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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 11 months ago

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It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 12 ] || [ Chapter 14 ]

Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.9K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: the start.

Chapter 13: Yes, and?

Once Ghost touched down from the mission, and after being seen in the infirmary for a couple of nicks and gashes, he went, as usual, to Price’s office to debrief. As he walked out, his one thought was that he needed to get out of base and take his phone to be repaired… Or maybe get a new one.

Normally, he wouldn’t care so much, but ever since the two of you started texting constantly after that night together, he couldn’t help but be attached to the little device. Even Soap had made a joke about how addicted to his phone Simon was and how it must all be “thanks to his little date that he refuses to tell me about”.

As he rounded the corner to his hallway, he spotted Gaz leaning on the wall next to the door to Ghost’s quarters.

“Gaz.” Ghost greeted with a nod as he pulled his I.D. card from a pocket in his vest and slid it into the card slot, popping the door open.

“Sir.” Gaz acknowledged as he pulled away from the wall and stood there, arms hanging by his sides, waiting.

Ghost went leaned against the door jamb. “Something you’d like to say?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” Gaz said with a nod and cleared his throat softly. “Your… friend DMed me on Tinder looking for you.”

Ghost closed his eyes and sighed for a moment before he opened them again and stared at Gaz. “And what did you say?”

“The truth. Your phone broke and either way you had left for a mission so you wouldn’t reply for a while.” He answered.

Ghost nodded. “Thanks for that. Didn’t think I’d leave them worried sick.” He said sincerely and began to turn to duck into his room.

“I also went out with them.” Gaz added right as Ghost crossed the threshold.

That stopped Ghost in his tracks and the bigger man turned to look at Gaz over his shoulder. “You did?”

“Yeah… Went for lunch… Got curious once I learned you two had a date, sir.” Kyle admitted, lowering his voice out of respect for Ghost’s privacy.

Full of respect, Gaz was. Ghost always appreciated that about the sergeant. Except right now.

“And since when do you have a right to be curious about my life? Is it any of your business?” Ghost asked, though his tone was calm and deadpan, not hostile or angry at all.

“Since I matched with them before anyone else… And you moved in after Captain Price.” Gaz retorted.

“Are you trying to call dibs over them, like Johnny did?” Ghost asked as he took a step to stand over Gaz.

“Maybe?” Gaz replied and shrugged, dipping his head back a bit to look the taller man in the eyes. “I mean…” He trailed off and shrugged. “They’re nice, sweet, kind, caring, funny, easy to talk to…”

“Yes, and?” Ghost retorted. “What are you trying to say, sergeant?” He asked, his voice wavering just a bit.

“I’m just… asking permission, I guess.” Gaz said, his tone the most cordial and reverent he could.

“Permission?” Ghost asked and had his skull not been in the way, Gaz would’ve seen his eyebrow cocking.

“To keep seeing them.” The younger man clarified.

Ghost’s eyes narrowed as he looked Gaz up and down. “You’re asking what exactly? To share them?” He asked as he curled his head a bit to the side, as if to hear him better.

“I guess so.” Kyle replied. “Is that alright?”

Simon’s lip curled in contemplation before he nodded curtly. “I guess I can’t object to that.” He conceded.

“But does it bother you?” Kyle asked in earnest, his brows furrowing a bit in concern.

Ghost shook his head a bit. “I don’t have a claim to them.” He said calmly.

“With all due respect… That’s not what I’m asking, sir.” Kyle insisted.

With a deep breath, Simon took a step into his quarters and gestured the sergeant inside. Then, he shut the door behind them and leaned himself against the wall by the door.

After a deep breath, Ghost shook his head. “Bothers me a little.” He admitted. Gaz nodded in understanding.

Another deep breath later, Ghost continued. “They… make me feel… human.” He explained and turned his head to look away. “Outside of the soldier, outside of the Ghost.” He said in a tone that entailed more than simple friendship.

“There’s no expectations. No one asking me to kill. No one telling me ‘Jump!’ only for me to reply ‘How high?’. It’s just…” He trailed off.

Gaz looked down at his feet and rocked back and forth, a bit awkwardly. It was the first time he and Simon had a conversation as deep as this… Having never quite felt that the Lieutenant let him in or saw him as worthy of something other than small talk and jokes over comms.

“I see.” The younger one said and sighed. “I… I can give up on it, if you wan-”

“Don’t.” Ghost interrupted and looked right at Gaz. Then, he took a deep breath and scratched at his exposed forearm, his gloved fingers dragging along the tattooed skin.

“I’m going to buy a new phone. Or get mine repaired…” He explained. “But… after that I was planning on going to see them… tonight. If they accept.” He said with a sigh.

“Maybe order take out… Game and watch movies…” Ghost said and with the tone of someone who’s making a great effort to speak, he looks at Gaz. “Do you wanna come with?” He asked in earnest.

Kyle had already texted you, per Simon’s request, to warn you of their intentions to grab takeout and head over… And you seemed quite giddy. So it didn’t surprise him when you opened the door for them with a smile.

“Hi!” You greeted them, took the bag of takeout food, and ushered them inside, instructing them to take off their shoes. Simon didn’t even need to be told, he already took initiative to do so.

He had made an effort, Kyle had noticed, and put on a white henley shirt, a leather jacket, and black jeans… but still kept his stupid bloody mask on. Kyle himself was wearing an oversized purple-ish jumper and blue jeans.

Kyle observed quietly as Simon shrugged off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair in the ‘dining’ area of your sitting room. “You bought a new candle.” He announced as he looked at the small lit flame on the coffee table.

“I did!” You acknowledged as you carefully opened the take-out containers and spread them all around the coffee-table. “Don’t just stay there, Kyle!” You told him, prompting the lad to finally move away from the entryway door, approaching you to sit on the couch.

Him and Ghost sat on opposite sides of the couch, leaving just enough for you to get squished in the middle, sandwiched by them. You each grabbed your food and, at first, it was incredibly awkward. The silence too large to allow for any of you to truly feel comfortable.

You looked back and forth between the two of them, eyes darting as if you were following a tennis game. Above your head, the two men also shot glances at you and one another.

“So… elephant in the room.” You quipped as you carefully bit a Jamaican patty and chewed it. That prompted both the men to look at you. “What’s going on?” You asked them.

“We both enjoyed our time with you.” Simon answered quickly. So quickly, in fact, that it startled Kyle.

“So you both wanted to hangout with me?” You asked as you looked between the two of them.

“We both like you.” Simon continued in his round of honesty. Kyle’s head snapped toward Simon, brown eyes widened. Simon was, however, completely absorbed in his meal.

Kyle was pretty sure he was right when he joked that you had Ghost under some sort of spell. Never had he seen Simon be so open and honest. Direct, sure, Ghost was always directly. But… sincere like this? Never.

“I like you both too.” You replied in earnest as you took another bite of your food.

“Not like that, sweetheart.” Simon replied and finally glanced over at you while dusting off his fingers on a napkin. “I mean we’d both date you if we could.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widened a bit and you blinked away the shock.

The way Ghost looked at you… That’s when he finally understood what he had meant when he spoke about you. There was a fondness in those usually cold, dead brown eyes…

Kyle felt like he was intruding. Like it was wrong of him to be weaseling his way in between the two of you out of some childish claim he claimed to have over you… Because the way Simon made him understand how good you were for him.

He sat in a relaxed way, legs sprawled, thigh touching yours, wearing clothes he could’ve sworn Ghost would never even own, and you never once flinched in his presence. Granted, you weren’t aware of all the blood in his hands, in their hands… But you acted as if Ghost was just some bloke you were dating and not.. well… Ghost.

“Kyle?” Simon quipped and it finally rose him out of his thoughts.

“Hm? Sorry?” He asked, noticing he had spaced out.

“I asked if you two were jealous of one another and that’s why you’re so tense.” You repeated yourself. “Simon said he wouldn’t call it ‘jealousy’.”

Kyle and Simon shot each other a glance, as if wordlessly communicating. It was something they were used to doing in the field, but this was a completely different circumstance.

Sighing, Gaz shifted around in his seat. “I wouldn’t call it jealousy either… But…” He trailed off. “Well, I saw how… how happy you make Simon.” He admitted.

Simon’s eyes, which had momentarily hardened, softened again as Kyle spoke. “And well… you made me… feel it too. It’s… easy to be around you. Easy to spend time laughing with you and always want more.” The younger man continued.

Your own eyes softened too and your cheeks warmed up a bit with his kind words. “So in a way I felt like… well… like I deserved to try to date you too.” He explained. “But it’s tense because, well, neither of us want to share.”

With a chuckle, you leaned back against the couch and covered your mouth with your hand. “Shared? What am I… some video game?” You joked. “Are you going to go to your mum to tattle when the other doesn’t let you have enough time with me?” You teased.

Immediately, all tension was gone, both of them rolling their eyes and scoffing. “Shut it, you.” Simon grumbled, amused.

“Most people would be honored to have two guys want to date them, you know?” Gaz remarked.

“Fuck that, most people would be honored to have me want to date them.” Simon quipped.

“Oh, you get down from your high horse!” You scolded him and nudged him with your arm, which made Simon chuckle.

“After this, we could watch a movie!” You announced as you resumed eating your Jamaican patty.

“Good idea.” Simon praised you.

“Not another horror movie.” You added.

“You have very bad taste.” He quipped.

Strangely enough, watching you bicker with Simon only made Kyle feel warmer than he already did. He still felt like he was intruding but… the bickering was familiar. He saw that often between Johnny and Simon…

“How can I have bad taste? I literally like you both.” You remarked.

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#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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OZZGIN!

May I request an idea/imagine?

It is about yandere! mental asylum patient and psychiatrist! reader, who is very practical and strict regarding her job, takes no BS from others. But, for some reason, she has a soft spot for yandere! mental asylum patient. The reason could either be he had a hard childhood in which he had to do what he had to do, which brutally killed his father, who used to abuse his mother and sister, but when the father tried to sell the sister into prostitution to buy more alcohol, all hell break lose. Psychiatrist! reader thinks what yandere! mental asylum the patient did was OKAY, and she wants to get him out of the asylum. They love each other deeply and would do anything, so far as to kill for one another. If you can, make it as twisted as you can. I live for some dark romance!

Please ignore my request if you are not able to do it. I completely understand. Thank you in advance! <3

Oh my, this request hits somewhat close to home as I have a friend incarcerated for similar reasons. I'm pondering the logistics behind this context you've provided, since murdering someone won't necessarily land you in a psych ward unless there are other symptoms that come with it. And so I've taken the liberty to expand the character's profile if that's alright. (Conveniently enough I still have my psychopathology lecture notes)

I want to add, however, that this story in no way romanticizes mental illness! If anything, one may consider it an opportunity to reflect on the fact that so many people struggling with disorders do not receive the proper care for it, or only do so when it's too late. Furthermore a medical professional should never, ever behave like this and whatever is written here should stay in the realm of fiction!

Yandere! Patient x Psychiatrist! Reader

Featuring a patient that's pushing the boundaries of your work ethic and might even succeed.

Content/warnings: female reader, detailed mentions of mental disorder, violence, obsessive behavior, breach of professional conduct

You roll up your sleeve and check your watch. He should be here soon. Out of habit, you shuffle the papers for a quick case review, even though you already know all the details by heart. You carefully set aside the patient’s MMPI and WHODAS entry assessments, then your first interviews. Your eyes briefly rest upon the resulting report you’ve comprised: Schizophreniform Disorder (Provisional) with good prognostic features; Diagnostic criteria consisting of delusions, disorganized speech (frequent derailment with episodes of incoherence, echolalia) and comorbid catatonia. Responds well to antipsychotic (clozapine 25mg/12 h) with no imminent need for dosage increase. As it currently stands, he will be fit for proper incarceration in less than 6 months. Is it something you agree with? Not quite. You’ve presented your case many times and it has always been met with pitiful shrugs and dismissals.

The door opens and you fix your posture, sweeping the documents back into your drawer. “And? How are you feeling today?” You ask, flashing a professional, cordial smile as the assisting nurse leads the patient to his seat and prepares her leave. “My chest hurts.” The man answers in a low voice, glaring at the nurse. He taps his foot against the plush carpet, seemingly restless. “How bad would you rate it? Chest pain is a somewhat common side effect of your medication.” You retort, following the movements of the woman finally excusing herself and exiting the room. Once you’re alone, the man’s shoulders droop and he visibly relaxes. “It’s not that, you know it. When can I touch you again?” He pleads, despair twisting his features. You tense up at the words. “Behave yourself. It hasn’t been that long.”

It’s not something you’re particularly proud of. In fact, you might even call it one of your great shames in life. You’ve always been a textbook professional, perhaps even too strict according to your coworkers and most patients. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have dared to imagine you’d violate the code of ethics by falling in love with your patient. But something about his situation stirred your sense of justice. Surely one cannot be punished for protecting their loved ones. The only criminal in the equation, at least in your eyes, was that joke of a father and he had it coming. So you found yourself wrestling against a blooming protectiveness and favoritism towards the young man brought here last month.

