#i know I’m a delusional mess but like… come on

[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.

[petalsfordany]

“you were always It’s favourite”

and

“there is no It. It was always just us.”

“is there a difference?”

is quite crazy (and gay) when you think about it

[loderlied]

sharing some thoughts about deactivating here because it’s been difficult pondering idk.

[starry-eyer]

god tywin lannister deserved worse

just remembering elias death and i wanna puke and the way tywin talks about elia and what happened is so damn gross

but rip tommen and myrcella we all know what’s about to happen in the next book :/

the cycle of violence just keeps spinning and damn you tywin for beginning it

(i got a bit crazy in the tags 💀)

[afterglowsainz]

i wish i hated you | max verstappen

pairing: actress!reader x max verstappen

summary: max has an open relationship but he starts falling for you, compromising his relationship and your reputation

fc: havana rose liu

warnings: so i know this is not technically how open relationships work however for plot purposes this is how i will portray this one specifically

a/n: this fic shouldn’t have took me as long as it took me to write but whatever, max won in brazil after an incredible race and he deserves all the flowers 🥹

—

liked by redbullracing, danielricciardo and others

maxverstappen1 3 🦁🏆

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liked by f1wags and others

f1gossip red bull driver max verstappen was seen with actress y/n y/l/n together in new york during the winter break

tagged maxverstappen1 and yourusername

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[heeseungsbabygworl]

"Room 1706" — Lee Heeseung

[one-shot] “room 1706” — lee heeseung x fem!reader

genre: business trip!au, assistant x boss, sarcastic tension, hotel room smut

warnings: explicit sexual content (MDNI), fingering, oral (f receiving), protected sex, dom-ish!heeseung, praise/degradation, dirty talk, tension-filled foreplay, unresolved emotional mess

wc: ~1.8k

inspo: “Hotel Lobby” by Tobii

📝: desire:unleash be wilding but so am i lmao. lowkey giving love and deepspace nightly rendezvous rn (iykyk)

༉‧₊˚.♡₊˚.༄

"come see me at the hotel lobby, girl don't tell nobody."

The hotel suite door shut with a quiet finality.

One room. One king bed. One long-ass day of corporate diplomacy and fake smiles.

You kicked off your heels and dropped your bag by the sofa, resisting the urge to collapse. Instead, you rolled your neck out and glanced at your boss, the six-foot embodiment of every power trip you've ever survived.

Lee Heeseung.

Black tie loose, white shirt rolled to the elbows, and the same bored expression he wore during hostile negotiations.

“You want the bed or the floor?” you asked, already anticipating his next smug remark.

Heeseung peeled off his blazer and tossed it over the chair.

“You think I’d let my assistant sleep on the floor?”

You blinked. “Are you offering to?”

He shrugged, moving toward the minibar. “I’m offering to share.”

You scoffed. “Like hell.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Heeseung.”

He grabbed a bottle of water, twisted it open, and took a slow sip. His tongue caught the rim, throat flexing just slightly. Deliberate. Asshole.

“You always this tense after business trips?” he murmured, eyes catching yours.

“No. Just when I’m stuck in one room with my egotistical boss who thinks sexual tension is a valid HR strategy.”

He smirked. “So you admit there’s tension.”

“Jesus—"

“Don’t worry,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m not the type to act on it.”

You crossed your arms, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “That so?”

He leaned in, voice low. “Unless you want me to.”

Silence.

Your pulse skidded. Your mouth went dry.

“I think you need sleep,” you said, stepping back. “you’re delusional.”

“I think,” he replied, following, “you’re full of shit.”

You hated how your stomach flipped. Hated the look in his eyes—dark, sharp, knowing.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re always two seconds away from biting my head off. Or climbing into my lap.”

You exhaled slowly. “You done?”

“Not even close.”

His fingers grazed your wrist.

You froze.

Heeseung wasn’t touching you like a boss. He was touching you like a man who wanted, who was waiting. And now that you weren’t pulling away, his hand slid up, slow and intentional, until his palm cupped the side of your neck. His fingers were warm, thumb brushing under your jaw like he was memorizing the shape of you.

He tilted his head. “Tell me no.”

You should. You needed to. But—

You kissed him first.

It was messy. Hot. A collision of frustration and months of biting your tongue. His hands grabbed your waist, pulling you in until your hips crashed into his. You could feel him, hard and unrelenting through the fabric, the heat between you spiking like a live wire.

You gasped against his lips. “This is a mistake.”

“You’re still kissing me.”

“Shut up.”

His mouth dropped to your jaw, your throat, tongue dragging down in hot, open-mouthed kisses. You gasped when he sucked at your pulse, slow and firm, just enough to make your knees go weak.

“I knew you were hiding something under all that snark,” he muttered, backing you toward the bed. “Bet you’re a mess when someone takes control, huh?”

You yanked his shirt loose from his slacks. “You talk too much.”

“Then shut me up.”

You shoved him onto the bed, climbing into his lap. Heeseung groaned, hands on your thighs, sliding up under your skirt. Calloused fingertips teased along your skin until he reached the edge of your panties.

He grinned. “You’re soaked.”

Your stomach clenched.

You rolled your hips once, slow, dragging friction that made his jaw go tight. He sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“I hate you,” you whispered against his lips.

He gripped your ass and bucked up into you. “Prove it.”

You kissed down his throat, biting softly, enough to leave a mark. He groaned, head falling back, his grip tightening.

Then he flipped you, fast and fluid, all muscle and hunger, pressing you into the mattress with a dark gleam in his eyes.

“I’ve waited so fucking long for this,” he breathed, mouth ghosting over your collarbone as he knelt between your legs.

He tugged your panties down, slow and deliberate, keeping eye contact. When he spread you open with two fingers, the cool air made you shiver, but his gaze, molten and razor-sharp, burned right through you.

He dipped his head, pressed a kiss just above your clit. Then another, lower. Then—

His tongue flicked against you, light and teasing, making your hips jolt.

“Shit—” you gasped, clutching the sheets.

Heeseung flattened his tongue, licked a long, firm stripe up your center, then sucked. Hot, steady pressure that had your thighs trembling in seconds. One hand held your leg open; the other slipped into yours, grounding you.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured into you. “You taste insane.”

You bit down on your fist. “Don’t call me that.”

He chuckled lowly. “Why? Gonna come anyway?”

He changed pace, faster now. Tongue flicking, circling, sucking with ruthless precision. When he slipped a finger inside you, then another, curling them just right, the pressure became too much.

Your orgasm hit like a shockwave. Thighs clenching, body arching, moans spilling unfiltered as he worked you through it. Heeseung didn’t stop until you were twitching under him.

When he finally pulled away, his chin was wet, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded and smug.

“You gonna be good for me now?”

You yanked him down by the collar and kissed him, tasting yourself on his tongue.

He fumbled for his wallet, tore the foil open, rolled the condom on, and lined himself up, pressing the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing.

And then he pushed in. Deep. Slow. Inch by inch until he bottomed out, and the stretch of him had your back arching, your breath catching in your throat.

He groaned, forehead pressed to yours.

“Shit, you feel good.”

You clung to him, heels digging into his back. He started to move, hips rocking into you, measured and devastating, each thrust angled to hit just right.

You moaned into his shoulder. “Heeseung—”

“That’s it,” he grunted. “Say my name again.”

He fucked you like he meant it. Like he’d dreamed of this. One hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip, pulling you to meet him, stroke for stroke. His mouth hovered over yours, not quite kissing, just feeling you.

“Look at me,” he said, voice raw.

You did.

Heeseung kissed you like a promise and thrust once, hard. You cried out, walls fluttering around him, nails digging into his shoulders as you came again, wrecked and gasping.

He followed a second later, cursing under his breath as he spilled into the condom, hips stuttering before he collapsed beside you.

The room stilled.

Sweat. Breaths. Heartbeat in your ears.

Heeseung’s arm flopped over his eyes.

After a minute, he asked:

“Still want the floor?”

You elbowed him.

He laughed, kissed your shoulder, then let the silence settle.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

7:58 AM – The Next Morning

Heeseung sat across from you at the conference table, dressed like nothing happened.

You were in a blazer, heels, and a new shade of ruin.

Neither of you spoke.

But right before the meeting started, he leaned toward you, quiet, unreadable, and said:

“Room 1706 again tonight?”

You didn’t answer.

