#maybe I’m looking a little to far into it

[vettelsvee]

ARGUMENTS AND UNWANTED SHARED SECRETS | Charles Leclerc

⋆ PAIRING: Dad!Charles Leclerc x Mum wife!Reader ⋆ SUMMARY: Charles is back home for summer break, and a message he receives from Lando to hang out in a club makes the two of you argue in front of your daughter because all you want is her to enjoy her dad... or maybe, is just your nervousness and hormones making you overthink a lot ⋆ WORD COUNT: 1462 ⋆ VEE'S NOTES: First ever fic i’m posting as a university graduate and officially a teacher, so I can say that apart from some exams my nightmare after 4 years is finally done! 🫡 I'd love to read your thoughts about this one, so feel free to comment and reblog, I'd appreciate it a lot! <3 ↳ TALK TO ME/MAKE YOUR REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

The long-awaited summer break had arrived, and finally, Charles Leclerc could return to his beloved Monaco to spend three weeks with you, his wife, and your four-year-old daughter, Julia.

There was no doubt that traveling so much, and especially being separated from his little family for long periods of time, was exhausting emotionally and mentally for the Monegasque. Still, he knew he had to continue with his career if he wanted to achieve the goals his younger self had set for him: becoming a world champion. That's why videocalls with the women of his life, and the support of some of his mates, especially the newly dad on the grid, Max Verstappen, made the season more bearable.

That's why, even while having dinner in pajamas, talking about any topic that came up while enjoying a simple homemade dinner they had cooked together, Charles felt grateful.

"How's the season going so far, daddy?" your daughter asked, looking at your husband curiously as she held her glass of water.

Charles sighed, feeling a little uncomfortable. He didn't want to tellyou anything related to his disastrous season at Ferrari, especially not in front of your daughter.

"It's been tough so far," he replied as calmly as he could, "but we still have the second half ahead to fight. It’s not like we’re winning the championship, but we could still fight for some points."

The 6-year-old girl, sitting to Charles' left, looked saddened to hear her father's words.

"Why can't we go see daddy at a race?" she asked, looking at you, who tried to smile the best you could.

At that moment, the Monegasque was overwhelmed with love even your face said otherwise. It seemed like your daughter had read his mind as he was going to suggest it to you in the following days.

"Would you like us to come see you race, honey?"

"I wouldn't like it, I would honestly love it," Leclerc nodded enthusiastically. "Having you in the paddock, just like when you were pregnant with Julia, would be a dream."

The little girl was over the moon about the idea, kicking her little legs with enthusiasm.

"Does that mean we can go see daddy, mommy? I want to go see him race! And maybe I can see Lewis too!"

You savored your daughter's excitement.

"Of course, honey. We'll try to go to a few races if possible, of course."

Charles took another bite of his meal before speaking again.

"Oh, come on," your husband replied, taking another bite of dinner. "You just have to make sure that Juls wears sunscreen and drinks enough water."

Suddenly, Charles heard the ringing tone of his cellphone in the distance. With a soft apologise, he immediately got up to answer the call, thinking it might be some work-related issue requiring his attention. As he returned, you and little Julia were discussing which races you could attend to see her father.

"It was Lando," the driver commented. "He told me he’s going out tonight."

"And are you going?" you frowned, not getting any response from your husband. All he did was staying silence, as if he was hiding something from you, as if he was scared. You knew him all too well, and that’s exactly what he was doing. "Charles, I'm talking to you," you insisted. "I don’t mind you’re going, but… I don’t know, I thought having you here, with us, for the summer break, meant you were spending time with us."

Leclerc sighed.

“I just wanted to hang out with Lando and with you as well. You know, having some private time and trying to relax as much as possible without laying on the couch the whole day when I’m not at the gym.”

Julia sat quietly in her seat, sensing the tension between her parents filling the room even at her young age.

You stood up, abruptly dropping the fork she was eating with.

"It's not just about you relaxing or us having a good time," you shouted, a bit desperate, and immediately regretted it. "You’re… I don’t know, Charles, I feel like you’re always kinda prioritizing your career over our family. Plus, what are you going to do with your daughter tonight? Are you going to leave her alone? Or should we call your mother at nine thirty at night on a whim?"

"It's not fair for you to make me feel this way, you know?" Charles retorted, getting defensive. "I work hard to provide everything you need. Besides, you can stay here with Juls if you can't, or don’t, want to come."

"I work too, and I handle other chores as well," you said simply, trying not to stick to his words, which were definitely hurting you. "Oh, and I also take care of your daughter and try to make her see that her father still loves her despite not being there for her when she needs him the most."

The tension building up between you in the dining room could be cut with a knife, and your daughter’s cries were what snapped you out of your anger.

"Daddy, I don't want you to fight! I want us to be together and happy!"

"Juls," Charles approached his daughter slowly, "it's okay, mommy and I are just exchanging opinions..."

"What's going on, mommy?" the girl interrupted her father, still with tears in her eyes. "Why are you and daddy fighting? Are you going to divorce like Lily’s parents?"

Charles and you realized what you were doing. You weren't used to fighting this hard, especially not in front of your daughter. Immediately, they both sat on the couch, putting Julia between you both.

"We're sorry for yelling, sweetheart," you apologized to the little girl. "Dad and I are just having a disagreement because, sometimes, adults have different points of view on a particular issue."

Charles nodded, agreeing with you and, at the same time, trying to calm the situation:

"That's right, Julia. Sometimes people don't agree, but that doesn't mean mom and I don't love each other anymore!"

Julia nodded slowly, still confused and saddened by the argument she had witnessed.

"Are you going to be okay then? Are you not going to separate? Can we go see daddy at a race, mommy?"

You and Charles exchanged a quick glance, increasingly realizing that the argument had really hurt their daughter.

"Of course, princess," the driver replied, planting a kiss on her forehead while getting up from his seat. "Hey, why don't you go to our room and pick a movie?"

Julia smiled shyly and left the living room without saying anything, a sign that she had calmed down a bit.

"Hey. Come here, please."

Charles took your hand, seeing in your eyes a feeling he promised never to cause again every time you had an argument. 

Pain. Disappointment. The feeling of not being good enough. 

Overthinking it all.

"You're right, love," he said, wiping away the tears starting to fall from your face. "I'm so sorry for acting like a jerk, I just wanted us to have a good time and for you to be able to socialize with the guys like before Juls came into our lives."

"Don't worry, Charles," you tried to give him a niec smile, but it wasn’t really worth the try. "I got a bit intense too. I guess it's the hormones, they're changing every now and then and..."

You realized you messed up at that moment. Quickly, like a reflex movement, you put you right hand on your mouth, but it was already too late. 

Once again, you fucked up even it was supposed to be a surprise...

"What do you mean, hormones?"

"I'm pregnant," you whispered. "I know we weren't planning it, but..."

The Monegasque was speechless, and a broad smile began to spread across his face.

"That's incredible!" he exclaimed, hugging you affectionately. "We're going to be parents again. I mean, it’s not like I was expecting this news but honestly, I can't believe it..."

"Mommy! Daddy! When are you coming?"

Julia appeared again. Now, she was wearing her father's Ferrari cap which, despite being too big for her little head, she loved. Her face immediately covered with a smile as soon as she saw her parents hugging, quickly forgetting you two were talking more loudly than you should moments before.

"Great! We're all together and happy now!" she shouted down the hallway until she reached the bedroom Charles and you shared.

Once the growing family lay down on the bed and started watching Cars for the umpteenth time —because to Julia, Lightning McQueen reminded her of her father—, Charles couldn't help but think how lucky he was to have his family by his side, even he was far from stupid sometimes.

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

[rafesangelita]

♡ bsf!rafe finds sheep!reader’s diary..

warnings: cnc (you’ve been warned), dirty talk, fingering, orgasm denial, suggestive ending

a/n: read more sheep!reader + cnc here !

as your best friend, rafe knew you all too well. he knew when you were sad, and he knew when you were holding something back from him, but lately he couldn’t figure you out and it was frustrating the living hell out of him. you hadn’t answered any of his calls or messages, you kept a safe distance from him whenever you two were together, he couldn’t help but feel like he had done something wrong to make you less comfortable with him around, and he was determined to find out what it was.

waiting until you left for your regular visit to the thrift store, rafe used the spare key under the welcome mat to open the front door and slip inside your house. he knew that if you weren’t telling him what was wrong, you were indeed telling the little diary you had hidden in your nightstand. grabbing the floral notebook out of the wooden drawer, rafe briefly flipped through its contents before settling on an entry from a couple of weeks ago.

04/26/25 — oh, i just don’t know what do!! today rafe carried me over his shoulder and slammed me down on my bed like i was one of those old rag dolls my grandmother used to make me. he’s just so strong, i started thinking about other things he could do. i shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts, but i can’t help it. we spend so much time alone together, it just makes me wonder about the manpower he has over me. he can do whatever he wants to me at any point in time, and while that idea should scare me, it makes me get butterflies just thinking about the possibilities.

rafe was rendered speechless, his curiosity getting the best of him as he flipped a few pages over.

4/30/25 — i can’t look at rafe without being reminded of everything i’ve been daydreaming about over the past few days. i feel so ashamed when he gets near me and i have to move away from him out of guilt. he’s looking at me like he did something wrong and i feel so bad. how can i tell him that i’m imagining things a ‘friend’ shouldn’t? maybe i just need to stop seeing him for a while…

now it all made sense. the sitting far away from each other on the couch when usually he’s spooning you, the way you look more embarrassed than usual when he’ll say something suggestive to tease you; it was because you were already fighting off dirty thoughts about him. rafe swallowed thickly as he tossed your journal to the side, his jaw ticking as he reflected over your words. ‘he can do whatever he wants to me at any point in time.’ — to know that both of you wanted this was all the encouragement rafe needed to hide away in your closet once he heard the lock of the front door click open.

you had forgotten your coin pouch, a sigh leaving your lips as you hastily made your way to your room to look for the little thing. upon entering, you immediately knew something was off. there was a dip print in your sheets as if someone was sitting there when you knew for a fact you left your room pristine. just as you caught a small whiff of rafe’s cologne, you screamed when you were suddenly yanked back with a heavy hand over your mouth. dragging you in front of your vanity mirror, rafe wanted you to see that it was him and not a stranger.

you stopped thrashing against him when you saw that it was rafe’s figure towering over your own. now you stood confused as he slowly removed his hand from your mouth and wrapped his fingers around your neck. “w-what are you doing?” you let out a shaky breath, your mouth falling open in a silent moan as rafe’s arm snaked around your waist, your backside flushed against him. “you’ve been ignoring me..” he started, your eyes widening as his hand slipped underneath your dress, “so i had to come over here and find out why.” you gasped when he cupped you through your underwear, his lips finding the underside of your jaw.

moving your gaze over to the notebook on your bed, you felt your heart drop to your stomach when you realized he must’ve read it. “with how innocent you are i would’ve never guessed that you were thinking such things,” he said through gritted teeth, the gruffness of his voice sending a chill down your spine. “now i’m going to do exactly that and there isn’t shit you could do about it, doll.” rafe dipped his fingers between your folds, your knees giving out on you as he held you up by your hips. “saying’ how you want me to overpower you and do whatever i want to you.. just know that you asked for this.”

you didn’t get a chance to take in what he meant when you felt his digits plunge into you, a squeal sounding out from your lips as you reveled in the delicious stretch of his fingers. dragging you over to your bed, rafe forced your thighs open as you gripped his hand, attempting to push him away with a cry. pinning your wrist above your head, you writhed underneath him as you felt an unfamilar tension beginning to build in your core. your bottom lip trembled, the mixture of both pleasure and pain wracking through your body as rafe thumbed your sensitive bundle of nerves.

your pastel nails clawed at the soft cotton of your comforter, your eyes screwing shut as the words ‘please stop..’ softly fell from your mouth. rafe forced your eyes open so you could confirm if you really wanted him to stop his ministrations, but once he caught that mischievous glint in your gaze, he chuckled, wrapping a fist in your hair and tugging so that you could watch his fingers curl inside of you and hit your sweet spot. your back arched up from the mattress, your chest caving in as rafe brought you to the edge and held you there.

“i’m not letting the first time you cum be around my fingers,” he slipped his digits out of you before popping them in his mouth, his hips slotting between your thighs, “i wanna feel this pussy clenching around my cock when i get you crying for it.”

thank you for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[xoxojisu]

"YOU'RE PREGNANT?!"

synopsis: you're pregnant with osamu's baby! you need to break the news to atsumu, but he somehow spoils it.. for himself?

notes: afab reader if that wasn't obvious

you and osamu had rehearsed this like three times on the drive over.

well, you rehearsed it. osamu just kept nodding and saying, “he’s gonna be loud either way,” which… yeah, fair. but this was a big deal! atsumu may have been chaos incarnate, but he was still osamu's twin brother, and you both wanted him to be one of the first to know!

so here you were, sitting in a booth at a quiet ramen place, the twins across from each other like always, bickering over toppings like they weren’t in their thirties.

“who the hell puts corn in ramen?” atsumu griped, making a face.

“people with good taste,” osamu muttered, not bothering to even look up from his bowl in favor of continuing eating. "corn in ramen's tasty. it's sweet and crunchy and buttery. yer just not refined enough to get it. got the taste buds of a toddler."

