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jeonginsleftcheek · 2 days ago

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Can I see your d*ck? (pt 4)

pairing: lee felix x afab!reader

synopsis: you finally get what you wanted... and it turns out to be more than you expected.

wc: 2.0k

warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity

a/n: enjoy the final part, lovelies!❤️ and look forward for channie dolly and other bigger projects i'm working on *wink wink*

masterlist

"I guess I'll give you exactly what you need." Felix smirked at you, pulling you down and swiftly turning you over so he was on top.

You let out a little gasp as you grabbed onto his shoulders and looked up at him, seeing something soft flashing in his eyes before he leaned down to capture your lips in his. He kissed you softly at first, savoring the moment, your taste and the hint of him on your tongue.

He pushed his tongue deeper in your mouth, swirling it around yours as his hands slowly ran over your body, his touch gentle before he kissed you harder, lightly groping your hips. He stopped himself before he started losing more control.

"Are you sure about this?" Felix asked breathlessly while his eyes searched yours.

"Yes." you nodded, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him closer, you yearned to have him as close to you as you could.

"This'll change everything between us." he whispered as he looked at you, something akin to longing appearing in his eyes.

"We already stepped over the boundaries." you let out a chuckle. "I wanna go all the way, with you. I'm sure."

"Okay." he smiled and kissed you again, pressing his warm body against yours. You felt his dick twitching as soon as it pressed against your wet core, the mere touch was already making him become hard once more.

Your hands tangled in his hair as he spread your legs, gripping at your thighs and dragging his length against your wet pussy. You whimpered into his mouth as excitement started building inside you.

Nervousness washed over you as well, knowing it was your first time and you still couldn't believe that it would belong to your best friend who you've been pining over for years. It was a matter of time for the two of you to end up like this. You noticed the way he looked at you, the way his touch always lingered, the way he always searched for you first when he needed to share good news or ask for advice or just someone to vent with. You were hoping it meant more than just best friends, for years you had imagined different scenarios of your first kiss with him.

Never in a million years would you think it would happen like this, out of a silly question; now you giving yourself to him, the two of you going all the way.

"You okay?" Felix whispered as he leaned back, noticing that you were deep in your thoughts.

"Yeah, just a little tense. You know... First time and all." you giggled nervously, your face becoming red and Felix smirked at your cuteness.

"I'll be gentle, sweetheart. Don't worry. You're in good hands." he assured you as his palms ran up and down your waist.

"I trust you." you whispered as you looked at him.

He smiled and then groaned when he remembered, "I don't have a condom. It's not like I expected for this to happen like this, on a random Thursday afternoon." Felix laughed awkwardly and you chuckled.

"I don't have any either. It's okay, we don't have to use them, I mean... I've never been with anyone." you gulped as your stomach twisted a little. "W-what about you?"

Felix looked taken aback for a moment, his freckled cheeks becoming more red the more he avoided to look into your eyes.

"Actually, I never went all the way with anyone either." he confessed and you gasped.

"You? Really? Never?" you chuckled in disbelief.

"Yeah, why are you so shocked?" Felix finally looked at you, his face almost as red as a tomato.

"Because you're you... You know." you groaned in frustration.

"Elaborate." he lifted one brow as he kept looking at you.

"Have you seen yourself? It's just impossible to me that no one wanted to fuck you, you know. You never even told me about going out with anyone."

"I didn't say that no one wanted me. I just didn't want them." Felix leaned in closer, his eyes dark and intense as he stared into yours.

"But you want me?" you whispered as your voice became shaky, you were falling under his spell even more.

"I want you so much." Felix said, the rawness and honesty in his voice made a shiver run down your spine and your pussy clenched in anticipation.

"P-please, Felix." you whimpered, getting more and more impatient as you felt his hardness pressing against you. It was well into the evening hours and the sun went down since the time you asked that faithful question and you didn't have it in you to take any more of his teasing.

"Shh, I got you baby." Felix kissed your jaw as he grabbed his dick, running the tip over your folds before gently pressing it between and you gasped, arching your back off the mattress and gripping at his upper back. Felix attached his lips on your exposed neck as he slowly started pushing in, feeling the way you were stretching around him, taking him in like you were made for him. His eyes almost rolled back but he leaned up and looked at you, he wanted to see your face as he pushed the rest of his length in very slowly, making you feel every inch of him.

Your eyes glazed over and your lips fell open, small gasps and whimpers leaving them as Felix stretched you open.

"F-Felix." you gasped and he groaned lowly as he bottomed out.

"A-are you okay?" he asked, his grip on your hips bruising as he held back.

"Mhm." you moaned, gripping the back of his head and pulling him down in a kiss. You could feel the way he shuddered against you, it was taking everything in him not to thrust hard into you.

"You can move." you whispered and Felix held onto your hips as he started dragging his dick against your folds languidly, making you feel everything, all of it, his tip pressing into a spot that made you tremble and whimper.

"Fuck. You feel so good, baby." he buried his face in your neck, leaving sloppy kisses on your soft skin, nipping at it as his hands ran all over your body, everywhere he could reach like he had no idea where to start first.

"You feel so good too, Lixie." you moaned as you wrapped your legs around him, bringing him even closer and making him push in deeper.

"C-careful, sweetheart." Felix was losing his mind, it was all too much. He always imagined having you all to himself, making you completely his, being close to you like this but none of his fantasies could ever compare to the real feel of you. Your warmth, your wetness, your smell, your taste. Your everything was driving him crazy with need.

You smirked a little as you clenched around him, pulling him in even closer to your body so you were pressed together.

"Or what?" you taunted and he looked at you so darkly that you shivered against him.

"Or I won't be able to hold back anymore." he said as he continued slowly moving inside you and you needed more. The little bit of nervousness you felt disappeared the moment he slotted himself inside you, like he belonged right there, connected with you. It was Felix, your Felix and you trusted him completely.

"Don't hold back." you whispered and he groaned, gripping at your breasts and making you whimper and arch into him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes I'm sure. Please, faster." you whined and held onto him as he leaned in and kissed you passionately and sloppily, his hands massaging your breasts and pinching your sensitive nipples while he slowly started increasing the movement of his hips against yours.

"Felix, ah Felix, more!" you moaned against his lips as your nails dug in his his skin and he groaned deeply into your ear, hips snapping against yours deliciously as he fucked you harder and faster.

Your eyes rolled back and closed as you got completely lost in the feeling of him inside you and Felix couldn't take his eyes off of you, watching you claw at him desperately as you kept moaning and begging, his name leaving your lips constantly as you clenched around him painfully tightly. He knew he wouldn't last long, not when he was the one making you fall apart like this, making you look so beautiful, making you only his.

"Look at me." Felix growled, needing that connection, wanting you to be present in the moment with him. You gasped and locked eyes with him as he grabbed your hands and pinned them on either sides of your head before intertwining your fingers together and fucking into you harder, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust.

"I'm- I'm gonna-" you couldn't even finish your sentence as you held onto Felix's hands, your legs gripping around him and your thighs trembling while you exploded around his length.

"Fuck." his eyes widened as he looked at you and he couldn't hold back, following right after you and finishing inside you, making you gasp when you felt his warm cum filling you up.

"Lix-Lixie!" you whimpered as he gripped your hands harder and looked at you like you weren't even real in that moment, like he was dreaming that he finally had you like this, that you finally belonged to him.

"I love you." he said while you still clenched around him, your body trembling and your ears ringing that you almost missed it.

"What?" you gasped, you didn't mean to react like that but you didn't even think of what would happen after everything you did with Felix this afternoon, after you fell into such an intimate atmosphere with your best friend.

Felix froze at your reaction and quickly pulled out, rolling away from you to lay on his back. "Forget it, forget I said anything please." he covered his eyes with his arm and you stared at him for a moment, still not completely back to Earth after the orgasm he gave you.

"You really love me? As in more than best friends?" you asked quietly after you scooted closer to him and leaned over him, trying to pry his arm away from his face. It was a struggle as he didn't want to let go and your giggles made him laugh too before he let his arm fall to the side.

"Yeah, I love you more than best friends." Felix whispered and looked at you with those big, sweet and innocent eyes like he didn't just ruin your insides moments ago. "It's okay if you don't-"

"Shut up, Lix. Don't even finish that sentence. I love you too." you smiled and grabbed his hand gently.

"Y-you do?" his eyes widened as he sat up.

"Was it not obvious?" you chuckled, your cheeks becoming rosy.

"I was hoping but honestly, I thought I was just imagining things because I wanted them to be that way, you know? I wanted you to love me like I love you." Felix sat up and gently caressed your cheek, making you melt into his touch.

"I felt the same." you chuckled and Felix started laughing. Both of you were idiots in love and hadn't noticed it in years of being friends. At any other moment it would be tragic but right now you were more than estatic and you couldn't help it as you wrapped your arms around Felix and practically pushed him down on the bed with the force of your hug. Felix laughed so happily as he held you tightly against him.

"I'm glad you let your intrusive thoughts win and asked to see my dick." Felix teased and you smacked his arm playfully.

"I don't have to ask to see it anymore, it's mine now, hm?" you wiggled your eyebrows at him.

"Is that your way of asking me to be your boyfriend?" Felix snickered in amusement. "Cause the answer is yes."

"Of course it is." you giggled and kissed him.

"Wanna go for round two?" he whispered and you gasped as you looked at him.

"Are we gonna skip the torture and teasing and just get to the main course?"

"If you wish so, sweetheart." Felix smirked and rolled on top of you once again.

The night was just beginning and you didn't wanna spend even a second away from Felix, not after you became completely his.

@moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog @pancake-freckle @felixsbrowniesarmystayengene @minhooofr

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norristrii · 2 days ago

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THAT’S NOT HER, CHAT!

You and Lando had been keeping your relationship hidden from the public eye. But all it took was one accidental appearance on his stream to change everything. After that, there was no going back.

pairing. Lando Norris x Verstappen! fem! reader.

warnings. chaos, fluff, comedy.

DATING LANDO HAD BEEN EXCITING, exhilarating even, but it also came with its fair share of complications—ones you had been aware of from the start.

Two months in, things still felt new, still carried that fresh spark of discovery, of late-night conversations and shared laughter that felt just a little more intimate now. The way he looked at you, the way he reached for your hand absentmindedly, like it was second nature—those moments were yours, tucked away, safe from the outside world. But while the relationship itself was thriving behind closed doors, taking it online was an entirely different story.

You had your reasons—solid, unshakable ones that kept you cautious.

First, you were Max Verstappen’s sister. That alone made things complicated. The championship fight had put your family in the center of attention in ways that went beyond just racing, and adding your relationship into the mix? It would inevitably fuel speculation, opinions, and unwanted scrutiny. People would have theories, analyze dynamics, question loyalties—none of which you wanted to deal with.

Second—well, Lando’s fans were intense. Not all of them, obviously, but enough to make you wary of putting too much of your personal life on display. You had seen how they dissected his every move, how they speculated about things that didn’t even exist, how quickly narratives could spiral out of control. The thought of people analyzing every interaction, every glance, every post—it was exhausting. You loved him, but you weren’t sure if you could handle what came with loving him publicly.

For now, the secrecy wasn’t a burden—it was a protection. A way to preserve something that felt fragile, something you weren’t ready to hand over to the chaos of the internet.

You spent so much time at Lando’s place that, at this point, it felt less like visiting and more like home. Your things had slowly integrated into his space—your clothes hung in his closet, your favorite snacks filled his kitchen cabinets, and the couch had practically molded itself to fit your preferred spot.

And you adored every bit of it.

The quiet mornings where the two of you lazily made breakfast, the way he’d pull you into his antics without hesitation, the soft moments where words weren’t needed—just existing together was enough.

But there was one unspoken rule.

When Lando was streaming, you knew not to walk into his room. Not because he didn’t want you there—quite the opposite. But because the two of you had made a choice, a silent agreement to keep your relationship yours for now. Away from the internet, away from prying eyes and endless speculation.

He was too quiet. So quiet that you had convinced yourself he wasn’t streaming, that you could casually walk in and drop off the food without a second thought.

So, naturally, without hesitation, you pushed open the door, plate in hand, ready to deliver his food like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

And that’s when the panic set in.

“I’m streaming, I’m streaming, wait!” Lando practically jumped in his chair, hands flying up in frantic urgency, his voice tight with alarm.

You froze in place, gripping the plate a little tighter, your heart immediately racing. Your mind scrambled—had the camera caught you? Had his chat noticed? Had you just completely blown your cover?

Lando’s eyes flicked towards his monitor, then back at you, a whirlwind of chaos flashing across his face. He exhaled sharply, his fingers moving quickly as he hit pause on the stream, momentarily shutting out the thousands of people currently watching.

Only then did he turn back to you, his expression softening, his lips curling into something between amusement and exasperation.

“You can come now,” he said, his tone lighter, like he was trying not to laugh.

You let out the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly as you stepped fully inside, setting the plate down on his desk.

“Thank you, baby,” Lando said softly, leaning in to press a light kiss to your cheek. His tone was casual, affectionate, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But you? You were frozen. Your eyes locked onto the chat, still rolling at an alarming speed, messages flooding in faster than you could even process.

Is that Y/n Verstappen? Y/n and Lando confirmed? Baby? Omg. NO WAYY SO THE RUMORS WERE TRUE!?? MAX’S SISTER?

Your stomach dropped as realization hit you like a freight train. Slowly, you turned to Lando, your voice careful, almost hesitant. “You didn’t pause it?”

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he whipped back to his monitor. “Oh, shit!” he exclaimed, scrambling to mute the stream. But instead of fixing the situation, he leaned into the chaos, laughing as he turned back to the camera.

“Chat, this is not Y/n Verstappen!” he shouted, his voice filled with mock urgency, his hand flying up to cover your face as you tried—and failed—to stifle your laughter.

“That’s not her, chat!” he repeated, his grin widening as he glanced at you, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the moment.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you buried your face in your hands. The damage was done. The chat was already in full meltdown mode, and there was no undoing it now.

Lando, of course, was having the time of his life. And despite the chaos, you couldn’t help but laugh along with him. Because, really, what else could you do?

You couldn’t help but laugh, the entire situation spiraling into chaos before your eyes, and instead of trying to salvage it—you leaned right into it. There was no fixing this, no smooth way out, no denying the very obvious slip-up that Lando had just handed his viewers on a silver platter.

So instead of panicking, instead of shrinking away from the inevitable, you grinned and played along.

“He’s lying, chat!” you exclaimed, stepping fully into frame now, amusement bubbling in your voice as you pointed at him accusingly. “That’s me! Y/n!”

And that was it. The chat detonated all over again.

I love whatever this is. Y/N AND LANDO HARD LAUNCH BEFORE GTA6??? They’re so cute stopp

The messages flooded the screen at an alarming rate, the reactions coming in so fast it was impossible to keep up. Text flew by in all caps, people spamming emotes, sending chaos into overdrive.

Meanwhile, Lando whipped his head toward you, jaw dropping, eyes wide in sheer disbelief as if you had somehow betrayed him in the most dramatic way possible.

“Hey!” he gasped, his voice filled with exaggerated betrayal, throwing his hands up. “You’re supposed to lie along with me!”

You laughed harder, shaking your head, still grinning at him. “Oh, no, you absolutely dug your own grave with that ‘baby’ comment,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “This is your fault, Norris.”

Lando groaned dramatically, dragging his hands down his face, shoulders shaking as he tried—and failed—to suppress his laughter. He turned back to the screen, exhaling a long, exaggerated sigh before finally giving in.

Lando leaned back in his chair, dramatically throwing his hands up in surrender, accepting his fate with a grin that only made the chat more unhinged. He knew he had lost this battle before it even started, and at this point, there was no turning back.

“Okay, okay,” he said, dragging out the words for effect, voice dripping with exaggerated exasperation as he finally relented. “So chat, this is my precious girlfriend, Y/n Verstappen.”

He gestured toward you with both hands, as if he were presenting some kind of grand reveal, his mischievous expression making it clear he was fully leaning into the moment now. The fact that this wasn’t how he planned on announcing your relationship didn’t seem to bother him anymore—if anything, he was thriving in the chaos.

The chat exploded instantly.

Messages were flying so fast it was almost impossible to process them, the flood of reactions coming at an overwhelming speed. There was no stopping it now, no undoing it. You had gone from a quiet, private relationship to a full-blown hard launch in the span of seconds—and the internet was eating it up.

PRECIOUS?! What is going on!? THE WAY HE SAYS IT SO PROUDLY?? PLEASE. MAX IS ABOUT TO THROW HANDS. She’s precious, smart and beautiful… and yeah he’s also here.

You blinked at him, raising an eyebrow, arms crossing over your chest as you tilted your head slightly in mock amusement. “Oh wow, precious, huh?” you teased, a slow smirk tugging at your lips. “Didn’t know I ranked that high.”

Lando scoffed, turning to you with a playful glint in his eye. “Obviously. You should feel honored,” he shot back with an air of complete confidence, leaning closer like he was about to let you in on some grand secret. “Chat, she’s lucky I didn’t say queen.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head, but the warmth bubbling in your chest betrayed the sarcasm in your expression.

You grinned, shaking your head slightly as you leaned into frame, playing along without hesitation.

“And that’s my Lando,” you added with a smile, eyes flickering toward him as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be touched by your words.

This is hard launch of the century. I JUST CAN IMAGINE MAX WATCHING THIS. THEY’RE SO IN LOVE OMGG. This stream changed me as a person.

Lando laughed, shaking his head at the chaos unraveling on his screen. “Oh, now they’re losing it,” he mused, reading the messages aloud. “Max is definitely gonna kill me.”

You grinned, resting your chin on your hand as you eyed him playfully. “Yeah, you might wanna start practicing your apology now,” you teased.

Lando exhaled heavily, straightening up and dramatically addressing the camera like he was preparing for a speech. “Alright, alright—if Max Verstappen is watching this,” he started, clearing his throat. “Just know that I am deeply, deeply sorry for exposing this relationship like an absolute idiot on stream.”

You snorted, shaking your head at him. “Wow, strong start,” you mused, crossing your arms.

Lando ignored you, pressing on. “Max, please, I beg of you—do not throw me into a wall the next time you see me,” he continued, still fully committed to the dramatics.

You shrugged innocently, crossing your arms. “Yeah, probably will,” you teased, lips twitching with amusement. “But hey, truth is, it was your mistake, not mine.”

Lando groaned, tossing his head back like he had just accepted his doomed fate. “You could have helped me cover it up, you know,” he pointed out, smirking at you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, please—you called me baby and precious on stream, Norris,” you countered, shaking your head. “This was never staying a secret after that.”

Lando exhaled heavily, dragging a hand down his face, feigning defeat. “Guess we’re official now,” he muttered, laughing to himself.

You leaned in slightly, nudging his arm. “Guess we are,” you echoed, grinning.

And just like that—the world knew.

Messy, unplanned, very public—exactly the way it was always going to happen with Lando.

And honestly? You wouldn’t change a single thing.

Even if Max did come for his life later.

It would absolutely be worth it.

Every second of it.

@haniette <3

#formula 1 #mclaren #lando norris #lando norris f1 #formula one #lando norris x y/n #ln4 fic #lando norris x reader #ln4 x y/n #lando norris x you #ln4 fluff #ln4 imagine #ln4 #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 fic #f1 writing

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pbaz7 · 2 days ago

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SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 1

paige x azzi

word count: 7.1k

A/N: Not much to say about this one yet. It was a random idea I got and I decided to combine my two interests lol. Let me know what you think and if this is something you’d like to see play out more!

—————————————————————————

The Sparks were up by twenty-four. The starters pulled halfway through the third, and Azzi sat near the end of the bench, her legs were stretched and a towel was sitting around her neck as she casually sipped from her water bottle.

The energy in the arena had changed. The crowd was still loud but they started entertaining themselves with whatever the jumbotron fed them: dance cams, kiss cams, baby cams. Azzi’s body had cooled, but her mind still flickered with the movement on the court, tracing the plays, missed shots, moments that might’ve gone differently.

She only half-registered the familiar cadence of the courtside camera sweep. A ritual of sorts in a city like LA—celebrities shown on the jumbotron like saints. The crowd responded on cue: applause, laughter, a few cheers too loud to be genuine.

A few big house names and faces flashed across the screen—actors, influencers, former players—each one hamming it up for their moment. They didn’t pay for their court side seats for nothing.

Then the frame landed on someone who didn’t match the rest.

Blonde. A little stone-faced. She wore a cream Essentials sweatsuit, ankle resting over her knee, a few rings on her fingers, completely still.

She didn’t wave at the camera. Didn’t smile. Just stared at it like it had interrupted her thoughts—then looked right past it, completely disinterested.

Azzi blinked her eyebrows drawing together.

“…who is that?” she murmured, subtly nudging Rickea beside her.

Rickea followed her gaze and then smiled widely. “Oh that’s my Paigey wazy. She’s Cam’s god sister she’s always talking about.”

Azzi nodded. “She famous or anything?”

Rickea nodded. “She does MMA. Popular as hell in UFC right now. She’s...definitely different, I love her though.” Rickea said it and her tone was like a warning mixed with a compliment.

Azzi glanced back toward the baseline, toward the blonde who hadn’t moved since the camera left her. She didn’t fully blend in—but she didn’t look like she needed nor wanted to stand out. Unfortunately for her, the mere presence alone did the work.

When the final buzzer sounded players filtered off the court, their laughter started to echo through the tunnel, a chorus of their sneakers against the concrete. Azzi walked slowly, towel over her shoulder, thoughts already shifting to her recovery and film review.

She was halfway to the tunnel when an arm threw over her shoulder.

“Wait,” Cam said, grinning. “You’re the only one who hasn’t met her yet.”

Azzi blinked. “Met who?”

“My sister,” Cam said, casual, like it was obvious. “Well—god sister. But she’s basically blood so.”

Before Azzi could protest, Cam was already guiding her back toward the floor, past security and stragglers still lingering for selfies.

She was standing court wide on her phone, seemingly waiting for Cam. Same expressionless face. A storm sealed behind glass.

Cam stepped up beside her, nudging her gently with an elbow to get her attention. “Paige, this is Azzi I don’t think you guys have met.”

Paige looked up slowly.

Her gaze flicked over Azzi in a single sweep—measured, unreadable. No smile. No raised brow. Just a quiet recognition, like Azzi had been noted, filed, and shelved in the space of her brain.

“Hi,” Azzi offered politely, her voice warm but tempered by a slight curiosity. “Nice to meet you.”

A pause.

Then Paige gave a small nod. No handshake. No return greeting.

Just acknowledgment. As bare as it could be.

Azzi let her eyebrow raise slightly, a smile still tugging at the corner of her mouth. There was something oddly fascinating about someone so immune to her charm. Most people lit up in her presence—Paige barely flickered.

Cam chuckled, watching the exchange like it was perfectly on brand.

Then she turned back to Paige. “How was weigh-in this morning?”

Paige’s gaze didn’t change much. “Good. One thirty-five exactly.”

Cam grinned. “So you can eat again without whining about still being hungry.”

A breath of laughter left her, but Paige didn’t outwardly react—no smile, no eye roll. Just stillness. Cam barely noticed. She was used to it.

Undeterred, she kept talking, stuffing her hands into her hoodie pocket. “Some of the team’s coming to the fight tomorrow. We’re sitting in your section again.”

Then Cam turned to Azzi, face brightening. “You should come.”

Azzi blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah! I swear you haven’t really seen Paige until you’ve watched her fight.”

Azzi glanced at Paige again, intrigued. “Is that right?”

Cam nodded. “Totally different energy. You might actually see her blink. You’ll love it. Rae basically got a girl crush on her after seeing her fight the first time.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, surprised by how curious she suddenly felt. She didn’t know if she’d love it—but the idea of seeing what stirred beneath that quiet, unreadable exterior intrigued her.

Her smile returned, softly, her eyes returning to Paige. “Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Paige didn’t answer. She just nodded—precise, barely perceptible.

Cam rolled her eyes and mumbled something about Paige being a pain in the ass before she and Azzi walked toward the locker room.

…

The octagon was much bigger than Azzi expected. Not just physically—but in presence. Under the heavy lights, it felt enormous, like a coliseum dressed in modern steel. The energy inside the venue was a little unnerving, thousands of fans humming with anticipation, loud enough that it vibrated in her chest.

People packed every seat, most with eyes locked on the cage watching the current fight. Some wore merch, shouting names with beer-slicked voices. Others were dressed like they belonged on a runway, leaning into each other with glossy lips and barely hidden intentions—here less for the fights, more for whoever looked good throwing punches.

Azzi had never seen a crowd like this.

The Sparks players arrived late, just in time for the final card—Paige’s fight. Their seats gave them a clean view of the octagon, and even then, Azzi felt miles away from the quiet girl in the Essentials sweatsuit.

It didn’t feel like her world. Until it did.

The lights changed. The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena as he introduced the final card.

“Fighting out of the red corner—ten wins, three losses, three draws…”

A pulse of music filled the air. Loud and flashy. Her opponent stepped out, face painted with focus, arms raised as her corner hyped her up. The screen showed her highlight reel, knockout clips, quick hands. She worked the crowd like she was made for the attention.

Azzi watched, her arms folded, lips pressed together. She glanced at Cam. “She any good?”

Cam shrugged. “She’s fine. But she’s not Paige.”

The lights dimmed again, then roared back with Paige’s name.

“Fighting out of the blue corner—twelve wins, no losses…”

The crowd erupted. Louder than before. A different kind of loud—not hype, but reverence as fans screamed her name.

No dramatic song. No chest-thumping entourage. Just Paige.

Her bun was pulled back tight. Her expression as unreadable as ever. She didn’t play to the crowd. She didn’t acknowledge the noise. Her hands were wrapped, feet steady, and her eyes were locked straight ahead—already in the cage long before she stepped into it.

She hadn’t blinked. Not once.

Inside the cage, the difference in opponents was transparent.

Her opponent stood in the red corner, flanked by a full team—three cornermen barking last-minute instructions, one of them pounding their fist into a pad like they could transfer momentum through noise. She bounced on her toes, muscles twitching with anticipation, feeding off the crowd’s energy like it was oxygen.

