#they really worked well off of each other | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvergirl-866 · 2 days ago

Text

dreams, fairytales, fantasies

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 7.9k

c/w - language, drinking, fluff, and ofc smut (sub p, sub a, strap, eating, fingering…it’s a lot) (also heavy usage of pet names bc i am a sucker for them)

a/n - this is just a real depiction of what happens when lesbians go two weeks without sex 😔. no but fr, i hope yall enjoy!!! (feedback much appreciated, esp bc this is not edited) (also, im majorly crediting the smut queen @basketball-lesbians bc ease and stiff changed the way i write smut forever).

The much anticipated make-up sex doesn’t happen until a week later, which is about six days after they’ve actually made up—which they manage without the involvement of sex. And that’s a great thing for them, considering they have a history of resolving arguments via orgasm, but they also can’t give themselves the credit because the no-sex thing wasn’t really their decision. (If it had been up to them, Azzi would have jumped Paige’s bones that very night they made up).

That day, though, was spent talking, reliving their breakup and the horrible year afterward for the sole purpose of truly processing it. They had continued talking during that time, of course, claiming to be ‘best friends’, but they meticulously danced around the topic of their high school relationship and the fact they were both miserable once it ended, grieving it in their own ways. They talked for hours, and both of them quickly came to realize that there was so much they hadn’t told each other. Azzi was shocked to hear that Paige spent her entire freshman year moping around, never getting out and having fun like Azzi wanted her to do. (“Seriously? I thought you hoed around?” she said when Paige gave her this information. Paige shrugged and said, “I told you I did, so I didn’t seem lame. But yeah, no. I smoked a lot and looked at our pictures and that’s—well, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”)

Paige was just as shocked when Azzi told her she tried going on a date with someone else, just to get the breakup off her mind, and they kissed at the end of the night and she went inside and cried for a long time. (“I didn’t know you went out with anyone,” Paige said, not particularly jealous, just a little hurt because even though they were exes that year, they were still best friends, and they usually told each other everything. Azzi picked her thumbnail, eyebrows drawn at the memory. “It hurt too much. I didn’t even tell my mom.” That, if possible, made Paige feel even worse).

Anyway, by the time they talked everything through (with some crying involved, and maybe a little kissing, too), it was late at night and they were both emotionally exhausted from the day. They’d gotten ready to sleep and laid in Azzi’s bed and murmured about how much they’d missed each other for about two minutes before they promptly assed out.

And then it was the week, their time consumed with classes, homework, practice, and even grownup things like grocery shopping. They spent as much time together as they could, practically magnetized to each other, attached at that hip when they were in the same vicinity. But they were both swamped with homework and while they tried to do it together that Monday, they quickly realized that it was impossible to focus around each other. Or at least, Azzi did. (“C’mon, we’re doing okay,” Paige said, at approximately 1 A.M., when they had been at it for four hours and had gotten absolutely nothing done. “I wouldn’t say that, P,” Azzi mumbled, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pecking a sulking Paige on the lips. “No more school around each other, ‘kay?” She couldn’t help but be amused at Paige’s exaggerated pouting. “I think we’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, baby.”

That night, her phone had blown up with messages from Paige, most of them silly selfies of her pouting at the camera as she sat at her desk with schoolwork laid out in front of her. Even that was enough to distract Azzi from her work).

So, no, it’s not until Saturday—the night of their second-first date—that the make-up sex (that can’t really be considered make-up sex anymore) happens. But, as the saying goes, good things come to those who wait. And that must be true because that night turns out to be very good indeed.

It all starts before the two of them are even together, with Azzi picking her outfit for their date. She’s never been good with decisions, and this is a big one in her book. She needs to wear the perfect outfit—something sexy and cute and romantic and alluring all at once. An hour into choosing the outfit, Caroline is beginning to regret offering to help.

“Okay, you’re just overthinking it now,” she says, exasperated, watching as Azzi frowns at herself in the mirror.

“If I don’t overthink it I’ll end up looking ugly,” Azzi says, turning this way and that in the mirror, making sure the outfit looks good from every angle. But when she takes a step back, leans her head to the side just so, and turns to the left, the shirt suddenly makes her look atrocious. With a frustrated sigh, Azzi takes it off, tossing it onto the ground.

Caroline groans, flopping onto Azzi’s bed. “What was wrong with that one?”

“Everything,” Azzi replies, going back to her closet to try again. “Has my wardrobe always been this bad?” she mutters to herself.

“You look good in everything, Az,” Caroline says. “And your clothes are cute. Paige is going to love you in whatever you decide to wear.”

Which is true—Azzi could be wearing jorts and a flannel and Paige would still swear up and down she’s the prettiest girl in the world. But love and want are two different things. After two weeks of no sex Azzi needs to be wanted.

“You know what your problem is?” Caroline asks as Azzi rummages through her clothes.

“What?” Azzi asks, sort of desperately.

“Your bra,” Caroline says simply.

Azzi looks down at her bra, then turns to Caroline, a little confused. “It’s a cute bra, though?”

“Yeah, it’s cute,” Caroline concedes, leaning back on her hands and giving Azzi an up-and-down look. “But I thought you were trying to get laid tonight?”

Azzi nods, because duh she’s trying to get laid tonight. It’s all she’s been talking about all week.

Caroline wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Then, this isn’t really about your outfit. It’s about what’s underneath.”

As she stares at her genius best friend, Azzi nods slowly, starting to get it. “I need lingerie.”

“Yup.” Caroline smiles, satisfied. “As soon as you put some sexy panties on, I promise you, girl, you’re gonna feel better about yourself.”

Azzi is already reaching back into her closet, opening her special drawer and rifling through it. “Should I wear one she hasn’t seen before?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Caroline agrees, standing up and walking over to Azzi, peering over her shoulder at her array of underwear. “And don’t tell her you’re wearing it, either. It has to be a surprise.”

Azzi pulls a few sets out, but none of them particularly catch her eye, and it isn’t until they’ve been searching for a few minutes that Caroline reaches into the closet and grabs a still-sealed box, the logo of a designer lingerie brand on the lid. “What about this?” she asks.

It takes a moment for her to remember what the box contains. She’d bought it just a month ago, on a whim, and while it had cost her a fortune she also couldn’t not buy it. She’d, of course, had Paige in mind when she’d bought it, but they haven’t exactly had lingerie sex in awhile—with their busy schedules, they’ve only had time for spur-of-the-moment quickies and lazy mouths and fingers in the mornings before practice.

But this—this is going to be post-date, make-up sex. The absolute perfect occasion to wear insanely expensive lingerie catered specifically for Paige.

With an excited smile, Azzi (with the help of Caroline) gets all laced into the set. And once it’s on, it becomes surprisingly easy to choose the perfect outfit. Because Azzi knows, by the end of the night, Paige will forget all about what she’s wearing, the memory replaced by what she’s not.

———————————————

Paige, of course, tries to fuck her multiple times before they even get to the restaurant. It starts immediately, when she comes to pick her up and they share a chaste hug and kiss, and Azzi takes the flowers from her hands and turns to find a vase to put them in—Paige’s eyes trail down to her ass and stay there for longer than she’d like to admit. And then Azzi is carefully arranging the flowers, talking about how excited she is for their date, when Paige comes up behind her and holds her tight. It’s a gesture that Azzi thinks is innocent until Paige kisses her neck and murmurs, “You look good, Az. Makes me wanna make us late for our reservation.”

Azzi’s entire body heats at that, but she playfully shoves Paige away, not about to let their hormones get in the way of this date.

But then, it happens again, in the car on the way over. Paige’s hand rests on Azzi’s thigh while she drives, which isn’t unusual, and Azzi doesn’t question it—that is, until her fingers trace a slow but sure path between her legs. Azzi lets it go farther than she probably should, only pulling Paige’s hand away once she’s fully touching her clothed center. Laughing, Azzi returns Paige’s hand onto her side of the car. “Your thigh-touching privileges are revoked for that.”

Paige groans. “I didn’t even do nothing, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself, weirdo.”

And when they get to the restaurant, Paige opens her door for her, guides her in by the small of her back, pulls out her chair. It reminds Azzi of a more mature, experienced version of the Paige she dated in high school, and it reminds her exactly why their relationship was so perfect back then. It also reminds her of the aching need between her legs, the one that’s been there for two long weeks and that now practically burns in anticipation. But, she forces herself to ignore it, to just focus on the romance of it all. Paige decides to make that difficult by running a foot up and down her calf, and when she hisses at her to stop, Paige laughs and says, “You’re imagining things.”

It’s not five minutes later that Paige picks up her phone and begins typing. A flash of annoyance comes from the side of Azzi that thrives off attention, more particularly Paige’s attention, and that’s so used to constantly having it it’s a little off-putting when she doesn’t. But then, a moment later, her own phone buzzes, and Paige sets her’s down with a satisfied little smirk.

Azzi rolls her eyes. “You’re stupid.”

“Look at your phone.”

“That’s rude,” Azzi teases. “We’re on our first date.”

“We’ve been on a million dates before,” Paige says, which is technically true. “Look at it.”

Amidst the usual lighthearted, joking tone of Paige’s words, Azzi also catches a hint of something demanding, something that leaves no room for argument—at least, not without repercussion—and it makes it impossible to focus on the setting they’re in without also thinking of the events that will occur when they get home.

She picks up her phone, and there’s a text from one ‘P Boogs 💗’. When she opens it, she finds a stupid, horny text, nothing short of what she expected: can we go fuck in the bathroom or??

Rolling her eyes, and a little relieved that Paige didn’t actually write anything sexy (because if she had, Azzi’s not sure she would’ve been able to resist), she kicks her under the table and sets her phone down. “No, Paige. What’d I say about no more public restrooms?”

Reminiscent of a small child, Paige crosses her arms and slumps back in her seat. “I rebuke that.”

“You don’t know what that word means,” Azzi waves her off, before motioning to their plates. “Now eat before your food gets cold.”

Azzi has only two glasses of wine, so by the time they’re driving home she’s the perfect amount of tipsy. Wine also tends to make her horny, which doesn’t hurt the situation.

“You’re really okay?” Paige asks for what seems like the millionth time. “Because if you’re even, like, a little drunk, we don’t have to—“

“Paige,” Azzi says before she can finish that god-awful sentence. “I’m mostly sober. We’re all good.”

Paige glances over at her, and when she sees the firm look in her eyes she nods, relaxing into a sly smile. As she focuses back on the road, she says, “Good. Because I have an empty apartment tonight.”

The thought of it—the thought that Paige asked her roommates to clear out for the night, knowing what was to come—makes Azzi shift in her seat. The ache between her legs is crossing into painful territory at this point.

By the time they get inside Paige’s apartment, every instinct in Azzi’s body tells her to jump Paige’s bones as soon as the door is locked behind them. But Paige doesn’t really give her a chance—first kicking off her shoes and then immediately heading towards the kitchen. Azzi trails behind her as she opens the fridge.

“Hungry?” Azzi asks, a little confused considering they just had a fairly large meal at dinner. But Paige shakes her head, reaching into the side drawer of the fridge and pulling out a seltzer.

She waves it at Azzi with a smile, though it’s a little unusual—almost wavering? Not the familiar one Azzi’s used to. “Wanted a little drink.”

“Okay,” Azzi says slowly, leaning against the counter, watching as Paige cracks the can open. She shouldn’t be surprised—she herself is tipsy and it’s only fair that Paige would want to catch up after she had to drive. But Azzi has been a little blinded by the filthy thoughts that have been playing through her head all night, and was under the impression they’d fuck against the front door the minute they got home.

She’s already waited two weeks, she reminds herself. Paige only needs a drink or two—they don’t want to be drunk, not tonight—so what’s a couple more minutes?

“It’s kinda hot in here,” Paige says abruptly, and when Azzi looks at her, her cheeks flush. “Isn’t it?”

Azzi’s a little warm, but it’s mostly a mix of the alcohol and pure horniness, so she shakes her head. “Feels okay to me.”

“Oh,” Paige says, and then takes a long swig of her seltzer. She offers up that strange, wavering smile again.

Azzi studies her. This is her best friend, the girl she knows better than she knows herself. Paige is practically an extension of her at this point, it’s that easy for them to read each other. But right now, Paige is acting strange in a way Azzi can’t quite place. She’s been flirting like normal all night, but now that they’re alone she’s putting space between them. And that’s not to mention the blushing, the weird smiling, and the need for a drink.

As Paige takes an extra-long gulp of seltzer, it finally clicks where Azzi has seen this behavior from her: Back in high school, not long into their relationship, the first time they had sex.

She’s nervous.

But, no, that can’t be it, can it? They’ve slept together countless times in the four years since then. Paige knows Azzi’s body like the back of her hand. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Sure that she’s got it all wrong, Azzi crosses over to Paige, watching the way Paige’s gaze falters as she sidles up to her. “Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck, “you good?”

Paige blinks, then swallows thickly. “Me? Yeah, I’m all good.” She takes a sip from her drink. “Why you asking?”

Azzi hums, bringing a hand down to guide Paige’s free one to her waist—something she usually never has to do, as Paige tends to be pretty handsy. “You’re acting…weird, all of a sudden.”

Paige gives her a long, hard look, and Azzi thinks she’s about to deny it again but then Paige is sighing and setting her drink on the counter behind her, wrapping both arms around Azzi’s waist. “I guess I feel a little…nervous, for some reason?” she shakes her head, locks her hands behind Azzi’s back as if to steady them. “I’on know, bro. It’s stupid.”

Azzi shakes her head, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of Paige’s neck. “It’s not stupid.”

“Kinda is,” Paige says, chuckling at herself but it’s a shaky, breathy sound.

“Hey,” Azzi says gently, bringing a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair from Paige’s face, “if you’re not up to it, we don’t have to.” (Even though she spent the entire night suffering through a thong up her ass. The things we do for love.)

But Paige firmly shakes her head, gripping Azzi’s waist more tightly just to show how much she means it. “No, I don’t—you have no idea how much—“

“Yes, I do,” Azzi says incredulously. “I really fucking do.”

Paige’s breath hitches, and her gaze flicks down to Azzi’s lips. Azzi does the same, allured by the shiny gloss there, knowing it’s vanilla flavored from their previous chaste kisses tonight. She wants to taste more of it. Wonders if Paige’s lotion is vanilla, too.

“P,” she murmurs. Paige’s eyes don’t waver away when she hums, “Yeah?”

“Don’t be nervous,” she says quietly, bringing a hand down to cup her cheek, which gets Paige to look at her. “You know me,” she almost whispers.

Slowly, Paige nods, and when she leans down to connect their lips, Azzi nearly groans at the slight contact. It’s chaste to the point of innocent but it’s something, and they’re alone, and god does Paige look so good in this outfit. Paige readjusts, shifting so their legs are slotted together as she deepens the kiss just slightly, and Azzi reminisces on how she’s been waiting for this all night. Since that fateful night at Ted’s, really.

With Paige’s leg between her thighs, Azzi takes the opportunity to bare down, just slightly, only enough to increase the tension between her legs more than relieve it. But Paige groans into her mouth at the feeling and it lights her senses on fire.

They found a good dynamic years ago, and it’s one in which Paige often leads, allowing Azzi to follow without giving her the responsibility of being the first to move, to make decisions—something she’s always been more hesitant with. The past six months they’ve experimented some, stepping out of the comfort zone they had in high school and trying new things. But they still found that, for the most part, Paige prefers to lead, and Azzi prefers to be led—it just works.

But, even now, as Azzi dips her tongue into Paige’s mouth and brushes it against her’s, Paige still seems a little withheld. It’s obvious that she’s overthinking this, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why—this is big for them. They’ve talked about their feelings and gone on their first date and this feels a little like the last step in a routine that will throw them back into that all-consuming, intense relationship they had in high school. Which is exciting, and it feels natural, like it’s only the right thing to do—but it’s a little scary, too. And, knowing she’s being expected to lead, Paige is worried about getting it wrong. Messing up, somehow.

So when Azzi pushes against the fabric of Paige’s blazer, letting it slip off her shoulders, it’s not really a conscious thought that she’s taking over this time. It’s just—something she needs to do. And, if the absolute fire in her belly says anything, it’s something she wants to do, too.

Opening her mouth a little wider, Azzi sucks Paige’s tongue gently between her lips, drawing it out slightly, and when she pulls off it she opens her eyes to find Paige with her mouth wide open, tongue out, barely five minutes into kissing and already looking so desperate for her.

The sight makes Azzi groan a little, her eyes trailing from Paige’s lips, to the curve of her jaw, to her slender neck, and without thinking about it she slides her hands around Paige’s throat, squeezing experimentally. It elicits the right reaction, Paige’s eyes widening, hands sliding down to Azzi’s ass.

Pulling her close again, Azzi ducks down, moving a hand to the side to kiss sloppily at the skin revealed there. Paige sighs, always having liked being kissed on the neck, and Azzi mutters, “Marks?”

There’s a slight pause, Azzi’s lips hovering just shy of kissing the skin of Paige’s neck, and as soon as Paige hums out a noise of affirmation, she’s basically attacking her, tongue soothing over skin as she sucks hungrily. Her hips grind instinctively down on Paige’s knee as her hands slide lower, down her chest to squeeze her tits through her thin tank. Paige gasps, using her leverage on Azzi’s ass to pull her down harder on her leg. At this point, she’s sure she’s soaking through her fancy lingerie just listening to the little noises Paige is making, and suddenly, Azzi feels hungry. The kind of hungry that tends to be insatiable.

As soon as the thought comes to her, her hands fly to the button of Paige’s jeans, staring down to watch her hands work it open. Paige watches, too, then brings a hand up to Azzi’s cheek. Azzi halts her movements, looking up at her, searching her face for any sign to stop and finding a little hesitancy there. “Hey,” she says, “you good?”

Paige nods, then glances furtively down at Azzi’s hands. “I don’t think I’m ready for—your fingers.”

Soothing her hands across Paige’s hips, Azzi nods, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. “I know, baby,” she says—Paige has always needed a good amount of buildup before any actual intrusion. “Wasn’t gonna use my fingers.”

Paige blinks, thoughts obviously a little sluggish as it takes a moment for the words to register, but once she does, she nods eagerly. “Shit. Okay.”

With one last peck on the lips, Azzi’s fingers get back to work, and as she slides the jeans down her legs she goes down with them, dropping slowly to her knees. She helps Paige step out of the pants and then tosses them to the side, looping her arms around her thighs and urging her to widen her stance. She presses a few comforting kisses to Paige’s pelvic bone and across her hips, breathing in the familiar scent of her as her kisses stray lower. As she licks up the inside of a thigh, her eyes open, glancing at the girl’s boxers and the wet patch growing on them. Feeling quite proud of herself, she smirks, biting at her thigh and relishing in the way Paige hisses.

“Stop messin’ with me,” Paige breathes, bringing a hand to Azzi’s head and trying to move her closer to her cunt.

