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eringobragh420 · 4 months ago

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➔ Pairing — CM Punk ‪‪❤︎‬ f!Reader ➔ Summary — Punk and Paul Heyman’s daughter have a special relationship. 1 | 2 ➔ Word Count — 4.1k ➔ Warnings — NSFW. Age gap (she is twenty-something, he’s forty-something), Daddy kink, dirty talk, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected p in v, toxic-ISH relationship, cum 18+ ➔ Taglist — If you’d like to be added, please click here! ➔ Support — Buy me a coffee! ☕ ➔ MASTERLIST

Punk feigned interest in whatever the hell Heyman was going on about, striding next to the older man across the tarmac, bound for Paul’s private jet. He was far more concerned with any other passengers who might be accompanying them to the next city, specifically Paul’s twenty-something-year-old daughter. Punk could almost feel her soft, supple, pliable body under his coarse, tattooed hands, could almost smell her sweet, hardly ridden (compared to him, and most of the women he’d slept with) pussy, almost taste that honeyed flavor on the tip of his tongue. Licking his lips, unconsciously searching for that flavor, he glanced at Paul and nodded, despite still having no idea what the man was talking about. Paul, the kind, thoughtful father had no idea the filthy things Punk had done to his only daughter and the even dirtier things he still planned on doing.

Punk allowed Paul to climb the stairs into the jet first so he could adjust the growing lump in his thin, black joggers, which would be rather noticeable very soon if he didn’t do something about it now. After modifying the position of his hardening cock, he placed his duffel bag in front of his hips just in case, and boarded the plane. He smelled her signature perfume immediately, sucking it through his nose, the sexy scent going straight to his dick, causing a twitch, and a slight shiver throughout his spine. He’d suspected she’d be here, given her tendency to travel everywhere with her father, but actually laying eyes on her still promoted a thrill surging in his veins. Especially with close proximity to the young woman’s father, who also happened to be one of his closest confidants.

Fighting a smirk, Punk plopped into one of about half a dozen empty seats, sighing, combing his fingers through his longish hair. He glanced sideways at the heir to the Heyman empire, gaze landing on her Nike sneakers, climbing to her toned legs and spandex shorts, bare stomach, sports bra that matched the shorts, and a large button-up, long sleeve shirt covering her arms. Punk really didn’t understand the fashion choices of the current times, but he owed the person who invented leggings and their matching shorts and bras a sincere thank you. Her legs were bent, calves to her thighs, shoes on the seat, and she held her phone between her legs and her breasts, thumbs tapping away as she texted. She felt his gaze on her, however, and she turned to look at him, rolling her eyes after catching him staring, sinking further down in her seat. Punk chuckled, shaking his head, and as his eyes passed over Paul, who glanced at the girl before sitting in a chair that faced the opposite direction of Punk’s, Paul whispered an apology for his bratty daughter. Punk’s nostrils flared as he battled a full blown grin, swatting his hand一no big deal, sir. I promise I’ll teach her some manners.

The jet took off without a hitch, and the three of them settled into their typical plane activities, which mostly consisted of scrolling on their phones or, in Paul’s case, going through physical paperwork concerning this contract or that, this client or that. It didn’t matter what he was reading, just that he was. Heyman was famous for napping following the completion of one or two pages, and with the addition of the blandness of a nearly two hour flight? It was only a matter of time before Paul was snoring away.

Punk could be a patient man, but when his eyes flickered up from his phone to check on Paul’s status, finding him still awake, though his eyes were definitely becoming heavier, he switched his gaze to the girl seated in the back of the jet. Her feet were on the floor now, one shining leg crossed over the other, and Punk watched as she sat up, removing the button-up shirt. Her manicured nails crept along her full, gravity-defying breasts, slipping under the elastic band of the sports bra, and she smirked, winking, just before lifting the garment. Punk placed an elbow on the armrest, hand covering his smirking mouth, but if anyone who knew him looked closely enough, they’d realize his eyes were no longer an approachable green but a murky, predatory grey. Her tits were perfect, Punk had never seen a more picturesque set, and he was back to having to adjust himself, this time simply pulling the bottom of the hoodie he wore over his burgeoning bulge. She replaced the bra, giggling softly, tip of her finger between her teeth, and Punk’s chest ached.

He’d never expected to feel anything more for her than a need to fuck her in every position possible, but he’d be damned if he didn’t miss the girl when she wasn’t around. That snicker, when she really got going, was akin to a symphony, while her sultry voice ripped a moan from him every time she whispered words he thought she shouldn’t know directly into his ear before nibbling on the lobe and licking the shell. She fit flawlessly under his arm on the off-chance they spent their time cuddling instead of fucking, because somehow, this girl had him wanting to snuggle. And when he inevitably woke up alone in the morning, he swapped his pillow for the one she’d been using一that goddamn scent of hers smoothly lulling him back to sleep before he had a chance to wallow in self pity or wonder if she was headed to some other man’s house after she left him and whether or not he wanted to strangle that man with his bare hands.

Paul was finally asleep, laid back in his seat, headphones on at this point. Punk stood, headed toward the back of the jet as if bound for the bathroom. He made a beeline for the pretty young thing who’d just flashed him, standing tall behind her seat while his unrefined hands slid across her shoulders. He leaned forward, his nose following the aroma of her familiar shampoo, hands gliding further south until he was clutching her breasts. Just like her body fit into his side like a universe-made puzzle piece, her tits did the same in his hands as if they, too, had been made for each other, and as he squeezed and groped, lifted and bounced, he pressed a stubbled kiss to her forehead when she leaned back to gaze adoringly up at him. Her teeth clamped on her soft bottom lip, and he grinned when her back arched off the seat. He didn’t ever remember experiencing a woman so damn responsive to him一the patience he had now had been a learned process一her hands gentle but insistent on his as he continued entertaining himself with her breasts.

His hand slid out from under hers, scraping across a firm nipple, fingers trailing up the side of her throat until his thumb brushed her lips. Her tongue slithered along the digit, a barely audible mewl escaping her parted lips, but he sought something different. He watched her bright, glittering eyes open as he applied pressure on her bottom row of teeth, reveling in the incredible amount of trust she had in him, and she allowed him to lower her jaw. He nodded, and he had no idea how or when they’d achieved the same level of depravity, but she needed no further instruction or encouragement to stick her pretty pink tongue out, those sparkling eyes round and clearly feigning innocence. Punk leaned closer, one hand on her cheek, the other still on her breast, and he glanced up to be sure Paul hadn’t moved, finding him in the exact same position. Returning his attention to Paul’s daughter, he spit onto her awaiting tongue, watching as it slid down the already slick muscle toward her esophagus.

“Swallow,” he whispered, thin lips grazing her forehead once more. Hand clutching his wrist, the other still atop his on her breast, she closed her mouth and obeyed, Punk gliding his hand down the side of her throat so his fingers could feel her actually swallowing what he’d given her. “I missed you,” he murmured, kissing her nose, and he tried to ignore the swelling in his chest, instead focusing his attention on the straining in his joggers, as she grinned, tight body writhing under the weight of his praise and attention.

“I missed you, Daddy,” she faintly replied.