"it's actually pretty good! osamu put me on." you chimed in.

“he look like he is the corn in ramen,” atsumu grumbled. “fuckin' fatass. what, ya pregnant?”

you froze.

osamu froze.

atsumu… kept eating.

you and osamu turned to each other in perfect sync, wide-eyed, identical expressions of did he just..? before you could even stop yourself, you blurted:

“how’d you know?!”

atsumu blinked. “huh?”

osamu reached over to hit atsumu on the head with his chopsticks, not saying anything, just staring at him in disbelief.

"wait, what?" atsumu said, "hold on-"

"is twin telepathy actually real?! holy shit! samu, why didn't you tell me that he could fucking read your mind?"

“i- huh? what? wait,” atsumu stuttered, eyes darting between you two, hands raised in shock. “you thought i meant you-” he pointed at you. “you’re pregnant?!”

you nodded slowly, still stunned. “we were literally about to tell you.”

atsumu opened his mouth. closed it. opened it again. “what the hell, i.. i was callin’ him fat!”

“i’m not fat,” osamu hissed. “i’m-”

“i was makin’ fun of him! i didn’t think i had mind-readin’ powers! holy shit!”

“well clearly you do!” you exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “you just predicted a whole pregnancy announcement! twin telepathy is real!”

atsumu leaned back in the booth, looking like he just got hit with a volleyball straight to the face.

“yer seriously- like, for real- like- like, actually pregnant?”

you nodded again, this time with a soft smile. “yeah. just a couple months.”

atsumu stared for another beat before his face completely split into the biggest, brightest grin you’d ever seen.

“no freakin’ way! i’m gonna be a uncle?!” he launched halfway across the table, practically knocking over a bowl in the process. “holy shit, i was jokin’! samu, ya really did it, ya old sap!”

osamu groaned as atsumu pulled him into a squeeze. “let go of me.”

“never! i’m gonna tell everyone!”

“you’re not.”

you laughed, the moment finally settling into the warm, chaotic joy you’d expected from the start.

atsumu finally let go, eyes still sparkling. “i can’t believe i called it. like—psychic level. maybe i should open a side hustle. chicks would pay big money for a hot guy to read their fortune.”

osamu looked at you. “i told ya he’d be loud.”

you grinned. “he was also kinda perfect.”

“damn right i was,” atsumu said, already pulling out his phone. “now what’s the name gonna be? ‘tsumu’ is a gender-neutral option, just sayin’-”

osamu reached across the table and finally flicked him on the forehead.

later, after the chaos had simmered down and the three of you stepped out into the evening air, atsumu was quiet in that rare way that made you glance over to make sure he was okay.

you were halfway to your cars when he slowed beside you. “so,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “you, uh… got any pictures yet? like, baby ones?”

you smiled and pulled out your phone. “only one so far. first ultrasound.”

you handed it over and he took it a little too carefully, like he was afraid to drop it. the black-and-white image flickered faintly on the screen, and he just… stared.

he didn’t smile. didn’t joke. he looked at that tiny shape like it was the most real thing in the world. like it had just hit him, really hit him what this meant.

“that’s… them?” he asked, voice quiet.

you nodded. “yeah. that’s your niece or nephew.”

atsumu blinked. “they’re so small.”

you and osamu glanced at each other—your heart a little full, his eyes a little softer than usual.

then atsumu looked up, meeting your gaze. “thanks for tellin’ me. first, i mean. that you wanted me to know first.” he cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. “i’m… real happy for you guys. both of ya.”

“you’re gonna be an amazing uncle,” you said, nudging him gently.

he gave a little laugh. “yeah? little corn junior?”

“no,” osamu said flatly. “absolutely not.”

but you were smiling, and so was atsumu, and osamu had that small, quiet look he only ever got when he was really, truly happy.

atsumu looked back at the photo one more time. then, without a word, he stepped forward and hugged you. not a joking one. not a one-arm squeeze. a real one.

“i’m proud of you,” he mumbled. "this is crazy."

you hugged him back. “we love you, ‘tsumu.”

osamu snorted beside you. “gettin’ soft in your old age.”

“shut it, old man. i’m still prettier.”

they started bickering again as you all walked down the street—arguing over who had better genes and whether the baby would inherit osamu’s cooking or atsumu’s hair.

you stayed a step behind for just a moment. hand resting over your stomach. heart full.

this little one was already so loved.

..and also so doomed to a life of chaos.

but mostly? so, so loved.

masterlist

[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 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

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.

[bjlipss]

— bug, part ix.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe. fem reader should be mentioned. jin and yuuji are here!!!

part viii <- part ix -> part x

you and sukuna are walking back from your afternoon lecture, the sun warm on your shoulders, the spring air sticky with that lazy, golden kind of peace that always hits around 4 p.m. your fingers brush as you walk—like they’re testing the water, seeing if it’s okay to hold on. sometimes you do. sometimes you don’t. today, he keeps his hand close enough that you can if you want.

you kick a pebble ahead of you, watching it skip across the sidewalk, and he hums under his breath. his phone keeps buzzing, but he doesn’t check it, just glances at the screen with a slight twitch in his jaw. he’s not frowning exactly, but his whole vibe is… pinched. distracted.

you nudge him with your elbow. “bad memes again?”

he snorts, but doesn’t answer.

and then—just as you’re about to ask what’s up—a voice cuts through the campus air:

“SUKUNA!”

you both stop in your tracks.

“seriously, pick up your damn phone!” comes another voice—higher, lighter, and far too cheerful for how public this moment is becoming.

you turn just in time to see a tall man jogging up the campus path, one hand waving in the air, the other wrapped around the wrist of a tiny, pink-haired child who’s practically vibrating with excitement.

“UNCLE SUKUUUUNAAAA!” the kid shrieks.

he barrels into sukuna’s legs like a rocket, clinging to him with the fearless enthusiasm only kid can pull off. sukuna doesn’t even stumble—just plants his feet, jaw clenched, while the kid starts talking at a hundred miles per hour about juice boxes and frogs and something called “angry dinosaur mode.”

your boyfriend looks like he’s malfunctioning.

“what the hell are you doing here,” sukuna grits, glancing around like he wants to teleport into the earth. “jin, are you serious?”

“you weren’t answering your phone,” jin says, completely unfazed, ruffling yuuji’s hair. “i got worried. figured i’d swing by and make sure you weren’t dead.”

sukuna scowls. “i was in class.”

“you were not in class twenty minutes ago when i called you five times in a row,” jin replies, smug. then, noticing you, his whole expression brightens. “oh! you must be the mystery girl i know nothing about.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “uh. i mean. maybe. probably?”

jin laughs and extends a hand. “i’m jin. sukuna’s brother. and this little guy is yuuji, my son.”

yuuji tugs on your sleeve immediately. “hi! you’re really pretty! do you know about frogs? i have one. not a real one. a toy one.”

you blink and the grin at him. “i would love to hear about your frog.”

sukuna groans. “this is my nightmare.”

—

you’re supposed to part ways right after—sukuna mumbles something about going back to his dorm, and you start to offer him an out. but then yuuji grabs your hand with his tiny, slightly sticky fingers and says, “you have to come to our house. we have dinosaur nuggets and i’ll let you name my frog.”

and that’s how you end up in the back seat of jin’s car, listening to kung fu fighting on the radio while yuuji gives you a passionate summary of paw patrol lore.

sukuna sits beside you with his arms crossed, legs spread, glaring at the dashboard like it insulted him personally. but every now and then, you catch him sneaking glances at you—like he’s trying to gauge if you’re annoyed or overwhelmed or secretly plotting your escape.

you aren’t.

you’re smiling. nodding along to yuuji’s wild stories. making jin laugh with your half-hearted dinosaur impressions. like you belong there already.

sukuna feels something dangerous and warm unfurling in his chest.

—

the house is cozy and lived-in—wooden floors, sun-faded rugs, drawings taped to the fridge. you help jin in the kitchen while sukuna and yuuji chase each other around the couch, shrieking laughter echoing off the walls.

you glance over your shoulder and catch sukuna lifting yuuji into the air like he weighs nothing, both of them laughing as he threatens to “yeet him into the next zip code”. your heart flips, a grin splitting your face.

“he’s good with him,” you say quietly.

jin smiles, handing you a pair of tongs. “he raised him for a while, you know. back when things were hard.”

you turn to him, surprised. “really?”

“mm.” he leans against the counter. “our parents weren’t the greatest. and i was struggling after yuuji was born. couldn’t even afford daycare. so ryomen stepped up. no complaints, no questions. just—helped.”

you glance back at the living room, where sukuna is currently covered in couch cushions and pretending to be crushed.

“he doesn’t talk about that,” you murmur.

“no. he doesn’t.” jin smiles softly. “but i think you’re good for him. he’s been… lighter. since you showed up.”

you open your mouth to say something back. but nothing comes.

because the truth is, you’re not even sure how it happened.

you just like him.

and he keeps choosing you back.

—

after dinner—warm and chaotic and full of second servings and juice spills—yuuji passes out on the couch, curled up in a pile of blankets with a stuffed frog clutched to his chest.

jin shoos you and sukuna upstairs with a wink. “go show her your cringe teenage posters.”

“don’t,” sukuna mutters, dragging you by the wrist, “say another word.”

his room is… small. cluttered. a little dusty. it smells like old cologne and nostalgia. it has some of yuuji’s toys and the half opened drawer is full of random stuff, but part of sukuna is still in the room.

you take it in slowly—the peeling bleach poster, the crooked bookshelf, the pile of old basketball jerseys stuffed into the closet corner. there’s a cracked basketball trophy on the shelf and a sticker-covered lamp by the bed.

there’s a picture frame turned face-down on the desk. you don’t ask.

you sit on the edge of the bed while sukuna flops down beside you, staring at the ceiling.

“sorry about all that,” he mutters.

you smile. “i liked it.”

he glances over. “you… did?”

“mhm. your brother’s nice. and yuuji’s basically the coolest person i’ve ever met.”

“he’s a menace,” sukuna says, but his voice is soft. proud.

you lean against him, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

and then, after a beat—he says quietly, “i didn’t wanna be like our dad. so i tried. with yuuji. even if i fucked up sometimes.”

your chest aches. not with pity, but with something bigger. something heavier. something warm.

“you didn’t fuck up,” you whisper. “you were there. that’s what matters.”

he doesn’t answer. just shifts, turns slightly, and pulls you closer. your heart stutters.

his breath is slow, steady against your hair. his hand finds yours, fingers tangling together. it’s so gentle you could cry.

“you fit,” he says quietly.

“huh?”

“in my life,” he clarifies. “you just… fit.”

you turn to look up at him, stunned.

“i want you to come over more,” he murmurs.

you blink up at him. “okay.”

“like. often.”

“okay.”

“like. maybe forever.”

you smile. slow and sure.

he turns toward you, hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair out of your face.

you nod, heart thundering.

“okay.”

he leans in, brushing a kiss to your forehead. you melt into him like you were made for it.

and for the first time in a long time, sukuna thinks maybe home isn’t a place or a childhood memory or a messy room in his brother’s house.

maybe it’s this.

you.

right here.

now.

[spencersmopbucket]

With the Devil | Remmick

Pairing: Remmick x Reader Summary: Mama and Daddy had always taught you not to let evil into your mind — but they'd never taught you how not to fall in love with the devil.

Themes & Warnings: corruption, smut, oral (fem receiving), mentions of religion, vampire:))))))

IDC REMMICK IS SO HOT

You were perfect. That's what Mama always told you — you'd had it ingrained into your mind since you were just a baby. You were beautiful, you were kind, you were faithful.

Your Mama was a medicine woman. Your daddy was the town preacher. And you, their little girl, were the most eligible bachelorette in the town of Clarksdale. Your wild, curly hair was always pinned back, nails always painted, lips always glossed. You dressed cleanly and modestly. Your dark, unmarred skin was luminous and moisturized, allowing you a glow that was incomparable to any other girl your age.

You were never late to school. You never spent too much time talking to the boys. You prayed every night, stocking-clad knees on the wood floor, whispering softly.

You always imagined, with the help of your parents, a husband. Firm and kind, with a straight white smile and clean hands. A businessman, maybe. A man that frequented church. Nothing like them dogs every other woman raved about.

The thought of them made you scoff.

When you thought of marriage, you thought of what your Mama and Daddy had coached you.

Until you met him.

Your undoing. Your downfall. Your sin.

You saw him first on a Thursday. The air was heavy with summer and sin — one of those Mississippi nights that made the cotton stick to your skin and the devil’s whisper easier to hear. The juke was loud, pulsing with laughter and music you weren’t allowed to dance to. But you stood just outside it, waiting for your older friend to finish flirting with the barkeep, your Bible clutched to your chest like armor.

That’s when you felt it. Not saw — felt. A presence. Ancient. Unholy. Beautiful. Dangerous, above all else.

He was leaning against the fence, dressed like a man who had nowhere to be and no one to answer to. A shirt too fine for the Delta heat. Eyes that glowed red beneath the brim of a black hat. And a grin — slow and sharp — like he knew exactly how you’d taste when you broke.

He didn’t belong in Clarksdale — not with the dust of this town on his boots, not with the way his eyes burned like coals under moonlight. And yet, he leaned there like he’d been born of the very land, like the shadows curled around his boots to rest.

His gaze slid to you. Slow. Deliberate.

