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pbaz7 · 19 hours ago

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SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 11

paige x azzi

word count: 12k

a/n: once again i'm sorry this took so long i had a rough week so finding time to write took a little extra effort than usual. i know everyone was freaking out because i said I teared up but it's not that bad i swear lol. i rushed through the proof reading because i know it's late for some people so let me know if you see any mistakes please :) like always let me know what you think if you can 🫶🏼

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The ticking of the clock in the hallway was the loudest sound in her house and it made Paige want to claw her eyes out. Who the hell even made her get that clock? Why did she need a clock in her damn house? Paige thought about it for a second before getting pissed at Cam when she remembered she was the one that practically forced Paige to have it delivered to her house when she was moving in.

It wasn’t even just the clock that was annoying Paige. The sunlight that was filtering in through the large windows were casting harsh beams across the hardwood floor and Paige swore it felt like it was turning her living room into a sauna. Who the fuck convinced her to get a house with floor to ceiling windows and why didn’t she close the blinds before she sat down?

Paige was leaned back on the couch with her legs spread and her fingers laced in her lap. She had a blank look on her face as the psychiatrist sat across from her with a small notepad resting on her knee.

“Do you want me to call you Paige, or something else?” the woman asked to break the silence that had lingered for longer than she wanted to.

“Paige’s fine,” she offered plainly.

The psychiatrist nodded. “Alright, Paige. I like to start simple. I’m not here to push you into anything you don’t want to talk about. We can take our time.”

Paige gave her a slow blink before realizing she should probably respond. “Okay.”

The woman studied her for a second, then asked, “So, what does a typical morning look like? You know when there’s no hiccups in your routine?”

Paige shrugged, her eyes locked somewhere past the edge of the coffee table. “Wake up. Stretch. Train.”

“Every day?”

“Every day.”

The psychiatrist smiled faintly. “That kind of routine takes discipline.”

Paige didn’t have a response.

“And what about after training?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If I feel like being around people.”

The air between them was still; had been still since they sat down. It was from a heaviness that radiated off of Paige, but it wasn’t necessarily hostile. The psychiatrist tilted her head as she studied her body language. “What kind of people do you let in when you do feel like it?”

Paige’s jaw tensed at what she felt was an unnecessary conversation. Her fingers curled so she could push her nails into her palm, distract herself with a feeling other than uncomfortableness. “My sister’s teammates usually. People who don’t expect anything from me.”

The psychiatrist nodded again, still not writing anything on the notepad. Just listening, trying to get a feel for Paige. “Is that how you would describe yourself too?” she asked. “Someone who doesn’t expect anything?”

Paige let out the softest scoff, the corner of her mouth twitching like she wanted to say something but decided against it. “Expectations for certain people just cause disappointment.”

“Have you been disappointed lately?”

“No.”

The psychiatrist sighed. It was more of a thoughtful sign than one out of frustration as she clicked her pen once to tuck the nib down, then set it along with the notepad on the armrest next to her.

“Paige, you’re…” she paused, glancing around the room to find the right words. “You’re one hell of an athlete. A fighter. You live in a—” she gestured subtly around them to Paige’s house, “—pretty large house at the top of the hill in L.A. with two very expensive cars parked in the garage.”

Paige didn’t move, just stared at her.

“But you’re clearly not materialistic,” the woman added. “This place…it’s warm. Lived-in and comfortable. It’s not showy and you’re not showy even though you’re somebody who could probably afford whatever they wanted. Going off of what meets the eye, this is picture perfect.”

“Is there a question?” Paige asked flatly.

The psychiatrist held her gaze, then said very plainly, “Why are you paying for me to be here?”

The silence stretched as they looked at one another until Paige blinked once and looked away. Her jaw flexed a few times, the blonde clenching and unclenching her teeth before she spoke up. “I dissociated.”

The psychiatrist waited for her to say more.

Paige kept her eyes trained on the floor to keep going. “During my last fight. I don’t remember anything about it. Don’t remember walking from the room, don’t remember hearing the crowd, the bell to start the fight, throwing hits…Nothing. I just remember looking down and seeing blood on my gloves and some girl with her eyes rolled back.”

The psychiatrist nodded, deciding not to reach for her pen but to just listen. “Has that ever happened before?”

Paige shook her head. “No.”

“Okay,” the psychiatrist said softly. “Let’s step back, then. You weren’t in the cage with your body that night. So where were you? Where was your mind?”

Paige didn’t answer.

The psychiatrist knew better than to push. So she shifted slightly in her chair, crossing one leg over the other before changing the subject. “Can I ask about your childhood Paige?”

Paige gave her a suspicious look. “What about it?”

“Well,” the psychiatrist said, “when someone dissociates, it’s usually not just a one off thing and it’s not about just one moment. Their brain is protecting itself from something deeper. Sometimes it can be something old.”

Paige was quiet again.

“You don’t have to share everything,” the woman added gently. “Just whatever comes up first when you think about your childhood.”

Paige leaned back slightly, taking a breath as she leaned her head back to rest against the couch and look at the ceiling. “My mom left when I was fourteen or fifteen. I don’t know for sure.”

The psychiatrist nodded once, silently telling her to keep going.

“One day she just packed her stuff when my dad was at work and never came back. There was no note for him or anything.” Paige paused, swallowing a little unevenly. “I remember her walking down the steps, kissing me on the head, mumbling something about it not being my fault and that she loves me more than anything.”

“Did you understand what was happening?”

“I knew it was permanent. That’s what I understood.” When she spoke Paige’s voice was quiet, almost like she was talking to herself.

The psychiatrist gave her space to process her own words, then asked her, “And your dad?”

Paige exhaled through her nose but instead of answering the question she changed the subject. “You know I used to play basketball?”

The psychiatrist didn’t react to the change in subject. She just nodded, following Paige’s lead.

“I grew up playing with my God sister. I was good, we both were…great actually. Everybody thought we could actually make something out of playing. They loved watching us play.” Paige’s voice changed. “I loved it, too. The sound the ball made hitting the court when no one else was there. That swish when it went through the net. I could stay at the gym for hours and be happy. It was kind of like therapy in a way, relaxing.”

The psychiatrist offered a small smile. “So what happened?”

Paige didn’t answer once again. Her eyes drifted to the side, almost like she didn’t process the question. When she did speak, her voice was distant and she changed the subject again. “Parents don’t even realize how mean they’re being when they’re hurt. Not mean with their words necessarily, or physically. Just mean in how they show up as parents.”

The psychiatrist didn’t say anything, letting Paige unravel whatever was going on in her head in her own way.

“He stops cooking for you after practice, so you learn how to cook for yourself, mostly protein cause you know that’s important for athletes even at fourteen. Starts leaving beer bottles around the house, so you gotta clean them up before somebody fucks their face up tripping over one and that becomes a whole nother thing. You gotta start driving yourself to basketball practice as soon as you get your permit because he forgot, or maybe just didn’t feel like it.”

Her jaw flexed.

“Then he just stops coming to your games altogether. So you stop looking for him in the stands.” She shrugged, trying to seem casual about it. “And eventually you just get angry at everybody who blinks at you the wrong way or looks at you too long. Because you’re a kid, and you’re doing it all yourself, and nobody’s showing up and everything feels like too much but not enough at the same time.

Paige exhaled through her nose as she blinked away the wetness in her eyes. She looked at the psychiatrist like nothing happened and said, “I think you asked me a question?”

The psychiatrist studies her for a few moments, organizing her thoughts on what she’s seeing. “I asked how your dad was,” she confirms.

Paige looks at her blankly, almost like she’s not processing the question but then she says, “He was my dad, but he was different after that. Angry, but not the loud kind that people expect.”

“Was he ever angry at you?”

Paige shook her head. “No. Or at least he tried not to be but I wasn’t easy though.” She pauses and adds, “I made it hard for him not to be,” almost like she was trying to rationalize his anger. “I got in fights a lot, acted out so teachers were always calling him.”

“And how did he handle that?”

“He grounded me at first, took me out of basketball as punishment, but that just pissed me off. He didn’t want me getting in trouble, so he threw me in a gym with one of his friends anytime he couldn’t be at home to watch me. Said if I wanted to hit something, I should at least learn how to do it right so I didn’t look like an idiot doing it.”

There was a faint smile at the corner of her mouth, like she was trying to make the memory positive but it didn’t last.

“So that’s when you started fighting?”

Paige nodded. “I was fifteen the first time I felt in control of anything.”

The psychiatrist tilted her head slightly. “Controls important to you?”

“When everything feels like it can get ripped away?” as Paige said this her voice was void of any emotion. “Yeah.”

“What do you remember about your parents before your mom left?”

Paige’s expression changed for a second before reverting back to the blankness, something behind her eyes pulling at the lightness in them tightly trying to dim it. “They fought a lot. Over stupid shit. They always thought I was asleep, but I never was. She’d yell and he’d get quiet, then she’d slam a door for him not listening and her doing that would piss him off so he’d follow her to the next room. They’d repeat that until there were no more doors to hide behind. Until whatever stupid ass thing they were arguing about had to just be out in the open.”

“How did that make you feel, back then?”

Paige opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She tightened her jaw, then gave a half-shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you don’t want to say?”

“Maybe both. Like I said, I don't know.”

The woman nodded. “That’s fair.” She let a few seconds pass before asking, “Do you ever feel that way now?”

Paige didn’t respond again.

“Like you don’t know how you feel or you don’t want to think about it?”

Still nothing as Paige just stared ahead.

After some time the psychiatrist sat back in the chair noting how long the moment stretched as Paige blankly ahead. “When you dissociated during the fight…you said you don’t remember anything. Has anything like that ever happened before? Any other moments where you lost time?”

Paige finally stirred as she scratched her knuckles with her thumb. “I don’t usually lose time,” she said. “I just zone out.”

“Tell me more about the zoning out.”

“I don’t know. I’ll just be in a room, people are talking, and it’s like my body’s still there, but I’m not listening. I just shut off.”

“Does it happen often?”

Paige nodded once to confirm.

“Has anyone noticed?”

“People just say I don’t pay attention. That I’m distracted.” There's a brief pause before she opens and closes her mouth to end the statement there.

“Do you think there’s a specific reason you’re zoning out?”

Paige stays quiet.

“Is it always when someone’s talking?” the woman asked. “Or can it happen even when you’re alone?”

“Both,” Paige said. “Worse when I’m upset or in my head.”

“In your head how?”

Paige wet her lips, as her eyes started to trace the lines of her bookshelf. “Thinking about something I can’t control. Mad at myself for not being in control. Something I said or didn’t say; did or didn’t do. When I feel like I’m just fucking up. Not being good enough for the women in my life.”

“Do you remember the first time you felt that way?”

There was a long silence.

Then Paige once again randomly changed the subject, “There was this one time a few years ago. Some guy at a club put his hands on Cam. Just like around her waist or something.” She paused as she thought about it. “I told him to stop then he just started jawing at me, wouldn’t shut up for Ion know how long. Next thing I remember, I was outside, with my hands all scraped up, knuckles split.”

The psychiatrist stayed still as she listened.

“I don’t even remember hitting him. Don’t remember leaving. Just kinda blinked and I was out back with my friends yelling at me to get in the car.”

“Did it scare you?”

Paige hesitated before she said, “No,” honestly.

The psychiatrist made a quiet note on her pad, then looked up. “Are you known to have a temper, Paige?”

“Depends who you ask.”

“Okay…If I was asking you?”

Paige sits in silence for a few seconds before answering. “Yeah. Sometimes I can lose it.”

“And when you do, do you always remember what you said or did?”

Paige looks down at her hands as she answers, “Not all the time.”

The psychiatrist’s voice was even as she asked her next question. “How’s your memory overall?”

Paige let out a breath, almost a laugh. “Not great.”

“In what way?”

“I forget simple things, conversations, dates. Whole weeks blur together sometimes if I’m getting ready for a fight. Cam says I repeat myself, she used to call me Dory when we were teenagers.”

“Do you? Repeat yourself I mean?”

“I don’t know, maybe. Like I said, I forget conversations.”

The psychiatrist tapped her pen against her knee gently a few times before she stopped and looked at Paige carefully.

“Have you been formally diagnosed with anything recently?”

Paige shook her head no.

“Well,” the woman said, keeping her voice calm but being clear, “based on the few things you’ve described: losing chunks of memory, zoning out under stress, feeling disconnected from your body and surroundings at times it seems like you’re experiencing symptoms of a dissociative disorder. We’d have to do a comprehensive assessment to be sure but I think that’s what we’re looking at here.”

Paige’s jaw flexed as her eyes dropped again.

“This disorder can include depersonalization—you feeling like you’re experiencing moments from outside of your body—and derealization—where things around you feel foggy, distorted, or unreal.”

Paige didn’t speak so the psychologist kept going, explaining it softly knowing how jarringly some people take this sort of information.

“You mentioned you zone out more when you’re emotional. When you’re upset or overstimulated, your mind pulls away as a form of protection. But that form of protection can start to hurt you and those around you if it happens at the wrong time.”

She paused to let Paige grasp what she was saying, then she asked, “Have you ever been diagnosed with depression or anxiety at any point in your life?”

“No.”

“But do you feel low sometimes? Tense? On edge?”

“Who doesn’t,” she mumbled.

“Have you ever had a panic attack?”

Paige shifted in her seat. “I’ve had...moments. Where I feel like I can’t breathe. Where everything feels too loud. But I don’t like calling it that, seems dramatic.”

“Okay,” the psychiatrist nodded. “That’s fair.”

The psychiatrist let a moment pass before continuing her line of questioning as she probed for a little more information. “Have you ever had thoughts about hurting yourself?”

Paige looked up for the first time in a while, seeming to be a little insulted at the question. “No. Never.”

The therapist nodded once, accepting that answer without pushing further. “I’m glad.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds.

“Paige I want you to understand that this isn’t about labeling you. It’s about giving you the tools to stay present in your life. What you’re experiencing isn’t a weakness you need to beat out of yourself.” She corrects herself saying, “You can’t beat it out of yourself. It’s trauma that’s been misfiled and ignored long enough that it’s started running its own course.”

Paige exhaled deeply and rubbed the side of her jaw as she listened.

“There are options,” the psychiatrist said. “Continued psychotherapy, of course. We could also talk about medication for any possible anxiety or depression symptoms…if you have trouble sleeping. There’s EMDR or somatic therapy which is something that gets into the body as much as the mind. Whatever route you choose will take time and effort but this isn’t something that you have to deal with for the rest of your life Paige.”

Paige let out a long breath. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I gotta talk to Azzi.”

The psychiatrist paused at the name, her head tilting slightly as she looked at Paige. “You haven’t mentioned that name today.”

Paige blinked slowly, then smiled softly. “She’s my girlfriend.” As she said that the psychiatrist noticed there was a warmth in her voice for the first time since they’ve started speaking. Almost like she was relieved to mention her.

“She sounds important to you. How long have you two been together?”

Paige leaned back against the couch cushion. “Officially? Like two and a half months.” She scratched her eyebrow before adding, “But she’d been trying to get me to talk to her before that. Kept showing up, kept...bothering me.” The corner of her mouth curved up at the memory. “We were seeing each other for a few months before we made it official.”

The psychiatrist nodded, as her pen hovered over the notepad even though she wasn’t writing. “Tell me about her.”

Paige narrowed her eyes a little. “Why?”

“If she’s important,” the psychiatrist said plainly, “it’s worth understanding what role she plays in your life.”

Paige hesitated, not wanting to offer up information about Azzi to a stranger.

The psychiatrist tilted her head when she noticed her reluctance. “Why didn’t you mention her earlier?”

Paige stared at the floor for a moment. “Because I don’t know she’s—she’s the only one I don’t feel any of this around. The zoning out, the urge to disconnect.” She pulled her eyes from the floor to add, “She’s the only thing that feels real for me all the time.”

The psychiatrist set her notepad on the arm of her chair. “Can you explain that a little more for me? What does she do that helps?”

“I don’t think she purposefully does anything, she doesn’t have to try,” Paige said. “She just pulls me out of my head without even realizing it. Her voice, the way she touches me, her laugh. It’s like—” she stopped herself, embarrassed by how much she wanted to say.

Paige swallowed, her eyes tracking something invisible. “It’s like, she’ll notice something’s off and just sit next to me. Put a hand on my leg. Say something stupid to make me laugh.”

“You feel grounded around her.”

“Yeah,” Paige nodded slowly. “Like my head goes quiet when I’m with her.”

The psychiatrist gave a small nod. “And does she know about the dissociating? The memory gaps?”

Paige hesitated, biting her bottom lip. “Yeah she does now.”

“What changed?”

Paige shifted in her seat. “We had a fight about a month before my last fight.”

“The one you can’t remember?”

Paige nods in confirmation.

“What happened?”

Paige takes her time explaining some of the backstory of the fight, not going fully into detail but giving the psychiatrist enough to understand the situation.

“Then it just spiraled and she was worked up and I tried to grab her face, like to calm her down to get us both to take a moment but then she flinched.”

The psychiatrist’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes softened as she processed the implications of that .

“She looked scared for a second,” Paige said, her voice changing just a bit as she talked about it. “Seeing that messed me up a little bit and I just had to leave. I told her to stay even though it was my place but I just couldn’t—I couldn’t look at her after that.”

The psychiatrist waited a second before asking, “Do you think you scared her?”

“I know I did, not physically but—” Paige stops herself not wanting to talk about the intricate parts of her relationship. “We’ve talked about it and we're good now.” Paige clarifies. “But after that I just didn’t want to fight. I thought she’d look at me differently after our argument, and be more weary.”

“Did she?”

Paige shook her head. “No. She was there after the fight. When I realized I didn’t remember any of it, I freaked out a little, I was shaking and I threw up in the locker room. Just felt like I couldn’t breathe, like my nerves we’re firing in every direction. She didn’t even say anything, she just opened her arms and sat with me. Made everything seem less loud, less chaotic.”