“Uh-uh,” Azzi says, using a hand of her own to move Paige’s firmly away. When she looks up at her, Paige looks wrecked, which does amazing things to Azzi’s ego considering she hasn’t even touched her yet. Loving the expression on Paige’s face—lips slightly parted, eyes fluttering, the picture of submission—she decides to try and coax more out of her. “No touching,” she adds, something Paige likes to do whenever she’s being particularly needy. When Paige starts to protest, she moves her hand to her clothed clit and rubs harshly, cutting her off. “You heard me, baby.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrow, either from pleasure or annoyance or, more likely, both. “Azzi, please—“

“Shh,” Azzi soothes, removing her thumb and licking a stripe up her boxers—the faintest taste of her already addictive. “Be patient.”

She expects more resistance—the few times they’ve switched roles like this, it takes at least an orgasm for Paige to take her commands. But today must be different—is different—and Paige dutifully shuts up, using her hands to brace herself against the counter as she tilts her head down to watch.

Pleased, Azzi removes her boxers, salivating at the pretty pink peeking out from between her legs, and it’s all she can do when she uses her thumbs to spread her open, groaning when she gets a good look at the familiar, dripping folds. “So pretty,” she can’t help but mumble, leaning forward to press a kiss against her, licking her lips to taste the arousal left there. Paige’s hips buck, and Azzi gives her a sharp slap to the thigh. Paige nearly whines, which is kinda new—they’ll have to experiment with it later. “What’d I say, hm?” she asks, unable to keep herself from pressing her tongue between her cunt lips and licking upward, eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head at the taste. “Be patient.”

“Fuck,” Paige gasps above her.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint in Azzi’s body to not just dive in and devour her like a woman starved. It’s been far too long since she went down on Paige, even before their two weeks of celibacy, and she wants nothing more than to push her tongue inside and draw out as much slick as she can. But she also knows all too well that Paige likes to be ate slow. So, slow it is, as she licks up around her folds, tongue dragging delicately over her clit.

Her eyes fall shut, focusing on how wet Paige is against her tongue, dipping just slightly into her hole where the taste is the strongest and reveling at how good it is.

When Paige makes a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat, Azzi looks up at her, watching her reaction as she gently sucks her clit into her mouth. Paige is leaning back against the counter, cunt pressed into Azzi’s face desperately, and it’s obvious she’s trying to keep still. But when Azzi’s tongue flicks against her clit as she sucks, Paige can’t help but gasp, hips bucking just slightly.

With painted nails, Azzi squeezes her thigh just enough to get her attention. When Paige looks down at her, she pulls off her clit with a wet noise and says, “Hold your shirt up, babe.”

It’s amazing how quickly Paige obeys, rucking her tank up to reveal her bare chest, nipples pink and hard. Azzi doesn’t even try to stop herself from reaching up to play with one of them as she dives back into her pussy.

Her clit is already puffy, sensitive to her every touch based off the way Paige moans when she flicks her tongue against it. She licks little shapes, taking note of which ones draw the most sound out of the older girl. It’s mostly for her own benefit when she traces the letters of her own name on her pussy, but Paige whines high-pitched and needy like she knows.

Azzi pulls away just enough to see that her clit is an angrier pink now, twitching almost imperceptibly, and she gives it a break, moving lower to suck around her hole, drinking the copious juices she’s teased out. When she presses her tongue inside, she finds much less resistance than last time, and her fingers itch to be inside her.

This time, when she pulls away, Paige whines again—the sound a mix of frustration and desperation—and Azzi soothes a hand up the inside of her thigh. Paige’s eyes are hooded now as they lock with Azzi’s, and Azzi smiles up at her. “Hey,” she mutters.

“Uh-huh,” Paige breathes, nearly panting at this point.

“Think you’re ready?” Azzi asks. Paige gives her a quizzical look and she holds up her right hand in explanation. “Wanna finger you.”

As if on their own accord, Paige’s hips jerk forward. When she says, “Yes,” it’s nothing more than a breathy little sigh, but it’s enough.

Nodding, her eyes go back to Paige’s cunt, gaze immediately going to her hole, clenching around nothing. She brings two fingers up and dips inside, then drags them through her pretty folds, making sure they’re plenty wet. And then, without another warning, she plunges into her pussy, moaning as she’s immediately swallowed by wet heat.

Paige’s reaction is visceral, hips pressing down to meet her halfway, hands falling to her head, previous no-touching rules forgotten. Azzi decides to let it go, though, as she watches Paige’s features contort beautifully, pleasure etched into every sound she makes.

Azzi pulls out, presses deeper. Does it again, and then stays inside long enough to push up against her walls.

It’s then that Paige starts talking.

“Oh, fuck, Azzi,” she breathes, still generally pretty quiet, something Azzi plans to have changed once she’s done with her. “You feel so—good, Az, fingers feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Azzi coos. She loves it when Paige gets to the babbling stage of fucking, and is quick to egg her on. “You like that, huh?”

“Mm-hmm, missed it—needed it—I don’t—“ she chokes on her sentence when Azzi plunges particularly deep. “Oh, baby, right there. So fucking good at that.”

“I know,” she murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Paige’s clit. “You missed me, right? Missed this?”

“Of course I—“ she gasps, arches forward, “did.”

Suddenly, Azzi speeds up, filthy squelching sounds filling the room as her fingers move relentlessly inside Paige, palm coming to meet her clit again and again. Paige mewls, shifting a little, and Azzi uses her free hand to hoist her leg over her shoulder, allowing for a better angle.

“Oh!” Paige cries out, hands gripping Azzi’s head for leverage. “Oh, oh fuck. Baby, baby—mm, so deep—Azzi, more.”

“More?” Azzi asks, pulling her eyes away from where she’s wrecking Paige’s cunt to double-check. Paige usually can’t take more than two.

“Uh-huh,” Paige nods fervently.

Azzi doesn’t slow down, concern about hurting the other girl cutting through her own haze of pleasure. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Paige says, exasperation filling her voice.

“I just don’t want to hurt y—“

“Azzi, if you don’t give me another finger right now I swear to God—“

That’s all it takes for Azzi to pause her movements, pulling out enough to add another finger, and finding it surprisingly easy when she slides back in again. It’s not long before she builds up to her earlier rhythm, Paige’s hips moving against her hand, and then wet sounds are filling the room again, slick trailing down Azzi’s wrist.

Somewhere between Paige’s high-pitched moans and desperate little whines, she calls Azzi’s name. Azzi presses a kiss to her belly and says, “Yeah?”

“Can you—?” there’s hesitance in her tone that gives Azzi pause, movements slowing once again to look up at her.

“What’s up?” she prompts, gently as possibly through the arousal scraping rough against her vocal chords.

“Just, come here,” Paige finally says, hands moving from Azzi’s head to her shoulders, urging her up.

Azzi softens, mind becoming a little less cloudy at the request. Carefully, she eases Paige’s leg off her shoulder, then works up to her feet, keeping her fingers firmly inside Paige all the while. As soon as she’s up, Paige’s arms go around her shoulders, pulling her in, and Azzi smiles softly at the absolutely fucked-out, but undeniably lovesick, look on the other girl’s face.

Pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek, she starts moving again, staying close so that Paige’s lips are right by her ear, hearing every sound she makes.

“I love you,” Paige mutters, forehead dropping onto Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi presses a smile into Paige’s hairline, the gesture so innocent compared to the hand between her legs. “Love you, too, P.”

At that, Paige chokes on a moan, only just managing a feeble, “I’m close.”

Azzi nods, doubling her efforts. “Take your time, baby.”

“Mm-hmm,” Paige hums, but then she’s reiterating, “oh, fuck, Azzi, I’m really fuckin’ close.”

To be honest, Azzi is, too. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s come untouched, deriving pleasure from the simple act of giving it to Paige. But she holds back, forces herself to focus on the girl in her arms, running her free hand up and down Paige’s waist. “Yeah? About to come?”

Paige grasps her tighter, too fucked out to respond, but her following whines are answer enough.

“Give it to me, P,” she urges, knowing words are always the last thing Paige needs to tip her over the edge. “Wanna feel you coming all over my fingers, okay? Need you to show me how good I make you feel.”

Paige nods, and Azzi coos a, “Good, girl,” into her ear, and that’s all it takes for Paige’s hips to stutter, abs tightening as she spasms around Azzi’s fingers, crying out her name like it’s the only word she remembers. And at this point, it might be.

It takes awhile for her to come down, letting Azzi continue to thrust slowly for another minute or so before finally pushing her away. “Too much,” she breathes.

“Okay, baby,” Azzi says, pulling out slowly, bringing her hand up to Paige’s lips once she’s done. Paige doesn’t hesitate to take them into her mouth and suck, and it’s as she runs her tongue between her fingers that Azzi is reminded of just how magical her mouth is. Trying to sound casual, Azzi takes her hand back and says, “Hey, you all done?”

Paige is panting, hands going down to hold Azzi by the waist, looking as if she can barely hold herself up—but still, she shakes her head. “Nah, I can go for more.”

“Good,” Azzi says, stepping out of Paige’s grasp with a sly smile. Paige opens her mouth to protest but then Azzi swiftly pulls her shirt over her head, revealing her lavender lacy bra which leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Whatever Paige was about to say dies in her throat. “I may have planned for this when I was getting ready.”

Her pants are still on—Paige hasn’t even had the pleasure of seeing the garter yet—but already her jaw is practically on the floor. “Oh, shit.”

“Uh-huh.” Reaching out, she takes Paige’s hand in her own, leading her down the familiar path to Paige’s room. “You can thank Caroline, by the way. Was her idea.”

“For real?” Paige asks as they enter the bedroom. She plops down on the edge of the bed, watching as Azzi locks the door behind them. Her eyes rake not-so-subtly over her frame as she watches her. “I’ll send her a card and flowers for this shit.”

Azzi laughs breathily, leaning against the doorframe.

Paige raises her eyebrows and then reaches behind her head, pulling her own shirt off and discarding it on the floor. “Aight, I think I can feel my legs again. Lay down, mama.” She smiles deviously. “I’m bouta get you right.”

—————————————

Paige has never been a good liar—which is clear, considering twenty minutes later she has her head between Azzi’s thighs, making her legs shake as she eats her relentlessly.

She’s already put on the strap, and this is her way of getting Azzi ready—alternating between eating her slow and then absolutely devouring her, pulling away every time she gets close to the edge, overstimulating her without even making her come.

“Paige, please,” she basically cries out for the nth time since they started. “I need you.”

Paige only smirks from between her legs, quite cocky considering she just got fucked into oblivion less than an hour ago. “What was it you said to me earlier? About being patient?”

Azzi rolls her eyes (though it may be more from the way Paige sucks on her folds than how annoying she is). “Mm—shut up, you liked it.”

Paige sure as hell isn’t about to admit that. Of course, though, she had enjoyed it, had reveled in the pleasure she took from giving up control, letting herself be told what to do. But now it’s Azzi’s turn, and she needs to regain control of the situation-hence, the edging. “Do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, muffled in Azzi’s pussy. “Or not?”

Azzi can’t say no to that, obviously, but still sounds a little ashamed when she lets out a meek little, “Yes.”

Paige quirks an eyebrow up at her. “Yeah? You done bossing me around?”

Azzi doesn’t respond to that, lips forming into a cute little pout that’s also reminiscent of the face she makes when she gets bratty. Chuckling, Paige shakes her head, pressing a lingering kiss to her clit. “I’on think so, baby. You had your fun.” Slowly, she crawls her way back up the bed, Azzi scooching up with her. “Now you’re gonna tell me watchu want. And you’re gonna be polite about it.”

The demanding tone in Paige’s voice is usually enough to set Azzi right, but she must’ve gotten too big a head after her little stunt earlier because now she doesn’t say anything, just looks at Paige a little defiantly.

Admittedly, she looks adorable, and Paige wants to kiss that look off her face. But she can’t let Azzi think that this is how it’s gonna be now. “Alright, pretty girl. If that’s how you’re gonna be, I’ma get right back down there and make you come on my tongue. You won’t get no strap tonight.”

At that threat (which is baseless, considering Paige is absolutely going to strap Azzi down one way or another tonight) Azzi’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Okay, okay, no, I’m sorry, I don’t—I need you inside, Paige. Please?”

Grinning, Paige leans down and kisses her forehead. “That’s what I thought.”

Taking the silicon in her hand, Paige balances on one elbow as she drags it slowly through Azzi’s folds, taking extra care to bump the head against her swollen clit. When Azzi gasps, her eyes flit to her face, checking that she’s okay. “You ready, baby girl?”

Azzi hesitates, looking down at the toy between them. “It’s bigger than the last one.”

It’s true—this is a new strap, one Azzi herself actually suggested, claiming she wanted to try something bigger. They still have their last one, just in case this doesn’t work out, and Paige is about to remind her of that when Azzi shakes her head to herself and says, “It’s okay, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Paige asks suspiciously. “Because if it’s too big…”

“Nope. I’m sure.”

“Babe, we don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna.”

Azzi’s eyes move down to follow the cock, watching as Paige moves it methodically through her soaking folds, and her eyes grow a little wider. “Yeah, okay, I’m definitely sure.”

Amused, Paige watches as the younger girl stares, incredibly hungrily, at the toy. “Okay, princess. You gotta tell me if it hurts, though, okay?”

“I will,” Azzi promises. With that, Paige guides the tip down to her entrance, pushing her hips forward and against the resistance she finds there, studying Azzi’s face carefully.

After a moment, the head slides in, and Azzi gasps, wincing a little. “You good?” Paige asks, taking her hand off the cock to stroke Azzi’s cheek.

“Good,” Azzi confirms, swallowing thickly as her eyes meet Paige’s. “Just—go slow.”

“‘Course,” Paige says, leaning forward to press their foreheads together as she pushes in further. “Sweet girl,” she murmurs, mostly to distract her, “y’look so pretty like this, mama.”

She’s about halfway in at this point and Azzi gasps again, breathing out a word that sounds enough like a stop for Paige to halt. “Too much?”

Azzi’s knees are bent, feet flat against the mattress as Paige lays between them, but now she readjusts, wrapping them around Paige’s back for better leverage. “Okay,” she says once she’s done, giving Paige a little nod. “I’m good, keep going.”

Not loving the bossy tone of her voice, Paige makes a face at her. “Manners, princess.”

Azzi frowns but still lets out a little, “Please,” anyway.

With that, Paige jerks her hips, burying the dildo inside to the hilt. Azzi cries out, surprised and left breathless from the sheer stretch of it. “Shit,” she breathes, “so much for going slow.”

“Mm,” Paige hums, ducking down to kiss into Azzi’s neck. “‘S what you get for being bratty.”

“Yeah, okay,” Azzi sighs—Paige can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or actually conceding—and her head falls to the side, allowing more access to her neck, which Paige already marked up earlier.

“I good to move?” Paige asks.

“I think so,” Azzi replies, breath still caught from the sudden fullness.

Paige rocks her hips back, eyes flitting from Azzi’s face to her pussy, unable to keep from watching as she slides back in, eyes widening as she watches her cunt swallow it whole, basically sucking her in.

When she does it again, a little more smoothly this time, Azzi fists the bedsheets so hard her knuckles turn white. “Mmph—so deep, P.”

“Yeah? Feel good?” she asks lowly, rutting her hips flush into her when Azzi nods, building a steady rhythm. Her eyes land on Azzi’s face, contorted with pleasure, then rove down over her body—her neck, her tits, her stomach—until she lands back on the strap. The sight has her leaning down on her elbows, heart racing as she breathes deep to steady herself.

Picking up the pace just a little, Paige lifts herself up, watching as Azzi’s eyebrows furrow, her fists tight in the sheets. The bed is starting to squeak now, which just turns her on even more if that’s possible, and she nuzzles her nose into the crook of Azzi’s neck, muttering, “Hold on to me, baby, it’s okay.”

Azzi’s arms come up to loop around her neck before she’s even done with the sentence, and Paige smirks, pressing a few kisses into her cheek. “How’s it feel, hm? How deep am I?”

“So fucking deep,” Azzi breathes, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise how close she sounds considering Paige has been working her towards the edge for awhile now.

Paige brings a hand down between their bodies, using it to rub a few tight circles against Azzi’s clit, stopping when she starts whining. And Azzi makes a sound of protest but it’s quickly cut off by a moan when Paige’s hand moves instead to press against her lower abdomen, pushing down hard enough to feel the strap moving inside her.

“Baby, baby, please,” Azzi slurs, crying out in time with Paige’s thrusts, “right there—keep doing that, fuck.”

Who would Paige be to tell her no? There’s that whiny edge to her tone, all desperate and needy, a telltale sign she’s getting close. Pressing down a little harder on her stomach, Paige speeds up significantly, angling her hips up in an attempt to hit that spot deep inside.

Based off the high-pitched moan Azzi let’s put, it works.

“Shit, look at that,” Paige says when she looks between them again. The strap is soaking now, and so are the bedsheets, a mix of Paige and Azzi’s arousal leaking down onto them. Angling her hand down, Paige uses her fingers to spread her lips open, groaning as she gets a better view of Azzi’s cunt swallowing the entire dick. “Taking it so good, mama. Fuck, that pussy crying for my dick, huh?”

“Paige, fuck, yes,” Azzi gasps, clawing almost desperately at Paige’s shoulders.

“Close?” Paige asks, trying to gauge where she’s at based off the way her legs are beginning to shake, noises becoming less breathy, more insistent.

Azzi nods, maybe all she can manage at this point, and Paige rocks forward deep, pleased with the way Azzi’s mouth falls open, tits bouncing with each thrust.

They’re silent for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the bedframe fighting for its life and Azzi’s pussy squelching around her cock filling the room. “Hear that?” she asks, using her fingers to rub harshly against her clit, only adding to the filthy sounds in the room. “Best pussy in the world, baby. And it’s mine, huh?”

Azzi only manages a pathetic “uh-huh”, and that’s just not good enough for Paige. “Nah, you gotta tell me, princess. Tell me whose pussy this is and I’ll let you come, okay?”

It takes Azzi a moment, probably trying to gather her scattered thoughts, before she whines out a needy little, “Yours, fuck, my pussy’s all fucking yours.”

Nodding, Paige presses a kiss to Azzi’s parted lips. “That’s right, mama. You wanna come?”

Tears are gathering at the corners of Azzi’s eyes when she nods, and it only spurs Paige on further. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Come all fuckin’ over my dick. Lemme feel it, baby.”

And that’s all Azzi needs, her back arching off the bed, moaning all high-pitched as she comes, pussy clenching around the dildo, nails scratching down Paige’s back, leaving her shuddering. She doesn’t stop, though, rolling her hips deep into Azzi’s through every tremor, only stilling when Azzi shakes her head, tapping against Paige’s hip.

She gives her a moment to catch her breath before saying, “Can I pull out?”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi sighs, throwing an arm across her face as Paige slowly eases out of her. She manages to get the strap off and tosses it onto the floor, a problem for future them to deal with, before laying next to Azzi, pulling her into her chest. She chuckles at Azzi’s blissed-out expression, and Azzi’s eyes open at the sound, peering at her a little sleepily.

“You laughing?” she asks, no real accusation in her tone.

“At you? Never,” Paige jokes. Azzi slaps her chest, collapsing back onto it, sighing as she wraps a leg around Paige’s waist. She’s not the touchiest person in general, and Paige finds it endearing how snuggly she gets after sex.

