#and then just...not dealing with a lot of that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

norristrii · 2 days ago

Text

TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT.

You didn’t plan to move in with your friend. But when you mentioned your Monaco apartment search, Lando offered his spare room—just until you found your own place. Living together was supposed to be easy. It wasn’t supposed to change everything.

pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader.

warnings. 8,5k words, friends to lovers, roommate! lando, idiots in love, domestic fluff, one misogynistic joke, pining, implied timeskips, reader ruins the moment a lot, teasing, pet names (darling, princess), jealous! lando.

IT ALL HAPPENED SO QUICKLY, you didn’t even have time to really think it through.

One day, you were sitting around your living room in England, surrounded by your friends. The air was full of laughter, stories, and the comfort that only familiar people can bring. You were happy—but also tired. The kind of tired that sneaks up on you after too many airport gates, too many suitcases, too much time spent in between two places.

Almost without thinking, you mentioned that you were looking for an apartment in Monaco. It wasn’t meant to be a big announcement. Just something you said in passing while everyone was chatting. You were rich enough to make it happen, and most of your friends already lived there, including Lando. It made sense. You were flying back and forth all the time, and it had started to wear you down.

You hadn’t expected anyone to say much. It was just something you said—one of those in-between moments that usually gets forgotten by the end of the night.

But this one didn’t.

Quietly, without making a big deal of it, Lando stepped forward. He offered you a place to stay—his spare room in Monaco, just while you looked for something of your own. At first, it didn’t feel real. You even laughed, thinking he was just being polite, maybe teasing you like he always did. But when you looked at him, really looked, you saw that he meant it.

And somehow, without making a big thing out of it, you agreed.

Days passed. Then you were packing bags, booking a one-way ticket, and suddenly your life in England was on pause. You didn’t feel nervous—just ready. Like this was the next step, even if you hadn’t expected it.

───

You hadn’t been at Lando’s place very long—just a few hours—but things were already starting to feel familiar. Your things were neatly unpacked in the spare room, each item finding its place without much thought. The room felt like yours now, even if you'd only planned to stay for a short while. You moved around the apartment with ease, already knowing where things were and how they worked. You figured some of that out quicker than Lando probably ever had himself.

Now you were curled up comfortably on the living room sofa. The cushions were soft, the air was quiet, and it was easy to pretend you’d been doing this for days. Across the kitchen, Lando was digging through one of the overhead cabinets, muttering quietly to himself as he searched through snacks. Boxes rustled, a few things toppled out. You heard a little satisfied sound from him right before he turned around with a smile and held up a pack of Kinder chocolate.

“You want some?” he asked, lifting the chocolate like he’d struck gold.

You nodded, and without a second thought, he walked over and sat down next to you, handing you two bars. You opened one slowly, letting your shoulders relax a little more now that you were settled in for the evening.

“I swear, this is just temporary,” you said softly, your voice calm but honest. “Just until I find something.”

Lando leaned back on the couch, stretching out and shrugging like it didn’t matter. “It’s not a big deal,” he said simply. “Stay as long as you need.”

That made you smile. His words were casual, but they carried the kind of comfort that was hard to ignore. It was nice to hear that someone was okay with you being there—maybe more than okay.

Then he smirked, turning his head toward you just slightly. “I finally have someone to wash the dishes.”

Your smile dropped for a moment, eyes narrowing as you stared at him. But before you could even try to look annoyed, a laugh slipped out. “You’re such an idiot,” you said, shaking your head as you took another bite of chocolate. “You literally have a dishwasher.”

Lando laughed, eyes bright as he leaned back against the cushions. “And you think I know how to use it?”

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “The dishwasher? Lando, it’s three buttons.”

He shrugged, looking far too proud of himself. “Yeah, and none of them say ‘Start.’ Suspicious.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “How do you survive alone?”

“I don’t,” he said with a smirk. “I survive with takeout and charm.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for another bite of chocolate, letting the sweet melt slowly on your tongue. The room was cozy—soft light from the hallway spilling in, the hum of the city outside barely audible through thick windows. The air between you felt easy, full of warmth and unspoken comfort.

He nudged your leg gently with his foot. “I bet you already figured out how everything works around here.”

“Obviously,” you said, glancing at him. “I’m smarter than you.”

───

The mirror was foggy from your earlier shower, but you didn’t mind. You stood in front of it, toothbrush in hand, moving through your usual routine like you’d done it a thousand times before. The bathroom door was wide open, letting in the soft, morning light from the hallway. The apartment was quiet except for the gentle sound of running water and the rhythmic swish of bristles against your teeth.

Then, without warning, Lando appeared in the doorway.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t pause. Just walked in like he had every right to be there—shirt rumpled, hair slightly messy, toothpaste already smeared on his brush. He stood next to you, leaned over the sink, and started brushing as if this had always been part of the plan.

You glanced sideways at him, toothpaste foam around your mouth, and had to choke back a laugh. He brushed in this chaotic, zigzag sort of way—like he was racing the clock or battling the toothbrush itself. You shook your head, letting a quiet snort escape you, the corners of your mouth twitching.

He caught your expression in the mirror. “What?” he asked, mouth full of foam.

You spat and rinsed, still grinning. “You brush your teeth like a six-year-old fighting for his life.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, pretending to be offended. “Excuse you. This is top-tier oral hygiene.”

You were still smiling as you turned toward your bedroom, his words echoing after you down the hall—muffled by foam, but somehow still crystal clear.

“Also, Y/n, we should go shop some groceries,” he’d said, mouth full of toothpaste, like it was the most obvious next step in your not-so-temporary arrangement.

“Okay, I’ll go get ready,” you called back, already closing the door behind you.

You moved quickly, pulling your hair back, slipping into something soft and simple. Nothing fancy. Just enough to feel put together. When you reemerged, Lando was waiting at the door, one hand spinning his car keys in slow loops, the other holding his phone like he was in the middle of something—and knowing him, it was probably memes.

He didn’t look up as you approached. “Going only for essentials,” he said, sliding the phone into his back pocket.

You lifted an eyebrow, walking past him toward the elevator. “Such as?”

“Kinder Eggs,” he replied without hesitation, throwing you a grin.

You gave him a look as the elevator doors closed between you, but your laugh came anyway—quiet, helpless, warm. Essentials, indeed.

You stepped into the store with Lando right behind you, the automatic doors swooshing shut as a blast of cold air hit your face. Without missing a beat, he grabbed a cart and started pushing it with an alarming sense of purpose.

“So… do we actually have a list or are we just winging it?” you asked, half expecting him to shrug like he usually did.

Instead, he handed you his phone. A full list was already typed out—categories, quantities, even little emojis next to some items. You blinked at it, then looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“Well, look at you,” you said with a smirk. “Man of the house.”

He gave a smug little nod, clearly pleased with himself. “That’s me.”

You laughed, scrolling through the list. “You also listed ‘more chocolate’ twice.”

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing a pack off the shelf as you passed. “That wasn’t a mistake.”

The cart creaked a little as you pushed it along the polished floor, wheels squeaking under the weight of your not-so-essentials. The air inside the store was cool, crisp with that oddly comforting scent of freshly misted produce and cardboard packaging. It was bright, a little too bright, and made everything feel strangely alive—like even the cereal boxes were watching the two of you argue in the middle of aisle seven.

You laughed again as you tucked your favorite snack into the cart, right on top of a box of pasta Lando had chosen purely because it “looked fancy.” He was already walking ahead, checking off items from his mental list with a swagger that had no business being in a grocery store. You caught up, still smiling, fingers brushing the cart handle where his had just been.

“I’m impressed you actually made a list,” you said, holding up his phone, still open to the Notes app.

Lando turned slightly to glance at you over his shoulder, his grin smug and a little too proud. “What can I say? Living with a roommate now. Gotta keep standards high.”

You snorted. “Is that what I am? A roommate?”

“Roommate, best friend, snack consultant. You are a lot of things.”

You shook your head, amused, but that quiet flutter in your chest didn’t go unnoticed. It was in the way he said we, in the way he navigated this afternoon like it was normal. Like having you here—beside him in the frozen foods section—was just another part of his day.

As you turned into the next aisle, he slowed his pace without saying anything, just so you stayed side by side. You noticed it. He didn’t acknowledge it.

He reached for another pack of pasta—wrong kind again—and you let him take it without correcting him this time. Instead, you watched his fingers as they grazed the shelf, the casual way he moved, like none of this felt new to him anymore. Maybe it didn’t.

“This’ll probably last us a week,” he said, glancing at the half-full cart.

You hummed. “If we don’t eat everything by Thursday.”

He looked over with a teasing smile. “You say we, but I’ve seen you with those snacks.”

You nudged him with your shoulder. “Says the man who put four packs of cinnamon cereal in the cart.”

He held up two fingers. “Three.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“…Okay, four. But it was on sale.”

You wandered over to the fridge lined with rows of brightly colored energy drinks, fingers tracing the cool glass as you scanned for your go-to. Before you could reach for it, Lando stepped in beside you and—without even glancing—grabbed the exact one you were looking for.

“That’s my favorite,” you said, eyeing him curiously. “How’d you know?”

He didn’t even pause, just dropped three into the cart and gave a casual shrug. “I know,” he said, flashing that familiar smirk. “You always grab them at gas stations. Thought I wasn’t paying attention?”

You stared at him for a second longer than necessary, the corner of your mouth tugging into a smile. Of course he noticed.

He always did.

───

The floor of your room looked like a war zone—drawers left half open, clothes scattered, and you perched cross-legged in front of your closet, muttering under your breath as you tore through what little was left.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you grumbled, tossing aside a crumpled sweater as if it had personally offended you. Not a single clean t-shirt in sight. They were all likely marinating in your dirty laundry basket, which was definitely judging you from the corner.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Not that you were exactly panicking over Lando seeing you in less-than-full attire. He’d seen worse. But still—not ideal.

“Everything okay in here?” his voice called from just outside the door.

You looked up to find him standing there, sleepy-eyed, hair a mess, wearing gray sweatpants and a loose tee that definitely wasn't helping the situation. His brows raised slightly as he took in the chaos.

“My shirts have vanished,” you said dramatically. “Like, actually disappeared. It’s a t-shirt graveyard in here.”

Lando leaned against the doorframe, unfazed. “You want one of mine?”

Your cheeks warmed before you could stop it. The offer was innocent, easy, but something about it sent a quiet shiver across your skin.

Still, you nodded. “Yeah. Please.”

Without a word, he stepped forward and reached out a hand. You took it, letting him pull you up from the floor in one smooth motion. His touch was warm, familiar, just enough to make your heart stutter for half a second.

He smiled. “Come on. Let’s see what I have.”

His room was exactly what you expected: comfortably chaotic. Clothes scattered across the floor, a pile of team merch half spilling out of a drawer, and more tissues than one human should logically need—because of course, he had a runny nose and refused to admit it was anything more.

You stood beside him at the closet, watching as he rifled through it with the same level of chaos you'd just demonstrated in your own room. He was oddly focused, like there was a method to the madness—though you'd yet to see it.

After a minute, he pulled out two t-shirts and a hoodie, handing them over without looking up.

You glanced down at the pile in your hands, then back at him, eyebrows raised. “You're giving me all this?”

He shrugged, nonchalant. “Spare clothes,” he said, like that explained everything.

You stared at him for another beat, a soft laugh slipping out. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Efficient,” he corrected, turning back to the closet like he was going to find something else useful. Though judging by the look of it, probably not.

He tossed the t-shirt into your hands with that familiar smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Try it on,” he said casually, but you knew that tone way too well. That wasn't a simple suggestion—it was pure Lando mischief.

You narrowed your eyes at him, clutching the t-shirt like a shield. “Turn around.”

He groaned, dragging out your name with dramatic flair. “Y/nnnnn…”

You crossed your arms. “Nope. Eyes away. You’re not getting a front-row seat for this.”

He turned halfway, still peeking over his shoulder. “But it’s my t-shirt! I deserve visual rights.”

You gave him the look—the raised brows, the unimpressed stare, the silent warning. And finally, with an exaggerated groan and a dramatic eyeroll, he turned around, hands thrown up like a hostage surrender.

You rolled your eyes right back at him, fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt. You pulled it over your head in one smooth motion, reaching for his t-shirt without hesitation. But even with his back technically turned, you could feel it—the shift. The way his posture changed, the way his head tilted just slightly. He was watching.

You paused, halfway into the hoodie, heart thudding just a little louder than before.

“Lando,” you said quietly.

He cleared his throat. “Not watching,” he said too quickly.

You chuckled, pulling the t-shirt down fully and smoothing it over your sides. “You’re terrible at turning around.” You shook your head, but the blush creeping up your neck gave you away. And from the way he was looking at you now—slightly amused, maybe a little stunned—you knew he noticed that too.

You finally turned around, tugging at the loose hem of the oversized t-shirt, eyes meeting his. “Okay. You can look now.”

Lando’s gaze landed on you immediately. He didn’t say anything at first, but the way his eyes moved—slow, deliberate, taking in every detail—said more than words could. The shirt hung off your frame in that way only borrowed clothes did, sleeves slipping low, fabric soft and familiar against your skin.

You tilted your head. “Happy now?”

He blinked once, like trying to reset his brain, then laughed under his breath. “Yeah… you look—” He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly at a loss. “You should wear my clothes more often. Like… exclusively, honestly.”

You felt the warmth rise in your chest, creeping quietly up your neck. And judging by the way he stood there, watching you like the ground had tilted just slightly, you knew it hit him too.

Lando was still looking at you—openly now, without the half-teasing grin he usually wore when he flirted. His eyes lingered longer than they should’ve, like he was taking mental snapshots he wouldn’t admit to keeping.

───

The kitchen smelled vaguely like garlic and something you might have burned five minutes ago. It was definitely too late to be cooking, but somehow, that made it more fun. The playlist Lando had queued up was bouncing between high-energy ABBA tracks and whatever random throwback songs he'd tossed in, like the universe had handed you your own chaotic soundtrack. Both of you were dancing around the tiny space like it was a stage, shouting lyrics way too loud and pretending you knew how to multitask while making dinner.

You were standing by the stove, stirring a pot of something with questionable consistency, when the music suddenly changed. No warning—just a slow, syrupy transition into Stand By Me. The energy dropped instantly, not in a bad way, just… different. Everything felt quieter, softer. Even the overhead lights seemed warmer somehow.

You turned your head toward Lando, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? This song?”

He didn’t look up from where he was pretending to plate something. “What?” he said casually. “I listen to this before races.”

You laughed, the image playing in your mind—Lando in his race suit, earphones in, listening to slow love songs while preparing to risk his life at full speed. “You’re kidding.”

He looked up then. “I’m not,” he said, a little defensive, but still smiling. “It helps me chill out.”

Before you could tease him more, he stepped forward and gently reached for your wrist. There was nothing exaggerated about it, no loud joke or silly line—just a quiet motion, smooth and easy. He pulled you toward him slowly, like the idea had been there the whole time, waiting for the song to arrive.

You laughed, caught somewhere between surprise and curiosity. “What are you doing?”

But he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he placed one hand lightly on your waist and guided your other hand to his shoulder. You barely had time to think before you were swaying together—slowly, quietly, like you’d danced like this a thousand times before even though you hadn’t.

He didn’t say anything else. Just held you gently and moved with you in the soft rhythm of the music, humming along as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

And somehow, in that moment, it was.

You shifted your weight, suddenly very aware of how close you were standing. The heat from the stove wasn’t helping, and the way his fingers were wrapped around yours made everything feel ten times louder in your chest.

“I like this,” Lando said softly. “Us. Just... being together.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the shift in his tone. You weren’t used to him being serious. Playful? Always. But this—this was different. Real.

Before you could stop yourself, a nervous laugh slipped out. You saw the flicker of something in his eyes and instantly regretted it.

He didn’t let go. “Why’re you laughing?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, trying to ease the knot in your stomach. “You’re just—being all serious while the kitchen almost burned down.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t erase the softness in his eyes. “So? Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.”

You looked down at your hands, still holding on like he didn’t want to risk you slipping away. “I guess I wasn’t expecting it. We joke around so much and now you’re being—” you gestured vaguely, “you know… sincere.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he said, voice quiet. “Having you here just… feels right.”

You swallowed hard. Your brain was spinning, trying to latch onto something clever to say, something that would make the moment less vulnerable. But nothing came. Just the sound of your own pulse thudding somewhere in your ears.

So you held onto his hand a little tighter—and hoped that said enough.

─── few hours later

You woke with a start, though you couldn’t say why. The apartment was quiet, wrapped in that heavy stillness that only comes deep in the night. For a moment, you stayed completely still, blinking up at the ceiling as your heart raced for no clear reason, the kind of waking where something feels wrong even if you can’t quite name it. The soft glow of the TV screen flickered across the room, shadows stretching and shrinking over the furniture, the walls. You took in the scene through a haze of sleep — the low hum of the speakers, the faint rustle of the curtains stirred by the breeze slipping in through a half opened window.

You shifted just slightly, enough to glance down at the coffee table in front of you. The dinner you’d made was still there, half-eaten, plates and glasses left where you’d abandoned them hours ago. The smell of it lingered faintly in the air — something warm, something comforting, now gone cold. The movie you’d picked out played on, though you couldn’t even remember what it was anymore. The dialogue had dropped to a whisper, just another part of the night’s quiet soundtrack.

And then you felt it.

Him. Lando.

His body curved along yours, so close you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back. His arm had slipped around your waist at some point — loose, unthinking, his hand resting warm and solid just above your hip. His breath was soft against the nape of your neck, steady and slow, completely at ease. His legs tangled lightly with yours, his hips pressed to yours in a way that made your breath catch, even as every part of you told yourself not to read too much into it.

You weren’t sure how it had happened — how the two of you had ended up like this. One moment you’d been watching a movie, laughing at some dumb line he’d thrown out, stealing bites of each other’s food, arguing about who got the last piece of garlic bread. And now… now you were here. Close enough to feel his heartbeat if you let yourself. Close enough that it would take nothing at all to turn and look at him.

But you didn’t.

Because as surprising as it was to wake up like this, you didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to break whatever fragile, quiet thing existed between you in that moment. The world outside felt far away. And here, wrapped up in him, you felt — safe. Anchored. Like maybe this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

So you let your eyelids drift shut again, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. And without meaning to, without even thinking about it, you shifted back, just a little, curling closer into him. His arm tightened slightly in his sleep, as if even unconscious, he wasn’t ready to let go.

And for now — neither were you.

─── FOUR DAYS LATER

You hadn’t spoken a word about waking up tangled next to him on the couch. Neither had he. There was a quiet, awkward truce around it—like acknowledging it would make everything too real, too fast. So you both pretended like it was no big deal. Just two people who accidentally ended up sleeping back-to-back like puzzle pieces. Totally normal.

But Lando was more than happy to distract you with something far worse than late-night vulnerability: his absolutely cursed enthusiasm for making you suffer by forcing you to go for run with him.

You had made your feelings crystal clear from the start. Running? You hated it. Pointless, painful, energy-draining. Every step felt like betrayal. And yet somehow—after a whirlwind of failed protests and a half-hearted “fine, but I’m not going far”—you found yourself in front of your mirror, tugging at the waistband of running shorts and attempting to convince your hair to behave.

Behind you, Lando was stretched out on your bed, already laced up and smug, head propped on his hand as he watched you like this was his favorite part of the day.

“Lando, do we really need to go? It looks like it’s going to rain in any second!” you whined, turning slightly toward him in hopes your dramatic tone might save you from having to step outside. You were grasping at weather-related straws now.

He rolled onto his side with zero urgency, his head half-buried in your pillow like he was planning to stay there forever. That grin hadn’t left his face, completely unfazed by the dramatic whining you’d been serving since he first suggested the run. He didn’t take a single word of it seriously—instead, he just kept watching you like you were the morning’s entertainment, all messy hair and reluctant stretching.

Meanwhile, you were standing at the mirror, still adjusting your top, still debating your life choices. Why did you agree to this? Maybe because he looked so stupidly happy about it. Maybe because saying no would have meant admitting you cared a little too much about disappointing him.

“Y/n, a ten-minute run won’t kill you,” he said eventually, pushing himself up from your bed with the slow confidence of someone who definitely wasn’t about to suffer through cardio.

You met his eyes in the mirror, eyebrows raised as you pulled your hoodie over your head. “What if it does?” you asked, sighing heavily like it was a genuine possibility. He was standing behind you now, tall and smug, and annoyingly full of energy while you were still arguing with gravity.

“I’ll carry you home, princess,” he replied without missing a beat—then gave you a quick slap on an ass, grinning as he turned away.

“Hey!” you shouted, startled, spinning around as he jogged toward the door like this was already the warm-up.

You rushed down the stairs with zero grace, practically tripping over your own feet. Each step felt like a personal attack, and you were already regretting every life decision that led you to this exact moment. Your lungs hadn’t even caught up yet, and your legs were already threatening betrayal.

Outside, the air was still and heavy—the kind of quiet that creeps in right before a storm rolls through. The sky hung low, dark clouds gathering like gossip, and the wind carried a sharp chill that made your hoodie feel suddenly useless.

You didn’t even get a chance to scan your surroundings before you spotted him.

Lando was already halfway down the street, jogging like he didn’t just drag you into this on a whim. You blinked, squinted, swore under your breath, and then—

“Lando!” you whined, voice cracking with panic and betrayal as you sprinted after him.

He didn’t slow down.

Of course he didn’t.

You charged ahead, feet hitting the pavement with chaotic determination, already questioning your sanity. Your breathing was uneven, your hoodie was bouncing with every step, and your legs felt like they’d missed their warm-up memo. The street was quiet—too quiet, the kind that gives off “a storm is coming” vibes. The air felt heavy and thick, like it was holding its breath.

“Lando!” you called out again, voice high and dramatic, pure betrayal pouring into every syllable.

He didn’t slow down. Didn’t even glance back. Just threw a hand up in the air like your suffering was part of the entertainment.

You forced yourself to keep going, legs moving even though your soul begged for mercy. You hated this. You hated him. You kind of loved him. Not that you were about to admit that part—especially not while wheezing like you’d sprinted up a mountain instead of, you know, jogging on a flat street.

The sky above you growled with a low roll of thunder, and you looked up with a scowl. Seriously? Nature was literally turning against you now?

Up ahead, Lando finally slowed down enough for you to catch up, still grinning like he hadn’t just abandoned you to fate.

“You’re doing great,” he said, clearly lying.

“I’m dying,” you replied, clearly telling the truth.

You slowed to a shaky jog as Lando finally stopped, turning around to catch sight of you struggling several steps behind him. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood still on the pavement as the wind picked up and the sky grew heavier. Gray clouds were rolling fast overhead, ready to break at any second.

You reached him breathless, hoodie clinging to your skin. “I seriously hate you,” you managed between gasps, your voice low and sharp, half-lost in the sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

Lando looked back at you with that same infuriating grin. “Sure you do,” he said easily, like your words were just background noise. “Keep lying to yourself, darling.”

And then—right on cue—the sky opened up.