“And that helped?”

Paige nodded.

The psychiatrist sat quietly for a moment before speaking. “It sounds like she’s a soft spot for you.”

Paige’s eyes lifted, a little guarded again.

“I don’t mean that in a bad way,” the psychiatrist clarified. “We all have them. People or places where our nervous system feels safe, where our brain allows us to finally just exhale without being in fight or flight. That’s important for someone to have, it’s a form of healing. It’s healthy.”

Paige looked down, something about the words tugging at her chest.

“But,” the psychiatrist added gently, “it can also be unhealthy, if she becomes the only place you know how to go to when you need to feel okay.”

Paige’s jaw tightened.

“Because then,” the psychiatrist went on carefully, “if things are ever rocky between you, if you’re in a disagreement or disconnected, like last time then you’re more vulnerable to slipping. Into dissociation, into memory loss, anxiousness, etcetera, without even realizing it.”

Paige frowned, becoming a little defensive. “So what, you’re saying she’s a problem now too? I can’t have anything?”

“No,” the psychiatrist said quickly but plainly, not allowing that thought to settle in Paige’s psyche. “I’m not saying she’s bad for you. From everything you’ve said, she sounds amazing for you.”

Paige sat back, the tension still sitting on her shoulders as she tried to take a few deep breaths to stop herself from getting upset.

“She seems to ground you,” the psychiatrist said. “She shows up when you’re unraveling. She doesn’t try to fix you, she’s accepting you for who you are without asking for anything other than that. You’ve been living with this for years, Paige. Years…and she’s only been in your life for a few months, and yet somehow, she’s the reason you’re finally sitting here in front of me.”

Paige blinked, her throat suddenly feeling dry.

“That says a lot about her,” the psychiatrist continued her thought process, “but it also says a lot about you. You want to be better for yourself and for her, for your relationship. And that's the first real step.”

Paige nodded a few times as she let the words settle in her brain.

After spending some time speaking with one another the air in the room was softer than when they started. Paige was leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, and her fingers were loosely laced. “I just don’t like waking up and the first thing on my mind is about what’s going wrong instead of what’s going right. I try to live in a state of gratitude but waking up like that everyday makes it harder.”

The psychiatrist nodded, as she listened, her notepad lines now filled with notes for herself. They had passed the hour mark a while ago, but she opted to not say anything when she noticed Paige starting to open up. Not when her voice cracked describing the club fight in detail that left her in Azzi in a weird spot and not now, with the sheen of tears glinting in her eyes.

They both looked up at the sound of the front door opening and laughter echoing from the foyer. First it was Dijonai’s, then Azzi’s voice trailing close behind her, teasing each other about something neither of them caught from the living room.

Azzi walked in the room first and she clocked the scene instantly. The notebook still on the table, the faint wetness Paige was blinking away. Azzi stopped in her tracks. “Oh I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realize you were still going.”

Paige looked away blinking a few times as she swallowed. The psychiatrist stood quietly, smoothing down her skirt as she offered a reassuring smile to Azzi.

“It’s alright,” she said gently, gathering her things. “We were just finishing up.”

Paige still hadn’t moved so the psychiatrist lingered for a moment, looking at her, then said her name warmly, “Paige.”

When Paige glanced up, her eyes were red but she still looked composed.

“We’ll find a time to meet again?” the psychiatrist asked.

Paige offered her a nod before looking away again.

The psychiatrist gave a final look between the two of them, smiling at Azzi kindly before heading toward the door.

As the door clicked shut behind the psychiatrist, Paige stood up and moved around the room without saying anything. She started off with picking up a glass off the table and taking it to the kitchen before coming back and adjusting the throw blanket. She shifted coasters that didn’t need to be moved and it was obvious to anyone tha looked that the session had her off kilter. Like she needed to do something with her hands before her thoughts swallowed her.

Dijonai caught Azzi’s eye from the hallway, and nodded toward the stairs. “Imma be in the guest room,” and she disappeared down the hall without waiting for Azzi to reply.

Azzi stayed where she was standing for a few more seconds, watching Paige adjust a candle that was already straight. Then, softly, she said, “Hey, beautiful.”

Paige didn’t stop moving at the sound of Azzi’s voice, she crossed the room, reaching to fix one of her small lego sets that sat on the table just outside of the living room. “I need to get rid of that clock in the front,” she mumbled, not looking at her. “It’s annoying. The ticking, every time it’s quiet, it’s just there and it drives me crazy sometimes.”

Azzi nodded slowly, moving toward the couch and sitting down. “Okay. That’s fine,” she said gently. “You wanna come sit with me? Talk to me?”

“I’m fine,” Paige responded quickly, still not facing her. She shifted the lego in her hands wiping some of the dust off then bent down to tuck something under the table, moving like she had a list of things to do, like something would fall apart if she stopped.

Azzi stood up again and walked over to where Paige was standing to come up behind her. Carefully, she reached out and took the lego’s from Paige’s hands, setting it down on the nearby shelf. She circled her arms around Paige’s waist from behind and just held her for a second.

Paige’s first reaction was to tense up. Her body going a little rigid under the familiar touch that was too gentle for all the thoughts swirling inside of her.

Azzi leaned in despite this, resting her chin against Paige’s shoulder and whispered, “You don’t have to hold it all by yourself, baby. I’m right here. Just let me be here.”

A shaky breath slipped from Paige’s chest as she heard these words as a single tear slipped down her cheek and dropped soundlessly on the floor. Her shoulders jerked slightly as she took another sharp breath, almost like she was surprised by the tear coming out without permission.

Azzi held her, keeping her chest pressed gently against Paige’s back, before slowly turning her around. She kept one hand on Paige’s waist, and used the other to move up to her jaw, guiding her to look at her.

Paige’s eyes met Azzi’s for the first time since the front door opened and they were glassy, another tear having already gathered at the bottom of her lash line. Before it could fall, Azzi reached up and wiped it away with her thumb.

“I promise you don’t have to be okay.”

Paige blinked again, her mouth twitching like she wanted to argue but she decided against it.

Azzi took her hand to interlace their fingers before stepping back toward the couch, gently pulling her. Paige let herself be led without saying anything. Each step for her seemed to be heavy, like her body was finally starting to physically feel the weight of what her mind had been carrying for so many years.

Azzi sat down first, guiding Paige between her legs. Paige hesitated for a second before sinking down so her back was resting against Azzi’s chest. Her body curled slightly into her like she didn’t know how to soften herself, but she was trying. Azzi wrapped her arms around her as soon as she got settled, one sliding across Paige’s torso while the other traced circles over her thigh.

Paige closed her eyes and let her head rest back on Azzi’s shoulder.

They didn’t speak for a while, the only sound filling the space was their quiet breathing and the ticking of the clock that didn’t seem so annoying anymore, Paige’s hand had found Azzi’s at one point and she held it tightly, using it to ground herself in the moment.

Eventually, Paige whispered with her eyes still closed, “I love basketball Az.”

Azzi smiled softly and nodded, her chin resting against the top of Paige’s head. “I know you do baby.”

“And I think…” Paige swallowed, “I think I hated my dad more than I hated my mom sometimes.”

Azzi’s arms tightened around her to keep her present while she talked. “That’s okay.”

Paige kept her eyes shut, but her voice got quieter with each confession, like each one took a little weight off her chest.

“Sometimes I used to sit on the floor in my room and hope they’d both disappear. I felt like life would be easier that way.”

Azzi nodded as she started to trace circles into Paige’s arm. “That’s okay.”

“I hated myself for being mad at them, for feeling that way even when I had a right to be.”

Azzi just nodded as she placed a kiss to the top of Paige’s head.

“I used to wish every night that I was someone else. Anyone else and I felt so ungrateful.”

Azzi pressed another soft kiss to her temple whispering, “That’s okay baby.”

Paige’s voice cracked slightly. “I thought something was wrong with me. That I was broken.”

Azzi didn’t say anything at first. She just held her tighter, letting her feel it before she whispered, “That’s okay too. We aren’t perfect.”

Paige exhaled as tears slipped down her face again. This time they felt a little more freeing, like she was letting herself accept her thoughts for the first time instead of burying them.

At some point, they shifted on the couch and now Paige lay stretched out between Azzi’s legs, with her head resting in the soft space between Azzi’s thighs. Azzi still sat back against the couch cushions and her fingers were gently weaving through Paige’s hair over and over, like she was memorizing every strand.

The room had gone silent and Paige dozed off for maybe twenty minutes, easily lulled by Azzi’s fingers in her hair and the softness of her presence.

When she felt Paige stir and tighten her arms around her waist Azzi looked down and whispered, “You back?”

Paige hummed, but kept her eyes closed. “Think so.”

Azzi smiled down at her, brushing her fingers along Paige’s temple. “Good. You were twitching. I thought you were fighting someone in your dream.”

A huff escaped from Paige’s nose as she chuckled. “Probably my dad. Not his biggest fan right now.”

Azzi’s smile grew a little. “Hope you knocked him out.”

Paige cracked one eye open to look up at Azzi. “That’s crazy to say.”

“Just supportive,” Azzi argued as her thumb traced a slow line across Paige’s cheek. “I’m Team Paige all day no matter who's on the other side.”

Paige turned her head, nuzzling her cheek into Azzi’s thigh. “You’re annoying.”

“I’ll be annoying all day if that means you’ll smile.”

A small snort echoed from Paige, and she tightened her arms around Azzi’s waist, pressing herself closer into the space between her thighs.

Azzi glanced down, raising her eyebrow. “Alright now…”

Paige smirked, already knowing exactly what Azzi was talking about. She leaned in and placed a wet kiss on the inside of Azzi’s thigh causing her eyes to flutter shut. Without thinking, Azzi’s legs shifted, opening slightly.

Paige could only smile wider at this. “You such a good girl for me.”

Azzi rolled her eyes hard and pushed Paige’s forehead, laughing despite herself. “Get off me, big head, go find some business.”

Paige laughed, letting herself be pushed back as she swatted at Azzi’s ass to the best of her ability. Of course, that’s when Dijonai came walking into the room.

She stopped and raised her eyebrow before she just shook her head and pretended not to have seen anything. “You know what I don’t even want to know.”

Azzi’s eyes widened. “We’re not—”

“I said I don’t want to know!” Dijonai repeated, her voice echoing a little. “I was just trying to see if y’all wanted to go out tonight. I’m in L.A. and haven’t been out yet, feels real grimy.”

Azzi laughed, her fingers starting to brush through Paige’s hair again as the blonde adjusted herself, fluttering her eyes closed and tucking herself back into the space between Azzi’s thighs.

“Where you wanna go?” Azzi asked, looking over.

DiJonai shrugged. “You tell me. You live here.”

Azzi snorted. “You gotta ask Cam and them. I just go where they tell me.”

“But you’re down to go out?”

Azzi looked down at Paige, clearly about to ask when Dijonai cut her off. “She’s going.”

“No m’not,” Paige mumbled into Azzi’s thigh.

Dijonai grabbed the closest throw pillow and lobbed it at Paige’s back.

Paige groaned dramatically when it bounced off her and looked up at Azzi with her lower lip jutted out in a pout, fully expecting her girlfriend to defend her.

Azzi looked down, trying to hide her grin, while Dijonai burst out laughing. “The irony of a whole MMA fighter pouting up at her girlfriend for backup is insane Paige.”

Paige groaned again and buried her head deeper into Azzi like she was trying to disappear.

“I’m thinking we head out at like ten,” Dijonai yelled over her shoulder, already halfway up the stairs. “So start getting ready soon, or I’m dragging your dramatic ass out in whatever you’re wearing now.”

Paige just mumbled out, “Whatever.”

Azzi laughed quietly, her hands returning to Paige’s hair, as she smiled at her. “You okay with going out?” she asked softly. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Paige hummed when Azzi’s thumb brushed against her temple. “I’ll be okay, baby. Least I can do for her.”

Azzi’s smile grew as she nodded, leaning down to kiss Paige's forehead. “If you wanna go home at any point just say the word. I got you.”

Paige nodded and then tugged on her arm with her eyes still closed. “Mmm ok, now come take a nap wimme real quick.”

Azzi laughed as she shifted and slid down onto the couch, letting Paige maneuver her until they were tangled up, Paige spooning her from behind with one leg draped lazily over Azzi’s hip.

“Better?” Azzi whispered.

“Mmhmm,” Paige said, grinning with her eyes still shut. She kissed the back of Azzi’s neck, then the spot just below her ear, holding her tighter. “You so perfect,” she whispered.

Azzi reached down to squeeze Paige’s hand where it rested on her stomach. “You make it real easy to be.”

…

Later that night, the three of them were ready to leave Paige’s house, the buzz of city nightlife already wild at the bottom of the hill.

Azzi had her braids and loose goddess curls swooped to one side. She wore a black halter top that accentuated her chest and showed off her stomach and back with a black embellished mini skirt that shimmered when she walked past a light. Paige had definitely stared a little too long when Azzi first walked out of the bathroom wearing it; long enough for Azzi to smile and ask, “You good, baby?” like she didn’t already know the answer.

Paige was more laid back with her outfit. A black tank top paired with lilac Nike sweats that sat perfectly on her hips. Her hair was down in its natural waves, just like Azzi asked and around her neck was one of her flashier cuban diamond chains, catching and throwing off every bit of light it met.

When Paige reached for her car keys near the door, Dijonai held a hand out in front of her. “Nope,” she said plainly. “I’m getting you fucked up tonight. I already called the Uber.”

Paige blinked. “What? I’m not—”

“Nope,” Dijoni cut her off again, turning to Azzi. “You ever seen her drunk at the club?”

Azzi tilted her head like she had to think about it, not counting that one time they got drunk in the house by themselves. “Now that I think about it, no.”

Dijonai raised her eyebrows, looking back at Paige and easily resting her case. “Exactly.”

Paige sighed dramatically, sliding her phone in her pocket as she opened the door for them. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

…

When they walked in the club, the bass, and heat radiating off of the sea of bodies hit them all at once. The place was packed wall to wall, sweat and perfume in the air as they eased their way through the crowd.

Heads turned as the three of them moved through the crowd. A trio of tall women, each at least 5'10", commanding attention in their own way. Azzi, with her bare collarbones and gleaming skin under the club lights, had heads swiveling and Dijonai walked in the front like she wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere but everyone should move anyway. Paige who had a sleepy eyed indifference about everything as she let Azzi walk in front of her with one of their hands laced drew attention like gravity.

Men and women glanced over their shoulders at Azzi and Dijonai. While women openly ogled Paige, some of them were already drunk enough to be bold. One woman brushed her fingers down Paige’s arm as they passed, leaning in close to be heard over the music. “You here with somebody?” she slurred.

Paige kept walking but she leaned down to whisper something to Azzi, her mouth brushing the shell of Azzi’s ear. Azzi let out a laugh, shaking her head as she looked over her shoulder at the woman Paige was talking about.

By the time they made it to the section in the back, the heat from the crowd had them all glistening. Rae, Rickea, and Cam were already there with drinks in their hands.

“Took y’all long enough,” Rickea said.

Before they could even fully settle into the couch, Dijonai was already passing Azzi a shot and pushing two towards Paige

Paige raised her eyebrow, one corner of her mouth lifting. “Two?”

Dijonai shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Let’s not act like your tolerance isn’t high as hell.”

From the other side of the couch Cam leaned in, catching the tail end of the exchange. “We getting Paige drunk tonight?” DiJonai nodded and Cam’s smile spread across her whole face.

Paige shook her head as she grabbed both shots and threw them back like water before leaning back into the couch. She looked over at Azzi and caught her mid shot with a lime wedge pinched between her lips, her eyes squinting a little from the burn of the tequila. Paige couldn’t help but smile as she watched her.

Azzi looked at her, still sucking lightly on the lime, and raised an eyebrow silently asking ‘what’ with soft eyes.

Paige just shook her head, continuing to smile as her gaze lingered on Azzi before drifting across the club, soaking in the energy.

The lights were flashing white and blue above them, pulsing in tandem with the beat. Their section was dimly lit, giving them just enough separation from the dance floor to feel like they had their own corner carved out.

A bottle girl in a glittery two-piece stepped into their section a few minutes later, balancing a glowing tray of drinks, placing them down one by one. “Let me know if y’all need anything else.”

Rickea handed everybody a drink and once Azzi had hers she settled deeper into the couch cushions, crossing one leg over the other and letting her calf rest in the space between Paige’s open legs.

A few drinks in, the group had started to relax into the setting more. Dijonai was cracking jokes and Rae and Rickea were halfway through a story about something that happened when they were shopping the other day when a fan made her way over tentatively.

“Excuse me,” she called, raising her voice over the music. “Sorry, I just—are y’all Sparks players?”

Cam nodded. “Guilty.”

“Oh my God, I knew it,” the girl gushed, her eyes darting between all of them “Y’all are amazing. I’m a huge fan. Is it okay if I get a picture?”

“Of course,” Rickea said, already getting up.

One by one, the players posed with her, Azzi perching herself on Paige’s knees for the group picture, not wanting to bend over fully in her mini skirt.

When the fan left Azzi sat back down, keeping her leg thrown on top of Paige’s thigh. Paige moved her hand to rest on top of Azzi’s thigh, her fingers tracing light shapes.

“You good?” Azzi asked her softly, leaning closer to her ear so she could hear.

Paige nodded. “Mmhmm. You look good.”

Azzi gave her a knowing look over the rim of her glass as she took another sip. “You do too.”

…

After a few more drinks the booth was buzzing. Voices had gotten a little louder, laughs a little messier and eyes glassier than they’d been an hour and a half ago. The bottle girl had made a few rounds, each one welcomed with louder cheers and heavier pours.

Dijonai raised another shot glass toward the middle of the group and everyone raised their glasses. When they were done Paige picked hers up and tossed it back in sync with everyone else, the liquid burning in a way that didn’t faze her anymore, indicating how tipsy she was. Still, she looked relaxed. Her eyes were heavy but her limbs were looser as her body started to buzz with the alcohol.

