#she really said ‘okay’ to that and then. didn’t. lol

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 8

paige x azzi

warning: mentions blood, fighting

word count: 8.9k

a/n: hi guys 🫣 so sorry for leaving you on a cliffhanger last chapter but it needed to be done lol. i hope this chapter brings you a little comfort as much as it’ll make you sick to your stomach! i was harassed to post without minimal proof reading so please let me know if there’s any mistakes. like always feel free to leave comments, reactions or ideas 🫶🏼

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Azzi laid curled in Paige’s bed, the usually warm sheets cold around her, with the smell of Paige lingering heavily in the fabric. Tears silently slipped down her cheeks, soaking into the pillow as she stared across the empty space all night.

She got up and left at the first sight of sunrise that morning after taking a long shower and putting on some of Paige’s clothes. Before leaving she grabbed Paige’s spare set of keys not wanting to leave her house unlocked.

Three days passed before Azzi had calmed her mind enough to format a few texts but they went undelivered meaning Paige’s phone was off. So Azzi tried to be patient. She told herself that Paige needed space just like she’d taken herself three days before reaching out. Told herself that maybe she was in the gym every hour of every day again, working through whatever was sure to be going on in her head. But by day six, it felt like the silence was clawing at her throat and she felt sick knowing she played a part in whatever Paige was feeling.

When Cam’s name lit up her phone on day six, Azzi swiped to answer it immediately.

“Hey,” she said, her voice completely horse after not using it for days.

“You okay?” Cam asked tentatively.

“Yeah…Have you heard from Paige?”

Cam paused. “No. I was actually calling to ask you that. I think her dumbass broke her phone again or something; none of my texts are going through and my calls are going straight to voicemail.”

Azzi’s stomach lurched when she realized Cam didn’t know anything either. “We got into a fight,” she said quietly, her eyes locking on the far corner of the room so they didn’t start glossing over again. She really didn’t have the energy to cry anymore. “A few nights ago. Almost a week.”

She could hear Cam shifting on the other end of the line. “What kind of fight?”

Azzi let out a humorless laugh. She knew she was being a little rude but God it felt like a stupid ass question. “A fight, Cam. What do you mean what kind?”

Cam was quiet for a moment and Azzi could feel the tension building through the phone in that silence.

“I just…I need details. Whatever you wanna give me so I know what’s going on with her,” Cam said her voice strung a little tight. “Paige doesn’t turn her phone off like this. Yes she get’s upset and goes MIA but I always know where she is, she always at least checks in.”

Azzi closed her eyes, wiping at the tear that dropped to her cheek harshly. “She was in her gym when I showed up late to her house. She was already…not okay. Frustrated.”

“Ok and what happened?”

“I tried to get her to come inside and we went back and forth for a little bit…I brought up the club and she got defensive so I got frustrated. It just spiraled before I could figure out what was going on in my head.”

Cam stayed silent as she listened to what happened.

Azzi’s voice cracked. “I fucking flinched, Cam.”

Cam blinked on the other end confused. “What? What do you mean?”

Azzi covered her face trying to stop the tears, she was so fucking tired of crying. “She was trying to calm things down saying she didn’t wanna fight and she reached for me, wanted to grab my face like she always does…she does it everyday Cam.” She chokes back a sob before continuing. “But I flinched before she could even touch me.”

The line was quiet so Azzi just kept going, talking about it for the first time.

“She didn’t even do anything wrong, Cam. She was just trying to stop the fight before it got bad,” Azzi whispered. “And I flinched like I thought she was going to hurt me. The way she looked after that…” Azzi let out a choked breath. “She looked so…broken. Like I destroyed her. Like she couldn’t believe I thought she could ever…” She didn’t finish the sentence as she sucked in a deep breath.

Cam exhaled slowly, her own worry starting to rise knowing how Paige was. “Fuck.”

“I swear to God I know she’d never hurt me,” Azzi said. “I swear I know. I just wasn’t thinking and everything happened so fast.”

Cam didn’t say anything for a few moments then she said, “I’m coming over.”

“Cam—”

“I’m coming Azzi. I’ll be there in twenty.”

Azzi didn’t bother to argue with her, she didn’t have the energy to be honest. She just sat on the edge of the bed, wiping her eyes and staring at her phone like she could will Paige’s name to appear on the screen.

Cam didn’t say much when she got to Azzi’s house that night. She just took off her shoes at the door, climbed in the bed behind Azzi, and wrapped her arms around her like she’d done a thousand times for Paige before. She didn’t offer any empty words that probably wouldn’t help. Just the warmth and the sound of someone else breathing that Azzi had been missing for days.

By morning, Cam was already on her phone calling people. Azzi stirred awake when she felt her shift on the bed, her eyes blinking open to find Cam’s eyebrows drawn tight and her voice low as she spoke to someone who clearly didn’t have the answers she was looking for.

When Cam turned and noticed that Azzi was awake the first thing she said was, “She’s not at the cabin or anywhere in Minnesota.” She lowered her phone before adding “And she hasn’t been back to her house either.”

Azzi sat up, her throat already tight for the day before she could brush her teeth. “Then where else can she be?”

Cam didn’t answer because she didn’t know. She stared at the screen in her hand for a while before feeling like an idiot for not thinking of this sooner. When she realized she scrolled through her contacts and tapped one name and held the phone to her ear.

It rang once. Twice and then a third time.

Azzi felt like her heart climbed higher with each one and she didn’t even know who Cam was calling.

Then the fourth ring cut off.

“Hey,” DiJonai’s voice echoed through the phone. “She’s with me. Stop worrying.”

Cam exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for days and Azzi’s head snapped toward her when she heard it.

“She’s okay?” Cam asked, already putting the phone on speaker so Azzi could hear.

There was a long pause. “No not really,” DiJonai said.

Cam frowned. “Is she telling you anything?”

“No,” Nai replied. “She won’t talk to me about whatever happened. She just showed up at my door at four in the morning looking like somebody shot her damn puppy in front of her and she’s been like that all week. Won’t eat much unless I literally force her. I don’t think she’s been sleeping either. Just…off somewhere in her head all day.”

Cam’s heart dropped hearing the state of her sister. “How in her head?”

DiJonai sighed. “I don’t know…I’ve never seen her like this honestly and you know there’s been some shit.”

Cam looked at Azzi whose face was unreadable as she looked at the phone. “Can you give her the phone?”

DiJonai sighed again before saying, “Yeah hold on I’ll try.”

A moment passed then they heard footsteps and a door opening. There were muffled voices before the clear sound of DiJonai saying, “Just stop being an asshole and let her hear that you’re alive.”

Azzi clutched the blanket tighter around her legs as her eyes locked on the phone like it might will Paige to pop up in front of her.

There was a moment of static and shuffling, then a voice barely made it through the speaker sounding cracked and hoarse. “…Hello.”

Cam exhaled sharply. “I should kill you Paige.”

Another beat of silence. Then Paige’s voice came through again dryly, “That might not be so bad right now.”

A loud thump came through the phone, followed by a muffled “Ow.” An unmistakable play by play of DiJonai smacking the hell out of her.

Cam rubbed her temple. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing, Cam,” Paige mumbled.

“You’ve got a fight in three weeks,” Cam reminded her gently, even though she was 100% sure Paige hadn’t forgotten.

“I know.”

“You ready?”

“No.”

Cam’s chest rose. “You gonna be ready?”

A pause and a fake laugh. “No.” Paige’s voice sounded empty. Completely detached from the present and it scared Cam more than anything else.

“Do we need to cancel it?” Cam asked carefully.

“I’ll be ight,” Paige stated. “If not, I’ll just get a real nice and deserved ass whooping out of it. Maybe finally find out what it’s like to get knocked out, you know.”

“That’s not funny Paige.”

“Well.”

Cam looked over at Azzi, whose eyes hadn’t moved from the phone once. Her eyes were glossy and her fingers were tight where they gripped her blanket.

Cam decided to ask what she already knew. “You talked to Azzi lately?”

There was a long pause at the question. Then Paige’s voice came back, somehow sounding more distant than it was before. “Why’d you call?”

Cam blinked, not surprised by the deflection. “Because your phone’s off and you’ve never done that before. I was worried.”

Silence again, suggesting Paige was done with the conversation. Cam didn’t wait to hear the inevitable dial tone. “Have you talked to Azzi?”

“Why are you asking me about her?”

“Why are you avoiding the question?”

Paige was too exhausted to go back and forth so she just closed her eyes. When she spoke again her voice had softened in the worst kind of way. “I fucked it up,” she said, like the words hurt her throat to say. “So I’m just…not tryna talk about it right now.”

Azzi looked down, her nails digging into her palms. Cam saw it but didn’t say anything. She just pressed Paige for a better answer “How’d you mess it up?”

There was a rustle on the other end. DiJonai must’ve moved toward her or something, but the line stayed quiet for a few seconds before Paige finally spoke.

“She was just tryin’ to talk to me that night and I was so far in my own head I couldn’t see straight. She brought up the club and…I got defensive. I thought she didn’t get why I did what I did. Like she was just trying to write it off as me being—I don’t know. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. He put his hands on her, Cam.” Her voice was shaking, despite how flat it sounded.

“And I didn’t wanna argue with her Cam. I swear I didn’t. She’s everything to me I lo—” Cam took the phone off speaker when she heard her starting to break down.

Azzi had to turn her head away as tears hit her collarbone. Cam put a hand gently on her back.

“I should’ve been calmer. I should’ve put my hands in my pocket or something. Done more to make her feel safe but I didn’t and that’s on me. All of it.”

Cam swallowed hard, her tone gentler now. “Do you want to talk to her?”

There was a long pause. Then Paige’s voice came so small it barely carried over the speaker “…She’s with you?”

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut from not being able to hear Paige’s response.

Cam looked at Azzi with a soft smile in her eyes. “She’s been calling and texting you,” she said gently into the phone.

There was hesitation on the other end. A shuffle. DiJonai’s voice carried softly, saying, “It’s ok.” Paige finally spoke, “Can you…can you give her the phone? Only if she wants it.”

Cam held it out.

Azzi took it with a trembling hand, wiping the tears that had already fallen. She held the phone up to her ear and cleared her throat lightly. She spoke first but her voice cracked around the edges. “Hey.”

On the other end, there was a long exhale. Like Paige had been holding her breath for days. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and even over the phone, the weight of her tone landed deeply in Azzi’s chest..

“You don’t need to apologize,” Azzi said quietly.

“Yes, I do,” Paige replied softly. “I never should’ve—” She stopped herself, took a long, shaky breath. When she spoke again, her voice was barely audible. “I miss you.”

Azzi closed her eyes, tightening her grip on the phone. “I miss you too.”

A quietness filled the space between them.

At almost the same time , Cam stepped out of Azzi’s room and DiJonai quietly exited her guest room, leaving them alone.

There was a pause in the soft static of silence before Paige’s voice came through, horsley. “Have you been eating?”

Azzi took a breath. “I’m trying.” Then after a second she added, “You?”

“I’m…cutting,” Paige said after a small hesitation.

“You don’t start cutting until two weeks before your fight.”

Paige didn’t respond.

Azzi waited with her lips pressed together. Paige tugged at the edge of the blanket wrapped around her legs, curling into herself just a little, her silence saying more than anything she could say.

Gently, Azzi asked, “Are we going to talk about it?”

Paige’s voice was soft as she said. “Of course. Just not over the phone.”

Azzi nodded even though Paige couldn’t see her. “Are you coming back soon?”

“I can’t. Not until the fight,” Paige said.

“Why?”

Paige stared at the ceiling, trying to swallow down the words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to say that she hadn’t trained since that night. That every time she so much as thought about getting in the cage, all she could see was Azzi flinching. That the image of the woman she loved looking afraid of her was lodged somewhere deep in her bones, making it impossible to move.

“There’s an extra trainer down here in Dallas,” she said instead. “Thought I’d take advantage of that.”

Azzi knew Paige was lying. She could tell by her voice but she didn’t push. “You don’t feel ready?” she asked instead.

“I got a lot of catching up to do,” Paige said.

The line went quiet again, both of them teetering on the edge of something delicate and not wanting to say the wrong thing.

Then, softly, Azzi asked, “Do you think we’re going to be okay?”

Paige’s voice broke gently through the silence. “I think we’re talking…and that counts for something right?”

Without speaking, both girls slowly shifted to lay on their sides, mirroring each other across state lines. Phones cradled against their cheeks, tucked into pillows. The air between them was still tentative, still filled with a slight tension and recent pain but it wasn’t unbearable anymore after hearing each other's voices.

There were small silences, tiny hesitations as they talked, unsure of how to be anything but soft with each other right now.

Paige found herself smiling, just a little, just from hearing Azzi’s voice. Her cadence, her sighs when her girlfriend said something a little outlandish, the quiet way she said Paige’s name like it still meant something to her.

And Azzi, she felt her chest loosen for the first time in a week. Like maybe she hadn’t ruined everything. Maybe she hadn’t completely broken the woman she loved. She still had a piece of her even after that night.

They stayed like that, talking about nothing and everything, until the weight between them started to shift just enough to make breathing easier.

…

Those three weeks with Paige in Dallas and Azzi in LA were hell for both of them, respectfully.

In Dallas, Paige didn’t so much live as exist. Days passed like static, one bleeding into the next. She now slept too much and barely ate, only getting through meals when DiJonai sat in front of her like a sentry with her arms crossed, waiting for every last bite to disappear from the plate.

It wasn’t until two weeks before the fight that DiJonai had enough of Paige not training.

So she yanked Paige out of bed early that morning. She didn’t say a word as she threw a hoodie at her aggressively, and drove them to the gym in complete silence. Paige didn’t ask where they were going, she didn’t really care. She just stared out the window, her thoughts drifting everywhere but where she was.

The second they stepped inside the empty gym, DiJonai threw a pair of gloves at her. They hit her chest and dropped to the floor. She didn’t bend to pick them up, just looked at them.

“What are we doing here?” Paige asked flatly.

“You have a fight in two weeks,” DiJonai said, already starting to stretch on the mat.

“I know.”

“So you need to train.”

“I said I know.”

DiJonai turned around with her jaw clenched. “Then put the damn gloves on, idiot.”

Paige didn’t move. “I’m fine.”

“You haven’t thrown a punch in three weeks.”

“I’ve been working out.”

“Jogging on the treadmill and lifting half your usual weight isn’t working out. It’s you bullshitting.”

Paige just stared at her.

“You do realize you’re risking your life, right?” DiJonai snapped, her frustration bubbling over.

Paige’s jaw clenched as she looked away. “You think I don’t know that?”

“No, I think you’re so in your head about other shit that you’re forgetting what stepping into a fight means.” DiJonai took a step closer. “This isn’t some play fight, Paige. This isn’t sparring or an exhibition. You know this shit is real. If you go in there half-assed, half-ready, half-whatever it is you’re fucking feeling you don’t come out the same.”

Silence.

DiJonai’s voice changed. “I can’t watch you do that to yourself…I won’t. And I think you knew that and that’s why you came here instead of going to Minnesota. You know I won’t coddle you like everyone else will.”

Paige’s eyes flicked to the gloves on the ground but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

DiJonai just waited. Her patience wasn’t infinite, but her care for Paige had been since they met for some reason. It was one of the reasons they got along so well.

Paige’s eyes flicked to the gloves on the ground again.

“Put them on,” DiJonai said again, quieter this time.

“I can’t,” Paige said, her voice cracking.

“Why the fuck not, Paige?”

Paige’s jaw clenched as she looked everywhere but at DiJonai. Her voice came out defeated when she spoke. “Cam told you about the club, I’m assuming.”

DiJonai gave her a small nod, her eyebrows narrowing. “Yeah…what about it?”

Paige exhaled like the weight of the night was sitting directly on her lungs. “After that night Azzi was just off. She thought I didn’t notice but I could tell it freaked her out and I just—I was so mad at myself for letting her see me like that and our argument just confirmed everything I already knew.”

DiJonai folded her arms across her chest. “Okay…but Paige, you knocked some dude out for smacking your girlfriend's ass. You did exactly what every damn testosterone-filled man would’ve done.”

“I know,” Paige mumbled, still clearly upset with herself.

“I’m not saying it was the right thing,” DiJonai added quickly, “but Azzi’s overreacting a little.”

Paige’s head snapped up at that. “She’s not,” she said simply. “She’s not overreacting. Don’t say she can’t feel how she does.”

“She is,” DiJonai insisted, calmly. “You’re acting like you blacked out and don’t remember what happened. You didn’t. You lost your cool because some idiot violated your girlfriend and you’re a natural protector. There’s a difference.”

“You weren’t there.”

“No, I wasn’t,” DiJonai agreed. “But if you had actually blacked out, like everybody keeps claiming, you wouldn’t have stopped when security got involved. You would’ve swung on them. You would’ve left him with more than a fucked up nose and a busted cheek. But you didn’t. You stopped.”

Paige shook her head. “I lost it Nai.”

“Yeah you snapped. That’s not the same as being out of control,” DiJonai pushed. “You’re scared because you think this proves something about you but it doesn’t.”

“It proves I’m not who she thinks I am,” Paige mumbled.

“No, it proves you’re human,” DiJonai said back. “One who cares clearly. You snapped because someone disrespected the person you love, not whatever story you’ve been narrating in your head.”

Paige didn’t respond, her hands just trembled slightly even thinking about putting on the gloves.

DiJonai took a small step closer so they were face to face. “She’s scared, I get that. I understand that she has the right to feel what she feels. But don’t twist that into thinking you’re not worthy of her or love or whatever dramatic ass scenarios I know you’re coming up with. You messed up, that’s it.”

Paige looked down at the mat, her voice suddenly small. “She flinched Nai.”

Paige’s eyes brimmed with tears but they didn’t fall. “When we were arguing. I raised my voice a lil bit and I ain’t like that so I was tryna stop the argument and she flinched like I was gonna…like I was gonna hit her.” Her throat bobbed hard as she choked on her own breath. “That’s not something even you can explain away. That’s not someone overreacting, she was scared of me. I’m supposed to be where she feels the safest and she’s scared of me.” As she said this a single tear dripped from her eye before she wiped it away aggressively.

“That might’ve been her reaction, yeah. But that doesn’t mean she’s scared of you Paige. It means it’s complicated and that you have to work through it with her.”

Paige didn’t answer.

“You think she’d still be calling you if she really believed you’d hurt her?” DiJonai asked gently. “You think she’d still pick up the phone for you when you text her?”

Paige sat on the mat with her head bowed. DiJonai let her sit there for a few minutes hoping that she’d will herself up. Talk herself through everything going on in her head.

But after a while DiJonai exhaled. She could see it in Paige’s eyes, in her posture. She was feeling more than just guilt, whatever it was sat bone-deep. Sitting in a place where words weren’t going to reach her.

“Alright,” DiJonai said. “If you’re convinced you can’t control yourself, let’s test it right now.”

Paige looked up at her in confusion, just in time to see DiJonai pull her own hoodie off and toss it aside.

“Get up.”

“What?”

DiJonai stepped closer. “Get. Up.”

Paige didn’t move so DiJonai yanked her up. “DiJ—”

Suddenly as soon as she was on her feet DiJonai pushed her shoulder hard enough to make her stumble back. “How far you think I can get before you snap?”

“Stop,” Paige warned.

But DiJonai didn’t. She got in Paige’s face, eyes to eye. “Do it. Show me how man you think you can get. Show me how you think you can just black out.”

“DiJonai—”

Another shove. This time it was harder on her chest.

“I’m standing right here. Disrespecting you. Pushing you. Provoking you.” She shoved again, more force behind it. “Lemme see you tweak like you think you will on the people you care about. Let out all that anger you been holding in.”

Paige’s jaw clenched as she took a tight breath. She wouldn’t look at DiJonai, she just stared past her.

“What you not mad yet?” DiJonai prodded. “You don’t wanna swing on me? You a pussy all of a sudden now?

Paige didn’t move.

DiJonai’s voice lowered. “What’s wrong? You scared imma flinch like your lil girlfriend?”

Paige’s eyes snapped to hers clearly pissed off but she still didn’t move.

DiJonai waited for a reaction. A twitch in her fingers. A slip, anything to provide Paige right.

But all Paige did was breathe. It was gritty and broken, but controlled.

A few seconds passed and then DiJonai leaned in, softer now. “You’re pissed,” DiJonai said. “You’re hurt. You’re drowning in your own head and you still didn’t touch me. You know how to control yourself Paige so please stop acting like you’re one step away from hurting the people you care about.”

Something cracked when DiJokai said that. Paige’s face crumpled before she could stop it and her shoulders folded in as the weight finally caught up to her. Her hands trembled as her breath hitched twice. Then she was crying, not just tearing up and letting one or two tears drip, but full on crying.

She stepped forward and DiJonai caught her easily. Paige leaned into her shoulder like her legs couldn’t hold her up anymore, letting out a broken, muffled sob that had been sitting in her chest for too long.

DiJonai held her there and just let her cry. “You’re ok I swear.” Paige only cried harder, her fingers gripping the back of DiJonai’s shirt .

They stood there for a while as Paige just let herself cry, sobs falling out of her here and there until she physically didn’t have anything left in her.

When Paige’s breathing started to get a little more even, DiJonai leaned back enough to look her in the eye. “Now pick up the gloves.”

Paige blinked a few times, her eyes still wet and puffy, after a second she slowly bent down to grab the gloves.

…

Back in LA, things weren’t falling apart like they were in Dallas but they weren’t quite holding together either.

Azzi hadn’t left the house in days. Cam, Rickea, and Rae had made it their personal goal to keep her distracted, throwing together movie nights, spontaneous baking sessions and a lot of tequila. They dragged out old board games, ordered her favorite takeout, and gave her space when she needed it. But no matter how many activities they lined up everyday, Azzi stayed emotionally elsewhere.

She was still eating, still showering, still going through the motions. But her heart wasn’t in it.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Paige looked at her right after. Like Azzi had confirmed her worst fear in a split second and in the rest of that second, all Azzi had wanted was to take it back. To reach for her. To tell her she didn’t mean to move, that it wasn’t about her. That she wasn’t scared of her, But but hadn’t been able to. And now Paige was in Dallas, and she was in LA, and there was nothing but space between them.

That night, after Rae had gone to bed, Cam and Rickea found Azzi curled up in the corner of the couch with a hood pulled over her head and her eyes distant. The TV was on but it was muted, the lights only flickering across Azzi’s face.

Rickea sat next to her and Cam brought over ice cream, putting it on the table.

“Why did I flinch?”

Cam looked at her softly. “You wanna talk about it?”

Azzi hesitated and they let the silence sit comfortably until she was ready. “I don’t know why I did it.”

Rickea sat next to her, listening.

“I grew up in a happy home,” Azzi said. “Two parents who love me. My dad doesn’t raise his voice, and my mom’s idea of discipline was a disappointed stare. So it wasn’t a reflex.”

Cam stayed quiet.

Azzi looked down at her hands as she talked herself through her tangled thoughts. “I wasn’t scared of her. I’m not scared of her.” She corrected herself. “But I think something about the way she looked, like she’d stopped feeling anything. It kind of hit me weird. Like all this energy was coming off of her, and it just—my body reacted before I could stop it.”

Rickea tilted her head. “You think it’s from something you saw before?”

Azzi shook her head. “I don’t think so. It wasn’t like a memory. It was more like...I don’t know. Shock. That night...I think I was scared of what she was feeling. Not what she’d do. I knew she wasn’t going to do anything to me.”

Azzi looked down, playing with her cuticles. “She looked at me like I confirmed every worst thing she’s ever believed about herself.”

“I should’ve said something,” Azzi added again. “But, I let her walk out thinking I didn’t feel safe with her.”

Cam’s voice was soft. “So tell her when you can. Make sure she hears that.”

Azzi’s eyes stung. “I just want her to come home.”

Rickea leaned her head against Azzi’s shoulder. “She will babe.”

It was 1:43 AM in Los Angeles. 3:43 in Dallas. That same night, technically, when DiJonai got Paige to pick up the gloves and Azzi worked through her feelings on the couch.

Paige was sitting on DiJonai’s balcony with her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them as she stared at the sky.

Back in LA, Azzi was curled on her patio couch in her backyard, with one of Paige’s hoodies keeping her warm. She hadn’t planned on texting her, but her fingers moved anyway.

A message lit up Paige’s phone.

Azzi [3:43 AM]: You up?

The response came to Azzi almost instantly.

Paige [1:43 AM]: yeah wassup mama ?

Seconds later, Paige’s phone lit up again with an incoming call and she answered on the first ring.

“Hey you,” Azzi said softly.

“Hey,” Paige echoed back, just as soft.

“What are you up to?”

Paige tilted her head back, eyes tracing the constellations. “Just...staring at the sky.”

Azzi let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” Paige asked, already smiling.

Azzi didn’t answer with words. Instead, she raised her phone and took a picture of the sky from her backyard, and sent it.

Paige pulled the phone away from her ear for a second to look. The moon was the same in both places.

She brought the phone back to her ear. “What you doing out there?”

“It’s cold in the house,” Azzi said.

“Turn the heat up.”

“I don’t want to.”

The words hung there.

They both knew what she meant. That it wasn’t really about the cold. That she wanted Paige’s body next to her to keep her warm. But neither of them said it.

After a few quiet seconds, Azzi asked, “Why are you up?”

Paige exhaled slowly. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

There was a pause, then a soft smile ghosted Paige’s lips. “You.”

“What about me?”

Another pause before Paige said quietly, “How much I miss you.”

Azzi closed her eyes, smiling a little. “I miss you too.”

A moment passed before Paige spoke again. “I went to the gym today.”

Azzi perked up. “That’s good. Did you hit?”

“Yeah.”

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

Paige’s voice caught a little. “Why?”

Azzi shifted in her seat, pulling the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands. “Because...you weren’t before.”

Paige stared out at the sky. “How’d you know?”

“Your voice.”

“What about it?”

“It’s lighter now. It always changes a little after you hit for real. When we were talking the other day it never changed. So I knew you weren’t letting anything out.”

Paige was quiet, her eyes stinging at Azzi noticing something as small as that. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked. “If you knew I was lying.”

“Because I would lie too, if I thought it might make you feel better.” She let that sit before asking, “That’s what you were doing, right? Trying to make me feel better?”

Paige blinked hard, nodding even though Azzi couldn’t see her. “Yeah.”

Azzi’s voice was quiet again when she spoke. “DiJonai reached out to me.”

Paige blinked, straightening up a little. “She did?”

“Yeah...asked for my number.”

Paige let out a soft laugh. “She’s annoying like that.”

Azzi smiled faintly at the familiar sound. “We talked…” she started, then trailed off. She didn’t need to finish. Paige already knew what they talked about.

“We can talk about it when I get back,” Paige said gently.

“In two weeks?” Azzi asked, the time sounding heavier when she said it out loud.

Paige nodded instinctively, then remembered Azzi couldn’t see her. “Yeah,” she said. “We can’t talk about this over the phone.”

Azzi understood so she didn’t press for anything more.

There was a lull in the conversation before Azzi shifted the energy like she always did to make Paige lighter. “You know your beautiful precious Audi is probably at the airport, getting dirty and racking up a pretty big bill.”

Paige let out a chuckle. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

Paige smiled. “Go get it for me then if you’re so worried.”

Azzi scoffed playfully. “What?”

“You know where my spare key is.”

“You want me to go get your what…two hundred and forty five thousand dollar car and just drive it?”

Paige grinned. “Mhmm.”

Azzi laughed, it was that easy, bright laugh that Paige had missed more than anything.

“Just don’t try to put any gas in it like you did the Escalade,” Paige added.

“Oh my God,” Azzi groaned, laughing louder. “How was I supposed to know it didn’t take regular?”

“You shouldn’t have been trying to pump gas in the first place princess,” Paige said softly.

Azzi smiled to herself for a second before she said. “I miss that.”

“Me too.”

Azzi stretched her legs across the outdoor couch cushion, pulling Paige’s hoodie tighter around her. “So…what else is going on in that head of yours?”

Paige exhaled slowly. “Everything. Nothing. Depends on the hour really.”

Azzi gave a soft laugh. “I see you’re still dramatic, huh?”

“Can’t help it.”

Azzi smiled. “Whatever.”

Paige let her words sit in the quiet for a beat before asking, “How’s Cam?”

“She’s good. She tried to get me to go on a hike in a cave earlier.”

Paige raised her eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Hell no.”

Paige laughed. “It’s the bugs isn’t it?”

“Yes you know I hate them and dirt…and being hot.”

They sat in silence for another stretch but this time it was the kind that felt familiar. Like Azzi just letting her girlfriend be her usual self for a second.

Eventually Azzi asked, “You nervous?”

Paige blinked. “About what?”

“The fight.”

Paige was quiet for a long moment. “No…” Then, “I don’t know. I think I’m thinking more about what I have going on than who I’m fighting.”

Azzi’s voice was soft. “Do you want me to come?”

Paige’s eyebrows knit slightly. “Do you want to come?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Paige looked up at the sky like it might give her the right words. “I just…didn’t know if you’d want to see it. After everything you know.”

Azzi’s heart twisted hearing how fragile Paige sounded. She didn’t sound like a fighter right now, more like a girl trying not to lose herself in her own thoughts.”

“Of course I’m gonna be there, pretty girl,” Azzi said gently.

Paige swallowed hard. “I’d understand if you didn’t want to though. It wouldn’t make me think less of you or anything like—”

“Baby,” Azzi interrupted softly.

Paige’s stopped rambling. “…Yeah?”

Azzi’s voice was barely a whisper. “Stop.”

Paige’s eyes fluttered closed. “Okay.”

They kept talking again about nothing, about everything. They didn’t solve anything, didn’t touch the deeper pain just yet, but the call was another thread pulling them back to each other. Azzi talked about Rae accidentally burning popcorn and setting off her smoke alarm. Paige told her about the old lady who almost knocked her over at Whole Foods trying to get the last jar of almond butter before giving it to her because her eyes reminded her of her granddaughter.

They laughed. They reminisced. They went quiet. They missed each other so loudly without saying it.

By the time a soft orange hue bled into the Dallas skyline, Azzi yawned, curled tighter in Paige’s hoodie.

Paige smiled faintly, watching the sun peek out over the horizon. “…I’ll talk to you later?”

Azzi whispered, “Of course.”

The call ended quietly and Paige just sat there for a second, holding the phone to her ear like she could still hear her.

Eventually, she walked inside.

DiJonai was already in the kitchen, pouring coffee in a tank top and sweats. “You were up all night,” she said, without looking up.

Paige blinked slowly, dragging her feet toward the hallway. “Yeah.”

DiJonai sipped. “You should get some sleep, Oscar the Grouch.”

Paige cracked a tired smile. “She told you she calls me that?”

DiJonai just hummed, not answering as she turned to grab some cream.

Paige smiled again, softer this time, before disappearing into the guest room to finally get some sleep.

The next two weeks felt like an eternity that stretched until it couldn’t anymore.

Every day, Paige trained. Her trainer had flown to Dallas and she stayed in the gym, trying to silence the chaos in her head by drowning it with sweat and repetition. It worked sort of. At least during the hours she was moving, she didn’t have to think.

When she wasn’t training, she forced herself to sleep. Heavy, dreamless sleep that made her forget everything for the rest of the day. Her eating had improved, barely, but it still wasn’t where it needed to be. She tried, but every time she ate she felt like she was going to throw up so meals were only half-finished, picked over and left cold.

She and Azzi talked a good amount of times. Nothing too deep. Just enough to keep the tether between them tight. They shared updates, teased each other lightly, and exchanged sleepy goodnights. It was effortful, but it mattered. It reminded them they were still trying.

…

The day before the fight, Paige flew to Vegas. The weigh-in was quick, her body lean under the lights. When the numbers flashed on the screen — 132 — the entire room looked surprised . Murmurs passed across the room. That was way too low for someone like her who was a natural 141.

