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jupiterpilgrim · 5 months ago

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Sex Cage: Big Breasts and the Ordinary Modern Life

Eunbi x Somi x male reader

word count: 12K

previous chapter

Eunbi’s room is decked out like a gamer’s fever dream now. The RGB lights are set up just right, throwing a chill neon glow around, lighting up her face a bit. She’s parked in her plush gaming chair, legs tucked under, hunched over the mic. She’s rocking a baggy gray sweatshirt that’s slipping off one shoulder, showing a peek of her white tank top, and some soft black shorts. Her hair’s up in a messy bun, a couple strands hanging loose around her face. The camera’s got her in frame, the ring light smoothing out the hype written all over her expression. On-screen, “Rubydden’s Realm” overlays the corner of the stream—a hastily made, slightly clunky logo she insisted on designing herself. Below it, a scrolling bar reads, “First-ever stream! Let’s see if I survive TLOU!”

Her hands grip the controller nervously as the familiar PlayStation startup chime fades. The chat explodes before she even gets to the main menu.

StarGazer48: OMG, first stream vibes!!!

ButterflyEffect: She’s so cute 😭

ClickClackJack: Does she even know what’s coming??

MossyUnderwear: If she doesn’t cry at the start, she’s a robot.

"Wow! Okay, okay, hold on, chat!" Eunbi laughs, her voice carrying that particular mix of giddiness and terror. She leans forward, squinting at the second monitor to keep up with the flood of comments. “First of all, hi, everyone! Thank you for showing up… I thought there would be like… five people?"

She glances toward you, sitting just off-camera, as if for reassurance. You flash her a thumbs-up, silently mouthing, “You’ve got this.”

Her nervous laugh lingers as she picks up the controller, her fingers already fumbling with the buttons. “So, here’s the deal. This is my first-ever stream, obviously. And we’re starting with The Last of Us because… well, apparently, it’s a classic, and I don’t know much about it other than… it’s supposed to be really dramatic?” She draws out the last word like it’s a question, her doe eyes widening.

The chat erupts again:

GameDork98: Oh, honey, you have NO idea.

HatGuy69: She’s gonna cry in the first 15 minutes, guaranteed.

EllieLuv: Protect Ellie at all costs 😭

"Wait, what? Cry?!” Eunbi’s head jerks up, her gaze darting to the chat. “Nobody said anything about crying! This is just… an apocalypse thing, right? Like zombies and stuff?” Her voice rises an octave as she tries to sound calm.

The game menu appears, the soundtrack's desolate guitar fills Eunbi's ears through headphones. She adjusts in her seat, pulling the hoodie tighter around her like armor. “Alright, alright. I’m not scared. I got this. I mean, if I can handle weird requests in my DMs, I can handle… this… scary music…”

She navigates to “New Game,” as the opening cinematic begins, her expression shifts from nervous to curious. “Oh, wow. The graphics are pretty good. Look at this house! So cozy—oh no, is this where the drama starts?”

The chat explodes with laughter, cryptic emojis, and ominous hints.

ClickClackJack: This is the calm before the storm.

CryingAlpaca: Everyone, place your bets. Does she cry in 5 minutes or 10?

Eunbi leans closer, totally engrossed in Sarah wandering through the house. “Aw, this kid is so cute. Wait—she’s the main character, right?”

The chat collectively groans.

DadJokes24: Oh, sweet summer child…

“Wait, wait! Why are you guys groaning?!” she exclaims, pausing the game, eyes darting to the chat. “Don’t tell me! No spoilers, okay? Let me be innocent and enjoy this!”

She presses play again, her lips pursed as she concentrates. The moment Joel bursts through the door, Eunbi squeals in surprise. “Oh my god, what’s happening?!”

As the chaos unfolds—the infected neighbor, the car chase—she grips the controller so tightly her knuckles whiten. “THIS IS NOT ZOMBIE STUFF! WHY IS EVERYTHING EXPLODING?!”

DoomBoom: Chat, she’s losing it. This is GOLD.

NoContextGary: Just wait until the emotional sucker punch.

When the gut-wrenching scene with Joel and Sarah hits, Eunbi falls silent. Her eyes stay glued to the screen as her mouth drops open slightly. The soft sound of a sob escapes her lips as the scene fades to black, and she quickly wipes her eyes with her sleeve, laughing awkwardly. “Okay. Fine. You win. I cried. Are you happy now?”

CryingAlpaca: 16 minutes. I called it.

EllieLuv: And that's just the fucking prologue!!

ClipThis: Clip it, chat!

Eunbi sits back, letting out a shaky breath. “I need a second. That was brutal. And you guys… you knew. This whole time, you knew!” She waves a finger at the camera, mock-accusingly.

Her laughter turns genuine as she takes a sip from her water bottle, holding it dramatically like an Oscar. “Alright, let’s keep going. But if the game keeps hitting me like that, I might need therapy. And snacks. Definitely snacks.”

The chat goes wild with love and teasing, and Eunbi seems to relax, her natural charm shining through. When you see that she has everything under control, you sneak out of the room to let her focus on the game. She adjusts her hoodie, leans into the mic, and smirks at the camera. “Okay, chat. Let’s see what other heartbreaks you’ve got lined up for me. Bring it on.”

—

The stream winds down with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion radiating from Eunbi. The game’s pause menu glows on the screen as she swivels her chair toward the camera, resting her chin in her hands with a bright, satisfied smile.

“Alright, chat. That’s it for today!” she announces, her voice warm and a little hoarse from three hours of near-constant talking. “I can’t believe we actually survived this far… well, mostly. Let’s just ignore all the times I accidentally ran straight into danger, okay? You guys are seriously the best for sticking with me through that chaos.”

The chat explodes with a flurry of messages:

StarGazer48: BEST STREAM EVER!

ButterflyEffect: You were so much fun, Ruby! Can’t wait for Friday!

ClickClackJack: First stream? Nah, you’re a natural.

RubyFan326: She’s learning fast chat, we stan a chaotic queen!!

Eunbi beams, hugging her knees to her chest like she can’t contain her excitement. “You’re all making me blush. Seriously, thank you for hanging out with me. I’m back Friday at 7 PM—mark your calendars, okay? Same game, same chaos, but hopefully with fewer ‘oops I died’ moments.” She flashes a cheeky grin and winks at the camera.

“And don’t forget to follow if you haven’t already! I mean, unless you hate fun. In that case… I don’t know what to tell you.” She laughs, leaning back in her chair and making finger guns at the screen.

The chat fills with emotes and farewells, hearts and inside jokes from the stream.

MossyUnderwear: WE LOVE YOU, RUBYDDEN!

DadJokes24: Don’t forget snacks for next time!

MovieBuff88: Stream was fire 🔥. See you Friday!

Eunbi waves a final time, her smile stretching wide and genuine. “Bye, guys! See you Friday! Be good, okay?” She clicks the “End Stream” button, the chat disappearing into a frozen feed of her grinning face.

The room falls silent except for the faint hum of her PC. Eunbi leans back, letting out a long, breathy laugh, hands pressed to her cheeks. “Oh my god… that was insane,” she mutters to herself, still buzzing.

Without a second thought, she bolts from her chair, nearly tripping over the cord of her headset. She sprints to your room, throwing the door open with the force of a hurricane.

“BABE!” she screams, launching herself onto the bed where you’re sprawled out, scrolling on your phone.

“Jesus!” you exclaim, startled, but there’s no time to process because Eunbi is already on top of you, straddling your waist and peppering your face with a barrage of kisses.

“Did you see that?!” she babbles between kisses, her words tumbling out like they’re fighting for first place. “They loved me! They actually loved me! The chat was so sweet, and everyone was so funny, and I didn’t even cry that much, right? Okay, maybe a little, but that was the game’s fault, not mine!”

You laugh, hands instinctively finding her waist as you steady her. “Slow down, babe! I can barely understand you!”

She pulls back, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. “I can’t slow down! I’m too excited! It went so much better than I thought it would, and they were so nice, and I didn’t mess up too badly, right?”

“Are you kidding me? You killed it,” you assure her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You were funny, adorable, and totally yourself. No wonder they loved you.”

Her grin widens, and she dives back in, pressing kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your lips—anywhere she can reach. “You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend,” she teases, but her voice is thick with happiness.

“Maybe,” you admit, catching her face in your hands to slow her down and plant a proper kiss on her lips. “But I’m also right. You were amazing.”

She melts into the kiss for a moment before pulling back, practically vibrating with energy. “I have so many ideas for Friday! Like, maybe I can do a snack tier list during breaks? Oh, and I should definitely figure out how to make those pop-up notifications cooler—like, fireworks or something every time someone subscribes!”

You laugh, letting her ramble, loving every second of seeing her this happy. “Whatever you do, it’ll be awesome. I’ll help you set it up.”

“Ugh, you’re the best,” she says, flopping down beside you, her head resting on your chest. She’s still buzzing, her fingers drumming lightly against your ribs. “This was the best day. I didn’t think I’d love streaming this much, but it’s so fun! And everyone was so nice! Did I already say that?!”

“Only like ten times,” you tease, wrapping an arm around her.

“Well, it’s true!” she says, tilting her head to look up at you, her smile softening. “Thanks for believing in me. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Always,” you say, pressing a kiss to her temple. The two of you lie there in a comfortable silence, her excitement slowly giving way to contentment as she curls closer to you.

—

The gym is quite crowded today. The faint scent of rubber mats and sweat hangs in the air, but it’s far from unpleasant—it’s the smell of effort! Eunbi and Somi stand by the dumbbell rack, mid-chat, stretching in between sets.

Eunbi’s dressed in a black sports bra and high-waisted lavender leggings that hug her figure, her small waist accentuated by the snug fit. Her hair’s tied up in a messy ponytail, a few strands already sticking to her forehead from the light sheen of sweat. Beside her, Somi towers, her blonde hair pulled into a sleek braid that sways with every movement. She’s wearing a cropped white tank top, leaving her toned stomach exposed, paired with tight, navy blue biker shorts. The cut of her tank makes her generous chest all the more noticeable, matching Eunbi’s proportions, but on a taller frame.

“You really crushed that stream, Eunbi,” Somi says as she adjusts her stance for a set of squats. She picks up a kettlebell, testing its weight. “Three hours and you still looked fresh by the end? You’re a beast.”

Eunbi laughs, grabbing a smaller kettlebell for herself. “Fresh? More like barely holding it together.”

“Yeah, but that’s part of your charm,” Somi teases, dropping into her squat. Her form is flawless, back straight, glutes engaging as she lowers herself smoothly. “You’re just… you. And people love that. They eat it up.”

Eunbi mimics the movement beside her, her squat not quite as smooth but serviceable. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. But the chat was so supportive… like, weirdly supportive? I half-expected trolls, but they were sweet.” She pauses, glancing at Somi with a grin. “Kind of like you, always hyping me up.”

Somi straightens, laughing as she rests the kettlebell against her hip. “Of course I’m hyping you up. You’re killing it, Eunbi. You deserve all of it—the success, the love. And let’s not forget about your boyfriend. I swear, he’s like… the blueprint for ‘sweet and supportive.’”

Eunbi rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away. “Yeah, he’s pretty great. You should’ve seen him after the stream. I practically tackled him with excitement, and he just took it like a champ.”

Somi smirks, switching to lateral raises with a pair of dumbbells. “I bet. He’s head over heels for you—it’s obvious. You lucked out, girl.” She glances at Eunbi out of the corner of her eye. “And he’s cute. Just saying.”

Eunbi snorts, picking up her own weights and joining in on the raises. “Don’t let him hear you say that. His ego’s big enough already.”

“Mm, doubt it. He seems too grounded for that,” Somi says, her voice casual but carrying a playful undertone. She pauses, lowering the dumbbells. “But seriously, Eunbi… I’m glad you’ve got someone like him in your corner. Relationships are hard enough without the added… unique challenges of your job.”

Eunbi sets the weights down, exhaling as she stretches her arms over her head. “Yeah. It’s not always easy, but we make it work. Honestly, he’s been a lifesaver. I don’t think I could do this without him.”

Somi’s expression softens, and she leans against the rack, studying Eunbi for a moment. “You’re lucky. But so is he. You’ve always been brave, you know? Even when you first started… this whole thing, you owned it. And look where you are now.”

Eunbi chuckles, a hint of shyness creeping into her tone. “I don’t know if I’d call it brave. More like… desperate with a side of cluelessness.”

“Stop it.” Somi nudges her shoulder with a laugh. “You’ve got guts, and I respect that. Honestly, it’s inspiring. And maybe… I’ve been thinking about trying it, too.”

Eunbi freezes mid-stretch, blinking at Somi. “Wait. What?”

Somi shrugs, her braid bouncing. “Not, like, diving headfirst or anything. But I’ve been curious. You make it look fun. Plus…” She hesitates, glancing at Eunbi with a mischievous glint in her eye. “You and your boyfriend are both… ridiculously attractive. Just throwing that out there.”

Eunbi bursts out laughing, bending over to catch her breath. “Oh my god, Somi. Are you serious right now?”

“What?” Somi grins, unrepentant. “I’m just saying. If you ever wanted to collaborate… you know I’m game.”

Eunbi straightens, still laughing but with a faint blush creeping across her cheeks. “You’re insane. But I’ll… keep that in mind.”

Somi winks, picking up her dumbbells again. “You do that, princess. Now, come on. We’ve got one more set to crush.”

The two of them dive back into their workout, the conversation hanging in the air like a secret they’re both in on. It’s become routine now—Eunbi and Somi hitting the gym together, sweating it out between sets, always slipping into these raw, intimate talks where the masks drop. They’re best friends, no bullshit, just two girls who get each other completely. The gym’s their safe zone, a sweaty, clangy haven where they can flex their muscles and their honesty, laughing about life, love, and whatever wild ideas Somi’s cooking up next—no judgment, just vibes.

—

The door bursts open, and Eunbi and Somi stumble in, laughing so hard they’re practically leaning on each other for support. Both are flushed from the workout, faces glowing and slightly damp, strands of hair sticking to their foreheads. Eunbi kicks off her sneakers near the door without looking, while Somi collapses onto the couch, her braid swaying as she falls back with a dramatic groan.

You’re in the middle of wiping down the coffee table, a damp cloth in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. The faint scent of citrus cleaner fills the room. You glance up, eyebrows raised, as the two whirlwind into the apartment like they were in a park.

“Well, look at you,” Somi says with a teasing grin, sitting up and gesturing toward you with a lazy wave of her hand. “The perfect house boyfriend. Cleaning up while we’re out breaking a sweat. It’s adorable, really.”

Eunbi, still giggling, grabs a water bottle from the counter and takes a long sip before pointing at you with mock sternness. “Seriously, babe. You’re making the rest of us look bad. Stop being so domestic—it’s embarrassing.”

You straighten, crossing your arms, cloth dangling from one hand. “Excuse me for trying to keep this place from becoming a pigsty. Somebody’s got to do it.”

Somi leans forward, her elbow resting on her knee, and gives you a sly look. “Somebody’s gotta earn that ‘house boyfriend’ title, huh?”

Eunbi snickers, joining in as she sets her water bottle down. “He’s good at it, though. I should get him an apron.”

“I draw the line at aprons,” you deadpan, but there’s a flicker of amusement in your tone.

The laughter dies down, but there’s something in the air now—a faint charge, like static before a storm. You catch a glance between Eunbi and Somi, quick and loaded, followed by matching smirks. Suspicious. Very suspicious.

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” Eunbi says, her tone light but her face too innocent. She grabs Somi by the arm, dragging her toward the kitchen. “Come on, let’s make a snack before this ‘house boyfriend’ kicks us out for dripping sweat everywhere.”

You watch them disappear into the kitchen, your gaze lingering as they start pulling things from the fridge. There’s something about the way they move around each other, the subtle touches and shared grins. You shake your head, trying to dismiss it, but the thought sticks.

As you finish wiping the table, you hear Eunbi’s voice, quiet but not quiet enough to miss.

“So, should I tell him, or do you want to?”

Somi laughs. “Oh, I think you should warm him up first. Wouldn’t want to scare him off.”

Now you’re curious—and a little uneasy. You toss the cloth and spray bottle onto the counter and make your way toward the kitchen.

Eunbi’s standing by the cutting board, slicing apples, while Somi leans against the counter, munching on a carrot stick like it’s a cigarette. They both glance up when you walk in, and there’s that same look between them again.

“Alright,” you say, leaning against the doorway with your arms crossed. “What’s going on?”

Eunbi pauses mid-slice, looking at Somi for a beat before turning to you with a sheepish smile. “Okay, so… Somi said something interesting at the gym.”

“Interesting how?”

Eunbi sets down the knife and crosses her arms, mirroring your stance. “She said she might want to… collaborate with us. Like, on a video.”

“She wants what?”

Somi steps in, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “I mean, no pressure or anything. I just thought… you two are obviously comfortable with this stuff, and I’ve been curious. Plus…” She shrugs, flashing you a playful grin. “You’re cute. She’s cute. It seemed like a no-brainer.”

You blink, your mind scrambling to process this new development. “Uh… Somi, you’re… a friend. This is kind of… unexpected.”

Somi laughs, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face. “Oh, I get it. It’s weird, right? But hey, Yujin wasn’t exactly a stranger, was she?”

“That’s… different,” you say, struggling to find the words.

“Why? Because I know you better?” Somi steps closer, her smile softening. “Look, I’m not saying you have to decide right now. Just… consider it, okay?”

Before you can respond, she leans in, planting a quick kiss on Eunbi’s cheek, then yours. It’s light, playful, and far more disarming than it has any right to be.

Eunbi’s face lights up, a mix of amusement and something more as she watches your reaction. “Wow,” she says, nudging you with her elbow. “Looks like someone’s had their eye on us, huh?”

Somi winks, grabbing an apple slice from the cutting board. “What can I say? You two are hard to ignore.”

Eunbi laughs, her hand brushing yours as she reaches for another apple slice. “Well, babe, what do you think? Somi’s always been bold, but this might be her boldest move yet.”

You glance between them, the weight of their playful smiles making your head spin. “I… think I need to sit down,” you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck.

Somi’s laugh rings out, warm and teasing. “Take your time, house boyfriend. No rush. I’ll just… let that idea simmer for a bit.”

Eunbi grins, handing you an apple slice like it’s a peace offering. “Welcome to my world, babe. It’s never boring.”

You take the apple, biting into it as you watch the two of them exchange another loaded look.

Never boring, indeed.

—

Eunbi starts planting the idea subtly, like she’s threading a needle through the gaps in your resolve, pulling the thread just tight enough to make you notice but not enough to make you pull away. It starts with offhand comments, playful teases wrapped in casual conversation.

“You know,” she muses one night, sprawled out on your chest while idly scrolling through her phone, “Somi’s got this unreal body. Like, actually unfair.”

You glance down at her, raising a brow. “And this is relevant to me because…?”

She tilts her head up, lips twitching with amusement. “Because you have eyes? And also because I know you like a nice tight ass, and hers is—well, come on.” She flicks her screen, and suddenly, she’s holding it up to you, a picture of Somi in a tiny bikini dominating the screen. The straps are minimal, the fit snug, every curve accentuated by the sun-kissed glow of her skin, especially the cleavage of her breasts—god, those breasts...

You swallow. Hard.

“Okay,” you admit, trying to play it cool. “She’s hot. What’s your point?”

Eunbi grins, sensing the crack in your composure. She flips to another picture—this time, one of her and Somi at the gym, both clad in skin-tight leggings that leave little to the imagination. Somi’s in navy blue, Eunbi in lavender, their toned legs and hips pressed close together as they pose in the mirror.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your phone. Eunbi notices.

“My point,” she continues, voice smooth as silk, “is that we’d look good together. Don’t you think?”

You exhale, pressing your head back against the pillow. “I think you like messing with me.”

She laughs, her breath warm against your collarbone as she shifts, draping herself over you like a cat basking in its favorite spot. “Obviously. But I also know you. And I know you’ve thought about it.”

Your silence is answer enough.

Eunbi doesn’t rush you—she never does. She lets the idea marinate, simmering on the edges of your thoughts, dropping little breadcrumbs every so often. A comment here, a lingering glance there. One night, she casually asks, “Wasn’t it fun with Yujin?” as she trails kisses down your neck. Another time, she accidentally leaves her phone unlocked on the bed, a chat with Somi open—Somi, who’s sent a winking selfie captioned, “So when are we making this happen? 😘”

You pretend not to see it.

But pretending doesn’t stop the thoughts. It doesn’t stop the way you start noticing Somi more—the way her tank tops ride up when she stretches, exposing that sliver of taut stomach. The way she playfully bumps your shoulder when she walks past, always just a little too close. The way her laughter lingers a second longer when she catches you watching her.

Then comes the night Eunbi corners you—figuratively, of course. She’s sitting in your lap, straddling you, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your shoulders.

“Babe,” she murmurs, lips inches from yours, “are you really gonna make me beg?”

You exhale slowly, hands gripping her waist. “This is crazy.”

She tilts her head. “Is it? You trust me, don’t you?”

That question hangs between you, heavier than the warmth of her body against yours. Of course, you trust her. That was never the issue. The issue was the part of you that already knew where this was heading.

You take a breath, slow and measured, but the weight of Eunbi’s gaze makes it feel shallow, like there’s not enough air in the room. She’s watching you, waiting, her fingers still tracing those absentminded patterns along your shoulders, nails just barely grazing your skin.

And then, finally, you exhale.

“…Yeah,” you admit. “I do.”

Eunbi’s lips curl into something victorious, but not smug—no, this is softer, warmer. She cradles your face in her hands, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as she studies you like she’s memorizing this moment.

“See?” she murmurs. “That wasn’t so hard.”

You huff out a laugh. “Says the woman who spent weeks working me over.”

She grins, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You say that like you didn’t enjoy it.”

Your grip on her waist tightens slightly, enough for her to notice, enough for her to smirk as she leans in again, lips barely brushing yours as she whispers, “It’s gonna be fun.”

—

So the day finally arrives.

You're in your room, eyes glued to the laptop screen, hunched over the desk, a spreadsheet open, cells filled with numbers that look like they’re mocking you with their sheer volume. Eunbi’s earnings have skyrocketed since she started streaming, and between that and her other content, the bank account has become a lot healthier than you ever expected. It’s great—amazing, really—but it’s also overwhelming.

You mutter under your breath, adjusting a formula that doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Managing finances was never something you planned on doing full-time, but here you are, crunching numbers like you’re auditioning for an accountant job you don’t want.

The faint sound of Eunbi’s voice filters in from the living room, energetic and full of life as she wraps up another stream. You smile, proud of her. She’s thriving, and you love helping her behind the scenes, but… there’s still that nagging feeling. The one that whispers you’re not doing enough, even though she’s insisted a million times that you’re her rock, her partner, her everything.

Before you can spiral too deep into your thoughts, the door swings open with zero warning, and in walks Somi. No knock, no announcement—just an entrance like she owns the place. Her damp braided blonde hair clings to her shoulders, and she’s wearing what you generously call pajamas: a loose tank top that barely clings to her chest and shorts so tiny they might as well be a suggestion rather than clothing.

“Hey, house boyfriend,” she says, flopping onto the bed like a cat claiming territory. “What’s got you all serious in here?”

You glance up, trying not to let your gaze linger too long on the way her tank top shifts as she settles in. “Numbers. Money stuff. Trying to figure out what to do with all this cash Eunbi’s making.”

Somi tilts her head, propping herself up on one elbow. “Ooh, let me guess. She’s still hopeless with money?”

“Completely,” you reply, smirking despite yourself. “She tried to tell me her budget was ‘don’t buy anything unless it’s on sale.’”

Somi bursts out laughing. “Classic Eunbi. So what’s the plan? Stash it under the mattress? Blow it all on RGB lights?”

“Ha. Ha,” you say dryly, gesturing at the screen. “I was thinking investments. Something stable but with a decent return. Problem is, I’m stuck on this formula, and Google’s no help.”

She hops off the bed and strides over, peering over your shoulder. “Let me see.”

You lean back, letting her get a closer look. Her proximity is… distracting. The scent of her shampoo, light and floral, drifts into your space, and her damp hair brushes your arm as she leans in.

“Ah, I see the problem,” she says. “You’re trying to calculate compound interest on a rolling deposit. You need to nest the formula differently.”

You blink. “How do you even know that?”

Somi grins, tapping her temple. “Numbers are my thing. Did Eunbi ever tell you that I made money in high school by doing other students' math homework?”

“No, but now it makes sense why you’re so annoyingly good at everything,” you say, shifting to let her take the keyboard.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she quips, typing away with swift, assured keystrokes. Within seconds, the formula is fixed, and the numbers fall into place like obedient soldiers.

“There. Problem solved,” she says, stepping back with a flourish.

You stare at the screen, genuinely impressed. “Okay, that’s actually amazing. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she says, flashing you a cheeky smile. “So, what are we investing in? Stocks? Crypto? A small island in the Caribbean?”

“Let’s start with something less risky, like index funds. We can work our way up to the private island.”

Somi nods sagely. “Smart. And when you get the island, don’t forget who helped you make the down payment.”

“Noted,” you say, leaning back in your chair.

She plops back onto the bed, stretching out like she’s lived here her whole life.

“So,” she says, her voice teasing, “you ready for tonight?”

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. “I guess? Still wrapping my head around it, to be honest.”

“Relax,” she says, her tone softening. “It’s just us. Nothing’s going to change. I’m still Somi, Eunbi’s still Eunbi, and you’re still… well, house boyfriend.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you mutter, but there’s a faint smile on your lips.

She sits up, her expression unusually earnest. “I mean it. You don’t have to overthink this. We’re friends first, okay? The rest is just… extra.”

You nod. “Okay. Thanks, Somi.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says, standing and stretching, her arms reaching above her head. She catches your gaze for a moment, a playful glint in her eye. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to raid your fridge. Got to fuel up for the big night.”

She saunters out, leaving the faint scent of her shampoo behind. You exhale, staring at the now-organized spreadsheet. Somi might be right about not overthinking, but something tells you this night is going to be anything but ordinary.

The hours pass and you’re sprawled out in your room when the door swings open with that familiar creak. Eunbi struts in, and fuck, she’s got that look—like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Her oversized hoodie’s slipping off one shoulder like always, showing off that thin strap of her tank top, and those soft black shorts are riding up just enough to make your brain short-circuit. She’s got this sultry little smirk, all suggestive and playful, as she leans against the doorframe. “Everything’s set for the recording,” she says, like she’s dangling something you can’t resist. You push yourself up from the chair, stretching a little, but there’s this hesitant buzz in your chest—like you’re excited but still wrapping your head around what’s about to go down. “How’d the stream go?” you ask, scratching the back of your neck, trying to play it cool. She lights up, bouncing on her toes. “Oh my god, it was awesome. Chat was hyped, I had a blast, and The Last of Us? I’m obsessed. Joel’s breaking my heart every five minutes.” Her energy’s infectious, and you can’t help but grin—she’s killing it, and you’re genuinely stoked for her. She steps closer, grabs your face with both hands, and plants a soft, quick kiss on your lips. “You okay, babe?” she asks, tilting her head, those big eyes searching yours. “Yeah, I’m good,” you say, nodding, and it’s true, even if your pulse is kicking up a notch. She flashes you that smile that always melts you, grabs your hand, and tugs you toward her room like she’s on a mission.

You follow her down the hall, her fingers laced with yours, and when you step into her space, it’s like walking into a different world. The RGB lights are dialed up, casting a soft purple-red glow over everything, and her streaming setup’s still warm from earlier. Somi’s perched on a stool by the desk, finishing her makeup, a little compact mirror in one hand and a fluffy brush in the other. She’s still rocking that barely-there tank top, the fabric stretched tight over her chest, and those tiny shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. Her blonde hair’s loose now, falling over her shoulders in messy waves, and when she spots you, her face lights up like she’s been waiting for this all day. “There’s our star,” she says, tossing the brush down and hopping off the stool, all long legs and confidence. You give her a half-smile, feeling the air shift—thicker, heavier with whatever’s about to happen. You head over to the camera on its tripod, double-checking the battery. Green light’s solid—plenty of juice. Everything’s good to go, and you drop onto the edge of the mattress, rubbing your hands on your jeans, trying to shake off that nervous edge.

Eunbi doesn’t waste a second—she slides right onto your lap, straddling you, her thighs pressing against your hips. The weight of her feels so fucking good, familiar but electric with the vibe in the room. Somi plops down next to you, close enough that her bare knee brushes yours, and she leans in with this sly little grin. “Alright, let’s break the ice,” she says. Before you can even process it, Eunbi turns her head, grabs Somi by the neck, and pulls her into a kiss. Holy shit—it’s hot. Like, instantly hot. They’re both gorgeous, lips soft and glossy, moving against each other like they’ve done this a million times, even though you know they’re just good friends pushing boundaries. Eunbi’s hands slide up Somi’s arms, then cup her massive tits through that flimsy tank top, squeezing just enough to make Somi moan into her mouth—a low, needy sound that hits you right in the gut. You can see Somi’s nipples hardening, poking through the fabric, and your jeans are getting tight as hell. Your cock’s waking up fast, straining against the zipper, and you shift a little under Eunbi, trying to play it off, but she’s gotta feel it.

Somi’s not holding back either—her hands slip under Eunbi’s hoodie, pushing it up to expose the smooth curve of her waist and the edge of her tank top. She grabs Eunbi’s tits, thumbs brushing over where her nipples are probably hard as fuck under the layers, and Eunbi lets out this breathy little gasp that makes your head spin. The hoodie’s bunched up now, showing off her flat stomach, and the way they’re groping each other is straight-up pornographic—except it’s real, and it’s happening two feet from you. They break the kiss, both of them flushed, lips shiny with spit, and Eunbi turns to you, cheeks pink, eyes dark. “What’d you think, babe?” she asks, voice all husky. You swallow hard, throat dry as fuck. “Yeah, uh, I liked it,” you manage, and she smirks, shifting her hips just enough to grind against your boner. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and that smile says she’s loving every second of it.

Then Somi leans in, her hand resting on your thigh—way too close to your dick—and says, “My turn.” Before you can even think, her lips are on yours, soft and warm and tasting faintly of cherry lip gloss. You’re so fucking horny it’s ridiculous, and you kiss her back harder than you mean to, tongue slipping into her mouth, hands grabbing her waist on instinct. She’s pressing herself against you, her tits squished against your chest, and it’s like every nerve in your body’s on fire. Eunbi’s still on your lap, watching with this mesmerized, horny-as-hell look, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Somi pulls back, breathing fast, and you’re both a little wrecked—her hair’s a mess from your fingers, and you’re pretty sure your brain’s offline. Eunbi’s voice cuts through the haze, soft and teasing. “So? What’d you think of that?” You’re panting a little, cock throbbing under her weight. “Fuck, I liked it,” you say, and she giggles, leaning in to give you a quick, sloppy kiss—more tongue than necessary, like she’s staking her claim.

She slides off your lap, adjusting her hoodie, and claps her hands together. “Alright, we’re ready to start filming,” she says, all business now, but her eyes are still gleaming with lust. Somi’s smirking, wiping a smudge of gloss from the corner of her mouth, and you’re just sitting there, hard as a rock, trying to catch your breath.

Eunbi’s got that glint in her eye as she picks up the camera from the tripod, her fingers brushing yours as she hands it over. “You’re on POV duty, babe,” she says. The weight of the camera settles in your hands, solid and real, and you adjust your grip, already picturing how this is gonna look through the lens. Somi’s rummaging through the little box of props by the desk, pulling out this old black masquerade mask—the one Eunbi used to wear back when she was still anonymous. Somi slips it over her eyes, the elastic snapping into place, and it’s just these two thin straps of fabric cutting across her face, leaving her mouth and jaw exposed. The way it frames her cheekbones and makes her lips pop is unreal. Eunbi steps back, tilting her head to check her out, and grins. “Fuck, you look sexy as hell like that,” she says, all casual like she’s complimenting Somi’s gym outfit or something. Somi strikes a little pose, popping her hip, and smirks. “Yeah? Good, ‘cause I’m ready to fuck shit up.”

You adjust yourself on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, the mattress dipping under your weight. The camera’s in your hands, lens pointed down at your lap for now, and you can feel your pulse hammering in your throat. “Alright, I’m gonna start recording,” you say, thumb hovering over the button. Your voice comes out steadier than you feel, which is a minor miracle. You hit record, and the little red light blinks on. Eunbi and Somi drop to their knees between your legs, smooth and synced like they’ve rehearsed this shit. The carpet’s soft under their knees, and the RGB lights paint their skin in shifting hues—purple bleeding into red, then blue. Eunbi’s hoodie’s still bunched up from earlier, showing off that sliver of her stomach, and Somi’s tank top is clinging to her curves, the mask giving her this mysterious, badass vibe. You angle the camera down, framing them just right, their faces filling the shot.

Eunbi kicks things off, leaning into the mic moment like she’s still streaming to her chat. “Hey, everyone,” she says, all bright and charismatic, her voice slipping into that flirty, playful tone she’s perfected. “Got a special treat for you tonight. Say hi to my gorgeous friend here—she’s joining us for some fun.” She gestures at Somi, who flashes a wicked grin, lips glossy and parted. “Hey, y’all,” Somi says, her voice low and raspy, dripping with excitement. “I’m fucking pumped to be here—let’s make it a good one.” She doesn’t say her name, obviously—Eunbi’s keeping it vague, letting the mask and the vibe do the talking. The camera catches every detail: the way Eunbi’s hair falls messily over her shoulders, the slight sheen of sweat on Somi’s collarbone, the way their knees press into the carpet as they shift closer to you.

Eunbi’s hands move first, reaching for your belt with this practiced ease. The metal clinks as she unbuckles it, her fingers brushing your stomach through your shirt, sending a jolt straight to your dick. Somi’s right there with her, tugging at the button of your jeans, popping it open with a little flick. “Teamwork makes the dream work,” Somi mutters under her breath, and Eunbi snickers, the sound all throaty and real. They yank your jeans down together, a little rougher than necessary, the denim scraping against your thighs as it slides off. Your boxers go next—Somi hooks her fingers in the waistband and pulls, slow and deliberate, like she’s unwrapping something she’s been dying to see. Your cock springs free, already half-hard from all the buildup, and the air feels cool against your skin for about two seconds before their eyes lock on it.

Somi lets out this low whistle, leaning in closer, the mask making her look like some sexy bandit sizing up her prize. “Holy shit, dude,” she says, voice full of awe. “This thing’s even bigger in real life. The videos don’t do it justice.” Eunbi smirks, proud as hell, like she’s showing off her favorite toy. “Told you he’s packing,” she says to Somi, then glances up at you through the lens, winking. Your grip on the camera tightens, trying to keep it steady as they both reach out. Eunbi’s hand wraps around the base, her fingers warm and firm, while Somi’s slides up the side, her touch lighter, almost teasing. They stroke you together, not hard, just enough to make your breath hitch. The sensation’s fucking wild—two different rhythms, two different grips, and you’re already fighting to keep your shit together.

Eunbi leans in first, her tongue darting out to lick the tip, slow and wet, leaving a shiny trail that catches the light. She’s got this way of flicking her tongue that’s pure torture, and you angle the camera down to catch it—her lips hovering, her eyes flicking up at you through her lashes. Somi’s watching her like she’s taking notes, then dives in on the other side, her lips brushing the shaft, soft and sloppy. Her mask shifts a little as she moves, but it stays put, the black fabric stark against her flushed cheeks. They’re working you together now, mouths sliding over your cock like they’re sharing a goddamn meal. Eunbi’s sucking lightly on the head, her cheeks hollowing out, while Somi’s tongue traces a slow, lazy line up the side, her breath hot against your skin. You groan low in your throat, the sound rumbling out before you can stop it, and Eunbi hums in response, the vibration hitting hard.

Somi pulls back for a sec, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, grinning like a kid who just stole candy. “This is fun as hell,” she says, voice all husky, then dives back in, her lips wrapping around the middle while Eunbi works the tip. They’re trading off, syncing up without even trying—Eunbi’s hand stays at the base, pumping slow and steady, while Somi’s tongue swirls around the shaft, messy and wet. Spit’s starting to drip, pooling on the carpet between your legs, and you can hear it—the slick, sloppy sounds mixing with their little gasps and moans. The camera’s catching everything: the way Eunbi’s hair sticks to her neck, the way Somi’s tank top rides up, showing off the curve of her hips, the way your cock glistens under the lights, slick with their spit.

Eunbi pulls off, her lips shiny, and looks up at you—or the camera, really—grinning like she knows she’s driving you insane. “Having fun up there, babe?” she asks, all coy, her hand still stroking you, keeping the pressure just right. Somi doesn’t stop, her mouth sliding lower, kissing and sucking along the base, her mask slipping a tiny bit and you catch a flash of her eyes—dark, wild, loving every second of this. You grunt out a “Fuck yeah,” voice rougher than you mean it to be, and they both laugh, the sound muffled against your skin. Eunbi leans back in, her tongue flattening against the underside, dragging up slow and deliberate, while Somi’s lips meet hers at the top, their mouths brushing each other as they take you in. It’s messy, uncoordinated, and so fucking hot you’re gripping the camera like it’s your lifeline.

Somi’s hand slips under your shirt, nails raking lightly over your stomach, and Eunbi’s free hand digs into your thigh, grounding herself as she works you harder. They’re all in—knees pressed into the carpet, bodies leaning into you, mouths and hands everywhere. The camera shakes a little in your grip, but you keep it focused, the POV lens is drinking it all in, every filthy detail lit up by the shifting RGB glow—purple washing over their skin, then red, then blue, like some horny neon fever dream. Eunbi’s on her knees, her messy bun bouncing slightly as she moves, and Somi’s right there with her, that black masquerade mask sitting snug over her eyes. It’s one of those fancy ones, like you’d see at a ball—curved and sleek, hugging her face, with little swirls cut into the edges that make her look like some mysterious seductress.

Eunbi shifts lower, her hands gripping your thighs as she ducks her head and goes for your balls. Her tongue’s hot and wet, lapping at one, then the other, slow and sloppy like she’s savoring every second. She sucks one into her mouth, gentle at first, then harder, her cheeks hollowing out as she pulls just enough to make your breath catch. The sensation’s insane—warm and tight, her spit dripping down. She’s humming against you, this low, needy sound that vibrates straight up your spine, and you can’t help but groan, the noise rough and loud in the quiet room. The camera catches her from above—her hoodie’s still on, bunched up around her shoulders, and her eyes flick up at you through the lens, dark and teasing, like she knows she’s got you by the balls, literally.

Somi’s up higher, her hands wrapped around your cock, stroking it slow and deliberate while her mouth does the real damage. She’s in love with it, you can tell—her lips slide over the shaft, kissing it like it’s her favorite thing in the world, her tongue darting out to trace every inch. She’s messy with it, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin as she works you. That masquerade mask makes her look dangerous, the black fabric stark against her flushed skin, and when she pulls back for a sec, panting, she grins up at you. “Fuck, this thing’s a masterpiece,” she says, before diving back in. Her tongue swirls around the tip, flicking over the slit, and your hips jerk involuntarily, pushing deeper into her mouth. She moans around you, encouraging it, her hands pumping the base while her lips suck you down, wet and tight.

They’re a fucking team, trading off like they’ve got a playbook. Eunbi’s still sucking your balls, her tongue rolling over them now, sloppy and warm, while Somi’s got your cock in a death grip with her mouth. Then they switch it up—Eunbi pulls back, licking her lips, and Somi dips lower, kissing along the base while Eunbi’s hand takes over the shaft, stroking you fast and slick. The camera’s shaking a little in your hands, but you keep it locked on them, catching the way Somi’s mask slips just a fraction, and the way Eunbi’s hoodie rides up, flashing more of her stomach. It’s raw, chaotic, and so damn hot your head’s spinning.

Then they do something that nearly fucking kills you. Eunbi slides up, her mouth brushing the side of your cock, and Somi leans in from the other side. They sandwich the tip between their lips, kissing each other around it, their tongues tangling as they slide over you. It’s wet, messy, and loud—spit everywhere, their moans mixing with the slick sounds of their mouths working you over. Eunbi’s tongue flicks against Somi’s, then against you, and Somi’s sucking hard on one side while Eunbi mirrors her on the other. Your cock’s trapped in this perfect, sloppy vise, and you can’t hold back the moan that rips out of you—low and guttural, echoing in the room. The camera catches it all: their lips pressed together, your tip caught in the middle, glistening with their spit, the RGB lights painting their faces in streaks of color.

They keep going, relentless, their mouths sliding back and forth, trading sides, kissing around you like they’re starving for it. Eunbi’s hands dig into your thighs, nails leaving little half-moons in your skin, while Somi’s fingers tease the base of your cock, brushing your balls every now and then, sending jolts through you. Your dick’s soaked now, dripping with their spit, slick and shiny under the lights. Eunbi pulls back for a sec, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, her eyes glinting up at you. “Look at that,” she says, smirking, nodding at your cock like it’s some kind of trophy. Somi giggles, her mask shifting as she leans back, her chin wet and gleaming. “Yeah, we fucking drenched it,” she says, sounding proud as hell.

Eunbi sits back on her heels, grabbing the hem of her hoodie and yanking it over her head in one smooth motion. It lands in a heap on the floor, leaving her in that white tank top, the fabric stretched tight over her tits, puffy nipples poking through like she’s been hard this whole time. Somi follows suit, peeling off her tank top and tossing it aside—her massive chest bounces free, skin flushed from the heat of the room, and she adjusts her masquerade mask like it’s a crown, smirking at you through the lens. They’re both kneeling there, their bodies glistening with a light sheen of sweat, ready to take it up a notch. You lower the camera slightly, framing their tits in the shot, knowing damn well they’re about to give you a titjob that’ll blow your fucking mind.

Then Eunbi’s hands move to the bottom of her white tank top, fingers curling under the hem. She peels it up slow, teasing, like she’s putting on a show just for you—and the lens. The fabric stretches, then slides over her head, her massive tits bouncing free as she tosses it aside. They’re fucking huge, round and heavy, nipples hard and pink against her pale skin, catching the shifting RGB lights—purple, red, blue—like some kind of pornographic kaleidoscope.

Eunbi shifts closer, her knees digging into the carpet, and she leans in, cupping her tits with both hands. “Ready for this, babe?” she asks, eyes locked on yours through the camera. You nod, swallowing hard, your cock twitching at the sight of her. “Fuck yeah, I am,” you say, voice rough, already imagining how those soft, warm mounds are gonna feel. She smirks, adjusting her grip, and presses her tits together, sliding your slick, spit-soaked dick right into the valley between them. The first touch is insane—soft, plush, and hot, her skin wrapping around you like a glove. It's a feeling that always surprises you, no matter how many times you've experienced it. She starts moving, slow at first, bouncing her tits up and down, the friction building as your cock slides through. It’s wet from all their spit, slick and slippery, and the sound—fuck, it’s filthy, this soft, squishing noise every time she squeezes you tighter.

“Goddamn, babe,” you groan, angling the camera to catch every bounce, the way her tits jiggle and press against each other, trapping you in that perfect pocket. She giggles, low and dirty, loving how wrecked you sound. “Feels good, huh? My big fucking tits all over your dick?” she teases, picking up the pace, her nipples brushing your stomach every time she dips down. You’re losing it a little, hips twitching up to meet her, and she moans softly, getting off on how much you’re into it. “Yeah, babe, fuck my tits,” she murmurs, squeezing them harder, her thumbs brushing her own nipples like she’s teasing herself too. The camera’s catching it all—her flushed cheeks, the way her hair swings, the little beads of sweat starting to dot her chest. You’re in heaven, no lie, those massive, soft mounds swallowing your cock like they were made for it.

Somi’s watching from the side, her own hands drifting to her chest, kneading her tits absentmindedly as she bites her lip. “Shit, that’s hot,” she says, voice all breathy, her mask slipping a tiny bit as she leans closer. Eunbi glances over at her, smirking, and slows down, letting your cock slip free for a second. “Your turn,” she says, scooting over, her tits still heaving from the effort. Somi doesn’t hesitate—she shuffles into place, long legs folding under her, and grabs her own breasts, pushing them together. Hers are just as big as Eunbi’s, maybe a little perkier, with darker nipples that stand out against her flushed skin. She wraps them around your cock, and fuck, it’s a different kind of tight—firmer, her skin cooler from the air, but still so damn soft. She starts moving, quick and eager, her tits bouncing hard as she slides you in and out.

“Holy fuck,” you groan, head tipping back for a sec before you force yourself to focus on the camera again. The POV shot’s gold—her masked face tilted down, lips parted as she pants, blonde hair swinging, and those huge tits working you like a machine. “You like this, huh?” she says, grinning up at you, her voice all teasing and sharp. “My fat tits fucking your big dick? Better than you dreamed, right?” She squeezes tighter, and you hiss, the pressure insane, your cock disappearing completely between her mounds every time she pushes up. “Fuck yes,” you manage, voice tight, “you’re killing me with those things.” She laughs, throaty and smug, and leans forward more, letting the tip of your cock peek out at the top, brushing her chin. “Good,” she says, “I wanna ruin you for anything else.”

Eunbi’s shifted to the side now, kneeling close, her eyes glued to Somi’s tits bouncing around your cock. She’s biting her lip hard, one hand slipping under her shorts, rubbing herself through the fabric. “Fuck, babe,” she breathes, voice shaky with heat, “you look so good like that. Somi’s tits are eating you alive.” She’s horny as hell, you can tell—her cheeks are red, her breathing’s all over the place, and the way she’s touching herself is making her squirm. “You loving this?” she asks, leaning in to kiss your neck, her lips hot and wet against your skin. “Yeah, fuck, I’m losing my mind,” you say as Somi keeps going, her pace relentless. Eunbi moans against your neck, her hand moving faster under her shorts. “God, I love watching her fuck you with those,” she whispers, her tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

Somi slows down a little, teasing now, letting your cock slide out halfway before burying it back between her tits. “You’re so fucking hard,” she says, looking up at you through that mask, her eyes dark and wild. “These big-ass tits making you crazy?” She jiggles them a little, playful, and you can’t help but laugh, wrecked as you are. “Yeah, Somi, they’re fucking unreal,” you say, and she beams, proud as hell, picking up the pace again. The camera’s shaking more now, your hands unsteady, but you keep it on her—those bouncing mounds, the way her skin glistens with sweat, the little smirk she throws you every time she catches you staring.

Eunbi’s practically panting now, her hand moving in tight little circles under her shorts, her other hand reaching out to grab Somi’s arm. “Switch back,” she says, voice needy, almost desperate. Somi pulls back, letting your cock spring free, slick and shiny from all the spit and sweat, and Eunbi’s on it in a heartbeat. She presses her tits around you again, faster this time, her movements hungry. “Missed this,” she mutters, her voice all breathy as she works you, her nipples dragging against your stomach. “Love feeling you between my tits, babe.” You groan, the heat of her skin driving you wild. “Fuck, you’re so good at this,” you say, and she grins, all smug and turned on, her tits squeezing you tighter.

