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reiding-writing · 3 months ago

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What about a cold!reader where Spencer gets jealous this time?

Like they meet another police team and they also have a "Spencer" who's dorky and they don't really listen to his rambling so she's kind to him (in her own cold!reader way) Spencer is like "???? The fuck is this exactly?"

SILENT TREATMENT. /spencer reid/

spencer’s not sure if you made the right decision by choosing him. you know that you did.

s10!cold!reader 3.1k flangst series masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | i fear i missed the ‘police team’ part of the first request and made spencer 2.0 a pathologist instead, oops-

The air in the precinct is heavy with stale coffee and tension. You stand at the whiteboard, arms crossed, eyes scanning the photographs pinned to it—victims, maps, timelines.

The others are seated around the table, all mid-discussion, but you’re quiet. Not checked out. Just… precise. Listening without indulging the noise.

You speak when necessary.

“Victim three deviates from the geographical pattern. If it was opportunistic, the UnSub’s comfort zone is widening. If it wasn’t—he’s accelerating.”

Rossi nods, pen tapping against the table. “Could be staging, too. Make it look random.”

“Could be.” You don’t elaborate. You don’t fill silences. You let them speak if they have something worth adding.

No one pushes for more. They know how you operate. They know you don’t soften things. Not for comfort, not for camaraderie. You’re professional, respected—and emotionally distant, even now, even years into working with them.

The only exception to that is sitting three feet away from you, pretending to read a file he’s already memorised twice.

Spencer is quiet. Quieter than usual. His gaze flicks to you every so often, like he’s trying to time something—his words, maybe. Your reactions. Your temperature. Whatever it is, he’s trying to gauge where you’re at without having to ask.

“Spencer,” you say without looking at him, “page twelve. The blood spatter analysis.”

He’s already on it, of course. He lifts his eyes quickly. “Right—uh, yeah. The cast-off patterns indicate repeated strikes from a blunt object, likely with some torque. There's arterial spray on the west wall, so the blow that killed her came from the left side.”

You give a small nod. “Thanks.”

That’s it. No warmth. No smile. But Spencer straightens a little like it meant something. Like he’s grateful for being asked.

Emily side-eyes the two of you, not subtle in the least. “Is it just me, or has Boy Wonder been extra clingy lately?”

Morgan grins over his coffee. “You noticed that too, huh? He’s been on her like a puppy. Following her around the crime scenes, sitting next to her at lunch, hanging on her every word…”

JJ chimes in, amused. “It’s kind of cute. He’s like one of those Victorian ghosts—you know, all sad eyes and emotional repression,”

“Hey,” Spencer protests, not quite looking at any of them. “I don’t—cling,”

You don’t react. You never do when they tease him. And Spencer doesn’t look to you for help either, but you can feel the tension in his shoulders beside you.

Still, they’re not wrong.

He’s been… off lately. Not in a way most people would notice, but you’re not most people. He’s always been close to you, but recently, he’s orbiting you in smaller, tighter circles. Sitting closer. Waiting longer when you speak, like he's hoping you'll say something more.

The team has picked up on it. Of course they have. But they don’t know. Not really. They just think he’s crushing harder than usual. No one suspects what’s actually going on—because you’ve made sure of that.

You and Spencer aren’t the kind of couple who touch hands under the table or exchange soft smiles across briefing rooms. You’re not a couple that does anything in front of people, really. You’re together, but that truth stays tucked away between you and him, guarded in the quiet moments that happen off the clock.

Moments no one else sees.

“You doing okay?” you ask him quietly as the others begin packing up for the next site visit.

Spencer looks startled. “Me?”

You don’t repeat yourself.

He nods, quickly. “Yeah. Just… yeah,”

You hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary. A flicker of something passes between you. Reassurance, maybe. Or a silent understanding.

Morgan watches the exchange from the other side of the room, eyebrows lifting. “Okay, seriously, what is that?”

You ignore him. You grab your coat.

Hotch glances at his watch, then at you. “You and Reid head to the ME’s office. JJ, Emily, and Morgan—head to the victim’s apartment.”

Spencer immediately moves to follow, a bit too fast, a bit too eager.

Emily catches your arm on the way out, voice low. “You’d tell me, right?”

You pause. “Tell you what?”

She gives you a long look. “Never mind,”

—

The mortuary is colder than usual, the sterile, humming kind of cold that seeps through your coat and settles deep in your bones. You don’t shiver. You just pull on a pair of latex gloves and nod at the technician who leads you and Spencer toward the back.

The morgue table is already prepped, and the body is covered with a clean white sheet. It’s clinical. Organised. Efficient.

Spencer walks beside you in silence, his hands folded in front of him, shoulders set in that way that means he’s wound a little too tight. You don’t ask why. You already know. He’s been tense since yesterday—since you listened to the young tech at the crime scene rattle off chemical compositions and possible causes of decomp with the kind of enthusiasm Spencer usually reserves for classical literature and obscure physics.

Now, you’re both here again, about to meet another new person excited to talk about death.

The doors swing open, and in walks a man who can’t be older than twenty-eight. Blonde hair slightly ruffled, round glasses sliding down his nose, blue gloves snapped on too tight. He’s grinning before he even says hello.

“You must be the agents! I’m Tyler, the newest forensic pathologist on-site.” He says it like he’s giving a TED Talk. “Technically I’m still finishing my fellowship, but I’ve done two post-grads already, and I’ve been shadowing Dr. Karlsen for the last three months—”

Behind him, a woman in her sixties, presumably Dr. Karlsen, sighs audibly. “Tyler,”

“Right, right,” Tyler says, waving her off. “Back on track. Let’s begin,”

He peels back the sheet with a reverent kind of gentleness, like he’s revealing a masterpiece, not a victim of a homicide. You don’t react, not outwardly. You observe the bruising around the throat, the defensive wounds along the forearms, the way one wrist seems just slightly dislocated from the rest of the body’s alignment.

Spencer shifts beside you, already piecing things together.

Tyler claps once, low but excited. “So, cause of death was asphyxiation due to manual strangulation, but what’s really interesting is the laryngeal cartilage—you see here?” He gestures with tweezers, careful not to touch. “This fracture on the right side of the thyroid cartilage? It’s called a hyoid crush. Super rare, but it suggests a significant amount of pressure, possibly done from behind. Also—if you look just under here—”

Spencer speaks up, voice dry. “That damage could also occur post-mortem if the body was handled roughly during movement. Depending on the timeline, it’s not definitive,”

Tyler blinks. “Yes—true! Great point. But in this case, time of death aligns pretty tightly with the estimated bruising pattern, which I can show you in just a moment. And did you know—” He turns toward you now, eyes bright behind his glasses. “—that the thyroid cartilage, especially in females, doesn’t always ossify the way it does in males? That’s why injuries here can be harder to spot unless you’re really looking,”

You nod once. “Interesting.”

He beams, clearly encouraged. “Oh! And even cooler—well, not for the victim, obviously—but cool from a physiological standpoint—is that the arterial pressure around the carotid sinus can trigger something called a vagal response. It can actually kill a person instantly. That’s why sometimes you see victims with minimal signs of struggle. Their heart just… stops,”

You don’t interrupt. You just let him go on, standing still, arms crossed loosely over your chest. Your face is unreadable, but you’re listening. Not because you’re overly impressed—his information is nothing Spencer couldn’t rattle off half-asleep—but because it’s rare to see someone talk about this stuff with that kind of earnest joy. It’s not affection, not interest. It’s more like watching a dog with a brand-new toy. Mildly amusing. Harmless.

Spencer doesn’t see it that way.

He’s standing rigid beside you now, arms crossed, jaw set tight. You can practically feel the radiating jealousy off him like static. Tyler’s voice is all you can hear in the room, but Spencer’s silence is louder.

Dr. Karlsen cuts in after a minute, clearing her throat.

“Tyler. You’re wandering,”

“Right, right, sorry,” he mutters sheepishly. “Okay. So, other injuries: mild contusions to the upper back, inconsistent with the ligature pattern on the neck—suggests those came before the primary attack. Or from an external for e,”

Spencer murmurs, almost too low to be heard, “Or the UnSub simply pressed her down with a knee to control movement,”

You glance at him. His eyes aren’t on you—they’re locked on the mortician, unblinking.

Tyler continues without noticing. “I’ll upload full reports to the BAU’s system. But if you’d like to stay, I’ve got the next autopsy scheduled in twenty minutes. It’s unrelated, but the skull fracture’s really unusual—he fell into an industrial lathe, if you can believe that—”

“Thank you,” you interrupt, voice calm. “But we’ve got another scene to process.”

Tyler deflates a little but still smiles. “Of course. Good luck with the case,”

Spencer doesn’t say goodbye.

—

Back at the precinct, the team regroups. Photos scatter across the table, evidence logs updated, and reports uploaded. It’s a flurry of movement, conversation, caffeine.

Spencer stays quiet.

Even when Garcia calls in with a list of potential suspect matches, even when JJ reads off new victimology data—he’s present, but distant. Contributing, but subdued.

The turning point comes when you’re scanning Tyler’s preliminary report again, eyes catching on something he’d mentioned in passing—about the bruising pattern not matching the ligature marks.

You frown. “This doesn’t make sense.”

Hotch looks up. “What is it?”

You pull a photo closer. “The bruising on the victim’s upper back was dismissed as unrelated, but if the UnSub had control of her neck from behind, these could be from bracing his knee. Except the angles are wrong, which means she was restrained by someone else beforehand. Or there were multiple offenders.”

A beat.

Morgan leans in. “Multiple Unsubs? Are you sure?”

Reid is already flipping through crime scene notes, pulling up maps, rearranging the timeline.

But you know the shift started with something Tyler said. A stray, almost off-hand detail—one Spencer had dismissed. And now, it’s cracked the case wide open.

You glance over at him again.

His expression is neutral, but you know him. Know the set of his jaw, the small twitch of his fingers against the folder, the way he suddenly won’t meet your eyes.

He’s not okay.

And the silence keeps going.

And going.

Spencer doesn’t sit next to you at the precinct. He doesn’t offer up extra information unless someone asks directly. He doesn’t bring you your usual coffee without saying anything, doesn’t lean over your shoulder to glance at your notes, doesn’t linger when you leave the room.

At first, you don’t even notice. Not really. You’re used to space. You need space. Silence doesn’t alarm you—it comforts you. If he wants room, you’ll give it. That’s part of being with someone, right? Letting them breathe.

But then it starts to feel like something else.

Something heavier.

His eyes avoid yours. His steps fall behind the team, not beside you. His voice, when he speaks, sounds smaller. Not quieter. Smaller.

And the team—well, they notice.

They notice fast.

“What do you think happened?” JJ whispers, leaning toward Morgan at the conference table.

Morgan lifts a brow. “Between Doctor Genius and Miss Ice Bath?”

JJ nods. “They haven’t said more than five words to each other in two days,”

“Maybe they had a fight,”

“About what? Reid would agree the sky was red if she suggested it,”

“Exactly,” Morgan mutters, “maybe that’s the problem,”

JJ laughs under her breath. “Or maybe Spence is just tired,”

Morgan chuckles. “Either way, something is weird,”

—

You keep your head down. You do your work. And when Spencer doesn't sit beside you, you let him be.

Because you figure if he needed you, he'd say something.

He doesn’t.

Not until four nights into the case, in a borrowed office space at the local PD. It's late. The rest of the team has gone back to the hotel to get some sleep, but you stayed behind to finish typing up victimology reports. Spencer stayed too—though he hasn’t said more than three words to you all day.

You assumed he was just buried in research.

He isn’t.

He’s pacing now, just behind you, his arms crossed tight like he’s trying to hold himself together.

You finally look up.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He stops pacing, stares at the wall for a moment, then turns to you, blurting out in a rush:

“Do you want to be with me, or would you rather be with someone else who’s… easier to deal with?”

You blink, slow. “Excuse me?”

He exhales, harsh and shaky. “I—I’ve just been thinking about it, okay? Since the morgue. Since that guy.”

You’re still. Watching him carefully.

He keeps going, words unraveling fast.

“He was like me. He talks like me. He got excited about the same things I do, and you—you listened to him. You didn’t tune him out, you didn’t tell him to focus, or cut him off, or roll your eyes. You actually looked like you didn’t mind. Like you liked hearing him talk.”

“Okay—”

“And that’s fine, that’s—I get it, he’s younger, he’s less complicated, and I’m not trying to make this into something dramatic, I just—” He cuts himself off, swallows. “You could have someone like him. Someone who doesn’t have… all of the— baggage, that I come with,”

He gestures at himself. Like he is the problem. Like all the things that make him him are some burden you’ve quietly been carrying.

You stare at him for a long moment.

Then you speak, slowly.

“I have no idea what you’re on about.”

Spencer looks confused. “What?”

“I’m going to assume you’re talking about the ME, and tell you that you’re being ridiculous,” You stand, stepping closer to him. “I was focused on the case. On the victim. Not on whether the guy liked explaining arteries.”

“But you let him—”

“Because I let you talk like that,” you say. “So why would I shut someone else down for doing the same?”

He doesn’t say anything.

Your voice softens a fraction—not warm, but honest. Quiet. Careful.

“You’re who I’m with.”

His brows draw together. “That’s it?”

You nod. “Yes.”

He’s still not sure how to process that. “But I’m—difficult.”

“I know.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

You sigh, stepping just close enough that your knees brush his. “Yes*.*”

You pause.

Then, carefully, you lift your hand and rest it on his knee. Not possessive. Not performative.

