#How to Make Snapchat Group

[teeskzagain]

SNAP MISTAKE

» pairing: younger!hongjoong x slightly!older reader

» summary: what happens when hongjoong receives a video from the last person he'd ever expect? and what the hell is in it?

» warnings: nude sending, masturbation (m. & f.), fingering?, power kink (is that even a real thing?), reader is pretty rude to hongjoong, stepcest *evil smirk*, lowkey sub!joong—but also..not (it’s complicated), he cums pretty fast sooo….

» w.c: 4.5k

» a/n: rahhhhh

y/n sent you a snap.

the snapchat notification drops from the top of hongjoong’s screen; and for a split second, he loses all concentration from the current video playing on his feed.

at the sight of your name, he’s immediately grimacing as he shifts around in his bed. with it going on 12 AM, hongjoong finds not a single ounce of fatigue coats his eyes. instead, he feels his chest begin to bubble with the slightest twinge of anger.

what the fuck do you want?

his thumb, without hesitation, swipes away the alert and he returns back to indulging in his video. it’s of a girl strumming chords on an acoustic guitar, and hongjoong seems to enjoy the melody. though when another notifcation comes buzzing through, his peaceful mood quickly turns into annoyance.

y/n sent you a snap.

y/n sent you a snap.

y/n sent you a snap.

y/n sent you a snap.

“you��ve got to be…” scoffing, hongjoong’s eyes do a quick roll as he now begins to sit up. he firstly reaches over to turn on the lamp near his bed, feeling the covers gently slide down and off of him in the process.

then, resting his bare back against the headboard, he brings a single knee up from once being outstretched and rests a forearm against it.

what could possibly be so important you had to send him five snaps? from what he recalled, you were supposed to be pissed at him- he had taken the family-shared car earlier in the evening, despite you calling dibs on it.

and, yeah, he knew you had plans with your friends tonight. he just truly did not care. hence, why you’re angry at him.

with a leisure attitude, hongjoong goes in to finally click on your videos. however, he swiftly pauses and hovers his thumb over the screen. he thinks harder on this memory.

oh, fuck him.

you better not be sending him a minute long rant video because of that. god, you and your yelling fits. if this is the case, he thinks he’d rather get your tantrum out of the way or else he’s positive you’re going to continue blowing up his phone with them.

at times like this, hongjoong always finds himself hating how he ended up with you as his step-sister.

his catty, whiny, always complaining step-sister.

what makes matters worse is you two somehow ended up being close in age; you’re only 2 years apart with him being younger. you both attend the same community college. and, you’re forced to live under the same roof as one another. there’s always constant fighting, constant bickering between you two.

so, hongjoong wouldn’t even be surprised if you really did send him a whole ass tangent about how selfish and shitty he is. it wouldn’t be the first time you did this either. he’s just lucky you’re sending it over the phone versus storming into his room and screaming at him. which for the record, you have done that too.

“whatever,” hongjoong mutters softly to himself, with him beginning to click on your alert.

the press immediately transports him out of instagram and to the snapchat catalog of all of his recent chats. besides your messages, hardly any other reside here. yeah, there was a couple of unopened ones from his chemistry lab group-chat, but being honest, he just wasn’t going to respond to jung wooyoung’s poor attempt at flirting with everyone else.

with this said, he doesn’t waste much longer in terms of responding to you, with him tapping on the purple icon. for a second, the video doesn’t open, almost as if there was a lag.

he tilts his head to the side and lets out a harsh sigh. he goes to click on it again and this time the video quickly fills each corner of his screen.

yet, what stares back at him is not a rant video. there’s no yelling; he couldn’t even see your face. instead, there’s immediate shuffling of your phone in a dimly lit room—your bed room. the video is shaky and blurred, and hongjoong begins to question if there’d even been a purpose to it when the screen begins panning down.

it continues to descend further and further, raking the frame over some large area of fabric, until eventually it lands on your completely bare, naked cunt.

the moment he registers what’s on his phone, hongjoong’s eyes go wide and instantly he starts coughing from shock.

what the fuck is he watching right now?

before he can exit out that video, it quickly cuts off and a new one pops up. this time your pussy is already in full display for the viewer, the camera being only a few inches away from his eyes.

soon, your hand comes into frame, and freshly manicured nails begin to touch at your sex, lightly grazing it.

“what the hell..?” hongjoong’s left starstruck.

even when you ever so slowly, use two fingers to first get a good handle on your thick lips, then proceed to spread them apart—revealing your pink insides, he’s in awe. even when you send a single finger to stroke up the middle of your slit, he still can’t seem to believe what he’s witnessing. even as you detach your finger from your cunt, now sticky with a stringy liquid, hongjoong has absolutely no idea what the fuck to think.

but even as the video rolls on, he doesn’t will himself to leave it. he isn’t sure if it’s from pure shock or downright disgust that’s keeping him intrigued, but he finds himself trained to the screen. not once has he looked away. his gaze remains on your exposure, and without any thought, a pulse rockets throughout his body.

as a new clip progresses, his breathing is turning heavier and more labored. your touch that once started off so airy has swiftly turned into aggressive fingering.

the camera work becomes increasingly shaky the longer the video continues, and now he swears he can see your hips fighting to match pace with your desperate rubbing.

some of the wet spots coating your cunt would glimmer from the light, and yet again that same jolt rushes through hongjoong’s body.

his volume hadn’t been up that loudly, however faint whimpers and occasional moans could still be made out, courtesy of you. he thinks anytime he heard those, an uncomfortable surge courses throughout his veins.

especially since he can already imagine the faces you must be making. your dismissive eye rolls, the frustrated nose scrunches, he feels he can construct your expression right now just because he knows you that well.

fuck. and there he goes with another surge. this time accompanied with a quick jerk of his thighs.

the series of videos eventually come to an end. you were able to get in another hearty buck of your hips, which caused the loudest moan of the night to soar out of your mouth. then after that, the video ends and hongjoong’s whisked back to the message log, now waiting for his response.

slow blinks.

that’s all hongjoong can manage for right now.

slow blinks and a dropped mouth from whatever fucking porn video you—his step-sister—just sent him.

what the actual fuck?

a minute goes by that he’s left you on open. within that time frame, he sees your bitmoji appear at the top of the log, sporting its usual thinking face. three ellipsis are right next to the character which indicates that you’re typing.

soon, an actual message comes up, and as if his brain is on autopilot, his thumb falls down to tap on your notification. he’s instantly dragged back into the chat with you.

y/n:

| no fucking way i just did that

| oh my god

| oh my fucking god

| did i actually just send you that?

why does he feel his heart beating faster? licking his lips, he manages to type out a response.

hongjoong:

| yeah, you did

| what the fuck was that?

y/n:

| NO

| holy fuck

| shit that wasn’t meant for you hongjoong

| i meant to send that to someone else

see, now that thought never crossed his mind. actually, no thoughts did until now. you accidentally sent him a nude? how does that even happen?

hongjoong regards your latest texts in perplexity, all the while your own bitmoji character sits idly in the corner, waiting for his response. about 10 seconds pass when your character darts out from said corner and thought bubbles appear next to it.

y/n:

| hongjoong i swear to god you better not tell another living soul about this

| you’ll be fucking dead. DEAD. do you hear me?

| yah, answer me.

| answer big sister and tell her you won’t open up your goddamn mouth about this.

“oh, my...” murmuring, he flops his head against the wall and scoffs. he hates whenever you do this. reestablishing your dominance—like he’s your pet or some shit. god, you get on his nerves.

he blows out a jagged breath. the pads of his fingers begin to leisurely tap at the screen.

but, fucking hell. why did reading that make his stomach twist?

hongjoong:

| okay i swear i wont say anything

a response from you appears out of no where.

y/n:

| say it again

the tinniest groan gets caught in his throat as his eyes crinkle in anguish. what the hell are you doing to him? do you get off on embarrassing him? he didn’t even do anything, and yet he’s being treated like this.

hongjoong:

| noona, i promise i won’t say anything

| alright? i’m not gonna say a single thing to anyone

y/n:

| yeah you won’t

| don’t say anything

| don’t even THINK about what you saw

his teeth pull his bottom lip inwards, and hongjoong gnaws on it.

hongjoong:

| okay

y/n:

| i’m so serious.

hongjoong:

| i hear you, okay? i’ll forget about the whole thing

your bitmoji sits in the corner, as if it’s gathering its thoughts. then, with one final thought bubble, it spits out the last remaining texts before you completely disappear from chat.

y/n:

| yeah you will.

| fucking perv

| and don’t talk to me at all tomorrow

| i don’t want to see you

| don’t even look at me

| is that clear?

and that was that. after those messages, you never came back, not even when hongjoong replied to your words with a mere, ‘okay’. you didn’t even open it.

with a shaky breath, he exits out of the app and then eventually decides to just shut off his phone.

he sits. waiting for what exactly? hongjoong doesn't know, but he decides to give himself some time to process everything that just happened.

his step-sister was sending nudes to someone else...but accidentally sent it to him?

hongjoong's eyes glance upward as he replays the text messages in his mind. that's exactly what you said. it had been a mistake, those videos.

his gaze travels down as he continues to revisit the whole thing. those weren't rant videos. not like how he previously believed. he had held his breath in anticipation of getting screamed at, yet instead it was practically the opposite.

no yelling, but a quiet stillness. no harsh pointing, but soft touches. rough grunts of frustration were actually tiny whimpers of desperation.

"no way...." hongjoong cups a hand over his mouth as his mind wanders now to the videos, the contents of them.

your pussy was just out. bare. a full on nude.

he remembers your sex was shaven down quite a bit, with hardly any stubble budding out. your skin was nearly smooth. just how hongjoong prefers it- god, what the fuck?

what the hell is he thinking right now? you're his step-sister for fuck’s sake. it's vile of him to think this way about you. it's downright disgusting of him. he knows this.

shaking his head, hongjoong attempts to break away his thoughts, but they're plastered to his brain. no matter how hard he forces himself to think otherwise, his mind is being flooded with recollections of those stupid fucking videos.

your fingers coming down to tease the camera, now he's starting to recall that. how much juice you were leaking out, he can picture the spouts of liquid in his head. your hips fucking your hand with a clear need to get off—hongjoong nearly groans aloud from watching that scene play out.

he's so consumed in these memories; he doesn't even register the fact he's beginning to pull down his pants. he only brings them down till it reaches his mid-thigh, then immediately he starts palming his underwear.

the moment he feels a sense of relief, lips slightly parted as he grips his thick erection in all directions, it's then he realizes what he's about to do. oh, god.

his hand continues to work through the fabric in attempt to satiate the growing desire in his gut. he didn’t want to do this. but, the thoughts kept replaying. those same surges from earlier are coursing through his body before ending with a pulse to his poor cock.

hongjoong huffs a little, this time grabbing the waistband and shoving it far enough to where his hard-on springs up. it’s red and swollen, with tiny drops of wetness leaking from the top, and he doesn’t waste a second grabbing the base to start jerking it.

‘fucking perv’

that had been one of the lasts things you’d texted before disappearing on him. initially it hurt to see you call him that, but as he stares at the hand stimulating his dick, he couldn’t help but allow those words to fuel his drive.

you think he’s a pervert? someone so fucking nasty?

audible breaths fill hongjoong’s ears as he speeds up his pace. going up and down, his fingers curl around his skin for a better grasp.

you probably are repulsed by him, hongjoong thinks to himself, such a disgusting little brother.

quickly letting go, he gathers all the spit in his mouth and propels it towards his palm then returns back to stroking himself. the lubrication makes for a warm sensation, one that hongjoong just melts into. he lets his back relax against the surface as waves of pleasure ripple throughout his cock.

a low grunt topples from his lips, “well, you- you did this to me. all your fault…y/n-ah...”

his pelvis had twitched and bucked upward, causing his hand to squeeze perfectly around the tip and him to softly moan. he didn’t even mean for that to happen, it was just reactive. all because of you.

your stupid cunt flashes in his mind once again, and he feels his hand increase as well. the soft whimpers you produced swirl in his ears which makes his own moans grow louder. you’re the only thing in his head right now, and holy hell, he doesn’t want it to stop. not anymore.

his hips rut faster and faster into his hand, now finding no reason to hold back. your slick pussy that looked so eatable it made him rock hard, he’s thinking about that. he keeps the images of you trapped within his thoughts, no longer wanting them to escape.

“gah…!”

beads of pre-cum dribble from hongjoong’s slit as he finds great elation in the way he’s absolutely fucking his hand. there’s no other way to say it. he truly is fucking his hand, now imagining it was parts of you instead.

your velvet walls would take him so well, he fucking knows they would.

would be warm like his palm and contract perfectly like his fingers. he mimics his thoughts with his actions, and heavy pants waft around in the air.

he feels himself getting close. the sensation that once creeped within him is now present, desperate to spill out.

his stomach convulses as he thrusts harsher and wildly into his hand. fuck, he’d never thought he’d orgasm so fast. he tries his hardest to stop it. he tries to cut back on his pace, but that’s nearly impossible when it’s like he’s in a trance. it just feels too good.

and when hongjoong starts to see white behind his eyes, he knew he wasn’t going to last long. his eyes squint with a grimace, “fuck...fuck…fu-uck..oh, I’m cuh...”

with one final buck, his orgasm hits him straight in his core, and he loses all control. strings of cum shoot out from his tip and land in every direction, his body tensing from the rapid shaking. even as he’s painfully aware of his fingers pumping away at his stiff cock, he’d rather envision it’s your nasty cunt he’s filling up.

a milky overload gushing out of your entrance, he acts as if your pussy couldn’t handle how much cum he had, and so he had no choice but to finish on your pussy lips. the picture is clear in his head, and it makes his eyes vibrate with a roll.

he moans heartily during it all, and even when his dick starts to become overstimulated, he doesn’t care. the pleasure still remains, so he continues to milk out his lasting semen until his hand is drowning in the liquid and eventually no more is coming out.

as he’s coming down from his high, the bliss overtaking his emotions, there’s truly only one thing left on his mind.

just how screwed he is for the rest of his life.

✧

✧

✧

✧

✧

- Bonus -

five days.

it’s been five days: wednesday, thursday, plus the weekend, since you and hongjoong last had any sort of interaction, and you want to make sure it stays this way.

you’ve been avoiding him, that much is evident. while you had told him to not interact with you the next day, you personally just couldn’t do it.

the day after the incident, you whisked yourself out the house and decided to crash at a friend’s place. you were too mortified and pissed to even be in the same room as your step-brother. let alone bear the repercussions of it all.

god. how could you have been so stupid? all it took was one misclick, and the rest of the videos were just sent to that recipient—the wrong recipient. to make matters worse, you hadn’t noticed anything alarming until after the videos were both sent and opened by the absolute last past you could’ve shown. how lucky.

once the following monday hit, you knew it was time to come back home. your parents had been questioning your whereabouts since you disappeared with no heads-up, them constantly texting you. however, even with the obvious shift in tone, it seemed clear they were still in the dark about the reason behind your absence.

good. hongjoong better keep his fucking mouth shut if he wanted to live to see another day.

that also makes for an easier return back to the house, knowing the issue is self-contained. when you pull up in your driveway that morning, it also helps that your parents’ cars are gone. they’re definitely at work currently, so now you can have even more time to collect your thoughts.

you don’t see hongjoong’s car anywhere in sight, either, and now you’re even more relaxed. right, he should have classes around this time, while you on the other hand had the pleasures of having monday’s off.

climbing out of the car, you find the trek back into the house much easier. no one’s home, and they probably won’t be home for at least a couple of hours. meaning, you don’t have to worry about anything as of right now, you are golden to-

the moment you throw in the front door, entering your residence, an ambling body comes trotting down from the staircase, and the two of you instantly lock eyes.

your face goes slack.

what. the. fuck?

with a bare chest out on display, hair messily scattered, and sporting sleep shorts, hongjoong has all the characteristics of the i-just-rolled-out-of-bed attire, and that begins to irritate you. why the hell is he here right now? just like that, you’re back to being on guard.

hongjoong halts his movements for a second before continuing his descent downstairs, this time at a much slower pace. you figured he’d sense your rapid mood change as hot anger pricks at your skin, causing him to avert his gaze from yours.

reaching the bottom of the stairs, hongjoong rounds the corner, your eyes trailing after his body as he makes his way into the kitchen. you aren’t sure what takes over, but soon the fury you’re experiencing has you storming right along into the kitchen, as well.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you sneer, slamming your hands down on the large island resting in the middle of the kitchen. you wanted answers and you wanted them now.

hongjoong, who’s standing on the complete other side, glances up from the bowl he recently grabbed and towards your power stance. the quick eye contact makes your stomach turn, but you make sure to appear indifferent.

“i woke up late today, then decided not to go to class,” his tone starts off like he’s tired, nearly dejected, but then it swiftly changes to that of something else, “are you finally back from your impromptu trip?”

you cock your head to the side. was that sarcasm you detected in his voice?

“what’s it to you?” there’s a snap to your question, but even that doesn’t seem to faze hongjoong.

he just turns his face away as he goes to speak, “just figured i should know. because if you are staying here….” he pauses briefly before letting out a dry laugh, “then technically i shouldn’t be talking to you, looking at you, or thinking about you,” he twists his head so fast, your attention gets recaptured by his piercing gaze, “isn’t that right?”

those words.

you had said that to him a few days ago out a fit of rage. and now, he’s hurling them back in your face.

your throat bobs uncomfortably as you try to swallow the imaginary thick pill, your demeanor somewhat faltering, “for the record…i meant every word.”

because truthfully, you did. you could not stand kim hongjoong before this whole thing happened, and you surely can’t stand him now. for your own sanity, he needs to keep a distance from you.

with a scowl, his nose turns upright at your statement, “really? but, you can slam your hands down and yell at me all you want? how does that make any sense?”

“i’m your senior, i can do whatever the hell i want.” you hiss right back, “doesn’t matter what i fucking said, all you need to do is listen.”

here we go with this.

“y/n, don’t try to-”

“what was that?” you buck your head forward with a disgusted face.

he takes a deep breath then tries once again, “y/n. it’s-”

“what?” you make sure to enunciate every letter.

hongjoong feels the anger boiling in his chest. with another irritated sigh, he opens his mouth, “noona-”

you stop him from progressing with his sentence, seeing as that word alone proved your point. you’re above him systematically. there’s nothing else to argue. as your younger brother, he needs to accept this fact and just do as he’s told.

“are you understanding now? how this works?” you fake sincerity with your questions, watching his own lividness unravel within his eyes. you don’t care, though. you want to make him feel low, “so when i tell you to not fucking look at me unless i’m talking to you, what does that mean, hongjoong? do you get what i’m saying?”

his knuckles are turning white. he didn’t even realize he’d been gripping the bowl so tightly until a sharp pain rockets through his hand. he lets go instantly, though fails to speak a word to you.

eyeing him up and down, you take the lack of response as a sign of victory. after a beat of silence, you backpedal slightly away from the island. now, after that, it’s time to raid the refrigerator for some breakfast.

while you venture off towards the refrigerator, you register how hongjoong doesn’t move an inch.

the fridge doors open, and with unconscious thoughts tumbling out in a murmur, you mindlessly search around for anything that catches your attention. all the while, an eerie stillness has taken over hongjoong.

you scan around, lowly muttering to yourself, “…wouldn’t even be surprised if he turned out to be a fucking pervert…probably enjoyed watching those videos….getting off on them…..what a—!”

a hand comes in contact the one of the doors, the force making it slam shut. hongjoong slides his way into your proximity, and you can already see the anger emanating off his body. he stares you down menacingly as now you begin to feel trapped.

“you want me to tell you the real reason why i woke up late this morning?” he starts off with narrow eyes. when you don’t give a reply, too busy trying to reel-in from the sudden outburst, he takes that as a sign to continue speaking. he bores his gaze deeply into yours, “ever since you sent me those stupid, fucking nudes, i can’t stop thinking about them.”

wow. your eyes go wide a that, your breath hitching in the process.

he doesn’t waste another second, quickly adding on to that, “they’ve been so intrusive, infecting my thoughts—my dreams,” his eyes scattily absorb your expression, intaking the wave of emotions that wash over your face, “it’s gotten to the point where i’ve been fucking myself raw before bed, just so i can sleep comfortably. every night, cumming over and over again to the thought of my big sister’s pussy.“

he watches the horror override your once sly attitude. and god, does it feel great to finally have you so shocked.

he drops his hand from the metal doors, then begins to step away, “how about it? is knowing that going to cure that rancid attitude of yours, noona?”

just like your previous ones, hongjoongs’ questions are rhetorical. he doesn’t want an answer from you. no, that wasn’t the goal of his confession. he just knew he wanted to make you feel as sick as you did to him.

and there’s nothing sicker than the truth.

hongjoong doesn’t stick around much longer after that bomb drop, with him retreating back to his room upstairs. you’re still in the kitchen, trying to process what the actual fuck you just heard.

he rounds the corner, about to take the first step upwards, when his vision flickers over to you one last time. you’re spaced out in a stare, your breathing regular and even. you’re frozen like a statue.

but when his gaze peers down to your legs, and the slight clutch they do, he knew from this moment things would really never be the same.

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Motion Sick // Chapter 13

A/N: So this was crazy, didn't realize i wrote this much, but here we are... so enjoy!! i did a quick read through and didn't see any errors, but i did write this over like 3 days, some of which was written very deliriously so idk let me know if you see anything. appreciate you reading and reacting 💕

WC: 12K+

Warnings: explicit sexy things, Minors DNI

**** Chapter 13 ****

The second week of waiting didn’t feel easier. Just… managed.

Lexi was still in Hawaii, posting golden hour sunsets and snapchats of poolside smoothies like it was the best week of her life. Smiles in every photo. Inside jokes in every caption. The kind of trip where everyone comes back with matching anklets and a stronger group chat.

Azzi double-tapped a few out of instinct, but even that was starting to feel performative. She wasn’t waiting on texts anymore. Didn’t really notice the gaps between them until they were pointed out by the timestamp. And when Lexi did send something—some blurry selfie or beach emoji—Azzi would stare at it for a few seconds too long before swiping it away without answering.

It wasn’t just distance. She was pulling back. Slowly. Quietly. Letting the space stretch a little further every day. And Lexi didn’t seem to notice—or maybe she just wasn’t reaching to close it.

Different time zone. Different team. Different rhythm.

A different life.

Maybe that was unfair. Maybe not.

They hadn’t really defined anything. Not officially. Not out loud. It was still new. Still loose. But Azzi couldn’t help noticing the way she’d started hesitating before answering Lexi’s texts. How her stomach didn’t flip anymore when her name lit up the screen. How easy it was to let hours—sometimes days—go by before she responded to a simple “miss u.”

And the truth was—she didn’t miss her. Not even a little. Not in the way she knew she should. Not in the way that counted.

She felt a little guilty about that. Like she was failing some unspoken test of what it meant to be good at relationships. Lexi had been kind. Supportive. Safe. She deserved more than silence on the other end of a text thread. More than someone who felt herself slipping away and didn’t try all that hard to stop it.

But Azzi couldn’t fake missing someone she didn’t think about when they weren’t right in front of her.

Azzi could go hours without thinking about Lexi. Maybe even days—if Lexi didn’t keep snap-streaking her smoothies like it was a contractual obligation.

She couldn’t make it through a single minute without Paige slipping into the corners of her mind, soft and stubborn, like a song she never meant to memorize.

So she stayed busy instead. Tried to keep her head down and her hands full. Morning lifts. Rehab. Practice. Film. Sleep.

Repeat.

She told herself if she could just keep moving, she wouldn’t have time to unravel.

Azzi was cleared for full practice, which helped. She had a schedule again. A rhythm. Early lifts, afternoon film, full-contact reps. Enough to sweat out some of the chaos still simmering beneath her skin. Enough to keep her from crawling out of hers every time Paige looked at her like that.

The season hadn’t exactly been smooth. Her injury had come at the worst time—just as conference play was heating up. They’d managed a couple solid wins without her, sure. Pulled it together when it counted. But the rhythm was off. The energy. Everyone felt it.

The other girls had stepped up in ways that made Azzi’s chest ache. But the truth was, they needed more than that. They needed Azzi.

And Azzi—God—she needed to be needed. To get back on the court and do something other than watch. Other than feel.

The structure gave her something to grip—like handrails on a staircase that still felt too steep. Something to hold onto while everything underneath stayed unstable. But the second she wasn’t actively busy, the second her body stilled and her mind had room to wander, it always drifted back to the same place.

To Paige. Because Paige was everywhere.

In the locker room, Paige kept stealing her Biofreeze like it was a bit they were both in on. Like she didn’t already have her own. Like using Azzi’s somehow made it hotter.

It started innocently enough. Paige would uncap the tube and squeeze some into her palm, rolling up the leg of her shorts to rub it into her knee, slow and deliberate. Head tilted. Eyes locked on Azzi like she was waiting to be caught.

She never rushed it. Always the same rhythm—long, slow circles, thumbs pressing into the muscle like she was trying to prove something. Like she knew Azzi was watching and wanted to make it worse. Paige would sit on the bench across from her, legs spread, smirking, smug, and infuriatingly pretty. Hair half-damp. Skin flushed from practice. Biting her lip like it was a reflex.

And then—of course—she’d turn the attention to Azzi.

"You want some?" she’d ask, already walking over.

Already behind her.

No room to say no.

Azzi would feel the cool weight of Paige’s hands on her shoulders before she could brace for it. Paige would rub the Biofreeze in like it was foreplay—palms broad, strokes slow. Her knuckles would graze just below Azzi’s collarbone, dangerously close to everything off-limits. Fingers drifting, pressing, dragging like she was sculpting tension out of skin.

Azzi would stiffen. Every time. Breathe through her nose and focus on a scuff mark on the floor like it might anchor her to reality.

This was a training room. With people. Coaches. Consequences. And yet.

She’d feel Paige’s breath at her ear—warm, barely there—and she’d want to lean back into it. Just for a second. Just to see what would happen.

Paige would always finish it the same way: a quick squeeze at the base of her neck and a murmured, “You good?”

And Azzi—still recovering, still furious, still not breathing right—would mutter something like “Fine,” when what she meant was I hate you or please do that again.

She never said it out loud. But Paige always walked away smiling like she’d heard it anyway.

In the gym, she was even worse.

Injured and bored was apparently Paige’s personal brand of menace, because instead of focusing on her own rehab, she hovered. Circled Azzi like it was a game. A routine. A ritual they weren’t allowed to talk about.