After a few minutes, Cam signaled the bottle girl again. “Let’s keep it going,” she said with a tipsy grin, already pulling three more glasses toward herself, two of which she slid in front of Paige.

Paige shook her head. “I just had one.”

“So did everybody,” Cam said, putting her chin in her palm as she grinned. “We’re balancing the scales.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, at the flawed logic. “I feel like y’all plotting.”

Dijonai was already pouring herself another one too. “We are,” she said. “Let us live.”

Without saying anything else Paige knocked both back, barely blinking.

It wasn’t immediate, but with each extra drink that was snuck her way, Paige’s laugh got a little looser, and her posture relaxed more. She shifted deeper into the cushions, spreading her legs comfortably as she lounged and listened to everyone around her.

Paige’s hand found Azzi’s calf absently at first, resting there to keep her leg from slipping off her thigh but after a minute or two, her fingers started to move. Slow strokes up and down, almost in rhythm with the music.

Azzi glanced at her.

“Wassup?” Paige asked, pretending not to notice.

Azzi gave her a look. “I know what you’re doing.”

“You don’t know anything,” Paige said, grinning more than usual.

Her fingers slid higher up Azzi’s leg, her thumb rubbing softly at the inside of her knee. Azzi exhaled through her nose, trying to stop herself from smiling at Paige’s obvious horniness.

Cam clocked the moment and pointed across the table. “That’s how you know Paige is officially drunk.”

“Shut up,” Paige said, grinning without looking away from Azzi. “I’m chillin’.”

“Mmhm,” Dijonai hummed, pouring another shot and handing it to Azzi. “You’re gonna need this.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but took it, clinking glasses with Rae before downing it.

Another thirty minutes passed in a blur. Everyone in the group was definitely on the far end of tipsy or drunk. Paige was drunk in the best way. She wasn’t a messy or sloppy drunk; just loose and her cheeks flushed, that specific kind of buzz where she felt untouchable, her guard completely lowered.

“Alright, I need to dance,” Rickea announced suddenly, standing up with Cam already rising next to her.

“You read my mind,” Cam said, adjusting her dress. “Nai, you coming?”

“Hell yeah,” Dijonai grinned, finishing the rest of her drink before following them out of the section and into the packed crowd.

Azzi leaned in closer to Paige, smiling against her ear. “You gonna be okay if I go for a minute?”

Paige’s hand came up, her fingertips tracing Azzi’s jaw lightly, and then her lips brushed against Azzi’s ear like she was about to whisper something but before she could respond Rae stepped over. “Come dance with me, pretty,” she said, tugging Azzi by her wrist.

Azzi glanced at Paige for permission. Paige just gave her a small nod, still smiling up at her like she hung the stars before Rae was pulling her toward the dance floor.

Left alone in the section, Paige sank deeper into the plush couch. Her legs were spread wide with her arms thrown on the back of the couch. She was sitting in the way where if a man did it a woman might be disgusted, but because it was her it was attractive and it drew eyes.

The lights shifted over the crowd, catching the shimmer in Azzi’s skirt as she walked hand in hand with Rae until they reached everyone else. Her braids swung down one shoulder as she danced, laughing at something Rickea said. She looked amazing in any element and Paige felt the flutter in her chest deepen, settling comfortably beneath her ribs.

Paige didn’t smile with her mouth, but her eyes were completely soft in adoration, tracking every move Azzi made. Paige was the textbook definition of a woman watching the love of her life from across the room.

Two songs passed before a slower track came on, smoother and a little sultrier in tone. Azzi turned with everyone else back toward the section, clearly about to walk back but she took a step before Paige stopped her with her eyes.

Azzi tilted her head slightly asking a silent question.

Paige didn’t move much, just lifted her hips in her seat, in the eyes of, ‘adjusting,’ but her smirk and her legs spreading wider as she sat back carried an entirely different message.

Azzi caught it and she chewed her bottom lip for a second, thinking about it, before gently wrapping her fingers around Rae’s wrist just as she started to follow Cam, Rickea, and Dijonai back toward the section. Rae paused, lifting her eyebrows curiously, but Azzi didn’t say anything, she just gave her a subtle tug towards herself, and Rae followed her pull.

The bass slowed into something heavier, the synths melting into the background while the low beat pulled bodies into a new rhythm. Azzi moved first, stepping back until her back was against Rae’s chest, her arms lifting to rearrange her braids down one shoulder as she started to roll her hips.

Rae caught the rhythm easily, hovering her hands over Azzi’s waist without gripping them, letting her lead the tempo. Their bodies rocked together fluidly, skin gleaming faintly in the soft sheen of sweat that caught the flashing blue and purple lights. Every few seconds, the strobes would hit them just right, illuminating the shimmer of Azzi’s skirt, the soft flex in Rae’s thighs, the movements between them made visible for a flash before it was swallowed again by the darkness of the club.

Across the room, still in the same spot, Paige hadn’t moved. She looked calm as her gaze raked shamelessly over Azzi’s body. She watched the way Azzi rolled her hips, the slight arch of her back, the way her hands lifted above her head for a moment before they came down to rest on top of Rae’s. Paige’s eyes dragged over every inch of her exposed skin, down to the valley of Azzi’s chest where the halter dipped.

Azzi smiled as she watched Paige’s reaction, sliding down Rae’s body with the same controlled grace she carried on the court. She moved slowly, her back arching as her hands grazed down Rae’s sides before she rose again.

Paige’s jaw tensed as she watched, tapping her fingers against the leather cushion behind her. Her diamond necklace flashed every time the lights hit it, but it didn’t compare to the look in her blue eyes.

Azzi tilted her head slightly at her silently asking ‘you still good, baby?’

Paige smirked, nodding her head just a little bit, approving what Azzi was doing.

Azzi wasn’t trying to make Paige feel jealous. She just wanted to remind her of what she could do to her without touching her, what she could make her feel. That while no Paige’s body didn’t belong to her, but her control over it. Her ability to unravel her, to seduce her, to fuck up her composure with just looking at her from across the room.

That was all Azzi and Paige knew.

Paige didn’t blink when Azzi grabbed Rae’s hands and guided them down her body. Trailing them over her stomach, then down the curve of her thighs as she rolled her hips deeper into Rae. Paige’s fingers curled tighter around the edge of the couch as she followed their hands, the leather creaking faintly beneath her grip.

Another strobe of light came fast and it lit up the small shine of sweat along Rae’s collarbone as she leaned down, her mouth hovering near Azzi’s shoulder as she leaned into her. The glow hit the inside of Azzi’s thigh where her skirt had ridden up, exposing the strong line of her quad, a soft glisten tracing along her skin where Rae’s hand rested.

As Paige watched this Cam appeared next to her, laughing breathlessly at something that Paige couldn’t hear and handed Paige a shot. Paige took it while keeping her eyes glued to Azzi. She tossed it back smoothly, her throat bobbing slightly as she swallowed it, the strobe catching on her collarbone, her arms, the diamonds dancing on her chain, the ridges of her toned abdomen beneath her black tank top.

Azzi saw every flash of light catching the controlled tension in Paige’s frame the way her muscles flexed when she threw the shot back and couldn’t help but bite her lip as she rolled her hips.

She didn’t have to tell Paige to come, the blonde stood slowly and stepped down from the section like she’d been waiting for the cue. She moved fluidly through the sea of bodies, cutting through the crowd easily as the bass pulsed around her.

Azzi stood a little straighter when she saw her coming out of satisfaction of winning whatever silent game they had been playing. She couldn’t help but smile because this was what she wanted, Paige being pulled forward by nothing but her desire to touch Azzi, already a puddle for her before she even got near her.

Azzi’s eyes tracked Paige’s steps until she was right in front of her. Without saying anything she reached out and hooked two fingers underneath the thick chain resting against Paige’s collarbone, tugging her forward.

Paige stepped into Azzi’s gravity willingly, her expression unreadable but her eyes saying everything like usual.

Azzi smiled as she slipped her arms around Paige’s neck, her wrists resting loosely behind her. Her body didn’t stop moving as she kept her hips rolling in sync with the beat, her back still pressed against Rae, who hadn’t stepped away. Azzi stood between them, caged in by the warmth radiating off of both of them, by their hands, by Paige’s attention.

Paige’s palms settled against Azzi’s waist, like she was silently claiming her space. “Don’t stop,” Paige whispered as her lips brushed against Azzi’s jaw.

Azzi’s smile grew, her mouth close enough to brush the shell of Paige’s ear. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Rae chuckled behind Azzi, her hands briefly grazing Azzi’s hips before she backed off with a smirk, giving them space as she slipped away.

“You come all the way over here just to stand still?”

Paige licked her lips, as she tightened her hands around Azzi’s waist. “I came over here ‘cause you were showing out.”

Azzi laughed, her forehead almost touching Paige’s. “You liked it.”

Paige’s mouth curved up, not quite a smile yet, but close. “Didn’t say I didn’t.”

Their bodies swayed in sync now, not dancing so much as moving together, lost in the tension that lived between them. The music continued around them, lights flashing hot against Azzi’s glistening skin and making the diamonds at Paige’s neck glitter.

Azzi leaned in, her breath warm against Paige’s ear. “You wanna go home?”

Paige shook her head, her nose brushing Azzi’s cheek. “Not yet beautiful.”

The beat changed and something slower took its place. The unmistakable sound of “Lovers and Friends” echoing through the club speakers like a slow exhale, as the energy in the room changed. Around them, people softened as hips started to move slower, touches growing more intimate and loudness giving way to soft whispers as people’s flushed skin pressed against one another.

And in the middle of it all, was Azzi and Paige.

Without needing to be told and without breaking their rhythm, Azzi turned in Paige’s arms. Her back met Paige’s chest, and for a second, they just stood there to be close to one another.

Then Azzi reached for Paige’s hands, guiding them around her waist. She let out the softest sigh, something just barely audible, as Paige’s arms wrapped around her and pulled her back. The way she did it wasn’t possessive. It was like Paige was just letting herself feel Azzi in this moment, letting herself fully realize that Azzi was real and hers.

They started to move as Azzi rolled her hips slowly, letting her body guide their movement, letting the beat dictate how she pressed into Paige.

Paige followed her without thinking, without needing to really. She just swayed with her, melting against her back, their bodies moving like they’d done this a hundred times before.

But they hadn’t or at least not like this in public.

Not in the open where flashing strobe lights caught every one of their movements. As they let themselves be pulled into the haze of the club, the low ceiling of smoke and perfume and bass that made the world feel blurred, like they were underwater.

Paige exhaled against the back of Azzi’s neck before dipping her head down and pressing a lingering kiss just beneath her ear. Azzi swallowed and she tilted her head to the side, giving Paige space, silently inviting more. So Paige kissed her again. Then again a little messier.

Still wrapped tightly around Azzi, Paige’s palms started to move. Azzi took one of them and put her hand palm on top of Paige’s, intertwining their fingers before sliding Paige’s hand upward, dragging it across the front of her own body.

She guided Paige’s hand to her chest, letting Paige settle there and palm her breast as her back pressed harder into her. Paige’s other hand followed suit, dragging down to Azzi’s stomach where Azzi’s fingers pressed on top of hers, applying just enough pressure to encourage her to explore.

Paige’s palms glided across every part of Azzi’s bare skin and Azzi breathed deeply through it all, her body responding to every touch. When Paige’s fingers ghosted over the curve of her hip and slid lower, Azzi’s legs spread subtly, letting her press against her thighs, giving silent permission in everything she did.

Azzi leaned her head back, resting it against Paige’s shoulder as her lips parted. For a moment Paige let herself close her eyes. She let herself fully relax and let her guard down to be in this moment with Azzi in a room full of people. She breathed Azzi in, felt every inch of Azzi’s skin pressing against her own and just let her feel.

She realized that right now, in this version of her life this was all she needed.

The song played on and Paige and Azzi danced like no one else in the room existed.

From the section tucked off to the side, Rae let out a whistle and Rickea gasped before laughing, clutching her chest while she playfully fanned her hand like the scene in front of them had her hot. While Cam grabbed DiJonai��s arm and pointed toward the dance floor.

Paige’s body was flush with Azzi’s back, her hands now confidently roaming, fingers splayed over Azzi’s abdomen, moving slowly as they followed the arc of each of her ribs down to her hips. Azzi’s breath hitched when Paige’s thumb dragged beneath the edge of her skirt to tease the soft skin there. She caught her own lip between her teeth, her fingers gripping Paige’s at the wrist to hold her there.

There were a few times where Azzi had to whisper something to herself. To remind herself to not grab Paige’s hand and slide it between her legs. Her thighs clenching a few times with thoughts of doing it. The ache she was feeling had been building all night, a buzzing heat that pressed into her everytime she rolled her hips, every time Paige dragged her lips along her neck.

It didn’t help that she could feel Paige’s restraint, too. The tension in her arms or the way her jaw flexed. How her hands would hesitate for too long in certain places, like she was barely holding herself back from touching Azzi in the middle of the club.

Azzi leaned back harder into her, pressing their bodies together. She felt like every inch of her needed Paige. Her back burned from the heat radiating off of Paige, her skin practically humming for her. Paige dipped her head down again, her lips grazing Azzi’s shoulder, dragging across the curve of her neck with a kiss that barely connected.

Azzi’s breath stuttered and her knees almost buckled, so she turned in Paige’s arms to keep herself upright. Her hands slid up Paige’s arms as she turned, dragging her palms over the muscles she’d admired a hundred times but could never get enough of. Paige looked fucked up in the most beautiful way. Her hair was slightly tousled from the heat of the club and all their dancing, waves tumbling messily around her face. Her pale skin shimmered under the lights, accentuated by sweat and the liquor in her system.

The lilac sweats were lower on her hips from dancing and her black tank top stuck to her body in a way that made Azzi want to pull it off. She still smelled like her luxury cologne, having that soft bite of the vanilla Valentino that clung to her no matter how many hours they’d been out.

Azzi exhaled, shakily as she closed her eyes for a second.

“Wassup, beautiful,” Paige whispered, like she already knew Azzi was hers to have whenever she wanted.

Azzi didn’t say anything, she just stepped closer until her braids were brushing against Paige’s collarbones. Then she leaned up, brushing her lips against Paige’s ear. “You look so fucking good it hurts.”

Then, without warning, Azzi took Paige’s earlobe between her lips, she bit it before soothing it with her tongue and sucking on it gently.

Paige’s hands flexed at Azzi’s hips.

Azzi let go and smiled against Paige’s cheek as she leaned back far enough to see the reaction on Paige’s face. The look in Paige’s eyes made her thighs press together again to search for friction involuntarily.

Her breath hitched when Paige’s hand slid to the back of her thigh, her fingertips grazing her skin deliberately. Even as the hem of her skirt was adjusted back into place, Azzi felt so much in such a simple touch. It was possessive in the softest way. Then Paige’s hand was at her jaw, her thumb and index finger guiding her chin up with a softness that made Azzi’s heart stutter.

It always did. For all the strength in Paige’s arms, all the bite in her personality, she never handled Azzi with anything less than gentleness. Even now, completely drunk off liquor, with heat pulsing between their bodies and sweat slicking their skin, Paige still touched her like she was something she needed to be gentle with.

Paige leaned in close, her breath feathering across Azzi’s lips. “I can feel you dripping down your thighs for me.”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut for the briefest second at the words before Paige’s lips brushed hers to tease her before Azzi forced the space between them to vanish.

The kiss started slowly. Like they hadn’t been eye fucking each other from across the room. Like they weren’t on the verge of losing themselves in the middle of a packed club.

Paige’s lips moved against Azzi’s mouth with precision, coaxing a low moan from Azzi’s throat as their mouths opened wider. Their tongues met in soft, deliberate swipes, both of them tasting the night on each other: the drinks, the sweat, everything.

Azzi bit down on Paige’s bottom lip, just hard enough to make her groan into the kiss, and Paige returned the favor moments later, tugging on Azzi’s with her teeth before licking into her mouth again. Their tongues tangled making the kiss wet as they kept the pace slow.

Azzi let her lips close around Paige’s tongue, sucking it into her mouth gently, her fingers curling into the sides of Paige’s tank top. She could feel the subtle flex of Paige’s abs under her fingers.

Eventually, Azzi pulled back, and the sound that came when their lips parted was almost as obscene as the kiss itself. Paige’s mouth was swollen, the glossy sheen of Azzi’s lipgloss smeared across her lips.

Azzi caught her breath, and with a smirk, she raised her thumb to Paige’s mouth. Gently wiping the smudged lip color from her lips, dragging her thumb slowly across the bottom one on purpose. Paige’s jaw was slightly parted, her eyes soft and locked on Azzi like she was seeing the stars for the first time.

At that moment, she looked completely in love.

Azzi had seen every version of Paige. The secretly cocky one, the closed-off one, the one who could barely breathe through panic; but this version, the tender version who looked at her like the world disappeared around them? That version broke something open in Azzi every single time.

Paige opened her mouth like she was about to speak, her voice catching in her throat. “Azzi baby…”

Azzi tilted her head, keeping her hand on Paige’s face. “Yes?”

Paige hesitated for half a second, her throat working as she swallowed down words she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to say out loud yet and replaced them with something else as she whispered over the bass of the music, “Lemme take you home. I needa taste you before I lose my mind, baby.”

Azzi smiled faintly at this, her lashes fluttering as she tilted her head to the side. “I want another drink first.”

Paige couldn’t help but shake her head and chuckle a little, already clocking the look Azzi gave her when she was being a brat on purpose. Still even though she noticed, with a soft exhale, Paige reached into her pocket and pulled out a fifty. She held it between her index and middle fingers, letting it dangle as she said, “One more.”

Azzi pouted, pursing her lips as she leaned closer. “Maybe two?” As she said this she traced her finger over the waistline of Paige’s boxers.

Paige just looked at her, dropping her eyes to Azzi’s hand before looking back up and saying, “I’ll think about it.”