Punk took a deep breath through his nose, cocking his head disapprovingly. “You’re gonna call me that when he’s一” His hips ground against the back of the seat, seeking any and all friction. He hadn’t planned on doing anything during the flight …

“Mhmmm,” she purred, nodding, and Punk would be goddamned if he didn’t absolutely fucking adore her honesty and raw enthusiasm and the fact that, not only did she not worry about any punishment he might bestow upon her, sometimes she begged for it.

“That’s not what good girls do,” Punk intimately informed her. She shook her head this time, eyes utterly wicked and inviting and so fucking stunning, never afraid to maintain eye contact for long periods of time. And if there was one thing Punk loved, it was eye contact一there he could see her obedience, and her want, and the mischief, and even the naivety of a young woman who had yet to really be exposed to the harsh realities of the world. Which was difficult when you were a millionaire and had absolutely no reason to entrench yourself in the atrocities of the real world. If anything, Punk wanted to keep her sheltered, maintain her innocence, as it were. Let him be the most nefarious thing she ever came in contact with. “But you don’t wanna be a good girl,” he went on.

Another shake of her head. His lips drifted to hers, barely brushing them, and his eyes fluttered as her hand snaked to the back of his head, carding her fingers through his hair along the way. And son of a bitch did she fucking own him when she did that一her nails scraping along his scalp, gently tugging at his hair一and he would make sure she never, ever discovered the power she held over him in that respect. She tilted her chin, raising herself up in her chair, but Punk eluded the kiss she so desperately sought.

“You wanna be Daddy’s bad girl tonight, don’t you?” Punk breathed. Her nod this time was frantic. “Take your shorts off. Because if you’re Daddy’s bad girl, then you shouldn’t be wearing any panties, right?”

She lifted her hips, nimbly removing her shorts, slipping them past her sneakers without one snag, and she spread her thighs as far as she was able. Punk peeked over her shoulder, sighing, finding no panties, just smooth lips, which also easily separated, and he could then see her little clit poking out, begging to be licked. He suddenly felt his age, his heart pounding at an almost painful rate, but he quickly recovered, taking a deep breath and strolling around the seat. Paul hadn’t moved, and Punk descended to his knees in front of the wiseman’s daughter. Her grin was contagious as Punk gripped her hips and yanked them closer to the edge of the seat so he could then spread her legs to his heart’s desire, which usually meant as far as she could physically handle. The saccharine scent of her pussy slapped him in the face, and his hand shot down to clutch his cock一he hadn’t prematurely cum since high school and he wasn’t about to go back down that road. She was wet一from the fondling? From the spit? From calling him Daddy?一perfect一because every fucking thing about her was perfect一cunt simply weeping, and he glanced up, finding her pupils blown, jaw dropped, and her own hands were now cupping her breasts.

“Aww, is this all for Daddy, princess?” Punk whispered, hand abandoning a leg so he could slip the tip of his index finger down her already spread folds, sliding along her swollen clit.

She nodded, sneakers in the air—Punk had a vision of Paul turning around, able to see only the Nikes above all the other seats, and it shouldn’t have made him squeeze his dick harder, but fuck all if it didn’t. “My wet pussy is always for Daddy,” she purred softly.

Punk shook his head. “Slut,” he hissed, diving face first into the cunt he literally dreamed about, even while lying next to her following a hard fucking.

She gasped, Punk’s eyes and brows rising instantly as he prepared to reprimand her for being too loud, but her hand slapped over her mouth, quickly followed by her other hand when Punk flattened his tongue and licked from her tight hole to the top of her clit. He battled with the volume of the groan which bubbled unknowingly from his chest because somehow this pussy tasted better every single time he put his mouth on it—more luscious, wetter, that much more addictive. Sucking on the soft nub, he scraped his teeth along the bundle of nerves, and her lithe body twisted not unlike a pretzel, sneaker sole landing hard against the wall beside the oval window.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Punk declared, and as he pulled away from her flooded pussy, a thin, clear string of her essence bridged the gap between his salt-and-pepper beard and her rosy clit. This had to be heaven, he thought, passing his finger through the middle of the bridge, gathering the string, before sucking the digit into his mouth. She whined, manicured nails sliding down her belly, bound for the apex of her thighs, and Punk snatched her wrist before she arrived at her destination. “You gotta be quiet, princess,” he reminded her, hardly audible, as he gradually came to his feet, positioning her hands on the backs of her knees. He glanced over his shoulder, at the same time pulling his straining cock out of his briefs and pants. Paul hadn’t moved, and maybe Punk even heard him snoring. Turning his attention back to Paul’s precious little star shine, his knees were pressed against the edge of her seat, her legs still spread indecently, which she couldn’t close now if she wanted to due to his proximity and sheer size compared to her, and her big, beautiful eyes were laser focused on his leaking cock that was mere inches from her face.

“Please, Daddy?” she whispered, licking her lips eagerly.

“Listen,” Punk said, finger lifting her chin until her eyes reluctantly left his dick to give her attention to his mouth. “You have to be quiet. No choking, no gagging …” She pouted, the girl fucking pouted, and Punk smirked, shaking his head. Lord have mercy on his soul, but she had him finished. “Just lick it—” He pressed the wet head of his cock to her lips, and her tongue promptly slinked out of her scorching mouth, lapping up the precum from her skin and his. Punk let out a breath, one hand clamped on the seat, the other finding its way to the side of her face, thumb on her forehead, her tongue exploring as far along his cock as she was able. “—and suck it real fucking quiet, you hear me?”

She nodded, opening her lips around the head, and Punk pressed forward, somehow forbidding himself from shoving his dick directly into her throat. Her cheeks sunk as she applied just the softest pressure, crystal eyes locked on Punk’s face, because as much as she loved him in her mouth, she loved watching his reaction, and that did something to him all on its own.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Punk sighed, surprised at the restraint in his own voice. Her tongue undulated against his cock, still gently sucking, and he started to pump. Only an inch or two, not enough to kiss the back of her throat no matter how much he wanted to. He smelled her sugary pussy on the air, and made a note in the back of his mind to try and find something to mask it after he was finished with Miss Heyman. “Daddy’s sweet girl.” She smiled around him, sucking just a little harder, though staying perfectly silent, hands still holding her legs open. He’d have to remember this position as one to use when he didn’t want her touching herself. “You wanna be bad, but you can’t help being Daddy’s good girl, can you?” Her eyes fluttered, and he felt a warm rush of air from her nose over his wet cock, and he then stole his dick from her mouth with a pop, and as much as he wanted to blame her for the lewd music, he hadn’t warned her he’d be pulling out while she was in the process of sucking.

“Daddy,” she whined, pushing out her bottom lip, and Punk nearly fell to his knees so he could worship at the altar of her.

“Spoiled little slut,” Punk said, backing up. She closed her legs and sat up in the chair, glaring at him because of the pet name, but also awaiting further direction. He nodded toward a small couch on the other side of the cabin, and she understood almost immediately, standing, naked from the waist down, save for curiously sexy sneakers and the sports bra. She was also aware of their position, that there were three people in the cabin of this jet, so she laid across the couch on her back, head facing the front seats. Someone needed to keep an eye on Paul, and she certainly wanted nothing to do with this task. Punk, on the other hand, didn’t mind at all, and maybe it turned him on a little, and, as Paul’s daughter watched him, body squirming as she waited impatiently for him, wicked smirk on her lips, maybe it wasn’t such a secret.