Her hands begin to run up and down Azzi’s bare back, and when she hears Azzi sigh, she’s quick to speak, trying to catch the younger girl before she inevitably falls asleep. “Hey,” she says, “you okay?”

“Mm,” Azzi hums.

“Was it good?” Paige asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“Very,” Azzi replies, cuddling closer into Paige’s neck. “Missed you.”

“Two weeks is too long,” Paige agrees. Azzi chuckles softly, and Paige angles her head to look at her, only to find that her eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted.

“Why are you tryna sleep,” Paige very nearly whines.

Azzi lifts her head lazily, resting her chin on Paige’s chest to raise an eyebrow at her. “Because you just fucked the shit outta me. I’m tired.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Paige sighs dreamily.

Rolling her eyes, Azzi lays her head back down, settling back into her. “Lemme sleep, okay? I need some energy for the morning sex tomorrow.”

“F’real?” Paige can’t keep the excitement out of her tone at this.

Azzi shrugs coyly, yawns. “If you’re good.”

Internally, Paige vows to be the absolute best. Even if it means no yapping.

Her silence only lasts a few moments but, surprisingly, it’s Azzi who speaks. “And, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d better ask me to be your girlfriend tomorrow.”

(Paige does, in fact, ask Azzi to be her girlfriend ‘again’, as she puts it. Azzi, of course, says yes.)

(Oh, also, Caroline does receive a thank you letter and a bouquet of flowers in the mail a few days later. Confused, she opens the letter, to find it reads, “Thx for helping azzi pick that fit for our date. you’re a g mama carol. p.s. the sex was ridiculously good.” Caroline sends a photo of it to Azzi, wondering why she needed to know about the sex. Azzi replies with a shrugging emoji and a, “She’s not lying though”.)

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #uconn wbb #wcbb #wbb #paige bueckers smut #azzi fudd smut #pazzi smut #lilah’s works #that’s so true pt 2

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leahwllmsn · 2 days ago

Text

toxic till the end

alexia putellas x reader

word count: 3.3k

tw: toxic relationships

You and Alexia are bad news for each other, but you don’t want anyone else.

It’s another day after yet another fight. You already know what’s going to happen next—it’s a routine so ingrained in your life that there’s no room for uncertainty. Alexia will show up at your door, begging for forgiveness, and you will welcome her with open arms.

This time though, you tell yourself it’s going to be different. You’re going to put a stop to this whole thing.

You’re letting go of Alexia for good.

It’s been years of back and forth and you’re tired.

You’re on your couch, clutching your phone, battling with yourself about being the first one to text. To break the routine you and Alexia have perfected means breaking this cycle once and for all.

I meant what I said last night. it’s over. we’re done.

Alexia’s response comes not a minute later. How fast she responds gives you more satisfaction than you admit. Her response however… It left an uncomfortable feeling in your chest.

A: if that is what you want

No, that’s not what you want at all. But it’s what you need. For your sanity.

I want you out of my life. goodbye, ale

—

You met Alexia through a mutual friend. You liked to go out to clubs and bars, something to get your mind off the stress at work. It was a wonder that you hadn’t met Alexia sooner, but you later realized it must be her job as a football superstar that prevented her from partying every week like you.

When Alexia came up to you, her chin held high, a smirk permanently etched on her face, you knew she was nothing but trouble. It was the way she presented herself, so full of herself—as if she could get anything she wanted, that got you hooked. You loved a confident woman, and Alexia was the most confident woman on earth.

“Hola.” Alexia was the first to greet you, observing you with a curious look. You took her outstretched hand, and you couldn’t help but appreciate how… strong her grip was. Yeah.

“Hi.”

“I’m Alexia,” she gave you a smile, one that girls must fawn over. Before you could respond, she continued, “And you must be… the prettiest girl in this room.”

Your immediate response was to roll your eyes, but your heart was a mess. You couldn’t believe that something so corny had your cheeks blush a deep shade of red.

“Got anything better than that?” you replied calmly, taking a sip of your drink to hide the way your lips wanted to form a smile.

Alexia hummed in thought, leaning closer to you until her mouth was inches away from your ear. You could smell her perfume now—it was something from Le Labo, the woody one that people liked so much.

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put ‘u’ and ‘i’ together.”

It was so bad that it genuinely worked on you. You let out a laugh so loud, ten pairs of eyes turned in your direction. But you didn’t care because Alexia was looking at you with that glimmer in her eyes.

You couldn’t have known what was to come.

—

Despite your wariness about Alexia, you gave her a chance. You gave her multiple chances.

A few months in and you were inseparable.

The most shocking thing about Alexia was that she was the most loyal person ever. You thought that she was, well, a playgirl. It was the stereotype that came with being a footballer and how charming she was—she could get anyone she wanted.

But all she wanted was you.

It was a huge boost to your ego, you must admit.

Maybe that was why you decided to test the waters. To see whether Alexia really loved you or she was just playing you.

(Looking back, you realized you were the one who started this whole game.)

You didn’t watch football, you had zero interest in it. Alexia loved that she got to be the one to introduce football to you.

So when you begged Alexia to let you meet her teammates, claiming you found a new interest on the team, she was surprised.

The first thing you did in that locker room was introduce yourself to Patri. Sexy, funny, tattooed Patri, who flirted back the moment you bat your eyelashes at her. To you, it was exhilarating the way Alexia grabbed your wrist and pushed you to the nearest storage closet.

Maybe that was why you loved to push her buttons so much.

But that wasn’t to say that Alexia didn’t do the same. She was so much more intense, you learned. Maybe even borderline toxic, but you didn’t think too much about it.

You hadn’t been partying every week like you usually would, spending each night with Alexia instead, living in that lovesick bubble. But one night you were bored, and you wanted to go. Alexia had a game tomorrow so you knew she would be staying at home.

“Where are you going, amor?”

You saw Alexia’s reflection in the mirror as you were putting on the final touches of your make-up. You were wearing a dress so tight that it left no room for imagination. “I’m going to Manuelas, baby.”

“What? No, you are not.” Alexia stated.

You turned around and gave her a questioning look. “I am? Can’t you see that I’m ready?”

“Well, I do not want you to go,” Alexia crossed her arms over her chest, a frown on her face. “Especially with that dress.”

You rolled your eyes at her, scoffing. “I think I can do whatever I want, Ale. I’m going out.”

“So you are just going to leave me here alone? I need you tonight, amor.”

The way her tone changed almost gave you whiplash. She was no longer commanding; she was pleading, her voice trembled as if you leaving to a club would be the worst thing to ever happen to her.

“Please, cariño?”

You knew the moment she gave you her best puppy-dog eyes, your resolve was crumbling. You’d agree to whatever she wanted, just like always.

“You can come with me,” you suggested, although you knew she couldn’t.

“You know I have a game tomorrow.” Alexia stepped closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and pressing gentle kisses along your exposed neck. “Let’s have a night in. I’m going to give you a better night than your friends could anyway, you know that.”

So you stayed.

You didn’t care when it happened again the week after, letting Alexia undress you was much better than any nightclubs anyway.

When your friends complained that they hadn’t seen you in so long, you made an effort to meet up with them for lunch, but that was cut short when Alexia called and demanded you to come home because she was done with training.

Alexia was possessive, you knew that. You didn’t need your friends to hold an ‘intervention’ for you because they thought Alexia was getting too much.

You loved her possessive attitude. So much so that you intentionally flirted with waitresses and strangers just to see her jealous streak.

You didn’t think anything could break your relationship. You loved each other.

One day, Alexia went too far and you got proven wrong.

You were tired from work, and you wanted nothing more than to get under the covers and sleep. Alexia had other plans. She was wearing a suit, her hair slicked back in a neat ponytail. She looked good.

“Where are you going, Ale?”

“Oh, hey, mi amor,” Alexia pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, pulling back when you wanted more. Alexia always made you feel better. “I’m going to be late. I have dinner with old friends.”

You raised an eyebrow at that. Alexia never mentioned any dinner with old friends. “Who?”

“Just… some friends I haven’t met in a long time.” You let her go without any more questions because you were seconds away from falling asleep.

When you woke up and found Alexia asleep on the couch instead, you thought nothing of it, going through with your morning routine. When Alexia stretched lazily, flashing you a smile, you returned it without a second thought. But then you caught the lipstick stain on her white collar, a lipstick shade that you would never wear… That was when you started screaming at her.

“I can’t believe you!” “What did I do?”

“What did you do?” You pointed towards the red stain on her collar. “Do you think I’m blind? Stupid? Both?!”

“Oh no no, amor,” Alexia immediately stood up, hands raised defensively as she faced you. “This is not what it looks like. You are misunderstanding!”

“You’re crazy, Alexia. Who’s fucking lipstick is that?!”

“No one’s! You are being paranoid.”

“Stop lying to me!”

“Amor, I would never lie to you, you know that,” Alexia huffed. She had the nerve to shake her in disappointment. “In fact, I am insulted that you think I would do such a thing!”

“Oh yeah? How’s this!” You unclasped the necklace Alexia got you as a gift and threw it at her face. “Fuck you!”

“Amor! That hurts!”

“Fucking cheater!”

“I didn’t kiss her! She kissed me!”

The amount of anger coursing through your veins was a new feeling. You let out a shout before stomping your way out of the apartment. You looked back at your girlfriend, still with that stupid, glaring red stain on her shirt. “I never want to see your face again, Alexia!”

You slammed the front door and left.

That was the start of the cycle.

—

Alexia showed up at your apartment the next day, flowers in hand, eyes swollen from when she cried too much—a rare sight for her. You felt your heart soften at the sight.

“Hola,” Alexia rasped out. “Can I come in?”

Against your better judgement you let her in. You allowed her to explain her side of things, how she claimed that yes, her ex kissed her, but Alexia didn’t return the gesture. You didn’t entirely believe her but you pulled her into your arms anyway.

Alexia repeated how sorry she was over and over again, she told you that she loved you, and she would never intentionally hurt you.

“I know, Ale,” you kissed the top of her head, your voice softer now compared to the shouts yesterday. Alexia was laying on top of you, her head nestled in the crook of your neck—usually you would be the one in Alexia’s arms, this change felt nice too.

“Do you still love me?”

You didn’t hesitate when you replied. “More than anything.”

Alexia promised that there wouldn’t be anymore fights after that. You didn’t really believe her, and you didn’t think she believed herself either, but you agreed nonetheless.

It was true, you and Alexia went back to the honeymoon phase and didn’t fight at all.

The calm lasted for a few weeks. Barcelona won something, you couldn’t remember, but it was huge. So it called for a celebration.

Alexia, being the captain, was busy being the center of attention. She loved it when people worshipped her, you knew that, so you let her be. You were alone at the bar when someone approached you, offering to buy you a drink. It was Jana—you remembered her from before you met Alexia, through mutual friends. She was definitely your type, but she was five years younger than you and that put you off.

“You do know I’m dating your captain,” you spoke directly in her ear, the music making it harder to hear.

“I’m just being friendly,” Jana shrugged, although the glint in her eyes revealed otherwise.

You took the drink she offered and stayed close to her—too close, because the next thing you knew Alexia was in front of you, a dangerous smile on her lips.

“We are going home.”

“It’s early!” you laughed, passing your drink to your girlfriend. “Have some fun, Ale. Don’t be so uptight.”

Jana giggled and Alexia’s frown deepened. You turned towards the younger brunette and grabbed her arms. “Jana and I are going to dance!”

You left Alexia speechless as you made your way to the dance floor. You could feel her eyes on you the whole time, but all you did was something innocent. There was nothing conspicuous about dancing with a friend. You didn’t kiss her like Alexia kissed someone else.

You didn’t even last five minutes, before Alexia dragged you away and forced you into her car.

You pouted at her the whole ride home. “You are being so ridiculous, Alexia. I was just dancing with a friend.”

“No, you were slutting it up with a friend. There is a difference.”

You were so offended by her words that you demanded she pull over and let you out.

“I am not doing that.”

“Pull over.”

“No.”

“Alexia, pull over or I’ll open this car door and step right into oncoming traffic.”

“Estás loca!” Alexia granted your wish and you were met with the cold, night air as you stepped out of her car. “How are you going to get home now?”

You answered her by slamming her precious car door and flipping a middle finger in her direction. Thankfully it wasn’t that far from your place, you could walk for fifteen minutes. It was fine.

You didn’t get much sleep that night, whether it was because of the anger you were feeling or the anticipation of seeing Alexia the next day. But by morning, all you felt was disappointment, because Alexia didn’t show up. You waited and waited, until it was night time and you decided to send her a text.

do you even care about me?

Alexia showed up five minutes later even though her apartment was almost half an hour away. This time, instead of flowers, she brought your favourite chocolates. Ten boxes of them.

“I am sorry, guapa.” You were sitting on Alexia’s lap, your hands playing with the baby hair on the back of her neck. “I was just jealous because I love you so much.”

“I’m sorry too,” you murmured. “I was the one to provoke you.”

Alexia nodded, pecking your lips. “Sí. You provoked me.”

“You don’t have to be jealous, you know,” you assured her. “I’m all yours, Alexia.”

She grinned at you, pulling you even closer until your bodies were flushed against one another. “That’s good to hear, amor. No one can love you like I do.”

—

You stayed with Alexia despite it all. Despite the monthly–if not, weekly–fights, despite the red flags waving at you every time you recalled something Alexia did to your friends.

You didn’t care about any of it as long as you have Alexia.

Your friends stopped trying to meddle. Once, they decided to give Alexia a piece of their minds and that made Alexia ignore you for a few days. So in turn, you gave your friends a piece of your mind and told them to back the fuck off. You were a big girl; you knew what you were getting yourself into.

It went on for years. You and Alexia continued the routine: someone says something they didn’t mean—fight—make up—someone gets jealous—fight again—make up, and so on.

It was incredible how much strength you had in you to put up with it. But you loved Alexia, and she loved you back, so it was worth it.

It wasn’t until a fight got so big that it left you both screaming at each other in an empty park in Barcelona at midnight, and suddenly, you felt so suffocated. For the first time ever, you wondered what would happen if both of you just… stopped this whole thing. You wondered then, if you could survive living without Alexia.

“I do not know what you want me to do, Y/N!”

“Well, for one, I would like you to stop flirting with every girl you see. I’m right here!”

“I was not flirting! You just keep on imagining things!”

“Fuck you, Ale!”

“Sí, you have done that many times,” Alexia shrugged casually, her body language telling you she was unbothered by this whole thing. “We can do it again tonight if you want!”

“Fuck! You!”

You turned to leave, but Alexia grabbed your wrist. “Where are you going?”

You yanked your arm free from her grasp. “I’m leaving! It’s over!”

Alexia let out a mocking laugh. “Over?! I do not think so. Come on, amor, do you really think you can live without me?”

Alexia was so sure that you couldn’t. You felt like you wanted to prove to her otherwise.

So you held your chin out and held her gaze. “Yes. I can. I’m leaving you.”

Neither of you said anything for a minute. Alexia silently challenged you to take back your words, but you weren’t going to. You decided that you were strong enough to end things.

“You are lying,” Alexia scoffed. “You cannot leave me.”

You glared at her. You hated that she was undermining you. “Watch me.”

As you turned around once again to leave, Alexia suddenly stepped forward and snaked her arms around your waist, her front pressed against your back. You let her hold you—it was going to be the last time anyway.

“Mi amor,” Alexia’s voice trembled. “You cannot leave me. I do not know how to do this without you. Please don’t go. Te amo. Te amo mucho.”

You held back your tears, not expecting Alexia to sound this vulnerable. You placed your hand on top of hers, hesitating for a brief moment before slowly pulling away.

You were finally free.

—

A week passed by without anything from Alexia. Not a phone call, not a text, no flowers on your doorstep, no unannounced visits to your apartment. You realize that this is the longest you’ve gone without hearing Alexia beg for your forgiveness. Alexia is actually respecting your wishes.

She’s no longer bothering you.

You should feel happy, but all you feel is the opposite. You genuinely feel sick at the thought of having Alexia out of your life.

You want her next to you. You want her near you, right now. You don’t care that all you do is fight, that’s what couples do—Alexia once said.

Your friends think it’s a good thing that you cut things off with Alexia, but you don’t think their opinion matters anyway. They’ve always acted like they know your relationship with Alexia better than you.

To get them to back off though, you agreed on a blind date with someone. Just for one night. One night to see what a “perfect girl” looks like.

Her name is Jennifer. What a bland name.

She likes to play tennis and does horse riding. Football is better.

She has a British accent because she grew up in London. Alexia’s accent is much better, way sexier.

An hour in and you could tell that there is nothing wrong with her despite your best efforts at trying to find the worst in everything. But she’s not Alexia.

No one will ever come close.

Before Jennifer gets the chance to order dessert, you fake a stomach ache and leaves.

You walk aimlessly, but deep down you know you have one destination in mind.

It’s been years of back and forth. Yes, you’re tired, but you also crave it.

You crave her.

No matter how much Alexia breaks your heart, you know she’s the only one who can fix it—albeit, not perfectly, she can still patch it up nonetheless.

You don’t mind it.

If being with Alexia means having a bruised heart full of bandages, you’ll take it.

“Hola, guapa. I missed you.”

#woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #woso community

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rhaeheartzsquirrelz · 2 days ago

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Wakey Wakey!

Wife Sevika x Female Wife Reader (Fluff)

Waking your wife after a long nap with a surprise (browniesss).

Content: Modern setting. Sevika has both arms :)

Proofread || Note: Hi I’m back… 😅

Neatly placing the brownies on a plate, you carry it to your shared bedroom. The curtains closing off any sunlight from the window, causing the room to be dimly lit. Only illuminated by the light coming the open door, which you closed after entering.

Your wife was laid on the bed, her soft snores breaking the silence as she’d been sleeping for about three hours now. You approached, placing the plate onto the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed. A hand brushing hair back from her forehead as you took a second to admire her relaxed face.

Her brows no longer furrowed, her lips parted, and her body still, and limp. Sevika had came come home from work and had knocked out on the couch, you had to prepare the bed for her half-asleep self to crash onto. After a long while, it was time for her wake up. And, to surprise her, you made her favourite. Brownies. She’d sot on the bed and gobble them up in under a minute, always stuffing her mouth while scrolling on twitter.

“Baby? It’s been a while. Wakey wakeyyy.” You lightly tapped on her— causing her to jolt up into a sitting position. “Woah! Baby—“ “What the f— Is something wrong?!”

…

You bursted out laughing.

“No.. no, baby!” A hand over your mouth as you tried composing yourself. “Oh.” Her voice raspy, slightly shaken aswell. Sevika gave you a look of confusion before staring off at the closed door; possibly trying to wake herself up. “I made brownies, and you’d been sleeping for a while so.. I thought I’d wake you up.” You flashed her a smile, brushing your hands against her arm; which made her relax. “Thought someone broke in.” The woman returned a smile before watching you position the plate in her lap.

“For me?” The woman’s lips curled up into a grin, even if she tried masking her excitement it was quite obvious. She took a piece in hand before biting, her brows raised as she chewed. Your eyes met her averted ones as she chewed, looking down at the other three pieces with a fat smile on her face. “You didn’t have to,” “yeah, well I wanted to.”