Azzi smiles as she kisses Paige’s lips before walking away knowing Paige was watching as she swapped her hips making the hem of her skirt shift with every step she took. Paige had to blink a few times just to ground herself, resisting the urge to follow her before going toward the section.

When she got there, Paige pulled out a small stack of cash and counted out more than enough to cover the night. She handed it to Dijonai. “Use that when y’all ready.”

Dijonai raised an eyebrow, her gaze moving between the money and the flush that still lingered on Paige’s cheeks and neck. She took the bills without saying anything. “Say less. See y’all at home.”

When Paige turned back around, she saw exactly what she expected, somebody had slid up next to Azzi at the bar. Some girl in a denim button-up and a chain that was definitely fake. She was saying something that might have sounded nice in her head, but Azzi didn’t bother hiding her disinterest. Her body language couldn’t have been clearer and Paige liked that.

Paige made a quick stop on the way, grabbing a shot off a server’s tray and tossing it back, the liquor burning down her throat as she handed her a twenty.

As Paige walked across the floor, the bass from the speakers seemed to sync with the heat rushing through her bloodstream. That last shot hit fast, like it bypassed everything else and went straight to her chest, igniting a fresh wave of warmth that spread outward. Her cheeks flushed deeper, her eyes becoming more hooded, like each blink was slower than the last.

Azzi was perched on the edge of the barstool, with one leg crossed over the other, her black mini skirt riding high enough that Paige groaned on sight, her boxers getting warmer. Azzi’s braids were still swept to one side causing her neck to be exposed and glowing underneath the club lights. Paige’s gaze raked over the soft curve of her thighs, the glint of sweat that caught under the flashing strobes, the shape of her features even from behind.

Azzi felt Paige before she heard her. Felt the heat radiating off of her, smelled her cologne that was distinctly Paige in her brain so without hesitating, she leaned back into the body behind her with a grin like she’d been waiting.

Paige leaned in, keeping her eyes locked on the woman next to Azzi like she wasn’t worth real attention. “Why can’t I ever leave you alone for two seconds?”

Azzi tilted her head smiling back at Paige. “It’s cause I’m pretty baby.”

Before Paige could respond, the woman next to Azzi, the one still trying to linger in a conversation that never started, spoke up. “Damn she didn’t seem taken a minute ago. That’s you? ”

A few months ago, Paige would’ve had something to say back to that. Her jaw would’ve tightened and she would’ve said something that caused an unnecessary scene.”

But today Paige just leaned lower, letting her hand slide around Azzi’s neck to angle her face toward her, guiding her like she should’ve been looking at her in the first place.

When she was satisfied with the angle Paige kissed her. It was a messy kiss, as her lips parted lazily as she tasted Azzi like she’d been starving all night. Azzi opened her mouth for her, sucking her tongue into her mouth before biting her bottom lip and pulling it back into her mouth with a quiet moan that Paige swallowed. Paige hummed into it, tightening her hand slightly as she bit Azzi’s lip right back.

Azzi smirked against her mouth before pulling away, a thin spit line stretching between them as her head stayed tipped back in Paige’s hand.. Paige brought her thumb to Azzi’s mouth and wiped away the glisten of spit delicately.

“Finish your drink so we can go,” Paige said plainly.

Azzi nodded up at her, obediently and that quiet submission made something in Paige tighten.

She swallowed around it, her throat moving visibly as her eyes lingered on Azzi’s face. She looked so soft, so ready to do whatever Paige wanted. Paige didn’t know which version of Azzi messed her up more. The one who talked back and tested her on purpose, or the one who looked up at her like this, pliant and completely trusting, like she was already halfway home.

It was a dumb comparison, really. A pointless one because Paige loved every version of her girlfriend. Every look. Every mood. Every part of Azzi Fudd made her ache in a way she’d never known she could feel.

Instead of blurting out something too big, something that had been sitting on the edge of her tongue for what felt like months she stepped forward.

Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi from behind, tucking her face into the crook of Azzi’s neck. She pressed her lips softly against warm skin, then another. One was beneath her ear, the other one lower, just above her collarbone.

“You smell so fucking good,” she whispered, brushing her nose against Azzi’s neck. “So beautiful. Every time I look at you I forget how to breathe, I swear you’re the most perfect woman I ever met.”

Azzi let out a soft hum, sipping her drink while Paige’s voice curled around her.

Paige didn’t rush her to finish her drink, she just held her. Kissed her softly. Spent time whispering the softest compliments she could fathom instead of whispering what she couldn’t say out loud for the first time in a club in LA. She knew the moment was coming but not here.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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ceramini · 2 days ago

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✦ DAMN! YOU’RE SUCH A LOSER HEESEUNG

pairing 𐐪𐑂 heeseung (hes a loser) × hot!reader

word count 𐐪𐑂 approximately 0.9k words, 28 hcs

genre 𐐪𐑂 smut, fluff, crack, mdni 18+

synopsis ───── lee heeseung is the smartest dumbass you’ve ever met. hes annoyingly hot, painfully sincere, and completely deranged in his devotion to you. he sucks at sex, hyperfixates on nonsense, and has no idea how he pulled you, but he’ll do absolutely anything to keep you. hes pathetic, but he’s yours. <3

nini’s note 🗒️ this one’s been a long time coming. you asked. you screamed. you demanded I deliver loser!heeseung in his full dumbass glory, and I have. this is the boy who begs you to watch his favorite anime with him but doesn’t know how to ask properly. who thinks buying you snacks is a love language. who shuts down during sex because he’s so overwhelmed by how pretty you are. I adore him. I hate him. enjoy responsibly, likes & reblogs are very much appreciated <33 + lmk if u want the fics 💕

𓋜 if want to read something else, check out the ꕀ LIBRARY

DUMB IN BED BUT HES TRYING

loser!heeseung who has no clue what he’s doing in bed but insists he “knows what women like” because he read half a Reddit thread in 2017. He gets cocky real fast, but the moment you start undressing, he forgets what breathing is.

loser!heeseung who talks a big game, but the second you start touching him seriously, he stutters so hard he ends up apologizing mid-makeout. “Wait, s-sorry, I just—can we go slower? Or faster? I don’t know.”

loser!heeseung who gets hard embarrassingly fast. Like, one kiss to the neck and he’s already pitching a tent in those gross sweatpants he wears every day. He covers himself with a pillow, but it’s so obvious.

loser!heeseung who literally googled “how to eat a girl out” and made a whole annotated doc with bookmarks. He reads it in bed the night before seeing you and is so stressed about “messing it up” that he forgets to actually use his tongue at first.

loser!heeseung who goes down on you with his whole soul once he gets over the nerves. Like messy, shaky hands on your thighs, moaning while he figures out what makes you gasp. He takes it personally if you don’t come.

loser!heeseung who says the most pathetic shit during sex. Things like “you feel so good I think I’m gonna pass out” and “wait—wait are you close? Oh my god, are you gonna—oh my god.”

loser!heeseung who starts with missionary because he thinks it’s “safe,” but accidentally gets way too into it. His hair falls into his eyes, he’s biting his lip, moaning helplessly, and now you’re the one losing it.

loser!heeseung who cums quick but apologizes for hours. Texts you at 2AM like “i swear i can last longer next time 😞 please don’t think i’m lame.” You end up having to reassure him while he spirals.

loser!heeseung who needs to be coached into talking dirty. The best he manages at first is “you’re so hot i could die,” and then he panics and asks if that sounded weird.

loser!heeseung who gets hard again after you cuddle for five minutes. Pretends it’s not happening. Fails.

SOFT WHERE IT COUNTS

loser!heeseung who hyperfixates on a new anime or game and talks about it for days. You nod along lovingly while he info-dumps about lore you don’t understand, because he gets so animated when he’s excited.

loser!heeseung who has a rotating cast of dumb hyperfixation objects: currently obsessed with modding your shared Minecraft world, was deep into urban planning videos last month, and once spent 3 weeks only talking about frogs.

loser!heeseung who makes you playlists with weirdly specific titles like “songs that sound like you in the rain” or “if we were NPCs in a JRPG and i was in love with you but couldn’t say it.”

loser!heeseung who leans his head on your shoulder when he’s tired at his desk. Doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until you turn and kiss his cheek, and then he melts completely.

loser!heeseung who makes you ramen at 2AM and gets all shy when you compliment it. “It’s just instant, I didn’t really do anything,” but secretly smiles the whole time you eat it.

loser!heeseung who texts you “are you home safe?” the second you leave. Follows up with “ok gn 😴” and then continues sending you TikToks until 4AM.

loser!heeseung who gets weirdly quiet when he likes you too much. His confidence completely evaporates. He just goes all soft-eyed and fidgety like “um… do you want to stay over? like—only if you want to.”

loser!heeseung who makes you sit on his lap while he games but doesn’t focus on the screen at all. He keeps dying in-game because he’s too busy sneaking kisses to your jaw and whispering, “i’m gonna lose because of you.”

loser!heeseung who writes you little notes and tucks them into your things. They say stupid shit like “u looked hot today 🔥” or “don’t forget to drink water or I’ll cry.”

loser!heeseung who kisses you so sweetly it makes you forget how dumb he is. His lips are soft, he holds your face gently, and the second you pull away he mumbles, “I like you so much it’s actually insane.”

HIS BRAIN IS EMPTY, BUT HIS HEART IS FULL

loser!heeseung who is insanely good at rhythm games but can’t drive. Has 100% accuracy on Osu! but has never parallel parked in his life.

loser!heeseung who drinks monster energy at 9PM and then complains when he can’t sleep. Lies awake in bed like “why am I like this.”

loser!heeseung who doesn’t know how to fold laundry. Just leaves clothes in a chair and lives out of the pile. But your stuff? Folded like it’s sacred.

loser!heeseung who wears the same hoodie for 8 days in a row until you threaten to take it home and wash it yourself. (You do. It comes back smelling like you. He doesn’t take it off again.)

loser!heeseung who gets so intense about his hobbies that he forgets to eat. You have to literally put a snack in his hand like “chew this or I’ll break your computer.”

loser!heeseung who remembers everything you say even if he seems like he’s not listening. Mentions it randomly weeks later like, “didn’t you say your favorite flowers were tulips?” and you’re like HOW DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER THAT.

loser!heeseung who blushes when you compliment him. Full-on red ears, shy little laugh, won’t look at you for five minutes.

loser!heeseung who is so in love with you he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He just stares at you sometimes like you’re something unreal. “I don’t get how you like me,” he whispers. “But I’m so glad you do.”

TAGLIST ───── @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto @jinxedly @seokjinthescientist <3 you can join my taglist through this doc! —> here

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strnilolover · 2 days ago

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⌗ . . . FIVE MINUTES AND A HAIR TIE

WARNINGS : SMUT. ORAL (m & f receiving). SUB!BSF!CHRIS. SWITCH!BSF!READER. TEASING. BEGGING. and more?

you and chris had been best friends for years—it getting to the point where your parents started keeping chris’ favorite snacks stocked in the kitchen. and chris having his own whole drawer in your bedroom full of his things. and vice versa.

today was no different from any other—or that’s what you had thought.

chris was sprawled across the edge of your bed—his back against the mattress as his legs were sprawled out around. it was a quiet evening, just the two of you. your lights were dimmed and your shared playlist hummed low in the background. you were curled up at the head of your bed in an old hoodie, scrolling mindlessly, and he was doing the same, phone held over his chest as he kept yawning but refused to go home.

it was comfortable silence. that rare kind that only came from years of being close and being able to just do your own thing in the presence of someone else. it was the kind that made you wonder sometimes what was going on in his head when he looked deep in thought.

chris suddenly snorted loud—drawing you from your spacey thoughts as you just stared at your phone. your brows furrowed and you looked up, curious. “what?” you said, a little breathless from being startled.

he just grinned and flipped his phone around, showing you a screenshot of a tweet. It was a picture of some jawline-blessed actor, captioned:

“Give me five minutes and a hair tie PLEASE.”

and you couldn’t help but crack a grin, letting your head fall back slightly. “that’s like a universal girl language right there.” chris snickered, shaking his head at your words. “it’s such a lie though. like—c’mon, there’s no way half of y’all could make a guy cum in five minutes. and definitely not just with your mouth.” he said, continuing to shake his head in disbelief.

You raised a brow, quirking a smirk and tilting your head at him. “oh yeah?” you mused, watching the way the thought about it for a second before nodding his head. “yeah,” he said, full of himself now. “you act like just putting your hair up makes you dangerous. please. most of y’all couldn’t even handle it.”

that sentence got your attention. you pursed your lips—locking your phone and setting it aside. chris blinked when you started to sit up straighter, now starting to notice the way your attitude has changed. “what?—why..why’re you looking at me like that?”

you tsked softly, shaking your head. “you really think that?” you asked, almost curious. “you think I wouldn’t know how to handle it? hm?” and he scoffed, though it wavered a little when your legs swung off the bed and carried you to kneel on the floor down between his own.

“wait, wait—what are you doing?” he asked, his phone now forgotten beside him—your actions getting his full attention. slowly you reached down, grabbed the hair tie from around your wrist, and started pulling your hair up into a messy ponytail. eyes locked hard onto his.

“give me five minutes and a hair tie,” you murmured. “that’s all I need.”

chris’ body went still—you could see his throat bob as he swallowed, the cocky smirk flickering like a faulty light. “wait—are you—are you serious right now?” you leaned up swiftly, your lips barely brushing against his ear. “only if you want me to be.”

there was silence—like the situation had finally caught up to his brain. you guys were best friends—this was something that you shouldn’t be doing. but god—there’s been times he’s thought about how your mouth would feel against him. always whispering apologies to your name when he’d jerk off in his bedroom.

and now?

now he’d have the chance since you were offering—he just hopes it doesn’t ruin anything.

the silence stretched before chris began to speak. “yeah,” he breathed, voice cracking just a little. “yes, okay. please.” he let himself relax slowly to your touch on his thighs, body melting. his sweatpants were already betraying him, his bulge heavy and obvious through the fabric.

you smiled up at him, giving him a small nod before your hand slowly trailed along his thigh before you reached his bulge, palming him through the fabric and laughing under your breath. “y’so easy.” you taunt, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you watched him.

he whimpered as your hand snatched into the waistband of his sweats. you gently gave chris a few taps, telling him to lift his hips. which he quickly obliged to. slowly, you tugged them down and his cock sprang free—tip already flushed and leaking like he’d been thinking about this way longer than he really should’ve.

before you went any further though, you leaned up and snatched his phone—the screen still opened to that stupid little post. you smirked at it before swiping the app away and opening the clock app.

your fingers worked quick to open the stopwatch, placing his phone back down next to him on the bed before you pressed the start button.

you didn’t waste time—your other hand came up and wrapped around his length, giving him a few small pumps that already had his head kicking back. you watched him with hungry eyes, keeping them connected to his as you lowered yourself. your tongue poked out and licked a slow stripe up his shaft—starting from the bottom. when you reached the top, you flicked your tongue against the slit, and smirked when his hips jerked.

chris was wide-eyed, one hand clutching the sheets on the bed next to him, and the other was gripping the base of your ponytail before he even realized he was doing it. “f-fuck.” he whispered, his head tipping forward—eyes quickly connecting with your own.

and that’s when you sank down to the base of him with out warning—his cock completely filling your mouth.

his whole body tensed, eyes rolling into the back of his head as you bobbed your head up and down on him. the hand in your hair tightened just slightly, and you could feel the way he twitched in your mouth. “mmf—fuckfuckfuck.” he whimpered.

you kept the pace slow at first—enjoying the power shift between the two of you. he’d been so smug, so sure of himself. but now he was trembling, his lips parted like he couldn’t decide whether to curse or cry. your hand was wrapped around what you couldn’t fit, twisting in rhythm with your mouth.

you couldn’t help how wet you were becoming just from his reactions to your mouth. you were content having him in your mouth, letting yourself get lost in the feeling. chris choked out a gasp when you moaned around him—the vibrations making his high approach quicker. “jesus—shit—you’re good at this.” he breaths, trying not to sound so whiny and desperate.

you liked how easily he was giving into it—letting the pleasure take over him. gently you pulled off with a pop, your eyes gleaming up at him.

“y’still think we can’t do it in five?” you asked teasingly, letting yourself hand give his cock a small squeeze, the action making his moan. he shook his head, his hips slowly starting to fuck his cock into your fist. his voice was barely a whisper. “i was wrong—fuck—I was so wrong.”

you hummed in approval to his confession, leaning down and spitting on his tip—watching the way it trailed down before you licked it up. when you reached his tip, you wasted no time in taking him deep again, rougher this time. faster. you let him feel your teeth just barely—just enough to make him twitch. his hand tightened in your hair again and his hips bucked up, trying to fuck your throat. but you weren’t having none of that, so you pinned him with a warning glare and he froze.

you pulled away from his length just long enough to speak. “don’t move unless I say so.” you murmured. he nodded fast, breathing ragged. “okay. okay, i—i won’t. please don’t stop.”

“good boy.” and with that, you kept going. sucking, slurping, making it so fucking messy. his cock was red and slick, and the little noises he was making were insane—tiny whines, like he was embarrassed to be enjoying it that much.

“fuck, i’m gonna—i’m gonna cum—” he gasped, trying his hardest not to move his hips from up off the bed.

you didn’t stop.