Somi’s not just watching anymore—she’s leaning in, whispering in your ear, her breath hot against your skin. “Bet you could fuck these tits all day, huh? Me and her fighting over your dick like this?” Her hand brushes your thigh, teasing close to your balls, and you’re so wound up it’s a miracle you’re still holding the camera. “Yeah, shit, I could,” you say, voice cracking, and they both laugh, loving how gone you are. Eunbi slows down, dragging it out, her tits sliding up and down so slow you can feel every inch of her. “You’re ours tonight,” she says, looking up at you, her eyes dark and possessive through the lens. Somi chimes in, “Damn right,” her fingers tracing little patterns on your leg, keeping you on edge.

It’s too much—those two massive pairs of tits, the teasing, the way they’re feeding off each other’s energy. You’re drowning in it, loving every second of their soft, warm skin all over you, their dirty talk bouncing around your head like a fucking echo chamber. The camera’s still rolling, capturing every bounce, every squeeze, and you’re just trying to hang on, lost in the best kind of chaos.

But Eunbi got this sixth sense about you—knows you’re teetering right on the edge, your breaths getting ragged, your grip on the camera tightening like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. She stops slowly, deliberate and torturous, letting your dick slip out inch by inch until it’s just resting between her breasts, throbbing against her warm skin. “Alright, babe, think we’ve teased you enough with these,” she says, giving her tits one last squeeze around you before letting go. Your cock springs free, hard as steel, and she sits back on her heels, smirking up at you through the lens ‘cause she knows she’s got you on the edge.

You clear your throat and stand up, legs a little shaky from the buildup. “Alright, ladies, on all fours.” Eunbi and Somi don’t even blink—they’re already peeling off what’s left of their clothes. Eunbi kicks her soft black shorts to the floor, revealing those curvy hips and thick thighs, her pussy glistening under the lights. Somi shimmies out of her tiny pink shorts, tossing them aside with a flick of her long legs, her tighter, rounder ass popping as she stretches out. They scramble onto the bed, giggling and shoving each other playfully, then settle on all fours, side by side, asses up and ready. The mattress creaks under their weight, and you adjust the camera angle again, ready to record every damn second of this.

You step closer, taking it all in. Somi’s taller, her body more defined—long, lean legs leading up to that firm, sculpted ass, tight and high like she’s been squatting for years. Her pussy’s peeking out, wet and pink, framed by those sharp tan lines from the gym. Eunbi’s softer, all curves and plushness, her ass rounder and juicier, jiggling a little as she shifts her weight. Her skin’s pale and smooth, her pussy just as soaked, lips puffy and begging for it. You can’t resist—your free hand swings down, smacking Somi’s ass first, the crack echoing in the room. She yelps, then moans, arching her back more. Then you slap Eunbi’s, harder than you meant to, and she gasps, her flesh rippling under your palm. “Fuck, babe,” she mutters, glancing back at you with a smirk.

“So,” you say, voice rough, camera panning over their perfect lineup, “who’s first?” Eunbi tilts her head, her messy bun wobbling as she nods toward Somi. “Guest gets the honors,” she says, all generous and teasing, her eyes flicking to Somi’s ass like she’s proud to share. Somi wiggles her hips, looking back at you through the mask, grinning. “Yeah, come on, big guy. Let’s see what you’ve got.” You don’t need more invitation than that. You step up behind Somi, lining yourself up, the camera in one hand catching the way her pussy shines, already dripping from the buildup. You grab her hip with your free hand, steadying her, and slide the tip of your cock along her slit—slow, teasing, feeling how wet she is. She shivers, pushing back against you, impatient. “Fuck, don’t play with me,” she groans, and you laugh, low and dirty, before pushing in.

Her pussy’s tight, hot, clamping around you as you sink in deep, inch by inch. The stretch is fucking unreal, her walls gripping you like a vise, and you groan loud, the sound bouncing off the walls. The camera’s right there, POV perfect, catching the way her ass presses against your hips, the little dimples in her lower back flexing as she adjusts. “Holy shit,” you mutter, pulling back slow, watching your cock slide out, slick and shiny, before slamming back in. She moans, sharp and needy, her elbows digging into the bed as she rocks back to meet you. “Yeah, fuck me hard,” she says, and you oblige, picking up the pace, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. Her ass jiggles with every thrust, tight and round, and you smack it again, leaving a red handprint that the camera zooms in on. She’s loud—gasping, cursing, loving every second—and you’re losing yourself in it, hips snapping, the wet squelch of her pussy driving you wild.

Eunbi’s right next to her, watching, her own ass still up, swaying a little like she’s jealous. “Fuck, babe, you’re killing her,” she says, laughing, but there’s heat in her voice, her fingers twitching like she’s dying to touch herself. You pull out of Somi after a few more thrusts, her pussy clenching around nothing as you leave, and she whines, glancing back with a pout. “Don’t stop,” she says, but you’re already moving, shifting over to Eunbi. You know this pussy—soft, warm, familiar—but it’s no less fucking amazing. You line up, camera steady, and push in slow, savoring the way she opens for you, wet and ready. “Oh my god,” she moans, head dropping to the bed, her voice muffled against the sheets. She’s softer inside, her walls fluttering around you, and you grab her hips, pulling her back onto you hard. The camera catches it—the way her ass ripples, the curve of her spine as she arches, her pussy swallowing you whole.

“Fuck, Eunbi, you feel so good,” you say, voice gritty, and she hums in response, pushing back against you, matching your rhythm. Her pussy’s sloppy wet, the sound louder than with Somi, all slick and messy as you fuck her deep. She’s quieter than Somi but just as into it, her breaths hitching every time you bottom out, her fingers clawing at the sheets. You smack her ass too, lighter this time, and she giggles through a moan, glancing back at you. “Harder, babe,” she says, and you give it to her, slamming in so the bed shakes, her curves bouncing under your hand. The camera’s got it all—her soft flesh, the way her pussy grips you, the little beads of sweat rolling down her back.

You can’t choose, though—why should you? You pull out of Eunbi, her groan matching Somi’s earlier one, and slide back into Somi, quick and rough. “Fuck, yes,” Somi gasps, her tighter pussy squeezing you as you pick up where you left off, pounding her hard. The switch is seamless, the camera panning between them as you fuck a little of each, back and forth. Somi’s ass slaps against you, firm and loud, then Eunbi’s softer curves take over, her pussy sucking you in deeper. You’re grunting now, lost in the rhythm, the way their bodies feel so different but so fucking perfect. “You’re both insane,” you say, laughing through a groan, and Somi throws back, “Yeah, and you love it, don’t you?” Eunbi chimes in, “He fucking lives for it—look at him go.”

You keep going, a few thrusts in Somi—her tight, athletic heat—then back to Eunbi’s softer, wetter grip, the camera catching every switch, every angle. Somi’s moaning loud, her mask slipping a bit, while Eunbi’s quieter, panting into the bed, her ass wiggling every time you leave her. You slap both their asses again, just because you can, and they yelp in sync, then laugh, egging you on. “Which pussy you like more, huh?” Somi teases, glancing back, and Eunbi lifts her head, smirking. “Yeah, babe, pick a favorite.” You just groan, shaking your head, too caught up to answer, fucking them both like you’re trying to memorize every inch.

You’re deep in the groove now, the camera trembling in your hand as you pull out of Eunbi’s pussy, her soft, wet heat clinging to you like it doesn’t want to let go. She’s panting into the sheets, ass still up, all plush and inviting, and you’ve got an idea brewing. You shift your grip on the camera, angling it to catch the way her curves glisten under the RGB lights—purple fading into red, her skin slick with sweat. “Babe,” you say, “gonna switch it up.” She glances back, her messy bun half-undone, strands sticking to her neck, and smirks like she knows what’s coming. You line up, the tip of your cock brushing her tight little asshole, and push in slow. She moans loud, this deep, throaty sound that hits you right in the gut, her body tensing for a split second before she relaxes into it. She’s used to this—loves it, even—and you can tell by how easily she takes you, her ass stretching around you, hot and tight as fuck.

“Goddamn, princess,” you grunt, sinking in deeper, the camera catching every inch as you bury yourself in her. Her ass jiggles with the intrusion, soft and round, and she arches her back more, pushing back against you like she’s begging for it. You start fucking her hard, no warm-up needed—she’s already loose enough, her hole gripping you like a vice as you slam into her. The sound’s filthy—skin slapping skin, her moans bouncing off the walls, the bed creaking under the force. “Fuck, yes, babe, pound my ass,” she gasps, her voice all wrecked, fingers clawing at the sheets. You grab her hip with your free hand, digging in, keeping her steady as you rail her, the camera shaking but locked on her bouncing ass, the way it swallows your cock over and over. The RGB lights paint her in streaks of color, her pale skin glowing, sweat beading down her spine.

Somi’s right next to her, still on all fours, her tighter, rounder ass swaying a little like she’s waiting her turn. She’s watching you fuck Eunbi, her masked face turned just enough to catch the action, and you can see the jealousy flaring in her posture—shoulders tense, hips twitching. “Hey,” she says, voice sharp and pouty, “don’t hog him. I want that too.” She wiggles her ass at you, firm and perky, the tan lines from her shorts making it pop even more under the lights. Eunbi laughs through a moan, glancing at Somi. “Greedy bitch,” she teases, but there’s no malice—she’s too caught up in getting her ass pounded. You pull out of Eunbi, slow and deliberate, her hole winking at you as you leave, and she groans, half-protesting, half-catching her breath. “Don’t worry,” you say, smirking, “plenty to go around.”

You shift over to Somi, camera in hand, lining up behind her. Her pussy’s still dripping from earlier, but you’re aiming higher now. You slap her ass first—harder than you did Eunbi’s—and she yelps, then giggles, arching her back to give you better access. “Come on, fuck my ass already,” she says, all impatient and bratty, glancing back through that masquerade mask, her eyes dark and daring. You press the tip of your cock against her asshole, and she tenses, not as used to it as Eunbi, but she’s horny enough from everything else that it’s not a total fight. You push in, slow at first, and she hisses through her teeth, her tight ring stretching around you. “Fuck, that’s big,” she mutters, voice tight, but she doesn’t pull away—instead, she rocks back a little, testing it. You groan, the heat and squeeze insane, tighter than her pussy by a mile, and start moving, shallow thrusts to get her used to it.

“Shit, Somi, you’re so fucking tight,” you say, voice gritty, the camera zoomed in on her ass as you sink deeper. She moans, high and needy, her long legs trembling as she adjusts, her firm cheeks jiggling with every thrust. You pick up the pace, fucking her harder, and she’s louder now, gasping and cursing. “Yeah, fuck me, wreck my ass,” she pants, her bratty tone melting into something desperate. The camera catches it all—her toned back flexing, the way her ass bounces against your hips, the sharp contrast of her tight hole gripping you compared to Eunbi’s softer give. You smack her ass again, leaving another red mark, and she squeals, loving it, pushing back harder.

Eunbi’s not just watching anymore—she’s shifted closer, her hand slipping between her legs, rubbing herself as she stares at you railing Somi. “Fuck, babe, you’re destroying her,” she says, voice breathy and hot, her fingers moving fast. “Looks so good.” You grin, too caught up to reply, and pull out of Somi after a few more thrusts, her ass clenching as you leave, a little gape left behind. She whines, glancing back, but you’re already moving back to Eunbi. “Your turn again,” you say, sliding into her ass easy this time, her body welcoming you like an old friend. She moans loud, her softer curves shaking as you fuck her hard, the camera panning between her jiggling ass and Somi’s tighter frame next to her.

You’re in a rhythm now—fucking Eunbi’s ass for a few deep, brutal thrusts, then switching back to Somi’s, keeping them both on edge. Eunbi’s looser, her hole taking you with this sloppy, wet ease, her moans low and guttural as you pound her. “Fuck, I love your cock in my ass,” she groans, her voice muffled against the bed, her hips rolling back to meet you. Then you’re back in Somi, her tighter grip making you work for it, her gasps sharp and needy as you stretch her out again. “Harder, fuck, make it hurt,” she begs, and you oblige, slamming into her so the bed shakes, her firm ass rippling with every hit. The camera’s catching everything—the way Eunbi’s softer flesh bounces versus Somi’s tight, athletic jiggle, the sweat dripping down their backs, the little red marks blooming on their skin from your hands.

They’re egging each other on now, too. “Look at her take it,” Eunbi says, glancing at Somi, her voice all husky as she rubs herself faster. Somi fires back, “Yeah, well, your ass is swallowing him whole, slut.” They laugh, breathless and wrecked, loving the competition. You keep switching—Eunbi’s plush heat, Somi’s vise-like grip—your hips snapping hard, the room filling with the sound of flesh smacking flesh, their moans blending into this horny symphony. The RGB lights keep shifting, painting their bodies in wild colors, Somi’s mask glinting every time she looks back, Eunbi’s hair a tangled mess swinging with every thrust. You’re grunting, sweating, too caught up to care how shaky the camera gets, just focused on fucking these two perfect asses like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

But viewers need more. A few more hard pumps and you slow down, giving her ass one last firm squeeze, your fingers sinking into the flesh. “Fuck, babe,” you say, voice rough and winded, “time for you to ride me now.” She moans, low and needy, her head dipping as she catches her breath, her messy bun swaying. You pull out slow, her hole clenching around nothing as you leave, and she glances back with a smirk, knowing what’s next. You shift, placing the camera on the tripod on the side of the bed for a new angle. You go back to bed, lying flat on your back, head propped on a pillow, cock standing tall and slick under the RGB lights. The bed’s a mess, sheets twisted, sweat stains blooming, but you don’t care. Somi and Eunbi are already moving, giggling like they’re plotting something dirty, their naked bodies glowing in the shifting colors—purple, red, blue.

Somi’s first—she straddles you quick, her long legs folding under her, that tight, round ass hovering over your hips. “My turn to fuck you silly,” she says, voice all bratty and hot, grabbing your cock with one hand and lining it up. She sinks down fast, her pussy swallowing you whole, tight and wet and so fucking good you groan loud, hands flying to her hips. She starts riding you hard, no buildup, just straight to it—her ass slapping against your thighs, her massive tits bouncing like crazy, the motion wild and free. The camera’s off to the side, catching her from an angle—those firm mounds jiggling, her toned stomach flexing as she rolls her hips, her blonde hair swinging loose. “Fuck, you’re so big,” she moans, tossing her head back, her mask glinting in the light. “Filling me up—shit, I love this.”

Eunbi’s not just watching—she’s all over you, her hands sliding across your chest, nails raking over your abs like she’s marking territory. “God, look at you,” she murmurs, leaning down, her tongue flicking out to tease your nipple. She sucks it hard, teeth grazing the edge, and you hiss, the sensation sharp and electric. Her fingers dig into your sides, her curvy body pressed close, her breath hot against your skin. “You liking this, babe?” she asks, voice dripping with heat, her lips brushing your ear. “Somi’s tight little pussy fucking you good?” She’s playing with you, egging you on, her hands roaming while Somi keeps bouncing, the slap of skin loud and rhythmic. “Fuck yeah,” you grunt, voice tight, “she’s killing me.” Eunbi laughs, sucking your nipple again, her tongue swirling as Somi rides you harder, her moans getting louder, her tits practically hypnotizing with every bounce.

Somi leans forward, hands braced on your chest, her nails digging in as she grinds down, her pussy clenching around you. “Shit, your cock’s perfect,” she pants, smirking through the mask. “Eunbi’s lucky she gets this all the time—bet she brags about it.” Eunbi pulls back from your nipple, grinning up at Somi. “Damn right I do,” she says, all smug. “He fucks me so good—wait ‘til you see him wreck me next.” Somi laughs, breathless, her hips slamming down faster. “Oh, I’m watching, bitch—gonna steal some moves.” Their dirty talk’s bouncing around you, filthy and raw, and you’re just soaking it in, hands gripping Somi’s hips tighter as she rides you like she’s trying to break you.

Then it’s Eunbi’s turn. Somi slows down, reluctantly climbing off, her pussy leaving you slick and throbbing as she flops beside you, panting. “Your girlfriend’s up,” she says, smirking, brushing her sweaty hair back. Eunbi straddles you quick, her softer, curvier frame settling over your hips, her big tits swaying as she gets comfy. She grabs your cock, guiding it to her pussy, and sinks down slow, letting out this long, shaky moan as you fill her up. “Fuck, babe,” she breathes, her voice all soft and needy, “always so good.” She starts riding you, her movements smoother than Somi’s, her hips rolling in deep, lazy circles that make her massive tits bounce, heavy and full. The camera’s still catching it—the way they jiggle, her nipples hard and pink, her pale skin glowing under the lights.

Somi’s not idle—she shifts closer, her hand sliding up Eunbi’s thigh, then leaning in to suck on one of her bouncing tits. Her lips wrap around the nipple, loud and wet, sucking hard as Eunbi moans sharper, her rhythm faltering for a sec. “Oh fuck,” Eunbi gasps, her hands tangling in Somi’s blonde hair, pulling her closer. Somi pulls back just enough to talk, her voice muffled against Eunbi’s skin. “Fuck your girlfriend, dude,” she says, glancing at you with that masked grin, “she’s dying for it.” Then she dives back in, sucking harder, her tongue flicking over Eunbi’s nipple as Eunbi rides you faster, her pussy squeezing you tight.

“Goddamn, babe,” you groan, hands gripping her hips, feeling the softer give of her flesh compared to Somi’s firmness. “You’re so fucking wet—love watching you bounce on me.” She smirks down at you, her eyes half-lidded, all lust and heat. “Yeah? Love your cock splitting me open,” she says, Somi’s right there, her mouth switching to Eunbi’s other breast, leaving the first shiny with spit. “Shit, look at her go,” Somi mutters between sucks, “fucking your girl like a pro.” Eunbi laughs, breathless, grinding down harder. “He’s mine, but I’ll share—just keep sucking my tits like that.”

“You’re so fucking hot riding him,” Somi says, pulling back to slap Eunbi’s ass lightly, making it jiggle more. “Bet he’s losing his mind.” Eunbi fires back, “He fucking loves it—look at his face.” And she’s right—you’re gritting your teeth, groaning, caught up in the heat of her pussy, the bounce of her tits, Somi’s mouth all over her. Your hands roam, sliding up Eunbi’s sides, brushing Somi’s arm, keeping them both close as they tease and fuck you senseless. Then Eunbi slows down, rolling her hips a little more on your cock before pulling out and passing the turn to her friend.

Somi’s still buzzing from her last ride, her skin flushed and sweaty as she climbs back onto your lap, that mischievous glint in her eyes flashing through the masquerade mask. “Yes! My turn again,” she says, grabbing your cock with a quick, firm grip. “And this time, I’m taking it in my ass—I fucking loved that shit earlier.” She’s not messing around, already lining you up, the tip brushing her tight hole. You groan as she sinks down slow, her ass stretching around you, hotter and tighter than before, her long legs trembling as she adjusts. “Fuck, yes,” she hisses, tossing her blonde hair back, her firm, round ass pressing against your hips as she takes you all the way in. The sensation’s unreal—her walls clamping down hard, her moans sharp and needy as she starts moving, slow at first, testing it, then picking up speed. Her massive tits bounce with every roll of her hips, the slap of her skin against yours loud in the room, the RGB lights painting her in wild streaks of color.

You’re lying flat, hands gripping her thighs, but your mind’s already racing ahead. You glance at Eunbi, who’s kneeling beside you, her curvy body glistening, her pussy still dripping from riding you earlier. “Babe,” you say, voice rough, “sit on my face—I wanna eat you out.” Her eyes light up, a dirty smirk spreading across her lips. “Fuck, yes,” she says, scrambling over quick, her thick thighs straddling your head. The camera on the tripod next to the bed is angled masterfully—a perfect side shot of Somi riding your cock in her ass and Eunbi lowering her pussy onto your mouth. The red light blinks on, capturing everything as Eunbi settles in, her wet, puffy lips brushing your mouth, her scent hitting you hard—sweet and musky, all sex and heat. You dive in, tongue lapping at her folds, tasting her, and she moans loud, her hands bracing on your chest as she grinds down.

Somi’s riding you harder now, her ass bouncing fast, the tight grip driving you wild as you thrust up to meet her. “Shit, your cock’s stretching me so good,” she pants, leaning forward, her tits swaying with every move. Eunbi’s rocking her hips on your face, her juices coating your chin, and you suck on her clit, making her gasp, her fingers digging into your skin. “Fuck, babe, eat me—don’t stop,” she groans. The camera’s got it all—Somi’s toned frame slamming down on you, her ass jiggling, Eunbi’s softer curves grinding on your mouth, her big tits bouncing as she rides your face. The side angle’s perfect, the lights shifting from purple to red, their bodies glowing like some X-rated art piece.

Then it gets hotter—Somi leans forward, grabbing Eunbi’s face, and they crash their lips together, kissing sloppy and deep. Their tongues tangle, moans muffled against each other’s mouths, and their hands are all over each other’s tits, squeezing hard. Somi’s fingers pinch Eunbi’s nipples, tugging them just enough to make her whimper into the kiss, while Eunbi’s hands cup Somi’s bouncing mounds, kneading them rough. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” Somi mutters between kisses, her voice wrecked, her ass still slamming down on your cock. “Love watching you ride his face,” she adds, smirking against Eunbi’s lips. Eunbi pulls back just enough to gasp, “Yeah? Love how he’s fucking your tight little ass—slut.” They laugh, all breathy and lust-drunk, diving back into the kiss, their hands groping harder, their moans syncing up.

You’re in deep—Somi’s ass is relentless, squeezing you with every thrust, her rhythm fast and brutal, her firm cheeks slapping your hips. Your tongue’s buried in Eunbi’s pussy, lapping at her clit, sucking hard, her thighs trembling around your head as she grinds down. “Shit, babe, you’re killing me,” Eunbi moans, her voice hitching, her nails raking across your chest. Somi’s not letting up either, her hips rolling faster, her ass taking you deeper. “Fuck, he’s so big—feels insane,” she groans, glancing down at you, her masked eyes wild with heat. The camera’s catching every second—Somi’s blonde hair swinging, Eunbi’s messy bun bouncing, their tits pressed together as they kiss, the wet sounds of your tongue and Somi’s ass mixing with their gasps and curses.

“Goddamn, you two are filthy,” you mumble into Eunbi’s pussy, your words muffled but enough for them to hear. They break the kiss, laughing, Somi slapping Eunbi’s ass playfully. “Says the guy tongue-deep in his girlfriend while I fuck his cock,” Somi fires back, grinning, her hips grinding down harder, making you groan into Eunbi’s clit. Eunbi shudders, her hands gripping Somi’s shoulders now. “Keep going, babe—fuck, I love your mouth,” she says, her voice all raw and needy, her pussy soaking your face as she rocks faster. Somi leans in again, kissing Eunbi’s neck this time, sucking a little mark there. “He’s fucking you so good with that tongue, huh?” she teases, her hands squeezing Eunbi’s tits again, thumbs flicking her nipples.

Their dirty talk’s bouncing off the walls, all around you—Somi’s bratty edge cutting through Eunbi’s softer, desperate tone. “Shit, Somi, squeeze her harder—she loves that,” you say, pulling back just enough to catch your breath before diving back into Eunbi’s pussy, your tongue circling her clit fast. Somi listens, pinching Eunbi’s nipples rough, and Eunbi yelps, her hips bucking harder on your face. “Fuck, yes—like that,” she gasps, her voice breaking. Somi’s riding you like a damn machine now, her ass slamming down so hard the bed’s creaking loud, her moans turning into sharp little cries. “God, I’m gonna—fuck,” she stutters, her hands braced on your thighs as she grinds down, her ass clenching tight around your cock.

Eunbi’s right there with her, her thighs shaking around your head, her pussy pulsing against your mouth. “Babe, don’t stop—fuck, I’m so close,” she pants, her voice high and frantic, her hands tugging at Somi’s hair now, pulling her back into a messy kiss. Their lips crash together, tongues sloppy, moaning into each other’s mouths as they grope and squeeze, their bodies trembling. You feel it—Somi’s ass tightening hard, Eunbi’s pussy quivering against your tongue—and then they’re both gone, hitting it together. Somi’s hips stutter, her moans turning into a loud, “Fuck, yes!” as she shakes on top of you, her ass gripping you like a vice. Eunbi’s right behind, her thighs clamping down, her juices flooding your mouth as she cries out, “Babe—shit!” her whole body shuddering, her tits bouncing wild as she grinds through it.

The camera’s still rolling, catching it all from that side angle—Somi’s firm frame shaking, Eunbi’s softer curves trembling, their lips locked, hands all over each other’s tits, the RGB lights flashing over their sweaty, spent bodies. They break the kiss, panting hard, laughing through the aftershocks, Somi slumping forward a little, her ass still on you, Eunbi catches her breath while stroking your hair, her pussy still hovering over your mouth. “Fucking hell,” Somi mutters, grinning, “that was insane.” Eunbi nods, breathless, “Best ride ever, babe.” They’re a mess, and you’re right there with them, soaked and grinning.

finally Somi climbs off you, her ass leaving your cock slick and throbbing, and Eunbi slides off your face, her pussy dripping down your chin. You’re sprawled on the bed, chest heaving, the RGB lights pulsing over their flushed, trembling bodies—purple bleeding into red, then blue, like some kind of filthy rave. “Alright, babe,” Eunbi says. “time to make you cum—give us that fucking load.” Somi’s already nodding, her masquerade mask glinting as she brushes her sweaty blonde hair back. “Yeah, dude, we’re draining you dry,” she adds.

You sit up quick, grabbing the camera off the tripod with a shaky hand, flipping it back to POV mode. The little red light is still on, and you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, planting your feet on the carpet. Your cock’s standing tall, slick with their juices, twitching under the lights, and the girls don’t waste a second—they’re on their knees between your legs, a perfect mirrored pair of lust-drunk chaos. Eunbi’s softer, curvier frame presses close on your left, her huge tits brushing your thigh, while Somi’s taller, tighter body slides in on your right, her firm mounds already nudging your skin. They’re a sight—Eunbi’s pale skin glowing, her nipples hard and pink, Somi’s tan lines sharp, her darker nipples perked up, both of them sweaty and glowing, ready to finish you off. You angle the camera down, catching their faces—Eunbi’s sultry smirk, Somi’s masked grin—then lower, framing their tits as they scoot closer.

“Gonna give you the best fucking double boobjob of your life,” Eunbi says, her voice dripping with heat as she cups her tits, squeezing them together. Somi mirrors her, pressing her own boobs tight, her fingers digging into the flesh. “Yeah, these big-ass tits are gonna milk you stupid,” she chimes in, smirking up at you through the mask. They slide in sync, each pair of breasts hugging one side of your cock—Eunbi’s soft, plush mounds on the left, Somi’s firmer, perkier ones on the right. It’s a goddamn dream, your cock swallowed whole between them, the heat and pressure insane as they start moving. They bounce together, slow at first, finding a rhythm—Eunbi’s tits jiggling more, Somi’s staying tight and controlled, the contrast driving you fucking wild. The camera’s catching it all—the way your cock disappears between their sweaty, bouncing flesh, the little beads of sweat rolling down their chests, the wet squish every time they press tighter.

“Fuck, look at that,” Somi mutters, glancing down at your cock sandwiched between them. “Our tits are eating you alive—bet you’re dying to blow all over us.” Eunbi laughs, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. “Come on, babe, give it to us—paint these fat fucking tits with your cum,” she teases, squeezing her mounds harder around you, her nipples brushing your shaft. You groan, your hands gripping the camera tighter as they work you, their movements syncing up—up and down, slow then fast, their spit and sweat making it slick and messy. “Goddamn, you’re so hard,” Somi says, her tone needy, almost whining, “fucking love feeling you throb between my boobs—cum for us, please.” Eunbi leans in closer, her breath hot against your cock as it peeks out the top. “Yeah, we’re your dirty little whores—begging for that thick load all over us,” she purrs, her eyes locked on yours through the lens.

They’re relentless, tits sliding faster now, the friction building, your cock trapped in this perfect, sweaty vise. Eunbi’s softer flesh molds around you, Somi’s firmer grip keeping it tight, and the combo’s got your head spinning. “Shit, you two are unreal,” you groan, voice cracking, the camera shaking as you fight to keep it steady. “These tits—fuck, I’m in heaven.” Somi smirks, leaning forward so her chin brushes the tip of your cock on the upstroke. “Heaven, huh? Wait ‘til you cum—gonna drown us in it,” she says, her hands squeezing her tits tighter, making you hiss. Eunbi’s not letting up either, her fingers tweaking her own nipples as she moves, her voice all desperate and slutty. “Come on, babe, give us that fucking cum—we need it, want it all over these big, juicy tits—please, fucking please.”

It hits hard—your whole body locks up, a growl ripping out of you as the first spurt shoots out, thick and hot, splattering across Somi’s right tit, then Eunbi’s left. They moan together, loud and pornographic, their tits still bouncing, milking you as you unload. “Fuck, yes!” Somi cries, her masked eyes wide as cum streaks over her chest, dripping down between her mounds. Eunbi’s gasping too, “Oh my god, babe—keep going, coat us!” and you do—spurt after spurt, ropes of it flying, hitting their tits, their necks, a stray shot catching Somi’s chin, another splashing Eunbi’s collarbone. It’s a fucking mess, white and sticky, pooling between their breasts, dripping down their stomachs, and they don’t stop—still sliding their tits around you, slower now, dragging it out.

“Shit, so much,” Somi mutters, her voice wrecked, her hands smearing the cum over her tits, rubbing it in like lotion as she keeps moving, her nipples shiny with it. Eunbi’s right there with her, her own chest a canvas of your load, her fingers scooping some up, grinning at you through the camera. “Fuck, babe, you hosed us—look at this mess,” she says, her tone all proud and filthy, her tits still pressed against your cock, milking every last twitch. Your eyes roll back, a groan escaping as they keep going, relentless, their soft, cum-soaked flesh squeezing you dry. “Goddamn, this is so fucking good,” you rasp, barely coherent, the overstimulation hitting hard as they wring out every drop, their hands slick, their moans echoing.

Then they shift—Somi leans over, her tongue darting out to lick a streak of cum off Eunbi’s tit, sucking her nipple clean with a wet, sloppy sound. Eunbi gasps, giggling through it, then returns the favor, her lips wrapping around Somi’s cum-covered nipple, sucking loud and messy. “Fuck, you taste good with his cum on you,” Somi mutters, smirking, her hands kneading Eunbi’s chest as she licks more, their tongues swapping your load back and forth. Eunbi moans, “Yeah? Then eat it all, you greedy whore,” and dives back in, her tongue lapping at Somi’s tits, both of them giggling and groaning, lost in the naughtiness. The camera’s catching every second—their slick, shiny bodies, the way they’re devouring each other, cum streaking their lips, dripping off their chins.

Finally, they pull back, panting, grinning, their chests heaving as they kneel there, a cum-drenched mess. Eunbi wipes her mouth, smirking at the camera, and leans into Somi, who adjusts her mask with a playful wink. “Well, fuck, that was wild,” Eunbi says, her voice all warm and cheeky, “hope you guys enjoyed the show—thanks for watching us get fucking wrecked.” Somi nods, giggling, “Yeah, you pervs—hope you came as hard as he did. See ya next time!” She blows a kiss, and Eunbi waves, all cute and bubbly despite the filth, their cum-streaked tits still front and center. “Bye, loves!” Eunbi chirps, reaching over to hit the stop button, ending the video with their naughty, beaming faces etched in the frame. The room falls quiet, just their heavy breaths and your pounding heart.

You slide the camera onto the nightstand, the little red light finally off, and flop back onto the bed, your body still buzzing from the insane high. The sheets are a tangled, sweaty mess beneath you. Eunbi and Somi are already up, giggling like kids caught doing something naughty as they rummage through the drawer by the desk. Eunbi pulls out a pack of wet wipes, ripping it open with her teeth, and tosses a couple to Somi. “Alright, cleanup crew,” she says, stepping over to Somi with a smirk. They start wiping each other down, the wipes gliding over their cum-streaked tits, leaving their skin shiny and clean. Somi’s giggling hard, swiping at Eunbi’s chest, her fingers brushing her nipples just enough to make Eunbi yelp and swat her hand away. “Fuck, stop teasing, you perv,” Eunbi laughs, smearing a wipe across Somi’s collarbone, chasing a stray drip that’s trickled down from her chin.

“So,” Eunbi says, tossing a used wipe into the trash by the bed, “what’d you think, Somi? First time getting railed on camera with us—rate it.” Somi pauses, peeling off the masquerade mask slow, revealing her full face—sharp cheekbones, big eyes, a grin that’s equal parts smug and dazed. She tosses the mask onto the desk, shaking out her blonde hair, and flops onto the bed next to you, her head landing on your chest like it’s her personal pillow. “Fucking loved it,” she says, stretching her long legs out across the sheets. “You two are hot as shit—like, I knew it’d be wild, but that was next-level. My ass is still tingling, and those titjobs? Goddamn.”

Eunbi laughs, grabbing her phone off the nightstand and sliding onto the bed beside you, her warm, soft body pressing against your side. “Glad you had fun, you little freak,” she teases, nudging Somi’s leg with her foot. Then she turns to you, her head resting on your shoulder, her messy bun tickling your neck. “What about you, babe? How was it?” You stretch out, one arm sliding under her, the other resting on Somi’s back as she snuggles closer. “Fucking awesome,” you say, grinning up at the ceiling, your voice still rough from all the groaning. “Hands down the best titjob of my life—those four massive tits all over me? I’m dead, bring me back just to do it again.” Eunbi snickers, her hand tracing lazy circles on your stomach, her nails grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver. “Yeah, we fucking killed it,” she says, all proud and smug, her breath warm against your collarbone.

Somi shifts, reaching over to the nightstand and snagging her vape, the sleek little device glinting under the lights as she takes a long pull. She exhales a cloud of sweet-smelling mist—strawberry or some shit—and settles back, her head on your chest again. “You know,” she says, her voice all mellow now, “we should do this again. But like, no cameras next time—just us, fucking for the hell of it. Pure pleasure, no script.” She smirks, blowing another puff of vapor toward the ceiling, the haze curling in the shifting lights. Eunbi hums in agreement, her fingers still wandering over your abs. “Fuck yeah, I’m in,” she says, glancing up at you with a lazy grin. “No pressure, just us getting nasty—sounds perfect, right, babe?” You nod, your hand sliding down her back, resting on the curve of her ass. “Hell yeah, count me in. Cameras are fun, but sometimes you just wanna fuck without the spotlight.”

Somi’s grinning now, taking another hit from the vape, the tip glowing blue as she inhales, then passing it to Eunbi, who waves it off with a laugh. “Nah, thanks—I'm into fitness now,” she says, snuggling closer to you instead. Somi shrugs, keeping it to herself, the faint buzz of the device humming as she lounges there, her long legs dangling off the edge of the bed. The room’s settling into this cozy, post-sex vibe—everyone’s loose, sweaty, satisfied, the tension melted away into something softer. Eunbi’s thumbing through her phone now, her head still on your shoulder, and suddenly her eyes light up, a little gasp slipping out. “Oh shit, check this,” she says, holding the screen up so you and Somi can see. It’s an Instagram DM from Sana—profile pic all sultry and artsy—inviting Eunbi to her podcast later this month. “Hey babe,” it reads, “loved your last vid—wanna come chat on the pod? Yujin told me a lot of good things about you and your boyfriend. You’re blowing up, girl.”

Somi leans over, squinting at the screen, her vape forgotten for a sec. “Wait, who’s Sana?” she asks, her brow furrowing as she props herself up on one elbow, her hair spilling over your chest. Eunbi grins, scrolling up to show Sana’s profile—tons of followers, clips of her podcast episodes, and a few spicy TikToks that Somi instantly recognizes. “Oh, she’s another adult content creator,” Eunbi explains. “Super hot, super chill—does solo stuff mostly, but her podcast’s huge. Talks about the industry, sex, all that jazz. Gets big names on there too.�� Somi nods, her eyes lighting up. “Oh fuck, yeah—I’ve seen her on TikTok! That one where she’s in the red sexy dress, vibing to some trap beat? She’s fire.” She takes another pull from the vape, exhaling slow, then grins at you both. “Damn, you guys are legit climbing the ranks—congrats, you sexy fuckers.”

Eunbi’s beaming now, her cheeks pink with pride as she sets her phone down and curls up tighter against you, her hand slipping to rest on your thigh, casual but possessive. “Thanks, babe,” she says to Somi, then looks up at you, her eyes soft but sparkling. “It’s fucking wild, right? Like, we’re actually doing this—people are noticing.” You squeeze her ass, pulling her closer, your chest swelling with that same excitement. “Hell yeah, it’s dope,” you say. “You’re killing it, Eunbi—proud of you.” She smiles, all shy for a sec, then kisses your neck, her lips lingering like she’s savoring it. Somi watches, smirking, blowing a playful ring of vapor your way. “Aw, you two are cute—gross, but cute,” she teases, then settles back, her head on your chest again, the vape humming as she takes another hit.

And you’re lying there, a little smirk on your face, feeling good about finally saying yes to the threesome. At first, you weren’t sure—thought it might be awkward, maybe mess up what you and Eunbi had. But now, with them both next to you, all sweaty and chill after that insane session, you’re glad you went for it. It didn’t feel weird at all—just worked, like they both fit right in. Somi brought the crazy, Eunbi kept it familiar, and it was honestly a blast. No regrets—turned out way better than you figured.

The three of you are just crashed out, all tangled up, The RGB lights keep changing, throwing colors on the ceiling, and it’s a nice wind-down—relaxed, cozy, everyone still feeling it. Eunbi’s messing with your skin, drawing little shapes, Somi’s head’s on your chest, breathing slow, and you’re just taking it in. Eunbi’s rising fame mixes with how wild tonight was. It’s a solid night—real solid—and the idea of doing it again, cameras or not, lingers thick in the air like the sweet haze from Somi’s vape.

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gf2bellamy · 5 months ago

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hello!!! i love your spencer reid fics!!! i'm sorry if you've written something like this before or don't want to lololol pls disregard if so! I would highly appreciate if you wrote an argument fic with spencer, and it just escalates out of nowhere and he yells at reader (😞) and he chooses to sleep on the couch for the night, but he hears her having a nightmare from the bedroom and goes to comfort her ? n she feels very guilty and sad over bothering him again after he was mad and hes like no my baby darling i love u 4ever heart eyes emoji, sorry for my ramble i just love angst to fluff hurt comfort and i want to be babied by spencer sigh,,, love your stuff again and have a great day !

anger — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader having a nigthmare ( no explicit detail of what it is ) , reader and spencer having a fight , emotions run high a/n: hii !! i hope you like this <3 i loved writing this !!

Spencer Reid never yelled.

You knew this with the same certainty as you knew the way he mumbled equations in his sleep or how his hands always hesitated for half a second before touching you , simply because he still got nervous around you. His voice was a living thing, shifting effortlessly between lecture-hall projection and late-night murmurs against your skin, but it always remained controlled.

Until tonight.

It wasn’t shouting, not really. But the way his words turned razor-sharp at the edges, the way his voice cracked over a single syllable, it might as well have been a yell. His hand raked through his hair, leaving it standing in chaotic tufts. In another moment, you might have smiled at how boyish it made him look. But now, with his shoulders rigid and his breaths coming too fast, all you could think was: I did that.

The argument had started over something simple, his recklessness in the field, the way he threw himself into danger without hesitation. But then, as arguments often did, it spiraled. Old wounds were opened, and before either of you could stop it, the conversation had turned into something far uglier.

Now, standing in the suffocating silence of your apartment, you had nothing left to say. So you turned away, retreating to the bathroom, the click of the door behind you sounding far too final. You leaned against it, your breath shuddering as you pressed your palms against the cool wood. A single tear slipped free before you could stop it, and you swiped it away angrily, as if your own emotions were betraying you. Your reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror caught you off guard , eyes glassy and red-rimmed.

On the other side of the door, Spencer stood frozen for a long moment before exhaling sharply. He dragged his hands down his face, guilt already gnawing at him. Instead of following you, he sank onto the couch dropping his head into his hands. He didn’t know how long he sat there, caught between regret and exhaustion, but eventually, he moved. He grabbed the throw blanket draped over the armrest, the one you always curled under during movie nights, and tugged it over himself before lying down.

When you finally emerged, the apartment was quiet. Your steps were slow as you made your way toward the bedroom, but you stopped when you passed the living room.

There he was. Spencer, stretched out on the couch. A fresh wave of hurt crashing over you. He’d rather sleep here, cramped and restless, than share a bed with you. For a second, you considered going to him. You could reach out, brush your fingers through his hair, murmur an apology, anything to bridge this gap. But the stubborn ache in your heart held you back. So you turned away, slipping into the bedroom alone. The bed felt too big, too cold without him, and as you curled into your usual spot, you stared at the empty space beside you.

Spencer was tossing and turning.

A car passed outside, headlights sweeping across the wall. For a fleeting moment, the light caught on the framed photo on the end table, your smiling faces at JJ's wedding, his arm slung carelessly around your shoulders. He pressed the heels of his hands against his stinging eyes. The statistics on successful conflict resolution ran through his mind on a loop (87% of couples reconcile within 48 hours, 63% report stronger bonds post-reconciliation) but the numbers turned to ash before they could comfort him.

He should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to sleep without you.

The silence shattered with a whimper. The sheets rustled violently down the hall, followed by a choked gasp that sent ice flooding his veins. Before his mind could catch up, he was moving, the blanket pooling at his feet, as he moved toward the bedroom. The sight before him made his stomach twist. You were asleep, but barely. Your body twitched under the covers, your fingers clutching at the sheets. A pained expression flickered across your face, your breath coming in uneven gasps.

A nightmare.

Spencer crossed the room in two strides. He sat carefully on the edge of the mattress, his hand hovering over your shoulder before he finally let it rest there, his touch feather-light.

"Hey—" His voice cracked as he reached for you, hands hovering, too afraid to startle, too desperate not to touch. Your skin was fever-hot under his fingertips when he finally brushed them along your arm.

You didn’t wake up. Your breathing hitched, a sound of distress escaping your lips, and something in Spencer’s chest cracked open. He squeezed your shoulder gently, his other hand brushing the hair back from your forehead. Then, you shot upright with a gasp, your eyes flying open, heart hammering against your ribs. For a disoriented second, the room spun, until your gaze landed on Spencer.

The first tear slipped down your cheek. Then his arms were around you, crushing you against him so tightly you could feel his heartbeat stuttering against your sternum. His lips moved against your hair, whispering words too fractured to make sense."I'm here, you're safe, I've got you" as you clutched at his back.

Then, barely audible, you whispered, “I’m sorry for earlier.”

Spencer stilled. Of all the things he expected you to say, that wasn’t it. Not when your breaths were still uneven, not when he could feel the faint tremor in your hands. Guilt twisted sharply in his chest.

You swallowed hard, your voice fraying at the edges. “I really didn’t mean to be overbearing—”

“Hey, stop.” His hand cradled the back of your head, his thumb brushing the nape of your neck.

You were sorry? After he’d been the one to raise his voice, after he’d let his frustration push him to sleep on the couch like some petulant child? After you’d been the one to wake up trembling from a nightmare, and his pride had kept him from coming to you sooner?

He shifted, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. Your eyes were glassy in the faint moonlight, your lower lip caught between your teeth like you were fighting to keep it from trembling.

God, he’d been an idiot.

“Look at me,” he whispered. When your gaze flicked up to his, he held it, his thumbs sweeping over your cheeks. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who—” His voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have let it get that far. I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

You shook your head slightly, but he pressed on, his forehead dipping to rest against yours. “I hate fighting with you,” he admitted, voice cracking. “And I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me tonight.”

A shaky breath escaped you, your hands lifting to grip his wrists. “I just worry,” you whispered.

Spencer’s chest tightened. Of course you did. After everything he’d seen in the field, after every close call, how could you not? Spencer's thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone as he whispered, "I know. And I'll be more careful. I promise."

You searched his eyes , those warm, hazel eyes that usually sparkled with facts and theories, now darkened with remorse. Your fingers twisted slightly in the fabric of his worn sweatshirt as you asked, so softly it nearly broke him, "Will you sleep here with me?"

Spencer's breath caught. The question, so small and tentative, landed like a physical blow. That you even had to ask, that his childish anger had made you doubt whether he'd stay, sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing through him. You were asking permission for something that should have been unquestionable. That his anger had carved this hesitation into you, made you doubt your place in his arms, made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Yeah," he breathed, his voice cracking as he gathered you closer. His lips pressed against your forehead, lingering there as if he could imprint the truth through touch alone. "You never have to ask. I'm not going anywhere."

The bed dipped as he slid beneath the covers. His arms encircled you, pulling your back flush against his chest. His knees tucked behind yours, his heartbeat steady against your shoulder blades, his nose buried in your hair. The warm press of his palms against your stomach, fingers splaying calmed you down. The steady thrum of his heartbeat against your spine too. His nose brushed the nape of your neck. The familiar scent of your shampoo mixed with the salt of dried tears sent another wave of guilt crashing through him. He pressed his lips to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into the darkness, the words muffled against your skin. "For the couch. For making you feel like I wouldn't want this." His hand found yours, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently. "There's nowhere I'd rather be."

You turned in his embrace, your nose brushing against his. Spencer's hand came up to cradle your jaw, his touch feather-light. "Next time I'm being an idiot," he whispered, "just come get me, okay? Even if I'm mad. Even if I'm stubborn." A small, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips. "Especially then."

His nose brushed yours again. "Drag me back. Yell at me. Throw a book at my head if you have to." A quiet laugh shook his frame, as you smiled at the sound. You didn't trust your voice not to break so you nodded, pressing closer. Spencer's fingers began a soothing pattern along your spine.

As sleep finally claimed you both, Spencer pressed one last kiss to your temple, his arms tightening slightly around you.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction

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landoughnut · 5 months ago

Text

Bad Idea Right? - LN4

masterlist - request

pairing: lando norris x piastri!fem!reader

summary: lando hadn't expected to fall in love with his teammates sister, and they can only keep it from him for so long

w/c & a/n: 3.8k | it's friday again, then saturday, sunday what?

Being Oscar Piastri’s sister was definitely an experience.

It was amazing travelling with him around the world and seeing so many different cultures.

Oscar had always been protective over you, since you were little kids. Though you were both quiet and shy, he wouldn’t stand for someone mistreating you, or making you feel like you were any less than him.

You had never actually met your brother's teammate, Lando. You tried your best to avoid the paddock. Large crowds of people made you nervous and you preferred to watch it from a more secluded area.

You had heard a lot about him, that he was a partier and very energetic, but just from that you were sure you too wouldn’t make good friends.

Up until now, you hadn’t planned on meeting him, but now you see a message from Oscar telling you to come to the garage with Lily tomorrow to officially meet the team.