Paige, by contrast, sat quietly in the blue corner with just two: her trainer crouched beside her, and a cut man leaned casually against the gate, hands folded, already knowing his night would likely be uneventful.

Her trainer murmured something low in her ear—brief. Paige didn’t respond. Just a slow nod.

No fire in her eyes. No bravado. Just a complete stillness that felt more dangerous than all the antics.

She tugged off her shirt, revealing a black UFC sports bra. Her frame was lean. She rolled her shoulders back, tilted her neck side to side until it cracked, took a steady breath then rose to her feet.

No theatrics. No psych-up routine.

Just the quiet poise of someone who already knew how this would end.

Azzi watched from the stands, her heart ticking a little faster in anticipation all of a sudden. She’d never seen someone so calm in the center of so much chaos.

The bell rang.

From the start Paige moved like water—never still, never rushed. Her stance was coiled. Calculated. From the opening seconds, it was clear she wasn’t pressing for control. She gave her opponent space, let her circle. Almost like there had been an agreement—an unspoken one—to make this last.

Azzi leaned closer, her eyebrows drawing in with confusion. “She’s…not even trying.”

“Not yet,” Cam said beside her, arms crossed tightly as she studied the blonde intently. “That’s just Paige. She reads. Waits.”

Inside the octagon, Paige’s eyes never left her opponent. Every jab that came her way was slipped or parried, her head moving just enough, her feet dancing just out of reach. Not a single clean hit landed.

Then, like a breath between beats, Paige struck.

A quick jab to the ribs and then another to the shoulder before sliding out of range like nothing had happened. Her opponent stumbled for a moment, surprised by the speed, the force.

Azzi sat forward a little in shock. “She’s fast.”

“Quicker than most,” Cam replied. “She’s still holding back. Hasn’t gotten the read she wants.”

It was strange, watching someone so calm in a cage built for violence. Paige moved with a quiet rhythm, not aggressive, not passive—just controlled. There was no adrenaline in her face. No fire. No nothing. Every attempt at a choke, every kick, punch, she slipped out of it with an ease.

The bell rang again for the start of the second round.

Paige returned to the center like nothing had changed—fluid, unhurried. The same measured steps. The same calculated distance. To anyone else, it looked like she hadn’t felt a thing in the first round. Like she still wasn’t interested in finishing the fight.

Azzi crossed her arms, shifting in her seat. “She’s still not pushing.”

“She will,” Cam said softly.

The two opponents moved around the cage. Paige throwing a few hits that landed clean, easing just out of distance every time her opponent tried to counter.

Then—snap. A right hook came quick out of nowhere and landed hard across Paige’s jaw.

The sound cracked above the crowd, a clean connection that rocked her head to the side.

The arena gasped and Cam sat up a little bit.

Azzi's breath caught. “Damn.”

Rickea leaned forward, wide-eyed. “Oh shit she’s about to be pissed.”

Paige didn’t go down. Didn’t even stagger. Her feet stayed planted, spine straight. Just the subtlest tightening in her jaw, a flicker of something in her eyes.

She stepped forward—not aggressively, but with intent. Her hands came up a little higher. She slipped a jab, ducked under a left cross, and countered with a shot to the ribs. Her opponent winced, retreating, but Paige followed—not rushing, just closing space.

Another hit—clean, to the ribs again. Then an uppercut with dominant hand that snapped her opponent’s chin up.

The crowd roared.

Azzi leaned in, almost transfixed now. Paige was still silent, still unreadable, but her body was speaking for her.

A left calf kick.

A right jab.

Then, when her opponent flinched Paige threw a final cross throw, hitting the side of her jaw like a switch being flipped.

She dropped.

The referee dove between them waving his hands.

It was over. The final card of the night meant for five rounds done in two.

The crowd exploded around her, but Paige didn’t move much. No celebration. Just a steady rise of her chest turning toward her corner, jaw set, breathing calm.

Azzi sat frozen in her seat, blinking like she’d just come out of a dream. The fight was still playing in her head—the jabs, the fluid movement—the stillness that followed.

Paige spit the slight blood from her mouth into the bucket beside her. She muttered something tight to her trainer—no emotion on her face, no victory or pride, just words exchanged, a formality.

Azzi could see it in her eyes. The flash of fire behind her cool blue orbs. A controlled anger. The flicker of frustration that didn’t quite make it to the surface.

With a final nod to her trainer, Paige stepped out of the cage, eyes forward, posture straight.

Azzi couldn’t look away for some reason.

The hallway leading to the back of the venue was buzzing—staff, security, the hum of celebration from other fighters and teams. But the air shifted the moment they rounded the corner and stepped into the private area Paige was assigned to.

Azzi heard it before she saw it—the sharp thump of fists slamming into leather, steady and forceful.

Paige stood in front of a heavy bag, wrapped hands pounding into it with methodical anger. Sweat clung to her skin, her jaw was clenched tight, and a faint bruise was already blooming across her jaw like a slow, dark sunrise.

Azzi slowed, instinctively when she felt the tenseness in the room. So did Rickea.

Only Cam kept walking like she didn’t feel the weight in the room.

“Hey,” she called out casually, stepping right into the storm.

Paige didn’t turn. Her punches came harder now. The bag jerked with every hit. The anger she never showed on her face bled through her fists instead.

“You know she’s lucky she landed that hit, right? You let her dance for a whole round and a half for the sake of entertainment and the contract.”

Still nothing.

“You pissed ‘cause she got that shot in, or ‘cause you gave her the space to?”

Another strike—harder. Paige’s shoulder tensed, her jaw tighter now.

Cam groaned, completely unfazed. “Okay, silent treatment. Classic.”

Azzi stayed near the wall, her arms crossed, gaze flicking between Cam and Paige.

Rickea leaned in and whispered, “This is how she decompresses. Last time she almost broke the damn bag.”

Azzi didn’t respond. She felt like she shouldn’t talk. Her eyes were fixed on the slow rise and fall of Paige’s chest, the focus in her face, the storm she carried so tightly under the surface.

She was beautiful, but in the way fire was beautiful—dangerous and controlled only by choice.

Azzi watched her hit the bag again, harder, sharper. Her body said what her mouth never would.

Cameron stepped closer, folding her arms as she watched Paige continue hammering the bag, knuckles snapping against leather like a ticking clock.

“You know,” Cam started, voice lighter than the atmosphere deserved, “one of these days you’re gonna hit the bag so hard it punches back.”

Paige still said nothing.

Thud.

Cam sighed. “You could at least pretend to listen. I brought people to watch you fight today.”

Thud.

“You don’t get to brood in a corner every time you get touched—”

CRACK.

The next punch landed louder, the bag swinging violently. Azzi flinched.

But Cam didn’t budge. “Seriously. It was one punch. And you won. With a knockout. Again. So let’s wrap this post-fight existential crisis up and go get a drink like normal people—”

THUD.

“Paige,” Cam said, sharper now.

Still, Paige didn’t stop.

So Cam grabbed her.

She stepped in close, hands catching Paige’s wrist mid-swing.

Paige whipped around. Her expression that was once unreadable, flared. Her jaw was clenched and her blue eyes seared through Cam like a fuse had finally been lit.

Azzi froze.

“Don’t touch me when I’m not ready Cameron,” Paige snapped.

For a moment, everything stood still but Cam held her ground not concerned by the anger.

Then, slowly, Paige pulled her wrist free, shoulders still tight, chest rising and falling with the restraint it took to pull the heat back in.

She looked away before mumbling, “Fine. I’m done.”

Cam raised her eyebrows, unfazed. “Wow. What a glowing yes.”

Paige didn’t answer. She turned and started taking off her gloves.

Cam glanced over her shoulder at Azzi and Rickea. “You see what I deal with?”

Azzi blinked, completely confused. Her gaze lingered on Paige as the blonde gathered herself, recentering.

Despite the snap in Paige’s voice, despite the way her jaw tightened when Cam grabbed her, Azzi hadn’t been afraid.

Because Cam hadn’t moved and Rickea didn’t react either.

It was clear that this wasn’t unfamiliar. Paige’s temper was a known storm. One that rumbled, but didn’t destroy the people she cared about.

Azzi found herself wanting to be the one who could calm it. Which, she admitted to herself, was probably the stupidest thought she could have. Still, the feeling settled in her chest.

Paige muttered something to Cam, the words too soft for Azzi to hear, but the way she shrugged out of her hoodie and grabbed a towel made the intention clear.

“Gonna shower.”

And just like that, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her, the room finally exhaling.

Rickea immediately snorted, breaking the silence. “I swear, Cam…one day you’re really gonna piss that girl off.”

Cam rolled her eyes. “If she hasn’t snapped on me by now, she’s not gonna. I used to really push her buttons when I was in college.” She shrugged. “Besides, someone’s gotta rile her up a little bit here and there.”

She turned toward Azzi, a smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t let the glare scare you. She’s a softie. That’s just her version of agreeing to be social.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, the tension softening in her shoulders. Her gaze flicked toward the closed door again, curiosity twisting like thread around her thoughts.

Social. Sure.

The three of them talked a little longer, light conversation humming to fill the space as they waited for Paige. Azzi listened, but her mind kept circling the same question. She couldn’t quite let it go.

After a pause, she finally asked, “Why was she so upset?”

Cam’s mouth opened, but before the answer could come, the bathroom door creaked open.

Steam curled into the air, and Paige stepped out, hair damp, the fresh bruise harsh along her jaw. Her expression was blank—but her eyes landed on Cam.

“Stop talking about me, Cam,” she said, her voice even and clipped, not bothering to slow her pace as she crossed the room.

“I wouldn’t have to if you pulled the pole outta your ass.”

Rickea snorted again, laughing into the back of her hand.

Azzi blinked, but she couldn’t help the grin that slipped onto her face. Paige paused for the smallest second, like she registered it—then kept walking, grabbing her phone off the bench.

Cam just shook her head. “Anyway,” she said, picking up the thread like Paige hadn’t just tried to end the conversation, “She hates getting touched in a fight. Takes it personally. She doesn’t admit it, but she’s a little vain. Hates when they mess up her face.”

Rickea laughed, sitting in a nearby chair. “That bruise is already turning purple. You’re gonna be cranky about that for days.”

Across the room, Paige sat on the bench, towel draped around her neck. She didn’t even glance over. “You’re the one who said it looked good last time.”

“Yeah,” Rickea shrugged, “but that was a black eye. This one’s different. It’s got character.”

Paige finally looked up, her gaze sliding to Rickea first. “If you’re trying to butter me up, it’s not working.”

Rickea grinned. “I’m just saying. You still look pretty Paigey, don't worry.”

Paige snorted, quiet and barely audible—but it was there. A crack in the stone.

Azzi, still leaning against the wall, tilted her head slightly as she decided to chime in. “So it’s the face you’re protective of. Not the record?”

Those blue eyes shifted, landing on Azzi like they’d just remembered she was in the room. Her expression didn’t change, but there was something focused in the way she looked at her now.

“You ever get punched in the jaw in front of a screaming arena and ten cameras?” Paige asked.

Azzi’s smile curved. “I’ve taken elbows from girls twice my size. So maybe pretty close.”

A beat passed. Then Paige’s gaze drifted away again. “Then you kinda get it.”

Cam grinned like she’d just seen lightning hit dry land. “Wow. Full sentence and everything on the first day. That might be a record.”

Azzi laughed. “Do I get a prize?”

Paige reached for her phone, not looking up. “Don’t push your luck.”

Rickea leaned toward Azzi, whispering behind a not-so-subtle hand, “That’s basically a compliment from her.”

Azzi smiled, her eyes drifting back to Paige—who still wasn’t looking at her, but something in the quiet set of her shoulders said she was listening.

…

The restaurant had polished floors, beautiful wood tables, and a bar that stretched long under a wash of amber light. It wasn’t flashy, but perfectly familiar.

Azzi walked in followed by Cam and Rickea, all three of them caught in easy conversation. Her gaze drifted around, slowing as she caught sight of Paige already at the bar.

“How the hell did she beat us here?”

Cam didn’t bother looking. “Told you she would. She drives like a crazy person sometimes.”

Azzi felt it then—the same quiet pull she’d felt last night at the game.

They approached the bar together, Cam sliding in beside Paige with a light shoulder bump. “Look who actually showed up to be social,” she teased.

Paige didn’t look up. “Debatable.”

Rickea gave Paige a half-hug from behind that she didn’t react to before turning to Cam. “I think I saw someone James knows near the back. Come with me real quick?”

Cam looked over her shoulder, spotted what Rickea was talking about, then glanced back at Azzi. “You good here for a second?”

Azzi nodded, her eyes still on Paige. “Yeah.”

They disappeared into the crowd, leaving Azzi to ease into the empty seat beside her. Paige didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just tilted her head slightly, eyes flicking to her, then forward again.

Azzi took her time, letting the silence stretch as she rested her arms on the bar. Then softly, “You always this friendly?”

Paige’s lips barely moved. “You always this brave after watching someone knock somebody out?”

Azzi laughed—fullly, like it came from somewhere deeper than amusement. “So you do talk.”

“I thought we established that already,” Paige said, eyes still on the mirror behind the bar, watching the room without ever turning toward it.

Azzi’s gaze flicked to the bruise along Paige’s jaw. “Does it hurt?”

There was a pause. Paige glanced at her again, like she wasn’t used to being asked questions.

“You never really get used to being hit by someone who hits people for a living,” she said finally. Her voice was flat—but not dismissive.

Azzi winced sympathetically, then gave a small smile. “So no secret trick to making it hurt less? Ice, adrenaline, pride?”

Paige tilted her head just slightly. “Denial.”

Azzi laughed softly. “That tracks.”

There was a beat of silence as Azzi’s eyes lingered on her face—the bruising, the set of her mouth.

“So…no celebration? No smile? Not even a little shoulder shimmy like Steph?” Azzi teased gently.

Paige blinked at her once. “I don’t shimmy.”

“Everyone shimmies for something.”

“I don’t.”

Azzi grinned, leaning in a bit. “What about a smile? You got one of those, or are they pay-per-view only?”

Paige’s lips quirked—barely. It could’ve been amusement or irritation. “Expensive ticket,” she said dryly. “Most people don’t make it past the preview.”

Azzi laughed again. “You know, I think that was a joke. You might be more charming than you let on blondie.”

Before Azzi could push her luck further Rickea slid in beside Paige again with a smile as she looked at AZi. “If she’s talking to you, that’s like…step two in the Paige friendship program. Step three’s making her laugh, but I don’t think anyone’s ever made it that far.”

Paige took a sip of her drink, ignoring them. “Y’all alk too much.”

Cam grinned, dropping her bag on the bar. “Yeah, but admit it—you’d miss us if we stopped.”

Paige didn’t respond, but her silence felt a little lighter.

As time passed the bar had filled out fast, music pulsing beneath the chatter and clinking glasses. Paige sat quiet at the bar, still nursing the same drink. Azzi was leaned in, teasing something light out of her, when a sudden jolt rocked Rickea’s chair next to Paige.

A man, maybe late twenties, stumbled back with a grin, clearly not sorry. “Shit my bad,” he said with zero sincerity, eyes already scanning Rickea’s body. “Didn’t mean to bump into something so pretty.”

Rickea frowned. “Yeah, you’re good. Not interested, though.”

He leaned in closer anyway, undeterred. “That’s fine. I’m not asking for forever or nothing like that, just the rest of your night.”

Rickea once again made it clear she wasn’t interested but the man insisted.

“Damn I can’t even try the ride out? You like pussy or sum?”

Paige’s chair scraped back and she stood, calm in the way a storm is calm before it breaks open the sky.

“That’s not what she said,” Paige said, voice like gravel under pressure.

The guy turned, sizing her up—and then smirked when he caught the bruise along her jaw. “Jesus, you look like someone already handed you your ass tonight. You sure you wanna get in another round, pretty girl?”

Azzi and Rickea didn’t move, both a little terrified for the man—Paige’s jaw clenched tight enough to crack her teeth, knuckles ghosting over the edge of her seat.

Her voice was almost surgical. “You got three seconds to get the fuck outta my face before one of your friends is carrying you outside.”

She started to step forward when Cam was suddenly between them, hand braced flat against Paige’s ribs like it wasn’t the first time.

“Hey,” Cam said, firm but easy. “You don’t need another lawsuit tonight.”

Paige didn’t look at her. Her eyes stayed locked on the man’s. But she didn’t move forward either.

The guy gave a dry, uneasy laugh. “Whatever. Crazy bitches,” he muttered before melting back into the crowd.

Without saying anything, Paige picked up her glass and tossed back the last of it, ice clinking against her teeth. “I’m going home,” she muttered, already turning away. Her shoulders were stiff, her jaw tight, and the bruise on her face was darker under the bar lights. None of them tried to stop her.

Cam returned a few seconds later, sliding into the chair with a sigh and grabbing a fry from Rickea’s plate. She caught the way Azzi’s eyes lingered toward the door Paige had just walked through.

“Don’t worry.” Cam said, chewing. “That wasn’t bad she’s fine.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow.

Cam shrugged. “She’s always been like that. Bad temper—quiet until she’s not.”

“She ever actually do anything?” Azzi asked.

“Couple of things,” Cam replied dryly. “Mostly in high school. Nothing wild, but enough that my dads best friend—her dad—got her into fighting when she was fifteen. Said if she was gonna throw punches, she might as well learn to do it right.”

Azzi nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place.

Cam grinned. “She’s probably just going home to hit a bag. With the lights off and no music on. She’s real dramatic like that when she’s pissed.”

“Guess that explains why she left without saying bye.”

Cam laughed. “She always does. Paige doesn’t do long goodbyes. Or small talk. Or...people, really.”

Azzi tilted her glass thoughtfully. “But she’s close with you two.”

Cam shrugged. “We’re not people. We’re furniture at this point.”

Rickea laughed. “Background noise she tolerates.”

Azzi huffed out a quiet laugh, eyes lingering on the door Paige had walked through. “She ever crazy a smile?”

“Sure,” Cam said, then squinted. “Like...twice a year. Usually when she knocks someone out faster than she expected or when she’s had a few drinks and a stupid dog video shows up on her phone.”

Rickea added, “Besides us, the only person she even tolerates is probably DiJonai.”

“I wouldn’t even say tolerate—she loves that girl.”

Azzi glanced between them. “DiJonai Carrington? From the Wings?”

“Mmm,” Cam nodded. “No clue how or why, but she always has Paige laughing like it’s nothing. It’s kind of freaky.”

Azzi smiled. “So it’s possible.”

Rickea chuckled. “Barely.”

Cam leaned back, watching her. “Why? You planning something?”

Azzi’s smiles “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Cam laughed into her drink. “Good luck. Just try not to lose a tooth in the process.”

Azzi grinned. “No promises.”

…

A few days later the sun hung high over Beverly Hills, casting golden light on the modern homes lining the hills. Paige’s place sat a little higher—tucked back from the others, quiet and unbothered. It was sleek, clean lines and glass, concrete softened by manicured greenery.

Cam led the way through the side gate without knocking, as if she'd done it a thousand times. Azzi followed with Rickea close behind, the faint echo of music drawing them around to the backyard. There, offset from the house, was a sleek, glass-and-metal shed—if you could even call it that—more luxury gym than anything makeshift.

Cam pushed the door open and air rolled out to greet them—along with the rhythmic snap-snap-snap of a speed bag being worked over.

Paige didn’t look up right away.

Her skin gleamed with sweat, the muscles in her shoulders shifting constantly under the light, ponytail hanging down her back. She didn’t miss a beat when they stepped in. Just kept going.

Only when she hit her final strike, hand catching the swinging bag in its path, did she glance over. Her eyes flicked to them. Then she turned away to unstrap her gloves, breathing even, back rising and falling calmly like she hadn’t just been keeping the rhythm of the speed bag for the past 15 minutes.

“Didn’t know we were making this a group thing,” Paige said, voice indifferent, like it didn’t matter—but she definitely noticed.

Cam tossed her bag down. “You knew I was someone. The more the merrier, right?”

Paige wiped her face with a towel completely unimpressed. “That’s probably the most bullshit saying I’ve ever heard.”

She finally turned toward Rickea and Azzi, giving them a small nod in greeting. It wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, but it was something.

Rickea deciding to start the day of bothering Paige smiled, eyes running over Paige purposefully. “You know, you actually look kinda pretty without the bruise blondie.”

Paige blinked once, slowly, then shook her head as she turned back to the bag. “You spend way too much time with Cam.”

Rickea just laughed, dropping to the mat with Azzi and Cam to start stretching. “That’s not a thank you, by the way.”

“I didn’t hear a compliment back either,” Cam added, reaching overhead.

“Y’all are loud as hell for two people who can’t throw a punch,” Paige mumbled, already back at the bag. The sound of her fists striking the leather echoed in the gym rhythmically—despite her bare knuckles.

Cam crossed her arms. “Gloves, Madison.”

Without missing a beat, Paige shot back, “My bank account tells me it doesn’t matter.”

Cam scoffed. “That bank account’s not gonna matter when you break your hand being hard headed.”

“Then I’ll fight southpaw. Problem solved.”

She didn’t look at anyone as she spoke, didn’t even pause her movement, but Azzi’s eyes lingered on her. It was another glimpse of her personality—dry and quietly cocky. Her expression remained unreadable, but that hint of personality cut through.

Azzi found herself smiling, just a little.

Paige didn’t look in her direction—didn’t have to. Her hands moved faster on the speed bag, before she finally spoke. “I promise you won’t survive if you don’t stretch.”

Azzi arched her eyebrow, dropping into a lunge. “You threatening me?”

One last hit. Then Paige caught the bag mid-air. She turned—just slightly, just enough for their eyes to meet.

“Warning,” she said. “Threats usually come with follow-through.”

Her tone was dry, but something flickered there—amusement? A challenge? Whatever it was, it made Azzi’s smile grow.

“You really are a sweetheart,” Azzi said softly, voice filled with sarcasm.

“Thank you,” Paige said, tone just as dry. “I really do try.”

Azzi tilted her head, continuing the banter. “No, really. The warmest presence in the room. I felt it the second we walked in. Like sunshine.”

Paige exhaled through her nose. “That’s just the heat coming off the lights, but sure.”

Azzi laughed. “Do you wake up this grumpy or do you warm up to it?”

“Depends who’s talking to me before 9 a.m.,” Paige replied, catching the bag again after a few hits. She glanced at Azzi, that unreadable look still etched into her face.

Azzi pressed her some more, voice a little playful. “So I should text you at 8:59? Make sure you start the day right.”

Paige let the bag hang, tilted her head slightly. “You text me at 8:59, I’ll block you by nine.”

Azzi fake pouted saying, “Aww but I’ll miss you.”

That got a reaction—slight, but there. A dry chuckle slipped out of Paige’s mouth before she turned away like it didn’t happen. No smile. No change in expression. But it was something.

Azzi caught it. And she grinned. “Noted,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

Rickea looked between them, her eyes squinted. “Did…did Paige Madison just laugh?”

Cam blinked, then grinned. “Swear I heard it too. Thought it was the ceiling creaking.”

Paige didn’t acknowledge them at first—just shook her head, grabbed her towel, and muttered, “Alright. I’m done.” She tossed it over her shoulder and jogged toward the door without another word, adding dryly as she passed them, “Keep up, or don’t bother.”

Cam laughed. “There’s the ray of sunshine we all love.”

Rickea snorted, grabbing her water bottle.

The three of them followed her out, the soft sound of their running shoes echoing through the gym as the door swung shut behind them.

The trail was quiet except for the rhythm of their sneakers hitting dirt and gravel, the cool morning air crisp against their hot skin as they ran. Paige led the group with a pace that wasn’t brutal—but definitely not gentle. No one spoke much, the silence broken only by the occasional breathless grunt or snap of twigs under their feet. After about a mile, she slowed, glanced back once, and wordlessly turned around, leading them back the way they came.

By the time they returned to the house, sweat clung to their clothes, and Paige didn’t waste a second getting them started on the workout.

The workout moved fast—jump rope intervals, rounds on the assault bike, steady sets on the rower. Paige moved through it effortlessly, only occasionally glancing over to make sure they were keeping up. No weights, no high-impact movements. Just conditioning.

Halfway through, Rickea groaned, flopping down dramatically beside the bike. “You’re evil for this. Like genuinely sick in the head.”

Paige didn’t even look at her. “Cardio builds character.”

“Fuck you,” Rickea shot back.

Without missing a beat, Paige mumbled, “James prolly wouldn’t fuck with that.”

Rickea blinked, caught off guard before bursting into laughter. Cam doubled over, wheezing. Even Azzi let out a surprised laugh, looking at Paige like she was discovering a new layer.

Paige barely reacted—just adjusted her ponytail, grabbed a towel, and moved on to the next station.

After the workout they settled on the turf just outside the gym, the morning sun higher in the sky now, burning off the last of the chill. Everyone was stretched out, legs extended or crossed, bottles of water in hand. The air was quiet in that satisfied, post-workout way—tired bodies, endorphins still buzzing.

Cam sat up a little straighter, eyeing Paige from across the turf. “When’s the next one?”

Paige reached for her water bottle, unscrewing the cap without looking up. “Month and a half.”

Cam blinked, clearly shocked. “That soon?”

Azzi glanced between them, eyebrows slightly raised at Cam’s tone.

“You just fought, like…two weeks ago,” Cam said, frowning now. “Why the hell are you getting back in the cage already?”

Paige took a long gulp of her water, then looked at her. “Someone challenged me.”

Cam threw her hands up. “So? You don’t have to accept every dumbass who thinks they can hang with you.”

Paige shrugged, wiping the sweat from her neck with the towel draped over her shoulder. “You know I’m not turning down a fight Cam.”

Cam shook her head, exasperated. “Jesus. One of these days, someone’s gonna call you out just to test that stubborn ass pride of yours.”

Paige didn’t flinch. “Well I’d hope they’re ready.”

Rickea, still sprawled on her back, let out a low sound. “You’re gonna give me anxiety before the playoffs.”

Azzi’s gaze lingered on Paige. “Who challenged you?”

Paige’s eyes flicked to her for a moment, then back to her water. “Some girl out of Houston. Up and comer. Had six fights—all KO or TKO apparently.”

