#I'm trying to answer these before I head to sleep | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tikitakatia · 3 days ago

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Escape — A. Putellas x Reader

"Write to Me and Escape"

WC: 5.5k

Summary: You couldn’t hold it in anymore, you just had to see them even if it wrecked you. But what you find changes everything, and nothing feels the same anymore.

Pt. 1 , Pt. 2 , Pt. 3 , Pt.4

The rhythm with go4goald2 fell back into place quicker than you expected.

Alexia had warned you about the media days, press events and tight schedule. You’d nodded to yourself, thanked her for the heads-up, and tried not to be disappointed when she used the words “a few days.” It had taken months for her to remember how to tell you things before they hurt. You gave her credit for that. Quietly. Without saying it out loud.

But now with her occupied and off your screen, off your mind in a way that felt both guilty and relieving, you opened Chattr without hesitation. No wince. No weighing what it meant.

Just you. And them.

The message was already waiting.

[go4goald2]: Okay, important: If your life had a laugh track, what moment would it play the loudest?

You grinned before you even started typing.

[lostinthecrowd]: When I waved back at someone who was waving at the person behind me, then tried to cover it by swatting a fly that didn’t exist.

[go4goald2]: Oh my god, I’m cringing in solidarity.

[lostinthecrowd]: It haunts me weekly. Specifically at 11:47 p.m. when I'm trying to sleep like a normal person.

[go4goald2]: Good, it keeps you humble.

You laughed and felt something in your chest unspool just a little.

[go4goald2]: Okay, but now I need more. What's the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done on purpose?

You didn’t overthink it. You didn’t try to be cool. You just told the truth.

[lostinthecrowd]: I once tried to flirt with a barista by ordering “whatever you think matches my vibe.”

[lostinthecrowd]: They gave me a decaf oat milk lavender latte that tasted like sadness and dirt.

[go4goald2]: Nooo. Did you drink the whole thing??

[lostinthecrowd]: Yep. Smiled through it then tipped five bucks out of pure shame.

There was a pause. Just long enough to notice.

Then:

[go4goald2]: You´re such a dumbass.

[go4goald2]: I love you.

You froze.

Not because you thought they meant it.

Not really.

But because it hit different, even as a joke.

Because the part of you that was still clawing for something real? It wanted to believe it. Even just for a second.

You didn’t reply right away.

[go4goald2]: I´m so sorry. That was too much.

[lostinthecrowd]: No. It wasn’t. I just... didn’t expect it.

A pause. Then:

[go4goald2]: I think about you a lot when I'm not talking to you. When something dumb happens. When I see something and wonder if you’d laugh at it. That's normal, right?

You stared at the screen.

Felt your chest clench in that stupid, hopeful, terrified way.

[lostinthecrowd]: Maybe not normal. But... not bad.

Another beat.

[go4goald2]: Have you ever fallen for someone just by how they see you?

That was… something.

Because yes.

Because that’s exactly what this was starting to feel like.

You typed slower this time.

[lostinthecrowd]: I think I'm scared of how much I want to say yes to that.

You waited.

And waited.

Then finally:

[go4goald2]: I won't ask you to say it. Not if it’s not the time. I just want you to know you’re seen exactly as you are. You don’t have to change anything around me.

You closed your eyes. Let the words settle.

Alexia was trying. She was.

But this?

This felt like being chosen in real time.

And you didn’t know what to do with that yet.

So instead, you reached down, scratched behind Tofu’s ears, and whispered, “You’re not helping, you know.”

He snorted. Rolled over like he disagreed.

Your phone buzzed again.

[go4goald2]: Are you still with me?

You hesitated.

Then, without thinking too hard, you typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Yeah, I’m still here.

And god help you, for the first time in a long time, you meant it.

[go4goald2]: If I asked you something kind of dangerous, would you answer?

[lostinthecrowd]: That depends. Are we talking dangerous like “eat expired sushi” or dangerous like “emotional vulnerability at midnight”?

[go4goald2]: The second one, obviously.

[lostinthecrowd]: Then maybe, ask.

[go4goald2]: Do you think some people are meant for us… But not meant to stay?

[lostinthecrowd]: Jesus.

[go4goald2]: Too much?

[lostinthecrowd]: Not too much. Just… accurate.

[go4goald2]: I think about it a lot. How sometimes you meet someone and they wreck you. Not in a bad way. Just… Like they rearrange everything inside you. And then they’re gone. But you’re still left shaped like them.

[lostinthecrowd]: And then you meet someone else, and they touch that same part of you, but gentler.

[go4goald2]: Yeah. Like maybe the first person cracked you open so someone else could find you.

[lostinthecrowd]: I don't know if I believe in fate.

[go4goald2]: Me neither. But I believe in timing, and maybe we don’t always get to choose what hurts.

[lostinthecrowd]: Sometimes I think I was supposed to love her, just not forever.

There was a pause.

Not the bad kind. The kind that means someone is breathing slowly before saying something that might change everything.

[go4goald2]: And now?

You stared at the screen. Tofu shifted against your thigh. You started typing, fingers shaking.

[lostinthecrowd]: Now I'm scared, because I think I'm falling again. and I don't know whose arms I want to land on.

You didn’t get a reply right away.

But the typing bubble flickered.

Flickered.

Then it disappeared.

Then..

Your phone rang.

Not Chattr.

Not go4goald2.

Alexia.

You froze. Let it ring once. Twice. Four times.

Your thumb moved before you could talk yourself out of it.

“...Hey,” you said, your voice paper-thin.

There was a pause. Then:

“Sorry,” she said, exhaling like the air had been punched out of her. “I didn’t mean to call. I mean, I did. I just…”

You waited.

“I’m at the hotel,” she said, too fast. “Patri and Pina were curled up on the couch watching some stupid romcom, and she was laughing so hard she had to hide her face in her hoodie. It made me think of you. Of us. Of how we used to be when everything still felt easy.”

She paused.

“And I just.. God, I missed you so much it hurt. Like physical, actual pain. And I didn’t know what to do with it, so I called.”

You didn’t say anything and allowed the silence to wrap around both of you like fog.

Her voice cracked. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I just know that it’s 1am and I heard your laugh in my head and I realized it’s been months since I heard it for real. And that’s my fault.”

She sniffled. Not trying to hide it. “I spent so long trying to prove I could be everything to everyone. I didn’t realize I was becoming nothing to you.”

You swallowed hard.

“I miss you,” she whispered. “Not just the version of you that laughed with me. The quiet parts too. The hard days. The mornings when you hated everyone but me. I miss you. All of it.”

She laughed, watery. “God, I sound drunk. I’m not. I’m just tired, being a little stupid. And a lot in love, still.”

A beat. Then she said, almost childishly soft,

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to call before I got too scared to.”

She hung up.

No goodbye. Just a breath. Then gone.

You stared at your phone like it had short-circuited your brain.

And then it buzzed.

Chattr.

You opened it.

[go4goald2]: Hey, you okay?

Your fingers moved.

Paused.

Then:

[lostinthecrowd]: She called.. She cried and then said things I didn't know I still needed to hear.

A beat.

Then:

[go4goald2]: And what do you need right now?

You blinked. Let your eyes close. Let the weight of that question settle into your ribs.

And then you typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: I don’t know, but I think I need to find out without disappearing again.

Because that was the truth.

You weren’t running.

But you were on the edge.

And you didn’t want to fall without knowing where you’d land.

For two days, you didn’t text Alexia. You didn’t open Chattr either. The silence just settled in, uninvited but familiar, like it had a key. You moved through the apartment like your skin didn’t fit right, trying not to look at anything too long. Everything in here had her fingerprints on it, some literal, some worse.

Tofu had no such crisis. He charged through your day like he owned it. Like this was his apartment and you were just lucky to live in it. He leapt onto the couch without asking, claimed the sunny spot on the rug like a seasoned diva, and barked loudly when you took too long filling his water bowl. He had no patience for emotional spirals. He had toys to destroy and treats to extort.

And still, somehow, he made your chest ache.

Because she gave him to you.

Just a few weeks ago, the night before she left for international break, she showed up with a bag full of supplies and said, “He’s yours now. I think you need each other.” Like he was a peace offering. Like he was a bridge. Or maybe a way to say I still love you, without the risk of hearing it back.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

But she’d remembered the kind of dog you always paused to pet on the street. She picked a leash in your favorite color. She said, “His name’s Tofu,” with a smile so soft it was like an inside joke you hadn’t caught yet. And then she kissed your forehead like she didn’t still live in the ache of your throat.

Now Tofu was sprawled across your lap, toy half-chewed between his paws, utterly unbothered by your entire existential crisis. You ran your fingers through his fur absentmindedly, blinked at the ceiling, tried not to think too hard.

But it was impossible not to think of her when he was like this.

So sure of you. So certain you’d hold him, feed him, love him. No hesitation. No fear.

He trusted you more than you trusted yourself right now.

And God, what did it mean that she’d given you something this soft? This loud? This real?

You missed her. That was the truth. You missed the girl who used to dance in the kitchen while brushing her teeth. The girl who always pulled your hand into her lap when you were anxious, like that was enough to ground you. The girl who said “I love you” like it was a fact, not a performance.

You missed her so much it made your teeth hurt.

But missing someone didn’t erase what they did to you.

Tofu snorted in his sleep and shifted, shoving his back against your stomach like he was trying to merge your atoms. You laughed, quietly and bitterly. Even the dog didn’t believe in personal space.

You were trying so hard not to fall into the same shape you used to hold with her. But everything in this apartment: the blanket, the coffee mugs, this ridiculous little gremlin she gifted you, was a memory dressed like comfort.

And then there was go4goald2.

You hadn’t talked since the night Alexia called. Since everything broke open and left you standing in the middle of the mess, holding pieces of two different people who both made you feel too much.

They hadn’t messaged. Not since that quiet, careful question:

“And what do you need right now?”

You didn’t know if your silence had said too much. Or not enough.

You wanted to miss them. That would’ve been easier. Cleaner. But what you felt instead was worse:

You wanted them. Present-tense. Fully. Still.

Their steadiness. The way they listened without grabbing at your pain. The way they never asked you to perform softness, but you just found yourself being soft anyway.

And maybe it was good that they hadn’t texted. Maybe they sensed the edge you were standing on. Maybe they didn’t want to crowd it.

But God, part of you wanted them to fight for the space they’d carved into your chest.

Just a little.

Not with declarations. Not with pressure.

Just something. Anything. To say:

I’m still here. Even now.

But they didn’t.

By the third day, you still didn’t check your phone.

Not out of resolve, not even out of strength. But just because you didn’t want anything to answer to yet. You got dressed slowly. Took a real shower. Let the hot water hit your neck long enough to make you feel human.

Then you leashed Tofu and left the apartment.

No headphones. No destination. Just a slow walk through streets that didn’t ask anything of you. Tofu trotted like he owned the world, occasionally stopping to sniff something so thoroughly you almost apologized to the sidewalk.

You passed the bakery where Alexia used to make you pick out the pastries because she “couldn’t be trusted around sugar.” The coffee place you found together by accident. The crosswalk she once danced across in the rain.

You didn’t linger.

Not because the memories weren’t still in your chest. But because you finally understood something:

You don’t owe every memory a place in your future.

Tofu barked at a pigeon, almost dislocated your shoulder, then looked up at you like did you see that??

You laughed. Just a little. Just enough to count.

You kept walking.

Past the part of town where the noise softened. Past the old bookstore with the spray-painted sign. Past the bus stop where you used to wait for her, headphones on, heart in your throat.

And at some point, you sat down.

On a bench. Sun on your face. Tofu curled at your feet like a tiny guard.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t spiral.

You just let yourself feel the space in your chest. The one where love used to hurt, but now just… waited.

You didn’t know what you were choosing yet.

But for once, it didn’t feel like something was being chosen for you.

When you finally opened your phone, it buzzed to life with the weight of unread words. First, Alexia. A string of messages you hadn’t seen, each one longer than the last. No guilt, not this time. Just softness. Apologies that sounded real. Updates that sounded like effort. Hope that didn’t demand anything in return. She said she missed you. That she was proud of you. That even if you didn’t say it back, she’d keep trying to be someone worth coming home to.

You read every word. Didn’t respond. Not yet. Your chest was already full.

So you opened Chattr instead.

One message.

[go4goald2]: If we never talk again, I’ll still be glad I got to know this version of you.

You stared at it for a long time. Not because it hurt, but because it didn’t try to make you feel guilty. Just seen.

You blinked. Typed slowly.

[lostinthecrowd]: I missed this. You. I was scared to come back, and I didn’t know if I deserved to.

The reply came fast. Like they’d been waiting.

[go4goald2]: You never had to earn this. Just had to be you.

Something tugged behind your ribs. You let the words linger. You thought about who you were when you talked to them. How safe it felt. How easy. And how terrifying it was to want that ease somewhere real.

Then:

[go4goald2]: You ever feel like... If someone actually saw you, not your texts, not your voice, but you. They’d change their mind?

And after a beat:

[go4goald2]: I’m not as charming out loud. Not as easy to love in real time.

You felt that one like it had hands. Like it gripped the version of you who’d been broken open too many times and still wanted to be seen. It knocked the breath out of you, soft and brutal.

Because Alexia saw the real you, and still drifted.

And here was someone who hadn’t even looked at your face, and already thought they weren’t worth being loved back.

You sat with it. With the ache and the clarity and the ridiculous, inconvenient spark of hope.

Then you typed, slow. Barely breathing.

[lostinthecrowd]: What if I want to see you anyway?

You stared at the screen like it was holding its breath for you.

That message, “What if I want to see you anyway?” felt like too much and not enough, all at once. A confession. A dare. A quiet leap off the edge of something you weren’t sure you’d survive.

No reply came right away.

You waited, chest tight, thumb hovering like you might take it back.

And then, finally:

[go4goald2]: Are you sure?

[go4goald2]: I can tell you where. Or I can come to you. Doesn’t matter how far. I’d show up.

You didn’t know what to do with that. The certainty. The promise. It slid under your ribs and settled there, warm and terrifying.

Your thumbs hovered.

[lostinthecrowd]: Barcelona.

You hit send and stared at it like it might echo back at you.

The typing bubble flickered.

Then:

[go4goald2]: No way! I’m not far from there. Funny how small the world gets when you want to find someone.

[go4goald2]: There’s a park not far from the center. Quiet, not a lot of people this time of day. Benches near the pond. Friday? Afternoon?

Friday.

You glanced at the calendar. That was tomorrow.

Alexia wasn’t due back until Saturday.

You chewed your lip.

Typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Okay. Friday. 3PM. I’ll be there.

Your stomach flipped.

[go4goald2]: You don’t have to dress up. I just want it to be real.

And god. That hit harder than it should’ve.

You let the words sit for a while. Then replied:

[lostinthecrowd]: I’m nervous. Like… really nervous.

[go4goald2]: Me too. I keep thinking… What if I ruin the version of me you made up in your head?

[lostinthecrowd]: Maybe we’re both scared of being seen.

[go4goald2]: But I still want to be. Even if it’s messy.

That was the one that pulled your chest open again. Not in a loud, devastating way. Just quiet. Steady. Like something soft demanding space.

You smiled. A little.

And then, because the universe couldn’t leave you alone for five seconds, your phone buzzed again.

Different thread.

Different gravity.

Ale: Can we go on a date when I’m back? Just one. No pressure. Just us, somewhere soft. I miss seeing you happy.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

It felt like the floor shifted beneath you. Like the walls of the apartment tilted, just slightly. Everything inside you paused, holding its breath.

Of course. Of course she’d say that now.

When you’d already agreed to meet someone else. When your heart was already being pulled in two directions, and you weren’t sure who was holding it tighter.

You opened the message. Read it again.

“Somewhere soft.”

She remembered.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to throw your phone out the window and pretend none of this ever happened.

Instead, you typed. Slowly. Carefully. Erased it.

Typed again.

“Maybe. I don’t know yet.”

It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold either. It was honest.

And right now, that felt like the only thing you could give.

You stared at your phone like it had just exposed you. Like it had read your thoughts out loud.

Your fingers hovered. Then curled. Then pulled back entirely.

Because this wasn’t innocent anymore.

This was a plan. A place. A person waiting on the other end of a meet-up that you said yes to.

While your wife started making the effort of trying to mend your marriage.

You pressed the heel of your hand against your chest, like you could quiet the storm happening underneath.

“I’m not a cheater,” you whispered to the quiet. To the dog. To no one.

But god, it didn’t feel like the truth.

Because something in you wanted this.

Not to hurt her. Not to run.

But to be chosen, just once, without the history attached.

You swallowed hard.

And for the first time since this all started, the shame didn’t come from what she did to you.

It came from what you were about to do to her.

That evening, the apartment went quiet in that way that didn’t feel peaceful, just still. Like the world had pressed pause and forgotten to hit play again.

You didn’t cook. Didn’t clean. You couldn’t even remember if you’d eaten.

You sat on the floor instead. Cross-legged in the warm patch of light near the window. The carpet was soft under your fingertips, Tofu a few inches away, belly-up and blissed out like none of this was his problem.

And he was right. None of it was.

You watched the dust float in the air, caught by the last of the sun. Tried to match your breathing to something, anything, but every inhale felt offbeat. Too shallow. Too loud.

It should’ve been simple.

You loved her. You did.

Even when she let you fall apart quietly. Even when you stopped asking her to notice. You still wanted to believe that the good version of her, the one who used to wrap her arms around your grief like it was something she could carry too, that version still existed.

And maybe she did.

Maybe she was coming back.

But then there was them. The stranger who didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. The one who never saw how you looked like, never watched you shut down in real time, but somehow knew exactly where to speak light into your dark.

And that scared the hell out of you.

Because it felt safe. Because it felt new. Because it felt like something you didn’t have to work so hard to keep.

Your gaze landed on the edge of the couch where Alexia’s blanket was still folded. You hadn’t washed it. Part of you wanted to. Scrub it clean of her. Make it smell like detergent instead of memory.

But you didn’t.

Because the truth was: you still curled up in it on the nights that felt heavier than they should.

You leaned your head back against the couch and let your eyes close.

Am I the bad guy now?

You didn’t say it out loud. Just let it echo.

Because wasn’t that the worst part? That you didn’t even know who you were rooting for anymore?

Yourself?

Your marriage?

Your undoing?

Tofu let out a dramatic little huff and pressed his nose to your ankle, like he could sense the unraveling.

You reached for him without thinking, hand sliding across his soft side, grounding yourself in the simple fact of his presence.

“She gave you to me,” you whispered. “And now I don’t know what to do with any of it.”

He didn’t answer. Just blinked at you with that dumb, unconditional loyalty you were starting to envy.

You picked up your phone.

Didn’t open it.

Didn’t scroll.

Just held it. Like a secret. Like a lit match you were scared to put down or use.

What if seeing them changes everything?

What if it ruins the version of yourself that’s still trying to believe you can fix this?

What if it makes you want something you can’t explain?

The idea of going back to who you were before felt impossible. But going forward, without knowing who would be standing next to you?

That felt just as dangerous.

The sky outside bled into lavender. The room got colder. You didn’t move.

Not yet.

Just sat there in the quiet, heart in your throat, phone in your lap, dog at your feet.

You must’ve dozed off at some point.

When your eyes blinked open, the light had shifted again. Warmer. Golden. The kind that made everything look softer than it really was.

Your head was tilted against the couch, your hand still curled around Tofu’s back, and your phone… still sitting untouched.

But the moment you closed your eyes again, you weren’t in the apartment anymore.

You were in a kayak. Red. Wobbly. Drifting down a lazy river somewhere in northern Catalonia, back when the heat clung to your skin and love felt like it could conquer everything. Alexia was behind you, her paddle mostly useless, feet kicked up like this was a goddamn vacation and not a couple activity. Her hair was stuffed into a crooked braid, her shoulders already pink from the sun she swore "wasn't that strong."

"You’re gonna burn," you told her without looking back.

"Impossible," she said. "I’m invincible. Also I have olive skin, remember?"

You rolled your eyes. "Sunscreen doesn't care about your bloodline, babe."

She laughed. Loud. Carefree. The kind of laugh that made your chest crack open a little wider every time.

Later that night, she lay face-down on your bed, moaning into the pillow like a dying Victorian orphan.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," you said, smirking as you dabbed aloe on the back of her neck.

She groaned. "I regret everything except loving you."

You paused. Only for a second.

Because she said it like it was a joke. But it didn’t land like one.

And in that moment, her skin hot, her hair a mess, her voice low and unguarded, you knew. Not the lightning-bolt kind of knowing. Just soft. Obvious. Like looking down and realizing your hands were already full.

You loved her.

Not the polished version. Not the public one.

You loved this Alexia. Burnt and bratty and too proud to admit it.

The memory hit hard now.

Your eyes opened, throat tight, guilt curling low in your stomach.