What would have normally compelled you into action had therefore been silently swept under the rug. Or even worse, you secretly indulged in it. A patient showing signs of affection towards you would instantly be transferred to a different psychiatrist. Yet you couldn’t put away the letters written by this one. Erratic, crumpled notes of “I love you” written countless times, pencil dug so deep it tore into the sheet. Bizarre illustrations that looked almost threatening. His elaborate delusions before medication was introduced, where he’d detail in grand narratives how you were fated for each other and nothing would stop him from having you sooner or later. You do not know what forces possessed you into this addictive plunge, but you’ve come to enjoy his violent, frenzied confessions. So much, that during one of the unsupervised meetings you let yourself pushed into the sofa as his hands tugged at your body in rabid need. It was so out of character that you wondered if it truly happened, though the bite marks and scratches on your neck and chest proved otherwise.

“Are they going to send me to prison?” He changes the subject and stands up, walking towards your desk. “Most likely. What you have is the result of a traumatic event, not a lifelong condition. Sporadic episodes that can be kept under control with antipsychotics aren’t enough of a reason to keep you in the hospital.” You press your legs together nervously and glance at him. “Can’t you just say it’s no longer working?” He suggests, kneeling before you and placing a hand on your thigh. “You know I can’t lie on the report.” You really don’t like it when he manipulates you like this. “Ah, yes, because lying is worse than fucking your patient.” He scoffs, annoyed. “Don’t threaten me like that”, you say as you turn towards him, but you’re stopped by the rough grip of his hand over your cheeks. “I’m not threatening you, I’m threatening everyone else. Listen, (Y/N), I’m not fucking around. I don’t mind pretending to be crazy if I have to. Will the meds still be working if I steal a shaving razor and cut the nurse open?” You try to open your mouth, but his fingers are pressed into your skin, locking your jaw into place. “I’m not going to prison. I’m not. Then I’ll never see you again and that can’t happen. You know that.”

Eventually he releases his hold, allowing you to speak. "I understand. Then there's no choice but to arrange your escape." You sigh, defeated, and he raises his eyebrows. "Won't that get you in trouble?" You chuckle at his statement. "Either way I'll be in trouble. You said it yourself. Might as well quit before I have to stand in front of the ethics board and have my license revoked." You'd prefer to keep the last ounce of pride if possible.

He sits on the floor and you notice his trembling hands. "Nervous?" You ask. "No. Just really happy. I'm not a bad person and you were the only one here to see it. But God, (Y/N), I'd kill anyone if it was for your sake. I can't wait to hold you whenever I want." He gazes at you as a smile widens on his face.

#female reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere oc x reader #obsessive yandere #tw yandere

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hyperballart · 6 months ago

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last nite

art donaldson x patrick zweig x reader !

art and patrick aren’t exactly subtle, and you are the push they didn’t know they needed.

(18+ pls!!)

author’s note: that one bitch (me) who doesn’t play about homoerotic friendships… this is mostly artrick but they all get nasty trust!

the swishing of the cheap beer from art’s mini fridge overlaps the song playing from the radio. it was something you recognized from this new york band you really liked—your friend had gifted you that record for your birthday a few years prior—you hummed out the tune as you sat on the desk chair of your friend’s dorm room, periodically lifting your gaze to the two boys also sharing the space.

you and patrick met at a local band’s show, that same night ended with you being pushed into the dark bathroom of the bar it was held at and you nearly swallowing each other’s tongues. he whispered into your ear about how good you tasted, how nice your ass felt in his hands, how fucking sexy you looked dancing out there. and after he bent you over the sink to get a taste of your sweet cunt and you returned the favor, the brunette gave you his number—it surprised you, that he wanted to continue seeing you and maybe take it further. it wasn’t until a couple hangouts that you met art.

he was by definition a good boy. always respectful and cordial around you, sweet, and even bashful at times. you coincidentally attended the same university—even shared common friends other than patrick. the three of you became well acquainted quickly. movie nights in art’s dorm when patrick came to visit, night drives to the beach, it was all simple and fun.

of course you and patrick hooked up whenever he came around, which seemed to frequent as he was on a month-long break from tour. on one of those particular nights, as you were riding him, somehow the topic of art came up.

“saw him at practice last week,” you take his earlobe between your teeth and slightly tug, “he’s really good.”

patrick stutters his hips and unwillingly twitches inside of you, as if images of his best friend playing flashed through his brain in those few seconds, “fuck, yeah he’s always been good.” his brain is too foggy to comprehend that he’s given away something you’ve been suspecting for a while—and you’ll keep digging to find what you really want.

you look down at him on the bed and notice how his mouth has dropped a bit further and his eyes become more slanted, you push your fingers into his mouth which he automatically starts to suck, and you ride him until he’s whimpering around them and filling you up. you’ll get something else out of him soon.

the next time happens to be the night right after, you’re at your favorite ice cream place and decide it’s the right time to keep prodding.

“you and art—you seem pretty close—how long have you known each other again?” you scrape the sides of your cup from the melted treat and look at him eating his.

“well, we went to boarding school together,” patrick speaks with some waffle cone bits crunching in his mouth—a horrible habit of his you have come to detest from the few months of knowing him—“we shared a room since we were 12, i think i’ve mentioned this,” he swallows everything in his mouth down and continues, “we are pretty close. we’d get teased for it a lot in school—i never really gave a fuck but you know art. he takes things to heart.”

“right, i can see that,” you didn’t exactly plan out how you were going to lead him to where you wanted but you get an idea, “i wanna know more. tell me some fun stories, i can imagine you two got up to a lot of trouble,” you fully turn to face him in your seat.

he racks his brain for a while and eventually, “one time i got caught with porno magazines under my bed and i blamed art. it was this whole thing—his grandma gave him an earful over the phone—god she was pissed,” a chuckle leaves him as he recalls the story, “anyway, we almost got kicked out and he didn’t speak to me for weeks. can’t remember how we made up or how i even got in possession of those magazines but we definitely learned our lesson.”

you’re giggling, “god you’re awful, what else have you put poor innocent art through?”

he turns to face you now, “i taught him everything he knows,” a smug smirk slowly takes over his expression, “ taught him how to kiss and how to jerk off. poor thing didn’t even know how to handle morning wood before i showed him.”

and there’s your chance, “so you two have like…”

he pauses and takes in your assumption, “oh god no, not like that,” a hand runs down his face quickly as a laugh of disbelief leaves him. “we’ve never—would never go there, you know? no shame to anyone who does we just—it was practice before we started dating and all that. was just helping him out.”

and well, that gave you enough of an incentive.

now you’re all in art’s dorm, a little buzzed from the alcohol and tired from a day at the beach. patrick sits on a small couch with his legs spread. both boys have decided to forgo their shirts, only in their swim trunks—patrick’s much shorter than the blonde’s. you still in your bikini top and tiny jean shorts.

“what about that girl you were seeing, what’s her name again?” patrick interrogates a clearly agitated art who sits on the floor rolling his eyes.

“i told you that’s over, she wasn’t looking for anything serious and i found out the hard way.”

“he means he saw her making out with one of his buddies at a frat party,” you add smirking over your bottle.

“okay, fuck off first of all—“

“hey, man calm down, look—“ patrick interjected, “there’s lots of chicks that would bang you, i’m sure a pretty boy like you has no problem getting laid. go charm up some nice girl that volunteers at the soup kitchen on her free time and—“

“fuck you patrick.” there’s no malice behind his words though—and you can spot the blush that takes over his pale complexion at the previous remark as he shakes his head. “it’s easy for you to say,” he looks up at you as he says it, “you guys fuck like rabbits any chance you get.”

“is that what it is then? you being pent up?” you cut in. “there’s lot of girls here who would love to fuck you, artie. you’re telling me none have caught your eye?”

art is silent, looking to see what patrick was thinking, but the latter simply looks curious—excited almost— and so he just sits picking at the hem of his shorts.

“oh i get it,” you continue, “you’re jealous. you think i’m taking your precious best friend away, don’t you?” you slide down from the chair to take a spot right next to him and whisper the next thing so only he hears, “you are jealous. don’t worry, we can share him.”

you pull back to see his pupils dilated and his mouth slightly parted, in shock and arousal—maybe even in acceptance. you can’t help the small grin as you look from him to the other still sitting on the couch, you can see his chest rising a bit heavier now.

you feel that as an agreement from both as you perch on the bed and call them both to follow at each of your sides. you can feel them eyeing you and for a split second, you see them staring at each other in a way that surpasses anything platonic they insist on having.

when you feel them both lean in to opposite sides of your neck you halt their movements. a look of confusion passes through their faces as they wait for you to explain.

“i think you guys have some making up to do,” the look on their faces creases further, “art, aren’t you curious to feel what his lips are like again? i have a feeling he has improved greatly since you were 13.”

art’s face falls, he looks at patrick in annoyance, “you said you would never tell, dude what the fuck.”

patrick just shrugs, still wanting to proceed. “i told you, that was only for practice. we’re grown now.”

“sure,” you pretend to let it go and you have on a stupid smile that he just wants to kiss off your face. you start leaning towards patrick and grant him that wish, using your hand on his jaw to give you access to his tongue. it quickly becomes heated, you land on his lap and grind yourself on the hard bulge in his trunks. his big hand gropes your ass and he moans greedily in your mouth. you pull away and let him suck and nip on the length of your neck before looking at art, who looks pitiful with his mouth hung open and his eyes lingering on the spot where patrick is occupied. a smirk returns to your swollen lips.

you tug on patricks hair and swivel even harder on his dick, leading to him groaning out a fuck me baby, and you swear you see art’s cock twitch under the layer of thin clothing. you leave patricks lap despite his efforts to keep you there, now sat on the pretty blonde who can’t seem to figure out what to do with his hands. you stop his stressing when you place both of his palms on your hips, trailing them up to your barely-covered tits where he gives a soft squeeze and lets out a little whine. you finally lean down to kiss him and it’s as you’d expect from him—tentative and soft. a kiss you’d get from a boyfriend after a nice dinner date—not from whatever this was.

he lets out hums and low moans, but you can tell he’s getting desperate. god knows how long it’s been since he’s fucked something other than his hand. you pull away and return to your spot between them. they instantly both try to catch your lips, it’s messy with all three of you licking and sucking and kissing. at this point no one knows whose mouth is whose, and it doesn’t even matter because suddenly you’re pulling off. you lean back to catch your breath and then you see them.

they lick into each other’s mouths, art is mewling and patrick grips his curls to hold him in place. they seem to catch on after a ridiculous amount of time but when they do, they stare at you while they’re heaving breaths.

“are you guys gonna take care of that?” you look down at their laps, both having matching leaks of pre bleeding through their shorts. “come on get them out, you’ve seen each other plenty before right? nothing to be shy of.”

they both listen, each erection slapping up and standing on its own. it’s obscene and you dont think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. art’s cock is so pretty—you think—pink and curved. he is smooth, you always had assumed he would be anyway. you can tell he takes good care of himself, his balls the same flushed pink he gets on his cheeks when you tease him. the tip of him is so red, a dribble of white streaming down when he notices your attention on his cock—you almost coo at it when it twitches.

then you look at patrick. that same cock you love and worship. he’s thicker in girth, your pussy pulsates when your mind trails to the stretch he gives you. his balls are heavy, and he doesn’t ever fully shave them. you like them like that—the musk and how they give friction to your clit when hes fucking you. he’s also drooling from his tip. you decide to start off slow.

you scoot forwards and extend your arms to their laps. each one of your hands holds them and at the contact, they can’t help but buck their hips. you think it’s adorable to see them synchronized like that.

“ah, shit!” patrick throws his head back and looks down at you jerking him off, then looks to his right at the other cock in your hand and shakes his head in disbelief, “i can’t—fuck—i can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“i see the way you look at him, pat,” you quicken the speed of your hands and both of them cry out, “i gave you both what you wanted, handed on a silver fucking platter. i think you should be a little more grateful. in fact, my hands are getting tired,” and with that, you cut all contact with them and you can quite literally see them wilt.

“wha- no, please,” art manages to get through a whine, “my hand doesn’t—it doesn’t feel as good i’m so hard it hurts, please—“

“who said anything about using your own hand?”you cut him off.

patrick hesitantly stretches his arm over his friend’s lap, “we’re just,” his fingers make contact with art’s dick and he almost drools, “helping each other out.” an experimental tug has his back arching and makes him shut his eyes tight.

“pat-patrick—oh fuck.”

one would think art already came by how much he’s wetting his friend’s hand, and patrick seems to be mesmerized by the sight. “holy fuck art, look at how much you’re spilling,” as if on cue, that makes him squirt out more. art is gripping his sheets and his eyes dart from the hand stroking him fast and the boy in front of him.

“i’m—don’t go so fucking fast,” art tries to get out, “it’s been a while if—nghh—if you don’t slow down i’m gonna—fuck!” patrick clearly enjoys this as he can’t help laughing at his state.

“don’t tell me you’re a virgin, artie,” he slows down but continues teasing, “thought i taught you how to hold off better than that.”

and while you’d love to keep watching art squirm under his torture, you stop him, “i got an idea.”

patrick reluctantly pulls away and they both now stare expectantly, “push both of your cocks together, here like this—“ you direct them to sit with their legs spread in front of each other, overlapping and then you position them how you want them.

they can’t even speak, they’re just panting and looking down at the contact until you continue, “come on pat, hold both of them together,” you watch as he does so and grimaces trying to hold off, “look at that, your tips are kissing—how cute.”

they both whine and patrick mutters a shut up under his breath.

after a minute of heavy breathing, patricks large hand slowly strokes down on both of their cocks. it’s so wet, the sound of the slicking lewdly filling up the room but the sound of their cries is almost enough to drown it out. art is almost sobbing at this point, you’ve never heard someone sound so desperate. they almost can’t bare the friction of each other, their tangled legs twitching and shaking.

you almost start to get annoyed at how slow patrick is going for the sake of making the feeling last, but in a way you think it’s sweet. the years they’ve held off on each other finally leading to this—they deserved it. you’re still annoyed tho.