That made Cam sit up fully, the tension tightening across her shoulders. “All six? And you still said yes?”

Paige didn’t answer, just took another sip.

“Paige,” Cam pressed, voice changing. “You can’t keep signing up for these reckless ass matchups just because someone talks shit.”

“She didn’t talk,” Paige said evenly. “She signed the contract.”

“That’s even worse,” Cam shot back. “You know how this goes. They line up someone with hype and a perfect record hoping to make a name off you. You know all they care about is the damn check.”

Paige’s jaw ticked slightly, but her voice stayed level. “Then she picked the wrong name.”

Cam blew out a breath clearly frustrated. “You act like you’re invincible—”

“I’m not,” Paige cut in, eyes lifting to meet Cam’s for the first time. Her voice didn’t rise. “I know exactly what I am. And I know exactly what I can take. So if you’re trying to talk me out of it, don’t. I’m fighting.”

The group went quiet for a moment, the air thick between them. Even Rickea wasn’t cracking a joke.

Azzi, still seated on the ground with one knee pulled up, studied Paige. Trying to figure out a fraction of what she was thinking.

Finally, Cam leaned back again with a sigh. “You’re gonna give me gray hair.”

“You already got two,” Paige mumbled, tossing her towel over her shoulder again as she got up and turned toward the house.

Rickea snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

As Paige disappeared through the sliding doors back into the house, the three basketball players sat in a loose triangle on the turk, still catching their breath.

Cam ran a hand through her hair and exhaled hard. “That girl’s gonna get herself killed one day because of fuckin pride.”

Rickea leaned back on her palms, still slightly winded. “You still think she takes fights just because of pride?”

Cam nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely. Paige would say it’s about proving something, about staying sharp, whatever—but really? She hates the idea of someone thinking they can take her. It’s like a switch flips.”

Azzi’s brows drew together slightly as she stretched her legs out in front of her. “So she’s been like that since you met her?”

“She’s not always like this,” Cam said, softer now. “She’s just a little more intense around fight time. Gets short. Coiled up like a rubber band about to snap.”

Azzi rubbed her thumb over her ankle, as she thought. “But she’s not reckless like that in the ring.”

“No,” Cam agreed. “She’s calculated as hell. She’s just competitive to a fault. Wants to win everything.”

Rickea snorted. “Honestly, sounds familiar.”

Azzi tilted her head. “To who?”

Rickea smirked. “To you.”

Azzi gave her a look but didn’t argue, just rolled her eyes. After a second her eyes lingered on the house where Paige had disappeared.

The three of them sat there stretching for a few more minutes but as they started packing up, Cam stood and stretched, wincing a little. “Damn, I forgot to grab the protein bars I have in there. They're in the kitchen by the fridge—Az, can you grab 'em? If I go in there it’ll be World War III.”

Azzi glanced at her, then at the house. “Sure.”

She wiped her face with a towel and walked across the backyard, slipping inside the house. The interior was just as modern and minimal as she expected—clean lines, neutral tones, cool air against her skin. The kitchen was easy to spot, but what caught her attention first was Paige, standing at the sink with her back to the room, filling a glass with water.

Azzi paused not wanting to scare her before realizing how ridiculous that sounded. Instead she decided to announce her presence by speaking. “You always put people through hell and act like it doesn’t faze you?”

Paige didn’t look over. “Would’ve gone easier if you stretched more than you looked at me.”

Azzi tilted her head and smiled. “Maybe you’re interesting to look at.”

Paige drank from her glass, then set it down. “I have blonde hair and blue eyes. You can find that all over LA.”

“It’s more interesting when it comes with a side of asshole.”

That earned her a small huff—it was the closest thing to a laugh she’d gotten. Paige still didn’t smile.

Azzi crossed the kitchen, leaning against the counter directly across from her. “Do you purposefully not smile?”

Paige looked at her. “Yes.”

“So what’s that about?”

Paige held her gaze. “Every facial expression’s a tell in fighting. So I try to control em when I can.”

“I’m gonna get you to crack a smile eventually.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, finally giving her a full look. “Why?”

Azzi shrugged, the corners of her mouth tugging up. “Because I think it’d look good on you and I like looking at pretty women.”

Paige stared at her for a moment, unreadable as ever. Then she pushed off the counter and turned toward the hallway. “Tell my sister to lock the door on the way out.”

She didn’t wait for a response.

Azzi just smiled before finally grabbing what she came in there for.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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onlyforwoosan · 2 days ago

Text

Wicked, Wild, and Yours— ℧

Pairing: Choi San (Outlaw Hunter!AU) × Female Outlaw Reader (Enemies to Obsession)

Wordcount: 4.8k

Synopsis: You’re a wanted outlaw. He’s the bounty hunter sent to catch you — but San doesn’t want the reward. He wants you. One chase, one fight, and one night where he makes sure you never run again.

Genre: Smut, Dark Western Romance, Enemies to Lust to Something Else, Outlaw Hunter!AU

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Rough sex, Dominant behavior, Gun violence, Knife use, Blood, Hair pulling, Dirty talk (degrading & possessive), Overstimulation, Handcuffs, Emotionally charged tension, Light gore (during fight scenes), Power play (consensual)

The night was quiet—too quiet for your liking.

The bar was mostly dead, except for the usual drunks and card players who were too broke to leave. Oil lamps flickered across creaky floorboards, casting a soft golden light over the worn mahogany bar. You wiped down the same glass for the fifth time, listening to the low hum of murmured conversation and the occasional thump of boots on wood.

Then you heard him.

The sharp clack of spurs hitting the porch. The heavy sound of a man who walked like he owned the dirt beneath his feet. You turned your head just in time to see him tie up his horse, one hand adjusting the brim of his dark hat, the other resting near the holster on his hip like it belonged there.

And then he walked in.

Choi San.

You froze.

Your breath caught, fingers locking around the glass as he strolled through the doorway. The man was sin carved in leather and bone, his coat swaying behind him like the wings of death itself. He waved to a few folks who recognized him—either too stupid or too scared to avoid his gaze. A hunter. The kind of man people whispered about in other outlaw camps. The kind who didn't take prisoners.

You'd seen posters of him before. "Bounty hunter. Ruthless. Gets the job done." You thought he looked dangerous in the sketches.

But nothing prepared you for the real thing.

Your heart pounded harder than it should’ve. You couldn’t tell if it was panic or... something worse.

He didn’t glance at anyone else. Just walked right up to the bar and sat down directly in front of you. When he finally looked up, straight into your eyes—it was like he was already aiming.

"Evenin'," he said smoothly.

You nodded, trying to play it cool. “Evenin’.” He tipped his head slightly, giving you a once-over that was anything but subtle. “You new in town?”

You kept your tone neutral, your face still. “Been around.”

“Hm.” His eyes flickered with interest. “You don’t sound local.”

You shrugged. “A lotta folks ain’t.”

He smiled then—slow, deliberate, and just shy of cocky. “Fair enough. Whiskey. Neat.”

You turned your back to pour the drink, your hands moving automatically. But your mind was racing. What the fuck is he doing here?

Choi San didn’t just wander into towns like this. He hunted—tracked people down, flushed them out. The kind of man who didn’t ask questions unless he already knew the answers.

And you... were most definitely on someone's list.

You tried to steady your breathing, but it felt like your lungs were trying to crawl up your throat. He couldn’t possibly know who you were, right? You’d changed your hair. Wore different clothes. You were careful, goddammit.

But not careful enough.

You’d been caught once. Only once. That was all it took to get your face on a poster. And San? He didn’t miss.

You brought the drink over and set it down in front of him. “Here.” He took a sip, eyes never leaving yours.

“Y’know,” he said slowly, “I’ve seen a lotta faces. Yours… looks mighty familiar.”

Your throat dried up. “Do it?” you managed. He nodded, eyes sharp now. “Mm. Got one of those looks. Dangerous. Pretty.”

You flushed—goddammit, get a grip—and quickly glanced away, pretending to busy yourself with the bar rag.

“Where’d you say you were from again?” he added, voice light but laced with meaning.

“I didn’t.”

That got a chuckle out of him. “Feisty.”

You forced a polite smile, muttered something about checking stock, and excused yourself to the back.

The saloon’s back room was hazy with smoke and dust. You slipped in, shutting the door behind you, your chest rising and falling fast. “Haechan!” you hissed.

Your partner in crime—both literally and figuratively—was leaned against the back wall, cigarette hanging from his lips and a bottle of bourbon in his hand.

“Jesus,” he muttered, eyeing you. “What crawled up your—”

“San’s here.”

That made him freeze… He took the cigarette out of his mouth slowly. “The bounty hunter?”

You nodded. “He’s at the bar. He looked right at me. I think he knows.”

Haechan cursed under his breath. “You said he was on the other side of the territory. How the hell did he find us this fast?”

“I don’t know! Maybe someone ratted, maybe I slipped up.” You grabbed your head. “God, Haechan—he’s gonna kill me. You’ve heard what he does.”

He studied you for a second, serious now. “Then don’t give him the chance. Get out. Go out the back, take the alley, and run.”

You hesitated. “We said no splitting up.”

“We also said don’t get caught,” he shot back. “You’re the one they have posters of. You got made. I didn’t. I’ll cover for you if I can, but you’ve gotta move.”

You peeked through the crack in the door. San was still at the bar. Still watching. Like he knew. He lifted his glass and took a slow sip—then winked at you.

Your stomach dropped. Haechan stepped closer. “Go. Now.” You turned, breath shaky, every instinct screaming to bolt. But something held you there. Fear? Curiosity? Or the heat that still lingered in your skin from the way his eyes had trailed over you?

No. You had to focus. You straightened your spine, took one last look at Haechan, and pushed back through the door.

Back at the bar, San looked completely at ease, fingers tapping against the rim of his glass. You swallowed hard and approached. “Sorry about that. Had to check something.”

“All good,” he replied smoothly. “We were just getting to the fun part anyway.”

You arched a brow. “Fun part?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar. “The part where you tell me your name. The real one.”

Your blood turned cold.

You stared at him, trying to find something casual to say, some smart remark, but your mouth wouldn’t move.. He smirked and reached into his coat. That was all it took… You bolted.

You didn’t wait to see what he was reaching for—gun, badge, poster—you weren’t about to find out. You shoved through the back door, hit the alley running, heart pounding, boots skidding across the dirt. You vaulted over a crate, ducked under a fence, and disappeared into the night.

Behind you, you heard the door slam open and a voice shout, “Shit—!”

You didn’t look back.

By the time San got to the alley, the only thing left was the echo of your boots and the swirling dust in the wind.

He stood there for a moment, glaring into the dark.

Then he smiled.

“She’s fast,” he muttered, already mounting his horse. “But not fast enough.”

Three days had passed since you vanished into the night, slipping through San’s fingers like smoke.

Three fucking days.

He wasn’t used to people getting away—especially not pretty little things who blushed under his stare and ran before he could even finish his sentence.

Now, the hunter was the one being haunted.

San rode through the outskirts of the dusty town under the silver sheen of moonlight. His horse’s hooves beat a steady rhythm against the dirt trail, a low wind stirring the brush. He had one hand on the reins, the other holding a small, battered communicator—cheap tech smuggled in from an old mining town. Outlaws didn’t trust satellites, but he and Woo had their ways.

“You still on her trail?” Wooyoung’s voice crackled through the speaker.

San sighed. “Yeah. She’s hiding good.”

“No shit. You let her run, remember?” San scowled at his best friend's comment. “She was fast.”

“She was hot,” Woo corrected, laughing.

San didn’t say anything. “Oh my god,” Wooyoung continued, smug as hell. “You do think she’s hot.”

“I said she was fast.”

“You said she was cute first. Then fast.”

There was a pause. San sighed again. “She was cute,” he admitted under his breath, just loud enough for Wooyoung to hear.

“Bro.” Wooyoung practically screamed. “Are you catching feelings for a felon?”

“She’s not just a felon,” San said. “She’s... wanted. Like—seriously wanted.”

“You’re not helping your case.”

San rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. “I’m just saying... she’s interesting. I usually don’t remember faces. I can’t stop remembering hers.”

Woo whistled. “You gonna kill her?”

“...I don’t know yet.”

San hung up before Woo could answer. And then he heard it.

Voices—angry. Shouts. The sharp echo of a gunshot.

He clicked his tongue and pulled the reins, guiding his horse toward the source. A moment later, he spotted movement ahead.

A fight. No—a brawl.

Three figures. You, some guy beside you—firing back-to-back—and a third, dressed in outlaw hunter gear. The third was large, bleeding from the shoulder, but still charging.

You.

San’s stomach flipped. His hand went to the revolver at his side.

You had a knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. Your lip was bleeding, dirt on your skin, your shirt torn at the shoulder. You looked fucking feral—cornered, animal-like, panting as you turned and stabbed the hunter in the side. He grunted and backhanded you hard enough to knock you against the rocks.

San didn’t think.

He jumped off the horse mid-gallop, landing hard and rolling once before rising with his gun already drawn.

Haechan noticed him first.

San caught the flicker of recognition in his eyes before the kid bolted, disappearing behind a cluster of crumbling mining shacks.

You—bloodied, dazed—shoved yourself up from the ground and screamed after him, “You fucking coward!”

And then you turned—and froze.

San stood there, silhouetted in moonlight, revolver drawn and pointed—not at you, but at the hunter who had just recovered and was turning back around.

The man squinted at San. “This ain’t your business, bounty—”

Bang.

San shot him in the thigh. Then again, in the shoulder. The man dropped, screaming.

You stood in stunned silence, barely able to breathe. Your ears were ringing, your head pounding. Blood dripped from your chin. You watched San approach you slowly, holstering his gun like nothing had happened.

You stumbled backward. “What the hell—”

He grabbed you by the wrist before you could bolt.

“Nope. Learned that trick last time.”

With a swift motion, he yanked a pair of worn steel cuffs from his belt and clink—latched one around your wrist. The other he clipped to a leather strap on his horse’s saddle nearby.

“What the fuck, San?!” you spat, struggling.

“You ran once. Not again.” His voice was low, sharp, like a blade gliding against skin.

You tried to pull away, but the chain only rattled. “You just killed him!”

“He was gonna kill you.”

“I had it under control—!” You screamed at the top of your lungs. pissed.

“Your face says otherwise,” San growled, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him.

His thumb brushed your split lip, slow, deliberate.

You winced—but didn’t pull away.

The tension between you thickened instantly, charged and volatile. His grip wasn’t cruel, but it was firm. Commanding. The way he looked at you wasn’t like a hunter and prey—it was something darker. Needier.

“You alright?” he asked, quieter now. He was a little guilty from snarling at you.

You stared at him, stunned. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” His eyes flicked down to your mouth. “Just don’t want damaged goods.”

“Wow. Charming.”

He smirked and released your chin. He turned toward the hunter, who was now crawling away, blood trailing behind him. San didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his second pistol and walked right up behind the man.

“Please—” the hunter gasped.

Bang.

You flinched. The sound echoed through the hills, and then silence.

San returned to you calmly, like he’d just taken out the trash. You sat in stunned silence, chained to his fucking horse, blood on your lip, your stomach twisted.

He kneeled in front of you again, this time slower, his movements careful.

“Next time,” he murmured, “don’t get caught in the dark.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were outnumbered.”

“I had Haechan—”

“Your boyfriend, who ran?” San snorted. “Yeah. Real dependable.”

You look disgusted. Haechan was most definitely not your boyfriend. He would never be. “Ew! He's my best friend!” You snapped back at him. He looked a little surprised but was kind of happy. Maybe he had a chance..

“My bad, Y/N…”

You glared at him, cheeks flushed with rage. How dare he even use your name? “You think you’re so much better than everyone else because you’ve got guns and a goddamn horse?”

He leaned in close. “No. I think I’m better because I don’t leave people behind.”

You stopped talking. The words hit something raw in you. Something unspoken. Maybe something you’d tried not to feel for years.

San rose, tugging gently on the chain that led to your wrist. “Let’s go.”

You scowled. “What, now?”

“Unless you’d rather sleep next to a corpse.”

You rolled your eyes but stood, dragging your feet. He helped you onto his horse roughly, but not painfully. One hand on your hip, another guiding your thigh up. You yelped when the saddle caught your bruised leg, and he smirked.

“Sensitive, huh?”

“Go to hell.”

“You first, sweetheart.”

He climbed up behind you, his chest pressed to your back, one hand firmly holding the reins, the other lightly resting on your waist.

“You don’t need to hold me like that,” you muttered.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Just don’t want you falling.”

And with that, he clicked the horse into motion.

The ride was brutal at first—every gallop jostled your aching body. You bit your lip to avoid making a sound, even as you bounced against him, your back slamming into his chest.

When he sped up suddenly, you let out a sharp gasp.

“Easy,” he chuckled. “Didn’t take you for the jumpy type.”

“I’m bleeding, you dick.”

“You’re alive,” he replied smoothly.

The wind picked up, cold and sharp, stinging the open cut on your lip. You winced, and he must’ve felt it.

“You sure you okay?” he asked.

“Why are you being nice?”

“I’m not.”

“Right. Just a bounty to you, huh?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, softer than before: “Not just.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glimpse him over your shoulder. His face was unreadable in the moonlight, but there was something in his eyes—something unsettling. Like, even he wasn’t sure what he meant.

You faced forward again, heartbeat thumping loudly in your ears The rest of the ride was silent. But you could feel him—every breath, every muscle shift, every time his gloved fingers brushed your waist or gripped the reins just a little tighter when you leaned back too far.

And worst of all?

You didn’t hate it.

The ride to San’s hideout was long, but the tension made it feel shorter.

You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t talk. And San didn’t offer explanations.

The horse slowed just before dawn, stopping at a secluded ranch tucked behind a dead patch of forest. Weather-worn fencing framed the property, and the barn looked half-collapsed. But the house—it was quiet, sturdy, and unsettlingly normal. Too normal for a man who just shot someone in the skull two hours ago.

San dismounted first, then helped you down—not with kindness, but with control.

His fingers didn’t linger, but his eyes did.

He pulled the chain on your cuff taut and led you up the porch. The door creaked as it opened, revealing a dim interior filled with dust, warm light, and weapons. Guns lined the walls in neat rows. A single table sat under a bare bulb, with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

No Wooyoung.

You noticed.

San locked the door behind you. “He’s gone,” he muttered. “Bar hopping. Or fucking someone. Or both.”

You didn’t say anything, but you did blush a little.. Fuck– you blushed a lot.

You just kept scanning the space, taking note of the exits. Of the heavy boots by the door. Of the butcher knife, half-cleaned in the sink.

San watched your eyes track everything. “Smart girl,” he said. “But don’t bother. You run, I’ll just find you again.”

You glared. “You cuffed me to a horse.”

He smirked. “You looked cute like that.”

You scowled, but before you could respond, he grabbed your arm and dragged you further inside, pushing you down into a wooden chair near the table. He crouched in front of you, eyes locked on yours, fingers gripping your chin again.

“Let’s try this again.”

You didn’t resist—but you didn’t look at him, either.

“I wanna know who you were working with. Names. Routes. Safehouses.”

You scoffed. “Like I’d give you shit.”

He tilted his head. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

He grinned slowly. “You’re not leaving here unless I say so.”

You bristled. But something in your stomach flipped again—something sharp and dangerous and unwanted. He’s insane, you thought. But then he said—

“You thirsty?”

You blinked.

“What?”

San stood and reached for a nearby jug of water. He poured some into a clean glass and set it down in front of you.

You stared at it, confused.

“What the fuck? You were just being an ass.”

He chuckled. “I was always being an ass. Doesn’t mean I won’t give you water.”

You didn’t trust it, but you were parched. You grabbed it and drank. The metal of your cuffs clicked as you shifted. San sat down across from you, one ankle propped over his knee. He watched you sip, then spoke casually.

“You know, I’ve been thinking. I should kill you. Would make my job easier.”

You tensed.

“But…” He leaned forward, eyes dragging over your body. “There’s another option.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What. A deal?”

He smiled darkly. “No. A punishment.”

Your heart jumped. “The fuck is that supposed to mean—”

His voice dropped low, sultry and razor-sharp. “Punishment like fucking that sweet pussy of yours until you forget your name.”

Heat exploded in your face. “You’re insane.”

“You’re wet.”

“Fuck you—”

“Exactly.”

He stood and crossed the room. You didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Your body was frozen—but not from fear. From want.

He returned with a small key and crouched beside you again. “I’ll unlock the cuffs. But if you run, I’ll catch you. And next time, I won’t be gentle.”

He unlocked the chain.

You didn’t run.

You didn’t want to.

He stood again and offered his hand. “Your choice,” he said, voice low and rough. “Out that door… or to my bed.”

You stared at him, then glanced at the door. You didn’t move. “Thought so.”

He took your wrist, pulled you up, and led you down a hallway. His room was worse than you expected. Dark wood walls. An unmade bed. Guns everywhere. Antlers mounted above the headboard. Shelves lined with bullets, whiskey bottles, and half-ripped wanted posters.

You paused—because three of those posters were yours. One was pinned near the bed. And it was stained.You didn’t ask what the white smear was.

San noticed you looking.

He smirked, leaned in behind you, and whispered, “Got real familiar with you before I met you.”

You swallowed hard.

His hand slid around your waist. The other gripped your shoulder.

He bent you over the edge of the bed, body flush to yours, breath hot on your ear.

“No more talking.”

Then the rip.

He grabbed the back of your shirt and tore it straight down the spine, fabric splitting like paper. Your bra snapped loose seconds later. You gasped, but his palm was already on your back, keeping you bent.

He dropped to his knees behind you, fingers roughly yanking your pants down to your thighs. He didn’t prep. Didn’t pause. You felt him move behind you, heard the telltale crack of a condom being torn open.

Then—

One hard thrust.

You screamed—half in shock, half in need.

“Shhh.. i’ve got you..” he growled, voice hot at your shoulder. “You can take it.”

“F- fuck!” You moaned as he slammed into you again, then again, his hips snapping rough against yours, one hand buried in your hair, the other gripping your hip like he owned you. You couldnt lie, you loved it. Him treating you like this.

“Fuckin’ tight little outlaw cunt,” he grunted. “You needed this, didn’t you?”

You moaned through gritted teeth, body on fire, legs trembling. “S–sannie..”

“You like being bent over like a prize?” he snarled. “Like a bounty?”

You didn’t answer—so he spanked you. Hard. You cried out, biting the sheets.

“Answer me, baby..”

“Yes,” you hissed. “Yes—fuck—yes.”

He fucked you harder.

No mercy. No pause.

He filled you like he was trying to ruin you from the inside out, rough and fast and filthy. He whispered the nastiest shit in your ear—how good your pussy felt, how pretty you sounded begging, how much he was going to fuck you until you couldn’t walk.

Your voice cracked as you tried to breathe his name, hips trembling under the weight of his body.

“S–Sannie…”

It came out broken, high and desperate. You weren’t even sure if you were begging him to stop or begging for more. The sound of it made him still for just a second — just long enough for him to lower his chest against your back, wrapping one strong arm around your waist to hold you close.

His breath was warm at your ear, the edge in his voice softening.

“There she is…” he murmured, lips grazing your temple. “My sweet girl.”

You whimpered again, tears clinging to your lashes. “I–I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” he said, quieter now, but no less intense. “You’re takin’ me so well. So perfect… you were made for this. Made for me.”

His thrusts slowed — deep and steady now — more like he was savoring you, not just claiming you. His fingers tangled with yours over the sheets, his other hand rubbing soothing circles over your ribs as you tried to catch your breath.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “All messed up for me. Cryin’ for me.”

You nodded shakily, voice trembling, “S–Sannie… it’s too much.. G–gonna cum.”

He kissed your shoulder, moving gently now — hips rolling slow and thick inside you, coaxing every gasp and moan from your throat.

“I know, baby,” he said. “But I’ve got you. You don’t gotta run anymore. You’re safe now… right here with me.”

And with the way his arms wrapped around you, the way his voice dipped into something raw and real, you almost believed him.

Your legs almost gave out—but he held you up, cock driving into you over and over until you were trembling, moaning his name in broken gasps.

When your body clenched and you came hard around him, he cursed, pulled out, and flipped you over.

“On my lap.”

You barely had time to breathe before he pulled you into his lap, straddling him as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

He was already hard again. Already rolling another condom on.

You whimpered.

He grabbed your hips and slammed you down onto him.

You gasped—eyes wide, back arching.

He leaned forward, grabbed his cowboy hat, and placed it on your head.

“There,” he smirked. “Now you look real pretty.”

You couldn’t speak.

You just rode him—driven by some fever you couldn’t explain, some need that had been burning for days. He held your waist and fucked up into you, your bodies slamming together, the hat slipping down your forehead.

He groaned every time you clenched, every time you whispered his name, every time you lost rhythm and whimpered into his neck.

“Naughty fuckin’ little outlaw,” he breathed. “Could’ve been mine this whole time.”

“You’re insane,” you whispered.

“And you’re soaked.”

You shuddered.

He let you ride him until your thighs burned and your legs collapsed. Your forehead stayed pressed to his as your hips moved faster, his hands gripping you tighter like he was trying to anchor both of you. San's breath was ragged, warm puffs against your mouth as he looked at you — not just your body, but you.

“I’m close,” you whispered, voice barely holding together, “Sannie, I—”

His hands slid up your back, one curling into your hair, tugging gently to tilt your face to his. “I know, baby. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

Your fingers dug into his chest as you ground down on him harder, chasing that high that sat right on the edge of every nerve in your body. His mouth brushed yours — not quite a kiss, just breath and warmth and the tremble of restraint in him.

“That’s it,” he whispered again, voice thick. “Ride it out for me. Take everything I give you.”

You cried out his name — sharp and breathless — as your body finally broke, pleasure rolling through you like a wave that knocked the air from your lungs. You clung to him, gasping, the world spinning around you as your muscles tensed and fluttered with each pulse of release.

San groaned deep in his throat, his hands tightening on your hips as he bucked up into you once, twice, chasing his own edge. “You’re perfect,” he choked out. “So fucking perfect.”