Sevika always had a soft sport for your brownies, giving you extra affection after seeing you place the tray in the oven. She knew how to make them herself, she had the recipe, but eating the ones you made with your pretty hands? Now that was pure magic. She swore it some sort of witchcraft, how your brownies always turned out perfect.

A groan left her lips, her eyes flickering to you, and then back to the sweet in her hand. “It’s really good, how the hell?…” your wife seemed to be in awe. “Gets better everytime y’make them.” Her husky voice muffled as she took another huge bite. Sevika was really enjoying herself, her attention fixated on the plate in her lap as she munched on each piece. “Glad you like them, baby,” you wipe away a crumb from the side of her lip. “Thought I’d surprise you.” Your cheeky, proud grin making your girlfriend flash one back. “I like them? Holy shit, I love them. Did you make more?” Of course she asked. “A bucket load, I’ll get some.”

“Mm, wait,” your wife took her sweet time chewing, all the while holding onto your hand. “Kiss.” A finger pointed to her lips and you pressed a brief kiss there. “Seriously?” The woman ended up holding the back of your head all the while making out with you for a few more minutes.

Well, making out with you until she was satisfied. Which, would be never.

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 13 hours ago

Note

what do you think the third years would be like 10 years from now?

What comes after Ever After?

You’re looking at the new buff baker that helps man the Clover Patisserie. He’s beloved by the local housewives and school girls— His parents are getting up there in age, so Trey has taken up a bulk of the responsibilities: ordering supplies, prepping ingredients, baking, stocking, and customer service.

After hours, Trey experiments with new recipes and leftover ingredients. Sometimes he comes up with some truly awful inventions, but other times they end up working out really well. Who knew that adding oyster sauce would enhance the flavor of this bread? He calls these the “Clover Specials, Piping Hot and Fresh Off the Trey” (yes, that was a pun).

He tries to make the bakery more whimsical for the customers. Little seasonal decorations, cute little doodles on the placards that indicate what each item is, a sign that reminds folks to brush well after eating sweets, etc. (Trey claims he doesn't really care for little flourishes like this; it might just be the nostalgia of the unbirthday party days getting to him.)

If there are things that haven’t sold at the end of the day, he’ll offer them for a discount in a blind box style. You’ll never know what you’ll pull, but it’s always delicious, if not a little stale or slightly lumpy looking. Waste not, what not!

Every so often, he has nights out with his childhood friends Chenya and Riddle. Trey's responsible for bringing the snacks (he uses his friends as a test audience for his experiments), and the three spend that time drinking, sharing stories, and catching up on each others' lives.

Cater’s a social media manager and agent for various influencers. His career allows him to basically work from anywhere (which is convenient because he travels to various promotional events) and to be on his phone 24/7, monitoring stats, attending strategy meetings, and coordinating with PR teams.

Keeps up with the latest trends! He's not one of those "how do you do, fellow kids?" types though. Cater is genuinely on top of what's cool--so much so that he's sometimes contacted as a style consultant. It feels like he's got his hands in many facets of the entertainment industry.

He regularly sees a therapist (although he doesn't let any of his friends or family know) to talk through his insecurities and other darker thoughts. It's really been helping him sort out these complex emotions he's been sitting and stewing in for the longest time. He's hoping that, someday, he can reach the point where he can open up to everyone about this other side of himself.

Every now and again, the thought to text an old NRC classmate strikes him--but something keeps Cater back. Doubt, apprehension. The worst that can happen is being left on read, but to Cater the consequences feel so much worse than that. It's a huge relief to him when he gets a text out of the blue from Trey one day--an excuse to text back, to make that connection. Though it's still difficult for Cater to gather the courage to initiate another conversation, this is still a foot in the door for him, the potential start of something new.

Cater still has the Magicam accounts of his school mates. He'll sort of like... cyberstalk their pages just to keep up with their lives, to feel a sense of closeness with the people he failed to reach out to during his NRC days. When he stops to reflect on it, he really regrets his inaction--and, on some nights, he scrolls and scrolls until the dread and the loneliness lulls him into a comfortable, dreamless sleep.

It took a lot of resistance and arguing, but--much to the delight of Kifaji and his family members--Leona has (begrudgingly) taken on the role of a royal advisor to support Sunset Savanna. There were of course some growing pains, especially with Leona's callous and arrogant attitude clashing with those of the other (older, much more conservative) advisors--but for the most part, it's been a net positive.

His focus is on improving infrastructure while also conserving as much of the environment as they can. The knowledge and experience he has gained from his 4th year internship comes in handy here, and thankfully they've been able to take small but steady steps to modernize the country.

In addition to improving infrastructure, Leona has made efforts to strengthen the Sunset Savanna's soft power. He has established new schools and food banks, particularly in impoverished areas, and started magift/spelldrive teams. This has made him popular with certain groups, such as the hyena beastmen and children.

Leona loathes putting on airs, but it's a necessity when facing the public so he manages. Unfortunately, he's still in the habit of skipping meetings and ceremonies he deems unnecessary or a waste of his time, which earns him pockets of ire. He usually just shoots back with, "Yeah? So what? I'm still gettin' results, ain't I?"

Political demands? Not a problem for him. But family? That's the real pain in his tail. Cheka, now an energetic 15-year old, has not let up on bothering him one bit. Then there's also the affectionate Falena, who is trying to desperately reconnect with his estranged brother. Leona just tosses out the excuse of "being busy" to dodge the both of them.

Vil continues to be an A-list celebrity and triple threat--actor, model, and influencer. He has racked up several more leading roles since his school days, including non-traditional bad guys. Vil has been an anti-villain and sympathetic villain.

Having aged like fine wine, he was able to play the character of a father too, just like how he dreamed of as a third-year student. When Vil got the call about the role, he excitedly told his own dad about it, who was so ecstatic and joked that Vil "takes after his old man". They went out for a little father-son bonding time to celebrate, dining at a high-class establishment and having a toast to Vil's future.

It was a Big Deal when Vil was offered his first-ever hero role. Social media and news outlets were popping off about it, and Vil himself was so excited he actually squealed. To this day he still considers it a turning point in his career and one of the most fun characters he ever played. Since then, he's been getting much more diverse roles, which has really opened up the door for him to expand his skills.

Vil is also a business owner now, having several brands under him. A skincare brand, a clothing brand, a makeup brand… Despite them being celebrity owned, the products are actually high quality (Vil won’t sign his name off on subpar products) and very popular, particularly whenever his face is plastered on the marketing campaigns.

These days, he allows himself to be a little less guarded with his front-facing persona. Vil still comes off as cool and regal, but notably laughs more, smiles more, even giggles more. He has a bit of a youthful sparkle to him and talks openly about his own struggles, fears, hopes, and dreams. Fans praise him for being so much more "relatable" and honest.

Rook claims that he is a globe-trotting archeologist now, but you get the feeling that he’s not telling the full truth. What kind of archeologist carries around a belt of weirdly invasive tools on it? Are those teeny-tiny listening devices? And why is his camera (which he says is strictly for his photography hobby) loaded with shots of suspicious characters taken from a distance?

He shares all kinds of crazy stories, like about the time he swung from a vine with a family of gorillas or how he discovered a lever that revealed a roller coaster to a secret underground laboratory. “Um, are those the kinds of things an archaeologist does…?” you ask him. Rook just smiles and laughs, but doesn’t provide a clear answer.

His stealth and marksman skills have developed to a scary degree. You sometimes forget that Rook is even standing beside you, and you've witnessed him kill bugs with frightening precision with nothing more than his gloved fingers. He brushes it off as abilities he sharpened "on the job".

... In any case, whatever Rook's actual occupation is, it requires a lot of travel. He lavishes his friends with souvenirs and post cards of the loveliest sights, then babbles on and on about local attractions, culture, art, and charming hole-in-the-wall destinations. It seems like he has accumulated a lot of knowledge about Twisted Wonderland in the 10 years since you've last seen him, and he's all too eager to blab about it all.

He's become an artist, although he operates under a pen name. You'll find paintings, sculptures, or collages he has assembled in various small exhibitions, and poetry he has penned where you least expect it. Rook puts his talent out in hopes of beautifying the world.

Idia has succeeded his father as the Director of S.T.Y.X. There’s a lot riding on his shoulders, but the pressure surprisingly never really gets to him. He’s cooler, more methodical now—almost as though he were a machine himself, set so clearly on his task that he won’t budge until it is completed first. (He worries that he has become just like his downer dad 💀)

Sometimes he spirals and his nerves get the best of him. In those cases, he has to resort to the text to speech device he invented back at NRC to get through his meetings. The staff at S.T.Y.X. get used to it and are largely alright with it.

He has the habit of snacking on the job. There's chip crumbs and gummy worms scattered on his desk, which is already messy enough with important documents. (He complains that this should all be digitalized anyway!) Idia keeps even more snacks in his pockets, munching on them whenever he’s annoyed or needs to give himself something to do.

The dark circles under his eyes get way worse. With work eating up so much of his day, Idia has less free time to games and other hobbies. That just means he ends up staying up super late into the night to catch up on his dailies and to grind out events, read manga, watch anime, etc. (“Sleep is for the weak!” he insists.) It’s a miracle he can still get up in the mornings to clock in for his next shift!

Shockingly, Idia takes breaks to go outside and touch grass soak up some (artificial) sunshine. He has learned from past experience that being locked up indoors all the time isn't exactly healthy. That, and his Chief of Cybersecurity (Ortho) pesters him to put himself out there more! Sometimes Idia even awkwardly tries to converse with his coworkers around the water cooler, though that's never quite as relaxing as him just chilling by himself in some quiet corner of the Island of Woe.

Make way for the reigning king of Briar Valley! Maleficia has finally retired, passing on her title to her grandson Malleus. There was a coronation ceremony (now recognized as the holiday or Ascension in Briar Valley), which you were of course invited to as a guest. You had a seat up front and were one of the first to congratulate him right after he was officially crowned.

As a relatively young king, Malleus isn’t the perfect ruler right away. Learning about ruling is nothing close to actually ruling. He stumbles and has to adjust to the role and, most of all, he has to balance the conservative values of his country and his people with the ever-changing lands beyond his home. Not an easy task, especially when he has only just gotten used to the concept of change himself—but with the support of his like-minded retainers, Malleus knows he isn’t alone in his endeavors for a brighter tomorrow.

His power also poses another challenge. Malleus is so used to solving his issues by casting a spell or terrifying his opposition into backing down. He’s no longer in a position to do such things or to let his emotions run wild, lest he risk tearing apart his own court and driving a wedge between the valley and other countries. A leash on his temper, a regal demeanor—this is how a mature adult presents himself. The anger only truly comes out when his people are in danger or he is deeply insulted.

His top priority once he is in power is restoring the bonds that were put in jeopardy on account of his… “oopsie” in his third year at NRC. There’s still lingering distrust between him and other nations due to that incident, so Malleus makes it clear that he’s apologetic and willing to come to the table for discussion, should other countries wish. His schedule is jam-packed with meetings with foreign dignitaries.

Massive and sweeping reform is not happening—not anytime soon. No opening of the borders, no sudden introduction of new technology. There would be massive outcry and resistance from the public + senators, not to mention that Malleus himself isn’t entirely comfortable yet with the concept. However, he has put together incremental proposals and tries convince others of the benefits, implanting the seeds in the minds of the people. He’s also supportive of initiatives which promote learning and cultural exchange, such as the import of reading materials from overseas (Sebek’s idea) and has even appointed Silver as Briar Valley’s very first human ambassador.

Lilia has comfortably retired to the Land of Crimson Long. He lives in a little hut far removed from civilization, but he ventures out into the town to pick up the essentials and to play board games with the local retirees. For the most part, it’s just Lilia and the wilderness! ... Which has led to rumors of a monster haunting the forest. This, Lilia entertains in by dropping down from the trees and frightening any hooligans who come close to his territory.

Though his magical abilities have been in decline, he does his best to stay active and in shape! Lilia once snuck into a nearby military camp, disguising himself as one of the new recruits, and partook in their training with them! He even stopped to lend extra help to the recruits who seemed to be struggling the most--though he still came first place in all of their exercises and holds the record time for climbing to the top of a pole to retrieve the arrow there.

He delights in partaking in the local customs and cuisine. Lilia loves to travel to shrines and admire the temples built to honor ancestors. He lights up some incense and joins others in prayer, knowing that he, too, will one day be among the dead. Best to pay respects now! Lilia has also taken to several cups of tea (as recommended by his doctor) with his meals, and has rice porridge with sunnyside egg eyes and bacon smiles whenever he needs something comforting.

Lilia of course keeps in touch with his loved ones! He's still gaming with his online companion Gloomurai and texts his Diasomnia boys all the time. Lilia also sends cards for special occasions, putting much love and care into his notes and the pictures + souvenirs he attaches to them.

His whole face lights up when his friends are able to make the time to pay him a visit. Lilia makes a big show of it, insisting to arrange a big feast or to play a tune for them—oh, and how about a fireworks show?! But his guests just tell him to sit down and take it easy while they take care of everything for him. It’s his turn to be doted on!

#disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twisted wonderland #Malleus Draconia #Leona Kingscholar #Lilia Vanrouge #Trey Clover #Cater Diamond #Rook Hunt #Vil Schoenheit #Reader #self insert #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #after ever after #curiouser and curiouser #book 7 spoilers

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thorougly-melted-brains · 2 days ago

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Civilian AU where Ghost and Soap end up flatmates by pure necessity. They didn’t know each other before hand. It was originally Soap’s flat, but it’s too big for his means (and too empty by his standards).

Soap works all day, photography and a few odd side gigs (video editing, graphic design, etc). Ghost works nights as a baker. Their schedules work well, and they don’t really need to see each other.

At first it stays like that, each of them getting home as the other was heading out. Ghost lives minimally but his starts to meld with Soap’s, and the kitchen and fridge stay stocked without fail. There’s two bathrooms but only one shower, so they figure out a schedule. After they’ve been living together for months, Soap gets sick. Ghost gets home and Soap's still there, asleep, having caught some bug at an event. They’d both been sick before, so Ghost figures he should be good by evening, and goes to bed. He wakes up to Soap puking his guts out and realizes he should handle it before they’re both too sick to do anything. He calls out from work.

Ghost makes him soup, airs out his room, and makes sure he’s drinking more than he’s sweating. It isn’t until Ghost rubbing his back after Soap’s thrown up again (apologizing profusely for not being able to keep the soup down) that Ghost realizes it’s the longest he’s ever spent with the other man. It’s comfortable, even though Soap looks half dead and he’s sweating through his and Ghost’s clothing.

He ends up dragging Soap to the couch, an empty pot nearby, and passes out without meaning to (it is, after all, early morning by his nocturnal schedule). Ghost wakes up to Soap’s head on his chest, drooling as he breathes through his mouth. It should disgust Ghost, but it only makes the knot in his chest tighten. He rationalizes it as some kind of pack instinct and moves on, miraculously without getting sick himself.

A few months later, Quarantine hits. Soap adapts smoothly, taking online work and covering their rent. Ghost takes it harder, his broken schedule leaving him disoriented and with too much time to think about whatever he is to Soap. He feeds their whole apartment complex with his pent up energy, spending half his day sitting in front of the oven watching the batter rise, just so he doesn't spend it in bed.

Soap, happy for the opportunity to pay Ghost back, cares for him. He’s well aware of his own feelings, but unlike Ghost, has made peace with them. He assumes Ghost's trouble is the schedule change, and maybe a dip (He’s seen Ghost’s prescriptions when cleaning). Soap’s read enough self-help to guess exercise would help, so he invites Ghost on his morning walk. It quickly turns into a morning run, and then a race through the empty streets. Lifestyle differences aside, they’re a perfect (or disastrous) match of competitiveness. As the quarantine ends, they both shift their hours to accommodate at least one shared meal.

Dating is not a new routine for them but a conglomeration of every whatever they were doing before, and a relief to their immediate friends. The paperwork comes sooner than they expect when Soap brings up his emergency contact. When Ghost becomes immediately solemn, bringing up insurance and wills, Soap wants to write it off as another macabre tick until Ghost grabs him by the shoulders to impress upon him, “You don’t know what an industrial mixer can do to someone.”

#hiii #also they'd both be ex millitary but i wanted a break from beating that angst horse #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod mw2 #soapghost #ghostsoap #writing

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mumblesplash · 3 days ago

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uh oh 👀👀👀

Z shines like an angel in the light of the burning debris falling around him. A grin on his face and a lit bomb in hand—unleashed.

S watches him fondly from the cover of a street pole

It's good to see him like this, she thinks. Even if it can't last for long.

"Back up a bit, Z!"

The voice of T-piece slices S from her reveries. She points her shotgun towards the club entrance, covering Z's retreat.

The brass grate road is scattered with the remains of a carriage and the mechanical steeds that once pulled it. Looking at the corpse of the alternate inside it—her own—S knows that Z's intervention came just in time. Even in death, the clone is fuzzy around the edges. There must've been two or three universes intersecting at that point already, and the rot was about to burst. If the clone had been allowed to lay eyes on S-prime…well, it’s a good thing Z got there first!

In through a crack in the base of S's mind flows a steady trickle of new memories—a whole life lived under violet skies—ended in flames within the carriage before her now. Samantha.

S dashes those memories away with a hum of her favorite showtune. It shouldn't be this easy, but she's had a lot of practice.

An L-clone crawls sobbing from the wreckage. Burnt and broken, with too many limbs and more and more eyes with each passing second—

S unloads into its center mass, stopping the reaction short. A satisfying gurgle rewards her.

This world is more spoiled than we thought, S muses.

Not that she cares all that much. It's one of those tech worlds that's killed most of its plants—S-prime couldn't even find a window-box to poach. Useless. It's been too long since she's had something new to add to the garden—

"S, on your right!"

A rush of air as someone sweeps past S's side. The familiar smell of sweat. Bare shoulders glistening in the violet city lights.

T-piece bounds over the wreckage like a young god of war, one hand swinging a metal bat and the other wielding a set of brass knuckles edged with an outward-facing blade—a trench spike. T dives low, a practiced movement taking them just under the spread of her shotgun. S fires again into the chest of the Z-clone running out of the club. She feels more than sees T-piece taking down somone in her periphery. The crunch of impact sounds suspiciously non-fatal—so it's probably some world resident looking to make themselves a hero that he's dealing with.

Whoever you are, be thankful sweet T-piece dealt with you before you got to me.

More bodies stream out of the club’s open doors, dressed in glitter and glass and wearing faces of panic—none of them known to her. S lets them flow around her unscathed. A twisting pair of Z-clones emerges and S is ready to meet them.

From down the street charge a gaggle of familiar faces—but before S can more than register them out of the corner of her eye a series of muffled shots drops them one by one.

Mighty I-prime. Efficient as always. The bastard.

A second later one of Z's bombs belatedly lands on the corpses and detonates.

"You fucking show off!" Z shouts towards I-prime's position above. "I had this!"

No reply save smug silence.

"Of course you did, darling," S says, turning to cover the other end of the street. "You're where you're supposed to be, unlike someone."

S waits for T-piece to tell them to focus, to save it for the post-mission angry sex (which never really works out the pressure points but it does soothe them for awhile)—but this time…

He doesn't.