“go faster,” as the words leave your mouth they both mewl and shake their heads, “you look so hot like this, i’m so wet. i’m thinking of letting you both fuck me—at the same time. just like this, both in my cunt,” patrick’s hand loosens his grip he is almost shivering now, he has to hold off, “why’d you let go, hm?” you pull his hand back on, “i want you both to imagine it, it’s gonna be a tighter fit than this,” you pull your hand over patrick’s and tighten the grip hard, “there you go.”

art can’t even make out words anymore, the second he heard you say you wanted them both at once, his ears started ringing. as if that wasn’t enough, the tightened grip made him moan out pleas over and over. when he looks down, he knows he can’t hold longer and he lets you both know, “i’m gonna, i can’t it’s too much, too much, too tight i—“

you take this as your chance to do what you wanted since you saw the tent in his shorts, you lean down to where they are connected and suckle on his tip and that does it. he sobs out a curse and starts twitching, he cums all over your lips and patrick, you can’t believe how much is coming out of him.

patrick just about loses his mind when he sees it all happen. it’s a miracle he lasted over two minutes like this and he’s about to pass out, “oh fuck me, yeah fucking soak that dick—oh god— you’re so wet—how do you get this fucking—“ he suddenly yanks art by his neck and fucks his tongue into his mouth again, and even tho he is still dizzy from his orgasm, he kisses back just as messily. that’s the final straw for patrick to cum all over them and squeeze their tips together for the last time that night.

you watch it all happen with a lazy smile. they both lay down, still out of it while you scratch their heads gently and murmur sweet affirmations to them. you’re between them and it feels just right. you don’t need to talk about what happened just yet. just sleepily kiss each other until you knock out.

they’ll make up not making you cum tomorrow, you can picture them both licking between your legs and when they take turns suckling your clit, you’ll pretend not to notice how they’re jerking each other off out of your sight <3

#dont know how to feel about this tbh #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #artrick x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #challengers fic #challengers smut #patrick zweig fic #art donaldson fic #patrick zweig x you #art donaldson x you #my writing

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imaginespazzi · 7 months ago

Text

Part 1: Simple Things

Masterlist -Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

Cause your presence still lingers here (it won't leave me alone)

(In which a procrastinating writer starts another series to continuously procrastinate on)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining

Words: 5.8K (lowkey shocked I managed that)

TW: Swearing (I think that's it?)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 Look at me not being a liar! I'mma try to be good with updates but we all know me. This first chapter is mainly buildup and it's not my favorite but it's important to get the plot rolling. I know very little about California and it's going to become more and more apparent throughout this series so everyone who knows Cali, just pretend thanks! Did I edit? Yes. Are there probably still mistakes? Also yes. As always, let me know what you liked, what you disliked, and what you wanna see next!

February 2033

“Anywhere but GSV,” Paige says adamantly, staring at the white wall in front of her, instead of her exasperated agent.

Talia lets out a deep sigh, perfectly manicured sharp red nails tapping incessantly against her desk. For the most part, Paige is a dream client and when Talia says jump, she says how high. It’s easy to trust Talia’s vision when she hasn’t let her down once since Paige’s management company has assigned her to their basketball sensation. But most of those decisions had been about endorsement opportunities, opportunities that wouldn’t have other ramifications on the rest of Paige’s life, opportunities that didn’t come with personal consequences.

“Paige-”

“How about the Sparks?”

“They’re not offering nearly as much.”

“I’m okay with taking a pay-.”

“You do not pay me as much as you do for me to let you finish such a stupid sentence.”

“Fine,” Paige spins around in her swivel chair, “you’re telling me nobody else is offering me anything as big as GSV.”

“Well I mean Indiana…” Talia trails off, barely able to hide an impish grin at Paige’s pronounced eyeroll, “and of course you could always just stay in Dallas.”

Paige winces at the mention of the current team. With one championship and two MVP campaigns under her belt, it would be incorrect to say her time with the Wings hadn’t been fruitful but she’d never felt quite at home here. And that had been before the personnel changes had hit Dallas and suddenly, the team coming off a near perfect season with a trophy in their hand, was struggling to keep themselves in playoff contention. Paige had stuck it out two more seasons after, a testament to her loyal nature and desire to start and finish her career at the same place like many legends had done but ultimately enough had been enough and she’s come to terms with the fact that she’s not meant to be a part of the Wings forever.

“Can’t you try talking to the Sparks again?” she says, hands massaging her temple as she resorts to begging, “it’s fucking L.A. they’ve got to have some money lying around somewhere.”

“Even if they did, you and I both know the Sparks aren’t a good fit basketball wise either. GSV has everything you’re looking for. They need a PG and you need a championship contender who’s offering you a deal like they are. You can’t throw all of that away just because-”, Talia bites her lip, catching herself before she can vocalise out loud the real reason they’re having such a complicated conversation about what should be a simple decision.

Paige swallows uncomfortably, skin prickling with that all too familiar fire that spreads through her veins every time her past brushes a little too close to her present. It would be impossible to keep them from ever colliding, but for almost a decade now, Paige has managed to keep them separate beyond absolute necessity. She’s done the cordial handshakes when the Wings played the Valkyries and given due diligent praise when the media had asked about the competition, but that was it. More than that would have been like willingly walking into a fire with kerosene all over her body. And Paige can’t do that, not when the burn marks from years and years ago, still haven’t healed.

“Team chemistry is important,” Paige says finally, “I might be an on-court fit at GSV but that won’t matter if it’s a disaster off the court.”

Talia sighs and Paige can tell she’s fighting the urge to whack her head against her desk, “it’s been years Paige. You've lived a whole life without each other. The two of you are adults. You’re professionals and you’re two of the best goddamn players in the league. You have the same goal; you want to win. You don’t think you can put that behind you to get you both what you want?”

You've lived a whole life without each other

It’s like a well-aimed arrow that barely breaks skin but shatters something underneath, something buried deep within, something she should have gotten rid of years ago but hasn’t been able to let go of yet. Something that feels a lot like a forever she’d never gotten to live out and an always that had flown out of her reach. And Paige knows nobody lives the life they’d expected to live at fifteen or even eighteen but the truth is that most of her dreams had come true. The only thing missing was the person she’d expected to be there by her side when they did.

“Okay listen,” Talia begins again, “here’s what’s gonna happen.”

“Bossy,” Paige smirks, bracing herself, knowing she’s not about to like the next words out of Talia’s mouth.

“You’re going to go to San Francisco,” the older woman raises a silencing hand the minute Paige tries to protest, “you’re going to meet the front office, you’re going to meet the GM and you’re going to tour their facilities. And if after talking with them and seeing all they have to offer, if it’s still not enough to counter having to play with her, then we can revisit this conversation.”

“Can I say no?” Paige tilts her head with a sigh.

Talia smirks and it’s enough for Paige to let her head finally hit the table, “your flight leaves in two days.”

***

Azzi wakes up to a light weight sprawled over her back and tiny fingers rubbing circles against her temple. She can’t help but smile, keeping her eyes closed and listening to the sound of her daughter’s quiet breathing as the little girl continues her ministrations. It’s a new skill she’s been taught, to wake her mom up like this instead of screaming. So far, Azzi think’s it’s been a successful transition.

“Mama,” Stephie whispers in Azzi’s ear, “are you awake yet cause I really really want waffles.”

Azzi laughs, finally flipping herself over and Stephie squeals as she goes from on top of her mother, to landing on the bed, “I thought you said you wanted pancakes last night?”

“I did,” a thoughtful look crosses the five-year-old's eyes, “I think I changed my mind.”

“You think?” Azzi suppresses a smile. It’s uncanny really how she’d given birth to her perfect mini-me. The moment the nurses had placed the tiny little creature into her waiting hands, she’d noticed immediately how much it felt like looking through a door into her childhood. And with every passing day, it seems Stephie morphs more and more into Azzi. From the way her face betrays her every emotion to the way she can’t make a decision to save her life, it’s all Azzi and really it makes sense, because Stephie is all Azzi’s.

“Yes,” Stephie nods matter-of-factly as she sits up onto her knee and pulls at Azzi’s blanket, “so can you get up and make me waffles now?”

“Oh of course I can, your highness,” Azzi says dramatically, rising off the bed and letting Stephie climb onto her back, “would you like chocolate sauce or maple syrup with that your majesty?”

Stephie groans, burying her face in Azzi’s neck as if her mother has asked her to make the most difficult decision in the world. They settle into their morning routine, Stephie brushing her teeth as Azzi goes through her meticulous skin care regiment, occasionally dabbing little bits of this and that on her daughter’s skin, eliciting soft giggles from the little girl. It’s her favourite sound in the entire world. Azzi’s life isn’t perfect and there’s a million what if’s, one bigger than all of the others, that plague her mind sometimes but then she looks at Stephie, and she knows she wouldn’t change a single decision she’d made. Because they’ve all led to this moment, 9 am on a Friday, making waffle batter as her five-year old sits on the counter-top. It’s not everything but it’s enough.

The frantic sound of a door being haphazardly slammed open has both Stephie and Azzi startled, until Colleen comes bursting through it like a tornado.

“Oh thank god you’re awake,” Azzi’s best friend and manager says, out of breath, as she throws her car keys on the kitchen table.

“Hi Aunty Leen,” Stephie grins, waffle batter all over her mouth as she continues to dip and lick.

“Hey kiddo,” Colleen ruffles Stephie’s hair before sitting down and staring pointedly up at Azzi, “you might wanna sit down for this. I have news.”

“Sorry to break it to you Collen but your new h-o-o-k-u-p-s are not sit-down-newsworthy,” Azzi smirks as Colleen scrunches up her nose trying to keep up with the spelling.

“Oh trust me Az, I wish this was about my h-o-o- whatever,” Colleen takes a deep breath, “GSV is meeting with a potential point guard this week.”

“I would hope so. We really need a PG if we’re gonna redeem ourselves next season.”

“Right, well- you see- the thing is-”

“Today if you can please Colleen,” but there’s this knot forming in the pit of her stomach. Her sixth sense that’s been dormant for years is prickling and if she’s honest with herself, Azzi knows the next words that are about to come out of Colleen’s mouth before her best friend has even said them.

“GSV wants to sign Paige,” Colleen says slowly.

For a moment there’s silence and it’s ridiculous how all it takes is her name for Azzi’s mind to start flipping through pages and pages of a photo album she’s buried deep in the treasure chest of her mind. And for a second, she allows herself to get lost in a flood of everything we could have been until the sting of her hand slipping against the waffle iron jolts her back to reality.

“Fuck,” she curses, immedaitely blowing at her fingers. It does nothing. She should know by now that when things burn, the flames might die out, but even the ashes remain on fire.

“Bad word Mama,” Stephie chides immediately, unaware that her mother’s world has just been thrown off balance, “you owe me a kiss.”

She juts her cheek out and Azzi complies, trying to ignore the way her heart is desperately trying to beat out of her chest. It only calms down a little when Stephie presses a kiss of her own against Azzi’s cheek.

“Sorry sweetheart, mama’s bad, Here can you mix this batter for me,” Azzi whispers to the younger girl, distracting her child with something to do, before rounding on her best friend, “she can’t come here.”

Colleen sighs, getting comfortable in her chair, “unfortunately I don’t think you have much choice.”

“The h-” Azzi cuts herself off, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, “the haystack I don’t. This is my team and I don’t want her on it and I’m gonna walk into Ohemaa’s office and tell her exactly that.”

“Right and what exactly are you going to tell her when she asks you why you don’t want the best point guard in the league on your team Azzi? Your team, who mind you, lost in the finals last year because you didn’t have a point guard.”

Azzi flinches, gritting her teeth, both at the reminder of the loss that had happened not long enough ago and the fact that she couldn’t very well go into her boss’s office and blurt out the truth about a tragic relationship that had lived and died in secret.

“It's a bad idea, the two of us- we’ll kill each other Colleen,” she struggles to string the words together, swallowing away the we already have that tastes like bile on the tip of her tongue.

“Well you’re gonna have to learn not to,” Colleen says decisively, slipping from being Azzi’s best friend to her manager, “because you and I both know that if you want GSV to win another championship, you’re going to need her.”

“Are you my manager or GSV’s,” Azzi grunts, rubbing a tired hand against her forehead.

Colleen smiles, “it’s the same thing isn’t it? What’s good for GSV is good for you. And we all know the two of you thrive on the court together.”

“We did. Past tense,” the admission falls like lava from Azzi’s lips, singeing the edges of her mouth as everything that she’d let simmer underneath threatens to bubble over, “there’s no guarantee we still will. Besides, it's all a moot point anyways because she would never agree.”

“Wouldn’t she?” Colleen cocks an eyebrow and Azzi groans at the rhetorical question, waiting for the inevitable other shoe to drop, “because last I checked, she’s flying into San Francisco tomorrow.”

