#it just gives it — for the moment — less places to go

[meowdei]

extra nice — ft. ryomen sukuna

female reader ; modern/no curse au ; takes place post-sex with nudity ; banter ; established relationships ; very unserious stuff

You like Sukuna after sex—he’s nicer to you than usual.

(He’s never mean, of course. Not to you, at least—he’s always nice to you. But it’s typically in a weird, roundabout way, so you appreciate how some post-coital cuddling somehow makes him nicer. Nicer with his words, nicer with his touches, and nicer with that attitude he always seems to have attached to his exterior like some second skin that holds him hostage.

He’s nicer after sex. You think maybe getting laid just makes him a little less uptight.)

“I’m thirsty,” you pout.

He snorts, fingers tracing the small of your back as you lay curled on his sweaty chest. “Then drink water, idiot.”

“My legs feel like jello. Can you grab me some,” you blink innocently.

He rolls his eyes. Pre-sex Sukuna would let out a grumpy, I’m not your damn servant, woman! before he’d inevitably get up. Post-sex Sukuna plants a small kiss to your forehead before he rises and grabs his boxers from the floor.

“Iced or not iced, your majesty?” He raises a brow. You pretend to think over your options—he knows the answer before he even asks. He only asks because you like feeling as though you have options.

“Let’s go with iced,” you hum.

“Whatever the lady wishes,” he winks. There’s a smile on his lips and for once, it’s not something he subtly hides or tries to fight back so you don’t notice and point it out. He lets it happen. It stretches across his lips and lets that little dimple on his left cheek appear that makes you realize that Sukuna has moments where he’s less handsome and a little more cute. (You’d never tell him that, but you like to sit with the realization to yourself.)

You think that Sukuna is nicer after sex. Not because he gets his way, but because intimacy puts him in a good mood—being close to you makes him finally let his walls down. You think this version of him is a welcomed change of pace.

When he returns, he hands you a cold, tall glass of iced water with a bendy straw. You brighten at the sight of it.

“Did you know they have straws for anti-wrinkling?” you murmur.

“What are you on about?” he slumps back into bed, wrapping an arm around your waist as you sit up and take a sip of your water.

“It’s true,” you nod, “they have a straw that’s shaped weird so it doesn’t make you pucker your lips. It’s supposed to help with preventing wrinkles.”

“That’s stupid,” he mumbles.

“It is,” you nod, “they look silly. But maybe I’ll have to buy one so you don’t get tired of me quicker when I wrinkle.”

He makes a face. Almost offended but still a little amused. He scoffs as you set your glass down on your night stand and before you can even turn to him, he’s already tugged you down to lay back onto his chest as he wraps his arms tightly around you. (Post-sex Sukuna is also as as openly clingy as he is nice. You happen to also like this perk, as well.)

“You don’t need a stupid straw for wrinkles. That’s dumb as fuck.”

“But won’t my wrinkles make you bored of me?” you tease.

“No,” he says plainly. “Growing old with you can’t be so bad. I’ll probably age faster, anyway—you’ll give me gray hairs faster than you get wrinkles.”

“Not true,” you gasp, “you make me frown way more than I stress you out. I’ll age faster.”

“That’s rich,” he grins, “you wouldn’t last one day with yourself. It’s a miracle I haven’t gone insane.”

“You don’t need me for that,” you grumble.

He chuckles. It’s low and soft and a little less gruff and a little more boyish than he tends to let out, but post-sex Sukuna is a little easier to make laugh. He’s in a good mood when it’s you and him and crumpled sheets and a quiet room. He likes when you find his chest and he finds your waist and you both find each other. He likes when you kiss his jaw and he kisses your forehead and the little marks scattered on your skin from his love bites start to appear when time does its thing and the bruises make themselves known.

Sukuna is nicer after sex. He likes when your bodies do the talking and he doesn’t have to use his words. You know he loves you, and he seems to be in a better mood when he knows you’re reminded of the fact.

“You’d still love me if I was wrinkly, right?” you poke his chest with a teasing grin, “you wouldn’t leave me once I’m well past my prime?”

“If I leave you, you’d be an endangerment to society. I can’t let you run loose in the city.”

“Can’t you ever say something without throwing in an insult?” You huff.

He laughs. There’s a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and then your lips. Your pout curls into a small grin against your will.

“Yes,” he snorts as he rolls his eyes, “I’d still love you with some goddamn wrinkles. Happy?”

“Very. I’d love you with gray hair,” you pat his chest, “don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worrying.”

“You should,” you nod with faux-seriousness, “because gray hairs would not be an issue, but baldness might. You better hope you don’t bald with age because I’m not into bald men.”

“I’m starting to think you’re more shallow than you let on,” he pokes your ribs.

You giggle. That sound coaxes another peck to your lips from him because he can’t quite help himself when he hears it, and when he grins at you as he pulls away, eyes a little softer than usual, you take your chance to cup his cheek and pull him into a proper kiss.

“I’ll never invest in an anti wrinkle straw if you never invest in hair dye,” you offer.

“Deal,” he scoffs in amusement, “what a relief. I was worried for a moment, there.”

“Since I’m so nice and don’t hold you to unreasonable standards that make aging seem like a bad thing,” you drawl, tracing his chest with a delicate, mischievous finger, “you should treat me to something to eat, too. I’m hungry.”

“Yeah? Shocker,” he grunts, grabbing his phone as he starts to order you food. He asks what you want—he knows the answer before you even reply, but he asks anyway because you like to feel as though you have options.

“You’re so nice,” you beam when he pays, pecking his cheek swiftly. “Here’s a kiss for your troubles.”

He rolls his eyes. There’s a stupid grin on his face, and he taps his cheek as he murmurs, “Nope. Not gonna cut it. Taxes are higher than that around here.”

Sukuna is nice after sex. You happen to still like him before and after, though.

if u follow my blog and u know the context: im still mind blown about this anti wrinkle straw LOL

[maeshoneyles]

trophy

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

wc: 3.1k

tags: 18+!!!! smut, sugar mommy alexia, mafia alexia, fingering (r receiving), mirror sex, cunnilingus (r receiving), alexia grinding on r, dirty talk, jealousy, possessiveness but the good kind, alexia threatens a guy, aftercare and fluff at the end

a/n: i love a good sugar mommy alexia dynamic and the mafia just adds the perfect touch to me lol hope you enjoy!

The restaurant felt like somewhere the characters from Succession would eat, which honestly probably wasn’t too far off. Alexia was across the small table, eyes darting across a wine menu like she was deciphering some ancient cipher instead. Her brow had certain quirk to it, her forehead wrinkled just so as she read through the list of foreign reds and whites. The soft candlelight only accentuated her soft features as you sat there, staring, unabashedly, like nothing else in the world mattered. At that moment, it didn’t. 

“Where did you say we were going after this, baby?”

“An event.” She said quickly, not looking up from the list.

“Do I get any more detail than that?” you said, batting your eyelashes in that way that always pissed Alexia off. Of course, it only made her mad because it made her melt for you.

“Stop that, and no. I told you everything you need to know.”

“All you said was to stay as close to you as possible, stay quiet, and look pretty.”

“Exactly, that is all you need to know.”

You sat back in your seat with a sigh and continued watching. The fabric of your dress was tight, but not too tight. The shoes were silver, and you honestly could not remember if this was a pair studded with real diamonds or not. You had too many too keep track. The necklace, though, those were definitely real. You remember Alexia coming home with the box on a random Wednesday a few months ago, almost giving you a heart attack in the living room when you saw the exquisite piece.

Alexia ordered the wine and the food, as usual. She liked to do everything short of actually chewing your food for you like a mama bird. And honestly, you wouldn’t put it past her. 

You really had no idea what you ate—there was no point wasting energy on even looking at the menu when Alexia decided everything. Not that you minded, of course. One less decision for you to make. You told her about your day, your internship, your coworker who had bought you coffee twice this week, and yeah, had you brought that up just to see her jaw clench and her pupils dilate? Maybe. “Princesa, you know you don’t have to work that silly job, right? If this man is bothering you…”

“Yes baby, I know. You’ve told me a million times. But I want to, okay? I would go crazy sitting at home all day waiting for you. And I promise he is not a big deal. He doesn’t matter. Don’t do anything stupid on his account, ‘kay?”

“Mmm…I make no promises when it comes to you.”

“Ale…” You smirked. Alexia flashed back her wolfish smile that never failed to make you squirm in your seat. God this meeting or event or whatever better not take too long. Maybe I can convince her to leave early.

Dinner was comfortable and quick, just the precursor to the rest of the evening.

“Come, the car is outside,” Alexia’s hand found it’s place at the small of your back, leading you through the dimly-lit restaurant, out into the crisp night air, and into the back of the unassuming black car she had hired. You couldn’t remember the last time you had driven anywhere. Would you even remember how if given the opportunity? You didn’t waste too much time on the thought, brought back to reality quickly by Alexia’s hand squeezing your thigh. “Remember princesa, stay close and quiet. Don’t move out of my sight. Let everyone drool over you and make sure they know who you go home with,” she husked.

“Is that it? I’m here so you can show me off on your arm and make these assholes jealous?” you smirked.

Alexia gave me an unimpressed look and sighed. “Don’t- I’m not-”

I chuckled, shutting her up with a kiss. “Shut up. I love when you show me off, I love being your trophy”

“I don’t want you to think that’s all I see you as.”

“Ale, I know. You love me,” you smirked, lips just millimeters from hers.

“Brat.”

“You loveee me,” you sing-songed, playfully pecking her lips over and over again, your lipstick tinting her lips in a soft pink that just made you want to keep going and going.

The black car pulled up to what looked to be some kind of event center or hotel, again, you couldn’t bother yourself with the details when you knew Alexia would take care of everything.

The security guard escorted us in, not hesitating to lower his head in respect when he saw Alexia. You clocked her facial expression as you both strutted into the event, the subtle changes to her posture, her eyes darkening, her jaw clenching in the same way it did earlier. You felt her energy shift from the car to now; this was no longer your Ale, your wife, your love. No, this was Alexia Putellas. This was La Reina. Everyone knew not to mess with her or they should face the consequences. You were grateful to be on her arm and not a face in the crowd. Even in a room of potential danger, you felt as safe as you could by her side.

The next several hours were a blur of Alexia talking to various associates about god-knows-what. Honestly, you were just focused on her. The feeling that was buzzing underneath your skin, combined with the several drinks Alexia had gotten you from the bar, was begging to get out of that stuffy room and back home. “Ale,” you whispered in between conversations.

“Yes, carinyo?”

“How much longer do we have to stay?” You batted your eyelashes, giving your best pouty look that you knew she could never resist.

You saw the mask slip, her tough exterior fade for just a moment. “Not long, I promise. Stop it with the eyes, brat.”

I smirked in victory and leaned my head onto her shoulder as she led us away to another man she needed to converse with. Only a short while later, I felt an unfamiliar touch on my shoulder. Flinching further into Alexia, I looked up to see a man in a suit looking down at me with hungry eyes. “Quién es esta linda chica, Putellas?” he said, his voice slimy and sending shivers down my spine.

“Aléjate de ella antes de que te corte la garganta, Javier,” Alexia said, low and full of anger. She tugged you closer to her.

“Veo que la reina tiene una mascota ahora?”

Alexia took a deep breath before speaking again. “Podría matarte aquí mismo, y nadie vendría corriendo a por ti. Cuida tus palabras.”

Your Spanish wasn’t perfect, far from it, but you knew enough to know the gist of what was going on. And you weren’t sure you wanted to hear the specifics of how she was threatening that man, anyway. Once she was done her threat, she dragged both of you away to the entrance, already on the phone with the driver, making demands in rapid Catalan.

You didn’t dare speak until the driver safely deposited us at Alexia’s house. “Are you okay, Ale?” you said softly, almost worried she would explode again.

“Yes, princesa. I despise those men, every one of them. Even the thought that one of them would make you uncomfortable, let alone touch you, fills me with rage. I needed to leave before I did something I would regret doing in front of you.”

You clocked her choice of words immediately. In front of you. She would have killed that man like he was an ant in the blink of an eye if you were not watching, you were sure of it. The thought that she was willing to do such a thing in the name of protecting you filled you with heat. 

“I’m okay, baby, I promise. Thank you for protecting me. I loved seeing you in your element tonight, by the way.”

“Yeah? You liked that? Liked seeing me boss everyone else around for a change? Not just you?” Alexia’s hands were all over you, running over the smooth silk of your dress.

“Mhm…loved seeing everyone scared of you..” Alexia’s lips were barely a breath away from yours, ghosting over them to tease you.

“Everyone there was staring at you, mi vida. I could tell. They all wanted you. But you come home with me? Don’t you?” she whispered against your skin.

“Y-yes…’m yours..” Alexia’s smirk came back, stopping for a moment before her grip on your waist tightened and her lips moved to attack your neck. “Fuck, Ale. Mark me, please.”

Alexia groaned against your neck as she sucked a bruise to the spot below your ear that made you squirm in her hold.

“Ale, please. Please- bed,” you moaned out after what felt like a lifetime of Alexia biting and sucking at your neck and collarbones.

“What? Your little pussy can’t handle a little kissing? You need more of me?”

“Y-yes! Yes baby, I need more.”

Without a word, Alexia scooped me into her arms and carried me into the large master bedroom, placing you down in front of the dresser and large mirror that sat on top of it. Alexia stood behind you and softly kissed the back of your neck as she took off your jewelry. Her large hands ran down the back of your legs as she knelt down to undo the buckles of your heels. Her fingers grasped the zipper at the top of the dress and paused. “Keep your eyes on the mirror, princesa.”

You whimpered softly, bracing yourself on the dresser with my forearms as Alexia freed your body from the sleeveless black silk. The dress puddled around your ankles on the hardwood floor, leaving you in nothing but the red lace panties Alexia had picked out for you hours ago. “Every time I am amazed at how beautiful you are, darling. So perfect, and all mine.”

“Yours.” You gasped out at Alexia’s hands began wandering, wrapping around your front to softly knead your breasts. She dragged her fingertips lightly around your nipples, the feather-light touch on the hardened buds making you squirm. You watched her hands work like magic against your body in the mirror. You could feel you wetness gathering between your thighs, desperation growing. You were always desperate for Alexia, but how could you blame yourself? 

You resisted. Resisted the urge to let you head fall forward and eyes flutter closed in ecstasy. Resisted the urge to push your hips back into Alexia’s, silently begging. Resisted the urge to slip your own hand between your legs and get some kind of relief.

“All this,” she spoke in your ear as she lazily dragged her hands around your chest, back, stomach, and thighs, “is mine.”

“Yes..yes it’s yours. All yours. Alexia please.”

“Do you need more, carinyo?”

“Yes. Please.”

Her hands drifted down to your hips and toyed with the waistband of your panties for what felt like an eternity. You squirmed and whined, dropping your head to hang between your arms, the feeling of need becoming close to too much. You immediately felt one of Alexia’s hands snap up and tangle itself in your hair, yanking hard forcing your head back up, forcing you to make eye contact with yourself. The sharp prickles of pain from your scalp sent sparks straight to your core. You moaned, and Alexia tightened her grip.