But your hand brushed his under the table.

And that was answer enough.

[icanlife]

Very tired of people who continue to argue that Bill destroying Euclydia was completely on purpose and he didn’t care about anyone at all because he’s just trying to garner sympathy in The Book of Bill, despite all the supporting evidence outside of Bill’s words that allude to how deeply traumatic it was, (so many, many things about) how he loved and misses his parents, how much of a sore spot the topic is for him, how much he wants to return home but can’t, etc. in addition to how perfectly Alex and co. crafted a parallel narrative between Bill and Ford, including how they hurt the people they love out of carelessness and blind pursuit of their dreams, justifying to themselves that the people they hurt just couldn’t understand

Yes, Bill is an unreliable narrator, and that includes all the very obvious posturing that he did it all on purpose and it was actually a very good thing, that everyone loved him, that he’s NOT incarcerated or anything and that he’s still a really all-powerful being, etc etc etc. To fully believe that EVERY vulnerability he reveals is an evil manipulation tactic, and not actual character writing, you have to interpret his very prevalent denial of weakness, which continues into the conclusion of the book where he already knows he’s lost the reader and is still denying any emotional needs or trauma, as itself a lie.

There’s a reason why the Pines family cracked open this book and laughed at Bill, calling him a fractured, pathetic mess.

The Book of Bill has a plot, a great plot, and great character writing. It’s a crazy companion to Journal 3, Ford’s story. Parallel stories, but where one ends with someone healing from their trauma, coming to terms with one’s mistakes and accepting the need for human love and relationships, the other ends with one stuck forever in their layers and layers of denial, never acknowledging their own trauma, never acknowledging their need for human companionship, grasping in desperate need at their continued facade of hating to love and loving to hurt.

Bill isn’t an always-in-control sly master of the mind, he’s a delusional and desperate man, fractured by his own trauma, who will continue to hurt others to prove that he’s in control. I’m tired of the false narrative that abusers can’t have trauma, aren’t people, giving them this otherworldly status above all humanity. Aside from not being narratively or societally productive, it undermines the ending and message of the book. Acknowledging Bill’s brokenness gives his victims POWER over him. The fact that Bill needs Ford, but Ford doesn’t need Bill is powerful. Them laughing at his desperation is powerful. Looking at someone who once seemed untouchable to you and realizing they’re just a suffering meat sack like any other human being is powerful.

The ending of The Book of Bill is the demystification of Bill. The book is a real look into his mind, telling a story that’s actually very tragic. It’s a very real story, a cautionary tale. You’re not being manipulated or tricked if you feel bad, it’s a very intentional writing decision that this ending elicits that dark pity, as he desperately fades away (arts and crafts materials confiscated) saying that he’s FINE.

So yeah, The Book of Bill and the website are a masterwork of the character, I love them, they’re incredible, and I don’t want to see such a tight character story discredited as “you can’t believe ANY of it!”

[velarisdusk]

No Room for Error

Azriel x Reader

word count: 1.5k content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, az does not pull out (as is typical with my fics lmao), hate sex, explicit language ] summary: Your heated argument with Azriel during a mission turns into an unexpected, yet not first-time, encounter in a broom closet. author's note: AZ AND Y/N SPIES AZ AND Y/N SPIES AAAAAA i've been wanting to write this one for a while, i'm happy it's finally in existence somewhere outside of my brain and writing drive lol ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

“You really couldn’t wait to make your move, could you?” you snap, frustration leaking into your voice as you shift again, the small space feeling tighter by the second. “We’ve been plotting this mission for months, Azriel.”

“I’m getting the job done, aren’t I?” His tone is dismissive, the usual bite to it harsher. “Maybe if you focused less on talking and more on following orders, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Following orders?” You scoff, pressing back against him involuntarily, even though you’re not sure if you want more space or less. “Maybe you’d actually listen to me if you stopped thinking you know everything.”

“I do know everything,” he growls in your ear, a dark edge to his words that makes something inside you tighten. “But you’re too busy trying to prove me wrong to realize it.”

“I’m not trying to prove you wrong,” you retort, voice sharp as you shift against him again. “You’re just impossible.”

His breath huffs against your skin. “And yet, here we are,” he murmurs, tone low, barely hiding the edge of amusement. “You’re not exactly walking away.”

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped space. “I should’ve completed twice as many missions as you by now. This was supposed to be my assignment, not yours.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Azriel snaps, his voice tight with annoyance, the tension between you both palpable. “Maybe if you didn’t rush into things all the time, you’d actually finish your missions instead of barely scraping by.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job,” you retort, clenching your teeth as the walls feel like they’re closing in. “I’m just fine without your help, Shadowsinger.” You spit out the title like it’s venom, though the words feel hollow as soon as they leave your mouth. The competition between you two was fierce—always had been.

“It’s not about help,” Azriel mutters, shifting just enough that you feel his presence even closer. “It’s about keeping up. You always think you can do everything on your own, but in the end, you just screw it up. It’s like you're trying to outdo me for the sake of it.”

“Outdo you?” You laugh bitterly, barely able to move without pressing into him. “I’ve been outdoing you for months, Azriel. You’re just too arrogant to see it.”

His laugh is low and dark. “If you were outdoing me, we wouldn’t be stuck in this closet right now, would we?”

“Oh, you think this is my fault?” You almost scoff, your words dripping with irritation, but the heat between you is undeniable now, thick with more than just frustration. “Maybe if you didn’t play the lone wolf every damn time, we wouldn’t be here.”

“I didn’t play ‘lone wolf,���” he growls. “You’re just too proud to accept I’m better at this than you.”

Your hand moves, fumbling to adjust—or maybe to steady yourself—and the shift in position has Azriel’s breath catching. The sound sends a rush of heat through you, though you’re still unwilling to admit it aloud.

“Better than me?” you ask, voice dropping dangerously low, your lips curling into a sharp, humorless smile. “That’s rich, coming from someone who’s been riding my coattails for months. Admit it, Azriel, you can’t stand that I’m winning.”

His hand tightens at your waist, and his next words are spoken with deliberate, biting calm. “Winning? You’re delusional. You’ve never beaten me, and you never will.”

Your lips part for another retort, but the words die on your tongue, the sound morphing into a moan as he moves. The shift in position presses him against you in a way that makes your breath hitch, his body hitting that spot deep inside you.

A faint sound of footsteps outside the closet snaps you back to reality. You barely have time to register it before Azriel’s hand is covering your mouth, his fingers warm and firm against your lips, stifling any sound you might make. His other hand grips your hip harder, pulling you even closer as he continues to thrust into you, each movement making you feel him deeper, the rhythm brutal and unforgiving.

“Do you want them to hear you?” he growls low in your ear, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Want to fuck up the mission? Want to give us away?” His voice is tight with barely-contained pleasure, his breath hot against your neck. “You better keep quiet, sweetheart. We can’t afford mistakes.”

You can feel the cold leather of your pants bunched up at your thighs, the heat of his body pressing against you, the sensation of him pushing against you with every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure that make it even harder to keep silent. Your body trembles beneath him, every instinct screaming for release, but the fear of getting caught only makes the tension sharper. 

A desperate whine escapes from your throat, muffled by his hand, and you feel him pause. The sound of footsteps somewhere outside the closet slows, a beat of silence hanging heavy in the air. His breath hitches slightly, but his grip moves up to your waist, and then, in one fluid motion, he presses his hips harder against you.

“Am I going to have to tell Rhys that you cost us months of work?” His words are a dark tease, but the edge of warning lingers in his voice. He pulls back, only to thrust forward again, his hips grinding into yours with slow, powerful force, each movement designed to make you feel every inch of him, to make sure you can’t forget for a second what’s happening. “Think about that, sweetheart. All of this… for nothing.”

Your breath catches as he shifts again, his rhythm turning into something deeper, more intense. The tight space only heightens the feeling of him—every inch of his body pressed against yours, making it impossible to escape the raw heat between you. He grinds into you again, his control slipping as the pressure mounts, but his voice stays dangerously low.

The footsteps outside fade, growing softer as they move away from the door. Azriel’s grip loosens slightly, and he pulls his hand from your mouth, his breath ragged against your skin. You can’t hold back anymore. 

“Please, Azriel, don’t stop, I need it,” you whine, the words slipping out before you can stop them, desperate for more. 

