#dab and dot

[hana-uranai]

[lepetitfruit]

Once again, begging people please for the love of sanity do not!!! Wear strong scents!!! On the bus!!! Some of us have conditions that will put us in IMMENSE FUCKING PAIN if we have to sit near people with strong scents on!!!

[dazzelmethat]

Decided to color the lineart anyway. Trying to relearn the blending tools in Clip Studio Paint.

[yumenosakiacademy]

i cant keep ripping the flesh off my fingers uhoh is my old case of derma back :( its jus a yummy mouthfeel 🥺😔

[seumyo]

husband!kageyama taking care of your nails for you.

“You know, when you told me you were going to clip my nails, I didn’t think you meant it seriously.”

Kageyama gave a small grunt, not looking up. “I always mean it seriously.”

“That’s what worries me a little.”

He blinked, pausing to glance at you. “Why?”

“Because you have your ‘actual game face’ on. Like you’re about to hit the ball through someone’s soul—my poor finger’s soul.”

His brow furrowed. “This is delicate work,” he said, as if it were obvious. “I have to focus. And I’m careful.”

You laughed, watching him lift your hand like it was a precious object. He took a long moment to examine your fingers—turning them slightly, his thumb brushing along your knuckles in slow circles. It’s gentle and careful, and it warms your heart to see your husband so loving like this.

“You have a hangnail here,” he muttered, frowning. “Were you picking at it again?”

“I got nervous during that meeting yesterday.”

He clicked his tongue quietly. “Stop doing that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I didn’t know I’d be getting a full checkup afterward!”

“You don’t need to be nervous. You’re… good at what you do.” His voice dropped a little as he said it, like it embarrassed him to offer praise so directly. “I’ve heard you on the phone. You’re smart. And brave.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. Your smile softened. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said all week.”

“I said you looked pretty yesterday.”

“You said I ‘looked rested.’”

“…Oh. Well, you look even prettier today.”

You laughed, and it made his ears turn pink.

He clipped your nails gently, his hands steady, fingers long and precise. He held each of yours securely, guiding you through the process like a practiced routine. It wasn’t rushed; Kageyama took his time, carefully aligning the clipper, checking the angle twice before making a cut. After each nail, he paused to brush the trimmed bits into a little ceramic bowl they kept nearby.

“Do you do this often?” You asked after a long pause. “For yourself, I mean?”

He nodded once. “Every few days. I have to. My fingers are everything. If I don’t keep my nails short and clean, they can catch on the ball or split. It’s stupid how much one little crack can mess with your whole game.”

You gave him a look, eyes wide with something like quiet awe. “You take this so seriously.”

“It’s part of taking care of myself,” he said, and his gaze lifted to yours. “And now it’s part of taking care of you too.”

Your breath caught for just a moment. How did you ever get so lucky to snag this man?

Kageyama picked up the small file next and began to smooth the edges with slow, even strokes. The motion was rhythmic and tender. You watched the way he focused so intently on the task—the slight pinch in his brow, the way his lower lip pressed into a thin line when he was trying to be especially careful.

“You always do this when you’re nervous,” you said softly, brushing your free hand against his hair.

“Do what?”

“Zone in. Like the world disappears except the thing you’re trying to control.”

Kageyama was quiet for a moment, then exhaled. “That’s… true.”

“Are you nervous right now?”

He hesitated. “Not nervous. Just… I want to get it right.”

“Because it’s me?”

He gave the tiniest nod, eyes still trained on your thumbnail. “You’re important. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his for a beat. “You won’t.”

The silence between you grew comfortable. The kind of quiet that speaks in glances and gentle touches. After he filed the last nail, he gently ran his thumb across each fingertip, checking for snags, tiny splinters, anything he might have missed. Then he reached for the cuticle oil and unscrewed the little bottle with a slow, almost reverent motion.

“I’m going to massage this in,” he said, almost shyly—yet still determined.

You nodded, watching him carefully as he dabbed a small dot of oil on each nail, then rubbed it in with soft, circular motions. His touch was warm, so warm, like the atmosphere during mornings in a bakery. The way he held your hand wasn’t just careful—it was reverent. As if your hands were something sacred. Something worth protecting.

“I like your hands,” he said suddenly.

You scrunched your nose, barely. “Really?”

“They’re soft. And warm. And… I know them.” His voice dropped lower, murmuring. “I know the way you hold my wrist when I’m anxious. The way you press your palm to my back when I come home late. How you run your fingers through my hair when I can’t sleep.”

You swallowed. Your chest ached in that lovely, terrible way when someone says exactly what you needed to hear without knowing it.

“I want to take care of them,” he added, brushing his thumb along the side of your pinky. “Because they take care of me.”

“Tobio…”

He looked up then, eyes a little wide like he was afraid he’d gone too far. But you leaned forward before he could pull back and kissed him softly. When you pulled away, your voice was barely a whisper. “You are the gentlest man I’ve ever known.”

He shook his head, a breath of laughter escaping. “I’m not.”

“You are. Maybe not with words. Or… you know, strangers. But with me? You’re gentle in all the ways that matter.”

You sat like that for a long moment—hands still entwined, foreheads nearly touching, the world outside fading into white noise. Then Kageyama cleared his throat. “I could… maybe paint them next time? If you want?”

Your eyes lit up. “You’d paint my nails?”

He gave an awkward little shrug. “If you like it. I’d have to practice.”

You hummed, pulling him forward into another kiss, lingering and full of affection. “You’re already perfect.”

Kageyama flushed from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears once again. He’s so easily flustered—it’s almost illegal to be this cute, you think.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[mxmade-up]

Floor beetle

[rafesangelita]

Omg, idea! It can be with Pouge!Sweetheart and Rafe are having sex, and he is choking her (she likes it) but this time she is about to pass out and Rafe is too primal/into the sex to understand that she is trying to tap out and does not hear her. She passes out mid sex, going limp and Rafe absolutely panics trying to wake her up. A bit of a soft Rafe who then is overly attentive feeling so bad.

warnings: unprotected sex, rough sex, asphyxiation, choking, slight praise, dirty talk, loss of consciousness

a/n: poor pogue!sweetheart!reader omg. she’s been punched in the face on accident and now this?? I’m begging y’all to give her a break!

“rafe!” you practically screamed, your hands wrapping around the wrist he had at the column of your throat. while rafe had never been this rough before, he was hesitant as you begged him not to go soft on you. now you found yourself nothing but a whimpering mess, heavy tears rolling down your cheeks as he had you pinned to your bed by the back of your knees. “this is what you wanted? ‘wanted me to choke you while i use this pussy?” you took your bottom lip between your teeth, your head pounding as your vision grew fuzzy.

nodding weakly, rafe’s grip on your neck tightened, his head falling as your velvety walls squeezed around him in a way that made him lose his mind. “so fucking wet, all for me..” he pressed a kiss to your ankle, rolling his hips to meet your clit with each thrust. before you could decipher what was happening, you mumbled a ‘too much’, tapping on his hand as he groaned, leaning down to bury his head in the valley of your breasts. you gasped before black spots began dotting your vision, your eyes fluttering closed as you lost consciousness.

“fuck, these tits are so fucking perfect.” he took a sensitive bud in his mouth, his gaze flickering at your face only to see your head lolled to the side, your lips glossy and swollen. “baby?” it was just then that he realized your entire body was limp, his thrusts slowing down. “y/n?” he grabbed your face, tapping your cheek lightly. panic set in at your lack of response, his eyes widening as he removed his hand from your neck. “oh, fuck!” he pulled out, rushing to pull his boxers on before he scooped you up in his arms.

he continued to lightly slap your cheek, blowing air on your face as he shook you. “come on, baby, you gotta wake up..” his heart was pounding out of his chest as you didn’t budge, his eyebrows drawing together as he got up, running to the small kitchen where he got a damp towel. dabbing your face with the cool cloth, he shook with every second you didn’t stir awake. “fuck!” he whispered, swallowing thickly as regret settled in the pit of his stomach. he knew he shouldn’t have done that much.

rafe kept up his ministrations for a few more minutes before he shook his head, his fists meeting his cheeks before he dialed 911. “911 what’s your emergency?” rafe let out a shaky breath, muttering a ‘uh, m-me and my girlfriend were-’ right before you opened your eyes, blinking up at the ceiling as you moaned. “ray?” you were more confused than anything, your boyfriend hanging up on the operator before he ran to your side. “oh my god.” he sighed, moving your hair off of your shoulder as he covered you with your duvet.

“i was tapping out..” your eyes sparkled up at rafe. he was on the verge of tears, shaking his head as he embraced you. “i didn’t hear you, baby. i’m so fucking sorry.” he pecked your lips, stroking your face as you ran a hand up and down his arm to soothe him. “i don’t know what happened, i was just really into it, i didn’t realize how hard i was squeezing you. i’m so sorry.” he apologized again. coughing softly, you sat up, pulling him onto the bed so he could hold you. “just hold me.” you kissed his cheek, both of you falling asleep shortly after.

the next day, rafe made it his life’s mission to make everything up to you. surprising you with your favorite breakfast, bathing you and putting you in some comfortable clothes, massaging your feet, eating you out until you cried, ordering your carts on all your shopping apps, and showering you with kisses until the sun went down.

[wwriothesley]

      Man. In the livestream, the fact that Wriothesley's strategy is to make himself look exposed, open to enemies's attacks, vulnerable- and how it's a fighting strategy is really mentioned multiple times, as if to drive a point home.

To quote Dawei: ''[...]When he has the upper hand, he strikes fiercely and relentlessly, then he deliberately leaves himself open to lure his enemies in, and finally turns the tables on them just when things are starting to go south''

      Hale confirms that ''his combact style is very similiar to the way he deals with other matters generally''

      and this is where my brain opened like that gif of the dude blowing his mind with fireworks, because this ties into my portrait for blind Wriothesley PERFECTLY.

      The fact that the Duke lost the solid 90% of his sight is not of public dominance: it's only by observing him intently that a person may gain some suspicions, but the occasions that Wriothesley lets his blindness stunt him are so few that the common person might even excuse it as him simply being temporary distracted. The only people that know of this are Sigewinne and, of course, Neuvillette.

      But when it comes to his enemies, they know everything about the man thanks to their informants- they look for an occasion, and are goaded on by the fact that him being blind gives them an advantage over their target.

      They start plotting and scheming to take him down, particulary during his breather. This is what Wriothesley calls his occasional break, mixing it with a patrolling session, where he calmly strolls out of his office and makes his way towards the most isolated parts of the fortress, alone, to seemingly stretch his legs after being cooped up in his office for most of the day.

      By deciding to pounce at this time, the attackers pratically salivate over the chance to take him out this easily. They dream of their attack being successful and to leave Wriothesley's lifeless body hidden, so that the disappearence of the Duke will cause enough chaos for them to either escape the Fortress or seize power for themselves. The sight of the man's open, vulnerable back sends them into a frenzy- it's too good to pass up of an occasion.

      The moment they start thinking like this, it's when they fall into Wriothesley's trap.

      ( He does it on purpose each time- and, each time, it works flawlessly. So flawlessly that, sometimes, he considers himself irked of the predictable outcome- but that's how it's gotta be. Another strategy wouldn't have given him the same results, and perhaps allowed a few of them to escape. He really can't have that. )

      Ever since the Duke stepped out of his office, the attackers were doomed to fall into the same strategy everyone who attacks him tries to employ. It's no longer time to talk- in these cases, words are useless. And he doesn't waste breath.

      For someone who doesn't know the rigorous, daily improvement he fell into to compensate for his vision loss, how exactly he pinpointed them may seem almost supernatural. The attackers will definitely be left scared witless at how easy it was for him to thwart their plan, thinking that perhaps the informations they had on him were wrong-

      He's able to detect their presence by the scent of their excitement souring the air, their footsteps and the metallic clanking among pipes growing louder as they abandon their care and start understimating him, the noises growing closer. They think they can defeat him in the Fortress, where the knowledge of his surrounding is absolute- and they're, of course, only focused on attacking en masse and pay no regards to the exaggerate ruckus they're making, everything else matters little- why would it, when they're about to take revenge and seize the entire place?

      By the end of the afternoon, the attackers have been swiftly dealt with- no longer a problem to anyone else, and Wriothesley is back in his office with a cup of dark, rich tea as he resumes his paperwork.

      They have been given 'tranquility'.

[clarkeysbedchem]

more than just us

george clarke x single mom! reader

summary: you have been dating george for almost a year, and he finally meets your daughter

masterlist | main masterlist

Wednesdays were your thing, every week without fail like clockwork. A bottle of wine, shared laughter over dinner, and you tucked into George’s side as he walked you back hime. A year of soft unsure glances that turned into soft kisses and weeknight rituals, but still, there were parts of your life you kept tight to your chest; like the pastel-painted bedroom down the hall, and the little girl who called you “Mummy.”

Ivy.

She had been your whole world since you were nineteen. And as much as your heart expanded for George and his sleepy voice in the mornings, the dumb jokes that he made just to hear you laugh. You kept him separate from that part of your life. Not because you didn’t want him in it but because you were scared, he’d leave once he saw what came with loving you.

Tonight, your mother had cancelled last minute, leaving you with no sitter and stuck. You were stood in the kitchen, phone pressed to your cheek, apologizing a hundred times over to George with the sound of Ivy’s humming along to her film in the background.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, “Can we rain check? Ivy’s staying with me tonight and I don’t want to spring that on you.”

George paused, just for a beat, “No worries at all,” he said, his tone warm and casual like always, “We’ll do next week, yeah?”

You agreed the conversation lingering for a few minutes before you hung up with a tight chest, guilt knotting itself into your ribs. Ivy had peeked around the corner, holding her stuffed bunny upside down.

“Mummy, can we have pizza?”

You smiled brightly, kissed the top of her curls, “Course we can.”

An hour had passed when a knock echoed through the hallway, your eyebrows furrowed looking over at the front door. Ivy was painting at the coffee table, a dot of purple on her nose. You opened the door in your leggings and oversized hoodie, and George was stood there, holding pizza boxes in one hand, a paper bag in the other, and a cautious smile on his lips.

“Thought maybe I could still come over,” he shrugged, “Brought nuggets and smiley faces. For Ivy. Hope that’s alright.”

You blinked, “You, you didn’t have to.”

“Couldn’t go the whole week without seeing you,” he said, his eyes soft, “And I wanted to meet her. If that’s okay.”

You stepped aside before your voice could betray you.

Ivy was shy at first clinging to your leg as George crouched in front of her and introduced himself like a character from her favourite cartoons, even giving her bunny a formal handshake.

“Hello, Mr. Bun,” he introduced himself to the stuffed animal, “Pleasure to meet you.”

Ivy giggled and you felt yourself melt instantly.

Dinner was full of laughter. The three of you eat on the floor, picnic-style, while Ivy letting George pick the film and he picked Princess and the Frog - Ivy’s favourite – as he made a dramatic deal about how lucky he was to be having dinner with ‘two gorgeous girls.’

George let Ivy steal most of his chips and even two slices of his pizza as she sat in front of him slouched into his chest. Then when she dropped ketchup on her pyjamas, he dabbed at it with a napkin and tells her he does that all the time.

You had caught him glancing at you every now and then, always with this quiet, careful softness like he knew what this night meant, and he was trying to hold onto it gently.

By the time the credits rolled, Ivy had curled herself up half on your lap, half on George’s, her thumb in her mouth, eyes fluttering shut.

“I’ll do bath,” you whispered, rising carefully.

George looked up, “Need help?”

You hesitated before nodding, the anxiety in your chest slowly floating away.

Bedtime was gentle. You showed George how to do her hair in loose braids for sleep, and he followed your lead through the bedtime story, adding silly voices to the characters making giggles fall from Ivy as she leaned into his chest.

Then Ivy asked for him to do the last page, and your throat tightened.

He read it gently, slowly before tucked her in like he had always been there.

“Night-night, Ivy,” he murmured, “Sleep tight, superstar.”

She reached out and her palm sprawled out on his cheek, “Night-night, George.”

You stood in the hallway after, staring at him as he carried about his night like he had been in this situation before and it was like you were seeing him for the first time.

You were back on the sofa, the house finally quiet, nestled into him. Your head on his chest, his hand rubbing small circles on your back, the flicker of the lamp low and warm casting shadows over the walls.

“You’re amazing with her,” you whispered, not moving your head scared to look him in the eyes.

George tilted his head down, resting his cheek against your hair, “She’s brilliant. Like you.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, “I didn’t let you meet her sooner because I was scared. Scared that you’d run and I’d have to explain to her where you had gone, scared that if you knew what this was actually like, you’d give up.”

He was quiet for a moment, then shifted so he could look at you properly, “Ivy’s part of you,” he said, “How could I ever run from that?”

Your breath hitched tears collecting at your waterline as you took a deep breath.

“I just... no one’s ever really stuck around for both of us,” you admitted, voice cracking, “They say they care about me, but it’s always too much, too complicated once they realise it’s not just me.”

George’s thumb brushed under your eye, catching a tear you didn’t realise had fallen.

“I’m not them,” he said gently, “I’m here. For you, and for Ivy. I don’t care if it’s messy or complicated, I just care that it’s real. And this,” he kissed your forehead, “is real.”

You wrapped your arms tighter around him, feeling something inside your chest release. The tension of four years of being enough for Ivy, but never enough for someone else leaving your thoughts.

“I think she really liked you,” you murmured.

George chuckled, “Yeah?”

“She made you a friend in her bunny club. That’s a big deal.”

He grinned, “That means I made the inner circle. Better not mess it up then.”

You laughed, light and full for the first time in ages.

In that moment, wrapped in his arms, your daughter sleeping peacefully down the hall, you realised something simple and powerful: You weren’t alone anymore.

taglist: @jamiekluivert @reidyourpalms @roc-haze @whisperturnedecho @graceln4 @dopeysunflowers @super-gay-for-u @bethorwhateverr @livvymd @lilyyxoii @4ngelrealm @kiyoomology @canyouseethesainz @happyclifford @golden-hoax @tatumrileyslover @madforgeorge @wherethezoes-at @themdera @xlovergirlx @smzyyx @bowielovesyou @pretendyoucantseeme @elhotchner @duolingofanaccount @pookietv @ooostarwarsfandom501st

a/n: this based on a dream i had btw and i put in my notes app and completely forgot abt it

[luveline]

hiiii was hoping you could write reader tries makeup for the first time and is a bit self-conscious about it with poly! Just something sweet and fluffy. Thank you, love your other fics btw.