“Daddy, please,” she breathed, lifting the sports bra to entice him to hurry the fuck up, and Punk dropped his head back, laughing silently. Yep, she was gonna be the death of him. And he was old, so he probably wasn’t long for this world.

“What?” Punk teased, glancing at Paul as he stroked his cock, which was now coated in his precum and her spit. He looked back at the desperate girl writhing about on the couch, his eyes darkening as he closed the space between them.

“I need you inside me,” she murmured. “It’s been so long.”

Three days. It had been three days since he’d had her on her hands and knees on his bed, hands leaving bruises on her hips that he could easily see now, buried balls deep in the tightest pussy he’d ever had the pleasure of fucking.

He climbed onto the couch on his knees, between her open thighs, and he unzipped his hoodie, dropping it on the floor beside them. She mouthed fuck as he revealed one of his merch shirts, sleeves cut out, leaving holes big enough to show about half of his tattooed chest. She slipped her fingers inside those holes, fisting the shirt, and she yanked him down to her. Punk chuckled, she smiled as she bit her lip, but they were both short-lived when Punk’s cock slipped along her slick folds, and they both shared a gasp.

“God, this fucking pussy,” Punk gushed into her ear, fondling a breast, and she turned her head to allow him better access. He sucked at her collar bone, biting down like a feral dog, and her hips lifted, bringing the head of his cock that much closer to her pulsing hole. “And you smell so goddamn good,” he continued, not even realizing he was speaking anymore, still rutting against her. “Christ, it has been too long.”

She giggled, a whimsical melody not unlike wind chimes, and she cupped his face, urging him to look at her. Then she did it—first she sifted one hand through one side of his hair, then the other, pure eyes locked on his sinful ones as she wrapped a leg around his waist. Punk was now under her spell. “You’re so obsessed with me, you dirty old man,” she muttered against his lips.

And the spell was broken.

Punk sat up, tilting his head, eyes slits, nostrils flared. Without warning, his hand shot up to clutch her throat, applying enough pressure to let her know he wasn’t fucking around, if the wild eyes and snarl weren’t enough. “I didn’t hear you,” he growled. “Must be my old man ears. What did you say?” She gripped his wrist with both hands.

“I said—” she forced out, still swiveling her hips into his, her pussy desperately seeking his cock. She met his eyes defiantly. “—you’re so obsessed with me, you dirty … old … man …” He was offended by the old man, though she spoke only the truth.

“I don’t know where this attitude is coming from, but you better fucking squash it and apologize … now,” Punk rasped.

“Or what?” the girl challenged.

“Or I’ll take you into the bathroom right fucking now and wash your pretty mouth out with soap,” Punk promised. “And you definitely won’t be getting this old man cock.” She wasn’t as frightened by the prospect of soap in her mouth as she was the possibility of not getting fucked, and there couldn’t possibly be two people better suited for each other than CM Punk and Paul Heyman’s daughter, he thought. “So which is it?” he pushed. “The soap and no dick? Or—”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she breathed. “I just like that you’re obsessed with me …”

“And the old man?” Punk seethed.

She shrugged, still gripping his forearm as he still clutched her throat. “I like that, too,” she admitted.

Punk searched her face for a moment before crushing his lips to hers, hands grabbing at her legs, shoving them apart, Nikes flopping around, and then he rubbed the fleshy head of his cock along her clit before plunging inside her. He was able to get a hand over her mouth just as she was about to cry out. Her eyes squeezed shut, Punk pummeling her pussy, and she tried to push him away with hands on his belly as he rammed her cervix at the same time as her legs pulled him impossibly closer and somehow deeper.

“I am obsessed with you,” Punk rumbled into her ear, using his hand over her mouth to shove her face to the side. The air was so thick it was difficult to breathe, dripping with the aroma of their intimate union. “I watch you when you don’t even know I’m there …” Her legs tightened around him, the hands on his belly now fisted in his shirt, also tugging him closer. “You like that?” he asked. She nodded, rolling her hips into his, meeting each of his slow thrusts. “You like that I have pictures on my phone of you that you don’t even know about?” She moaned into his hand, her hands releasing his shirt so she could clutch his shoulders. “And I jerk off to them every single fucking day we’re not together?”

She came apart then, entire body shuddering, cunt clamping around his cock, milking it like it always did. He pounded faster into her, harder, one hand remaining over her mouth while the other groped a breast.

“Fuck, you dirty slut,” Punk panted. “I’m gonna cum inside this pussy.” Her back bowed, her nod frantic. “Daddy knows that’s what you want, isn’t it?” Another desperate, silent affirmation.

A few more pumps into her and a glance in Paul’s direction to find he’d changed positions, but was still asleep, and he exploded within her, lips pulling back from his teeth as his hips stuttered. He looked down at where their bodies were joined together, his cock covered in her cum, glistening in the harsh overhead lights, and he thought, no, this was heaven. Pulling out, he couldn’t help but finger her clit poking out between her spread folds, and she jumped, squeaking. When he was sure his legs could handle it, he stood and grabbed her shorts, helping her to move them past her shoes as she languidly pulled them on.

“These are gonna be a mess in a few minutes,” Punk warned, “but I want my cum as close to your pussy as possible for as long as possible.”

She breathed an exhausted laugh, pulling her bra down over her breasts. “That’s exactly what I wanted,” she replied. “It’s also why I brought the big shirt.” Punk tucked himself away and sat on the couch, her sneakers in his lap. “So … when can we talk about how you’re basically stalking me?” she grinned.

#wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #smut #cm punk x reader #cm punk smut #cm punk fanfic #cm punk fanfiction #cm punk #wwe fandom #wwe fic #wwe smut #cm punk fic

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12amintoronto · 1 month ago

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𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ... kylian mbappé x reader 📱🤍

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wc: 1.5k

synopsis: you're on the phone with your best friend that you can't hang up on as she runs to you about the dire status of her situationship, but it's difficult to focus when your boyfriend, kylian, is all over you.

contents: fluff, sfw, kisses (lips, cheek, neck, you name it my friend), female reader, touchy, oc who is y/n's best friend

notes: because i felt the calling to write something for kyky 🩵🩵 i think he is so fine. showing one of my fav frenchies some loveee

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it was madness on the other line... to the point where it made you really stop and think and just look around, thinking to yourself; "damn, i'm grateful i haven't run into guy trouble this bad..."

you sighed as you listened to your best friend on the other end of the phone who was caught up in a whirlwind of frustration with her current situationship.

still, she's your best friend - and you're happy that she can confide in you when things go south, so there you were, offering whichever little pieces of advice you have to your bestie, as you were curled up on the sofa with a blanket over your legs, as you wore one of your man's t-shirts that was much too big on you... having sips of your tea in steady intervals.

you murmured just the right responses as she went onto you about this guy. you listened intently and hummed in total agreement when she was speaking.

it was your mission to help your best friend out.

that was until your boyfriend, kylian, had come downstairs, approaching you, having just come out of the shower - topless with a a pair of nike sweats on.

you had to pay attention to your friend though, so you just smiled and batted your lashes at him flirtatiously, since you still had to let him know that he looks insanely good.

if only you'd known that doing so was gonna be a big mistake.

your nonchalant flit of your lashes was enough to make kylian smirk... it was enough for him to be fully convinced that he's got your attention now.

lord, you could catch the scent of his ridiculously expensive cologne from where you were sitting.

he strides on over to you, as his sexy smirk had turned into a soft bite of his bottom lip while he took the sight of you in as he got closer to you. kylian didn't say a word while doing so... he just lowered himself down close to you on the sofa, and rested his head in your lap, seeking the soothing feeling of your fingers on his nape.

you mouthed silently to him as you momentarily held your phone away from your ear - "behave, baby."

kylian? he just smirked.

you rolled your eyes in a playful manner as you turned your attention back to your best friend who was on the other line, continuing to spill the tea.