Rain came suddenly, loud and unapologetic, pouring down in sheets and soaking everything in seconds. You flinched, raising your arms like they could shield you, water dripping from your hair as you stood there, blinking through it.

“Oh my god, I hate you,” you repeated, voice quieter this time, barely audible under the rush of rain and your own laughter threatening to slip through.

“I know,” Lando said, his smile softer now. Then he stepped forward and took both of your hands in his, his grip warm despite the cold drops rolling between your fingers. He pulled you close without hesitation, just enough that you felt the heat of him cut through the wet fabric.

No teasing, no jokes. Just the storm around you and the strange calm between your bodies.

The rain poured harder, wrapping around you like a curtain—thick drops running down your arms, soaking into your clothes, sticking your hoodie to your skin. You stood there, hands clasped in his, as Lando grinned like the storm was part of his plan all along.

He hadn’t let go, even when the water started dripping from your hair into your eyes. His fingers stayed curled around yours, firm and steady, grounding you in the chaos. And despite how cold the rain was... his hands were warm. Too warm. Unfairly warm.

The rain kept falling, soaking through your clothes until you couldn’t remember what dry felt like anymore. Your shoes squished with every step, the water clung to your arms, and the storm seemed to wrap itself around you both like it wanted to stay for a while. Lando was standing close, still holding your hands, his fingers warm despite the chill in the air. He hadn’t moved away—not even an inch—and somehow, that meant more than it should.

Then, through the sound of the rain and the steady thudding of your heartbeat, he spoke. His voice was soft, but clear. Not rushed, not dramatic. “I want to kiss you so bad,” he said. And the words landed inside you like thunder. Sudden and strong and impossible to ignore. Your chest tightened, not just from the run or the cold, but from the feeling that maybe—just maybe—this moment wasn’t just about teasing anymore.

You blinked, unsure if you’d imagined it. The way he said it felt real, and that scared you a little. Was it the adrenaline? The rain? Or had all of this been slowly building up from the moment you woke up next to him on the couch, tangled in silence and warmth?

He was leaning in now, slower than usual. Eyes softer, smile gentler, waiting to see what you’d do next.

But even with your heart racing and your body shivering, something stirred in you—a mix of panic and humor and everything in between. And instead of answering with a kiss, you found yourself leaning into the part of you that always coped through words, through distraction, through pretending it didn’t mean everything.

“If you didn’t force me to run,” you said with a breathless laugh, trying to mask your nerves, “maybe I’d kiss you too.”

Your voice cracked a little, somewhere between teasing and trembling, and you smiled because it was easier to laugh than to admit how badly you wanted him to close the distance.

He stood there for a moment, dripping wet and grinning like he hadn’t just dragged you through a cardio nightmare in the middle of a thunderstorm. Then, as if your latest comment truly tested his limits, Lando rolled his eyes—deeply, dramatically, like he was gathering strength to deal with you.

“God, you’re exhausting,” he muttered with a half-laugh, shaking his head.

Before you could fire back with another sarcastic retort, he stepped forward and scooped you up, bridal style, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You squealed instinctively, arms flying around his neck for balance.

“Lando!” you gasped. “Put me down! The pavement’s slippery!”

“Exactly,” he said, tightening his grip as he started walking. “Wouldn’t want you wiping out and blaming me for lifelong trauma. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

You blinked at him through dripping lashes. “Your reputation involves making me suffer.”

“And looking good while doing it,” he added with a wink.

The rain poured harder, bouncing off his shoulders, streaming down your arms. Yet somehow, with his arms around you and the storm closing in, your laughter came easy. Your heart thudded, your cheeks flushed—not from running, but from being this close. From wanting to be this close.

And in that ridiculous, soaked moment, you weren’t just surviving the rain. You were falling into something you weren’t sure you could laugh your way out of this time.

─── few hours later

The storm didn’t let up that night. Rain tapped steadily against the windows, wind rattling in soft bursts, like the whole world outside was unsettled. You lay in bed, unable to sleep, covers pulled up to your chest, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it held answers you couldn’t reach. Every few minutes, you glanced at your phone, watching the numbers change. 2:03. 2:06. 2:09. Still awake. Still thinking.

Your thoughts kept circling back to the run. The wet pavement. Your soaked clothes clinging to your skin. His laugh, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you like he wasn’t pretending anymore. You felt the moment over and over again, like it hadn’t ended.

And then you thought about the thing that didn’t happen. The almost. The words that hung between you both, heavy and real. You could still feel the way he held your hands. The way he pulled you close. The way your heart thudded against your ribs, wondering what would happen if you closed the gap.

You didn’t. But you could have.

And now, lying there with the rain still falling and your thoughts louder than the wind, all you could think about was one simple, impossible question: what if you'd kissed him?

The wish sat heavy in your chest, curled up beneath your ribs like it had been there for hours. Maybe days. You wished you kissed him. You wished you hadn’t laughed it off, wished you hadn’t let the moment pass like it didn’t matter.

Because maybe it did.

You could still picture it clearly—his stupid grin that always showed up when you were being dramatic. His stupid eyes that somehow looked at you like he knew exactly what was going on inside your head even when you didn’t. It made your chest tighten and your heart stir in ways you weren’t ready to name.

The storm outside hadn’t stopped, still tapping against the glass with a steady rhythm like it was keeping time for your thoughts. You lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, but sleep didn’t come. Only the warmth of the what-if did.

Eventually, you shifted under the covers and sat up. You didn’t rush. You didn’t even think too hard about it. You just swung your legs off the bed, your feet hitting the floor like they were always meant to, and moved quietly toward the door.

The house was dark, the air still damp from the storm. Your steps were soft as you walked across the hallway, heart thudding in a strange mix of hope and nerves. There was only one room your feet could take you to. One place pulling at you without words.

You reached his door.

And you paused—just for a second. Then you reached for the handle.

You stepped quietly into the room, letting the door close softly behind you. The storm was still rolling outside, wind whispering against the windows as rain tapped steadily on the glass. The house was quiet, almost too quiet, like it was holding its breath right alongside you. The dim light cast soft shadows across the walls, and every step toward his bed felt heavier, as if something unspoken hung in the air and clung to your skin more stubbornly than the rain ever did.

“Lando?” you called softly, hesitating. No response.

Your voice dropped a little as you took another step, softer this time. “Lan?” It came out almost like a question—like you weren’t just asking if he was awake, but asking if he’d be okay with you being here.

For a moment, the silence held. Then, without warning, his voice cracked through the quiet—low, rough, half-asleep but unmistakably him. “Hmm?”

Just that sound made your breath catch. It wasn’t just the way his voice rasped through the dark, or how warm it felt despite everything around you being cold. It was that you didn’t know if he was really awake, or if he was drifting somewhere between dreams, responding to you out of instinct. And somehow, that possibility made it more intimate. More dangerous.

You stood there for a beat longer, wondering what you were even doing. You didn’t have a reason. You weren’t looking for comfort, exactly. And yet, you hadn’t slept. Your mind had been looping all night, replaying the run, the rain, the closeness, the moment that nearly happened and the silence that followed instead.

“I can’t sleep,” you said quietly, almost to yourself. Your voice barely broke the quiet. You didn’t really know what you wanted—maybe just not to be alone with your thoughts anymore.

Another pause filled the room, longer this time. Then you heard him move under the covers, the sound of sheets rustling and a faint thump as his hand patted the empty space beside him.

“C’mere,” he said in that same raspy voice, a little clearer now, a little more awake. It was an invitation, sure—but it felt like more than that. Like he knew why you were here, even if you didn’t fully understand it yourself.

You hesitated for just a second, standing at the edge of the bed, your heart tapping hard against your chest. The room was quiet, lit only by the soft glow slipping through the window, casting pale shadows across the floor. You couldn’t tell if it was the rain still hitting the glass or the silence between you two that felt heavier. Slowly, you lowered yourself down, the bed dipping gently beneath you. You hadn't even found a place to settle before you felt his arm slide around your waist with quiet certainty, pulling you toward him in one smooth motion. Your breath caught in your throat, your body still tense, your thoughts spinning far too fast.

His warmth pressed into your back, familiar and steady, and you didn’t fight it. You weren’t sure you could. You lay frozen for a moment, thoughts flickering between confusion and comfort. You hadn’t planned to be here. You hadn’t planned to need this. But something about the way he held you made you feel like maybe this wasn’t just something you wanted—it was something he did too.

Then you felt his face tuck gently into the curve of your neck, and his voice, deep and low and still thick with sleep, brushed against your skin like a secret. “Y/n… please stay,” he mumbled, the words soft but full. It wasn’t a demand. It was a request. And somehow that made it hit even harder.

Your stomach fluttered wildly. Not the nervous kind—not entirely. It was the kind that came with being wanted. With being seen. You closed your eyes for a second, letting the moment sink in, letting your walls lower just enough to feel it.

Then, quieter, but somehow even more certain, his voice came again. “Forever. I don’t want you to leave, please.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Your mind was too loud. You were thinking about how you never expected this—how a storm and a run and a ridiculous boy with messy hair and a teasing smile had somehow managed to pull you into something real. Something soft. Something you were scared to admit you wanted.

─── THREE DAYS LATER

The drive back had felt longer than usual—not because of traffic, but because of the thick silence that stretched between you and Lando like a fog. He hadn’t spoken since you all said your goodbyes at Max’s place. Not a joke, not a hum, not even one of those casual one-word replies he usually tossed your way when he was distracted.

His hands were glued to the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, the tension in his knuckles obvious even in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. You watched the side of his face in flashes as the streetlights passed, trying to read what wasn’t being said, and the longer he stayed quiet, the louder your thoughts became.

Was he upset? Was he tired? Or was it something else? Something to do with Keegan, maybe. You’d laughed a lot tonight—genuinely, too, not just your usual polite chuckles to keep the peace. Keegan was funny, sure, and easy to talk to. But maybe you got a little too caught up in the moment. Maybe your smiles lingered longer than you meant. You didn't think you did anything wrong… but now, sitting in this silence, you could feel Lando stewing next to you, even if he wouldn't say it out loud.

By the time you reached the apartment, you were already tense from the guessing game. And as you stepped inside, the sound of the door slamming behind you snapped the quiet like thunder. You turned sharply, eyes wide, not bothering to hide your frustration.

You turned to face him. “Okay—what’s going on with you? You’ve been silent since Max’s place and now you’re slamming doors?”

He didn’t turn to look at you. Just tossed his keys onto the counter a little too hard and shrugged out of his jacket with jerky movements.

“I’m good,” he said, clipped and cold.

But it wasn’t convincing—not even close. You knew him too well. That voice, that stiff posture, the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes… he was angry. And not just angry—hurt. Defensive. The kind of silence that came from feeling something you didn’t know how to talk about.

You weren’t about to drop it.

“You clearly aren’t,” you shot back, stepping closer now, arms folded. “Talk to me.”

He looked at you then, finally, eyes sharp but guarded, like he was debating how much to say. And then the words came out, quiet but edged.

“I’m just saying,” he muttered, voice clipped, “you seemed pretty friendly with Keegan tonight.”

Your brows rose instinctively, caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. “Friendly?” you echoed, the word stretching out as you tried to gauge whether this was jealousy or something deeper.

Lando gave a half-shrug, but it wasn’t relaxed—it was stiff, guarded. His gaze didn’t falter. “I mean, I’m not blind. You laughed at everything he said. You barely looked at me.”

There was no sarcasm in his tone this time. No teasing. Just quiet frustration sitting beneath the surface, and the vulnerability he clearly hated letting show. And standing there across from him, you realized this wasn’t about one conversation or a few laughs—it was about how easily you affected him. Maybe more than he wanted to admit.

You didn’t want to assume—didn’t want to throw words around without knowing—but at this point? It was starting to feel way too obvious.

“Are you jealous?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. You tried to keep your voice light, but the truth clung to the air between you.

Lando scoffed, not even hesitating. “No.”

It was a lie. A bad one. You blinked at him, almost laughing, the sarcasm slipping out before you could stop it. “You are,” you said with a half-smirk, watching him carefully. But then your expression softened, lips tugging into something gentler. “You know it’s not like that with Keegan.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just gave a quiet, flat “Yeah,” and looked away, shoulders tight.

That flick of indifference hit a nerve. You stepped forward, voice rising without meaning to. “Lando! What’s wrong with you?”

He finally looked at you, eyes filled with something sharp and bruised. “Maybe when I try—like an idiot—you always laugh it off. Never give me a real chance. But with him?” His voice cracked slightly. “It looked completely opposite.”

The words hung in the air between you, raw and rough, his frustration laid bare like something he hadn’t meant to admit out loud. He was still looking at you—eyes a little too open, voice still echoing, and you could see it clearly now. This wasn’t just about Keegan. This was about you. About all the times he tried and you didn’t let him in. About how badly he wanted to matter to you, and how scared he was that he didn’t.

And that was the moment something inside you snapped—not in anger, but in clarity. You didn’t think. You didn’t plan. You just moved.

Your fingers curled into the front of his hoodie, and before either of you could speak again, you leaned in fast, fierce, and desperate. You crashed your lips into his, catching him mid-breath, mid-sentence, mid-everything. It was messy, urgent, and so completely overwhelming you forgot what you were even trying to say.

He froze for a beat, then kissed you back. Hard. His hands found your waist, gripping tightly like he’d been waiting for this. Like he needed it.

You stared at him, still catching your breath, the last few seconds feeling like a blur—your kiss, his arms around you, the rush of it all. But even with your heart racing, the frustration hadn’t completely faded. The things he said were still sitting heavy in your chest. The way he doubted you. The way he seemed hurt.

So before your nerves could stop you, you spoke, voice louder than you meant it to be. “I love you, you asshole.” It came out fast, almost clumsy, but there was no taking it back. You saw his eyes widen, surprised. You could feel the tension shift in the air around you.

You swallowed, your voice softer now. “I’m sorry for making fun of you. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know how to say it… how to say any of it without messing things up. So I laughed. I pushed it away because that’s just what I do. But you—you weren’t the one messing things up. I was.”

Lando didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at you, like he was trying to figure out if he’d heard you right. Like his whole mood had flipped in an instant, but he was too cautious to believe it.

Then his hands were back on your face, and he leaned in like he didn’t want even one more second to pass.

He kissed you again.

Not fast, not angry—this time, it was slow. It was warm. It was him saying, I believe you. His thumbs brushed your cheeks gently, and he kissed you like it mattered. Like he wanted to make sure you felt all of it. All the doubt, the longing, the care he’d buried underneath all his smart remarks and side glances.

And in that moment, you finally understood what it meant to stop pretending. What it felt like to be honest, and to be kissed like you’d just said everything that mattered most.

Your chest tightened at his words, his voice low, almost pleading. “Just please stay,” he said, eyes fixed on yours like he was afraid to blink. “Stop looking for apartments and stay here with me.”

You looked at him, standing there with that stubborn jaw and worried eyes, voice quieter than usual but packed with everything he hadn’t been saying. Just please stay. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a speech. But somehow, it hit you harder than all the arguments and teasing combined.

He thought you were still searching. Still planning your exit. He didn’t know that ever since you moved in, you hadn’t opened a single listing, hadn’t even typed "studio apartment near me" into a search bar. Not once. You hadn’t looked because deep down, you already knew—you were staying. You just hadn’t told him yet. Or maybe you were waiting for him to ask, really ask, like this.

You stepped closer, heart thudding, voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t looked. At all.”

His brows pulled in like he wasn’t sure he heard you right.

“Since the day I moved in,” you continued, “I haven’t checked a single place. I don’t want to. I want this. I want you.”

───

You woke up tangled in Lando’s sheets, light spilling across the mess of clothes on the floor and the chaos left behind from last night. The room looked like a storm had passed through—shirts hanging halfway off chairs, your jeans draped across the lamp, even one of his socks mysteriously clinging to the headboard. Everything was out of place, except you. You were exactly where you were supposed to be.

You stretched slowly, not wanting to disturb the peace of the morning. His fingers were running lazily through your hair, and his breathing was steady, still half-asleep but very much there. It was quiet in the room, but soft. Comfortable.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, your voice low and honest.

“Hmm?” Lando mumbled, his hand not stopping, just shifting to tuck a loose strand behind your ear.

You hesitated, then asked seriously, “Are we, like... a thing? Or still just roommates?”

He didn’t answer at first, but you heard the laugh in his chest—short, warm, slightly amused. He turned his head, eyes cracking open just enough to meet yours.

“Very funny, darling,” he said, and you could hear the smile forming in his voice. Like it had been obvious to him for a long time.

Then he pulled you closer, turned you gently to face him, and kissed you—soft and slow and full of everything he couldn’t quite say with words alone.

When he pulled back, his smile had deepened, eyes now fully awake. “You’re mine. My girlfriend. My Y/n.”

babsie radio ! It’s here guyss!! But i think i’m kinda stuck on some parts in lando ficss soo.. Max x pr! manager next👀 and all i can say is..it’s gonna be long and filthy.

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sp0o0kylights · 2 days ago

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Steve and Eddie constantly encounter each other over the years in series of increasingly odd meet-awkwards.

Like Eddie goes to climb into a window at a party at the same time Steve goes to climb out of it and they do one of those silent shuffle dances until Eddie dramatically backs away bowing, while Steve rolls his eyes and goes first.

Steve tries to return the library book he checked out just to impress Nancy, but on the other side of the drop box, Eddie is "helping" the library TA, Jeff. When Steve pushes the book through, Eddie grabs it from his side. Steve thinks the book’s stuck and starts tugging, leading to a brief tug-of-war, until Eddie yanks and wins.

A moment later, a hand pokes out of the slot with a middle finger raised.

(Steve rolls his eyes at that one too.)

5:30am Steve is sneaking out of some girl's house and across the street Eddie is stealing the mayor's lawn gnomes. Steve raises his eyebrows. Eddie points to the house he's sneaking out of, then raises a finger to his lips. Steve nods, but--surprise!--rolls his eyes.

They never say a single word to each other, but somehow end up with an unspoken rule about not interfering (or snitching) on what the other is doing.

That is until Eddie's walking along the train tracks at night, mumbling angry nonsense about out of town drug deals and how life must hate him specifically to cause his van to break down too and suddenly, there's weird growling in the woods.

Then rustling and growling, then some sort of not-a-dog and growling, then a face that blooms into rows of teeth and Eddie starts running, but he keeps looking back and ends up bowling down a group of terrified children.

Eddie's on his feet in an instant, yelling and screaming, trying to get up and get them up and explain the horror behind him all at the same time while he can hear the not-dog gaining, gaining, gaining.

He spins around right in time to watch Steve fucking Harrington step in front of him and the kids both, swinging a bat against the not-dog's head.

(Somewhere in the part of his brain not liquefied by fear, Eddie registers that the bat has nails in it.)

Steve hits the not-dog's head a few more times before looking up.

They lock eyes, just like they have a hundred times before, only this time, this weird little encounter, he breaks their silence and says;

"Don’t tell me you’re out here trying to catch monsters too."

Which is a wildly hysterical series of words to come out of King Steve's mouth.

Unfortunately Eddie is hyperventilating too hard to make that point, and one of the children seems to clock his weird breathing because they look at him, then look at Steve and loudly go "Uhhh..."

And Steve--rolls his fucking eyes of course he does, the jerk, but he swings the bat effortlessly in one hand and reaches out to grab Eddie’s with the other.

Then they're holding hands and walking (well, more like Eddie's getting towed) out of the woods, Steve casually filling him in as they go, and he doesn't know it yet, but this sets a precedent in his mind.

Steve Harrington is now his designated emotional support jock.

Apparently, somehow, Steve is cool with this, because from here on out, whenever Eddie freaks, flinches, or considers screaming into the void, his immediate response is to death-grip that very same hand, and Steve never once shakes him off.

Doesn't even acknowledge that it keeps happening, but does start just...holding it out, like he's offering a cig, the second shit starts to go sideways.

(Steve, who keeps rolling his eyes about it, but is also never the first to let go.

Eddie would obsess over what that means, but he’s got bigger problems. Like monsters. Lots of them.)

#steddie #steven harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #0o0 fanfic #0o0 fanfics #meet awkward

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gyuuberryy · 2 days ago

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sweet on you!

pairing: brother's best friend!ni-ki x reader

genre: hogwarts au, brother's best friend trope, fluff

synopsis: you tried to ignore how ni-ki made your stomach flip. you really did. all you wanted was a normal term at hogwarts. instead, you’re dealing with a love-potion-struck ni-ki, whose clinginess and love struck antics are giving your poor heart(and patience) a workout. your brother thinks it’s hilarious. you think you might combust. and ni-ki? he just wants to snuggle forever.

warnings: lots of kissing, they makeout, hickeys, skin-ship, cringey nicknames, some angst, clingy! lovestruck!ni-ki

note: for the anon who wanted a ni-ki hogwarts au, so sorry for the delay!!😭 halfway into writing this i realised my nonchalant bro ni-ki would NEVER act like this but proceeded anyway since it's fiction so enjoyy reading!!

word count: 7.7k

if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3

you told yourself this term would be different.

no more stolen glances across the great hall, no more lingering in the library just to catch a glimpse of his messy hair as he flipped through spellbooks. ni-ki was your brother’s best friend—always had been, always would be. that fact was as unchangeable as the house colours on your robes. and yet, every time he slung an arm around your brother’s shoulders, laughing too loud in that carefree way of his, your pulse betrayed you.

it wasn’t fair.

he was everywhere. lounging in the common room like he owned it, tossing a snitch between his hands while your brother groaned about quidditch drills. leaning over your shoulder in potions, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "you’re adding too much lacewing, y/n." his fingers brushing yours when he passed you a vial, the contact brief but enough to send sparks up your arm. you hated how your body reacted—how your stomach twisted, how your cheeks burned when he smirked at you like he knew exactly what he was doing.

you were good at pretending. you had to be. when he flicked your quill during study sessions, you rolled your eyes instead of smiling. when he called your name across the courtyard, you waved half-heartedly instead of sprinting to him. when he winked at you—always winking, always teasing—you looked away before he could see the way your breath hitched.

but then there were the moments you couldn’t control. the way your gaze lingered when he stretched after quidditch practise, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. the way your heart stuttered when he ruffled your hair, his laugh ringing in your ears. the way you memorised the curve of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely happy.

you were pathetic.

this term, you swore, would be different. you’d focus on your studies, on your friends, on anything but him. you’d stop daydreaming about what it would feel like if he looked at you the way he looked at the quidditch pitch—like it was the only thing that mattered. you’d stop wondering if he ever thought about you when you weren’t there.

because ni-ki wasn’t yours. he never would be.

and yet, when he slid into the seat beside you at breakfast, his knee pressing against yours under the table, your resolve crumbled all over again.

damn it.