Spotting her during lifts even when she didn’t need one. Pretending to check her form, fingers slipping just under the hem of Azzi’s shorts to “adjust” the resistance bands on her hips. Dropping to her knees like it was normal—like it didn’t make Azzi forget how to stand upright.

The mirrors made it worse. Unforgiving. Honest.

Paige, kneeling behind her. Hands on her thighs. Looking up like she was about to pray.

Azzi had to fake a quad cramp once just to walk it off.

And Paige would just hand her a water bottle after like none of it had happened. All casual. All composed.

“Here you go, princess,” she’d say with a smirk that should’ve been illegal. “Don’t say I never take care of you.”

Azzi would shove her, weakly. Or blush. Usually both. And Paige would walk away with her towel slung over one shoulder, already biting back a laugh.

She was so annoying.

So smug. So obvious. So goddamn hot.

And the worst part?

Azzi liked it.

She liked the attention. The teasing. The way Paige was flirting without ever technically crossing a line. Like she was daring Azzi to be the one who broke first.

And every time, Azzi got a little closer to doing it. To crossing that line. To turning around mid-lift and grabbing Paige by the collar just to see what would happen.

She didn’t, of course.

But she thought about it. More than she wanted to admit. Enough that ignoring it started to feel like lying.

And Azzi—fully aware that she was spiraling—started pushing back.

She wore shorter shorts. Took her time stretching, especially when Paige was around—slow, deliberate movements that made eye contact feel dangerous. Sat next to her at team dinners and let her leg rest against Paige’s under the table, warm and unmoving. Started sending her texts that didn’t even try to play innocent anymore.

Sometimes it was just a photo.

A mirror selfie from the locker room, chest gleaming, eyes half-lidded. A snap of her legs stretched out on the recovery table, skin flushed and glistening. Once, a post-shower shot—towel tucked just high enough to stay legal, water dripping from her hair, lips parted like she didn’t mean to look that good.

No context. No warning.

Just vibes.

Paige would open it. Leave her on read for five whole minutes. Then send back the same emoji every time: 😇

And Azzi would stare at her phone like, you are so full of shit.

Eventually, the photos turned into texts. Hotter. Filthier. The kind of things that made her want to throw her phone across the room the second she hit send.

Once, late at night, Azzi texted: if you’re gonna eye fuck me all practice, the least you could do is help me finish.

No selfie. No punctuation. Just chaos.

Paige left her on read again.

And then—two nights later—got her revenge.

Azzi was laying in bed when it happened. Barely paying attention to her screen, hoodie pulled over her face like she was trying to hide from her own decisions.

Her phone buzzed.

It was a selfie.

Just Paige—head tilted, lips parted, eyes low and dangerous. A full smirk pulled across her mouth like she was daring Azzi to react. No makeup. No shirt in frame. Just collarbone. Jawline. Sin.

A text followed: you miss your seat or should I bring it to you?

Azzi audibly choked. Dropped her phone. Had to lie there for a full minute and just breathe.

Because she knew what it meant. There was no room for misinterpretation. Paige had sent that smirking selfie like she wasn’t about to ruin Azzi’s whole life from several floors away. Like she hadn’t just planted the mental image of Azzi on her face and dared her to react.

Azzi stared at the ceiling like it might offer her divine intervention. Or at least temporary amnesia.

She didn’t sleep that night. Didn’t even try.

How could she, when her brain was now running a 24/7 highlight reel titled Things Paige Bueckers Has Done To Emotionally Terrorize Me (And That I Would Absolutely Let Her Do Again)?

Paige 

Paige had been enjoying the game. More than she should’ve. More than she admitted to herself most days. It had started out harmless—teasing, pushing buttons, seeing how close she could get without touching flame.

But her mind played dirtier than she meant it to. Filthier by the minute.

What Azzi saw as flirting, Paige was already rewriting in her head into scenes that shouldn’t be happening in a public gym. Or ever, really. And it was getting harder—literally, sometimes—to keep that energy locked behind her teeth and not act on any of it.

She was hanging on by, like, two threads of physical restraint and one very overworked sense of self-control.

So she tested it.

The next day, she “accidentally�� brushed her fingers against Azzi’s hip while adjusting her warm-up band, and Azzi jolted like Paige had whispered something filthy instead of just touched her.

Which—fair. Paige probably had that look in her eyes again. The one Azzi pretended not to see. The one Paige didn’t even bother hiding anymore.

They flirted in gym mirrors and whispered in hallways like they weren’t two seconds from getting caught. Stole food off each other’s plates like it was foreplay. Azzi started handing her the Gatorade bottle without a word, just a slow pass, fingers brushing, gaze locked. Paige always drank from it a little too slow. A little too smug. Because she knew.

They both did.

Outside of basketball, it was somehow worse. There were fewer rules. Less structure. Just impulse.

They’d been dumb enough to try spending the night together once. Just to sleep. That was the rule.

It had been a long day—Paige was sore from treatment, mentally fried from sitting through two hours of film with the freshmen who still didn’t know how to defend a stagger screen, and Azzi hadn’t wanted to walk back to her dorm after sticking around late from a movie. They were both tired. Delirious. 

So when Paige said, “You can just crash here if you want,” it felt harmless. Practical, even. They were adults.

They could handle a twin XL and one shared blanket.

Obviously.

They set rules. Boundaries. Two feet apart. No funny business. No breathing weird. No “accidental” touching. And absolutely no mid-sleep spooning.

For a while, it worked.

Sort of.

Azzi lay on her side, back to Paige, motionless but not asleep. Paige mirrored her—flat on her back, eyes wide open, tracking every sound in the room like it might save her from herself. The hum of the mini fridge. The rustle of sheets. The shallow rise and fall of Azzi’s breath.

They weren’t touching. But they were close. Too close.

Every inch of Paige’s body felt aware of her. Like Azzi had become a gravitational field Paige couldn’t fully step out of. And the worst part? She didn’t want to.

Azzi shifted slightly. Paige felt the blanket tug. One of Azzi’s knees brushed her calf—barely—but Paige’s brain short-circuited anyway. Everything went very still. Very quiet. The kind of quiet that buzzed in your chest.

And then—breathing. Not loud. Not sharp. Just... different.

Slower. Thicker. Like Azzi felt it too.

Paige’s hand twitched in the dark. She thought about reaching out. Just once. Just to see.

Not to start anything. Not really. But maybe a little.

She wanted to touch her. Wanted to trace the curve of Azzi’s spine just to feel it, to prove she still could. She wanted to press her fingers into the soft place behind her knee, the one she used to kiss for no reason at all. She wanted to hear the sound Azzi made when she lost her breath—not just because of her body, but because of her.

It wasn’t just about wanting her. It was about missing her. It was about still knowing her in ways that made her hands ache with the need to remember.

She didn’t move. She didn’t reach.

Because as much as she wanted to—God, she wanted to—this wasn’t the moment. Not yet. Not when there was still mess hanging in the air that didn’t belong to them. Not when Azzi still had someone else’s name on her texts. 

They’d waited this long. They could wait a little longer.

Because when it happened—when they let it happen—she wanted it clean. Honest. Theirs.

And right now, it wasn’t.

Not yet.

And then—just a little—Azzi shifted her hips.

Nothing major. Just a small shift—enough to get comfortable. But Paige’s brain short-circuited anyway. She let out the softest, stupidest breath against the back of Azzi’s neck. A dead giveaway.

Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But then—so quiet it barely counted as sound:

“I miss you.”

Paige went still. Every breath caught halfway. Every muscle braced like she'd been hit in the chest. The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was everything.

Then, barely a whisper, like it hurt to say it:

“I miss you too.”

The space between them felt full. Like maybe they could stay there forever if they didn’t say anything else. If they just let the wanting settle and stayed very, very still.

But Paige knew better.

Instead, she sat up too fast. Her heart was pounding. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes like that would make it stop. Like it would undo what was already happening.

Azzi didn’t speak at first. Didn’t move. Just watched her with that unreadable expression Paige could barely look at.

Paige shifted awkwardly. “I’m gonna—” Her voice caught, too rough. “I’ll be back.”

Azzi’s brows pulled together, just slightly. “You don’t have to.”

Paige hesitated. “I know.”

Azzi nodded, like that answer was enough. Like she already knew why Paige needed to leave.

So Paige grabbed her hoodie off the chair and left before she could change her mind.

The hallway was cold. The stairwell was worse. She took them two at a time.

Because the truth was? Azzi had been in her room. But Paige needed the distance. Needed to breathe.

So she went to Azzi’s instead.

Same building. Just one floor down. Completely empty. Still smelled like her lotion and her shampoo and everything that made Paige feel unsteady.

She curled up on Azzi’s bed, pulled the extra blanket over her head, and stared at the ceiling in the dark.

She didn’t sleep.

Not even close.

****

She woke up to someone poking her in the forehead.

“Paige.”

Poke.

“Paige.”

Poke.

“Why are you in Azzi’s bed without Azzi?”

Paige groaned and rolled onto her side, face half-smushed into the pillow. “Go away.”

Caroline did not go away.

She stood at the foot of the bed, staring like Paige was a science experiment gone mildly wrong. “No, seriously. You’re in Azzi’s bed. And Azzi is... not. So unless she sleep-parachuted out the window, I’m gonna need answers.”

Paige blinked. Sat up slowly. Her hair was a disaster. Her hoodie was on backwards. One of her socks had somehow migrated to the floor.

“She’s not here,” Paige said, voice flat and hoarse. “Because she’s in my bed.”

Caroline raised both eyebrows. “Well, that raises exactly a million more questions.”

Paige sighed and held up a hand. “We were watching a movie. It got late. She didn’t want to walk back to her room, so I said she could crash.”

“Okay, sure. Still not explaining why you’re the one playing Goldilocks in her bed.”

Paige groaned. “We tried to sleep. Like, actually sleep. But then it got all quiet and weird and... tense. Like the kind of tense where breathing starts to feel like a crime? And I just— I didn’t trust myself not to do something reckless, so I bailed. Came here to cool off.”

Caroline blinked. “So your grand solution was to flee your own bed and emotionally pace in hers.”

“I didn’t pace.”

“You are mentally pacing, Bueckers.”

Paige flopped back dramatically onto the mattress. “When the hell does Lexi get back?”

“Not soon enough. I’m getting sick watching you two eye-fuck each other in public like it’s a team bonding activity.”

“I’m hanging on by a thread,” Paige mumbled into the pillow.

“A fraying thread. On fire. Wrapped around a bomb.”

****

The hallway was still quiet when Paige made it back upstairs, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, her heart pacing at the dumbest speed for someone who technically hadn’t done anything last night.

She pushed open the door to her room—their room, for the night—and felt the breath knock out of her.

Azzi was still there.

Curled up on Paige’s bed like she’d been planted there on purpose. Hair sprawled across the pillow, one arm tucked under her cheek, the other resting on her stomach like she’d drifted off mid-thought. Her hoodie had slipped slightly off one shoulder. The same shoulder Paige had kissed once in the dark when things were simpler. Or maybe just more confusing.

Paige stood in the doorway for too long.

She wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

Because this? It wasn’t fair. But God, it was beautiful. It was Azzi. Soft in a way that didn’t show up on game tape. Quiet in a way that made Paige ache.

She crossed the room slowly, like one wrong move might wake her or ruin the moment.

God, she looked peaceful.

And Paige wanted to be that peace. For her. She wanted to be the thing Azzi reached for when everything else felt too loud. Not the complication. Not the mess.

Just… hers.

She crouched down next to the bed and reached out—gentle, like she didn’t want to disturb whatever dream Azzi was lost in. She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, let her thumb ghost along the side of her face, down to the sharp line of her jaw, lingering just a second longer than she probably should have.

Azzi stirred. Eyes blinking open, soft and unfocused at first.

Then—Paige.

And that smile.

Sleepy. Real. Like she was happy Paige was the first thing she saw.

“You came back,” Azzi whispered.

Paige smiled too, something tight and fluttery pressing against her ribs. “Of course I came back.”

Azzi shifted a little, making space for her. Paige sat on the edge of the bed, their knees brushing. Azzi’s blanket slipped slightly, and Paige didn’t know if it was the morning light or her own brain short-circuiting, but she swore she could feel the warmth radiating off her skin like gravity.

“I’m sorry I left,” Paige said, voice lower now, softer. “I just… I didn’t trust myself.”

Azzi gave a tiny shake of her head. “Thank you for leaving.” Her voice was still thick from sleep, but her eyes were clear. Honest. “Because if you hadn’t... I wouldn’t have stopped you. There’s no way.”

Paige let that sit between them for a second. Let herself believe it. Because she’d known—felt—how close they were to the edge. One shift. One sigh. One hand in the wrong place.

And it would’ve been over.

Or worse—it wouldn’t have been enough.

Azzi reached under the blanket and laced their fingers together, casual like it was muscle memory. Paige let her.

God, she wanted to be reckless. She wanted to lie down next to her and press her mouth to that dimple on Azzi’s left cheek—the one that only showed up when she was really smiling, the one Paige could never look at without wanting more. 

But she also wanted to do right. For once. For both of them.

Azzi’s thumb moved over Paige’s knuckles under the blanket, slow and thoughtful. Neither of them said anything for a moment, like speaking might shatter the delicate calm they'd built between them.

Then Azzi exhaled. “This week is going to suck.”

Paige let out a soft, dry laugh. “Understatement of the century.”

Azzi looked up at her, a tired half-smile tugging at her lips. “We made it this far, though.”

“Barely.”

“Your fault,” Azzi said, nudging her knee against Paige’s. “With your smug little water bottle stunt and your gym mirror thirst traps.”

Paige gasped—dramatically. “My fault? You were the one sending post-shower selfies and stretching like a menace in spandex.”

Azzi grinned. “Allegedly.”

They both laughed—quiet, breathless, the kind of laugh that felt like relief.

Then silence again. But this time, not heavy.

Paige’s eyes drifted toward her desk.

And there it was.

The bracelet.

Still sitting where she left it. Unworn. Untouched.

Pink and purple beads. The word purpose spelled out in white block letters. Azzi had made it herself. Not a replacement for the one Paige had given her last year—but something new. Something that came out of the silence. Something chosen.

Paige nodded toward it. “That bracelet… I think I need to start wearing it.”

Azzi followed her gaze, then back at Paige, her voice soft but slightly teasing. “Why now? I was starting to think you didn’t even like it.”

Paige let out a quiet laugh, almost sheepish. “I liked it too much, maybe. I wasn’t ready to wear something that actually meant something.”

She looked down, then back at Azzi, her voice quieter now. “But I think I am. I think I need it. Just to remind me to hold on a little longer.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. But the shift in her face was instant—gentler, steadier. Like something in her had finally unclenched.

“I want this,” Paige said, voice barely above a whisper. “Like—really want this. But if we’re gonna do it… I want to do it right. No guilt. No mess. No baggage hanging on us like a shadow.”

Azzi nodded, eyes shining just a little. “I want that too.”

“Then we wait,” Paige said, her fingers tightening slightly around Azzi’s. “Even if it’s hell.”

Azzi smiled—small and sweet and real. “Purpose,” she repeated, like the word itself could steady her heartbeat.

Paige reached forward and picked up the bracelet. She slid it over her wrist slowly—it caught slightly on her knuckles, the elastic tugging before settling snug against her skin. Pink and purple beads pressed gently into her pulse, warm from the light and the moment. Like armor. Like hope.

Azzi

The trip to Omaha was cursed. That was the only logical explanation.

Creighton was no joke. Easily one of their hardest conference games. They were tough. Disciplined. Sharp from the perimeter. And the gym always had that weird haunted-church energy—like even the bleachers wanted them to lose.

Azzi wasn’t dreading the game, though. She liked games like this. High stakes. Real strategy. A good excuse to hit the reset button and drown her feelings in defense. And more than anything, she was playing. Not fully cleared, not a full workload—but she was back in the rotation. Back in the warmups, back in the pregame huddles, back on the scout report. Even if it was just restricted minutes, it meant something. Her name would be called again. She could feel the itch in her chest—that wired, buzzing anticipation that only came from knowing she’d get to make an impact, even if it was only a handful of possessions.

No, what she was dreading was the rest of it.

The travel. The hotel. The Paige of it all.

They’d cleared the air—well, as much as two people could while still pretending they weren’t seconds away from combusting. Set some rules. Drew the line in something thicker than sand.

She’d meant it.

She wanted to mean it.

Because the truth was, she liked what they were building. The slow, careful stitching of something real. Not just heat and habit, but trust. She’d seen the bracelet on Paige’s wrist that morning—Purpose, snug against her pulse like a promise—and something had settled in her chest. Like maybe they could actually hold on long enough to make it count.

But that didn’t mean this trip wasn’t going to suck.

Because wanting the right thing didn’t make the wrong thing stop pulsing under her skin every time Paige so much as looked at her.

And Nebraska.

God, Nebraska.

Omaha at least had a few redeeming qualities—like that steakhouse the team always went to. The one with the cowboy-themed menus and the baked potatoes the size of her face. She still remembered her first trip freshman year, sitting across from Nika and Caroline, trying not to moan over a bone-in ribeye. Seriously. Some of the best steak she’d ever had. Nebraska knew how to do cows. That was probably it, though.

This time, nothing had gone right.

Flight delay. Broken kiosk. Paige’s carry-on got pulled for extra screening because of an “unidentified cylindrical object” that turned out to be her foam roller.

Caroline nearly had a meltdown when she realized that she forgot her neck pillow back in her room.

“I need to lean on something or I’ll spiral,” she declared, completely straight-faced.

“You could lean on Jesus,” Aubrey deadpanned.

Caroline just flipped her off and stole Aubrey’s Sour Patch Kids as punishment.

By the time they landed, everyone was cranky. And then Coach handed out the rooming list.

Azzi glanced down at the paper in her hand.

Room 314: Paige Bueckers & Azzi Fudd

Her stomach dropped.

“Oh my God,” Caroline said instantly, too loudly.

Aubrey peered over her shoulder and broke into a grin. “Coach really said slow burn roommates trope.”

“What?” Ines asked, looking up from her phone.

“Nothing,” Caroline chirped, way too quickly. “Inside joke. Super boring. You wouldn’t get it.”

Paige didn’t say a word. Just stared at the list like it might self-destruct. Azzi could feel her vibrating next to her—tight shoulders, clenched jaw, the barest flicker of panic behind her eyes.

Azzi didn’t trust herself to speak. Her pulse was spiking, and the air felt thinner than it should.

Caroline leaned in just close enough, lowering her voice: “Try not to moan her name so loud this time, okay?”

Azzi didn’t flinch. Just grabbed the handle of her suitcase, muttering under her breath, “Oh, fuck off.”

Caroline grinned like she’d won something.

They all shuffled toward the elevator. Paige was quiet, walking just behind her, wheeling her bag like it weighed more than it should.

Azzi didn’t look back. She couldn’t. Because this was already a disaster. And they hadn’t even opened the door yet.

The hotel room door creaked open like something out of a horror movie.

And honestly? It felt that way.

One bed.

One.

Paige’s mouth fell open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Azzi stepped in behind her, paused, and stared like she could manifest a second bed just by glaring hard enough.

“Who in the actual…” Paige didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. The sexual tension was already unpacking its suitcase in the corner.

It wasn’t even a queen. It was barely a full.

This was a cosmic joke.

The room felt like a trap. Like the second the door clicked shut, the oxygen changed.

They didn’t say anything.

Paige tossed her phone on the nightstand, but didn’t move otherwise. Azzi stood near the dresser, arms folded tightly across her chest, like she could hold herself back with just the pressure of her own grip.

She didn’t know how it happened. Honestly. One second, they were a room’s length apart. The next, she was on top of Paige, knees straddling her thighs, their foreheads pressed together, the kind of silence between them that wasn’t quiet at all.

They weren’t kissing. Not yet. But their breath was shared, erratic. Azzi could feel Paige’s hands already under her shirt, fingertips grazing skin like they’d never stopped touching. Paige’s eyes were dark, lips parted, her voice gone—completely swallowed by the moment.

Then—

“Shit,” Paige whispered.

Her fingers had caught on something—Azzi’s hair twisted into the pink-and-purple bracelet she had finally put on. 

Azzi stilled.

The soft elastic of the bracelet tugged just enough to snap her back into her body.

That stupid little piece of string, sitting between them like a truth they couldn’t pretend didn’t exist.

Purpose.

They had made a promise. To wait. To mean it.

Azzi closed her eyes. Rested her forehead against Paige’s for one more beat.

Then pulled back.

“I’ll shower first,” she said, quiet, not looking at her.

She climbed off the bed before she changed her mind and didn’t let herself check Paige’s face on the way to the bathroom. Didn’t want to see the regret. Or the ache. Or worse—agreement.

The door shut behind her. Loud. Final.

But nothing felt finished.

She stripped fast—almost frantically—trying not to see herself in the mirror, not like this. Not flushed and flustered and shaking like someone had lit a fire in her bloodstream and dared her not to burn.

The water turned on with a screech, too hot on her skin, scalding on purpose. She needed to feel something else. Anything else. The bathroom filled with steam so quickly she couldn’t see the tiles in front of her.

But she wasn’t thinking about the water.

She was thinking about Paige. On the other side of that paper-thin wall. Sitting on that bed they weren’t going to talk about. Shirt probably tugged up just a little. Head tilted back, mouth parted, brows drawn like they always did when she was close.

The image came uninvited and landed hard—heavy and visceral and real.

Azzi’s hand moved lower before she even realized it, like muscle memory. Like instinct.

Slow. Careful. Testing the edge of her own restraint.

She squeezed her eyes shut, let her head fall back against the wall. The tile was slick against her spine. Her other hand found the edge of the shower, bracing. Her fingers moved, slow and steady, but her breathing wasn’t.

She wasn’t just imagining it. She felt Paige. The tension. The pull. The heat that had built between them since the moment that damn door closed.

Then— God. Then she heard it.

Barely at first—a breath. Maybe nothing.

But then again. Louder. A stifled moan. A caught inhale. The kind that rattled in your chest and broke apart as it left you.

Azzi’s hand stilled, her eyes flying open.

No way.

She leaned into the sound. Listened.

And there it was—Paige’s voice, soft and low, her name ghosting through the wall like a secret.

Azzi’s knees nearly buckled.

Because Paige was doing it too.

Paige was touching herself, alone in that bed, just feet away. No shame. No hesitation. Like the promise they made had already unraveled between her fingers. Like Azzi’s hands were still on her, even when they weren’t.

Something inside her cracked clean open.

She exhaled hard and let go—fingers picking up rhythm, her body jerking forward into the heat of the spray. She didn’t hold back. Couldn’t. Not when she knew Paige could hear her too. Not when this—this—was the only thing that could quiet the ache lodged in her chest.

She pressed her forehead to the tile, her breath coming faster now, hips grinding into her hand like she was chasing something she couldn’t name. Her other hand slammed against the wall for leverage, water cascading down her spine, everything in her tight and trembling and dangerously close.

And then—

“Azzi—”

Her name. Again. Clearer this time. Desperate.

Azzi whimpered. Loud. Messy.

The sound bounced off the tile.

She moved faster, chasing the high she hadn’t let herself feel in weeks. Her thighs shook. Her jaw clenched. Her body clenched tighter. The sound of Paige’s voice—ragged, hoarse, broken—pushed her right over the edge.

“Fuck, Paige—”

It tore out of her as she came—body arching, lips parted, a sob catching in her throat. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was too much. It felt like grief and fire and hunger and home, all at once.

When it finally passed, she sagged against the wall, breathless. The water had gone lukewarm. Her legs barely held her upright.

Silence followed.

But it wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t closure.

It was the kind of silence that screamed.

She stepped out ten minutes later, wrapped in a towel, hair wet and curling at the ends. She didn’t look directly at the bed.

“Shower’s free,” she said, voice hoarse, barely there.

Paige didn’t answer. Didn’t look at her either. She was curled under the blanket, screen glowing too bright against her face.

But Azzi could feel her watching.

And even in the dark, she knew—Paige had heard her.

Knew it. Felt it.

Azzi got into bed and rolled over, facing the wall. Her heart wouldn’t slow down. She could still feel Paige’s name on her tongue.

And worse—she could still feel the pulse in her core, low and stubborn, the phantom ache of release still echoing through her body. Her skin was too warm. Her limbs too heavy. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off, not fully. It left her breathless in a way that wasn’t just physical.

She wasn’t sure what kind of silence this was—if it meant too much, or not enough.

But that had happened.

And it meant something.

Even with a wall of steam and restraint and distance between them—it still felt like the most intimate thing they’d shared in months. Maybe longer.

It wasn’t just about getting off. It was about being known. Felt. Heard.

Azzi closed her eyes and let the burn settle in her chest.

No one had ever made her feel like this. And the worst part?

Paige didn’t even touch her.

Not really. And still—Azzi didn’t want to take it back.

She stared into the dark, muscles tense beneath the scratchy hotel blanket, every nerve wired like she was waiting for something else to happen.

But nothing did.

No movement. No words.

Just the quiet.

The room felt thick with it—whatever that had just been. Not just lust. Not just crossing a line. Something deeper. Mutual. Volcanic. Like they’d shared a secret without saying a word.

The mattress shifted.

A quiet rustle of sheets.

Paige got up, wordless. The soft pad of bare feet on carpet. Then the bathroom door opened with a soft click and closed behind her.

Azzi didn’t move.

But she listened to the sound of the fan whirring to life behind the door.

And she knew—Paige was just as wrecked as she was.

Paige 

The second she closed the bathroom door behind her, Paige leaned against it like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Her pulse was still slamming.

She could hear the fan buzzing overhead, the fluorescent light buzzing harder. Everything was too bright, too loud, too real.

She hadn’t meant for it to happen like that.

No—scratch that. She hadn’t meant for it to happen at all.

Paige braced her palms on the sink, eyes fixed on the mirror. She looked flushed, hair a mess, lips bitten raw. Like someone who’d lost a fight.

Her reflection didn’t lie.

Because the truth was, the second Azzi shut that bathroom door and turned the lock, Paige knew.

She felt it. In her chest. In her stomach. Between her legs.

She tried not to listen. Tried not to picture Azzi under the spray of that shitty hotel shower, forehead pressed to the tile, breath going ragged. But the walls were too thin, and Paige’s imagination was too fast.

And once she heard her—really heard her—it was over.

Azzi’s voice, breathless and broken. Saying her name like it still meant something.

Paige had never undressed faster in her life.

And it was pathetic, honestly—how fast she’d come, how badly she wanted it, how her fingers didn’t feel like her own. Like her whole body had been holding it in for weeks.