Just steady.

It’s one of the few times you initiate touch. He notices. His eyes flicker down, then back up again, and something in his posture shifts—like the weight on his shoulders finally loses a fraction of its heaviness.

He’s still spiralling a little, you can tell, but you add, gently, “You spiral. You overthink. You get jealous. You shut down.”

A pause.

“And I don’t care.”

His throat bobs.

You reach up, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of his hairline, tucking it back behind his ear. He leans into it instinctively, even though he’s still blinking like he can’t believe what just happened.

You look at him flatly.

“If I didn’t want to be with you,” you say. “then I wouldn’t be here,”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a week.

Then, finally, he nods.

And for the first time in days, his fingers curl around yours.

—

The next morning, everything is back to normal.

Or, at least, it seems like it.

Spencer sits beside you again at the precinct. He hands you your coffee, shoulder brushing yours. He leans over your notepad to make a quiet joke about the new crime scene tech who mislabeled three evidence bags, and you give a low, dry chuckle that makes Morgan do a double-take.

Emily stares. JJ narrows her eyes.

Something’s changed.

But it’s subtle. Maddeningly subtle.

There’s no hand-holding. No long, longing stares. Just… a shift in air pressure.

“You feel that?” JJ murmurs to Morgan as you and Spencer walk out of the room together, shoulders aligned.

Morgan sips his coffee. “Pretty boy’s silent treatment didn’t last long,”

“No,” JJ says slowly, “apparently not,”

They both fall silent, watching you disappear down the hall with Spencer beside you.

“You think they’re—?” Morgan starts.

JJ shakes her head. “No idea.”

But they’ll keep guessing.

They always do.

And you?

You’ll keep things exactly the way you like them.

Quiet. Private.

Yours.

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst

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thewriteadviceforwriters · 7 months ago

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List of Random Things For Your Dark Academia Settings | For Writers

The Library 📚

Towering mahogany bookshelves filled with ancient leather-bound tomes

Antique globes and faded maps mounted on the walls

Heavy velvet drapes blocking out the sunlight

Ornate brass reading lamps casting a warm glow

The musty smell of old books permeating the air

The Study 🪶

A large oak desk strewn with papers, quills, and ink bottles

Walls lined with pinned insect specimens and anatomical drawings

An antique typewriter, its keys clacking softly

Stacks of well-worn leather journals and notebooks

A cabinet of curiosities filled with skulls, fossils, and scientific oddities

The Classroom 🎓

Rows of old wooden desks, surfaces scratched with generations of graffiti

A blackboard covered in elaborate chalk diagrams and Latin phrases

Dusty shelves holding jars of formaldehyde-preserved specimens

Antique microscopes and brass telescopes waiting to be used

The tick-tock of a grandfather clock counting down the minutes

The Dormitory 🕯️

A four-poster bed heaped with tattered quilts and faded velvet pillows

Parquet wood floors layered with antique persian rugs

Flickering candles in tarnished silver holders casting dancing shadows

A steamer trunk overflowing with vintage tweeds and wool knits

Tea-stained pages of love letters and poetry scattered on the nightstand

The Secret Society Meeting Room 🗝️

An imposing stone fireplace with Latin phrases carved into the mantel

Worn leather armchairs circled around a low table set with tarnished silver

The air thick with pipe smoke and burning incense

Shelves lined with ancient masks, ceremonial daggers, and dusty alchemical tomes

Shadows dancing on the tapestry-covered walls in the candlelight

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pbaz7 · 15 days ago

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SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 10

paige x azzi

word count: 9.1k

a/n: my sleep schedule has been shitty as hell so i don’t even remember writing half of this honestly. so sorry it took so long. feel free to let me know if there’s anything specific you’d like to see in the series or any comments you have! if they’re any mistakes please let me know :)

—————————————————————————

For about two weeks, all Paige and Azzi did was orbit around each other. They were tangled in quiet routines that they created for themselves, mixed with the perfect amount of chaotic affection. Days melted into nights with no clear beginning or end, the rhythm they’d set with each other was the only thing that seemed to matter.

Azzi managed to do a few basketball workouts here and there. Small things just to keep her body moving and active during her break. During one of them, she surprisingly discovered that Paige could actually hoop. She wasn’t flashy about it, but she moved with a gracefulness when she had the ball in her hand. Azzi had grinned at her from across the gym, a little breathless from her own workout. Paige had just smirked at her before dribbling the ball between her legs and looking away.

Grocery store trips turned into adventures, Azzi throwing random snacks in the cart just to see what Paige would veto or complain about. They cooked shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen, feeding bites of food from each other’s plates and slow dancing to whatever playlist was echoing through the house. Azzi always cooked what she knew Paige preferred to eat and Paige always forced Azzi to sit down while she cleaned.

And of course mixed in with their new found domestication they were all over each other constantly. The kitchen counter, the couch, the shower, the floor that one time they drunkenly didn’t make it to the bed, in front of the fireplace, the laundry room table. It didn’t matter where they were or what time it was. If Azzi looked at Paige a certain way, that was all it took and well...Azzi was always looking at Paige a certain way.

In those two weeks Azzi discovered something soft, something she didn’t know she craved until it was in front of her. Paige had a protector’s heart, and Azzi loved every second of it.

Paige always slept on the side of the bed closest to the door; Azzi learned the hard way when Paige pushed her to the other side of the bed in the middle of REM sleep the night she had gone to bed before her. Paige unlocked the car for Azzi first, waiting until Azzi was inside before locking the door back and walking around to the driver’s side. She always chose a seat with a clear view of the exit, her posture relaxed and attuned to what Azzi was saying but always somehow alert. Azzi noticed how Paige would subtly angle herself toward her when they walked through crowds, or how Paige’s hand would naturally rest on her lower back gently leading her.

Azzi had her own small habits too. She folded Paige’s laundry in the meticulous way Paige liked it—T-shirts rolled, not folded. She helped Paige wash her hair when she complained about having to do it. She traced the lines of Paige’s back with her fingers absentmindedly when they were laying on the couch, whispering soft questions that kept her alert. She learned the difference between Paige’s “I’m fine” and her actual fine, the way her voice would dip a little lower when she was overwhelmed, how her eyes would drift somewhere to the corner when she needed a break but didn’t want to hurt Azzi’s feelings and ask for one.

In two weeks, they’d mapped out the best kind of intimacy a relationship could have. It wasn’t loud, nor performative for anyone around them but perfect for their bubble. Built through sleepy forehead kisses, late-night drives when Azzi couldn’t fall asleep, and a thousand small details that they started to memorize.

Somewhere in the middle of all of it, they fell even deeper for the other, neither of them saying the words but showing it in every look, touch, and act of care.

…

Present day Azzi had just gotten goddess braids for the off season and Paige hadn’t stopped staring at her since.

Paige barely blinked when Azzi first stepped out of the salon, her eyes dragging over her like she was seeing her for the first time all over again. Now on the drive home, Paige couldn’t stop glancing over, mumbling half-sentences like “I feel like I’m cheating, swear to God.”

Azzi just laughed as she rested her elbow against the window and turned her head toward Paige. “Mmm you keep looking at me like that, we’re not making it through the door.”

Paige just shook her head, biting her lip, eyes sweeping from Azzi’s hair down to her collarbone like she couldn’t help herself before drifting back to the road. “I’m tryna be respectful baby, but Jesus.”

As soon as the front door closed Paige was behind Azzi, wrapping her arms around her waist and brushing her lips against her shoulder as she spoke. “You got me a lil ready for you already, mama,” she whispered.

Azzi turned her head slightly to whisper back, “You’re the one out here in all black like you don’t know what that does to me.”

Paige hummed, a small smile on her lips. “So we thinkin’ the same thing.”

Azzi laughed and tried to walk away, to at least kick off her shoes and grab some water, but Paige wasn’t having it as she immediately tugged Azzi gently back against her. “Just lemme look at you for a second,” Paige whispered, and Azzi could hear the sincerity in her voice. She turned, slowly to face her fully now. Paige’s heart skipped as her eyes met Azzi’s again, her gaze drinking in every new detail. The braids framed Azzi’s face perfectly and they were pulled back enough to show off her dimples and her doe eyes.

Paige reached up, using her middle finger and thumb to brush one of the braids like it was something delicate. “You look perfect,” she said, quietly. “Like…fuck man.”

Azzi let her hands rest on Paige’s hips, slipping her thumbs underneath the edge of the black tank top she’d been side-eyeing all day. “Lemme see how perfect you can make me feel baby.”

Paige grinned as she gently grabbed Azzi’s chin before connecting their lips. Making sure to kiss her intentionally; hungry in that way that never seemed to go away no matter how many days they spent tangled up in each other.

Without breaking the kiss, Paige swept her arms under Azzi’s thighs and lifted her off the ground causing Azzi to gasp against her mouth as she wrapped her arms around Paige’s neck. Paige carried her to the kitchen and sat her on the counter gently to stand between her legs.

Azzi barely had time to process the cold surface against her thighs before she felt Paige’s mouth on her neck and her hands under her shirt, trailing up her sides like she already knew every inch of her skin by heart.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes before Paige was helping Azzi pull off her shirt. Throwing it somewhere over her shoulder. She pulled back to take a breath and her eyes roamed over Azzi’s chest, her jaw tightening slightly.

“God damn,” she mumbled, her eyes full of admiration as she leaned in again, kissing and sucking along Azzi’s chest.

Azzi messily pulled Paige’s tank up and over her head, revealing the bruises, scratches, and love bites still fresh across her skin. Azzi’s eyes dragged over each one. All of them were small territorial pieces of evidence from the other day when Paige practically dared her to make a point because Azzi was pissy over another woman touching Paige’s arm.

Her fingers ghosted over the marks on Paige’s ribs, and she smiled. “I like these on you.”

Paige smiled as her mouth continued to trail down the valley of Azzi’s chest. “Still feel it every time I move.”

Azzi’s fingers moved down to undo Paige’s belt, her breath catching when Paige pulled her bra down slightly and her teeth nipped at her nipple before soothing it with her tongue. “Good,” she whispered, “Maybe next time you won’t let other bitches flirt with you in front of me.”

Paige laughed against her chest. “Nobody was flirting with me baby.”

Azzi just rolled her eyes and pulled Paige up to connect their lips. They were so wrapped up in one another—Azzi fingers tangled in Paige’s hair, Paige pulling at Azzi’s hips to get closer, her belt clinking against the edge of the counter—that they didn’t hear the front door open. They didn’t hear the keys drop in the bowl by the entrance.

Azzi’s breath hitched when Paige bit at her bottom lip before sloppily trailing down her neck.

The belt clinked softly against the edge of the counter again, but it was barely noticeable over the sounds of their own breathing. Azzi moaned softly as Paige sucked on the pulse point of her neck, moving her hands down to grip the edge of the counter.

“Yo, are y’all—? Oh my God!”

Azzi was slightly startled and on instinct pulled Paige closer to her to block their view, her chest unsteady as they both turned their heads toward the kitchen entrance.

Cam spun around so fast her blonde braid whipped behind her, using her hands to cover her face as she squeezed her eyes shut in horror. “Lord, please, I am begging you to please never let me see my sister like that again. Please, God. Take the memory away.”

Rickea and Rae stood there completely frozen, their mouths slightly open, Rickea’s eyes scanning Paige’s torso in shock while Rae’s just stayed locked in place.

Meanwhile, DiJonai brushed right past them all to open the fridge like she wasn’t surprised at what she’d just walked into in the slightest. Only offering a, “Y’all better not be sweating on the counters I’m supposed to be cooking on.”

Once Azzi adjusted her bra she turned fully toward the group looking a little mortified.

Paige, on the other hand, leaned against the counter casually and seemed completely unbothered, even with her pants still undone and her abs on display.

Rickea let out a whistle as her eyes dragged across Paige’s torso. “Damn...look like somebody been busy. She been fucking you up.”

Paige glanced down at herself and smirked. “Lil bit.”

Cam, who was still turned away, groaned louder. “Why are you answering her?! Paige I cannot unsee this. I need bleach for my eyes. Therapy maybe.”

Rae blinked once, still not saying anything, but her gaze hadn’t moved away from Paige’s exposed stomach and the way her opened pants hung a little too low on her hips.

Azzi noticed and her jaw tensed, a slight possessiveness burning in her chest as she snatched Paige’s shirt off the counter and tossed it at her aggressively. “Put on a shirt.”

Paige easily caught it sliding the black tank top over her head without saying anything. She took her time buttoning and zipping her pants before looping her belt back through. Azzi could tell that her usual wall was back up without her even saying anything.

Rickea laughed under her breath, elbowing Rae. “You really couldn’t look anywhere else?”

Rae blinked again, like she finally snapped out of her daze. “I—I didn’t even realize. That was involuntary, I’m sorry.”

“Right,” Azzi said flatly, yanking her own shirt over her head. “Y’all ever heard of knocking?”

Before anyone could respond, Cam, who was still facing the other direction with her eyes on the ceiling said, “Paige, are you fully clothed now?”

Paige didn’t bother answering. She moved to brush past her before heading upstairs. Which, of course, left Azzi standing alone in the kitchen.

“So that’s what y’all be on?” Rickea teased, as she crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. “I ain’t know you were a lil kinky.”

Cam groaned.

Rae, who was leaning on the counter, decided to add her two cents, “So what’s the safe word?”

Azzi rolled her eyes so hard it could’ve been audible. “Y’all are annoying.”