. . .

you should’ve known better than to think this term would be easy.

the common room was its usual mess of noise and warmth—crackling fire, hushed gossip, the occasional shriek of laughter as someone recounted their latest mishap in potions. you were tucked into your favourite corner of the couch, a well-worn copy of advanced arithmancy open in your lap, though you hadn’t turned a page in at least twenty minutes. your friends were bickering good-naturedly beside you, debating whether transfiguration or charms was the more practical subject, but you weren’t really listening. your mind kept drifting, as it always did, to the one person you were desperately trying not to think about.

then the door burst open.

a group of seventh-years stumbled in, grinning like they’d just pulled off some grand scheme, and dumped a tray of shimmering, unnaturally bright sweets onto the low table in the centre of the room. the candies pulsed faintly, shifting colours like liquid trapped in sugar shells, looking clearly enchantwd. a few curious hands reached out, but the seventh-years just smirked and said, "dare you to try one," before sauntering off, leaving behind a ripple of nervous excitement.

you barely had time to roll your eyes before the common room door swung open again, and there he was.

ni-ki.

your breath caught.

he was still in his quidditch gear, his hair damp and tousled from the showers, his cheeks flushed from the chill of the evening air. your brother trailed behind him, complaining loudly about some foul during practise, but ni-ki wasn’t listening. he was laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his whole face alight with that effortless joy that made your chest ache.

then his gaze flicked to the tray of sweets.

"what’s this?" he asked, already reaching for one, his fingers closing around a candy that glowed a dangerous shade of pink.

something in your gut twisted.

"ni-ki, don’t—" you started, scrambling to your feet, but it was too late. he popped it into his mouth without a second thought, chewing once before his entire expression shifted.

his eyes, sharp and playful, always so alive suddenly went soft and unfocused. then they locked onto you, wide and wondering, like he was seeing you for the first time.

"you’re beautiful," he breathed, voice low and awed, as if the words had been pulled out of him against his will.

the common room went quiet. your friends stopped mid-sentence. your brother blinked, confused. and you? you couldn’t move.

ni-ki didn’t hesitate. he crossed the room in three long strides, and before you could even think to step back, his arms were around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it stole your breath. his cheek pressed against the curve of your neck, his exhale warm against your skin. his hands were tentative at first, fingers brushing your waist like he wasn’t sure he was allowed—then, as if something in him snapped, they fisted in the fabric of your sweater, dragging you even closer.

you froze.

his heartbeat thudded against yours, rapid and unsteady. his scent—fresh grass and something faintly sweet, like strawberries—flooded your senses. you could feel every shift of his body, every unsteady breath he took, and it was too much. your hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure where to land, but your traitorous heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it.

"ni-ki," you managed, voice embarrassingly shaky. "what are you—"

he didn’t let you finish. he just nuzzled closer, his nose brushing your jaw, and murmured, "you smell nice."

your brother choked on his drink. someone giggled. your face burned.

this was bad. this was so bad.

because even as your brain screamed at you to push him away, to laugh it off like it was nothing, your body betrayed you. your fingers curled into his quidditch jersey, clinging just a little too tightly. your breath hitched when his thumb brushed your hip, absentminded but deliberate. a tiny, reckless part inside of you never wanted him to let go.

the candy was obviously cursed. it had to be. there was no other explanation for the way ni-ki was holding you like you were something precious, like he’d been waiting years to do this.

but then his lips brushed your ear, his voice so soft only you could hear it.

"i’ve wanted to do this for so long," he whispered, and your stomach dropped.

because what if it wasn’t just the candy?

what if, underneath the enchantment, some part of him meant it?

your brother’s voice cut through the haze. "alright, what the hell did you give him?"

laughter erupted around you, but you barely heard it. ni-ki’s arms tightened around you, his breath warm against your skin, and you realised with terrifying clarity—

this was only the beginning.

the next few minutes passed in a blur. your friends were howling with laughter, your brother was torn between amusement and concern, and ni-ki—ni-ki wouldn’t let go. not when you tried to gently pry his fingers from your sweater, not when your brother clapped him on the shoulder and said, "mate, you’ve got to snap out of it." he just held on tighter, his face buried in your hair, murmuring things that made your cheeks burn.

"your hair’s so soft."

"you’re perfect."

"i love the way you laugh."

each word sent a fresh wave of panic through you. because this wasn’t just some silly, fleeting crush anymore. this was ni-ki—your brother’s best friend, the boy you’d spent years pretending not to adore—holding you like you were the only thing that mattered, saying things you’d only ever dreamed of hearing.

and you had no idea what to do.

"we should get him to madam pomfrey," your brother said finally, though he was grinning like this was the best thing he’d seen all year.

ni-ki made a noise of protest, his arms tightening around you. "no," he mumbled against your shoulder. "stay with y/n."

your heart skipped.

your brother sighed. "alright, fine. but you’re coming with me, lover boy."

ni-ki whined—actually whined—but your brother was relentless, peeling him off you with a strength born of years of dealing with his antics. ni-ki’s hands lingered, his fingers brushing yours as he was dragged away, his eyes never leaving your face.

"i’ll find you later," he promised, voice still thick with whatever enchantment had taken hold of him.

your stomach flipped.

as the common room door swung shut behind them, the room erupted into chaos—laughter, theories about what kind of spell had been on those candies, bets on how long it would take for ni-ki to recover. but you just stood there, your skin still tingling where he’d touched you, your heart racing like you’d just run a mile.

when madam pomfrey had examined him the night before, her lips had pursed in that particular way that meant trouble.

"this isn't your standard amortentia variant," she'd muttered, her wand tracing glowing patterns over ni-ki's dazed expression. "it's one of those experimental brews the seventh years keep inventing. it'll have to run its course naturally."

you'd nearly choked when she'd added, "could be a day, could be a week," just as ni-ki blissfully unaware of your internal crisis, chose that moment to nuzzle his face against your hand like an overgrown puppy, his lips brushing your knuckles in a way that sent electric jolts up your arm.

"my moonbeam," he sighed dreamily, completely ignoring madam pomfrey's exasperated eye-roll. "your skin is so soft. are you made of clouds? you must be made of clouds."

your brother, the absolute traitor, was filming the entire thing on his enchanted camera.

but nothing, not even the humiliation of the hospital wing visit could have prepared you for the absolute nightmare that was the next morning.

the morning light filtering through your dormitory curtains was soft and golden, promising a slow, lazy day. you were still half-buried in your blankets, caught in that hazy space between sleep and waking, when the first sign of trouble came.

a faint creak of the door. the rustle of fabric. you assumed it was just one of your roommates returning from an early shower, until—

thud.

a muffled "oof" that you'd recognise anywhere.

your eyes flew open just in time to see ni-ki picking himself up from where he'd tripped over someone's abandoned shoes, his hair sticking up in every direction, still wearing yesterday's rumpled clothes. when he saw you looking, his entire face lit up like you'd cast the sun itself.

"good morning, sunshine!" he chirped, already climbing onto your bed before you could process what was happening.

the mattress dipped under his weight as he settled at the foot of your bed, beaming at you like this was completely normal.

"i waited outside for two hours. did you know the stairs turn into a slide if you're a boy? so rude. i had to bribe a first-year to tell me the password instead."

you sat frozen, your sleep-addled brain struggling to catch up. behind you, one of your roommates choked on her toothpaste. another pulled her blanket over her head with a groan.

"ni-ki," you hissed, acutely aware of your messy hair and the fact your pyjama top had slipped slightly off one shoulder, "you can't just—"

"but i missed you," he interrupted, as if this explained everything. his fingers found yours, lacing them together with a reverence that made your pulse stutter. "the second you left last night, my heart started aching. is that normal?"

he brought your hand to his chest, pressing your palm flat against the steady beat beneath his shirt. "it feels normal when it's you."

you were going to find those seventh-years and strangle them with their own shoelaces.

his thumb traced the arch of your eyebrow, then drifted down to the curve of your cheek. you stopped breathing. the early morning light gilded his features in soft gold, catching on the tiny scar above his lip from that quidditch accident last year. you'd never been this close before, close enough to count his faint freckles, to see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes.

before you could react, he was leaning in, pressing a feather-light kiss to your temple. then another just below your ear. then another along your jawline—each one lingering just a second too long, his breath warm against your skin.

"ni-ki—" you gasped, but he just hummed and continued his lazy path of destruction, his lips brushing the sensitive spot behind your ear that made your toes curl.

"you're so soft here," he murmured against your skin, his free hand coming up to cradle your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone as his mouth continued its devastating exploration. "and here." another kiss, this time to the corner of your jaw. "and here." his lips grazed the pulse point beneath your ear, and you swore your heart stopped.

when you tried to squirm away, his arm slid around your waist, pulling you back against him with embarrassing ease.

"where do you think you're going, snugglebug?" he teased, nuzzling into your neck. "i just got comfortable."

you were going to die. actually die. right here in your pyjamas with ni-ki's stupidly perfect lips tracing nonsense patterns across your skin.

"this isn't—you can't just—" you stammered, but your traitorous body was already melting into his touch, your hands fisting in the sheets to keep from reaching for him.

ni-ki pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with something you couldn't name.

"can't just what?" he challenged softly, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "can't tell you how pretty you look in the morning? can't kiss every single mole on your face?" to demonstrate, he pressed his lips to the tiny one near your eyebrow. then the one by your nose. "can't adore you the way i've always wanted to?"

your breath caught. that couldn't be—he didn't mean—

before you could overthink it, his mouth found yours in a kiss so sweet it made your chest ache. just a brush of lips, barely there, but it shattered you completely. when he pulled away, his smile was brighter than the sunrise streaming through your windows.

"pancakes?" he asked, as if he hadn't just rewritten your entire universe with one kiss.

you could only nod, dazed.

as ni-ki helped you up (his hands lingering at your waist, his lips stealing one last kiss from your cheek), you caught your dormmates' wide-eyed stares in the mirror. one mouthed "holy shit" while another gave you a thumbs up.

you were so, so screwed.

. . .

breakfast in the great hall was nothing short of a public execution.

the moment you sat down, ni-ki was there, sliding onto the bench so close his thigh pressed flush against yours, his arm immediately curling around your shoulders like a possessive, overly affectionate scarf. when you reached for the pumpkin juice, his hand shot out, intercepting yours with a delighted gasp.

"let me," he insisted, pouring it for you with the kind of exaggerated care usually reserved for handling ancient, fragile artifacts.

he even made sure to wipe the rim of the glass with his napkin before handing it to you, his eyes sparkling. "you shouldn’t have to lift a finger, my precious little pumpkin."

you choked on air.

across the table, your brother was already losing it, his spoon clattering into his porridge as he doubled over with laughter. tears were actually streaming down his face.

"oh, this is too good," he wheezed, slapping the table. "this is the best day of my life."

you kicked him under the table hard enough to make him yelp. "stop encouraging him."

"encourage him?" your brother gasped, wiping his eyes. "merlin’s beard, i’m taking notes!" to your absolute horror, he pulled out an actual notebook and scribbled something down. "'my precious little pumpkin'—that’s gold."

ni-ki, blissfully unaware of your suffering, was now meticulously cutting your toast into heart shapes with the precision of a master chef.

"you need proper nutrition," he informed you, deadly serious, as if this were a matter of life and death. "how else will you stay as perfect as you are?"

you buried your face in your hands, willing the ground to swallow you whole.

it only got worse. when you tried to take a bite of your eggs, ni-ki intercepted your fork, holding it up to your lips himself.

"say 'ah,'" he coaxed, grinning when you glared at him. "come on, sweetheart. you’ll waste away if you don’t eat properly."

"i can feed myself," you hissed through gritted teeth.

"but where’s the fun in that?" he pouted, leaning in until his nose brushed your cheek. "let me take care of you. just for today."

you caved, because apparently your willpower had abandoned you the second ni-ki decided to turn your life into a romantic comedy. as you reluctantly took the bite, his entire face lit up like you’d just handed him the moon.

"good?" he asked, thumb brushing the corner of your lip to catch a crumb that wasn’t even there.

you were going to combust.

your brother, the absolute traitor, was now narrating the entire ordeal to jake like it was a quidditch commentary. "and ni-ki goes in for the kill—oh! he’s wiping her mouth! ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing history!"

you threw a piece of toast at his head.

ni-ki, meanwhile, had moved on to rearranging the fruit on your plate into what appeared to be a smiley face. "you didn’t eat enough blueberries yesterday," he informed you, as if he’d been keeping track. "they’re good for your brain. and your eyes. and—"

"my soul?" you deadpanned.

"exactly," he said, completely serious, popping one into your mouth before you could protest.

by the time breakfast was over, half the great hall was watching your personal nightmare unfold with varying degrees of amusement and envy. ni-ki, still glued to your side, was now insisting on carrying your bag for you, despite your protests.

"you’re ridiculous," you muttered as he slung it over his shoulder, his free hand immediately finding yours again.

"ridiculous for you," he corrected, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

your brother fake-gagged behind you.

you were going to murder them both.

classes were somehow worse. in charms, ni-ki kept whispering ridiculous compliments every time the professor turned his back.

"your eyelashes are like tiny works of art," he sighed, resting his chin on your shoulder. "do they sparkle in the sunlight or is that just magic?"

when you shushed him, he pouted so dramatically that even the professor noticed. "mr. nishimura, is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

"just that y/n is the most brilliant witch in hogwarts," ni-ki announced proudly, as if this was a perfectly normal answer. "and possibly the universe."

the class erupted into giggles. your face burned so hot you were surprised your hair didn't catch fire.

by lunchtime, you'd developed a new survival strategy: complete and utter surrender. when ni-ki insisted on carrying all your books (stacked precariously in his arms because he refused to use a charm that might "strain their delicate pages"), you stopped protesting. when he fed you bites of his treacle tart ("you need the sugar, my little sugarplum"), you accepted it with minimal grumbling. when he held your hand everywhere you went, his thumb tracing absent circles on your skin, you stopped trying to pull away.

it was easier this way.

(and if part of you secretly thrilled at the warmth of his hand in yours, well, no one needed to know that.)

the common room was warm, the warmth making your eyelids heavy and your thoughts slow. the fire crackled softly in the background, casting flickering shadows across the scattered books and half-finished homework. you were trying to focus on your essay, really trying, but it was hard when ni-ki kept shifting beside you, his arm draped over the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally playing with the ends of your hair.

every time you moved, his hand would tighten just a little, like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on. when you reached for your pen, he intercepted your hand, lacing his fingers through yours with a quiet hum.

"your hands are cold," he murmured, bringing them to his lips to blow warm air across your skin. the gesture was so tender it made your chest ache.

across the room, your brother and his friends were playing some loud card game, but you could feel their eyes darting over to you every few seconds, their grins barely hidden. you shot them a glare, but it only made them laugh harder.

"are you comfortable?" ni-ki asked suddenly, his free hand brushing a stray hair behind your ear. his touch lingered, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone like he was memorising it. "you seem tense."

you swallowed. "i’m fine."

he frowned, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he studied your face. then, without warning, he pulled you sideways until your back was pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist like he was afraid you’d slip away.

"better?" his breath was warm against your ear, his voice low and sleepy.

"ni-ki—"

"shh," he interrupted, nuzzling into the space between your shoulder and neck. "just relax. i’ve got you."

one hand traced slow circles on your stomach, the other playing with your hair, his fingers moving in a rhythm that made it impossible to think straight.

it was too much. the warmth of him, the way he smelled like fresh laundry and something sweet, the steady beat of his heart against your back—it was all so dangerously comforting. against your better judgement, you felt yourself sinking into him, the tension leaving your shoulders one breath at a time.

until he spoke again.

"you smell amazing," he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear. "like vanilla and... something else. just you."

his arms tightened slightly. "i could stay like this forever."

a choked noise escaped your throat. the entire common room seemed to be watching now, their conversations forgotten in favour of your humiliation. even the portraits on the walls were leaning in, their painted eyes wide with amusement.

"ni-ki, people are staring," you hissed, trying to squirm away.

he made a soft, wounded sound, his grip tightening. "let them stare," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. then, quieter, just for you: "you’re perfect. why wouldn’t they want to look at you?"

your face burned. "that’s not—"

"i mean it," he continued, undeterred. his chin rested on your shoulder, his voice dreamy.

"the way your eyes get all squinty when you’re trying not to laugh. how you bite your lip when you’re thinking." his fingers found yours again, lifting them to press a kiss to each knuckle. "the little noises you make when—"

"okay!" you lurched forward, nearly falling off the couch in your haste to escape. "i think i left my—my astronomy book in the library!"

ni-ki’s face fell. "i’ll come with—"

"no!" you stood too fast, your vision swimming. "i mean—you should stay. here. with my brother." you shot your brother a desperate look, but the traitor just grinned and raised his drink in salute.

for a long moment, ni-ki just stared at you, his eyes suspiciously shiny. then his lower lip actually trembled.

"you don’t want me to come," he said quietly, and it wasn’t a question.

the entire room went silent. even the fire seemed to pause.

you opened your mouth. closed it. the words "it’s not that" died on your tongue when his expression crumpled, like you’d just kicked a puppy.

your brother sighed dramatically. "just take him with you," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "before he starts crying and ruins my winning streak."

ni-ki’s face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. he was on his feet in an instant, gathering your books and pens with single-minded determination.

"i’ll carry your stuff," he announced, already stacking your papers neatly. "and your sweater. and that water bottle you forgot yesterday. and—"

you buried your face in your hands as the room erupted into laughter. somewhere to your left, someone whispered, "ten bucks says he proposes by friday."

as ni-ki proudly handed you your neatly stacked belongings, beaming like he’d just won the lottery, you came to a terrible realisation:

you were so, so screwed.

the afternoon sun was warm on your skin as you sat on the weathered wooden bench near the greenhouses, your textbook propped open in your lap for the quiz you had in next period—or at least, it had been, before ni-ki decided your lap made for a much better seat. the spell still hadn’t worn off.

once again he was all up in your personal space, sprawled across you now, his long limbs tangled with yours, his arms curled tightly around your waist like he was afraid you might vanish if he loosened his grip even slightly. his head was nestled against your shoulder, his soft hair brushing your jaw, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing against your collarbone, warm and familiar.

his fingers traced absent, lazy circles on your arm, his touch feather-light but enough to send tiny sparks skittering across your skin. you tried to focus on the page in front of you, really tried, but it was impossible when ni-ki kept nuzzling closer every time you shifted, his lips brushing the curve of your neck in a way that made your pulse stutter. it was ridiculous. embarrassing, even. and yet—despite yourself—you felt your body softening into his, your free hand coming up to card through his hair almost without thinking.

just then, the crunch of footsteps on gravel made you glance up. your brother stood a few feet away, eyebrows nearly in his hairline, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“wow,” he said, crossing his arms, “you two might as well get a room already.”

ni-ki lifted his head just enough to flash him a cheeky smile, his arms tightening around you. “we tried,” he said, voice dripping with faux innocence, “but she said she had class.”

your brother barked out a laugh so loud it startled a nearby group of first-years, who scurried away like frightened mice. you, on the other hand, felt your entire face ignite.

“ni-ki,” you hissed, smacking his shoulder, “stop being a weirdo.”

but he only chuckled, low and warm, the sound vibrating against your chest. before you could scold him further, he pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering just a second too long. “you’re too warm to resist,” he murmured, his breath tickling your ear.

you wanted to protest. wanted to shove him off and tell him to quit messing around, to stop saying things that made your heart do stupid, traitorous flips in your chest. but the words died in your throat when he tilted his head up to look at you, his dark eyes soft and crinkled at the corners, his smile so fond it made your ribs ache.

your brother whistled. “yep, i’m definitely telling mom about this.”

“don’t you dare,” you snapped, but your voice lacked any real heat—especially when ni-ki shifted in your lap, his nose brushing yours, his fingers threading through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“let him,” ni-ki said, grinning. “i’ve got nothing to hide.”

you groaned, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. this was a disaster. you were a disaster. and yet—when ni-ki’s laughter rumbled against you, when his thumb brushed over your knuckles in that stupidly gentle way of his—you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

that same evening you decided to sneak off to the library to finally get some studying done, but ni-ki had caught you in two minutes with a pouty look on his face. so, here you were now—at the library which had always been your sanctuary, a quiet place where you could escape everything—until now. the flickering candlelight made the words in your potions textbook blur together, but you hadn't registered anything in front of you in at least fifteen minutes. not with ni-ki pressed against your back like a second shadow, his chin hooked over your shoulder as he lazily flipped through your notes with one hand while the other traced mindless patterns on your thigh.

"you're skipping the good parts," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, his breath warm against your neck. his finger landed on a passage about amortentia variants. "this is where it gets interesting."

you swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady. "we're supposed to be researching counters, not reading about how love potions work."

ni-ki hummed, nuzzling closer until his lips brushed the sensitive spot behind your ear. "maybe i like knowing how it works," he whispered. "maybe i want to understand why i can't stop thinking about you."

the book nearly slipped from your hands. "that's—that's just the potion talking."

"is it?" he shifted suddenly, turning you to face him with surprising gentleness. the candlelight caught in his dark eyes, making them glow. "then why did i watch you all last term? why did i always find excuses to sit by you in the great hall? why—"

"shh!" you glanced frantically at the librarian, who was glaring from her desk. "you're going to get us kicked out."

ni-ki only grinned, unrepentant, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours. "worth it," he breathed. his fingers tangled with yours, squeezing gently. "you're so pretty when you're flustered."

"you're impossible," you muttered, but the protest was weak—especially when he brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle with exaggerated care.

"only for you." his thumb brushed over your racing pulse. "your heart's going crazy. is that the potion too?"

you couldn't answer. not when he was looking at you like that—like you were the only thing that mattered. not when his free hand came up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering at your jawline.

the moment stretched, fragile and breathless, until ni-ki suddenly yawned, the spell breaking as he slumped against you with a quiet groan.

"m'sleepy," he mumbled, his words slurring as he nuzzled into your neck. "your hoodie smells nice. like... like vanilla and that lavender soap you use."

you stiffened. "how do you know what soap i use?"

he didn’t answer, already half-asleep against you, his arms slipping around your waist like living seatbelts. you tried to return to your research, really tried, but how could you focus when every other page was punctuated by ni-ki's soft murmurs of "love you" and "so warm" against your skin? when his fingers would tighten unconsciously whenever you shifted, as if afraid you'd disappear?

frustrated, you turned another page with more force than necessary, your eyes scanning for anything about countering experimental love potions. that's when you saw it—a faded footnote nearly obscured by water damage:

"when the subject already harbours affection for the potion's target, the effects intensify tenfold, blurring the lines between enchantment and genuine feeling. in such cases, the potion acts not as creator, but as catalyst—removing inhibitions and amplifying existing emotions that the brewer may have otherwise concealed."

the words hit you like a bludger to the chest. your hands trembled as memories surfaced—ni-ki always volunteering to be your partner in potions, his laughter a little too bright when you brushed against him. the way he'd show up in the library "by coincidence" whenever you studied alone. how his teasing had always carried an edge of something warmer, something deeper you'd been too afraid to name.

"y/n?" ni-ki's voice was thick with sleep, but his gaze was startlingly clear as he lifted his head. "you okay? your heart's going crazy again."

"i found something," you whispered.

he leaned in, his nose brushing yours as he peered at the book. too close. always too close. you could count his eyelashes from here, see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

"huh," he said after a moment, surprisingly lucid. "so you're telling me i didn't stand a chance?"