Then he pulled you fully against his chest, burying his face in your neck as he followed you over the edge — body shuddering, breath caught between a curse and your name.

Then he laid you down.

The bed creaked as he hovered over you, finally slow, finally controlled.

He kissed your neck once—just once.

Then he slid into you again, slow and deep.

You gasped, already sensitive.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Let me feel you.”

This time, he didn’t pound you.

He rolled his hips with care, like he was learning your body. His hand found yours and pinned it over your head, his other hand gripping your jaw as he looked into your eyes.

“You were always gonna be mine,” he murmured.

Your lips parted.

You believed him.

And when you came again—shaking and breathless—he followed you, burying his face in your neck as his body tensed and trembled against yours.

“I’ve got you, sweetie..” He murmured in your ear.. You held onto his biceps.. Your eyes starting to close…

The bed was cold.

San’s hand dragged across the sheets as his eyes blinked open, muscles sore and head fuzzy from a sleep that felt far too short. The room was quiet—too quiet. No footsteps. No smartass remarks. No soft, sleepy breaths beside him.

He sat up quickly, heart already racing.

You were gone.

The cuffs were off. The door hadn’t slammed. You’d slipped out quietly, like smoke through a crack in the wall.

He cursed under his breath and scanned the room. That’s when he saw it:

A folded note, sitting crooked on the nightstand, weighted down by one of your spent bullets—small, but unmistakably yours.

He stared at it for a moment, jaw tight.

Then picked it up.

The paper smelled faintly like you—leather, dirt, and something sweeter underneath. He unfolded it carefully, like if he opened it too fast you might vanish for good.

Your handwriting spilled across the page, messy but confident.

“Morning, cowboy. Didn’t mean to disappear without a kiss. You were snoring too loud.”

“Don’t get your ego all twisted. Last night wasn’t a surrender—it was a draw. A damn good one, though.”

“I liked the way you touched me like you owned me. Even if I don’t belong to anyone… not really.”

“You’re dangerous. All coiled muscle and rough hands and a mouth that makes it impossible to think straight. Guess that’s why I didn’t shoot you when I had the chance.”

“But I’m not good at staying. Never was. Never tried to be. There’s always a bounty, always someone chasing me, always another dusty town to disappear into.”

“Still… you felt different. Even if I won’t say it out loud.”

“And maybe I’m stupid for leaving. Maybe I’m scared. Maybe both.”

“But if you find me again—really find me—”

“I’ll stay.”

“Because for all my running, I think I’ve been yours since the second you walked into that bar.”

—Yours. Always.”

“p.s .. I love you.”

San didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

The note trembled slightly in his hand as he sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, marked up with scratches and bites you’d left behind. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, eyes locked on the paper like it might say more if he just stared long enough.

She’s gone, he thought.

But she’s not lost.

He folded the note gently and tucked it inside his coat—right next to his heart. Then he grabbed his belt, holstered his revolver, and headed for the door.

There was only one thought in his mind now.

He wasn’t mad. Not even close.

Because now?

He had a reason to hunt you again...

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nereidprinc3ss · 8 hours ago

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No actually I am going to talk about that frame bc I’m ill as fuck (sinners spoilers)

. It was so melancholy i felt genuinely overcome. I felt it in my bones from the base of my skull to the bottom of my spine. Heartbreaking is not even close to the word it is like a soul level illness I am not sure what about that particular sequence did me in but I was gripping the seat in the theatre feeling sick. Something abt the silence overtop it hurt SO BAD it was like when you look back on a memory that hurts so much you can’t actually really process it. Like you’re scared to touch it because it was so good and okay at the time and now something has changed and it’s just like. Too much. It even fucking LOOKS like a memory. Like. Just shapes and maybe some color and VISCERAL FUCKONG INEXPLICABLE ENTIRELY INEFFABLE EMOTION I have to die How did Michael B Jordan playing twins have so much chemistry with himself. one shot of his back(s) facing the sunset and it’s so obvious how entrenched and ingrained smoke and stack are within one another like yeah they are literally the same person but also they are different but also they are HALVES OF A WHOLE??? I don’t actually think one of them could’ve survived without the other. I think if one of them had to die they both had to die regardless of how it may have played out. They were never destined to be apart. Like they are symbiotic. which is what makes Stack “living” on past his brother all the more devastating and wrong. And it’s made so much more poignant by the fact that they are played by the same actor?? Both souls in one body?? watching the VIOLENT decay of their relationship as soon as Mary bites Stack is so visceral too. It’s like watching something die slowly and not putting it out of its misery It’s actually Gore that’s the most horrifying part of the movie because you watch it happen and there is nothing you can do about it. And you know it can’t end well when they’re trapped in that barn and they’re both still “alive” but something is so so wrong about it. Like imagine the horror of someone close to you being dead but they won’t really die. Imagine being stuck there and knowing they’re gone but you can’t grieve them. WHEN THEY JUST WANTED PEACE. LOOK AT THEM. THEY. HAD. PEACE. I’m sick and this frame was devastating. That evil bitch is a disgrace to the proud nation of Ireland I’m sick

That was the last sunrise I ever saw. Perhaps the kindest thing the dark gift has given me. // It was the last time I saw my brother. It was the last time I saw the sun. It was the only time I ever felt free.

Interview with the Vampire (2022 - ) // Sinners (2025)

#sinners spoilers #ramblings #sorry guys cm blog I know but I had to speak on it #my entire dash is sinners and I’ve been exercising a lot of self control

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wosospacegirl · 2 days ago

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Head over heels - Ingrid Engen

Summary: 4 times Ingrid and Y/n almost confessed their feelings, and 1 time when they actually did.

Word count: 3.6k

This is part of my 1k commemoration blurb! <3

Masterlist

1. The beginning.

Y/n didn’t imagine she’d end up as Ingrid Engen’s neighbour when she first signed up to teach the U12 girls at La Masia.

In fact, she hadn’t expected much of anything—just another job, a few classes, maybe some peace and quiet.

She definitely hadn’t expected to form a friendship with Ingrid.

Y/n knew nothing about football. She didn’t keep up with it, didn’t even know who Ingrid Engen was.

That changed the day she casually mentioned Ingrid’s name in class, and the girls let out the highest-pitched scream she had ever heard.

That’s when she learned Ingrid Engen was royalty.

Both in Barcelona and Norway.

Although, honestly, it didn’t look like it. Not when Ingrid had shown up at her doorstep with a bag of fresh cookies, introducing herself and welcoming Y/n to the building with a shy smile.

Not when her washing machine broke and she had to use Y/n’s for a week, leaving behind her weird Norwegian detergent that smelled like pine trees.

Ingrid was nice. Kind of awkward, really pretty, and... normal.

Y/n liked that.

It was one of those nights that felt like it would never end.

The streets outside were quiet, and the soft hum of the city was the only sound drifting in through the open window of Ingrid’s apartment.

Y/n sat on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, and Ingrid was sprawled across the floor, head resting on a pillow.

They had spent hours talking about Y/n’s class, Ingrid’s training—like they always did. But tonight, something felt different.

There was something quieter between them, heavier.

Not uncomfortable, just… lingering.

Ingrid could feel it in the way her pulse sped up every time Y/n laughed a little too loudly, her entire face glowing like it didn’t even know how to hold back.

“So, how are you feeling? You’ve got a game tomorrow, right? A big one?” Y/n asked, glancing over at her with the kind of attention that made Ingrid’s stomach twist.

Ingrid shrugged, trying to stay casual.

“Hmm, yeah. It’s the last game of the league.” She paused, and her voice dropped a little. “It's kind of a big deal.”

Y/n nodded slowly, her eyes still on Ingrid.

They had been friends for a few months now, but every time their gazes held like this, it felt like something was shifting.

Like something was almost—almost on the verge of being said.

Ingrid wondered, just for a second, if Y/n felt it too, if maybe she was about to say something important.

Something real.

But the moment passed.

“You’ll have a good game, I know it,” Y/n said eventually, her voice light. “The kids keep telling me to remind you to close the end on your right, though.”

Ingrid huffed a quiet laugh, her smile soft. “Tell the girls I'll put it into the plan.”

2. The Café

It was one of their usual spots—a quiet café tucked between a bakery and a bookstore, with uneven chairs and coffee that always came a little too hot or a little too cold.

Y/n sat across from Ingrid, halfway through her drink and animatedly retelling her day, hands moving with each sentence.

“So, how are the kids?” Ingrid asked, her chin propped on her hand, watching Y/n with a soft smile.

Y/n leaned back in her chair, sipping from her mug.

“Unhinged, mostly,” she said, grinning. “But there’s this one girl...Selena she’s ten. She’s already convinced she’s going to be Spain’s next starting goalkeeper.”

Ingrid raised a brow, amused. “I’ll tell Cata she’s got competition.”

“No, listen,” Y/n said, leaning forward like she was about to reveal a secret. “She caught a paper ball someone threw at her from across the room. Without looking. Mid-lesson. Didn’t even flinch.”

Ingrid laughed, eyes lighting up. “Alright, I’m sold. Sign her up.”

Y/n smiled at that, her gaze lingering a second too long. “She reminds me of you a little.”

Ingrid tilted her head, eyebrow raised. “Because I catch rogue paper balls? I’m sorry, I know you’re not that good at football, but I’m a defender.”

Y/n snorted, ignoring Ingrid’s last statement. “Because she’s confident. And calm. And kind of annoyingly good at everything.”

There was a pause.

Not awkward, exactly—just quiet.

Ingrid looked at her for a second longer than necessary, and Y/n suddenly realised how close they were sitting.

The café buzzed faintly around them, but the warmth between them made everything else feel muted.

“Also,” Y/n added, teasing, “she told me she thinks your hair is cool. So, you know. Icon status or whatever....”

Ingrid’s smile curled up at the corners, soft and amused. “Well, I try.”

The silence lingered again.

Ingrid opened her mouth like she might say something else, but Y/n reached for her cup too fast, nearly knocking it over.

“Okay, I definitely don’t need more caffeine,” she said with a laugh, cheeks warm.

Ingrid let the moment pass, though something flickered in her eyes. “Shame. You’re cute when you’re over-caffeinated.”

Y/n pretended not to hear it, not knowing how to deal with it,

“So, uh, what about you?” Y/n asked, trying to change the subject, her voice just a little too sharp. “How’s the prep for the next match going?”

Ingrid noticed the shift, but instead of pushing, she smiled softly, settling back in her chair. “Busy, but good. Same old routine.”

Ingrid paused, eyes glinting mischievously.

“I’m just hoping no one decides to challenge me for my position as ‘most intimidating defender.’”

Y/n’s chuckle was softer this time. “Guess you’re pretty safe there, huh?”

Ingrid leaned a bit closer, her smile widening. “For now. But you never know... I might need a backup.”

Y/n swallowed, a little embarrassed by how quickly her heartbeat picked up at the thought of that proximity. “I don’t think I’m cut out for being a defender. I can barely keep my coffee from spilling, remember?”

Ingrid’s laughter softened the tension, but Y/n could feel it lingering between them...something new.

3. The Goodbye

The afternoon light filtered softly through the windows, casting a warm glow across Ingrid’s living room.

Y/n stood by the open suitcase, folding Ingrid’s clothes as neatly as she could, trying not to look too closely at the other woman.

Ingrid was busy rifling through a drawer, clearly searching for her shins, her expression focused and a little frantic as she threw things from one corner of her room to the other.

Y/n’s eyes lingered on the clothes she was folding, Ingrid’s shirts, her sweatpants, all items that had become so familiar to her over the past few months.

She let out a quiet sigh.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been around when Ingrid went off to camp before, but this time... it was different.

Ingrid was leaving for Norway’s national camp, and Y/n was unsure of how to navigate it.

She had never had to deal with this before—this feeling of missing someone who wasn’t... quite hers.

“So..." Y/n started, trying to make small talk, anything to distract herself from the tightening feeling in her chest.

“How does camp work, exactly? I know you’ve told me a bit, but like, what’s the routine? Is it much different from here?”

Ingrid’s voice drifted over to Y/n as she continued to dig through her drawers.

“It’s pretty much the same as Barcelona. Training, recovery, more training, meetings... But with Norway, everyone’s Norwegian,” she said with a little chuckle, glancing over her shoulder to catch Y/n’s eye. “Oh, and we don’t actually leave the training facility. It’s more intense, too.”

Y/n nodded slowly, but she couldn’t hide the frown that tugged at her lips. It wasn’t jealousy…no! She wasn’t jealous. Ingrid was just... going away.

To play football. To represent her country. This was good. This was important.

Still, a tight feeling formed in her chest as she folded one of Ingrid’s sweaters.

Ingrid caught the frown, her gaze softening as she walked over, finding her shins and tossing them on the bed.

“Hey,” she said gently. “It’s just a week. You’ll be fine, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Y/n muttered, clearly lying.

She didn’t want to admit that the thought of Ingrid being gone for an entire week made her stomach churn, even though she couldn’t exactly explain why.

They were just friends, right? Neighbors.

She didn’t need Ingrid around—she was perfectly capable of being alone for a while.

But the idea of not seeing her... of not having those quiet nights, those easy conversations that stretched into hours, made her feel like something important was going to be missing.

Ingrid stopped and looked at Y/n for a long moment, noticing the way she stood there with her arms folded tightly, her eyes cast downward.

“Y/n,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth. “You’re gonna be fine. It’s just a week. You’ll barely even notice I’m gone.”

Y/n hesitated, but finally, she spoke.

“They’ll miss you,” Y/n blurted out, not thinking. “The girls, I mean. They always ask about you. I always tell them about the things we talk about. “

Y/n paused, but contineudm feeling a little embarrassed, her face growing warm. “They won’t have any Ingrid content for a week.”

Ingrid blinked, and then her lips curved into a smile.

“You tell them I’ll miss them too,” she said, her voice soft but teasing. “I’m sure they’re all heartbroken without me.”

Y/n chuckled, but it felt a little hollow in her chest. She nodded, feeling her heart race for no reason at all.

The silence settled between them, but Y/n didn’t mind. She was used to this comfortable quiet with Ingrid.

Still, it didn’t stop the ache that continued to build inside her as Ingrid moved around the room, packing the final bits into her suitcase.

As Ingrid was finishing up, she grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair, ready to go.

“I’ll call you when I get there, okay?” Ingrid said, glancing over her shoulder. “And I’ll bring you more chocolate, obviously.” She smiled, and Y/n tried to ignore how much that smile made her chest tighten.

“Yeah, okay,” Y/n replied, smiling weakly. “Take care of yourself. Don’t get too caught up in...football stuff, alright?”

Ingrid rolled her eyes playfully. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. I won’t get hit by too many balls.”

Y/n’s lips quirked up. “You better not.”

Ingrid winked at her as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

“Thanks for helping me pack. And for the good luck charm, obviously.” She gave her a teasing grin. “Maybe next time we can actually work out a football tactic for you.”

Y/n laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll stick to the cheering–and–teaching section for now.”

“Fair enough,” Ingrid said with a shrug, then hesitated for a moment before walking over and pulling Y/n into a quick hug. “I’ll miss you,” she whispered into Y/n’s ear.

Y/n froze, her heart skipping a beat.

She wanted to say something, but the words stuck in her throat.

Instead, she just squeezed Ingrid back, holding onto her for a little longer than maybe she should have.

“I’ll miss you too,” Y/n said, her voice quiet but sincere.

And with that, Ingrid was gone, her presence lingering in the air long after she left, and Y/n stood in the empty apartment, feeling a little less like herself than before.

When Ingrid came back from her trip, Y/n found herself unexpectedly waiting for her. The week had felt much longer than it was.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but when Ingrid finally showed up at her door, a huge smile on her face and a bag in her hand, Y/n felt something settle in her chest.

“I brought you something,” Ingrid said, holding out the bag with a small grin. “Norwegian chocolate, as promised.”

Y/n smiled, her heart lifting at the gesture. “Kremtopper,” she said, recognising the name on the packaging from the searches she did on the internet. “Thank you!”

“Welcome” Ingrid said softly, a knowing look in her eyes as she handed her the chocolate. “And I brought something for the girls, too. More chocolate...you’ll have to share.”

Y/n smiled more brightly, taking the bag from Ingrid’s hand. “I’ll share with them, don’t worry. But... only because you brought me something sweet.” She looked up at Ingrid, eyes soft. “How was the camp?”

“It was good,” Ingrid replied, but her voice held a small, almost wistful quality. “But I’m glad to be home. I missed our talks.”

Y/n’s heart swelled at that. “Yeah,” she said quietly, “me too.”

And there it was again, the familiar, comfortable silence. But this time, it felt different. It felt like something more.

4. The Stupid Misunderstanding

Y/n woke up to the soft hum of her phone alarm, groggily rubbing her eyes before pushing the blankets away.

Her first thought was of Ingrid—of course.

They had a little routine, one that was comfortable and familiar.

Whoever woke up first in the morning went to the other’s apartment to make breakfast.

Y/n stretched and threw on her robe, slipping her feet into her slippers. She walked down the short hallway and knocked on Ingrid’s door, as she always did.

No answer.

She waited, but the usual sound of Ingrid humming in the kitchen didn’t come.

Y/n shrugged it off, knocking once more.

But then, the door opened, and Y/n’s eyes widened in surprise.

A girl, a random girl Y/n didn’t recognise, walked briskly out of Ingrid’s apartment, right by her side.

The girl was wearing a Barça jacket, she stepped into the elevator, and Y/n felt something in her chest that she didn’t quite understand.

She frowned. Had she missed something? The girls from the team were always in and out of Ingrid’s place, but the girl was most definitely not from the team.

Y/n stood frozen, unsure of what to do next.

Ingrid appeared at the door then, beaming as she waved the girl off. “Bye, Michelle. It was great!”

Y/n’s gaze snapped up to Ingrid.

She was so casual about it, like there was nothing unusual in the situation.

Ingrid didn’t even seem to notice the way Y/n’s jaw had clenched, the surprise and maybe a little hurt bubbling in her chest.

Ingrid’s smile faltered for just a moment when she noticed Y/n standing there, but it quickly returned.

“Oh! Y/n, you’re early,” Ingrid said, her tone light, not catching the tension that was growing between them.

Y/n couldn’t hide the anger building in her.

She had to say something, but she didn’t know what.

“Michelle?” Y/n asked, her voice tight. “You didn’t tell me you had company this morning.”

Ingrid opened the door wider, clearly oblivious to Y/n’s frustration. “Yeah, she slept here because–”

Y/n swallowed, trying to keep her tone steady. “Oh, right. She slept here.”

Ingrid nodded, completely unbothered.

“Yup... slept here. We had some coffee, I made breakfast.” She gestured toward the kitchen, oblivious to the growing distance between them. “Come on in, I made extra for you and me. Still some left if you want.”

Y/n’s hands tightened into fists, frustration bubbling over.

Without thinking, she turned on her heel and walked back down the hall, slamming her door shut with more force than she intended.

Ingrid hurried after her, her voice softening with concern. “Y/n?”

But Y/n didn’t stop.

She heard Ingrid knocking softly on her door, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she threw herself onto her bed, burying her face in the pillow and letting the tears come—tears of anger, confusion, and the hurt she didn’t know how to voice.

Minutes passed before Y/n finally pulled herself together.

She couldn’t let her emotions control her, especially not when she had to teach twenty girls math that morning.

She quickly got dressed, throwing on a sweater and jeans, and left for La Masia, trying to push everything out of her mind.

She was halfway through her class when her phone buzzed. It was Ingrid. But Y/n ignored it.

By the time the school day ended, she was exhausted and emotionally drained. She was just walking down the hallway to her apartment when she saw it—a bouquet of flowers sitting on her doorstep.

Y/n knelt down to read the small note attached:

“Michelle’s Patri’s sibling. She asked me to give her a place to stay while her apartment is being renovated. PS: I’m pretty sure she’s straight.”

Y/n blinked, her chest tightening in embarrassment as the realisation hit her: she had completely overreacted.

She had let her insecurities get the best of her, jumping to conclusions about Ingrid’s friendship with Michelle.

Before she could process it any further, Ingrid’s voice came from behind her.

“Y/n?” Ingrid’s soft voice held a note of uncertainty. “I made carrot cake... if you want some.”

Y/n’s face flushed with guilt. She turned around slowly, meeting Ingrid’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I--I was being dumb. I jumped to conclusions.”

Ingrid gave her a soft smile, shaking her head. “It’s okay. Honestly, I would’ve reacted the same way if it were you.”

She reached forward, holding out the plate with the freshly baked cake. “Friends?”

Y/n smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Yeah. Friends.”

They stood in the hallway for a moment, neither of them saying anything.

Y/n’s heart was still racing, but it was a different feeling now—a mix of relief and the quiet warmth of understanding between them.

Ingrid stepped into the apartment, and Y/n followed her inside.

The door clicked shut behind them as they sat down at the small kitchen table, cutting the carrot cake and laughing at the simplicity of the moment.

No more misunderstandings. Just the two of them, the cake, and the quiet realisation that everything was okay.

5. The Confession

Barcelona had just clinched the league title, and the team threw a private celebration at one of the club’s event spaces—no press, no fans, just players, staff, and a few invited friends.

Y/n arrived in a simple silk dress, heart pounding from more than just the excitement of victory of the team.

She spotted Ingrid near the dance floor, laughing as she clinked glasses with Aitana and Alexia.

When Ingrid’s eyes met hers, she waved Y/n over with that dazzling, lopsided grin that sent butterflies crashing through Y/n’s chest.

Across the room, Alexia whooped, and Aitana held up a plate of patatas bravas.

A few of the players winked at Y/n’s direction as they passed.

But Y/n’s eyes never left Ingrid’s, who beckoned her over with a grin that made Y/n feel all warm inside.

The DJ slid into the next song—a R&B track with a slow, pulsing beat. Ingrid extended her hand wordlessly.

Y/n slipped her fingers into Ingrid’s, and they drifted to the small dance floor.

Beneath the gentle glow of overhead bulbs, tables of empty plates and glasses fell... It felt like it was just the two of them, two bodies swaying in perfect sync.

Ingrid’s hand settled at the small of Y/n’s back; Y/n’s other hand came to rest lightly on Ingrid’s hip.

The thrum of the music echoed in Y/n’s chest, but the only rhythm she heard was her own heartbeat, speeding up as Ingrid leaned in.

Warmth brushed Y/n’s ear as Ingrid spoke, her voice low, the tiniest tremor betraying nerves. “I have been waiting all night for this moment.”

Y/n’s breath caught. The air between them felt charged, as if the entire loft had hushed.

She met Ingrid’s gaze, searching the hazel depths for confirmation.

Then Ingrid asked—softly, tentatively—“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Time stretched. Y/n’s mouth felt suddenly dry.

The thumping of her pulse was louder than the bass. She nodded, her voice caught in her throat.

“Yes,” she managed, and her words flared in her ears. “Please.”

Ingrid’s lips found hers in a soft, searching kiss.

First gentle—an exploration—then confident, as if they’d been practising for months.

Glasses clinked in the background, but Y/n heard nothing but the rush of Ingrid’s breath and the warmth of her hands cradling Y/n’s face.

When they broke apart, Ingrid’s forehead rested against Y/n’s. Her voice was husky.

“I’ve wanted to do that ever since you moved in nexxt door.”

Y/n’s cheeks burned.

She tucked a hand behind Ingrid’s neck, tracing the line of Ingrid’s jaw with her thumb.

“I’m glad you did. I’ve been head over heels for you, for what, seven months?”

Ingrid’s brow rose. “Seven months?”

Y/n laughed, the sound soft and breathy.

“Since the day you introduced yourself with those freshly baked cookies. But don’t let it go to your head.”.

Ingrid grinned, brushing a loose curl behind Y/n’s ear.,

“Too late.” She dipped her head and captured Y/n’s lips once more, more boldly this time, sealing their first real confession beneath the glow of victory lights and the away‑game hum of celebration.

a/n: if you read this far-- first of all, ily. second of all, feel free to let me know what you thought!

i love hearing your reactions, fav lines, or just general thoughts 🫶 it really makes my day <3

Tag list: @edensbreeze @silentwolfsstuff, @goodloe-e @mccabeskcc @blaugranafairy, @footy-lover264 @the-fandom-ness

#woso x reader #woso fanfic #woso #ingrid engen x yn #ingrid engel fanfic #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #wlw writing #wlw fanfic #woso community #woso appreciation

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blueberrybirdsworld · 2 days ago

Text

Collision 9/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : SMAU, Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : SMUT (MDNI)

CHAPTER 9 :

Serie Masterlist

Texts messages :

Lando

I’d really like to see you again.

Just us. A proper dinner. A quiet place.

You in?

Ariana

Yes.

That sounds good.

Pick the place.

I’ll be there.

Lando

7PM.

I’ll pick you up.

And I promise not to talk about engines for once.

Ariana

Not even one metaphor?

Lando

Only if it’s a good one.

And only if it makes you smile.

The restaurant he chose was quiet, tucked between rows of old stone buildings and dimly lit galleries. The kind of place that still wrote the menu by hand. Where the wine list was spoken aloud and the music stayed low enough not to interrupt a thought.

He pulled her chair out before sitting across from her, the candlelight between them softening the edges of everything. Her dress was understated and elegant. She wore no necklace, only a hint of lipstick and the weight of something unreadable in her eyes.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

“I’m glad you asked.”

Conversation unfolded slowly, not playful, but personal. She told him about the quiet hours before a show, the meditative routine of stretching, braiding her hair, the way a certain silence meant the performance would go well.

He told her about noise, how he was used to it. How he’d learned to find peace in the spaces between chaos.

Their fingers brushed across the table once, accidentally, and neither of them pulled away.

“I like the way you see things,” she said, over the first course. “ It feels… thoughtful.”

He smiled softly. “You make me see things like this, meaningfull.”

They talked about nothing and everything. Favorite authors. Old regrets. Places they hadn’t been. Her voice was low, steady. His was quiet, almost careful. She asked if he ever got lonely. He said sometimes. She said she understood.

By the time dessert arrived, something had shifted. The air had grown heavier, not tense, just full. Like both of them were waiting for a moment neither wanted to name.

And then he set his fork down.