Paige barely had time to step in her hotel room before her phone was ringing.

She answered on the second ring, barely getting out a “Wassup” before Azzi’s voice came through sharp.

“Paige 132? Are we serious?”

Paige winced. “Az, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Azzi snapped, not yelling at her but clearly upset. “You told me you were eating better.”

“I am baby,” Paige mumbled, rubbing a hand over her face. “Just…not enough, I guess.”

Azzi exhaled hard through the phone. “Paige. You don’t have anything to prove by—.”

“I’m not trying to.” Paige interrupted her gently.

“I need you to take better care of yourself. I know you’re not doing it on purpose but you’re hurting yourself, which hurts me baby.”

Paige didn’t say anything.

There was a knock on her hotel room door a second later. She opened it, still on the phone, to find DiJonai standing there with way too many food containers and colorful drinks balancing between both arms.

“I got hydration and hella carbs,” she said, stepping in the room without waiting for Paige to say anything.

Azzi’s voice came through the phone. “Is that DiJonai?”

“Yep,” Paige sighed.

“Good. Let her bully you into eating. I’m serious.”

DiJonai dropped everything onto the table like it was an intervention. “She told me the number,” she said flatly. “Now eat. I don’t care what it is, pick something and start chewing.”

Paige rolled her eyes but dropped on the couch and pulled a container toward her.

Azzi’s voice softened. “I’m not mad, okay?”

“I know.”

“I just want you to take care of yourself.”

“I know, Az.”

“Okay.”

They didn’t say bye. Paige just stayed on the phone while she started eating, Azzi’s quiet presence on the other end somehow making the food go down easier.

…

Everyone from L.A. had made the decision without saying anything out loud: none of them would go to the back to see Paige before the fight.

It wasn’t out of distance or anything like that. They just all understood what seeing Azzi before the fight might do to Paige. What it might undo. Azzi hadn’t argued about it even though the ache in her chest to be near Paige had grown to be almost unbearable. She just nodded when they suggested they just go to their seats early today, understanding more than anyone.

So, it was just DiJonai, Paige’s trainer, and her cutman in her concrete room behind the arena. The space was filled with the buzz from the fluorescent lights and anticipation that pressed through the walls and into Paige like a second skin. But instead of the calmness Paige usually carried before a fight; that eerie, focused stillness. Today, she was constantly moving.

She paced in tight circles with her jaw clenched. She cracked her neck every few minutes, rolled her shoulders and threw combinations at the air. Sometimes she’d slap the side of the travel bag hanging nearby, then step back like it offended her when it swung back with an equal opposite reaction.

DiJonai sat on one of the chairs with her legs crossed, watching her the entire time. “Paige sit still,” she said a few times. Each time with a little more insistence, a little more urgency.

But Paige didn’t listen.

Her trainer with his arms folded, finally stepped in front of her mid-pace, holding up a hand to make her stop. “You good?” he asked.

Paige nodded, but it was a twitch more than a nod. Her hands were in fists and her shoulders were tense.

He studied her for a second. The bags under her eyes weren’t from a bad night of sleep, they were from weeks of actual unrest. The sharpness in her face was no longer from her conditioning, it was depletion. The dullness that used to flicker behind her eyes before a fight now weighed heavier.

He exhaled and lowered his voice. “You got one round tonight.”

Paige blinked. “What?”

“You got one round,” he repeated. “To make something happen or I’m calling the fight.”

She stared at him, stunned at how serious he sounded.

“I’m not gonna watch you get hurt tonight because your head’s not in it. I’d pull you completely if they hadn’t already announced your card. You either go out there and handle it in one round, or I’m stopping it. You’re not walking in the cage just to bleed or whatever you got going on kid. You got me?”

Paige swallowed hard and her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest.

She heard him loud and clear.

DiJonai watched the interaction from the corner. She didn’t say anything but Paige saw the worry in her eyes when she looked at her.

She felt too much in that split second. Way more than what she was supposed to be feeling before a fight. Every ounce of pressure and pain and disgust she’d been feeling rising to the surface.

She took a deep breath and another to ground herself. Slow her racing heartbeat down as the noise of the arena filtered through the hallway walls, muffled but rising.

The lights above the cage were blinding, humming faintly in her ears as Paige stood in the winning corner, the one reserved for reigning champions. Her gloves were already tight on her hands but nothing felt real.

Across from her, in the challenging corner, her opponent bounced on the balls of her feet psyching herself up like they always did.

The announcer’s voice echoed somewhere beyond the fog in Paige’s head, drawing cheers from the crowd then the bell rang and she stepped forward.

And then everything just went blank.

It wasn’t like tunnel vision. It was more like drowning. Paige moved on instinct instead of reading her opponent. Her body was reacting without her brain processing what was happening. She didn’t remember measuring distance. Didn’t remember her footwork. Didn’t remember loading up or throwing anything. She doesn’t remember anything.

But her fists landed and they landed hard.

Each punch came suddenly but fast enough that her opponent couldn’t react: a left hook that snapped her head to the side and an immediate cross that sent blood flying, a knee to the ribs that folded the girl in half. Then the blur of movements that pinned her to the cage like a ragdoll. The crowd roared in admiration, the cage floor trembled, and Paige kept going.

She used her opponent like a motionless heavy bag and she didn’t even blink. Her corner wasn’t yelling instructions, they were stunned into silence, watching what they thought was about to be a disaster of a fight turn into something completely different.

Then an uppercut Paige threw cracked her opponent's jaw and it seemed like the sound echoed through the arena. Her eyes rolled back before her body hit the floor and she was out cold.

That’s when Paige heard the bell blaring in her ear effectively bringing her back to her body. Her chest was rising and falling fast and her lungs were begging for air she didn’t realize she needed.

The referee grabbed her wrist and lifted it into the air shouting something she couldn’t process before the crowd erupted.

But of course Paige didn’t smile. She blinked, dazed and confused, trying to place herself in the moment. Trying to figure out what just happened.

Her gaze slid to the other side of the cage where the girl was still down with medics crouched around her, speaking frantically, shining a light into her eyes.

Suddenly, Paige felt sick. Not dizzy. Not tired or exhausted. Just…sick to her stomach.

Because what the hell just happened?

She looked down at her gloves and her throat bobbed when she saw the blood smeared along the knuckles, dried and wet all at once. She checked her arms, her torso trying to figure out if it was hers, hoping somehow it was hers, then she squeezed her eyes shut because she didn’t want to know what she already knew.

Her heart pounded so loud in her throat it felt like it might tear through skin. Her mouth was desert dry, and her tongue was heavy, like she’d been chewing cotton. Each breath came tighter, hotter, like the air in the arena had turned into a sauna, a full hundred degrees and rising faster.

The cheers were still echoing as she pushed past everyone, barely aware of the cameras trying to catch her face, her reaction. She didn’t give them one, she never did but this time she felt a numb hollowness.

She walked mechanically through the back corridors, yanking her gloves off in disgust with shaky hands the second she cleared the lens of the last broadcast camera. She threw one that landed hard on the concrete floor behind her and the other one just slipped from her hand.

By the time she got to her assigned room, the adrenaline was still shooting through her nerves but she felt something else rising quicker.

She stumbled straight to the bathroom, her body dropping to her knees at the toilet before she could do it herself and she threw up.

Nothing of actual substance really came up because she hadn’t eaten much. But her body just needed to let something out before it consumed her from the inside. She stayed there until physically there was nothing for her body to let out, just white foam from the acid of her stomach burning her throat.

When it was over, she sat back on her heels, breathing hard. Her palms pressed against the cold tile until her head just fell back to rest on the wall. She stayed there for a few moments, unsure if she had the strength to get up, if she even wanted to get up but eventually she did.

She gripped the edge of the sink and pulled herself up, blinking against the harsh overhead light.

Looking in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Sweat clung to her eyebrow and jaw and her eyes were glassy and red. She looked tired. Like someone who’d somehow won something and lost something at the same time.

She rinsed her mouth, spat once, then again. She whipped a towel across her face and rolled her shoulders back to straighten her posture. She popped a piece of gum in her mouth then she stepped out of the bathroom into a room that was full of people.

Her trainer stood in the corner still talking quietly, almost excitedly with her cutman. DiJonai sat near the far wall with her arms crossed over her chest and she was watching Paige carefully the moment she stepped out of the bathroom. Rickea, Cam, and Rae were there too, but their faces blurred into the background.

Paige’s eyes moved across the room in a frantic motion, barely registering anyone until they landed on Azzi.

The moment she saw her, Paige’s chest lightened like she could finally breathe. Her feet moved on instinct, carrying her forward a few steps until she froze. Remembering the last time they’d been this close, how the night had ended and Paige still didn’t know what version of herself Azzi saw when she looked at her now.

But then Azzi opened her arms and Paige’s legs carried her the rest of the way unsteadily until she collapsed into her chest. She clung to her like her presence alone was the only thing keeping her here, her arms wrapped around her tightly and her face was buried deep in Azzi’s neck.

Azzi held her up whispering, "I'm so proud of you baby."

That broke whatever fragile hold Paige had on herself and she dry-heaved once into Azzi’s chest, the weight of her words hitting something too raw inside her. Her face stayed buried in her neck trying to muffle the quiet, shaky sounds, ashamed of how much she needed this. How much she needed her.

Everyone in the room exchanged silent glances and one by one, they slipped out the door quietly to give them space.

When it was just the two of them. Paige finally let herself feel and she felt like everything was crashing into her chest at once. Azzi held her close, with her arms steady around her frame. She whispered soft nothings in her ear: small comforts, high praises, reminders that she was here, that Paige wasn’t alone anymore. Every so often, she pressed a light kiss to her forehead gently, rubbing at Paige’s sweaty back but Paige couldn’t stay present.

She was blinking too fast, breathing too shallow. Her arms were slack on Azzi’s shoulders, and even though she hadn’t let go of Azzi, it felt like she was floating somewhere far away. Her eyes darted across the room, tightening her jaw every so often, teeth working against the gum she’d thrown in after vomiting, trying to mask the sour taste in her mouth.

Azzi noticed it all, noticed how Paige’s senses seemed to be in overdrive so she moved to ease them.

Carefully, she guided Paige to a seat, crouching slightly to ease her limp body into the chair without jarring her. Once Paige was settled safely she stood up, moving to turn off the lights plunging the room into darkness other than the light coming in from the bottom of the door. The room was already quiet, the echo of voices gone as soon as the others left. Azzi moved back over to where Paige was and gently reached for Paige’s face with one hand squeezing her cheeks a little. “Spit it out,” she said softly.

Azzi cupped her hand as Paige let the gum fall into it. Azzi threw it away before kneeling down in front of her.

“Give me your hand,” she whispered.

Paige lifted her hand and Azzi took her fingers and guided them gently to her chest, pressing her palm flat against the space over her heart. Paige’s hand was freezing cold and shaky but Azzi’s heartbeat thudded slow and steady beneath it.

Azzi placed her hand over Paige’s, holding it in place. “There,” she murmured. “Close your eyes and just be with me right here, beautiful.”

Paige’s head fell back against the wall as she fluttered her eyes closed. The rhythm she felt beneath her palm wasn’t her own, but she let it be her center. The constant beat of Azzi’s heart was the only thing that didn’t feel too loud, too much, too fast. They sat in silence like that for what felt like a long time. Then finally, Paige whispered, “I don’t know what happened.”

Azzi’s eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean, baby?”

Paige swallowed hard, her hand still resting over Azzi’s heart. “The fight Az. I don’t remember any of it.”

Hearing that Azzi didn’t have any words to offer. Nothing she could say that would make that easier to swallow for Paige. So she didn’t try; she just moved forward, sitting up enough to pull Paige’s head to her chest, wrapping her arms around her again.

Paige let herself be held, tears slipping silently down her face. “Can we go back home?”

Azzi glanced down at her. “To LA? Tonight?”

Paige nodded, not lifting her head.

Azzi nodded too, brushing her fingers through Paige’s damp hair. “I’ll make it happen, baby.”

[neonbonded]

MC is an independent, strong woman—we love her for that—but what if… what if she told the LIs she wanted to quit her job and go full-on wife, kids, stay-at-home life? I feel like it’d be fluffy and hilarious like Sylus and Caleb would be over the moon spoiling her into the richest most pampered wife in the country, and Xavier would immediately start making babies lol

Stay-At-Home Sweetheart

♡ ft. love and deepspace men x fem!reader ♡ cw: fluff, future talk, domestic life, possessiveness, soft power fantasies, rich boyfriend behavior ♡ a/n: thank you for the suggestion—this was such a fun little fluffy write! I hope you enjoy your taste of spoiled wife life

CALEB — “So you’re telling me… I get to spoil you forever?”

You say it offhandedly.

You’re sitting in his lap, one leg draped lazily over his thigh, sipping tea in your sleep shirt while he’s scrolling through post-mission reports.

You don’t even think he’s really listening when you mumble,

“What if I just quit and stayed home full time? Cooked, cleaned, wore pretty dresses. Full wife mode.”

But Caleb freezes.

Like you slapped him with an engagement ring.

His hands drop to your hips. His head tilts. He stares at you like you just offered him divinity.

“Wait. Say that again.”

You blink. “I said maybe I want to be a stay-at-home—”

“Wife.” “You said wife. Don’t skip the good part.”

You try to laugh it off. “I mean, it’s a dumb idea—”

“No, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

And he’s already spiraling.

Out loud.

“You’d look so good barefoot in the kitchen. No. Wait. In my t-shirt. Holding a toddler and a spatula. Crying over a baking fail while I kiss it better—Jesus Christ.”

You: “You okay?”

“Absolutely not.”

Five minutes later, he’s dragging out a notepad and scribbling:

“Baby name list, but chaotic: Nova, Toast, Jellybean???”

“Do we buy a second house or just knock out the wall next door?”

“I need to up my life insurance because you’re not lifting anything heavier than a glass of wine ever again.”

You tease him—ask if he’s going to make you do laundry, too.

His response?

“You? Laundry? No. You’ll be too busy getting railed over the dryer while I fold towels with one hand.”

You: “CALEB.”

He grabs your face in both hands, deadly serious.

“I love your independence. Your brilliance. Your strength.”

A pause.

“But if you ever, ever, give me permission to spoil you full-time, to keep you warm and soft and loved and mine all day long?”

“I will become the most insufferable, overprotective, apron-wearing husband in recorded history.”

And the worst part?

He’s dead serious.

There’s already a Pinterest board. And a credit card. And probably a draft resignation email saved to your tablet—you didn’t write it.

But Caleb?

He’s just… ready.

Because to him, you are home. And if you want to stay there forever?

He’ll make it a kingdom.

XAVIER —“If that’s what you want… I’ll take care of the rest.”

It’s quiet.

Late evening, somewhere between mission fatigue and domestic stillness. You’re both curled up on the couch—your legs stretched across his lap, his hand absently resting on your shin.

He’s reading through intel logs. You’re chewing on the corner of a cookie. The room smells like his tea and your lotion and something safe.

And then you say it. Casual. Sleepy. Barely even meaning to.

“I’ve been thinking about quitting fieldwork. Just staying home. Full wife era. Maybe some kids. You’d visit on lunch breaks, and I’d make bad pancakes in your hoodie.”

You don’t even look at him right away. You expect a raised brow. A quiet “You’d get bored in a week.”

But instead?

Silence.

Followed by the soft slide of a datapad being set down.

Then his hand curls around your ankle. Just slightly. Anchoring.

“You’d really want that?”

You glance over.

His face is still neutral—stoic, quiet, unreadable—but his eyes?

Locked on you. Sharp. Focused. Lit with something that looks too much like longing to be casual.

You nod, shy. “Maybe. I don’t know. It just sounds… nice.”

He’s quiet for a second longer.

Then?

“Then we should start planning.”

You blink. “Planning what?”

“Everything.”

And then—without a hint of irony:

“I’ll map out when I can reduce field time. We’ll need a safer neighborhood. Somewhere with open sky. Room for a crib.”

You stare.

“Wait, are you being serious—?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he says simply. “You said kids. You want to stay home. That’s not something I’d let you do alone.”

His fingers trace a line down your calf.

Soft. Possessive.

“You want a family with me.”

You flush. “I said maybe—”

“Maybe is enough.”

He leans in. Presses a kiss to your knee.

“We’d be good at it. You’d be good at it.”

Then, softer—more vulnerable than he usually lets himself sound:

“I think I’ve wanted that longer than I realized.”

You’re too stunned to reply.

So he does what he always does: fills the silence with something that sounds like logic but bleeds affection around the edges.

“We’ll need to track your cycle,” he murmurs. “If we’re going to do this properly.”

You: “XAVIER—”

He shrugs. Calm. Unfazed.

“I’ve already marked probable dates.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or climb into his lap and tell him to start now.

(You do both.)

RAFAYEL — “My muse… in an apron? I need to sit down.”

He’s painting.

Or pretending to.

Really, he’s mostly shirtless, barefoot, standing in the center of his studio surrounded by chaotic swatches of violet and gold while a brush dangles lazily between two fingers.

And you?

You’re curled up on the floor near the open window, sipping tea, flipping through a magazine when you say:

“I kind of want to quit working. Just stay home. Full-time wife. Cook, nap, look hot, raise tiny artistic children who only wear linen and answer to names like Moth and Cypress.”

You mean it jokingly.

Casually.

But the sound of a paintbrush hitting the floor makes your head snap up.

Rafayel’s just staring at you.

Mouth slightly open.

Eyes blown wide.

“You…” he breathes. “You want to be mine?”

You blink. “I— I am yours?”

“No, no. I mean domestically. Biblically. Artistically. Legally.”

And then?

He drops to one knee in the most chaotic half-prayer, half-shock position you’ve ever seen.

“I always knew you were divinely unhinged, but this—this is the final painting. My muse. My wife. My aproned disaster angel. I need a moment.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

He lunges for you.

Pulls you into his lap on the floor, paint still wet on his hands, smearing across your shirt like it’s a signature.

“Say it again.”

You: “What?”

“That you want to stay home. That you want to make soup and babies and let me buy you pastel oven mitts.”

You laugh. “I mean, I do like pastel.”

“We’ll get matching ones. For the baby.”

You freeze.

He doesn’t.

“Rafayel—”

“I want them to have your mouth and my hair. Or your hair and my mouth. Either way, they’ll be dramatic and ruinous.”

He starts sketching. On your thigh. With paint-stained fingers.

“Tiny limbs. Stubborn expression. Covered in jam. Perfect.”

You can’t stop laughing now, your face buried in his shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to be more excited about this than me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he hums, kissing your collarbone. “I’ve been ready to ruin you with love since the moment you snuck into my studio and insulted my color palette.”

You whisper, “So you’d really want that?”

And for once, he goes still.

Serious.

His fingers curl at your waist.

“I’d worship you every day for it.”

“I’d paint your swollen belly and your tired eyes and your messy hair like it’s the only truth I’ve ever known.”

A beat.

“You don’t have to be anything for me. But if you want to just… be loved? Be kept?”

His voice drops.

“I was made for that.”

ZAYNE — “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

You say it on a Tuesday.

The apartment smells like coffee and something citrusy—probably the linen spray you used on the couch that made him sneeze earlier.

You’re curled into the corner of the sectional, legs tucked under you, still in one of his oversized shirts from last night. Your hair’s a mess. Your heart? Still not at full strength after last month’s mission.

Zayne’s at the kitchen island, scrolling through research on his tablet.

And that’s when you say it:

“I’m thinking of quitting.”

His eyes don’t move at first.

Just a slow blink. Still calm.

“Quitting…?”

You shrug, voice light. “Hunting. The whole thing. Maybe it’s time. I could stay home. Rest. Get spoiled. Be your sexy little housewife or whatever.”

You expect a scoff.

Some half-snide retort.

Instead?

He sets the tablet down.

Quietly.

Then walks over.

You blink up at him. “What?”

He crouches in front of you.

Not joking. Not teasing.

Just… looking.

“Say it again.”

You falter. “That I want to quit?”

He nods once. Slow. Like he’s memorizing every word.

And then?

He exhales. Deep. Controlled.

“Good.”

“Zayne?”

His hand comes up to your chest—right over your heart. Like he’s checking it. Like he always does. Thumb brushing that familiar spot beneath your collarbone.

“Do you know what it’s been like watching you come home hurt?” he says softly. “Waiting to see if you’ll faint halfway through a sentence because your pulse is erratic again?”

You go quiet.

His jaw tightens, but his voice stays gentle.

“You think I didn’t notice how your hands were shaking after that last field run? Or how long you spent in the medbay?”

“I didn’t want you to worry—”

“I do worry.”

A pause.

Then—

“But if you’re really done… if I can finally stop wondering whether your heart will give out before mine ever gets the chance to break…”

He trails off.

Then rests his forehead against your knees.

Breath shaky. But steadying.

“Then I’ll build you the quietest life imaginable.”

“You’ll never have to lift a finger again. Not if I can help it.”

You lean down, fingers threading through his hair.

He presses a kiss to your thigh.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he whispers.

And for the first time in months?

He doesn’t check your pulse again.

Because for once, he can feel it—steady. Safe. Home.

SYLUS — “You want to be mine? Fully? Then say it again.”

It starts as a joke.

Just a passing comment while you’re still half-asleep in his bed, buried in his obscenely expensive sheets.

“I think I wanna be a stay-at-home wife.”

You say it with a yawn. Barely conscious.

But Sylus?

He stills.

Lays back on the pillow and turns his head toward you.

His eyes narrow just slightly. That unreadable look—the one that means he’s calculating something dangerous in the background.

“Say that again.”

You blink up at him, confused. “What?”

“What you just said.”

You hesitate. Then mumble, “I said I wanna be a stay-at-home wife.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

His smirk curves slow and sharp.

He sits up. Drapes one arm across the headboard. The sheets slide down his chest, revealing the fine lines of muscle.

“Finally,” he murmurs.

“Finally what?”

He leans in.

“Finally you’re giving me an excuse to spoil the hell out of you without pretending to feel guilty about it.”

You blink. “Wait, I was joking—”

“No, you weren’t.”

He presses a kiss to your temple.

“I’ve seen the way you melt when I buy you things. The way you light up when I feed you. The way you pout when I’m gone too long.”

He grabs his phone from the nightstand.

You frown. “What are you doing?”

“Canceling every mission you had this week.”

Tap. Tap.

“Calling my architect to add another garden wing to the house.”

Tap.

“And messaging my tailor to start designing custom loungewear.”

“…Sylus.”

“You’ll need something to wear while you parade around this apartment doing absolutely nothing except looking pretty.”

You try to sit up, but he throws an arm around your waist and pulls you into his lap instead.

“No more early meetings. No more danger. No more stress.”

His fingers trail down your spine.

“Just this. Me. Spoiling you.”

You blink up at him. “What if I get bored?”

He smiles slowly. Dangerous and amused.

“Then I’ll give you something to do.”

“Like what?”

His voice drops.

“Like carrying my last name.”

“Like letting me put a baby in you.”

You go silent.

Your face heats.

And Sylus?

He just hums against your neck.

“Thought so.”

“Now shut up and let me shop for your new walk-in closet.”

[cloverrwritess]

hiiii!!! I was wondering if you could write a Spencer Agnew x fem!reader fic (or gender neutral) where it’s kinda a he fell first and he fell harder scenario? Like maybe he’s had a thing for reader for so long and reader is just so oblivious. Like he stares and always wants to sit next to her while shooting and always looks over at her after he cracks a joke even when not on camera to make her laugh? And maybe one scene is where they are filming tntl and he goes extra hard on a bit for her to make her burst out laughing? And in the end they end up together ofc after fans and other smosh coworkers both clearly see the longing and help them get together? Thanks!!! (Sorry if that was a lot lol)

Title: Another Office Couple

Spencer Agnew x Fem! Reader

Request: Yes | No

note: hello! thank you so much for this ask! he is such a sweetheart and makes the most funniest jokes. we need more spencer fanfics fr

warnings: one dirty joke for tntl, swearing

________

It was another day of filming for the Smosh Games Channel, Spencer was scheduled to be part of another Gentlemen game. He was sipping on some Mountain Dew Kickstart when he heard multiple laughs to his left and turned to look.

He found her with Angela laughing together, he would thank whatever he did in his old life for being in the same job as her. He sees that she was already in her gentlemen's outfit before sitting right next to him. He felt his face heat him—not expecting her to sit beside him; he was used to her being in front of him.

He kept taking little glances at them till she noticed and smiled at him. “Hi Spencer, how was your lunch? I know you were too busy to buy and pick your lunch so I was the one that picked it for you, hope it was good”

His mind started to spin after knowing she was the one that picked his lunch for him. “Yeah, yeah It was great actually. The best food I’ve had in a while” Spencer felt himself start to jumble his words for how flustered he was. She raised her left eyebrow before smiling again and continued talking to him.

“I’ll be right back okay? I need to ask Alex something” He stood up before running towards Alex.

________

She followed him with her eyes and turned to look at Angela again. She saw how Angela was already looking at her with a certain facial expression. “What's that look for?”

“Really? "Oh the food was sooo good, It’s the best thing I’ve eaten in a while, AND you still can’t even see what I’ve been telling you?” Angela was whispering but it didn’t even sound like it from how frustrated she said it.

“What? He’s busy editing videos, he probably haven’t eaten right on time”

Angela rolled her eyes at what the girl in front of her said and slammed her hand on the table “I swear to god I’m going to smack you—”

“Woahhh I left for a few seconds and now you guys are killing each other”

________

Once the cast was all seated, they started filming and making improv bits and jokes for the video.

“I have dinner with my second husband later so we have to make this quick” I put my smoking pipe on my lips and looked at the others. Shayne was already losing his mind and couldn’t stop laughing.

“Hmm yes the council did put up an announcement you were looking for a third husband? I’d like to apply for that” Spencer said, still focused on playing Mario Kart.

The others immediately started to look at each other, basically communicating with their eyes away from both Spencer and his crush.

“Oh god, not again”

________

“I sweat so much wearing that stupid tuxedo” She was muttering things to herself while fixing her hair looking at the mirror and was getting closer to look at her makeup to see any damage from laughing and touching her face during filming.

Spencer was staring at her while he was next to Alex. “Dude you look so fucking creepy in my perspective right now”

He immediately looked at Alex and made a disappointed face. “Can you not say that please? You make me sound like a creep”

“I mean you kinda are from how much you stare at her like a weirdo”

“Shut up” Spencer nudge Alex with his elbow, signaling him to stop making fun of him

“Everyone in the office knows you like her dude, we’re all making bets when you actually start making moves on her”

“Fuck off”

________

It was the next day where we were going to film a Try Not to Laugh. I was the first one to go first and had to make Shayne laugh, I did succeed while getting spit water combination on me because of him.

Finally it was my turn to sit down and patiently waited for anyone to make me laugh. Spencer came out of the divider and immediately kneeled in front of me.

He was wearing a black vest with fingerless gloves and a hat with a feather on it. He did a small bit before saying another line “I’m certified in Scuba, uh After Effects, and Cunnilingus”

That made me burst out into laughter and spit out the water from inside my mouth “Holy shit I wasn’t expecting you to say that while wearing that fucking outfit”

Spencer put his hands in the air as a winning pose for making me laugh. Others took turns before we ended the video.

“Did you like the Cunnilingus bit I did?” He rubbed the back of his neck while staring at her. “Are you kidding? That was so funny, I wasn’t expecting you to say that”

He felt flustered from her compliment.

While the two were busy talking to each other. Both Angela and Shayne were plotting on how to get Spencer to confess. They decided on the place where Winnie the dog always hides during Hide and Seek videos.

“I’ll get her and shove her there while you do the exact same thing for Spencer?” Angela whispered to Shayne, Courtney was next to him listening in. “Are you guys trapping both of them? Are you sure this will work?” They asked

“Yes 100%! We can finally rest from how much of a hopeless romantic he is for her, I’m so sick at this point”

It was finally lunch break when Spencer asked her to sit with him. Both were ready to sit down till they both felt hands on them and dragged into a room, they got shoved in together and heard the door lock. “Tell her or you’re not leaving, I am SICK seeing you guys being in love” Spencer guessed Angela was the one screaming.

“What do we do now?” He heard her say, confusion laced into her voice. He felt bad for her being dragged into this.

“Hey I’m sorry for dragging you in this situation, since we’re both stuck here and likely can’t get out unless I tell you something. I like you, and I mean like like you. I always make sure I sit next to you when we are scheduled in videos together, I always give you half of my Kickstar whenever you want a drink, and you know I never do that with anyone in the office” He bit his lips hoping he wouldn’t regret confessing his love to her.

She didn’t say anything until she took his hand and squeezed it three times, indicating she felt the same. “You know how shy I get talking about my feelings out loud but I like you too, I guess I’ve been overthinking how you don’t feel the same way as I do since we both work in the same company”

He leaned in “Can I kiss you right now? I really need to kiss you”

She nodded and there in the small space, they shared their first kiss.

They both got interrupted by a knock on the outside. “Hey are you guys done yet?? Lunch break is about to end in like 10 minutes” Angela screamed from outside.

They both sighed and she grabbed his arm before yelling for Angela to open the door.

“Thank God, Shayne was tired of gripping the handle so you guys can’t escape”

“Another office couple everyone!”

[elleaitch22]

Terms of Endearment

Chapter 13: Learning How to Stay

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: Sorry about the delay y’all! It was a rough week. I saw a bunch of immigrants being round up and bussed off, and it threw me off pretty badly. Chapter is kinda short because I literally couldn’t snap out of it. Anywho, I’m gonna look at your suggestions tomorrow before I start writing Chapter 14. I really wish it was better, but I know Chapter 14 will be lol!! I hope y’all enjoy!! xx Elle

Warnings: Nightmares, low self-worth, PTSD symptoms, anxiety (mild)

Word Count: 3.5k words

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Azzi arrived at Penthouse 8 bright and early on Tuesday morning. She was intentional about her outfit; she didn’t want to be the reason Soleil looked like she wouldn’t fit in on her first day at Four Oaks. The flowy, cream and green pants paired perfectly with the tight, cream tank top. Brown sandals and gold jewelry were the perfect accents.

“Good morning, Azzi. How are we doing today?” Paige questioned, facing the stove.

Azzi sat at one of the bar stools, noting the lack of sunny energy in the room. “Good morning. I was up a few times. He was in a few dreams, freaked me out a little. Where’s Soleil.”

Paige looked at her watch. “Sleep. I’m gonna get her up in a couple minutes, once I finish cooking. Wanna talk about it?” Glance tossed over her shoulder.

“Uh, sure.” She began. “Do you have anything you need help with?”

“You can cut some apples and oranges if you want?” Paige offered.

Azzi was grateful for the task, standing to gather the fruit and supplies. “For the first one, I was in my apartment with Soleil. We were working on homework, I think. He just popped up, saying mean things. I woke up when he said something to Soleil.”

Paige nodded, letting her continue.

“Second one I was there by myself. He was there when I got home, and he started hitting me. And I don’t even know why that happened in the dream; he’s only hit me once.”

“Azzi,” Paige started, covering her hand, “He shouldn’t have hit you at all, and it’s okay if you’re having nightmares about it.”

The brunette nodded, focusing on cutting up the fruit. This is why she was beginning to like the morning meeting. She could air out her feelings and be validated.

“The last one was the worst. Everyone was out somewhere, I don’t even know where. Soleil went missing. Nobody could find her, and he made me leave you guys as a trade.” Azzi finished.

Paige’s hand came to cup the nape of her neck this time, “Azzi, can you look at me?”

Azzi shook her head, hands shaking as she cut the last apple slice.

“Okay. Nothing’s going to happen to Soleil, I promise. She’s always got somebody who would die before they would let anything happen to her. Nika, Ice, Jana, KK, me, you. She’ll be okay.” The blonde’s free hand went to Azzi’s chin, forcing her to look at her. “You are safe with me, Az. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, alright?”

Azzi didn’t say anything, just stared into Paige’s eyes, but she was gone. Physically with her, but mind away.