“Evenin’, dove,” he said, his voice warm and rough, touched by that unmistakable lilt — like poetry slurred in whiskey. “Bit far from the chapel, aren’t ya?”

You clutched your Bible tighter, the leather cover slick against your palms. You were taught to fear the devil. No one told you he’d look at you like that. Like you were temptation.

“I’m waiting on someone,” you managed, your voice barely audible.

He smiled at that — not kindly. No. It was indulgent. Knowing.

“Oh, I can see that,” he said, pushing off the fence with the kind of lazy grace that made the air tighten. “Tell me, do all the good girls carry scripture like a shield?”

Your throat went dry. You opened your mouth — to quote something, maybe, to say something about God’s protection, or how you weren’t interested — but the words stuck. Because he was close now, and the scent of him was thick with smoke and cedar and something sweet beneath it all. Not perfume. Not cologne. Something unnatural. Something wrong.

“Relax,” he murmured, eyes trailing across your face like a caress. “Ain’t come to hurt you.”

You didn’t believe him. But you wanted to.

“Who are you?” you asked, breathless.

He touched the brim of his hat, the red in his eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

“Remmick.”

The name hit the air like a curse.

Your stomach sank. You’d heard it before. Old wives whispered it over boiling pots and under their breath in the graveyard. They said Remmick had danced with witches and kissed the mouths of holy women. Said he’d killed everyone in the Smokestack juke joint in 1932 and made an army of the dead. You'd always thought he was just a scary story, just a wives tale. He didn't exist. He couldn't.

Vampires weren't real.

Your mama once told you never to say his name aloud. That if you said it, he’d know. But you hadn’t said it. He had. And still — he looked at you like he’d known you your whole life.

Like he’d been waiting.

His smirk curled around his lips, like a snake up a vine.

"We'll see each other again, lovely dove. I swear it. Get home safe now." He said, his Irish brogue evident.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your feet were rooted to the ground like the Magnolia trees your mama prayed under. The juke's laughter turned to static in your ears, the cicadas buzzed too loud, and the warm wind brushed past your dress like a warning.

Remmick tipped his hat a little lower, and just like that — he was gone.

Not walked away. Not turned and faded. Gone.

The air rushed back into your lungs, sharp and stinging, like it had been waiting too long to fill you. You looked around — no sign of him. Just the night, heavy and wet with the scent of honeysuckle and trouble.

Your older friend reappeared a few minutes later, giggling and smelling like bourbon, none the wiser. “You alright, sugar?” she asked, fanning herself. “You look like you seen a ghost.”

You shook your head. “N-no. I’m fine.” But you weren’t.

Because you walked home clutching that Bible like it could still save you — but your fingers trembled, and your mind reeled, and somewhere deep in your chest, your heart had started to ache.

And worse than that… A part of you hoped he really would come back.

You knew you were done for, just like you'd heard in all of the wives tales. Once Remmick chose you, it crept in like a secret, hushed words in the back of your mind. He slowly ate you alive until all that was left was sin.

The nights after that first meeting grew darker, heavier. You tried to hold onto what Mama and Daddy taught you — faith, purity, the promise of salvation — but every shadow seemed to whisper his name. Every breeze carried the ghost of his voice, low and honeyed, calling you closer.

You found yourself drawn to places you never would’ve dared before: the cracked sidewalks under flickering streetlamps, the edges of the cotton fields where the cicadas sang their mournful song. And always, there was that ache — a hunger that wasn’t just physical, but something deeper, darker.

Remmick’s presence slithered through your thoughts like a poison and a balm all at once. You were afraid, but you were enthralled. His sin was infectious, but it felt like home.

You didn’t want to admit it. But you were already his.

And with every secret moment stolen beneath the moon’s watchful gaze, the old you slipped away, unraveling like a thread in a worn quilt.

Mama’s prayers echoed in your mind, fragile and fading, as you whispered into the night:

“Lord, save me…” But even as the words left your lips, you knew.

You were lost. And loving every breath of it.

The next time you saw Remmick, you were lying in bed. This night was worse than the others — you couldn't sleep. It evaded you. You sweat into your sheets, twisted around your legs as you tossed and turned.

You could feel him. Inside of you. In your chest, in your head, calling out to you.

Your heart hammered like a drumbeat in the quiet dark, matching the rhythm of the whisper curling through your thoughts. You dared not speak his name aloud — Mama’s warning still burned in your memory— but the pull was undeniable, a silent siren song that rooted you to the bed, torn between fear and craving.

Then, as if summoned by your unspoken plea, a shadow slipped through the cracked window, sliding across your room like liquid smoke. Remmick.

His eyes, red embers glowing softly in the moonlight, fixed on you with a hunger that was both fierce and gentle, like he was seeing through to the very soul you fought to protect.

“Restless, dove?” He smirked in amusement. You straightened, your muscles tense under his gaze. You were scared, yes. But you couldn’t ignore the creeping satisfaction under your skin.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

He stepped closer to the bed, ancient hands running along your cotton sheets. You watched, biting your lip.

“Strugglin’ so hard to sleep. Because of me. Yet you won’t so much as whisper my name.” He said, his voice honey soaked. He was designed to be alluring. It’s how he caught his prey, how he claimed all those lives decades ago.

He leaned in closer, his frame casting a long shadow over your bed, his fingers ghosting over the sheets like he was memorizing the shape of your restlessness. The scent of him —earthy, metallic, something older than blood and fire — curled in your nose and made your breath hitch.

“You’re afraid that sayin’ it will make this real,” he murmured, voice low enough to pass for a dream. “But you know better, dove. This was real the moment I saw you. The moment you looked back.”

Your throat was dry, your heart pounding like a trapped bird inside your chest. You could still feel the weight of your Mama’s cross necklace at your collarbone, tucked beneath the lace of your nightdress. But even that holy pressure couldn’t stop the heat curling in your belly at his nearness.

Remmick’s lips quirked higher at your silence, his gaze dark with something ancient, possessive. “You keep prayin’,” he said, brushing the edge of your pillow, “but deep down, you don’t want to be saved.”

You flinched at the truth of it.

He laughed, soft and slow, like he’d just caught a fish on the line.

“There it is,” he whispered, kneeling beside your bed, his face inches from yours now. “That feeling in your guts… That’s not fear, is it?”

Your squeezed your eyes closed, laying back.

“Leave, devil.” You whispered back, holding onto the last few bits of restraint you had.

Remmick didn’t move.

He hovered there beside your bed, his breath brushing your cheek like the breeze before a storm, thick with static and promise.

“Now why would I do that,” he said softly, voice curling around the edges of your will, “when you called me here?”

Your eyes flew open.

“I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did,” he interrupted, with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Every night you twist in those sheets, whispering into the dark. Every time you dream of fire and teeth and touch. That’s a prayer too. Just not the kind your mama taught you.”

You turned your face away, jaw clenched, but your body betrayed you — heat rising, breath catching.

He leaned in closer, his voice a sinful hymn against your ear.

“Say my name,” he coaxed. “Just once. Let it taste your tongue. You’ll feel better. I promise.”

The devil’s hand rested just beside your head, not quite touching you — but you swore you could feel the chill of it down to your bones.

And God help you…

You wanted to.

His voice was velvet-drenched sin, a low murmur that made the air around you hum.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered again, and this time, there was something darker in it — not just coaxing, but claiming. His fingers finally brushed your cheek, light as a ghost, burning like a brand. “Let me in. Say my name, hm?”

You should’ve screamed. You should’ve prayed.

Instead, you turned your head back toward him, lips parted, breath trembling. Your soul stood on the edge of something vast and terrible — but it didn’t want to step back.

“Remmick,” you breathed, soft as a confession.

The effect was immediate.

His smile deepened into something hungry, almost reverent. Like he’d waited a century just to hear your voice say it.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured, dragging the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. “Took you long enough.”

And with that, the last of your restraint crumbled — and the devil stepped through the door you’d just opened.

Before you could second-guess yourself, his lips crashed against yours.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate, searing, like a man starved of something he’d been craving for far too long. His hand slid into your hair, fingers curling tight as he pulled you closer, devouring every soft sound that left your throat. His mouth tasted like smoke and blood and something impossibly sweet. Something addictive.

Your body arched before you even realized it, your hands clinging to the front of his shirt, as if you could tether yourself to the storm he brought with him.

He groaned into the kiss, a low, guttural sound that rumbled from his chest, and the bed creaked beneath his weight as he pushed closer. His other hand found your waist, dragging you against him like he had every right to.

“Good, good girl,” he rasped, voice thick with satisfaction as his thumb brushed the corner of your kiss-swollen mouth. His eyes burned like embers in the dark. “Mine now.”

His grip on your waist tightened, possessive, unyielding — not cruel, but claiming. Worshipful in a way that felt far more dangerous than hate ever could.

“No god can take you back.”

The words slithered into your soul, final and eternal. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pray. You didn’t run.

Because in that moment — half-wrapped in cotton sheets and sin, heart thudding in time with the devil’s touch — you knew he was right.

You belonged to him.

And you didn’t want to be saved.

His hand quickly found your nightgown, and before you knew it:

Riiiip.

You wore nothing underneath. Your body was exposed to him completely, glistening with the sweat of a sleepless night, the slight fear he induced, the anticipation. His eyes traced your body predatorily, his tongue swiping his lip.

He hovered above you, gaze searing as it drank in every inch of bare skin, your breath shallow beneath him. The heat between you was suffocating — not just from the summer air, but from the charged silence, the pull of something ancient and forbidden threading itself through every heartbeat.

“Look at you,” Remmick murmured, voice low and reverent, almost mocking in its tenderness. “Waitin’ for me. Not a prayer in that pretty little head. What would Mama and Daddy think? Hm?”

He grinned as he said it, knowing the answer didn’t matter. His fingers ghosted over your collarbone, then lower, savoring the way you trembled — not just from fear, but from surrender.

“You were their pride,” he went on, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Now look at you… Writhin’ in sin for the devil himself.”

Your breath hitched, shame and desire tangling somewhere deep in your chest. His name nearly slipped from your lips again, and he heard it — felt it — in the way your body arched, in the pulse pounding at your throat.

Remmick chuckled darkly. “Good girl.”

His voice was velvet, soaked in smoke.

“‘S alright. I’m gonna make it all better now,” Remmick purred, his accent curling around the words like smoke.

His hand slid behind your neck, tilting your head gently, like you were something delicate — precious, even. His touch was warm, reverent, wicked. Everything about him was temptation draped in silk and shadow.

His mouth was hot — too hot — like the kiss of summer lightning right before a storm breaks. Wet, slow, deliberate. He mouthed at the base of your throat, then dragged his lips to your pulse, leaving kisses that were more like claims than affection. Another. Then another. Each one messier, hungrier, until your skin buzzed beneath the heat of him, your breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.

“What a pretty noise, baby. Keep ’em comin’,” Remmick murmured, his voice curling around your ear like smoke, smug and sinful.

His mouth never left your skin and he chased every sound you made like it was his favorite hymn, each whimper and gasp a confession. His fingers gripped your hips with just enough pressure to remind you who was in control, and his teeth scraped lightly at your throat, not biting — not yet — just warning.

“Don’t hold back on me now,” he rasped, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I want all of it. Every sound you’ve been too good to make. Every little song you swallowed when it was just you and your fingers at night.”

Your breath hitched, caught between the need to resist and the desperate want to surrender. His words wrapped around you like a dark lullaby, drawing out every hidden desire you thought you’d buried deep.

“Remmick..” you moaned.

His smile deepened, sharp and possessive. “That’s it, baby. Say my name like you mean it.”

His fingers traveled towards where you burned the brightest, where his attention was most needed. You whimpered, your hips bucking involuntarily, exposing all the sinful thoughts that hid themselves so far back in your mind.

His thumb traced the wet folds. You gasped.

“There, there. I’ve gotcha.”

You could’ve cried as he sunk down on the bed, pulling your sticky thighs apart. He licked his lips, looking at the glistening scene between your legs.

“Gonna ruin you. And yer gonna thank me, sweet girl.”

You shivered under his touch, every nerve in your body accepting its fate. You no longer wanted to resist. There wasn’t an inkling of it. The devil had claimed you.

And you were already his willing captive.

His tongue met your pussy, licking a warm, wet stripe onto the center. You mewled, your legs involuntarily closing, but he forced them back open with a dark, warning look.

He leaned back in again, wrapping his lips around your needy bud, lapping it with his tongue and then sucking. You moaned, your hand on autopilot, coming down to wrap each finger into his thick, messy hair.

“Remmick!”

You felt him literally grin into your cunt, releasing a lewd sound as he slurped another firm suck, making you twitch.

His tongue worked wonders, exploring every fold, tracing every contour. Your eyes rolled back into your head as he worked, lewd, wet sounds filling your room.

He came back off, his mouth glistening.

“Where’s your God now? This pretty pussy has never belonged to anyone but Remmick. It always has.”

With that, he gathered spit into his mouth, dropping it onto your drenched cunt. Using his tongue, he spread the warm substance around, painting your pussy with saliva.

Then, he delivered the crushing blow.

One more suck on your clit, giving you just enough pressure.

Your back arched, stars filled your vision, and you let out a languid moan. He chuckled into your cunt, letting you ride his face all the way through your orgasm.

