her expression stayed the same, and she shrugged. “You’re right I don’t like him. I sure as hell don’t respect him. He’s a bitch.”

Azzi let out a low groan, running a hand down her face. “Paige…”

“What?” Paige asked, pushing off the lockers and taking a step closer. “You don’t need me to tell you this again. You know it already. He treats you like a backup plan. Like you’re the one waiting in line for him to decide if he’s got time for you.” Her voice softened, but her frustration didn’t fade. “And that’s not who you are, Azzi.”

Azzi glanced at her phone again, her thumb hovering over the screen like she was willing a message to appear. “It’s not like that,” she muttered.

“Isn’t it?” Paige said. Her voice dropped, taking on an edge of exasperation. “Look, I’m not saying this because I want to hurt you when you’re already upset Az. I’m saying it because watching you settle for this shit—this dude who doesn’t even realize what he’s got—it drives me insane.”

Azzi’s hand clenched around her phone, but her gaze finally met Paige’s. There was a flicker of doubt there, a crack in the armor she always tried to keep up. “You don’t get it,” she whispered.

“No, Azzi,” Paige said, stepping closer now, her tone softer but no less certain. “I get it more than you do. I get that you’re in the wrong hands. That he doesn’t see you, not the way you deserve to be seen. And I don’t get how you don’t see it yet.”

Azzi opened her mouth to speak but hesitated, her throat bobbing as she swallowed hard. Paige tilted her head, her voice dropping into something almost tender. “You think this is normal? Waiting around for some guy who only shows up when it’s convenient for him? You don’t have to put up with that. You’re so much more than that.”

Azzi finally set her phone down on the bench beside her, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. She sighed deeply, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not that easy, Paige.”

Paige crouched down in front of her, catching Azzi’s gaze. “I never said it would be easy,” she said quietly. “But I promise you—he’s not worth this.”

There was a heavy silence between them, and in that moment, Paige’s thoughts were louder than her words. But instead of saying anything, she just held Azzi’s gaze, hoping the truth in her eyes was enough to make Azzi finally listen to her.

Azzi’s phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a notification. She didn’t reach for it right away, her gaze flicking between Paige and the phone. Her fingers twitched like she was torn between two choices.

Finally, she spoke. “Why do you care so much?”

Paige let out a breathy laugh, one that sounded almost pained. “Why wouldn’t I pretty girl? I’m your best friend” she said as her eyes softened.

Azzi’s lips curved into a small, tired smile, the tension in her face easing just slightly. “I love you,” she said, her tone light and easy, like she had said it a thousand times before. But the way she said it—it wasn’t what Paige wanted to hear. It wasn’t the kind of love Paige wished for, the kind that had been eating away at her for months now.

Paige swallowed hard, forcing herself to return the sentiment in kind. “I love you too,” she said, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest.

Azzi’s phone buzzed again, the sound cutting through the stillness of the locker room. This time, she glanced down at it, her thumb swiping across the screen. Whatever she saw on the display made her lips press into a tight line, her brows furrowing all over again.

Paige didn’t say a word. She just shook her head with a sigh. Turning away, she walked to her locker, her movements a little sharp but still measured, betraying none of the emotions churning beneath the surface.

The air in the room grew heavy again, but Paige didn’t look back. She didn’t trust herself to, not with the lump rising in her throat and the bitter taste of unspoken words lingering on her tongue.

…

Azzi’s legs rested comfortably across Paige’s lap as she leaned back against the headboard, scrolling through her phone. Paige sat against the wall, her notebook balanced on her thighs, though the words on the page had long since blurred into the background. Azzi held Paige’s right hand, her thumb lazily brushing over the back of it as if the touch was second nature.

Paige’s eyes flicked to their hands, a sly smile pulling at her lips. She tilted her head back against the wall, breaking the silence with a low, teasing tone. “You know, if you keep holding my hand like this, I might start thinking you’re trying to tell me something.”

Azzi glanced up, a soft laugh escaping her. “Oh, please. You’re the one who hasn’t let go.”

Paige smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Right. I’m sure I’m the clingy one here,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her gaze dropped to Azzi’s fingers still idly tracing patterns on her hand. “But hey, if this is your silent way of saying you like me better than the midget, I’m not gonna argue.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Paige shrugged, her free hand brushing lightly over Azzi’s thigh. “Maybe. But let’s be honest—you don’t let him do this, do you?” She tilted her head, her voice taking on an edge. “I mean, does he even know how to touch you like this?”

Azzi froze for a moment, her eyes darting to Paige’s face. “Paige…” she started, but her voice wavered, and Paige didn’t miss it.

Paige leaned in a little more, her smirk softening into something more deliberate. “What? Just saying. If he knew how to make you feel the way you deserve…” She paused, her voice dipping. “You wouldn’t be sitting here with me, holding my hand like it’s the only thing keeping you together.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her grip on Paige’s hand tightening slightly, though she didn’t respond. Paige could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes, the way her lips parted as if to argue but no words came out.

Paige’s heart raced, the heat in the room thickening as she decided to push just a little further. “You don’t have to say it out loud, Az,” she murmured, her tone quiet. “But deep down, you know. He could never—” Paige hesitated for just a beat, the words of the song she’d listen too all too much lately m echoing in her mind before she continued talking. Let me unleash my demons on you.

Azzi’s breath hitched, her phone slipping slightly in her hand as Paige’s meaning settled over her. She blinked, her gaze locked on Paige, curiosity and something deeper sparking in her eyes. “Paige…” she said again, softer this time, almost uncertain but it was the only word she could muster.

“What?” Paige asked, her voice softening as well but still laced with the same teasing edge. “You deserve someone who knows how to make you feel good. Someone who actually puts you first.” She leaned back against the wall, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s. “I mean, you keep waiting around for him, hoping he’ll figure it out, but… what if you’re wasting your time?”

Azzi looked down at their hands, her thumb still brushing against Paige’s knuckles, though the motion was slower now. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she seemed frozen, caught between denial and the weight of Paige’s words.

Paige’s smirk returned, softer this time but no less confident. “All I’m saying is, if you ever want to find out what it’s like to be with someone who actually knows what they’re doing…” Her voice dropped lower, her words hanging in the charged air between them. “You know where to find me.”

Azzi’s lips parted to respond, but a knock at her door cut through the charged air. She let out a small sigh of relief, leaning her head back against the headboard. “Come in!” she called out.

The door opened to reveal her boyfriend, Cam, who strolled in with a casual air. Azzi gave him a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey,” she said softly, shifting slightly but not moving her legs from Paige’s lap.

Cam walked over and leaned down, giving Azzi a half-hug, his arm awkwardly draped around her shoulders. She barely moved, still holding Paige’s hand as she scrolled her thumb idly across her screen. Cam straightened, finally acknowledging Paige with a nod. “Wassup, Paige?” He put out his hand for a quick dap.

Paige barely glanced up from her notes, tilting her head up at him in acknowledgment but making no move to reciprocate the gesture. The air in the room thickened with unspoken tension, and Cam, clearly picking up on it, lowered his hand, chuckling awkwardly.

Paige had never been subtle about her disdain for him, and her icy reaction was no surprise to anyone in the room.

Trying to lighten the mood, Cam looked at their interlocked hands and cracked a grin. “Damn, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to steal my girl man.”

Paige’s head finally lifted, and a slow, dangerous smile spread across her lips. “If I wanted your girlfriend,” she said evenly, her voice dripping with confidence, “I would have her.”

Azzi’s eyes widened slightly, the heat rising up her neck. Her fingers instinctively tightened around Paige’s, though she quickly let go, tucking her hand into her lap.

Cam blinked, caught off guard by the boldness of her statement, his expression twisting into a mix of confusion and irritation. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, looking down at Azzi as if expecting her to defend him.

But before Azzi could say anything, Paige was already standing, sliding Azzi’s legs off her lap with an ease that felt almost dismissive. “Relax, Cameron it’s a joke,” Paige said, tapping his shoulder a little harshly, her smirk still firmly in place. She grabbed her notebook and bag, walking over to the other side of the bed.

She leaned down to hug Azzi, the embrace feeling much more intimate than it should have. Paige’s lips brushed dangerously close to Azzi’s neck as she whispered, her voice low, “I’ll catch you later, Az.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her body betraying her as her breath hitched slightly. Paige pulled back, straightening up and slinging her bag over her shoulder. She turned toward the door, throwing one last glance at Cam, her smile lingering like a challenge.

“Bye, P,” Azzi murmured, her voice soft and uncertain.

“Later pretty girl,” Paige replied smoothly, not sparing Cam another glance as she walked out the door.

The room fell into an awkward silence, Cam still staring at the door as if trying to process what had just happened. Azzi shifted uncomfortably, her gaze fixed on the bed as she absentmindedly rubbed the back of her neck, the ghost of Paige’s closeness still lingering.

Cam turned back to her, his tone sharp. “What the hell was that?”

Azzi blinked up at him, her voice calm but slightly irritated from their argument earlier. “What was what?”

Cam’s jaw tightened as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Azzi, don’t be stupid,” he snapped, his eyes narrowing. “She basically just said she could take you from me. You’re just gonna sit there like that didn’t happen?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, leaning back against the headboard with an exasperated sigh. “She was just messing with you, Cam. Relax.”

“Messing with me?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “You call that messing around? That wasn’t a joke. You two were—” He gestured toward where her legs had been draped over Paige’s lap. “That’s not normal, Azzi!”

Azzi sat up straighter, her irritation now matching his. “What do you mean it’s not normal? She’s my best friend. We’ve always been close like that.”

Cam scoffed, his disbelief evident. “Close? That wasn’t close. That was…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Look, I’m not stupid. There’s something weird about the way she looks at you, the way she acts around you.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes, her tone sharp. “You’re reading into things that aren’t there because you do shit you shouldn’t be doing.”

Cam let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “So you’re telling me she wouldn’t fuck you if you gave her the chance?”

The question surprised Azzi, and she froze for a split second, her body betraying her with a slight twitch of her fingers. Her mind betrayed her even more.

She shouldn’t have thought about it—she really shouldn’t have. But suddenly, Paige’s words from earlier echoed in her head, her low voice taunting Cam with that annoying ass confidence: If I wanted your girlfriend, I would have her.

A flash of memory followed. The way Paige’s lips hovered just a little too close to her neck when they hugged, the way her eyes lingered on Azzi’s mouth when she teased her about Cam. Let me unleash my demons on you. The words Paige had sung before played over in her mind, sending an involuntary shiver through her.

Azzi shook the thought off almost as quickly as it came, her chest tightening as she forced herself to look back at Cam. She smoothed her expression, keeping her tone flat. “She doesn’t want to fuck me, Cameron.”

Cam gave her a skeptical look, his jaw tightening. “You sure about that? Because from where I’m standing, it’s pretty damn obvious.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the hem of her sweatshirt. “I’m sure,” she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

But as Cam stood there staring her down, Azzi couldn’t ignore the heat rising to her neck, the way her heart thudded just a little too loudly in her chest. Because the truth—the one she’d never admit out loud—was that Paige absolutely would, and Azzi couldn’t help but wonder for the briefest of moments what it might feel like if she let her.

…

Paige’s dorm room was dimly lit, the golden glow of her desk lamp casting a warm haze over the space. Azzi sat cross-legged on Paige’s bed, her fingers absently picking at a loose thread on her hoodie. Paige, seated at her desk, glanced up from her notes to steal a glance at Azzi, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since walking in.

“Alright, spit it out,” Paige said, setting her pen down and leaning back in her chair. “You’ve been sitting there for twenty minutes looking like someone just canceled Christmas. What happened?”

Azzi let out a sigh, shaking her head. “It’s nothing.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Don’t give me that this time Az. What he said he was too busy to talk, or he forgot something important again?

Azzi sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s not always about him.”

“Yeah? Because nine times out of ten when you come in here lookin like that, it’s about him.”

Azzi stayed quiet, which was answer enough.

Paige let out a laugh, shaking her head as she spun her chair to face Azzi fully. “Rightt. Because he’s such a busy guy. Averaging 100 claps at practice right?”

“Stop,” Azzi said, her tone defensive, though there was no real anger behind it. “You don’t have to keep tearing him down.”