"what?"

ni-ki smiled, slow and devastating. "even without the potion," he murmured, his breath mingling with yours, "i was already gone for you. this just... made it harder to hide."

his thumb brushed your lower lip, feather-light. "do you hate that?"

you couldn't breathe. couldn't think. the library, the book, the world outside this moment—none of it mattered. not when ni-ki was looking at you like you were his entire universe. not when his confession hung between you, raw and terrifying and beautiful.

the librarian's sharp cough shattered the moment. "if you two can't keep quiet," she snapped, "i'll have to ask you to leave."

ni-ki didn't even glance her way. his eyes stayed locked on yours, his fingers still tracing nonsense patterns on your wrist. "well?" he whispered, so quiet only you could hear. "do you want me to stop?"

that was the problem. you didn't. not really. not when every touch set your skin on fire, not when his sleepy "i love you"s had started to sound like home.

your silence was answer enough. ni-ki's grin could have powered the castle lamps as he tucked you back against his side, pressing one last kiss to your temple before nuzzling into your hair. "knew it," he murmured triumphantly.

and as you sat there, surrounded by dusty books and the steady rhythm of ni-ki's breathing, you realised with terrifying clarity that you had no idea how you would deal with this once he gets back to his normal self.

because somewhere between his whispered confessions and the way his hands always found yours, your heart had stopped questioning whether his feelings were real—and started wondering when yours had become so painfully obvious.

the next morning, you stirred awake to the unfamiliar weight of someone pressed flush against your back, their arms locked securely around your waist like living chains. for one disoriented second, your sleep-fogged brain couldn't process why your bed felt smaller, warmer—until ni-ki nuzzled into the nape of your neck with a sleepy sigh, his lips brushing your skin in a way that sent immediate sparks down your spine.

you stiffened, memories flooding back - last night's study session in the library that had stretched too late, your reluctant agreement to let him walk you to your dorm, and then...oh. then his pleading eyes in the dim torchlight, his fingers playing with yours as he'd whispered, "just five minutes? i'll be good." and like the weak-willed fool you were, you'd caved, cracking the door just enough for him to slip in before anyone noticed.

except apparently "five minutes" had turned into him sneaking under your covers when you'd fallen asleep, his body curled around yours like a second shadow. even now, his knee was wedged between yours, his chest rising and falling against your back in a steady rhythm that suggested he'd been awake for a while, just...holding you.

"morning," ni-ki murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear. you shivered, feeling his lips curve into a smirk against your skin.

you tried to turn, to protest this ridiculousness, but his arms only tightened, pulling you back flush against him with surprising strength.

"don't move," he whined, his breath hot against your neck as he scattered kisses along your shoulder.

his hand slid up from your waist to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a gesture so tender it made your chest ache. "so perfect."

"ni-ki," you started, but the protest died in your throat when his teeth grazed the junction of your neck and shoulder, biting down just enough to make you gasp. he soothed the sting with his tongue, then did it again slightly lower, his free hand slipping under your sleep shirt to splay across your stomach possessively.

"mine," he murmured against your skin between kisses that were quickly turning into something more.

his lips travelled up the column of your throat, sucking deliberately until you knew without looking he was leaving marks—dark, unmistakable hickeys that would be impossible to hide later. when you squirmed, he pinned you gently but firmly, his thigh sliding more firmly between yours as he continued his devastating path along your collarbone.

"ni-ki, stop—" you gasped, but it came out breathless, unconvincing even to your own ears.

he lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with something that made your stomach flip. "make me," he challenged, voice low and rough. when you didn't respond, too busy trying to remember how to breathe, he grinned that stupid, heart-stopping grin before ducking back down to worry another bruise into your skin, this time high enough that no collar would hide it.

"you're terrible," you managed, but your hands had somehow found their way into his hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands as his mouth worked magic on your throat.

ni-ki hummed, the vibration against your skin making you shiver.

"your terrible," he corrected, punctuating each word with a kiss. he shifted suddenly, rolling you onto your back so he could loom over you, his hands framing your face as he took in the damage—the blooming purple marks scattered across your neck, the flush creeping down your chest.

his expression turned unbearably smug, "pretty."

before you could respond, he was kissing you properly, slow and deep and devastating, his fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head just how he wanted it. when he finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he pressed his forehead to yours with a quiet sigh.

"how are you even real," he murmured, the ridiculous nickname paired with the way his thumb traced your swollen lips making your stomach swoop. "my perfect, perfect y/n."

you should've pushed him away. should've reminded him this wasn't real, that it was just the potion. but as the morning light painted gold across his features, as his hands moved over you with a reverence that stole your breath, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

. . .

you didn’t hear it from ni-ki.

it was your brother who told you, somewhere between transfiguration and charms, like it was nothing. like it didn’t matter. he was shoving books into his bag, not even looking at you when he said it.

“potion wore off last night,” he muttered, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.

your hands froze around the strap of your bag.

“ni-ki didn’t say anything?” you asked, your voice too light, too careful. your heart was suddenly pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

your brother just shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “he seemed kind of… weird about it.”

and that was it. no grand moment, no dramatic shift. no lingering looks or whispered explanations. just—over. like none of it had ever happened. like you hadn’t spent a week tangled up in him, learning the shape of his laughter against your skin, the way his hands always found yours like they belonged there. like he hadn’t looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

so you did the only thing you could. you pretended.

the next two days you acted like nothing had changed. like you hadn’t once been his entire world. when you passed him in the corridor, you nodded politely, your face carefully blank. when he held the door open for you, you gave him a stiff smile and nothing more. in charms class, you sat two desks away, your eyes fixed stubbornly on your parchment, even when you felt his gaze lingering on the side of your face. and when his shoulder brushed yours by accident in the crowded hallway, you barely let yourself flinch, barely let yourself remember how those same hands had traced every inch of you like you were something precious.

it was fine. it had to be fine. this was just how things were supposed to be—back to normal, back to before. it was safer this way. less humiliating.

(because what if he remembered everything? what if he remembered the way you’d melted into his touch, what if he knew—)

you swallowed the thought down like acid.

it was just the potion, after all.

except—

except sometimes, when you weren’t paying attention, you’d catch him staring. his expression unreadable, his fingers flexing at his sides like he was stopping himself from reaching out. and once, just once, when you turned a corner too quickly and nearly collided with him, his hands came up instinctively to steady you—just for a second—before he remembered himself and let go like you’d burned him.

you told yourself you imagined the way his breath hitched.

you told yourself a lot of things.

but then the same evening after class you were heading towards the common room, nearly at the fat lady's portrait when you felt it—the familiar prickle at the back of your neck that always meant ni-ki was nearby. you quickened your pace instinctively, but before you could turn the corner, arms wrapped around you from behind in a hold so warm and familiar it made your breath stutter. his chest pressed flush against your back, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder as he exhaled shakily against your neck.

"why have you been ignoring me?"

his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it, barely above a whisper, but it resonated through you like thunder. your hands hovered uncertainly over his arms where they were locked around your waist, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

"i haven't," you lied, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

ni-ki hummed, the vibration travelling through your back and settling somewhere deep in your chest.

"you have," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear in a way that made your knees weak. "you stopped talking to me. stopped looking at me like..." his voice cracked slightly, "like i matter to you."

you swallowed hard, staring resolutely at the wall ahead. "i just figured... things went back to normal. this is how we were before."

his arms tightened almost imperceptibly around you. "i thought you were embarrassed," he admitted quietly, his breath warm against your neck.

"when the potion wore off, i didn’t know how to face you. i thought—i thought you hated how i acted. how clingy i was. how much i—" he cut himself off, exhaling sharply. "but then you started avoiding me, and i couldn’t just sit there and do nothing."

your heart pounded so violently you were certain he could feel it. "ni-ki..."

"you do know that i like you, right?" his voice dropped lower, more vulnerable than you'd ever heard it.

"you know how love potions work. when someone's already..." he hesitated, his grip on you shifting slightly, "when someone's already in love, it makes everything stronger. more intense. everything i did, everything i said to you—i meant all of it."

slowly, so slowly, you turned in his arms. he let you, his hands sliding to your waist to steady you as you faced him properly for the first time in days. his eyes were darker than you remembered, full of something raw and open that made your breath catch.

"so you actually liked me before the potion?" you whispered, your voice barely audible even in the quiet hallway.

ni-ki sighed, one hand coming up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face with trembling fingers.

"i've liked you since third year when you hexed that sunghoon kid for stepping on my broom," he admitted, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. "i just... never thought you'd look at me that way."

your hands found purchase in the front of his robes, clutching the fabric like it was the only thing keeping you upright. "so all that time... the cuddling, the stupid nicknames, the way you'd kiss my forehead when you thought i was asleep—"

"things i've wanted to do for years," he interrupted softly, his other hand coming up to cradle your face. his touch was feather-light, reverent, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he pressed too hard. "the potion just... gave me the courage to actually do them."

you could feel his pulse racing where his wrist brushed against your neck, could see the nervous hope shining in his eyes despite the confident set of his jaw. it was this—this vulnerability from someone usually so self-assured—that finally broke you.

ni-ki's breath hitched when you leaned into his touch, his eyes darting between yours.

"can i kiss you now?" he asked, his voice rough with barely restrained want. "properly? without any potions or excuses?"

your answer was to rise up on your toes and close the distance between you.

his lips were softer than you imagined, moving against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache. one of his hands slid into your hair while the other pulled you flush against him, eliminating what little space remained between you. you could feel the way his breath stuttered when your fingers tangled in his hair, could taste the quiet sigh he let out when you kissed him back with equal fervour.

it was slow and sweet and so devastatingly perfect that you forgot to breathe. ni-ki kissed you like he was memorising you, like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment and wanted to savour every second. when you finally pulled back, foreheads resting together, his cheeks were flushed and his lips were kiss-swollen and he was looking at you like you'd hung the moon.

"no more pretending?" you whispered, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

ni-ki grinned, bright and unrestrained, before capturing your lips again in a kiss that left no room for doubt. "never again," he murmured against your mouth, his arms tightening around you.

"i'm done hiding."

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#ady 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀...👩🏻‍💻.ᐟ #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #enhypen fics #enhypen x reader #ni-ki #nishimura ni-ki #ni-ki x reader #ni-ki imagines #ni-ki fics #ni-ki oneshots #kpop fics #nishimura riki #riki imagines #riki x reader #hogwarts au #enhypen hogwarts au #ni-ki hogwarts au

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pbaz7 · 2 days ago

Text

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 13

paige x azzi

word count: 9.8k

a/n: honestly don't even have much to say regarding this chapter besides it took me way too long and I got distracted with a one shot so I apologize lol. this story is going to slowly start coming to an end, maybe a few more chapters to wrap everything up. if you have any ideas about last things you'd like to see as I close things out i'm open to hearing them! like always if you can i'd appreciate if you leave your thoughts and comments about the chapter :)

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Paige paced across Cam’s Unrivaled apartment in a slight panic as her fingers tapped unrhythmically against her thigh. As she paced she constantly clenched and unclenched her jaw and at this point her back teeth were hurting but she couldn’t help it. She was already dressed, but the nerves simmering beneath her skin and firing in every direction made her feel like she was losing her mind.

Cam watched her from the couch with one leg tucked underneath her as she scrolled idly through her phone trying to ignore the hole Paige was burning through her floor. “Just be yourself.”

Paige froze mid-step, turning her head toward Cam with a look that said you can’t be serious.

Cam snorted when she looked up and saw Paige’s face. “Okay, fine. Be yourself but like…nicer. Friendlier. Smile a lot more than usual and maybe don’t open the introductions with your whole ‘I don't really do small talk’ vibe and you’ll be good.”

Paige sighed as she rubbed the back of her neck. “What if they don’t like me?”

Cam shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Then they don’t like you.”

Paige’s eyes got wide and there was clear panic on her face. “Cam—”

“I’m kidding,” Cam interrupted, laughing as she sat up straighter. “Damn relax, take a deep breath.”

Paige shook her head, clearly not hearing her. “If they don’t like me, they’ll try to convince her I’m not right for her. They’ll tell her she could do better. That I’m not enough—”

“Paige.” Cam raised her voice to cut through her spiral. “They’re not gonna say any of that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t have to.” Cam stood up to walk towards Paige and put her hands over her shoulders. “Because Azzi loves you. Like…in that annoyingly obsessed kind of way that I honestly find disgusting when she talks about it. Her whole face changes when she looks at you Paigey and I honestly can’t think of anything she wouldn’t do for you.”

Paige’s jaw clenched again and she exhaled through her nose, pacing two more steps trying to calm herself down. “Still, it’s her family Cam. If they say the right thing in the right way…”

“You think she’s going to just let you go after everything because her mom gives her a look?”

Paige paused when she realized how ridiculous she sounded. “…No.”

“Exactly.” Cam said, pushing Paige a little to ease her tension. “So stop freaking out. You’re smart, respectful, successful, you’re not bad looking which I assume helps and you make her happy. That's what all parents look for.”

Paige sighed, dragging her hand down her face. “I don’t get nervous like this.”

“Yeah,” Cam said smiling at her sister with a huge grin, “that’s how I know it’s serious.”

Paige looked at her before she sat down on the couch running both of her hands through her hair. “It really is.”

“I know.”

The apartment was quiet for a few seconds as Paige tried to gather her bearings. Cam spoke up saying, “So smile a little, shake some hands but not too hard and just don’t be a robot.”

“I’m not a robot.”

Cam gave her a flat look.

Paige mumbled, “Whatever,” and leaned back into the couch cushions with another sigh. She didn’t last long in that position before she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, fidgeting with the edge of one of her nails. “Do I get them something? Like a gift or something?”

Cam didn’t answer fast enough before Paige started rambling again.

“I definitely remember Azzi telling me her mom loved wine. But I don’t know if it was red or white—fuck—I should’ve paid closer attention. What if I get the wrong one and she hates it? Do I get her dad something too? What if I forget someone? Maybe I should just—"

“Alright, alright,” Cam cut in, lifting her hands. “Pause. You’re spiraling again and I just got you to sit down.”

Paige clenched her jaw to force herself to stop talking but she didn’t stop messing with her nails.

Cam sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. “Get some nice flowers and a bottle of wine. Doesn’t matter the type, just get something that says you tried effort goes a long way.”

Paige nodded trying to convince herself to believe that.

“Make sure you get the flowers in a vase. They’re not at home so you don’t know if they have a vase. Nobody wants to have a bundle of flowers with no home.”

Paige blinked as she nodded along. “Shit that’s actually smart.”

“Woww a compliment, maybe Kea was right.”

Before Paige could make a sarcastic comment back, the front door of Cam’s apparent opened and Azzi stepped inside.

Paige immediately straightened up when she saw her.

Azzi clocked the sudden shift in posture and how close Cam was sitting in front of Paige. She raised an eyebrow, “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing,” Paige said way too quickly as she whipped her hands on her thighs in nervousness.

Cam laughed at Paige, shaking her head as she stood up from the coffee table. “You’re fine,” she told Paige before heading to the kitchen.

Azzi looked between the two of them with her eyes narrowed. “You sure it’s nothing?” she asked, already walking over to lean down and press a quick kiss to Paige’s lips.

She started to pull away, but Paige’s fingers wrapped around her arm to keep her in place trying to lengthen the kiss just a little. When she finally pulled back Paige whispered, “M’sure.”

Azzi blinked at her, biting at her bottom lip to stop a grin from blooming across her face. “Are we leaving soon?”

“Yeah,” Paige nodded, glancing at the clock. “I gotta grab some stuff on the way there though.”

“What stuff?”

Paige just grinned. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, mumbling, “You’re weird.” She tried to step back knowing Paige was going to retaliate but before she could Paige reached out to pull her into her lap and tickled her sides. Azzi yelled, twisting in Paige’s lap as she tried to push her hands away. “Stop! Paige, stop!”

Paige laughed, pulling her closer to cradle her against her chest like she weighed nothing. Azzi let herself fall into Paige, looping her arms around Paige’s neck as she glared at her but it was ruined by her smile.

Paige looked down at her with soft eyes and kissed her temple gently. “I love you,” she whispered against her skin.

Azzi buried her face in Paige’s chest a little to hide the heat she felt in her cheek.

Cam stepped back into the room and rolled her eyes at the scene in front of her. “Okay, alright,” she said dryly. “Take your domestic shit elsewhere. Some of us live here and don’t want to see that shit.”

Paige just smirked and tightened her arms around Azzi’s waist. “You’re just jealous,” she mumbled as she kissed Azzi’s neck.

Cam made a gagging noise. “Get out before I go get a spray bottle.”

Azzi laughed as Paige let her go so she could get up. Cam rolled her eyes when she saw both of them still smiling as they stood up.

They left Cam’s apartment and walked down the stairs toward the parking garage after Paige insisted she needed to get her steps in. After the second flight Azzi ended up on Paige’s back claiming she was tired from practice. Once they got to the garage Paige let Azzi down and the buzz of the city was mute on top of them as the concrete space caused their steps to echo around them.

Azzi looked over at Paige as they walked deeper into the garage. “You nervous?”

Paige’s jaw ticked, but she shook her head no. “Nah,” she said smoothly with her hands tucked in her pockets. “I’m good.”

Azzi raised her eyebrows because she knew Paige too well to take her answer head on. “Mmhmm.”

Paige smiled, bumping Azzi gently with her shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m chill.”

“Righttt,” Azzi teased. “You’re so chill you decided to leave me in the apartment by myself to go to Cam’s place so you could pace without me knowing.”

Paige paused at how well Azzi knew her before all she could do was shake her head and laugh. “That was…I don’t know what you’re talking about”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled saying, “I know you too well baby,” as they reached the car. Paige walked ahead a few steps and pulled open the passenger side door for her.

Azzi slipped in, mumbling, “Thank you,” as she got comfortable in the seat.

When Paige got in on the driver’s side and buckled her seatbelt, Azzi looked at her to say, “I still can’t believe you got this shipped here,” she said, referring to Paige’s car they were sitting in.

Paige grinned as she started the engine, the loud purr echoing through the garage. “Yeah, well I couldn’t do another backseat Uber ride with my spoiled girlfriend complaining about being car sick because of their sucky driving.”

Azzi laughed, leaning her head back on the headrest. “You could’ve just said you missed your car.”

“I did,” Paige said, with a small smile. “But I missed driving you around the most.”

Azzi reached across the center console and squeezed her hand. “You’re cute when you’re trying to act all chill.”

“I am chill,” Paige stated.

Azzi just hummed and looked out the window. “You usually are. I don’t know about right now though.”

Paige just shook her head as she pulled out of the parking garage the engine ringing through the Miami streets.

After a quick stop to pick up a bouquet of flowers and two bottles of wine — one red, one white, just to be safe — Paige pulled the Audi into a quiet neighborhood street lined with palm trees and low stucco houses. The driveway of the Airbnb Azzi’s family was staying at was the perfect size for the family, and as soon as Paige rolled to a stop in front of the garage, the front door opened.

“Of course,” Azzi mumbled, seeing Jose step out of the house with his eyes already latched on the Audi.

Paige followed Azzi’s eyesight before she saw him. She looked back at Azzi as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Jose right?”

“Unfortunately.”

Paige chuckled under her breath and got out first, grabbing the wine bags from Azzi before walking around the car to open the passenger door for her.

As she was doing this Azzi’s mom walked out with a big smile on her face after not seeing her daughter for a while.

Azzi climbed out of the car, using Paige’s hand to ‘help’ her and her smile immediately grew, her deep dimple digging into her cheek when she saw her mom. She pulled her into a long hug and when they pulled back she gestured toward Paige. “This is Paige.”

Paige stood behind Azzi with her hands full but she looked surprisingly relaxed on the outside despite the chaos going on in her brain. She offered Katie a small toothless smile. “It’s really nice to officially meet you ma’am.”

Katie assessed Paige’s appearance in a quick subtle sweep, taking in the thoughtful gesture of flowers and wine, the confidence radiating off of her, the polite tone. She smiled, stepping forward to greet her and take the flowers. “You too, Paige. Thank you for these, that’s very sweet of you.”

Azzi’s brother, Jose, was already walking toward the Audi, muttering something about the car under his breath and ignoring everyone else.

“Hey,” Azzi said in exasperation, “Can you at least speak before trying to climb in her damn car?”

Jose waved a hand over his shoulder as he crouched down to get a closer look at the rims. “I’m saying wassup with respect for the car. This thing’s beautiful. What kinda engine?”

Paige huffs a breath through her nose before saying, “Got the original V10.”

Jose shakes his head as he walks near the back tires. “Yeah you cool with me. Don’t mess it up Azzi.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Well that’s Jose,” she mumbled to Paige, like she needed the clarification after already meeting him through Azzi’s FaceTime calls.

Katie laughed. “Come inside, both of you. Ignore him Paige, he’s been talking about this car since Azzi told us you were driving over.”

When they walked in the house the air was filled with the smell of something savory flowing in from the kitchen. The house was comfortably warm, not too hot from the humid Miami weather but not too cold that the AC was noticeable. Paige heard quiet voices coming from the living room, but their first stop was the kitchen.

Azzi barely got two steps in before Tim got up from his seat at the kitchen table. “Look at you,” he said, pulling her into a hug that lifted her off the ground.

“Dad please put me down,” Azzi groaned as she laughed through the light embarrassment.

He let her go after pressing a wet kiss to her forehead and turned toward Paige. His posture became more solid as he looked at Paige a little intensely. “I take it you’re Paige,” he said, offering his hand for her to shake.

Paige stepped forward, keeping her shoulders squared as she shook his hand more firmly than he expected. “Yes, sir. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

Tim held the handshake for longer than was needed. Long enough to make her wonder what was going through his head as he looked her up and down to assess her appearance and energy. Paige easily kept her expression neutral, but her jaw clenched subtly as she swallowed, the tension in her body rising under the weight of his silent scrutiny.

Azzi noticed it and stepped between them, brushing her fingers against Paige’s forearm. “Dad, please stop trying to make her nervous. You’re doing the thing.”

Tim raised his eyebrows, pretending to be innocent. “What thing?”

“The thing where you try to size somebody up to intimidate them with your eyes,” Azzi mumbled. “Please relax.”

Tim laughed under his breath, before giving Paige’s hand a squeeze and letting it go. “Alright, alright whatever you say. You hungry? We got a little bit of everything for you.”

Katie spoke up as she walked in behind them, placing the wine on the counter. “Let them get settled in first, Tim. Let them breathe, give Paige a break.”

Paige looked at Katie and nodded, attempting to give her a grateful smile .

Azzi bumped Paige lightly to get her attention before whispering, “You’re doing fine baby, take a breath.” She grabbed her hand and led her out of the kitchen toward the living room where the energy was more calm, a small back and forth conversation coming from her grandparents. Azzi squeezed Paige’s fingers and rubbed her thumb against the inside of her wrist to calm her down after feeling the slight pulse in her veins from her heart racing.

“Grandpa, Grandma,” Azzi said to grab their attention. A bright smile overtook both of their faces when they saw Azzi. “This is Paige.”