***

Paige has a problem. A really big fuck i really want to be a golden state valkyrie type of problem. She’d fought it every step of the way since she’d landed in San Francisco. Something about the city felt like it was bursting with basketball. The drive from the airport into Oakland had been bursting with murals of the Warriors and the Valkyries and for a split second, Paige can see her own face up on the billboards in a #5 Valkyries jersey. She just doesn’t know if it she can imagine herself next to the woman in #35 again, the woman whose smile in the posters is exactly as she remembers it to have been like when it was pressed into Paige’s skin every night almost a decade ago.

On top of that, Omehaa Nyanin had seemed to know exactly what made Paige Bueckers, the basketball player, tick. Every argument Paige had about why she shouldn’t be Valkyrie, the woman had a counter ready, as if she’d already anticipated exactly what the blonde would say. The Valkyrie coach had been even more prepared with videos of their offensive and defensive sets and how they fit in tandem with Paige’s own skill set, all ready to show off the minute she had walked through the door. It should be the easiest decision in the world to let herself just belong to this world that is screaming her name but there’s a rope around her waist trying to tug her back to safety, trying to tug her away from dousing her still-open wounds in salt.

Sighing, Paige lets herself into what she’s been told is called the “chill area”. Coach had offered to give her a tour of the facilities herself but Paige had declined, asking instead for her former UConn teammate and currently Valkyrie centre Jana El Alfy to do the honours, desperate for a familiar face who knew her history to bounce her thoughts off. It clearly wasn’t what the woman had wanted, but considering she was trying to convince Paige to choose them, whatever the blonde wanted, she was going to get. Massaging her temples at this irritating predicament she’s unwillingly found herself in, Paige’s head rolls back against the back of the chair, eyes closing involuntarily.

“You’re not supposed to sleep in here,” a tiny voice echoes and Paige almost jumps out her skin in shock.

“Fucking hell,” she curses as her eyes fall upon a little girl who seems to have materialized out of nowhere, “shit kid, you scared me.”

The child scrunches her nose and Paige feels her heart beat start to quicken as recognition settles in. She knows this little girl, has seen her on the sidelines at countless games and just like every other time, all she can think of is just how much this child resembles the future Paige had once believed would be hers.

“You owe me three kisses,” the girl says matter-of-factly, her tone so similar to her mothers. It shouldn’t surprise Paige, not when the kid has those same dark curls, those same doey brown eyes, that same nose scrunch.

“I owe you three kisses?” Paige repeats.

The girl rolls her eyes letting out a sigh far too grave for someone of her age, “yes. Mama says whenever someone says a bad word around me, they have to give me a kiss. You said three bad words, so you owe me three kisses.”

“And what does Mama say about asking strangers for kisses?”

“Stranger danger duh silly,” the child puts her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she looks at Paige with a far too familiar expression, “but you’re not a stranger.”

Paige purses her lips, “I’m not?”

“You’re Paige Bueckers. I’ve seen you at Mama’s games and Nanna and Pops have pictures of you in their house,” she stops, staring accusingly, “you don’t know who I am? Did you forget me?”

And Paige doesn’t know what catches her off guard more. The casual mention of a house that used to feel like a home, of people that used to feel like family or the fact that, that puppy dog stare still has the exact same effect on her that it did years ago, even if the owner of said eyes is different.

“Of course I didn’t forget you. You’re Stephanie,” Paige says softly, trying to muster a smile as she adds the last name, “Stephanie Fudd.”

“Stephanie Katarina Fudd,” comes the immediate correction, “but everybody calls me Stephie,” tiny hands wrap around Paige’s neck as Stephie climbs on to her lap, tapping a finger on her left cheek as she smiles up at Paige, “so now can I have my kisses?”

Slowly, Paige presses three featherlight kisses against the little girl’s cheek and when Stephie squeals in delight, she wishes she could record it. Someone somewhere is playing a practical joke on her, Paige is sure of it. Because all of a sudden, all the little things she’s been collecting as to reasons why she might just like the Bay Area are starting to feel insignificant in front of this one, in front of Stephie and her innocent smile and the way her free hand is curled around Paige’s neck as if she’ll hold on forever. And the world is definitely playing a cruel prank on her because Stephie can’t be the reason Paige wants to stay, not when her mother’s the reason Paige needs to go.

“Your Mama just lets you run around the building like this?” Paige asks, trying to focus on Stephie instead of the turmoil in her brain.

Stephie smiles sheepishly, “well I was ‘posed to stay with Aunty Leen while Mama talks to Miss O but then Aunty Leen got a call and I was bored so I came here.”

It doesn’t take Paige too long to decipher that Miss O must be Omehaa, but she’s stuck on who the hell Aunty Leen could be. She’s distinctly aware that her skin has no right to prickle, her hands have no right to sweat, her stomach has no right to knot, she has no right to feel anything when it comes to Stephie’s mother. But jealousy floods through her anyways.

“Who is Aunty Leen?” Paige asks and then mentally slaps herself for it.

“Aunty Leen is Aunty Leen,” Stephie explains unhelpfully, “so Miss Buecks-”

“Bueckers.”

Stephie shoots her an unimpressed look, “same things Miss Buecks. Are you here to join Mama’s team?”

“I-” Paige scratches her neck, only slightly taken aback by the direct question, “I don’t know.”

“You should,” Stephies says decisively, “Mama’s team is the best team in the world and Mama’s the best player in the whole wide world.”

Paige can’t help but smile at Stephie’s loyalty, “so why does her team need me then?”

Stephie looks contemplative for a moment before she uses her index finger to beckon Paige towards her, “can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course you can,” Paige says, leaning her ear down so Stephie can whisper into it.

“Don’t tell anyone but you’re my second favourite player.”

Paige swears her heart feels like it might burst. She’s been plenty of people’s favourite player and it’s always been nice to hear. But somehow, all of that seems to pale in comparison to being Stephie’s second favourite player.

“Why’s that a secret?” she asks softly.

“Cause you play for the wrong team silly. I can’t cheer for not Mama’s team,” Stephie huffs and then her eyes twinkle, “that’s why you should play for Mama’s team and then I can support you!”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Paige concedes, battling against the part of her brain that’s conjuring up an image of Stephie on the sidelines, cheering for Paige.

“What’s log-ic?” Stephie asks.

“Just means you’re a really smart kid,” Paige says, tapping the little girl’s nose. Her head is ringing with warning bells because this floaty feeling of belonging that’s encompassed in this little bubble she’s found herself in with Stephie is not one she’s allowed to feel, not now, not ever.

“STEPHIE,” a shrill voice echoes outside and Stephie immediately dives into Paige’s neck, hiding herself in the crook of it as a frazzled woman bursts through the door. Her eyes soften when they fall on Paige and the blonde can’t help the caught expression that filters on her face. She knows she’s done nothing wrong; Stephie had been the one to find her after all. But perhaps it’s because she’s scared Colleen will take one look at her and see that tiny rebellious part of her that wants to fight what’s coming next, wants to fight the woman who’s going to take Stephie away from her. Paige isn’t one to get attached easily. It had only ever happened once before when she was fifteen and she’d just known that the girl shooting three’s next to her on the court was meant to be in her life in one way or another. But things had been simple then. Nothing was simple now.

“Stephie,” Colleen says slowly, “what have I told you about running away from me?”

Stephie peeks her head out from Paige’s chest, a coy smirk playing on her lips, “not to do it? But you were boring me Aunty Leen.”

Oh that’s Aunty Leen, Paige thinks and she absolutely should not let out a sigh of relief at that but she does anyway.

“I was on the phone for two minutes, Steph.”

“Two minutes too long,” Stephie counters and Paige has to stifle a laugh.

Colleen rolls her eyes before holding out a hand, “well your Mama’s nearly done so we have to get going kiddo.”

“Can Miss Buecks come with us?” Stephie asks innocently and both Colleen and Paige freeze.

“I don’t think-”

“I’m not sure-”

They both begin before their eyes flicker to each other and they can’t help but smile. It’s funny how relationships work, how one snapped string can cause a whole web to dissolve, no matter how hard everyone involved had tried to make it work.

“I’m waiting to meet someone sweetheart so I can’t come right now,” Paige explains, “but maybe next time?”

And she shouldn’t add that last part, not when Paige should be devising an escape plan to never be in Oakland again instead of giving Stephie false hope about a next time that’s far from guaranteed. But it’s worth it for the way Stephie grins, staring at Paige like she’s given her the world’s greatest gift.

Before Paige can say anything, the little girl presses her lips against Paige’s cheek and she swears she stops breathing for a moment, “I hope you choose to play for Mama’s team Miss Buecks. I think you’d look pretty in purple.”

***

May 2024

“I’ve figured it out,” Paige says triumphantly as she unceremoniously flops onto Azzi’s bed.

“Well hi to you too babe,” Azzi grumbles as she scoots over to give the other girl space. It’s unnecessary because the minute she does, Paige only moves closer, wrapping an arm around Azzi’s torso.

“Hi baby,” she whispers before pressing a kiss against her girlfriend’s lips and pulling away so quickly that it leaves Azzi chasing after her.

Azzi huffs and Paige laughs as she gets herself comfortable, resting her chest on the darker skinned girl's stomach, “I’ve figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“Our future,” Paige says triumphantly and Azzi can’t help but smile at the our as she intertwines their fingers together. It’s been years in the making and there’s nothing Azzi’s more confident in than those two words. Not everyone finds forever this young, but she’s certain they have because really she can’t imagine a life where they don’t belong to each other, a life where every night isn’t spent exactly like this.

“And what do you see for our future,” Azzi asks softly.

“Well it’s simple really,” Paige hums, “I’m going to get drafted wherever next year but the year after, you’re definitely getting drafted to Valkyries-”

“I don’t know about definitely-”

“Azzi it’s rude to interrupt,” Paige sends her a chastising look.

“Right of course,” Azzi nods solemnly, “continue.”

“As I was saying. You’re definitely getting drafted to the Valks and then we just have to wait for my rookie contract to be up and boom! I’ll join you in the Bay Area and we’ll be together forever and ever and ever.”

Azzi giggles, brushing her hands through Paige’s hair, “that simple huh?”

“That simple,” Paige promises, catching hold of one of Azzi’s hands to press a kiss to her palm, “it’s us Az, we’ll always be simple. Besides, I think we’d both look pretty good in purple.”

***

May 2033

The Valkyrie facilities are state of the art as expected. Jana is the perfect tour guide, pointing out everything she knows will garner Paige’s attention. As they step foot onto the practice court, Paige feels the overwhelming sense of this could be home that’s been dancing along with her every step of the way today. All the resolve she’d carried with her from Dallas is slowly crashing down and she can practically hear Talia’s sing-song i told you so voice echoing in her head.

“You’d be really good here P,” Jana says excitedly, doing a little spin.

“You’d be lucky to have me,” Paige teases, as she picks up a basketball and subconsciously starts dribbling.

Jana laughs, before a serious expression takes over, “we would. We got really close to winning it all last year and I think you might be our missing piece.”

“I want to,” Paige confesses, “I just-” her eyes flicker to the most recent MVP poster hanging on the walls, Jana’s gaze following hers, “I don’t know if I should. It’s so complicated.”

“Only if you let it be,” Jana says as she swipes the ball out Paige’s hands, “don’t think of everything else P, just- just think of the basketball. Because you know basketball-wise, this is the right move,” she passes the ball to Paige with a smirk, tilting her head towards the basket, “why not take a shot at it P?”

Paige shakes her head, palming the ball in her hands, “can’t believe my son’s all grown up.”

“Children of divorce have no choice but to grow up,” Jana says gravely and Paige laughs despite herself.

Taking a deep breath, Paige raises the ball, arching her arms perfect as she shoots it. It barely touches the rim, before falling through the basket with swish. Hitting the floor with a quiet thud, the ball rolls until it’s stopped by someone's foot. Behind her, Paige can hear Jana cheering for the shot but she barely registers it, her entire attention on the new figure who’s just entered the court. It’s a tale as old as time. Azzi Fudd enters the room and suddenly everything else in Paige’s peripheral fades away, until it’s just her and the girl who still manages to steal her breath away.

“Nice shot,” Azzi says, as she takes a slow step towards Paige. The air is thick with tension as if a time capsule has been opened and their past is leaking onto the pages of their present, staining it with marks of the you and me that we used to be. She should say something, even if it’s just an acknowledgement of the compliment but her tongue feels dry and she’s scared that if she opens her mouth, all the things she shouldn’t say will flood out instead.

“Hey Az,” Jana’s eyes flicker awkwardly between her former teammates, “I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

“Had to talk to Omehaa about a couple of things,” Azzi says airly, eyes still fixated on Paige, “Jana can we have a minute?”

“You won’t kill each other will you?” Jana asks nervously.

Azzi laughs and even Paige cracks a small smile, “no Jana, we won’t kill each other.”

“Just making sure because last time-” Jana clamps a hand to her mouth as both Paige and Azzi flinch, “because nothing- you guys- you guys talk. I’ll give you guys a minute.”

She scampers away cursing to herself about putting her foot in her mouth and it would be amusing, if not for the fact that Paige can still barely breathe. They haven’t been alone in a room since last time and the air around them hangs heavy with the casings of the grenades they’d hurled at each other.

“I’ve never seen you with braids this early in the year. They used to be your summer braids,” Paige remarks slowly. It’s a mundane change to notice but it’s significant of the larger truth, significant of all the time that’s passed, significant of the fact they don’t know these new versions of each other.

“Yeah um, can’t really do summer braids with the W season,” Azzi chews at her lip.