Paige shrugged, unbothered. “I wouldn’t have to if he gave me a reason to respect him.” She stood, crossing the small room in a few steps and leaning against the edge of her dresser. “But let’s be real, Az. You deserve better. And I don’t mean just slightly better—I mean way better.”

Azzi looked up at her, her eyes searching Paige’s face. “Like who? You?”

Paige’s smirk was immediate, her confidence unwavering. “Yeah. Me.”

Azzi laughed softly, but there was a hint of nervousness in the sound. “You’re unbelievable.”

Paige tilted her head, her eyes glinting with something. “Am I? Or am I just saying what I know you’ve already been thinking?”

Azzi’s lips parted, but no words came out. Paige took a step closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, her knee brushing against Azzi’s leg.

“Let’s be honest, Azzi,” Paige said, her voice dropping to a low, velvety tone. “He doesn’t see you. Not the way I do. He doesn’t know how to handle someone like you, with a life like yours, how to make you feel like the only person in the room.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her fingers tightening on the fabric of her hoodie. “Paige—”

“I’m just saying,” Paige continued, leaning in slightly, her lips curving into a smirk. “If it were me, you wouldn’t have to ask for anything. You wouldn’t have to wonder if you mattered. I’d make sure you knew—every second of every day.”

Azzi’s breath hitched as Paige’s gaze dropped briefly to her lips before meeting her eyes again. The air in the room felt heavier, charged with something Azzi couldn’t just brush off.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Azzi whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.

Paige’s smirk softened, but her intensity didn’t waver. She leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper now. “I know exactly what I’m saying. You’re just in denial. I know he doesn’t touch you the way you deserve to be touched. Make you feel the way you deserve to feel. You’ve complained about it.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her breath hitching as she sat there at a loss of words.

“I’m serious,” Paige continue. “You haven’t thought about it? Even for a second? What it would be like if it were me instead of him?”

Azzi’s lips parted, and Paige caught the way her breath quickened ever so slightly. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” Azzi said, though the warning in her voice was faint at best.

Paige smirked, her confidence only growing. “Am I? Or are you just afraid of what I’m saying? What it means?” She tilted her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You want me to stop, tell me. But if you don’t, maybe it’s because part of you knows I’m right.”

Azzi’s heart was racing, her mind spinning. Paige’s words hung in the air, heavy and charged, pulling her in like a magnet.

Paige shifted closer, her voice dropping impossibly lower as she murmured, “I promise you I could make you forget he even exists, Az.”

Azzi’s breath hitched again, heat crawling up her neck. Paige’s gaze was locked on hers, unwavering, and for a split second, Azzi let herself imagine it—Paige’s hands on her skin, her lips tracing lines down her neck.

Her fingers tightened on the edge of the bed as Paige leaned in even closer, their faces just inches apart now. Paige’s voice was barely above a whisper, her breath brushing against Azzi’s lips. “You wouldn’t have to wonder if you mattered. I’d show you. Over, and over again.”

Azzi’s mind screamed at her to say something, to move, but she was frozen in place, her heart thundering in her chest.

The tension in the room was suffocating, the air thick with everything still unsaid by Azzi. Paige’s lips twitched into a smirk as she finally pulled back slightly, her voice carrying a teasing edge. “But hey, if you’re happy with him…” She let the words hang, leaving them unfinished, loaded with implication.

Azzi blinked, her throat dry as she whispered, “You’re out of your mind.”

Paige chuckled, not saying anything, just standing and grabbing her water bottle off the nightstand.

Azzi stared at her, her thoughts a tangled mess as Paige casually went back to her desk, acting like she hadn’t just turned Azzi’s world upside down.

…

The lively buzz of voices and clinking glasses at Ted's couldn't drown out the thoughts swirling around in Azzi’s head. They were all there in celebration of their Big East championship win, but all Azzi could focus on was Paige.

Azzi had been feeling a little off tonight, even though she tried to push the thoughts aside. Another game, another promise from Cam about being there, and once again, he hadn't shown. His absence barely gnawed at her, and she definitely wasn’t about to let it ruin her night—not when they were here celebrating.

Azzi’s gaze kept drifting to her. Paige was leaning against the bar, a drink in hand, her effortless confidence on full display. Two girls stood in front of her, talking animatedly, their hands gesturing as they laughed. Paige flashed them her signature smile, nodding along to whatever they were saying, though she didn’t seem particularly invested.

Azzi knew that smile too well. It was the same one Paige gave when she was humoring someone—not because she cared, but because she knew they liked the attention and it entertained her for a little bit. The thought made Azzi’s chest tighten, though she quickly brushed it off.

Before she could stop herself, she leaned toward Nika, who had just slid into the seat next to her. “Which one do you think she’s going to take home?” Azzi asked, nodding toward Paige and the girls.

Nika followed her gaze, then snorted. “Girl neither.”

Azzi blinked, surprised. “What do you mean, neither?

Nika turned her head, raising an eyebrow. “Paige has a type and it’s definitely not them.”

Azzi frowned, laughing a little. “Paige doesn’t really have a type. She kinda just... goes with the flow.”

Nika gave her a look. “You’re joking, right? Paige 1000% has a type.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Okay, what’s her type then?”

Nika gave Azzi a pointed look, leaning in a little closer. “Think about the last girl she brought back... or the two before that.”

Azzi stopped, her mind automatically working to pull up the memories. Paige never talked much about the girls she brought back, but Azzi had seen them. The thought lingered in her mind like a puzzle, the pieces slowly clicking together.

She could picture them now—the girls who had all been... similar. The way they had looked, the way they attempted to carry themselves—it was like there was a pattern. And now that Nika had pointed it out, Azzi couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t just a coincidence.

She felt a knot form in her stomach, realizing that most of the girls Paige had been with recently looked... well, a lot like her.

Nika smirked, clearly enjoying Azzi’s reaction. “See what I mean?”

Azzi forced herself to laugh, though it sounded more nervous than amused. “So, you’re saying Paige has a type after all?”

Nika shrugged, her expression unreadable. “It’s not about type. It’s more so about what she wants.”

Azzi’s heart skipped a beat, and she looked away, pretending to focus on something else. But the truth of Nika’s words lingered in her mind. Paige wasn’t just a flirty, carefree teammate. She was the one who made Azzi’s pulse race every time their eyes met. The one who made her question everything, including her feelings for Cam almost every other day.

She couldn’t stop herself from thinking it—what would it be like if it were me instead of them?

Nika, still watching her, smirked knowingly. “Look, if you want my advice, stop pretending. It’s obvious. You two have chemistry. You’ve got something that the midget could never give you.”

Azzi felt her stomach tighten at the thought of it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice a little too sharp, but Nika wasn’t fooled.

Nika just shook her head. “Sure you don’t.”

The next few minutes passed in silence, Azzi trying to push those thoughts away, but they kept coming back. She couldn’t help it. The more she thought about Paige, the more she realized Nika was right.

Azzi risked another glance at Paige, who was still chatting with the girls at the bar. Paige caught her eye, a teasing smile forming that made Azzi’s heart stutter. Then, as if to drive the point home, Paige winked before turning her attention back to the girls in front of her.

Azzi’s face burned, and she immediately looked away, gripping her drink tighter than necessary.

As the night wore on, Nika’s observation proved true. Not long after their conversation, Paige casually excused herself from the girls she’d been chatting with and made her way back to the team’s table. She slid into the spot next to Azzi, her presence an unspoken reassurance that made Azzi’s chest feel lighter.

The bar was louder now, filled with the boisterous laughter and slurred voices of their teammates taking full advantage of the open bar. Azzi, feeling the warmth of a few drinks in her system, leaned her head against Paige’s shoulder as she sat there silently. She didn’t think much of it—it was comfortable, and no one else seemed to notice or care.

Paige, though, seemed to notice. She tilted her head, resting it gently on top of Azzi’s. Her voice was soft, laced with curiosity and something else Azzi couldn’t quite place. “What’re you thinking about?”

Azzi hesitated, her fingers idly tracing the condensation on her glass. She wasn’t sure if her response slipped out because she was tipsy, tired, or just tired of pretending. “You.”

Paige raised her eyebrows at that, letting out a short puff of air through her nose, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Me?” she echoed, her tone playful but intrigued.

Azzi’s voice was quiet but steady this time. “You.”

The air between them shifted, the background noise of the bar fading into static. Paige stayed where she was, her head still resting on Azzi’s. Her lips quirked up in the corner, but her voice was softer now, less teasing. “What about me?”

Azzi’s chest tightened, her fingers instinctively finding Paige’s hand, beginning to play with her fingers as she looked down at them. Her words were almost a whisper, like she was afraid to say them too loud. “I’m not telling you.”

Paige laughed. “Why not?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away, her thumb brushing over Paige’s knuckles. She felt Paige shift slightly, her head tilting just enough for her lips to hover near Azzi’s ear.

“You sure you don’t want to tell me?” Paige murmured, her voice carrying an edge of something that made Azzi’s stomach flip.

Azzi swallowed hard, her grip tightening on Paige’s hand. “Positive.”

Paige chuckled again. “You’re a bad liar, Azzi.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, her heart pounding as she felt the heat of Paige’s breath against her skin. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the bar didn’t exist, like it was just the two of them, caught in this moment.

Azzi finally pulled back, just enough to meet Paige’s eyes. “Maybe,” she said, her voice just as soft but with a hint of defiance.

Paige smirked, her gaze dropping to Azzi’s lips for a brief second before flicking back up to her eyes. “Let me know when you’re ready to stop lying,” she said, her tone light but her eyes reflected something much heavier.

Paige stood up smoothly, her fingers brushing lightly over Azzi’s arm as she passed by. “I’ll be back,” she said casually.

Azzi watched her go, her gaze trailing Paige as she made her way back to the bar. Paige leaned against it like she owned the place, her posture effortless yet commanding, the kind of confidence that demanded attention without even trying. She had this way of carrying herself—loose, assured, magnetic. It wasn’t just the way she looked; it was the way she knew she looked, the way her presence seemed to pull focus without her having to lift a finger.

Azzi’s drink sat untouched in her hand, the cool condensation on the glass doing nothing to temper the sudden heat rushing through her. Her eyes lingered on Paige’s back, tracing the line of her shoulders down to the curve of her waist. Damn, she thought, her breath catching for reasons she didn’t want to admit.

The lyrics of the song playing overhead drifted into her consciousness, wrapping around her like the smoke hanging in the air. “Don’t tell me what to do, just tell me when it hurts...” The words sank in, her mind betraying her as it painted a vivid picture of what that might mean with Paige.

It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered. Paige had always had this aura about her, a quiet intensity that felt equal parts dangerous and inviting. Azzi had caught herself thinking about it before—what it might be like to have Paige’s focus solely on her, to be on the receiving end of her. But tonight, something about the combination of liquor and the way Paige had been looking at her—smirking like she already knew every thought in Azzi’s head—made it impossible to shake.

She bit her lip, her gaze locked on the way Paige leaned forward to order another drink, her body language casual but so self-assured. Azzi swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as she realized just how vivid her thoughts had become.

She’d be so fucking good in bed. The thought came unbidden but settled deep within her. Azzi closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Was it the alcohol? The fact that she hadn’t been touched in so long, hadn’t felt wanted in ways that mattered? Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was something else entirely—something about Paige that felt dangerously exciting yet safe at the same time.

Azzi’s mind filled with images she shouldn’t be entertaining—images of what it might be like to let Paige do whatever she wanted, to let her hands and lips erase everything else, to lose herself completely in whatever Paige had to offer.

Azzi shook her head, tearing her eyes away from the bar as if it would stop the thoughts swirling in her head. But even as she looked down at the table, she couldn’t shake the heat coursing through her stomach.

Her fingers tightened around the glass in her hand as she took a long sip, hoping the burn of the liquor would distract her. But it didn’t. Instead, her eyes betrayed her once again, lifting to find Paige just as she turned back to glance at Azzi over her shoulder.

Paige smiled softly at Azzi, her gaze lingering for a second longer than necessary before she turned back to the bartender. Azzi’s chest tightened, a mixture of frustration and longing clawing its way through her.

She exhaled slowly, willing herself to get a grip. But deep down, she knew it was too late. Paige had gotten into her head, and for the first time, Azzi wasn’t sure if she wanted her out.