“Azzi,” Paige called, squeezing the back of her neck a little.

The woman blinked quickly, clearing out whatever was going on in her mind.

“Did you hear me?” The blonde questioned. “Nothing is going to happen to you or Soleil. I won’t let him hurt you, not again.”

Azzi nodded, trying to believe what Paige was telling her. “It’s just hard to remember that when it’s the middle of the night.” She said with a cynical laugh.

“You can always come up here if you need. If you don’t feel safe, or if you just want to talk, you can always come here. I know Soleil would love a sleepover, so our door is always open.”

Pale thumbs rubbed at Azzi’s jaw, reminding her to unclench her teeth. “I’ll remember that. Thanks, Paige.”

The blonde leaves her in the kitchen and Soleil is left with her thoughts.

Would Paige really want to talk about her abuser at 3 a.m.? Did she really want her to come over whenever?

Her brows were furrowed when Paige came back with Soleil in tow. “Rule number two, Azzi.” She said, casually.

She thought back to the rules listed in her journal – she could ask if she didn’t know what to do, didn’t understand what was expected of her.

“Maybe after Soleil gets to school?” Her shoulders relaxed at Paige’s nod.

Soleil sat quietly at the island, something very unusual when she was at home.

“What’s wrong, Sunny Girl.” Azzi said, moving closer.

The girl shook her head and stuck her thumb in her mouth, pout deepening at the question.

“She doesn’t want to go to school. I think she might be a little nervous.” Paige spoke lowly.

Azzi had figured that, as her last experience with a new school wasn’t great. “That’s okay, Lei. We can–”

“We stay here and do school?” Soleil’s eyes had lit up with excitement and hope.

The brunette’s heart dropped to her stomach, knowing she’d be crushing the girl’s dreams. “Well, you’re only going to go to school for the morning, then me and Mo are gonna come get you for lunch, and we’ll come home and finish school! And then your mommy’s gonna pick you up after we finish! Does that sound okay?” Azzi tried to sound joyful with the plan, hoping the anxiety in her voice wasn’t audible.

Big blue eyes locked onto the kitchen counter, face pensive, “If you do my hair, I agwee.”

A tanned hand shot out, “You’re a good negotiator.” A quick handshake and a smile and the deal was on.

Two plates of French toast, chicken sausage, eggs, and fruit appeared before them. “Okay, we have 45 minutes until we need to be on the way to school, so I can go in and meet your teacher, Lei.” Paige walked around to sit on the other side of Soleil. “So, no games or tv this morning, alright?”

Soleil nodded, grabbing both women’s hands. “Dear God,” She started, head bowed. “Thank you fow my yummy bweakfast. Thank you fow my mommy. Please let hew have a gweat day! Thank you fow my Azzi. Please help us have a fun time aftew school.” She paused, voice dropping a bit. “Please help me like my new school and have nice fwiends. In Jesus name, amen.”

It wasn’t everyday Azzi her a child that young pray so well, “Soleil, that was a great job, Sweetheart.” She ruffled the girl’s hair before digging in.

Plates were empty in ten minutes. Paige went to clean up and get dressed while Azzi followed Soleil to her room to help her get ready.

Her heart warmed seeing Soleil in her uniform. “Why can’t I wear my unicorn dress today?” Soleil pouted.

“Because Four Oaks has uniforms. Everyone matches so no one feels left out.” Azzi answered gently. “Do you want me to do something with purple butterfly clips to match your shirt?”

“Yes, please. I want lots of bwaids in the fwont!” She smiled brightly. “What awe we gonna do aftew we get home?”

Azzi scrunched her face like she was deep in thought. “Maybe we can learn about volcanoes and make our own.” She said, parting the front half of Soleil’s hair.

“I wanna make a volcano!” She exclaimed loudly.

Soleil rambled about how they could make the rainbow pretty and paint it pink and add purple glitter since it’s mommy’s favorite. She seemed excited for their after school adventure, energy rubbing off on Azzi.

A knock sounded at Soleil’s bedroom door. “You guys ready?” Paige questioned.

Azzi’s mouth went dry.

Paige was still oh so fine. She wore a neutral outfit. Simple. Loose khakis and a cream linen shirt hung on her frame nicely. Her hair was down today; natural waves framed her face beautifully.

“Yeah, mommy! I’m weady.” Soleil’s voice broke Azzi’s Paige-induced trance. She walked to her mom, putting her had in the larger outstretched one. “If I do a good job, we can have a movie dinner and night.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Drop off went well. Soleil skipped to her classroom, holding her mom’s hand. She showed Paige her desk, cubby, and the book nook while Azzi talked to Mrs. Russell about what happened at St. Paul’s. The teacher reassured Azzi that nothing like that would be permitted at Four Oaks. Mrs. Russell walked her to the door, gentle hint very clear.

Azzi signaled to Paige that they would need to leave. She smiled as the tall blonde knelt, tugged Soleil close to her chest, and whispered something in her ear.

As they walked back out to the car, Paige looked back several times.

“Relax, P. I really think this will be a good fit for her.” Azzi said, laying a hand on her back.

Paige nodded, “I know, I’m just worried.” She sighed. “I know she’ll probably love it, and it’ll be great, but I thought that about St. Paul’s too.”

“Yeah, but this is a new place. They know all about you and your orientation, and they are accepting of it.”

Paige opened the passenger door for Azzi, “I just don’t want this to fuck up her childhood.”

“That school is good. The classrooms have pride flags. And if you don’t like it, pull her out, and I’ll be a private tutor or something. But you have to let her settle, see how the school really is.”

The blonde nodded. Azzi was making sense. She just needed to calm down and see how everything went. Soleil had a lot of people looking out for her, making sure she was okay.

“Alright.” She said. She reached into her back pocket, pulling out a sheet of folded paper. “I have your list for today. But we need to talk about what had you confused this morning.”

“Well, I don’t need an explanation, more like clarification.” Azzi started. “Do you really want me to come up here if I can’t sleep or are you being nice?”

Paige smirked, “I’m trying to date you, Azzi, so of course I’m being nice. But even if I wasn’t interested, we’re friends too. I want to help you, and if that means coming upstairs for a few nights, that’s fine with me.” She cocked a brow slightly. “Was there anything else?”

“Yeah. Do I have to talk about it like we did this morning?” She questioned.

“Not if you don’t want to. It may help though. We could even get you a therapist if you want.” Paige said, handing her the list.

Work on setting up apartment

At least 3 glasses of water before you pick up Soleil

Sunlight for 10 mins

Make list of materials for Soleil’s afterschool

Journal prompt: perfect day

Before they long, they were back at the apartment.

“Have a good day. Morgan will be here at 11 to take you to pick up Soleil. Let me know if you need anything.”

Azzi rode the elevator to her floor, cataloguing all the things she could get done in the next two and a half hours. There was a thin figure waiting outside her door.

Nika.

“Hey girl,” Croatian accent light. “I brought coffee so we could have a little boost while we work.”

Azzi took the cup and brought it to her lips. “Thanks, Nika. I’m happy you’re here, so I don’t have to do everything myself.”

She unlocked her front door, ushering the other woman in.

“Oh, Ice should be here soon, since she was your interior designer.”

“It’s mainly just sorted into boxes for each room, but if we can get the couch, the table for Soleil’s room, and the bean bags set up, I think we’ll be in pretty solid position.”

Nika nodded, “Good, good. While we’re putting the couch together, I can ask you a few questions. “She added casually.

“Okay,” Azzi was more focused on opening one of the eight boxes for the couch.

“How are you liking it here? Like seriously.” Nika went to another box, cutting the cardboard off smoothly.

“I’m doing okay. I’m trying to work through being accepted. And there not being a trap door with every decision I make.” She said.

Nika was quiet, making sure Azzi didn’t have any more to get out. “I know that can be tough. You’re almost rewiring your brain to think a completely different way. You have to teach your brain and your body that you are in a safe space with safe people.”

Azzi’s eyes were wide with surprise. She’d just analyzed everything Azzi had said in thirty seconds.

“Oh, I was a psychology major, Azzi. Know all about how easy it is for words to fuck someone up.” The woman smirked. “You’re already been accepted; you’re our family. Paige let you in. She doesn’t do soft. Not easily. She’s been carved into corners for Soleil. But you? You’re the only one who got past her walls just by… being.”

The last sentence bounded around in Azzi’s head. Paige had really let me into their life and accepted me into the fold.

The two women worked in relative silence. They screwed the little feet on the bottom and sat each piece up. Azzi was happy she picked a couch with a low difficulty, or she’d probably doing homework

“Okay, Fudd. I’ve let you stew long enough for me to ask you the real questions.” Nika said, smirking after. “You happy?” she asked, turning back to Azzi.

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Azzi let out a soft breath, smiled faintly. “Yeah. I think so.”

Nika crossed her arms and tilted her head. She didn’t move.

Azzi’s smile faded a little. “That’s what’s scary.”

Nika sat on the arm of the couch. “Explain.”

Azzi settled onto the floor again, legs folded under her, her iced coffee balanced on the nearest box. “I keep waiting to feel like I’m faking it. Like I don’t belong here — with Soleil, with Paige, in this building. But I don’t. That’s what’s terrifying. Because if this is real, then I could lose it.”

“You think she’d leave you?” Nika asked gently.

Azzi shook her head. “Not like that. I just – I’ve never been this safe. It makes me want to self-destruct a little.”

Nika nodded slowly. “You want to know something about Paige?”

Azzi glanced up.

“She doesn’t do soft. Never has. Not with people. Not even with her parents. But Soleil cracked her open. And you? You slipped in so quiet we almost didn’t notice. And now she’s soft around you, too.”

Azzi’s throat tightened.

“I know you care about her. And Soleil,” Nika said, quieter now. “I know you’d never hurt them on purpose. But I need to know you won’t run when it gets too real.”

Azzi stared at the floor. “I’m not scared I’ll break her. I’m scared I’ll break me.”

The silence stretched between them. Nika didn’t fill it.

“When I was with Grant, I didn’t have anything for myself,” Azzi murmured. “Not a toothbrush, not a key to the apartment, not even a drawer. Nothing that said I mattered. Being here — being wanted here — it’s like holding something fragile. And I don’t trust myself not to drop it.”

Nika knelt down beside her, her voice firm but kind. “Then let us help you hold it.”

Before Azzi could respond, another knock sounded — louder this time. A beat later, the door swung open.

“Please tell me someone’s wearing real pants,” Ice called as she walked in, balancing a tray of pastries and a canvas bag bursting with snacks and what looked like an electric screwdriver. She stopped short. “Oh good. Emotional breakdown first. Building shit after. Love that for us.”

Azzi snorted despite herself. Nika rolled her eyes.

Ice kicked off her boots and dropped the bag beside the bookshelf. “I brought cinnamon rolls and batteries. I’m the handyman of your dreams.”

“God help us,” Nika muttered.

“Exactly,” Ice said, pulling a cinnamon roll from the tray and tossing it to Azzi like a softball. “Fuel up. We’ve got a bed to build and a shelf that needs redemption.”

They got to work, spreading the unassembled pieces of Soleil’s twin bed across the living room. Ice found the instructions, skimmed them for a total of five seconds, and declared them “useless garbage” before tossing them aside.

Azzi tried to follow the manual anyway. Nika refused to hold anything without criticizing its symmetry. Ice ended up on the floor with a power drill and half a cinnamon roll in her mouth, narrating the process like a podcast.

It was chaotic. It was messy. It was joyful.

They argued over whether butterfly decals were juvenile (Nika: yes, Ice: absolutely not), laughed until they cried when the bookshelf collapsed sideways, and somehow managed to string twinkle lights above the bed without anyone falling off the chair.

When the last screw went in and the mattress was lowered into place, Azzi stood back and stared at it.

The room felt different now.

Permanent.

“She’s gonna freak out,” Ice said, wiping her hands on her jeans. “This is a straight-up fairy room. You’ve outdone yourself.”

Azzi nodded, arms crossed loosely over her chest. “She deserves it.”

“You all do,” Nika said. Her voice was quieter now. “This? All of it? It’s good, Azzi. You’re good.”

Azzi blinked fast, not quite trusting her voice.

Ice crossed the room and handed her a small, silly pillow she’d tucked in her bag — pale pink, embroidered with STAY SOFT in sparkly thread.

“For the bed,” she said. “Or your couch. Whatever.”

Azzi took it with a shaky laugh.

“Welcome to the family,” Ice said. “You’re stuck with us now.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The apartment was quiet again. Too quiet. Ice and Nika left five minutes earlier. They had real jobs to do.

Azzi stood in the center of the living room, hands on her hips, eyes skimming over what they'd accomplished. The couch was assembled, the rug was nestled under the furniture, and the coffee table was perfectly coordinated with the rest of the space.

Soleil’s room was complete — a soft glow spilling from under the door where the string lights hummed against the wall. The butterfly decals looked a little lopsided. Ice would say they gave the room character.

Ice did an amazing job.

The silence pressed in.

She crossed to the kitchen counter and picked up Paige’s folded list, smoothing it open on the marble.

To Do:

Work on setting up apartment

At least 3 glasses of water before you pick up Soleil

Sunlight for 10 mins

Make list of materials for Soleil’s afterschool

Journal prompt: perfect day

A flutter of guilt rose. Looking back at the list, her eyes snagged on the first item. The house isn’t finished, and it’s nowhere.

She should be doing more. The closet was still half-full of things she hadn’t unpacked. She hadn’t touched the bag of maternity clothes Paige had bought “just in case.” The hall closet looked like a graveyard of scattered shoes. The crib still needed decorations. She hadn't made any actual lesson plans for Soleil’s electives — today would be mostly improvising.

Grant’s voice rose, uninvited, like oil on water:

“You can’t even finish what you start.”

“You think being good for five minutes erases years of being useless?”

“Everyone loves you until they realize you’re work.”

She shut her eyes. Tried to breathe. Counted backward from five.

It didn’t work.

Azzi moved slowly to the bathroom, flicked on the light. Cool tile under bare feet. Steam still clung to the corners of the mirror from this morning.

She looked at her reflection. Puffy eyes. Paint on her forearm. A small tear in her t-shirt sleeve. She looked… loved.

Her heart was racing anyway.

“You’re messy. You’re needy. No one stays for that.”

She opened the medicine cabinet. No pills, no old bottles. Just sunscreen, a lavender roller, a half-used tube of concealer, and a folded index card she’d taped to the inside of the mirror last week.

She read it out loud.

“You are allowed to take up space.

You are safe now.

You are not too much.

You are learning how to stay.

You are loved.

You are loving.

She touched each sentence as she said it, grounding herself in the repetition.

Azzi closed her eyes and pictured Soleil’s face when she saw the new bed. Paige’s voice saying, “Wear something fun.” Ice handing her that ridiculous STAY SOFT pillow like it was a badge of honor.

“People don’t want a project. They want a prize.”

She stared hard at herself in the mirror. “You’re not a prize,” she said quietly. “You’re not a project. You’re a person. And they love you anyway.”

It didn’t fix everything. But it helped.

She stood there for a minute longer, breathing slow and deep. Her reflection didn’t look so panicked anymore. Just tired. But steady.

In the next room, her phone alarm buzzed.

Pick up Soleil @ 12:00.

She shut the alarm off and smiled. Time for volcanoes.

[theseh00perscanh00p]

Par for the Heart: Part 1

paige x azzi

a/n: Hi guys this is the first fic I’ve ever posted feedback is warmly welcomed. I was definitely inspired by all the other pazzi authors on here so here goes nothing. If this is absolute garbage please let me know! LOL This is a AU where Paige is actually a professional golfer and Azzi is a star basketball player. Hope you enjoy!

word count: 4.1k

“Not Quite Nothing”

The sun was doing its best to stay chill behind a lazy veil of clouds, but the California air had that dry warmth that promised a solid tan and maybe even a touch of destiny.

Paige adjusted the brim of her cap, her usual calm expression in place. She stood near the practice green, putting a few balls with robotic precision—controlled, focused, her entire vibe the human embodiment of “unbothered.” Not that she didn’t notice the whispers or the subtle camera clicks. She was used to it. Being one of the few women dominating the pro golf circuit came with its own brand of spotlight.

“Nice stroke,” came a voice—low, smooth, and confident, with just a hint of playfulness.

Paige glanced up mid-putt, the ball rolling in without so much as a wobble. “Thanks,” she said simply, looking toward the voice.

Azzi stood there with a crooked smile and a pair of sunglasses perched low on her nose, clearly for aesthetic more than sun protection. She wore a casual polo shirt that looked like it belonged in a GQ editorial and had the kind of easy swagger that made people take notice when she walked into a room—or onto a golf course she absolutely didn’t belong on.

“Not bad for someone who hits tiny balls with sticks for a living,” Azzi teased, stepping closer.

Paige arched a brow, lips twitching. “Says the woman who plays a sport that requires bouncing the same ball over and over again. Groundbreaking stuff.”

Azzi laughed—a real, warm sound that caught Paige off guard. “Touché. But you’ve got to admit, your game doesn’t usually draw a lot of sneakerheads.”

“That why you’re here?” Paige asked, setting another ball down and taking her stance. “Looking for new fashion inspiration?”

“Honestly? I heard there’d be cocktails, sunshine, and cute girls with dangerous short games.”

The putter paused mid-swing. Paige gave her a sidelong glance. “You always this forward?”

Azzi shrugged with a grin. “Only when I’m intrigued.”

The ball rolled smoothly into the hole again.

“Lucky shot,” Azzi muttered under her breath.

Paige didn’t even hide her smirk this time. “You keep talking like that, and I might just give you a quick putting lesson.”

“Oh no, please don’t. I’m not sure my ego can handle a complete annihilation on hole three,” Azzi said, clutching her chest dramatically. “You golfers are way too smug when you’re not being terrifyingly quiet.”

“I can talk,” Paige said, leaning casually on her putter. “Just not when it doesn’t feel worth it.”

Azzi raised a brow. “And now?”

Paige gave her a slow, measured look—eyes sharp, but mouth soft. “You’re… mildly entertaining.”

Azzi clutched her heart again. “Wow. And here I thought that was your version of flirting.”

“If it was, you’d know,” Paige replied, just a little coy.

Azzi looked amused and genuinely impressed. “Okay, Miss Stone-Faced Sass. You got a partner for the scramble later?”

“Not yet.”

“Well,” Azzi said, stepping even closer, “you’re looking at a five-foot-eleven liability with zero golf skills and above-average snack contributions. Think about it.”

Paige tilted her head. “Are you offering or warning me?”

Azzi grinned, teeth and all. “A little bit of both. But I’m great company. Promise.”

Paige gave the smallest nod, lips curved just slightly. “Alright. You’re in.”

Azzi blinked. “Wait, really?”

“You said cocktails, sunshine, and cute girls,” Paige said, shouldering her club. “Sounds like your lucky day.”

As Paige walked toward the clubhouse, Azzi watched her go with a lopsided grin.

“Damn,” she muttered to herself. “Golf just got interesting.”

———

By the time they reached the first tee, Paige had her usual game face on—calm, unreadable, locked in. Azzi, on the other hand, looked like she was about to DJ a pool party, not play a round of golf. She’d swapped her sunglasses for a backward cap and was twirling a tee between her fingers like it was a drumstick.

“So… be honest,” Azzi said, eyeing the driver Paige handed her. “Is it normal to feel like this thing might launch me into orbit?”

Paige chuckled under her breath. “Only if your swing’s as wild as your flirting.”

“Wow. Coming out swinging, huh?” Azzi stepped up to the ball, wiggling her hips like she’d seen in a dozen YouTube tutorials. “Okay, I’ve seen this in movies. Just gotta find my inner Tiger…”

“More like inner chaos,” Paige muttered.

Azzi wound up and swung with every ounce of her basketball-powered strength.

The ball flew.

Left. Very, very left.

Somewhere, a squirrel filed a lawsuit.

Paige blinked. “I mean… technically, it went far.”

Azzi stood there frozen, then turned slowly. “You saw that, right?”

“Hard to miss,” Paige said, lips twitching. “You almost hit the snack cart.”

“Not all heroes wear capes,” Azzi replied, placing the driver back in her bag. “But I do bring drama to the green.”

Paige lined up her shot next with the kind of smooth rhythm that made it look effortless. The ball soared straight and clean down the fairway. Azzi whistled low.

“Okay, that was hot.”

Paige turned, eyebrow raised. “The shot?”

“That swing. The focus. The quiet confidence. Very… ‘main character’ energy.”

Paige looked down, trying to hide the smile that tugged at her mouth. “You really have no filter, do you?”

Azzi slung her bag over her shoulder. “None. But I make up for it with charm and impressive hydration habits. Want a coconut water?”

Paige accepted the drink with a quiet thanks, and they walked down the fairway together. Azzi didn’t seem to mind Paige’s silences—in fact, she filled them easily, tossing out stories about WNBA travel chaos, her mom’s terrible attempt at golfing once (“She called the golf cart her ‘chariot of doom’”), and her failed attempt to cook pasta without a strainer.

“Just dumped the whole pot upside down,” Azzi admitted. “I lost half the noodles and a little bit of my soul.”

Paige laughed—an actual laugh this time, brief but warm.

“That’s the first real one I’ve heard,” Azzi said, grinning. “I feel honored.”

Paige shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Correct,” Azzi said, popping a grape into her mouth. “But charmingly so. Admit it—you’re having fun.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t,” Paige said, giving her a sidelong glance. “You’re just… unexpected.”

Azzi raised a brow. “Unexpected good or unexpected ‘I’m regretting every decision that led me here’?”

Paige pretended to think. “TBD.”

“Fair,” Azzi said, nudging her gently with her shoulder. “But I’ve got nine more holes to win you over.”

“Bold,” Paige replied, straight-faced.

“Bold is literally my brand.”

They walked on, sun climbing higher in the sky, golf balls flying in various directions (most of them Paige’s, a few of Azzi’s—none of them intentionally), and somewhere between birdies and terrible bunker shots, something easy and magnetic started to settle between them.

It wasn’t quite flirting and it wasn’t quite friendship.

But it was definitely something.

———

The sun had mellowed into gold by the time they reached the turn. A breeze had picked up, rustling through the tall pines lining the course, and the world felt quieter—less like a tournament, more like a tucked-away moment that didn’t belong to anyone else.

They sat side by side on a bench near the 17th tee, sharing a bottle of water Azzi had wrestled out of her over-packed bag. Paige leaned back, arms stretched, head tilted toward the sky.

“You always this zen before finishing a round?” Azzi asked, watching her with open curiosity.

“Only when I’m about to win,” Paige said, her tone soft but undeniably smug.

Azzi grinned. “You sound like you need a little motivation to keep that lead.”

“Oh? And what exactly do you have in mind?”

Azzi leaned in slightly—not enough to invade, but just enough to make Paige notice. “A bet.”

Paige’s brow lifted. “I don’t gamble.”

“It’s not gambling,” Azzi said, voice low and teasing. “It’s… incentivizing.”

Paige gave her a look. “You’re full of it.”

“Maybe,” Azzi said, eyes dancing. “But hear me out. One hole left. If I win, I take you out.”

Paige paused. “Like—”

“A date. Not a dinner among friendly acquaintances. A date-date.” Azzi’s voice dropped to something playful but sincere. “With dessert and everything.”

Paige studied her for a long moment, trying to decide if this was Azzi’s usual boldness or something more intentional. The air between them was suddenly warmer than the weather.

“And if I win?” Paige asked, curious now.

“Then you get to keep pretending you’re not into me.”

That made Paige blink, then laugh softly—caught off guard by the directness. “You’re really something.”

“Is that a yes?”

Paige glanced toward the final hole. A long par-5. She could birdie it in her sleep.

“Fine,” she said, standing up and brushing off her shorts. “You’re on.”

They walked in comfortable silence to the last tee, the easy banter replaced by a more focused energy. Paige stepped up first, her drive soaring clean and elegant down the fairway.

Azzi clapped lightly. “Wow. Look at that. Poetry.”

“Your turn,” Paige said, folding her arms, expecting the usual chaos.

But Azzi stepped up, adjusted her grip—and delivered a drive so smooth, so perfectly struck, it had Paige’s mouth slightly open before she caught herself.

The ball flew—straight, long, controlled. It landed just shy of Paige’s and rolled to a stop.

Paige blinked. “Where did that come from?”

Azzi tossed her a wink over her shoulder. “Didn’t I mention I grew up playing golf with my uncles in the summers?”

“No. You did not.”

“Huh. Must’ve slipped my mind.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You hustled me.”

“I flirted with you. You made assumptions. I just didn’t correct them.”

Paige tried not to smile. She failed.

The hole played out like a scene from a sports movie. Azzi matched Paige stroke for stroke—long approach, a clean chip, and then… a beautiful ten-foot putt that rolled in like it had been waiting all day for its spotlight.

Azzi didn’t cheer. She just turned to Paige with a satisfied grin, like she already knew how this was going to end.

“Well,” she said, offering her hand, “I believe you owe me a night of letting me impress you.”

Paige took the hand slowly, her pride somewhere between bruised and impressed. “You’re dangerous.”

“And yet, here you are,” Azzi said, gently squeezing her fingers before letting go.

Paige stepped away, shaking her head with a small, reluctant laugh. “I’ve been hustled.”

Azzi slung her bag over her shoulder. “Nah. You’ve been seen.”

And somehow, that felt even more disarming.

___

The clubhouse had finally quieted. The last few flashes from the celebrity photo ops had gone off, and the din of post-tournament chatter faded as cars trickled out of the parking lot one by one.

Paige walked out into the dusky light with her bag slung over her shoulder, the scent of fresh-cut grass and sunscreen still clinging to her. Her shoulders ached in that satisfying, earned way—but her head was a little too full, her heartbeat a little too… light.

Azzi was already at her car, leaned back against the driver’s side like she had all the time in the world. She spotted Paige and gave a lazy wave, the same easy confidence she wore on the course still very much intact.

“Was starting to think you’d ghost me already,” Azzi teased.

“Just making sure you didn’t drive off with my dignity,” Paige said, smirking. “Not that I have much left after that last hole.”

Azzi laughed. “Hey, I gave you a fair warning. Sort of.”

“You gave me no warning. You hustled me with your pretty face and your chaos swing, then pulled out a tour-level finish like it was casual.”

“Gotta keep some mystery,” Azzi said with a shrug.

They stood there for a moment, the air between them still charged in that new, unspoken kind of way. A breeze swept through the lot, tugging gently at Paige’s ponytail.

Azzi reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, holding it out. “Number?”

Paige raised a brow. “You’re not even gonna ask?”

“I think I already did—with the putt.” Azzi wiggled her phone. “Don’t make me turn this into a press conference.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but stepped closer and took the phone, typing in her number. “You’re relentless.”

“Persistent,” Azzi corrected. “Relentless would’ve been me asking for a kiss after the back nine.”

Paige froze, blinking at her. Azzi just smiled.

“Kidding,” she added—barely convincingly.

Paige gave a breath of a laugh as she handed the phone back. “Alright, hotshot. You have my number. Now what?”

Azzi tilted her head. “Now, I use it. I make good on my win. Pick a night next week. I’ll plan something worth that smirk of yours.”

Paige bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to let the grin bloom too fast. “You always this smooth?”

Azzi looked at her for a long second—less playful now, a touch more real. “Only when I mean it.”

Paige felt something flutter in her chest, unexpected but not unwelcome.

“I’ll text you,” Azzi said, reaching for her door. “Don’t ghost me. I’ll find you.”

“You say that like it’s a threat.”

“It’s a promise.”

With a wink, Azzi slid into her car and started the engine. Paige stepped back, watching the taillights fade as Azzi pulled away, still unsure how she’d just spent a whole day feeling like the composed one and somehow still walked away the flustered one.

She looked down at her phone—already lit up with a new message.

Azzi 🏀

Hope you like surprises.

Paige shook her head, smiling as she unlocked her car.

She definitely had her hands full.

———

That evening, Paige sat cross-legged on her couch, her phone flipped over beside her as if it were something dangerous. Every now and then she’d glance at it, half-annoyed, half-hopeful.

Buzz.

She jumped a little—then rolled her eyes at herself before flipping the screen over.

Azzi 🏀

So do golfers stretch before they play or just rely on that built-in smugness for flexibility?

Paige smirked.

Paige ⛳️

We stretch. You know, to prepare for the burden of carrying the sport’s classiest reputation.

Can basketball players walk in a straight line without dribbling everything in sight?

A minute passed.

Azzi 🏀

Damn. You bite a little when you’re cornered, huh? I like that.

But I also like that you’re trying so hard to distract me from the fact I beat you.

Paige ⛳️

Please. You cheated. With charm and hustle. It was entrapment.

Azzi 🏀

Wow. Big word. Hot.

Entrapment… like me asking for your number under the pretense of a bet? That kind of vibe?

Paige stared at her phone, lips twitching, then typed—

Paige ⛳️

Exactly like that. I should press charges.

Azzi 🏀

Okay, well, plead your case over drinks next Friday.

Paige ⛳️

So presumptuous.

Azzi 🏀

So… are you saying no?

A pause.

Paige ⛳️

I’m saying I’ll let you keep thinking you’re in charge until you buy me a really good cocktail.

Azzi 🏀

Fair. I know a spot. You like rooftop views and accidental hand grazes?

Paige read that last one three times, biting her lower lip before typing slowly.

Paige ⛳️

I like you not assuming it’d be accidental.

Delivered.

She immediately locked her screen and tossed the phone onto the other side of the couch, heart racing like she’d just sunk a 30-foot putt in front of a crowd.

Buzz.

Nope. Not looking yet.

She eventually peeked.

Azzi 🏀

Ohhhh. Okay, quiet confidence. That’s dangerous.

Now I really gotta behave on this date.

Paige ⛳️

That implies you know how to.

Azzi 🏀

Only when someone’s worth it.

Paige exhaled a soft laugh, the kind you make when you realize you’re already in trouble—and liking it.

———

Paige – 6:23 PM

Paige stood in front of her bedroom mirror, halfway through deciding between two outfits and fully spiraling.

“Okay, not too golfy,” she mumbled to herself, holding up a tailored blouse against her torso. “But also not trying too hard.”

She threw it on the bed, then picked up a sleek black sweat suit with a cropped tank she’d sworn she wasn’t bold enough to wear. She stared at it. It stared back.

“…Screw it.”

She peeled off her tee and jeans, slipping into the sweat suit, adjusting the fabric over her hips with a slow breath. Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the waistband to show her Nike pros just slightly peaking out.

Reserved didn’t mean boring, right?

Her phone buzzed again—a text from her best friend KK:

“So… is this the basketball hottie date?? 👀”

Paige just sent back:

“Yeah. Pray I don’t get tongue-tied and say something dumb about free throws.”

She applied a final swipe of mascara and gave herself one last glance. Still her—just… elevated.

Her stomach flipped.

Azzi had a way of throwing her off balance. And Paige was usually the one reading other people, staying one step ahead.

With Azzi, she felt like she’d just stepped up to the tee box without knowing which way the wind was blowing—and somehow, she loved it.

“Okay,” she told her reflection. “You’re good. You’re calm. You’re—”

Her phone buzzed again. This time, from Azzi.

Azzi 🏀

Hope you’re dressed in something dangerous. Not because you have to, but because I’d really like to suffer tonight.

Paige blinked.

“Well. Guess I better give her something to suffer for.”

Azzi – 6:27 PM

Azzi was pacing. In socks. With an oversize button-down worn like a dress, and a perfume bottle in one hand.

“This is not a game,” she told herself, like she was hyping up in a locker room.

She sprayed once, then once more for luck. Stared at the mirror. Undid a button from her shirt. Then re-did it. Then undid it again.

“Chill. You’re not that into her.”

A beat passed.

“Okay, you’re maybe that into her.”

There was something about Paige’s quiet confidence that had her all twisted. Azzi was used to reading people fast—knew the fake boldness, the showy charm, the try-hards. Paige didn’t try.