“If you want me to touch you, watch. I won’t ask again.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Ale please.”

“Shhh…I’m gonna take care of you. Just keep those pretty eyes up there.” You managed a nod and a whine as her hands released your hair and returned to your hips, one of them snaking around to feel through the thin fabric convering your pussy. She hummed in satisfaction at the wetness she found there. “What is this, princesa? All for me, hm?”

At this point you didn’t have words, turned on beyond belief and using every ounce of self-control to keep your eyes where she wanted them. Another sharp tung on your hair had you gasping into the suddenly too-hot air of your bedroom. “Words, mi vida.”

“Y-yes! Yes, it’s all for you Alexia!” you choked out. She took her time, gliding her fingertips through your silky folds like she was mapping them out in her mind even though you both knew she already had it memorized like the back of her own hand. The rough pad of her thumb made sudden, rough contact with your clit, causing you to gasp and buck your hips back towards the source of your pleasure. Your high was building quickly, the tension coiling in your lower stomach and threatening to break in what should be considered an embarrassingly short amount of time. “A-Ale..Ale I’m gonna-”

“Not until I give you permission, remember?” You glanced behind you in the mirror to see Alexia’s biting smirk looking down at you. You whimpered but nodded your head, biting your tongue until you tasted copper to try and starve off the climax begging to overtake your body. The visual stimulation of seeing yourself, seeing the desperation and pleasure in your eyes as Alexia played your body like she was in an orchestra kept you dangerously close to the edge. Alexia’s thumb slowed it’s circles around your clit and her middle and index finger were inside you before you could even whine in protest. “I love feeling you squeeze around me carinyo. Who’s pussy is this? Hm?”

“Y-yours! Yours, yours, yours!”

The uncontrollable facial expressions you watched yourself make were downright sinful. Alexia’s words, low and husked and laced with the Catalan accent that made you weak in the knees in a normal atmosphere, only added to the growing mess between your legs when combined with the current context.

“That’s it, baby. Watch yourself fall apart. Watch how you give yourself to me. God, you look so perfect like this, don’t you think? I should just keep you like all the time, dripping and begging for me. Would you like that? My perfect, slutty, little toy for whenever I want?”

All you could do was whimper and nod as Alexia’s talented fingers hammered against all of your most sensitive spots.

“Alexia-! I need- needa’..please” you babbled incoherent nonsense as Alexia pushed you just to edge and kept you dangled there for what seemed like decades. Tears filled your eyes, falling down your flushed cheeks as you blinked them out to regain your vision.

“Don’t you dare take your eyes off the mirror. Watch your perfect eyes when you come for me,” Alexia hissed against the shell of your ear, attacking your neck in bites as she finally pushed you over the edge. The sounds that ripped from your throat were completely feral and animalistic. Alexia continued her movements, not stopping until you were writhing from the overstimulation. Your head dropped onto the dresser as you attempted to catch your breath. But Alexia, obviously, was not done. Her strong hands wrapped around your hips and dragged you over the bed, laying you down and knocking your legs open. You swore you could see her mouth watering, even through your post-orgasm haze that hadn’t even begun to fade, your heart still racing and your skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. 

“So good for me, watching yourself like that, coming so hard for me. Let me clean my girl up, and then you can help me out, okay?” You only nodded and took a deep breath. Alexia’s soft lips kissed your pussy, still sensitive and slightly raw from before. “I’ll be gentle, I promise,” you could feel the smirk against your skin and knew she wasn’t being entirely truthful, but you couldn’t find it to mind.

Alexia lapped gently at the arousal pooled in your folds, drinking it up like she had been craving it for weeks. She focused the tip of her tongue on your clit, eliciting a gasp from you and your hips to buck up. Not one to allow you any kind of control, she tossed your legs over her shoulders and linked her fingers over your stomach, effectively trapping you exactly where she wanted you. 

She alternated between sucking on your clit, fucking you with her tongue, and flattening her tongue against your folds, slowly building your arousal again until you were a shaking mess beneath her. “Ale-!”

“Shh, you’ve been good tonight. Come when you feel it.”

“Mmm- thank you thank you-“

You babbled out thanks and nonsense as another wave of your arousal flooded her mouth. She drank it up with no complaint and moved up to kiss you, your slick still coating her mouth and chin. You moaned, tasting yourself on her. 

She slid her hips up until her bare cunt was rested against your abdomen. She used your gasp as an opportunity to slide her tongue into your mouth as she grinded her soaked pussy along your abdominal muscles. You loved being used by her like this, even after two orgasms it sent sparks straight to your core.

Unsurprisingly, Alexia came fast after getting to toy with you for so long. She collapsed onto the sheets beside you, fingers coming up to trail imaginary paths along your side. “You okay, amor?”

“More than okay,” you hummed, turning you body to tuck your face into her neck and cuddle into her side.

“Good. You want a bath?”

“Only if you get in with me.”

“Brat. Deal..” Alexia smirked and moved gingerly up from the bed, taking your hand and supporting most of your weight on the way to the bathroom. She ran the bath with the utmost care, triple-checking the water temperature and that she had the scent that you preferred in the soap. Although you really didn’t care about all that, as long as you were in a warm bath, back pressed against Alexia’s chest, you would be content.

You sighed in satisfaction at the feeling of the hot water on your over exerted muscles. Alexia slid in behind you, carefully holding you against her chest with her strong arms. Your head leaned back to her shoulder and her lips pressed against your temple gently. 

After some time soaking in the bathtub, Alexia spoke, her voice miles away from the confident and powerful woman that had stepped into the event hours ago or fucked you to tears just minutes ago. “I’m sorry that man made you uncomfortable. I should have been keeping a better eye on you, and on everyone else.”

“Not your fault Ale, it’s okay. Don’t tell me what you said to him after though, okay?”

“That was the plan mi vida. I love you.”

“I love you more. Every version of you.”

[oldermenfucker]

hihi! i had a silly request for robby but u remember that old tiktok trend where people would wipe their bfs/husbands’ kisses off when they’d give them a kiss or even a casual peck and their faces would just drop after they’d see their wives wipe them😭😭 i’d love to see how robby would react and just basically be on the verge of a crashout lmao not realising it’s a prank on tiktok

OMG YES LETS GO HEHEHEHEHEHE / 2 times you wipe his kisses and one time he confronts you about it

1.

Your side of the bed is cold, his alarm didn’t go off the hour he set it on, and he is lying halfway over the blanket. That should have been his sign that you were up to something, because you only did this when you wanted to do something for him.

Robby stands up with a tired groan, rubbing his hand over his face while he grabs the discarded shirt on the floor to pull over his head before he walks outside of the room.

There you are, in one of his shirt and panties, flipping the eggs like they have personally offended you, the butter making a delicious sound that syncs with the rhythm of your humming and moves of your hips.

He walks behind you, hands finding themselves around your waist with his face buried in your neck, mumbling a quick good morning before he cranes his neck to kiss your cheek.

“Morning, handsome.”

It happens so fast, so fucking fast but he notices it when the back of your hand wipes the place he’s kissed. It’s probably nothing, a silly itching on your cheek made you do that, right? I mean his beard isn’t as trimmed as before, so that must be it. It has to be it.

He shrugs it off and enjoys the few hours he has before he leaves for the hospital without getting the chance to kiss you again, but that one interaction haunts him the entire day.

2.

It happens again, for the second time when you are getting ready to go out with the Pitt crew.

You’re applying your lipstick, matte pink with a hint of peach in it that Robby fucking adores but at this moment he can’t care less about what you’re doing — you look too good for him to not have taste.

Just a peck, all that he did was just steal a quick kiss from your lips. Very very quick, and what is faster than that is your reaction; a wet pad ready in hand as you wipe his kiss.

He must be hallucinating cause why the fuck would you do that? It must be because of your makeup and nothing else, right? Right. So in order to ease his mind, Robby leans in again to kiss you a bit harder, smudging your lipstick worse than before.

“What’s gotten into you?” You laugh, grabbing the pad again to wipe the kiss again, “I’m trying to get ready and you gonna make us be late.”

“Why’d you do that?” He asks with an uncertainty in his tone. He doesn’t even know what he is referring to, it could be his mind playing tricks on him, but oh boy, it’s driving him nuts.

“What? I didn’t do anything, love,” you are lucky he doesn’t notice how smug you look. You almost feel bad, but he looks so beautifully confused you don’t wanna ruin the prank, “Go grab the keys, I’ll be out in a sec.”

He nods, convincing himself it’s just his head and the imaginary scenarios he is making.

3.

This will put him in an asylum. He is sure. Robby will be chained in a psych ward if you keep doing whatever the fuck you are doing. Either a psych ward for going insane of suicide because of how hard he is about to bang his head to the wall.

“Why the fuck are you doing that?”

He looks wrecked, he is angry, furious even and his eyes are glassy. He wants to tear his hair out and sob at the same time.

You had the nerve to wipe his sweet goodnight kiss with your sleeve.

“Doing what?” The mask is slipping slowly, the mischievous grin taking over your face as you look at him, “I have no idea—“

“Bullshit!” He crawls on top of you, frowning in anger — and desperation — as he stares down at you, “You are wiping my kisses like I’m a fucking virus. I don’t like that!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about–“

“So you wouldn’t do anything if I just—“ he leans down quickly, pressing the fastest most juiciest kiss on your lips and as soon as he pulls back you raise your eyebrows at him and reach with your hand to wipe it but he is faster and grabs your wrist, pinning it next to your head to the bed, “See! You’re being a fucking brat.”

He kisses you again, and again, and again until you are giggling and pushing him away, squealing when he drops his weight on top of you to keep you caged under him.

“No one denies me of my kisses, you understand? No fucking on.”

[devswritingcornerorsmth]

Hi! Would it be possible to request an Eddie/Volt x Anxious/Distrusting Reader?

I imagine Eddie and Volt maybe pinning a bit upon the first meeting and the rumors from around the house but when they actually meet, they're shocked at how offput the reader is by them?

Volt tries his best to flirt it up and be a great host to get the reader on his good side but the whole interaction the reader is just a nervous mess because 'we just met why is he flirting so hard? I don't even know him. Oh God what if he's trying to make fun of me or show the rest of the house how stupid I am?'

Reader shows genuine concern for Eddie but when they go check on him he essentially tells them to get lost and he's fine. So reader visibly flinches and deflates before leaving not wanting to make him uncomfortable or hate them more (they were just trying to help why was he so mean? Does he think they're incapable of helping? Does he already hate you? Oh he probably DEFINETLY already hates you; you asked to help him too many times, you're so dumb for thinking he'd want your help)

The whole interaction the boys can't seem to figure out exactly what went wrong? Why you don't come see them a second time. Why some other objects talked about how distressed you were the rest of the day.

They've heard such great things about you and think you're amazing but somehow they messed it up and don't know how to get you to like them. (If Volt couldn't do it what the heck do they do?!)

me at half the dateables

Eddie & Volt/Distrusting+Anxious!Reader

= Eddie and Volt only heard good things about you from everyone, even Lux had good things to say about you. The duo couldn't help but be a little excited to meet you, Volt especially. Volt had already set up a special VIP table just for you whenever you swung by, close to the talent on the stage, and close enough to the bar for Volt or Eddie to serve you.

= When you finally do come to The Breaker Box, Volt puts on his usual persona, but with more flirtiness and charm. He greets you warmly with that signature smile of his, holding out his hand for you to take. Volt is surprised when you tense and hesitate, taking his hand only for a quick moment to shake. He can see the distrust and nervousness on your face.

= Volt is quick to recover, leading you to the seat he had picked for you to enjoy the show, which was just Johnny again, and then offering you a drink. He didn't mind when you told him no, knowing a few other objects in the house also didn't drink either. Something told him deep down that it was more than that, though. The constant nervous expression on your face made him a little uneasy about himself, wondering if he had done something wrong to upset or make you anxious in some way. Volt had done what he always did, welcoming everyone with a charming smile... so what made you so nervous around him?

= Eddie gives you a quick greeting as well, only a simple wave and a hello. He doesn't miss the almost uncomfortable expression on your face, reminding him of a scared inanimal almost. You're on his mind as he does his best to avoid the patrons of the bar and fix up little things he can here and there.

= It's easy to pick up that despite the popularity, The Breaker Box isn't in the best shape. The lights flicker every once in a while with a soft, unnatural buzzing sound constantly humming throughout the place. Volt looks like he's forcing more of his host personality now, only making you feel more nervous about what he was saying to the frequent guests. Was he talking about you behind your back? Trying to get more information on you so he can get up on stage and sing out your secrets?! You couldn't help but hate your brain for thinking like this... force of habit, you suppose. Maybe Eddie would be better to talk to, you tell yourself, the bags under his eyes spoke volumes.

= After the less-than-stellar performance from Johnny, the bar is soon empty, leaving only you and Eddie. You can't help but notice how exhausted he looked, nursing on a drink made by him. The drink looked strong too, clearly to take the edge off something. You hesitated, but found it in yourself to get up and ask if he was alright. He turns with an annoyed glare shot toward you, causing you to take a step away from him as a look of regret and anxiety forms on your face.

= Eddie regrets his glare and forces himself to calm down, taking another long sip. He tells you that the bar is closed and you should get going. He's slightly surprised when you ask if something is wrong due to all the flickering lights and other odd sounds, but brushes you off. You then ask if he's alright, a genuine question that throws him off guard. Eddie tells you, quite firmly, that he's fine, the club is fine, so you should go. Now. He once again regrets his words, watching with a frown as you deflate and leave quickly without another word, passing Volt on your way out.

= Volt frowns and asks what happened, asking Eddie if he had scared off their newest customer. The latter sighs and waves Volt off, downing his drink before making himself another one.

= The next day, Eddie goes on like usual, but with a feeling of guilt in his gut. He shouldn't feel like this over someone he had just met... but you were the human of the house, the most important person in this place. Maybe it was for the best you kept away from a shithole like this, Eddie told himself.

= He notices Volt keeping an eye out more, scanning through the objects that come in for you. Eddie can't help but look for you as well, meaning to apologize for his rude behavior.

= Volt, being his charming self, asks around for you to the objects he knew you were close with. They shrug and say you didn't want to come and said you looked pretty down after you visited the bar. The duo now feel even worse, knowing that you most likely wouldn't come back.

= When the bar closes, Eddie and Volt have a heart-to-heart conversation about you, telling each other exactly what they said and did. Eddie could understand why you left because of him, but Volt? He was more open, friendly, and already quite taken with you. He's also a little pissed off at Eddie for being so rude to you, but he can't be too mad, knowing that's just how he is.

= They end up asking Dorian to ask you to come back to The Breaker Box for a nice night out and a sincere apology since he's everywhere and already friends with you. He says he'll try, but you looked pretty dejected and upset when you left.

= Eddie and Volt wait for a few days, but you never end up coming back...