You felt your stomach squeeze, what would they think of you? You didn’t fit into their chaos, and what if you made a fool of yourself, or if something went wrong?

You didn’t get much time to stress about it, because a second message from your brother appeared. It reads, “Stop worrying, everything will be great, they’ll love you. Lily will be there with you too.” Of course, he follows that up with a thumbs up emoji. You roll your eyes, classic Oscar.

Though his message did help relax your nerves slightly, Lily was your best friend. Seeing as how you were more of a homebody, you never really got out enough to make friends, and with Lily dating your brother, and she was similar to you, it was like your friendship just fell into place.

You respond to Oscar saying that you’ll be there and afterwards you quickly message Lily asking if she would come to your hotel room to get ready together, to which she answered with an “Of course!”

The rest of the day flew by with you exploring around the area of your hotel. Tomorrow was the Hungarian Grand Prix, and you were excited to watch the race with the team tomorrow.

Tomorrow arrives and you wake up and get your morning checklist done with things such as brushing your teeth, showering, and doing some skin care.

You throw on your robe and slippers just in time to hear a knock at your door. You peek through the peephole and see Lily’s eye up close to the hole on the other side of the door, making you yelp and jump back.

You open the door to her laughing. “I got you good,” she pokes your cheek and steps in the room, pulling you into a hug.

“That was not funny, Lily, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” You huff and lock your door.

She rolls her eyes at your dramatics, “Yeah, yeah. Now, time to get you ready! I’m already dressed but we can do our makeup and hair together,” she grins.

You sit on your bed, “I don’t think I have anything good to wear,” you sigh. Lily thinks for a moment before going to your suitcase.

She rummages through it for another minute before jumping up and holds a dress out to you. “This is perfect!”

You look at her like she’s crazy, “That dress is way too tight! I can’t wear that!”

She tilts her head at you, “Why not?”

“Well, I… It’s not… formal?” You try to think of reasons but she shakes her head.

“Don’t be silly! You’ll look like a supermodel! Plus, you’re going to meet Lando! Maybe you’ll get along, if you know what I mean,” she winks at you.

You gasp, cheeks flushing, “Lily! Absolutely not,” you scold.

“Oh come on! You’ve told me that you found him handsome, and you are more than beautiful, so I don’t see a problem,” she shrugs like it’s obvious.

“You don’t see a problem? From what I’ve seen, Lando doesn’t really do relationships, and Oscar would kill him,” you cross your arms and look away from her.

“Well, don’t trust everything you see in the media until you see for yourself, maybe he has a reason. And Oscar would probably be upset at first, but he’d come around.”

You think for a moment before nodding, “Alright, well, enough talking about a made up scenario, let’s get ready before Oscar starts complaining.”

Lily agrees, “Here,” she puts the dress in your hands, “Go put it on.” You look at her for a moment before going over to the bathroom to change. Once it’s on you look at yourself in the mirror, it’s safe to say that you were rather happy with what you saw, maybe Lily was right.

You step out and she gasps, clapping her hands. “I knew it! You already look heaven-sent, and we haven't even done hair or makeup,” she beams at you.

You blush, “Thank’s Lily.” She then tells you to follow her as you two go to the vanity. “We can do you first, but I want to do it.”

“Go ahead,” she smiles and sets up your speaker to play the playlist you made together. You first blow dry her hair and straighten it like how she requested. Then you clip it back and begin doing her makeup, she usually didn’t put on much, so it didn’t take long to finish up.

“Voilà!” You spin her chair around, “Gorgeous.”

She nods in approval, “It looks great! Your turn!” She jumps out of the chair excitedly. She starts by drying your hair, and then puts some of the oils you use to make your hair smooth, shiny, and soft. She then goes in with a hair curler and does it just enough so that they are very loose and just add some volume.

Next Lily spins your chair to face her as she does your makeup, somehow doing a very detailed process that you didn’t even know how to do. “When did you become a makeup professional?”

She smiles, “Since I had such a stunning client.”

“You flatter me too much,” you giggle. She finishes soon after and spins you.

You blink for a moment, “Wow, Lily, you outdid yourself!” You look at some different angles of yourself in the mirror, “Thank you!”

“Before we head out, do you want to put on your jewelry while I find you some shoes?”

“Yes, please.” You go to and put on your gold necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets. You loved having a lot of jewelry on, you felt an outfit was never complete without it. You quickly spray on your perfume and head back towards Lily, who was holding out a pair of short heels that perfectly complemented the dress.

You take them and thank her while putting them on.

She checks her phone, “Time to go! Oscar is waiting in the lobby,” she shows you his text. You shut off the lights and step out of the room, making sure it's locked before heading down where your brother was waiting.

“Hi, Osc,” you smile and pull him into a tight hug, “are you excited for today? I have a good feeling about it.”

He brightens, “I am, and I’m excited for you to meet the team!” You let go of him and he hugs Lily next, kissing her head before telling you both to follow him.

About twenty minutes pass before you arrive at the paddock, your nerves come back seeing all the people, but Lily just puts a comforting hand on your arm.

Some people take pictures of the three of you on your way to the McLaren garage, but you pay no mind to them and instead focus on your brother who gives you comforting smiles.

You arrive after a few more minutes and Zak greets Oscar with a pat on the back. “Oscar! Who’s our special guest today,” the man says looking at you.

“This is my sister, she’s been to the races just too shy to come here,” he chuckles.

“Oscar,” you drag his name out in a now shy mumble, looking down at the ground, your face now turning pink.

Zak senses your discomfort, “No worries! We’re happy to have you, really,” he smiles at you holding out his hand to shake.

You look up and feel yourself untense at his kindness, you shake his hand and he pats it before telling you he has to go and that it was nice to meet you.

Oscar happily introduces you to some of the engineers and mechanics, who you had some longer conversations with. Many compliment you and seem genuinely interested, which makes you feel a lot more comfortable.

Now you were walking with Oscar and Lily towards the lounge area, where you would be staying to watch the race.

However you see a blur of papaya and your eyes widen a little as you realize it’s Lando rushing past you all. Though he doesn’t get very far before Oscar calls out to him, “Lando! Come meet my sister!”

Lando turns around and his eyes get wide as he looks at you. Oscar beckons him over with a hand wave and Lando starts to make his way to you all - his eyes never leaving yours - when he trips.

Luckily he saved himself but now as he stood in front of you, cheeks and ears bright red, he seemed to forget how to speak.

“Lando?” Oscar tries. Lando seemed to have not heard him and you looked around trying to avoid the Brits eyes. “Hellooo, mate,” Oscar snaps his fingers in front of his face, narrowing his eyes at the way Lando was looking at you.

That seems to grab his attention because now Lando turned to look at him. “Oh! H-hey, uh- the floor’s a little, uh, wobbly, you know, uhm, tripped me there,” he laughs nervously, looking embarrassed.

He could slap himself.

First he trips and humiliates himself in front of the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on, and now he’s said the floor is wobbly.

What an idiot.

Lily smiles and looks at you, who’s flustered from his gaze, and then she looks at him blushing while glancing at you, “The floor is wobbly?” she asks.

Lando looks down at his hand, “Uh, y-yeah, they should probably fix that. So.. you’re Oscar's sister?”

You nod, “Yeah. It’s nice to meet you,” you look at the boy in front of you, now seeing him up close you realize he’s hotter than the cameras capture.

Oscar looks back and forth between you two, “Yeah… I don’t like this. We’re going to the lounge now. Bye, Lando.”

Lily smacks his arm but he starts walking away. You sigh and give Lando a small smile before following him. Lando’s eye’s followed your back, maybe a little lower, as you walked away.

Lily stayed just long enough that she caught his gaze and heard a quiet “Wow,” while leaving.

Oscar won the race.

You swore your throat was going to be sore from your excited screams, and your makeup must have been smudged from how much you were crying, but none of that mattered right now.

Once Oscar makes it back to where you are you jump into his arms and squeeze him, crying on his shoulder. “I’m so so proud of you!” you somehow manage to say in between sobs.

He hugs you back tightly, “Thank you,” he whispers.

The next race was Belgium and you were back in the garage before the race. You were sitting with Lily when Lando came over and sat in front of you. “Hello. I promise I won’t embarrass myself this time,” he smiles at you.

“Hi, Lando. What are you doing here?” you ask him and Lily nods her head at him in greeting.

“I’m here to, uh…” he pauses for a moment, his confidence leaving him, “get your number?”

You laugh, “Is that a question?” Lily excuses herself and you glare at her.

“Um, yes? Or no- wait, no, you don’t have to, I just-” Lando stumbles over his words. You found it cute, he wasn’t like what you had expected of him. You thought he would be rather cocky and stuck up, but you were pleasantly surprised.

You cut him off by handing him your phone, the contacts app pulled up for him to put in his number, “Here.”

He looks surprised but takes the phone and puts his number in, making his contact name “Lando :)”. You smile as he hands your phone back, “I like it.”

You found yourself texting him more often, even facetime some nights. You’d become good friends, but you hadn’t told your brother about getting closer to Lando, you know he’d start assuming things.

Though you did keep Lily up to date with everything, and she promised not to say anything to your brother.

A few weeks later at the Singapore Grand Prix, you were walking in the paddock to meet Lily in the garage when Lando came up from behind you. He takes the sunglasses off of the top of your head and places them on. “Lando!” you laugh as he does some silly poses with them on.

He grins, “I think they look better on me, no?” You shake your head and reach out to take them off of his face. As you do you notice his eyes were fixed on your lips, making you blush as you put them on yourself.

He reaches out and fixes a piece of your hair that the wind blew to the other side, “There you go,” his smile softens, “I have to go now, but I’ll see you soon.”

“Sounds good.”

Lando won today's race, and you were overjoyed for him. He’d met you when he was done showering after the celebration. You were currently on your hotel balcony. “Why aren’t you out celebrating with everyone? You did win the race after all,” you ask him looking out at the night sky.

“I don’t want to celebrate with anyone else,” he shrugs. Looking over at you.

“I’m flattered, that’s really sweet, I didn’t take you as the sappy type,” you smile. Turning your head, you realize just how close you are.

Lando looks at your eyes for a moment, before his eyes drop. He leans towards you, eyes fluttering, but at the last moment you turn your head to the side.

He backs up, embarrassed, “I-I’m sorry, did I read this wrong? I though-”

You quickly shake your head, “No! No, Lando. It’s fine, really, you read right, it's just that I don’t know if this is a good idea… Oscar might-”

“I think Oscar is his own person,” Lando says. He takes a strand of your hair and twirls it around his finger, “You, however, are also your own person. I really like you, and I’m pretty sure you like me. If you don’t want-”

You cut him off by pulling his shirt collar down and kissing him. He lets out a surprised sound but quickly reciprocates and kisses you back. You slide your hands up his neck and into his curls, as his hands go around your waist pulling you closer.

He lets out a pleasant sound when you tug on his hair.

He feels like he’s dreaming, the taste of you, the scent of your perfume, your hands in his hair, your mouth on his, he thinks he might pass out. He’d never admit it but he had scenarios in his head of how your first kiss would go, but this is better than all of them

You break apart, breathing heavy and swollen lips. Lando chases your mouth, kissing you once more, “Oscar’s going to kill me,” he whispers against your lips.

“Maybe. But this is worth it,” you whisper back, kissing him again.

That night was a turning point for you both. Lando had been almost stuck to your side in the paddock and at events you went to.

You tried not to display anything that wouldn’t look platonic, but Oscar had suspicions. Especially after he’s seen the love sike look on Lando’s face when he looks at you, or when he would guide you around the garage with a hand on your back.

One time he even entered the lounge where you were sitting with Lando and could have sworn he saw him quickly take his hand off of your thigh.

Lando tried to take every opportunity there was to give you kisses during race weekends. Whether you’d be hiding behind tires or the back of a building. You felt the line between liking him and loving him blur.

He’d also sometimes send you a message if he couldn’t be with you because you were with Oscar. It was usually something like, “Baby, you look way too beautiful, I might crash the car,” and every time it made you blush without fail, which he seemed to take too much pride in.

After another time period passes, people start to question whether you and Lando were friends or dating. Oscar had sent you some articles about it and you tried your best to cover up the stories, which surprisingly worked.

“I think I want to tell him soon,” you mumble to Lando. You were in your hotel bed, laying on top of him, on the brink of sleep. Your head rested on his chest with one of his hands tracing shapes on your back and the other playing with your hair.

He pauses for a moment, “Are you sure? I don’t want your relationship with him to get ruined because of me.”

You nod your head, “It won’t, he’ll understand I think. I love you,” you whisper.

You felt him tense under you, “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know why I-”

He cuts you off, tilting your head towards him to place a soft kiss to your mouth, “I love you, too.”

When you said you wanted to tell your brother, you didn’t plan for it to be like this. You were in a hospital bed after passing out from the heat when you and Lando were going on a walk.

Lando had panicked but was thankful you two had only gotten about a minute's walk away from the car. You hadn’t woken up yet, so he picked up his speed even more on his way to the hospital.

After some time and medication you woke up to see Lando’s worried expression while he was on the phone with your brother. He was pacing in and out of the room, “Oh! Oscar, I have to go, she just woke up. Yeah. Mhm. Okay. Bye,” he hung up and sat down on the bed.

“Bloody hell, never do that again baby, you scared me terribly,” he kissed your forehead. “Do you need anything? Water, food, more pillows? Is it too cold in here? I can-”

You put your hand over his mouth, giggling, “I’m alright, thank you, if I need anything I’ll let you know.” Lando seemed pleased with your answer so he nodded. “What did my brother say?”

“Well, he was too worried to ask about why I was with you so he just said he’ll be here soon,” he replies, kissing you gently, in fear of hurting you.

You must be cursed with bad luck today because Oscar came rushing into the room just before Lando could back away.

Lando feels his stomach drop and Oscar’s mouth opens and he looks between the two of you.

You watch as your brother’s face goes through about ten different emotions, “You- he- him?! He was just… kissing you.. and… I don’t feel so good…” Lando hops off the bed and catches your brother before he hits the ground.

Lando places him on the bed, and you would be laughing about the situation but you wanted to wait for your brother to wake up first, which he does after a few more moments.

“Oscar! Welcome back mate,” Lando pats his head.

“Get your hand off of me. Why were you kissing my sister,” Oscar glares at the boy.

“Whatttt?” Lando chuckles nervously, “I think that faint really had you seeing-”

Oscar cuts him off, sitting up, “I know what I saw, and it was disgusting. Now answer my question.”

You sigh, “We’re dating.” Oscar looks away tense, but then he relaxes a little and looks at you with a face as if asking for how long. “For a couple of months now…” you trail off.

Oscar’s mouth drops, “Months?! Why haven’t either of you told me?”

Lando chews his bottom lip nervously, “We were going to, I swear. But then you were stressed about the constructors championship, and it seemed like each time we planned to something happened, and I-”

Oscar cuts him off, “I don’t like this. She’s my sister and you’re… you.” Lando makes an offended face at that, making you chuckle. “This will take time for me to get used to, and I’m upset that you guys didn’t tell me, but if you’re both really happy I have no right to not support you.”

You go towards your brother and pull him into a tight hug, “Thank you! I love you.”

Oscar rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless, “Yeah yeah, I love you too.” He looks over your shoulder, narrowing his eyes, “I’m watching you,” he mouths at Lando, making the boy gulp. “You treat her right, understand? Or I’m running you off the track.”

Lando nods, “Of course, I wouldn't dream of otherwise.”

Though Oscar had accepted you two, it doesn’t mean he wasn’t a little salty. For the next week he would glare at Lando like a child who’s gotten his toy taken away. He can’t be mad for long though, not when he notices how happy you are with him.

That brings you to now, the final race of the season, Abu Dhabi. There was only one lap left and you were standing outside with the team as you watched Lando finally cross the finish line, winning the constructors championship and his fourth race.

When Lando finally puts the car in the first place spot, he jumps out and takes his helmet off as he runs towards you. You barely have time to question anything before he’s picking you up over the barrier, and smashing his lips to yours.

The team hollers around you, wolf whistling and cheering. Cameras flash as well but it’s all a blur to you. You hold Lando just as tightly and kiss him back. Your kiss is unfortunately interrupted by a gagging sound from behind you.

Oscar looks at you two, “I know I said I supported you but please, I don’t need to see this, I might puke.”

Lily comes up next to him, “Leave them alone, they’re adorable!” You gratefully smile at her and Oscar lets out a dramatic sigh.

You laugh and go to hug him, “Sorry. Good race, Oscar, I’m proud of you.”

He thanks you and walks to Lando, patting him on the back, “Congratulations, mate, you were great.”

Lando brightens, “Thanks! And we’ll keep the PDA to the minimum.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “Really?”

You and Lando glance at each other, shaking your heads and speaking in sync, “Nah.”

1K notes · View notes

ordinaryluv · 5 days ago

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙇𝙖𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙧𝙮 𝙈𝙞𝙭𝙪𝙥

𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙧 :

𝘈𝘴 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥, 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦. 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦. 𝘈 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘍𝘦𝘮! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳.

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 :

𝘉𝘰𝘣, 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘹-𝘶𝘱 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴.

Another trip to the laundromat.

It’s not like Bob didn’t enjoy Coyote and Hangman living with him. It was just a little louder than he was used to. And much messier. And much more crowded.

Okay, no, he really didn’t enjoy it. But he endured it. Because he was sweet and he couldn’t say no when they came knocking on his door under the excuse of ‘our apartment is old as shit so nothing works and everything might as well be on fire.’

So of course Bob let them stay for a little while, just until their place was fixed and ready to go.

The first week was coming to an end and apparently electricity was fixed, but plumbing was a prominent issue. So the guys were still tearing Bob’s place apart and he was cleaning like a desperate housewife.

While Jake and Reuben were out on a run, something they did every Sunday afternoon before hitting the gym, Bob gathered all the laundry. His own washing machine has been down for months, so he’s been going to a nearby Laundromat.

His clothes usually fit in one load in the smallest machine, the pilot simply didn’t own much. But now his load tripled and the trips became more frequent. Frequent enough for him to notice a girl who usually came on Wednesdays and sometimes Saturdays. Bob never talked to her, of course, because why would he ever approach a random girl he doesn’t know?

Maybe because he thought she was insanely cute and sometimes he would get a whiff of her detergent and melt on the inside because he knew exactly what she smelled like? No. Definitely not. That’s weird.

Gathering the last of the dirty laundry and packing it into a large basket. Bob throws on a well-loved gray Navy hoodie, a nice way of saying old and worn out, over his broad frame and some dark sweatpants before slipping out and making his way down to his car.

The drive is barely five minutes and when he parks he subconsciously searches the parking for your car, coming short he exhales. What did you expect, he thinks, today’s a Sunday.

Loading the machine, throwing in two detergent pods and paying with some change, Bob leaned back against the shaking metal box. With free time to spare he clicked on the teams group chat titled ‘Flyass’ something Javy came up with and everyone just accepted it. Surprisingly.

There was some argument going on between Bradley and Jake, per usual, and the accompanying comments of emojis and ‘damn’s were coming from Natasha and Mickey.

In the time it took to wash, relocate, and dry the clothes, Bob managed to pick up some groceries, which were left to wait in the car. With the basket in hand, arm flexing slightly to hold up the weight of all the clothes, Bob brushes past you, a little too close. He doesn’t realize at first, muttering his usual “I’m sorry.” He looked over his shoulder to offer a polite smile but came in short when he realized just who he almost pushed off their feet.

You smiled and said it was fine, quickly moving to the back wall where the dryers lined up in multiple rows. Was he insane for wanting to go back inside and rewash all the clothes just so he can glance over at you once in a while? Definitely.

The smell of your perfume lingering in his nose as he made his way back to his car. Something floral but with a citrusy snap to it.

The drive home lasted less than one song on the radio and Bob still kept thinking of the missed opportunity. But asking someone out in a room full of stranger’s dirty clothes and rags didn’t seem romantic whatsoever.

You weren’t supposed to be doing laundry today, but you were going away for a couple of days for your sisters wedding.

You had to rush because you had plans later that evening—some date with a friend of a friend that you didn’t want to go to but felt bad refusing the guy—which resulted in you bumping into the cute military guy you’ve seen around.

He was tall, like towering over you kind of tall. But not the scary kind. He had the sweetest eyes you have ever seen. Can that man pick you up and throw you across the room? Most definitely. Does he look like he saves kittens from trees on his free time and helps grandmas cross streets? Also yes.

Quickly walking around you settled your basket on the floor by the dryer #7. Quickly picking up and dumping all of your clothes into the basket until you pick up a shirt that’s not yours. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you turn it around in your hands ‘maybe someone forgot it’. But as you move to place it in your basket you realize the entire load is not yours. Those large Top Gun Academy shirts? Not yours. Those sweatpants that went up to your chest? Not yours. You were so in your own head about the upcoming events you didn’t notice you were taking someones clothes. Usually you would check the dryer for any articles of clothes that might have been left behind, but not today. And anyway, you were certain that was the right dryer, because glancing around, all the other ones were empty.

That’s when it hits you, the only other person you saw in here was the cute pilot. Did you ever get his name? Nope and now you had no chance of ever getting your clothes back! You had some clothes in there, and now you’re not getting laid on the trip because they’re all gone!

By the time you finished your—or not exactly your—load and packed it in the car, the space filling with the smell of his fabric softener—something clean but with an undertone of warmth—you speed off to get home.

The date ends around 10, and you are far too exhausted to sort through your new found laundry, but you have to in case there’s a name tag or a path or something. With a groan you dump everything out on your bed and begin making piles, shirts go with shirts, pants with pants and etc.

As you’re folding a large, faded shirt, you realize there’s some marking on it. You stop for a second and hold it up, it looked like some military academy T-shirt. Your eyebrows furrowed in contemplation and you turn it inside out, hoping to find something and to your luck there was a name and a phone number. You almost laughed because it reminded you of kids in elementary school who would put all of their information on their jacket in case it got lost.

Sadly you don’t get to keep the cute shirt. But on the other hand you now have the name and number of the cute pilot man and you might be able to get your things back!

You opted for texting rather than calling the stranger really late at night. The name on the inside of the shirt was ‘Jake’, you made sure to store that away in your mind.

> Hey, this is random but somehow I accidentally picked up your load of laundry and I think you might have picked up mine.

> I found your name and number written on one of the shirts.

> Could I come tomorrow morning to exchange?

Setting the phone down, you continued folding and packing whatever you could for your trip.

With everything done and the lights off, you settle into your bed and prepare for a good sleep because you are far beyond drained. But the universe won’t let you relax as you hear a string of ding’s coming from your phone.

> Hey

> That’s an original way to hit on me

> Kidding, you could be an old man

> Ill send you the address you can just hand it to who ever is there

You almost throw your phone across the room because 1) this guy already seems annoying and 2) he could have sent one message instead of four. So now you have to stop by there tomorrow morning before leaving for your sister’s.

Bob was in enormous trouble. Not only did he lose his friends clothes to a stranger at the laundromat but he also was pretty sure he picked up your clothes. And now his entire room smelled like toasted vanilla. Bob noticed the second he dumped all of the clothes out on his bed—great now his bed smells like you too—and he couldn’t move. Bob just stared at the pile as if it might grow a mouth and tell him where to take it all.

He might as well fold it and put it in a bag or something, in case he catches you next Wednesday. This definitely wasn’t an excuse to see what you wear outside of the laundromat. No, that’s creepy.

But as Bob began folding and noticing things he became increasingly flustered. Bob had borderline lingerie—your lingerie— sprawled on his bed, and god did his mind go to town with that. Because you were cute and polite and goddamn gorgeous. And because every time he sees you you look up and smile at him like he hung the stars, because you pout softly in concentration, and your eyes twinkle when you’re on the phone with someone and laughing loud enough for the whole place to hear.

Bob’s fingers flexed, hands halfway in the air, as if he was unsure if touching it would strike him with lightning or not. He ended up compromising, closing his eyes and gently picking it up. Feeling the lace bunch up between his fingers, Bob clenched his jaw to keep himself in control and dropped the lacy pair into the bag.

Once they slipped through his fingers he both felt the odd loss of the material and regained self control. But that’s until he picked up your shirt. It was a thin white shirt, the material so soft it might have been 101% cotton. Fuck, Bob muttered, he couldn’t stop imagining the way the material would spill around you, creasing and bending at every curve. Bob lifts the shirt up to his nose, taking a whiff of your detergent and biting his lip to hold back a groan. He imagine how you drown in that scent, how it surrounds and clings to you.

He almost buries his face in it before a sharp knock comes from the other side of his bedroom door. With a small startled yelp Bob throws the shirt down as if it burned his hand, taking a few steps back, wiping his palms down the pant of his sweats. “Y-yes?”

“You’re getting dinner tonight!” Called Jake.

“Yeah,” Bob said a little too quickly, still flustered. “Got it!”

Bob just came out of the shower, hair damp and sticking in multiple directions, glasses sliding down his slick nose and a towel wrapped around his hips. Maverick moved the briefing to later that day so Bob didn’t have to rush out at 6 A.M.

Lazily walking towards the kitchen with a phone in his hand Bob is trying to talk Natasha out of ripping Jakes head off. He stops short as he hears the door ring. Who’s coming this early?

Jake was out getting some protein powder and Coyote was out washing his car and Bob wasn’t expecting anyone. With a confused look he moved towards the door and unlocked it, pulling it open he froze. Eyes wide and blue as the ocean behind his glasses which he quickly pushed up, a nervous habit, because there you are, standing at his doorstep. The girl who’s name he doesn’t even know and only seen handling her dirty laundry.

Bob almost forgets all he’s wearing is a towel and he quickly grips it a little tighter. “Uh- Hi, hello.” He stammers out, “can I.. help you?”

The words that come out of your mouth are less than expected by Bob “are you Jake Seresin?”

What. The. Hell.

So Jake knew you? Cool. Bob’s definitely never getting a chance now.

“No. I’m Robert-Bob. He’s not here if you’re looking for him but I can tell him you came by…”

“No need,” you smiled that sweet little smile you give him when you pass him or yesterday when you almost bumped into him , something like relief flashing in your eyes,“I’m just dropping something off. I somehow picked up his load. Found Jake’s number on one of the old shirts.” You outstretched the large bag of clothes, Jakes academy shirt on the top.

So you didn’t actually know Jake. Good for you.

Bob blushed, realizing the reason you had that shirt—that entire load— was because of him, and now you’re at his apartment and basically this is faith and he’s destined to be-

“My laundry delivery girl!” Bob mentally face palmed as he heard Jakes words echo down the empty hallway. Hangman approached the apartment, plucking the shirt from the top of the bag before looking you over without any shame whatsoever “if I knew someone like you were coming, I would have lost my shirt sooner.” Jake grinned and bumped Bob’s shoulder as he walked past him and deeper into the apartment. Bob took the bag carefully from your hands setting it down somewhere behind the door.

You two stared at each other for a long second before you pursed your lips into a little line, “do you by any chance have my clothes?”

“Right! Y-yes,” Bob reddened, every coherent thought in his mind disappeared the second he saw you. He almost forgot his own name. “Ill go grab it just, come in… give me a second.” You nodded passed the threshold. The apartment was a little messy and there were sounds of a metal shaker coming from the kitchen. Someone was in the shower and Bob was behind the closed door of his bedroom. You glanced around at the photos hanging about the walls, there weren’t many but you definitely recognized Bob’s baby pictures. In one he’s wearing a flight suit that’s too big on him, crowing him is a woman kissing his head and his father with a bright smile.

You’re not sure how long you’re left staring at the picture, but long enough for when you look back you see Bob dressed in a flight suit which he now fills out nicely. A contrast between an innocent happy kid with a dream and an actual fighter pilot who hasn’t seem to have lost his kindness through the years. “Here,” he says softly, outstretching you the bag with neatly folded clothes. You thank him and take ahold of the bag, the handle digging into your palm a bit.

“Well then,” you said, stepping back slightly “have a good day.” And with a nod you turned. Bob followed to the door, holding it open to let you out. You start down the hallway of similar wooden doors and welcome mats.

“Wait.” Bob stepped out of the door slightly, “what’s your name? I- I just seen you around and,” he flushed as you titled your head up to look him in the eye, the type of blush that made him look too adorable for this world, “thought I should know.”

Your face softened slightly, it was obvious that Bob wasn’t like his roommate. You told him your name and bid him a good day, finally heading out.

When Bob closed the door he had a boy-ish smile on his lips, almost loopy. All you did was give him your name but that was enough to drive him deeper into the hole of delusion he was already digging.

Hangman laughed while walking by, shaking his protein powder better into the water bottle “I didn’t know my laundry lady was your type.”

Bob’s head snapped up. “What? She’s not your laundry lady and not my type! Anyway she was just-“

“Dropping off our load, yeah. Totally innocent.” Hangman grinned like a little dipshit he was. “Didn’t leave it at the doorstep or anything, she was getting all comfortable in here.”

Bob could feel the blush creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears “you’re being rediculous.” He leaned off the door and walked towards his room.

“Maybe,” Jake shot back, taking a sip from his bottle, “but if you’re not going to ask her out, Bobby, I might have to. Because let me tell you, I will not let that piece of ass slide-“

Bob shut his door and blocked out whatever Jake was saying. Because there is no way he is threatening getting with you right now. There’s no way you would say yes, he saw the way you looked at Jake when he was talking to you. And the least Bob could say was that you did not look very pleased.

For the next couple of days, whenever Bob is around town, he keeps his eyes strained for you. Subconsciously. He’s not really trying to catch you, or talk to you, or seek you out.

He definitely is but he is not going to admit it.

When he doesn’t catch you on Wednesday at the laundromat something like disappointment stirs in his gut. And he knows its ridiculous but with Jakes remarks every day about the ‘pretty girl from the laundromat’ Bob can’t help but feel on edge.

Coyote has caught on to what is going on and is just egging the whole thing on. Jake had the advantage since he had your number from that time you texted him and he made sure Bob remembered that. ‘Feeling lonely tonight, might text that pretty girl’ or ‘I might have to lose more shirts to keep her coming back.’ Just stupid comments that made Bob irrational mad, almost boiling over.

Finally returning felt like both heaven and hell, because you loved living alone and away from family but missed your sister like crazy. If she was here, she would have told you to already jump both on this opportunity and the guys bones. But she isn’t and you felt too embarrassed telling her you had a crush on a guy you spoken to once. But nonetheless you had things to do. Falling back into the rhythm of your life, work-gym-personal time. Though you were gone only for a couple of days, something shifted. You couldn’t stop thinking about Bob.

His face flashed while you made coffee early in the morning and you heard his voice in the soft murmurs of your office.

His eyes that basically engulfed you when you came to return the laundry, the cute way he blushed, how he clutched his towel- you had to snap out of it or the next trip you would be taking is down to the insane asylum.

Walking through the glass doors of the Laundromat, detergent and other stuff in one bag and clothes in your basket you scanned the machines. The sun was setting down so the place was illuminated by florescent lights that were buzzing softly accompanied by a dryer door slam and some coin clinks. The place was mostly empty. As you walked through one of the rows to find the cleanest machine you saw someone in the back by the dryers. Tall, glasses, cute tint to his cheeks, and leaning his back against the counter as one of his large hands holds a paper back bent in half.

Sure, a part of you is screaming and crying at the way the spine of the book is bent back so unnaturally you are sure it would have screamed in agony if it had vocal cords. You packed your things into a washing machine and paid, tapping your finger against the top of the machine as it fills with water and shakes. You’re sucked into your thoughts, not sure if you should come up and talk to him or just let him read.

But before you could decide, Bob lifted his eyes and met yours. The florescent lights caught his eyes in a way that made them look almost glassy-blue. He offered an uncertain wave and you smiled, taking that as a hint.

As he watched you approached he closed the book and shoved it in his back pocket. Which was insane for two things, who carries a book in their back pocket and how do mens jeans fit a whole paper back in their back pocket?

“Hey,” you settle next to him, smilling up at him.

“Hi,” he adjusts his glasses, shifting to make a little more space for you. “Thank you again for returning the clothes, Jake might have killed me if I lost his academy shirt.”

You chuckled, and Bob froze for a second, watching the way your eyes crinkled “it’s no problem, really.” You brushed your hair back behind your shoulder, “you know, you always read in this corner.” Bob felt his gut warm up because you noticed.

And as pathetic as it sounds, Bob never really felt noticed before. Not for the little things he does in the corner.

“Yeah its just, I don’t really have anything else to do and-“

“So what are you reading?” He swallowed, reaching back to grab the book again and handing it to you. He looks away as you read the title The Rosie Project out loud. Almost likes he’s embarrassed. You didn’t expect him to read something like that, its almost endearing. But you seem to catch the trend that everything he does is endearing. “That’s,” a little giggle bubbles out “I’m sorry, its just not what I expected.”

Bob flushes further, you can practically feel the heat radiating off him as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, just… thought It would be interesting, maybe. Don’t know.” The corners of your mouth curled at his little unsure gesture.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Bob’s dryer stopped spinning with a little tune that broke the small interaction. You nodded and handed him back his book. You turned on the heels of your feet and walked back to your machine. You wanted to stand around and talk, fix his glasses, run your fingers through his hair- woah.

Where did that come from?

You physically have to shake your head to keep the thoughts away.

With all Bobs clothes collected, and double checks done that they’re truly all back—and his— in his basket, he makes his way towards the exit. You perk up, watching as he almost reaches the door. You want to call out, you want to walk with him or ask him if you could get one of his shirts lost again in your laundry so you could come over. But you’re a coward and ninety percent sure he is just being nice.

What is wrong with you?

That’s what Bob hears in unison from the entire squad when he tells them what happened.

Somewhere in the background Penny was ringing the bell behind the counter, people were singing along to some 80’s music playing from the jukebox, chatter was becoming louder by the minute and bodies were illuminated by the neon signs in all corners of the bar. Bob was nursing his coke, his cheeks already pink from the amount of teasing he had to endure. The Dagger Squad sat towards the back by the pool tables, the spot that they usually occupied since moving to North Island base.

“You had the perfect chance to ask her out, dude!” Payback throws his hands up.

“She came up to you!” Natasha laughs, as if it is the stupidest thing Bob has ever missed.

Jake just slowly started lifting his phone up to his ear with a grin.

“No!” Bob pointed at him, “put that down.” And a bark of laughter ripped through, so loud it might have shifted a couple of stray billiard balls on the poor tables.

“She was all up in your laundry,” Javy took a sip of his beer and wiggles his eyebrows a little.

“That’s weird,” Bob groaned, burying his face in his hands “don’t say that.” Which comes out more like a whine than anything else.

Bradly slides in on an empty bar stool besides Bob “what were you even worried about? You want to tell us you fly some of the most dangerous missions, you had to eject before you plane crashed head on into a cliff, you literally might explode in the air at any moment and you can’t ask a pretty girl out?”

Bob shifted, taking a sip of his soda “I didn’t want to mess it up, that’s all. She’s nice, and she-“ he shakes his head.

“The only thing you’re messing up is the chance to actually have a life outside laundry day,” Fanboy leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Bob took another sip from his coke bottle, hoping to hide his embarrassment. But all he could think about while sitting with the squad was you, and the way you looked in the buzzing white lights, and the way you smiled at him and teased him. God, he was in so much trouble. And the worst thing? He had a way in and he didn’t take it.

Eventually the squad moved on, going into a heated discussion about something Bob couldn’t care less about. His thoughts were still on you. Should he ask Hangman for your number? Jake would not let Bob live that down.

On the drive back Jake was sitting shotgun by Bob and Coyote was in the backseat as they were singing their hearts out to Fergalicious but Bob was in his own thoughts.

“I be up in the gym, just working on my fitness-“ Jake hollered.

“He’s my witness,” Javy continued even louder.

“Do you two have to be this loud?” Bob asked, already exhausted.

“Absolutely,” Jake said without missing a beat. “This song is literally me incapsulated.” Bob rolled his eyes at how extra Jake was being. “Speaking of fitness,” Hangman smirked “how is yours? You plan on exercising those social skills of yours?”

Bob’s cheeks flared “you’re going to make me crash,” he muttered.

“So that’s a no,” came from the back seat. “You’re killing us, man. You could have had a date by now,”

Jake reclined on the seat and put his boots up on the dash board despite Bob’s immediate glare. “Next time you’re going to that laundromat, I am coming with you. So you don’t blow it like last time.” With a wicked grin he added “I’ll be your wingman.”

“You’re the last person I would want as a wingman,” Bob murmured as Coyote cheered in the backseat.

The rest of the drive was filled with more Fergie and very questionable high notes. But Bob barely heard that, instead replaying your laugh and the way your hair looked as you swung it behind your shoulder, and the curve of your smile when you saw him. He’s going to have a heart attack.

Walking through the doors the only sound filling the space were the drying machines and the clothes hitting against the think glass. Bob had his basket in hand and and rehearsed what he was going to say. Just ask you out. Simple. Not terrifying at all.

Except you were already there, so he had less time to prepare. You were loading a machine, hair up in a loose ponytail and lips pouting slightly in concentration. And as if Bob’s luck couldn’t be any worse, the bell above the door jingled and a very unpleasant noise came in next.

“Bobby-boy!” Jake’s voice rang out and bounced off the linoleum.

Bob winced “Jake, what are you-“

“Being your wingman, like I told you.” Jake smirked, stalking towards Bob. “I brought my A-game.” This only made Bob a lot more terrified. Color practically draining from his face. “Its your laundry girl.” Jake whispered-or tried to, but he was naturally an obnoxiously loud man.

You heard their voices, there was not a single bone in your body that didn’t recognize the sound of Bob’s voice, and sadly Jakes as well. But you didn’t lift your head, because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to go forward with you very very stupid and desperate plan.

Yes, hanging out with your sister was so much fun. Seeing her all lovey-dovey with her husband only worsened your condition and feelings. Whatever possible feelings you could have for a guy who barely knew… but already seen half naked. You snapped out of your thoughts and kept loading the machine.

Bob settled a couple of machines down from you. You knew he left during the washing and stayed to read during the drying, so as long as he leaves you can make this work.

You could see Jake hovering over Bob, whispering something and throwing you glances, even a small wave with a huge grin. You knew they were talking about you, but with the way Bob kept shaking his head and muttering something it did not seem as if things were going Jakes way.

Eventually Jake threw his hands up in expiration. You heard something along the lines of “you’re impossible.” But as he walked past you he slowed down “save us form misery already.” You stifled a chuckle as you watched him leave. Only a couple of minutes later did Bob follow Jake, his machine loading for a second.

Perfect.

You pull out a white shirt you washed last time that was now adorned with your name and you number written on it with a black sharpie. Was it a dumb idea? Totally. Was it original? Also yes.

You quickly popped the lid of his machine open and dropped the shirt in, just as the water began filling the tank. The lid fell close with a small snap and you finished your laundry as quickly as you can. Adrenaline pumping in your blood because what if he comes back and finds it and then it would be awkward!

You were out of there in record time, not bothering to fold anything in case that takes up too much time.

Bob’s apartment felt weirdly quiet. Now that Hangman and Coyote were back at their place, there was no more random yelling and loud conversations, along with random song performances. There was the buzz of the refrigerator somewhere further down the hall and the steady ticking of the clock. The sun was already down and when Bob came back to the Laundromat to get his clothes you were already gone. He missed his chance. Again.

After the ted talk from Jake and some motivation from Javy and even a call from Nat. He simply missed you. Bob felt like the worlds biggest idiot as he folded his clothes on the bed. He kept replaying everyones words and the way you looked earlier.

Bob kept folding, separating his clothes—only his now, thank goodness— before coming across a weirdly small shirt. It was a white shirt and definitely not his, he turned it around and-

Bob’s jaw almost fell to the floor because that shirt had your name and number written on it, though the numbers did bleed a bit from the hot water. Bob couldn’t believe it, it must have been a prank, but for once he didn’t want to over think something. Grabbing his phone off his pillow he dialed the number, pacing his room as the phone rang.

“Hello?” Your phone was jammed between your shoulder and your ear as you scrubbed down your dishes in your teddy bear pajamas. Your hair clipped back messily and some strands falling back down on your face.

“Hi,” came in Bob’s voice, a little out of breath and a little fast “I’m asking you out. Go out with me. I keep missing every moment to do it properly and I just found your shirt and I just-“

“Yes.” You cut him off. Surprising even yourself with how slightly eager you sounded, your phone almost slipping out before you quickly jerk your shoulder back to the right location. “I would come over right now if not for your roommates,” you joked, or half joked, or actually didn’t joke at all.

“They’re not here.” Bob said just as quickly and just as eager. “I mean, they- they’re not my roommates they were just staying for a while.”

There was a brief silence which followed. So you basically invited yourself and he basically said come here. But was he serious? Were you serious?

You bit your lip and stared down at the half washed plate in your hand. “Are you saying you actually want me to come over? Like… now?”

Bob froze mid pace, clutching his phone tighter. “Only if you want to. I mean-yes. I would like you to. Very much. But no pressure. Unless… you like pressure? Not in a weird way, I just-“

You laughed, cutting through his fluster “Bob.”

“Yeah?” He fixed his glasses.

“Text me your address. I can’t find Jakes message with it.”

There was some shuffling on his end, almost like he nearly dropped his phone in the rush. “Right. Address. Of course.” Bob cleared his throat, trying to even his breath out.

You rinsed the plate and set it on the rack to dry, “Ill be there in 20.”

Bob desperately wanted to plead and call out fifteen but opted politely for “drive safe.”

You stared at yourself in the reflection of the kitchen window. You definitely needed some fixing up. But you couldn’t help but feel giddy because you were going to see Bob, the most adorable and awkward pilot who you met over laundry, without his little wingman.

Back in Bobs apartment, he looked around. He had to quickly put away his clothes and fix the couch cushions that were smooshed and dislocated from Jake and Javy. Fifteen minutes to make his apartment look like his again and less like its been wrecked by two other pilots.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting to see when you arrived. Last time you came there, Bob was only wearing a towel around his hips. Maybe you expected something casual but the Bob that answered the door was anything but. He was flushed and a bit out of breath, fixing his sliding glasses.

Bob was wearing a plain gray t-shirt and jeans, his hair looked freshly combed. “Hi,” he smiled his little boy-ish, dorky smile and stepped aside “come inside.”

The apartment was nice, clean. You could tell Bob spent some time fussing over it and that just made him a little more cuter. The scent floating around was so him. It was clean with a hint of warmness.

“Wow,” you looked around “did you clean before I came?”

Bob went pink, all the way to the tips of his ears. “I just.. no- I was putting some things together. And vacuumed. And maybe Febreze’d the couch. Twice.”

You giggled, slipping off your shoes “that explains the ‘spring meadow’ atmosphere. But its.. very cozy.” You said genuinely.

He scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t want the first-second time you came over to be… you know, chaotic. Especially after Jake and Javy.”

“Bob,” you smiled “I’m not here to judge your throw pillow arrangement. I’m here to see you.” You stepped closer, and in return Bob’s eyes widened, his lips parted softly.

“Drinks?” With a hum you followed him into the kitchen. “Anything you want? I only have beer if you’re interested or tea..?”

The kitchen was small but comfortable, necessities scrambled around the place but somehow still seemed to be in their own order. The light made everything look like it was dripping in honey, the soft ember lights casting low shadows and making the place a little more intimate. You smiled, leaning back against the counters as he searched for something to drink.

The two of you settled down on the couch, and Bob placed the beer bottles on the coffee table, a halo of water already forming around it since these past couple of nights have been on the warmer side.

“This is… wholesome.” You teased softly but in reality this felt really nice.

Bob sat on the furthest end away from you, so you beckoned him closer while laughing. “I don’t bite, you know?”

He hesitated—you could see the gears moving as if he didn’t want to overstep. Ultimately moved closer, his knee brushing against yours.

“I’m sorry about the shirt,” you started and took a sip. “I know it was a dumb idea but I just… I thought it was kind of ironic since this whole thing started with laundry and I found you because of a shirt,” you explain, feeling slightly embarrassed.

Bob laughed, you felt the deep vibration stirring in your bones from that sound. Running smoothly all over you and grounding your slightly fast-paced heart. “I should have asked you out earlier.”

“Why didn’t you? Or do you usually wait until womens laundry ends up in your batch?” You lean back, your knee presses a little more against his and Bob has to will his eyes away from your legs.

“I don’t usually ask girls out. Especially not this late at night and not in mild panic.” Bob shrugged, almost like he accepted that his quietness and busy schedule didn’t allow for anything else.

You obviously noticed the way Bob kept to himself, how he chose the quiet moments. But you didn’t expect that answer from him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Bob plucked the bottle rom the table, taking a slow sip. “I’m better at other things, like… flying. Being a WSO. Folding fitted sheets.” You let out a little giggle. “Talking to you? Now that’s harder.”

His eyes met yours again, soft and a little crinkled from his smile, this time he didn’t look away so quickly. A dog was barking down the street and the clock was ticking on the wall, it was silent between the two of you but not awkward, just charged. Charged in a way that made your pulse skip.

Bob clears his throat, setting the bottle back down, hands settling down on his lap. “So… would it be weird if I told you I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for weeks now?”

“No,” you chuckled, eyes sparkling with amusement. “That’s sweet. Though I do wish you would have done it earlier.”

Bob’s smile deepened but he didn’t say anything right away, His hands shifted on his lap like he was debating whether to move them closer to yours. You could see the faint red tint to his cheeks and the slight rise and fall of his chest.

The air shifted again — thicker, warmer.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him, waiting for whatever would come next. His gaze shifted to your lips for just a heartbeat and you were sure he was going to lean in, but instead he cleared his throat. Looking down at his hands in contemplation.

“Then,” he said quietly, returning his gaze to yours, “maybe I shouldn’t waste any more time.”

Before you could tease Bob about finally catching on, he leaned forward, closing the small space left between you two. The soft brush of his knee against yours became more solid, combining with his hand there, shifting slightly higher, like it belonged there.

He hesitates for a moment, and you can see the question in his eyes, the hope he has been carrying with him. You responded without words, tilting up to meet him. The kiss was tentative at first, like a test drive, just to test the waters. But you caught the steady pull behind it, like once he started he wasn’t willing to let go.

It was gentle, careful, but deeply intentional. You shifted closer, almost unable to bare the space between the two of you. His hand shifted to to your jaw and your hand fisted in his shirt. He whispered your name against your lips and you only pressed closer. Bobs hands shifted down under your thighs, lifting you up with ease, almost like you were paper, and placing you in his lap. Your thighs on either said of him, your hands now on his jaw and his, warm large and steady, on your waist.

You pulled away, your chest brushing against his, heaving out of breath. Bob’s lips were kiss-swollen and red almost matching the color of his cheeks. His blue eyes, dark in the low light but still shimmering, wide behind the glasses. He only began to overthink that he overstepped a boundary and now you were going to leave but “I really like you, Bob.” You whispered, looking down at him with wide but serious gaze.