She was.

And it was messing with her in the best way.

She looked at her phone again. No new texts, but the last one from Paige still made her grin.

Paige ⛳️

I like you not assuming it’d be accidental.

Azzi exhaled through her nose, smirking.

“Girl, if that date gets any flirtier, I’m gonna combust before dessert.”

She grabbed her keys, gave herself a final look—which gave the idea that said “yes I’m trying but not too hard”—and headed for the door.

Tonight wasn’t about playing it cool. It was about showing up.

———

The rooftop bar was strung with warm Edison bulbs, casting a honeyed glow over polished wood tables and potted plants meant to look effortlessly wild. A soft playlist drifted through the evening air—R&B with just enough bass to keep a pulse between their heartbeats.

Azzi leaned back in her chair, one arm slung casually over the back of the seat, her other hand cradling an old fashioned.

Paige sipped her white wine, legs crossed, body angled toward Azzi—but just barely. She wasn’t one for leaning in too fast.

“You know,” Azzi said, eyeing her over the rim of her glass, “I thought you might ghost me.”

Paige raised a brow. “Really?”

Azzi shrugged with a crooked grin. “Golf girls give mysterious energy. I figured you’d vanish into the mist after one round.”

Paige tilted her head. “So your plan was to beat me, steal my number, then hope I couldn’t resist your charm?”

“Exactly.” Azzi’s grin widened. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

Paige tried to hide her smile in another sip, but Azzi caught the curve of her lips and looked entirely too proud of herself.

A few more minutes of playful back-and-forth passed—Azzi dropping sly compliments, Paige swatting them away with mock modesty but letting a few land on purpose. And then…

Azzi leaned forward, voice softening just a notch.

“You always this slow to let people in?” she asked gently. No judgment. Just curiosity.

Paige hesitated. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass. “Sometimes,” she said. “But it’s more like… I’ve learned not to rush.”

Azzi waited. Patient.

Paige glanced out at the skyline, the flicker of red tail lights below. “People like the idea of me. Calm. Composed. Easy to place in their life without asking what I want.”

Azzi nodded, gaze steady.

“Had an ex,” Paige added quietly, “who loved that I was stable. Thought it meant I’d always be the one to bend. And I did. Until I didn’t.”

A long pause stretched between them. Not awkward—just real.

Azzi leaned her elbow on the table, chin in her hand. “You ever tell her that?”

Paige gave a small smile. “Didn’t have to. She noticed when I stopped answering her calls.”

Azzi exhaled a soft, impressed laugh. “Damn. Quiet exit.”

“Sometimes silence is louder,” Paige said.

That one hit Azzi deep. She swirled her drink a little, eyes warm but serious.

“I’m not trying to use you,” she said. “I’ve got my own brand, my own spotlight. If I wanted arm candy or clout, I could post a shirtless pic and let the DMs handle the rest.”

Paige arched a brow. “That really how it works for you?”

Azzi smirked. “You’d be shocked.”

Their laughter cut through the weight, easing the moment just enough.

“But,” Azzi continued, tone soft again, “I don’t want someone who fits into my life like a prop. I want someone who walks beside me. Maybe challenges me. Maybe makes me shut up sometimes.”

Paige looked at her, studying.

“I can do that,” she said, voice low. “Make you shut up.”

“Oh yeah?” Azzi grinned, leaning in. “Prove it.”

They both froze there for a beat—close enough to kiss, close enough to feel the pull. But Paige just let her fingers graze the table between them, slowly retreating with a sly look.

“Not on the first date,” she teased.

Azzi sat back, hand to chest, mock-wounded. “Cold-blooded.”

“You like it.”

Azzi’s eyes sparkled. “Unfortunately… yeah. I really do.”

———

The elevator ride down was quiet, but not heavy. The kind of silence where thoughts hum between two people instead of words. Paige stood on one side, hands clasped loosely in front of her. Azzi leaned against the opposite wall, rocking slightly on her heels.

When the doors slid open, the cool night air met them like a soft sigh. The rooftop’s warmth and flicker faded behind them, replaced by streetlights and the hum of the city.

Azzi walked Paige to her car—her own driver waiting somewhere down the street, but she didn’t mention it.

“You didn’t seem surprised I actually showed,” Paige said, unlocking her door with a subtle beep.

“I was counting on you showing,” Azzi replied, stepping in just a little closer.

Paige turned, back against the car, arms folded across her chest—casual, but not closed off. “That confident?”

Azzi grinned. “That hopeful.”

The street was quiet, save for the low rumble of traffic in the distance. They stood there in that space where a night could go one of two ways—end, or lean in.

Azzi took a breath. “Can I kiss you goodnight?”

The question was simple. No pressure, no leaning. Just placed between them like a gift Paige could accept or walk away from.

Paige looked at her, searching. Then she smiled—soft, almost shy.

“I think,” she said slowly, “you’ve earned… something.”

Azzi leaned in just enough that Paige could meet her halfway—or not at all. Paige let her hand rest lightly on Azzi’s arm, their faces inches apart.

She kissed the corner of Azzi’s mouth.

Not quite the lips. Not quite nothing.

It was the kind of kiss that said: I’m not there yet, but I want to be.

Azzi blinked, momentarily stunned, then exhaled a laugh that buzzed in her throat. “Okay. Damn. So that’s how you play.”

Paige slid into the driver’s seat, but not before giving her one last look—steady, warm, and just the tiniest bit smug.

“Goodnight, Azzi.”

Azzi watched her pull away, arms across her chest, a smile tugging at her mouth like it had nowhere better to be.

Her phone buzzed a few minutes later.

Paige ⛳️

Don’t think this means I’ll go easy on you next time we play.

Azzi smirked, thumbs flying.

Azzi 🏀

I’m counting on it.

She slipped her phone back into her purse, heart doing that low, excited thump.

She wasn’t sure what this was yet.

But she knew she was all in on finding out.

[kiokos]

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ But I still love you, babe!

⋆𐙚₊˚ | featuring: isagi yoichi ♡

⋆𐙚₊˚ | genre: childhood friends to lovers, oneshot, dumb x dumber

⋆𐙚₊˚ | warnings: names(gremlin, punk, pretty, idiot, babe, peasant), reader is a soccer prodigy, Use of [name] and N/N(nickname)

⋆𐙚₊˚ | songs: title is from a song named “still love you” by The Tulips 🫶🏼

⋆𐙚₊˚ | A/N: dropping this cuz I can’t seem to finish the other post lol, massive writers block here🥲… anyways, I’ve gotten my business studies finals results back, and I got a 89/100! I also got an 81/100 on the english finals and the teacher praised me for how beautiful my writing style was:) um. I failed my math exam tho. My writers block disappeared mid-writing so if the writing style changes… yeah. That’s why💔… also I used a quote from Pinterest:3 (it’s “every time I hold my breath between heartbeats, I hope the next one carries your name.”)

⋆𐙚₊˚ | taglist: @ihe4rtme

You and isagi were… special, to say the least.

Ever since you guys were 6, you were friends. You met on his first day at your school, and the teacher went, “alright, class. Please treat him with respect and kindness. Isagi, dear, take the seat next to [name].”

She said, pointing towards the empty seats next to you. He nodded and walked towards you before sitting there, and the teacher continued on with the lesson without further complications.

You noticed how nervous he looked, or rather - he didn’t speak. At all. Even during break. So, you decided to take the initiative for once.

“Hey, uhm… your name’s isagi, right?” You said to him, slightly tilting your head to the side. He looked a little surprised to the sudden conversation, but not unpleased.

“Ah… yeah… what’s yours? Oh- nevermind, it’s [name], right?” He said, looking up at you slightly nervously. He was so nice! “Yeah! But you can call me N/N!” You said cheerfully. He nodded and you continued. “I’ll show you around the school! Ah, only if you wanna..” he paused and went, “no, i want you to show me! Thanks.”

After class, you happily grabbed his hand and led him outside, showing him around the school. ‘He’s really respectful!’ You thought as the tour continued.

Maybe you could live with this.

˙ . ꒷ 🍙 . 𖦹˙— 🐈‍⬛

You shrieked when you saw the time on your phone - you were DEFINITELY late. You hurriedly got up and snatched your school uniform, putting all of your stuff in your bag as you put the damn uniform on.

You practically sprinted downstairs, grabbed the keys and your bento before hurryingly putting on your shoes and waving off your mom before running.

When you reached the school building, you noticed Isagi waiting next to the door - and then his eyes landing on you. You notice the way his calm face VERY quickly turns into a frown. The second you got close to him? Yeah. He goes;

“Where WERE you, you punk!? Making me wait this whole entire morning, seriously! Nah, nah. I am NOT covering for you when the teacher asks why we’re late.” All you did was laugh at his over dramatic face, and snarked back, “oh yeah, princess? So sorry I hurt your feelings.”

You then slapped his ass. Hard. Before bolting into the school building with him running after you, yelling, “GET BACK HERE, YOU GREMLIN!”. Everything else was just background noise.

You giggled as you had reached class and he finally caught up to you - slapping your ass even harder than you did his. “OUCH, YOICHI!” “YOU STARTED IT.”

“Settle down, class!” The teacher yelled out, and you did as ordered. Seriously… this teacher creeped you out!

It was math class, and as usual, the teacher paired you and Isagi together - which you didn’t mind. Actually, at this point, you were expecting him to be your partner in everything.

“Wait wait wait, back up, so like, what’s X?” Isagi said as he looked up at you and you groaned before going, “X is 16, you peasant!” “Okay, PRINCESS. Should I give you a royal crown too?” “I’m gonna shove my pen so far up your own ass-“ “[name], LANGUAGE.” The teacher stopped you from your rant by saying that. You rolled your eyes and went, “yes, miss.”

There was a pause where you and isagi looked at each other before he went, “well.. that was something.” You grumbled and snarked back, “yeah. You bring that out of me. Little bitch.” “DONT CALL ME A BITCH. YOU’RE THE BITCH.” “HOE YOU BETTER TAKE THAT BACK.”

“Isagi, [name]! Please, settle down.” The teacher let out and you went, “sorry miss. We were just joking around.” You glared daggers at isagi, who was just giving you a smug grin that screamed ‘I told you so.’

˙ . ꒷ 🍙 . 𖦹˙— 🐈‍⬛

You sighed as you nuzzled into isagi’s back. It was after school, and right now, you were riding his bike. He let out a chuckle and started, “you know what? Today actually wasn’t so bad. Wanna crash at mine today? Pretty sure my mom wants to see you again.” “YES.” You replied - no hesitation in sight.

“Damn girl, okay! Calm down! This aint the grand scheme!” You giggled and went, “you act like it is.” He gasps, snapping his head towards you. “Ouch, dear [name]! You wound me! How could you do such a thing!?”

“Hm. Dunno. Maybe I just have a natural talent at annoying people?” You looked up at him, and his breath hitched. Fuck. You looked TOO good right now. What- WHAT THE HELL WAS HE THINKING?? ISAGI, GET YOURSELF TOGETHER! “Yeah, haha.. totally.” He replied nervously, head shooting back to in front of him. You squinted and went, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

He didn’t answer you, and you didn’t speak either. It wasn’t exactly an awkward silence, just.. a peaceful one. You looked up at him, his dark-blue hair shining slightly golden due to the sunset’s reflection. He looked so pretty like this. You could drown yourself in this image of himself, really.

And suddenly, you two were the only people on earth. Everything else around you felt like simply background noise. With the warmth emitting from him, you nuzzled in closer than you already were, which made his breath hitch and his balance on the bike slightly loose itself for half a second. He wasn’t sure why, but you made his heart race.

He looked so gentle like this. Like the boy that made you blush whenever he smiled. Like the boy that smiled when you laughed. Like the boy that made you wonder if you were ever ‘alone’, like the one that stayed despite the fact everyone told him not to because you’re ‘weird’.

“You’re too pretty,” he muttered. You hesitantly peeked up at him, surprised at what he had just uttered. ‘Did he seriously just say that?’ ‘I don’t think he did. Maybe i’m just imagining it.’ Doubts started creeping up into your thoughts until he continued and confessed something he never thought he’d have the guts to.

“I’ve known it since we were kids, felt it since I first laid eyes on you. You’re cute, hell you’re gorgeous. Somehow, in every crowded room, my eyes can’t seem to help but land on you. I can’t even control it anymore. You lift me to cloud 9 everytime you look at me, touch me, speak to me. And whenever you open your mouth, the world stops and so does my heart. You kill me a little everytime you speak, [name]. You’re my beginning, my middle and my end. You’re like a drug I can’t help but get addicted to. Every second I spend with you, I cling to like a lifeline. I didn’t have the pleasure of truly living until I set my eyes on you. I can only shine, because of your light. I try so hard to be a reflection of you, but nothing can ever come close. You’re everything I want and the only thing I need and I hope that somehow, someday you’ll want me too.”

Your breath got caught in your throat. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing - what he was SAYING. Because truth is, you felt the same as he did. Maybe even more. You looked up at him, REALLY looked up at him. You hadn’t noticed yet, but he was looking at you, too. Your mind ran through every single memory you two had together.

The one where he was being an idiot at the arcade. The one where you met his family for the first time. The one where he let you sob into his arms because you were getting sick and tired of school. The ones where he would stare at you as if you hung the stars - as if you hung HIS stars. The ones where you two played soccer together, despite the fact you were obviously better than him. Instead of being jealous, he was happy - GENUINELY happy that you were good at the thing you loved.

For the first time with him, you didn’t just feel loved. You felt seen. Appreciated. Carried. Like nothing but him mattered. Like everything but him were just empty shells, and amongst of society of roses, he was the only blue hydrangea.

For a while, you had stayed quiet. Unsure of what to say, but sure of what to feel. “Yoichi..” you started, looking at him like he was the only thing that existed in your world. “I-..” you continued with a slight pause. “I feel like that, too. Every time I hold my breath between heartbeats, I hope the next carries your name.”

His breath got caught in his throat and as he was about to start, he had realized you had reached your destination: his house. He sighed and got off the bike, gently helping you settle down as well. For a moment, you two just stared at each other. He hesitated if not for only a second, his hand yearning to touch you - like you were the only thing worth touching. With a slight uncertain look, he brought his palm to your cheek, his thumb tenderly caressing your jawline.

He hadn’t realized how close his face had gotten to yours until he saw your adorably flushed face. His blue eyes had widened, if only slightly. With a certainty that rivaled his ego, he leaned in closer, breath gently hitting your skin, and kissed you slowly but gently.

You felt your hurt explode, your hand reaching for the back of his neck as you pulled him in even closer, kissing him back. His hand traveled from your cheek down to your waist, the kiss lasting longer than it should have. After a moment of hesitation, he pulled away, looking at you with a desperate yet yearning look, and gave you a soft smile. “You look real pretty like this, [name].. or should I call you babe now?”

Your face flushed red and you muttered softly, “call me pretty.” He looked slightly surprised for half a second before his smirk settled in and he murmured, “okay, pretty..” looking at you as if you were the only thing that ever mattered.

⇰ okay chat. Uhm. Idk what came over me when writing this… but I hope yall enjoyed it:) also ‘a flowery evening’ (or wtv I decided to name it…) is going to take a little while to come out since theres a lot of characters I have to write <3

[writeriguess]

If you’re not comfortable writing this I completely understand it’s a sensitive topic but my ed is getting bad again especially with summer coming up I feel like I’m spiraling every time I think of having to wear a bathing suit or something like that.

I kinda like shinsou atm. Where he notices your eating habits are becoming poor beforehand, could you do him catching his girlfriend forcing herself to throw up after someone makes a not so nice comment about how much she ate at dinner that night. She kinda just threw away her plate and disappeared upstairs and when he goes to look for her and comfort her he finds her in the bathroom yk.

My sister called me fat the other night and I got upset because I thought I was looking skinny that day but I got told that she was just joking and that I need to stop being so sensitive about it but I just can’t help it. It’s caused me to get back into really poor eating habits again. I mean at least I’m acknowledging that it’s happening this time around so I feel like it’s a slight improvement. I feel like I’m over sharing atp so I’ll just stop and submit this lol.

author's note: You're not oversharing. I promise. I’m really proud of you for recognizing what’s happening and being open about it — that takes strength, especially when you’re in a vulnerable place. It makes perfect sense that a comment like that would hurt, and I’m really sorry someone made you feel that way. You’re not being too sensitive. You’re just being human.

Especially Like This

Dinner had been fine. Or at least it looked fine, on the outside.

You had tried. You’d taken your seat, plastered on a smile, even filled your plate more than you usually would — a quiet, personal win, even if it didn’t feel like one. You were already on edge, your brain running calculations behind your eyes the moment the food hit your plate. But you were trying. That had to count for something, right?

Then she said it.

“You’re really gonna eat all that?” Your sister, with a laugh that didn’t sound entirely mean, but didn’t sound harmless either. “Didn’t think you had the room in you.”

It dropped on you like a stone. Heavy. Unmovable. And everyone else just kept talking like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.

You laughed, hollow and automatic. “Guess I was hungrier than I thought,” you muttered.

No one followed up. No one came to your defense.

Except Shinsou, who sat quietly next to you, his fork paused halfway to his mouth, eyes flicking toward your face. You didn’t meet his gaze. You couldn’t.

The rest of dinner blurred. The food sat on your plate like a threat, and you couldn’t look at it anymore. When no one was paying attention, you got up, scraped the contents into the trash, and muttered something about being tired.

You felt his eyes on your back as you walked upstairs. But you didn’t stop.

You shut the bathroom door. Locked it.

It wasn’t about the food. Not really. It was about control. It was about the heat crawling up your skin and the tightness in your chest and the way your own reflection looked like a funhouse distortion of how you thought you’d looked earlier that day. You thought you’d looked okay. Thin, even.

But now?

Now you couldn’t tell. Now you hated every inch of yourself.

You dropped to your knees on the cold tile. Hands shaking. Breath shallow.

And then— Knock, knock.

You froze.

“Babe?” Shinsou’s voice, muffled through the door, low and soft. You could hear the concern in it — the way he always could tell when something wasn’t right, even if you hadn’t said a word.

You stayed silent. Maybe if you didn’t answer, he’d leave.

But he didn’t.

“I know you’re in there,” he said, gentle but firm. “Can you open the door for me?”

You bit down on your lip. Hard. You didn’t want him to see you like this. Not on the floor. Not with red eyes and a sore throat and shame clinging to your skin like something you couldn’t scrub off.

“I’m fine,” you choked out. “I just… needed a minute.”

“Baby,” he said again. Slower this time. “Please open the door.”

You stared at the handle.

“I saw what happened downstairs. I saw her say that shit to you, and I saw how you looked after. I’ve seen how you’ve been eating lately — or not eating. You don’t have to pretend with me. I’m not here to judge you, I just—” his voice broke a little, barely noticeable unless you knew him like you did—“I just want to help.”

You hesitated. Everything inside you told you to keep the door shut, to bury this, to hide. But another part of you — the one that loved him, trusted him — reached out. Slowly. Uncertain.

Click.

The door cracked open just enough for him to slip inside.

He didn’t rush you. Didn’t push. He just quietly stepped in, locked it again behind him, and sat down on the cold tile across from you like he had all the time in the world.

You kept your eyes on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice raw. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“I don’t care about how I see you,” he said gently. “I care about you. And I care that you’re hurting right now.”

Your throat tightened. You tried to speak but the words caught.

He scooted closer, not touching you yet, just offering his presence. “I get it,” he said softly. “When people make comments like that… it sticks. And it’s worse when it’s someone you care about. Someone who’s supposed to protect you.”

You nodded, barely.

“I thought I looked okay today,” you said finally. Your voice cracked on the word okay. “I actually thought I looked skinny for once. And then she said that, and suddenly everything just felt… wrong. I felt wrong.”

Shinsou reached out, slowly, waiting until you gave him permission with your body language. When you didn’t flinch, he gently placed his hand over yours.

“People who say things like that? They don’t understand the damage they do,” he murmured. “But I do. I know where your mind goes when someone makes a comment like that. I know how hard you’ve been working to just get through meals, and how easy it is for one sentence to make it all unravel.”

Tears welled in your eyes again.

“I don’t want to fall back into this,” you whispered. “I feel like I’m losing all the progress I made.”

“You’re not,” he said firmly, but without judgment. “Slipping doesn’t erase progress. It just means you’re human. And you’re fighting. That matters more than anything.”

You pressed your face into your hands. “It’s so hard, Toshi. I feel like I’m never going to be normal about food. Like I’m always going to see it as this… enemy.”

He moved closer, pulled you gently into his arms.

“I don’t need you to be normal,” he said against your hair. “I just need you to be safe. And I want to be there with you — even on the days it gets ugly. Especially on those days.”

You curled into him, letting his warmth soothe the tremble in your bones.

“What if I mess up again?” you asked quietly. “What if I keep messing up?”

“Then we keep trying,” he said. “Every time. I’m not leaving you over this. I love you. And loving you means standing beside you when things are hard — not just when they’re easy.”

Your voice came out small. “Even like this?”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, brushing a tear from your cheek with the back of his knuckle.

“Especially like this.”

You broke then, sobs escaping your chest in waves you couldn’t stop. He just held you tighter, grounding you. Letting you fall apart without shame.

When you finally calmed enough to breathe again, he was still holding you. Still here.

“We’ll get through this,” he whispered. “One day at a time. And when the voice in your head starts lying to you again, I’ll be here to remind you of the truth. That you are so much more than what you see in the mirror. And that you’re worth loving. Exactly as you are.”

And in his arms, even with your shame still lingering, something in you believed him.

Just a little.

But it was enough.

[asktheritochampion]

Pops out of the ground in a puddle of gloom that just… appears, a large bag on both arms and a basket held with both wing-hands… and a large wrapped package tied to his back?? Overkill much. Buuut at least the gloom disappeared basically right after.

“REVERED CHAMPION OF WINDS, MASTER OF THE GALE, AND PILOT OF DIVINE BEAST! IT IS WITH THE GREATEST OF HONOURS- and uhm, barely held in squeals sorry- THAT I, BALALI, LEFT HAND MAN OF MASTER KOHGA, DO EXTEND THIS MOST SACRED, CELEBRATORY, AND SLIGHTLY HARD ON MY SPINE WELCOME! HIIIiiiIiiIiIii!!!” 

She gently put everything down before bowing with a flourish- their feathers basically puffing right up excitedly now that he didn’t feel he had to be so… Formal? Anymore. Which she didn’t in the first place.

“EEEEEEEE!! Okay okay okay- *INHALE* okay- do you KNOW how long I have WAITED for this? Since I was like… Seven! SEVEN! I used to pose in front of puddles- we don’t really have mirrors out in Hebra- flapping my wings like that one painting I saw in the village once! Y’know, the one in the village memorial, where you’re doing REVALI’S GALE! The wind’s all WOOSH SWOOSH right behind you! Uhm, never figured out how to do it myself, broke a leg once trying, lots of bruises! But I doubt I’d be as good at wind magic as I am today if you didn’t inspire me! GASP! Could you teach me? I can teach you how to become immune to gloom!- fine if not of course-“

grabs the basket- wicker, with an embroidered blue and silver ribbon tied in a bow around a white silk (help I forgot the word, cloth?) to keep the goodies inside from falling out in transit. Untying it after placing it in front Revali so that its contents were visible.

“Okay I mayyyy have went a TINYYY bit overboard but uhh, like, look! I made this banana bread myself with some of the last bananas not at the farm because well, yeah, and I added SEVEN spices, none of the others- well the gorons can but they prefer their rock roasts- can stand it because I swear non Rito have no spice tolerance but its SUPER tasty! I tend to make cakes for birthdays here, and bake a lot so uhm, only felt fair-. Bet you have a higher spice tolerance then any Rjto EVER though, Champion and all!”

Said basket also contained a bottle of a vintage berry wine that had been aging since before the calamity, a jar of honey, a large bag of honey roasted chickadoo nuts, an apple pie because welp there’s a lot of apples now, a black leather bound journal with gold inlay on the front declaring ‘Property of Champion Revali- Do NOT open’ (even locked with a key inside the basket), a comb made of bone and obsidian with a small ruby inlaid to keep it slightly warm, a bundle of incense sticks, and a pair of vaguely sparkly black sunglasses.

“Oh and those! Put that fun crinkly paper in the bags so it's a surprise when you open them!”

…

“I mean! Can you BELIEVE it? You’re HERE, in the FLESH! Not only that but you’re contractually bound to be my clanmate- which is kind of messed up I don’t remember us ever doing that must be new- and possibly we’ll become the best of besties EVERER! Which is basically a dream come true! Even if you were uhm, tricked I suppose but uh, semantics! I can at least try to make it enjoyable for you right?”

…

“But really! Truly! Welcome! I know it isn’t what you planned, but it’s not so bad when you get used to it, in fact we have the most advanced therapists in the kingdom- perhaps the world, and everyone’s like concerningly accepting of my identity and whatnot which is cool! Yeah-”

(Other packages contents lol:)

((Bag One: Custom made fancy silk robe with detachable hood and cape- like the formal kind not the bath kind lmao- lots of glimmering threads, beads, feathers, gems, the works. Three jars of spices from the sky islands, one (sundelions) is glowing don’t question it, labeled though. A letter of formal welcome signed by a LOT of people, closed with red wax first ofc. And a terrarium already fully set up, a deep firefly inside.))

((Bag Two: Bunch of survival supplies basically, except it includes talon polish and stuff obv.))

((Mysterious package woagh: A custom made bow that totally wasn’t reverse engineered from the great eagle bow. Just uh, imagine the great eagle bow, but its base is from wood from the depths, glows faintly when it's dark as a result. Has some feathers and gems hanging off it for decor. But wuhoh, whats that? Semi reversed engineered zonai tech! One button emits a laser when pressed, for when you're too close up for a bow to work right, another unfolds a small mirror from it to check if anyone’s sneaking up on you (or just if you need to check your face), and the third when activated lets out a jet of wind when the bow is fully drawn. All can be disabled by pressing again. And a matching quiver ofc // A bunch of bundles of arrows also reverse sorta engineered from said tech! Timebomb based: basically bomb arrows but delayed ofc. Rocket based: whoever gets hit gets thrown in the air, nooot that fun for non rito lol. Homing Cart based: Homing-. Light based: Just emits a lot of light where it hits- either can be used when its dark for extra light orrrr, make someone in an ambush lose all of their advantage at night? Hydrant based: explosion of water lol, could be used in tandem or before a lightning arrow?))

(( @yigabalali ))

...Well....this is....certainly a lot of gifts. Thank you, I supose. It's nice to know I inspired someone....into joining the Yiga clan........that's....certainly something....

I might pass on the banana bread if you don't mind, I'm terribly alergic to- I mean, I find those things terribly distasteful. Perhaps you could hold onto that one. Still I appreicte the baking endevours.

Well now....who am I to disapoint a fan? I supose I shall allow you to show me these 'gloom resistance' techniques of yours. In exchange I shall consider thinking about begining to show you to master the art of the winds - only if I find you worthy, of course.

Before we do that, why don't you give me a grand tour of this secret base and all of it's most high ranking areas - since you're Mr Righthand man himself? A great honour to you to guide someone as incredible as me, I'm certain. As the one and only Rito Champion himself, of course I shall be stepping into a management position immediatly, so I'll have to know all of the passwords, access keys, and most well kept battle plans. How else could I possibly thrive in leading the Yiga to a new era of greatness?

Say, while we do that, why don't you tell me a little more about why you decided to join an evil terrorist assassins organisation in the first place ? You know - since I know why I joined, but it would be interesting to understand why any other proud Rito by their own will would decide to betray their own people by turning to such extremist activity? Purly out of....evil curiosity.

[fingertipsmp3]

Have we learned nothing. Have we truly learned nothing.

[femme-is-my-gender]

This weekend:

1. Went to a concert in a slutty little outfit and danced and got compliments from the girlies

2. Went to an art expo and we got FIVE cool ass pieces… and maybe overspent so we couldn’t get a dining table like we had planned to this weekend

3. Got called a bitch by one of the art vendors for….. not wanting to buy a piece??

4. Enjoyed beautiful sunny weather and saw the daffodils and morning glories blooming !!

5. Totally ignored all the housework and just had a good weekend

6. Played a game of magic with a group of decent players and WON !! I’ve never won a group game!

7. Got home after all this to find someone on our apartment’s floor had left a decent dining table (some minor cosmetic damage and a small easy repair needed) for trash like basically right on our doorstep. So we still got a dining table!!!!

[thevaudevillescene]

big fucking mood. I am going through something both mentally and physically and i gotta say…it is not enjoyable. We are not having a baja blast over here, folks!

[alinathinkstoomuch]

GAME NIGHT, RUINED

18+ MDNI

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader (was supposed to be nanny!reader but lit rally no mentions of her being a nanny LOL) summary: one question you refuse to answer gives you the best sex of your life. warnings | an: p in v sex, choking, one bite, fingering, oral (f receiving), praise kink?? hotch profiling reader and its so sexy i want to kith him on the mouth, there is aftercare i just didn’t write it, oopsies, established relationship word count: 2.9k

✧ masterlist

In all fairness, you hadn't actually read the rules of the game before suggesting it tonight. But maybe Penelope had – and maybe that's exactly why she'd wrapped it in floral paper with a gingham ribbon, like it was some sweet little gift and not a trap in disguise.

Because now here you were, cheeks warm, pulse ticking too fast, staring down a question that made your soul want to leave your body.

Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad.

You liked being manhandled. Liked a little choking – nothing too wild, just enough to feel it. Worst things have happened. Honestly, it wasn't even that big a deal.

Until you looked up... and saw Aaron’s eyes on you.

You swallowed, looking back down at the card again just as a breathless little laugh slipped out.

Name a turn-on your partner doesn’t know about but should.

“Pretty sure we’ve already had this one,” you said, maybe a little too brightly, as you tucked the card neatly under the deck like it was nothing. “Next!”

You barely brushed the edge of a new card before Aaron’s hand closed over the stack, pulling it right out of reach.

“Oh, are we done playing?” you asked innocently, sitting up a little straighter as your hands slid to your thighs. “Good idea.” You were on your feet now. “Pretty sure there’s a pile of laundry upstairs with my name on it –”

“Sit.”

Your hands hovered for a second before landing on your hips, a half-formed protest catching in your throat, but you obeyed, lowering yourself back down onto the couch, trying to act unbothered. Trying to ignore the way your heart had picked up speed.

“We haven’t been playing this game long enough to get the same card twice,” he said calmly, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Really? Huh. Could’ve sworn we already had that one.”

He arched a brow. “What was it?”

“Aaron come on,” you deflected, waving a hand like it didn’t matter. “It was something silly.”

He didn’t say anything, just flipped the deck over in his hand, eyes scanning the top card.

“Name a turn-on your partner doesn’t know about but should,” he read aloud. “Hm. Definitely don’t recall hearing your answer to this.”

“You don’t?” you said weakly.

“Just because you keep repeating everything I say doesn’t mean you’re going to get out of answering.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

“You begged to play this game,” he continued calmly. “And now you’re skipping cards?” He gave you a dry look. “That hardly seems fair.”

You let out a quiet huff and leaned back into the couch, suddenly very interested in the ceiling. Your heart was beating faster than it should’ve been. Not because you didn’t trust him – you did. Completely. You knew he’d never shame you or make you feel small for wanting something.

But he’d also seen the worst of humanity. He’d spent his career staring into the darkest corners of people’s minds. You weren’t sure how he’d feel knowing his girlfriend got turned on by things like rough hands. The feeling of being pinned down and utterly helpless, even when she wasn’t.

It sounded a lot messier out loud than it did in your head.

“I just…” You hesitated. “It’s not a big deal. It’s probably not even your thing.”

“Well, if you’re unhappy in that department, I’d absolutely like to know what it is.”