The article you read said that this sort of stuff is best to attempt in small amounts. If you aren’t used to foundation, try a liquid concealer and a skin tint —that way you can spread it as thin as you like. It says foundation, skin tints, or any kind of face makeup tends to look ‘cakey’ at first because you aren’t used to it and neither is your skin, but makeup doesn’t have to look perfect up close. Honestly, it’s a friendly, assuring article, and it actually gives you the confidence to buy a skin tint, a concealer, a mascara, and a lip gloss. There’s even a cherry-scented finishing spray that promises to melt everything together. 

You figure you’ll try it all while the boys are out. That way, if it looks too cakey or bad or just plain silly, you can wipe it away and hide the evidence. 

You wet your little sponge as the magazine says. You’ve moisturised and waited for it to dry down. With a breath, you smooth the skin tint into the back of your hand and start to dot it into your face gently, a little all over. Acting fast, you pick up your sponge and dab it across your cheeks. 

It’s nerve-wracking, though it’s not like you can’t fix it if it goes wrong. You feel embarrassingly out of your depth, and you would prefer this goes well. 

The first issue is your nose. It looks a little cakey at the nostrils, the skin tint, so you wipe it with your finger and make it worse. Eyes wide, you dab it again with your sponge and relax when it spreads out. 

Neck, you think. The magazine said don’t forget to smooth it down your neck, or you’ll get a ‘tarty’ line. You dab it down and assess in the mirror. 

… it doesn’t look too bad. 

Smiling gently, you press a little of the lip gloss onto the back of your hand and debate the next tip. It’s a sheer one, and it can give a ‘pop’ of colour to your cheeks if you’re careful. Why not, you think eventually, tapping a little of it into the bell of your cheeks. 

Things are definitely going too well. You look odd, maybe, but the sponge is great. Everything smooths out. 

Mascara is much harder than the skin stuff. Your eyes water as the wand approaches. It takes ages to actually touch the mascara to your eyelashes, and then it looks sort of clumpy, spider-webby, but the article said you can wipe it off and try again. The second time you almost blind yourself, teeth gritted as you realise there’s mascara all under your eye. You take it off with a wet-wipe and dap the skin around your eyes with your sponge to fix the mess. It looks darker, still, but eventually you get the mascara on and your eyelashes look longer and… 

You smile at yourself in the mirror. 

You look really cute. 

You turn your face one way and then another, smile growing wider. Your skin looks even, your eyes look bigger, and— the gloss! You pick it up and squeeze some onto your lips, rubbing them together, cleaning the corners with your pinky finger.  

The door slams open downstairs with a colossal bang, and you jump so hard you send the mirror careening across and off of the bed. With the open door comes a wave of noise, laughter loud and ringing. 

“What have you boys done now?” you murmur to yourself.

You leave your makeup on the bed. For a second, you debate hiding it back in the pink drugstore bag and wiping the makeup off before heading downstairs. You look cute, but what if they don’t like it? None of them have ever told you to wear it before. Sirius wears it more often than you. He might have a laugh when he sees it. 

“Baby!” one of them yells, laughing hard enough to disguise their voice. “You have to come down here!” 

You fret. That’s Sirius calling, his giggling sweet enough to make you wish you were sitting in his lap, but suddenly you’re overthinking things. Just because you think the makeup looks alright doesn’t mean it really does, and the boys are already laughing. You don’t wanna give them another reason. 

“Are you up there?” Sirius calls again. “Sweetheart?” 

“I’m coming!” you call back. 

“I was getting worried you weren’t here! Come on, you have to see this!” 

You go without thinking. At the bottom of the stairs, James and Sirius are crowded together, their laughter beyond reason —there are tears streaming down James’ face from laughing so hard, and Sirius is clutching him as though worried he’s gonna fall over. 

Remus is laughing too, but he’s not so obscene about it. “Hey, Y/N,” he says nicely, “you okay?” 

“What’s so funny?” 

Sirius unfolds a newspaper you hadn’t noticed clutched in his arm. “Every time I look I’m sure I’ll piss myself.” 

You all look down at the newspaper. Immediately, James is whining and laughing so hard you reach out to steady him, laughing yourself as he falls into your shoulder. “Christ,” he squeezes out. “Life is so– so perfect.“

On the front page of the local Daily Argus is a full-colour photo of Lucius Malfoy being arrested, two police officers behind him, his wrists cuffed and his face wane of colour. 

DON'T THINK HIS FATHER WILL BE HEARING ABOUT THIS ONE —Lucius Malfoy, 26, business owner and young entrepreneur arrested for fraud and conspiracy yesterday night at his offices in the Sacred Families building. Malfoy, when asked to give a statement, said his father will be hearing about this, whatever that means. 

“But what’s–”

Sirius points at Lucius’ crotch, pointing out that his trousers are slipping down his thighs, and he’s wearing boxers with his girlfriend Narcissa’s face on them. Narcissa, as in, Sirius’ older cousin. 

“What the fuck,” you say with a giggle of your own. You hate Sirius’ family and anyone related to them, so seeing Lucius down for the count is especially satisfying. “You can see his–”

“I know!” Sirius almost screams, his laugh increasingly high-pitched. 

You giggle and begin wiping the tears off of James’ cheek. “You guys are too much,” you murmur. 

“We came right back to show you,” Sirius says. 

“I’m thrilled.” You tip James’ head up to finish cleaning off his cheeks. “That’s so funny, you’re terrible,” you say, beaming as James finally tears his gaze from the paper. The mirth in his expression settles, but his smile does this strange wobble before he’s holding you by the back of the neck gently.

“Fucking hell,” he says. 

“Don’t–”

“Fucking– You’re lovely,” he blurts out, tipping your head back, all the manner of someone who’s just struck gold. “What have you done?” 

“It’s just makeup.” 

This piques the interest of the other two, Sirius’ laughter finally petering out, and Remus stepping into the light to have a look. “Aw,” Remus says, “you look–”

“Fucking amazing,” Sirius interrupts, his head tipping to the side, his vengeful glee transformed into what can only be described as adoration, “you look fucking amazing, shit–”

“Her cheeks,” James says, which should make you laugh, especially when Sirius and Remus both hum simultaneous agreement, like there really is something special about them. 

“It’s just– I’ve never– it looks silly,” you get out. 

“It does not.” James rubs a hand down your shoulder, as though cleaning you up to better show you off. “Now this is front page material. When did you even learn to do this?” 

“I– today,” you say, heat emanating from your chest to the very tips of your ears. 

“It looks great!” James says, cupping your cheek. 

“Well don’t mess it up, Prongs!” Sirius says.

“It’s okay, it’s not like it’s for anything,” you say. 

“It’s for my camera,” Sirius says, attempting to slip past James to get upstairs.

Thankfully, Remus prevents him. “Stop,” Remus says. 

“Please,” you second. 

“I need to remember!”

“I’ll do it again,” you promise. 

Three boys melting. “You will?” James asks softly. 

You tip your face forward. “Sure, especially if I look better–”

“Hey, hey, who said that?” Remus asks. 

“Don’t be silly,” James says. 

“I really should have a picture,” Sirius says. “We can blow it up like a poster girl. We’ll have it in the bedroom.” 

“That is not funny,” Remus says. 

“Perfectly chaste!” Sirius denies. “Though how I’m expected to think chaste thoughts when she looks like that is another thing. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s practically obscene.” 

“Sirius.” 

Sirius gives you a smile, “I’m just teasing,” he says, though there’s a little bit of something in his dark eyes that says otherwise, just enough to make you shiver, pleased. 

James goes back to holding your cheek, and it’s much too warm now —you break away from the lot of them and make your way to the kitchen. 

“Where are you going?” Remus asks, to your surprised delight. 

“I need a drink,” you say. 

“Well, I’ll get you one,” Sirius says. 

“That’s okay, I think I can do it myself.” 

“But should you have to?” 

From behind you, you hear the subtle jab of an elbow and the less subtle screech of pain. “Fuck off, Prongs, you know she looks insane.” 

A boyish giggle echoes. “Front page for sure.” 

A more relaxed hum. “And now she’ll never wear it again, ‘cos of all the fuss.” 

You wouldn’t necessarily agree. It’s not like they don’t make you feel beautiful, Sirius stood in the doorway clutching his heart the day before yesterday when you got out of the shower citing a sudden shock from how “otherworldly” you looked while your hair was wet, James calls you beautiful more than he uses your name, and you catch Remus looking at you all pleased and flushed multiple times a week, but it’s still different to have had them all at the same time. So yeah, you’ll wear makeup again. You might even reapply the lip gloss you’ve nibbled off. Just to see what they think. 

[woso-dreamzzz]

Chickenpox

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get the chickenpox

"Is...Is she wearing oven gloves?"

Millie's the one that asks.

It's the question that's been on everyone's mind since your family arrived at training this morning.

You don't look too different than usual.

You're wearing a little pair of shorts - not teams shorts, just generic shorts that Pernille probably bought while out shopping because she thought they would look cute on you. The shorts are paired with a cute little green shirt with an even cuter cartoon frog on it.

That's normal for you.

It's a cute look and if it wasn't for the spots on your face and the weird oven mitt things on your hands, nothing would have looked out of place.

But you are wearing weird oven mitts and there are spots dotted all over your face.

"Huh?" Pernille looks up from where she's tying her laces," Oh, no. Not oven gloves. They're meant to stop her from scratching. She's got chickenpox."

"No! I don't!" You interrupt before Millie can speak, stamping you foot and puffing out your cheeks defiantly.

Pernille rolls her eyes. "Yes, you do."

"I don't!"

"You see what I've been dealing with? She's just as stubborn as Magda sometimes."

Millie chuckles. "That does not surprise me."

You stamp your foot again. "I'm not talking to you! Meanies!"

Pernille chuckles. "Okay, princesse. Have fun."

You huff. Clearly, you didn't expect that reaction but you still turn on your heel and storm off. You don't get very far, both with your little legs and your small attention span.

You end up standing in front of Jessie, arms already up and she lifts you without even thinking about.

"Jessie," You say," Scratch me."

"What?"

Jessie turns to look at you, properly look at you. She'd been moving on auto-pilot before. She hadn't even realised that you were infested with the pox.

"Oh, you don't look so good, princesse."

"I need scratches," You say," Jessie, scratch me please."

For a moment, it looks like Jessie's going to do as you say. That's why you chose her after all, you knew she would be the most likely to cave to your demands.

For a moment, you're allowed to hope.

But then the unthinkable happens.

Magda appears.

Magda appears and she plucks you from Jessie's arms and takes you away.

You go limp instantly, hoping to make her see you as completely dead weight. You hope she'll put you down but Magda's wise to your tricks now and she holds on tight.

Then you pull out the second trick in your arsenal.

You whine and you cry and you kick and you scream.

The Not-Wolfsburg girls have the decency to vacate the locker room very quickly so it's just you, Morsa and Momma.

"No! Itchy! Itchy!" You insist as Magda holds you despite your flailing.

"Well, if you're itchy, we've got your lotion."

"Noooo! No lotion! No!"

But Pernille's already reaching into her bag for your calamine lotion and some cotton balls.

"Momma, no! No, Momma!"

"I thought you were itchy?" Pernille teases," We'll put on some lotion and there'll be no more itchiness for a little while."

You answer by shrieking and trying to escape Magda's grasp. She holds strong though.

"I know you don't want your lotion," Magda says, calm and collected like she always is," But it'll make you feel better. It's lotion or your medicine. You can choose but you need to choose one."

Your bottom lip quivers as you tilt your head back to look at her.

"Don't give me those crocodile tears, princesse," She warns," I don't care if you're sick, if you continue like this then it's the naughty step when you get home."

You huff dramatically, mumbling something under your breath.

"What was that?"

"Lotion...My lotion, please. No medicine."

Magda and Pernille exchange a smile as Pernille dabs the lotion onto a cotton ball and Magda sets you down onto your feet.

You glance over at the door, wondering if you could bolt out of it as quickly as your little legs will carry you.

But you don't because Magda fixes you with a pointed look and you shuffle glumly over to Pernille, who helps you take your top off and dabs the lotion all over your itchy patches.

You don't want to admit that it helps so you keep your mouth shut as Pernille helps you back into your shirt and Magda retightens your mittens so you can't scratch when you get itchy again.

You kick at the bench in frustration.

"When is it over?"

"Your chickenpox? It'll be over when it's over."

"That's not an answer, Morsa."

Pernille chuckles as she swings you up into her arms and carries you out of the locker room.

"Another week or two, princesse," She says," Just another week or two."

You groan, dramatically resting your forehead on her shoulder. "But that's ages."

"Plenty of time for you to get used to your lotion."

[heliosunny]

Yandere!Phainon with a reader who tries to run away but with the song- "veronica, open the door" from meant to be yours ifyk wht mean......

Ah, Heathers. You have no idea how much I love it.

Meant to be yours

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

Valentine’s Day was always an eventful time.

You weren’t exactly famous, but you had enough admirers to receive a decent number of gifts every year—small tokens of appreciation, letters with clumsy handwriting, and carefully wrapped sweets. It was harmless. Fun, even.

This year was no different. The morning started with a few gifts waiting for you, a mix of chocolates and little trinkets from people who admired you from afar. Phainon watched with mild disinterest as you sorted through them, his sharp gaze flicking over each item with the wariness of a guard dog.

"You really accept anything from anyone, don’t you?"

"It’d be rude not to. And most of these are just harmless chocolates."

Phainon didn’t seem convinced, but he let it go—until later that evening when you bit into one of the sweets and felt a sharp, searing pain tear through your mouth. The metallic taste of blood spread instantly, and you recoiled, coughing as you spit out the candy. A glint of something sharp caught the light, coated in crimson.

Phainon was at your side in an instant. His fingers gripped your chin, tilting your head so he could see the damage. His expression darkened, eyes narrowing as his gaze flickered between your bleeding lip and the candy on the floor.

"Who gave this to you?"

You barely managed to answer. You had seen Phainon irritated before, but this was something different.

Phainon didn’t give you a choice. One moment, you were still reeling from the pain, and the next, he had you on your feet, practically dragging you out the door.

"Phainon—!" You tried to protest, but his grip on your wrist tightened.

"You’re going to the doctor" he said, his voice eerily calm, but the way his nails dug into your skin betrayed the tension in his body. "No arguments."

The trip was a blur. You were vaguely aware of Phainon keeping an arm around your shoulders, his pace quick and his grip firm, as if he expected you to collapse at any second. The moment you stepped into the clinic, he didn’t even let you speak for yourself.

"My friend ate some sweets" he informed the doctor, "Something sharp was inside."

"You're lucky you didn't swallow it." the doctor said, peering into your mouth with a critical eye. "The cut isn't too deep, but it'll be sensitive for a while. Avoid anything too hot, spicy, or hard to chew. And definitely no more mystery chocolates."

You winced as they dabbed disinfectant on the wound. You felt Phainon's entire body tense beside you and his gaze burning into the side of your face, but you didn’t dare turn to look at him.

The doctor sighed, scribbling something down. "Just be careful. If you start feeling unwell, dizziness, nausea—anything unusual—come back immediately. But for now, you're fine to go."

You muttered a small thanks before sliding off the chair, but before you could even move toward the door, Phainon’s hand was already on your wrist.

He didn’t let go.

Not even on the way home.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the dim light of your phone screen.

Phainon [11:07 PM]: Does it still hurt?

You sighed, rolling onto your side before replying.

You [11:09 PM]: It's fine. Just a little sore. You [11:09 PM]: Stop worrying so much.

He didn’t reply right away, but you could see the three little dots appearing and disappearing as if he kept typing, deleting, and retyping his response.

Phainon [11:12 PM]: I’ll handle it.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Handle what?

You wanted to ask, but something in your gut told you not to.

Instead, you turned off your phone and tried to sleep.

The next morning, Phainon was already waiting for you outside, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. When he saw you, he immediately straightened, his gaze sweeping over you like he was checking for any signs of harm.

"Did anyone bother you last night?"

You blinked. "No? Why would they?"

He didn’t answer, but then, as you turned the corner, his body suddenly went rigid.

"Go inside"

You followed his gaze and spotted the person standing at the far end of the street. A man, older than you, dressed in plain clothes. He wasn’t doing anything suspicious, just standing near a lamppost, looking down at something in his hands.

"Phainon, what—"

"Inside."

You hesitated but took a few steps toward your door. When you turned back to glance at him, he was already walking toward the stranger.

At the time, you thought nothing of it.

But later that evening, the news spread.

A man had been found dead in an alley. His throat slit cleanly, the wound too precise to be from a random attack.

And when you saw Phainon again, there was a small, almost unnoticeable red stain on the sleeve of his jacket.

----

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the glow of Phainon’s phone screen. The soft click of his nails against the glass echoed through the silence as he scrolled through your social media.

His eyes flicking between posts, comments. He was thorough—checking likes, reactions, and replies. It was a routine now.

Then he found it.

An unusual profile.

The account was old but recently active. No personal photos, no real name, just vague posts and replies under your pictures. Nothing overtly hostile, but something was off.

His fingers hovered over the screen.

Phainon [12:47 AM]: Who are you?

The response was quick.

Unknown [12:48 AM]: Who’s asking?

A slow smirk curled at the corner of Phainon’s lips. Interesting.

Phainon [12:49 AM]: Someone looking to talk. Face-to-face.

Unknown [12:51 AM]: Lol. You’re coming off strong, man. What do you want?

Phainon [12:52 AM]: You seem close with Y/N. Thought I’d introduce myself.

The typing bubble appeared, vanished, then returned.

Unknown [12:55 AM]: …You’re not their boyfriend, are you?

Phainon’s grip on the phone tightened.

Phainon [12:56 AM]: Meet me tomorrow. Let’s talk.

He sent a location. An alley. Quiet, empty at night.

The typing bubble flickered again.

Unknown [12:57 AM]: Sounds shady as hell.

Phainon [12:58 AM]: Just a conversation. Unless you have something to hide?

Unknown [1:00 AM]: Fine.

The air was cold. The alley was dimly lit, Phainon leaned against the wall, idly spinning a cutter knife between his fingers. The silver blade glinted under the light.

Footsteps approached.

The man—young, nervous—stepped into the alley. He hesitated, shifting on his feet, eyes darting around.

"You’re the guy from the messages?" he asked, voice guarded.

"I am."

"You’re kinda creepy, man."

Phainon chuckled. "Am I? You’re the one lurking around my friend’s profile. You ask a lot of questions. Seem awfully curious about where they are."

"So what? You got a problem with that?"

"I do, actually."

The knife clicked as he extended the blade.

