#I wanted to know what was going on because I was curious but I had no intention of letting that class know

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 4

paige x azzi

warning: fighting, blood

word count: 9.7k

a/n: honestly only got this out because i barely slept a lick last night so here’s to delusional writing at 3am! this chapter has the long awaited fight. let me know what you think or leave a comment if you can, i love reading them honestly. thank you for always reading 🫶🏼

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The door of Paige’s gym creaked open with the sharp jingle of the bell Cam annoyingly put up that Paige still hadn’t bothered to take down. Paige didn’t look up at the sound, her gloves continued to thud into the heavy bag in sharp, rhythmic bursts.

“Yo,” Cam said, her voice echoing through the mostly dark gym. “You live in here these days?”

Paige kept her same rhythm for a few more hits before she stopped, breathing heavily as she grabbed her towel that was thrown to the side. “What do you want?”

Rickea offered her usual input saying, “Wow. You’re so warm tonight.”

“It’s late,” Paige mumbled, rubbing her forearm across her forehead.

Rae wandered toward the wall of gloves and pads, curious about the gym she had never seen before. “This your little batcave?”

“Something like that,” Paige said, eyes flicking toward what she was messing with on the back wall before looking away.

Cam looked back at Paige. “We were at the facility late. Figured we’d come check on you before your fight.”

“You checked. I’m alive,” Paige said flatly, taking off her gloves with a quick tug.

Azzi trails in just them, seemingly having finished handling a phone call. She held the door long enough to keep it from slamming behind her and she didn’t say anything at first. She just walked in quietly, her eyes drifting to Paige as she did.

Paige’s eyes flicked to her for a second, lingering just slightly before she looked away.

Rickea wandered past Paige, picking up a mitt and making a show of putting it on like she was going to do something with it. “You actually training or just stress-punching?”

“Both,” Paige replied dryly.

“You need a target? Rae’s here.” Cam playfully offered.

“No.”

Azzi stayed quiet, but Paige glanced back toward her again, longer this time.

Azzi didn’t say anything, she tilted her head to the side slightly and gave her a look. Paige mirrored it without much expression somehow.

Cam interrupted the moment without realizing it when walked over and stood in front of Paige giving her a once-over. “You look lighter.”

“I lose anymore and I’ll disappear,” Paige mumbled.

The others started to wander around the space—Rickea trying on gloves and Rae asking Cam a million questions. Azzi leaned against the far wall, just watching Paige mess with her hand wraps again.

“You sleep at all?” Azzi asked, quietly, just enough for her to hear.

Paige’s hands didn’t pause, but she answered with a small shrug. “Some.”

“Eat?”

“Some.”

Azzi squinted her eyes at her. “Lie better.”

Paige’s mouth twitched at this, almost a smile, a tiny smirk maybe. Paige didn’t respond instantly, but when she finally glanced up, her eyes held a softness.

“I’m alright, forreal,” she said.

Once her wrap was suitable to her liking she slipped her gloves back on and started hitting the bag again. It wasn’t with the same force, but seemed more controlled and the gym echoed with each snap of her gloves to the bag.

The others continued to mill around, talking quietly between themselves, occasionally throwing out a comment toward Paige that she barely acknowledged.

After about 10 minutes Paige’s fists slowed again and she walked over to her water that was sitting on a bench, her gaze landing on Azzi first before anywhere else.

She stood slightly to the side of where Azzi was standing. “Ready for your game?”

Azzi nodded, shifting her weight against the wall. “Yeah. It’s Golden State, so…”

Paige unscrewed the bottle, taking a long drink, before glancing at her again with a faint smirk. “Easy win?”

Azzi laughed. “Should be. If we don’t fuck around.”

Paige’s eyes lingered on her before she looked down, screwing the cap back on her bottle.

“You weigh in tomorrow, right?” Azzi asked.

Paige nodded. “Yeah like 10AM.”

“You close?”

“1 or two pounds out,” Paige replied. “Water cut’ll handle it.”

Azzi smiled at her a little before saying, “You say that like it’s casual.”

Paige shrugged, wiping her hands down her thighs. “It is. Just part of it.”

Azzi didn’t press the topic, just gave her a look that said she wasn’t entirely buying it, but she'd let her have it for now. Paige looked back toward the bag, then back at Azzi. “Appreciate you checking, though.”

Azzi smiled again saying, “Of course.”

After their short conversation the gym settled into a quietness, Rae was scrolling on her phone near the cage, Rickea was recording a TikTok, and Cam was eyeing the small fridge Paige had in there like she was trying to will actually food into it.

“So what time’s weigh-in?” Cam called across the gym.

“Ten,” Paige answered without looking up, her response clipped.

“That’s lowkey nasty,” Rickea muttered. “You really just gotta let people stare at you while you stand on a scale in your underwear.”

Paige nodded saying, “Pretty much.”

“You into that?” Rae asked, teasing her a little.

“No.”

Cam changed the subject saying, “You ever think about trying to get them to let you fight somewhere fun? Like in Miami or something? I’d fly in like three days early for that.”

Paige didn’t look up from her phone. “Great.”

Cam narrowed her eyes at Paige’s answer. “Okay, so we don’t get real sentences tonight, noted.”

“No.”

Rickea’s mouth dropped open. “You didn’t even pretend to be nice.”

Azzi, still leaning against the wall with her arms folded, smiled behind the water bottle she had grabbed. Paige passed by her, dropping her phone on the bench, and Azzi waited a second before asking, “When are you heading to Vegas?”

Paige paused, then said, “Early tomorrow. It’s a short flight. Forty-five minutes maybe.”

Her tone was different—more open, barely noticeable but enough that Cam, who’s known her since they were kids, looked up like she’d caught something worth noting.

“Why only go the day before?” Azzi asked.

“If I go too early, I overthink. Just wanna keep my rhythm and stay in my gym as long as I can.”

“That’s smart,” Azzi said.

Cam blinked and mumbled to Rickea, “Why do we only get grunts but Azzi gets full sentences?”

Rickea crossed her arms. “I didn’t even get a hello today.”

Rae didn’t look up from her phone. “Y’all ever think maybe she just doesn’t like us?”

“Definitely feels personal,” Cam added, squinting toward Paige and Azzi.

“You already packed?” Azzi asked.

Paige shook her head. “Nah. I’ll toss some stuff together when I go in the house.”

“That’s bold,” Azzi responded, a little amused by Paige’s disorganization.

“I like pressure.”

“Clearly.”

Rickea watched the exchange. “Is she flirting? I feel like she’s flirting.”

Cam squinted toward them, her arms crossed as she watched. “I can’t tell.”

Rae let out a mock sigh, fake pouting. “She’s never flirted with me.”

Rickea turned towards her. “That’s ‘cause you probably actually like her. Don’t think she’s interested bookie.”

Rae looked offended. “Me and Azzi look alike.”

Both Rickea and Cam replied at the exact same time, “No you don’t.” But it was Paige, still across the gym, who also said it dryly, like it slipped out before she could catch it, that got a reaction out of everyone. “No, you don’t.”

Cam and Rickea laughed, Azzi smiled, and Rae mumbled, “Rude,” under her breath.

Paige didn’t even blink. “Just being honest.”

Rae narrowed her eyes at Paige. “You’re lucky you hit people for a living.”

“I’m sure I am,” Paige said plainly, finally looking over with the faintest trace of amusement on her face.

Rickea laughed and leaned into Rae. “Don’t worry, I still think you’re pretty Rae Rae.”

“That makes one of you,” Rae grumbled.

Cam shook her head and laughed before she clapped her hands together once. “Alright, we should leave the scary girl alone now.”

“Thank God,” Paige mumbled, putting her gloves back on.

Cam rolled her eyes as they turned to leave. “See you on fight day, Paigey.”

Paige ignored her completely. As the four of them made their way to the door, Azzi hung back just half a step, glancing over her shoulder. “Bye, Paige.”

Paige’s hands paused for a moment before she looked up. “Bye.”

Then she dropped her gaze again, flexing her fingers before throwing another punch into the bag like none of them had ever been there. But Azzi smiled to herself all the way out the door.

…

On the day of the fight the plane ride to Nevada was smooth. Between some of the LA Sparks players and Paige’s family, Paige’s jet felt full. Small conversations came and went in pockets, laughter from Rae here and there, quiet murmurs between Azzi and Cam, Rickea sharing a row with Paige’s younger brother Drew, the two of them playfully arguing about who knows what.

By the time they arrived in Las Vegas, there wasn’t any time for wandering around or settling in besides dropping their bags off at the hotel. The venue the slated fights were scheduled in was already pulsing with life, every corridor buzzing with preparation. When they got there security ushered them through the back entrance, down a narrow hallway that led to the fighter’s wing.

When they got to Paige’s room she was in the far corner of the room, her legs wide, forearms resting on her knees as she focused on the wrap in her lap. Her headphones were in her ears. She didn’t look up and acknowledge anyone when they entered.

Not her dad, who had his arms crossed near the door. Not her mom, who excitedly moved toward her before hesitating when her daughter didn’t even glance up. Not her younger siblings who were wide-eyed but staying close to one another.

Paige was threading wrap around her left hand with practiced efficiency and the wrap unrolled in clean pulls. Her knuckles already tight underneath. Her mouth moved slightly, like maybe she was counting, maybe repeating something to herself.

There wasn’t an ounce of anything playful in her energy tonight. No dry humor. No clipped sarcasm.

The door swung open with a sharp creak before a loud, animated voice cut through the quietness of the room. “Alright, who missed me?”

Paige’s trainer, Marcus, stepped in like he owned the place, slapping a hand against the doorframe as he walked in. His outgoing energy filled the space immediately, his sneakers squeaking slightly as he made his way in with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and mitts hanging from his hands.

Paige gave him the briefest glance before looking right back down, finishing the final wrap on her right hand.

“She locked in?” Marcus grinned to himself. “Good. It’s what I like to see.”

The others gave him small nods, acknowledging his presence, but no one tried to break the energy Paige had centered herself in. Her family had gathered near the corner of the room, speaking in hushed tones. Cam, Rae, and Rickea stood closer to the wall, watching the card before Paige’s play out on the TV screen bolted in the corner. Azzi lingered by the wall as well, her arms folded. Every so often her eyes would move between Paige and the broadcast.

When Paige finally tied off the wrap and flexed her hand, she stood up and grabbed her gloves. Her neck rolled to the side, left, then right, until a soft pop echoed in the room. She put on her gloves then crossed the floor until she was near Marcus who was already slipping the mitts on.

“You look calm,” he said, nodding in approval.

“I am.”

“You’ve seen the tape. You know what she’s coming in with.”

“She’s coming in hot,” Paige said, nodding. “Gonna try to take my head off in the first two minutes.”

“And you?”

“Imma let her.”

Marcus raised his eyebrow.

“Wear herself out a little. If she swings like I think she will, she’ll gas out before the third.”

He nodded at her thought process. “Smart. But if it gets ugly—if I don’t like what I’m seeing—I’m pulling you.”

Paige shook her head. “You pull me and you’ll need a new job before I step outta the cage.”

He paused his movements.

“I’m serious,” Paige said. “Don’t throw the towel. I know what I can handle and I’ll pull myself if I need to.”

Marcus, always needing to be the practical one on fight days, stared at her. His eyes tracking her demeanor for a few seconds he let out a slight exhale and mumbled, “Alright.” He brought his hands up. “Let’s move.”

Paige nodded her focus shifting as her first punch snapped against the mitt.

…

The muffled yelling of the crowd seeped through the walls as the fight before Paige’s ended. People in the room stirred a little. Her family stood, stretching their limbs that had grown stiff from sitting. Cam, Rae, and Rickea lingered exchanging glances before following the usher out toward their reserved seating.

Marcus gave Paige’s shoulder a brief squeeze before he grabbed a towel and followed them out knowing she liked to have a few minutes alone before the fight, leaving only her and Azzi by the door.

Azzi hesitated for a second longer, not in a rush like the others. Paige hadn’t stopped moving, throwing punches into the air, moving around the room, a routine that was rooted deep in her brain. As the door creaked slightly as Azzi moved to leave Paige glanced up briefly and their eyes met.

Azzi didn’t say anything, just offered a small smile before she turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.

Paige stood there for a second longer, her eyes lingering on the space Azzi had just left. Then she started moving again.

The lights outside the tunnel were blinding and hot like always. Paige barely registered them, her body was ahead of her mind as she walked out and stepped into the cage, the cheers from the crowd melting into static.

Across from her, her opponent was pacing in the challenging corner, bouncing lightly on her toes with her chin tucked, fingers flexing.

Paige moved to sit in her corner and closed her eyes for a breath. Then another. Slower. Deeper. Easing her heart rate in the midst of the chaos like she’d done a thousand times before. The world outside the cage faded, replaced by the thrum of blood in her ears, the scrape of her feet on floor, the feel of her pulse settling into something steady.

Behind her, Marcus leaned in quietly. “Breathe. Don’t give her more credit than she deserves. You know how to win this.”

Paige gave him a tight nod.

The fabric of her shirt pulled across her shoulders as she took it off, handing it to Marcus. She rolled her neck, shook her arms loose, then stepped forward toward the center.

The referee stood between them, rattling off the final rules and instructions. His voice was quick and practiced, but Paige barely heard him. She nodded when she knew she was supposed to but other than that she just stared in front of her blankly.

Everything was just noise now.

Round 1

The moment the bell rang, the girl from Houston exploded forward like she had something to prove to everybody in attendance. Paige of course expected it—had counted on it, really.

She didn’t move around much at first. She let her come.

The first few seconds were just noise and flash. A wild overhand right that whistled past Paige’s head, followed by a front kick aimed at her body. Paige leaned just enough to the left, the kick brushing past her ribs without real contact.

She’s fast, Paige thought. Not too sharp right now though.

Her opponent kept pressing, jabs flying in quick succession, combos that were more about the speed than actual substance. Paige kept her guard high and her footwork was calm, letting each strike graze her forearms or miss altogether. Her body easily flowed just outside each blow’s range.

She felt the girl’s rhythm. It was impatient, rushed even. She was throwing hard too early. Paige kept her own hands mostly holstered, throwing a jab here and there, not to actually connect, but to measure distance. To poke at the pace and figure out her angles.

Her opponent threw a spinning backfist next. It was reckless and flashy. Got the crowd a little excited but Paige dipped under it easily.

Arrogant, Paige thought, her eyes tracking the way her opponent’s feet reset sloppily after the spin. She’s trying to finish this too early. Too much ego.

Midway through the round, the crowd started to shift slightly. The early momentum hadn’t done any damage. Paige could feel the shift in energy. Confusion at her lack of output from newcomers in the crowd.

The Houston fighter threw a hook that Paige blocked with her elbow, rolling her shoulder forward as she absorbed the impact. A second later came a right hand straight down the middle. It was telegraphed and Paige slid back, just out of reach.

Paige’s thoughts started connecting. She’s overreaching. Her left side drops when she resets. She leads with the same combo every time. Gets predictable after the second one.

The bell rang, and Paige backed into her corner.

Round 2

The bell sounded again, and this time, the energy changed before a single strike was thrown.

The girl from Houston didn’t charge like before. Her footwork slowed, became more methodical, her hands were tighter, eyes a little sharper. Paige noticed the change immediately.

Someone told her to calm down, Paige thought, adjusting her stance slightly.

The first jab that came Paige’s way wasn’t rushed this time, but it snapped quickly and for the first time in the fight, made direct contact with Paige’s cheekbone. Just enough to sting.

Paige’s head turned slightly with the hit, absorbing it without panicking. She stepped back once, regrouping and her eyes were brighter now.

Her opponent moved forward, throwing another combination. Paige blocked high, checked the kick, then slipped inside the next right hand to answer with a heavy body shot that landed just under the ribs.

That one got a reaction.

From the crowd. From her opponent. From Azzi, who leaned forward in her seat.

“Oof,” Cam muttered next to her. “I know that shit hurt.”

Paige was already adjusting to her opponents new tactics. She felt the girl trying to tie up, wrap her arms around her waist, pull her into the clinch. Paige let her, just for a second, then she broke it.

After she broke it Paige took a quick step back and threw a sharp elbow that clipped her opponent’s lip before disengaging. Blood began to pool there, just barely visible.

Her opponent was tough, though. After a brief reset, she shot low, driving into Paige’s legs and pushing her against the cage. The crowd yelled at the quick shift in momentum, some jumping to their feet as they battled for control inside the octagon.

Paige’s back hit the chain-link, but she didn’t panic. She got an underhook, her forearm pressed hard against the girl’s collarbone. She twisted her hips and reversed the pressure, pinning her instead. Her knee drove into the thigh, once, then another time. Then she threw a quick right hook to the temple before she broke free.

The crowd surged again.

Rickea looked truly entertained by the fight.

“She’s bleeding,” Rae said, pointing toward the girl.

Paige wasn’t unscathed either. A short elbow thrown while in the clinch had opened a nick beneath her left eye. She wiped it with the back of her glove and moved forward again.

Another exchange came and it was more calculated from both ends now. Hooks, low kicks, faint level changes. Both women landed clean a few times. Paige caught a stiff jab. Her opponent took a clean left cross that made her stumble back.

They locked up again, their arms tangling, legs moving for leverage. The Houston fighter tried a trip. Paige stuffed it, twisting and almost getting her own takedown before time ran out.

The bell sounded and a scattered cheer rang from Paige’s section, mixed with nervous murmurs and impressed whistles from everyone else in the crowd. Everyone was on their feet now.