His response is immediate, cold, and calculating. “You don’t need anything. You want it.” His tone is firm, void of any tenderness. “You always want more, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, he shifts again, thrusting into you with a deep, controlled force that makes your body seize in response. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, using the grip to pull you onto him again and again.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, voice low but commanding, “do you always beg like this? Is this how you get Rhys to give you assignments I’m the obvious choice for? Or am I the only one who gets to see this side of you?”

Your heart races, his words swallowing you whole. But you’re beyond caring now, beyond anything but the feeling of him inside you. His hips grind into you with a brutal, possessive rhythm, and you can’t help but let out a moan, your back arching as you press against the wall. You can feel the pressure building, every part of you straining for release, but his control is absolute, keeping you on the edge, making you ache with every moment. You know you can’t hold back much longer. 

With a final, deep thrust, he shudders, his body tightening as he finishes inside you. His breath is heavy, ragged against your neck, and he pauses, just for a moment, as if to savor the feeling of you beneath him. 

Azriel pulls out slowly, his movements deliberate, and you feel a brief emptiness where he was. Without a word, he tucks himself back into his pants with calm efficiency, as if there were nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Pull your pants up,” he says, his tone cool, detached. There’s no hint of the intensity from moments ago, as if he can shut it off in an instant. 

You blink, the haze of pleasure clouding your mind as you slowly process his words. What? You’re still trying to make sense of everything when he pulls back as far as the cramped broom closet allows, glancing at you with that unreadable expression. 

“We’ve got shit to do,” he shrugs, voice colder now, businesslike. “Maybe I’ll stop by your room tonight.” There’s a dangerous flicker in his eyes as he says it, but it’s gone before you can even react. 

He opens the closet door and steps out, holding a hand out to you. You hesitate for a moment, still reeling, but you take his hand, letting him pull you back out into the hall. 

[fourth-wing-stories]

Playing with fire

Pairing: Ridoc x reader

Summary: Ridoc is always a tease, but what happens if you go along with it?

Masterlist

You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, fingers absently running through the pages of a book you’re not really reading. Ridoc is sprawled out at the foot of your bed, half hanging off the edge like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s been making snarky comments and joking with you for the past hour, and you’ve been giving it right back.

He glances up from where he’s lying, his usual smirk playing at his lips. "You know, I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me."

You raise an eyebrow without looking up from your book. "Avoiding you? I see you literally every day, Ridoc."

"Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you're giving me the attention I deserve." His voice dips, that mock-serious tone he always uses when he’s messing with you, and it pulls a reluctant smile to your lips.

"You’re so needy," you mutter, flipping a page.

Ridoc laughs, deep and low, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Needy? Oh no, love. I think you are. I see the way you look at me.”

You finally glance at him over the top of your book, pretending to be unimpressed. “You’re delusional.”

He crawls toward you, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and the air between you shifts just slightly. You can tell he’s up to something, but you can’t help leaning into it, drawn in by that infuriating charm of his.

Ridoc’s voice softens as he gets closer, hovering just inches away. “You sure about that? ‘Cause I can see right through you. You’re practically begging for me to make a move.”

You roll your eyes but feel a flicker of heat in your chest at how close he is, the way his breath fans lightly against your skin. “Begging, huh? Someone’s got an ego.”

He grins, and before you can react, he leans in just a little more, his lips brushing against your ear. “Come on. Admit it,” he murmurs. “You’ve been thinking about this… about me… just like I’ve been thinking about you.”

Your heart skips a beat, and for a split second, you’re caught in the moment. But then you snap out of it, biting back a smile as you push him back lightly. “Dream on, Ridoc.”

His eyes widen, clearly surprised that you didn’t just brush him off like usual. “Wait—hold up. Did you just—did you actually consider that?”

You give him a small smirk, leaning back on your hands. “I don’t know, did I?”

Ridoc blinks at you, completely thrown off his game now. “Oh, this is dangerous territory, love.”

“Is it?” you ask, your voice dripping with challenge.

He looks at you, eyes narrowing, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re serious or just messing with him. “You’re playing with fire,” he warns, though the teasing edge is still there in his voice.

You lean in, just enough to make it clear you’re not backing down. “And what if I am? Think you can handle it?”

Ridoc swallows, his smirk faltering just a little, and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head. This is new, this shift between the two of you, and he doesn’t quite know how to navigate it.

Then, after a beat of silence, Ridoc’s expression softens into something more genuine, his usual cockiness fading for just a moment. “You don’t get it, do you?” he says quietly, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “If you keep teasing me like this… one day, I’m not gonna be able to stop myself.”

The way he says it makes your breath catch, and for a moment, you’re not sure if you’re still in control of the game you started. But you don’t let that show. Instead, you tilt your head, offering him a slow, knowing smile.

“Well then,” you whisper, leaning in close enough that your lips almost touch his, “maybe I’m counting on that.”

Ridoc’s breath hitches, and for a split second, it feels like the world’s about to tip over. You can feel the tension crackling between you, the charged silence, the weight of everything unsaid but understood in the way he looks at you like he’s seconds away from crossing that line.

But just as you’re about to close the distance, you pull back, sitting up straight and grabbing your book again as if nothing happened.

Ridoc stares at you, dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open. “Wait. What the hell just happened?”

You don’t even bother looking at him, your lips curling into a smirk. “What? Were you expecting something else?”

He throws his head back with a groan, running a hand through his hair. “You’re evil. Pure evil.”

“Am I?” You shrug innocently. “Maybe you’re just easy to mess with.”

Ridoc narrows his eyes, scooting closer again, but this time the playfulness is edged with something darker, more intent. “Oh, love, I’m gonna get you back for that. Just wait.”

“Promises, promises,” you tease, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

Ridoc chuckles, shaking his head. “You won’t be laughing for long. I’ll make sure of that.”

You bite your lip to hide the smile threatening to break through. He’s still Ridoc, still playful and lighthearted, but you can tell that you’ve pushed him just far enough. Now, it’s only a matter of time before he follows through on that unspoken challenge you’ve set up between you.

And you’re already looking forward to it.

[luv-lock]

⸻ Yandere Aegon II Targaryen: Non Con, delusional Aegon

She loves him. Of course, she does. She always has.

Aegon paces the room, biting his nails, his hands trembling slightly as his thoughts race. His mind is a storm, a whirlpool of memories and whispers, all swirling around one undeniable truth: She loves him. How could she not? She’s always been there, from the time they were children, always by his side, always watching him with those soft eyes, full of love. Yes, she loved him then, and she loves him now. He knows it. He can feel it.

He mutters to himself as he moves, his fingers tugging at his hair, pulling at the strands, his mind a chaotic mess. He hears his own voice, whispering over and over, “She loves me. She loves me. She has to love me.”

It wasn’t always like this. She used to smile at him, didn’t she? He remembers her smile, bright and warm, back when they were children. Back when she would laugh at his jokes, hold his hand, tell him he was the best at everything. He remembers those days clearly, so clearly it hurts. She was his. She loved him more than anyone. More than anyone ever could.

But now... now she’s quiet. She’s so quiet, it drives him mad. She doesn’t look at him the same way anymore, doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh. She just sits there, empty. Broken. But that’s not her fault, no, no. It’s not her fault. She’s just tired. He knows she’s tired. She’s been through so much, because of him. Because he loves her so much that it scares him sometimes.

His pacing stops as he glances at her, sitting on the bed, staring at the wall with those dead, hollow eyes. She’s so beautiful, even now, even like this. He knows she loves him. She’s just forgotten, that’s all. She’s forgotten how much she used to love him, how much she still does. He’ll remind her. He’ll make her remember.

His hands tremble as he approaches her, his breath uneven. He bites his lip, chewing at the skin until it bleeds, but he doesn’t care. His eyes are wide, almost wild, as he kneels in front of her, reaching out to touch her face. She flinches slightly at his touch, and that sends a jolt of anger through him, but he swallows it down, forcing himself to smile.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m always here. I love you. Don’t you see? I’ve always loved you.”

She doesn’t respond. She just stares, her eyes dull and lifeless. He feels a flicker of rage, but he pushes it down, pushes it deep. She loves him. She’s just... tired. She needs him to remind her.

Slowly, almost tenderly, he begins to undress her, his fingers trembling as they undo the ties of her gown. His hands are rough, impatient, but he tries to be gentle. He wants to be gentle. She’s delicate, fragile, like a porcelain doll. He knows that now. He has to be careful. He has to take care of her.