The man’s eyes flicked to the weapon, then back to Phainon’s face. "…Dude. You’re seriously pulling a knife on me?"

"That depends. Were you planning something?"

The man scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re insane. I just follow their posts. It’s not illegal."

"You’re right. It’s not."

The blade slashed upward, catching the man’s throat before he could react. A sharp, wet gasp escaped him as he stumbled back, hands flying to his neck, blood gushing between his fingers.

Phainon caught him before he could hit the ground, gently lowering him as if handling something delicate.

The man’s mouth opened, choking on air, struggling to speak.

Phainon crouched beside him, tilting his head. "You know," he murmured, "you’re right. Maybe you weren’t a threat. Maybe you were just some nobody with too much time on your hands."

The body twitched. The blood pooled. And Phainon wiped his blade clean against the man’s jacket before standing.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. Then, with the same casual ease as someone finishing an errand, he stepped over the body and walked away.

Tomorrow, he would check your social media again.

----

It didn’t stop with that first body.

The deaths began piling up. Some were dismissed as tragic accidents. Others, the authorities labeled as suicides.

The first was a boy from your school—a popular guy, known for his playful flirting with you. His body was found hanging in his bedroom one morning, the door locked from the inside. A suicide note was placed neatly on his desk. The handwriting matched his own.

But his friends swore he had been fine the day before.

Then there was the girl who used to compete with you academically, often smugly boasting about outscoring you on tests. She was found in a bathtub, wrists slit open. Her phone—dropped carelessly on the bathroom tiles—had messages on the screen. Ones she had apparently sent to herself.

"I’m sorry." "I can’t do this anymore." "Goodbye."

People mourned. Teachers gave sympathetic speeches. Candlelight vigils were held.

And Phainon?

He never said much.

Then, days later, another death. A boy who had confessed to you once, only to be rejected. He had jumped from the school rooftop. The security footage showed him stepping over the edge without hesitation.

No one had pushed him. No one was there.

And yet… the way he stood, completely still, right before he jumped—almost like he was listening to someone.

The pattern didn’t go unnoticed.

The police arrived at your school, officers questioning teachers and students alike. But no one knew anything. No connections were found. No evidence of foul play.

And Phainon?

He answered their questions with ease.

"I didn’t know them well." "I don’t think they were struggling, but I can’t say for sure." "It’s really tragic."

No one suspected him.

Then, one night, you learned the truth.

It was late. But you had left something at school- your book, forgotten in the rush to leave.

The campus was empty, eerily silent under the flickering streetlights. You moved quickly, slipping through the hallways, grabbing your thing, ready to go home.

But then you heard it. Someone's voice.

And there he was.

Phainon.

Standing in front of a student you vaguely recognized. A trembling figure backed against the wall, eyes wide with terror.

And in Phainon’s hand…

A stationery knife.

"You don’t have to do this..." the student whimpered.

"But I do, You’ve been getting too close."

"I-I won’t say anything, I swear—!"

"You think I trust you? Come on. Let’s make this easy. No unnecessary pain."

The knife glinted.

The student collapsed.

Phainon let the body fall, crouching beside it, tilting his head in quiet observation. Then, just like always, he wiped the blade clean and pocketed it.

You stumbled back, breath ragged. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

You had to leave.

You turned and ran, slipping away before he could notice.

The next morning, you couldn’t look at him.

Phainon greeted you as usual, "Did you sleep well?"

You didn’t answer.

"Something wrong? You seem off today."

You forced a nod, gripping your bag tight. Your palms were clammy.

And from that day on, you avoided him.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t text.

But Phainon didn’t like it.

It started with a knock at the door.

Your stomach twisted the moment you heard your mother’s voice: "Oh, Phainon! What a surprise! Come in, dear."

You sat frozen in your room, staring at the door as your mother led him inside.

"Is Y/N in?"

"Yes! Upstairs. Let me-"

"Ah," Phainon interrupted smoothly, voice as polite as ever. "No need to bother Y/N. I’ll just stop by another time."

Your mother laughed lightly. "Oh, don’t be silly! They’ll be happy to see you."

You weren’t happy to see him. You weren’t happy at all.

But the doorknob didn’t turn. There was no knock on your door.

Instead, after a moment, you heard his voice downstairs again.

"Actually, I have to run. Thank you for having me."

You thought you were safe.

You thought he had left.

But as you walked through the quiet streets that evening, heading anywhere but home, you felt it.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

His voice cut through the air, close.

You turned sharply. Phainon stood behind you. The dim streetlight cast eerie shadows across his face.

"I—"

"You haven’t been talking to me. You won’t even look at me." He took a step forward. "Did I do something?"

Your should pretend that it’s fine. Pretend you don’t know.

But the image of the knife, the blood, the lifeless bodies flashed in your mind. And before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out.

"I saw you."

"You what?"

"That night. At school. I saw you. I saw what you did."

"You’re not making any sense."

"Stop lying." Your voice wavered, but you forced the words out. "Just say it. Confess. Admit what you did."

"So....You’re scared of me."

"No....I..."

"Why? I did it for you-"

"Because I should be.. Because you're a murderer."

You turned and walked away. Left him standing there.

You didn’t look back.

Not even when he called your name.

----

Phainon was gone.

He didn’t show up at school.

No texts. No calls. No messages.

And somehow, that scared you more.

Because Phainon never left without a reason.

And whatever he was planning next…

You wouldn’t see it coming.

For days, Phainon didn’t return to school.

At first, you tried to convince yourself that it was over. That maybe—maybe—he had finally decided to leave you alone.

But then, the feeling started.

That creeping sensation of being watched.

At home. On the way to school. Even in broad daylight.

You stopped leaving your curtains open. You avoided walking alone. You tried to tell yourself that it was paranoia.

Then, one night, you saw him.

Through the window.

Standing across the street.

Watching.

And when your eyes met—

He smiled.

You kept your door locked. You double-checked the windows. You kept your phone close, ready to call for help.

BANG

You jolted awake.

Someone was pounding on your front door.

Your phone screen lit up. Phainon. Calling. Again. And again.

BANG, BANG, BANG.

You stayed frozen in bed, your breath shaky.

"Y/N… Open the door."

You squeezed your eyes shut. No. No, no, no.

"I know you’re awake."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to stay silent.

"Come on… just come out and talk to me."

"You used to talk to me." His voice was quieter now, almost sad. "Why won’t you talk to me anymore?"

"I miss you...."

You gripped your blanket tight, every muscle in your body locked up.

More knocking.

"Y/N, open the door please..."

"I won’t leave until you talk to me."

More pounding.

"Please, Y/N... I just want to see you. Everything I did.. I did it for you. I protected you, cared for you,.. Don't you see? I... was meant to be yours..."

No more pounding.

After awhile, you forced yourself to move, crawling out of bed, tiptoeing toward the window instead of the door. Hands trembling, you peeked through the blinds—

And there he was.

Not at the door anymore.

Standing in your yard. Staring straight up at your window.

His phone still in his hand.

Your own phone vibrated again. Another call.

Then, a message.

"I can see you."

You stumbled backward.

Another message.

"If you won’t open the door…"

The typing bubble appeared.

"I’ll come in myself."

Your hands shook as you backed away from the window, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the sound of your own breathing.

You can't seem to find a space to hide.

Click.

Did the door just unlocked? How? How?!

The door creaked open.

A hand clamped over your mouth. An arm wrapped around your torso, yanking you back before you could even scream.

Your muffled cries were useless as your back slammed against his chest.

"Shh," Phainon whispered against your ear. His grip tightened as you thrashed, "It’s okay, I’ve got you."

You tried to scream, but his palm pressed harder against your lips.

"You kept running. Kept hiding. That’s not very nice."

Tears pricked your eyes. You twisted in his grip, your nails digging into his wrist.

"I didn’t want to do it this way, but you left me no choice."

Do what?

"I took care of your parents."

Your eyes went wide, frantic, searching for any possible meaning—any possibility that you misheard him.

But he only smiled, voice gentle. "Don’t worry, they didn’t suffer."

No, no, no—!

Your scream was muffled against his hand, your entire body wracked with terror.

He killed them.

"You don’t have to be scared" he whispered. "You have me now. I’ll take care of you."

But just when his grip loosened slightly, and in a blind surge of desperation, you bit down on his hand.

"Ah—"

He flinched, just enough for you to break free.

You stumbled forward, sprinting toward the door. But the second you stepped into the hallway, you saw your parents. Sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, eyes empty, throats slit clean.

A sharp, ugly scream tore out of you.

The world spun. Your knees buckled.

-----

Your body was heavy.

Something soft beneath you—a bed. But the air felt wrong.

Not your room.

Your head throbbed as your eyes fluttered open.

"Finally awake?"

You turned your head slowly to see Phainon sat at the edge of the bed.

"Sorry about earlier" he murmured. "I know that was… a lot to take in."

Your hands clenched the sheets.

"But it’s okay now," he continued, leaning forward. "You’re safe here. No more bad people. No more threats."

He reached forward, his fingers brushing your cheek with disturbing tenderness.

"You’ll start your new life here," he whispered. "With me."

----

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ If you don’t see me posting as often, it’s either because I’m busy or feeling sick. I have over 130 requests, but I’m working on the plots and will finish some of them soon!

[hereforuconnwbb]

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 4

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 7.2k

warning: language

HEY GUYSSSYSUYSY !!! im so so so sorry this took a while to come out 😭 i literally got bombarded with stuff and then ended up redoing the chapter because i wasnt really feeling how it turned out. i still dont love it tbh but i just wanted to finally post smth 😓 i didnt go over it properly so hopefully its alright as is. enjoyyyy !!! 🫶🏽

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

The gym buzzed with sharp squeaks of sneakers and echoing calls as the team ran through another scrimmage. It was lighter than usual, but focused, clean execution, talking on defense, full-court pressure sets. Geno paced the sideline, watching everything, arms folded as he was storing notes in his head.

“Cut early! Be ready!” he barked as they transitioned into another offensive set.

By now, sweat slicked every practice jersey. Paige adjusted the waistband of her shorts as she jogged back into position, chest rising and falling steadily. Her passes had been crisp, shots falling just enough to keep Geno quiet which she’d take as a win today. No one was dragging. Everyone had tomorrow’s game in their heads. 

At the end of the scrimmage, Geno called for water and gave them 5.

Paige walked over to the sideline and grabbed a towel, dabbing her face and neck as she sank onto the bench beside Caroline. Aubrey followed right after, crouching next to Paige with a heavy breath and an exaggerated sigh.

“Ok,” Aubrey muttered, “he’s definitely trying to keep us sharp without blowing out our legs. That man knows what he’s doing, but damn.”

Caroline tilted her head. “At least he didn’t make us do suicides. You know he saves that for when he’s really pissed.”

“True,” Paige agreed, reaching for her bottle. “Could’ve been worse.”

They fell into an easy silence, sipping water, watching teammates move around and stretch.

After a moment, Caroline glanced sideways at Paige. “You still going tonight?”

Paige blinked at her. “Yeah.”

Aubrey squinted between them. “Wait… whats tonight?”

Caroline looked at her, amused. “Oh. You didn’t tell her?”

Paige exhaled quietly and stared straight ahead. “Guess not.”

“Tell me what?” Aubrey asked, raising a brow.

“Paige has a tutor session with Azzi tonight,” Caroline said casually, like she was commenting on the weather. “Round two.”

Aubrey’s head tilted like she was connecting dots. “Ohhh. At her dorm this time?”

Caroline smirked but didn’t push it.

“Yeah,” Paige mumbled, twisting the cap back on her bottle. “Just studying.”

Aubrey tried not to grin. “How come you didn’t say anything?”

Paige gave her a look. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Caroline leaned her elbows on her knees, eyes flicking to Paige with a bit of mischief now. “You should invite her to the game tomorrow.”

Paige blinked. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Caroline said, sitting up straight. “I’ve been telling her to come forever. She always says she’s busy doing equations or, like, reading three books at once.”

Aubrey laughed. “Classic. But maybe she’ll say yes to you.”

Paige gave her a blank look. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it though?” Caroline asked, nudging her knee.

Paige looked away and ran a hand over her hair. “It’s tutoring.”

“Exactly,” Caroline said, drawing out the word. “You’re getting help. Maybe tomorrow, she watches you drop 20+ on and realizes she’s tutoring the goat.”

Aubrey leaned back, grinning. “Yea, give her the full Bueckers experience.”

Paige stared at the court. “You guys are annoying.”

Caroline smiled. “You still should invite her.”

The buzzer went off, signaling the break was over. Paige stood up without saying anything, and they made their way back to the court.

—------------------------------

Practice wrapped with a final team huddle, Geno giving a last bit of instruction about recovery, hydration, and focus for tomorrow.

“Lock in,” he said as they broke the huddle. “Mentally. That’s the difference.”

Players grabbed their gear, stretching or heading to the locker room. Paige lingered behind, tossing her towel into the bin and unscrewing her water again. Caroline and Aubrey flanked her, chatting about what time they’d get to the gym tomorrow.

Then Paige turned toward Caroline, kind of casual. “Hey carol, what takeaway does Azzi like?”

Caroline’s eyes widened slightly, like she saw right through her. “Why?”

Paige shrugged, too quickly. “Was thinking of grabbing her something before the session.”

A beat passed.

“You were thinking of grabbing her something,” Caroline repeated, her voice warm with teasing.

Aubrey choked on a laugh. “Oh, now she’s bringing gifts?”

“Shut up,” Paige muttered, but she was definitely fighting a smile.

Caroline laughed. “She likes pizza. Cheese. The plain kind. And some hot chips.”

“Got it,” Paige said, already typing it into her phone like it was mission.

Aubrey nudged her. “You’re such a lil cutie when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You kinda are,” Caroline said lightly. “But it’s okay. You’re being thoughtful.”

Paige sighed. “I just wanna be nice. She’s helping me out.”

“Mhm,” Caroline said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Let us know how it goes.”

“I’m not giving you a play-by-play.”

“That’s okay,” Aubrey said as they headed to the locker room, “we’ll just read it on your face.”

Paige rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything else. She was already thinking about the pizza place and how she was definitely gonna overthink what kind of chips to get.

—------------------------------

The walk back to the dorms was quieter than usual, that post-practice calm settling over everything. Paige and Aubrey moved in sync, both still a little sweaty, water bottles in hand, gear bags slung over shoulders. The late afternoon sun warmed the pavement, the kind of soft golden light that made everything feel slower, even though Paige’s brain was still spinning a little from scrimmage.

“Not bad today,” Aubrey said, pushing the door open for both of them as they entered the dorm building.

“Yeah,” Paige nodded, adjusting her bag. “Scrimmage had me tired, though.”

“That back cut you had was nasty,” Aubrey grinned. “Geno’s face ? Priceless.”

Paige laughed, barely. “Geno only smiles when we’re up 20. And even then, maybe.”

They stepped into the elevator, the hum and slight shake of it familiar by now. Paige leaned her head against the wall for a second, exhaling slowly.

“Wanna come over after your session?” Aubrey asked. “We can chill. Might make popcorn or something. I know we got the game tomorrow but yea still.”

“Maybe,” Paige said, rubbing at her eyes. “If I’m not dead.”

Aubrey smirked. “You getting nervous for tonight yet?”

“Shut up,” Paige mumbled.

Aubrey laughed. “I’m just asking.”

They stepped out and headed toward their room. Once inside, Paige dropped her bag immediately by the door and headed toward her side of the room, kicking off her shoes.

“I need a shower before I do anything,” she muttered.

“Don’t take 45 minutes this time,” Aubrey said, flopping down on her bed. “Last week I thought you drowned.”

Paige flipped her off over her shoulder as she grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom.

Hot water always helped her decompress. The shower was steamy, and Paige just stood under the spray for a minute, letting it hit the back of her neck. She wasn’t sore, exactly, but the weight of everything—classes, practice, tomorrow’s game had settled into her shoulders. And then there was tonight.

She wasn’t going to overthink it.

It was just a tutoring session.

Still, she found herself replaying Caroline’s voice in her head: She likes pizza. Cheese. The plain kind. And hot chips.

Simple. Easy.

Paige finished up, wrapped herself in a towel, and padded back to her side of the dorm. Aubrey was still scrolling on her phone, earbuds in. Paige grabbed her phone and pulled up her food app.

She placed the order: 2 plain cheese pizzas, 2 large hot chips and pickup for 6:30 PM

She double-checked the dorm address. It wasn’t far. She’d grab the food and head straight there. Shouldn’t take more than 10 minutes to walk it.

Order confirmed. Done. 

She set her phone down and stretched out on her bed, pulling her blanket over her. It was now 4:20 pm. She still had time. Her eyes were heavy, the kind of heavy that came after practice and a hot shower, and she knew she wouldn’t make it through the next few hours without crashing a bit.

She set an alarm for 6 pm, then put her phone facedown and turned to her side, pulling the blanket up to her chin. Her eyes were already drifting.

—------------------------------

The sharp trill of her alarm dragged Paige out of sleep.

She blinked once, then twice, disoriented for a second as her eyes adjusted to the soft lighting in the room. It was still quiet. Aubrey had dipped out sometime while she was napping, and now it was just her, the muffled hum of the hallway outside, and the glow of her phone on the nightstand.

She reached out and silenced the alarm before it could go to its 2nd round.

Okay, she thought, stretching. 30 minutes. Time to move.

Still heavy with sleep, Paige swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a second, rubbing her face. The nap had helped, she didn’t feel as stiff, her brain didn’t feel like a tangled mess anymore, but there was still that edge of nerves curling in her chest.

It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything like that.

But she still didn’t want to look like she just rolled out of bed.

She moved slowly at first, pulling open her drawer and grabbing what she already knew she was gonna wear, her black Nike tech fleece set. It was her go-to. Comfortable, casual, still clean. She tossed it onto the bed and tugged off the oversized UConn tee she’d thrown on earlier. Underneath, she slipped into a plain white tank top and then pulled on the set's black tech fleece pants, the jacket following right after. She zipped it halfway with a glance at the mirror.

She reached for her white Crocs next, easy to walk in, chill enough for a quick food run and casual hang/session. She slid them on, then crossed to her desk.

There, she grabbed her hairbrush, a small styling gel, and a tie, working her hair into a clean, slicked-back bun. It took a few tries to get it how she wanted—no bumps, no loose strands. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, well maybe, but she still wanted to look put together.

Once it was in place, she grabbed her glasses from her nightstand and slipped them on. 

She glanced at the clock which was 6:15, mentally running through the plan again. Pick up at 6:30. Less than a 10 minute walk to Azzi’s dorm. She had time.