“can i—” he whimpered. “please, can i cum in your mouth? please let me, i’m so close, pleaseplease—” you moaned at that, nodding your head the best you could with it stuffed full of him. chris sighed in relief before you felt him twitch more in the back of your throat—his body tensing under yours before he let himself go.

he came hard—his whole body was shaking as he spilled into your mouth. thick, white ropes of cum hit the back of your throat. but you didn’t pull away. you sucked him through it, tongue swirling around his cock as he cried out from how sensitive he quickly became.

when you finally did pull off, you looked up at him with wet lips and a smug smile. you broke eye contact with him after that, your hand reaching for his phone on the bed and pressing stop on the stopwatch.

you grinned, turning your gaze back to him as you held up the phone for him to see. “four minutes and seventeen seconds.” you said, licking a drop from the corner of your mouth.

chris stared at you like you were a fucking goddess. “I hate you.” he groaned—but really—he didn’t. it was the best head of his life, but he wasn’t gonna tell you that.

you giggled, rolling your eyes slightly as you reached for a tissue. “you’re welcome.” you said as you brought the tissue to his spent cock, slowly wiping up whatever was left over, listening to the way he hissed and whined when your touch was too firm.

when you were finished, you threw the tissue in the trash can next to your bed—quickly helping him get his sweats back into place on his body before you climbed up onto the bed yourself again.

it was silent for a long while—surprisingly it was comfortable, like you just didn’t give your best friend head in your bedroom for the first time. you both sat there on the bed next to one another, you were staring at your phone now and chris was laying back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

he was finally the one to break the silence. “let me do it too.” he muttered, and you looked at him, arching a brow. “what?”

“i said let me do it too.” this time he was louder, turning over onto his side to face you. “I’m saying,” he said, crawling over the bed now, sitting next to you. “that if i went down on you, i could beat your record.”

you blinked at him slowly—like you weren’t sure if you were hearing him right. but then you grinned. “you wanna try? on me?” and chris suddenly looked nervous, like he couldn’t believe he had actually said it to you. but under it—there was something deeper. determined. and hungry. “only if you’ll let me.” he muttered, watching you.

you leaned forward in his direction a little, watching the way his throat bobbed as you got closer. “alright, baby. let’s see what you can do hm?”

and so you moved yourself, letting your body lay flat on your bed, practically laying on chris’ body before he moved himself. with your phone in hand, you opened the stopwatch just like you did earlier. you let yourself get comfy, your eyes peering up at chris as he just stood there for a moment.

you arched a brow. “gonna come here or what pretty boy?” you teased, lifting your other head to beckon him closer. he breathed out a shaky laugh, shaking his head as he came closer to you. he knelt between your legs almost like it was instinct now before his hands wrapped around your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed.

chris peered up at you with his big blue eyes, almost looking a little embarrassed. “i don’t have a hair tie.” he muttered. and you couldn’t help but to smirk at him. “that’s okay. i’ll hold your hair back for you. maybe even give it a little tug.” you said, tugging his hair gently.

he whimpered softly at that.

you chuckled, tugging his hair again to get him to look at you. when his eyes met yours, you made a gesture down, and it didn’t take him long to get the hint. so he quickly leaned forward, his fingers coming up to undo your shorts before hooking his fingers into the loops. he tugged them down quickly, discarding them on the floor by him.

you smiled down at him, and slowly let your legs spread, showing off your pretty pink panties. you threaded your hand back into his hair, giving it yet another small tug. “you can start when I press this, okay? and you held the phone in front of him.

chris just nodded eagerly, his body already leaning forward—his nerves from just a moment ago already seeming to disappear.

and so you took that as your queue to hit start. and when you did? oh he was already gone. it was like his brain autopiloted to what he wanted most—you.

chris leaned forward, one hand coming out to rest on your thigh, opening you more as the other moved your panties to the side. and when he finally saw the sight of your bare pussy in front of him?—he leaned forward and licked a long, teasing stripe up your folds—just enough to make you gasp—then he got serious. his tongue flattening, dragging up and down, slowly. the pressure was perfect, his mouth so messy and wet against you.

your free hand gripped the sheets, the other gripping his hair tighter. “fuck, chris.” you moaned, letting your head tip back at the feeling. he couldn’t help but moan against you like that was praise.

suddenly, he pulled away—you both whining at the loss of one another. you were confused, tipping your head back up to watch him, to say something. but chris quickly reached up and grabbed the waistband to your panties before you could say anything and began to tug them down your legs until they were completely off of you. he threw them somewhere—he wasn’t really sure, he was just too eager to have his face buried in your pussy again.

when he dove back down, one of his hands came up to press on your lower stomach to hold you still, while the other gripped your thigh again to keep you spread open. and that’s when he started using his tongue in tiny maddening circles on your clit and you threw your head back once more.

though at some point he began to stray, moving his head lower and lower, wanting to fuck you with his tongue. so you put your hand on his head to get his attention. “c’mere—hold your tongue right there—” you said breathlessly, now threading your fingers into his hair and tugging him into the exact angle you wanted. and when his tongue met that spot, you moaned softly. “yeah, baby. just like that.”

he whined. it was the kind of sound that let you know he loved being told what to do—being bossed around.

he was so messy and sloppy with how he ate you out—but you didn’t care. it felt so good. his tongue stayed right where you wanted him, his fingers digging into your skin wherever they were planted at on your body as he lost himself in you.

you could feel the way your body began to tense, the band in your stomach beginning to grow tighter the longer he works you.

you started gasping when your release got closer and closer. your hips twitching, trying not to grind too much on his face. chris was switching between slow drags and fast flicks of his tongue, practically drooling all over you. and when you glanced down and saw the shine all over his mouth and chin, you almost lost it.

your thighs started to shake, trying to close around him but they couldn’t, not with his grip on one of them. “chris—baby—fuck, m’so close!” you cried out. he grunted into you, his tongue beginning to move even faster than before.

you guys had lost track of the time by now, not even sure how long it has been since you started. had it been long? or not at all?

you didn’t know—your brain was mush, not focusing on anything else except for the way chris’ mouth felt against you. your body began to arch—voice cracking as you suddenly came when he gently sucked your clit into his mouth. your thighs trembled more around his head as wave after wave came crashing over you.

but he didn’t stop—he slowed down and kept his tongue moving through it. moaning into your soaked folds like he was addicted to you and the way you tased. sucking your clit softly into his mouth over and over against as your back pressed to the mattress.

when you finally came down, your body began to twitch at the oversensitivity of his mouth attached to your clit. slowly sucking on it and running slow flicks at the nerve. you hissed, grabbing his hair and pulling him away. he whined at the loss of your taste, his face absolutely soaked with your release and juices.

you just grinned down at him, your body now beginning to feel tired before you looked over at your phone next to you. though, chris eyes must’ve followed yours.

the stopwatch ticked : 4:01

you turned your gaze back to chris, watching the way he smirked, letting his own eyes flick to you as his hand came up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “told you.”

a/n : i’ll be nice now and give you guys this :)

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dakusan · 2 days ago

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Y O U T E X T “ I M I S S Y O U ” O U T O F N O W H E R E

stray kids ot8 x reader | quiet confessions, sleepy chaos, and hearts that ache before they answer

🌙 synopsis: You don’t mean to send it. Not dramatically. Not with tears in your eyes. Just…“i miss you.” Quiet. Honest. Unfiltered. And suddenly—They’re not okay. This isn’t just texting. This is emotional freefall in three words or less. This is “i miss you” turned into “i love you” without either of you saying it.

💌 a/n: this was supposed to be short. just a little “what if you texted ‘i miss you’” post. and then chan said “i wanna hold you while the track renders” and everything spiraled. i hope you feel held. i hope you feel insane. i hope you text someone “i miss you” and they drop everything to say “get here. your side’s cold.” thank you for reading this 8-piece set of emotional damage disguised as fluff. p.s. reblogs = forehead kisses p.p.s. if one of them ever actually said this to me i would simply dissolve into a memory and haunt their laundry.

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎶 Now Playing: "All About You" — Taeyeon

Bang Chan // 방찬

It’s 1:13 AM when you send it. No emoji. No context. Just:

i miss you.

He sees it between takes — fingers hovering above his keyboard, cursor blinking on the same half-finished vocal comp he’s looped for 40 minutes. The studio is dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of his screen and the flickering ‘recording’ sign outside the booth. His hoodie sleeves are pushed to his elbows. There’s a half-drunk bottle of Pocari on the desk. Lo-fi is playing quietly in the background — something soft, without words.

He stops.

Just… sits there for a second, staring at your message like it reached into his chest and gently pressed there.

Because you never say it out of nowhere. You’re careful. Thoughtful. Always timing your affection like a gift. And now, when you’re apart and quiet and distant—You miss him.

He exhales, thumb brushing over the screen. Smiles, crooked and slow, like it snuck up on him.

Then he does what he always does with feelings too big to hold: he turns to the mic. Doesn’t even rerecord the verse. Just switches on the track, leans into the mic, and softly hums something new — something with warmth, with ache, with the kind of sound that curls like a blanket around everything he can’t say yet.

When it’s done, he sends it.

[1:24 AM] (1 audio message) “miss you too. enough to put it in a song. come over if you can. you don’t have to say anything. i just wanna hold you while the track renders.”

Lee Know // 리노

You send it at 10:56 PM. No warning. No dramatic lead-up. Just:

i miss you.

He’s in bed. Not asleep. Not even trying. Just lying there in the dark with his phone balanced on his chest, a drama paused mid-episode and a cat curled up by his legs.

He sees your name light up, reads the message twice — once with his heart, once with his overthinking.

Immediately: suspicious. Out of nowhere? From you? At this hour?

His first instinct is to roll his eyes. His second is to reread it. His third is to sit up, grab his pillow, and clutch it in his lap like it’ll stop the way his stomach just turned to something embarrassingly warm.

You don’t say it unless you mean it. You don’t say it unless you need something. And suddenly, he hates that he’s not there — that you miss him and he can’t fix it, can’t hold you, can’t act all unimpressed while secretly tucking you under his arm like you belong there.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a while. He types and deletes twice. The third time sticks.

[11:02 PM] ...what happened? [11:02 PM] did someone say something? are you lonely? do you want me to come over or do you just want attention? [11:03 PM] ...because if it’s attention, you have it. idiot.

He throws the pillow across the room right after. Then spends the next hour watching your typing bubble like it holds the moon.

Changbin // 창빈 💪

It’s 8:14 PM when you send it. You don’t say anything else. Just:

i miss you.

He sees it halfway through a workout — hoodie tied around his waist, arms flushed and pumped, headphones in, breath ragged from a set he absolutely overdid. His phone buzzes on the bench. He wipes a hand on his towel, glances at the screen—

—and freezes.

There are a few people still in the gym. He barely hears them. Because something about that message punches the air straight out of his lungs.

You’re not usually the one to say it first. Not without a reason. Not unless something’s aching a little too much. And now you miss him — and he’s here, lifting weights like that’s gonna hold you together.

He grabs his phone and walks off into the hallway, chest still rising and falling like he just sprinted. It’s not even just the message. It’s the way his heart reacted — instantly. Like it’s been waiting to hear that from you all day.

His thumbs move fast:

[8:16 PM] you do?? 😭 [8:16 PM] pls tell me you’re free tonight i’ll cancel everything [8:17 PM] srsly. i miss u so bad i almost tripped doing lunges bc i started picturing ur face like a loser.

He stops, stares at his own text, groans into his towel.

And then:

(1 voice note) “if you’re free, come over. if not… call me? i’ll sit in my room like a lovesick sitcom character until you do.”

He puts the phone in his hoodie pocket after that. Heart loud. Arms sore. Entire soul? Yours.

Hyunjin // 현진 🎭

It’s 12:01 AM when you send it. Simple. Soft. No punctuation, no drama. Just:

i miss you

He’s painting. Alone in his apartment. A candle flickers beside his easel, wax dripping slowly as strokes of deep indigo curve across canvas. There’s music in the background—something orchestral, echoing, probably a little sad. His sleeves are rolled. Fingers stained with muted color.

The message buzzes through his speaker. He pauses mid-stroke. His breath catches.

Because you say it without pretense. You say it like it’s just true. You say it like you couldn’t hold it in any longer, like your heart blurted it out without consulting your pride.

And it ruins him.

He sets the brush down. Gently. Like it might shatter. Wipes his hands on a cloth. Looks at your name glowing on his phone like it’s the first star of the night. His throat is tight.

His first text is typed and deleted. Too dramatic. He rewrites it. Softer.

[12:04 AM] i’ve been aching to hear that [12:04 AM] i miss you in every quiet moment between brushstrokes [12:05 AM] do you want to facetime or do you want me to come stand outside your window with a candle and recite pablo neruda

He stares at the send button like it might bite him. Then presses it anyway.

His heart is a cathedral when you reply.

Han // 한 🌀

It’s 2:06 AM when you send it. No buildup. No emojis. Just:

i miss you

He was literally just lying there. Hoodie on. Face half in his pillow. Watching some dumb video on mute. Laughing at something he won’t remember in 3 minutes. He’s got crumbs on his hoodie and like, four unread messages in his group chat. He’s vibing. Barely thinking. Just static.

Until he sees you on his screen.

And suddenly — he’s wide awake.

He sits up like a corpse in a horror movie, staring at your message with the kind of intensity people reserve for bomb countdowns. His heart does a full Olympic gymnastics routine. His brain? Gone. Offline. In heaven. On fire.

He starts typing and deleting. So fast.

First message: too clingy. Second: too cool. Third: accidentally a marriage proposal.

He hits send before he can regret it:

[2:07 AM] What do you mean 😭😭😭 do you miss me like... miss me or like miss my memes [2:08 AM] bc if u miss ME i am currently free and emotionally compromised [2:08 AM] if u call me rn i’ll answer like it’s a drama and say ‘you finally called…’ i’m not kidding

Then, because he hates himself but also needs you to KNOW:

(1 voice note) “hi. i miss you too. like. so bad. like ‘watching our old tiktoks and tearing up’ bad. ok i’m gonna go cry into my cereal now bye 😭”

And then he rolls over, buries his face in his pillow, and kicks his feet like a 16-year-old girl in a coming-of-age movie.

Felix // 필릭스 🌻

It’s 9:36 PM when you send it. Soft. Unassuming. Just:

i miss you

He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, gaming headset half-on, controller resting in his lap. His monitor’s still glowing with the lobby screen, but he hasn’t clicked “ready” in three minutes.

Because your name popped up. And those three little words didn’t just land — they sank.

He re-reads it, smiling like he can’t help it. Like your message reached through the screen and gently cupped his face.

He’s not the type to question it. Not the type to pretend it doesn’t matter. You miss him — and he misses you too. More than he’s said. More than he knows how to say sometimes.

So he picks up his phone, pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders, and texts back with all the warmth he has:

[9:38 PM] angel :( i was just thinking about u too [9:39 PM] i miss u in like. the way stars miss the sky [9:40 PM] wanna call? or i can come over w snacks n cuddles n a playlist titled ‘us time’ 🫂💛

And because that’s not enough — not nearly enough — he sends a voice note too. His voice low, soft, wrapped in honey:

(voice note, 0:08) “i miss you so much it kinda makes my chest tight... but like in a good way. please come over. i’ll make hot chocolate. with the cinnamon u like.”

Seungmin // 승민

It’s 11:22 PM when you send it. No flourish. No drama. Just:

i miss you

He’s brushing his teeth. Pajamas on. Sleep playlist already playing low from his Bluetooth speaker. The apartment is still. Lights soft. Everything quiet — except his brain, which goes static the second your message appears.

He pauses, toothbrush halfway out of his mouth. Stares at the notification like it personally insulted him. His heartbeat? Loud. Chest? Tight. Eyes? Suddenly way too focused on the “i” in “i miss you.”

And of course—he has to respond the only way he knows how: with sarcasm and a mild breakdown. He rinses, spits, towels off his face, and flops onto bed, one arm dramatically over his eyes. Then, thumb to phone:

[11:24 PM] wow. desperate much? [11:25 PM] should i feel special or r u just lonely n scrolling ur contacts [11:26 PM] jk. unless.

He stares at those texts. Chews his lip. Rolls over. Sighs. Then types again — slower this time.

[11:28 PM] ...i was literally just about to text you [11:28 PM] this is annoying [11:28 PM] i miss you too

And because he knows you’re probably pouting, he sends one final message:

(photo attachment: his pillow with space beside it) get here. your side’s cold.

I.n // 아이엔

It’s 10:01 PM when you send it. Simple. Sweet. Just:

i miss you

He sees it while leaning against the balcony railing, earbuds in, hoodie unzipped, cool night air brushing against his skin. The city glows beneath him — golden windows, blinking lights, soft hum of life continuing below.

He reads your message and smiles — not wide. Just a slow, knowing curve that tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You texted first. You cracked first. And he loves that.

But what he doesn’t say — not yet — is that he’d been about to text you the same thing. He’d been replaying that last voice note you left him. He’d been standing out here thinking about the way your hand feels when it’s tucked inside his hoodie pocket. He’s not cocky about it. Just… calm. Quietly wrecked.

He replies:

[10:02 PM] you miss me already? [10:02 PM] i thought u were tougher than this 🤭 [10:03 PM] ...good. i was starting to think i’m the only one losing sleep over you

Then he sends a photo: His shadow on the balcony, city lights in the distance, and the caption:

“you’d look better standing here next to me.”

And just like that — you're done for. Because so is he.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #skz imagines #skz x reader #sunday softdrops

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szatears · 2 days ago

Note

Girl dad smoke (taking care of wife a daughter)

mini hustler, smoke.

summary: smoke was never one to be picky about what gender child he wanted to raise when the time came, but it seemed that the universe had a plan of its own, and he was made to be a girl dad.

pairings: smoke x blackfem!reader, dad!smoke.

warnings: descriptions of reader, use of the n word, descriptions of pregnancy, established relationship, maybe some ooc smoke?

notes: okay i know this was sent in bc i asked for modernau reqs but i feel like i can write this better for the actual sinners universe smoke... :)))

You let out a hum of contentedness, leaning your head back against your husband's shoulders. His arms were wrapped securely around your waist as you both lounged on the outdoor settee, taking in the Mississippi sunset before you. His hands rested on your growing stomach, thumbs stroking gentle patterns.

You were almost six months along in your pregnancy, and Smoke had been with you every step of the way, as he had promised you when you first announced the news to him.