"no, yeah. like... i totally get it," you told her, determined to stay this attentive to her predicament, which sounded pretty dire - or she at least made it sound like that was so...

"...honestly, girl... he's not even worth your time. he's just been playing games, it's not cool one bit."

you said it plain and simple, feeling a pang of pride at your skills in giving relationship advice.

but a sensation graced you just then so well in a way that make you nearly lose grip of your phone.

kylian had shifted in the slightest to press a tender kiss near the inside of your thigh.

"no, y/n... you've got business to take care of on the phone here..." you told yourself in your thoughts, the only person able to hear that being you.

"like... if he seriously cared, then you wouldn't doubt him. you wouldn't feel stressed being in the position that you're in. you'd be- ah..."

your words... your entire train of thought was halted, no... more like completely obliterated already as kylian only began to kiss up your thigh, higher, higher...

"you there? you okay?" your best friend asked on the other end.

"...yeah. he's just... not worth the bother, girl..." you trailed.

as kylian was deliberately pressing those soft, slow, lazy kisses up your leg, inching closer to alongside your hip... you glared at him in a way that said stop it right now. he, on the other hand, looked up at you with a smug grin and let out a soft chuckle as he went back to practically worshipping you with his lips.

you wanted to be a good friend and hear your bestie on the other line out.

kylian made it an incredibly difficult task.

but lord, you would be lying to yourself if you said you actually wanted him to stop. he was challenging your task at hand... the attention given between him and your best friend on the line becoming less divisive...

because he was stealing it all.

kylian's starting to enjoy this too much. his fingers slyly made way to hook right at the hem of the t-shirt you wore, which was much too large for you considering that it is his after all.

once he sat up so that he could press his lips to your collarbone, simultaneously lifting your top by the bottom hem... you couldn't conceal the hitch of your breath.

"y/n." your best friend said... now more sternly.

"i'm paying attention, yeah-! right, go on-"

you swear that kylian is gonna be the death of you, all because of this moment.

"i don't know what to do anymore. i think i should just give up on guys... for good. once and for all."

kylian kept up the teasing touches... his fingertips grazing the bare skin of your waist that was covered by the t-shirt only seconds ago. you were barely there on call, anymore. but you had to focus, focus, focus...

you started, "no, girl... don't say that, you just-"

and at that exact moment that your sentence was cut off, it was all kylian's fault. then and there... you felt his lips press gently below your ear. your weak spot.

what were you left to do?

you pressed your thighs together as he kissed you there... you couldn't help but whine just a little bit.

and you knew you couldn't do anything about it now that your best friend had heard.

"wait- are you okay? you sound weird." she asked.

"oh, nothing- i just... shifted the wrong way on the couch." you managed to speak.

you could feel kylian chuckling softly, his lips still lingering just beneath your ear. lord, you wanna kill him! but him? he doesn't care. he only wants you... as if he even has to tell you, for the way he's been kissing you for the past bit has made it more than clear.

kylian's lips grazed the shell of your ear... before finally speaking to you in a hushed, sultry tone.

"hang up, bébé."

you exhaled deeply, coming to terms.

the more your french man coerced you into a trance, the less help you were being to your best friend on the other line. you were seriously losing this battle.

you looked at yourself... barely there as your friend went on about how she thinks she should at least take a break from guys.

kylian's palms splayed across your body... one hand with a firm grip on your thigh... the other hand's fingers splayed across your belly. he didn't even need to put into words how much he could just devour you here and now, for his look did all the talking needed.

your man had you absolutely finished.

"hey, you know, let me call you back in a few minutes. i just remembered i need to go and take care of something." you lied, proceeding to just pray and hope your friend would let you go.

"alright... don't take forever though, girl. do your thing. seeya!" she replied.

immediately, the pad of your thumb darted to tap the red circular button on your touchscreen that'd hang up the call.

and just when you were about to deliver all the scolding you had pent up...

kylian swiftly captured your lips with his own, kissing you hungrily, yet with a tender, soft sort of passion behind it all. you melted into it, as you could feel his fingers pressing into the skin of your waist like he was deprived of you like never before.

he moaned into your mouth quietly before pulling away just barely, your lips still brushing his.

"you are soooo..." you started

"you were taking too long, ma belle." he murmured softly against your lips. "just needed your attention."

you laughed to yourself softly and brought your hand right back to the first place that you had touched him this morning - the nape of his neck. "you're so annoying, kyky."

"and you love me. i felt you folding under all the pressure~" kylian quipped, quickly pulling you into his lap with one swift movement of his strong arms around you, only making you blush more as you straddled him... he kept one hand splayed on your thigh, squeezing lovingly.

"babeeee..." you complained, the sarcasm in your voice obvious, because let's face it... why would you ever want kylian's fine self to stop? your gaze soon met his again.

with that, he planted another loving kiss to your lips... giving another soft squeeze to your thigh.

"mmmh... your friend's not getting a call back from you any time soon, bébé."

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sosasturns · 3 months ago

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blurb, shoota!chris

in which bottle girl!reader tags along w chris to a late night walmart run… inspired by the the facebook meme above.

walmart, damn near midnight.

you should’ve been at home, knocked the fuck out, resting your sore ass feet from a long ass shift. but no.

you were here.

in the self-checkout line, waiting on chris to finish scanning his shit, your arms crossed as you watched him bag up a pack of white tees, deodorant, two arizona iced teas, and a fucking glizzy roller.

“what the fuck do you even need that for?” you asked, eyeing the dumbass purchase.

chris didn’t even look at you, swiping his card. “don’t worry about it.”

you sucked your teeth, glancing around at the other people in the store—knowing damn well what this looked like.

you and chris. together. in walmart.

it didn’t help that you had on some little ass nike shorts and an oversized hoodie—his oversized hoodie, ‘cause he was bitchin’ about you wearing a dress in the cold when he picked you up earlier. and he? he was posted in some low-hanging grey sweats and a fitted, walking around all slow with that third-leg ass stride.

anybody watching knew what the fuck was up.

as soon as y’all made it to the car, you slid into the passenger seat, crossing your arms.

chris tossed the bag in the back before climbing in, starting the engine with one hand, his other reaching for his arizona.

you sucked your teeth. “you know they say they in walmart together, they fuckin’ raw, right?”

chris took a sip, swallowing before licking his lips. “so? what’s wrong wit’ that?”

your head snapped towards him, brows raising.

he turned to face you, looking at you like he knew what the fuck he just said.

and he did.

your breath caught as he sat the can in the cupholder, his hand suddenly resting on your thigh. a little too high for just casual.

you blinked. “chris—”

“shut that shit up.” his voice was smooth, deep as he squeezed at your flesh, inching his hand higher, fingers slipping under your hoodie.

under his hoodie.

you shivered, biting your lip. “boy, we in the walmart parking lot.”

his hand slipped further up, fingers brushing against the waistband of your shorts.