Paige slung her black backpack onto her bed and started packing it.

She threw in a notebook with some half-assed scribbles, a folder with printed notes from class, a few pens, because she never knew which would actually work, her laptop,  her water bottle, her phone charger and a packet of gum.

She gave it a once-over, zipped it shut, then grabbed her phone and keys off the desk. Her phone buzzed once with the pickup reminder, and she slid it into her jacket pocket.

A quick look in the mirror confirmed she looked fine, comfortable, clean, the kind of cool casual that didn’t scream she was overthinking anything.

Even if she was.

“Alright,” she mumbled to herself, “let’s go.”

She stepped out into the hallway and started walking, air cool but not freezing. The sky was fading into a muted gray-blue, campus lights flickering on as she crossed through the pathways toward the street.

The pizza spot was a few blocks off campus small, nothing flashy, just the kind of spot you could count on. She liked it already for that.

As she walked, the food smell started hitting her early, garlic, crispy dough, something a little greasy in the best way. She picked up her pace a little.

Please be ready, she thought, already picturing the boxes in her hand, the chips warm and wrapped up on the side.

Everything about tonight was chill on paper.

As Paige pushed open the glass door of the pizza shop, the smell hit her instantly. Her stomach did a tiny flip, and not just from hunger.

A guy behind the counter glanced up and immediately nodded as he knew exactly who she was. “Pickup for Paige?” he asked, already turning towards the warmer behind him.

“Yeah,” she said, offering a polite smile.

He slid open the display window and grabbed two stacked pizza boxes, then added two paper bags next to them. “Two cheese, two large hot chips, all here,” he confirmed, setting everything carefully into a large handled takeout bag.

“Appreciate it,” Paige replied, taking the bag with both hands. The heat radiated through the paper, and she instinctively adjusted her grip so it didn’t burn her fingers. 

She turned to leave, ready to head straight out but she barely made it to the door before a girl near the window turned around with a quiet gasp.

“Oh my God,” she said softly, nudging her friend. “That’s Paige Bueckers.”

Paige paused, hearing her name but trying not to make it a big thing. Still, when she glanced over and caught their wide-eyed stares, she offered a little smile.

“Hey,” she said casually.

“Can we get a picture?” one of them asked, already halfway pulling out her phone.

“Yeah, for sure,” Paige said, shifting the bag into one arm. She stepped toward them, letting the girl next to her snap a few quick shots. Another person behind them recognized her too, and before she knew it, she had two more people politely waiting their turn.

She didn’t mind though—not even a little.

The interactions were quick and sweet. No one got loud, no one acted weird. Just a couple of fans who were clearly excited, and Paige made sure to thank each of them before she left.

One of the girls even said, “You’re so nice,” like it surprised her.

Paige just laughed. “Thanks. Have a good night, alright?”

With that, she finally slipped out the door, bag still warm in her grip and cheeks a little pink from the attention. She ducked her head slightly under her hood and started walking fast, half to stay low-key, half because she was suddenly very aware of the food cooling by the second.

It was a short walk to Azzi’s dorm. Maybe 8 minutes, but she was already halfway there before she checked the time again. She hadn’t wanted to be early, but she figured showing up with hot food was better than being exactly on the dot with cold chips.

The bag bounced gently against her leg with each step, and the air had gotten a little cooler now. Streetlights buzzed on as she crossed through campus, phone tucked safely in her jacket pocket.

She didn’t know why she cared so much. Or maybe she did. But she wasn’t about to say it out loud.

Azzi didn’t even like her like that. They weren’t close. It was tutoring.

Just tutoring.

Still, Paige found herself slowing a little as she reached the front of Azzi’s dorm building, heart ticking a little faster than it had during the walk. She looked down at the food bag and adjusted the grip one more time, taking a quiet breath and quickly glancing at the time on her phone which displayed 6:42 pm.

“Alright,” she muttered to herself. “Let’s go.”

Paige stood in front of the door for a second longer than necessary, shifting the warm takeout bag in her arms. She was technically early, but not obnoxiously so. Still, she hesitated before finally knocking—3 soft taps.

She heard some shuffling inside, then the door creaked open.

Azzi blinked at her, eyes slightly wide, like she hadn’t expected her so soon. “Oh hey,” she said, her voice still warm but surprised. She glanced at the clock behind her. “You’re early.”

Paige rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand, a little sheepish. “Yeah… food was ready, so I figured I’d head over before it got cold.”

Azzi looked down at the big bag in her hands. Her brows lifted slightly. “Is that…?”

“Cheese pizzas and hot chips,” Paige said, holding it up like proof. “I asked Caroline. She said you like this kinda thing.”

Azzi blinked again, then smiled—genuine, a little amused. “You got this for me?”

“I mean, I’m eating too,” Paige added quickly, cheeks warming. “Unless you wanna kick me out after you take the food.”

Azzi laughed softly. “Nah, come in.”

Paige stepped inside, glancing around. The dorm was neat, with soft lighting, a couple of textbooks stacked on the desk, and a blanket folded at the edge of Azzi’s bed. It was cozy in a lived-in, peaceful kind of way. She liked it instantly.

Azzi closed the door behind her, then gestured to the little round table in the corner near the window. “We can eat first. Study after?”

“Perfect,” Paige said, grateful for the suggestion. Her stomach had already started growling in protest.

They sat across from each other at the table as Paige unpacked the food. The scent of melted cheese and salty fries filled the room instantly.

Azzi grabbed some paper towels from the counter and handed one to Paige. “You’re way too prepared for someone who said she needed help.”

Paige grinned a little. “I’m full of surprises.”

It was quiet for a few beats as they both took their first bites. The pizza was good, soft crust, still warm, and the chips had just the right amount of crunch.

“This is actually perfect,” Azzi said, after a minute. “Better than what I was gonna make.”

“You were gonna cook?” Paige asked, raising a brow.

Azzi shrugged. “Probably cereal.”

Paige laughed, relaxed by the normalcy of it. “Strong dinner choice.”

They kept eating, slowly, bites in between short bursts of conversation—mostly surface-level at first. Classes. Campus. The fact that their building’s elevators were always breaking down. Nothing heavy.

But then, the pauses got smaller. The silences less awkward.

And somewhere in the middle of their second slices, Azzi tilted her head slightly. “So… you’re, like, super famous here. What’s that like?”

Paige rolled her eyes, but there was a soft smile tugging at her lips. “I wouldn’t say super famous.”

Azzi just gave her a look.

“Okay,” Paige admitted, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “It’s weird sometimes. Like, I’ll be in line for coffee, and someone’s asking me how my knee feels. I don’t even know them but it’s sweet.”

“That’s so bizarre,” Azzi said, eyes a little wider. “But I guess it comes with the territory.”

Paige nodded slowly. “Yeah. I mean, I’m used to it now, but I still don’t love being the center of attention.”

Azzi looked thoughtful for a moment. “You don’t seem like the type who wants it.”

Paige glanced up at her, surprised. “What do I seem like?”

Azzi leaned back slightly in her chair, chewing thoughtfully. “I dunno. To me, quiet. Kinda reserved. Until you warm up.”

Paige blinked. “…You’re not wrong.”

Azzi grinned. “Didn’t think I was.”

Paige bit back a smile. “Okay, then. What about you? You’re not exactly loud either.”

Azzi raised her brows. “That a bad thing?”

“No,” Paige said quickly. “Not at all. Just… you’re hard to read.”

Azzi shrugged lightly. “People say that a lot. I just… I don’t really open up fast.”

Paige nodded slowly, watching her. “I get that.”

Another quiet moment passed between them, comfortable now.

Paige leaned back in her chair a little, finishing off the last of her chips. “Okay—random question,” she said. “What’s, like… your favorite thing to do when you’re not tutoring someone or doing math for fun?”

Azzi laughed softly at that. “For fun?”

Paige smiled. “Yeah. Don’t say ‘equations.’ I’ll walk out.”

Azzi rolled her eyes playfully. “I don’t do math for fun.”

“Caroline says otherwise.”

Azzi shook her head, grinning. “She exaggerates. But… I guess I like being outside. Long walks. Reading. Cooking sometimes.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Cooking? Didn’t you just say you were gonna eat cereal?”

“That was before the pizza showed up,” Azzi countered, sipping water from the bottle next to her. “What about you?”

Paige thought for a second. “Honestly? I like music. Being around my people. Playing ball clears my head. But when I’m off… I kinda just like being still. Watching shows. Reading. Laying low.”

“Same,” Azzi murmured. “I like quiet.”

“You’re in the right major then,” Paige joked, then added, more softly, “I like quiet too.”

Their eyes met for a second, and something passed between them—nothing big, just a flicker. A little more understanding.

The kind of thing that doesn’t need to be said out loud.

Azzi looked away first, clearing her throat lightly. “You ready to start soon? Or still digesting?”

Paige laughed. “Give me, like… 5 minutes.”

“Deal.”

They both sat back in their chairs, food wrappers scattered across the table, warm and full and just a little more at ease.

—------------------------------

Azzi was in the middle of wiping down the table with a napkin when Paige leaned back in her chair with an exaggerated sigh, arms crossed over her chest like she’d just eaten a five-course meal.

“Okay,” Paige mumbled, dramatic and full. “5 minutes was a bold lie. I need, like… 20.”

Azzi laughed, tossing the napkin into the empty pizza box. “Knew it.”

“You set me up,” Paige said, pointing at her like she was accusing her of a crime. “I was vulnerable. You smiled all innocently, like, ‘Let’s eat first,’ knowing damn well I was gonna finish half a pizza and chips like a gremlin.”

Azzi raised her eyebrows, clearly trying not to smile. “First of all, you didn’t eat half. You ate like… a responsible two-thirds. And second, I did say eat first. I didn’t say eat like you just ran a marathon.”

“Same thing,” Paige mumbled, arms now folded dramatically across her stomach.

Azzi shook her head, still grinning. “You’re way more dramatic than I thought.”

Paige gave her a smug look. “You’re just now realizing that?”

“Yeah,” Azzi admitted, playful now. “I thought you were quiet. A little shy.”

Paige shrugged, a sly smile creeping in. “Only around people I like.”

Azzi stilled for a second, just the faintest pause, and Paige caught it, eyes flickering away immediately. Shit. Did that sound too flirty?

But Azzi didn’t call her out for it. She just gave a small smile and said softly, “Guess I’m lucky, then.”

There was a pause, quiet but warm, lingering between them. Paige chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying not to let the heat rise to her face too obviously.

“So…” she started, needing to change the topic before she combusted. “You ever think about playing again?”

Azzi blinked. “Basketball?”

“Yeah.” Paige tilted her head, genuinely curious.

“I mean, I was good,” Azzi said confidently, then added with a smirk, “Still am.”

Paige raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

Azzi leaned forward a little, elbows resting on the edge of the table. “I’d smoke you in a one-on-one.”

Paige snorted. “Okay, relax.”

Azzi laughed, clearly enjoying herself now. “What? You think just because you’re a star player I’d be scared?”

“You should be,” Paige grinned. “I’m dangerous.”

Azzi gave her a skeptical look. “You talk a big game for someone who can barely stand up after a few slices of pizza.”

Paige held a hand to her heart, offended. “That’s a low blow.”

Azzi laughed again free, real and Paige felt her chest warm at the sound. It was still a little surreal how much more comfortable things felt now. Like they were finally past that weird almost-stranger phase and actually leaning into something more natural. Not quite friends. Not quite anything else. Just… something better.

“I’m serious though,” Paige said after a beat, her tone softer now. “You should come to the game tomorrow.”

Azzi blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Paige nodded. “We play at 5pm. It’s at Gampel. I can leave your name at the gate, you won’t even have to wait in line.”

Azzi looked thoughtful for a moment. “You want me there?”

Paige hesitated for a second, then smiled, small and a little shy. “Yeah. I think it’d be cool if you came.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away, just looked at her—really looked at her like she was trying to read between the lines. And for a second, Paige wondered if she’d said too much again and if she shouldn't have listened to Caroline and Aubreys suggestion of bringing it up to her. She wasn’t used to wanting people to show up for her. Not like this.

But then Azzi nodded. “Okay. I’ll come.”

Paige felt a dumb little rush in her chest, and she had to glance away to hide it. “Cool. No pressure, though.”

Azzi smiled, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “You’re bad at pretending you don’t care.”

“I don’t care,” Paige argued, her voice going higher.

Azzi just looked amused. “Right.”

Paige threw a napkin at her.

They both laughed again, and it settled the air between them like a blanket. Easy. Playful. Comfortable in a way that felt new, but good.

Paige leaned forward a little, resting her elbow on the table, chin in her hand. “So, if you’re not playing ball anymore, what do you do to stay competitive? Do you go full beast mode in uno or something?”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “First of all, I’m very competitive in uno. Second, yes.”

Paige chuckled. “That explains so much.”

“Like what?”

“You give ‘I throw down +4s with zero remorse’ energy.”

Azzi grinned, biting back a laugh. “I do. No shame.”

“Evil,” Paige said. “Absolutely evil.”

Azzi lifted a shoulder. “Only when it counts.”

There was a pause again, but it wasn’t awkward this time. It was just… calm.

Paige looked over at her, studying the soft curve of her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she was being playful, and the hint of something behind it that felt more private. Like there were layers Paige was just starting to peel back.

Azzi leaned back in her chair, still grinning, and then tilted her head slightly like she was debating something. Paige caught the look and raised a brow.

“What?”

Azzi stood up. “I’m grabbing the uno cards.”

Paige blinked. “Wait, what?”

“You wanted competition,” Azzi said, already walking toward her desk. “You got it.”

“No, no—hold on.” Paige stood up too, hands raised like she was surrendering. “I didn’t ask for this. I was just talking shit.”

Azzi turned around slowly, a box of uno cards in her hand, her face dead serious. “You talked shit, and now you play.”

Paige stared at her. “…This feels like a trap.”

Azzi cracked a smile. “Only if you’re scared.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Paige muttered, flopping onto the floor and crossing her legs. “Let’s go then. I’m about to humble you.”

Azzi sat across from her with way too much confidence. “You’re gonna cry.”

Paige scoffed. “It’s a card game.”

Azzi didn’t even blink. “It’s uno.”

They dealt the cards in a tense silence. Azzi’s brow furrowed in laser focus, Paige narrowing her eyes like she was reading the energy in the room. The first few turns were tame. A few reds, a couple yellows. Paige started to relax, thinking maybe this would be chill.

Then Azzi threw down a Draw 4.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Paige hissed.

Azzi smiled sweetly. “I did warn you.”

“You had, like, seven other cards you could’ve played. You chose violence.”

“I chose victory,” Azzi said, smug as hell.

Paige grumbled and drew her cards, now fanning them out like an angry gremlin. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

Azzi laid down a skip card. “Ohhhh nooo, what a tragedy.”

Paige just stared at her in disbelief. “You are a psychopath.”

Azzi smiled. “You started this.”

Another few turns went by. Paige finally got back into the game, slapping down cards with flair. “Reverse,” she said, flicking the card onto the pile. “And reverse again. We’re going my way now, bitch.”

Azzi burst out laughing. “Okay, damn. That was aggressive.”

Paige held up a red seven like it was a championship trophy. “That’s right. I’m in my era.”

“I’m about to end that era.” Azzi calmly dropped a +2 on her.

Paige stared at the card like it personally betrayed her. “You whore.”

Azzi was wheezing now, covering her mouth.

“No, seriously,” Paige said, drawing her cards. “You told me I was dramatic but you’re sitting over there playing like this is the Olympics.”

Azzi wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “It is the Olympics.”

Paige stared at her, then grinned despite herself. “You’re a menace. I can’t believe I was nervous around you.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, amused. “You were nervous?”

Paige immediately looked away, ears turning pink. “Nope. Didn’t say that.”

“You literally just did.”

“That wasn’t me.”

Azzi laughed again, shaking her head. “You’re so full of shit.”

They kept playing, tossing insults and cards in equal measure. Paige leaned into the humor now, forgetting all about trying to keep it cool. She was in her element—witty, sarcastic, effortlessly hilarious.

At one point, Paige slapped down a reverse and locked eyes with Azzi. “I’m about to uno your ass back to the stone age.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. “I hope your next card is a Draw 4. And I hope it’s illegal.”

Paige gasped. “You wish card fraud on me?!”

“I wish you pain.”

They both cracked up again, the kind of laughter that made your stomach hurt and your eyes water. The game stretched on longer than it should’ve because of the constant shit talk and unnecessary drama but neither of them seemed to mind.

At one point, they were both just sitting there surrounded by a chaotic circle of cards, drinks half-finished, and Azzi was smiling in a way that was softer than before. Paige caught it, just for a second, and her heart did a stupid little jump.

She couldn’t tell if Azzi knew it, what kind of effect she had when she looked at her like that but she didn’t ask. 

“No more reverses,” Paige muttered.

“Don’t tempt me,” Azzi said, already reaching for her next card.

—------------------------------

Cards were scattered everywhere now. Paige had ended the last round with a smug grin, having snuck her last card down while Azzi was mid-rant about how “stacking draw-2 should be illegal in civilized society.”

Azzi was shaking her head, arms crossed, muttering something about cheating under her breath, while Paige leaned back on her hands and stretched like she just won a medal.

“You’re not gonna let that go, huh?” Paige asked, watching her with an amused tilt to her head.

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “No, because you’re sketchy.”

“Sketchy? That’s bold coming from someone who pulled three skips in a row like it was personal.”

Azzi shrugged. “That wasn’t personal. That was strategy.”

“Mhm.” Paige checked her phone lazily, still grinning until her eyes flicked to the time. “Shit, it’s already 7:30.”

Azzi glanced over at the clock on her desk. “No way.”

Paige held the phone up. “Time flies when you’re being psychologically terrorized by uno.”

Azzi snorted. “Cry about it.”

Paige rolled her eyes, then sat up straighter, brushing some crumbs off her sweats. “Alright, alright. We should start our sesh now.”

Azzi let out a soft sigh like she didn’t want to agree, but she nodded anyway and began scooping cards back into the box. “Yeah, okay.”

Paige stood and stretched again, arms above her head, the bottom of her white tank peeking out from under her jacket. “Damn, I almost forgot I came here to actually learn something.”

Azzi shot her a look. “Shocking, I know.”

“Watch it,” Paige said, grinning.

Azzi set the uno box on the desk, then turned back to her with that casual, slightly crooked smile Paige was starting to get dangerously fond of. “Since I’m coming to your game tomorrow…” she started casually, and Paige blinked.