"You know," you broke the comfortable silence. "I think we're having a boy. He sits so low, 'n all the ladies say that means it's a boy."

"Stop calling my daughter a boy," he mumbled with a kiss to your temple, smiling when you let out a laugh.

"You mind what we have?" you asked.

He shook his head no. "Long as they healthy and grow up to be that 'n happy, I'on really mind."

You smiled at his words, placing your palms on top of his hands.

Life as an expecting mother was going by a lot faster than you imagined. One day you were with your mother picking out materials to make baby clothes from, the next you were sitting back relaxing as Smoke, Stack and Sammie attempted to build a baby crib.

"It don't look right," Smoke frowned. He stood behind you, arms wrapped around your stomach like they always were whenever he was around you lately.

"Man, how else it's supposed to look?" Sammie huffed, and you laughed. They'd been at it since the early morning and it was almost four o'clock now.

"Not like that, nigga. Why it only got three legs?"

"'Cause we're not fuckin' done with it yet, bruh. Chill, goddamn." Stack kissed his teeth, and you took that as your queue to get them something to drink, leaving them to bicker amongst themselves.

Your growing family was everything to you, and your heart warmed at every moment they spent tending to you and your unborn child. That was, when Smoke let them get close to you.

Smoke was already overprotective of you. but you when carrying his unborn child? It's like people needed permission to even breathe near you.

He needed you in his eyesight at all times or he'd start going insane. Never wanted you to do any heavy lifting, or even lift a finger if it was something he could handle.

"Whatchu doin' that for?" he'd scold you when he caught you about to step on a dining room chair to grab a box of your things from the top shelf.

"Elijah, I could've gotten that," you smiled sheepishly when his hand held your waist to place you back down on the ground, picking the box up for you.

"Yeah well, you ain't need to do all that when I'm right here," he kissed your cheek, sitting down on the chair with you in his lap as you opened up the box, revealing things from your childhood.

All this never phased you, if anything, it just solidified the feeling you had that he would make such a great father.

─── ༉‧₊˚✧ ───

"Stack, you drop her an' I swear to God, we gon' fight," Smoke mugged his brother as he played with his daughter, throwing her up into the air and catching her again.

"Man, move. I'm not gonna." Stack kissed his teeth, tickling his niece.

Three years ago, you gave birth to your daughter, Amaya Marie, and ever since, she'd been such a light in your life. Today, everyone was celebrating her birthday at yours and Smoke's house, the bustling sounds of laughter and chatter all around you.

You could hear her giggles as she played around with her Uncle Stack, the only important thing at the moment being that she was happy.

"She's fine, stop worrying," you brought your hands to either side of your husband's face, literally smoothing away his frown as you caressed his skin. He hummed, tearing his eyes away from his daughter to look at you, kissing your lips thrice.

Amaya had changed Smoke's life in ways he didn't even know could be changed. He found himself having a new purpose in life, catering for both you and her. Everything he did was for the both of you, making sure she didn't grow up to know the life of hardship and struggles.

She may have had your eyes and nose, but her personality? Oh boy, that was growing to be all Smoke. He spoiled her, as you often complained, but that didn't stop him from doing it.

Every new dress, new toy, new hair clip had her fawning over her father even more.

"Daddy look!" Amaya came running towards you both, as fast as her little legs could carry her. Smoke pulled away from you to pick her up and your eyes widened as she waved her hand in your face, showing off a crisp $10 bill.

"The hell?" you mumbled, looking at Smoke who just shrugged at you.

"Where'd you get this from, baby?" he asked Amaya, kissing her cheek over and over.

"From Uncle Stack," she managed to say through her giggles as Smoke tickled her.

You rolled your eyes playfully, knowing that if it wasn't Smoke giving her money, then it definitely was one of her uncles.

Just like her daddy, Amaya had grown to be quite the negotiator at just three years old.

"Is that right?" Smoke smiled, a little idea forming in his mind. "You wanna get some more?"

Amaya nodded, waving the bill around in her hand. He adjusted her in his arm, his free hand taking a hold of yours, leading you to sit down at the table with the rest of the ladies, Pearline handing you a cool glass of lemonade as you sat down.

"Say bye to mama," Smoke brought her closer to your face, and you smiled when she kissed your cheek, waving goodbye.

"Don't hurt my baby, Elijah," you warned him, taking a sip of the drink in front of you. He waved you off, walking away from you and towards where Stack, Sammie and them were, beers in their hands as they stood around laughing.

The smile on Stack's face grew when he saw two of his favourite people approaching him. "Wassup lil' bit?" He ruffled the top of Amaya's head, messing up her curls.

"Now, you know damn well Y/N gon' get you for doing that," Smoke swatted his brother's hand away, trying to fix his daughter's hair. "Heard you gave lil' miss some money."

"Yeah, she deserves it." Stack smiled.

Smoke nodded, looking down at Amaya you was already looking up at him like he hung the planets and stars in the sky. "Go 'head baby, just like we practiced before," he whispered to her.

Amaya nodded, turning around in her father's arms. "This ain't gonna work, Uncle Stack," she spoke clearly, waving the money in his face now.

Stack paused mid sip, furrowing his brows. "Whatchu mean by that?"

"I mean," Amaya huffed. "This isn't enough."

Stack cut his eyes to his brother, who held a proud smirk on his face as he looked back at him. "Girl, it's $10, that's plenty for you."

"Nuh uh," Amaya shook her head, earning a laugh from Sammie. Who handed off the music to Slim so he could join the conversation.

"Say Stack, you gettin' pressured by a youngin'?" he laughed, dodging when Stack stuck his arm out at him.

"Aight then," he bent down to Amaya's height in his brother's arms. "Name your price."

Amaya thought hard for a moment. "A hundred."

Stack let out a loud laugh, and even Smoke chuckled at that. "Girl, I said name a price, not be delusional. Must get that from your mother," he mumbled the last part, but Smoke heard loud and clear, punching Stack's shoulder. "It was a fucking joke, my God."

"Try a lil' lower baby. Don't lowball though, that's how you get 'em to take you serious," Smoke encouraged her, rubbing her arm soothingly. She nodded, turning back to her uncle.

"40."

"20."

"40."

"25."

"50."

"Aight, I'll give you forty, stop this madness," Stack huffed, opening his wallet as Amaya turned to Smoke.

"I did good?"

"You did great baby," he kissed both her cheeks as Stack handed his niece the money.

"We gotta take her with us one day, almost had me emptying my pockets." Stack watched as she ran over to her mother with all her money, smiling when she looked their way.

"Man, shut up."

taglist. @childishgambinaax @abriefnirvana @blackisy2k @chrisevansmentee @siasoup @amethyst09 @heauxtales @skywalker0809 @thelightknight21 @klssngss @atomicearthquakemusic7 @oc3anbxbyxoxo @honestlyurslol @simpingfor-wakasa @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @favoritten @christinabae @junkie05 @gyattttsblog @jackierose902109 @rose-bliss @jexireads @queenofklonnie22 @tatertooted

#michael b jordan x reader #sinners x reader #smoke x reader #michael b jordan x black reader #sinners x black reader #sinners fanfiction #smoke x black reader

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pleasantlycrazyworld · 2 days ago

Text

A/N: I wanted to try out making Bob more sassy like he got in the movie. Lmk what you think

Summary: You left for a mission without warning and end up hurt. You try to hide your pain but Bob notices you're hurt quickly, it shouldn't be a surprise since he notices everything about you.

Warnings: Bob is more sassy than what I usually write, reader is hurt and talks about thinking they wouldn't survive the mission.

You were doing a fantastic job pretending nothing was wrong. To anyone else, you looked the same as always. Same steady walk, same calm expression, a fake little smile to show that you weren't screaming in pain on the inside. You even made it all the way through the side entrance, past the elevator, and into the kitchen with a granola bar halfway to your mouth before a voice behind you called your bluff.

“Really?” Bob said, from across the room. “That’s the limp we’re going with?”

You froze mid-bite. “What?”

He was leaning against the counter with a glass of water in one hand and the most unimpressed expression you’d ever seen on his face. “You heard me,” he said, pushing off the counter and walking toward you. “You disappear for eleven hours, you come back looking like you got thrown through a brick wall, and you think you can just waltz in here like nothing’s wrong?”

“I didn’t get thrown through a wall,” you muttered.

“Okay, so what was it? Off a roof? Into a dumpster? Side of a building? Plate of glass?... Your dignity?”

You scowled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bob raised a brow and made a face that clearly said, Tough shit.

“You think I don’t notice you wincing every time you breathe in too deep? You’re holding your arm like it’s about to fall off, and don’t even get me started on the very fresh bruise I saw peeking under your shirt right now.” You glanced down, realizing too late your hoodie had ridden up. “It’s fine.” You mumble as you adjusted your hoodie.

“You know, for someone so smart, you’re really bad at lying, at least to me.” he said, already walking toward the cabinet where he kept the first-aid kit. “Sit your ass down before I have to carry you.”

“I don’t need—”

“If you say ‘I don’t need help,’ I swear to God I will smack you with the ice pack.”

You blinked at him, stunned into silence, before finally sinking down into a chair with a long sigh. Bob dropped the kit on the table and gave you a look half fond, half are you kidding me right now? as he pulled out antiseptic wipes and gauze. “You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered, crouching in front of you to inspect the bruise. “Because if anyone else tried to sneak in here all beat to hell like this, I’d’ve locked them in the med bay for a week out of spite.” You let out a low laugh. “So this is what I get for being your favorite.”

Bob glanced up at you with a smirk and slightly softened eyes. “Damn right. You get my full, undivided, judgmental care.” He was gentle with his hands, even while cursing you under his breath. He cleaned the cut along your ribs like he was handling something delicate, but that didn’t stop the commentary.

“Didn’t tell anyone how the mission was going, you never checked in. Classic move truly. Texted me some vague shitty update about being ‘fine’ which, for the record, you are not.” He mumbled as he wrapped the gaze around you. You hung your head low knowing how upset you made him, you tried to explain yourself, “It's your day off. I thought you were off duty.”

“I’m never off duty when it comes to you,” he said, too fast, too easily, too sternly to not mean anything then looked away like he didn’t just casually throw complex feelings at your feet. The words hit harder than they should’ve, but you didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. Not when he was already kneeling there, patching you up, cracking jokes to hide the tight worry in his eyes. Once he finished bandaging your side, he stood and set the ice pack against your shoulder.

“You’re lucky I’m not dragging you to the infirmary.”

“You’re lucky I’m letting you sass me.” Bob leaned in slightly, his voice low but teasing. “You say that like I wouldn’t do that either way.” You snorted. “You're unbelievable.” He just grinned. “That’s what you get for coming back half-dead and thinking I wouldn’t notice.”

And even though he kept joking, even though he was smirking like it was all in good fun—you saw it. The little flicker of worry he hadn’t quite managed to hide. The way his eyes kept scanning you like he was making sure you were still here.

“Seriously,” he said more softly now. “Next time? Just tell me. Let me have your back.” You nodded, guilt and gratitude mixing in your chest. “Okay.” Bob didn’t push the moment. He just pulled out a fresh ice pack, handed it to you, and grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch.

“Good,” he said, tossing it over your lap. “Now sit there and pretend to rest while I make you tea, and don’t even think about getting up. I’ll duct tape you to that chair if I have to.” You raised an eyebrow. “You’re oddly threatening for a guy who just tucked me in.” Bob shrugged, heading for the stove. “Yeah, well. I multitask.”

And he was good at multitasking. He worried while he teased. Scolded and comforted. And lucky for you, Bob Reynolds never let a bruise, or a lie go untreated.

Especially when it came to you.

Later, after the tea’s gone cold and the TV hums in the background playing some half-watched documentary, Bob is still there. You’re curled up on the couch under the blanket he gave you, eyes heavy but refusing to close all the way. The soreness in your ribs makes every shift uncomfortable, and your shoulder still throbs in dull pulses. But worse than that is the restlessness the leftover adrenaline and quiet shame twisting in your chest.

Bob doesn’t say much. He just settles into the armchair across from you, long legs stretched out, a second mug of tea forgotten on the table. “Go to sleep,” he says softly, noticing your eyes flick open again. “I’m trying,” you mumble. “Yeah? You’re failing pretty hard.” You glare halfheartedly. “I feel like I’m being watched.”

“That’s because you are being watched. Get over it.” You huff a laugh, and he smiles–just barely. “Why are you still here?” you ask, voice hushed. Bob shrugs, like it should be obvious. “You don’t sleep well after missions. Especially when they go sideways.” You blink at him. “You… know it went sideways?” He gives you a look like you just asked if the sky was blue. “I know everything.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” He shifts, elbows on his knees, voice quiet but certain. “You came back stiff, wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. You hovered like you’re trying not to take up any space. And when you’re really rattled? You fake being sleepy but you don’t actually sleep. You just lie there and stew.”

You stare at him for a moment, and something inside your chest softens, it finally gives. You didn’t think anyone noticed those things hell, you didn’t notice most of that. Bob notices everything. And now he’s watching you the way he always does gently, patiently, like he’s not in a rush for you to admit anything, just waiting for when you’re ready.

It’s sometime after midnight when the words finally come. The room is dark except for the flicker of the TV and the harsh lights that come through the windows when cars drive by. Bob’s head is tipped back against the chair, eyes closed—but he’s not asleep. You know he’s not. You can always tell.

“…I thought I was going to die out there,” you say, voice barely audible. His eyes snap open instantly. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just waits completely still as if he's holding his breath waiting for you to speak again. “There was this moment where I just…I froze. For the first time in a long time. And it was over something so stupid. It was a small thing. A tripwire. I should’ve seen it. I’ve seen a thousand of them. But I didn’t. And I thought, ‘shit this is really it.’”

The words tumble out, cracked and raw. “And I couldn’t stop thinking how no one would know. Not for a few of hours at least. I didn’t even tell anyone I was leaving. I just... left. And then I was alone. And terrified. And pissed at myself for even being scared.”

Bob doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.

“I got out. I mean obviously I did. But—” You exhale shakily. “I didn’t know who I’d be when I got back. Or if I even deserved to come back here.” There’s a pause. You’re not crying, but your throat burns like you could. Bob finally leans forward, elbows on his knees again, voice low and steady. “You came back.”

You nod, eyes down. “And for the record,” he adds, “you always deserve to come back.” You shake your head, a bitter laugh in your throat. “You don’t get it.” He leans in, voice sharper now, but not unkind. “No you don’t get it. I do get it. I know exactly what it feels like to walk away from something and wonder if you earned the right to survive it.”

You look up, startled.

He holds your gaze. “You think I haven’t screwed up? You think I haven’t made a call I regret, or gotten someone hurt, or came back from a mission thinking I should’ve stayed behind?” Bob reaches forward and takes your hand steady, warm, grounding. “I’m not gonna let you sit here and punish yourself for surviving. You didn’t fail. You made it out. You survived. And if you’d just told me what you were planning in the first place, I would’ve been there.”

Your eyes sting, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. He squeezes your hand. “You’re allowed to mess up. You’re allowed to get scared; hell, you should feel that at times. But don’t shut me out. I notice when you disappear on me. And that matters. You matter, especially to me.”

You close your eyes, trying to breathe through the tight ache in your chest.

When you open them again, Bob is still looking at you, looking at you as if you were soft, strong, unshakable.

He doesn’t let go.

And you don’t want him to.

I making a taglist lmk if youd like to be added to Bob's :)

taglist: @itsjustisa

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moon-fics · 3 days ago

Note

So I dont know if this is your style but I figured I lose nothing by asking!

I have been really wanting to see a Bob Floyd x reader, baby announcement using B.O.B (since hangman calls him Baby on Board) like reader wear a shirt with BOB right on the stomach as a hint to either the dagger squad or Bob himself and it takes way to long for people to get it 🤣 just a thought!

Your fic's have been a saving grace for my Lewis Pullman hyper fixation!

I love this idea! It's so cute and I KNOW the dagger squad would be so excited.

You cannot believe you let Jake and Nat convince you of this. Is the idea cute? Yes. Will this put a smile on Bob's face? Also, yes. So, in theory, this is a good idea. It's witty and adorable, which Bob loves.

Except you've been standing next to him the entire night, and he hasn't mentioned it. It's gotten to a point where Nat pointed at your shirt a complimented it in hopes Bob realizes. He, instead, complimented it as well.

It's comedic and torturous. You want so badly for him to figure it out on his own, but you aren't sure he will. It's not because he's stupid; he's far from that. He's just a little oblivious to the hint you're dropping. In other words, he's not picking up what you're putting down.

You haven't had a lick of alcohol either, of course, for the baby's sake. However, that can't even be seen as a hint, either, because you don't get drunk on the regular. So, you're stuck hoping something will click in his brain.

"Hey, you're looking a little different," Jake says. Your eyes snap to him with a glare that could kill him where he stands. Jake's eyes are darting between you and Bob with an expression that can only say 'come on, man'. You quickly realize he's trying to aid the process. "Have you been doing anything new?" He says with a smirk.

"A lot more cardio," You say through gritted teeth. Bob's attention has already been grabbed by the conversation. His eyes were bouncing back and forth. "I thought this shirt really showed that off." You cannot be anymore clearer.

"You do look amazing," Bob agrees with a sparkle in his eyes. "You've been glowing recently," He adds with a smile.

"Yeah, I just find it weird she's wearing a shirt with your call sign on it," Natasha finally joins in. She plants the butt of her pool stick on the ground as her investment in the topic grows. "Y'know, it reminds me of those stickers people put on their cars. What's it stand for again?" She taps her chin.

"Oh, baby on board," Bob answers with a nod. You want to slam your head into a wall. He is right on the money, and yet, he is somehow using it as printer paper. "I always thought those were cute," He chuckles. Natasha and Jake are left staring at him with amusement.

Bob turns towards you and glances at your shirt for the thirty-first time tonight. His smile drops after a few seconds, and his eyes widen. They flicker to lock with yours, and there's a question on his tongue he can't quite get out.