When he was done, he pulled away. A string of spit and cum pulled away with him. He wiped it with his hand, sucking it from his fingers in a sinful show.

You laid, exhausted, chest heaving. You’d never experienced something like that before. You’d cum, yes, the only thing about your life you’d hidden from your parents. But it was never like that. Never that electric. And for once, you didn’t even feel guilty.

Remmick was growing on you.

Sensing your exhaustion, he hummed. “I haven’t much time ‘til sunrise, dove. But I’ll let ya get a peaceful sleep for a moment.”

He laid down next to you. You froze at first, confusion written on your face. But as if he had calming powers, you eased almost immediately, his scent filling your nose and his presence melting your fear away. This wasn’t normal. This was adjustment to sin. Adjustment to the devil. But you couldn’t much care right now.

Remmick shifted closer, his hand sliding beneath the sheets to rest just above your hip, possessive and protective all at once. You shouldn’t have felt safe — not in the arms of something whispered about in church warnings and graveyard stories — but you did. Terrifyingly so.

His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, and you let yourself match it. He wasn’t human. He wasn’t righteous. He wasn’t even good.

But he was yours now.

His words dripped like warm molasses in your ear, thick and saccharine, laced with something darker.

“Waited for ya for ages. Decades,” Remmick whispered, curling around you like smoke, his fingers tracing invisible promises along your spine. “A beautiful bride, you’ll make.”

You shivered, not from fear — not anymore — but from something ancient stirring in your bones. Something that recognized him. Something that belonged to him.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

But you didn’t pull away.

“Sleep. I won’t be here when ya wake, but.. when night falls, you can always call my name.”

[stars-inthe-sky]

if there's solid ground below

It's been five years, but I wrote a whole fic this week thanks in no small part to the singular @iphyslitterator!

[Cross-posted to AO3]

“H—hey, Tommy?”

Tommy startles and bangs his head on the hood of his truck, recovering fast enough that none of the oil he was nearly done changing spilled but not so fast that it would have escaped Evan’s notice. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just surprised,” he says, grabbing for a spare rag to wipe his hands on. “Hi.”

“Got a sec?” Evan rocks onto the balls of his feet and back again, hands shoved deep in the pockets of a hoodie that, in southern California in May, it should really be too warm for. But he runs cold, and the layers always have the added bonus of making Tommy want to rip them off in some kind of Pavlovian response.

Had. Last summer, they’d had that effect. This summer was shaping up differently.

Evan tilts his head, a little quizzical, and Tommy realizes he’s been frozen in place for a few beats too long, dazedly dragging the rag between his fingers.

“Sorry, yeah, go ahead.” He glances down at the car, which hasn’t moved, then back at Evan, who’s still rocking but who looks, Tommy’s now realizing, noticeably lighter than he has in a while—certainly since the funeral, but maybe even more so than that night in the bar all those weeks ago. His smile is far too small, but it’s there. “Although if you need another helicopter, I’m gonna have to start charging you at some point.”

“That’s okay, I heard your fees are competitive,” he chirps, and if his grin isn’t yet lethal, it’s shifted to shit-eating. Which, for Tommy, is lethal anyway, and Evan knows it. “But no, I just…just wanted to talk this time. For real, for once.”

Oh. “Okay…?”

“You can keep doing whatever you were doing; I know you like to have something to do with your hands.”

“Uh, thanks.” He stuffs the rag in the back pocket of his jeans and fishes the oil canister out of his car’s innards. This might be easier without eye contact. “What’s up?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical from the LAFD,” Evan says. Tommy freezes again, more of a twitch than a full stop, and makes himself continue the actual task at hand. “Three months. Mostly thanks to an insane amount of unused PTO, because I realized I kinda haven’t taken a vacation that wasn’t just medical leave in like…ever. And I need a break, you know, after everything? Like, I spent a bunch of my twenties driving around, odd jobs and stuff, and the world is—is so much bigger than the firehouse, or this city, and…yeah.  I think I need that space for a bit. Just got it approved today. And then I came here.”

He pauses for breath, and Tommy stares unseeing at some perfectly intact wiring he could reconnect by touch alone if asked. “That’s great they’re letting you do that, Evan. I’m sure it’ll be good for you. How’d the others take it?”

There’s a little sigh. “I haven’t told them yet. Battalion chief said I’d always have a job to come back to, but they couldn’t hold my spot indefinitely. Depends on the new captain and how they want to staff up. Makes sense, obviously, so.” His sniffle is nearly inaudible, but Tommy’s never been able to tune out Evan’s frequency.

He gives up on the car, closing the hood with a quiet click and resuming with the rag, even though his hands aren’t especially dirty. “Never thought you’d voluntarily leave the 118.”

“I know, right?” Evan’s mouth twitches, and it’s not quite a smile now, but there’s something genuine growing back. “I mean, I guess I might not be, but. Things change, and it’s…time, maybe. I’m doing this, in any case. I—I—I just need to clear my head for a while. Go visit Minnesota, never been there, but then…I don’t know, maybe touch the Atlantic Ocean again. Camp out in some national parks. Go see the sky in Montana—it’s so big, Tommy, I’ve never seen anything like it, not since those years, and the last couple of months…it’s like the smog is just in everything right now, you know?”

Tommy nods. He can relate, despite how often he gets to soar above the chokehold of Los Angeles; smoke is smoke, and heat still rises. “I get it. So…this is goodbye, then?” He swallows, bites his lip, stares down at his fingers and the rag still entwined in them.

“No!” Evan leans forward for a breath, arm lifting, but he seems to stop himself, like he’s remembering they don’t know where they stand with each other, if he’s allowed to grab Tommy’s shoulder. “No, no, I’m coming back. LA is still home, my—my stuff’s going into a storage unit next week, my sister and my niece are here, and the new baby—the job—no, yeah, I’m coming back.”

“That’s good,” Tommy muses. “So…”

“So, I wanted to ask—I—I—I’m asking if you’d maybe be up for thinking about coming with me.”

Tommy freezes so suddenly, and so thoroughly, that the rag drops to the ground. “You—you’re going on a three-month road trip to get away from it all, and you want me to come with you?”

“Yeah, I do,” Evan says softly, surely, ducking his head in that bashful way he pretends not to know is so damn effective. “I need a break from everything, and everyone—but you, you’re not everyone. I meant what I said about being together, before. I still mean it.” Tommy feels both arms drop to his sides, heavy and limp like emptied hoses, and the air jerks out of his lungs as his throat closes tight.

Evan plows ahead. “I—if—if you don’t want to, or you can’t swing it with work, or whatever—I get it, that’s why I’m asking and not—not telling you what to do. I don’t—even if you don’t come, I’d wait. And, and text or call, maybe? If you wanted to? Even if it’s just as friends, my life is always better when you’re in it. Kinda hoping that goes both ways here.”

Tommy croaks, “And when you get tired of me before we hit Reno?”

“I won’t,” he says, no hesitation. Tommy’s slack face must do something, because he repeats, “Tommy, I won’t. I won’t. I just want time with you, more time, all the time. I want to try again, so, so bad. And if we fight, we can talk, and not just think the worst, and keep going, be—because I want to eat crappy gas station food with you and not think about the inside of a gym for weeks. I want to drive out somewhere where it feels like we’re the only people on the planet, and fuck in the back of your truck, and then figure out a map that’s older than either of us because there’s no cell service. Maybe rent a chopper in Montana so we can see that sky up close—there’s, there’s so many stars, and you’re the only person I’d want to see them with like that. I want to be locked in a moving vehicle with you all day, except for bathroom stops, and see your face when you realize it’s been 16 hours and we still have more to talk about, and we’ll just keep going, because I’m never gonna get tired of you.”

He pauses and swallows thickly, and Tommy can’t look away. For all that Evan Buckley wears his heart on his sleeve so easily for anyone to see, actually opening it up and offering to hand it over to someone else—that’s still work. “So—that’s what I came to say. That’s what I want. J—just think about it. No rush, I’m not—I’ll wait. If it’s what you want. You…you get to want things, too. So. Yeah.”

Evan nods to himself, rubs the back of his neck, and turns to walk back to his car, parked on the street. Tommy has to move, has to say something, but the soles of his boots are melting, fused to the cement of the driveway, his throat is still closed, and Evan—Evan is walking away.

Tommy wants things, too.

He forces a breath, in and out, on a four-count, licks his lips, and asks, “When do we leave?”

Evan radiates a warmth that scatters out, tangible and visible like a sunrise before he even turns around, beaming. “I was thinking a few weeks after the baby comes, but—but—yeah?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I could chase some stars over the Rockies. With you.” Tommy’s insides unknot, and the life rushes back into his limbs. “And the rest, too. I noticed it’s my truck in this scenario?”

Suddenly Evan is in front of him, closer than they’d managed even that morning after, pressed gently against him from chest to knees, arms winding around his waist. “Much more cargo space. Very practical. And I kinda thought you might be in the same boat, you know, with the unused vacation. Maybe enough seniority to hang onto your spot.”

“Probably, yeah, they generally…” He doesn’t even know how that sentence might have ended, has rarely thought about anything more than a long weekend away, but then Evan’s kissing him, deep and slow and sweet like they might already be the only people on the planet. His warmth flashes over through Tommy, nerve by nerve, until he’s lit up and burning, flammable in places he’d spent months trying to forget this man could expose.

When Evan pulls back, it’s with Tommy’s face between his hands, his relief and hope palpable. Like life might go on, like the world might really be bigger, could even be better, sometimes, than it had been.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, so close and so quiet that Tommy can feel each syllable rumble against his skin, tires steady on a gravel road away from this scene and toward the next.

[lucygraysboy]

“that’s good to hear. in the world where all the bands are breaking up, it’s good to know lucy gray and the covey are still going strong,” pat muses with a smile that not only reaches his eyes but also lights up his entire face. billy’s jaw sets, even though he attempts to keep his expression neutral. ever since they were teenagers, there’s been some tension between the two. billy could provide several explanations as to why they can’t really get along — pat has no morals. pat is a snitch. pat is a snake. what’s there to like about the guy? he used to rat everyone out to the teachers, claiming he was actually looking out for them as the punishment would have been more severe had it came out later. and the worst of all, pat is a coward. which is the only reason why there’s never been any open confrontation between the two. pat prefers to run and hide behind fake smiles. jesse’s little interruption is a blessing, billy realizes, tempted to say something mean to deflate pat’s sickeningly cheerful attitude.

“mhm, smells like… the kind of camper that’s been through it all,” billy jokingly quips, doubting jesse and the gang clean this thing often. there’s probably expired food and dirty socks hidden under the blankets and pillows. he’s almost tempted to fake a stomachache or try and convince lucy gray to throw a fit, and head home but… ugh. it’s been so long since he last spent time with these guys. they have a lot of catching up to do. besides, he doesn’t want them to think he’s a pussy now that he lives in the city. still, he discreetly nods his head, agreeing with lucy gray. truly sickenin’. “yeah, right… that’s exactly why i’m so quiet. i’m actually tryin’ to figure out how you came up with this rule.” he laughs but it’s far from genuine, blue eyes examining the empty bunk and wondering how on earth they’re supposed to fit. maybe lucy gray alone could sleep comfortably here but both of them? and then he reminds himself of her strange behavior in new york, how she’d never come to his bed, not even once? again, he’s not thinking about sex, but he was hoping for cuddles. innocent cuddles. and now they’re supposed to sleep here? squished like sardines? great. “don’t worry, we’ll make it work,” billy assures, accidentally dropping their backpacks over pat’s makeshift floor bed. “that’s the spirit!” jesse calls out, patting their backs again, “y’all unpack. we was thinkin’ we could go for a swim later? got myself a new boat. wanna check her out? what a beauty. wanna guess where i got ‘er from?”

noticing the odd way billy only comes around when pat comes into the picture, she doesn’t think that’s a coincidence… especially the way he takes hold of her hand. does he think she’d really like his friend or any man for that matter? what a nut he’s actin’ like. coming over to protect her when it comes to the sane guy, but letting her run loose with the criminals. how backwards is that. either way, she proceeds to smile politely towards pat while holding billy’s hand. “why thank you.” happy smile adorning her face when he tells her she hasn’t changed a bit. “and yeah, we sure are. we’re still closer than ever and playin’ together.” informing him, appreciating that he asks. jesse pulling them away from their conversation and tour guiding them to the piece of crap… which was sayin’ something because she wasn’t too good for anything. and even for her, someone who could adjust to whatever situation, it felt out of place being here with all this burly men. the stench was just plain nauseating, causing her nostrils to burn, she’s sure by the second night she’ll be running out of here to sleep on rocks for certain now. especially hearing her and billy have to share a bed. first of all: where are the two of them going to FIT? and second of all: she doesn’t know how to share a space with him when they’re supposed to be technically friends. “mmhm, looks dandy. the smell is just delicious.” pretending there’s humor in her voice when she finds billy looking down at her, giving him a glare in return, “sickenin’.” she silently mouths, gesturing how she’s about to puke in her hand. “what’s the matter with you? why so quiet. cat got your tongue, billy boy?” lucy gray pesters with jesse’s nickname, giving his hand an annoyed squeeze. she blurts, “probably the part about jerkin’ off.” got him so quiet.

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑦 𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒

WARNING: 18+ content

Your hands gestured with small, uncertain movements as you spoke, trying to explain every detail the gynecologist had given you. Your fingers twisted around each other, and your voice—though calm—had that slight tremble that only he, so attuned to you, could notice.