“You are?”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “You asked me, like, 4 times tonight. 3 times while playing uno.”

Paige blinked again, her lips twitching into a sheepish smile. “Okay, yeah. Just making sure you weren’t joking.”

“I wasn’t,” Azzi said, walking back toward her chair. “But now there’s a catch.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Oh no.”

“If I show up to that game,” Azzi said, plopping back into her seat, “and you don’t put on some kind of masterclass performance? I’m never tutoring you again.”

Paige’s mouth fell open. “That’s so unfair. What if I have an off day ?!”

Azzi shrugged, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Then I guess it’s been nice knowing you.”

“Damn.” Paige laughed as she sat back down across from her. “I didn’t know you were this ruthless.”

“You knew the moment I drew that first +4.”

Paige sighed dramatically. “Ok, ok. But what if I do put on a show?”

Azzi tilted her head. “Then… maybe I’ll consider hanging out after the game.”

That shut Paige up.

Not in a bad way, she didn’t freeze or panic or choke on air this time—but her eyes widened a bit, and that grin of hers softened, mellowed. She scratched the back of her neck and tried to play it cool.

“Oh,” she said, voice quieter, “like… hang out-hang out?”

Azzi smiled again, a little softer now too. “Yeah. I mean—you’ll probably be all sweaty and gross, but I can deal with it.”

Paige chuckled. “Wow. So generous of you. But bet.”

“I try.”

Paige picked up her notebook and opened it to the half-done page from their last session, while Azzi leaned forward to grab a pen, that teasing glint still in her eyes.

“You ready to suffer?” Azzi asked.

Paige grinned. “Not really.”

“Well, too bad.”

And just like that, the teasing faded into focused conversation—notes, examples, gentle corrections and questions. But underneath it, there was a new current, something warmer, lighter.

Paige wasn’t sure what tomorrow’s game would look like. But suddenly, she had a damn good reason to play like her life depended on it.

—------------------------------

The clock had been ticking in the background as the evening stretched on. The words and numbers on the page were starting to make more sense, the formulas not feeling as confusing as they had when they first started. Paige had actually gotten into a rhythm, though it was still a little awkward to not be in full-on basketball mode. She found herself leaning a bit closer to the desk, her pen hovering as she tried to process another point Azzi was explaining.

Azzi sat across from her, chin resting in her hand, her expression one of patient amusement as Paige scribbled down some notes. Her usual no-nonsense aura was softened a little now, more relaxed, like the teasing had melted into something… easier.

“So,” Paige said, looking at the problem one more time, then glancing up at Azzi, “I think I got it.” She met Azzi’s eyes with a shy, almost apologetic smile. “I might actually pass this class now. Can’t believe it.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair with a playful smirk. “Don’t get too cocky now. You still have a lot of work to do.”

Paige snorted softly. “Hey, I’m just saying. If I pass, you get all the credit.” She shifted, reaching to close her notebook. “You’re a damn good tutor.”

Azzi chuckled, glancing over at the clock. “It’s not me. It’s all you actually paying attention.” She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she stood up. “I’m gonna hold you to that masterclass tomorrow, though. Don’t forget what I said.”

Paige stood as well, turning toward the door. She walked over with a few casual steps, and before she could stop herself, she threw her arm around Azzi’s shoulders. The movement was natural, like they’d done it before, even though they hadn’t. It wasn’t as stiff, and there was a kind of ease between them that hadn’t existed at the start of the session.

Azzi froze for a second, surprised at the gesture, but then relaxed, her body a little less tense. “You really need to put on a good show tomorrow, Paige,” she teased, looking over at her with that slightly playful, warm glint in her eyes.

Paige’s cheeks flushed a little, but she didn’t pull away. “I’ll make sure to impress you.” Her voice was a little more serious now, but there was still that hint of her usual humor under it.

They stood like that for a moment, neither of them wanting to break the quiet. Then, before Paige could second-guess herself, she gave Azzi’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, a silent thank you for the evening. She felt Azzi’s eyes on her, like there was something different about this moment.

Finally, Paige pulled her arm back, but before she could step away completely, Azzi did something unexpected. She reached out, wrapping her arms around Paige in a quick hug, a little awkward but sweet, like it had just felt right.

Paige blinked in surprise for a split second, then relaxed into the hug, her own arms wrapping around Azzi. It wasn’t one of those long, lingering hugs, they weren’t there yet, but it was enough.

“See you tomorrow,” Azzi said softly as they pulled apart. She gave Paige that knowing, slightly teasing smile. “Don’t forget what I said—play like it’s your last game.”

Paige’s heart skipped a beat at the words, the gentle challenge in them hitting her harder than she’d expected. “I won’t,” she replied, her voice steady despite the little thrum of excitement she felt in her chest.

She gave Azzi one last look, a little unsure but also feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. “Thanks again,” she added quietly. “For the tutoring, I mean.”

Azzi just waved it off, turning back to her desk. “Don’t sweat it. You actually did all the work tonight.”

Paige gave her a soft smile, then stepped out of the door, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation building in her chest as she made her way back down the hallway.

She was looking forward to tomorrow more than she realized. Not just for the game, but because she’d gotten to see a different side of Azzi. A side that wasn’t closed off or completely guarded. And she definitely didn’t mind that.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Paige couldn’t help the flutter of excitement in her chest. Maybe things between them were starting to shift, even just a little bit.

—------------------------------

The dorm was quiet when Paige got back, quiet in that suspicious kind of way. She opened the door slowly, carefully holding the half empty pizza box and stepped inside.

Aubrey was waiting.

Like a pred.

She was sprawled on the couch, hoodie up, one leg over the armrest like she’d been there for hours, her phone in one hand, a knowing smirk stretched across her face. The second Paige closed the door behind her, Aubrey didn’t even look up. She just said, “It’s 9:03.”

Paige froze mid-step.

Aubrey finally looked over. “Wasn’t tutoring supposed to end at 8?”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “Why are you timing me like a parole officer?”

“I’m not timing you,” Aubrey said, dropping her phone onto her stomach. “I just noticed you left at like what? 6 something? And now it’s—” she fake checked her wrist, “9:03. That’s three hours. Of studying?”

Paige slid her crocs off, rolling her eyes as she made a beeline for the kitchen. “We played Uno.”

“Played Uno,” Aubrey repeated slowly, sitting up. “Uno. You brought pizza. You played Uno. Is this a study session or a date?”

Paige didn’t dignify that with a response. She opened the fridge, tossed the half-empty pizza box inside and shut the door with a sigh.

“So?” Aubrey said, now fully sitting up and clearly not letting this go. “What happened? Tell me everything. I need the tea. Was there flirting? Was there knee-touching? Did y’all at least sit on the same side of the table or were you giving business meeting energy?”

Paige groaned and flopped face-first onto the armchair. “We sat across from each other like normal human beings, bro.”

Aubrey gasped. “No proximity tension? Wow. Devastating.”

Paige pulled her head up slightly. “I literally cannot stand you.”

Aubrey just grinned. “You love me. Now tell me what happened. Like for real.”

Paige hesitated, her lips twitching into a smile despite herself. “It was… good. Like, actually good. We ate first ‘cause I got there early. She was surprised but not mad, and we talked for a while.”

Aubrey raised her brows. “Talked? Like actual convos?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, rubbing her hand over her bun. “Got to know her more. She’s kinda funny. Not like me-funny, obviously—”

Aubrey snorted. “Obviously.”

“But like… chill funny. And she got uno cards out and smoked me like, a few times, but i got her sometimes..”

Aubrey wheezed. “She beat you at uno? I’m never letting you live that down. Paige ‘competitive to the death’ Bueckers, taken down by colored numbers and a skip card.”

Paige laughed, tossing a pillow at her. “Bro, I swear she stacked like four draw twos on me and just sat there smiling like she didn’t commit a war crime.”

Aubrey caught the pillow, still laughing. “Alright, alright. But was it awkward?”

“Kind of at first,” Paige admitted, sitting up a little straighter. “But then it wasn’t. I dunno, we just got comfortable. She even made a joke about how she’d beat me in a 1v1.”

Aubrey leaned forward, grinning. “You challenged her to a 1v1?”

“No, she teased me ‘cause I asked about her playing,” Paige said, cheeks tinting slightly. “She’s still not trying to hoop again though. But then…” she trailed off.

Aubrey’s eyes widened. “Then?”

Paige bit her lip. “I asked if she wanted to come to the game tomorrow. Just said, you know, since we were talking about it before…”

Aubrey practically jumped up. “ANDDDD ??”

“She said yeah,” Paige said, trying to sound casual, but the way her foot was nervously tapping kind of betrayed her.

Aubrey gasped. “SHUT. UP. She’s actually coming?!”

Paige nodded. “She said she would. Said if I don’t play like a masterclass, she’s not tutoring me anymore.”

Aubrey howled. “Oh my God, she’s perfect.”

“Don’t say that,” Paige groaned.

“She is! She’s funny, smart, brutally honest, and she’s making you nervous as hell—”

“I am not nervous—”

“You are SOOO nervous. Look at you,” Aubrey pointed at her. “You wore your tech fleece. You brought pizzas and chips. You made her laugh. You played uno.”

“Can you shut up for like, 5 secs?”

Aubrey held up her hands, giggling. “I’m just saying. It’s not nothing.”

Paige sighed, trying to fight the stupid smile tugging at her lips. “It’s just tutoring, dude.”

“Uh huh,” Aubrey said, laying back dramatically. “Tutoring with food, laughter, intense uno games, and flirty death threats. Totally academic.”

“Shut up,” Paige mumbled, chucking another pillow at her.

But despite all her groaning, Paige couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off her face.

Because yea… maybe it wasn’t just tutoring anymore.

And tomorrow? Azzi would be watching.

So yeah. 

She definitely had to put on a show.

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

[zaczenemiji]

Where reader  beg Kenji to let her do her makeup on him and he all pout the entire time but he secretly likes it

Glam Before the Slam

Kenji Sato x Reader

Word Count: 1,435

Genre/Warning: Established Relationship, Fluff, Makeover

Author’s Note: This felt like Kenji’s GRWM and him looking bonita 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

MASTERLIST

You were so so excited for Kenji’s upcoming big interview tonight, and you, being the supportive girlfriend that you are, were more than willing to help in your own way.

Kenji stood in front of the mirror, combing his hair for what felt like the hundredth time. The Grand Slam Show was just a few hours away, and the nerves were starting to get to him.

“You look handsome,” you said, creeping up on him and hugging him from behind. You tiptoed so your chin could rest on his shoulder and stare at him in the mirror.

“I know what’s missing,” you told him, referring to the unending combing of his hair. He's been doing that for the past minutes, trying to get things to look right.

But if he asked you, you’d tell him he didn’t have to change anything because he already looked perfect. He was the most handsome guy in the world and nothing can change your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, his form relaxing and leaning back into your smaller figure.

You smiled as you circled his body, arms still wrapped around him until you were in front of him. You let go to lean on his your vanity table in his room, pulling one of the drawers out to show your makeup essentials.

Kenji crossed his arms, the corners of his mouth tugging into a familiar pout. "I don't do makeup, (y/n)."

"Please," you pleaded, stepping closer and giving him your best puppy-dog eyes. "Just this once. For me?"

Kenji sighed, his resolve already crumbling. He could never say no to you when you looked at him like that. "Fine," he muttered, “but just this once."

Or so he thought.

You beamed, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed. He settled down reluctantly, still pouting but clearly resigned to his fate.

“Aren’t we going to do this in front of the mirror?” He asked, looking up at you.

You shook your head. “No because I know that you’d just go against everything,” you said, chuckling and giving him a kiss on his forehead.

“First, before applying your makeup, we’ll need to moisturize,” from the vanity drawer within reach, you took out a small bottle and showed it to him. It’s important that he knows what’ll be applied to his face.

“Intense renewal serum,” he read. He looked up at you to see your eyes sparkling with excitement.

With the dropper, you put some on his forehead and under his eyes before spreading it on his face using your fingers.

“Next, we’ll create a base,” you said. “This would control the oil on your face.”

“Oil blocker ex,” he read. You scooped a small amount with your fingers and applied it to his face.

“Alright, the base is done,” you said, placing the primer on the table. “We’ll now put…” you paused, rummaging through the drawer. “Foundation!” You held it close to his face for him to read.

“Gel creamy foundation,” he said.

“Very good!” you chuckled. “You’re so good at reading.”

You pumped it twice on your hand, leaving two dots of foundation on it. Afterward, you gently ran a brush over it and then applied it to Kenji’s face.

He closed his eyes, his lips still set in a stubborn line. As the brush moved across his face, his pout gradually softened, and he began to relax.

After applying the foundation, you grab a sponge and pat it on his face; this process really makes a difference. “This would even your skin tone,” you told him.

You leaned back to check him. “Your skin looks really good!” you said, smiling at him. At that moment, he felt like he fell in love with you again. He does every time he sees you happy.

Next, you held the concealer in front of him, waiting for him to read it.

“Skin reflect fresh concealer,” he said.

“You’re going to look so good on camera,” you said, leaning close. You used the other side of the sponge to dab it and blend it on his face, covering any signs of tiredness.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, but you noticed the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“To finish up the base, we’ll use this,” you said, holding up yet again another product in front of him.

“Invisible essence loose powder translucent,” he read, chuckling afterward. “That’s a long one.”

Using a big brush, you applied the powder lightly to set everything in place. “There you go,” you said, holding him below his jaw.

“We’re done?” Kenji asked.

“No, but I’m gonna let you have a water break,” you answered. “Mina, please get him a glass of water.”

As the two of you waited for Mina, you went over the vanity to place back the items you’ve used and to take out the ones you’ll be using next.

This time, it was his turn to hug you from behind. He gave little tickling kisses on your neck. “Stop!” You said, laughing and squirming away from his embrace. “You’re gonna ruin your makeup!”

“Here is the wa— oh,” Mina said, pausing when she saw the two of you.

You finally escaped his arms, still laughing as you took a step back. You thanked Mina as Kenji took the glass, drank the water, and handed it back to Mina.

Kenji then returned to sit on the edge of the bed, letting you continue. “I’m going to contour the sides of your nose, your jawline, and your cheeks,” you said, walking towards him.

“Shading powder,” he read the product.

You used the included brush in the palette to apply the product to the areas you mentioned.

“Suck in your cheeks,” you told him as you were about to apply contour on his cheeks. Surprisingly, he did as told but you could see him trying hard to hold back a smile.

"Almost done," you said, reaching for an eyebrow pencil to define his brows slightly.

He opened one eye to peek at you, his expression softening. "This really necessary?" he asked, though his tone was more curious than annoyed.

"Absolutely," you replied with a grin, stepping back to admire your handiwork. "You look amazing."

You took his hand, “Don’t open your eyes yet,” and guided him back to the mirror. “Okay, you can look now.”

Kenji opened his eyes, looking at himself in the mirror. His expression shifted from skepticism to surprise. "I do look different," he admitted, turning his head to get a better look. "Better, I guess."

You smiled, feeling a warm rush of satisfaction. “You already looked the best even before the makeup,” you said. "You're going to knock 'The Grand Slam Show' out of the park."

Kenji chuckled, finally letting a genuine smile break through his pout. "Thanks, (y/n)."

He leaned down to press a quick kiss to your forehead, his hand giving yours a gentle squeeze. "I appreciate it. Really.”

You stare up at him lovingly, knowing that he secretly loved every moment of being pampered by you.

When you guys arrived on the set, you made sure to apply a bit of lipstick on Kenji so he wouldn’t look pale.

“Thanks, (y/n),” leaning in for a kiss but you held your hand on his chest, stopping him.

“Micro kiss only,” you said as you gently pressed your lips on his so as to not ruin his lipstick.

Bonus Scene: The Grand Slam Show

"So, Kenji, you've been having an incredible season so far," the host said, leaning forward with a grin. "But I have to say, you're looking particularly sharp today. What's your secret?"

Kenji chuckled, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he glanced at you in the audience.

"Well, I have to give credit where it's due," he said, a playful smile forming on his lips. "My girlfriend actually did my makeup for me today."

The host raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really? That's fantastic! Tell us more."

Kenji's smile widened, and he looked directly into the camera, his eyes twinkling. "Yeah, she insisted on it. Said I needed to look my best for the cameras. And honestly, I think she did a great job."

The host laughed, clapping his hands together.” Well, she certainly did. You look amazing. Shoutout to Kenji's girlfriend for the excellent work!"

Kenji nodded, his expression softening. “Thanks, babe," he said sincerely. “Couldn't have done it without you."

The audience let out a collective "aww" and applauded, and Kenji couldn't help but grin, feeling a warmth in his chest.

From that day on, in every interview, you became his personal makeup artist.

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@sweetangle8 @eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan @reggies-eyeliner @buggs-1 @miffysoo @spencerrxids @stupidbutsmart

[missfrustration]

to teach a captain - part 3 (luffy x reader 18+ fanfic)

summary: “You want to kiss, too!” He says. His head juts forward, leaning down as he looks up at you. You could only respond with one thing: "So, what if I do?"

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

rating: 18+ explicit, minors do not interact!!

tags: pwp, nsfw, smut, sexual content, masturbation, kissing, luffy is a curious guy, reader is a member of the straw hat crew, post-time skip, second-hand embarrassment, no spoilers, no use of y/n

A/n: the ao3 crowd waited half a year for me to post this part, so parts after this will chug along slowly, just wanted to warn you ahead of time! hopefully the length of this helps. posted on ao3 here

words: 8.1k (very long, whoops)

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

The rest of the night went as follows.

Chopper finally catches up to you after the crew settles into the Sunny. His chipperness never faltered when you tell him you feel better than earlier. Still, he insisted on a late-night check-up. Other than an elevated heartbeat, he gave you a clean bill of health and sent you on your way. 

You took a peak in the small bag Robin gave you, largely ignoring Nami’s. You softly grimace, seeing the new bottle of lube lying on top of the other shopping list of things you ask her to get beforehand.

You couldn't go to sleep for the better half of the night. Every time you thought of what transpired only a few hours ago, your breathing started getting heavy, your mind was racing, and you just felt like squealing. 

It was half past four when you finally went to sleep. You don’t particularly enjoy sleeping in, but when you woke up this morning and saw the time read past 11 am, you welcomed it…

…Up until you realized why exactly you slept in so late.

After a fresh change of clothes, you reluctantly get on deck. As you feel the smooth wooden planks of the Sunny under your feet, you’re overcome with an increasing perplexion. 