Strange.

S's watch blares a sudden alarm—one short blast and three longs. She has scant moments to shield her face with a forearm before J is released from the Hold.

The windows on the ground floor of the club all shatter at once. A hailstorm of knives whistles above S's head. A warm mist settles over her skin—the blood of alternates, shed from J's blades as they fly by.

S whoops from adrenaline and delight. Z answers her with a cackle, his laughter rising up like a firework ascending to beautiful destruction. Z reaches up into the gap between the worlds and pulls down a string of firecrackers. He races towards the club doors and the battle beyond, lighting fuses as he flies.

“Wait!” T-piece screams. “Z, stop!”

S gets it a moment later.

In the street around the club they’ve encountered alternates of I, of herself, of L and J. Coming out of the club, however…

It’s just been Z.

We knew most of the Z-clones would be inside, that’s why we were supposed to cover down the street, not the entrance!

S bellows Z’s name.

All those Z-clones, in a world this badly spoiled—if they see their prime, is that a chain reaction we can even stop?

Z turns his head towards their cries. S prays for him to understand—

But before Z has a chance to stop himself, a higher power intervenes.

Emerald vines, thick as a wrist and lined with sharp prickles, burst from a fold in space beneath Z’s feet and entangle him. Z hollers in shock and in pain—but is halted.

“What the fuck?” Z calls, thrashing against the Hold.

S rushes to him. Fuck the fight, fuck the mission, and fuck I-piece for being in the wrong damn spot!

And T-piece doesn’t stop her. S glimpses them as her feet fly. T stands still and upright in the haze of blood and viscera. Their eyes carry a blunt anger that burns even from S’s periphery.

“Hold the line!” T-piece shouts. “I’m gonna find I. And have a talk.”

S doesn’t turn back to respond, only raising a thumbs up in acknowledgement.

Later, that will haunt her. That she didn’t turn to see T go.

On the bloody brass street S faces Z, furious and helpless, and embraces him. She presses her body against his thorns and nips at the lobe of his ear.

“I fucked up,” Z breathes into her neck.

“I know, darling. It’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Z repeats. “I'm alright. Hold the line.”

“I know.”

One more squeeze—to make them both yelp, to intermingle the blood from fresh scratches, to remind Z that pain is nothing but together they are everything—and S returns her focus to the broken windows before her.

T-piece is right, S thinks. ��Z's right. Gotta focus. We can't go losing worlds for dumb reasons.

The idle thought slips through her brain like a trout through a stream, unopposed and unquestioned. It's something S simply knows—the same way she knows what dolphins are and who Judy Garland is and how the Martian Civil War was lost and that plants need light to grow.

Wouldn't want the Boss getting angry.

alright here's the rundown. more detailed version coming soon probably. the things i do for you guys

(transcript of prologue below the cut)

It's a lavender sky this time, this world. A lavender sky deepening to aubergine over a city of neon and brass. It's beautiful in it's way, just like any other city on any other world.

I-prime hasn't bothered to learn its name.

He stands in the hotel window, watching the burnished streets below gleam with fading light. The rhythmic thrum beneath his feet signals the rousing of the club below. They're playing a song that I has never heard in his life, yet part of him remembers it all the same.

The blank-faced watch on his wrist chimes a single long tone. I-piece taps its face without taking his eyes off the path into the nightclub.

"Hello, T."

"You're not in position," T says through the speaker. Their voice betrays none of the frustration that I knows he must feel.

"I'm where I need to be," I-prime says.

"We talked about this—"

"Yes, you talked, that's what you do. I make decisions."

T-piece's response is cut off by further chimes from the watch. Short, long, short, short—then the voice of L comes through.

"There's no time," she says. "The Boss just Held onto J. It's on, it's now."

"As expected," says I.

With a snap of his fingers the air before him splits. I-prime reaches into the crack between two universes and retrieves his sniper rifle. He looks down its sights, out the window, down the gleaming street.

Someone approaches the door to the club. A tall, svelt man with a face that I-prime is so sick of seeing other people wear.

I wonder what this one's named, I-prime muses as he lines up the shot.

Izaak? Ignacius? Indigo?

As he pulls the trigger on himself from another life, I-prime knows it doesn't matter what this alternate is called.

He lost track of their names a long time ago.

#tetris spoilers #there Will be a part 4 can confirm

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vanyzvat · 2 days ago

Text

A DAMN GOOD ACTOR

You're a cookie that's been sent on a mission to the Spire Of Deceit, with the intent to get close to Shadow Milk Cookie and break his heart. The plan is to leave him confused and vulnerable, so your side can have even the slightest advantage when facing him during the upcoming war against the Beasts.

Surprisingly, you've done your job of playing pretend rather well (Your acting skills may or may not have improved thanks to him, ironically), and eventually, on one particular day, when push comes to shove...

You complete your task.

Potential Warnings: Shadow Milk Cookie is kinda genuinely obsessed with you in this, but it's pretty tame compared to some of the other stuff out there.

Shadow Milk Cookie's always loved to have all eyes on him. He's a performer, that's what he does, and he's very good at it! And he knows that, too.

So when you caught his attention, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary for him. Just like everyone else that had come across his path, you didn't mean anything to him at first.

...

Keyword "at first".

But then he saw something within you.

Something you've wanted to keep hidden, and was planning to take to the grave when you inevitably crumbled.

Something darker, something sinister.

A feeling of desire, of longing for something more, to be something more. Something more than this.

So he recruited you! Duh.

...And then paid attention to you.

And then you became closer.

And then you became inseparable.

You knew how he felt- At least, you've started to suspect it. But he was never open about it, of course he wasn't.

So, on a particular day, when you finally felt the time was right... You practically cornered him for answers.

...

"Be honest for once in your life," You know you're asking for a lot.

"Am I being like Candy Apple Cookie to you?"

He lets out a laugh.

"Come on now. All this time together and you still don't trust me?"

You tilted your head, smiling as you raised a brow.

"You're not just an ordinary cookie to me, you know!" He flew over to you, making eye contact as he turned himself upside down in the air.

"Oh? How come?"

...And he suddenly cringes, backing off.

He knows what you're trying to pull. You're trying to get him to say what he likes about you.

"..."

No. Not this time. You're so close to completing your mission, you just needed that one final push.

You grab him by his ruffle collar, yanking him close again.

And for once, he's... Frozen, looking at you with a confused smile? What's, uh, what's happening...?

"How do you really feel about me, Shadow Milk Cookie?"

Ah.

He remains flabbergasted for a few more seconds, before his expression shifts to anger.

"Let go of me." He demanded.

"Answer me." You shot back.

Why isn't it WORKING. Why aren't you letting go. Even with the most serious, anger-filled expression he can muster, it does nothing to you.

You're like Pure Vanilla Cookie sometimes. He tries EVERY trick in the book on you, and yet, nothing quite WORKS. Maybe it does for a while, but you're always adapting.

It's a reaction once, then a small one, and then none at all.

That's another one of the many reasons he feels like he can't get enough of you.

He'd never admit it, of course, but perhaps a part of him was obsessed- He always had his eyes on you.

You gave him a challenge.

He wanted to terrify you, to make you laugh, to make you frown.

He hated you, he loved you.

Whereas everyone else praised or feared his influence, his power- You made him feel... Small. UGH.

You made him feel like nothing, but also everything.

After a while of you just staring at each other's eyes, he's forced to teleport to get out of your grasp.

"You really want to know?"

You gave him a singular nod.

God, you're driving him INSANE.

"FINE."

He rolls his eyes.

Suddenly, the two of you are on the top of the spire. He's leaning his back against one of the pillars, his hair dangling off the edge as he has his arms crossed.

His face? Unamused.

...

But then he hovers up to you, quicker than you can comprehend. He's flying above you as he's in a lying position, barely enough to look down on you.

You're looking at him, but not quite.

Your eyes are looking up at him, but your head remained low.

He sucked in the air through his teeth, his lying position turning to him standing, still hovering above the ground.

Still looking down at you.

He turns around for a moment, mumbling under his breath in frustration before turning back to face you.

He reaches out and gently places a hand on your cheek, causing you to raise a brow again.

His expression- It's a mix of a lot of things.

Reluctance, disgust, maybe even the tiniest hint of nervousness.

Time feels like it has stopped.

Moreso than usual.

He knows he's going to regret this... But what's life without a little bit of risk, right?!

He leans in, raising your chin up, then finally closes the gap between you.

...

It only lasts for a second.

And then he pulls away, cowardly backing off again.

You're silent. WHY ARE YOU SILENT.

He's looking at you.

He's waiting for a reply.

An action.

Something, please give him SOMETHING.

Say something, do something, ANYTHING.

PLEASE.

...

But you only keep looking at him.

Looking at him with that same blank stare.

And he...

...

He sinks into himself.

Oh.

Ow.

He practically deflates like a balloon, slowly moving downwards until his feet hit the ground.

Ow ow ow.

Ow, he doesn't like this.

Ouchy.

This is not a good type of pain.

He knew this pain- The pain of bitter truth. The pain he founded this entire new world in order to avoid.

Is this what it feels like to get your heart broken? To get rejected?

He's never gotten rejected before.

Well, that's debatable...

But never like this.

Never under these circumstances. He knew that if he said the right things and acted the right way, he could get what he wanted from anyone else.

But he doesn't want "anyone else", he wants YOU.

Was he so stupid for trying to use honesty for once? You ASKED.

What does he say now? That you'll regret this? It's never worked. And he doesn't want you to hate him, so.

Ugh, why does he even CARE.

WHY does he bother.

...

You rolled his eyes at his state.

God, he looks like a sad wet cat. This idiot...

...

But you had to do what you had to do.

You take a step forward, and for once, he doesn't notice. Seems like he's too caught up in his wittle feelies to quite look at you.

You take another step.

And then another.

And another.

Until you're in front of him again.

"Shadow Milk Cookie."

He's suddenly alert again.

"...Yeeees?"

He forces the usual facade, smiling.

But you're used to his personality just shifting like this to disguise everything underneath.

You know now.

"Did you..."

"You didn't actually think I could ever fall in love with you, right?"

"Your feelings were just another lie, right?"

Owie... . . . . .

"That's not a very nice joke, y'know!"

A joke where he's the punchline.

Karma.

"Good. I hope it hurts. Now you know how you make everyone else feel."

...He doesn't say anything.

Usually he has a comeback for this.

Little ol' him? Playing mean jokes? Never!

...

But not this time.

"I thought- I thought..."

"You thought you knew me, didn't you. So much for being the Master Of Deceit..."

You chuckled.

"How dare you" He wishes he'd say.

But he doesn't.

Deep down, he had a hunch. He wasn't THAT stupid.

But he was hoping.

Hoping for that one little chance.

...Okay, maybe he was stupid.

And now look at him.

Now, he's the silly one.

What is this.

Why does this feel different?

It doesn't make SENSE for this to feel different.

Those under his influence praised him all the time. His every move, hell, even his every breath- There wasn't a SECOND they didn't love him.

You're doing something- You're doing something to him. No, you've done something to him.

He's confused, vulnerable.

...

And your job here is done.

"That's my cue to leave."

"Goodbye, Shadow Milk Cookie."

He needs to follow you.

Why isn't he following you.

Why can't he MOVE.

He can't just let you go, you're too important.

He needs to get revenge on those who put you up to this.

He needs to get you back.

You need to be his. You have to. You...

He began clapping. Who is he clapping for? You, obviously! You're the star of the show!

"Bravo, bravo!"

"What a performance, tricking the Master Of Deceit himself! What an actor, I must say!"

He's gotten used to this by now.

He had a role to play, and he played it well.

But you knew you had gotten to him.

And that was all you wanted.

You walk away, descending down the stairs, leaving him cheering for you at the top of the spire.

Eventually, the clapping ceases.

And he exhales through his teeth.

First Pure Vanilla Cookie walked away with half his Soul Jam, and now you walked away with half his heart.

He shuts his eyes, gripping at his hair and pulling in frustration. Oh, how he wants to scream and shout.

He feels something escape and roll down his cheek. But is he going to address it? NO. Of course not.

He had done SUCH a good job building these literal and metaphorical walls so NO ONE could reach him.

But you did. Despite it all.

He can't POSSIBLY be this weak, right?

He's a Beast!

He's the world's finest playwright, poet, director, actor, clown- And, of course, everyone's most beloved trickster!

He's Shadow Milk Cookie!

...

And you really are a damn good actor.

#this was meant to be a wholesome confession fic i don't know what happened #i wanted to hurt him chat #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk crk #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk x reader #crk x reader #crk x you #cookie run kingdom #cookie run #cookie reader #y/n cookie #cr kingdom #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run kingdom x you #crk

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shdysders · 3 days ago

Text

love wasn’t enough

pairing: vada cavell & female reader

summary: you and vada thought you could handle the distance that came with college—until you couldn’t.

word count: 6.8k

The car idled by the curb, its low, steady hum filling the suffocating silence between you. The sun hung low in the sky, its golden light spilling over the street and casting jagged shadows across the pavement.

Neither of you had moved for what felt like hours, and the stillness was heavy enough to crush you both.

This was it—the moment you'd dreaded for months, hanging over you like a storm cloud ever since the day those college acceptance letters arrived.

When you'd first realized you weren't going to the same school, it felt like the world had shifted beneath your feet, throwing everything off balance.

The excitement of getting in—of finally moving toward your futures—was completely overshadowed by the realization that those futures wouldn't start side by side.

Vada had laughed nervously when you told her, brushing it off like it wasn't a big deal. "We'll figure it out," she'd said, but her voice cracked just enough to betray her. She'd always been good at hiding how she felt, but you knew her too well to miss the flicker of fear behind her eyes.

You hadn't talked about it much that night, both of you too overwhelmed to confront what it meant. But later, curled up together on her bed with her arms wrapped tightly around you, the silence had broken.

You'd cried together, your tears soaking into her hoodie as she whispered soft reassurances, even though neither of you believed them. You'd made promises to each other in the dark—promises that you'd keep calling, keep visiting, keep loving each other no matter how hard it got.

They were promises you wanted so badly to keep, but even then, deep down, you'd both known how fragile they were.

The two of you had always talked about the future like it was something tangible, something you could hold in your hands.

Long nights spent lying on the floor of her room, staring up at the ceiling, planning out every detail like it was inevitable.

You'd talked about what you'd do for a living—Vada always said she'd end up working in film somehow, and you had your own dreams, though they always shifted depending on the day.

You'd joked about buying a car together, getting a dog to keep her happy because she swore no house was complete without one.

Marriage, kids, growing old together—it had all seemed so real when you talked about it, so easy.

But the one thing you hadn't talked about was this: the years it would take to get there, and the distance that stood in the way.

It had never really hit you that before you could have that life, you'd have to make it through moments like this.

The thought alone had made your chest ache every time it crossed your mind, so you'd tried not to dwell on it.

A few days before you were supposed to leave, the two of you had started avoiding the subject entirely. Talking about it made it too real, and you weren't ready for real.

You'd tried to fill your time with distractions instead—late-night movies, long drives to nowhere, anything to pretend things were normal. If you didn't talk about it, maybe you wouldn't have to cry about it.

But now, standing by the car, there was no avoiding it. The weight of it pressed down on your shoulders, tightening your throat as you struggled to find something to say.

Vada stood a few feet away, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie, her posture tense and closed off. She kept glancing at you, then back down at the ground, her sneakers scuffing against the pavement.

Her usual confidence was nowhere to be found, replaced by a hesitation that made your stomach twist. You'd never seen her like this before—unsure of herself, unsure of what to do. And for once, you couldn't blame her.

"Did you triple-check your suitcase?" Vada's voice was quieter than usual, almost like she was afraid to disturb the fragile atmosphere that had settled between you.

"I think I did," you replied, forcing a small smile in an attempt to break the tension. "I mean, if I didn't, I'm sure I'll survive without, like, an extra pair of socks."

The joke fell flat, the lightness you'd hoped for swallowed by the weight of the moment. Vada didn't laugh. She just nodded, her teeth tugging anxiously at her bottom lip.

It was a tell you'd come to recognize over the years, a sign that she was holding something back but couldn't find the courage to say it.

The silence grew, stretching taut like a string ready to snap.

You busied yourself by fidgeting with the strap of your bag, your fingers twisting the worn fabric into knots as you tried to come up with something—anything—that might make this easier.

But the words felt stuck in your throat, thick and clumsy and useless.

"This feels weird," she said suddenly, breaking the silence with a hesitance that made your chest ache. Her voice was quieter now, almost uncertain, like she wasn't sure if she should've said it out loud.

"I know," you admitted softly, your eyes fixed on the pavement instead of her face. The heaviness in your chest pressed down harder, threatening to spill out if you didn't keep your voice steady. "But it's not like we're never going to see each other again."

You forced yourself to look up, trying to meet her gaze even as your stomach twisted with the effort of pretending you weren't falling apart. "We'll FaceTime every day. And text all the time. Nothing's going to change."

The words felt hollow even as you said them, but you needed them to be true. For her, for yourself, for both of you.

Vada's lips twitched into a faint smile at your attempt to reassure her, but it was weak, and it didn't quite reach her eyes. Those dark eyes that always sparkled with mischief, with life, looked dimmer now, weighed down by something neither of you wanted to name. "Yeah," she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Nothing's gonna change."

But it wasn't true, and you both knew it. Things were already changing—had been changing from the moment you'd both accepted that you couldn't stay in the same place forever. Pretending otherwise wouldn't stop the inevitable, and yet, you didn't dare acknowledge it. Not here, not now.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, pushing back the tears that threatened to spill over. This wasn't the time to cry—not yet. You didn't want to ruin the little time you had left together by falling apart. So you bit your lip, forced another shaky smile, and pretended you didn't notice how Vada's shoulders seemed to cave inward, like she was carrying the weight of the entire world on her back.

"Come here," you said, stepping forward before she could argue. Your voice was soft, but the need to hold her was overwhelming, like it might somehow keep everything from changing.

Before Vada could say a word, you wrapped your arms around her, burying your face in the familiar crook of her neck. Her arms came around you instantly, pulling you in with a desperation that mirrored your own.

Her fingers gripped the back of your shirt, holding on like letting go would make you disappear.

"I don't want you to go," she whispered, her voice breaking in a way that shattered you.

"I don't want to go either," you managed, though your throat felt like it was closing with each word. "But we'll be okay, Vada. We will." You didn't know if you were trying to convince her or yourself.

Her hold on you tightened, her breath warm against your shoulder, before she pulled back just enough to look at you. Her eyes were glossy, the tears clinging to her lashes as if she was trying to will them away.

"You promise you'll call me as soon as you get there?" she asked, her voice small but insistent.

"I promise," you said, your hands resting gently on her waist.

"And if I start failing math, you'll tutor me over FaceTime?"

A soft laugh broke through the heaviness of the moment. "You're not going to fail math."

"You don't know that," she argued, a faint smile tugging at her lips, but it didn't quite hide the sadness behind her eyes.

The way she tried to lighten the mood made your heart ache. You reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face, your fingers lingering against her skin. "You're going to do amazing, Vada. I know you are."