"The doctor checked everything," you said, raising your voice a bit to emphasize. "My hormone levels, the uterus, the ovaries… everything. She said I’m fine, there’s nothing stopping us from trying to have a baby."

He kept watching you, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, but his eyes were softer than usual. Interested. Focused. Nervous, maybe?

You took a deep breath before concluding, with a laugh you barely held back:

"The doctor said we’re ready to start the… baby dance."

Bakugo blinked. Then tilted his head and leaned back on the couch like he was trying to process what he’d just heard. Then, rolling his eyes with a smirk that was more amused than annoyed, he let out a dry laugh.

"Baby dance? What the hell is that?" he scoffed, flashing his teeth like the phrase physically irritated him. "Why don’t you just call it sex like a normal person?"

"That’s what the doctor calls it!" you defended, unable to keep from smiling. "It sounds… less clinical. More fun. Cuter. It’s not the same saying 'today’s my ovulation day' as it is saying 'today’s baby dance day,' you know?"

He clicked his tongue and muttered something under his breath, clearly not sold on the terminology.

"So, we can try right now?"

His words came out fast, unfiltered, with that blunt, shameless tone that made you blink, surprised. So damn impatient.

You cleared your throat, crossing your legs a bit more nervously than before, feeling the heat creep into your cheeks.

"It wouldn’t work, Katsuki," you said softly, looking at him tenderly. "I’m not ovulating right now."

Bakugo pressed his lips together and leaned back again, like he was seriously plotting a strategy.

"But we can still practice."

"Did the doctor recommend that too?" he asked in a teasing tone, but his eyes were locked on your lips.

You laughed, though your voice trembled just slightly. You were used to how direct he could be when he teased, but he still managed to throw you off when he got like this—confident, playful, and a little dangerous.

"Not exactly," you replied, meeting his gaze. "But she did say there’s no reason not to... stay active."

Your hips fit perfectly over his, like they were made to be there. Bakugo’s hands, already beneath your shirt, explored slowly, like every inch of your exposed skin was a new territory to claim. His fingers were rough, firm, but they knew exactly how to touch. With precision. With pent-up hunger.

"We’ll practice so damn much…" he murmured against your collarbone, his tongue brushing your skin right where he knew it made you shiver, "that by the time your dumb 'fertile window' hits, you’ll barely be able to walk."

Your breath grew heavier, mixed with a short, nervous laugh that died the second his teeth gently bit your skin, claiming you.

"So dramatic…" you whispered, arching your back as his hand slid up far enough to firmly grope one of your breasts—no hesitation, no filter.

He pulled you tighter against him, making sure you felt exactly how much he wanted you. His erection pressed up hard against you through the fabric, undeniable and insistent.

You clung to his shoulders, straddling his hips, moving just enough to tease him—deliberately—earning a deep, low growl from his chest. His reaction was immediate: his hands squeezed you tighter, and his mouth found yours again, this time hungrily.

"I'm gonna rip this shirt off you if you don’t take it off now," he said between kisses, his voice rough, breath hot against your ear.

"God, calm down…" you teased, taking it off yourself with a deliberately slow motion just to watch him squirm. His eyes roamed your body like he was seeing you for the first time.

"Shit…" he muttered, his fingers now skimming over your bare skin. "You look fucking perfect like this."

His mouth trailed kisses down your chest, stopping at your bra. It didn’t take him long to get rid of it, and the moment his lips closed around one of your nipples, your back arched instinctively.

"This is your idea of practice?" you managed to say between gasps, though your tone had lost its teasing edge.

"This is the warm-up," he said against your skin, with that cocky smirk of his. "The real practice starts when I’m inside you."

• Masterlist

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[smutmind]

Security Breach

Aespa Giselle X OC Male “You think this is a game?” His voice was low, biting.

You keep your back to the wall, fists clenched around the hem of your skirt. “It was a dare. Just a stupid—”

“Dares don’t land people in holding rooms with three cameras and one locked door.”

Giselle swallows hard. She’s all big brown eyes and trembling lips, face flushed under harsh fluorescents. “I didn’t even want to—my friends said—”

“You’re twenty-four. Not fourteen.” He steps closer. Broad shoulders. Buzzed hair. The kind of man who flexes without meaning to. “But maybe you like playing the brat.”

“I’m not a brat.”

“You sure?” He pulls the stolen bracelet from his pocket, gold catching the light. “Because this says otherwise.”

Her eyes dart to the door. “Are you calling the cops?”

“I could.”

“Please…” Her voice breaks, soft and scared now.

He leans down, close enough she can feel the heat off his body. “Tell me something, sweetheart—how far would you go to avoid a record?”

She stiffens. “What do you mean?”

“I gave you a break. Now it’s my turn to give a dare.”

Her lashes flutter. “You’re serious.”

“Oh, dead serious.” He grins, slow and wicked. “You wanna get out of this? You do exactly what I say.”

Giselle presses her thighs together. “W-What kind of dare?”

“You’re gonna kneel.” He tilts his head, watching her squirm. “And keep your hands behind your back. Like you’re surrendering.”

She hesitates, then drops to her knees. Her breath catches.

He circles her once, boots heavy on tile. “Good girl. Now look up.”

She lifts her chin. Her cheeks glow.

“You know what happens next, don’t you?”

Her voice is barely a whisper. “No…”

He smiled, slow and sharp, at her answer.

“No?” He crouched in front of her, knees wide, the badge on his chest catching the overhead light. “Then I’ll teach you.”

Her knees burned against the cold tile. She didn’t dare shift. The wrong move might make him change his mind. Might make him stand up and call real trouble down on her head.

“You stole,” he said. “You lied. You begged.”

Her lips parted, breath uneven.

“And now you obey.” He reached forward and traced one gloved finger along her jawline, not gentle. “That’s how this works.”

She flinched, but didn’t pull away. “I didn’t mean to—”

He cut her off with a glance. “No excuses now, little thief.”

He stood. Unbuckled his belt with one deliberate flick.

Her heart slammed. “Wait—”

“You want to walk out of here without a record, right?” He tossed the belt onto the desk. “Then I expect full participation.”

She nodded, too fast. Regret tangled in her breath. Curiosity burned through it.

“Stand. Turn around.” His voice left no space for argument.

She obeyed. Slow, unsure. Her back straightened as she faced the wall. Her hands fluttered at her sides.

“Higher,” he said. “Hands on the wall. Legs spread.”

She did. He watched her from behind, eyes narrowing on the curve of her hips under that too-short skirt, the tremble in her calves. Her innocence wasn’t fake. That made it better.

He stepped up behind her, close enough for heat to pass between them. Close enough she gasped when he pressed a hand flat to her lower back.

“See?” he murmured. “Every action has consequences. Even cute little games with your girlfriends.”

She bit her lip, cheeks red, pulse skipping.

“Now,” he said, brushing her skirt up with the back of his hand. “Keep quiet. Keep still. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you walk out clean.”

His fingers skimmed the hem of her panties. “These stay on until I say otherwise.”

She whimpered, nodding, her cheek brushing the wall.

“Use your words.”

“Yes… sir.”

That made him grin. “Good girl.”

He slipped a hand down the front of her thigh, then between them, cupping her through soft cotton. Heat soaked through, wet enough to make him growl low in his throat.

“You are enjoying this,” he murmured, breath against her ear.

“I—I don’t know,” she whispered.

He pressed harder. She gasped.

“Don’t lie again.”

She arched, body betraying her with a tremble. “It feels…”

“Exactly how it should.” He stepped back. “Turn around.”

She did, arms still raised. Her face was flushed, lips parted. Her eyes flicked to his waistband—open now, heavy with promise.

“You’re going to ride,” he said simply. “You owe me that much.”

She swallowed. “Here?”

He sat in the metal chair and nodded once, spreading his legs. “Here. Now.”

She climbed onto his lap, knees shaking.

“Slower,” he commanded. “Let me feel you. Every inch.”

He guided her, hands tight on her hips. She gasped as he entered her, inch by inch, her thighs taut against his. He filled her too well—deep and thick, her breath caught in her throat.

“Eyes on me,” he growled. “I want to see you take it.”

She moaned, nails digging into his shoulders as she moved. Rocked. Rolled her hips the way instinct told her. His hands never left her waist, guiding the pace, tightening when she got bolder.

“Oh—God—” she panted, bouncing now, thighs quaking with effort.

“That’s it. Just like that.” He tilted his head back, mouth open with a groan. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

She clenched around him, flushed all the way down her chest. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“No. Not yet.” He stopped her with a grip. “Off.”

She whimpered as he pulled out, soaked and pulsing.

“On your knees again.”

She obeyed, pupils blown wide.

“You finish what you started,” he said, standing before her. “Mouth open.”

Her lips wrapped around him slowly. She moaned as he pushed deeper, her tongue working eagerly, eyes lifted toward his.

“Fuck, that’s perfect,” he muttered, holding her head steady.

She sucked harder. One hand on his thigh. He twitched inside her mouth.

“Swallow,” he ordered.

She did—choking slightly, then licking the corner of her lips, eyes glazed and shining.

He stroked her cheek with one thumb. “Lesson learned?”

She nodded, lips swollen. “Yes… sir.”

[thinkshespretty]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | 𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡: billie loses a matching promise ring while performing in new york

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: whole lotta fluff lol

it’s night two at madison square garden. the air buzzes like static, thick with heat and sound and that weird kind of electricity that only happens when twenty thousand people are holding their breath for the same person. billie’s already on stage, her voice floating through the arena like smoke and silk, soft and otherworldly. you’re sitting just above the pit, low enough to feel close but high enough to see the whole thing unfold.

the stage is a riot of color and shadow. deep reds melt into moody blues, lights pulsing in time with the bass that thuds through the floor, through your chest. a giant screen above billie flickers with grainy close-ups: her face lit up in turquoise, hair flowing down her back, eyes wild with that look she gets when she’s fully in it. she moves across the stage like she’s floating, or dreaming, or both.

next to you, finneas is leaned back, nodding his head to the beat. he’s seen her do this a thousand times, but you can tell it’s always magical for him to see his little sister on stage. madison’s on your other side, phone out for a second, catching a few seconds of a song before slipping it back into her lap. she’s singing along, quietly, just under her breath.

the crowd is loud but not in a messy way. it’s this huge, focused kind of love. phones glow like stars all across the arena, thousands of little lights pointed right at her. you keep looking down at her, watching her disappear into the music, and even though you’ve been here before, even though you’ve seen her perform from places like this, it never feels normal. maybe it's the lights or maybe it’s just billie, but there’s something almost sacred about the way she performs, her voice isn’t just something she sings with, but something that lifts people. it’s tender and massive all at once, full of ache and softness.

she’s at the b stage now, way out on the other side of the arena. from where you're sitting, you can barely see her without the screen, just a small figure in the middle of a sea of people. the lights around her are low and golden, soft like candlelight. the music fades out and she steps down from the platform, right into the barricade.

the fans closest to her erupt, hands shooting out, phones shaking in the air. she walks slowly, holding her arms out, letting people touch her hands as she moves. even from across the venue, you can feel the energy shift. everyone’s eyes are locked on her, even people way up in the nosebleeds. it’s like everything narrows down to just her and whoever's lucky enough to reach her.

she then climbs up onto the barricade. the screen above you catches it in sharp detail. her arms out, a group of fans pulling her into a hug. she leans into them, lets them hold her. she’s smiling, big and real. each time, the crowd loses it. people are crying, shouting her name. she keeps letting them in, holding on for just a second longer each time.

but after the third hug, you see it—something changes. her face is still soft, still lit up by the lights, but there’s something just under it. a flicker. barely anything. a look that’s not quite disappointment, but close. you watch as she slips under the stage, weaving her way back up to the main stage.

she sits at the piano, brushing her hair back with one hand, tucking it behind her ear. the lights settle into a soft blue, almost like twilight. she sighs into the mic, not loud, just enough that you catch it.

“okay,” billie says, almost laughing, “before we continue…i’m saying this so nicely, but…”

she pauses, glancing out toward the crowd, toward the far side of the arena. she lifts a hand and points somewhere near the barricade.

“i think somebody might’ve accidentally pulled off my ring when i was over there.”

the crowd stirs, some people boo, others just start murmuring, a mix of confusion and noise. she lets out a little laugh, calming it all down with just her voice.

“i know it was with a love intention,” she says gently, “and most of the time i wouldn’t really mind. but this ring was a gift, and it means so much to me. it was given by a special person, and i’d hate to lose it.”

you’re a little confused listening to her speak until you glance down at your right hand, a silver ring decorates your middle finger. silver, smooth, you and billie’s initials engraved around the band. and that’s when it clicks. she’s not wearing hers. it’s the matching ring. a promise ring you gave it to her months ago.

you feel a small pull in your chest, not mad exactly, just annoyed that someone would even think of taking her possessions in the first place. but then you look at her again, how serious she looked saying it, the way she tried to stay calm but you could hear the worry in her voice which causes you to laugh to yourself. she’s really stressed about it, probably more than she even realizes.

as you’re lost in your own thoughts, she suddenly stands from the piano bench and squints toward the barricade again. her face scrunches slightly, puzzled, and then she starts walking to the left edge of the stage. she crouches a bit, leaning down toward one of the security guards below. you watch her lips move as she says something quickly, motioning with her hands. then—suddenly—her whole face lights up.

she lets out a small cheer, half a laugh into the microphone, and holds something up in the air for the audience to see for just a second before bringing it back to her chest. the crowd erupts the second she lifts the ring. she looks down at it, almost in disbelief.  you can see her mouth a quiet “thank you” to the guard before she skips back toward the piano, slipping the ring back onto her finger before pointing her hand out to the audience, twiddling her fingers to show off her ring.

she’s back at the piano now, the crowd still cheering from the ring like it’s the grand finale. she laughs, brushing her fingers across the keys but not playing yet.