Paige exhaled and splashed cold water on her face, as if that would help. It didn’t. It just made her flinch.

She looked down at her wrist. The bracelet was still there—pink and purple, snug against her skin, a reminder of everything they were trying to build.

Or protect. Or maybe just survive.

She ran a hand through her hair and stared at her reflection one more time.

There was nothing left to say. Not tonight.

She shut the light off before slipping back into the dark.

****

The Creighton game had gone about as well as it could’ve.

UConn won—tight but controlled, the kind of game that looked better in the box score than it felt in the moment. Azzi hit a step-back three in the second quarter that lit up the bench. It was business. Professional. Locked-in.

The rest of the trip passed in a blur of team meals, ice baths, film sessions, and forced small talk. The hotel room had remained Switzerland—neutral territory, boundaries intact.

They didn’t touch. Not really.

But that didn’t stop the long glances. The slow exhales. The moments when Paige’s hand would brush Azzi’s back while sliding past her in the hallway. Or when Azzi would sit on the edge of the bed to lace her shoes and Paige’s gaze would flick down, just once, and linger too long.

It was a silent understanding.

They were waiting.

And it was torture.

Now they were back on campus.

The cold hit like a slap—sharp and sudden, the kind that made your eyes water even if you weren’t crying. Everyone peeled off the bus in a blur of headphones, oversized hoodies, and half-zipped duffels, rushing toward dorms and off-campus apartments like they’d been gone for years instead of three days.

Paige was halfway across the quad, head down, earbuds in, when she nearly collided with someone rounding the path.

Lexi.

“Oh—hey,” she said, blinking like she hadn’t expected to see anyone. “Didn’t think you guys were back yet.”

Paige yanked one earbud out, her breath catching. “Yeah. Early flight.”

Lexi smiled, easy. Familiar. Like she hadn’t been the shadow at the edge of every thought Paige had tried to ignore for the past two weeks. Her hair was still damp—fresh from a shower or the gym—and her sweatshirt was slipping off one shoulder in that effortless, unbothered way that made Paige’s stomach twist.

“I haven’t seen Azzi,” Lexi said, adjusting the strap of her bag. “I texted her when I saw the flight info online, but she hasn’t answered. She’s been kinda... distant lately? I don’t know. Have you noticed that?”

Paige’s mouth went dry. Her heart did something weird in her chest—like it skipped and then panicked to catch up.

“Oh.” She tried to keep her voice light, casual. “Maybe? We’ve all been kind of swamped.”

Lexi nodded slowly. “Yeah. Totally. I just thought—I don’t know. I figured she’d say something if something was wrong.”

Paige nodded too. Too fast. Too much.

“Yeah,” she said again. “I’m sure she will.”

But the guilt was already there, thick and low in her stomach. Hot under her skin.

Because Azzi hadn’t told her yet.

And now Paige had walked straight into it—into her—like the universe was daring her to lie again.

She stood there, blinking against the wind, while Lexi gave a little wave and started walking the opposite direction.

Paige stayed rooted in place. Cold. Quiet. Drowning a little in the knowing.

Paige waited until Lexi was out of sight before pulling out her phone, her heart still beating in that uneven, guilty rhythm.

She didn’t overthink it.

Paige: just saw lex she asked about you

The reply came almost instantly.

Azzi: planning to talk to her this afternoon

Paige stared at the screen, thumb frozen above the keyboard. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt like she could breathe again. Maybe because Azzi had a plan. Maybe because they were so close now—just one conversation away from finally stepping into whatever this was between them.

It made her chest ache in the best and worst way.

She typed slowly.

Paige: okay just wanted you to know

She watched the three dots appear.

Azzi: i know thanks for telling me

Another pause.

Then:

Azzi: we’re almost there

Paige’s breath caught.

Paige: yeah

She hesitated, then added:

Paige: i can’t stop thinking about you

Azzi: same

Paige smiled—quiet, a little wrecked. Her thumb hovered over the screen.

She didn’t say I love you. But God, it lived in the space between the words.

Paige: see you later?

Azzi: of course

And just like that, Paige tucked her phone back in her pocket and started walking again, the cold biting less than it had before.

Azzi 

Azzi got there first.

She picked a small table near the window—tucked far enough away from foot traffic, but close enough to the exit in case she needed to make a fast escape. The student center café was its usual hum of espresso machines, laptop keys, and group projects being half-heartedly argued over at the next table. It was busy, but not loud. Perfect for pretending to be relaxed. Perfect for quietly breaking someone’s heart.

Her coffee sat untouched in front of her, steam curling upward in ghost-thin ribbons. She’d wrapped her hands around the cup for warmth, but her palms were already sweating.

Lexi showed up two minutes later, all sunshine and post-vacation glow. Hair up in a loose bun, tank top tucked into joggers, a hibiscus scrunchie on her wrist like a final souvenir. Her cheeks were pink, like she’d just walked from the gym—or maybe from being somewhere happy.

“Hey!” she said, sliding into the chair across from her. “Sorry if I smell like sunscreen. I swear it’s permanent now.”

Azzi smiled—small, tight. “Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah you too,” Lexi said, setting her iced drink down and pulling her chair closer. “You look tired.”

Azzi huffed a soft laugh. “That’s because I am.”

“I don’t miss road games,” Lexi said, sipping her drink through a bright green straw. “Hawaii ruined me. I forgot what alarms felt like.”

Azzi nodded, eyes flicking to the condensation dripping down the side of Lexi’s cup. “Trip was good?”

“Honestly? Yeah.” Lexi leaned back, smile still easy. “We went on this insane sunrise hike—like, full 4 a.m. wakeup call, pitch black trail, almost died twice, but the view was worth it. And the food? Unreal. I ate poke like four times a day. Might turn into raw tuna.”

Azzi smiled again, this one more real. “That sounds amazing.”

“It was.” Lexi shrugged, glanced down into her drink. “I kept thinking how much you would’ve loved it.”

Azzi looked down.

“I even brought you something,” Lexi added, reaching into her bag.

Azzi’s stomach turned. Her fingers curled tighter around her coffee cup, already knowing.

Lexi pulled out a small white box with a gold ribbon, holding it out across the table. “Saw it in this little shop on the North Shore. It felt like you.”

Azzi stared at it for a second too long before reaching for it—carefully, like it might explode.

She opened it.

Inside was a delicate gold chain. A tiny wave charm in brushed silver, barely bigger than her fingernail. It shimmered under the overhead lights.

“It’s beautiful,” Azzi said softly. “But I can’t accept it.”

Lexi blinked. “What?”

Azzi looked up, eyes searching. “I mean it. I shouldn’t.”

Lexi froze, her face flickering—confused first, then quiet.

“Why not?” she asked, even though Azzi could tell she already knew.

Azzi exhaled. “Because I didn’t come here to catch up.”

Azzi looked down at her hands, then back up.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this. I didn’t want to do it over text. You deserve more than that.”

Lexi didn’t move. Her face stayed soft, but her shoulders tensed just slightly.

Azzi kept going.

“I care about you. I really do. But I can’t keep pretending like I’m fully in this. It’s not fair to you. Or me.”

Lexi was quiet. Waiting.

Azzi forced the words out, even though they tasted like guilt.

“I have feelings for someone else.”

There. It was out.

The words hung between them like smoke—visible, choking, impossible to pull back.

Lexi didn’t react at first. She just stared, lips slightly parted, like she was still waiting for the punchline.

Then she exhaled. Slow. Her jaw flexed, and her mouth pulled into a tight, practiced line. She nodded once, mechanical. Like she’d rehearsed this exact scenario a dozen times in her head and now that it was happening, she had to stick to the script.

“Okay,” she said, voice even but clipped. “Thanks for being honest.”

Azzi felt her throat close. Her hands were clenched in her lap now, gripping the edge of her sweatshirt like it might keep her from unraveling.

“I never meant to hurt you,” she said, quiet.

Lexi gave a small, breathy laugh. Not kind. Not cruel. Just… exhausted.

“Right,” she said. One word, razor-thin.

Azzi flinched.

But something about the way she said it made her freeze.

Lexi reached for her cup. Her fingers wrapped around it slowly, deliberately. She didn’t sip it. Just held it. Staring down at the lid like she was waiting for permission.

“You know,” she said finally, “I was really hoping I was wrong.”

Azzi blinked. “What do you mean?”

Lexi stood up. Smooth. Graceful. The kind of calm that only meant one thing: something had cracked and she was holding it together with sheer will.

“That it wasn’t her,” she said. Her eyes flicked down, then back up to Azzi’s face. “But it is, isn’t it?”

Azzi opened her mouth. Closed it.

“Lex—”

Too late.

Lexi tossed the drink.

Not violently. Not in a flurry of rage. Just a single, fluid motion, like she was handing off a baton in a relay.

The cup arced forward and the lid popped off mid-air. Iced caramel cold brew splashed across Azzi’s chest and down her front—sharp and sticky, soaking into the gray cotton of her sweatshirt before she could even react.

The cold hit first. Then the sound.

The ice slid down her stomach. She gasped.

A beat of silence dropped over the café like a curtain. Conversations halted. Chairs scraped. Someone sucked in a sharp breath.

But Lexi didn’t flinch...

 She didn’t apologize. Didn’t rush out in embarrassment or try to play it off.

She just stepped back and leaned in, voice low, razor-sharp.

“Tell her congratulations.”

Then she turned on her heel and walked out—shoulders back, head high, not looking back even once.

Azzi sat frozen, dripping coffee and disbelief. Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands trembled, still half-raised like she could catch the moment before it shattered.

She stared at the door long after Lexi was gone.

And then—quietly, bitterly—she laughed. Just once. Because of course this was how it ended.

Sticky, cold, and completely unforgettable.

Paige

She was lying sideways on her bed, half-scrolling, half-dozing, still in her hoodie from the flight, when the door creaked open.

“P?” came the voice. Soft. Familiar. Weirdly casual.

Paige looked up and immediately bolted upright.

Azzi was standing in the doorway. Soaked. Fully drenched. Coffee-streaked across her sweatshirt, jeans clinging to her legs, one sneaker making a gross squelch sound with every step. There was literally an ice cube stuck to her shoelace.

And she was smiling.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Paige said, staring like she'd just seen someone crawl out of a flood.

Azzi shut the door behind her and shrugged, somehow both smug and exhausted. “Lexi happened.”

“She did this to you?”

“Technically, yeah.”

Paige launched off the bed, her voice already rising. “Are you serious right now?! I will beat her ass. I’m not even kidding. I’ll walk to the student center right now—”

Azzi reached out, grabbing her wrist before she could make it past the desk. “Paige.”

“No, because what kind of psycho throws a drink on someone during a breakup—”

“Paige.” Azzi said again, this time firmer. Still smiling. “It’s fine.”

Paige blinked at her. “You’re smiling.”

“Because it’s over. Like, actually over.”

Paige opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her pulse hadn’t slowed down yet.

“She brought me a gift,” Azzi continued, like they were debriefing after a particularly chaotic group project. “A necklace. Very sweet. Very ironic. I told her I couldn’t accept it. Told her I had feelings for someone else.”

Paige’s stomach flipped.

Azzi didn’t let go of her wrist.

“She figured out it was you,” she said gently. “Threw her cold brew on me. Called it a day.”

Paige stared at her for a second longer—taking in the damp clothes, the little flecks of caramel syrup on her collarbone, the proud look in her eyes that made her chest ache in a way that wasn’t scary anymore.

Azzi leaned forward slightly, voice softer now.

“So yeah. I think I need a shower.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Azzi smirked. “Wanna supervise?”

Paige pretended to think about it for half a second. “Only to make sure you don’t slip and die.”

“Wow. So chivalrous.”

They didn’t break eye contact.

Paige let her lips twitch into a grin, finally. “You’re really sure about this?”

Azzi’s thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And that was all it took.

Paige followed her into the bathroom without another word.

The second the door closed behind them, Paige leaned back against it, watching as Azzi peeled off her soaked sweatshirt with one slow, squelching motion. Coffee had soaked clean through the front—staining the fabric, her sports bra, the waistband of her jeans.

It should’ve looked gross.

But somehow it didn’t.

Somehow it made Paige’s throat go dry.

“Jesus,” Paige murmured, stepping closer. “You really took a whole venti to the chest, huh?”

Azzi laughed, eyes soft. “Battle scars.”

Paige reached out slowly, her fingertip dragging along the edge of a sticky trail just beneath Azzi’s collarbone. The caramel had dried slightly—tacky against her skin, warm from body heat. It shimmered under the overhead light, catching in the hollow just above her chest like something sacred.

Paige followed the line with her eyes, then leaned in without thinking.

Her tongue met skin—hot, sweet, a little salty from the residue of sweat and coffee. She flattened it against the spot and licked a slow, deliberate stripe, pausing to press her lips there like punctuation.

Azzi inhaled sharply, breath catching as Paige’s tongue dragged slowly across her collarbone.

Paige smiled against her skin. “Yup. Definitely a little oat milk in there.”

Azzi laughed—short, breathy, slightly dazed. “You’re disgusting.”

But her fingers slid into Paige’s hair anyway, anchoring her there like maybe she didn’t actually want her to stop.

Paige tilted her head up, lips brushing just under Azzi’s jaw. “Tell that to your pulse.”

And she felt it—wild and reckless beneath her mouth.

Azzi’s breath hitched again.

Paige pulled back just enough to look up at her, smirking. “Caramel. Notes of regret. Bold finish.”

Azzi grinned, eyes dark with want. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Mm,” Paige hummed, licking another line, just below her neck. “Guess I’m lucky you’re into assholes.”

Azzi’s hands were already on her hips, tugging at her jeans. “Help me out of the rest?”

Paige didn’t need to be asked twice.

The clothes came off in slow, deliberate layers—like neither of them wanted to rush, like the undressing itself was its own kind of worship.

Azzi’s long sleeve t-shirt peeled off first, sticky and stubborn, catching at her wrists before Paige tugged it free and tossed it somewhere near the sink. Her sports bra followed, damp from both coffee and heat, and Paige paused—just for a moment—to breathe her in.

Then she started kissing.

The curve of Azzi’s shoulder. The dip just beneath her collarbone. The swell of her breast, soft and warm and rising unevenly with every breath. Paige kissed her there, then lower, dragging her lips down the center of her chest, her stomach, leaving a slow trail of heat in her wake.

Azzi didn’t say anything, just watched with parted lips, her fingers grazing the hem of her own jeans like she wasn’t sure if she should help or wait.

Paige knelt and unbuttoned them herself. Slid the denim down Azzi’s hips, slow and smooth, until they pooled around her ankles. Her socks were peeled off next—gentle, almost laughably tender—until Azzi stood fully bare in front of her, flushed and shining under the bathroom lights.

Paige looked up at her like she’d just been handed something sacred.

The steam from the shower started to fog the mirror, and still, Paige hadn’t looked away.

“You’re really gonna stand there fully dressed while I get in?” Azzi asked, stepping into the tub.

“I’m savoring the view,” Paige said. “And also considering how mad I’d be if you slipped and cracked your head open before I get to kiss you properly.”

Azzi reached back, tugged at her hand. “Then come do something about it.”

Paige was out of her clothes in seconds, tossing them somewhere behind her without looking. The moment she stepped into the shower, steam curled around her like breath, the hot water hitting her spine in sharp, rhythmic bursts—and Azzi was already there. Wet and flushed and waiting.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Their bodies collided like tension finally snapping—urgent, electric, mouths crashing together as hands grabbed, pulled, clutched. Azzi’s fingers slid down Paige’s back, digging in, pulling her impossibly close. Paige groaned into the kiss, opening her mouth to let Azzi in—tongues tangling, breaths coming fast.

Azzi’s thigh pressed up between Paige’s legs, deliberate this time, and Paige gasped, her body arching forward like it had been waiting for that exact pressure. She ground down instinctively, chasing it, hands roaming Azzi’s slick skin—shoulders, spine, hips. Her grip landed on Azzi’s ass, squeezing hard enough to draw a hiss from her throat.

Water beat down around them, but it didn’t matter. Paige kissed along Azzi’s jaw, then lower, teeth scraping over the pulse in her neck, and Azzi whimpered—soft and helpless.

“I’ve wanted this,” Paige rasped, dragging her mouth back up to kiss her, slow and filthy, “so fucking bad.”

Azzi leaned in until their foreheads touched, voice barely audible over the water. “Then take me.”

She wrapped a leg around Paige’s waist, guiding her, breath hot and shaky. Paige pinned her gently against the tile, one hand gripping Azzi’s thigh, the other sliding between them, slipping lower until Azzi’s breath hitched and her whole body jolted.

“You’re already mine,” Paige breathed, fingers finding her heat but skimming just shy of where Azzi needed her most—drawing out the want until it was unbearable. 

Azzi nodded, trembling. “Then don’t stop.”

And Paige didn’t stop.

The water poured down around them in steady sheets, soaking their hair, cascading over skin already flushed and trembling. Steam curled around their tangled limbs like silk, cloaking them in heat and want. Paige didn’t rush—she took her time, kissing along Azzi’s jaw with slow intent, letting her lips linger against each pulse point, feeling the way Azzi’s breath stuttered against her cheek.

She trailed lower, tongue sweeping down the graceful line of Azzi’s throat, tasting sweat and water and something sweeter—something undeniably hers. Azzi tilted her head back, offering more, a breathy moan escaping as Paige kissed down the curve of her neck, her collarbone, each dip and hollow mapped out like a secret trail she was hellbent on memorizing.

Paige’s hands skimmed along Azzi’s waist, gripping her just above the hips to anchor her in place as her mouth moved to her chest. She kissed the swell of her breast first—soft and slow—then opened her mouth wider, tongue circling a nipple already peaked from the heat and anticipation.

When her teeth grazed over it—just a little scrape, just enough—Azzi gasped, her knees threatening to buckle. Paige sucked her in, mouth hot and open, letting her lips drag, tongue flicking and teasing in gentle, maddening patterns until Azzi was panting, her fingers curled tight in Paige’s hair.

Then Paige latched on harder, sucking until she felt Azzi shudder, her breath hitching with every pull. She wanted to leave a mark—something tender and bruised and unmistakably hers. A soft bruise blooming under her mouth, proof of this moment. Of how much she wanted her.

She switched sides with a low groan, worshipful in the way she kissed the other breast—twin trails of fire left in her wake, tongue and teeth working until another deep, purpling mark surfaced beneath her lips. Azzi trembled, head falling back against the tile with a thud, thighs tightening around Paige’s hips as the warmth from her mouth melted straight through her.

Every nerve in her body felt raw and awake, like she’d been lit from the inside out—claimed, adored, marked.

Paige looked up, smirking through the wreckage. “You’re so desperate for me, huh?” she murmured, lips brushing warm against her skin. “All that just from taking my time?”

Azzi nodded, dazed, eyes heavy-lidded. “I—yeah. God, yes.”

Paige smirked, lowering her mouth again. “Then hold on, baby. I’m not even close to done.”

She kissed her way down again, slower this time, savoring the way Azzi’s breath hitched with every inch she moved. Her tongue traced along the curve of Azzi’s waist, then lower, teeth grazing the soft skin of her inner thigh until Azzi whimpered and shifted, trying to get her where she needed her most.

Paige didn’t budge.

Instead, she pressed a kiss just beside her center—close enough to tease, not enough to satisfy. Then another. And another. Lazy, open-mouthed kisses that made Azzi writhe, her hands threading tighter in Paige’s hair.

“Paige,” she whispered, voice cracking, “please.”

“Please what?” Paige asked, her tone maddeningly calm, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “You gotta tell me.”

Azzi looked wrecked—flushed, panting, her thighs trembling where they bracketed Paige’s shoulders. “Touch me. Please, I—need you.”

That earned her a groan, low and wrecked, like Paige had been waiting to hear it.

“Good girl,” she whispered, and finally gave in.

She dragged her tongue up once—slow, flat, indulgent—then eased two fingers inside, deep and unhurried. The stretch was instant, perfect, Azzi’s head falling back against the tile with a gasp as Paige filled her.

Her hand moved with confident rhythm, curling just enough to brush that spot that made Azzi jolt, hips twitching involuntarily. Paige kept the pressure steady, her palm grinding against Azzi’s clit in tight, deliberate circles, coaxing out every stuttered gasp and choked moan like it was her favorite song.

Azzi’s back hit the tile again with a hard thud this time, the coolness of it a shocking contrast to the heat building low and fast inside her. But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t care. She was too far gone—too caught in the thick, pulsing wave of sensation to register anything except the way Paige’s fingers filled her, moved inside her, fucked her with a rhythm that felt like possession.

Her breath hitched, hands flying down to tangle in Paige’s hair, gripping tight, like she needed her closer—like she couldn’t take how close she already was. “Fuck,” she gasped, voice cracking. “Paige—”

Paige didn’t stop. She had one hand wrapped firmly around Azzi’s thigh, keeping her steady, while the other slid up to press against her lower stomach, holding her in place as her mouth worked her open—slick, steady, relentless. Azzi clung to her through it, fingers threading deeper into Paige’s soaked hair, her thighs trembling on either side of her head as she tried to ground herself, to survive the slow undoing of her body coming apart, one stroke at a time.

“You gonna come for me just like this?” she murmured, breath brushing sensitive skin. “On my mouth, like you were made for it?”

Azzi whimpered, hips jerking forward. Paige licked her again, slower this time, deliberately messy, before adding, “You taste so fucking good, baby. I could stay down here all night.”

She kissed her clit gently, then sucked—just hard enough to make Azzi cry out again. “Come on,” Paige whispered, voice low and rough. “Give it to me. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

And then her tongue was back—deeper, firmer, devastating—all wicked precision and praise.

Azzi’s head dropped back against the wall with a soft thud, a strangled moan escaping her lips. “Don’t stop,” she begged, the words breaking apart on her tongue.

Paige didn’t answer with words. She just hummed low against her—deep, satisfied, possessive—and the vibration shot straight through Azzi’s core like a lightning strike.

That was it.

Azzi cried out—sharp and breathless—and her whole body arched, legs tightening around Paige’s hips. She was so close, the pressure building too fast, her thighs shaking. Every thrust of Paige’s fingers sent another wave crashing through her, her body rocking between the hard tile and the relentless pleasure of Paige’s touch. Her stomach clenched, breath coming in short, desperate gasps, and her nails raked down Paige’s back, needing something to hold onto—anything to tether her to the moment.

Her vision blurred at the edges, heat coiling tighter with every stroke. “I can’t—Paige, I—” she tried, but the words fell apart as her hips jerked forward again, chasing the inevitable.

Paige gave one last slow lick, then pulled back, her breath hot against Azzi’s inner thigh. She kissed her way upward—soft, lingering trails of heat along her stomach, her ribs, her chest—until they were face to face again, both of them flushed, breathing hard.

She pressed their foreheads together, breath ragged, fingers still deep—but no longer slow. Her pace quickened, thrusts sharper now, more insistent. Each movement hit harder, deeper, sending jolts through Azzi’s entire body. Paige shifted her weight, grounding herself, grinding her palm against Azzi’s clit in tight, deliberate circles that made Azzi gasp and jolt forward.

Her other hand slid around Azzi’s waist, anchoring her against the wall as her fingers curled just right—over and over—relentless now, chasing the tremble in Azzi’s thighs.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Paige whispered, voice low and gutted, her mouth brushing the edge of Azzi’s lips. “Feel how close you are? Don’t fight it.”

Azzi whimpered, breath catching, hips rolling forward into Paige’s hand like she couldn’t help it—like her body had already decided. Paige moved faster, grinding harder, her rhythm precise and punishing in the best way. Their foreheads stayed pressed together, both of them panting, bodies slick and shaking under the spray.

“Just let go for me,” Paige breathed, her thumb flicking against Azzi’s clit with a little more pressure, a little less mercy. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

And Azzi did—hips bucking, mouth falling open as a loud moan tore from her throat, her orgasm crashing through her so hard she nearly slipped. Paige caught her, arm around her waist, holding her upright as she rode it out, crying her name against her mouth. Her entire body shook, legs trembling, nails digging into Paige’s shoulders as wave after wave pulsed through her, blinding and hot and overwhelming. She clung to her like a lifeline, forehead pressed to Paige’s, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts between broken whimpers.

Paige murmured softly against her skin—nonsense words, tender praise, her voice rough with awe—until Azzi finally went limp in her arms, spent and shivering, completely undone.

Azzi was still shaking when she finally looked up, dazed and flushed, lips swollen from kissing. Her cheeks were flushed with heat, her breath still unsteady, but there was a flicker behind her eyes—something hungry, something certain.

“What about you?” she asked, voice low, fingers drifting down the slick lines of Paige’s stomach, tracing her abs with reverence. She paused just above where Paige was already aching, already soaked for her, her touch featherlight—teasing.

Paige’s breath stuttered. “Azzi—”

“Let me,” Azzi said, voice hoarse, raw, and full of want. “I want to taste you.”

There was no resistance.

Paige let herself be guided gently against the tile, the water cascading over her shoulders and down her back. Azzi dropped to her knees in front of her without hesitation, hands sliding along Paige’s thighs, urging them apart as she leaned in. The sight alone stole Paige’s breath—Azzi, bare and dripping, eyes dark with focus, mouth parted like she was starving.

Azzi kissed up the inside of one thigh, slow and open-mouthed, then the other, letting her tongue drag lightly against damp skin. Paige’s head fell back against the wall, a soft moan escaping her as her legs shifted wider, heart pounding with anticipation.

When Azzi finally licked up the center of her—long and slow—Paige gasped, one hand flying to her hair, gripping tight as her hips jolted forward. Azzi groaned low against her, the vibration sending sparks through her core, and then she was fully there—mouth open, tongue working in slow, devastating circles, savoring every sound Paige made.

“Jesus—Azzi,” Paige choked out, her voice dissolving into a moan as Azzi’s tongue slipped lower, deeper, licking into her with intention.

Azzi didn’t rush. She took her time, alternating between slow, languid strokes and sharper flicks that made Paige tremble. She sucked gently at her clit, then flattened her tongue against it, licking steady and sure until Paige’s thighs began to shake and her grip in Azzi’s hair tightened.

“You taste so good,” Azzi murmured between strokes, her voice thick with need, lips brushing sensitive skin as she spoke. The heat of her breath, the rasp in her voice—it sent a fresh shiver straight through Paige’s core.

Then Azzi dove back in, relentless now—mouth open, tongue dragging firm and slow, savoring her like she couldn’t get enough. She moved with purpose, focused and hungry, alternating between deep strokes and sharp, devastating flicks that made Paige’s knees buckle.

Paige was falling apart.