“and?” he murmured, leaning in closer, his lips barely grazing your ear. “actin’ like we don’t be doin’ worse.”

your breath hitched.

he wasn’t wrong.

“they say anything ‘bout gettin’ fingered in a walmart parking lot?”

@ sosasturns

#sosasturns #chris sturniolo #shoota!chris #bottle girl!reader #chris sturniolo au #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut

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hees-mine · 11 months ago

Text

DESTROYED - L. HEESEUNG

Pairing: heeseung ⚥ reader

Warnings: suggestive, crying, blood, violence, touching without consent, reader says no. This is rushed so i apologize in advance for errors.

Genre: 18+, smut, Minors do not interact!

WC: 2,533k

PART ONE PART TWO

⟱⟱⟱

Avoiding heeseung was now a daily routine for you.

It went from trying to get as close to him as possible to keeping as much distance from him as possible.

You nearly skipped your shared class with him everyday cause his aura alone made a chill run down your spine.

The most you’ve seen of him was a small glimpse of the worn Nike’s that’d he’d wear to school everyday.

You know you probably shouldn’t even notice him or look for him at all but avoidance was easy acceptance wasn’t.

Avoiding him was easy cause the last thing you wanted to do was run into him alone again.

But acceptance was hard cause you didn’t want to believe the guy you secretly loved from afar wasn’t a guy worth loving.

The scenarios that you made up in your head about him were so far from reality.

There were polar opposites and even knowing what kind of person he is it’s still hard to move on from something that’s been a part of your life for so long.

But eventually, you’ll have to come to terms with it cause this wasn’t another one of your unrealistic scenarios. He was someone to stay far away from, and the bruises on your neck were proof of that.

Heeseung watched you walking the school halls pitifully a smile creeping up to his lips cause now you’re smart enough to know better than to get anyone near him.

He must admit it is a bit strange that you even approached him to begin with cause since he’s been in the neighborhood you’re the first and only person to acknowledge him or try to befriend him.

He kept his distance from people purposefully cause he simply wanted to be alone.

It’s better for him that way.

He doesn’t want to talk or even to be seen if he had a choice then he’d stay hidden away from everybody.

Heeseung had just wrapped up his classes for the day and stepped out of the school building heading in the direction of the woodsy path that led back to his home.

You weren’t the only one that took that route he’d often see you but he’d never show himself for obvious reasons.

The path was his favorite cause not only was it a shortcut to home, but he also avoided all the other schoolgoers as well.

As he walks the path, the sound of small twigs cracking under his shoe gives him a sense of satisfaction.

He took a few more calculated steps listening to the dried up leafs crunching with every stride there was one big lead in particular and he was anticipating the sound right as his foot came in contact with the aged leaf the sound of laughing in the woods ruined the suspense of his endeavor his head snapping up toward the sound.

There was nothing in his line of vision. He stopped and listened, looking around for something or someone in the distance, and then he heard it again, but this time, he also heard the sounds of someone crying.

He walked in the direction of the noise getting closer and closer to the sounds until a group of three men entered his vision.

It had been a full month since you had been avoiding heeseung, and you thought it was safe to say he’d leave you alone for good now, so you started to take your old trail back home, assuming he wouldn’t be bothering you out here again.

And Well, there was no sign of heeseung. There were three older men standing in front of you, blocking your path when you got maybe halfway into the woods.

There was never anyone out here ever.

Until today.

And today just so happened to be your lucky day.

You tried to politely tell them off, but they didn’t listen. Of course, they didn’t listen.

They badgered you continuously despite you telling them you were not interested. They circled you like hungry wolves against their prey, poking and prodding you, pulling your hair, and saying the nastiest things to you.

You were paralyzed with fear, praying someone would save you, and just when one of the men was going to grab you and do, god only knows what, you heard a male voice shout. “Hey!”

The three men look up in the direction of the voice, your eyes soon following there’s, and even though Lee heeseung had just assaulted you in these same woods, somehow, you’ve never been happier to see his face.

“What do you want boy can’t you see we’re busy?” One of them says and you cringe slowly backing away from them.

“Can’t you see I don’t give a fuck? Leave before I run out of patience,” one of them scoffs, and heeseung is just waiting for them to give him a reason to do what he’s been itching to do since the moment he saw them.

“See, unlike you, we don’t have patience. We see what we want, and we take no matter what’s in our way,” the ring leader says and pokes heeseung on the chest with his index finger. Within a second, he’s face down on the ground, groaning in pain.

You flinched from the sudden show of violence and coward down next to a tree, your eyes flicking back and forth from the men and heeseung.

Everything flashed before your eyes so quickly you spaced out, and when you finally got to take a second to breathe and take everything in, heeseung was the only man standing. The rest were covered in blood, rolling in pain, and you’re sure some of their bones were broken with the way heeseung repeatedly hit them with a thick wooden branch.

He didn’t even have a scratch on his face, just the look of pure rage in his eyes as his bloody fists shook with anger.

Your eyes were riddled with fear looking at him. You never thought a savior could look so deranged.

You backed away from him when he came near you and reached his hand out for you to take.

He stood up straight, looking at you with a hardened expression. He didn’t wait for you to take his hand. Rather, he took yours, yanking you off the ground as you kept your distance.

Just cause he saved you, that didn’t mean you weren’t still frightened by him cause you knew he was capable of harming you, too. He’d already done it once.

He walks within a foot’s distance his arm attempting to grab at your waist so he can lead you out of the woods and you pushed his hands away fearfully.

“Are you fucking kidding right now? I save you from a group of fucking assholes, and you push me away?” He says as if he hasn’t harmed you before.

You took calm breaths and never made eye contact with him.

Your silence ticks him off, and he forcefully grips your face. “You know, I thought you’d be smart enough not to take this path again after what happened last time.”

Tears well in your eyes at the thought of what happened last time and your body is filled with even more fear as you try to move your head out of his grip.

“Fucking mute thought you were a bit smarter than that” he turns around, leaving you in the woods with the unconscious bodies on the ground. You took a peek at them, got up, and ran home as fast as possible.

Despite earlier events and your better judgment when nightfall hit you decided to take a walk cause you just needed a break especially after your mother tore into you when you showed up late.

Your life had just been terrible recently, and every small thing felt magnified from the way heeseung treated you.

You didn’t tell your mom what happened you know she wouldn’t care the only thing she cared about was how quickly you’d come home so you could run to the corner store and buy her another bottle.

It has always been that way since you can remembe-

Your train of thought was broken when you heard loud voices in the near distance. They were screaming sounded, almost like fighting.

You stopped in your tracks a few blocks down, and you could see two men standing outside in front of their house. “Mom, go inside,” heeseung says.

“Yeah, go inside, dear. I’d hate for you to see me wreck your boy,” his dad drunkenly chuckles.