In the break, Paige’s cut man crouched in front of her, pressing a cold swab under her eye.

“You good?” he asked. She nodded once.

Across the cage, her opponent’s team was tending to her lip, now clearly split and swelling. The blood was thicker now, dripping as she spat into a towel.

Round 3

By the time the third round was about to begin, the energy in the arena was more charged. Everyone was excited about the show the two women in the cage were putting on. Both of them finally having an opponent to go rounds with.

Cam was leaned forward on the guardrail, her arms pressed against the rail. Rae stood silently, her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes darted between the cage and the screen above. Rickea mumbled something that no one heard. Azzi stood to the side of them all, her gaze fixed on the cage the entire time. The bell hadn’t even rung for the third round yet but she couldn’t look away.

Inside the cage, Paige stood in her corner, her hands on her hips. Her chest was rising and falling slowly. Her face was glistening with sweat and maybe a little blood and the area under her left eye had begun to swell slightly, the skin around it softening and tinting purple.

Across from her, the younger fighter bounced on her toes. The blood from her lip was stianing the top of her mouth guard, and one eye had started to redden slightly.

The bell sounded.

Paige stepped forward with her chin tucked, breathing steady.

Her opponent came forward a little faster than before. Not wild anymore, but definitely not timid in her movements. She looked coached and calibrated. There was a sting in her throws now. They were more selective and therefore more successful. The first jab touched Paige’s jaw and a follow-up kick slapped against her thigh. Paige checked the second one but didn’t respond, just absorbed the pace.

She was reading again trying to feel out the rhythm that seemed to constantly change. Then she responded with a tight right hand that found the other girl’s cheekbone, and the sound of the glove landing landed over the excitement of the crowd.

The girl answered with a knee that caught Paige’s side.

It stung but Paige didn’t shift much.

They clinched near the cage and for a few seconds, it became less about hits and more about finding control. Paige’s arms locked around the back, trying to angle her opponent’s hips. The girl countered, dragging Paige slightly sideways. Their feet scraped, and one of Paige’s gloves pushed up into the girl’s jaw, forcing space before she threw a quick elbow.

The girl stumbled back and Paige followed, another elbow aimed higher but this time the girl ducked and answered with a right hook that landed across Paige’s face.

Paige’s head turned slightly, and for the first time in the fight, a flash of blood sprayed into the air from her nose and cheek.

Cam winced.

Rae let out a breath. “She’s fine right?”

“She’s fine,” Paige’s dad confirmed calmly, his arms crossed as he watched his daughter. His eyes never left the cage. “Let her work. She’s got it.”

Inside the cage, blood was dripping into Paige’s mouth now. Not too much, just enough for her to taste the metallic taste. Enough to push her forward a little.

The next exchange was ugly and messy. Strikes and elbows thrown, knees and shoves. The crowd had stopped analyzing and just started yelling. Some of them leaned over the front barriers, screaming names, muffled by the yelling around them. Blood was on both fighters’ bodies. It slid across their gloves, making clinches harder to hold and strikes harder to gauge.

Both of them were tired now and their breathing was heavier than it was in the rounds prior.

Paige felt the welt rising along her cheekbone and her body ached. She could feel the bruises forming, the scrape on her ribs from the cage, the faint pulse of pain in her shoulder. But she kept pressing.

A right elbow split the air and landed causing the girl to reel back. Then came a left throw from her opponent. Paige ducked and responded with a throw to the body; then again to the ribs.

Paige’s opponent grabbed her, dragged her back into the fence. Grappling now a little clumsily.

Ten seconds left.

Azzi leaned forward slightly, just as Paige got enough room to throw a final punch over the top that landed. The bell rang, singling the end of the round.

They didn’t move for a second before they slowly separated. Both of them were sweating and panting and blood was mixed into the chaos and was dotting the floors of the cage.

Paige turned and walked to her corner. Her cut man met her halfway, towel already in hand. “Hold still,” he muttered, wiping around her cheek and nose. There was blood across her neck and chest. Some hers. Some not.

“Yours isn’t the worst,” he said, brushing beneath her eye. “She’s leaking.”

Her trainer leaned in close. “Talk to me. You okay out there?”

Paige didn’t even sit down. “I’m good,” she said. When she said it her voice was rough, clipped.

He studied her, his eyes scanning her face. Blood was still sliding down her cheek and her breathing was heavy, but her stare was in the distance.

“You sure? We can slow this down if you need to…pull back until–-”

Paige cut him off. “I said I’m good Marcus.”

He gave a short nod, slipping the towel from her shoulder and dabbing near the swelling under her eye. “Alright. Keep your lead hand up. You’re letting her crowd you when you drop it.”

“She’s sloppy,” Paige said, absentmindedly. “She’s never fought this long, getting desperate.”

“Exactly,” he responded, stepping back to give her space. “She’s frazzled. Never experienced anything like this before you got that on your side.”

Paige’s jaw tightened.

“All you gotta do is finish it.”

She nodded once and he tapped her on the back.

Round Four

The bell rang, and Paige stepped forward again, the wear of the previous rounds visible in her shoulders, the rhythm of her breathing. Her opponent mirrored the fatigue, but there was a new wildness in her eyes, a last-ditch hunger to end it this round.

They circled.

The first few exchanges were calculated: a leg kick from Paige that was checked cleanly; a body shot from her opponent that landed with a thud; a jab from Paige that snapped the girl’s head back. They were both moving trying to find the right moment.

But then a left hook landed harshly against the side of Paige’s head, just above the temple. Her body staggered from the impact, legs briefly unsure beneath her as her brain fought to analyze what was happening. The lights blurred for a second and her ears rang. She blinked, trying to get everything back into focus.

From the seating section, Cam shot up halfway from her chair. “Shit,” she muttered.

Paige’s father shook his head. “She’s fine,” he said. “She’s still in it.”

Paige shook the daze off, just enough to reset her stance. Her opponent charged in, eager to capitalize on Paige’s haziness, but Paige ducked a looping right and grappled, locking her arms under the girl’s and forcing her against the cage. The two fought for leverage with their sharp knees. Blood poured from a fresh cut just above Paige’s eyebrow, leaking down the side of her face and blurring the corner of her vision.

They broke apart and reset. Then in another flurry a jab-cross from Paige, and a clinch, her opponent trying to muscle her into a takedown that Paige blocked with experience.

Off a failed swing from her opponent, Paige slipped under and shot for the hips, driving through and dragging her down. In a blur of motion, she transitioned from half-guard to mount, then sliding behind as her opponent rolled in slight panic.

Paige had her hooks in and arms around her neck. The crowd erupted as Paige cinched a choke tightly.

A few seconds passed and Paige prayed to God that this girl wasn’t stupid enough to risk brain damage for a fight. To her relief Paige felt frantic tapping after a few more seconds.

The ref dove in, pulling her off as Paige released her immediately and sat back with blood pooling from her eyebrow. Her opponent was on her knees coughing against the mat in front of her, blood dripping down her face as she shook her head.

Paige sat there for a moment, still on the mat, her knees bent, forearms resting on them as her chest rose and fell unevenly. Her ears were still ringing with a sharp, high-pitched sound that was driving her crazy on top of the crowd’s yelling. She blinked a few times, trying to force the haze from her head but the lights above her were blurred. Her vision sharpened, dulled, and sharpened again.

The ref moved beside her, gripping her wrist and tugging her upward, announcing the win. She barely registered it as her head spinned.

Her cut man appeared almost immediately, reaching out with a towel to stop the flow across her face, but Paige brushed him off with a slight shove, not roughly just her being resistant. Silently telling him not now.

Her head was down as she walked out of the cage and instantly moved to the back toward her assigned room. The sound of the arena faded behind her with each step and it was replaced by the echo of her footsteps and the relentless ringing in her ears.

All she could do when she got to the back was grab a towel, pressing it to the side of her face as she slid down against the nearest wall. Her legs giving out without much of a fight. Blood was smeared across her cheek and neck as she wiped at it with shaking hands, but it kept coming.

The ringing in her ears felt sharper now, pulsing in rhythm with the headache that pounded behind her eyes under the harsh lights of the room. She closed them tightly just to breathe. Just to exist in the darkness and silence for a second.

The door opened followed by footsteps and excited voices.

Cam was in first, trying to bring her usual energy as she walked in with a grin. “Let’s fucking go! Paige, that was—”

“Not right now, Cam,” Paige mumbled, her voice strained enough to stop Cam mid-sentence. She raised her hands in surrender, backing off immediately. But her family followed, trailing in excitedly behind her. Their voices were full of pride, relief and adrenaline. Way too loud.

Paige winced and her face contorted in pain as her head throbbed. The room spun slightly as the noise closed in on her.

“I need everybody to get the fuck out,” she said suddenly.

Her family was completely stunned. Some of them blinked like she personally insulted them with the statement. Her mom opened her mouth to say something, but stopped herself when she saw Paige’s face.

“Somebody has to stay with you, P,” a voice said softly. Maybe Cam, Paige couldn’t tell.

She didn’t even bother to look over. Her head stayed resting against the wall with her eyes shut tight. “Whoever’s gonna sit here and shut the fuck up can stay,” she mumbled.

There was a moment of hesitation before Rickea pressed her hand lightly to Azzi’s back, pushing her forward.

“You heard her,” Rickea said softly, glancing at the others. “Let’s go.”

Azzi hesitated for just a second before walking fully into the room while the others shuffled out.

Azzi eased the door shut behind them and stood still for a moment. Paige hadn’t moved from her spot on the floor. Her legs were stretched out in front of her and the towel in her lap was stained with smears of red. Even without looking over, she seemed to know who was there.

“You still here?” Paige questioned.

Azzi whispered softly, “Yeah.”

“Figured it was you. Everyone else talks too damn much and doesn’t listen.”

Azzi didn’t answer, she just stepped further inside Paige adjusted her position still not opening her eyes. “Can you turn off the lights for me?”

Azzi walked over and flicked off the switch and the room sank into darkness. The only light coming from the hallway slipping in under the door. Paige exhaled quietly at the instant relief. Azzi let her eyes adjust to the slight darkness before making her way toward the corner where she spotted the ice bin. She scooped some of it into a bag and wrapped it tightly with a towel.

Just as she was finishing up a knock sounded. It was gentle, but loud enough to make Paige flinch slightly.

Azzi crossed to the door and cracked it open.

Paige’s cut man was standing there holding a small vial and a long large cotton swab in his hands. He looked past Azzi at Paige on the floor then handed her both items. “She won’t let me near her again tonight,” He said. “She knows what to do. But just in case, clean the blood off first. Pour this on the swab��not too much—then roll it gently over the cut.”

Azzi gave him a quick nod as she took the items and quietly shut the door again.

When she turned back around, Paige was still in the same exact spot and the towel she was using was useless now, covered in red more than white at this point.

Azzi moved quietly as she sat down beside her. “Can I help you?”

Paige didn’t answer. She just let her head roll to the side, eyes cracking open to look at her. Even in the low light, Azzi could see the exhaustion etched into every part of her face. Her jaw was tight, her cheek was bruised and the cut over her eyebrow still bleeding in a stubborn line down the side of her face.

Paige gave the smallest shrug. “Haven’t gotten an ass whooping like this in a while,” she mumbled.

Azzi let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she reached for a fresh towel. “Yeah, well…you still won.”

“Barely,” Paige mumbled, letting her eyes fall closed again.

Azzi shifted, her knees brushing against Paige’s thigh as she gently tilted Paige’s chin toward the light. Paige’s jaw clenched and she drew in a sharp breath but she didn’t stop her.

Azzi began to wipe her face slowly despite the amount of blood. She grimaced here and there as she worked. The smears across Paige’s temple, the streak down her neck, dried and fresh blood all blending together.

Paige caught the expression and cracked a barely there smile. “Squeamish?”

Azzi smiled, her eyes flicking up for just a second. “Maybe a little.”

Paige lifted her hand to take the towel, but Azzi caught her wrist and pushed it back down. “I got it.” She said it softly, but firmly enough that Paige didn’t argue. She just dropped her hand back to her lap, and she let her head rest against the wall again. Azzi wiped away the last of the blood. When the towel did all it could, Azzi reached for the cotton swab and the vial. She didn’t say anything about it, just soaked the tip and leaned in.

The moment the antiseptic touched the gash over Paige’s eyebrow, her body got rigid. Her jaw clenched and her eyes squeezed shut, a sharp breath hissing through her teeth.

Azzi whispered, “Sorry,” but didn’t stop rolling it over the cut.

Paige didn’t respond, just exhaled hard again as Azzi moved to the cut beneath her eye, rolling the soaked cotton along the split. Paige winced again, but didn’t move.

Once she was done Azzi paused and let her hand linger near Paige’s cheek just a moment longer than necessary. She grabbed the towel-wrapped ice from earlier and pressed it gently to the side of her head. Paige’s hand came up to take it from her and hold it in place.

“You have a concussion.”

Paige nodded once. “Yeah, I know.”

“You’re taking this better than I thought you would.”

Paige let out a quiet scoff. “I’m not,” she mumbled. “I just don’t have the energy to be pissed out loud right now.”

Azzi responded with a small, almost sympathetic laugh, leaning back against the wall beside her. “Fair enough.” She sat with her knees pulled up, glancing over at Paige every so often. After a minute, she asked, “Was it worth it?”

“Ask me again when the ringing stops.”

Azzi add’s, “At least you didn’t tap, that's a little embarrassing.”

Paige gave a tired breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Yeah, well. Pride’s a hell of a drug.”

They sat there quietly for a few moments then Azzi nudged Paige’s leg gently with her foot. “You know,” she said casually, “I don’t think I’ve ever been attracted to somebody covered in someone else’s blood until today.”

Paige’s lips twitched, and before she could stop it, a small smile cracked through. Just for a second.

Azzi’s eyes lit up. “I did it.”

Paige blinked. “Did what?”

Azzi grinned. “I got a smile.”

Paige shook her head, still smiling faintly. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late,” Azzi said, leaning back like she’d just won something important. “I’m remembering this moment.”

Paige shook her head, the smile still hanging on her face even as she sighed and mumbled, “I need to shower.”

“Okay, come on.” Azzi stood and reached out her hand.

Paige grabbed it, groaning softly as Azzi helped her to her feet. Her body protested with every movement, and a sharp twinge in her side made her wince. “Jesus Christ,” she mumbled under her breath as she walked toward the bathroom.

As the door closed and the sound of the shower running steadily Azzi sat down in one of the chairs pulling out her phone to send a quick text to Cam. A few minutes later everyone cautiously trickled back into the room silently.

Cam looked toward the bathroom, then turned to Azzi who was still seated in the chair by the wall, towel and gauze discarded beside her.

“How’s she doing?” Cam asked gently.

Azzi glanced toward the closed door, then back at them. “Pretty sure she’s got a concussion,” she said, keeping her voice low, “but other than that…she seems pretty ok.”

Rickea exhaled, shaking her head. “That shit was crazy.”

Paige’s dad stood near the back, replaying the fight in his head. “She’ll be alright. Always is.”

“Still,” Cam said, “that was a lot. You could see it in her face, especially in the third.”

They all nodded in agreement, the low conversation filling the room just as the bathroom door opened.

Steam came out first, followed by the slow steps of Paige herself. Her wet hair was down and her skin was still flush from the heat of the shower. She had on a pair of dark sweats that hung a little low on her hips and a plain sports bra that revealed the fresh bruises starting to bloom along her side and shoulder. She was moving like every joint ached, like gravity had doubled just for her tonight.

The room quieted again.

“You alright?” Cam asked gently.

Paige’s eyes moved to her, and she gave a tired thumbs up before walking toward the chair near the wall that had her bag in it.

Paige slipped her hoodie on over her sports bra, tugging the hood low enough to shield her eyes from the fluorescent lights she knew was in the hall. Even the bit of brightness flowing in from the cracked door made her blink a few times, her temples throbbing in sync with the buzz of every overhead fixture. The sound of voices around her felt amplified, like her skull couldn’t contain the noise.

She brought a hand up to her temple, rubbing it a few times.

“You mind driving the car I got?” Paige said to Azzi. “I can’t deal with all this right now.”

Azzi nodded. “Of course.”

Just behind them, Rickea made a dramatic gagging sound, sticking her tongue out and jabbing her index finger toward it like she was about to puke. “God, you’re actually disgusting.”

Paige turned her head just enough to throw Rickea a look, but even that shift made her grimace slightly. She mumbled, “You’re lucky I can’t feel my legs right now.”

Rickea snorted and lifted both hands like she was surrendering. Whispering, “Love you Paigey.”

Azzi just chuckled, looping the keys around her finger.

The walk to the car wasn’t long, but every step was a reminder of how fucked up Paige’s body felt. Every sharp laugh or car engine in the distance made her jaw clench. She kept her head down, her hoodie a weak but welcome shield against the chaos of the world.

Azzi stayed next to her, guiding her through the parking lot. When they reached the car, Azzi unlocked it and opened the passenger side for her. Paige slid in with a soft grunt as Azzi put her bag in the backseat before she rounded to the driver’s side and started the engine. Paige immediately leaned her head back and shut her eyes. For the first time all night, she let out a breath that sounded almost like relief.

Azzi kept her eyes on the road, one hand loosely gripping the steering wheel while the other rested on her thigh. The sound of the tires on pavement and the occasional sound of passing cars were the only sounds filling the vehicle. Paige was slumped back in the passenger seat and the faint blue light from the dashboard cast shadows across her bruised face.