Ariana noticed the change in his face before he said anything.

“What is it?” she asked, gently.

He exhaled. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.”

“Tell me what?”

“I have to leave tomorrow.”

She stilled. “Where?”

“Brazil. It came together last-minute. Some of the drivers, their partners… someone planned a trip. There’s this pressure to be part of it. I didn’t want to go. But—”

“You’re going,” she said, quietly.

He nodded. “Just two weeks.”

Her eyes dropped to the table. Her hands folded into her lap. She didn’t speak right away.

“And then I’m going back in Paris,” she said finally.

“I know, and I'm back at the races”

The silence was brutal.

The kind that swells in the chest and spreads into the throat.

“I thought we’d have more time,” she said softly.

“I thought so too.”

They both stared at each other, not speaking, not touching, while the candle between them flickered, helpless against the weight of it.

“It’s just two weeks,” he repeated, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

“And then we’re in different countries.”

He nodded. “Different routines. Different time zones.”

They sat like that for what felt like forever.

Neither of them said it, the thing they were both thinking.

That this might be it.

That this night might be the last night.

That maybe fate had offered them only a single season, a few weeks, a few moments, a few kisses and now it was slipping through their fingers like smoke.

They left the restaurant without speaking much more.

Outside, the air was icy but clear, the kind of winter night where everything felt sharper. Their hands found each other instinctively as they walked. No umbrella. Just the sound of heels and boots and breath.

At her door, he paused.

She turned toward him, her keys in hand.

And then he just said it.

“I don’t want this to end.”

She looked at him, eyes wide and shining.

“Then don’t let it.”

“Ari…”

She stepped forward, pressing a hand to his chest. “We don’t know what’s going to happen. But tonight, I want you stay.”

He didn’t answer.

He just nodded.

The door clicked shut behind them, shutting out the world, the cold, the noise, the gossip, leaving only the heavy, breathless space between them.

Ariana turned toward him, standing in the golden, muted light of her flat, her hands twisting slightly at her sides like she wasn't sure what to do next.

Lando didn’t say anything. He just crossed the small space between them in two strides, his hands lifting to frame her face, tentative at first, like he needed to make sure this was real and then he kissed her.

Slow. Gentle. Asking.

Her whole body softened into him at once, sighing against his lips, arms lifting to twine around his neck. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones, keeping her close, anchoring her there.

He kissed her again, deeper now, pouring everything into it, the nerves, the gratitude, the pure, aching need he had been trying to hold back all night.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads pressed together, Ariana’s fingers curled into the fabric of his coat.

“Can I?” he whispered against her lips, his hands brushing lightly along the curve of her waist, waiting.

She nodded, heart hammering, then whispered, “Yes. Please.”

Carefully, Lando slid his hands down her sides, letting the velvet of her dress slip from her shoulders. He moved slowly, giving her every chance to change her mind. She didn’t, she only arched closer, helping him, wanting this too much to stop.

She reached for him next, fingers fumbling a little with the buttons of his shirt. She popped them open one by one, her knuckles brushing his chest, his skin warm and firm under her touch.

When his shirt finally fell open, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his bare chest, just under his collarbone, soft kisses that made his whole body shudder.

He groaned low in his throat, catching her waist to steady himself.

"You’re killing me," he murmured against her hair, voice rough with restraint.

She smiled, small, shy, devastating and pushed his shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Lando's hands slid over her body again, down her arms, around her back, following the curve of her ass. He found the zipper at her back, tugged it slowly down, and the dress pooled at her feet, leaving her only in delicate black lace panties.

He stepped back just enough to look at her, to really look and his breath caught.

"You're so beautiful," he said, voice breaking.

She flushed, shifting slightly under his gaze, but didn't try to cover herself.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, hungrier, his hands roaming, rediscovering every inch of skin he could reach.

He backed her up gently until her legs hit the couch. She dropped down onto the cushions, looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes.

Lando knelt between her legs, his hands sliding up her thighs, parting them carefully. He kissed the inside of her knee first, then higher, and higher, patient, deliberate, until she was squirming.

He hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and tugged them down her legs, slow enough to make her whimper.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he said, voice low and thick.

"I don't want you to stop," she whispered.

He kissed her hipbone, then down, nuzzling the soft skin at the apex of her thighs before finally, finally licking a slow, wet stripe through her folds.

Ariana gasped, hips jerking, hands flying to tangle in his curls.

Lando groaned at the taste of her, sweet and sharp and addicting and licked again, slower, more thorough. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, holding her open, pressing his tongue flat against her clit and flicking lightly until she was trembling.

He worked her with devastating patience, circling her clit, dipping into her entrance with his tongue, teasing her until she was panting and begging under her breath.

Then he slid two fingers into her, slow and deep, curling them just right to find that spot that made her cry out, hips lifting off the couch.

"Lando," she gasped, voice breaking.

"That's it," he murmured against her, lips brushing her slick folds. "Let go for me."

He moved his fingers faster now, fucking her steadily while his mouth sucked and licked her clit, never giving her a chance to come down.

She shattered with a soft, keening cry, thighs clenching around his head, nails digging into his shoulders.

He kept going, coaxing every last tremor from her, until she was gasping his name like it was the only word she knew.

When he finally pulled away, his mouth was slick, his eyes dark with hunger.

He kissed her knee one more time, almost tenderly, before standing, fumbling in the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet.

He pulled out a condom, tearing it open with shaking hands.

Ariana sat up on the couch, watching him with flushed cheeks and wide, desperate eyes.

He knelt between her legs again, kissing her deeply as he rolled the condom on, her hands clumsy and eager on his shoulders.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, voice wrecked.

She nodded, pulling him closer. "I need you."

Lando groaned and lined himself up, brushing the thick head of his cock through her slick folds.

When he pushed inside her, they both moaned, loud, unrestrained, clinging to each other.

He went slow, giving her time to adjust to the stretch, kissing her face, her throat, her collarbone between every shallow thrust.

She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper, her hands scrambling over his back like she couldn't get enough of him.

"Fuck, Ari," he gasped against her skin. "You feel so good."

She whimpered in answer, rocking her hips up to meet his thrusts.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frenzied.

It was deep.

Slow.

Desperate in a way that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with needing : needing to connect, to anchor, to feel.

He thrust into her harder now, faster but still controlled, grinding against her just right to make her gasp every time he bottomed out.

"Look at me," he panted.

She opened her eyes and what he saw there, wild and open and full of him, nearly undid him.

He kissed her again, bruising and sweet, swallowing every sound she made.

Their bodies moved together like they'd done it a thousand times in dreams. The slap of skin against skin, the soft cries, the murmured names, it all blended into a symphony of need.

Her walls fluttered around him, and she sobbed his name into his mouth.

"That's it," he whispered. "Come for me, baby."

She shattered with a cry, nails raking down his back, thighs locking around him.

He wasn’t far behind, with a broken groan, he thrust once, twice more and then came, burying his face in her neck, holding her so tight it felt like he could imprint himself on her skin.

They lay tangled together afterward, breathing hard, bodies slick and spent, neither of them moving away.

Lando kissed her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, like he couldn't stop, like he didn't want to.

Ariana threaded her fingers through his curls, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t need to.

They lay there for a long time afterward, tangled, quiet, skin slick with sweat and still pressed together.

He kissed her again like it would never happen again as they both fall asleep against each other.

The morning she woke to find him already dressed, jacket half-zipped, by the door. She padded out of the couch where they fall asleep, hair still messy, wearing his shirt that hung too low on her frame. He smiled when he saw her, but there was a weight behind it. The same weight sitting in her chest.

They didn’t say much.

Because what could they say?

His flight to Brazil was in two hours. A house full of friends waiting for him. A vacation with laughter and heat and late nights. And yet all he could think about was the way her fingers clung to the hem of his sleeve, the way she leaned into his chest one last time, how their lips met, slowly, then suddenly, like neither wanted to let go.

“I’ll see you again,” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers.

She didn’t answer.

Because maybe they both knew that even if they did… it wouldn’t be the same.

He lingered in the doorway.

Then left.

And the silence that followed felt like a scream neither of them knew how to stop

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @esw1012, @lilyofthevalley-09, @its-me-frankie; @linneaguriii , @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek

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themothwhisperer · 3 days ago

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Embrace the changes is my advice. A game and a tv show simply aren’t the same. They are not made the same and they do not offer the same advantages.

I feel kinda sad for the people out there that played and loved the game, but hate on the narrative changes they made for the show. Change was inevitable. Otherwise, why doing it? Making a carbon copy of something isn’t that valuable in my opinion.

That’s one of the main reasons why season 2 can arguably turn out to be better than season 1. Because what will come next is unexpected. It comes with a sense of surprise and mystery.

And that’s especially true when it comes to Ellie and Dina.

With episode 4, the reaction seems to be quite divided and it’s honestly super fair, but it’s fundamental to understand how this relationship did a 180 for the televised version. The game was stability, consistency and maturity. The show is all about playfulness, confusion and tension.

The most common comment I see is about the sex scene. I’m sorry, but to have them getting intimate was necessary, especially for the fans of the game. Taking it out would’ve been wrong in many ways. And when you think about it, this was the only good timing for it. The weed scene simply couldn’t happen in the show because the pace of their relationship is drastically different here.

At this point in time in the game, they are official and comfortable. They are getting into this journey as a couple and it’s crystal clear. And because of this closeness they already have with each other, it was hinted that Ellie was immune. She reveals that information very early on. Even if Dina didn’t believe her, there is a little unconscious connection that clicked in her brain. It won’t be as shocking when she will be confronted to it.

In the show, however, they are tiptoeing around each other. Ellie has feelings for Dina and Dina knows about it, but she’s scared to dive in. She feels the same way, but her sexuality is still a bit of a challenge. She’s been told by her mother this wasn’t right. It’s a mess, basically. And if we compare the timelines, it becomes very obvious that the game and the show are not evolving at the same speed when it comes to this.

So here’s the thing tying back to the immunity question: When Ellie takes a bite to save Dina’s life (which is, by the way, such an exciting and romantic change), Dina’s world is crumbling down. The possibility of them being together dies instantly. She feels guilty because she didn’t speak up earlier. Now it’s ruined. She’s desperate and terrified and heartbroken. I’ve read many things about the lack of communication into this scene, but dialogue is not always key to boost the narrative. Actually, it pretty often does the opposite. Dina doesn’t ask questions because she cannot deal with what might be said, by herself and Ellie alike. It will make it so much worse when she actually has to pull the trigger. She can’t stand the idea of having Ellie voicing she’s in love with her. She can’t allow herself to let it all out either, probably thinking it would be unfair to Ellie. So she stays silent. She’s just crying and waiting for the worst to come. And the biggest difference with the game is how there is no prior connection in Dina’s mind to have a glimpse of hope. She absolutely cannot believe in the immunity claim. There is no way. That’s why she’s not asking about it or trying to hear Ellie out. Once again, it would only make it worse.

Release comes, however, in all the ways possible. Ellie suddenly wakes up, water dripping down on her and a few hours actually went by. She’s fine. And Dina staying silent is motivated by the fact that she’s in absolute shock. To her, there was only one way out of this. She was most likely already grieving Ellie. But now it’s different. Ellie is actually okay, the bite didn’t evolve and she’s evidently feeling well. Once again, she’s speechless, shaken to the core. What can we expect? She just walks very slowly towards her, taking it all in. The anxiety, the fear, it’s all washed away. What’s left is her overwhelming feelings for her. There is nothing that can get in her way now. She’s learned her lesson. And the only words she can actually verbalize is the fact that she’s pregnant. It’s the only thing she’s hiding from Ellie. And before surrendering to her emotions, she just says it.

Here again, I’ve seen things about the pregnancy announcement and my question is: How else would you want it? A pregnancy announcement is a pregnancy announcement. In the game, it actually broke my heart. How Dina is invalidated by Ellie like this. Ellie who’s completely blinded by her rage. I’m not saying a softer Ellie is necessarily better for the storyline, but I did enjoy that pure moment of innocence in the show. She’s taken aback, but she’s not judging. They’re 19 after all. They don’t know what it means and how they will deal with it, but they want to figure it out together.

So yeah, the sex scene makes so much sense. Dina is ready for them to be together, she perceives only love in Ellie’s reaction and she wants that closeness with her. She won’t waste another second. Having this scene happen later on would’ve been so odd. Ellie will soon torture an already dying Nora, she will be next level traumatized. Dina will most likely get sicker from her pregnancy. This was the perfect moment, considering the rhythm of this version.

Finally, if we want more Dina, that was the only way to go about it. They need to be extra close for it to make sense. Many people were disappointed (myself included) by the fact that Dina is sort of forgotten after Seattle Day One in the game. They fixed it. Let’s appreciate it.

(Can we also acknowledge the breathtaking performance Bella Ramsey and Isabela Merced delivered?)

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gracie-eilish · 2 days ago

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fall-ing…

pairing: up and coming singer!reader x billie

warnings: small mentions of pain, blood, and a teensy ankle injury. tw: men. otherwise fluff

an: but of course i had to write a met gala fic‼️ let’s all pretend it’s still monday.. and that billie went last night (ik she had a show, ik!!)

The Met Gala sparkles different when you’re finally on the inside. That first step onto those infamous steps feels like being lifted into a dream, one stitched together with diamonds, chiffon, and centuries of fashion’s wildest imaginations. You could feel the thrum of it in your bones. The adrenaline, awe, and terror all tangled into one.

You adjusted your posture and stepped out of the town car, your custom gown trailing behind like fog rolling down a hill. It was light, iridescent… and just a little too long.

The cameras exploded.

You flinched for a heartbeat, but then, showtime. You remembered the advice and tips: smile soft but confident, wave like royalty, shoulders back. You’d practiced this in hotel mirrors and airport bathrooms, in daydreams where this moment always belonged to you.

You posed at the base of the steps, hands delicately brushing your waist, letting your beaded dress shimmer under the flashes. Your lips curved into a half-smile, your eyes slowly scanning the crowd of journalists and celebrities, searching for him; your “boyfriend” set up for publicity. And what great publicity he was making… nowhere to be found.

He was supposed to be here already. He said he’d meet you at the entrance. But the staircase stretched in front of you like an endless runway, and he was nowhere.

Across the carpet, Billie Eilish had just stepped out of her car. She paused beside the press barricade, momentarily shielded by her team. She didn’t know why she looked your way, but the second she did, it was impossible to look away.

You. Alone. Backlit making your way up the steps, like something painted. The way your dress clung to you in waves of pearlescent fabric, how your expression wavered for a second between fairy-tale elegance and raw uncertainty.

“Who is that?” Billie asked quietly, not taking her eyes off you.

Her publicist glanced up, distracted. “Not sure. Some new singer, I think? She’s not on our list.”

But Billie didn’t care about lists. She watched you like you were a constellation just beginning to glow.

You turned, brushing the hair from your face. Still no sign of him. You murmured, more to yourself than anyone, “Where the hell is he…”

Then you stepped forward, beginning your climb up the grand staircase. One step, then another.

And then it happened.

The toe of your heel caught in the front hem of your gown. It snagged, hard. You pitched forward, grabbing at air. Your knee hit the step with a sharp crack, and your ankle twisted painfully beneath the full weight of you and your dress.

There was a collective gasp. Not the kind that ends in clapping like Lady Gaga’s infamous dress change or Zendaya’s light up gown.

Flashbulbs went wild.

You felt the sting of it instantly, pain, and something worse; Humiliation. You tried to sit up, pushing the hair out of your face, your expression frozen in that horrible in-between: do I laugh? Do I cry?

No one moved. No one rushed over. Until she did.

Billie’s heels tapped fast against the steps as she moved, brushing past security, her team calling behind her. “Billie, wait—the carpet, we have a window—”

She ignored them.

You saw her before she reached you. That unmistakable face, porcelain skin, dark brows furrowed in concern. She crouched beside you, the tulle of her own dress spilling around her like fog.

“Hey, hey… are you okay?” she asked, breathless.

“I… I think I—my ankle.” You winced, swallowing hard. “I tripped.”

“No kidding,” she said gently, her voice low, trying to make you smile while she helped you sit down fully. “It looked like you were trying to fight gravity and lost.”

You let out a dry laugh, your lip trembling. “And I just killed the Met carpet. I’m gonna be that girl now.”

“Stop. Don’t even go there,” she said, already peeling back the edge of your dress to look. “You’re bleeding a little on your knee… and your ankle—shit. That’s swelling fast.”

You flinched. “It hurts.”

“Of course it does,” she murmured. “You went down hard.”

Your publicist appeared at that moment, finally, but only long enough to pull off your heels and replace them with some emergency matching flats your stylist had in case. Quickly and coldly, she got you standing again. “You’re blocking the steps, sweetheart. Wrap this up and get moving, okay?” she muttered before disappearing again.

You blinked in disbelief. “Wow. Okay.”

Billie gave her a long, cold stare. “Nice. Real nurturing.”

You looked at Billie again, your voice quieter now. “I feel like an idiot. This is… this is the worst.”

She met your eyes. “It’s not. It’s not even close. You’re still standing.”

“Barely.”

“You want to lean on me?” she asked. “I’m serious. I’ve got you.”

You hesitated. “I don’t want to ruin your moment.”

“Trust me love,” she said, slipping her arm around you, “you already made mine.”

That made your breath catch.

The paramedics arrived moments later guiding you safely off to the side, but Billie stayed with you the entire time. She kept glancing toward your ankle as they wrapped it, occasionally asking questions for you when you were too dazed to respond.

“You don’t have to stay,” you finally said, biting your lip. “You totally missed the carpet. I’m not… I’m not worth that.”

She blinked. “Don’t say that again.”

You paused.

She added, “You’re more than worth it. I’ve seen people trip and lose their cool. You? You got up. In a literal gown and heels. On camera. That’s power.”

You laughed under your breath. “Thanks. My publicist’s going to have a stroke.”

“Let her,” Billie smirked.

Once you were cleared to stand, Billie helped you up. Her touch was careful, warm. She gathered your train in one hand and took your elbow with the other.

“We’re going up together,” she said. “Slow and steady.”

You managed a shaky smile. “Okay.”

Step by step, she helped you ascend, ignoring the cameras still watching, ignoring her handlers waving from below. Her only focus was you.

At the top, the glass doors glowed like the entrance to another world.

And that’s when he appeared.

Your “boyfriend”. Perfect hair. Custom tux. Phone still in hand.

“There you are,” he said, not even noticing your limp. “I was looking for you inside.”

“No, you weren’t,” Billie muttered under her breath.

He turned to her. “And who are you?”

“She’s someone who actually showed up,” you said sharply.

He blinked, then reached for your hand. “Ready to go in?”

You looked at Billie. For a second, you saw the faintest flicker of disappointment in her eyes. She was already stepping back, creating distance.

But you grabbed her hand, soft and gloved.

“I’ll find you in there,” you said, holding her gaze. “Promise.”

She didn’t smile, not fully. But her fingers squeezed yours before letting go. “I’ll be waiting.”

And as your boyfriend led you through the glass doors, you didn’t look back.

But you could feel it—her eyes still on you. That flicker of something real. Something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Something worth tripping for.

And Billie on the other hand, her heart was racing… and she didn’t even know your name.. yet.

#gracie eilish #billie eilish #wlw #fanfiction #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish fic #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie x you #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie x y/n #billie x fem reader

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ak319 · 2 days ago

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Lovesick bubbly hubby x fem reader

ミ☆ Slice of Life

♥︎ Syno: Narin and you had a baby, and it's a boy! ♥︎ Warnings: bxg but matriarchal themes e.g. mpreg mentions! Fluff and lots of it and a bit of spice too..;) ♥︎ previous

If someone had told Narin how different his life would be now, he would pause, blink, and then smile. Because they’d be absolutely right.

In the small moments carved out of his busy routine, as your dearest, only, and unquestionably prettiest husband of the century, and now, as a papa too, Narin finds himself glowing. He’s the proud father of the cutest baby alive: Mylo. Your son. His son. A perfect blend of everything he finds magical in this world. From this marriage to the beautiful home you’ve built together, Narin can’t stop thanking God.

Even his parents, especially his father, noticed a subtle shift in him, something like maturity. Narin, the boy who once barely finished assignments on time, now insists on knowing every detail about how to feed Mylo, how to burp him, how to swaddle him just right, how to lull him to sleep, and still find time to cook your favorite meals.

You and his parents have gently suggested hiring a maid, just to ease the pressure.

But Narin? Absolutely not.

"Are you kidding!? A MAID!? What if he flirts with you!? What if he tries to seduce you while I’m in the nursery, elbow-deep in diaper duty? DON'T EVER SAY THAT!" he’d shriek and break stuff, already imagining dramatic betrayal scenarios.

No stranger was stepping into this home. This sanctuary. His wife, his baby, his perfect little life, he was going to protect it with every inch of glittery, sleep-deprived resolve he had.

Speaking of...

🍭 "Do I look fat? Have I changed a lot? Have I lost the baby weight or no-"

"My little angel, cupcake, you’re perfect as alwa-"

"YOU ALWAYS SAY THAT!"

And there come the tears.

As if cradling Mylo and keeping him quiet wasn’t enough already. One wrong movement and that baby will erupt. Two crying babies? Definitely not what you signed up for after coming home completely knackered.

"I say that 'cause it’s true, babe!"

"Oh really?! Then why did your brother TAUNT me about-"

"I told you to ignore what my family says! Why do you always listen to them-"

Insert loud wailing from Mylo.

Perfect timing.

"Shh, it's okay. Your father is just having a moment-"

"EXCUSE ME?!"

Oh no.

His routine is even more exciting for him now! From you cuddling them both in the morning for at least an hour, showering your boys with kisses, to him getting himself and Mylo ready before you come back from work-

Absolute heaven.

And do you think that after having a baby, he lost his own flair? That cunning, minxy flair? Think again.

🍭 He leans back into your chest as you cuddle him closer, your arms wrapped around him and Mylo nestled peacefully on his lap. Narin hums softly, inhaling the familiar scent of his beauty products and the sweet, distinct baby smell clinging to Mylo’s blanket.

"How’s work going, Coco? I hate seeing you… work yourself this much…" he murmurs, his fingers absentmindedly stroking Mylo’s tiny sock-covered foot. But you...

You weren't listening. Too busy nuzzling his neck and stpping yourself from devouring him right then and there.

"I mean, I get it, you’re amazing and a hard working woman, wife and all, but maybe... maybe just lie down here? Just for a bit? On me?" he whispers, tilting his head back to look at you with those wide, pleading eyes. "I promise I won’t move. Not even a twitch."

The way he's acting all meek--God, he's gonna get it.

He shifts slightly so the blanket covers your legs too. "I even warmed your favorite one. See? I planned this nap. It’s romantic."

Then, a pause.

"...Unless you’re leaving again. Are you leaving again?" His voice wobbles, and his lower lip starts to jut out, slowly, dramatically.

That pout. That ridiculous, practiced, award-winning househusband pout.

If you even hint at standing up, he’ll clutch your sleeve like a Victorian widower watching his love go off to war.

"Mhm...who said anything bout' leaving, mhm?."

You shift slightly behind him, your chin resting on his shoulder, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"Y’know," you murmur, "for someone who says he’s too tired for anything but naptime, you sure know how to trap me under a warm blanket like you’ve got an agenda."

Narin gasps, actually gasps, his hand flying to his chest like you accused him of a crime.

"Excuse me?! I’m a sweet, innocent papa trying to get his hardworking wife to nap! How dare you-"

You trail a finger down the curve of his waist, slow enough to make him shiver.

"Mmhm. Innocent, huh? That why you keep wearing those silk pajama pants around me like you don’t know what they do to my self-control?" You gave the side of his hip a firm swat.

Narin’s cheeks go red immediately, cherry blossom red.

"Th-they’re just comfy! And breathable! And postpartum-friendly!” he stammers, clutching Mylo like a tiny shield. "Besides, I-I don’t control how good I look in them, okay?!”

You smirk against his neck. "Sure you don’t."

He lets out a tiny squeak, torn between wanting to argue and silently bask in the fact that you’re still that into him, he keeps fussing over, and the fact that he hasn’t done his skincare routine in two days.

You hum against his skin, and then, without warning, press a slow, deliberate kisses to the side of his neck. Just below his ear. Right where you know it’ll make him flinch and curl his toes.

Narin freezes.

You feel his whole body tense in your arms, his breath catching in his throat like a cartoon character short-circuiting.

"H-Hey… hey-C-coco…" he whines, his voice high and wobbly. “You c-can’t just-! I’m holding the baby!"

Ignoring him, you kiss him again softly on his neck, biting in between.

His head tips back against your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted in surrender.

“You missed me?” he breathes out.

You grin. "Of course...so much, my doll...."

Another kiss, this time to his cheek, and then one right at the corner of his mouth. His fingers curl tightly around Mylo’s blanket like it’s the only thing keeping him from completely melting.

You finally press a rougher kiss to his lips full of passion to shut his quiet whining. He doesn’t even move at first, just sighs into it like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, letting you bite and suck his pouty plump, fruity lips.

When you pull back, he’s blinking up at you with that dazed, heart-eyed look.

"…Okay," he says, dreamy and breathless. "Maybe I do have an agenda."

Damn right he always did, from the moment you stepped in the house, with your sleeves rolled up and the loose tie.

But of course, this little vixen of yours would see your child as a perfect tool to manipulate you. Like, duh. As if groveling to him alone wasn’t humiliating enough, now you’ve got two people to apologize to: one with dramatic eyeliner and the other in a fluffy cat onesie. And honestly? It scares you. The way Narin can just pack a bag and threaten to take Mylo to his parents’ place the second he’s mad. You’re never sure if he fully understands the kind of hurt that leaves behind, or if he does, and simply doesn’t care. It only took one real scolding from you, one sharp, serious reprimand, for him to shrink back, eyes wide and glistening, murmuring apologies with shaking hands. He hasn't dared to do it again since. Not openly, at least. But deep down, he’d been a little pleased. Pleased to discover a weakness in you. That just by giving you a son, he’d carved himself into your life so deeply that no matter how angry, how exhausted, how heartbroken you got... he’d always be a permanent fixture. You weren’t just his love now. You were bound.