Her legs trembled violently, muscles locking and unlocking as she fought to stay upright. She tried to brace herself, one hand scrambling against the tile behind her, the other buried in Azzi’s soaked curls, anchoring her there like she was afraid she’d float away. Her hips rolled forward helplessly, chasing the rhythm of Azzi’s mouth, unable to stop herself.

Her moans grew louder, raw and unfiltered, each one tumbling from her lips like it had nowhere else to go. The wet sounds of Azzi’s mouth working between her thighs—slick, greedy, obscene—only pushed her closer to the edge, made her pulse pound harder in her throat.

“Fuck—Azzi—” she gasped, voice breaking, high and breathless. Her whole body was coiled so tight it almost hurt. “I’m gonna—Jesus, I’m—”

Azzi didn’t let up. Her hands slid beneath Paige’s thighs, lifting one leg over her shoulder, opening her even more, giving her tongue better access as she pushed in deeper, licked harder. The pressure was unbearable—in the best way. Paige could barely breathe. Her head fell back against the wall with a dull thud as her vision blurred, stars blooming behind her eyelids.

The sound she made when she finally came wasn’t a word—it was a cry, wrecked and involuntary, ripped from somewhere deep. Her body jolted forward, hips grinding into Azzi’s mouth as the orgasm tore through her like fire—hot, pulsing, wave after wave until she was shaking so hard she had to be held up.

And Azzi did. One arm locked around Paige’s thigh, the other steadying her lower back, keeping her from sliding down the wall. Her mouth softened but didn’t pull away, coaxing her through it with slow, tender strokes until Paige finally gasped, “Too much—fuck, baby—too much.”

Azzi let her go with one last kiss, lips slick and swollen, chin shining. She rose slowly, eyes locked on Paige’s, and that look—God. It nearly unraveled her all over again.

Dark, intense, reverent.

Paige was still panting, chest heaving, hand braced against the wall, the other falling to Azzi’s waist to pull her in. Their foreheads touched first, then noses, breath shared between them.

Neither spoke at first.

Then Paige tipped her chin up, eyes searching Azzi’s face. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” she whispered, voice low, ruined.

Azzi smiled, slow and wicked. “That’s the idea.”

She dragged her fingers lightly down Paige’s spine, stopping just above the curve of her ass, and leaned in again, lips brushing Paige’s ear. “You should’ve heard yourself,” she murmured, voice like smoke. “So fucking pretty when you fall apart for me.”

Paige’s breath hitched. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second, trying to catch herself. “Yeah?” she rasped, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as her body pulsed in aftershock.

Azzi nodded, voice darkening. “The way you begged? The way you rode my mouth like you were made for it?” She kissed just under Paige’s jaw. “You were dripping for me before I even touched you.”

Paige barely managed to open her eyes. “You’re unreal,” she whispered, wrapping shaky arms around her and pulling her close.

Azzi kissed her—slow and deep, like she hadn’t just brought her to her knees. Like she’d do it again.

“I missed you,” Azzi whispered into her mouth.

Paige nodded, breath still catching. “Me too.”

They stood there for a while, wrapped in each other, letting the water cool and the silence settle. Paige pressed a kiss to Azzi’s temple, slow and reverent, then looked down at her wrist.

The bracelet was still there. Pink and purple. A little loose from the water.

“Purpose,” she murmured. Azzi smiled, eyes still closed. “Guess we found it.” Paige nodded, her lips brushing Azzi’s jaw. “And I’m not letting go.”

[loveharlow]

Can you write something about jj and y/n doing this while their at a sleepover with the pogues and he post the picture in his Snapchat story or something like this please?

this pic is so like the girlfriend where everyone is like "oh she seems sweet" because she's like one of the cutesy, stuffed animal collecting, always smiling girls but then JJ always cuts in with something like "nah, man" bc he knows she isn't so innocent

"Look who finally showed up." Kiara announced, swinging the door of The Chateau open and eyeing you both down with a motherly look of disapproval. "Mm, mm, mm..."

"We know, we know, we're sorry." You apologized, sliding past the girl and into the shack where the others were waiting - Sarah, John B, Cleo, and Pope all spread out on the couch. "We got...held up." You giggled, looking back at your boyfriend who was following behind you.

"..Are you drunk?" John B chuckled, bucket of popcorn sat across Sarah's thighs, who had her legs laid out on top of his.

You plopped down against the couch, head upside down as you clutched the pile of DVD's against your chest. "We may have... pre-gamed, a little." You admitted, words slurring slightly.

"Pre-gamed a little? Or pre-gamed a lot?" Pope asked, peering at you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Cleo, who was leaning against the armrest next to him, just shook her head and chuckled. The boy turned the phone that was in his hand around to show his screen to all of you in the room.

On it was JJ's snapchat story with a not-so-innocent picture of the blonde's hand grabbing a handful of your ass.

Your smile dropped at the sight of the picture, your expression faltering into something more sheepish. You whipped around to face JJ, who was behind you, palming his neck nervously.

"So, uh...about that-"

"JJ!"

"It was an accident!"

"How is that an accident?" You asked, pouting drunkenly as the room broke out in a chorus of muffled giggles.

JJ himself tried not to laugh as he spoke. "I'm sorry, baby." He apologized, fighting off a smile at your drunken sadness as he pulled your head into his chest, mouthing 'stop laughing' to all of your friends behind your back.

They all tried their best to quiet down, knowing you got more emotional when you were under the influence.

"It's okay. Look, no one cares, it's fine." He cooed, pulling you back and turning you by your shoulders to look at your friends who all shot you smiles. JJ draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. "I'll take it down, okay?" He said, pecking your cheek and pulling his phone out to delete the picture. Once it was gone, he looked back at your group of friends as he led you to sit down with him. "Alright, what'd we miss?"

Kiara rolled her eyes dramatically. "Nothing considering we were waiting on you two to show up with the movies we were supposed to be watching an hour ago."

"Details, details," JJ waved his hand dismissively. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, a possessive gesture that didn't go unnoticed by the others. "Worth it though, right?" he murmured, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You giggled again, mood much brighter, burying your face in the pile of DVDs. "Totally worth it," you mumbled, feeling your cheeks go warm.

Sarah reached over and playfully nudged your leg with her foot. "Yeah, we kinda figured," she said, a knowing smile on her face.

John B just chuckled again, shaking his head. "Alright, enough with the PDA. Let's just pick a damn movie before it gets any later." He gestured towards the stack of DVDs in your arms. "Whatcha got?"

You held up a few of the cases. "'The Goonies,' 'Step Up,' or 'The Notebook'?"

A chorus of opinions erupted from the couch. As the debate raged on, JJ squeezed your shoulders. "Don't worry about 'em," he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "We had way more fun than they did anyway." He punctuated his words with a quick kiss to your temple, making you giggle once more. Even though you were late,the "pre-game" had definitely been worth it.

JJ Maybank Taglist in replies!

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

[chukys-mouthguard]

bed chem

how you talk so sweet when you’re doing bad things

1.4K words

featuring -> matt rempe x female reader

genre -> fluff, smut; 18+ minors DNI - mature themes

-> short n’ sweet masterlist

Watching from across the room, you couldn’t help but keep your eyes locked on Matt. Sure, part of that was because he was hard to miss. His giant frame caught everyone’s eye. But it was mostly because you couldn’t shake the thoughts you’d had about him all week long leading up to this night.

The two of you had briefly met a few weeks back, not having much time to talk but exchanging numbers anyways as you had hit it off well. Those text messages went from friendly to flirty, and next thing you knew you were getting shirtless snapchats from Matt that had your mind racing with thoughts that were anything but innocent.

And sure, you’d partaken in sending back some snaps of your own. Just enough to get his mind racing, make him want more. And that he did, both of you did.

Sipping from your solo cup you watched as Matt crossed his arms as he spoke to a group of friends. The way his biceps flexed at the motion, his shirt tightening them as he threw his head back laughing. His smile could make any girl melt, as his thick Canadian accent could be heard above the crowd and the music.

He’d shook his head at something one of the guys said before his eyes finally landed on you. His smirk changed to one that was a bit cocky, as he slightly bit his lip, eyeing you. Excusing himself from the group, Matt slowly made his way through the crowd before he found himself practically chest to chest with you as there wasn’t much room in the kitchen to have a decent conversation.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Biting your lip you pulled your cup back to your mouth as you took a sip, eyeing him from behind the plastic rim as he was practically undressing you right there with his eyes.

“Having fun?”

“Watching you all night? Absolutely.”

Both of you chuckled as you checked your cup, slightly frowning as you noticed you were all out. Matt took your cup from you, picking up on the situation as he set it down on the counter before taking your hand in his.

“Umm where are we going?”

You questioned but continued on with him, following as he pulled you down the hallway then upstairs.

“You looked thirsty, so I’m gonna help you out.”

Matt winked at you as he led you to an extra bathroom tucked away at the back of the house. Looking over your shoulder you checked to be sure no one saw the two of you, though you were sure this bathroom was not a first or even second choice for partygoers.

“Oh yeah? How you gonna do that Rempe?”

His cocky grin reappeared on his lips as he shut the door behind you, earning a gasp from you as he quickly lifted you up to sit you on the counter.

“Gonna give you what you’ve been thinking about all night.”

His words were firm but his voice was the opposite, the way he could still sound so sweet and innocent while his hands were making their way underneath your shirt. Goosebumps covering your skin as his touch was cold against you, a smirk on his lips as he felt you shiver beneath him.

“No need to be nervous, I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, no matter the moment Matt would find a way to crack a joke. Always.

“Matthew, can you ever be serious?”

“Of course…I’m serious when I say I wanna bend you over this counter.”

A cocky smirk made its way across his lips before he grabbed your face, pulling your lips to meet his in a sloppy kiss. Something that the two of you had easily been thinking about all night. The way your tongues clashed as you fought for dominance, your hands tangled in his hair while Matt’s fell to your waist. Quickly pulling your shirt from your frame as he eyed the blue lace bra you’d opted for. Hoping it would get seen by anyone other than yourself, but only wanting Matt to be that “anyone else”.

“You were hoping for this weren’t you? Choosing that bra?”

Matt chuckled as lips found your again, a hand dropping to cup your breast as he could finally take advantage of not being stuck staring at them from his phone screen. The color bra being the one he made known was his favorite from the occasional risqué photos you’d send his way. Obviously making it the only choice to wear for tonight.

“I think you might’ve mentioned liking it..”

Your voice trailed off breathless as Matt’s attention moved to your neck, leaving a trail of soft bites followed by kisses and licks to soothe the skin.

“Like it? I fucking love it.”

His words were laced with his thick Canadian accent, something you’d noticed came out the more excited he’d become. Arching your back into his touch you subconsciously found his crotch pressing against you, his jeans now tighter than before as he had clearly been enjoying the moment.

“Did you put on the matching thong for me too baby girl?”

Your arms wrapped around his neck as he lifted you from the counter, pulling down your jeans in one quick motion to reveal that you did in fact match your panties to the bra. Matt’s eyes filled with desire as he looked down at you, his hand tracing your curves and playing with the lace of the thong as it sat high on your hip.

“So fucking beautiful.”

He pulled you in for one last kiss before turning you around to face the mirror, a cocky grin on his face as he caught you staring while he discarded his jeans, then tossed his tshirt to the side. Your eyes trailing every muscle of his as you watched him, his fingers gripping your ass before pulling the string of your thong to the side. Teasing you ever so slightly as they slid up your slit to feel how wet you’d gotten for him.

“Mmm, glad to see you’re enjoying this.”

Part of you wanted to tell to cut the shit and fuck you already, but you had to admit you liked the way he admired your body. The way he was still sweet and charming while having you bent over the bathroom counter at a party.

He soon replaced his fingers with his cock, sliding it up and down your folds as the two of you moaned in unison. Each taking a deep breath as he slowly thrust himself inside you, his grip firm on your hips as he cursed at how tight you were.

“Holy shit.”

“I could say the same for you.”

You shot him a wink in the mirror as you held the counter, catching your breath as you adjusted to his size before urging him to continue.

His thrusts had picked up their pace with your go ahead, the sounds of sex filling the bathroom as you tried to contain your moans. The two you almost in perfect rhythm as you did your best to meet his thrusts as you pushed back against him, only causing a slew of expletives to pour from Matt.

“Fuck you feel so good baby. Come ride me.”

Matt pulled himself from you, immediately grabbed your chin to pull you in for a kiss, the two of you chuckling at the other as you fought for dominance.

Matt scanned the bathroom, realizing it wasn’t the ideal place for the position he was trying for. Settling for sitting on the edge of the bathtub in hopes that you two could make it work.

“You’re kidding?”

“Come on, I’ll help you out, don't worry.”

His voice was slightly whiny as he reached for your hand and pulled into him, a hand smacking your ass before helping to guide your thigh over his lap. Then following suit with the other.

“Matt, this is gonna hurt, my knees on a fucking bathtub?”

He threw his head back in defeat as he sighed, realizing you were right.

“Fuck…you’re right. Did you drive here?”

He looked up at you with a devilish grin as you nodded, slightly confused at the question.

“Yes, but I’ve been drinking. We both have, neither one of us can drive.”

Matt quickly gathered up his clothes, helping you to find yours as he shook his head.

“Who said anything about driving? Would the front seat or the back seat be more comfortable for you baby?”

[blasphemyandbackshots]

what will you do, when your boyfriend is absolute cringe? — jjk version

satoru gojo—cringe level: legendary

tries to ‘accidentally’ bump into innocent people while out with you and loudly says, “oh nooo, don’t mob me, i’m on a date with my beautiful girlfriend 😏.”

says, “babe let’s take a selfie,” then uses every filter on snapchat. he picks the dog ears one and pants like a puppy.

insists on calling you ‘his little infinity’ in public. says things like “you can’t touch her unless you break my domain 😘.” you just wanted sushi, not a battle declaration.

sends your photos to nanami with captions like, “look how hot she is, don’t be jealous, mr. accountant.”

kento nanami—cringe level: dry dad energy™

tries to make jokes and they never land. “i’m feeling very… cursed today. must be because i’m under your spell.” silence. dead silence.

wears matching couple shirts. not ironically. “if mine says ‘king of curses’ yours should say ‘queen of my heart.’”

refers to you as ‘my beloved’ in every sentence. people think you’re in a period drama.

sends you passive-aggressive weather reports. “the temperature today is 12°c. wear a scarf. i won’t be responsible for your cold.”

toji fushiguro—cringe level: dumb jock with zero shame

tries to sext you in emojis. it’s just the eggplant and three knives. you have no idea what that even means.

refuses to call anything by its real name. calls breakfast ‘protein-up time’. calls your lips ‘mouth pillows’.

when you wear anything cute, he flexes and says, “yeah, i did that. you’re welcome, world.”

will absolutely send gym thirst traps and caption them “so you don’t forget what’s yours 💦💪.” sends them to the group chat by accident.

megumi fushiguro—cringe level: reluctantly adorable

tries so hard to be cool around you but absolutely chokes. stares at you, then looks away too fast and walks into doors.

denies being jealous but mutters “i’ll kill him” under his breath when anyone flirts with you.

will text you “u up?” at 8:13 pm then panic and say “sorry wrong person” and ghost you for two hours.

his idea of flirting is saying, “i guess you’re alright.” then staring at the floor for 6 years.

yuji itadori—cringe level: golden retriever with no filter

tells random strangers that you’re dating. waitress: “what would you like?” yuji: “i’d like whatever she wants. she’s my girlfriend. isn’t she pretty??”

dances anywhere if he hears music. grocery store. dentist’s office. funeral (he swears it was just a reflex).

wears a ‘world’s luckiest boyfriend’ shirt on your anniversary. you didn’t even get him one.

gets teary-eyed when you kiss him and goes, “wow. that felt like love… do you think sukuna felt that too?”

yuuta okkotsu—cringe level: sweet boy but intense & fast™

brings you flowers every single day. like it’s a competition. you now own 13 vases.

gets so nervous around you he recites rika’s curse vow by accident instead of ‘have a nice day’. you just blinked.

once cried because you complimented his handwriting. “no one’s ever noticed that before… you’re so… so…” cue intense anime sobbing.

tries to talk dirty but his voice breaks and he immediately apologizes and bows. you just wanted to kiss. not a formal ceremony.

toge inumaki—cringe level: silent rizz but when it goes wrong, it goes wrong

texts you only in emoji code. it’s cute until you realize 🍙💥💀 might mean ‘i miss you.’ or ‘i blew up a building.’. unclear.

tried to dirty talk you using only ‘salmon’ and ‘bonito flakes’. it was confusing. but strangely hot.

you said “i love you” once and he panicked so hard he said “tuna mayo” and ran out the room.

will dramatically mouth full love speeches in slow motion like it’s a silent movie. background music plays from his phone. the secondhand embarrassment is in 4d.

suguru geto—cringe level: smooth-talking cult leader energy

flirts like a guy who read one too many romance novels. “every time you speak, the cursed spirits retreat. coincidence? i think not.”

performs unnecessary hair flips and stares into the distance as if someone is always filming a documentary about him being misunderstood.

calls you ‘my little curse queen’ in public. once said it at a bakery. the cashier blinked twice.

will 100% do a dramatic slow clap when you walk into a room. every single time.

choso kamo—cringe level: emotionally earnest but awkward emo boy

writes you love poems at 3am and reads them out loud with complete sincerity while you’re trying to sleep.

once made you a playlist called ‘songs that make me think about your blood’. you had to lie down after that.

tries to recreate romance movie scenes but keeps picking the wrong ones. tried the ‘titanic’ scene in a bathtub. nearly drowned.

hugs you in front of everyone for 30 seconds longer than socially acceptable and whispers, “you smell like safety and also my destiny.”

ryomen sukuna—cringe level: eldritch horror who thinks he’s hot on tiktok

tries to be ‘mysterious and sexy’ by saying things like “you’re lucky i don’t kill everyone you love just to have you to myself.” sir. therapy. now.

uses his domain expansion to make fireworks in the sky that spell out ‘mine’. you screamed. so did the neighborhood.

will take over yuji’s body mid-date just to flirt. “he’s too soft. let me show you how a real man treats you.” you were just trying to eat takoyaki.

posts shirtless mirror selfies captioned ‘god body. devil tongue. her problem.’ blocks comments so no one can call him out.

mahito—cringe level: feral theater kid with no social awareness

practices different personalities like a method actor to ‘see which one you like best’. one day he’s a victorian butler. next he’s a skater boy.

sends you cursed objects as gifts. you cried when a jar started whispering your name. he said, “it’s the thought that counts, baby 🥺🫶.”

made a scrapbook of your hair. not a lock. not a strand. like. all the hair you’ve ever shed in his presence. he calls it ‘the archive of her beauty’.

if someone flirts with you, he shapeshifts into them and says, “is this what you want?” you had to leave the restaurant.

[hoesoflamentation]

↫↫↫↫↫ 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯' '𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 ↬↬↬↬↬ short ‘n’ sweet part III, om!mammon x f!reader, 18+

C L I C K H E R E for series masterlist!

// now playing: espresso by sabrina carpenter

// synopsis: mammon hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you kissed him, and tonight he can’t stop blowing up your phone. one minute you’re having a girls’ night with your bestie, and now he says he can’t sleep. oh baby, you know - and after years of pining, you certainly aren’t about to turn him down when he shows up to your room looking like that. clearly, you’re not the only one who can relate to desperation…

// content warnings: bsf’s brother, strong language, brief section of smau, smut, oral sex (mouth on vulva), fingering, p-in-v sex, use of petnames like "pretty," "baby," "babygirl," use of "brat," heavy back-and-forth teasing, creampie (with dubcon), biting, praise, lite spanking, lite dacryphilia

Y O U may not have remembered it happening… but that one kiss changed everything. 

One day, Mammon was never home - and the next, he seemed to be everywhere you looked. 

When you were playing games with Levi in the living room, he was hovering over the couch, causing you to lag horribly behind in Mario Kart. 

When Levi and Thirteen were spending the night at your place, suddenly Mammon needed to borrow something - a spice from your mom’s cooking cabinet, a screwdriver from your dad’s toolkit. Before long, he had crashed on your couch, too, blending seamlessly into your friend group.

Not only that, but Mammon was always finding places to brush up against you in the most suggestive ways: leaning across your bare cleavage to grab the remote; touching the place where your top rode up your hip as he reached for a snack from the cabinet. 

Sometimes, when Levi wasn’t looking, he even brushed a stray hair off your forehead or plucked a piece of fuzz off your shoulder, leaving a blazing trail of burning-hot skin in his wake.

And then there were the texts. 

When you had just walked into Levi’s house, wearing an oversized tee and fitted bike shorts… when you snuck into their kitchen for a snack… and when the night was over, and it was long past time for everyone to go to bed… 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You spent an entire week glued to your phone before Thirteen decided she’d had enough.

“How long are you two going to go back and forth like this?!” she snapped, yanking the unlocked device from your hands.

“...I don’t know,” you mumbled, shifting awkwardly in your seat as you avoided eye contact.

Thirteen raised your cell phone overhead, giving it a few threatening shakes. Even as she held it out of reach, it continued to buzz with Mammon’s messages.

“Make a move,” she urged, “or I’ll do it for you.”

As if the heavens had been listening, your phone started to ring. 

Mammon’s caller ID photo flashed on the screen: an ancient and blurry Snapchat; one where he’d zoomed all the way in on his face and applied the dog filter.

You glanced at the clock on your nightstand: 1:02 AM. 

Why the hell would Mammon be calling at this hour?

Thirteen gave you a knowing look, her thumb hovering over the ‘answer’ button. You stared back meaningfully. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” you hissed.

Thirteen raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I absolutely would.”

You leapt to your feet and lunged toward the phone, Thirteen yanking it just out of reach. She switched the phone between her hands. Finally, you tackled her to the bed in a throng of devious giggles and flailing limbs. 

By the time you got your hands on the phone, Thirteen had already accepted the call.

Mammon’s voice echoed into the ether: “Hey, brat?... Y/n, are ya there?”

Thirteen watched you attentively, flashing you a cruel smile as you raised the phone to your ear with a glare. 

“...hey,” you panted. “Sorry about that.”

Mammon was quiet for a long moment. You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling, allowing your heart rate to slow after the impromptu wrestling match. 

Finally, he broke the silence.

“Are ya alone?” Mammon asked. “I wanna talk to ya about somethin’...”

You flashed a panicked look at Thirteen. She pressed a finger to her lips, then mimed locking her mouth and throwing away the key.

“...yeah, I’m alone,” you lied, rolling to face the wall. “What’s up?”

“Actually, uh…” Mammon trailed off, almost… 

Nervously? 

No, you had to be imagining things. Mammon didn’t get nervous - especially not around you.

“...I was hopin’ we could talk in person,” he admitted. “I’m right outside. Can I come up?”

“You’re outside?” you repeated - mostly for Thirteen’s sake. 

And, never one to disappoint, her jaw dropped emphatically in response. 

“...but it’s so late,” you protested. “And my parents are home.”

Even though it was only Mammon, you still felt strangely embarrassed - to be living in your parents’ house in your mid-twenties. 

“I know…” Mammon trailed off. Tentatively, he continued, “I, uh, saw their light on.”

There was another long pause before Mammon said, “Look out the window.”

You flashed Thirteen a look of confusion as you stood up and leaned across the windowsill to peek through the gossamer curtains. 

Surely enough, Mammon was standing below the big oak tree in your front yard…looking somewhat tortured, but still just as good as ever. He wore black joggers and a white v-neck tee that highlighted his golden tan and chiseled chest; his messy silver hair looked like it was still damp from the shower, as if he had raced here on a whim. 

And, of course, he was still wearing the same gold necklace he never took off.

Panicking, you closed the curtain and turned your back to the window. Your heartbeat throbbed violently in your ears, drowning out all thoughts of anything but him…

“So,” Mammon asked pointedly, “are ya gonna let me come up or what?” 

Anxiously, you looked to Thirteen for your answer. She was already pulling on her shoes - and, through an impressive repertoire of thinly-veiled gestures, strongly encouraging you to give him a reply.

“Just… give me five minutes,” you finally sighed. “I’ll leave the window open.” 

Without hesitation, you hung up the phone - and immediately threw it across the room with a pained yelp, as if it were poisonous to the touch.

Your thoughts spilled out like word vomit: 

“He can’t come up here!” you blurted. “I haven’t showered in two days. I have crumbs under my fingernails. I’m not even wearing pants.”

Thirteen laughed, dusting off her jacket. “Oh, honey. I think we’re way past the time for pants, don’t you?”

You flashed her a look of panic and disbelief. Still wearing the same knowing smile, Thirteen walked up to you and gave you a once-over. She licked her thumb, smoothed down a few of your runaway hairs, and patted you fondly on the cheek.

“I promise you look great,” Thirteen reassured. “He’ll think so, too.” 

You cocked an incredulous eyebrow. “Really?”

Smiling, Thirteen shook her head, turning to unlatch your window. 

“He texts every ten seconds, he calls when you don’t answer right away…let’s just say, I don’t think he cares what you’re wearing.”

You furrowed your brow, watching in uncertainty as she swung her leg over the windowsill. 

After years of pathetic pining and unrequited love, you weren’t sure whether you could believe her or not… 

But once Thirteen jumped out that window, you knew that was it. Soon, you would have your answer. 

“Call me tomorrow!” Thirteen called over her shoulder with a grin. “And use protection!” 

You groaned and buried your head in your hands. 

“Just… go.”

Thirteen gave you an enthusiastic salute before making the leap from the window to the tree. You didn’t watch so much as hear her make her way down, listening as her combat boots padded softly along the tree’s bark before thudding gracefully onto the ground. 

You watched with burning anticipation as Mammon vaulted over the windowsill in her place, his black Nikes landing softly on your bedroom carpet. His bronzed cheeks flushed as he plucked a stray twig out of his hair and tossed it back outside. 

For a long moment, you shared in each other’s silence. Then…

“Hey,” Mammon said. 

You gulped. 

“...hey.”

"I can't sleep," he admitted.

"Oh." You blinked at him, unsure how to respond.

What you wanted to say was, why are you here?

Instead, what came out was, "...sorry, I guess."

Mammon awkwardly rubbed his neck and continued, “We need to talk.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “I got that from your phone call.” 

You perched on the edge of the bed, while Mammon leaned against the open window.

“So…” You trailed off meaningfully. “What did you wanna talk about?”

Mammon sighed and ran a hand through his mussed silver waves. He looked almost…troubled. 

He spoke carefully, as if struggling to choose his words: “There’s… something I need to tell ya.” 