“Annoying, or right?” Rickea grinned. “Because the evidence is all over Paige’s body.”

“It’s giving: ‘do not cook on that counter,’” Cam mumbled, finally turning around. “I swear if I ever eat toast off that counter again and catch a flavor—”

“Cam,” Azzi groaned, her face starting to burn as she reached for a water bottle to occupy her hands. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Cam repeated. “You had my sister shirtless with her pants open in the kitchen in the middle of the day!”

“And I’d do it again,” Azzi said under her breath, but it was loud enough to make Rickea holler.

“She said what she said!”

DiJonai, who was sitting at the counter eating grapes, finally spoke up. “Y’all acting shocked like we ain’t all see this coming eventually.”

“True,” Rickea nodded. “Still...the kitchen, though Azzi?”

Azzi took a sip of her water and shrugged. “The vibe was right.”

Before anyone could respond, they heard Paige coming back down the stairs and they all turned towards her when she walked in the kitchen. “Why are y’all in my house?”

Cam looked at her like she was confused by the question. “Umm, maybe because your entire family is in town and coming over for dinner? Or did you forget?”

Paige just blinked at her, completely void of any recognition about what she was saying.

Rickea snorted and Rae tried to hide her smile while Cam sighed dramatically. “You don’t remember, do you?” Cam asked.

“No,” Paige said dryly before walking over to reach into DiJonai’s bowl of grapes and tossing one in her mouth.

DiJonai nudged the bowl a little closer to her without looking up from her phone. “Don’t eat the green ones. They’re too sour.”

Paige wordlessly nodded before picking through the bowl until she had a small handful of red ones. When she was done she turned and made her way into the living room, sinking into the couch before throwing on a random NBA game. Muted, of course.

The others lingered in the kitchen for a few seconds before they naturally drifted after her.

“So what are we making for dinner?” Rickea asked, as she sat on the arm of the chair closest to the couch. “Cause I’m not about to eat anything Cam cooks.”

Cam rolled her eyes. “That one time the chicken was undercooked was years ago.”

“That was last summer,” Rae corrected, as she scrolled through her phone.

DiJonai walked in and said, “I got salmon when we were at the store but I’m not about to do everything myself.”

They all settled into the living room, discussing sides and who was cooking what but it started to get a little loud when Rae and Rickea were arguing over who would prep the salmon for DiJonai.

This caused Paige to break her silence without looking at them. “If you gon’ talk,” she said flatly, “at least lower your voice.”

“Damn, I thought you’d be nicer now that you’re fuckin’ all the time,” Rickea said.

Paige turned her head to give Rickea a look that was so blank it bordered on disrespectful.

Azzi, who finally wandered in the living room had two waters in her hand and passed one to Paige before easing onto the couch next to her. She glanced between Paige and the rest of the group chuckling to herself a little. “What happened to that smile you had ten minutes ago pretty?” she teased gently as she bumped Paige’s knee with her own.

Paige’s eyes shifted toward her and gave her a small grin, her eyes a little less closed off.

Azzi smiled back at her and Paige’s hand subtly reached for hers, intertwining their fingers and pulling Azzi a little closer as she went back to watching the game.

Just like that, the chatter picked back up the girls bouncing between kitchen plans, whose playlist sucked less, and whether or not Rae was going to get distracted and burn the garlic bread again. This all happened while Paige stayed sitting next to Azzi, only ever really dialed into the conversation when she was speaking.

…

Later that day when Paige’s family got there, it was immediately chaotic. The door barely swung open before her siblings were barreling in—Lauren asking for food, Drew talking trash to Cam and Ryan almost knocking over Rae trying to race to the living room to play her PS5.

Her dad was behind them, holding a tray of some store bought dessert and his current girlfriend’s hand, already in the middle of a story no one asked for. Her mom came in a few minutes later with a few wine bottles in her hands and a tight smile that said she’d already been sipping on one before she got there.

Paige’s house that was previously filled with a peacefulness that made her chest feel open was now just loud and ringing in her ears. Tipsy laughter, overlapping conversations: Rickea teasing Drew, Rae and Cam loudly debating over the music, DiJonai yelling from the kitchen about Rae almost burning the garlic bread. Azzi was the only one who didn’t make Paige want to disappear.

Paige didn’t say much. She drifted around the edges of the room, slipping between the kitchen and couch and wherever else she could avoid contact. When the adults asked her questions, she gave clipped responses. When her siblings bugged her, she tried to soften for them, but even then her voice stayed flat. She wasn’t mad, she just felt tired causing her to want to disconnect from the chaos.

Still the night was going fine, as fine as Paige could manage until her dad brought up the fight.

“You know,” he said, laughing too loudly over his whisky glass as he tossed a card on the table, “that was probably the most impressive fight I’ve ever seen from you, kid. I mean, everything about it was perfect. The setup, the speed, everything. Never seen anything more beautiful.”

Paige didn’t look up from her hand as she tossed a card down. “Thanks,” she said flatly, not bothering to fake a smile.

“Seriously I mean it, though! You were locked in like you used to be back in the day. We were all watching it on the big screen at—what was it, Sam’s place I think?” he glanced over his shoulder towards his girlfriend for confirmation. “Yeah, yeah, we were all losing our damn minds. All my buddies were blown away.”

Paige shrugged. “Don’t remember much of it.”

Her dad looked surprised at this statement. “How do you not remember something like that?”

She didn’t respond.

He shook his head like he couldn’t accept that and reached for the remote. “You gotta see it. It’s everywhere. Think it has millions of views on YouTube now. Whole crowd was on their feet in the background.”

Paige's hand twitched in her lap before she pressed her nails into her palm. “I’m not tryna watch that right now dad.”

He waved her off like she didn’t say anything at all, already pulling up the video.

The second it lit up the large screen in her living room Paige saw her own face in the corner of the screen. She saw her fists taped, her eyes dark and her shoulders a little stiff. She felt her stomach twist, that same nausea from after the fight creeping in her abdomen and a metallic taste feeling the back of her throat. She couldn’t process the emptiness she saw on her own face.

Paige stood up quietly, taking the cards off her lap and putting them on the table without saying anything before walking out of the room. Tripping slightly over her foot on the way out.

From the kitchen where she was making Paige a drink, Azzi caught movement in the corner of her eye. She walked toward the living room, slightly confused when she heard the voice of a flight announcer yelling through the HD speakers of Paige’s living room.

The video seemed like it rolled in slow motion, showing Paige standing there, flexing her jaw as the ref gave final instructions. Azzi wasn’t listening to the sound coming from the TV, she was watching Paige’s face. Watching the hollowness in her expression, how empty her beautiful blue eyes looked as the camera zoomed in.

Azzi’s grip on the glass she was holding tightened. How did no one else see it? DiJonai, to her credit, looked uneasy. Her arms were crossed as she looked at the screen for a few seconds before she just tore her eyes away and pulled out her phone.

“Where’s Paige?” Azzi asked.

No one looked up, not wanting to miss the fight that just started.

DiJonai answered when she noticed nobody else was going to say anything. “I think she went upstairs.”

Azzi nodded once, pressing her lips together. “Thanks.” She moved to put her drink down on the counter in the kitchen before heading upstairs, the noise of the living room getting quieter.

When she stepped into Paige’s room it was empty but she noticed that the bathroom door was closed and she heard the sound of running water echoing behind it. She walked over and knocked on the door gently.

A tired, “What?” came from the other side.

“It’s me, baby,” Azzi said softly.

There was a pause. Then Paige’s voice came back noticeably softer now: “Come in.”

Azzi opened the door and stepped inside.

Paige was standing at the sink and her face was damp like she’d just splashed water on it in an attempt to steady herself. Her eyes were rimmed with a redness, not quite from crying, but Azzi could tell she was close to it.

Azzi crossed the small space between them moving to weave her fingers into Paige’s hair, coming through the strands gently.

Paige closed her eyes at the feeling as she leaned into it.

“You okay?” Azzi whispered

“No,” Paige said truthfully. Then she added, “I just need a minute though.”

Azzi nodded. “Is there something I can do?”

Instead of answering, Paige reached out and pulled her in by the waist, gently, resting her forehead against Azzi’s for a moment before tilting down and kissing her softly. It was slow, the kind of kiss that silently said thank you even if she didn’t have the words for anything else yet.

Azzi always brought her back. Azzi’s lips, Azzi’s presence, Azzi was just always something steady in the chaos for Paige.

When they pulled away, Paige brushed her thumb over Azzi’s cheek and whispered, “I’m not ready to talk about it right now.”

“Before bed?”

Paige smiled at her and confirmed, “Before bed beautiful.”

Azzi kissed her one more time before giving her one more glance before stepping back. “Don’t stay up here too long, you know I’m clingy”

Paige nodded again as she chuckled, her eyes already softer. “I won’t.”

When Azzi got back downstairs, the fight was still playing on the TV but her eyes landed on DiJonai who was sitting at the island in the kitchen. Azzi made her way over there instead of sitting on the couch, slipping into the stool next to her.

“She good?” DiJonai asked without looking up from her phone.

Azzi nodded lightly. “She’ll be ok.”

DiJonai gave a small nod.

Azzi hesitated for a second, then said, “Thank you…you know, for being there for her when she went to Dallas.”

DiJonai shrugged like it was nothing. “Of course.”

“I know she won’t ever say it,” Azzi said, “but she appreciates you. You’re one of her favorite people.”

DiJonai laughed as she leaned back a little. “I know. She can’t hide it.”

Azzi smiled, shaking her head thinking about Paige. After a moment she asked, “How’d you meet?”

DiJonai’s eyebrows raised in amusement thinking about the story. “She hasn’t told you?”

Azzi shook her head.

DiJonai let out a short laugh. “Okay, so this was Cam’s rookie year, so maybe over three years ago now? We were at this open run at a gym in L.A. Some pros, some overseas girls, just a bunch of random people. Paige was there, sitting on the side. She didn’t say shit the whole time really, was kind of just there watching.”

Azzi nodded as she listened.

“She was just staring and at first I thought she was zoned out, but it lasted for a while and eventually I was like alright she’s definitely starring. So I’m thinking, maybe she feelin’ me or whatever.” DiJonai grinned, shaking her head at herself. “So I walked up to her casually tryna be as nice as possible cause I didn’t know her and I was just like, ‘Hey, I saw you looking but I just wanted to let you know I’m taken.’”

Azzi laughed a little, trying to picture Paige in that moment. “No you didn’t.”

“I swear, I did,” DiJonai laughed. “And Paige was tone-faced as hell and was just like, ‘What?’ She said it super dry. So I say again, ‘You were staring, so I just thought I’d say something,’ and she was like, ‘I definitely wasn’t lookin’ at you.’”

Azzi fully laughed this time.

“It gets better,” DiJonai said, chuckling a little. “I tried to insist like, ‘Nah, you were definitely lookin’ at me.’ And she was like, ‘Promise you I wasn’t. You really not my type sweetheart.’ Then turns her head and went back to watching the run like I wasn’t standing there.”

Azzi covered her mouth, trying not to laugh too loud. “She’s so fucking rude.”

“Right?” DiJonai grinned. “But it was funny and after that, I kinda respected her ’cause she was for real not tryna get with me. Was barely interested in my presence, just wanted to watch basketball and that was rare in L.A.”

DiJonai leaned on her elbows as she continued. “I was in L.A. a lot around that time. Cam was always inviting me to runs, so I started showing up more, hanging out with them after. Paige was super closed off, but we kinda clicked eventually 'cause neither one of us was ever with the bullshit. No fake love.”

Azzi smiled again, her eyes drifting toward the staircase like she could sense Paige near it. “Yeah…that sounds like her.”

“Realest person I’ve ever met,” DiJonai said. Then she added, “She’s prolly the most stubborn too though, so…good luck with that.”

Paige walked in the kitchen, looking a little steadier than she had upstairs. Her hair was slightly damp from where she’d splashed water on her face, but her jaw wasn’t clenched anymore and her shoulders looked looser.

She looked down at Azzi, and said softly, “Talkin’ ’bout me?”

Azzi looked up at her and gave her a small smile before biting her bottom lip slightly to flirt a little. “Always.”

Paige didn’t say anything back just chuckled before walking past both of them and going into the living room. The fight was still on, probably replayed who knows how many times but Paige picked up the remote and turned the TV off, ignoring the protests around her. “Find somethin’ else.”

Azzi who was still sitting at the island smiled even though she couldn’t see Paige.

Paige sat in the corner of the couch, grabbing one of her throw blankets and pulling it over her lap.

The chaos of the house picked up again as they started to entertain themselves now that the fight was off. Her mom started telling a story about one of the AAU mom’s from Ryan’s team while Ryan and Drew immediately turned back on the PS5, Lauren yelling at them to grow up when they argued over who could use the custom controller. Paige sat through it in silence.

Azzi didn’t say anything when she walked in, she just scanned the room until her eyes landed on Paige in the corner of the couch and she made her way over, lowering herself next to her.

Paige adjusted the blanket to cover Azzi’s lap too before shifting to make space for her letting Azzi lean into her side. A loose braid fell across Azzi’s check and Paige reached up to brush it back, her fingers lingering against Azzi’s temple.

“You cold?” Paige asked softly when she noticed Azzi pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands.

Azzi shook her head, smiling at her privately. “M’good baby.”

Her voice was quiet, but neither of them realized that the volume in the room dropped completely. Paige’s mom blinked at them mid-sentence, looking at them with a huge grin. Lauren elbowed Ryan, who looked over and finally noticed the moment too, while Drew stared openly.