…

The booth was quieter now, the buzz of the bar fading into the background as the team’s conversations grew softer. Azzi and Paige leaned against the cushioned seat, their heads tilted toward one another. The dim lighting seemed to wrap around them, isolating them in their little corner despite the crowd still lingering around the bar.

Paige shifted slightly, her shoulder brushing against Azzi’s. “So,” Paige said, her voice low and playful. “What’s running through that mysterious little head of yours?”

Azzi glanced at her, her lips curving into a smirk. “Mysterious, huh? That’s what you think of me?”

Paige’s smile widened, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Sure. You’re like… one of those locked diary types. Tryna be a total enigma. But, you know, if I had the key…”

Azzi rolled her eyes, her smirk softening into a smile. “What would you even do with it?”

Paige tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm, I don’t know. Depends on what I find. Deep, dark secrets? A crush on a teammate, maybe?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she stayed leaning back against the booth. “A crush on a teammate? You sound awfully confident for someone who’s never even seen me blush.”

Paige laughed softly, the sound sending a little ripple of warmth through Azzi’s chest. “I’m calling bullshit on that one.”

Azzi shook her head, her smile lingering as she watched Paige. “You’re a little annoying, you know that?”

Paige shrugged, her expression unbothered. “Yeah, but I’m charming. Makes up for it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes again, but there was no hiding the way her smile grew just a little wider. Paige had this way of getting under her skin, making her feel both flustered and strangely comfortable all at once. It was maddening and addictive, and Azzi wasn’t sure which one of those things scared her more.

Paige turned her head slightly, her gaze settling on Azzi with a curious look. “You know,” she said, her tone softer now, “you’ve been really quiet tonight.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the show. You seem to be entertaining enough for the both of us.”

Paige grinned at that, her eyes sparkling. “I do aim to please,” she said, leaning a little closer. “But seriously, what’s up? You’ve got that faraway look.”

Azzi hesitated for a moment before exhaling softly, her gaze dropping to the table. “Just… thinking,” she said finally.

Paige tilted her head, studying her. “About what?”

Azzi looked back at her, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

Paige smirked. “Not a chance.”

Azzi hesitated again, the words sitting on the tip of her tongue. Finally, she said, “Nika pointed something out tonight.”

Paige’s eyebrows lifted, her smirk softening into a curious smile. “This ought to be good. What did our resident truth-teller have to say?”

Azzi smirked, feeling a flicker of amusement despite herself. “She said… you have a type.”

Paige raised an eyebrow at that, clearly intrigued. “Oh yeah? And what’s my type Azzi?”

Azzi shrugged, trying to keep her tone light. “At first, I didn’t think she was right. But then I thought about it.”

Paige leaned back, her arm stretching across the back of the booth as her eyes danced with curiosity. “And?”

Azzi hesitated for a moment before meeting Paige’s gaze again. “They all look like me.”

Azzi expected Paige to laugh it off, to make some joke and move on, but instead, Paige’s smile softened, her eyes darkening as she tilted her head slightly towards Azzi a little more.

“Yeah,” Paige said, her voice low and steady. “I can see that.”

Azzi blinked, her heart skipping a beat at the honesty in Paige’s tone. Her pulse quickened as she leaned in just slightly, her voice barely audible now. “Why?”

Paige’s gaze didn’t waver, her eyes searching Azzi’s as she answered. “Because I can’t have you.”

Azzi’s breath caught, her chest tightening at the weight of those words. She wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure if she could even think straight with the way Paige was looking at her—as if she was the only person in the room. Their heads were still leaned back against the booth, but now their faces were so close, their whispers carrying the kind of intimacy that felt like it could shatter the air around them.

“How long?” Azzi asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder would break the fragile moment between them.

Paige’s lips curved into a soft, almost wistful smile, her eyes flickering to Azzi’s lips before returning to her gaze. “A long time.”

The simplicity of the answer hit Azzi harder than she expected, the honesty in Paige’s tone wrapping around her like a tether. Her mind raced, thoughts colliding in a way that left her dizzy.

For a moment, it felt like the air between them thickened, every noise and movement around them fading into the background. They weren’t in a crowded bar anymore; it was just the two of them, locked in a bubble of their own.

Azzi’s eyes searched Paige’s as if trying to confirm what she already knew. Paige tightened her jaw, a familiar motion Azzi had come to recognize—the telltale sign that Paige was reining herself in, trying to keep control. But this time, Paige didn’t pull away.

Neither of them spoke. Their eyes flicked back and forth—Paige’s gaze dropping to Azzi’s lips, Azzi’s locked on Paige’s mouth like it was the only thing in the world she could see.

Paige exhaled slowly, her breath brushing Azzi’s lips as they both leaned in, so agonizingly slow it felt like an eternity before they were close enough to taste the tension. Azzi could feel her heart pounding against her ribs, and judging by the slight tremble in Paige’s exhale, she wasn’t the only one.

Finally, Azzi moved, closing the unbearable gap between them. Her lips met Paige’s in a tentative kiss, soft and warm, sweetened by the lingering hint of alcohol from the cocktails they’d been sipping all night.

It was messy at first—the angle awkward as they leaned against the back of the booth—but neither of them cared. The kiss quickly shifted, deepened as if they were both making up for all the time they’d spent pretending this moment wasn’t inevitable.

Paige’s hand moved instinctively, sliding up to cup Azzi’s jaw, her thumb brushing lightly against her skin. Azzi’s breath hitched again as Paige’s lips parted slightly, her tongue swiping gently under Azzi’s bottom lip. The unspoken question was clear, and Azzi answered immediately, her lips parting to let Paige in.

Their tongues met, the kiss turning needier. Azzi felt like she was drowning, her fingers gripping Paige’s thigh under the table to anchor herself. Paige shifted closer, her hand now tangled in Azzi’s curls as if she couldn’t stand to keep any distance between them.

Unknowingly to them, the few teammates who’d been sitting in front of them at the table exchanged wide-eyed glances before quietly walking away, sensing that whatever was happening here was private, and very much overdue.

Neither Paige nor Azzi noticed—or cared. They were too far gone, lost in the heat of the moment.

But as the kiss stretched on, neither of them showing interest in stopping any time soon, other patrons started to glance in their direction.

That’s when Nika swooped in, a balled-up napkin in her hand. She hurled it at them, hitting Paige square in the shoulder. “Go home,” Nika said, her tone dry but carrying the teasing edge of a friend who’d had enough.

Startled, Paige and Azzi finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, their lips swollen and their cheeks flushed a deep crimson. Paige didn’t even glance at Nika. Her gaze remained fixed on Azzi, a world of unspoken desire and promise swirling in her eyes.

Azzi, however, chuckled softly at Nika’s words, a hint of nervousness in her breathless laugh, but mostly amusement. “Come on,” Azzi said as she reached for Paige’s hand under the table.

Paige blinked, slightly caught off guard by Azzi’s reaction. She had half-expected her to pull away, to get awkward or retreat into herself. But there was none of that. Azzi’s calm confidence was almost intoxicating, and it left Paige momentarily speechless.

Without saying a word, Paige slid out of the booth, her hand still in Azzi’s as they weaved their way through the bar.

…

As they stepped into Paige’s room, the tension from the bar followed them. Paige, unsure of where Azzi’s head was at, chose not to make a move right away. She quietly walked over to the bed, sitting down and leaning back against her hands. Her posture was casual, but her heart was racing, her mind buzzing with everything that transpired.

Azzi, however, didn’t hesitate. The soft click of the door locking behind her sent a jolt through Paige’s body. She looked up, her lips parting slightly to say something, but the words never came. Azzi was already crossing the room.

Before Paige could process what was happening, Azzi’s hands were on her shoulders, pushing her back against the mattress with a gentle motion. Paige let her body sink into the bed as Azzi climbed on top of her, straddling her hips.

The kiss that followed was nothing short of amazing. Azzi’s lips met Paige’s in a heated, almost desperate clash, all hesitation or restraint burned away in the heat that had been building between them for so long.

Paige responded instantly, her hands sliding down Azzi’s sides before gripping her ass, squeezing hard as she pulled Azzi even closer. The action earned her a soft, breathy moan from Azzi, who deepened the kiss in response.

Their movements were messy but urgent, a mixture of tongues and teeth as they explored each other. Azzi’s hands slid up, threading through Paige’s hair, tugging slightly to tilt her head back and change the angle of their kiss. Paige groaned into her mouth, the sound sending a shiver through Azzi’s body.

The room was quiet except for the sound of their lips moving together and the occasional ragged breath they managed to catch between kisses. Every touch, every shift of their bodies was fueled by months of pent-up tension finally being released.

Azzi pulled back slightly, just enough to hover above Paige, her breath ghosting against her lips. Her dark eyes searched Paige’s, as if looking for reassurance, for confirmation that this wasn’t just the alcohol or the heat of the moment.

As if Paige could read her mind, she gave a soft smile, her hands settling on Azzi’s waist as she gently flipped them over. Now leaning over Azzi, Paige’s voice was a low murmur, soothing yet confident. “Stop overthinking it,” she said, her lips curving into that teasing smirk Azzi found so intoxicating. “I got you.”

Azzi’s smile softened, her tension melting away as her hands moved up to frame Paige’s face. Her fingers slid along Paige’s jaw, interlacing behind her neck to hold her close. She pulled Paige down for another kiss, this one slower, more tender.

Paige took her time, letting the kiss linger and deepen naturally. Their lips moved in perfect rhythm, tongues occasionally brushing, sending little jolts of electricity through them both each time. There was no urgency now, just a shared intimacy as they both got lost in the moment.

The kiss stretched on, five minutes of bliss that felt like an eternity and yet not nearly enough. Neither of them wanted to break away, but when Paige finally leaned back slightly, it wasn’t to stop. Her hands went to the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one smooth motion, revealing the toned lines of her body.

Azzi’s breath hitched, and she was quick to follow, slipping her shirt off almost as if on instinct. Her hands moved to the waistband of her jeans, but before she could undo the button, Paige’s hand gently covered hers, stopping her.

“You don’t gotta rush, baby,” Paige murmured, her voice low and reassuring as her thumb stroked Azzi’s knuckles. “I got it.”

Those words sent a warmth pooling in Azzi’s chest—and lower—that she hadn’t expected. She was so used to rushing into things, to moving fast and skipping the buildup. But this...this was different. Paige wasn’t just touching her body; she was touching a part of Azzi that had been craving more than just physical connection.

Azzi let her hands fall away, her body relaxing beneath Paige as she gave a small, almost shy nod. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Paige smiled at her, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the corner of Azzi’s mouth, then another along her jaw, taking her time like she promised. “Just let me take care of you,” Paige whispered, her lips brushing against Azzi’s skin as her hands began to explore.

Paige began placing open mouth kisses against Azzi’s neck making sure she drew each of them out. Every touch felt like a spark, igniting feelings in Azzi, leaving a trail of heat that made her pulse quicken. Paige’s hands we warm and gentle, as the roamed over Azzi’s body, her fingertips tracing the curves of her body, sending shivers down Azzi’s back with every brush.

Azzi’s breath came in ragged gasps, her chest starting to rise and fall quicker, a subtle tremor working through her as Paige continued moving lower. The new sensation was intoxicating for Azzi, as if Paige was slowly unraveling her, piece by piece.

Azzi’s hands gripped the sheets, her fingers curling into the fabric as soft sounds escaped her lips–a breathless, needy whisper that slipped out before she could even process it. “Paige…”

The sound of her name rolling off of Azzi’s lips, sent a warmth through Paige. She pulled back slightly to look at Azzi and take her in for a second. Her brown eyes were dark with desire, her face flushed, lips slightly parted.

Paige lowered herself again as she placed soft kisses against Azzi’s chest, slipping her hand behind the girl to undo her bra and toss it to the side.

Azzi’s breath hitched as she swallowed the sounds threatening to escape her as Paige explored her chest before moving down further leaving sloppy kisses all over Azzi’s abdomen.

Azzi let out a soft, frustrated groan, her body aching from the slow build-up of desire. Paige was taking her sweet time, drawing out every kiss, every touch, and Azzi felt like she was about to explode and Paifge hadn’t even done anything yet. So she tried to move, to push Paige further down her body, but the moment her hands slipped from the sheet’s, Paige was there grabbing both of her wrist and pinning them firmly to her sides.