“Right yeah- yeah that makes sense,” Paige nods. The awkwardness is killing her. She’d never been a fan of the silence, always more comfortable in the chaos but it had been different with Azzi. There had been something peaceful, something calming, about the quiet, when it was just the two of them, hands intertwined, eyes closed, as they listened to the sound of each other’s heartbeat.

“Paige-”

“Are you here to tell me not to come to GSV?” Paige blurts out, “because it’s- it’s okay if you are like I get it. I mean- the two of us- it’s just really fucking complicated so I get it- I get it if you don’t want me here.”

“I didn’t,” Azzi admits and it shouldn’t, but Paige feels it sting anyways, “you’re right. You and I- there’s just a lot there and it would- it would be really complicated and when Colleen first told me I- I was gonna go fight Omehaa and be like abso-fucking-lutely not but-” she sucks in a deep breath, “do you remember the promise we made to each other?”

“We made a lot of promises to each other,” Paige says, unable to keep the harshness out of her tone, “sorry I-”

“No you’re right,” Azzi swallows, “but I meant the promise we made when we first started dating. We said we’d never let the personal affect the professional. We promised each other that no matter what, we’d never let our relationship affect us on the court And I know- I know we’ve broken a lot of promises to each other,” they both let out a breath at that, “but I think- I think maybe we should try and keep this one.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you need a championship contender and GSV needs a PG. Paige, I’m not here to convince you to not come to GSV, I’m here to ask you to join our team,” Azzi says resolutely.

Paige isn’t easily shocked by anything really. She’s lived what she’d consider a pretty interesting life but of course if anyone was going to surprise her, it would be Azzi. Azzi, who has always been an exception to every rule.

“You- you want me on your team?” Paige repeats, a little dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Azzi affirms, “you told me once that we could be the best backcourt duo in college basketball and we were, even if it was only for a year, we were and so now I’m telling you that I think we could be the best backcourt duo in the WNBA.”

Paige is silent for a second before a smirk takes over her features, “I think I did a lot more than tell you, pretty sure I had a whole video that proved it.”

“Are you asking me to make you a recruiting video?” Azzi raises an unamused eyebrow.

Paige shrugs, “could be a nice gesture.”

“I have a five year old child, Bueckers. Trust me when I say I don’t have enough spare time for bullshit like that when you can easily just search up our highlights on youtube. Or just look in your trophy case if you’re looking for proof of how good we can be together,” Azzi says, a hint of that familiar sass bleeding into her spiel.

“We really were good together weren’t we,” it spills out before Paige can stop it and it’s like they’re taking two steps back from each other, the friendly-ish banter of mere seconds ago being clouded by a past tainted by their mistakes, “on the court I mean. We were really good on the court.”

“Right,” Azzi averts her gaze, “just- just think about it okay? This doesn’t- it doesn’t have to be about you and me, not like that at least. It’s about basketball. GSV is the perfect fit for you and you’re the perfect fit for us. And deep down you must know that too, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe I’m just in it for the free trip to Cali,” Paige surmises.

Azzi scoffs, “you and I both know you make too much money to need a free trip to Cali. If anything, the hotel they’ve given you is probably cheap for your standards.”

“Maybe I just like feeling important? I always did love people showering me with praise.”

“You always did love the attention,” Azzi grins teasingly, “but there’s one thing you always loved more.”

You, Paige thinks but she can’t say that, “and what’s that?”

“Winning. That’s what this is about. You want another championship, so do we. Come help us and let us help you. It’s that simple.”

As Azzi turns to walk away, Paige can’t help but call out from behind her, “you know I think your daughter’s pitch might have been better.”

There’s a smile playing on Azzi’s lips when she turns her face back a little. It’s a new smile that Paige can only assume is Azzi’s Stephie smile, “yeah? What did she say?”

“She told me she thinks I’d look good in purple,” Paige smirks.

Azzi laughs, and it’s exactly like Paige remembers, “it’s that simple huh?”

“It’s that simple.”

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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aoyamamadoka · 2 years ago

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昨日は雨の中ゲッコウカフェへお越しいただき有難うございました！本日もあいにくの雨ですが…のんびりゆったりしにいらしてください。お待ちしております！

#geckocafe #CorDial/12 #nimbus #荒島岳手ぬぐい #荒島岳マスキングテープ #個展『けしき』#aoyamamadoka

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strawberrystepmom · 2 months ago

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cw: overt infidelity (gojo is married to someone that is not reader), abusive relationship, physical abuse though it is not described in a graphic way. gojo x sorcerer/teacher f!reader. | word count: 3k, reading time: approx. 12 min.

As time passes, it becomes harder for you to remember the little reasons why you dumped Satoru five years ago. Distance may make your memories hazy but you’re certain that they were small, pitiful excuses you used to hide the truth from even yourself.

You loved him as deeply as you’ve ever loved anyone but you weren’t ready for the responsibility of doing so.

A man of his stature is only as strong as what he comes home to and you knew you’d fail him - you were emotional, unstable at the time, hard to get along with. The two of you had been through traumatic events one after the other and it left you feeling unmoored and unable to love the way you knew even then he needed to be.

You’ve never felt the need to begrudge him for moving on. It seemed only natural that he’d carry on with his life and you’d carry on with yours, slowly handing him boxes of his things from your place over months before one day you had nothing left to give and it was over. He was nothing but a blip on your radar and an indentation in your mattress that you’d eventually get rid of too.

The next day you learned about his new girlfriend, now wife. It hurt to hear about it in passing but you understood that your role as the heartbreaker left you with little entitlement to know what happened in his life and you also didn’t think anything of the lack of invitation to his wedding when it happened. Despite this, you pressed an envelope heavy with cash in his hands the following Monday at school and felt absolved of any further responsibility toward the man despite your lingering feelings.

For years, you assumed that the two of you would continue to move in divergent lines toward different lives and for a while it was true. You were able to work professionally and peacefully alongside him, unwilling to give up your beloved career as a teacher and sorcerer to save yourself from a bit of heartache.

You saw him and his wife from time to time, the woman at his side never becoming particularly warm despite your genuine attempts to be friendly. A smile in her direction would be met with a smirk and then a frown, a smug reminder that she is the cat who got the cream rather than a woman in love with the man at her side. At some point a decision was made to be cordial enough to never raise questions but distant enough you rarely had to be around her.

Things seemed fine until the night your phone lit up and buzzed on your nightstand, clock ticking well past two in the morning. Squinting, you picked up the phone and scowled at the contact picture of a younger, far more audacious version of the man on the other end of the phone.

“Satoru?”

Your dazed voice through the speaker was a revelation and the world rolled off his shoulders in an instant. Pacing in front of the convenience store across from your home, he watched your front door carefully with one of his hands stuffed in his pocket.

“Hi, it’s me. I know this is weird but I was in the neighborhood and wanted t-”

His voice sounded frenzied in a way you hadn’t heard in years, your anxiety spiking with each word. Something is wrong, why else would he have called you this time of night?

“Slow down, I can hardly understand you.”

He sighed, shoulders slumping forward with the weight of it.

“Can I just come in? I’ll explain everything.”

Against your better judgment, you said yes and for months he has been coming to your door at the same time several nights a week. The first time he was kicked out for coming home later than his wife expected, his excuse of a mission more than she was willing to buy despite verifiable evidence that is exactly where he was. The second time, they argued on a date and she threw a drink on him in view of their friends unprompted, his bare chest exposed while sitting in your kitchen waiting for his shirt tumbling in the dryer. The third time, she hurled a shoe at him immediately upon entering the door for reasons he didn’t stick around long enough to hear.

Now, the twentieth time, you wonder why he’s bothered to remain married to this woman at all.

Tonight his long body rests on your couch, socked feet dangling off of the end. You kneel on the ground beside him, petting rain wet strands off of his forehead while resting your chin on his chest.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

His eyes are closed tightly, the cerulean hidden from your view because he knows you’d be able to read him like a book otherwise, as you always have been. A shared glance between the two of you used to be a means of silent communication and ever since he rekindled this friendship, he worries it’s back to old times in that sense. He cannot connect with her the way that he does you, the same effortlessness never appearing in the way he assumed it magically would, even after three years of marriage.

“She hit me.”

You gasp, head popping up an instant and hair flying behind you. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to picture your face nor does he have to open them and use his Six Eyes to know that you are seething. Blood is rushing into your cheeks and your hands shake where they gingerly brush his hair away.

“What do you mean?” Scoffing, you press your shaky fingers against his cheeks. “How?”

He laughs and in an instant, you feel terrible for questioning what has happened to him. You know this relationship is and always has been difficult, the grittiest of the details dropped off at your door so he can return home to her with an apology before the sun rises, but you never assumed she would go this far to prove her point or get her way.

“Satoru,” you start and he stops you, shaking his head and finally opening his eyes. They’re as dazzling as they are every time you are given the privilege of looking into them but he can’t chase the sadness buried in them away. He reaches for where your hand rests on his face and pulls it away, kissing your knuckles the way that he used to years ago when he still believed you’d be his forever.

“It’s fine. I was late again.”

A humorless chuckle leaves you and you rise from your kneeling position to stand with your hand on your hip, letting him keep his grip on the other one in some poor attempt to comfort him. You don’t even have confirmation that you bring him comfort, an assumption because he keeps showing up and nothing more, but you hope that’s the case. It’s sick and wrong but you can’t stop yourself from loving this man as much as you did years ago, marriage aside. You vowed to let him move on but you never vowed to stop caring.

“She doesn’t get to hit you because a mission ran late, you know that, right?”

He shrugs.

“I guess.”

His willingness to roll over and take it is what frustrates you the most, finally pulling your hand from his grip so you can fold your arms over your chest and pace the floor in front of him. You stop in your tracks and look down at him, eyes welling with tears. The emotion of the past several months, these illicit meetings where the two of you do nothing but talk and hold each other, hits you like a brick looking down at the dazzling man in front of you crumpled into a heap on your couch.

“Hey, don’t cry,” he soothes despite his own hurt and you find it frustrating that he’s so quick to jump to comforting you just like old times. You wave him off and continue to pace, chewing on your thumb nail while thinking of the best way to handle this. He sits up with a sigh and reaches out for you, one arm wrapping around your hip and the other guiding you into his lap.

This isn’t the first time the two of you have crossed this line so you settle in, resting against the broad expanse of his chest and looking up at him from below. Your hands once again find their home on his face, cupping his cheeks, and you sniff.

“I’m going to hit her back,” you warn and he laughs, his hand traveling up your arm and fingers wrapping around your wrist. “I am. Harder than I’ve ever hit anyone.”

The thing about love, Satoru has discovered, is that it’s a flame that only survives as long as you’re fanning it. Some people fan their flame with gentleness and patience, sweet touches and reassurances, lazy mornings and happy memories. Others fan theirs with anger and passion, frustrated groans and distrust, venomous words and poisoned glances.

Unfortunately, he learned this after he got married and has spent every night wishing he were resting in the familiar cradle of your old mattress rather than the cold bed he tied himself to for the rest of his life.

“I don’t want you to do that.”

He presses his lips against your forehead and you lean into it. What’s another physical boundary broken given how far the two of you have let this thing go. He is weaker now than he ever has been, strength zapped thanks to the battles he has to fight between the walls of his own home, and yours has become his paradise as it was not so long ago. His lips press a trail from your temple to your cheek and you sigh, wishing you felt more conflicted or at least guilty about it.

“Can I ask you something?” He nods, you feel it against your face rather than see it with your eyes.

“When’s the last time you felt loved?”

The question hangs between the two of you painfully, your stomach turning at your own carelessness. He is married to a woman you’ve met, you’ve looked her in her eyes and smiled in her face, yet all you can see when you think about her is a person who has deeply hurt someone you love. Your someone. The someone you selflessly gave up to allow her the chance to meet him, a decision you’ve regretted often.

You can’t change your past but maybe you can convince him that he deserves a better future.

“Last night when I was here.”

You start to laugh but stop yourself looking at the softness in his face. This is surrender, something you’ve never asked him to give to you in all the years you’ve known each other, and he’s rewarding you by handing it over freely and of his own accord.

“I mean that. I can’t remember the last time I was happy before the night I called you.”

Bottom lip quivering, you look away from him. You don’t want to show him the emotion on your face, keeping your cards close to your chest after all these years, but he lifts his hand to your face and tips it in his direction anyway. He scans your features and looks for any hint of regret.

He doesn’t find it and continues to speak his mind, unafraid of consequences for the first time in years.

“I love you.”

Your quivering lip turns into full blown waterworks looking at him, tears carving a path down your face and dripping onto your chest. He loves you and hasn’t stopped since the last time he told you, the night you let him go. His lips go back to work on your face, kissing over each tear that falls before it can drip off of your chin and onto your shirt.

“It’s horrible but every time I look at her all I can think of is how she means nothing to me and how little she is compared to you.” He mutters with his lips still pressed to your cheek. You aren’t actively crying any longer, cheeks warm beneath his lips, but he knows you’re on the edge judging by your breathing. “I’m a terrible husband.”

Shaking your head, you shift your face enough so that you can look into his eyes.

“You are not, babe.” The old nickname slips before you can stop it and he smirks, the twinkle you didn’t see in his eyes earlier returning now that his old flame is no longer a single light in the darkness but a full blown forest fire razing his life. “She has never given you the chance to be your best.”