Her grandfather, who was always known for his outgoing personality, had on his UConn hat and gave Paige a huge smile. “Ah, so you’re the one keeping our girl smiling lately.”

This made Paige give her first authentic chuckle since she walked in the house. She rubbed the back of her neck and said, “I hope so. Been trying my best, sir.”

Her grandmother was more direct, reaching up to grab Paige’s other hand that wasn’t intertwined with Azzi’s to give it a gentle squeeze. “You’re beautiful,” she said sweetly. “And tall thank God. I always told her to make sure she found someone taller than her. I would’ve had a heart attack if she came in here with a shorter young lady.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but laughed at her grandma’s jokes. “Okay, relax.”

Paige smiled at Azzi, her chest finally starting to loosen just a little bit.

Azzi looked around a little confused at the absence of her other brother. “Where’s John?”

Right on cue, a loud chirp from outside drifted into the house, interrupting the conversation in the living room and it was followed by the blaring alarm of Paige’s car.

Azzi blinked.

Paige blinked.

Azzi closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. “Please, no.”

Azzi was already moving toward the front of the house, pulling Paige with her before the blonde could say anything. “If they messed up your car I swear—”

“I’m chill,” Paige said mechanically, but her jaw was already tightening as she clenched her bit her teeth together. “It’s just the alarm.”

Outside, the Audi lights were blinking repeatedly and the alarm didn’t turn off until Paige pressed the key fob she had in her pocket. Jose and John were standing next to each other near the driver side door that was pulled open. Both of them looked a little startled and had a little bit of a panicked look on their face when they saw Azzi and Paige walk out.

“What the hell did you do,” Azzi asked plainly, trying not to sound too upset.

Jose scratched the back of his head. “We were just looking…”

“Admiring,” John added quickly.

“From inside the car?” Paige asked. Her tone was deceptively calm despite the way her eyes traced over the car making sure nothing was wrong.

John shrugged. “You left it unlocked.”

Paige didn’t say anything else, just kept drifting her eyes around the exterior of the car.

Azzi turned to them with a look that said, ‘please just tell me what the hell you did so I don’t have to kill you.’

Jose held both of his hands up like he was innocent. “We were just trying to pop the hood I swear.”

Paige let out a breath of relief, running a hand through her hair before walking toward the car. “You gotta have the fob inside the car for it to work.”

The brothers lit up like kids on Christmas morning.

John was already reaching for the button as Jose popped the hood with a satisfied little grin.

Just as he lifted it, Katie and Tim stepped outside. Azzi’s dad let out a low whistle as he caught sight of the open engine. “Now that’s something worth looking at.”

John circled around to the front of the car, leaning down to look at the engine like he knew what he was doing. Jose said, “You see the layout on this? Five cylinders is crazy bro. Paige, you really driving this like it’s a regular car?”

“Daily driver,” Paige nodded.

Azzi’s arms were still crossed as she watched her brothers every move as they touched stuff under the hood. “I swear to God,” she said, stepping closer, “this car better not leave this driveway. If I so much as hear it start—” Azzi said referring to Paige giving Jose the fob.

“Azzi, chill,” John cut in, trying to ease her tension.

“We’re just admiring for real,” Jose added.

“Admire quieter,” Azzi warned, knowing how obnoxious her brothers could get.

Eventually Paige smiled at her and gently pulled at her arm.

“It’s okay mama,” Paige said lowly so only Azzi could hear as she pulled her toward the house. “Let your brothers have their moment.”

Azzi exhaled through her nose but let herself be led back inside. Smiling a little to herself when she felt Paige’s hand touch the exposed skin at the bottom of her back. “I’m just saying,” she mumbled, “if that car moves an inch, I might have to disown them.”

Paige laughed, opening the door for her. “Noted.”

The sound of Azzi’s grandparents bickering again drifted from the living room as Azzi took a moment to pull Paige into the kitchen . The overhead light in the kitchen was softer than the rest of the house and the island was still cluttered with some of the ingredients used to cook.

Paige leaned back against the counter and closed her eyes clearly a little overwhelmed with everything going on. Azzi stepped in front of her, crowding her space and making their knees brush. Paige smiled as Azzi reached up to comb her fingers through Paige’s hair, nails scratching at her scalp to ease some tension.

Paige let her eyes flutter closed for a few seconds, a soft breath leaving her as she leaned into Azzi’s hands. “You tryna make me fall asleep in the kitchen?”

Azzi smiled, brushing a piece of hair behind Paige’s ear. “You’d probably find a way to look cute knocked out on the floor. I’d cover you with a dish towel to keep you warm.”

Paige laughed, putting her hand on Azzi’s hips to pull her closer. “You’re real gentle today.”

Azzi shrugged trying to brush it off. “You’ve been holding it together all day even though you’re nervous. Thought you could use me taking care of you and being extra sweet.”

Paige smiled at her as she reached to tuck one of Azzi’s braids behind her ear . “I’m good, though baby…really. Meeting your family’s…” she paused, searching for the word, “a lot, but in a good way.”

Azzi smiled at Paige and they just stood there for a few seconds, Azzi letting the silence stretch for a while to give Paige a second to recalibrate as she kept running her fingers through her hair.

“Thank you for being here with me,” Azzi said after a while. “I know this kind of stuff and being around a lot of people isn’t really your thing.”

Paige shook her head and reached up to brush her thumb across Azzi’s cheek. “Nah, it is. You’re a big family person and I gotta make sure I support you in that. So I’ll make sure it’s my thing now.

Azzi felt warmth creeping up her neck, but didn’t try to hide the blush. She just stared at Paige for a second, admiring her before she leaned in to kiss her cheek.

Paige gave Azzi that toothless cheeky grin that always gave her away when her cheeks get red, but before she could say anything slick, Azzi leaned in again to give her a kiss. She moved her hands from Paige’s hair and looped her arms arms around her neck instead. Paige naturally pulled Azzi closer, like it was muscle memory for her at this point.

The kiss was soft at first, both of them grinning into it making the other laugh when their teeth clashed a little, but then Azzi pulled back and had a pout on her face. Paige grinned at her before pulling her back in for another kiss that was deeper, closer to their familiar rhythm. Azzi hummed into it, both of them silently thinking about how they could do this forever.

“Damn, y’all tryna eat each other’s face or what?”

Azzi pulled back laughing, but Paige was more shy about it as she tucked her face into Azzi’s neck to hide the redness spreading across her face and neck. Azzi looked over her shoulder to see Jose standing there with a plate in his hand. “Can’t even come in here for a piece of pie in peace.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Mind your business.”

“You’re in the kitchen bro,” he said, before mumbling about coming back later as he walked back towards the living room.

Once he was gone, Paige mumbled into Azzi’s neck, “I hate it here. I can never come back.”

Azzi laughed, bringing one of her hands back up to rub it through Paige’s hair again. “You love it here,” she whispered. “And they’ll love you so let’s go out there.”

Paige didn’t say anything, just melted into Azzi a little more, letting herself be held for a few seconds. Eventually, she let out a long sigh and said, “Okay but you gotta carry the conversation’s and hold my hand.”

Azzi kissed the top of her head. “I was going to do that anyway so deal.”

After the agreement was in place they peeled away from the quiet kitchen and walked into the living room with their hands still intertwined.

When they walked in everyone was in the middle of a conversation and Azzi sat in the open spot on the couch, pulling Paige to sit next to her. As they got settled Azzi picked up on the same old half-true story Jose was telling about his middle school basketball game where, according to him and only him, he was “carrying the team on his back.”

Azzi, always wanting to put Jose in his place and lessen his ego a little bit said, “You missed both free throws at the end and you lost by eight.”

“That’s not even the point,” Jose defended himself, earning a snort from John as Katie shook her head at her kids' antics.

“I’m just saying,” Azzi laughed, leaning back and subtly brushing her hand against Paige’s thigh, to make sure she was present. “You’ve been retelling and rewriting that same story for years.”

Her dad laughed, drinking from the glass of wine Katie poured him. “What is it that they say? ‘Never let the truth get in the way of a good story’?”

“Exactly!” Jose grinned.

Azzi smiled and leaned toward Paige for a second as her family drifted to another conversation. “You good?”

Paige looked at her and nodded. “Yeah. You’re actually kinda when you’re with them I’m surprised.”

Azzi rolled her eyes at the running joke between them and turned her attention back to the room.

Her grandma started telling a story about when Azzi was younger and how she used to hide her vegetables under the table when she was little until she figured out how ‘they would help her be good at basketball.’ Of course this story then spiraled into everyone offering their version of ‘Azzi was bad when she was little’ stories.

“I wasn’t bad,” Azzi argued, laughing at the story her grandpa told about her ‘running away,’ because he wouldn’t let her play basketball. “I was just…creative.”

“Creative like using scotch tape to lock me in my room so I couldn’t tell mom about you breaking the mirror?” John asked.

Paige laughed at that one.

“Oh my god, I swear I forgot about that,” Azzi laughed.

Right as the laughter quieted down, Katie shifted the attention toward Paige trying to get her involved in the conversation a little. “So Paige,” she said to get her attention, keeping her tone gentle in that mom way, “Azzi mentioned you’re a fighter?”

Paige blinked a little unexpectedly, like she wasn’t expecting the conversation to be directed at her just yet. Azzi rubbed her thumb across the back of her hand.

“Yeah,” Paige finally said. “I do MMA for UFC.”

Tim leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “That’s the real thing then.”

Paige nodded once as she looked at him. “Yeah, it is.”

There was a bit of silence that felt a little awkward for Paige before Azzi’s grandma added, “That doesn’t make you nervous sometimes?”

Paige’s eyes drifted toward her, then to Azzi for the briefest second to ground herself. “It used to. Not so much not that I’ve been doing it for so long.”

Tim nodded as he cut back in. “Have you ever been hurt?” His tone wasn’t judgmental but there was a layer of concern that snuck into his voice as he asked the question.

Paige shifted slightly in her seat. “Nothing too serious. I’ve had two concussions. Bruised ribs a handful of times. The worst would probably be a small crack in my orbital bone, but that was a while back when I first got started with competition fighting.”

Azzi’s grip on Paige’s hand tightened as she listened to her list of the injuries.

Tim caught that and he looked between the two of them before he settled on Paige again. “So what happens if it’s worse one day?”

Paige was once again caught off guard causing her chest to tighten a little and she didn’t offer an answer right off the bat.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Azzi added quickly.

Paige gave her a small smile letting her know she was okay.

She looked back at Tim making sure to look directly at him as she answered. “I know it’s a risk every time. But I do my best to be smart and take care of my body. I train right, working on resting when I need to. And now that I have someone who would probably kill me if I didn’t take care of myself,” she added with a grin, referring to Azzi. “I’m a lot more careful than I used to be.”

The last part of her answer earned a laugh from most of the room, but Tim didn’t quite let it go.

“I’m just wondering,” Tim said, both of their eyes locked on one another. “If you’re serious about my daughter you gotta think about how serious the risk is and how it affects her too.”

“Dad…” Azzi warned, her tone unusually tight as she said this.

But Tim didn’t bother to look away. “This is important, Azzi.”

Paige’s jaw tightened and she shifted on the couch, letting her thumb brush over the top of Azzi’s hand even though her own felt cold. She cleared her throat a little before speaking. “I get that,” she said, plainly. “I truly do.”

She glanced down at their hands, trying to gather the words she didn’t really have in this exact moment. But before she could speak again, Tim leaned back in his chair, sighing through his nose.

“I’m not trying to scare you off, Paige. But you gotta understand, I’m her father and I’ve watched Azzi grow up to be this amazing woman and build an amazing career for herself. And I can see this,” he said gesturing between the two of them, “is different to her, a little more important so you can see why having someone with a risky, stressful career like you can make me a little nervous for her.”

Azzi’s jaw flexed and she sat up straight. Her voice came out coiled when she said, “Maybe we can talk about this without a full audience dad?”

There was a pause, and then her mom, always trying to be the diffuser in these situations agreed. “That’s fair honey.”

Tim stood up first, taking his hat off and rubbing his hand over his head as he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s step outside.”

Katie stood up with him, giving her daughter a small smile letting her know it would be fine before they started walking toward the back door.

Azzi waited until they turned the corner before tugging on Paige’s hand, pulling her to stand up with her. They made it a few steps into the hallway and around the corner before Azzi stopped, turning to look at her.

Paige was looking at her, but her eyes were unreadable and slightly dazed in the distance.

“You okay?” Azzi asked, making sure to keep her voice soft, as she ran one of her hands along Paige’s bicep to make sure she didn’t drift into her own head. “I know you’re not used to all this and if you’re not up for this conversation yet we can hold off.”

Paige nodded once, but it was too mechanical for Azzi’s liking.

Azzi frowned and reached up to cup her jaw with one of her hands, guiding Paige to look at her. “Baby.”

Paige blinked and the distance in her eyes dissolved as she looked at Azzi and took a deep breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Azzi asked again.

“I’m alright,” Paige murmured, as she took another breath. “It’s just…not the kind of conversation I’m good at, but I’m ok.”

Azzi stepped closer, sliding her hand down to take Paige’s again. “You don’t have to be perfect with them. Just be honest. That’s all they care about.”

Paige looked down at their joined hands and nodded. This time it was a little steadier. “I know. I’ll try.”

“That’s all I need.”

“You sure you’re not mad at me for not answering right away?”

Azzi leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I’m sure. I would never be mad at you for taking your time to express yourself.”

With that, they walked toward the backyard together and Paige felt a little more sound than a few minutes prior.

When they sat down Azzi’s chair was angled toward Paige and the positioning allowed for their knees to brush one another’s. They only had a few seconds to settle into the patio seats before Tim leaned forward again. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Paige.”

Paige nodded at him, making sure she kept her expression neutral as they looked at one another.

“When I found out Azzi was involved with someone who fights for a living my first instinct was to be a little wary.”

He paused for a second, trying to measure her reaction. But Paige didn’t give him one, she just sat still waiting for him to finish.

“Do you know what you’re known for online? In the media?”

“I make it a point not to look at any of that. Not really in the business of caring about what people who don’t know me think about me” she said. Her voice stayed even the entire time she said this.

Tim nodded. “That’s smart, I get it…But I of course looked and I found a lot of the usual hype for someone of your caliber. How focused and dedicated you are to your career. But I also saw a lot about how emotionless you look when you’re doing it. They said it looks like you just shut everything off. One article said you fought like somebody who didn’t feel pain, or if you did you were too detached to show it.”

Katie shifted next to him, giving him a look to be kinder, but she didn’t interrupt him.

“Then I found something about a fight in a club a couple years back,” he added.

At that, Paige’s eyes dropped to her lap and she gave her first physical reaction to the conversation when she tightened her jaw and curled her nails into her palm.

Azzi looked down and noticed Paige digging into her skin so she reached over and took Paige’s hand to unfold her fingers. She pulled Paige’s hand towards her lap and sandwiched her hand between both of hers.

Paige didn’t look at her, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

Tim noticed too and he softened his tone a bit but it was implied in his features that he was still concerned. “I’m not trying to scare you off from Azzi or attack your character, alright? But if you’re serious about my daughter, I need to know who you are. I need to know she’s safe with you. That I don’t have to worry about the temper they say you have if things ever get heated, or—”

“Dad stop,” Azzi cut in sharply, her tone taking on more of a protective edge now. She didn’t raise her voice but she wasn’t about to let him get too far into that thought process. That was a sensitive spot for Paige and with therapy and a lot of late conversations the two of them had only recently fully gotten that idea out of Paige’s head and she didn’t want it coming back.

Katie reached across her chair to put her hand on Tim’s arm, silently telling him she had it from here. “I think what he’s trying to say, Paige, is that we just want to get to know you.” Her voice was a lot softer than his was, more sincere.

“Azzi’s everything to us, she’s our only baby girl. And we can see how important you are to her. But we don’t know much about you. She’s a private person so she keeps her relationship under wraps, which we respect. But it’s hard as a parent, you know? Your only daughter’s across the country, building a life with someone you’ve never had a real conversation with.”

Paige let Katie’s words settle in her Wernicke’s area and because they were softer than Tim’s it was easier for her brain to turn off the alarm bells, easier for her to process them and come up with a response. As she processed them Paige noticed the honesty behind the words and she respected that more than anything that had been said prior.

“I get it,” she said after a moment. “I would want to know, too. Especially if it was my kid.”

She took a slow breath, like she was weighing her next words to make sure she got them correct. “I’m going to be honest with you just like you were with me. Some of the stuff you read? It’s probably right.” She pauses to gather her thoughts before starting again. “In public and around almost everyone that isn’t your daughter I don’t show emotion and I don’t let anyone see how I’m feeling. When you fight for a living, every feeling, every look, every reaction is a tell for someone to read. So that makes it a weakness and I learned that the hard way. Because of that I got good at keeping it all off my face. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel things or that I’m emotionless, it just means I’m never going to show anybody besides the woman I love how I’m doing.”

Her voice stayed even as she explained herself and she paused again to figure out what she wanted to say next.

“I have a temper,” she admitted. “I’ve had it since I was young and I’m not proud of that. It’s gotten me into some bad situations before, but I’m actively working on it. It’s not something I thought I’d do before.” Her eyes drifted over to Azzi, and her pupils naturally dilated. “But I started because of Azzi.”

“She makes me calm in a way I never thought was possible. She makes me want to change. Not because I’m scared to mess up, or scared she’ll leave. But because when I’m with her I want to be the best version of myself for both of us.”

Paige made sure to look at both of Azzi’s parents as she talked. Trying to show them how honest she was being. “There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for her. Nothing. And I’d never put her in danger. Not physically. Not emotionally. I do what I do every day with her in mind when I wake up. How it might affect her day. How I want to show up for her in every way that I physically and mentally can. How I want to be someone she’s proud to be with.”

She glanced toward Azzi and noticed the love struck look she was giving her so she looked down trying not to smile and lose her thoughts.

“I know it’s going to take more than words for you to trust me with your daughter and I’m okay with that. But I just want you to know I love her more than anything. And there isn’t any universe where I’d do anything to hurt her.”

It was quiet for a while as everyone processed Paige’s words. It seemed like the rest of the world paused with them with how still the backyard was and the only thing heard was the faint crimping of the Florida insects as a breeze moved through the trees.

Then, softly, Katie said, “Thank you for saying that.”

Paige nodded and Katie offered her a kind smile to lighten the air. Tim smiled too, murmuring something about heading in.

“We’ll be inside in a second,” Azzi said.

Tim and Katie nodded and disappeared inside, the screen door creaking as it shut behind them.

Azzi stood up from her chair and moved over to Paige, to sit sideways in her lap. Paige smiled and wrapped both of her arms around Azzi’s waist to steady her.

Azzi rested her head on Paige’s shoulder and toyed with the necklace she had on her neck. “I’m sorry.”

Paige kissed the top of her head. “You don’t gotta apologize for anything beautiful.”

“I just…” Azzi sighed as she continued to play with Paige’s necklace to give her hands something to do. “I wish they would’ve given me a heads up about the conversation or something. So I could’ve told you what to expect. Prepared you a little so you didn't have to be uncomfortable at first.”

Paige laughed through her nose. “You know I probably would’ve spiraled even more than I already did if I knew about it beforehand.”

Azzi laughed a little too, thinking about how much worse Paige would’ve been. “Still. I just don’t like putting you in positions where I know it’s hard for you to stay present while you’re actively working on it with your therapist.”

“I was alright,” Paige said softly. “I had you and that’s always more than enough.”

Azzi untucked her head for Paige’s neck to search her face for any emotions she was trying to hide before eventually she leaned down to kiss her slowly.

Paige melted into it, sliding one hand up Azzi’s back to pull her closer, letting her hand drift down to playfully squeeze her butt. The kiss naturally stretched for a while until Paige pulled away just enough for them to breathe. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered into the small space between their lips.

Azzi smiled, brushing her nose against Paige’s a few times as she whispered back, “I love you.”

Paige closed her eyes and adjusted so she could rest her forehead on Azzi’s shoulder, causing her voice to be muffled as she said back, “I love you too.”

They lost track of time for a moment as they sat there holding one another. Only brought back to reality when Azzi smacked a mosquito that she felt land on her leg, making Paige mumble about how dramatic she was.

By the time they made their way back inside the smell of the finished food had completely filled the house and conversation was flowing from the dining room as John and Jose set the table. Azzi led them toward the table giving Paige’s hand one more squeeze before Paige pulled her chair out for her and they sat down with the rest of her family.

Paige didn’t say much throughout the meal. She offered polite smiles when someone addressed her and nodded in the right places, but mostly, she stayed quiet like her usual self.

Even though she was quiet it was impossible for anyone in the room to not notice the way her attention never strayed far from Azzi and what she needed. When Azzi was eating and got a smear of sauce on her face, Paige reached over without saying anything and wiped it off her cheek with her napkin. Azzi barely reacted to Paige doing this outside of giving her a small smile which only showed everyone how used to the gesture she must’ve been.

When Azzi reached for her glass and realized it was empty, Paige was already getting up to refill it in the kitchen before she could even ask. She came back a few seconds later with a full glass of Azzi’s favorite drink, putting it down in front of her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she sat back down.

When Azzi finished her mac and cheese too quickly—one of Paige’s favorite foods ironically—and looked slightly disappointed to see it gone from her plate. Paige noticed, put some of her own on her fork and held it out toward Azzi’s mouth. Azzi raised an eyebrow at her doing this in front of her family, but Paige just gave her that goofy grin Azzi could never not give into.

Azzi took the bite, and smiled as she did. “Thank you baby.”

“Mmhm,” Paige hummed back as she went back to eating.

Azzi’s family noticed all of it. The way Paige moved like she’d done all of that a hundred times, like every little thing Azzi needed was just something she knew already. They could tell with how Azzi reacted to each thing that it was something she was used to and that warmed their heart more than anything. Knowing that Paige wasn’t putting on a show to impress them, but it was something she naturally always did for their daughter who never had to ask for any of it.

Conversation stayed constant around the table, stories being passed back and forth as they caught up with their daughter updating her on the random doings of her brothers and their family.

After Paige fed Azzi another bite of her mac and cheese, Azzi’s grandfather leaned back in his chair and looked toward Paige. “Keep that up and you’re gonna spoil her rotten. We won’t ever hear the end of it.”

Laughter rippled around the table as everyone silently agreed.

Paige chuckled, as she leaned back and threw her awm around the back of Azzi’s chair. “She’s already spoiled,” she said, grinning at Azzi to see her reaction.

Azzi’s eyebrows shot up as she turned her head to face her. “Excuse me?”

Paige shrugged, still grinning at her. “I don’t think you’ve eaten your own food in, like, three months. I just order what I know you’ll like more and wait for you to eat off my plate and I eat whatever you don’t like as much.”

That earned a few laughs from around the table, especially from Jose and Katie who were definitely going to use this against her.

Azzi tried to pretend to be offended but the smile on her face was too big for anyone to believe it. “You’ve been setting me up this whole time?”