---

sorry for the sad ending, i couldn't help myself-

thank you for reading mwah

[azzishands]

Fan of a fan - Chapter thirteen

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: Mature content

A/N: Last chapter, let's go! I'm sorry if this is under expectations, but it was hard to write it because it kinda felt like it had already ended in a way? But I hope it gives some kind of feeling of closure at least. (I've already begun writing the next fic, which is also why I've had less inspiration to write this chapter. Can't wait to share it with y'all later!)

Masterlist

---

The first test of their reconciliation came immediately. 

Of course the video of Paige Bueckers staring right at Azzi Fudd as the curtains closed after an epic performance of Iris went viral. It looked like a scene straight out of a movie. 

Paige, looking like the bittersweet song in human form, just standing on stage, looking at Azzi, while everyone else was looking at Paige, while the whole venue of A-list celebrities were erupting in praise.

People were making reaction videos on youtube and tiktok and wrote long think-pieces on twitter. Fanfictions were starting to overflow on every platform about that very moment. 

‘If this isn’t a confirmation that the two did in fact date years ago, I don’t know what is’, one hit-tweet said. 

Another said: ‘I KNEW THE MAKEOUT PICTURES OF THEM YEARS AGO WASN’T MADE UP IN MY MIND’

The internet loved it. They loved them. 

Except Paige’s fans.

‘Thought we were done with this’, one tweet said with an eye-roll emoji. 

‘Please, Paige was just nervous and needed to look at a familiar face in the crowd, it’s not that deep,’

‘Nah, that should be me’, and so on. 

Azzi had seen those comments, and had rolled her eyes at them by instinct. But it wasn’t comparable to the amount of supportive comments about the two. Her dm:s were filled with people reaching out, being nosy, being supportive, wanting to interview her about it. 

All of her friends had sent several videos and pictures of the captured moment. 

Storm Reid: ‘Girl, if y’all don’t get together already, I don’t know what’

Auli’i Cravalho: ‘This is some movietype shit’ 

Ayo Edebiri: ‘PLEASE’

Never before had she been showered with people actually rooting for them so loudly like this. And it was the same for Paige. 

“Our A&R just wrote me a long message about how she hopes we find our way back to each other,” Paige chuckled and showed Azzi, who was lounging on her couch. 

“That’s cute,” Azzi cooed. “I just got this DM from someone telling me how much seeing that video helped them come out, and that’s just crazy. In a good way.”

The two women were in Azzi’s apartment. The plan was to go on a date in the evening, but Paige had insisted on hanging out with Azzi before the date, because she couldn’t wait to get to see her. 

It had been a couple days after the Academy Awards, and the attention the video was bringing them made Azzi a bit hesitant about actually going out at a public place for their first date. Mostly because she didn’t want to rush Paige into being comfortable with it. 

“You know, we don’t have to go out tonight. We can stay in, if that would be… better,” Azzi said carefully as Paige plumped down on the couch next to her. 

“I know,” Paige simply shrugged. “But I really want to go out with you.”

“You sure?” Azzi didn’t mean to sound like she was constantly testing Paige’s feelings, but she just wanted to make sure that Paige didn’t push herself too hard for Azzi’s sake. 

“Yeah. I might be a bit nervous, but that’s just because I’m going on a date with you,” Paige looked at her all serious. 

Azzi just snorted and playfully shoved Paige’s shoulder. 

Few hours later, Azzi was in her bedroom getting dressed when she heard knocking on her door. 

“Paige, can you get that?” she shouted, not wearing any pants. 

No answer. 

“Paige?” she called out again, but to no avail. 

She frowned at the silence and hurriedly got dressed to go open the door. 

“Wha-” Azzi stammered when she opened the door and found Paige on the other side, with a whole different outfit on than just a couple minutes earlier. It was a light blue button up shirt with some loose suit pants and her hair in a slick low bun. 

“Did you just change clothes?” Azzi laughed at the randomness of it all. 

“I’m gonna ignore that question,” Paige just said. “You look lovely tonight.”

“Oh, thank you,” Azzi smiled. “You too.” 

“I got a cab waiting for us outside,” Paige said and offered her arm to Azzi. 

“Aw, so we’re not spending the whole night driving around in circles this time?” Azzi joked about Paige’s inability to listen to directions. 

“Maybe next date,” Paige teased. 

They exited the building and got into the cab. 

The restaurant Paige had chosen was fancy. And expensive. They didn’t have to wait for a table, Paige had already booked one. 

And Paige held Azzi’s hands through the whole walk from the cab to the restaurant, from the door to their table. 

At the table, Azzi felt people’s stares, heard their murmuring and saw how they pointed their fingers towards them. She glanced at the blonde woman a bit nervously, and Paige glanced back, smiling. 

“You want to order some wine?” Paige asked.

Azzi cleared her throat. “Uh, sure.”

The waiter arrived at their table and the two women ordered their wine and food. Just when the waiter came back with a bottle of wine, two young men came up to their table. 

“Excuse me, I don’t want to bother you guys, but could we maybe get a picture with you?” one of the guys asked and looked at the two women. 

“Of course,” Paige automatically answered. 

The men hunched down and took a selfie with the two celebrities, gave their thanks and then left. 

This caught the attention of the people around them in the restaurant, and suddenly, they could sense a shift in the air much more than before. 

Paige knew that the photos would be posted. She knew that people were gonna be able to tell that she and Azzi were on a date. It made her heart rate go up, but she didn’t know if it was out of terror or excitement yet, and that was a good sign. 

“Hi, sorry,” a young woman approached them shortly after. “I just wanted to say that I’m such a big fan of you, Paige. You’re literally my biggest role model, and I adore the way you make music. Could I just ask you a quick question about your writing process?”

The woman was basically eating Paige up with her eyes, and Azzi gulped, and took a sip of the wine to distract herself from accidentally visibly reacting to it. She knew better than to feel possessive over Paige in front of her fans. 

“I’m sorry, I’m on a date right now, so maybe another time,” Paige offered a friendly smile, and added when she saw the disappointed look on the fan’s face: “But we can take a quick picture if you’d like?”

“Thank you,” the fan nodded gratefully, and without any further instructions, just handed her phone to Azzi. 

“Oh,” Azzi expressed, surprised by the audacity, but didn’t complain. She opened the camera and started to snap pictures of Paige and the young woman smiling at her. 

“Make sure to get my good side, babe,” Paige smirked at Azzi, and Azzi almost dropped the phone in her lap. 

“I promise, baby”, Azzi quickly recovered and smiled brightly at the nickname. She snapped one or two more pictures and then gave back the phone to the fan, who murmured out a quick thank you before fleeing the scene. 

Azzi couldn’t help but blush at the fact that Paige had clearly said that to make a point. A possessive one. Right in front of a fan, before they even were officially together yet. She marveled at Paige’s courage for the simple gesture. 

“You… You’re really something,” Azzi shook her head in disbelief over the interaction. 

“I know, that’s why they want pictures,” Paige said playfully. 

The food was eventually brought in to the table, and Azzi and Paige had just taken another photo with some guests. Fortunately, the people around them seemed to have recognized that the two were trying to have a normal date night, and left them pretty much alone during the rest of their meal. 

The wine glasses were constantly filled, and both of the women felt the intoxication slightly grow to the perfect level of tipsy. Not that they needed it, because the conversation flowed naturally and every silence in between felt comfortable. 

It was a successful first date, to say the least. And when it was time to say goodnight, Paige followed Azzi up to her front door. 

But Azzi just opened the door and walked in. Paige stayed behind and didn’t step a foot inside. 

“You coming in?” Azzi asked. Assumed, rather. 

“I don’t know if I should,” Paige nervously chuckled. 

Azzi looked at her. “You scared?” she teased.

“A little,” Paige snorted, but Azzi could hear the sincerity in her tone. 

“What are you scared of?” Azzi gently asked. Paige still stood outside, not even inching a little closer to come inside. 

“Um… I just don’t want to rush things,” Paige said nervously. 

“For your sake or my sake?” Azzi questioned. 

“Our sake,” Paige answered. 

Azzi smiled with a nod. “Alright,” she said, and stepped outside her door and closed it behind her, joining Paige outside in the hall.

“Thank you for a lovely night,” the actress said sincerely and took a step forward towards the singer.

“Thank you for going with me,” Paige smiled, and took a small step back, visibly nervous. 

Azzi bit her lip and snaked her index fingers in Paige’s belt loops on her pants and pulled her closer, their bodies suddenly being flushed together. 

“You’re allowed to touch me, you know,” Azzi warmly flashed a seemingly innocent smile, but the tone sounded anything but innocent.

Paige hesitantly placed her hands on Azzi’s sides, trying to ground herself. She was already feeling a bit dizzy from the wine, and Azzi’s sudden proximity didn’t help. 

“I just don’t know if I can stop if I do,” Paige exhaled, seemingly breathless. 

“Let’s find out,” Azzi said, before leaning in slowly, ghosting her lips on Paige’s. She stroked her nose against Paige’s, not giving her what she wanted just yet. 

Paige was breathing heavily now, just waiting for Azzi to take the next step. 

At last, she felt the younger one lean in, and Paige closed her eyes. But Azzi just lightly, barely, pressed her lips on Paige’s, and then pulled back again.

“Good night, Paige,” Azzi smirked as Paige’s eyes fluttered open, and went back inside her apartment. Paige heard Azzi lock the door from the inside. 

“You’re a fucking menace!” Paige said loudly outside the door, feeling all flustered by the sudden abruption, and heard Azzi laugh as a response from the inside. 

“Not my fault, Bueckers,” Azzi yelled back.

Paige just exhaled and gave a short laugh, trying to stop her cheeks from burning. 

“Until next time, Fudd.”

---

May 2027 

Paige and Azzi had been going out on several dates, met hundreds of fans together, hung out with their mutual friends and Azzi had even flown to Minnesota and visited Paige and her dad again. 

But during this whole period of time, they had never done anything more than kissed. Paige always stayed in a hotel in LA, and Azzi did the same in Minnesota. 

How they managed to keep their hands to themselves was miraculous. Azzi didn’t want to rush Paige, and Paige didn’t want to rush Azzi. 

But one afternoon in Azzi’s apartment, she had had enough.

Paige was working out in Azzi’s living room on a yoga mat and was wearing nothing but a sports bra and boxers. Azzi had been out shopping groceries when she stepped inside her apartment and saw the other woman all sweaty and half naked. 

“Oh wow,” she unashamedly marveled at the sight. 

“Sorry, I’m almost done,” Paige said and continued doing some sit ups. 

Azzi hurriedly put the groceries away, to then return back to the living room to just admire the view. 

“You just gonna watch me workout?” Paige teased in the middle of the motion.

“Yup,” Azzi nodded and sat down on the couch. 

She looked at Paige’s stomach, her abs flexing with every movement, her sweat trickling down her neck further down into her bra. Azzi swallowed. She just wanted to lick it up. 

“Okay, now I’m done,” Paige panted as she laid with her back on the yoga mat, trying to catch her breath. 

Azzi rose from the couch and approached the woman on the floor. She knelt down in front of Paige and gently spread her legs and inched forward. Paige just looked at her, not daring to move. The actress leaned forward and crawled over the blonde until she was right above. 

The last weeks had been torture for Azzi. Being on dates with Paige, kissing her, hugging her, touching her, but not having sex with her, it had driven her mad. Because suddenly everything the blonde one was doing was turning her on to the point where she felt like she had to lock her in the bathroom to finish herself. 

But not this time. This time, it was just too much. Paige on her living room floor, sweating, panting, abs flexing… 

Azzi let one of her hands land on Paige’s damp stomach, caressing her abs, moving up over her bra in a swift motion. 

“Hm,” Paige hummed and her hips slightly jerked up. “You’re really doing this?”

“You want me to stop?” Azzi asked, and removed her hand. 

“No no no,” Paige quickly replied, immediately grabbing her hand to be touched again. 

Azzi smirked and leaned her head down to kiss Paige. But right before their lips touched, Azzi whispered:

“I can’t wait to fuck you.”

Paige squirmed underneath her, and responded by grabbing the back of Azzi’s head, pulling her in for the kiss. 

There was nothing gentle in the way that Azzi’s lips crashed into Paige’s. It was as if all pent up tension was about to explode right then and there, just eagerly chasing an outlet. Tongues were already roaming each other's mouths, hands were going up and down their bodies and Paige had no time to catch her breath from her workout before she entered a new one. 

Azzi broke the heated kiss and started to place messy wet kisses along Paige’s jaw down to her throat. She sucked the skin right on her pulse point roughly, and Paige gasped from the sensation. 

“Missed this so much,” Azzi murmured against her skin and continued further down. She didn’t even bother to take Paige’s bra off, she just pushed it up, revealing her pink nipples. Before Paige could tell Azzi how much she missed her back, Azzi leaned down and took one of her nipples into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it.

“God,” Paige arched her back into Azzi. It felt like it was the first time, and her body was reacting to every little touch Azzi was giving. It was as if it was oversensitive by anticipation.

Azzi sucked, bit, licked roughly down to the boxers, leaving several marks on Paige’s stomach. She looked at her work, smiled, and deemed it a masterpiece. Paige looked at her with hazy eyes, but Azzi saw the uncertainty in them.

“You okay?” she asked, rubbing her hands up and down Paige’s thighs. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just… It’s just been a while,” she nervously chuckled. 

“Hey, it’s just me,” Azzi smiled and gave her upper thigh a peck. 

“That’s the problem,” Paige said after a sharp inhale from having Azzi’s face so close to her center. 

“You want me to stop or keep going?” Azzi sincerely asked. 

“God, I want you to keep going,” Paige exhaled and nodded. “I need you to.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Azzi playfully teased as she saw the dark patch between Paige’s legs. 

Azzi gently hooked her fingers beneath the hem of Paige’s boxers and pulled them off. She was on her knees between the singer's legs, taking in the view in front of her. 

“You’re so so pretty,” she marveled and let her hands stroke Paige’s hips down to her thighs, teasingly letting her thumbs rub the upper inner parts. Paige squirmed by every touch. It seemed like her body was reacting before her mind could even register what was being touched. 

At last, Azzi let her thumb stroke over the wetness between Paige’s legs, and moved it up to her clit and gently started to rub slow circles. Paige groaned and her hips instantly jerked up at the contact. Azzi bit her lip and smiled at the face Paige was making. She already looked like a mess. Her hair was sprawled behind her head, and her bottom lip red from biting it so hard. That in combination with all the hickeys on her stomach, she looked gorgeous. 

“Mhm,” Azzi hummed contentedly. “I’m gonna take it slow with you and enjoy my view.”

“Since when do you take things slow?” Paige groaned, being driven mad by the slow tempo of Azzi’s thumb on her clit. 

“Just want to have you for as long as I can,” Azzi leaned down and hovered above the blonde, letting her lips ghost over her ear. 

Paige whimpered in response, grinding her hips against Azzi’s thumb to try and get more friction and pressure. But Azzi just put her other palm on her stomach and pushed her down, refusing her to contribute to her own pleasure. 

She leaned back and sat on her knees again, and said: “Stay still for me.”

