#How to Create a Cleaning Schedule?

[honey-tongued-devil]

↞[arcane preference] founding out you were injured in crossfire↠

Since I've created a Bluesky profile and wrote my thesis on Arcane, I'll be posting both old and new drawings there as soon as the time comes. I'm taking advantage of this little space to promote my other social account. honey-tongued.bsky.social Also, I've received both comments and requests, but Tumblr decided I couldn’t post for a week (my internet connection is terrible). I want to let you know that I appreciate them, and I'll get to everything as soon as I can. So, feel free to leave comments, feedback, or requests!

Jayce: 

- This is the worst news he could receive: he's a scholar, he has no idea how to handle these situations, and, most of all, he's forced to confront his pride.  

- Not only was he unable to protect you now, but what if it happens again? Even if he's there, he wouldn't know what to do.  

- What if there's a next time? What if it doesn't turn out as well next time?  

- His self-sabotage leads him to distance himself from you for a few days, not because he doesn't want to be near you while you're hurting, but because he's ashamed of not being able to protect the person he loves.  

- On the bright side, for even just a second, he remembers the original purpose of his research: making the city safe, helping people.  

- But on the negative side, with no one to blame, more than ever, the people of Zaun appear to him as beasts, second-class humans who can't be redeemed in any way.  

- When he finally gathers the courage to see you again, he tries to make amends for everything: for not protecting you, for not being able to, for allowing someone to hurt you, and for not being there during your recovery.  

- He'll literally do anything to be forgiven: every morning you'll find breakfast in bed, if it's cold at night he'll prepare a warmer for your feet, and despite his squeamishness, he'll personally tend to your wounds, even if it makes him feel queasy.

Viktor:

- He tries to help you in every way possible, even ignoring his own pain.  

- He feels sadness, regrets that you went out alone and ended up in such a situation. He can't help but imagine the fear you must have felt, the confusion, and the loneliness when the guards intervened, and you woke up alone in the hospital.  

- He may be a scholar, but first and foremost he's a man with a moral code, and secondly, he's from Zaun: if he has any work, appointments, or lectures, he'll skip them all, maybe muttering a few insults in his thick accent at the most insistent people, and make up for it at night.  

- Plans, ideas, codes, anything – but he won't leave you alone unless you ask him to.  

- He takes care of you meticulously, respecting schedules, bringing you meals in bed, changing your bandages until your skin heals, and you're able to stand on your own again.  

- He doesn't mind helping you – as a chronically ill person who refuses others' help, he's learned to do everything on his own, and he's almost happy that his skills can be useful to someone else.

Ekko:

- Is it something totally normal in the lanes? Yes.  

- Does this stop Ekko from panicking? No.  

- He's the one who finds you and brings you to the others, but he doesn't want, nor can he afford, to be seen panicking. So, he swallows his despair and tries to act as normal as possible while ten other people rush to help you.  

- His face remains expressionless as the most skilled remove debris, clean the wound, stitch your torn flesh, and bandage you, but his foot keeps tapping the floor with force and speed, revealing his anxiety.  

- When the others insist that it's best you stay in the makeshift infirmary, he tries not to protest, but suddenly every moment of the day becomes an excuse to pass by: to bring you stolen sweets from Piltover, to tell you about some expedition, maybe even steal a kiss or fall asleep leaning against your mattress.  

- It's an overwhelming fear, but the fear of losing you makes him unable to think rationally, and all he feels is how much he misses you, even while you're right there with him.

Vander:

- A crossfire from the other side of the river was already a big enough provocation to alert him and prepare to defend the city or, if absolutely necessary, to strike back.  

- But you, as an accidental victim, are a huge problem.  

- He doesn’t have the heart to pull away from you, and when he does, he can’t help but feel frustrated, angry at himself, knowing he hasn’t been able to keep his city under control like he promised—to you, to Piltover, to everyone.  

- He’ll ask for your forgiveness by kissing the scarred skin every day, even if you insist it’s not his fault, and if you remember even one of the faces, he’ll go and handle the problem.  

- Not with violence, unless necessary, but it’s not about personal justice; rather, it’s about protecting the other citizens of the alleys too.  

- Even after you’ve healed, he’ll insist it’s absolutely necessary to carry you everywhere you need to go, claiming a very good doctor told him so.  

- And the memory of the scar will be tiny compared to all the marks Vander has left on you.  

Silco:

- Private justice is absolutely the first option, even though you were an accidental victim.  

- He’ll call all his goons and associates for a meeting while you’re still bedridden, to see if they’ve heard, seen, or been involved in any armed conflict, and if he doesn’t get a face or a name from them, he’ll turn to the brothel, the house of all information,  

- Until he finds who hurt you and makes sure they can’t do it again.  

- Silco isn’t fazed by blood or open wounds, but despite having enough experience to handle it himself, at least on the first day, he’ll take you to Singed to make sure you’re in the best condition.  

- In the following days, he’ll take care of you himself, but he has pride, a façade, and little emotional communication skills, so he won’t openly show how worried he is, relying entirely on the fact that you don’t know about the murder of your assailant and remember nothing of the visit to Singed.  

- But the only reason you heal so well and so quickly is that, even if he doesn’t know how to express it, all the love he feels is poured into the care he gives you.  

Jinx:

- Flashbacks. So many. Too many.  

- At some point, she’ll even convince herself that she’s the one who shot you, leading to a complete breakdown.  

- She punches her head, scratches herself without realizing it, her nose bleeds, and her eyes are bloodshot.  

- It takes her a while to convince herself that she wasn’t the one who shot you, even though the hallucinations overlap images of you with memories of her armed, creating waking nightmares that feel increasingly real.  

- As much as she’d like to ask her father for help, even just to give you a cleaner room, she feels responsible and is too scared that if she stays away from you, you’ll forget her. That’s why she sets up a little space for you and takes care of you herself, though not always painlessly.  

- She’s pulled bullets out of her own body more times than not after missions; what might seem like dangerous, delicate work to someone else is almost routine for her by now.  

- Once she has a suspicion of who might have done it, she’ll make sure they learn their lesson. 

 

Vi:

- Anger.  

- Why were you out alone? Why didn’t you leave as soon as you saw the crowd getting too big? Why were you in that area?  

- But her anger is just panic pouring out like a flood, the fear of not being able to protect the one she loves twists her stomach, making her feel like she might throw up, like she’s dying inside.  

- None of those questions mean she blames you, but she doesn’t know how to feel, what to think, or even what to do.  

- She’ll do everything to help you—bandaging you, cleaning your wounds, staying silent and giving her full attention to make up for not being there when you needed her, even though that’s not true.  

- And when the scar forms, she’ll kiss it every single day, every single night, like a little ritual between the two of you.  

Caitlyn:

- Safety first.  

- She’ll be the one to assess how bad the injury is, and if there are any foreign objects in your body, there’s a good chance she’ll try to handle it herself, even though at first it might seem a bit barbaric.  

- She’ll give you the guest room and call the family doctor to make sure you’re okay, that you don’t need anything else, and she’ll take care of what’s necessary, even teasing you a bit to hide her worry.  

- "A bullet in the leg from being caught in crossfire? Very vintage, I must say."  

- What you won’t know is that she’ll quietly increase security, not in an oppressive way, but just enough to make both you and the other citizens feel safer.  

- Her family won’t get involved directly, but they won’t stop her either. Sometimes Cassandra herself will make sure her daughter finds the tray to bring up to you, though she’ll never be too open about it.  

- The perfect rehabilitation? Long walks in the villa’s garden, so you can stop for some cookies or tea when you get tired.  

Mel:

- Flashbacks, but less personal than Jinx’s.  

- Her mother would call her weak if she knew how it kills her to see someone barely scratched by crossfire, and that realization soon turns into frustration, which then becomes anger.  

- She tries to stay calm, but her voice sounds like she’s scolding you, and then like she’s scolding the servants, or anyone else who crosses her path.  

- Two hours of lecture if you’re lucky—why you shouldn’t go out without a guard, why you shouldn’t put yourself in dangerous situations, why the enforcers are utterly useless and can’t find anyone responsible, even though the fight was so intense.  

- She’ll focus entirely on the bureaucratic side because little Mel was never taught how to deal with strong emotions, and she’s definitely feeling them now but can’t afford that vulnerability, even though she knows you’re safe.  

- She won’t take care of you herself, but she’ll always stay in the room. Not because she doesn’t want to, to be clear, but because she wants you to have the best care possible and prefers to leave it to a top professional rather than her inexperienced hands.  

- In return, she’ll triple the amount of affection and caresses—more to calm herself than you, but you won’t be the one to complain.  

Sevika:

- She needs a moment.  

- She knows she has to report to Silco that there was a firefight, that someone is threatening the people, but part of her just wants to grab those responsible and crush their heads with her bare hands, doing both you and her boss a favor. Yet, another part of her doesn’t want to leave you alone or take you with her.  

- She knows how to handle these things; she’s lost an arm, and Silco’s goons often come back in worse shape, which is why she’ll take care of you herself, in complete silence.  

- She’ll wait until you’re asleep to place a water bottle, a glass, some painkillers, and some bread on the nightstand next to your bed. And when she’s sure you’re fully asleep, she’ll leave a soft kiss on your forehead before putting on her cloak and heading out to the Last Drop.  

- There, she’ll release her anger in a brawl or two, talk to her boss, and search for the reason why she feels so awful at the bottom of her third glass of whiskey.  

[sukeruton-san]

Sorta Maybe Blind pt 2

First Next

It has been four hours since the initial discovery of his appearance and he's come to figure out it's not just that he looks like he'll kneel over and die with a small breeze but he feels like it too. side effects just keep coming!

Apparently his eyes are extremely sensitive to the light now. he opened them fully once and it hurt like hell, even with the smog. his internal temperature has always been a little bit on the cold side but now he feels like a freezer and his rugged t-shirt and jean combo is not helping. he's a little frustrated with how much he's shaking especially on his left side

Oh he thinks he forgot to mention that his left side now has a huge lichtenberg figure on it, starting from his hand going all the way up his arm and spreading across his back and chest swirling where his heart should be it also goes all the way down his left leg into the bottom of his foot, some of it is even peeking across his neck. He thinks it's the scar that was supposed to show itself when the accident happened but it didn't.

it's here now and it constantly aches too, another aspect of the ectoplasm levels here. He thinks he's become more fatigued but his sleep schedule was already shity to begin with, 4-5 hours a week can do that to a person. same with his appetite, food was more dangerous than edible most of the time at h- Fentonworks.

He ducked into an alleyway to search through the duffle bag that was packed for him, squinting to lessen the light in his eyes. and he found a lot. Hygiene products, a new phone and modified Phantom-phone courtesy of Tucker, notebooks, files, a lot of snacks, bottled water, Med kit, wild survival kits courtesy of jazz, bunch of the Fentonworks inventions now phantom-tech that he and Tucker modified and improved together, some clothing items courtesy of Sam, and a bunch of other miscellaneous items/small bags he didn't want to look into right now except for

Oh. . .

Oh ancients the fuck Sam!?!?

Sam gave him a crossbody satchel filled with big money, and when he says big money he means probably thousands in big money!?!? taking two 50s out and shoving the satchel inside his chest he looked to see what the notebooks and files were about.

One of the files was the necessary paperwork for his new identity that Tucker and Jazz helped create together, and judging by the glowing green sticky note Clockwork helped them too, probably about the sorta maybe blind thing he got going on. The other files containing pretty much all the Fenton works blueprints and or recipes for chemical compounds like the ecto-dejecto and the cleaning spray for ectoplasm.

The notebooks were small but thick, they hold a variety of things ranging from tips and tricks, locations that may be useful, information about Gotham in general, several were blank, and others had other little things he won't get to. One notebook was dedicated to everything he has done as Phantom, his battles, achievements, and things they learned about his weird biology. some of it was clearly done by Clockwork cuz he hasn't told anybody the full story about Dan or the clones or the other fights and challenges he faced.

Did he forget to mention that besides the necessary paperwork everything was written in Braille? No? because it was.

Deciding that he was done searching through the bag for now he put on a black hoodie with blob ghost sewn on the front, took out his new phone, and put the Phantom-phone in. He turned on the blind aid in the accessibility function and turned the brightness down significantly. He pulls up Google to look for a place to rent. They all begrudgingly agreed that they won't call or text until a month has passed so suspicions won't be as tight on them. Finding something close and cheap and pulling up the directions to speak audibly he goes on his merry way.

Hopefully the owner will be nice enough to him even though he's barely 16 trying to rent an apartment.

--------------- *Hour and a half later*------------------

The building fucking abandoned

No like the top half of it looked like it exploded years ago and Google still says it's for rent!?!?

Why!?

You know what fuck it! he's already made his way over here and it geting dark fast. he'll find a decent corner in there to sleep tonight.

Squeezing his his way through a hole that was supposed to be a door, tripping, and landing face first on the broken disgusting floor below him.

_______________________________________________

Batman and Robin were investigating a weapons deal that was happening later tonight in an abandoned apartment complex, half the building gone from an explosion courtesy of Two Face. 30 minutes before the deal they were doing a quick sweep of the two floors that remain when

*Smack*

Someone face planted 5 ft away from them.

"Ow " they rub their face for a minute before sitting up and

" That's a blind child " Robin was slightly bewildered by the black haired, blind and before closing his eyes he was able to make out the dull icey blue color. He was ill looking 13-14 in age.

A blind boy that was deathly pale, warringly skinny and most importantly alone.

He points in the vague direction of Robin before stating "I'll have you know I'm almost 16 and you don't sound much older than I do" he feels across the ground searching for the phone that was a few inches away from his reach.

Batman grabs the phone off the floor before standing the boy up himself and handing it to him. " The apartment building you have been following is out of service "

" Oh, why is it still operational on Google?"

" Tch, It seems someone has failed to inform the online networks of this buildings status, which is a incompetence on their part" Robin walked up to be beside the boy.

" what's more important is why you were looking for an apartment building in the first place. You're alone as well, when someone should be there with you when you cannot see or you should at least have a cain. It is also heading to a time of night where you should not be walking outside."

" What is this an interrogation, why should I be telling you what I am doing, who even are you." The boy crosses his arms backing away slightly

" We are Batman and Robin and we are only concerned of your safety" the big bat himself States in a softer than usual for his Batman growl.

Robin looks over at him giving him a look before signing ' are you serious ' then folded his arms. Batman ignores him.

Multiple footsteps could be heard across the floor, Batman grabs a hold of the child before grappling up and away from sight. Robin does the same in a different direction.

_______________________________________________

Holy SHIT

Fenton luck strikes again because he just walked in on The Batman and fucking Robin on an investigation and he interrupted. Being held in Batman's arms he realizes that either he's tiny or Batman's huge because he's at least three times his size.

This is turning out to be one of the more fucked up situations he has ever been in. Let's hope he won't fuck up the situation even more then he already has.

(sorry for the cliffhanger I need to rest my brain a bit with writing, but here is what I've written Hope you enjoy also I saw the reblog from @athyriaceae and took it into consideration thank you for rebloging)

[cloudtransprncy]

Tease

Chaewon x Male Reader | 8k words Tags: manager x idol, secret relationship, pent up, semi-public, sneaking away, horny as fuck, chaewon is hot as fuck, I wish it was me

Chaewon looks too good in that dress. Three weeks without sex. How long before you snap?

Jus sumn quick for yall.

Chaewon [1:42 AM]: I've been touching myself thinking about you every night this week. It's not enough.

Chaewon [1:43 AM]: Good luck keeping it professional tomorrow when you see what they have me wearing for the HOT trailer shoot 😈

You stare at your phone, heat flooding through your body. Three weeks without her. The longest you've gone since you started dating a year ago.

Fuck, she knows exactly what she's doing to you.

Three weeks without her touch has made every message like this a form of exquisite torture. You can practically hear her voice in your head as you read her texts.

You're dating Kim Chaewon. LE SSERAFIM's leader. And you're one of their managers.

It started on a company retreat last spring—a late-night conversation about music that turned into coffee, then dinner a week later, then her pressed against your apartment door, whispering that she'd wanted this since the moment you'd been assigned to their team.

You'd both agreed it would be just once.

That agreement lasted approximately 8 hours.

No one knows. Not the company. Not the members.

Not even Jiyeon, the other manager who works with you handling the girls' schedules.

And right now, your girlfriend is driving you fucking crazy.

The comeback prep for "HOT" has been exactly that—hot, intense, and keeping you both so busy you can barely catch your breath, let alone sneak away to be alone together.

You've tried everything to deal with the frustration. Late-night FaceTiming while she touches herself in her dorm room, biting her pillow to stay quiet. Watching the videos you've made together—her riding you on your couch, her bent over your bathroom sink, her on her knees looking up at you with those eyes.

None of it is enough. You need her. You need to taste her, feel her skin against yours, be inside her.

The warehouse set is all sleek white surfaces and ribbed glass partitions. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in cold natural light that makes everything look clean, sterile, and expensive. The perfect contrast to the fire they're trying to create with this concept.

Staff members in black hurry around with clipboards and equipment, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. This "BORN FIRE" trailer shoot has to be perfect—it's launching LE SSERAFIM's most ambitious album "HOT" yet.

You check your own clipboard, making sure everything's on schedule while trying not to think about Chaewon and whatever outfit has her texting you at 2 AM.

The irony isn't lost on you. Here you are, supervising the filming of a teaser—literally called "BORN FIRE"—while Chaewon herself is the true teaser. She's igniting something in you that's becoming increasingly difficult to contain. The line between her performance for the video and her performance for you is blurring dangerously.

"Manager-oppa, the director wants to run through the toy car scene again," Eunchae says, bouncing up to you in her feathered white outfit. "Have you seen Chaewon unnie? She's next."

"Still in wardrobe," you answer, keeping your voice steady. Like you're not thinking about how Chaewon moaned your name in that hotel in Jeju last month, her body shaking beneath yours as she came for the third time that night.

Sakura walks past with her stylist, the long white dress trailing behind her. You spot Kazuha already positioned on one of the white block structures that fill the set. The whole group is scattered around the space in various stages of preparation.

"Jiyeon-ssi," you call to your fellow manager, "can you check if hair and makeup are done with Chaewon?"

Jiyeon nods and heads toward the dressing area. You turn your attention back to the monitor, where the director is reviewing footage.

Then it happens.

The quiet murmur of the set shifts. You feel it before you see it.

Chaewon walks onto set, and your entire body goes rigid.

Your throat goes dry instantly. God, you love her in white—the way it makes her skin glow, how it emphasizes every curve you've memorized with your hands, your mouth. You force yourself to breathe normally even as memories flood your mind unbidden. She knows what this does to you. She's counting on it.

The white strapless dress is even shorter than it looked in the concept sketches and fittings you'd seen last week. It hugs her body perfectly, showing off shoulders you've kissed a hundred times.

The black belt cinches her waist—the waist you've held in your hands while she rode you until you both saw stars. But it's the boots that kill you. Thigh-high, black, lace-up boots that make her legs look endless.

You force yourself to look away, back at your clipboard. Professional. You're a professional.

But memories flood your mind anyway:

Chaewon straddling you in the backseat of your car, hand pressed against your mouth to keep you quiet while security guards walked past.

Chaewon pressed against your kitchen counter, panties around one ankle, begging you not to stop as you dropped to your knees.

Chaewon in your bed, hair spread across your pillow, eyes locked with yours as you moved inside her, whispering that she loves you.

You still remember the first time she said those words—three months in, both of you sweaty and breathless, her eyes wide with something like surprise at her own admission. You'd felt it too, that terrifying, exhilarating free-fall into something neither of you had planned for.

"You good?" asks one of the camera assistants, noticing how you've been staring at nothing.

"Fine," you say, the word clipped.

On set, Chaewon takes her position. In one scene, she stands tall on a miniature white car, the contrast of the boots against the white making her look like some kind of goddess. In another setup, she holds a diagram against her bare shoulder, eyes focused directly at the camera.

She's perfect. Professional. The director loves every take.

But then, during a lighting adjustment, when everyone's attention is elsewhere, she looks directly at you.

It's quick—barely a second—but in that moment, her professional mask slips. Her eyes darken. The corner of her mouth quirks up.

It's the same look she gave you the first time you told her to get on her knees.

The director calls for the next setup. Chaewon moves into position with the other members, all of them in white, creating a visual that's both innocent and somehow sinful.

You take a deep breath. You've been so good. So professional.

But when she walks past  you, she whispers, "Bet you want to take this off me so bad," so quietly only you can hear it, you know exactly how this day is going to end.

You are completely, totally fucked.

You're in hell.

Not the burning, fire-and-brimstone kind. The sleek, white, glass-walled kind.

A special kind of hell designed with surgical precision by Kim Chaewon—your weakness, your fucking undoing.

The "BORN FIRE" shoot continues. It's been three hours. You've managed to stay professional for exactly none of them.

"Cut! Five minute break," the director calls.

The set erupts into controlled chaos—stylists rushing to touch up makeup, lighting techs adjusting gear, Kazuha and Eunchae huddled near the white blocks watching practice videos on their phones.

You stare at your clipboard like it contains the secrets of the universe.

Chaewon moves through the space like she owns it, boots clicking against the polished concrete floor. The sound alone makes your pulse kick.

She stands by the glass partition, sunlight catching on her hair, making it glow against all the sterile white. Your eyes follow her despite your brain screaming not to.

"Manager-oppa," she calls, voice sweet and professional. The sound hits you low in your stomach—the same tone she uses right before she begs you to fuck her harder.

"Can you bring me some water?"

She knows exactly what she's doing. Every staff member sees a hardworking idol asking her manager for a simple favor.

You know better.

You grab a bottle and walk it over to her. That's when she strikes.

Her fingers brush yours as she takes the bottle—deliberate, electric—the touch lasting a half-second too long to be accidental.

"Had a dream about you last night," she murmurs, voice pitched for your ears only.

The cap of the water bottle clicks as she twists it open. She drinks slowly, throat working in a way that triggers a vivid flashback—her on her knees three weeks ago, swallowing around you, looking up with those same dark eyes. You'd gripped her hair so tight she'd moaned around you.

Her tongue darts out to catch a drop on her lower lip. Her eyes never leave yours.

You say nothing. Your grip on the clipboard turns your knuckles white.

Jiyeon passes by, checking her watch. "Chaewon-ah, wardrobe wants to check your outfit before the next shot."

Chaewon nods, all professional sweetness. "Coming!"

She brushes past you, close enough that you catch her scent—something floral and expensive that you've tasted on her skin a hundred times before.

The stylist adjusts something on the back of her dress while she stands in front of the monitor. You try to focus on the schedule, on anything but the curve of her shoulder blades, the way the belt cinches her waist.

"Everything good?" the stylist asks.

Chaewon nods, then turns slightly. Her eyes find yours in the reflection of the monitor. "Perfect."

The tech walks away. You're about to do the same when—

"Woke up so wet this morning."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your body responds instantly, a rush of heat that makes you grit your teeth.

She doesn't even look at you. Just keeps checking her reflection, adjusting a strand of hair like she didn't just set you on fire.

You step closer, voice low. "Watch yourself."

She smiles—sweet, sharp, fucking dangerous. "Always do. That's why I look so good."

The director calls everyone back. You retreat to the safety of the production table.

You adjust your clipboard, grateful for its coverage. This is what she reduces you to—a professional with years of industry experience hiding an erection like a teenager. The thought should embarrass you, but instead, there's a twisted pride in how she still affects you this way, even after a year together.

For exactly twelve minutes, you breathe. Focus. Reset.

Then she slides into the chair next to you.

"Can I see the schedule?" she asks, loud enough for others to hear. Professional. Proper.

You hand her your tablet without looking up. Three staff members hover nearby, discussing lighting for the next scene.

Sakura sits across the table, focused on crocheting something delicate and blue, her fingers moving with practiced precision. The click of her crochet hook provides a steady rhythm to the chaos around you.

That's when you feel it—her hand on your thigh under the table. Casual. Like it belongs there.

Your entire body goes rigid.

"Chaewon," you warn, barely a whisper.

"Mmm?" She leans in, pretending to point at something on the screen. Her fingers start to move. Slow strokes up, then down. Teasing.

You inhale sharply, willing your face to stay neutral.

The staff members move away. But Sakura is still there, focused on her project, the hook moving in and out of the yarn.

Chaewon's hand inches higher, bolder than she's ever been. Her pinky grazes dangerously close to where you're already hardening against your will.

"Stop," you hiss.

She leans closer, her breath against your ear. "I'm ovulating, you know."

Your vision blurs. Blood rushes in your ears.

"You'd feel it the moment you were inside me—"

Sakura looks up suddenly, her eyes meeting yours across the table.

Your heart stops.

Chaewon doesn't move her hand. Instead, she laughs at something on the screen, all innocent charm. "Manager-oppa, the schedule looks too tight. Don't you think?"