The Sunny is still at the dock of Tashini. If we had followed Nami’s schedule she set yesterday, we would’ve left in the early morning. Tashini would’ve been a small dot across the horizon at this point. 

You feel an even deeper pit of your stomach spiral when you see no sign of life, which means everybody’s gathered in the kitchen and dining room, currently having lunch. Alongside your crewmates, smack dab in the middle, will be Luffy.

Your heart thumps as you reach the door to the dining room, swinging it open like usual. The Straw Hat crew sits around the table, collectively turning to the archway when they see you. All have a smile on their face and a greeting on their tongue. Sanji, once setting a big platter of shrimp scampi in the middle of the crowded table, frolics over to you and sings your name.

“Ahh angel, you’re awake,” he sings. “Just in time for lunch.”

You greet him like usual, running your eyes over Nakama until your body erupts in butterflies again.

Your eyes meet Luffy’s, feeling your heart crack against your chest at the immediate eye contact. He gives you a toothy grin. 

“Good morning!” Luffy says. Before you can stutter out a response, Ussop pipes up.

“Hey, now.” Nami points at you. “You’re not wearing any of the new stuff I gave you.” She gives you a playful frown.

“Ah, sorry about that, it was a long night last night,” You sigh, purposefully trying to divert Luffy’s eyes. “Chopper, said I’m fine at least. Speaking of which, why are we still at dock?”

“Well, I may have a surprise waiting for everybody, I was just waiting for the last person to join us.”

You nod, going to take a seat. Brook tells you to sit down next to him and Chopper, playfully tapping an empty spot at the table. Chopper smiles at you, glad you look better than last night. 

“Aaand with that, everybody’s here!” Nami says, paper in hand. “Time to announce the next island and lookout parties for tonight…”

While Nami is talking off the paper she has in her hands, you settle down and join in on digging into the beautiful array of dishes. There’s fluffy white rice, shrimp scampi with a fragrant green sauce, lovely cut fruits that Sanji got from Tashini, and more meat to compliment Luffy’s hungry appetite. White rice is the first thing you go for, feeling the squishy texture as soon as you dig into it. 

“That means our next destination will be Dracon. Now,–”

“Dracon?” The word comes out before you have the chance to think about it. You pause, letting your fork drop some rice you just dished out. You try to clean up the mess without anyone noticing.

Nami, including the others, turn to you. “Yes, do you know it?” The navigator asks.

“Oh, ah.” You search your brain, trying to come up with an explanation for your reaction. “I’m not sure, it’s been a while since… working for my home country.”

“From what you’ve told us, you used to be a diplomat before, yes?” Robin asks from across the table. You nod.

“I had to travel a lot, and there are islands I remember going to, but I don’t quite recall visiting Dracon. I’m not sure—at least, I have no memories of the name in terms of my diplomatic work,” You shrug unassuredly.

“I’ll keep note of that,” Nami states, scribbling something down.

Nami moves on to some unrelated housekeeping items, though something feels so familiar that you can’t shrug it off. You feel off about the whole thing, yet not enough to notify the crew.

Now, you feel a pair of eyes on you from across the table. They’re soft in their demeanor, yet concerned in your sudden tenseness. You look over to them, to see Luffy with his head slightly tilted. He’s looking straight back at you while shoving a slab of meat in his mouth. You can’t find it in yourself to look away at his calming face, but all you remember is Luffy panting, pleading with you as his hand found purchase on your shoulder, face so close to yours as he moaned–

“Uhh, excuse me…” Brook nudges your arm, making you snap forward and see Nami leaning over the table, waving her hand in front of your face. 

“Hey, are you listening?” She asks.

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah, uh…” You cringe, “what was that again?”

Nami sighs, slapping your head with the rolled-up paper from across the table.

“You and Luffy will be on watch for the first shift tonight. Make sure to wake up Zoro and Sanji for the shift after, okay?”

“R-right, got it.” You nod, hoping the heat from your face isn’t noticeable.

“You got that, Luffy?” Nami turns to Luffy now, chunks of ham disappearing from his hand into his mouth. Luffy manages to say a jumbled yup between food scarfs.

“I can’t believe you paired me up with brow-for-brains, Nami.” Zoro scoffs, digging into his next bite. You all look to Sanji, or well, where he used to be. He’s now standing over Zoro with a menacing figure.

“Shut it, mosshead. Don’t blame Nami for your incompetence.”

“Huh?!” 

Ussop makes a point to sigh loudly, muttering something about “some weaklings will never learn,” whatever that means in Ussop-speak.

Before a fight breaks out at the dinner table, Nami gives a threatening scowl that separates the two.

“I will reiterate this as I did with a few of you earlier: As you know, we were meant to set sail this morning to the next island. How ever,” Nami says with a smirk, “I thought it would be a nice change of pace for all of us to go to a theater tonight, and then set sail after.”

“A theater? What’s that, a game?” Zoro raises an eyebrow. 

From the other side of the room, Sanji loudly sighs “ Idiot ,” causing the pair to grit their teeth at each other like wild animals. At this point, they are too caught up with each other to pay attention to the conversation.

“I’ve heard of that,” Franky says, “Isn’t that where people perform a story on a stage?” 

Robin nods. “It’s not something you see around the sea often.”

“How inspiring,” Brook gleams next to you. “I can’t wait to see what it’s about.”

“I’m guessing we’ll have immunity there?” Jimbei asks.

Nami nods, “With a bit of persuasion, I was able to get a personal booth at the top of the theater with a promise that we’ll be protected as long as we don’t do anything.

“Her ‘persuasion’ was swooning the staff that we ran into while shopping last night.” Robin chimes in, causing Nami to smirk in triumph. 

“Hey, a cheap meal and show is a steal.” Nami counters. “I spent a quarter of what I spent on our girl’s new wardrobe on this opportunity, and that’s even with the bargaining I had to do.”

You choke on your glass of water hearing Nami’s words.

“How much did you spend on me?!”

“As long as you wear them, you don’t need to know,” Nami assures you with a sly grin. “Giving you a good sense of fashion is payment enough.”

A guttural groan comes out of you as you shake your head.

“I will, I will. Just— please don’t charge me this time.” You say to Nami, who seems to grant you mercy with a nod.

The crew laughs at your exchange. Ussop is yakking it up to Jinbei and Franky about how he used to be a “connoisseur of theater” in his day. At the end of the table, Luffy waves his hand to flag Sanji.

“More please!”

–

Nami instructed everyone to dress accordingly for the play. To be honest, you didn’t know what to wear until after looking in the clothing bag she gave you. Maybe you shouldn’t have, because you find a dress inside that works almost too well for tonight. 

“Perfect, it’s the one I picked,” Nami says when you shimmy it on. She and Robin have already gotten ready, Robin has now gone to join the others on deck.

“You planned this?” You’re surprised as you look at her through the girls’ mirror. You had just finished zipping up the deep rouge silk dress. There was ruching in the bodice that gave your silhouette more form than you’re used to seeing, hem peaking right above your knees. 

She makes her way to the dresser where you’re sitting. “You should appreciate a good dress more than once in a while. We always have plenty of days besides celebrations to wear them, after all.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” You think about it. Robin and Nami always outdo you in style, probably because they treat every day like a fashion statement.

“You look sexy in a shirt and pants anyway.” Nami makes a dumb kissy face as you giggle and push her off. She beckons you to the door. “C’mon, everybody’s waiting.”

When you leave the girls’ dorm, you can see everybody has cleaned up rather nicely. Sanji his usual suave attire, Robin and Nami are dressed to the nines, and each of the others has a flare of fashion. 

Thump. Thump.

Luffy was no different. He wears a black tie and crisp red dress shirt tucked into belted slacks. The dress shirt was slightly pulled up because of his goofing off with Ussop and Chopper. Chopper is on his head doing birdarms as Luffy runs around the dock. Ussop chimes in with an airy bird call that dies out pretty quickly.

Everybody turns around to you and Nami when she closes the door behind her. You hear an ‘ooooo’ around some of the crew as Ussop wolf-whistles.

“You ladies look so lovely!” Sanji cries.

“Ah, my, you’re a charmer,” Brook says to you, bowing deeply. “It would be such an honor to see your p–” Yup, you’re tuning that out.

“Hah! I think the girls super outdid us again.” Franky laughs as he poses. Jinbei seems to nod in agreement.

You blush at their compliments, seeing Chopper and Luffy now turn to look at you. Luffy is the only one not smiling, mouth agape and it makes you a little sad to see. If you wanted anyone to smile, you would’ve wanted it to be him.

“Our girl finally gets to dress, am I right? Now, I think that’s everyone!” Nami comments to the group, “Let’s head out!”

You arrive at a large building bustling with people under a tall hall archway. The whole inside seems illuminated in a soft yellow glow, with torches decorating the exterior walls. Nami and Robin led the pack to a side door, where a group of staff were waiting for you all. You’re briskly taken to a private entrance. It leads to a modest open room with a wide U-shaped booth that spans to either side of the wall, a large tray full of decadent foods in the middle, and an open window that showcases the lowered, grand stage a hundred feet away.

Everybody seems pleased to sit down and get situated, especially Luffy. He takes the part of the booth closer to the open space, objectively a great view, as the rest of you file in. He digs into the trays of complimentary food before you even think to sit.

You end up sitting next to Zoro and Jinbei on either side of you, pleased to be within arms reach of some fresh fruit on the tray. It doesn’t take long for the stage lights to dim and for the show to start. 

It ends up being a fairly detailed story about a knight and his quest to save the heroine, a fellow knight, after they got separated in a battle between countries. There is plenty of humor that the audience and the crew laugh along to. At one point, the knight has to dress as a stuffy aristocrat to pass into the country that captured her and prepare for her execution. Usopp had cheered especially at this as everybody laughed it up. Just before she was scheduled to be beheaded, the hero stepped in and acted as a country nobleman turned war veteran, using his many past achievements of slaying warlocks and beasts to convince the guardsmen to release her. They end up running away on horseback to the country they fought for. Once unsaddled, the heroine finally confronts him.

“You… you came to save me?” The heroine asks, tears laddled in her eyes, almost in disbelief at the hero, her friend’s, bravery. “Why would you do something so risky?”

“I can’t be on the battlefield without you.” The hero falls to the ground to kneel in front of her, taking her hands into his and looking deeply into her eyes. “Won’t you be mine, my knightess?”

“You stupid man. Is that even a question?” She cries out, running into his arms.

They lovingly embrace after the crowd cheers, many of the Straw Hats whooping in celebration. You’re almost thankful you didn’t sit near Franky, as you could practically hear him sob out into a snotty, rather tear-packed mess. You almost feel bad to see Chopper is in his range of fire.

When they finally pull away from each other, the hero steps towards the heroine once more, taking her head in her hands and kissing her passionately. Her arms wrapped around him after a moment of surprise at the gesture, letting him dip her into a warm, lingering hold. Your heart flits at the sight as you join the audience’s cheers and awes. 

Amidst the loud celebration, you realize the scene before you feel reminiscent. As the pair kiss on stage, you think of how you were in a similar position with Luffy not long ago, tasting his lips. Though, the fashion you two were in was more… sensual. Your face flares up. 

You turn to the other side of the room. Luffy’s shadow is clear in the illumination of theater lights, and you see his figure shift as he raises his arm. He lifts his fingers up to his face in what you could only think of as… a yawn? Maybe boredom?

No. He touches his lips softly, grazing them along the skin before looking down at them with curiosity.

You turn away quickly when you notice his head swivel, spinning around the crew members until he stops at you. A pair of eyes is now settled in your direction as you feel your heart pick up speed. You felt him stare at you between the food platters now littered with bones and stems, before the crew joined the audience in a standing ovation. You tuck yourself away from Luffy’s averting eyes as you stand behind Jinbei, shortly overshadowed by every pair of hands now erupting in applause. You clap extra loud, hooked onto the stage to watch the start of the curtain call. When you finally feel the courage to look amongst the crew, you feel the absence of a few eyes that turn back to the stage.

The crew ends the night as normal with a round of drinks before slowly filing out of the theater and towards the ship. You pace alongside Franky, Robin, and Nami. Franky has his robust arm around Robin, laughing along while Nami and you talk about the wonderful experience. Before your mind filters out the thoughts of earlier, a pair of rubbery arms snaps behind you all before Luffy’s figure catapults to the ship at the dock.

–

Nervous blood bubbles in your veins when you’re on your watch shift. 

From the crow's nest at the top of the mast. The saltiness of the ocean breeze isn’t as apparent on the shoreline, but you still smell the tanginess of ocean algae mixed with the earthy scents of the sandy dock. 

You’ve been glancing every so often towards the rear of the ship, wondering when you’ll be able to spot Luffy’s black, messy hair walking along the deck under the moonlight. Maybe he’s tucked at the rear, but it’s hard to tell from the top of the mast without craning your head. You’re not brave enough to check in detail at this point. 

While you think about your watch shift partner that gets more and more late, you think about what else was said around that dinner table.

Earlier, Nami announced the next stop is Dracon, an island that sounds too familiar to be a coincidence. You’ve been to a lot of places in your life before joining the Strawhats, but it’s been so long since that you're not exactly sure. If your home country had any notable affairs with them, surely you would’ve remembered dealing with it. The question was, was it positive affairs, or would you have trouble soon? You don’t have a good feeling about that name, even if you wish for the former. 

“Sorry, I’m late!”

Turning around, you’re met with your smiley captain, his grin upturned ear-to-ear. You look to the moon, and judging from the position, it seems that…

“An hour late, Luffy. And you didn’t change out of those clothes.”

Luffy smiles in response. His tie is undone, hanging around his neck as one side threatens to slip off. The deep red button-up shirt is now completely untucked, hanging loosely past his hips. Some of the top buttons are now undone and loosely shifting under the chilled breeze. His hat is hanging by the string around his neck, resting quietly on his back.

“Sorry.” He doesn't look that sorry.

“It’s fine,” you waved him off, “nothing suspicious happened out here.” Unsurprisingly, not many people dare to approach the infamous Thousand Sunny. Certainly, no one is strong enough to succeed in plunder, anyway.

You look at him again after a moment, heart thumping when you see he’s not moving to climb out of the crow's nest.

“You can go to your lookout now.” When you try to casually say that, your nervous shift practically blows your cover, though you're not sure if it’s noticed.

Luffy hums a noncommittal sound as he thinks about it.

“Nah, I wanna stay.”

“Why?” 

He shrugs, pouting his lip a little at the question. “Don’t wanna move.”

“Fine,” You conceded. It wouldn't be the first time Luffy would bend the rules during watch. “Let’s at least watch the nest to cover ground.”

Luffy nods, following your step as you start walking around the edge of the nest by each window, looking out for any activity. Your partner, unsurprisingly, doesn’t care to watch, walking with you as you make small circles in the nest. At one point, Luffy jumps on the seats lined against the walls, matching your pace as he whistles quite brashly. You carry on like that for a while, watching all parts of the horizon and shoreline of Tashini. You’re not surprised to see any signs of life at this time of night. 

After a few times of Luffy almost losing his balance, he joins your side, loudly stomping his sandals on the dock as he kicks his feet forward.

“Man, I liked that Theodore a lot!” Luffy says. 

Your face scrunches up in confusion, unsure of what exactly he means until you can only deduce one thing.

“You mean… theater?”

“Teeter?”

“ Theater.”

“Oh, tea-eater!”

“Yeah, that.” You couldn't help but giggle at him. “What did you like about it?”

He chuckles, reaching back to the straw hat and swiftly squashing it on top of his black hair.

“Man, it was great! There was so much yummy food to eat, and it was funny when the knight guy made all those silly faces to sneak around!”

His hands are behind his hand as he throws his head back into it, looking wherever as he talks about all the different aspects he likes. Luffy talks about the color of the clothes he liked and the way he laughed at the things that had the audience roaring. You idly listen, agreeing to his list, not paying attention to your watch shift duties anymore.

“I think the girl knight who got captured was kinda stupid. She didn’t scream or kick when she was locked up!” Luffy says.

“Would you have kicked and screamed instead?” 

“I would’ve never gotten caught!” Luffy laughs out. “But if I did, I would at least fight back. She could’ve easily saved herself from the guards if she did that!”

“I think her being the helpless lady in need of saving was a part of the story, it made it more dramatic. For the knight, it made saving her more high stakes.” You think out loud.

“If she’s a knight, she’s strong enough to fight back and get out by herself.” He turns to you. “Right?” 

That makes sense to you, but what doesn’t is the way Luffy looks at you. He’s looked at you with that cheerful expression thousands of times before, but now you feel a hammer from your heartbeat. His chest muscles barely peek out in the moonlight under that silky button-up, and his tie is so, so close to slipping now.

You reach out before thinking, stepping up to Luffy and catching the end of the tie right before it falls off of his narrow shoulders. You promptly adjust the tie so it's balanced around his neck, no longer threatening to fall off.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You surmise. Honestly, Luffy makes sense. In his scarce moments of clarity, he always speaks with an astounding factuality. 

His smile fades as he looks into both of your eyes. The proximity of you two is now very apparent, but you're struggling to find yourself creating distance, struggling to keep your hands off of the edges of his tie.

“I–”

“I want to learn how to kiss!” Luffy announces loudly.

You sucked in a breath that catches in your throat, rather badly, and feel a cough fumble out of your mouth. You try to save face but find yourself awkwardly grasping onto your shirt and in the air for some stability. 

“I’m sorry, I’m surprised you know what it’s called,” you say after gaining enough breath.

Luffy gives you a frown and crosses his arms. “I know what kissing is. I’m not dumb.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, I just…” You kick yourself in your mind. “What brought this up?”

Luffy shrugs, looking out the nest’s windows onto the oceanline. The moonlight illuminates his face crisply through one of the windows, but you can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking.

“Was it the theater?” You ask him.

He looks back at you without moving his head, confirming your suspicions. 

“They did what we did. I wanna know how to do that.” 

“With… me?” You blink.

“Yup!”

You feel the thrumming of your heart in your veins, beating at his words. “It's pretty simple, you should know based on the first time we did,” you say. You try to stuff down your elation as best as possible, but you know your face is warming just like it did last night. 

“I wasn’t paying attention!”

“You should have been! You were there, you know-?!”

“You want to, too!” He says. His head juts forward, leaning down as he looks up at you.

“So, what if I do?” You say, a bit annoyed at his correct assumption. “You already know what to do, plus, we have to be on watch right now!” You gesture with your arms held out open in a reminder of why you’re both here. 

“I have Haki!” Luffy says with a childish pout. “If anyone comes I’ll know. I’ll beat them up.”