Azzi’s breath hitched at the sudden restraint, a jolt of heat coursing between her legs as she looked down at Paige, eyes wide with longing. Paige's gaze was dark and filled with an almost cruel amusement.

“You need to be patient,” Paige whispered, her voice low, a teasing smile forming.

Azzi’s chest tightened, and she swallowed her throat all of a sudden feeling dry. She wasn’t used to this kind of anticipation, this slow burn that made every nerve in her body feel like it was on fire. She could feel herself restraint slipping with every second, her body practically beginning for more.

“I can’t,” Azzi admitted, her voice breathless. Her hands clenched against the sheet’s under Paige’s hold and her hips shifted restlessly. She needed more. Needed Paige to ease the ache that was building. “Please…”

The word slipped from her lips, barely above a whisper.

Paige’s smile only grew, her eyes a mixture of amusement and desire for the girl under her. “Move your hands again,” she said softly, “and I’m starting over.”

Azzi’s body tensed at the words, more heat rushing between her legs as she let out a soft frustrated groan as she swallowed hard. Her heart raced, the pulse between her legs only intensifying at the threat. She wanted to beg. To pull Paige closer but she couldn’t handle more waiting so she kept her mouth shut.

Her back arched as Paige leaned down, placing an open mouth kisses to Azzi’s hip sending a shock of heath through Azzi’s body. Azzi moaned softly, her hands instinctively trying to grab at Paige, but Paige kept her pinned.

Azzi’s breath hitched again as Paige sucked a little harshly now and her body bucked, trying to push herself into Paige. Paige just smiled, her mouth hovering close to the waistband of Azzi’s pants. Azzi’s chest heaved as she struggled against the growing frustration, her voice a desperate whisper.

“Please, Paige…” Azzi’s voice cracked, barely audible, but clearly heavy with need.

Paige looked up at her through half-lidded eyes, and Azzi saw how dark her blue eyes looked, the control that she was exercising with every kiss. Paige sucked against Azzi’s v-line as she looked at her, causing Azzi to bite her lip hard as she arched into Paige again.

Paige chuckled at this. “Mmm ok I got you baby,” she murmured against Azzi’s skin. Paige undid Azzi’s pants button before pulling them down, slowly kissing down Azzi’s legs as she did it.

Azzi’s whole body trembled, a soft moan escaping her throat. She swallowed thickly, leaning her head back against the pillow closing her eyes as she tried to steady her breath. She could already feel how embarrassingly fast she was going to come undone for Paige.

As soon as Paige’s tongue swiped across Azzi’s center, she let out a breathles murmur, her body trembling at the feeling already. Her words came out in a jumble, soft and incoherent, as the heat radiating off of Paige made her lose any coherent thought.

Paige chuckled softly, her lips curling into a slight smile as she repeated the motion, this time slower, letting her tongue glide across Azzi with more pressure. Azzi’s pulse spiked and her hands instinctively gripped Paige’s hair pushing her further into her, as a soft, needy whisper spilled from her lips.

“That feels so good,” Azzi breathed, barely managing to form words.

Paige mumbled again as she continued her movements, a teasing note in her voice as she said, “I know baby. I been tryna tell you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes internally at Paige’s smugness, the need to argue rising. But before she could voice her frustration, Paige’s mouth found her sensitive spot, sucking softly and Azzi’s words caught in her throat. Her body arching involuntarily as her eyes rolled back and fluttered closed.

As Paige continued to move her tongue against Azzi, the teasing pressure of her lips and tongue driving Azzi wild. She was trembling beneath her, breathless, every inch of her skin tingling with sensation. Unable to ocntain herself, Azzi whispered her name again, the sound escaping before she could think about it.

“Fuck Paige…”

Paige didn’t stop. She only hummed softly in her response, “Hmm?”

Azzi’s body arched involuntarily at the vibration, her fingers tightening in Paige’s hair as she tried to steady herself. “I’ve never fucking felt this before,” she admitted, the words showing her desperation. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she could swear she heard it echoing in her ears.

Paige’s response was a soft knowing murmur against Azzi. “Mhmm…” She didn’t slow down. If anything her movements became more deliberate, more intense as Azzi’s grip on her hair tightened.

The pressure in Azzi’s stomach was building, a tension that only seemed to grow stronger with every brush of Paige’s lips against her. Unable to hold still, Azzi shifted beneath her, her hips moving to instinctively close the nonexistent space between them, to feel Paige lips more fully.

At this Paige pushed firmply against Azzi’s stomach. The pressure heightening the tension in Azzi’s core, a wave of heat sweeping through her. She squeezed her eyes shut, a soft, strangled sound escaping her throat as the intensity of it threatened to overwhelm her. She was choking on her own breath, unable to keep up with the pleasure that was flooding her senses.

Every inch of her was on fire, the tension in her stomach so tight so tight, it felt like she needed to stop. Azzi’s breath came in ragged gasps, each sound leaving her throat a little more choked, a little more desperate.

She had no control left and before she realizes what’s happening her entire back arches upward toward Paige who's still pushing down on her stomach as her tongue continues working. Azzi’s entire body is trembling as she screams out, “Oh fuck, yes, yes, yes...I’m coming Paige.”

Paige winces slightly at how hard Azzi pulls her hair as she slows her movements, letting Azzi ride out what seems to be a new feeling for her.

When she’s done, Paige slowly kisses her way up Azzi’s body.

Azzi lay back against the soft sheets, her body still trembling from the intensity of what had just happened. Her breath came in uneven gasps as her eyes slowly fluttered open, gazing at Paige. The room seemed to hum with a quiet, lingering energy that made her chest tighten in both awe and disbelief. She had never felt anything like this before. Never had she been completely undone by someone like she had just been by Paige.

She wiped her thumb across Paige’s chin as Paige leaned down, her lips capturing Azzi’s in a slow, lingering kiss. The kiss was messy as Paige let Azzi taste everything before she pulled away.

Azzi smiled up at her still tasting the remnants of the kiss, the sweetness of her and the alcohol mixed together, and it sent a shiver of disbelief down her spine.

“I’ve never…” Azzi started, her voice hoarse as she looked up at Paige, who was now standing. Her gaze was focused, but Azzi’s eyes were still wide, her chest tightening at the thought. “I didn’t think I could… feel like that.”

"You should know by now, Azzi," Paige said, her voice low and laced with that intoxicating confidence, "I don’t do things halfway."

Azzi’s stomach fluttered at the sound of those words, the teasing yet assured tone leaving her breathless. She watched as Paige moved toward her closet, the subtle grace in her movements sending a spark of anticipation coursing through Azzi’s veins. Paige seemed to move with intention. As she stood there, just inside the closet, Azzi could see her reaching for something—a small box she’d pulled down from a shelf.

Azzi’s breath hitched as Paige slowly made her way back toward the bed, unboxing what was inside. Azzi’s stomach tightened, a shiver running through her body as she caught sight of the unfamiliar object. There was something about it that made her heart race, her mind whirring with a mixture of curiosity and nervous excitement. She had no idea what to expect, but the thought of it was enough to make her pulse quicken.

Paige reached the bed, standing over Azzi, her eyes filled with that same daring glint that made Azzi's own breath catch. She didn’t say a word at first, just looked at Azzi—her gaze steady, almost searching.

"Can I keep going?" Paige asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi felt the question hit her like a wave, her pulse accelerating as she met Paige’s gaze. She didn’t even hesitate. She nodded quickly, almost too eagerly.

Paige let out a soft laugh, the sound low and almost fond, as she looked at Azzi’s reaction.

Paige takes off the rest of her clothes, adjusting the harness against herself methodically as Azzi watches, never breaking her eyes away from Paige.

Paige settled onto the bed, hovering above Azzi, her body close but not quite touching, the tension between them thick. Azzi’s heart was hammering in her chest as she watched Paige, her thoughts swirling with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. For a moment, everything seemed to pause—the room, the world outside, and even the way Paige was looking at her. Paige’s eyes were dark with desire, but there was something else there too, something gentle, almost questioning, as if she was waiting for Azzi to decide where this would go.

But Azzi didn’t want to wait anymore.

Before Paige could make another move, Azzi surprised her, gently pushing her back to sit against the headboard. The action was smooth, calculated, and surprisingly assertive for Azzi, who had always been the more reserved one between them. The boldness of it made Paige's pulse race, but she didn’t protest. Instead, she looked at Azzi, her brow furrowing, a subtle question hanging in the air.

“Are you sure?” Paige’s voice was soft, laced with concern, but her eyes were full of something else—something that made Azzi’s stomach flip.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She gave a slow nod, her gaze never leaving Paige’s. Her hand reached out, pulling Paige closer, guiding her into a kiss that was both tender and urgent. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a kiss that conveyed everything Azzi had been feeling. As their lips met, Azzi could feel the heat of Paige's body so close to hers, their breaths mingling in the soft air between them.

Azzi’s hips began to move against the strap, a slow grind that had Paige’s breath catching in her throat as she listened to Azzi’s breathing pick up again.

Paige pulled back, her lips barely brushing against Azzi’s as she gazed into her eyes, searching for something.

“Are you sure?” Paige’s voice was hushed, almost a whisper, as she placed a hand on Azzi’s hip, steadying her gently. The question wasn’t one of doubt—Paige knew Azzi could make her own decisions. It was a question wrapped in care, a need for reassurance in the midst of the raw energy between them.

Azzi blinked, her heart racing, her breaths coming in soft, uneven gasps. All she felt was certainty—a certainty that she wanted this, wanted her, and nothing else mattered. With a soft laugh, one that held a trace of disbelief and excitement, Azzi leaned forward, pressing her lips to Paige’s in a quick, teasing kiss.

“Yes, baby,” she murmured, her words almost playful but filled with undeniable sincerity. “I’m sure.”

Paige smiles softly at Azzi as she adjusts the strap, the tip of it pressing against Azzi who bites her lip at the feeling.

Azzi lowers herself further down, Paige’s hand steady on her hips as she eases her into it slowly.

Paige's voice dropped to a low whisper as she leaned in closer, her breath brushing against Azzi’s ear as she kissed her neck a few times. "Can you take all of it, baby?" she asked, the words laced with a gentleness but a teasing edge.

At Paige's words, Azzi's breath hitched, her chest rising and falling quickly as she nodded, her response breathy and full of anticipation.

With this confirmation Paige pulls Azzi down further making a loud gasp escape her lips as her eyes roll back. Paige slightly groans as it presses against her.

After adjusting, Azzi slowly starts circling her hips, her hands interlocking with Paige’s that were holding her waist as she looks down at the blonde who’s watching her in admiration. Azzi can’t help but moan as she moves against it, feeling it in her stomach.

“Oh fuck,” Azzi whispers, her eyes still shut in ecstasy as she now braces herself with her hands on Paige’s shoulders. Paige is leaning against the headboard watching Azzi with low eyes, breathy sounds escaping her as every movement Azzi makes presses against her harder.

Paige licks her lips looking up at Azzi whispering “You look so good riding it baby.”

Azzi chuckled softly at Paige’s words, a playful, almost teasing sound leaving her lips as she brushed her hair to one side, her eyes never leaving Paige as she did.

Paige groans at the sight using her hands to move Azzi further up the strap before bringing her back down a couple of times.

Azzi gasps at this, “Fuck Paige.”

“I know…I feel it too baby,” Paige whispers her voice hoarse as she feels herself getting closer.

The room was heavy with the sound of their breath as they lost themselves in the moment for a few minutes. Never breaking eye contact as they savored the moment.

But the air started to fill with a thick desire as Azzi’s movements quickened, her hips pressing against Paige in a rhythm that made both of them moan in each other's mouths. But then, breaking through the haze of their passion, the sound of Azzi’s phone buzzing on the dresser cut through the silence, the ringtone sharp and jarring.

At first, neither of them acknowledged it, too wrapped up in one another, but then it buzzed again and again. Paige glanced over at the screen, catching the name Cam flashing brightly across it. She tensed for a moment, wondering if Azzi would pull away to answer, but instead, Azzi didn’t skip a beat. Her movements didn’t falter as she kept her steady rhythm, eyes still locked with Paige’s, filled with a focused intensity that made Paige’s heart race.