Paige whined in frustration but tried to oblige. 

Azzi removed her thumb from Paige’s clit and slid her index and middle finger into her own mouth. Sucking them and licking them as if it was something else, while staring at Paige, who looked at her with hooded eyes. She gave her a show.

Paige felt her lower stomach tighten, and she gasped when Azzi moved her fingers to her core and slid them inside her. 

“Shit, Azzi,” she moaned and fluttered her eyes closed. 

Azzi meant what she said, and moved her fingers in and out of the singer in a tantalizingly slow tempo, while curling them up just the way she knew Paige liked. Her hand was palming Paige’s lower stomach, gently pressing down. 

“Please,” Paige whined at the pleasure, but wanted more. 

Azzi returned her thumb on Paige’s clit and kept on circling it slowly, softly, while still steadily pumping in and out of her. 

“You want me to fuck you harder, Paige?” Azzi asked.

“Yes,” Paige exhaled. 

“Mmm, you feel so good on my fingers,” Azzi praised her. “Missed fucking you like this baby.”

Paige groaned loudly at the words, and gasped when Azzi finally pushed into her harder. But she didn’t increase the speed just yet, still fucking her slowly. 

Even so, Paige felt her high come closer and closer. Azzi could tell by the way Paige’s breathing started to become more and more ragged. 

“You close?” Azzi asked with that honey smooth voice. 

“Yeah,” Paige whimpered out. 

“Don’t come yet,” Azzi said with a demanding tone. “Let me fuck you a little longer.”

“But…” Paige whined. “I’m not gonna be able to-”

“-Yes you are,” Azzi protested. 

And Paige moaned at Azzi’s interjection and felt her body start to tense up from trying to hold on. Her body was begging for her to relax and just come undone, but she did everything she could to postpone it, obeying Azzi’s request. Instead, moans and broken cries of Azzi’s name were slipping out of her mouth, repeated like a prayer. 

“You’re doing so good for me, baby,” Azzi praised her and let her other hand stroke Paige’s cheek. 

And Paige whimpered in response to the praise. 

But there was really nothing Paige could do the moment Azzi leaned down and let her tongue massage her clit. Her hand flew to the back of Azzi’s head, holding on for dear life, trying to get some sense of control in her very weak position of control. 

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna-” she didn’t even finish the sentence before her body compulsively started to twitch, the wave of her orgasm crashing down on her. She let out a guttural moan followed by a loud exclamation of the actress’ name. 

Azzi just kept on licking her, feeling Paige’s walls pulsate and clench around her fingers. When she felt Paige coming down from her high, she gently removed her fingers and started to clean her up with her tongue.

“You taste even better than I remember,” Azzi moaned against Paige’s center, licking up the cum from her pussy, swallowing like she was starving. 

Paige whimpered and pushed Azzi’s head away from between her legs out of reflex by being too sensitive. 

Azzi laid down next to Paige and brushed Paige’s sweaty hair away from her forehead. She leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on Paige’s lips that tasted like the singer. Paige was unable to move and just laid there, still coming down from her high. 

“How exactly did you expect me to not come when you move your tongue on me like that?” Paige asked once she had caught her breath and turned her head to look at Azzi with heart-eyes. 

Azzi cracked a smile and snorted. 

“This your way of saying I’m good?” Azzi licked her lips. 

“This is my way of saying you’re unreasonable,” Paige countered. 

“Nah, you’re just too needy,” Azzi teased and placed her hand on Paige’s thigh again, grabbing the flesh beneath her fingers harshly. Paige slightly flinched by the contact and bit her lip from trying not to moan. 

“And desperate,” Azzi continued and let her fingers once again touch Paige’s center, feeling her wetness.

“And wet,” she whispered and let her fingers softly graze the wetness, before fully pushing her fingers in again. Paige moaned loudly and automatically spread her legs further, giving Azzi easier access.

“And so, so, fucked,” Azzi let out a low laugh at how fast Paige was ready to go again. 

Paige was gonna have the workout of a lifetime. 

Azzi was gonna make sure of that. 

---

March 2031

It had been a while, but the sound of multiple camera shutters going off still felt familiar. Azzi hadn’t been on a red carpet for approximately two years, but it felt like she had never left. 

Paige on the other hand hadn’t been on a red carpet for over three years. The Huskies had reached a certain level of fame where she got privileged enough to pick and choose her public appearances without it negatively affecting her career, so she usually let the other Huskies go on these kinds of carpets by themselves, while she was at home with Azzi. 

She was still making music, she was still playing concerts and touring, but she was not putting herself out there in any way that did not serve her purposes. So if you wanted to see the Paige Bueckers? Then you had to go to one of The Huskies concerts. 

That’s why it felt so strange to be back to this kind of scene. But it was an important night for Azzi, and so it was an important night for Paige. 

Azzi belonged on the red carpet. Everyone could see that. Her elegant black gown hugging her figure with Paige’s black suit complimented her outfit like jewelry around her neck. 

They moved down the carpet together, always by each other's side, always holding hands, only being the most present with each other. 

“AZZI! PAIGE! OVER HERE!” The photographers were yelling loudly, but they only looked at one another, reassuringly with big smiles on their faces as if they couldn’t hear. 

Later down the carpet, they got tracked down by an interviewer to do a short video interview, which they agreed to. The woman with the microphone expressed her gratitude for taking time to let her ask a few questions before getting into it.

“Azzi Fudd and Paige Bueckers, welcome to the 103rd Academy Awards. Azzi, you’re nominated for best actress tonight for the movie In Another Life, how does it feel?” A very basic first question, but Azzi welcomed it with open arms as she liked the easy ones.

“It feels amazing, no matter win or lose, I’m extremely grateful just to be here and be in the presence of my peers,” Azzi answered. 

“Amazing. Paige, how’s your feeling about Azzi’s nomination?”

Paige cleared her throat and leaned forward to the microphone. “Oh, everyone should know by now that I have been Azzi’s number one fan since before I even knew her, and I’m extremely proud of her every single day, seeing how much work she puts in and how she always manages to exceed expectations as a wonderful actress and person. And objectively, I think she should win tonight,” she flashed one of those infamous smirks only Paige Bueckers could give. 

“Love it,” the woman chuckled. “And you two actually have some history with the Academy Awards. Paige, the last time you attended, you did an iconic performance from your soundtrack and The Goo Goo Dolls Iris. This led to a viral clip of the two of you, sharing an intense sort of staring contest. The internet has been speculating ever since. Do you wanna share with us what really went down?”

Azzi looked at Paige with raised eyebrows and a smirk, like she was daring her to answer. 

“Well,” Paige started, and immediately felt her cheeks start to heat. “Long story short, it was the moment I got the love of my life back.”

The eyes on the woman went wide, and Paige nervously chuckled at the reaction. 

“Wow, that had got to be one of the most romantic things to ever come out of the Awards,” she stated and looked in awe at the two. “And now you are here together. Can we expect another viral moment from you guys tonight?”

“No no,” Azzi laughed. “I think we’ve had enough viral moments.”

“Alright, well good luck tonight Azzi, and enjoy the night both of you!” The interviewer wrapped up the conversation. 

They walked together into the theatre where the awards were being held and sat down, waiting for it to begin. 

Azzi looked over at Paige and gave her a kiss on the cheek. 

“I appreciate you being here with me tonight, even though I know you would rather stay at home with the dogs,” she said teasingly. 

“Of course, you’re my number one dog,” Paige shrugged and Azzi slapped her shoulder with a snort. 

“You’re so annoying,” Azzi stated with a big smile. 

“You know I wouldn’t miss this night for the world,” Paige offered sincerely. 

Azzi was unexpectedly calm during the ceremony. Compared to the last time she was there, she somehow felt very relaxed. Until her category was up. 

“Oh my God, here we go,” she exhaled and Paige grabbed her hand comfortingly. 

“And the Oscar for best actress goes to…”

“...Azzi Fudd.”

Azzi let out a breath of surprise and looked at Paige like she couldn’t believe it. She looked like a question mark. The whole theatre erupted into applause and standing ovation. Whistles and praise were thrown at her from every distance.  

“Azzi, you won!” Paige stood up and helped Azzi up in the process. “You won, baby! Go get it, go get it!”

But the actress just threw herself at Paige who caught her, wrapped her arms around her and hugged her as tight as she could. 

“You did it, Azzi,” Paige said, and never let go of her. 

Azzi leaned back and smiled at Paige, before leaning in, kissing her softly. 

“Go now,” Paige laughed as they separated from each other and urged her to go up the stage that was waiting for her. 

Azzi looked all flustered as she walked up to the stage, her eyes still wide from sheer disbelief. The last year’s Oscar winner handed her the statuette, and Azzi felt the weight of it in her hands and in her heart. The celebratory music and the applause simmered down and suddenly, Azzi was expected to say something into the microphone right in front of her. 

“Wow, I, I have no words,” she started. “There’s not enough words that could ever make justice this incredible feeling that I’m feeling right now. But I just wanna say that all the nominees for this category were exceptional and all deserving of this award.”

She looked out on the crowd and acknowledged every single one of her fellow nominees with her eyes.

“I just wanna give thanks to everyone who ever believed in me, invested in me and supported me. It really takes a village, and this award is for everyone that has helped me be the actress I am today. I wanna thank Caroline, Jesse, Helen, Marcus, Gregory, Vivienne and Lola for everything they have poured into me.”

She took a deep breath and looked at Paige. 

“And lastly, I wanna thank the Academy Awards for this award - but also for letting my amazing wife perform four years ago which was the moment I knew that it was for life. This is for my number one fan.”

She smiled at Paige in the crowd and raised the statuette up in the air, goofily pointing at it with her other hand. 

Paige threw her a kiss from the audience. 

Yeah, they were definitely gonna have another viral moment. 

THE END.

---

[urfavnewgirl]

BLÜDHAVEN. EIGHT PM.

“I am going to murder him. Stick one of his own arrows up his ass so he gets a taste of what betrayal truly feels like.”

“Your vulgarity is off the charts today, sweetheart.” You throw a pillow at him. He catches it, neatly places it on top of the singular bed in your shared hotel room.

You were meant to finish this job with Roy. After all, the two of you had started working on it together months ago, and everything had led up to this very moment in time. The next two days or so were meant to be simple, really: find the precise location of the drug lord you had been tracking and were finally able to identify, get familiar with his habits, and strike.

Except, never the reliable one, your red-haired friend had a “thing to deal with”, one that was supposedly “much more urgent” and thus, forced you to play through the perfectly planned grand finale with Jason fucking Todd, of all people.

Admittedly, you always worked well together, even when he was purely the Red Hood to you, a man clad in maroon and several layers of deflection. And yes, maybe your dislike for him has dwindled into a rather small flame compared to the bonfire it was at the beginning. Maybe he was sweet sometimes, even. But that didn't mean you were comfortable with your current predicament.

“You're taking the couch.”

He scoffs, eyes widening in disbelief. “And what makes you think I'm gonna agree to that?”

Wordlessly, you meet his gaze, then plop down on the bed, nuzzling into the covers. You know it's unfair of you. Jason is big. Ridiculously so. And the couch is tiny. He'd have to curl up into a ball to even fit on it, and you bite back a grin at the mental image. Let him suffer a little. You don't want to give in to a man this easily.

He squints at you, shakes his head. Similarly to you, he lets the moment pass by in silence. His stare alone is enough for you to pull the comforters completely over your head, and because he doesn't retort, you allow yourself to relax in the safety of your hiding place, your body limp.

That's when you feel it. One hand, large and calloused, slides under your knees, the other finds your upper back. He had touched you before, of course. It came with the job. You knew he ran warm. Except, right now, it was not the vigilante pulling you into an alley, hiding away from bad guys - it's Jason's gloveless skin on yours, and he's a damn furnace. He pulls you out from under the covers in a torturously slow, careful motion, mumbles “you leave me no choice”, and places you atop the dull-looking two-seater.

You wait for the goosebumps to disappear, for your vocal chords to realign themselves before you reply. And even then, it's a weak sound, half the air in your lungs absent, stolen by him. “...Asshole.”

He grins down at you, walks over to mimic your previous position on the bed. “At least I'm a comfortable asshole.”

You know he's right, and you know you can't do anything about it, not when your fatigued state robs you of your usual strength. So you merely shoot him the finger, turn the nightlamp on, and face the backrest of your less than lovely frame of cushions.

TEN PM.

“So, what are you reading, anyways?”

“Not talking to you right now.”

“And here I thought our relationship was getting better.”

“Fuck you, Todd.”

He laughs at that. His voice is deep, gravelly. It's a harsh sound that slices through the air, and you frown at the way it makes you feel. 

You turn the page, purposefully dragging the movement into an unnecessary length before shooting him the briefest of looks, your tone seeped in annoyance. “The Haunting of Hill House.”

There's a scoff of disbelief as you hear him shift on the bed, a pair of eyes digging into your back. “You brought a horror novel to a creepy motel?”

“Yes. Problem?”

“Do you ever read any other genre?”

Placing your book on the nightstand, you turn around to face him, the street lamps allowing in just enough light for you to make out the contours of his face. With his eyebrows set into a frown, glossy, wide eyes and the rest of his body hidden under pink covers, he almost looks cute. Almost.

“I do. Do you ever read anything other than Austen?”

“I do.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like Frankenstein. Dracula, too.”

“But those are-”

His eyebrows raise, “Your favorites, yeah.”

“...sap.”

You turn around to hide your blush. So he had taken your recommendations, at the end of the day. There's something fuzzy blossoming right where your heart is at the realization. You wait for it to somewhat sizzle out, and then, quietly, speak.

“I read Emma, too. And Pride and Prejudice.”

Jason Todd catches himself smiling at your words, and he's glad you can't see his face.

ONE AM.

No rest for the wicked, and for those forced to lay on rock-hard couches in inexplicably cold motel rooms.

You've spent the last few hours in a statuesque state, unmoving, because you don't want to wake him, desperately trying to get your body to give in and fall asleep. One look at the time, however, is enough for you to finally take action.

With a frustrated sigh, you stumble into a somewhat upright position, nearly crawling over to the radiator. Your fingers find the knob, and when you realize it's rusted right into a non-functional mess, you have the urge to cry out loud, head in your hands, but he breaks the silence before you do.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You nearly tear your hair out at the question. “What does it look like I'm doing, Red? This room is worse than Antarctica.”

“'s not that bad.” 

“Yeah, because your body temperature runs way above average. Plus, your ass is on the bed. I'm pretty sure that sofa was made of actual ice.”

He sighs. Speaks, quietly. “So get in.”

You turn towards him fully, head tilted in confusion. “What?”

“The bed.”

“But–”

“Get. in. the. damn. bed.”

Not wanting to risk a repeat of his earlier actions (his big, strong arms, hauling you up, leaving you a blushing mess), you comply, hesitantly get into the bed. You make sure to leave enough space between you, your bodies separated by at least a foot. Even at a distance, you feel his warmth, but it is not enough to eradicate your shivering completely. 