Sakura tilts her head, then returns to her crocheting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that your girlfriend's hand is still on your thigh, still dangerously high.

You wrap your fingers around her wrist under the table, stopping her hand but not removing it. A dangerous compromise.

Her pupils dilate. That's when you see it—she's not just playing with you. She's affected too. Her cheeks flushed, her breathing just a little too quick.

She's as desperate as you are.

The realization hits you like a kick to the chest.

"Two minutes!" someone calls.

She extracts her hand slowly, deliberately. Stands up, smooths down her dress. The movement pulls the hem even higher on her thigh.

"Think you can last the rest of the day?" she asks, a challenge glinting in her eyes.

Before you can answer, Jiyeon approaches. "Chaewon-ah, they need you for the car shot."

Chaewon nods, all business again. But as she walks away, she glances back—just once. Just enough for you to see the hunger there, mirroring your own.

The next hour is psychological warfare.

Around you, the set buzzes with activity. Makeup artists touch up the members between shots. The director argues with the cinematographer about lighting. A production assistant nearly trips over a cable, sending everyone scrambling.

And through it all, Chaewon wages her private campaign against your sanity.

This is high-stakes chess played under fluorescent lights.

Every staff member represents a potential career-ending leak. The director who's worked with three generations of idol groups and has seen every possible scandal. The company photographer who reports directly to the CEO. The stylists who know every whispered secret in the industry.

One wrong move, one lingering glance held too long, and everything you've both worked for collapses.

She steps onto the miniature white car, boots planted wide, the dress riding up her thighs as she poses. The camera loves her. Every angle is perfection.

You remember the first time you took her for a drive, six months into your secret relationship. She'd climbed into your lap at a deserted scenic point, the gear shift digging into her leg as she rode you, both of you half-clothed, desperate, her breath fogging the windows as she came.

Now, as she stands on that toy car, her eyes find yours between every take.

During the group shot with the white blocks, she trails her fingers along the edge of the structure, the same way she's traced paths across your chest in the dark of your bedroom. Her fingernails scrape lightly against the white surface, and you swear you can feel phantom scratches down your back.

Each pose becomes more provocative. Each glance more daring.

When the stylist adjusts her dress between shots, Chaewon stretches her arms overhead, making the hem ride dangerously high. The movement fills your nostrils with the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something deeper—that clings to your sheets for days after she leaves.

In the solo shot with the diagram pressed against her bare shoulder, she turns just enough that only you can see how her teeth catch her bottom lip—the same way they do when you're deep inside her.

Your heart hammers against your ribs. Your skin feels too tight. Every minute is torture, and the fact that you're surrounded by people—Jiyeon checking the time, Eunchae asking you questions, staff members constantly brushing past—only makes it worse.

This isn't just teasing anymore. This is Chaewon pushing both of you to the edge.

Then comes the final blow.

During the last break, when the set is buzzing with activity, she passes by the narrow space between the equipment cases where you're checking inventory.

No one can see you here. Just a sliver of space hidden from the main floor.

She stops, just for a second. Leans in.

"Just fuck me in the changing room already."

The clipboard nearly snaps in your grip.

She walks away, satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

And something in you—the last thread of your control—finally snaps.

You count to ten. Wait until she's back in position on set.

Then you move through the space with purpose, face composed, steps measured.

Professional.

You reach her just as the director calls for a lighting check.

Your fingers wrap around her wrist—firm, decisive.

She looks up, triumph flashing in her eyes.

"Do you wanna get caught, you stupid bitch?" you whisper, the words harsh but your tone almost loving.

Her lips part. A small gasp that only you can hear.

"Manager-nim, is something wrong?" the director asks.

"Wardrobe issue," you say smoothly. "Won't take long."

You pull her away from the set, past curious eyes, past Jiyeon's raised eyebrow.

The changing room is too exposed. Too many people.

Five years in this industry has taught you one thing: discretion isn't just preferred, it's survival.

You've built your reputation on professionalism, on being the manager who anticipates problems before they happen.

Chaewon is the one variable you can never fully calculate, the one risk you can't mitigate. And God help you, you wouldn't have it any other way.

You spot it—a storage room door, slightly ajar. Dark. Empty.

Perfect.

Her breath catches as you change direction, leading her toward it.

"What are you—"

You push the door open. Pull her inside  The storage room door closes with a soft click.

And finally—fucking finally—you're alone.

One second passes.

Two.

Then Chaewon launches herself at you.

Her hands grab your face with bruising intensity, fingernails digging into your scalp, your jaw, anywhere she can grip. The heat of her palms sears your skin as her mouth finds yours with desperate precision. The kiss is nuclear—all teeth and tongue and hunger. She bites your lower lip, hard enough to make you taste the metallic hint of blood, then soothes it with the velvety warmth of her tongue, exploring your mouth like she's trying to devour you whole.

Her body presses against yours, tits crushed against your chest, her hips grinding with shameless need. She grabs your hands and places them on her ass, demanding your touch without saying a word.

"Fuck, I missed your mouth," she gasps, her breath hot against your lips as she pulls at your clothes, fingers trembling and scrabbling at your belt, nails occasionally scraping against your abdomen. She can't seem to decide where to touch you—her hands moving from your chest to your shoulders to your neck, back to your belt, frantic and greedy. "Missed your hands. Missed your cock."

You slam her against the shelves, the metal rattling with a satisfying clang that echoes her gasp. Your hands are everywhere—her face, flushed and warm beneath your palms; her throat, pulse hammering wildly under your fingertips; the soft swell of her breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath; the dramatic curve of her waist that fits perfectly in your grip. Every touch relearns the terrain you've been starved of for three endless weeks.

She reaches behind and grabs your wrists, dragging your hands to her ass, forcing you to squeeze the firm flesh. "Touch me everywhere," she demands, voice thick with need. "I've been dying for it."

"You took too fucking long," she pants against your lips, her voice vibrating through you as her hands finally get your pants open, the sudden coolness of air a sharp contrast to the heat of her touch. Her fingers brush against your cock, a teasing touch that makes your jaw clench.

The storage room closes around you—metal shelves on one wall digging into her back, garment racks crowded with costumes exhaling the scent of fabric softener and makeup, cardboard boxes stacked in the corner threatening to topple with each movement. A single fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting harsh shadows that carve her features into something almost feral with need, highlighting the sheen of sweat beginning to form at her temples, at the hollow of her throat.

She makes quick work of the black safety shorts beneath her dress, the fabric making a soft whisper as it slides down her legs before she kicks them away. The movement is so fluid, so urgent, that your mouth goes dry with anticipation. She grabs your hand, guiding it between her legs, letting you feel how ready she is. "See what you do to me?" she whispers, eyes locked on yours.

You spin her around, the quick motion making her gasp. For a moment, you just look at her—the elegant column of her neck where a few baby hairs escape her bob cut, curling with perspiration; the delicate slope of her shoulders, pale and perfect under the harsh light; the dramatic curve where her waist meets the swell of her ass, emphasized by the black belt that begs to be gripped. The white dress clings to every inch, revealing the heat she's generating beneath it. Your mouth waters just looking at her, tongue dragging across suddenly parched lips.

Your hand comes down on her ass with a sharp crack, the sound startlingly loud in the confined space. She jerks forward, a surprised gasp escaping her lips. The pale skin instantly flushes pink under your palm.

"Hurry up," she demands, looking back at you over her shoulder, eyes dark and glassy with impatience, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of brown remains. She arches her back, pushing her ass against your hand, silently begging for more.

You grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave impressions. "Shut the fuck up."

Her breath catches with an audible hitch. You know she loves it when you talk to her like this—can feel it in the goosebumps that rise under your touch, in the way her thighs tremble slightly.

You run your hands up her sides, feeling the heat radiating through the thin fabric, then down to the hem of her dress, bunching the material as you start to lift it. The fabric makes a soft rustling sound that seems obscenely loud in the small space. Your hands slide up her thighs, skin like silk beneath your calloused palms, finding the lace edge of her panties. Black, of course. The contrast against her pale skin is stark and mouthwatering.

Another smack lands on her ass, harder this time. You watch the flesh jiggle under the impact, the imprint of your hand blooming pink against her porcelain skin. "You like that?" you ask, already knowing the answer as she pushes back against you.

"Yes," she hisses, grinding back against your hand. "Again. Harder."

You comply, landing another sharp slap, watching the way her body jerks forward before pressing back, seeking more. "Look at you," you murmur, "So perfect for the cameras, but in here, you're just a dirty little slut who gets wet from being spanked."

She moans at your words, the sound vibrating through her entire body. "Only for you," she whispers, the admission hanging heavy in the air between you.

Spinning her back around, you claim her mouth again, tasting mint and desperation on her tongue as your hand slips between her legs, pressing the lace against her. The fabric is soaked through, warm and clinging to her folds. Her hands are everywhere—gripping your shoulders, sliding down your chest, grabbing at your ass to pull you closer, like she can't get enough of touching you.

"Goddamn," you mutter against her lips, the words a vibration between your connected mouths. "Your pussy's fucking drenched."

You hook your fingers into the lace and yank it aside, the elastic snapping against her thigh. Your middle finger slides through her folds, gathering her wetness, feeling how swollen and ready she is—hot and slick and perfect against your fingertips.

"Look how fucking wet you are," you murmur, watching her face contort with pleasure as you circle her clit, feeling it harden beneath your touch. "Been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"

She whimpers, a high, needy sound that goes straight to your cock as she grinds against your hand. "I told you I've been wet since I woke up," she pants, her breath coming in short, hot puffs against your face. "Thinking about you. About this. About you bending me over and fucking me until I can't remember my own name."

She tries to reach for you, but you catch her wrist with your free hand, her pulse jumping beneath your grip as you pin it above her head against the shelves. The metal is cold against her skin, making her hiss.

"Not yet," you tell her, voice dropping to a growl. "I want you desperate first."

"I'm already desperate," she hisses, trying to rock against your hand, the movement making her belt buckle clink against itself. Her free hand grabs at your shirt, your arm, anywhere she can reach. "Just fuck me already."

You turn her again, pressing her face-first against the metal shelving. The cold surface makes her gasp, back arching instinctively away from it. She braces herself, legs automatically spreading wider on the concrete floor, the heel of her boots making a sharp click as she repositions.

You grab her belt from behind, leather warm from her body heat, using it to arch her back, positioning her ass higher. The positioning makes the dress ride up further, exposing more of her thighs, making her stance more obscene, more perfect.

Another smack lands on her exposed ass, harder than before, the sound cracking through the small room. She jerks forward, a moan ripping from her throat.

"Fucking perfect," you mutter, kneading the flesh you just struck, watching the pink handprint fade and bloom again under your touch. You land another blow on the opposite cheek, evening her out, making her squirm.

The scent of her arousal hits you fully now—musky, sweet, unmistakable. Your mouth waters at the smell of her, cock throbbing painfully in response.

You reach up, fingers finding her hair, gripping the short strands of her bob at the nape of her neck. Not pulling, just holding, controlling. The sensation makes her moan, her head falling back into your grip.

"Please," she whispers, the word a broken, ragged thing as she tries to push back against you.

You keep her in place with your dual grip on her belt and hair. "Please what?"

"Please fuck me," she begs, all teasing gone from her voice, replaced with raw need. "I need your cock inside me. Now."

You release her hair to lean over her, your chest pressing against her back, trapping her heat between your bodies. Your mouth finds her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive lobe. "After all that teasing? All those filthy little comments with people right fucking there?"

You land another hard slap on her ass, watching the flesh redden under your palm. "This what you wanted? Getting your ass slapped while the whole crew is just outside?"

"Yes," she admits, voice small but sure. "Needed it so bad."

You drag the head of your cock through her slick folds, the sensation making both of you groan—her wetness hot and silky against you, making everything gloriously frictionless. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't make you wait longer."

"Because," she pants, voice vibrating with need, "you want this as bad as I do."

She's right, and you both know it.

You guide yourself to her entrance and thrust in with one brutal stroke, burying yourself to the hilt in her tight, clinging heat.

The sound she makes is primal—half gasp, half moan, pure fucking need. Your hand clamps over her mouth immediately, palm registering the warm wetness of her breath, the softness of her lips.

"Shhh," you warn even as you pull back and drive in again, the slick sound of your joining obscenely loud in the small space. "You want the whole fucking staff to hear how you take cock? How their perfect Kim Chaewon is just a dirty little whore in here?"

She shakes her head, but her pussy clenches around you at the words, a vice-like grip that sends stars exploding behind your eyelids. You know she loves the risk, the filth, the knowledge that just outside this door, she's Kim Chaewon of LE SSERAFIM, but in here, she's just yours to use.

"That's what gets you off, isn't it?" you growl against her ear, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. "Knowing they all think you're so sweet, so professional, when really you're in here letting me fuck you raw in a storage room."

Moving your hand from her mouth to her throat, you feel her swallow against your palm, her pulse racing beneath your fingers. You don't squeeze, just hold, feeling the vibrations of her moans traveling through her slender neck.

"That's right," you growl against her ear, teeth scraping the shell. "Remember who you belong to."

Her response is a full-body shudder, her inner walls clenching around you, making you groan at the sensation.

You fuck her hard, each thrust making her body jolt against the shelves. The metal creaks ominously, the sound mixing with the wet slap of skin on skin, the harsh sounds of your combined breathing. Your hand comes down on her ass again, the sting making her gasp, her pussy clenching around you in response.

"You love that, don't you?" you murmur, watching the red handprint bloom on her pale skin. "Love getting your ass slapped while your tight little pussy gets stretched around my cock."

"Yes," she admits, voice breaking around the word. "Love it. Love everything you do to me."

Without pulling out, you grab her left thigh and lift it, the smooth leather of her boot sliding against your palm as you plant her foot against a lower shelf. The new position opens her up, lets you sink even deeper into her molten core.

"Fuck," she whimpers, head falling forward against her braced arm, the tendons in her neck standing out in sharp relief.

"That's it," you growl, watching yourself disappear inside her over and over, mesmerized by the sight of her taking you, by the glistening evidence of her arousal coating you. "Take it deeper."

You grip her belt with one hand, bunching her dress even higher with the other until it's completely out of the way. The sight of her perfect ass jiggling with each impact makes your head swim, blood rushing in your ears. It's already pink from your earlier attention, the skin warm to the touch.

Your hand slides up her spine to grip her hair again, this time with purpose. You gather the short strands in your fist, tugging just enough to make her back arch further, to make her gasp, throat exposed and vulnerable.

"Look at you," you say, voice rough with exertion, the words punched out of you with each thrust. "LE SSERAFIM's perfect leader, taking cock in a storage room, being such a whore. Such a pretty little slut with your ass all red from my hands, your pussy dripping all over my cock."

She pushes back against you, taking you deeper, her body greedily swallowing every inch. "Harder," she demands, voice breaking on the word. "Fuck me harder. Make me feel it tomorrow."

You grip both her hips now, fingers digging into soft flesh, and pick up the pace. The new angle has you hitting that spot inside her that makes her whole body tremble, makes her walls flutter and clench around you. The wet sounds of her pussy taking your cock fill the small space—obscene, filthy, perfect.

"You're so fucking tight," you groan, feeling her walls grip you like a silken vice. "Squeezing my cock like you're trying to milk it dry."

You switch your grip, one hand finding her throat again, feeling her swallow against your palm as you apply the gentlest pressure. Just enough to remind her who's in control, to make her breath catch. Your other hand comes down hard on her ass again, the smack loud enough to make you both freeze for a second, worried it might have been heard outside.

"You've been a fucking menace all day," you growl, your pace relentless, the sound of your bodies coming together a wet percussion. "Strutting around in this dress, whispering that shit in my ear, touching me under the table."

Your grip on her throat tightens fractionally, making her pulse jump against your fingers. Her only response is to push back harder, taking you deeper, her body yielding and demanding all at once.

"You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?" you ask, voice low and rough in her ear. "Slap your ass, pull your hair, fuck you where anyone could walk in and see you—see what a desperate little whore you really are."

"Yes," she admits, the confession barely audible. "Anything. Everything."

The tension builds between you, a tangible thing in the small, overheated room. The air is thick with the scent of sex, with the sounds of pleasure barely contained, with the electric certainty that this is exactly where you both need to be.

You change the angle again, leaning over her back to reach around to her front. The new position grinds your pelvis against her ass with each thrust, your cock hitting new spots inside her. Your fingers find her clit, circling it in tight, firm motions, feeling it swell and harden under your touch.

"Oh fuck," she gasps, her inner walls fluttering around you like wings. "Right there, don't stop."

You don't stop. You keep up the relentless pace, feeling her get wetter around you with each stroke, her arousal making everything slick and hot and perfect. Your fingers on her clit get slicker, the combination of her arousal and your spit making obscene wet sounds that mix with the slap of skin on skin.

"That's right, take it just like that," you encourage, voice strained. "Take it like the cock-hungry little slut you are."

Instead of being offended, she moans louder, her body responding to your words as much as to your touch. You know exactly what she likes to hear, exactly how far to push the fantasy of degradation that excites her so much.

The pleasure is so intense you have to grit your teeth to keep from coming too soon. Three weeks without this—without her tight heat squeezing you, without her desperate little sounds, without the feeling of being buried inside her—has left you balanced on a knife's edge of control.

"You close?" you ask, voice strained, the words feeling like they're being ripped from your chest.

"Yes," she pants, the word almost a sob. "So close."

You reach up with your free hand, tangling your fingers in her hair again, carefully pulling her head back to expose the elegant line of her neck, watching the muscles work beneath the skin as she swallows. You bend to press open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, right where the dress leaves her skin bare, tasting salt and sweetness.

"Think about this tomorrow," you murmur against her skin, lips dragging over the goosebumps your breath creates. "When you're sitting in meetings, when you're in practice, when you're smiling for the cameras—remember how fucked you look right now. Remember how your ass felt getting spanked while my cock was inside you. Remember what a perfect little whore you are for me."

Her breath catches. Her pussy clenches around you. She's right on the edge, her body wound tight as a bowstring.

"Remember you're fucking mine," you growl, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust that makes her cry out before she can stop herself, the sound sharp and startling in the quiet room.

You cover her mouth again, palm feeling the heat of her breath, the wetness of her lips, but it's too late—the sound echoed in the small room. Both of you freeze, hearts pounding, listening for any reaction from outside.

Nothing. Just the continued sounds of the busy set.

The moment of fear transforms quickly back into desperate need. Your thrusts become harder, deeper, more deliberate. Her body responds with renewed hunger, pushing back to meet you stroke for stroke, the rhythm between you perfect and instinctive.

Your hand slips from her mouth to her throat, not squeezing, just feeling her pulse race under your palm, feeling the vibrations of her moans travel through your fingertips.

"You gonna come for me?" you ask, feeling your own orgasm building at the base of your spine, heat coiling tight and insistent. "Gonna come all over my cock like the needy little slut you are?"

She nods frantically, beyond words now. Her body tightens around you, clenching with each thrust, the pressure building visibly in the arch of her back, the tension in her thighs, the way her fingers curl against the metal shelf.

You can feel your own release building, the tight grip of her pussy dragging you toward the edge. You've been thinking about this for weeks—dreaming about it, jerking off to memories of it—and now you're finally here, buried inside her, both of you desperate and filthy and perfect.

Her breath hitches. Her pussy flutters around your cock. You know the signs—she's right there, teetering on the precipice.

One more hard slap on her ass, the sting making her gasp, her inner walls clenching around you in response.

You lower her leg from the shelf, repositioning her with both feet on the ground, but spread wide. You grip her belt again with one hand, keeping up the pressure on her clit with the other. The new angle has you grinding against that spot inside her that makes her go crazy, makes her whole body tremble.

"Come on," you urge, your own control slipping, voice rough and broken. "Come on my cock, Chaewon. Let me feel it. Let me feel what a fucking whore you are for me."

Her body responds instantly, like your words were the final trigger she needed. She buries her face against her arm to muffle the sound as her orgasm rips through her, her pussy clamping down on you in rhythmic pulses, a flood of warmth surrounding you. Her legs shake so hard you have to hold her up with the grip on her belt, feeling the tremors travel through her entire body.

The sight of her completely wrecked, the feel of her convulsing around you, the knowledge that you did this to her—it all sends you over the edge. You thrust deep one last time, grinding against her ass as you come, filling her up with pulse after pulse, the pleasure so intense it's almost pain, radiating from your core to the tips of your fingers, the backs of your knees, the top of your skull.

"Fuck, Chaewon, fuck," you chant, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades as you empty yourself inside her, feeling the way she milks every drop from you, her body greedy even in its exhaustion.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Just the sound of ragged breathing, your heartbeats gradually slowing from their frantic pace, the distant muffled voices of the set filtering back into your awareness.

You're still inside her, softening but reluctant to break the connection. Her body occasionally trembles with aftershocks, her pussy giving your cock little squeezes that make you hiss with oversensitivity, the sensation bordering on too much.

You run your hand gently over her ass, soothing the skin you'd been striking moments ago. It's still warm to the touch, a faint pink that will fade before she has to be back on set. Your touch is gentle now, a stark contrast to the roughness from before.

"You okay?" you murmur against her ear, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck.

"Better than okay," she whispers back, voice wrecked but satisfied.

Eventually, you pull out slowly, both of you groaning at the sensation. You watch as a trickle of your come leaks from her, sliding down her inner thigh. The sight sends a possessive thrill through you, primal and satisfying.

She straightens, turning to face you. Her makeup is smeared, her lips swollen and red, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes have that dazed, satisfied look that only comes after she's been thoroughly fucked. A thin sheen of sweat makes her skin glow under the fluorescent light. Her short hair is disheveled where you'd gripped it, sticking up in places that you smooth down with gentle fingers.

You grab tissues from a box on the shelf, gently cleaning between her legs. She watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips—so different from the smirk she's been tormenting you with all day.

"Did I hurt you?" you ask, suddenly aware of how rough you were, eyes searching for marks on her throat, her wrists, her hips, ghosting your fingers over her ass where you'd struck her.

She shakes her head, running her fingers through your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp in a way that makes you shiver. "Babe, It was perfect."

You retrieve her safety shorts from the floor and help her back into them, then smooth down her dress. Your hands linger on her waist, not quite ready to let go, feeling the warmth of her through the fabric.

A smirk forms slowly on her face, eyes glittering with mischief as she leans in close, her breath warm against your ear. "Think they heard?"

You press a final kiss to her shoulder, lingering there, inhaling deeply—tasting salt and perfume and her, that essence that's uniquely Chaewon beneath the expensive fragrance. Your lips trace a path to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, feeling her pulse still racing beneath your mouth.

"Not if you keep your mouth shut next time," you murmur against her skin, unable to resist giving her one more gentle bite.

She hums, the sound vibrating against your lips. "But where's the fun in that?" she whispers, that familiar playful defiance in her voice.

As she attempts to take a step back, her legs buckle. She grabs your shoulders to steady herself, her usual composure completely absent, the bratty confidence from seconds ago vanishing.

"I can't move," she whispers, voice wrecked, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. All the sharp edges of her personality momentarily dissolved, leaving her soft and vulnerable in a way no one else ever sees. "My legs won't work."

"Good," you murmur, unable to hide your satisfaction as you press a kiss to her forehead, supporting her weight. You hold her close for a moment, feeling the way she melts against you, completely undone.

After a moment, that familiar glint of mischief gradually returns to her eyes. The transformation is beginning; the desperate, wrecked woman slowly rebuilding herself into the polished idol.

In this moment, with her guard completely down, she looks younger, softer. The harsh fluorescent lighting should be unflattering, but somehow it just makes her look more real—smudged eyeshadow, faint red marks on her throat where your fingers were, her hair disheveled despite her attempts to smooth it. For a few seconds more, she's just yours.

She reaches up, her hand cupping your cheek with surprising tenderness. Her eyes, usually sharp and mischievous, soften as she looks at you. She leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips—so different from the desperate ones you shared minutes ago. This one is deliberate, unhurried.

"I love you," she whispers against your mouth, the words barely audible but unmistakable. It's not something she says often—both of you knowing how dangerous those words can be in your situation.

Your hand comes up to cover hers where it rests against your face, holding her there for a moment. "I love you too," you reply quietly, the words filling the small space between you. "Even when you're being a menace."

Her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Especially when I'm being a menace," she corrects, and you can't help but smile.

You glare at her playfully, and she giggles—the sound at complete odds with what just happened, with the filthy things you both just did, with the woman who was begging for your cock and calling herself your whore minutes ago. The contrast is jarring and perfect; this duality of hers that only you get to witness.

She leans in and kisses you deeply, but without the desperate edge from before. This kiss is softer, a promise.

When she pulls back, you can see the clock ticking in her head. Reality intruding.

"You go first," you say, checking your watch. "They'll be looking for you. The shoot needs to wrap in twenty minutes."