None of her family had ever seen Paige like this. To them this was the same girl who could barely tolerate a group hug at family holidays. Now she was gently tucking a blanket over someone else, asking her if she was cold and inviting physical touch like she missed it.

Cam smirked from her chair. “Oh, so this is why you forgot about family dinner.”

Her mom, who was still grinning hugely, leaned over to whisper something to Lauren.

“You’re makin’ me look soft,” Paige whispered.

Azzi leaned in, her nose brushing against the curve of Paige’s neck. “Mmm maybe a little, it’s okay though, right?”

Paige turned her head and when she did their faces were so close their foreheads almost touched. Her eyes held Azzi’s for longer than she intended to. A slight tension in each of their stomach’s as she whispered back, “Right.”

Azzi smiled at her answer as she shifted closer into Paige’s side, tuning back into the original conversation like nothing happened.

Even with this small moment with Azzi, since seeing herself on the TV Paige felt off. The noise around her: the laughter, the overlapping stories, the clatter of glasses seemed to blur in her ears. Not quite ringing but muffled, like she had water clogging her eardrum. Because of this her eyes and her mind drifted often, not fixated on anything in particular but certainly not present.

It happened a few times. When her mom asked Azzi about next season. When her dad laughed too loud at something Cam said. When Drew tried to show her something and she just blinked at him like he was speaking another language. Paige was sitting there but parts of her weren’t and Azzi noticed.

The first time she noticed that Paige zoned out, Azzi slid her hand under the blanket and gently tapped her knee twice. Paige blinked a few times, then glanced over, and Azzi gave her a slight smile, silently asking if she was ok. Paige didn’t smile back, but her eyes softened when she looked at Azzi.

When it happened again, Azzi picked up a strawberry off the table and held it in front of Paige’s mouth without saying anything. Paige stared at it for a second, before she parted her lips slowly bitting it from Azzi’s fingers, chewing absentmindedly while Azzi ate the rest of it.

At one point, Paige leaned her head back against the couch cushion and closed her eyes. Azzi let them stay shut for a while but eventually she nudged her shoulder lightly with her own. “You fallin’ asleep on me big head?” she whispered.

Paige didn’t open her eyes, just gave a raspy “No.” But then she cracked a small smile just for Azzi.

Each time Paige drifted off into her own head, or just spaced out all together Azzi brought her back. Paige offering something small each time to show she appreciated it without saying it outright.

Eventually, DiJonai called out that dinner was ready and the group started moving toward the dining room. Paige stood up slowly, stretching her arms above her head with a quiet groan and Azzi just laughed at her before waiting for her to walk to the table.

As everyone began picking seats around the table, Azzi started to slide into the open seat next to Cam, assuming Paige’s mom would want to sit next to her daughter but as she started to lower herself into the chair, she felt a soft grip wrap around her wrist.

Paige tugged her back toward the seat next to her. Azzi glanced at Paige’s mom who just gave her a small smile putting her hand on her shoulder before sitting in the seat next to Cam.

Dinner was filled with inside jokes from the kids and overlapping conversation. One of them tried to explain a TikTok trend to their dad who just kept saying it didn’t make any sense. Rae bragged about how everybody seemed to like the garlic bread this time and Cam tried to say they weren’t that good despite being on her second piece already. It was the perfect mix of warmth and noise.

Paige sat in the middle of it all again, quietly chewing on her food, smiling occasionally, but once again there were moments. Smakk fleeting moments where she just faded out. Her eyes would drift down to her plate and her jaw would tighten briefly before loosening again like she was forcing herself to relax.

Once again Azzi saw it each time. She’d nudge Paige’s foot with her own under the table. Whisper something dumb about how aggressive Cam was using her fork. Point out how Drew was eating like somebody was going to steal his plate. Each small effort drew the corners of Paige’s up, even if it was just for a second.

Azzi knew that seeing the fight was bothering her. Getting her stuck somewhere she didn’t want to be so she just wanted to do small things to keep her present.

But like all dads who can’t help but want to brag about their kids, her dad opened his mouth about the fight again. “You know,” he said mid-chew, wiping his hands on a napkin, “I still don’t get why you’re not more pumped about that fight kid. I mean, it was legendary. How are you not still riding that high? Figured we’d have to pull you out of the gym for dinner.”

Paige pushed a piece of a pepper around her plate with her fork before answering, “Told you. I don’t remember it.”

Her dad laughed, confused on why she kept saying this. “C’mon, how do you not remember a fight like that? You were insane out there. I’ve watched it more times than I can count and it’s only been two weeks.”

“I dissociated so bad I don’t remember it.”

There was a pause as everyone processed the words differently. Some thinking it was a good thing, others finally noticing how messed up she seems about the fight.

Her dad just grinned, eating a bite of his salmon before saying, “Man, that’s a different kind of locked in. That’s next-level. Mind of a killer.”

“Right,” Paige mumbled.

Azzi tried to step in, change the subject a little. “Okay, but can we please talk about how Cam is on her third piece of garlic bread tonight. I vividly remember her saying she’d never eat anything Rae touched.”

Everyone laughed. Well everyone except Paige, who didn’t even look up from her plate and her dad who was still curious about fighting.

Her dad leaned in, waving his fork around. “So what are you thinking for the next one? If it’s anything like that last fight, I gotta be there in person. Can’t afford to miss a show like that.”

Paige’s voice was quiet, almost too soft to hear over the chatter. “I’m takin’ a break.”

He blinked at her. “A break?”

She didn’t bother to elaborate.

“What do you mean?” he asked again, frowning now.

“I mean,” Paige said slower, drier, “I’m takin’ a break. Not fighting.”

Her dad gave a quick scoff, like he was brushing it off. “Come on, kid. What? That was probably the best form you’ve been in since you started. You had that girl out of her league. You got—”

“I just need a break,” Paige cut in, clearly done with the conversation.

There was a brief silence until Ryan, her younger brother, piped up with a grin, trying to lighten the mood but not fully knowing any better with his comment. “She probably just wants more time up under Azzi.”

It was meant to be a joke, but it landed wrong, especially the way he said it.

Paige turned her head toward him and her expression was unreadable. “Watch your mouth, Ryan.”

The grin faded off his face, and he looked down at his plate.

Her dad sighed, clearly still not understanding. “Okay, so how long you thinkin’? Just a few weeks without hitting the gym? A month?”

“I don’t know dad.”

“Well, you better figure it out soon,” he said, voice picking up at the end of each word. “There’s already talk about someone throwing another challenge your way in a few months. Big up and comer. Could be a real headliner if everybody plays their cards right.”

“I’m reigning champ,” Paige replied, not even bothering to look at him. “I’ll be fine saying no to one fight.”

“But you know how this works. Momentum matters. You slow down now, people start talking—”

Paige dropped her fork with a soft clink against the plate and looked up. When she did her eyes looked tired but there was a sharpness to them. “I don’t need you to manage my career, I pay somebody for that.”

That shut him up and no one else spoke after that. The table felt still, suspended in a slight awkwardness for a second until Rickea at the far end changed the subject with a forced laugh and a comment about Rae.

Paige didn’t join in. She reached for her napkin, wiped her mouth before pushing her chair back and getting up from the table. She quietly walked towards the patio doors before slipping into the backyard.

Everyone kept eating like nothing happened, even though the energy had shifted just a little.

Azzi gave her a few minutes, enough time to breathe without an audience; gather herself if she needed to, before she quietly stood up and followed her outside.

When Azzi stepped out the night air was a little brisk so she wrapped her arms around herself before her eyes caught the light coming from the far end of the yard in the gym.

When she stepped inside, Paige’s scent filled the air naturally along with the smell of leather and lavender. Her eyes landed on the cage where she saw Paige lying flat on her back in the middle of it with her eyes fixed on the ceiling like she was trying to find answers in her ceiling.

Azzi walked into the cage quietly and eased herself down next to Paige not saying anything. She just laid there with her, shoulder to shoulder, their bodies naturally aligning like puzzle pieces.

After a moment, Paige reached over and pulled Azzi into her chest and Azzi adjusted herself to fit more comfortably, draping her arm across Paige’s waist and resting her head where she could hear the thump of her heart. It was loud, louder than usual. Like it had something to say to the rest of Paige’s body.

They laid like that, in the stillness of the gym, until Azzi spoke up. “Tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours please.”

Paige exhaled, using her fingers to toying with one of Azzi’s braids, a grounding motion more for herself than anything else. “I just don’t feel fully here right now,” she admitted quietly. “I Can feel myself dissociating and I…I don’t like it. I’ve been fine for two weeks before today.”

“It didn’t start happening until he brought up the fight,” Azzi pointed out, watching her reaction closely.

Paige nodded. “Yeah. I know.” There was a long pause before she continued, her eyes slightly unfocused as she stared past the ceiling. “My body still feels physically sick when I think about it. Like it happened today. Like I’m back there. I have to force myself not to think about it the second I wake up. Every day. Like I’m making a conscious decision to not let it spiral the moment I open my eyes.”

Azzi moved her hand up to the base of her neck, running her fingers through her hair again. “Ohh,” she said with a big grin, trying to lift the weight in Paige’s chest with a joke, “so that’s why you’ve been waking me up at the ass crack of dawn, claiming you’re bored?”

Paige let out a laugh, the first real one of the night. “God forbid I need a little entertainment first thing.”

Azzi playfully rolled her eyes at the excuse before swinging her leg over to straddle Paige’s waist. Paige’s hands went to Azzi’s hips without thinking.

Azzi leaned down, her fingertips moving through Paige’s roots in a calming pattern. “The psychiatrist we found. She’s scheduled to come tomorrow, right?”

Paige nodded, as she closed her eyes. “Yeah.”

“You still good with it?” Azzi asked softly.

“I mean…not excited,” Paige murmured, “but I know I need to talk to somebody. Can’t keep pretending I’m fine.”

Azzi brushed a bit of hair away from her forehead with her thumb. “You don’t have to be ‘fine’ with me all the time. I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Paige said, opening her eyes to look down to meet Azzi’s. “It’s the only reason I’m not losing my mind right now.”

Azzi tilted her head up. “That and the fact I’m a phenomenal emotional support girlfriend.”

Paige smirked, squeezing her hips. “Mmm. Top tier, really.”

Azzi leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a soft whisper. “Can’t let you forget it.”

She lingered there, close enough for her breath to tickle Paige’s lips as she smiled at her. Then, gently, she closed the small gap, pressing her lips to Paige’s in a soft kiss. It was filled with the natural affection that started to live in the space they’d carved for each other.

Paige’s hands slid up Azzi’s sides, brushing her thumbs over her ribs as she melted into the softness of Azzi’s lips.

Azzi shifted down, angling her head to deepen the kiss as she caught Paige’s lower lip between hers. Paige’s spine pressed into the floor of the cage as Azzi pressed down further, rolling her hips once to test the waters. Then again when she heard a soft hum at the base of Paige’s throat.

Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s torso, wanting to be closer to her.

Then a knock on the gym door interrupted the moment.

Paige let her head fall back against the floor with a soft thud as she groaned in frustration.

Azzi immediately swatted her shoulder. “Why would you let your big ass head fall back like that?” She rolled off of Paige with a sigh when all she did was just grinned up at her.

Eventually Paige called out dryly, “Yeah?”

The door creaked open and her dad poppied his head in, looking half-guilty. “We’re gonna head out, kid. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

Paige gave him a thumbs up, not bothering to sit up. Her dad gave her a tight smile before pulling the door shut behind him.

The silence barely lasted a heartbeat before Paige was pulling Azzi back toward her, curling her hands around her waist again. Azzi leaned in close, letting their nose brush and Paige’s eyes fluttered closed before she whispered against her lips, “No.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrowed, and she pouted, “You’re no fun.”

Azzi grinned and gave her a quick peck. “Don’t pout. I’ll make it up to you later I promise.”

Paige grinned widely and she looked so cute it made it hard for Azzi not to give in to her when she said, “Why not now?”

Azzi opened her mouth, ready to answer when the gym doors slammed open with a loud bang.

“Yo stop fuckin!” Rickea’s yelled.

“We knew y’all were hidin’ in here somewhere,” Rae added as they all walked in ready to distract Paige in whatever way she needed.

DiJonai walked in last, shaking her head. “Look at this. Can’t leave y'all alone for five seconds.”

Azzi huffed, sitting up reluctantly mumbling, “That’s why not.”

Paige sighed, letting her head fall back against the mat again, mumbling to herself, “This is why I can't have nice things.”

Rickea squinted at the two of them from the edge of the cage. “Y’all makin’ out in here or having a kumbaya? I can’t tell.”

Paige doesn’t respond, just closes her eyes like she was trying to will the interruption away while Azzi stands up, brushing off her pants.

Cam chimed in not wanting to hear anything about what they were potentially doing as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “Paigey, you gotta teach Rae how to throw a punch.”

“No,” Paige said flatly without opening her eyes.

That got the whole group laughing.

“Wait, seriously though, she doesn’t know how to throw one.”

Paige finally cracked her eye’s open, locking eyes with Rae. “You deadass?”

“Unfortunately,” Rae admitted with a small shrug, clearly not proud of it.

Paige exhaled like it physically pained her to get up from where she was. Still she sat up slowly, rolling her neck before stepping out of the cage. “Grab wrap and some gloves,” she mumbled as she made her way toward a bench.

Rickea leaned over to Rae, whispering. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid or Azzi gon’ get you.”

Rae shoved her lightly, laughing under her breath as she walked toward the wall Paige pointed to.