“Sshh,” he murmurs as he slides the fabric off her shoulders. “It’s alright. Don’t cry anymore. You don’t need to cry. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t say anything. She just sits there, like a broken puppet, as he pulls her gown away, exposing her pale skin to the cool air. His hands shake as they glide over her body, rough and possessive, but his voice is soft, almost soothing.

“You love me,” he whispers, his lips brushing her ear. “I know you do. You always have. You’re just... you’ve forgotten, that’s all. I’ll remind you. I’ll make you feel it again.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t resist. He takes that as a sign. It’s a sign, isn’t it? Of course, it is. She wants this. She’s always wanted this. He undresses himself hurriedly, his fingers fumbling with the buckles and ties, his movements jerky and desperate.

When he finally presses himself against her, his breath comes in short, ragged gasps. His mind is a blur, his thoughts spiraling out of control as he forces himself inside her, his grip tight, bruising. She doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t push him away, and that’s all the proof he needs.

“It’s okay,” he whispers again, his voice cracking as he thrusts into her, harder and harder, his body trembling with a sick kind of need. “You love me. You do. You’ll see. I’ll make you remember.”

His movements are rough, almost violent, but she doesn’t react. She just lies there, her eyes staring blankly ahead, as if she’s not even there, as if her soul has long since left her body. He tries not to notice. He tells himself it’s fine. Everything is fine. She’s just tired. She’s just... forgotten.

“It’s okay,” he keeps repeating, over and over, as his body moves against hers, each thrust more desperate than the last. “I love you. I’ll always love you. You’ll love me too. You will. You’ll see. You’ll remember.”

He bites down on her shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, but she doesn’t even flinch. The sight of the red staining her pale skin only drives him further, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he loses himself in her, in the fantasy that she loves him, that she wants this.

And when it’s over, when he finally collapses beside her, panting and spent, he looks at her with a strange, twisted tenderness. Her eyes are still blank, still dead, but he strokes her hair, shushing her softly.

“It’s okay,” he whispers one last time, pulling her close to him, his fingers still trembling. “It’s all going to be okay. You love me. You’ll see. You have to love me.”

But deep down, in the darkest part of his mind, even he knows the truth.

She never did. And she never will.

But he’ll keep pretending. He’ll keep telling himself the lie. Because it’s the only thing holding him together.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

[seraphicsentences]

y’a know

help bc this is literally so hot. need ellie to fuck me that good. please i’m begging.

- just thinking about the way ellie would be so lost in the moment to the point where her hips would be thrusting deep into you on their own- just selfishly chasing after her own orgasm, absolutely LIVING off of the small sparks of friction her overstimulated clits getting on every push.

- she’d be rambling and shit, all “fuck baby you’re takin’ me so good,” and “god you’re so fuckin’ wet for me,” just blabbering anything and everything that’s coming to mind.

- and you KNOW ellie’s so delusional to the point where she swears she can actually feel you wrapped tightly around her strap. girl treats her precious green 6 incher as a fr LIMB.

- and so ofc that’s making her mutter cocky shit like, “gonna fill you full with my cum, baby. yeah you’d like that wouldn’t you? fuckin’ slut.” and ofc things like: “shit, babe, you’re gripping me so tight ya gotta let me move, c’mon.”

- since ellie’s such a strap lesbo you absolutely BET she’d fucking lose it seeing you squirt all over it. our girl knows she’s a total god with her silicone but like fuck, dude, this good?

- and yes, she is this good. because it’s nearly impossible for you to shut up at all when she’s fucking you dizzy ‘n dumb, g-spot hit deliciously with every stroke, clit prodded perfectly every time her hips meet yours.

- and imagine her cute lil puffy clit already rubbed raw from fucking you so hard w the strap just throbbing to the point it hurts from how hot you look under her, completely drenching her dick with your squirt.

- and she wouldn’t even be all that smug about it at first— no that comes later—she’d just fucking keen at the very sight of you.

- her cute eyebrows just scrunching up tightly together as she lets out the most unexpected, adorably needy whine, cumming immediately all over the base ‘n watching pervertedly as your dirty juices mix.

- and she’s just moaning complete nonsense, “god, please- fuck, fuck! ‘m cumming!” —literally more out of it than you are because she’s that turned on from watching you make a mess of the sheets.

- and THEN’s when she makes her annoying yet endearing ass quips, all “aw, you’re such a cute little mess for me,” and “big one, huh? who got you squirting like this, hmm?” as if she didn’t just whimper like a submissive bitch two seconds earlier.

my girl 4ever though i fr live for ellie and her strap. best duo in tlou. perhaps the only (surviving) duo? like damn not even her fingers- nvm.

[formulaonecrumbs]

thirteen days and my thirteenth reason ✍️

Lando Norris x depressed!reader

summary: she’s drowning under exam pressure, but lando stays beside her through it all.

warnings: established relationship, depression, burnout, academic pressure, comfort

A/N: this is the most self-indulgent fic i have EVER written. it’s based off my exact situation so if it seems specific uhhh that’s why. i literally only have 12 days till these exams start (most imp of my life i think) and i haven’t began studying for a single subject KILL ME. ADHD paralysis is real asf 😔😔 i originally wrote this only so i’d feel motivated to actually study but it didn’t work so now i’m posting it so it doesn’t go to waste ☺️ embarrassing to say but i will be coming back to read my own fic. i need it rn 😕 anyways enjoy lovies!! ❤️

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

the curtains hadn’t been opened in three days.

the floor was a mess—scattered notebooks, a few balled-up tissues, a hoodie half-hanging off the edge of the bed. her laptop sat untouched on the desk, still open to a study schedule she’d typed up with shaky hands three weeks ago. color-coded. hopeful. delusional.

it was thirteen days until her final exams. the most important ones of her life. everyone kept saying that. like she didn’t already know. like the weight of it wasn’t the reason she could barely lift her head off the pillow.

she’d meant to start studying two weeks ago. then one week ago. then yesterday. then this morning.

and now the sun was setting again, and she’d done nothing. absolutely nothing. just stared at the ceiling and tried not to cry. or did cry. she honestly couldn’t remember. it all blurred together now—hours and hours of feeling like she was stuck underwater while the world kept going on without her.

the front door opened.

she didn’t move.

“baby?”

lando’s voice was gentle. careful. like he already knew what kind of day it had been.

he was home earlier than she expected. that or her time perception was fairly off (it was. she thought it was sunday, it was tuesday). she heard the shuffle of his sneakers being kicked off, the clink of his keys on the counter, and then quiet footsteps down the hallway. the bedroom door creaked open slowly.

there was a pause.

then the bed dipped beside her.

she didn’t look at him.

lando didn’t say anything at first. he just lay there beside her, head propped up on his hand, eyes studying her profile in the dim light. she looked so small. in a pathetic i-can-barely-hold-myself-up kind of way. like the duvet was the only thing keeping her together.

finally, he spoke. “have you eaten?”

she shook her head. barely.

“studied?”

another shake.

lando sighed softly, but not in a disappointed way. more like it physically hurt him to see her like this. like the girl he loved—his girl, the one who once made him laugh so hard he spilled water out his nose—had been replaced by this quiet, heavy version of herself who barely spoke anymore.

he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. his fingers lingered against her cheek.

“talk to me,” he whispered. “please.”

her throat tightened.

“i can’t,” she said hoarsely. “i don’t know what to say.”

“say anything.”

“i feel like a failure.”

lando’s chest ached.

she blinked up at the ceiling, eyes glassy. “i have thirteen days. and i’ve done nothing. nothing. i’m so behind. i’m going to fail. and i don’t even care. that’s the worst part. i don’t care. i should care, but i just… don’t. and then i hate myself for not caring. and then i just lie here and do nothing again.”

her voice cracked on the last word.

lando didn’t try to fix it. not yet. he didn’t offer solutions or motivation or some inspirational quote he found online.

he just reached for her hand under the covers and held it tightly.

“you’re not a failure,” he said quietly.

she shook her head, tears slipping down her temples.

“you’re not,” he said again. “you’re burnt out. you’re exhausted. you’re scared. you’re human.”

she didn’t respond. just squeezed his hand tighter.

“you don’t have to pretend with me,” he murmured. “you don’t have to be okay.”