“Oh my God – no, no. Not at all. I’m not – unhappy.” Your voice pitched as high as your hands flew up in protest, and now you were spiralling. “I’m very happy. I’m, like, obscenely happy. I think your ability to give me more orgasms in one night than I’ve had in my entire life before meeting you should be studied. Or patented. Or possibly banned in several states –”

He blinked once. Then bit back a smile.

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I do, unfortunately,” you muttered into your palms.

“Then tell me,” he said, voice dipping just a little. “Or am I going to have to profile it out of you?”

You peeked out from between your fingers. “You wouldn’t.”

He gave a mild shrug. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

Your heart thudded.

“You get flustered when you lose control of the conversation. Especially with me. You fidget more. You avoid eye contact like you’re doing right now.”

You shifted almost immediately.

“You like routine and structure. You’re organised to a fault, but the second I step into your space and do something unexpected, you melt.” He tilted his head. “You act like it annoys you, but I’ve watched you for long enough to know it doesn’t. When I back you against the counter. When I pull your hair back mid-sentence just to kiss your neck. When I don’t ask and take instead. You don’t stop me, you lean into it.”

Your mouth went dry.

“You like being told what to do,” he said simply. Like it was a fact. Like it was always obvious. “In little ways. Safe ways. And when you’re overwhelmed, your instinct isn’t to push back, it’s to submit.”

He watched as your throat worked around a hard swallow.

“You like it when I’m in control.”

Your legs pressed together tight. Too late to pretend it hadn’t happened.

He smiled. “You throw around sarcasm, roll yours eyes, push back, pretend to fuss when I get bossy. But the second I tell you what to do – really tell you – you listen.”

You stared at him, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

“And the truth is, you don’t want to say it out loud because you think it’ll sound messed up. But it doesn’t.” He paused for a second. “I understand you and I’m not judging you. I want to give you what you need.”

Another moment of silence passed before he added, “But if you keep pressing your thighs together like that, I’m going to start thinking we’re done playing this game.”

You let a breath out before speaking. “I…I think we’re done playing,” you managed, voice hoarse.

“Yeah? You sure?”

You nodded before your brain could catch up. “Yes.”

“Then get upstairs.”

You rose on shaky legs and turned towards the stairs, amazed you didn’t trip over yourself on the way up. You could hear him following behind unhurried, while your vision nearly swam from what he’d managed to do to you with just words.

Inside the bedroom, you stopped at the foot of the bed, unsure whether to turn around or stay still. But you didn’t have to ask.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed immediately.

He stepped in close, the heat of him pressing into you just as his hand gripped a firm handful of your hair giving it a tug.

“I can feel you shaking,” he murmured, his mouth brushing against your neck. “You’ve been so worked up since downstairs.” His lips trailed along your jaw slowly, down the curve of your neck, before you felt him bite down gently, his tongue smoothing over the sting.

“Clothes off, sweetheart.” He took a step back, giving you space.

You reached for the hem of your shirt and peeled it up over your head, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes tracked every inch of newly exposed skin, like he was cataloguing every place he intended to touch.

You pushed your pants down next, shimmied them over your hips, then stepped out, standing there in just your bra and panties, chest rising and falling.

“All of it.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached behind and undid your bra, letting it slide off your shoulders. Then finally, you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and slid them down your legs, stepping out of them and standing bare in front of him.

He nodded toward the bed.

You turned and sat on the edge first, heart racing, then eased yourself down, your back meeting the cool sheets as you settled into place beneath his gaze.

It didn’t take long before he was hovering over you, one hand spreading your thighs as he settled between them, the other coming up to rest lightly – so lightly – around your throat.

You whimpered.

“There it is,” he whispered, kissing just beneath your ear. “That little sound you make when you’re starting to let go.”

Then his fingers found your clit, and you arched off the bed with a gasp, eyes fluttering shut as the pressure landed exactly where you needed it

“I can’t possibly imagine why you’d think this isn’t ‘my thing.’” His fingers kept working you. “Feel what you’ve done to me.”

Your hand moved down between you, palming him through his jeans – and Christ, was he hard. Straining against the fabric, so much so that it almost felt painful.

He groaned at the contact, his hips instinctively pressing into your touch.

“See?” he murmured, slipping a finger inside you without warning, drawing a moan from deep in your chest. “This is exactly my thing. And you—” he kissed the corner of your mouth, “you like this is my thing.”

You gasped, your back arching again, but his other hand was already moving, finding your neck again, pressing down just enough to hold you in place.

He leaned in close, brushing his nose along your cheek, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear as he added a second finger. “You don’t even realize how pretty you are when you’re desperate, do you?” he whispered. “The way you shake. The way you clench around me when I take my time.”

“Aaron…”

He smiled against your skin. “I could keep you like this all night.”

“Please –” was all you managed, the word falling out in a half-broken whimper.

His hand at your throat tightened just enough to make your breath hitch, the same time he curled his fingers inside you. You clenched around him so hard you thought your body might unravel right then and there.

“Fuck – I – I –”

“What is it? Tell me exactly what you need.”

You bucked against him, unable to stop it, hands flying to his forearms – not to push him away, but to hold on. He didn’t move, didn’t ease up either of his hands.

“Or… do you want me to decide for you, hm?”

You couldn’t answer, not in words. Your mind was a haze of heat and ache, your breath catching somewhere between a sob and a moan. Your nails dug into his forearms, desperate for some sort of release.

“Too overwhelmed to answer?”

And then he stilled.

Fingers deep inside you, his body caging yours, hand still resting at your throat but no movement. No friction. No relief. You whined, your hips shifting in an attempt to chase more.

“I’ll decide, then,” he said softly, like he was offering kindness. “You want release? Earn it.”

He withdrew his fingers slowly, achingly slow, and the loss had you nearly sobbing. But before you could even begin to beg, he brought his slick fingers up between you and pressed them to your lips.

“Taste it,” he murmured. “Taste how worked up you are. Taste what you do to me.”

Your lips parted without thought, wrapping around his fingers. You moaned as your tongue slid over them, tasting yourself on his skin. He pressed a little deeper, a little further down your throat, and you hollowed your cheeks, sucking greedily.

“Good girl,” he whispered, voice rough now. “So fucking good for me.”

He began making his way down your body, peppering kisses over your chest, you stomach, your hips. You could feel him everywhere, his breath fanning against your skin, his hands sliding down your thighs, spreading you open again.

He lowered himself between your thighs, and when his mouth finally met you again, it was everything.

His tongue lapped at you, circling your clit before dragging lower to taste all of you. He groaned into you, the sound deep, pushing you that much closer to the edge.

You couldn’t stop yourself from moving – hips bucking, thighs twitching, grinding against his face, desperate for more. But he only gripped your hips harder, strong arms pinning you down like it was nothing. Like your squirming didn’t even faze him. Like it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

You whimpered, barely coherent and all you could think about was how badly you wanted those bruises. You wanted to see the outline of his fingers tomorrow. You wanted to remember exactly how they got there.

The pressure built low in your stomach, your thighs beginning to tremble, clenching around his face.

“S’okay baby,” he mumbled against you, voice muffled by your skin. “I’ve got you.”

And that was all it took.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your hips jolting up off the bed, and you cried out, high and breathless, one hand flying to your mouth, the other tangled in the sheets. You writhed beneath him, overstimulated and soaked, gasping through the aftershocks. Your whole body was twitching, lips parted, chest heaving.

He finally pulled back, mouth and chin glistening. “You should see yourself. You don’t even know how beautiful you look when you come.”

You were still catching your breath when you heard the sound of his zipper, the clink of his belt hitting the floor. You reached up to brush a strand of hair off your damp forehead, but your hand dropped the second you felt him between your thighs again, tip dragging slowly along your soaked slit.

Your entire body went still, mouth falling open and he hadn’t even pushed inside you yet.

“You okay?” he asked, pausing just long enough to check in.

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes wide. “More than okay. So okay.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Now you want to talk?”

“I’m just –” you started, breath catching every time the head of his cock slid through your folds. “I’m just saying, I didn’t know it could feel like this, and I – God, Aaron –”

And then he thrusted into you.

One deep stroke that filled you completely, stealing the rest of the sentence right out of your mouth. Your eyes flew open, a strangled gasp caught in your throat as your head tipped back against the pillow, hands flying to his shoulders to hold on.

“Yeah,” he gritted out, his voice hot against your ear. “I thought that might shut you up.”

You could only whimper in response, nails digging into his skin as he stayed there, buried to the hilt, giving you no room to think.

“You feel that?” he murmured, rocking into you once, slow and deep. “You take me so fucking well.”

You nodded, mouth open, breathless. “I wasn’t done talking,” you managed to whisper.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to drag the tip out to your entrance and paused. “Go ahead,” he encouraged. “Try.”

“Fuck y–”

He slammed back in, cutting you off mid-word with a thrust somehow deeper than the last.

“Fuck you?” he echoed smugly. “Yeah. I think I will.”

And he did – hips rocking into yours, each thrust pushing you further into the mattress. Then his hand came up, wrapping around your throat again and you clenched around him, a moan escaping your lips. He let out a low tsk, like he’d caught you misbehaving.

He leaned in closer, his chest pressing against yours, his thrusts slowing. They were deeper now, rougher, grinding into you with so much intensity you weren’t even sure where your body ended and his began.

“This,” he murmured, squeezing just a little tighter, “this is what you were so scared to ask for?”

You opened your mouth to answer, to give him something, anything, but he slammed into you before the words could form, another deep, brutal thrust that knocked the breath out of you.

“I—Aaron, I—” you tried again, voice thin.

Another thrust. Harder.

You gasped, your back arching off the bed. “You’re not even letting me –”

He did it again, cut you off with a stroke that had your vision going white at the edges.

“Fuck—you’re doing this on purpose,” you whimpered, dazed and desperate.

“I sure am.” His hand tightened just a little more at your throat. “You want to know what my turn-on is?” he muttered, not waiting for an answer. “Seeing you fucked senseless.”

Another thrust hit that perfect spot, making your entire body jerk beneath him. You tried to speak, to respond, but he snapped his hips again and you mewled out whatever nonsense your uncooperative tongue could muster.

“You want to come?”

You nodded frantically, words useless now, tears brimming from the sheer overload.

“Good. Then do it.”

He reached down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, setting a pace in perfect sync with his thrusts. Your hips began to stutter as you screwed your eyes shut, the pressure building too fast to stop.

It took mere seconds before your body seized around him.

“Jesus – fuck, that’s it,” he groaned. “You’re so fucking tight when you come –”

His rhythm faltered, stammered and then he was slamming into you one last time, your name falling from his lips as he came.

He loosened his grip on your throat, both hands sliding to your ribcage, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

Neither of you spoke. Both of you were too focused on catching your breath, sharing the same shallow air like it might not be enough.

Finally, after a minute, he leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “Think we should play card games more often.”

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic

dbf!bodyguard!hotch using food as foreplay coming up next to an alina-blog near you!🌟

dividers by cafekitsune

[paracosmicka]

Primal Fears AU content but don’t worry it’s still sonadow

That last one is a repost from last year so if you saw the silly drawings but then read the thing in the bottom left corner and went “wait what the fuck”

It’s because it was an AU thing but I literally only had that drawn out and now you get some context at least:

In this universe Sonic is an assassin/bounty hunter/whatever you wanna call a guy that is hired to specifically to kill other Entities. He meets Shadow when they run into each other because they’re both following the same Avatar. Then they do the normal canon sonadow thing where the first interaction they have always ends with them fighting and beating the shit out of each other. And then they kinda calm down but then Shadow has a similar moment from the beginning of the IDW Sonic comics where he gets absolutely pissed that Sonic managed to distract him from catching the bad guy and zooms away before the two have another chance to speak again.

Here Shadow is a GUN field agent except in this universe GUN isn’t really military and it’s more focused on not only investigating (like the Magnus Institute) but also actively dealing with the Entities. Which sounds great except remember how I said they aren’t military well actually they kinda are because “dealing” with Entities and Avatars just means: throw it in the high-security prison that is guarded by other various Avarars that all work for GUN because it means they don’t have to get thrown in prison. So GUN is kinda like The Magnus Institute + Section 31 working together. So actually I guess it’s like the SCP Foundation.

One day Shadow goes into work and Sonic and there and I’m not really sure on what I’m gonna do in the plot to make him end up there (like maybe he’s undercover and just using GUN to get to his next target or maybe GUN does the “hey we’re gonna throw you in jail if you don’t agree to work for us” idk again not sure yet) but now he’s working with Shadow because they still need to catch that Avatar.

So now we’re sorta caught up, they’re at Club Rouge (and I realized I didn’t specify which Entity she serves in my drawing of her but people who guessed the Stranger ding ding ding here have some sonadow) because Sonic and Shadow need to kinda interrogate Surge and Amy, who are associated with the Slaughter. They have a band called Poison Rose and it’s basically just Grifter’s Bone but they perform rock music instead. And are also probably dating.

Anyway the Big Case™️ Sonic and Shadow are working on is investigating a bunch of spooky murders and they’re pretty sure whoever’s behind them is a Slaughter avatar. But not specifically Amy and Surge☝️ They’re kinda “allowed” to perform the Music That Makes You Die because GUN also has like an “informant” group of avatars they can rely on. These avatars don’t work for GUN, but they agree to chill out on the spooky stuff if it means they don’t get arrested for spooky crimes. So for Poison Rose, “chilling out” on the spooky stuff means that they have to force people to wear earplugs while they perform, which wasn’t specifically stated in MAG 42 if that works or not, not really sure of the magic rules of the Music That Makes You Die phenomena but yeah they gotta do that and probably some other stuff so GUN doesn’t arrest them. Like maybe no swearing or something lol.

Okay gonna stop there before this gets even longer explaining my AU because this was supposed to be just a normal sketch post but whoops.

Oh also I made a playlist for the kind of music Poison Rose performs but it was made private because I didn’t want anyone to stumble across it and be like “pshhhh this dumb person who makes public playlists of their AU that no one knows about what a loser” (me when I make up completely unrealistic scenarios in my head) but now here’s a post explaining that part of my AU so that person can’t make fun of me anymore

[bootycallin]

ACTUALLY PLEASE DO A PART TWO?? I NEED TO KNOW WHAT I DOES TO READERS CLIT ❤️

OOH—BETTER THAN ME?

꩜ .ᐟ basically; vi made a proposal. imagine what i can do, she said. not that you could've ever even imagined, imagined, anyways.

cw: wlw. porn with slight plot this time!! not a direct continuation but sort of. vi catches u jorkin it. implied perv!vi (lol). masturbation. mutual masturbation. bsfwb? fingering. bushvi (!!). reader’s briefly described as smaller than her. scissoring. swearing. vi's a sweetie pie. begging. overstim. aftercare? v fluffy ending. not proofread.

a/n: dinner is fucking served

NSFW UTC

now, the real question is, how’d she get you so addicted?

damn, it’s not like you’ve never had sex before. quite the opposite, you have sex pretty often.

but she was different.

maybe cause she showed something you could never really do. maybe because it was one time and you’re best friends and you’re overthinking. or maybe the dick was just really good. god knows. one way or the other, you can’t stop thinking about it.

you don’t know it, but vi can’t either. so when she hears you whimpering from your room, she can’t fucking help herself.

what kind of fucking black magic does she have? there’s no way your fingers are just short. you’re trying, you really are—legs wide, lips spread so you can press two of your fingers inside your saturated hole. it’s not enough. you’ve been neglecting your clit, as well—because supposedly, you should be able to do it.

it’s not enough. your clit’s twitching, breath shaky, curling your fingers—not enough. thrusting them in? not enough. just briefly smacking the tip of your clit with your palm? not. enough.

you’ve been trying to avoid it, but you need her.

“fuck, vi…” and what is it they say? about speaking of the devil?

‘cause she’s right there. say her name three times to summon, or some bullshit? because you could’ve fucking sworn you were alone—as you are most times when you’re masturbating.

(well, that’s what you think. vi’s conscience is a little heavy because of that. can you blame her? she’s just a woman!)

you barely have enough time to realize it. pulling your fingers out, grabbing the nearest blanket there was to cover your body as if she hadn’t already seen enough of it to know exactly what you look like. shit.

“vi—“ again. broken record, much?

“‘s fine,” she mentally scolds herself for how her voice sounds. shaky, unprepared, even—she’s been behind that door for a hot second and she’s already aching. she can’t deny it, damn it, she needs you. now.

“can’t…?”

“no.”

whether that’s you asking her to stop or confirming her thoughts, god knows. she does, too, apparently, as she hums slightly. there’s a smirk on her face, but she’s just as needy, just as nervous as you. fuck, she needs you so bad.

and at the opportunity, she’s rushing into bed with you, lips crashing against yours. she’s missed this so much. the feeling of your lips against hers—she really could get used to this. like, really get used to it. dare she say, she wants it. she grasps at the covers you used to shield your body, pulling them down so she can see your bare skin. she’s been imagining this for so long.

her teeth nip at your bottom lip, looking up at you to find your half-lidded eyes that widen when she spreads your legs open, settling comfortably between them.

“this okay..?”

“yes.”

what kind of question even was that? you knew damn well she could see how you were practically buzzing at the idea of having sex with her again. is this normal? yeah, no. but it’s happening and you’re definitely not thinking twice about it.

you stop her midway through kissing down your neck, hands softly grasping at her hair, making her gasp. your eyes are flitting down to her lips, but most importantly, the damned tank top. not that it didn’t look good on her.

just that it would look better off.

“vi-“ there’s barely enough time for you to even speak, as you grab at her shoulder straps and pull, leading her to nearly rip the shirt off altogether.

and there she is. between your legs, bare in all her glory. damn, you knew she was muscular, but fuck…

she can practically feel you eye-fucking her. trailing up and down, on her sculpted and. you could swear they used to make greek statues based off of her. oh, and when your eyes catch that little bit of red poking out from the hem of her boxers—

“y’alright?”

“yeah…” you mumbled, dreamily. your hands reach for her so you can run your hands over her body, over the mark of her collarbones, the curve of her breasts, the dips of her abs. fuuuck. you can barely hear how vi gasps, her eyes laser-focused on the way your smaller hands run over her skin. she’s been dreaming of this.

“baby,” she whispers, breath shaky. her own hands find yours, guiding one down to run down her body, fingers briefly making contact with the hairs of her happy trail. that’s enough to drive her insane.

she let’s go of your hand to grab at the hem of her shorts, nearly ripping her goddamn boxers off. it’s the first time you’ve really, really seen vi’s body. her pussy’s fucking throbbing just by the way you look at her. damn.

there’s really no words not to be said. you don’t want to talk. you want her, and that’s it. you grab at her shoulders, making her gasp at the sudden eagerness. your lips crash against hers, she nips at your bottom lip. it’s messy. eager and messy and so fucking hot to both of you. your tongue meets hers, spit mingling and all—

she can’t take it.

she pulls away, making you whine and in turn making her smirk. cute.

(she’s acting like she’s not just as giddy. if not more. if you were to press your palm against her chest, you’d probably be a little concerned she’d have a heart attack. you’re just so pretty).

her hands run down your body, over the length of your thighs, spreading them open carefully. she can see how your eyes narrow a little at the stretch, but fall half lidded again when she ends up resting your legs atop of hers. she’s now sitting comfortably between your legs, your thighs sitting above her muscular ones.

“you want me to help you again, baby?” fuck, if that doesn’t make your face burn. she knows damn well what you want. if she didn’t, you wouldn’t be naked in front of each other like this.

“please…” even you are surprised at how whiny your voice sounds. you’re just frustrated. again.

“i-i can’t—“

“‘s fine.” she leaned forward to press a kiss to the crown of your head, something almost a little too heartwarming for the ‘best friends’ situation you two had. not that you were complaining. her lips were soft. vi was soft. for someone like her, you’d think she’s a little more… well, jagged. but, nope.

she’s soft through and through. principally when it comes to you.

her lips trail down your forehead to your nose, then to her cheeks, one of her hands—namely her right one—following the same pace, except down your body. over your belly, down to your lower navel, down until…

she swallows the moan you let out when her fingers just barely brush over your clit. she can’t help wondering if you’re really that sensitive or she just has the power to do that to you—which would definitely be an ego boost. gods, she hopes that’s what it is. you whine when she starts drawing slow little circles over your hood, your thighs tensing on instinct, breath catching.

“you want me to help you, yeah?” she asked, trailing her fingers further below—not before briefly smacking the nub of your clit with her middle fingers, an almost embarrassingly large gush of pre leaving your already sopping pussy. her mouth’s watering just thinking of it.

“violet,” not the usual vi. you sounded like you were trying to sound demeaning, but it really just came out as whiny. vi raised an eyebrow like you had insulted her.

but she herself was way too needy to give a damn. even if you did. her hand trailed down, fingers parting your lips and eyes laser-focused on your wet cunt. her index briefly prods at your hole, ripping an audible whimper from you which she just loves. but she doesn’t slip her finger in yet—not like she couldn’t. you’re wet enough that it would be like butter.

“wha…?”

“i just,” she looks up at you, free hand rubbing your thigh, “just had a thought.”

before explaining, she grabs one your hand, pulling it down so it hovered right over your pussy the same way it was when she first walked in the room.

“just…” her breath was slightly heavy, as she cupped the back of your hand. she spread her fingers so they matched yours, and you could only watch as she moved your finger to prod at your hole, tip just barely sliding in.

there’s not a lot of resistance. after all, you had already been doing it before she even got to this point. she’s watching your reaction carefully to see if there’s any discomfort, looking like it’s the most attention she’s ever given something. Her eyes are surprisingly wide. not scared. rather, it’s almost puppy eyes—she just needs to see it. needs to see you let go. needs to see you break again. needs to see you whine and scream her name again, like it’s the one word you know.

her hand guided your movements, one finger pushing your knuckle so your finger moved in and out, not a lot of movement, but enough to feel it. you let out a few pleasured sighs and slightly whimpers, but not compared to the whines and screams she managed to rip from you that time. both of them were good, though—she could deal with it. she was patient. unfortunately, you were not.

“i don’t feel it.”

“that’s fine,” she muttered, continuing to hide your movements. she watched your face, your body as it squirmed slightly. not necessarily from any great reaction, but rather because you just needed more. and because she was here. watching. she could watch you masturbate for hours. not that she hasn’t—well, imagine it… she’s overthinking. either way, it’s fine if you don’t feel it. that’s what she’s there for, isn’t it?

“do this.” she takes your hand away from yours for a second to show you how, finger doing the usual come-hither motion. you tilted your head back, a groan escaping from the back of your throat. obviously, you didn't take that all too seriously.

“it doesn’t work,” you’ve tried it already. never really did anything for you. you weren’t lying when you said you only did manage to cum when you played with your clit… well, not until vi, but that’s besides the point.

“trust me,” she mutters, staring at you, her gaze subtly speaking: you should. you know what she can do, don’t you? if there’s anyone you should be trusting, it’s probably her.you pouted and whined a little more, just to show her you didn’t like that whole idea. if you kept doing that, she might just have to wreck you—well, not that she wasn’t going to in the first place; she’s been holding back from jumping your bones since that last time.

a second of silence, and you end up doing as asked. it really makes no difference for you. people tried to make it sound better than it really was. you guess, because it really just didn’t work like that for you. never had that pornographic sensitivity to immediately squirt whenever you tried to reach your g spot, you don’t think you’ve ever even found it yourself.

it does feel a little different, but you’re guessing it’s just because vi is right there. between your legs. watching. you don’t know why she makes you feel like this. every little touch. it’s you’re a sleeper agent and she’s your goddamn activation. one little sexual touch or comment, and you already wanna fuck.

she has to hold back a groan when you do as she says. “yeah. like that,” she murmured, voice low and dangerous, “good girl…”

vi’s not even thinking when she says that. her brain isn’t really working, honestly. she’s way too preoccupied with watching as your face twists, the blood that rushes up your cheeks, flushing it a pretty pink she just wants to kiss so bad. her words had an obvious effect.

she shifts up slightly and you can only watch as her other hand, previously on your thigh, moves up to your lower belly, pressing down with the pads of her fingers right over your bladder.

you immediately stop when she does that. after all, it was just… a weird sensation. that same one from last time, but it still caught you off guard. a curse leaves from between your lips in a hiss, teeth catching your bottom lip briefly.

“‘s fine.” she reassured. “just do it.”

if she kept using that honeyed voice, you’d probably do anything she told you to. her free hand slides down to move another digit of yours inside, “just do as i told you.”

and of fucking course you do. because who the fuck are you to disobey her? it would be embarrassing if you didn’t like it so much, but god knows you do. you move your fingers in that ‘come here’ motion, wincing and whimpering at the feeling as the pads of your fingers press against the top walls of your pussy. you can nearly feel them, pressing up against that spongy spot, vi’s hand pressing down right on top of your bladder just making that all the more real.

“yeah.” she groaned, “like that… good girl. keep going.”

vi sounded like she was trying to encourage you. you made a mess on her once, she’s not gonna freak out if you do it again. i mean, she was expecting that for a while, but of course she always has to make the first goddamn move.

“vi, i—“ vi hushed you just with a sharp little glare that told you don’t test me. if she kept looking at you like that you’re sure you would discombobulate.

and of fucking course you do it. because if she tells you to, you’re more than likely doing it. at least here. you continue moving, her eyes locked in on you. on your body, your reactions. watching your face twist slightly and the little shakes of your thighs.

“vi…”

“fuck.” she groaned, moving to press her face against the crook of her neck. she kissed at the skin, just barely biting down, canines pricking. she herself was getting impatient. her pussy was fucking aching to just feel you and she couldn’t really think straight. the only part that managed to stop her from completely letting go is that she’s focused on your own pleasure.

but when she looks down, looks at your slick covered fingers—that sweet clit she wanted to touch—she couldn’t help it.

she lowered herself, lips latching to the nub. she made a point to ignore your surprised noise, how your hips jerked away. you seemed to relax soon enough. she looked up at you, noticing your fingers had halted.

“continue.” she muttered against the hood of your clit, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin there. you whined but obeyed, fingers moving in that same motion she just showed you. it’s definitely affecting you more when she’s kissing and licking your clit.

vi’s a messy eater. she’s always been messy, but it comes down even to that. she flicks, sucks, nips, laps. likes licking up from your hole to your clit, lapping up whatever comes like a needy dog. she feels like one right now. she’s practically humping the mattress in a desperate need to get some friction while pleasuring you. it always came first in her head.

“vi, fuuuck,” you gasp. she’s still lapping up at your clit, flicking the bean with her tongue in quick movements, better than any fucking vibrator you’ve ever fucking used. you’re sensitive, bit almost hurts a little, but it’s good. hurts so good you don’t want to stop her. you find that your fingers get quicker before you can even think about it, curling up over and over again ‘til you’re soaking.

“fuck.” she pulls away before you can get your high, though. before you can ask, she’s stopping your fingers, pulling your hand away from your heat. you whined, but shut up when she switched your fingers with hers.

“ah-!” a sharp gasp comes from your throat. vi’s fingers were thicker, bigger than yours. you like to think that’s why you can’t make yourself cum, but when she starts moving, you start realizing the problem really is that you just can’t finger correctly.

“shiiiit…” you drawled out, head tilted back and everything. you’re embarrassingly wet. not that vi really cares, anyways; you should know that.

“been waiting… f’so fucking long,” she drawled out, panting, shifting so she’s upright. “so fucking long to play with this pussy.”

“vi…”

your hand reached out to grab her wrist, but it’s worthless, as her thumb manages to poke through to tap at your clit briefly. that alone sends you over the edge in probably the quickest orgasm you’ve ever had. your vision blur and you can swear you see stars.

for vi, all she can see is how you wet her fingers, little liquidy gushes spraying from you the most she curls and rams her fingers into your g-spot, until you’re practically shaking. your whining doesn’t stop until she removes her fingers, pussy clenching around nothing, hips bucking into air. it’s truly a sight for her sore eyes.

but she needs more.

she grabs your thigh, pulling it closer to her until your leg’s basically hooked over her shoulder, holding the back of your knee. you barely have enough time to process till you feel the tickle of crimson hairs, as her wetness swipes right over yours.

“shii!—“ you hiss. it’s a feeling like never before. you’ve felt her fingers, her tongue, the silicone of that strap she dicked you down with a bit ago—but not her own pussy. you didn’t even think to realize it, you’ve never really touched her there before. mostly because vi seemed to prioritize having your pleasure over her own more than anything. (she’s probably converted you by now. god, you don’t want another guy inside you ever again).

“cupcake,” her rough voice rasps, mouth hung open in a way that’s almost too needy for her pride, heavy panting making her chest heave. what else is there to say? she's been fantasizing about this shit for the longest time. finally getting to feel you like this, rubbing her cunt against yours 'til neither of you can fucking think right.

not that she is exactly thinking about anything when she starts humping against you like a bitch in heat. her head hangs, eyes squeezing shut on instinct. she's desperate, feeling the heat building up in her lower stomach quicker than before. no pillow could ever replace the wet warmth of your cunt, the slick that coats her folds, sticky and messy and so fucking good.

"fuck, fuck, fuck—" vi's really hardly hearing you, her own groans being the one thing she can hear. you cum easily. after all, she had just ripped one from you, and here she is again, taking yet another one. all she can really discern is that you're impossibly wetter, essentially just lubing her up and making her own job easier. there's a whimper that tries to escape her throat, desperate, but she forces it out as a groan, head falling and top teeth tugging at her bottom lip.

"fuck, princess..." she growled, hands a vice-grip on your thigh. "please, fuck. yeah, shit, give it to me, give it to me..."

she's like a broken record, chasing her own high, while you tried to keep from screaming, body trembling and jerking with the aftershocks of your second orgasm.

"viii!—" a pitchy whine, ripping from your throat, strained at the angle of your head tilted backwards. "'s too much! gh-- too much!"

"fuck, baby," vi groans, a deep growl that rose from her throat, "shit, i know, i know. you can take it. you can take it, right?" her voice drops even lower, as she spoke through pants. her free hand shoots up to grab your face, making you look at her. powdery blue eyes meet yours, pupils blown wide, face flushed, sweat dripping down her temple. she looked like an angel.

"you can take it, right? fuck, please, baby..." her voice is borderline whiny, getting pitchier the closer she gets to the edge, which is rapidly approaching. how could you say no to a face like that? she half expected you not to answer.

"yeah, vi," you pant, trying to keep your voice as stabe as possible. "keep... g-"

"shit!"

she hissed, her abdomen locking, pussy gushing right over yours, not stopping, only jackhammering her clit against yours 'til you're cumming yet again, a silent scream leaving you, chest heaving. she has to bite the skin of your knee that's hooked over your shoulder so she doesn't cry out. you can tell, though, by the vibrations that run down your skin.

vi collapsed on top of you when she was finally done, her own body trembling. she has half the mind left to kiss up your neck, arms wrapping around your waist.

you both lay in the afterglow for a few minutes, not bothering with words. just the way she holds you is good enough, more than words can speak. she eventually lifts her head, eyes meeting yours, gentle and loving like you've never seen.

"you alright?" vi asks, voice like raspy but still like sweet honey. "i didn't hurt you, right?" yeah, she might've acted like a brainless mutt back there, but she's can recognize she overstimulated you. she liked hearing your cries, sure, but she doesn't want to hurt you.

"no. of course not." you reassure her, hand reaching to cup the back of her head, then her cheek. she found herself leaning into it like a needy cat, nose nuzzling into your palm.

"you sure?" she asked yet again, pulling a genuine chuckle from you.

"yeah. i promise," you rub your thumb down the slope of her cheel, the slight bump of her cheekbone. she's always been sculpted like a greek goddamn statue. beautiful.

“mhm." she grumbled. she hated that you could get her like this. so weak, so... vulnerable. but if it was for you, she'd probably be able to handle it.