It's only around two minutes later when you feel his arms wrap around your waist, pull you into the safety of his own form, and your chattering teeth finally come to a rest. His nose meets your neck, nuzzles into your shoulder, your hands run across his. This is the most physical contact you've ever had with him, and yet, it's not awkward - it feels almost as natural as breathing. You relax into it. So does he.

“Too stubborn for your own good.” He says, and you drift off to sleep with a grin plastered to your face.

EIGHT AM.

Your eyes flutter open, adjust to the light, yet when you try to move, you're pulled right back.

Seven hours have passed, and you don't know if it is due to the early morning sleepiness still lingering in the air, or for reasons you don't let your mind wonder about, but he refuses to let you go.

He shifts slightly, forehead against you, a groggy mumble hitting your skin. “Missions at nine. We've time.”

So you let him hold you for a little while longer, leave your actually awake self to deal with the consequences of your actions some other time.

-

can be read as pt. two to this

[kathartic-musings]

NSFW alphabet Morpheus/ Dream of the Endless

A = Aftercare

Surprisingly gentle. He may be cold to the waking world, but in the Dreaming? He treats you like you're fragile, especially if you're mortal. He worships you and your body, think caresses, velvet blankets, wine, snacks, sweet words.

B = Body Part (his favorite)

Your eyes. He is obsessed with how they flutter close in pleasure — or stay wide and glassy. Dream likes to see your pleasure, and your eyes are gates to your soul. He also really enjoys looking at your lips and hearing your voice when you beg him to continue or urge him to go faster or slower.

He probably likes his hands most, because they are the physical connection between you but as it's not really his body, he's not that attached.

C = Cum

Never messy. Dream is meticulous. It will end up exactly where he wants it, which usually is inside of you. He is old-fashioned in that way.

D = Dirty Talk

Rare, but when he does speak during sex, it will ruin you. Low, deliberate, an intimate growl or whisper. Think: “You belong with me." He will not tease you much verbally though as it's more of a reverent act for him.

E = Experience

He is the Dreaming. He’s seen every fantasy and every perversion since the dawn of thought. Personal experience is somewhat less extensive but he is very attentive and he reads your body like a menu.

F = Favorite Position

Missionary at first: he's in control and it's very intimate. But the moment you flip the dynamic, it’s over. He likes control, but he also likes watching what you do when you think you have it. And when he sees how much you enjoy this, how you get pleasure from him, he'll want more of this right away. He would never admit it, but he likes yielding control now and then, the weight of the universe somewhat shifted off his shoulders for a while when he is at your mercy. He won't ever let you tie him up in the real world though. Too soon.

G = Goofy

Absolutely not. Morpheus doesn’t do goofy. He does “sacred ritual of union beneath a dying star” energy. If you giggle, he will pause, confused, his prickly pride looking to be offended. But if you kiss him through it, he softens.

H = Hair

Soft, lush, always slightly wild like he just rolled out of a meadow. He’ll let you tug it, twist it around your fingers, bury your face in it while he fucks you like a dream you don’t want to end. Down there, he's probably not perfectly groomed, but it's not a wild tangle either.

I = Intimacy

He doesn’t understand it fully, but he craves it. Deeply. You’ll catch him studying you while you sleep, just to feel close. He lovebombs you early on because he doesn't know slow and steady. He doesn't do halves, either, and it will mostly be on his terms. Touches. Gifts. Whispered words. And he will expect you to return it.

J = Jack Off

Almost never. He’s above that — in theory. But if he dreams of you? If you haunt his mind long enough? He will give in. And when he does, it’s dark and desperate and entirely about you.

K = Kinks

Control, worship (being worshipped and worshipping you), dreamplay (just using the Dreaming basically), bondage with silk and shadow, edging, whispered affirmations. He's not cruel, he would never hurt you, but he likes to play with power and dominance, especially when he knows he has to upper hand.

L = Location

When you're in the Dreaming, then all over the place. One moment you're in his throne room, the next you're suspended above a sea of stars. Your moans echo in a cathedral of forgotten gods. No place is off-limits. And in reality? There's no place on earth where he doesn't want you, so...

M = Motivation (what turns him on)

Your desire for him. Your love for him. Morpheus really needs this attraction. Also he seems to go for people who are good-natured and honourable, so that too, probably. And then, once this is established, you yielding to his dominance will be as much of a turn-on as you resisting him or seducing him.

N = No (hard limits)

Pain. He detests cruelty or humiliation for its own sake. Also he doesn't seem like he's up for sharing. His pride won't allow it. Otherwise, considering his age, he's probably tried everything at least once.

O = Oral (Giving/Receiving)

Both. And he's skilled. When he eats you out, it’s slow, hypnotic — like a story being told on your skin. When you go down on him, he watches like a god accepting an offering.

P = Pace

Either agonizingly slow, teasing you to madness — or sudden and overwhelming, like being caught in a storm of stars. Rarely in between. Always passionate.

Q = Quickies

Not usually. Sex is a ritual to him. But if you ask, or tempt him? He’ll pull you into a dark corner of the Dreaming and make time stop for just long enough to ruin you.

R = Risk

He has no shame. But you do. And he likes pushing you to the edge of that. He won’t get caught — he’s Dream. But he’ll let you think you might be.

S = Stamina

Infinite. Literally. He’s an Endless. The real question is how long can you last?

T = Toys

He doesn’t need them — he creates anything. A whisper becomes a silk rope. A memory becomes a vibrating echo inside you. He’s only limited by your imagination… or his.

U = Unfair (teasing)

Unfair. Always teasing. He’s into dreamplay — form shifting mid-act, scenarios from your subconscious unfolding around you. He'll let you fuck your fantasy and then ask how it compared to him (he will not allow himself to be eclipsed by a dream). He sends you wicked dreams. You’ll wake up wet, breathless, your legs shaking — and he’ll appear in the doorway, smirking, pretending he has no idea of the effect he has on you. Not pretending well though.

When you tease him, that'll take him so time to get used to but he'll love it. From innocent touches to innuendo or comments to that special dress he likes on you.

V = Volume

Quiet, but intense. Low grunts, reverent moans, the occasional gasp when you surprise him. If he says your name while coming, it’s the closest he gets to prayer.

W = Wild Card

He longs so much to belong to someone, to you, that all intimacy is much more than just desire. All sex is always driven by affection and his wish to connect emotionally forever.

X = X-Ray (What’s Under the Robes)

Lithe, cold skin like moonlight, but responsive to your heat. More muscle than you’d expect, all sinew and shadow. And yes, the cock is real, and perfect, and dream-forged to your desire.

Y = Yearning

God-tier. Ancient, aching longing — the kind that creates galaxies. If Morpheus wants you, it’s not casual. It’s obsession, devotion, eternal ache. You feel it across every plane.

Z = Zzz (how quickly he falls asleep)

He doesn't sleep but he'll take care of you. Stay close to you. And he'll definitely peek into your dreams to see whether you enjoyed it. And he'll take notes.

[hahaifolded]

We Want You: Ghoap x POC!FemReader (Masterlist) Summary: After getting to know you, the newest member of the 141, Simon "Ghost" Riley and Johnny "Soap" MacTavish realize that they want you. However, will the two be successful in reeling you in? Chapter 4: Soup (Previous) (Next) Chapter Summary: Simon and Johnny invite a third to date night. Warnings: MDNI, Angst, Misunderstandings, Johnny Blog Rule: Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

“So what do you think you’re getting tonight?”

“...”

“Don’t give me that look. Maybe you want to switch it up today?”

“Are you?”

Johnny laughs. Simon has a point. Date night wouldn’t be date night without their signature dishes. Date night… what a relief. 

Since visiting you, there hasn’t been a moment for the couple to come up with ways to seduce you as they’ve been swamped with meetings, training, paperwork, and general fatigue which only made rest harder to come by. But tonight, without prying eyes and constant interruptions, they’ll finally be able to sit down and talk it out. All they have to do is grab Johnny’s keys from their shared barracks and they can be off. 

Just a few more steps, past the team’s common space, and they’ll be--

Johnny is the first to notice as his nose catches a delicious aroma coming from the common space. Shocked by what he saw, Johnny stops which immediately causes Simon to pause.

“What are y--?” Simon also couldn’t believe what he was seeing as he joined Johnny in the doorway. 

There you were in the 141’s shared kitchen, stirring at a small pot over the gas stove. 

Johnny calls out your name hesitantly, almost as if he was nervous that you’d run off. You don’t as you turn and wave at the pair. 

“Hey you guys,” you say. You return to the pot and continue to stir. Simon and Johnny throw each other a look. Neither of them could believe you were here. It’s not like they weren’t happy to see you. You being here meant that you were doing a lot better. What they couldn’t believe was that you were here without them knowing. They should have been the first to know especially since they told you that--

“How are you here?” Johnny asks. You, without ever taking your eyes off your pot, mention how the doctor noticed your wounds healing pretty well and decided to discharge you. Johnny hums in response. He looks at Simon for backup.

Simon clears his throat and says, “I think what Johnny means, love, is how did you get here? Thought I told ya to call us once you got the green light.” 

You turn around and let out a short but hearty laugh.  “And interrupt date night? I know it doesn’t look like it but I really don’t have a death wish.” You return back to the stove and continue stirring the pot, literally and figuratively.

“You could’a called us, bonnie. We would have came,” Johnny pleads.

You turn back to roll your eyes and joke, “I saw what happened to Kyle. No, thank you.” They knew you were being playful but that didn’t make the pain in their chests hurt any less. 

Disappointment would barely cover what Simon and Johnny were feeling at the moment. Despite voicing their desire to help you, you still didn’t feel like you could lean on them for support. You see yourself as a complete outsider from the pair when that is just the complete opposite. Whether you know it or not, you have brought out parts of not just in the men but in their relationship that would have never seen the light of day if it wasn’t for you. You reminded them that they can still want soft things in their lives despite everything. They can still have soft things like you. 

And god dammit, Simon wasn’t going to give that all up without a fight.  

“Come with us.” Johnny looks at Simon with awe. It’s things like this that reminds him why he fell in love with his Lieutenant in the first place. 

You let go of the ladle and turn your entire body around. “What?” You couldn’t believe your ears. 

“Come with us. Let us treat you to dinner,” Simon takes a step forward, “please.” You take a moment to think about it but to both Simon and Johnny’s luck, you agree. It took everything in the men to not outwardly cheer. 

“Perfect. Just wait here with Johnny while I grab the keys and we’ll be off, okay,” Simon says with a smile on his face. He pats Johnny on the shoulder before leaving rushing out the room. 

Johnny couldn’t believe it. It’s happening. It’s fucking happening. He wasn’t sure who he wanted to kiss more, you or Simon right now. The only thing he knew was that this was possible because of Simon’s beautiful brain so it’s only fair if he does his part in the heavy lifting.

So as you turn off the stove, Johnny strolls over to you and asks if you need help. He doesn’t miss the little side-eye you give him as he appears at your side. You tell him you’re fine and continue packing away whatever you had in that small pot. Clearly, you’re still a little hesitant around him but that’s okay. He’s not a quitter. 

“So what did you have in there? It smelled good,” he asks. 

“Soup.” 

“Oh.” You’re clearly not in the mood to talk (to him). Johnny looks around the kitchen and notices the lack of scraps and supplies on the island. “You clean fast. If I was the one cooking, it’d look like a bomb went off in here,” he jokes. 

Again you answer very plainly. “Didn’t clean.”

Johnny looks at you confused. “So what? You made this in the med-bay?” He smiles at the end of his sentence, hoping it would ease you. 

It doesn’t. You let out a deep breath and finally look at him. “I meal-prepped this right before the op,” you finally answer. Your voice was curt. 

Still not willing to give up, Johnny continues to press. “But why?” Johnny knows he’s treading on thin ice but he wants to show you that he isn’t going anywhere. He’ll always be there whether you like it or not (although he secretly hopes you’ll like it one day). 

“Because not everyone has someone who'll take care of them. Happy?” you snap, smacking the ladle to the counter. 

“Well maybe if you--” Johnny immediately stops himself as you turn your head towards him with fury in your eyes. He didn’t mean to speak.

Unfortunately, for Johnny, you refuse to give the Scotsman an out. “Maybe if I what, MacTavish? Finish your sentence. Maybe if I what?” 

Johnny starts to sweat. He really dug himself in a hole here. He can’t confess now. He can’t just tell you that maybe if you were open to it, he and Simon can take care of your every need, physical, emotional, sexual. But he can’t just drop that on you when you feel like you can’t even rely on them for a simple ride and while Simon is not here. Where is Simon? What’s taking him so long?

You yell at him again which prompts Johnny to just speak and hope for the best.

“Well maybe if you opened yourself up to new opportunities, maybe you’d have someone,” Johnny mumbles out. He grimaced as he saw your face fall. It’s as if all the anger you had in your body shriveled up and was replaced by grief. He tries speaking up but finds all words escape him as tears well in your eyes. 

“Oh.” You turn away from Johnny and shake your head in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. You take a deep breath. “You know something, MacTavish, the last time I opened up to someone, they tried to make me their whore.” You turn to face him and with red eyes, you continue, “so sorry if I’m having a hard time trusting people.” 

Johnny opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by the sound of keys jingling.

Without knowing what’s happened, Simon walks in with a grin on his face. “Ready?” His smile immediately falters as he sees Johnny’s guilty face and your broken one. He doesn’t even have a chance to ask what’s happened when the tck, tck, tck of the stove is heard.

“I think I’m going to stay back. I’m not feeling so good,” you announce. You wipe your nose with your forearm and pour your cold soup back in the pot. 

“Love,” Simon mumbles out. He looks at Johnny for back-up but it’s futile as Johnny drops his head in defeat. “You need to eat.” 

You wave them off. “It’s fine. I got my soup. You two go and enjoy your date night.” You never turn to face Simon. 

Simon walks towards you but stops when Johnny shakes his head. With a heavy heart, Johnny leaves you by the stove and ushers Simon out by his arm. Simon leaves without a fight but can’t help but feel confused. What happened? Why did you change your mind? 

What did Johnny do?

-- -- --

With the happy couple gone, you finally break. You let the tears stream down your face as you come to a heartbreaking conclusion.

Johnny has a point. 

You’re utterly and terrifyingly alone because of your own doing. 

The reason why you have to warm up old, frozen soup is because there’s something wrong with you. 

It’s not because of work, which you’ve always blamed, because Price has a wife and Johnny and Simon seemed to have made things work. Sure, Gaz is single, but you know once he’s ready to settle, he’ll have no issues finding someone. 

Work has never been the issue. It’s always been you. Every relationship you’ve had has always ended the same, in heartbreak and disaster, and the only common denominator in each instance has been you.

Even now with Johnny, he came up to you because he thought you’d be willing. What about you made him think that you’d be willing? Because there’s no way he’d choose you out of desire. It had to be out of certainty. 

Johnny’s right. There’s something wrong with you. 

Word Count: 1646

Previous - Masterlist - Next

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. I had hard time writing. like I knew what I wanted but damn... I didn't have the words.

[australet789]

TLK: Weird Hills

So far, so good.