Because you hadn’t stopped loving her. Not really. Not even through the worst of it. The silence. The distance. The ache of not being chosen.

She was trying again.

And a part of you still wanted to believe in the version of her who once said I regret everything except loving you.

But then there was go4goald2.

Someone who didn’t carry your history like a weight. Someone who made you feel seen in real-time, even if they didn’t know what your voice sounded like out loud.

You sat up slowly, wiped the sleep from your eyes, and looked at your phone.

You still wanted to meet them.

Maybe not to fall in love. Maybe not to escape.

But to say thank you.

For holding space when you couldn’t hold yourself. For reminding you what it felt like to laugh without fear. For showing you that there was still a version of you left worth loving.

You didn’t know what would happen tomorrow.

But you knew one thing, at least.

You weren’t choosing between love and loneliness anymore.

You were choosing between two kinds of hope.

You woke up before your alarm.

Didn’t check your phone. Didn’t need to. Today was already sitting in your chest like static, too loud, too charged, too much. You made coffee with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. Brushed your teeth twice. Put on a playlist and turned it off before the first chorus.

Tofu stayed close, like he could sense the storm under your skin. He followed you from room to room, tail wagging, expression confused. You kept petting him like that would settle something. Like you could tether yourself to the day through his fur alone.

You showered. Washed your hair. Put on your favorite jeans, the ones Alexia used to tease you about for being “aggressively soft”, then changed into different ones. Stood in front of your closet like maybe it would whisper instructions. Settled on something neutral. Safe.

Breakfast was two bites of toast and a glass of water you forgot to finish.

You didn’t let yourself think about what the meeting would feel like. You just kept your head down. Focused on the little things. Zipping the jacket. Filling Tofu’s travel bowl. Making sure your phone was charged. Reapplying lip balm for the third time, like it might protect you from whatever this was turning into.

You clipped on Tofu’s leash. Reached for the doorknob. Exhaled.

Then you heard it.

The key.

Turning in the lock.

You froze, heart jamming sideways in your chest.

The door opened slowly, hesitant, like the person on the other side didn’t know if they were still welcome.

And then you saw her.

Alexia.

But not composed, camera-ready Alexia. Not the confident girl you used to trail behind like sunlight. This version looked destroyed. Her hair was half-tied, frizzed at the edges, cheeks blotchy from dried tears. There were shadows under her eyes that hadn't been there before. Her hoodie was stained, clinging to her shoulders like it couldn’t decide whether to hang on or fall off. The duffel on her back was lopsided. Her laces were untied. And she was breathing like she’d run every step from the airport to your door.

You blinked. You weren’t sure if you were hallucinating.

“You’re back early.”

She didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything soft. Just stood there, swaying slightly.

“I wanted to surprise you,” she said, like it physically hurt to speak.

Your hand clenched tighter around Tofu’s leash.

She looked down. Saw the bag. The keys. The phone still lit in your other hand, half a sentence still unsent.

You didn’t mean to say it. But it slipped out, sharp and trembling.

“I’m meeting someone.”

She blinked. Like it stunned her. Like she hadn’t let herself believe it was real until now.

“You don’t have to go.”

You stared at her. “You don’t even know who it is.”

“I think I do.”

You stepped back. Confused. “What?”

Alexia reached into her hoodie, pulled out her phone with shaking hands, tapped something. Then she stopped and looked at you, not as a wife. Not as a lover. As something closer to a stranger asking for a chance.

Your phone buzzed.

Chattr.

One new message.

[go4goald2]: Just say the word. I’ll be there.

Your stomach dropped.

You didn’t look up right away. Couldn’t.

You stared at the message, willing it to be a joke, a glitch, anything but what it was.

Then you looked at her.

And the look on her face told you everything.

“It’s you,” you breathed. Not a question, but a realization clawing its way out of your throat.

Alexia didn’t nod. Didn’t move. She just stood there like her bones couldn’t take the weight of it either.

“It’s always been me,” she whispered.

And then everything inside you, every cell, every thread, recoiled.

“No.” You backed up further, voice rising. “No, that’s not.. It can’t be.”

“I didn’t lie,” she said quickly. “I just didn’t say”

“Didn’t say?” you cut in, a half-laugh cracking out of your throat.

“You tricked me, Alexia. You let me think someone else cared about me.”

“I did care about you,” she said, voice breaking. “Every word was real. I didn’t know how else to talk to you without hurting you again.”

“So you catfished your wife?”

She flinched. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it?” You threw your arms up. “What?! some twisted experiment? You wanted to see if I’d fall in love with you blindfolded?”

“No!” She stepped forward, and for once, she looked scared. “I just... I missed your voice. I missed being someone you trusted. And I knew if I showed up as me, you’d never let me in.”

“You’re right,” you said, and your voice was colder than you’d ever heard it. “Because I trusted you. And you used it.”

She was crying now, full-body crying, not bothering to hide it. “I thought maybe if I gave you space to choose me without the pain, we could start over.”

“But you didn’t give me space,” you said. “You gave me a lie.”

The words hit her like a blow. Her knees almost buckled under the weight of them.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“And yet,” you snapped, “here we are.”

You looked down at Tofu, who was watching both of you with ears pinned back, tail thumping slow and uncertain.

Your throat was tight. Like grief trying to turn into fire.

“I opened up to you,” you whispered. “Whoever you were. I told you things I never got to say to you. And you just... stood there. Letting me think I’d found someone new.”

“I was someone new,” she said, barely audible. “Someone trying. Someone who never stopped loving you.”

You shook your head. Everything inside you was loud now. Blistering.

“I don’t know what the hell I feel right now,” you said, and you meant it. “But I know I can’t feel it here.”

You crouched down, unclipped the leash.

“Tofu, stay,” you murmured, your voice trembling.

He whined, tail sweeping the floor once before going still.

You straightened and looked at Alexia. Not angry, not bitter, just… Tired. Worn through at the edges.

“I’m leaving you,” you said, steady now. “But not alone.”

She blinked. Confused.

You gestured toward the dog, your throat thick. “Because I don’t ever want anyone to feel the way you made me feel.”

You walked to the door, opened it, and left.

Not because you stopped caring.

But because for the first time in months, you needed her to feel what it meant to be left standing in the wreckage alone.

Tofu stayed by the door.

Still. Watching.

Like even he understood that this type of forgiveness doesn’t come with words.

It has to be earned. Step by brutal step.

Pt. 6

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azzibueckers5 · 17 hours ago

Text

i wanna know peace again (wanna sing a different song) (ao3 link) (chapter 1 link)

chapter 2: in which azzi is a drama queen and mentally calls herself the word stupid so many times that it loses its meaning (wc: ~8.5k) (gasp)

AN: ummmm hiiiiii i'm back. please enjoy! i wanted to make it angstier but i didn't want to actually write that? so here you go. umm. any and all mistakes re: basketball and the wnba (and anything else) are mine and mine only! i'm learning slowly and I googled a lot of things but who knows. i think that's it? idk have fun freaks <3

azzi wakes to a pounding headache, a crick in her neck from sleeping on the couch, and an overwhelming sense of dread at everything in the world ever.

hanxiety doesn’t even begin to capture the feeling that curdles in her stomach when she goes to confirm that last night wasn’t a hyper-realistic dream, the words outgoing call, 1:47 reflecting back at her bleary eyes underneath paige’s contact. she’d called her at two in the fucking morning. good god.

she’s not sure if the wine or the hours of crying is the cause of the absolute knife between her temples, but it doesn’t matter because she needs three advils, like, now, before she begins processing the nightmare that the previous night really was.

she drags herself off the couch, wincing at the ache in her muscles, and heads to her bedroom to change out of last night's pjs and try and dig up the pain killers that she knows are somewhere in her bedside table.

briefly, humorously, she contemplates the tub of miscellaneous, much stronger drugs that she’s accumulated over her years of surgeries and injuries. maybe if she overdoses on the opioids she’d been given but never taken after her acl tear she won’t have to deal with this whole L-word realization that is sure to ruin the current stability of her life.

as she mentally picks through the haze of wine over her memories from the night before, the pit in her stomach grows. she had been a lot of things the prior night- stupid, emotional, drunk, but wrong about the truth of her complex web of emotion surrounding paige?

she wasn’t so sure. (she was actually kind of sure she hadn’t been wrong. which. fuck.)

after swallowing her pills (advil, not the oxycodone), she picks up her phone and fires off three texts to aaliyah in quick succession, needing her to know how much her line of questioning had caused azzi to spiral.

azzi: u suck btw.

azzi: the all-star break isn't the time to make me over analyze my friendships

azzi: or my sexuality for that matter

the older girl responds in a matter of seconds.

lili: BRUH I THOUGHT U KNEW

lili: come shoot before practice w me and we can talk it out

lili: but jsyk uve been moping for A YEAR my bad for thinking it was cause yall broke up

azzi: brooooo everyone always says friendship breakups r worse anyways

she releases a long suffering sigh to the mirror above her dresser. she looks a little bit like shit, eyes puffy and cheek creased, posture slumped over looking at her phone. the picture of i don’t want to have this crisis right now but i fear it’s too late.

screw everything. she looks back down at the buzz of her phone in her palm:

aaliyah: that’s only for straight girls dumbass

azzi: ok well i thought i WAS a straight girl

lili: [screenshotted image of her profile photo for azzi: her, sitting on the ground in the uconn facilities, propped up against the base of her locker, legs spread comfortably. her head is tilted up at the camera, a smirk lopsided on her face, and one hand is throwing up a four, the other splayed out across the top of her trucker hat. she’s wearing a huskies sports bra and sweatpants, slung low enough on her hips to exhibit the the thick band of her basketball shorts and the v of her lower abs]

lili: does this look like a straight girl to u

it's almost funny how obvious the answer is. azzi types out a succinct kill youself and throws her phone across her bed.

she feels like she should be concerned with how easily the knowledge that she’s into women (or at least one specific woman) settles into her skin. but somehow it feels more like something she’d known about herself and simply buried, waiting for the right time to fully process. and this doesn’t necessarily feel like the right time, but it's happening whether azzi likes it or not, and she supposes that accepting that you’re gay is a lot easier when every single person in your life already knew and thought you knew before you actually did.

the only person she really has to solidly come out to is herself (she ignores the voice in her head telling her that she will also maybe have to come out to paige at some point. if they talk and y’know. things go the way azzi is somehow already desperately hoping they will), and she’d always kind of known, in an abstract sense anyway, that she was attracted to women, but she’d never really had a crush on one or had the inclination to actually do anything about that thought so it had sat on the backburner, something she only really thought about when she was drunk, or lonely, or some combination of the two.

she figures she can work out whether she’s ever even been into men at all at a later date. all she can think about right now is paige anyways, and it's childish, but she’s almost annoyed at how cliche she feels for having her gay realization be the blonde, like she’s just another fangirl in paige’s tik tok comment section writing some variation of ‘i'm straight, but its paige bueckers!’

and it’s stupid, but it feels like she’s feeding into paige's ego by just acknowledging this space that’s been carved out in her chest. paige had always been droning on and on about how much rizz she had, how everybody wanted her, and azzi had loved nothing more than humbling her, calling her conceited and egotistical and stupid, and well. it seems azzi had been the stupid one all along.

she knows, though, that this feeling, this thing in her chest that has somehow ballooned inside of her overnight, runs much, much deeper than the silly, surface level attraction that most people attributed to paige. and she also reasons that she knows paige, both her flaws and her insecurities and the parts that make her so wonderful, in a way that none of the teenage girls on tiktok could ever begin to even dream of.

being in love with paige (and she guesses she’s really acknowledging it now, so that's. cool.) didn’t feel like a fluke, but rather something that was simply innate inside of her, ever humming under her skin.

she curses the universe for giving her this mid-life crisis eight days before she has to hop on the flight that will take her directly to paige’s city, but there's an underlying feeling of hope, too, that she tries to squash. she firmly ignores the thought that it feels a little bit like a cosmic sign.

paige having a woman she was almost certainly sleeping with, minimum, in the background of her phone at 1am also kinda felt like a cosmic sign. a sign that meant it's too late.

and. oh god. she needs to text paige about dallas.

and what the fuck to you say to your ex best friend who you hypothetically were (are?) in love with and drunkenly called crying after a year of not speaking one-on-one to try and plan a hangout? your ex best homoerotic friend who maybe has a new girl?

but paige had insinuated that she wasn’t expecting azzi to actually reach out, which, aside from the fact that azzi did want to, also made it somewhat of a competition, and azzi didn’t lose competitions. especially against paige.

it's already nearing 10 am, and even though paige is an hour behind, she wants to make it clear that she’s true to her word. paige had seemed like she’d wanted her to text, too, and. she’d said she missed her. a lot.

she types out the first thing she thinks of, u gonna show me your cowboy boots collection or what, and sends it before she can talk herself out of it.

the anger at paige from the night before is still simmering in her blood, a little bit, because what the fuck? they haven't talked in a year and it was paige’s fault. but also. azzi knows paige, even after all this time, and. she has a growing hunch that instead of the callous disregard for azzi and their friendship that paige had tried so hard to portray, azzi is starting to think that it had been hurt, not indifference, that had caused paige to distance them.

when paige doesn’t immediately respond to azzi’s text and profess her undying love for azzi and azzi only, she tries to convince her immune system that she did not, in fact, just drink poison and she was not, in fact, having a heart attack.

and god, was it normal to feel like she was dying after sending a text? yesterday-azzi was lucky as fuck that she thought she hadn’t been in love because this fucking sucked.

she makes breakfast with her anxiety at an all time high, checking her phone every sixty seconds and nearly burning her omelette. as the minutes tick by, azzi tries to resign herself to the reality that maybe paige had told her to text because she didn’t believe azzi would, not in spite of it.

but then, as azzi is throwing things in her bag to leave for the facilities and bombard aaliyah with questions and a borderline mental breakdown, she feels her phone buzz in her pocket. she drops her water bottle on her foot in her haste to check what it says, and it hurts like a bitch, but paige responds with ‘unfortunately only one pair of boots. but im sure my hat collection will impress u’ and well.

azzi’s foot could be broken for all she cares, because paige responded and she’s texting like old paige, and maybe it's flirting, maybe it's not, azzi clearly has no idea, but it's a million times better than the one-word messages she received throughout last year, and.

hope blooms, slow and steady, in azzi’s heart, despite her attempts to squash it.

…

azzi: please tell me you don’t actually wear any of them outside the house

paige: u have to wear one here at all times or they’ll kill u

paige: texas is no joke

azzi: so i guess i’ll need to borrow one when im down there then

paige: when do u fly in

paige: ill give u the pick of the litter

…

(azzi does not shriek when she sees that text after practice. she does not.)

…

three days before azzi flies to dallas (and potentially lights herself on fire), she has a moment of weakness. after a particularly tiring lift and a day without more than a few new texts from paige, she settles into bed freshly showered with her laptop propped open on a pillow. she means to put on the rest of the abbot elementary episode she’d been watching earlier, but her fingers apparently aren’t connected to the rest of her body because they type in “paige bueckers and azzi fudd” into the youtube search bar instead.

a couple nonsense videos pop up before her eyes catch on to the SLAM interview they’d done together right before azzi’s freshman year season. she clicks the link before she can chicken out.

it's a behind the scenes, with interview anecdotes thrown in between clips of them messing around, and they look so young. and jesus the way paige is looking at her. like she hangs the moon in the sky. and eighteen year old azzi isn’t much better, and she can’t keep her eyes off the blonde for more than five milliseconds, and they’re, well, they’re flirting right in front of current azzi’s face, and good god. no wonder everyone had thought something was going on.

if azzi hadn’t lived through it, known the way they’d only ever tiptoed the line, never crossing, she would’ve thought so too.

she makes it six minutes into the video before she slams her laptop shut, rolls over, and screams bloody murder into her pillowcase.

…

the mystics don’t fly down until the night before, and their game is in the afternoon, so she and paige make tentative plans to hang out after azzi ‘find[s] out what happens when you mess with texas.’

paige is a dork, and an unfunny one at that. she hearts the message when azzi tells her as much, and azzi has to hide her smile in the hood of her sweatshirt so georgia doesn’t ask any pestering questions when paige adds ‘unfunny maybe but a loser? never.’

azzi really, really hopes that this text-flirting or whatever they’re doing means that paige doesn’t have a girlfriend. she doesn’t think her heart could take it if she did, and she doesn’t understand how paige (maybe? she’s being optimistic. sue her.) lived with these feelings for so long and didn’t act on them because it's been a singular week of occasional texting and only that has azzi feeling like she’s going to tear her hair out.

the flight to dallas and subsequent restless night of sleep in a mediocre hotel room crawls by so slowly that azzi feels like she’s been physically transported to a planet in which every minute that goes by is actually an hour. or something. she doesn’t remember the plot of interstellar but she feels like messy time travel and space stuff like that was part of it. maybe it's happening to her. stranger things have occurred.

(like not knowing you were in love with your best friend for eight years)

(she doesn’t remember the plot of interstellar because the uconn team had watched it one slow off-season afternoon, and azzi had let paige coax her into taking an edible, gotten ridiculously high and scared, and had spent the entire movie with her face tucked into paige’s shoulder, letting the hands rubbing her back and stupid commentary in her ear lull her into safety)

(fuck everything)

…

and then the most dreaded and anticipated day of azzi’s short, miserable life so far is upon her. thank god it’s a saturday game, so tipoff is at 2:00, and she doesn’t have to drown in anxiety for a whole day beforehand, because breakfast and the pregame meeting in the hotel is tortuous enough as is.

kiki has to forcefully put her hand on azzi’s leg on the bus to get it to stop jumping up and down, and everyone knows not to bring up anything related to paige in front azzi, and she hasn’t said anything to anyone other the aaliyah about how they’re speaking again, but she can feel the sideways glances her teammates are sharing behind her back and her brain itches.

they warm up on the court after the wings are done with their shooting drills, meaning azzi only gets a glance of paige disappearing back into the tunnel when they head out to stretch, but it's enough to transform her anxiety from a level 6 on the richter scale to a solid, nauseating 8.

there’s signs of paige everywhere: posters with her face all over the walls, her number plastered on the sides of the hallway they have to walk down to get to the arena, and, worst of all, fans milling about, decked out completely in #5 jerseys and paige paraphernalia. several have carefully drawn out posters and clever slogans, clamoring in the stands to get as close as possible in an attempt to gain the one and only paige bueckers’ attention. and azzi can’t even fucking blame them, as pitiful as it is, because she wants paige’s attention on her, too. probably more than any of these fans combined.

a twisted, irrational seed of jealousy takes root in her heart when she thinks about how these fans have gotten to see paige grow and blossom over the last year and a half, how paige had left connecticut and the team and azzi and come here and immediately charmed the hearts of this entire stupid city, not caring what, or rather, who she left behind.

and fuck texas and their stupid cowboy boots and hot weather and their ability to win over really pretty blonde girls and entrap them in their clutches.

her shots are off during warmups, and it takes everything in her not to turn around and look for a familiar blonde head when they announce the starting lineup and paige’s name is called, but then that effort is entirely futile because paige’s face is suddenly plastered on every single god-forsaken screen in the entire arena as she runs back out through tunnel. and she looks so cool and confident and definitely not like she’s having a tweak-fest about her ex best friend being in such close proximity. and life isn’t fair.

and azzi loses her breath for a second at how stunningly beautiful paige is. she’s always been gorgeous, even self-proclaimed-straight-azzi had known that, but something about paige in the center of the basketball court, completely in her element, has always made her look more magnetic than usual.

paige’s eyes flit across the visiting team’s bench for a second, like she’s looking for someone, looking for azzi, and she wants to jump up and wave her arms or do something equally as ridiculous to get her attention, but it turns out she doesn’t need to because then blue eyes find azzi’s without any help, like a magnet, and, wow, azzi had thought that she’d mentally prepared herself for this as much as possible, but she’d been horribly, terribly wrong.

paige seems almost bashful when her face tilts into a lopsided grin, and azzi’s heart is doing this weird little flipping thing inside of her chest, which, it's never done that before, or maybe it had and she’d just never noticed because she’s an idiot, but regardless, azzi grins back, eyes probably all squinty and everything, and she really hopes no one is paying attention to them right now because she knows she looks absolutely sick in the head.

she feels bolder than usual all of a sudden, adrenaline coursing through her and the high of having paige’s attention on her after all these months must be messing with her brain to mouth filter, because then she’s mouthing “you ready to lose?” to the blonde girl across the arena.

paige’s smile drops in exaggerated offense and she’s getting nudged by her teammates to pay attention to something else but she smirks lazily, and flips azzi off before her attention is dragged into their huddle.

and azzi feels woozy- like a fucking cartoon character with little birds circling her head. lord give her strength. paige flips her off and suddenly she’s acting like the blonde girl came over and proposed or something. this whole thing is so. stupid.

the anthem and pre-game huddle is a blur of nerves and trying not to get caught staring at the back of paige’s head. and then it’s tip off, and blessedly, graciously, they’re not guarding each other, and azzi tries valiantly to focus on the ball and her teammates’ positioning and not on the blonde in her peripheral vision.

she’s off balance though, only making one of her first four shots, and she knows exactly why that is and it's so frustrating because paige already has seven points and seems entirely unaffected.

and then, six minutes into the game, paige knocks the ball away from kiki in a breakaway, and azzi is the only one who has a chance at stopping her from a simple, uncontested layup. they run up the court together, paige just out of azzi’s reach until they get to the paint. and azzi knows exactly the move paige is going to pull, could draw it up in her sleep, and the only real way to stop it is to throw her hip out and jump up at the exact second she knows paige will release the ball and pray that her hand makes contact with rubber and not skin.

and she does knock the ball away, fuck you, paige blockers, but her hip also makes contact with paige’s side and she goes sprawling, sliding across the linoleum. azzi has a split second of panic that she’s actually hurt paige, but paige is grinning up at her, the drama queen, and azzi groans when she hears the familiar whistle of a foul call somewhere behind her.

azzi’s hand grips paige’s to pull her up, other hand going out to steady her hip, and the first real skin on skin contact in a year shocks her to her core. her fingers are tingling, and how on earth was she able to ignore the feeling that arises in her whenever paige is close to her for so long because it feels like the world has stopped spinning on its axis for a second.

nothing had ever been able to pry azzi’s attention away from basketball before, except for paige, (which. add that to the list of things that probably should have clued her in years ago) and it’s even worse now that azzi understands why that was the case.

and they are in the middle of a basketball court on live television with thousands of people watching their every move and azzi is still gripping paige’s hand. and someone needs to put her in a psychiatric hospital or something.

she regrettably pulls her fingers away from the taller girl’s grasp and immediately misses the contact.