With a low, breathy laugh, Azzi reached over, her hand brushing against the dresser a few times until her fingers wrapped around the phone. She didn’t hesitate for a second, holding down the power button with a steady hand before swiping her finger across the screen to turn it off completely. The phone fell back onto the dresser with a soft thud, and Azzi didn’t miss a beat, her body leaning into Paige again, pushing her hips against Paige’s with a renewed urgency, as if the phone had never been there at all.

Paige couldn’t help but chuckle, a low, amused sound escaping her.

Azzi ka basically bouncing against Paige now, gripping her shoulders for dear life as she crys out “Oh fuck..”

Paige is struggling to not come undone before Azzi finishes, her head laid back against the headboard, her eyes low as she watches Azzi on top of her. Azzi notices this so she leans back to give Paige a better view resting her hands on the mattress as she continues moving it in and out of her.

Paige whimpers out at she takes in the sight, “Fuck I can feel everything Az, you feel so good…”

Azzi is gasping now as their eyes lock on one another neither one of them look away as they get lost in the feeling.

Paige adjusts herself slightly so she’s hitting Azzi at a new angle that makes her gasp loudly mumbling, “Mhm you feel so good baby.”

“You like how I feel?” Paige asks, her voice barely containing the whine she tried to hold in.

Azzi nods quickly as she quickens the pace muttering out “I fucking love how you feel”

As Paige threw her head back, a soft gasp escaping her lips, Azzi looked down at her with a look of intense focus, her breath shallow as she searched Paige's expression. "You close?" she asked, her voice a low, almost teasing whisper.

Paige, eyes heavy with desire, could only nod in response, her breath catching in her throat as she gazed up at Azzi through half-lidded eyes. Her body was already trembling with the buildup, every nerve alight from the touch.

Azzi’s lips curled into a faint smirk, her gaze flickering from Paige’s eyes to her lips before she leaned down and pressed herself further into her, pulling her into a kiss. The kiss was deep and consuming, their bodies tightening against one another as Azzi pulled Paige closer.

The kiss didn’t last long Paige pulling back mumbling, “Fuck just like that Az…ride it just like that.”

At Paige’s praise, something snapped inside Azzi–a sudden rush of need flooding her system. Without warning, she pushed down harder, the feeling of Paige beneath her driving her wild. Her legs began to tremble, every muscle taut. Desperate sounds–moans, gasps–tumbled from her lips, raw and completely untamed

“Oh my god,” Azzi moaned, the words barely audible as they’re choked out through her shallow breaths. The pressure in her stomach snapped as she came undone all over Paige’s legs.

Paige immediately groaned in response, her grip on Azzi tightening as she pulled her deeper into her before she was coming undone too, muttering out Azzi’s name as she did so.

The kiss that followed was anything but gentle. It was messy and uncoordinated as they melted into one another desperately. Paige’s mouth was rough against Azzi’ as their tongues tangled with one another. Azzi’s body moved faster, legs shaking still as they both came undone again in less than a few seconds.

Azzi slumped against Paige, her forehead resting against Paige’s shoulder as she caught her breath, their slick bodies tangled together. The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing and the soft chuckles that escaped both of them, the aftermath of what had just unfolded between them settling in.

Feeling extremely sensitive, Azzi eased herself off of the toy before settling back on Paige’s lap in a more comfortable position. Her arms loosely wrapped around Paige’s neck as she let out a breathless laugh, her voice still tinged with disbelief. “Oh my god,” she said, laughing again, the weight of the moment sinking in.

Paige tilted her head back against the headboard, her own laugh low and satisfied. “Told you,” she murmured, a teasing grin spreading across her face as she glanced at Azzi through hooded eyes.

Azzi let out a small, exasperated laugh, weakly pushing Paige’s shoulder, though it lacked any real force. “Shut up,” she muttered, but her smile gave her away. Her energy was spent, her limbs felt like jelly, and all she could do was lean against Paige, shaking her head slightly as the last remnants of laughter faded between them. Paige’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close as they sat there, wrapped in the comfortable silence of their shared intimacy.

The two of them just sat there, holding onto one another, the room quiet and filled with a warm, lingering intimacy.

Eventually, Azzi sighed softly, shifting to climb off Paige’s lap completely, her legs shaky but steady enough to settle beside her. Paige gave her a small smirk as she undid the harness, tossing it casually onto the floor before standing and disappearing into the bathroom.

Azzi watched her go, her body still humming from everything. When Paige returned, she held a towel in her hand, the edges slightly damp from warm water. Without saying a word, she knelt down in front of Azzi, her expression soft but focused.

Paige gently lifted one of Azzi’s legs, holding her ankle as she began to wipe the towel along her skin, carefully. The warmth of the cloth combined with Paige’s touch sent a shiver through Azzi. She blinked, her gaze locking on Paige as her chest swelled with something she couldn’t quite put into words.

Azzi stared down at her, her eyes wide and filled with awe. “You don’t have to—” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige glanced up at her, a soft smile curving her lips as she shook her head. “Yes I do,” she said simply, her voice low.

The tenderness in Paige’s actions, the quiet care she was showing, made Azzi’s heart thrum in her chest. She reached out, her fingers brushing against Paige’s cheek as she watched her, completely enamored by the girl in front of her. Paige didn’t look up again, too focused on making sure Azzi was comfortable and taken care of, but the slight curve of her lips gave her away.

Once Paige finished, she set the towel aside and climbed back onto the bed. She leaned back against the pillows, extending an arm toward Azzi in invitation. Azzi didn’t hesitate, curling into Paige’s side, her head resting on her chest as she let out a contented sigh.

Paige tugged the blanket over both of them, the soft fabric cocooning their still-warm bodies. The room settled into a peaceful quiet, save for the sound of their steady breaths syncing together.

Azzi's hand absentmindedly traced light patterns along Paige’s stomach, her mind still reeling from everything that had just happened. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep but laced with humor.

Paige chuckled softly, pressing her lips to the top of Azzi’s head. “And you’re trouble,” she replied.

Azzi let out a small laugh but didn’t respond, her breathing already slowing as sleep began to claim her. Paige’s hand rested on Azzi’s back, her thumb gently moving in soothing circles.

As they drifted off, the weight of the night melted away, leaving nothing but the comfort of each other’s presence

…

The next morning, Paige was already up when Azzi’s eyes fluttered open. The faint smell of coffee and something warm and buttery filled the air, coaxing her out of sleep. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the soft morning light streaming through the curtains, and when she turned her head, she found Paige standing at the side of the bed with a tray of food in her hands, her expression warm and slightly smug.

“Good morning,” Paige said. “Figured I owed you breakfast after last night.”

Azzi couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. Her chest swelled with affection as she took in the sight of Paige, still a little rumpled from sleep, but thoughtful as ever. She reached out, grabbing Paige by the wrist and tugging her down into a soft kiss. “You’re making it impossible not to adore you already,” Azzi murmured against her lips.

Paige chuckled as she pulled back, setting the tray on the bed. “Careful. You’re gonna give me a big head.”

Azzi laughed softly, sitting up and stretching before settling in beside Paige to eat.

When they finished, Azzi leaned over to grab her phone from the nightstand. She hesitated for a moment before turning it on, the screen immediately lighting up with a flood of notifications. Texts, missed calls, social media alerts—it was all there.

Azzi’s brows furrowed, but she didn’t bother looking at most of them. Instead, she tapped on Cam’s name, typing out a quick message: Can you meet me in my room?

The reply came back almost instantly, which was rare: Yeah, of course.

Azzi stared at the screen for a moment, then set the phone down, letting out a quiet sigh. Paige, who had been watching her from the corner of her eye, reached out to place a reassuring hand on Azzi’s thigh. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said with a small smile, though her tone was thoughtful. “Just need to talk to Cam.”

Paige nodded, leaning back on her hands. “You want me to stick around or go with you?”

Azzi glanced at her, the warmth in her gaze unmistakable. “You can come with me,” she said softly. “If you want.”

Paige smiled, leaning over to kiss Azzi on the temple. “I got you.”

Azzi and Paige made their way to Azzi’s room. They currently sat side by side on the couch, Paige leaning back casually, her arm draped along the top, while Azzi scrolled on her phone, music playing in the background.

When Cam arrived, he barely hesitated before stepping inside. His eyes darted between the two of them, and he immediately moved toward Azzi, arms outstretched to pull her into a hug. But Azzi raised her hand, stopping him mid-step.

“We need to talk,” she said simply.

Cam froze, his brow furrowing. “Talk about what?” he asked, though there was an edge to his voice now.

Azzi gestured toward the door to her room. “In there.”

Cam glanced at Paige, who was still seated on the couch, watching silently, her expression unreadable. He huffed but followed Azzi into her bedroom, closing the door behind them.

The moment it clicked shut, Cam turned on her. “Did you turn off your phone last night?” His voice was sharp, his tone teetering on aggressive.

Azzi didn’t flinch as she answered simply, “Yes. But we need to talk.”

Her calmness seemed to irritate him further. “Clearly, we need to fucking talk if you’re turning off your phone when I’m calling you,” he snapped. “I was trying to tell you I couldn’t make it to the party—”

Azzi let out a soft chuckle, cutting him off. “It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t there.”

“What?” Cam asked, his confusion mixing with frustration. “What were you doing that you turned off your phone when I called, then?”

Azzi paused, considering her next words carefully. She could feel the weight of the moment, but her decision had already been made. Meeting his gaze directly, she said it plainly: “I was fucking Paige.”

Cam’s entire body stiffened, his jaw clenching as her words registered. “What the fuck did you just say?” he spat.

Azzi’s lips curved into a small, almost defiant smile at finally being able to do this. So this time, she repeated herself slowly, enunciating every word as if daring him to challenge her.

“I. Was. Fucking. Paige.”

Cam’s face twisted in confusion, anger, and disbelief as the weight of Azzi’s words hung heavy in the air. “Azzi, what do you mean?” he asked, his voice faltering slightly as if he hoped she might backtrack or offer a different explanation.

Azzi let out a sharp laugh, almost incredulous. “It means exactly what I’m saying, Cam.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm, her patience clearly waning with the boy she wanted nothing to do with anymore. “If you really want me to get specific, I can, but I really don’t think you want that.”

Cam shook his head rapidly, as if trying to erase her words from existence. “You can’t be friends with her anymore,” he said firmly, his tone demanding in a way that made Azzi pause.

And then she laughed. Full-on, head-tilted-back laughter, the kind that made it clear she wasn’t even trying to take him seriously. “Oh my god,” she said, catching her breath and looking at him with pure disbelief. “You’re actually stupid.”

Before he could respond, Azzi’s expression hardened. “You know what? Forget it. We’re done. I’m breaking up with you.”

Cam’s eyes widened, his face reddening as he scrambled to regain the upper hand. “You’re breaking up with me?” he repeated, incredulous. “Well, good, because I cheated on you.”

Azzi’s brows shot up, and for a moment, she just stared at him. Then, with a raised eyebrow and a smirk tugging at her lips, she said dryly, “Good for you, Cameron. I’m sure those three minutes were absolutely unforgettable for you.”

The words hit like a slap, and Cam’s face turned a deep shade of red, his embarrassment morphing into anger. Without thinking, he lashed out, smacking a framed picture of him and Azzi off her desk. The glass shattered as it hit the floor, the sound echoing in the room.

Azzi didn’t flinch, her expression was calm and unbothered. She knew he wasn’t going to actually do anything to hurt her. She just stood there, arms crossed, watching him like he was a child throwing a tantrum.

But the crash brought Paige into the room almost instantly. She appeared in the doorway, her sharp eyes darting from the broken frame on the floor to Cam’s flushed, angry face. Without hesitation, Paige stepped forward, her tall frame towering over Cam.

Cam turned on her, getting right in her face. The height difference was laughable—he had to tilt his head up just to meet her eyes. “What are you gonna do, huh?” he spat, his voice shaking with misplaced bravado.

Paige didn’t say a word. She just stared down at him, her expression unreadable. It was the kind of look that didn’t need words—calm, but with an unspoken warning behind it.