Nala had been able to evade the hyenas guarding the borders just because a random stampede of the few herds left in The Pridelands happened in front of the scavengers. Even if they were as thin as her, a bunch of herbivores were clearly more appetizing than a lioness trying to escape.

Not that she envied them. It worked for her and her mission to get help.

Nala just needed to get past the last secure point and she would be out of The Pridelands. She would be out of her home, for the first time in her life.

It scared her.

"Who goes there?"

Nala halted. No other animal should have been in this place. It was only used when the lionesses needed to give birth and it had been several moons ago that a cub was born in the once lushed kingdom.

When the creature whose voice belonged let herself shown in front of her, Nala finally recognized her.

"Zira." The stripped lioness had been a recent adition to the pride. Her and her sister had come asking for help, looking for a place to rest since both of them were pregnant. Nala berated herself internally for not remembering them.

"...You." Zira said. It was clear she didn't recognize Nala. Or didn't care enough to remember her name. "You are part of Scar's lionesses, aren't you? Did he send you here to check on us?"

Nala didn't like being referred as to Scar's possesion.

Zira squinted her eyes, noticing her hesitation. She changed her position, putting her body between Nala and the way past the lands. It was clear that she wanted answers.

Nala sighed. There was no hurt in telling Zira what she was going to do, it was going to benefit everyone in the end.

"Look,I don't want trouble." Nala started, "I just need to get past by. I'm going to get us help."

"Help?" Zira replied. "Help for what. We are all good here."

'Was she kidding?'

"I...Zira, we need help. There is no food left-"

"It's the dry season, that's normal."

Nala gritted her teeth. "Not here. Not since Scar became the King."

"So what? It's not our job- your job, to look for help. That's the King's job."

"And he is not doing it."

"Says who?" Zira began to approach Nala slowly. "Scar told me he already asked for help, but the other kingdoms rejected his pleas, his ideas for peace. The he was called a Mad King, but, despite it, he was ready to accept the outcasted, like me and my sister."

Lies, Nala thought. There were all lies to get someone on Scar's side. He was desperate since even his hyenas were starting to murmur against him. More reasons for her to leave inmediately.

"Are you planning a coup?"

Before Nala could reply, Zira jumped at her, grabbing her head and bringing it closer to her teeth.

"Listen here, you ungrateful wench," a stench left Zira's mouth, warm and dangerous, "Scar promised my sister and I a good life, a home, a place for our cubs to grow up protected, and that, one day, they are all going to become a special Guard. You and your delusions are not going to interfer with what I finally deserve, you hear me, cub?"

Maybe it was the condescending way Zira spoke to her. Maybe it was a hidden instinct, after all the seasons of her mother overprotectiveness, after having to be the "grown up" of her friends — friends who were not with her anymore. One moment Zira's teeth were next to Nala's face, the next, it was her teeth on the other lioness. Nala knew that she aimed for the neck, but her own conscious made her go to something less mortal. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she killed a soon to be mother.

Zira's screams would certainly alert the hyenas and Scar, but she didn't care. She didn't care for the blood of another pride member on her teeth, for the curses that Zira was throwing at her.

Finally, the horizon didn't seem so gray anymore.

-----------

I had this idea about Zira being a last obstacle and that she became Scar's "Queen" (even if just by title) by telling him about Nala's escape. Him first promising Zira to make her cubs part of a Guard it's my hc on how Zira knew about The Lion Guard.

[animasola86]

🚩 FORCED: 08

You spend a few more moments strapped to that awful chair, experiencing new things, witnessing other things, being unsettled all the way through...

a morally gray man!your new master ✖️ female!reader

WARNING: This is a DARK FANTASY EROTICA! Beware of the following tags: NSFW! Dead dove: do not eat! Explicit sexual content! Noncon! Master/servant dynamic! Bad BDSM etiquette! Bondage. Enemas (medical kink?)! Inflation. Humiliation. Degradation. Anal insertions, anal gaping. Deep penetration. Belly bulge. Sex toys/butt plugs. (🚩Please do not read/engage if any of these tags are triggering to you!)

WORDS: 3.4k 🚩 READ ON AO3! 🚩 SERIES MASTERLIST

A/N: So. Yes, you read that right (if you read the warning tags above, which I hope you always do!): it's the enema episode. I swear I didn't write it too detailed. It's one of those things I always found strangely fascinating, so bear with me here. You can always skip this one, or skim to the end (look for this 🔴) where Master* plays with another girl. *Master being the man you want him to be, of course (still clogging those fandom tags, sue me!). His role isn't as big here, but he is definitely there, in all his dominant glory. And even more so in the next chapter, if you actually decide to sit this one out.

As always, for more information on him and Reader, check the Author's Notes in chapter 1.

Chapter 7 🔻 Chapter 8 🔺 Chapter 9

You woke up almost in the same position, reclined in that strange chair, still bound, body sweat-slick and shivering, and the first thing you registered was something poking out of your ass, clenched between tight muscles, like a tube, going deep, and the second thing was the increasing pressure in your stomach.

A whimper crawled out of your sore throat as your eyes raked downward. You felt incredibly full, were barely able to breathe, even less so when you noticed the shape of your usually flat tummy, bulging out, pulled taut, skin tight, slowly inflating. The unusual sensation made you whine again, panic surging through your already tense body, making you struggle in your bonds.

“Shh, it'll be alright,” you heard a soft voice from somewhere between your spread legs. “Don't move too much, it'll be over soon.”

You strained your neck, trying to find who'd consoled you, when you saw the head of a girl, a young woman, poking up, a shy smile on thin lips, reddened eyes looking up at you. You'd feel ashamed to have another stranger so close to your private parts, but she was just as naked as you, the same collar around her neck, and she was also wearing a braid, like all the others, like you, and hers had a red ribbon holding it together. You were glad she was one of the girls who still had her vocal chords. Maybe she could give you some answers.

“W-why –” you stammered, but she shushed you again, her head turning towards the door of the sterile room.

“No talking,” she replied quietly. “Master doesn't like it when we talk. Rest your voice,” she added, looking back at you. “Relax.”

You suddenly felt her hands on your inner thighs, the gentle rubbing warm and soothing, and it did distract you from the strange things happening inside you.

While you felt really full, your insides bloated beyond what should be possible, it were the cramps that made you really sweat. Hot and cold shivers crashed through you as your muscles contracted, reacting to whatever liquid was pumped into you. In your haze, you noticed an IV stand next to your chair, holding an unusually large bag that was slowly deflating, and when your eyes followed the tube attached to it, it only added to your growing fear as you realized there was still more mystery liquid being fed into you.

You'd heard of enemas before, yet you had no idea it would be like this, but then many things seemed to work differently here, wherever here was, whatever kind of place this was, where girls were always naked and treated like dogs in kennels, eating from bowls on the floor, having their holes inspected and used against their will.

At this point, you should have stopped worrying about whatever came your way, but you still found yourself deeply troubled by it all. Yet the more you thought about your new life, how you came to live it, how unfair it all was, the more frustrated you became, knowing you couldn't change a single thing. You were at the mercy of a sadist and his many pets, having to follow his commands and enduring whatever he threw your way. A shaking sigh escaped you, triggering another deep cramp, and you wailed, squirming on the chair.

The other girl stood up then, her hands rubbing over your bulging belly, giving it gentle pressure, the warmth of her touch soothing the aches within at least a little. She kept shushing you, her eyes on your flushed face. It was eerily calming.

“Try to see the good in it,” she then whispered, barely audible, her hands cupping your stomach. “Doesn't it feel good too? How it fills you? You'll feel so clean after, and it'll be a true experience when it all comes out, trust me.”

You frowned at her words, not having thought about that part of the procedure. Shame crashed through you. The girl only smiled, rubbing her hands around your waist, stepping closer to your crotch, her bare stomach brushing against your still swollen labia.

“And it'll feel even better when Master takes your ass again,” she kept whispering, a somewhat dreamy look in her dull eyes. “He taught me how to come like that, you know? By anal alone? I haven't had anything in my pussy in ages. I don't need it. All I need is his cock in my ass... or a plug or a dildo or the fucking machine if he feels generous. I even like it when he shoves other things in there, like balls? Fruit? Bottles? Anything really... It's so nice to have something up my ass, being filled out, plugged up...” She sighed, and you watched her with growing concern. “I wish I was on that chair right now, you know? But I only get to be pumped full and cleaned every two weeks. At least I can watch the others getting filled, that's something, right?” She laughed dryly, her eyes raking down your body, her hands back to cup your belly.

Your frown deepened, the cramps momentarily ignored as you focused on her story. “How... how long have you been here?” you managed to ask before she could shush you again.

She looked at you, her eyelids fluttering. “I don't know. It doesn't matter. I am Master's anal whore, that is my purpose, and that's all that's important. And you'll be his little fuckdoll,” she added, smiling softly. “I bet he'll dress you up in cute clothes and treat you like a real doll, maybe he'll take you outside too! Ah, you almost make me jealous,” she chuckled quietly. “He's always so nice to the new ones... You better enjoy it while you can.”

Her last words made you widen your eyes. Nice? Enjoy it while you can? As another wave of cramps wrecked your insides, causing you to moan in pain, you suddenly saw your whole future turning black. If how he treated you before was nice, then you couldn't even imagine how he'd treat you once you were old news, once he grew bored of his new fuckdoll. Tears welled up in your eyes and you turned your head away, sniffling pathetically.

The girl rubbed her hands along your stomach and moved back down between your legs. You didn't particularly care what she was doing there, how she tugged at the tube stuck in your ass, slowly pulling it out, how there were shuffling noises of something big being pulled closer, and how her fingers probed at your sphincter. You didn't care, you couldn't care, if you did, you'd surely break. So you cried quietly, unable to move, unable to do anything else but endure.

“You're all filled up now,” you heard her say, her voice a little flat. “Hold it in, okay? I'm going to tell Master that you are ready, and when I come back, it'll be better, I promise. Hang in there.”

You gave a croaked sound of confirmation, closing your eyes as you tried to relax, but not enough to be unable to hold it in, however that was supposed to work. Tensing up even more, the strange pain only grew stronger. Your breaths were shallow, your mind racing, your sobs quietening slowly as you heard the girl leave the room through the door.

You didn't know how long she was gone, but by the time she came back, you were numb enough to no longer care, yet your body was aching under the pressure, your muscles screaming under the strain. The cramps never let up. You felt sick, bile resting at the edge of your throat, but you knew there was no relief. Not in the way you hoped. It wouldn't just disappear. It wasn't over yet.

Suddenly your chair was being lowered with a whirring sound, your inflated stomach sloshing about under the motion. You groaned, rattling in your restraints. Blinking your eyes open, you saw the girl between your legs, one hand on your belly, the other rubbing down your slit. You flinched slightly when she poked at your puckered hole. Her eyes found yours, but you couldn't hold her gaze. You were too ashamed.

“Alright, you can let go now,” she told you, and you felt her stepping away, walking around the chair. “It's okay, there's a bucket beneath you, just let go, okay?” You had no idea what to do (well, of course you had some idea but you didn't like the reality of it), and frankly, you didn't want to do anything, not with her there, not in general. She waited for a moment, just standing there, before you suddenly felt her hands pressing down on your bloated stomach.

You groaned, squirming to try to get away. “Stop, please,” you whined, but she didn't stop, and your humiliation burned up badly when the added pressure had the desired effect on your bowels. Crying helplessly, you couldn't have stopped it if you tried. Squeezing your eyes shut, fisting at the edges of the chair, straining against your bonds, you just let it happen, trying to ignore the noises and the cramps and the sensations and the girl next to you who kept rubbing your slowly deflating stomach. You were deeply disturbed by it all, humiliated beyond belief, but when it was all over, when you were empty and clean, you did feel a strange kind of relief.

A croaked whimper escaped you, your body shivering, your skin slick with cold sweat. The girl wiped at your wet face, shushing you. “Well done,” she whispered. You couldn't look at her, barely registered her words. “Master will be proud. You took it so well. Now you're all clean and ready for him to fill you up.”

She proceeded to clean you up further, the soft cloth on your warm skin a soothing thing that helped you pull away from whatever had just happened. You couldn't think about it, didn't want to think about it, so you didn't. You just lay on that chair and endured, again, with your eyes closed, your chest falling and rising, your heart slowly calming down.

There were noises around you, but you didn't care. Footsteps came and went, stuff was moved from A to B, the door opened and closed a few times. You were still too dizzy, still trying to come to terms with having your bowels washed out like that, the humiliation of it all sizzling under your skin. You really tried not to think about it, but your mind was relentless. And it didn't help that you still couldn't move, strapped to the chair as you were.

🔴 A sigh passed your quivering lips, before the air shifted around you. The door opened and closed with a weird finality, footsteps filled the small room, loud and confident, and as they stopped, you blinked your eyes open and looked up, immediately meeting the dark gaze of the man who was responsible for all of your humiliation.

Flinching in surprise, you tried to straighten up, somehow your body wanted to be alert for him, while another side of you just wanted to hide from his scrutinizing eyes raking over your exposed form. But you couldn't do either, unable to move in any way you wanted, so you just bit your lip and knitted your eyebrows, at least forcing the tears away that threatened to spill from your eyes.

The man watched you for a moment, then turned his attention to the other girl, who was kneeling on the floor next to the chair, her head bowed low.

“Everything went smoothly?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Yes, master,” she said quietly.

“Good. Well done, whore,” he replied, his hand reaching out to touch the back of her head. She gasped softly, but remained in her submissive position, while you frowned more. The way he threw around these degrading names like they were compliments still irked you. The girl didn't seem to mind.

“Thank you, master,” she cooed.

He nodded, his handsome face still impassive and hard, and you noticed he was carrying a long box under his arm. Bending down, he put it in front of the girl, then used the tip of his shiny shoe to get her attention. “Pick your reward,” he told her, and she looked up tentatively.

From your position on the chair you couldn't quite see what was inside the box, but you still watched the scene (because what else were you supposed to do?). The girl took the lid off and issued a strangled noise, before she looked up at the man with a wide smile on her face. “Oh, thank you, master! Thank you!” She then grabbed whatever was inside the box and held it up like something sacred, flat on her open palms, and you saw that it was a giant double-ended dildo. And it was really giant, it was wider and longer than the girl's forearm, veiny like a real cock, made of flesh-colored silicone, and the sight alone made you very uncomfortable.

You swallowed audibly, but nobody paid you any mind. The man picked up the box and whatever else was in there and carried it to a nearby table, then turned back to the girl and grabbed the dildo from her hands.

“Present,” he said in that dominant tone of his, and the girl immediately shuffled into a different position. She turned around, still on her knees, but now her ass was up and her face pressed to the floor, her arms folded behind her back, her hands gripping tightly onto her elbows.

You had to strain your neck a little to see her properly, and while you debated to just look away and ignore whatever was happening, you couldn't do any of it. There was a weird pull to the absurdity of it all, this place, these girls, this man, the things he did to them, the way they talked about him. How thankful she had sounded, how excited she'd been to tell you how much she loved having things up her ass. It was weird, and somehow you knew, it could only get weirder.