“you playin’ dirty cause you don’t think you can win?” paige taunts, but she’s grinning at azzi like she knows it was an accident, and her face is flushed from the first few minutes of running and she looks positively edible and. how azzi thought of herself as immune to paige’s charm for so long is well beyond her now because she wants to do. a lot of things, actually, but she needs to focus on basketball right now. because again. middle of the basketball court.

��shut up, cheater. you’re the one flopping around trying to get a call,” is her very mature and reasonable retort.

and oh. azzi realizes again, in real time, what everyone was talking about when they used to say that her and paige were constantly flirting. because her hand is still on the taller girl's hip (just to steady her. yeah right.) and paige is smirking down at her and azzi is teasing her and- oh my god she’s been so stupid.

the familiar spark of competition (and probably some other things. like attraction. whatever.) lights up between them like no time has passed since they were staying late after practices and running shooting drills just the two of them, and azzi feels herself settle for the first time since she caught sight of paige warming up.

she’d been worried that she’d be too distracted by paige’s presence to play well, but the feeling of blue eyes on the back of her neck whenever she has the ball, and even when she doesn’t, fuels her like nothing else.

by halftime, she has 19 points.

and when the mystics finally edge out an unexpected, much needed win, there’s a 34 next to azzi’s name in the box score. she only misses two shots after her exchange with paige in the first quarter.

and it's merely an out of conference win, but it's a close one because paige had played well too, and she can feel the satisfaction of a well-fought game settling in her bones, and the added bonus of beating paige, specifically, is making her feel like she's on cloud nine.

they keep their post game hug short and cordial (or. as cordial as a paige burying her face in azzi’s neck and azzi gripping her shoulders as tight as possible can be) (azzi might be delusional but she swears the crowd gets louder when they hug)

she kind of never wants it to end, and misses her instantly when paige pulls away, but then paige stays close when they separate, and looks nothing but proud when she congratulates azzi, asking “you tryna outdo my rookie of the year performance?”

azzi is grateful for the flush on her cheeks from the game, so it masks how hot her blood gets at the question. “maybe, we’ll see,” is the only thing she can come up with in response, and it sounds coy even to her own ears.

“i know we will” is paige’s fond response, and there’s cameras surrounding them and azzi’s not stupid enough to bring up their post-game plans right now but she wants to so she just hums and stands there, probably looking like a fucking adoring idiot.

paige smiles, big this time, despite their loss, and tugs azzi back into a much briefer hug. it’s friendly for the cameras, and quick, but paige manages to tuck an “i'll text you” into azzi's shoulder before she’s pulling away and leaving azzi to watch helplessly after her as she’s immediately swarmed by teammates and media.

and winning the game was fun and great and awesome or whatever, but the mile-wide smile on azzi’s face has a lot more to do with residual tingling of paige’s hugs than anything else. she is so stupendously screwed.

…

the press conference goes by torturously slow because azzi doesn’t have time to check her phone beforehand, but they only ask her one question about paige so she counts it as another win.

(they ask azzi if this victory is sweeter because paige is on the other team and azzi answers with a really eloquent “yes,” and doesn’t elaborate when asked. her teammates nearly wet themselves with laughter)

azzi almost falls out of her chair in her attempt to get up as fast as possible when they’re released from press, and it takes everything in her not to sprint back to the locker room to check her phone. aaliyah doesn’t even try to hide her laughter.

three texts from paige from 10 minutes prior are waiting for her when she finally gets back to her locker.

paige: about to hop in shower

paige: wanna j do something straight from here

paige: or we can do something later if u wanna go back to hotel first idc

the three separate texts means that paige is nervous, and some satisfaction settles in azzi’s stomach, but it’s overshadowed by the fact that she’s left the decision making to azzi.

she debates it for two seconds before deciding she might run into oncoming traffic or something equally as gruesome if left to her own thoughts for more than 5 minutes. she hearts the second text.

azzi: if u wait for me to shower i can be ready in 20

and then she’s only 20 minutes away from being one-on-one with paige for the first time in a year. her shower goes by in a haze and she hopes she remembered to like. use body wash but she can’t really recall because her mind is an abyss of nausea and stress and the little glimmer of hope that she keeps trying to make shut up.

paige’s ‘kk call me when ur ready and ill tell u where to go’ is waiting for her when she gets out, and she curses herself for only packing a pair of old sweats and a tank top. whatever. it’s not like she needs to impress paige anyway- she’d seen her in every state of dress from black tie evening gowns to pajamas- but still. she’s stressed.

and then she’s slipping out of the locker room (she’s not doing anything wrong, but she still feels a little bit like she’s sneaking around, trying to avoid questions on where she’s going from her teammates), and calling paige, and letting her voice guide through a hallway and out a couple doors and into the parking lot.

she hangs up when she sees paige’s recognizable grey jeep ahead of her, and something settles in her stomach at the familiar sight. she’d been in the passenger seat of this car a million and one times.

but then she’s opening the door and, wow, she feels the furthest thing from settled because there is paige, sitting in the driver's seat and looking clean and nervous and adorably small in an oversized hoodie and shorts. her hair is down and still damp, and she’s wearing glasses, and her hands are fidgeting with her phone in her lap, partially covered by the cuffs of her sweatshirt, and azzi feels something crack in her chest. because how had she not realized that this was exactly what she’d wanted all along?

“hi” paige greets her, voice small and a little shy.

azzi’s answering “hey, loser” sounds just as bashful and wow, what have they become?

but then azzi climbs into the passenger seat as paige groans and says “i knew that would be the first thing you’d bring up” and they fall into the ease of bickering about the game and the music paige is playing, and as they pull out of the garage and into the bright afternoon dallas sun, azzi relaxes a bit into her seat.

they decide to drop their stuff off at paige’s apartment before potentially heading out to find some dinner, and it’s weird- how normal it feels, even though they haven’t done this in forever. azzi still has an undercurrent of panic coursing through her, and she knows she’s looking at paige a little weirdly because the blonde keeps glancing at her funny, like she’s trying to figure something out and can’t quite place what’s changed, but despite that, they fall right back into the simplicity and comfort that each others company has always held.

until paige decides to ruin the ease of their conversation by glancing across the car at a red light and asking “you gonna tell me why you’re looking at me funny?”

azzi squirms. debates jumping out, ladybird style. decides against it only because the risk/reward ratio is particularly low. she could deny it, call paige crazy, but that seems useless when she plans on bringing it up when they get inside in 10 minutes anyways. she was planning on waiting until after dinner, but the thrill of having paige within arms reach is making her antsy and she knows she won’t be able to wait that long.

“no,” she replies. at paige’s sideways glare, she relents, “when we get inside.”

paige hums, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, and the relaxed environment turns tense in seconds. the remainder of the drive is silent, and it's not awkward, necessarily, but anticipatory, tension clogging azzi’s lungs.

she fiddles with the ac vents and tries to stop herself from thinking at all. she fails, obviously, and her mind is a mess of paige and random moments from their time at uconn and, the girl in the back of the phone call, and. somehow her hands are shaking. perfect.

she is somehow both thankful and miserable they’re almost there.

they finally pull into paige’s complex, and the mostly silent walk through the garage and elevator ride only further serves to heighten her anxiety. and then paige is pulling out her keys and opening the door and.

they barely get inside before azzi is rounding on her, dropping her bag on the floor and backing up to lean against the opposing wall. she’d planned this part out in her mind a hundred times, dissecting all the possible pros and cons of asking in different ways, figuring out how to slowly work up to the question that’s been eating her alive since the the all star break, but one look at paige’s confused face and the adrenaline that's been coursing through her veins throughout the whole car ride has her sidestepping logic and reason entirely and blurting out a strangled “were we in love?”

she’s pretty confident she knows the answer, but the ensuing silence is agonizing anyway.

azzi can see the second paige processes her question, her face dropping in utter disbelief, and something like heartbreak splinters in her eyes at azzi’s words. paige’s arms go limp at her sides, her keys slipping to the ground beside her, and the jangle of metal against the hardwood floor is deafening in the silence of her entryway.

“azzi,” paige chokes on her name, like it causes her physical pain. she looks shell-shocked, like she can’t breathe, and azzi can’t breathe either, but she needs to know anyway.

“were we in love, paige? were you in love with me?” she asks again, more desperate this time, the words ripping out of her chest almost without her permission. she feels out of control. between the two of them, paige was always the one to push things too far, press and press until azzi was forced to answer her questions or shut down, and the whip-lash of that role reversal is clear on the older girl’s face.

still, paige is silent, gaping at her in shock.

just as azzi opens her mouth to ask a third time, paige closes the gap between them with two steps and seals their mouths together in a desperate, searing kiss.

azzi’s hands fly to paige's chest immediately, and the blonde’s hands find their place on the sides of her face, cupping her cheeks. azzi opens for her in seconds, and paige makes a wretched, helpless sound in the back of her throat as their tongues meet. she drags one hand down to azzi’s waist and pulls her closer, fingering the gap between her sweats and tank top, and azzi’s hands grip her shirt in return, needing her as close as possible.

and wow. okay. if there was any lingering doubt in azzi’s mind about whether or not she was into women, into paige, it evaporates into thin air, heat pooling immediately in her stomach.

and also. paige probably doesn’t have a girlfriend if she’s kissing azzi senseless in her foyer. the relief of that makes her needy, desperate.

she feels wild with it, with the sudden release of this desire for paige that's been hibernating just under her skin for years, and as paige presses her back into the wall, all azzi can think to do is tug her as close as possible. her hands move again, this time sliding up to the back of paige’s neck, everywhere they can reach, and when they separate from each other for a second to breathe, foreheads pressed together, azzi’s eyes flutter open to probably the prettiest version of paige she’s ever seen.

she looks absolutely ruined, cheeks flushed and mouth swollen, and azzi feels drunk on the look in her eyes, gazing at her like azzi is the sun and the moon and the whole fucking solar system too. and she’s struck with the thought that they probably could have been doing this for years, probably should have been doing this for years.

“did you- azzi- did you not know?” is the first thing paige gets out, voice sounding wrecked with emotion and something else, and if azzi had a nickel for every time someone had seemed incredulous that she hadn’t known about paige and her being in love, she’d have five fucking nickels. five nickels to place on the shelf next to her #1 stupidest person on earth trophy.

azzi can’t help but sound indignant when she sputters out “well no one told me!”

paige just looks at her for a second, like she’s trying to cement this as real, and then she smiles, small and beautiful and just for azzi.

“you’re stupid” is her only retort. and, well. yeah.

and she looks like she’s about to cry but in a good way azzi thinks, and then azzi can’t see her face anymore because they’re kissing again. she makes a sound in the back of her throat that she will not be recounting when paige slips a hand underneath her tank top, pressing her fingers to her ribs, and jesus, they’ve been making out for maybe a total of two minutes max and she already feels like she’s going to melt into a puddle on the floor.

paige kisses her like she means it, like she’s starving for it, and azzi didn’t know it until right now but it's exactly the way she likes to be kissed.

paige wedges a leg between azzi’s, somehow pressing closer, and this is really nice and azzi really doesn’t want to stop but also. they need to actually discuss this before she lets paige do something stupid like finger her in the hallway or drag her off to her bedroom. she might be jumping the gun but also. one of paige’s hands is sliding underneath the waistband of her sweats to caress the smooth skin of her hip, teasing. and, and. she really needs to stop this before her fingers dip any lower because she knows any coherent thought she has will crumble into nothingness.

she tugs her mouth away for a second, and murmurs out a breathless “paige” in between kisses. she receives a contented grunt in response.

“paige-” she tries again, except the older girl simply hums and moves lower, pressing open-mouthed kissed down her neck instead. azzi’s brain goes blank for a second, nothing but thoughts of paige’s mouth on her neck and her hands on her waist. but.

they do need to talk about this. regretfully.

“paige, we need to- to talk about this,” she stutters out, and when paige still seems undeterred, having moved down to attempt to suck a mark into azzi’s collarbone, she adds, “before we have sex.”

she tries to look away, so she doesn’t have to see the smug grin that she knows will spread across paige’s face at her words, but a consequence of furiously making out with the blonde is that their faces are still inches apart, so she still sees the sly smirk on paige’s stupid, self-satisfied face.

“who said anything about sex, hmm?” she crows, and azzi blushes, and then looks down pointedly at paige’s hand that is currently slipping under the waistband of her sweats.

“oh i’m sorry, was that not on your agenda?” she asks, teasing, and pushes herself out from underneath paige, walking down the hallway towards the living room, smiling to herself at the immediate feeling of paige’s hands back on her hips, grasping at her to keep her close.

“no, no, azzi, c’mon, i’m jus’ playing, come back here,” and she actually sounds a little bit worried, as if azzi will somehow change her mind or something ridiculous.

she spins back to face paige when she gets to the couch, and laughs at the look on her face, hopeful and kind of like a puppy dog. it's definitely a diversion tactic and it almost works, she almost says fuck it and drags paige further into the apartment in search of the bedroom, but she stays strong.

“talk first, and then you can give me a very thorough tour of the rest of your apartment,” she assures, and paige relents, but not before pressing a short, close-mouthed kiss to azzi’s lips, as if sealing the deal.

“‘kay. i’m holding you to that,” she adds, but she looks unsure of herself, and then they’re just standing there like idiots in the evening light of paige’s apartment, looking at each other.

azzi decides she wants to be sitting for this, so she kicks off her slides and drops onto the couch behind her.

for a second, paige looks like she doesn’t know what to do or where to sit, and she’s never been unsure of invading azzi’s personal space before, so azzi just rolls her eyes and tugs her down onto the couch next to her. paige flops down, sprawled out next to azzi, and they settle into the cushions, azzi curled underneath paige’s arm, facing her, legs crossed and socked feet tucking under paige’s thigh.

paige is quiet, waiting for azzi to formulate how she wants to start this, and she’s grateful for the silence as she mentally grapples with how to open this particular can of worms.

she settles on “can you tell me what happened the night of the championship?”

might as well start out with the big guns.

paige inhales sharply, and she looks like she really doesn’t want to recount that night, so azzi gently takes one of her hands in her own and tangles their fingers.

“you don’t remember?” she mumbles, and her voice sounds so small, not at all like the confident paige that had just been giving azzi shit and kissing the living daylights out of her.

“no, only. only that we kissed, but even that’s hazy. and i had a mark,” she reaches up with paige's hand still tangled in hers and presses at her collarbone, “right here.”

“yeah.” paige’s voice breaks on the acknowledgement, and she looks like she’s gonna cry at the reminder, eyes watery where they gaze at the spot that her fingers are pressing into. azzi’s heart squeezes in her chest. she looks a little relieved, though, that azzi can’t recall what happened.

“if i’d known you were that drunk i wouldn’t have…” she trails off, voice shaky, and azzi cuts in.

“you were drunk too paige, s’not your fault.”

paige hums. when azzi squeezes her fingers, she continues. “it was such a good night until then. we were so drunk, and you were so happy, and you were clinging onto me like it-” her voice breaks, and azzi leans further into her side to try and comfort her. they’re both already crying a little bit, and her heart squeezes, again, but she needs to hear this before they go any further.

“like it meant something. something more than usual. and then you wanted to go upstairs and i kept thinking finally. and. and i kissed you when we got to my room and you seemed so into it. and then i said-” she cuts off again, and azzi feels dread pool in her gut. she isn’t sure she actually wants to hear this story but she can’t stop listening.

“i told you i was in love with you, like an idiot, and you-” she inhales, through her tears, like she’s steeling herself, and azzi squeezes her eyes shut in preparation, gripping paige’s hand tighter.

“you asked me why i had to ruin it, why we couldn’t just kiss without it meaning anything.”

azzi makes a wounded sound, curling closer, and paige is sobbing now, and this is so, so much worse than she’d thought.

“paige.” is the only thing she can get out as comfort, and now she's sobbing too. god she’d been so, so stupid. “i didn’t know.” she shifts, and then climbs all the way into paige’s lap, trying to ease the hurt that her unconscious drunk mind had caused and pressing a messy kiss to her hairline. she tries to get as close as possible as a reminder that they're here now, not in a shitty hotel room in tampa.

god. no wonder paige had distanced herself. azzi doesn’t even know what she’d have done. probably run straight out of that hotel and thrown herself off a cliff

paige isn’t done, though, and azzi briefly wonders how it could possibly get worse, before regretting her curiosity instantly.

“and then you got mad when i wouldn’t. wouldn’t just keep going. and i asked if we could jus’ talk about it in the morning and you promised that we would.” paige presses the words into azzi shoulder, bring her arms up to wrap around the younger girl’s back. her tank top is wet from paige’s tears and. this whole thing has azzi sick to her stomach.

she presses a sob into paige’s hair, and she knows the next part but she lets her finish anyway.

“and then you didn’t say anything the next morning and i didn’t know if you didn’t remember or if you just didn’t want to talk about it, but either way i just. couldn’t do it anymore.” her voice is shot, and she’s still crying, but she looks relieved to have finished.

azzi lets the silence sit for a minute before responding. “i thought you regretted kissing me. or whatever happened, i couldn’t remember. and then you just. stopped, like, wanting to be friends, and i thought you’d decided you didn’t need me anymore,” azzi releases through tears, and her heart breaks for both of them at the stupidity of the last year.

a “no!” rips from paige’s chest, insulted, and she laughs humorlessly. “az, i’ll always need you. for god sake, i pretty much just moped for the entire year plus. arike banned your name ‘cause she got tired of listening to me whine about how much i missed you.” she looks up at azzi through her eyelashes, tears clumped together, and she looks so beautiful, despite them, that azzi’s heart breaks all over again.

“if it makes you feel better, i missed you just as bad, except i wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. the whole team knew not to bring you up around me cause i would just shut down.”

she knocks their foreheads together, gently, in affection before continuing, “one of the freshmen got your old room and i wouldn’t go anywhere near it.”

paige smiles, brokenly, at that. “bet she didn’t decorate it as well as me.”

it's not really funny, but azzi lets out a watery giggle anyways, pressing it into the curve of paige’s brow. “she probably didn’t have a blanket over the blinds though.”

paige hums in agreement, and motions for azzi to continue before starting to trace lines on azzi’s back.

azzi takes a deep breath before speaking. “over the break we went to dinner, me ‘n lili and a couple others. and somehow like dating and stuff got brought up and she asked me if i’d ever been in love. and i said no.”

paige tenses under her, but azzi squeezes their hands that are still tangled together and waits until she relaxes again to continue.

“and none of them believed me. they all thought we’d been dating in secret or whatever. and i couldn’t believe it but then i started thinking about it and. and then i got home and called my mom, and asked her if i’d been in love with you,” she pauses for a second, trying to get her words straight. paige’s hand on her back falters for a second, before continuing, slow and steady, and it grounds her.

“and she said if i was asking her than i already knew.”

paige laughs a little bit, commenting “‘course she did.”