What happened today was just a Kickstarter for heeseung to do what he should have done a long time ago, but now he was ready to do what needed to be done. Him and his mother had endured enough stress and pain at the hands of his father, and it was finally time to put an end to this.

Right here.

Right now.

You saw one of the men throw a punch landing straight on the other man’s face and you flinched.

Flashes from heeseung fighting off those men earlier rushed through your mind as you watched the two unknown men fighting each other.

It wasn’t long until one was dropped, the other jumping on top of the body on the ground, pummeling the other's face in, and you gasped quickly, covering your mouth as the assault took place.

You heard a woman’s voice sounding panicked. “Heeseung, don’t he’s still your father.” She turned on the porch light and ran down the steps to cover what you assumed was her husband.

No way, you thought as you heard what she said, was it really heeseung?

You know what he was capable of doing to you, but he treated his own father the same way. Was he really that sick and twisted in the head?

Heeseung never understood why his mother would always defend his father, but her wishes always came first, so he withdrew himself for his mother’s sake. If it wasn’t for her, he might have killed his father tonight.

When all the other lights in the neighborhood came on, they revealed him perfectly, and it was indeed him.

It was heeseung.

You were shocked to your core. You didn’t stick around for anything else, and you bolted back home, tucking yourself in bed for the night, trying desperately to erase the image of bloody heeseung from your mind.

Since that day, you have practically been running from Heeseung whenever you sensed his presence was near.

Except today at your locker when you felt a hand tug your wrist.

You looked up, and when you saw him, your body shook immediately with fear. You tried to pull away from his grip, but it just got tighter.

“Look at me” he commands but you kept your eyes low. “Fine” he yanks you to that same empty classroom where you both did unspeakable things things you wished you hadn’t. “Look” for the first time in weeks you dared to look at him in the eyes.

“Y-you told me not t-“

“I’m telling you now!” He shouts. “Don’t act you know the first thing about listening” he pinned you against the door.

You quickly lock your eyes with him, fearing what he might do if you didn’t listen.

He looks between both your eyes they looked so familiar he’s seen that look more times than he’s comfortable admitting. “Why are you looking at me like that?” His expression faltering for a moment. You don’t answer your body shaking in fear.

“Heeseung, stop you’re scari-“ he cuts your words off quickly, pressing a finger to your lips so the words don’t come out.

“If you feel that way, then why do you let me do this?” He puts his hand under your skirt, skimming your inner thigh with his fingertips.

You writhe under his hold, pulling your body away from him. “No!” You shout, but he quickly covers your mouth.

He holds you in place, lowering his hand and putting it on your throat. “Be fucking quiet. Yeah, don’t act like you don’t want this.” he grips your thigh while you struggle to get out of his grip.

“Stop!” You gasp out for air, and he squeezes tighter.

“Shush, just let me,” he whispers in your ear. “Be real quiet,” he continues, touching you under your skirt, his hand moving from your throat down to creeping down to your chest, and you winced. “Come on, I know you want. It got so wet for me last time,” he hums and licks the side of your jaw.

“Heeseung, please stop,” you whimper, hoping he’d listen.

“You say that, but I know you don’t mean it. You loved it last time. Your fucking pussy was just dripping and begging to be fucked” he nudges his forehead against yours, pressing himself closer to you.

You shrink back, your face contorting in disgust, and you can’t believe you ever liked someone like him to begin with. “Get off!” You yelled, using all your strength to push him off of you, and he stumbled back, finally letting you go.

You quickly reached for the doorknob but he was quicker. “Don’t” he easily picks you up hoisting you on the teachers desk spreading your legs and situated himself between. “Keep them open let me have you the way I want” you obey too scared that he might hurt you. “The way we both want” he whispered pressing a soft kiss on your neck.

He starts to roll the bottom of your skirt up, and that’s when he hears you sniffling softly. You want to close your legs, but you keep them open, remembering that you could possibly be hurt in this situation at any given moment.

His eyes travel to your watery ones, and his hands freeze at the look in your eyes. No wonder why your eyes looked so familiar. You were looking at him the same way his mother looked at his father before he’d hit her.

There’s no other way to describe the look other than fear.

He realized you were scared of him, and as much as he hated his father for what he’d done to his mom, at this exact moment, he could see his father in himself.

His breath catches in his throat and there’s nothing but pen drop silence in the room as he retracts his hands.

When he took his hands off you, you looked at him, your eyes red and watery. Through your blur of tears, you saw the look of confusion on his face mixed with something else.

“Go,” he whispers and backs away from you, freeing you from himself.

You stood up from the desk, your mouth parting to utter something, even though you should have just left as quickly as possible.

Before a word comes out, he shouts. “GO!”

You jumped slightly and rolled down your skirt, running to the door, leaving without looking back.

He stood alone in the empty classroom catching the reflection of his face in the glass window and he was staring back at himself there was nothing behind his eyes and he realized that he was destroyed.

⟱⟱⟱

Thanks for reading please reblog and leave feedback.

#heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #lee heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours

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whitechocolate355 · 10 days ago

Text

full court press

part - 3

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd (pazzi)

word count - 4.9k

c/w - language

(repost !!)

hey guys... sorry for posting a little later today i started rewatching modern family and have since been sucked in. tbh i kinda hate how this chapter turned out but i promise i'll make chap 5 extra steamy to make up for it!!! hope u guys have fun reading! and as always, i'm open to oneshot requests and more feedback 😘

chapter 3: baseline tension

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

Paige -

The court buzzed with the sharp blasts of whistles and the rhythmic thud of sneakers hitting hardwood. Line drills: Paige's personal hell in Jordans yet— tryouts' cruel tradition.

They were close ten lines in and almost 20 girls had dropped out, panting and cursing on the side lines leaving Paige wondering how they even qualified.

By line 23, another swarm of girls had been wiped out, and Sarah's pace was starting to slow, her arms dragging like wet towels at her sides. she gave it one last push, stumbled on the turn, and waved a limp hand in surrender before slumping against the bleachers.

"SAURRR" KK shouted. "You told me you'd do this with me!" she yelled out, too tired to focus on the betrayal as she continued running her lines.

KK held on longer than Paige would've thought. her steps were clean, but her breathing betrayed her. At line 27, she tugged her headband off with a frustrated grunt and tossed it behind her like she was done with the world. “Girl, boo. I’m out,” she muttered. “I got asthma or pride or something.” Paige laughed, not sure which was true.

At line 31, Nika’s pace faltered. she was still grinning—because of course she was—but her legs didn’t match the joke she cracked about dying on foreign soil. “Tell Croatia i fought until the end” she gasped, collapsing to the ground like it was a luxury mattress.

By line 42, even Lou—steady, reliable Lou— was beginning to tire, her knees buckling mid-stride. She tried to ride it out in style, brushing imaginary lint off her shorts like nothing happened, but tapped out with a huff.

And Ice, who Paige had never heard speak more than four words at a time, actually groaned as she dropped out at 44. “y’all can run for the both of us,” she muttered, then sprawled on the court, making snow angels with the squeaky floor.

But Paige? She kept running. And so did Azzi.