She nods, takes a deep breath, and you watch in fascination as she transforms back into LE SSERAFIM's leader right before your eyes. Her shoulders straighten, her chin lifts, her expression becomes more controlled. It's like watching an actress step into character—except you know both versions are equally real.

She checks her reflection in her phone, adjusts her belt, smooths her hair with practiced precision. Only you would notice the slight tremble in her fingers, the pink marks on her hips where your hands were, the satisfied glow in her eyes that the camera won't quite catch but you can see clearly.

"How do I look?" she asks, voice steady now, almost back to the professional tone she uses with everyone else.

Like she's just been thoroughly fucked. Like her thighs are still sticky with both of you. Like she's hiding a universe of secrets behind that poised expression. Like she's yours.

"Perfect," you say instead, swallowing the possessive thoughts.

She smiles—not the coy smirk from before, but something genuine that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Then it's gone, replaced by the polished mask she wears for everyone else.

Just as you think she's about to leave, she presses one last kiss to your jaw, her fingers trailing down your chest with deliberate slowness. Her lips move to your ear, breath hot against your skin.

"I'll be thinking about this all night," she whispers, voice dropping to that register that makes your pulse quicken despite your recent release. Then, even lower, just for you: "And touching myself the second I get back to the dorm."

Before you can respond, she's slipped out the door with a final squeeze of your hand, leaving you alone in the storage room with her promise echoing in your mind, the scent of sex still hanging in the air, mingling with her perfume.

You give it two minutes before following, clipboard held strategically in front of you, expression carefully neutral as you adjust your own mask—the efficient manager, all business.

By the time you return, Chaewon is already back on set, taking direction for the next shot, nodding professionally at the photographer's instructions. Her posture is immaculate, her expression perfectly calibrated—looking as composed and professional as if she'd just been touching up her makeup instead of being bent over a shelf with your hand prints on her ass.

No one looks at her twice. No one notices the way she stands slightly differently, favoring one leg. No one sees the slight darkening at the base of her throat where your mouth had been.

You watch from behind the monitor, maintaining a careful distance, occasionally checking your phone or making notes on your clipboard. The perfect picture of professionalism.

She gets into position, poised and beautiful under the lights, following direction flawlessly. The camera loves her—captures her elegance, her poise, but misses completely the woman you know.

Then she glances directly at the camera, and for just a second—

The look she gives—half-lidded eyes, the barest hint of teeth catching her lower lip, a fleeting microexpression of remembered pleasure—that's just for you.

And you know, watching her seamlessly return to her perfect idol persona, that you'll both be counting the minutes until you can be alone again.

...

AN: Yes I'm a certified CHAEWON simp. This is strike 3 chaewon from me with more coming.

[realcube]

bnha men as your boss

characters ♡ bakugo, iida & aizawa

tws / tags ♡ NSFW , MINORS DNI. sex, power dynamics, vaginal. specific triggers are before each character.

BAKUGO

tw : vaginal , degradation.

♡ you have to give him credit where credit is due: he is very upfront about his intentions, even before you get hired for the job

♡ he lets you know during the interview process that he is looking a for a personal assistant to not only do menial paperwork and make coffee, but to also attend to his personal needs. and that if you're not up for that, you can find another job.

♡ but you only thought of that as another perk , so you went ahead with it

♡ and like he said, a lot of your duties during the daytime were ordinary and banal: running errands, scheduling appointments and managing his calendar.

♡ but the night is when things would heat up

♡ and perhaps some of the tension and passion from the after-hours affair would still be lingering between you two come the morning, but you tried to brush it off the best you could and act normal so bakugo's co-workers wouldn't get suspicious

♡ although, they were all starting to get a feeling that something was going on between you. and their suspicions were only furthered when you came rushing into a meeting with bakugo's coffee and accidentally spilled it all over him. and instead of yelling at you or cursing you out, he just sighed and left the room to clean himself up.

♡ baring in mind, this is the same man who fired a past PA for stepping on his shoe.

♡ but really, the reason he didn't lash out on you in front of everyone else in the meeting, was because he knew he would get to do it later..

---------------------------

he has you bend over his office desk, ass up and bare while he rams into your leaking pussy. one hand is tangled in your hair to keep your face pressed crudely against the smooth surface, while the other is free to imflict hot smack against your ass. coming down and causing a surge of pain to race through you, as he leaves a searing handprint on your supple skin.

"what the fuck.." he grits through his teeth, his harsh pace unwavering, "was that?"

you groan against the desk, your whole body shakes with each fierce thrust into your tight pussy, creating lewd slapping noises. " 'm sorry.. katsu— ah! " you're cut off as he lands another rough slap against your ass, gripping the flesh in his scolding hand afterwards.

"you're gunna be fuckin' sorry." he groans, entranced by the way your walls grip onto him in reaction to the impact. continuing to plough into you at an absurd rate, his girthy cock splitting you right open, and causing your pussy to leak all over him. "let's see if your still such a clutz after i'm done with this dumb pussy." he spits down at you, rubbing the fluid against your folds for a disgusting mixture of liquids.

"gunna use it til you can't walk." he slaps both cheeks this time consecutively, gaining two identical yelps from you, at which he chuckles lowly between thrusts. " 'ts all your good for anyway."

IIDA

tw : praise

♡ very much a gentleman

♡ despite the fact he feels a certain way about you , he would do his best to suppress his feelings and avoid acting on them as he knows he's your boss and he'd hate to make you uncomfortable

♡ but even though he tries his best to treat you the same as everyone else.. pretty much anyone, including yourself, can pick up on the fact he likes you

♡ it's made obvious by the way he gravitates towards talking to you first thing in the mornings, and how even the most banal conversation between the two of you is enough to put a cheesy grin on his face and start his day off well

♡ or the way he gives you the lightest workload out of all his other sidekicks and employees

♡ or how he praises you for doing even the most minor accomplishments or carrying out the most straight-forward duties. you once did 10 minutes of overtime and the next day he gushed to you about your outstanding work ethic for like half an hour and continued to rave about you to everyone else, as though you were a star worker

♡ and you just can't help but find all of this quite endearing. and if you were being honest, he was quite attractive too. the way he'd flash you a cute smile and you'd get a whiff of his strong, musky cologne whenever he'd walk by you in the hallway was enough to make your head spin — you really couldn't get enough of him.

♡ which is why you said yes when he eventually asked you out to dinner

--------------------------

"such a good girl.." he groans against your skin, peppering soft kisses down your neck and collarbone, while you're stood with your back pressed flush against his foyer wall. the tension between you two was too thick, you couldn't wait until you made it to his bedroom before starting.

his hand delicately traces your curves as his lips make their way down your chest, nibbling at your clothed nipple before halting. casting his crimson red eyes up to meet your own, "now, do you promise not to tell anyone else at work about this, sweetheart?" he mutters, lips inches away from yours, as his hot breath teases you.

"why not?" you squeak as his hand roams under your dress and his strong palm grinds against your needy clit.

he almost chuckles at your innocent question, "it's not very professional what we're doing together." he clarifies, using his fingers to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, while the fingers of his other hand continue to explore between your thighs, and gently rub against your heat through your soaking panties. "but i really don't want this to end, do you?"

your lip quivers and you shake your head, "no.." you say breathily, capturing his hand between your legs, "i need you." you whine out for more, as he was giving you just enough to leave you desperate.

"i need you too, angel."

AIZAWA

tw : thigh riding, implied age gap.

♡ very indifferent; king of (pretending to be) nonchalant

♡ they'd likely give him a teaching aid for the betterment of the class' academic performances or something like that, and he'd be really opposed to the idea because he thinks he can run the class just fine on his own, like he has been for years now

♡ but he'd slowly but surely come around on the idea of having a teaching aid, not only because it gives him more time to sleep instead of working, but also because you are his aid and he can't be mad at the fact he gets to spend time with you

♡ the two of you have undeniable chemistry straight off the bat, but you do your best to hide it in front of the students and other teachers

♡ but it's definitely there.. and it doesn't take long for the chemistry to manifest in your after-hours discussions

♡ there is probably a little bit of age gap going on in your relationship , but nothing too drastic. you're just the new, barely experienced aid looking to gain wisdom off aizawa, so you spend the majority of your shift swooning over him, trying to get him to teach you stuff and show him all the resources you've made in an attempt to impress him

♡ meanwhile he's just straight-faced the whole time, pretending to be unamused.. even though, on the inside he is quite charmed by you and thinks you're just the sweetest

♡ maybe, if you're extremely observant, you'll see him crack the tiniest smile inbetween sips of his coffee, while you are enthusing to him about your new lesson plans

---------------------------

he's sat at his desk in his private office after-hours, with papers scattered all over it. in one hand is his red pen which he is using to grade papers, and in the other is your waist. you are straddling his thigh, with your arms draped lazily around his shoulders and your nose buried into the crook of his neck.

feeling the subtle flex of his muslces against your already sopping cunt caused you to groan into his neck. you had worn a dress today with no tights so your clothed pussy was sat directly on the harsh material of his jeans, but you wanted to experience every single ounce of satisfaction. hence, you pulled your panties to the side and pressed your bare cunt against his thigh, whining like a whore into the emptiness of his office.

though he didn't pay you any mind, and was fixated on his papers. which somehow made the situation even hotter. soon, you began to grind against his leg, sliding yourself back and forth, allowing the fricition between your sensitive cunt and the rough denim to coarse through you. pressing your tender clit down against him repeatedly, and moaning his name lewdly like he was the one responsible for your worlds of satisfaction. which he partially was, even though he put no effort into it. he wouldn't even spare you a glance when you were screaming out for him.

it was a while before you were able to make yourself come undone all over his leg, but it was all so worth it. one of the most cathardic climaxes of your life. you were panting heavily and completely out of breath, laying your tired body against his for a few minutes, until he told you to sit upright.

his hand wandered down to your cunt, and even the fleeting brush of his fingers against your heat was enough to make you whine lowly. but really he was trying to established how wet you were, and of course when he pulled his fingers away, they were drenched with your juices. "hm," he grumbles, exmaning his hand, "look at this mess. who is going to clean this up, dear?"

argh sorry this is short i was gonna write another character but idk who......

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 10

paige x azzi

word count: 9.1k

a/n: my sleep schedule has been shitty as hell so i don’t even remember writing half of this honestly. so sorry it took so long. feel free to let me know if there’s anything specific you’d like to see in the series or any comments you have! if they’re any mistakes please let me know :)

—————————————————————————

For about two weeks, all Paige and Azzi did was orbit around each other. They were tangled in quiet routines that they created for themselves, mixed with the perfect amount of chaotic affection. Days melted into nights with no clear beginning or end, the rhythm they’d set with each other was the only thing that seemed to matter.

Azzi managed to do a few basketball workouts here and there. Small things just to keep her body moving and active during her break. During one of them, she surprisingly discovered that Paige could actually hoop. She wasn’t flashy about it, but she moved with a gracefulness when she had the ball in her hand. Azzi had grinned at her from across the gym, a little breathless from her own workout. Paige had just smirked at her before dribbling the ball between her legs and looking away.

Grocery store trips turned into adventures, Azzi throwing random snacks in the cart just to see what Paige would veto or complain about. They cooked shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen, feeding bites of food from each other’s plates and slow dancing to whatever playlist was echoing through the house. Azzi always cooked what she knew Paige preferred to eat and Paige always forced Azzi to sit down while she cleaned.

And of course mixed in with their new found domestication they were all over each other constantly. The kitchen counter, the couch, the shower, the floor that one time they drunkenly didn’t make it to the bed, in front of the fireplace, the laundry room table. It didn’t matter where they were or what time it was. If Azzi looked at Paige a certain way, that was all it took and well...Azzi was always looking at Paige a certain way.

In those two weeks Azzi discovered something soft, something she didn’t know she craved until it was in front of her. Paige had a protector’s heart, and Azzi loved every second of it.

Paige always slept on the side of the bed closest to the door; Azzi learned the hard way when Paige pushed her to the other side of the bed in the middle of REM sleep the night she had gone to bed before her. Paige unlocked the car for Azzi first, waiting until Azzi was inside before locking the door back and walking around to the driver’s side. She always chose a seat with a clear view of the exit, her posture relaxed and attuned to what Azzi was saying but always somehow alert. Azzi noticed how Paige would subtly angle herself toward her when they walked through crowds, or how Paige’s hand would naturally rest on her lower back gently leading her.

Azzi had her own small habits too. She folded Paige’s laundry in the meticulous way Paige liked it—T-shirts rolled, not folded. She helped Paige wash her hair when she complained about having to do it. She traced the lines of Paige’s back with her fingers absentmindedly when they were laying on the couch, whispering soft questions that kept her alert. She learned the difference between Paige’s “I’m fine” and her actual fine, the way her voice would dip a little lower when she was overwhelmed, how her eyes would drift somewhere to the corner when she needed a break but didn’t want to hurt Azzi’s feelings and ask for one.

In two weeks, they’d mapped out the best kind of intimacy a relationship could have. It wasn’t loud, nor performative for anyone around them but perfect for their bubble. Built through sleepy forehead kisses, late-night drives when Azzi couldn’t fall asleep, and a thousand small details that they started to memorize.

Somewhere in the middle of all of it, they fell even deeper for the other, neither of them saying the words but showing it in every look, touch, and act of care.

…

Present day Azzi had just gotten goddess braids for the off season and Paige hadn’t stopped staring at her since.

Paige barely blinked when Azzi first stepped out of the salon, her eyes dragging over her like she was seeing her for the first time all over again. Now on the drive home, Paige couldn’t stop glancing over, mumbling half-sentences like “I feel like I’m cheating, swear to God.”

Azzi just laughed as she rested her elbow against the window and turned her head toward Paige. “Mmm you keep looking at me like that, we’re not making it through the door.”

Paige just shook her head, biting her lip, eyes sweeping from Azzi’s hair down to her collarbone like she couldn’t help herself before drifting back to the road. “I’m tryna be respectful baby, but Jesus.”

As soon as the front door closed Paige was behind Azzi, wrapping her arms around her waist and brushing her lips against her shoulder as she spoke. “You got me a lil ready for you already, mama,” she whispered.

Azzi turned her head slightly to whisper back, “You’re the one out here in all black like you don’t know what that does to me.”

Paige hummed, a small smile on her lips. “So we thinkin’ the same thing.”

Azzi laughed and tried to walk away, to at least kick off her shoes and grab some water, but Paige wasn’t having it as she immediately tugged Azzi gently back against her. “Just lemme look at you for a second,” Paige whispered, and Azzi could hear the sincerity in her voice. She turned, slowly to face her fully now. Paige’s heart skipped as her eyes met Azzi’s again, her gaze drinking in every new detail. The braids framed Azzi’s face perfectly and they were pulled back enough to show off her dimples and her doe eyes.

Paige reached up, using her middle finger and thumb to brush one of the braids like it was something delicate. “You look perfect,” she said, quietly. “Like…fuck man.”

Azzi let her hands rest on Paige’s hips, slipping her thumbs underneath the edge of the black tank top she’d been side-eyeing all day. “Lemme see how perfect you can make me feel baby.”

Paige grinned as she gently grabbed Azzi’s chin before connecting their lips. Making sure to kiss her intentionally; hungry in that way that never seemed to go away no matter how many days they spent tangled up in each other.

Without breaking the kiss, Paige swept her arms under Azzi’s thighs and lifted her off the ground causing Azzi to gasp against her mouth as she wrapped her arms around Paige’s neck. Paige carried her to the kitchen and sat her on the counter gently to stand between her legs.

Azzi barely had time to process the cold surface against her thighs before she felt Paige’s mouth on her neck and her hands under her shirt, trailing up her sides like she already knew every inch of her skin by heart.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes before Paige was helping Azzi pull off her shirt. Throwing it somewhere over her shoulder. She pulled back to take a breath and her eyes roamed over Azzi’s chest, her jaw tightening slightly.

“God damn,” she mumbled, her eyes full of admiration as she leaned in again, kissing and sucking along Azzi’s chest.

Azzi messily pulled Paige’s tank up and over her head, revealing the bruises, scratches, and love bites still fresh across her skin. Azzi’s eyes dragged over each one. All of them were small territorial pieces of evidence from the other day when Paige practically dared her to make a point because Azzi was pissy over another woman touching Paige’s arm.

Her fingers ghosted over the marks on Paige’s ribs, and she smiled. “I like these on you.”

Paige smiled as her mouth continued to trail down the valley of Azzi’s chest. “Still feel it every time I move.”

Azzi’s fingers moved down to undo Paige’s belt, her breath catching when Paige pulled her bra down slightly and her teeth nipped at her nipple before soothing it with her tongue. “Good,” she whispered, “Maybe next time you won’t let other bitches flirt with you in front of me.”

Paige laughed against her chest. “Nobody was flirting with me baby.”

Azzi just rolled her eyes and pulled Paige up to connect their lips. They were so wrapped up in one another—Azzi fingers tangled in Paige’s hair, Paige pulling at Azzi’s hips to get closer, her belt clinking against the edge of the counter—that they didn’t hear the front door open. They didn’t hear the keys drop in the bowl by the entrance.

Azzi’s breath hitched when Paige bit at her bottom lip before sloppily trailing down her neck.

The belt clinked softly against the edge of the counter again, but it was barely noticeable over the sounds of their own breathing. Azzi moaned softly as Paige sucked on the pulse point of her neck, moving her hands down to grip the edge of the counter.

“Yo, are y’all—? Oh my God!”

Azzi was slightly startled and on instinct pulled Paige closer to her to block their view, her chest unsteady as they both turned their heads toward the kitchen entrance.

Cam spun around so fast her blonde braid whipped behind her, using her hands to cover her face as she squeezed her eyes shut in horror. “Lord, please, I am begging you to please never let me see my sister like that again. Please, God. Take the memory away.”

Rickea and Rae stood there completely frozen, their mouths slightly open, Rickea’s eyes scanning Paige’s torso in shock while Rae’s just stayed locked in place.

Meanwhile, DiJonai brushed right past them all to open the fridge like she wasn’t surprised at what she’d just walked into in the slightest. Only offering a, “Y’all better not be sweating on the counters I’m supposed to be cooking on.”

Once Azzi adjusted her bra she turned fully toward the group looking a little mortified.

Paige, on the other hand, leaned against the counter casually and seemed completely unbothered, even with her pants still undone and her abs on display.

Rickea let out a whistle as her eyes dragged across Paige’s torso. “Damn...look like somebody been busy. She been fucking you up.”

Paige glanced down at herself and smirked. “Lil bit.”

Cam, who was still turned away, groaned louder. “Why are you answering her?! Paige I cannot unsee this. I need bleach for my eyes. Therapy maybe.”

Rae blinked once, still not saying anything, but her gaze hadn’t moved away from Paige’s exposed stomach and the way her opened pants hung a little too low on her hips.

Azzi noticed and her jaw tensed, a slight possessiveness burning in her chest as she snatched Paige’s shirt off the counter and tossed it at her aggressively. “Put on a shirt.”

Paige easily caught it sliding the black tank top over her head without saying anything. She took her time buttoning and zipping her pants before looping her belt back through. Azzi could tell that her usual wall was back up without her even saying anything.

Rickea laughed under her breath, elbowing Rae. “You really couldn’t look anywhere else?”

Rae blinked again, like she finally snapped out of her daze. “I—I didn’t even realize. That was involuntary, I’m sorry.”

“Right,” Azzi said flatly, yanking her own shirt over her head. “Y’all ever heard of knocking?”

Before anyone could respond, Cam, who was still facing the other direction with her eyes on the ceiling said, “Paige, are you fully clothed now?”

Paige didn’t bother answering. She moved to brush past her before heading upstairs. Which, of course, left Azzi standing alone in the kitchen.

“So that’s what y’all be on?” Rickea teased, as she crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. “I ain’t know you were a lil kinky.”

Cam groaned.

Rae, who was leaning on the counter, decided to add her two cents, “So what’s the safe word?”

Azzi rolled her eyes so hard it could’ve been audible. “Y’all are annoying.”

“Annoying, or right?” Rickea grinned. “Because the evidence is all over Paige’s body.”

“It’s giving: ‘do not cook on that counter,’” Cam mumbled, finally turning around. “I swear if I ever eat toast off that counter again and catch a flavor—”

“Cam,” Azzi groaned, her face starting to burn as she reached for a water bottle to occupy her hands. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Cam repeated. “You had my sister shirtless with her pants open in the kitchen in the middle of the day!”

“And I’d do it again,” Azzi said under her breath, but it was loud enough to make Rickea holler.

“She said what she said!”

DiJonai, who was sitting at the counter eating grapes, finally spoke up. “Y’all acting shocked like we ain’t all see this coming eventually.”

“True,” Rickea nodded. “Still...the kitchen, though Azzi?”

Azzi took a sip of her water and shrugged. “The vibe was right.”

Before anyone could respond, they heard Paige coming back down the stairs and they all turned towards her when she walked in the kitchen. “Why are y’all in my house?”

Cam looked at her like she was confused by the question. “Umm, maybe because your entire family is in town and coming over for dinner? Or did you forget?”

Paige just blinked at her, completely void of any recognition about what she was saying.

Rickea snorted and Rae tried to hide her smile while Cam sighed dramatically. “You don’t remember, do you?” Cam asked.

“No,” Paige said dryly before walking over to reach into DiJonai’s bowl of grapes and tossing one in her mouth.

DiJonai nudged the bowl a little closer to her without looking up from her phone. “Don’t eat the green ones. They’re too sour.”

Paige wordlessly nodded before picking through the bowl until she had a small handful of red ones. When she was done she turned and made her way into the living room, sinking into the couch before throwing on a random NBA game. Muted, of course.

The others lingered in the kitchen for a few seconds before they naturally drifted after her.

“So what are we making for dinner?” Rickea asked, as she sat on the arm of the chair closest to the couch. “Cause I’m not about to eat anything Cam cooks.”

Cam rolled her eyes. “That one time the chicken was undercooked was years ago.”

“That was last summer,” Rae corrected, as she scrolled through her phone.

DiJonai walked in and said, “I got salmon when we were at the store but I’m not about to do everything myself.”

They all settled into the living room, discussing sides and who was cooking what but it started to get a little loud when Rae and Rickea were arguing over who would prep the salmon for DiJonai.

This caused Paige to break her silence without looking at them. “If you gon’ talk,” she said flatly, “at least lower your voice.”

“Damn, I thought you’d be nicer now that you’re fuckin’ all the time,” Rickea said.

Paige turned her head to give Rickea a look that was so blank it bordered on disrespectful.

Azzi, who finally wandered in the living room had two waters in her hand and passed one to Paige before easing onto the couch next to her. She glanced between Paige and the rest of the group chuckling to herself a little. “What happened to that smile you had ten minutes ago pretty?” she teased gently as she bumped Paige’s knee with her own.

Paige’s eyes shifted toward her and gave her a small grin, her eyes a little less closed off.

Azzi smiled back at her and Paige’s hand subtly reached for hers, intertwining their fingers and pulling Azzi a little closer as she went back to watching the game.

Just like that, the chatter picked back up the girls bouncing between kitchen plans, whose playlist sucked less, and whether or not Rae was going to get distracted and burn the garlic bread again. This all happened while Paige stayed sitting next to Azzi, only ever really dialed into the conversation when she was speaking.

…

Later that day when Paige’s family got there, it was immediately chaotic. The door barely swung open before her siblings were barreling in—Lauren asking for food, Drew talking trash to Cam and Ryan almost knocking over Rae trying to race to the living room to play her PS5.

Her dad was behind them, holding a tray of some store bought dessert and his current girlfriend’s hand, already in the middle of a story no one asked for. Her mom came in a few minutes later with a few wine bottles in her hands and a tight smile that said she’d already been sipping on one before she got there.

Paige’s house that was previously filled with a peacefulness that made her chest feel open was now just loud and ringing in her ears. Tipsy laughter, overlapping conversations: Rickea teasing Drew, Rae and Cam loudly debating over the music, DiJonai yelling from the kitchen about Rae almost burning the garlic bread. Azzi was the only one who didn’t make Paige want to disappear.

Paige didn’t say much. She drifted around the edges of the room, slipping between the kitchen and couch and wherever else she could avoid contact. When the adults asked her questions, she gave clipped responses. When her siblings bugged her, she tried to soften for them, but even then her voice stayed flat. She wasn’t mad, she just felt tired causing her to want to disconnect from the chaos.

Still the night was going fine, as fine as Paige could manage until her dad brought up the fight.

“You know,” he said, laughing too loudly over his whisky glass as he tossed a card on the table, “that was probably the most impressive fight I’ve ever seen from you, kid. I mean, everything about it was perfect. The setup, the speed, everything. Never seen anything more beautiful.”

Paige didn’t look up from her hand as she tossed a card down. “Thanks,” she said flatly, not bothering to fake a smile.