"fuck, i-" she starts, without thinking, "i love you..."

before she can panic over her words, nervously meeting your eyes, you replied, "i love you too."

and she can rest easy knowing that you love her, that she didn't fuck it up. that all this was worth something, not just a quick fuck to you. to her, it never was.

you've always been more than her best friend to her. way, way more than that. her love.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 © bootycallin on tumblr. do not copy, translate or cross post without permission. ᛝ

[hyuckiefluff]

nasty habits | park jisung

pairing: pervy!jisung x camgirl! reader

genre: smut, a little bit of fluff at the end

summary: what happens when you find out that your top spender as a cam girl isn’t some rich old guy, but an awkward boy from your campus?

wc: 20k+

warnings: cam girl activities, usage of sex toys, cursing, loss of virginity, sub!jisung, masturbation (like a lot of it), oral sex (fem.receiving), jisung is his usual introverted self (and only loud during sex), a lot of sexualization and just overall horniness lol. lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: heeey loves! i was absolutely floored with the amount of love that my latest fic got, so here i am with another one for you. this is my first jisung fic so im excited but also nervous bc jisung is one of my biases. idk why it took me so long to write him. but anyways i hope you all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. ps; y/n is terrible at recognizing people or remembering names and i’m only putting that here bc it comes out a few times in the fic lol (she’s just like me fr), ALSO, this is loosely inspired by BJ Alex. oh and one last thing, the idea for this fic or at least the characters’ dynamic was inspired by this tweet.

your college days have been, for the most part, unremarkable in the best way. you pulled decent grades, had a solid group of friends, and were generally well-liked.

but despite being somewhat popular, you managed to keep a lot about yourself private.

and by that, you mean the secret life that only a handful of your closest friends knew about.

after all, being a cam girl wasn’t exactly your average college hobby.

you don’t remember how it started, it was likely on a whim born from equal parts boredom and curiosity. at first, you had no idea what you were doing. your streams were awkward, your lighting was bad, and your concept was nonexistent. but after a few months, you found your niche and became kind of a big deal on the platform.

granted, the website you streamed on was pretty obscure. it was the kind of place you could name in public, and nobody would so much as glance your way. still, you made decent money. enough to pay for your first two years of college entirely out of pocket.

you never flaunted it, and most of your friends didn’t care to pry. they only ever joked about it, like they were doing now after you casually mentioned how much you’d earned last month.

“girl, what the hell. maybe i should start camming too,” giselle said, eyes wide as she stared at the number on your screen.

“you say that like it’s a joke, but i’m dead serious,” karina chimed in, striking a dramatic pose in front of the mirror. “i checked my bank account yesterday and almost cried.”

“i mean, i’m not saying you should, but if you need pointers…” you teased, shooting them a wink

“for real though, you’ve gotten so much confidence from this,” giselle pointed out, leaning back against the bed frame.

“oh yeah, nothing boosts your self-esteem like a 60 year old man telling you your ‘princess bits’ are so pretty he busted one in his pants,” you deadpanned, propping your chin on your hand.

“okay, they can’t all be old men,” karina snorted “like can you see their profiles or anything?” she asked, abandoning the mirror and flopping onto the bed beside you.

“not really. just their usernames and how much they’ve spent on my channel.”

“wait, check your top supporter!” giselle said, bouncing a little in excitement.

you scrolled through the dashboard until his username popped up. the moment your friends saw how much he’d spent on you this year, they both let out a loud gasp.

“what in the sugar daddy is this?” karina said, laughing in disbelief. “eighteen thousand dollars? that’s literally my entire tuition!”

“i don’t get the full amount, though. the site takes a cut, then there’s taxes and all that,” you clarified, shrugging.

“still! that’s insane,” giselle said, shaking her head. “honestly, i don’t feel bad about you paying for our sushi nights anymore.”

you laughed, leaning back into your pillows.

“but aren’t you even a little curious about who this…” karina squinted at the screen, “andyp4rk02 is? i need to know everything about this man.”

“i mean, of course i’m curious. but there’s no way to find out,” you said, twirling a strand of hair absentmindedly.

“unless…” giselle said, dragging the word out with a sly grin.

you raised a brow. “unless what?”

“haechan.”

you frowned. “what about him?”

“he could probably hack into this thing,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, as if that wasn’t a completely ridiculous suggestion.

“giselle, he’s a computer science major, not a dark web hacker,” karina said, rolling her eyes.

“okay, but remember when i got locked out of my netflix? he did some tech magic on his computer and got my account back.”

“yeah, because recovering a netflix account is exactly the same as hacking into a cam site,” you said dryly.

“i’m just saying, have you seen his setup? it’s literally something out of a spy movie,” giselle insisted.

karina shrugged. “it wouldn’t hurt to ask him…”

you hesitated, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “i don’t know, guys…”

“oh, come on,” karina said, nudging your shoulder. “don’t you want to know who this guy is?”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

they somehow managed to convince you, which was how you found yourself shivering outside haechan’s dorm, rubbing your arms to keep warm. the air was biting, and as always, haechan wasn’t picking up his phone.

“when he opens this door, i’m kicking him straight in the balls,” you muttered, bouncing on your toes to stave off the cold. giselle was furiously rubbing her hands up and down your arms and karina’s, trying to share what little warmth she had.

“we should’ve called earlier,” karina said through chattering teeth, her lower lip trembling. “he might not even be in.”

giselle huffed dramatically. “okay, this is ridiculous.” she stepped back and cupped her hands around her mouth. “lee haechan, come out right now!” her voice echoed down the street, startling a group of students walking by.

“haechan! get your ass down here!” you joined in, your voice cracking slightly in the cold.

karina gave a small, pitiful laugh. “he lives on the second floor… there’s no way he heard that.”

before she could finish, the door creaked open, revealing one of his roommates. you recognized him immediately but, as usual, couldn’t recall his name. he was younger than you by a year and usually kept to himself whenever you visited.

“uh… hey?” he said, blinking at the sight of the three of you standing there like frostbitten strays. he leaned awkwardly against the doorframe, clearly wondering why three girls were yelling outside their dorm at 9 p.m. on a tuesday.

giselle, ever the charmer, broke into a dazzling smile. “hi! thank you! we’re here for haechan.”

“okay,” he said quietly, still eyeing you all with suspicion. “he’s probably in his room playing league or something.” he stepped aside slowly, letting you in.

“thank you,” you muttered as you walked past, catching the way his gaze immediately dropped to the floor when you made eye contact.

once inside, you didn’t waste any time. storming up to haechan’s door, you knocked violently before pushing it open without waiting for an answer.

“what the hell—” haechan swiveled in his gaming chair, his startled expression melting into a sly grin as soon as he saw you. “hii, girls. to what do i owe the pleasure?” his tone shifted into his mock customer service voice as he leaned back, giving you his most charming smile.

giselle jabbed a finger into his shoulder, making him wince. “were you jerking off, or is your phone shoved up your ass? why didn’t you answer our calls?”

“sorry, i was mid-round, and my phone was on silent,” he said, rubbing his shoulder and smiling sheepishly.

karina folded her arms and sat on the edge of his bed, only to spring back up with a grimace. “ugh, have you even left your room this week?” she asked, glaring at the mountain of empty takeout containers and water bottles scattered across the floor.

“it’s winter break,” haechan said, turning back to his computer and clicking out of the game. “of course i haven’t.”

giselle gestured dramatically at the mess. “you’re one step away from being in a hoarders episode, dude.”

haechan ignored her, spinning in his chair to face you again. “so, what brings such beautiful company to my humble abode?” his eyes lingered on you pointedly.

“he only looked at y/n while saying that. wow.” giselle placed a hand on her chest in mock offense.

“she’s not gonna suck your dick, haechan,” karina said flatly, shaking her head.

“i didn’t even say anything!” he protested, deflating slightly in his chair, his pout almost comical.

“anyway,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes. “i need a favor.”

haechan perked up immediately. “anything for you,” he said with a wink, which earned an exaggerated gagging noise from karina.

you crossed your arms, leaning against the desk. “okay, first: how’s your hacking game these days?”

“eh… like a seven. why?”

“do you think you could, uh, hack into angel corner?”

his eyebrows shot up. “oh, oh.” he swiveled back to his computer, clearly intrigued. “i mean, i’m not super familiar with their system—it depends on their encryption layers and backend coding. but…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the desk. “it shouldn’t be too hard. why do you want me to hack them, though?”

you fiddled with the hem of your sweater, trying to look as innocent as possible. “just… curious about one of my subscribers.”

giselle chimed in unhelpfully. “her top subscriber.”

haechan spun his chair back around, narrowing his eyes. “and what exactly do you want to know?”

you hesitated, glancing at karina and giselle. the truth was, you hadn’t really thought this through.

“everything,” karina said firmly, her eyes glinting with a kind of mischievous excitement.

haechan smirked, leaning back in his chair. “okay, but what’s in it for me?”

giselle thought for a second and then grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “y/n will sit on your lap while you do your nerdy shit.”

haechan shot out of his chair, clapping his hands. “deal!”

“huh?! i did not agree to this.” you immediately protested.

“c’mooon,” giselle said with a pout. “don’t you want to know?”

haechan patted his lap smugly. “don’t worry, baby. i don’t bite.”

groaning, you finally gave in, muttering curses under your breath as you sat on his lap. he sighed contentedly, spinning back toward his computer. with a few quick clicks, he opened a screen that looked straight out of a movie just as giselle said before. lines of code and strange tabs you didn’t recognize.

“how do you even know how to do this?” you asked, leaning slightly to the side to avoid touching his chest.

“self-taught,” he replied with a shrug.

“great,” you muttered. “i’m trusting a bootleg hacker to invade my subscriber’s privacy. that’s just fantastic.”

“hey, relax,” haechan said, grinning. “you’re in good hands.”

“can we get this over with so i can get off you?” you groaned, shifting uncomfortably on haechan’s lap.

“why? i’m cozy,” he said with a cheeky grin, snuggling into your back. you retaliated with a flick to his forehead.

“ow!” he yelped, immediately rubbing the spot. “i’m so nice to you and all you do is hurt me.”

“you’ll cope. now, what’s this?” you asked, pointing at the maze of numbers and codes flickering across the screen.

“this,” he said, his brows knitting in concentration, “is me trying to break through their firewall… which is a lot more complicated than i thought.”

“well, obviously,” karina chimed in from behind you, inspecting her nails, only half invested in the conversation. “that site probably has CEOs and politicians on it. maybe one of them is your top subscriber, because who else has eighteen thousand dollars to blow on a cam girl?”

“what?!” haechan yelled, whipping around so fast you nearly fell off his lap. “eighteen thousand?!”

“that was my ear,” you muttered, steadying yourself.

he cleared his throat dramatically, but his ears flushed pink. “right, sorry. anyway—oh, wait, i’m in!”

“wait, really?!” you leaned forward in excitement, your hands clutching the edge of his desk. “oh my god, that’s so cool, i could kiss you right now!”

“please do,” haechan replied, staring at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

“be a man,” karina said, smacking him on the back of his head as she moved closer.

“okay, so… bad news or good news first?” haechan asked, his smug grin returning as he reclined slightly in his chair.

“just rip the band-aid off,” you said, crossing your arms. “what’s the bad news?”

“your top spender is smart. like, annoyingly smart. the only personal info he filled out was his gender, and for his name he used a zelda character.”

“what a virgin,” he added with a laugh.

“look who’s talking,” giselle shot back.

“hey, i’m not the one spending thousands on a cam girl who wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole,” haechan retorted, his tone defensive. “and for the record, i do get some action, thank you very much.”

“sure you do,” karina muttered, rolling her eyes. “anyway, what’s the good news?”

haechan grinned like a cat who’d caught a particularly juicy mouse. “i can get his IP address.”

“wait, for real? what are you waiting for?” giselle leaned in, her eyes darting to the screen.

“hold on.” you hesitated, guilt prickling at the edges of your excitement. “isn’t this… a bit much? like, it feels illegal.”

giselle waved a hand dismissively. “please. we’ve come this far… we can’t leave with just this. we already knew he was a guy. only a man would be that desperate.”

“and besides,” karina added, “you’ve been sitting on this nerd’s lap for twenty minutes. make it worth something.”

“touché,” giselle said, nodding. “by the way, you can get up now.”

“yeah, but…” you paused, shifting slightly. “he was right—his lap is cozy.”

“told ya,” haechan said smugly, shooting you a wink. “so, should i pull up his IP or what?”

you sighed covering your face with your hands, hoping it would make the shame and ethical gray area feel a little less overwhelming “ugh. fine. just do it.”

haechan’s fingers flew across the keyboard, a blur of taps and clicks as lines of code scrolled rapidly across the screen. within three minutes, he sat back triumphantly.

“got it,” he said. but then his smile faltered, his brows knitting together in confusion. “wait… that can’t be right.”

“what?” you dropped your hands and leaned forward. “what’s wrong?”

karina’s eyes widened as she stared at the screen. “isn’t that…?”

giselle’s voice was barely above a whisper. “isn’t that this dorm?”

you all stared at the address blinking on the screen. it was the exact building you were sitting in.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“you’ve all been staring at me for the past three minutes, and i’m feeling very threatened right now,” haechan said, his voice trembling.

the three of you stood in front of him, arms crossed and glares locked onto his soul.

“well, we just think it’s way too much of a freaky coincidence that her top spender just so happens to live here,” giselle said, her tone accusatory. “care to explain?”

“wait, wait, wait,” haechan stammered, his hands flying up in surrender. “you’re not seriously implying i’m the top spender, right? cause that’s just—” he laughed nervously, “—ridiculous!”

“oh, is it?” karina quipped, raising a perfectly arched brow. “you’re always flirting with y/n and acting like a simp. what’s a few thousand dollars for your ‘queen’?”

“oh, come on!” haechan groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “i’m naturally a flirty guy. that’s my thing! and where do you guys think i’d even get that kind of money?”

he gestured around the room to back up his claim. the pile of ramen cups and the stack of free campus hoodies spoke louder than he ever could.

“besides,” he added, dropping his arms, “i’m not even subscribed to her channel. i admit i checked it out a few times after y/n told me about it, but i promise i’m not a weirdo or anything. you’re my best friend, y/n.”

his voice softened at the end, and you felt yourself relaxing slightly. haechan might be a flirt, a tease, and a relentless pain in the ass, but he wasn’t the kind of person to keep something like this hidden from you.

“he’s telling the truth, you guys,” you said finally, breaking the tension.

karina tilted her head, sizing him up. “yeah, i didn’t think a bum like him would drop that much money on you anyway.” she scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “he asked me for five dollars the other day… by the way, give me back my money.”

“dude, it was five bucks! let it go,”

“let it go?” karina shot back. “i could’ve gotten a latte with that!”

“okay, okay,” giselle cut in, waving her hands to calm them down. “if it’s not haechan, who else could it be? is there anyone in this dorm who’s… obsessed with you?”

you blinked, thinking hard. “not that i know of. i mean, i don’t really talk to anyone here except for haechan.”

“how many guys live here?” giselle asked, turning to haechan.

“including me? 5,” he said, counting on his fingers. “but i’m pretty sure jeno has a girlfriend... so that leaves mark, jaemin, and jisung.”

“since when has having a girlfriend ever stopped a man from doing something shady?” karina deadpanned, crossing her arms.

“true,” haechan admitted with a shrug, “but let’s be real, girls… all of them are full-time students barely scraping by with part-time jobs. i doubt any of them have that kind of cash to drop freely.”

“you never know,” giselle chimed in. “isn’t mark’s brother the dealer on campus? maybe he borrowed some money.”

karina snorted. “you’re forgetting mark is practically a saint. the guy’s too religious and too much of a goody two-shoes to even think about something like that.”

“okay, what about jaemin?” giselle countered. “he’s always wearing designer stuff. what if he’s secretly loaded?”

karina gave her an incredulous look. “have you seen jaemin? he’s got a different girl drooling over his shoulder every other day. i don’t think he needs to subscribe to a cam girl to satisfy himself and i’m sure all those were gifts from desperate girls”

“then that leaves jisung,” you said slowly, the name clicking into place. “wait… isn’t he the one who let us in earlier? the freshman?”

karina nodded. “oh right, the tall awkward kid. that would explain why he couldn’t even look at you.”

“wait, jisung?” haechan burst out laughing. “no way. the kid’s barely in his twenties! you’re telling me he somehow scraped together eighteen thousand dollars to spend on y/n?”

“well, he does live in this building so that makes him a suspect…” giselle reasoned, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

“ugh, this is getting too weird,” you muttered, pacing the small room. “are we really saying jisung might be the guy?”

“i mean, you never know,” karina said with a smirk. “quiet ones are always full of surprises.”

haechan groaned, flopping back into his chair. “this is turning into a bad episode of CSI”

“if he’s the top spender, that means he has a thing for y/n,” giselle said, grinning. “we should just ask him directly.”

“absolutely not,” you said quickly, your face heating up.

“why not?” karina teased. “we’re already halfway to solving this mystery. might as well get the confession.”

“no, i think this has already gotten out of control… you guys are too caught up on finding who it is but personally i don’t care that much, i’m fine with not knowing”

“really, even after finding out he’s living in this very dorm?” karina asked walking up to you.

“yeah. i don’t care.” you were lying and they could probably tell by your face but, surprisingly, they didn’t press you.

“okay, fine. let’s go home.”

“i think we should have a sleepover. what do you think, girls?” haechan said and you responded by throwing a pillow at him as you exited the room.

“damn, not even a thank you.” he said, rubbing his head.

you sprinted back into the room and gave him a quick peck on his cheek. “thank you!” you said sweetly.

“and clean your room, it stinks!” you yelled from the hallway.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

winter break had ended, and after coming back from visiting your family, you’d mostly forgotten about the fact that your top spender lived in one of your best friend’s dorms.

but your dismissive attitude disappeared as soon as the new term started.

suddenly, you were hyper-aware of every one of haechan’s roommates. even the ones you’d previously ruled out. like, why was jeno suddenly smiling at you from across the dining hall? and was that… a smirk you saw on mark’s face as you walked by? certainly not—you had to be imagining things. you were just being extremely paranoid.

“hey, gorg!!!” giselle greeted you with extra enthusiasm, practically bouncing into the room.

“you’re happy today,” karina observed, raising an eyebrow.

“i am! i really think i cracked this case, y’all.”

you sighed, already bracing yourself. “enlighten us,” you said flatly.

karina rolled her eyes. “you do know no one cares anymore, right?”

giselle ignored her and continued. “by the way, how were you guys’ breaks?” she asked casually before immediately cutting herself off. “never mind, we’ll get to that later. listen, i was in line for food earlier, and guess who i saw?”

when neither of you spoke, she dramatically continued, “jaemin.”

“fork found in kitchen. of course he’d be at the cafeteria during lunch,” you said, unimpressed.

“no, but listen! i said hi to him, and he flinched so hard he nearly dropped his phone. then he tried to hide it.”

“maybe somebody sent him nudes or something,” karina said, shrugging.

giselle shook her head, leaning in conspiratorially. “no, but catch this… he asked if i was here alone, and when i pointed at you”—she turned to you with a wide grin—“he blushed furiously.”

you tsked, slumping back in your chair. “that still proves nothing.”

“okay, but isn’t it suspicious?” giselle pressed. “why would he blush that hard just because i mentioned you?”

“because he’s a human being with a working circulatory system?” you shot back.

karina snorted. “for real. giselle, you’re acting like you just uncovered a government conspiracy.”

“you guys are just blind,” giselle huffed, crossing her arms. “mark my words… it’s him. jaemin’s the one.”

“even if it was him, what am i supposed to do with that information? march up to him and say, ‘hey, thanks for the eighteen grand’?”

“you should,” karina said with a smirk. “at least get him to buy you lunch.”

giselle sighed dramatically, feeling like she was surrounded by fools. “fine. don’t believe me. but when this all comes out, just remember i called it first.”

“boo!”

haechan’s voice was directly in your ear, and you jumped so hard you nearly spilled your coffee all over yourself.

“what the hell! i almost ruined my new skirt,” you snapped, quickly checking to make sure no drops had actually landed on the fabric.

“did you buy that with jaemin’s allowance?” he teased, a grin stretching across his face.

you responded by flipping him off, which only made him laugh as he slid into the seat next to you.

“you heard everything?” karina asked, giving him an unimpressed look.

“hard not to,” he replied casually. “in case you didn’t know, gi, your discreet voice is about as discreet as a foghorn.”

giselle rolled her eyes. “thanks for the input, hacker boy.”

“i’ve already said to drop the topic,” you cut in, frustrated. “what if one of them hears? and! you guys are being so obvious about it… don’t think i haven’t noticed the pointed stares you keep giving to every guy from the dorm. i’m sure they’ve noticed, too.”

“we’re just trying to help,” giselle said, stabbing at her salad with unnecessary force.

“and i do appreciate it,” you replied, though your tight smile probably said otherwise, “but i’d appreciate it even more if we all just moved on.”

your tone made it clear that the discussion was over, and the table fell into an awkward silence.

you felt a little bad about shutting them down so abruptly, but the truth was, you didn’t want them to figure out who your top spender was. not because you cared about protecting his identity, exactly… but because you feared that, in the process, they’d also find out the full truth:

you’d already interacted with him before.

not just casually, either. your top spender had paid for private sessions. more than once.

you still didn’t know what he looked like since he’d never turned on his camera but you could probably recognize his voice. a voice that, no matter how much you tried to ignore it, had been replaying in your head ever since that night you found out he was likely a student in this university. a deep voice that had a habit of making your heart race despite your best efforts to stay professional.

“i know you said to drop it, but is it just me or does hae’s nerdy friend keep looking this way every few seconds?” karina asked, nodding subtly toward a table a few feet away.

you turned your head, catching a glimpse of jisung sitting by himself, fiddling with his phone. “maybe he wants to sit with us,” you shrugged. “call him over, hae.”

“yo, jisung!” haechan called, raising a hand to wave the taller boy over.

jisung froze in place, his eyes widening briefly before he hastily shoved on his headphones and scurried away like a startled deer.

you frowned, puzzled. “what was that about?”

“that was so weird,” giselle snorted, biting back a laugh.

“ah, he’s just awkward like that,” haechan said with a casual wave of his hand. “probably saw me sitting with gorgeous girls” he locked eyes with you as he said this “and got scared.”

“anyways,” you rolled your eyes, but the slight twitch at the corner of your lips betrayed your amusement. “i have to go.”

“part-time obligations?” karina asked, raising an eyebrow knowingly.

“possibly,” you shrugged nonchalantly as you got up.

“can i come?” haechan asked.

you rolled your eyes at haechan’s hopeful grin as he stood up. “you wish,” you said, pushing him back into his seat before grabbing your bag and heading out.

your destination wasn’t your dorm or the library. instead, you made your way to the small studio you rented off-campus, tucked far enough away to avoid suspicion.

the studio was modest, just big enough to fit a bed, a desk, a small bathroom, and your filming setup. the air smelled faintly of vanilla, thanks to the diffuser you kept running to set the mood. locking the door behind you, you exhaled deeply and began preparing for the night.

the routine was familiar, almost comforting. you hopped into the shower, letting the warm water relax your muscles as you mentally ran through the checklist. after drying off, you slipped into your costume for the night—a delicate white lace dress with baby blue accents that hugged your body in all the right places.

at the vanity, you carefully applied your makeup, adding just enough to transform yourself into collette, your cam girl persona and paired with a small mask that covered your eyes and half of your nose. the wig was the final touch, a wavy style that framed your face perfectly, making you almost unrecognizable from your day-to-day self.

“let’s see,” you adjusted the camera angle to capture the bed and the soft glow of the fairy lights behind it.

you glanced at the table beside the bed, where the new toys you’d promised to showcase were neatly arranged. taking one last look in the mirror, you marveled at how different you looked.

“all right,” you muttered to yourself, glancing at your reflection one last time. “let’s get this show started.”

you hit start on your stream, and the chat immediately flooded with messages, emojis, and tips.

“hi, guys!” you greeted, your voice shifting into a higher, sweeter tone. “missed you all so much during the break.”

the messages came in rapid-fire:

“omg collette’s back!”

“you look stunning as always.”

“been waiting for this for weeks!”

you giggled, leaning closer to the camera so that your cleavage filled the frame. “you’re all too sweet. did you miss me that much?”

the chat practically exploded with affirmations, and the pings of tips coming in made you smile wider.

“i see you guys like the new outfit,” you teased, slowly standing to give them a full view of your legs, moisturized and shimmering under the warm light. “but i didn’t just dress up for no reason. i have a surprise for you tonight.”

you reached for the toys on the desk, holding one up for the camera. “look what i got during the break,” you said, biting your lip playfully. “i thought you’d want to help me break them in.”

the tips surged as viewers expressed their excitement, but one notification caught your eye. andyp4rk02 has tipped $100.

you grinned, recognizing the username instantly. “hi, andy,” you said, your tone dropping to something more intimate. “you’re late today. i thought you’d ditched me for someone else.”

a new ping followed, this time $50, accompanied by a highlighted message: “sorry ;) private livestream later to make it up to you?”

you laughed softly, leaning back on the bed. “hmm,” you tapped your chin thoughtfully. “i think i can squeeze you in on my busy schedule.” with a wink, you moved to grab one of the toys, careful not to linger too long on a single viewer.

“shall we begin?” you asked, spreading your legs slightly to reveal that you were wearing nothing underneath the flimsy lace dress.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

on the other side of the screen, jisung sat in his dimly lit dorm, his face illuminated only by the glow of his computer. he’d barely made it back in time, his breath still heavy from the sprint across campus. it didn’t help that the second he clicked into your livestream, you were already spread out on the bed, teasing the camera with that perfect smile.

he adjusted his glasses nervously, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. his heart was racing, but not from the run. no, it was from you. when you spread your legs, his breath hitched, and he felt his stomach tighten.

“you’re late today,” you’d said, and jisung shivered. god, it was like you were talking directly to him. well, you technically were, but still.

almost as if on autopilot, he unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down. his fingers wrapped around himself, and he leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the screen.

the angle of the camera was perfect. from his perspective, it was easy to imagine that it wasn’t the pink dildo but his own dick sliding in and out of you.

“fuck,” he whispered under his breath as you slid the dildo inside yourself, your lips parting in a perfect "o" shape as you let out a soft moan.

“feels so good,” you breathed into the camera, your lashes fluttering. “can you make me feel good, too?”

“yes,” jisung groaned, his voice shaky as he gripped himself tighter. “god, yes.”

your moans grew louder, your body arching in a way that made his pulse skyrocket. his brows furrowed, and he bit down on his lip, trying to keep quiet so none of his roommates would hear.

you tilted your head back, the camera catching the curve of your neck and the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. “don’t stop,” you whimpered.

as your voice came through his headphones, sultry and sweet, he muttered to himself, “so perfect. so perfect it’s insane.”

his hand moved faster, his mind filled with nothing but the image of you—so close, yet so untouchable.

he leaned closer, his breath fogging the screen for a moment. “god… i can make you feel so much better than that piece of plastic,” he muttered, his tone almost resentful.

“you don’t even know what i’d do to you,” he whispered

in a minute, jisung came hard, his entire body jerking as his cum shot up and splattered directly onto his keyboard and monitor. he barely registered the mess he made until he heard the faint crackle of his PC struggling under the assault.

“no, no, no—fuck!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking as he scrambled to wipe the pc with the sleeve of his hoodie.

it was too late. the screen flickered, the image of you mid-moan freezing for a few painful seconds before the whole system shorted out with a pathetic wheeze and went black. jisung sat there in stunned silence for a moment, his hand still clutching the stained hoodie sleeve.

“shit…” he muttered, not out of concern for his destroyed PC but because he was now going to miss the rest of your live.

this wasn’t the first time this happened. clearly, his setup was already on its last legs from similar incidents but it still sent a wave of frustration through him.

he slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his damp hair. “guess i’ll just have to catch the replay,” he mumbled, though the thought didn’t satisfy him nearly as much.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the first day of the semester loomed the next morning. you had promised yourself this was the year you’d start fresh. on time to every class, taking meticulous notes, and becoming the academic weapon you’d always meant to be.

of course, none of that happened.

you didn’t hear your alarm because you’d been up until 3 a.m. doing private livestreams for your top subscribers. normally, private sessions didn’t last more than 20 minutes, but andy had an uncanny way of distracting you with his playful, teasing messages, keeping you hooked well past the scheduled time.

you ran into your first class fifteen minutes late, panting slightly and trying not to look as frazzled as you felt. the professor shot you a disapproving look, but a quick apologetic smile from you had him stammering and waving you off. men are so simple, you thought smugly.

after quickly scanning the room, you noticed all the front-row seats were taken which left you with no choice but to settle near the back. you sighed and headed to an open seat in the second-to-last row, cursing your luck.

on your right sat some frat guy you vaguely recognized from the same house as karina’s boyfriend. his name escaped you, but since he was already asleep with his mouth hanging open, you didn’t bother introducing yourself.

on your left, the person was less immediately recognizable. he was hunched over, hoodie drawn tight around his face, typing furiously on his laptop. his long, slender fingers flew across the keyboard with precision, but he didn’t seem remotely aware of your presence.

you cleared your throat softly, hoping to get his attention. nothing.

you tried again, slightly louder this time, but his focus didn’t waver. finally, you tapped his shoulder lightly.

“excuse me, did i miss anything important?”

his fingers froze mid-typing, but he still didn’t look at you. instead, he tilted his laptop slightly in your direction, revealing a neatly formatted list of bullet points. most likely corrections to the syllabus the professor went over at the start of class.

“oh,” you said, caught off guard. “can i take a pic of that?”

he gave a small nod, still not meeting your eyes.

you quickly snapped a photo and smiled. “thank you so much,” you said, your tone warm as you instinctively squeezed his forearm in gratitude.

you felt his entire body stiffen under your touch, his arm tense as if you’d zapped him.

“mhm…” he finally muttered, his voice low and rough from disuse.

you glanced at him again, catching a glimpse of his side profile as he adjusted his hoodie. sharp jawline, glasses slightly askew, and lips pressed into a thin line as he quickly returned his focus to his laptop.

you tilted your head slightly, curiosity piqued. something about him seemed familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it.

“well, thanks again,” you said softly, giving him one last smile before turning back to face the professor.

behind his laptop, jisung exhaled shakily, the spot where you’d touched him burning.

jisung knew you were one of haechan’s friends. he’d watched you walk in and out of the dorm more times than he cared to admit. you were always laughing, tossing your hair over your shoulder in a way that made jisung’s eyes land on you unavoidably.

normally, he wouldn’t even glance twice at the girls his roommates brought around. they were all the same: loud, shallow, and obsessed with their reflection in any shiny surface.

but you weren’t like them.

he’d noticed it the first time you came over. how your voice was softer, more melodic, how you smelled like warm vanilla instead of the overpowering floral perfumes he hated. he remembered catching a glimpse of you bending down to grab something off the floor and how his gaze lingered too long on the curve of your legs before he snapped his head away.

since then, it had only gotten worse. it annoyed him that his brain seemed to remember every little detail about you. the way your lips always looked plump and shiny, as if you’d just licked them. how your laugh was this low, throaty sound that made his chest feel tight.

it was frustrating, how easily you wormed your way into his thoughts.

and now, here you were, sitting next to him. jisung felt trapped, his senses overwhelmed by your closeness. the faint rustle of your skirt, the way your knee accidentally grazed his thigh, the soft, almost unintentional hum you made as you shifted in your seat.

he knew it was all normal, just small, insignificant things. but to him, it felt like you were doing it on purpose. when you tapped his shoulder, jisung’s heart practically jumped out of his chest. his first thought was how warm your hand was.

his second thought was how unfair it was that you could touch him so casually.

“did i miss anything important?” you asked, your voice sweet, your smile even sweeter.

jisung didn’t respond right away. he was too busy trying not to look at the way your lips curved when you spoke. he knew if he opened his mouth, something embarrassing would come out. so instead, he tilted his laptop screen toward you, his fingers twitching against the keyboard. you asked if you could take a picture, and normally he didn’t like sharing his notes but he nodded before he could even stop himself.