She sniffled, leaning into your touch like she needed the reassurance as much as you did. "You'd better come home every chance you get."

"Every single chance," you said firmly, your voice leaving no room for doubt.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you saw her bite back the tears threatening to spill. But when she caught the slight sheen in your eyes, she reached up and swiped a thumb across your cheek before you could do it yourself. "Don't cry. You're going to make me cry, and I don't need my parents seeing that."

Her weak attempt at humor pulled a soft chuckle from you, but the ache in your chest didn't let up. "You promise to call too?" you asked, your voice quieter now. "You're going away too, remember?"

Her hand dropped from your face, brushing over your arm as she nodded. "I promise."

The weight of everything unsaid hung between you, thick and suffocating, as you leaned your forehead against hers. For a moment, there was nothing else—just the two of you, the soft hitch of her breath, and the way her eyes locked on yours like they were trying to memorize every detail.

"I love you," you whispered, your hands cupping her cheeks. Her skin was warm beneath your palms, and the way she closed her eyes for a second, leaning into your touch, made your heart squeeze.

"I love you too," she replied, her voice shaky but sure.

You closed the small distance between you, pressing your lips to hers. The kiss was soft, lingering, filled with all the emotions you couldn't put into words. Her hands came up to rest on yours, holding them in place as if grounding herself in the moment.

When you finally pulled away, her eyes fluttered open, and you could see the sheen of tears she was still trying to hide. You wanted to say more, to tell her everything you felt, but the words wouldn't come. So you just stayed there, your foreheads still touching, letting the silence speak for itself.

The honk of the car horn shattered the quiet between you, pulling you both back to reality. You glanced over your shoulder to see your parents gesturing impatiently from the car, their faces a mixture of understanding and urgency.

Vada's posture stiffened, her arms falling to her sides as she let out a shaky breath. "I guess this is it," she said softly, her voice barely audible.

Your throat felt tight again as you turned back to her. "I guess it is."

Neither of you moved at first. The finality of it hung between you like a barrier neither of you wanted to cross. But then you stepped forward, reaching for her hands. They were trembling slightly as they found yours, and you held onto them like it was the only thing anchoring you to the moment.

"You're going to do amazing," you said, your voice firm despite the lump in your throat.

"So are you," she replied, her words almost a whisper. Her lips curved into a faint smile, but the tears in her eyes betrayed her.

You let go of one of her hands to brush a thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear that had slipped free. "Don't forget that, okay? You're going to be amazing, Vada."

Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but instead, she just nodded, her grip on your remaining hand tightening.

The car horn sounded again, louder this time, and you knew you couldn't stall any longer. You leaned in quickly, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. It was fleeting but filled with everything you wanted to say—every promise, every hope, every piece of your heart you were leaving with her.

When you pulled back, you cupped her face one last time, letting your hands linger before reluctantly stepping away. "I'll call you as soon as I get there," you said, your voice breaking slightly.

"I'll be waiting," she replied, her tears spilling over despite the brave face she was trying to put on.

With a reluctant sigh, you turned and opened the car door, sliding into the backseat. Your parents exchanged sympathetic looks but didn't say anything as the car started to pull away.

Through the window, you saw Vada standing there, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She looked smaller somehow, more fragile, like the weight of the moment was too much for her to carry. Her eyes never left yours as the distance between you grew.

You pressed your hand to the glass in a silent goodbye, and after a brief pause, she raised her hand in return. Her figure grew smaller and smaller until all you could see was the faint outline of her silhouette against the fading light.

Even when she was gone from sight, you kept your hand on the window, your chest heavier than ever. You didn't let it drop, not until the first tear slid down your cheek and you had to turn away to wipe it before anyone could see.

___

The first few weeks apart had been just as hard as you expected, but you'd made it work. You clung to the promises you'd made that day at the curb, determined to keep things as close to normal as possible, even from miles away.

Your days fell into a rhythm before you even realized it. Classes kept you busy, and your new friends had a way of filling the quiet moments that might've felt unbearable otherwise. Vada, from what she mentioned during your nightly calls, was finding her own place too. She'd joined a few clubs—something about a film club and, surprisingly, a hiking group.

The calls became a lifeline. Some nights, they stretched on for hours as you traded every detail of your day until exhaustion took over.

You could tell she was trying to keep things light, often sharing funny stories about her classmates or how she got lost on campus again. It was enough to make you laugh and forget, even for a moment, how much you missed her.

She'd even complained once about her classes, mentioning how her professor's assignments were impossible. "I'd fail without you," she'd said one evening, after you patiently explained the steps to her over the phone.

It had been a silly mistake—she was reading the questions wrong—but she refused to admit it. You could practically hear her rolling her eyes, her exasperation softening into a grateful laugh by the end of it.

The weeks passed in a blur of busy days and late-night conversations. Every chance you got, you talked about the future you'd once dreamed up together.

It was still there in your minds—the house, the dog, the tiny details that made it all feel real. Neither of you dared to admit how much harder it seemed now, with your paths so far apart.

On the weekends, you'd try to watch a movie together over a shared screen. The plans rarely worked as smoothly as you'd hoped—buffering internet, lagging voices, or one of you falling asleep halfway through—but you didn't care. You'd laugh about it every time, finding comfort in the fact that you were still trying.

You were doing everything right, just as you'd planned. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.

The weeks slipped by faster than you'd expected, and somehow, the distance didn't feel as unbearable as you'd feared. It wasn't ideal, but it was manageable.

You'd fallen into routines that made it easier—daily calls, texts whenever you had a spare moment, and a constant reassurance that this was only temporary.

You told yourself this was how it had to be, that the sacrifices were worth it.

Vada seemed happy. She talked about her classes with more confidence now, even cracking jokes about how her professor probably hated her because she was always five minutes late.

She teased you about how many new friends you'd made, calling you "Miss Popular" every time you mentioned another study session or late-night hangout.

And yet, there was always a moment in those calls when the laughter would fade, and the silence would creep in. It wasn't awkward, just heavy, like the unspoken truth neither of you dared to acknowledge. You ignored it, convincing yourself it didn't matter.

You felt like everything was as perfect as it could be—like you were both doing your best, holding onto each other as tightly as the distance would allow.

That night felt no different.

You'd sent Vada a quick text earlier in the day, asking if she'd have time for your daily call, and she'd replied with a short;

yh, same time as usual

So, when the clock struck nine, you dialed her number like you always did.

The call started like all the others had. Vada answered on the third ring.

"Hi, baby," you greeted softly, your voice carrying that familiar warmth, the kind you hoped would make her smile.

There was a moment of shuffling on the other end, the faint sound of fabric brushing against fabric, before she answered. "Hi," she said, quieter than usual. "How are you?"

"I'm good," you replied easily, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Tired, though. I miss you."

"I miss you too," she said, and you heard it in the way her voice softened, how she lingered on the words just a little longer.

"I was thinking about you earlier," you continued, leaning back in your chair as you held the phone closer to your ear. "You know that girl I told you about? The one in my ethics class who's always asking the weirdest questions?" You paused, letting out a small laugh.

"She completely hijacked today's lecture by asking if it's ethical to steal a gluten-free loaf of bread. Like, not just any loaf—specifically gluten-free."

There was a beat of silence before Vada gave a faint, almost reluctant laugh. "That's... creative."

"Right? The professor didn't know what to do with her. The whole class turned into a debate about dietary restrictions and morality," you said, chuckling. "It was so ridiculous I actually thought about texting you in the middle of it."

Her response was quiet, almost absent, just a soft "Hm."

It made you pause, your smile fading slightly. Something felt... off.

"How are you, though?" you asked, your tone shifting to something more careful. "You doing okay?"

For a moment, the line was filled with nothing but the faint sound of her breathing. Then you heard her take a shaky breath, the kind you'd heard before when she was trying to hold something back.

Your heart started to race. "Vada?"

"I, um..." she started, and her voice broke on the words. She stopped just as quickly, exhaling sharply like she was frustrated with herself.

You didn't say anything, giving her space to gather her thoughts, but your mind was already spinning.

Was she okay? Had something happened at school? Was someone being mean to her?

A dozen worst-case scenarios flashed through your head, each one making your chest tighten a little more.

"I just wanted to..." she tried again, her voice trembling slightly.

Still, you said nothing, waiting. You didn't want to rush her, didn't want to make it harder, but it was getting harder to breathe as each second passed.

"I was thinking..." she tried once more, trailing off again.

Your grip on the phone tightened, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. The way she kept stopping and starting—it wasn't like her. And the shaky, uneven way she spoke made it clear that whatever she was about to say wasn't something you were going to want to hear.

But you stayed silent, holding on to the small hope that maybe it wasn't as bad as it seemed.

And then it started.

"I just..." Vada hesitated, her voice already breaking. "I don't know how to say this. I've been thinking about it for a while, and..."

Her words trailed off, and you could hear her take a shaky breath. Your grip on the phone tightened as the silence stretched, your chest knotting with unease.

"I've been trying so hard to picture the future we talked about," she began again, her voice trembling. "You know, the house, the dog, the wedding, all of it. But... I just can't see it anymore."

Her words were rushed and unsteady, tumbling out in a way that made it clear she hadn't planned this. "It's like, we've talked about it so much, right? All these plans we made, and I—I don't even know if that's what I want anymore. What if it's not? What if we've just been telling ourselves that's what we want, but it's not actually what's going to happen?"

Your stomach churned as you listened, her words leaving you more confused than anything. "It's not that I don't love you," she added quickly, almost desperately. "I do. I love you so much, but... I don't know if love is enough. Not with how different things feel right now."

Different? You wanted to ask what she meant, but you couldn't bring yourself to interrupt.

"I mean, look at us," she rambled on, sniffling between her words. "You're doing so well there, making all these friends, figuring things out, and I'm... I don't even know what I'm doing. It's like we're moving in completely different directions, and I keep telling myself it's fine, that we'll meet in the middle, but what if we don't? What if we can't?"

Her voice cracked, and she let out a shaky breath. "I feel like I'm letting you down. Like I'm holding you back from... from something, I don't even know what. And you deserve better than that."

The lump in your throat grew heavier with each word, but you stayed silent, your mind racing. None of this made sense. You weren't moving in different directions. You were both just... adjusting. Weren't you?

"And I know this sounds stupid," she said, her voice quieter now. "But I don't even know if I'm the same person I was when we made all those plans. I don't know if I want the same things anymore, and it's not fair to keep pretending like I do. Like we're both still on the same page.”

Her words were spiraling now, losing focus. "It's just—this is so hard, and I hate how hard it is. I hate feeling like this all the time. Like I'm failing you, or us, or whatever this is supposed to be."

You felt your heart drop as she sniffled again, her breath hitching on the other end.

"I've been thinking..." she said finally, her voice barely audible. "Maybe we'd be better off as friends."

And there it was.

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You sat frozen, her voice echoing in your mind, even though she'd stopped talking. Better off as friends.

Friends.

She wanted to be friends.

Your chest felt hollow, like the air had been sucked out of you. You clutched the phone tighter, your knuckles white, but your voice still wouldn't come. On the other end, Vada let out another soft, broken sob, and it shattered whatever was left of you.

The moment the words left her mouth, you felt like the floor had fallen out from under you. You sat frozen for a beat, her quiet sniffles filling the silence on the other end of the line. The weight of her words pressed down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

But then the panic set in, bubbling up and spilling out of you in a frantic rush.

"Vada, no," you started, your voice trembling but insistent. "That's not true. None of what you're saying is true. We can fix this. We can figure it out together, okay? We always do."

She let out a soft, shaky "I—" but you didn't let her finish.

"You're just overwhelmed. That's all it is. Long-distance is hard, but it's not impossible. It's not something we can't handle. You're just—maybe you're overthinking, you know? Maybe you're just tired or stressed or something, but you don't mean this. I know you don't."

Your voice cracked, and you realized tears were already forming in your eyes. You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself as the words kept spilling out.

"If it's about the distance, we can fix that. I'll come home every single break, every weekend—hell, every free day I get. I'll figure it out. I'll make it work. I'll come to you, okay? It doesn't have to be this hard. It doesn't have to feel like this."

"Wait, just let me—" Vada tried again, but you steamrolled over her, desperate to keep her from saying the one thing you couldn't bear to hear.

"And if that's not enough, I'll transfer," you said, your voice breaking now as tears started to fall. "I'll drop out here and come to your school. I don't care if my parents get mad or if they never forgive me. I'll do it for you—for us. You'd do that for us too, right? You'd do it if it meant we could stay together?"

Her sharp inhale cut through your words, and for a moment, you thought she might agree. But then you heard her sniffle, followed by a soft, broken, "It's not—”

"No, don't say it," you cut her off again, your tone more frantic now. "Don't say it's over. Don't say you can't see a future for us, because I can. I see it every day. I wake up thinking about it. I go to bed dreaming about it. I know it's there, Vada. We just have to hold on a little longer, that's all. We just have to try a little harder."

You were full-on crying now, tears streaming down your face as you pleaded with her. Your voice wavered with every word, but you couldn't stop. You wouldn't stop.

"Tell me what to do. Just tell me what you need, and I'll do it. If you're feeling like this because of something I did, I'll fix it. I swear I'll fix it. Just... don't give up on us, Vada. Please."

Her quiet sobs on the other end of the line twisted something deep in your chest. You could hear her trying to speak, her voice breaking every time she tried to get a word in.

"Y/N, I—"

"No, stop," you begged, your voice cracking as you ran your hand through your hair in frustration. "Don't say it. Don't say this is what you want, because it's not. I know you, Vada. You don't want this. You love me, and I love you, and that has to mean something. That has to be enough."

You took a shaky breath, your chest heaving as you tried to pull yourself together. "Please, Vada. Just... please. Don't do this. We can figure it out. Together. We can fix it. I'll do whatever it takes."

You waited, your heart pounding in your ears as the silence stretched between you. For the first time since she started talking, you let the quiet settle, hoping—praying—that she'd take it all back. That she'd tell you she was wrong, that you were right, and that you could make it work.

But instead, all you heard was her broken sobs on the other end of the line.

Vada's breathing on the other end was uneven, shaky, like she was trying to pull herself together. "I just..." she started, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the static of the line. "I don't know if we can, Y/N."

Her words left a hollow ache in your chest, like the ground had been pulled out from beneath you. Your mind scrambled for something—anything—that could refute what she was saying. Before you could respond, though, there was a faint, muffled voice on her end.

It was brief, barely audible, but it was enough to send your thoughts spiraling. There was someone with her. You didn't know who, and you didn't care. All you could think was that of course this would happen.

Of course, she'd meet someone else. She was beautiful, charismatic, and too good for her own good. How could you ever have thought you could keep her?

Your stomach churned as the realization settled in, bitter and sharp. The question slipped out before you could stop it, a panicked whisper. "Did you meet someone else?"

"What?" Vada's voice shot up in surprise, defensive and almost offended. "No! Why would you even think that?"

"I don't know!" you blurted, your words tumbling out in a rush. "I don't know, okay? I just—I thought maybe... I mean, it would make sense, wouldn't it? You're there, and you're meeting new people all the time. And if you did meet someone else, I wouldn't..." You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. "I wouldn't even care. Not really. I'd be fine with it. If that's what this is about, if you met someone, then it's fine. Because that would mean you'd still want me, right? Even if it's not the same. Even if it's just... until you came back."

Your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for how desperate you sounded. You hated that you were putting this out there, offering pieces of yourself you weren't sure you could get back.

"Y/N, stop," Vada interrupted, her tone sharp but laced with something softer, like guilt or regret. "It's not like that. There's no one else. I swear, I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't do that to us."

Her voice wavered, and you could hear her swallow thickly on the other end. "This isn't about someone else. It's about us. It's about me. Please don't—don't do this. Don't make this harder than it already is."

But how could you not? How could you not fight for this, for her, for the life you'd both imagined together? You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. Just the weight of her confession, heavy and suffocating, hanging in the silence between you.

This was what she wanted. Maybe not what she'd planned, maybe not what either of you had, but it was what she needed. Forcing her to stay, clinging to dreams you thought you both shared but she clearly didn't, would only be selfish.

The realization hit you like a slow, creeping wave, rising higher with every second until it consumed you.

And maybe there was someone else. Maybe she hadn't been lying earlier, but the thought lingered anyway. If there was someone else, it wasn't like she'd tell you.

Who would admit, "I met someone else and that's why I'm breaking up with you," to their sobbing girlfriend over the phone? It wouldn't make sense to expect her to say it outright, not when you were already shattered.

Your throat tightened as the pieces came together, the edges jagged and sharp. You got quiet, the silence stretching between you like a canyon, vast and unbridgeable.

Your palm pressed against your phone, slick with sweat, trembling as your grip faltered. Every instinct screamed at you to argue, to fight for her, but a deeper, quieter voice told you this was the end.

You forced a shaky, fragile smile onto your face, as if she could see it. As if she were sitting across from you, not hundreds of miles away. It was for her. Everything you did was always for her. You couldn't let yourself make this harder than it already was.

"Whatever makes you happy, Vada," you whispered. Your voice wavered, so unsteady it betrayed the effort you were putting into sounding soft, even light. You wanted her to hear you smile through the phone, the way she always teased you about. "I can hear you smiling," she'd say, laughing when you tried to deny it.

But this time, you weren't sure it worked. Your smile was too small, too forced, too broken. You thought you heard her gulp on the other end of the line, a soft sound like she was holding back tears of her own.

"Please don't..." Vada started, her voice cracking. She trailed off, and the silence stretched again before she finally spoke, quieter this time. "I don't want you to hate me."

Your chest tightened painfully as she repeated herself, softer, more desperate. "Please don't hate me."

You couldn't respond. The tears were falling freely now, hot and stinging, blurring your vision. You pressed your lips together tightly, trying to hold back the sob building in your throat.

How could she say that? How could she think you wouldn't hate her? She'd just taken the future you'd built together and shattered it like it was nothing. Of course, you hated her.

But then... how could you? How could you hate her when this was what she needed, what she wanted? If she didn't want you anymore, what choice did you have but to let her go? The hate wasn't real. It was a fleeting thought, something to make the pain feel less unbearable. But you didn't hate her. You couldn't.

The silence stretched again, thick and suffocating, and you could imagine Vada sitting wherever she was, clutching her phone, picturing your face the same way you were picturing hers. She sniffled, the sound shaking slightly through the line. "Please," she said softly, her voice raw and pleading. "Please say something."

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Just the tears, the ache, and the overwhelming weight of her absence that hadn't even fully settled in yet. But you had to say something. You had to give her something. For her. Always for her.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to try again. The first attempt had crumbled under the weight of your emotions, but you had to do better. For her. Always for her.

You pressed your palm against your knee, grounding yourself as you curved your lips into a sharper smile. This time, you were determined she'd hear it. "It's fine, Vada," you said softly, pushing every ounce of fake cheerfulness you could muster into your tone.

It almost sounded convincing. Almost. The words came out soft and measured, like you'd rehearsed them. For a fleeting second, you thought it had worked. Maybe you could trick her into believing you were okay. Maybe that would make it easier for both of you.

But then Vada sniffled again, the sound ragged and broken through the line. It made your heart ache all over again, even as you resented how much it still cared.