That silence lasted almost the entire drive until the car’s Bluetooth kicked in and Paige’s phone started ringing abruptly. Paige let out a long loud groan.

“Jesus Christ,” she mumbled, squinting one eye open. The name on the screen read CUT MAN. She sighed and answered it. “I should fire you.”

Her cut man laughed on the other end of the line. “I got a physician heading to your hotel room before you call it a night.”

Paige blinked slowly. “Why,” she asked flatly, not even trying to hide her exhaustion.

“Shut up and just let me do what you pay me for.”

She didn’t bother responding. She just let her hand drop to her lap and ended the call.

From the driver’s seat, Azzi glanced over. “Everything—”

“Sshh no talking,” Paige cut her off gently, her eyes already drifting shut again as her head leaned back against the window.

Azzi nodded, lips twitching into a quiet smile at Paige’s bossiness as she let the silence settle again.

Once Azzi pulled into the hotel parking lot, she slipped the car into park and glanced over.

Paige didn’t move.

Azzi let a few seconds pass before gently saying her name. “Paige?”

Paige still didn’t move. Just the slow rise and fall of her chest as her cheek leaned against the cool window.

Azzi reached over and nudged her arm lightly. “Hey.”

Paige shifted, and a tired mumble escaped her lips. “Wassup…”

Azzi smirked. “We’re here, princess.”

Paige didn’t move, from her position in the seat. “Your parents clearly failed…didn’t teach you not to insult someone who could beat your ass,” she whispered.

“I’m pretty sure I could take you right now, honestly.”

That got a huff of amusement from Paige, her lips twitching upward as she slowly peeled her eyes open. They were glassy, heavy-lidded, but there was a small glint of life in them again.

She turned her head, and Azzi was already looking at her, a soft smile on her face.

For a moment, they just sat there, the engine clicking softly as it cooled, the hotel looming behind them, and the world feeling a little quieter inside the car.

Then Azzi tilted her head, grinning wider. “I know I’m pretty, but we should probably get you upstairs.”

Paige just shook her head slowly, the ghost of a smile still on her face as she reached for the door handle.

The walk up to Paige’s room was slow—Paige leaning a bit into the wall every few steps and almost falling asleep again in the elevator, but they made it without much fuss. When they reached her hotel room, she fished the keycard from her pocket. “You coming in?”

Azzi didn’t answer, she just followed her silently.

The room was modest, just big enough. A king bed sat in the center of the room, with a set of tall windows next to it overlooking the city lights of a city that never sleeped. Paige didn’t bother with pleasantries; she tugged her hoodie off the second the door shut and tossed it onto a chair before stumbling toward the bed. The mattress gave under her weight as she dropped onto it and she exhaled like she’d been holding her breath all night.

Azzi, meanwhile, wandered over to the other side of the room and reached for the bathroom light, flipping it on just enough to cast a glow into the room without overwhelming Paige. She walked to the large windows and stared out at the city below.

She stayed by the window for a moment, the city lights painting her silhouette in soft golds and blues. Then, her gaze drifted to the bed where Paige was stretched out like she’d melted into the mattress. “You look real cozy over there,” Azzi said quietly, walking back toward the center of the room. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you brought me here just to watch you sleep.”

Paige didn’t open her eyes, but the corners of her mouth tilted up slightly. “I bring you around to boost morale.”

Azzi smiled, sinking onto the foot of the bed. “You sure you don’t just like having me close?”

“I’m concussed,” Paige said but it came out muffled against the pillow. “Flirt with me when my brain isn’t soup ight?”

Azzi laughed at this and turned a little, watching Paige’s breathing slow. The silence stretched comfortably between them but then Paige’s breaths started to even out a little too much, her body beginning to relax into sleep.

“Hey,” Azzi said gently, scooting a little closer. “Don’t pass out yet.”

A groggy grunt came in response.

“You got a physician coming to check on you, remember?”

Paige groaned into the pillow like the words personally offended her. “I hate my life.”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “Yeah, well, hate it with your eyes open for ten more minutes.”

Paige waved her off before her hand flopped back to the bed. “You’re the worst.”

Azzi grinned. “I thought I boosted morale?”

“I take it back,” Paige said dryly, her face still buried in the pillow.

The room fell quiet again, the sound of the AC humming in the background filling the space perfectly. Azzi took the moment to pull out her phone, scrolling through notifications before opening the group chat with Cam, Rickea, and Rae.

Azzi [11:49 PM]: we’re back at the hotel. they have a physician coming to check on her.

Cam hearted the message. And a second later, Rickea responded.

Rickea [11:51 PM]: you in the telly? 😏

Azzi held back a laugh and quickly typed out:

Azzi [11:51 PM]: GOODNIGHT.

She was barely able to hit send when there was a knock at the door.

Paige once again groaned and pressed herself deeper into the mattress like she could disappear into it and make everybody go away.

Azzi stood up and was already moving toward the door when she said, “Physician’s here, princess. She opened the door and greeted the woman quietly.

The physician stepped inside, hesitating slightly as her eyes adjusted to the dim room. “It’s a little dark in here.”

Azzi gestured toward the lump of Paige on the bed. “If I turned on the lights, she probably would've tried to kill me.”

From across the room, muffled by the pillow, Paige said, “Still will.”

“Unfortunately, I need some light to actually see her.”

With a resigned sigh, Azzi walked over and turned on the two bedside lamps. A warm glow lit up the room just enough to make Paige wince.

“Paige, I’m gonna need you to sit up for me.”

Paige exhaled slowly, pushing herself upright with one hand while the other braced her sore side. She moved like her body weighed twice as much, before she finally settled on the edge of the bed.

The physician set her bag down on the nearby dresser, pulling on a pair of gloves before crouching in front of Paige.

“Alright let’s take a quick look at these cuts first,” she said, inspecting the one along Paige’s eyebrow and just beneath her eye. She leaned in, carefully tilting Paige’s chin with two fingers. “Clean. No stitches needed. Just keep them clean and apply this.” She reached back and grabbed something from her bag before holding up a small tube of ointment, setting it on the nightstand. “Twice a day.”

Paige gave a slow nod, her eyes half-closed. “Cool.”

Then the physician moved to her ribs where she gently pressed at one of the darker bruises on Paige’s side, and Paige’s whole body tensed as she tried to breathe through it.

“Bruising’s not bad, not too deep” the physician murmured, more to herself than anyone.

Paige gave a bitter laugh under her breath. “Not bad my ass.”

Azzi, who was sitting near the window, cracked a faint smile but stayed quiet.

“Alright,” the physician said, stepping back slightly and reaching into her bag again. “Time to check on the concussion.”

When she pulled out the small flashlight, Paige’s eyes barely cracked open before she grimaced. “Yeah…that’s not happening.”

“I need to check pupil dilation sweetheart,” the physician said calmly.

Paige just shook her head, shifting slightly as she leaned her elbows onto her knees. “You can guess. Just go with your gut. I trust you.”

The physician laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “I’d be out of a job if I did that.”

Paige let out a slow breath. “I can offer you a job. Problem solved.”

That earned a genuine laugh from both the physician and Azzi. The moment settled lightly, but Paige eventually resigned and opened her eyes again muttering, “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

The physician raised the penlight and gently swiped it past Paige’s eyes. Paige immediately flinched, her face tightening as she shut her eyes again.

“Sorry,” the physician said softly, giving her a moment. She waited patiently until Paige blinked her eyes open again, and this time she managed to keep them open long enough for the exam.

“Did you lose consciousness at any point?” she asked, clicking the light off and slipping it into her coat pocket.

“No.”

The physician nodded, peeling off her gloves. “It’s a Grade I concussion. You’ll have some light and noise sensitivity for a few days, but it shouldn't last longer than a week. If it does, schedule a follow-up with your physician.”

“Mhmm. Thanks,” Paige mumbled, already shifting back toward the pillows as she lowered herself onto the bed again.

The physician turned toward Azzi as she packed up her bag. “Acetaminophen only for the first 30 hours or so. After that, if it’s not doing enough, you can switch to naproxen.”

Azzi nodded, trying to lock the instructions into memory.

But the physician kept going, her tone professional, “And I wouldn’t recommend any sexual intercourse for at least—”

“I’m not—you know, I mean…we’re not—” Azzi quickly stammered, cutting her off mid-sentence, eyes going wide as she stumbled over her words.

From the bed, Paige let out a low laugh, her voice muffled by the pillow. “Real smooth.”

Azzi shot her a glare, but even the physician cracked a small smile as she zipped her bag closed.

The physician gave a polite smile as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “Rest, hydrate, and no blue light for a while unless it’s absolutely necessary. If anything feels off, call your trainer or head straight to urgent care, okay?”

Paige gave a lazy thumbs-up without lifting her head. “Noted.”

Azzi followed the physician to the door, holding it open for her. “Thanks again,” she said, a bit sheepishly.

The woman nodded at Azzi before glancing back at Paige one more time. “Take care of yourself, champ.”

“Tryin’,” Paige mumbled.

Once the door clicked shut behind her, Azzi turned back toward the room, sighing as she leaned against the wall. “I panicked,” she said.

Paige cracked one eye open. “Couldn’t tell.”

Azzi walked over and lightly tapped her on the leg. “I was trying to protect our virtue.”

“My virtue was gone the second I stepped in the ring tonight,” Paige mumbled, shifting slightly on the bed. “You hear the part where I’m not allowed to look at screens because I got hit so hard?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, pulling out her phone. “So I guess that means no checking Twitter to see if they’re already fantasizing about you.”

Paige groaned at the thought and turned her face into the pillow. “Jesus Christ.”

Azzi smiled, “On the bright side, I’ve now officially been mistaken for your girlfriend and given the role of your nurse. We’re really hitting milestones tonight.”

Paige reached blindly to grab a pillow and toss it in Azzi’s direction—but it barely made it halfway before falling on the floor. “I have no strength.”

“I noticed,” Azzi said, already picking it up and placing it back by Paige’s head.

Azzi grabbed a water bottle from the nearby counter and handed it to Paige. “Here. Drink. And no sarcasm until you’re at least 60 percent.”

Paige took the bottle, her fingers brushing Azzi’s. “You sticking around?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You want me to?”

Paige didn’t answer right away—just unscrewed the cap and took a long sip. When she set the bottle down on the nightstand, she said, “Wouldn’t hate it.”

Azzi shook her head at the nonanswer. “Do you have clothes?”

Paige vaguely motioned toward the corner of the room without fully lifting her arm. Azzi followed her gesture to a half-zipped suitcase.

She walked over, rummaging through the bag until she pulled out a large t-shirt and a pair of soft cotton shorts. She disappeared into the bathroom and she took a few minutes to freshen up, throwing her hair into a bun.

When she stepped back into the room, the only light still coming from the side lamps now that she turned off the bathroom light, she grabbed the extra blanket draped over the chair. “Scoot over, drama queen.”

Paige let out a theatrical sigh as she sluggishly moved to one side of the large bed.

Azzi climbed in the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too much as she settled beside her. Not too close, but close enough that Paige would know she was there if she moved in the middle of the night. She fluffed the blanket over herself and looked at the ceiling for a second before glancing at Paige again and saying, “Wow. She listens.”

“Only ‘cause I can’t argue right now,” Paige mumbled into the pillow.

“Yeah, yeah. Save the threats for when your eyes don’t look like a sad puppy when you open them.”

Paige opens her eyes at this, and Azzi immediately regrets her wording. Not because they were wrong, but because they were too right. Her blue eyes, rimmed with exhaustion and they were dull from the headache, but they still held a beautifulness, soft and glassy like she was seeing the world through crystalline water.

Azzi held her gaze for way longer than she meant to before clearing her throat and looking away. “Okay, maybe a cute puppy,” she said.

Paige gave a weak smirk, her eyes fluttering shut again. “Nice save.”

They settled into a nice quietness, the tension slowly draining from Paige’s body. The buzz of life outside their door fading into the background.

Azzi adjusted the blanket over her legs, glancing at Paige who was curled loosely on her side now, facing her. “Hey,” she said softly, almost hesitant to say something. “You did good tonight, y’know.”

Paige didn’t respond right away, but her lip twitched like she heard her.

Azzi kept going anyway. “I know it sucked, and I know you probably feel like shit, but you kept your head in it and you won.”

There was a pause. Just long enough to make Azzi think maybe Paige had drifted to sleep. But then, Paige responded, “Don’t think I’ve ever been so appreciative of a concussion.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by the random comment. “Why?”

“If I wasn’t, I’d be too pissed. Too in my head,” Paige said with her raspy voice. “I probably wouldn’t be able to talk to you…definitely would've been an ass. Probably pissed you off or sum.”

“Don’t worry. I like it when you’re an ass.”

Paige let out a small laugh with her eyes still closed. “Yeah?”

“Mmm. Real sexy,” Azzi replied with a smile of her own, her voice dropping playfully.

That made Paige laugh again.

A comfortable silence settled in for another moment before Paige said, “Don’t let me sleep through breakfast…feels like I haven’t eaten in years.”

“I’ll have you up bright and early.”

“Not before nine,” Paige said, already half asleep.

“8:59,” Azzi said smugly as she leaned over and turned off the lamps.

She settled back beside Paige in the dark, a tiny smile still on her lips. “Goodnight, Paige.”

There was a pause before Paige’s barely-there voice responded back, “’Night, Azzi.”

Just as Azzi’s eyes were fluttering closed, Paige spoke again.

“You won the bet, by the way.”

Azzi smiled in the dark. “I know,” she whispered back.

[morverenmaybewrites]

Iced Coffee (Jason Todd x Reader)

Summary:

In which Dick Grayson tries to give Jason some relationship advice. And ends up learning a few new things about his little brother.

Pairing:

Jason Todd x Reader

(AO3)

Imagine Dick Grayson wanting to talk to Jason about his new girlfriend. That is, you.

Imagine Dick Grayson, talkative Dick Grayson, whose laughter and words bubbled easily from his throat, like air released from an opened soda can.

Imagine Dick Grayson, who's used to going into any situation utterly confident in his ability to coax a smile and a story out of even the grumpiest civilians.

And now imagine him being utterly on the back foot ever since Jason came back.

The smile that's more reliable to him than his own mask now feels more like a grimace whenever Dick is around his little brother. His jokes and short little stories meant to put people at ease dry up on his tongue, and he's often left with his mouth hanging stupidly open like a fish washed-up on Gotham Bay.

For all of his hard-earned people skills, Dick Grayson simply couldn't find the right words to reach his little brother.

Perhaps it's because his last image of Jason Todd was that of a prepubescent boy, growing so fast that their father barely had enough time to put clothes on his back before he's outgrown them again.

And now, in his place was a hulking giant that Dick had to crane his neck to look in the eye.

Perhaps it's Jason's voice, and the fact that before his kidnapping, he hadn't come into adult voice yet. It was still high-pitched and bright and excited whenever they bent their heads to look over maps of Gotham. This new Jason, on the other hand, had the voice of a man, harsh and gritty, like stone grinding against stone.

One that often made him seem far too old than his actual age.

Or perhaps it's the simple fact that a decade ago, the Joker took away Dick Grayson's little brother.

And the man who came back was now a stranger.

Dick tried, of course.

He tried his best, like anyone would, given his position. After all, how many people were given a second chance to make their family whole again?

It's just that he didn't know how.

While the previous Robin had been talkative and curious and hung onto every word Dick said as if it was gospel, this new Jason was quiet, taciturn.

He spoke with a wince, as if every word hurt him, and Dick had to work hard not to wonder why this was.

He wasn't usually interested in drawing up battle plans, often choosing to do missions alone.

Now imagine Dick Grayson, crammed in what feels like the world's tiniest Jetta during a stakeout, quietly trying not to go insane. He had never done well with silence, even before Jason had been kidnapped. He hated the idea of sitting in it, stewing in his own thoughts until he could feel them scratching along the inside of his skull.

But try as he might, Dick just couldn't draw his little brother into conversation. His answers, when he bothered to give them, were short and irritated. As final as a door slammed shut.

"So, you know much about this guy we're staking out?" Dick tried.

"About as much as you. Wanted for human trafficking." Jason paused, massaged his throat as if speaking two whole sentences hurt him.

Someone's phone pinged. They both looked at theirs.

After a minute, Dick tried again.

"Barbara said he used to work out of Peru. I wonder what made him move to Gotham. Got any ideas?"

Another ping. Jason looked down at his burner phone. Caught Dick's expression out of the corner of his eye and mutely shook his head.

"Well," Dick pretended to stretch, more to have something to do than anything else.

He decided to try a third time.

"Seen the Bloodhounds’ game last night?"

Jason looked at him as if he was speaking in tongues, and Dick decided that it was high time he tried shutting up for a while. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, fidgeted with the radio, trying to decide which station was the least likely to drive him insane over the course of what seemed to be a very long, very boring stakeout.

Dick settled on easy R&B. Leaned back in his seat, or at least pretended to, as he watched Jason fiddle with his phone.

"Barbara got any updates for us?" he asked as Jason read over a text.

There was an awful moment when Jason startled, and the first thing he did was reach for his guns. It must have been instinct, his hands flowing smoothly from one location to the next. And it was only the quiet click of the safety turning off that seemed to bring Jason back to himself.

Dick could practically see his little brother forcing himself to relax: the visible unclenching of his jaw. The conscious decision to let go of his guns.

And Dick tried, very, very hard not to think about how he must have spent the past few years, if his first reaction to being surprised was violence.