"Is that what it means?" He asks loudly. He already knows the answer, but he just needs to hear you say it.

"Yeah, it is." You can't stop the grin from growing on your face as his eyes light up. The moment he knows the answer, he's lifting you off the ground. His arms are tight around your torso, and you can hear his laughter.

"I'm going to be a father!" He cheers while placing you back down. Bob's enthusiasm gathers the attention of the rest of the dagger squad. Everyone besides Jake and Natasha is surprised. They all let out a few congratulations while clinking their drinks together.

"Fucking finally. I was starting to think I'd have to just straight up tell him," Jake jokes with a slight nudge to your arm.

"I would have snapped his arm for ruining the surprise," Natasha steps up next to him. Before she can say anything else, Bob is pulling you away. He's already heading out of the bar with a mission in mind.

"Honey, where are we going?" You ask in a sing-song voice.

"I just found out my wife is pregnant. I'm spending the rest of my life pampering you," He says while pulling out the car keys. He says that as if he doesn't already do that. However, you won't say anything to argue against him. You know it's pointless.

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd #robert floyd x you #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd fluff #top gun x reader #top gun #top gun fandom #top gun maverick #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x you #lewis pullman x reader

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keferon · 1 day ago

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I don't know anything about earthspark and I'm assuming it hasn't addressed it, but:

Some of the people in the bond are humans, yeah? Theyre going to die of old age eventually, even assuming nothing else takes them out. What do you think that would feel like for everyone else.

Unpopular fanon…but. I believe Terrans will have human-like life spans. I don’t have any significant proof I just feel like they have that vibe going on about them.

They feel very organic. They need this cave water to live. They were made on Earth and FOR living on Earth. And all Earth life is generally not made to live millions of years. I bet that cave won’t last even one million.

If one of them gets injured? Cybertronians don’t have all the spare parts for them. Arms, legs, sure. But anything more complicated like fuel tanks or engines? Cybertron doesn’t have engines that run on water. Actually now when I think of that….the spare limbs wouldn’t have the right type of fuel lines as well. Cybertronians can’t have anything but energon in their lines. They definitely can’t have water in there. And they can live for so long because they maintain that uhhh..like. Cleanliness from organic materials? Sterility? Nothing inside of them could develop mold or rust. It’s just metal and specially designed for them fuel. Nothing makes a machine less immortal than contact with mortality of organic environment.

So basically what I’m trying to say. I think Terrans were “designed” to live until the natural wear gets to them. And considering that they live on a farm? That’s going to happen rather quickly.

Have you seen how long all the Earth machines live for? I think Terrans might have a life span of a high quality tractor

#maccadam #transformers #damn I might need to tag those rambles separately #maybe #Tf earthspark #tf es

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twilightofthesandwiches · 9 hours ago

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Taking another look the Chapters 3 + 4 Soundtrack, and I’ve been thinking about the piano plink that usually plays when you try and make Kris play the Piano being included and labeled

As a “Concert for You”.

And I have to wonder, does that mean “You” as in “you, the player”, as in "us", as in…

Before, a lot of people interpreted Kris ‘plinking’ as then being unable to play the Piano properly due to our clumsy control. Like, as long as we're driving their body along neither they or us have the fine motor skills needed for Piano playing, much to their assumed frustration. But after the events of Chapter 4, and then also the name of this "track"… I wonder if it's more of a matter of Kris not wanting to play the Piano when we're controlling them.

Playing the piano is obviously very emotionally important for Kris. When operating freely during the opening of Chapter 4, when they think no one is watching, this is one of the few things they do not because of the Plan or the orders of Ominous Phone Voice Probably Carol, but for themself (that and the Underage Drinking). Noelle has also reminisced about how they'd never let her watch them play.

"a concert just for me" also feels like a deliberate contrast to the "Concert For You". While Kris is too emotionally distant to let Noelle watch them play, as long as she keeps the boundary of staying in the other room, Kris can play beautiful music for her. But we're both the Amoral Time Demon that has taken control of their body and a patsy for Kris and Ominous Phone Voice Probably Carol's scheme. Kris hates us, so they just refuse to play the Piano when they know we're around and are angry we're even trying to make them do it.

That "Plink..." is probably the chronologically-earliest example of Kris' rebelling against our control via Malicious Complaisance. Like when we try and take a look as Asriel's room in Cyber World, for example…

We tell them to peek inside this room and violate their brother's privacy and so they 'peek' with their eyes closed. We tell them to 'play the piano' so they play one singular shitty note on the piano and technically fulfilled our command. The only way we could make them play anything else is with stuff like Chapter 4's Piano Puzzles when we're directing every single note and step.

So that makes that moment in Chapter 4 where they take control and show off their Piano Skills on their own even more powerful.

Because…. I think Kris still hates us, but this is clearly a moment done as a gesture of emotional vulnerability for Susie and Ralsei. This is Kris basically deciding that their hatred of us is not more important than their love for their friends. So they allow Susie and Ralsei to hear them play, even if that means also letting us hear them as well. For their friends, it's worth it.

But make no mistake, this is still the Concert for You.

#deltarune #utdr #delatrune #deltarune chapter 4 #kris deltarune #deltarune spoilers #deltarune analysis #kris #kris dreemurr #deltarune kris #deltarune chapter 4 spoilers #deltarune chapter four #dr kris #kris dr #deltarune music #deltarune soundtrack #deltarune soul #soul deltarune #deltarune the player

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fic-girlie · 2 days ago

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Hey! I was wondering if you could write a scenario where the reader asks Joel if he would be open to having a threesome. You can decide whether he agrees or not. At first, he is surprised and mad by the suggestion, as he has never considered sharing his woman with another man.

No room for three

Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x gf!reader Summary: You bring up a threesome and Joel’s reaction is raw, possessive, and deeply emotional — a reminder that to him, love isn’t something you split. Warnings: established relationship, slight angst, mentions of threesome, Joel doesn't like the idea of sharing

The night settles over Jackson with a quiet kind of weight — not heavy, but full, like the air knows how close you are pressed to Joel in the warmth of your shared bed. The window is cracked an inch, just enough for the cold mountain air to slip through, brushing the back of your neck and reminding you how safe, how unbelievably safe it feels here. Wrapped in worn sheets, tangled with him.

Joel’s breath is slow and even behind you. One arm slung over your waist, palm flattened against your stomach like it belongs there — like you belong there, with him. He’s been like that all evening. Touchy. Quiet. Gentle in the way he poured your wine, more gentle in the way his lips found your shoulder as you did the dishes, not asking for anything, just needing to feel you close.

You could’ve stayed like that. But the thought’s been gnawing at you for weeks, curling around the edges of your brain, whispering into your nights.

And maybe you’ve rehearsed this moment. Maybe you’ve planned how you’d say it, how casual it might sound if you time it just right. But now that you’re here, warm in his bed with his body curved protectively around you, the words scrape your throat like they’ve grown teeth.

Still — you ask.

“Joel?”

His chest moves with a low hum. “Mm?”

You hesitate, staring at the dark lines of the ceiling. “Can I ask you something? And you promise not to freak out?”

There’s a beat. Then his voice, already slower with the onset of sleep: “Don’t know if I can promise that, darlin’. But I’ll listen.”

That gives you enough nerve to speak — to say it aloud, soft but certain. “Would you ever… I mean, have you ever thought about… us bringing someone else in?”

Joel stills behind you. Not just still — he freezes. His arm tenses across your stomach, his whole body tightening like he’s just been shot at. And then silence. A loaded one. A long one.

You’re about to fill it, to say Never mind or Just a thought — anything to make it feel less like a betrayal — but his voice cuts in, low and flat:

“...You serious?”

You shift slightly, just enough to feel him draw away from you, no longer pressed along your back. His hand is gone from your waist, withdrawn like the warmth that’s suddenly vanished from the room.

“I just… thought maybe you’d be open to it,” you say quietly. “It doesn’t have to mean anything bad. Just something new. Something we’d share.”

Joel’s breath leaves him in a short, sharp laugh — but it’s not amused. It’s bitter.

“So you wanna be with somebody else. And you want me in the room for it.”

You sit up now, turning toward him in the dark, your hands gripping the blanket. “No. I want us to do something together. Not because I’m not happy — I am, Joel, I swear to God — but because… I don’t know. I thought it might be something we explore.”

He’s sitting up too, shoulders hunched, jaw clenched in that stubborn, weathered way he gets when he’s cornered. His face is shadowed, unreadable in the low light, but you can see the tension in every line of him.

His voice is rough now. Barely restrained. “Explore? You think I wanna watch some guy put his fuckin’ hands on you?”

You flinch — not at the volume, but at the heat behind it.

“I didn’t say it had to be a guy,” you offer quietly, but the words fall flat.

Joel’s already shaking his head. His hands scrub down his face. “Don’t matter. Man, woman — I don’t give a shit. I ain’t interested in sharin’ you. Not now, not ever.”

You’re quiet. You’re not sure what you expected, but the anger in him burns hotter than you imagined. “It’s not about sharing. It’s just… some couples do it. Sometimes it brings people closer.”

Joel turns sharply, the mattress shifting with the movement. “This ain’t a goddamn experiment.”

He gets out of bed — not storming, but agitated, pacing the room shirtless in the low flicker of the bedside lamp across the room. His hands are on his hips, the other rubbing at the back of his neck, like he’s trying to keep the anger in check, trying not to explode.

You sit in silence, heart thudding. You want to say something — anything — to ease the tension, but he beats you to it.

His voice is softer now, but somehow that hurts more. “You don’t get it, do you?”

You lift your gaze, watching him in the glow of firelight. He looks exhausted — not just tired, but worn, like your question peeled back something he’s tried hard to keep buried.

“You don’t know what it does to me just thinkin’ about it,” he mutters. “You’re mine. And I don’t mean that in some possessive, macho bullshit kinda way — I mean it like… you’re my peace. The only thing I got left that feels real. You let someone else into that, it don’t stay sacred.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. The weight of his words sinks deep. You hadn’t thought about it like that — not fully. Not the way it would feel to him. You were thinking of adventure, maybe connection. But Joel sees it as something breaking. Something bleeding.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you whisper, and your voice cracks because it’s true.

“I know,” he says. And he does. You can see it in the way his eyes drop, in the way his shoulders slope forward now, his anger already fading into something more fragile.

He sits down on the edge of the bed again, elbows on his knees. Silent for a long while.

“Back before all this — before the outbreak — maybe I would’ve been that guy. The one who says yeah, sure, why not. Numb enough to try anything once. But now? After everything I’ve lost?” He turns to look at you, and it’s real, raw. “I ain’t got the heart to pretend I’m okay watchin’ someone else touch the only woman I’ve let love me in more than twenty years.”

You move then — slowly, cautiously — reaching across the mattress to touch his back. His skin is warm, slightly damp with tension, and he lets you rest your palm there without pulling away.

“I wasn’t thinking of replacing you,” you murmur. “Just… wanted to be honest about something that crossed my mind. I won’t bring it up again.”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. Just lets his head drop forward, breathing deep.

Then, with a little sigh, he shifts to lie down again. You follow, lying beside him, and after a long moment, he pulls you close — tucks you under his arm, presses a kiss to your temple. It’s not forgiveness, not fully. But it’s something.

His voice is quiet when he speaks again. “Just promise me you don’t want more than what we’ve got.”

You press your lips to the hollow of his throat, whisper against his skin.

“I don’t want more, Joel. I want you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His arms tighten around you. His lips graze your hair. And though the silence that follows is thick, it’s no longer cold. It’s not perfect — nothing is. But it’s real.

#pedro pascal #pedropascal #joel miller #joelmiller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #jackson!joel #pedro pascal fandom

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jadedsomething · 3 days ago

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Living a healthy life: exercise, healthy diet, community support, basically having all your needs met, is pretty much why cancer is as big of a deal as it is now considering physical illness is no longer a threat to the average person like it used to be. Dangerous diseases have been eradicated, and we constantly watch for anything that could cause harm to society, often intervening before its a problem to anyone else.

I don't know why some people would rather have a casket than an autistic child. Do antivaxxers really mean to tell their kids if anything was wrong with them they'd rather not have a kid? I wouldn't love my parents either if they told me they would rather I be dead than different.

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suguwu · 2 days ago

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this goes with the reader who has a curse in them. minors and ageless blogs dni—you will be blocked.

gn!reader. near death experiences.

—

getou and gojo take you to tokyo.

it's summer; the cicadas hum, a constant choir. the wet lick of a heatwave has settled oppressive over campus. you're sweating, but they sit too close anyway, their skin tacky against yours.

you don't struggle.

"wanna come on our mission?" gojo asks, nudging you with his shoulder. he's sucking on an ice pop, his lips tinted blue, the same brightness of his eyes.

"do i get a choice?"

"nope!"

you sigh. "fine. i'll come."

getou chuckles, pressing closer. "you don't need to make it sound like a funeral."

(it will be, but none of you know that.

not yet.)

you groan. "just go get ready," you say. "i'll meet you by the gate."

you can feel their eyes searing through you; the thing in you flinches. you gasp in a sharp breath. the world blurs for an instant, a watercolor thing.

when the thing in you steadies, so does the world.

there's a shock of cold against your neck, a glacier's biting ice. you yelp as the ice lolly drips against you. you try to push gojo away, but he's stronger. he smears it on the salt of your skin once more, winter's kiss, and then pulls back.

"don't be late," he says with a grin, popping the lolly back into his mouth.

you scowl at him, holding a hand against the numb spot on your neck. it's sticky.

"be nice, satoru," getou scolds. too late, as always.

gojo laughs, pushing to his feet. getou joins him, though he nudges against you one last time. gojo waves energetically as the two of them leave. you don't return it.

as promised, you meet them at the gate.

they squish you between them in the manager's car. you hadn't expected anything else. you stare out the windshield as the landscape speeds by, their voices a background hum.

the manager drops the three of you off. you follow them into the site, the hairs on the back of your neck rising as the seething mass of cursed energy ripples towards you.

neither of them seem particularly bothered.

it's simple. at least for them. they dismantle the curse piece by piece, calling back and forth to each other with grins.

you just watch.

it ends as it always does: with them the victors. they're already making their way back to you, swapping jokes, when everything explodes.

it's thousands of small curses spewing from the wreckage of the special grade. they fill the air like a swarm of bats, swooping low and plucking at you the way a guitarist picks at strings.

gojo blasts a path through them. it fills instantly.

"shit, that's annoying," he groans.

"have fun," getou says with a chuckle. "it's your turn, anyway."

"ugh. fine."

it's too late for you to realize.

a pulse of cursed energy leaves gojo, rippling out like water. the little curses screech as it washes over them, disintegrating into ash. it rushes over you like the tide, all consuming.

the thing in you withers instantly.

your heart stops.

you clutch at your chest, sinking to your knees. there's ash drifting through the air like confetti. you see getou and gojo turning towards you, the way their jubilant expressions melt.

things get blurry, then. you think you're out of touch with the world, that you're just a step behind it.

"fuck!" you hear, but it's muffled, as if you're underwater.

something slides under your back. it takes your weight, holds you up. there's fingers at your jaw, pressing into the hinge of it. they snake to your mouth, dip between your lips.

something presses on to your tongue. it's rancid. meat gone rotten mixed with the sludge of overripe fruit.

"swallow," someone urges. "swallow!"

you think you do.

something unfurls in you. it webs across the root system of your nerves; it slithers its way into your heart. it wraps around it like a fist and pulses.

your heart pumps, just once.

it does it again.

your heart kicks. stutters. then it starts again, battering against your chest like a drum.

when it settles, your heart is beating in gentle rhythm, like waves washing against the shore. you hiss in a breath. your chest is tender, a stitched wound.

you peel open your eyes.

getou is kneeling beside you. his hair is loosening from its bun; it spills over his shoulder like calligrapher's ink. gojo is at your back, his fingers sinking in to the spaces between your ribs.

they're both talking, but you can't quite hear them. getou cups your face, his hands a cradle.

"you're okay," he says, the first thing to break through your daze, a shattering of river ice. "you're okay."

something in you stirs. it has a mouth like you've never felt before, its teeth sunk into your bones.

"what did you do?" you croak.

but you already know.

—

it will take years, but one night, suguru will come to you. there will be blood spattered across his clothes, rusting into a deep brown.

"i'm leaving," he will say. "come with me."

his curse will throb within you.

you will not have a choice.

you take his hand and let him lead you out the door.

#juni drabbles #heartbeat dream #getou x reader #gojo x reader

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firingstars · 2 days ago

Text

in this life | ch. 2

bucky barnes x female reader

summary: "There's only one God, doll, and He's gonna bring me back to you." "I don't need God," you told him, fresh tears brimming over your eyes. "I just need you."

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, wall sex, clothed sex, fingering, its a quickie, reincarnation trope, language, mentions of financial instability, memories are written with italicizes, no use of y/n, angst, yearning, longing, everyone's alive no one is dead because i said so, alternating pov's

word count: 4.2k

a/n: btw i guess i have an obsession with making peter parker the reader's friend but i promise peter is happy in this fic and mj is also your best friend and ned is also mentioned as well-- you work with mj at the diner LOLLL

previous chapter | next chapter

“Sergeant B̴̜̟̬̿͐ä̸̲̯̳͛̔r̵͉̆n̷͔̯̏̿ẽ̷̥̅͂s̸̠̣̹̒͒,” you read the order, forcing a smile on your face. “107th infantry. Sounds kinda important. Like you’ll be in the front lines.”

“Something like that,” he mutters, fussing with the belt around his waist. You let out a breath, re-reading the words on the ink smudged letter once more.

You already memorized each letter on this small piece of paper. To you, this letter signified the end of your entire world.

“How do I look, pretty girl?” he asked, turning to face you. He takes the letter from your hands once again, tucking it away into his breast pocket where you can’t reach it. You’ve been spending every waking moment of your time ingraining the orders into your mind like it was a death sentence. To you, it is. He’s trying to make you forget about it.