“Seriously I mean it, though! You were locked in like you used to be back in the day. We were all watching it on the big screen at—what was it, Sam’s place I think?” he glanced over his shoulder towards his girlfriend for confirmation. “Yeah, yeah, we were all losing our damn minds. All my buddies were blown away.”

Paige shrugged. “Don’t remember much of it.”

Her dad looked surprised at this statement. “How do you not remember something like that?”

She didn’t respond.

He shook his head like he couldn’t accept that and reached for the remote. “You gotta see it. It’s everywhere. Think it has millions of views on YouTube now. Whole crowd was on their feet in the background.”

Paige's hand twitched in her lap before she pressed her nails into her palm. “I’m not tryna watch that right now dad.”

He waved her off like she didn’t say anything at all, already pulling up the video.

The second it lit up the large screen in her living room Paige saw her own face in the corner of the screen. She saw her fists taped, her eyes dark and her shoulders a little stiff. She felt her stomach twist, that same nausea from after the fight creeping in her abdomen and a metallic taste feeling the back of her throat. She couldn’t process the emptiness she saw on her own face.

Paige stood up quietly, taking the cards off her lap and putting them on the table without saying anything before walking out of the room. Tripping slightly over her foot on the way out.

From the kitchen where she was making Paige a drink, Azzi caught movement in the corner of her eye. She walked toward the living room, slightly confused when she heard the voice of a flight announcer yelling through the HD speakers of Paige’s living room.

The video seemed like it rolled in slow motion, showing Paige standing there, flexing her jaw as the ref gave final instructions. Azzi wasn’t listening to the sound coming from the TV, she was watching Paige’s face. Watching the hollowness in her expression, how empty her beautiful blue eyes looked as the camera zoomed in.

Azzi’s grip on the glass she was holding tightened. How did no one else see it? DiJonai, to her credit, looked uneasy. Her arms were crossed as she looked at the screen for a few seconds before she just tore her eyes away and pulled out her phone.

“Where’s Paige?” Azzi asked.

No one looked up, not wanting to miss the fight that just started.

DiJonai answered when she noticed nobody else was going to say anything. “I think she went upstairs.”

Azzi nodded once, pressing her lips together. “Thanks.” She moved to put her drink down on the counter in the kitchen before heading upstairs, the noise of the living room getting quieter.

When she stepped into Paige’s room it was empty but she noticed that the bathroom door was closed and she heard the sound of running water echoing behind it. She walked over and knocked on the door gently.

A tired, “What?” came from the other side.

“It’s me, baby,” Azzi said softly.

There was a pause. Then Paige’s voice came back noticeably softer now: “Come in.”

Azzi opened the door and stepped inside.

Paige was standing at the sink and her face was damp like she’d just splashed water on it in an attempt to steady herself. Her eyes were rimmed with a redness, not quite from crying, but Azzi could tell she was close to it.

Azzi crossed the small space between them moving to weave her fingers into Paige’s hair, coming through the strands gently.

Paige closed her eyes at the feeling as she leaned into it.

“You okay?” Azzi whispered

“No,” Paige said truthfully. Then she added, “I just need a minute though.”

Azzi nodded. “Is there something I can do?”

Instead of answering, Paige reached out and pulled her in by the waist, gently, resting her forehead against Azzi’s for a moment before tilting down and kissing her softly. It was slow, the kind of kiss that silently said thank you even if she didn’t have the words for anything else yet.

Azzi always brought her back. Azzi’s lips, Azzi’s presence, Azzi was just always something steady in the chaos for Paige.

When they pulled away, Paige brushed her thumb over Azzi’s cheek and whispered, “I’m not ready to talk about it right now.”

“Before bed?”

Paige smiled at her and confirmed, “Before bed beautiful.”

Azzi kissed her one more time before giving her one more glance before stepping back. “Don’t stay up here too long, you know I’m clingy”

Paige nodded again as she chuckled, her eyes already softer. “I won’t.”

When Azzi got back downstairs, the fight was still playing on the TV but her eyes landed on DiJonai who was sitting at the island in the kitchen. Azzi made her way over there instead of sitting on the couch, slipping into the stool next to her.

“She good?” DiJonai asked without looking up from her phone.

Azzi nodded lightly. “She’ll be ok.”

DiJonai gave a small nod.

Azzi hesitated for a second, then said, “Thank you…you know, for being there for her when she went to Dallas.”

DiJonai shrugged like it was nothing. “Of course.”

“I know she won’t ever say it,” Azzi said, “but she appreciates you. You’re one of her favorite people.”

DiJonai laughed as she leaned back a little. “I know. She can’t hide it.”

Azzi smiled, shaking her head thinking about Paige. After a moment she asked, “How’d you meet?”

DiJonai’s eyebrows raised in amusement thinking about the story. “She hasn’t told you?”

Azzi shook her head.

DiJonai let out a short laugh. “Okay, so this was Cam’s rookie year, so maybe over three years ago now? We were at this open run at a gym in L.A. Some pros, some overseas girls, just a bunch of random people. Paige was there, sitting on the side. She didn’t say shit the whole time really, was kind of just there watching.”

Azzi nodded as she listened.

“She was just staring and at first I thought she was zoned out, but it lasted for a while and eventually I was like alright she’s definitely starring. So I’m thinking, maybe she feelin’ me or whatever.” DiJonai grinned, shaking her head at herself. “So I walked up to her casually tryna be as nice as possible cause I didn’t know her and I was just like, ‘Hey, I saw you looking but I just wanted to let you know I’m taken.’”

Azzi laughed a little, trying to picture Paige in that moment. “No you didn’t.”

“I swear, I did,” DiJonai laughed. “And Paige was tone-faced as hell and was just like, ‘What?’ She said it super dry. So I say again, ‘You were staring, so I just thought I’d say something,’ and she was like, ‘I definitely wasn’t lookin’ at you.’”

Azzi fully laughed this time.

“It gets better,” DiJonai said, chuckling a little. “I tried to insist like, ‘Nah, you were definitely lookin’ at me.’ And she was like, ‘Promise you I wasn’t. You really not my type sweetheart.’ Then turns her head and went back to watching the run like I wasn’t standing there.”

Azzi covered her mouth, trying not to laugh too loud. “She’s so fucking rude.”

“Right?” DiJonai grinned. “But it was funny and after that, I kinda respected her ’cause she was for real not tryna get with me. Was barely interested in my presence, just wanted to watch basketball and that was rare in L.A.”

DiJonai leaned on her elbows as she continued. “I was in L.A. a lot around that time. Cam was always inviting me to runs, so I started showing up more, hanging out with them after. Paige was super closed off, but we kinda clicked eventually 'cause neither one of us was ever with the bullshit. No fake love.”

Azzi smiled again, her eyes drifting toward the staircase like she could sense Paige near it. “Yeah…that sounds like her.”

“Realest person I’ve ever met,” DiJonai said. Then she added, “She’s prolly the most stubborn too though, so…good luck with that.”

Paige walked in the kitchen, looking a little steadier than she had upstairs. Her hair was slightly damp from where she’d splashed water on her face, but her jaw wasn’t clenched anymore and her shoulders looked looser.

She looked down at Azzi, and said softly, “Talkin’ ’bout me?”

Azzi looked up at her and gave her a small smile before biting her bottom lip slightly to flirt a little. “Always.”

Paige didn’t say anything back just chuckled before walking past both of them and going into the living room. The fight was still on, probably replayed who knows how many times but Paige picked up the remote and turned the TV off, ignoring the protests around her. “Find somethin’ else.”

Azzi who was still sitting at the island smiled even though she couldn’t see Paige.

Paige sat in the corner of the couch, grabbing one of her throw blankets and pulling it over her lap.

The chaos of the house picked up again as they started to entertain themselves now that the fight was off. Her mom started telling a story about one of the AAU mom’s from Ryan’s team while Ryan and Drew immediately turned back on the PS5, Lauren yelling at them to grow up when they argued over who could use the custom controller. Paige sat through it in silence.

Azzi didn’t say anything when she walked in, she just scanned the room until her eyes landed on Paige in the corner of the couch and she made her way over, lowering herself next to her.

Paige adjusted the blanket to cover Azzi’s lap too before shifting to make space for her letting Azzi lean into her side. A loose braid fell across Azzi’s check and Paige reached up to brush it back, her fingers lingering against Azzi’s temple.

“You cold?” Paige asked softly when she noticed Azzi pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands.

Azzi shook her head, smiling at her privately. “M’good baby.”

Her voice was quiet, but neither of them realized that the volume in the room dropped completely. Paige’s mom blinked at them mid-sentence, looking at them with a huge grin. Lauren elbowed Ryan, who looked over and finally noticed the moment too, while Drew stared openly.

None of her family had ever seen Paige like this. To them this was the same girl who could barely tolerate a group hug at family holidays. Now she was gently tucking a blanket over someone else, asking her if she was cold and inviting physical touch like she missed it.

Cam smirked from her chair. “Oh, so this is why you forgot about family dinner.”

Her mom, who was still grinning hugely, leaned over to whisper something to Lauren.

“You’re makin’ me look soft,” Paige whispered.

Azzi leaned in, her nose brushing against the curve of Paige’s neck. “Mmm maybe a little, it’s okay though, right?”

Paige turned her head and when she did their faces were so close their foreheads almost touched. Her eyes held Azzi’s for longer than she intended to. A slight tension in each of their stomach’s as she whispered back, “Right.”

Azzi smiled at her answer as she shifted closer into Paige’s side, tuning back into the original conversation like nothing happened.

Even with this small moment with Azzi, since seeing herself on the TV Paige felt off. The noise around her: the laughter, the overlapping stories, the clatter of glasses seemed to blur in her ears. Not quite ringing but muffled, like she had water clogging her eardrum. Because of this her eyes and her mind drifted often, not fixated on anything in particular but certainly not present.

It happened a few times. When her mom asked Azzi about next season. When her dad laughed too loud at something Cam said. When Drew tried to show her something and she just blinked at him like he was speaking another language. Paige was sitting there but parts of her weren’t and Azzi noticed.

The first time she noticed that Paige zoned out, Azzi slid her hand under the blanket and gently tapped her knee twice. Paige blinked a few times, then glanced over, and Azzi gave her a slight smile, silently asking if she was ok. Paige didn’t smile back, but her eyes softened when she looked at Azzi.

When it happened again, Azzi picked up a strawberry off the table and held it in front of Paige’s mouth without saying anything. Paige stared at it for a second, before she parted her lips slowly bitting it from Azzi’s fingers, chewing absentmindedly while Azzi ate the rest of it.

At one point, Paige leaned her head back against the couch cushion and closed her eyes. Azzi let them stay shut for a while but eventually she nudged her shoulder lightly with her own. “You fallin’ asleep on me big head?” she whispered.

Paige didn’t open her eyes, just gave a raspy “No.” But then she cracked a small smile just for Azzi.

Each time Paige drifted off into her own head, or just spaced out all together Azzi brought her back. Paige offering something small each time to show she appreciated it without saying it outright.

Eventually, DiJonai called out that dinner was ready and the group started moving toward the dining room. Paige stood up slowly, stretching her arms above her head with a quiet groan and Azzi just laughed at her before waiting for her to walk to the table.

As everyone began picking seats around the table, Azzi started to slide into the open seat next to Cam, assuming Paige’s mom would want to sit next to her daughter but as she started to lower herself into the chair, she felt a soft grip wrap around her wrist.

Paige tugged her back toward the seat next to her. Azzi glanced at Paige’s mom who just gave her a small smile putting her hand on her shoulder before sitting in the seat next to Cam.

Dinner was filled with inside jokes from the kids and overlapping conversation. One of them tried to explain a TikTok trend to their dad who just kept saying it didn’t make any sense. Rae bragged about how everybody seemed to like the garlic bread this time and Cam tried to say they weren’t that good despite being on her second piece already. It was the perfect mix of warmth and noise.

Paige sat in the middle of it all again, quietly chewing on her food, smiling occasionally, but once again there were moments. Smakk fleeting moments where she just faded out. Her eyes would drift down to her plate and her jaw would tighten briefly before loosening again like she was forcing herself to relax.

Once again Azzi saw it each time. She’d nudge Paige’s foot with her own under the table. Whisper something dumb about how aggressive Cam was using her fork. Point out how Drew was eating like somebody was going to steal his plate. Each small effort drew the corners of Paige’s up, even if it was just for a second.

Azzi knew that seeing the fight was bothering her. Getting her stuck somewhere she didn’t want to be so she just wanted to do small things to keep her present.

But like all dads who can’t help but want to brag about their kids, her dad opened his mouth about the fight again. “You know,” he said mid-chew, wiping his hands on a napkin, “I still don’t get why you’re not more pumped about that fight kid. I mean, it was legendary. How are you not still riding that high? Figured we’d have to pull you out of the gym for dinner.”

Paige pushed a piece of a pepper around her plate with her fork before answering, “Told you. I don’t remember it.”

Her dad laughed, confused on why she kept saying this. “C’mon, how do you not remember a fight like that? You were insane out there. I’ve watched it more times than I can count and it’s only been two weeks.”

“I dissociated so bad I don’t remember it.”

There was a pause as everyone processed the words differently. Some thinking it was a good thing, others finally noticing how messed up she seems about the fight.

Her dad just grinned, eating a bite of his salmon before saying, “Man, that’s a different kind of locked in. That’s next-level. Mind of a killer.”

“Right,” Paige mumbled.

Azzi tried to step in, change the subject a little. “Okay, but can we please talk about how Cam is on her third piece of garlic bread tonight. I vividly remember her saying she’d never eat anything Rae touched.”

Everyone laughed. Well everyone except Paige, who didn’t even look up from her plate and her dad who was still curious about fighting.

Her dad leaned in, waving his fork around. “So what are you thinking for the next one? If it’s anything like that last fight, I gotta be there in person. Can’t afford to miss a show like that.”

Paige’s voice was quiet, almost too soft to hear over the chatter. “I’m takin’ a break.”

He blinked at her. “A break?”

She didn’t bother to elaborate.

“What do you mean?” he asked again, frowning now.

“I mean,” Paige said slower, drier, “I’m takin’ a break. Not fighting.”

Her dad gave a quick scoff, like he was brushing it off. “Come on, kid. What? That was probably the best form you’ve been in since you started. You had that girl out of her league. You got—”

“I just need a break,” Paige cut in, clearly done with the conversation.

There was a brief silence until Ryan, her younger brother, piped up with a grin, trying to lighten the mood but not fully knowing any better with his comment. “She probably just wants more time up under Azzi.”

It was meant to be a joke, but it landed wrong, especially the way he said it.

Paige turned her head toward him and her expression was unreadable. “Watch your mouth, Ryan.”

The grin faded off his face, and he looked down at his plate.

Her dad sighed, clearly still not understanding. “Okay, so how long you thinkin’? Just a few weeks without hitting the gym? A month?”

“I don’t know dad.”

“Well, you better figure it out soon,” he said, voice picking up at the end of each word. “There’s already talk about someone throwing another challenge your way in a few months. Big up and comer. Could be a real headliner if everybody plays their cards right.”

“I’m reigning champ,” Paige replied, not even bothering to look at him. “I’ll be fine saying no to one fight.”

“But you know how this works. Momentum matters. You slow down now, people start talking—”

Paige dropped her fork with a soft clink against the plate and looked up. When she did her eyes looked tired but there was a sharpness to them. “I don’t need you to manage my career, I pay somebody for that.”

That shut him up and no one else spoke after that. The table felt still, suspended in a slight awkwardness for a second until Rickea at the far end changed the subject with a forced laugh and a comment about Rae.

Paige didn’t join in. She reached for her napkin, wiped her mouth before pushing her chair back and getting up from the table. She quietly walked towards the patio doors before slipping into the backyard.

Everyone kept eating like nothing happened, even though the energy had shifted just a little.

Azzi gave her a few minutes, enough time to breathe without an audience; gather herself if she needed to, before she quietly stood up and followed her outside.

When Azzi stepped out the night air was a little brisk so she wrapped her arms around herself before her eyes caught the light coming from the far end of the yard in the gym.

When she stepped inside, Paige’s scent filled the air naturally along with the smell of leather and lavender. Her eyes landed on the cage where she saw Paige lying flat on her back in the middle of it with her eyes fixed on the ceiling like she was trying to find answers in her ceiling.

Azzi walked into the cage quietly and eased herself down next to Paige not saying anything. She just laid there with her, shoulder to shoulder, their bodies naturally aligning like puzzle pieces.

After a moment, Paige reached over and pulled Azzi into her chest and Azzi adjusted herself to fit more comfortably, draping her arm across Paige’s waist and resting her head where she could hear the thump of her heart. It was loud, louder than usual. Like it had something to say to the rest of Paige’s body.

They laid like that, in the stillness of the gym, until Azzi spoke up. “Tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours please.”

Paige exhaled, using her fingers to toying with one of Azzi’s braids, a grounding motion more for herself than anything else. “I just don’t feel fully here right now,” she admitted quietly. “I Can feel myself dissociating and I…I don’t like it. I’ve been fine for two weeks before today.”

“It didn’t start happening until he brought up the fight,” Azzi pointed out, watching her reaction closely.

Paige nodded. “Yeah. I know.” There was a long pause before she continued, her eyes slightly unfocused as she stared past the ceiling. “My body still feels physically sick when I think about it. Like it happened today. Like I’m back there. I have to force myself not to think about it the second I wake up. Every day. Like I’m making a conscious decision to not let it spiral the moment I open my eyes.”

Azzi moved her hand up to the base of her neck, running her fingers through her hair again. “Ohh,” she said with a big grin, trying to lift the weight in Paige’s chest with a joke, “so that’s why you’ve been waking me up at the ass crack of dawn, claiming you’re bored?”

Paige let out a laugh, the first real one of the night. “God forbid I need a little entertainment first thing.”

Azzi playfully rolled her eyes at the excuse before swinging her leg over to straddle Paige’s waist. Paige’s hands went to Azzi’s hips without thinking.

Azzi leaned down, her fingertips moving through Paige’s roots in a calming pattern. “The psychiatrist we found. She’s scheduled to come tomorrow, right?”

Paige nodded, as she closed her eyes. “Yeah.”

“You still good with it?” Azzi asked softly.

“I mean…not excited,” Paige murmured, “but I know I need to talk to somebody. Can’t keep pretending I’m fine.”

Azzi brushed a bit of hair away from her forehead with her thumb. “You don’t have to be ‘fine’ with me all the time. I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Paige said, opening her eyes to look down to meet Azzi’s. “It’s the only reason I’m not losing my mind right now.”

Azzi tilted her head up. “That and the fact I’m a phenomenal emotional support girlfriend.”

Paige smirked, squeezing her hips. “Mmm. Top tier, really.”

Azzi leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a soft whisper. “Can’t let you forget it.”

She lingered there, close enough for her breath to tickle Paige’s lips as she smiled at her. Then, gently, she closed the small gap, pressing her lips to Paige’s in a soft kiss. It was filled with the natural affection that started to live in the space they’d carved for each other.

Paige’s hands slid up Azzi’s sides, brushing her thumbs over her ribs as she melted into the softness of Azzi’s lips.

Azzi shifted down, angling her head to deepen the kiss as she caught Paige’s lower lip between hers. Paige’s spine pressed into the floor of the cage as Azzi pressed down further, rolling her hips once to test the waters. Then again when she heard a soft hum at the base of Paige’s throat.

Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s torso, wanting to be closer to her.

Then a knock on the gym door interrupted the moment.

Paige let her head fall back against the floor with a soft thud as she groaned in frustration.

Azzi immediately swatted her shoulder. “Why would you let your big ass head fall back like that?” She rolled off of Paige with a sigh when all she did was just grinned up at her.

Eventually Paige called out dryly, “Yeah?”

The door creaked open and her dad poppied his head in, looking half-guilty. “We’re gonna head out, kid. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

Paige gave him a thumbs up, not bothering to sit up. Her dad gave her a tight smile before pulling the door shut behind him.

The silence barely lasted a heartbeat before Paige was pulling Azzi back toward her, curling her hands around her waist again. Azzi leaned in close, letting their nose brush and Paige’s eyes fluttered closed before she whispered against her lips, “No.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrowed, and she pouted, “You’re no fun.”

Azzi grinned and gave her a quick peck. “Don’t pout. I’ll make it up to you later I promise.”

Paige grinned widely and she looked so cute it made it hard for Azzi not to give in to her when she said, “Why not now?”

Azzi opened her mouth, ready to answer when the gym doors slammed open with a loud bang.

“Yo stop fuckin!” Rickea’s yelled.

“We knew y’all were hidin’ in here somewhere,” Rae added as they all walked in ready to distract Paige in whatever way she needed.

DiJonai walked in last, shaking her head. “Look at this. Can’t leave y'all alone for five seconds.”

Azzi huffed, sitting up reluctantly mumbling, “That’s why not.”

Paige sighed, letting her head fall back against the mat again, mumbling to herself, “This is why I can't have nice things.”

Rickea squinted at the two of them from the edge of the cage. “Y’all makin’ out in here or having a kumbaya? I can’t tell.”

Paige doesn’t respond, just closes her eyes like she was trying to will the interruption away while Azzi stands up, brushing off her pants.

Cam chimed in not wanting to hear anything about what they were potentially doing as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “Paigey, you gotta teach Rae how to throw a punch.”

“No,” Paige said flatly without opening her eyes.

That got the whole group laughing.

“Wait, seriously though, she doesn’t know how to throw one.”

Paige finally cracked her eye’s open, locking eyes with Rae. “You deadass?”

“Unfortunately,” Rae admitted with a small shrug, clearly not proud of it.

Paige exhaled like it physically pained her to get up from where she was. Still she sat up slowly, rolling her neck before stepping out of the cage. “Grab wrap and some gloves,” she mumbled as she made her way toward a bench.

Rickea leaned over to Rae, whispering. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid or Azzi gon’ get you.”

Rae shoved her lightly, laughing under her breath as she walked toward the wall Paige pointed to.

The second Paige sat down at the bench, Azzi followed her and slid in behind her, draping her arms around Paige’s waist and resting her chin on her shoulder. The move seemed casual, but there was a slight deliberate possession in the decision.

Paige tilted her head back to glance at her. “Wassup?”

Azzi’s lips brushed her ear as she whispered, “Don’t be all touchy.”

Rae walked up holding the wrap and gloves in her hands as she plopped down cross-legged in front of Paige before she could respond. Paige just chuckled at Azzi’s whispered warning.

Without pulling away from the way Azzi was draped over her shoulders and trailing her nails across her neck Paige reached out and grabbed one of Rae’s hands as she started to work the wrap around her knuckles.

“So wait,” Cam said, as she leaned against the wall, “how you a whole D1 athlete and don’t know how to throw a punch Rae?”

“I play basketball, not Mortal Kombat,” Rae answered like it was a stupid question.

Rickea snorted. “Girl, with how you foul, I just assumed you’d be good at it.”

“See, this is why I don’t play defense,” Rae mumbled under her breath.

As Paige silently focused on wrapping Rae’s fingers, Azzi stayed behind her, practically molded to her back. Her hands moved down to casually slide beneath Paige’s sweatshirt, her nails scratching softly at the skin near her waist.

Paige’s movements stuttered briefly, but she didn’t say anything about it.

Azzi leaned in to whisper, “Just making sure you don’t forget I’m here.”

“You’re literally in my spine,” Paige muttered.

“Exactly,” Azzi grinned.

DiJonai walked up, holding up her wrapped hands for Paige to inspect, having learned to do it herself during Paige’s extended stay in Dallas. Paige glanced at them, gave her a quick nod, and DiJonai went back to her corner to put some gloves on.

Paige tightened the wrap as she worked toward Rae’s wrist. Azzi shifted behind her, resting her chin on Paige’s shoulder again and starting to sway them both slightly like she was slow dancing in place.

“Ma’am,” Paige said under her breath, lips twitching to hide her smile. “Please.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Azzi said, her voice quiet for only Paige to hear as she nestled even closer into her neck. “Just supportin’ my girlfriend as she gives out free boxing lessons to other women.”

Paige glanced back at her with a faint grin. “She’s your teammate.”

Azzi only responded with a quiet, “Hm.”

Paige shook her head, finishing the last loop of the wrap around Rae’s hand. “Flex your fingers.”

Rae did as she was told, curling her fingers a few times and Paige gave a nod, jerking her chin toward the light bag.

Rae stood up, cracking her knuckles like she knew what she was doing. “Try not to judge me too hard,” she mumbled as she walked off.

Paige pushed off her knees, about to follow her, but Azzi’s grip around her waist stayed tight, holding her in place. Paige paused, chuckling as she looked over her shoulder. “Wassup, mama?”