“i know,” she agrees, “and then. well. i got really drunk and somehow thought it was a good idea to call you.”

paige smiles, a little crookedly. “wasn’t your worst idea, though.”

azzi hums in agreement. “no, it wasn’t”

paige opens her mouth to say something and then stops, reconsidering.

azzi narrows her eyes. “what,” she prods, needing to know everything.

paige hesitates again before continuing. “i thought god was punishing me when i saw who was calling. i’d just made the first step in so long to try and get over you, finally relented to all my teammates telling me to get laid for the first time in over a year and. here you were calling me for the first time in forever like you knew i’d just spent half an hour pretending the girl on top of me was you.” she shakes her head, laughing a little. “i left as soon as i hung up. cried all the way home.”

and azzi knows it’s fucked up, but satisfaction settels in her bones at the knowledge that paige hadn’t been sleeping her way through texas in azzi’s absence like she’d thought, even if the reminder of the girl on the phone kills her a little.

“i wanted to die when i heard her voice. almost hung up you,” she gets out, and paige presses a kiss to her shoulder in response.

“baby, i haven’t wanted anyone but you since i was like, sixteen.”

the word baby echoes inside azzi’s head and she smiles, ducking her head.

“maybe if you’d ever told me that-”

“-i did tell you-” paige protests, but azzi’s having none of it.

“sober- if you’d told me sober i probably would’ve figured out i was in love you a lot quicker.”

paige huffs. “azzi, the entire world knew i was in love with you. obviously i thought you knew, too, ” and then, when azzi’s words sink in a bit more, and she adds, a little in awe, “you’re in love with me? like, forreal?”

azzi doesn’t bother correcting her verb tense. it might seem stupid to already be saying i love you when they haven’t actually had a conversation in a year, but she knows with more certainty than anything ever that this is a past and a present and a future kind of thing.

“obviously.” is her only response, gesturing to where she’s sitting on paige’s lap, their fingers still curled together.

and paige’s smile is positively blinding as she leans up to press their mouths together, murmuring “s’ fire.”

honestly. you’d think she’d be a little more romantic.

and their faces are both damp from tears, but it doesn’t matter because paige is kissing her like her laugh is the best thing she’s ever tasted, and maybe it is.

and paige flips them somehow (azzi isn’t really paying attention to the logistics, too focused on the patch of skin she finds below paige’s ear that makes her keen) and they end up pressed into the couch, paige laying on top of her.

azzi finds paige’s mouth again, fingers tangling in her hair, and paige presses their hips together, swallowing the brunettes' moan at the contact.

and then paige pulls back above her and grins.

“so can we have sex now,” she questions, and azzi rolls her eyes, shoving at her shoulder.

“way to be a romantic, p,” she responds, but it just sounds fond instead of annoyed.

“excuse you, i am such a romantic,” she retorts, and at azzi’s unimpressed look, she tries again. “azzi jazlyn, i am very much in love with you, can i please make sweet, sweet love to you?”

azzi groans, but it’s kind of a futile attempt to seem like she’s not utterly charmed, because she lets paige tug her up off the couch anyways.

and there are still residual tear tracks on their faces, and more conversations to be had, but as she chases paige down the hallway to her bedroom, laughter flowing freely from them both, she figures they can figure that out later. right now, this is enough.

AN: ummmm thank you for reading? pleaseeee comment/send me asks it literally makes my whole entire day and I need all the love I can get over the next week of hell (finals). i know i said i was writing smut and i ammmm it just is taking me. a while. so i cut it off here. but maybe keep your eye out for more of these two being freaky? idk. also if you wanna like see any more from them pls let me know what that would be! i have a couple ideas for a paige pov but it would be really angsty. and also a few about like their friends and fam finding out and being like THANK FUCK. took u long enough. idk. again, only time will tell but I can confirm that comments and asks do wonders for my creativity soooo. please do that! ok bye now <3

#iwkpa #pazzi #pazzi fics #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #paige x azzi #like again do i need more tags? idfk #please tell me how you like this im BEGGING #ok back to my homework

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gothamite-rambler · 3 days ago

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Bruce's baby

I am writing a fanfiction about Jason Todd knowing about Damian Wayne's existence long before Bruce and his brothers did.

He chose not to tell him for a reason. After everything he had been through, he switched from a murderous plan of vengeance to a strategy of long-term revenge. This story chronicles Jason's journey as he navigates his role in Damian's life, aided by Talia, who does care for Jason, at least in her own way.

For the next eight years, Jason is the only Bat son who knows about Damian, helping to take care of him and calling him "akhi" until he eventually makes amends with Bruce. Around that time, Talia decides to introduce them to each other.

This will be fully posted on AO3 May or June, and you can find my other works in my masterlist. I'm posting the w.i.p on here as a continuing series here before moving it to AO3 in a different format. Enjoy it. It's lengthy, but settle in and have fun with it!

pt 1

Jason sipped tea while waiting for Talia, added extra sugar and then took another sip to taste it. Smiling with a nod he continued drinking it. Talia entered the room, cradling a sleeping baby against her hip. Jason tilted his head, eyes wide. Seeing Talia with a baby threw him off balance.

Jason (wide-eyed): Is that a baby?

Talia (nodding): Yes.

Jason (worried, standing out of his seat): Is that… your baby?

Talia (firmly): Yes.

Jason gasped, covering his mouth in horror as Talia's jaw clenched, aware of the direction this conversation was heading.

Jason (panicking): Oh my god, you did take advantage of me! Is it MY baby?!

Talia (composed): In your mind, maybe! In reality, we never had sex! I’ve said this over a hundred times! You trying to woo me was met with rejection! You were my student, close to my son before I had this one! I sure as hell wasn’t going to do that while you were underage and unhinged. What kind of person do you take me for?

Jason (bluntly): You… swear allegiance to your father at every turn, and I’ve seen how you’ve been with your obsession— oops, I mean, ex-husband. Excuse me for assuming the worst of you.

Talia (raising her voice): He was my ex-husband! Stupid annulment! And for the twenty-thousandth time, I did NOT have sex with you!

Suddenly, the baby sneezed, startling Talia. She turned him side to side, dipping him as if she were checking to see if the batteries in a toy were dead. The baby stretched his tiny hand to touch his mother’s nose.

Talia: Oh my habibi, I thought I scared you.

Returning the baby to her hip, Talia resumed speaking to Jason, who still looked incredibly confused.

Jason (jokingly): Then whose baby is it? Bruce's?

Jason chuckled, but Talia shot him an unamused glare. He tilted his head slightly, puzzled by her lack of laughter or clarification.

Talia (sighing): He is the father.

Jason's eyes widened in surprise, then he shook his head, hesitating to believe it.

Jason (doubtful): No, he’s not.

Talia (serious): He is.

Jason (refusing to believe Bruce folded): No… No, he’s not.

Talia (through gritted teeth): Yes. He. Is.

Jason: Bruce is a lot of things, and I don't care for him at the moment, but there's no way he laid down with you and conceived a child. That's a baby! You would've had to sex— gross thought, with him about a year ago.

Talia (flatly): That’s typically how conceiving a child works.

Jason (shaking his head): You’re serious… He can’t be the father. No way.

Talia held up her index finger, pulled out her phone, and dialed her father.

Talia (when he answers): Father, please confirm for Jason that the DNA test revealed Bruce is the father of our beloved child.

Ra's Al Ghul (sobbing): Stop reminding me of that! I only want to focus on him being an assassin, not related to that man!

Talia ended the call and looked at Jason smugly.

Talia: There you go.

Jason leaned forward, squinting to study the baby’s facial features. After a few seconds, his eyes widened again as he noticed the baby had the same resting angry face as Bruce.

Jason (stunned): You and him…had him? Oh my god. Oh my god, it actually happened! The supposed tough dark knight who never folds, folded for a booty call! Yes!

Jason began to chuckle, which quickly escalated into fits of laughter. He sat down, still laughing, while Talia tapped her foot impatiently.

Talia (offended): It was NOT a booty call! Our night of passion was unforgettable…especially since the condom did, in fact, break. Damn gas station contraceptives!

Jason (between laughs): You used the ones from the gas station? Hahaha! Wait, wait, who had the condom?

Talia: He…did. They were in his wallet.

Jason burst into laughter, throwing his head back in hysteria to the point where he had to cover his mouth. Talia, incensed, could only glare at him.

Jason (enjoying this): You're both relatively smart people; how did you mess up that badly?

Talia let out an exhausted exhale, refusing to respond.

Jason (correctly guessing, having been around these people for a long time): I get it—you don’t want to answer. Mind if I take a guess? No need to respond. I wasn’t around because of traveling and mercenary work, and he was more depressed than usual, and you just happened to be there at the right time. You two did the nasty. Then he had — can’t believe I’m saying this — post-nut clarity and decided this was it. You two would no longer be together, but oh no, you ended up pregnant. Did I miss anything?

Talia (her eyes shifting downward, debating if it was a mistake to bring the baby in): He… was always downtrodden, and we were on good terms at the time. Okay, not… good terms, but that first Robin wasn't around, and he needed consoling. I told him I might be pregnant, and he was excited, but knowing how he views my life, he'd want our child with him, so… I lied about a miscarriage.

Jason: Ah, okay, that makes sense. He seriously had sex with you—like, awake and everything?

Talia nodded, sucking her lips in as her brows furrowed in anger.

Jason: Wow! This is a lot hilarity to take in and— Hold up, you two had sex while I was planning to kill him and Joker? You have got to be kidding me! I- I I should be furious! Yet, I can't stop laughing.

Jason laughed harder, leaning back in his chair and covering his eyes, doubled over at the humorous situation.

Talia: Go ahead, let it out.

Jason nodded and threw his head back, laughing until he fell back in his chair. His feet kicked as he guffawed at the revelation. The little baby giggled for a moment, mostly at seeing someone else laugh. Talia held the baby, who had been quietly observing their banter, close to her face.

Talia: Big Brother Jacy doesn’t understand that you are the love child of a perfect pair.

Jason laughed harder, covering his eyes. The "perfect pair" description was deeply ironic, given everything he knew about both parents. After a minute, he finally composed himself, letting out a happy sigh at the new material to mock Bruce with.

Talia (seriously): Do not tell Bruce. He’s not ready to meet him yet.

Jason stood up and pushed in his chair but decided to stand instead. He wiped his brow; he hadn't laughed that hard in years.

Jason (grinning): Ah, yes, the miscarriage lie. You didn’t tell him about his son yet. That’s another smart choice from you. He's totally going to want to be with you after he finds that out you loon. Whew, I needed that. And no worries, I won’t tell him a thing.

Talia (deadpan): Jason, as much amusement as you find in this, I’m serious about keeping your mouth shut. If you tell him in any way, I have men who can make your death look like a suicide or render you a vegetable.

Jason patted Talia on the shoulder, unfazed by her threats to his second life. Talia's brows furrowed annoyed.

Jason (sincerely): Chill, Talia. The secret is safe with me until you’re ready to tell him. It’s the perfect revenge plan, and I could use some hush money.

He crossed his arms with a smirk. Talia glared at Jason, but after a few seconds, she knew he wasn't afraid of her in this situation.

Talia (rolling her eyes while cradling the baby): You’re going to find a way to tell him to get back at me regardless of the threats?

Jason: Oh yeah. I will meet God or Satan and have them send a message if I have to. I stopped fearing you a few years ago. I take cash payments and direct deposits. And when you do tell him, send me pictures or a video of his reaction.

Talia (aggravated sigh): You’re so unserious.

Jason: Thanks for the compliment. What’s the kid’s name, by the way?

Talia (pondering): I’ve been debating different names. Father wanted me to name him…Ra's Jr.? I would rather die than name him that. I eventually decided on a more american name, Damian. Damian Wayne for my cute wittle habibi.

She softly rubbed her son's cheeks with a fist, eliciting a giggle from the infant. Talia took a moment to stare at her son with something she rarely showed: motherly happiness. That stopped when she heard Jason chuckle again.

She ignored his judgmental smirk, returning to the present topic.

Talia (defensively): No judgment! I’ve always wanted a baby with Bruce. Never tell my father I showed that type of affection. He hasn't demonstrated it for a long time, and his head might explode seeing me give it to my child.

Jason (teasing): I might bring it up one day to piss him off.

Talia (warning): If you do—

Jason (interrupting): Yes, yes, you'll toss me into the river or whatever.

Talia: I- My word, I wanted to introduce you to Damian because technically you're brothers, yet you aggravated me. Be happy I see you as family regardless of your incorrected ill will toward Bruce. You're the only one I can say is his brother— unlike that…Nightwing.

Talia spat on the ground as if she had poison on her tongue. Jason coughed, wanting to alert Talia that he was actually on good terms with Dick, but her sneering lip displayed her animosity toward the hero.

Talia: Would you like to visit more and spend time with him? I need help raising him until I tell Bruce; my father isn't the best at parenting anymore.

Jason glanced at the baby resting his head against Talia's chest. The baby was cute, and unlike his parents, Jason didn’t have a vendetta or indifference toward him.

Jason: I’ve always wanted a younger brother. You are paying me, so sure, I’ll spend time with him. I can rub that in Bruce's face later.

Talia (raising her eyebrow): Not the healthiest mindset, but okay.

Jason: Oh right, because you're in a position to judge me. The woman who had sex with her ex-husband who hasn't had a stable relationship with a woman since I was a kid and then sired a child due to a broken gas station condom. Priceless!

Jason walked off, leaving Talia alone with her son. She groaned, raising an eyebrow in annoyance, but when she heard her baby yawn, she looked down at him and nuzzled her nose against his cheek.

Talia (softly): I don't care what he or anyone else has to say; you're my baby, and you’re so precious.

End of part 1

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kaliforniahigh · 2 days ago

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I want you laying me down, 'till we dead and buried - n.s.

How Noah asked exwife!reader to marry him when they were young.

This is another installment to the exhusband!Noah and exwife!reader fic I posted recently. I'm not really good with timelines, but they're around 20 here.

Warnings: no warnings on this one, just pure fluff and a proposal.

WC: 1.1k.

It was a cold Sunday night, you and Noah were laying in bed, the cozy and heavy blankets over the two of you. You had just eaten dinner a couple of hours ago, and were now watching a movie on the television.

The bedroom wasn't big, neither was the apartment, but it was enough for the two of you. When you and Noah moved in together, you already knew it wasn't gonna be anything too fancy. Having just turned twenty, with you working as an apprentice at a studio downtown, and Noah making money from the gigs with his band, there was only so much you both could afford.

But it didn't stop you from feeling like you were living the life you've always wanted.

No amount of money could pay for the feeling of coming home from a stressful day and feeling Noah's arms enveloping you in his embrace. Or, when you felt like the whole world was against you, and he reassured you that everything was going to be fine.

"When we finally buy our big and fancy house, we're definely going to have a heating system for the winter", Noah says beside you. You let out a little laugh and snuggled closer to him.

"Why do we need a heating system? We can just share body heat", you say as he wraps his arms around you a little tighter, pulling you impossibly closer.

"And I love sharing body heat. I just don't like sleeping with this many blankets", he points out, grumbly. You think he's the cutest when he whines about simple things, like having to use too many blankets.

"Well, when we buy our big, fancy house, I want heated floors on the bathroom. I hate stepping on the cold floor when I just had a hot shower", you tell him, making you own request known, and it's his turn to smile.

You and Noah dreamed about the future a lot. How things are going to be in eight, or ten years. You don't know how to explain it, but you just had a feeling inside of you that was certain he would make it.

More often than not, Noah would tell you that his faith in this music thing he was trying was wavering. And he told you how uncertain he was about the path he has chosen in life. You just told him that it takes time. He has the talent and dedication - so much dedication - he just had to wait until the good things started happening.

What you always told him though, is that he should start singing too. You knew he wasn't as confident in his voice yet, but whenever you caught him muttering a song under his breath, or singing something when he tought you couldn't hear, you couldn't stop thinking of how much potential he had to create something incredible.

"Anything for the lady. You ask and it shall be delivered", he salutes in odedience and you laugh at his exaggeration, even though you knew he would keep this in his head for when the time came.

"Do you really think we're gonna have a big, fancy house?", you ask him, honestly. He thinks for a moment before answering.

"I really do", he affirms, leaving out the part where he knows you two will be married by then as well. Truthfully, he hasn't asked you yet solely because he didn't have the money to buy you the ring he thinks you deserve. But he has all of the intention in the world to marry you.

"Do you think we'll be married by then?", you ask and it catches him off-guard. Have you been reading his mind? Have you also been thinking about this as much as he has? You must've been, to ask him this question, so unprompted.

Marriage has been a topic of conversation a few times during your relationship, and both of you agreed that it would happen at the right time. You just didn't know when that would be.

"Do you want us to be married by then?", he throws back the question at you, trying to go off of your answer.

"Sure, but we don't know when that will be. What if it's in ten years? Do we want to wait that much?", you say, and he sure as hell knows he does not want to wait that much to marry you.

"I'd marry you next week if I could", he says, nonchalantly, as if that was the most normal thing to say.

You get up into a half sitting position, your elbow supporting you on the bed, as you look at him.

"Noah, please. Marriage takes a lot of planning and money", you observe.

"I know that, and I know that you'd love to plan everything to the last detail. I'm just saying that, if it was up to me, we'd have a marriage license by next week", he shrugs his shoulders, and you're still looking a him. He can't really tell what you're thinking, and he doesn't know if it scares him or not.

"Bold of you to say that when you haven't even proposed yet", you point out, a smirk on your lips, knowing that you got him there.

"Well, do you?", he asks.

"Do I what?"

"Do you want to marry me?"

"You know I want to marry you", you tell him. Does he really need to ask?

"I'm asking officially. Will you marry me?"

It takes you a second to register what he's actually asking you, but when it does, you can't believe it. You're inside your little apartment, laying in bed, hair disheveled and there's a weird stain on your pajama. But, somehow, you also think that it couldn't have been more perfect.

You gauge the way he's looking at you, and even though he wants to ask like he's not nervous, you can tell. His eyes are so expressive that has given him away more times than you could count. And, right now, he's looking at you like you're holding his entire world in your hands.

"Of course I'll marry you", you said, and throw yourself in his arms. In seconds, your lips are on his, and he's gripping the back of your head firmly, not wanting you to pull away. He's relieved, you can tell, and wonder if there's a world where he thought you would say no.

Because the prospect of getting to do this forever makes you the happiest you've ever been.

"We need rings now", Noah says against your lips, smiling.

"I have an idea if you don't mind", you suggest, and he tells you to go ahead.

You get up from the bed and grab your tattoo kit, and in an hour or so, both of you have two crisp lines tattooed on your ring fingers. Yours a little more wobbly than Noah's, since he doesn't have the experience you have with tattoo machines. But you don't really care. This is perfect.

"There we go", Noah says, putting his hand on top of yours, observing your handy works. "Forever".

"Forever".

Tag list: @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @bloody-spades @mysterygirl-srl @lacy1986 @dream-machine-love @theanarchymuse95 @missduffsblog @xmads-omensx @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @chey-h @pipidoll @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @kissestomyomens @hedonist-k1l @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @daemontargaryenwife @h0riz0nsiren @astronoids @flowery-mess @renegadebirch

If you haven't been tagged, it's because your blog doesn't mention your age, or it is empty!

#divider by #bbyg4rl helps #turns out forever is not really gonna be forever #:(#bad omens #bad omens imagine #bad omens fluff #noah sebastian #noah sebastian imagine #noah sebastian fluff #exhusband!noah #exwife!reader #noah thoughts

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skyloftian-nutcase · 3 days ago

Text

Four felt pretty satisfied, if he was being honest.

It hadn’t been a terrible night. Nor had it been a particularly hard one. But his patient had started out somewhat unstable, showing signs of a brewing infectious response, febrile, unstable blood pressure, and shaking despite being sedated. Four had spent hours in his room trying to sort things out, hours trying to implement the plan the night team had put together during rounds.

And, slowly, things had started to stabilize.

After that, Four spent the next few hours just tidying things up and doing maintenance work - changing lines to prevent infection, cleaning messes, taking out the filled trash cans, keeping up with medication infusions running dry, checking vitals and outputs. Over the course of a twelve hour shift, he’d probably sat down for maybe an hour over multiple little breaks.

And, in the end, the patient was on less sedation and fewer blood pressure medications by the time day shift came.

So yes, Four was pretty satisfied. At least until the Monday-Friday day crew rolled in, checking lines, pointing out caps that Four had missed, complaining about the state of the patient’s dressing that Four had missed.

And suddenly, all that hard work felt completely disregarded, and Four found himself in a sour mood as he headed towards the parking garage.

He caught sight of Legend, who looked similarly grouchy. “How was your night?”

”Fine,” the travel nurse shrugged. “Just some annoying patients.”

”Oh?”

Legend huffed. “One guy said I wasn’t taking good care of him simply because he was a Zora. Like I just was a racist to him. Meanwhile, his chief complaint was back pain that he’d had for four days, while my other patients had chest pain, an asthma attack, and a drug overdose. The doc gave the guy a muscle relaxer and some pain medicine and we were discharging him and he said I hurt him when I took the fucking pulse-ox sticker off his finger and demanded a bandaid. I hate people.”