“i’m not.”

“i know.”

they lay there for a long time. eventually, he shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his chest. she didn’t resist. just let herself fall into him, cheek pressed against his hoodie, fingers gripping the fabric like it might anchor her back to the world.

“i’ll help you,” he said into her hair. “we’ll figure it out. we’ll make a plan. we’ll break it into little pieces. you don’t have to do it all at once.”

she shook her head weakly. “i don’t think i can.”

“then we’ll start with something small. just one thing.”

she didn’t say anything.

“we’ll do it together,” he promised. “and if all you can do today is brush your teeth or drink some water, that’s enough. you’re enough.”

she exhaled a shaky breath.

“i’m so tired,” she whispered.

“then rest,” he said. “you’re allowed to rest.”

he didn’t leave her side. not for the rest of the night. he ordered takeout—her favorite. he brought her a glass of water and sat beside her while she drank it slowly, like every sip was a mountain climbed. he helped her brush her hair when she couldn’t lift her arms without trembling. and when she finally crawled out from under the covers to shower, he waited outside the bathroom just in case.

the next morning, he woke her with a soft kiss to her forehead and a sticky note stuck to the lamp that said:

baby steps.

she sat up.

she opened her laptop.

and for the first time in weeks, she tried.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

four days in, she was already starting to fray at the edges.

it wasn’t that she wasn’t trying. for the first time in a while she was. she’d stuck to the plan—lando’s plan, the one he’d helped her make with gentle hands and sleepy morning kisses and a color-coded spreadsheet that didn’t feel like it was out to kill her. one subject per day. built-in breaks. kind reminders written on sticky notes in his handwriting like: you’re doing amazing and five minutes of dancing > five minutes of crying.

but trying didn’t mean it was easy.

especially not tonight.

she’d been sitting at the kitchen table for two hours now, blinking at the same paragraph in her textbook without actually reading a word. her brain was buzzing, her back ached, and the weight of everything—every page she hadn’t read, every topic she didn’t understand, every second slipping by too fast—was pressing against her chest like a vice.

her eyes burned.

her fingers curled into fists in her lap.

and then, just like that, it snapped.

a single sob cracked out of her like a warning shot, and then the floodgates opened.

she pushed the textbook away with trembling hands and dropped her head onto the table, tears slipping fast and hot down her cheeks, shoulders shaking. she didn’t even try to stop it. she couldn’t. all the pressure she’d been holding in for days, weeks—it came pouring out like it had been waiting for this exact moment to break her.

“fuck,” she whispered. “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“hey—hey, hey.”

lando’s voice was soft but immediate.

she hadn’t even heard him come in.

he crossed the room in two seconds, dropping to his knees beside her chair and cupping her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears even as more fell.

“what happened?” he whispered.

she tried to talk, but it came out in a choked sob.

“breathe,” he said, gently. “deep breath. c’mon, baby. with me.”

he inhaled slow and deep. she tried to follow. couldn’t quite get there. tried again.

“that’s it. good girl. again.”

a few breaths later, her chest started to ease—just a little.

“i can’t do it,” she whispered, voice shaking. “i can’t—i don’t know anything, i’m so behind—“

“hey,” he interrupted, rubbing her arm. “no. don’t say that. you’ve been doing so well. i’ve seen you.”

“but it’s not enough—there’s too much—and i’m so tired, lando. i can’t think straight. i feel like my brain is broken—”

“it’s not,” he said immediately. “you’re not broken. you’re overwhelmed. you’re exhausted. and you’ve been pushing through it like a fucking warrior.”

she sniffled.

“you don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” he added. “not to me. not to anyone else. not even to yourself. you’re already enough, just like this.”

“but the exams—”

“will come. and we’ll face them. one question at a time. one hour at a time. but not like this. not when you’re this close to burning out.”

he pulled her into a hug—tight, grounding, real. she clung to him like a lifeline.

“you’re not alone, okay?” he murmured into her hair. “you’ve got me. always.”

they stayed like that for a while, her tears slowly soaking into the shoulder of his hoodie.

eventually, she pulled back just enough to whisper, “i’m sorry.”

he frowned. “for what?”

“for falling apart.”

“baby,” he said, brushing his nose against hers. “falling apart doesn’t scare me. not when it’s you. not when i love you.”

her lip trembled.

“you don’t have to be strong all the time,” he whispered. “sometimes being strong is letting yourself break and asking someone else to help you pick up the pieces.”

she nodded, barely.

“come on,” he said softly, standing and tugging her up with him. “no more tonight. you need rest.”

“but—”

“i’ll quiz you in the morning,” he promised. “i’ll make flashcards and everything. but right now, you need to lie down. cuddle quota’s running low.”

she cracked the tiniest smile through the tears. “that’s not a real thing.”

“sure it is,” he said, leading her to the couch and pulling a blanket over the both of them. “mandatory. doctor’s orders.”

she curled into his chest, still aching, still overwhelmed—but held. safe.

and for the first time in hours, her breathing slowed.

lando pressed a kiss to her temple. “we’ll get through it, baby. together.”

THE END :>

[oimitocat]

YOU TELL ME | OS

༘۠ hyunjin x artist! m!reader

༘۠ falling in love + nsfw + one night stand + fan (hyunjin) x artist (reader) + masturbation + teasing + getting together

༘۠ a/n; nothing else to add, just that the nsfw is more like a flashback than full blown smut

“this week’s biggest news! artist y/n is doing a world tour! the rising artist had caught a lot of attention not only from his new album that has reached top fifty on the billboard charts but also prying eyes from his recent attendance at a fashion event in seoul, korea! the artist has spoken about his—”

hyunjin zones out after half of the video. the video of y/n smiling catching his full attention. you have a beautiful smile, one he had fallen in love with even more the moment he saw you in person at the fashion event. up until now he’s only been seeing you through his phone, hoping for a chance in his schedule to visit your concerts and get an autograph.

“how about i sign you instead of this picture?” you ask with a mischievous grin.

“—the artist is dropping his tour list today at eight pm. comment down where you live and if you’re excited to hear his newest album in person!”

hyunjin look at the time at the top of his phone screen. it’s 6:30 am right now. which means the tour list already dropped. he quickly goes to your instagram and squeals at the sight of the post. his eyes rack the list but his smile falters after a while. you’re going to the usa, italy, portugal, germany and spain. not korea. of course, no one really comes to korea. he sighs, turning his phone off and staring out into the darkness of his room.

“i’m sorry?” he asked, confused at what you had said. “sign me?”

immediately, a paper is held up to hyunjin by a man standing next to y/n. hyunjin recognizes the paper, he doesn’t even have to read what’s on it. he knows. he looks up at you, startled and bewildered. is this… for real?

he had managed to get you on the way to the restroom. the event was still going, everyone is still sitting and socializing. he turns to his own escort. he’s never been in this situation, he himself has never asked a fan to sign the nda contract. as exhilarating as this is, it’s also very… embarrassing.

“hyunjin, right?” you ask, snapping him out of his mental turmoil. “don’t you want to get to know me?”

hyunjin swallows, “pen?”

the sight of your grin growing makes him want to combust in the spot.

he turns over, groaning out of embarrassment. did he have to sound so stupidly nervous? he can’t complain though, at the end of the day he got to experience something even better with you. the memory itself makes him a hot mess. all he had asked was when your new album would drop. he made conversation for once because it was literally a once in a lifetime opportunity.

and well…

the hotel. you were escorted to the hotel thirty minutes away from the event. the whole event you kept glancing at him. eye fucking him. not just him though, he was aware of everyone else eyeing him — yet, your eyes were what mattered most to him. he’s smiling to himself, biting his thumb until the time arrives.

he even texted felix, letting him know he’s on the verge of throwing up from nerves. all he received was a ‘liar, stop being delusional’. to which he replies with a picture of you serving him a glass of wine.

he pulls up that exact picture, eyeing your side profile. your hands— “oomf,” he groans, shoving his face into the pillow. those same hands that roamed his body.

he doesn’t exactly know what to say, he just listens to you talk. yet, his eyes are on you hand. the rings that decorate your fingers. you have one on each finger except the thumb.

he asked about it after you finish talking about how the event security did another artist dirty. you pause, looking at him intensely before smiling.