🍭You unlock the door, stepping in with tired shoulders and your work bag slung low. The house smells like baby lotion, leftover pasta, and ....suspicious amounts of drama.

Silence.

Too much silence.

Then you spot them, curled up on the couch. Narin’s in his robe, hair up in a little bun, Mylo nestled in his lap with his tiny face squished against his father’s chest.

Narin doesn’t even look at you.

"Oh," he says. Flat. Chilly. "Look who decided to come home."

You blink. "Babe, I told you I had a late meeting-"

He holds up a hand, still not facing you. "No, no. You don’t get to ‘babe’ me right now. We had plans. Mylo and I were going to watch that cheesy prince movie together, and I made themed snacks. Themed, COCO! Do you realize the effort in that?!"

You try to step closer, but he scoots dramatically to the side, shielding Mylo’s ear like he’s protecting a witness.

"Don’t talk to him," Narin says in a stage whisper. "He doesn’t want to hear it. Do you, Mylo?"

Mylo just hiccups and chews on Narin’s robe tie.

"That’s right," Narin murmurs, leaning down conspiratorially. "She abandoned us. Left us to suffer. Alone. No goodnight kisses, no evening cuddles. And we looked so cute today too, didn’t we?"

"Narin-"

"Shh." He gently taps Mylo’s lips with a finger. "Don’t say anything to her, baby. Silence is power."

"You are coaching our son against me again?"

Narin gasps theatrically, clutching Mylo to his chest. "Cover your ears, baby. She’s using the Voice. That rough, work-weary, tempting Voice that ruins our boundaries."

Mylo lets out a giggle.

Narin gasps. "Traitor."

You try not to laugh as you make your way to the couch and lean over, kissing both of their foreheads in one go. "I’ll bribe you both with cookies and twenty minutes of undivided attention if you forgive me."

Narin narrows his eyes.

"…Fifteen minutes of forehead kisses."

"Deal."

"Only cuz', you are hot."

You grinned. "I know."

He slides you a smug, victorious grin while Mylo coos and shoves his foot in your face anyway.

Great coaching, no doubt.

169 notes · View notes

mintyys-blog · 2 days ago

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Hi mintyy can you write batfamily with a invincible reader pretty please 🥺👉🏽👈🏽 like reader been through the ringer (Mark's been through so much oh my God I felt so bad for him in season 3 especially) like can you do it like when reader first gets their powers their hero for a bit then they're on Dad almost murders them and then left and so reader has to deal with the damage then reader had to go away for a few months with no warning then come back with a half brother and now they're trying to deal with her brother not being like their dad then the whole powerplex situation making her pretty depressed about the fight with her dad and then the fight with powerplex then having the invincible world different versions of her just slaughtering AND THEN her fight with conquest almost leaving her dead again overall them seeing her change for the worse and her trying to keep it together but can't but hides it

TO BE INVINCIBLE | batfam x invincible! reader

She wanted to be a hero.

When her powers kicked in—Viltrumite strength, speed, flight—she thought it meant she could make a difference. She was young, bright-eyed, and hopeful. Taking on the mantle of Earth’s new protector seemed natural.

Her father—Nolan Grayson—stood behind her with quiet approval. He watched her don a suit of her own, colors echoing his, and said, “You’ll make me proud.”

And for a while, she did.

She trained with the Justice League—unofficially. Wonder Woman offered sword lessons. Superman called her “kiddo” with a smile. But it was the Batfamily she gravitated to.

Dick taught her flips and grace mid-air. Jason mocked her flying form and sparred with her until she bled—then bought her burgers after. Tim built her a comm-link, said, “You’ll need someone to back you up when you’re in over your head.” Damian scowled the first time they met, but slowly… he warmed. Just a little.

She felt safe with them. Like maybe she wasn’t just her father’s daughter.

But it didn’t last.

THE DAY THE SKY FELL

There was no warning.

Her father said nothing before it started. One moment, they were in the sky watching the sunrise. The next, he was driving his fist through a government satellite, cutting communications worldwide.

She stared, horrified.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, flying after him.

“Earth isn’t our home,” Nolan said coldly. “It’s just an outpost. It’s time you learned who you really are.”

Then came the fight.

It wasn’t a battle—it was slaughter. Buildings fell like dominoes. He tore through heroes like wet paper. She fought him, teeth gritted, bones breaking under his punches, screaming as he hurled her through concrete and steel. She begged him to stop. Pleaded. Cried.

He didn’t.

By the time it was over, a quarter of the city was ash. Thousands dead.

And she—broken and bleeding—watched her father pause, hover in the burning sky, look down at her one last time…

And leave.

A blur of red and blue streaking into the stars, without a single word.

Her body shut down. Her vision dimmed. The pain became weightless.

She saw black.

NOW — DAYS LATER

She woke slowly. Blinding light. Beeping machines. Something tight around her chest. She couldn’t move her legs. Her mouth felt like cotton.

Her eyes adjusted—

White walls. IVs. Bandages. Casts.

She blinked.

Then saw the dark silhouette in the chair beside her.

Bruce Wayne sat still, his arms crossed, a faint bruise on his jaw. His cowl was gone, but his presence was unmistakable—grieving, steady. Tired.

Their eyes met. She opened her mouth, but no words came.

Bruce stood slowly. “I’ll tell the doctors you’re awake.”

She turned her head away, shame biting into her chest harder than any wound. Her fingers clenched weakly in the blanket.

She couldn’t look at him.

He didn’t say anything else. Just walked out quietly.

And she was alone again.

The soft knock on the hospital door barely stirred her.

She was awake, but still. Limbs heavy under bandages. Ribs cracked, bruises painting her skin like rot. The IV in her arm pulsed a slow, steady rhythm—one of the few things in her world that still made sense.

The door creaked open.

“Hope we’re not intruding.”

The voice was warm, familiar—his voice.

Clark Kent stepped in, tall and kind as ever, a bouquet of white tulips cradled carefully in his arms. Behind him, Diana followed, graceful and radiant even in civilian clothes. She held a card covered in messy, colorful handwriting—messages from League members. Smiley faces, a few poorly drawn capes. Someone had scrawled ‘World’s Toughest Teen’ in block letters.

They both looked at her with soft eyes. Eyes full of pity. Superman’s smile faltered the moment he saw her. Bandaged from shoulder to ankle. Purple bruises along her jaw. The flatness in her eyes. He placed the flowers beside her bed, careful not to disturb the machines.

“I wish we’d been here,” he said quietly, voice thick. “I wish I could say we would’ve stopped him. But you—you stood against him. You saved thousands by slowing him down.” Diana stepped forward, her voice steadier. “We are monitoring all atmospheric shifts and energy signatures. If your father returns, we will be ready.”

She said it like a promise. Like a warrior swearing blood vengeance. But Y/N just nodded, numb. Her throat ached with the urge to cry, but the tears refused to fall in front of them. “…Can I be alone, please?”

Clark hesitated. His expression twitched—but he respected the request. He always did. Diana placed the card on her lap gently. “If you need anything—anything—you know how to reach us.”

They exchanged a glance before quietly stepping out, the door clicking shut behind them. The silence that followed was heavier than before. Y/N stared at the wall. Her fingers traced the edge of the card.

World’s Toughest Teen.

What a joke. A choked sob tore out of her throat.

She curled onto her uninjured side, as far as the bandages would allow. Her face buried into the pillow, her shoulders shaking silently. Hot tears leaked from swollen eyes. She clutched the blanket tighter. All that power. All that training. And still, she hadn’t been enough to stop him. Not as a daughter. Not as Earth’s protector. And now, nothing felt real except the guilt and the quiet, aching emptiness.

She moved back to Gotham after her body healed, but the scars stayed.

She didn’t want to be alone anymore, not after the hospital. Not after all those nights waking up in a cold sweat, choking on the sound of her father’s voice.

Bruce offered a room without question. Alfred kept her fed. Dick tried to keep her smiling, Tim checked on her systems, Damian hovered like a shadow he didn’t want to admit was protective.

But it was Jason who saw through the cracks.

He found her one night on the manor’s rooftop, sitting on the ledge with her legs dangling over the edge. She didn’t flinch when he sat beside her, just pulled her knees up and stared out at the skyline.

She didn’t wear her suit anymore. Not often. Just the hoodie with the burn hole in the sleeve and the faded bloodstain that wouldn’t come out.

“Bad night?” he asked, voice low.

She shrugged.

Jason didn’t push.

They sat in silence for a while, the wind brushing past like a ghost.

Eventually, she spoke.

“Sometimes… I see him in my dreams. But it’s not him—him, now. It’s how he was. Before. When he was good. When I thought he loved me.”

Jason glanced at her, something unreadable in his eyes.

“I try to scream at him to stop before it happens. But my voice won’t come out.”

She looked down at her hands. “He didn’t even hesitate, Jason. He didn’t look back. I thought I meant something to him.”

Jason didn’t offer comfort right away. He let the pain hang there—be there.

Then he finally said, “Yeah. I know that feeling.”

She blinked at him.

“I clawed my way out of a coffin. Thought I’d come home to open arms. Instead I found out the guy I thought was my father let me stay dead. Didn’t even kill the bastard who did it.”

Jason leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Different story. Same kind of betrayal.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

But for once, she didn’t feel alone in it.

“I’m not good at the heart-to-heart crap,” he added. “But if you need someone to scream into a wall with… or break things… or just sit—I’m around.”

Y/N looked at him for a long moment. The light from the city danced in his white streak of hair. She let out a quiet breath. “…Thank you.”

Jason nodded, a small, honest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. They sat there until the sun rose—two broken kids who understood what it meant to be left behind by the people they trusted most.

STAR CITY – WAREHOUSE DISTRICT – NIGHT

The fight was already in full swing when she arrived.

Explosions crackled, smoke curled against the skyline, and Canary’s cry echoed off concrete walls as she and Ollie fought back a group of meta-weapon smugglers. Y/N hit the ground like a comet, her fists cratering pavement as she joined the fray.

One thug went flying. Another crumpled beneath her elbow. It felt good to move again, to do something. To use her power for someone else’s sake—not just to survive.

Then it happened.

Canary let loose a targeted blast toward a towering brute with cybernetic arms—not at her—but Y/N’s body reacted like it had been.

Pain exploded in her skull.

She dropped with a gasp, hands clutching her temples. It wasn’t like before—not a ringing or pressure, but a sharp, blinding agony that left her knees buckling and her mouth open in a voiceless scream.

Dinah turned instantly.

“Shit, kid!”

She sprinted across the field, sliding beside her, catching her before she could fully collapse.

“That wasn’t even directed at you,” Dinah said, panting, brushing soot off Y/N’s cheeks. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Y/N blinked through tears she didn’t remember crying. Her voice was hoarse. “I… I don’t know.”

It didn’t make sense. She could take buildings to the face and walk away. Canary’s cry had never done this to her before—not even at close range. Why now?

Ollie jogged back toward them, bow slung over his shoulder. “At least everything’s dealt with now,” he said cheerfully, not noticing the tension. “Thanks for coming to help out… Invincible,” he added with a crooked grin.

She gave him a weak eye-roll. “Yeah, yeah… bye.”

And she was gone.

GOTHAM – NIGHTFALL BOWL – 9:42 P.M.

The bowling alley smelled like nachos, old wax, and spilled soda.Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and cheesy synth-rock played through the speakers. Everything was neon, retro, and weirdly comforting.

Y/N sat at the scoring table, oversized hoodie draped over her shoulders, watching as Kon-El did a running leap into his bowl—feet skidding, ball slamming into the pins like a warhead. “STRIKE!” he yelled, arms shooting up.

“Show-off,” Tim muttered beside her, squinting at the tablet’s scoring system. “That’s not regulation.”

“It’s flair,” Kon said smugly, spinning around and walking backward toward them. “Besides, they didn’t say anything.” He nodded toward the teenager at the front desk, who was half-asleep watching TikToks. Y/N smiled faintly, picking up her soda. “I’m surprised they didn’t ban you last time.” “They did. I’m wearing a hat this time.”

Tim snorted. “Flawless disguise, really.” Y/N stood and grabbed her ball. Her shoulder still ached—sometimes it did that when she was too still for too long. She stepped to the lane, lined up, and rolled. Seven pins. “Ugh,” she sighed, shoulders sagging. “You’d think super strength would make this easier.”

“It’s not about strength,” Kon said, hopping up to walk beside her. “It’s about finesse. Grace. Precision.” She turned slowly. “You just slid down the lane like a wrecking ball.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning.

Tim shook his head behind them, but smiled too. It was good. It felt normal. She didn’t remember the last time something felt this easy—no aliens, no blood, no screaming in her head. Just old shoes and neon lights and two people who knew her before the world fell apart. But the dull throb in her skull hadn’t gone away since Dinah’s cry hit her. She pressed her fingers to her temple, just briefly.

Tim noticed. He always did. “You good?” he asked softly, just for her. Y/N forced a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.” Kon was already at the snack counter, loudly ordering nachos and a triple-sized slushie. Tim watched her for a second longer, then looked away, giving her space.

She didn’t know how to tell them she was scared. That something in her head was wrong. That the sound—that sound—had felt too familiar. Like it was already in her. So she stayed quiet. Let the moment breathe. Laughed when Kon returned and offered her the worst, most neon blue slushie she’d ever seen.

Just one more night pretending everything was okay.

A.R.G.U.S. SECURE BRIEFING ROOM – WASHINGTON D.C. – 1:12 P.M.

It had taken her a few days to work up the nerve.

Tim would’ve been the smarter option—kinder. Even Bruce. But something in her clung to routine, to the idea that Waller had once protected her, guided her, gave her purpose when everything fell apart.

So she went back to A.R.G.U.S.

Back to her.

Waller sat behind her desk, expression unreadable, tablet in hand, glasses perched low on her nose. She didn’t look surprised when Y/N walked in.

“You’re early,” she said. “I like that.”

Y/N stayed standing. Her hands were in fists at her sides.

“I need to talk to you. Privately.”

Waller raised a brow, gestured for the guards to leave. The door slid shut behind them with a quiet hiss.

“Something wrong?” she asked, voice even.

Y/N hesitated.

Then: “When I was fighting with Canary the other night, her cry—it hurt me. Bad. But it wasn’t even aimed at me. It felt like—like something in my head was reacting to it. Amplifying it.”

Waller’s expression didn’t shift. “I see.”

“It’s not normal. I’ve taken full screams before, and it never—never—felt like that. And the pain wasn’t just noise. It was targeted. Like it hit something inside me.”

She watched Waller carefully. Waiting. Waller folded her hands on the desk. “And you came here to tell me this… why?”

“…Because you’re the only one who’s ever known exactly what I am.”

There it was. The thread of trust—fraying. For a moment, silence. Then Waller stood slowly, moving toward her like a shadow sharpening in the light.

“You’re right to be concerned,” she said. “But if something’s happening with your physiology—or your mind—it could be the result of Viltrumite trauma. Or latent post-battle damage from your encounter with your father.”

Y/N frowned. “Then… you’ll run scans?”

“I’ll do what’s necessary.”

Waller’s smile was thin. “You’ve always been one of our greatest assets. You know that, don’t you?” The word asset twisted in Y/N’s chest. Something felt wrong. But she nodded anyway.

“Good,” Waller said, turning toward the wall console. “We’ll start with neural readings. Just a basic check-in. Sit tight.” And as the door opened again, letting in two guards and a quiet hiss of sterilized air, Y/N felt a chill crawl down her spine. She hadn’t just made a mistake. She’d handed the enemy a blueprint to the kill switch.

A.R.G.U.S. MEDICAL BAY – LEVEL 12 – TWO HOURS LATER

The lights were too bright. The air was too clean. Everything about the sterile white room made Y/N’s skin crawl.

She sat on the reinforced steel table, arms crossed, trying not to fidget as two doctors prepped equipment behind her. They wore thin smiles—too polite. One of them had a clipboard. The other hadn’t said a word. Waller stood just beyond the glass, watching like a statue behind the one-way mirror. The older doctor approached her with a calm voice. “Vitals are normal. Neural scan’s clear. No evidence of trauma or inflammation in the cerebral cortex.”

“So I’m fine?” Y/N asked.

“For now,” he said. “But we’d like to take a blood sample to run further diagnostics. You’re not allergic to any metals, correct?” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “No.”

He prepped a syringe with practiced efficiency and gently reached for her arm. The needle touched skin— and bent. Not shattered. Not snapped. Bent. Like it had hit steel under silk. The doctor blinked in shock, hand recoiling slightly. Y/N stared at the small dented needle, then met his eyes, something dark creeping into her gaze. “…You thought a basic syringe would pierce a Viltrumite?”

He flinched. The other doctor stepped back. Y/N didn’t break eye contact as she slowly raised her hand and dug her thumbnail into the inside of her forearm. The skin gave way with a small, wet pop—just enough to draw a thin line of red. “There,” she said flatly. “Will that do?” The doctor swallowed hard and held out a sterile swab to collect the sample, avoiding her gaze.

Behind the glass, Waller didn’t blink. Y/N glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Something in her gut twisted again. This wasn’t care. It was control. They weren’t checking on her. They were assessing her—testing boundaries. And somewhere deep in her skull, the phantom pain from Dinah’s cry pulsed again like an old scar being pressed too hard.

The atmosphere had shifted in an instant.

Just minutes ago, it had been calm—tense, but safe. Y/N had been surrounded by the only people left she could trust. But when the air warped and a flash of blue light lit up the cavern, everything went to hell.

Amanda Waller appeared, stepping through with a tall, pale metahuman at her side—the teleporter, face cold and blank. Her arms were crossed like this was routine. Calculated.

Y/N staggered back as soon as she saw her. Her whole body screamed with memory, instinct, betrayal.

“You tried to kill me!” she screamed, voice raw and high with fear and fury.

Amanda’s expression didn’t change. “Calm down. I never wanted to kill the kid—it was a safety precaution.”

“I. AM. NOT. MY. FATHER!” Y/N shouted.

The cave shook slightly with the force of her voice, a low rumble rolling through the walls.

Amanda narrowed her eyes, voice sharp. “Stand down, Invincible. Now.”

Y/N’s fists clenched, eyes glowing. “Fuck you, Waller.”

With a disappointed sigh, Amanda lifted the device again—

Click.

And the sound was back.

That sound.

Y/N shrieked, collapsing to her knees. Blood burst from her nose again, and her fingers clawed at her temples, her scream tearing through the cave.

“NO—” Barbara gasped, racing toward her. “What—what are you doing?! Stop that!”

Cassandra darted to Y/N’s side, trying to muffle the sound with her own body—but it did nothing. Not even a trained assassin could block out the pain being funneled directly into Y/N’s mind.

Bruce’s voice was thunder. “Enough, Waller.”

But Amanda didn’t flinch. “It’s for the greater good. She’s coming with me. Whether she wants to or not.”

She turned to the teleporter. “Send them in.”

A ripple tore through the cave’s far wall—and suddenly, a wave of robotic creatures poured into the space, eyes glowing, bodies moving like liquid metal and steel.

The Batfamily moved as one.

Jason fired the first round—armor-piercing rounds that sparked against the machines. Tim dove for the computer systems, already trying to trace the control signal. Dick leapt from the second level with his escrima sticks, electricity sparking. Bruce blocked the path to Y/N with his full cape and stance, teeth gritted.

Y/N was curled in a ball, hands over her ears, body shaking violently, whimpering, nearly crying.

“Please make it stop…”

And Waller just watched. Calm. Detached.

“If you’d just listen,” she said. “None of this would be necessary.”

She had no idea what she was awakening. Because deep in Y/N’s mind—through the pain, through the sound, through the agony—something snapped.

PART TWO

#batfam x reader #invincible! reader #x reader #reader insert #x female reader #batboys x reader

239 notes · View notes

jaystardust · 2 days ago

Text

KISS, KISS, KISS LOVE ME NOW - J A Y

Genre : neighbor!jay, nurse!reader, jay is in a fightclub, strangers to lovers

Warnings : blood, angst, suggestive

Summary : when your new neighbor with strange behavior and a cold attitude is lying all bloody on the staircase, you have no other choice but to help him. And fortunately for him, you know how to do stitches…

wc : 7k

——

Night shifts were far from your favorite, but there was no avoiding them—they came with the territory. Tonight had been particularly grueling, and as you made your way to your locker to gather your belongings, all you could think about was the hot bubble bath waiting for you at home. The thought of sinking into warm, soothing water, letting it ease the tension from your muscles, was the only thing keeping you upright. You could already imagine the soft embrace of your fluffy pajamas and the cool, crisp sheets of your bed cocooning you in much-needed rest. The late hour no longer mattered; all you wanted was to unwind.

Most nights at the hospital followed the usual rhythm—routine patient checks, occasional emergencies, and long, quiet hours of paperwork. But tonight had been different. Chaos had erupted when a massive street fight sent a wave of injured people flooding into the emergency room. Blood, shouting, the frantic pace of doctors and nurses scrambling to stabilize patients—it had been relentless. The hours dragged, exhaustion gnawed at your bones, and by the time your shift ended, you felt like a shadow of yourself.

Your city was usually quiet, only punctuated by brief moments of excitement. But lately, something had changed. A darker undercurrent ran beneath the surface, seeping into everyday life. Just last week, in the hospital’s changing room, you overheard whispers among your colleagues. Rumors of a secret fight club were spreading—an underground ring where people brawled for money, pride, or simply the thrill of it. These fights, they said, had been escalating, leaving competitors battered and broken, some requiring serious medical attention.

You weren’t one for gossip, though. Whether the fight club was real or just an exaggerated rumor, it wasn’t your concern. People made their choices, and you had enough on your plate without worrying about reckless strangers throwing punches for sport.

The drive home was quiet, the deserted streets bathed in the amber glow of streetlights. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft melody of your car radio provided a comforting contrast to the night’s earlier chaos. Slowly, the tension in your shoulders began to ease. By the time you pulled into your usual parking spot, the hospital felt like a distant memory.

Stepping into the lobby of your apartment building, you sighed as the old neon light above flickered erratically. The buzzing was almost rhythmic, a constant reminder that the building had seen better days. Your gaze drifted to the staircase—three flights between you and your apartment. Normally, the lack of an elevator was just a minor inconvenience, but tonight, with exhaustion weighing on you like lead, it felt like a cruel joke.

Halfway up the first flight, you heard it—a faint sound that made you stop mid-step. A muffled groan, low and pained. Your pulse quickened as you turned your head, searching for the source.

Then you saw him.

A man lay slumped against the wall on the landing, his jet-black hair tousled and damp with sweat. He was breathing heavily, his body tense as if every movement caused him pain. In the dim glow of the stairwell, you recognized him instantly—your neighbor.

You’d never spoken to him before. He was a mystery, always distant, his presence more like a shadow that drifted through the building without a word. On the rare occasions your paths crossed, he never acknowledged you beyond a curt nod—if even that.

But now, all that cold detachment was gone. Now, he was vulnerable.

For a brief moment, you hesitated. He wasn’t your responsibility. He had never shown the slightest interest in your existence, and yet, something about seeing him like this stirred unease in your chest.

Was he drunk? The thought crossed your mind as you took another step closer, subtly sniffing the air for any trace of alcohol. But before you could form a conclusion, his voice cut through the silence.

"I'm not drunk," he muttered, his tone low but sharp enough to catch you off guard.

You froze, startled, as though you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. His dark eyes met yours under the flickering white neon, and for a brief second, you felt oddly flustered.

"Uh… well, are you okay?" you stammered, regaining your composure. "You don’t look like you’re in great shape."

He shifted slightly, trying to straighten himself against the wall, and that’s when you saw it—the deep crimson stain blooming across the fabric of his light-colored shirt.

Your breath hitched.

"Oh my God, you’re bleeding!" The words rushed out before you could stop them.

Instinct took over, and before he could protest, you were on your knees beside him, eyes scanning for the source of the wound. The sight of so much blood made your heart race.

His abdomen—that’s where the stain was darkest. The sheer amount of blood loss made you hiss in concern. You reached out, fingers hovering just above the fabric. In the hospital, you wouldn’t hesitate. You’d lift his shirt, assess the damage, and get to work. But here, in the dim stairwell of your apartment building, with a man you barely knew, you faltered.

“Can I move this?” you asked, voice softer now. “I need to see how bad it is.”

He let out a humorless chuckle, though it quickly turned into a grimace.

“Why do you even care?” he murmured, his voice laced with something unreadable. "Are you a doctor or something? You don’t even know me. Why would you help me?"

His words stung, though you weren’t sure why. Maybe because, despite his attempt at indifference, there was something raw beneath them—something that hinted at a man who wasn’t used to kindness.

You met his gaze, steady and unwavering.

"Because you need it," you said simply. "Now, let me help you."

He stared at you for a long moment, and then, with a tired sigh, he let his head rest back against the wall.

"Fine," he muttered. "Do whatever you want."

And with that, you carefully lifted the fabric, bracing yourself for what you might find beneath.

Beneath the fabric, you saw a horizontal wound—deep, but not deep enough to cause internal damage. Judging by the clean slice, it looked like a knife wound. Experience told you that this would need stitches. The amount of blood loss was severe; it was a wonder he was still conscious. Adrenaline, you realized, must be keeping him awake.

The weather wasn’t too cold, so you hadn’t worn a jacket, but you had a silk scarf in your bag—just in case. After a brief moment of hesitation, you pulled it out and pressed it firmly against the wound to slow the bleeding.

“You’re going to need stitches,” you murmured. “It’s not safe to do this here. These stairs are filthy—I don’t even want to think about when they were last cleaned. I have supplies in my apartment. Can you move?”

He let out a slow breath, his face contorting in pain as he tried to shift. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t make it, but then he gritted his teeth and nodded.

“I’ll manage,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

You slipped an arm under his to help him up, his weight pressing heavily against you. It was going to be a long night.

As you struggled to maintain his weight, you couldn't help but notice the firm muscles beneath your fingers. His toned arm rested against you, and despite the situation, you briefly wondered if he spent time at the gym. He had always seemed distant and unapproachable, but now, pressed against you like this, he felt undeniably human. Vulnerable, even.

You suddenly realized you didn’t even know his first name.