If he could somehow revive the Joker just so he could kill him again, Dick would do it. He could have sworn he could hear his own teeth grinding. The air in the car suddenly felt thick, the silence suffocating, as both of them tried not to acknowledge what just happened.

And just as Dick was mentally rehearsing his speech to get coffee and stale donuts from the shop across the street, Jason spoke.

"It wasn't," he said.

Dick blinked. The number of times that Jason initiated conversation was few and far in between.

"Pardon?" Dick said, wondering if he heard it right.

"It wasn't Barbara on the phone," Jason clarified, this time slower, as if he was talking to a particularly dim child.

"Alfred, then," Dick guessed.

"No. And I didn't."

"Didn't what?'

"I didn't watch the Bloodhounds' game last night. I was on patrol and must have missed it."

"Oh."

Dick wasn't even sure if Jason watched baseball anymore. It was just another conversational Hail Mary he threw out there. But at least Jason seemed willing to talk, even if it was in broken fragments. But if Jason was on patrol the night before, and he was on stakeout tonight then he must not have gotten much sleep.

"Want to get some coffee?" Dick said, jerking a thumb at the corner store he was eyeing earlier. "My treat."

While Bludhaven didn't have the abundance of street vendors and overnight kiosks that Gotham City offered, it at least offered similar 24-hour joints that could offer the same overpriced, watered-down coffee that one could get in Gotham City.

And in its own small way, it was like Dick Grayson never left home.

Josiah Johannes Salazar was almost certainly the made-up name of the man they were staking out. A small-time thug, at least by their usual standards, he mostly dealt in human trafficking and came under Barbara's radar after a rash of missing person reports were linked back to him.

A gifted art student from the local college.

A stand-up comedian who often performed to packed bars on rowdy weekends.

A used-car salesman from the Burrows.

Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Just your usual run-of-the-mill scumbaggery. Kidnapping people to be bought and sold on the flesh market. Or so, that was Barbara's current theory. An easy enough case. Sure to be closed by the end of the week. In fact, Tim already had several hopeful leads on the victims' possible locations.

Which was why it was such a mystery that Jason insisted–insisted!–on accompanying Dick on this particular stakeout.

It wasn't like he was unwelcome–Dick would jump at any chance to bond with his little brother again–it was just unexpected. Certainly, when he had rounded the parking spot where he kept the second hand Jetta, he hadn't expected Jason to be there, a duffel bag slung across his shoulder and a scowl on his face.

And as soon as Dick unlocked the car, Jason opened the door and planted himself so firmly in the passenger's seat that for a moment, Dick wondered if they really did have a prior agreement he forgot about. But now in the garish yellow light of the donut shop, one fact was becoming increasingly obvious–his little brother was tired. The lighting made him look positively jaundiced, and the shadows under his eyes were as fat as bruises. His clothes were rumpled, and Dick found himself wondering if he had changed into them immediately after his patrol.

The scar on his face looked more terrible than ever.

There was a sudden tension in Jason's shoulders that made Dick realize he was staring.

He immediately dropped his gaze.

Only to find an even more incredible sight.

"Hey, Jason..."

Jason frowned at him, and glanced around the shop to see if anyone was listening. But apart from the cashier, a pimply teenager flicking through skin magazines, the place was empty.

Jason never did like hearing them use their real names while out on missions. And it was only after careful assessment of the area did he finally speak.

"What?"

His response was short and irritated, a clear sign that he was beginning to weary of conversation. But Dick couldn't help himself.

"Are you drinking iced coffee?"

The cups in their hands were nearly identical, condensation beading on the cheap plastic surface, although Dick was sure that Jason didn't have the same obscene amounts of caramel syrup pumps in his. But back when he lived in the manor, Dick was sure that Jason was strictly a hot coffee kind of guy.

A hot black coffee and cigarette type of guy. The result of spending most of his childhood in East End. Alfred despaired at the state of his diet, and Dick would often hear him lecturing Jason on the dangers of nicotine and caffeine addiction.

Jason glanced down at his drink, seemingly unbothered. "Yes."

He seemed content to leave it at that, despite the fact that this new information had hit Dick with the force of a bombshell.

Jason drank iced coffee now?

What else did he like?

Did he like matcha? Chai? Perhaps those overpriced flattened croissants dipped in chocolate? Did Jason still like soft tacos from food trucks? Or did he prefer burritos now?

For a moment, Dick envisioned inviting Jason to go shop-hopping with him and Barbara, the way they used to back when Jason was Robin. Maybe even invite Tim along, now that Jason was finally speaking to him.

Eat questionable street food until their stomachs roiled with grease. Or even better, haul it all back to the Clocktower and make a movie night out of it.

He could even imagine Alfred, somehow unchanged, hovering at the edges, making sarcastic comments about everyone's cholesterol level.

Maybe he could even convince him to try a fry or two.

Maybe Bruce–

The ping of Jason's phone broke Dick out of his thoughts.

"Not an update," Jason muttered at him, before opening his phone to take a look at it.

There was the barest flicker of emotion on his face before he was deleting the message and pocketing it. But not before Dick caught a glimpse of what was on the screen: a grainy image of the interior of a pizza parlor outfitted like it was from the 70s. A bottle of cheap beer and what looked like someone's Scrabble tiles were front and center.

Dick blinked. "Jason..."

The iced coffee. The constant texts from someone.

How could Dick Grayson, son of the world's greatest detective, had missed it?

"Jason, are you texting your girlfriend?"

It was like an explosion had gone off in Dick's chest, like someone had shaken a can of soda and pulled the tab to watch the glorious release of carbon dioxide and sugar. Finally, after struggling all night to find something that he and Jason could talk about, finally Dick found something that he could relate to his little brother about: women.

"Fuck off, Dick," Jason muttered, but he knew his little brother enough to realize there was no heat in it. "It's none of your business."

"Holy shit, you totally are. And while on a stakeout, too!"

Dick felt giddy.

It was unfamiliar, this ribbing. But it was welcome. It felt like the sort of thing that a big brother should do.

"You know Bruce wouldn't approve," he prodded.

He made his voice sound deep, mimicking their father, "Distractions on the field can be a fatal mistake."

"I don't give a rat's ass about what Bruce approves of," Jason said with a shrug, but he failed to hide the amusement in his voice.

"Besides,” he added. “He flirted with Selina Kyle all the time. In full costume, the hypocrite."

Dick laughed, partly because it was true, partly because he was actually bantering–bantering!–with his little brother again.

Jason's phone pinged again, and this time Dick couldn't resist another jab.

"She's got you over a barrel, huh?" Dick said.

"What?"

"Are you in the doghouse?"

Jason frowned at him, and Dick decided to elaborate. "Whenever I took missions one after the other, Barbara would let me have it. Especially if it made me miss date nights. She used to send me these walls of text..."

Jason shook his head. "She's not angry with me."

"Oh." It was nice of you to be such an understanding girlfriend. "It's good that she understands. How long has it been since you took her on a date anyway?"

Jason looked uneasy, shifting his weight from one foot to the next.

"Two weeks," he muttered.

"Two weeks?" Dick was flabbergasted. "Dude, Barbara would definitely have put me in the doghouse for that."

A night on the couch at the minimum.

"I've been busy," Jason said defensively. "We're nearly closing in on this case."

Right. Dick nearly forgot. Josiah Johannes something.

"Well, maybe you should do something nice for her, at least," Dick insisted

"You know, remind her that you care."

He thought of his father, who used to buy bouquets of flowers for his mother, to give to her after every successful performance. The night of her death, there had been a large bouquet of orchids left in front of her dressing room mirror that went unclaimed.

Dick shook his head, dusting away the mental cobwebs.

"Got any ideas?" he asked.

Jason shook his head mutely.

"Come on, give me something," Dick said. "You must have some idea growing up."

Bruce, he knew, was notoriously tight-lipped, so it was unlikely that Jason got any ideas from him. But maybe, once upon a time, Willis Todd did something nice for his wife.

"The men in East End would tip an extra five dollars to whores they like,” Jason snapped.

Dick felt his heart drop to his stomach. He could feel a flush rising to his cheeks.

"Yeah, don't...don't do that..." he muttered.

They grow quiet for several minutes, sipping their coffee and occasionally throwing glances at the building they were supposed to be staking out. It was Jason who eventually spoke first.

"She's not upset," he said quietly. "I just...feel like I should do something for her."

It struck Dick then, that Jason looked woefully young. It was likely that this was Jason's first real relationship. And he had nothing to go on except what he had seen men do to sex workers in East End.

And Bruce...wasn't exactly a model for healthy relationships.

"How about flowers?" Dick suggested gently. "Those are always a classic.

Do you know what kind of flowers she likes?"

A pause.

"No."

"I used to date a girl," Dick began. "Bit of a gardener. She loved roses. She'd snip the ends and put them in water to make them last longer. She loved white roses best of all, because she'd try all sorts of experiments with dyes."

Jason didn't answer, fiddling with the straw of his drink. And when he next spoke, it was in a painfully unsure voice.

"Is that...something I should know?" he asked quietly. "Her favorite flowers?"

Suddenly, Dick hoped–wished–violently that this wasn't Jason's first relationship. That sometime after the Joker and before the Arkham Knight, he carved some semblance of peace for himself. Maybe met a girl or a guy during those few sunlit months in Santa Prisca. Dated. Fooled around. The kind of things that he should have done growing up. The kind of things that Joker stole from him.

"Not necessarily," Dick said, his voice soft. "But it doesn't hurt to pay attention. Girls like that sort of thing. Well, people, really. If she ever mentions something like that, just make sure to take a note."

The nod Jason gave him was oddly solemn, and Dick realized, with heartbreaking clarity, how much his little brother wanted to make this work with you.

"What about chocolates?" Dick suggested again, not wanting to dwell on darker thoughts. "I'm sure we can find a confectionary here somewhere..."

Jason snorted. "Sure. In Bludhaven, the peak of romance."

He grew quiet again, before saying, in hesitant voice: "She likes old movies. There was that one about an urban legend..."

"There you have it," Dick said, trying not to let the relief show in his voice.

"You can have a movie night or something! Hell, you can even go now. Make a surprise out of it–”

But the contemplative expression on Jason's face–the one that made him look so young–suddenly fell away, and what was left now was pure Red Hood.

"Can't," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "We're on a mission."

"For some two-time smuggler? Please, I can solve this case with my eyes closed."

Jason looked at him as if he was insane.

"What?" Dick asked.

"Dick," Jason said slowly, with gravity. "What do you know about Salazar?"

"Hm?" Dick was still mentally going through the catalogue of nearby confectioneries the two of them could go to. "Some human trafficker...don't worry we got Tim tracking down his victims."

"A sculptor who's selling out entire galleries as a student because her work is so lifelike," Jason said, a bite of impatience in his voice. "A comedian who's always performing to packed crowds because everyone says his jokes make their entire week. A used-car salesman who never misses a sale."

Jason paused, waiting for Dick to put the pieces together.

Dick had never thought of the victims that way, and now that Jason was pointing it out, it all did sound rather strange. The realization came to him with slow dawning horror.

"Jason..." he said. "You think he's trafficking metas?"

Jason sighed, and there was something weary in it. Dick remembered that his little brother hadn't seen you in two weeks.

"You think he might target her," he concluded. "That's why you're working so hard on this case."

Jason didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"Does she know?"

"No." Jason's answer was immediate. "It's just...a working theory, anyway. I don't want her scared over a theory."

"It might make her a little more careful if you told her," Dick nudged Jason with his shoulder. "It wouldn't hurt. Plus...well, it's not nice to keep her in the dark, you know?"

Jason looked at him, and for a moment, Dick could see the boy from the manor. The one that used to hang on to his every word as if it was gospel.

He pulled out his phone.

And sent you a quick text.

"Thanks," Jason said quietly. "I'm still...getting used to...all this."

And he gave Dick a small, grateful smile. Just the barest quirk of the corners of his mouth.

But it was there.

Dick smiled back. "You're doing great. Besides, working for two weeks straight on a case to keep your little girlfriend safe? You're a regular romantic. She's going to think you're from one of those old movies she likes."

The smile was gone. The scowl back in place. Jason shoved him, with perhaps more force than he intended to, but Dick rolled with it, laughing.

Maybe getting to know his little brother all over again wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

[nichtschwert]

A lot of this also applies to Jehovah's Witnesses, right? Different cult of course, cultists are both perpetrators and victims, no matter which cult we're talking about. (Don't have a lotta Mormons in Germany, but the Witnesses are a fairly common sight around train and subway stations)

I have had very little contact with them in my life. I've made the decision years ago that when the time comes I'll do my best to put this radical kindness approach into practice. I've had witnesses at my door exactly once since then and, well, the conversation was brief.

(paraphrased because it was a while ago, I was not well and it was in German)

The Witness: "Hello. Can I ask you a personal question?"

Me, masked, disheveled, covered in sweat, brain sloshing in my head like goop: "Huh? What?"

The Witness: "Who do you believe controls the world right now? Is it people? Governments? Corporations? Or is it God?"

Me: "Uh that... Look, this is not a good time. I've got COVID. I don't want to infect you and I can't think straight."

The Witness: "Oh I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything you need?"

Me: "No, I'm all stocked. Thank you. Kind of you to ask."

The Witness: "I have a flyer here if you want it. Do you want it?"

Me, curious what they put in those flyers these days: "Sure. Thank you."

The Witness: "All right, then. Get well soon. We'll come back when you're hopefully feeling better."

Me: "Okay. Bye."

But they never did.

To be clear I'm not, like, eager to interact with witnesses. It's difficult for me to remain cordial when I know someone's trying to sell me something I categorically do not want to buy, especially when it's something as deeply harmful and exploitative as the Jehovah's Witnesses.

I'm aware that I'm not very well suited to these conversations, should they come my way, so I will never be the nice older lady who bakes cakes for the lads.

But I suppose if it ever came to it I could take up some of their time with a conversation that won't go anywhere but is polite and good-natured and makes a young cultist question the everyone-hates-you narrative a little bit. And that time they waste on me is time they're not getting their claws in someone in a vulnerable enough position to be open for recruitment.

Maybe that's enough?

(Oh and by the way, the answer to that opening question is apparently "the devil")

[ohsoimaginari]

painful reminders || jwy

synopsis: in which your boyfriend undergoes a cramp simulator

cw: fluff, crack, established relationship, intended as a nonidol!au but can be read otherwise, periods, one mention of vomiting, brief mentioned of a period from hell, absolute theatrics, reader calls wooyoung youngie, one jagi used i think?, fem!reader, boyfriend!wooyoung

words: 2641

edited but nobody’s perfect ~.~

an: this is absolutely ridiculous. i cannot stress this enough.

it

is

ridiculous

but i have no regrets. had sm fun writing it. okay let’s continue ^•^

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Having to deal with period cramps is arguably one of the top five most painful experiences one has to go through every month or so. You’re sure many agree. And for you, most times on the first and last day, they would absolutely wreak havoc, as if your uterus was out for vengeance.

There would be nothing more you could bring yourself to do than to curl up in a tight ball with a heating pad on your lower abdomen, the strongest painkillers you could find in your system and a whole lot of hoping and crying that it would end soon. And that was when they were being courteous.

It was an awful time, truly despicable and without mercy in every way and you dreaded each time your period drew closer and closer. Which is why you don’t understand why your boyfriend, Wooyoung, would ever want to experience something akin to that.

“What?”

You stared at your boyfriend dumbfounded as he held out the unthinkable machine to you. “It’s a period simulator. I ordered it online. There’s so many of them so it was a little confusing choosing the best one but a lot of people say this one’s the closest to the real thing.”

You blinked. Then again, mouth slightly agape as you continued to look at him with a mix of disbelief and horror.

You shook your head as if to clear your already existing thoughts to make room for better processing of the words that had come out of his mouth.

“So, let me get this straight,” you started slowly.

“You want me—“ you made a point to gesture to yourself for further emphasis—“to put these patches on you—“ you pointed at him—“so that they can simulate period cramps?”

Wooyoung nodded as if you had asked him any other mundane question that required his active response.

“Yes.”

You paused, processing his answer but it still refusing to register in your brain.

“You want to feel how period cramps feel?”

“Yes,” he simply answered again.

You still couldn’t believe what you’d heard was true, trying to convince yourself it had to be some sort of fever dream.

Once I wake up, I have to remember to drink my vitamin C, you thought because that was the only explanation you could think of.

“Willingly?”

“Yes,” he said.

Too calmly.

Too honestly.

He had no sense of apprehension to him, no sense of doubt. He was sure, so sure it bewildered you. What on earth could have possibly possessed him?

You pictured him sitting in front of his laptop and searching for the contraption in the first place, typing in the letters to form the words period pain simulator, and reading through every review for each product meticulously. How many of these products or reviews there were in the first place, you didn’t know.

Did you even want to know?

“Why?” Your question came out a lot more exasperated than you had intended. You didn’t mean for it to happen, you were simply too puzzled to fully comprehend the situation at hand.

He smiled at you sheepishly, his smile managing to dazzle you for a bit, only adding on to your current bewilderment.

“Well, I see how much they affect you and I’ve heard stories of how awful they can feel and I’ve always been a bit more curious. It’s my way of trying to understand you better.”

Your heart swelled but that still didn’t change the fact this was an odd, albeit slightly amusing now, request. You simpered, nearly giving in but still willing to talk him out of him. “Youngie, you don’t have to do this to understand me better. What you do already is more than enough.”