And indeed it did. You saw the man carrying a strange contraption, a black rubber ball with a tube attached to something that looked like a small but long butt plug, glistening slightly in the harsh fluorescent lights above you. You watched in growing concern how he walked up to the girl's backside, and without preparing her or adding more lube or anything else that could have helped, he pressed the stiff plug to her sphincter. He was really using force, the way his knuckles blanched under the strain, and how the girl pushed back to hold her position, breathing harder. Eventually her muscles opened up and the plug slipped into her, making her gasp softly.

He pushed it as deep as he could, with only the wider base with the black tube sticking out of her, then he straightened up and started pumping the ball attached to it. You heard air flow, some sort of hissing sound, his hand worked and worked, and you realized he was inflating something, no, not something, the plug in the girl's ass, and the mere idea of it made you squirm on the chair, feeling your own insides protesting.

Yet the girl only knelt there, still except for her labored breaths and an occasional shiver crashing through her. She just endured, and as she did, you stared at the scene, how the man kept pumping, how more and more air pushed into the plug and ultimately into her, stretching her more and more. Eventually he stopped, then gave the tube a little tug. It wouldn't budge.

“Push it out,” he said, and you frowned at the command.

The girl, however, complied quickly, straining herself, her back arching, sounds of effort and quiet moans slipping from her lips. You should really look away, you shouldn't be watching a girl trying to press an inflated plug out of her ass, but again, you couldn't move, couldn't avert your eyes. There was a depraved kind of fascination to it, how she pushed, how her muscles stretched, and how suddenly, the black silicone popped her open from within, and with a drawn-out sigh, she managed to push the entire thing out of her rear. It left her with a wet pop, and your eyes widened at the sheer size of it. It was almost as big as a fucking football (maybe not quite, but it was still unusually large!).

Cold shivers crashed through you, and you finally managed to turn your head away. The motion pulled the man's attention back to you, the silent witness, and suddenly he was there and grabbed your chin, turned your head back. His other hand fumbled with the controls of the chair and you felt yourself being moved, from the reclined into a sitting position. You stared up at him.

“Keep watching, doll. I want you to learn,” he told you in his low voice, his eyes boring into yours. You nodded weakly.

Letting go of you, he focused back on the girl on the ground, who had moved her hands to her backside and was holding herself open, fingers hooked into the wide gaping hole. Your stomach churned at the sight. The man crouched down then, his hand on her lower back, before he raised it to slap it against her sensitive rim, making her flinch.

“What a good hole you are,” he said quietly, and she cooed in response. “Let's fill you up properly, hm?”

He leaned back to grab the giant dildo she'd taken from the box, and without saying anything more, he lined one side of the toy up and simply pushed it into her, or rather, slid it into her, there was no obstruction, her rim too wide, her muscles too loose, it just slipped in, and in, until the entirety of it vanished into her depths. You saw her adjusting to the insertion, her back arching, body contorting to accommodate the object invading her insides, but she didn't fuss, she just took it, even seemed excited about it, the way she was buzzing and wriggling her ass slightly.

Once the item was inside her, he made her press her hands to her hole, keeping it from slipping back out, before he stood up and walked to the other side of the room. He returned with something big and transparent, some sort of wide plug you assumed. You watched him nudge the girl with the tip of his shoe again, and she took her hands away so he could shove the plug into her hole, sealing her up.

He proceeded to slap her ass cheeks a few times, like he'd done with you to make you clench, and you saw the same happening to the girl's loose rim. Eventually it closed around the narrower handle of the plug, keeping everything in place. You exhaled a shaky breath as it was all done, not having realized you had held your breath during it.

“Stand,” the man said, and the girl stood up, a little unsteady, but then she straightened up, pushed her chest out, and you could see a visible dent in her stomach, an unnatural bulge, and you could only assume how the dildo inside her rearranged her guts, how deep it really went, how much space it was taking up. The thought alone made you tremble.

But the girl was smiling at the man, bowing her head as she said: “Thank you, master.”

“You're dismissed,” he replied with a nod. “Go back to your cage. I'll find you tomorrow.”

“Yes, master,” she whispered with another bow, and started walking past him towards the door, her steps very uneasy, the thing inside her making it definitely hard to move properly. But somehow she managed, and you watched her as she left, the door falling closed behind her.

And suddenly you were alone with him again. Swallowing hard, you watched him, wondering what he had planned next. You couldn't see it on his impassive face, but you knew it would be something you couldn't imagine in your wildest dreams, or nightmares.

Chapter 7 🔻 Chapter 8 🔺 Chapter 9

End notes: Alone with Master at last (again)! Whatever will he do to you next? Stay tuned!

New chapter every Saturday at around 9pm CEST!

Thank you for braving this depravity reading!

MASTERLIST 🔻 AO3 🔻 ORIGINAL WORKS

[auroraduranduspwfan]

Saarbrücken was a blast. It was warm and just amazing. I sadly didn't take any pictures, as I was too focused.

My family would say "It's always the same, why continue to go?"

But for me, this is my happy place, this is a moment of joy. I might not have danced that much or jumped, but I still sang and screamed.

The best? Getting a chance to meet not only Roel but also Attila. I'm still sorry that I was so nervous, especially around Attila. I wish them safe travels and we'll see each other in Düsseldorf again. Maybe then I'll be less nervous. 🙏

(ALSO: I do not know if someone took a picture or a recording, but Attila and Falk hugged on stage and Attila kissed Falk on his cheek. Istg they give material for Falktila.)

[chainofclovers]

I am so upset that Tracy Ifeachor exited The Pitt and so sad (and DISAPPOINTED) that she’s affiliated with Jesus House UK and I hate that I’m this curious (which is to say kind of rabidly curious) about what might have happened that was (presumably) bad enough for the creative team to let her go considering what a rich and beautiful story they set up for her character in s1 and I hate that even a cursory glance through the show tag on tumblr (you couldn’t pay me to get back on twitter for this) reveals fandom accusations of gate-keeping about the Jesus House stuff (but it’s just out there on the public internet??? I didn’t know either, because I hadn’t seen it on socials and I’m such a ship-and-let-ship person that the ubiquity of the Langdon/Mel ship wars is something I have less-than-zero amounts of interest in so I don’t tend to linger in general fandom spaces for this show…anyway finding out something suddenly doesn’t necessarily mean there was a cover-up going on). And somehow, her not being on the Variety cover feels even worse now even as I’m super sad to know how deeply our personal beliefs likely misalign. It’s all GROSS GROSS GROSS.

On a selfish level, 2025 has been an incredibly hard year (with plenty of good moments, but so much of what’s happening in the world is terrifying and rage-inducing and requires great vigilance to stand against) and The Pitt was such a bright spot, just the perfect well-written, juicy, character-driven thing to escape into at a time when I really needed a way to give my brain a break from pressing issues but through a show that doesn’t just ignore the fucked-up stuff about our world.

Collins, Dana, and Robby were immediately my faves and the amount of complexity and history the writers and actors established between them within one season taking place over 15 hours of life was just incredible. I think about Collins and Dana in the hospital bed and “kind of a fucked up day” on a regular basis, and Robby and Collins on the back of the ambulance reaching a place of understanding on stuff they’d left buried for years, and I’m sure that’ll continue to be something I return to, but it won’t be the same because I’ll always know that the dynamics they’d intended to seed as a long-term thing aren’t going to last.

I guess we don’t know yet (I think?) if they’ll write the character out of the show, which would be easy to explain considering where she was in her residency, or if they’ll recast (which would feel weird but has been done before), etc. There really isn’t a point to these self-indulgent ramblings, I just needed to rant a bit about how bummed out I am about so many aspects of this news. The religious fundamentalism, the feeling of having both too much information and not enough information, the fact that we remain at a point in our society where there is enough of a dearth of complicated and well-written roles for Black actors that every time something fucked-up like this happens there is just a great weight to it beyond the personal disappointment about the specific thing. There are many other characters and storylines that I’ll keep watching this show for, and hopefully I’ll be able to keep enjoying the role the show plays in my life, but I just needed a minute to be dramatic about it because I’m genuinely quite upset over all of this. 💔

[bellesdreamyprofile]

Hungry Heart - Major Gale Cleven

summary: after the war finally let your Buck go, he comes back home and finds you in an unusual setting

After the war, one of your friends from college bought a bar for "morale". You remembered rolling your eyes at the statement, yet the idea wasn't malicious since people did seek comfort in places other than home. Especially after everything they went through.

Kenny asked if you were willing to pop by every now and then, just to help out in the kitchen on Fridays and Saturdays — the busiest days of the week. You teased him for a little bit, but agreed nonetheless. He was a good friend after all — and none other than the one who introduced you to Major Gale Cleven, your Buck.

You were just two kids, laughing quietly in the back of a room. Giddy smiles and disheveled hair, hands tangled whenever you got the chance. His plump lips fell on yours whenever you were around and his eyes — oh those eyes. They sparked with this unprecedented light, staring at you like you had hung the moon.

"I love you, baby.", Buck murmured one day. His hand brushed your hair behind your ear, giving him a clear view of your soft skin. A pink hue stained your cheek, maybe from love, maybe from the strain of him leaving you behind.

"I'm gonna miss you.", you felt a knot in your throat, one you couldn't easily swallow. You held onto him so tightly, like he'd disappear into thin air at any given moment. Buck leaned his forehead to your temple, his hand cradling your cheek.

"I'm gonna miss you too, sweetheart. But you know I gotta go.", his strained voice sent vibrations to your heart, forcing your eyes shut.

"Please stay, Gale. Please.", your tone was pleading and he almost found himself giving in. Your Buck left and you stayed behind, blaming the war for taking the love of your life away from you. The chaste kiss on your cheek lingered for days, weeks, years. You still remembered, for he was no unforgettable man, your Buck.

The war had come to an end and your chest and shoulders could finally sink without distress. Men and women walked in and out of the bar, some broken, some less affected. Everyone disguised their pain in their own ways. The jukebox kept on playing music that brought all people together and the drinks flowed endlessly — all was as good as it could get.

Until one late Saturday evening.

"Major Gale Cleven.", you said with a controlled smile. His blue eyes immediately found yours, like magnets sticking together.

He stood before you wordlessly. You couldn't believe your eyes. You couldn't believe your luck.

"Y/N...", the way he said your name, so carefully, so delicately. You took a moment to take him all in — the beauty, the pain. But he was finally back.

Before he left, there were no lingering words resembling "I'll come back to you.", "Please, wait on me.". He never wrote and quite frankly you didn't either, too afraid that one of the letters might never reach him alive. You didn't officially date and you didn't officially break up — where did that leave you? In a wave of insecurity, unable to figure out your own place.

Should you hug him? Should you kiss him? Or should you go, leaving the fragments of him in the past?

His heavy, piercing gaze was fixated on you solely as he slowly walked up to you. The only sound being the squeak from his boots and the quietude of the jukebox. People had left by now, Kenny being the only one in the kitchen to clean up the glasses and whatnot.

Buck's usually bright eyes resulted dull, void of the joy that made them spark so beautifully. Your heart ached for him.

He was quiet for a moment and then. "I missed you."

The crack in his voice made your hands tremble. A shaky breath left your lips, but you couldn't find the strength to say anything.

"Hey Y/N, did you get the rest of the glasses— Oh."

Your heart thumped at the sound of Kenny's booming voice. Buck flinched, his eyes darting behind you, looking at your friend. You heard Kenny's footsteps approaching slowly.

"I'm Kenny.", the brunette offered a friendly handshake, not thinking anything of it. Gale looked at his hand and then at the proximity of his body to yours.

"I'm Gale Cleven.", he didn't sound particularly prideful or himself, but he shook Kenny's hand nonetheless.

The brunette's eyes widened and a small smile appeared on his lips. "Major Cleven? I've heard all about you.", the smile spread easily in awe at the war-hero, but Gale simply stared back. His brows furrowed unnoticeably as he weakly connected the dots.

You and him. Kenny. It wasn't Y/N and Buck anymore. It hadn't been for a long time.

"A pint of beer, Major? It's on the house.", Kenny wiped his hands with a clean rag, the excited smile still radiant.

Gale shook his head. "I'm alright, thank you.", he said hastily. He looked up at you, his gaze lingering for a moment. "Just wanted to see...", he cleared his throat, his head lowering. "Have a good evening."

He turned on his heel and walked to the front door, the small bell chiming after him. Kenny's smile still couldn't be wiped off as he stared at the door with his hands on his feet.

"What a nice guy.", he said, nodding. "Anyways, I'll grab the glasses, you go after him, love." 

You stilled.

"What?"

"There are obviously so many things left unsaid.", Kenny answered nonchalantly. "Go before it's too late."

You ran, opening the door with power you didn't know you possessed.

"Buck!", you called in the pouring rain. Your eyes darted left and right before they finally spotted him. He looked like a sad, wet, little puppy.

"Y/N?", he turned around and despite the distance, you could clearly detect the confusion across his face.

"Why didn't you write me?", you asked breathlessly.

"What?", Buck's hands found your elbows, stabilizing your wobbly self.

You shook your head. "You didn't write me a single letter. I thought you didn't love me anymore.", you revealed one of your insecurities to him. All your friends that wondered about Major Cleven's whereabouts were left without an answer, for you didn't know either.

"You're the reason I came back.", his voice was barely audible in the rain. "I wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for you, baby."

You felt your hands tremble yet again.

"I didn't write because...", he lowered his gaze. "I thought I wouldn't make it. I didn't want you to be hung up on me."

"Buck...", you felt tears forming in your eyes. The vulnerability in his words touched you. His gaze found yours again, only to find his eyes as wet as yours.

“I’m sorry.”, he murmured softly, his tears mixing with the raindrops.

You shook your head, feeling that heaviness on your chest settle.

“But you made it. You came back.”, your words were a mere whisper between the two of you. “You came back to me.”

Without thinking about it too much, your body pressed against his, like in old times. Your face found the familiar warmth of his neck and your hands wrapped around his body like an armor.

“Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t even answer as you pressed your own lips on his.

A/N: thank you so much for reading! next on the list is Bare Souls 2. let me know what you thought about this one 💋

MASTERLIST buck cleven masterlist

[wondersmithswondelrand]

I don’t think she ever knew. Maybe she did. Maybe deep down she felt it like a small warmth near the edge of her life, something too soft to name but too steady to ignore. I never said anything, never once, not because I was afraid of being rejected, but because it didn’t feel like that kind of love. It wasn’t something I needed her to give back. It was something I needed to give. For my own sake. For the way she made silence feel like music. For the way her laugh once made me forget everything that hurt. She never had to do anything special, never had to try. Just... existing beside me was enough to make the world seem a little less sharp. A little more bearable.