Bob’s lips parted as if to say something but you kept going. “And I don’t want to jump into this and have you thinking that’s all I came here for. Because that’s not true.”

Bob’s gaze softened and he nodded, “I know.” He lifted one of his hands, brushing back your hair with such tenderness, like he believed you were made of glass. “We can stop,” he offered but you shook your head.

“Just promise me this won’t end here. That I can get to know you. More than this.”

“That’s all I ever wanted.” He whispers back, so honest and raw. Exposed. You realize he doesn’t need to do anything with you tonight. He would be happy drinking tea on opposite sides of the couch and just talking. You lean in to close the space between your lips again and he does the same, but before your lips could connect he slips out “you’re all I ever wanted.” And the truth was sealed with a kiss. Soft, intimate, and sure. He was pouring out his heart with the kiss, every brush of his lips released whatever he was holding back.

He shifted the both of you slightly, you were sprawled under him on your back, his lips trailing to the corner of your mouth. Down to your jaw, like every centimeter of you was deserved to be worshipped in the softest way, then down the column of your neck. His lips leaving small, lingering kisses on your soft skin. Bob can’t control the urge to nuzzle his nose a little deeper into your neck and hair. His senses filling with the smell of your very familiar detergent and something so distinctively you. His voice low and a little raspy “you smell so good… taste so good.”

After, the rest of the night was spent cuddled next to each other on the couch. Bob brought out a large blanket to throw over the two of you and turned on a movie. The living room was illuminated by the soft light and the murmur of the TV, all the other lights were out. His hand in your hair, gently massaging your scalp and almost lulling you to sleep. You wanted to know this Bob. The Bob that quietly read in the corner of the laundromat, the Bob that puts on Notting Hill, the Bob that lifts you and sets you in his arms like you belong there, the Bob that made you feel things you have never felt before. Every part of him, every corner and curve.

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flwrkid14 · 10 months ago

Text

The Tim Drake Heartthrob Conspiracy

It started as a slow, creeping suspicion. A few throwaway comments here, a couple of odd interactions there. At first, no one thought much of it.

One day, Dick was grabbing coffee near Wayne Enterprises when he overheard two interns chatting in line. “I saw Tim Drake today, and let me tell you, I think I’ve developed a new celebrity crush,” one of them said, giggling.

Dick nearly choked on his iced latte. Tim? Celebrity crush? He shook it off, chalking it up to the occasional corporate crush, nothing out of the ordinary for someone who runs a massive company. But then he heard it again the next week at a Titan’s briefing. Garfield leaned over to him during a meeting, nodding toward Tim across the room.

“Man, Tim’s really come into his own, huh? Guy’s kinda a looker now,” Gar commented.

Dick blinked, then frowned. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, come on, Nightwing,” Gar teased, “you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed! The quiet broody thing is working for him. I bet half of Gotham has a crush on him.”

By the time Dick got back to Gotham, the gears were turning in his head. Did half of Gotham have a crush on Tim?

Then it happened again. This time it was Damian’s turn.

He had been sparring with Jon in the Batcave, when their conversation drifted, as it often did. “You ever think about what it would be like to date someone like Tim?” Jon asked, completely out of the blue.

Damian froze, mid-punch. “What?”

“I mean, he’s smart, right? Responsible, kinda low-key. Would probably make a great boyfriend,” Jon continued, completely oblivious to the growing horror on Damian’s face.

“Grayson and Todd, are enough. I refuse to let another sibling of mine become Gotham’s romantic fascination!” Damian exclaimed later that night at the dinner table. The others laughed, assuming Damian was just being overly dramatic, as usual.

But the seed had been planted.

It didn’t take long for the other Batfamily members to start picking up on the signs.

Steph first noticed when she logged onto a Wayne Enterprises fan forum (because yes, those exist) and saw a thread that was simply titled, “Tim Drake’s Glow-Up Appreciation Post”. The page was filled with comments fawning over him—talking about his “sharp jawline,” his “dark, mysterious aura,” and how “charming” he was during interviews.

Naturally, Steph sent the link to Cass with a laughing emoji. “Look at our boy, growing up into Gotham’s next heartbreaker,” she joked.

But as more and more of these comments popped up in the oddest places, Steph’s joking tone faded. Was Tim really the next heartthrob?

The realization hit Jason last, as most things concerning Tim usually did. He was scrolling through his usual online haunts, browsing forums that discussed Gotham’s vigilantes, when he stumbled on something unusual.

A post titled: Top 10 Reasons Why Red Robin is the Best Looking Vigilante in Gotham.

Jason almost clicked out of it immediately, assuming it was some kind of joke. But no. There were paragraphs. Analysis. Photos that somehow made Tim look like a damn model, even in his ridiculous Red Robin cape.

Jason scrolled through in disbelief, not sure what he was more stunned by: the fact that people were thirsting after Tim, or that someone had gone to this much effort to explain why he was hot.

“That’s it. The internet is officially broken,” Jason muttered to himself, before sending a screenshot to the family group chat with the caption: Since when did Tim become a fashion icon?

The real kicker, though, was Alfred. After weeks of the Batfamily casually throwing around jokes about Tim’s newly discovered “status,” Alfred finally made his observation one morning over breakfast.

“Master Timothy has always had a certain quiet charm about him,” Alfred said as he served coffee, completely unbothered by the ensuing chaos.

Dick, nearly spilling his coffee: “Wait, you knew about this? Why didn’t you say something?”

Alfred raised a brow. “It hardly seemed necessary. I assumed you all were already aware of Master Timothy’s appeal.”

Appeal. Appeal.

Jason was laughing so hard he had to leave the room, while Steph and Cass exchanged glances that said everything: they needed to re-evaluate everything about their little brother.

The whole Batfamily was still coming to terms with it. They joked, they teased, but there was an undeniable shift. When they looked at Tim now, they saw what others had apparently been seeing for years—a quietly confident, strikingly intelligent young man who had somehow grown into one of Gotham’s most eligible bachelors.

Of course, the moment that really sealed the deal came when Tim rode into the Batcave one evening on his Red Bird bike, wearing hastily thrown on stylish outfit—a black leather jacket, perfectly fitted jeans, and a shirt that gave him a casual, yet effortlessly cool look. Running a hand through his still damp hair, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

“Sorry, I’m running late. Got a date.”

For a moment, the Batfamily just stared.

Holy. Shit.

And then, as if on cue, Dick, Steph, Cass, Duke, Jason, and even Damian had the same thought at the same time: Oh my God, Tim Drake is the Batfamily’s biggest heartthrob.

The realization was almost too much to handle.

#tim drake #batfam #tim drake is gothams most eligible bachelor #tim drake is also a huge heartthrob and i think that needs to be addressed more #his date was totally with danny btw #ofc the bats would be the last ones to realize how saught after tim is

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crazziforazzi · 2 months ago

Text

Red Jersey

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

One shot

Warning: MDNI, Possessive!P, Mild dom/sub dynamics

A/N: This started out as a cute little post-game one-shot I drafted after the match… then I went to work, came back, and rewrote it into whatever this is now. I will now be closing my laptop and pretending this never happened, okay? We don’t talk about it.

But in my defense, I did promise to deliver something if P dropped 20. Next time I’m betting on 25+

Word Count: 4k words

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble.

Not the catastrophic, relationship-on-the-line kind of trouble. More the you knew what you were doing and now you’re dealing with the consequences kind. The kind of trouble where your girlfriend doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t throw a fit, she just misses three open layups in the first half of a game she should be dominating and avoids eye contact the whole time.

That kind of trouble stung, because it meant Paige was actually upset. And Azzi couldn’t even say she hadn’t earned it.

It had started with the post. Their hard launch, yesterday. Paige had known it was coming, they’d even laughed about the case together when it arrived in the mail. She’d said Azzi could post it whenever she felt ready. Azzi had felt ready. Paige, apparently, had felt… too busy to react.

Sure, they had agreed Azzi would be the one to go public first, to slowly place the signs for their fans. But she hadn’t expected complete silence from her girlfriend. No like, no repost, not even their pink heart emoji. Just…nothing.

And that silence? It annoyed the hell out of her.

And she knew it was stupid. She knew Paige was barely online these days. She knew that one like didn’t matter when her girlfriend made sure she woke up to a good morning text every single day, and treated her like a princess whenever they were together. But still, Azzi liked to be claimed. In every way possible.

So yeah, maybe Azzi was feeling a little petty when she showed up to the Wings-Mystics game today.

Her hair was still perfect from the event she’d been at the day before. Her natural makeup hit just right. She even pulled on the jeans Paige loved and decided on a cropped white UConn shirt that left just enough abs and her piercing peeking out. She looked good. Hot, even. First official WAG game and she was showing up for it.

But when she was greeted by Georgia Amoore instead of her own girlfriend first, with a cheeky grin and a "You want this?" Azzi caught the jersey, smiled, and pulled it on right over her tank top without missing a beat.

Okay, maybe she paused for a second. But only because she knew Paige would be annoyed. Her girlfriend was way too possessive for this kind of shit.

Which made her do it anyway.

She’d barely been sitting for a few minutes, casually chatting with the girl next to her, when she saw them. Or more accurately, felt it first. The stare.

When she looked up, Paige and Arike were jogging toward the sideline for warmups. Paige wasn’t even trying to hide the glare. Azzi met her eyes across the court and raised her brows, all faux innocence, like what? Someone else gave it to me.

She didn’t expect Paige to actually come over to her side of the court. But she did.

With Arike flanking her, both of them bouncing the balls casually as they strolled toward Azzi’s section like they had no other place to be. Paige didn’t say anything right away. She just gave her that look. The one that said

You think you are funny, huh?

"Interesting jersey choice," Arike said with a sly grin, clearly enjoying the drama way too much.

"Georgia said she didn’t want it getting wrinkled on the bench," Azzi shot back smoothly. "I’m just doing her a favor."

"Mhm," Paige murmured, eyes flicking up and down slowly. "Bet she appreciated that."

Azzi tilted her head, playful. "Bet you noticed."

That earned her a look. Paige didn’t respond though,—just turned back to warm up again with Arike, glancing over at Azzi every once in a while before shaking her head. Each time, Azzi just smiled back sweetly, all charm and no remorse.

Now it was halftime, and Azzi sat very still in her seat, Georgia’s red jersey still on, and maybe regretting everything, just a little.

Paige had gone 1-for-6 in the second quarter alone. She’d gotten beat on defense twice, once by Citron, and passed up an open three just to dish to Smith, who wasn’t even ready for it. It was a turnover.

It was bad, like noticeably bad. The kind of bad that made sports Twitter start asking if something was wrong.

Azzi chewed the inside of her cheek, eyes fixed on the Wings bench. Paige was pacing in front of the seats, towel draped over her shoulders, head down. She wasn’t even pretending to be composed anymore. Nalyssa tried to say something to her. Paige just nodded and looked up, directly at Azzi. And Azzi… flinched.

Shit.

This wasn’t what she meant to do. This was supposed to be fun.

Azzi thought she’d fire Paige up. That it’d get her locked in. She thought Paige would come out swinging, torch the Mystics for daring to even flirt with the idea of taking what was hers. She thought Paige would have the kind of game where she dropped 25 just to spite the Mystics, the kind of night that ended with her backing Azzi against the door as soon as they got to the hotel room and saying mine in every possible way.

That was what Azzi had expected. A little fuel. A little bite.

Not throwing off her game. Not making her doubt everything.

Azzi tugged at the collar of the jersey, suddenly very aware of how obvious it was. Bright red. Amoore #8.

Cute… if you weren’t Paige Bueckers watching your girlfriend flaunt someone else’s name across her chest less than 24 hours after hard launching your relationship.

She chewed her lip as the players made their way into the tunnel. Paige didn’t look up once. Not toward the bench. Not toward the crowd. Certainly not toward Azzi.

Azzi had wanted a reaction. Just… not this one.

This wasn’t the fun kind of jealousy. This wasn’t Paige rising to the moment and proving a point. This was Paige shutting down, overthinking, spiraling, playing like she was stuck in her own head.

And Azzi, still stubborn, still too proud to admit it out loud, was starting to realize that maybe she’d misjudged the line between teasing and testing.

She slouched lower in her seat, elbow on the armrest, chin buried in her palm.

She decided to open the group chat. UConn Huskies 💙💍.

It had been buzzing with activity all game, mostly with playful jabs and updates. A few GIFs. Some exaggerated "OOPS" messages after Paige’s third turnover. Classic KK.

Azzi didn’t even want to scroll down to see the vote percentages. She knew what option was winning. Judging by Jana’s flame emojis and Sarah’s unhelpful "👀👀👀," her teammates were thriving off this chaos.

And then there it was:

KK: "New poll: What should Azzi do to fix being a dick and wearing the enemy’s jersey?"

Option 1: Beg for forgiveness after the game.

Option 2: Buy new shoes for lil Paigey.

Option 3: Put on that lingerie she packed and wait in the hotel room for Big Daddy Bueckers.

She exhaled, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Do I defend myself?

The silence lasted maybe thirty seconds. Then the floodgates opened.

Finally, she typed:

Azzi: Okay but… do you guys actually think she’s mad at me?

The words hit her like a slap. And suddenly, all the teasing and jersey-stunting didn’t feel worth it. Not if Paige was hurt. Not if she was second-guessing herself. Not if Azzi did that.

Sarh: Girl.

Morgan: She is mad.

KK: I’d be mad. I am mad. You look like you are repping Georgia like y’all go way back 😭

Caroline: Azzi, you literally hard launched yesterday and then pulled the most passive aggressive side chick stunt of all time 💀

Sarah: Also. She missed a layup which she almost never does. What do you think?"

She stared at her phone, jaw tight. No more playing it cool. She had to fix this.

She opened Paige’s contact, stared at the empty message window, hen finally typed:

Babe, are you ok?

Read, almost Immediately.

But nothing else. No bubble. Just that quiet little confirmation that Paige saw it, and still wasn’t ready to say anything back.

Azzi’s chest tightened. She glanced to make sure her dad wasn’t watching, took a breath, and typed the kind of message that might break through. The kind that usually worked when normal words weren’t enough. The kind that brought Possessive Paige out of hiding.

It was her asking for a second chance in Paige’s language.

Can you please come out and show them why, even if I wear someone else’s name on my back right now, I only ever moan yours when we get home?

Remind me who I belong to. I’ll be good for you when you do. Promise.

She hit send and was ready to see the effect.

Azzi sat on edge the entire second half—barely blinking, barely breathing—silently praying Paige would settle in. The arena was loud, tense, alive with every possession, but all Azzi could hear was her pulse hammering in her ears. Her hands were clenched in her lap, fingers curled tight in the hem of Georgia’s jersey. She hadn’t sent another message after that last one—but she didn’t need to.

Because Paige had read it. And now Paige was responding.

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t pretty. She was getting double-teamed off the inbound, blitzed every time she touched the ball, and still not getting much help. But she was fighting. Hard. Every floater came with a shoulder dipped through contact. Every pass was threaded like a dare. Every drive ended with her hitting the floor and popping back up like it just fueled her.

Azzi didn’t move. She just watched.

By the final stretch, Paige had clawed her way to 13 points. And then, with just seconds left in regulation, she pulled off a screen and hit a cold-blooded three to tie the game and send it to overtime.

Azzi shot up before the ball even dropped through the net, hands in the air, mouth wide, screaming without thinking. Pride surged through her like a flood. She was full of relief and awe and love. This was her girl.

And then Paige turned. She didn’t look at her teammates. She didn’t even glance at the bench. She looked straight at Azzi.

Their eyes locked across the chaos, and Azzi’s whole body went still. Paige didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. She just stared, held her there, then lifted her hand and pointed. One deliberate motion, right at her chest. Right at the red jersey.

You are mine.

Azzi’s heart stuttered so violently it nearly made her dizzy. Paige’s eyes burned into her with a promise so sharp it almost hurt. It said, You wanted a reaction? You got it. Now get ready for what’s coming.

Azzi looked down and suddenly couldn’t stand the feel of the jersey she was wearing. The red. The number 8. The smug little game she thought she’d been playing. It felt like wearing someone else’s skin.

Her fingers flew to the hem and yanked it over her head, not caring who saw, not thinking about the cameras or Georgia or anyone else. She folded it once, maybe out of guilt, maybe just habit, and set it down behind her on the seat like it was something she no longer had permission to wear.

Azzi froze in place, heart stuttering. She didn’t even realize she was still wearing the red jersey until she looked down and suddenly hated it all over again. Her fingers yanked at the hem and she pulled it over her head like it was on fire, not caring if the arena cameras caught it or if Georgia saw. She couldn’t keep it on anymore.

When she looked up again, Paige was mid-huddle, sweat slick on her skin, hair damp, jaw tight but her eyes were still on Azzi. She’d seen the jersey come off. Of course she had. She was waiting for it.

And now she looked at Azzi like she was taking inventory. Her eyes dragged over Azzi’s now-bare shoulders, her fitted white UConn crop top, the deep rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. And then, so subtle it almost didn’t register, Paige nodded.

It wasn’t a "thank-you" or a "you’re off the hook" nod.

No.

It was more of a a good girl nod. A that’s more like it nod. A you’re-in-so-much-trouble-later-and-I-hope-you-know-it nod.

Azzi sank back into her seat, suddenly hyper aware of every part of her body. Her pulse raced, her throat dry, her skin flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the arena lights. It was anticipation, pure want. The dizzy, sweet ache of having poked the wrong version of the bear and realizing, too late, that the bear liked being poked.

She tried to steady her breathing, tried to look composed, but she already knew.

She was in trouble. The kind of trouble that would show up in slow drips of sweat down the back of her thighs later, with Paige hovering over her until Azzi was begging for release.

And god, she deserved every second of it.

Overtime didn’t go how Azzi had hoped.

It started well enough. Paige hit a tough two right off the jump, then James came up with a steal and fed her for another clean finish at the rim. The Wings had momentum, briefly. But as always, without structure, without support, it crumbled fast. Missed switches, bad spacing, no real plan. And even Paige, locked in and pushing through, couldn’t hold the whole team together on her own.

Still, she fought. She always did. And she still finished with 20 points. Came damn close to a triple-double through sheer willpower alone. She didn’t quit. She just ran out of hands.

The crowd emptied quickly after the final buzzer. People were already halfway to the parking lot by the time Azzi stood from her seat. Paige stayed behind, as always. She signed every poster, took every selfie with the kids pressed against the railing, even as her body sagged a little under the weight of the loss. Her smile was tired, but it was still there. Her shoulders tense, but still straight. That was Paige. Win or lose, she showed up.

Azzi watched all of it from courtside, the red jersey balled up in her hand now. It didn’t feel like a statement anymore, just a mistake she was ready to be rid of.

She made her way across the court toward Georgia, who was still near the bench, smirking like she’d just watched a live drama unfold and maybe enjoyed it a little too much.

"Thanks for the loan," Azzi said lightly, holding it out.

Georgia accepted it with a grin and a quick once-over that lingered a beat too long. "Anytime," she said, flicking her gaze over Azzi’s shoulder, straight toward Paige, who was still watching. Still tracking. "Though I gotta say... it looked better on you than it ever did on me."

Azzi didn’t dignify that with anything more than a tight smile, already turning away.

She lingered by the baseline with Lili and Amari, pretending to laugh, letting the noise of the court fade around her. She didn’t check her phone. She didn’t need to. She knew Paige would come to her.

And she did.

Azzi felt it before she saw it and then an arm wrapped around her from behind, firm and familiar, dragging her a step off balance.

Azzi didn’t resist. Her body fell into Paige’s without hesitation, like it had been waiting for permission. Her shoulder pressed under Paige’s jaw, her back tucked tight against her chest, and for a second, she just stood there. Breathing, absorbing.

Paige smelled like heat and sweat and the same damn perfume Azzi had been sleeping in when she missed her too much. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this, Paige’s weight on her, the sense of being held intentionally, not just lovingly but fully possessed.

And Paige? She didn’t say hello. She didn’t ask. She just held her there, one hand gripping her waist, the other resting low on her hip, fingers splayed like a warning sign to anyone watching.

Mine.

Then Paige looked down at her with that maddeningly smug smile. "You really think you can wear someone else’s name on your back and not answer for it?"

Azzi blinked up at her, breath stuttering. "I thought it would get you fired up," she admitted. "That you’d…y’know, prove a point. On the court."

"Oh, I did," Paige murmured, eyes unblinking. "And now I’m going to prove the rest of it. Not here. Not in front of all these people. But you are going to pay for it."

Azzi swallowed. Her entire body responded to that tone, it was low and clipped. The kind of tone that promised she’d be lucky to walk straight tomorrow.

"I mean," she tried to deflect, voice lighter, "you’ve definitely made your point already…"

Paige didn’t even blink. "No. That was the warm-up."

Before Azzi could say another word, a voice behind them groaned dramatically.

"Oh my god. You two still lookl disgustingly obsessed with each other. Nothing’s changed."

Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look away.

"Disgusting and exclusive," she said coolly, her voice dropping to a murmur as she leaned down, close enough that only Azzi could hear the rest. "And territorial as hell. Keep that in mind when I have you face-down tonight."

Azzi’s breath caught. Her heart forgot how to beat. Paige straightened like nothing had happened, throwing a casual wave toward a passing staffer.

Azzi just stood there, blinking like she'd been hit by a truck. One that smelled like sweat and victory and consequences.

She’d pushed. Paige had pulled.

And now she was in so much trouble. And she loved every second of it.

By the time they finally started heading out, the arena was almost entirely empty besides the staff cleaning up. Azzi had Paige’s gym bag slung over one shoulder, ignoring the way Paige kept glancing down at it with an expression that practically screamed give it to me. But Azzi just shook her head.

"No," Azzi said firmly, swatting her hand away. "Absolutely not. You carried the team tonight. You played forty minutes and got a bruised knee. The least I can do is carry your bag."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "Azzi—"

"Babe," Azzi cut in sweetly. "Let me be a good girlfriend and carry your stuff for once. You always carry mine."

Still, she muttered under her breath the entire walk to the parking lot, and Azzi caught enough of it to know that "good girlfriend" was going to be revisited. Thoroughly. Later.

When they reached the car, Azzi popped the trunk and turned to grab the keys from her back pocket, but Paige was already standing there, palm extended. Silent and Expectant.

Azzi met her eyes and couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips. She dropped the keys into Paige’s hand like she was surrendering something more than just a fob.

"I may carry your stuff," she said, saccharine sweet, "but I’m not giving up passenger princess treatment."

Paige cocked her head, that sharp smile slowly spreading. "You are really pushing your luck and my limits tonight, princess."

"Pushing," Azzi echoed, already sliding into the passenger seat. "Not over it."

"Yet," Paige murmured.

They shut the doors almost in sync, the cabin falling into soft darkness. The air shifted, quiet and charged. No noise, no lights, no crowd. Just them. Paige’s hands on the wheel. Azzi practically vibrating beside her.

And Possessive Paige finally alone with her girl.

Paige turned toward her without a word, eyes sharp in the shadows, and reached out slowly, like she’d been holding back for too long and was finally ready to take. Her fingers found Azzi’s jaw, curling under it, her thumb brushing up the line of her cheekbone, firm and unhurried. She guided her in like gravity, lips brushing once, soft and purposeful, then again, deeper, hungrier, heat blooming between them.

"I missed you, baby," Paige murmured against her mouth, voice low and possessive, the baby nearly swallowed by how close they were.

Azzi let out a whimper, high and helpless, her fingers already clawing at the back of Paige’s neck, tangling into the damp curls stuck to her nape. She pulled her in again, harder this time—mouths crashing, breath catching, her legs shifting to pull Paige closer over the console. Their kisses turned messy fast. All tongue, teeth, gasps. Azzi made a small, broken sound every time Paige tugged at her bottom lip.

It had only been two days, but with the month before that hollowed out by travel and tension and late-night missed calls, it felt like she was kissing life back into her lungs.

Paige leaned in harder, pinning Azzi into the seat. Azzi folded under her without resistance, knees parting, one thigh pressing up against the console. Paige's hand slid from her jaw down to her throat, thumb pressing right beneath her jawline. Azzi’s breath stuttered, eyes fluttering shut. Her whole body pulsed under Paige’s touch.

She was already shaking.

Paige didn’t stop kissing her until she felt it, felt how gone Azzi was. Then she pulled back just slightly, hovering above her, lips swollen, eyes black with promise. Her hand never left Azzi’s throat. She didn’t squeeze. She didn’t have to. The weight of it was enough.

Her smirk was slow, calculated, absolutely devastating.

"I haven’t forgotten about your little stunt," she said, voice low and deliciously cruel. "You think just because you handed the jersey back, you’re off the hook that you are a good girl again?"

Azzi’s pupils blew wide. Her breath hitched so sharp it was almost a gasp. She swallowed, her whole body taut with anticipation, thighs squeezing together without permission.

Paige leaned in closer, lips grazing her jawline, her voice dropping into something even darker. She was all breath and threat, velvet and warning.

"You’re not getting off easy tonight. You want to play games in public? You want to wear someone else’s name on your back and act like you don’t know who you belong to?"

Azzi whimpered, hips twitching upward like she could grind against the air. She was panting now, eyes dazed, hands tightening into Paige’s hoodie like an anchor.

"You’re mine," Paige growled against her ear. "And you’re gonna remember that for days."

Azzi couldn’t speak. She just nodded, desperate and shaking.

Paige kissed her once more, harsh and claiming, then pulled back, just far enough to look her in the eye.

"First I’m going to hold you down and make you scream my name over and over again until it’s the only one left in your head. And then I’m going to make sure your thighs are too sore to pull another stunt like that for a long time."

Azzi made a sound that was half-moan, half-plea. Her head fell back against the headrest, lips parted, eyes dazed.

"I’m serious," Paige said, softer now, but no less threatening. "I’m not going to rush it. You’re going to feel every second of it. And you’re going to thank me when it’s over."

Azzi’s voice finally broke through, wrecked and trembling. "Yes. Please."

Paige smiled, dark, satisfied, cruel in the way only someone who loved you could be before pulling away and starting the car.

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble. She was about to pay for every second she spent in that red jersey. And god, she couldn’t wait.

#pazzi fics

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psformybss · 3 months ago

Note

i have a request for actress!reader and drew doing hot ones versus for maybe, a promotion of their movie/show

i think the banter between them would be hilarious and just making fun of each other for not being able to handle spicy wings, etc. 😭😭😭

thank you so much 🫶🏻

Burning Questions

drew starkey x actress!reader

a/n: i feel like i could have made this more chaotic, i lowkey struggled coming up with banter for this and idk why like it’s usually so easy for me to come up with it.

You’re already side-eyeing the tray of wings like they owed you money. The sauce is an aggressive shade of red—borderline criminal, honestly—and you swear it’s steaming.

“I just want to state for the record,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the tray like it’s cursed, “that I was bribed into doing this.”

Drew, far too smug for someone minutes away from culinary agony, just shrugs. “You love me.”

You scowl. “You said we were going to a cute little interview. You didn’t mention death by Buffalo.”

He grins. “What’s a little mutual suffering? Builds character.”

“Character? I have enough trauma, thanks. I don’t need hot sauce-induced hallucinations on camera.”

Drew stretches his arms out like he’s prepping for a boxing match. “C’mon. You’ve survived worse.”

“I survived you forgetting my birthday last year. That doesn’t mean I want to relive the trauma with capsaicin.”

He places his hand over his heart, mock-wounded. “I didn’t forget. I was just… building suspense.”

You deadpan. “You sent me Venmoed me hundred dollars with a chili pepper emoji and said, ‘Get yourself something spicy.’”

“Which is… weirdly relevant now, huh?”

You glance at the wings, then back at him. “If I throw up, I’m aiming for your shoes.”

“Fair.”

A production assistant claps the slate and nods. “Rolling.”

Drew sits up straighter, suddenly chipper. “Hi, I’m Drew Starkey.”

You wave lazily. “And I’m a hostage.”

Laughter erupts behind the camera. Drew smirks.

“She’s just mad because I’m gonna outlast her.”

“You’re going to cry on wing two and start calling your mom.”

He points at you. “You say that now.”

You arch a brow. “I say that with confidence.”

You both have five wings. He’s already eyeing his like he’s trying to calculate the scoville units with his brain.

He reaches for the first card and offers it to you like a gentleman.

You snatch it. “Oh, how kind. Chivalry isn’t dead—just bleeding out.”

You clear your throat, affecting a game show host tone. “First question: What was your real first impression of me?”

Drew doesn’t even hesitate. “Dangerous. Unreasonably attractive. Looked like you’d break my heart and then frame me for it.”

You blink. “That’s… shockingly accurate.”

“You gave me the dirtiest look at the Season 1 table read.”

“I had a migraine and you were ten minutes late.”

“I was getting a coffee!”

“And I was plotting your demise.”

He shrugs. “It was love at first threat.”

You sigh dramatically. “God, we’re insufferable.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m delightful.”

You roll your eyes. “Next.”

He picks a card. “What’s something I do that drives you absolutely insane?”

“Oh, do we have time for this?”

He winces. “Oh no.”

You lean in. “You hum when you brush your teeth. Aggressively. Like, there’s toothpaste foam flying everywhere and you’re just vibing to Coldplay like we’re not living in a horror movie.”

He clutches his chest. “That’s a sacred routine.”

“It’s a nightmare. One time you hit a high note and scared the neighbor’s dog.”

He’s laughing too hard to argue.

You pick the next card, eyes gleaming. “Ooh, game time. Rock-paper-scissors. Loser eats a wing.”

Drew rolls his neck. “I was born for this.”

“You were born to suffer.”

You raise your fists.

“Rock, paper, scissors—shoot!”

You throw paper. He throws rock. You smirk. “Ah. The taste of victory.”

Second round: draw.

Final round: you throw scissors, he throws paper.

You clap. “Welp. Bon appétit, babe.”

He stares at the wing like it insulted his mother.

“Is it too late to renegotiate the rules?”

“Eat the wing, lover boy.”

He sighs, lifts it with ceremony, and takes a bite.

Immediately, he blinks. “Nope. Nooope. That’s not food. That’s violence.”

You burst out laughing.

“My tongue is fighting for its life,” he wheezes.

“You’re doing great, sweetie,” you say through a grin.

He swigs milk like it’s holy water.

Next card. “What’s my go-to hangover food?”

You don’t hesitate. “McGriddle. Two hashbrowns. Black coffee. Judgment.”

He nods, impressed. “Wow.”

“I have to watch you eat it like a raccoon every time you go too hard on karaoke night.”

You grab the next card. “Impersonation challenge. Whoever laughs eats a wing.”

Drew immediately pretends to toss his hair and raises his pitch. “‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed… and also mad.’”

You press your lips together.

“‘Let’s get a matcha and talk about our feelings until I convince myself I don’t have any.’”

You glare.

Then drop your voice. “‘Hey, I’m Drew. I pretend I’m emotionally stable, but I cried watching a CeraVe commercial.’”

He loses it.

“It was wholesome!” he chokes, already reaching for another wing.

You smirk as he takes a bite—and immediately chugs milk again.

“Oh my God,” he groans. “Why does it linger?”

You read the next card. “What’s something you’ve never admitted about us publicly?”

He leans back, still wiping his face. “That I knew I liked you before we even finished filming Season 1.”

You pause.

He shrugs. “You called me a ‘bland Hemsworth’ in front of the entire cast and I was like, ‘Yep. That’s her.’”

You shake your head. “You’re so emotionally weird.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He fans his mouth. “Okay, next. Favorite moment on the Outer Banks set?”

You light up. “The boat day. When JD pushed Rudy in and everyone panicked.”

“Oh my god—yes. I forgot about that. You slipped and screamed like you got shot.”

“You’d scream too if you fell flat on your ass in front of thirty crew members.”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

He pulls another card. “Favorite line your character’s ever said?”

You grin. “‘You touch my brother again and I’ll bury you with your boat keys.’”

“Iconic.”

“Yours?”

He grins. “I like the unhinged ones. ‘You’re not built for this.’ So dramatic.”

You snort. “It’s the delivery. You always sound like Rafe just got rejected from a school play.”

He shrugs. “Maybe he did.”

Next question. “What’s my comfort movie?”

“Kill Bill. Volume 1.”

“I’m honestly worried about how well you know me.”

“You shouldn’t be. I have a whole list.”

He pulls out a card. “Trivia round. Miss one, eat a wing.”

You crack your knuckles. “Bring it.”

“What was my first job?”

“Movie theater.”

“Okay… what actor made me want to pursue film?”

“Jake Gyllenhaal. You say it constantly.”

“Alright. What’s my mom’s favorite cake?”

You tilt your head. “Carrot. From that one bakery in Asheville. You forgot her birthday and made me call in the order.”

He stares. “That’s unsettling.”

You grin. “You’re predictable.”

He sighs, reaches for another wing. “I’m sweating. Is this what marriage feels like?”

You shrug. “Wouldn’t know.”

He takes the bite. Freezes. “I can taste colors. I’m in another dimension.”

You just pop a marshmallow from the plate into your mouth, unbothered.

Next card. “When did we actually start dating?”

You both answer at the same time. “Middle of Season 2.”

You add, “And we gaslit everyone into thinking we were just really close friends.”

“Mad respect to Rudy for calling it out and then letting it go like a true king.”

“He literally said, ‘I don’t care, just stop making eye contact like that during lunch.’”

You glance at his tray. Four wings down. One left.

Your tray? Untouched.

He stares at you. “How?”

You sip water slowly. “It’s called strategy, baby.”

He groans. “You’re the devil.”

You smile sweetly. “And you love me.”

He looks at the camera. “Pray for me.”

You pick the final card. “Double or nothing?”

He eyes the wing. Then you.

“Absolutely not.”

You laugh, reach for the marshmallows again, and toss one at him.

He catches it in his mouth. “Still hot.”

“From the wing or from me?”

He gives you a look. “Don’t make me regret this relationship.”

You both dissolve into laughter as he wipes his face again, flushed, wrecked, but grinning.

“I’m never trusting you again,” he mumbles.

You pat his hand. “That’s fair. But like… you kinda crushed it.”

#drew starkey x actress!reader #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey x you #drew starkey #obx #drew starkey obx #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron

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rose24207 · 7 months ago

Text

AHHH..!

Summary: Lando panics mid-stream over his girlfriend’s scream, only to find she’s overreacting to a horror game.

Genre: humor, fluff

TW: None!

A/N: ignore the title…. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist pt.2

Lando leaned back in his chair, his headset snug over his ears, as he focused on the intense F1 simulator race he was playing live on Twitch. Thousands of fans flooded the chat, spamming emojis and cheering him on. His tongue poked out slightly as he braked late into a sharp corner, his face scrunched in concentration.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, glancing at the mini-map. “P1 is mine—just need to nail this next sector.”

The chat exploded with messages.

"Focus, Lando!”

“Y/N would be beating you right now!”

“Y/N is streaming too, isn’t she?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I saw her go live before me. She’s probably off building another ridiculous castle in Minecraft or something. You guys know she gets way too into that stuff.”

Unbeknownst to him, you weren’t playing Minecraft. You had decided—for reasons you were already regretting—to tackle a survival horror game that was known for its relentless jump scares.

As Lando passed the final sector, his victory within reach, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air.

It wasn’t just any scream—it was your scream. High-pitched, panicked, and filled with the kind of terror usually reserved for an actual emergency.

“WHAT THE—” Lando flinched violently, his hands jerking the wheel as his car spun out. “Y/N?” His heart leapt into his throat as he ripped off his headset, his wide eyes darting toward the direction of your gaming setup in the next room.

The chat went into an immediate frenzy.

"WHAT WAS THAT!?”

“That sounded like Y/N!”

“BRO, GO CHECK ON HER!”

“SHE’S SCREAMING LIKE SHE’S BEING MURDERED OMG.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Lando muttered, fumbling to mute his mic. He shot out of his chair, his wheels spinning with a loud clatter as it hit the wall behind him. He bolted toward your room, heart pounding, as every worst-case scenario ran through his head.

Meanwhile, in your stream, chaos reigned.

“Oh my God, oh my God, NO!” you shrieked, your voice breaking slightly as your in-game character crouched in a dark hallway. You clutched your mouse tightly, your other hand hovering over the keyboard, ready to hit the escape key at any moment. “WHERE IS IT? WHY IS IT SO QUIET?!”

Your chat was absolutely loving it.

“This is why you don’t play horror games!”

“Headphone users are DEAD.”

“LMAO she’s about to quit.”

The silence in the game dragged on for a moment longer, heightening your nerves. You inched forward cautiously, your character’s flashlight flickering ominously.

And then, without warning, the grotesque creature you’d been dreading lunged at the screen with an ear-shattering roar.

“AAAAHHHHH!” you screamed again, throwing your hands into the air as your chair shot backward, slamming into the wall. Your headphones slid off your head and dangled around your neck as you scrambled to get away from the desk, heart racing.

“NOPE! I’M DONE! I’M DONE!” you yelled, your voice cracking as you practically launched yourself onto the couch in the corner of the room.

That’s when Lando burst into the room, his face pale and panicked. “Y/N?! What happened? Are you okay?”

You screamed again out of fright before you looked up at him from the couch, still clutching your chest. “Lando! Oh my God, you scared me!”

“I scared you?” He blinked, his gaze darting around the room. His eyes landed on your paused game, the horrifying creature frozen mid-attack on the screen. Slowly, his face twisted into a mix of confusion and disbelief. “Wait…was that scream because of… that?”

“YES!” you shouted, gesturing wildly toward the screen. “Look at it! It jumped out of nowhere!”

He stared at the screen again, squinting. “Are you serious? It’s just a…a thing with teeth! That’s not even scary!”

“Not scary? NOT SCARY?! It’s terrifying!” you exclaimed, still catching your breath. “I thought I was gonna die, Lando. Like, my soul left my body for a second.”

His lips twitched, and before you could say anything else, he burst out laughing. “Your soul—oh my God, Y/N. You screamed like someone broke into the house!”

“Well, it felt like someone did!” you retorted, your voice still a little shaky.

Both of your streams had caught up by now, and your respective chats were absolutely losing it.

“LMFAO HE BARGED IN LIKE A HERO!”

“Her scream broke the sound barrier.”

“Why is this the funniest thing ever?”

Lando walked over to your desk and leaned in toward your mic, grinning. “Chat, I need you to confirm—did she actually scream that loud over this thing?” He pointed at the screen dramatically. “Be honest.”

“Stop embarrassing me!” you groaned, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at him. He caught it effortlessly, smirking.

“Oh, you’re never living this down,” he teased, sitting down in your chair and swiveling toward you. “You just gave your stream—and mine, for that matter—the greatest moment of the night.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I hate you sometimes.”

“No, you don’t,” he said confidently, leaning back. “You love me. And besides, I’m your knight in shining armor. I came running when I heard you screaming for help.”

“Yeah, and then immediately started making fun of me,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“That’s just my way of calming you down.” He shrugged innocently before turning to look at your paused game again. “Alright, let’s finish it together. I’ll keep you safe from all the big, scary monsters.”

You groaned, but a small smile crept onto your face. “Fine. But if you scream, I’m never letting you live it down.”

“Deal,” he said, smirking. “But trust me, I don’t scream.”

Fifteen minutes later, after another brutal jumpscare, Lando let out a high-pitched yell that could probably rival yours. And you? You made sure both of your streams—and all the clips—had proof.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris

#lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando x you #fluff #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #humor #streaming #streamer!reader #funny #twitch #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #stream #horror #horror games

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azzifudd10 · 9 days ago

Text

Line of Scrimmage: Overtime

A/N: Part 3 is here!!!! hope you guys enjoy now I have to start writing part 4 😖 send in ideas!!!

TW: cheating and smut

Azzi leaned her head back against the cool bathroom door, trying to slow her breathing. Her body still trembled from the call. The faint echo of Paige’s voice—low, filthy, commanding—was still in her ears.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down before slipping back into bed.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Her stomach dropped.

“Azz? You in there?” Joe’s voice, warm but curious, came from the other side of the door.

Azzi’s heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “Uh—yeah!” she called, her voice too high. “I’m—just washing my face.”

There was a pause. “At one in the morning?”

Her brain scrambled for an excuse. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d… do my skincare. You know how I get when I can’t relax.”

Another pause. Then a quiet chuckle. “You’re something else, you know that?”

She forced out a light laugh, gripping the counter so tight her knuckles turned white. “Guess so.”

“Come back to bed when you’re done,” Joe said. “You’ve got that brunch with Paige tomorrow, right?”

Her pulse spiked again at Paige’s name. “Yep. I’ll be there.”

When his footsteps finally retreated, Azzi stayed put for a moment, exhaling hard. She splashed cold water on her face—not because she needed to, but because she had to sell the lie.

The smell of coffee and fresh pastries filled the little café. Azzi spotted Paige at their usual table, sunglasses pushed up in her hair, a teasing smirk already tugging at her lips.

“You look… smug,” Azzi said as she slid into the chair across from her.

Paige’s smirk deepened. “I told you I’d have you thinking about me all night.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “Well, mission accomplished.” She stirred her coffee slowly, then leaned in. “Joe knocked on the bathroom door right after we hung up.”

Paige froze for half a second—then grinned. “No.”

“Yes,” Azzi hissed, half laughing, half horrified. “I had to lie through my teeth while I was still… recovering.”

Paige leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “God, that’s hot.”

Azzi shook her head, trying not to smile, but her cheeks warmed anyway.

Paige’s voice dropped just enough to make Azzi’s pulse pick up again. “You love the risk, don’t you?”

Azzi sipped her coffee, holding Paige’s gaze over the rim. “Maybe.”

The week leading up to the Bengals’ away game was absolute torture.

Azzi could feel Paige in her head. Her texts were shorter than usual — a few emojis, a vague “we’ll see,” nothing like their normal playful back-and-forth. And every time they saw each other in passing, at practice or in the suite, Paige would give her this slow, knowing look that made Azzi’s stomach flip.

She knew exactly what Paige was doing. She was winding her up, making her wait, and by Thursday Azzi was practically vibrating with frustration.

Friday night, Joe was throwing things into his overnight bag for the team hotel when he kissed her goodbye. “Don’t stay up too late,” he teased. Azzi forced a smile. “I won’t.” The second the door shut, her pulse jumped. She didn’t even have time to move before—

Three sharp knocks at the front door.

When Azzi opened it, Paige was already stepping inside, eyes dark, lips curved in the smallest smirk. “Hi.” Azzi swallowed. “Hi.”

Paige didn’t bother with small talk. The door clicked shut, and before Azzi could breathe, Paige had her pinned against the wall, body pressing into hers, lips brushing her ear.

“You think you can wear dresses like that,” she murmured, voice low, “and not pay for it?”

Azzi’s breath caught. “I—”

“Shut up,” Paige ordered, one hand sliding slowly down her side. “Tonight, you’re mine, and I’m not letting you off easy.”

Paige didn’t rush. She dragged it out, every touch calculated, keeping Azzi hovering just on the edge until she was gasping, her head tipping back against the wall. Every time Azzi tried to chase more, Paige would pull back, her smirk growing at the frustrated little sounds slipping out.

“You love this,” Paige teased, fingers pressing just enough to make Azzi whimper. “You love me making you wait.”

Azzi’s knees felt weak, her fingers curling into Paige’s shirt. “Please—”

“Not yet,” Paige murmured, her lips ghosting over Azzi’s neck but never staying in one place long enough to satisfy. “I want you begging for it.”

By the time Paige finally let her tip over, Azzi was trembling, pulse hammering, eyes half-lidded. Paige held her through it, murmuring in her ear until her breathing evened out.

Azzi thought that was it — that Paige had won this round — until Paige stepped back, smirk still in place.

But Azzi’s smile was sharper. “My turn.”

Paige’s brows lifted. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, voice low, stepping in close until Paige’s back hit the couch. “You wanted to punish me? Cute. But now I’m going to ruin you.”

She pushed Paige down, straddling her, hands pinning her wrists to the cushions. “You don’t get to touch,” Azzi whispered, her mouth brushing Paige’s ear. “Not until I say so.”

Paige let out a shaky laugh. “Bossy.”

“Confident,” Azzi corrected — and then she was on her, relentless and merciless, taking her time in a way that made Paige’s breath hitch and her thighs tense.

“You looked so smug at brunch,” Azzi murmured, lips brushing her jaw. “Now look at you. Already falling apart for me.”

Paige’s head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut. “Azzi—please—”

Azzi smirked. “Not yet.”

She kept her right there, holding her in place, every little sound making her grin widen. And when she finally gave Paige what she was desperate for, it hit hard — Paige’s breath catching, a ragged sound tearing from her throat as she came apart under Azzi’s hands.

Azzi didn’t stop until Paige was gasping, chest rising and falling fast, her body slack against the couch cushions.

When Paige could finally speak, her voice was hoarse. “Okay… you win this round.”

Azzi leaned down, kissing her slow and deep, her smile smug. “Oh, baby. I’m just getting started.”

Paige had barely caught her breath before Azzi was tugging her upstairs.

“Azzi—” Paige laughed, stumbling after her. “I can’t even feel my legs.”

“That’s the point,” Azzi tossed over her shoulder, pulling her into the bedroom and shutting the door.

The room was dim except for the soft glow from the lamp on the dresser… and the massive floor mirror angled beside the bed. Paige noticed where Azzi’s gaze landed and smirked. “Oh. That’s dangerous.”

Azzi stepped closer, her hands finding Paige’s hips. “I want you to see exactly what I do to you.”

Paige’s smirk faltered into something hungrier. “Show me, then.”

Azzi turned Paige so she was facing the glass, standing behind her. One hand slid around her waist, the other brushing her hair aside so her bare shoulder was exposed. Their eyes met in the reflection — Paige’s already dark with want, Azzi’s steady, unblinking.

“Watch,” Azzi whispered.

She started slow, her fingers trailing lazy patterns along Paige’s skin, her lips brushing the back of her neck. Every little shift made Paige’s breath hitch, her eyes darting between Azzi’s face and her own flushed expression in the glass.

“See that?” Azzi murmured, her voice low and rough. “That’s what you look like when you’re falling apart for me.”

Paige swallowed hard, her hands curling into the sheets. “Azzi—”

“No,” Azzi cut in, lips grazing her ear. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to see everything.”

She picked up the pace, her touch growing firmer, more demanding, the rhythm deliberate. Paige’s head tilted back, a soft sound escaping her throat, but Azzi’s voice pulled her back.

“Eyes. On. Me.”

The command landed hard, Paige’s thighs trembling as her gaze locked with Azzi’s in the mirror. Every little gasp, every shift of her body, Azzi made sure she watched.

When Paige finally tipped over, her eyes stayed locked on the reflection — on the sight of Azzi holding her steady, mouth curved in the smallest, wickedest smile.

Paige was still catching her breath when Azzi spun her around, pushing her gently back toward the glass. “You didn’t think I was done, did you?”

Paige let out a breathless laugh. “You’re insane.”