He wishes he disagreed despite how he’s convinced himself over the years he deserves what has been happening to him. The screaming, the arguments and accusations, the instability, it’s all because of his own ability to be good to his wife. To give her what she wants, which truthfully, he has no idea what she wants besides a subservient punching bag.

“You would have given me that chance, wouldn’t you?”

The question makes you sigh and you close the gap between your face, pressing your lips to his to break yet another physical boundary. He’s starved for the contact, quickly enveloping your lips with his own and groaning. He’s too greedy to tell you to stop, arm wrapped around your waist holding you tightly and his disappointment is evident when you place your hand on his chest and stop him.

“In some terrible way, I think I already am.”

It’s true and both of you would be liars if you argued it. You may not be sleeping together, not yet, but he comes to you for the things he should be getting from his wife. Compassion, patience, confidence boosts, the things he can’t recall receiving from her once yet he finds bountifully within the four walls of your home.

“What should I do?” He finally asks, grip strong around your waist. You let your head loll against his shoulder, catching your breath and trying to think of the most reasonable way to handle this.

Selfishly, you want to tell him to run. To file papers tomorrow and move in with you here despite how everyone would gawk and talk, the way your colleagues would speculate and gossip. You’re certain she already has an inkling he’s here every night, the steely look she leveled your direction a few weeks ago across the room at a small dinner gathering for the sorcerers making you head out of the event in near record time. He ended up at your house that same night, head in his hands wondering what he possibly could have done to make her angry.

Choosing your words carefully seems like the less reckless option so you do.

“What do you want to do?”

Despite your very intentional word choice, you hope his answer will be the one you’re looking for and that he will ask you for help. Being his safe haven is a job you’ve always taken seriously and now more than ever you know he needs it.

“I don’t know. I think I need some time to decide.”

It’s disappointing that he hasn’t made his mind up yet but you understand. It’s never easy to walk away from something you promised your lifelong effort toward, not unlike this life of sorcery the two of you share, so you simply keep your head against his chest and wait for him to keep speaking rather than breaking the silence yourself.

“If I decide to leave, I won’t tell her about any of this.”

“You don’t have to do that, Satoru. I made this decision too and she has a right to know unless you plan on never speaking to me again after.”

He laughs, genuinely. You can’t remember the last time you heard his cackle like this and you smile. He kisses you again.

“No. If I leave this is where I want to be.”

You don’t speak it, but the if makes you wonder how serious he is about the whole thing. It doesn’t matter though, you suppose, the hour ticking far past 3 am and stretching into 4 when you let him kiss you again. And again. And this time with tongue, with hands, with frenzy and need. The sun is about to rise by the time he stops, cheeks pink and eyes sparkling once again, and he digs his phone out of his pocket with a groan.

Looking at the missed call notifications, all from his wife, he rolls his eyes and swipes to dismiss them. You feel smug, not unlike her every time she has spotted you from across the room, but you remind yourself to be better than this woman who has shoved Satoru back into your arms.

“I have some shit I have to take care of but I’ll text you later, okay?”

You nod, sliding off of his lap and watching him stand up to adjust his clothing. His shirt is wrinkled and he hasn’t slept but he looks no different than he did upon his arrival, no trace of what transpired here tonight left behind on him.

“Okay.”

You finally respond and he kneels in front of where you sit, holding your hands. It isn’t hard for him to catch on that you are apprehensive, uncertain about where you truly stand in all of this, so he does his best to reassure you.

“This is where I want to be.”

As he stands again, but not before pressing a pair of kisses to your forehead and the tip of your nose, all you can do is assume that he means it.

He’s never lied to you before, why would he start now?

#cw infidelity #cw abusive relationships #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo angst #kendall writes

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ambswoso · 9 months ago

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could've been - leah williamson

seeing leah for the first time since you'd broken up couldn’t have fell on a better night, your sisters wedding.

5.3k words shes longggg

first fic please be kind. should i have been completing a 7000 word essay and not this? yes.

leah williamson x mead!reader

here you were, in the back seat of a very expensive car sat next to your sister, holding a bouquet of flowers pulling up to a large stately home. only it wasn’t your wedding, it was beth and viv’s. once upon a time, it might’ve been your wedding, but that dream had long been pushed to the back of your mind. you were here to support your best friend on the happiest day of her life, and that’s it.

“you ready?” your head turned, and beth was already smiling at you, lip between her teeth. “she would’ve been so proud of you bethy, she would’ve loved to be here.” you say, taking beth’s hand in your own, feeling the tight squeeze she gave it as a thank you.

“let’s do this, before viv changes her bloody mind.” beth tries her best to lighten the mood and it works, slightly. she knows what’s on your mind and it isn’t just the thought of your mum not being present today.

you both exit the car, walking towards the doors of the large manor. it made you feel so small walking through the large double doors and into the ceremony room, with beth just behind you. as the procession music began, all eyes turned to you. the huge building was nothing compared to how small you felt when you saw a certain pair of blue eyes watching you. even after all this time, they refused to blend into the crowd making this short walk down the aisle feel hours long.

you were stood at the front as you watched your sister make her way after you. vivianne’s eyes lit up as the love of her life made her way towards her, and you could’ve sworn you saw her wipe away a tear at one point, which she would vehemently deny to both you and beth later. you took the opportunity to glance around the room at the people who’d been invited to share this day. those same baby blue eye’s catching you off guard when you found them looking straight at you instead of at beth. a small smile was sent your way and a blush emerged on her cheeks as she realised shed been caught admiring you, you simply sent her one back.

on the outside you were calm and cordial, this was your sister’s wedding day. the inside was a whole different story. you felt a pit in your stomach, and you couldn’t tell whether it was simply gut-wrenching anxiety or if it was much worse, butterflies. thoughts that this could’ve been the two of you swirled your head, making you dizzy, but they soon got pushed away when your sister reached you and viv. you sent her a final smile and a squeeze of the arm as she handed her flowers to you, and you took your seat.

beth and viv stood and exchanged their vows. their love exuded from the words they spoke to each other; you were quite certain everyone in the room could feel it. your heart swelled with pride and adoration for both women stood before you and you could feel the tears welling in your eyes as much as you tried to keep them at bay.

beth was your role model, always. you put her on a pedestal from the moment you knew how to talk. she could do no wrong. as much as your parents had been amazing all through your childhood and up to now, it was beth that you had always truly admired. she was your older sister; how could you not want to be like her? it sometimes came out in lightly annoying ways though. like when she was 15 and you were 12 and you wore her favourite t-shirt to own clothes day at school without asking because you wanted to be just like her and ended up spilling pasta sauce all down it. when beth found you in the school bathroom frantically dabbing at the top with a wet tissue, she was livid, but she took one look at the pout on your face and tried her very best to help you get the sauce out and when it didn’t work, she wrapped her jacket around you to save you any further embarrassment.

you and beth held each other up always, being each other’s rocks when your mother passed away last year. you’d both been there through everything. you held beth up when she tore her acl, with a little help from viv, and beth held you up when you lost who you thought was the love of your life. you knew you’d put beth in an uncomfortable position, but she didn’t care, it was always you over anyone. although, you had a little competition with viv in that department these days.

the ceremony went off without a hitch, your sister and viv were now married. as they both left to have their photos taken, you were now left with beth’s teammates and closest friends. you were always close with the girls from arsenal and england ever since your sister started playing for both teams. you were her little shadow following her to training or cheering the loudest in the stands. you’d withdrawn from your old friends, not wanting to put anyone in an uncomfortable position, only interacting through an instagram comment or an occasional dm when things went well.

“hi chick!” steph approached you, giving you a tight and comforting hug, “you look as beautiful as ever.” you thanked her, telling her she did too, and it was only a matter of seconds before the rest of the girls noticed that steph was speaking to you, rushing over themselves.

you were overwhelmed by how many happy faces you saw and the number of questions that were launched at you all at once. you tried your best to keep up with them all as they asked you question after question about your move and your job.

“oh this is kyra!” alessia introduced as you gave kyra a quick smile and wave, “and this is emily.” you repeated the same action youd just made towards kyra. “heard a lot about you both its lovely to finally meet you!” the smile that was present on your lips quickly faded as a certain blonde returned from the phone call she had to make.

“well i better go, bridesmaid duties to attend to.” you sent a polite smile towards the group and promised to find some of the girls later, hoping the conversations and question would feel a little less awkward after one (or several) drinks.

“well jesus leah, she definitely doesn’t like you.” kyra let out a loud chuckle at the obvious uncomfortable tension between yourself and leah, not knowing the history that went back four years. leah shoved her away from her as she watched you walk away, over to your best friend.

“oh my god, i think im going to be sick.” you held your stomach as you finally reached your best friend. “why the fuck did i think i could go the whole day and just be fine?”

“you’re okay. you didn’t even speak to her.”

“well if i did speak to her i might actually throw up so that’s probably for the best.”

“look, its done now. just speak to the other girls when they’re not with her, then you’ll be fine. oh, and you should most definitely have a shot.” she pulled a flask out of her bag, never failing to surprise you.

“youre joking me, right?” you scoffed but still taking the flask out of her hand and very quickly taking a swig before pulling it back and wincing. “definitely needed it.”

“lets just not talk about her and you can stop thinking about her.” you tried to listen to her as she messed around with putting her flask back into her bag and taking her lipstick out of her bag to reapply but your eyes glanced over to the group you were just standing with.

you watched as leah kept quiet, her hands firmly in her pockets. you wondered if she still had the ring you’d given her on your first anniversary, if she still wore it maybe. she loved that ring, never took it off even once when you were together unless it was football related. whenever you came to a game and they won, she’d subtly kiss the spot where that ring usually lay and you’d melt every single time.

“hey, what did i just say?” your friend nudged you and you shrugged. “no talking about her and no thinking about her, now lets go. we have some partying to do. actually, do you know if any if beth’s friends are single?” you laughed loudly as she linked your arms and dragged you into the room where the reception was taking place and more importantly, where the bar was.

leah’s head raised at the laugh she knew all too well. her favourite sound in the world to this day. what she would do to be the reason you laughed like that again. you’d laughed like that at her reaction to the gift you’d bought her for your first anniversary. you and leah had agreed to no presents and both of you obviously ignored that. she’d pretended to be shocked at the expensive, thoughtful gift but the love and adoration she felt for you and it were real. that same expensive and thoughtful gift still lay on the hand nestled in her pocket. she tried not to wear it too much these days but some days her finger just felt bare without it, especially today.

slowly but surely all the guests made their way through to the reception room. you were sat at the head of the table and it was just your luck that the table directly opposite you housed beth’s teammates. your gaze did not falter once, you kept it focused on your meal and whoever was speaking on your table, you did not need another slip up with leah today.

“hi everyone, thank you for coming.” viv announced through the microphone. it was speech time. you felt your palms sweat as you mentally prepared to pour your heart out in front of this many people. “we didn’t really want to do much if the sappy stuff so we got y/n to do it for us. lets give it up.”

you giggled at viv and stood up, taking the microphone from her as the room cheered and clapped. this time you had no choice but to glance at the table in front of you as you heard katie chanting your name, sending her a quick grin.

you cleared your throat before you started speaking. “hi everyone, it's lovely to see you all celebrating beth and vivianne's special day. for those of you that don't know, i used to be beth's favourite person but i think i've been pushed to second place as of late so thank you for that viv.” beth rolled her eyes as the room laughed. “but seriously, i'm beth's little sister.” you took a mini bow.

“i've seen people come and go out of beth's life, some i was grateful for and some i wish would've stuck around but there's no one i'm more grateful to for sticking around than viv. seeing a light on my sisters face that i haven't seen in years makes my heart swell every single day so thank you.” you shot viv a smile as you glanced from your paper to the couple and around the room. your gaze caught direct contact with leahs but you shook it off and drew your attention back to your speech.

“i remember the day beth burst through the doors of my flat panicking that viv was never going to ask her out and she was absolutely adamant that she wasn't going to be the one to do it, that she was going to wait for viv. so you can imagine my surprise when a week later, beth rang me to tell me she'd got a little bit impatient and ended up asking vivianne out.” you reminisced fondly. what the audience didn’t know was that leah was with you experiencing the same memory. her and beth were the only ones on the room that knew it was a shared conversation between three, not two. the corners of leahs mouth twitched as she recalled beth’s frantic state. it was you that seemed like the older sister in that moment, not beth.

“i had the same conversation with beth about 9 months ago, only this time she was talking about a much more serious question that needed asking. trust me when i tell you that beth was doubly adamant she was not going to be asking this question, so obviously i expected her to let me know in a couple weeks’ time that she'd done it again, that she'd bitten the bullet and asked. and lo and behold i did get a phone call from someone telling me they'd asked the question and thank god that it was viv instead of beth because i don't think she would've ever let you live that one down vivianne.” you look down to your left where beth was sat and saw her chuckling to herself and nudging viv as if to agree.

“beth has always been my biggest inspiration in life.” you cleared your throat again as you felt your voice waver and a tear form in the corner of your eye. you wiped at your eye, composing yourself quickly. “i’ve always been her biggest admirer for a lot of things but right now the thing i admire most is that she's truly herself. i've only ever seen beth truly be herself around a handful of people in my life, our family, her teammates and you, viv. she is truly marrying her best friend, which is so important. you're marrying someone who makes you laugh, and its the really ugly laugh beth has where she starts snorting and crying. you're marrying someone who wants to be there for you through your best and worst times, and has been and has somehow made the worst times that little bit easier just by being there.” beth squeezed your hand.