Wooyoung simply shrugged, clearly determined to go through with his plan no matter what you’d say to him.

“You’ve told me you’ve experienced them while doing normal things. I just want to know how bad it could get.” You sighed, admitting defeat.

“Okay. If you insist. But remember, this was your idea,” you responded a little reluctantly. You eyed him with hesitation drawn on your face from the encouraging words he gave you as he handed you the machine and you examined it.

It was similar to the blood pressure monitors you’ve seen before but instead of one sleeve, it had for small patches you had to paste onto your lower abdomen.

You read the instructions carefully before proceeding to paste them onto yours first.

“I’ll put them on first so I can give you an accurate-ish experience of mine.”

You were doubtful this would even come close to the real thing but anything to humour your boyfriend who was enthusiastically encouraging you to proceed, still no qualms about his own future experience with the machine on show.

You eyed him strangely before looking at the screen. There was a giant 0 in the middle that would go all the way up to ten and another graphic of a bar beside it to better illustrate the intensity level. You pressed start, bracing yourself to experience these godforsaken cramps when you weren’t even close to your time of the month.

You wondered if you could even accurately remember them because as soon as you were finished with your period, it was as if you had no recollection of the torment you had gone through.

But when the intensity was on level one and you felt that slight tug in your abdomen, you knew you would have no problem remembering.

The first two stages were not so intense, as expected and you told him so. “This is usually just before my period starts or the day before, warning be that it could start any day now. So not too bad. I think you’ll be fine.”

He nodded fervently. You couldn’t tell anymore whether it was from excitement or nerves.

The machine automatically cranked itself up to three and the pain slightly intensified but still bearable. This was reminiscent of the pain you’d experience on the day you were meant to start. Still nothing bad.

By four, you could clearly feel them and were shocked at how accurate they actually were. “It’s not too bad but this is around the time where I should start making sure I have the equipment I’ll need because it only gets worse from here.”

You could’ve sworn you saw him gulp and his expression was now a lot tamer, as if it was finally dawning on him what he would have to go through.

“Remember, you don’t have to do this,” you reminded him as the pain heightened to six. It was nothing you couldn’t really handle but around the time where you have to make sure your heating bad is prepared and you’ve already taken a painkiller.

He paled when you tell him this but still persisted.

Seven, you told him, was when you’re waiting for the painkiller to kick in but it’s unbearable now and eight is when it’s on your worst days; where your hunched over from the pain, gripping fiercely at whatever was in reach and tears threatening to run down your cheeks. You’ve only ever experienced a nine twice in your life—where you felt so much pain you vomited on both occasions but you wouldn’t let it get that far.

Even you had your limits.

You only had to sit down at eight but was still going strong enough to narrate your experience for him. “Eight is usually the limit. It’s around there where I have to lie down or sit down and wait for it to subside but after I’ve taken my painkillers it lasts around fifteen to twenty minutes so it’s not that bad.”

Wooyoung had grown silent by this time but he seemed a bit encouraged by your vocalisations for each round.

It didn’t stop you from worrying for him.

He helped you put on the patches on himself in the correct spots and stood comically rigid, his back as straight as a ruler and fists clenched on either side.

You snorted.

“We really don’t have to do this. It’s good enough you help me through my time but you don’t have to actually feel what I feel.”

“No, no, no,” het lets out quickly, shaking his hands in protest and trying his best to steel his nerves.

“I can do it. I’ll be okay.”

You sighed before preparing yourself, and him, to press start.

“You ready?” He didn’t respond with words anymore, simply aggressively nods and clenches his jaw.

You pressed the button and at the sound of the click, he screamed.

You immediately stopped and attended to him, concerned. “Are you okay? Did it hurt already?”

If that was the case, you weren’t even sure you’d make it past three.

Wooyoung sheepishly laughed and dismissed his reaction. “I’m sorry, I panicked. I’m sorry. No, continue. I’m ready now.”

You proceeded to press the button a little more suspiciously and cautiously than the first one, your worry only growing.

You saw on the screen the intensity was at level one and the only thing he’d done so far was slightly jolt from the pain. He assured you he was okay and that you should continue.

It steadily jumped from two until three. Wooyoung released an unrestrained curse that startled you but you couldn’t help your giggle. “Are you okay?”

Words had evaded him as he clutched on his lower half but gave you a thumbs up to show he was still fine.

By the time it reached four, more than you what you thought he would handle, his whole face had surprisingly turned a bright red and you could see small sweat beads forming on his forehead. Wooyoung had his eyes clothes tights and he had the same expression like when he was lighting heavy weights.

“Jagi, you have to breathe, okay? You have to breathe or you’ll pass out.”

Your concern was mixed with amusement and as much as you wanted to switch it off, you couldn’t help but find a little bit of sadistic humour at his reaction.

At number five, he let out such a yelp it took you by surprise and you almost dropped the machine but found your bearings soon enough.

His screaming wouldn’t stop now.

You tried to speak to him over the noise but you highly doubted he could hear you but you had to still try.

But before you could speak, Wooyoung fell onto all fours and cursed louder than before. “Should I stop?” You asked him, a bit startled as he crawled on the floor in what was obviously excruciating pain for him.

He shook his head once more (although not as convincing as the other times) but was now full on sweating.

By seven, the most peculiar thing happened: he began to undress.

“Hot…hot…” was all he could manage out as he took off the black t-shirt he’d worn which, if it were a different colour, you were sure would most likely be drenched in sweat.

You knew then that you had to make a quick executive decision and you switched the machine off.

His ragged breathing filled the air, as if he had run a marathon and he looked over at you with a dazed look.

“Why’d you…why’d you stop?” he croaked. “Because you would’ve died and how would I explain to your mom you died from period cramps?”

His haggard breathing continued as he stood up. “I was fine. I could still go on.”

He fanned himself and you scoffed.

“No, you couldn’t,” you said and gave him a sympathetic grin.

Once he’d regained his breath, he looked over to you with a newfound admiration in his eyes. “You stood there and spoke to me throughout that entire thing when it was your turn.”

You nodded.

“I’ve seen you do your chores after you’ve told me you had cramps.”

You nodded again. “I mean, they have to get done eventually right?”

He shook his head, still in utter disbelief. “You spoke to me. You’ve walked around, done your chores and have gone to work…while that was happening to your body?” His voice was tinged with incredulity and respect. You gave him another amused smile and nodded.

“Yes, Youngie. That happens while I carry on with my day. It only really gets immobilising around level ei—“

Before you could finish, he pulled you into a tight hug. You giggled into his arms before putting your own around him.

“I love you. I don’t know how you do it but I’m so proud of you.”

“For cramps?” You looked up at him with scrunched eyebrows.

“For enduring. But I promise you as long as I’m here, even when I’m not, I’ll find a way to make the whole experience a lot more bearable for you. No one deserves to go through that.” He suddenly poured, as if deep in thought. “I wish there was a way I could help everyone,” he mumbled under his breath.

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics but said nothing more.

As if suddenly struck with another realisation, he brightened.

“My mom! My mom’s probably gone through that too! I have to go call my mom and apologise to her!”

Before you could even ask him what exactly it was he was apologising for, Wooyoung had already gone in search of his phone.

You carefully repackaged the machine into the box it came in and prepared to store it when you overheard his conversation with his mom on the phone.

"...And I promise I'll continue to be an even better son that you deserve, mom. I'm sorry for the headaches I've given you. The pain you've already been through is enough, I shouldn't have added on. I love you, mom."

You stifled your giggles as you placed the box in a safe location, hopefully far from Wooyoung's reach again.

When you returned to where he was, he looked dejected. You raised your eyebrows and sat next to him, ruffling his hair. Usually he'd shoo your hand away with more vigor but he only did so weakly this time.

"What's wrong?"

He turned to you with a pout. "My mom. she hung up on me. She asked what I was going on about and then I told her and even told her I loved her but she hung up on me."

You covered your snort with a sudden cough before cooing at him and bringing in him for a hug, hopefully hiding your expression.

"You have to understand it's not everyday you hear your son tell you he willingly experienced something most women hate going through." Wooyoung sighed but cuddled into you more. Just then, his phone pinged and he picked it up, reading the message he'd received and then smiled.

"It's my mom. She says she loves me too and that I should take care of myself and you."

He pocketed his phone and pulled you closer to him again, his mood much lighter than previously, even if you knew he wasn’t all too displeased about his mom’s earlier reaction.

“I promise you and her that you’ll never have to worry about me again. Especially on your period. Or worry about your period, actually. I still can’t believe that happens every month. Every month?”

You chuckled but nodded your head as your boyfriend went on about the unfairness of it all and how he’ll do anything in his power to make sure yours go by smoothly from now on.

And he did.

He insisted on being included on your period tracker and now every time your first or last day near, you always have some painkillers, chocolate and a heating pad waiting nearby and a helpful boyfriend who’s ever so eager to give you any type of message you might like.

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an: i’m gonna try to be consistent with at least one post per month again but i’m back in school rn and the workload is ungodly but i’ll try my best!! anyways i know this might be completely ridiculous but i’ve always wanted to do this prompt with someone and wooyoung seemed perfect for it lol i’ll write something better and more serious for him one of these good days i promise!! okay enough of me rambling bye for now <3

[erindrinkstea]

You're dead to me

Fully Masked! Mark "Invincible" Grayson x F! Reader

TW: Violence, Death, Murder, and Mental Health Themes.

Description:

When Angstrom sent those variants of Invincible through a portal to a wasteland, he accidentally sends Fully Masked! Mark Grayson to a different world.

A world where Mark Grayson dies but you still live.

Main Masterlist | Invincible Masterlist

Note: Don't worry Mark, I love your Mom too.

"We'll just torture you instead. Duh."

"..."

Seeing all these twisted versions of himself made him sick to his stomach. But he understood. He truly did. They didn’t have you. They didn’t have her. And without his mom… without you by his side, he could’ve ended up the exact same way.

That’s why he had done the terrible things in this world. Why he’d committed atrocities he never thought himself capable of. Because he was alone. Because the two people who grounded him—his mom and you—weren’t there.

He didn’t care about the crown.

He didn’t want a throne.

The Viltrum Empire meant nothing to him.

All he wanted was his family.

The only two constants that ever made him feel human. Made him better. Happy.

So when Angstrom came to him and whispered about another world—one where his mom was alive, and you were too—how could he not listen?

But it was a lie. A cruel, soul-crushing lie.

His mom was nowhere to be found. And you… you were dead. Crushed. Torn apart. Just like in that nightmare he could never wake up from. Just blood and broken pieces of the only person he loved.

Tracking down the version of himself responsible was easy. Killing him was even easier.

Painfully so.

"What…?!"

He recoiled, startled as multiple green portals suddenly bloomed in front of them. His jaw clenched as Angstrom's devices flared and sucked each of them into their own vortex.

When he blinked next, he wasn’t in his world anymore.

But he wasn’t with the others either.

Wherever he landed, he doubted this was part of Angstrom’s plan.

──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────

"Sweetheart, are you sure you're going to be okay?"

Today marked three years since Mark Grayson died.

You gave Debbie a soft smile. “I’m fine. Really.”

She had always been so kind to you, even with everything she’d suffered.

“How are you doing? And how’s Oliver?”

It hadn’t been easy—Omni-Man going rogue. Nolan killing his own son. And then, months later, coming back with a baby in his arms, begging for forgiveness.

Debbie hadn’t forgiven him. But she had agreed to raise Oliver. Because the boy had no one else. His mother was gone, and Nolan couldn’t stay.

Debbie had hesitated. But the moment that baby reached out with curious little hands and cooed at her, she melted. He reminded her too much of her own son—the one she lost too soon.

“Oliver’s growing so fast. Just yesterday, I could still carry him. Now he’s already got friends at school.” She sighed, tired but proud.

“Mom! Is that sis?”

Oliver’s voice rang out as he raced into the room. He had started calling you ‘sister’ after all the time you spent caring for him. You never minded.

“Oliver,” you smiled, catching him in a hug as he tackled your waist.

“I CAN FLY!” he announced, eyes wide. “I tripped on the stairs yesterday and floated instead of falling!”

Your breath caught. “Really?” You looked up at Debbie, who nodded with a small smile.

Just like his brother.

You remembered the first time Mark floated instead of falling—he’d looked so proud, so thrilled. That memory felt sacred now.

“That’s amazing,” you told Oliver.

“I know, right?” he grinned, puffing up with pride. So much like Mark.

You swallowed the ache in your chest. God, please don’t let him turn out like Nolan.

“How about you help your mom clean the house with your powers? I’m just going to take a quick walk.”

A lie, of course. You just didn’t want to cry in front of him.

“Okay!” he chirped, bouncing off with Debbie, who caught your eye and gave a subtle nod. She understood.

──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────

Mark drifted above the unfamiliar skyline.

This wasn’t his world.

It wasn’t the one from before, either. Somewhere new entirely.

Strangely, no one tried to stop him. No heroes. No threats. Just… wide-eyed stares and hushed gasps as he flew overhead.

People weren’t afraid. Just surprised.

He wasn’t a villain here, it seemed. Not yet.

Maybe this version of him had done something right for once.

He stayed in the air, keeping low, keeping quiet. He was tired—sick of the bloodshed, of the failures, of chasing ghosts.

He just wanted to go home.

But this world… something about it felt different. Warmer.

And he had a gut feeling he wasn’t here by accident after all. Maybe it was fate.

He could’ve missed it. Could’ve flown right past, too focused on his goal—too desperate to find a way back home.

But then, in a split second, his eyes caught something. Someone.

A figure.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

“...Darling?” he breathed, voice soft, disbelieving. His body stopped mid-air, frozen. He just hovered there, staring at the figure walking below.

God. It was you.

You were alive.

“Darling,” he whispered again—and this time, he didn’t hesitate. His direction shifted instantly, diving toward the one person he had torn worlds apart for.

You didn’t see him coming. You were too caught up in your grief, still walking slowly down the sidewalk, tears silently streaming down your face.

You were wiping at them, frustrated, exhausted.

"My love?"

That voice.

You froze in place.

Not again. You thought the hallucinations had stopped. Thought you were healing.

But here you were, hearing him again—hearing that voice you would have given anything to hear just one more time.

You didn’t turn around.

You couldn’t handle the disappointment.

“I can’t do this,” you muttered, voice cracking as more tears welled up. “Not today.”

Your hands went back to your face, desperate to rub away the hurt.

“Easy there,” a voice said gently, a presence stepping in. “Stop rubbing so hard. Geez, your eyes are all red. What made my lovely girl cry so much?”

You froze again.

Hands—not yours—brushed against your cheeks, careful and warm. Soft thumbs wiped away your tears like they had all the time in the world.

It felt so real.

Too real.

“You, you idiot,” you hiccupped, unable to hold it in. “It’s your stupid death anniversary. You couldn’t even give me one day of peace.”

Your sobs were broken, helpless.

The man—Mark—blinked at you like that was news.

“So… I’m dead here, huh? he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Makes things a bit easier.”

You cried harder. “You’re not real. And it hurts. It’s not fair.”

“But I am,” he said softly. “I’m real. And so are you.”

His hands were still cupping your face with that same gentle care he always had. His eyes searched yours with aching tenderness.

He looked… different.

Worn. Tired.

Hair a little longer. Shoulders a bit heavier.

But still him. Still your Mark.

The warmth. The love.

That unmistakable feeling that wrapped around you like a blanket in winter.

“You’re dead,” you said again, as if reminding yourself.

He hummed, nonchalant. “Not anymore. You were dead too, remember? But now you’re alive.” A dark glint passed through his eyes. “And I’ll make sure it stays that way. No matter what.”

His voice was calm, certain. Steady in a way that was both comforting and unnerving.

“Now,” he said, lips curling into a half-smile, “how about we go see Mom? It’s going to be one hell of a reunion, don’t you think?”

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Was this real?

It had to be.

“Mark…?”

──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────

[beanarie]

this is not the next installment of "buck takes a mental break". i mean, it is, but i'm skipping around a little.

~

"My godbaby just had a lovely christening, Uncle Buck."

"Athena! Hey. Oh, uh. Was that today?" He squints at his alerts. "No one's sent me photos yet."

"Yeah, huh. That was today. Guess the days are less distinguishable out on the open road. What have you been up to? Maddie tells me about your adventures. Didn't see you as a Graceland type of guy."

"That was Albert's idea."

"Oh, he dragged you there, did he? That whip of a thing that you could break like a toothpick?" She sounds good, far lighter than she did the last time he saw her, about a week after Bo's birth.

"Okay, I admit I was a little curious."

"And?"

"Did you know Elvis had an identical twin?"

"What?"

"Jesse. He was stillborn."

"So there could've been two of him walking around," she says. "Interesting thought. Is that all you got from it?"

"He lived in a regular place first, but his neighbors didn't like dealing with the crowds, so he asked his parents to find him a farmhouse."

"A farmhouse?" She laughs.

"Yeah." He chuckles quietly. "It didn't stay that way. You know, when I first saw it, I wondered why anyone would ever need that much. It felt greedy."

"It is!"

"Yeah, no. It is. Just. He didn't start out wanting a palace. He tried something much quieter, more- more normal. The people around him didn't like it."

She makes a thoughtful noise. "Listen, Buck. If you find a place that feels more like home-" She pauses. "Or feels the way this place used to feel, you hold onto it. Don't cut yourself off from something that could be exactly what you need just because it's new. That's an order, Firefighter."

"Understood," he says, blinking rapidly. "I- How are you holding up, Athena?"