“sorry guys, i know i’m dramatic,” she says into the mic, grinning. “but this is a promise ring that y/n gave me, and i hold it really, really close to my heart.” giving a slight pout while batting her lashes to the audience.

your chest tightens a little in the best way. it was such a small gift, nothing flashy, just something you hoped would mean something. and clearly, it does. the crowd gets even louder at the sound of your name, a wave of noise crashing over the arena.

billie squints, trying to see through the spotlight. her whole face lights up when she finds you. you can’t help but laugh, lifting your hand in a small wave.

“i told you i’d never lose it!” she shouts into the mic.

you, finneas, and madison all laugh at once, shaking your heads. you remember the night you gave it to her, how you half-joked that she was way too forgetful to keep track of it. she blew you off, swore she’d prove you wrong. she blows you a kiss now, dramatic and playful, then immediately drops her hands onto the keys. the first soft chords of ocean eyes fill the air as a red hue takes over your cheeks, looking down at your matching ring.

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫: HIYA!! sorry for the abrupt ending i literally was so lost on how to finish this. i’m so in love with billie’s outfit at msg night 2 LIKE FUCKKKK. i just had to write about it. also SORRY for disappearing for a second, my school finals are coming up and im literally so stressed about it but i only have like 2 1/2 more weeks so im almost there guys. i love u guys sm and don’t worry, i have another fic idea hehe im so excited to share it with u.

[darnell-la]

Oldman!logan x reader very very rough and with lots of dirty talk… he is stressed out and reader won’t stop getting on his nerves so he snaps and screams at her and stuff, be free with the idea 🙏🫶

note: old man Logan always seemed selfish, ignorant, mean, and unapologetic to us, so our main author made him that way in this story. she’s a bit toxic, so be aware!

warnings: arguing, age gap, mutant love, crying, surprises, stress, chocking, animalistic Logan, toxicity, rough pounding, moaning, groans, etc

———

“God, y/n, can you ever shut up!” Logan shouted at y/n as he slammed his fists into his office desk, upset that y/n wouldn’t give him a break. “No! You’re upset every day, you barely talk to me, and it’s all because of work — Why am I getting punished for your shitty boss!?”

Y/n had a great point, but Logan had been too upset fie the past few weeks to relax and listen to her. Y/n has had enough, and even suggested she leave out the house for a little to get some space.

“It’s just work. That’s what happens when you work!” Logan said, trying to take a hue at y/n, and it worked. “I don’t work because you refuse to let me bring in money — You’re ego is to fucking big for a little help,” y/n said through her teeth as her eyes darkened. That’s when Logan knew he had pushed her too far.

“You’re not working, so advise you sit your pretty ass down somewhere, yeah?” Logan said as he straightened himself up in his chair and went back to typing on his computer.

“You’re full of shit,” y/n said before rushing out of Logan’s office to get ready to do what she’s been thinking about for to many days now. “Hey- Calm your ass down!” Logan’s voice echoed through the house.

At first, Logan wanted to let it go. He was out of pocket, so she had the right to be as well. That was until he heard doors open and close. He tried ignoring them at first until he heard a suitcase unzip.

“Y/n?” Logan said, hoping to get an answer back, but the noises continued in their room. “Y/n!” Logan shouted, but was ignored again. Before he thought about calling her name again, he jumped out of his chair and made his way towards their shared room.

“What are you doing?” Logan asked as he turned the corner, seeing y/n pack some of her clothes. “Packing — I’m staying at Jean’s place until you find yourself again,” y/n said, making Logan chuckle.

“Yeah, that’s not happening- Get up,” Logan motioned for her to get from off the floor, but she didn’t even look at him. “Y/n,” Logan said, not wanting to believe how much she had ignored him.

“Are you serious right now?” Logan asked. “Yep,” y/n answered quickly as she got off the floor to grab a few extra things from her closet. “The fuck is that?” Logan asked as he saw her with a few dresses in her hand.

“You ask so many questions, but never the right ones,” y/n chuckled in disbelief with a head shake. “No, I’m asking the right questions. What the fuck is this?” Logan had walked towards the girl and ripped her dress from her hands.

“Logan!” Y/n shouted as Logan threw her clothes to the floor, dress by dress, after analyzing them. “You sleepin’ at Jean’s or the fucking strip club?” Logan asked, seeing the lack of coverage her clothes would have if she slipped them on.

“Don’t piss me off, Bub — Gat to unpackin’ while I make dinner,” Logan said as he went to walk out of their room to tell her the big news he had been keeping from her for a month.

Maybe if he had told her a while ago about his plans, and kept his anger issues, what happened later wouldn’t have happened.

Logan had been cooking for an hour, thinking that y/n had decided to stay in the room and calm down. He had thought wrong and realized that after seeing y/n make her way towards the front door.

“Baby, food's ready- Y/n!” Logan shouted as he dropped everything and ran towards the younger mutant. “I’ll message you when I feel better,” y/n said as she placed her bags down to go through their mini front entrance closet to find a pair of comfortable shoes.

“Y/n, you aren’t seriously thinking about-“ Logan had cut himself off after turning y/n around to see her eyes red from crying. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Logan asked as he went to wipe her tears, but y/n slapped his hand away before pushing him back.

“You not knowing the problem makes me sick,” y/n said before going back to looking in their small closet. “Are you still stuck on earlier? God, y/n-“ Logan went to vent, but y/n made it there first.

“Yes, I’m still stuck on you not giving a damn about my feelings! Yes, I’m still stuck on you lacking attention towards me! Yes, I’m still stuck on you going on about life like whatever I’m feeling doesn’t matter!” Y/n’s eyes had fully gone dark, letting Logan know just how upset she was.

Logan wished he could apologize, and comfort y/n for once, but the young mutants knew what she signed up for when she accepted to date the Wolverine. He’s not like any regular boyfriend.

“I’m gonna need you to calm down, okay? I get it — I’ve been distant, but that’s only because I’ve been stressed about saving enough for-“ Logan went to say, but y/n rolled her eyes and turned around.

“Hey- Hey!” Logan grabbed y/n’s arm, pulling her to look at him, but she instantly began slapping his chest. Logan struggled for a bit before wrapping one of his hands around her neck and pressing her giant to the wall.

“That’s enough!” Logan basically screamed. Y/n had instantly stopped fighting and yelling, surprised at the anger he had let out. “You think you’re the only one going through shit!? Huh!? — I’m the one busting my ass to make you happy! Me!”

Y/n went to open her mouth, but the man lifted her off of the wall before slamming her back. “Shut. Up!” The man shouted, inches from her face. Logan had never acted out like this in front of her, so seeing him like this for the first time was shocking.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, Bub- so calm your fucking self, before I do it for you,” Logan spoke through his teeth, basically daring his girlfriend to make push his buttons further.

“Logan, I just need a small break-“ Logan cut her off by lifting her body off the wall, just to slam her right back into it again. “Shut up!” Logan yelled in her face, trying his best to stay calm.

“You just don’t fucking get it, huh? Huh!? — I’ve saved up off days for months, just for you to act like this — So fucking ungrateful,” Logan growled through his teeth.

“What?-“ y/m tried speaking, but any time she would open her mouth, his hand would tighten around her neck. “Shut it! — I’ve had enough of your talking. All the work I do for you, and you just think I don’t care — I fucking care!”

“I’m sorry,” y/n could barely get out, only making Logan chuckle at her weak apology. “I’ve got a ring right in that dining room table, waiting for you to slip it on, but you had to ruin it, huh? God, you’re something else,”

Logan did his best to come off serious and look intimidating, but his focus had quickly gone somewhere else when he saw the way y/n looked up at him with those eyes. The eyes were always a killer for him, and she knew it.

“I-I do,” y/n stuttered, confusing the older man. “What?” He said, voice still sounding upset, but she knew she could get through to him and make him forgive her.

“I do — I-I wanna marry you,” y/n said as a tear slipped down her eyes, feeling so many emotions going through her head. She’s always wanted to marry the man, but now she felt like she fucked yo her dreams.

“Oh, now you wanna marry me? I thought you wanted to go to Jean, maybe even go clubbing in those slut dresses you call an outfit,” Logan said with a slight smirk on his face, happy that y/n wanted to be with him, even after his behaviors. He couldn’t show much of his happiness, though. He had some plans for her tonight.

“I’m so-“ y/n went to repeat until Logan pulled her off the wall and began dragging her through their house. “I know you are, but words won’t make things better. Not this time,”

Logan hadn’t wasted any time to get y/n undressed and crying out his name. He always started off with a saying her out to ease her into the mood, but this time, he went straight to pounding.

“Stop your fucking whining, or I’ll tie you down,” Logan growled inches away from y/n’s face as his fingernails tug into her neck and waist. “Once we get married, there’s no stopping any of this — Not even those goddamn condoms,”

Y/n hated how much she loved Logan tonight. One second, she needed a break, and the next, she was breaking. Once he slipped into her with no protection, and threatening to fill her so she couldn’t leave, she knew she was done for.

“I don’t want to hear you talking about a break ever again. Ever! — You think you can just leave me when you want? After all the shit I’ve put on the line for you? — Fuck no,”

The sloppy sounds of Logan’s balls slapping against y/n’s skin only made her ears fill with music she’d never get over. They’ve never had messy sex until now, and Logan could finally feel everything.

“Yeah? You fucking like that? Like turning into a slut before we get married? — Fuck, Bub- You know how fucking hot you’ll look with that dress on while I fuck you? — Fuck the after party, I’ll be taking you straight to our room,”

Y/n wanted to speak and let him know how much she needed that from him, but his hard pounds would make her words die in her throat.

“Stop struggling to speak, baby. Makes you look pathetic,” Logan chuckled before giving her a short peck. “Just lie there and look pretty, okay? Take my fucking dick,”

[pagesfromthevoid]

Walk Through Darkness | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x superpowered!reader

She will walk through the darkness to find him.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Mentions of depression and hypomania, panic attacks, depressive episodes, self-loathing behaviors, established relationships

Author's Note: Companion to Honey & Glass but you don't need to read it to understand!

Talk to Me! | AO3

Some days are better than others.

Bob said it himself, when they first met: sometimes he has high highs and then he crashes, and those days are the lowest of lows. 

She knows this, and she understands. Bob doesn’t think she does, and he tries to shield her from it whenever he has bad days. But it’s not the bad days that she worries about; the bad days, she can get through to him a little more. It’s those high days –the days when he suddenly thinks he’s invincible (it does not help that he technically is). When he thinks that he’s cured of his self-loathing, and he’s better than he’s ever been. 

It’s harder to get through to him on those days.

Bob gets happy –touchy, feely, confident –during these days. The first time he has a manic episode, she doesn’t realize it immediately. She thinks –maybe stupidly, maybe selfishly –this is a good sign. He wants to go out on a date; he wants to see a movie and “make out in the back row like a couple of dumb teenagers.” He’s even combed his hair, thrown on something that’s not his favorite sweater and sweats, and tells her to get ready. She’s all for it too –gets dressed up some, puts on makeup and a cute dress –and they go to the movie theatre.

Well, they try. 

On the walk there, he gets distracted by an art exhibit taking over Times Square, tugging her hand to pull her along to look at the screens as they shift images of colors and shapes. He completely forgets they’re supposed to make a seven o’clock movie, caught up in the colors and the people and everything going on around them. He wants to tip every street performer and is wrapping his arm around her shoulders like he’s going to lose her if he lets go. 

Then he refuses to go home. 

He says they should stay out all night; that there’s no reason to go back to the WatchTower because he can protect them from whatever’s out on these streets.

“I’m the Sentry,” he reminds her, and he’s purposely walking towards a not-so-good neighborhood. 

This is when she realizes something is wrong. Maybe she should have noticed it before, but the distractedness isn’t uncommon for Bob, and she was just…really happy he wanted to go out, honestly. 

“Bob,” she warns, pulling him to a stop. He’s beaming down at her, but his eyes are also shifting towards a dive bar that does not look like the kind of place she wants to go to. “I want to go home, Bob,” she insists, tugging on his hand.

“Why?” He asks, and he is –in fact –stronger than she is and doesn’t budge. “It’s fine –I won’t let anything happen. Seriously, it could be fun –,”

“Please take me home,” she says, more firm now, and he makes a face as he feels the pin prick of her powers in his head.

“We can go home if you get out of my head,” he counters, frowning deeply. His eyes are flickering that golden hue and she knows that she’s pushing him too far. 

She nods, slipping away from his thoughts and he sighs. Then he groans, and runs his hands over his face. “You’re mad at me. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“I’m just tired,” she tries again, motioning to her feet. “I wasn’t prepared to walk all over –I would have worn anything but heels, you know?”