“that's all anyone can really ask for in life, and you two have found it. what people wouldn't give to have a love like yours. a love where you feel safe enough to be vulnerable, where you can truly be yourself and where you are loved for exactly that. i used to daydream about what my wedding would look like one day but now all i would want is just to have the same love that you two share.” you look up from your paper to peak at the audience. you found leahs eyes immediately. the both of you knew what you meant when you spoke about dreaming of your wedding. the wedding you thought you’d be one day sharing with leah, that never came to be.

“i'm a very firm believer in everything happens for a reason, and it's when i get to experience days like this and witness pure and true love that it really embeds that phrase into my mind even more. a person i knew who would've given anything to witness this day, would've said the same thing as me, my mum” you felt beths hand tighten around yours as yet again your voice wavered. “oof, im sorry, emotional day.” you spoke out to ease the emotion in the room at the mention of your late mother and dabbed at the tears slowly falling from your eyes. “she would've said ‘you two were meant to be together, everything that’s happened has led you two to be together. i knew from the very start that you'd be together forever’ and she would've been right as per usual. she would've been so proud of both of you as am i but i know she's watching and probably cursing dad for the shoe choice he's made today.”

you composed yourself for a moment. between speaking about your mother and the love that beth and viv shared, it was all becoming a lot for you. you once thought that you and leah shared this same love, in fact you were sure of it. her obvious gaze felt heavy on you as you continued your speech.

“beth has tried to teach me a lot of things over the years but this might be the one thing i take away and actually listen to for once. that when you find your someone, you don't let them go. if you find your safe space in a person, you should keep a hold of them forever and some people don't” leah felt her heart drop as you looked directly at her. “but thank god the two of you have. i'd like to raise a glass, and i'm sure there will be several more raised through the night so pace yourselves everybody, but for now a toast to my two sister's beth and vivianne.”

you grabbed a tissue from your bag and wiped under your eyes. "right, that was extremely soppy of me. i promise you i'm normally hilarious and a lot less emotional. cheers!' you grabbed your flute of champagne and necked it as everyone raised their glasses and you sat back into your chair.

“that was perfect y/n/n.” beth spoke to you.

“yeah thank you, y/n. there was obviously no better woman for the job.” viv reached over to squeeze your shoulder in thanks.

“y/n/n? are you okay?” beth questioned as youd yet to react to their words other than a small smile.

‘yeah, i’m fine bethy don’t worry about me, i’m just going to get some air though.” you shot her a smile as you removed yourself from the room to step out into back gardens of the house.

beth wasn’t stupid, she knew today wasn’t easy for you. as she married the love of her life, you were coming face to face with yours again for the first time in around a year and a half. seeing leah again and under these circumstances was clearly having an effect on you. beth wanted to follow you but she knew you would’ve scolded her and sent her right back inside, not wanting to draw any attention away from either her or viv on their day.

you stepped outside and made your way to a little patch of the gardens you’d seen earlier, wanting to take a seat amidst the trees and flowers for a moment. you just needed to compose yourself for a minute then you’d go back inside, back to avoiding leah at all costs.

“you always did have a way with words.” a voice appeared behind you, a voice that still sent a shiver down your spine, despite not having heard it in person for over a year.

you sucked in a breath, not even turning to face her as you shifted on the bench. “what do you want, leah?” you felt her sit next to you. she wasn’t close and you could still feel the heat radiating off her but you still refused to look up. “just wanted to see if you were okay. i know todays been a lot”.

a scoff and laugh escaped your lips, “you don’t know anything. i haven’t seen you for a year.” you finally turned to look at her.

leah knew you’d be emotional today and seeing her probably didn’t help but she couldn’t help herself, she needed to talk to you. she missed you. “i know but that doesn’t mean i don’t still know you.” she waited to see if you’d respond, maybe jump down her throat again and when you didn’t she continued. “your speech was beautiful by the way, even shed a tear or two of my own.”

maybe you’d been a bit harsh on her, i mean here she was trying to make you feel better. you could handle a friendly conversation with her, right? “thanks, not like you to cry so i must’ve done something right.”

the wind blew slightly, blowing your hair out of your face as a silence enveloped the two of you. leah couldn’t bare the thought of the conversation coming to an end so she did what the two of you never had to do, she made small talk.

“how’s barcelona then?” she inquired, not knowing whether to broach the subject or not. you didn’t seem to mind her bringing it up as you shrugged, “it’s fine, its good. it’s far from home and i miss everyone but its okay. at least the weathers better.”

“and the job?” you’d decided pretty early on in life that you wanted your job to be involved in football, but unfortunately you weren’t as talented as your sister in that department so you settled for the next best thing and fell in love with it. you’d been a physiotherapist at arsenal for nearly as long as beth had played for the club, obviously taking a couple of years to get your degree first. even into your adult life and your career you remained beth’s little shadow and loved every second of it. “same old, same old. plenty of injuries to keep me occupied.” the universe and its timings seemed to have aligned when not long after your breakup with leah, lucy bronze had let you know there was an open position for a physiotherapist for barcelona femeni and before you knew it and with a helpful reference from lucy and kiera, you were on a one-way flight to spain without thinking twice.

“speaking of physio, how’s your knee?”

“its doing good, i mean i had a different physio than the one i was used to but,” she nudged you as a blush presented itself on your cheeks. leah had over exaggerated injuries quite frequently when you were working at arsenal. “yeah i’m getting there.”

“good.” you paused. “i’m sorry about the world cup, i know how beth felt so i can only imagine how you did. i was gonna text you, but i thought that might not be such a good idea.”

“you should’ve. i would’ve answered.” leah sent you a soft smile. “everyone misses you too, by the way.”

“hm?”

“earlier you said you miss everyone.’ she reminded you of what you’d said only a couple of minutes ago. “well all the girls miss you too. they talk about you all the time, always asking beth about you and how you’re doing.” you could see where this was going, now terrified that leah was about to ruin your perfectly cordial conversation with words you didn’t need to hear from her right now.

“oh yeah, i haven’t seen them in a while.” you brushed off, “life gets in the way sometimes i suppose.” by life you meant leah. you wouldn’t want to put her teammates and your old friends in between the two of you, so you took yourself out of the equation altogether.

“i miss you too, a lot.” there it was. she did it, she just opened up a box she wouldn’t be able to close.

“leah.” you sighed, “don’t”

“what? i’m not allowed to miss you?” leah became defensive, half expecting you to just say it back to her because you always had.

“i didn’t say that, just stop.” you scooted to the other end of the bench, needing some space between the two of you.

leah lowered her defences and tried again to make you understand what she was telling you, thinking you didn’t believe her or didn’t understand. “we were together for nearly 3 years, y/n/n. i miss you all the time.” you understood her perfectly. you’d felt exactly the same since the day you walked out the door. “leah please, don’t do this.” the difference was, you knew how unfair it would’ve been to leah to tell her how much you missed her and still loved her because you weren’t in each other’s lives anymore.

“don’t do what?” she questioned you. “tell you the truth?”

“le-“

“because it is the truth. i’ve missed you every single day since you walked out the house and left me there.” leah’s voice began to raise and she stood from the bench to pace in front of you. she wasn’t sure why you were blaming all of this in her and refusing to even have a conversation about it. you broke up amicably, right?

“well i missed you for a lot longer than that.” you spoke up.

“what?” leah caught what you said, but she didn’t understand it. or maybe she did and just didn’t want to face the facts that maybe this wasn’t the mutual, friendly breakup she thought.

“at least you’ve only had to miss me for this year leah, i was missing you for months before that and you were still around, except you were around everyone but me.” you stood up, as she had. it was your turn to raise your voice. “so you don’t get to sit here and tell me you miss me now when i was trying to tell you for months”

leah reached for your hands, to comfort you. “we were both busy y/n/n-“

you audibly laughed at her comment, interrupting her. “no you were busy. do you know why i wasn’t busy?” you paused, not that you wanted an answer you just needed to take a breath before you started shouting and attracting attention from inside. “because i put everything on hold for you. my job, my friends, my family and i helped you grow and flourish in everything. i held your hand through the euros, through every game, i was the one in the crowd when there was only 100 people in the stadium. but you always forgot that part.”

“i know you were and i was grateful for it every day.”

the nerve she had. “grateful? maybe in the beginning.” you couldn’t help but scoff at her words. “but you had a weird way of showing it towards the end, leah. you show gratitude by fucking off to events and awards and different countries without so much as a second thought towards me, towards what i wanted. you left me at home, alone. in the home that was supposed to be ours after i sold my place to be with you more, but you just left anyway.” you wiped a tear from your face, quickly as leah sat back down.

“you’re not being fair, y/n. i thought you wanted to be with me and live with me.” her head dropped into her hands as she balanced them on her knees. as far as leah was concerned, this was all new information. sure you’d spoken when you’d broken up but all leah knew was that you thought the pair of you had grown apart and she knew you were right, but she didn’t know it was her fault you had.

“i’m not being fair?” you choked on your own words as your lip quivered and your cheeks felt damp. “do you know what’s not fair leah? sitting here telling me you miss me after i’ve been trying so hard not to miss you for a year. what have you been doing since we ended leah? because i had to move away from my friends and my only sister. i had to get another job, make different friends so i could try and get my old self back because everything here is you.” for the first time that day, both you and leah were looking straight at each other. “you’re everywhere and i used to love that, it used to make me feel safe but there became a point where all it did was make me feel sad, le. all you did was make me feel sad.” you slumped back down onto the bench.

“y/n/n, im sorry.” leah slid over to you, pulling you into a hug. for a minute, you let yourself indulge, you let yourself be comforted by leah again until you remembered why you even needed consoling in the first place.

you pushed her away slightly. “i don’t know why we’re rehashing everything anyway. i told you all this when we broke up so please, just stop.” you wiped at your cheeks, not that it was doing much good at this point.

“you didn’t y/n/n. i would’ve made it better if you’d told me this, if i’d have known.” your face was a mess, cheeks red and eyes bloodshot. leah’s hair was ridiculous, pulled in every which way from running her hands through it over and over.

“yes i did, leah!” as much as you tried to keep your composure through this conversation a shout finally rose from you. “maybe not in that last conversation but i told you that i felt like i was all on my own so many times. every time you were away i told you how lonely i felt.”

“and every time i came back home, to you, we were fine.” she tried to grab your hands again. “i had my y/n, my home with me and everything was fine.”

“you were fine! i wasn’t happy, i haven’t been for a while.” you let out in a whisper, voice tired from the arguing and explaining.

“i’m sorry, y/n/n. i’m so sorry.” it was leah’s turn for the tears to fall. she’d never want to make you feel like that and it made her physically sick to know that she had. you were the love of her life and she’d hurt you this bad, without even meaning to. “if i could take everything back i would. the only thing i’d want to keep would be you- “

you cut her off, finished with this conversation. your shoulders were feeling lighter with the weight of all you’d had to say finally gone. “leah, stop. this is pointless now, i’m going back inside.” you stood from the bench again, brushing off your dress. “please just drop it. it’s beth and vivs day, it’s not about us.”

you left the garden hastily. you needed to get to the bathroom before anyone had a chance to see you and ask questions, especially if those people were viv or beth. thankfully, no one was in there as you opened the door, taking an opportunity to grasp the basin and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“i’ve got concealer and alcohol, which one do you want first?” the only voice you wanted to hear right now appeared as your best friend opened the bathroom door, tentatively.

“alcohol. definitely alcohol.” she pulled her flask out with no problem, letting you take as many gulps as you needed. “how did you know i was in here?”

“she came and told me. said you might need a friend right now.” leah.

after a couple more gulps and a few dabs of concealer, you came back out of the bathroom, hoping to god you hadn’t missed your sister’s first dance as you were reminded if the reason you and leah even had to be in the same room again.

beth was still sat where you left her, thankfully as you rejoined the table. “you okay, bubs?” you reassured beth you were fine, quickly moving the subject along and asking what you’d missed.

the dance that you’d been dreading missing happened not so long after. an acoustic version of ‘enchanted’ played through the room as everyone stood to watch the pair dance. you watched with a smile as they shut everyone else in the room out, just staring adoringly at each other.

leah had long been back in the room and she watched you as attentively as you watched them. you were right. this wasn’t about you two, but it could’ve been.

#leah williamson fanfic #awfc #awfc x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #leah williamson #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x reader #lionesses #beth mead

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rizzanon · 2 months ago

Text

Background Info 2 (Tim, Cassandra, Stephanie, Damian, Duke Centered)

I think your relationship with Tim is more complicated than you wanted it to be. When he first came about to the family, he was the reason you found out about your family’s secrets. The ones that they’ve been hiding from you from the start. And for some reason, as a kid, you didn’t know whether you should be thankful, or hate him for that.

Why? Because the truth was a double-edged sword. On one hand, you had always felt like something was off about your family—the late nights, the unexplained bruises and injuries, the way they avoided topics like they were landmines. Tim revealing the truth was like solving a puzzle you didn’t know you were piecing together. But on the other hand, the truth came with a weight you hadn’t been prepared for before.

A part of you wanted to be grateful—Tim had given you the truth when no one else had. But another part of you couldn’t help but resent him. It was as if he had stolen the illusion of normalcy you clung to, replacing it with danger, secrets, and an overwhelming realization how much more you actually needed to do to get the approval of your family.