“I wouldn’t say setting you up,” Paige responded, leaning over to kiss the side of Azzi’s head. “Just…anticipating the inevitable. M’sorry.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes at her, but she couldn’t hold the glare for long. Especially not when her grandma muttered, “I like her,” under her breath, and her brothers started teasing in sing-song voices.

“Aww, Azzi’s got her trained already.”

“Y’all are so annoying,” Azzi mumbled, stabbing at her plate as she bit her lip to hold back another smile.

Paige just tucked a loose braid behind Azzi’s ear and leaned over to whisper something only she could hear making Azzi blush like it was nothing.

Some time later Jose was halfway through his second serving of sweet potatoes when he wiped his mouth with a napkin and pointed his fork toward Paige. “Alright, serious question.”

Azzi looked at him warily. “Here we go.”

Jose ignored her. “You ever train people and show them how to throw a punch? Like, properly?”

John perked up at the idea of learning. “Ohh yeah. Not some fake YouTube stuff though.”

Paige looked between them. “Sometimes with people I know.”

Jose grinned when she said that. “So...would you show us? I mean technically you know us and we’re your girlfriend’s brother so it would really be a shame if we didn’t know how to throw a good punch. For appearance and allat.”

Azzi shook her head. “You two really just want an excuse to hit each other.”

“We’re brothers,” John said, as if that explained everything. “We already hit each other. Might as well do it right.”

Paige glanced at Azzi, who blinked at her like she expected her to say no considering she hadn’t thrown a punch really since her last fight.

She was surprised when Paige shrugged. “Yeah, alright.”

Azzi blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“I mean, if they’re gonna keep asking over FaceTime, might as well do it when I’m with them.”

“We are definitely going to keep asking,” Jose said, pushing back from the table already. “So let’s just go!”

Katie blinked. “You’re not about to throw punches in my living room Jose.”

“No, don’t worry,” Paige said, calmly. “There’s this gym I was supposed to start training at soon. It’s private so we can go there.”

Within twenty minutes, the family was up and moving, as they cleared the table, put food away and started the dishwasher. Jose and John were basically vibrating with excitement as everyone else put on their shoes.

“We’re not getting in the car until she starts the Audi,” Jose said as they walked out of the house.

“Facts,” John nodded, already headed toward the curb where their mom’s car was.

Azzi looked at Paige. “I don’t think you understand how obsessed they are with you.”

Paige just laughed under her breath, pulling the Audi keyfob from her pocket. The headlights blinked to life and the brothers watched everything in awe. Paige opened Azzi’s passenger door for her like always and John and Jose booed as they waited impatiently for her to start the car. When she finally got in the driver’s side and the engine spurred to life, roaring in the quiet neighborhood.

“That sound—” Jose said dramatically, “—music to my ears man.”

Tim shook his head with a laugh as he got in their car. “You two are ridiculous.”

Inside the car Azzi slid her hand into Paige’s as they waited for her family to get in their car. “I’m still processing how easily you said yes to them.”

“I’m kinda curious about how bad their form actually is. John looks a little uncoordinated and Jose’s way too confident.”

Azzi snorted.

…

When Azzi’s family pulled up to the gym Paige and Azzi were still sitting in the Audi waiting. Everyone got out at the same time and Paige walked to the back of the car to pull her gym bag out of the trunk.

Inside the gym, the lighting was warm instead of the usual cold lighting that private gyms had and it made things feel more relaxed. John and Jose bounced on their feet like overexcited kids as Paige put her bag down on a bench and motioned for one of them to sit in front of her.

“Alright,” she said, digging in her bag for wraps. “Hands first.”

John plopped down first. “I want mine like those Muay Thai fighters. Super tight.”

Paige chuckled, as she straddled the bench sideways. “You want them right, not tight.”

Azzi opted to lean against the wall a few feet away, watching as Paige bonded with her brothers as she wrapped their hands. Once she was done wrapping John’s hands she checked the tension in his wrist movement before sliding some gloves toward him. Jose sat down next without needing to be asked, basically holding his hand out like a kid getting his shoes tied.

When she was done with Jose’s he and John both started throwing sloppy punches at the hanging bags, while Paige started to wrap her own hands, muscle memory guiding every tuck even though she hadn’t done it in a while.

Azzi came to sit on the bench next to her and nudged her gently with her knee to get her attention. “So this is your first time back.”

Paige nodded, keeping her eyes on her hands to make sure she didn’t mess anything up. “Yeah.”

Azzi tilted her head as she studied her. “You good right?”

Paige paused for a second, flexing her fingers, as she looked up to meet Azzi’s eyes and give her a smile. “Yeah. We been talking about it for a while, right? This gave me the last little push I needed.”

Azzi smiled at her. “I’m proud of you.”

Paige gave her a quick glance, her expression softer than most people ever got to see before she looked back down at her hands. “Thank you baby.”

Once her hands were fully wrapped, Paige stood up, grabbing the hem of her shirt out of routine and pulling it up over her head without thinking twice about it.

Azzi blinked up at her, realization hitting just as the shirt came off, revealing the tapestry of scratches on her back and the blooming marks scattered across her stomach and chest. All of them pretty vivid considering how fresh they were

For a second, everything in the gym felt like it slowed down around Azzi. John and Jose were still goofing off and throwing inaccurate combinations behind them, oblivious. Azzi looked around instinctively, her cheeks heating up, but Paige didn’t notice. She was adjusting her gloves, and rolling her neck like nothing was out of place.

Azzi whisper-yelled so only Paige could hear. “Baby.”

Paige glanced down. “Hm?”

Azzi raised her eyebrows, nodding her chin subtly toward her torso. Paige followed Azzi’s nod and looked down and froze for half a second. Her hand twitched like she was about to grab the shirt and pull it back on but before she could—

“Oh my God,” Jose blurted out from the bag, loud enough for his voice to echo off the walls. “Ayo, that's crazy.”

Azzi groaned and immediately buried her face in her hands. “I’m going to kill myself,” she mumbled, her voice muffled in her palms.

John leaned over to laugh. “Nahhh, ain’t no way Azzi!”

“I hate y’all,” she yelled through her hands, trying to disappear into them.

Paige just stood there, the corner of her mouth twitching, like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or apologize. “In my defense,” she said to Azzi, “I didn’t remember until it was too late.”

Katie’s voice floated in from the entrance. “Everything alright in here?”

Jose called back, “You might wanna close your eyes”

Katie and Tim stepped fully into the gym, both of them catching on to Paige’s appearance.

Katie blinked once, her eyebrows lifting in surprise as her gaze landed on Paige then turned her head toward her daughter with a baffled look.

Tim let out a heavy breath, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to physically wipe the moment from existence. He didn’t say a word, just gave Paige that would make her a little more nervous if she was anyone else but herself.

But neither of them said anything. Because really, what could they even say?

Meanwhile, Paige was reaching to put her shirt back on when Azzi snatched it from her hand.

“They already saw it,” Azzi mumbled under her breath, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes as she clutched the fabric in her lap. “I might as well get to enjoy the view in my embarrassment.”

Paige raised her eyebrow. “You sure?”

Jose howled trying to get another joke in. “Y’all nasty!”

Katie shook her head, clearly trying not to smile at her kids' antics as she turned back toward the door. “I’m going to find some water. You children behave.”

Tim was already walking after her, muttering, “Should’ve stayed in the car…”

Azzi didn’t say anything until they were gone, then peeked up at Paige. “You’re lucky you’re sexy.”

Paige chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Azzi’s head. “That’s what got us in this mess, isn’t it?”

Azzi sat on the bench, holding Paige’s shirt loosely in her lap. Her face was warm, still a mix of being flustered and mildly mortified, but as she watched Paige walk off toward her brothers, she couldn’t help but let her chest soften.

John and Jose were already bouncing around like they were about to walk into a real match as she walked up to them. Talking over each other as they asked her questions and throwing punches at the bag for approval before she could even say anything. Paige moved into the chaos like she was built for it, her energy making the space around her calmer without even trying as her brother calmed down to listen to what she had to say.

Azzi watched as Paige stepped between them, as she reached to adjust John’s stance, then moved over to move Jose’s hands. Jose cracked another joke, something about “bet you mark people up like that in the ring too” and Paige just looked completely unfazed, before easily smacking his glove down and telling him to square up for real this time.

Azzi’s heart fluttered. It was probably stupid, how fast Paige easing into conversation with her brother’s made her want to melt. How she didn’t try too hard, didn’t overdo the charm or get caught up in trying to prove herself. She was just always herself. Calm and capable of making her feel safe. A little sarcastic but gentle when it mattered.

She knew her brothers were loud, unpredictable, chaotic as hell but Paige handled them with patience, moving them to lighter bags as she got them ready for beginner drills.

It hit Azzi all over again how much she loved her.

Azzi watched Paige from her spot on the bench the entire time. How naturally she moved through the gym even though she hadn’t been there in a while, how her back muscles shifted beneath her now, sun-kissed skin, how the strands of her blonde hair naturally curled slightly against her shoulders.

Without thinking too long about it, she reached for her phone. She angled her camera just right to take a picture. The angle was low and just a little off-center: the ends of Paige’s blonde hair, and her lower back lit up by the gym’s lights, the curve of her back muscles tapering into the rest of the frame. Her UFC gloves clear in the picture.

It was undeniably Paige’s lower body. But, technically, it wasn’t. No face, nothing tagging her in the picture. Just a very specific glimpse into Azzi’s life.

Azzi stared at the picture for a second before opening Instagram. She tapped on the screen a few times before posting the picture to her feed. She gave it a simple caption: lately 🤍

It didn’t take long for Azzi’s phone to start buzzing with notifications and comments from their friends.

@/rickea: 👀👀👀👀👀 @/raehoops: ohh la la 😍

@/cameronbrink22: this is cute i guess 🙄🖤 @/dijonai: i know that ain’t who i think it is @/nika.muhl: love this for you

Outside of their circle of course the fans started speculating too.

@/azzination: omg she’s soft launching somebody we’re finally here!! @/ufc_womenfans: tell me that’s not paige bueckers rn idc idc @/courtvisionqueen: NO BECAUSE I KNEW SHE WAS DATING SOMEBODY. PLEASE WHO IS IT??? @/fightnightfanatic: that’s 100% @/paigebueckers. Y’all welcome 😏

Azzi grinned at her phone, not bothering to like or reply to anything. She just locked her screen, slid her phone back in her pocket, and looked back up to give her attention to her girlfriend who was now holding pads for her brothers, giving John a little encouragement as he threw slow combos she was giving him.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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woollypoison · 1 day ago

Text

Comeback of a lifetime: Fromiscuity

Fromis_9 Lee Chaeyoung x m reader x Lee Nagyung

a/n: this is a continuation of the very first fic I ever wrote alone, Comeback of a lifetime. I learned a lot about writing since then lmao.

Word count: 12k words

Let’s recap. You didn’t stop going to the PC bang.

You said you would, and you had all of the intention to. Swore up and down that night was your last. Just one final send off before quitting cold turkey. But then Nagyung crawled in your lap, moaned sweet nothings in your ear, and sucked your dick under the desk while you wiped the floor with a silver ADC—which isn’t even your main role, mind you—and all of sudden, the withdrawal plan didn’t seem like it was all that urgent.

That was two weeks ago. Nowadays, you’re a regular again. Or at least, sort of? You’re not spending your entire day there anymore. You’re also not there for the ranked grind.

No, you show up, because you know the hours Nagyung can show up and you’re there, for those three hours every single day, hoping to get some time with her again.

And sometimes, you do.

She’ll sit down in her usual, secluded spot, wearing a variety of oversized hoodies, a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. No one notices her. No one ever does. You can’t help but spot her instantly every time.

You don’t make a big deal out of it. You’re just glad to see her. She always gives you this little nod, and slides into the seat next to you—oh, right, yeah, you also changed your favorite seat so you’re always next to her now—like she never left.

It’s not even a question anymore of whether you’ll play together. You just do. She boots up her client, you log into your smurf, and it’s off for another night of carrying and coaching her.

You lane with her. Peel for her. Shotcall for her. You ping retreat, and she ignores it. Every. Single. Time. Rages a little bit and then looks at you all guilty and cute and impossible to hold a grudge against. Sometimes, she turns around in her chair and beams at you like she just won Worlds. The only readable piece of her face is still her eyes, but you’ve learned to tell.

It’s fun. Still is. But it’s different from that first time.

You never asked her about it, either. About what she said—about next time, and blankets, and letting you fuck her on your lap. You figured if she wanted to follow up, she would.

She hasn’t.

It’s all toned down since then. You carry her, and she squeezes your thigh, rests her head against your shoulder during queue times or gives you a kiss on your cheek if she’s feeling generous after a win. It’s really not a bad deal, just different.

You even got her into Gold because of all that.

She squealed when she hit it. Climbed into your lap again, bounced in your chair, kissed your cheek twice and was going to brag about it for weeks. The closest you got to that original feeling.

That was three days ago. She hasn’t been back since.

She’s not here today, either. No disguise that you can see through in an instant. No oversized americano sitting dangerously close to her keyboard. No kisses on your cheek.

You play a couple of games on your main account. It’s miserable. Not because your teammates are tilting you (not for lack of trying, mind you), but because you’re just bored. The games don’t hit the same without her ignoring your pings and tanking tower shots chasing kills. So you head out.

You grab your shit, walk out the door, and that’s when you see her.

Leaning against the wall, just outside the PC bang entrance, scrolling through her phone. Face mask, cap, sunglasses. A crop top black hoodie. An interesting take on Nagyung’s incognito mode, but it’s not her. You can tell immediately.

This girl’s taller. Shoulders squarer, posture straighter. Her frame’s more athletic—less cute and bubbly smiles, more charismatic. Not petite, but not imposing either. Alluring. Almost your height. Almost.

And she’s switched to watching you.

She tilts her head at you. It’s not coy like Nagyung does. There’s no flirty cheerfulness, no expressive energy hiding under her hoodie. This isn’t a girl acting shy and rocking your world when she isn't.

This is a woman waiting for you to notice her—and being so damn sure you would.

She pushes off the wall, approaches you with too much confidence that you won’t run away. One hand pulls her mask down, the other lowers her mask just enough to reveal her eyes.

Almond-shaped, like a cat. Heavy-lidded. Confident. Sultry in a way that feels inherent, not something that can be taught.

You know those eyes. You know that beauty mark. You know that whole face.

How could you not, after everything you love and have been through?

Chaeyoung.

Oh.

Fromis_9’s Chaeyoung. So first Nagyung shows up inside your PC bang, and now Chaeyoung outside of it? How the fuck are you supposed to lampshade that?

“You know what’s crazy?” she says, way too confident again that you’re not in shock just from the fact that she’s talking to you. “Our dorm’s five minutes from here.”

You blink. “I’m not sure that’s the craziest thing happening here.”

She slips her phone into the pocket of her hoodie and steps a little closer, letting her face mask snap back into place but putting the sunglasses in her other pocket.

“We can agree on that, but it’s still weird, right?” she says, turning and glancing toward the PC bang entrance. “We’ve both got these big personal setups at our dorm. With the custom gaming chairs and everything.”

She smirks at you like that detail’s supposed to mean something. “That sounds comfortable.”

“I know. So I couldn’t figure out why she’d keep coming back here,” she continues. “I know she used to come here occasionally when she just wanted some me time. But now she’s here all the time. It’s like, obsessive. Right after a rant about quitting League for Overwatch.”

You shrug, pull your best confused face. “Maybe she just likes the snacks they have here?”

“I’d believe you if you didn’t exist,” Chaeyoung shoots back, but there’s no bite to it. She points a finger at you, not accusatory, just stating a fact. “I know you’re why she’s been ranking up rapidly.”

Okay, yeah. Busted. There’s no way to know what she knows, but there’s no point in denying any accusations she makes that hit the nail on the head.

“Was I not supposed to?” you question back, a bit more coy than you would have a month ago.

“Nah, relax,” she says. “I’m not here to criticize you or anything.”

You look at her, intrigued.

“I just figured it was time we met. I want your help to get my rank above Nakko back.”

You’re about to try and turn her down, some sort of loyalty to Nagyung shining through, but she doesn’t wait for you to catch up. “You free now?”

You nod, unsure why. Maybe because you’re not used to saying no to beautiful women, or maybe because Chaeyoung’s presence is more gravitational than conversational.

“Wait, no,” you interject before you even figure out anything further. “I don’t think I should be doing that. I think it might hurt my chances with Nagyung.” It seems your spine hasn’t left you fully just yet, or maybe this is the effect of being a spineless being. Who can tell?

“Look,” she says, stepping in just a little closer, physically looking up at you, just slightly, but really, looking down at you a little bit. “I know she hasn’t been here since she hit gold. Has to not feel great for you either, huh?”

You blink at her, all of her words causing your brain to lag behind. “You’re tracking her now?”

She just shrugs, and the difference in social skills and fluidity is just painful. “I live with her. Not that hard to figure out when she is or isn’t sneaking out in a disguise to go to a PC bang literally 5 minutes away.”

You try to come up with something clever, but nothing lands, not with those eyes piercing you. She keeps going.

“And I’m just saying,” she adds, tone dropping into a more persuasive and smooth version, “I have a reputation to uphold if I still want to get brand deals with HLE. What you get out of it, is a hyper competitive Nakko, one who gets so obsessed with beating my rank, that she won’t leave your side until she does.”

You cross your arms, trying to regain some footing. “So your plan is to get some random dude from a PC bang to coach you up to a meaningless rank in a videogame? Why not get someone with actual qualifications?”

“My plan,” she says, pointing at you again, “is to use you specifically to get a higher rank so I can get under her skin a bit because I fucking love teasing her.”

“Does it have to be me?“

“Yeah, kind of.“ Chaeyoung’s answer is so quick and so direct it makes you feel silly for asking, which is probably the point. “You’ve already proven you can get Nakko up there, and you’ve managed this entire conversation without turning into the worst fanboy. If it’s not you, it won’t work as well. Also, you’re easy on the eyes.“ She says it all with such calculated ease, the last part tacked on like an indulgence added on to a grocery list. The worst is that she doesn’t even look like she’s even remotely kidding.

You’re trying to hide your fluster. “You do realize we just met, right?“

“Yeah, but Nakko trusts you, so it’s probably fine.“

You actually laugh at that.

“So,” she says, tilting her head again, “you game?”

”Fine.” You sigh, then nod. “I’ll do it.”

There’s a lot to be said for all the horrible timelines this could create in where you fuck it all up. But you also know, deep down, this is the only way to move forward. No game-winning play was ever made without risk.

Chaeyoung’s smile is satisfied, like she was just waiting for you to catch up on how great of an idea this is. “Smart. Come on.“

Your instinct is to turn around, back into the colosseum of computers, but instead she starts walking briskly down the street, not even checking if you’re following. You have to jog a few steps just to catch up with her and her impossibly long legs.

“Where are we going?” you ask. Can’t assume anything with these idols after all.

She glances at you, then forward again. “Dorm. I wasn’t lying about the setups.”

You balk at that. “You’re just gonna let a random guy into your dorm?”

“Not a random guy,” she retorts. “My new coach. Try to keep up.“

“And I can’t be your new coach in a public setting? I’m not complaining, mind you.“

“Nope. Nakko might like it, but I hate PC bangs. Constant fear of people approaching me, having to wear this stupid disguise the entire team. I need to be in a good headspace to perform well, y’know?“

“If you were a prodigy, you wouldn’t be talking to me,” you shoot back.

“That’s… a surprisingly good instinct,“ you concede, matching her stride.

“See, I knew that deep down I’m a prodigy,“ Chaeyoung says, and you swear it’s accompanied with a smirk even with the mask in place.

“And if Nakko was gaming with you, you wouldn’t be talking to me.“

You wonder if this is normal for her—if she always is this comfortable and easy to banter with when meeting strangers.

She only lets a beat of silence linger. “Was that mean?“

“It wasn’t wrong.“

“Damn. At least you’re honest,” she says. “I can see how you’d be able to coach Nakko.“

“So.“ She glances over at you, “what’s your main?“

“Ahri,“ you say, and then regret it immediately, her stride stopping and looking at you like you just told her you’re actually three Teemo’s in a coat.

“Oh my god.“

“I take it you’re not the biggest fan of Ahri,” you question, and she’s quick to respond.

“No, I love Ahri. It’s the Ahri mains. They all either are perverts or think they’re hot shit,” she says, turning back on her heels and walking further. “I’m just trying to figure out which one you are.“

“What if I’m both?“ You raise an eyebrow.

She chuckles, and it’s a sound you could get used to. “Then you’re at least self-aware, and your coaching might work.“

“What about you then?“ you question back, seeing if hers is any better.

She strides further, and speaks filled with pride when she answers your question. “I main support. Seraphine.“

“Seriously?“

“Yeah, what about it?“

“That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?“ You take a beat. “Tall and pretty idol plays tall and pretty popstar champion.“

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?“ she taunts back, clearly unaffected by you trying to make fun of her.

“Isn’t that, like, a requirement for your job?” you volley back, but it’s mostly a stall for time, because this is… something. It’s barely been three minutes and you’re already having more fun than you ever had in solo queue.

“Just like it’s a requirement for my job to tell you that from now on,“ you continue, “you’re not a support main anymore. You main mid now, because otherwise this climb is going to take years.“

“You’re the boss,” she says, matter-of-fact.

The dorm building is exactly five minutes away, like advertised. It’s a newer building, the kind with a digital keylock outside and a tidy little lobby that smells like pine cleaner.

Chaeyoung ushers you in like it’s nothing, and leads you up through the world’s quietest elevator.

You brace yourself, not sure what to expect from a girlgroup dorm; glitter, maybe. Plushies and pastel everything. But the living room is minimalist, almost monastic and monochromatic save from some plants introducing color. Dark gray couches, a glass coffee table with a magazine on it, and a kitchen visible through a wide pass-through. There’s a bowl of instant noodles and a half finished fruit smoothie.

It feels unmistakably normal.

Chaeyoung’s stride doesn’t diminish as she steps out of her shoes and keeps moving. She beelines for the far end of the hallway, and you follow like she has an invisible leash tied to you.

Multiple doors line the walls, and she grabs the handle to the last one on the left. Chaeyoung makes a sharp turn towards you, blocking the frame with her body.

“Wait here,“ she says, holding her hand up to your chest to stop you from following. “I wanna put on something a little more comfortable. Don’t touch anything, don’t go snooping around any of the rooms, just…yeah. Stand there. Wait for me. Try to blend in.“

You nod, she smiles, and she’s disappeared into her room.

You hear a storm of movement inside; drawers, a closet door, some fabric rustling, all at a speed you couldn’t possibly keep up with. Images of her changing pop into your head, and you try to stop yourself from visualising it lest you make it obvious, but that’s a losing battle.

The lock on the door clicks—after barely any time passing—and the door cracks open just the slightest amount. “You can come in now.“

You step inside—and your brain lags.

She’s done away with anything that could hide her identity, but didn’t stop there. She’s swapped the hoodie and joggers for a sleeveless HLE merch top, no doubt customized herself. The whole look is finished with a dark pleated skirt, and black thigh-high socks that stop barely underneath her skirt.