Azzi pouted, putting her plump lips on display, as she furrowed her eyebrows like she wasn’t ready to share. Paige chuckled again before angling herself to press a kiss to her lips. Letting it linger for a few seconds.

From the cage, Cam’s exaggerated gagging cut through the moment. “Okay! We get it! Y’all like each other or whatever,” she yelled. “Go touch gloves or touch foreheads just stop doing it in front of me!”

Paige pulled back with a lopsided grin, whispering against Azzi’s lips, “You’n gotta be jealous.”

“I’m not,” Azzi whispered even though she was still holding her waist like she was indeed very jealous.

“Right.” Paige kissed her one more time before standing up and walking over to where Rae stood by the bag.

Rae stood in front of the light bag and her stance was uncertain, fists raised like she’d only ever watched boxing on TV.

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” Paige said, tapping Rae’s ankle with her foot to guide it. “You’re gonna wanna keep one slightly back so you can pivot. Don’t be flat-footed or it’ll take you too long to move.”

Rae adjusted before glancing over her shoulder. “Like this?”

Paige gave a small nod. “Better. Keep your chin tucked and your hands up. Higher.” She stepped closer and lifted Rae’s left wrist. “You’re not waving at nobody. Guard your face.”

She said you look friendly as hell!” Rickea laughed from the bench, stretching her legs out.

“I am friendly,” Rae muttered.

“Yeah, and that’s how you get fucked up,” Paige said. She demonstrated a jab in the air. “Lead with your left then come across with your right.”

Rae attempted to mimic what Paige did. Her form was a little stiff, but passable.

“Not terrible,” Paige said. “Loosen up though. You throwing like you're worried about breaking a nail.”

“Because I am!” Rae shot back, shaking her hand out with a grin.

“Girl,” DiJonai said, as she practiced slow combos against her own bag.

Rae tried again and the second time she was a little more relaxed. Paige stepped in behind her, using her hands to adjust Rae’s shoulders and guiding her hip through the rotation of a punch.

From the bench Azzi narrowed her eyes. She reached next to her on the bench and grabbed a spare wrap, and threw it at Paige. It thumped against her back.

Paige looked over her shoulder. “Really?”

Azzi raised her eyebrow, looking a little dryly at Paige. “You tryna spar or flirt?”

“I’m teaching.”

“You’re teaching real hands-on.”

Paige shook her head before taking a step back.

Rickea snorted. “She got real professional real quick, huh?”

Paige mumbled something under her breath, before turning back towards Rae. “Again. This time, pivot on that back foot. Don’t muscle it, snap it.”

Rae’s next punch landed with a satisfying pop that made Paige miss the sound. Rae blinked in surprise, glancing back at Paige for approval.

“There you go.” Paige gave a short nod. “Do that like ten more times. Then switch sides. Reset your stance each time.”

Rae nodded and turned back to the bag, a little more confident now and Paige backed away, strolling back toward the bench. Azzi was still sitting where Paige left her and she had one hand propping up her chin, watching with an unreadable expression until Paige got closer.

Then Azzi tilted her head up, looking up at her through her lashes. Lashes Paige knew damn well she did not need to bat like that causing her to stop in her tracks.

“Stop,” she said under her breath, tightening her jaw as she stared down at her.

Azzi smirked on purpose. “Stop what?”

Paige exhaled through her nose. “You know what.”

Azzi hummed low in her throat, not moving from her position. “Mmm, no I think you gotta be a little more specific, baby.”

Paige blinked at her, visibly trying to keep her expression neutral, but Azzi just tilted her head a little more to the side, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You just gon’ stand there lookin’ all tense?” Azzi asked softly. “Or you wanna admit I’m in your head a little?”

Paige huffed a laugh through her nose, stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Azzi whispered, dropping her gaze to Paige’s mouth before flicking back up. “But I’m not wrong.”

Paige’s hand lifted without thinking, her fingers cradling Azzi’s jaw as her thumb brushed across her cheek, then softly over her bottom lip. The way she was touching her was gentle. Completely contrasting the way Paige was looking at her.

Azzi leaned into it, her smile softening into something more genuine. “You wanna kiss me again, or just admire the view?”

“Trying not to actually,” Paige admitted under her breath.

Azzi held back a grin and said something too low for Paige to catch.

“What?” Paige leaned down instinctively to hear.

Azzi’s smile grew, locking her eyes on hers as she made her voice a little lower and whispered, “I said...you’re going to make me forget my name if you keep lookin’ at me like that, daddy.”

Paige froze and a visible ripple of tension moved through her whole body as her jaw clenched harder this time. She didn’t even look away from Azzi as she said flatly, “I need y’all to come back tomorrow.”

There was a beat of silence as they processed her words, then a chorus of groans erupted across the gym.

“We just started!”

“Nah, you serious?”

“Woww, that’s crazy,” Cam added, dramatically.

Still in the midst of complaining, the rest of them were moving way too slow and dragging their feet. So Paige just muttered “Whatever. Y’all can stay,” as Azzi laced her fingers through hers and tugged her gently toward the house.

DiJonai yells out after them, “Please remember I’m staying in the guest room!” Subtly telling them to not be too loud as everyone went back to what they were doing, deciding not to leave.

[yoonlyhan]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ in which itoshi sae lets you do his hair

living with itoshi sae... one thing you are curious about is how he consistently style his hair. specifically the bangs.

every night, you had a habit of glancing at his short bangs because it is only the time he lets his bangs down. you can't catch him with his bangs in the morning because he wakes up too early to start his day. meditation, yoga, and whatever his personal stuff is.

though one morning, you did catch him with his bangs still down. sae reasoned that the hairspray he used, that what he thought was far from being empty, had surprised him as it was already empty. and you are damn glad that you accidentally broke and emptied that hairspray yesterday.

“may i ask why you keep your bangs up?” you finally asked while you were having breakfast with sae.

sae's brow raised at the question. “i look more clean if my hair is kept like that.”

“your hair like this is adorable, you know?”

“there's only a slight difference in my hair style, why is this one adorable?”

you don't know if sae was only entertaining your questions or actually interested but he placed his left elbow on the table and leaned his cheek to the palm of his hand as he looks at you with his eyebrow raised.

“no idea...” you shrug, thinking of an answer.

“you look cool with your hair up but that one is cute. i like this as well.” you took a bite of the scrambled egg as you narrow your eyes at his bangs. “can i style them next time?”

ever since that morning, itoshi sae would keep his bangs down at home. even sometimes forgetting to style it before leaving home (which he comes back later to hairspray it).

you also noticed the frequent times of how he adjust his morning schedule to match the time of you waking up just so you can have the chance to help him hairspray his bangs.

sae didn't admit all of those though. he only shrugs and told you he could use a helphing hand when he became too lazy to do so.

you didn't believe that of course. sae is a diligent person when it comes to taking care of his physical appearance. but you didn't pressed him on that anymore.

you were just glad to spend the morning being silly as you “help” style his hair.

masterlist ♡

© all written works are created and owned by @yoonlyhan. do not plagiarise or translate any of my content on other platforms under any circumstances. u will be blocked :x

credits to @strangergraphics for the wonderful divider ♡

[astars-things]

It'll be fun they said?

Lando Norris x reader

summary- where Lando and you film 'I Ate and Trained Like Lando Norris for 24 Hours' and it turned into a mess

1.5k words

Part two here

Lando and a few of the other Quadrant members had been quietly planning this for weeks. With the chaos of Lando's F1 schedule, races, media obligations, and simulator sessions, they had to coordinate dates, group chats filled with calendars, and more than one reschedule. But somehow, everything had finally aligned. Today was the day.

You and Lando had gotten up early to make sure the apartment was clean and camera-ready, everything that was not meant for the public was hidden anything remotely embarrassing was swiftly shoved into closets or under the bed. Lando double-checked that the interview area was up to his standards, and every helmet was precisely aligned on the shelf behind the chair 

Once the apartment was up to standard, you retreated back to bed. You were never up this early, you loved your sleep too much.  You flopped onto the duvet, thumb scrolling through TikTok, ignoring the growing murmur of voices drifting in from the living room. You really didn't want to be in the video because you knew how many comments would be about you and people hating on you for the smallest things 

Lando had poked his head into the bedroom "You okay in here?" Lando said from the doorway of your room, "Yeah", you muttered back, putting on a hoodie over the top of your sports bra and leggings. You added some socks, not particularly keen on your bare feet making an appearance on camera. Lando held out his hand for you, interlocking your fingers and making your way to the kitchen 

You said hello to everyone, giving both Ethan and Morgan a quick side hug before naturally drifting back to Lando’s side. He was already in host mode, grinning as he reached into the fridge. "So on today’s menu is apple cinnamon with pecan overnight oats," Lando said, reaching into the fridge and getting out three containers. Ethan eyed the mush with genuine concern. "Mate, that looks like you ate breakfast and then threw it up." The group fell into conversation while you cut up some fruit and added it to a bowl of yogurt 

Once everyone had eaten breakfast or at least tried to, the video cut to the boys in the workout room. Cameras were repositioned, mics were adjusted, and the guys got ready to sweat. You stood off to the side, out of frame but close enough to help if needed, arms crossed and a faint smile tugging at your lips. "Normally, there are a few bands in here, they might be in our bedroom", Lando muttered. The last bit, both Ethan and Morgan looked at you as your face went slightly red 

"You dirty bastards", Morgan said as he looked over at you. You shook your head. Soon, Lando returned with the band hanging loosely around his shoulders. he showed the boys how to do a pushup and then judged both of their forms. 

"Okay, now we are going to hop into neck training", Lando said with way too much excitement. Both boys looked at him like he was insane. Lando first showed them how to sit on the bench and where to hold. Ethan was up first, and he was scared "You guys wanted to do this video", you said as you saw Ethan shaking as Lando pulled on his neck 

After about 10 minutes, it was Morgan's turn. "This better not pop my head off," Morgan muttered, settling into position. "You’ll be fine," Lando assured him, grinning as he fastened the strap around Morgan’s forehead. "You’ve got a thick skull anyway." Morgan groaned dramatically.  "If I wake up tomorrow and can’t move my neck, I’m suing all of you",

 "Your turn now, Lando ", Ethan said while sitting on the floor rolling his neck. You had helped land multiple times with his neck training, so once Lando was set up and ready, you held the handle and slightly pulled to create some tension, and then you pulled 

"Bro you neck is so vainy almost looks like my dick" Ethan commented which made all of you burst out into the laughter, Lando let out a sharp, surprised bark of laughter, the strap snapping off his head as he broke form completely. Even Morgan, who’d just been dreading his turn, was wheezing in the corner. 

While everyone was in the living room waiting for Lando to be ready for the cryotherapy bit of the video, you and Lando were in the hallway near your shared room, Lando had tried talking you into going to cryotherapy, but you kindly declined that offer real quick, something about standing in a freezing cold room, with just a bikini on, and people watching you made you feel anxious.

"But you said you would film with us", Lando pouted, but you just shook your head. "I already told you no, that I would join in for breakfast and the workout, but nothing more. I have work I need to do, plus it's not something I feel comfortable doing" You said in a low tone, making sure nobody could hear you guys having a disagreement 

"No one’s gonna be filming you like that," he said under his breath. "It’s part of the video. It’s fun." He added while trying to bring you into a hug 

You glanced around to make sure the crew wasn’t in earshot before you answered, your tone low but firm. "Maybe it’s fun for you. For me, it’s anxiety. I don’t like the idea of being in that kind of vulnerable position, especially not on camera. I’m not asking you to understand it, just respect it." For a second, it looked like he might push again. But then his lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked away.

"Yeah, fine, whatever", Lando snapped and walked away, rejoining the group. You heard him grab his keys, and everyone followed. You could hear Ethan asking about you and Lando replying with Don't worry. The door shut behind them, and the apartment fell into a silence so complete it made your ears ring.  

You felt off, like you were letting Lando down. With a deep breath, you made your way into the home office you had set up in Landos' streaming room. You sank down onto your chair, opening your laptop and replying to emails. You were so focused on your emails, you didn't realize the time, and suddenly the front door opened and the apartment was filled with chaos again. 

You tried to drown out the noise and focused on your work, but soon you heard footsteps approaching. Then a knock, quick, but not really waiting for permission. "Hey," Lando said, already halfway through the door. "I need the room. We’re setting up the simulator bit now."

You paused, blinking at him. "Can I just finish this?" you said, pointing at your screen where you had multiple tabs open. "I told you we were using the room today," he said, his tone clipped and impatient. "Just for a bit. I need it." 

You stared at him, the words hitting harder than they should have. You’d built that little corner for yourself, made space in his world without asking for much. And now, you felt like a guest in your own home. "Fine," you murmured, too tired to argue. You shut your laptop, gathered your charger, and made your way to your bedroom, silent, but not unnoticed.

You sat on the edge of the bed and reopened your laptop, trying to settle back into work, but the energy was gone. You saved all your work before opening up Netflix and putting on one of your comfort shows and lying down. About 20 minutes into the show, your bedroom door opened "The boys are leaving for their surprise, if you want to say goodbye to them", Lando said in a harsh tone 

You sat up and quickly walked out of the room to find Morgan, Ethan and the camera crew standing by the front door  "Hope you boys had fun," you said quickly, now in a more anxious bubble where you now felt closer to an anxiety attack. You stood next to Lando, waving goodbye as they walked out of the apartment, 

As soon as the front door closed you hurried back to the comfort of your room, Lando followed and tried pulling you into a hug "fuck off" You snap now your hands were shaking and you knew in less than 5 seconds you were about to go into anxiety attack "gladly" Lando said walking away to his streaming room, all you could do was sit on the floor of your room and cry while Lando was gaming with Max...

please reblog and like 🫶

[bloomzone]

good habits vs bad habits

So I've been thinking a lot lately about habits and some of the habits we think are helping us are actually making our lives harder. So let's talk about the habits that actually matter, the ones that are obviously terrible (but we do them anyway) and those sneaky habits that look good on paper but are quietly sabotaging your life !

The actually good habits (that don't require a PhD in self-discipline)

Morning Water Before Coffee: ur body just went 8 hours without water it's basically a human raisin. One glass of water before you caffeinate yourself into productivity mode helps everything work better. ur brain, ur skin, ur mood, ur ability to not feel like garbage at 2 PM.

The 10-Minute tidy: set a timer for 10 minutes and just put stuff back where it belongs. Not deep cleaning just returning things to their homes. This prevents the avalanche effect where your space gets so messy that cleaning feels like something impossible clothes back to the closet , that messy book shelf those simple stuff ..

Phone goes to sleep before u do: Put your phone in another room 30 minutes before bed or far from ur bed . ur brain needs time to shift gears from "consuming information" mode to "actually resting" mode. That last scroll through TikTok isn't relaxing you girlie it's like feeding your brain another cup of coffee and wondering why you can't sleep.

The sunday brain dump: spend 15 minutes every sunday writing down everything you need to do that week. brain-to-paper transfer , this stops your Monday brain from spending energy trying to remember what it forgot while also trying to function like a human.

The obviously bad habits ( and we keep doing them anyw)

The snooze button addiction: u are literally training your brain to ignore your own decisions. Every time you hit snooze, you're telling yourself "my word means nothing." Plus that extra 9 minutes of sleep is garbage sleep that makes you feel worse not better .

Stress eating ur feelings: food becomes the solution to boredom, anxiety, celebration, sadness ... . You're not actually hungry you're using food like a drug to change how you feel. The problem is it works for about 10 minutes, then you feel worse AND like sh!t

The comparison scroll: opening Instagram when you're already feeling bad about yourself is like pouring salt on a wound and expecting it to heal faster. You're voluntarily looking at everyone else's highlight reel while sitting in your own behind-the-scenes chaos and u start acting like a victim for the next days cuz u think u are not pretty as x

Saying yes when u mean no: this isn't being nice it's being dishonest y'know you're lying to other people about your capacity and to yourself about your priorities. Every yes to something you don't want is a no to something you do want.

The "good" habits that are actually destroying you

The productivity porn addiction: u spend more time organizing your to-do lists, finding the perfect app, and watching productivity YouTube videos than actually doing things. You've turned productivity into procrastination with extra steps. Your 47 different planning systems aren't making you more efficient they're making you feel busy while accomplishing nothing.

The morning routine obsession: You've created a 2-hour morning routine that requires waking up at 4 AM, journaling, meditating, working out, reading, making a green smoothie. One day you sleep in and the whole thing crumbles. Now you feel like a failure because you didn't do your 39 -step morning ritual (bruh 💀). A good morning routine should make your life easier, not turn you into a slave to your own schedule.

The Information overload trap: You're subscribed to 47 newsletters, follow 23 self-improvement podcasts, and have 12 books about habits on your nightstand. You think consuming information about improvement IS improvement no it's not. You're using learning as a way to avoid doing. Knowledge without action is just expensive entertainment .

The perfectionist planning: u spend three hours planning a workout routine that's so detailed and perfect that you never actually start it. You research the optimal time, the best exercises, the perfect playlist, the ideal pre-workout snack. Meanwhile you could have just gone for a walk. The perfect plan you never follow is worse than the imperfect plan you actually do.

The self-care performance: You've turned self-care into another item on your to-do list. Face masks on Sunday, meditation app every morning, gratitude journal every night. But you're doing it because you think you should, not because it actually makes you feel better. Real self-care might be saying no to plans, sleeping in, or eating pizza without guilt. But that doesn't look as good on Instagram so have ur OWN self-care ritual u are not forced to do a face mask on Sunday maybe it's a packed day, u can do it even on a Wednesday ?

The busy badge of honor: u wear exhaustion like a medal. "I'm so busy" becomes your identity. You pack your schedule so full that you don't have time to think about whether you actually like your life. Being busy feels productive yes yes but often it's just a way to avoid dealing with the fact that you're not doing what you actually want to do.

🧾 - last note !

You don't need a perfect system but u need a few things that actually work for your actual life, not the life you think you should have , start small, be consistent !

helpful blog - how to build a habit

@bloomzone

[nanasrkives]

Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

"FOR HER" — Sakusa Kiyoomi

a/n : its official i am entering my baby fever era :) content : GIRL DAD SAKUSA. fluff. post timeskip. headcanon.

Girl dad! Sakusa who doesn’t cry in the delivery room, but when the nurse places her in your arms, you see the change happen in his expression before he even speaks. He stands beside you with one hand resting on the bedrail, still in his zip-up, curls flattened from the long hours, eyes fixed so intently on her tiny face that he barely breathes. You offer her to him, gently, and although he nods and reaches out, it’s with a kind of quiet reverence, like he’s afraid any sudden movement might shatter something fragile. When she’s finally in his arms, wrapped in that standard-issue hospital blanket, he doesn’t look away once. “She’s really ours,” he says after a long silence, voice soft and level like he’s stating a fact that still hasn’t settled in. You’re tired and aching and overwhelmed, but in that moment — watching him fall in love so quietly — you feel steadier than you’ve felt all day.

Girl dad! Sakusa who approaches parenting the way he’s approached everything else that’s ever mattered to him — with focus, with discipline, and with the same determination that made him the top ace in the country. He just does it. He reads every product label, tracks feeding times in his phone, and practices swaddling until the corners lie flat like muscle memory. You find him at night adjusting the baby carrier straps with one of her stuffed animals, narrowing his eyes like it’s something to be mastered. In the nursery, everything has its place: pacifiers in labeled containers, diapers stacked perfectly, bottles washed and sterilized on a rotating schedule that no one asked him to create. He’s not afraid of mess — he’s an athlete, after all — but this kind of order calms him. It’s the only way he knows to make sense of something this overwhelming. When you catch him in the early mornings rearranging the drawer of onesies so the softest fabrics are on top, you don’t interrupt. You just watch because you know that this is how he’s learning to love her.

Girl dad! Sakusa who is the first to notice that post-partum hit you. The way your smile doesn’t quite reach, the way your hands linger over chores but don’t quite start them, the way you keep saying you’re fine even when your voice betrays how deeply tired you are. He doesn’t corner you about it — he just starts making it easier to breathe. He finishes bottles without being asked. He folds laundry without announcing it. He draws a bath and offers you the quiet without implying you owe him anything in return. And when you finally sit down beside him on the bed and admit, barely above a whisper, “I think something’s wrong,” he takes your hand and says, without even flinching. “We’ll take care of it. You don’t have to do it alone.” That night, when the house is quiet, he tucks her in and then tucks you in too, placing your tea on the nightstand and brushing your hair back from your forehead before placing a kiss on your forehead like he’s reminding you that you’re still being held.

Girl dad! Sakusa who keeps her world structured, calm, and clean — not out of fear, but out of habit, and a deep belief that consistency makes kids feel safe. He doesn’t scold when she forgets to wash her hands before dinner. He just walks her to the sink, adjusts the faucet for her, and says, “Let’s try again,” with the same steady tone he uses when coaching a teammate through a play. You can already see how much of him lives in her — not just in her temperament, but in her tiny routines. The way she lines up her shoes by the door. The way she wipes the table with a napkin after dinner. He never told her to do any of that — she just watched him and followed his steps.

Girl dad! Sakusa who always stops what he’s doing when she calls for him. He never rolls his eyes or tells her to wait. Whether she’s holding a drawing she drew or asking him to see the rain outside on the balcony, he gives her his full attention. She brings him stories, toys, questions he doesn’t have answers to yet, and he listens to every single one. Sometimes, she climbs into his lap mid-stretch, legs crossed beneath her, curls sticking to her forehead, and just rests there like she knows there’s nowhere safer. You glance over from the kitchen and watch as he adjusts his posture just slightly to keep her steady, continuing his cooldown stretches like her presence is just part of the routine now.

Girl dad! Sakusa who teaches himself to braid because one morning she tugs at his sleeve and says, "Papa me want hair like Mama” and he doesn’t want to be the kind of father who says i don't know how to something like that. That night, while the house is quiet, you find him on the couch with one of her dolls in his lap, video tutorial paused on his phone, fingers fumbling but determined. He practices until the parts are clean, until the elastics hold. The first few mornings, the braid sits crooked on her head — slipping by lunchtime — but she runs to you saying, “Papa did it !” every single time. When he finally gets it right, she wraps her arms around him like he just won a trophy. And later, when you're brushing your own hair before bed, he watches you for a moment from the doorway, then comes up behind you, fingers gently sweeping your strands aside. “I didn’t realize how much of you she carries,” he says, quiet and sincere. “It makes me want to do everything right.”

Girl dad! Sakusa who brushes through her damp curls with more care than you thought possible. The spirals are his — the same exact texture that still coils around his forehead after a shower — but the color is yours, unmistakable in the morning light. When she’s sitting between his legs and he’s sectioning off her hair into neat parts, you sometimes find him pausing just to look. Not because he’s unsure of the process — he’s got the rhythm down by now — but because every time he sees her, it’s a new reminder that she’s equal parts both of you.

Girl dad! Sakusa who brings her to matches and never says a word about it being a distraction, though you know how seriously he takes preparation. She always sits with you, gripping a wrinkled “Go Papa !” sign in her fists, her legs swinging off the bleachers while she yells his name through a mouthful of fruit snacks. He rarely looks into the crowd — he’s too focused for that — but today, when she screams his name mid-serve, you swear you see the smallest flicker of a smile on his face. After the game, he comes straight to you both, drops to one knee, and listens to her long-winded play-by-play with a patience that makes even the camera crew step back. You take her hand as he packs up his bag, and she says, “Papa did good today !” He doesn’t say anything, but you notice how he walks just a little taller after that.

Girl dad! Sakusa who changes his phone ringtone to a voice memo of her calling for him because he says it’s easier to hear. It plays once during a team meeting and Atsumu nearly falls out of his chair laughing, but Sakusa doesn’t even flinch. “She’s loud,” he says calmly, setting his phone face down on the table, “but she gets my attention.” When you hear it go off at home, it always makes you smile.

Girl dad! Sakusa who never talks about how much he loves being a father — not in words, at least. But you see it in how he shows up. In the way he learns her favorite breakfast, remembers the exact way she likes her blanket tucked in, memorizes the lyrics to a show he pretends to hate. You see it in how he looks at her when she doesn’t notice — like she’s the most surprising, most important thing that’s ever happened to him.

Girl dad! Sakusa who holds her hand tightly on her first day of school, walking her up to the gate with slow, even steps. She’s excited and confident. She lets go of his hand the second she sees her teacher and runs inside without looking back. You expect him to say something — maybe a joke, maybe a quiet sigh — but instead, he just stands there for a long moment. When you brush your fingers against his, he finally speaks. “She didn’t even turn around.” You lean your head on his shoulder and whisper, “She''s growing up.”

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @ayatakanosstuff @angelkiyo @itsmeaudrieee @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @dazaisfavgf @virgothesimp @kurooangel @evamame

[leyavo]

Dad!141 & how they use their military experience on the kids.