“What’s your name, by the way?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual despite the tension in the air.

A beat of silence followed, his breathing slightly labored as he adjusted his stance. Then, with a weak but unmistakably sarcastic tone, he responded.

“I didn’t know we were doing a chit-chat session… If only I knew, I would’ve brought some tea and cookies.”

Despite yourself, you huffed out a short, amused breath. Even injured, he had the energy to be difficult.

You preferred to ignore his remark, exhaling a short sigh as you fumbled with your keys. Still, from the corner of your eye, you caught the faintest hint of satisfaction on his face, as if he was pleased with himself for the snarky comment. Rolling your eyes, you finally unlocked the door and guided him inside, steering him toward the sofa.

Helping him down, you underestimated his weight. He was heavier than he looked, and as he leaned into you, you lost your balance for a split second. Your body tilted forward, nearly collapsing onto him. At the last moment, you managed to steady yourself, gripping the back of the couch for support.

He didn’t miss the opportunity to tease you.

“Wow,” he rasped, amusement lacing his tired voice. “First, you drag me into your place, and now you’re trying to top me? You’re burning through a lot of steps here… and you still don’t even know my name.”

Your face heated instantly, and you straightened up, scoffing. “You’re delirious,” you muttered, ignoring the way your pulse quickened at his words. Turning on your heel, you hurried toward the bathroom, determined to collect your medical supplies before he could make another comment.

Just as you rummaged through the cabinet, his voice—softer this time—drifted through the apartment.

“It’s Jay,” he murmured. “My name is Jay, by the way.”

The sarcasm was gone now, replaced by something quieter, something almost... sincere.

As you stitched him up in the dim glow of your living room, Jay barely flinched. His eyes remained trained on you, unreadable, though his breathing had evened out somewhat. The tension in the air was thick, weighted by unspoken words.

"You're good at this," he finally said, breaking the silence.

"I should be," you murmured. "It's my job."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Nurse, huh?"

You nodded, securing the last stitch. "And you? Let me guess... underground fighter?"

His smirk deepened, though there was something almost resigned in it. "Something like that."

Your hands lingered on his skin for a moment before you finally sat back, exhaling slowly. "You should rest. You'll need it."

Jay watched you carefully, his expression unreadable. "And what if I don’t?"

You met his gaze, unwavering. "Then I guess you'll just end up back here again."

A quiet chuckle escaped him. "Guess I could do worse."

You tried to ignore his remark and walked to your open kitchen.

“Do you want anything to eat? Or drink? You should get some sleep too. You can sleep on the sofa; it's comfortable enough, I swear. I don't want the stitches to split, you know…”

“Fine, I'll sleep here then. I'm fine with food, but I'll gladly accept a glass of water, please.”

You could hear the tiredness in his voice. He must have been through a lot, even if you still didn't know what happened to him. You didn’t want to be too nosy for your own good. And you were kind of surprised to see him agree so easily, so you nodded and prepared a glass of water for him.

“Here you are.”

As you handed him the water, you realized that he was still shirtless because of the stitches and the bloody shirt he had been wearing before.

“Would you like a shirt to wear for the night? I have some oversized ones if you want. I can wash the one you were wearing before.”

“Oh, you don't need to wash it. It's okay. I’d feel indebted, and I hate that. You already did enough for me,” he muttered. “Besides, I'm used to sleeping shirtless anyway, so it's fine.”

You hesitated for a moment, watching him as he took a sip of water. The way he held the glass—like it was taking every ounce of his strength just to keep it steady—made your stomach twist with unease. He was clearly exhausted, his body pushed to its limits, and yet he still tried to maintain a sense of control, a sense of dignity.

"Suit yourself," you murmured, watching as he leaned back against the couch, his eyes half-lidded with fatigue. The faint glow of the city lights outside painted his face in soft shadows, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline, the subtle tension in his brow. He looked like someone who had seen too much, someone carrying a weight too heavy for one person alone.

After a moment of silence, Jay spoke, his voice quieter than before. "What's your name?"

You blinked, slightly caught off guard. "Y/N."

He nodded slowly, as if committing it to memory. "Thanks for… everything, Y/N."

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, then closed his eyes for a moment. You thought he might be drifting off, but then he spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

"You should be careful."

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jay's eyes flickered open just enough to meet yours, his gaze unreadable. "You're better off not knowing, Y/N. Some things are safer in the dark."

A chill ran down your spine. The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and unsettling. You had noticed the shift in the city—the strange unease that lingered in the air like an oncoming storm. The hospital had seen more violent cases lately, unexplained injuries, people unwilling to talk. And now, Jay—bleeding, cryptic, sitting in your apartment like some unfinished story.

"What are you involved in?" you asked quietly.

Jay exhaled, a tired, humorless sound. "I told you—you're better off not knowing. Just… be careful."

His voice was softer this time, almost reluctant. You could tell he was holding something back, something that could change everything. But instead of pressing him, you just watched as his eyes slipped shut again, exhaustion finally pulling him under.

You could tell he was holding back details, but you didn't press. Instead, you sat down across from him, studying his face. There was something about him—something that made you want to understand, to help, even though logic screamed at you to stay out of it.

"You should sleep," you said finally.

He gave a slow nod, his body already surrendering to exhaustion. As you stood and made your way to your bedroom, you couldn't shake the feeling that this night had changed something. That Jay had pulled you into something much bigger than either of you realized.

The next morning, the sound of silence greeted you. You stretched, groggy from sleep, and padded out of your bedroom, expecting to see Jay still asleep on the couch.

But he was gone.

The blankets you had given him were neatly folded on the armrest, the glass of water empty and placed carefully on the kitchen counter. It was as if he had never been there at all.

You stood still for a moment, staring at the quiet remnants of his presence. A faint trace of something lingered in the air—his scent, a mix of soap and something vaguely metallic, like the echo of last night's blood. You exhaled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, trying to ignore the strange emptiness settling in your chest.

You should have known he wouldn't stay. A man like Jay never stayed in one place for too long. He was a shadow, slipping between the cracks, existing only on the periphery. And yet, part of you had expected—or maybe hoped—that he'd still be here when you woke up.

Your gaze drifted to the small piece of paper on the kitchen counter. A napkin, folded over, with something scrawled in dark ink.

"Stay out of trouble."

You ran your fingers over the words, as if they might reveal more than what was written. No name, no explanation. Just a warning. A part of you wanted to crumple the napkin and throw it away. Another part wanted to hold onto it.

With a quiet sigh, you placed it back on the counter. You told yourself you wouldn't get involved. That last night was a fluke, a coincidence. But deep down, you had the sinking feeling that this wasn't over.

And somehow, you knew Jay would be back.

Days passed, then weeks, and Jay remained a ghost in your life. You told yourself you weren’t waiting for him, that his absence didn’t gnaw at the back of your mind late at night. But sometimes, when exhaustion from long hospital shifts blurred the edges of your thoughts, you found yourself wondering where he was, if he was alright. If he had gotten himself into more trouble.

Work kept you busy enough to push those thoughts aside. One of your colleagues had taken leave, and you were drowning in extra shifts, barely having time to breathe. The days blurred together—long nights at the hospital, short-lived sleep, and an endless cycle of patients, beeping monitors, and hurried footsteps.

Then, one afternoon, as you were slipping on your shoes, ready to head out and finally catch a breath of fresh air with a friend, a knock echoed through your apartment. It was sharp, deliberate.

Frowning, you glanced at the door. You weren’t expecting anyone.

When you opened it, your breath hitched slightly.

Jay stood there.

It had been weeks, but he looked nearly the same—just as unreadable, just as distant. But there was something else, something in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his gaze flickered over you as if making sure you were still in one piece.

"It's been a while," you said, unable to hide the hint of surprise in your voice.

Jay’s lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something—but then he hesitated. Instead, he exhaled slowly and met your eyes. "Can I come in?"

You were supposed to leave, but you just couldn't say no to him, and you didn't know why. There was something about Jay—something in the way he stood there, his presence filling the space like a quiet storm. His hair had grown a little longer since the last time you'd seen him, and the way his fringe fell against his eyelashes made him look almost boyish, despite the sharp edge of his demeanor. You forced yourself to focus on anything else, anything but his face—or worse, his body.

"Uhm, yeah. Sure, come in." You stepped aside, giving him enough space to enter as you closed the door behind him, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment settle around you.

He moved with a casual ease, making his way to the bar of your open kitchen. It was only then that you noticed what he was holding—your silk scarf. The same one that had been stained with his blood. You had completely forgotten about it, about the mess of that night, but he hadn’t.

"I washed it for you," he said, holding it out. "It was all stained. I tried to stop by a few times, but you were never home… so I couldn't give it back to you."

You took the scarf, running your fingers over the smooth fabric, now spotless, as if that night had never happened.

"Oh… thank you. You could've just left it at my door, you know."

"No," Jay said, shaking his head slightly. "I didn’t want to. I wanted to thank you.

And…" He hesitated for just a moment before adding, "I wanted to see you."

You were caught completely off guard by his words. Your mouth opened slightly, as if to respond, but no words came out. Instead, you shut it quickly, your mind scrambling to process what he had just said. He wanted to see you? That was unexpected—unsettling, even.

Trying to regain some sense of normalcy, you turned away and made your way to the kitchen. You busied yourself with pouring him a glass of water, just like the last time. It was something to focus on, something simple. But the entire time, you were hyper-aware of his presence, of the way he seemed so at ease in your space. He leaned against the counter with a kind of lazy confidence, as if he belonged here, as if he had always been part of your life.

But that wasn’t the case.

The first time you met him, he was bleeding out in the stairwell. That was the reality. Not this strange sense of familiarity that had somehow settled between you two. Not this bizarre comfort in his presence. You barely knew him. And yet, here he was, lingering in your kitchen like a ghost that refused to be forgotten.

And that’s what made you uneasy.

Because the more you thought about it, the more you realized—you didn’t really know who Jay was at all. You didn’t know where he went when he disappeared for days, or why he had been covered in blood the night you found him. You didn’t know if he was bad news or worse—dangerous.

And the worst part?

You should have been thinking about that before letting him have a damn sleepover in your living room.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice what he was doing at first. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught the slow movement of his fingers playing with something—a small, crumpled piece of paper. Or rather, a paper towel.

It took you a second to realize what it was.

The note.

The one he left for you that morning.

“Oh? You kept my note?” His voice was laced with amusement, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “How cute.”

That smirk—it was becoming a habit. Maybe it was his signature look, that teasing half-smile that made it impossible to tell whether he was being serious or just messing with you.

Your stomach twisted slightly as you realized you had, in fact, kept it. Not intentionally. You had been so busy with work, drowning in shifts and exhaustion, that you completely forgot to throw it away. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered, reaching out and snatching the paper towel from his hands before he could say anything else. “I just forgot it was there.”

“Mm-hmm.” He didn’t look convinced.

His eyes flickered over you, studying your reaction with that unreadable expression of his. And for a brief moment, you had the strangest feeling—that he could see right through you. That he knew you weren’t being entirely honest.

That maybe, just maybe, you had kept the note on purpose.

But before you could dwell on it any longer, Jay leaned back against the counter, stretching his arms over his head like he had all the time in the world.

“So,” he said, voice casual, “how long are you gonna keep pretending you’re not curious about me?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Because the truth was—you were curious. You had been from the very beginning.

And Jay knew it.

You tried to look disinterested by his words, forcing yourself to maintain a neutral expression.

"I'm not. Do you think you're a psychic or something?"

He frowned slightly, caught off guard by your sudden change in attitude. His gaze lingered on you, studying your face like he was trying to decipher a puzzle.

"What's with the change of mood right now? Last time I saw you, you were so nosy about me."

You crossed your arms, not breaking eye contact. "It's called being worried. And last time I checked, it's been days since then. So why do you care to tell me now, huh?"

The atmosphere shifted, heavy with unspoken words. The silence between you stretched, thick and unbearable. Jay exhaled slowly, placing the towel back on the counter. He opened his mouth, as if about to respond, but before he could, the sudden shrill ring of your phone cut through the tension.

"Oh my God—Giselle!" you muttered, your stomach twisting as you glanced at the caller ID. You had completely forgotten about her. Swiping to answer, you turned slightly away from Jay. "Hey, I’m so sorry. Something came up, and that’s why I’m running late. I’ll explain later."

After ending the call, you hesitated before turning back to Jay. His expression was unreadable, his posture tense, like he was weighing whether to say something or let it go. The way he stood there, quiet and brooding, sent a strange ripple through your chest.

"I won't take much more of your time," he said finally, his voice quieter than before. "You have somewhere to be."

Something about the way he said it—flat, detached—made your stomach tighten. You opened your mouth, wanting to say something, but the words stuck in your throat. He gave you one last unreadable glance before stepping back, his presence already slipping away like a shadow.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

Reunited with your friend, you were barely enjoying your evening. You had gone out to clear your mind after all the stress from work, but no matter how much you tried to distract yourself, your thoughts kept circling back to Jay.

Giselle was animatedly recounting how she met her new crush, her excitement evident in the way her hands gestured wildly as she spoke. But you weren’t even listening. Her words faded into the background, blending with the ambient noise of the café, drowned out by the thoughts racing in your head.

You felt guilty—guilty for zoning out on your friend, but even more so for how you had treated Jay earlier. The way you had brushed him off, the sharpness in your tone—it all replayed in your mind, making your stomach twist uncomfortably. He had come to see you for a reason, and instead of hearing him out, you had shut him down.

Giselle suddenly paused mid-sentence, narrowing her eyes at you. "Okay, what’s going on with you? You’ve been weirdly quiet all night."

You blinked, realizing you had been staring into your drink for who knows how long.

"Huh?" you said, attempting to feign innocence.

She gave you a knowing look, crossing her arms. "Don’t ‘huh’ me. Spill."

You hesitated, debating whether to brush it off or tell her the truth. But the weight in your chest was growing heavier by the second. With a sigh, you finally admitted, "It’s... Jay."

Giselle arched an eyebrow. "The mysterious neighbor? What about him?"

You hesitated again, running a hand through your hair. "I don’t know. He showed up earlier, and I just— I don’t think I handled it well."

She leaned forward, intrigued. "Wait, wait. Start from the beginning. What happened?"

You took a deep breath, trying to piece together your jumbled emotions. "He just seemed... off. Like, there was something he wanted to say, but I kind of pushed him away before he could. And now I can’t stop thinking about it."

Giselle smirked, sipping her drink. "Sounds like you care about him more than you’re willing to admit."

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. And that realization unsettled you

more than anything else.

You hadn’t planned on seeing Jay again.

Not tonight. Not this soon. And definitely not like this.

It was just past midnight when you stepped into the quiet of your apartment, shoes in hand, coat barely hanging off your shoulders. Giselle had insisted on walking you halfway home before giving you a final, pointed look that said: Figure it out. And you had nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

You didn’t know what you were hoping for when you turned your key in the lock. Certainly not Jay, waiting for you in the hallway, seated on the floor with his back against the wall, head tilted up like he’d been dozing off.

Your breath caught.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice hushed in disbelief.

Jay looked up slowly, his eyes finding yours in the dim light. “You left your door unlocked.”

“That… doesn’t answer my question.”

He stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “I figured I’d wait. In case you wanted to talk.”

You blinked. “You could’ve texted.”

“You could’ve answered.”

Touché.

You swallowed thickly, the air around you shifting—dense, electric. There was a beat of silence between you, longer than it should’ve been, until you stepped past him into the apartment. You didn’t invite him in this time. You didn’t need to.

He followed you anyway.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the sound was deafening in the stillness of the space.

“I was out with a friend,” you said, dropping your coat over the back of a chair, your tone deliberately neutral.

“I figured,” he replied, watching you closely.

You turned toward him, arms folded tightly across your chest. “What are we doing, Jay?”

His expression shifted, something unreadable passing through his gaze. “You tell me.”

“You show up bleeding one night, sleep on my couch, vanish without a word, and then come back acting like this is normal. Like we’re normal. We’re not.”

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “Doesn’t feel normal to you?”

Your back hit the kitchen counter before you realized you’d even moved. Jay was in front of you now, close enough that you could see the faint scar near his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders as he leaned down—just enough to be in your space, without touching you.

“No,” you whispered. “It doesn’t.”

His hand lifted slowly, giving you a chance to stop him. You didn’t.

Fingers brushed your jaw, warm and steady, as he tilted your face up to meet his.

“You’ve been in my head,” he murmured, his voice low, roughened at the edges. “Since that night. And I don’t know what this is either, but I’m not going to pretend I don’t want it.”

You could barely breathe.

Your hands found his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric—not pulling him closer, not pushing him away. Just holding. Like that alone might steady you.

“What if this is a bad idea?” you managed.

He leaned in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. Not kissing. Not yet. Just close enough to tempt.

“Then let’s make it the kind of bad we don’t regret.”

That was all it took.

Your mouth met his in a rush, like you’d been holding back for too long. The kiss was messy, heated—his hands finding your waist, your hips, anchoring you against the counter as if he couldn’t stand the space between you. Your fingers slid under his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and he let it fall without a second thought.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft.

Jay kissed like he meant it—like he had something to prove. His tongue slid against yours, his hand slipping under your shirt, splaying wide across your lower back, drawing you closer until there was no room left between your bodies. You could feel the tension in him, the way he was holding back, barely.

“Bedroom?” he asked between kisses, voice thick with restraint.

You nodded, breathless.

He didn’t wait. He scooped you up with startling ease, and your arms looped around his neck instinctively. You were in your room within seconds, the door kicked shut behind him.

Clothes came off in pieces—your shirt over your head, his hands tugging at your waistband, his own shirt discarded on the floor. You barely noticed the mess. You were too focused on the way he looked in the faint light of your bedside lamp: sculpted, lean, every movement controlled like he knew exactly what he was doing—and exactly what he wanted.

His mouth trailed along your collarbone, down your chest, until you gasped his name, fingers threading through his hair.

And when he finally sank into you, it wasn’t rushed anymore. It was slow. Purposeful. His mouth found yours again, softer this time, as if to make sure you felt every second of it. Every inch.

“You’re dangerous,” you whispered against his skin, dazed and breathless.

Jay only smiled, low and wicked, as his pace deepened.

“You let me in anyway.”

You lay there in silence for a while, his body warm beside yours, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your arm. The calm was deceptive—too still, too quiet—like the eye of a storm.

But you couldn’t let it go. You had to know.

“Jay,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the hush. “That night. When I found you. Why were you bleeding?”

He stiffened slightly, the motion subtle but noticeable. His hand stopped moving, and for a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to answer.

Then, he sat up, running a hand through his hair.

“You really want to know?” he asked, not looking at you.

“Yes,” you said, sitting up as well, wrapping the sheet around you. “I do.”

Jay exhaled hard, like the truth cost him something just to say out loud. “I’m part of a fight club.”

You blinked. “A what?”

“A fight club,” he repeated, slower this time. “Underground. No rules. No names. Just blood and money.”

You stared at him, heart sinking. “God, Jay.”

“It’s not what you think,” he muttered quickly, sensing your reaction. “I don’t do it for fun. It’s not about the violence. I needed the cash—at first. And then it became something else. Something I couldn’t walk away from.”

“You make it sound like an addiction,” you said, trying to keep your voice level.

He looked at you finally, his gaze unreadable. “Maybe it is.”

The weight of his confession settled over you like a cold fog. You swallowed hard.

“Jay, you can’t keep living like this. It’s dangerous. You could get seriously hurt—worse.”

He pulled away slightly, a flash of something dark crossing his face. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand.”

He stood abruptly, pacing the room. “You don’t know what it’s like. The kind of pressure I’m under. The things I’ve had to do just to stay afloat. This—” he gestured between you two, “—this isn’t part of that world. And maybe it shouldn’t be.”

You flinched, feeling the sting behind his words. “So what are you saying? That this was a mistake?”

He hesitated. Just long enough.

And you filled the silence yourself.

“Maybe it was,” you said, wrapping the sheet tighter around your chest. “Maybe it shouldn’t have happened.”

Jay’s eyes darkened. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this meant nothing to you.”

“Then stop pushing me away!” you snapped. “I let you in, Jay. I gave a damn when no one else did. And you can’t even let me care without treating it like a threat.”

Silence fell again, heavy and final. Jay looked at you like he wanted to say something more—needed to—but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, he turned, grabbing his clothes off the floor.

You watched, arms folded tightly, your throat burning.

He dressed without speaking, and when he reached the door, he paused.

“Thanks for the scarf,” he said quietly, almost bitterly. “And for the couch. I’ll let myself out.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t stop him.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence he left in his wake was deafening.

Three days.

That’s how long it had been since Jay walked out of your apartment—out of your bed, out of your life—with nothing more than a quiet goodbye.

And despite everything, despite what you’d told him (and told yourself), your thoughts kept drifting back to that night. His hands, his mouth, his eyes when he looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to reality. It wasn’t supposed to happen. But it did. And now you couldn’t un-feel it.

You told yourself you were done. You told Giselle you were over it.

But when your phone rang, a number you didn’t recognize lighting up the screen, your gut twisted.

You hesitated before answering. “Hello?”

“Hi—uh, is this Y/N?”

Your brows furrowed. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to call you like this. I’m a friend of Jay’s. My name’s Jake. He… he’s at the hospital.”

Your blood ran cold.

“What? What happened?”

“There was a fight. One of the guys went too far. Jay tried to stop it, but he got dragged into it. He’s okay now, but… he asked for you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. “What hospital?”

The fluorescent lights of the emergency wing buzzed softly overhead as you hurried through the halls, pulse racing. The moment you reached the room number Jake had given you, you saw him—Jay, sitting on the hospital bed, stitches along his eyebrow, a bruise darkening his jaw, IV hooked to his arm.

He looked up when you entered, eyes widening slightly.

“I told you not to come,” he muttered.

You ignored that. “You look like hell.”

A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You always know what to say.”

You approached slowly, not sure if you were angry or relieved or both. “Why did you ask for me?”

He looked away, his jaw clenched. “Because… I didn’t know who else to call.”

That hit harder than you expected.

You sat down in the chair beside his bed, letting the silence stretch between you before you finally asked, “Are you done?”

He frowned. “With what?”

“With all this. The fighting. The club. Putting yourself in danger like it’s a game.”

“It’s not that simple—”

“It is,” you cut in, voice shaking. “You’re going to die if you keep doing this. Maybe not today, maybe not next week, but it’s going to happen. And what then? Another anonymous body in a back alley? Another name scratched off a list?”

Jay’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t argue.

“Do you even care what that would do to the people who care about you?” you added.

He flinched. “People like you?”

You stared at him. “Yeah. People like me.”

There it was again—that look. The one that made your stomach flip and your heart ache. Like he was seeing you for the first time and didn’t know what to do with the weight of it.

“I don’t want to lose you, Jay,” you whispered.

He looked at you then, fully. “I don’t want to lose myself.”

You didn’t speak again for a long moment. Instead, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand.

“Then let me help you,” you said. “But only if you want out.”

He looked down at your hand—small, steady, warm over his—and something in his expression shifted. Slowly, cautiously, he nodded.

“Okay.”

Five days later.

Jay had been discharged that morning. You knew because Jake had texted you—short and to the point. He’s home. Still looks like shit, but he’s fine. You hadn’t answered.

You’d told Jay you wanted to help him. That much was true. But part of you was scared. Scared of what helping him might mean. Of what being close to him again would do to your heart, to your sanity. Still, when you found yourself walking down the familiar hallway to his apartment later that evening, you didn’t stop yourself.

You knocked once. The door opened a few seconds later.

Jay stood there in a plain black hoodie and joggers, his hair tousled, dark eyes shadowed but alert. The bruises were fading, but the stitches still held a stark contrast against his skin. He didn’t say anything—just stepped aside to let you in.

“You should lock your door,” you muttered, brushing past him.

“I was expecting you.”

You glanced back at him. “That so?”

He shrugged one shoulder, then leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “I didn’t think you’d stay away forever.”

You turned to face him fully. “You scared me, Jay.”

His gaze dropped for a beat. “I know.”

“I thought I was going to lose you.”

Something about the way you said it made him still. Slowly, he moved toward you—tentative, like approaching something fragile.

“But you didn’t,” he said, voice low. “You didn’t lose me.”

“Yet.”

You hated how small your voice sounded. Vulnerable. But Jay didn’t flinch. Instead, he took one more step, closing the space between you. His hand lifted, hesitating for a breath before it came to rest lightly on your waist.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I want out. For real this time. No more clubs. No more fights. No more running.”

You searched his face, looking for cracks in the promise, but what you saw was something steadier. Something honest.

“You’re serious?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. But I’m gonna need you to believe in me. Because I don’t really know how to do this… the right way.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you stepped closer, until his chest was nearly brushing yours, your hands sliding slowly up the front of his hoodie.

“Then maybe we start over,” you whispered.

Jay tilted his head, his lips ghosting over yours. “How?”

Your fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt. “Ask me out, properly. Not just showing up in my apartment bleeding, or waiting for me in the hallway.”

That earned a soft, crooked smile from him.

“Okay,” he said. “Y/N… would you go out with me? On a real date. Just us. No blood, no drama. Just… you and me.”

You smiled, warmth blooming slowly in your chest. “I thought you’d never ask.”

And then he kissed you—not like the other night, not wild and rushed and desperate. This kiss was different. Slower. Deeper. Like a beginning instead of a breaking point.

He pulled you closer, his hands moving with reverent ease, like he was memorizing the shape of your back, the curve of your spine. His mouth moved against yours, soft but sure, his lips parting just enough to invite yours to follow. You melted into him, sighing quietly as your body pressed flush against his.

When he finally pulled back, breath slightly uneven, his voice was rough.

“You stayin’ tonight?”

You looked up at him, heart thudding.

“Only if we actually get to sleep this time,” you teased.

He chuckled, eyes gleaming with something dangerous and sweet.

“No promises.”