For the first few months of Tim being Robin, you didn’t see him as anything other than Jason’s replacement.

Jason had been your brother in every sense of the word. A little rough around the edges, sure, but he had a way of making you feel seen, even when the rest of the family was too caught up in their own world to notice you. So when he died, it left a gaping hole—not just in the family but in you. When Tim came along and slid into Jason’s place like it was as simple as filling a role, it was hard not to hate him for it.

You avoided him at first, ignored all of his attempts to be friendly or cordial. You refused to acknowledge him as anything other than “the new Robin.” You knew it was childish, but you were only 12 then. It wasn’t fair, you knew that, but grief doesn’t lend itself to rationality. Eventually, though, you started to let go of that resentment. He wasn’t Jason, but he wasn’t trying to be him either. He was just Tim.

So, you decided to try. He was close to your age, after all, and you figured, at the very least, you could be friends. But Tim didn’t seem to feel the same way. To him, you were Batman’s daughter, that was it. He kept things polite and distant, never letting you close enough to feel like anything more than an acquaintance.

That dynamic didn’t really shift until the death of his father. When Jack Drake was killed by Captain Boomerang, and Bruce formally adopted Tim, you felt for him in a way you hadn’t before. Losing a parent was a kind of pain you couldn’t imagine, and for the first time, you saw him as more than just “the new Robin”. You pitied him.

You tried to comfort him, offering him a shoulder to lean on and small acts of kindness. But Tim didn’t want your pity. If anything, it seemed to make him pull away even further. He started treating you less like family, and more like a roommate—someone he tolerated living with but didn’t go out of his way to connect with.

You didn’t push him. If that’s what he needed, fine. But you still wanted to be close to him, so you found other ways to try. You’d ask him for help with missions and cases, knowing how smart and capable he was, hoping it might bridge the gap between you. For a while, it worked—or at least, it felt like it did. But over time, Tim’s frustration began to show. He never said it outright, but his body language spoke volumes: the tight set of his jaw, the way he’d sigh when you approached, the way his answers grew shorter and more clipped.

Eventually, you stopped asking.

And that’s how it’s been ever since. The two of you drifted into a rhythm, more like estranged colleagues or roommates than siblings, or in the very least, friends. You didn’t mind—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if things could’ve been different, if you had acted differently from the very start.

When Cassandra first joined the family, you were slightly excited because, for the first time, you had a sister. An older one, in fact. It felt like a chance to have someone who might understand you in a way the others didn’t.

But then you found out that she didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak, write, or even read. The excitement you felt faltered, replaced by confusion and uncertainty. How were you supposed to bond with someone when you couldn’t even talk to them? At the time, you didn’t fully understand the extent of her struggles or the horrors she had endured. All you saw was the surface—a girl who communicated through body language and a few cryptic gestures.

At first, you weren’t sure how to approach her. Conversations were one-sided, and you found yourself rambling awkwardly, trying to fill the silence. She would watch you intently, her dark eyes seeming to take in every word, every movement, but she never responded. It made you feel exposed, like she could see through every layer you tried to hide behind.

Still, you tried. You offered to help her learn, even though you weren’t exactly the best teacher. You’d leave sticky notes with simple words written on them, hoping she’d start to recognize them. Sometimes she’d glance at them, but other times, she’d brush past them as if they weren’t there.

It was disheartening at first, but then there were moments that gave you hope. A small smile when you handed her something. A nod of acknowledgment when you rambled about your day. Slowly, you began to realize that Cassandra spoke volumes without ever saying a word.

But even as you grew to understand her, there was a part of you that wondered if she ever really saw you the same way. She bonded so quickly with Bruce, with Barbara, even with Tim. They seemed to understand her in ways you couldn’t, and it made you feel like an outsider all over again.

You wanted to be close to her, to have the sisterly relationship you’d always imagined, but it felt like you were chasing something that was always just out of reach. Cassandra was kind, patient even, but there was always a distance—an invisible wall that kept you from getting too close. You weren’t sure if it was something she put up or something you did.

But when she was getting mire familiar with speaking and reading, you noticed that she started to avoid you. Subtly. Cassandra didn’t see you as someone to guide or protect. In her eyes, you were fragile, someone who didn’t belong in the same world of violence and shadows that had shaped her. She didn’t want you to go down this path, in a way, she wanted you to live your life away from this.

But that’s not what you wanted. When you tried to train with her, hoping to gain her approval, she’d effortlessly disarm you, her movements almost lazy. “Not ready,” she’d say bluntly, walking away without further explanation. You were left feeling small, unworthy. And in a way, that sparked the initial tension between you and her.

As the years went by though, you hated that you were feeling jealous over the fact that your father seemed to see Cassandra as more of a daughter than with you. You’ve seen the way they bonded, seen the way Bruce’s usually stoic demeanor softened ever so slightly when Cassandra was around. It wasn’t like he ignored you, but it was different. With Cassandra, there was a shared understanding, an unspoken connection forged in the language of the battlefield—a language you never quite mastered.

You tried to convince yourself it didn’t bother you. After all, Bruce was distant with everyone, wasn’t he? But the more you watched him mentor her, the more you saw the effort he put into helping her grow—not just as a fighter, but as a person—the harder it became to push those feelings of inadequacy aside.

Cassandra, for her part, didn’t seem to notice how much it hurt. Or if she did, she didn’t say anything. She was focused, always pushing herself to be better, stronger, faster. And you… you felt like you were standing still, trying to catch up but never quite reaching her.

The jealousy festered quietly. You hated feeling that way toward her, especially when she hadn’t done anything wrong. She deserved Bruce’s attention. She deserved to be seen. But so did you. And no matter how hard you tried, it felt like you were always coming up short in his eyes.

Over time, you started pulling back. You stopped asking her to train with you. Stopped leaving notes or trying to initiate conversations. Instead, you kept to yourself, throwing yourself into missions and tasks that didn’t involve her or Bruce. Maybe if you worked hard enough, fought hard enough, they’d finally see you as an equal.

But the distance didn’t fix anything. It only made the loneliness worse. You missed the small moments with Cassandra, the fleeting smiles and quiet nods. And even though you’d never admit it out loud, you missed the rare moments of connection with Bruce too.

The truth was, you didn’t know how to bridge the gap between you and Cassandra—or anyone in the family, for that matter. You were stuck in a cycle of trying too hard and pulling away, and no matter what you did, it never felt like enough.

And as for Stephanie, you two have never actually been close. At first, you just saw her as Tim’s girlfriend, and that was it. You didn’t pay her much attention beyond that. But things shifted dramatically when Barbara and Dick allowed her to take up the Batgirl mantle while your father was “dead.”

The first time you saw her in her version of the Batgirl costume, it felt like the world stopped. That symbol, that legacy—it was supposed to mean something, and seeing her wear it felt like a betrayal. Dick brought her along as Batgirl during his time as Batman, with Damian as his Robin, and the sight of them together cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

You felt replaced. Tossed aside. Forgotten. And that feeling lit a fire in you—a desperate, burning need to prove that you deserved to be Batgirl more than Stephanie ever did. This wasn’t just about the costume or the name; it was about everything it represented. Respect. Recognition. Family.

So, yes, it became a one-sided rivalry, fueled by jealousy and betrayal. You trained harder, worked yourself to the brink, but no matter how much you pushed, it never felt like enough. Stephanie had been doing this longer than you had, and her experience showed. But that didn’t make it sting any less when you watched her work alongside Dick and Damian with an ease you couldn’t seem to replicate.

When your father returned, you thought things would change—that maybe this would be your chance to finally step into the role you’d been striving for. But even then, Stephanie remained Batgirl, and Bruce seemed to call on her more often than he did you. For recon missions, patrols, you name it—she was his go-to. It hurt, deeply.

And when Stephanie eventually stepped down from being Batgirl to return to her original mantle as Spoiler, it didn’t bring you the satisfaction you thought it would. You didn’t “win.” There was no triumph, no validation that you were the better Batgirl. Stephanie left on her own terms, and that only made it worse.

You felt like you’d lost. Lost the unspoken competition you’d waged in your own head, lost your chance to prove your worth. And that sense of failure—it ate away at you, leaving behind a bitterness you couldn’t shake. Instead of quelling your insecurities, it only made them worse, fueling a toxic cycle of self-doubt and a relentless need to prove yourself.

Maybe in another life, things would’ve been different. Maybe you and Stephanie could’ve been friends, allies even. But the weight of your own jealousy and toxic mentality made that impossible. You wanted to reach out, to connect, but every time you tried, that voice in your head reminded you of all the ways you’d fallen short. And so, the distance between you and Stephanie only grew, just like it had with everyone else.

As for Damian, your relationship with him has always been a mixed bag. When he first showed up at the manor, you didn’t know what to make of him. He was brash, arrogant, and entirely too confident for someone so young. At first, you thought he was just some spoiled brat with a superiority complex. And honestly? You weren’t far off.

He didn’t waste any time asserting himself, loudly proclaiming that he was the true heir to Batman’s legacy and making it clear he saw you as competition. Not a sibling, not even an ally—just someone to outmatch. He called you soft, mocked your fighting skills, and dismissed your efforts to keep the peace as weakness. It was exhausting, to say the least.

At the same time, though, you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. He’d been thrust into a completely unfamiliar world, taken from the League of Assassins and dropped into the Wayne family chaos. It was clear he didn’t know how to connect with anyone, and for all his bravado, there was something lonely about him.

You tried to bridge the gap at first, hoping to at least build a sense of camaraderie. But Damian made it difficult. He was quick to push you away, and any attempt to be friendly was met with biting remarks or scornful looks. Over time, you learned to keep your distance, picking your battles carefully.

What made it worse was how Bruce and Dick always seemed to take his side. When he antagonized you or picked fights, their solution was always the same:

“Be patient with him,” or, “He’s still adjusting. Give him time.”

But how could you? He was the one who started the fights, who insulted you at every opportunity. No one seemed to care about that part.

Still, as much as Damian constantly undermined you, there were moments—fleeting and rare—when you noticed something different. He wasn’t as dismissive as he pretended to be. There were times when you’d find your weapons repaired after training or your notes on a case mysteriously corrected. He never said anything about it, and you never brought it up, but you knew it was him.

Even his insults, as cruel as they were, sometimes felt… purposeful. Like he was testing you, pushing you to be better. At first, you thought it was just an excuse you made up to deal with his attitude, but over time, it became clear that his criticism wasn’t entirely baseless. Damian had a way of pointing out your flaws in a way no one else did—harshly, yes, but sometimes accurately.

As the years went on, your dynamic shifted. The outright animosity faded, though it never disappeared entirely. There were still arguments, snide remarks, and moments where you swore he was intentionally trying to get under your skin. But there was also a strange, unspoken understanding.

You’d never call yourselves close. You’d never confide in each other or share heartfelt moments. But there was a bond, however tenuous, forged by shared experiences and blood. There was a mutual, begrudging respect that neither of you would admit out loud.

At the end of the day, Damian was still Damian. He still had his sharp tongue and holier-than-thou attitude, and you still had your resentment. But underneath it all, there was a flicker of something—rivalry mixed with loyalty, disdain mixed with a reluctant sense of family. It wasn’t perfect, and it probably never would be. But it was enough.

For Duke, it’s a bit different. He joined the family relatively later than the others, and Bruce didn’t officially adopt him into the family—he only fostered him. That distinction didn’t seem to matter to anyone else, though. From the moment Duke stepped into the manor, he fit right in.

Whenever you and Duke crossed paths, he was always nice. Friendly, even. But just like with the others, there was this invisible wall between you and him. Why? You weren’t entirely sure. Maybe it was because you noticed how easily he got along with the rest of your siblings, how seamlessly they accepted him. They included him in more things, leaned on him more during missions, and spent more time with him than they did with you.

It wasn’t like you hated him for that. No, never. Duke wasn’t the problem—it was the growing realization that once again, you were on the outside looking in. You couldn’t help but feel like you were being edged out of your own family. And that hurt, both your pride and your heart.

There were moments when you tried to connect with him, telling him about a lead you’d found or an idea you had for a case. Duke always listened, but his responses left a sting. Comments like, “Are you sure you can handle this stuff by yourself?” or, “You don’t want any help?” or even, “Maybe you should get Dick or Cass to help you out with this.”

You knew he probably meant well, but those words dug deep. It felt like he didn’t think you were capable, that he saw you as someone who couldn’t hold their own. You never said anything about it, of course, but it only strengthened your resolve to prove yourself.

And maybe that was the problem. The more you tried to show him—and everyone else—that you were competent, the more strained things became. It wasn’t outright hostility, not by any means, but there was a tension that lingered between you. A mutual awkwardness neither of you ever addressed.

At the end of the day, though, Duke was Duke. You weren’t enemies, and you didn’t resent him. You were friends, at the very least. But there was always that wall, a quiet reminder that, even in your own family, you were never quite enough.

I hope this was able to effectively portrag the fact that the reader is far from a perfect person, because I don’t think I was able to show that in the first background info. I feel that growing up in such an emotionally stunted family would inevitably shape her into someone complex and flawed. She wouldn’t be endlessly hopeful or optimistic. How could she be? She’s not just some perpetually kind, selfless girl with no negative emotions. Instead, her experiences have made her someone who struggles with jealousy, insecurity, and a need to prove herself, even if it leads to toxic behavior… but i hope y’all enjoyed this part!! lmk what you think <3

Part 1 (Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Jason Centered)

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