You give him a hum of approval, letting your eyes roam all over his figure. As much as you hate the reason why he’s wearing the uniform, you can’t deny that he looks incredibly handsome in it. He had gotten it tailored to fit him, so it’s perfectly fitting his body in all the right places. Maybe it’s something about seeing a man in a work uniform, in the same way that you swoon when he wears a suit for special occasions.

“Like you’re about to head into war,” you replied with a snort.

“Probably because I am,” he said with a shake of his head. There’s a smile somewhere on his face. You can hear it. You don’t answer him though. You’re a bit busy undressing him with your eyes. Tearing off the uniform into scrapes of thread that you could reuse for something else would be nice. Pushing his naked body into the bed would be even better. Maybe you would keep his dog tags around his neck, just so you could use it to pull him down onto you.

Fingers are placed under your chin, and you’re forced to look up at him, to meet the eyes that you can’t see.

“We don’t have time for whatever you’re thinking of, doll. We have to go meet S̶͔̄͑t̸̙̜̏e̷̲͎̠̅̂v̴͚̤̱̐ḭ̶̊́̕e̴̦̥͖̋ for the Stark Expo,” he said, his voice dropping dangerously low with that deep husk that makes a shiver run down your spine.

“Wasn’t thinking of anything,” you told him, feigning innocence with a sweet smile.

“Really? A shame, I thought we were thinking of the same thing,” he sighed, releasing his hold on your chin. You raise an eyebrow at him, tilting your head.

“What would that be?” you said, looking up at him from your lashes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he whispered, his voice soft and teasing.

“It’s an order, Sergeant. From your direct supervisor,” you said, watching as his shoulders shake slightly with a chuckle. “I suggest you hurry up and act before you piss me off and make us late.”

“Can’t be disobeying my first order, now can I?” he grinned, reaching for the sleeves of your dress.

“Maybe you could,” you hummed, already making work of undoing the belt around his waist before getting to the buttons of his blazer. “Maybe you could get dishonorably discharged, get sent home back to me.”

“Don’t make me laugh, doll,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your neck.

“Worth a shot,” you sighed into him, carefully pushing his blazer off his shoulders. He allowed you to, and you made sure to gently drape it over the couch in a way that it wouldn’t wrinkle.

“Can’t fully get undressed, pretty,” he muttered, gathering the skirt of your dress in one hand to get it out of the way to allow his other hand to reach beneath it. You let out a soft gasp as his fingers started to play with your clit over the fabric of your undergarments.You grabbed onto his arms for stability, resting your forehead on his shoulder. “We gotta be fast.”

“Fast– why aren’t you inside me yet then, Sergeant?” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he stuck a knee between your legs to spread them more. His fingers shifted, moving the fabric of your underwear to the side so he could slip his fingers right into your aching pussy.

“You’re naughty,” he clicked his tongue. “Already dripping. Is it the uniform?”

“No,” you quickly responded. A lie, one that he caught, and answered by curling his fingers in you the way that he knew would make you tremble.

You moaned into his shoulder, and he hummed happily in response, his fingers speeding up the work. They massaged within you quickly, performing in ways that only he knew you liked. The ways that he only was allowed to touch you– ways that he could only have you. You were a goner, clenching around his fingers, trembling against his body.

“I got you. You’re doing so well. So good for me,” he whispered the praise in your ear. “Cum for me, pretty girl. Cum for me, then I’ll stuff you full of my cock. Sounds good?”

You nodded frantically, unable to produce the words to answer him. You were so close, right at the edge of the cliff– and he pressed the heel of his palm to your clit. You were undone just like that. A moaning, shaking mess. His other arm wrapped around your waist to hold you upright against him as you trembled in his arms, his fingers slowing but never stopping as you came on them.

When the shaking subsided, you were being lifted up, legs being wrapped around his waist. You felt your back against the wall, and you lifted your head to look at him– only to throw your head back against the wall with a moan as he slipped inside you without warning.

“B̷̺̝̤̉ṵ̷̓̑͑c̷̠̆̈́̒̋k̸̢̖̰͚͔̾͐̐̒͌,” you gasp, holding onto his shoulders for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you quickly. He was so pretty like this– still in his military dress uniform. He was slightly unkempt now, his dress pants pushed below his waist so he could bury his cock in you without restraint.

“Yeah, doll?” he whispered, burying his face in your neck, breathing heavily. His heart was beating as fast as yours. You could feel him– feel how hard he was inside of you. His cock was twitching and jumping in reaction to every pulse of your already sensitive walls, and you were going to cum again soon.

“It– it’s too much,” you stammered, digging your nails through his shirt and into his skin. “Baby, slow down–”

“No can do,” he grunted, snapping his hips into you even harder. “We gotta be fast, sweetheart. You… you said it yourself. We gotta go.”

You whine in response, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You really couldn’t take it anymore. He hadn’t given you much time to come down from your previous release before he had set a punishing pace with his cock, and you were done for with him so close to you.

With one more specific thrust, one more moan that hit your ears, you were cumming around him, clamping hard on his dick and tensing against his body. Your lover cursed, holding you tighter to him as he came in you with one last thrust, filling you with his own release.

He pressed kisses all over your face, murmuring praises in between each one. He held onto your legs as he carried you to the bathroom, only separating your body from his when he had you seated on the sink counter. You both moaned one last time as he slipped out of you.

Your lover grabbed a washcloth, and began to clean up the mess in between your legs, then himself, then made work to make both of you look presentable again before checking the time on his wrist.

“Looks like we’re gonna be late, doll,” he chuckled.

You wake with a deep sigh, throwing your arm over your eyes as you try to calm down your thundering heartbeat. More often than not these days, you were having wet dreams of this soldier man. You couldn’t even tell anyone you were lusting over a soldier from the 40s that was about to head off into war.

The digital clock on your night stand lets you know you woke up a couple hours earlier than you needed to for your lecture. You could risk it by going back to sleep. You only entertain the idea for a couple more seconds before you force yourself out of bed and into the shower to clean the sticky mess between your legs.

You have a neuroscience exam coming up in a few days and a psychology exam later that day, but you can’t study as much as you want to. With both your dreams harassing you with details that you haven’t even experienced in real life, along with the crippling fear of drowning in student debt, you’re stuck working late nights at the diner down the street from your university.

Honestly, you want to wrap your hands around your throat for doing this to yourself. The only reason you chose this field of study– Traumatic Memory Rehabilitation Science– is because of the doctors that let you down as a teenager. There has to be something wrong with you. You were convinced there had to be. Something that you missed in your developmental stages of life that’s causing all of these dreams.

That was the selfish reason, at least.

The selfless version that you told others was simply the fact that you lived in New York and there were more than several times a year when the city became a breeding ground for trauma and heartache. You could help people while helping yourself. And get good money doing it, too.

Money.

You don’t even want to look at your bank account, and you ignore the way your stomach growls. It was the beginning of the month, and you already paid the rent. At the very least, you wouldn’t have to worry about that expense for another thirty days. If things really got tough, you could dip into your savings and treat yourself to a nice meal. You decided to refrain. You could charm the line cook into giving you a free dish later on when you clocked in for your shift.

Which is exactly what you attempt to do after you put your uniform on. Thankfully, he’s a big softie and you get a warm plate of mashed potatoes and a lesser grade cut of steak, but beggars can't be choosers and meat is meat.

“Table in your section– two customers,” your coworker and one of your closest friends, MJ, called from the front.

“Coming,” you responded, forcing another few mouthfuls down your throat before washing it all away with two gulps of water.

“Heads up,” MJ said as she handed you menus and a mint, “they’re kinda hot.”

“I’m telling Peter you said that,” you scoffed at her. She grinned at you as she watched you pop the mint in your mouth and tuck the menus under your arm before grabbing a couple of waters to bring to the table.

You wanted to shoot MJ in the foot the second your table came into view. You did everything in your power to stop yourself from tripping over your feet and spilling the waters in your hands. Your customers weren’t just kinda hot. They were the embodiment of desire and sex and all things sinful.

Steve Rogers was sitting at your table, with James Buchanan Barnes in front of him.

Oh, shit.

“Good evening, boys,” you said, placing their glasses on the table along with the menus. You tell them your name, “I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you something other to drink than water?”

Both men are staring at you like you have two heads. You’d be lying if it wasn’t unnerving. Did you smell like steak? Was your eyeliner smudged? Maybe you had a loop in your hair and they were staring at it, wondering if it was the polite thing to do to tell you about it. Either way, it was making your heart pound in your chest with anxiety the longer they didn’t speak. Usually customers wouldn’t bother you like this, but this was different. These were two war heroes and current superheroes.

“Should I give you two a few more minutes?” you finally speak once more, taking a deep breath as you do.

It’s Steve who snaps out of it, and clears his throat. “No, sorry. Lost in thought– um. Water is good. Thank you. We might need a few minutes to decide what we’ll order though.”

“No worries at all. I’ll come back in a few to check up on you. Call for me if you decide earlier,” you said, releasing the breath. Thank God.

Steve gives you a grateful smile, and nods once. You glance over to his partner sitting across from him, your gaze lingering on him for longer than you would like to admit.

You’ve read about both men in your history classes. You’ve had tests and quizzes on them for as long as you could remember. You recall having a field trip to the museum to see the memorial structure that was made for the two of them when you were in high school, and you remember when Captain America first emerged from the ice. You also remember when the Winter Soldier was all over the news, and how everyone online was torn into sides over the fact that he got a pardon.

Yet, you realize that you don’t think any of the pictures you’ve seen in your textbooks, in the museums, or on the news could do his face any justice. He looks tired, which is a given based on the information that you know about him, but it doesn’t hide how pretty he looks. Stormy, steel blue eyes that stared into yours without wavering. A short beard growing on his face from not shaving for a couple days. Hair that stopped above his shoulders, but looked well taken care of and maintained. He was also bigger than you remembered. He’s full of muscle and memories, all from the years of time that he’s spent fighting.

You pause at the thought.

Bigger than you remembered?

What the hell were you thinking of? This was the first time you’ve ever seen this man in person, first time that he’s ever been within arm's length to you. There’s nothing to remember here.

You give him a smile, and tear your gaze away from his, ignoring the tug in your chest as you do. You need another drink of water. Or a shot. Something to get you through the next hour or two that these guys will be in your section.

You lock eyes with MJ briefly, and she raises her eyebrows at you in amusement. You glare at her in response as the front door opens, signaling that another patron has walked in.

Thankfully, the dinner rush starts to pile in not too long after. You don’t have the time to contemplate what just happened when you locked eyes with the soldier. You were even more grateful that both men seemed to pull themselves together out of whatever stupor they were in, and ordered without another awkward pause between the two of you.

You raced around the diner like this, checking up on them briefly to make sure they didn’t need anything else, made sure their food was cooked properly and tasted good, and kept refilling their waters when you noticed their glasses were running low. You would be damned if Captain America had to ask you for a refill on water.

When Steve finally caught your attention to ask for the check, you decided to make an executive decision.

“On the house,” you said, waving a hand like it was nothing.

“What?” Steve asked, pausing in grabbing his wallet from his pocket.

You gave him a shrug. “For your service. Back then and now. I grew up on stories from my grandfather saying that you saved him from an enemy bunker during the war. He loved the two of you,” you confessed, shaking your head at the memory before looking at them again. “And for your service now. I don’t love that the city I grew up in is always being attacked, but it’s nice to know that you guys are around to put everything back together.”

Both men stare at you, and you think you’ve said too much. You feel a little embarrassed, gushing over your childhood superheroes like this. So, you clear your throat and give them another small, sheepish smile.

“I hope you two have a great night,” you said. “Take your time, too. No rush to get out the door.”

You quickly leave their table before they can protest your decision for a free meal. Your paycheck will take the hit, but you feel good about it at least.

Both men linger in the diner for a little while longer before they decide to pick themselves up and leave. Once they’re gone and out the door, you start to clear the dishes from their table. Then, you freeze. A fat stack of cash is sitting underneath one of the plates, next to a napkin with writing. You pick up the napkin, your hands trembling as you read the words over and over again.

Thanks for the meal, doll. - Sergeant

You carried the money back home in your purse, clutching the accessory like you were holding some sort of bomb. You were still trembling that night when you counted every single bill, only to realize that each bill was a pretty Benjamin staring straight at you.

You ended up googling how much money Avengers made because there was no way that they just walked away from your table after paying your entire tuition for the year. Or rather– was it just Bucky? Barnes was a Sergeant, you knew that. The napkin that you had carefully placed on your nightstand was only from him.

Your mind was still reeling, and you didn’t touch the money for a week. You couldn’t. You kept your eyes and ears open more than usual, looking around every single corner, and perking up at every single patron that walked through the doors of the diner. Maybe Bucky would return, and you could confront him. Tell him to take back the money, that it was too damn much for you to just accept.

But when the first bill came in your mailbox, and you looked at your checking account, your mind only wandered back to the cash you had carefully hidden away behind your dresser. You’d become paranoid at this point, thinking that everyone knew how much money you were harboring. Of course, ten grand really wasn’t that much in the grand scheme of things. Still, it was more than enough to keep you comfortable for a while.

You sighed and went down to your university’s finance department, ready to pay off a bill for the semester.

“Hm? It’s already been taken care of.”

You’re about to throw up.

“What?” you breathe, mind racing. “What do you mean it’s been taken care of?”

“You were accepted for one of the Stark Foundation’s scholarships,” the receptionist said, typing away at her computer. “Pretty impressive, if you tell me. Tony Stark has been pretty selective in who he chooses for that scholarship. Just keep your grades up, and the rest of your schooling is paid for. If you graduate with enough honors and recognition, I’m sure that he’ll take you in for an internship for the research you’re conducting.”

You didn’t know what to say. Reality didn’t feel real anymore. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought you were dreaming at this moment, but there was no way that you could have been– he wasn’t here. All your dreams included him.

“Oh, and the scholarship includes a meal plan,” the receptionist said, taking a brochure out from her drawer. “For the university’s cafeterias.”

Your university had the best damn food you’d ever tried, but the issue was that it was too expensive without a meal plan to pay for it. You’d had it once, twice, when you were desperate enough between classes and on the brink of starvation. Your next planned time to go there was before you graduated and left the campus behind.

“Congratulations on your scholarship,” the receptionist smiled at you, and you could tell it was genuine. However, she looked behind you towards the line of other students waiting to pay their bills. “Is there anything else that I can help you with today?”

“No. Sorry– um. I didn’t apply for any scholarship,” you quickly said, snapping back into your body after the brief metaphysical journey you went through in your head. “I have the regular grants given to me by the state and some other smaller scholarships that I qualified for, but I wasn’t qualified for Stark Foundation.”

“Stark Foundation is always looking for bright young minds to push the world forward in these tough times. You must’ve caught his eye with a couple of your essays or papers that you published this year.”

You shook your head. No. You knew that it wasn’t enough because you researched it. You applied for every damn scholarship under the sun, and you didn’t meet all of Tony Stark’s requirements. He was looking for engineers. You were studying towards mental health and memory reconstruction and trauma rehabilitation.

“What– what’s the exact name of the scholarship?” you stuttered, still confused.

The receptionist let out a little sigh, visibly more annoyed now. She clicked a few more buttons on her mouse, looking at her computer screen before glancing back at you.

“It looks like you have received the Anthony E. Stark Foundation Legacy Scholarship of Distinguished Scholars and Scientific Excellence award.”

You have never even heard of such a damn thing before.

You leave the administration office, feeling more confused than before. None of this makes sense. Your entire world had been knocked off balance in just one week, but nothing was technically wrong. Was this luck of the draw?

You pull your phone out of your pocket, immediately calling Peter. It rang once, twice, and he picked up on the third time.

“Hey!” he greeted you, sounding extremely chipper. “What’s up?”

“Since when does Tony Stark give out scholarships to people that don’t apply for it– people that don’t even qualify for it?” you asked him.

“Huh? Mr. Stark? Uh… From what I know, and I’m just an intern– the scholarships are a real grueling process. He only grants them to the students that he wants to work with in the future, but there’s a bunch of different meetings and lots of processes that the person has to go through to even secure the scholarship,” Peter answered.

“Is that what you went through?” you demanded.

“Well, you know about my… special circumstances,” he said slowly, and you let out a breath. “And so does Mr. Stark.”

“Right. Of course. Sorry, Peter,” you murmured.

“Are you okay? You sound a bit off,” he said, and you could hear the worry in his voice.

“I’m fine,” you said, a bit too fast to sound convincing. “Um– is MJ working later tonight? If so, I’ll see her at the diner.”

“Oh, yeah. Me and Ned will stop by for dinner, too,” he replied, and you were thankful he accepted the topic change.

“Cool. Cool,” you whispered, then cleared your throat. “I gotta go now, but I’ll see you later.”

You didn’t wait for your friend’s response before hanging up the phone. Your mind was still reeling at the cards dealt to you. You had a scholarship. You had a meal plan to feed you when you were on campus.

Your feet froze in place as the situation dawned upon you.

Steve and Bucky did something. If it wasn’t Peter, then it had to be them. You don’t know why this is tugging at your chest, or why you have such a strong feeling, but you just know that the two of them had something to do with this. They had to. It started off with the money that Bucky left you on your table. Both of them had direct connections to Iron Man, and you don’t think it would be that difficult for them to figure out who the hell you were by just seeing your face and hearing your name once.

Was this the positive karma coming back to you just for giving them one free meal? Did both men feel the need to repay you after showing them some basic respect for the work they’ve done for the city– for the world?

You try to ignore a deeper feeling inside of you. They looked at you like they knew you. Like they had history with you, and were making up for lost time in their own way. It was a silly, strange feeling, but all at the same time– you felt that you knew them. That they did this, that they have had to do this.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you saw the soft splatters of tears on the concrete at your feet. You let out a soft laugh, touching your face.

It wasn’t tears of happiness. Strangely enough, you felt empty.

next chapter

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