“it’s more aesthetically pleasing that way. don’t worry though, i’ll have my hands clean for you.” he stares at you with wide eyes as you lean in, after all, i want to feel you under them.”

and he leans in to kiss you.

hyunjin turns his phone off again, screaming into his pillow. the nerve he had! to kiss you! what if you thought he was desperate. well, regardless, what’s done is done. you had him and he had you. the desperation was both sided…

“you know you’re beautiful, right? why say it?” you say as you slide your hands up his inner thighs, feeling the firmness of his muscles. “you’re already a work of art,” he whines when your hand grazes his hardened member. “let me add some final touches though.”

you kiss his jaw, slowly going further down his neck. there’s a spot that get a gasp out of him. you kiss and lick, humming and moaning at his noises. he sounds so beautiful. you kiss down his collabone, his chest. as you reach his nipple, you bring your other hand up to his neck. the weight of your hand— ringless, because you had taken them off before bringing him to the bed— making him whimper. you suck and nibble on his hardened bud. he jolts and writhes under you, you have to add some pressure on his neck to get him to behave.

it’s hot. really hot. hyunjin almost cums from your attention alone. you kiss further down, your hand leaving his neck and coming down to his thighs. he gasps and buckles his hips when you kiss his leaking tip.

“don’t worry pretty,” you breathe out, smiling at how undone he’s becoming in your hands, “you’ll get what you want.” and you take him in your mouth.

hyunjin moans as he cums in his hand. he goes limp on his bed, airy breaths leaving his mouth. he closes his eyes, the last smile you threw at him before leaving the hotel replaying in his head. he remembers how weak his legs were after hours of you pounding him into the sheets. after coming four times and the aftercare that came with it.

it was so much.

yet so little.

——

weeks pass by. months. hyunjin is stuck reminiscing on the past, at some point he doesn’t. his schedule gets hectic again. there is hope though. hope that one day you two could do something again or maybe just text. it’s not possible though, his management wouldn’t allow it unless the two of you undergo some sort of process. which sucks.

he’s being delusional, especially now with how he was told two months ago that they will be attending an award ceremony. the billboard awards.

the practice is crazy. the schedule is hectic. he wants to barf at some point because you’re going to be somewhere near his seat and the thought alone makes him nervous. will you treat him indifferently? will you act like nothing happened?

“you good?” felix asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.

they’re backstage now, ready to perform.

“i wanna throw up,” he confesses, giving felix a look.

the younger catches on fast. almost everyone in the group already knows now, his anxiety as the day of the awards drew near was too worrying. they all assured him they’ll have his back, yet he still doesn’t know what he’ll do if he really does become another person on your list that was a one time thing. obviously, it’s better for both of you for it to not repeat.

yet, he can’t help but be hopeful. as much as he knows it’s for the best… as much as he knows that the contract strictly says this will not be repeated… why is his heart so yearning?

he doesn’t mean to. he looks across the stage and glides over the countless faces before them when they finish their stage.

“wonderful work out there!” their managers yell out as they all file backstage. “if anyone needs to use the bathroom go now.”

“i’m good,” seungmin shrugs.

“come with me?” felix asks hyunjin, who nods.

hyunjin and felix are the only ones that go. felix happily praises him for “not spilling your guts out! see? all good!”

hyunjin rolls his eyes and shoves felix into the stall. he waits outside by the sinks, looking at himself in the mirror. he’s damp with sweat, his hair is still a little messy, they’ll do touch ups once they return.

the door opens, he’s not a social person, so he shies away and doesn’t dare look at the person.

“hey hyunjin,” you say loud enough for him to hear. he turns around, almost getting whiplash. you were standing before him, smiling warmly. “you look great,” you grin, “i’ve always wanted to see you perform…”

“ah, th-thank you, you perform in a bit, r-right?” hyunjin can’t believe it.

“yeah but…” you look around, “we could perform something else together later…”

hyunjin blinks. he wants to be swallowed up whole right now. felix is here. “i- uh…”

“hey, sorry, i don’t want us to just be hooking up… it’s hard to get past your management,” you hum, “let’s stay in contact. i liked talking to you, yeah we had fun but i like hearing your stories.”

hyunjin swallows, “ah yeah… me too, um, i could fight something out for us.”

“i’ll give you my personal number,” you offer, “just for you.”

you’re a lot closer now. he looks down at your lips, “okay, i’d like that.”

“awesome, good to know we’re on the same page.” you chuckle. “wanna wish me good luck on the stage?”

hyunjin can’t help but give you a look, “you don’t need luck, y/n.” he leans in and pecks your lips, “a kiss yes, but luck?”

you’re quite taken aback, really. yet, you grin, “yeah, i need you more.”

“ah, my teammate is here,” he ushers, panicked.

“ah,” you laugh. “okay then, one more kiss will do just fine.”

hyunjin’s heart could practically leap out of his chest.

and he kisses you, arms around your neck. he doesn’t want to let go, but with how sweet you’re being, he knows he’ll see you a lot sooner again. the hug you give him feels so good, he wishes you two had more time.

later, when you win an award. the words that come out of your mouth makes him want to die then and there.

“-and i also want to thank that person that gave me a good luck charm before coming here. i was good with just that but now having this award it feels like i have it all, thank you all for supporting me until now! i hope you continue to support me!”

felix’s side eye is something hyunjin might never live down.

[yvesssssssss]

HIII hope you’re doing great ^^ i have a request with nagumo shin natsuki and heisuke dating a kind and cute girl AND their families (idk like sakamoto, mafuyu etcetc) want to meet her and they are testing her even if she’s really kind

I love this idea so much!! I had a lot of fun writing it, but honestly, I wasn’t completely satisfied with how it turned out—so I really hope you like it! Let me know if you want any changes!

You knew dating an assassin came with challenges, but apparently, the real test was dealing with their protective families.

And today? Today, you were being evaluated.

Nagumo yoichi

I sat beside Yoichi, hands neatly folded in my lap, smiling politely despite the heavy tension in the air. Across from us, Rion Akao paced back and forth, eyes sharp as she studied me like I was a suspect in a murder case.

Taro Sakamoto sat beside her, arms crossed, unreadable as ever.

“So,” Rion finally spoke, stopping in front of me, “you’re really dating this guy?” She jabbed a finger at Yoichi, who waved lazily, grinning.

I nodded. “Mhm! Yoichi is really sweet, you know?”

Rion scoffed so hard it was almost a laugh. She turned to Sakamoto. “Did she just say something insane?”

Sakamoto let out a deep sigh.

“I mean it!” I said earnestly. “He always remembers my favorite snacks, holds my hand when I’m nervous, and—oh! One time, I was feeling down, and he spent hours making me a really cute origami bouquet!”

Nagumo smirked. “You see? I’m a romantic.”

Rion narrowed her eyes. “You’re a liar.”

I blinked. “No, he really did that.”

“He did that to mess with your head.”

I tilted my head. “But… it worked. I felt better.”

Rion groaned, rubbing her temples. “You’re too nice.”

Sakamoto finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. “Nagumo’s dangerous. If you’re with him, you’ll be in danger too.”

I met his gaze and nodded. “I know.”

Rion’s pacing stopped.

“Okay then,” she said slowly. “Prove it.”

Nagumo sighed. “Oh my god, you guys.”

Rion ignored him. “Let’s say Nagumo gets captured and tortured for intel. What do you do?”

I tilted my head. “Oh, I trust him. I’m sure he wouldn’t get captured.”

The room went silent.

Rion blinked at me. “…What?”

I smiled. “It’s Yoichi. If someone tried to capture him, he’d either talk his way out of it, escape before it even happened, or trick them into thinking they were the ones caught.”

Nagumo grinned. “See? She gets me.”

Rion groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh my god, you’re delusional.”

Sakamoto, however, nodded slightly, as if he actually agreed with me.

“But,” I continued, “if by some impossible chance he did get captured, I’d find him and take him back.”

Rion squinted. “And if I was the one who took him?”

I smiled sweetly. “Then I’d negotiate first… and if that didn’t work, I’d take him back by force.”

Nagumo let out a low whistle. “See? Perfect.”

Rion muttered something under her breath. “…Alright, maybe you’re not as helpless as I thought.”

She crossed her arms, eyeing me up and down. “Next question. What’s the worst thing about Nagumo?”

I thought for a moment. “…Oh, that’s easy! He’s always teasing people.”

Rion huffed. “That’s the best thing you could come up with?”