“I’m insatiable,” Azzi corrected, her lips already on Paige’s collarbone, her hands sliding lower.

This time was rougher — Azzi pinning Paige’s hips against the dresser, every move deliberate and forceful. The mirror caught everything: the flushed skin, the way Paige’s hands gripped at the edge, the sharp intake of breath every time Azzi shifted.

“God—” Paige gasped, eyes flicking between the mirror and Azzi’s reflection. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Azzi’s smirk was pure sin. “If this is how you go, you’ll die smiling.”

By the time Paige came undone again, her forehead pressed to the cool glass, both of them were breathless, the room warm with the heat of them.

Azzi leaned in, kissing the back of her neck, their reflections still tangled in the mirror. “Told you I wasn’t done.”

Azzi woke to the faintest ache in her thighs and a deep, slow throb that made her cheeks warm before she even opened her eyes.

Paige’s arm was slung lazily over her waist, her face buried against the curve of Azzi’s neck, breathing soft and steady. She looked completely at peace — which was ironic, considering the absolute chaos she’d caused a few hours ago.

Azzi tried to shift carefully, but Paige’s arm tightened.

“Mm-mm,” Paige mumbled, her voice low and gravelly with sleep. “Stay still. You’re warm.”

Azzi smiled despite herself, tracing lazy circles on Paige’s forearm. “You’re impossible.”

Paige’s lips brushed her skin in a slow, sleepy kiss. “You didn’t think I’d let you get up after that, did you?”

“That?” Azzi arched a brow, finally glancing at her. “You mean the war crime you committed against my legs?”

Paige laughed, the sound deep and smug. “You loved every second.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smirk gave her away. “You’re dangerous in front of a mirror, you know that?”

Paige shifted closer, her hand sliding along Azzi’s stomach, fingers grazing just under the hem of her shirt. “And you’re dangerous when you decide to fight back.”

The touch was slow, teasing — enough to make Azzi inhale sharply.

“Paige…” she warned, though her voice lacked conviction.

“What?” Paige asked innocently, her hand moving a little lower. “You’re the one who said you liked our mornings quiet.”

Azzi swallowed, her pulse kicking up. “Quiet doesn’t usually mean this.”

“Guess we have different definitions,” Paige murmured, brushing her lips over Azzi’s jaw.

They didn’t move for a long time — Paige’s fingers drawing invisible patterns against Azzi’s skin, Azzi letting herself melt into the warmth, into the scent of coffee still lingering faintly from the night before, into the fact that the world outside didn’t matter right now.

For the first time since the beginning of whatever this was, it didn’t feel dangerous. It felt… safe.

Azzi had been determined to get out of bed at a reasonable hour. She’d even swung one leg over the side, ready to start the coffee — until Paige’s hand caught her wrist.

“Where’re you going?” Paige’s voice was still sleep-rough, her hair a beautiful, messy halo around her face.

“Coffee,” Azzi said, though her tone was already wavering.

Paige’s smile was slow, knowing. “That’s cute. Come here.”

Azzi barely had time to roll her eyes before Paige was pulling her back down, sliding her onto her back, the sheets cool against her skin compared to the heat radiating off Paige.

“This is your fault,” Azzi murmured, even as Paige’s thigh slid between hers.

Paige smirked. “What, for waking up wanting you?”

Azzi meant to fire back — but Paige’s mouth was on her collarbone, her teeth grazing gently before kissing the spot better. Azzi’s fingers curled into the sheets, her breath hitching as Paige’s hands found their way under her shirt.

It wasn’t rushed. Paige kissed her like she had nowhere to be, like she could memorize every inch of her skin. Every lazy drag of her lips was calculated, every slow shift of her hips a quiet reminder that Paige knew exactly what she was doing.

By the time Azzi came undone, she was trembling, her head tipped back against the pillow, her voice breaking on Paige’s name.

Paige kissed her softly, smug and sweet all at once. “Now we can get coffee.”

An hour later, freshly showered but still carrying that afterglow, they slid into a corner booth at a small café near downtown. Azzi had thrown on a cropped hoodie and leggings; Paige wore an oversized denim jacket and her favorite sunglasses.

They’d just started on their lunch when a woman in her seventies paused by their table, her partner hovering behind her with an affectionate smile.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the woman said, her voice warm. “I just had to say… you two remind me so much of us when we were your age. The way you look at each other… it’s lovely.”

Azzi blinked, her heart stuttering.

“Oh, we’re—” she started, but the woman’s partner laughed softly.

“You don’t have to explain. We just wanted to wish you both the best.”

And just like that, they were gone — leaving Azzi and Paige staring at each other over their plates, something unspoken hanging thick in the air.

Paige broke the silence first, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Guess we’ve got a ‘look.’”

Azzi tried to laugh it off, but she felt warm all over, the words echoing in her head long after the check came.

The smell of fresh basil and garlic fills the kitchen as Azzi chops vegetables, her hands moving almost on autopilot. The late afternoon sun filters through the window, casting golden light across the cluttered counters. Paige is beside her, stirring sauce and humming quietly, but the air between them feels charged — heavier than usual.

Azzi glances at Paige out of the corner of her eye. Paige’s gaze flickers to hers, lips twitching into a small, knowing smile.

“You’ve been quiet all day,” Paige says, voice low and teasing. “Thinking about those two old ladies from lunch?”

Azzi shrugs, cheeks warming. “Maybe. It just… got me thinking.”

Paige leans closer, eyes gleaming. “About what?”

“How people see us,” Azzi admits, “how they think we’re… more than just friends.”

Paige’s smile softens. “Yeah. I noticed that look they gave us. Like they saw something real.”

Azzi swallows hard, feeling a sudden vulnerability she’s not used to sharing. “Do you ever wonder what that would be like?”

Paige’s fingers brush against Azzi’s arm, light but electric. “I do,” she confesses. “More than I probably should.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that hums with possibility. Azzi’s heart thuds in her chest as Paige’s hand slides slowly down her back, resting at the curve of her hip.

Azzi freezes, breath hitching when Paige’s thumb brushes in small circles. Their eyes meet — a silent challenge, a promise.

Paige’s voice drops, barely more than a whisper. “You know I want you.”

Azzi’s pulse races. “Show me.”

The kitchen fades away as Paige’s lips find Azzi’s neck, slow and teasing. Azzi melts against her, fingers tangling in Paige’s hair. Their movements are languid at first, savoring the moment, but the heat builds fast.

Paige presses Azzi’s back against the counter, hands exploring, teasing over fabric and skin. Azzi’s breath quickens, her fingers digging into Paige’s jacket as she pulls it off in one smooth motion.

“I want you,” Paige murmurs, voice thick with need.

Azzi’s eyes darken, her own desire roaring to life. “Not yet,” she says, voice firm, sliding down to crouch in front of Paige.

Paige gasps softly as Azzi pulls the hem of her hoodie over her head, revealing bare skin and the delicate line of a strap harness.

Azzi meets Paige’s gaze, her expression fierce. “Tonight, I’m in control.”

The next hour is a slow, delicious battle of wills. Azzi teases Paige relentlessly, exploring every inch of her skin with hands and lips, making her wait and beg for release. Paige’s protests dissolve into gasps and moans, each one fueling Azzi’s confidence and hunger.

“Tell me what you want,” Azzi commands, voice low and demanding.

Paige shivers, eyes dark and pleading. “I want you inside me. Now.”

Azzi smiles wickedly, sliding forward with care and precision. The sensation pulls a sharp breath from Paige’s lips, her hands clutching at Azzi’s shoulders as waves of pleasure ripple through her.

Azzi sets the pace — slow and steady at first, then building with deliberate intensity. Every movement is measured, designed to make Paige fall apart under her touch.

“You’re mine,” Azzi whispers between kisses, “and you’re going to beg me to stop.”

Paige’s body trembles, her voice cracking as she begs and pleads, lost in the overwhelming flood of sensation.

Azzi doesn’t relent, driving them both to the edge until Paige’s cries echo through the room, raw and beautiful.

Afterwards, they collapse tangled together, breathless and glowing. Azzi brushes a stray lock of hair from Paige’s forehead, smiling softly.

“We really do have that look,” Azzi murmurs.

Paige laughs quietly, pressing a kiss to Azzi’s jaw. “Yeah… and I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

The morning light spills softly through the blinds, casting stripes across the tangled sheets where Azzi and Paige lay. Neither moves much, caught in the quiet aftermath of last night’s firestorm.

Azzi’s fingers trace lazy patterns along Paige’s bare shoulder, memorizing every curve, every breath that trembles against her skin. Paige’s eyes flutter open, meeting Azzi’s gaze with a smile that’s part mischief, part vulnerability.

“Morning,” Paige murmurs, voice husky.

Azzi grins, brushing a stray curl from Paige’s face. “Morning. You okay?”

Paige shrugs, pulling the covers closer. “Better than okay. Different.”

Azzi’s brow furrows. “Different how?”

Paige hesitates, then sighs. “Like… I don’t know where this is going, but I don’t want it to end.”

Azzi’s heart skips. “Neither do I.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels like a promise. But the weight of unspoken questions hangs heavy.

Paige breaks the quiet, voice low and trembling just a bit. “Are we still… you know, with Sam and Joe?”

Azzi exhales, the question she’s been dodging. “I don’t know.”

Paige’s hand finds Azzi’s, squeezing tight. “I don’t want to lose what we have. But I’m scared of what that means.”

Azzi pulls Paige close, forehead resting against hers. “Me too. But maybe we don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

The moment is broken only by the buzz of Azzi’s phone on the nightstand. She glances at the screen — Joe.

She silences it without answering, eyes never leaving Paige’s.

“Later,” Azzi promises. “For now, this.”

Paige smiles, relief flooding her features.

The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife as Azzi and Paige sit side by side on the couch, fingers barely brushing but sparks flying between every touch.

They talk in whispers — half confessions, half dares — about what they want and what they’re afraid to admit. Every glance, every hesitant smile, pulls them closer to a line neither is sure they want to cross, yet both are desperate to.

Azzi’s hand finds Paige’s, gripping tight. “This is dangerous.”

Paige leans in, voice low and teasing. “Since when did that ever stop us?”

The space between them shrinks until their lips almost touch, breaths mingling. Neither pulls away.

Azzi’s fingers trail up Paige’s arm, igniting a fire that burns hotter with every second.

“Maybe we should stop talking,” Paige whispers. “And start feeling.”

Before Azzi can respond, Paige’s mouth is on hers, fierce and demanding — a messy, breathless kiss that promises everything and nothing all at once.

The night stretches ahead, a tantalizing blur of whispered names, tangled limbs, and that delicious tension of not knowing what tomorrow brings — only that right now, they’re lost in each other.

Azzi and Paige are barely holding it together — lips tangled, breaths heavy, bodies pressed close — when a sudden knock at the door shatters the moment.

“Shit,” Azzi hisses, eyes wide.

Paige pulls back just enough to whisper, “Who the hell is that?”

Before Azzi can answer, the door swings open, and standing there is Maya — one of the other WAGs — holding a bag of sugar.

“Hey! Sorry to bother,” Maya says cheerfully, oblivious to the electric tension dripping from the room.

Azzi scrambles to pull on a shirt, Paige grabbing a blanket to cover herself.

“Just… sugar,” Maya says, stepping inside like she owns the place. “Thought you might need it for the game day snacks.”

They exchange awkward smiles as Maya leans down to put the bag on the counter — close enough to see Paige’s flushed cheeks and Azzi’s tousled hair.

“You two okay?” Maya asks with a knowing look, then laughs softly. “Never mind. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

As Maya backs out and closes the door behind her, Azzi and Paige exchange a look — equal parts panic and something dangerously like amusement.

“Maybe next time we pick a less convenient time,” Paige mutters, biting her lip.

Azzi grins wickedly. “Or maybe we don’t.”

The moment the door clicks shut behind Maya, the air shifts. Paige’s eyes blaze, dark and hungry, locking onto Azzi like she’s the only thing that matters.

“No more hiding,” Paige growls, fingers digging into Azzi’s hips, pulling her flush.

Azzi shivers at the heat in Paige’s voice, but there’s no fear—just wild, desperate craving.

Before she can say anything, Paige’s mouth crashes down on hers, teeth grazing lips, tongue tangling in a fierce, possessive kiss that steals her breath.

Hands roam with reckless need—Paige’s nails rake down Azzi’s back, gripping tight as she spins her, pressing Azzi against the kitchen counter.

Azzi gasps as Paige’s mouth trails down her neck, sucking bruises into soft skin, fingers slipping beneath her shirt to cup, squeeze, and knead.

“God, you’re mine,” Paige hisses, voice low and dangerous.

Azzi’s breath hitches, knees trembling as Paige’s hand slides lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her leggings, fingers teasing the edge of bare skin.

The heat between them ignites, raw and unrelenting—Paige’s hands everywhere, claiming, marking, owning.

Azzi arches into her touch, lips parted, eyes dark with want.

“Not here,” Azzi murmurs, breathless.

Paige smirks, wicked and confident. “Everywhere.”

They’re a whirlwind—tearing through the house with desperate, greedy need. The living room couch is next, the soft cushions muffling their gasps and whispered names as Paige drags Azzi over her, grinding hard and fast, fingers tangling in hair.

Azzi’s hands clutch at Paige’s back, nails digging in as they move together, raw and hungry.

But Paige isn’t done.

She hauls Azzi up, dragging her toward the office door.

Joe’s office.

The moment they cross the threshold, Paige’s eyes darken even further.

“This is mine,” she growls.

Azzi shivers, anticipation and arousal knotting inside her.

Paige bends her over the sleek desk, hands sliding beneath her shirt to grip hips and pull her tighter.

“Louder,” Paige demands, voice harsh, “I want to hear you begging.”

Azzi obeys, moaning into the space between them as Paige’s hands and mouth ravage her skin.

The desk shakes beneath them, the room filled with their sounds—the thud of skin against skin, sharp gasps, whispered curses, and desperate pleas.

Paige’s control is absolute, every movement deliberate and punishing, driving Azzi to the edge and beyond.

When they finally collapse, tangled and breathless, the house seems to hum with their heat.

Azzi’s lips brush Paige’s cheek, voice soft but certain.

“We’re not hiding anymore.”

Paige smiles, wicked and satisfied.

“No. We’re claiming.”

The bedroom feels impossibly warm, shadows softening every corner as Azzi and Paige stand close, the air thick with anticipation and something fragile—something they’re both trying to name.

Azzi’s heart hammers in her chest, eyes tracing every line of Paige’s face, memorizing the slight curve of her lips, the way her breath catches when she looks at her like that—hungry, tentative, and full of promise.

Paige reaches out, fingertips brushing over Azzi’s jaw, thumb grazing her cheekbone. Her touch is featherlight but it sends a shiver straight down Azzi’s spine.

“We’ve never done this before,” Paige says, voice low and raw, as if admitting a secret she’s barely dared to say out loud.

Azzi swallows, trying to steady her breath. “I know.”

The words hang between them, weighty and electric. Azzi feels a thrill ripple through her—not just because of what Paige means, but because of the trust it implies.

She nods slowly, reaching up to close the small gap between them, lips brushing in a tentative, searching kiss.

Paige’s hands slide down Azzi’s back, pulling her closer until there’s nothing but heat and skin between them.

Azzi’s fingers twist into the fabric of Paige’s shirt, heart pounding, mind racing with a million questions and just as many answers.

Paige breaks the kiss, breathless. “I want to explore this… with you.”

Azzi’s eyes flicker with something fierce and sure. “Me too.”

Paige moves to the bedside drawer, fingers deft and sure, pulling out a sleek, elegant toy they’ve never used before.

Azzi watches, breath catching in her throat. There’s a mixture of nervous excitement and raw desire in her eyes.

Paige kneels in front of her, eyes locking with Azzi’s as she slowly begins to remove her leggings, leaving her bare skin exposed to the soft light.

“Tell me if anything feels too much,” Paige says, voice soothing and steady. “This is about us—our pace.”

Azzi nods, heart swelling with gratitude and yearning.

The slow dance begins—soft touches, exploring hands, whispered words of encouragement and affirmation. Every sensation new, every gasp and moan a step deeper into uncharted territory.

Paige’s careful, deliberate movements are worshipful, focused entirely on Azzi’s pleasure, while Azzi surrenders, trusting Paige with everything she is.

Time blurs as they weave together, discovering new rhythms, new heights of pleasure that leave them breathless and trembling.

Azzi’s fingers weave through Paige’s hair as she arches into her touch, eyes squeezed shut against waves of bliss she never expected to feel.

“God, Paige…” Azzi whispers, voice thick.

Paige’s grin is triumphant and tender. “You’re incredible.”

Azzi’s chest rises and falls, every breath a soft gasp as Paige’s fingers continue their gentle exploration. The newness of every sensation sends tiny shocks rippling through her nerves, and the mixture of anticipation and trust electrifies the space between them.

Paige watches her with an intensity that makes Azzi’s skin tingle, as if she’s mapping every inch of her soul. The quiet sounds they make — soft moans, whispered encouragements — weave an intimate soundtrack that feels sacred and private.

“Tell me what you want,” Paige murmurs, her voice velvet and command.

Azzi’s fingers trace Paige’s jaw, trembling slightly. “To feel… everything. With you.”

Paige’s smile deepens, a blend of tenderness and hunger. She shifts closer, lips trailing slow, heated kisses along Azzi’s neck and collarbone, every touch sending shivers racing down her spine.

Their bodies move together in a dance of discovery — hesitant at first, then growing bolder, more confident. The slow build of pleasure is intoxicating, weaving a web that binds them tighter than either expected.

Paige’s hands find new places to explore — the curve of Azzi’s waist, the soft skin behind her knees — every touch a promise, a question, a plea.

Azzi arches against her, breath hitching as Paige’s fingers tease delicate spots that spark wild flames beneath her skin.

“This… this is everything I didn’t know I needed,” Azzi whispers, voice thick with awe.

Paige’s answer is a kiss—slow, deep, and searing—as if trying to imprint herself on every inch of Azzi’s skin.

The night stretches on, each moment a new revelation, a push into deliciously uncharted territory where pleasure and emotion blur into one seamless, overwhelming experience.

Paige’s voice drops to a low, teasing whisper, every word dripping with promise. “You feel so damn good under my touch, Azzi. Can’t wait to see you lose control.”

Azzi shivers, breath catching as Paige’s fingers trace teasing patterns across her skin. “I’m already falling apart… and you’re just getting started.”

The way Paige looks at her — hungry, fierce, owning — makes Azzi’s pulse race faster than she thought possible.

“Don’t hold back,” Paige murmurs, voice velvet and command. “Show me how much you want it.”

Azzi’s hands tighten around Paige’s hips, pulling her closer. “I want all of you. Every inch.”

The room fills with their whispered promises and heated breaths, every touch a spark igniting a wildfire of sensation.

Paige leans in, lips brushing Azzi’s ear. “You’re mine tonight. Only mine.”

Azzi gasps, voice trembling. “And you’re the only one I want.”

The space between them crackles like electricity, every glance and brush of skin sparking a fire they both feel but neither rushes to extinguish.

Paige’s fingers trail lazy, featherlight patterns across Azzi’s arm, drawing slow circles that leave goosebumps in their wake. Azzi closes her eyes, savoring the sensation, the soft hum of Paige’s breath close to her ear.

“You feel like a secret,” Paige murmurs, voice low and thick, “one I want to shout from the rooftops.”

Azzi opens her eyes, catching Paige’s gaze — intense, burning, vulnerable. The world shrinks until it’s just them, suspended in a bubble of heat and possibility.

Slowly, deliberately, Paige leans in, brushing her lips across Azzi’s jawline, down her neck — each kiss a silent question, each touch a promise.

Azzi’s hands find Paige’s waist, pulling her close. “Show me,” she whispers, voice husky. “Show me everything.”

Their kisses deepen, slow and lingering, a dance of discovery and desire. The hours stretch ahead, filled with whispered secrets, tentative touches, and the delicious ache of longing.

Neither rushes; neither holds back.

The night is theirs — endless, intoxicating, and perfectly imperfect.

Azzi and Paige linger in the warm glow of the bedroom, breaths mingling, skin barely touching but sparks flying everywhere.

Paige’s fingers trail along Azzi’s collarbone, teasing and bold, her voice a soft purr. “You’re driving me insane… in the best way.”

Azzi bites her lip, eyes dark with want. “Good. I want to lose control with you.”

Their lips meet again, slow and hungry, and the world outside disappears.

Suddenly, the soft ding of a notification breaks the spell—Azzi’s phone lighting up with a message from Joe.

Paige pulls back just a fraction, eyes gleaming. “Looks like we’re not the only ones craving attention tonight.”

Azzi laughs, a little breathless. “We should probably silence that.”

But Paige’s mischievous grin only widens. “Or… we could have some fun with it.”

Before Azzi can respond, Paige presses a finger to her lips, whispering, “Let’s make tonight unforgettable.”

The moment Azzi silences her phone, a mischievous grin curls Paige’s lips. “Game on.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow, heart pounding. “What game?”

Paige’s eyes gleam with wicked delight. “A little game of control. Of teasing. Of pushing limits without getting caught.”

Azzi’s breath catches, the promise igniting something fierce inside her. “I’m listening.”

Paige steps close, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Every time I want you, I’ll send you a text. You can’t respond right away. You have to wait—make me wait.”

Azzi’s pulse races. “And if I break the rules?”

Paige’s smirk deepens. “Then there’s a consequence. Something… unforgettable.”

Azzi shivers, the thrill of the unknown wrapping around her like a second skin.

“Deal,” Azzi breathes, eyes locked on Paige’s.

As the night stretches on, they play their game with delicious tension—text messages sent and ignored, subtle touches exchanged, stolen glances and secret smiles.

Each moment is a tease, every look loaded with meaning, until the air itself seems charged with electricity.

Paige trails her fingers over Azzi’s bare skin, whispering promises that make Azzi’s knees weak.

Azzi responds in kind, her voice thick with need. “You’re killing me.”

Paige laughs softly. “Good. I want you desperate.”

The teasing escalates until they can no longer resist. In a rush of heat and hunger, they collapse onto the bed, tangled limbs and ragged breaths the only evidence of their surrender.

The bedroom was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of Paige’s phone screen as she slid it back onto the nightstand.

Her eyes never left Azzi’s face, watching the subtle catch in her breath, the way her lashes fluttered as her heart visibly hammered beneath her chest.

I don't know if I can take much more.”

Paige laughed softly, a sound full of promise and power. “Oh, baby, you’re just getting started.”

Late into the night, when the world finally fell away, the restraint shattered like glass.

Paige claimed her with slow, demanding kisses, hands roaming with fierce intent.

Azzi surrendered, arching into every touch, every whispered word.

They moved together, a symphony of breathless moans and gasps, fingers tangling, lips devouring, hearts pounding in perfect rhythm.

Paige’s voice dropped to a growl, words rough and raw:

“You don’t get to hide from me. Not tonight. I want you all in—mind, body, soul.”

Azzi’s answer was a broken gasp, her body trembling as she gave in to the delicious chaos swirling inside.

The tension between them was a living thing—wrapping around their bodies, crawling under their skin, filling every space with urgent need.

Paige’s eyes locked onto Azzi’s, dark and smoldering, the kind of look that promised everything and held nothing back.

“Do you feel it too?” Paige whispered, voice thick with hunger. “That pull? That fire?”

Azzi nodded, breath hitching. “Every second. It’s like… like I’m drowning in you.”

Paige’s hands slid down Azzi’s sides, firm and possessive, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

“No one’s drowning tonight,” Paige growled, voice low and dangerous. “You’re drowning in me.”

Their lips crashed together—hard, demanding, desperate. Fingers tangled in hair, pulling, claiming, owning.

Azzi moaned against Paige’s mouth, body arching, craving more—more touch, more heat, more everything.

Paige’s hands roamed, memorizing every inch of Azzi’s skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

The room felt smaller, the air thicker, the world fading until it was just them—two wild hearts burning too brightly to be contained.

Paige’s voice dropped to a dark, sultry murmur as she pulled back just enough to whisper, “You’re mine. No one else gets to touch you like this.”

Azzi’s answer was breathless, trembling. “I want you. Only you.”

And with that, the slow, fierce dance of possession and surrender began—each moment a battle, each touch a promise, each gasp a confession.

The room is thick with warmth, their ragged breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath of a storm.

Azzi’s fingers trace slow, featherlight patterns across Paige’s arm, a gentle reminder that she’s still here — still real.

Paige’s eyes flutter open, meeting Azzi’s gaze with a softness that makes Azzi’s chest tighten with something fierce and tender all at once.

“You okay?” Azzi whispers, voice low and full of concern.

Paige nods, a small smile curving her lips. “Better than okay.”

Azzi moves closer, resting her forehead against Paige’s, their breaths syncing in a perfect, soothing rhythm.

“Thank you,” Paige murmurs, fingers threading through Azzi’s hair like a prayer.

“For what?” Azzi asks, heart swelling with the need to protect and cherish this fragile moment.

“For trusting me,” Paige says softly. “For letting me in.”

Azzi’s lips press against Paige’s temple, voice thick with emotion. “I hate the fact that we have to hide this, when your the only one who really sees me”

The space between them hums with unspoken promises — safety, vulnerability, and an unbreakable bond forged in fire and softened by love.

Paige’s hand cups Azzi’s cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear neither of them admitted to shedding.

“We’re in this together,” Paige says, voice steady and sure. “Always.”

Azzi’s heart feels impossibly full as she leans into the touch, the weight of the world falling away in the sanctuary of Paige’s arms.

They stay like that for what feels like forever — bodies entwined, hearts beating slow and steady, wrapped in the kind of tenderness that heals and holds and never lets go.

Wrapped in each other’s arms, the silence between them felt heavy with possibility — the kind that only comes after a storm, when everything feels raw and new and honest.

Azzi’s fingers traced lazy patterns on Paige’s back, her voice barely above a whisper. “Did you ever think about having kids?”

Paige’s eyes softened, searching Azzi’s face like she was trying to see every secret hope buried deep inside.

“Before all the chaos, before Sam and everything… yeah,” Paige said, voice catching. “I dreamed of a quiet life. A family. Something real. But it always felt like those dreams belonged to someone else — like I was living someone else’s story.”

Azzi nodded slowly, her own heart aching with the weight of that same regret. “Joe’s dreams came first for me too. His career, his goals… I was so focused on being his rock, his support. But sometimes, I wonder what I wanted before all of that.”

Paige reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind Azzi’s ear, eyes shining with unshed tears. “What did you want?”

Azzi hesitated, then spoke softly, “I wanted to be a mom. Not just to the world, but to someone — to a little life that was mine. I imagined teaching them, watching them grow… sharing the kind of love I didn’t always feel.”

Paige’s hand found Azzi’s, fingers intertwining. “Me too. I wanted to build something that was ours. Something no one else could touch or take away.”

The vulnerability between them was a balm, a bridge that made the space between their pasts and futures feel smaller — more hopeful.

“We don’t have to hide those dreams anymore,” Paige said, voice steady and sure. “Maybe we can find a way to make them real — together.”

Azzi’s heart fluttered with something fierce and new — a chance to rewrite their stories, to build a future on their own terms.

“Together,” she echoed, sealing the promise with a soft kiss that spoke of hope, healing, and a love that refused to be anything less than everything.

The soft quiet between Azzi and Paige felt like a fragile promise — a safe place where their hopes could breathe.

Azzi was tracing circles on Paige’s hand, eyes heavy with dreams when her phone buzzed sharply against the nightstand.

Her heart sank a little as she saw the caller ID: Joe.

Paige felt it too — the sudden tension that tightened the air, a reminder neither wanted but both needed.

Azzi glanced at Paige, voice barely a whisper, “I have to answer.”

Paige squeezed her hand, giving a small nod of understanding — the weight of their reality pressing in like a storm outside their door.

Azzi’s voice softened as she spoke, “Hey, Joe. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… resting.”

From the way her face tightened, Paige could hear the undertone of responsibility and distance.

Joe’s voice crackled with concern. “You okay? Need anything?”

Azzi’s smile was strained but genuine. “I’m good. Just missing you.”

As the call continued, Paige felt the sting of the barrier between them — the life Azzi had built with Joe, the promises and routines that tied her down.

Azzi ended the call with a sigh, eyes meeting Paige’s with a complicated mix of longing and regret.

“We’re not each other’s,” Azzi said softly, voice breaking the fragile bubble they’d created.

Paige nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “But maybe… we can be something new. Something ours.”

They held each other tighter, the ache of reality softened by the fierce hope burning between them — a promise to fight for the love they both deserved, no matter the cost.

The first sign the bubble had popped was the sound of Joe’s suitcase thumping onto the hardwood.

“Home, babe!” he called, voice warm and easy in the way only husbands could manage — completely unaware of the firestorm in his wife’s chest.

Paige had texted Azzi only minutes earlier: He’s pulling in. See you tonight.Now, the reality was here. The house that had been their private playground for a week was full again, and every door between them might as well have been locked.

That night, the Bengals hosted a team dinner — playoff tradition. The kind of loud, celebratory night where the guys got ribbed by their teammates, where WAGs clustered in little groups with champagne flutes.

Azzi had dressed carefully — nothing overtly suggestive, but enough that Paige’s gaze lingered the moment she walked in. Black silk blouse. Wide-leg trousers. Gold hoops catching the warm restaurant light.

Paige’s dress was deep green, the shade that made her hair glow like firelight. The slit up her thigh was nothing short of dangerous.

They sat at the long table — Joe on Azzi’s left, Paige across from her, Sam beside Paige. From the outside? Perfectly normal. Underneath? Chaos.

It started with a casual brush of feet under the table — Paige’s toe tracing along Azzi’s ankle before retreating. Azzi’s hand gripped the stem of her wine glass tighter. She tried to focus on Joe’s story about practice, but her attention kept drifting.

Halfway through the appetizers, Paige leaned forward to pass the bread basket. Their eyes met — just a flicker too long. Then, under the cover of clinking glasses and laughter, Paige’s fingers slid across the table to hook into Azzi’s.

The world didn’t see it. Not the other WAGs gossiping about outfits. Not Joe or Sam, both deep into some debate about college ball. Only they knew. Only they felt the soft, desperate squeeze that said everything they couldn’t.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Joe said suddenly, glancing at Azzi.

She smiled easily, a skill she’d perfected over the past few weeks. “Just listening. It’s fun watching you two go off.”

Paige smirked across the table, hidden enough that only Azzi caught it.

Later, when the guys got up to greet a late-arriving teammate, Paige leaned just far enough to murmur — her lips barely moving — “You look so good I could break every rule right now.”

Azzi’s pulse spiked. She wanted to say something back, to push, to tease — but Sam was already returning to his seat. The moment was gone.

The rest of the night was a dance in plain sight. Passing napkins with fingers brushing just a little too slow. Knees bumping under the table and not moving away. Shared smirks when someone made a joke with an unintended double meaning.

By dessert, the ache had shifted from playful to sharp. They weren’t used to this anymore — not after weeks of having everything. Now every small touch felt like oxygen in a room that was running out of air.

When the dinner finally broke up and the group spilled onto the sidewalk, Joe slung an arm around Azzi. Sam did the same with Paige.

Paige caught Azzi’s eye one last time before they went their separate ways — the kind of look that made promises and threats all at once.

And when Azzi climbed into Joe’s truck, she could still feel Paige’s fingers in hers, even though they’d been apart for twenty minutes.

The playoffs had started. The away games would be rare now. The rules were back in place. But they both knew they’d spend every stolen second finding ways to bend them.

The stadium was shaking. Not from them — not yet — but from 65,000 Bengals fans losing their minds as the team jogged out for the wildcard round.

Up in the private family suite, Azzi stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, clutching her coffee cup even though she’d finished it twenty minutes ago. The suite was crowded — Joe’s mom, his brothers, a couple of cousins, Sam’s sister and her fiancé, plus a smattering of kids in jerseys too big for them.

And then there was Paige.

She was across the room, leaning casually against the counter where the catering trays were set out. She’d chosen black jeans, a cropped Bengals jersey, and just enough makeup to look flawless but effortless. When she caught Azzi looking, she smirked and tilted her head — that little I know what you’re thinking tilt that made Azzi’s stomach flip.

The problem was, it had been weeks. Weeks since the last away game. Weeks of whispered jokes, hidden touches, and replaying every memory in their heads while they smiled at their husbands. Weeks of frustration building like a stormcloud.

Today wasn’t supposed to be different. The rules were clear: no risky moves when the guys were around. But the playoff tension and the electricity in the air were shredding all the self-control they’d managed to hold on to.

By the middle of the second quarter, the Bengals were up, the suite was loud, and Joe and Sam’s relatives were deep in conversation. That’s when Paige crossed the room, brushing just close enough to let her hand graze Azzi’s hip before leaning in.

“Want a snack?” she asked casually.

Azzi knew exactly what she meant. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

They slipped out, laughing at something innocuous for anyone watching. They didn’t head for the main concession stands, though. Paige led the way down a quieter corridor lined with “Family Only” signs.

The family bathroom was small — clean, warm, and private. The moment the door clicked shut, Azzi’s back was against it and Paige’s mouth was on hers.

The kiss wasn’t tentative. It was hungry. Weeks of restraint poured into it, every second making their hands greedier. Paige’s fingers slid up under Azzi’s jersey, tracing the edge of her bra before pushing higher.

“You’ve been driving me insane,” Paige murmured against her mouth, the sound low and rough. “All night, standing there in that jersey like you don’t know exactly what you do to me.”

Azzi gripped the front of Paige’s jeans, pulling her closer. “I’ve missed you so bad.”

They were moving before either of them could think — Paige turning them so Azzi was pressed to the counter under the mirror, jersey riding up. Their kisses turned messy, frantic. Paige’s hands gripped her hips, dragging her forward so their bodies locked together.

The sound of the game over the stadium speakers bled faintly through the walls, but in here it felt a world away.

Paige’s lips traced Azzi’s jaw, down her neck. “Tell me you thought about me every night.”

Azzi’s breath hitched. “Every damn night.”

Her voice cracked just enough that Paige’s grin turned wicked. One hand slid lower, testing, teasing — Azzi’s knees nearly buckled.

“God, you’re already—” Paige didn’t finish, just pressed her forehead to Azzi’s and worked her hand until Azzi was biting her lip hard enough to keep quiet.

The risk only made it hotter. Any second, someone could knock. Any second, Joe’s mom could be wandering the hall looking for them.

“Paige—” Azzi’s voice was a whisper and a warning, but her hands were gripping the counter so tight her knuckles went white.

Paige kissed her again, slower now but deeper, her fingers moving with deliberate, relentless pressure. “Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

Azzi shook her head desperately, eyes wide. “They’ll hear—”

“That’s half the fun.”

Her resolve broke. The sound she made was muffled in Paige’s shoulder, her whole body arching as Paige pushed her right over the edge she’d been teetering on for weeks.

For a few breathless seconds, neither of them moved. The only sounds were their breathing and the faint roar of the crowd outside.

Paige smoothed her jersey down, stealing one last kiss. “We should… actually grab snacks. So it looks real.”

They laughed, still flushed and shaky, and left the bathroom with two pretzels and sodas in hand — their alibis.

When they reentered the suite, no one even looked twice. Joe was yelling at a play on the field, Sam was laughing with some other DEs, and the rest of the family was too locked in on the game to notice the secret hanging in the air between the two women.

Azzi sat, pretending to focus on the third quarter. Paige slid into her seat across the room, but her smirk said everything.

The rules had been broken. Again. And neither of them regretted a single second.

The Bengals had pulled it off — wildcard win in the bag, confetti cannons firing, the crowd singing along to the victory anthem. The players were heading to the locker room for media, and the family members were slowly filing out of the suites.

Joe and Sam emerged from the tunnel twenty minutes later, damp hair from quick showers, dressed in crisp button-downs that said family dinner instead of club.

“You guys wanna celebrate?” Joe asked, tugging his beanie over his curls. “There’s that steakhouse downtown. Lowkey.”

“No drinks?” Sam confirmed.

Joe shook his head. “Not during playoffs.”

Azzi smirked, glancing at Paige. “Guess that means no one’s getting wild tonight.”

Paige’s answering smile was sharp. We’ll see about that.

On the way to the parking lot, Joe tossed Azzi the keys. “We’ll meet you there — I gotta grab something from the locker room.”

“Yeah, we’ll ride together,” Paige said quickly, already sliding into the passenger seat of Azzi’s SUV.

The doors shut, and the low rumble of the heater filled the silence between them. For a moment, neither spoke — just glances exchanged in the dim light of the dashboard.

“You’re awfully quiet for someone who…” Paige’s voice dropped, a sly edge curling at the words, “…could barely stand up earlier.”

Azzi’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you back into that bathroom for round two.”

They were grinning at each other now, but it was the kind of grin that made Azzi’s pulse spike.

“You still worked up?” Paige asked, voice dipping lower.

Azzi flicked her eyes from the road to her. “Drive-thru confession booth — what do you think?”

Paige leaned back in the seat, crossing one leg over the other slowly. “I think you’re gonna be the picture of innocence tonight. And I’m gonna know exactly what’s going through your head while you smile and nod at your husband.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head, but her cheeks burned all the way to the restaurant.

The steakhouse was warm and softly lit, the kind of place that smelled like butter and expensive cuts of meat. Their booth was big enough for the four of them, Paige across from Azzi, Joe and Sam bookending the table.

Menus were passed around. Orders placed. And then the quiet battle began.

Under the table, Paige’s foot brushed Azzi’s ankle. Accident? No. Paige’s expression didn’t flicker, but her foot stayed there, sliding slow and deliberate up the back of Azzi’s calf.

Azzi swallowed a sip of water, setting the glass down carefully. “So… playoff schedule’s locked?” she asked, looking at Joe but catching Paige’s smirk from the corner of her eye.

Joe nodded. “Divisional next week, AFC after that if we win. You guys coming to both?”

Azzi managed a casual, “Of course,” while Paige’s foot pressed just a little higher.

The conversation flowed — team strategy, random jokes, Sam complaining about the dessert menu being too small. All the while, Paige kept her game up, toes curling against the back of Azzi’s knee until Azzi had to bite her cheek to stop from reacting.

By the time the check came, Azzi felt like her pulse had been stuck at sprint speed for an hour.

In the parking lot, Joe and Sam said goodnight, heading to Sam’s truck.

Azzi unlocked her SUV, and Paige lingered by the passenger door.

“You’re evil,” Azzi muttered.

Paige’s smile was pure trouble. “And you love it.”

Azzi shook her head, but her laugh gave her away. “Drive me home before I do something we’ll regret in the parking lot.”

Paige slid into the seat, still grinning. “Oh, I’m counting down the days to that away game, sweetheart.”

Azzi’s hands tightened on the wheel again. “So am I.”

They drove off into the quiet Cincinnati night, playoff victory in the rearview, and the kind of tension that wasn’t going anywhere.

The stadium was already loud when Azzi stepped out of her car. Her Bengals jersey was cropped — not because it was designed that way, but because she’d tied it up and tucked it under her bra, exposing the flat stretch of her stomach and the small glint of her belly-button piercing under the winter sun. A black mini skirt skimmed her thighs, paired with tall boots that made her legs look endless.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder like she didn’t notice the heads turning. She definitely noticed.

Paige noticed most of all.

From across the concourse, she slowed her walk, her eyes dragging over every inch like she was trying to memorize it. Mini skirt? Bare stomach? Paige’s jaw clenched, and her pace quickened.

By the time Azzi joined the rest of the family members in the suite, Paige was already waiting at their table, pretending to scroll her phone.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Paige murmured under her breath as Azzi sat down beside her.

Azzi gave a small, sweet smile. “It’s a football game, not a funeral. I dressed for the occasion.”

The suite filled quickly — Joe’s mom, his sister, an uncle, a couple of his college friends. Azzi settled in beside Paige, crossing her legs, skirt riding just enough that Paige’s mind went somewhere entirely different than kickoff.

Halfway through the first quarter, Paige leaned back in her seat. Her hand rested innocently on her own thigh… and then, in a slow, deliberate shift, her fingertips slid under the hem of Azzi’s skirt.

Azzi froze for half a second.

“Paige—”

“Shh,” Paige murmured, eyes fixed on the field, as if she was discussing a penalty call.

On Azzi’s other side, Joe’s mom turned to her. “So, how’s things at the hospital? I heard you had to handle the people from that pile up last week…”

Azzi’s lips parted on a soundless breath as Paige’s fingers moved higher. She forced a smile, leaning toward Joe’s mom like nothing was wrong. “Oh — it’s been ok, actually. We got more E.R doctors recently.” Her voice was steady, but her pulse was anything but.

Paige’s touch wasn’t rushed. She moved with slow precision, fingertips brushing over soft skin, teasing in a way that made Azzi’s knees press together — not that Paige let her.

Azzi laughed at something Joe’s mom said, the sound a little too high, a little too quick. Paige’s eyes flicked sideways, her own mouth twitching into the faintest smirk.

By the time the quarter ended, Azzi’s cheeks were warm, her breathing shallow, and Paige withdrew her hand like nothing had happened. She reached for her soda. “Want a sip?” she asked sweetly.

Azzi wanted to kill her. Or kiss her. Or both.

The second they were out of view of the rest of the suite, Azzi’s fingers wrapped around Paige’s wrist.

“Bathroom. Now.”

Paige raised her brows but followed without a word, letting herself be tugged down the hallway to the locked family restroom.

The door clicked shut.

Azzi didn’t waste time. She backed Paige against the counter, caging her in with both hands. “You think you can just—” Her mouth pressed to Paige’s ear, voice dropping into something low and dangerous, “…touch me in front of my husband’s mother and get away with it?”

Paige bit her lip, eyes sparkling. “Maybe I thought you liked the risk.”

Azzi smirked. “I like payback more.”

Paige barely had time to gasp before Azzi’s hands were under her shirt, mouth claiming hers in a kiss that was all teeth and heat. She turned Paige, bending her slightly over the counter, shirt riding up as Azzi’s palm slid along her thigh.

“This is mine,” Azzi murmured, nails grazing just enough to make Paige shiver. “You don’t get to forget that.”

Paige gripped the counter, knuckles white, a quiet curse spilling from her mouth when Azzi pushed just the way she knew would undo her.

It was controlled chaos — Azzi refusing to let Paige turn the tables this time, keeping the pace just slow enough to draw out every sound, every twitch, until Paige was trembling and clutching the countertop like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

When Azzi finally stepped back, Paige’s eyes were glassy, her breathing wrecked.

“Now we’re even,” Azzi said with a grin, smoothing her skirt like she hadn’t just wrecked Paige in a public bathroom.

Paige straightened slowly, still catching her breath. “We are not even.”

Azzi’s laugh followed them all the way back to the suite.

The whole week felt different.

There was no mid-week teasing, no lingering in kitchens, no stolen moments in the family suite bathrooms. The Bengals were facing the undefeated Chiefs, and the guys were… laser-focused. Sam was at the facility before the sun. Joe spent hours reviewing film until his voice was hoarse from going over plays with the offense.

Azzi noticed the difference in Joe’s eyes — that mix of nerves and fire that only came when the entire season was on the line. She kept things calm at home: cooking, keeping the space quiet, giving him the room to prepare. Paige was doing the same with Sam.

They still texted — of course they did — but even their messages were softer this week. Encouragement. Little check-ins. The kind of words that kept each other grounded while everything else felt high-stakes and electric.

The stadium was a sea of orange and black, every cheer deafening. From the suite, Azzi’s hands gripped the railing so tight her knuckles were pale. Paige stood beside her, just as tense, her eyes fixed on the field.

The game was brutal. Hits that made the whole crowd flinch, back-and-forth drives, no one able to fully pull away. Every time Joe got sacked, Azzi’s heart lodged in her throat. Every time Sam made a tackle, Paige’s hands clapped so hard they stung.

Then… the final drive.

Joe found Chase on the sideline. Then Higgins over the middle. Then, with twelve seconds left, a bullet to the end zone. Touchdown. The stadium exploded.

Paige was screaming before she even realized it, hugging Azzi tight. In the chaos, they didn’t even notice the security staff waving the players’ families down to the field.

The grass was still littered with orange confetti when Azzi spotted Joe through the crowd of helmets and cameras. He had his helmet off, hair damp, grinning like a kid who just pulled off the impossible.

“Joe!” she called, running toward him.

He caught sight of her and didn’t hesitate — met her halfway, scooping her up off the ground. The cameras were everywhere, but neither of them cared.

He set her down and cupped her face, pressing his forehead to hers for a beat before kissing her. Not a rushed peck, not anything over-the-top — just warm and sure and full of the weight of the moment.

The photos went everywhere. By the time they made it to the locker room tunnel, “People’s Princess” was trending next to Joe’s name. NFL Twitter was full of slow-mo replays of Joe smiling down at Azzi, clips of her laughing with her hair falling in her face, people calling them storybook.

Even Paige, walking a few steps behind with Sam, shook her head with a smile. “You’re gonna break the internet again, Princess.”

Azzi just laughed, cheeks flushed from more than the cold. “Guess I can live with that.”

If the AFC Championship had been intense, the two weeks leading up to the Super Bowl were… insane.

Joe was unbearable in the most Joe way possible. He was up at dawn, reading over playbooks while pacing the kitchen. He had an actual notepad for his press conference answers, crossing things out like it was a college midterm. Sam wasn’t much better — watching game film at the dining table with headphones on, occasionally muttering defensive calls under his breath like he was in some NFL-themed trance.

To the outside world, Paige and Azzi looked like dream wives. Always smiling on media day, standing beside their men for photo ops, answering polite questions from NFL Network about “what it’s like supporting them at the big game.” Paige had even worn a perfect, cream-colored coat with her hair down and soft waves — Instagram called her graceful, poised, supportive. Azzi’s clip in a burnt orange trench coat and black boots went viral again, with captions like She’s glowing.

The reality?

The moment the cameras were gone, they were side-eyeing each other over their phones.

Paige: “If Sam rewinds the same defensive snap one more time I’m going to ‘accidentally’ break his iPad.” Azzi: “Joe’s currently timing how fast he can tie his cleats. Help.”

They kept it playful — FaceTiming late at night just to rant about how dramatic their guys were being. One night, Joe was practicing his media day answers in the living room, and Azzi had to mute herself so Paige could watch silently from the screen while dying of laughter.

“I swear to God,” Paige whispered, “these next two weeks, we’re just Stepford Wives, huh?”

Azzi smirked. “Perfect smiles, nodding at the right time, and hiding all evidence we’re slowly losing our minds.”

“And not touching each other,” Paige added, with a fake dramatic sigh.

Azzi’s eyes flickered, a little too knowing. “Don’t remind me.”

By the second week, the whole city was buzzing. The Bengals were practicing in the mornings, locked away in strategy meetings all afternoon. Nights were for early dinners and more tape review. The guys barely noticed Paige and Azzi exchanging looks from across the room, the subtle smirks when they passed each other a wine glass at a team dinner.