Azzi, sensing the tension rise, quickly stepped forward and grabbed Paige’s arm. “It’s fine,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm, not wanting things to escalate. She tugged gently, urging Paige to step back.

Cam’s eyes flicked to Azzi’s hand on Paige’s arm, and his jaw tightened. He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head in frustration. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath before shoving past Paige and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the crunch of glass under Azzi’s foot as she moved to pick up the broken frame. Paige bent down to help, her gaze softening as she looked at Azzi. “You okay?”

Azzi nodded, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah,” she said lightly, glancing at the door Cam had just slammed shut. “I think he took that about as well as expected.”

Paige chuckled, leaning back and shaking her head, amused but undeniably smug. “Guess I did keep my promise,” she murmured, reaching for Azzi’s hand and pulling her closer.

Azzi let out a light laugh, rolling her eyes as she shifted closer, their knees touching now. “Don’t let it go to your head,” she teased, though the softness in her gaze betrayed her words.

Paige ignored the playful jab, her hand coming up to cradle Azzi’s cheek. She stared into Azzi’s eyes for a moment, the weight of everything between them settling into something unshakable.

“How was it last night though?” Paige asked, her tone low and laced with that confidence Azzi could never resist.

Azzi’s smile widened, but she refused to indulge her too much. “You already know how it was,” she replied, her voice equally soft and teasing. “It was worth breaking up with him for.”

Paige laughed again, the sound warm and full of life. She didn’t say anything else, letting her actions speak louder than words. She leaned in, her lips brushing against Azzi’s in a kiss that held every promise she had ever made.

In the background, the lyrics of What You Heard played softly from Azzi’s speaker, the ending verse weaving through the air like it was written for this moment:

"I try my best, you know I did / I try to give you what you want / But I just couldn’t handle it..."

Azzi’s fingers threaded through Paige’s hair as they broke apart, her forehead resting against Paige’s. “You’re much better,” Azzi whispered, the words carrying all the emotions she couldn’t quite put into sentences.

Paige smiled against her lips, pulling her even closer. “Good,” she said simply, her voice full of quiet assurance.

[carlthecloaked]

Wrong Number, Right Person

938 words | no cw | i know i said i would do eddies pov but everytime i tried writing it it felt off :< | and so sorry this took so long!! i have a LOT of stuff going on personally

|previous chapter|

Robin snatched Steve’s backup phone from his hands before he could protest, scrolling through the messages with a gleeful smirk.

“Oh my god, Steve. You flirted with them.”

“I did not!” Steve lunged for the phone, but Robin dodged, hopping onto the couch to keep it out of reach.

“Uh, ‘I hate how funny you are’? ‘Okay but you have to say who you are though’?” She mimicked his voice in a ridiculous falsetto. “That’s textbook flirting.”

Steve groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s not. I was just—curious.”

“Curious,” Robin repeated, deadpan. “Right. Because you totally put this much effort into every wrong number text.”

Steve opened his mouth, then shut it.

Robin grinned. “Exactly. Now—” She tossed the phone back to him. “Text them again.”

Steve fumbled the catch, barely saving it from face-planting onto the floor. “What? No. I already apologized for the wrong number thing. It’d be weird.”

Robin rolled her eyes so hard Steve worried they might get stuck. “Steve. You trauma-dumped about your terrible date to a complete stranger, and they not only listened but joined in on roasting him. That’s not ‘weird.’ That’s fate.”

Steve scoffed. “Fate?”

“Fate,” Robin repeated solemnly, pressing a dramatic hand to her chest. “Now text them, or I swear to god, I’ll do it for you.”

Steve hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen.

It was kind of nice talking to them. And they were funny. And—okay, fine, maybe a tiny bit intriguing.

He exhaled sharply and started typing.

Steve: so. about earlier.

Steve: i feel like i should apologize again for trauma dumping on a stranger lmao

The reply came almost instantly.

Unknown Number: nah, don’t worry about it. your suffering was highly entertaining

Steve: wow. glad my pain amuses you

Unknown Number: it really does. so, any updates? did you block the guy? change your name? flee the country

Steve: considering all options tbh

Unknown Number: i vote flee the country.start fresh. new identity.

Steve: you’re a terrible influence

Unknown Number: you have no idea ;)

Steve bit back a grin.

Robin, who had been shamelessly reading over his shoulder, nudged him with her elbow. “Oh my god, they’re flirting with you.”

“They are not,” Steve hissed, though his ears felt suspiciously warm.

Steve: still not gonna tell me who you are?

Unknown Number: nope. but i’ll give you another hint

Steve: …ok?

Unknown Number: i have two eyes

Steve groaned.

Steve: revolutionary. truly.

Unknown Number: i know, i’m so mysterious

Steve: you’re so annoying

Unknown Number: you love it

Steve’s thumb froze over the screen.

Robin let out a loud “Ooooh.”

Steve elbowed her. “Shut up.”

Steve: bold assumption

Unknown Number: not an assumption. a fact.

Steve’s face warmed.

Robin cackled. “Oh my god. They’re good.”

Steve ignored her, typing quickly before he could overthink it.

Steve: okay. if you won’t tell me who you are, at least tell me how you got my number

Unknown Number: wouldn’t you like to know, harrington?

Steve blinked.

Steve: wait. you know my name?

Unknown Number: of course i do.

Robin gasped. “Ohhhh shit.”

Steve’s pulse jumped.

Steve: okay now i definitely need to know who this is

Unknown Number: where’s the fun in that?

Steve: i hate you

Unknown Number: no you don’t

Steve exhaled, exasperated but amused.

Steve: fine. keep your secrets. but i will figure it out

Unknown Number: looking forward to it

Robin snatched the phone again before Steve could stop her, typing rapidly.

“Robin—”

“Relax! I’m helping.”

Steve grabbed for the phone, but she danced out of reach, hitting send with a triumphant smirk.

He stared in horror at the screen.

Steve (Robin): so when are you guys going on your first date? since you’re so sure steve loves you

Steve’s stomach dropped. “Robin.”

The reply came instantly.

Unknown Number: name the time and place. i’ll be there.

Steve groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Robin cackled. “This is the best day of my life.”

Steve grabbed the phone back, typing frantically.

Steve: IGNORE HER. SHE’S A MENACE.

Unknown Number: too late. i already like her

Steve: …this is a nightmare

Unknown Number: don’t worry, steve. i’ll make sure our first date is better than your last one

Steve: you’re insufferable

Unknown Number: you’re blushing

Steve was, in fact, blushing.

Robin collapsed onto the couch next to him, wheezing with laughter. “Oh my god. You’re screwed.”

Steve groaned, throwing an arm over his face.

This was not how today was supposed to go.

(And yet—some small, traitorous part of him was excited.)

Steve stared at his ceiling, phone resting on his chest. He should not be thinking about this. He should not be smiling at his phone like an idiot. And he definitely should not be considering texting them again.

But.

He grabbed his phone.

Steve: okay. one more hint.

Unknown Number: bold of you to assume i’ll give in that easily

Steve: bold of you to assume i won’t annoy you until you do

Unknown Number: oh? so you are planning on keeping me around?

Steve: don’t flatter yourself

Unknown Number: too late ;)

Steve huffed a laugh.

Steve: fine. no hints. but answer me this—do i actually know you?

Unknown Number: maybe

Steve: that’s not an answer

Unknown Number: it’s my answer

Steve: you’re impossible

Unknown Number: and yet here you are, still texting me

Steve rolled onto his side, biting his lip to keep from grinning.

Steve: …shut up.

Unknown Number: make me

Steve’s breath caught.

Oh.

This was bad.

This was very bad.

Because whoever was on the other end of this phone?

Steve was doomed.

taglist: @ellietheasexylibrarian , @tartarusknight , @ravenfrog

[bucketgetter535]

This is not a cry for help (but it might be) PART 3

WC:4.2k CW: None Notes: what's up guys. plz leave thoughts on this one.

So Azzi was being mean on purpose now.

Not like mean mean. Not like mean in the way girls at school were when they told you your outfit looked brave or when they smiled too big at the guy you liked. No. Azzi’s mean was different. It was intentional. Targeted. Kind of quiet and terrifying. Like she was trying to get a specific reaction out of Paige and always knew exactly how to do it.

Like right now.

They were in their room, which was technically a break day from practice, and Paige had been on full Annoying Azzi Mode since sunrise. No real reason. She just felt like annoying someone. She felt like poking at something warm until it cracked a little. Because her phone had been weirdly silent all morning. No texts from her dad, no accidental family group chat blowing up, no passive-aggressive messages from her stepmom about the “adult decisions being made”. And that was like… good. Sort of.

Good but also not.

It felt like getting ghosted by chaos. Like maybe the whole house had finally burned down and no one told her. Or maybe they were just pretending she didn’t exist for today. She couldn’t tell which made her feel worse.

So now she was pacing. In socks. And a hoodie that wasn’t hers. And talking. A lot. Loudly.

“Okay but think about it,” Paige said, standing on Azzi’s bed while chewing half a granola bar. “What if I started rapping during warmups? Like not real rapping, just like… you know. A beat. Like a personal hype loop. Paige bars.”

Azzi was sitting on the floor doing something with her ankle brace, face completely neutral. She didn’t even look up. “That’s the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“I haven’t even said the best part yet. You could be my backup dancer.”

“No.”

“Azzi.”

“No.”

“Azzi, come on—”

“You’re literally insane.”

“I’m not insane,” Paige said, flopping dramatically onto her bed now and hanging her head over the side so she could still see Azzi upside down. “I’m just high-energy. You should be grateful. I’m a gift.”

“You’re a plague.”

“I’m your plague.”

That made Azzi look up. Just long enough to raise one eyebrow, smirk faintly, then return to taping her brace like she hadn’t just absolutely ended Paige’s life with one look.

Okay. So this was what Paige was talking about.

This.

Azzi knew. She knew what she was doing. She liked doing this. Liked flustering her. Liked catching her off guard and watching her trip all over her own stupid words. Like some evil magician with great skin and freakish core strength.

And Paige... Paige was letting it happen.

Paige wanted it to happen.

Sort of.

But also it wasn’t fair. Because she was supposed to be the annoying one. That was the whole thing. That was her role in this friendship-flirting-enemy-rival-something zone they’d landed in. Paige was supposed to be the one causing problems. Throwing off the rhythm. Climbing Azzi like a jungle gym and trying to get her to laugh at objectively dumb jokes. Not this. Not the other way around.

She pouted. “Why are you so good at that?”

“At what.”

“At like… doing whatever it is you’re doing to my brain.”

“I’m literally just sitting here.”

“Exactly,” Paige said. “It’s not right.”

Azzi sighed and tugged her brace tighter. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Rarely. But for you? Maybe. I could be bribed.”

“I’m not bribing you.”

Paige gasped. “Wow.”

Azzi looked up again, except this time not smiling. Her eyebrows were tight, mouth pressed flat. “Seriously, can you just chill for two seconds? I’m trying to do something.”

And well.

Oh.

That tone was real. That was Real Azzi. Not Play Azzi. Not fake-irritated, not smirking or flirty or sarcastic. That was actually annoyed Azzi.

Paige blinked. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry.”

And then she was quiet.

Like really quiet.

Which wasn’t her strong suit, but she sat there on the edge of the bed, fingers fidgeting in her lap, chewing her lip, not saying a single dumb thing while Azzi finished whatever ankle-brace ritual she had going.

The silence was heavy. Not awkward, just thick. Like a fog had rolled in and was sitting on her chest a little. Like she had to breathe slower so she didn’t mess it up worse.

Her phone buzzed once on the bed beside her. She looked. Nothing. Not her dad. Not her stepmom. Not Drew. Just some spam text from a number labeled “URGENT INSURANCE NOTIFICATION.”

Cool.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked finally, voice small.

Azzi sighed again, but less sharp this time. “No. Just… let me finish this, okay?”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

She laid back on the bed, eyes up to the ceiling.

Maybe if she stared hard enough, it would open up and suck her into some dimension where no one ever got annoyed, and there were no text messages, and you could just hang out in your friend’s room and annoy her without the mood shifting like a thunderstorm outta nowhere.

But Azzi didn’t ask her to leave.

So that was something.