The second Paige sat down at the bench, Azzi followed her and slid in behind her, draping her arms around Paige’s waist and resting her chin on her shoulder. The move seemed casual, but there was a slight deliberate possession in the decision.

Paige tilted her head back to glance at her. “Wassup?”

Azzi’s lips brushed her ear as she whispered, “Don’t be all touchy.”

Rae walked up holding the wrap and gloves in her hands as she plopped down cross-legged in front of Paige before she could respond. Paige just chuckled at Azzi’s whispered warning.

Without pulling away from the way Azzi was draped over her shoulders and trailing her nails across her neck Paige reached out and grabbed one of Rae’s hands as she started to work the wrap around her knuckles.

“So wait,” Cam said, as she leaned against the wall, “how you a whole D1 athlete and don’t know how to throw a punch Rae?”

“I play basketball, not Mortal Kombat,” Rae answered like it was a stupid question.

Rickea snorted. “Girl, with how you foul, I just assumed you’d be good at it.”

“See, this is why I don’t play defense,” Rae mumbled under her breath.

As Paige silently focused on wrapping Rae’s fingers, Azzi stayed behind her, practically molded to her back. Her hands moved down to casually slide beneath Paige’s sweatshirt, her nails scratching softly at the skin near her waist.

Paige’s movements stuttered briefly, but she didn’t say anything about it.

Azzi leaned in to whisper, “Just making sure you don’t forget I’m here.”

“You’re literally in my spine,” Paige muttered.

“Exactly,” Azzi grinned.

DiJonai walked up, holding up her wrapped hands for Paige to inspect, having learned to do it herself during Paige’s extended stay in Dallas. Paige glanced at them, gave her a quick nod, and DiJonai went back to her corner to put some gloves on.

Paige tightened the wrap as she worked toward Rae’s wrist. Azzi shifted behind her, resting her chin on Paige’s shoulder again and starting to sway them both slightly like she was slow dancing in place.

“Ma’am,” Paige said under her breath, lips twitching to hide her smile. “Please.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Azzi said, her voice quiet for only Paige to hear as she nestled even closer into her neck. “Just supportin’ my girlfriend as she gives out free boxing lessons to other women.”

Paige glanced back at her with a faint grin. “She’s your teammate.”

Azzi only responded with a quiet, “Hm.”

Paige shook her head, finishing the last loop of the wrap around Rae’s hand. “Flex your fingers.”

Rae did as she was told, curling her fingers a few times and Paige gave a nod, jerking her chin toward the light bag.

Rae stood up, cracking her knuckles like she knew what she was doing. “Try not to judge me too hard,” she mumbled as she walked off.

Paige pushed off her knees, about to follow her, but Azzi’s grip around her waist stayed tight, holding her in place. Paige paused, chuckling as she looked over her shoulder. “Wassup, mama?”

Azzi pouted, putting her plump lips on display, as she furrowed her eyebrows like she wasn’t ready to share. Paige chuckled again before angling herself to press a kiss to her lips. Letting it linger for a few seconds.

From the cage, Cam’s exaggerated gagging cut through the moment. “Okay! We get it! Y’all like each other or whatever,” she yelled. “Go touch gloves or touch foreheads just stop doing it in front of me!”

Paige pulled back with a lopsided grin, whispering against Azzi’s lips, “You’n gotta be jealous.”

“I’m not,” Azzi whispered even though she was still holding her waist like she was indeed very jealous.

“Right.” Paige kissed her one more time before standing up and walking over to where Rae stood by the bag.

Rae stood in front of the light bag and her stance was uncertain, fists raised like she’d only ever watched boxing on TV.

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” Paige said, tapping Rae’s ankle with her foot to guide it. “You’re gonna wanna keep one slightly back so you can pivot. Don’t be flat-footed or it’ll take you too long to move.”

Rae adjusted before glancing over her shoulder. “Like this?”

Paige gave a small nod. “Better. Keep your chin tucked and your hands up. Higher.” She stepped closer and lifted Rae’s left wrist. “You’re not waving at nobody. Guard your face.”

She said you look friendly as hell!” Rickea laughed from the bench, stretching her legs out.

“I am friendly,” Rae muttered.

“Yeah, and that’s how you get fucked up,” Paige said. She demonstrated a jab in the air. “Lead with your left then come across with your right.”

Rae attempted to mimic what Paige did. Her form was a little stiff, but passable.

“Not terrible,” Paige said. “Loosen up though. You throwing like you're worried about breaking a nail.”

“Because I am!” Rae shot back, shaking her hand out with a grin.

“Girl,” DiJonai said, as she practiced slow combos against her own bag.

Rae tried again and the second time she was a little more relaxed. Paige stepped in behind her, using her hands to adjust Rae’s shoulders and guiding her hip through the rotation of a punch.

From the bench Azzi narrowed her eyes. She reached next to her on the bench and grabbed a spare wrap, and threw it at Paige. It thumped against her back.

Paige looked over her shoulder. “Really?”

Azzi raised her eyebrow, looking a little dryly at Paige. “You tryna spar or flirt?”

“I’m teaching.”

“You’re teaching real hands-on.”

Paige shook her head before taking a step back.

Rickea snorted. “She got real professional real quick, huh?”

Paige mumbled something under her breath, before turning back towards Rae. “Again. This time, pivot on that back foot. Don’t muscle it, snap it.”

Rae’s next punch landed with a satisfying pop that made Paige miss the sound. Rae blinked in surprise, glancing back at Paige for approval.

“There you go.” Paige gave a short nod. “Do that like ten more times. Then switch sides. Reset your stance each time.”

Rae nodded and turned back to the bag, a little more confident now and Paige backed away, strolling back toward the bench. Azzi was still sitting where Paige left her and she had one hand propping up her chin, watching with an unreadable expression until Paige got closer.

Then Azzi tilted her head up, looking up at her through her lashes. Lashes Paige knew damn well she did not need to bat like that causing her to stop in her tracks.

“Stop,” she said under her breath, tightening her jaw as she stared down at her.

Azzi smirked on purpose. “Stop what?”

Paige exhaled through her nose. “You know what.”

Azzi hummed low in her throat, not moving from her position. “Mmm, no I think you gotta be a little more specific, baby.”

Paige blinked at her, visibly trying to keep her expression neutral, but Azzi just tilted her head a little more to the side, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You just gon’ stand there lookin’ all tense?” Azzi asked softly. “Or you wanna admit I’m in your head a little?”

Paige huffed a laugh through her nose, stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Azzi whispered, dropping her gaze to Paige’s mouth before flicking back up. “But I’m not wrong.”

Paige’s hand lifted without thinking, her fingers cradling Azzi’s jaw as her thumb brushed across her cheek, then softly over her bottom lip. The way she was touching her was gentle. Completely contrasting the way Paige was looking at her.

Azzi leaned into it, her smile softening into something more genuine. “You wanna kiss me again, or just admire the view?”

“Trying not to actually,” Paige admitted under her breath.

Azzi held back a grin and said something too low for Paige to catch.

“What?” Paige leaned down instinctively to hear.

Azzi’s smile grew, locking her eyes on hers as she made her voice a little lower and whispered, “I said...you’re going to make me forget my name if you keep lookin’ at me like that, daddy.”

Paige froze and a visible ripple of tension moved through her whole body as her jaw clenched harder this time. She didn’t even look away from Azzi as she said flatly, “I need y’all to come back tomorrow.”

There was a beat of silence as they processed her words, then a chorus of groans erupted across the gym.

“We just started!”

“Nah, you serious?”

“Woww, that’s crazy,” Cam added, dramatically.

Still in the midst of complaining, the rest of them were moving way too slow and dragging their feet. So Paige just muttered “Whatever. Y’all can stay,” as Azzi laced her fingers through hers and tugged her gently toward the house.

DiJonai yells out after them, “Please remember I’m staying in the guest room!” Subtly telling them to not be too loud as everyone went back to what they were doing, deciding not to leave.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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hoshifighting · 8 months ago

Note

Can you pleaseeee do staff joshua?

staff!joshua

WARNINGS: smut, figurine malfuncion, getting caught fingering, mentions of penetrative sex, limping after sex, dirty talk.

staff!joshua who was basically an angel in a designer hoodie, swooping in like he was born to save the day. he’d been recommended by an artist friend who was finally leaving the chaos of tour life behind, and, honestly, you’d had your doubts. you weren’t looking for another “helpful” stranger who’d end up tangled in the cables backstage or handing you the wrong mic.

you remember him showing up that first day, eyes bright and wide like he was taking in every damn inch of the chaos with some kinda awe. it was… annoying, actually, because who the hell has that much enthusiasm? the whole team couldn’t stop talking about him, whispering like he was some savior sent from above. you’d watch from across the dressing room, pretending not to notice, like, “oh sure, he’s cute or whatever,” but then he’d catch your eye and smile.

staff!joshua who somehow found himself in the middle of the most last-minute disaster ever. the accessories box—the one holding all your necklaces, rings, and that one choker that practically defines your stage look—got left at the hotel across town, hours away. designers scrambling, panic in the air, your manager about to lose it. you’re standing there, just praying that the team doesn’t fully spiral, and then joshua steps in, calm as you like. he asks for a spare box of beads, like it’s no big deal.

he actually sits on the floor, in the mddle of the dressing room, legs crossed like he’s chilling at some park, and starts putting together these bracelets. fast. you remember being half-stunned, watching him loop bead after bead with ridiculous speed, like he’s been doing it his whole life. and they weren’t just some random bracelets either—they actually looked good. he handed them over, “here you go, should work in a pinch.” like, who does that?

staff!joshua who ended up with half the crew wanting to know where he learned to make accessories like that, and he just shrugged, all humble, “oh, just a thing i used to do in high school.” as if that made sense.

next show, next country, you look out and see rows and rows of fans with identical bracelets. like, those beads? they’ve become a thing. suddenly, everyone wants one, and your socials are blowing up with people asking where they can get cute and colorful bracelets. you’d joked with him after, “might as well start selling these on the merch table,” and he’d laughed, soft and shy, scratching the back of his neck like he wasn’t used to the attention.

staff!joshua who, honestly, makes you wonder if he’s real, he’s always got everything covered, it’s late nights and early mornings, but somehow, he’s always there, making sure you have your coffee just the way you like it, that your schedule isn’t packed to the point of breaking. he’s the one who keeps track of your favorite snacks and stashes them in your backpack, knowing you’ll dig around for them at some ungodly hour.

staff!joshua who insists on walks when there’s downtime to make you less tense, taking you through narrow city streets, where he points out little cafes he researched beforehand, claiming it was just “a lucky find.” he laughs off your suspicions, saying, “it’s just a coincidence,” but you know he’s been studying maps like a tour guide, making sure you get to see more than just hotel lobbies and dressing rooms. he’ll hold your things so you can snap photos or just take in the sights, occasionally stepping back to give you a moment. always there, hovering just close enough to shield you if a crowd forms or if you need a break from everything.

staff!joshua who’s not just watching out for you but keeping an eye on every single person who shows up at airports or outside venues. he scans the crowd with that gentle look in his eyes, like he’s really seeing each one of them, making sure no one’s fainting or overheating. if he notices someone looking a bit off, he doesn’t hesitate, signaling to security or even paramedics to help them out, all while giving them this reassuring smile that somehow calms them down.

staff!joshua who knows when fans come up to you during your downtime and sees that look in your eyes, the tiny hesitation. he’ll lean over, voice soft, asking, “do you want to?” like it’s totally up to you, and it’s cool either way. if you’re not feeling it, he’s got the most polite, warm way of explaining, “i’m so sorry, but it’s y/n’s break right now.” no harshness, no impatience—just enough kindness that no one feels brushed off. but if you nod and say yes, he’s right there, practically crouching to make sure the angles are perfect, even telling the fan how to hold the camera for the best lighting. he gets the shots that’ll probably be framed on some bedroom wall or locked screens forever.

staff!joshua who goes from quietly fussing over your needs to casually slipping into a role that makes every fan interaction feel like the best one of their life. he’s got this way of making them feel comfortable, throwing in a gentle “don’t be nervous,” or even laughing softly to ease the anxiety.

staff!joshua who, without you even realizing it, has gone from that fresh-faced kid with the soft smile to a full-on bodyguard. he’s bulked up over time, muscles straining against the sleeves of his shirts, and when he’s guiding you through a crowded airport or weaving through backstage chaos, you catch more than a few fans sneaking glances his way. he doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he does, but he brushes it off.

staff!joshua who makes it a point to be in the hotel gym at whatever strange hour you decide to work out. he’s on his own schedule, of course, but he’s catching your attention even mid-workout. he doesn’t say much about it, but you know he’s thinking about your safety, wanting to be strong enough to keep you shielded with his... big chest.

staff!joshua who tries to stay professional when your hand naturally drifts to his arm. it’s like a habit now; his biceps have become your security blanket, something to hold onto when you’re being rushed through a crowd or stepping out of a car in sky-high heels. he’ll give you a quiet amused look, lips pressing together like he’s trying not to smile, but he never says anything about it.

staff!joshua who feels the burn of your touch whenever you steady yourself by pressing your hand against his muscular chest. maybe it’s to fix a shoe strap or straighten your skirt, his breath hitches every time, it’s like a test of his equilibrium, and you can tell he’s struggling to keep himself in check, especially when he catches your smirk.

staff!joshua who’s always one step ahead, guiding you with a gentle but firm hand on the small of your back when you’re navigating a crowded room.