You frown at him, again seeing how easily your captain can push to get his way. It feels even redundant for you to be on watch if Luffy has enough Observation Haki to detect anything suspicious.

“Just one.” He grumbles. “I just want one.”

You know this feeling. The cocoons that were once hibernating in your stomach have hatched into butterflies, now violently beating against your gut. The small crush you had has transpired into an infatuation. An annoying infatuation. The current predicament you’re in is…

Tricky.

Luffy doesn’t seem to be interested in you like that. You know he just wants a lesson again—for his own purposes. But, can you find it in you to deny him of something that you’ve been thinking about, even before last night?

“Okay,” You sigh, hand waving up and down. “Stand up, then.”

Luffy stands up straight like a spring, smiling brightly at another victory. He is giddy from excitement, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, yet he waits for your next words of wisdom.

“I guess the best way to describe it is… there’s not any set rules for this. To kiss, at least one person is needed, you put your lips together like this,” you make a small pout, “and lean into the object of affection that you want to kiss.” 

You demonstrate by taking the back of your hand, looking at Luffy when you pout your lips, and gently placing them on the back of your hand. When you purse your lips and pull away, the contact makes a small smooch noise.

“Here,” you raise the back of your hand you kissed, holding it up to Luffy. “Try it.”

Luffy looks at your hand curiously before he leans in and he pouts his lips like you did. He presses his lips to your hand with the pressure of a feather until he briefly, brashly presses it down and lifts his head. It reminded you of the peck of a bird, almost. In the process, he opens his mouth to make a small smack.  

“Like that, got it? …why are you frowning?”

“That’s not what I want,” Luffy says. “I want to kiss like they did.” 

Why are you not shocked a hand kiss would be enough.

“To do that, both parties usually lean in for a kiss together. If it’s something that both people want to do, the rest should come naturally.”

“And they did this,” Luffy says, holding his arms and shaking them around to poorly mimic the embrace the two on stage did. 

“C’mere.” 

You take the ends of his tie, pulling him a step towards you until your bodies are inches away, the straw hat barely grazing the top of your forehead. Luffy lets you easily, watching you with gentle focus. You guide his hands around your middle. You lightly rest your hands on top of his shoulders. You hear a soft swallow. 

“When you want, you lean in. Once our lips touch, you close your eyes. Ready?” You ask. He nods. 

“Okay, just follow me.”

You lean in halfway, slowly, softly pursuing your lips together as your eyes flutter shut, nervousness bubbling up your body until your head feels light. You let it try and fizzle, try to let the stupid pounding of your heart quiet down in your eardrums, but it’s slowly replaced to wonder when your lips stay untouched by Luffy. 

…and, still nothing?

When you open your eyes, Luffy is staring at you, face reddened like a cherry with his mouth agape. His eyes are fixed in awe, flicking between your eyes and lips.

“Sorry, I,” Luffy stutters. “‘S weird. My body… it’s not moving.”

The weird feeling in your stomach has bubbled up again. His flustered cheeks and sheepish smile are quickly blocked from your vision as he mumbles into the back of his hand. 

“I don’t know. It’s like, l-like I don’t deserve it, or somethin’. Haha…”

Overcome with affection for the blushing captain, you quickly close the gap. You want to steal away his anxieties, steal away that flustered nervousness you couldn’t bare to see on him. It takes him only a second to process it before his muscles relax against you. 

Your lips touch his gently. His hands rest on your waist, his straw hat lifting oh-so-slightly by your forehead as you press into him. Those narrow lips of his feel so plush against yours, perfectly slotted together that you feel light and airy. It lasts just as long as last night’s chaste kiss.

When you slowly pull away with a small smooch noise, his face doesn’t look as cherried, save for a light pink tinge across the apples of his cheeks. 

“Cool!” Luffy says, “Let me try!”

“Hold on, I said only once–”

He gains the courage this time to lean wholly, trapping your lips between his thinner ones, feeling the smile etched on his face the whole time. When you pull away, he seems almost back to normal. The lingering worry on his face is gone now.

Smooch!

“Well?”

“It’s good,” Luffy said. “It’s really good. Again. Let’s do it again.”

You both lean in this time, lifting the brim of his straw hat again. His hands naturally graze down to your waist while your hands lay on his chest. His lips aren’t as chapped as you thought they would be. For a guy, they seem very soft. Not in the way that regular skin should be, but more pliable. It squishes against your lips but seems to spring back to form each time you pull back. 

Smooch!

“Again.” 

You both lean in again, as your hands explore past the partially unbuttoned shirt to his chest. Your suspicions of rubbery skin are confirmed as you feel the softness, malleable, that bounces back when you release the pressure of your fingertips. 

Smooch!

“Again.”

After slotting your lips back on his, you swallow down a whine, busying yourself with the feeling of his body against yours, his hands so subtly stroking the small of your spine just above your ass. This time, the straw hat slips off of his head and falls to his back.

A noise of frustration escapes him as he squirms.

“Do what you did last time,” he whines. “Your hands. Like you did yesterday.”

“So you were paying attention, liar.” You grimace. He smiles in response, just like a guilty captain would.

Yet, you have no qualms threading our fingers in his hair, grabbing the tufts together a little too excitedly. You dive back to his mouth to claim his lips. This time, his eyes close in tandem with yours as he slips his hands up and down your torso, kneading the flesh, leaning his body against yours. You absentmindedly feel the fluffy, soft black hair under your fingertips, running your hands through the scalp as Luffy presses his lip to yours. 

“I think,” Luffy breaks the kiss, speaking so close his lips are still grazing yours, “you have magic fingers.”

“Yeah?” You giggle for the first since you’ve started kissing him, making his face light up.

You turn his head slightly to give him a small peck on the cheek, he tries to copy you by stretching his head to yours and planting a quick, hard kiss.

“And you smell familiar.” He says softly. So unnaturally soft for the rubber man that it makes your face burn.

“What do I smell like?” You whisper.

“Like a cabin.”

You giggle. “Okay? Any cabin in particular?”

“Makino’s cabin. Back where I grew up.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Luffy thinks about it. After a moment, he gives you a big nod as if sealing the thought in his mind. 

“Yes,” he smiles.

“That’s nice of you to say, Luffy.” 

He seems to like that compliment. To which he smiles very brightly, now kissing you with a newfound passion that you find attractive.

Okay, like, really fucking hot. 

Luffy smushes your face between his palms and plants kisses any place he can think of. From the lids of your eyes to your temples, to the bow of your nose, and all the parts of your cheeks that squish into his lips when he puts extra pressure. Each time he leaves a small, wet smooch behind, a sound he seems captivated by the more he kisses you. 

“It’s really good.” He murmurs into your skin. 

His arms reach out and grip the back of your neck, almost pulling you closer despite the fact your chest couldn’t press farther. His heavy-handed presence causes you to shuffle a little. 

“Luffy…” You sigh out. You really can’t take it without needing more. You pull away from him; something he doesn’t seem happy about, illustrated by the childish pout he has on his face.

“There’s one more type of kiss we can do.” You whisper breathlessly. 

“Really, what’s that?” Luffy asks. You brush over his lips, noses lightly connected as you whisper to him.

“Just follow my lead, okay?”

You lean into him once more, but now slowly opening up your mouth to have your tongue slip out. You run it over Luffy’s thin lips before running against the entrance. After a moment, Luffy opens his mouth, tongue slowly peaking out past his lips to meet yours. 

You swear there is electricity in the air when it happens because he moans again. Whimpers from the sensation as his hands jolt around the caressed skin. 

Your tongues dance together in shared bliss, Luffy shudders against you at the feeling, grabbing your body like he’s surprised by the feeling. 

Luffy knew how bad you wanted to do this—he said himself—but, he must not know the extent, really. 

Because with every kiss, it just leads to more wanton in you. With every graze of his tongue against yours, feeling the wet muscle that tastes of meat, it makes your breath feel like magma. The noises coming from sucking and tasting his tongue slicks into the dead of night. It’s the only noise ringing in your ears save for the small whimpers and sighs coming from both of you. He despreately brushes his fingers against the sides of your face as his chest tightens, and grows still.

“Breathe through your nose.” You tell him after Luffy starts to turn blue in the face. His breath to hitch, the air exhaled back down your throat hot and wet.  He instantly returns to color, now with a revived energy. 

You can’t take it, him exploring and prodding the inside of your mouth, him gripping and almost vibrating against you as your upper bodies press together. You wrap your arms over his shoulder, permanently sewing your finger pads with that soft hair.

“Ah…” A small moan comes out of Luffy’s mouth when you tug on his hair to tilt his head up and off of yours. You dive in with false expertise as you give wet kisses on the underside of his jaw, consuming the skin until you’ve covered it all. You move to his neck, making him grunt as you pull his head back to expose it in full. Your tongue slowly sweeps down and over until it lands on his jugular, sweetly sucking it now as he gasps. The breathiness turns into a grunt of what sounds like frustration and he riggles against the feeling. 

“I think something’s wrong again,” Luffy says, face knit together. You pull off of him in concern.

“Do you need me to stop–”

“No!” He says, grabbing both sides of your head. His eyes fire wide as he grabs in panic. 

In his expression, he shoves you forward so hard you lose your footing, tumbling down with him onto the planks. You both fall into each other before he scrambles on top of you. 

“What’s wrong, Luffy?” You say, looking up at him.

“I don’t know,” He says, “But… every time I try to think about it, this happens!” His hand dives in between the two of you before hastily grabbing onto the hem of his shirt and pulling it so high his whole chest shows. When your eyes travel down, you see his problem. 

“It’s why I was late! I couldn’t make it go away even when I touched it like you showed me to!”

“Oh.” 

A breath catches in your throat as your eyes adjust under the moonlight. With his other hand, he points crudely to a large bulge now prominent under his pants. 

“Can you show me what I did wrong?” He breathlessly whispers. 

“Y-you did it like last night?” You prop yourself by your arms as he kneels over you. 

“Yeah. It didn’t feel as good, though. Used half of some bottle in the kitchen.”

Luffy shuffles a hand into the underside of his pants, rustling into his boxers until he grips the erection trapped inside. You swallow as he takes his dick, quickly slipping it out.

“You sneaked into the pantry?” And he’s still slick from it. The tip of his penis glistens from the lubricant, as well as the pre-cum now leaking from it. You should be upset on Sanji's behalf that he allegedly used half the bottle of what you’d guess is oil from the kitchen, but the view of his dick was too appealing for you to care.

“It kinda hurt without it,” Luffy said. You don’t blame him, mostly thankful for its convenience.

“I can show you then, Luffy,” you whisper, “you can start when you want.”

He beams, bright and contagious, as he grabs onto the head. Without any guidance, he begins to pump himself with an arm propping himself over you. You don’t dare to mention the intimate space he's invading for fear he’ll back off of you. With proximity, you get to see more of his movements, his facial features, and the heat behind his breath.

His face scrunches up in his first initial strokes before easing into a steady rhythm, similar to the brisk pace he kept last night. His hand lingers on the base and shaft, quickly running over the head each time. You could hear the light, moist squelching of oil rubbing against his cock.

“Ah, this is familiar,” Luffy says. 

“Better than earlier?”

“I did this earlier, but it didn’t feel this good.” 

“You did it the same way?” You ask in confusion. 

“I guess.” He shrugs. “I think you help me. This is really fun,” Luffy huffs out.

Luffy’s confession astonishes you. To know you can help him, to know that you and you only have made Luffy experience this, it makes you burn up in lust. 

“Shit, Luffy, you sound so good saying that.” 

You want to reach up and touch him, graze down his body with wonderful kisses, and feel the heat against each inch of skin. You feel your hand inch in front of you to reach up to his face, but when you lift it, Luffy jerks into himself so sporadically that your fingers are caught in the crossfire. 

He’s loud when your hand suddenly fumbles onto his shaft. The feeling of surprise is mutual as you look deeply into one another. His mouth opened, pearly white teeth peeking out.

“Please,” Luffy doesn’t need to say anything else, his fingers hastily interlocking with yours as he lowers them. 

“Touch me like this.”

Your face feels on fire, his hands feel steady and laced with yours as you both grasp his shaft together. He whimpers in delight, satisfied with the new warmth of your hand wrapped with his.

It’s so erotic, so sensual, his shaft feels so hot with the slick of oily lubricant and pre-cum meshing in the crevices of both of your fingers now when you start fisting him. He shudders into you in pleasure, head lulling back and forth like a wave, chasing his highs and mellowing into lows. A wrinkle in between his eyebrows shapes off and on when he bucks out. The moistness of his lips attracts you again, how could you deny the savory taste of Luffy in front of you?

Your lips latch onto him, licking up the saliva awaiting from his drooling mouth. Teeth click together from the intensity you both kiss each other. It’s wild, and uncoordinated, you try to follow the beat of his pace while he desperately chases your tongue after each moan. 

His mouth in combination with his erection, hand, his fingers squeezing into yours as you stroke him. His dick felt firm in your grip, textured with small veins illuminated by the moon. Every time his hand slipped past his shaft, you would help guide him back as quickly as possible, and every time he would thrust his hips forward to compensate. 

“You look so needy like this, but you can’t help it, can you? Such a gorgeous look on your face, so sweet and filthy, hm?” You coo. Something in you adds a little more pressure to his dick stoking down the base. Something that Luffy finds quite enjoyable. It gives you so much gratification to see that lustful, desperate face, that you try something sinful.

“Why don’t you tell me how this feels?” With your one hand interlocked with his, you take your other and dive past Luffy’s leaking erection. You cup his ballsack, feeling the thin skin molding into your hand until you rub up against it.

“Ah!” His head bucks forward into the crook of your shoulder. He’s shaking from the pleasure of it. “So good. So good, I—ahhn!”

You fondle his balls under the breakneck pace of strokes into his cock. The smooth flesh is nothing like his pulsing, steel penis. You inch lower down to the underside of the sack and slowly stroke under until Luffy reduces to nothing but animalistic husks.

“Be as loud as you need to, Luffy.” You rasp. “You can do that for me, can’t you? A good boy like you can do it.”

And just like that, your words seem to coax something in him, because he grips your fingers harder with his, pumping himself into a devious pace, and moaning wildly in between his pants.

Puffs of warmth exhale from his lips, the heat between you two can’t be penetrated by any icy chill of the night air. You feel enveloped in him, in your lust and passion, you can hear his every bit of pleasure, every pump of his dick, and the way the sound of his pants is magnetized with his head tucked to your ear. 

My God, he’s drooling in ecstasy down your neck. You feel the wetness trail like sweat down your flesh.

“Nnn, ahh, ‘s coming out. I can feel it.” Luffy whimpers into your skin. His voice sounds rasped from his panting

“Why don’t you cum then, my captain?” You take the liberty to nip on the skin of his neck. It’s something small, but one that causes his whole body to jolt.

“Mmmph!”

That look. He’s so close to release that he’s completely hunched over you. There’s barely any space for you to stroke his pulsing dick, but you continue regardless. His voice is the only thing you can hear on the ear he’s crushed up against. 

But you don’t get that liberty of him cumming onto you again, however. In your other ear, you hear something alert enough for you to slow your strokes down.

You hear a faint shout from the deck of the Sunny as a familiar voice calls out the two of your names. Your body freezes.

“Luffy, shit, Luffy!”

“Hm?” Dazed and sublime, Luffy has half a mind to hear the panic in your tone. 

“Oiiii!” Says the voice, one that sounds so quiet, but it’s loud enough for you to tell who it is.

With a push you’ll soon regret, you shove him off of you onto his butt, scurrying to sit up.

“It’s the next shift!”

“Ah… so?”

“Get up,” You squeak, pulling Luffy's pants back up, much to his dismay. “Put it away!”

“What?! Why?”

“I told you why yesterday, just do it!” You zip his pants but up against the now trapped erection, and Luffy groans out.

Both of you try to get up at once—Luffy in agitation, you in alarm that his button-up is falling down his shoulder and he looked fucked out of his mind—but you bash your heads together. The clunk is so solid that you double down on the floor. You yelp out in pain, looking up from the corner of your eye to see Luffy’s standing up just fine. 

Of course. Of course he doesn’t feel how hard you collided into each other, the fucking rubber man. 

Quitely, you hear someone. 

“Oiiii, you never woke us up. Is everything okay?” That voice gets louder with each rung of the ladder of the crow’s nest until the latch is lifted. 

Coming from the opening is a mop of blonde hair followed by a mossy green. You freeze, whipping your head to see the state of Luffy. His face is slate, like nothing was happening, and…

What the fuck?

There’s no more bulge in his pants. 

You can’t think of it too hard, with the throbbing pain seeping into your head as your adrenaline creeps down.

“Oi,” Zoro gets up, looking back and forth between you two. “The hell happened here.”

“Ah! My angel, you’re hurt?” Sanji yelped in alarm, “You had me so worried. We were calling out for some time and didn’t hear anything back. And you’re sweating bad…” He kneels to your form glued to the ground, pointing to your neck ladened with Luffy’s drool, looking back at Luffy who was awkwardly standing close with no motion. “Hey, shithead, the hell did you do to her?”

“Nothin’, she was just showing me something.”

You don’t know if those two believe him. With the horrid poker face Luffy typically has in a lie, you can’t bare to look up and confirm it. You rub your head on the ground. 

“I just… bumped my head.” You groan.

He looks back at Luffy, then at you.

“Oh, dear, please go back down and sleep as much as you need, me and moss shit can take care of the rest, okay?”

“Who the hell are you calling moss shit, kitchen boy?”

Yeah, you’re getting the hell out of here before dumbbells are thrown.

Once you get the bearings to look up from the pain, you see the lemon-lime pirates gnawing their teeth at each other. From a glimpse, a straw hat dips down below the crow’s nest latch and disappears. 

You feel a small force compelling you to chase that hat, the man attached to it, that you ignore the masculine catfight beside you and follow it. 

You climb down the mast to the deck of the Sunny and hear your feet knock onto the deck. 

You see Luffy leaning against the dock next to the boys’ dorm, looking out for a moment before latching his eyes on you. You’re glad to see him. He doesn’t seem to be frustrated at the abrupt stop you put things.

“Hey,” Luffy calls, followed by your name.

“Hey,” you softly smile back at him. Maybe it was a little awkward. Maybe you’re distracted by the way the collar of his unbuttoned shirt is still hanging off of one shoulder, or that the shirt tie that laid around his shoulders is gone at this point. You hope it didn’t look weird to the two who came in.

Luffy rustles with the top of his straw hat. The ties of it dangle with the wind of the night.