“Well, I like everything else about him.”

Nagumo placed a hand over his heart. “I might cry.”

“Shut up,” Rion and Sakamoto said in unison.

Rion sighed. “Alright. Final test.”

Sakamoto pulled out a knife and slid it across the table. “If Nagumo ever betrays you, would you be able to kill him?”

The air shifted.

I picked up the knife, holding it delicately.

Nagumo watched me, relaxed as always. I met his gaze.

Then I smiled. “I trust Yoichi. If he betrayed me, he’d have a very good reason.”

Something flickered in his eyes.

Rion scoffed. “So you wouldn’t kill him?”

I tilted my head. “If he truly betrayed me… then yes, I could.”

Nagumo smirked. “She is perfect.”

Sakamoto nodded approvingly. Rion still looked suspicious, but she finally leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.

“…Fine. I still think you could do better,” she muttered. “But you’re not an idiot. I respect that.”

I beamed. “Thank you!”

Rion sighed, rubbing her temples. “Whatever. You’re stuck with him now, so good luck.”

Nagumo grabbed my hand. “See? Told you they’d love you.”

Rion threw a knife at his head.

Nagumo dodged, still smirking. “Ah, classic Rion.”

Shin Asakura

Shin was nervous. Very nervous.

“Are you okay?” you asked, holding his hand as you both stood in front of the Sakamoto household.

“No,” Shin said immediately. “Lu’s involved in this, which means chaos. Hana’s unpredictable. And Sakamoto—” He inhaled. “He knows everything I’m thinking.”

The door swung open before he could knock.

Lu grinned. “You’re late.”

“We weren’t given a time—” Shin tried, but she pulled you inside.

The first test was immediate.

Hana stood in front of you, holding up a picture she very clearly drew herself. “If you don’t say my art is amazing, I’m kicking you out.”

You beamed. “This is beautiful, Hana-chan! The colors are so lively, and I can tell you put a lot of effort into it!”

Hana squinted at you. Then turned to Shin. “She’s either really nice or a liar.”

Lu leaned in. “Would you fight someone for Shin?”

You smiled softly. “I don’t like violence. But if someone tried to hurt him, I’d protect him with everything I have.”

Lu whistled. “Oh, she’s dangerous. I like her.”

Finally, Sakamoto sat across from you, silently watching.

Shin tensed. “Boss, please don’t make this scary—”

Sakamoto leaned back, satisfied. “You’re good. Shin’s lucky.”

Shin groaned. “I hate this family.”

You giggled. “I love them.”

Shin turned to you in horror.

Lu clapped his back. “Oh, you’re so doomed.”

Natsuki Seba

Natsuki underestimated how insane this was going to be.

Mafuyu, his younger brother, had immediately dragged you away the second you entered the Seba household.

“I need to test if you’re worthy of my brother,” Mafuyu said seriously. “If you fail, I’ll make him break up with you.”

Natsuki groaned. “Mafuyu, seriously—”

“Silence, loser,” Mafuyu said, then turned back to you. “First question. If you were a fish, what fish would you be?”

You blinked. “Oh! A clownfish, maybe? They seem friendly.”

Mafuyu hummed. “Acceptable. Next. You’re in the middle of a battle. You have one weapon. What do you choose?”

“I… don’t like fighting,” you admitted.

Mafuyu narrowed his eyes. “Trick question. The correct answer is ‘Natsuki.’”

Natsuki pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re so weird.”

Mafuyu ignored him. “Final question. Do you think my brother is cool?”

You smiled. “Of course.”

Mafuyu gasped dramatically. “Oh my god. She’s delusional.”

Natsuki groaned. “That’s enough, Mafuyu—”

Mafuyu crossed his arms. “Fine. You pass.”

Natsuki blinked. “Wait, what?”

Mafuyu shrugged. “She’s obviously nice, and she likes you even though you’re lame. That means she’s loyal.”

Natsuki narrowed his eyes. “I feel very insulted, but I’ll take it.”

Mafuyu nodded. “You have my blessing.”

Natsuki sighed. “Great. Now never talk to my girlfriend again.”

Mafuyu smirked. “Absolutely not.”

Heisuke Mashimo

Heisuke’s “family” was basically just Sakamoto, Shin, Lu, and Hana, and they immediately went feral with their tests.

Sakamoto just stared at you for a while, then nodded. “Alright. You pass.”

Shin and Lu immediately protested.

“No,” Shin said. “She has to prove she can handle Heisuke’s stupidity.”

You blinked. “He’s not stupid, though.”

Silence.

Lu slowly turned to Heisuke. “You brainwashed her.”

Heisuke pouted. “I did not.”

Shin crossed his arms. “Alright. If Heisuke had to snipe something and missed, what would you do?”

You smiled sweetly. “I’d tell him he did his best and that I believe in him.”

Shin and Lu exchanged horrified glances.

“Oh god,” Lu whispered. “She’s an enabler.”

Heisuke grinned. “I love her.”

Sakamoto sighed. “She’s fine. Let them be.”

Lu groaned. “Fine. But if they end up married, I want a separate house far away from the secondhand embarrassment.”

Heisuke just hugged you, grinning. “I knew they’d love you!”

Shin put his head in his hands. “I need a drink.”

Gaku

Gaku didn’t even try to stop Kumanomi.

“I mean, if she can’t survive you, she probably can’t survive me either,” he reasoned, hands in his pockets.

You just tilted your head, smiling sweetly at Kumanomi. “It’s nice to meet you!”

Kumanomi smirked. “We’ll see about that. Sit.”

You obediently took a seat. Gaku leaned against the wall, watching like this was a free show.

Kumanomi pulled out a piece of paper. “Alright, sweetheart. First question: If Gaku loses a fight, what do you do?”

You blinked. “Oh! I’d help him up and tell him he did great.”

Gaku snorted. “Baby. I don’t lose.”

Kumanomi ignored him. “Second question: If you had to fight Gaku, what’s your strategy?”

You thought for a moment. “Um… Distract him with a video game and then run?”

Gaku threw his head back laughing. “That’s actually so smart—”

Kumanomi narrowed her eyes. “Interesting. Third question: Do you think Gaku is intelligent?”

You nodded earnestly. “Of course!”

Kumanomi stared at you like you’d grown three heads. “Oh my god. You’re delusional.”

Gaku burst out laughing. “She likes me, Kumanomi. Of course she’s a little insane.”

Kumanomi sighed. “Final question. If someone flirts with Gaku, what do you do?”

You blinked, then smiled. “I’d probably just hold his hand and remind them he’s taken.”

Gaku grinned. “Aww, babe—”

Kumanomi smirked. “Wrong answer. You fight them.”

Your smile wavered. “But I don’t like fighting…”

Kumanomi nodded solemnly. “That’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

Gaku grinned. “Wait. This means she passes, right?”

Kumanomi rolled her eyes. “She’s too nice for you, but whatever. She’s cute. I’ll allow it.”

Gaku whooped, throwing an arm around you. “Hell yeah, my girl’s approved!”

Kumanomi sighed. “Just don’t get her arrested.”

Gaku smirked. “No promises.”

[actuallybean]

Please Please Please

Dating Dean Winchester is all fun and fistfights until you’re begging him not to get arrested before breakfast. All you’re asking is please, please, please—don’t screw this up. Inspired by Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter *Contains lots of fluff Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader ag List: @mostlymarvelgirl Supernatural Masterlist | Main Masterlist

"You Had One Job, Winchester."

You should have known falling for Dean Winchester would feel like dancing barefoot on broken glass — thrilling, a little dangerous, and guaranteed to leave you bleeding.

But you did it anyway.

You fell hard. Fast. Stupidly.

And now, standing in front of the sheriff’s office with your arms crossed and your blood pressure sky-high, you’re wondering if that was the dumbest decision of your life.

He comes stumbling out ten minutes late, limping slightly, bruised on one cheek and grinning like he didn’t just get arrested for breaking and entering.

“Before you yell,” Dean says, hands raised in mock surrender, “it was technically unlocked.”

You blink. “Dean. You broke into a bakery.”

“There were EMFs all over the oven!”

You deadpan, “You’re aware normal people just knock and ask questions, right?”

“But it was two in the morning—”

“Exactly.”

He winces. “Okay, not my best plan.”

You march over, grab his ear, and tug. “You think?”