Neither said it out loud, but the tension was there. They’d promised no hookups until the next away game — which meant at least three weeks without touching. Every polite wife smile they gave to reporters was hiding the fact they both knew the second the Super Bowl ended, all bets were off.

The morning of the flight was one of those rare ones where neither of them had to rush. Azzi woke up to a soft gray sky outside her window, the kind of weather that makes the world feel quiet and slow. She padded into the kitchen in fuzzy socks, already wearing the oversized Bengals hoodie Joe had “accidentally” shrunk in the dryer so many times it was practically molded to her.

She tossed her hair into a loose bun, brushing away a few stubborn curls, and checked her phone. Paige: You awake yet or should I bring coffee to bribe you into functioning?

Azzi smirked and typed back, Already dressed. But yes, coffee.

By the time Paige knocked on her door—messy bun, sweats, hoodie pulled up like she’d just rolled out of bed—Azzi already had her duffel bag by the door. Paige was holding two paper cups from their favorite local spot, sleeves still warm from the machine.

"Extra caramel, because apparently you don’t respect the taste of coffee," Paige teased, handing it over.

Azzi grinned. “And extra ice because apparently you don’t respect hot drinks.”

They left together, the easy rhythm between them so natural now it didn’t even require thought. In the car, they laughed over their husbands’ pre-Super Bowl tension—how Joe and Sam had been locked into game film like their lives depended on it, pacing around the house muttering plays under their breath like possessed chess players.

When they reached the private jet terminal, the families were already gathering. The air was filled with quiet excitement and the sound of luggage wheels rolling over the sleek floors. Joe’s parents were there, Sam’s too—both women blending easily into the family group, but subtly gravitating toward each other like magnets.

Once they boarded, Azzi found two seats side by side near the middle of the cabin. Paige plopped down first, stretching her legs out and tugging her hoodie tighter. “Two hours of peace,” she sighed.

Azzi dug around in her bag, pulling out a well-worn paperback. Paige raised an eyebrow. “What are we reading?”

“Something you wouldn’t touch,” Azzi teased. “It has more words than pictures.”

Paige grinned, leaning over her shoulder to skim the page. “Huh. No murders yet? How are you surviving?”

Azzi laughed, but before she could answer, Paige was already pulling something from her own hoodie pocket—a tangled mess of wired earbuds.

“Oh my god,” Azzi groaned, dramatically covering her face. “Paige. Wires? What century is this?”

“They’re more intimate,” Paige said simply, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. “Wireless is for strangers. Wires are for someone you don’t mind leaning close to.”

Azzi’s comeback got lost somewhere in her throat when Paige plugged them into her phone, handed her one earbud, and the familiar opening chords of a sza song started to play—something low, warm, and slow. Paige turned her head, watching her for a second too long before looking away.

“You’re ridiculous,” Azzi murmured, but she didn’t hand the earbud back.

Half an hour later, the book was closed in her lap, her knees pulled up onto the seat. The low cabin light, the gentle music, and Paige’s steady presence all blurred together into something Azzi couldn’t fight. Her eyelids grew heavier with each mile they flew.

She didn’t even realize she’d leaned over until the steady thump of Paige’s heartbeat was under her ear. Paige didn’t move, didn’t speak—just shifted enough to let Azzi’s head rest comfortably against her shoulder. Her hoodie smelled faintly like coffee and vanilla lotion.

When the plane dipped slightly in the air, Paige’s arm tightened instinctively around her, keeping her steady. No one else seemed to notice—Joe’s mom was deep in conversation with Sam’s dad—but Paige’s gaze lingered down at her for a moment, her thumb brushing idly along Azzi’s forearm in a slow, absentminded motion.

Azzi stirred only when the pilot announced they were beginning their descent. She blinked sleepily, realizing where she was, and sat up just enough to meet Paige’s amused expression.

“Comfortable?” Paige murmured, voice low.

Azzi smirked, rubbing her eyes. “Wired headphones are growing on me.”

Paige just grinned, tugging her hood back over her head like she hadn’t just turned an ordinary flight into something that made Azzi’s chest feel too warm.

Azzi and Paige were unwinding in the hotel lounge, still cozy in their oversized hoodies and sweatpants, when Robin breezed in carrying a tray of fresh coffee and pastries.

“Oh! You two! Before you get too comfy, just so you know—your rooms aren’t on the same floor as Joe and Sam,” Robin said casually, setting down the tray with a smile.

Paige blinked, then glanced at Azzi, her eyebrows knitting together. “Wait, what? Why didn’t anyone tell us?”

Azzi frowned, crossing her arms. “Yeah, why keep us in the dark?”

Robin chuckled, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Oh, it’s just league policy for ‘focus’ during Super Bowl. Keeps the players… well, you know, in the zone.”

Paige exchanged a look with Azzi, a mix of confusion and mild irritation simmering between them. “So, basically, we’re being separated from our husbands so they stay in the"zone "?"

Robin nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. “Exactly. You girls are expected to be the perfect supportive wives—cheer from afar, no distractions.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Yeah, no distractions except for not telling us this ourselves.”

The two of them huddled close, whispering quick theories about why their husbands hadn’t said a word, while Robin watched with a knowing smile.

Azzi and Paige exchanged a look, the silence stretching between them heavier than the early morning air.

Paige broke it first, voice low, “I don’t get it. If this is supposed to be about ‘focus,’ why didn’t Joe or Sam tell us? Seems like something they should’ve said themselves.”

Azzi nodded, biting her lip. “Exactly. It’s not like we’re strangers, or that we’d distract them by just being around. It feels like they’re shutting us out.”

Robin set her cup down gently, her expression softening. “Sometimes the league puts these rules in place without much input from the players or their families. It’s… not ideal, I know.”

Paige’s fingers tightened around her coffee cup. “So we’re supposed to just sit on our hands? Pretend like everything’s normal when it’s not?”

Azzi’s jaw clenched, but she managed to keep her voice steady. “We’ve been juggling so much already. This just adds another layer of distance.”

Robin reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Azzi’s shoulder. “You’re both strong women. You’ll get through it.”

Paige glanced at Azzi, a flicker of determination lighting her eyes. “We will. But maybe it’s time we make sure our voices are heard next time.”

Azzi smiled, the tension easing just a bit. “Agreed.”

The three of them sat quietly for a moment, the coffee cooling between their hands, each lost in thought about the game ahead.

after Robin left, her casual little bombshell still hanging in the air like smoke neither of them could wave away.

“You caught that too, right?” Paige asked, leaning back against the couch cushions, legs crossed and eyes narrowing.

Azzi gave her a slow look. “That our husbands apparently didn’t feel the need to tell us we’re sleeping on different floors from them during the single most stressful two days of their careers? Yeah, I caught it.”

Paige’s laugh was short and humorless. “I mean, is it just me, or is this actually insane?”

Azzi tilted her head. “It’s not just you. And the fact that we’re hearing it from Joe’s mom? I mean… come on.”

Paige groaned, running a hand through her hair. “We’re not in high school. Why are they acting like sneaking out of our rooms at night is going to tank the Super Bowl?”

Azzi’s lips twitched into a wry smile. “Well…” she started, teasing just enough to get a glare from Paige.

“Don’t even,” Paige said, pointing a finger at her. “That’s not the point.”

Azzi raised her hands in mock surrender, but the flicker of amusement faded. “It’s just weird, Paige. Like… are they keeping us away because they actually think we’d mess up their focus? Or is this some team rule they just didn’t bother explaining?”

Paige sighed, leaning forward. “I need to know. Because right now, it feels like they didn’t trust us enough to just tell us themselves.”

That sat between them for a beat too long.

“Okay,” Azzi finally said, grabbing her phone from the coffee table. “We ask. No overthinking, no stewing. Just ask.”

Paige mirrored her, phone already in hand. They typed at the same time. Azzi: Why didn’t you tell me I’m not on the same floor as you?Paige: What’s with the separate floors? Can you explain?

Paige’s phone buzzed first. She glanced at it, then rolled her eyes. “Sam says, ‘Yeah, just league rules. Keeps us locked in.’”

Azzi’s screen lit up next. She read it aloud. “Joe says, ‘It’s for focus. Coach wants the team all together so we don’t get distracted.’”

They stared at each other.

“‘Distracted,’” Paige repeated, voice dripping with disbelief.

“‘Locked in,’” Azzi echoed, setting her phone down harder than she meant to. “You’d think we were asking to throw a party in their rooms or something.”

Paige’s voice was quieter now, but sharper. “Feels like they’re treating us as if we’re the problem.”

Azzi shifted uncomfortably. “And I hate that I feel… hurt. Like, shouldn’t they be excited to see us after practice? Not avoiding us?”

Paige gave her a long, considering look. “We’re going to ask them. In person. Tonight.”

Azzi nodded once, firmly. “Face to face. I don’t want another vague text.”

That night, after the team’s meetings wrapped, Joe and Sam walked into the hotel lounge where Azzi and Paige were waiting. Both women had that unmistakable mix of calm and steel in their eyes that told the guys this wasn’t just a casual hangout.

“Hey,” Sam said cautiously, leaning down to kiss Paige’s cheek.

Joe followed suit with Azzi, but she didn’t melt into it like she usually did.

“So,” Paige started, crossing her arms, “are we going to talk about the fact that you didn’t tell us we wouldn’t be on the same floor?”

Sam blinked, caught off guard. “We—uh—it’s just how the team sets things up for the Super Bowl.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Then why didn’t you just say that? Instead of letting us hear it from your mom, Joe?”

Joe rubbed the back of his neck. “I… didn’t think it was a big deal. It’s not personal. We just have team curfews, meetings, and the staff wants us in one place so—”

“So you stay ‘locked in’ and ‘focused’ and don’t get ‘distracted’?” Paige cut in, her voice just shy of sarcastic.

Sam gave her a sheepish look. “Basically, yeah.”

Paige leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Do you honestly think us being in the same room would ruin your prep? We’re not groupies. We’re your wives.”

Joe exhaled. “It’s not about that. It’s just… the routine. They want zero variables. Everyone on the same floor, same sleep schedules, same everything. It’s—”

“Control,” Azzi said softly, finishing his sentence for him.

The four of them sat there in silence for a moment.

“Look,” Sam finally said, “it’s a few days. Then we’re home, and it’s back to normal.”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She glanced at Azzi, who was still watching Joe carefully, her lips pressed together like she had more to say but wasn’t sure if it was worth it.

Eventually, Paige just nodded slowly. “Fine. But next time something changes, we hear it from you first. Not your mom. Not the coach. You.”

Sam reached for her hand under the table, squeezing gently. “Deal.”

Joe’s eyes softened, and he mirrored the gesture with Azzi. “Promise.”

But when they left the lounge, Azzi and Paige exchanged another look — a silent agreement that, even if they accepted the explanation, they didn’t necessarily believe it.

The elevator ride to Azzi’s floor was quiet. Too quiet. Paige kept her arms folded, tapping her nails against her elbow like she was trying not to say something she’d regret in public.

When they stepped into Azzi’s suite and the door clicked shut, Paige finally let out a sharp laugh. Not a happy one. “They’re worried about ‘distractions.’” She shook her head. “Azzi, we are the distractions.”

Azzi sank into the couch, tugging off her hoodie. “Yeah. And the best part? They don’t even know they’re right—just… not in the way they think.”

Paige smirked, dropping onto the cushion beside her. “Oh, they’d die if they knew.”

Azzi tilted her head, lips curving. “You think they’d still be worried about us sneaking into their rooms… or worried about us sneaking into each other’s?”

Paige’s laugh was softer this time, but it carried something else—an edge of guilt. “We’re sitting here all worked up about being separated from them when, truthfully, the last time I was in your bed wasn’t even when Joe was gone. It was when Sam was gone.”

Azzi leaned back, looking at the ceiling. “And here we are, demanding honesty from them when we’re… doing this.” She gestured between them, the space suddenly charged despite the weight of the conversation. “Does that make us hypocrites?”

Paige bit her lip. “Probably.”

They sat in that truth for a moment. The room was warm, the air thick with unspoken things.

Azzi finally broke the silence. “But it’s not the same, Paige.”

Paige turned to her. “How is it not?”

“Because,” Azzi said slowly, “we’re not hiding this to hurt them. We’re… hiding it because it’s ours. Because I’m not ready to let anyone else touch it, or name it, or ruin it.”

Paige’s gaze softened. “And because it’s the only thing in our lives that’s just… for us.”

Azzi nodded, almost reluctantly. “Exactly. Everything else is about them—their games, their schedules, their careers. But this? This is the one thing that’s ours.”

Paige leaned in, her voice low. “Which is why I’m not spending these few days missing Sam more than I miss you.”

Azzi’s stomach flipped at that, a warmth curling low inside her. “That’s dangerous talk, Maddison.”

Paige grinned, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, well. The truth usually is.”

For a while they just sat there, close but not touching, both of them quietly grappling with the fact that they were furious at their husbands for not being completely transparent—while they were holding the biggest secret of all.

Eventually, Paige broke the tension with a playful nudge. “You realize if they did put us on the same floor as them , we’d be sneaking into each other’s rooms instead of theirs, right?”

Azzi smirked. “Which is probably the real reason we’re not on the same floor.”Paige laughed, shaking her head, but the sound was laced with something heavier. They both knew the game they were playing was dangerous. And yet, neither of them wanted to stop.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #line of scrimmage

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iheartsophie · 21 days ago

Text

I MISS YOU, AND YOUR ARMS | george clarke

^ྀི pairing: George Clarke x reader

^ྀི genre: Fluff, romantic comedy

^ྀི context: While George is away on a brand trip to Monaco, Y/N gets wine-drunk and posts a chaotic TikTok crying about how much she misses him… and his biceps. It goes viral. George, his friends react and tease you about it in the morning

^ྀི sophie speaks!: i would like a bite 💋 (requests:open)

It’s 1:43 AM.

You’re home alone in yours and George’s flat. You’ve had two and a half glasses of wine (okay, maybe the bottle’s nearly empty) and he’s off in Monaco for the Grand Prix, doing posh influencer things and pretending he’s not a massive nerd for race cars.

You’re sat on the cold kitchen floor in your pajamas — one of George’s old hoodies and socks with little Crocs on them. You’re holding a half-eaten Babybel cheese and crying softly as you open the front cam on your phone.

You hit record and start rambling to your spam account followers — an audience who’s seen you at your worst and weirder.

“I miss himmmmmm and it’s only been like—four days, not even? And he’s just out there in Monaco with his little helmet and his little sunglasses and his perfect fcking biceps—HAVE YOU SEEN HIS BICEPS???”

You start shrieking-laughing through your tears.

“They’re like—like two security guards standing outside a Tesco. You could bite them, and I have—I have bitten them. And he just lets me! Because he loves me. Or maybe because he’s scared. Whatever. Same thing.”

You aggressively bite into the Babybel.

“George if you see this—COME HOME before I start biting the furniture.”

You end the video, cackle, and post it with the caption: “he’s in monaco and i’m in emotional ruin 🧍‍♀️ #feral”

Then you go to bed. Like a menace.

⸻

THE NEXT MORNING

You wake up, mildly hungover and deeply thirsty. You go to check the weather and instead open TikTok.

547 new notifications

A comment on your spam video says:

“LIV SAID ‘I AGREE WITH HER’ IN ALL CAPS 😭😭😭”

Your stomach drops.

“Oh no. No no no—”

You open your spam and there it is. The video. Your face splotchy, cheese wax in your lap, sobbing about your boyfriend’s Tesco security guard biceps.

You slam your phone down like it’s cursed. But it lights up with a notification from George:

George ❤️:

“Are you okay.”

“Why are my biceps involved.”

“Also. Thank you?”

“I’m never letting you drink alone again.”

And then he sends a screenshot of the video with a bunch of crying-laughing emojis.

You groan, mortified.

Until the group chat lights up.

⸻

GROUP CHAT CHAOS

Chris MD:

not you CRYING over his ARMS 😭😭😭

Arthur Hill:

“two security guards outside a tesco” IM GONNA THROW UP

ItalianBach:

i need to know what the furniture did to deserve that threat

Arthur TV:

i’ve never been more afraid for george’s well-being. bite-proof sleeves for christmas?

George replies to the group chat:

George ❤️:

glad to know my body is the subject of public discourse now

anyone else got bicep thoughts while we’re here? 🙃

You:

no bc if you ever LEAVE ME the arm guards are coming with me

Chris Dixon:

my guy is a walking protein shake and she’s gonna bite him into submission

Arthur Hill:

new hashtag: #TescoArms

ItalianBach:

you looked like trisha paytas on that kitchen floor

⸻

George sends you a private selfie a few hours later—just a smug smile, and a very deliberate flex of one bicep in his hotel mirror.

George ❤️:

“Flight home tomorrow. You can thank the security guards then.”

#iheartsophie #george clarke fics #george clarke fluff #george clarke fanfic #george clarke x reader #ukyt #uk #uk youtubers #chris md #arthurtv #italianbach #arthur hill #foryou #for you

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fiakive · 3 months ago

Text

AFTER THE BUBBLES BURST

requested: yes | req: will smith x reader angst to fluff maybe reader sees a text on wills phone from a girl and thinks he’s cheating on her so she avoids and ignores him.

pair: will smith x f!reader

genre: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship.

warnings: swearing, jealousy, emotional confrontation, mention of alcohol, misunderstandings, (waterproof) phone in a bathtub, implied emotional vulnerabilities.

summary: when will comes home late from a night out with the guys, he brings with him the scent of perfume, alcohol, and something heavier… doubt. you try to stay cool. you smile. you fetch him water. but a text from a girl on his phone shatters the fragile trust between you. driven by jealousy and a heart aching for answers, you confront him before he can even rinse the shampoo out of his hair.

fia’s note: heyy anon! i know your request was for the reader to fully ignore him and trust me, i considered it but the more i sat with the idea, the more i kept thinking… if she really did go full silent treatment, then boom, that’s it. no fluff, no tension, no hope, just crickets and heartbreak. and while that’s totally valid and angsty, i couldn’t help myself from adding a tiny twist. i decided to keep the vibe light and throw in a bit of humor instead, just so there’s still something left lingering between them. hope you don’t mind the little change, and i truly hope you enjoy how it turned out! thanks again for the idea, it really got my brain turning!

join fia’s taglist. | pow-wow box.

“Baaaabyyyy,”

Will’s voice drawled as the front door clicked shut behind him. He wasn’t slurring, not yet, but his words stretched just enough to tell you he was leaning heavy on tipsy.

You were sitting on the couch, the TV screen flickering silently in front of you. The time read 2:03 a.m.

“You’re late,”

You said without turning around, trying not to sound like you’d been watching the clock since midnight.

Will kicked his shoes off with a grunt and padded closer.

“Zach wanted to do shots. I didn’t. But he got emotional about his ex, so…”

You turned your head. He was smiling, his stupidly charming smile that could melt steel when sober but now it was softened by too many drinks and the faint red flush in his cheeks. And then you smelled it. The alcohol, yeah but also that perfume. Sweet. Overpowering. Not his. Not yours.

You swallowed hard. “You smell like a headache.”

He blinked, confused, and looked down at himself.

“Oh. Yeah. Probably got hugged by like, six people. Most of them smelled like Sephora.”

You didn’t respond. Just stood and moved past him.

“Go upstairs. Get out of those clothes. Take a shower if you want. I’ll bring you water.”

He reached for you, pulling you in briefly, and pressed a wet kiss to your lips, messy and alcohol-stained. You didn’t pull back, but your smile was paper-thin when you said,

“Go on, Smitty. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Will looked at you for a second longer, as if trying to read what you weren’t saying, but the alcohol dulled his instincts. He nodded and made his way up the stairs, humming something under his breath.

You moved to the kitchen, filling a glass with cold water and breathing through the knot in your chest.

You didn’t want to be this jealous, paranoid girlfriend. But being in love with Will Smith, NHL player, everyone favorite boy of Jose Sharkies, meant you saw things. The way women hovered around him like moths to flame. The way some just didn’t care he was taken.

But it was fine. You trusted him.

Or… you tried to.

When you came upstairs, you placed the glass on his nightstand. His phone was right there beside it. Lit up with a new message.

You didn’t mean to look.

But the screen said.

‘Had fun meeting you tonight :) wish you stayed longer’

From a name you didn’t recognize. No heart emoji. Just a smiley face. But it was enough.

Your throat went dry.

Had fun meeting you.

Meeting. YOU

You blinked at the screen. Because no old friend, friends would word it like that. No girl who knew about you, who respected your existence would even dare.

Your vision blurred as white-hot jealousy rose like bile.

The bathroom door slammed open hard enough to bounce off the stopper.

“Who the fuck is Kaylee?”

Your voice was sharp, dangerous, and already echoing in the steam-filled room.

Will jumped. Actually jumped. Shampoo still lathered in his dark curls, water running down his back, and now staring at you like he’d seen a ghost.

“I. What?”

“You think I’m fucking stupid?”

You stepped further in, your heart thudding.

“You met some girl tonight, and now she’s texting you like you gave her a fucking reason to. You think I wouldn’t find out?”

He wiped shampoo from his eyes, still trying to process.

“Babe, what are you talking about?”

You didn’t wait. You raised his phone like a goddamn gavel and launched it into the bathtub.

*Splash.*

He blinked, water dripping off his nose.

“That’s waterproof.”

“Good,” you snapped.

“Then you can read your flirty little texts while you drown.”

Will shut the water off, breathing slow through his nose like he was grounding himself. He stepped out, grabbing a towel and wrapping it low around his waist. His hair was still sudsy, water trailing down his chest, but his voice was calm. Too calm.

“I didn’t cheat on you.”

You folded your arms tightly over your chest.

“Then explain that text.”

“She was some random girl. She was with a group we ran into. She asked for a photo. I said yeah. Then she got weird.”

“‘Wish you stayed longer’ isn’t weird. That’s flirty. That’s crossing a line.”

“She asked for my number, I said no,” Will said carefully.

“Zach was already halfway drunk, thought it was funny to play matchmaker, gave it out before I could stop him. I didn’t text her. I was gonna block her. But before she walked away, I told her something that you’d probably want to hear.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What.”

Will moved slowly, walked to his duffel bag in the corner and pulled something from the side pocket. A silver ring.

You stared at it.

“What is that?”

“It’s fake,” he said, almost sheepish.

“But I’ve been wearing it when I go out with the guys. Especially when I know they’ll end up somewhere stupid and loud and full of people who don’t care if I’m taken.”

He looked up at you then, honest and flushed, curls sticking to his forehead.

“She asked if I was single, and I showed her this.”

He slid the ring onto his finger. Left hand. Ring finger.

“Told her I was married. Told her I was going home to my wife.”

You blinked. “You… what?”

Will smiled, a little sad, a little proud.

“Yeah. You didn’t know because I never wanted to make a big deal out of it. But I’ve been calling you that in my head for months. Feels more honest than ‘girlfriend.’ You’re more than that.”

Everything inside you, the jealousy, the rage, the heartbreak tilted off its axis.

You stepped forward, heart thudding, looking at the fake ring and the way it seemed to fit too perfectly.

“You told a random girl you were married?”

He nodded. “And showed her this ugly-ass Amazon ring like it meant everything to me. Because it does. Because you do.”

You exhaled, every inch of you buzzing with disbelief and the sudden shift from fury to something close to shame.

“I’m such a dick,” you whispered.

“No,” Will said gently.

“You’re someone who’s been loving a guy in the spotlight and still trying to stay sane. That shit’s not easy.”

“I threw your phone.”

“You’re passionate.”

“I stormed in while you were literally covered in shampoo.”

“You’re dramatic. I like that about you.”

You cracked a laugh, half-choked on guilt.

“You should’ve told me about the ring.”

“I was waiting for the right time,” he said.

“And maybe for a real one.”

Your eyes snapped up. “Wait…”

Will leaned in, pressing a wet forehead to yours, voice low.

“I don’t need a headline engagement or a stadium proposal. But one day… I want the real thing. With you.”

You wrapped your arms around his damp torso, pressing your cheek to his chest. His heart was still racing.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

“I’m not,” he said.

“Because now you know how serious I am about you.”

You tilted your head. “You’re still shampooing your hair while saying all this.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I sound hot doing it.”

You laughed, really laughed this time, the knot in your chest finally loosening.

Later, you’d dry him off with a towel, slide that ridiculous silver ring off his finger and kiss the skin beneath it like a promise.

You woke up to the sound of something clattering violently downstairs. For a second, your brain went to robber. Then earthquake. Then, most terrifying of all ‘Will attempting breakfast without supervision.’

You grabbed his shirt from the floor, padding out of the bedroom with sleep lines on your cheek and hair doing something wildly unflattering. As you crept down the stairs, the smell of… burning toast? eggs?… smacked you in the face.

And there he was.

Will Smith, San Jose Sharks center, casually standing in your kitchen shirtless, wearing plaid pajama pants and a black apron that said ‘Kiss the Cook (Even If He Sucks)’.

But that wasn’t the best part.

On his left hand, glinting in the morning light, was that cheap-ass fake silver ring, yea, right back on his finger like it had never left.

You squinted at him.

“Are you… seriously wearing that thing again?”

Will turned, spatula in hand, eggs in the pan questionably scrambled.

“Absolutely. You thought last night was just drunk sentiment? Nah. This is a lifestyle choice.”

You crossed your arms, hiding a grin.

“You’re lucky I didn’t throw your AirPods in the sink too.”

“I checked,” he said solemnly.

“They’re safe. I kissed them goodnight after the trauma you put us all through.”

You rolled your eyes and walked over.

“You’re not even married, Smitty.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“But it got me out of at least two awkward conversations at the grocery store last month. This thing’s practically magical.”

He pointed to the ring like it was forged in Middle Earth.

You leaned against the counter.

“So this is it now? You pretending to be my husband in public?”

“Please,” he scoffed. “I’ve been pretending to be your husband in private for months.”

You blinked. “Explain.”

Will smirked and gestured at the chaos around him, the overtoasted toast, the butter melting off the counter, the eggs clinging to the pan like regret.

“Tell me this isn’t husband behavior.”

You laughed, full-bellied and still tired.

“It’s gremlin behavior.”

“And yet, you love me,” he said, sliding a mostly-intact plate in front of you like it was a five-star meal.

You looked at the eggs. “These are crunchy.”

He nodded seriously. “That’s pepper. Probably.”

You stared down at the ring again and sighed.

“You know you can’t propose with that thing, right?”

Will winked. “Noted. But I am wearing it to your cousin’s wedding next month and telling everyone you trapped me.”

You covered your face with one hand and groaned.

“I hate how good you are at this.”

He leaned across the counter, ring glinting in the sunlight, voice low and playful.

“At what?”

You smiled, soft and reluctant.

“At making me forget I was mad at you.”

He grinned. “Babe… I’m irresistible in an apron.”

You threw a napkin at his head.

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jakesimfromstatefarm · 29 days ago

Note

Heyyy so I put the request for the one where the reader gets insecure and then Jake makes her feel better. I just wanna say that was SO GOODDDDDDDS OH MA LORD WHAT THE HECK. So I wanted to know if I could be like those emoji anons or something because I have ideas and you write extremely well. if that’s possible I would like to be 🧣anon!!!

Anyways I have another request for no doubt Jake. So Jake bought something for yn a long time ago, like a ring and then she loses it and gets upset and she gets scared to tell Jake. But then our man Jake isn’t mad or anything and comfortsand tells her it’s okay (AHSVJSSHJSHSIS). How you want Jake to found out is your choice. EKKKKKKK THXXXXXX

-🧣

(Btw I’m so sorry this is so long)

HIIII YAY NEW ANON <3333 im so glad you liked the drabble!!!! ty for your adorable ideas omg & ty for your sweet words :') im sorry this one took me some timeeee but i hope you like this one too!!!

this idea is actually so cute,,,im imagining it's like a cute lil promise ring jake got yn and he would prob take it as a sign to get yn a real ring soon ;))))

──── REAL THING SOON 💍 💖 ☁️ ↳ requested // part of the no doubt series !

You've been acting weird all day.

Quiet. Fidgety. Suspiciously avoiding Jake's eyes.

It's only when he finds you curled up in the corner of the couch—wrapped like a burrito under your mountain of blankets, with your lower lip pulled between your teeth, when he finally sits next to you with a soft thump.

He squints at you.

"Okay," Jake says, dramatic and serious, hands on his thighs. "What did you do?"

You blink.

"Wha—Why? What makes you think I did something?"

Jake lifts a brow, giving a look saying he's thoroughly not convinced, "Baby. You've been acting like you ran over Layla or something."

"Layla's in Australia."

Jake points, "Exactly."

You groan. Quietly, then it grows. You immediately shove your face into the nearest pillow.

There's muffled groaning. Then flailing.

Then more muffled groaning.

"Y/N."

"Noooo," you whine into the pillow. "You're gonna hate me."

Jake's eyes widen, more confused than ever.

And he gets confused a lot.

A lot.

"Did you cheat on me?"

"WHAT?!" Now your eyes are widening. You throw the blanket off of you to look at him like he's deranged. "No, Jake! I didn't cheat on you."

"Oh. Okay, cool," Jake shrugs, leaning to nudge you now. "Then I can't imagine what you could possibly do to make me hate you."

You peek up at him.

He beams back.

Sigh.

Then—

Your hands come out of your hoodie pocket slowly as if straight from a slow motion scene in a movie.

And—

Nothing.

Your hands are holding nothing,

Your eyes are squeezed shut as you sit there in silence, your hands out in full display for Jake.

He tilts his head.

You peek one eye open.

"I'm gonna be honest, Y/N. I'm very confused right now."

Both your eyes fly open and you dramatically bring your hands up to his face, flipping them back and forth as if that gives him any answers.

"I lost it, Jake!" You say in the tiniest, saddest voice known to Jake-kind.

Jake fully believes for a second you mean lost your mind—in which he wouldn't be surprised. Frankly speaking.

"The ring! I lost it," you continue when you see Jake's confusion remaining on his face. "I don't even know when, or where, or how—I just—I took it off to shower this morning and then it was gone and I've been searching all over the apartment and it's still gone and I'm so sor—"

You're interrupted by Jake's laughs.

Then, he's pulling you into his chest, both his arms wrapped around you naturally as his warmth immediately calms you down.

"Wha—wait, what's happening—you're not mad?"

Jake just laughs again—soft and breathy against your hair, "Mad? Baby, it was a ring I literally won from a claw machine."

You tilt your head back to look up at him, a pout on your lips, "But you won it for me."

Jake smiles into your hair, pulling you even closer. You're already melting in his hold.

"Yeah. And I'd win you a thousand more if I could."

You groan, pressing your face into his chest as he starts rubbing circels on your back with the gentlest touch.

You think you love him so much it's borderline unhealthy.

"I just—I loved it," you mumble. "Even if it was silly."

"I know," Jake murmurs. "But I love you. So it's okay."

Your pout deepen as your face stays buried against him. After a beat of silence, he pulls back a little, tilting your chin up with the softest grin.

His voice drops, "It's really fine. I'll just have to get you the real ring sooner, then."

He winks.

You smile back at him without thinking, "Thanks, Jakey."

Then the words hit you.

Wait.

Your eyes go wide.

"Wait. What."

Jake's already standing up, walking away with a smug smirk on his face and definitely not answering.

"...WHAT?!"

taglist pt. 1!

@bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @heekolazz @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo

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haeiheart · 4 months ago

Text

accidentally falling back — lee jeno by @haeiheart [part one out of two]

summary! You were bored, a little tipsy, and way too online—so you tweeted a dramatic ranking of your exes, complete with oversharing and emotional damage. You didn’t think they’d actually see it, much less respond. But only one caught your eye. The quiet one. The one who never said much but always seemed to say the right thing. And somehow, Lee Jeno’s reply does something no one else’s could: it makes you feel everything all over again.

pairing! ex! lee jeno x reader

genre! exes 2 lovers, slow burn?, second chance, fluff, angst (that ended up on the 2nd part because i exceeded the word count for one blog post oops T - T)

warnings/mentions! reader interacts with other ex dreamies! sakura (lsrfm) and jiwoong (zb1) as y/n best friends! they both painfully want each other! kind of stupid break up? jeno is a cutie (a real one at that) very sulky asw, not exactly miscom… but beware of the arguements that eventually happens. nct frat once again (bye i cant help myself), some 127 members appear!!!

notes! this is a continuation of “ranking dreamies as ex bfs! post!” I wasn’t planning to give it a written fic continuation but i caved in after someone asked for it which i will gladly give to yall!! i hope you enjoy the two parts i had to make because this was too long that it exceeded the word limit… also this was not proofread so umm hopefully there’s no embarrassing mistakes. here is the twitter thread also the context behind this fic -> here!

word count! 24.1k out of 34.6k

PART TWO CONTINUATION -> here!

You didn’t mean for it to go viral.

Honestly, you thought only your two friends would see it. Maybe thirteen if your mutual with the backpacking addiction was online. But apparently, the internet had other plans, because within an hour your phone was buzzing like it owed someone money.

It was just supposed to be a dumb ranking. A “haha, let’s traumatize myself for content” kind of thing. Seven exes. One tweet. A little chaos. A little emotional bleed through. Cathartic, right?

Wrong.

Because not only did they all see it…

They responded. Publicly. With alarming speed. Like they had Twitter notifs on for your account or something though which would be weird and a little flattering not gonna lie.

But only one response made you stop breathing for a full six seconds.

Lee Jeno.

Of course it had to be him. The emotionally mysterious, manhwa protagonist type ex who barely spoke but still managed to make you feel like every word was worth framing. The one who kissed you once and left you mentally derailed for a week. The one who broke up with you in a single sentence and haunted your Spotify algorithm for months.

And now he replied.

Publicly.

With punctuation.

You were so screwed.

You’re still sitting on your bed in full shock paralysis with a hoodie half on, hair a mess, phone in your lap like it just delivered your death sentence when the knock hits your front door.

It’s followed by the very specific, dramatic sound of your front door unlocking with your spare key, which means one thing:

“Y/N, open up before I throw your customized pillows at your face!”

Oh great. Kkura is here.

And right on cue:

“I brought snacks. Also, you’re a menace.”

That’s definitely Woongie.

You barely have time to sit up before they storm into your room like you’ve summoned them with a psychic cry for help. Which, in fairness, you kind of did. Kkura had texted you thirty seven times in the span of three minutes the second she saw the tweet, and Woongie sent a single “i’m on my way” with a fire alarm emoji.

“You do want him back,” they say, deadpan, in sync, with the audacity of people who know you too well to lie to.

You bolt upright with a dramatic scoff that doesn’t do much to hide the heat climbing up your neck. “That’s not the point.”

Kkura raises an eyebrow, her long lashes fluttering like she’s seconds from staging an intervention. She crosses one leg over the other, perfectly composed as always, like this isn’t her fourth unannounced visit this week to check if you’ve finally unraveled. “That's exactly the point, babe. You tweeted it to be chaotic, but you were feeling things. And now that he responded like a calm, emotionally stable adult, you’re panicking.”

“He replied like a man who knew exactly what he was doing,” Woongie adds from where he’s now casually sitting on the edge of your desk, surveying the situation like a therapist who’s both amused and slightly disappointed. “That’s the scariest kind of ex. The ones who reply once but it leave you spiraling.”

You sink deeper into your comforter, like maybe if you cocoon yourself tight enough, the crushing weight of your actions will disappear. It doesn’t. Jeno’s reply is still pinned to the top of your notifications, simple and polite, the kind of message that would seem harmless to anyone else, except you know him. And if there’s one thing Jeno never does, it’s post without intention.

“He was always good at that,” you mutter into the fabric, barely audible. “Saying so little and making it sound like everything.”

Kkura softens a little, just enough for her voice to lose its edge. “You loved that about him.”

And there it is. The truth you’ve been swallowing for weeks—months, if you’re honest. The reason you’d ranked him first, even though doing so made your heart twist in ways you weren’t ready to name. Because out of everyone, he was the only one who left quietly. No arguments. No screaming. Just a quiet goodbye in the rain and a hand that lingered on the door handle a few seconds too long.

Woongie leans forward, eyes searching yours like he’s trying to decipher how far gone you are already. “You know he didn’t just reply for fun, right?”

You shake your head slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “Then why did he?”

There’s a beat of silence. Kkura shrugs, then nudges a plastic container toward you. “We brought strawberry mochi and spicy ramen in case this turned into a spiral. Which it has. So congrats.”

You snort, despite yourself. It’s not much, but the laugh breaks the heaviness sitting on your chest, just a little. You take the mochi, chewing slowly as your friends settle in around you like they always do when your life takes a nosedive. Kkura starts scrolling through your mentions with quiet horror, while Woongie opens your laptop like he’s about to file your taxes and clean your digital footprint.

And for the briefest second, it feels safe. Like you can pretend this is just another tweet gone wrong, another dumb thing you’ll laugh about next week.

Until your phone buzzes again.

Not a like. Not a retweet.

A text message.

From Lee Jeno.

[Jeno]: hey y/n?

[Jeno]: is this still your number?

[Jeno]: ummm it’s jeno

[Jeno]: sorry to bother you but i take it that your tweet means it’s safe to reach out (.◜◡◝)

Your fingers tightened around the phone before your brain could even begin to catch up. The words on the screen were simple. Harmless, even. A string of curiosity wrapped in soft phrasing, like he wasn’t sure if he was still allowed to speak to you. Like he wasn’t the one who left. Like six months didn’t carve out silence between you so heavily, it still echoed when you tried to sleep.

You froze. Not in a dramatic, cinematic kind of way. There was no shattering sound effect or rush of wind. Just stillness. A pause. The kind that made your heart skip, not from excitement, but recognition. Recognition of a voice you hadn’t heard in months, but still lived somewhere in the back of your mind. Familiar. Quiet. Careful. Jeno.

Your memories with him were not a highlight reel of grand gestures or perfect timing. They were quieter than that. Softer. The kind of moments that didn’t look like much from the outside but stayed with you anyway. The way he always waited for you to unlock your door before driving off. The way he remembered your coffee order after hearing it once. The way he’d say your name when you were spiraling, slow and low like he was anchoring you back to the surface.

Six months with Jeno felt longer than it should have. Maybe because you’d let him see parts of you most people never even noticed. And maybe because, for the first time in a long time, you hadn’t been scared to be quiet with someone. There were days where neither of you talked much, just sat together in that easy kind of silence people write poems about. And it had been enough.

Until it wasn’t.

And now here he was. Texting you like it hadn’t taken every ounce of pride to keep your distance after the breakup. Like you didn’t spend nights convincing yourself you were fine, that what you had wasn’t meant to last, that people like Jeno didn’t come back.

But he had. Or he was trying to.

You reread the message. Again. And again. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, and somewhere beneath all the confusion, hurt, and the hint of something that could be hope and you realized: Jeno had never been the type to reach out unless he meant it. Which could only mean one thing.

This wasn’t just a message.

It was the start of something. He was starting something.

Something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

But your heart was already answering the question you hadn’t asked out loud.

Yes. It was safe.

“Okay, she’s been staring at her phone for, like, five minutes. Do we intervene or let her spiritually ascend?”

Jiwoong’s voice cut through the quiet like a pebble skipping across still water, light, amused, but not without concern.

You blinked, fingers still curled around your phone. The screen had gone dark, but Jeno’s message might as well have been burned into your eyelids. You didn’t even hear them come in.

“I vote we shake her,” Kkura added, already moving to sit on the edge of your bed, eyes narrowed like a detective trying to figure out if you were having a breakdown or just doing your usual post-existential-tweet routine.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice a little raspier than intended. The words barely came out before Jiwoong snatched the phone from your hand with a dramatic gasp.

“Lee Jeno,” he announced like he’d just solved a murder. “Of course it’s him. You know, I was betting on Mark.”

“It’s always Jeno,” Kkura muttered, nudging you with her shoulder. “Mark’s nice but he gave you valid reasons to leave. Jeno’s the one who messed you up because he is nice and left minimal room for faults.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. They weren’t wrong.

The thing about having friends like them. Jiwoong with his observational wit and dramatic flourishes, and Kkura with her unfiltered realism softened by affection, was that they didn’t let you go insane alone. They also didn’t let you romanticize a boy without dragging you back down with a sigh and a snack.

“I didn’t expect him to actually text,” you said finally.

“Well, you did tweet about him in front of the entire internet like he was a mysterious love interest in a coming of age film,” Jiwoong said. “That’s basically a summoning ritual.”

Kkura leaned back against your headboard, her expression less teasing. “How do you feel about it, though?”

You hesitated. You didn’t know how to sum it up. The confusion, the flicker of hope, the old ache stitched into something new.

“I feel like…” You exhaled, “Like I just opened a door I locked for a reason. And now he’s standing on the other side, asking if he can come in again.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Jiwoong looked thoughtful. Kkura chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Well,” Jiwoong said, “if he does come in, he better take off his shoes. And not track any of his emotionally unavailable dirt onto the carpet.”

Kkura snorted, and you laughed for the first time that afternoon. It was small, but it loosened something in your chest.

It had been a week. Maybe two. Time had gone weird like that. Days folded into nights too easily when you were constantly checking your phone for someone who texted you often but never said the thing you were waiting to hear.

Yes, you texted Jeno back. It wasn’t witty or brave. It was a plain message, the kind that read too simple and felt too heavy. Something like “Hey. Yeah, it’s still me.” And since then, there had been messages exchanged. Not every hour. Not even every day. But enough to keep him in your head more than you’d like to admit. Enough to make you hesitate before opening each one.

Still, neither of you had said it outright, but you were both avoiding the question that hovered over all the small talk. When do we see each other again?

You weren’t sure who was more afraid to ask.

But the universe didn’t care about your pacing or your avoidance strategies, which is why it decided to serve you karma in the form of a poorly sealed iced Americano and one particularly clumsy turn.

The spill happened fast. You had turned, your arm bumped something, someone, and the cold drink soaked into soft grey fabric before your brain could fully register what just happened. And then your heart dropped.

Because of course it was one of them.

“Jaemin?” you blinked, stunned and frozen mid-step.

He looked just as surprised, blinking down at his now coffee-stained sleeve before his eyes lifted to meet yours. But instead of irritation or exasperation, there was a smile curling at the edge of his lips.

“Well,” he said casually, “that’s one way to say hi.”

You didn’t laugh right away. You were too busy panicking about the stain and the fact that you were now face to face with another ex. Not just any ex. Jaemin. The one with the most complicated folder in your emotional archives.

The flirt. The charmer. The one who could sweet talk anyone into a good mood and then disappear before you figured out what he was really thinking. Your relationship with him had been fun, fast, a little unhinged and ultimately unsustainable. You were oil and vinegar: entertaining together, but nothing stable ever came from the mix.

Still, time had done its thing. The awkwardness wasn’t sharp anymore. If anything, the sharpness had melted into something you could actually smile at, which you did, slowly, once you realized he wasn’t angry.

“I owe you dry cleaning,” you said.

“You owe me lunch,” he corrected, still smiling. “Come sit. I was just about to get something sweet to offset my very bitter day.”

That was how you ended up across from him, elbows resting on the little round table, hands wrapped around a new drink as he peeled off his jacket and draped it behind his chair like he wasn’t wearing an iced beverage two minutes ago.

And honestly? It wasn’t bad.

Jaemin had always been good at talking. Not just smooth talking but talking. Listening, too. He asked about what you were doing these days, how your apartment was holding up, if you still made those late-night playlists when you couldn’t sleep. You were halfway through telling him about how Jiwoong’s shower once exploded mid winter when you caught yourself laughing a little too loud and realized something:

You didn’t hate him.

And maybe more importantly you weren’t hurt by him anymore.

He was a chapter you could finally reread without bitterness, which felt oddly comforting. He still flirted a little, but it didn’t mess with your head this time. It just made you roll your eyes and play along because that’s who he was, and who you used to be with him.

But you weren’t that person anymore. Not fully.

Somewhere in the middle of that realization, your phone buzzed on the table. You didn’t reach for it right away, but you didn’t need to check either. You already knew who it was.

“You know,” Jaemin said, tipping back slightly in his chair as he took a long sip from his new drink, “I can’t decide if I’m just really lucky, or if you’re in your revisiting your ghosts era.”

You looked up, brow raised. “Is that your subtle way of asking why I haven’t ghosted you yet?”

He grinned. “Nah. If anything, I’m flattered. Out of all your exes, I’m the lucky chosen one who gets to share a table with you again.” He leaned in just slightly, eyes gleaming. “I must’ve ranked higher than I thought.”

You couldn’t help but snort softly, settling back into your seat as you cradled your drink in both hands. “You got a solid three out of five, Jaem.”

“Oh?” he perked up, mock offended. “Not even a four? That’s painful.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you only made a mildly decent rating because I remembered the time you cooked for me when I was sick. Instant two point boost.”

He grinned like he wasn’t offended at all, and you were grateful for that. There were no sharp edges with Jaemin anymore, no guilt, no tension, just the soft fuzziness of something that once was and didn’t need to be anything again.

You let the moment settle before adding, “Actually… you’re not the only one I’ve talked to again.”

His gaze flickered to you over the rim of his cup, his teasing expression shifting just enough for you to feel it.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” you said, voice quieter now. You weren’t sure why it felt so serious to say it out loud, but it did. “Jeno texted me.”

Jaemin didn’t react right away, no dramatic double take or smirk. Just a slow, thoughtful nod, his fingers tapping gently against the paper cup.

“Huh,” he said, tone unreadable but not unkind. “I figured he would.”

You tilted your head slightly. “How?”

“He’s always been the most unreadable until it mattered. But once it did, he made it hard not to notice.”

That struck something in you. You glanced down at your drink.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “He texted me the day after I posted that thread. Said he took it as a sign that it was safe to reach out.”

“And is it?” Jaemin asked, voice lighter this time. “Safe, I mean?”

You hesitated. You hadn’t figured that part out yet. But something about hearing it phrased like that made your chest ache in a strange, familiar way. You thought about Jeno’s message, the awkward yet careful way he typed it out, how you could almost hear his voice in those short sentences.

“I think so,” you said. “I hope so.”

There was a beat of silence between you, not heavy but not entirely light either. Then Jaemin chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

“Damn. I really am just the comic relief in this arc, huh?”

You laughed, genuinely this time. “You’re the emotionally evolved ex with good banter and a sense of timing. That’s an important role.”

He raised his cup in mock salute. “I’ll take it.”

And you both sipped your drinks, a strange, gentle peace sitting quietly between the past and whatever came next.

You swirled what little was left of your drink, the ice clinking softly against the sides. Jaemin had gone quiet after your last answer, not in a heavy or uncomfortable way, just thoughtful. The kind of silence only someone familiar could share with you, where words weren’t needed immediately.

You leaned back a little in your seat and glanced at him again. “How has he been?”

He looked up. There was no confusion in his eyes. No need to ask who you meant.