Four grimaced. At least his own patient hadn’t really been an issue, particularly since the guy had been intubated and sedated the entire night. “Were the others at least decent?”

”Oh yeah,” Legend answered casually. “Chest pain dude was pretty chill considering he was probably having an nSTEMI. Even cracked some jokes. OD was an OD, usual nonsense. Before that group I had a teenager who had broken her ankle from running in heels and her friends kept trying to make her laugh so that was nice, and then there was the two-year-old who fell down a couple stairs… uh, what else, priapism guy came back—"

”Not priapism guy,” Four laughed. “He really never is gonna learn.”

”Hey!”

Legend and Four turned to see Twilight and Wild trotting towards them with a wave.

”Wait, are we all on night shift rotation right now?” Four asked, baffled. “I swear you were on days, Twi.”

”I picked up extra,” Twilight answered blearily. “I hate myself.”

”Oh shut up, you love night shift,” Legend huffed. “Best time to work.”

”I’m a morning person,” Twilight grumbled. “I want to go to bed.”

”I say we should get breakfast together,” Wild proposed.

Twilight rolled his eyes. “You always want to eat. I want to sleep.”

"I'm down for food," Legend said, shrugging.

"Breakfast it is!" Wild clapped his hands happily as Twilight groaned.

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twdgrxmes · 2 days ago

Text

Trouble - TrailerPark!Daryl Dixon x GoodGirl!Reader (Part 13)

<-prev next->

WC: 2721

Tags: None?

Author's Note: Sorry about the delay, school has lit been kicking my bum :( I'm tying to write but I'm genuinely so exhausted. I hope y'all like this.

Hospital Room – The Next Morning

The morning crept in gently, casting soft light through the blinds, painting thin gold stripes across the sterile white walls. The world was stirring outside—birdsong, muffled voices in the hallway, the occasional squeak of sneakers on tile—but in here, everything was still. Still and quiet and warm in a way that felt borrowed, like a moment not meant to last.

You were asleep.

Your head rested lightly on Daryl’s chest, tangled in wires and the thin, scratchy hospital blanket. His arms were around you, one slung over your back like a safety net, the other tucked behind his head. Both of you had drifted off sometime after sunrise—exhausted from the storm, but finally at peace in the wreckage.

Daryl hadn’t meant to crawl into the bed. Not at first.

But your hand had trembled in his. You’d reached for him in your sleep, a quiet whimper slipping past your lips like it was instinct. And Daryl couldn’t stand to leave you alone. Not after everything.

So he’d climbed in carefully, gently, cradling you to his chest like you were something breakable. Precious. His.

Now, the two of you lay like that—twined together in a silence that didn’t feel empty.

And that’s exactly how Sheriff Bennet found you.

The door creaked open with the soft, hesitant sound of someone expecting to find broken pieces. He stepped inside without knocking, boots heavy on the floor. His face was unreadable at first—drawn tight and stern, jaw clenched.

Then he saw you.

His daughter.

His little girl.

Asleep, curled into the arms of the boy he’d spent years trying to warn her about him.

And for a second—just a second—he didn’t say a damn word.

He just stood there, shoulders taut, hand hovering over the brim of his hat like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

The rise and fall of your breath against Daryl’s chest was slow, steady.

Daryl shifted in his sleep, tightening his grip around you.

The sheriff’s eyes flicked down to his bruised knuckles. His busted lip. His cut cheekbone. The same wounds Shane had.

And then his eyes softened, just barely.

He took a quiet step closer. The chair beside the bed was empty. Daryl must’ve moved it sometime in the night. The sheriff stared at it like it held all the answers he didn’t want to hear.

He reached for your chart, pretended to glance at it, even though his eyes kept returning to you—safe, breathing, held.

And Daryl?

Daryl woke up.

He felt the shift in the air before he even opened his eyes. Something cold. Familiar. Authority pressing down like a boot on his neck.

His eyes opened fast, sharp, and the moment he saw the sheriff standing at the foot of the bed, his entire body stiffened.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away from you.

Didn’t pretend he hadn’t been there all night, holding you.

Sheriff Bennet stared him down.

“You got five seconds to explain why you’re in my daughter’s bed,” he said, voice low and full of gravel.

Daryl’s jaw clenched, but his voice didn’t shake.

“She was scared,” he said quietly. “Didn’t wanna be alone.”

The sheriff’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

The silence that followed was thick. A wire pulled tight between them, humming with the weight of unspoken history.

Sheriff Bennet didn’t answer right away. His eyes went from Daryl’s face to yours, the way you clung unconsciously to him in sleep—one hand curled into the front of Daryl’s shirt, your brow relaxed like you hadn’t been that peaceful in weeks. Maybe longer. There were still faint bruises on your cheek, the side of your head, the kind a father never forgets.

“You should’ve come to me,” the sheriff said finally, quieter now. “You should’ve let me handle it.”

Daryl’s gaze didn’t waver.

“I tried,” he said, voice low. “Tried real hard to stay outta this. But she came to me. And I ain’t leavin’ her now.”

His hand slid over your back instinctively, like it wasn’t even something he thought about—just something he did. The sheriff saw it. Noticed the way Daryl moved around you with care, not possession. Like he was protecting something fragile. Sacred, even.

Sheriff Bennet looked away then, jaw working. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, glanced at the heart monitor beeping steadily beside the bed. The sound was so damn steady. So alive. It hadn’t been guaranteed last night. He knew that now—had played out every worst-case scenario on the drive over.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered, finally sinking into the empty chair beside the bed. “I don’t like you.”

Daryl didn’t flinch. “Yeah. I know.”

“But,” the sheriff went on, voice like cracked leather, “I saw the way she looks at you. Saw the way you’ve stayed with her this whole time.”

He let that hang in the air for a second.

“That’s gotta mean somethin’.”

Daryl looked down at you, at the soft rise and fall of your chest beneath the hospital gown. “It does.”

Another pause. The sheriff leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the scuffed toes of his boots like they might explain what the hell he was supposed to do now.

“I’m not sayin’ I forgive it,” he muttered. “The sneakin’ around. The fight. The lies. You put her in the line of fire, Dixon, and you broke her heart. Whether you meant to or not.”

“I know,” Daryl said again, barely a whisper.

“But,” the sheriff added, meeting his eyes, “you also care about her, look after her. And you never once left her side.”

Daryl swallowed. His hand was still resting against your spine, thumb moving in slow circles over the thin cotton of your gown.

“I ain’t gonna leave again.”

The sheriff studied him. Really looked at him.

Daryl didn’t look like a boy anymore.

He looked older. Raw. Something wounded and proud and impossible to scare off. There was no smugness in him. No bravado. Just fierce, worn-down loyalty.

Sheriff Bennet nodded once, like that answer settled something he wasn’t ready to admit.

“Then you stay,” he said gruffly, standing. “But you do it right. No more sneakin’. No more lies. If you want this—her—you face me like a man.”

Daryl blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes. But he nodded, once. Firm.

“I will.”

Your father hesitated at the door, looking back one last time.

“She wakes up, you tell her I’ll be back later. Bringin’ her home when she’s cleared. That’s still my daughter in that bed.”

Daryl didn’t argue. “Yes, sir.”

The sheriff lingered for a heartbeat longer—then left.

When the door clicked shut, Daryl let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He shifted slightly, looking down at your sleeping face. His hand found yours beneath the blanket again, fingers curling gently between yours.

And for the first time in a long time, he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t lost you.

Not yet.

The room settled again into silence, but this time it wasn’t loaded. It wasn’t tense.

It was soft.

Daryl watched the dust motes dancing in the golden morning light, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, his thumb brushing slow arcs across the back of your hand. He didn’t know how long he lay there like that—just breathing, just watching you. You stirred a little against him, lashes fluttering, brows twitching like a dream was pulling at the edge of your sleep.

And then your fingers moved.

Small, sleepy, curling tighter into his shirt like you knew he was there before your mind had even caught up.

You woke slowly, the kind of waking where you’re not quite sure where you are at first, not quite sure what’s real. But the warmth under your cheek was familiar. Solid. And when your eyes blinked open, still heavy with sleep, the first thing you saw was him.

Daryl.

His face above yours, hair tousled, eyes a little bloodshot from lack of sleep but watching you like he couldn’t believe you were still breathing.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice husky from sleep and emotion. “Hey, Bennett.”

You blinked up at him, eyes glassy, confused for a second. And then it hit you—where you were. What had happened. The ache in your ribs, the sterile beeping beside the bed, the bandage on your temple. But also—Daryl. His arms around you. The way he hadn’t let go.

“Hi,” you whispered, voice scratchy.

He smiled—small, barely there, but real. “You okay?”

You nodded, slow. Then stopped halfway and winced.

His hand moved up to cradle your head gently, like it was instinct. “Easy.”

You leaned into his palm. “I’m alright,” you said, as if you still needed to convince him.

“You’re tough, Soph.”

A silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t empty—it was full. Full of everything you didn’t have words for yet. Fear and relief and tenderness tangled up in the sheets between you.

You glanced toward the door. “Did… my dad come by?”

Daryl hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. He saw us.”

Your eyes widened, panic fluttering up your throat.

“What did he—?”

“He’s mad,” Daryl admitted, more serious now. “Still don’t like me none. But… he saw you. Saw how we are together. I think that mattered.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch, his warmth.

“He said no more sneakin’,” Daryl added. “If we’re doin’ this, we do it honest. Face to face.”

You swallowed thickly. “Do you want to?”

He didn’t even blink. “Ain’t never wanted anything more.”

Your breath caught. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You scared the hell outta me, girl,” he whispered. “Thought you got hurt real bad.”

“I didn’t,” you breathed. “You helped me, Daryl.”

Your hand found his shirt again, curled in the fabric like it tethered you to something real. And maybe it did.

Daryl kissed your forehead gently, before letting you curl back into his side.

Going Home – That Evening

The sun was low when the doctors came to discharge you.

The golden haze of late afternoon filled the room, stretching soft across the floor and catching on the edge of Daryl’s boots where he sat by your side, one hand loosely wrapped around yours. He’d stayed right there since the morning—only getting up to help with your water or let the nurse check your vitals. Every time someone entered the room, Daryl stood a little straighter, like he had to prove something. But when it was just the two of you, he was softer again. Guard down. Quiet, but present.

He hadn't let go of your hand once.

The nurse came in with a clipboard tucked to her chest and a kind smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She looked at the two of you—how close you sat, how calm you looked together—and said nothing about it. Just gave a short nod, then looked at you.

“You’re good to go, sweetheart,” she said, voice gentle. “Doctor signed the papers. You’re banged up, but you’re stable. Just take it easy, alright? No cheer practice.” She turned to Daryl, “No fights.”

You gave her a weak smile. “I’ll try.”

Daryl didn’t smile.

The nurse caught his look, then softened further. “She’s lucky to have you,” she said. Then to you, “And you—don’t be stubborn about rest. You’ll heal better if you listen.”

“I’ll make sure she does,” Daryl said quietly, like a vow.

She patted your chart and turned to leave.

It was quiet for a few moments after that. The room felt different now. Not like a pause, but like an end. Like something was closing, and something else had to begin.

You looked down at your hands—how small yours looked in Daryl’s. The bruises were still there, faint around your wrists, but your fingers looked steady again. You flexed them slowly.

“You ready?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

Daryl helped you stand, his hands warm and careful. You swayed a little at first, the stiffness from the hospital bed making your knees shaky, but he caught you before you could stumble.

“Got you,” he murmured, arm steady around your waist.

You leaned into him, heart full and aching. “I know.”

A soft knock came at the door, and then it opened. Your father stepped in.

He was still wearing the same uniform—though the shirt looked freshly pressed. A clean hat tucked under one arm. His face looked tired, but a little less sharp than it had that morning. Like he’d done a lot of thinking today.

He looked at you first. Always you.

“You alright to walk?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His eyes flicked to Daryl then. Something unreadable passed across his face.

“You bring her down to the car,” he said to Daryl, like it was an order and an offering all at once. “She ain’t walking outta here alone.”

Daryl gave a small nod. “Yes, sir.”

You expected your dad to lead the way, but he lingered just long enough to open the door and hold it for you. He didn’t touch you—just let you lean on Daryl—but when you passed by, he gave a quiet, “Careful,” that made your throat tighten.

The walk to the car was slow, quiet.

You could feel the weight of the world pressing back in. The wind was gentle, but cool. The parking lot nearly empty. Daryl helped you into the passenger seat, his hand ghosting over your back as he made sure you were settled before shutting the door gently.

He hesitated outside, hand braced on the roof of the car, his eyes on you through the open window. You could tell he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t know if he was supposed to follow or let you go. And he was waiting—for a signal from your father, maybe. Or you.

Sheriff Bennet stood on the driver’s side, arms crossed, silent.

Then, after a long beat, he nodded toward the back seat.

“You ridin’ with us, Dixon?” he asked, like it was no big deal.

But it was.

Daryl blinked, startled, then nodded once. “If that’s alright.”

Your father didn’t answer, just opened the door.

You watched Daryl climb in beside you, settling in close but not too close. His knee brushed yours. His hand found yours on your thigh. Your dad didn’t say a word about it. Just started the engine, jaw tight, eyes straight ahead.

It was a quiet ride.

The kind of quiet that held breath in its chest, waiting for someone to break it.

You watched the town blur by—familiar streets, fading daylight, the flicker of porch lights turning on one by one like a heartbeat restarting after too long on pause. This was your home. Still was. But somehow, it all felt new again. Fragile.

Daryl didn’t let go of your hand.

When your house came into view, your dad cleared his throat. “She’s not going back to school for a few days. Doctor’s orders.”

“Alright,” Daryl said.

“And she ain’t goin’ anywhere without me knowin’. Not anymore.”

“Understood.”

Your father pulled into the driveway. Turned the engine off.

Then he looked at the two of you in the mirror.

“I mean what I said. If this is what you want—then you face it. You do right by her, Dixon. No more half-ways. No more hiding.”

You glanced at Daryl, expecting nerves, maybe hesitation.

But his face was calm. Solid.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he said again.

Your dad watched him for a moment longer. Then finally turned to you.

“You need help up the stairs?”

“I’ve got her,” Daryl said, already opening his door.

Your father let out a breath. “Alright. I’ll unlock the door.”

As he stepped out, you caught Daryl’s eye.

“You sure?” you asked, voice small. “About all this?”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, his hand steady on your thigh.

“Ain’t nothin’ I’m more sure about.”

And somehow, you believed him.

Even if it was gonna be hard. Even if the road ahead was messy and narrow and paved with a thousand little reckonings.

You weren’t walking it alone anymore.

And for the first time in a long time, going home didn’t feel like the end of something.

It felt like the beginning.

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #daryl x reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon fanfic #trailer park daryl dixon #twd daryl dixon #the walking dead fanfiction #norman reedus #daryl dixon imagine #young daryl dixon

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escape-from-neverland · 2 years ago

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Do we need an audition?????????????????????

An audition is necessary, but I like to think I've kept the process simple, so I'll explain it here to get a couple of opinions on it and so anyone interested can see what they're getting themselves into!

First step is to just shoot me a message! Now, that can be here on Tumblr or on Discord (autumnflare is my user over there), though the rp itself is being hosted on a Discord server.

Once you've messaged me, all you have to do is send me the role/character you would like to play as well as a written example of your rp style, preferably as the role you would like, but any example will do.

After that, if you're accepted, then I'll send you a small character bio template to officially add you to the cast list and invite you into the server once that's been completed!

#peter pan #group roleplay #group rp #literate roleplay #literate rp #oc roleplay #roleplay ad #roleplay #semi literate roleplay #semi literate rp #semi lit rp #discord roleplay #discord rp #hope that all makes sense!#I'm trying to answer these before I head to sleep #shay tries to answer asks

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canisalbus · 1 year ago

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I'm sorry to send a message of sorts through your Ask tab, but I want to say that I really love your piece, " Seclusion ". First, I really love how the room and objects around Vasco and Machete look. The headrest's texturing is extremely cool. It looks beautiful. It makes sense with the era these two lived in, of course, but the design of the headrest feels much older in comparison to modern times now, and I think that's really cool, personally. It's a bit difficult to describe, but the pillows and bedding both look really soft. It feels protective, almost. Finding comfort in isolated sheets, but your characters are together. The comfort is not only furthered, I imagine, but I could see them feeling safe with and because of each other, too. They're resting in silent, cool darkness, the breathing of the other bringing them into a world of just their own, to breathe with just one another, I feel. The way you depict them here, they both look safe, so to speak? They feel so sealed away from the outside, and comfortable. Resting against one another, and the fact that they dress differently to bed, I think is really lovely. This piece is really sweet. Thank you for creating all that you do. It truthfully means a lot to see, and learn of.

#I'm glad you liked it!#safe comfortable and isolated from the world was the feel I was trying to capture #I've mentioned this before but I'm not normal about the intimacy and vulnerability of sleeping next to another person #beds are such private and personal spaces and being invited to share one is such an understated display of trust #this is my nest let's fall unconscious together #answered #mmaniazone #someone once told me I draw the softest beds and that's genuinely one of the compliments that float around in my head at all times #like a stray jellyfish

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fairy-angel222 · 1 year ago

Text

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—in which toji is constantly fucking women and disturbing your peace. your complaints lead to you becoming one of them.

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem! college reader

cw: smut, breeding, daddy kink, size kink, age gap, toji being a cocky prick, unsafe sex, ass slapping, mentions of cervix touching

Ever since you heard about your next door neighbor Mr. Fushiguro going through a divorce, things have been hell. For you.

From the day he first moved into the apartment, constantly arguing on the phone with his ex wife about whose turn it was to watch his son, Megumi.

When Megumi is over, everything’s quiet, and you finally get a chance to rest your head and relax in peace. Doing some studying and cleaning in the quiet atmosphere.

You wished the black haired boy would stay for just a day longer, because Toji is back to his usual self hours later. Bringing in young college girls one after the other. Fucking them hard against his headboard as they let out loud cries of daddy. It was annoying. You could even stay inside anymore to get work done.

At every hour of the day he seemed to be active, fucking through all sorts of women, the shaking of your thin bedroom wall never coming to an end as high pitched moans echoed through.

It was getting to the point where you couldn’t take it. You were so fed up. Didn’t he ever get tired? Tired of promising these young desperate girls to call them back only to throw away their numbers and fuck their friends the next day.

Weeks go by and nothing changes, Megumi coming over for a silent three days then leaving again. Giving his father enough time to fuck any feelings for his ex wife out of his system.

You swore you couldn’t take it, you had barely been able to study, occasionally spending an hour or two in a nearby café between classes. When you noticed your grades slipping, your eyes having prominent bags at the lack of sleep, you groan loudly in frustration. Finding your legs moving before you could even process it.

Your fist raising to knock on the man’s door once, then twice, with no answer. You huffed, going in to knock a third time before the door swung open. A tall, muscular man towering over you with a scowl. “What?”

Your eyes widened as you scanned over his body, his perfectly sculpted face, broad shoulders, defined abs, and the very distinct outline in his sweats.

The man cleared his throat, a smirk gracing his face when he startled you out of your intense drooling. “Now, what do we have here?” he chuckled deeply, tilting his head to the side with crossed arms as he rested against the door’s frame. “Here to get your turn doll?”

You gulped, finding it harder to spit out your words as the Fushiguro man stared you down. “I.. I’m here to ask you to keep the noise down, some people have actual work to do.”

Toji whistled, “Oh? A bold one huh? I like it,” His hand reaching under your chin to make you look fully up at him. “you’re a pretty little thing you know,” he spoke, running his thumb along your bottom lip, “wonder what you’d look like ruined underneath me.”

You ignored the flutter that went off in your pussy, clenching your thighs discreetly as you glared. “Just keep the noise down okay old man? I'm trying to study.”

Toji could feel his cock grow harder, you were just what he needed. “So i’m an old man now? That’s a first, usually girls like you just call me daddy.” he shrugged, “but it’s okay, you’ll get there.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked away from him, annoyance written all over your face to mask the arousal swirling in your stomach. He’d probably fucked the entire neighborhood by now, including the campus, so you weren’t gonna fall for his sick charms. You just hoped he complied and kept the place quiet, you didn’t need that usual noise the day before your big test.

Toji had surprisingly did as you asked, and you sighed in content as you read through the pages of your notes. Your pen in your hand finding itself in between your teeth as you bit down softly. You got what you wanted, so why was your mind running wild with thoughts of the Fushiguro man’s hands on your body as he fucked you like all of those other girls.

You shifted in your seat, one leg over the other to bring stimulation to your needy clit making you whimper softly. You couldn’t let yourself give in.

Another week passed and you once again found yourself in the same noisy predicament. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to the man more than twice your age. Way too old for you yet just so.. hot. Toji Fushiguro had become your fantasy.

And it was unbearable.

Hearing all these moans day and night. Hearing Toji’s loud grunts and groans as he no doubt left them with the best fuck of their lives.