"I was hoping..." Vada hesitated, the words trembling. "I was hoping we could still be friends."

Your chest tightened, the ache deepening, but she didn't stop there. "Can we still be friends?" she repeated, her voice smaller, like she knew she was asking too much.

The question hit you like a slap, blunt and rude in its audacity. Friends? How could she ask that? How could she even think it was possible? Just minutes ago, you'd been begging her to stay, willing to rearrange your entire life for her. And now, she wanted to slot herself into a new, smaller role in your world, as if that would be enough.

Your throat burned as you tried to think of something to say. Anything. But all you could feel was the overwhelming sting of her question, of how casually she was trying to rewrite the rules of what you were to each other.

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Vada's question echoed in your head, mocking you, tearing through the fragile hope you'd clung to for so long. Friends. Friends. The word felt like it was twisting a knife in your chest, each syllable a reminder of how far you'd fallen from what you used to be.

How could she ask for that? How could she pretend like this wasn't destroying you?

Your hands trembled as you wiped at your face, trying to keep the tears from falling faster. It didn't work. Nothing did. Your entire body felt like it was collapsing inward, suffocated by the weight of everything you had just lost.

"Sure, Vada..." you finally muttered, your voice hoarse and hollow. You didn't even sound like yourself anymore.

You swallowed hard, pushing the words past the tightness in your throat. "Friends." The word was venom on your tongue, and it slipped out like a curse. Spat, almost, as if saying it was enough to kill you.

Vada's breath hitched on the other end of the line. "I really—"

"No." You didn't let her finish. You couldn't. Not after everything she'd just done, after the way she'd torn apart everything you'd ever dreamed of together. "I'll see you some other time, Vada."

The words came out cold, detached, as if you were already shutting the door on her. As if that would make this any easier.

You didn't wait for her response. You couldn't bear to. Your heart pounded in your chest, your thumb hovering over the end call button. This was it. No "I love you," like there was after every call. No "I'll talk to you tomorrow," because you knew there wouldn't be a tomorrow—not the kind you'd always counted on.

Just as your thumb moved to end the call, you heard Vada's voice again, small and desperate, breaking through your resolve.

"We can still call every—"

You ended the call.

Because you wanted to. Because you had to. Because hearing her voice again, hearing her try to piece together a friendship out of the ruins of what you once had, was too much.

The silence after the call was deafening. It settled in your chest, heavy and hollow, pressing against your ribs like it was trying to break you from the inside out. You stared at your phone, the screen still bright, Vada's name burned into your eyes like a cruel reminder. It was over. Just like that.

Your hands trembled as you placed the phone on your desk, your vision blurred by tears that wouldn't stop. Everything felt too loud and too quiet all at once. The distant hum of voices outside your dorm window, the faint buzz of the lamp beside you—it all blended into a cacophony that drowned out the ache in your chest.

How could she do this? How could she decide so easily that it wasn't worth fighting for? The future you'd both whispered about late at night, the dreams you'd built together—it was all gone. And for what?

You tried to breathe, to steady yourself, but every inhale felt like a knife twisting deeper. You'd spent so long believing in her, in the two of you. You'd built your world around her, every decision, every hope tied to the thought of her being there. And now, she wasn't.

The thought made you feel sick.

You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself like it would somehow keep the pieces of you together. But it didn't. You were crumbling, your chest aching with the weight of everything unsaid, everything you couldn't fix.

She was gone.

You wanted to hate her. You wanted to scream, to curse her name, to tear apart the memories that still clung to you like ghosts. But you couldn't. You couldn't hate her, not really. Because you loved her. Even now, even after this, you loved her with every broken piece of your heart.

And that was the cruelest part.

Because love wasn't enough to keep her. It wasn't enough to hold onto the future you thought you'd have. It wasn't enough to stop her from leaving.

You closed your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks as the ache in your chest settled into something deeper, something emptier. All you had now were the memories, the fragments of what you once were.

Or at least what was left.

#jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #mabel x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter

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kingedbishop · 1 day ago

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The android seemed to always be on his best behavior around Vincent, even when he wouldn't have minded bothering Dan. Sure, the other's systems always seemed on the verge of overloading and he didn't enjoy some casual brawling. But he was harmless, thus he could afford to lower his guard.

The only real threat in the house was Bishop anyway, the other humans simply looked odd. They could be ignored and he could spend some time knitting.

"Mh." He looked down as Vincent leaned in and started apologizing profusely. That was a lot of words just for daring to get a little closer. He supposed he appreciated the concern, but he didn't really care.

"You may rest." It wasn't as if it'd compromise his mobility.

Bishop smirked. The temptation to say he already knew Strohmeier's name was strong, but he managed to hold back for the sake of the game.

"The name's Bishop." he said, looking at his cards. He picked a three and placed it down, then looked at the androids.

Willow kept an eye on Sixty, if anything, to be ready in case something got knocked down.

"Even twins have different personalities. These androids have been individuals for a short time and have been molded by their most recent experiences, but they still qualify as such." the cyborg replied, taking her gloves off, "But they're hardly at the end of their path. Perhaps Daniel will improve over time and so might Vincent. Artificial beings can heal too."

That went for Strasky too, as far as she was concerned. Willow reached for the nearest toy, taking a moment to focus on the feeling of the fabric provided by the sensors in her hands.

"The children need more items to decorate their rooms with. Their preferences, according to the last survey, seem to be dogs, felines, birds and have showed less interest in toys with bright colors." she listed, "Erica will likely claim whatever they will turn down. I suppose we should pick whatever catches our attention."

Then again, she could have used a few new plushies as well.

"Well, the hope is that they'll sort each other out…and maybe be nicer to him. Strasky basically felt responsible for everybody else, which worked out as well as it sounds." Rook said, giving a shrug, "And I feel like he doesn't want the help. I can try to cheer him up, but I'm not Strohmeier or one of the others."

She paused for a moment, then carefully reached out to pet Prince.

Seeing Vincent more at ease convinced the android Bishop to relax, or what passed for that while he gave mean glares to all the present before shifting his attention to the tools and yarn that were being laid out for him.

He briefly glanced in Dan's direction, before picking them up and getting to work.

Bishop contemplated the rules of the game for a moment, before nodding. "Noted."

He moved to sit down, taking a moment to study the other androids. He supposed he could do this for the sake of scientific curiosity. It would be interesting to see how well machines could lie.

"I doubt that device could affect me, but I'm confident it won't be necessary." he commented dryly with a smirk.

It wouldn't be like him to join anything without talking smack first.

Meanwhile, Willow was still quietly scanning the room, taking in all the toys while studying Sixty's behavior. The lack of coordination didn't seem to hinder him, prompting her to refrain from offering her help with it.

She kept her hands folded behind her back as she listened to Strasky. "I assume they share an uncanny resemblance while the other may be more calm and collected the way Nines prefers to carry himself. He might give the impression of a well trained puppy instead of an overstimulated one."

None of that was said as a critique. She appreciated more than anyone the way the androids were allowed to thrive while embracing their personalities.

"Bulb and Prince are good enough, I guess." Rook shrugged. A Pokémon and a scrunkly looking glass creature didn't need crazy names to stand out. "Yep. That's how siblings work. At least you know he's being obnoxious because he wants your attention and not for other reasons."

It was nice to see for a change. Every time she jumped over to this dimension, it felt like dysfunctional families were the norm.

"He's not, you're right, at least in the biological sense." Rook confirmed. "His mind isn't running on his brain anymore so I guess that cuts out all the chemicals that would normally make him all bouncy. I think it's still in there somewhere, but he's also older and very traumatized. The hope is that helping out his friends will give him some peace too."

#thetadispatcher #avian hazard | Rook #advanced persistent threat | Willow

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arkhamsbrat · 2 days ago

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𝜗𝜚 — gk! jason todd x civilian reader

jason todd likes when you’re mad at him because he knows it’s one of the few things he can fix. he can push, and push, and push and he knows you won’t leave because you do it right back. you two do it a lot, a sort of test for each other. constantly searching for the last straw that would never be found. it could be messy sometimes, other times you two were just passive aggressive and snippy.

tonight was one of those snippy nights.

he came home after patrol frustrated.boots stomping against the old wood of your apartment. you’d tried to be extra sweet, slid your hands along his shoulders so you could take his jacket off. “wanna talk about it, baby?” he let out a sharp sigh, shoulders tensing. “hands off.”

no petname. that should be the least of your concern. you freeze, left eye twitching lightly. theres a mental attempt of trying to remind yourself he just had a bad night. it’s been rough on him lately. working nightly to figure out what the hell is going on with his dad? you’d be on edge too.

still. who had dinner (breakfast, technicallly.) sitting in the microwave for him? and he can’t even ask nicely for some space?

maybe your friends were right. you sound like an old married couple.

none of your mental battles stopped the equal snip in your tone. “got it.” you moved to the kitchen, filling his water bottle and setting it on the table a little too hard. it wasn’t that you did it on purpose, but he only realized he was being a dick when you did it right back. you moved silently to your shared bedroom. well, apart from the aggressive slam of the door.

the plan? sit on the edge of the bed and ignore him until he said sorry.

jason is fucked up though. he loves when you slam the door, but he doesn’t hear the click to lock it. he knows he’s supposed to follow and lean against the door, head tilted as he shoots those damn puppy dog eyes at you.

“sweetheart?” he said quietly, cutting the silence cause he can see the gears in your head start turning to blame yourself. “i shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

fuck him. fuck that stupid voice. fuck that he knew exactly what was going on in your head. and fuck that you knew it mirrored his panic.

you tried to stop him from making himself the bad guy. the tone in his voice easily picked apart by your expert “jason todd listening ears”. your boyfriend already thought he was a monster, you can’t be another reason he believed that. “you’ve had it rough for a few weeks, i get it.” you didnt mean for your tone to sound so dry, but he was right. he shouldn’t have. he’s been a huge prick.

he scoffed at you. you pretended to miss the eye roll. he kneels down in front of your perch on the edge of the bed, small smirk pulling at his lips. “c’mon, you know better.”

“you’ve been a jackass.” you admitted quietly, not wanting to come off as too harsh. “there it is.” he rested his chin on your thigh. “i’m sorry, baby. you didn’t do anything, except be really helpful when i get home.” he pressed tiny kisses on your skin between every word. “lemme make it better?”

who are you to deny him?

#— bambi posting #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #jason todd imagine #gotham knights jason #gk! jason #that big… big… beefy man #banner by cafekitsune #NOT PROOFREAD MY BAD

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andhumanslovedstories · 11 hours ago

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you think often of how nurses should speak and relate to patients, and i highly appreciate knowing you put this kind of thought in and share it with other nurses. but as someone who often occupies the patient position, i'm curious if you have any thoughts on ways for patients to interact with nurses, when we are in decent enough control of our faculties to make choices about that. i would like this knowledge from both an altruistic perspective in recognizing nursing is difficult and not wanting to voluntarily make it difficulter, and a wholly self interested position of knowing nurses who like interacting with me give better care. what helps as a professional and as a person?

I'm surprised how much I had to think about this question. What do I want patients to do? I don't know. A lot of it is basic human decency, some of it is specific to my nursing workflow, but overall I find it complicated saying what patients "should" do. I cut out about 500 words of navel gazing from this post explaining why. Here are answers I've come up, in no order and not of equal importance.

--a lot of it is basic "polite interaction with another person in a professional setting." If you're asking this question, you probably care about treating people well in general. If you wouldn't say it to a barista, would you say it to your nursing tech?

--don't do joke answers to basic orientation questions like "what's your name" and "where are you right now", because it's annoying to have to clarify if you're actually confused or if you're fucking with me. I know they're annoying. Just answer correctly so we can move on.

--have some flexibility and patience. Hospitals have a lot of moving parts, and each person interacting with you has other patients that also need care. My hospital and state has mandated nursing ratios. The maximum amount of patients I've had in one assignment is five. Other hospitals have far less protection, and nurses may have six, eight, twelve other patients. Our respiratory therapists each cover multiple units. One CNA might cover the entire floor. I know if melatonin is the difference between you sleeping or not sleeping, it is very frustrating for someone to bring it late. I just ask you keep in mind that there's dozens of reasons that might happen besides someone ignoring you.

--help us help you. If you can lift your arm up for me to put a blood pressure cuff on, why are you holding your arm completely limp so it's like putting pants on a toddler than doesn't want to get dressed? If you can help roll yourself in bed, help us roll you. If your IV is beeping, hit the call light so someone can come turn it off. If you don't have urgency issues and you can tell you're going to need to go to the bathroom soon, call before it's an emergency. If your IV hurts when I give you medication at 8 pm, tell me then, not when I'm trying to give you your midnight antibiotic and all the evening staff have already gone home.

--if you don't understand how something works in the hospital (what happens when you hit the call light, how often are people going to take your vital signs, why can't I get up and walk around the room), just ask. It's really easy for people who work in a hospital every day to forget other people aren't familiar with it.

--don't treat doctors noticeably better than you treat everyone else.

--pet peeve number one: if I give you pills in a med cup, you can just use the med cup to get the pills to your mouth. You don't need to pour the pills into the palm of your hand and then pop them into your mouth. You're gonna drop the pills, and I'm gonna end up on the floor looking for a tiny tablet of dilaudid.

--bundle requests, especially low-importance ones. If you ask for crackers and you know crackers make you thirsty, just request your drink at the same time. Don't make me walk to your room, the nutrition room, and your room again ten minutes later.

--I don't expect people in the hospital to be pleasant all the time, and I don't take snappiness personally, but I always really appreciate the patients who apologize or even just acknowledge their behavior.

--I love patients who acknowledge my work. I don't need effusive praise or a thousand thank yous. It means a lot for someone to just be like "hey, thanks for your help tonight."

--have patience with repeating yourself. If you've got something important and complicated to convey, practice a quick understandable blurb that takes no brain power from you. There may be something that you've told the staff a dozen times, and it may be documented in your chart, but in the hospital you see many people who have never worked with you before and for whatever reason didn't read that info in your chart. For example, I'm a float pool nurse which means I almost never see the same patients twice. I can get sent to a different unit and a different patient load at literally any time. I can't familiarize myself with complicated documentation or read every nursing note. Especially not for patients I know I will only have for four hours. I know repeating yourself is annoying, I know it sucks to have to explain your bathroom routine or your preferred pain med or when you like to get pills or whatever every shift. And it's great when people make that information very easy to find! But if you just accept the reality you'll be repeating yourself a lot anyway, it makes doing so less frustrating.

--pet peeve number two: don't exaggerate to make a point. This is such a human thing to do, and god knows I catch myself doing it all the time, but you can raise objections in a way that's factually true. I've got a lot of concrete data that people are very often wrong when they say they're been "waiting for hours" after hitting a call light. The computer has a time stamp of the last time I was in your room. I know it was 45 minutes ago. There's a timer by the call light. I know you called twenty minutes ago. And I know it feels much longer when you are waiting for basic cares or pain control or anything pressing. Things can be unacceptable without needing to be exaggerated. When the exaggeration is the base of your complaint, it undercuts your credibility. Honestly I find it really irritating when I spend a disproportionate amount of my shift with one patient only for that patient to tell another staff member that I've been neglecting them. Just say I did a bad job, don't pretend I wasn't there at all.

--don't ask me to pull my mask down so you can see my face. like cmon dude.

--I'm not saying you have to send all your visitors out of the room when I'm there, I'm just saying have some sympathy for how nerve-wracking it can be to do your job while being intensely watched by five other deeply invested people with limited context for your actions.

--this is a nebulous and difficult one. You might have a lot of emotion that you don't know what to do with. What you shouldn't do with it is channel it into every interaction you have with a healthcare worker. If you feel guilty about how you haven't visited your mother in a while and now she's in the hospital, you gotta find ways to deal that don't involve getting extremely passive aggressive at your mother's night nurse.

#b.#nursing tag

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starlit-writer · 23 hours ago

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in sickness and in health - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

ah, look at that. have some omegaverse angst inspired by this post here <3 if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

well, this turned out to be miles longer than i expected it to. there's not really a solid ending, so let me know if you want more! have so much fun getting your heart ripped out <3

word count: 4,616 masterlist ao3 link

Three years ago, you and Simon got married. It wasn’t anything flashy or big - fuck, how could it have been when you didn’t even love each other? But, military law forbade an unmated omega from joining the ranks, and Simon was seen as a wild-card alpha, too headstrong and violent, too hard to control. So, the brass laid out an ultimatum: mate, get married, or be discharged. Both you and Simon had worked too hard for too long to get where you were, so discharge was entirely off the table. There was no courting, no dates, and the wedding, if you could call it that, was little more than signing papers - three signatures on a thick piece of A4 government paper, one from you, one from Simon, and one from your witness, Captain John Price. You didn’t even exchange rings or vows. It took less than five minutes.

After all was said and done, you and Simon went back to your lives. Sure, you were respectful to one another, and you spent one or two heats and ruts together, but you both maintained a distance away from each other. Neither of you were thrilled with the idea of being tied down, of being mated. The mating bond between you felt more like the neck of a too-tight sweater than it did a comfort, feeling each other’s emotion more of a chore than something you looked forward to. Sure, you worked well together, fluid and deadly like a well oiled M2 on the field. Always had. But there is a stark difference between working well together, and being mated.

So that’s how you ended up here. You had lost twenty pounds. Your skin was sallow and pale, your eyes sunken in. When you looked in the mirror, you could count your ribs, the knobs of your spine, under the bruises. You had thrown yourself into work, and when there was no work, you were challenging any living thing to go for a round with you on the sparring mat. But, you were weak; the bond sickness sapped all of your energy and strength faster than you could ever hope to replenish it. Your scent, which was once a warm and spicy caramelized vanilla, now smelled like sugar burnt to the bottom of a pot - acrid and rotted. You were dying, and you knew it. But your pride was far too great to ever go crawling back to Simon, the very man who caused the sickness to infiltrate every cell of your being. It had been months of this torture.

You had seen the concerned looks of your team as they watched you haunt the halls of the base like a spectre. Soap had started to bring you chocolates and drinks, anything in hopes to get you to eat. Gaz took a different approach, always being the one to take you up on your sparring requests, the beta knowing that at the very least he could be gentle with you while still giving you an outlet. The Captain had made sure to keep you off any truly strenuous missions and tasks, mainly relegating you to the medbay or to training recruits. If you were any stronger, you would be pissed, but right now you took it as a blessing. At least he hadn’t kicked you off the team for your weakness. But Simon? Simon was nowhere to be found. He continuously was the first volunteer for the most dangerous missions, keeping him away from base for weeks to months at a time. When he came back bloody and bruised, he would avoid the medbay like the plague, only coming in to get fixed up by another combat medic when he knew Soap or Gaz had forcefully pulled you away. If you two happened to be walking in the same hallway, Simon would duck out of your sight without even so much as a word. You had long since given up on running after him.

So color yourself surprised when you were standing in front of the mirror in your bathroom and the screen of your phone lit up, a text from Simon blaring on the too-bright screen. You had every intention of ignoring it, but your pride was no match for the dying ache of your omega.

Come to my quarters.

The text was simple. Demanding, even. And all it did was make you angry.