staff!joshua who instinctively stands between you and the flash of cameras, positioning himself just enough to cover you from the harsh lights and endless stares. he doesn’t need to ask; he just knows when to move, leaning close “just stay behind me”

staff!joshua who never complains when you tug at his sleeve for attention, even if it’s the fifth time that hour. attentive look, ready to listen to whatever you need, whether it’s fixing a wardrobe mishap or finding the perfect hiding spot when the crowds get overwhelming.

staff!joshua who’s confused when you grab him and pull him into the wardrobe corner, pointing at the zipper like it’s some life-or-death situation. his face goes a little pink as he takes in the view—your tits all squished up, struggling against the fabric, and his hands practically itching to fix it. “are you sure?” he mumbles, glancing from you to the zipper and back, but there’s no time to pause; you’re due on stage any second.

staff!joshua who keeps his eyes fixed on that zipper, swallowing hard as he tries to get a grip on himself and on the stubborn thing trapping you. his fingers brush against your skin, and you feel him tense up, his breath quickening just slightly. he’s so close you can smell his cologne, fresh and warm, mixing with the backstage chaos, and it’s making it way harder for you to focus on anything else. “just… stay still..” he mutters, his voice a little shaky.

staff!joshua who practically loses it when the stylist finally throws up her hands and says, “just rip it off, joshua! we don’t have time.” his eyes go wide, panic flickering over his face, but then he nods, taking a deep breath. he plants his hands on either side of the fabric, his biceps flexing under his shirt as he grabs hold and gives one solid yank. there’s a loud rrrriiip, and the zipper splits apart, fabric tearing away like it’s nothing under his grip.

staff!joshua who is definitely not prepared for the way the fabric slips, your tits practically jumping in his face, leaving him blinking, wide-eyed, desperately trying to look anywhere else while you scramble to pull on your next outfit. he’s frozen for a second, like he’s processing what just happened, then quickly steps back.

staff!joshua who always insists on separate rooms whenever you’re on tour, like it’s some line in the sand he won’t cross, because he’s all about “boundaries.” but thank god for that, honestly, because the last thing you need is him realizing just how often your mind wanders to him in the quiet of your room after a show, the adrenaline still in your veins. nights like that, when you’re alone and all you can think about is the way he’s looked at you backstage, muscles tense as he keeps everything under control—never fails on making you horny.

staff!joshua who doesn’t know how many times you’ve slipped into your bed and imagined him there with you, his big hands choking you, slapping your face, his mouth kissing you, sucking you, that quiet and respectful control of his breaking just for you. you let yourself get lost in the thought of him, and in the safety of your own room, you give in to all those bottled-up feelings, whispering his name under your breath, touching yourself, feeling your pulse race as you imagine him actually being there.

staff!joshua who has no clue that some nights, you’re too far gone to even muffle the sounds you make, pressing a hand to your mouth as you cum, breathy little sighs slipping out, like he’s actually there. you always tell yourself you’ll be quieter next time, but every show seems to make it worse, every touch from him leaving a trail of him that lasts long after he’s gone.

staff!joshua who probably wouldn’t know what to do if he ever caught you like that—caught you in the middle of one of those late-night moments, your head thrown back, his name slipping from your lips, no shame. the thought alone is almost too much to handle, but you keep going back to it, night after night, letting yourself imagine just a little more.

staff!joshua who, one night, knocks on your door to deliver something you left behind in the venue dressing room, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re in there, already lost in thoughts of him. you dont even hear the knock over the sounds of your own pussy, and you don’t realize he’s actually come in, quietly calling your name, until you see his shadow across the wall.

staff!joshua who stands there frozen for a second, just staring, his fingers fumbling with the doorknob like he’s trying to make a quick exit but forgot how doors work.

when he finally remembers to turn the handle, ends up pulling it the wrong way, the door making this awkward little squeak as he fumbles to open it again. he’s all flushed and stuttering out apologies, but he’s rooted in place, eyes darting back to you like he’s trying to process what he just walked in on and failing miserably.

your heart its almost jumping from your chest, but you let the duvet slip just a little, the fabric falling away from your legs, exposing the curve of your thigh, the soft line of your hip. his eyes follow it, widening just slightly, his fingers gripping the door handle even tighter.

staff!joshua who, when you tug his wrist gently, doesn’t resist, he lets you pull him closer until he sits by your side, as you whine “joshua… come here,” in that low, inviting way, and something shines in his eyes, like you’ve struck a nerve he’s tried so hard to keep hidden.

staff!joshua who finally presses his lips to your neck, his hand moves up your thigh, fingers fastly pushing the duvet away, leaving you naked. when he finally slides his hand over you, through your damp folds, the feel of his fingers brushing your swollen clit, making your nipples harden.

his thumb presses the clit savoring the reaction he’s getting from you. you can tell he’s testing every little gesture, finding what makes you pant, what makes your hips move toward him.

staff!joshua who presses his fingers in, slipping past the wet folds, to the gummy walls, the first slide inside so warm, so deep, and you let out a moan—that you don't have to hold anymore, afraid that he would hear from the next room—your pussy already clenching around him. he groans softly, leaning over you, his arm flexing as he presses deeper, his other hand coming up to grip one of your wrist up your head, holding you steady as his fingers curl impossibly tight. you can feel the tension in him, the restraint, but the way his fingers move, lets you know he’s not holding back with his touch, at least.

“like that?” he asks, and you nod, swallowing down a shaky breath as he picks up the pace.

staff!joshua who starts to move his fingers a little deeper, making a funny wet sound, until you’re gripping the duvet, your head tipping back.

staff!joshua who, lets out a low chuckle everytime you moan a little louder. “what was that hm? a moan? for me? tell me..”

staff!joshua when he notices you squirming under his touch, about to cum he teases more “so needy... you don’t even have to say it.” he pauses, letting the fingers sink in, as you feel his other hand come up to grip your thigh, holding you as he continues. “what would they all say if they saw you right now?” he muses. “you know, you make it so hard for me to be professional sometimes.”

staff!joshua who, when he notices you clenching your fists in the duvet, laughs softly, a low, wicked sound. “go on,” he whispers, his fingers curling just right. “let me hear everything.”

staff!joshua that after every single time you thought you’d caught your breath, would lean down, “not done yet, sweetheart,” before sending you spiraling right back. destroying your poor swollen cunt after cumming multiple times..

staff!joshua next morning, is already at the hotel breakfast with the crew, sitting perfectly, like he didn’t just ruin you the night before. he watches you walk in, eyes glinting as he sees the way you’re moving—trying to walk normally, but the subtle limp gives it all away.

staff!joshua who has the audacity to pat the empty chair next to him, tilting his head with an innocent expression as if he’s not the reason you’re struggling to walk. “sleep well?” he asks, but you know he's holding back a laugh. you shoot him a glare, but he just raises an eyebro.

staff!joshua who leans in, voice quiet enough that only you can hear, and whispers, “if you need me to help you up to your room after this, just say the word,” his fingers brush against your knee under the table, so subtle that no one else would notice, but it’s enough to remind you of every. single. thing. he did to you last night.

staff!joshua who has no problem keeping that perfect poker face as the morning goes on, answering questions, making small talk with the crew, all while casting you the occasional glance. every time he catches you shifting in your seat, trying to get comfortable, he hides a smirk behind his coffee mug, thoroughly enjoying the sight of you flustered and sore, his own private victory.

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van-weirder · 1 year ago

Text

random table map 4

The Reeflands

Another map from rolling on random tables. Thanks to @fjoundfjamily for rolling all those dice. We rolled them onto a big piece of paper to decide placement, so any geographic realism is pretty much out of the window. I also had to add in some features in addition to the stuff I rolled to make it make sense. Still, I think it turned out pretty cool!

Random Table Rolls (all 1 million of them) -

Map Type: World

Landmass: atoll/reef x2

Coastline: fjord x2, cape, tropical estuary

Terrain: mountains x2, river x2, wetland, canyon

Terrain Features: dark valley, spring/geyser, mountain, singing/growling field, cave

Settlements: City x3, Camp x2, town, village

Points of Interest: giant dungeon, windmill, chaotic encampment, fiendish tomb, podunk inn, angelic obelisk, battlefield, underground road, round/circular graveyard.

#dnd #dnd art #dnd maps #fantasy map #ttrpg #fantasy maps #ttrpg maps #ttrpg art #worldbuilding #cartography #coral reef #random table map #art

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kaluxsims · 7 months ago

Text

This is another one of those times when I have a small idea that gives me another idea and another until there's a whole thing. Originally, I just wanted to repo Decat's single Traditional bed to Shaundak's 3t2 bunkbed. Once I'd done that (well, the other way around), I wanted a double bed. It spiraled from there. Now it's a whole bedroom set, with a little mini nursery set.

As usual for my big posts, you can download the whole thing now, if you want. There are also download links down at the bottom. It's available with my recolors merged with my edit of Decat's bed or everything separate. (Decat's recolors are separate in both versions, because they're very similar to mine. They've been edited to include the textures for the changing tables.) Michelle's upper bunk (included) is needed for the bunkbeds, or a similar raised or shiftable single mattress. An inaccessible bed mod might be needed. Lordcrumps' shadow file is included and required.

Download:

Merged: SFS or MediaFire Separate: SFS or MediaFire

More info and a better look at everything below the cut.

The entire set is repo'ed to my edit of Decat's single bed. I lowered the footboard and moved it closer to the mattress. I also edited the UV mapping on both Decat's single and Shaundak's bunk, among other small edits. Both have different file names than the originals, but keep the same GUIDs. Be sure to delete the originals if you want to make sure everything shows up ok. All other GUIDs are randomized. Collection files are included. No bedding is included. Bedding is repo'ed to the standard BG textures.

There are two versions of every object, regular and simple. Simple versions have straight lines and less embellishment.

Objects and poly counts:

Single bed: 2606

Simple single bed: 2126

Double bed: 3318

Simple double bed: 2838

Bunkbed: 4032

Simple bunkbed: 3528

Endtable: 841

Simple endtable: 823

Endtable (high): 841

Simple endtable (high): 821

Crib: 3303

Simple crib: 2823

Changing table: 3612

Simple changing table: 3132

Now for the extensive previews...

And my recolors. All of my recolors for this set were made with Iakoa's GIMP curves for icad's woods, except for black and white.

If you didn't download at the top, I'm not gonna make you go all the way back up there.

Download:

Merged: SFS or MediaFire Separate: SFS or MediaFire

Credits: @decat2 for the original single bed mesh and edited texture, Shaundak for the 3t2 bunkbed mesh, Michelle (MTS) for the upper bunk mattress, @iakoasims (retired) and @dramallamadingdang for icad wood palette, @lordcrumps for the shadow file, @pforestsims for kind help and patience

#ts2cc #sims 2 download #sims2cc #sims 2 custom content #s2cc #sims 2 buy #the sims 2 cc

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madsxyins · 24 days ago

Text

Too Pretty to talk to

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none

synopsis: Paige avoids the girl she thinks is too pretty —until she can’t anymore.

anon req

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The sun was too bright for how tired she felt.

Paige adjusted the strap on her backpack and blinked through the late August haze. Everything smelled like new beginnings—cut grass, freshly waxed gym floors, and some overly enthusiastic girl spraying Victoria’s Secret mist way too close to the dorm steps. The air buzzed with the kind of nerves she hadn’t felt since her first varsity start.

She was finally here. UConn.

Her chest tightened, both proud and unsettled.

And then, like fate had a wicked sense of timing, you stepped into view.

You were standing near the dorm check-in table, rolling a navy suitcase behind you, earbuds tucked in, lip gloss catching the light. Your UConn volleyball hoodie was cropped, just slightly, and your shorts looked like they belonged to someone taller—but you made it work. You looked effortless. Secure. Like the kind of girl who didn’t need to ask where the dining hall was. The kind of girl who already had friends waiting.

Paige’s pulse kicked up before she even knew why.

Who the hell is that?

You turned slightly, just enough for your eyes to scan the quad—and land on her. For a single second, your gaze held. It wasn’t even flirtatious. It was curious. Neutral. Like you were cataloguing the new faces, same as her.

But for Paige, something tumbled loose.

Panic. Admiration. Something softer.

She turned away.

Fast.

Found her phone even though no one had texted. Pretended she was checking her room number while her ears burned.

“Too pretty to talk to,” she mindlessly thought.

It was dumb. She’d been around talented, gorgeous people before. Athletes with agents and egos,But you? There was something different. She couldn’t name it—only that it twisted up her stomach and made her throat dry.

Inside the orientation hall, she found her name tag on the table and realized, with a subtle kind of dread, that there was only one empty seat left in her section.

Right next to you.

Of course.

She approached with the same caution she used when going for a last-second steal. Measured. Quiet.

You looked up when she sat down.

“Hey,” you offered, casual, friendly—like it was easy to be warm with a stranger. Like you weren’t the most stunning person Paige had ever seen up close.

She nodded.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t smile, even, which she regretted instantly but couldn’t undo. She just sat there, staring straight ahead, as the orientation leader welcomed everyone and passed out campus maps.

Say something, her brain screamed. Anything.

But nothing came out.

You didn’t press. You tucked your hair behind your ear, leaned back in your chair, and crossed one leg over the other while Paige tried very hard not to stare at your knee.

She avoided you for three weeks.

Voluntarily.

Even though your schedules overlapped. Even though you sat one table over in the athlete dining hall. Even though she caught herself watching you during those awkward “mixer” icebreakers like some background character in her own life.

You probably didn’t notice.