It was Thursday, and Megumi would be coming tomorrow per routine, so you’d finally get a break then. But, you couldn’t deny the fact that you wanted an excuse to go over there. Your face serious as you banged on his door.

You waited a minute, a shirtless Toji emerging into the door frame as it flew open. Toji smirked, “Ah, you again.” His sweatpants hung dangerously low beneath the start of his v line, black hair messy as his tongue darted out to swipe across his lips. “Finally came to your senses?”

His last fuck had left right before you came, coincidentally of course.

“N-no.” you objected sternly. “I’m here to ask you again to just be.. what are yo-“

You swallowed hard when he began stalking towards you, a sinister grin on his face as you were backed up against a wall. His breath fanned your head as he bent his neck. Hands on the walls near each side of your face. “Your face says otherwise, doll.”

“No it d-doesn’t.. you’re just a cocky old man preventing me from getting things done.”

Toji’s brow raised with a deep hearty chuckle, “Back to that nickname i see,” His hand grabbing hold of your cheeks and squeezing them together. “Gonna have to clean that mouth of yours, teach you how to be a good girl.”

You whimpered lowly, feeling wetness pool between your legs as you looked up through your lashes. Toji’s eyes trailing to your glossy lips as he inhaled sharply. “Don’t worry, this dirty old man’s lips are clean”

Pressing his lips roughly to yours, your eyes widening as you gripped the edge of your skirt with a moan. Toji smirked against your lips, his hands hooking beneath your legs as he lifted you up. Your frame so much smaller in comparison to his larger one.

Toji was quick to bring you inside. And you found yourself sitting on the man’s lap, your skirt bunched up at your hips as he hammered up into your wet cunt with brute force. His hands kneading into the flesh of your ass each time you ground your hips onto him.

You let out a loud mewl, his thick cock stretching you out and grazing against your gummy walls as he fucked you deep. Feeling him within your stomach when you cried out. “Fushiguro-san— ah, so- ngh g-ood.”

“That’s not my name doll, try again.” he growled deeply, landing his palm onto your ass in a hard slap. And you whimpered tearfully at the sting. “T-toji—” Another harsh smack burning through your flesh making you let out a cry. “Last chance.”

You moaned loudly, your back arching as Toji slammed into you. “D-daddy, ahh daddy, o-oh fuckk—,”

Toji hummed in satisfaction, “Look at you, thought i was a dirty old man hmm?” His teeth biting softly at the delicate skin of your neck, his pelvis hitting your red puffy folds relentlessly. “Moaning for me like a little slut, so fucking pretty.”

You let out a shaky cry, “Haah— F-fushiguro-san,” Your pussy clenched down on his girth, his rough hand making its way around your throat, squeezing the sides and forcing you to look at him. “Not gonna fucking tell you again.”

You mewled, “‘M sorry— nngh,” Your back arching when Toji bullied his cock deeper into you.

“Still waiting doll.” he grunted, eyes dark as his grip on your throat tightened, your moans and whimpers loud as his thighs noisily met your sticky cunt. “D-addy— ahh- so good,” you cried, feeling his angry tip forcing its way to your cervix, kissing the entrance with each harsh thrust.

“Good fucking girl, you’re getting there” he grinned with a groan. A creamy ring formed around the base of his cock, your pussy gushing messily onto him as loud squelching sounds filled the room. “Pussy’s so fucking tight— better be on the pill cause i’m botta cum in that pretty pussy, shit.”

“Ah— nngh daddy, ‘m close- gonna cum.” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back and your lips parting in a string of incoherent babbles, Toji’s thrusts sloppy as he groaned.

“Gonna cum on this old man’s dick yeah?” He teased cockily, “Had so much talk for someone who’s falling apart on my cock.” Toji grunted, “Bet ya sat there listening like a lil perv, your hand down your panties hmm?”

You shook your head no with a cry, “Uh uh- ahh— wasn’t.”

“Sure about that? Sure you didn’t sit there and fantasize about me fucking you like a little slut?” His hand reached down to rub at your clit, a loud moan escaping your mouth.

Your breathing sped up as you felt a coil buildup in your stomach. Your body shaking with pure ecstasy. You let out a high pitched scream, the stimulation to your g spot making your head go fuzzy. Vision turning white as you clenched down tightly on Toji’s cock.

“O-oh fuck— ‘m cumming— ah, cumming daddy.” Toji’s hand pressed down harder on your throat, the pressure restricting your air flow making you let out a choked mewl. Tears welling in your eyes as his heavy balls smacked against your ass.

“Nngh—” The ring of white thickened at his base as you let out whiny cries. Toji’s hand working small circles on the sensitive bud before he brought his lips to your ear. His voice deep and gruff as he groaned. “Fuck doll- squeezing me so tight, come on and scream for me.” He breathed, “make a mess on my cock.”

Toji’s mean pace became too much, a tight pull in your stomach as your mouth fell open, legs trembling with loud cries as an unfamiliar feeling washed over you.

It was heavenly, your brain going dumb and your pupils disappearing behind heavy lids as you screamed loudly, head falling back and nails digging into his shoulders as you fell off the edge.

Toji never slowing the movement of his hips, still hammering up into you despite the mess you were making on his thighs. Your pussy spraying streams after streams of clear liquid as you arched your hips, grinding back and forth to ride out your squirting orgasm.

“Even fucking louder than any of my previous fucks.” he laughed, “Wonder what the neighbors would say, went from being a whiny little bitch to being the same thing you complained about.”

You let out a whine, Toji flipping you abruptly onto your back, his hand still around your neck as the position allowing him to hit even deeper. “Fuck,” he grunted, his words in between each thrust. “gonna fucking breed that pussy so deep.” Letting out a low groan at the last thrust, his lips meeting yours in a sloppy kiss as he bottomed out.

A whimper fell past your lips into his when you felt him fill you up, his cum shooting in hot thick spurts along the walls of your cunt.

He smirked as he pulled away, watching you pant heavily. “Would make such a good breeding bunny.” Dipping his fingers past your lips and resting them on the back of your tongue. “Might have to keep you around, can’t be disturbed if you’re the one making the noise now can you?”

You shook your head tiredly, forcing your eyes to stay open as Toji pulled out of you. His sticky cum seeping out of your fluttering pussy slowly. Your brain was still so clouded, blinking in and out of blurry vision.

Toji hid the smile threatening to creep up onto his face, his face neutral as he plopped down onto the couch next to you. “Rest if you need to, then leave.” He said nonchalantly, trying to seem like his usual self despite the fact that he had not kicked you out yet. Which was something he never did, let a girl stay any longer than a second after sex.

The man would never admit it, but there was just something about you.

He wanted to make you his pretty little doll.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x reader smut #toji x reader smut #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x you #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro smut

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nochepsicodelica · 8 months ago

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"All those drinks are gonna do you dirty, ma. You're gonna throw up if you don't get some food in your system, so eat," Toji says, pushing the box closer to you.

You giggle at his serious face, before standing up from your chair for the fourth time, trying to go around him. Toji's used to this by now and stands up, bringing you back down to your chair.

"Stop getting up and eat your food. You literally begged for this. Why aren't you eating it?"

"Why aren't you eating it?" You return, raising your brows at him, seductively. It doesn't come off too sexy when raising your eyebrows makes you immediately squint because of the light going into your sensitive eyes, but it does lure a chuckle out of Toji.

"I'm ignoring that. Just eat. I don't wanna hear you upchucking in a couple hours."

"You won't hold my hair back?" You pout. Your feigned little flash of sadness produces real tears in this state, so it's a little confusing for Toji when you start giggling while wiping at your reddened cheeks.

"Your food's getting cold. I know how you are about reheating fast food, so eat it before it goes to waste."

You smile at him, your eyelids almost completely shut in your drunken daze. Toji can't even lie, it's cute. It's the only reason he's not up the wall about this little situation. Then you decide to drop a bomb on him.

"I'm not hungry anymore. Too tired to eat." You rest your chin on your palm, shutting your eyes. It feels nice. It would take less than thirty seconds for you to fall asleep.

Fuck. Think, think, think...

"Hey." Toji pokes your forehead, lightly, earning a hum and a furrow of your brows. "What if I feed you?"

You laugh, giddily. "Ooo, you trying to romance me?"

"Sure, if you eat."

You laugh again. "Toji, you dog, you. I'm not putting out." You shake your head, eyes closed with a dumb grin on your face. "No, sir. It's food and then goodnight for me."

"You already put out for me, earlier, doll." He smirks at the way you blush, clearly having an 'oh, yeah...' moment. "Eat some more so we can go to sleep."

"Hm?" You hum, rolling your eyes open after your blink of sleep. You crack a grin as soon as you look at Toji. "You wanna kiss me sooo bad. Look at you."

"I'm not gonna kiss you. You're not listening. You think you deserve kisses for that?"

"Uh... yes? I mean no. Pshhh, nooo. Of course, not."

"That's right. So eat, or you'll go to sleep without kisses, tonight."

"Noooo," you whine, dramatically. "Wait! Fine, fine. Look." You take a huge bite of your sandwich, your cheeks puffing up as you chew. "Oh, this is really good," you say, muffled by your mouthful of food.

"Don't choke, doll. Small bites are fine," he says, picking up a napkin and wiping the excess condiments off your face.

You push through it and gulp down the bite. "That was a lot. Got bread stuck on the roof of my mouth." You take a sip of your drink to wash it all down. "Did I look so pretty for the party, today?" You ask, your lips curling as you put the cup back down.

"You did, mama. Stunning. Swept everyone there, off their feet."

You smile, the gesture transitioning into a giggle. "Even Shiu?"

"Yup. Even Shiu said he wanted a piece of you."

You gasp. "No... Did you fight him?"

"Nah, I wanted to, but I kept my cool. If he had put his hands on you, then I might have, but I had my eye on you all night, to make sure nobody did more than look at you."

"I wouldn't have followed him anywhere, anyway." You roll your eyes, suddenly so hostile against the host of the party. "Probably would've kicked him in the nuts and gone to find you."

"Yeah, that's a smart idea, doll."

Toji's elaborate answers to your questions kept you awake long enough for you to mindlessly eat while he talked. You were at the end of the sandwich when you realized how much you had eaten and how full you were.

"Can't... do it..." You groan, lying on the arm you have extended on the table. "Too full." You sigh, heavily, setting the rest of the sandwich down on the scattered fries in its box.

"That's good, ma. You don't have to eat it, anymore. We can go to bed, now."

You let out another heavy sigh, sluggishness washing over you before you force yourself to stand up from your chair, this time with Toji's 'okay'. He looks at your little belly as it protrudes from your dress, proof of how full you actually are, and pokes at it. Your usually soft tummy is temporarily stiff and it's adorable.

You grab Toji's hand so that you don't stumble as you walk. Before leaving the table, he finished the remainder of your sandwich in one bite and threw out the container with the remaining cold fries.

"Damn, you were right, baby. That was good."

"Mhm," you mumble, waiting for him to lead you to the room.

Toji helped you brush your teeth and wash your face, and when you finally made it to the room, he helped you dress down into comfier clothes. Now, you're in bed together and you're in his arms trying to doze off, but you can't with the way he's smothering your face with kisses. It's just kiss after kiss with him and you can't focus, but it is what you wanted. After all, you stuffed your face for this.

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emmyrosee · 7 months ago

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Fluffy fluffy prompt to hubby sukuna or whom ever you choose “awnn my poor baby come here” then he slowly walks towards you rubbing his eyes all soft and tired 🥺

There’s a low grumble behind you that snaps you out of your slicing of fruit, but you merely brush it off before moving onto the next strawberry.

Then, the grumble ripples through the air again, and you keep slicing, trying your best to ignore the noise.

It happens a third time. You giggle, “what, baby?” You put the knife down and turn to face Sukuna, arms crossing over your chest as you look him up and down.

He looks childish, with the comforter wrapped around his shoulders and hair ruffled around messily. His eyes are puffy from sleep and his cheeks hold a little flush, but his lips are still pouted in a scowl. “You left me alone in bed,” he grumbles. “I told you not to do that. Bed gets too cold.”

“Is that the only reason you don’t like me leaving the bed?” You ask, knowing the real answer. But you also know he’ll never say it. He’s stubborn like that.

He offers you a roll of his eyes, “yes, and I hate the cold. You’re aware of this.”

“My poor baby,” you tease, opening your arms for him to shamble into. “C’mere. Let me warm you back up from the mean, evil, cold covers.”

“You’d better,” he murmurs, stalking towards you and into your arms. He opens his own to reveal the corners of the blanket balled into his big fists, and when he embraces you, you’re shrouded in darkness but melting into the warmth that his chest brews. Your laugh softly, and burrow into his chest, which rumbles with a hum in confusion. "Somethin' funny under there?"

"Just dark," you say, wrapping your arms around his waist and gently squeezing him out of cute aggression. "I also can't really breathe, so-"

"Good," he says, resting his head on top of yours, tightening his arms to keep you in place. "Won't have to deal with your ass leaving the bed, messing up my sleep." You laugh some more, only to send a few pokes to his waist, making him jerk away from you and loosen his hold.

"Who's gonna cuddle you at night then?"

"I'm a man, I don't need cuddles."

When you do, however, try to get out of his arms, he grumbles and pulls you tighter again, with an annoyed grunt. "No."

"That's what I thought, Sukuna."

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pomefioredove · 7 months ago

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ snuggles for hire

summary: first years try helping you out with your touch-starved problem type of post: short fics (blurbs?) characters: leona, floyd, jade, vil additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

"Really? That's it?" Ace scoffs.

"So, they haven't been hugged in a while. Okay? Neither has Deuce,"

Deuce glares. It's almost menacing. "That's not true, and you know it! I get lots of hugs every time I visit home!"

"I do, too. But that's just the thing, though, ain't it?" Epel says. "They don't have no home to get hugs from."

The huddle of first years goes quiet. Some days, you become such a part of their world, they forget you're really not from it.

"...Okay, point taken," Ace sighs. "But they have Grim! And he only stinks like, half the time!"

"If memory serves, Grim usually sleeps on the floor..." Epel says. "Poor prefect, all lonely. Now even their sleep is suffering 'cause of it!"

Jack rubs the back of his neck. "It must be tough, not having anything to look forward to,"

Another melancholy silence. Finally, Ace stands, hands on his hips.

"Well, let's do something about it, then. There are tons of boys at this school- one of them should be willing to help,"

It's eight in the morning after another disappointing attempt at rest, and now you can't even sleep in. Damn visitors.

You throw open the front door.

"What? What could you possibly- wh- Leona?"

The housewarden smirks. He looks a little too proud of himself for this early in the morning...

"A little wolfie told me you weren't sleeping well. Lucky for you, that's my specialty. Now, are you gonna let me in, or what?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, letting himself in and making himself comfortable on the couch in the foyer.

He pats the spot next to him.

"Listen..." you say. "I don't know what you heard, but I'm fine."

"Don't be proud. I don't pity you, I just... owe you. Now get your butt over here, yeah?"

Leona isn't so scary when he's asleep. He's more like... the world's largest pillow. Of course, you're at risk of being smothered until you crawl into a better position, but once you're on top, he's surprisingly warm and comfortable.

You can tell you're being watched before you hear anything.

And you think you might just know wh-

"Shrimpyyy!"

For two boys so tall, the tweels are awfully quiet. Especially when it comes to "surprising" you in random places. This time: the hall.

Floyd pulls you into a bone-crushing hug while Jade watches from behind, smiling subtly.

When he finally lets you down, you're dizzy. (Though, at this point, you'll take whatever physical touch you can get).

"Shrimpyyy, why didn't you tell us you were lonely? We had to squeeze it outta Spade," Floyd pouts.

"His face makes fascinating expressions when he's afraid," Jade says, merrily.

Before you can answer, Floyd's already got you under his arm (seriously? Where do they find the strength?) and is heading straight towards the hall of mirrors.

You already know there's no getting out of this one...

Floyd is, unsurprisingly, all over, from leaning his whole body weight against you to lying across your lap, to biting your shoulder (in his sleep...?) Oh, and he drools, too.

Jade sits on your other side, one hand holding yours, the other leafing through an almanac from twenty years ago.

You're almost hesitant to admit just how nice it really is.

"And nothing else has worked?" Vil says, throwing open the door to your bedroom with no regard for a "hello" or, "how are you?"

You blink. "...Hello to you, too. May I ask what you're talking about?"

He storms inside, standing over you with his hands on his hips.

"Just that I overheard Epel Felmier asking my vice housewarden if he would be willing to satisfy your need for physical affection. You've been struggling? With sleep? And you didn't think to come to me, first?"

He almost sounds... offended that you didn't.

"...Well... I wasn't making a big deal about it,"

"So, no teas, no vitamins, no pills- nothing has helped?"

You shake your head. He sighs.

"Perhaps it is purely psychological... very well. Get up. I hope you don't toss and turn much, I'm a light sleeper,"

Vil is completely still when he sleeps. No tossing, no turning, no drooling, no snoring. He also insists on sleeping on his back, you, clinging to his side, and a single arm around you. Just as elegant as when he's awake. He'd be a true sleeping beauty if not for the mumbles of nonsense that come from him every few minutes. You swear you can make out your own name, once or twice or three times...

He is warm nonetheless, and his mumbles and idle stroking of his fingers on your waist is enough to satisfy you for a night of good sleep.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #vil schoenheit x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #floyd leech x reader #jade leech x reader

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dcxdpdabbles · 13 days ago

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Danny on Phone: Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up, please Jazz for once in your life pick up the phone- Jazz's Voicemail: The number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message- Danny: NO! Ugh, okay, hey Jazz, it's ya boi, Danny. Could you come to Gotham and pick me up, please? Now I know I said I could handle the summer internship, and I know you said that it was a dangerous city, and you were right, so you don't have to gloat, but I really need you to come get me, okay? Code: Green Dog. If you call back and I don't answer, they got me. Love you. Tim waiting patiently, tied up in front of Danny: Does this "Jazz" not answer their phone often? I'm sorry, it's really frustrating when they do that. Danny: She usually has her phone on Do not disturb at this hour-wait! Stop trying to emotionally connect with me, I kidnapped you! Tim: I'm not trying to emotionally connect with you. I'm just making conversation. Danny: Well, stop it! Tim: Why? Danny: Because you don't have casual conversations with your kidnappers! Tim: Really? I always do whenever I get kidnapped. Plus, you've been rather considerate. You only tied my ankles and wrists together, and when you threw me into the truck of your car, you put in a pillow for my head. Danny: How....how often does this happen to you? Tim shrugging: Once or twice a week. Danny: A WEEK!? Tim: Why did you take me anyway? Danny: Um, you know Phantom- the ghost guy? He overheard the Mad Hatter bragging about using mind control on the Waynes. He ordered them to kill you in your sleep, but when I tried to warn your security team, they didn't believe me. I took you to protect you. Tim: I see. And how does "Jazz" fit into all this? You already had me in the trunk of a getaway car. Danny: First of all, it's not a getaway car. It's a rental, and the Mad Hatter put a hit out on us. We have to leave the city, which would be tracable in a rental. Tim: Hmmm. Is this the part where you knock me out before you tell me not to fall in love with you? Danny, horrified: No. Tim: Pity.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #from a fic i never wrote #Dead tired #Danny accidently kidnapps Tim Drake #He's panicing #Tim knew about the mind controll #It didn't work #They were going to use themselves as bait until Danny popped in #Tim is flirting with the well meaning mess #Mad hatter is after them #Danny was a intern in Gotham not WE though #Meet cute gone wrong

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seospicybin · 8 months ago

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THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

PART I

Bangchan x reader. (s,a)

Chapters: Part II / Part III / Final.

Synopsis: Having issues to break up with your boyfriend, you seek help from the boy next door and the number one fuckboy in the area, Chan. (10k words)

Author's note: I went through a nasty break up a few weeks ago and this is basically just me trying to cope by being delulu about having a fuckboy Chan as a neighbor. Enjoy x

It becomes a habit now that Chan doesn't know where he is when he wakes up in the morning.

The first thing that he'll do is retrace everything to last night. He was DJ-ing at a club, had a few drinks in between, met a girl who was eyeing him the whole night, had a few more drinks, there was a little touching and a quick makeout session in the dark alley and people can guess what happens after that

So this is where he is right now, the girl's bedroom and he can recall everything that happened last night except the girl's name.

"Fuck!" Chan mutters under his breath.

Judging from how bright the sun is outside, he knows he only has a little window to make his escape so he quickly gets off the bed as calmly as possible. He then tiptoes around to gather his clothes and put them on without making any noise.

However, he fails at it as the head from his belt hits the bed frame and the clanging of metal meets metal echoing in the room.

The girl steers on her sleep and rolls over to the side, she brushes her hair away from her face, catching Chan putting his belt on.

The plan to make a quick getaway has come to a failure but he keeps his cool, continuing to buckle his belt and then plants his hands on each side of his waist.