This seems to make more sense to him and he nods some. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, I could have carried you –,”

“Please do not carry me,” but she’s laughing a little, trying to ease the tension. Then she reaches out to take his hand again. “Let’s just go back to the Tower –we can watch a movie there.”

“I was really looking forward to that back row kiss,” he sighs, wrapping his arm around her shoulder again, holding her hand still.

“Next time.”

She knows what to look for now though –it’s still hard to bring him down. But it’s not impossible.

The low days are bad too –don’t get her wrong. They’re just harder in a different way. 

The low days, she’s not worried he’s going to try to be all powerful. She’s more worried he’s going to sink into those shadows again. Those are the days that it takes more energy to mask his nightmares; where his thoughts are so loud and so frantic that they scare her. 

But she promises him that she’s not scared of him. She’s scared for him.

The low days always follow the high days, but they last twice as long. He recedes into himself; refuses to talk to her (or anyone for that matter). They give him a day –they watch from afar, they make sure he eats and drinks water –but they give him that day. But after a day, the team picks him up. She picks him up.

Sometimes it’s just all of them sitting together and watching movies. He doesn’t exactly join –he sits in his corner, with his books and his chaise, but he’s in the same room. She sits on the floor next to him, because she knows he doesn’t want to be touched just yet. 

These are the days she lets him decide what he wants from her.

But this episode –it’s worse than the first one. Not as bad as what happened the first time they had met, but still bad enough that the shadows are staining the edges of the Tower before anyone really notices. He’s been coming out and talking to people –short, barely audible interactions, but they’re there. He’s touching her hand, just enough to remind her he’s there. But he’s tired, and they can tell, and Alexei suggests he go lay down. They’d come to check on him in a bit. He just takes a bottle of water and walks away.

She’s one that checks on him. And that’s how she sees the shadows, inching their way into her room.

He’s locked himself in her bedroom, because her bedroom has a lock and his does not, for his own safety.

The code pad has been overridden and she can’t get the door to open.

“Bob,” she pleads through the door but the shadows are moving faster, slithering over her feet as they flood under the crack of the door. “Bob, please open the door.”

When he doesn’t answer, she yells out for someone –anyone, really at this point –to help her get this damn door open. Bucky is who responds the fastest, prying her door open just enough for her to squeeze inside. The shadows scatter, only for a moment, before they swarm again. Then they’re wrapping around her. Bucky is trying to get the door open entirely, but there’s an unseen barrier that’s blocking the rest of them from entering the room. 

“Hey,” she whispers, kneeling into the shadows that are surrounding him. 

He’s shaking, cross legged on her floor, holding a vinyl in his hands that’s melted against his palms. Gently, afraid that she’ll scare him if she moves too fast, she pries the remainder of the vinyl from him. Then she throws it away. The shadows practically hiss at her as she shifts to sit cross legged in front of him, mirroring his position. 

“It’s…he’s so loud,” he murmurs, his voice shaking as he holds back tears. “It won’t stop. I…I can’t get him to stop –,”

She hushes him gently, holding her hands out, palms up. He doesn’t move, and she doesn’t force him. The shadows are pooling in her lap, and she can hear their whispers –whispers of her misdeeds, of his, of darkness. Trying to coax them both into the Void and the shadows. They’re trying to consume her but her mind is easier to shield than his, and she refuses to let the Void win.

The shadows are creeping up his hands now, and she finally moves cautiously to take his hands in hers. The shadows recede, as if fearful of her touch. The reality is that, in his mind, when she touches him like this –letting the shadows slink around her like snakes and brush against her skin –he is reminded of how much he is cared about. And that care, no matter how much he fears it will go away one day –staves off the darkness just enough. Because she’s telling him that she is not afraid of him. 

She will walk through the darkness to find him.

The shadows have stopped spreading but they have not gone away. Bob finally looks up at her –eyes red rimmed, puffy from crying. His entire body is shaking –but he cringes when she presses into his mind. She’s gotten better at smoothing out the thoughts; of softening them. She only does it when he asks, or in moments like this, where there is a danger of him falling again. They both know he needs to learn to handle them himself, but she refuses to let him suffer in these darkest moments.

Her hands slide up his wrists, over his arms, up his biceps. They rest just below his jaw, thumbs running over his cheeks gently as she pushes something softer into his mind. The shadows hiss further, retreating from the light, and she can hear the Void in his mind –cursing, threatening. Reminding Bob that he’s nothing to everyone, including her. How can he be a hero when he can’t even help himself? Why do you waste your breath on a man that’s not whole? He’s nothing, and deserves nothing. You’re going to leave anyway.

“No one is whole,” she reminds him gently, pressing her forehead against his gently. “We’re all made up of broken pieces, and every person who loves you is a stitch that puts you back together.”

Bob closes his eyes, nodding slowly as his breathing evens out. The shadows recede –slowly, reluctantly pulling away and returning to the darkest corner –and the barrier keeping the team out drops. Bucky pries the door open but Yelena stops them from entering. The team doesn’t leave, but they don’t interrupt.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though his voice is sluggish and it's clear that he’s exhausted. “I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to –,”

“You don’t need to apologize,” she promises, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks. His hands reach out to grip her wrists, anchoring himself in the softness that’s spreading across his mind. Letting it wash over him as the Void slowly but surely is washed away for the time being. “Can I tell you a secret?”

He nods, though his eyes are shut still. She taps her thumb against his cheek, telling him to look at her. Bob’s eyes open, and the gold glow that takes over is gone, freeing the blue that always reminds her of the sky on a cloudless day. His gaze is unfocused for a moment, glossy, as he blinks away the tears and the darkness before he finally settles on her face.

“What’s the secret?” He asks, voice small as the thoughts she plants slip away and leave him to fend for himself. There’s a flinch, but she doesn’t feel the shadows returning so she lets him handle it himself from here on.

“I love you,” she confesses, though it feels silly to confess something that has been obvious for several weeks now. “Let me safety pin the pieces of you together until we have the right thread.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Yelena shoving everyone away from the door. She’s shushing them, especially Alexei, who is trying to celebrate for the two. But the team disappears and leaves the two be, knowing they would be okay without support now.

“You…you don’t mean that,” Bob tries to argue; tries to pull away from her touch. But she holds him there. “You don’t want to love me –,”

“Robert Reynolds, I walked into the shadows without knowing if I was going to die,” she reminds him, forcing him to look at her. “And I didn’t even know you when I did that. I wasn’t a superhero, I wasn’t an assassin, or a supersoldier. I was an assistant. I did not walk into those shadows because I wanted to save the world, I walked into those shadows to save you. And I will walk into the shadows every single day if it means I get to love you another day.

“I do mean it when I say I love you, because you are easy to love, and you are worthy of it,” she continues, and there’s tears starting to form at the edges of her eyes as she takes a deep breath. “I love you more than…than I think I’ve ever loved anyone, which I know probably sounds insane because we’ve only been dating for like two months, but I can’t help it.

“So do not tell me I don’t mean it, and that I don’t want to love you. Because I do mean it and I do want to love you. And there’s nothing you could do to make me stop loving you.”

He wants to argue, she can see it in his eyes and the way his brows knit together in frustration. But there’s something behind his eyes –something that says he desperately wants to believe her. So he doesn’t argue, and slowly nods.

“I…I love you too,” he finally breathes, blinking away his tears. She smiles at him with watery eyes and shaking hands against his skin still. “I’ve never…I never thought I’d find someone like you. After everything –all the things I’ve done before the superpowers and even after –I just…I know I’m hard to love –,”

“Hey, no,” she interrupts. “It’s not hard to love you. It’s like breathing –,”

“You can’t mean that –,”

“I do –,”

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally settles on, and she bites her tongue. She’ll bring it up later, when he’s less stuck in his head and remind him. “I just…thank you. For loving me.”

She wants to tell him that he doesn’t need to thank her but she pauses, deciding to just…accept it for now. “You’re welcome, Bob. Thank you for loving me too.”

His hands drop from her wrists, rubbing his eyes. “Can we…can we take a nap?”

“A nap does sound really nice right now,” she admits with a soft laugh. 

She stands up, holding out her hands to pull him up. When he’s up, he doesn’t release her, though, and instead pulls her into a tight hug. His arms wrap around her shoulders, clinging to her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head. She curls her arms around his middle, pressing her forehead into the crook of his neck, sighing into his skin. 

“I love you,” he repeats into her hair, squeezing her tight.

“I love you too,” she promises.

They stand there like that for a while.

[solvisun]

051525. KAGEYAMA TOBIO. hopelessly whipped for u.

“should i go for the usual or something daring?”

it’s girls’ night. mandatory. and kageyama tobio doesn’t know what to do with himself.

you look at him through the vanity mirror. behind you, he’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, leaning a little too far forward while you swatch different shades of lip gloss on your wrist. and he’s thinking, how the hell am i supposed to survive this?

“daring,” he says after a beat. “you haven’t seen your girlfriends in a while, so…”

“that’s true.” you choose your favorite—something in between usual and daring. you seem absorbed in the way you carefully prep yourself, despite how messy your table looks. it’s a soft kind of focus nestled in the silence. a comfortable weight tucked in the moment of each other’s presence. you move in such calm precision.

it’s the same care he uses when taping his fingers before a match, or lacing his shoes twice, or massaging you thoroughly on a late evening.

he watches you. watches the way the light hits the soft curve of your cheek. the way your fingers press and sweep and blend. and all he can think is,

i want to learn how to do your makeup. just to know what it feels like to hold your face in my hands that long.

“like what you see?”

your voice pulls him out of his thoughts. you glance back at him through the mirror—smiling, coy, cheekbones high and eyes expectant. you always know how to get him going.

“yeah…” his words barely hold any constraint. completely awestruck by you.

the sound of your laughter echoes through his chest. reverent. you stand, popping the lid of your mascara closed and sweeping your hair over your shoulder before you make your way to the closet, dress already hung and waiting. his eyes follow.

you don’t notice the way he’s gone quiet behind you—or maybe you do, but you’re used to it by now. humming a little to yourself, you slip your dress off the hanger, allowing the feeling of his gaze trailing toward your exposed nape, the arch of your back, the way your waist slopes.

even after all this time, he can't quite wrap his head around the fact that you're his wife—that this beautiful woman is his. no matter what you do, you're always glowing.

how is that even possible?

you slip the dress on, the fabric hugging you in all the places he aches for. aching for your softness that comes from the weight you’ve gained over the years. you give yourself a little twirl in the mirror, so much grace in your movement. he’s so far gone.

he mutters, barely audible, “how the hell are you mine?”

you walk over to him with slow, easy steps until you’re standing in front of him. he makes room for you, locking you between his knees.

“tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?”

his hands find purchase on the dip of your hips, palms spreading across fabric and then, without even meaning to, slipping under. his warm touch sends your skin aflame, permeating. thumbs grazing like he’s memorized to.

he tilts his head lightly to the side, feeling every shape of you, gaze never leaving yours. he’ll proudly show you instead.

you chuckle softly as your hand cups his cheek. he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut a moment too long.

“you know you can’t have me tonight,” you whisper, brushing your nose against his.

“i know,” he murmurs, voice low and raw. “but let me pretend.”

his lips nearly brush yours, so close—when your phone buzzes loudly on the vanity.

you freeze.

he groans instantly.

“shit.” you scramble for the phone. “hi? yeah—yeah, i’m ready, just—give me like ten minutes?”

kageyama groans again, dropping his head against your belly. “ten minutes.”

carding your fingers through his hair, you see his shoulders droop with evident sulk. “five.”

you scramble—barely managing to shove your phone into your bag while he fixes your dress for you, smoothing out any creases he’s left.

he follows you to the door, half-heartedly trying to block the way. you spend three minutes giggling as you press a kiss to his lips, slow and warm. he chases after it when you pull away.

“be good,” you murmur, breathless and stunning as you reach for the doorknob.

“i’m never good when you leave like that,” he mumbles.

you wink. “you’ll be fine.”

and then you’re gone.

he stands there a long while, staring at the door.

god, he loves you.

© SOLVISUN 2025. all rights reserved, do not repost/alter.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Unexpected Surprise

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You up and leave your old life behind for a new job in a state you’ve never been to before. While on the plane, you meet a very interesting genius who has nothing but facts about almost everything. What you think is a cute date turns into something more when you see him at your new job.

Square Filled: "It's a success." for @mfbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

Never did you think you would pack up your entire life just to move across the country for a job. Yet here you are. On a plane going to a state you’ve never been to before to start a job you never thought you’d get. You applied to be the technical analyst for the FBI after being the tech girlie for the LAPD. The job was so far out of reach so when you got the job, you almost shit your pants.

They wanted you to start right away so you had to pack up whatever you could and move out there immediately. For the next few weeks, you’ll be flying back to California to get the rest of your things. There is a cute little apartment you were lucky enough to find, so you were able to get some of your things shipped over there.

During the flight, you try to calm yourself with some relaxing music but your thoughts are too loud to silence. Instead, you take out your laptop and work on some code you’ve been dabbling in for the past few months. You can create a lot of code with your skills, but you decided to focus on hacking and digging in places you shouldn’t be.

Perfect for the FBI.

Two hours pass by while you’re creating a theme for a website when you notice it. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that your shoelace is untied. Your tray is down, your laptop and a snack rest upon it, and your bag is by your feet. It’s a fucking shoelace, Y/N. Ignore it. You try so hard for five minutes before you feel the urge to fix it. Maybe that’s why you’re so good at what you do. You pick at the details until what you’re left with is a pretty picture that’s easy to read.