Or maybe you did.

Because on a random Tuesday morning, when both of you ended up walking the same path to class, you slowed slightly, glanced over at her, and said—

“So… are you ever gonna talk to me? Or is that just not your thing?”

Paige froze. Literally stopped walking.

You smiled, tilting your head a little, like the question had no pressure behind it. Like you weren’t the most magnetic human on the East Coast.

She swallowed hard, gave you the smallest smile she could manage, and muttered—

“I thought you were too pretty to talk to.”

You laughed.

And in that moment, Paige knew she was completely screwed.

You laughed.

Not in a mocking way. Not in the “you’re weird” kind of way Paige had secretly feared. It was light. Effortless. A little disbelieving.

“You seriously just said that?” you asked, a smile still lingering in your voice.

Paige shrugged, eyes fixed on the sidewalk, afraid that if she looked at you again she’d start tripping over her own shoelaces—or worse, her words.

“I mean… yeah,” she said finally. “It felt honest.”

You blinked at her, slowing your pace just enough to walk beside her. “And avoiding me for three weeks was also part of that honesty?”

“I didn’t avoid you.” Her voice cracked on the defense. “I just… didn’t approach you.”

You snorted. “You sat next to me in orientation. Said nothing.”

“That was a choice,” Paige admitted, cheeks starting to burn. “A very anxious, dumb choice.”

You bumped her gently with your shoulder. “Well, I’m glad you finally made a different one.”

Paige glanced at you, and this time, didn’t look away. The sunlight caught your cheekbone just right, and there was a soft crinkle by your eyes from smiling. It was disarming in the worst—and best—way.

“So, Paige Bueckers finally talks,” you teased, using your full name like it was an inside joke already.

“You knew who I was?”

“Duh.” You laughed. “You’re kind of a big deal. Plus, you haven’t said more than five words to anyone except the trainers.”

“I talk to Azzi,” Paige defended.

“You and Azzi came as a package deal. Doesn’t count.”

She groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. “God, I thought I was being lowkey.”

“You were being mysterious,” you corrected. “Not the same thing.”

She looked at you again. Really looked this time. “And which one do you prefer?”

You quirked a brow. “Mysterious works—if you back it up with a little charm.”

Paige grinned—fully, for the first time all day. “Is this your way of saying I’m failing the vibe check?”

“No,” you said, smirking now. “This is me giving you a second chance.”

The two of you reached the intersection leading to Gampel Pavilion. Your building was to the left, hers was straight ahead. Paige hesitated.

“You heading to the team meeting?” you asked, gesturing vaguely toward your building.

She shook her head. “Weights. Coach has us on some pre-preseason schedule. Gotta love it.”

“Yikes.” You winced playfully. “Well, if I don’t see you at breakfast, I’ll know you passed out in a squat rack.”

Paige laughed under her breath, heart racing like she’d just run suicides.

And then, you did something she didn’t expect.

You pulled your phone out of your hoodie pocket, unlocked it, and held it out to her.

“Give me your number. So next time you try to avoid me, I can call you out immediately.”

Her hand brushed yours as she took the phone. She tried not to linger on it. Tried.

“You sure you’re ready for the commitment?” she joked, typing in her number before she could overthink it.

You didn’t flinch. “I’m ready for whatever you decide to stop avoiding.”

She handed the phone back, smiling that same easy smile that had wrecked her three weeks ago in front of the dorms.

“I’ll text you,” Paige said, a little too soft.

“I know.”

You turned and walked toward your building, ponytail swaying behind you like punctuation.

Paige stood there for another full minute, heart thudding against her ribs, until she remembered she was now officially late for lifting.

She didn’t care.

Not really.

Because something had just shifted—and for the first time since stepping on campus, Paige wasn’t thinking about the pressure of preseason or headlines or legacy.

She was thinking about you.

And the way her name sounded when you said it.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶

author’s note: idek what i wrote on here😭 i meant to post this yesterday but i forgot it my docs… Thanks for readinggggg!!!

#madsxyins writes #wlw #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #basketball #wbb #uconn wbb #uconn

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blckbrrybasket · 4 months ago

Text

Last Call for Love

Vander x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5k

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Vander and you have been dancing around each other for far too long for it to still be considered friendly banter. Is there any better start to a relationship then fucking on a random weekday?

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: unprotected sex, friends to lovers, one use of good girl, size kink, daddy kink, belly bulge, sex on a table

The heavy wooden door gave way to The Last Drop, the familiar warmth of the tavern enveloping you from the night's chill. Low amber lighting splashed across the establishment, illuminating the broad figure behind the counter. The jukebox mutes your footsteps falling along the well worn wooden flooring; a layer of alcoholic stickiness clinging to the soles of your shoes as you walk.

Despite the long missing crowd, the air still reeks of cigars smoked throughout the day and shared drinks that had sloshed over their rims. Vander stands at the center of it all, his hand covered in a rag as he cleans glasses after the day. Sorry to say we’ve closed up shop.” His eyes flicker up to spot you standing in the middle of the room, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A moment passes between the two of you before you simultaneously burst into laughter.

You smile, ignoring his faked complaint and walk over to the bar. Not wanting a barrier between the two of you, you saunter around the counter to welcome yourself behind the bar. It was one of those nights where Vander wasn’t tired after his shift, some energy leftover from the long day. He’d tell you that it was a lucky chance that he didn’t feel like such an old man. He has always been dramatic like that.

“Go on, make yourself at home,” Vander drawls sarcastically, acting as if your presence was a chore. You knew he didn’t mean it though; if not for the mirthful lilt to his voice, for the fact that he was currently selecting two clean glasses and your favorite bottle of liquor.

“Oh I will. Vander, you aren’t as intimidating as you like to think.” He shakes his head, “The Hound of The Underground isn’t scary enough for ya?”

Beaming, you amble up to his side, grabbing the drink from him. “Thank you,” you hum and clink it against the rim of his own filled glass. Vander smiles, pausing until your lips part over the glass. When you tip your head back to take a large swig he mirrors your movements, drinking half of his glass in one go.

The burn slides down your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe through your nose. The resulting chuckle from Vander makes you roll your eyes as you set the alcohol back down.

“Is that hilarious?” You question and reopen your eyes to glance at him. “Quite.” The sarcasm came naturally as Vander found his pipe and matches, always needing them to pair with his liquor. Vander hums lowly, swiping a match across the side of the counter.

“Say, is there a reason you’re pestering me so much tonight? Somebody pissed in your cereal, eh?” The lit match lowers to the mix packed into his pipe, Vander promptly shaking the flame out.

Tossing the burned match to the side, he takes a long drag from the pipe, exhaling a plume of smoke after the count of five. You slowly blink up at him, gaze focusing on the hair that covered his moving jaw. The soft curve under his chin slopes down into his neck that flexes with the exertion of his sigh. He’s so handsome to watch.

It wasn’t your fault when your hand found its way to the side of his neck, tracing the tendons that jump under your cautious touch.

Vander knew you wouldn’t answer him, not when you’re mapping out his structure like this, curious and wanting. Besides, there was no need to answer, he was just messing with you. Vander hands you the pipe, raising an eyebrow in silent question. It wasn’t often that you smoked with him, but he can sense the tension that rested between your shoulder blades. He faintly wonders if your day has been as tiring as his. Maybe even moreso. Your fingertips left his neck to lightly dig into his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt giving little resistance.

When your lips part obediently, he places the lip of his pipe on the plush of yours. Letting your mouth fall shut, you take a tentative puff. The thick smoke rolls over your tongue, choking your saliva glands mercilessly. You expectedly jerk back, coughing with an exaggerated gag, “I seriously don’t understand how you smoke that shit.”

“It’s smooth,” Vander lies, knowing it was anything but. His rough palm finds your back, rubbing up and down, dragging your shirt up by an inch. “Shut the fuck up,” you rasp as he laughs quietly. Your hand thumps his shoulder at his lack of overwhelming sympathy and unceremoniously falls away.

Vander did feel bad for you choking on the fumes, but he didn't feel horrible when he saw the way your face had scrunched up. The heat rising to your cheeks, the tears stinging your eyes…fuck if it didn’t get him thinking.

Before Vander has the chance to stress himself out, his heavy hand creeps further up your back. His thick fingers swallow the width of the base of your neck as he cradles it. The heat from his hand tingles down your spine, leaving you staring owlishly up at him. “Here,” he guides you, his thumb pressing just below your jaw.

Vander tilts your head up as he puffs on his pipe. Taking a small drag, he jerks his head to the side, signaling for you to open your mouth again. Understanding his hint, you follow his silent order. The rough pad of his thumb sinks into your skin a little harder and he dips down to your height, breathing the smoke into your mouth.

The slight brush of your lips feels like static electricity instantaneously zapping across your skin. The smoke overflows your waiting mouth, creating a fog between you and him. Inhaling it back in was an impossible feat with you frozen at his boldness. And the warmth from his pipe was no match for the warmth radiating from his body wedged against yours, wrapping itself around you and pulling you in.

Vander, on the other hand, found himself equally as entranced by the expression on your face. The knit to your brow made you look like you were silently pleading for him to break the moment with his mouth on yours. It was downright indecent and yet he can’t possibly deny that look.

The silence stretched on between the two of you. It wasn’t quite awkward, but it was certainly tense—brimming with possibility. Neither of you could decipher when the tension between both of you had started; maybe it had festered for weeks or longer. Either way, ending up so close together was no longer a jarring occurrence.

The tether continues to tug you closer and closer together until your chests press against each other, beating hearts speaking in turn. “Vander,” you snip impatiently, making the larger man flash a cheeky smile. Your brain reels with the hope of finally giving into your desire for each other. The dance between you was a fickle thing, one that you have enjoyed for a long time, but loathed more every second that Vander didn’t kiss you.

If there was ever a chance to feel him on you, even for a sharp second, it seemed that now was the time to have him. Who knew if he would ever get this close again if the moment slipped by? Right before the pressure becomes unbearable and you open your eyes, Vander heeds your warning and leans forward fully to slot his mouth onto yours.

Your heart skips a beat, blood roaring in your ears and throbbing between your thighs. The thought of anything else evaporates from your brain leaving you unable to focus on anything but Vander’s mouth on yours. The curve of your lips closes with his, sealing the two of you together.

The following kiss is a frenzied mess of teeth and tongue. There was nothing soft about the hungry kiss, heat blossoming deep within Vander’s gut as he tugs you closer. Your gasps were easily silenced by his tongue massaging yours, a soothing balm that made you crave him everywhere.

Yet, Vander abruptly pulls back, acting on autopilot. He found a new journey, gripping the fat of your ass and yanking you closer. The sides of his hands cup the curve of each cheek, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. When you oblige, he silently follows through and holds you to his body.

One of his heavy hands pushes into the middle of your back to curve your body into him, wanting you as close as possible. Instead of dropping you onto the counter, or even going up against the wall, Vander sharply turns and treks out from behind the counter. He beelines for one of the cleaner tables he had wiped down before cleaning glasses. When you glance over your shoulder at the table that he set you down on, a small worry fills you.

“Will this hold?”

“Only one way to know,” Vander rumbles, towering over you once you swivel back to him.

Swallowing thickly, you nod, “Yeah, guess so.” His eyes search yours and then he’s solidifying the position, directing you to fully lie back on the table. Your legs spread easily to accommodate for the expanse of Vander’s hips as he steps up to you. Unignorable arousal pulses in your core at the bulge that nudges at the junction of your thigh.

The hot outline of Vander’s swelling cock seeps heat through your clothes as he marvels at your laid out figure. This is what he has wanted for so long, what he needed. You. “Are you going to stare at me or fuck me?” Vander instantly laughs at your question, not condescendingly, but not exactly comfortingly.

His mouth resumes what ended you up here, lips meeting your own. The second kiss wasn’t as frantic, but was equally a push and pull of nips and soothing licks. Your tongues slide together, neither fighting for dominance while you pant against his lips, always diving back in for more. The sound of lips smacking eventually quiets when Vander slowly parts from you.

“Sweetheart, I have to work you up to that.” Vander grinds against your clothed cunt, the seam of your jeans rubbing in time with the rolling of his hips. He eagerly takes in the crease of your brow as the material of your underwear bunches around your clit, pinching it. You can’t help the way you lift your lower half to meet him, the heaving of your chest only growing heavier.

The unyielding barrier of your pants and his were far too thick between you and his cock. You needed more. Finally, Vander flicked the button of your jeans up and tugged your zipper down. Weathered fingers hook under your waistband and yank, working the material off your legs. He backs up to pluck your shoes from your feet, freeing your legs of the suffocating jeans.

“Shit,” you hiss and shiver at the sudden air bathing your heated skin. The wooden tabletop creaks as you idly squirm on it, only stopping when large hands pin your thighs to the table. “Shh,” Vander murmurs and rubs his hands along your skin. “There you go, that’s good,” he praises when you still, captivated by the soothing tone he has taken on. A quiet chuckle bathes your ears as he opens your thighs once more.

Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes trail down to his fingers eagerly tugging your damp underwear to the side. Vander can be many things, but with you splayed out like this he could no longer act patient. “Ah, there she is.”

The air in your lungs burns, clawing up your throat when you let out a shaky sigh of relief. When did you start holding your breath? You weren’t exactly sure, focusing on one of his fingers sliding up through your puffy lips, parting them.