It pissed paige off more than it should’ve. that Azzi was still going, still steady, like the line drills were just a warm-up jog through the park. Her dark curls had now been brushed into a sleek ponytail—swinging rhythmically with each step. Her sweat glistening across her cheekbones like highlighter, whilst Paige's left her body feeling uncomfortably sticky. Who does this girl think she is?

Barely panting, Azzi's breath remained measured as they neared the baseline again. It was annoyingly graceful. Like she was built for this. Like she hadn’t just lied to Paige and acted like the plane ride meant nothing.

Paige felt a stitch forming in her side, and the stuffy, gym air punching at her lungs. Her legs started to shake, muscles burning. The sweat in her eyes blurred the lines on the court. And still—Azzi ran. Unbothered. Effortless. Glowing. Damn her.

The anger built in Paige’s chest, tangled with frustration and something that felt dangerously close to heartbreak. She hated that she was letting Azzi affect her this much. Hated that every step beside her felt like a personal insult. So, on line 50, Paige made her move.

She slowed just enough, dragged the bottom of her black Nike shirt up to wipe her face. Sweat beaded along her collarbone, catching the gym lights. Her other hand pressed to the wall as she leaned against it with casual, practiced exhaustion. And waited. Waited for Azzi's reaction.

Out the corner of her eye, she saw Azzi glance.

Not just looking—staring. Like Paige had just knocked the wind out of her, like the sight caught her off guard. She gulped. That was new.

Paige couldn't deny her pleasure in seeing Azzi's face, knowing how much she was torturing the brunette. Good she thought, she deserves it.

But then— That look.

Sad. Almost apologetic. With those damn soft eyes again. It hit Paige like a wave to the chest—familiar and painful and real. She blinked, trying to stop her body from collapsing at the pained look in Azzi's face.

Then she remembered. The fake flirting. The avoidance. The secret she kept. And suddenly, all that softness curdled.

Paige scoffed—loud, deliberate—and pushed off the wall, shouldering Azzi on her way back to the line.

It had dawned upon Paige when they were nearing their 60th lap.

Weak. That’s what it made her feel. Azzi made her feel weak. With her stolen glances, her annoyed insults, her surprisingly good flirting.

It made her want to scream.

Or kiss her.

Or both.

But Paige needed to remind herself she was the opposite of weak. They were not on that plane anymore.

For all Paige new, that sweet, charming girl she met on the plane was long gone. That version of Azzi didn't even exist to Paige. Only the version of her now. A memory. A stranger. A rival.

She was not about to let Azzi win.

“You’re going to wish you never came here,” Paige spat, her voice a serrated whisper.

And then she was gone. Sprinting. Fueled by rage and shrimp and whatever this twisted thing in her chest was.

Let's see if Azzi can chase that.

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

Azzi -

She surged forward, legs carving the court with practiced precision.

Her feet slapped the hardwood in rhythmic patterns, a metronome to the chaos in her chest. She wasn’t even sure how many lines they were at anymore—maybe 70? 75?—but she knew only one other set of footsteps kept pace with hers.

Paige.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that moment—the moment the door opened, and Paige had walked in with that effortless swagger, like she owned the room, like the gym was just another stage for her to conquer. Like she hadn’t shattered Azzi’s deliberate lie in a single, staggering second.

She’d tried not to react. Tried to breathe through it. But as Paige had jogged toward the baseline and done that double take, Azzi felt the earth beneath her shift, the fury in Paige’s eyes nearly bringing her to her knees.

She hadn’t wanted this. Not the rivalry, not the tension, not this… war Paige had declared with every step they took side by side.

Azzi had lied. She had lied because she thought she’d never see Paige again. She had lied to protect herself; from her emotions, from her confusion, both seeming to spiral out of control every time she was in the vicinity of the white girl. And now the lie had teeth. And claws. And a mouth that whispered: you don’t get to want her anymore.

But, God, did she want her. More than ever.

Especially when Paige pulled that move at line 40. Her black Nike shirt lifting with a rehearsed sweep. Azzi damn near tripped.

She tried not to look. It was obvious that Paige was trying to elicit a reaction from her. But she would have to go blind to stop her from staring.

Azzi tried with everything in her to keep her eyes ahead, to pretend the heat crawling up her neck was from the sprints and not the sight of Paige yanking her shirt up, slow and shameless, wiping sweat from her face like it was a damn performance.

The black fabric that once clung to her skin was now replaced with her toned stomach, and God, Azzi had prayed there would be nothing impressive underneath, but as always, her luck had failed her.

Azzi gulped— taking in the sight of Paige's abs. They were no joke—defined, flushed, slick with sweat. Every muscle line carved out by years of drills, lifts, suicides. And Paige knew it. Holding the shirt up just long enough to let the rest of them stare, like she was saying: This is what you're up against.

Azzi swallowed hard. Her throat felt tight. Her legs didn’t even feel sore anymore—just shaky.

Because in that moment, Azzi forgot every reason she shouldn’t want this girl. Forgot tryouts, forgot Matt (as if she remembered in the first place), forgot her lie.

All she could think was: I want her to ruin me.

And Paige saw it. Of course she did. Replying the dumbstruck brunette with a smirk, her eyes dark, wicked. Then, she leaned in—just close enough that no one else could hear—and whispered, low and lethal:

“Still think you can keep up with me?”

Azzi didn’t have an answer. She knew should’ve looked away, kept her eyes on the goddamn floor, on the baseline, on anything other than Paige. But her thoughts wouldn't let her.

She swallowed thickly, eyes darting away as fast as possible, but it was too late. Paige had seen the look on her face. The guilt, the awe, the hunger she wasn’t ready to admit to anyone—especially not herself.

She felt like her brain short-circuited for a second.

It wasn’t just the way Paige looked—though, (even that was enough to knock the breath out of her)—it was the way she moved. The cocky tilt of her chin, the unbothered hand on the wall, the way she waited, like she knew exactly what she was doing to Azzi.

Because in that moment, Azzi forgot every reason she shouldn’t want this girl. All she could think was: I want her to ruin me. Matt had never had made her feel like this. Not even close.

In fact, no one ever had. Matt’s touch had always felt like static — distant, half-hearted, forgettable. Even the one time he tried to go down on her, it barely stirred anything in her. Not the way Paige did — without even laying a hand on her.

And that made the guilt burn so much hotter.

Azzi blinked hard, snapping herself back to reality. This was bad. This was so, very bad.

Paige was angry. Hurt. She wore her betrayal on her sleeve, maybe it wasn't clear for others, but Azzi could see it. And it killed her to know that she was the one responsible for it all.

She hadn’t broken the connection—they’d barely had time to build it. But whatever spark they had, whatever fragile, luminous thing had flickered to life between their knees on that cramped plane… Azzi had crushed it before it could become anything more.

And Paige wasn’t letting her forget it.

She hadn’t meant to lie. In fact, in the moment, she didn't even know why she'd do it. She just hadn’t expected to ever see Paige again . But now, here they were—running line after line, the sting of betrayal tightening every breath between them. And yet Paige still found the energy to flirt, whispering in her ear mid-run like it meant nothing. Just mere flirtatious jabs meant to get under Azzi’s skin.

4th whistle:

“Didn’t think you’d get this lucky twice, did you?”