-

Okay so here’s the problem:

Paige had this thing. Like… a pattern. Like some inner switch that was all messed up and wired backward. She was loud. Always loud. Always cracking jokes, bouncing off walls, talking too much, talking fast, fake-annoying people on purpose because it was fun and because she could and because it made things feel… lighter. Less suffocating.

But the second someone actually got annoyed with her?

Dead. Silent.

Like the switch flipped in reverse and suddenly she forgot how to be loud, forgot how to be funny, forgot how to be a person who didn’t accidentally make other people feel like this.

It’d been like that ever since the whole war-zone-at-home situation started. Since her dad and her stepmom started fighting like they were both trying to win a medal in Most Public Divorce of the Year. Ever since the yelling got weird and the house stopped feeling safe. Ever since she started annoying people a little too hard on purpose because it made her forget that she was sort of falling apart.

And then when it didn’t land, when the person she was annoying actually got mad, Paige didn’t know how to fix it. She’d just go quiet. Floaty. Sensitive. God, she hated that word. Sensitive. Like some sad wet tissue of a person.

That’s how it felt now.

Dinner was over, but she hadn’t really eaten. Her tray had one of those mystery chicken things on it and some broccoli that smelled like boiled foot, and Paige just picked at it the whole time until it got cold and gross. Azzi didn’t say much. Not after this afternoon. Not after the ankle brace and the “can you chill” and the very real tone that had hollowed Paige out like a trash can with legs.

So now she was just… wandering.

Not outside, because obviously that was against the rules and Paige didn’t feel like dealing with a lecture if they got caught, but she could roam the halls. Walk the same loop on repeat like a Sims character with no free will.

The fluorescent lights buzzed above her head. Her socks made no sound on the old tile floor. Every door she passed was a muffled world full of girl-noise and dumb laughter and random FaceTimes and inside jokes and perfume spray. She didn’t belong in any of them right now.

She didn’t belong anywhere.

She circled back eventually. Her feet took her to the dorm without her asking.

Azzi’s side of the room was all calm and glowing and folded. Paige’s side looked like the inside of a gym bag. She liked it that way. Maybe.

Her backpack was leaning against the bed, still zipped. She hadn’t done anything school-related in, like, four days. Maybe more. Who was counting.

She flopped onto her stomach, yanked the bag open, and pulled out her math worksheet. It looked fake. Like someone had printed it out just to make her feel bad.

She tried to focus.

One problem.

Then the next.

What even was slope-intercept again?

Is “Y” the one that moves? Or the line?

God this sucked.

She stared at it. Read it five times. Did nothing.

Pretended.

Paige was so good at pretending. You didn’t even know.

She clicked her pen. Wrote the date on top. Underlined it.

Fake progress.

She could do this for hours.

The shower in the shared suite bathroom shut off.

A few minutes later, Azzi walked back into the room, wrapped in one of those white towels that only rich people owned and girls in movies wore after beach scenes. Her hair was tied up. Her face looked soft and clean and perfect, which felt unfair.

Paige didn’t say anything. She just kept pretending to do math.

Azzi didn’t say anything either.

She went to her side, put on her lotion like she always did—Paige swore she used five products in one night and all of them smelled like clouds—and started her whole quiet bedtime routine.

There was this calmness about her. The same calmness that had made Paige like her at all. Like even if the world exploded, Azzi would just calmly raise one eyebrow and be like, “Really? That’s your apocalypse outfit?”

Paige peeked at her. Just a little. From behind the curtain of her bad homework.

She wasn’t sure if she should say something. Apologize again. Crawl under the bed. Make a new joke. Try to be the girl from this morning. The loud one. The one with the granola bar and the bad rapping ideas.

But the switch was still flipped. And Paige didn’t know how to flip it back.

The math worksheet was stupid.

Paige stared at it like it owed her money. It didn’t. It owed her nothing. It was just a piece of paper with dumb numbers on it and instructions she wasn’t going to follow.

At some point, her pen rolled out of her hand and off the bed with a tiny clink. She didn’t go after it. Didn’t even twitch. Just let her hand hang off the side like she was some Victorian woman dying dramatically of heartbreak.

And then, because she needed a new way to punish herself, she reached for her phone.

She didn’t need to check it. She knew what was on it.

Nothing.

No texts from her dad. Which was new.

No texts from her stepmom. Which was… blessed honestly.

No texts from her mom, even though Paige had triple texted her earlier just to say “u alive?” like that was totally casual and not code for “please tell me I’m not the only sane adult in my bloodline right now.”

No texts from Drew.

No texts from anyone.

It was just the void.

Her phone lit up with a notification, and her chest did this embarrassing jump thing like maybe—maybe—

It was just Duolingo reminding her she was losing a 14-day streak in Spanish.

Paige turned the whole phone off. Like off-off. Like black-screen, no-vibes, don’t-talk-to-me-ever off.

She dropped it next to her on the bed and flopped again, this time on her back, arms out like she was about to be crucified by whatever gods managed teenage emotions.

The ceiling was ugly. Her thoughts were worse.

She didn’t wanna sleep. She didn’t wanna do homework. She didn’t wanna cry, but her eyeballs were kind of dry and stingy, and her chest was tight in that ugh-I’m-definitely-feeling-something-but-I-don’t-know-what-so-let’s-shove-it-down-and-do-nothing kind of way.

She just wanted to zone out. That was the goal. Just totally emotionally power off. Like the phone. Like a robot. Or an unplugged toaster.

It was working, sort of. She was halfway into full shut-down when Azzi spoke.

Not loud. Just a little quiet “Hey.” Like a casual footstep into her headspace.

Paige’s throat made a weird sound when she tried to answer. Not words. Just, like… air and dust.

She coughed once. Swallowed. Tried again.

“Yeah?”

Her voice cracked.

Like, boy-hitting-puberty cracked.

Paige immediately sat up and made a face like the world had wronged her personally.

“Okay, that was… that was not real. You didn’t hear that.”

Azzi blinked at her from across the room, sitting on the floor by her bed like she always did after her whole skincare cult routine.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you thought something.” Paige pointed a dramatic finger. “I heard it in your face.”

Azzi tilted her head. Her mouth curled just a little. “Your voice cracked.”

“Rude.” Paige pulled a pillow over her own head. “I’ve been silent for like five hours. That’s a medical condition.”

“Mmhm.” Azzi’s voice was dry, amused. “It’s called being dramatic.”

“Wow,” Paige said, muffled under the pillow. “Backstabbed in my own bed.”

There was a pause. A quiet one, but not the heavy kind. Not like earlier. Paige peeked out from under the pillow and saw Azzi still sitting there, knees pulled up, watching her like she was trying to figure something out but wasn’t in a rush about it.

“Did you finish your math?” Azzi asked.

Paige groaned like the answer had physically hurt her.

“No. I gave up and stared at my phone like it was gonna cure me or something. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.”

Azzi nodded. “You turned it off?”

“Yeah. I was over it. It was either that or throw it across the room.” Paige flopped again, arms splayed. “But I feel like that’s frowned upon in government housing.”

Azzi snorted lightly and leaned back against her bed. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Tragic, I know.”

“No, I mean like…” Azzi paused, thoughtful. “You only go full ghost when you’re overthinking.”

Paige blinked at the ceiling. “Weird theory. Bold of you to assume I think at all.”

Azzi didn’t laugh this time. She just looked at her. That soft-but-solid look Paige had come to know by now. Like Azzi was both not pushing and still noticing everything.

It made Paige feel… itchy. Seen in a way she didn’t know what to do with.

“I just—” Paige started, then shut her mouth.

She didn’t know what she was going to say. Didn’t have something to say, exactly. She felt too full of words and too empty at the same time. Like all the thoughts were trying to form a single sentence and it was getting jammed in the output pipe.

Azzi didn’t press. Just stayed where she was. Existing.

After a second, Paige rolled to face the wall. Not mad. Not sad. Just done.

“I’ll be funny again tomorrow,” she mumbled into the blanket. “Probably. Don’t hold me to it.”

Behind her, Azzi just said, “Okay.”

And somehow, that was exactly the right answer.

-

It started with some kid.

Not a real one. Not even Drew. Just a little boy Paige didn’t know, crying in a hallway with flickering lights, begging her not to leave. His voice sounded like her brother’s sometimes. Other times, like her own.

There was a door slamming. Then another. Then another.

Someone was yelling... maybe her dad, maybe someone else. It didn’t matter. Paige was running and trying to help, but her legs weren’t moving right. They were underwater, or glued to the floor, or both.

When she looked down, her hands were covered in marker. Just big, thick black scribbles, like someone had tried to cross her out.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t fix it.

And then—

She snapped awake.

The room was dark. Way too dark. Too still.

Her chest was doing that tight thing again. That awful, sharp, crushing kind of tight that made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

She sat up slowly. Her hair stuck to the side of her face, damp with sweat. Her pillow felt gross. Her shirt stuck to her back.

Azzi was asleep, perfectly still, bundled up in her blanket like a very serious little cocoon. Paige stared at her for a second. Like, just stared. As if watching someone else breathe would teach her how.

Then she got up. Quietly. Carefully. Like the floor might shatter if she stepped too hard.

She padded out into the hallway barefoot and made it to the bathroom without even knowing where she was going. The tile was cold under her toes, and the overhead light buzzed just faintly enough to make her feel like she wasn’t totally alone.

She sat on the floor with her knees to her chest.

She stared at her phone again. It was past 3 a.m. The kind of time when the whole world feels sideways and blurry.

Her mom still hadn’t texted back.

Paige had tried earlier—three whole texts. Dumb ones. Just “u up?” and “you alive?” and a “lol if u care ab me blink” like it was a joke, like it was whatever. Like she didn’t mean it.

But she did.

So now she typed again. And erased. Then typed again.

Paige: hey

Paige: idk if ur up

Paige: but like. can u text me

She stared at it. Added another line.

Paige: just want to know ur there

Her thumb hovered. Then she hit send.

Immediately, she turned the screen over. Face-down. Like that would keep it from hurting if nothing came back.

She curled into herself a little more on the floor, wrapping her arms tighter around her knees.

It wasn’t just the dream.

It was everything lately. The not-talking from her mom. The yelling from her dad. The “why are you being so dramatic?” from her stepmom. The way Drew had sounded tiny on the phone when he’d whispered, “It’s really loud tonight.”

And now, the silence.

All this silence in all the wrong places.

She didn’t even like asking for things. But right now, she wanted one thing. Just one stupid thing. Just for her mom to answer. Just a single little ping, a digital “I see you,” even if there were no words.

She sniffed. Not like a sob. Just a quiet, tired little sound. Like her nose giving up on dignity.

“God, I’m so lame,” she muttered into her own knees.

No one answered.

The tile stayed cold. Her heartbeat slowed eventually. The bathroom stayed too bright. Her phone stayed quiet.

Still, she stayed sitting.

Still hoping.

Just a minute longer. Just in case.

Paige didn't even want to send another text.

Like, she really tried.

Like, Paige was actively telling herself, “don’t be weird,” and “chill out,” and “she’s probably asleep, it’s fine, it’s not personal.”

But it was also three-something in the morning, and her brain was doing that thing where all logic had left the building and everything felt ten times heavier than it actually was.

So. She typed. Again.

Paige: it’s dumb

Paige: u don’t have to say anything

Paige: i just

Paige: i feel kinda weird rn

Send.

Immediate regret.

Immediate: what the hell is wrong with you.

Immediate: delete your whole phone, throw it in the toilet, move to Canada.

She buried her face in her knees again, blinking up at the ceiling like that would stop the burn behind her eyes. It didn’t.

And that’s when the door creaked open.

She froze. Literally... like a racoon in a hoodie on the bathroom floor. Her heart jerked into her throat.

And then she heard soft footsteps. Socked feet. Azzi.

Azzi stepped into the doorway, squinting through the light, her hair messy and damp from sleep. She was wearing the dumbest socks Paige had ever seen. Like, full-on yellow ducks.

Paige’s breath caught. Not from the socks. From the fact that someone was seeing her like this. On the floor. At 3 a.m. Looking like a peeled banana left out in the sun.

Azzi blinked a few times. “Paige?” she asked, still half-asleep.

Paige made the fatal error of looking up.

Which meant Azzi could see her face.