"Today was a good day," she says, a little brittle. "I had one last week, too."

"Tell me about it?" he asks, tentatively, unsure if it's his place. And she does.

~

(Buck): Hey, when do I need to make a decision about coming back?

(Hen): What do you mean "make a decision"?

(Hen): You really don't know if you're coming back

(Buck): It still hurts

(Hen): I know. That will never go away completely. Bobby was too important.

(Buck): Not him. You guys. You said I made myself small, but I didn't just decide to do that. It was what everyone clearly wanted.

(Hen): Oh, Buck

(Buck): It might be better if I join another house

(Hen): Is that what you want?

(Buck): Not really

(Buck): But I can't go back to whatever that was. No one would talk to me. I felt like I was on fire.

Hen bubbles him for quite a while. Buck finishes his sandwich and brushes the sand off his pant legs. The sun is strong today, but there's enough of a breeze coming off the water that it doesn't feel overwhelming.

(Hen): I think because we knew your grief would be a lot, we didn't know how to handle it on top of our own. So we didn't even open the door. Then enough time went by, it seemed like you were past the worst of it and bringing it up might cause you to backslide.

Buck stares at her words and listens to the waves crashing.

(Hen): That doesn't make it okay

(Hen): I think Bobby would be pissed at us

(Hen): No, I KNOW he'd have thoughts. Loud ones. He loved you.

(Buck): He told me that, you know. That night.

(Hen): Did he?

(Buck): I didn't say it back

(Hen): He knew. We all knew.

(Hen): I'm sorry, Buck. I really am. This goes a little further than forgetting your birthday.

(Buck): I don't have a yard, or gutters. I don't have a house.

(Hen): I'll help you find one. When you're ready. Just say the word.

tagging: @peppermintquartz @chococara25 connected-dots, tumblr won't let me tag you

[show, you cannot tell me hen and buck have the kind of friendship where he does yard work for DAYS to make up for forgetting her birthday but she leaves him to drown alone in his grief and that's just, fine. do me a fucking favor]

[markkiatocafe]

hi idk if you’re taking requests but could i get she fell first but he fell harder type of ordeal with haechan? reader really likes him & doesn’t mind showing it, but haechan brushes her off, she finally takes a hint, but he actually liked it, he was just flustered but now that she’s stopped he’s realized he’s in deep with her and doesn’t want her to stop??

intro : dreamscape

𖠚 warnings: they’re baking cookies, haechan calls reader “pretty,” multiple times, other than that quite fluffy i think!!!!

𖠚 synop: haechan doesn’t realize his feelings for you until you do something about it. you don’t intend to make him want you, but, hey, you’re not complaining.

𖠚 pairing: fem!reader x downbad!haechan

𖠚 w.c: 725

𖠚 a/n: hiii anon!!!! i am taking requests ><!!! i hope you like this :33 i love this trope (plus any cheesy trope in general tbh) sm….. this was also sm fun to write, so i hope it’s as fun to read!!!!

you’ve been friends with haechan since highschool. although, only a few months ago did you start to realize that you honestly have some pretty deep feelings for him.

you were never one to really hide your feelings, you made jokes and sarcastic remarks about how you felt towards haechan multiple times before, but usually he just brushed it off or made a flirty but clearly friend-zoning joke back. you had even flat out told him you liked him one time, and he just replied back, “who wouldn’t like someone like me?” so, you felt he established your place pretty clearly.

until recently.

recently, haechan had started to be more… clingy. it was in small ways, asking you to come over more often, letting his hand brush against yours if you both reached for something, pulling away at the last millisecond, and he even started making teasing remarks towards you. so, today you decided to confront him.

not really confront him, he wasn’t a criminal or something, but you were curious where all this clingy nature came from so suddenly. today you were going over to his house, to make cookies and watch a movie, so it was all laid out for you, anyways.

you were currently working on the cookies together, music playing from haechan’s speaker in the background, a demo he had been working on. he was giving you the, “premium best friend preview privileges,” as he called it. you were busy cutting up the dough with the metal cookie-cutters you brought, which were in the shapes of leaves.

“here, let me do it,” haechan suddenly spoke up after fiddling with his phone to play the right song and connect to the bluetooth speaker. he walked over to you, gently moving you out of the way and taking the cookie-cutter from your hand. “don’t want you to get a cut on those pretty hands, do we?” he said, his voice having that signature flirty tone, although, it was too real. too genuine to just be a joke this time, the same way it had been sounding way too much recently.

“why have you been acting like that so much lately?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him suspiciously, crossing your arms across your chest.

he tilted his head at you a little bit, still cutting the cookies, a tiny smirk playing on his lips as he shrugged. “what do you mean, pretty?” he replied, feigning innocence.

you put out your hands, holding them out just like how you held his heart so tightly without either of you even realizing it. “that!!!” you pointed a finger at him. “that tone!!!”

he shrugged, letting out a soft laugh. “i don’t know what you mean, i’m just being me.”

you rolled your eyes, huffing. “you do know what i mean, because you’re smiling. you do that when you lie,” you retorted.

he couldn’t help but feel a little, tiny bit of warmth in his chest that you even noticed that. he brushed that to the side for now, though. “i can’t be affectionate to my best friend?” he asked, drawing out the words at the end. as flirty as he was, he was so stubborn to admit it when actual feelings were behind the flirty comments and nicknames.

“you know that’s not what i mean.” you replied, your voice a little more serious now, “your voice has this, like… underlying tone. like i’m the most special thing in the world.” you said, as your voice got more serious, it also got quieter. it didn’t dawn on you how it would be a little odd to talk about this so directly. implying that someone has feelings for you is… nerve wracking, especially when there’s a huge chance they could just brush it off as nothing. “knock it off.” you added at the end, your voice back to a relatively normal volume, trying to add that lightheartedness back to the conversation at hand.

haechan let out a soft sigh. the sad thing was, he couldn’t say you were wrong. he placed down the cookie cutter, opening the oven and placing them in. “maybe you are the most special thing in the world,” he said, his voice quiet, thoughtful in it’s own way as he turned the dials on the stove to turn it on. “at least, in my world.”

[fafodill]

I wanted to write a long post on Severus too but I had to cut it short cause I had serious troubles with his last name. I kept writing 'Piton' instead of 'Snape' cause that's his name in the Italian translation and I had to stop, go back and correct like every three lines... Yes, 'Piton' like 'Python'... And now I'm curious to know how other countries have translated the characters names. Are you from UK or US?

So you're telling us he's called 'Severus Python' in Italian. 🐍 What a treat to start a weekend!

I'm originally from Switzerland actually (the french part) and I've been living in France for almost 9 years now!

In the french translation, he's called 'Severus Rogue'. Rogue is an old-fashioned word which means 'arrogant, rude, unpleasant'. I think they went for this because it added to the medieval feel of the wizarding world.

So to me he was 'Professeur Rogue' for a long time. Sounds less snakey than his regular name of Severus Snake-Python imo hahaha. But it did make him sound dark and serious..

Curious to read your long post about Snakeman.. 👀💚

[abbyfmc]

Yandere story idea #66:

I said before that i love the yandere emperor character, and i Will say it again.

Everyone knows that emperors can't trust just anyone freely, as there's always the risk of betrayal or assassination attempt. Such was the case of the Chinese emperor "Jiajing" of the Ming Dynasty, who suffered an assassination attempt by his consorts or concubines (albeit with good reason).

So, what if (Reader) tried to kill the Yandere emperor?

The Yandere Emperor's personality can vary depending on what you want to write. Emperors are often seen as strict, extremely authoritarian, tyrannical, and even cruel figures toward their inferiors and even other nations.

He was a strict and cruel yandere emperor who had the misfortune of him noticing and falling madly in love with you, the daughter of a high-ranking war general.

You loved martial arts and were skilled with weapons, having lived in a family filled with generals and soldiers for generations. Despite the strict gender roles of the time, your father took it upon himself to train you personally. You also enjoyed hunting and horseback riding in the countryside, and the latter made you feel free.

The yandere emperor would sometimes go on short tours outside his palace or on hunts. On one of these hunts, the yandere emperor saw you for the first time while you were leisurely riding a horse. Your passionate and strong aura, along with your beauty, was what caught his attention.

You noticed the yandere emperor, so you stopped riding and greeted him with courtesy.

It was here that he learned you were the daughter of a prestigious family whose military had worked for the empire for generations. Because of this, he became curious and began to investigate you further.

The yandere emperor started sending guards and servants disguised as civilians to follow you around, thus learning more about your likes, dislikes, and hobbies.

What attracted him most to you was your passionate, defiant, and free spirit, followed by your passion for martial arts, hunting, swimming, and horseback riding.

So...yes, he became obsessed with you.

The Yandere emperor began to make his interest in you known by the courtship, gifts and letters that arrived day after day with punctuality. He also called your father and some uncles (who were important generals or sergeants in the army), and let them (especially your father) know of his interest in you.

The Yandere emperor even started sending flowers along with the letters.

The Yandere emperor began to invite you to the palace indirectly, as a kind of "suggestion" whenever he talked to your father. He knew how much you loved your father, so he started trying to convince him (cofcofmanipulate himcofcof) to give you to the palace.

If your father decides to hand you over to the palace (as was common in ancient times), then the Yandere emperor will be very happy.

If not, then the yandere emperor will take the slightest opportunity to ruin your family (or kill them) as long as you agree to be his empress. This will make you start hating him.

While the yandere emperor is domineering (and even somewhat sadistic), he likes your rebelliousness.

The yandere emperor also has a romantic side, which he only shows to you.

But that doesn't mean he stops being a dominant Yandere with you, who enjoys both your rebelliousness and having you under his control.

The Yandere emperor would behead or imprison anyone who dares to harm you.

The Yandere emperor at first tolerated your refusals, but then he got tired of it, so he started imposing punishments that became increasingly intense to the point that they began to affect your loved ones.

Everything escalated to the point of your father's death at the hands of the Yandere emperor's guards. There you came up with the idea of killing him out of revenge.

The yandere emperor began to see how you slowly became more obedient, docile and at some point affectionate towards him.

At first, the Yandere emperor did not believe you and tested your new and strange behavior, but little by little you were able to convince him. You were rebellious and naughty occasionally, yes, but without taking away the loving facade you had with him and the responsibility for your new duties as empress.

However, emperors are not fools. They KNOW that they can suffer betrayal by anyone close to them; be it family, friends, political allies, subjects and even by their empresses, consorts and concubines (if they have them) or by their servants.

This meant that he was always one step ahead of you. Don't forget that the Yandere Emperor is a calculating man.

The moment came when the Yandere emperor was ready to spend the night with you. You waited until he was "distracted" and tried to stab him with a pitchfork in the neck. But you didn't count on him being faster than you and stopping you.

The Yandere emperor reduced you in bed, angered by your treachery. He immediately told you that he knew you were planning something and that he would immediately punish you to teach you a lesson.

For the first time, his anger terrified you.

[avatarofthearchives]

Sasha would have (mostly) stood by Jon throughout the series and that's why she had to die for the plot to work. In this essay I will - No but honestly, I think Sasha would have been a lot more open to the nonsense that happens at The Institute than Tim and Martin were.

She says in her statement about The Distortion that she doesn't want to quit even after Michael had dug in her shoulder for worms simply because she's "just too dammed curious." Not to mention that she spends her last moments making a tape for Jon because "I know you’ll want to know what’s been happening." Sasha has always been strongly connected to The Eye throughout the entire story, and that's why I think she would have been in agreement with Jon that they needed to push further closer to the fears so they could understand what was happening.

However, while I do think she would have mostly been on Jon's side until the end, I do think they probably would have experienced a strain on their friendship. Sasha scolds Tim in one of the tapes for recording Jon's birthday party without permission because it's an invasion of privacy. So I can't imagine that she would have loved Jon's powers, though I still think she would have been more curious about them than Basira was.

Overall, I think a Sasha that survived into later seasons would have Jon's back on the notion that they had to understand what was going on, and considering that Gertrude thought Sasha would be the best person to continue her work, I think it's a non-zero possibility that she would have been very invested in stopping the fear apocalypses as well. However that does leave me with a thought: What would Sasha's dynamic with Tim look like Season 5 if she (mostly) stuck by Jon's side and they both lived that long? It's interesting to think about what would have happened there, and TBH I really wish I could eye-power my way to having a canon answer on that.

[woncon]

➳ a pretty fish

➶ poly!mulmyungz x gn!reader ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ “When you said you rescued an injured fish from the beach, this is not what I imagined.”

➴ genre: fluff and angst, merman!au, marine biologist!leehan, merman!jaehyun, courting, estabilished leehan x reader

: ̗̀➛ warnings: wounds, jaehyun is the cutest merman you ever saw (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡

⌨ :: 3.2k words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ I wrote this fic in one sitting, from 10:30 pm until 2:00 am. Afterwards, I fell contentedly into bed and had a fantastic lucid dream. 10/10, would do it again.

⁀➷ Also, thanks for @wonsheep for betaing! 💓 To give you a fic where one of your biases is present: it's always a pleasure for me. 🙂‍↕️

➳ mlist

A finned boy lays in the bathtub.

You blink.

You blink again. And again. If there was a blinking contest nearby, you could enter, and you could easily win too. What else could you do instead of blinking? The fantasy may end if you do it enough.

But no. The boy—the merman is still there. He fills your entire horizon, and the whole bathtub. The membraned end of his thick fin is hanging out and over the porcelain edges, water dripping from it onto the towels on the ground. His elbows are perched on the edge of the tub. You see the membrane between his fingers, the pulsating gill on his neck, and, of course, his eyes with which he watches you intently. He doesn’t blink at you desperately like you did, he is simply curious.

Another three drops of water fall from his fin before you’re able to speak.

“When you said you rescued an injured fish from the beach, this is not what I imagined.”

“A pretty injured fish,” adds Donghyun, who is smiling as if he's won the lottery. Which isn't far from the truth. A living mermaid in your apartment: that's a marine biologist's jackpot.

“All fish are beautiful to you,” you remind him. You have a vivid memory of him telling you that devilfish are misunderstood because they're actually very lovable creatures. Among other things, you love him for his undeterred passion towards the marine world.

“But he is special,” you admit. “Can he talk? Or does he understand us?”

There are so many rumours and false reports about mermaids these days that it's hard to know what is true and what isn't. On one side, it is claimed that mermaids communicate with ultrasound, like dolphins. On the other, this is refuted and human vocal cords are mentioned. There are those who say that the existence of mermaids is pure fiction, spread by the government to divert attention from their immensely important secret research. This latter theory is splashing and sinking before your eyes.

“I don't know. His throat is bruised. If he is able to talk, he needs time.”

“Bruised?” You step closer to the tub. “What happened to him?”

“He got caught in some plastic, then the storm came and he probably hit a rock. Then the waves washed him ashore. That's where I found him.”

A few steps from the tub, you can see his wounds, both on his sensitive-looking, scaly skin and his blue fins. Several of his scales were torn off. When he lifts his head from his hands to get a better look for himself, you can see the nasty purple patch on his throat.

“Can you help him?” you turn to Donghyun in hope.

“Even if I can't, I want to try.”

You nod. You'd like that too. You're glad this merman is here in the bath and not lying unconscious on the beach. This time you keep eye contact with him, and you want to somehow convey your feelings to him: that he shouldn't worry because he's in good hands. His eyes suddenly widen, his thick lips part, but no sound comes out of his throat. 

He closes his mouth and lies back on his hands, almost disappointed.

Donghyun rubs his hands, and at the same time you massage the back of your head.

“Any breakthroughs?” he asks.

You've spent the last hour searching thoroughly. You've been going through every article you can find on the internet, trying to get the essentials down. Mermaid literature is rich, scientific literature less so. You're not even sure if anyone other than you has actually been able to study live mermaids. For example, there is someone with a PhD who has written about this mysterious species, using scientific jargon, and you believed his words until he mentioned that mermaids have long claws and snake eyes.

“It's all like an extended Wikipedia article,” you report and close the nonsense article you've just read.

“I know.” Donghyun adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose and looks thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I'm beginning to think the internet is not the right place to get information from.”

You nod your head in agreement and pull closer to him, hoping that his embrace will make it easier to find another option to help you in this matter. Donghyun pats your knee.

Splash. There's a lot of water splashing on the tiles in the bathroom. Then a thud. Something heavy falls out of the tub.

You run into the bathroom with Donghyun. The merman is lying on the floor, on his stomach. Part of his fin is leaning against the tub, the end hanging over his head, water dripping from it onto his hair and face. He tries to crawl forward on the wet tiles—he clearly wants something, and you have to find a channel of communication to make it work.

Donghyun bends down to help him get ahead somehow, but the merman won't let him. He turns with some difficulty onto his back, but immediately grimaces, showing his clenched teeth. Now that his belly is out of the water, you can see the nasty cut on it. It'll have to be treated, though for now the merman doesn’t let Donghyun touch it, covering the wound with his own hand.

“Does it hurt?” asks Donghyun.

The merman gulps, but no sound comes out of his mouth. He frowns and he pats his belly, then pokes his mouth with his index finger.

Oh.

“He's hungry.”

It's great that he was able to communicate that, but what exactly a merman eats is a different, more complicated question. If it's some rare plant that exists only in the depths of the sea, you're in big trouble.

“I have an idea,” Donghyun stands up. 

The bottom of his jeans are soaked through, but he doesn't care a bit. He rushes out of the room, then returns with a tiny bag. At first you think it's knitted or crocheted cotton, then he comes closer and you realise it's made of seaweed. “This is what he had when I found it,” he explains, then hands it to the merman.