"Morning," He awkwardly says with a forced smile.

"Morning," the girl replies with a smile then props an elbow against the mattress, sending the duvet sliding down her body and exposing her bare chest to him.

Chan might have been a little drunk when he met her but damn, his fuckboy radar works well even under the influence of alcohol.

"You're leaving already?" She asks, flipping her hair to the back to expose more of those beautiful mounds to him.

Chan has to tell his pervy brain to focus actively, he looks away and picks up his jacket from the floor.

"I promised a friend to help him move out today," He lies, then pretends to check the time on his phone, "And I'm kind of late."

The girl nods then twirls her hair around her finger, "Well then... when can I see you again?"

"I hope soon," Chan says with his charming grin that disguises the insincerity in his answer.

The girl smiles at that which confirms that the grin works, "But seriously, I can't wait to see you again," she says.

"I'll call you," he says because that's what he can promise her at the moment but whether he'll do it or not is uncertain.

"But you don't have my numbers yet," she says with her eyebrows wrinkled in suspicion.

"No, I'm sure you already did," he says, convincing her by scrolling the contacts on his phone.

"Yup. I have your numbers already," he lies again, showing her a random contact on his phone for a quick second.

"But my name is Thalia," she says, cleverly catching the name on the contact.

"Yes, of course, you're Thalia," he says with utmost confidence and his ultimate weapon of a dimpled smile.

The girl seems alarmed though. She sits up on the bed and clutches the duvet close to her chest, "We're going to see each other again, right Chris?"

"Yes," he answers without a beat, and at this point, lying is as easy as breathing to him.

"Can I get a kiss before you leave?"

"Sure," he says, coming around the bed to give her a quick peck on the lips.

The girl smiles when he lets go and watches as he walks to the doorway, "I'll call you, Tanya."

"It's Thalia," she corrects him with an apparent displeasure on her face.

Chan shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans and takes the time to properly bid her goodbye. Nothing a girl likes more than a sweet mouth and a little assurance, he'll give her exactly that.

"I'll see you soon, Thalia," Chan says with a smile.

"See you soon, Chris," and the girl naively believes him, if only she knew that this will be the last time they're seeing each other.

Yet again, Chan makes another successful getaway.

The warm weather of spring makes it a pleasant walk from the bus stop to his apartment building. He wants to stop somewhere for breakfast but his head feels heavy from the hangover, he just wants to go home as soon as possible, have a bowl of cereal then take an aspirin for the pounding headache.

In the lobby, he makes a quick stop to collect his mail and takes a quick check at it, sorting them out on the spot so he knows which ones he should bring upstairs.

From the corner of his eyes, Chan catches his neighbor, you with your boyfriend chatting by the elevator. He notices the gestures, the expression, and the whole interaction, it doesn't take a genius to know that something is going on there that the naked eyes can't see.

Chan throws the unnecessary mail into the trash bin nearby and walks to the elevator, hearing the little conversation going on between you and your boyfriend.

"...the waffles were delicious. We should have breakfast there again," the boyfriend says as he looks at you, "What do you think?"

"Yeah," you meekly answer while looking at the little screen that shows the floor the elevator is stopping in.

Chan tries to remain invisible but his eyes accidentally make contact with your boyfriend so he may as well make his presence known.

"Hi, neighbor," he greets, he knows your name but you seem to prefer to be called that way.

You do what you always do whenever you meet each other in the building, give him a quick judging look and a courteous smile.

"And hi neighbor's boyfriend," he greets your boyfriend next.

"Hi," your boyfriend greets back, "Chris, isn't it?"

"Yes and you are Lee," Chan responds.

"Right. So how was your Friday night?" Lee initiates a small talk.

"I believe it wasn't as good as yours," Chan playfully answers.

"Oh, we just stayed in and watched a movie, right baby?" Lee says, putting his arm around your shoulder.

All of a sudden, you take a step forward and say, "It's here."

The elevator doesn't chime until a moment later but you seem to be more than eager to get in. You turn around to give your boyfriend a quick hug.

"I'll try to leave early so we can have dinner together," Lee says with a quick kiss on the cheek.

"It's okay. Take your time," you say with a faint smile.

Chan quietly gets into the elevator and holds the door open for you, he tries not to look at what's happening in front of him not out of politeness but it's just painful to watch.

"I'll call you," Lee adds, catching your hand as you enter the elevator and kissing it.

"Okay," you say then wave your hand at him.

To help you get out of it, Chan releases his finger off the buttons and sends the doors sliding shut.

"Bye, baby," Lee says for the last time before the doors completely close.

It's just another awkward elevator ride with you and he'll usually try to endure it but after watching all that and trying not to say anything is hard, he can't help but impose.

He glances at you to check whether you're ready to hear about what he has to say but you always have the same stoic expression. Then it occurs to him that he has never seen you smile impolitely or out of joy, or even hear your laugh, but maybe after you hear what he's about to say, he'll get to see a different facial expression on you.

"Oh, man! That was painful to watch," he sighs as he keeps looking straight ahead at his reflection in the shiny furnace of the elevator.

There's no one else in the elevator so you're fully aware that he's talking to you but you don't respond until a while later.

There you go, with your judging look and stoic expression, looking at him as you say, "Excuse me?"

Chan doesn't want to sound rude but beating around the bush isn't his thing, he prefers to be straightforward. He knows it's all based on assumptions but he's pretty sure his judgements are pretty accurate.

He's going to just do it and lay out the facts, he turns to the side, then leans his back against the cold surface of the elevator.

"Your shoulder tightens when he called you baby and the fact you lied about the breakfast tells me that you didn't actually like his choice of restaurant," he pauses to let out a cynical chuckle, "the waffles weren't that good, I guess?"

When he wants to see a different facial expression on you, he doesn't mean seeing your angry one, but oh well, the damage has been done.

"Because I'm a good girlfriend that's why I let him choose the restaurant," you become defensive all of a sudden but that's an unconvincing answer.

"No, you let him choose out of pity," he simply remarks, "And just now, your nostrils flared when I pointed it out."

With all of these signs combined with his personal experiences, Chan narrows it out to one conclusion. He looks at you in the eyes and says, "You're about to break up with him, don't you?"

It looks like you've been slapped right on the face except that the slap doesn't come from someone, it's from the truth that comes out of Chan's unfiltered mouth and he instantly regrets it for meddling in in someone else's business.

"I'm sorry, but why are we having this conversation?" You ask, crossing your arms together in front of you.

"It's not like you're any better. You slept around, you're scared of commitment and now, sticking your nose at my business. You are the kind of person that I deeply despise!" You angrily say with your chest heaving.

It seems like you're saying all of those things about him out of anger because he sees right through you but now he knows why you always give him that judging look. He's the one who started it so yeah, okay, maybe he deserves that but that doesn't change the truth. The problem is what he said and your response, they're heading in the opposite direction.

"I think someone has her panties in a twist," Chan coyly responds.

"Look, there's nothing wrong with wanting to break up. That doesn't make you a bad person," he adds and decides to end the talk right there.

It gets quiet in this enclosed space and it's already suffocating as it is but how lucky that he has to patiently wait for the elevator to ride through three more floors to get out of here.

When the elevator finally dings open, Chan lets out a breath he doesn't know he's been holding but he's not the one in a hurry to exit both this space and the situation. He stays where he is and lets you out first.

When he thinks you don't have anything else to say, you stop right outside the elevator and look at him with a piercing gaze.

"Don't, for one second, think that you had any effect whatsoever on my panties!" You emphasize every word in anger, then storm off.

Know what? Maybe Chan should skip the bowl of cereal and take two aspirin instead. As for you, maybe you need to chill the fuck out.

Just because you've been neighbors with Chan for the past three years doesn't mean that you know each other on a personal level.

All you know about him is that he's a DJ which explains why there's always music playing in his apartment, he always wears a sleeveless top to showcase his muscles, and he always has a stupid grin on to show off the stupid dimples on his stupid face, an annoying Australian accent and from how many times you caught different girls taking a walk of shame out of his apartment, it's safe to say that he's the number one fuckboy in the area

So how dare he say all of that stuff in the elevator when he doesn't know anything about you at all? Moreover, what does a fuckboy like him know about relationships?

It shouldn't be hard to ignore because it's something you usually do but gosh, the memory of the conversation still vexed you a few days later.

Then it hits you that it bothers you so much because deep down, you know what he said is true. You've been wanting to break up with your boyfriend and hearing that comes from someone outside that relationship only solidified that thought.

There's nothing wrong with your boyfriend, Lee is nice, too nice even, and when you think about it, maybe that is the problem, he is too nice and that leads you to another problem, you don't know how to break up with him without hurting his feelings.

But you know who can help you with that? Someone who has a lot of experience in breaking up with people.

Oh, what a joy that you find the answer right across your door!

Before you get to ask for his help though, you're fully aware that there's another thing to do and there's no other way to do it but walk up to his apartment, knock on his door, and apologize.

As you're standing there in front of his apartment door, you're dreading it. All sorts of thoughts crossed your head like why did you have to be so riled up that time in the elevator? Why did you have to say that thing about the panties? Just why? Ugh!

Let's just get it over with, you mutter inside your head.

With hesitant hand, you knock on his door and then hold the urge to turn around and run back to your apartment. You let yourself take a step back as you wait for him to come for the door.

Do not open the door, do not open the door, you chant inside your head while tapping your foot against the floor. However, things are not always going the way you want.

The door swings inward and a second later, Chan appears with disheveled hair and he only has one arm in the sleeve of his t-shirt, then you spot a girl's shoes next to his feet.

Oh no, please don't say you're coming at the wrong time.

You reflexively take another step back but he grabs your forearm and then opens the door wider, showing you that there's a girl there.

"It's my neighbor, she's here to remind me about the tenant meeting," he says to her.

The girl looks at you rather suspiciously and crosses her arms together in front of her as she glares at Chan.

"No. Don't you dare try to get out of this, Chris!"

"But it's true. We have to leave now," Chan says, then gives you a look that tells you to lie along with him, "Right?"

Running a quick assessment of the situation, you're certain that Chan is trying to get himself out of it to avoid having a difficult conversation with the beautiful lady. You hate to be the accessory to his crime but if this means that it would help you earn his forgiveness...

"The pigeons!" You make up a lie on the spot.

"The pigeons are ruining our rooftop garden so we held this urgent tenant meeting," you add with what you hope is a convincing smile.

"Oh, those damn pigeons!" Chan heavily sighs with a phony expression.

The lie makes your throat dry and your cheeks hurt from forcing a smile, you have to keep it going as the lady considers whether to believe that the tenant meeting is true or not.

Chan grabs his jacket from the clothes hook and puts it on, "We'll continue this later, okay?" He says to her.

Without waiting for her answer, he gets out of the door and drags you with him to go to your apartment. Once both of you get inside, he immediately closes the door behind him and lets out a long sigh.

"Oh, wow!" He exclaims once he realizes that he's inside your apartment.

He allows himself further inside and leisurely walks around your apartment, checking your kitchen, trailing his fingers on your book collection on the shelf, and observing the potted plants lining up on the window sill.

He walks back to the middle of the room and takes another 360-degree look around the apartment, then nods in approval.

"So, this is what the inside of your apartment looks like," he says in a cryptic tone.

Not sure if he wants you to respond to that or if should respond at all. You choose to remain silent and only respond when his intentions are intelligible.

Chan then sits on the sofa, making himself comfortable, and looks at you, then at what you're holding in both hands.

"Is that for me?"

The jar of cookies you've been unknowingly holding in your hands is a token of apology and it is for him.

"Yes, it is for you," you say, handing it to him with both hands.

"I'm sorry about the other day," you sincerely apologize, but you know you have to let him know what you're apologizing for, "for what I've said to you. I'm terribly sorry."

"Well, since you're helping me with the uh... situation," he coyly says as he scratches his eyebrow, "consider us even."

See? That wasn't so hard. You feel bad for lying to the girl but at least, you've been forgiven.

"Thank you," you add with a smile.

Chan doesn't say anything else but opens the lid and takes a cookie out of the jar. He gets comfortable on the sofa, sitting slumped with his legs spreading wide, and then he takes a big bite of the cookie.

It doesn't take long for him to notice that you have something else to say to him other than an apology.

Before he gets to it, you force yourself to start speaking.

"So, Chris..." you call, then abruptly stop talking. You suddenly have a second thought about asking for his help.

"What's up?" He asks while chewing on his cookie.

It's at the tip of your tongue but your mouth feels like they're sewn shut. You clasp your hands together and muster up the courage to just blurt it out.

"Do you want something to have with the cookies?"

You swear you plan on asking for his help but somehow, your mouth saying a different thing.

"Milk would be nice," he answers.

"Milk. Yes, I have milk," you awkwardly say, slowly making your way to the kitchen like a walking dead.

You take a carton of milk from the fridge and while pouring it into a glass, you're scolding yourself for being so cowardly.

After taking a moment to take a deep breath and muster up the courage to ask, you walk back to the sofa with the glass of milk in hand. With a smile, you hand it to him.

"Thank you," he says, his eyes catching something in your eyes.

You immediately break the eye contact and take another step back, standing and watching him finish his third cookie then wash it down with a sip of milk.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm going to stay here until the girl leaves my apartment," he informs.

"Oh?" You meekly gasp.

"But I can leave if you're uncomfortable," he says as he sits straight on the sofa.

"No, it's fine," you shortly reply, "Take your time."

"Okay, thanks," he says, reclining back on the sofa and continues munching on the cookies.

You can't decide if he stays longer than you expected is a good thing or not. You use the opportunity to reconsider it and walk to the kitchen to get out of his sight.

"Do you need help or not?" You quietly ask yourself as you pour yourself a glass of water.

Why is it so hard? He's right there. All you need is to go and ask for his help.

The water sloshes out of the glass as you fill it too full and you reflexively back away to avoid getting water all over the front of your dress.

"Everything good there?" Chan asks in a slight panic.

That's it! Enough time has passed from overthinking it! You walk up to him and just do it.

"You're right," you blurt out, "I've been wanting to break up with my boyfriend."

Sensing that it turns serious, Chan slows down his chewing and puts away the cookie jar. You expect the I-told-you-so grin on his face but no, he looks saddened instead.

"Things aren't working out," you openly share with a sad sigh.

You take a seat on the ottoman facing the sofa and sadly sigh, "I've been wanting to break up with him for a week now but I just don't know how."

"How long you've been dating each other?"

"Three years," you answer.

"Wow," Chan lowly gasps in awe.

Three years is not a short time, he understands why you hesitate to break up and it isn't an easy decision either.

"I need your help," you hopelessly say, unintentionally becoming vulnerable in front of him.

"My help?"

"Help me how to break up with him," you further explain.

"Of all people, why me?" He asks in utter confusion.

It's hard to answer that without being rude, you decide to let him process the question until it leads him to the answer. After a while, he lets out a dry chuckle and nods, "Okay, yeah. Make sense."

Chan takes another minute to accept the fact that his help is needed because he knows how to break up with someone without feeling awful about it afterward.

"I guess you want to let him down gently?"

"Yes," you answer.

"Well..." he inflates his cheeks then lets the air out through his pursed lips, "You can break up with him through a text."

Which part of 'let him down gently' did he not understand? How is it a good idea to break up through a text? But okay, it's just one suggestion, you give him the benefit of the doubt for now. Who knows he'll come up with better suggestions.

"I'm sorry. No, I can't do that," you kindly refuse his suggestion.

"You can send it when he's sleeping," he adds.

Oh, God! He gives you an even worse suggestion instead of better ones. You know what? This is a bad idea and you regret asking for his help.

"I don't—" You stop yourself from talking and get up from your seat.

"I'll just check if the lady is still..." Your words trail off as you walk towards the door and check through the peephole first, then you get out of the door to check his apartment next.

"Hello? Excuse me?" You shout from the doorway but no one is answering you.

You take it the lady has left and walk back to your apartment to deliver the news to the rightful owner of the apartment.

"She already left," you tell him.

Chan lets out a sigh and closes the cookie jar, he finishes the milk to its last drop and then gets up from the sofa.

"Thank you for the cookies and the milk," he says with his signature grin.

"No worries," you reply, trying so hard to hide the disappointment in your voice.

Chan holds the cookie jar in one arm and takes a step closer to you, "if you need help on how to write breakup texts, I'm just across the hall," he says.

You don't respond to that but keep a smile on for him as to seem polite.

"And good luck!" He says with gentle pats on your shoulder.

The second he walks out the door, you collapse onto the sofa and dread it even more than before. Turns out, asking for his help is not helping at all.

The next day, you meet him as you collect your mail in the lobby and it's hard to ignore him when his mailbox is next to yours.

"G'day!" Chan greets you as he leans the side of his body against the wall while sorting his mail.

"Good day!" You respond and hurriedly walk toward the elevator. You push the button to summon it to the lobby and hope it comes soon enough for you to avoid talking to Chan.

Of course, things don't go as you want it. He comes just in time for the elevator about to arrive, he crumples a few letters in his hand into a ball and then tosses it into the trash bin.

"How did it go?" He asks.

"Pardon?" You nonchalantly respond.

Good thing that the elevator chimes open and you can pretend to forget about what he asked you a while ago. You get inside while clutching your mails in hands in front of you but it's not safe yet as you have to share the elevator ride with him.

"So... the break-up texts? Did you do it?" He asks again, going to the corner of the elevator and leaning his back against it.

"Chris, I think you can't just end a three-year relationship with a text," you put it as nicely as you can.

"Yeah, I reckon," he innocently answers.

It seems like Chan can't tell the difference between what is easy and what is right. It isn't a good idea in the first place to ask for help from someone like him who doesn't consider other people's feelings except his own.

"What are you going to do then?" He asks, shifting his weight on one leg.

Since his help is not helping at all, you have no answer to that yet. This should be something you have to figure out on your own in the first place.

"I'll figure it out," you not-very-convincingly answer.

Chan crosses his arms in front of him, making the muscles and veins on his arms more evident under the fluorescent light of the elevator.

"Lee seems like a nice guy," he remarks with a deep inhale of air.

Well, if you have to compare your boyfriend to Chan, then yes, Lee is a really nice guy. Lee excels in a lot of things, including how to treat a person with feelings.

"Yes," you settle with a simple answer.

"A drawn-out break up is only going to end in a big scene," he says, "Just saying."

Chan has a point. It's worse to prolong the pain for both you and Lee, you can't keep pretending that the relationship works and it's unfair that you keep Lee oblivious about all this.

"We can practice, you know," he offers.

"Practice?"

"On how you're going to break up with him," he explains.

He comes up with a better suggestion this time and is almost endearing even but again, he wouldn't know how a person with real feelings reacts to a break-up which makes you unsure if the practice would be any help.

The elevator is about to arrive anyway so you decide to skip on responding to his offer. Once it chimes, the doors part open and you take the first turn to get out with Chan getting off after you. You turn to the left to your apartment while he turns right. You take the key out of your pocket to unlock the door and push your way in while clutching your mail close to your chest.

"You know where to find me if you need help," Chan says just before you close the door to your apartment.

Hard pass, you answer in your head but you put on a smile for his kind offer, then close the door

Okay, you admit it. You were too haste when you said that you didn't need his help. You were doing fine for these past few days, you've been avoiding meeting your boyfriend to give you some more time to think of the best way to break the news to him until he calls you.

The phone rings and you just stare at it, considering whether to pick it up or not. If you pick it up, that means you have to lie to him and if you don't, it'll alert him that things are, in fact, not okay.

The latter seems like a better idea so you pick it up after taking a long, deep breath.

"Hi, baby. Am I calling you at the wrong time?"

Not entirely wrong but it would be nice if he didn't call you, you answer in your head.

"Yeah, sorry, I was in the bathroom," you lie.

"Coconut shrimp for dinner. What do you think?" he asks out of the blue.

"That sounds nice," you easily respond.

"I know you'll like it but, babe, do you mind getting us a bottle of wine on the way?

"I'm sorry?" You ask in confusion.

"For our dinner, remember?" he answers, "I'll cook tonight we'll be having dinner at mine."

You hardly paid attention to him because your mind was always elsewhere, you couldn't remember saying yes to the dinner but you did and it must be out of pity.

"No, of course, I remember, I'm just..." you rake your brain to think of something to say.

"I thought it was next week," you lie again with an awkward chuckle.

"You silly!" Lee says, "Aren't you glad that I called, huh?"

"So glad," you lie, again and again.

"I should start prepping the ingredients so they'll be ready when you get here," he says, his voice exuding enthusiasm.

"Okay."

"Don't forget the wine!"

"I won't."

"I can't wait to see you, baby," he sweetly says.

The lies are piling up so may as well add another one to the pile, "Me too."

"I love you, bye."

Don't think you can lie your answer to that, you gulp air, "Bye," you say to the phone, then quickly hang up.