“Is this, like, some kind of power move?“ you ask, because you can’t not. Who has this in mind when they mean something more comfortable?

She clocks you staring, and makes a big show of stretching her arms overhead with a level of comfortable confidence you thought would be reserved for being on stage. “Do you like it? I figured you’d be more motivated if I gave you something good to look at.“

You swallow like an idiot, then try to regain some control. “You’re missing the cliche cat ears.“

She bursts out into laughter, and takes a seat in the only chair available at her desk. Her computer boots up in a matter of seconds, and she’s already logging in to League of Legends.

She smirks, opens a drawer—which had a small plushie of Ahri on a keyring hanging from the handle, the hypocrite—in her white desk where she houses her entire gaming rig, which is all aggressively pink and white, and pulls a pair of headphones with cat ears attached to them. She jams them on her head and strikes a pose, curling her fingers like a cat at you. “Better?“

“Oh my god.“

“So, coach, how do you want to do this?“ The way she says it is so casual, and so full of trust. Nagyung would have thrown a wink in, or added some dirty undertone, but Chaeyoung is all business.

“You comfortable playing mid? I can coach you for support, but if you want to climb fast—“

“Are you sure you don’t want to duo with me? Show me how good you really are?“ she asks, and it feels like a test.

You don’t even consider it for a second. “Well, if you want to drop to silver the second I step out of your room again, we can. But if you want to actually have a shot at staying above Nagyung, I’ll just watch and tell you what you can improve on.“

“You know,” she says as she nods, and looks actually kind of impressed, “most guys like you would jump on the chance to impress me.“

“Yeah, well, most guys like me haven’t been through what I’ve been through with Nagyung. I think.“

Chaeyoung furrows her brow at that, but it quickly disappears as her queue pops. She gets mid, and hovers over Seraphine for a second, then turns to you. “So should I also play Ahri, or…?“

“Play what you’re comfortable with. Seraphine is fine mid.“

She sighs from relief, then locks in Seraphine. The loading screen reveals the harsh truth: she’s Silver III. Better than what Nagyung was two weeks ago, but not a starting point you can get to Gold in a couple of hours. Probably.

The next fifteen minutes are a crash course in how not to play mid. She eats a full Syndra combo when she steps up for a cannon minion, causing her to miss it. But you call her out on it, and it only happened one more time. She tries to roam bot with no prio, while her jungle is top side. Obviously, she dies as she gets collapsed on by the enemy jungle. You explain to her why that was a bad play.

To her credit, she never tilts. She just keeps talking through her thought process, narrating the inner machinations of a Silver.

You even get her far enough ahead to, somehow, win that first game. Her mechanics are sufficient enough for Gold, it’s just game knowledge that’s holding her back.

She clicks past the victory screen, points to her damage stat (highest in the team, thanks to some great coaching), and smugly turns towards you. “See? I told you. Prodigy.“

“Yeah, you only inted like two times—“

“Thank you! I knew you recognized real talent.“

“—per minute.“ You finish, after her premature gloating.

She looks at you for a second, standing next to her, then at her bed. “Are you planning on coaching me while standing the entire time? You’re allowed to sit, you know. The bed is right there.“

You don’t argue with her about it. Plop down on her bed, carefully, and the perfectly made sheets barely crumble under you.

Chaeyoung looks at you as if to check if you’re fine there, and you nod. She’s in a new game already, again mid, again Seraphine, and you settle back into a growingly familiar rhythm of watching her play and you pointing out every single mistake she makes.

You even develop your own little micro-language. You say “risky cannon“ and she knows to back the fuck off; she says “trust me“ and you already know she’s about to int.

It isn’t even all game talk. Well, that still happens (“Chaeyoung, don’t chase, you have no vision.” “That’s a bad trade, you’re sitting on 1.2k unspent gold.“) and she’ll grumble, but she listens. But between deaths, between queues, there’s time and space for you to get to know each other.

She’s just farming, and doesn’t even bother to look at you when she speaks half the time. “You know, you’re not really what I expected from you. You don’t fit the vibe of like, the awkward gamer crowd, I mean.“

“Should I take that as a compliment?“ you ask, skeptical.

She shrugs. “Sure, why not? Most of them are, like, the moment they figure out you’re an idol, they get either weirdly awkward or weirdly… reverent? Like my identity suddenly demanded for them to change. You didn’t blink.“

“Well, yeah, you were disguised,“ you point out.

“Please, don’t bullshit me. You totally recognized me.“ You can see her look at you from the corner of her eye, a smirk to go with it. “I saw the double take you did.“

“A benefit from hanging out with Nagyung, I guess?“

“Probably. Doesn’t make it less refreshing for me.“

She locks in for a moment, you give her the quiet she needs to focus—and much to your surprise, she actually makes a really good play all by herself. Solo kills the enemy laner. This time, she doesn’t gloat, but just picks up where you left off.

“So, you and Nakko,“ she says, while recalling under her turret. “How’d that even start?“

You give a noncommittal shrug, she doesn’t catch it because her eyes are glued to the monitor. “I honestly thought you already knew.“

She chuckles. “She hasn’t told me a single thing. All I know is what I saw with my own eyes while out gathering intel on why she was climbing so fast.“

“Oh. So what did you see?“

“I saw her plant a kiss on your cheek. Like, in public.“

“I mean, it’s not a big deal,“ you say, hoping the casual will stick.

“Not a big deal?“ She spins her chair, casual having the opposite effect. “That’s a fucking big deal for an idol, and that makes you clearly one step above a regular coach helping her score some elo. You know, any guy in your position would have been bragging about how big of a deal that is.“

“I’m sorry?“

“So that can only mean one thing. You’re already desensitized to it.“

She’s so fucking sharp. No wonder coaching her is this easy, she catches anything you say and don’t say.

“Oh, I don’t—“

“So what’s the story?“ she interrupts your pussyfooting around it. “You don’t strike me as the type to hit on random girls. No offense.“

You can’t help but think she’s not wrong about that. “She kind of… chose me. I was just there. Some random in her game was getting on her nerves, and I helped her shit stomp him.“

“Ah, that makes sense,“ Chaeyoung says, but her tone is a gentle breeze. “Did she tell you about her bucket list?“

You shake your head, but she doesn’t catch it again. You kind of feel like an idiot for it, and use your words to say the same.

“She made one when we were in between companies,“ Chaeyoung explains, as if this is her secret to reveal, somehow. “All the stuff she wants to do but couldn’t because of strict company rules and tight schedules. Like hitting diamond in League.“

“That’s… actually kind of adorable,“ you chuckle.

“She is, annoyingly so,“ Chaeyoung says, and there’s this fond tone that carries her voice. “She obsesses over these little goals she gives herself. I guess it’s her style of coping with… life, I guess. She’ll tunnel vision, and then, the second it’s done, she forgets all about it.“

You realize you felt that last bit firsthand. “I just thought she got bored. Or maybe I was getting boring.“

“Wow, you really are dense,“ Chaeyoung says, but not mean. Same fond tone. This time a little more pity carried with it, like she’s teasing a puppy for not knowing how mirrors work. “She probably likes you. Otherwise she would have never played with you a second time. Trust me.“

You want to protest, but the conviction in Chaeyoung’s voice makes you second guess your entire history with Nakko.

Her game ends—already on a three game win streak—and she doesn’t queue, instead, swivels in her chair to turn towards you. “So. What really happened? What got you so desensitized?“

You can’t look at her face. “It’s not a big deal.“

“You saying that makes it sound like a big deal,“ she says. “Which makes me want to figure out what exactly happened.“

“She has me on a proverbial leash, keeping me satisfied with occasional affection.“

She doesn’t look impressed. “That’s not it. I promise I’m not going to use it against you. Besides, Nakko told you to keep this all quiet, didn’t she? Who else do you have to brag to about all this?“

You hesitate, she just waits.

Then finally, because it’s been sitting in your chest for weeks and she’s right and she asked nicely which is a stupid fucking reason but still—

“She sucked my dick.”

She blinks.

You dig a deeper hole.

“First night we met. I think I caught her at a weird time. Helped her put some guy that was flaming her in his place. She sat in my lap, and said I deserved a reward. Under the desk. Mid-game. Even said that next time, she’d let me fuck her. Same place. Blanket over us, wanted me inside her while she played.“

Her lips part just slightly. Not from disgust. Not even shock. Just pure, stunned intrigue.

“Holy shit. Nakko really is running her bucket list at top speed.“ She tilts her head, considering you for all this. “And you didn’t even question it?“

“Have you taken a good look at Nagyung? There’s no universe where I say no to her,“ you admit. “And she’s good at it too. But it’s not like—“

“Man, she's been obsessed with wanting to try public stuff for, like, ever. Used to show me all these fucked up twitter threads and say, ‘Can you imagine?’ like it was a normal thing for girls like us to want.“

“Right. That helps explain it somewhat.“

“So like, you two have fucked already? Why the fuck are you still here?“ she questions, like you’re making a big mistake just being here.

“Oh. No, eh, no we haven’t. That part never came to be. After that first night, she just stuck to giving me kisses on my cheek and other innocent stuff.“

Chaeyoung squints at you like you’ve just missed eight skillshots in a row.

“She promised to let you fuck her while playing videogames, and then just downgraded to cheek kisses?“

“Yeah. I guess.”

“And you didn’t say anything?“

“What the hell was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, remember when you offered to fuck a stranger in a public setting? I was just wondering where that fits into your schedule’?“

Chaeyoung turns back toward her screen, but doesn’t click anything. You can see her thinking—eyebrows slightly pulled, a little too amused to be concerned, a little too concerned to be just amused.

Then she says, like it just occurred to her, “Okay, but like… what if it’s your dick?”

You look at her. “What?”

“I’m just saying.” She holds up both hands like she’s presenting a neutral hypothesis. “Maybe you’ve got a weird one, and it scared her off.”

You look at her, stunned. “What?“

“I’m just saying.“ She holds up both hands like she’s presenting a neutral hypothesis. “Maybe you’ve got a weird weiner, and it scared her off.“

“My dick’s not weird.“

“Pretty defensive for a dude with a normal dick.“

You cross your arms, retreating. “Because it’s a weird thing to say.“

“Is it though? Maybe it’s like, aggressively curved. Like a candy cane.“

“What?” You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “No.“

“That’s not a thing.“

“It might be,“ she responds, way too excited. “I’m just trying to help you out here dude, damn. Unbiased third party. I could take a look and confirm, if you want.“

“Just kidding!“ she says immediately. Then pauses with a confused look on her face. “Wait, what? You don’t want me to?“

“Absolutely not.“

She frowns. “Why not?“

“Because that’s insane.“

“I mean, yeah, but like, most guys would kill to show their dick to an idol.“

You’re a little flabbergasted. “Still, I don’t—“

“C’mon, I’m literally doing you a favor. For science. To clear your name.“

You stare at her. She stares at you.

“…I’m not showing you my dick.“

She leans forward, her sharp eyes wide now. “Come on. Just a peek. Just enough to say it’s not cursed. I won’t touch. Swear.“

You shake your head.

She pouts, lower lip out, voice pitch rising into her best aegyo whine. “But oppa, how will I sleep without having seen the world's weirdest dick?“

“That works for Nagyung. It doesn’t work for you.“

“Wow, rude?“ she says. “You’ll have to show me your dick now to make it up to me.“

You stand your ground. She crosses her arms.

“Fine,“ she huffs. “Then I guess I have to take a look myself.“

“Wait, what—“

She lunges. Releases an infinite duress upon you.

You try to resist, but it’s hard. She’s agile, quick and stronger than she looks. And you’re trying your best not to hurt her or grab anything inappropriate. She’s already halfway in your lap, having way too much fun, hands fumbling and grasping at your waistband.

“Stop—hey—Chaeyoung—“

“Just a peek! I need to know!“

You try to twist away, but you’re laughing now too, trying and failing to hold her off without elbowing her in the face. She’s relentless.

She gets her hand in your waistband and then the rest is a blur. You’re not fully hard, but she’s got you in a grip, and the effect is changing that quickly. Her face reads, at first, like she’s just won a claw machine prize—a flash of triumph, then a drop into fascination as she pushes the elastic down and your cock springs free, thick and long and heavy against her wrist.

She doesn’t even move for a full second, just—stares at it. Then her eyes flick up at you, then back down. She lets go and pokes at it experimentally, like she’s afraid it might lunge at her. “Oh my god,” she says, under her breath, but there’s no punchline this time.

“You were right,” she says, reverent, voice low. “It’s not weird at all. It’s just—” She cuts herself off, wrapping her fingers around the base like she’s limit testing what fits. “Jesus. It’s like, stupid big. I get it now.” She gives it a single, slow pump across the entire length, followed by two shallow and fast pumps. “I don’t know why you’d even try to hide this thing.“

You start to stammer out an apology, but she lets go, sits back, and watches as your cock slaps against your stomach, fully erect now and leaking at the tip. “Okay, so maybe,” she concedes, “Nagyung wasn’t running away from you, she was just… intimidated. Or maybe she didn’t want to die. Or she just wanted to properly seduce you so she could have you all to herself forever.”

You reach to pull your pants back up, but her hand swats yours away with cat-like reflexes. Her eyes flick up for just a second, before drifting back towards your tower. “What are you doing?“ she says, as if you’re the one acting crazy.

You try to muster a defensive laugh. “I figured you’d seen enough. Not a cursed cock, point proven, right?“

“Not cursed. Unbelievable,“ she mutters. “I had a phase, you know? Like, a legit size difference kink. Masturbating to any videos I could find online almost daily. Thought I got over it, but—“ She gives you another look, more hungry this time, one hand snaking around the base of your cock. “You might have just reactivated it.“

You cough, try to play it off, but your cock twitches in her grip and ruins any pretense that you’re unmoved by this.

She kneels between your legs, and looks up at you with her chin on your thigh. “Do you want me to stop?” she says, but the drip of her voice makes it obvious she doesn’t want you to. “Unless you only let Nakko touch you. There’s something respectable about that.” Her hand doesn’t move away, though.

“I mean—“ you begin, but she cuts you off. “Would be a shame though. I can stop, but you’re so hard right it feels a little rude to just put it away. It’s my fault after all.“

She leans in closer, studying the way your cock twitches under her gaze. “I mean… what if it’s bad for your health?“ she adds, deadpan, fully aware of her own bullshit with her face breaking into a smile luminous enough to bring you to your knees. So to speak.

She pumps you again, then lets her palm rest at the base, fingers splayed so she can appreciate the girth. “You’re not even trying to stop me,” she observes, voice dropping a half octave, which is more than enough to make any loyalty you had vaporize out of your body.

“Let it be known I actually did try. You’re just very convincing,“ you say.

You look down, and it’s a fucking beautiful sight. Her face is flushed, lips parted, pink tongue flicking at the corner of her mouth as she surveys your cock like a luxury item she’s been saving up for. You shake your head, just once.

Then, completely unselfconscious, she leans in and lays her cheek against your shaft, nuzzling it like it’s a plush toy. “It’s so warm.”

She rubs her cheek up and down your length, like the world’s most expensive back massager, sighing happily as she does it. Her palm doesn’t even move, just holds you, cradles you with all the care of an appraiser who just found a masterwork.

She’s not just teasing anymore; she’s shifted to full on stroking your cock up and down, two hands working in tandem.

“God, I can’t believe this,“ she murmurs, delighted. “I was gonna treat you to fried chicken as a thank you for coaching me, you know.“

“Right,“ you grunt out. “That would have been so generous of you.“

Her hand gives you a particularly firm tug. “Shut up! It’s not my fault. I saw your dick and what you did with Nakko and I just… lost the plot.“

She shifts her angle, one hand taking control over your base, and slaps your shaft playfully against her cheek. Once at first, then twice, maybe three times—each making a soft sound against her skin. Your cock is making a reverberating sound against the cheek of a famous idol.

She giggles with each one. “So like, Nakko only gives you kisses on your cheek now, right?“ she muses, eyes sparkling as she taps the tip against her cheekbone again. “How’s it feel letting your dick do the kissing for once?“

It’s obscene.

“Tell me… did she kiss you like this?“ she asks, and leans in, lips pursed against your tip, sloppy and wet and perfect as she presses one, two, three kisses onto you. “Hmm?“

Her tongue flattens out against you as she keeps pressing kisses, and soon it’s a flood—dozens, hundreds, affectionate and endless. She smears her lip gloss across your skin with every press of her mouth.

“C’mon,” she whispers, breath hot against you between kisses. “Whose kisses do you like better?”

This is bait, but you have no vision and you just need to know what happens if you step into it. You try to answer but she doesn’t give you the space. Her lips are everywhere, dotting kisses around the crown, along the shaft, over your slit like she’s worshiping it one kiss at a time.

She’s totally absorbed, the kind of focus you recognize from locking the fuck in to carry a teamfight. That’s not all you notice. She giggles, wipes her chin, and gives a couple more pumps before showering you with open-mouthed kisses again. Then she sits up onto her knees, wipes her palms on the hem of her skirt and inches beneath it.

Chaeyoung’s hand is moving inside, fingers clearly working herself as she looks at you with animal intent.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I had anyone touch me?” she asks, but it’s rhetorical, because her eyes are lustful, her free hand alternating between jerking you off and bracing herself against your thigh.

“You know, technically, you’re doing all the touching,“ you moan back, eyes only half open with a forced smirk.

She pulls her hand out of her cunt, glistening, and brings it up to your mouth, presses her fingers to your lips. “Lick. Please.“

You happily oblige. Her taste is tangy, sticky, unmistakably real—the kind of real you can’t even try to reproduce with the highest end computer builds. Chaeyoung smiles with a constricting satisfaction that doesn’t need to be spoken.

“Good boy,“ she says, velvet and equally sticky as her taste. “Nakko’s been blueballing you, hasn’t she?“

You try to protest—something, anything—but the words don’t come out. Your mouth is still full of her fingers, and she only slowly, teasingly withdraws them, watching your lips chase after the taste as she does.

“I bet you’ve been hoping to get another taste of her every single day you played with her, didn’t you?“

She stands up just enough to trail her fingers along your inner thighs, a line of slick being painted across them. “You’ve been walking around with this for weeks, and Nagyung never even gave you another handjob or anything? Your poor cock must feel so neglected.“

You’re about to answer when she lifts her shirt, exposing her tits and the absence of a bra. This must have been a part of changing into something more comfortable. Your jaw nearly hits the floor at the sight of her peaky nipples, and she gives you a look that tells you she knows you can’t look away.

“Are you just going to stare at them?” she says, fingers clutching the hem of her shirt so the fabric stays barely underneath her neck, as if she’s worried they’ll leap out and attack you. “I thought you Ahri players were supposed to be aggressive.”

You reach, not even pretending otherwise, and cup one in your hand. It’s firm, impossibly soft, the weight of it perfect in your palm. Her nipple is already hard. You run your thumb over it experimentally, and she sighs, eyelids fluttering as if you’d cast Exhaust on her brain.

You play like that for a few seconds, mentally comparing them to Nagyung’s but taking that thought to the grave, and then ask, “Can I suck on them?“

She looks down, one eye closed, the other hooded looking at you but struggling to stay open, before nodding.

The sight and permission hits you like a Rift Herald charge.

You get maybe a second with your mouth on her nipple—just long enough for your tongue to flick over the peak, for your lips to draw a soft gasp from her—before she laughs, pushes you back by the forehead, and pinches your cheek.

“Down, boy,” Chaeyoung says, smirk back in full effect. “You can have more later. Maybe. If you’re a good coach and don’t blow your load in the first minute.”

You’re dick twitches. “First minute?“

“I mean, look at you,” she says. “You’re aching. You’ve been hard since I laid eyes on it. Don’t you want to know how tight I feel with you inside of me? Not your imagination. Not what Nakko said she’d give you. Me. For real.”

“Are you being serious right now?“ you ask.

“You want to, don’t you?“ she whispers. “Because I fucking need to. The size, the stretch—fuck, I want it.“

“Of course I fucking want to. I’m pretty sure every guy ever has wanted to know how tight someone like you feels.“

“Someone like me?“ she asks, raised eyebrow and all. And now you have to be careful.

“Yeah I mean. You know. An idol. Body honed to perfection and all that,“ you blurt out, failing at your one single objective.

“God,“ she chuckles wryly. “You are so lucky you activated my kink like a fucking sleeper agent. You need a coach for flirting.“

You swallow. Your cock twitches again, visible and obvious.

“Say something,” she murmurs. “Tell me you want it too.”

“I do,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “God, I do.”

She smiles—messy and relieved and impossibly turned on.

“I still haven’t hit Gold,” she says. “You promised to help. And I take promises very seriously. So I guess I just have to take responsibility for Nakko’s promise, don’t I?”

You’re thinking of what your next move should be, you know, to prove you’re not completely hopeless at flirting, and she has the audacity to let her tits bounce right in your face as she drops her ass back in her chair. She spreads her legs slowly, her skirt riding up, her underwear already gone (when the fuck did she take them off?), and you realize, with a sudden, sharp clarity, that she’s going to make good on Nagyung’s promise before her. Raw, right here, right now, in front of her computer, and you’re powerless to stop any of it.

Your next move should be to take charge, maybe get up and throw her onto the bed, or at least fuck her standing up so you can pretend you’re in control. Instead, you just look at her, hunched over her desk, skirt flipped up, ass pointed straight at you and a sopping wet slit practically begging for your attention.

She beckons you closer without a word, one hand resting at the top of her thigh, the other adjusting her headphones with cat ears like it’s part of the uniform. You step forward, but she’s already standing, stepping out of her chair, motioning for you to take it. You do, because what else would you do, and the warm indent of her body lingers in the cushion.

She reaches under the desk—no, wait, she’s grabbing something from the side—and with a practiced flourish, she pulls out a thick, fleece blanket and drapes it over both of your laps. “Have to give you the full experience, don’t I?” she says, as if this is all strictly professional.

She doesn’t ride you right away. Instead, she sits on your lap, back to you, skirt flipped up and her bare ass settled right against your cock. She’s warm, absurdly so, and the contact is enough to make you forget all common sense. She shimmies, grinding against you as she clicks back into League, the game humming to life and projecting doom.

“Don’t get comfortable just yet,” she says, and she leans forward, arms extended over to the keyboard and mouse, the whole pose pretentious and theatrical to draw your attention to the perfect arch of her back, the way her ass keeps her skirt nice and rumpled above her hips.

She lifts herself up, glances over her shoulder at you, one eyebrow raised, braces her hands on the armrests of her chair, and then—as fast as she can take it, which is excruciatingly slow—starts lowering herself gently onto your cock. The friction isn’t the issue, she’s so wet it was barely a thought. It’s the tightness.

The first inch is easy, and then there’s resistance, and then she’s shuddering with a full-body tremor as she takes another two. She pauses, breathing hard, eyes shut tight beneath the cat-eared headphones and the smirk that lets you know she still loves it.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, and it’s not performative, not for your benefit. She opens her eyes, gives you a look that’s half smug and half pleading, and then keeps going, lowering herself inch by inch, using her thighs to steady herself on you. You want to help her, but she’s got it handled. She’s so tight you’re worried you might actually break her, but it feels so fucking good you don’t care if you do.