The boy takes it with sparkling eyes. Something rattles in the package. The next moment he pulls out a shell. He crushes it on the tile, licks his mouth, then slides the wet animal into his mouth.

“He likes mussels,” Donghyun sighs, smiling in relief.

“And he can make himself understood,” you reply, returning his smile.

The situation is not so hopeless. You can make it work.

Once the merman is well settled, he tries to climb back into the bath on his own. You help him gently and he lets you touch him on his tail and shoulders, but when you try to touch his belly he slaps your hand away, wincing and glares at you in mistrust. He even pouts at you.

“I see. I'm sorry. I won't do it again,” you hold up your hand to indicate you're not a threat. But the wound is definitely a bigger threat than you if it's left untreated and gets infected.

“He won't let us bandage it.”

If you can't touch it, you have to do something about it. You don't know how mermaids regenerate, but if they're related to humans in any way, a wound like this is dangerous.

You're reminded of the article by the doctor who imagined claws on mermaids. “What if we... use osmosis? I read that salt water helps mermaids' wounds heal.”

“Sounds logical,” Donghyun nods. “We should try it.”

While he goes out to the sea with a bucket to fetch salt water, you sit on the stool next to the tub. The merman has calmed down, and is no longer giving you suspicious looks and shielding the wound from your touch. He begins to unload the shells on the edge of the tub. You watch him, fascinated, not even bothered by the fact that while you were helping him back in, your shirt, pants and socks got soaked.

“We can't call you a boy or a merman forever.”

The merman narrows his eyes, concentrates on what you're saying, wants to understand. Your heart beats in surprise as you try to communicate with another, gorgeous creature.

“What’s your name?”

He continues to stare, then tilts his head to the side as if giving up.

You lay your hand on your chest and slowly say your name. Then you point to him. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Only the fact that he understood you is incredible.

He shakes his head and dives under the water. Generates a big wave that splashes on your clothes and tiles, then trickles onto the soaking wet towels. Mopping up or changing into dry clothes seems less and less a sensible action. The boy's whole head disappears into the tub, then bubbles burst to the surface. Bubbles of air only, but their bubbling has a rhythm. They almost feel like speech as you listen to them.

Jjjhhuunn. Jjjehyyun.

He appears on the surface, blinking hopefully at you.

“Jaehyun?” you ask him.

He grins, happy and proud. Pretty, you think. Jaehyun is so pretty.

“I think it’s working,” Donghyun mutters, squinting into the water. It's the third day that Jaehyun is soaking in salt water in the hope that it will help his wound heal. “What is certain is that it isn’t infected, and—oh!”

Jaehyun steals Donghyun's glasses with a sudden movement and puts them on his nose. He immediately regrets it, his mouth forms a surprised 'o' and he quickly parts with the device, shaking his whole body as if he's experienced something terrible.

“I'm sure his eyes are fine,” you chuckle as Donghyun retrieves his glasses. He smiles and hums, wiping the lenses on his shirt, because these days it's impossible not to have water droplets everywhere in this room.

Jaehyun visibly relaxes. He waves his fins and slips away in the water, splashing a wave at you. It's beginning to feel like you two are living in the bathtub, too. He “swims” to you and holds out his palm, you put in the next seaweed, and Jaehyun attaches it to the bag he's making with practiced movements. So you and Donghyun assume he's working on a bag, like the one hanging on his chest. It could be a sort of thank-you gift.

In any case, whatever it is, it's good to see Jaehyun isn't bored. Because when he is bored, he has great ways of letting you know: he'll splash you on purpose or throw himself left and right in displeasure. You'll have to be creative to make him enjoy this little place. Turns out he loves small, colourful balls and music, and although he eats seaweed, he also uses it as a raw material for crafts.

As happily as he twirls seaweed around in his hands, it occurs to you too often that he's like a seal in a zoo here. He does tricks for food and is locked up.

Donghyun says that once you are sure his fins, belly and throat are healed, you can put him back in the water.

“I'm glad I could meet him and help him,” he sighs half asleep one night as you lie snuggled together, waiting for sleep, “but his place was never in our bathtub.”

“I'll miss him,” you confess.

“Me too,” your boyfriend acknowledges.

“He's the prettiest fish I've ever seen, even though you've taken me on dates to a lot of aquariums.”

Donghyun smiles fondly. “Maybe he really is the prettiest.”

Jaehyun is a fast learner. He quickly gets the hang of the language and nods or shakes his head in response. Donghyun learns a lot from him and is excited. He visualizes a book in front of him, the first valid fact-based mermaid literature he will author. You rejoice with him, and his excitement spreads to you.

Jaehyun is also curious, interested in everything. The first time you venture into the bathroom to brush your teeth, as Donghyun is washing up in the kitchen, Jaehyun leaps up from the water and when you refuse to pay attention to him, splashes your pajamas.

“Hey!” you look at him with a foaming mouth.

He bats his eyelashes innocently in response, but can barely hide his sly smile. Then he points at you and holds out his palm.

“This is my toothbrush. I use it to keep my teeth clean,” you explain.

He pokes at himself and tilts his head to the side.

“You can have one too, yes.”

The next day he gets a toothbrush and is really dedicated to keeping his teeth clean.

When the trash can is full of shell fragments and you can't remember how many times you've used the garden shower for a shower, Jaehyun finishes the seaweed gift. He has made two bags, as you thought.

“You really made them for us?”

Jaehyun nods. He tentatively holds out his work to you, his hands shaking. There is no reason to fear that you won't accept it. It's a special gift, a beautiful gesture. You both take it, and Jaehyun literally sighs. Then he flashes you his broadest smile and, of course, splashes out a lot of water.

“Thank you,” Donghyun says softly.

To express your gratitude, you immediately slip the strap around your neck, and stand up and turn around with your new bag.

Jaehyun grips the edge of the tub, eyes gleaming. You're scared he's about to throw himself out of the tub in happiness, but that's not the case. Something else is happening: he's twisting his ear membrane. You can't explain it any better than that. It turns out that the spiral-shaped part behind his ear has been a twisted membrane all along. Now the ear looks as if it has grown exotic flowers on both sides, held in place by tiny cartilages and glowing different shades of blue.

“Very pretty,” Donghyun murmurs in disbelief, and reaches for it. 

Halfway through, he surely remembers that Jaehyun only lets you touch him when he can't position himself, and even then you can mainly touch his tail, not his other body parts. The ear, moreover, the part of it that has been hidden so far, may be a similar area to the skin of his belly, if not more private and sensitive. However, Donghyun cannot fully withdraw his hand because Jaehyun is almost plunging his face into it.

He closes his eyes and lets Donghyun gently pat his ear and stroke his cheek. Donghyung's soft palm, full of Jaehyun's soft cheek: that's new.

In the upcoming days, he isn't just letting you touch him, he expects it. It's like he's been completely replaced since he gave you his gift. 

He needs to be touched. 

He plays with your hands, probing the lack of membrane between your fingers. He presses your fingertips together. If you stroke his hair or let him lay his head on your palms, he opens his ear membrane. Donghyun's theory is that he does this because he feels safe. In this case, he can only theorise, because when he asks Jaehyun about it, he doesn't answer, only playfully splashing him.

Every time he strokes your cheek or touches your mouth, you feel weird. He's so engrossed in exploring your face that his lips part in the process, as if you're something so wonderful he can't get enough. And he maps Donghyun with a similar devotion. 

Just as you admire Jaehyun's mermanity, he admires your humanity.

You say it means nothing. Jaehyun can't live in a bathtub. He gave you gifts and is curious, but that's all. Though Donghyun mutters about courtship and companionship in his sleep, he doesn't share his thoughts on the subject with you when awake. And even if he did, you wouldn't change your mind: you can't make excuses for why Jaehyun should stay when it's clear he doesn't belong here.

“Doesn't it hurt?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. The wound on his stomach has completely healed. So have his scales.

“And your throat?” Donghyun touches his own to show what he means. Jaehyun copies the gesture, then grimaces. “So it still hurts?”

Jaehyun nods.

“I'm sorry. But it's healing nicely. You can go home soon.”

As usual, the merman gets gloomy. 

He doesn't talk about home, no matter what you ask. Perhaps he had wandered so close to the shore because he had nowhere else to go. But even if that's the case, the sea is much safer and more homely than the small bathtub in your house. The poor thing can only fit with his fins folded in half, and since he's been here he hasn't been able to swim properly or stretch out enough to do it in the tub, only on the ground for a few minutes and then be lifted back up.

Even if he wants to stay, it isn’t possible. He cannot live in captivity.

“Pretty,” Donghyun murmurs, still fascinated by the ear membranes. “So pretty…”

He strokes Jaehyun's cheek and you collect the shell fragments when Jaehyun uses his vocal cords for the first time.

“What... pretty?” he asks quietly, hoarsely. His eyes go wide with surprise at the sound of his own voice, then he arranges his features and waits for an answer.

“Which, when we see it, makes us happy.”

Jaehyun's lips form a tiny 'o'. He nods, indicating he understands.

“Pretty,” he says, looking Donghyun straight in the eye. Your boyfriend immediately blushes, and you smile at how cute he is. However, your turn also comes to embarrassment when Jaehyun next turns to you and says the same one word to you.

Suddenly everything goes wrong. The tub is covered with blue scales. They fall like leaves from a tree in autumn.

“What’s going on?”

“What's wrong?”

You're both kneeling by the tub, trying to figure out what to do. Is it a disease? Is it serious? You don't get an answer. Jaehyun isn't talking.

“We want to help you. Can we help you?”

Jaehyun looks at you uncertainly. He is being secretive.

“Please, Jaehyun. Trust us.”

“Will... Legs... For me,” he explains in a whisper, disjointed. He looks at you expectantly.

“How?”

“Legs,” he repeats.

“But why?”

“Home,” Jaehyun touches the bathtub. Then he takes your hand. “Home,” he says again. Finally, he touches Donghyun's hand too. “Home.”

You can't misunderstand that. Jaehyun won't go back to the sea because you are his home. And you don't need to enlarge your bathtub or buy a pool. He's adapting to his home environment because he wants to stay anyway.

“Home?” he asks, tears welling up in his eyes.

You've told him so many times to go home, to the sea, that he might think he isn’t welcome. But that's not it, you just didn't believe that he really wanted to stay, that it wasn't just you who wanted to keep him here for your own selfish reasons.

“You're home now.” Donghyun kisses Jaehyun's hand. “This is your home.”

“Our home,” you add.

Jaehyun is relieved. He sniffles and cries, but also smiles with joy. You hug him on both sides, hold his back, and you're so used to the water that you don't mind getting soaked, and of course you don't mind Jaehyun pressing his face tightly against your skin.

your likes, reblogs and comments are warmly welcomed! 💓thank you for being here!

[jwsverse]

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 timestamp 19:29

pairing ⁝ lee heeseung x f!reader

synopsis ⁝ in which you will always wait for him to be ready, and he will always be for you.

genre ⁝ fluff, light angst, based off en-drama heeseung heh

word count ⁝ 0.9k

heeseung doesn't speak much. he doesn't talk easily and he doesn't respond immediately. it's not that he's an introvert, well he is, but there's something else.

heeseung needs time. he needs to think — he likes to think, a lot. he like to process words and ends up taking too long to respond to people. he isn't sure how he should react when these people don't wait and just take their leave instead.

he knows it's stupid to think about even the silliest of things during a conversation as simple as “how are you?” but it's an instinct thing, and genuinely, he's just a curious person to everything.

how am i? what have i been up to lately...? how am i feeling? what should i say?

thoughts consume his mind and before he knows it, the person who asked him the question has already left. they assume he's ignoring them and heeseung has no idea how to fix it.

heeseung thought he fixed this habit when he met you, who waited the longest for his response and never judged him for his short hesitant answers. he felt seen and known whenever you stayed to listen to him talk, even if he never said much.

to be loved is to be seen, is what they say. and that was exactly what heeseung felt with you.

despite his dry answers, you always asked questions with your pretty smile and soft excited tone. you always looked for him and you always, always waited.

“it's okay, take your time,” you'd say.

he thought he had someone who understood him and he never went on to fix this habit of not speaking his thoughts.

until you started avoiding him like a plague the weekend after sunoo's birthday party.

heeseung had no idea what he did, or perhaps said. he just knew that even the smallest of eye contact had you turning away in an instant. you'd take a longer route to the bathroom just to avoid walking pass his class, going as far as waking up two hours earlier for school just so you won't bump into him on the way.

it seemed like now, really, no one wanted to listen to him, and heeseung despised it. he could handle everyone ignoring him, ignoring his quiet antics and lack of responses. but he could not take you not uttering a word to him. he wasn't sure why, but he just knew it was something he had to change.

so with this new determination set in stone, heeseung woke up three hours earlier for school and waited for you outside your place for an hour or more. any time soon now, you would step out of your door in your cute maroon cardigan and neatly pinned hair.

when you did, it didn't take you long to notice heeseung standing outside your porch. you tried to rush back in but he was calling your name before you could even put on your shoes.

“i...” he rubbed his neck uncomfortably, “i just wanted to talk.“

you hesitated, before nodding and slipping your shoes on. he watched you silently as you then looked up at him and bit your lips anxiously. he took it as a sign to say something.

“um, well i just, uh, you know,” heeseung stuttered, “look, did i do something wrong lately?”

you rocked on the tip of your heels and toes, “well, no, i suppose.” you replied honestly albeit hesitant.

“then… why haven’t you been talking to me lately?”

you seem taken aback, but you didn't shy away and instead you smiled sadly.. “because, you don’t.”

“huh?”

“heeseung,” you said firmly, meeting his eyes with your wide ones, sending his mind into a frenzy. “i really like you. i know you think a lot and i know people misunderstand you, but i won’t.”

heeseung’s breath caught, heart hammered against his ribcage. it thundered and all heat rushed to his cheek at your confession.

“but i also know, that i can’t keep clinging to you all the time.” you sounded exhausted, pained. heeseung didn't want to think in this moment — he couldn't because his feelings were overpowering all his thoughts as you rambled and then suddenly—

his lips were pressed to yours with a gentle touch. you’re frozen, and then your fingers trembled as you brought it to his sides and gripped onto his school blazer.

heeseung pulled away after a short second, breath shaky as he stuttered, “s-sorry, i…”

your eyes were blown wide, in shock and… happiness? wordlessly, your grip on him tightened and you leaned forward again, softly pecking his lips. heeseung gasped after you pulled away, erupting a giggle from you.

“you kissed me first, now you’re shocked?”” you said, nose grazing his.

“i just... i think i'm in love with you.”

huh?

“what?”

“what?”

you bursted out into laughter, as heeseung blushed so hard his entire neck to ears went red. you grinned at him, tears decorating the corner of your eyes from how funny he was, and heeseung thought he's never seen something prettier.

“heeseung, thank you for telling me how you feel.” you interlocked your fingers with his. your tone was gentle and full of patience, and when you squeezed his hand in yours, heeseung knew — you're here.

and even though his mind was in spirals and words jumbled, heeseung let himself relax against you and he smiled against the skin of your neck.

because at the end of the day, you'll be there to wait until he's ready to say something, anything.

© jwsverse

[kittenfangirl20]

Free Will For Humans Au

When the garden of Eden was created, the first humans Adam and Lilith were made to be husband and wife as well as the others equal.

They were given free will by their God to make good choices for themselves and their future children. They only had one rule in Eden and that was to never eat the forbidden fruit or else sin would come to earth.

Unlike the humans, angels did not have free will or much of it anyway. This was how they were made to follow orders and keep everything in heaven going.

Lucifer had always been different but no exception to the rule. He used what little bit of free will he had to make himself happy.

And that's how he found out one of the first humans were his soulmate, but finding their basic blueprints. Though it didn't say which one.

He wanted to know which one, he wanted to be happy. Discover this feeling of love and what it meant.

Lucifer went down to Earth specifically to Eden, the garden was so lush and perfect. Unlike the outside world the animals were so friendly and would eat from your hand. Lucifer plucked an apple that wasn’t the Forbidden Fruit and took a bite, it was so sweet and juicy. Lucifer’s eyes went wide when he saw the two humans, they were so beautiful. They were both so tall at about six and a half feet tall. They had slim bodies where Adam had some muscles and Lilith had curves. Adam had short brown hair, his skin had a light tan to it, and honey brown eyes. Lilith had very long gold hair, ivory colored skin, and dark blue violet eyes. He felt drawn to one of them and he just had to figure out which one it was.

Adam: Hello, my name is Adam and this is Lilith. I can tell you are an angel, what is your name?

Lucifer: My name is Lucifer Morningstar, I am the Archangel of Light. I was created guide humanity and give the other angels and humans the word of God along with my siblings. I want to be your friend.

Lucifer couldn’t help but blush at these beautiful human since they were both completely naked since God created them in a state of innocence that not even the angels had. Adam watched Lucifer feeling his heart soar in a way that it during when he was around Lilith. Lilith was very mean to Adam and she was angry at him for having both male parts and female parts. He didn’t know why he was made that way, but now he believed it was because he was meant to bear Lucifer’s child.

Lilith: You should come and swim with us.

Lucifer: Ok.

Adam likes swimming, but it sometimes scared him because sometimes Lilith would sneak up behind him and hold his head under the water because she was curious about how he would react with his head under the water, though for Adam he couldn’t breathe and it hurt a lot. They went to the lake and got into the water.