Your stomach somersaulted as he met your gaze for the first time that night, blue eyes wide and vulnerable. Despite knowing him practically your entire lifetime, you had never seen him wear this expression before. 

“...okay,” you said tentatively, folding your hands in your lap. “What is it?”

Mammon blinked at you like he had just learned you didn’t know how to read. 

“Ya really don’t know?”

You shrugged innocently, raising your eyebrows in a silent demand to know more. 

“Jeez, Y/n.” Mammon snorted and turned away, kicking at a stray ball of crumpled paper that had been sitting underneath your desk. “I know yer wearin’ glasses, but ya can’t possibly be that blind…”

A sigh of frustration escaped your lips as you self-consciously adjusted your frames.  

“Off to a strong start,” you deadpanned.

Mammon groaned, whirling over his shoulder to face you and making sweeping gestures with his hands as he spoke. 

“Okay, sorry, sorry!” he fumbled. “Ya just… yer makin’ me nervous.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” you scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. 

“I’m bein’ serious!” Mammon exclaimed, beginning to pace back and forth. 

After a few restless laps, he crossed the room in two long strides and grabbed your hand by the wrist. “Here! Feel my heart.” Mammon pressed your open palm to his chiseled pec. “It’s fuckin’ racing.”

You bashfully avoided eye contact as you felt the rhythmic thudding of his heartbeat, the reassuring glow of warmth within his body - and his penetrating blue gaze boring holes into your skin.

“Was there a point to that, or did you just want me to feel you up?” you teased halfheartedly, trying to conceal your mounting nerves.

You were acutely aware that your hand had lingered on his chest far too long… but Mammon made no moves to release your wrist. 

In fact, his iron grip on your arm tightened as he frowned down at you. 

“You could show a little more sympathy, ya know,” Mammon chided, cheeks blushing. “Ya got me shittin’ bricks over here.” 

You searched his eyes for any clue as to what he was trying to do here…but for probably the first time in your life, you were unable to read the boy next door.

“Just…get to the point already,” you huffed in frustration, indignantly pulling your wrist away. 

Your arm still tingled with goosebumps in all the places where his fingertips had grazed your skin. Mammon’s eyes grew wide with an unfamiliar anxiety as his thoughts finally bubbled over.

“I like you!” he blurted, turning to hide his reddened face against your wall full of 2010s boyband posters. “Happy?!”

The world suddenly moved in slow motion. At a snail’s pace, you lifted your gaze from the floor, blinking at him like a deer in headlights. 

Mammon still couldn’t allow himself to spare a glance in your direction. Your brain jumped to the worst conclusion - that maybe, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you because he didn’t want to let you down.

You let out a shaky breath. “Look, Mammon…”

Hesitantly, you rose to your feet and took a few steps toward his perch at the windowsill.

“...I know we’ve been texting a lot lately, and I don’t want to get the wrong idea,” you continued, your voice growing stronger the longer you spoke. 

“So, if you’re just saying that because you feel bad for stringing me along… there’s no need to lie about your feelings.” Your posture stiffened. “I can take it.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, bracing for his sagging shoulders and relieved response…

Instead, what you got was pure hellfire.

Mammon whirled around and shouted, “Let ya down?! Ya really think I climbed a tree at one o’clock in the mornin’ to let ya down?!” He let out a maniacal laugh as he nervously paced the room. “Holy shit, you’re even dumber than I am…I love you, ya fuckin’ idiot!”

Your knees turned to jelly as the room began to spin, the floor seeming to give out beneath you.

“You…love me?”

Mammon couldn’t possibly have meant that… could he?

Sneakily, you gave yourself a tiny pinch on the thigh to check if you were dreaming - but it was of no use. Either you were very dead… or this was very, very real.

Mammon suddenly faced you with an earnest expression, looking like a deer caught in headlights - or a man confessing to the love of his life.

“Christ, brat,” he said, the edges of his words softening slightly. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Your hands quaked nervously at your sides as you managed to voice a faint reply. 

“...that wasn’t a funny joke.” 

Mammon let out a sardonic cackle as he snorted, “Well, ya won’t see me laughin’ about it!”

Now, fueled by the adrenaline of his sudden admission, it was your turn to pace the room.

“No…no,” you mumbled to yourself, bouncing between the walls like a pinball. “Absolutely not. This isn’t right.”

Mammon furrowed his brow and grumbled, “What part of me bein’ in love with you isn’t right?”

“The part where you don’t get to say that to me!” you snapped, whirling around to chastise him face-to-face.

“Say what?” Mammon scoffed, crossing his arms.

“That you’re in love with me!”

Mammon shrank the gap between you with a single, threatening step. There could be no more than a foot left between his chest and yours. 

“Well, I am in love with ya - so why the hell shouldn’t I say it?!” he retorted… so close you could feel his breath sizzling on your skin.

You resisted the urge to press an accusatory finger into his sternum…or to grab fistfuls of his shirt and yank his lips toward your own.

“-because you don’t really mean it!” you exploded.

At these words, Mammon took a reflective step backward, wincing like a kicked puppy. 

His words were barely a whisper when he spoke. 

“...and what makes ya think I don’t mean it?”

“Oh, please,” you deadpanned. “You kissed another girl just a few days ago!”

Mammon rolled his eyes. “I already told ya, Y/n, she kissed me!”

“It doesn’t matter! It’s the principle of the thing!” you shrieked. “You can’t just stand here wearing your…your fuckboy joggers and your generic gold chain and expect me to swoon just because you said you’re sorry.”

“So, now ya think my necklace is ‘generic?’” he sneered.

You laughed humorlessly. “Out of everything I said, that’s the part you want to address?”

Mammon shook his head, a few loose waves falling into his eyes. He reached around to unlatch the chain at the back of his neck as he closed the distance between you.

“Do ya really not remember?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes. “Remember what?”

The clasp opened, the gold dog tags falling into Mammon’s hand. Looking away with a flustered expression, he shoved his open palm toward you face-up. 

“Just…look.”

Upon closer inspection, you realized the tags Mammon wore every day were engraved. You could just barely make out the faded cursive font that read, ‘This isn’t goodbye - just see you later,’ followed by a date that was almost a decade ago to the day.

Your heart sank into your stomach as you realized you had seen this chain before... 

In fact, you had spent months saving up money from your summer job scooping ice cream to buy him it as a going-away present for college. 

“I gave you this as a graduation gift,” you murmured, gingerly running your fingers over the grooves of the engraving.

Mammon gazed down at the treasure with a quiet reverence. His fingers curved protectively over the edges of the tags. “This is the first time I’ve taken ‘em off in ten years.”

It said more than ‘I love you’ ever could.

You gazed up at him, tears beading at the corners of your eyes. You placed your domed hand on top of his, safely covering the chain inside. 

“Can I help you put it back on?” you asked, your voice cracking a little.

The corner of Mammon’s lip tugged gently upwards as he nodded. You took the chain from his palm and gestured at him to sit down on the bed. 

It was the second time he had been in your bed in the month since you had come home - and somehow, he looked both out of place and perfectly matched against the background of Hello Kitty sheets and giant stuffies. 

You cleared your throat and sat down behind him, admiring the sinews of his back through the thin material of his white t-shirt. 

Your hands shook slightly as you reached over his shoulders to arrange the necklace just so. You forced yourself to steady your grip as you pinched the clasp between your fingertips a few times. 

Finally, you managed to fix the jewelry into place - but you had to admit that you were reluctant to let go. Instead of pulling your hand away, you allowed your fingertips to gently trace the curve of his spine, watching the hairs on the back of his neck raise in response; listening to the way his breath hitched in his throat.

Maybe it was too forward... 

Maybe you didn’t care. 

Your hand finally reached the place where his seat met the mattress. You released a breath you hadn’t known you were holding as your hand dropped. 

Silently, you rose to your feet… but as you turned to create distance between you and him, Mammon seized you by the wrist and pulled you back in. He shifted his stance so he was facing you, opening his thighs to make room for your body as his arms settled around your lower back. 

You looked down into his oceanic blue eyes, hypervigilant of the fact that his lips were just inches from your own. He gazed up at you earnestly through long lashes, those same old gold tags glinting in the light of your bedside lamp. 

“What’re ya waitin’ for, brat?” Mammon murmured affectionately, kneading his hands into your legs in a way that made your senses tingle. 

He broke into a smirk as he continued teasingly, “It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve kissed me.”

You were close enough to see the faint sheen of saliva that glazed his plush lower lip. He smelled like a delicious concoction of spearmint gum and spiced cologne, like a love potion brewed especially for you. 

Instinctively, your body relaxed in his arms, closing the last few inches between you two. The gummy tip of your nose bumped against his own, the taste of his breath sweet and tempting as it coated your tongue. 

“Just… shut up,” you whispered into Mammon’s mouth, before pressing your lips against his.

Hesitation quickly turned into desperation. Your body melted into his, until you could no longer tell where your limbs ended and his began. 

Mammon tangled his hand in your hair and gently fell onto his back, gently guiding you to straddle his body. His palms ghosted the inch of bare skin between your leggings and your panties; his hips arched hungrily into the thinly-clothed space between your thighs, leaving you dripping.

You kissed like you had waited decades to taste each other - because you had. 

And you didn’t want to wait a minute longer. 

Your shaky hands fiddled clumsily with his waistband.

“Hurry up and take these off,” you grumbled, cheeks burning.

Mammon sat up and cupped your cheek, flashing a grin. 

“Not yet,” he retorted. “I’d much rather take my time with ya.” 

Mammon leaned forward to nuzzle your neck, sucking and biting at the delicate skin of your collarbone as his fingers toyed experimentally with the hem of your top. It felt good, but slowing down was the opposite of what you wanted… 

Because slowing down allowed you the chance to think.

Squirming as his lips massaged your skin, you shyly dodged his attempts to peel off your sweatshirt - suddenly feeling self-conscious about the circumstances; about your appearance; about the poster of Louis Tomlinson staring ominously from your bedroom wall… 

You had everything you wanted. The man you had loved your entire life was ready to give you even more. 

The only thing wrong with this situation was that soon, he’d realize that you were the one in it. 

Realizing your mind was elsewhere, Mammon reached for your hand and squeezed it gently. 

His voice was raspy as he whispered against your skin, “Where do ya think yer goin’, hm?”

You scrunched your face and closed your eyes. You squirmed in equal parts arousal and embarrassment. “Now I’m the one who’s nervous.”

He rubbed your palm with his thumb. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Mammon said, making your heart skip a beat.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as you admitted softly, “I have… a hard time believing you when you say you love me.”

Mammon sighed, tucking his fingers under your chin and tilting your face up to look at his. You slowly blinked your eyes open, his baby-blue gaze shining back earnestly as his other hand snaked around your waist.

“...then why don’t I show ya, instead?”

Greedily, Mammon reached down to pull off your sweatshirt. He furrowed his brow in confusion as you caught him by the wrist.

“...annnd I haven’t showered today,” you admitted sheepishly.

Mammon shook his head and laughed, as if he couldn’t believe you thought he cared. 

He leaned down and murmured hungrily into your ear, his voice husky with desire: 

“Good…”

Mammon hooked his arms around your thighs and yanked you toward him. Your legs naturally fell open as you fell back onto the pile of fuzzy throw pillows and plushies that christened your bed. 

“You’ll taste even better, then.” 

Laughing, you hid your face in your hands, halfheartedly pretending to chide him. “Mammon!”

He only grinned, kneading your inner thighs as he shimmied into position between them. 

“You can keep the hoodie, anyways,” Mammon said, nipping at your clothed cunt. “I only need these.”

He teasingly hooked his teeth under the lace waistband of your panties, drawing back before allowing it to snap against your mound. 

“Smooth,” you huffed, trying to hide that you were already out of breath. 

Mammon merely hummed against your covered clit, sending sweet vibrations up your spine. He sucked at your swollen spot over your panties, the moisture of his saliva mingling with your juices to soak the cotton cloth.

You covered your mouth with the back of your hand, stifling your moans with practiced measure. It wasn’t the first time you had snuck a boy into your parents’ house - but none of those juvenile hookups could ever measure up to this. 

Mammon snorted at your attempt to hide your pleasure, hot breath blowing out of his nose and warming your throbbing nub.

“Don’t act like yer not lovin’ this,” he goaded. “I’ve seen ya watchin’ my stories at midnight, ya little perv.”

“Ah-!” You whimpered helplessly as Mammon pushed your panties to the side. “Y-you saw that?” 

“Of course.” He grinned devilishly, licking his lips. “Why d’ya think I kept postin’ em?” 

Before you could say anything, Mammon dragged his tongue from the base of your hole all the way up to your clit, lapping up every last drop of your delicious fluids like a purring kitty savoring its milk. You couldn’t keep yourself from gasping… 

As anticipated, this Mammon was so much better than any of your late-night fantasies. 

“How’s the real thing, baby?” he coaxed, spreading you open with his hands. 

Your voice could only form consonants as Mammon painted sensitive stripes along your pussy lips, his skillful mouth enveloping your center until you pulsed with need. You coated his tongue with your mess, weakly grasping at whatever you could find - his hair, the sheets - as you writhed beneath his ministrations.

“Mmm - that good, huh?” Mammon trilled into your core. 

“Better,” you cried softly, arching into his strokes.

Though you sensed he would have been happy to swallow you whole, Mammon reluctantly rose for air - but he wasn’t about to leave you without the stimulation you so desperately craved.

He rubbed you in rhythmic circles with his thumb as he taunted, “Tell me how many times ya touched yerself thinkin’ about this...thinkin’ about us…”

“Probably just as many times as you,” you breathed without hesitation. “Maybe more.” 

“No fuckin’ way,” Mammon laughed mirthlessly. “Nobody’s thought about this more than me.” 

“Touchin’ ya here…” he cooed, massaging your thighs for emphasis. Mammon smiled as you whimpered, as if on command. “Hearing ya make that noise…tastin’ ya…” 

His words tied your intestines in knots. But he wasn’t done yet. 

Unable to resist temptation, Mammon descended on your clit once more. His tongue washed over you in drawn-out waves, curling your toes.

“Fuck,” he muttered, licking the sheen of you off his lips. “Yer so sweet. I could drink ya all day…”

Mammon ate pussy in a way that made you believe him. 

But you weren’t about to let him know that.

“You’re so… full of shit…” you panted, fisting the blankets beneath you.

Your words were quickly forgotten as Mammon made out with your cunt. The soft hum of his mocking laughter only served to intensify your pleasure.

“Not talkin’ back anymore, are ya, brat?” he teased as he came up for air.

“Shut… up,” you exhaled, your limbs tangling in the sheets as your body ran from his touch.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mammon mumbled into your clit - before giving it another stroke that took your breath away. “I don’t like to talk with my mouth full.”

You wriggled sensitively against his tongue, greedy for more. 

“When’s it my turn to touch you?” 

“Not yet,” Mammon chuckled.

He propped himself up on his elbows. “That was just an appetizer.” 

Mammon paused to lick the juices from his lower lip. “Haven’t even had my main course yet.”

You rolled your eyes, half-sitting up. 

“Then at least let me look at the menu first,” you complained. 

He rose to his knees with a grin, hands already underneath his shirt. 

“Anything for you, babygirl.” 

Mammon unceremoniously yanked off his shirt - your gold chain dangling against his toned, tan skin. His washboard abs glistened with a faint sheen of sweat already; his muscular thighs flexing beneath his tight joggers.

No matter how much you stared, you couldn’t believe that all of this was yours.

After tossing everything but his boxers to the floor, Mammon leaned forward and pecked you on the lips. 

“Turn over,” he ordered, reaching a hand underneath your thigh to roll you onto your knees.

You asked as you started to comply, “What are you- ah!”

Mammon flipped you over without flexing a muscle, grabbing fistfuls of your luscious ass-cheeks in his wide palms. He slid a single digit down your slick cunt until it slipped inside, curling inside of you experimentally as he searched for your weakest point.

“Thought ya might like to try the evenin’ special,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your plump seat.

After a moment of rearranging, the pad of his finger made delicious contact with your g-spot. 

You gasped and collapsed your chest onto the pillows, arching your ass as he began to lick you - still pumping his finger inside. “Nng, Mammon-!”

“Look at you.” Mammon smiled against your clit before adding a second digit, your pussy dripping onto the bed with a lewd squelch as he stuffed you full. “Yer so cute wrapped around my fingers.”

“-and you’re so annoying,” you moaned in reply, burying your heated face in the bed. 

Pop- 

He unlatched his lips from your swollen button and removed his fingers from your cunt, leaving you with an uneasy sensation of emptiness. 

Mammon switched to his opposite side, now stuffing three digits inside as he spread the fingers of his free hand. 

“Hear that?” Lewd squelching filled the room as his touch shaped your insides. “She’s sayin’ she’s ready.”

It was all you could do not to bust right then and there.

You gasped as Mammon pulled his fingers out of you and brought them immediately to his lips. You watched over your shoulder as he admired your gloss forming stretchy webs between his bronzed appendages. 

He dipped his tongue into the sticky precum coating his hand, seductively tasting you - before taking his cock out and stroking it, massaging your slick into his shaft. 

Just like the rest of him, his cock was pretty: velvety red-violet, intimidatingly long, but with a slight upward curve that made it the perfect shape for bruising your cervix. 

“Condoms are in the drawer-” you started to say…

But Mammon couldn’t wait. 

“Sorry, pretty,” he growled, planting his palms on either side of you. “Need to feel ya, now.”

Even though you knew you should be using protection, you couldn’t help but shudder as his raw tip massaged your puffy lips, spreading around his slippery precum. 

Every part of you already felt so sensitized from his foreplay that you swore he’d be able to get you off with just a few strokes.

“...ready?” Mammon asked, his voice quivering ever-so-slightly. 

For the briefest of moments, you wondered if he felt as nervous as you did.

Eyes wide and glossy, you nodded. Mammon’s breath hitched in his throat with a soft whimper.

“Okay, baby,” he whispered into your ear. “Big stretch…” 

Broken gasps spilled from your lips. You quickly forgot your grudge as his throbbing shaft bullied its way past your entrance, your walls spreading to accommodate him more with each gentle push. 

Everything… 

You could feel everything - every inch; every vein; every pulse. 

“That’s my good girl,” Mammon cooed. “Just a bit more...I know ya can take it.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from crying out as slowly, methodically, Mammon bottomed out inside of you. He sighed together with you as he relaxed his hips against the backs of your thighs.

Mammon brushed your hair aside to kiss the back of your neck. “Yer doin’ so good, pretty girl…gonna start movin’ now, okay” 

Tears welled in the corners of your eyes from his sweet stretch. Words wouldn’t come out; you could only nod at him over your shoulder.

Mammon drew in a sharp breath and drew his hips back before slamming back into you, his balls swinging against your swollen clit with every movement.

“Mmm- that’s good,” He gradually picked up his pace as he babbled. “Feel the way she’s suckin’ me in? She’s tellin’ me we’re made for each other.”

Thwack, thwack, thwack. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed against your bedroom walls. You clawed at the sheets as your eyelids fluttered shut with each of his rough thrusts. 

“Dontcha hear how wet she is f’me?” Mammon talked as he fucked into you from behind. “How she’s moldin’ into the shape of my cock…”

Mammon moaned and impulsively seized a fistful of your hair. His staccato breathing ghosted against the back of your neck as his forearm crossed your neck, locking you in an erotic trap.

“Pretty sure she’s saying you talk too much,” you taunted - even as your pussy flooded around his shaft.

“Shaddup, brat,” he grunted, tightening his grip on your neck until you lost air. “Can’t hear her singin’ over all this noise.”

“Mmf- Mammon! Fuck.”

Craving more of him, you rose onto your knees and straightened your back, so that he could thrust up vertically into your pussy. 

“That’s my good girl,” he cooed, nipping at your earlobe. “Gettin’ close already, yeah?”

“-and how would you know?” you scoffed, rolling your hips into his touch.

Mammon grinned cheekily. “‘Cause yer only this quiet when yer enjoyin’ yerself.”

He clung your body close to his, reaching one hand down to massage your breast under your sweatshirt. The other hand slid across your hip to find your clit, swirling around the nub in a tantalizing rhythm that matched the rhythm of his battering ram.

“Ah! M-Mammon, I-” you whined - your words all but forgotten as sparks shot through your core. 

“It’s okay, baby-” Mammon reassured, each of his sentences punctuated by a cruel thrust. “-let it all out f’me...”

You were far too needy to keep up the bratty act for long. By now, you were thinking only of cumming with him - of sharing this moment of sensual vulnerability with the man that you loved.

“K-kiss me,” you begged, your voice coming out faint and pathetic. “Please.”

“Whatever my girl wants, she gets,” he murmured, leaning in so close that you felt his breath before his kiss.

Mammon’s nose grazed yours affectionately as he brought his mouth toward yours. He captured your lips with his own, releasing the lock on your neck to cradle your cheek gently in his hands. 

“Baby, I’m close-“ you moaned.

Mammon voiced a groan of approval. He pressed his forehead against yours, allowing his lids to flutter closed as your muscles began to twitch.

“Atta girl…hold on tight f’me, alright, pretty?”

He didn’t even give you the chance to answer him before he was meanly pushing your face into the mattress, propping up one leg beside you to angle himself deeper inside. 

Drool puddled at the corners of your lips as Mammon piston-thrusted inside of you, turning every last cell of your brain into a pile of mush. He kissed and grabbed at every inch of skin he could find, peppering your skin with faint bite marks and hazy bruises. 

Your voice was unrecognizable to you as you cried into the covers: “Fuck, Mammon- I love you, I love you, I love you…I’m gonna cum-!”

“That’s it, baby-” Mammon breathed, his voice hoarse with effort. “Fuuuuck, right there. Got a big load ready just for you, brat. Ya want me to shoot it inside of ya?

“Yes, please,” you whined desperately.

“Mmm- okay then.” Mammon kissed the top of your head, brushing a messy clump of hair from your eyes. “Just don’t say ya didn’t ask for it.” 

A few more thrusts and you were both gone, your bodies melding together until you were unsure where you ended and where Mammon began. 

All you could see was stars as Mammon painted your walls white, mixing his warm seed into your creamy pussy to create a masterful recipe together. He muffled his own whimpers against your shoulder, leaving imprints of his teeth on your collarbone, as your intermingled tears and slobber puddled onto the pillowcases beneath you.

Your entire body shivered as Mammon collapsed onto your back, planting a kiss on your sweaty shoulder. Beneath him, you turned one cheek to the side, gazing at the digital clock on your nightstand through heavy lids: 

2:20 AM, it read.

“Sorry, babe,” he slurred in exhaustion, gazing at the clock over your shoulder. “Think I got a little carried away…”

Mammon smiled sleepily as he rolled onto his back beside you. Though your legs had jellied, you somehow mustered the strength to roll toward him, propping yourself up on one elbow. 

Less than an hour ago, your mind had been flooded with thousands of questions for him… Now, your brain was so muddled that you could only manage to pull out one:

“So…” You paused thoughtfully. “...you’re calling me babe now?” 

Mammon turned toward you and smirked, his cerulean eyes glittering with promise.

“Among other things…brat,” he said meaningfully, thumbing your chin. “Don’t worry, though…” 

Mammon broke into a toothy grin. 

“...I like it when ya talk back.”

T A G L I S T : @devildomditzy

A / N: thank you all for the love and support on short 'n' sweet! it saddens me a little to watch this au come to an end... but who knows, maybe I'll revisit it one day??

[hysteria-things]

you should do a story of like chris and the reader play like an adult card game. it just randomly appeared in my head i hope it’s not out of ur comfort zone 😭 also i love ur writing and stories sm!

CARDS

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sub/dom!chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: everybody goes off to bed except for you and chris. you find a card game and decide to play, not knowing what it has in store.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, drinking, tied hands, blindfold, teasing, oral (male receiving), degradation, p in v, cream pie, unprotected sex (no bueno!)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,445

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: THIS IS MY FAVORITE REQUEST SO FAR! nothing is out of my comfort zone anon, don’t worry😘 (and thank you for the compliment!)

shoutout to this game that randomly appeared on my tiktok to give me this idea.

enjoy ;)

“i think i’m going to head off to bed.” nick announces, stumbling his way to his feet.

you, the triplets, nate, and madi decided to rent out an airbnb for a weekend getaway. it’s rare when you guys have free time.

you all have been drinking and talking for the last three hours. nate and madi went off to bed about an hour ago, and nick stepped out of the living room.

“i’m going to go too.” matt says a few seconds later. “we got a busy day tomorrow.”

that leaves you and chris left as you two wave goodbye to his brother. there's no doubt that the group is at least a little tipsy.

“you can go to bed too, if you want. i’m sure i’ll be gone soon.”

chris shakes his head. “i’m good right now.”

you scan your eyes around the room until you land on a shelf that’s next to the TV. there’s a handful of games on them, but one sticks out to you. it’s a red box.

you get off of the couch and walk over, taking the box and studying it. there’s a black cat on it, and underneath it says ‘pussy out.’

smirking, you hold up the box so chris can see. “want to give this a try? it says it’s for 3+ players, but we can make it work.”

he laughs. “sure. bring it over.”

you go back to the couch and set the game on the coffee table, laying it all out and reading about how it works.

the group goes in a circle and picks a card. you can either do what the card says or take however many shots it displays on the bottom of it. easy enough.

“i’ll go first,” you say, picking the card that’s the first on the deck.

let the group see your my eyes only on snapchat.

or…

pussy out.

two shots.

“sorry, no.” you start, shaking your head and grabbing the vodka bottle that you guys have on the coffee table. “i’m not doing that.”

chris looks amused. “why not? you have nudes and shit in there?”

“no.” you lie. you pour two shots and drink both. you gag at the alcohol going down your throat.

chris sighs, taking the next card.

wild card!

all leo’s take a shot.

this is your chance to be the center of attention.

he groans. “this shit is so not fair.”

you laugh now. “you heard it. bottoms up, sturn.”

he glares at you before downing one drink. you stare at the card in your hand, a little taken aback.

passionately kiss the player to your right.

or…

pussy out.

four shots.

chris is technically across from you, but it’s the same difference, right?

you bite your lip and slowly crawl over to chris. he glances at your eyes and lips a few times before you lean in and kiss him.

your mouths move in sync with the sound of your lips smacking together. you invite his tongue into your mouth.

you kiss for a few more seconds before pulling away.

both of your lips are red and you clear your throat. “y-your turn.” you stutter.

chris quickly reaches for his second card.

choose a player to spit a shot into your mouth.

or…

pussy out.

three shots.

he reaches for his shot glass and pours the liquid into it. you smirk at his cowardliness. this card isn’t so bad.