Desperate times call for desperate measures and you don't know your desperate measure means knocking on your neighbor's door. Probably because you hate to admit that you need his help.

Not long after, Chan opens the door and his head pops out from the gap, "What's up?"

"My boyfriend just called and tonight, we'll be having dinner in his place," you blabber in panic.

It takes a second for him to process it then his face turns a little surprised, "What are we going to do then?" He asks in confusion.

You may be in dread but you catch the error in his question, "We? Now, you got your panties in a twist," you tell him.

"Shame on you!" He responds with a sly grin then opens the door wider and shows himself dressed in nothing but a white towel hanging low around his hips.

He puts one arm against the doorframe and leans close to you as he says, "Cause I'm not wearing any panties right now."

You should have noticed it from his wet hair and the beads of water rolling down his neck, and now that you're seeing the whole of it, your eyes immediately following where the beads of water going, they're going down the outline of his abs and eventually, to where they're all gathered as his pelvic bones leading down to one way: down south.

However, your instinctive reaction goes against what you're actually feeling inside.

"Ugh!" You groan and turn to the side, "Put some clothes on and I'll see you at my place!"

Without waiting for his answer, you rush back to your apartment and close the door behind you as fast as possible, then you rest your back against it.

The images of his naked body flashing through your head, his glistening wet pale skin, and how some parts of his body are blotchy red around the neck and chest. You get flustered all of a sudden, you immediately press the back of your hand to your cheek and you can feel them heating.

"Get it together!" You scold yourself.

After waiting for almost fifteen minutes, Chan finally comes knocking on your door like it's a musical instrument.

"Are you dressed?" You ask with your hand on the doorknob.

"Hardly," he jokes.

You peek through the peephole and see that he's already dressed to what you can say is his usual attire of dark short pants with a matching sleeveless top, showing off his bulging biceps. You open the door to let him in and he coyly walks in, treating your place like it's his own, sitting on your sofa with his legs spreading wide.

"Okay, so, why am I here?"

You stand in front of him with your hands clasped in front of you, "I've been lying to him the whole phone call and honestly, I've been doing it since the moment I decided that I want to break up with him, and I... I don't think I can lie to him again."

It's easy to admit your mistakes to him because he barely knows you and his opinions about you won't matter that much to you.

"I need to do it tonight," you hopelessly say.

"I take it you need my help to practice your break-up speech?"

You hate that he guesses it right but it's also convenient that you don't have to beat around the bush to ask for it. But first, you try to explain the situation as much as possible so he has ideas on what you're facing here.

"Lee is a man of many emotions and I'm not exaggerating when I say he'll likely cry," you inform.

Chan's forehead wrinkles as he processes this piece of information then stifles a nod. It seems like he still has no idea what you want him to do about it.

"I think it's less painful if you acknowledge the dumpee feelings," you blatantly explain.

"Okay, I got you. Let's practice!' He says, sitting up straighter on the sofa and then putting his hands on his knees.

It's just a practice but your anxiety takes over you not just mentally but also physically as your palms get sweaty. You wipe them down your jeans and take a breath.

"Lee," you call him by your boyfriend's name, and even though it's weird that you're roleplaying, you continue, "I want to break up with you."

Chan looks at you and gets quiet for a moment, "Wow. I'm in utter shock and it makes me very sad to hear that," he says with a rather serious tone.

Not the kind of reaction Lee would likely pull off but that will do if you decide to continue with it.

"I'm fully aware that this is so sudden but I've been thinking hard about it for some time and I think this is a decision that I should take," you say and you know it's a practice but you feel something caught in your throat.

"I'm sad and I need time to process it, but I'll be okay," he calmly says.

Chan gets the tone right but you believe breaking up wouldn't be this easy in real life, especially when there are real feelings to protect. To be honest, you're not ready to face the truth that you may hurt those feelings tonight.

"I think that went very well," Chan says, returning to his default settings.

"Yeah, I think that's it," you meekly say.

The worries and sadness are drawn on your face that Chan can easily see through your veiled expression, "If Lee is as nice as you said he is, then you shouldn't worry much," he says.

He waits until your eyes meet his to continue, "He may get surprised or shocked even, but he'll come around and respect your decision."

You can't believe that those words are coming out of his mouth or that he even tries to comfort you, but you appreciate it. Maybe his heart is still there, he just doesn't let it control him most of the time.

He gets up from the sofa and walks up to you, he takes your hands, ignoring how cold and sweaty they feel in his, "You got this," he assures you.

"Thank you, Chris," you sincerely say with a sad smile.

It is time to stop torturing both you and Lee with lies and forcing yourself to believe that the love is still there. It's time to accept the truth that if you can fall in love, you can also fall out of love.

It's a surprise that Chan worries about things that aren't his business. He's been playing some music to distract him from his head but he keeps the volume low because he doesn't want to miss hearing the sound of the elevator that will tell him any signs that you're back from the dinner.

Eventually, he tires himself out from worrying and falls asleep on the sofa. He startles always close to midnight after hearing the knocking on his doors.

Half disoriented, he trudges his way to open the door and finds you there, surprisingly, looking nice in a white cotton dress and your eyes dry.

But from the way you let yourself into his apartment, forgetting your impeccable manners and walking with shoulders slumped and carrying your shoes in your hands, he takes it that you did it.

"So... how did it go?" He carefully asks, following you as you're making your way to the sofa and then sitting on it.

You let a heavy sigh and your shoulders slumped even more, "At least, there's no crying," you answer with a sad smile.

Chan is unsure of how to react to that, is that a good thing or a bad thing? He just stands there with his arms crossed on his chest, thinking out loud.

"And even though it was ending... it was incredibly meaningful to me and I'm going to miss him," you say with your lips trembling.

Oh, no, Chan knows when a girl is about to cry, he quickly finds a remedy to it, one that he knows always works wonders for him. He runs to the kitchen and brings a bottle out of his alcohol stash, then hands it to you.

"Let's have a drink!" He says, realizing that he forgot the glass.

"Wait another second, I'll get the glass," he says, sprinting to retrieve two glasses from his kitchen cabinet.

When he returns, he sees that you're chugging the alcohol straight from the bottle. You gasp and then wince from the bitter aftertaste of it.

"Okay, straight from the bottle it is," he says, popping onto the sofa next to you.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and then hand the bottle to him in which he wastes not another second to take a sip of it.

"The thing is... I really care about him but he wanted to get married, and I'm just not ready for that," you share with your eyes blank and looking at the void.

You take a deep breath but it seems like it only sends your heart sinking deeper and deeper, and making it harder for you to breathe.

"And if I'm not ready with a guy as great as him then what if I'm never ready?" You say, turning your head his way with your eyes glassy, pooling with tears.

"What if that was it..." you lift your shoulders then drop them as you let out a low sigh, "my one chance at love?"

The tears start streaming down your face like a bursting dam and Chan knows he can't do anything about it but let them out.

Hearing your words makes him think about what his idea of love is. He used to think that it was something he could get whenever he wanted it but now he knows that he's wrong, because that's just a short-lived infatuation, just some sort of meaningless connection.

From you, he learns that love is a privilege that not everyone can experience.

"What if I never get a second chance?" You ask him the question that he doesn't know the answer to.

"I don't know. I'm just sad," your voice cracks, then you break into tears.

Chan is quick to catch you into his arms and offers you his embrace. He knows he can't do anything about this sadness but he can try to soothe the pain, he's placing gentle rubs on your back as you cry into his chest.

The cry is resounding in this space, echoing the sadness back to you and it makes him inexplicably sad too, and he gets the urge to make it stop.

"It's going to be alright," he murmurs at the top of your head.

You look up with your eyes wet and red with tears caught in your lashes, "Is it?" You croak.

He doesn't know when but he knows for sure that time heals everything.

"It will be," he answers with a gentle caress of his knuckle on your wet cheek, "eventually."

Your eyes tell some more assurance for him and he doesn't know what drives him to do it, but he leans in, then kisses you.

To his surprise, you kiss him back and he knows you're doing it because you seek his comfort and he wants to give you exactly that. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, giving you that closeness you seek. He kisses you ever so softly because he knows he's kissing a broken heart and he wants to mend it. He can taste your sadness and the bitterness of it, and also the relief underlying all of it. As he kisses you, he lets his heart open just enough to take some of that sadness away from yours.

As the kiss deepens, the sadness withers, and something else emerges. Chan loses in it for a bit until he realizes what you're trying to do with your hand that reaches for the front of his jeans.

He abruptly detaches his lips from yours and shakes his head, "No, we can't do this," he says.

As much as he fancies you enough to have sex with you, he knows better not to do it when you're not in your right mind and your judgments are clouded with sadness. The last thing he wants is you waking up in the morning full of regrets.

"I want this, Chris," you croak.

"No, we can't," he adamantly says and takes your hand away from him.

"You're sad. You do want this," he says in an effort to put some sense into you.

You roughly crumple the front of his t-shirt and pull him close, "I want– No, I need this, Chris," you say to him with your eyes dark like two bottomless pits.

"Please?" You plead as a tear rolls down from the corner of your eye.

This is the most hopeless he ever heard of you and it breaks his heart. You said it yourself, you need this and he knows what you mean by that. You need the distraction, you need him to take this pain away even just for a fleeting moment, moreover, he can't break what's already broken.

He takes your hand off of his clothes and puts it in his, he leans in until his forehead is pressed against yours.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks once again.

"Yes," you answer without a beat.

That's all Chan needed to hear, he inhales air and puts an inch between your faces. He then tenderly holds your face with both hands and looks at you, unsure where to start but maybe, he can start by making those tears coming out of your eyes.

Chan dabs the tears pooling in the corner of your eyes with his knuckle and without the slightest of hesitancy, he places a gentle kiss on each of your closed eyelids and before you can open them, he captures your lips in a kiss.

Sex is not something new to him but Chan knows that this time is not about physical fulfillment, but a way to offer comfort and hopefully, to also mend your broken heart.

He takes his time to strip away every piece of clothing on you until you're bare, lying on the bed with nothing but sadness that fills your heart.

He touches you with utmost gentleness, using just his fingertips to feel the softness of your skin and you're so pliant, sensitive to his touch.

To make it fair, Chan takes his clothes off as well before joining you on the bed, caging you in between his arms and hovering only inches away above you.

"Touch me," he says to you, taking your hand and placing it on his shoulder.

He then glides your hand down his neck and chest, he makes you feel every inch of his pale skin with him. However, when he looks at you, your eyes remain on his.

"You feel so warm, Chris," you lowly mutter.

He brings your hand close to his mouth and kisses it, then crashes his lips on yours.

The gap between your bodies becomes non-existent as you keep pulling him close, he relents by lowering himself on top of you and props an elbow against the mattress to not put his whole weight on you.

Lips locked, hands around each other, bodies pressed together and the temperature keeps on rising in the room. Chan makes you feel every part of his lips brushing and gliding over yours. He skillfully parts your mouth open with his tongue so he can kiss you deep and hard, yet slow until you run out of breath.

At the same time, his hand makes its way down until his fingers land on your delicate flesh. He touches it tenderly, running his fingers between the folds, and drags them upward to rub on your bundle of nerves.

"Ah..." you moan against his lips as you curve your hand around his neck and pull him incredibly closer.

Judging from it, he knows he's doing it right and he should continue, he applies gentle pressures on your clit, making you drenched and that way, he can slowly put a digit inside of you.

You let go of his kiss to let out a moan and your head falls onto the pillow as he puts another digit into you, two fingers pumping in and out of you.

Chan intently watches as your face contorted along to the pleasure, how your jaws slack open and breathless moans keep spilling out of your parted mouth.

The way you clench around his fingers makes him impatient to feel you and how tight you feel around him, and the noises you make oh, they're his new favorite tune that he wants to keep listening to until his eardrums burst.

He glances down as he pulls his fingers out of you and finds them thickly coated with your essence, it doesn't stop him from shoving them into his mouth and lick them clean.

Chan holds you by the chin to keep you still as he kisses you, "Give me a second to get a condom, yeah?" He says to you and you nod in answer.

He makes his to the bathroom and pulls the drawer open to take a condom. To save time, he decides to put it on right away, he tears through the foil packet with his teeth and rolls the rubber down his hard length.

On the way out, he catches his reflection in the mirror and gets reminded that this is not about him. Tonight, it's all about you.

He returns to the bedroom, finding you still lying in bed naked and hugging yourself. He climbs onto the bed and lowers himself on you, letting you absorb his body heat to warm you.

Craving for another taste of it, he goes down and plants his mouth on your cunt next, tasting you right on his tongue.

You're squirming as his tongue laps over your wetness, drinking in on your essence and then using it to circle on your clit.

He's not the only one getting impatient and asking more of it, you both want it and there's no wasting time anymore. Just before he takes it to the next part, he places a long, tender kiss on your clit and immediately brings his mouth to yours again so you can taste yourself on him.

"I'm going in, mmh?" He says as he endearingly brushes your hair away from your face.

You hold on to his shoulder as he settles himself between your legs, aligning his cock with your entrance but before that, he rubs his length between your folds, lubricating it with your essence.

Your hands fly to your chest, hugging yourself again as you lowly moan to his hard length rubbing over your clit and then, pushing its way into you.

"Goodness fu—" he can't even finish his sentence without breaking into a satisfied groan.

It's just the tip but he can already feel how tight you are around him, he's scared yet excited to push more of him into you. He reorganizes his breathing and rests his hand on your abdomen to do it.

Chan looks down to check and he still has a little more of him that needs to be inside you, he sharply inhales air through his nostrils and pushes the remaining length in one quick push.

"Oh..." you breathlessly moan as you're squeezing on your breasts.

Chan allows himself to take a moment to adjust himself to being inside you and you seem to also need time to adjust to his size because you feel so incredibly tight around him. It makes him wonder how this little thing can take him so well.

He takes your hands away from your chest and puts them around his shoulders, that way he can put his body on top of you, lips locked with yours again in no time as you wrap your legs around his waist, sending him deeper inside you.

As he takes a breath in between kisses, you hold his face and look at him with a different kind of sadness in your eyes which only reminds him that his initial plan is to make it go away.

He starts thrusting into you, wanting to fuck this sadness out of you. He wants to make you think of nothing but how his cock fills you full and how good he is fucking you right now, and soon, he's going to make you feel nothing but immense pleasure.

"Ah... ah... ah..." you moan for every thrust going into you and the skin-slapping sounds echo along with it in the room.

Chan plants his mouth on your breasts to contain his grunts and groans while keeping the steady motion of his hips pulsating against you.

A hand reaches for his chin and forces him to look at you, instantly engaged in eye contact with you. He continues thrusting into you with eyes looking deep into you, they're no longer looking like bottomless pits, they look like deep oases that he wants to dive into.

The next thing he knows, Chan finds himself deep in you, not just physically but also connected with you in a way that he's never experienced with anyone else until now. He feels barer than he already is and instead of shutting himself off, he embraces it and lets you in.

Soon enough, he finds himself lost in it and fully connects himself to you in a way that lets him know how it feels to love without fears or insecurities holding him back, without worrying if it's being reciprocated or not, to love wholly and completely.

"Oh," you let out a broken moan and that's when he notices that you break into tears again.

Chan abruptly stops moving, afraid that something he does is hurting you without realizing it.

"No, keep going, keep going," you tell him with your voice hoarse.

He needs to make sure to continue, he cups your jaw and asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, please, keep going, please," You repeatedly nod and plead with your teary eyes.

He wants you to stop crying, he wants you to stop thinking about what hurts you and start to see him as he tries to take this pain away from you. His body picks up the pace, going impossibly fast and also taking himself close to his high.

Your eyes are screwed shut, your breath is ragged and your hands are gripping onto his shoulders, overwhelmed by the pleasure that he brought on you.

The moment he's sure that you already come to your climax, he allows himself to let go and uses all of his strength to give you a few more thrusts until there's nothing left in him but waves of pleasure that wash over him.

"Chris..." you softly call and then pull him for a chaste kiss on his lips, "Thank you."

Chan's face hovers only inches above you as he softly gazes into your eyes, you look so fragile and open like a wound and he's just glad that he can make your heartache gone even just for a while.

"Shh..." he stops you from talking by running his thumb over your lips and then kisses you with his heart wide open. He lets this beautiful feeling pour out of him and into you.

"No, thank you," he mutters his gratitude between kisses.

Thanks to you, he experiences something he's never felt before with someone else, something new, something pure and real, something that feels a lot like love.

When he wakes up in the morning and finds you're not there, it hits him that maybe it is love but Chan is not ready to admit it yet.

A week passes and Chan hasn't seen you ever since that night.

He can't tell if you're avoiding him or needing the space and time to piece yourself back from the break-up, he hopes it's the latter. Gosh! Let him be right.

Regardless of what happened, he can live with the fact that you despise him but it would be sad to know if you choose to go down the path of believing that you're not going to find love again.

Chan just needs to know if you're doing okay, that's what matters for now.

Fortunately, the two of you have been neighbors for quite a long time to learn your routine and knockabouts. He knows what you like to do on a Saturday morning, he goes to the lobby and chats with the concierge as he waits.

At the first sight of you entering the apartment building, his heart palpation, and in all honesty, he's just so happy to finally see you after a while.

Are you not seeing him there? Or you're just pretending which only confirms his initial thought that you've been, in fact, avoiding him.

You're walking through the lobby carrying a bag of groceries in your arm, you skip checking on the mailbox and go straight to the elevator. It just happens that the elevator is vacant and the doors slide open after you push the button.

Chan decides to take the risk, sprinting to get into the elevator before the doors close. You already despise him so a little more hate shouldn't be a problem to him.

"Morning, sunshine," He greets you with his dimpled grin.

"Good morning," you politely reply without looking at him.

Things are going back to normal and he should be glad, right? At least, you're back to your usual settings of looking stoic and acting polite, and the best thing about it is you're still talking to him.

"I should learn to avoid people from you. You're good at it," he pushes it a bit just to see if he can crack through this facade.

"Excuse me?" Your head turns his way and with your eyes widen, "I have not been avoiding anyone."

Chan holds the urge to smile for successfully getting your attention and rests his back against the cold, metal furnace of the elevator, "Are you sure?"

"Well, we're seeing each other now," you tell him.

"That's because I know you like to go to the farmer's market every Saturday morning," he says at the same time, admitting that he knows about your routine.

You slowly turn your body facing him and squint your eyes at him, "You've been keeping tabs on me?"

"It's my favorite pastime activity," he shamelessly answers then pokes his cheek with his tongue.

"It's better than watching porn," he playfully adds, something that he knows will annoy you the right way.

"Ugh!" You groan as you look straight ahead.

Oddly enough, that's what he misses the most about it, interacting with you and seeing your reaction to his antics, but you, especially.

"Don't be so uptight," he coyly says.

He takes a step closer to you and puts his hand on the handlebar, "it's not like we haven't slept together or anything."

You let out a scoff and hoist the strap of your grocery bag higher on your shoulder, "I'm shocked you even remember," you say.

You turn your head next and your eyes immediately lock in a gaze with him, "I figure I'm just a low notch on a very long bedpost," you add.

"Are you calling me a man whore?" Chan says, feeling offended.

You take a step closer to him and daringly stare back into his eyes, "I didn't call you a man," you answer with a sly smirk.

There's a few seconds of silence until Chan realizes what you just said to him but you know what? He's going to give it to you, for now.

He looks at you and smiles, "Touche!"

You both look at each other and at the same time, burst into laughter, and it keeps going until the hilarity subsides with each passing second.

Is this real? Did you just poke fun at him with a beautiful smile on your face? Did you really laugh and the sound of not only echoing in this enclosed space but also in the back of his mind? Did he just see a different facial expression on you? Either way, he likes it and he likes how it makes him feel.

The elevator chimes open and soon, the doors part open. He lets you get off first and then takes his turn after, he gets a little disappointed as you both are going in the opposite direction.

"Hey, Chris," you call as he's only a couple of steps away from the door of his apartment.

His heart palpation again but he keeps his calm and then slowly, turns on his feet to face you, "Yes?"

"I'm cooking curry for dinner and I know it'll be not as good as the one you always ordered but you can come and..." your hand is fiddling with the strap of your grocery bag as you speak but your eyes remain steady on him, "see if it suits your taste."

And did you just invite him for dinner? Him, the neighbor you despise so much?

Chan acts coy and scratches the back of his head, he holds the urge to answer right away. He has a reputation to uphold and he reckons, you have to at least wait a minute for his answer.

"Yeah, okay, let's see," he nonchalantly answers but his smile tells otherwise.

You crack a laugh and nod, walking to your door with the keys jangling as you're unlocking it.

Chan thinks that's the end of it until you call his name again, his heart leaps this time and he almost flies his way to you.

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you what are we," you say with a smile then get inside of your apartment.

That's funny because, after that night, he was hoping that you would ask him that as most girls do but that's where he is wrong, you're not most girls, you are his neighbor whom Chan is secretly in love with.

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