Adam: Take off those weird angel things and come in.

Lucifer: These are my robes, but ok.

Lucifer put away his wings and Adam watched as Lucifer removed his robes. His body was very handsome to Adam and he wanted to touch it. In spite of his short height, Lucifer’s male parts were quite big and Adam wondered what it would feel like to have it inside of him. Lucifer quickly ran into the water and joined them.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

[missust3l3vision]

Being Nice

Description: Will is a lot different on camera and it intimates Y/n. Good thing he has a soft spot for her.

Your boyfriend was Will is the sweetest man you knew, with kind eyes and an even kinder heart. Too bad when he gets behind a camera it all changed, or at least thats what you thought.

Brash language and constant teasing he played a bit of a dick character. You refused to watch his videos as it hurt to see him like that.

"Luv," Will called from the kitchen as he made your morning coffee "Can I ask a favour?" You called back a simple sure as you get dressed. He walked in the room with the two mugs "James was asking if you could be in the next video. He's going to have a guest too."

Taking the mug you stared at him with wide eyes. You had never told him you didn't like his videos.

"I don't know," He gave you an odd look, silently urging you to go on "I'm not really one to be on camera." He waved his arms in disbelief

"Babe! You're drop dead gorgeous and you'd be brilliant with James and I!" He begged you to come, you finally agreeing.

Regret was inevitable. Sitting on a chair beside your boyfriend as James explained the premise of the video. Will was quiet as he listened and you eyed him.

"Okay, you guys ready?" James asked clapping his hands. Everyone nodded and soon the cameras began rolling.

Will and James took turns explaining the video and introducing you.

"Today we are joined by my lovely girlfriend Y/n!" Will cheered with James smiling wide.

"Hi, happy to be here." You said looking to the camera with a sweet look one that Will had noticed quickly. You looked adorable right now.

As the video progressed he was catty with James and yet never even a hint of sass came towards you. Something James noticed.

"Oi! Why does she get special treatment!" He asked after an especially mean tease was given. You also curious turned to the man only to see him smirking.

"Because its her bed I'm sleeping in tonight." Your face was so warm, wanting to die on the spot. James made a sputtering sound before quipping back

"Nah you should sleep in mine." He winks earning a groan from Y/n and Will. The video continued smoothly. Once done Y/n and Will stood outside waiting for their uber.

"I'm glad you weren't mean to me." Y/n said reaching her hand out to hold his. He gave you a squeeze, looking into your eyes he let out a small breath.

"I don't think I could be mean to you, especially not on film. You're my girl." He pushed a piece of hair that slipped out behind your ear.

"I'm glad. I had fun today." His eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than intended. The sense of connection he felt to you was so strong that no matter what room you two were in, he wanted to be right next to you.

"Let's do it again sometime."

[apomaro-mellow]

Built for Loving 7

Part 6

“You made a freaky sex toy in Steve’s image and we’re supposed to help?”, Robin frowned.

“What kind of help do you need anyway?”, Human-Steve asked, arms crossed.

“He’s in trouble”, Eddie said. “He’s not following his programming and after that scene at the gala, Brenner’s gonna scrap him for sure.” 

The thought made him so sick, he could barely look at the food Wayne had made for them all. The only one without a plate in front of them was Android-Steve, who looked less lost and aimless and more curious about his human counterpart.

“So you’ve got a rogue bot and you stole him from your company? Not really looking good in your favor, Munson”, Robin said.

“Food’s gettin’ cold”, Wayne reminded them.

Eddie took a bite at last and despite his lack of an appetite, the taste of home comforted him. He looked to Android-Steve, then Human-Steve, who had begun to eat. Eddie swallowed a big bite for courage and began to speak again.

“I get that this is a crazy situation. But there’s no one else to go to. He doesn’t deserve to be broken down and trashed. He’s something groundbreaking but I know my bosses aren’t gonna see that. They’ll see him as a failure and end him.”

“You want my help? You made this-this thing!”, Human-Steve pointed at his robotic clone. “You made it just for some old guy to fuck and toss away!” His panting filled the silence in the trailer.

Eddie didn’t have a single word to say in his defense because what the hell was he even supposed to say? But Human-Steve wasn’t finished. When he spoke again, his voice was much quieter, almost like his heart was broken just as Android-Steve’s was.

“Do you really hate me that much?”

Eddie’s lips parted but he didn’t have a response. Steve thought he hated him? How could he express that creating Android-Steve had been nothing but a labor of love? Eddie’s agape expression wasn’t selling the idea and Human-Steve stood up suddenly, leaving the trailer entirely. Robin sneered at Eddie before following after him.

Feeling helpless, Eddie looked at his uncle, hoping for some guidance, only to find him shaking his head. Wayne got up, gathering the plates of their guests and taking them over to the sink.

“You could’ve warned me Steve was here”, Eddie frowned.

“I told you we had company”, Wayne replied, his back to Eddie as he got to the dishes.

Eddie rolled his eyes and trudged over to help out. “Steve Harrington has never set foot in this place. I thought you meant the guys from work.”

“You could’ve warned me about your guest too”, Wayne pointed out. “What kinda trouble are you in, boy?”

“I told you everything”, Eddie said. “I can’t take him back to work. Not as he is now. I just need a place to lay low while I work on his code.”

“And then you’ll let him go back to the highest bidder? When he’s got the face of the guy you love?”

Eddie’s face bloomed red and his eyes went to Android-Steve, who had taken to looking at the pictures Wayne had hanging around the place. He might not have shown any reaction, but Eddie knew he was listening and cataloguing everything.

“I don’t-! I didn’t-! He’s not-!”

“You know what I haven’t heard yet?”, Wayne cut through Eddie’s blubbering.

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry for dropping all of this on you”, Eddie’s shoulders slumped.

“‘Preciate it. But that’s not what I meant. I didn’t hear a car drive off yet.”

Eddie nearly dropped a dish he was drying. He caught it just in time and set it down before bolting out the door. Wayne was right. Human-Steve and Robin were still there, leaning against the hood of his car. Their heads whipped up when Eddie came out.

“You’re still here…”

Robin and Human-Steve shared a look, then Robin pushed off the hood. “I wanna ask this bot of yours some questions”, she said, moving around Eddie to go back inside.

He was alone with Human-Steve and silence hung in the air. Human-Steve refused to look at him. So Eddie allowed himself to look for longer than a second; to let his gaze linger. And yeah, Steve had cut his hair since high school. His hands still itched to run through it. The moles on his face and neck were nearly identical to the bot he had made. 

It made Eddie curious to see more. He’d only been able to glance quickly at Steve in the locker room. Too long and his secret crush would have been too obvious.

“Don’t you have a copy of me you could stare at?”, Human-Steve glared.

“I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”

“Could’ve fooled me”, Human-Steve said, crossing his arms. “Felt like you had let all that resentment in high school get pushed into that bot.”

Eddie walked over. The porch light was the only thing illuminating the space, as well as the lights from the other trailers. 

“You think I hated you in high school?”

“Please”, Human-Steve scoffed. “You can’t hide it now and you couldn’t hide it then. You were glaring at me all the time.”

“That’s because I-” Eddie stopped just short. He felt like the biggest coward. If he couldn’t say it now, then when? But he also knew that if he did, it wouldn’t end in happy, romantic feelings. This Steve thought he hated him. Finding out he’d been crushing on him this whole time wouldn’t flip a switch in his mind or anything. If anything, it would just confuse him. 

“I wasn’t glaring at you because I hated you”, Eddie said. “And the bot I made wasn’t an extension of that nonexistent hate. The client just wanted someone with a nice face.”

Human-Steve softened just a smidgen. “You think my face is nice?”

“Not really a shocking headline”, Eddie grinned.

“You really think that bot is special enough to risk your job for?”

“A bot going against their code isn’t anything new. But he’s got no bugs, no defects. He’s breaking his code like it’s…like it’s a conscious choice to go against it. I don’t think his emotions are simulated. He’s one of a kind. But my superiors will just see a bad product when he’s so much more than that.”

Human-Steve looked up at the trailer, like he could see his other self through the wall. Then he let out a groan. “You made this really fucking weird by making it look exactly like me. But okay, sure, fine, I’ll help you out.”

“Wait, really?”

“If it’s like, an important scientific discovery, then yeah. Can’t let it all go to waste.” Human-Steve pushed off of his car. 

Even if Eddie played back that conversation a million times, he never would have been able to figure out how exactly he passed the checks to get this man on his side but he would never, ever in his life, ever complain about it. They got back inside the trailer just in time to see Robin and Android-Steve, sitting on the living room couch, in the middle of a Q and A session.

“So you just want to be loved? By that guy in the video?”

“It’s what I was made for”, Android-Steve replied.

“By that guy? The one who humiliated you in front of a crowd?”, Robin pressed. “You and Steve have more in common than I thought.”

“Seriously?”, Human-Steve groused.

“You give people way too many chances when you should’ve kicked ‘em to the curb a long time ago.” Then she turned her attention back to her interrogation subject. “So like, do you have an item number or…?”, Robin asked.

“All Brenner Venture products have an item number or production code”, Android-Steve said.

“But I mean, what about your name?”, she continued to ask.

That was when it hit Eddie that he had just been calling him Steve in his head this whole time. And that client-

“I haven’t been given a name by my owner.”

Yeah, because he was a complete ass-hat. But obviously they couldn’t call him Steve and there was no way Eddie was just going to call him EDM-001.

“How about Steve 2.0?”, Robin suggested.

“That makes it sound like he’s a better version of me”, Human-Steve protested.

Robin rolled her eyes. “Not better. Just made after you. Actually, how good are you at making chili?”

Human-Steve looked like he was about to thump his foot like an angry rabbit. What he did instead was throw his hands in the air. “Chili doesn’t neeeeeeed to have beans in it!”

“My Nana Buckley would disagree.”

“Do I need a name?”, Android-Steve asked.

“Most people do”, Eddie piped up. “It’s special. Something to call you by. The more unique, the better.”

“Hmm”, Android-Steve hummed as he considered all the names he had heard since coming online. “There are pet names too. Would one of these be acceptable?”

“What? Like ‘dearie’?”, Robin asked.

“Gerwin called his wife ‘honey’. That is what I want to be”, Android-Steve said.

Eddie wanted to gag at the reasoning, but he also couldn’t deny how fitting it was. He looked at Human-Steve, who met his gaze. In a stunningly bold move, Eddie didn’t look away as he spoke.

“I think Honey is the perfect name.”

Eddie couldn’t quite read Human-Steve’s (just Steve now) face, but he definitely wasn’t angry anymore. The moment was broken by the phone ringing. Wayne answered it, speaking lowly before hanging up just seconds later.

“That was Benny down the way. Says a whole squad of cops are coming in this direction.”

“God, I forgot how small towns are”, Robin said.

“How could they trace you back here?”, Steve asked.

Of course! Of fucking course! How could Eddie forget? “He’s got a tracking chip.”

“Can you get it out?”, Steve asked, already moving to close the blinds of the trailer.

“I can, but the feds’ll be here by then.”

“Then we need to move now before we’re boxed in”, Robin said. “We can ditch the chip on the way. Give it to a dog or something, put them on a wild goose chase.”

Eddie nodded, then went to give his uncle a hug. “Sorry to eat and run, but-”

“Just don’t let the next time you visit be a crisis, ‘kay son?”

“I promise”, Eddie smiled.

“Now get a move on”, Wayne said. “If they’ve already got to Benny’s they’ll be here soon.”

Eddie grabbed Honey’s hand and pulled him outside towards his van, only to be stopped by Steve.

“What’re you doing? You’re not driving that.”

“Got a problem with a durable vehicle?”, Eddie asked.

“I got a problem with a vehicle that’s got your name on it that people have definitely seen you driving.”

“You think your car can outrun the cops?”

“Uh, can we get a move on, please?”, Robin urged them, pointing the the blue and red lights flashing in the distance. 

Eddie grabbed the essentials from his van and squeezed into the back with Honey in tow, Steve hitting the gas the moment all doors were closed. Eddie started pulling tools out to get rid of the chip. Robin yelped when a pair of tweezers flew from Eddie’s hand and hit her on the temple, thanks to Steve’s swerving.

“You wanna hit those curves a little smoother?”, Eddie griped, grabbing the tweezers and putting them in his mouth as he grabbed Honey and rolled up his sleeve to get to his shoulder.

“You’ll thank me when we’re far away from those cops”, Steve said as he nearly ran the only light in town.

The sounds of sirens caught up to them and Eddie looked out behind to see at least three squad cars hot on their trail. “You were saying?”

“Just get the chip out, Munson! I’ll worry about the police!”

Part 8

Taglist

@dreamy-jeans137 @glittergluekintsugi @spectrum-spectre

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

I'm curious to know your thoughts on this. I'm nearly 30 now, but I'm starting to wonder if just being a child/teenager is inherently a distressing or traumatic experience, even for people who had good mental health, didn't have really bad things happen to them, had supportive parents etc. I did have the bad mental health, shit support system, and fucked up things happen but even looking back at the "normal" things and what the "normal" kids experienced, I feel like they weren't exactly good either.

Like, you have no autonomy. If your parents are making decisions about your life or health you don't agree with, there's nothing you can do about it. You're rarely taken seriously about anything. If you say you're hurt or sick, you might get accused of faking to get out of school even if you're actually sick/hurt.

You hit puberty and all of a sudden, a lot of the adults start projecting their negative perceptions of teenagers on to you, even if you've never done anything to break their trust or piss them off. So if you make a mistake that even adults make, people don't give you grace and say it's just human error. They think you're intentionally being a disrespectful and irresponsible teen.

The adults think who you are is just a passing phase and your wants, desires, and interests are stupid and vapid. Even if some things were a phase, that version of you was still real at the time.

If you're a girl/afab, you start getting harassed and cat called as a child, especially if you're wearing a school uniform. I couldn't go outside from the ages of 12-18 without being harassed by multiple grown men. Like literally every time I went outside. Once I started looking like an adult, I didn't experience those things nearly as often.

Adults think they can just say the things they're supposed to say so they don't look like they're negligent (like "be yourself" "you can be whatever you want when you grow up" "I'll support you" "I'll help you") but a lot of them have no intention of actually following up. They get mad at teenagers for being able to see through false promises or calling them out on them.

You have to spend all day in school, then come home and do a mountain of homework and studying. Yeah adults have chores and responsibilities that are hard and time consuming, but generally, unless your job is diabolical, you finish your shift at work and don't need to bring more work home with you.

Sometimes you're moody for no reason because puberty sucks. You're insecure and are upset when you don't look perfect because the other kids in school are also insecure but are coping with it by making fun of everyone else's appearances. You're trying to learn social skills and boundaries, which is just awkward most of the time. You think your parents are annoying and cringe because that's believed to be an evolutionary way of keeping your family from inbreeding. You do all these things that are developmentally appropriate/expected but are shamed for them. Being rude to parents and teachers for no reason obviously isn't okay, but a lot of the time when teenagers are being disrespectful, they're just reacting to someone disrespecting them. They're still learning how to regulate their emotions and communicate, but are expected to handle things like an adult when a lot of adults aren't even that mature/emotionally intelligent.

Adults act like your grades in school define your worth. School is important. Grades obviously do matter, especially if you want to go to college. But, acting like you'll never get a job because there's some permanent record that follows you around for literally the rest of your life that potential employers will look at and decide not to hire you because one time you got detention when you were 14 and failed a random pop quiz in Spanish just isn't true. It's very very very hard to ruin your life literally forever at 14. It's not okay to use scare tactics on kids without the life experience to see through the bullshit just because them getting good grades makes the parents or schools look better.

Adults simultaneously think you're an idiot who doesn't understand the world and can't make good decisions, but also want you to decide what college course you want to go into debt for at like 16/17/18. I know some countries have free education. Mine doesn't. The narrative from my teachers, my parents, and other people's parents was "you're a loser if you don't go to college and if it's not immediately after graduating because the neighbours will judge us/the school will look bad so you need to decide literally right now." Then if you made the wrong choice, because you were a minor pressured into making a huge life decision without enough time, access to information, or life experience to make a fully informed decision, apparently that just proves that you were a stupid teenager after all even though you did the best you could with the knowledge and resources you had a the time.

College isn't for everyone or accessible for everyone. It's okay to not go at all or to go later in life. It's okay to not be able to work. Everyone's life path is different. But it sounds like everyone's school was extremely classist with their messaging that you *have* to college and it better be business or STEM and that only certain jobs are worth respecting. By the way, I didn't go to a fancy private school. My school was so bad it was considered disadvantaged.

Of course, not all adults were like that. There were some adults who treated kids better, but more than enough adults treat kids like shit. It's really concerning. It makes it very easy for predators to groom teenagers because they just need to pretend they understand and respect them. Of course, then the teenagers might get blamed for being groomed, even though they were just looking for the love and validation no one else gave them.

Then people make teenagers afraid to grow up because society acts like life is over after 25. You couldn't pay me to redo 12-24. Being an adult has its challenges but it's so much better.

I don't want kids but I want to remember how people treated me/everyone else back then and make sure I don't treat friends/family members kids like that when they have them.

I don't know enough about child liberation and family abolition to say much about it, but while I do think there are many adults who do respect children, I agree that there are a lot of structures in our current society which normalizes and justifies when adults want to deny children autonomy and treat them badly. In this society kids absolutely don't have the rights they need to protect themselves from abuse and mistreatment by the adults in charge of them, and that's a big problem that leads to a lot of trauma, abuse and suffering