“you going to spit in my mouth, or what?”

your eyes widen, staring at his hand that’s holding the glass in front of you.

“o-oh.” you stammer, taking it from him. “um, yeah. sure.”

you pour the vodka into your mouth and hold it there. you grab chris’s jaw lightly as your noses touch. his mouth is already open for you, and you spit the alcohol down his throat.

you pull away as he swallows. for some reason, none of this feels awkward. it feels like young adults having a good time.

both of you let out giggles when you take a card.

wild card!

do whatever your heart desires to a player. if not, you have to take three shots.

(come on, you know you want to)

chris brings his hands to the back of his head and grins. “you heard it. bottoms up, y/l/n.”

you snarl at him using your words against you. “no. put your hands together.”

he raises his brow but obeys. you grab two black pieces of fabric you found and turn to him.

you bite your lip as you tie his hands.

“so… what are you doing, exactly?”

“you’ll see,” you reply, taking the other piece of fabric and putting it over his eyes.

his chest heaves as you straddle his lap and slowly graze your hands over his chest. “y/n—”

you cut him off when you start to roll your hips. his mouth is agape, groans leaving it each time you move upward on his now growing erection.

“y/n— fuck. don’t tease like that.”

you shush him as you move yourself so you’re straddling his calves. you take off his shorts to see pre-cum already leaking through his underwear.

you rub his dick through the piece of clothing, a moan and hiss leaving his lips.

“you want my mouth, handsome? you want my mouth wrapped around your needy cock?”

he whines and nods vigorously. “god, yes, please.” he pants.

you hum, kissing his twitching dick a few times before finally letting it spring free.

you grab the base; your small hand doesn’t fit around it. you start to kitty lick the tip and move your hand up and down.

he moans, his hips thrusting upward at the sudden contact.

you suck at what’s coming out of his tip before moving your head down, gagging when it reaches the back of your throat.

bobbing your head at a fast pace, chris wiggles and whines from underneath you. the sound of you sucking his dick also filling the room.

“shit, wait.” he exhales. “please. i need to fuck you so bad. need cum inside your pussy. please.”

you grip his thighs when he starts thrusting up into you.

you lift your head before it gets too much and cough. he’s panting as you move your face up to his ear, untying both his hands and the blindfold as you speak. “then do it.”

he flips you over in milliseconds, your back now against the couch. he tears off your panties, the elastic ripping against your skin causing you to yelp. he doesn’t bother to remove your shirt and skirt; he just needs you so badly.

chris gives you no time to adjust when he starts to plow into you so fast that the couch moves with each thrust.

“ch-chris! fuck!” you scream. “you’re f-fucking huge.”

he chuckles and covers your mouth to muffle your moans and screams. “you don’t want them to hear, do you? you don’t want them to hear how much of a whore you are; getting fucked by one of your best friends.”

it’s crazy how fast his demeanor can change. just a few minutes ago he was under your control, even though you hate being the one to take over.

he lifts your legs so they both are over his shoulders, which has him drilling into you deeper. luckily, he holds you in place. if he didn’t, you’d go flying off the couch.

you gasp in his hand and roll your eyes back, arching off the couch so he can hit just the right spot. you grip his hand and move it away from your mouth, not caring if the others can hear.

“o-oh, chris!” you grip his biceps, leaving crescent shapes on them. “i’m gonna— shit, i’m cumming.”

your legs start to shake as you start to spread your cum down his dick.

“look at me,” he demands. your eyes flutter back open and stare into his lust-filled ones. “you want me to fill your pussy? huh? you want me dripping out of you for the whole weekend like a slut?”

“mhm! please— please.”

he starts to rub your clit with his thumb, your eyes crossing at the pleasure washing over your body.

he thrusts a few more times before stopping deep inside you, feeling his orgasm fill you to the brim.

he grunts before pulling out, falling on top of you as you guys breathe in sync.

“can’t wait to spend $50 on plan b tomorrow morning.”

he laughs, kissing your jaw. “my bad.”

it’s no secret that you’ve always liked chris more than a friend, but it’s bizarre that having sex with him happened because of a crazy card game.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom

[andivmg]

is it bad i wish people would give examples of how dream is “manipulative”?? because the examples I am seeing right now are just him over explaining himself

tw/ drama, sa mention

i can give you one example but you have to bear with me here, it’s kind of hard to explain through text and i can’t give full context because it would drag other people into it and i don’t want to be messy.

edit: i added a division here bc i don’t want to see all that when scrolling through my blog lol

the following screenshots are taken from a conversation we had in july 2023, where he messaged me after 7 months of no contact and basically tried to make me apologize to him after he ghosted me. i have since blocked him and deleted his number (i had to dig through my friends’ group chat to find these screenshots). the conversation was extremely long and if i wanted to dissect it fully i’d have to make an hour long video on it and and tbh, i don’t care that much so this is what we’re working with.

for at least some context: the “she” being referenced is a former mutual friend who informed me that he had a gf the whole time we were talking (i have since learned that might not have been true but with him who tf knows). The name blocked out is her boyfriend, who is his friend. and the block of text covered is just him yapping and name dropping too many people. also i guess to give him some grace, he had just gotten surgery and told me he was high off pain meds, which is why he was messaging me.

here we go

“your memory is wrong”

this is referencing the day i was told he had a girlfriend. that day, the girl and i went to get our nails done and during that time, she informed me of the situation. as you can see in the message, i had texted him saying that we had those plans that day. he never replied to it. like seriously, that was the last message i ever sent him before blocking him a few weeks later. so, in this context, him saying my “memory is wrong” is textbook gaslighting.

“i swiped to look at to give you the chance to bump it, which you never did.”

now… huh?????? tbh i’m still confused about this bc he’s basically admitting that he didn’t reply to my message after saying that he didn’t ignore me. so, contradicting himself there and making it seem like it was my fault that he didn’t respond.

“you can unblock me on snap”

as we know, he has a history of having conversations with girls and other people exclusively through snapchat in order for him to say whatever he wants because the messages disappear. i guess he had a point there bc here we are. you could see this in his favor, but i see it as a way for him to avoid any accountability whatsoever for the shit he says. he was trying to move the conversation over to snapchat, i guess to avoid exactly what is happening now: evidence of him being a slimy little shit.

“I was the only one actively trying to keep you in the friend group despite even backlash from others for it”

now this one just pissed me off at the time. after getting out of an abusive relationship (which all of our friends knew about btw) everyone continued to hang out with my ex instead of me because: a) clout and b) they had been friends with him longer. here, he tried to make it seem like he was doing me this huge favor by still talking to me and “keeping me in the group” (which he didn’t btw). now, at this point he already knew about my sa, he knew about all the shit that happened in the relationship, and he still wanted me to be in a friend group with the man who put me through all of that, his other friends, who made super weird sexual comments about me on multiple occasions, and other people who enabled all that shit. then, he tried to make it seem like he was doing me a favor. insane and manipulative.

i hope this helped, anon. i kinda had to relive some shit in order to provide this for you but i think it’s the only example i could give from my situation in which he was being manipulative. i think these are pretty good examples and i hope it wasn’t too confusing without all the context.

[azpb535]

I’m new to pazzi and had to do a deep dive because their story seems so cute!!!

Also, I love reading people’s theories/timelines and had to came up with my own. It’s hella long and detailed!!!

I don’t think I’ve seen one this detailed so I thought I would share if anyone is interested!

2016 | I think, Paige liked Azzi from the start (love at first sight lol) because

1. During the North Tartan Summer Jam, there’s a video of Paige watching Azzi's basketball game. Azzi’s club Fairfax Star was playing against Paige's club North Tartan, and at that time Azzi was playing 2 age groups up.

2. In their 2019 overtime video, Paige mentioned that they had been friends for three years. Meanwhile, in the slam interview, Azzi seemed to have remembered meeting Paige during U16 tryouts. This makes me think that, Paige liked Azzi before Azzi even knew her.

2017 | During USA U16, Paige and Azzi started to become good friends. I’m leaning toward them being in a homoerotic friendship… Paige liked Azzi but Azzi didn’t know she liked girls. Here’s why:

1. During the slam interview, Paige mentioned that they had “this insane chemistry.” When you like someone, sometimes you become hyper aware of them (it's like your body can sense them), which probably made their on court chemistry great, as you can see in videos. I've had this happen with crushes - it's literally hormones!

2. In a video from U16, when they were receiving their metals, Paige does this "thumb rub" to Azzi. Also, they were the only two people to keep holding hands too. Personally, I would only do that to someone I liked or was with.

3. They were always sitting next to each other on the bench/in pictures and Paige was always talking Azzi's ear off

4. During that summer, Azzi liked an Instagram post captioned, "Paige trying to show off to Azzi" or "Paige trying to get Azzi's attention" and it was Paige shooting while Azzi was working out behind her. It's giving, highschool crush, when you try showing off and acting cool in front of them.

5. The Snapchat “crush” video, Paige posted on TikTok was most likely from this time, because the song/sound was released then. Also, the headband Paige wore in the video was the same one she wore in Azzi's 2017 birthday post to her.

6. Paige was commenting on Azzi's old instagram posts from before they met, which is something I did when I was younger and had a crush on someone.

7. I don’t think, Azzi knew she liked Paige because she was tagging guys (over her heart) in instagram posts (which I used to do with my crushes/gfs/bfs). Also, when Azzi talked about them meeting, she would say things like, "we were kind of forced to speak on the flight home because it was so long" and "Paige kind of showed up and stayed, and was always there" (it's not giving crush). Azzi didn't even remember they were bus buddies during the USA games.

8. In one of P’s teammates' vlogs, Paige says, "shout out to my best friend Azzi," which caused her teammates to crack up. Their reaction made me think, paige and Azzi were dating or fwb. It was too “big” of a reaction for them just being friends... they could have known Paige had a crush on Azzi though.

I could see Azzi starting to crush (whether she knew it or not) on Paige because:

Azzi made a bday post (on her main feed) for Paige saying how much she missed and loved her…which she’s never done for any of her other friends. At this point, they would have only known each other for a few months. This is where the first “💗” shows up too. It’s their thing, and Azzi has it in her Instagram bio now. Many homoerotic friendships are deep (highkey codependent), and have characteristics of dating/being in a relationship.

2018 | Personally, I think they were still just friends but Azzi was starting to like Paige back:

1. During USA U17, Azzi and Paige were attached at the hip, always laughing and joking with each other. They would, like, tap each other's head (Paige did it to Azzi in a recent game) To me, it looked like a flirty/loving gesture. When I was younger my crush would poke me and hit me with books 😂

2. During the 11th annual North Tartan Summer Jam, Azzi and Paige's AAU teams were playing against each other. The game was filmed, and in one clip, Paige looks at Azzi (can't see Paige's face) and Azzi blushes and scrunches her nose (something she does when Paige looks at her). It's giving baby gay crush. She did the same thing during USA U17.

3. There were rumors that Paige got jealous when Azzi got “to close” with her other AAU teammates, so she definitely liked her. This kind of jealousy can be common in homoerotic friendships too.

4. During the summer, Azzi went on a cruise with Paige's family (p's aunt posted pictures). Also, her aunt called Azzi her niece which is cute, but gives off just friends (the fam might not have know they liked each other though) because I would not want family members using "family titles" for someone I was dating. Note: I don't think her aunt meant "daughter in law" because they were so young and had only be in each others lives for about a year.

5. Azzi went to Montana to help Paige out with her charity camp. Paige attended Azzi's sweet 16. Azzi's brother posted a video from the party. With how much they hung out with each other, they def liked each other (whether they both knew it or not).

I could see them crossing lines during this time. However, I could also see this happening later like during quarantine.

1. They called each other "their other half" on instagram, which is giving dating. Most people in relationships call each other "my other half." I could also see them just being friends and possessive over each other, especially if they were in a homoerotic friendship. I had two friends in hs, who weren't dating, but clearly liked each other, and they would say my "other half."

2019 | I’m conflicted and could see them still in a homoerotic friendship/crushing on each other, but could also see lines being blurred and them being fwb. Here's why:

1. Azzi went to Paige's championship game in March and wore Paige's jersey (photo of them and Azzi was in P’s teammates vlog). I'm conflicted about this because I would wear my friend's jersey (similar to Paige wearing Nika and Dorka's jersey). However, in high-school, I think it was more common to wear your crush or gf/bf jersey than friend’s jersey. I could be wrong though.

2. When Azzi tore her ACL/MCL in April, Paige flew to be with her before surgery (Azzi posted a video). Also, during the Slam interview, Paige even started tearing up when talking about the injury and Azzi said that "she knew Paige felt somewhat, what she was feeling," showing that the relationship was deep.

3. In July/August, Azzi and Paige made tiktoks at Azzi's grandparents house in Minnesota. They also went to the state fair and made their joint tik tok account. I feel like the joint account could be like a couples account but also a friend account. I made a YouTube channel with my best friend.

4. Paige also visits Azzi after her USA Basketball 3×3 tournament and her LA trip for ESPNW. I don’t think there was a reason for her to go see Azzi which makes me think they were fwb.

5. In the overtime video, Azzi called Paige “like 1,000 siblings.” I would never compare my partner to a sibling, which is making me lean towards homoerotic friendship. Also the vibes were very best friend coded.

6. the splash sister narrative was going around but they didn’t play into it. It would have been a great marketing opportunity though, which makes me think they were fwb. Although, if they were secretly crushing on each other, I wouldn’t use sister either.

6. They hung out more during the winter than in previous years. During December 2019 and January 2020, Paige created the HUDL recruitment videos for Azzi. Paige was at Azzi's first game back from her ACL tear too. There was a video of her in the stands and they filmed more tik tok together. Basically they saw each other like every month! That's a lot of flying. Maybe they were causally dating 🤷🏻‍♀️

2020 | This was an interesting year for them. I think, they were fwb or in a situationship. I could see them still being in a homoerotic friendship too (those can get toxic trust me lol).

1. It appeared (from the public eye) that Paige was dealing with comphet. For example, she was acting more flirty, in videos, with her guy friends like Jalen. Also, the way she dressed in some videos and pictures gave that impression.

2. She was flirting online with vinnie. However, on the flip side, maybe she was just doing that for clout because vinnie had a large following. Also, in the TikTok Paige made of vinnie, Paige included the 💗 which she only uses for Azzi. This could have been intentional.

3. Azzi was posting flirty comments on a few guys’ posts. Also, Azzi was commenting on Jada’s posts a lot, and Jada was calling Azzi "big head" and "love you 💗” which was a P&A thing. Yes, Paige called Azzi “big head” in a snap chat video (in 2018?), like Monica called Quincy in love in basketball, Azzis favorite movie. I don’t think anything was going on between Azzi and Jada though, the comments seemed intentional and Jada was much younger than Azzi. Maybe P&A, got into a fight. It could be jealousy/petty behavior, common in homoerotic friendships - I've seen it lol! Also, they didn’t really hanging out as much in the winter, like they did in 2019.

4. In March / April 2020, SLAM released "All Eye on US" | Hopkins High School Series. In one video, Paige was wearing Azzi's picture on her shirt. She also had a collage of photos (almost all with Azzi) next to her bed, which is giving dating.

5. From April to July, Paige stayed with the Fudds. In some of the tik tok / youtube videos Paige's facial expressions gave away that they were more than friends (iykyk). If they were just friends, I think lines def got blurred during this time and they became fwb.

6. Azzi would FaceTime Paige at 1:00 am; even though, in an article around this time, she said she liked to go to bed early. Also, she visited Paige for her birthday to tell her she was going to UCONN. The extent to which they went out of their way to see and talk to each other is too much for just friends.

7. When Paige went to UCONN, she had Azzi as 💗 in snapchat. I only do that to people who I'm in a relationship with. That's why I feel like they were in a relationship or close to one. I think something happened and Azzi was mad at Paige because she stopped commenting on her posts, like that one anon said. I believe this happened after Azzi committed to UConn too. To me, it feels like a break up or friendship break up (common in homoerotic friendships… that shit hurts lol), especially because streets was saying Paige was partying and seen with other girls.

2021 | I'm leaning towards fwb (not exclusive) / situationship

1. UCONN students were spreading rumors that Paige was seen with black curly haired girls.

2. In the winter/spring of 2021, Azzi was commenting flirty things on different guys' instagram posts (like this one football player). Also, interestingly, in an old article, Azzi said she was looking forward to her senior year because she wanted to go to football games with her friends… but in a recent article, she said she didn’t like football when asked about it. Just found that interesting.

3. Students said Azzi was casually dating someone at UCONN (I think a football player 👀) from 2021 to maybe spring of 2022. Not sure if they were exclusive.

4. Part of me thinks that they stayed fwb, while talking and seeing other people, because Paige could not stop staring at Azzi in their slam video. She was down bad. However, if I stopped being fwb with someone, but still liked them, I would look at them longingly too. It’s the “you want what you can’t have look.” Maybe they were in a situationship end of 2021.

2022 | exclusive fwb (lowkey dating)

1. Azzi liked Mack, her friend, TikTok comment - "girlfriends are on this app" which made me think Paige and Azzi were more serious/together. I could see that comment being an "Azzi menace" thing, like stay away from my girl, even if we aren't technically in a relationship.

2. Also, during that summer, Azzi was commenting flirty things on Paige's posts, and they were posting each other more. She made a whole post (on her main feed) for Paige’s ACL tear, nobody else did that.

3. Paige was also posting things like - "my girlfriend when she sees an old person sitting alone" and she posted a picture of a man holding a ton of flowers on a train, saying "what i'm trying to be like."

4. During games, Paige and Azzi were always sitting together, had some part of their bodies touching, and joking around. The way Caroline reacted to some of their interactions made it clear that something was happening too. Also, during first night, Paige was staring Azzi down. Could not keep her eyes off of her. Also, UConn students once Azzi came to UConn, Paige wasn’t seen out with girls as much, and that eventually stopped.

2023 | dating!

1. During 2023, we got some of the best content! Thank you ICE! The lives really gave us a peek at their relationship. AKA. Paige caught with her hands around Azzi's waist and Azzi caught with her hand on Paige's cheek (gays being gays). Also, they disappeared for a little bit. Probs made out in the bathroom (just sayin 😂). I think, Amari’s live was very telling too. Paige kept coming back to Azzi, leaning on her and playing games. Azzi’s “better not” comment when someone commented “Paige, someone’s going to take you out to breakfast.”

2. In the Sue Bird video, Paige and Azzi could not stop staring at each other. I know they hold good eye contact, but this felt different. It looked softer.

3. Paige cannot hide her expressions and got all nervous when seeing comments like - "Paige and Azzi go together real bad" and "Azzi and Nika with their boyfriends."

4. Azzi added a "P" for Paige to her family heart ornament. I would only do that if I was in a relationship with someone.

5. They basically flirted with each other all throughout the overtime podcast - "i'm not afraid of the dark... good because I am" and "we don't lock our door at night." Key word “OUR.” From my knowledge they weren’t roommates at this time 🙊

6. They were very touchy feely that summer. There was a 2v2 video from Azzis camp and Paige was all over Azzi. I think she also called Azzi babes - "shoot babes." Also, tim posted a video of them napping together and their legs were intertwined. I don't be doing that with my friends. Do you???

2024 | In a relationship/basically married! Small recap: final four hug, draft pics, cruise gate, Paige cheesing at her phone, Bueckers family cabin trip (Azzi was there), NYFW, US Open, Azzi flying to Montana for two days, Y'all's Kid (lowkey think they kissed in that live too), staring at each other at the mystics game, twinning at the Lynx game, Paige's mom spending Christmas with the Fudds. and so much more!

Just waiting for that launch!!! 🙏

[tedlovesmusicals]

Some nerdy prudes headcanons in no particular order:

• Steph is a gamer girl. Her dad bought her the full gamer girl set up with the pink cat ear chair and see-through computer tower for her to just play the sims and stardew valley. Richie and Ruth get her into fortnight.

• Pete gets motion sickness so he reads a book while listening to his girlfriend cuss out 12 year olds.

• Richie made them all a discord server because it's "way cooler and more efficient than snapchat."

• Grace constantly sends Jesus themed gifs into the chat as reactions. Think of the stuff your grandma sends you when she discovered how to use the keyboard on her phone. Exactly. A lot of glittery easter crucifixes.

• Steph convinces Ruth to audition for the next school musical. Ruth gets her first ever lead role. Steph agrees to be in the chorus with Pete to support her.

• Grace forms an Abstinence Club so she can lure more dirty dudes and eat their souls or whatever.

• Pete gets them to play dungeons and dragons with him once. He was the dm. Richie was a dark elf rogue with a complicated backstory. Ruth was a bard that tried to seduce everything that moved. Steph got frustrated with the rules immediately and eventually just had Pete make a character for her. Grace played a real human priest that shamed the entire group for playing the devil's game before storming out after only being there for five minutes.

[saturnsag3]

I Can Go the Distance - will smith x macklin celebrini

summary: they say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but Will never asked his heart to be stretched across 2,500 miles.

wc: 2,998

Boston in November was brutal. Gray skies hung low over the city, biting wind howled between buildings, and the Charles River looked like it had lost the will to move. It matched Will’s mood almost too well.  Mornings at BU meant lectures in worn-down halls, coffee that tasted like it was brewed out of pure bitterness, and professors who loved the sound of their own voices. Afternoons blurred into study groups and phone calls with his mom and way too many texts from Toff about fantasy hockey.

But nights—nights were the worst.

That’s when he missed Macklin the most.

That’s when he could still feel the soft weight of summer. Of sun-warmed skin and Macklin’s laugh when they snuck into that abandoned lighthouse on the coast. Of late-night drives with Katy Perry blasting too loud and Mack’s hand in his, thumb brushing over his knuckles like he was reading braille.

Four months. Four months since they’d last touched. Since they stood outside the security gate at the airport, hugging like the world was ending and neither of them had the right words. Will remembered the way Mack’s hands had trembled on the nape of his neck. The way he kissed him long and hard before reluctantly walking away and boarding his plane.

They’d promised to visit by October. But October turned into a stress spiral. Midterms for Will. Labs and lectures for Mack. Prices soared. Timing sucked. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into aching, sleepless nights.

Will didn’t know how to say “I miss you” anymore without it sounding like “I’m breaking.”

But then—Thursday night.

He was lying in his dorm, blanket pulled up to his chest, textbook open but abandoned, when Macklin posted a story on Snapchat. There he was, clad in a UW pullover that was a smidge too big for him, reading glasses perched on his nose, hand to his chin. The caption read:

“missing my bf so bad rn.”

Will stared at it like it was a transmission from another universe.

And just like that, something clicked. He picked up his phone, opened his group chat with Toff and Ekky, and sent one message:

need ur help. I wanna surprise mack.

---

“Dude, you’re serious?” Toff said the next morning over FaceTime, his messy dorm hair sticking in all directions.

“Dead serious,” Will said. “I actually can’t do this anymore. I’ll fail my physics test before I go another week without seeing him.”

Ekky appeared in the call wearing his usual oversized hoodie and a backwards hat. “We’re in. I’m always down to support you and Mack’s gay shit.” 

This pulled a chuckle and a roll of his eyes out of Will while Toff rubbed his hands together like some frat boy evil genius. “We’re talking a full-blown surprise? Like hide-in-the-closet level surprise?”

“Hide-in-the-closet sounds like I’m breaking in,” Will muttered. “I was thinking I just show up at his door. Maybe bring him flowers.”

Ekky snorted. “Bro. You’re flying six hours. Go big or go home.”

Will grinned, heart thudding. “Okay. okay, I’ll go big.”

They planned fast. Toff got Mack’s roommate out of the room for the weekend—claiming he needed help with a group project. Ekky booked Will a red-eye flight using points his mom gifted him last Christmas. They scouted Mack’s schedule, down to the minute, to find the perfect window.

Will barely slept Friday night. His suitcase was small, but his nerves were colossal. He kept playing out the scene in his head: Mack opening the door. Mack's face. The tears, maybe. The kiss. The warmth.

It felt like reaching for oxygen after drowning.

---

Seattle hit Will like a breath of fresh, rainy air. He stepped off the plane and smelled pine, coffee, and home. Toff picked him up with a grin and a half-eaten bagel, blasting Coldplay from the speakers just to mess with him.

“Ready to destroy your boyfriend emotionally?” Toff asked as they pulled into the UW campus.

“Please never say that again,” Will said, clutching his duffel. 

“I meant in a good way!”

“Okay- yes. Let’s do this.”

Macklin’s dorm was exactly as Will had imagined: beige walls, loud voices echoing down the hall, that particular college smell—part Axe body spray, part takeout. Will’s heart pounded with every step.

Toff stopped outside Room 503. “I checked—he’s in there. Probably working on his econ paper. You’ve got the floor.”

Will gave a breathless laugh, nerves buzzing. “Thanks, man.”

Toff pulled him into a quick hug. “Make him cry.”

Will knocked twice.

---

The door creaked open.

Macklin stood in front of him, barefoot, wearing plaid pajama pants and a hoodie Will had left behind last summer. His hair was mussed. His eyes widened slowly, disbelief washing over his face like a rising tide.

“Smitty?”

Will swallowed the lump in his throat. “Hi.”

Macklin’s mouth opened, closed. He blinked once, twice—then stepped forward so fast that Will barely had time to drop his bag before Mack was there, arms around him, face pressed into his neck.

“You’re not real,” Mack whispered, voice cracking. “This isn’t real.”

Will hugged him tight. “I’m real. I’m here, baby. Surprise.”

Macklin broke. Tears streaked silently down his cheeks as he pulled back just enough to look at Will’s face. His hands trembled as they cupped Will’s jaw before brushing all over his face.

“You flew here?” he whispered.

Will nodded. “Six hours. Red-eye. Toff and Ekky helped. I saw your story— couldn’t wait anymore.”

Macklin let out a watery laugh, brushing his thumbs across Will’s cheeks. “God, I love you.”

Will kissed him.

Soft. Long. Like pressing the pause button on the universe.

When they finally pulled apart, Mack wiped at his face with a sheepish smile. “I didn’t think I was gonna be the one crying.”

Will grinned. “I was counting on it.”

---

They spent the afternoon doing absolutely nothing, which somehow felt like everything.

They curled up on Macklin’s narrow dorm bed, Will’s legs tangled in Mack’s, heads on the same pillow. Mack showed him the view out his window—trees and rooftops and the misty blur of mountains in the distance.

“You see that corner right there?” Mack pointed. “That’s where I FaceTime you from.”