“OW! Babe, easy—my reputation—”

“You should be embarrassed!” you hiss. “I spent the last four hours convincing a sheriff you weren’t a delusional criminal with a pastry fetish.”

Dean tries not to laugh. “To be fair, those croissants were amazing.”

You groan. “Dean. Please. I’m begging you. Can you go one week without getting us banned from a county?”

He smiles sheepishly, slipping his arms around your waist like that’ll soften you.

Spoiler: It does. A little.

“I can’t help it,” he murmurs. “Trouble follows me.”

“No,” you correct. “You chase it down in a muscle car.”

You’re not even mad that Dean’s reckless — okay, you are, but that’s not the real issue.

It’s that you love him. Desperately. Stupidly. You love him like a prayer you say with clenched fists and held breath.

And that means every time he walks out the door, you’re not just worried he’ll get hurt.

You’re worried he’ll do something so Dean it’ll blow everything up — you, him, your sanity, your future.

Because Dean doesn’t do quiet love. He does whiskey and gunpowder, fists first and feelings later. You knew that when you fell for him.

You just didn’t expect it to hurt this good.

“Why are you mad?” Dean asks later, tossing his duffel onto the motel bed.

You stare at him. “You really don’t get it?”

“No,” he says honestly, stepping closer. “I mean—I get that I screwed up the bakery thing. But you’re not mad about that.”

You pause. “I’m scared.”

Dean stills.

You wrap your arms around yourself. “Everywhere we go, I’m just… waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to pick the wrong fight or flirt with death and leave me standing there, looking like a girl who should’ve known better.”

Dean’s voice is quiet. “You’re not a fool.”

“I’m in love with you. The guy who can’t walk past danger without poking it. That feels pretty foolish.”

He walks to you, slowly. Gentle hands cup your cheeks. “I’m not gonna ruin this.”

“You could,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “But I won’t. I’ve messed up a lot of things in my life, but you’re not gonna be one of them.”

You laugh shakily. “Please, please, please don’t embarrass me.”

He leans in. “Not unless you count sexy karaoke in roadside bars. In which case—I make no promises.”

You’d like to say Dean takes your fears to heart.

And he does.

For about 48 hours.

Then he gets into a fistfight with a possessed pastor at a gas station.

“I thought he was demon-possessed!” Dean defends, icing his hand on the hotel mini-fridge.

“Yeah?” you snap. “And what gave it away? His eyes? His Latin? Or the fact that he said ‘bless you’ and you took that personally?”

Dean grins. “It was the holy water. He didn’t flinch.”

“Because he’s a pastor!”

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches with a chuckle and no small amount of pride.

“You love me,” he says smugly.

You point at him. “Yes. Unfortunately. So much it makes me stupid.”

But for all the chaos, Dean tries.

He double-checks motel locks now. He leaves cheesy notes in your duffel. He lets you drive the Impala (once — you cried).

He listens when you need to vent. He softens when you break.

And one night, after a particularly rough hunt, he takes your hand and blurts, “I don’t want to lose you.”

You blink. “What?”

“I’ve screwed up so many things. I’ve lost people I didn’t think I could live without. But you—if I lose you—God, sweetheart, I won’t come back from that.”

Tears well in your eyes. “Then please don’t make me watch you destroy yourself.”

He leans his forehead against yours. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I promise. I’ll be better. For you. For us.”

And for once, you believe him.

Of course, two days later, he dives headfirst into a vampire nest without backup.

But he comes back with all his limbs, a bouquet of gas station daisies, and a hand-written card that says:

Sorry I made you almost throw up from anxiety. I love you more than pie. Please don’t kill me. P.S. I killed the vamps. You’re welcome. – Dean “Please Please Please” Winchester

You roll your eyes.

And kiss him breathless anyway.

[hoahoahoahoahoa]

AU where Edward does return in New Moon but doesn’t reveal himself to Bella

By the time he gets to Bella, she’s not back to normal of course but she’s not catatonic anymore. She’s not thriving, but she’s living. Edward, on the other hand, is pretty well and truly Cracked and delusional by this point and convinces himself that it’s enough to just be around her. He can keep watch over her without being in her life. Keep her safe from outside forces and himself. That’s enough for him.

Except he’s not quite cognizant enough to actually stay completely hidden. Bella catches glimpses of him and assumes they’re more hallucinations at first, so she keeps going about her life. That is, until she sees more than a flash in the corner of her eye— he looks horrible. Still beautiful, but rough. Not like her usual hallucinations. Eyes dead, cheeks gaunt, all shadows and bruises and decay

Of course her first inclination is to believe her hallucinations are changing. That’s just more likely than Edward actually coming back. She tries not to think too hard about what the change means— is her memory of him waning? Is her mental picture of him deteriorating in tandem with her own mental state despite her thinking she’s getting better? Is she going to crash and burn again? And why does she feel a tug in her chest in its direction? How do her eyes know exactly which direction to look to see him? That never even happened before the real Edward left

Edward thinks he’s looking out for her. Keeping vigil. He can’t see that he’s haunting her.

It doesn’t break her. Not at first. But it chips away at her. She starts muttering to herself/the “hallucination” under her breath— “I’m not even doing anything stupid”, “okay, fine, I get it, I’m not okay”, “I don’t want this anymore, can’t you see this is worse?”, “he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone, you know he’s gone”. She almost snaps at him a few times to leave her the hell alone, but she can never gets the words out.

Most of the time her utterances confuse Edward. Others he could swear she was talking to him, but that’s impossible. He’s a vampire, he is stealth, there’s no way she knows he’s there.

Then she starts backsliding. She can’t focus on anything— her eyes are always scanning the tree line. She doesn’t sleep because she’s up all night watching the window sill, waiting to see his face peering in when thunder lights the world for a moment. She’s jumpy. She’s twitchy. Manic. It worries Edward of course but there’s no physical threat for him to thwart, and he can’t go to her to comfort her, so he watches

When he first left, she was overtaken by a nothingness. This is different; now she’s restless, she feels like she would squirm out of her own skin if she could. Jacob half-jokingly asks her how she managed to find a drug dealer in sleepy little Forks.

Only when she’s on the figurative cliff edge of her sanity, does she realize it’s really him. She’s about to give in and let herself fantasize that it’s really him, and the mere thought makes everything click into place, and she really believes. From there it takes her no time at all to figure him out.

She tries talking to him at first. She knows he won’t let her get close, and that he can hear her. Even if she believes he doesn’t love her, she knows him well enough to know guilt and the need to protect are big motivators for him.

She can only bear to ask (plead) him to come to her for so long before she feels pathetic beyond belief. So she talks to him as she goes about her days. Tells him what she’s been up to (“not much, but enough to keep Charlie from worrying too much.”). Scolds him for the scholarship thing (“tell Esme I’m sorry about the window.”). Asks him questions she knows he won’t answer, because she is interested in what he’s been up to (“guess you’re not distracted as easily as you thought, huh? Lucky me”). She even gives him some tough love. Starts telling him about mess he left behind— Victoria, the wolves, Laurent. “I’ll give you all the intel I have if you just come into my stupid house. Wouldn’t my protection be more efficient as a joint venture?”

Time goes by. No progress is made. Edward maintains the same distance, makes no indication that he’ll give up on protecting from a distance. What’s the definition of insanity Time for a change of strategy.

Putting herself in danger summoned hallucination!Edward; why not real Edward? Isn’t that why he’s back? (God, she hopes she’s right about that). She dusts off the motorcycle— catches him glaring at her running alongside her in the trees at 70mph— but keeps his distance.

She gets bolder. Goes to Port Angeles at night, quite literally looking for trouble. When no dregs of society have the courtesy to threaten her life, she whispers a quick "heads up" before she steps in front of of moving tractor-trailer. She smiles when she hears the distinct sound of snarling as she's pulled out of the way.

He's gone again before she can get a look at him. She wonders if this is how Psyche felt, even a little bit, falling for Cupid in the dark.

Well, it worked. Kind of. She needs a way to draw him out from which he can't simply disappear after.

She remembers the boys cliff-diving in La Push.

In this universe, she's not facing the ocean when she stands on the edge. Back to the water, she watches the tree line, same as she has for weeks (weeks that felt like years). She smiles at the flash of white, before frowning at the realization that she goaded him into breaking the treaty.

So when she whispers "I'm sorry," it's not just in case he can't catch her in time.