Jaemin paused for a second, then breathed out a small sigh, leaning his arms onto the table as he thought. “He’s been... quieter since you guys cut it off but we’ve gotten used to it as it became the norm,” he said honestly. “Which is saying something, coming from Jeno.”

Your gaze dropped to your hands, and you twisted the edge of your napkin without meaning to.

You knew they were friends now. It wasn’t something either of them had to explain. You’d seen it online, heard about it through mutuals, noticed it in the way Jaemin occasionally spoke about “the guys” with an ease that included Jeno by default. And it didn’t bother you, not really. You had dated them in different timelines, completely separate versions of yourself, like alternate editions of a book. Jaemin and Jeno didn’t become close until after you'd cut off contact with both, when circumstance and shared routines in the same frat house wove them into each other’s lives without your presence in the equation. It never felt like betrayal. Just the natural course of things moving on without you.

“He still comes to game nights. Still brings those boring snacks he claims are healthy. Still folds his laundry like he’s in the military. But I don’t know... sometimes it feels like he’s showing up to things but not really there, y’know?” Jaemin tilted his head slightly. “I think he’s been figuring things out. Trying to feel normal again.”

The lump in your throat was sudden, unwelcome, but not unfamiliar. You nodded slowly, trying to keep your voice level. “So... he’s okay?”

Jaemin’s eyes softened. He saw right through the question. “Is this the part where I say he’s miserable without you?” he asked lightly.

You smiled a little, lips pressed together. “I mean, if it’s true, you’re welcome to.”

He gave a low chuckle, but his voice was quieter when he answered, “He’s... different. Not broken. Not miserable. But not the same, either.”

That shouldn’t have made your chest hurt. But it did. There was something terrifying about someone still being themselves without you, and something even scarier about the idea that they might not have been.

“You could’ve asked him that yourself,” Jaemin said, not accusatory, just honest.

“I know.” You glanced out the window. “But I wanted to hear it from someone who sees him now. I wanted to know how he’s doing without me.”

Jaemin didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, in a softer voice than you expected, “Sometimes I think he’s still waiting for you. Not in a desperate way, not like he’s stuck. Just... like there’s a door he hasn’t shut yet. He doesn’t say it. But you can kind of tell.”

You blinked slowly, letting his words settle.

“And you?” Jaemin asked, watching you carefully now. “Are you okay without him?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then he added, a little more pointedly but still light, “I mean, it kinda seemed like you dated someone after him, no? Jisung?”

You blinked, caught off guard, not because he was wrong, but because you hadn’t expected him to bring it up so plainly. You nodded slowly, eyes drifting down to your fingers curled around your cup.

“Yeah,” you said, almost like you were still testing the truth of it yourself. “I did. Briefly.”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t last?”

You gave a quiet laugh, not bitter, just... honest. “No. It wasn’t bad or anything. Just not right. It felt like trying to hold a conversation in a language you were still learning, doable, but exhausting.”

That seemed to satisfy him. Jaemin leaned back in his chair again, gaze thoughtful. “Guess that’s the thing about some people. You don’t even realize how fluently you spoke them until you try to speaking someone else.”

Your chest tightened just a little, like something half-healed had been poked.

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t have to.

The conversation drifted for a while after that, lighter now, touching on old classmates and mutual friends, a funny story Jaemin had about his roommate locking himself out of their place in nothing but a towel. You laughed, really laughed, and it felt oddly easy. Not like forcing a reunion, but like finding an old playlist and realizing you still remembered the lyrics.

Eventually, Jaemin glanced at his phone and then at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So, are we doing that thing where we pretend we’ll run into each other again someday, or are you going to give me your number?”

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “Just say you missed me and go.”

He held his hand out, palm up. “Phone.”

You handed it over without protest, watching him type in his number with the self-satisfaction of someone who was convinced they were still as charming as ever which, unfortunately, wasn’t untrue. When he passed it back, you texted him a quick don’t forget to save me as something embarrassing, and watched him snort when the notification popped up on his screen.

By the time you both stood up to leave, you’d already followed each other back on Instagram, Twitter, and every other cursed app that had once been your mutual stalking grounds. It wasn’t sentimental, it didn’t need to be. Sometimes reconnection wasn’t a dramatic gesture or a second chance at something lost. Sometimes, it was just the comfort of a familiar presence sliding back into your life in a way that felt... okay.

You walked out of the café beside him, shoulder to shoulder, the past quiet behind you and something lighter, something almost peaceful, settling in its place.

The night settled softly around you, thick with the kind of stillness that only showed up when the world outside your window was asleep. Your room feels smaller at this hour, tucked in the quiet hush of 1 a.m., lit only by the string of fairy lights dangling across your bookshelf and the dim blue glow from your phone screen.

You were curled sideways on your bed, one leg half-hanging off the edge, buried in an old hoodie and a nest of blankets that smelled faintly like your fabric softener and sleep. The air had that calm weight to it, the kind that made you feel too awake to sleep, but too tired to move. Your playlist was still running, soft and r&b, looping the same beat that had been playing for the past hour. You hadn’t really been listening.

Instead, your attention was fixed on the last opened chat on your screen.

Jeno.

The conversation had been flowing on and off all day. He had a way of texting like he talked, dry and low effort on the surface, but always a little offbeat and weirdly specific. Enough to keep you amused. Enough to make you wonder if he realized how much you actually liked talking to him.

Your phone buzzed once in your hand, another message from him. You hadn’t even realized how long you’d been staring at the thread without replying.

You tucked your cheek deeper into your pillow and opened the chat.

Next thing you know you’d been texting Jeno. For hours, maybe. The conversation had wandered aimlessly, like the way you used to walk barefoot through your childhood backyard, no real direction, just one thought leading into another. Silly observations. Dumb memes. Random questions. That lowkey rhythm you’d started to fall into with him lately.

He made you laugh in that quiet, nose-wrinkling kind of way. Not loud, but real.

The latest notification lit up your screen, his name appearing like it always did now—predictable, comforting. You smiled without realizing. Your thumb hovered to type back, but another bubble popped up before you could finish.

Then your phone buzzed again.

This time it was different.

“Can I call you?”

You blinked.

Sit up just slightly, propped on your elbow. The room felt a little smaller, or maybe just quieter. You read the message again. The words were simple, casual, like he hadn’t just shifted the entire tone of the night with five syllables.

You stared at your reflection in the black mirror of your screen. Messy hair. Bare face. Hoodie you’d stolen from your sibling years ago and never gave back. You didn’t look like anything special. And yet your pulse had kicked up for no good reason.

Still, you typed back.

A minute later, your phone lit up.

Jeno was calling. Video.

You hesitated for just a second longer than necessary. Not because you didn’t want to see him but because you did.

And then you hit "Accept."

The screen flickered once, twice, then steadied.

There he was.

Jeno.

His camera angled just a bit off-center, like he hadn’t really planned it out. The lighting was warm behind him, probably from his desk lamp. His hair was slightly messy, pushed back from where he’d probably been running his hand through it. He was wearing a loose t-shirt, one shoulder slightly stretched like he’d tugged at it out of nervous habit.

The first thing he did when he saw your face was smile. And then immediately laugh.

Not a big laugh, just a quiet, breathy thing, more out of disbelief than anything else. His head dropped, his shoulder bumping up toward his cheek like he was trying to hide in plain sight.

“Okay,” he said, already flustered, “this feels way more real than I thought it would.”

You laughed, propping your chin in your hand. “You look like you just got caught doing something illegal.”

“I kind of feel like I did,” he grinned, already a little pink. “I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s literally just… you.”

“Wow. I’m honored.”

“No, no—like, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, eyes wide. “Not just you—I mean, it’s you, but—” He broke off, groaning. “I’m going to shut up now.”

You bit back a smile, head tilted slightly as you watched him spiral. “You’re really good at digging holes, huh?”

He laughed again, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s like a talent. Put that on my resume—‘Professional Embarrassment Generator.’”

There was a beat of silence. Comfortable, even if it hummed with nerves.

You shifted a little in bed, the blanket falling slightly off your shoulder. “So. First video call. Are we making history?”

He looked up at that, then gave the tiniest, shy nod. “Yeah. Kinda feels like it.”

His voice had softened a bit. Still light. Still him. But there was something else under it too. Something careful.

You leaned back into your pillow. “I was expecting you to look more put together, honestly. This is disappointing.”

He gasped dramatically, hand flying to his chest. “Ouch. I brushed my hair for this.”

“I can tell,” you said dryly, “with your five strands behaving.”

He ducked his head again, laughing into his sleeve. When he looked back up, his cheeks were a little redder.

“I almost didn’t call,” he admitted. “I was overthinking it. Like, what if it was weird. Or if I accidentally turned the camera the wrong way and you just saw my forehead for five minutes.”

You smiled. “It is weird. But in a nice way.”

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet now. “Nice weird.”

The two of you sat like that for a moment just watching each other. His screen blinks slightly every now and then, the connection softening around the edges of his face. But you didn’t mind. If anything, it made him feel more real.

He rubbed his hand over his mouth, then peeked at you again. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

“Do you ever…” he started, then paused. His gaze dropped for a second, then lifted again, more careful this time. “Think about how different it would've been… if I hadn’t ended things?”

Your breath caught, just slightly.

The question wasn’t loud. It didn’t slam into the air like a confession, it drifted, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask it. Like maybe he’d already been carrying it around for a while and had finally run out of space to keep it.

You shifted in your bed, fingers curling around the edge of your blanket. “Sometimes,” you said. “But I try not to sit with it too long.”

Jeno let out a small breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a relief either. Just something in between.

“I think about it more than I should,” he admitted, thumb dragging along the bottom edge of his camera as he stared down at the screen. “Not in, like, a desperate ‘please take me back’ kind of way. Just… I wonder if I gave up too early.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Neither did he. The silence wasn’t cruel but it wasn’t light, either.

Eventually, you asked, “Why did you do it, Jeno? I mean… really.”

He blinked, caught off guard by how direct the question was. Then he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I didn’t know how to be with you without dragging everything else with me,” he said quietly. “Like, you were this bright, warm thing. And I was just… trying to keep my head above water some days. I didn’t want to mess you up with my stuff.”

You frowned slightly. “You could’ve just told me.”

“I know.” His voice cracked just a little. “But that’s the thing, I didn’t want to make it your responsibility to carry me. I thought I was being… I don’t know, noble? Or selfless? But mostly I was just scared.”

You swallowed. The air between you was thinner now, almost fragile. But something about it felt honest in a way it never had before.

“Were you really that scared of hurting me?” you asked.

He looked up at you then. Really looked.

“I already had,” he said softly.

You blinked, and something behind your ribs shifted.

The call felt different now, not awkward, not crushing. Just open. Like a door that hadn’t been unlocked in a while, creaking open with slow, careful hands.

Jeno rubbed the back of his neck and gave a nervous little laugh, trying to shake off the weight of it. “This wasn’t where I planned to take this call, by the way. I thought I was gonna show you a dumb meme and accidentally drop my phone on my face or something.”

You smiled. “You still can. I’d honestly be disappointed if you didn’t.”

He grinned, sheepish. “Give it time. I’m still holding out for my chaos moment.”

There it was again, that softness he always carried with him. Nervous and warm. Still kind. Still Jeno.

And maybe, despite everything, this was the kind of conversation you’d needed all along. No dramatic turning points. Just two people learning how to talk again.

The call didn’t end right away, but the conversation faded into a softer kind of silence, not the awkward, fumbling kind that had followed them in the early days, but something gentler. Something earned. You stayed on the line, neither of you in a rush to fill the quiet, as if speaking too soon might undo the delicate thread that had just been woven between you.

Y/N lay back against the pillows, eyes flickering across the screen where Jeno’s face remained lit, a little blurry from the weak camera quality. His expression was unguarded in a way it had rarely been before. Relaxed, not because everything was okay, but because for once he had let it be messy out loud. And somehow, that made it okay.

It struck her then, quietly but deeply, how much more open he was now. Not louder or more confident, not some big, shiny version of himself but real. Sharper in the ways that mattered. She’d spent so much of their relationship trying to understand the parts he didn’t say, trying to read what lived behind his silences, but it was like holding smoke. Now, it felt like she could see him clearer. The lines of his worry. The shape of his care. His voice wasn’t always steady, but it was honest.

Maybe time hadn’t changed him. Maybe it had just let him breathe.

They weren’t the same people anymore, she could admit that. And they weren’t together. But tonight had unfolded like a quiet reminder that the version of them that hurt wasn’t the only one that ever existed. There was still something here. Not romantic, maybe. Not yet, or not again. But something real.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel like she was speaking into a version of Jeno that folded in on itself. He met her words, mirrored them back. His fears are no longer disguised as indifference. His guilt is not left to rot in silence. There was pain, yes, but also clarity. A shared understanding that hadn’t quite been there before.

And somehow, that was enough. For now.

Not quite a reunion. Not quite a second chance yet. Just two people who had once meant everything to each other learning, finally, how to speak in the same language.

You were in an outfit crisis at the moment, but it wasn’t entirely your fault. The reason being was the devil taking the form of Na Jaemin, who had suddenly walked back into your life with an obnoxious grin and zero consideration for your social anxiety. He was dragging you to fuckass frat boy parties at a college you had absolutely no connection to—except for, well, him. You didn’t even know half of the people in the school he called his “friends,” but Jaemin, as always, refused to let you off the hook.

“Come on, it’s for old times’ sake,” he’d said, as if it was a convincing argument. As if you and Jaemin didn’t have a long history of throwing yourselves into the chaos of college parties, drinking too much, and barely remembering any of it. But this time? It felt different. Maybe because Jeno was there. Maybe because you weren’t the same person who used to stumble around with Jaemin at every party like it was a sport. Whatever the reason, you were already second-guessing your decision before you even got dressed.

The outfit on your bed had been through more repetitions than you cared to admit. You tried one look but it was too casual. The next was too much. Then there was the one that made you feel like you were trying too hard, so you threw that on the floor in frustration. What was even the point? Jaemin had promised it would be “just like old times,” which, of course, was the most obnoxious thing anyone could say, especially when old times meant you wearing the same tight dress you swore you’d never wear again and pretending like you weren’t watching every guy at the party for one specific face.

You sighed, staring at the clock, already feeling late. Of course, Jaemin would be punctual for once, not that he’d care if you were fashionably late or actually late because you couldn’t decide what to wear.

When your phone buzzed, it was Jaemin, unsurprisingly, already outside your door. “I’m not waiting, Y/N. Get your cute ass downstairs, or I’ll come drag you out myself.”

You could practically hear his sing-song tone through the text, and you cursed under your breath. Why was it so easy for him to convince you to do this shit?

Reluctantly, you grabbed the simplest outfit that didn’t make you feel like you were playing dress-up and tossed it on. The moment you stepped out of your room, you were greeted by the most annoying face imaginable, Jaemin, standing in the doorway with his signature mischievous grin.

“Finally,” he said, leaning in the frame with a dramatic sigh. “You’re really making me miss our party days.”

You rolled your eyes. “We were never that wild.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “We definitely were. You forget those nights on purpose, huh?”

“Maybe I’ve learned my lesson,” you muttered, grabbing your jacket and heading for the door before Jaemin could drag out the inevitable argument.

The car ride was uneventful, aside from Jaemin’s occasional jab about how you were going to have the best night of your life, even though he wasn’t actually making the case for it. The thought of an entire evening filled with strangers, loud music, and potential awkward interactions didn’t help ease your nerves, but Jaemin was, as usual, already hyping himself up for a night of his own chaotic fun.

By the time you pulled into the parking lot of a frat house you didn’t even know existed until an hour ago, your nerves were a little more than on edge. You barely had a chance to take a breath before Jaemin was out of the car, practically dragging you behind him like it was all part of his plan.

“C’mon! You don’t even know anyone here, right? So you have to make it memorable,” he said with a smirk, his arm slung over your shoulder, steering you toward the front door.

You hated how easily he could make you feel like you had to be there.

The party was a chaotic mess, as expected. The moment you walked inside, you were hit with a wall of noise, music thumping so loud you could feel it vibrating in your bones. The air was thick with a mix of cheap cologne, spilled drinks, and the unmistakable scent of something burning that you didn’t want to think too hard about. Jaemin was already lost in the crowd before you could even process what was happening, his laughter echoing over the music. You could see him in the distance, pulling some poor soul into a dance circle while shouting something about “the last one who doesn’t dance buys shots.”

You rolled your eyes and made your way to the kitchen, where a group of people were clustered around the counter, sipping from red solo cups and chatting about nothing important. You tried to ignore the growing knot in your stomach as you looked around, wondering if this whole “old times’ sake” thing was actually a good idea.

A girl with bright pink hair waved you over. “Hey, you’re Jaemin’s friend, right?” she asked, a half-smile on her face. She had one of those names you could never quite remember, but she seemed nice enough.

“Yeah,” you said, offering a small smile back. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you! I’m Giselle.” She extended her hand, and you shook it. “You came with him, huh? He’s always dragging people here, like an unofficial mascot,” she continued, her voice warm but tinged with amusement. “Don’t mind him though. He’s harmless. You’re gonna love it here.”

“Harmless?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow, though you had no doubt she was right about Jaemin. “I’m not so sure.”

She laughed and leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was sharing some juicy gossip. “Trust me, he’s trouble, but in the best way possible. You’re definitely gonna be part of the ‘fun’ crowd before the night’s over.”

You tried to nod along, though all you could do was look around, feeling out of place among all the unfamiliar faces. The vibe was different from your usual circle, and for a moment, it hit you just how much you’d changed. These weren’t your people. But Jaemin was already off somewhere, getting into trouble, and there was no turning back now.

You tried to strike up small talk with Giselle, but the conversation never felt natural. She was sweet enough, but everything around you was so loud, the constant shuffle of feet and clink of glass distracting you from what you really wanted, familiarity. The kind that came with your old group of friends. But no. Jaemin wasn’t here for that. Jaemin was here to show you new things, drag you into unfamiliar territory, and probably make sure you had fun whether you wanted to or not.

When you noticed Jaemin across the room, getting even more animated in a dance battle with some guy in a neon shirt, you took a moment to collect yourself. There was a pressure building in your chest, not quite anxiety, but something else, a kind of anticipation you didn’t want to give in to.

Finally, after what felt like ages of dodging overly-friendly strangers and pretending you were okay with the environment, you found a small corner in the living room, near a window where the music wasn’t as overwhelming. You leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for just a second. The buzz of conversation was background noise now, but there was something comforting about the quiet chaos of a party.

You let your thoughts wander, fingers tapping absently against your cup, until you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Y/N?”

You turned around quickly, startled, and froze when you saw him.

Now, you would think the face that tapped your shoulder would be the one you’d been waiting to see all night, the one that made your stomach flip with excitement and nerves. But no. It wasn’t. Instead, the face that greeted you was one you never wanted to see again. The one face you thought you’d escaped, only to find it lurking in the most unexpected of places.

“Haechan?” you said, your voice betraying a hint of surprise as you took a step back.

He grinned, that familiar cocky smile stretching across his face, and for a split second, it was like nothing had changed. He looked the same, mischievous, a little smug, like he owned the room. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite ex,” he teased, his tone light, playful, and annoyingly familiar. “Didn’t think I’d run into you at a party like this. What, you're still hanging around Jaemin now?”

You rolled your eyes. “What are you doing here?” The question was almost rhetorical. You knew the answer already. Hewas always invited to the parties by friends from other schools. He liked to show up like he was the main event, making everything about him.

“Got invited by a friend,” Haechan shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. “I have to make the rounds, you know? Plus, I didn’t know you were still hanging around Jaemin’s chaos,” he added with a smirk.

You didn’t know how to answer that. Haechan had always had a way of making you feel like you were lucky to be in his orbit. Like he was the main character of some long, complicated, irritating drama and you were just his supporting cast, at least when you were together. You hadn’t seen him in months, but somehow, it felt like nothing had changed. The bickering, the sarcasm, the way he made everything feel so effortlessly about him, it was all there, like he had never left.

“So,” Haechan continued, ignoring your coldness, “how’s life been since… well, you know. Since we ended?” He said the word “ended” with a raised eyebrow, almost like he was challenging you to respond.

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. "It’s been a while, Haechan," you said, your voice steady but laced with the underlying weariness of someone who'd been around him long enough to know how he worked. "A long while."

Haechan chuckled, that low, teasing sound you remembered all too well. "Yeah, well... it’s hard to forget the unforgettable," he said, leaning closer, as if trying to provoke a reaction. But it didn’t come. You weren’t the same person who’d let him make everything about him anymore. The annoying arrogance, the passive-aggressive jokes, they just didn’t have the same effect on you anymore.

The last time you saw him, it had been a mess of emotions, of things unsaid and doors closed for good. You didn’t hateHaechan; there was no real hatred there, just an exhausting chapter that had ended a long time ago. It was more like you’d grown tired of the person he used to be when you were together. And yet, here he was, still doing what he did best: irritating you and somehow making it feel like a reunion.

"So, what? You just show up at random parties now?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation in a direction that wasn’t going to bring up old baggage.

Haechan shrugged, the casualness in his posture belying the way his eyes still darted around, like he was always on the hunt for something to stir up. “I have my connections. I like to keep people on their toes. You know me.”

“I do know you,” you responded dryly. "You're good at that."

His lips twitched into a smirk. "And what about you? Reconnecting with Jaemin? You two seem like trouble.”

“I could say the same about you,” you shot back, your tone more playful now. It was a relief, honestly. The sting of his old antics had softened with time. It had been a long time since the two of you were anything more than exes, and despite how things ended, you had learned to be civil. He had changed a bit too, slightly less arrogant, more... self-aware, maybe.

“True,” Haechan agreed, stepping back and leaning against the counter with that same old relaxed demeanor. “But I don’t mind causing trouble. It’s who I am.”

You sighed, looking over at the rest of the party as people danced and mingled in the background. "Well, I’m not here to cause trouble," you muttered, more to yourself.

“I’m just here for the entertainment,” Haechan said, eyes glinting with that familiar mischievousness. "And to see how long it takes for Jaemin to start a dance off."

You glanced at him, your lips curling into a faint smile. “Honestly, I wouldn’t bet against him.”

For a moment, the silence between you and Haechan felt... comfortable…which was something you never expected to say when it came to him. The teasing was still there, but it didn’t feel as suffocating as it once did. Maybe it was because enough time had passed that the sharp edges of your old relationship had dulled. Whatever the reason, you realized you weren’t actively annoyed anymore.

Haechan noticed the change too. His smirk softened into a more genuine smile, like he was surprised, but also a little relieved. "You know," he started, shifting a little on his feet, "I forgot how easy it is to mess with you."

"Yeah, well," you shrugged, your lips curling into a small grin. "You’ve always been good at that."

He let out a low laugh, the kind that made you smile a little too. "I’m not that bad, am I?"

You rolled your eyes, but the tension between you two was finally gone. “You’re definitely a dumbass,” you said, but there was no bite to it. You were laughing now, genuinely laughing.

“Dumbass?” he feigned offense, putting a hand to his chest. "That hurts, Y/N. You wound me." He looked up, dramatically placing a hand over his forehead. "You know, I do have feelings, too."

"Uh-huh," you responded sarcastically, but there was no annoyance in your voice, just amusement. "Sure, you do, Haechan."

He grinned, the cocky attitude still there, but it was different. It wasn’t irritating anymore. “I always did,” he said with a wink, then paused. “Look, I know we didn’t exactly part on the best terms, but... I’m glad you don’t hate me anymore. That’s a relief.”

You blinked, surprised at the sincerity in his voice. It caught you off guard. The Haechan you knew would never have said something like that, not in a million years. He was always too busy playing the role of the annoyingly cocky ex. But this was... different.

“I don’t hate you,” you said quietly, catching his eyes. “I mean, it was annoying when you acted like you were the main character of everything, but we’re adults now. I can be civil with you.”

His smirk returned, but it was softer now, more relaxed. "Good. 'Cause you know, I’ve changed a little. Not much, I'm still the same charming guy you definitely remember. But, you know... less of the pissy attitude."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that a promise?"

"Maybe," he teased, but there was something in his eyes that made you believe him.

You smiled, just faintly, before your gaze wandered again, eyes scanning across the growing crowd, the shifting lights, the blur of moving bodies. You weren’t even being subtle about it, not really. You were looking for someone. Waiting, hoping. But nothing. Just strangers. Too many faces that weren’t the one you were hoping to see.

Haechan leaned in a little, his grin tugging wider as he watched you scan the room for the third time in less than a minute. “Okay,” he said, with that all too familiar smirk. “Now who are you actually looking for?”

You blinked, caught, but didn’t turn to him just yet.

“Oh, don’t even try to deny it,” he added, voice low and amused. “You’ve been doing that weird head-tilt thing for the past five minutes. Who’s the lucky guy? An enemy? A secret hookup? A crush? Should I be concerned?”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

He gasped. “You’re deflecting. That’s worse.”

Finally, you gave in, leaning against the counter next to him, arms crossed. “Fine. There’s someone I was kinda... hoping to run into tonight.”

“Oooooh.” He grinned wider, already way too smug. “So there is someone. Is it someone I know?”

“No. You don’t know him.”

“Name?”

“Jeno.”

Haechan repeated it under his breath. “Jeno... hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell. What’s the story there?”

You hesitated, your fingers absentmindedly tapping the edge of the counter. “We used to date,” you admitted. “Broke up a while ago. Not messy. Just... complicated, I guess.”

Haechan raised an eyebrow, mock gasp now gone. “Wait. You got complicated?”

You shot him a look. “Don’t act surprised.”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “Back then you always pretended like relationships didn’t get to you.”

“That was a long time ago,” you muttered. “And he wasn’t like you.”

He tilted his head. “Ouch.”

“Not like that,” you added, though a small smirk tugged at your lips. “Jeno’s... quiet. Sweet. Kind of awkward in a weirdly charming way. You’d probably make fun of him, actually.”

“Probably,” Haechan said without hesitation, but his expression was more thoughtful now. “So you’re hoping to bump into him here?”

You nodded, keeping your tone casual, but your fingers hadn’t stopped tapping. “Jaemin invited me. And he said Jeno might come.”

Haechan followed your gaze across the room once more, then back to you. “And if he doesn’t?”

You paused. “Then he doesn’t. It’s whatever.”

But it wasn’t really whatever. Haechan didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you. Then he nudged your shoulder lightly, and to your surprise, it wasn’t in a teasing way. “Well,” he said, “I hope he does show. Not because I care, obviously, but just so I can judge if he’s worthy of your recent emotional glow-up.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling again. “You’re still such a menace.”

“And you still love it,” he replied with a wink.

The night kept moving around you, music pulsing louder, lights strobing against the high ceilings, drinks changing hands like candy. More people filtered into the frat house, most of them strangers to you, all of them louder than necessary. But you didn’t really hear any of it. Your eyes kept wandering. Every few minutes, they’d drift toward the entrance like your brain had given up pretending you weren’t still hoping.

Haechan was long gone now, dragged into a chaotic game of beer pong he swore he didn’t care about but was now shouting over like his pride was on the line. You weren’t sure how long you stood near the back of the room, nursing your drink, letting the buzz of the party blur around you.

And then—

There was a shift.

Not in the music. Not in the air, really. But in you. Because your gaze flicked toward the door out of habit, and this time, there he was.

Jeno.

You nearly choked on your drink, not because of the sight of him, but because it really was him. Not just the version you remembered from late night calls or old photos or hazy thoughts on days where you let your mind wander too far. This was present-tense Jeno, walking through the door like he wasn’t two hours late and like he hadn’t just set your heartbeat into a minor panic.

He looked good, too good, honestly. Hair is a little messy like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. A plain hoodie layered under a denim jacket. He wasn’t trying, but somehow that made it worse. He always did look better when he wasn’t trying.

And then, as if pulled by some invisible thread, his eyes found you across the room. You blinked. He blinked. Neither of you moved.

You waved. A small, awkward one.

He hesitated, then waved back. Same awkward energy.

The people between you parted just enough for him to make his way over, and it was only when he was five feet away that it hit you just how stupidly long it had been since you were in front of each other like this, no screen, no late-night buffering or muted mics, no text bubbles... just him.

“Hey,” he said, standing slightly too stiff.

“Hey,” you replied, already fighting a smile because God, he looked nervous.

He scratched the back of his neck. “This is weird, right? This feels weird.”

You laughed, soft, unsure. “Yeah. Definitely weird.”

You both looked around at the same time, pretending to be casual, as if the wall behind you was fascinating. Then, almost at once, you made eye contact again. He smiled, small, a little crooked. The same one that used to make your chest feel warm for no reason.

You tilted your head. “You came.”

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted. “But... I kind of figured I’d regret it if I didn’t.”

There was a pause, quiet, a little charged, but still gentle. Jeno shifted his weight like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

“Do you wanna... maybe go somewhere less loud?” he asked. “Not like leave-leave, just... somewhere we don’t have to scream over the music?”

You nodded before he even finished. “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”

He smiled again, relieved, and motioned for you to follow him, his steps still awkward but the way he glanced back to check if you were behind him made something flutter in your chest.

It was weird. It was awkward.

But it was also him. And you.

And somehow, that made it kind of perfect.

The backyard wasn’t much, but it was quiet. A string of half-working fairy lights zigzagged over a fence that had definitely seen better days, and there were a few foldable chairs scattered around a fire pit that hadn’t been lit. The thump of the music was dulled by the walls behind you, replaced by the gentle hum of night air and distant shouting from inside.

Jeno stood beside you, just far enough to feel the space, just close enough for the tension to settle there between your elbows. You hadn’t said anything yet, both of you standing awkwardly still, looking everywhere but at each other. It should’ve been uncomfortable. But somehow, it wasn’t.

It was almost... peaceful.

He shifted beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, then looked at you from the corner of his eye. You met his gaze, your expression somewhere between soft and amused.

And just as the words started forming on his lips—

“THERE you are!”

Jaemin’s voice cut through the moment like a car alarm at 2 a.m.

You barely had time to brace yourself before both of his arms swung around your shoulders and Jeno’s in one dramatic swoop, locking you in like he was about to start singing a football chant.

“There’s my two favorite introverts!” Jaemin declared, grinning wildly, cheeks flushed pink with alcohol. “God, look at you guys, so broody, so serious. This isn’t a therapy session! It’s a party!”

“Jaemin,” you croaked, your shoulder squished against Jeno’s.

“Dude,” Jeno muttered, barely holding in a laugh as he tried not to fall over. “I think you broke my spine.”

“Nonsense,” Jaemin grinned, tightening his arms. “You two needed this. Fresh air. Moonlight. Tension.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Is that what this is? Did I interrupt a moment?”

You turned your head just enough to glare at him. “I’m going to throw you into the bushes.”

He gasped, dramatically offended. “You wouldn’t dare! You love me.”

“I regret every memory I have of you.”

Jeno chuckled under his breath, and when you looked at him again, he was already smiling down at the grass, his cheeks tinted red, not just from the cold. Your annoyance with Jaemin dissolved a little at that.

“I’m gonna go make more drinks!” Jaemin announced suddenly, peeling himself off the both of you with a theatrical spin. “Don’t hook up without me!”

“You’re insane,” you called after him.

He winked. “You’re welcome.”

And just like that, he was gone, off to wreak havoc elsewhere.

You and Jeno stayed in place for a beat longer, shoulders still slightly touching from the aftermath.

“That was...”

“Very Jaemin,” you finished for him.

He laughed. You smiled. The moment had shifted, sure, but it hadn’t disappeared.

If anything, it just became a little lighter. A little easier.

Eventually, you and Jeno ended up in the conversation pit.

It sat a few steps below the main level of the backyard, a sunken rectangle framed by low, built-in benches and strung-up lights that flickered like lazy fireflies. In the middle, the fire pit glowed soft orange, flickering low but warm, as if someone had bothered to light it earlier and then promptly forgotten. The place was half-empty now, a few scattered red cups and someone’s abandoned flannel thrown across one bench. But for the most part, it was quiet. Yours.

You both sank into the bench across from the fire, the tension between you noticeably thinner now, carved out by Jaemin’s dramatic interruption and the way his ridiculous energy had somehow made everything feel... less fragile.

Jeno exhaled like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath since he walked in. Then he glanced sideways at you, a lopsided smile forming on his lips. “Okay. I actually think I needed him to do that.”

You huffed a soft laugh, curling your legs under you. “Tragic but true. His chaos really is a public service.”

Jeno leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the small fire. “I was so sure this would be weird the whole night.”

“It was weird,” you pointed out, nudging his foot lightly with yours.

He grinned. “Yeah, but now it’s... I don’t know. Manageable weird.”

You nodded. “Tolerable weird.”

There was a short lull after that, the kind where neither of you rushed to fill it. Just the two of you, lit in soft orange glow, the fire crackling low between.

Then, Jeno shifted beside you, barely noticeable, like he was trying to psych himself up for something. He cleared his throat, eyes on the flames but not really seeing them. His hand moved to rub at the back of his neck, the classic Jeno Tell that something embarrassing was about to leave his mouth.

“I, um...” he started, voice a little hoarse. “You look really pretty tonight.”

You blinked, turning to him.

He didn’t look at you, at first. Just kept his eyes trained forward, brows drawn, his knee bouncing slightly.

“I mean, not just tonight. You always do. I just—” he laughed under his breath, flustered. “I don’t know why I said it like that.”

Your chest tightened in that dumb, nostalgic way. his way.

He finally glanced at you, nervous and boyish and real.

“I noticed you the second I walked in,” he admitted, a little more quietly. “Even with all the noise and people. It’s stupid, but... I guess I still do that. Look for you.”

That was the thing about Jeno. He wasn’t the loud type, never had been. But when he said things, when he meant them, it always hit in that quiet, aching way. Like a whisper that somehow left a mark.

You didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t need to.

Because even in the stillness, in the way your gaze softened and stayed on him longer than you should’ve let it, in the gentle shift of your leg brushing against his under the bench—

It was enough to let him know you heard him.

That maybe, you still looked for him too.

The fire cracked again, low and warm, painting soft shadows across Jeno’s face. He was already handsome in that quiet, clean-cut way, but right now, smiling shyly at you, cheeks flushed in the glow, he looked like the kind of boy you couldn’t unlove, even if you tried.

He wasn’t even doing much. Just sitting beside you, nerves in his shoulders, foot tapping gently against the dirt. But he looked happy in a way that felt familiar. A little more free. A little more like the Jeno you used to know, but softer around the edges. A version you hadn’t quite gotten to meet before.

And somehow, you realized, you wanted to.

“You got better at this,” you murmured, half-teasing but mostly sincere. “Talking. The awkward stammering is still there, but, y’know... you’re saying stuff now.”

He let out a breathy laugh, glancing down like you’d caught him. “Yeah. I’m trying.”

You tilted your head. “Why now?”

His fingers played with the hem of his sleeve, brushing over the frayed threads. “Because I didn’t want to mess this up. Again. Not even just with us, but... talking to you like a person. I don’t think I really did that properly when we were together.”

That surprised you a little. But not in a bad way.

It was honest. Not overdramatic. Just real.

“You weren’t that bad,” you said gently.

“I could’ve been better,” he said, then looked at you. “You deserve someone who could talk to you about things. Not just be there and hope you understood.”

The way he said it made your heart squeeze. Because it wasn’t just an apology. It was him seeing you now, not just as someone he used to date, but someone he still wanted to understand.

You smiled, a little helplessly, trying not to get pulled too deep too fast. “I think we both weren’t the best versions of ourselves back then.”

He nodded, like that thought had comforted him too. “But it’s weird, right? Sitting here now... it doesn’t feel like the past.”

Your eyes flicked to him again. He was looking at you in that way. The way someone does when they think you're beautiful, even when you're not trying. Even when all you're doing is sitting there and talking about things that used to hurt.

And you realized he looked beautiful too. But not in the shallow way. In the someone-loves-you way. In the way people start to glow when you remember how safe they once made you feel. In the way his smile made you want to keep saying things, just to keep it on his face.

“It doesn’t,” you whispered.

And for a moment, there was nothing heavy in the air. Just a feeling that something had shifted. That maybe it wasn’t about getting back what you had. Maybe it was about what you were learning now.

Maybe Jeno was becoming someone you could fall for all over again.

And maybe, this time, he’d be ready too.

Time passed the way it always does at parties like these, blurry around the edges, slipping through fingers like beer foam and laughter. You weren’t even sure when exactly you’d gotten drunk, only that your cup had been suspiciously full every time Jaemin was nearby, and that somewhere between fire pit conversations and leaning into Jeno’s shoulder when you laughed too hard, your limbs had gone warm and heavy and loose.

“One drink,” you had told Jaemin earlier that night.

To which he had responded, “Perfect! One drink... every round!”

Now, here you were, definitely a few rounds deep and being dragged, physically, by Jaemin’s octopus arms into the middle of the backyard where the music was louder, the lights a little harsher, and a rowdy circle of people had started gathering.

“Don’t you dare bail on me!” he yelled gleefully, arms thrown over both your and Jeno’s shoulders like he was the ringleader of some stupid, beautiful circus. “You’re in this with me now!”

Jaemin reeked of tequila and victory. You, of regret.

Jeno, on the other hand, looked both amused and horrified. He was pink in the cheeks, grinning helplessly, clearly not sure if he should resist or just let the night consume him.

(He chose the latter.)

Before you knew it, someone had handed you another drink, someone else was screaming rules to a game you were definitely not sober enough to follow, and someone else, probably Jaemin again, was shouting “Truth or Drink!” like it was a holy rite.

You ended up sitting cross-legged on the grass beside Jeno, who was still trying to figure out if he’d been dared to kiss someone or confess a crush. You leaned into his side, giggling, and he looked down at you with this kind of panicked softness like how did we get here?

His eyes crinkled as he laughed, the sound loose and genuine. You barely remembered what he’d said, only that he fumbled it with his usual awkward charm, and Jaemin cheered anyway like it was the most heroic answer of the night.

It was dumb. It was chaotic. It was a mess.

But it was also kind of perfect. Because somehow, somewhere between Jeno’s flushed cheeks and your shared glances, between the blurry warmth in your chest and the way he kept finding you in the circle even when he wasn’t looking—

It started to feel like maybe you weren’t just having fun.

Maybe you were remembering what it felt like to have him.

And he, you.

After that, everything else blurred.

Not like a movie blur. Not poetic or soft-focus. More like your brain had dropped the camera and you were just catching glitchy little flashes of the night, Jaemin fake crying when he lost a round, someone chanting your name, Jeno’s laugh way too close to your ear, your own voice louder than you ever remembered being.

The grass was colder than expected. Someone poured a shot wrong and it dripped down your wrist. At one point, you and Jeno were shouting and laughing about something dumb, someone’s outfit? a game rule? the way Jaemin tried to flirt with the Bluetooth speaker?

It was all a mess of light and sound and heat. Spinning. Sparkling. Too much and not enough.

And then it wasn’t anything at all.

You didn’t even remember saying goodbye. Or finding a bed. Or if you’d even made it back to your dorm or someone else’s couch. All you knew was that your limbs felt heavy, your head was swimming, and the last coherent thought that passed through your mind before the blackout hit was—

Never. Go to a party with Jaemin again.

But in the deepest corner of your drunk, scrambled brain, one memory still hovered quietly, Jeno’s arm brushing yours in the circle, his shy smile meeting yours through the chaos, like some kind of quiet tether in the loudest storm.

It stayed with you. Even in the dark.

You woke up to the worst headache of your life.

Your brain was pulsing behind your eyes, your mouth felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton and regret, and your entire body aches like you'd run a marathon in heels. The ceiling above you spun in gentle, taunting circles, and the faintest movement made your stomach lurch with the elegance of a dying fish.

You groaned. Soft. Pitiful. Dying-star-level miserable.

For a second, you debated not opening your eyes again. Maybe if you just laid still long enough, you could ascend. Or at least fall back asleep and deal with the consequences of last night sometime next year.

But then—

You heard it.

A soft snore.

Not yours.

And that's when the panic started to override the pain.

Your eyes cracked open against the hint of daylight streaming in from a cracked window, and you slowly, so slowly, turned your head. The room was unfamiliar but not unrecognizable. Posters on the walls, a neatly cluttered desk, a jacket you remember seeing on someone slung over a chair—

Then, just a few feet away from where you were (thankfully) lying fully clothed on top of a blanket-covered bed...

Jeno. On the floor. In a sleeping bag.

Sprawled out. Mouth slightly open. One arm crooked above his head like he’d just crash-landed there mid-dream.

And tall. Why the hell was he so tall even when horizontal?

It hit you then, all at once.

The party. The drinks. Jaemin’s screeching laughter. The fire pit. The circle. The moment you think you saw Jeno staring at you for a little too long, right before everything turned to confetti in your memory.

You squeezed your eyes shut and muttered under your breath, voice barely audible through the pain.

“Never. Ever. Go to a party with Jaemin again.”

But even as you said it, a flicker of something warm pressed against your headache, like maybe, just maybe, there was something worth remembering about last night. Even if it was buried under a hundred shots and Jaemin's devil-level influence.

And sleeping bag or not, Jeno being here wasn’t the worst way to wake up.

You debated going back to sleep and pretending none of this was real.

Unfortunately, your bladder had other plans.

With a wince and a groan that could rival a dying engine, you slowly swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood. Bad idea. The room tilted dangerously. You grabbed the bedpost like it was a lifeline.

Jeno didn’t stir. Still dead asleep in his sleeping bag like some sort of angelic camper who happened to be six feet tall and unfairly pretty.

You eyed the door.

Bathroom. That was your goal. You just had to find it without making it obvious that you’d woken up in a boy’s room, in a frat house, with zero recollection of how you even made it here last night.

You stepped into the hallway, squinting like a vampire. The air smelled like yesterday’s pizza and someone’s citrus body spray. The house was surprisingly quiet, save for a distant TV somewhere and a faint hum of voices.

Your plan was to locate the bathroom, do your business, and sneak back to pretend you were never seen.

What actually happened was that you took two turns, opened one wrong door (a closet full of cereal boxes—why?), and ended up walking straight into the kitchen.

Where four of the frat boys were gathered like it was the morning after a camping trip and not a rager. The only reason you recognize their names being the slideshow Jaemin had made for you beforehand which you are incredibly grateful for at this moment.

Johnny was standing barefoot at the stove in sweatpants and a tank top, flipping pancakes like this was a resort and not a frat house. Yuta leaned against the counter with a mug in his hand, shirtless, of course, because of course he was. Jaehyun sat at the island with his hair pushed back and a banana in one hand like a casual health icon. And Winwin… well, he was seated silently, staring at a glass of water like it had personally wronged him.

All four turned to you at once.

You froze like a criminal. In their kitchen. In last night’s clothes. In a house you definitely didn’t belong in.

“Oh,” you blurted. “Uh. Sorry— I was just looking for the bathroom.”

Johnny’s face split into a grin immediately. “You’re good. Welcome to our place.”

Yuta raised his mug. “Water’s over there. Pancakes in fifteen if you survive.”

Jaehyun gave a little nod, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “You Jeno’s friend?”

You blinked. “I— uh… I guess? I mean, yeah. I mean, we… It’s not like that. I was just—”

“You stayed over?” Winwin asked flatly, still staring at his water.

You were about to stutter your way through a clarification when Jaemin came bounding into the kitchen like a menace, hair a mess, eyes bleary but mischievous.

“THERE SHE IS!” he shouted, arms out like you were a long-lost cousin. “My drinking buddy! You’re alive!”

“Barely,” you muttered as he threw an arm over your shoulder, ignoring the way you winced.

“She was with Jeno,” Jaemin told the room smugly, grabbing a cup of water for you like a weirdly competent caretaker. “Slept in his room. Nothing happened— he’s too awkward for that. But still. That’s something.”

You nearly choked.

Johnny laughed. Yuta looked like he was about to make a comment but mercifully sipped his coffee instead. Jaehyun looked amused in the most terrifyingly quiet way. Winwin blinked and looked away like not my business.

“Bathroom’s that way,” Johnny said, pointing. “Second door on the left.”

You mumbled a thank you and practically power walked out of the kitchen, cheeks burning, water in hand.

Frat boys. Too calm. Too casual. Too themselves.

But the weirdest part? As embarrassing as it was…

It wasn’t awful.

It was like stepping into a sitcom. Loud, chaotic, and far too comfortable for a stranger. And maybe… maybe that made sense.

Because if Jeno belonged here, shy, gentle Jeno, then it made sense the whole place felt strangely safe.

Even if you were now known as the girl who woke up in his room.

After finally finding the bathroom, you took a moment to splash cold water on your face and stare at yourself in the mirror.

Hair: a mess. Eyes: bloodshot. Vibe: slightly feral but functioning.

You patted your cheeks and muttered something about survival before stepping back out, intending to make a direct route to Jeno’s room and pretend none of this ever happened. But the smell of pancakes still lingered in the hallway like bait, and against your better judgment you found yourself drifting back toward the kitchen.

Jaemin was there waiting like he knew you’d return, leaning against the wall with two mugs in his hands.

“Water or black coffee?” he asked, lifting both.

You took the water. “Don’t push your luck.”

He smirked. “Wasn’t planning to. You looked like you were about to pass out in the hallway earlier.”

“Because you got me drunk.”

“Because you let me.”

You rolled your eyes but followed him back into the kitchen anyway, pulled in by the gravitational field that was this oddly welcoming frat breakfast scene.

Yuta was now flipping through a Spotify playlist on the speaker, still sipping his coffee like he had no hangover to speak of. Johnny was plating pancakes with a level of precision that made you question his frat boy status. Jaehyun was still lounging with that unreadable expression, and Winwin had somehow found a way to look peaceful and over it at the same time.

Then came the sudden sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs.

Enter: Jungwoo.

“Oh hello stranger!” he sing-songed the moment he laid eyes on you, arms already open like a long-lost relative at the airport.

You flinched.

Jaemin didn’t. “She’s new. Be gentle.”

“Oh, I’m always gentle,” Jungwoo said with a friendly grin, stopping just short of invading your personal space. “I’m Jungwoo, by the way. Resident extrovert. I talk too much but I mean well.”

You blinked at him. “Y/N. Resident hangover victim. I don’t talk much but I mean well.”

A beat passed before Jungwoo stepped forward and hugged you anyway.

And just like that, the tension broke.

You sat on one of the stools at the island while Jaemin hovered beside you, not overbearing, just present. Yuta offered you syrup. Johnny asked how you were holding up. Jaehyun raised a brow when you said “better now,” like he didn’t fully buy it, but he let it slide.

Even Winwin passed you the butter.

Jungwoo, of course, wasted no time pulling you into some chaotic conversation about weird college majors, conspiracy theories about vending machines, and how Yuta once accidentally microwaved a fork and claimed it was “for science.”

You weren’t even fully following the topics, but it didn’t matter.

You were laughing. Deep and sore from the stomach kind. The kind that made your headache feel like background noise.

The frat house wasn’t what you expected. Less beer pong, more oddly sweet domestic chaos. And even though you were still wearing your clothes from last night and smelled like bad decisions, you weren’t being judged. You weren’t an outsider.