“Thanks for that! It means a lot.” He says.

And just like that, he retreats to the boys' dorm, leaving you alone again as you make your way to your own bed. You snuggle back in bed with the girls, harboring a hardship that bounced in your head:

Damn. There’s always Nakama somewhere to walk in on you.

--------

ao3 | tiktok | kofi | masterlist

[passionxwrites]

Summer Romance 2

Pairings: ModernAU! Elias “Stack” Moore x BlackOC! (Cymone) x ModernAU! Elijah “Smoke” Moore

Warnings: MDNI, Cursing, use of the N-Word, Suggestive language, some flirting

Word Count: 4.0K

Masterlist

Smoke

Bookbag got the big pump

Like high school, you can get jumped

Can’t play me like a weak punk

Bend it over lemme see some

Bitch I’m a monsta, dumpin niggas like a Tonka

GD crazy like my uncle

“And you know what, we shoulda known Punkin was gone have all that body. Her mama had ass too.”

Smoke was snatched from his thoughts due to Stacks dumbass rambling yet again. He hadn’t shut up since the party at the park last week. Granted Smoke was just as in awe as him but damn she wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

She was on his mind though.

He had bigger fish to fry since they had finally bought back the house they grew up in and had officially settled back into being home. Now it was time to take over the city like they always grew up dreaming about.

“Whatever happened to her mama anyway,” Stack asked absentmindedly.

“Last I heard she was on that shit and wouldn’t get clean. Probably somewhere still on it,” Smoke finally answered as he observed his twin in the mirror.

“Make my shit straight bitch ass nigga,” he said to Stack with a smirk as his brother began lining him up.

Stack had always been the twin that was big on appearances so he was the one who learned how to cut their hair after they moved. He also bought most of they clothes cause if Smoke was left alone to get his own shit he would wear white tees and jeans everyday.

“I should make that shit crooked on purpose since you wanna play.”

Smoke let out a low chuckle before the music paused and the sound of buzzing filled the room. His eyes located Stacks phone on the sink counter.

Mary

“Uh oh, it’s the single white female,” Smoke said with a light chuckle knowing it would piss his brother off.

“Shut the fuck up damn,” Stack muttered with an attitude as he snatched his phone from the sink and ignored the call.

“I told you to leave that bitch alone but you wouldn’t listen. Now she obsessed with you.”

“She need to be obsessed with her damn husband and leave me alone. She don’t even live out here no more. Heard he moved her ass to a big ass house in Madison.”

“Gotta stop hitting that button with every woman you lay with potna.”

“Nigga please. I always gotta hit the button,” he said as he proceeded to finish cutting Smoke's hair like what he said was normal.

Smoke only shook his head as he looked at the reflection of him and Stack in the bathroom mirror. Since he was the oldest he always grew up trying to protect Stack whether it was from they own daddy or from niggas in the neighborhood. The problem was Stack could never shut the fuck up for his own good sometimes. He was always running off at the mouth to any and everybody and although now he was old enough to protect himself and could, Smoke was gone always be there ten toes behind him.

“Let’s hurry this shit up so we can meet up with Duke and Boom.”

They had finally found a spot downtown to put their club in and they had a meeting with the old owner to read over the contracts and sign on the dotted line. It was this building that sat smack dab in the middle of the city. It used to be a sawmill way back in the day in the 1930s and it was owned by some white folks. The twins not only wanted the place because of the good business they would get but also because they wanted to be the first black owners of the place. With the help of their childhood homeboy Lawrence “Boom” Jenkins, who was also their lawyer, they knew the building was basically theirs.

“Aight nigga damn. You always rushing sibling bonding time.”

“We can do that shit later. We got business to handle first and after that we need to go by Miss Etta Jean’s and take a look at her dishwasher.”

Stack continued to huff and puff but he eventually finished up Smoke’s cut and they both got dressed and headed over to the sawmill. Once they got there they saw Boom and Duke already standing outside talking.

“How yall boys doin,” Smoke spoke in greeting as he dapped both of the men up.

“Shittt, ready to get this place so we can get this crackin ya feel me,” Duke spoke as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“Yeah, where this man at cause I’m on a tight schedule today,” Boom said while looking at his watch.

“There he go right there.”

The group of men looked up as a sleek all black Mercedes Benz S 580 pulled into the parking lot. Once the car came to a stop none other than Porter Keyes stepped out. Porter was your everyday preppy white boy who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth from a fortune that was more than likely built off the backs of slaves. The sawmill had been in his family for centuries yet they hadn’t done a damn thing with it. They were instead too busy building up the whiter parts of Mississippi. When Smoke reached out to him about buying the building Porter all but jumped at the opportunity to finally have it off his hands.

The white man eagerly exited the car with his own lawyer in tow, a stuffy looking older white man, and walked up to the four men with a smile etched across his face.

“Gentleman, let’s make some history shall we,” he spoke as he beckoned the group on to go unlock the door.

They entered the building and Smoke walked around as he began picturing the place filled with bodies on the dance floor, people buying drinks and folks just having a good time. This place was everything he could have dreamed of.

“So! Here I have the title and the deed to the building as well as the contract,” shot out Porter as his lawyer pulled all of the documents from his briefcase and handed them to Boom to read over. After about 30 minutes of Boom thoroughly reading the contract and making sure the deed and the title were legit he gave a nod to the twins.

“Let’s sign,” Smoke spoke simply as he grabbed a pen from the table they were all standing around. Him, Stack, and Porter all signed solidifying the deal.

“I can’t thank you guys for finally taking this place off my hands.”

“Nah thank you bruh and don’t worry, we gone take real good care of this place,” Stack said with his signature grin as he wrapped an arm around his brother.

“What y’all plan to do with this old gal if you don’t mind me asking,” Porter inquired as he slid his shades back onto his face.

“We gone make this here a club. Calling it Club Juke after the Juke Joint our grandaddy owned way back,” Smoke said with a lil pride in his chest. His granddaddy was a true business man. Somebody to really look up to and be proud of. The twins had always idolized the man, taking every step they could to be just like him and they had just about done it.

“Hm, a club. Well I hope it works out for you fellas. Any questions just give me a ring,” and with that Porter and his lawyer were out of the door leaving the twins, Boom, and Duke.

“Mannn I’m so excited for this shit here ju. I can picture opening night already! It’s gone be so many bad bitches in here and you know with bad bitches gone come all the niggas wanting to spend some change. This gone be a gold mine,” Duke said excitedly as he all but bounced off the walls.

“We need niggas to spend more than change to make a profit. Before all that we need to get a liquor license, cooks for the chicken, and some employees. You still gone have your boys on security?”

“Yeah I done already prepped em on what they have to do. They just waiting on the word.”

“Good, good. Everything go right and we’ll be in business in about three weeks,” Smoke said as he looked down at his phone to check the time.

“Shit, we need to get over by your grandma. I promised her we would look at her dishwasher since your simple ass broke it.”

Duke immediately huffed at Smoke with a roll of his eyes.

“I told her I aint know nothing bout fixing no dishwasher anyway. I sell drugs I aint no damn handyman,” Duke complained as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Damn shame. Them D.A.R.E niggas would be real disappointed in yo ass. You was they favorite student back in the day,” Stack spoke as he shook his head causing the room to erupt in laughter.

Cymone

Cymone sat upright in her bed as she focused on the tedious task of painting her toenails white. Her favorite nail tech down at the shop was out sick til the next week and she refused to let anybody else touch her feet or hands so she had to lock in and do it herself. Just as she had finished and begun to let them dry the doorbell rang making her cuss under her breath.

“Somebody always coming round here at the wrong time man,” the girl fussed as she waddled down the stairs and to the front door. She looked at the alarm camera that sat on the table next to it and rolled her eyes.

“Of course it’s tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum,” she mumbled while unlocking the door and coming face to face with her two nightmares.

“I heard that shit. Yo ass never could whisper,” Stack said with that same grin on his face. A part of her wanted to slap it off his face but Stack liked to wrestle and she wasn't in the mood for all that.

“Whatever nigga. What y’all want and no we are not donating to the Broke Ass Nigga Fund.”

“Glad it aint no broke ass niggas round here. Yo grandma asked for us to come take a look at her dishwasher. Said it’s leaking water,” Smoke finally spoke up from behind his brother. She put her eyes on him which made her notice they both had recently got a haircut.

They look aight but I’ll never tell em that.

Cymone stayed propped against the door frame as she observed them through the screen door before finally letting them in. They weren’t lying because the dishwasher had been broken for about a month now and it had gotten worse after Duke called himself looking at it two weeks ago. She also knew Ganny had probably asked the twins to take a look because they would always fix on stuff around the house before they left. Cymone was also tired of being the dishwasher so if they could fix it she had no problems with letting em do it. She walked further into the house leading them to the kitchen before turning to see Stack holding a medium sized brown teddy bear and Smoke holding a big ass bouquet of roses.

Did they have that with them the whole time?

She must have been too focused on their faces to notice them obviously hiding something behind their backs. Half of her wanted to coo at the obvious “I’m sorry,” gifts but the other half was still pissed and that half was calling all of the shots right now. Cymone scrunched her face a little as she folded her arms at the two men.

“What? This supposed to soften me up,” she accused as her attitude heightened, ready to start a war if she needed to.

“Nah, you ain't gone never be soft. This just something to say sorry for how we left,” Smoke being the first to speak up.

She continued to hold them under her narrowed gaze before it softened just a little. She leaned forward and took notice of the roses being yellow, her favorite color. They still remembered her favorite color after all of these years. Something in her stomach stirred and she decided to finally end her reign of terror against them. She could never stay mad at em for long anyway.

“Well, thank you. It’s about time y’all learned how to apologize,” she said as her tone lightened up while taking the gifts from them.

“But y’all aint off the hook just yet. Still got a lil mo ass to kiss,” she said as she began to walk the gifts up to her room.

“That’s a lot of ass,” she heard one of them mutter, probably Stack’s degenerate ass, before a pop sounded off.

“Shut up nigga.”

Cymone smirked a little as she finally made it to her room. She sat the flowers on her dresser making a mental note to get one of Ganny’s vases to put them in and she sat the bear in the middle of her bed. Her attention was then drawn to her phone buzzing loudly noticing on her nightstand. Of course it was nobody but Reana calling. She snatched the phone from the charger and quickly hit answer knowing her girl hated to wait long for somebody to answer her call.

“House of beauty this is Cutie,” she jokingly greeted while laying across her bed.

“I’m finna come over so you can help me figure out what to wear on my date,” Reana rambled without even giving a formal greetung. Cymone took note of her flustered tone and the shuffling in her background which was a sign that she was probably running around her room like a chicken with her head cut off.

“What fucking date,” Cymone asked while sitting up in her bed. The two girls had talked everyday and almost every hour of the day and Reana had never mentioned anything about a date.

“Uhhhh soo you know yesterday I was at work and Sammie annoying ass came in there messing with me right?”

“Yes, what that gotta do with anything?”

“Welllll, we might have made a bet that if he could bench press 250 pounds I would finally let him take me on a date. Low and behold his ass is actually really strong for his size.”

Cymone sat there for a second slightly bewildered before she burst into laughter. She was laughing so hard tears were running down her face. Sammie was known around as the town player. He was the type of nigga that changed bitches like he changed his drawls. He was never one to keep a girl around for long but he had been sniffing after Reana something serious for years now. Her girl would never give him the time of day because she knew how he was and she aint have time to be knocking Sammie’s head between the washer and the dryer because he wanted to play with her so she always kept her distance. Cymone knew one day he would finally find a way to get her because he was clever like his cousins and it looked like he had finally succeeded but she knew this date was not gone go how he was probably hoping.

“Stop laughing damn! I’m mad enough,” Reana blew out angrily.

“Girl don’t get huffy with me, it aint my fault. Yo ass need to stop betting people too. You ain’t no damn gambler.”

“Whatever man. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” and with that Reana hung up the phone in her face making Cymone laugh once again.

“Girl always getting herself into something like a toddler.”

Knowing that Reana was on the way, Cymone decided to go downstairs and wait for her and maybe also see how the twins were doing with the dishwasher. You know, just to make sure they were actually down there working.

Once she made it downstairs she rounded the corner into the kitchen to see Smoke leaned over in the dishwasher and Stack standing beside him holding a flashlight. She stepped into the kitchen and walked to the refrigerator deciding to pull out some cut up watermelon. After putting some into a bowl she lifted herself onto the counter and began snacking.

“Y’all know what y’all doing,” she asked knowing full well that they did but it wouldn’t be her if she didn’t find a way to aggravate them in some form or fashion. Smoke was the only one who would seem annoyed by her but say nothing. Stack always wanted to argue back cause he forever had something slick to say.

“You supposed to be sitting on that counter,” Smoke shot back as he looked at her from the corner of his eye.

Cymone rolled her eyes at him before throwing another cube of watermelon into her mouth and then licking her fingers. As she pulled the last finger from her mouth she made eye contact with Stack who had been staring her down since her ass made contact with the counter. She smirked a little before flipping her middle finger at him.

“Take a picture next time. It’ll last longer.”

“You gone stay like that while I go get my camera,” Stack asked as his smirk matched hers causing Cymone to squint her eyes. The nigga literally always had something to say. She continued to stare at him until she heard the doorbell ring indicating that Reana had made it to the house.

“You always running that mouth Stack. Be a shame if somebody put some real use to it,” she said as she hopped off the counter and sauntered to the door while also doing what nobody could ever do, she had Stack speechless.

Stack

“I thought I’d never see the day somebody shut yo ass up,” Smoke said with a chuckle as he stood from the floor.

Stack could only shake his head as a smirk slowly began to form on his face.

“Guess Punkin aint the same Punkin no more like Duke said,” he said as thoughts began to swirl in his head and none of them were clean.

“Nah she aint,” making Stack turn to his brother and squint his eyes.

“Nigga I know that look!”

“Shut yo loud ass up. What fucking look?”

“That you intrigued look. Like you wanna see what Punkin talking bout,” Stack accused as he folded his arms.

“You got the same damn look nigga! If anything yo ass got the you intrigued actions,” Smoke said while walking up on his brother, looking him up and down.

“I’m Stack baby. I’m always intrigued by a woman,” he said with a chuckle making his brother scoff and brush past him heading out of the kitchen.

Stack followed him into the living room where they saw Cymone sitting on the couch and her friend sitting in the middle of the floor with a pair of shoes in each hand and two outfits laid out on the floor. Stack took the liberty to sit on one side of Cymone while Smoke took the other side basically sandwiching the poor girl in between them.

“What y’all in here doing,” Stack asked as he watched Smoke snatch the remote from Cymone’s hand and switch the channel from whatever reality tv show she was watching to a football game. Cymone quickly frowned her face up and thumped him upside the head causing him to grab her hand.

“Don’t put yo hands on me,” he gruffed while throwing her hand back into her lap.

“Don’t come in here snatching shit out my hand in my house!”

“Will y’all shut up damn. Somebody answer my question,” Stack asked again before they could start up into an argument.

“Reana got a date with y’all slow ass cousin.”

“Who? Sammie?”

“Yes,” Reana answered begrudgingly from the floor with a roll of her eyes.

“Don’t do my boy like that. He gone wine and dine ya real nice,” Stack answered with a little laugh knowing how his cousin could get down when he was pursuing somebody.

“That’s fine. A bitch love a free meal but that don’t mean I’m coming off no ass. I will be going home right after we eat,” she stated matter of factly while wagging her finger in the air.

“Yeah, okay. Um, you gone cook something,” Stack asked as he turned his attention back to Cymone while wrapping his arm around her shoulder. The girl immediately turned to him in disbelief.

“Why are y’all still here,” she exasperated while leaning from his arm causing her to lay onto Smoke’s chest.

Just as Stack was about to answer her question with something smart his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He held up a finger at Cymone as he pulled his phone out his pocket and quickly wished he hadn’t when he saw the name on the screen.

Mary. Again.

Stack frustratedly blew out a breath as he hit the ignore button for the umpteenth time just for her to immediately call back causing him to power the whole phone off altogether. He then turned to see Cymone looking at him quizzically being that she was watching him the whole time.

“Why Mary blowing your phone up like that?”

Stack only turned his head and purse his lips cause he didn’t wanna tell her or Reana that he slipped up and fucked Mary, a little too good, right before he left causing the woman to become obsessed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Reana’s mouth drop and soon after he heard Smoke chuckling. He turned his head back to Cymone to see her leaned further into Smoke with her eyes wide and hand on her chest as if she was offended.

“Did you fuck Mary Elias?”

He cringed at her calling his government name cause she only said it when she was mad or disappointed in him. He could tell in this situation it was definitely the latter of the two. Everybody round here knew the type of girl Mary was. She was one of them white girls that stayed in the hood posted up round niggas hanging on to the lil drop of black she had in her blood cause her granddaddy was mixed. She had already been hit by so many niggas in the hood before him, word was she was tryna have a mixed baby, so he didn’t think she was gone be so hung up on him all these years after.

“Yeah man, damn,” he finally answered as he ran his hand down his face.

“That’s a damn shame you let that squirrel ass hoe get to you. You back here laughing, did you fuck her too,” Cymone asked as she turned her accusatory gaze to Smoke who was still surprisingly cracking up.

“Nah. I’m lactose intolerant,” causing Stack to squint his eyes at his brother.

“It was a mistake and it only happened one time. I don’t give a damn bout that girl and I don’t know why her married ass keep calling me.”

“You must have really put it on her Stack. Gots to be mo careful baby boy,” Cymone said with a fake pout on her pretty lips and she rubbed his back.

“I’m just a man who likes to take care of the woman he lay with,” he remarked as he looked Cymone right in the eyes, noticing her freeze up.

She immediately leaned up and cleared her throat before turning her attention to Reana who had been watching the three of them with a little smirk on her face.

“Girl come on and let’s go upstairs so we can figure out your outfit,” Cymone said and she stood from the couch and all but snatched Reana from the floor to head upstairs to her room.

Stack leaned back on the couch with a grin wide as the Mississippi River. He had gotten her back for her mouth in the kitchen.

“Checkmate.”

Note: Sorry for the wait guys. My plan was to have this part out by Friday but life kept getting in the way chile but here is part 2!! Next part will more than likely only be from Cymone's point of view and she adjusts to her feelings for the twins and not to mention Rashad is still around. Also it’s so hard finding pictures of Michael with hair so just know that Stack has a short fro and Smoke has waves. Let me know what y'all and think I hope y'all enjoy! Also let me know if you would like to be tagged. See ya next time!

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