10th whistle:

“You’re panting harder than you did on the plane.”

26th whistle:

“Isn't it funny how you lied and still couldn’t stay away?”

Azzi had responded with a quick eye roll every time, refocusing herself onto the baseline. Yet every time, she caught herself biting back a smile—because even now, Paige couldn’t help but tease.

While Paige seemed to have the energy to flirt, she could also see the cracks. Azzi knew it wasn’t just a game.

She could see it in the way Paige’s energy faltered, the exhaustion creeping into Paige’s stride. Her legs dragged just a little more each time. Her breath came harder. And still, she kept pushing—pushing to outlast Azzi, to prove something. Her arms no longer pumping with ease, her breath no longer steady. She was running on pride and rage alone.

Azzi was fine. Her legs were starting to buzz, yeah, and her breath had thickened. But the girl had more in her. Another twenty lines, at least.

She could’ve gone another twenty lines easy. Her legs were starting to buzz, yeah, and her breath had thickened. But it had been light work so far.

Still, by the 80th line, she made a choice.

For Paige.

For those eyes that still burned with betrayal every time they glanced over.

For the chance—small and impossible as it seemed—that maybe Azzi could start to make it right.

So, she slowed.

Dropping to the floor with a grunt, hand on her chest like she was winded. Maybe part of her was.

It wasn’t real.

But it was honest.

Because the only thing hurting more than her lungs… was Paige’s anger.

And if collapsing now meant Paige wouldn’t look at her with that furious look again— She’d hit the floor every single time.

Azzi let herself lay on the floor for a moment, trying to sell her exhaustion to the coaches. She was panting, but not from the lines.

From the weight of those damn ocean-blue eyes looking at her like she’d ripped something out of her chest.

And yeah. She deserved that look.

But still, it hurt anyway.

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

Paige -

The gym was quiet now, except for the hum of the overhead lights and the distant squeak of a ball bouncing at the far end of the court.

Most of the girls were sprawled out across the floor, chugging water, untying sneakers, or groaning about how sore they were going to be in the morning. Nika had disappeared to the bathroom. Aaliyah and Lou were rolling out their muscles with the foam roller. And Sarah was flat-out asleep on her back.

Paige wasn’t tired anymore. Not really. Not in the physical sense. Her heart was still racing, but for all the wrong reasons.

Azzi was seated against the padded wall, legs outstretched, arms draped over her knees. She looked… unbothered. Serene, almost. Like the lies she’d told and the miles they’d just run hadn’t even scratched the surface.

And that pissed her off to no end.

She stalked toward her slowly, her jaw tight, sweat still clinging to her temples. Azzi didn’t move as she approached—just looked up, like she’d been expecting her.

Paige leaned down, hands resting on the seat above her, caging her in. She lowered her face until it was barely a breath away from hers.

“Were you this good at lying to your boyfriend, too?” she whispered, her voice seductive like honey, yet laced with venom.

Azzi didn’t flinch. Nor blink.

She just smiled—soft and sad. A smile full of apology and ache and something Paige couldn’t name.

And that—

That destroyed her.

Because how could she. How dare she look at Paige like that, like she regretted it all, like she was the victim, like she was the one who got hurt.

Paige’s heart thudded against her ribs, her breath hitching in disbelief. That smile—that smile—was enough to send her spiralling all over again.

“Don’t—” Paige breathed in, shuddering, her voice cracking at the edges. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Azzi opened her mouth, but nothing came out, her face looking down. And maybe that was worse.

Because Paige had come here ready to taunt, ready to win, ready to drag Azzi through the same hell she’d been in for past few days.

But now she just stood there, trembling with confusion, heat, longing—and hate, maybe. Or maybe just heartbreak dressed up as anger.

She stepped back, shaking her head. Everything felt messy. Stupid. Wrong.

And Azzi? Azzi just stayed there, still with that look on her face like she wished she could take it all back.

Paige hated her.

Paige wanted her.

She sighed. She didn’t know the difference anymore.

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

It had been somewhere over Colorado when Paige stopped pretending not to look.

Azzi had her hoodie pulled up over her head, one earbud in, cheek smushed softly against the plane window. The sky outside was pink-orange, leaking through the glass and spilling over her face like a filter. Paige didn’t even notice the turbulence anymore.

“You always fly with one earbud?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

Azzi cracked open one eye. “What?”

Paige gestured lazily. “You’ve had just one earbud in this whole flight. Who does that? You trying to keep one ear open for emergency announcements?”

Azzi smiled — really smiled — for the first time since they’d sat down.

“No,” she said, pulling the other earbud out and offering it. “Just hoping someone interesting would start talking.”

Paige blinked. Her hand moved on instinct, fingers brushing Azzi’s as she took the bud. She popped it in. Slow RnB filled her ears, smooth and lazy.

“Sonder?” Paige said, quirking a brow.

“Can’t go wrong,” Azzi murmured.

For a while, they just sat like that, shoulder to shoulder, music humming between them.

They sat in a pocket of silence, the plane humming quietly around them.

Paige rested her head back against the seat, legs sprawled out in front of her. She could feel Azzi next to her — the warmth of her, even without touching.

It was stupid, probably. They barely knew each other. And yet…

Paige turned her head a little, just enough to see Azzi fiddling absently with the strings of her hoodie. Like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Like she was nervous too.

Paige smirked, trying to cover the knot in her throat. “You always this quiet?” she asked, voice low.

Azzi startled a little, then smiled — small, almost sheepish. “Depends who I’m sitting next to.”

Paige’s chest tightened at that, and she let out a breathy laugh, playing it off. “Good answer.”

She shifted, the leather seat creaking under her.

For a few beats, neither of them said anything. Just breathing in the same air, close enough to feel the tension start to crackle again.

Paige didn’t know what she was doing, only that she didn’t want to stop. She leaned in a little, close enough that she could smell Azzi’s shampoo — something light, clean, maddening.

“You’re… different than I thought you’d be,” Paige said quietly, the words slipping out before she could catch them.

Azzi tilted her head, curious. “Yeah? How’d you think I’d be?”

Paige thought about it — about the cool stares, the guarded smiles she had seen before.

“Harder,” she said honestly. “Colder.”

Then, after a brief moment: “Not like this.”

Azzi looked at her, something unreadable flickering across her face. And then she gave Paige a smile — soft, real, devastating.

It hit Paige straight in the ribs. Then, she let out a light, soothing laugh— making Paige grin like she’d just unlocked a new sound.

“Do you always flirt like this on planes?” Azzi asked after a beat.

Paige tilted her head. “Only when the girl has a ridiculous smile and keeps pretending she’s not staring back.”

Neither of them moved. Neither of them said anything else.

The space between them shrank until it felt charged, dangerous.

And that was it. That tiny look — shy and full of teenage confusion — that stayed with Paige long after landing.

Azzi dropped her gaze first, lashes brushing her cheeks. She bit her lip to the floor.

Paige turned back to the seat in front of her, heart pounding stupidly hard.

Something had shifted.

And even if nothing else happened on that plane, Paige knew — she'd remember this.

Azzi’s smile, her nearness, the way she made Paige feel seen and vulnerable all at once.

So why was Azzi now on the same court as her, reminding her how dangerously unforgettable she was?