“thank you so much,” you said, your voice dripping with warmth. and then, as if to kill him on the spot, you squeezed his forearm lightly.

jisung felt like static electricity was zipping through his body. his skin tingled where you touched him, and he stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge how his breath hitched.

she doesn’t even know what she’s doing, he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. so damn oblivious.

when you crossed your legs, jisung’s eyes flickered downward before he could stop himself. he caught the briefest glimpse of skin, the hem of your skirt riding up just enough to reveal more of your thigh, and his face flushed.

stop it, he scolded himself, tearing his gaze away.

but he couldn’t help it. he hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop the way his imagination spiraled. he wondered what it would feel like if you touched him for more than a second. if your fingers lingered. if you looked at him the way you looked at your stupid phone.

his hands curled into fists under the desk, nails digging into his palms. he shifted uncomfortably, trying to will his body into behaving, but your proximity was making it impossible to think straight.

when the professor announced that these would be your assigned seats for the semester, jisung nearly groaned out loud. six months. six months of sitting next to you, of your bare legs grazing his, of your infuriatingly sweet perfume clouding his brain.

how am i supposed to survive this?

jisung clenched his jaw, his gaze flicking to the faint sparkle of lotion on your legs again.

she probably doesn’t even know how many guys in this room would kill to sit where i’m sitting right now, he thought, biting the inside of his cheek.

and yet, despite everything, jisung couldn’t help but feel a sick sort of satisfaction at being this close to you. like he was privy to something no one else was.

and as messed up as it was, he liked that you didn’t know. that you had no idea how much space you took up in his mind.

he glanced sideways at you again, the corner of his lip twitching as you absentmindedly adjusted your skirt.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

jisung bought a new pc, but it wouldn’t be delivered until the end of the week due to delays in the post office. he hated waiting. the old one had been perfect for watching your livestreams but now he was stuck with his laptop. the smaller screen didn’t do you justice. everything felt cramped and wrong, your image reduced to something far too small and impersonal. it frustrated him to no end.

so, in his growing desperation, jisung resorted to something he swore he wouldn’t do: borrowing haechan’s pc. at first, he only asked when he knew haechan would be out for hours, spinning some lie about needing to work on assignments that required a better setup for coding. surprisingly, haechan didn’t question him. he barely seemed to care, too busy running off to hang out with you and your group of friends. lately, you all seemed closer than ever, constantly whispering and giggling amongst yourselves.

not that jisung cared, of course.

but ever since you’d started sitting next to him in class, he couldn’t help but notice you even more. the way you crossed and uncrossed your legs every six or seven minutes or tapped your temple when the professor talked about a complicated topic. he hated that he was paying attention to things he usually wouldn’t. it was a complete waste of time.

today, jisung was forcing himself to focus. he had an essay due tomorrow, and he’d been putting it off for way too long, distracted by you (clearly) and everything Collette— streams, photos, even the grainy replays he managed to dig up online. last night was supposed to be productive, but instead, he’d spent hours rewatching one of the camgirl’s older private streams. by the time he passed out, his laptop was dangerously close to falling off his bed, his boxers halfway down his legs, and his dick sore after a night of relentless jerking off.

he made his way to the library, determined to lock himself in one of the private study rooms and finally finish his work. he needed to focus. no distractions, no excuses.

but when he opened the door to the room he’d booked, all of his resolve shattered.

you were there.

your books and laptop scattered across the table, and you were leaning over, reaching for something just out of your grasp. jisung froze in the doorway, his breath catching as his eyes landed on you. or, more specifically, the strip of black lace peeking out from under your skirt.

he knew he should look away. but his body didn’t seem to get the memo. instead, his eyes remained fixed on the sight, his chest tightening as if someone had sucked all the air out of the room.

his fingers twitched at his side, gripping the strap of his bag until his knuckles turned white. why are you wearing that? he thought, the question racing through his mind before he could stop it. are you wearing it for someone?

you shifted slightly, turning your head as if you sensed someone behind you, and that was enough to snap him out of his trance.

“uh—sorry,” jisung croaked, his voice cracking embarrassingly. he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. “i—uh—this is... my room. i mean, the room i booked.”

you turned fully to him, startled at first, but then your expression softened into a smile when you realized it was him.

“oh, jisung!” you said brightly, smoothing down your skirt. “i didn’t realize this room was taken. sorry, i’ve just been so distracted, i guess i wasn’t paying attention.”

he forced himself to meet your eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. you recognized him now. during the first week of the semester, you’d seemed to be trying to place him in your mind, but he figured you finally connected the dots and realized he was haechan’s roommate after all.

“it’s... fine,” he muttered, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. the sound echoed louder than it should have, making him wince. “i didn’t know anyone would be here.”

“well, i can leave if you want,” you offered, gesturing toward your scattered books and notes. “but if you don’t mind sharing, i really need to finish studying for a test tomorrow.”

jisung hesitated, his mind racing. on one hand, the idea of sharing a small, enclosed space with you was borderline terrifying. but on the other hand, the thought of you leaving made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t like to think too hard about.

“no need,” he mumbled, setting his bag down at the far end of the table. “you can stay.”

you beamed at him, and he felt a weird mix of pride and dread settle in his chest.

“thanks! you’re a lifesaver.”

you turned back to your laptop, leaving him to settle into his seat. jisung tried his best to focus on his essay, but his eyes kept drifting to you: the way you twirled your pen between your fingers, the way your lips pursed as you concentrated, the way your skirt kept riding up with every slight movement.

he bit the inside of his cheek, forcing his gaze back to his screen. his essay wasn’t going to write itself, and the sooner he finished, the sooner he could escape this.

but as jisung stared blankly at the screen, the words refused to come to him. his mind was too fogged up, the image of your black lace panties flashing at him. he could still feel the phantom heat pooling uncomfortably low in his stomach.

he adjusted his glasses for the tenth time in five minutes, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie sleeve. he needed to concentrate, needed to shove every inappropriate thought out of his head and focus on the stupid essay that was due in less than twelve hours.

but every tap of your pen, every soft sigh as you read your notes pulled his attention like a magnet. he could feel his skin prickling under the weight of his own thoughts, and it was starting to make him nauseous.

you shifted in your chair, crossing one leg over the other, and jisung caught a glimpse of your bare thighs again. he wondered how soft they’d feel under his fingers. he clenched his jaw, staring harder at the blinking cursor on his laptop. just focus. just write.

“hey,” you said suddenly, your voice soft but startling in the quiet room. jisung’s head snapped up so fast his glasses slipped down his nose.

“yeah?” he croaked, his voice coming out embarrassingly hoarse. he cleared his throat and tried again. “what’s up?”

you held up a book. “do you know anything about this? it’s for my history class, but i’m kind of lost on what the professor’s looking for.”

jisung blinked at the book, trying to register the title through the haze clouding his brain. the sight of your manicured fingers gripping the edge of the hardcover didn’t help his focus.

“uh… yeah, i think so,” he mumbled, his words fumbling over themselves. “i took that class last semester. what’s the assignment?”

you slid your chair closer to his, flipping the book open to a highlighted section. jisung stiffened as you leaned in, your shoulder brushing against his.

he could smell your perfume better now. it made his head swim, and his palms sweat.

“here,” you said, pointing to a passage. “i’m supposed to write an analysis on this, but honestly, it’s not making any sense to me.”

jisung forced himself to look at the page, his eyes skimming over the text even though he couldn’t process a single word. your proximity was unbearable, and the way you tilted your head to look at him made him hyper-aware of every inch of space between you.

“um,” he started, his voice cracking again. “it’s… about, uh, symbolism, i think. like how they use imagery to—”

his words faltered as your leg shifted, pressing briefly against his under the table.

“oh, i get it now!” you said, your eyes lighting up as you turned back to the book. “thanks, jisung, you’re really helpful.”

he swallowed hard, nodding stiffly as you returned to your side of the table. his hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his laptop, trying desperately to block out the lingering warmth of your touch.

as the first hour dragged on, jisung realized he’d barely touched his essay. instead, he found himself cataloging every little thing you did, learning more about your quirks and mannerisms than the topic he was supposed to be researching.

he noticed the way you squinted slightly when reading something closely. do you need glasses? the thought struck him out of nowhere, and the idea of you wearing a pair made his throat tighten and his dick stir to life.

you only seemed to use blue highlighters and matching blue post-it notes. the monochrome dedication was oddly satisfying to watch. jisung noticed you had a habit of twirling the highlighter between your fingers when you were deep in thought, the motion almost hypnotic.

when you weren’t sipping on your drink or snacking on something you’d fidget endlessly, picking up your phone, or tapping your nails on the table in an uneven rhythm. once, you opened an app but closed it just as quickly, as if scolding yourself for getting distracted. jisung smirked at that.

he noticed the way you pouted while typing, your lips forming a subtle, natural curve. every time you got stuck on something, you’d grab a blank page from your notebook and start scribbling aimlessly sometimes doodling stars or flowers in the margins, other times writing the same word over and over like you were trying to etch it into your brain.

you also had a habit of adjusting your necklace every few minutes, fiddling with the pendant as if grounding yourself. jisung wondered if it had some kind of sentimental value.

and then there was the small gasp you let out every time you found a passage you liked, quickly followed by you underlining it with almost comical precision. jisung thought it was cute, though he tried to push that thought away.

by the time the second hour rolled around, he was practically vibrating with tension. not just from the overwhelming presence of you, but from his own failure to accomplish anything.

you sighed softly and closed your laptop, stretching in your seat with a lazy grace that made his stomach flip. the movement caused your shirt to ride up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin and a tiny birthmark just above your hip bone.

jisung’s eyes widened. it was a small, and it was a flushed, pinkish hue, vaguely resembling the shape of a flower petal—or maybe a heart if he squinted.

why does that look so familiar?

he frowned, his brain scrambling to piece together the connection. it snagged at him, like an itch he couldn’t quite reach. had he seen it on you before? no, that didn’t make sense.

and then it hit him.

his heart stuttered as he remembered one of the streams he’d watched not long ago… collette’s stream. she’d been wearing lingerie that night, black with sheer panels, and at one point, she’d adjusted the waistband, revealing a glimpse of a tiny birthmark right above the hip.

holy shit.

jisung’s face burned as he realized the truth, his hands clenching into fists under the table. he couldn’t believe it. the girl he’d been obsessing over online, the one he’d jerked off to more times than he could count, was sitting right next to him.

he stumbled out of his seat, movements clumsy and frantic as he fumbled to gather his things. his hands trembled slightly as he zipped his backpack and he mumbled some half-formed excuse about having plans with haechan. the words tumbled out so quickly they were barely coherent. before you could even process what he was saying, let alone respond, he was already at the door, practically tripping over himself in his rush to leave.

“what an odd kid,” you giggled to yourself, shaking your head at his bizarre behavior.

he was strange, sure, but undeniably cute in his awkwardness. you’d always had a soft spot for guys who didn’t know what to do with themselves, and jisung was no exception. there was something endearing about the way he seemed perpetually out of place, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his own skin. but beneath the oversized hoodies and baggy sweatpants, you could tell he was hiding something.

he had broad shoulders that stretched the fabric of his clothes in a way that made you want to see more, and you still hadn’t forgotten the time he’d stripped off his hoodie on that unbearably hot day. the hem of his shirt had lifted with it, giving you the briefest glimpse of his waist, narrow and impossibly toned. you’d been thinking about that moment more often than you’d like to admit.

sitting next to him in class had only amplified things. you didn’t miss the way his eyes darted toward you every few minutes, his gaze lingering on your legs before he quickly looked away, as if he thought you wouldn’t notice. that’s exactly why you made it a point to only wear skirts to that class; short ones, ones that made it impossible for him not to look. it was a game, one you were starting to enjoy far too much.

you liked his hands too. he had large hands with long, slender fingers that flew clumsily over the keys of his laptop. you caught yourself staring at them during class, imagining how they’d feel against your skin, the way they’d grip your waist or tangle in your hair. you wondered if they were soft or if they’d leave a pleasant roughness behind.

his glasses added to the appeal, big-framed and slightly crooked on his nose. they couldn’t hide his soft, pretty eyes, though, or the moles scattered across his pale skin. every detail about him seemed perfectly crafted to make him irresistible in the most unassuming way.

but then there was the question that had been gnawing at the back of your mind, the one you couldn’t seem to shake: was jisung really your top spender? your friends had been so sure, pointing out all the coincidences, and you couldn’t deny that it was starting to feel like too much to ignore.

you smiled to yourself at the thought, unable to help the way your lips curled into something slightly wicked. haechan had mentioned how much time jisung spent in his room, his activities hardly a secret if you listened to the muffled sounds that occasionally slipped through the walls.

the idea made your pulse quicken, a thrill running down your spine as you considered how to take things to the next level. if jisung was your top spender then he was already yours in ways he probably didn’t even realize.

you toyed with the idea of making the first move, testing the waters to see just how far you could push him. he was skittish, easily flustered, and you had no doubt that one well-placed touch or whispered word would send him into a complete meltdown.

you suspected that if you really went for it, jisung might just have a heart attack on the spot. and for some reason, that thought only made you want to do it more.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the next time you met him in class, you decided it was time to confirm once and for all if he was into you. you dressed for the occasion, a skirt that showed just enough leg to make him squirm, paired with a low-cut top and your favorite push-up bra, the one that made your boobs look perfect. you threw on a sweater for good measure, unzipping it casually when you sat next to him, just enough to reveal the curve of your collarbones and the top of your cleavage.

“hey, jisung!” you said, your voice soft and lilting.

he barely looked at you, his lips moving in what you assumed was a greeting, but it was so quiet you couldn’t make out the words. he didn’t hold your gaze for more than a second, and from the way he kept staring at his laptop, you wondered if he’d even noticed the effort you put into your outfit.

you leaned in slightly, catching the faint scent of his detergent mixed with something musky. “sungie?” you whispered, your voice low and sweet.

his jaw clenched at the nickname, and his hands froze over his laptop keys. “hm?” he finally managed, his eyes flickering up to your face for the briefest of moments before darting away again.

“do you want to work on the project together?” you asked, tilting your head innocently.

his brows furrowed as he blinked at you, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and panic. “what… what project?” he stammered, his voice shaky, his breath audibly hitching when his gaze unintentionally dropped to your chest.

“the one he just announced,” you said, nodding toward the screen where the professor had outlined the details of the group assignment.

you watched as his Adam's apple bobbed with a nervous swallow, and he peeled his eyes away from you with visible effort. “oh… uh…” he trailed off, biting his lip. the gesture drew your attention to just how plush and soft they looked.

“if you don’t want to, it’s okay,” you said, leaning back slightly, your pout deliberate and perfectly executed. “i just thought since you helped me with my assignment last time, you’d be a good partner.”

he glanced at you again, his gaze lingering this time, as if trying to gauge your expression. your wide, hopeful eyes seemed to make his decision for him. “okay…” he mumbled, the word barely audible.

“really? yay!” you said, your voice bright with excitement as you reached out and wrapped your hands around his arm in a playful squeeze. the movement was quick, but enough for your chest to press lightly against him, the warmth of your body radiating through his hoodie.

jisung stiffened immediately, every nerve in his body firing off alarms. the combination of your softness and the faint scent of vanilla clinging to your skin was almost enough to send him over the edge. he inhaled deeply, trying to keep his composure, but the air felt thick and suffocating, and he was perilously close to letting out a moan that would’ve humiliated him in front of the entire room.

“i promise i won’t be a burden,” you added, flashing him a dazzling smile that showcased your perfectly sized teeth. “i’ll do my part, i swear.”

he nodded mechanically, his brain too messed up with the feel of your body against his and the lingering image of your lips curling into that smile. “y-yeah…” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly.

as you turned your attention back to the professor, jisung exhaled slowly, his pulse racing. his hands gripped his laptop so tightly his knuckles turned white, and he realized with growing dread that this partnership might actually kill him.

when class ended, you stayed behind, which was unusual since you were usually one of the first to dart out the door. as jisung zipped up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, he noticed you looking at him expectantly. he panicked. did he have something of yours?

jisung glanced nervously at his belongings, double-checking as if your pencil or notebook might have somehow ended up with him. but you didn’t say anything. the silence stretched awkwardly until you finally stood up.

since the rows were so narrow, your movement brought you close… too close. jisung gulped as you stepped into his space, your perfume wrapping around him. he tightened his grip on his backpack straps.

“do you wanna start working on the project now? i have classes every day, and my evenings are pretty busy, so…” your voice trailed off meaningfully. jisung knew. oh, he knew. your evenings were reserved for livestreams. his evenings were also reserved for your livestreams. obviously, the project couldn’t cut into those sacred hours.

“uh, okay… do you wanna go to the library?” he managed, pushing his glasses up his nose. they kept sliding down because he had to crane his neck to look at you from this close distance.

“sure! next time, we can work at your dorm. i’d offer mine, but we have a strict no-boys policy in the apartment,” you said with a laugh, then added, “though my roommates break that rule all the time.”

“what about you?” the question tumbled out of jisung’s mouth before his brain could intercept it. his eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe he asked that

but you didn’t seem fazed. instead, you grinned. “you know, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” you teased, throwing in a wink that made his brain implode just a little.

as you spoke, jisung’s gaze flitted over you again—your mannerisms, your voice, that unmistakable charisma. the longer he looked, the more it hit him like a sledgehammer to the face. how had he not recognized you as collette sooner? sure, you wore a mask on the streams, and your hair was styled differently, but it was unmistakable now. you were her. and yet, standing here in front of him, you felt even more unattainable.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

at the library again, you couldn’t find a private room since you hadn’t booked ahead, so you settled for a secluded table tucked into the corner of the study area. it was jisung’s favorite spot on campus, not that he’d ever admit that to you. he didn’t want to look more like a loser than he already did.

you’d tied your hair up in a ponytail, and jisung wished you hadn’t. the simple change opened up your neck and collarbones, exposing more skin for his eyes to betray him over. he swore he could count the faint freckles scattered across your shoulders if he stared long enough. and, god, did he want to.

jisung sighed, pressing his palms into his eyes in an attempt to reset his brain. he needed to focus. if he was going to make it through this study session, he needed to stop thinking about your freckles or how your lip gloss shimmered every time your mouth moved.

focus, jisung. he started mentally listing the least sexy things he could think of: spongebob, frogs, khaki jeans, loud chewing. he even dredged up the memory of his fourth-grade math teacher, a grumpy woman he was convinced secretly hated him. it worked, until he realized you were talking to him, and he’d been staring straight past you like an idiot.

“sorry, what was that?” he blurted, blinking rapidly and focusing in on your glossy lips forming the last word of whatever you’d said.

you tilted your head slightly, your ponytail swaying with the movement. “i said, do you want to split up the research? or do you just want to work on the same section together?”

“uh…” jisung’s brain scrambled for footing, his face heating up again. “splitting it up is fine. yeah. let’s do that.”

you smiled at him, and he swore it felt like the library got ten degrees hotter. “great! i’ll take the first half, and you can take the second?”

“sure,” he mumbled, fumbling to pull out his laptop. as you turned back to your notes, jisung caught himself glancing at your neck and down to your cleavage again. frogs, he thought desperately. frogs. khaki jeans. loud chewing. but none of it helped.

he needed a cold shower. desperately. every time you leaned into him, jisung’s resolve cracked a little more. he was barely hanging on as it was, his left hand glued to his lap, pressing down in a feeble attempt to hide the semi he’d been sporting for the last twenty minutes.

“what do you think of this?” you asked, sliding your laptop toward him. your voice was sweet, your tone light and inviting, but jisung couldn’t focus on anything except how close you were.

“that’s good,” he mumbled quickly, trying to sound casual even though his throat felt like sandpaper.

“really?” you tilted your head, eyeing him skeptically. “you say that about everything i show you.”

“cause you’re really good at this,” he blurted out. he pressed harder on his lap, his fingers twitching in frustration.

you laughed softly, the sound making his heart stutter. then, to his horror, you gave him a slow once-over, your eyes narrowing slightly as you studied him. “you okay? you look tense.”

“yup, all good,” he said too quickly, his voice high-pitched. he glued his eyes to his laptop, pretending to focus on the passage in front of him, though the words blurred together into an unintelligible mess. please stop looking at me, he begged silently. please.

but instead, you cocked your head, resting your chin in your hand. “you know,” you began thoughtfully, “you sound like someone i know.”

jisung froze. fuck.

his mind went blank, panic flooding his system. his ears burned, and he felt a bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck. did you figure it out? do you know?

“but it couldn’t possibly be,” you said, shaking your head slightly as you turned back to your notes. “you’re too different.”

he released a shaky breath, his heart pounding so violently it felt like it might burst through his ribs. his lips pressed into a tight line as he risked a glance at you. so you did remember andy. jisung had assumed that with so many followers, even your most loyal supporter might fade into the background of your memory. but the private livestreams, the filthy words jisung had whispered that made you moan harder, all the praises and compliments he showered you with—it seemed those had stuck with you. because you remembered his voice.

“i’m gonna use the restroom really quick,” you said, standing up abruptly.

jisung’s eyes followed you as you walked away, the sway of your hips distracting him momentarily before reality snapped back into focus. as soon as you were out of sight, he groaned, his shoulders slumping as he looked down at his lap and the unmistakable tent that had formed there.

he needed to take care of this. now.

standing up, jisung winced at the sensitivity and began making his way toward the bathroom, his head down in an attempt to avoid eye contact with anyone. but just as he approached the hallway, he caught the sound of muffled voices. one of them raised, the other low and pleading. his steps faltered when he recognized your voice.

he crept closer and pressed himself against the wall, just barely peeking around the corner. there you were, gesturing wildly, your brows furrowed in anger as you stood toe-to-toe with someone jisung instantly recognized as sungchan, the captain of the basketball team.

“i told you to leave me alone,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “texting me from taro’s phone? really? now you’re dragging other people into this? why can’t you just understand that i want nothing to do with you anymore?”

“y/n, please,” sungchan said, his tone dripping with desperation. “i don’t know what else you want me to do. i’ve apologized a million times, and i’ve cut all communication with her. i haven’t seen her in months.”

he took a step closer, but you shoved him back by the chest.

“you should’ve done that before fucking her, don’t you think?” you laughed bitterly, shaking your head in disbelief.

“hey, it didn’t mean a thing to me, you know that,” sungchan said, his voice softening as he reached for your hip and squeezed. “you’re the only one i want.”

your body stiffened at his touch, and you glared up at him. “don’t touch me,” you hissed, but he didn’t move, his grip firm.

jisung’s jaw clenched. his fists balled at his sides as his eye twitched. why the hell was this guy touching you when it was clear you didn’t want him to?

“c’mon, baby,” sungchan purred, leaning in dangerously close to your neck. “you know i’m the only one who can make you feel good.”

before jisung could stop himself, he was stepping out from behind the corner. he cleared his throat loudly. the sound startled no one, so he did it again, this time pairing it with a sharp, “hey.”

his voice came out deeper than he expected, reverberating in the narrow hallway.

sungchan’s head snapped up, pulling away from your neck as he turned to look at the interruption. your eyes widened when they landed on jisung, standing there taller than usual, his broad shoulders squared.

“just wanted to check if you were alright,” jisung said, his gaze fixed on you, his voice steady.

sungchan’s expression darkened as his grip on your hip tightened. “and who the hell are you?” he spat, his tone venomous.

jisung didn’t flinch at sungchan’s hostility. his dark eyes flickered to your hip, where sungchan’s hand still rested, and then back to sungchan’s face.

“her partner,” jisung said evenly, his tone calm yet carrying a subtle edge. technically, he wasn’t lying, you were his group partner. “and she doesn’t look too comfortable right now.”

you glanced at jisung, your lips parting in surprise. sungchan let out a dry laugh, his hand finally dropping from your hip as he turned to fully face jisung. he towered over most people, but jisung stood his ground, unbothered by the difference in height.

“you’re her partner?” sungchan sneered, looking jisung up and down with a smirk that screamed condescension. “you don’t seem like her type.”

jisung’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained neutral. he looked at you instead, his voice softening slightly. “you sure you’re okay?”

your lips pressed together as you nodded quickly, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “i’m fine, jisung. really.”

but sungchan wasn’t done. “jisung, huh?” he repeated, his smirk widening. “sounds familiar. oh, wait—” he tilted his head, mockingly stroking his chin. “aren’t you that quiet little nobody who’s always hiding in haechan’s shadow?”

jisung didn’t react to the insult, though his nails dug into his palms. “that’s me,” he said with a shrug, his voice still maddeningly steady. “and you’re the guy who can’t take a hint and harasses girls.”

sungchan’s smirk dropped instantly, his expression hardening. “what did you just say?”

“you heard me,” jisung replied, his voice low. he adjusted his glasses with one hand, his confidence only making sungchan’s irritation grow. “she asked you to leave her alone, didn’t she? or was that too complicated for you to understand?”

you blinked at jisung, momentarily stunned at his boldness. sungchan, on the other hand, took a step forward, his fists clenching.

“listen here, you little shi—”

“stop!” your voice cut through the tension. both jisung and sungchan turned to look at you. you stepped between them, your expression firm as you faced sungchan. “i meant what i said, sungchan. this is over. stop calling me, stop texting me, stop showing up where i am. just—stop. i don’t want to see you anymore.”

sungchan’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring as he stared at you. “fine,” he finally said, his voice clipped. “but don’t come crawling back when you realize no one else is gonna treat you like i did.”

jisung couldn’t hold back the quiet scoff that escaped him, and sungchan shot him a glare before storming off down the hallway.

as the echo of sungchan’s footsteps faded, the tension in your shoulders eased slightly. you turned to jisung, your expression both grateful and embarrassed.

“thanks,” you said softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “you didn’t have to do that.”

jisung shrugged, his face a little pink as he adjusted his glasses again. “it’s no big deal. i just… couldn’t stand there and do nothing.”

“still, i appreciate it. my knight in shining glasses” you gave him a small smile.

jisung’s ears burned at the nickname, and he looked away, suddenly very interested in the floor. “ha, yeah.”

you laughed lightly “c’mon,” you said, gesturing toward the library’s main area. “let’s continue working”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you continued having sessions for the project after class, and slowly, jisung started coming out of his shell. he still mumbled and stuttered every now and then, especially when your attention lingered on him for too long, but he was starting to hold actual conversations now. and once he got going, it was hard to stop him. he’d gush about the most random things, like his favorite video game characters or how much he hated remakes of old horror movies. sometimes, he’d pull up conspiracy theory videos about aliens on his phone, his voice picking up speed as he rambled about the possibility of extraterrestrial life.

“i mean, think about it… how could we be the only ones in this massive universe? that’s just statistically improbable,” he’d say, adjusting his glasses as he leaned closer to show you grainy footage of a supposed UFO. you’d nod along, amused by his enthusiasm, even if half of it went over your head.

you also learned jisung had a thing for metal music. he shyly pulled out his phone one day to show you his collection of signed albums from bands you’d never even heard of. “this one’s from when they did a secret show in busan,” he explained, his fingers tracing the signatures like they were sacred artifacts. “and this? their first album. impossible to find in good condition.”

“wow, you’re really into this,” you said, smirking as you scrolled through the pictures. “so... are you in a band or something?”

he flushed immediately, shaking his head. “no, no! i’m not cool enough for that,” he muttered.

you couldn’t help but smile. “i think you’re cool,” you said simply, and his ears turned pink.

but jisung’s curiosity didn’t stop at music or aliens. he was fascinated by the simplest things. one time, you brought a new lip gloss to class—the kind that didn’t smudge or rub off no matter what. jisung had been so impressed that he begged you to show him how it worked.

“wait, so it stays on? like, even if you eat something? how?” he asked, eyes wide as you swiped some on the back of your hand.

“even if i kissed you right now it wouldn’t come off”

“oh… w-what’s in it? do you have the ingredients list?” he stuttered, his hand coming up to his face to hide the blush on his cheeks.

you laughed. “are you serious right now?”

“yes! this is pretty cool,” he said shyly. “i need to know.”

he was, all in all, a total nerd. but you found that endearing. you liked how he could get so passionate about the smallest details, even if he didn’t realize how cute he looked when he did it.

what you wanted to know most, though, was if he was really loaded. after all, someone had to be, to spend eighteen thousand dollars like that. one particular evening, while you were working on the project at a cafe, you decided to subtly bring it up.

“so... you said you tutor a lot of students, right?” you asked, stirring your iced coffee.

jisung nodded, flipping through his notes. “yeah. it’s decent money, especially before exams.”

“and you... do homework for them too?” you added, raising an eyebrow.

he hesitated, looking a little guilty. “only when they pay extra,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “but yeah. it’s not a big deal.”

“huh,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “you must be really good at it to make that much money.”

“i mean, i guess,” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze. “but it’s not that much.”

“you sure about that?” you teased, giving him a knowing look. “because eighteen thousand isn’t exactly chump change.”

his head snapped up, and for a moment, he looked like a scared hamster. “w-what?” he stammered.

“nothing,” you said, smiling innocently.

he went back to his notes, but you didn’t miss the way his hand trembled slightly as he flipped the page. interesting.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the next time jisung almost had a heart attack because of you was after one particularly grueling day of tutoring half of sungchan’s frat. he’d spent hours going over equations with guys who clearly had no interest in learning and had been on edge the whole time, doing his best to avoid running into sungchan himself. all the bravery he’d mustered at the library had definitely worn off.

he finally made it back to his dorm, exhausted and ready to collapse, only to freeze in the doorway at the sight of you sitting prettily on the edge of his bed, flipping through one of the XXX magazines sitting on his desk. his eyes widened, and his mouth opened to say something, but no words came out.

you noticed him and laughed at his expression. “one of your roommates let me in,” you said, your voice light and teasing. “i think his name’s jaemin?”

jisung blinked, his brain struggling to process. “uh… yeah, jaemin,” he managed to stammer.

“i came to see haechan, but he wasn’t in,” you explained, crossing your legs in a way jisung was so familiar with now. “so i thought i’d pay my new best friend a visit.”

his stomach did a full somersault as he realized you were talking about him. “oh… uhm, hi” he said weakly, scratching the back of his head as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

“hi,” you echoed with a grin, holding up the magazine. “some interesting reading material you’ve got here.”

“t-that’s not mine,” he blurted out, his face flushing red. “it’s haechan’s. i swear.”

you tilted your head, clearly unconvinced but too amused to care. “no need to be embarrassed,” you said casually, placing the magazine back on his desk. “you’re not the first boy in whose room i’ve found porn.”

jisung’s ears burned, and he had no idea how to respond to that. “right…” he muttered, shifting awkwardly.

“your room’s cleaner than i expected,” you added, glancing around.

“did you think i’d be messy?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“hmm, more like… sloppy,” you said, arching a brow in a way that could only be described as suggestive.

jisung swallowed hard, unsure if you were flirting or just messing with him. either way, his brain was short-circuiting. “oh?” he said, his voice coming out higher than he intended.

you laughed and leaned back on your hands, watching him with that same playful glint in your eyes. “relax, jisung. i’m just messing with you.”

he let out a small, nervous chuckle and stepped further into the room, trying to act like your presence wasn’t completely throwing him off. “so, uh… what brings you here?” he asked, carefully setting his backpack down.

“just bored,” you said with a shrug. “and since you’re my new best friend, i figured you’d entertain me.”

he blinked. “entertain?” shit, he almost got hard just hearing that.

“obviously,” you said, grinning. “you’re way more fun than haechan anyway.”

jisung doubted that, but he wasn’t about to argue. instead, he sat down at his desk, desperately trying to ignore how pretty you looked sitting on his bed.

“how about you show me how to play that game you talked about?” you asked, walking over to him and resting your arm on his gaming chair.

jisung blinked up at you, startled. “you wanna learn how to play League of Legends?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

“sure. it sounded fun when you told me about it,” you said with a casual shrug.