Will looked. “It’s cuter in person.”

Mack rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

Will laughed and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I missed your face.”

“I missed you,” Mack said, quieter now. “Like, physically missed you. Like my body kept looking for you in the dark. I couldn’t sleep. I tried your cologne on my pillow and it just made it worse.”

Will nodded, throat tight. “I know. Me too.”

They talked until sunset about everything and nothing: classes, professors, late-night cravings, songs that reminded them of each other. Will shared a playlist he’d been quietly building since September. Macklin pulled out the sketchbook where he’d doodled little comics of them as stick figures, wandering campuses side by side.

Will traced one with his finger. “Is this… me on a moose?”

Mack looked proud. “It’s your Canadian fantasy.”

Will laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bed.

---

Later that night, they walked hand-in-hand through the hushed, damp campus. Leaves clung to the pavement. Lights glowed in the windows of libraries and dorms. Seattle’s night air felt cleaner than Boston’s ever had.

“So,” Will said, nudging Macklin’s hip as they sat on a bench overlooking Red Square, “when are we doing this again?”

Mack leaned his head on Will’s shoulder. “Next weekend? Tomorrow? You move in with me permanently and we drop out of college?”

“I like all of those options,” Will said, grinning. “Especially the drop-out one. So romantic. A little chaotic. Very us.”

Mack laughed. “Can’t wait to see you explain that to your physics professor. ‘Sorry, sir, couldn’t finish my midterm. Had to be gay across the country.’”

“He’d understand,” Will said. “He wears Crocs with knee high socks. That man knows heartbreak.”

Mack shifted to look up at him, eyes soft, even in the dark. “Seriously though. When do I get to see you again?”

Will sighed. “Winter break’s in six weeks. I could come out again before then though. We can plan it better next time. I won’t ambush your RA with flowers at 9 a.m.”

“Hey,” Mack said, mock-offended. “Don’t insult my RA. Hannah cried. She said it was the most romantic thing she’s ever seen. You have a fan club here now.”

Will smirked. “Good. I deserve that.”

“You do,” Mack murmured, tracing small circles on Will’s knee. “You flew six hours just to see my dumb face.”

“I flew six hours to see your dumb everything,” Will corrected. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Mack snorted. “Okay, poet. Calm down before you propose under this tree.”

Will shrugged. “Don’t tempt me. I’ll do it with a vending machine ring and no hesitation.”

Mack covered his face with both hands, laughing. “Jesus. You’re dangerous.”

“I’m sincere!”

“You’re dangerously sincere.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, but it was easy. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that spoke in its own language.

Will bumped Mack’s shoulder gently. “Come to Boston next time?”

Mack peeked out from behind his hands. “You want me to meet your roommates?”

“They already know everything about you,” Will said. “They call you ‘The Mack’ like you’re a legend.”

“I am a legend.”

“You’re a legend who once fell off a paddleboard and yelled, ‘My Crocs!’ before hitting the water.”

“And the Crocs floated, thank you very much,” Mack said, poking Will’s side. “I’m a pioneer in water-resistant fashion.”

Will leaned closer, their foreheads touching. “So that’s a yes?”

Mack smiled. “It’s a hell yes. You’ll have to fight my chem lab partner for time off, though. She gets weirdly possessive during titrations.”

Will laughed, lips brushing against Mack’s. “Tell her you have a chemistry emergency in Boston. Romantic combustion.”

“Wow,” Mack said. “Even my professor would groan at that one.”

“Tell me you didn’t love it.”

“I loved it,” Mack admitted, kissing him slow and sweet.

---

Later, back in the dorm, Macklin curled against Will under a too-thin blanket, the glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows on the wall.

“Do you think we’ll always do this?” Mack asked. “Chase each other across the country?”

Will tucked his chin against Mack’s hair. “Maybe. Or maybe we’ll finally end up in the same place. You, me, a terrible apartment, and a couch that’s more duct tape than cushion.”

“With a cat named... I dunno. Business.”

“Business?”

“Yeah. So when people ask what we’re doing tonight, we can say ‘sorry, we’ve got Business.’”

Will cackled. “I’m in love with you.”

“You’re stuck with me,” Mack said sleepily. “Even if I never get better at naming cats.”

Will kissed the top of his head. “Especially then.”

There was a pause.

“I’m gonna cry again,” Mack warned.

Will pulled him tighter. “That’s fine. I’ll hold you every time.”

Mack whispered, “Next time you visit, bring a hoodie I can steal.”

“You already stole my hoodie, baby.”

“I need more. I’m building a shrine.”

Will grinned into the pillow. “Obsessed with me.”

Mack grinned back. “Always.”

Will kissed him again. Longer this time. Slower.

The kind of kiss that stitched months back together.

That night, they didn’t fall asleep right away. They stayed up whispering under covers, giggling like they were seventeen again. Mack’s fingers found Will’s and didn’t let go once.

And in the morning, when sunlight filtered through the blinds, and Will blinked awake to find Macklin still tangled with him, still here, he thought and drifted right back to sleep.

sages thoughts⋆˙⟡: i’m a sucker for fluffy established willmack and I love writing it even more, also my requests should be open, send stuff, talk to me!

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Almost, Always // Chapter 14

paige x azzi

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13

A/N: I know it's been a long minute... things just got super busy and I haven't had time to really sit down and write much, but finally got around to it... I'm going to try and write another chapter this weekend since this is another filler chapter. I promise I'm setting things up!! I was feeling a little stuck on where to take things, but had a creative breakthrough. I have no clue how long this series will be, but I'm actually thinking about making a sequel to it... let me know if you'd be interested in a longer story line for this.

Hopefully you like this chapter :)

WC: 4k+

CHAPTER 14: AWKWARD (BUT NOT REALLY) 

Paige POV

She liked being the first one in the gym. Not because it made her look good or gave her some imaginary edge, but because of the quiet. The kind that hummed through the rafters before the machines started clanking before feet started squeaking against the floor. The kind that reminded her of early mornings in high school, of unlocked doors and a ball that didn’t judge.

This morning, the quiet felt earned. Like breathing after a held breath.

She’d slept weird—Azzi’s laugh had drifted into her dreams, tangled with the smell of vanilla and sweat, her hoodie sleeves brushing Paige’s skin like they did when she wore it to bed. She woke up early, restless, chest full of static and something soft that wouldn’t go away.

Instead of fighting it, Paige got up. Quiet. Bare feet on cold floor. She crossed the room and opened the top drawer of her dresser.

The ring box was right where she left it—tucked beneath a folded pair of socks she never wore. She hadn’t opened it in weeks. Not since before the tension.

But this morning? She didn’t hesitate.

She cracked it open.

There it was—still gleaming in the half-light, still hers. Still waiting.

She stared at it for a while, thumb brushing the edge of the velvet like it might answer something. It was simple. Elegant. Chosen for Azzi. She hadn’t bought it on a whim. It had been months in the making. A million texts to her group chat. 

Her mind went back to all that had changed over the past month. She shook her head thinking about the mess. The woman from the restaurant—the one the tabloids had wrongly pegged as her latest fling—had actually been her proposal planner. Someone she’d met with three times to figure out how to ask Azzi in the offseason. Quietly. Intimately. In a way that felt right.

If she’d known the media would turn it into a whole thing, she might’ve been more strategic. Kept it quieter. Waited to meet in a hotel lobby instead of a place with windows. But back then, she hadn’t been thinking about the cameras. Or the commentary. She’d been thinking about her.

She’d been so sure.

Until everything got loud.

The photo. The video clip from college. The whisper campaigns. The silence. Azzi pulling back. The way it all confirmed what Paige had always lowkey feared—that stepping out, even just a little, might blow the whole thing up.

She’d thought it would be her who panicked. Her who couldn’t breathe under the weight of being known. But it had been Azzi who disappeared first.

And for a second—maybe longer—Paige thought that was it. That the thing they’d carefully, slowly built had finally cracked. So she tucked the ring away. Waited. Let things settle.

But now?

Seeing her in D.C. had shifted something. Not with a big talk or some neatly packaged resolution, but in how Azzi opened the door. In the way she didn’t flinch when Paige stepped inside. In the way she let Paige stay, let her close the distance—not just physically, but in every quiet, intentional way that mattered.

The next morning, Azzi had sent her a Snapchat—messy bun, eggs on the stove, Paige’s hoodie hanging off her frame like it belonged there. No caption. She didn’t need one. The note Paige had tucked into the collar was still sitting beside her coffee in the shot.

It hadn’t solved everything, but it had said enough.

She still wanted the playoff run. Still wanted the wins, the highlight reels, the pressure-cooker moments that made her feel alive. But the offseason wasn’t just a break anymore. It was a horizon. A maybe. A real, tangible soon. 

She closed the box slowly and set it back in its spot, safe under the socks, but not forgotten. Not buried.

Then she grabbed her bag and headed out, her steps lighter than they’d been in weeks.

The gym always made sense. But this morning, so did everything else.

She laced her shoes slowly, tightening the loops until they felt like armor. Then she hit play on her playlist—not the hype one, not yet. Something mellow. Just enough noise to fill the space while she found her rhythm at the line.

The ball rolled off her fingertips like muscle memory. One shot. Then another. Then five more in a row. Each swish landed with quiet certainty, like her body had remembered something her mind was still catching up to.

She was okay.

Not faking it. Not bracing. Not running a loop of what-ifs in the back of her skull.

Actually okay.

For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel like she was holding her breath.

Her shot was clean—part repetition, part release. And threaded through it all, like light slipping in under a closed door, was something she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time.

Joy. Real joy.

Not the performance kind. Not the distracted, this-will-do kind. The kind that settled in her chest and stayed.

The gym doors creaked open. Arike stepped in, her braids pulled low beneath a hoodie, walking like she owned the floor before anyone else even got to use it.

She paused at the edge of the court, arms crossed, watching Paige sink another shot.

“Well, look at you,” she said, grinning. “I’m sensing a whole vibe shift.”

Then, with a smirk that said she already knew: “That ‘someone just got their girl back’ energy is loud this morning.”

Paige caught the rebound and raised an eyebrow. “Relax….”

Arike let out a low laugh. “Whatever love spell you’re under, keep it. Your jumper hasn’t looked this nice in months.” 

Paige chuckled, jogging toward her water bottle. She grabbed it in stride, raised it to her lips, took a slow sip—then froze mid-swallow as the next song came on.

SZA’s “Awkward.”

It wasn’t loud. Just enough to land.

Her fingers tightened around the bottle. Her breath caught in her throat.

And just like that, her whole body remembered.

God. That song.

A memory crashed through her like a skip on vinyl, and suddenly, she wasn’t in Dallas anymore. She was back in Storrs. In a tiny dorm room that had gone too quiet.

It was late. The kind of late that made everything feel suspended—snow tapping against the dorm window in slow rhythm, the rest of campus long asleep or wrapped in something quieter. Inside Paige’s room, the air was warm. Dim. Charged.

Her lamp cast a soft amber glow across the gray walls, throwing shadows over the mess of clothes and textbooks and the bed that looked less like a place to sleep and more like a memory in motion. The sheets were twisted. Still warm. Still lived-in.

The room smelled like cocoa butter. Like dryer sheets clinging to cotton. Like something deeper now—something unmistakably Azzi.

Azzi lay on her stomach, stretched halfway across Paige’s bed in one of her oversized gray UConn tees. It slipped down her shoulder, baring smooth skin and the slope of her back, the line of muscle Paige hadn’t let herself stare at for too long before. Until last night.

Her cheek pressed into the pillow, lashes fluttering. Not quite asleep. Not quite anything.

Paige sat beside her, cross-legged, heart still trying to settle. Her fingers moved slowly through Azzi’s curls like they’d been doing it for years. Like her hands already knew the shape of her.

They hadn’t talked much since it happened.

Since the line.

The line they’d blurred for months and finally, finally crossed last night—no, sprinted across, barefoot and breathless. Wrapped in nervous laughter and stuttered breaths and whispered oh my gods against skin. A night that had gone from tentative to hungry, from soft to frantic to soft again.

It had been hands that hovered—then claimed. Mouths that hesitated—then explored. A map they made up as they went, breath hitching and eyes holding too much.

And then, after?

Stillness.

Not cold. Not awkward. Just... full.

Like the aftermath of something seismic.

Because it had always been building toward this. Every long hug, every brush of a knee under a blanket, every late-night FaceTime that lingered too long on silent smiles. And now here they were. Blinking in the soft aftermath like they’d woken up in a version of their world that had been waiting for them to catch up.

The speaker, still connected to Paige’s phone, crackled softly—and then shuffled into a new song.

“Awkward,” by SZA.

Azzi shifted, the shirt sliding further down her back. She lifted her head just enough to look at Paige, her lips parted, her voice still heavy with sleep and sex.

“Seriously?” she murmured, the rasp in her tone shooting straight down Paige’s spine.

Azzi rolled onto her side, letting the shirt slide off one bare shoulder, revealing freckles Paige hadn’t realized she knew by heart. Her eyes stayed locked on Paige’s, dark and unblinking, like she was reading something there.

The lyrics rolled through the room like smoke. You look at me different, so I let you see my body...

Paige’s breath caught. Her hand was still in Azzi’s hair, but now it was still. Like the rest of her.

“It’s a little too on the nose, don’t you think?” she whispered, a dry laugh catching in her throat.

Azzi didn’t smile, but her lips quirked, slow and private.

“You asking if I regret it?”

Paige shook her head, slow and certain. “No. I already know you don’t.”

Because she did know. Not just from last night, but from the way Azzi had kissed her on that summer night before Paige left for college. Hesitant at first, then like she couldn’t hold it back. The kiss they never talked about after. The one that split something wide open between them. The one Paige had carried with her into every locker room, every away game, every stretch of silence where she didn’t know how to ask if it still meant something.

This moment—this version of them tangled in dorm sheets, speaking in glances and touches and unspoken knowing—it was the answer to all of that.

Azzi’s hand reached out, fingers brushing the hem of Paige’s shorts, then slipping underneath—just barely—drawing slow, lazy patterns into the skin of her thigh.

“I don’t,” she said. “Not even a little.”

Her voice was low. Steady. But Paige could hear the unspoken question tucked inside it—do you?

Paige blinked once. Her heart thudded, slow and heavy, like her body was catching up to what had already happened. She reached for Azzi’s hand, covering it gently, not to stop her—just to hold.

Her voice came out quietly. Barely a breath.

“Me neither.”

She hesitated, then leaned in just enough to rest her forehead against Azzi’s. Let their skin meet before their mouths did. Let her exhale right into the space between them.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” she whispered. “I didn’t know if I was making it up.”

Azzi’s hand tightened against her thigh, just slightly.

“You weren’t.”

Paige pulled back just far enough to meet her eyes again. There was something in Azzi’s gaze that steadied her—unflinching, warm, all in.

So Paige kissed her. Slow. Certain. Not to restart something, but to stay in it.

Like she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Back in the gym, Paige smiled to herself.

Arike looked over. “You good?”

Paige nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just remembering something nice.”

She pulled her phone from her pocket. No hesitation.

Text to Azzi: Guess what just played in the gym.

______________________________________________________________

Azzi POV

She’d felt different ever since Paige left D.C.

Not like everything had magically fallen into place. Not like the universe had handed them some tidy, well-lit answer. But something inside her had stopped bracing. Like her chest had finally unclenched. Like she'd stepped out of a holding pattern and remembered what it meant to move forward without flinching.

The air between them had cleared—not with some sweeping confession or dramatic monologue, but in smaller ways. In the way Paige stood in the doorway like she wasn’t sure if she’d be let in, and how Azzi didn’t hesitate to pull her across the threshold. In the way their bodies fit like they always had. In the way silence didn’t feel like avoidance, but understanding.

No perfect timing. No expectations.

Just warmth. Just touch. Just Paige, showing up and saying without saying, I still want this.

Text from Paige: Guess what just played in the gym

Azzi glanced at the screen, already smirking as she took another sip of water.

Azzi: You’re gonna have to help me out

Paige: SZA. “Awkward.”

Azzi’s grin deepened.

Azzi: Wow. Did it bring you back to the best night of your life or?

Paige: Bold of you to assume I ever left.

Azzi: Fair.

Azzi: Still can’t believe it started playing right after… you know.

Paige: Oh, I know. The universe dropped it like a mic.

Azzi: You were lucky I was too wrecked to bully you about your playlist.

Paige: You were too wrecked to form full sentences. All I got was “oh my God.”

Azzi: Wrong. I also said “don’t stop.” Repeatedly.

Paige: Okay, now you’re just trying to kill me.

Azzi: You started it.

She hit send before she could overthink it. The smile tugging at her mouth was smug, but her pulse was ticking up. Because now she was thinking about it—really thinking about it.

Azzi: With your hands.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. The second she typed it, heat bloomed in her chest. She remembered the pressure, the grip, the way Paige had touched her like she was allowed to. Like she'd always been allowed to.

Azzi: And your mouth.

She paused again. Swallowed. Her breath hitched just slightly. That memory lived in her spine now. Low and full and addictive. Her thumbs hesitated over the next line, then typed anyway.

Azzi: And that thing you did…

She stopped typing. Hitting send before finishing the sentence. Knowing exactly what it would do to Paige. She stared at the screen, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

God, Paige.

Her phone buzzed before she could send another text to finish the sentence. 

Paige: Don’t even finish that sentence.

Azzi laughed, cheeks warm now, heart thudding steady.

Azzi: Make me.

Paige: Say less. See you in Dallas.

Azzi stared at the screen, teeth digging into the inside of her cheek as a slow, involuntary smile crept across her face. Her heart gave one sharp thump.

Oh. So that’s how they were playing this.

She exhaled through her nose, trying to settle the heat that had officially spread beneath her skin.

Azzi locked her phone, still holding it in her hand like it might say something else.

Then she pressed it to her chest and let herself sit in it for a second—just the quiet, the tension, the yes of it all.

Her flight to Dallas was in less than 24 hours. And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t overthinking it.

She was just excited to see her.

Azzi had started packing for Dallas the next morning, her suitcase half-zipped on the edge of her bed. Practice gear, slides, recovery tools—all the usual stuff. But her movements had been slower, more deliberate. Like each item she folded was helping her mentally shift from everything that had happened back into what was still coming.

Her hand hovered over Paige’s hoodie for a second before she tucked it in beside her compression sleeves. It didn’t smell like her anymore, not really—just detergent and the faint trace of last night’s sweat. But it still felt like something. Like comfort. Like a piece of this quiet new thing they were building.

But even as she tucked it in, something twisted low in her chest.

Paige’s hoodie felt like safety. But the suitcase—it felt like expectation.

The lights, the interviews, the camera shots that always seemed to find her when she wasn’t ready—Azzi was starting to realize that being part of “them” came with a cost she hadn’t fully counted on. Especially when the headlines blurred their names together, or left hers out completely.

And maybe it wasn’t supposed to matter. Maybe it shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.

Not because she needed the attention. But because she was tired of only being seen in Paige’s orbit.

She sat back on her heels, glancing at the open suitcase.

Her phone buzzed—this time, with a FaceTime call.

KK.

Azzi grinned before answering.

“Yo,” KK grinned from her dorm room, sprawled across her bed in team sweats. “Game Two Azzi was a problem. I’m still watching that dagger three on a loop.”

Azzi laughed. “I needed that one.”

KK grinned wider. “You needed all of ‘em. That whole game was a masterclass.”

Azzi shook her head, still smiling. “You’re just saying that because of the and-one in the third.”

“I mean, I am,” KK said, not even pretending to deny it. “You hit that spin move into the lane and had their whole backcourt praying.”

Azzi mock-bowed. “Took a little divine intervention.”

“Please. You cooked, Azzi. That pull-up off the screen in the fourth? Filthy.”

Azzi leaned back into her pillows, feeling the warmth settle in her chest. “Yeah… that one felt good.”

KK pointed a finger at the screen. “That’s the look. That’s the you I’ve been waiting to see again.”

Azzi let out a quiet breath. “It’s been a minute.”

KK nodded. “But you’re back now. Not just the stats. You.”

Azzi bit her bottom lip, gaze dropping for a second. “Trying to be.”

KK’s voice softened, her smile fading into something more sincere. “You good?” she asked again, this time with more weight behind it. “Like—not just on the court.”

Azzi hesitated.

Then nodded slowly. “Getting there.”

KK tilted her head. “You guys get a chance to talk about things?”

Azzi made a face, pressing her water bottle to her cheek. “Define talk.”

KK groaned immediately. “Ew. Never mind. I take it back. I don’t want to know.”

Azzi laughed, but only for a second. Then her smile softened, thinned out around the edges.

“We didn’t talk much. Not with words, anyway.”

KK rolled her eyes. “That’s gross, and also not shocking.”

Azzi didn’t fire back. She sat with it for a second, then added quietly, “But it was good. Really good.”

KK leaned back into her pillows, eyes narrowing just a bit. “So then… what aren’t you saying?”

Azzi hesitated. The humor faded from her expression as she stared past the screen for a second.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think… I think I’m still trying to figure out if it’s okay to want something for myself in all of this.”

KK didn’t move.

Azzi kept going. “It’s not just the noise. It’s everything. Sometimes I feel like no matter what I do—how well I play, what I come back from—it’s still always about her.”

KK’s teasing faded instantly. “You mean the spotlight?”

Azzi exhaled slowly, letting her gaze drift toward the ceiling. “Not always. But yeah… sometimes.”

Azzi nodded, slowly. “Back when we won the natty together…. I was MOP. I had the comeback I worked so hard for. And I was so proud of that. But it was still Paige’s moment. And I didn’t mind at the time. I really didn’t.”

She looked down, voice quieter.

“But now? I wonder if I’ll ever have something that’s just mine. Where I’m not Paige’s girlfriend or Paige’s teammate or the girl standing next to her in the photo.”

She rubbed her fingers across the bridge of her nose. “And I feel like an awful person for even saying that. Because I love her. I do. And I want her to shine. I just… I want to know that I can, too.”

KK let the silence hang for a beat.

Then she leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “You’re not awful. You’re human. And you’re not the only person who’s ever loved someone with gravity.”

Azzi looked back at the screen.

“And yeah, Paige draws attention. But that doesn’t cancel out what you are. You’ve got a different kind of gravity, Azzi. One that doesn’t have to compete.”

Azzi’s eyes stung in that annoying way she always hated.

KK smiled. “You don’t have to dim to stand beside her. And trust me, you are already a name. You just haven’t fully stepped into it yet.”

Azzi exhaled slowly. “Yeah,” she said. “I think I needed to hear that.”

KK grinned, letting the moment sit for a beat before leaning back into her pillows again. “Anytime. That’s what I’m here for—emotional wisdom and unsolicited trash talk.”

Azzi laughed, tension finally loosening in her chest.

KK raised an eyebrow. “Just… maybe next time, talk with your words first. Then do the other stuff.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “We’ll try to be more verbally productive next time.”

KK smirked. “Please do. I’m too invested in this storyline to have it derailed by your inability to use full sentences post-makeout.”

Azzi shook her head, smiling for real now.

“Shut up,” she muttered, still laughing.

“Never,” KK shot back, already blowing her a kiss before hanging up. “Good luck in Dallas, superstar.”

Azzi set her phone down on the nightstand, the ghost of KK’s voice still lingering in the quiet.

She sat there for a moment, just breathing. Letting the silence settle, not as something empty—but as something earned.

Tomorrow was Game Three. The kind of game that demanded everything. That rewrote storylines, shifted narratives, and exposed legacies. She wanted to win—of course she wanted to win. That would never change.

But for the first time, it wasn’t just about the scoreboard.

And that’s where the knot sat in her chest—tight and quiet and pulsing beneath the surface.

Because even now, even after everything with Paige felt steadier, everything else still felt loud.

The restaurant rumor. The assumptions. The headlines that made Paige and their relationship look bad. Some of the headlines didn’t even use her name. Just ‘girlfriend of star guard.’ Like she was a tag, not a player. She hated how invasive it had all felt. How easily they became content instead of people.

She’d always loved being part of Paige and Azzi. The rhythm of it. The safety. There was comfort in standing next to someone the world already adored. Paige could take the spotlight, the scrutiny, the pressure. And Azzi? She could just play. Just be.

She’d liked it that way.

Until recently.

Until she realized she wanted something more.

Not more than Paige. Not instead of her.

Just more for herself.

She wanted a career that wasn’t measured in Paige comparisons. She wanted postgame interviews that didn’t pivot to questions about their relationship. She wanted her name to be the one in bold sometimes, not just mentioned in passing as a girlfriend, or a return-from-injury storyline, or a quiet second.

And that realization came with guilt.

Because she loved Paige. Loved her with her whole chest, with a history that stretched across dorm rooms and playoff tunnels and late-night calls when her knees ached and her hope did too.

But still—she couldn’t pretend she didn’t want her own thing.

Her own legacy. Her own moment. Her own light.

Paige had both. The platform and the partner. The headline and the hand to hold.

Azzi wanted that too.

And she was tired of feeling like she didn’t have permission to say it.

KK had been right. She didn’t have to dim just because Paige already shined. They could shine differently. Side by side.

She wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring. Who would win. What the world would say about them next.

But she was sure of this: she wasn’t going to wait around for clarity.

She was going to speak it.

She pulled Paige’s hoodie from the top of her suitcase and slipped it over her head. The sleeves still stretched past her fingers. The fabric smelled more like detergent than vanilla now—but the weight of it? That still felt like home.

She pressed her palms to her knees and whispered to the room:

“I’m ready.”

[sturniluvr]

Matt dating ADHD!reader

❗️SFW only❗️

Disclaimer: these are based off my experience with ADHD and some things that I have to do for my ADHD <3

A/N: I actually forgot to take my medication while writing this, need me a Matt fr😭(taken them now👍🏻)

> First and foremost, He’ll remind you to take your medication if you take it. He’ll have reminders set on his phone for you to take them at the times you need them.

> He’s always making sure you’ve eaten and drank something at least once a day, especially if he knows you’ve had a busy day and more than likely have forgotten to eat and hydrate yourself, and if you haven’t eaten or drank anything that day or haven’t had much drink or food, he’ll make you both something and encourage you to eat and take a break from whatever you’re doing.

> He’ll silently ask before hugging you or touching you in anyway knowing how you can be with physical touch, somedays you love it but days where you’re felling overwhelmed you don’t want anyone touching you.

> He also asks before initiating physical touch because of you getting too hot easily and he doesn’t want to trigger you if your too hot and make you ever hotter by adding his body heat.

> He also keeps the bedroom window open for you at night so you won’t get too hot and if you’re too cold he’ll close it and put his fan on low.