She bottoms out with a gasp, her ass planted firmly against your hips, your cock buried so deep in her you can feel her heartbeat at the tip. She doesn’t move at first, her leg muscles spasming slightly against your thighs and breathing through her nose like she’s trying not to pass out.

“Are you good?“ you ask, hoping the answer is yeah because you can’t wait to start pounding up into her.

“I’m amazing,” she says, “you’re a perfect fit.“ She glances back at you again, lips curled up in a feline smile. “Don’t move. I need to get used to being your cockwarmer first.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod, jaw clenched as you try not to explode instantly. The blanket is doing its job, covering you both from the waist down, but the sight of her back, the motion of her hands as she readies the mouse and keyboard, is almost too much.

She logs back into League, queueing up for another game. You think you’re going to get a second to recover, but as soon as she’s loaded in, she starts to grind, subtle at first—tiny, controlled movements, her cunt massaging your cock in slow, deliberate pulses.

“Chaeyoung—” you manage, but she hushes you.

“I need to focus if I’m going to climb,” she says, but her hand reaches back and grabs your wrist, placing it on her thigh. “You can touch, just don’t distract me too much. And definitely don’t stop coaching me.”

You’re going to int. So is she. That’s just part of the deal now. You let your hand drift to the bare skin of her thigh, fingers slipping just under the edge of her sock and squeezing to hold on. She flexes her leg against your palm, then keeps playing, her body still rocking on your cock in the slow, torturous rhythm that’s going to kill you before the game even starts.

You try to watch the screen, see what she’s doing. She’s locked in Seraphine mid again, and you can actually tell she’s improved—her laning is cleaner, she’s dodging more skillshots, but every time she takes a trade, she clenches around you, and you have to bite back a groan.

That’s all you needed to hear. You begin slow, hands firmly gripping her hips, lifting her only slightly and slowly pushing into her, shallowly, just enough to make her know what she signed up for. She keeps playing, but her focus starts to drift, movements growing less precise, skillshots occasionally way off target. You don’t stay that nice though.

You’re not doing a great job of coaching. You’re just grunting, hands squeezing her thighs, occasionally daring to sneak under her skirt, ghosting her abs but no higher. She’s just grinding on you in sync with the action on her screen. It doesn’t really matter. Anytime you try to give her advice now, she doesn’t listen. She’s just enjoying the feeling of you inside her, molding around you, using your cock as a reward system for every good play she makes.

Laning phase ends, she doesn’t have to constantly focus on last hitting minions and wave control, so she leans back, rests her head on your shoulder as her eyes go skyward looking for you, and whispers into your ear, “You can start moving now if you want, Coach.“

You fuck her through a teamfight, already pounding half of your cocks worth in and out of her each thrust, the wet heat of her cunt milking you for all you’re worth, and when she misses a perfect ult opportunity, you lose control and slam into her with a force that nearly knocks her off the chair.

She squeals, high-pitched and utterly un-idol-like, then clamps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as she looks at you. “You’re going to make me lose,” she protests, but she’s smiling, her cheeks flushed and her whole body vibrating with pleasure.

Another victory screen pops up. This one, less deserved. She doesn’t queue for another one, just hangs her head and finds your rhythm.

Chaeyoung’s head is thrown back onto your shoulder now, her breathing coming fast and uneven, and she’s not even pretending to care about the computer anymore. Her thighs are flexing with every bounce, her hands bracing on your knees as she fucks herself down onto you, greedy and desperate and still so tight you can barely move without seeing stars.

She’s moaning in sync with the rhythm of your hips, biting her lower lip to keep it from being audible beyond the walls. Your hands have abandoned all pretense and are everywhere: on her hips, on her tits, on her throat, and back to her thighs, where you squeeze so hard you’re sure to leave marks. She’s loving every second, and the closer you get, the more she grinds back onto you, desperate, greedy, relentless.

You’re so close. She is too—her voice has gone all high and shaky, little moans slipping out after every thrust, and you can feel her cunt start to flutter around you, the beginning of something huge.

You’re about to say something, anything, when the apartment’s outer door thunders open. There’s a thud, the jangle of keys, and then—Nagyung’s voice, bright and echoey from the foyer:

“Chaeng! Are you home? I brought the chicken you asked for!” A rustle, and again, “Chaeng?”

You freeze, but Chaeyoung doesn’t. She rides you harder, her ass clapping down on your lap with new urgency, and she doesn’t even look back as she hisses, “Just be quiet. It’s fine.”

You panic like you’ve been caught in a spotlight, but Chaeyoung just grinds down harder, one hand reaching back to clamp over your mouth. “Don’t stop,” she whispers “I’m so fucking close. ”

You’re not sure you could if you wanted to. The blanket, thank god, is still perfectly in place. Your cock is buried to the hilt in her, and your collective shame is the only thing keeping you both from screaming.

Chaeyoung is breathing so shallow you can see her ribs move. She slumps down into the chair, planting herself even deeper on your cock, grinding her ass in tiny circles to make it look like she’s just sitting, not impaled.

You want to believe it’ll work. You really do.

The door to Chaeyoung’s room swings open. Nagyung stands in the doorway, holding a convenience store bag in one hand and an iced coffee in the other, her hair tied up in a ponytail, a grey hoodie with a white fitted tank, matching grey gym shorts and thigh highs in the same hue to tie it all together..

All three of you freeze. Time stops, or maybe just slows down to the frame rate of a lagging game.

Nagyung blinks at you. Then at Chaeyoung. Then at the space between you. Her mouth forms a small, perfect circle.

“Oh,” she says. “You’re here.”

You open your mouth, but words don’t come.

She takes in the scene: Chaeyoung in your lap, her hands holding the desk, the two of you covered in a blanket even though it’s twenty-six degrees in the apartment. Her eyes narrow, the gears clicking into place.

“Why are you here?”

Chaeyoung sheepishly chimes in. “Nakko, you’re back earlier than I expected.”

“No, Chaeyoung,” she says, crossing her arms, “I’m actually later than I said I would be.”

Chaeyoung’s face twists into an expression you’ve never seen, not even mid-death streak—something between panic and orgasm, which, given the circumstances, might not be all that different. The wince is a full-body thing, and she inadvertently clamps down on you, squeezing so tight it’s like a heartbeat in reverse. Your hips jerk upward just as you try to freeze, and she grinds herself down to bury the evidence, but the blanket bunches and shifts awkwardly.

Nagyung’s gaze tracks the movement. First your face, then Chaeyoung’s, then the blanket, and finally to your lap—where the blanket has failed to hide the shuddering motion of your hips or the way Chaeyoung’s thighs are flush to yours, the tiniest flash of bare skin peeking out as the blanket rides up.

You try to say something, anything, but your entire vocabulary is being squeezed out of you by the girl in your lap.

Nagyung’s gaze slides down, zeroes in, and her nostrils flare. She takes a step closer, tosses the convenience bag on the bed, and points directly at the blanket like she just called a ward in the brush. “What’s under there?”

You start to answer, but Chaeyoung, who hasn’t let you go for a second, turns in your lap and tries to play it off, “I got cold.” She says it so flatly, so unconvincingly, that it lands like a failed flash.

“Take it off,” Nagyung says, tone flat, the kind of command that makes you wonder if you should salute. She’s not speaking to Chaeyoung. She’s speaking to you.

“Excuse me?” Chaeyoung tries to play dumb, ducking her chin into her own shoulder, which only makes her look more caught.

Nagyung drops her grocery bag on the bed. Iced coffee gets put down on the desk. She steps forward, all five feet nothing of her, and yanks the blanket away without warning.

The moment has a physics to it. The blanket peels off, and the tableau is revealed: Chaeyoung’s skirt bunched up, your cock visibly splitting her in half, every inch of you glistening and wet and so deep you can see the outline of your tip against her stomach. Your hands white-knuckled on her hips, her own fingers digging into the armrests for leverage. You’re both so red-faced you look like you’ve just run suicides.

Nagyung’s mouth doesn’t move. Her mask of a face doesn’t even twitch. She just stares.

Neither of you know what to do. Chaeyoung goes to stand, to get off your lap, but Nagyung steps forward and pins her in place with a single, tiny palm on her shoulder.

“Don’t move,” she says, and the command is so final, Chaeyoung shudders and obeys.

Nagyung circles you both, walks around the chair like she’s examining a new champion in the loading screen. Her eyes never leave the place where you’re joined with Chaeyoung. She’s breathing hard, her lips parted, tongue flicking out to wet them, and you realize she’s not mad. Not even a little. She’s jealous. Insanely, violently jealous.

“Are you mad?” Chaeyoung asks, still impaled, already inching up and down with tiny, slutty movements.

“I’m not mad! I’m just—” She looks down at the blanket, then at your face, then at Chaeyoung’s, like she’s running a system diagnostic and the results are inconclusive.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to coach me again tonight,” she says, voice trembling, “but you’re already inside Chae.”

The air in the room is thick with confusion and new possibilities. You try to apologize, but Nagyung just shushes you with a wave. “You were supposed to wait for me, you know. I was finally almost ready.”

You can’t even process that. “Ready for what?”

She ignores the question, instead focusing her attention on Chaeyoung. “And you, Kkwaeng, you couldn’t wait until I hit Platinum before stealing my coach? You’re unbelievable.”

She walks over, kneels in front of the chair, and looks up at the two of you. She reaches out, puts her hand on your thigh, right next to where you’re joined with Chaeyoung, and gives you a look that is pure confusion mixed with a kind of desperate curiosity.

“Does it feel good?” she asks Chaeyoung, her voice a whisper now.

Chaeyoung, mid-orgasmic crisis, manages a shaky nod. “It’s… a lot.”

She leans in, and in her snarkiest voice, says, “That’s my spot, you know.”

You can’t help yourself. “What were you almost ready for?” you blurt, cutting through the tension, because all your blood is below your brain and you need to know.

Nagyung looks up at you, eyes wide and then immediately rolling like she’s never been so offended by a question in her life. “God, you’re so—” She huffs, reaches up, and flicks your forehead, hard enough to sting. “What do you think I meant, genius?”

You stare at her, mouth open, and she shakes her head, exasperated. “You really are dense. I was getting ready, dumbass.” And then, as if this is more humiliating than anything else in the room, she mumbles, “I literally spent the last week stretching myself out with toys, every night, so I could take you for real this time.”

You blink. Then blink again. “You’ve been training for this?”

Chaeyoung, who’s been half-impaled and quietly losing her mind the whole time, bursts out laughing. “Holy shit, it was your cock! Nakko, You’re such a tryhard. I love it.”

Nagyung scowls at her, then at you. “And I had to time my period, too! I’m already taking enough risk sneaking into a PC bang, I’m sure as fuck not getting busted smuggling a condom into one.” She flicks your forehead again, softer this time, but the point lands.

You try to recalibrate your entire understanding of the last two weeks. “You just… didn’t want to say any of that?”

“I didn’t want to sound like a pervert,” Nagyung mutters, cheeks hot pink now, “even if I am one.” She glances at Chaeyoung, who is still fighting not to break character and cackle again. It’s clearly landing a lot more serious than Chaeyoung thought.

“I also wanted to be first,” Nagyung says. She looks down now, lower lip quivering in a way that is both adorable and heartbreaking at the same time. Chaeyoung’s demeanor instantly switches.

“We can stop,” she says, halting all movements.

“It’s too late for that now.” Nagyung looks back, and she crafts this devilish little smile in an instant. “But you are making it up to me.”

Chaeyoung and you share a look, then both look down at Nagyung, who is now on her knees, her face inches from where you’re joined.

“Can I…?” she asks, and you have no idea what she’s about to do, but you nod, because frankly, she could ask you for anything and you’d say yes.

Nagyung leans forward, and, with a delicacy you did not know she possessed, presses her lips to the spot where your cock meets Chaeyoung’s pussy. She kisses the place where you’re joined, then lets her tongue flick out, just a little, tasting the mix of her rival and you.

She licks again, slower this time, savoring it, never breaking eye contact with Chaeyoung, who looks like she might either faint or melt off your lap entirely. Then, with a gentleness that makes your toes curl, Nagyung runs her tongue the length of your shaft where you’re buried in Chaeyoung, tracing along the seam, lapping up the mixture of slick and sweat, never flinching at the taste of her rival.

Chaeyoung shudders, her head thrown back in shock, but she doesn't move—a statue, trembling with effort, as if moving would break the spell and send her body into a thousand pieces.

Nagyung looks up at Chaeyoung, her eyes glassy and wild. “This isn’t what I expected when you told me you’d be stuffing yourself right now.“

Chaeyoung clutches the armrests, barely able to keep her eyes open as she looks at Nagyung. “I’d share, but I’m just too full to move right now,“ she somehow manages to breathe out with her last bits of smugness, her head lolling back against your shoulder.

Nagyung’s tongue darts out, stronger this time, bold and demanding. She works the clit in tight little circles, her thumb pressing in counterpoint to her tongue, then moves up to Chaeyoung’s stomach, trailing slick fingerprints up her abs while her lips never leave the pressure point. She holds Chaeyoung’s gaze for a second, then leans in and, with a soft click, bites Chaeyoung’s clit, just barely, just enough to send a shockwave through her.

You look down and see her there, on her knees, worshipping the place where you and Chaeyoung are connected, her own thighs squeezed together so tight you’re not sure if she’ll break or combust.

“Holy fuck, Nakko, you’re going to kill me,” Chaeyoung whimpers, voice almost feather-light, eyelids fluttering in disbelief.

Nagyung hums as if to say, “You deserve it, you slut,” and you feel the vibration run through both of you.

She shifts her position, brings her hand between her own legs, and you realize, with an embarrassing thrill, that she’s been touching herself the whole time. Not lazily, not distractedly—she’s two knuckles deep in her own cunt, rubbing herself raw while she devours the sight of Chaeyoung writhing in your lap.

Nagyung pulls back, just for a second, and looks up at you. “Don’t you dare finish before her,” she says, voice low and serious. Then she returns to her work, attacking the vulnerable, trembling bundle of nerves between Chaeyoung’s legs with a new level of focus.

You do your best to help. You steady Chaeyoung’s hips, thrusting up into her with controlled, shallow movements, making sure you don’t go too hard and ruin the moment. You want to cum—you need to—but you want to see how this plays out even more. Mostly you just want to survive. So you try not to black out from the pressure building in your balls. Every time Nagyung’s tongue flicks just right, Chaeyoung’s cunt clamps down on you so tight you see stars, real stars, not the kind working your dick right now.

Chaeyoung’s moaning now, high and whiny and desperate, her hands no longer on the desk but in your hair, pulling you closer, her whole body arched back and trembling. She tries to keep her composure, but Nagyung’s mouth is too much. Her fingers leave deep grooves in your thigh, her head locked back, and she starts cursing profanities that would get her chat banned for life.

Nagyung redoubles her efforts, sucking hard at her clit while her other hand finds Chaeyoung’s breast, pinching the nipple between slick fingers and twisting it, hard, just as she gives her clit another bite.

And that’s it. Chaeyoung explodes, her cunt clamping down on your cock like a vice, her whole body shuddering as she sobs out a laugh-cry into the air. You’re not even sure if the tears in her eyes are from pain or pleasure, but she’s definitely not faking it. She has to physically push herself off your cock before she passes out from the aftershocks. Nagyung sits back on her heels, panting, eyes shining, her mouth and chin a fucking mess.

Chaeyoung collapses forward, forehead thumping against the desk, her body still twitching with aftershocks, and you’re left bleeding precum down your shaft and desperate for release.

Nagyung stands up, wipes her mouth, and looks at you, triumphant. “Don’t disappoint me now, oppa,” she whispers, then gently pushes Chaeyoung off your cock. Chaeyoung slides to the floor, legs splayed, skirt bunched up around her waist, and stares up at the two of you with a dazed, fucked-dumb look that is equal parts awe and admiration.

She doesn’t waste a single second. She peels off her shorts in one smooth motion, crumples her white top above her tits, and straddles you—facing you, because there’s no way in hell she’s not going to look you in the eye while she takes what’s hers.

“Don’t cum,” she says, grabbing your cock and stroking it, getting it slick and shiny with the mix of all three of you. “Not until I say.”

You nod, but you’re not sure you can even speak.

She lines you up, then sinks down in one smooth, practiced motion—fucking herself onto you, slow and soft, like she’s scared to break but eager to find out. She gasps as the head pops inside her, then pushes down, taking more and more with each bounce, until her ass is flush against your thighs and your cock is buried to the hilt.

She doesn’t move at first. She just sits there, shivering, adjusting to the stretch, her hands braced on your shoulders. Then she starts to rock, slow at first, then faster, using her legs and core to ride you with perfect control.

She’s even tighter than Chaeyoung, her walls fluttering and spasming around your cock like she’s cumming a little bit with every thrust. The tip of your cock brushes her cervix and she whimpers, clutching at your shirt with both hands.

You look down and see Chaeyoung on the floor, watching the two of you with glazed eyes, one hand in between her legs and the other propping her up. She’s already fingering herself again, never taking her eyes off the place where you’re spearing Nagyung like she’s built to take it. She catches your gaze, gives you a lazy wink, and mouths, “Don’t let her win.”

Nagyung hears, and looks at you like you’ve made a huge mistake looking at anything but her right now. “Don’t hold back,” she commands, and you don’t. You bounce her in your lap, meeting her thrust for thrust, your hands gripping her ass hard enough to leave marks. Her hair is wild, her eyes wild, her whole body going taut with every slam.

You lose all sense of self. You fuck her, a lethal tempo, and she takes it, meeting every thrust with a hunger that’s been unfulfilled for weeks. She leans in, kisses you—full on the mouth for the first time, her tongue invading, desperate and sloppy. She tastes like coffee, like oxygen, like your new favorite flavor. She’s not giving you an inch, chasing after every sensation you have to offer, trying to catch up to you, and only then do you realize.

She wants to cum exactly when you do.

“I’m gonna cum,” you warn, and both girls react instantly. Chaeyoung reaches over and slides her fingers over Nagyung’s clit, rubbing it in hard, fast circles; Nagyung digs her nails into your shoulders at the sudden added sensations, leans in, and bites your neck, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to mark you.

You don’t even try to last. The tension, the jealousy, the weeks of being edged by Nagyung’s games—you grip her hips, slam her down, and explode, filling her with everything you’ve been holding back for weeks. She cums the moment you do, her cunt spasming around your cock, her body pressed tight to yours as she shakes and cries out, voice muffled by your shoulder.

The release is blinding. You can feel yourself pumping, her pussy milking it out of you, her whole body turned to jelly in your arms. When it’s over, she goes limp, collapsing against your chest, breathing so hard you think she might hyperventilate.

You hold her, stroking her back, and look down at Chaeyoung, who’s now on her knees sitting next to you both. She brings her face up to where Nagyung’s pussy is still stuffed full of your cock, and without hesitation, licks at the place where you’re joined, catching every glob of your cum that leaks out.

Nagyung groans, and you realize she’s still trembling, her body refusing to come down from the high. She lifts her head, looks at you, and for the first time, she doesn’t look like she’s about to bite your head off. She looks happy. Then she looks at Chaeyoung, leans in, cups her chin and pulls her up, and shares a kiss, cum and all, right in front of you.

It’s not a competition anymore. It’s a fucking alliance. And you’re just the coach who got lucky enough to make the playoffs.

You and Nagyung both feel yourself shrinking inside of her, and she stands up—albeit wobbly—and shuffles herself over to the bed, with you in tow, and collapses as soon as she’s in reach. You lie down next to her, and she tucks herself under your arm, head on your chest, and Chaeyoung flops down on your other side and does the same, all three of you wrapped up together like it’s the only arrangement that makes sense. You don’t talk about what just happened. You don’t need to.

Nagyung falls asleep first, out cold in seconds, arm slung across your stomach and her leg tangled with yours. You stare at the ceiling, and after a while, you feel Chaeyoung’s fingers tracing lazy shapes on your bare chest.

“You know,” she says, voice low and serious for once, “Nakko’s going to want to do this again.”

You turn to look at her. “Do what? This?” You gesture at the disaster zone you’ve collectively made of her sheets, the aftermath worse than a teamfight resulting in a double ace.

She grins. “All of it. Competition, games, whatever this is.” She runs her hand up to your face, brushing hair off your forehead. “You’re the first person who’s been more than a one-time-only type of deal. She’s never going to let you go now.”

“For the record, I don’t plan on running,” you say.

“Good,” she says, and kisses you, slow and warm and final. “Because I kind of like having you around, too.”

It’s strange, but you smile, fingers ghosting Nagyung’s back in soft circles as you kiss Chaeyoung back, and give in, letting yourself drift to sleep, the warmth of their bodies melting away any worries.

—

You wake up and it’s still night. No surprise with how early you all dozed off for a nap. You’re alone in the bed, but you can hear the giggling from the kitchen, the beeping of a microwave, and the unmistakable absence of a bag filled with fried chicken.

You stumble out, but not before getting dressed, and see both girls at the table, Chaeyoung filling her plate with food, both already changed into their pajamas but traces of your adventure still etched in places that you can find if you know where to search for them.

Nagyung looks up at you, mouth full, and points her chopsticks at the empty chair. “Come eat,” she says, as if that’s all you ever needed to do.

But before you even take a seat, Nagyung holds a finger to her lips and points over her shoulder at the hallway. “Shh,” she says, voice all soft and deadly serious, “everyone else is home.” You freeze, heart plummeting. She rolls her eyes at your panic, then breaks into a grin. “Jiwon, Hayoung, and Jiheon all came back while you were sleeping. They’re in their rooms. You have to be quiet. Like, actually quiet. Or you die.”

You look at Chaeyoung for any hints of sincerity, a subtle but desperate shift of your eyes. She just shrugs and devours another chicken wing. “Don’t freak out, dude,” she says, wholly unconcerned as she licks hot sauce from her fingers. “They know you’re here. If you want to stay the night, just do it.“ She grins, and offers you an iced americano with all the ice melted.

“Yeah. It’s not like they’ll care,” Nagyung adds, almost—almost—rolling her eyes. “Unless you wake them up. Then they care a lot.”

You’re not sure how to respond to this new paradigm where spending the night in a K-pop girl group’s dorm is less scandalous than laughing at the absurdity of being in this place, so you just do what you’re told and sit down.

The conversation stays light, almost mundane: which role is hardest to climb with (they’re both convinced it’s theirs), taking bets on whether or not you’re also good at Overwatch, which guy from HEARTSTEEL is the hottest. At some point, Nagyung leans over and picks a stray crumb from your cheek, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and you realize you’ve crossed a line you didn’t know existed. You feel less like a one-night stand and more like a regular, an accepted variable in their dissonant, beautiful balance.

“So, coach,” Chaeyoung says, smirking as Nagyung curls into your other side, “when’s our next practice?”

#chaeyoung smut #nagyung smut #fromis_9 smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader #reader x idol #reader insert

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