“uhm, okay then,” jisung said, his voice a little higher than usual as he leaned to flip the power switch on his PC. then he paused, realizing he didn’t have an extra chair. “wait, let me go borrow haechan’s chair,” he said quickly, jogging out of the room.

when jisung returned, chair in hand, his steps faltered. you were leaning over his desk, your skirt riding up just enough to show him what color were your panties today. his first thought, entirely unhelpful, was how badly he wanted to bend you over that desk. his second thought, unfortunately delayed, was that you had turned on his monitor.

and on the screen, clear as day, was his account page.

“so, it was you,” you said, the tone of your voice laced with triumph.

jisung’s eyes widened, panic flaring to life. “what—what are you talking about?” he stammered, dropping the chair with a clatter.

“andyp4rk02,” you said, your voice lilting with satisfaction as you turned to face him, crossing your arms. “i felt it was you. but i’m glad to have a confirmation now.”

jisung froze, his breath catching in his throat as his brain scrambled for something to say. “i—uh—what—”

“you’re not even gonna try to deny it?” you teased, stepping closer to him, the corner of your mouth quirking up in a smirk. “honestly, i was starting to think i was crazy. but you just confirmed it.”

“i—it’s not—” jisung’s voice cracked as he tried to speak, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

you tilted your head, watching him struggle with an almost predatory gleam in your eyes. “relax, jisung. i’m not mad,” you said, your tone softer now, though it didn’t erase the teasing edge. “in fact…” you took another step closer, your voice lowering slightly. “i’m intrigued.”

“huh?” jisung’s voice was barely above a whisper, his throat dry as he tried to process what you were saying.

“the one thing i’m most curious about,” you said, taking a step closer, your tone casual but your gaze sharp, “is how you… a freshman, who doesn’t seem to have a job besides tutoring, managed to splurge thousands of dollars on me?”

jisung swallowed hard, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “i just…” he mumbled, looking away, his ears burning as he avoided your piercing gaze.

“c’mon, don’t be shy.” you leaned in slightly, your smirk widening. “andy would’ve bent me over that desk over there and started spilling every single thing i asked for.”

jisung’s eyes snapped up to your face, wide with shock. how did you know exactly what had flashed through his mind mere seconds ago?

“s-sorry,” jisung stammered, looking like he wanted to shrink into the floor. “this is just… are you really not uncomfortable? with me, i mean?”

“why would i be?” you asked, tilting your head as though the question itself was ridiculous. “i’ve gotten to know you better now. i know you’re not a weirdo or anything.”

jisung blinked, staring at you like you’d just told him the sky wasn’t blue. “but i—i mean, with everything i said to you before… all of that—”

“all of that was online,” you cut him off smoothly, your tone light. “and honestly? i think it’s kinda cute how much you adored me. well, adore me,” you corrected with a sly grin.

jisung’s jaw dropped slightly, his face somehow heating even more. “you… think it’s cute?”

“of course,” you said with a soft shrug, your tone so casual it was almost disarming. “you’ve been sweet this whole time, even when you were trying so hard to hide it. honestly, i’m flattered.”

your lips curled into a teasing smile as you leaned in just slightly. “but now, i want to know—” your voice dipped lower, warm and slow. your eyes locked with his, drawing him in without effort. “how did you manage it? the money, i mean.”

jisung swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he struggled to form a coherent response. “well… uhm…” he shifted nervously, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “i… saved up a lot of money since i was a kid,” he began, his voice quiet but steady as he forced himself to meet your gaze.

“i made a system,” he continued, his words gaining a bit more confidence as he explained. “i cashed a lot of favors, even in school. i’ve been doing other people’s homework since primary, practically. also…” he hesitated, his eyes flickering to the ground for a moment before darting back to you. “my dad… he started giving me an allowance every month when i was 14, and i never really used it for anything. so… i’ve just been saving. for a long time.”

you tilted your head slightly, clearly intrigued. “wow,” you murmured, crossing your arms in thought. the movement wasn’t intentional—or maybe it was—but it pushed your cleavage up just enough to make jisung’s brain stutter.

his eyes flickered down for half a second before he froze, his face turning crimson. his chest tightened, his breath shallow, because he was sure that if he so much as brushed against you right now, he’d moan like some desperate, pathetic fool.

“that’s… impressive,” you added, breaking the silence, though your tone had shifted, tinged with something almost playful. “you must’ve been really dedicated to saving all that up.” your words hung in the air, light and teasing, but your gaze lingered, as if searching for something deeper.

“y-yeah,” jisung stammered, his hands fidgeting by his sides. “i guess i’ve just… always been good with managing money.”

“clearly,” you said with a grin. you leaned in slightly, your voice dropping just enough to send his heart into overdrive. “it’s kinda sexy, you know.”

jisung’s brain went blank, his entire body tensing as if he couldn’t process what he’d just heard. sexy? he repeated in his mind, struggling not to outwardly combust. his mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came out, and the only sound was the faint hum of his computer in the background.

“you okay?” you asked, your smile widening as you noticed his wide-eyed expression.

“y-yeah,” he managed to croak out, though his voice cracked slightly.

“relax, jisung,” you said, stepping closer, your fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve. his breath hitched, and you couldn’t help but smile at how utterly helpless he looked under your gaze.

“i-i am,” he stammered, but the way he gripped the desk behind him for support said otherwise.

you laughed softly, tilting your head as your hand slid up his arm, fingers ghosting over his bicep before trailing down to rest lightly on his chest. “sure you are,” you murmured, leaning in so your lips were just inches from his ear. “you’ve been nervous since you entered the room.”

“i… i’m not nervous,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

“oh, really?” you teased, letting your hand slip under the hem of his shirt. your fingertips grazed the warm skin of his stomach, and he jolted, sucking in a sharp breath. “but you’re trembling.”

“t-that’s not—” his words were cut off when your other hand came up to brush the hair out of his face, your touch gentle yet firm as you tilted his chin up to meet your eyes.

“you’re so cute,” you whispered, your thumb lightly grazing his jawline. his eyes widened, his lips parting slightly.

“you’ve been so sweet to me, sungie,” you continued, your voice dropping lower. “how could i not want to thank you?”

“t-thank me?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t answer right away. instead, you leaned in, pressing a featherlight kiss to his cheek, so close to the corner of his mouth that he let out an involuntary whimper. “mhmm,” you hummed, your lips brushing against his skin as you moved to the other side, leaving a trail of soft kisses along his jawline.

jisung’s breathing was ragged now, his chest rising and falling rapidly as your hand slid further up his shirt, your nails grazing lightly against his ribs. “is this okay?” you asked softly, your lips hovering near his ear.

“y-yeah,” he managed to choke out, his voice trembling.

“good,” you murmured, pressing a kiss just below his ear, then another on the side of his neck. his hands gripped the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles were white, and he let out a shaky breath, his head tilting slightly to give you more access.

you smirked, trailing your lips back up to his cheek, stopping just short of his lips. “you’re so quiet now,” you teased, your fingers lightly tracing circles on his stomach. “no more stuttering?”

“i… i don’t…” jisung panted, his words trailing off as your lips brushed against the corner of his mouth.

“you don’t what?” you asked, pulling back just enough to meet his dazed gaze. his eyes were half-lidded, his face flushed, and his lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath.

before he could answer, the sharp buzz of your phone vibrating broke the moment. you blinked, startled, and jisung let out a shaky exhale, his head dropping back against the wall in relief… or frustration.

“hold that thought,” you said, your voice still low as you reached into your pocket. your fingers lingered on his stomach for a moment before you pulled away completely.

jisung watched in a daze as you checked your phone, your lips pressing together. “looks like i’ve got to go,” you said, slipping the device back into your pocket.

“w-what?” he stammered, his voice cracking again as he stared at you in disbelief. “y-you’re leaving?”

“for now,” you said with a wink, stepping back and smoothing your skirt. “don’t miss me too much, okay?”

jisung could only nod dumbly, still leaning against the desk like his legs might give out at any moment.

“oh, and jisung?” you added, pausing at the door. he looked up, his wide eyes meeting yours. “you might want to take care of… that.” your gaze flicked downward for just a moment, and his face turned a brilliant shade of red as he scrambled to adjust his shirt.

you laughed, shooting him one last playful smile before disappearing out the door, leaving him flustered, breathless, and utterly unable to think about anything else but how good your lips felt on his skin.

that night, jisung lost count of how many times he jerked off. by the time he was done, he was so spent he didn’t even bother cleaning up properly. he passed out with a mess of cum smeared across his abdomen, his sheets damp and sticking to his skin.

the sound of retching woke him up.

he groaned, squinting as the sunlight poured directly onto his face. blinking sleepily, he turned his head to see haechan standing at the foot of his bed, his face twisted into an expression of pure disgust.

“look at the state of you…” haechan said, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. “seriously, dude, your dick’s gonna disintegrate if you keep going like this.”

“get out,” jisung groaned, voice hoarse. he rolled over, pulling the blanket halfway over his head to shield himself from both the sunlight and his roommate’s judgment.

“i would, but i have a message from y/n,”

jisung sat up at the sound of your name. his heart pounding as if he’d been jolted with electricity.

“she said she can’t meet you at the library today…”

jisung froze, the sudden buzz of energy deflating into cold panic. “oh,” he said softly, his voice laced with disappointment.

his mind immediately began spiraling. were you avoiding him? now that you knew he was andy, did you think he was a creep? were you disgusted? did you regret what happened yesterday? every terrible scenario played in his head as he stared blankly ahead, anxiety tightening its grip on his chest.

before he could spiral further, haechan continued, dragging out his words for dramatic effect.

“…she said she wants to meet you somewhere else instead.”

jisung’s head snapped toward him. “what?”

“she said she sent you the address and tried calling, but your phone’s off.”

his eyes darted to the floor where his phone lay facedown. practically leaping out of bed, he stumbled over the blanket, barely managing to stay upright as he grabbed the phone and plugged it into the charger.

“relax, dude. she’s not breaking up with you,” haechan said with a smirk.

“shut up,” jisung muttered, his focus entirely on the phone as it turned back on. when the screen finally lit up, he saw your message waiting for him.

his thumb hovered over it before he opened it. the address you’d sent was for a studio about thirty minutes away from campus. jisung frowned, his mind racing again. why there? what kind of place was it? and more importantly, how was he supposed to get there?

he groaned, already planning how he could convince jeno to lend him his car for the evening. but before he could get too far into his thoughts, he noticed haechan still standing there, arms crossed and a suspicious look on his face.

“what?” jisung asked, narrowing his eyes.

“nothing,” haechan said, but the grin spreading across his face said otherwise. “have fun tonight.”

with a wink, haechan strolled out of the room, leaving jisung standing there, equal parts nervous and excited, as he tried to figure out just what you had planned.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

by the time jisung reached the address you sent, he was soaked through to the bone. his hair sticking to his forehead, dripping rainwater down his face, and his clothes clung to his skin, cold and uncomfortable. jeno had flat-out refused to lend him his car, so jisung had to take the bus. the bus stop was two blocks away, and by the time he’d sprinted there in the pouring rain, his sneakers squelched with every step.

he stood now, breathless and drenched, staring up at the old building in front of him. the windows were grimy, and the exterior had an eerie, almost abandoned feel to it. with a reluctant sigh, he pushed the heavy door open and stepped into the lobby. it was completely quiet. the reception desk was empty, and no one was in sight, so he made his way up the narrow staircase to the third floor.

when he reached the door, his heart was hammering. should he have texted to let you know he was here? was he being too forward? after a beat of hesitation, he knocked, his knuckles tapping softly against the wood.

the door swung open after his third knock.

there you were, looking impossibly beautiful. your pink flowy dress caught the light, the fabric swirling around your legs as you smiled up at him. he’d never seen you wear a dress like that before. your makeup was flawless, more than usual, and the sight made his breath catch in his throat.

"you’re really punctual," you said with a soft smile, stepping aside to let him in.

but jisung didn’t move at first. his eyes scanned the space around him as he took it all in.

“is this…” he breathed in disbelief.

“welcome to collette’s studio.” you patted him lightly on the back, gently pushing him further inside.

“i wanted you to see it,” you continued, walking ahead, your fingers brushing against the smooth white sheets of the bed that dominated the center of the room. you glanced back at him with an expectant look.

jisung felt like he’d been dropped into one of his wet dreams. "i’m…" his words faltered as his senses overloaded, trying to catch up with what was happening.

"in shock?" you giggled softly, the sound light and airy. "you’re the first person i bring here."

"really?" he asked, his backpack slipping off his shoulder and falling to the floor with a soft thud.

“you brought your notes?” you asked, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

"yeah…" he stammered, feeling foolish now. "aren’t we gonna finish… the project?"

your gaze locked with his as you moved closer, your presence drawing him in. his eyes flicked nervously to the neon sign hanging on the wall.

"hm, we can… or we could do something more fun?" you suggested, your voice a soft temptation. you stepped closer, until there was barely any space between you two.

jisung tried to keep his composure, but his body betrayed him. every inch of him stiffened as you moved into his personal space.

"i have a proposal for you, sungie," you said, your voice lowering, honeyed and sweet. your hand found its way to the back of his neck, your fingers tracing the skin there lightly, coaxing a soft sigh from his lips.

"y-yeah?" he breathed out, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment at the sensation of your touch.

"would you like to guest on my channel?"

jisung’s eyes snapped open, disbelief painting his expression. “what?… y-you mean… do a livestream with you?”

he could barely comprehend what you were saying, his brain scrambling to process the words. "but you… you never do that… it’s always just collette."

you smiled softly, a glint of something mysterious dancing in your eyes. "you’re right, but for a while, i’ve been thinking of changing that. i just never found anyone i trusted enough for it."

jisung’s mind was racing. he couldn’t believe this was happening. you, asking him? how many times had he imagined being in this room, taking you in that very bed? but now that the opportunity was right in front of him, he was frozen. what if he wasn’t enough? what if he couldn’t satisfy you like you wanted?

“it’s okay if you don’t want to… it was pretty sudden of me to ask this,” you said, sensing his hesitation. you slowly withdrew your hand from his neck, leaving him cold and wanting more.

jisung panicked. he didn’t want you to think he was rejecting you, but the fear of embarrassing himself in front of not only you but a whole audience gripped him tight. what if he couldn’t live up to your expectations?

but then again, the thought of you finding someone else to do this with made his stomach twist with anxiety. he couldn’t back down now.

with shaky hands, he finally nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "i’ll do it."

“really?” you asked, your voice tinged with genuine surprise. you hadn’t expected him to agree. jisung didn’t exactly strike you as the type to willingly step into the spotlight, let alone in this particular way. this had every potential to go sideways.

but there he was, standing in front of you, his expression a blend of nervousness and determination. he looked like he was trying to keep himself from bolting.

you extended your hand toward him, watching as his gaze flickered down to it. he hesitated, just for a moment, before his much larger hand engulfed yours. his touch was clammy, his grip tentative, but it was enough.

“have you done this before?” you asked, glancing back at him as you led him toward the bed.

he looked utterly petrified, like a deer caught in headlights, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. “a livestream, you mean? uh… yeah, i’ve—uh—seen a few… i mean, no! not seen, done! wait, i mean—”

you chuckled softly, cutting off his flustered rambling. “no, silly. i meant… is this your first time having sex?”

your tone was so casual and devoid of any judgment that it caught him completely off guard. his entire face went up in flames. he nodded slowly, his lips pressed into a tight line.

your smile softened, and you stepped closer, placing your hands lightly on his chest. “then, we should practice before turning the camera on, don’t you think?”

he swallowed hard, his lips parting in a nervous attempt to respond, but no words came out. he simply nodded, his breaths shallow and uneven when you pushed him down onto the bed.

you reached for the straps of your dress and slid them off your shoulders, the fabric slipping down your body and pooling at your feet. jisung’s eyes went wide, his lips slightly parted as he stared at you. his gaze flickered nervously, starting at your feet and slowly working its way up, lingering on the delicate white lace of your underwear. he looked like he was on the verge of tearing up.

you moved closer, settling yourself onto his lap. the sudden pressure made him suck in a sharp breath, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides.

“tell me what you like,” you murmured, leaning in just enough for your lips to ghost over the shell of his ear.

“w-what do you mean?” his voice cracked, and he looked up at you with wide, panicked eyes. his hands were still frozen in place, unsure of what to do, so you gently took them and placed them on your waist.

“you can touch me,” you said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his face. “when you watch my streams… what do you like?”

his whole body tensed, his fingers spreading hesitantly over your waist. he looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin, but at the same time, he couldn’t seem to look away. “uhm… i-i don’t know… i… i pretty much like everything,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“do you like when i use the toys?” you asked, your lips brushing against his as you spoke.

“y-yes,” he breathed, the word coming out shaky and unsteady.

“do you like it more when i lay down or when i sit?” you asked, trailing your hands under the hem of his shirt and tugging it up.

his breath hitched as you motioned for him to stand. he obeyed, his movements clumsy as he pulled off his shirt and hesitated with his pants. his hands trembled as he pushed them down, leaving him standing there in just his boxers, his face burning crimson.

“uhm” he started, his voice cracking. he swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor before flicking back to you. “when you sit?”

the second the words left his mouth, you pushed him gently, and he stumbled back onto the bed with a gasp. the flush on his cheeks deepened, spreading to the tips of his ears, as he looked up at you with anticipation.

“good,” you murmured, your fingers trailing along his chest. “then let’s see if you like this more.”

the sight of you straddling his lap made jisung’s throat go dry, his mouth parting slightly as his breath quickened. was this really happening? was he actually about to lose his virginity with the girl he had spent countless nights fantasizing about? every inch of him buzzed with nervous energy, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he might actually cry—happy tears, of course, but still tears.

before his mind could spiral further, he felt the soft press of your lips against his. the sensation was so unexpected and overwhelming that he whimpered without meaning to. the sound would’ve embarrassed him any other time, but he was too lost in the moment to care. his lips parted instinctively, allowing your tongue to slide into his mouth, deepening the kiss.

your fingers threaded into his hair, massaging his scalp, and a low moan escaped him. the warmth of your touch was intoxicating, but then your hips shifted, brushing against the hardness in his boxers, and jisung gasped into your mouth.

“shit,” he whispered, his voice shaky as his hips jerked up in response, pressing himself against your core. the friction drew a needy, broken moan from you that he immediately wished he could record and replay for the rest of his life. his head fell back slightly, breaking the kiss.

“how does that feel?” you murmured, grinding your hips against him again. “hm?”

“g-good… so… go—” his words trailed off, his eyes snapping open as he caught you unclasping your bra. the sight of you now bare from the waist up making him forget how to breathe.

he’d seen you topless before on your livestreams, but this was something else entirely. now, you were right in front of him, real and tangible. your breasts were perfect, even better than his wildest dreams, and his hands twitched on your hips, desperate to touch but unsure if he even had the right to.

“go ahead,” you said softly, as if you’d read his mind.

jisung hesitated, the thought flashing through his mind: am i even worthy of this? but before doubt could take hold, you grabbed his hands, guiding them to your chest.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers trembling as they cupped the warm, supple flesh. the softness beneath his palms made his head spin, and he instinctively squeezed, earning a quiet hum of approval from you. “so… perfect,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, shyness seeping into his tone.

you smiled at him and leaned in closer, pushing your chest into his hands. his thumbs grazed over your nipples, and you bit your lip, the simple action making his heart feel like it might pound out of his chest.

“you’re doing so well, sungie,” you praised, your words wrapping around him like a warm blanket. he felt his confidence grow just a little, his hands becoming bolder as he continued to touch you, mesmerized by how soft and warm you were.

“c-can i…?” he trailed off, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he spoke.

“go ahead,” you encouraged, and his mouth descended hesitantly, leaving a tentative kiss on the curve of your breast. the feeling was so new that he couldn’t stop the soft groan that escaped him.

jisung pressed his lips against your skin again, this time lingering a little longer. he felt the soft rise and fall of your chest beneath him, and it was mesmerizing. the warmth, the way you smelled faintly of vanilla, and the soft sighs you let out as he kissed along the curve of your breast—it was too much for him, and not enough all at once.

you tilted your head back slightly, giving him more room, your fingers still tangled in his hair as he kissed lower. his tongue darted out, shyly tracing your skin, and he heard you hum in approval. the sound sent a jolt straight through him, and his hips involuntarily bucked up into yours, pressing against your core.

“that’s it, sungie,” you murmured, your voice like velvet, guiding him. “you can touch more if you want. i don’t bite”

the teasing lilt in your voice made his entire face flush, but it also spurred him on. he let one hand wander, sliding up your side hesitantly before it cupped your other breast. his touch was still timid, his thumb brushing over your nipple experimentally. when you gasped softly and your hips shifted against his, jisung nearly lost it.

“does that feel good?” he asked, his voice barely audible, shaky and full of nerves.

“mhmm,” you nodded, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear. “you’re doing so well.”

the praise made him braver, and he leaned back slightly to look at you. your hair was slightly mussed, your lips parted, and your eyes were hooded as you gazed down at him. you looked like a dream, like something he’d only ever dared to imagine in the privacy of his own room.

jisung’s breath came in shallow pants as he watched you. your skin was soft, and your scent filled his senses, making it impossible for him to think about anything else.

“take these off too,” you murmured, your fingers tugging lightly at the waistband of his boxers.

his entire face burned crimson as he nodded, his hands shaking slightly as he hooked his thumbs under the fabric and began to slide them down. his heart was pounding so hard he thought it wasn’t normal, but the thought of stopping never even crossed his mind.

you leaned back just enough to give him room, watching as he pushed the boxers down his hips, his movements awkward and nervous. once he kicked them off completely, he sat there, completely bare before you, his hands fidgeting at his sides as he avoided your gaze.

“hey,” you said softly, reaching out to tilt his chin up so he’d look at you. “don’t be shy. you’re perfect, sungie.”

his eyes widened slightly at your words, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“you’re really cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” you teased, leaning in to kiss him again. this time, the kiss was slower, deeper, and jisung melted into it, his hands finally moving to rest on your waist.

you shifted in his lap, pressing your core against him, and he gasped into your mouth, his hips jerking up instinctively.

“s-sorry,” he stammered, pulling back slightly, his face a deep shade of red.

“don’t apologize,” you said, brushing your fingers through his hair. “you’re doing so well.”

your praise made his chest swell, and he swallowed hard, his eyes flicking down to where your bodies were pressed together.

“touch me more, sungie,” you encouraged, taking his hands and guiding them up your sides, over your ribs, until they were back on your chest.

his fingers trembled as they cupped you, his thumbs brushing over your nipples experimentally. when you let out a soft moan, his confidence grew, and he leaned down to kiss your neck, his lips trailing lower until they found the curve of your breast.

“just like that,” you whispered, your fingers threading through his hair again as he continued exploring your body.

your hands slid down his back, your nails grazing his skin lightly, and jisung shivered under your touch. his own hands started to roam more boldly, tracing the curve of your waist, the small of your back, and finally settling on your ass.

you shifted again, grinding down against him, and he let out a choked moan, his head falling against your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath.

“you’re so sensitive,” you murmured, kissing the side of his neck.

“i… i c-can’t help it,” he stuttered, his voice shaky. “you’re… you’re just…”

you smiled, pressing a finger to his lips to hush him. “it’s okay, sungie. just let me take care of you.”

he nodded, his hands gripping your hips tighter as you continued to move against him. every touch, every kiss, every sound you made drove him closer to the edge, and he didn’t know how much more he could take.

you leaned back slightly, reaching between your bodies to tug your panties down, and jisung watched with wide eyes as you discarded them. he couldn’t believe this was happening, like any moment he might wake up in his bed, alone and frustrated.

“are you okay?” you asked, your voice soft as you looked at him.

“y-yeah,” he said quickly, nodding. i just can’t believe this is real, he wanted to say but he was scared he’d sound like a loser.

“wait a second,” you said, sliding off his lap, the sudden loss of your weight making jisung let out a soft, involuntary hiss.

his eyes darted down, and he realized—much to his horror—that his dick was now standing proudly at full attention, no longer constrained by his boxers. in his mind, it was almost mocking him, like it was giving him a thumbs-up for finally letting his hand rest after all those nights of longing for you. jisung felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over him, and his first instinct was to grab a blanket or pillow to cover himself.

just as he was about to reach for one, his attention was drawn to you. you were bent over by your bedside drawer, rummaging through it with an air of purpose. then, you pulled something out, holding it up for him to see… a shiny silver wrapper.

a condom.

jisung felt like his heart stopped beating for a second as he stared at the little package in your hands. something about seeing it made everything feel impossibly, undeniably real.

“ultrathin… so you can feel everything,” you said casually, your voice laced with amusement as you turned back toward him.

goodness, she’s gonna kill me. jisung thought, swallowing hard as he swore his dick twitched at your words.

“you’re quite big, sungie…” you mused, crawling back onto the bed with a grace that made his breath hitch. you moved toward him slowly, your eyes dark with intent. the way you approached him reminded him of a lioness stalking her prey.

“let’s see if it fits,” you added, a playful smile on your lips as you straddled his thighs.

jisung was completely frozen, his pulse pounding in his ears as he watched you unwrapping the condom with practiced ease. your hands moved so skillfully, the shiny material glinting faintly in the light. then you paused, looking up at him with a question in your eyes.

“may i?” you asked softly, your voice almost sweet, though your expression held that same predatory confidence.

“y-yeah,” he stammered, the word barely audible as he nodded frantically. in his mind, he was screaming, please, yes, god, yes.

the corner of your mouth quirked up as you leaned forward. your fingers were gentle but firm as you grasped his dick, and jisung couldn’t stop the shuddering gasp that escaped his lips. you slid the condom over him with ease, the mix of precum and the lubricant on the condom making it glide smoothly down his shaft.

it fit perfectly.

“fits you like a glove,” you murmured, your tone teasing as you leaned back to admire your handiwork.

jisung didn’t know what to do. his hands twitched at his sides, his mouth slightly open as he tried to breathe through the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

then, without warning, you slid up his body, settling back onto his lap. the sudden pressure against his dick made him let out a low, shaky moan.

“ready?” you asked, your voice softer now, your hands resting on his chest as you leaned forward.

jisung swallowed hard, his wide eyes meeting yours. “y-yeah,” he croaked, his voice cracking slightly.

you lifted yourself slightly, aligning him with your entrance. jisung was trembling under you, his hands gripping the sheets as if holding on for dear life.

"breathe, sungie," you whispered, stroking his chest gently. his wide, panicked eyes met yours, and you smiled softly to reassure him.

he nodded quickly, forcing himself to take a shaky breath. when he exhaled, you sank down just a little, the tip of him slipping inside. his whole body jerked in response, a desperate, broken moan escaping his lips.

“fuck…” he muttered, his head falling back against the pillow. his grip on the sheets tightened, his knuckles turning white. the heat, the wetness, the feeling of you was unlike anything he’d ever imagined.

“good?” you asked, tilting your head as you hovered above him, testing his reaction.

“s-so good,” jisung gasped, his voice trembling. “so… tight… warm…”

you couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction, but you didn’t tease him. instead, you lowered yourself further, slowly taking him inch by inch. jisung’s breathing grew heavier with every movement, his hips twitching upward involuntarily as if his body couldn’t help but chase the sensation.

"easy," you murmured, pressing a hand against his chest to still him. "let me take care of you."

jisung nodded dumbly, biting his lip as he tried to stay still. his eyes were fixed on you, watching every little movement you made in adoration.

when you finally took all of him, you let out a soft sigh of relief, adjusting to the stretch. jisung, on the other hand, looked like he was seconds away from imploding.

"you're... you're perfect," he blurted out, his voice breaking with emotion.

you laughed softly, leaning down to brush your lips against his. “you’re pretty perfect yourself, sungie.”

you gave him a moment to catch his breath, your hands gently running up and down his sides to calm him. when you started to move, lifting yourself slowly and sinking back down, his head shot up from the pillow.

“oh my god—” jisung groaned, his hands flying to your hips instinctively. “oh my god, oh my god…”

his grip was unsure, as if he didn’t know whether to hold on tighter or let go. his hips bucked slightly beneath you, and you gasped at the unexpected movement.

"you're doing so well," you encouraged him, your voice breathy but soothing. you leaned forward, kissing the corner of his mouth before nipping at his jaw.

jisung whimpered at the praise, his hands sliding up your sides as he tried to ground himself. his lips found yours again, and this time, he kissed you with a bit more confidence, his tongue shyly seeking yours.

you rolled your hips against him, drawing a strangled moan from deep in his chest. his reactions were so genuine, so raw. it made your heart race just as much as his.

“faster,” he whispered against your lips, surprising both you and himself. his cheeks flushed red immediately after the word left his mouth.

you smiled, pressing your forehead against his as you obliged, picking up the pace. his grip on your hips tightened as he tried to meet your movements, his breaths coming faster and more uneven.

“you’re close, aren’t you?” you asked softly, brushing his damp hair out of his face.

jisung nodded rapidly, his eyes squeezed shut as his whole body tensed beneath you. “i—i can’t… i can’t hold it,” he stammered, his voice breaking with desperation.

“it’s okay,” you reassured him, your voice gentle. “let go for me, sungie.”

the permission was all he needed. with a choked cry, jisung’s hips jerked upward, and he came harder than he ever thought possible. his whole body trembled as he gripped you tightly, burying his face in your shoulder as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

you held him through it, running your fingers through his hair and whispering soft words of encouragement. when his breathing finally started to slow, you leaned back slightly to look at him.

his face was flushed, his chest heaving, and his eyes glazed over as he tried to process what just happened.

“you okay?” you asked, stroking his cheek gently.

jisung blinked up at you, a dazed but blissful smile spreading across his face. “y-yeah,” he breathed, his voice hoarse. “that was… amazing.”

you laughed softly, leaning down to kiss him again. “you did so well, sungie.”

he blushed at the praise, his hands resting on your thighs as he tried to steady himself. “thank you,” he mumbled shyly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“don’t thank me yet,” you teased. “we’re just getting started.”

the next day...

“sungie,” you said, your voice soft and slightly breathless. you were sprawled out on your couch, your notes and research scattered across the coffee table, all but forgotten.

“last night’s livestream got the most views i’ve had in months,” you murmured, looking down at him. “they must like you.”

jisung looked up from between your legs, his glasses fogged and slightly crooked on his face. his lips were swollen and glistening with your arousal, his cheeks flushed a deep red.

“really?” he asked, only half-interested. but before you could respond, he dove back down, his eager mouth finding your folds once again.

a sharp gasp left your lips as his tongue traced over you. this was already the second time today he’d eaten you out, and he’d only gotten better since his first attempt this morning.

earlier, you’d guided him through it, patiently showing him what felt good, what didn’t, and how to read the reactions of your body.

jisung’s long tongue worked wonders, licking and teasing in ways that had you gripping the cushions for dear life. when he sucked gently on your clit and flicked his tongue over it in quick succession, your thighs quivered against his head. he took note of the way your hips bucked involuntarily, doubling down on the action and making you cry out.

“you’re such a quick learner,” you panted, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly to spur him on.

he hummed against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core. the sound was almost self-satisfied, as though he was proud of the way he had you unraveling beneath him.

the combination of his inexperience and raw enthusiasm was intoxicating. jisung wasn’t just doing this to please you. he genuinely wanted to understand every inch of you, to learn what made you tick and what brought you to the edge.

and he was succeeding.

your thighs clenched around his head, your body arching off the couch as he alternated between languid strokes of his tongue and quick flicks against your most sensitive spot. “s-sungie, oh my god,” you whimpered, your grip on his hair tightening.

he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his glasses messier than ever. “does that mean i’m doing good?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled, and for a second, his shy, eager-to-please demeanor broke through.

you let out a breathless laugh, your hand cupping his cheek affectionately. “you’re doing amazing, baby.”

his lips quirked into a bashful smile before he returned his attention to your core, determined to coax another round of trembling moans from your lips.

jisung park, you thought as you teetered on the edge of bliss, was quickly becoming an overachiever in the best way possible.

a/n: my inbox is always open for any comments about the fic! thank you for reading <3

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are.