Fixing your shoe is a need, not a want.

You keep shifting, hoping to get your foot closer to you so that you can tie your shoe, but to no avail.

“Do you need help?” You lift your eyes to look into honey-brown ones. The man on the aisle seat next to you has a kind smile on his face. “I can tie your shoe for you.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask without moving your foot.

The stranger holds up his phone which has a black screen. “My phone died, and I’m quite bored.”

“Okay,” you giggle.

You lift your foot and he rests it on his thigh. His long and nimble fingers grab both ends of your shoelace and start to tie it.

“No one quite knows the first time shoelaces were used to secure shoes. In fact, most reports indicate that shoelaces are as old as shoes themselves. Archaeologists believe that ancient peoples used shoelaces for the same reasons we currently use them, experimenting with materials to influence comfort, fit, and even style.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. They think that about five thousand years ago, during the late Neolithic and early Bronze Age periods, cavemen and women also used specific shoelace designs to distinguish between tribes. Most importantly, shoelaces kept early man’s shoes tight and fitted, accommodating their need to travel long distances for food, water, and shelter without causing severe damage to their feet.”

“You just know everything, don’t you?”

“I am a certified genius,” he grins.

“Is that so?”

“Quite. Did you know there are multiple ways to tie your shoe?”

“Please divulge that information,” you smile.

“First, you have the standard tie.” He ties your shoe using the most basic method that every adult knows how to do. “We have the famous ‘Bunny Ears’ way.” He unties your shoe just to tie it again using what children call ‘bunny ears’ since the loops look like ears. “Third, we have the better bow shoelace knot.” It’s like standard but he wraps the shoelace twice around his finger instead of once. “Finally, a classic, the double knot for extra security. See? It’s a success.”

“Who knew there were multiple ways to tie a shoe,” you smile.

“I did, and now so do you.”

“I’m Y/N.”

He smiles and sets your foot down. “Spencer Reid.”

“So, are you flying away from home or toward it?”

“Toward it. I was visiting my mom in Texas for a week. What about you?”

“Toward my new home. I’m from California, but I got a new job in Virginia. I’m kind of nervous about it. I’ve never done anything like it before.”

“What is it?”

“Tech work. I have a masters in computer science. I worked for the LAPD before, but I couldn’t pass up on this offer. I’m kind of nervous, to be honest. I’ve never even stepped foot in Virginia before. I don’t know anyone here.”

“You know me,” Spencer smiles kindly.

“That I do.”

The rest of the flight is smooth sailing once you and Spencer fall into easy conversation. You didn’t even know three hours had passed because he was that easy to talk to. Like the gentleman he is, he walks you to baggage claim and waits for you to get your bag even when he grabs his.

“When do you start your new job?” he asks.

“Monday.”

“I know this might be a bit forward, but I’d love to show you around Virginia if you’re not busy this weekend. I’m sure you have a lot of unpacking to do.”

“Not that much. Like I said before, this was sudden. All my things are still in California. I’ll be moving them in gradually for the next month or so. I can hang out tomorrow if you’d like.”

“It’s a date,” he smiles. His words suddenly register in his head and he starts stuttering and blushing. “Not like a date, date. I meant that I’ll see you tomorrow as in it’s confirmed.”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It can be a date,” you laugh.

“Okay,” he blushes more.

“You’re cute. I have to pick up my rental so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After exchanging phone numbers, you part ways. Your apartment is thirty minutes from the airport and already has the necessary furniture you had shipped over--bed, couch, dining table, and two chairs. The other things will come when you have time to bring them over. There are a few boxes you had shipped that contain kitchen and bathroom items so you don’t have to go out and buy all new things.

Before, you were nervous about starting this new job. Now, you’re nervous about your date with Spencer. He’s very cute and charming, but you don’t want to mess it up. Even if he isn’t boyfriend material, he definitely has the potential to be a really good friend. Look at you, already thinking about him as a boyfriend. You really are in over your head.

The next day, Spencer picks you up without a car. He likes using public transportation and refuses to even let you drive. You two started out in a cafe to get something to eat before he took you sightseeing around Virginia. There is a beautiful botanical garden here that is his favorite, so that’s where you two are.

“So, genius, have any facts or tidbits about this place?” you ask.

“The idea for this garden came from Thomas P. Thompson, Norfolk City Manager from 1935 to 1938, and Frederic Heutte, a young horticulturalist. Heutte had a fondness for azaleas and thought Hampton Roads had a climate uniquely suited for growing the plants. Thompson and Heutte believed that Norfolk could support an azalea garden to rival those of Charleston, SC, which even during the depression years drew thousands of tourists annually.”

“Wow, you’re just a fountain of knowledge.”

“That’s not all. Within less than a year, a section of underbrush had been cleared and readied for planting. By March of 1939, four thousand azaleas, two thousand rhododendrons, several thousand miscellaneous shrubs and trees, and one hundred bushels of daffodils had been planted.

“In August of 1939, Representative Colgate W. Darden Jr. secured an additional one hundred and thirty-eight thousand, five hundred and fifty-three dollars for the Azalea Garden, and the founding of the Old Dominion Horticultural Society provided volunteer labor to assist the Garden. By 1941, the Garden displayed nearly five thousand azaleas and seventy-five landscaped acres that were encompassed by five miles of walking trails.”

You don’t know Spencer well at all but hearing him spew facts like he has them stored in his brain for later brings a smile to your face.

“Well, they did a good job because this place looks beautiful.”

Spencer looks at you and smiles. “Yeah, it is.”

You and Spencer spend another hour walking around the garden while he tells you facts about the different flowers and plants. Afterward, he takes you to get ice cream before bringing you home. He walks up the porch steps leading to your apartment building, and you stop before you can open the door.

“Would you like to come in? I don’t have a lot of furniture, though.”

“I appreciate the offer, but no.” Before your shoulders can deflate, he quickly adds, “It’s not because I don’t want to. I do, but I want to do this right.”

“Right?” you ask.

Spencer smiles and he leans in closer to you. You stay completely still because you don’t want to mess this up. You don’t want to kiss him if that’s not his intention. He does kiss you but on your cheek. Even when he pulls away, you can still feel the skin he touches tingling.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Good luck on your first day.”

“Thanks,” you whisper.

“I’ll call you tomorrow to see how it’s going.”

With that, Spencer leaves. Thoughts of him swirl around in your head for the rest of the night, are embedded into your dreams, and even when you wake up. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. You get dressed and drive to the BAU where you’ll be working. Their current technical analyst is leaving so she’ll be training you to take her place.

After signing in at the lobby and getting your badge, you make your way to the floor where the BAU is. Penelope Garcia is waiting for you outside of the bullpen, and she smiles when she sees you.

“Y/N, right?”

“Yes, you must be Penelope Garcia, right? It’s nice to meet you. So, you’re leaving the BAU?”

“Yes, sad story. I love this team but I got a better job opportunity to work overseas. However, I trust that you will be more than happy here. I know you’ll do a great job because I picked you, and I’m never wrong. Let me introduce you to Hotch and the team.”

She takes you to Agent Hotchner’s office who is stern but welcoming. “You’ll be shadowing Garcia for a couple of weeks.”

“Yes, sir,” you nod.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I’ll leave you in the trusty hands of Garcia.”

“Come on, let’s find the rest of the team.”

You meet JJ, Emily, Tara, Luke, and Matt, all of them friendly and welcoming. The last person on the team is someone you never thought would be here. Spencer turns with a coffee in hand, and his eyes widen when he sees you. Not out of shock, but pleasant surprise.

“Of course, you’d work here,” you chuckle.

“Do you two know each other?”

“Kind of. We met on the plane ride over here, and he showed me around Virginia over the weekend.”

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again outside of being professional.”

Ever the gentleman, Spencer is. “Dr. Reid, are you sad about that?”

“Yes, I am. I like you, and I’d like to see you again.”

A blush creeps up your neck but you try to keep it at bay. “Well, you’re about to see a whole lot of me because I am not going anywhere.” You smirk. “I’ll see you around, Dr. Reid.”

You and Penelope walk off but you turn back and give him a flirty smile. He chuckles to himself and smiles as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“I can already see it. You two will become the next Me and Derek.”

“I have no idea what that means, but I hope it’s a good thing.”

“Oh, it’s a very good thing,” she giggles.

You can’t wait.

x

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[ineedpaigebuckets]

always you

synopsis: i don't even know guys just read

an: i actually just like wrote this in 5 minutes so have fun

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

azzi was already on the couch, one leg tossed over the armrest, hoodie unzipped and falling off one shoulder. there was music playing low from her phone, some rnb thing azzi never knew the name of but always associated with paige. she'd gone out on a little run so azzi was alone.

paige let herself in without knocking, like always. “you’re a mess,” she said lightly, tossing her keys into the bowl near the door.

“takes one to know one,” azzi mumbled, not even opening her eyes.

“rude.”

“accurate.”

paige kicked off her shoes, padded across the room, and collapsed next to her on the couch. her thigh pressed against azzi’s. warm. familiar. azzi didn’t move.

“you missed lunch,” paige said, her voice softer now.

“i know.”

“you okay?”

“i’m fine.”

a lie. not sharp, not mean. just… closed off. and paige didn’t know why, but something inside her surged at the need to break through it.

she let her head fall gently against azzi’s shoulder. “you know you can talk to me.”

“yeah.” azzi shifted, but not enough to shake her off.

“seriously, i’m like… very good at comfort. five stars. certified in emotional support cuddles, only for you.”

azzi huffed something like a laugh, but her body stayed still, tight beneath the surface.

paige let her fingers trail over azzi’s arm, light, casual at first. “and if that doesn’t work, i also offer kisses. and maybe a shoulder massage. optional, but highly recommended.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

“you love it.”

she turned her face slightly, pressing a small kiss to azzi’s shoulder through the fabric of her hoodie. azzi didn’t react.

paige didn’t stop.

another kiss, this time to the skin of azzi’s neck where the collar had slipped low. slower. more deliberate.

“paige,” azzi said, barely a whisper.

but paige was still talking, still filling the space with warmth and nervous laughter. “it’s fine, right? this is fine. i mean, you’re always-, and i just, i thought maybe you wanted-”

“paige.”

this time, azzi pulled away.

not gently.

she sat up, put distance between them with a sharpness that felt like a slap. her expression was unreadable. tight. scared, maybe. angry, maybe. both.

“what are you doing?”

paige blinked. her mouth opened, closed. her voice came out too fast. “i wasn’t- i didn’t mean to make it weird, i just-"

“you kissed me.”

“barely, that doesn't even count- i just…” paige’s breath hitched. “i just wanted to be close to you.”

azzi stood. crossed her arms. looked anywhere but at her. “you don’t get to decide that for me.”

the air was too quiet now. the music still played in the background, but it felt like it was coming from another world.

paige stood too, but slower. “i’m sorry. please… i didn't wanna make you uncomfortable. just let me stay. i just- can i just lay with you? please?”

azzi didn’t answer right away. her jaw clenched. her hands flexed at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them.

eventually, she sighed and sank back onto the couch, but turned away from paige.

“you can stay. just don’t… don’t- don't be weird again.”

paige nodded, even though azzi wasn’t looking. she curled up on the far edge of the couch, arms around her knees. she didn’t try to touch her again.

the space between them felt like a canyon.

and still, paige ached to cross it.

the apartment had gone still again.

paige hadn’t said a word since curling up at the edge of the couch. her eyes were fixed on the window, blank and glassy. she looked so small like that. pulled into herself, like she didn’t know if she was allowed to exist in the room anymore.

azzi had never hated herself more.

she sat there for what felt like forever, fists clenched, trying to stay cold, trying to stay safe. but paige was too quiet. too still. and azzi couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel it—this slow, aching guilt sinking under her skin like ink in water.

“hey,” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

paige didn’t look at her.

azzi moved carefully, slowly shifting across the couch. she hesitated before reaching out, fingers hovering over paige’s arm. “look at me?”

paige turned her head. her face was red around the edges, and her eyes were glassy. not crying, but close. she looked like someone who’d just been told they were too much.

“i’m sorry,” azzi said, and it sounded rough, pulled from the pit of her chest. “i didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

paige gave a half-hearted shrug. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“don’t do that.”

“i’m just tired, azzi.”

that broke something. azzi reached for her then, fully, her hand sliding over paige’s arm, pulling gently until paige let herself be held. her head came down against azzi’s collarbone, hesitant at first, then all at once like she’d been waiting for permission.

azzi wrapped both arms around her, held her tight. no jokes. no pushback. just stillness and heat and heart.

“i’m bad at this,” azzi murmured into paige’s hair. “like, really bad.”

“i know,” paige whispered.

“but i love you.” azzi’s voice cracked on it, the words like glass in her throat. “and it scares the hell out of me.”

paige pulled back just enough to look at her. her face was open now, raw and hopeful and afraid.

“say it again.”

azzi met her eyes. “i love you.”

paige exhaled, shakily, like the air had been trapped in her lungs for weeks.

“fuck,” she said, blinking fast. “okay.”

azzi pulled her back in, and this time, paige didn’t hold anything back. she curled into her like she belonged there. and maybe- just maybe- she did.