Hot slick coats his digit, his eyes zeroing in on how your plush skin dents supplely under his guidance. Unable to resist, Vanders thumbs come up to spread you open like an overripe fruit that he gapes at. There were no words to describe the swelling of his heart, and cock, at the sight of you. The warm weight of his dick prods your knee as he sucks in a sharp breath. “Hell, you are…”

Vander trails off, unable to finish his sentence. His thumb sneaks up to your clit, rubbing slow circles over it. You catch the way his eyes snap up to your face to study the reaction you would reward him with. The shade of your cheeks darkens at his curiosity. You might have been silent, but your hips spoke for you when they edge forward, searching for more. It seemed to be enough for him, Vander’s attention returning to your cunt.

A quiet whimper falls from your lips after a minute of withstanding his lazy exploration. “Vander, please.” The plea pulls him out of whatever trance he had been put under, his eyes blinking away the daze in them. His hands slide over your hips and under your ass. Using the angle, he tugs you up the table until you are directly in front of him. “Careful,” he jokes, snickering when you lightly swat the back of his head.

In a silent apology, Vander lays his palm across your mound, softly massaging you. He presses a finger at your entrance, tracing the contours before making up his mind and sliding it in. His free hand trails up your body to flatten against your abdomen as he shallowly fingers you.

The sheer size of his hand took up a substantial portion of your waist, shielding you. And it didn’t take a mind reader to sense Vander’s pride in that–his chest puffing out as he saw how much of you he can cover. Fuck, he could manhandle you anywhere you’d like.

Welcoming the stretch, your cunt easily yields to him, leaking over his finger. “You’re soft,” Vander grumbles without a second thought. The words visibly catch up to him a second later when his face reddens. Ducking his head, Vander bends over to lower his face to your cunt–a successful distraction–and wraps his lips around your clit.

Instantly your back bows off of the table, jaw dropping open as you moan in surprise at the quick shift. His tongue weighs on the bundle of nerves as he hollows his cheeks. Vander’s eyes flick upwards to make eye contact when he thrusts in a second finger.

Your louder groan was almost enough for him to grin against your pussy. His beard scrapes against the inside of your thighs, blending the slight pain with the overwhelming pleasure while two fingers curl against your velvety walls, searching. If it took him all night to find your sweet spot he gladly would map out your body for hours.

But his journey was cut short by the quickening of your breath, hands falling to his head. Short puffs of air exit your perpetually agape mouth as sparks flare in your tightening gut. Absent-mindedly, you grind against his fingers, eager to help him. Your orgasm was mostly a surprise, spurred on by the efforts of his mouth against you. Your body tenses as you come over his fingers, thighs smacking closed. Whining brokenly, you dig your nails into his scalp as he carefully removes his fingers.

With a muted rumble, Vander shoves your thighs back open to drag his tongue up your slit. You gasp sharply, imagining that you would never breathe again with how tight your chest has grown to be. The feeling of him cleaning you was too much and yet not enough. Your struggling fell on deaf ears, or rather the ears of a man that hadn’t yet deciphered your moans, who eagerly drank in your essence when you humped his face with restless hips.

When his swelling lips pull away, arousal thickly coats his mouth and beard. But if the look in his eye was anything to go by though, he doesn’t mind one bit. No, he gratefully licks his lips and hauls himself back up to stand over you. In an instant your hands were back on him, tugging up the hem of his shirt.

Vander answers by yanking the oppressive fabric over his head, throwing it to the floor. His broad shoulders were carved thoughtfully by the gods, dipping down into his somehow bigger chest. Thick hair covers his defined pecs, drawing your eyes to the thatch of hair just above his waistband.

No time was wasted away with how quickly Vander ripped his belt open, the clank sounding like a gunshot through the thick atmosphere. You giggle quietly at his haste, quieting with a coy smile when he playfully glares at you. Vander grants you only a few seconds of ogling him before he’s pantsless and surging forward again. He drags his lips across your collarbone, biting at the top hem of your shirt.

Hot breath hits your skin, raising goosebumps when he grunts at the limited access to you. Weathered fingers creep up under your top to find your chest for a moment until he’s stripping you of your shirt. Vander groans appreciatively, barely separating from you for a second. Now it was his turn to take in your figure, completely naked on his tables in his bar.

Wet, open-mouthed kisses smother your neck, letting you savor the brush of his beard against your warmed skin. It quickly became a struggle to stay still again when you were creating a fucking puddle on the table with Vander only kissing you.

Through the haze Vander makes out your need, the weight of his warm cock nestling between your thighs. He subconsciously ruts against you, pressing as close as he can to you until you can feel the shape of his heavy balls through his boxers.

“M’gonna fuck you now, ‘right sweetheart?” The words register after a slow second crept by. “Mhm,” you mumble and nod your head. That wasn’t enough though, with Vander responding by shaking his head. “No, you have to tell me what I’m gonna do. Come on honey, use your words.” If that wasn’t enough to make your head swim you didn’t know what was.

“You’re going to fuck me.” “And…?” “And I’m going to like it?”

“Good enough,” Vander says heartily, chuckling to himself at how out of it you were after one orgasm and some heated kissing. “Are you normally this…distracted?” You shake your head, observing shamelessly when he works his boxers off. Not many men could work you up like this, but it was Vander. The sweet Vander who always had your back…also the Vander who constantly teased you, and now the Vander who’s standing naked in front of you.

The thought itself wasn’t a major turn on, but actually seeing him? Dusty red at the tip and already leaking, he’s…thick. Surprisingly so.

How had the gods even made a man with a cock that thick? What he didn’t make up for in size, he certainly did in girth–so weighted that even when he was achingly hard his cock still hung between his muscular thighs. His pubes, dark and only somewhat trimmed, decorated the base of him. “How is that going to fit?” you blurt out.

Looking at you watching him, Vander smirks and wraps a hand around his dick. Maybe it was to tease you, though it was more than likely that he needed a break after having little to no stimulation for this long. “We’ll make it fit, yeah?” He groans when he curls back over you, his pre-cum smearing across your inner thigh. “S’ppose you’re ready enough now, eh?” Without a flicker of hesitation you rapidly nod along. “Fucking finally. I thought I’d grow a beard in the time before you fucked me.”

Sharing a laugh, Vander shakes the teasing off when he braces himself on his thick forearm, next to your head. His knee nudges your legs open wider to allow him to lower himself down more. The fat of his tip slides between your folds and presses gently at your entrance. Glancing back up at you, Vander smiles.

“Are you gonna let daddy take care of you?” Janna.

It was like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on you at the same time you were submerged into lava. All you could manage was a pitiful squeak as you look up at him.

Honestly, Vander had meant it to be a jest at you. He didn’t expect you to react like this. “Oh you like that? You’ve been thinkin’ about me being your daddy?” He was only met with wide eyes, you staccato breathing filling the air. Vander didn’t need a verbal response to know he was dead on. Dipping down, Vander drug the tip of his nose up the side of yours. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take good care of you, stretch you out, give you what you need. Daddy’s here now.”

“Shit,” you whisper quietly, whimpering when the head of his cock kisses your entrance again, just barely pushing in. Vander grits his teeth together to resist thrusting in, in one go, murmuring reassurances to you. “I know…gonna stretch you out nice and slow…” A groan sits on the back of his tongue as he slowly sinks into your cunt, his hands moving to hold your thighs up and apart.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Just a little more.” You had assumed Vander would start quickly—having been dead wrong with how he took his sweet time. His tip is already making you ache for more, his girth pushing your walls to stretch obscenely around him. “Shit, honey,” Vander curses at the sight of your body accommodating him, puffy folds straining around his length.

He cautiously rocks his hips forward, each little movement drawing him deeper than you thought possible. Each second that you think he couldn’t possibly give more, he did so dutifully. When his hips are definitively flush with yours, your back arches off the table again to hover, a low moan tearing through your throat at the fullness in your gut.

Vander waits for you to adjust, attentively watching your face for any signs of discomfort. The pad of his thumb plays with your clit, his head ducking to follow your view. “I want you to look at me,” he rumbles, placing his other hand back on your tummy.

“I want to see you when I fuck you.” Pressing down lightly, he feels the bulge of himself under your soft skin. You whine at the feeling, relaxing into his hold and letting your head roll back against the tabletop. “Look at me in you.” His hand resting on your abdomen tightens into a fist. “Fuuuck.”

God damn, was all your muddled brain musters up when you clench at his words. Vander grunts quietly, “I won’t last long if you keep doing that.” The truth was that he was just as affected by this as you were. The thought of his struggle alone dissolves any pain into a sweet pressure as his cock moves against your walls. You yearn with a hunger that has festered for years because of Vander’s heedless teasing. Fucking years you have hungered for this. You wouldn’t back down in the face of it.

His hips rut into you with no sense of urgency, the two of you enjoying the slow grind of his cock. The smell of your arousal hangs heavy in the air, the slipperiness mixing at the base of his cock until his pubes are soaked with your need. Vander’s hand on your stomach wanders up your leg, transferring it to rest on his shoulder.

“You’re taking me so well,” he huffs, turning his head to kiss your ankle. The drag of his cock against your walls is intoxicating, setting off sparks with each lazy thrust.

“Uh huh?” you answer weakly, stretching your arms above you. “Can you–I want more. I want it harder.” Vander closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Okay.” He braces himself and looks back down at you, holding your hips. “Okay, hold onto the table, honey.” Listening, your fingers curl around the edge of the round table, eyes trained on him. “Good girl.” Any response was cut off when he pulled back, driving back in with a sharp snap of his hips.

Air rushes out your lungs as you wail at the fire lighting up your nerves. Your nails bite into the wood in an attempt to ground yourself. If anyone could rearrange your guts with their size, Vander would be able to and you could feel it. Vander groans between deep thrusts and digs his fingers into the fat of your hips. It’ll bruise tomorrow but neither of you worry about it.

The pace he set is electrifying, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming his hips forward again. Each ram sends you sliding up the table, his cock filling you up over and over again. Your moans are uncontrollable, wanton and loud as they spill from your lips in your haze.

Vander picks up on the quick difference of your keening under him when his tip bumps your sweet spot. Twisting your hips just to the side, Vander thrusts forward to meet it again, stars blurring in your vision. “Right there?” Vander goads you as if he isn’t struggling in the same boat as you. His teeth grind at the tightness of his balls, ready to release at any moment. He couldn’t help that your warmth enveloped him so invitingly.

“Fuck, shit, ah Vander!” You uncoordinated babbles echo in the bar, the loud slapping of his hips meeting your thighs ringing in your ears. You could feel your walls mold to every vein and curve in his cock. Scrabbling for better purchase, your head bounces on the table at a fervid thrust. Before your head can meet the tabletop again, Vander’s hand has left your hip to catch the back of your skull.

“Careful,” he looks down into your bleary eyes, his own sparkling with desire. From here you can see the lights shining in his blown out pupils.

His gaze roams your features furiously as he drives deeper into you, smirking when your face screws up in pleasure. Unable to help himself, Vander tucks his face to your neck, scattering sloppy kisses. The noise he releases into the curves of your shoulder borders on a growl, his sweat wetting your skin.

The weight of his body keeps you utterly pinned to the table, his cock grinding against all that it can reach. He’s practically humping you, lost in the snug feeling of your slick cunt, never once faltering in his determination to make every inch of your body tremble.

Moans cut from your vocal cords, your fingers burning with how hard they grip the table. Vander’s rough hand on your hip moves to hike your leg higher up your shoulder to position himself to piston harder into you. Arousal coats both of you, adding an extra slipperiness to his movements now. His heavy balls slap against your ass, the muscle rippling in response.

“Sweet, fucking, pretty thing.” The sounds of your cunt only fuels his mounting desire, his groans of approval mingling with yours.

Vander’s gaze burns with a mix of determination and possessiveness when your eyes lock with his. You weren’t dumb enough to miss his usual watchful gaze, but this felt different. In this moment, you didn’t just feel him physically–but emotionally, intrinsically. No words held value right now, your gaze holding a thousand unsaid words.

You didn’t want to spill those three words, but they seemed to jump out anyways.

Your lips part as Vander nods knowingly. “I know,” he rasps, “I know sweetheart.” At the confirmation, his pace accelerates impossibly. “I’ve known for too long. Janna, I couldn’t hurt you.” It’s almost too much. His words overlap clumsily in a way that has your cunt throbbing. “But I need you. You’re gonna be mine. I’m gonna do right by you, huh?” Your moans only increase in volume at his rewarding thrusts, head turning to dig your teeth into his forearm.

He groans long and loud, cock jumping at the sudden pain. With each slam of his hips, Vander aimed to take you completely, drowning in the knowledge that you were finally his. On the precipice of release, your mouth releases him as you writhe.

“Vander! I can’t–” “You can, honey. You will. Come on, sweetheart.” Your thighs trembled from the exertion while your cunt spasmed around his length.

It only took a handful of powerful thrusts until your orgasm was crashing over you. Legs twisting, you whined brokenly at the feeling. Your eyes squeezed shut, pleasure blinding you and keeping you alight. The increased tightness of your walls spurs Vander’s own climax. In only a few seconds he was following you over the edge with a grunt.

Trying to keep his dignity intact, Vander swallows the rest of his moans and buries his face into the side of your neck, burying deep within you. His weight is nearly crushing you when he halfway collapses onto your spent body, the warmth of his cum filling you up.

The thick mixture of your release threatens to leak out and splatter on the table when he shifts to keep from flattening you. Vander’s hips unconsciously grind into you as he rides out his orgasm, groaning into your ear. After a few long moments of his heavy breathing tapering off, you speak up,

“We really need to learn to talk to each other.” He chuckles.

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