> If there’s something near you that’s making you overstimulated, for example if you’re filming a car video with him Nick and Chris and one or both of them are being too loud and he notices you holding your ears, he’ll tell them to be quiet immediately and make sure you’re okay.

> He’ll always let you wear his clothes if you need to as he knows they’re nice and loose on you and not too tight which you hate.

> It’s very rare that he’ll yell at you over little things like forgetting to take the trash out etc, knowing you genuinely cannot help forgetting sometimes and if he ever hears someone yelling at you for whatever reason, he’ll immediately shut them up and comfort you.

> he loves your stims, especially when it’s happy stims and your excited/passionate about whatever your talking about or doing and start stimming with that big beautiful smile that he loves so much on your face. But if they’re sad stims or you’re overwhelmed, he’ll do anything to comfort you.

> If you ever get overstimulated and need some alone time, he’ll let you stay in his room alone to do your own thing and he’ll turn the lights off (if you want them off) and he’ll periodically checks on you and if music helps you calm down.

> (based on previous one) He’ll keep a set of your headphones in his room, he’ll always make sure they’re charged for you whenever you may need them.

> If you’re in a group of people and people are talking over you and he notices you give up trying to talk, he’ll squeeze your hand and assure you he was listening to to continue talking.

> When you overthink, you tend to become closed off from the world, Matt always notices when you do this and he’ll take you somewhere quiet and private and encourage you to talk to him and comfort you about whatever you’re overthinking about.

> He has lots of silly photos and videos that you’ve either taken on his phone or sent him on Snapchat. He loves seeing your childish and silly side come out, showing him that you trust not only him but his brothers enough to be yourself around them.

> you also bring out his childish side and you can both go from having a serious conversation laying on his bed to having a dance party in his room at 3am (love the 3am dance parties🤪)

> He’s also loves hearing you and Chris bounce the most random thoughts off eachother. You and Chris NEVER shut up when you’re together if you’re having a good day, talking about anything and everything. (yappers unite 🫶🏻)

> He keeps a mental note of where you place things around the house and your bedroom because he knows you’ll forget at some point if it’s not directly next to you.

> If you’re having a bad day and have no motivation to do anything, he’ll more than happily just lay on the couch or in his bed with you and watch a film or just get your own things done while being in each others presence.

> If you have a date night planned and you’re having a bad day, Matt is more than happy to have a little impromptu home date nights with you, painting each others nails and eating snacks with a film playing on his TV.

> He has a box in his closet full of little things you’ve given him over the years, shells from the beach, little letters you’ve written him, bracelets you’ve made for him, no matter how small the gift is, it’ll go in his memory box for him to treasure for the rest of his life. (Matt and ADHD!reader have matching bracelets and that’s the only bracelet he wears everyday)

> If you have chores or errands you need to get done throughout the day, Matt will help you get them done to make your day a little less stressful.

> Overall, he’s a very loving and attentive boyfriend and will do anything in his power to make his girls day a little bit easier for you <3

[emjayewrites]

ghost in the machine • jobe bellingham - part i

SYNOPSIS: What started off as something casual, Jobe now finds himself developing feelings that he is unable to shake.

PAIRINGS: Jobe Bellingham x Justine Campbell (fc: @/themiaamoore)

WARNINGS: cursing, falling in love type stuff, depictions/mentions of sex, jealous!jobe (18+ only) MINORS DNI

TAGLIST: @judesvirtual, @judesprincess, @yeea-nah, @leilaxaliel, @f1-football-fiend @bbgkoo @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @henneseyhoe @judes-hoe @judebellenthusiast @imjustheretomanifest @greedyjudge2 @whoevenisthiz

A/N: Another one for Jobey….this is set in the Football Baes Universe. Read Hey There, Delilah to catch up. Please let me know if you wish to be added/removed from the taglist. Gif by @jobesbabe

It’s been almost two weeks since he last seen Justine in person due to their crazy schedules, but they speak to one another frequently through text, calls, and their ever growing meme thread. However, the Snapchat notifications were slowly killing him. Every time Jobe opened the app, there was Justine – and more often than not, Keyon somewhere in the frame. Study sessions, coffee runs, group dinners that somehow always ended up being just the two of them in the final snaps. Each post twisted something in Jobe's gut, making him grip his phone a little tighter and cause a scowl to form on his face.

Birmingham felt different during this brief break. Usually coming home meant peace, but now the streets held the possibility of running into her. Which is exactly what happened at Venetta's Caribbean Kitchen, where Justine was helping her mother during the lunch rush.

Jobe had frozen in the doorway, his mum beside him. Justine looked up from wiping down a table, their eyes meeting for a brief, charged moment before he deliberately turned away, guiding his mum to a different section.

"That was rude, Jobey," his mum had said quietly, but Jobe just shrugged, studying the menu like he hadn't been eating here since he could walk.

Later, back at his house, Jobe's phone buzzed with a text: Real mature, ignoring me like that earlier.

He didn't respond, but the message burned in his pocket through dinner with his parents. The food on Jobe's plate might as well have been cardboard. He pushed the chicken around listlessly, his mind replaying the moment at Venetta's over and over. The way Justine's face had fallen when he'd ignored her, how her hand had tightened on the cloth she was holding.

"You've barely touched your food," his mum observed.

"May I be excused?" Jobe asked, already half-rising from his chair. "Just… not feeling well."

His parents exchanged a look he pretended not to see. "Go on then," his dad said softly.

His phone buzzed again as he climbed the stairs to his room: So you're not gonna say anything?

Lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly through his phone, a FaceTime request lit up his screen. Justine's name made his heart jump, but he waited three rings before accepting.

"You're being a proper dickhead, you know that?" Her accent was thickened with anger and some Jamaican patois flavored her words. "Who you think you are, walking past me like I'm invisible?"

Jobe couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips. Angry Justine was always a sight – her eyes flashing, curls seeming to crackle with electricity.

"Wipe dat smirk off yuh face before mi dweet fi yuh," she snapped. ("Wipe that smirk off your face before mi do it for you).

"How you gonna do that through the phone?"

"Bombaclaat!" The curse exploded from her. "You're such an asshole." The call ended abruptly, leaving Jobe staring at his blank screen.

His attempts to call back went straight to voicemail. His texts remained unread. Frustrated, he grabbed his headset, turned on his PS5, and opened COD, finding Jude already online from his home in Madrid.

"You sound stressed," Jude's voice came through crystal clear in the headset.

"It's nothing."

"Right. Nothing to do with Justine?"

Jobe's character died spectacularly as he lost focus. "How's Lila?"

"Coming tomorrow. And don't change the subject." Jude's voice carried that older-brother wisdom Jobe usually tried to ignore. "What'd you do this time?"

"Why do you assume I did something?"

"Because I know you."

They played in silence for a moment, then Jobe sighed. "Saw her at Venetta's. Ignored her."

"Mature."

"She's been hanging out with this guy from her teaching program."

"Ah." Jude's knowing tone was irritating. "And you're jealous."

"I'm not—"

"Stop playing COD and go see her."

Jobe hated it when Jude was right. After saying goodbye, he turned off the game and headed downstairs to the entryway closet to fish out his Adidas slides and slipped his sock-covered feet into them. He grabbed his keys and turned around just in time to catch his parents making out on the sectional like teenagers.

"Ugh, can you guys do that in your room or something?"

His parents just laughed, breaking apart. "Where you off to?" his mum asked.

"Out."

"To see Justine?" His dad's knowing smile was insufferable. "Tell her we say hi."

"Yeah, yeah..." Rolling his eyes, Jobe escaped to his car. The drive to Justine's was muscle memory at this point, and for a bit, a SZA song played through his speakers. It was some sappy song about love that hit too close to home, so he quickly switched to his Stormzy playlist, the beat helping clear his head.

When he arrived, he walked up the short path and knocked. Mr. Winston Campbell, Justine's father, answered the door. Despite being nearly a head shorter than Jobe, the man had a way of making him feel small. Jobe shoved his hands in his pockets, partly from nerves, partly from the cold.

"Kind of late, isn't it?" her father said, fixing him with that look all dads seemed to perfect.

"Yes, sir. Sorry. Is Justine home?"

After what felt like an eternity of fatherly intimidation, Justine appeared. Even in sweats and a messy ponytail, no makeup, she was the most beautiful thing Jobe had ever seen. Her natural curls were pulled back, revealing the face he'd found himself thinking about more and more lately.

"What are you doing here?" Justine asked, her arms crossed.

"Taking you out."

She rolled her eyes but grabbed her keys anyway, telling her parents she'd be back later. Mr. Campbell's stern "Not too late" followed them out the door.

The night air bit at their skin as they drove through Birmingham's streets. Jobe kept sneaking glances at Justine, the way the streetlights caught her profile, how she absently moved to the Stormzy track still playing. Every little thing she did lately seemed to catch his attention – the way she chewed her lip when thinking, how her nose scrunched when she was upset.

They stopped at their usual corner shop for snacks. Justine loaded up on Haribo and chocolate buttons, the same thing she'd done that first time months ago when this thing between them started. Back then, he hadn't known how she'd get under his skin, how her laugh would become his favorite sound.

The park where everyone their age hung out was empty this late. They sat on the hood of his car despite the cold, Justine already tearing into her sweets.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "For being a dickhead."

Justine cut him a look of disbelief. "Mmhmm."

"I'm serious, Jus."

She unwrapped a chocolate button, popping it in her mouth. The familiar gesture made his heart do something stupid in his chest. "Why'd you ignore me today?"

Jobe watched her lick chocolate from her thumb, trying to organize thoughts that had been jumbled since Halloween. "Been seeing you with Keyon. On Snapchat."

"Ah." Her smile was knowing. "You've been jealous."

"Can we... can we be exclusive?"

She looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "What?"

"Not like... dating exactly. Just... exclusive. No fucking other people."

Justine's laugh echoed through the empty park. "Oh my days, you really have been jealous."

"Jus..."

"Keyon's just a friend," she said, sobering. "I'm not interested in him like that."

Relief flooded through him. "So...?"

"So what?"

"Exclusive?"

She studied him for a long moment. "You mean you want all the benefits of dating without actually dating?"

"Did you have to say it like that? At least until we figure things out, yeah? My schedule's mad, and you've got teaching..."

"But we won’t be seeing anyone else."

"Right."

She popped another chocolate in her mouth, considering. "And should I agree to this?"

Jobe turned to face her fully, taking in the sight of her – ponytail, oversized sweats, chocolate-stained fingers. "Come to Sunderland next weekend. I'll make it worth your while."

"That's a long drive..."

He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "I'll make it very worth your while."

Her smile was slow, dangerous, and tempting. "Yeah?"

Instead of answering, he kissed her. She tasted like chocolate and possibility, her mouth warm despite the cold air. When they broke apart, her eyes were slightly glazed.

"Is that a yes?"

"To Sunderland or being exclusive?"

"Both."

She pretended to think about it, but her smile gave her away. "Fine. But you better make it worth the drive."

"Trust me," he said, pulling her closer. "I will."

They stayed at the park until the cold became unbearable, sharing sweets and kisses. Justine tucked herself under his arm as they walked to the passenger side of the car, fitting against him perfectly before Jobe helped her slip inside. The drive home was quiet and comfortable, Stormzy replaced by something softer.

Pulling up to her house, Jobe killed the engine but made no move to get out. "Text me when you're inside?"

"Such a softie," she teased, but her eyes were fond.

He watched her walk to her door, Mr. Campbell's shadow visible through the front window. As she disappeared inside, his phone buzzed: Inside safe. Thanks for tonight x

Driving home, Jobe couldn't stop smiling. It wasn't exactly what he wanted – not yet – but it was a start. And maybe, just maybe, it was enough for now.

His parents were still up when he got in, curled together watching TV. "Good night?" his mum asked, knowing glint in her eye.

"Yeah," Jobe said, unable to hide his smile. "Really good."

The coffee shop near campus buzzed with its usual mid-afternoon energy as Justine settled into her favorite corner spot. Her laptop was open to a half-finished lesson plan, but her mind kept drifting to the texts from Jobe lighting up her phone.

"The usual?" Keyon appeared with two steaming cups, sliding her oat milk latte across the table.

"Thanks." She took a sip, appreciating how he always remembered her order perfectly. Their coffee meetups had become routine – a break between classes where they'd complain about their teaching placements and swap horror stories about particularly difficult students.

Today though, something felt different in the way Keyon watched her. He seemed nervous, fidgeting with his cup sleeve.

"So," he started, clearing his throat. "I was thinking… maybe we could grab dinner sometime? Like, not just coffee."

Justine's stomach dropped. She'd been afraid of this, had noticed the way their friendship seemed to be shifting lately. "Key…"

"I know, I know. You've got that thing with the footballer."

"It's not just that." Though Jobe's face flashed in her mind – his smirk when she'd agreed to be exclusive, how he'd kissed her in that park like he was trying to prove something. "I'm not looking for anything serious right now," she said finally. "Got too much going on with school and work."

And there was Jobe. Whatever they were doing wasn't serious – couldn't be, with his schedule and her life in Leeds. But it was… something. Something that made her drive two hours to Sunderland on weekends, something that had her checking her phone between classes for his texts.

Keyon nodded, understanding but clearly disappointed. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

The rest of their time passed normally, talk turning to their upcoming assessments and placement reviews. But Justine's mind kept wandering to the weekend ahead, to the apartment in Sunderland where she'd be spending it.

Later, walking across campus to her next class, Justine's phone buzzed. Made it worth the drive yet? Jobe's text read. Jus: Considering I haven't left Leeds yet, no. Jobe: Soon though. Jus: Cocky. Jobe: You love it.

She did, and that was the problem. He could make her smile with just a text, and he seemed to know exactly what buttons to push. It wasn't supposed to be like this—they were just supposed to be having fun, getting their rocks off between his matches and her teaching rounds.

But somewhere between late-night drives and morning-after breakfasts, something had shifted. Not that she'd admit it, especially not to him.

That night came faster than expected. The drive to Sunderland was familiar now, her playlist full of songs that reminded her of Jobe. She'd done this twice before, but this time felt different. Maybe because of them being exclusive or how he'd kissed her that night in Birmingham.

His apartment building came into view – modern, sleek, the kind of place young footballers gravitated toward. She punched in the code he'd given her ages ago, took the elevator to his floor.

The door opened before she could knock. Jobe stood there in joggers and a t-shirt, looking unfairly good for someone who'd just finished training.

"You cleaned," she noted, stepping inside. The usual chaos of his bachelor pad was notably absent.

"Don't get excited," he smirked. "Ordered dinner too."

"And here I thought you were trying to impress me."

His hands found her hips, pulling her close. "Don't need to try anymore, do I?"

She should have had a witty comeback ready. Should have pushed him away, maintained some distance. Instead, she let him kiss her, melting into it like she always did.

His lips were soft but demanding, knowing exactly how to make her forget why this was complicated. One hand tangled in her hair while the other pressed against her lower back, holding her close.

When they broke apart, his eyes were dark with want. "Dinner first," he said, voice rough. "Then I'll show you exactly how worth it this drive was."

Justine could only nod, already anticipating the night ahead. This thing with Jobe might not have been what she planned, might complicate everything from her studies to her family dynamics.

But as they settled on his couch with takeaway containers, his thigh pressed against hers, she couldn't bring herself to care. Some things were worth the complication.

Even if she wasn't ready to admit exactly why.

After dinner, the air between them grew charged, thick with anticipation. Justine followed Jobe to his bedroom, her heart racing as he closed the door behind them. He shot her a smirk as he crossed the room, pulling her close without a word, and slanted his lips against hers.

She let out a small gasp as his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, and that allowed his tongue to slip inside her mouth. When they finally broke apart, his gaze was dark with intent.

"Dinner’s done," he murmured, his voice thick and rough. "Now I’ll show you exactly how worth it this drive was."

Justine felt her breath hitch, anticipation building as he pushed her towards the bed. He paused to turn and open the bedside drawer, fishing out a condom. Removing his joggers, t-shirt, then boxers, Jobe tore the foil packet open and slipped it on, his eyes rarely ever leaving hers, the hint of a smirk still on his lips.

"Your turn," he said, his tone laced with mischief.

Rolling her eyes, Justine shimmied out of her clothing and as soon as she was naked, his hands guided her to turn onto her stomach — face-down, ass-up. Jobe bent her slightly forward and she moaned as she felt him press against her from behind. When he leaned in close, she could feel his breath hot against her neck.

"You think you can handle what’s coming?" His voice was low, teasing, a dare wrapped in a whisper. One hand slid along her waist, holding her steady, while the other traced its way up her back, finally tangling in her hair. He pulled her head back gently, just enough to make her pulse quicken, reminding her of exactly how much he liked things rough.

Justine's witty comebacks disappeared the moment he entered her, the world narrowing down to nothing but the rhythm they set together. He moved with a purpose, each thrust deep and steady, making her toes curl. His grip on her hair tightened just enough to blur the line between pleasure and pain, and she couldn’t help but let out a whimper, fingers clinging to the sheets as he set a relentless pace.

"You like this, don’t you?" he murmured, voice husky as he leaned over her, pressing his chest against her back. "Act all tough, but you melt the second I get you like this."

She let out a breathy laugh, managing just enough wit to shoot back, "Don’t flatter yourself, Jobe."

"Flatter myself?" His hand pulled her closer by the hair, his voice in her ear like a dark promise. "You’re the one begging for it."

His words only fueled her, making her clench around him as he drove into her harder, the intensity building. She gripped the sheets, her mind blurring with each thrust. Her breaths came in short, shallow gasps, her body surrendering entirely as he held her firmly, guiding her movements.

"Fuck....Jobe!"

"I know, I know," he said smugly as his thrusts became erratic. With both of his hands in her hair and his manic movements, Justine felt like she would explode from the sheer pleasure of it all; and she did, her orgasm erupting from the deep within her and causing her to tremble like a leaf. Jobe's orgasm hit soon after and he collapsed on top of her, his body glistening with sweat before pulling out and discarding the condom.

Afterglow looked good on Jobe. The usual cockiness in his expression had softened to something almost vulnerable as he traced patterns on her skin, pressing gentle kisses to the marks he'd left on the base of her neck. Their breathing slowly returned to normal, the intensity of earlier giving way to this quieter intimacy that always caught Justine off guard.

"So…" He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her with that boyish grin that did dangerous things to her heart. "Worth the drive?"

"Mm. Solid seven out of ten."

The indignation that flashed across his face made her bite back a laugh. "Seven? Now you're just chatting shit."

"What can I say?" She stretched languidly, hiding her smile at how his eyes tracked the movement. "I've had better."

"Nah, you're moving mad right now." His hand slid down her side, making her shiver. "The sounds you were making five minutes ago tell a different story."

"Maybe I was faking it."

His laugh was low, knowing. "Justine."

"Jobe."

"You're a terrible liar."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling as he pulled her closer. "And you're annoying."

"Yet here you are."

"Unfortunately."

His response was to kiss her again, slow and deep, like they had all the time in the world. Maybe they did, just for tonight.

The weekend had passed in a blur of tangled sheets and takeaway containers. Now, watching Justine pack her bag for the drive back to Leeds, Jobe felt something twist in his chest. She moved around his flat with familiar ease, finding her scattered belongings – a textbook on his coffee table, her charger by his bed, one of her hair ties on his bathroom counter.

"Don't forget to eat something proper," she said, zipping up her bag. "Not just those protein bars."

"Yes, mum."

She flipped him off, but kissed him goodbye anyway. The flat felt too quiet after she left.

Monday's training session was intense, preparation for the upcoming Millwall match in full swing. Between drills, Jobe's mind kept wandering to the family section of the stadium, imagining Justine there in his jersey. He shook the thought away – she wasn't his girlfriend, just because they were exclusive didn't mean...

"Come on, Jobe!" His coach's shout brought him back to reality.

His phone lit up with his dad's contact photo as he left training. Strange – his old man calling for a second time today? Around lunchtime, his dad shared the news that he'd been called up for England U21s to face Spain and The Netherlands, which was a huge opportunity for him and for his career.

Surely everything is figured out... "Yeah?"

"Can't a father call his son?" Mark Bellingham's voice carried that tone Jobe knew too well.

"Again though? What's up, Dad?"

"I forgot to ask about Justine. How is she?"

There it was. Jobe sighed, adjusting his grip on his gym bag. "She's good. Teaching placement's going well."

"Good, good." His dad cleared his throat. "And you two are being safe, yeah?"

"Dad."

"I'm serious! You're young, sexually active—"

"Can we not?"

"Just making sure." A pause. "So... is she your girlfriend now? Because your mum has been talking about Christmas in Norway, and if she's officially your girl..."

Jobe's stomach flipped at the image of Justine bundled up in the snow, wearing one of his jumpers. "It's complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"Just is." He reached his car. "Look, need to get groceries. Talk later."

"Use protection!"

Jobe hung up before his dad could embarrass him further.

The grocery store's fluorescent lights made everything look harsh. His cart filled quickly with the basics – frozen pizzas, energy drinks, protein bars, cereal. He was debating between Frosted Shreddies and Cookie Crisps when a laugh made him turn.

"Let me guess – living alone?"

The girl was exactly the type who usually caught his attention before Justine. Tall, blonde, expertly applied makeup, outfit designed to turn heads. She had that look he recognized – the one that said she knew exactly who he was.

"Uh, yeah."

She stepped closer, perfectly manicured hand resting on his cart. "I could help you pick out some real food. Maybe cook for you sometime?"

"Sorry, I've got someone."

The words tumbled out before he could think about them. The girl's smile faltered, a quick "Oh" before she walked away.

What the fuck did I mean by that? Jobe thought, staring at his sad collection of frozen meals. Sure, they were exclusive now, but "got someone" sounded... serious. Like something you'd say about a girlfriend.

Back home, after shoving most things in the freezer, he FaceTimed Justine. She answered surrounded by textbooks, hair piled messily on her head, glasses perched on her nose.

"Productive day?" he asked, settling onto his couch.

"If you could say that. This lesson planning is killing me." She glanced up, smirking. "Nice shopping trip?"

"How'd you—"

"Your freezer door is still open. Look at all those pizzas. You're such a child."

"Oi, those are quality meals," he quipped as he got and slammed the freezer door completely shut.

"Sure, babe."

The casual endearment made his chest warm. Before he could examine that feeling, Justine's attention shifted.

"Oh! Love Island USA's starting. Watch party?"

They settled into their virtual date night routine, Justine occasionally scribbling notes while Jobe provided commentary as he watched from his living room.

"JaNa is literally perfect," Justine sighed as the camera panned across the villa.

"Kordell's moving mad though."

"Right? And Aaron's such a dick."

"Serena could get it though."

Justine threw him a look through the phone screen. "Could she now?"

"You know what I mean."

They watched until Justine's yawns became too frequent to ignore. "Get some sleep," Jobe said softly. "Early class tomorrow, yeah?"

"Mm. Night, J."

After they hung up, Jobe turned off the TV to go lay in bed and stared up at his ceiling as memories of the weekend played through his mind. Justine in his t-shirt making coffee, curled against him while they watched match replays, kissing him awake in the morning.

His dad's questions echoed in his head. Maybe "complicated" was just another word for scared – of wanting more, of admitting this thing had grown past their original arrangement. The England callup would mean a week and a half without seeing her, and the thought bothered him more than it should.

His phone buzzed: Night Night. Missing you already x

Jobe smiled at the screen. Maybe complicated wasn't so bad after all.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

[ohsayge]

General School Bus Graveyard Headcanons

Aiden has straight As and Bs. No one understands how because of the way he acts; not even the teachers.

Logan has almost every gaming console imaginable. His favorite is his switch because he is obsessed with animal crossing.

The gang wants to travel the world/country together after they get out of the shadow/phantom realm.

Ben and Tyler are the only people Ashlyn trusts with her hair. Ben likes to practice braiding her hair for when Lily wants him too and Tyler will cut her bangs for her.

They don't talk about what happened at the arcade's alley. It's now taboo.

Taylor makes the other 5 go shopping with her. She thinks it's more fun then shopping alone.

Logan's favorite flowers are daisies, but if you asked him he'd say lilies.

The taller Tyler gets, the more Taylor threatens to break his kneecaps. She doesn't want him to not be tall, just not a foot taller than she is.

The group makes it a point to go to any dance recital that Ashlyn has and any baseball game that Tyler has. Neither of them will admit that they really love that the gang comes to support them.

They have a snapchat group chat that's just Aiden and Taylor going back and forth sending pictures of the others. Occasionally Tyler will send something if Aiden and Taylor do something stupid.

Ashlyn's parents started greeting Taylor, Tyler, Ben, Logan and Aiden as "The children who do not live here", It was funny the first time but now Ashlyn begs them to stop.

Taylor and Logan play video games together on the weekends. Their favorite is Mario Kart.

Ashlyn gets a kick out of tripping Tyler. It is completely on purpose, and he has started to pick up on the signs of her about to trip him.

[torglives]

ok but even beyond the very obvious fact that calling people the r slur Is Bad it’s just kind of like. a completely insane thing to even consider justifiable.

you’ll see his (frankly, heavily manipulated) fanbase claim that it’s fair for him to crash out over all of this because tommy is “always bringing him up.” — and even if that was true, the normal, healthy, mature, well-adjusted (and however many more adjectives we can apply) response is not to call a group of people a slur on twitter. even if he “thought he could reclaim it.”

& he can claim he “didn’t know the slur rules” (insane, by the way) all he wants, but it will never change that. it will never change the fact that he wasn’t even involved in this little scrap and decided to stick his foot in the door for the opportunity to make it about himself. as he does. and then victimize himself after. as he does. you are 25 years old, not a toddler being denied a cookie before bedtime. i have never in my life seen a single content creator with such a massive, putrid ego. he truly outdoes himself every single time.

here is the truth: dream has spent, and will spend, the rest of his life chasing the idea that he is somehow oppressed, a victim of hate, punished for existing. he romanticizes it. he will take any opportunity to not only insert himself in a situation, but will do so solely to make sure everyone knows just how bad he has it. registered republican, messager of underaged fans, private snapchat-owning, shielder of abusers, perpetuator of racists, forever the guy to feel bad for. i truly believe he is unable to recognize that he is in the wrong, because he always believes himself to be in the right. and i believe he is surrounded by people who support those delusions, because they believe those same things about themselves. he lives in an echo-chamber.

he will not learn. he can post as many apologies as he wants, all avoiding that magic five letter word that starts with s and ends with orry, and he will not change. not that that’s something you didn’t know already.