John uses the year’s worth of being captain to his advantage. He’s the one to resolve silly fighting between his three girls, even it’s about wearing the other one’s top (he’s got years worth of the 141’s squabbling under his belt). He never raises his hand or voice, but he’ll sit his girls down and let them talk in turns. And when it’s been sorted out they each kiss his cheek and leave the table. The girls calling it the Captain’s court when they’re in their teen years. When he’s away he’s asking you the latest gossip about the girls.

He demands respect, but also knows that it’s earnt not given. Taking time to know each daughter, help them and encourage them to speak up when they don’t agree. Wants his girls to question everything and not be unprepared for men in the real world. He knows how horrible they can be.

Simon doesn’t realise how neat he is until he has kids and the only way he can get them to clean their room is to inspect them like he would the barracks. His daughter and son stood by their beds, sheets tucked under the mattress just like daddy taught them. He bites back the smile as his son kicks some dirty socks under the bed. “You forget to tuck teddy in?” He raises his brow at his daughter who’s still clutching the brown bear behind her back as if she tidied just as his footsteps were heard coming up the stairs.

He normally does it on the weekend, Saturday morning whilst they’re both in their pyjamas. The one day you get to lay in, whilst he checks the room and goes on a walk with the kids and dog. Doesn’t matter if it’s rain or shine they do it every Saturday. “Everything has a place Dad’.” His eldest son will say as they look for the lead, only to find out Rocky the German shepherd already has it in his mouth.

Kyle uses his military training to tire the kids out before bed. He’s even created a little set of exercises to get them moving, but it’s backfired because now they’ve made him do it alongside them (this also allows you free time to have a bath). Which also tires him out and sometimes he falls asleep before they do. Little fingers poking his cheek as they whisper goodnight daddy in his ear, followed by a wet kiss on his cheek or forehead. He chases them up the stairs, shouting orders whilst they giggle trying not to get caught. Then he tucks them in joking about how they can’t get up till 0600 hours. They get him up at five some days.

Gets in trouble with his mum, granny Garrick when they make her do the exercises before bed when they stay the night at hers. So he ends up making up an easier set just for granny’s. Also has a training schedule for the summer holidays which is more tailored for fun activities to do with him. Building an assault course for water gun wars is one of them.

Johnny has a gaggle of kids four, you yelling at them not to forget their homework or their packed lunch. It’s loud in the mornings and Johnny ends up treating it like preparing for a mission. Has a bell he rings to wake them up on school days, the youngest staying in bed till it’s her turn to brush her teeth.

Now the night before the kids pack their bags, hang them on their designated hook on the wall with their coats. There’s a bathroom schedule and an assembly line waiting for breakfast to be put on their plates. You smiling at him as he managed to give you an easier time. He also counts theirs heads before he gets in to the car for the school run. Sometimes miscounts on purpose to tease them. Calling their names in their seats along sure their all. “Eh, we’re all ere captain.” His kids are menaces they call him Captain Scotland, they ask him when his shield’s getting delivered. “Not that type of Captain.” “Nah Da’ used to blow stuff up!”

[Masterlist]

I’m dyslexic so there might be mistakes/errors. I do try to edit multiple time but still miss stuff - Leya 🫡

[cantpickyourgenre]

Can I offer up a different view? I actually think Buck and Eddie will NOT be sharing a bed while Buck looks for a place. I think they create a schedule and they buy an air mattress and Maddie is just like, "um why not just share?" like it's easy! Like it's nothing! And Buck stutters and turns pink and changes the subject even though his eye keeps catching on the air mattress and wondering why the idea of sharing a bed with his best friend makes him feel the same nerves he felt when entering confession. Meanwhile Eddie is complaining to Hen about how his shoulder is sore. And Hen is like "maybe you need a new mattress" and Eddie just chuckles and says, "oh, I'm sure it's less about the mattress and more about the air mattress I sleep on every other week." Hen just sort of squints at him and says, "oh I assumed you guys were sharing. Since that's what you did. During Covid. And it was fine then." And Eddie pointedly ignores the implication and moves on. But in his brain it's like...Eddie Brain: You CAN'T share a bed because he'll know. Also Eddie's Brain: Know what? Eddie's Brain: Don't worry about it. Also Eddie's Brain: Okay :) Yay <3 But eventually the team all has a night out and Ravi ends up coming back with them because he wants to finish talking to Eddie about where he should go to get new tires or some shit. And Buck is like sulking, making sure Chris is going to bed and cleaning dishes loudly. By the end of the night they're all a little tipsy, but not drunk and it just makes sense for Ravi to crash there. So he goes to the air mattress that he's been kind enough to NOT mention, but Buck is like "ummm, actually......" because he cannot he can't nope no way share a bed with Eddie. But it's Eddie's week and he doesn't want RAVI to either. But Ravi is like "hell yeah, I'll have a sleepover with Eddie, we can talk more about rock climbing and BASKETBALL" and Eddie is just nodding, happy that bedtime is on the horizon. But Buck is like "NO, you and I WILL share the bed, sorry Eddie air mattress for you" and Eddie says "No I will not, my back NEEDS this week on the bed" and Ravi says "NO I will NOT be sharing a bed or an air mattress or anything with you longlegs." They argue for like half an hour and everyone is getting cranky until Ravi finally decides he will sleep on the air mattress, Eddie will take the bed, and Buck will sleep on the couch. The next morning, Eddie is annoyed by the whole thing even though he too, is terrified of the bed sharing. So after Ravi leaves and Chris is distracted he's like fuck it, we're going to talk about it and he slides a glass of celery juice into Buck's hand and says, "hey, why can't we share a bed like normal friends could?" and well...I think we all know the answer to that.

[starsforxavi]

late night meeting

·······•✦ description: In which; it's late at night when a knock comes at your door. Sylus rarely ever gets hurt, and his injuries heal quickly, but it wouldn't hurt to indulge him for a bit...

·······•✦ pairing: sylus x afab!reader ·······•✦ word count: 6k ·······•✦ genre: smut, porn with plot, fluff ·······•✦ general tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Smut, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, Cowgirl Position, Mild Blood, Gunshot Wounds, Sylus has a big dick…, soft smut, cleaning wounds, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Sex, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, (kind of), Creampie, Late at Night, Morally Ambiguous Character, Teasing

·······•✦ posted on: ao3

Stars glittered in the sky, watching above as the city lulled. Cars beeped as workers drove home; their day finally finished. Others were forced to work through the night, sitting in cubicles and patrolling parks, their only solace being the sunrise that greeted them over the horizon. Some fell into a slumber, while others stayed up, burning the midnight oil. It was a constant back and forth or routines - or the lack thereof.

Then there was Sylus.

Sure, the things he did were work … And due to the darkness in the N109 zone, his sleep frequently came during your day… But he was far from the typical night owl. His dealings were done in the shroud of night, no matter the time on the clock. Shadows danced along the walls, creating the illusion of an even more intimidating presence than the man in front of them.

So, his normal business meeting turned in a flash, although it wasn’t anything he was unaccustomed to. People got greedy and overzealous, but Sylus always saw it coming… There wasn’t a thing that he couldn’t predict. That’s how he came to find himself walking away from a burning building, the sparks and shots still ringing in his mind.

Except it wasn’t at the expense of some wounds. To him, they were artificial… Just a gash in his chest that seemed to darken his already black shirt and a bullet wound in his shoulder. They would heal soon, the pain already beginning to fade as his pace picked up.

He wanted to see you.

Well, he always wanted to see you, but as his blood pumped through his body, dripping from his wounds, his heart drifted to you. Always and forever, you . And he knew you would be asleep even though you were off work the next day - he synced your work schedule up in his calendar - but his own need and incessant desire outweighed his hesitance to wake you.

Instead of instantly teleporting, he decided to take time to walk there, his aura propelling any late-night wanderer that dared to look his way. By the time he was in front of your door, his wounds had healed completely, the only remnants of the little issue being the blood that stained his black button-up shirt. 

A loud, singular knock sounded from your front door as he waited for you to open it. His thumbs hooked in his pockets as he heard you shuffling around, a minuscule smile already on his lips before he even saw you. Yeah, he could just teleport in, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he gave you a heart attack from appearing in the middle of your bedroom. 

“Sylus?” The sight of your freshly woken-up form caused his eyes to light up. It took a moment for everything to catch up to you before you pulled him into your apartment. “What are you doing here, in the middle of the night, with blood on your shirt?” Your voice turned more frantic as you took in his appearance, the fear climbing into your chest. Not only was his shirt darkened with the crimson liquid, but he was standing in your apartment building hallway for who knew how long?! Someone could have seen him!

Now you were up, the sleep fully wiped from your brain. The nerves in your body were on edge, a frantic flailing of your hands an inch from his body. Of course, he didn’t have any noticeable wounds, but the blood still startled you, especially seeing it in the middle of the night.

“A business meeting went a little… Crazy …” His deep voice wrapped around you, the warmth of his body sinking into your skin. Taking a step forward, he shrugged, a nonchalant air to his aura. “I’ll be fine; it’s just a little blood.” The wounds never bothered him… Yeah, maybe they hurt as they happened, but it didn’t take long for them to heal.

But he couldn’t lie; a small part of him really liked being taken care of by you. In the darkness, the only light coming from the moon and stars up above, Sylus winced. In no way was he an actor, but he knew that you didn’t like seeing him in pain.

“Actually,” His footsteps carried him over to your couch, sitting down with a thud, “It does hurt a bit; I think one of them had a serrated blade.” Gentle touches drifted across his chest, right where the deep gash was not too long ago. 

He wouldn’t fool you… You knew him too well; he already looked healed, baring the blood soaking into his clothes. But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t indulge in his somewhat dramatic and endearing complaints. 

After locking your apartment door, you padded over to the couch, standing beside Sylus. His head sat right next to your hip, his red eyes meeting yours as he looked up. A faint hint of a frown on his face as he rubbed the spot where he was slashed with the knife. 

“Where does it hurt?” Your hand ran through his silver hair, enjoying the way his eyes closed and his head instinctively leaned into your touch. The vulnerability on his face, as he gestured to his chest right below his collarbone, caused you to melt. Although he was playing it up, the attack did surprise him, always having cordial meetings with this client. But it was all water under the bridge; all that mattered now was he was in your comforting presence…

“Right here,” He held your wrist in his fingers, his touch feather-light as he brought your palm to the rip in his clothing, the red blood staining the fabric even darker than it was. There wasn’t a wound there, but the dried blood on his skin was rough under your fingers.

As you dipped your fingers under the rip in his shirt, his skin was warm to the touch. With a soft smile, you massaged the skin, feeling nothing of note to worry you. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t act like it…

“Oh,” Your tone was curiously interested, as if you had just found the cause of his pain. Raising your eyebrows, you leaned down until your face was inches from Sylus’. “Looks like you do have some dried blood here… What should we do about that?”

A slow, tantalizing smirk stretched across Sylus’ lips upon hearing you playing along. If there was anything he knew about you, it was that you loved to indulge in his antics, whether big or small. He leaned into your touch, his nose brushing against your cheek. 

“Hm,” He hummed, his eyes searching yours and only finding a hint of playfulness. Enjoying the light atmosphere, even in the dead of night, Sylus remained silent. It wasn’t until he raised an eyebrow at you, his lips curling slightly. “What do you think we should do about it, beautiful?”

With a light chuckle, you pulled back, crossing your arms over your chest. It was late… But you had already been woken up from sleep, and you didn’t have work in the morning… Maybe it would be okay to have a bit of fun …

“I think we need to clean you up a bit, and that tattered shirt should really come off.” His eyes traveled down your figure, taking in your pajamas and slightly unkempt, freshly woken-up appearance. You still looked absolutely stunning , and the way you countered every little thing he said… It was exciting just listening to your teasing tone and the small smirk that always appeared on your lips.

There it was.

“Are you saying that because you want to treat me…” Reaching out, his large hand rested on the back of your thigh, pulling you closer to him. His nose brushed against your side before he looked back up at you, his eyes bright and mischievous. “Or do you just want to get me out of my clothes?”

A small chuckle echoed in the air as his hand massaged your thigh. Just a small touch sent electricity through your bones, but you enjoyed it. Smiling down at him, your fingers threaded through his hair. In an instant, he closed his eyes, leaning back into your hand.

“Who said it can’t be both?” Stepping back, you held out a hand. Sylus had no choice but to accept the silent invitation, his warm palm leaving your leg to rest in yours. Letting you pull him up, he relished in the way the moonlight highlighted your features. 

The eyes that always seemed to look at him with a teasing sort of affection… The lips that whispered words of praise and warning when he got a little too close to the Hunter’s Association… The eyebrows that raised when you would question his choice of revenge … Or the same eyebrows that furrowed in pleasure while he slowly buried himself inside your heat…

Noticing how silent he became, your hand trailed up to his wrist, wrapping around it. Beneath your fingertips, his muscles flexed, his lips set in a tight line as he couldn’t help but stand in awe at your beauty.

“You’re staring, Sy.” Your soft tone wrapped around him, and he couldn’t help the smile that cracked his stoic expression. The hand that wasn’t held by yours moved up to rest on your cheek. His thumb brushed your skin softly like he was mapping out every dip and curve.

“Oh, I know.” It wasn’t up for debate; he was definitely staring… “But how can you blame me when you’re standing in front of me, looking absolutely stunning… and absolutely mine. ”

His gentle fingers danced down your skin, past your jaw, to wrap around to the nape of your neck. His thumb massaged the base of your spine, a soft caress as he pulled you even closer. The breath that fell from his lips washed over your face, and he took another moment to admire your shimmering eyes.

“Let’s just get you cleaned up, Sy.” With a small chuckle, you led him to your bathroom. The fluorescent light shocked you for a moment before you led him to sit on your toilet. Stepping between his legs, you reached up, brushing away the hair from his face. “Are you injured anywhere else?” Sylus stayed silent, letting you examine his head and neck. A satisfied smile fell on his lips as he watched you concentrate. Your fingers danced through his hair, down his cheek, and along his neck. Goosebumps raised on his arms at your delicate touch, your eyes trailing along his skin.

“I’m going to take this off,” You said, your fingers beginning to pop the buttons of his shirt. It was in tatters, nearly falling apart as you revealed inch after inch of his bare chest. 

There weren’t any other indications of his previous injuries besides the spots of blood on his chest and shoulder. But as you got to the bottom buttons, you were forced to kneel between his thighs. A low noise akin to a growl left Sylus’ closed lips, enjoying the sight of you slowly undressing him. Your fingertips brushed against his abdomen, just barely grazing the waistband of his pants as you finished unbuttoning his shirt. 

Grabbing the shirt, you slid it off his shoulders, setting it to the side. With his chest now bare, you could see the blood from his wounds - now completely healed - that had dried onto his skin. Other than those two spots, the rest of his body was clean.

“You should go lay on my bed,” You stood up, your eyes hungry as you took in his muscular shoulders and clenching abdomen. Each breath was labored, and you were sure it wasn’t because he was in pain… “That way, I can assess you more thoroughly.” 

“Of course, kitten.” Standing up, he let you lead him into your room. He was familiar with your bedroom, having spent quite a bit of time in your bed. As he settled against the headboard, he watched curiously. 

You walked back into the bathroom, leaving Sylus for just a moment to grab a washcloth and wet it in your sink. Wringing out the excess water, you moved closer, climbing into his lap. Your knees rested on either side of his waist, and his hands instantly snapped to your hips. It had been some time since you were able to indulge in each other’s presence… Being busy with work in Linkon and business in the N109 Zone…

Your hand gently pressed against his chest, rubbing away the dried blood. His gaze was soft as he watched you, his heart racing under your touch. The cold water pressed against his warm skin, slowly taking away all the remnants of his battle.

In an attempt to avoid his piercing gaze, your own eyes locked onto the washcloth, watching as the dried blood slowly disappeared. Although you knew he was strong and could wipe out anyone in his way, a small part of you did worry about him… What if someone found his kryptonite? 

After you cleaned his chest, your hands moved to his shoulder, gently pressing and massaging the skin to rid him of the remnants of his wounds. It was kind of therapeutic, the tiny thought of erasing his pain - even though he really wasn't in any pain at the moment - making you relax in his grasp.

You were so preoccupied with cleaning him up that you didn’t feel his hands snake up your shirt. His delicate fingers drifted along your curves, splaying across your back to pull you closer to him. 

When you were finished, you pulled back, your eyes drifting across his torso to make sure no more dried blood remained. Sylus watched you with a silent smirk, enjoying the way you looked at him. His hand reached up to grab the washcloth, putting it on the nightstand. Grabbing your hips, he ground up against you in small circles, enjoying the warmth of your thighs and hips on him.

“Hm,” He hummed, and your hands found purchase on his chest, propping yourself up to see his eyes drifting down your pajama-clad body. “I think I got a wound on my thigh as well, kitten. You might want to check it out.”

Holding a dramatic pose, your mouth dropped open slightly in mock surprise. Working your way down his body, you moved to his side. Your fingers played with the button of his pants, popping it open before dragging the clothing down. His boxers were already tenting by the time his pants were discarded somewhere in your room.

You leaned down slowly, your face getting closer to his obvious arousal. Your hands ran along his thigh, brushing against the edge of his underwear. His skin was so warm, and you examined him carefully, his muscles flexing under your fingertips. Warm breath washed over his clothed cock, and you saw him twitch out of the corner of your eye.

“Well,” Turning your head to look at him, you almost caved, seeing his burning red irises. His mouth was set into a thin line, and his eyebrows creased as you continued feeling along his thighs. “I don’t see any wounds - or dried blood - but…” As you trailed off, your hand dipped under the waistband of his boxers, your palm resting right below his belly button. “Maybe we should take everything off, just to make sure.”

Sylus stayed silent, his throat tightening as your fingertips brushed along the soft tuft of hair above his throbbing cock. You were so close but not quite at the place where he wanted you. Hell, he didn’t even realize he wanted, no - needed - you so desperately until he caught a glimpse of the sparkle in your eye as you cared for him, your hands cleaning him with tender touches.

Stripping him of his boxers was easy, his hips raising just enough off the bed to give you access. It was like he was clay in your hand, and you could mold him and push him into whatever you wanted. Fortunately, he was already what you wanted exactly how he was.

His cock stood proud as soon as his underwear was off and his body laid bare next to you. The pulsing red tip was leaking with arousal, dripping down his long shaft. It curved deliciously, and you could already feel how well he always pressed right against your walls. With a single finger, you traced the bottom of his cock, enjoying the very soft hitch in his breath when you circled your nail around his tip.

A low grunt fell from his lips, and his hand shot out to grip your waist. Drifting under your shirt, his own fingers began dancing along your bare skin. If he was naked, it was only fair for you to shed some layers as well… 

“Do you -” A short groan followed as your attention moved to his balls. As much as he tried to speak, it was nearly impossible to when you cupped and massaged his sensitive balls with just one hand. After countless explorations under the belt, you were confident in knowing exactly what to do to get him to squirm.

“I’m still checking for wounds, Sy. Stay still.” The hand on his thigh delivered a gentle smack, and the man smirked. After giving him a playful look, you finally gave him the relief he so desperately craved. Your hand wrapped around him, feeling the pulse of blood rushing through his system. It was addicting … Seeing just how much you could affect him.

You moved to sit between his legs, and your eyes stayed focused on him as you hovered over his cock. Opening your mouth, you let a shiny string of spit fall, and it landed right on his throbbing skin. His mind swam with desire, and he took a mental image of the sight, wanting to make sure he never forgot how gorgeous you looked like that.

Beginning with slow strokes, you watched in awe as Sylus began to fall apart under your hands. One of his arms folded under the back of his head, propping himself up to get a better view of your fingers wrapped around him. The other arm fell on his abdomen, his muscles clenching and twitching as he bucked up into your hand.

“Have you…” A huff was pushed from his nose as your thumb brushed along the tip of his cock. The words were stuck for a moment until he cleared his throat. “Have you found any wounds yet, kitten?”

His neck and cheeks were flushed red as you looked up at him, seeing the pure desire in your eyes. It was fun like this, letting you do whatever you wanted to him… A small part of him loved how he could relinquish the reigns to you, but you knew that he could take over at the drop of a hat.

“No, I think you’re all healed…” Your hand continued its languid strokes, your other hand coming up to pay attention to his head and tip. His hips jerked as you rubbed your palm along his leaking tip, a saccharine smile on your lips as he let out a moan, unlike anything you had ever heard from him. “I did find something else I wanted, though.”

Leaning down, you wrapped your lips around his tip, your hand holding his hips down so he didn’t buck into your mouth. You lowered your head just enough, his leaking head wrapped in your warm lips. Sylus’ eyes closed as you suckled on his head, your tongue dipping in his slit and listening with glee as he growled above you. 

“Fuck, kitten…” His voice was hoarse, and he didn’t think he could already be so close to release just from that . But as he watched the twinkle in your eyes, your hand wrapped tightly around him while the other kept him from chasing your warmth, he knew it all had to do with the person bringing him to the edge. “You look beautiful like this.”

A low hum from you caused Sylus to take a sharp breath in, the hand on his abdomen moving to rest on the back of your head. He made no move to usher you further down, his fingers lightly scratching your scalp. His whole body felt on fire, and his thumb brushed your hairline. 

Fighting back a smile, your tongue continued its exploration, feeling every drop of precum and throb from his head. Your hand took care of the rest of his length, using your spit as a lubricant to make the slide easier. His breaths increased in speed, and his eyes stayed closed for a second longer with each tantalizing stroke of your hand.

When your hand was flush at his base, you pulled off with a pop , your eyes glassy with need as you looked up at your boyfriend. His eyes were vibrant red, and his mouth fell open in a gasp. He was so close … 

Before he could say anything, perhaps even ask nicely for more of your mouth, you were standing at the end of the bed. The hand that was on the back of his head dropped to his cock. It wasn’t the same… Nothing would bring him the same satisfaction, not even his own calloused and scarred hands.

Your pajama shorts were the first to go, the wet patch thoroughly ruining them until you could put them in the wash. Throwing it to the side, your hands tugging at your baggy shirt until it was also discarded. Sylus’ eyebrows raised in lustful curiosity when he noticed you weren’t wearing any underwear. It was possible you never wore underwear to bed, but more often than not, he only focused on the feeling of you in his arms. He could almost get a peek at what he really wanted to see…

“Wow,” His hand continued stroking his cock, just enough to cause quick huffs of breath from his nose but not enough to actually get him there. The other hand stayed propped under his head, and he jerked his head up in a silent request, his eyes stuck on your thighs and hips. “Come here, beautiful…”

Going along with his ask, you climbed onto the bed, feeling his thighs tense and close slightly to allow you a better seat on his lap. Once you were close enough, Sylus’ hands held your hips tightly, pulling you down onto his lap. His cock was pressed between your soaked folds and his happy trail.

As soon as you could, your lips were on Sylus’. A low hum vibrated his chest as his hands splayed across your bare back, pushing you down so your body was flush against his. His tongue darted across your lower lip, and you granted him immediate entrance. 

Your hands rested on his chest, and your thumbs flicked his nipples, enjoying the way he stopped kissing you for a split second as a jolt of electricity shot through him. His lips were soft, and you could taste a hint of mint gum while his tongue explored your mouth. It wasn’t unfamiliar territory, but he liked having a refresher as often as you would allow.

As you kissed him, his fingers gripped your hips, pushing and pulling you to grind your pussy on his length. Each time he pulled you forward, the head of his cock brushed against your clit, and Sylus swallowed all the small gasps that fell. 

Finally, you pulled away from him just long enough to attach your lips to his jaw. His eyes closed on instinct, still breathing heavily from the kiss and the way you felt grinding on him. Each press of your mouth on him elicited a hum from the man below you, his head turning to the side to give you more access.

You took your time worshipping his skin, nipping and sucking at his neck and shoulder. There would definitely be marks… But the people at Onychinus wouldn’t dare question their boss’ private endeavors. Besides, Sylus always seemed to adore looking in the mirror after sex to admire the new marks you made on him.

“There you go, beautiful…” He sighed, one of his hands coming up to between your shoulder blades. Pressing down until every inch of your front was against him, he smiled, enjoying feeling your full weight on his hips and chest. “The marks you made last time faded so quickly. I was anticipating you giving me some new ones.”

His voice was sultry as he caressed your back, enjoying the slight pain as you sank your teeth into the junction of his neck and shoulders. It wasn’t enough to draw blood - though Sylus wouldn’t object to it - but there would most certainly be a bite mark the next morning… Oh, he loved it . He couldn’t get enough of you, your hands, your mouth, your pussy… Just the way you were pressed against him, he could come right then and there.

“Come on, kitten.” He was getting impatient, his cock enduring the way too gentle grinding of your folds that enveloped him. There was no way he could take any more of that teasing; he needed to be buried inside you. “Need your perfect pussy wrapped around me.”