I watched her quietly. I memorized the small things—how she tugged at her sleeves when she was nervous, how she tapped her fingers on the table when she was lost in thought. I noticed how tired her eyes looked when she smiled too much. She told people she was okay. She always told people she was okay. But I saw the way her shoulders curled inward when she thought no one was looking. I noticed the way she flinched from kindness like it was a trick. And I wanted—more than anything—I wanted to give her a place where she didn’t have to brace for hurt. Where she didn’t have to apologize for being too tired, too quiet, too complicated. I never told her that, though. Instead, I held space. I showed up. I stayed. Not because I thought she needed me, but because I needed her to know that someone could choose her without needing to own her.

She doesn't know how often I think about her now. How some days feel like they were written in her handwriting, even though she’s not here. I still catch myself looking for her in crowds. Still pause when I hear her name, like it was meant for me. I’ll probably never tell her. Not because I’m afraid... but because it was never about me. I didn’t want her to carry the weight of what I felt. I just wanted to be the quiet moment she could lean into. The breath between the noise. The safety no one ever taught her how to ask for. And maybe that’s love too, in its own way. Not the kind you confess. The kind you carry. The kind you never stop feeling, even if no one ever notices you’re bleeding for it.

I think what broke me most was the fact that she trusted me—just enough to lean, just enough to stay for a little while, but never enough to fall. And I never blamed her. Not once. She’d been let down by too many hands that swore they’d never let go. And there I was, quietly offering mine without a single promise attached, just the constant, quiet presence of someone who would stay. And gods, I stayed. Through her distance, through her disappearances, through her half-finished sentences and eyes that begged to be understood without the pain of saying it out loud. I became fluent in her pauses. I built a home in the silence she left behind after every half-goodbye.

There were nights I almost told her. Not in a desperate way, not to guilt her or win her over. Just in that tired, aching sort of way where the truth sits heavy behind your teeth and begs to be released. Nights where I wanted to say, “I don’t need to be yours, I just want you to know I’ve been here this whole damn time, loving you the only way I know how.” But I didn’t. I let the words rot in my throat because even that felt too loud. Too selfish. Because this wasn’t a story about getting the girl. This was a story about seeing her. About holding a mirror to her soul and loving what I saw, even if she never saw me back. Even if she never looked. Even if she left.

And maybe that’s all it ever was, really—

not a story meant to unfold,

not a chapter that ever turned into more.

Just me,

standing at the edge of her orbit,

loving her in a language too quiet for the world to hear.

I never wanted to be seen.

I never asked to be chosen.

I just wanted to be the steady thing in the background,

the silence that never broke,

the presence that never left.

Some nights, I’d picture her walking through the dark,

completely unaware that someone was out there

keeping a light on just in case.

Not for recognition.

Not for thanks.

But because she deserved to find her way home—

even if it was never to me.

[kolleidiscope]

His guardian angel ♡

Dazai Osamu x gn!angel!reader

1.3k words

cw ;; suicide mentions, manga spoiler warning, not proofread

You were an angel in a world where angels and demons alike walked alongside humans — not to their knowledge, of course. You were a lower ranked angel; often sent on missions or given tasks to complete. Your job usually wasn’t too hard. Every now and again you had to watch over a human for whatever time remained of their life, send some sort of divine message, or something of the sort.

That was until you were assigned to protect Dazai Osamu; a man who had strayed on the wrong path in life at a young age. His childhood followed that of death and destruction. The youngest executive of the Port Mafia. The same executive that up and disappeared not long after the death of Sakunosuke Odasaku, only to turn up as a member of the Armed Detective Agency. His life was now on a completely different, brighter path. Even still, you believed he was not worthy of the protection of an angel.

No matter what you believed, you had a duty to protect him. For some reason, the heavens wanted him safe. You decided that instead of showing up mysteriously to aid him in moments of need, you’d become employed with the agency. It’s most likely that there’d be less distress or confusion called that way. You were accepted into the ADA with ease due to your entrance exam being something that came easily to you. Saving people.

Your plan after joining the agency was to stay near Dazai whenever possible. Your job would be done best if you could spend the majority of your day in the same space as him. Everything was going smoothly. There were no incidents for a while after you started. You silently observed everyone in the agency from the day you began. It didn’t matter who it was, you had to ensure they were of no threat to Dazai. It didn’t take you long to realize that was no worry of an enemy within the agency. Such a close-knit group; each member complimented the rest perfectly. Everyone in that organization had a story to tell, something that made them want to do good. To help people. Everyone but you that was. The sole reason you joined the ADA was to keep Dazai safe it was your divine duty. You felt completely out of place, even though you knew their stories were a human thing.

Whenever Dazai would leave, you followed. He didn’t like it much at first, obviously, but after some time he grew accustomed to you acting as his shadow wherever he went. The only time he got some real distance from you was when he’d finally go home for the day. When he’d lay there alone in his bed his thoughts would occasionally wander off to you; the oddly pure aura you seemed to give off, your attachment to him, and just the general way that you acted. Almost as if you were too pure to exist in the same realm as anyone else. He was deeply interested in you; completely consumed by his curiosity.

His curiosity of you only grew more each day. You only went where he went. Opposed from Dazai, others at the ADA began to find your actions a bit odd. They weren’t judging, of course, but it was still something that they observed. It’s only human that they did. It’d gotten to a point where you had to start making up little white lies when they’d ask you about your behavior. Saying you enjoyed Dazai’s company, or that you simply admired the way he handled his cases. Maybe it was actually a bit true. You did find the way he worked to be efficient, even if he mostly kept his plans to himself.

Dazai took your following as a chance to talk to you. It started off as small questions about yourself when the two of you would go out. Things like your past occupation, your favorite things, why you decided to join the ADA. He slowly worked up to bigger questions over time. Why you chose to follow him — of all people — around, how your ability worked, why you seemed to be so protective of him. He wanted to know; he had to know. It’s a good thing you were so willing to answer most things he asked.

Dazai also took this chance to tease you whenever he could. Constantly trying to convince you to take your life with him, always flirting. The way he’d tease you every time you hesitated as you answered a challenging question of his. He was shameless, but you found it a bit endearing. Out of every human you’d ever been assigned to watch over, Dazai was the first to act like this. It was new, exciting almost, but you couldn’t let him distract you. Your feelings mattered naught. You did start to notice a change within yourself as Dazai continued to act as he did. You found that you felt less and less that he was undeserving of your divine protection. He was just a lost boy trying to make right out of all the wrong he’d done in his life.

If or when any incidents would occur on a mission you’d be right on it. Being attacked by an enemy organization? Dazai’s quickly ushered away from the area and the assailants are handled. A sudden onslaught of bullets coming at you two? Shelter is found immediately. Dazai tries to drown himself in the river again? You were there to stop him before he even got the chance. You have to be prepared for the worst at any moment. Dazai was your responsibility, someone you cared for — because you had to. When dazai began to ask about your ability you were at a loss for words. He’d seen your powers at work many times, but they were no ability. For some reason, you hated lying to him, but telling the truth wasn’t an option that’d be smart.

Every day spent with Dazai made you grow fonder of him. You felt like you finally had a friend. Someone who understood you. Dazai knew when to be serious and when he couldn’t; it was extremely refreshing. You soon found that you may not have to follow him as much as you did. Sure, he didn’t seem to mind, but there was no doubt in your mind that the man wanted some more alone time than what he got. Even after he’d been hospitalized, you trusted you’d be able to prevent another incident.

This may have been your biggest mistake yet. Even as a divine being, you cannot see the future. An ability user apart of the Decay of Angels framed the ADA; made them all look like a terrorist organization. The DOA was an organization that’s been recently making themselves known. You never thought they’d go for the agency. Everything happened too quickly for you to process properly. At one minute the agency was simply out on a rescue mission, and the next they were wanted federally and being hunted down by the military’s Hunting Dogs. It only took a small moment of unawareness for Dazai to be taken from you. Separated in a crowd.

You were sent into a complete panic; torn between protecting Dazai and keeping your cover. You knew deep down that he’d live, yet imagining him hurt was something you could hardly fathom. For some odd reason, you felt that you truly cared for Dazai. It no longer felt like an obligation, it felt natural. This was the first time you’d ever felt like this. It almost felt wrong. You spent every moment that you were apart thinking of how you’d apologize for this. If you hadn’t been so irresponsible he’d have been able to stay with everyone and be safe. Meursault was very secure, yes, but with the ability that Nikolai possessed anything was possible.

The moment you found out about all of the commotion at Meursault you were there in a heartbeat. You knew that he’d found a way out, and with everything going on there was no way you’d leave him alone like this. Your reunion with Dazai was short and filled with tears and tight embraces. You were so overwhelmingly happy that he was still alive. Especially after you learned about Fyodor Dostoevsky, the man he’d been trapped with.

a/n — hii!! i’m really sorry if this is kind of bad, i’m really anxious to post honestly. this was meant to be more slow burn until i started rushing towards the end after i realized that we don’t really know what happens with dazai after leaving meursault LOL. i’m still working on a lot of things with my writing and my account, so any feedback or (kind) criticism is very appreciated!! feel free to send me any requests you have, although i cannot promise that i will do them due to my way of writing!! thank you for reading!!

[mariacallous]

Air travelers in America shall no more doff their chukkas, their wedges, their wingtips, their espadrilles, or their Mary Janes, according to a rule-change announced by Department of Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem on Tuesday. It’s been more than two decades since the Transportation Security Administration started putting people’s footwear through its scanners, after a man named Richard Reid tried and failed to detonate his high-top sneakers on a flight to Miami in December 2001. Indeed, the requirement has been in place so long that my adult children, who were born just before and after the September 11 attacks, didn’t even know its rationale. Feeling the cold airline-terminal floor through socks has been, for them, a lifelong ritual—as fundamental to the experience of flight as narrow seats and insufficient overhead bins.

The TSA’s mandate to go shoeless, like the volume limit on toiletry items (to thwart the assembly of explosives from liquids) and the need to remove laptops from carry-on bags (to better examine them for hidden threats), came to give the mere appearance of vigilance: not security but security theater. From the start, it provided newly federalized and uniformed TSA agents with stuff to do at every moment, and government officials with the chance to embrace “an abundance of caution,” a stock idea that can transform almost any inconvenience into leadership. Now, by closing the curtain on the shoe requirements, Noem has indulged in a rival form of spectacle: populism theater. Her new policy gives citizens something they actually want, and something that has until this point been reserved for upscale travelers who pay for premium airport-security-hopping services. But with this week’s change, the system hasn’t really been democratized so much as made indifferent. In this case, the fact of the TSA’s doing less—and caring less—just happens to be helpful.

In its earliest phase, the shoe-removal policy was applied haphazardly, showing up from time to time and terminal to terminal in response to ever-shifting, secret intelligence on terrorist threats tracked by the Department of Homeland Security. Where the new form of screening was in place, it served not only to avert future shoe bombs but also to speed up the queue. Metal detectors had been tuned to be more sensitive, and the metal shank inside the soles of many shoes, installed to provide support, often set them off.  (In response, some major footwear brands, including Rockport and Timberland, rushed out lines of shoes with plastic shanks that were marketed as being “security friendly.”)

By the summer of 2003, the policy had become more formalized; the TSA started “strongly” recommending that all passengers everywhere remove their shoes, or else risk being subject to a secondary screening. Speaking to The New York Times, a TSA representative said this new approach would “ensure that the experience you have in one airport is similar to the experience you have in another airport coast to coast.” Three years later, the policy of universal urging was made into a hard rule: Now your shoes had to come off, no matter what.

Although footwear checks applied to all in principle, some individuals—especially those deemed suspicious on the basis of their looks, or who evinced anxiety—were getting more aggressive treatment from the screeners. The system seemed unfair for some, and also far too burdensome for everyone. Why couldn’t some new and better form of scanner be invented, one that could spot a shoe explosive even as the wearer stood there? Would Americans be padding across the gross airport floors forever, just because of Richard Reid?

Better technology should have been the answer. In the decade after 9/11, tech firms completely reinvented everyday life: Web search, broadband, mobile telephony, e-commerce, smartphones, social networking, and real-time document collaboration all became routine. Back in 2002, many travelers would not have had so much as a flip phone in their carry-ons; 10 years later, most were toting handheld supercomputers. Yet when it came to building new devices for screening shoes, very little was accomplished. DHS spent millions of dollars in an effort to buy or subcontract the development of next-generation scanners that could avert sole-borne risks in airports, to no avail. (During this time, airport screening’s most significant innovation was the gray plastic bin into which you might hurl your pumps, boots, or loafers.) Shoe removal would “be a part of air travel for the foreseeable future,” a TSA spokesperson somberly announced in 2012, after another four experimental scanners had failed in real-world testing.

But a different way to solve the problem also started to emerge that summer: It turned out just to be money. The privately operated Clear service was launched in airports, giving travelers willing to pay a couple of hundred dollars a year and hand over their biometrics the ability to shortcut the screening line. And when the government’s own pay-for-comfort airport-security service, TSA PreCheck, rolled out widely in 2013, enrollees could finally forgo the lingering inconvenience of taking off their shoes. PreCheck also let them keep their laptops packed and their toiletries inside their bags. For a time, airline flyers with elite status got special access to both PreCheck and Clear.

This would be right in line with other trends of the early 2010s, when the VIP experience was being sold in a thousand different ways. Pay-to-play became a way of life. It’s hard to remember anymore, but before ride-hailing apps were available for nearly everyone, private cars were associated with late-night talk-show guests and people being shuttled to airports directly after giving conference keynotes. The precursors to the modern smartphone, such as the BlackBerry, were originally made for important executives before everyone adopted the air of importance. Since then, the whole economy has shifted upmarket. Those with money can now buy online memberships that get them tables at restaurants or tickets to shows whenever they want. Even Disneyland lets you pay to skip ahead in line.

Trading cash for the right to get through airport security with your shoes on prefigured all this and made it visible for everyone to see. Being in the TSA PreCheck queue not only gave you quick, shod access to the terminal; it also offered a perch from which to look down on the rabble nearby, stripped down to their socks and belt loops, presenting their shampoos and ointments, and unsheathing their electronics. What a bunch of losers, frequent fliers might think, before ascending to the airline club in their Lobbs or Louboutins.

It’s surely long past time to broaden out this special privilege and to stop demanding that every other person among the 1 billion annual air passengers in the United States take off their shoes because one guy tried to hide a bomb in his sneakers a quarter century ago. But the termination of the policy does not feel justified by any new development in science, technology, intelligence, or geopolitics. In announcing the change, Noem gave no satisfying explanation. She said only that it was enabled by the presence of “multi-layers of screening,” new scanners, more personnel, and Real ID—a nationwide identification system that was ginned up by Congress 20 years ago and somehow still has not been fully implemented.

By all appearances, the rule on shoes was not rescinded just because rescinding it happens to make sense. Rather, the change was made because the terror-hardened discipline of the millennium’s beginning has finally, fully been replaced by nihilism. These days, you board a plane that might or might not be flight-worthy, regulated by a shrunken-down Federal Aviation Administration, routed by an air-traffic-control system undermined by neglect and disdain. The president blamed a fatal plane collision on diversity programs, while selling access to the White House in plain view. No one seems to care. But at least you’ll be able to keep your shoes on before lifting off into America’s sunset.