——

TAGLIST -> @kyunlov @jungwoncatboy @fancypeacepersona @citylightsdoll @rayofsunshineeee @jaylajakey @haechsworld @sukisvr

#enhypen #enhypen au #enhypen imagines #enhypen angst #enhypen x reader #jay enhypen #jaystardust #park jay x reader #enhypen jay #park jongseong x reader #park jongseong

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siredtoelijah44 · 2 days ago

Text

Behave – Aaron Hotchner (18+)

about: teasing Aaron at work always ended the same way – with him putting you in your place

warnings: smut, f!reader, brief mention of Haley and Jack, implied big age gap, bratty!reader, brat tamer hotch, mentions of f!masturbation, teasing aaron at work, spicy pics, using a tie as restraints, spanking with a belt, stoplight system, unprotected sex, brief aftercare

a/n: first Aaron fic so it might be a little ooc

word count: 3568

Hotch hadn’t always been so serious. When he was younger he’d been more carefree. Before everything had happened with Haley and before the BAU had finally taken its toll on him, he’d been different. The team always liked to tease him for being a drill sergeant. But his stoicism did fade sometimes.

When he was with Jack, he could crack a smile. The nights spent at Rossi’s place when the entire team got to take a breath and forget about the things they saw every day, were refreshing.

And he certainly melted when he was with you. A soft smile or a gentle touch turned him into a puddle of mush.

When he first met you it had been the day you moved in next door.

Sweat covered your body as you carried boxes into the apartment next to his, hair sticking to your forehead. Things were precariously balanced as you tried to make it into your new place. Aaron had taken pity on you and offered help. You’d gladly taken it.

Once you were settled you’d wound up at his door with a fresh batch of cookies as a thank you for his assistance. It wasn’t the only time you’d ended up in this situation. Aaron had given you his phone number for emergencies and you’d ended up calling him more than once when you were in need – a lightbulb you couldn’t reach that needed changing, when your fridge had gone out and you hadn’t been able to figure out how to fix it.

You’d bring him dinner or baked goods in return for the things he did for you. But simple favors and gifts in return slowly turned into something more. They turned to late nights and drinks and getting to know each other.

He’d been hesitant to let you in. Aaron had walls up that he didn’t want to bring down, especially considering your age. You were far too young for a man like him – someone who was so broken, who felt as if he was damaged beyond repair.

But you weren’t deterred by his gruff exterior. Eventually one thing led to another and you wound up in his bed one night. Then it happened again. Soon enough he was officially calling you his girlfriend and introducing you to his team and telling Jack about you two. The walls slowly came down around his heart.

The shrill sound of an alarm going off pierced through the pleasant dreams you’d been having. Eyes stayed closed but you could feel Aaron shifting, getting out of bed to get ready for the day. You could hear the bathroom door open and then the familiar sound of the shower running.

The familiar – and welcome – sight of Aaron with a towel around his waist and wet hair was the first thing you saw when you finally pried your eyes open. You’d wanted to see him before he left, despite the sleep still clinging to the edges of your consciousness. Now you seemed wide awake.

His body was on display for your greedy eyes. Water droplets clung to his skin and your eyes followed a drop as it trailed down his body, carving a path down to where his towel sat low on his hips.

You couldn’t help the little noise – practically a whine – that escaped your lips at the sight. His gaze snapped towards you at the noise. You looked practically angelic to him. You were wrapped up in the sheets, wearing nothing but his shirt.

“Come back to bed,” you crooned, sleep still lacing your words.

Aaron chuckled softly. “I can’t do that, honey. I have to go to work.”

His body was hidden from your gaze as he entered the closet to get dressed. You huffed softly. You could hear the familiar rustling of fabric as he pulled on his suit. He finally returned to your view as he did up the last of his buttons.

“You can call out. Just this once,” you begged.

His smile made your heart flutter. “I can’t,” he repeated. “I’ve got a load of paperwork I have to get done.”

The pout on your lips only made his smile widen. He sat down on the edge of the bed as he pulled his shoes on. As he sat up, his hands went to his tie. Your eyes were fixed on his hands as he tied the fabric.

“Baby, please.” Your hands tugged at his suit jacket, urging him towards you. He knew you only called him baby when you wanted something.

“Honey, I can’t.”

“At least gimme a kiss before you go.”

Aaron could at least oblige that request, even if he couldn’t stay home with you. As appealing as spending his entire day tangled in the sheets with you was, the stack of paperwork on his desk had been building up.

He’d gotten home from a case the night before and hadn’t finished his reports. He’d been exhausted and all he’d wanted was to kiss his son goodnight and crawl into bed with you. So he’d done just that but that meant he needed to get to the office to do the work today.

He leaned in – a warm hand cupping your cheek – and pressed his lips against yours. It was a brief kiss. A quick moment of intimacy. It was all he had time for.

“I’ll see you tonight, honey,” he murmured. He gently pushed you back down onto the bed. “Just go back to sleep.”

You sunk back into the pillows. More than anything you wanted to pull him back into bed and make him stay with you. He’d been gone for nearly a week but didn’t have the energy to touch you last night. But now you were needy.

Yet, Aaron just kissed your forehead and left you to drift back to sleep, considering it was 5:00 am.

When you woke back up it was 10:00. You were restless. You were wound tight and nothing but Aaron himself would fix that. Your hands between your thighs didn’t ease the ache that had settled in your tummy – in fact it only made it worse.

Now you were even more on the edge. Picturing Aaron like he had been this morning – dripping with water and in nothing but a towel – wasn’t enough to push you over the edge. You needed him. You needed his fingers. They were so much bigger than your own. His hands felt so much better against your skin. He always knew how to make your toes curl and pleasure overwhelm your senses.

God, you needed him but it was still morning. He likely wouldn’t be home until late, leaving you to fend for yourself. But nothing you did seemed to work.

By the time lunch rolled around you were losing your mind.

There was no food in the fridge so you’d decided to get dressed to go grocery shopping. But when you got in the car you realized you didn’t want to deal with cooking. And an idea had popped into your head. It would likely end with you regretting it by the end of the night, but at least you’d have his undivided attention.

Aaron had been hunched over his desk since he’d gotten into the office. He needed to get all the paperwork done so he could get home. He wanted to get home to you. He knew you’d been on edge this morning. He felt bad for leaving you high and dry but he had a deadline.

What he hadn’t expected was to hear your voice floating into his office. The familiar cadence caught his attention. He looked up only to see you in the bullpen. You were perched on the edge of Emily’s desk as the team gathered around you.

You passed out containers of take-out with their names scrawled on the boxes. Hotch watched you carefully – leaning back in his chair – as you chatted with his coworkers before you made your way to his office.

He watched as you sat on his desk, offering a container to him. He took it from you. “What are you doing here, honey?”

“Brought you lunch,” you murmured.

He hummed softly in response, tugging you a little closer to him. He admired you for a moment – legs on display in that short skirt as you teetered on the edge of his desk. “Is that so?”

You leaned in, giving him a chaste kiss. “There was no food in the fridge,” you explained, launching into a long winded tale about how exactly you ended up in Aaron’s office. He nodded along. He listened to each word that left your lips, even if you went on little tangents. “Then I was craving your favorite and it felt rude to get it without you, so I brought it to you. And I figured you could all use lunch.”

You hadn’t been entirely wrong to assume he hadn’t eaten and neither had the rest of the team. They all had a tendency to get one-track minded when it came to work. Hunger was typically low on their list of priorities.

Aaron smiled as your story tapered off. He pulled you in for another quick kiss. He wouldn't give the team the satisfaction of much more than that, knowing they were watching from the bullpen.

“You could’ve just called and said you wanted to see me, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“That would’ve ruined the surprise.”

He squeezed your knee gently. It was as much of your skin as he’d allow himself to touch right now, but it was hard to resist you in that skirt. “We both know why you really came.”

You ignored his claims that you had ulterior motives and pressed your lips against his once more. You pulled away, settling into the chair across from his desk so you both could eat your lunch.

“Better eat up,” you told him, “or your food will get cold.”

You were on his mind the rest of the day. He knew that had been your plan – to make him want you as badly as you wanted him. His mind kept drifting back to you. To the way you looked that morning and then the way you’d looked perched on his desk in that skirt. You knew what that skirt did to him.

You only made things more difficult for him when you started texting him.

His phone buzzing had snapped him back to reality. He glanced at the screen.

Y/N: I miss you

He sighed softly but sent you a quick text back.

Aaron: Miss you too. I’ll be home no later than seven.

He thought that would be the end of it but no. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into you, but you seemed determined to test his patience today.

Y/N: sent an image

He clicked it open and regretted it instantly. You were back in bed, wrapped in nothing but his favorite lingerie set he’d bought you for your birthday. He had to clamp down on his bottom lip to suppress the groan that threatened to escape. And his body immediately reacted to the sigh, his cock stirring in his slacks.

Aaron: Behave

The next picture was even worse. You’d pulled the cups of your bra down to give him the perfect view of your breasts.

He cursed under his breath before glancing at the clock. It was only 4:15. If he left right now he could make it home before traffic got completely insane. So against his better judgment he quickly packed up his bag and headed out. He made some excuse to the team – he knew they didn’t believe it – as he walked out.

Aaron: I’m on my way home. Don’t you dare do anything before I get back.

You giggled to yourself as he sent you that text. You readjusted the lingerie and stayed put in the bed. You knew he was likely pissed. Teasing him when he was at the office was definitely a risky move but you felt it would be worth the reward in the end.

Anticipation built up in your veins as you counted down the minutes until he’d arrive home. You heard the familiar sound of his key in the door soon enough.

You were sitting up on the bed, legs tucked underneath you as you waited for him. You could hear him moving through the apartment.

He dropped his briefcase and the stack of files he still needed to get done, in his office. He locked his gun in the safe too and dropped his badge on his desk. As he walked to the bedroom – where he knew you were (im)patiently waiting for him – he peeled his suit jacket off.

No attention was given to you as he hung his jacket up in the closet. He put his cufflinks back in their proper spot before rolling his sleeves up. He loosened his tie, undoing the top button of his shirt as well.

Only then did he turn his gaze on you. Heat flashed through his body. All his blood was rushing south as he took in the sight of you perched on the bed in that damn lingerie. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

You shifted on the bed, feeling scrutinized under his intense gaze, his dark brown eyes never leaving you. It was a game of who would break first and you always did.

“Aaron–”

He cut you off with the click of his tongue. “Don’t. You can’t talk your way out of this, sweetheart.”

His voice was deceptively sweet – all sugar and honey – in an attempt to lull you into a false sense of security. But you knew better. Even if your heart fluttered at his soft voice. You knew you were in for it tonight.

Your mouth suddenly felt dry. Heart was pounding against your ribcage like it was trying to escape your body.

Aaron stepped towards the bed, reaching out to touch you. His hand gripped your jaw as he leaned in for a kiss. It was the kind of kiss that left you breathless as he pulled away from your mouth.

“Naughty girl,” he whispered, “sending me those things while I was at work. What do you have to say for yourself?”

The authority in his tone made you press your thighs together. You were already aching and desperate for him, this wasn’t helping.

“I asked you a question.”

You blinked slowly. Your brain always turned to mush when he talked to you like this. “I’m sorry, Aaron.”

He hummed. “That’s a start. But sorry isn’t going to get you out of a punishment.”

You’d known that. You knew testing him, especially while he was at work, would end with you begging for mercy. But you’d needed him so bad that all rational thought had left your brain when you sent him that picture.

“Turn around, honey.” You did as he asked. He pushed you to lay all the way down, hips hanging over the edge of the bed. Once you were settled he tugged his tie off.“Hands.”

Another order was followed without much hesitation. You offered him your hands. Aaron tied your wrists together with his tie. He did it tight enough so you couldn’t escape the bonds but not tight enough it would hurt you.

“Good girl.” His hand trailed down your spine. He reached the edge of your panties, tugging them down your legs.

Your breath hitched as you heard the familiar clinking off his belt. He pulled it out of the loops, holding it so he could run it across your ass. You immediately tensed.

Aaron took note. He reached out, gently squeezing your hip. “Color?”

“Green,” came your breathless reply.

“Then I need you to relax, honey. It’ll be easier if you do.”

It was easier said than done. You hated when he used the belt but it happened more often than you’d like. You tested his patience on the regular. You pushed and prodded until he snapped and bent you over his knee. Yet every time you begged him to take it easy on you, like you hadn’t purposely been a brat.

The first strike was lighter – a warm up. Despite the fact that he was punishing you, he never wanted you to be in a lot of pain. He just gave you enough to remind you of your place. But each hit grew progressively harder.

He enjoyed the little whimpers that escaped your lips each time he brought the belt down against your sensitive skin.

After what felt like an eternity, he dropped the leather. He ran his hand over your now reddened ass. It made you squirm.

He chuckled softly as you tried to escape his hand.He just tutted, smacking your ass with his hand this time. “Where do you think you’re going, hm? I’m not done with you.”

Hands pulled at you until you were flipped over. Your arms were awkwardly tucked under your body, still tied with Aaron’s tie behind your back. He took a moment to admire you. He adored this sight – your eyes glassy and legs spread for him.

He ran a finger through your folds. “So wet for me, honey. You really did miss me.”

“Told you I did,” you practically whined, hips instinctively bucking against his hand.

“I missed you too, honey,” Aaron cooed. He sunk one finger into your wet heat. He curled it, hitting the spot that always made your toes curl. He added a second to stretch you open for him and brushed his thumb across your clit.

When he pulled his hand away from your dripping cunt you mourned the loss of his touch. But you didn’t have much time to think about it, because he was pushing his slacks and boxers down enough to free his cock. He was already achingly hard.

“You see what you do to me?” he asked, teasing the head of his cock against your clit. “I’ve been like this since the office. Sent me that picture. You know what this damn lingerie does to me.”

The feel of him brushing against your sensitive nub, pulled a moan from your lips. He continued to tease you, running his cock through your folds but never quite filling you up. Finally he pulled your thighs around his hips and lined himself up with your entrance.

Aaron groaned as he finally pushed himself into your greedy cunt. His head dropped against your shoulder as he finally bottomed out, hips knocking against your own.

“Fuck,” he cursed, rolling his hips. “You feel so good, honey.”

Your moans mingled with his own noises as he fucked you harder. His hips snapped against your own with each thrust. One hand held your hip, the other trailed up your body until it settled on your neck. Aaron didn’t squeeze but just let you feel the weight of his hand on your throat.

“Aaron,” you moaned.

Each nerve in your body felt like it was on fire. The coil in your stomach grew tighter with each roll of his hips. Eyes rolled back into your head as his head dipped down, sucking on your nipple through the fabric of your bra.

“Gonna cum,” you told him, voice choked with pleasure.

“I’ve got you,” he groaned against your skin, “cum for me, honey.”

Another roll of his hips and his thumb swiping across your clit sent you toppling over the edge, coil in your tummy snapping. Your toes curled and you clenched around his length. He cursed at the feeling.

He kept snapping his hips, chasing his own high. It only took a few more thrusts before the feeling of your wet cunt was too much for him. He spilled his seed inside of you as you both rode out your orgasms.

He finally pulled out, watching the way his release dripped out of your hole. Aaron couldn’t help himself as he settled his head between your thighs. He lapped up your combined releases, savoring the taste on his tongue.

You squirmed. He hadn’t even given you time to come down from your first high before he was pushing you towards a second.

“Fuck, Aaron,” you cried out. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run away from his touch or beg for more. But you didn’t have a choice as he devoured your cunt, lapping up everything you gave him. And you couldn’t even push him away with your hands still tied.

“Just one more,” he murmured against your skin. “Just give me one more.”

You were already overly sensitive from your first orgasm so it didn’t take much more to push you into a second. Fingers dug into your thighs, keeping them parted as they tried to clamp shut around his head. He only pulled away when you were shaking and gasping for breath. His chin was glistening with your slick, but he looked satisfied.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “So good for me, honey.”

His hands were gentle now as he undid the tie around your wrists. He massaged your hands, trying to get circulation back into your extremities. He placed soft kisses against the skin too as he whispered sweet nothings.

“I love you,” he told you after he had finished cleaning you up. He’d pulled you against his chest as you laid in bed.

“I love you too.”

#aaron hotch #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader smut #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #smut

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fleuryns · 2 days ago

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BUS STOP ★ 西村力

୨୧ ; 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗒𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀

❪ 𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝑖 ❫ 니키 & 𝑓 ! r 69Owc ♥︎ fluff drabble high-school au 🪽 pre est. rel ──𝑐𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑘 ｡

𝑙ike ˊᯅˋ ⁭ reb𝑙og

the first time you see him it's a monday morning. it’s so cold and dark, your energy is under the ground, and it's definitely way too early to be excited about anything.

you’re tugging your scarf tighter with small huffs of frustration, when you suddenly spot him standing at the far end of the bus stop.

a tall guy, really tall, and dressed in all black. a backpack is slung low on one shoulder and his headphones are in.

you can faintly hear a fast beat from the song he’s listening to and you wonder how loud his volume is.

you try not to stare, but for some reason it's incredibly hard to do so.

when the bus comes, the guy gets in right before you. he sits by the window all the way back, head resting against the glass. he doesn't notice the glances you steal while pretending to get stuff from your bag.

he’s there again the next morning. and the next. and the one after.

before you know it, his presence becomes part of your morning routine: you arrive at the bus stop when he's already there, you try to be sneaky in your staring, then you get off the bus, the boy stays on, and everything's gone for the rest of the day.

you don't talk, not yet. but you can't help but wonder if his voice sounds deep. he definitely looks like he'd have a deep voice.

you call him "the bus stop guy", and your friends tease you about him all the time. he doesn't notice you. probably. hopefully.

until one day, it rains. not just a drizzle, a full-on downpour that leaves you soaked within seconds. because, of course, you forgot your umbrella and it's too late to run back home.

and of course you look like a wet dog in front of your crush, who is casually standing under a huge black umbrella, completely dry.

he looks over at you. it might be the first time he acknowledges your presence in months and he just stares at you like you're some sort of weird alien from another galaxy.

but then, slowly, he shifts. the umbrella moves over you, while his eyes are already facing the street again, avoiding your gaze. you blink up at him, stunned.

"... thanks" you mumble.

the corner of his mouth twitches in what might be a little smirk. "a bad day to forget" he comments, voice a little rough, like he just woke up ten minutes ago. it's deep, like you had imagined. you want to hear it again.

"yeah, well, i wasn't expecting the apocalypse to happen" you laugh, nervously.

he finally looks at you, really looks at you, and something shifts in his expression. the ghost of the smirk is still there, but it turned softer. or maybe you're just imagining things again.

"im riki" he says after a few moments of silence, and just like that everything changes.

you still meet at the bus stop every morning, but now you stand closer, talk more. you find out he goes to a different school, that he loves dancing and that he's softer than he looks.

you never mention the rainy day again. you talk about mundane things, to fill the silence, mostly. he's a good listener to your ramblings, occasionally humming and nodding along like whatever you're talking aboug is the most interesting thing he has ever heard.

one day, before you have to get off, he taps your arm. "hey" he says, meeting your gaze with shy eyes. "i... like talking to you".

you smile, heart thumping. "i like talking to you too" you say. "i really like you" you confess next, without thinking, while hurrying up to get off.

riki's face is red when you turn to look at him. a small smile, rare but real, spreads across his face. "i like you too!" he blurts out in panic as the doors start to close between you.

the bus drives on, but for the first time it doesn't feel like the end. it feels like something new might just have begun.

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huntingcupid · 2 days ago

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CASUAL — D.A.

dumb love, I love being stupid dream of us in a year maybe we'd have an apartment and you'd show me off to your friends at the pier

⌗ DANIELA — fem!reader, angst, swearing, doomed yuri, straight dani, friends to strangers, reader slowly starts to despise dani, regret,self harm, homophobia, religion mentioned, usage of dyke, etc...

⌗ SYPNOSIS — was it all casual?, stolen glances, hugs and kisses, letters and sleepless nights talking to eachother — did it mean anything?

⌗ CUPID — hey.... first very angsty work so yeah, thank you to my dear friend @yunazxxx for helping me with the plot :D

time passed by so fast — suddenly you're in college and searching for part time jobs, yet sometimes you reminisce about your past, the people you have met throughout the journey, one person has changed you for good and bad, the person? — daniela avanzini

your “best friend”, you can't imagine your childhood and teenage years without the latina, without the stupid jokes you two have made, the times you two made decisions you shouldn't have, but it was all worth it as long as she was with you, doing it with you

you've always had a doubt about your sexual identity, especially during times where you and dani would just be hanging out and you'd imagine your future marrying her — it didn't help that you two were inseparable, daniela calls you her wifey, and you felt butterflies in your stomach whenever she did

daniela's mother also treated you like her kid, you often came along with them for family trips, sharing clothes with the girl — during the last few years of highschool you really started having an identity crisis, you didn't know who you were, or what you are

“dani, can I tell you something?” you whisper as you two lay in her bed — daniela looks over at you concern etched onto her features, “anything y/n, why?” she replies, your heart raced, “i-i- I'm queer” you stammer, you closed your eyes afraid of the reaction you might get, yet when you felt the girls arms wrap around you everything felt right and free

“that's good y/n!” daniela cheered, you definitely didn't expect this reaction since daniela came from a very religious family, yet something in you screams that she doesn't fully accept it, the way her eyes seem to look at you felt different

yet against your better judgment you didn't do anything, months passed and it seemed like daniela became distant from you, the daily calls you two had turned into every 2 days or whenever she says she's free, her chats became more generic and had seemed to lose its humor or life

you chat the girl, asking if you can hang out — she replies and agrees, you get excited due to how much you missed the girl, you slept thinking about you two, about what you two might do tomorrow

“hi dani!” you run up to the girl hugging her, daniela froze a bit before returning the hug, a short and cold hug, “hi y/n” she mutters, “let's get some ice cream?” you ask smiling at the girl, “sure” you two walk to the nearest ice cream shop, picking out flavors, daniela loved salted caramel while you loved chocolate, daniela took pictures of her ice cream, you giggle “are you gonna post that?, can you send it to me too?” you follow, “actually it's for josh” your heart sank and for a moment your smile faltered, “josh?” you ask not recognizing the name, “oh he uhm- we are talking you know” she replies hastily, you bit the inside of your cheeks, you wished that you were born a man sometimes maybe then you'd experience her love,

after the ice cream shop you two walk to sit at the park benches watching as the sun set, you took a few candid pics of the latina, she looked gorgeous, something out of a dream, her eyes were like crystals and her smile, god her smile can make you melt at the spot, “i missed you” you mutter as you two sat in silence, “oh” daniela replies — little by little you felt your heart break, “dani, i know i shouldn't say this but, I've liked you since I've known you” you mutter finally letting go of those words, silence — your heartbeat was the only thing you can hear and the soft rustling of the plants, “i-i- don't y/n” daniela replies seemingly uncomfortable, you felt like you got stabbed a million times, your future flashed by your eyes, the dreams you've built around you two now burning down, “I'm sorry i shouldn't have said that” you stutter, blinking away the tears you felt forming in your eyes, “y/n i love you, and god does too, its never too late to get saved” you tear up hearing her words, cause why is it a sin, a sin to love, why did he make you this way — why?

“I'll help you” daniela looks at you hopeful, “sure” you replied even though you felt so betrayed, this is the same girl you came out to, the same girl who helped you come to terms with your sexuality, now telling you that loving is a sin

throughout the first few weeks of college, daniela gave you a bible and even an invitation to her church, claiming that you were under the touch of the demon, you only nodded, all the while daniela would hang out with her friend josh, they'd laugh and share moments like you two did before you came out, it was the breaking point for you when you saw daniela and josh at the janitors closet making out, daniela looked guilty but she quickly got mad at you, “get the fuck out!” it was the first time she ever swore at you, the first time you realized it wasn't worth keeping her around if all she did was hurt you and made your sexuality a joke

yet as you lay in your bed, closing your eyes from exhaustion all you see is her, smiling brightly at you, daniela looking like your savior, her during the times she still felt real and not a projection of the people who hate you, “i love you” you mutter tears falling out of your eyes, you fell deeper into depression when you were lonely and no one was there to help you, to talk to you

you didn't know what else to do but blame yourself, hurt yourself, razors, scissors anything sharp that can take away your mind from her, anything that can make you feel punished for being what you are

you became suicidal, you hated everything, every moment you'd step into the halls of your campus, seeing daniela and josh hand in hand, laughing and kissing — while you?, you can't live in a world where daniela hated you, where she didn't acknowledge who you truly are

“y/n?” you hear your roommate enter the dorm room, seeing you sobbing, “h-hi” you replied wiping away your tears, “are you okay?” manon ask, “yeah, just stressed with work and school” you replied chuckling, knowing its way deeper than that

days passed and you knew you had to pick yourself up, make sure you don't feel like a failure, a worthless living person, — you went to lectures, sleep deprived and wearing long sleeves in attempts to hide your sh scars

daniela looked across the room a flicker of guilt and empathy seeing you, a shell of your former self, she quickly masked it with uninterest and a poker face

yet after class she follows you to the women's restroom, cornering you, “y/n, what has gotten into you, you shouldn't hurt something given to you by-” you cut her off “god?, I'm sorry daniela” you said pushing her off you, she only scoffs and follows you, “what is this about then! just a way to gain my sympathy? cause fuck it y/n it does” she breathes out furious, seeing her ex best-friend slowly die, “what the fuck is this dyke doing here” josh says pushing into the bathroom to collect dani, you bit your lip hurt but you expected it, you chuckled to yourself — as much as it hurts seeing her settle for this man you couldn't do anything, but watch and despise them both

you'd long for the days that daniela magically just go back to you, talk to you and realized how much of a jerk her boyfriend was, how much you could treat her better

at some point the love you had for daniela became hatred, she didn't reach out anymore nor did you, it was radio silent, some nights you'd stare at your last messages with her, and regret not ending it earlier

you regret being blind to all her red flags, you regret putting her feelings before yours, you regret not knowing she was not good for you

now she's just another woman in school, someone you'd pass in the hallways, even though your eyes locked with hers, it didn't mean anything anymore, at least to you it didn't anymore, after all, it was all casual

maybe she was a part of your past, but you refuse to let her ruin your future

wc: 1.3k words

(hate this idk why)

#katseye #wlw #fem!reader #katseye x reader #kpop #daniela avanzini #daniela katseye #author doesnt know how to write angst #forgive author

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