Which meant Azzi could see the way her nose was pink and her eyes were glassy and that thing she did with her jaw when she was trying not to cry.

And Paige—oh God—Paige felt her whole chest cave in.

She waved her hand like, I’m good, don’t worry, abort mission, and looked down at the tile. “I’m fine,” she croaked. Her voice did that crack thing again. Total betrayal.

Azzi hesitated.

Then, quietly: “You’re not.”

And she turned and walked out.

Which, like, Paige did not expect.

Which, for a second, made Paige feel so embarrassingly rejected she almost stood up and ran.

But then Azzi came back.

Carrying her giant green water bottle with all the stupid stickers on it.

And a pack of tissues.

She didn’t say anything. Just sat down next to Paige. Cross-legged. Close, but not too close. And handed her the water.

Paige took it.

Tried to drink. Failed. Her throat was too tight. Her hands were shaking now, which was so not fair.

And then the first tear slid out.

And then the second.

And then her whole face just betrayed her.

She turned toward the wall and curled into her knees like maybe she could keep the tears contained, like if she hid her face no one would notice she was breaking.

But Azzi stayed quiet.

Just sat there. Not moving.

And that? That made it worse. Somehow. The quiet made it real.

“I’m sorry,” Paige mumbled into her hoodie sleeve. “I don’t— I didn’t mean to— I’m not, like—”

Her voice cracked again, and she covered her face completely with her sleeve and swore under her breath.

Azzi just nodded. Still not saying anything. Still just sitting beside her, like Paige wasn’t some huge inconvenience or some emotional disaster.

Which. Felt weirdly nice.

Which. Made her cry more.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quiet and leaky and exhausted, like the tears were slipping out of her ribs without permission.

Azzi handed her a tissue. Didn’t say anything dumb like “it’s gonna be okay,” or “you’re strong,” or “talk to me.” Just… sat. Existed. Offered water again.

And eventually, when Paige could finally breathe right again, she whispered, “Thanks.”

Azzi leaned her head back against the wall. “It’s cool. I cry all the time.”

Paige looked at her. “Liar.”

Azzi grinned. “Okay, not all the time. But sometimes. It’s whatever.”

And just like that, Paige let out this tiny, pathetic little laugh. Just a breath, really. But it was something.

She wiped her eyes. Drank the water.

And didn’t feel totally okay.

But at least she didn’t feel alone.

-

Azzi didn’t say much when she helped Paige up. Just kind of stood and offered a hand, like they were teammates on a court instead of two girls in a quiet dorm hallway where one of them had cried into her own hoodie sleeve. The tiles were cold. Paige’s knees cracked a little when she straightened. Azzi didn’t laugh. Just led her back down the corridor, sleepy and barefoot, duck-sock steps echoing soft under the dim lights.

Their room was dark except for the weak glow from Azzi’s side-table lamp. Paige blinked a few times, squinting through the blur that came with tired eyes and a nose still stuffed from leaking like a loser. She felt heavy. Tired in that full-body way like her ribs and knees were tired too.

She stood there awkwardly for a second in the middle of the room, not really knowing what to do now. Like… thanks? Goodnight? Should she cry again or just pass out or start talking about her childhood trauma or—?

Azzi sat down on Paige’s bed instead. Crossed her legs and waited.

“C’mere,” she said eventually, soft. A little tilt to her head. “You look like you’re gonna collapse.”

Paige frowned. “I don’t wanna—”

Azzi held out her arms.

Paige stared at them like they were a trap.

But she moved anyway. She always did, with Azzi. It was something dumb and unspoken and automatic, like gravity or electricity or muscle memory.

Azzi pulled her in with no drama, no big emotional scene. Just: here, be here, you’re safe.

And Paige landed right against her chest, arms kind of awkward at first, like she didn’t know where to put them. But Azzi wrapped around her anyway. All calm and warm and steady like that’s just how she was built. Her sweatshirt was soft. Her heartbeat was in stereo. Paige could feel it under her ear.

She exhaled so slowly it felt like deflating.

“I’m gonna fall asleep if you don’t move,” she mumbled, too tired to lift her head.

Azzi’s hand moved up and down her back. “Dude,” she said, low and warm, “that’s literally the point.”

“Oh.” Paige’s voice was a whisper now. Like a guilty child. “Okay then.”

And Azzi didn’t say anything else. Just let her be still. Held her like it was normal. Like Paige didn’t have ten thousand feelings clattering around her chest like a junk drawer of broken stuff.

Eventually, Paige’s arms found their way around Azzi too. Not tight. Just… enough. Enough to say please stay like this a little longer.

Azzi didn’t let go. Not even once.

And Paige?

She fell asleep in two minutes flat.

[gottencents]

Seoul City - Jennie Kim

love hangover masterlist. main masterlist

pairing. katseye!oc x jennie kim

synopsis. after getting stranded in Korea, Tatum gets rescued by her frustrated girlfriend Jennie, leading to a heated scolding

Tatum had no idea how things had gone so wrong.

One minute, she was laughing with Manon and Daniella, casually browsing through a lively Seoul street market, and the next—poof—they were gone.

Completely and utterly gone.

She had been distracted for only a second, stopping at a stall that had an impressive spread of street food. The moment she turned back around, ready to show Manon and Daniella what she had just bought—nothing. No sign of her members. No familiar voices teasing her about being too easily distracted.

Just the bustling crowd of strangers moving in all directions, completely unaware that she had just been abandoned.

Tatum groaned, tugging the strings of her hoodie tighter. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbled under her breath, pulling out her phone.

She tapped out a quick message.

Tatum: yo where did y’all go???

Daniella: LMAOO UR NOT WITH US??

Manon: Tatum pls don’t tell me u got lost again 😭

Tatum: OKAY BUT YALL WALK TOO FAST WTF

Tatum rolled her eyes. Great. Just great.

She checked her surroundings, trying to see if anything looked remotely familiar. It didn’t. At all. She had no clue where she was or which direction her members had gone.

It wasn’t her fault, really. Daniella and Manon were just too fast, and the market was too crowded. Seoul was a big city, okay?

With a sigh, she switched chats, sending a message to her manager.

Tatum: u got time to pick me up?? I lost them 💀

Manager: With Yoonchae rn, gonna take a while

Tatum let her head fall back against the lamppost she had been leaning on.

“Awesome,” she muttered to herself. “Stranded in a foreign country. Alone. No backup. This is fine.”

She had two options: wander around and hope she magically ran into Manon and Daniella again, or—gulp—call someone else for help.

There weren’t a lot of people she could call without being absolutely roasted for this. But one person did come to mind.

…She was going to get scolded for this.

With a deep breath, she pulled up the contact and hit call.

It rang twice before Jennie picked up.

“Tatum?” Jennie’s voice came through, soft but with an edge of confusion. “Why are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be with your members?”

Tatum winced. “Uh… about that.”

There was a pause, then a sigh. “Oh my god. You got lost again?”

Tatum scratched her cheek, looking away as if Jennie could somehow see her embarrassment. “Maybe?”

Jennie groaned. “Tat—”

“In my defense, Daniella and Manon ditched me.”

“They didn’t ditch you, Tatum.”

“They walked off without me. That’s literally ditching.”

“Tatum.”

She bit her lip. “Okay, maybe it’s, like, half my fault, but I stopped for one second, and they vanished.”

Jennie exhaled slowly, as if trying to stay patient. “…Where are you?”

“No clue.”

“Tatum.”

“I’m sending you my location right now!” Tatum quickly tapped the screen, sending a pin. “…Sooo, my lovely, beautiful, wonderful girlfriend—who just happens to be in Seoul—could totally come save me?”

Jennie was silent for a beat before muttering, “You’re so lucky I love you.”

Tatum grinned. “So you’ll come?”

“Stay put. Don’t move.”

Tatum obeyed, staying right where she was while occasionally checking her texts. Manon and Daniella were still making fun of her, and honestly? She deserved it.

Twenty minutes later, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb.

Tatum barely had time to react before the passenger-side window rolled down, revealing one very unimpressed Jennie Kim.

Jennie was wearing a simple outfit—black top, sunglasses perched on her head—but her expression was anything but casual.

Tatum swallowed. Oh, I’m so dead.

She opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, trying to act normal. “Hey, baby.”

Jennie didn’t even start driving. She just turned and looked at Tatum.

“…You’re mad,” Tatum realized, voice quieter now.

Jennie took off her sunglasses and put the car in park before facing her fully. “Mad? Oh, I’m furious,” she said, voice dangerously calm. “Do you know how worried I was?”

Tatum shrunk into her seat. “In my defense—”

“There is no defense,” Jennie cut in sharply. “How do you always manage to lose yourself? And in Seoul, of all places? Do you even know how unsafe that is?”

Tatum bit her lip, feeling very small. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Jennie sighed, shaking her head. “You are so lucky I was free. What if I hadn’t been? What if something had happened to you?”

Tatum hesitated before reaching over, her fingers lightly brushing against Jennie’s wrist. “I knew you’d come.”

Jennie’s glare softened just slightly.

“I called you first,” Tatum continued, voice softer now.

Jennie exhaled, lips pressed together as she studied Tatum’s face.

Tatum barely had time to react before Jennie’s fingers curled into her hoodie, pulling her in with a force that made her breath catch. And then—Jennie’s lips crashed into hers.

It was intense, heated, and left no room for argument.

Tatum barely had a second to process before she melted into it, her hands instinctively reaching out—one gripping Jennie’s thigh while the other slid up to cup her jaw. Jennie sighed against her lips, her hands still fisted in Tatum’s hoodie like she needed her closer, needed to feel her right there.

Jennie kissed her like she was proving a point, like she was punishing her for scaring her, like she was relieved but too frustrated to say it out loud. Her lips were warm, soft, but demanding—pulling a quiet whimper from Tatum that Jennie definitely caught.

Tatum tried to keep up, tilting her head as Jennie deepened the kiss. Her fingers brushed up Jennie’s neck, threading into her hair, tugging just enough to earn a low hum of satisfaction from her girlfriend.

Jennie didn’t let up.

She nipped at Tatum’s bottom lip, tugging it between her teeth before soothing the sting with a slow, lingering kiss.

Tatum felt herself sinking further into the seat, her back pressing into the car door as Jennie shifted closer. Her perfume filled Tatum’s senses—warm, familiar, and dizzying.

Jennie kissed her again, slower this time but just as deep, her hands finally leaving Tatum’s hoodie to slide up her arms, then to her jaw, holding her in place.

Tatum’s pulse roared.

Jennie’s nails lightly scratched the base of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine.

Tatum barely had a moment to breathe before Jennie’s lips trailed down, pressing teasingly slow kisses along her jawline, down to the curve of her neck.

“Jen,” Tatum exhaled, her fingers tightening in Jennie’s hair.

Jennie didn’t stop. She brushed her lips over the spot where Tatum’s pulse was racing, letting her teeth scrape just enough to make Tatum tense. Then, she kissed over it again, her breath hot against Tatum’s skin.

Tatum let her head fall back against the headrest, her own hands wandering—brushing up Jennie’s arms, gripping her waist.

“You drive me crazy,” Jennie muttered, her lips still ghosting over Tatum’s neck before she pulled back slightly, her eyes dark, pupils blown wide.

Tatum smirked, despite how breathless she was. “Good crazy?”

Jennie exhaled sharply, then leaned in again—kissing her harder this time, making Tatum’s smirk completely disappear.

It was dizzying, the way Jennie kissed—possessive, slow but insistent, her hands roaming, nails scratching lightly over Tatum’s skin before gripping onto her waist. Tatum gasped into her mouth, and Jennie took full advantage of it, deepening the kiss again, stealing every bit of air Tatum had left.

Tatum couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—and she never wanted it to stop.

Jennie finally broke away, her forehead resting against Tatum’s, both of them catching their breath.

Tatum blinked up at her, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. “Still mad at me?” she murmured, voice slightly hoarse.

Jennie let out a short, breathy laugh, her thumb brushing over Tatum’s cheek. “Oh, so mad.”

Tatum grinned. “Wanna yell at me some more?”

Jennie rolled her eyes, then kissed her again—this time, slow, lazy, like she had all the time in the world.

And honestly? Tatum wouldn’t mind if they stayed like this forever.

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