Lifting you up, he held his cock, rubbing the tip back and forth to collect your arousal. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his tip nuzzled your entrance. You fought back a whimper as you lowered yourself down, feeling the curve of his cock press right against that one spot inside you. 

The hair above his cock tickled your clit, and you furrowed your eyebrows, taking a second to get used to the stinging stretch. It had been some time since you saw Sylus, been able to feel every inch of him, and you felt your pussy getting used to his cock once more, welcoming the familiar thickness. 

One of your hands threaded through his hair while the other still grasped his chest, your palm digging into his nipple. Moments turned into seconds, which turned into minutes as Sylus let you choose when to move, his hand coming to cup your cheek. He brushed along your skin with a gentle touch, admiring the way your expression was lost in a mix of pleasure and an uncomfortable stretch that would get better in a moment.

“You’re doing so well, such a good girl for me…” The words were pressed right against your neck, his nose brushing along your pulse point as he relished in the way you fit so perfectly in his grasp. His heart raced as he felt you squeeze around him, his hips fighting the urge to buck up into your heat. 

After a minute, you propped yourself up, your hips grinding in circles. His trimmed pubic bone was hard against your clit, and you moaned, the sensations all becoming too much . Sylus’ face was right in front of you, his nose brushing along your cheekbone as he let you control the pace for the moment. The hand that was on your cheek landed on your breast, kneading the flesh and tweaking your nipple. Each touch caused you to constrict around his cock, your own body betraying just how turned on you were. 

His lips were on your neck, spurring you on to lift up off his lap. The friction of his thick cock inside you was ravenous , and you felt a whisper of a whine blocked by your clothed lips. It felt amazing , with his hand gently guiding you up until just his tip was nestled inside you. You were so empty … So you chased the feeling by dropping back down, a harsh slap coming from your hips as you paused.

Sylus took a deep breath, smelling the remnants of your perfume from the day and the hint of your shampoo. It felt like he was drunk, the way his mind was in a complete haze, his eyes slightly glassy as his ears trained on your surroundings. No matter how good he felt, a small part of him still made sure to listen for even the slightest noise of danger.

He definitely heard the slapping of your soaked pussy on his hips as you fucked yourself on his cock… Nothing would make him miss that . The rhythm was uneven, and with each time you pulled away, he was nipping at your breasts that entered his field of vision. 

“Fuck…” His lips were right next to your ear, and his tongue darted out to the junction of your jaw. The smallest touch set you off, moans of his name falling from your lips with each caress. His throbbing tip pressed right against your g-spot, allowing bright stars to appear behind your eyelids when you closed your eyes. 

A warm puff of air escaped his nose, fanning across your neck, and you could feel his hands becoming a bit more needy. His hand on your hip moved to your ass, kneading the flesh and helping you rise and fall on his cock. Spreading you apart to feel the cold air on your pussy, stuffed full of him and only him. Oh, he wished he had a camera… Maybe next time …

Sylus’ lips turned more desperate as he kissed along the column of your neck, listening to the moans and whimpers of his name as you tried so hard to fuck yourself on his cock but couldn’t get the right pace. Low whines fanned out across his shoulder as you leaned down. Your entire body weight was on him, and he loved it . You were like his own personal weighted blanket, and he immediately wrapped his arm around your lower back, holding you in your position.

“Good girl,” His voice wrapped around you, and his cock twitched as you sat fully on top of him. It was exhausting, and you took a few deep breaths. You could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and you pressed a tired kiss to his shoulder. “Just relax, beautiful. I’ll do the work now.”

Without warning, his hands held you tightly. His hips bucked up, burying himself so deeply inside you that you could swear you felt him in your stomach. Sylus set a brutal pace, abandoning his earlier gentle caresses and kisses for the slapping of balls on your ass and biting into your shoulder. 

A low growl erupted from his throat as he felt your pussy clench around him in a vice grip. Planting his feet, he listened to the slapping of skin on skin and the increase of your moans. Whimpers and near screams of his name bounced off the walls, and fuck if he could just record that for when you couldn’t come visit him…

His hips pistoned in and out of you, taking all the control that you once thought you had and keeping it to himself. There wasn’t anything you could do except lay there and take it just like a good girl… His good girl…

“Fuck, Sylus.” The words drifted off your tongue and took root in his heart, his hips stuttering each and every time he heard his name in such a desperate and loving tone. He gave you anything and everything you could want, but what you needed was release. “Please…”

His hand moved to your lower back, pressing you down with each thrust up to make sure he was exactly where he belonged. His other hand stayed on your breast, tweaking your nipple in time with his thrusts. 

“There you go, beautiful.” His voice was strained, the feeling of your pussy gripping his cock making him go absolutely crazy. “Are you close?” A frantic nod of your head followed his words, and your moans of his name were muffled as you buried your face in his neck. 

With a gentle yet demanding grip on your head, he pulled you back slightly, his nose brushing yours. His red eyes shone in the light of your lamp as he studied your features. He had seen you up close too many times to count, but nothing would ever compare to the glassy film over your irises as you were brought closer and closer to climax. All because of him …

“Eyes on me, beautiful.” His lips brushed against your cheek, watching as a line of drool fell from the corner of your lips. To see you so lost in your pleasure, focusing only on the way his cock fit so perfectly inside you, it almost made him come. But he had to wait; no, the good part would be there in just a moment… “Good girl… I want to see your face when you come undone on my cock.”

His hips sped up slightly as he felt you flutter around him, and he knew the signs of your impending release. The pace he set was relentless, and almost on cue, Sylus held you down on top of him. His entire cock nestled inside you, feeling your walls tighten like an iron grip as your climax hit its peak. He slowly ground you down so your clit was stimulated by his pubic bone, enjoying the way your body trembled and jerked in his grasp. “There you go, I got you…” Collapsing on top of him, you were only given a moment of rest before Sylus held your hips up. His tip was kissing your entrance, and he gave you a gentle peck on the cheek. A genuine smile on his lips as he took in your debauched appearance. 

“I love you, beautiful.” As soon as the sentence left his mouth, his hips began an all too familiar pace from just seconds before. He was chasing his own release and wanted to make sure you knew just how precious you were to him before using you so harshly. Well, it wasn’t harsh … Just desperate … And he did it before, so you braced yourself, your hand threading through his hair as you let him hold you completely still.

Overstimulation set in quickly, and although it was edging into somewhat uncomfortable, Sylus never lasted long like that. He was weak for you, and only you and a second inside your tight heat was a second closer to his orgasm.

Time slowed down as his abdomen clenched, his pace stuttering until, all at once, he held you back against him. His cock twitched with each spurt of cum that painted your insides, and you couldn’t help the whimpers that fell from your lips. 

Gasps and breaths were shared between you as you lay limp on his chest. Looking down, Sylus brushed a hand across your cheek, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. In the soft, warm glow of your lamp, he admired you for who you truly were… Beautiful, alluring, passionate, and undeniably his.

Not his as a possession , but his as an addition. You added a whole other aspect to his life; you were his to love, his to adore, his to protect. Just as he was yours. Yours in every iteration of the word.

“You did so well for me, beautiful…” He mumbled into your hair, his hands splaying across your back and massaging the muscles of your torso. His softening cock was still inside you, yet neither of you made a move away from your position. It was so intimate, with the looming sunrise nearly on the horizon, you basked in the afterglow of two people who cared unconditionally for each other.

“Rest for a bit,” His voice was barely a whisper as he laid back on the bed, looking out the window at the starry sky as it began to dissipate. “I’ll wake you up in a few hours so we can clean up.”

Another kiss to the top of your head, his day ending and bleeding into his normal night. It was the opposite of yours, yet he would stay up for eternity if it meant being with you like that. 

He watched as you drifted off, the exhaustion of being woken up in the middle of the night finally catching up to you. With a small smile only meant for you, he studied your face, content with laying there awake.

“Good night, beautiful.”

© starsforxavi

[margecouture]

resetting and restoring yourself 🎧

hitting the reset button is essential to your life, allowing you to recharge, reflect, and realign with your goals and values. life can be hectic, stressful, and demanding leading to a wave of overwhelming emotions and an increased chance of a burnout. luckily, having the right tools can help you to keep going and maintain a healthy balance between self and life, so here’s how to properly reset and restore:

take an “everything” shower. engaging in this beloved self care ritual is a good way to hit the reset button and restore you back to normal. everything showers can include washing and conditioning your hair, shaving, exfoliating, double cleansing. when you do each of these tasks, it’s helpful to visualize all your burdens being washed away as you cleanse your body. you’ll feel fresh, clean, and comfortable. an everything shower is a wonderful way to refresh both your body and mind in a physical yet healthy way.

create a short list of good habits. to reset and restore, aim to create a list of habits that will leave you feeling good. this can include engaging in daily yoga, having a brewed cup of coffee or herbal tea daily, reading for 30 mins each day, creating art, and these are just the basics. these habits can create a positive shift in your energy and lead you to full restoration and recovery.

exercise, exercise, exercise. physical activity is a great form of self care and a great way to avoid frequent stress. while resting is essential for recharging, it’s not good to just lay around and constantly soak up any misery. get up and take a walk, get fresh air and feel the sun, go for a 15 min jog or run, do yoga poses, at home pilates, or even attend your local gym. getting up and getting active is a healthy and enjoyable way to clear your mind and reset your body.

disconnect and digital detox. scrolling, scrolling, and more scrolling can cause your brain to feel too heavy for your head. social media and our phones are filled with so much information, memories, words, opinions, and much more. it’s almost impossible to not become overwhelmed. digital detoxing has always been my favorite ritual when resetting. instead of mindlessly being on your phone, disconnect from the world & do activities like, stargaze or watch the clouds pass, read books, rearrange your environment, cook a new recipe, create journal entries. these are all very simple things that can restore you greatly.

connect with those who mean the most to you. spending time with family, friends, pets, lovers can provide emotional support and strengthen your relationships with more love. open up to those you love and care about. be a listening ear for them as well. engage in meaningful conversations or even just sit in comfortable silence. doing this brings you back to your essence and provides a healthy restoration.

get enough sleep. quality sleep is crucial for your overall health in all life’s areas. establish a regular sleep schedule and create a relaxing bedtime routine to help you get enough sleep each night. lack of sleep can lead to mood swings and increased stress which may cause a burnout. prioritize your sleep and aim for 7-9 hours a night for a beautiful mind, body and spirit.

resetting and restoring is not just a luxury, it’s a necessity for living a balanced and fulfilling lifestyle. take care of yourself because it is the foundation for achieving your dreams and becoming the best version of yourself! 😊

[fandomshenanigans]

Platonic!Yandere!Batfam x Neglected!Batsib!Reader

After getting over the initial disappointment that you might not get the kind of family you wanted, you took stock of your situation and found that you actually like this arrangement

You were already a self sufficient from the start and had a life outside of the Manor so it didn't suck too bad

Before Damian was introduced, you spent your evenings in the Manor, either in the library or just wandering in the garden

After Damian came around and made you aware of your "position in the family", suddenly you applied for a part time job in a 24/7 coffee shop and worked the night shift. So you're barely home now

(Plus, you gave the more important stuff you owned to your closest friend to keep so nothing in that room held anything meaningful to you.)

You had dreams for college, wanting to get out there and learn, create a career of your own, everything

You also remember your mother mentioning how she hopes you might be the first in her side of the family to attend college so there was also a sense of duty that made you so eager to reach that milestone

Except..

Suddenly, Bruce's attention was on you. Suddenly, Dick was the most eager to spend time with you. Suddenly, Jason is visiting the Manor, just for you. Suddenly, Tim is more interested in you as a person. Suddenly, Damian is nicer, though just a bit.

Suddenly, you're part of the family.

There were too many changes that it made your head spin but you managed to catch up with the change so now you're just going with the flow

Honestly, this just reminds you of how you dealt with creeps at the coffee store. Just do as they ask to placate them but firmly stand your ground.

If they ask for a smile, you smile at them before excusing yourself. If they ask for some time, you tell them to give you a moment and rearrange your schedule to fit them. (Though you did immediately reject them if they try to take a whole day with you. You had a schedule and you'd be damned if you let them mess that up.)

This continues on for a couple of months and you were simply continuing to indulge them whenever they tried to "make up for lost time"

Until you told your dad about your plans for college.

You had been doing so well at school, your grades were perfect and you were a great student, according to your teacher. You mention to him how you wanted to attend this one college in Metropolis since it had the best science programs

"You're not going to college. At least, you can't go to one that far."

.......huh?

"Maybe choose one that's closer to home? Or better yet, you don't have to go."

Ex-fucking-cuse me?

You gripped the collar of his stupid shirt, glaring into his eyes with pure hatred as you screamed at him, demanding to know what the FUCK that meant.

You demanded to know why is he trying to pull this on you. Was this some twisted power play?

Bruce tried to calm you down, claiming that wasn't what he meant.

But you cut him off before he could bullshit you further.

"Are you that ashamed of me, Mr. Wayne? Am I that much of a stain to your family name that you'd rather keep me locked up so no one can see me? Is that what you're trying to say?"

Then, you dropped him like a hot potato and stormed off

After that revelation, you stopped eating. Stopped taking care of yourself. Stopped going to classes because what was the fucking point? You're not going to reach that milestone in your life so why bother? You simply locked yourself in your room and refused everything.

Everyone is in a panic because it's been WEEKS since you've left your room, since you've started to rot in your bed.

They all did their best to coax/lure you out. But nothing was working.

"I'm sorry, please, just open the door. You can go to college in Metropolis, just like you wanted, okay? I'm sorry for denying you, please." Bruce pleads.

Then, the door opens and now you're hugging him, accepting his apology before you're running off to clean yourself up.

You're back to being the sweet yet distant sibling, who's smile to them was simply for show, who's more interested in anything other than family.

Might continue this but yeah, this is an idea that popped into my head.

[giuliettagaltieri]

Not Her Man

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Feathers fall gracefully slow

Warning: Girlrotting

Word Count: 3193

Part 1 • Part 3

You were always scared to do drugs.  

You saw Rafe at his highs, you were with him, keeping him from doing anything stupid like when he was so sure he could backflip from Tanneyhill’s rooftop and land on the grass perfectly. 

But you also wondered how difficult it was for him to get clean.  To suffer from withdrawals.  And as you lie on your fur carpet, staring at the glimmering crystals of your chandelier, with your closet half emptied and scattered all around your room, along with rolling wine bottles on the polished hardwood floor of your bedroom, you think you might have understood just a little.

Blocking him was the hardest thing you have ever done in your life, especially when it was your routine to giggle over whatever interaction you had through text that day.  The itch to open his account for any update made you want to bind your hands together.

Your parents are out of the country, busy overseeing their business, forgetting to oversee their daughter.  Your maids were there for you, at least they try to be.  They bring you food on schedule, even sliding in a few scoops of ice cream every now and then in your room when your sobs start to echo around the halls.

Rafe tried to contact you multiple times.  First, through your phone, but you blocked him.  Next, he tried to throw pebbles at your window, but your seventy-six year old gardener fired a shotgun at him, thinking that he was a burglar.  Next, he tried a different approach, he was sending you gigantic bouquets of your favorite flowers, making the hallway leading to your room look like a wedding set up, the flowers perfumed the entire house too, drawing a concerning amount of bees.  One epipen to your chef’s thigh later, Rafe stops sending them.

He never really does anything right.  All he does is mess up, create more problems for himself.  You almost wanted to give in, but you remind yourself of the things he said.  Anger and hurt quickly replaces pity.

A familiar chime of your phone had you groaning.  Your friends are probably going to have another attempt of making you step out of your room, like inviting you to have your nails done or shop, just to get your mind off of Rafe.

You just let the ringtone end and you go back to staring at the chandelier, wondering if you’ll be quick enough to get out of the way if it somehow falls.  Before you can plan a strategic roll, your phone rings again.

Blindly reaching underneath the scattered pillows, you finally locate the buzzing device.  You answer without looking at the caller ID. 

“Y/N speaking.”  You mumble lazily.

“Hey, girlie.”  There goes the high-pitched voice of your friend.  “Sooo, the girls and I-hush!”  You hear a bunch of girls giggling behind the line and your brows crease together in annoyance.  “We’re going on a party tonight and we’re thinking that maybe you’d liketocomewithus?”

You play with the lace of your dress, eyes just following the patterns when you hear your name being called again over the phone.

“I’m not in the mood for parties.” 

“You are never in the mood for anything anymore.”  She whines behind the line.  Her tone prompts you to sit up to pick up the stale wine you left out in the open for too long.  Taking a sip and ignoring the thin coat of dust it caught after you ransacked your closet for something that made you look confident, only for you to end up squeezing in the dress that Rafe got you as a present for your 13th birthday.  He didn’t pick it out for you, of course, but it still made you all fizzy and bubbly and excited inside.

You put down the wine to scratch at the waistband that is digging on the skin of your under bust, the fabric being stretched beyond its capacity.

“I know.”  You tried to sound apologetic.  “I just can’t, okay?”

She sighs, making you let out a grateful sigh.  There’s still some ceiling viewing you had to get back to.

“I’m picking you up at seven.”  She speaks with finality and before you can answer, she continues.  “Please don’t let that awful man get the satisfaction of knowing that he has this much effect on you.”  You can hear her begging behind the phone.  She and the other girls are just looking out for you.

With an unwilling heart, you decide to get on your feet, your socked foot nearly slipping the moment it touches the wooden floor.  Cursing, you finally crouch on the piled up clothes you threw earlier. 

“Fine, I’ll come.”  You roll your eyes.  “Dresscode?”

You hear an airy chuckle and you can imagine her pinching your cheeks if you were within her reach.  “Party’s open to all, Kooks or Pogues.  In the community beach house.  You dress however you like.  I’ll match your vibe, if you’d like.”

This makes a smile creep on your lips.  She’s definitely on the top 10 list of the most annoying people you know but you thank God everyday for a friend like her.  “You know I love you, right?”

She snorts before bursting out in a fit of laughter.  “Duh.  I love you too.”

“See you later.”  You grin.  “Tell the girls I’m coming too.”

“Sure, see you!” 

You hang up and get started on searching for the right outfit.  Well, there’s the classic white flowy dresses, but everybody wears them.  You could wear a short and a cute top, show some belly?  Blech, you’re not exactly in one of your maneater moods.  But perhaps if you covered it with that oversized white pinstriped polo, it could work?  Yeah, something casual yet put together.  It’s not like you’re dressing to impress anybody, or somebody in particular, you’d prioritize comfort over fashion tonight.

A knock on your bedroom door pulls you from your thoughts.  With a shrug, you throw your chosen clothes on your bed.

“Coming.”  You call while trudging over to open the door.  There stood your maid, she was looking anxious, wringing her wrinkly hands.  “What is it?”

She glances at your odd choice of clothing before she looks away so as to not make you uncomfortable.  “Well, uhm, Sir Cameron is here again, miss.  He’s waiting for you downstairs, in the drawing room.”

You press your lips in a firm line.  “Tell him I’m not here.”

Your maid smiles apologetically.  “He…he saw you in your bedroom window before he came in, miss.”

Huffing, you tap your feet impatiently.  “Just tell him I’m busy.”

“He said you’ll say that.”  She mutters, amusement in her tone.  “And he asked us to tell you that he can wait.”

You close your eyes to keep them from rolling.  “Whatever, he can stay as long as he likes, but I’m not coming down to meet him.”  You push the door a little wider and your maid’s eyes widen at the state of your room.  “I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but can you help me clean up?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent tidying up your room. 

It was dark out, a couple of minutes past seven when your phone buzzed.  Knowing that it’s your girlfriends, you pick your bag, filled with the usual party necessities and head downstairs.  It’s a habit, assigning yourself as the responsible friend who stays sober to look after the others.

You are slipping in the pearl bracelet your grandmother got for you last Christmas when you hear your name being called and in instinct, you turn around.

“Oh, right.”  You say with a tone that is drier than the Sahara desert.  “You’re here.”

Rafe’s standing just outside your drawing room, his hands falling to his side.

“Yeah.”  He spoke awkwardly, his eyes glancing at your outfit, familiarity crossing them before he looked at your eyes again.  “I was waiting for you.”

You exhale softly and he just stood there, waiting for your reaction.

“I know.”  You say simply.  “Gotta go.”  You start walking again to your door.

“Wait, Y/N.” He easily catches up.  “You’re…you’re coming to the party, right?”  He asks hopefully.

“Yes.”  You respond without looking at him.

Rafe smiles but it quickly dissipates when he sees a different car waiting for you.  “Hold on, I can drive you there.”  He says quickly, his hand gripping yours just to get you to listen to him.  “I can drive you to the party.”  He says in an uncharacteristically sheepish way.

For a second, you look at him, really look at him.  His smile grows wide.  He missed having your eyes on him.  You’re his best friend, and he’s used to doing everything with you by his side.  He also liked how dependent you were on him too, always asking for his approval.  You have a bit of an overbearing attitude but he would be lying if he’ll say that he doesn’t miss you doting on him too.  Perhaps you’re not the only one who’s dependent on this odd friendship you both have.

“No, thank you.”  You say before pulling your hand away with a sharp look thrown his way.  He watches you walk away to greet your friends.  He’s still stuck there, staring, even after the car drives away.

He doesn’t understand it.

You’re the emotional one, why are you doing so well without him?  You never go to parties with other people, it was always him that you stick close to.  Clinging on him, pulling him to the dance floor when he’s about to do a line of coke, or accidentally knocking his cup when he’s had too much drinks.

Running a hand through his face, Rafe decides to hop on his car and follow you to the party.  You’ll be in the same space as him in the next few hours.  He’ll get another chance there.  He’s certain of it.

He didn’t get the chance.

With you by his side all the time, you memorized his set of activities at parties and you evaded him perfectly.  Rafe decided that it was best to stand by the punch table.  You’d get thirsty eventually, and he’ll be there waiting if you do.

On the other side of the house, farthest from Rafe, there you sit by the porch swing, admiring the push and pull of the waves.  The party was at its climax and everybody was cramped inside the house, dancing and drinking, or doing unholy activities.  You don’t know how you managed to slip away from your friends but you’re glad you did.  You needed the fresh air.

You’re just starting to get comfortable when a man stumbles out the door.  You watch him struggle to keep himself up.  He looked lost? Or just flat out drunk.  You watch in amusement as he scratches his blonde head, he must be having a whiplash from all the blinding neon lights inside and suddenly his vision switches to the bright light provided by the LEDs. 

His feet twist and he starts to fall to the side, your head tilting to follow his fall.  You wince when you hear the loud thud of his body hitting the floor, followed by his muffled but loud groaning.

“Motherfu-”  He sits on the floor, his legs sprawled out in front of him as he shakes his head like a dog.

“You alright, JJ?”  You chuckle.

He whips his head to you, cursing again when his vision spins.  “Y/N?”  He drawls out while rubbing his eyes.  “You saw everything?”

Still laughing, you get up to crouch next to him.  “I did.”  You smile when he groans out again.  “Are you okay?”

He props up a knee and rests an arm there, he looks buzzed, his eyes are heavily lidded as he stares off into the ocean.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”  He glances at you.  “Well, this is a strange sight.”

“What is?”  You mumble as you look away from him, deciding to play dumb.

He shrugs animatedly, hands gesturing to you and the entire space of the porch.  “Usually, wherever you are, your boyfriend is not that far behind.”  He points a thumb behind him.  “And if I wasn’t imagining it, I’m pretty sure I just saw him brooding over the drinks.”

You chuckle dryly as you bring your knees to your chest.  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

JJ looks at you with an unimpressed face.  “That’s all you heard.”

Playfully punching his shoulder, you sigh.  “We fought.”

He frowns, back straightening immediately.  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”  It’s kind of sweet how your words seemed to have sobered him really quick.

“No!  No, he didn’t.”  You reply right away.  “Well, at least not physically.”

You watch him grimace.  “Outside physical fights, I have little to no idea how to respond.”

“That’s okay, JJ.  I don’t wanna talk about it, anyway.”

He gives you a boyish grin, as if to reassure you before scratching at his jaw, your eyes mindlessly follow his movements and you see a scratch.

“You’re hurt.”  You tell him, pointing at your own jaw.

“Huh?”  He touches his jaw and winces.  “Ow!  Must’ve scratched myself when I…uhm.”

“When you decided to attack the floor.”  You finish for him and he clears his throat.  “You’ll have to disinfect it.”

“Pfft, it’s fine.”  He shakes his head.  “It’s just a scratch.”

But you are already grabbing your bag by the swing and you return with a small kit.

“I forgot to bring wipes.”  You mumble before crouching down in front of him.  He swallows at your close proximity.  “Come on, JJ.  It’s just antibacterial cream.”

He hesitantly shows you his face and you gently apply the cream, tutting when he dramatically pulls away.

You grab his face and tilt it slightly and JJ squeezes his eyes.