You were Jaemin’s friend.

You were Jeno’s guest.

And for some reason… that earned you a place at the table.

“Alright,” Jaemin said, bumping his shoulder against yours after a while, ��you survived initiation. You’re one of us now.”

You raised a brow. “Is that a good thing or a curse?”

“Bit of both,” Jungwoo said with a wink.

You snorted into your coffee, already dreading the inevitable teasing that would come once Jeno woke up.

But maybe… just maybe…

This didn’t feel so bad.

You were cradling your mug of water like it held the secrets to the universe when a familiar presence crept into your peripheral vision.

A sleepy-looking Jeno hovered at the threshold of the kitchen, rubbing the heel of his hand against one eye. His hair was a soft mess, flattened slightly on one side, and his hoodie was bunched awkwardly like he’d thrown it on in a daze. The quiet confusion on his face as he took in the sight of you very much awake, chatting in the kitchen with half his frat was almost comedic.

“Oh,” he blinked. “You’re… here.”

“I didn’t break in, I swear,” you said, tilting your mug toward him.

That made a small laugh bubble out of him as he stepped further in, barefoot, clearly still half-asleep.

“You disappeared,” he said softly once he was close enough, voice scratchy with sleep but amused. “Woke up and thought you got kidnapped.”

“I was kidnapped,” you deadpanned, flicking your eyes toward Jaemin. “By him.”

“Hey,” Jaemin grinned, unbothered. “You liked the pancakes.”

Jeno’s gaze lingered on you a second longer, eyes trailing from the curve of your smile to the way your fingers curled around the mug. Then he ran a hand through his hair and looked away, suddenly bashful.

“Glad you’re… okay,” he said, almost too quietly.

You weren’t sure what it was, maybe it was the way his voice softened when it was just for you, or the way his eyes briefly locked with yours before flicking away but your stomach did this dumb little flip.

Jaehyun, without looking up from his phone, spoke up at the worst moment. “Jeno, your girl fits in. She’s been roasting Jaemin with us for the past ten minutes.”

Jeno blinked. “She’s not—”

“I’m not—” you said at the same time.

Jungwoo snorted. “They’re so in sync.”

Jaemin, of course, looked delighted. “I think we all knew this was inevitable.”

Your eyes met Jeno’s again, and he was already looking at you this time with cheeks faintly pink, lips fighting a smile.

You cleared your throat. “Anyway. Um. You’re awake.”

“Yeah. I’ll… be back. Just need to… wash up.”

“Right.”

And just like that, he disappeared down the hall again, hoodie sleeves too long and socks half-off his feet. You were still staring after him even after he’d left the room.

“Cute,” Jungwoo murmured under his breath, not even trying to hide it.

You sipped your water to hide your grin.

As soon as Jeno shuffled off toward the bathroom, you slumped back into your chair and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Okay,” you groaned, “does anyone here know how to cure a hangover that feels like it was crafted in a lab by demons?”

Winwin raised an eyebrow. “Water. Sleep. Regret.”

Johnny, seated at the counter munching on a granola bar like a dad who didn’t party the night before, offered, “I think bananas help. But also electrolytes. You need something salty, something sweet, and something with a soul.”

You blinked. “Something with a soul?”

He shrugged. “It’s how I survived my years here.”

Jaehyun tossed a pack of instant ramen across the counter toward you. “Here. It’s a frat house staple. You’re welcome.”

“You guys are weirdly prepared for this,” you mumbled, catching the ramen and squinting at the instructions like it would suddenly save your life.

“We live with Jaemin,” Yuta deadpanned.

“Fair,” you muttered, then paused. “Also… Jeno’s probably more hungover than me. He looked like death’s understudy just now.”

“Oh, Jeno’s a baby when it comes to drinking,” Jungwoo added, tone light. “He gets all red and apologetic, even if no one remembers what he did. It’s kind of adorable, actually.”

You snorted. “Noted.”

Yuta stood, heading toward one of the cabinets. “Alright, you’re on nurse duty then. We’ll help prep the supplies.”

A few minutes later, you left the kitchen with your arms full: water bottles, a banana, ibuprofen, and two mystery packets handed to you with suspicious smiles (Johnny called them “magic powders,” which wasn’t comforting).

As you tiptoed back into Jeno’s room, it was quiet again, dim morning light slipping through the blinds, the air smelling faintly of laundry detergent and whatever boy-scent Jeno always carried.

He was already back inside, hair damp and shirt changed, sitting cross-legged on his bed with a towel around his neck and the dazed look of someone trying to piece together what year it was.

When he saw you with the supplies, his eyes widened slightly. “You… didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t,” you said, dropping the bundle on the floor beside him before sitting down at the edge of the mattress. “But your little frat brothers basically volunteered me as tribute to nurse duty.”

He smiled, soft, slow, like it was sneaking up on him. “Thanks.”

You handed him water and a tablet. “Take this. And if it tastes weird, blame Johnny.”

He laughed under his breath. “That bad?”

You hummed. “He said it has a soul. So. Good luck.”

He took the tablet anyway, obedient as ever, but when he glanced back up at you, there was something a little quieter in his expression. Something gentle. Grateful.

“Seriously,” he said, voice a little hoarse, “thanks. For… sticking around.”

Your heart did a quiet little roll in your chest, but you played it off with a shrug.

“Someone had to make sure you didn’t wake up in a bush.”

He chuckled, dropping his head back against the wall. “That sounds like a Jaemin thing.”

“It is a Jaemin thing.”

There was a pause that was comfortable, warm. The kind where you both sat in the silence, not needing to say much. The hangover still throbbed, sure, but it didn’t feel so bad when he looked at you like that. Like you were some kind of constant.

Maybe you were.

He was quiet for a moment, looking down at the pill now resting in his hand like he was still debating whether it was friend or foe. You tilted your head, watching the slow way he moved. His posture was relaxed but heavy. His shoulders slouched more than usual, eyes just a little glassy.

“You’re still kinda drunk, aren’t you?”

Jeno blinked. “M’not.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

That made you smile, the soft kind, the kind that lingers even when your mouth stops moving. “Lightweight.”

He let out a sleepy, sheepish sound and leaned his head back against the wall again. “You drank more than me. And you’re not dying.”

“I pace myself. You… don’t.”

“That’s not true,” he mumbled.

“You were doing shots with Jaemin, Jeno.”

He groaned, like even the memory hurt. “Oh my god. I forgot about that. Why would I do that?”

“Because you were trying to act chill in front of a bunch of strangers.”

“I am chill,” he insisted, then winced. “Okay. No, I’m not. Whatever.”

You let yourself really look at him for a second. His skin was still a little flushed in the cheeks, eyes soft from sleep and leftover alcohol. And maybe it was the light coming in through the blinds, or maybe it was just the morning stillness making everything feel a little suspended in air — but something about him looked clearer now. Easier to read.

He looked tired, yes. Hungover, for sure. But also a little… honest. Like all the walls he usually kept up had finally dropped somewhere between the alcohol and the sleep-deprivation. And he wasn’t trying to rebuild them yet.

“You look pretty like this,” you said before you could really think about it.

Jeno’s eyes flicked to you, wide and startled, like that was the last thing he expected to hear from you this morning.

“I mean—” you paused, awkwardly fumbling for a softer landing. “Just… you’re very you right now. Like you’re not trying to be anything else.”

He stared at you for a moment longer before something in his features softened. His smile wasn’t big, but it was real. Gentle. Quiet.

“Same to you,” he murmured, voice still a little rough. “You looked pretty last night, too. Like… really pretty.”

Your throat caught, but you tried to play it off with a breathy laugh. “Okay, you’re definitely still drunk.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe. But I mean it.”

There was another pause, but this time it wasn’t awkward. Just full.

You glanced at him again. “Do you remember much from last night?”

“Bits and pieces.” He looked toward you. “I remember you laughing a lot. I remember Jaemin trying to stack empty cups on my head. I remember you and I talking by the firepit.”

Your lips lifted at that. “That part was nice.”

“Yeah.” His voice dipped a little. “It was.”

There was something different about this version of him, this quieter Jeno, still a little disoriented, a little open, but… not shutting himself off. And in a strange, hungover sort of way, it felt like you two could talk about anything now. Even the things you never touched back then. Even the parts of yourselves you’d been afraid to show before.

It didn’t feel like stepping back into the past.

It felt like you’d finally met each other in the present.

“I feel like my bones are made of rice paper,” Jeno mumbled, curled into a very loose fetal position on his bed, the blanket barely clinging to his legs.

You stifled a laugh. “That’s oddly poetic.”

“I’m serious,” he groaned. “They’re soft. Like soggy crackers.”

“Soggy crackers don’t have bones.”

He blinked at you, his lips twitching into a lazy grin. “You always have a comeback, huh?”

“Someone has to keep you grounded.”

“I’m grounded.” He paused. “I’m just floppy right now.”

You shook your head with a quiet smile and passed him the banana you’d brought from the kitchen earlier. “Eat this. Your brain needs it.”

Jeno took it with both hands like it was the most fragile item in the world. Then peeled it with slow concentration, mumbling, “You’re kind of good at this. The whole… taking care of me thing.”

“I’ve had practice,” you teased, sitting cross-legged beside him.

He smiled again, that shy, scrunch-nosed one he did when he was trying to play cool but wasn’t really fooling anyone. “I didn’t let you take care of me before, huh?”

You tilted your head at him.

“I mean,” he clarified softly, “back then. I never really let you see me when I wasn’t fine.”

That tugged something in your chest. A soft ache, but not the painful kind. The kind that made you want to pull him into a hug and tuck him under your chin like some delicate creature learning how to be held.

“No,” you admitted. “But I think you wanted to.”

Jeno didn’t reply right away. He just nodded, eyes down on his half-eaten banana like it had the answers to all his repressed emotions. Then—

“I get weird when I like someone a lot,” he blurted. “Like I try too hard to seem normal.”

You blinked.

He kept going. “And then I get quiet ‘cause I’m scared I’ll mess it up. But then I end up messing it up anyway.”

“…Jeno.”

He looked at you finally, cheeks pink, lips slightly pouty. “What?”

You gave him a small smile. “You’re being very… you right now.”

He blinked. “Is that bad?”

“No. It’s actually… really nice.”

Jeno sat up straighter, like a sleepy kitten finding its balance. “You think I’m nice?”

“I think you’re adorable,” you corrected.

He immediately groaned, collapsing dramatically against your shoulder. “Stop. I’m not strong enough for this.”

“You’re clingy when you’re tipsy.”

He hummed, not moving from your side. “Only with people I like.”

Your heart fluttered, maybe because it sounded almost like a confession. Or maybe because you knew it wasn’t just the alcohol talking. This was Jeno, in his softest form. Unfiltered. Comfortable. His weight against your side, his voice gentle, his presence warm and unguarded. This was the Jeno he never let the world see. And now he was here, leaning on you, whispering his habits and fears like you were safe.

And in that moment, you understood: he’d always wanted to be seen like this. Not as the cold, quiet guy people assumed he was. But as this shy, sweet, full of funny little thoughts and awkward bursts of honesty. Someone a little clumsy with his feelings, but not afraid to show them anymore.

You let him rest there a bit longer, letting the quiet sit between you like it belonged. Jeno was always worth waiting for. But this version of him, warm, talkative, lovable, felt like he was finally ready to be heard.

The room was still dim, sunlight barely filtering through the blinds, casting soft lines across the walls and carpet. You were both leaning back against the headboard now, Jeno freshly washed but still a little bleary, hair damp and cheeks flushed from warmth and residual tipsiness. He looked gentler like this. Sleepy, loose-limbed, and unguarded in a way that made him seem almost younger.

Your fingers were fidgeting at the edge of the blanket, just idly tracing the fabric, until Jeno’s hand quietly slipped into yours.

It wasn’t dramatic, no big lead-up, no question. Just a shy but sure movement, like he’d been wanting to for a while now but hadn’t known how to ask. His thumb brushed lightly over yours as if to test the waters, and when you didn’t pull away, he relaxed beside you.

You glanced at him, catching the soft grin curling his lips.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like you think this is cute.”

“Isn’t it?”

He groaned and tilted his head back with a dramatic sigh. “You’re going to bully me again.”

You laughed. “I’ve been nothing but nurturing to you this morning.”

“You’ve been smug.”

“I brought you a banana and Advil.”

“And you called me a clingy lightweight.”

“You are a clingy lightweight.”

Jeno gave you a sulky side eye, but the corners of his mouth twitched up again like he couldn’t hold it. “You like it though.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “Maybe I do.”

He went quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to your intertwined fingers, the rhythm of his thumb moving again. It was steady, almost absentminded like his body had found a new kind of muscle memory with you. Something small, but comforting.

“Feels like we’re… fitting better now,” he said softly.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just let his words hang in the air, soaking into the walls of the room you’d once walked away from each other in. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with the kind of peace that only came from mutual understanding, like all the pieces were finally softening into the right place.

“I think we’re learning each other better,” you eventually replied. “Or maybe just letting each other in more.”

He hummed, the sound low and pleased, before leaning his head to lightly bump against yours. “You make me brave.”

You smiled to yourself, turning slightly to nudge your nose against his cheek. “You were always brave. You just needed someone who didn’t make you feel like you had to hide.”

His ears went red again, but he didn’t hide his face this time. He just sat there, hand in yours, smile tugging the corners of his mouth, eyes soft.

There was nothing loud about it, no big declarations, no dramatic gestures. Just two people finding their way back. Quiet, natural, and easy. Like slipping into a version of home you didn’t realize you’d missed until it was right beside you again.

And neither of you said it out loud, but the way you both held on, fingers interlaced, shoulders brushing, said enough for now.

The silence was warm. Your thumb was tracing lazy shapes against Jeno’s knuckles now, and he hadn’t let go once, not even when his eyes fluttered shut for a second, like he was just soaking in the comfort of you being there.

His head rested gently against yours, breaths syncing, the kind of quiet where the world felt smaller. Softer. A private bubble that neither of you wanted to pop.

Which was, of course, the exact moment the door creaked open.

“Am I interrupting something?” came a too casual voice, laced with amusement.

Your heads snapped toward the doorway, both of you a little too slow, like being yanked from a dream. Johnny stood leaning against the frame, arms crossed, eyebrows up. The faint smirk on his face said he knew exactly what he’d walked in on.

Jeno, to his credit, tried to stay cool. But the boy could barely keep his voice level when he replied, “N-no? Just talking.”

“Right,” Johnny nodded slowly, gaze flicking down to your still intertwined hands resting in your lap. “With your fingers braided together like some heart fluttering fanfic? Classic conversation pose.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks betrayed you, warmth rushing up your neck fast enough to match Jeno’s. He had already covered his face with his free hand, letting out a strangled groan of embarrassment.

“We’re not—” he started, muffled behind his palm. “It’s not like—”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Johnny held up his hands. “I came to drop off extra water bottles. But clearly I’ve walked in on, like, a Moment.”

You gave Jeno a look, one that teetered between should we defend ourselves and just let it die. He was too busy melting into his own hoodie, so you turned to Johnny with a sweet smile instead.

“Thanks, Johnny. You can leave the water on the desk and pretend none of this happened.”

Johnny grinned as he set them down. “My lips are sealed. But if Jaemin hears about it, it’s definitely not from me.”

Jeno let out a pitiful whine, and you reached up to pat his arm as Johnny backed out, still smug.

And just like that, your bubble had a few fingerprints on it. But when Jeno turned to look at you again, a little bashful, still pink-cheeked, but smiling, it was obvious neither of you minded.

The first few days after that awkward yet somehow sweet moment passed by in a blur, but with each one, it became easier to slip into the rhythm of their world. Even though you weren’t part of the same university, Jaemin’s frat house had quickly become a place where you felt like you belonged, at least on the periphery.

It wasn’t just the parties or the chaos that made you feel comfortable. It was the quiet moments in between. The hangovers. The random bursts of laughter. The lazy afternoons where you found yourself hanging out with the guys in the kitchen, watching them mess around and tell dumb jokes.

You’d grown used to the sound of Jaemin’s booming laugh echoing from the living room, of Johnny’s chill demeanor cutting through the stress of exams, of Yuta’s sarcasm punctuating every conversation like a clever little weapon. But, of course, Jeno was the one who had crept up on you.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. He was the quiet one, the one who hung back and watched, often keeping to himself when the group got rowdy. But the more time you spent with him, the more you realized just how much he wanted to be part of it all, how his introversion was more of a shield than anything else.

There was a softness to him, one that was reserved only for certain people, and, it seemed, that certain person might be you.

You began learning his habits, how he’d always stretch after waking up, pushing his arms above his head like he was trying to shake off the weight of sleep. Or how he always kept a spare hoodie around, just in case someone needed one, even if no one ever asked. You’d catch him humming when he thought no one was around, tapping his fingers along to some rhythm only he could hear.

And then there were the little things. His awkward smile whenever you caught him staring at you, his eyes shifting away too fast, like he hadn’t realized he was looking at you for too long. Or the way he’d quietly help with something without asking for attention like grabbing a cup of water when you were tired, offering you his hoodie when it was cold, brushing off your hair when it fell in your face.

It was in these quiet moments that you realized how much he cared. How much he really cared.

And the rest of the guys? You got to know them in different ways too. Jaemin, as always, was the loudest, but his personality didn’t just shine in the parties. When he was serious, when he wasn’t trying to put on a show, he was surprisingly thoughtful, always trying to make sure everyone felt included. You learned that despite his chaotic energy, he was one of the most self aware in the house.

Johnny, too, had a way of making you feel at ease. He wasn’t one to force deep conversations, but when he spoke, his words had weight. He made everyone around him feel like they could be themselves, and that meant more than any joke he cracked or teasing he gave.

Yuta had this quiet, almost cynical edge to him that you quickly realized was just his way of showing care. He’d never outright say something nice, but when he’d pull you aside with that sly grin, offering you a snack or joking about a class you didn’t care about, you knew he was showing you in his own way that you mattered.

It was Jungwoo, though, who became the ultimate surprise. The guy who you thought would be loud and obnoxious all the time turned out to be a mix of energy and warmth — the kind of guy who would talk your ear off but also sit with you quietly, offering a comforting presence without making a big deal out of it. He’d somehow always know when you needed cheering up, but never in an overbearing way.

And every day, you learn something new. Whether it was about their pasts, their quirks, or just the way they saw the world, it felt like the pieces of their personalities slowly pieced themselves together for you, bit by bit. You weren’t just an outsider anymore. You were part of the gang.

But through all of this, Jeno remained the one you’d come to rely on the most. As each day passed, you noticed more about him, how easily he got lost in his thoughts, how fiercely he protected the people close to him, and how much effort he put into the small things that made others feel cared for.

And every time you saw him smile, especially in those moments when his shyness melted away and he let his guard down with you, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. You didn’t know where it was going, but there was something about him that made your heart race in a way that felt both familiar and new.

And the more time you spend near him on that creaky old couch in the living room, half listening to Jaemin yell at Jungwoo for stealing his snacks, or walking side by side to the nearest convenience store just to get drinks neither of you really needed, the more that feeling stuck with you. It followed you like a shadow. Quiet, but constant. Soft, but impossible to ignore.

Jeno had this way of making everything feel simple, even when your thoughts were anything but. He didn’t push or pry, but he listened. And when he did speak, it wasn’t filler. It was real. You found yourself looking forward to his little comments, the way he’d tilt his head slightly when you rambled, like he was actually trying to understand you instead of waiting for his turn to speak. The way he always sat a little closer now though never quite touching, but never too far either. That space in between felt... safe.

And you weren’t stupid. You noticed the way the others sometimes exchanged glances when you were around him. The smirks from Jaemin, the not so subtle eyebrow raises from Johnny. Even Winwin once muttered something under his breath that made Yuta laugh too hard for it to be innocent.

Still, no one said anything outright. Maybe they were waiting to see if you would.

You told yourself you were just friends. That this was nothing new, that people got close all the time. But you also knew better. There was a tenderness in how Jeno started waiting for you before meals, how he always found ways to check in, how his gaze lingered a little too long when you weren’t looking.

And you? You were softening too. Letting yourself smile more easily. Laugh louder. Stay longer.

It was strange. The kind of strange that didn’t feel scary. Just… unfamiliar.

So when Jeno’s hand brushed yours one evening while you were both leaning over the kitchen counter, pretending to argue about how much sugar to put in your tea, and neither of you pulled away, you didn’t look at him, but you didn’t move either. The silence stretched, warm and full.

That was the thing about him. He didn’t rush it. He didn’t need to. You were starting to fall, not just for the version of Jeno you once knew, but for the version he was now. The one that was slowly unfolding right in front of you.

And maybe, just maybe, he was falling too.

Just as your thoughts began to spiral soft, fluttery things that didn’t have a clear beginning or end, the front door clicked open. You blinked, momentarily forgetting that anyone but you had access to your apartment.

“Kkura?” you called, already halfway out of your room before she even shut the door behind her.

“Home sweet—” She didn’t even finish her sentence before you tackled her in a hug, practically knocking the suitcase out of her hand.

“You’re back,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

“You act like I’ve been gone for a year,” she laughed, squeezing you just as tight. “It was three weeks.”

“Three weeks of chaos,” you pulled away, eyes wide, face flushed with the overwhelming need to unload.

Kkura narrowed her eyes knowingly. “You have that face.”

“What face.”

“The I have something to tell you and it’s so much that I don’t even know where to start face.”

You stared at her. She wasn’t wrong.

She kicked off her shoes, wheeled her suitcase into the corner like it wasn’t about to sit there untouched for days, and flopped onto your couch like she owned the place. “Alright. Hit me.”

You didn’t need more prompting. The second you sat next to her, it was like your brain finally found the play button. You told her everything. The Jaemin invitation, the frat house party, the chaos that unfolded that night — “I blacked out, Kkura. With Jaemin. That should tell you everything.” — and then, of course, Jeno.

The way her eyes widened when you said his name alone was priceless.

“Wait. Jeno? As in—”

“Yes.”

“And you woke up in his room?”

“In a frat house, Kkura. In a frat house.”

“Oh my god, are you—” Kkura held up a hand, processing. “Are you part of a frat now? Is this a college AU? Did I miss a whole season of your life?!”

You laughed, flopping down next to her. “I’m basically a background character that snuck into the main plot. And no, I’m not in the frat—Jaemin’s just a menace who keeps dragging me to things. But they’re all nice, honestly. Like… way nicer than I expected.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Even Jeno?”

You hesitated. “Especially Jeno.”

There was a beat of silence before she raised a brow. “Uh-huh.”

You rolled your eyes and hugged a pillow to your chest. “Okay, okay, but that’s not the point. Point is, there’s another party coming up. They just finished exams, so they’re celebrating. Again.”

Kkura snorted. “Are they okay? Do they need hobbies?”

“They’re party-crazed but like… weirdly wholesome about it? It’s kind of endearing,” you said. “And they’re sweet. Loud. But sweet.”

She tilted her head. “So...?”

“So… Do you wanna come with me?”

There was a pause as Kkura considered it, then she gave you a teasing smirk. “Only if I get to wear something that makes frat boys cry.”

You grinned. “I’ll allow it.”

The mood eased after that. You were curled up in the comfort of old friendship, your heart a little lighter knowing you weren’t facing the chaos alone this time. Even though the last party had left your memory patchy and your head pounding, the thought of seeing Jeno again, this time with Kkura in the mix, felt exciting in a way you weren’t fully ready to admit.

Still, a part of you was nervous. Not because of the party itself, or even bumping into people you possibly know again but because Jeno had become something steady. And steady things had the power to shake you if they moved.

But that was something to worry about later.

For now, there was a party to prepare for. And a wardrobe to destroy in the process.

You were mid sentence, something about needing to find a top that said “I’m hot but approachable” when your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

You leaned forward and glanced at the screen.

[Jeno]: Are you free right now?

Your heart did that thing again. That subtle little flutter that made you both nervous and stupidly soft. The kind that was quiet but impossible to ignore.

Kkura leaned in, squinting. “Is that… Jeno?”

You blinked, sitting up straighter. “Maybe.”

She didn’t even hesitate and just snatched the pillow from your arms and tossed it across the room. “Go.”

“What?” you laughed. “I can’t just— what if he didn’t mean right now right now—”

Kkura was already standing, grabbing your hoodie and tossing it into your lap. “He literally said right now. You’re not gonna ghost a soft spoken cutie who somehow made it through the Hunger Games of frat life with his soul intact.”

You pulled the hoodie over your head, cheeks warming. “He’s just probably bored or something.”

“Bored of not being around you,” she shot back, folding her arms. “Go. I’ve been gone too long, I need to assess the boy who’s got you smiling at your phone like a loser.”

You stuck out your tongue at her but stood up anyway, fingers already texting back.

[You]: yeah i’m free, what’s up?

As you grabbed your bag and slid your shoes on, Kkura appeared in the hallway like a mom sending her kid off to school.

“Use protection. By that I mean sunscreen. But also, y’know, if you guys—”

“BYE.”

The door shut behind you before she could say anything else, and you tried to pretend like your stomach wasn’t flipping as you walked down the street.

You didn’t even have to knock.

The door swung open before you could lift your hand, revealing Jeno with the biggest, most boyish grin on his face, one that made your chest warm in the most annoying, fluttery way possible.

“You’re here,” he said, and stepped back dramatically like he was unveiling something.

You blinked once.

Then twice.

And then you burst out laughing.

He had set the entire room up like a movie marathon wonderland. Blankets stacked like a nest in the middle of the floor, a projector already on standby, popcorn in a giant mixing bowl, and what looked like an unnecessarily large lineup of snacks. There were also two pairs of matching slippers, one pink and one grey, set right by the makeshift blanket fort.

“Jeno,” you said slowly. “Did you… plan a theme?”

“Movie day,” he beamed. “It’s serious business.”

You stepped inside and kicked off your shoes, grinning at the sight of the pink slippers. “You got me bunny ones?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was obvious. “They looked like you.”

He bent down to grab the grey ones for himself just as Jaemin suddenly poked his head in from the hallway.

“You’re such a loser,” he announced to the room.

“Jaemin,” Jeno said without turning around, “Get out.”

“I live here.”

“Uh-huh.”

But he was still smiling, that same soft expression you’d seen before when he was quietly grateful for this little pocket of peace with you. And even if the party was looming on the horizon, and even if your heart didn’t totally know what it was doing around Jeno just yet… Being here with him, warm and close and laughing, made the idea of showing up to another chaotic frat event feel less daunting. Almost comforting.

You weren’t sure what the party would bring, but for now, it was just Jeno and a movie you were definitely not watching, and the kind of quiet between two people that felt like something was slowly, gently growing.

The house was already buzzing by the time you and Kkura stepped out of the Uber. Actually, buzzing was an understatement, it was throbbing with noise and lights and people. The lawn was crawling with students you didn’t recognize, solo cups in every hand, music bleeding out of every open window, and a suspiciously large inflatable flamingo bobbing from the roof like it had claimed it as home.

You blinked. “Did they— did they rent a fog machine?”

Kkura stared with wide eyes. “Is that a DJ booth in the front yard? What the hell kind of end of exams party is this?”

“I told you they go too hard.” You tugged her arm gently as you stepped around two people tangled in glow necklaces and what looked like matching temporary tattoos. “This is three times worse than the last one.”

“Three times worse?” she repeated, looking around. “No, babe, this looks like it’s three times international. I swear that guy in the Lakers jersey just flew in from New York.”

There were bodies packed against every wall, music so loud it buzzed against your chest, and the sharp scent of beer and perfume mixing in the air like an olfactory warning sign. Still, there was something stupidly infectious about it, the hum of celebration, the wild laughter from someone trying to climb a tree for no reason, the lights flickering from inside like a club scene about to go off.

“Where are your people?” Kkura leaned in to shout over the music.

“They live here, remember?” you said, guiding her toward the side entrance. “Somewhere in this chaos are my favorite frat rats.”

You pushed open the door, the hallway instantly swallowing you in heat and overlapping conversations. It was wild. You didn’t think you’d seen this many students gathered in one place outside of a graduation ceremony.

Soon enough you were halfway through explaining to Johnny and Yuta how you once saw a guy chug half a gallon of milk at a party and immediately regret his life choices, when someone shoulder checked you from behind.

Not a hard bump, just enough to make you stumble slightly mid story.

“Woah—” you turned instinctively, hand still gesturing in the air, only to come face to face with—

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath.

Because there he was, in the flesh and smiling like the human equivalent of a smirk: Haechan. Hair perfectly styled, drink in hand, and that familiar look of amused mischief glittering in his eyes.

Now, you would think the person who interrupted you was the face you’d been scanning for all night.

But nope.

It was the face you never really expected to see once again... until the universe, in all its twisted humor, plopped him right back in front of you. Again.

“Y/N,” he greeted, like you’d just bumped into each other at a corner store. “You always pop up at these things when I least expect it.”

“You’re the one who popped me,” you deadpanned, one brow raising. “What are you even doing here? Again.”

Haechan shrugged, taking a sip. “What can I say? I’m a social butterfly. Got invited by a friend. I go where the good chaos is.”

Johnny, who was watching with vague interest, leaned in just enough to make it obvious. “Y/N,” he said casually, lips quirked up. “Friend of yours?”

You opened your mouth, closed it, and then sighed. “Uh... this is Haechan. We used to…date. A long time ago.” Feeling the embarrassment creep up your neck.

“Ohoho,” Yuta laughed, leaning closer with narrowed eyes and entirely too much enthusiasm. “Now this just got good.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at them.

Haechan, the little shit, just grinned and raised his cup. “Pleasure. But don’t worry, I’m just here to admire from afar and mess with her for sport.”

Johnny gave him a knowing look. “Well, good luck, man. But don’t mess with her too much and keep a safe distance or else we might have to, you know…casually throw you out the second floor window.”

Yuta nodded. “Yeah. Casually.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly ascended. “Jesus Christ.”

Haechan only laughed, completely unbothered. “Glad to see you’ve upgraded your bodyguards.”

And for a moment, despite the teasing, the noise, the crowded house, it felt surprisingly... easy. Not tense like it could’ve been. Just playful enough to feel like maybe, just maybe, the past really had faded behind the both of you. And honestly, that was a relief.

Until, of course, the boys started muttering something suspicious about how Jeno would loooove to hear about this.

You lingered with them a bit longer, the conversation swerving wildly between roasting Yuta’s ancient phone model and Johnny pretending to be your overly concerned fake older brother, asking Haechan questions like:

“So, what are your intentions with our dear Y/N?”

Haechan leaned against the wall with a crooked smile. “Strictly to make her roll her eyes at least five times tonight. Maybe six if I work hard.”

You shot him a look. “That’s your love language, huh? Mild emotional torture?”

“Yours is biting sarcasm and selective affection, so don’t even start,” he fired back.

“Selective?” You scoffed. “I was literally the nicest to you out of everyone you’ve dated.”

Johnny blinked. “Wait, how many people has he dated?”

“Too many,” you and Haechan said at the same time, which made the group laugh.

And then, right on cue, just as you nudged Haechan with your elbow in mock annoyance, Yuta’s eyes flicked upward right past your shoulder.

“Well, speak of the devil,” he muttered, barely concealing his grin.

You turned just as Jeno appeared from the hallway, hoodie slightly rumpled from the crowd, but still as composed and tall and very much Jeno. He looked a little flushed, maybe from the warmth of the room, maybe something else, but he clocked the group in an instant.

And then his eyes landed on you.

Then Haechan.

Then... your proximity to Haechan.

You could practically see the gears turning in his brain. He was doing that thing again, quietly observing, trying to mask whatever emotion flickered across his face.

“Oh,” you said, voice tilting a bit higher than usual. “Hey. You made it.”

Jeno gave a small nod, eyes still flicking between the people surrounding you. “Yeah, sorry. Got caught helping Jaehyun fix the speaker.”

Haechan glanced between you two, a grin slowly spreading across his face like he had just realized something delicious.

“So this is Jeno,” he said, amused. “The boy you were scoping the room for back at the last party.”

You felt your soul leave your body. “Haechan, I swear to God—”

“What?” Haechan lifted his hands innocently. “I’m just connecting the dots.”

Jeno looked between the two of you, something unreadable behind his smile. “Didn’t know you two were...friends.”

“We’re not,” you and Haechan said at the same time.

Then Haechan shrugged. “Okay, we’re like... very chill acquaintances who used to date and now lightly bully each other.”

“That’s worse,” you muttered.

Johnny chuckled and patted Jeno’s back. “Don’t worry, man. We already threatened him.”

Jeno raised a brow. “What?”

“Casually,” Yuta added with a wink.

Jeno looked at you again, eyes a little softer now, like he was trying to read how you felt in the moment, not just about Haechan, but being here, with them, with him.

And it made your chest warm. Because even though this whole interaction was ridiculous, the way Jeno’s presence settled beside you again though quiet, familiar, and grounding, you felt that same gravity you always did when he was near.

“Wanna go find a drink?” you offered, gently breaking the awkward tension.

Jeno gave the smallest smile, one that felt just for you.

“Only if you promise to save me from any more surprise exes.”

You snorted. “No promises. You’re at a frat party, Jeno. Chaos is literally in the air.”

As soon as you slipped out from the crowd with Jeno, winding through the mess of limbs and laughter and bass heavy music toward the kitchen, you could feel it, that lingering energy around him.

Not tense exactly, but… quieter. Like someone had dimmed his brightness by a notch.

You stole a glance up at him. He was still walking beside you, still Jeno in all his calm and collected glory, but you could tell. His shoulders weren’t as relaxed. His brows kept furrowing every now and then. And he hadn’t made a single dumb comment about the party decorations, which was his usual specialty when he was in a good mood.

And maybe it was selfish, but you didn’t want Jeno like this, closed off and clouded over. Especially not tonight.

So once you both reached the kitchen, finally away from the buzz, you leaned against the counter and handed him a water bottle instead of the soda he’d been eyeing. He blinked, confused, until you gave him a look that said, I know you better than that.

He twisted the cap off, lips barely upturned in a thank you, and drank.

“Okay,” you said, slowly, like it was a spell. “Tell me what’s going on in that big, genius brain of yours. Because you’ve said approximately three words in the last five minutes, and two of them were ‘yeah’ and ‘okay.’”

Jeno side eyed you, chewing his bottom lip before murmuring, “It’s nothing.”

You leaned closer, bumping his arm playfully. “Jeno.”

He sighed, almost like he hated how easy it was for you to get him to talk.

“I just…” he paused, looking down at the bottle in his hand. “Didn’t expect Haechan to be that guy.”

You blinked. “That guy?”

“The one you dated.” He said it simply, but his voice was quieter than usual. “I just… didn’t think he’d be so…close.”

You tilted your head. “Jeno.”

“What?”

“Are you jealous?”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours. “No. I mean— okay, yes. A little.”

You tried not to smile. “A little?”

He exhaled, resting both hands on the counter behind him as he leaned back. “It’s not that I think you still like him or anything. I know you don’t. It’s just… when I saw you with him, and the way he was talking to you, it made me feel—” he broke off, shaking his head, “stupid. For being so obvious.”

Your heart tugged at the sight of him, shoulders drawn in slightly, bottom lip stuck out in that soft pout of his, the kind he probably didn’t even know he was doing. Jeno didn’t often wear his emotions so openly, but tonight, between the haze of lingering tipsiness and the vulnerability of jealousy, he couldn’t help it. He looked so boyish like that, a little sulky and unsure, but still trying his best to seem put together. Like he was caught in between wanting to retreat into his shell and also hoping you’d pull him closer instead.

You did. Of course you did. You stepped forward and closed the distance, standing in the space between his arms as they rested on the counter behind him. “Jeno,” you murmured, gaze soft as you tilted your head to meet his eyes properly, “you’re not stupid. And if you think you’re being obvious… then so am I.”

He blinked, the furrow between his brows easing just a little, but that pout remained, his lips parted like he was about to say something but hadn’t quite decided if he should. Still, his gaze held yours, studying your face like he was trying to memorize every inch of reassurance written on it.

“I don’t care what Haechan said. Or how long we used to know each other,” you said, quieter now, like it was just for him to hear. “He’s part of my past, yeah. But you… you’re the part that feels like home right now. The part I want to keep walking into.”

Jeno let out a tiny sound at that, somewhere between a breath and a scoff, then muttered under his breath, “That’s not fair…” He was still pouting, still refusing to drop the act completely, but his ears were turning pink and you knew he was melting inside. “Why do you always say stuff like that when I’m trying to be mad?”

You smiled, a slow, knowing one. “Because it’s cute when you pout.”

That got him. His lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, but the sulk hadn’t quite left yet.

“And besides,” you added, nudging him playfully, “do I look like someone who’d flirt by talking about water bottles and our last diarrhea trip if I still liked that little twerp?”

Jeno finally let out a small laugh, reluctant, but genuine. “Okay, yeah. That would be weird.”

“Exactly.”

He leaned in just a little, forehead nearly touching yours, voice low and uncertain. “I’m still getting used to this.”

“To what?” you asked, even though you already kind of knew.

“You. Saying things like that to me. Letting me feel this close to you,” he said, gaze dropping for a second before flicking back to your eyes. “It’s weird in a good way. Like I don’t know what to do with myself.”

You gave a soft chuckle and nudged his arm with your knuckles. “Well, maybe don’t overthink it. Just… be you. That’s the version I actually like hanging out with.”

That made him blink, slowly, the corners of his lips lifting like the compliment needed a second to register. “You like hanging out with me?”

You rolled your eyes, amused. “Wow. Groundbreaking information, I know.”

His smile finally broke through, sheepish but warm, and the tension from earlier seemed to melt off his shoulders.

“Thanks for cheering me up,” he said, voice quieter now, a little rough around the edges but more honest than before.

You shrugged, casual but kind. “It’s in the job description now, apparently.”

“Oh yeah?” he teased, his tone lighter now, almost playful. “Does that include benefits or…?”

You raised a brow at him. “Depends. What are you hoping for?”

He mock-thought about it, tapping his chin. “Hmm… occasional emotional support? Priority in your attention? Maybe mild bullying privileges?”

You snorted. “So basically everything you already get.”

He grinned, boyish and bright. “Guess I’m living the dream then.”

You shook your head but your fingers lingered in his, both of you pretending it wasn’t a big deal even though it was. And in the way he looked at you, like you were something new and familiar all at once, it was easy to feel like whatever this was… it was starting to become something more.

The night spun on with a dizzying rhythm, bass thumping through the walls like it was trying to sync with your heartbeat. Everywhere you looked, bodies swayed and drinks clinked, laughter spilling over like beer foam from red solo cups. You’d lost count of how many people were actually packed into the house by now. The place looked like it doubled as a secret portal to every college campus in the country, new faces, old ones, all dancing in that same late night haze.

And somehow, in all that chaos, Jeno kept finding you.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

Neither of you were nearly as obliterated as that first time (thank god), but your heads were still foggy, your bodies warm, your laughter louder than usual. You’d been riding a comfortable buzz for a while now, light on your feet, like gravity had been dialed down a few notches. You weren’t sure if it was the drinks or the music or the fact that every time Jeno looked at you, he did that thing where he bit back a smile and got all pink in the ears.

He was, in a word, adorable.

Also: a complete lightweight.

You watched him now across the room, cup dangling lazily in his hand, cheeks flushed a rose pink that rivaled the solo cup itself. He’d tried to keep up with Jaemin and Jungwoo earlier, poor soul, and now he was tucked near the kitchen, leaning on the counter like the tiles were the only thing keeping him from floating off the planet.

When he spotted you, his expression brightened like a switch had been flipped. “Y/N,” he grinned, stumbling a little as he crossed the floor toward you. “You’re… you’re still upright. How.”

You took a dramatic bow, nearly tipping forward. “Pure talent and spite,” you declared.

He giggled and it was the kind of sound that made your brain pause for a second. His hand found yours clumsily, fingers curling like he was trying to remember how to hold hands in the middle of a carnival ride.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbled. “Just had to say that. You’re always pretty but right now, I think it’s mind boggling.”

You snorted. “Jeno, that was barely a sentence.”

“Wasn’t trying to win an essay competition,” he pouted, eyebrows furrowed like he was actually mad about it. “Just wanted to tell you. You should know.”

You should’ve said something normal. A joke. A thanks. A flirty comeback. But instead you just stared at him, your own heart swaying under your ribs, pulled in by the look he gave you, like you were a song he’d been trying to hum all night.

“You’re really close,” you murmured.

“I know,” he breathed. “Wanna be closer.”

And that was all it took.

Maybe it was the liquor or the late hour or the way your brains were mush and hearts were soft, but your lips found each other like they’d been trying to do it all along. It wasn’t rushed or messy. It was slow, sweet at first, like a curious question. His hands didn’t even know where to land, one hovering near your cheek, the other loosely on your hip. He tasted faintly like whatever punch they’d been handing out, mixed with a bit of boyish vulnerability and something wholly, undeniably Jeno.

You kissed like you’d been waiting for the right excuse. And when he pulled back just slightly, breath warm against your lips, he whispered, “...Still not used to this either.”

You laughed, forehead brushing his. “What, kissing girls at frat parties?”

He shook his head, that smile coming back. “No. Kissing you.”

And before either of you could think too hard about it, you leaned in again, this time messier, bolder, your drunk minds quiet for once, your bodies speaking instead.

Somewhere nearby, someone whooped at the sight, and Jeno groaned, hiding his face in your neck.

“Kill me,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Later. Let me enjoy this first.”

The second kiss was different.

The first had been hesitant, like a question whispered in the dark. But this— this was the answer neither of you knew how to say out loud. There was no more fumbling. No more nervous hovering. When your lips met again, it was with a quiet kind of hunger. Not rushed. Not desperate. But deliberate. Like both of you had made the decision to lean in and just feel.

Jeno’s hand slid to your waist, fingertips curling into the fabric of your top like he needed to anchor himself. His other hand, still clumsy from the drinks, ghosted along the line of your jaw, then up— his thumb barely brushing your cheekbone as if to ground himself. You could feel the warmth of him everywhere, even in the tiny space that still lingered between your bodies.

And then he kissed you deeper.

Slower, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth. His lips were soft and warm and unfamiliar in the most addictive way, moving with a shy sort of confidence, like he didn’t quite realize just how good he was at this. You responded instinctively, molding into him like your body already knew the rhythm. Your fingers found the front of his hoodie, curling into the fabric, tugging slightly, not to pull him closer, but to remind yourself he was real.

And when your teeth accidentally grazed his lower lip, when you half smiled into the kiss because you felt his breath hitch, he let out the smallest sound, something between a sigh and a curse.

It hit you all at once then: how close you were. How flushed his face had become. How the warmth between you was no longer just from the alcohol. It was something else now. Something that prickled along your skin and made your head buzz louder than any drink had that night.

Jeno pulled back barely an inch, lips parted, eyes dark under the soft glow of the hallway light. His gaze flickered to your mouth before returning to your eyes, and there was something electric in it, like a storm waiting patiently to break.

“You can’t just look at me like that after kissing me like that,” you murmured, voice low, breathless.

He blinked, lips twitching into a crooked grin. “I was about to say the same thing.

The air between you crackled. There were footsteps around the corner, laughter in the kitchen, music thudding somewhere in the living room. But here, in this pocket of space, it was just you and Jeno and this quiet, burning thing that had officially woken up between you.

Neither of you said it out loud. Not yet. But something had shifted.

And from here on out, it wasn’t going back.

You weren’t sure who moved first after that second kiss but all of a sudden, it was like the world around you melted into a blur of muffled bass, distant voices, and heat. Pure, electric heat.

Because the next kiss came harder, quicker. Teeth grazing. Breath catching. Jeno’s hands were everywhere, gentle and searching, but firmer now like he was scared to let go. And maybe you were too, because your hands slid up the back of his neck into his hair, tugging lightly, making him groan into your mouth in a way that sent a jolt straight through you.

There was no pause this time. No nervous giggle or break for air. Just mouths colliding and breaths tangled, like every moment you hadn’t kissed before this had been building into this exact explosion. Like two magnets finally snapping together after being held apart for too long.

He pressed you back against the hallway wall like it was second nature, like you belonged there and he was just finding you again. One of his hands flattened against the wall beside your head while the other gripped your waist, like he needed to hold onto something solid or he’d float away.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your lips, voice low and shaky. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Right back at you,” you gasped, not even realizing you were pulling him in again until your lips met his. Every time he kissed you, it was messier, needier, more addicting.

And then there were your bodies glued together like you didn’t know how to exist with space between you. Every slight movement sparked friction: his knee bumping yours, your fingers fisting into his hoodie, his nose brushing yours when he kissed you sideways, deeper, like he needed to taste every piece of you he’d missed.

Jeno's lips dragged over your jaw, and his hand skimmed lower, fingertips grazing the hem of your top like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory. His breath was hot against your skin, and you could feel the ache in the pit of your stomach building fast, dizzying.

"Fuck, I can't stop," he murmured against your neck, his voice low, needy. “You taste so good, what the hell—”

And just when you were about to whisper something back, something equally wild, just as desperate—

“OKAYYYY.”

A loud, slurred voice cut through the moment like a wrecking ball, and Jeno flinched like he’d been caught stealing.

“Why do y’all look like you’re seconds away from fucking against this drywall?”

You both whipped around to see Jaemin, leaning against the hallway doorway with a half empty bottle in one hand, grinning like a menace. His cheeks were flushed, shirt untucked, eyes gleaming with every ounce of chaotic drunk energy he was known for.

“I feel left out,” he announced dramatically, blinking at the two of you. “Is it orgy time? Should I drop my pants or...?”

Jeno groaned, forehead falling to your shoulder as your laughter exploded before you could stop it.

“Jaem, get the fuck out,” Jeno mumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “Seriously.”

“You say that,” Jaemin sing songed, wobbling slightly as he pointed at Jeno, “but your hand was halfway down her back and she was grinding like it was the final boss level lap dance hour, so I really can’t be blamed for walking into the foreplay corner!”

You bit your lip, still breathless from the heat of the kiss and now completely dying at the situation.

“Jaemin,” you wheezed. “Go away before I start throwing things.”

He raised his hands in surrender but winked. “Okay okay, damn. Just… tone down the energy before someone walks in and actually gets turned on a.k.a me.”

As he turned and swaggered back toward the party, you and Jeno were left in the hallway, slightly breathless, slightly ruined, and still very much pressed together.

“...Wanna pick up where we left off?” Jeno asked under his breath, voice hoarse.

You grinned, tugging him close by the hoodie. “Thought you’d never ask.”

note: unfortunately if i continue on to the next part i fear it will be too long and exceeding the word count so i had to seperate this into two parts (beware the next part is the angst part…)

#nct 127 #nct dream #nct #lee jeno #jeno lee #jeno #nct dream jeno #nct dream fluff #jeno fluff #jeno fic #jeno angst #jeno x reader #lee jeno x reader #nct jeno #nct fic #haeiheart

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