“It fucking stings.”  He nearly whines, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t be a baby!”  You huff and he stays still for a second, allowing you to smear the cream evenly and he rolls away from you as soon as you’re done.

JJ was muttering about God knows what while you’re busy putting your stuff away.  When you sit next to him again, he’s much calmer, a lazy smile back on his face again.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

You throw him a playful glare.  “You’re welcome.”

He touches the scratch and you almost tell him off but he quickly pulls his hand away. 

“Why didn’t Cameron make you his girl?”

You blow out a big sigh.  “He doesn’t like me.”

“Bullshit.”  He laughs but he clears his throat when you look at him unamused.  “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”  You smile at him genuinely before averting your eyes.  “I wouldn’t blame him.  I mean, you saw how I can be.”  You chuckle this time but there’s no humor on JJ’s face, he’s looking at you rather sadly.  “I care too much and everybody suffocates around me.”

“I don’t.”  He says quickly.  “I was just being dramatic earlier.”  He rubs his nape.  “I’m not used to having people tend to me, I mostly just do it myself.”  He seeks your eyes and you finally look at him. 

You hear a creak behind you but before you can look, JJ cups your face to keep you from breaking your eye contact, making your breath hitch.

“I liked being taken care of like that.”  He whispers and your lips part slightly.

“JJ.”  You say breathlessly and he grins, his face leaning dangerously close to you.  “You’re drunk.”

He gently bites his bottom lip and you have to look away from his blatant flirting.  “I’m sober enough to kiss, I promise.”

This…this isn’t right.  

You gently push him away and his lips immediately form a pout.  “You’re such a kid, JJ.”

He clicks his tongue and angrily stoops as he glares at the ocean.  “You had no idea how long it took me to build the courage to do that.”

“Five minutes?”  You jokingly bump his shoulders, making his act break at the edges, a smile threatening to crack on his lips.  “Seriously, J, I can’t kiss drunk guys.  It’s unethical.”

He mimics you in a childish voice and buries his face on his palms harshly.  He turns to you again, with his hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead and red blotches appearing on some areas of his face.  “I’m not as drunk as you think I am.”  The way he glances at your lips had your throat drying up.  “I really wanted to kiss you.”  Aside from Rafe, you have little to no experience with the male attention and frankly, you don’t know what to do.

You place a hand on his shoulder and stiffly pat it twice.  “You’ll get over it.”

JJ looks at you exasperatedly.  “You’re taking this too lightly, this is my feelings we are talking about.”

You stifle a laughter.  “Oh, so you have feelings for me.”  You raise a brow at him and he nods his head enthusiastically.

“Every guy on this island has a thing for you.”  He says animatedly.  “If it wasn’t for your bodyguard, we would have made our move long ago.”

You are deeply flattered, you can’t resist the girlish smile from tugging on your lips, your cheeks slowly heating up.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He looks deeply offended and places a hand on his chest.

“You’re the ultimate dream girl, stupid!”  He dodges a punch from you.  “You’re like the total package.  You’re sweet, and smart, you’re also very pretty, you can be funny too when you let loose.”  He wiggles his eyebrows at you and this pulls a laughter from you, a real, genuine laughter that had your shoulders shaking.

“When are you gonna get serious, J?”  Wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, you get up.  “Wait here, I’ll get us a drink.”

He gives you a two finger salute before lying smack down on the floor, with his arms spread out.  You shake your head, chuckling when you open the door.

And your hair stands on end.

There stood the very person you have been avoiding the entire night.

But for once, he isn’t wearing a scowl or a condescending cocky smile.

He was looking at you like a man defeated and broken.

“Rafe.”  You whisper as you reach for him but you stop yourself before your skin can touch.  He looks at your hand and then your eyes.  You don’t know if it’s the trick of light but you could have sworn his eyes are glassy.

“Hey, Y/N, everything alright?”  JJ calls.

Rafe glances at JJ and then back at you, he nods slowly as he takes a step back.  Your heart aches as you watch him take another step away from you but you will yourself not to follow.  He runs a hand on his mouth and he turns away from you.

You stare at his back as he leaves, torn between choosing your own pride or running after him.  For what seemed like hours, you stood there, frozen.  Still lost in the onslaught of emotions that surged through you.

Not Your Girl • His Girl

[diamonddaze01]

Error 404: Feelings not Found

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader | wc: 4.0k genre: fluff, electrical engineering student wonwoo (pulled out my textbooks for this) warnings: loserboy core a/n: for all my fellow left-brained girlies who have never really understood feelings. sometimes, all you have to do is feel // now playing: when he sees me // thank u kae @ylangelegy for the song suggestion and betaing ily muah!

summary: Wonwoo has always been comfortable in the world of logic.  But his crush on you? A catastrophic anomaly in his otherwise perfectly functioning system.

Wonwoo has always been comfortable in the world of logic. Numbers are predictable, formulas are consistent, and circuits behave exactly as they’re supposed to. But his crush on you? A catastrophic anomaly in his otherwise perfectly functioning system.

It’s not like he planned for this. (Wonwoo plans for everything.) He planned how to tackle his midterms, down to how much coffee he’d need for optimal brain function. He planned his study schedule for finals week with a level of precision that could rival NASA’s launch timelines. But he didn’t plan for you—didn’t account for how you’d waltz into his life, smiling like it was easy, and throw every variable he’d ever known into disarray.

Take last week, for instance. You’d borrowed his notes in Signals class after the professor’s lecture turned into a chaotic sprint of equations, leaving most of the class scrambling to catch up. Wonwoo’s notes, as always, were pristine—straight lines, perfect margins, not a single smudge or scribble.

“These are amazing,” you’d said, eyes scanning the page before handing them back. “Your designs are so clean.”

Simple, right? A harmless comment. But by the time he’s back at his desk, staring at his notebook, the words replay in his mind like an unsolved equation. Somewhere between “clean” and the way you smiled, his brain spins out of control, dragging him into an entirely unnecessary analysis.

By the time the clock strikes midnight, he’s halfway through a list of possible interpretations for the word clean.

Did you mean clean as in technically proficient?

Or was it a general observation, like, “Oh, clean lines, nice work”?

Was it just a filler compliment?

Wait, what if you didn’t care about the project at all and were just being polite?

…Or were you flirting?

By the end of the day, the list has ballooned to 27 points, each item meticulously numbered and annotated with follow-up questions. He’s considered:

The tone of your voice (friendly, teasing, or something else entirely?).

The duration of eye contact (exactly 2.3 seconds—long enough to register intent?).

The statistical likelihood of romantic interest based on casual interactions in a shared academic setting.

He even creates a small flowchart titled “Compliment Probability Breakdown” in the margins, complete with arrows leading to various outcomes: “Casual comment” → “Friendly disposition” → “No further analysis needed.” Except, of course, he does further analyze. He always further analyzes.

Mingyu finds him later that night, still hunched over the notebook with a pencil tucked behind his ear. “Wonwoo, what are you doing? It’s a compliment, man. Just take it.”

Wonwoo glares up at him, a little defensive. “Compliments can have layers.”

“Compliments are not onions, dude. Sometimes people just say stuff because they mean it.” Mingyu grabs the notebook, flipping through pages of scribbled notes and diagrams. “Wait, are you seriously tracking eye contact now?”

Wonwoo snatches it back with a huff. “It’s for clarity.”

“Clarity,” Mingyu repeats, shaking his head. “Okay, listen: not everything needs a breakdown. Maybe she just thinks you’re good at this stuff.”

The suggestion should feel reassuring, but it only creates more questions. Do you think he’s good at this stuff? Wonwoo’s chest tightens as the overanalysis starts up again, his brain racing to decode every minor interaction between you two.

And for the first time in his life, he wonders if there’s a problem even logic can’t solve.

The first time Wonwoo realizes he might have a crush on you is during a Circuits lab. The task is simple: build an EKG circuit. The professor’s voice echoes in the background, laying out the steps, but Wonwoo doesn’t need instructions—he’s already ahead, mentally piecing together the circuit in his mind like a jigsaw puzzle.

You, him, and Soonyoung are grouped together. Soonyoung, true to form, spends more time spinning a pen between his fingers and accidentally dropping it than actually contributing. “What’s a diode again?” he whispers, squinting at the diagram. Wonwoo doesn’t bother answering. He’s focused on soldering the components, the familiar rhythm of it calming.

Then you lean closer. Close enough that he catches the faint scent of your shampoo—something floral, light, completely unexpected.

“Wow, you’re fast,” you say as Wonwoo expertly attaches a capacitor to the circuit. There’s a trace of genuine admiration in your voice, enough to make him falter. “I’d probably still be looking for the resistor.”

The comment shouldn’t faze him. It’s just a compliment, nothing extraordinary. He glances at you, briefly, before immediately looking back at the board. It feels safer not to meet your eyes for too long. “Uh, it’s color-coded,” he manages, his voice steady but quieter than usual. “You just… follow the stripes.”

You laugh softly, the sound threading its way into his chest like a loose wire connecting where it shouldn’t. “Yeah, but it’s not that simple for everyone,” you say, brushing a stray hair out of your face as you turn your attention to the circuit.

The way you say it makes his chest feel strangely tight—like you’ve taken something as mundane as resistors and turned it into a compliment, like you’re saying he’s not simple either. It’s a ridiculous thought, and yet it roots itself in his mind.

Wonwoo’s hand, soldering iron poised mid-air, doesn’t move. His brain, which usually fires on all cylinders, freezes like an overloaded processor. The soldering iron hovers dangerously close to the board, but all he can focus on is the way your hair catches the light, the way your fingers curl around the resistor as you inspect it. Wonwoo doesn’t mean to notice, but suddenly he can’t stop noticing—the way the fluorescent light reflects in your eyes, the faint trace of soap on your hands when you adjust a wire, the warmth radiating from your voice when you hum quietly in thought.

It’s not until Soonyoung gently clears his throat that he realizes his brain has completely stopped functioning. His usually razor-sharp focus is now cluttered with incoherent static. 

“Wonwoo?” you ask, leaning back slightly to meet his eyes. There’s a hint of concern in your voice. “You good?”

He panics. “Uh. 100 ohms.”

Your brow furrows. “What?”

“Uh—100 ohms,” he repeats, gesturing vaguely at the resistor in your hand like it explains anything. “That’s… its resistance.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and awkward. You blink at him, clearly trying to piece together whatever he’s just said. Then you burst out laughing, shaking your head as you turn back to the project. “Okay, resistor boy. Whatever you say.”

The sound of your laughter leaves his chest feeling tight, like someone’s replaced his heart with a capacitor about to blow.

Soonyoung, who’s been watching the exchange with far too much interest, smirks. He leans over the table, stage-whispering, “What was that?”

“What was what?” Wonwoo mutters, focusing on the soldering again, as if he can undo the entire exchange by sheer force of will.

“You’re usually all cool and robotic,” Soonyoung teases, wagging his pen like it’s some kind of magic wand. “That was… weird.”

Wonwoo shakes his head quickly, but the heat creeping up the back of his neck says otherwise. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, the words barely audible over the hum of the soldering iron. “I think I glitched.”

“Uh, yeah. Glitched hard.” Soonyoung grins, nudging him in the ribs. “Man, this is going to be fun to watch.”

Wonwoo groans, his ears burning. The circuit in front of him makes perfect sense—the resistors, the capacitors, the impedance of the op-amp—but nothing about you fits into a neat schematic. And for the first time in his life, that terrifies him.

Now, weeks later, Wonwoo is in his room, utterly consumed by the mess on his desk. It’s an anomaly in itself—Wonwoo is meticulous, his workspace usually a shrine to organization (he always says: clean desk, clean mind). But now, papers are scattered like fallen leaves, covered in scribbles, equations, and bullet points that grow increasingly frantic as they spread across the desk.

The centerpiece of this chaos? A flowchart spanning two pages, taped together like some sort of grand engineering blueprint. It’s titled, in block letters: “Signs She Might Like Me Back.”

Wonwoo taps his pen against the paper, staring at the branching lines as if sheer focus might make them reveal the answer he’s been agonizing over. Beneath the title are subcategories labeled “Physical Cues,” “Verbal Indicators,” and, his personal favorite, “Ambiguous Behavior That Could Go Either Way.”

Under “Physical Cues,” he’s written:

Smiles when she sees me.

Leans closer during conversation (but what if it’s because of background noise?).

Touches my arm (happened once, inconclusive).

Under “Verbal Indicators,” there’s a bullet that reads:

Complimented my handwriting. Significance unclear.

He’s in the middle of adding a new branch—“Initiates conversation (specific or casual?)”—when the door bursts open without warning.

“Wonwoo, what the hell are you doing? It’s 3 AM.” Mingyu strides in, holding a bowl of instant ramen and a look of mild concern. His gaze lands on the desk, and his expression shifts to outright amusement. “Wait… what is this?”

Wonwoo freezes like he’s been caught committing a federal crime. He instinctively moves to cover the flowchart with both arms, but it’s far too late. Mingyu steps closer, craning his neck to read the edges of the paper that Wonwoo couldn’t shield in time.

“‘Compliments: Genuine or Polite’?” Mingyu reads aloud, his voice rising in barely-contained glee. He sets the ramen down and leans over the desk. “‘Smiles frequently—friendly or flirty?’ Wonwoo…” He looks at his friend, wide-eyed and grinning. “Are you seriously trying to analyze feelings right now?”

“No,” Wonwoo lies, far too quickly. “It’s… theoretical.”

Mingyu snorts, dropping into the chair beside him and spinning it halfway around before leaning forward. “Theoretical? Dude, this looks like the final project for your psych elective. Come on, what’s the problem? Spill.”

Wonwoo hesitates, gripping his pen like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. But the weight of weeks of overthinking finally tips the scale, and he lets out a long sigh, setting the pen down.

“I just don’t… get it,” he admits, gesturing vaguely to the papers. “Feelings are so inconsistent. They don’t follow any rules. There’s no formula to predict intent, no way to be certain what someone means. How do people know if someone’s interested in them? How do you know when to… I don’t know, do something about it?”

Mingyu leans back in the chair, arms crossed as he considers the question. “Easy,” he says after a beat. “You stop thinking about it so much and just ask them out.”

Wonwoo blinks at him, utterly horrified. “That’s… illogical. That’s guessing. That’s like building a circuit without testing the components first. What if the whole thing explodes?”

“Yeah, well, feelings aren’t supposed to be logical,” Mingyu says with a shrug, grabbing the bowl of ramen and slurping a mouthful. He claps Wonwoo on the shoulder with his free hand, grinning around his chopsticks. “Face it, man. You’re screwed.”

Wonwoo stares at him, expression blank but mind racing at a million miles an hour. “There’s got to be a better way than just… guessing.”

“Good luck finding it,” Mingyu says, standing up and taking his ramen with him. “But if you don’t make a move soon, she might just think you’re not interested. So, you know… keep that in mind.”

Wonwoo sits in silence long after Mingyu leaves, staring down at his flowchart. His pen hovers over the paper, but he doesn’t write anything. For once, the calculations feel insufficient.

And maybe, just maybe, Mingyu’s right.

The thing is, you keep throwing off his system. Wonwoo’s world is built on rules, a place where inputs lead to predictable outputs. But you? You’re the glitch in his perfectly functioning program, an anomaly he can’t solve no matter how many late nights he spends overanalyzing.

The way you laugh at his deadpan jokes—it’s too loud for the library but not loud enough to draw attention, just enough to pull his gaze toward you. It doesn’t matter that you’ve already heard that joke during last week’s study session; you laugh anyway, and the sound is unreasonably addictive. The way you ask for help even when he knows you don’t need it. Like last week, when you slid your notebook toward him with a confused pout.

“Can you help me with this? I don’t get it.”

He barely glanced at the equation. “You’re way too smart to not understand this.”

And then you laughed, a soft, warm sound that curled around his chest and lodged itself there. That laugh earned a solid 15 points on his internal ‘Possible Signs of Interest’ checklist, though he later downgraded it to 10 because he couldn’t account for external variables like your naturally kind disposition.

It’s infuriating. Why do feelings refuse to conform to logic?

He tries analyzing every interaction, mapping out probabilities and outcomes in the quiet corners of his mind. He’s drawn tables, diagrams, even flowcharts in an attempt to parse out the truth.

Was the way you leaned closer during study group last week a sign of interest? Or were you just trying to hear him better? Did the way you laughed at his dumb, offhand comment in class mean something? Or do you just laugh like that at everything?

Take today, for example: You brushed past him on your way to class, smiling and throwing over your shoulder, “See you at study group later!” That brief moment derailed his entire afternoon.

Did you linger when your arm touched his? Or was that just an accidental graze? Was your smile just friendly, or something more?

And why does he care so much?

Wonwoo spends the rest of the day distracted, his mind looping through possibilities like an endless algorithm stuck in an infinite while-loop. What’s worse is that he doesn’t even know what he wants the answer to be. A part of him craves certainty, some definitive sign that he should act on these feelings. But another part—a quieter, more cautious part—fears the idea of ruining the tenuous balance between you two.

Because what if he’s wrong? What if you’re just like this with everyone? What if he makes his move and you pull away, looking at him like he’s a problem to be solved instead of someone you enjoy spending time with?

By the time the study session rolls around, he’s teetering on the edge of complete disarray, not that he’d ever let it show.

Or so he thinks.

Because two hours in, he miscalculates an integral. An integral. Wonwoo never miscalculates anything.

You catch it immediately, tilting your head as you lean closer. He can feel the heat radiating off your skin, the soft rustle of your notebook as you shift it toward him.

“Are you okay, Wonwoo? You’re usually so precise,” you say, your voice light but with an edge of curiosity.

His ears burn. “Just tired,” he mumbles, avoiding your gaze as he corrects the mistake. He doesn’t add that it’s your proximity short-circuiting his brain, or that the way your hair falls over your shoulder is infinitely more distracting than any differential equation.

Your smirk lingers in his periphery, and he wonders if you can tell just how fast his heart is beating. He wonders if you feel the same strange, unexplainable pull that he does.

The study session stretches late into the evening. Most of the group has already packed up, and you’re the last one still typing away at your laptop when Wonwoo’s caffeine miscalculation finally catches up to him.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep—just the faint hum of your keyboard and the warm glow of the desk lamp. When he stirs slightly, he feels a ghosting touch against his face.

Your fingers are gentle as you slide his glasses off, careful not to wake him. He feels the cool metal leave his skin, followed by the soft brush of your thumb near the mark his nose pad left.

His heart lurches, and he has to force himself to keep his breathing even. A dozen thoughts rush through his mind all at once:

Is she doing this because she likes me?No, she’s just being considerate.But she’s touching my face.What does that mean? What does it mean if she’s touching my face?

He clenches his fists against the urge to open his eyes, to meet your gaze and demand answers. Instead, he forces himself to focus on the moment—the sound of your quiet breaths, the occasional click of your mouse, and the warmth that radiates from your side of the table.

For a fleeting moment, he thinks: Maybe emotions don’t always need to make sense. Maybe, just this once, he can let go of the need to understand everything.

Maybe, just this once, he can let himself feel.

Wonwoo doesn’t know how it’s come to this. One moment, he was perfectly content at home, considering a quiet evening spent debugging code or reorganizing his bookshelves. The next, Mingyu and Soonyoung were in his room, looming like conspirators with matching grins.

“You have to come,” Mingyu had said, tugging at the sleeves of Wonwoo’s sweatshirt. “It’s social interaction, it’s good for you. You’ll thank us later.”

“No, I won’t,” Wonwoo deadpanned, crossing his arms.

Soonyoung leaned in, holding up his phone with a smug look. “You sure about that? Because I might have accidentally taken a picture of that Venn diagram you made the other day.”

Wonwoo froze, his blood running cold. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I would.” Soonyoung’s grin widened. “And I bet someone would find it very… interesting.”

That was how he found himself lacing up his sneakers with a grim expression, muttering under his breath about betrayal and bad friends.

Now, standing awkwardly at the edge of a crowded house party, Wonwoo is reminded why he hates these things. The music is too loud, the lights are too dim, and there are far too many people moving unpredictably around him. He’s already considering texting Mingyu and Soonyoung to demand their exact location when he spots you.

You’re standing by the makeshift bar, laughing at something someone said, your smile so effortless it lights up the room in a way the cheap string lights never could. Wonwoo doesn’t mean to stare, but his feet move before his brain can catch up. He tells himself it’s because you’re familiar, a safe point of contact in an otherwise chaotic environment.

But deep down, he knows better.

“Wonwoo?” you call out, your eyes lighting up as you notice him approaching from the edge of the room.

He halts mid-step, caught somewhere between relief and apprehension, and forces out a casual, “Hey.” His hands disappear into his pockets, his fingers fidgeting with loose threads, unsure what else to do.

You grin, leaning one elbow against the counter, your drink swaying lazily in your other hand. “You don’t seem like the party type,” you tease, tilting your head to study him.

“I was... coerced,” he replies flatly, and the corner of your mouth quirks up as you laugh.

“Oh, let me guess.” You raise an eyebrow, pretending to think hard. “Mingyu? No, no—Soonyoung. Or both? Definitely both.”

“They’re... relentless,” Wonwoo admits, almost sounding offended, but there’s a faint twitch of a smile at the edges of his lips.

“Wow. Dragged out of your hobbit hole just to stand here and glare at people? They must’ve bribed you with something really good.”

He looks away, almost sheepishly. “Something like that.”

Your laugh rings out again, easy and unforced, and Wonwoo feels a little lighter despite himself. “Poor you,” you say, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Do you need a drink to cope? A strong one?”

He snorts. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Well, you made it out of the house, so I guess that’s something,” you say, stepping closer. “Though you do look like you’re two minutes away from bolting.”

He shrugs, his gaze flickering between you and the crowd. “It’s not my scene.”

“And yet, here you are,” you point out, your tone playful. “Is it for Mingyu? Or Soonyoung? Or…” You pause, a slow smile spreading across your face. “...someone else?”

His brain short-circuits at your words, but he does his best to play it cool. “I think they just wanted to ruin my night.”

“Hmm,” you hum, unconvinced but amused. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. It’s always fun seeing you outside your natural habitat. Like spotting a rare Pokémon.”

“Am I supposed to thank you for that?” he asks dryly, and you grin.

The two of you ease into conversation, the party blurring into background noise as you chat. Wonwoo listens intently, hanging onto your every word as if your voice alone could drown out the overwhelming din around him. He’s not even sure how much time has passed when you lean a little closer, the shift in your tone catching his attention.

“So,” you say, a conspiratorial grin tugging at your lips. “Do you have anyone you’re crushing on?”

He freezes. The words settle in his chest like a sudden, unsteady weight.

Does he? Of course, he does—you. But his brain stalls, caught between the truth and the absolute terror of saying it out loud. Instead of answering, he scrambles for something—anything—to say.

“I’m going to make an app,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from his mouth before he can stop them.

You blink, tilting your head. “An app?”

He nods, trying to steady his voice even though his heart feels like it’s about to burst. “Feelings confuse me. So I’m taking all the data I’ve collected and making an app to tell if someone’s interested. Algorithms are easier for me to understand, anyway.”

Your expression flickers between confusion and amusement before a slow smirk spreads across your face. “What data, Wonwoo?” you ask, setting your drink down and stepping closer.

His throat goes dry. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Because if you’ve been collecting data,” you continue, your voice teasing as you close the distance between you, “I’d love to hear about it. What have you noticed?”

His pulse skyrockets as you reach for his hands, gently guiding them to rest on your waist. The warmth of your touch sends his mind spiraling, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. Your hands slide behind his neck, your fingers brushing against the sensitive skin there, and he feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff.

“I don’t know how much more obvious I could have been,” you murmur, your teasing tone softening into something warmer, more certain.

His mind blanks. He should say something—anything—but all he can do is stare at you, completely undone.

Then you lean in, your lips brushing against his, tentative at first, as if waiting for him to meet you halfway. And when he does—hesitant but earnest—you smile into the kiss, your fingers tangling gently in his hair, and it feels like the world stops spinning.

For Wonwoo, everything finally clicks.

It’s not a Venn diagram or a flowchart, and it doesn’t follow any logical formula, but it makes sense in a way he can’t explain. The way your hands fit behind his neck, the warmth of your body against his, the soft sigh that escapes you when his hands tighten on your waist—it’s all the proof he needs.

When you pull back, his head is spinning, but you’re still close, your breath mingling with his.

“So,” you say, your tone light but your eyes impossibly warm. “Do you still need that app?”

He chuckles softly, the sound unsteady but genuine. “No,” he admits, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “I think I’ve got all the data I need.”

You laugh, and the sound is music to his ears. For the first time in weeks—months, even—Wonwoo feels like he can stop overthinking, stop analyzing every little detail. He doesn’t need an algorithm, a chart, or a diagram to tell him what’s in front of him. Because some things don’t need to be solved.

Some things just need to be felt.