You quickly tugged on a pair of sweats and forced a tank top over your bruised and feverish skin. You thought briefly for a moment about tugging a sweatshirt on over your mottled skin, but, fuck it, let him see all that he has done to you. Maybe he would give you the one blessing you had hoped for over the last few months of neglect, and finally sever the bond between you.

You trudged through the hallways of the base, every soldier you passed giving you a wide berth. You were certain you looked like death froze over, and the rage-filled expression set over your brows and your lips certainly did not help. When you reached his door, you didn’t even bother to knock. You just shoved your copy of the key in the door and slammed the door open.

Simon barely even looked up from where he was lounging on the bed. His shirt was off, a rare sight, even for you, but even more shocking was the fact that he wasn’t wearing his mask. He didn’t look much better than you - his once-bronzed skin paled, his own scars raised and reddened, and he had a poorly bandaged bullet wound wrapped, the white medical wrapping blossoming with a red mark. Pulled stitches, definitely.

“Close the door,” came the rough demand as his arms lazily opened in an invitation to lay with him. “And c’mere.”

You, in all of your rage, just stood stockstill in the still-open doorway. Even as your omega side cried to jump into his arms and let his scent and his touch wash away all the pain, you refused with a defiant jut of your chin. You didn’t know why he had called you here, and the only thing your mind could conjure up is that Price, or Laswell, or fuck, even Soap, had sat him down and forced him to do this. And you wanted nothing to do with this or with him if he actually was not trying to change.

“I don’t want your pity. And I sure as hell don’t want your affection just because Price told you that you had to fix me,” you replied, your voice shaking with weakness and pain, even as you tried your damndest to keep it steady, strong.

Simon growled, the sound of an alpha not used to not getting his way, as he rolled onto his side to look at you more squarely. His arms were still open, but you could see the way his muscles clenched, his own anger rising. “It ain’t about pity. It’s about basic biology,” he bit out, the words short and angry.

That made you laugh, the sound short and sardonic before it morphs into a cough that shakes your entire, frail being. You brought a shaking hand up to wipe your lips before you fixed him with a glare hard enough to freeze an ocean. “Basic biology?" you mocked. “Yeah, for sure. But it’s also basic biology to not let bond sickness even be a worry for your omega, but looks like you fucked that one right up, didn’t you!?”

Your words made something in Simon snap. Your rage, the vitriol, clenched his hands into fists as he quickly swung his powerful legs over the edge of the bed, crossing the space between you in the space between one of your breaths and the next. He was in your face now, just enough space between you to not be pressing completely against you. You averted your gaze, knowing that if you didn’t, you might continue yelling at him, or worse.

“Look at me,” he ordered, using the same tone he does on the battlefield. His hands are still clenched into fists, but they are shaking. Why?

That tone made your eyes harden, the instincts of a hard-bred soldier kicking in. Even through the fraying of your bond, your sickness, you knew that voice. You listened when given an order. You allowed your head to loll back to look up at him, but your expression was still set in that same hard glare. You weren’t on a battlefield. You were on base, far away from the acrid explosions and hot gunpowder. How dare he pretend otherwise? “Why?” you bit back in response. “This isn’t some tactical decision, Simon. Don’t treat me like one of your fuckin’ rookies.”

He took a sharp breath through his teeth, obviously trying to control himself. He knew you were weak, the bond sickness taking so much more from you than it ever did him. But your defiance, your spirit despite the bond sickness was making his alpha go crazy. Even with you glaring up at him, he stared down at you with fierce eyes as his hands gripped your hips, shoving you out of the doorway and pressing you against the wall right beside it. Taking one hand off of your hip, he shut the door with a resounding click before his grip, and his attention came back entirely to you. “I ain’t treatin’ you like a goddamned rookie,” he growled out, his cold brown gaze entirely focused on your own broken one as one hand slams into the wall by your head. Even through your rage, he can see it. Feel it. He had broken you. And that knowledge caused his alpha to writhe in pain. “I’m treatin’ ya like my fuckin’ omega.”

As he caged you in, growled those words at you, your own expression hardened. Your lips curled up to reveal your smaller omega fangs, a low growl of your own reverberating from your chest as your hands clenched into fists. It’s hard to ignore the sheer size difference between the two of you as he towers over you, his head dipped low to keep your attention. However, that did nothing to stop your rage, in fact, it increased it tenfold.

“Oh, right. I forgot. Being your omega means less than being one of your rookies, silly me.”

You knew the second the words left your mouth that you just opened a Pandora’s box. You saw it in the way his eyes instantaneously darkened, in the way his hand left the wall before you could even blink, his fingers crushing your jaw between them in a bruising grip, forcing your head back against the wall as he brought his face ever closer to yours. However, as his face got closer, you could see the glint of something else in his eyes. Triumph. His alpha was revelling in watching you snap and get fiery again. It was a victory, in his mind, to see you able to be so angry after the bond sickness had taken so much from you. “Watch it, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff. “I know that attitude of yours will always be there, but careful.”

His words sent another wave of anger through you, and as he forced your head back, you jerked your neck, snapping your teeth at him, your small omega fangs glinting in the low light of his quarters. It was a clear message. Fuck the bond sickness, he had no right to touch you right now. You did not forgive him, and he has to work to even begin to earn that, and if he won’t? You would dissolve the bond without him, whether or not it risked your life.

“Don’t sweetheart me,” you growled out, glaring up at him even as the bruising grip of his fingers squished your cheeks together, slurring your words. “Not after everything.”

His alpha instincts flared again, the desire to force you into accepting his help clear as his eyes flashed in irritation at your anger. He pressed you further into the wall, his body now flush against yours as he snarled right back. “Then do something about it,” he challenged. “Get mad. Fight me. Let it all out. But, you’re not leaving this room until you let me fix this.”

As much as you hated it, hearing Simon’s permission gave you the ability to let it all out. No matter how much you wanted to pretend that you were unaffected by him, the knowledge that he wanted you to fight, wanted to fix this broken bond between you, allowed you to finally and truly get all of the anger out, and maybe, just maybe, give the bond a chance to heal.

And so you did. Your body jerked against his, your sallow cheeks flushing red as you bared your omega fangs and growled at him again. Your eyes held the faintest spark of life, a far cry from what they used to have, but there’s something there now.

When Simon saw that spark, the faintest hint of his omega coming back, he chuckled gruffly, his eyes glinting with a possessive heat.

“Yes, spitfire. I want you t’ fight me. Hit me, scream, yell at me, tell me how shit of an alpha I’ve been. I don’t care. Just don’t. Hold. Back.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the dam inside of you broke. Months worth of anger, agony, grief, pain, and aching sadness flooded your veins like a hot, volatile drug. It felt like a living, breathing thing as the emotions curled around your lungs, your muscles, your heart. Tears pushed at your lash line, the aching pain making itself known through the rage.

You held his cold brown gaze for a moment, your eyes searching his. When all you saw in return was steely determination, you did the only thing you could think of. Before he could even move out of the way, you shut your eyes and cranked your head back as far as it would go, and drove your forehead straight into his nose. It wasn’t nearly hard enough to break it, but definitely hard enough to hurt and make the blood start flowing.

He staggered back from you, his hands coming up to cup his nose, but the alpha was far from angry. In fact, he was grinning, the blood pouring from his nose coating his lips and teeth. A low growl of approval rumbled from his chest as he stared at you, approval glinting in his eyes. “Good girl,” he muttered lowly, the praise slipping through so naturally.

As his praise washed over you, you felt your stomach flip. It shouldn’t feel that good. Not after the months and months of neglect so bad that you were literally dying. But, you couldn’t help the small ember of warmth that bloomed through your chest as that muttered praise of good girl flowed through your veins like a warm blanket settling over you.

But, you were still angry. And hurt. And countless other emotions that you couldn’t even begin to name, all just culminating into a neverending ache. And as you saw the blood marring the plush flesh of his lower lip, something inside of you snapped.

He had made his worst mistake. He had let go of you, and now you could truly fight.

You crouched down, using your smaller stature and power legs to kick your leg out, and you swept it across the ground, knocking the much-bigger alpha off of his feet. You watched as his massive frame hit the ground, shaking the walls, a bloom of satisfaction erupting in your chest. Adrenaline was pumping through your veins now, the only thing allowing you to move, and before he had the chance to become reoriented, you were on top of him, straddling his hips as you punched at his chest. Your tears of anguish were falling freely now, sobs breaking free with your yells.

“You have broken me! Broken! I used to be so strong, so happy, and you destroyed that! Ripped it away from me! All because you were too fucking caught up in your own shit, your own fucking fear, that you couldn’t even be half of the alpha you needed to be!”

Simon grunted in pain as his back collided with the cold, hard tile of his quarters, his hands automatically coming up to grab at your hips. Not to shove you off, no, but to keep you on top of him. He knew he deserved this. Every punch, every pointed word, every tear. It was his penance for all of the pain and agony he had put you through, even if it was ripping his heart to absolute shreds.

“I know, I know,” he growled softly, his voice thick with regret. “I know I did.”

You shook your head, tears and snot flying from the force. You were so angry, so hurt, but the adrenaline was quickly running its course, leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion and pain. Your punches slowly weakened, until you were barely able to lift your hands. Instead, they came to rest on his bare chest, your omega claws digging sharply into the thick muscle that covered his chest, one of your hands digging directly over his heart, needing him to feel a fraction of the agony that coursed through your own.

“Don’t you agree with me! Don’t you dare! Gods, you do this to me for months, and you… you have nothing to say for yourself!? I tried! Tried to be a good spouse, a good omega! I tried to give you your space, to be unobtrusive, even though that killed my omega! And all I fuckin’ got in return is this fucking bond sickness that is killing me! Tearing me apart from the inside out!”

His body shuddered as your claws dug into his chest, his skin breaking under the tiny points. It hurt in every way that it could, but the tiny pinpricks of blood that welled around your claws were nothing compared to how he had hurt you. He knew that he deserved this, every inch of your wrath, of your anger, and the pain it brought for him. It was the least he could do - to bear this for you. But, Gods, it didn’t stop your words from tearing into his heart in a way your claws couldn’t even begin to touch.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he repeated, his words thick with the guilt that was threatening to choke him. “And I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

His apology broke what little strength you had left. The bond between you was fraying, seconds away from snapping completely, and you had never felt more lost. A sob broke free from your lips, the force of the sound causing your body to lurch forward. But, Simon was there. For once, he was there. His chest caught your head, your tears wetting his skin almost instantaneously as your claws scratched down his torso, leaving thin, raised red lines down his scarred skin.

He hissed softly in response to the pain, but he made no attempt to move, to shy away from it. You had completely given up on your ego, your omega so desperate for your alpha, no matter what he had done. But, you were still so hurt, your omega so wounded that you had no idea how you were going to come back from this.

“Just… just tell me why. Why did you do this? Why did you treat me like this?” you sobbed out into his chest, your sour, distressed omega pheromones wafting around him like a shroud of despair.

His alpha writhed in pain at your scent. It was wrong, so, so wrong, but he had done this. His neglect, his apathy, had taken his once strong, ferocious omega and reduced her down to this. He had never seen you like this. And he never wanted to again. He could feel the bond between you slipping between his fingers like shards of glass digging into his very being, and fear rose to take its place. He wrapped his arms around you, cradling your tiny, trembling form against him, his nose burying into your hair as he pressed a featherlight, shaking kiss into it. He swallowed harshly against the lump in his throat, his heart clenching in fear. In pain. In anger at himself. “I was a coward, love.”

You sobbed harder against his chest at his admission, shaking your head jerkily. Your body felt like it was freezing and burning up at the same time, as the frayed edges of the bond dug into you like poisonous thorns. You could feel your mind shattering, your heart stuttering as the bond sickness continued to take hold. You were dying, and you knew it. But at this point, you would almost take death over the amount of pain you were in. “That’s not a good excuse,” came your shaking reply, the words thick with tears and agony, but they were strong with conviction. “Tell me why, Simon. Tell me why, or break the godsdamned bond.”

The words that left your lips felt like they were suffocating the alpha. Break the bond. His arms tightened around you until you were completely pressed against him, and he could feel every shudder, every quiver in your weakening body. A low growl rumbles from his chest, the sound full of pain but also a desperate desire to comfort. He had to try - to even attempt to explain, even if he wasn’t sure it would do anything. But the thought of losing you without even trying made his heart shatter, his alpha howl in protest.

“Because I was afraid,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret and honesty as his knuckles ran across the knobs of your spine. That caused him more pain than you would ever know, feeling how you had atrophied from his neglect. How his dismissal, his abandonment had caused his once strong, beautiful omega, to waste away before his very eyes. “Afraid of getting caught up in you, in this. Of loving you, of giving you part of my heart. I didn’t know how to keep you safe. I didn’t think I was worthy of having something like that, like you. I still don’t.”

“Then break the bond,” you whimpered out, the pain of the bond sickness, of your own emotions, and what little of Simon’s you could still feel through the barest threads of the bond ricocheting through your body, reduced you to little more than a husk lying on top of Simon. Your heart was shattering along with the bond, the broken edges of each splintering in a way that made it hard for you to breathe. Your breath pushed and pulled achingly slowly through your chapped lips like broken glass, just another thing ripping your very being apart.

“If you can’t do this… I’ll… I’ll figure it out. The brass’ll let me stay, at least for a little bit. But, I can’t… I can’t keep doin’ this. ‘M not asking for love. ‘M not asking to be a real marriage, but I can’t be apart of a bond where ‘m not… where ‘m not bein’ taken care of. I can’t.”

Your words were slurring, little more than a broken and pain-filled whimper against his broad chest, and Simon could practically hear the way his heart shatters beneath you. He did this. He did this. And yet, the selfish part of him couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, no matter how much pain he had put you through. The alpha snarled as he wrapped his arms around your ever-weakening frame impossibly tighter, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t hold you tight enough, you’d slip away from him forever.

“No, baby, no,” he replied softly, but the words were filled with a growl of conviction, of promise. “I was stupid. I was so stupid, and I hurt you. Let me… let me fix this, okay? Please, baby. Lemme fix you. Just for right now.”

Simon was begging. You didn’t know if you had ever heard him beg before, but here he was, begging you to allow him the chance to fix you. Your exhausted, wounded omega perked up a bit at his conviction, but you couldn’t help but feel like this was far too little, far too late. “I… I don’t know, Simon. How can you… how can you fix this?”

The pained gasps between your words drove a stake of fear through Simon’s heart, his alpha whimpering painfully. He swallowed harshly against the ever-growing lump in his throat, as he knew that he had to be the pillar of strength. If he broke right now, there was no hope for you. His lips brushed against the top of your head as he inhaled your sour, rotted scent in despair, his hands running up and down your back in a vain attempt to soothe you.

“Let me… let me have a chance,” the alpha, your alpha, pleaded. “Please baby, let me fix this. I’ll do better, I promise. Gods, I’ll do anything. Just… just let me get you better, baby, please. And then, if you still want to break the bond, we can, okay? Just… I can’t lose you. I can’t let you die. Not like this. Never like this.”

You felt, more than heard, his words wash over you. You could feel your body failing, the bond sickness taking what little was left of you. Even with Simon’s touch, with his promises, you had a brief moment of clarity where you just knew that this still might be it, that the bond had been strained too far, the cavernous distance between the two of you still too great, that this bond sickness might still kill you, despite his promises to fix you.

You were so tired. So, so tired. The pain is too much, your eyelids too heavy, and it felt like what was left of your shattered heart wasn’t pumping nearly enough oxygen through your veins. You were teetering on the edge, and all you wanted to do was sleep.

“Just… just let me sleep. In here. With you. Please?” you mumbled, the words soft and slurred. Any fight, any pride you had just a few minutes ago was long gone, and if you were going to die, your omega wanted it to be right here, in your alpha’s arms, taken peacefully in your sleep. “I need… just, please, Si.”

Simon’s resolve shattered at the nickname that fell past your lips. He instantly sat up, gathering your frail, fragile body in his arms as he nodded, his own tears finally breaking free.

His fault. All his fault. Always his fault.

He quickly stood up, your body light (too light, too light) in his arms as he carried you to his bed. He was terrified. He could feel how slow your heartbeat was, how weak your body was, how slurred your words were. He shushed you softly, gently, but the sound warbled against his own tears.

“Shhh, shhh, baby. I got you. I got you. Just… just sleep, okay? I’ll be right here. Right here. Never leavin’ your side again. I promise. I’ll be right here when you wake up. Just sleep.”

He gingerly laid you on the bed, surrounding you with blankets and pillows, anything he could find that was drenched in his alpha scent, before his body came to blanket you. He couldn’t lose you. And he will keep his promise, even as his own silent tears fell down around your now-unconscious face.

What’s that old saying? Oh, right. You never know what you had until it’s gone.

151 notes · View notes

kermdoeswriting · 7 hours ago

Text

That's a new one

Danny could only let out a loud annoyed groan as he heard the clacking of footsteps in the corridor. Beside him, he could hear his advisor CW snort, amused by what was to come alongside Danny's pain and annoyance.

The only way for his floor to even be making a sound was if he was being graced with a human.

It wasn't often that his realm received living visitors, but the ones that usually did enter and that had managed to survive the walk to his domain always had wishes to ask of him.

And they were always human. Never anything interesting or new.

Which was annoying since humans were usually extremely demanding. As well as stubborn in their beliefs.

He would know. He is one on his days off.

They also usually had the same kind of wish.

A wish that they always were so stubborn to believe will work because they had the strength to make it through the underground to ask for it.

A wish that also had genuinely never worked. Not even once since it started!

Damn you Hades for granting the first request to begin with the one time he was on vacation.

The wish to revive a dead loved one and to make it back together to the living.

Most times, Danny would just grant the request without another thought beyond it being under the same rules as the first time, but this idea continuing through the decades was just getting annoying.

The subtle knocking on the throne room door made him sigh again as he waved his hand to allow entry.

"Look," Danny drawled, pinching his nose and not looking up at the visitor who was now in the room facing him.

"If you're about to go on some rant about how you walked all this way, I really really don't care. Just take whatever loved one you came for and walk away."

Whoever had come didn't even respond beyond a shakily taken gasp, and thats when Danny finally ended up looking towards them.

The man in front of him was really cute. He looked up at Danny, wide-eyed, blue eyes filled with some mix of wonder and curiosity.

Whatever hero get-up he was wearing looked ripped and torn to shreds, but somehow, the man was missing any and all cuts and bruises that should have been there.

If Danny was being honest, the guy reminded him of one of those wet cats who looked betrayed after being forced into taking a bath.

Eventually, after a long moment of staring at each other, the guy spoke.

"Um actually-" The man had the audacity to look bashfully towards the throne room floor before returning his gaze to Danny and continuing.

"I kind of came here to see if I could walk you out of the Underworld..?"

Huh

Thats a new one.

_________________________________________

Or basically

Danny is extremely used to people mistakenly entering his realm to pull a Eurydice and Orpheus trick (Hades made an exception ONE TIME during his temporary reign-), he just wasn't expecting someone to come with the intention to get him out of the underworld.

#dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #i just thought it was funny #ive also never seen an episode of DP in my life #so my bad if this is ooc for danny #ghost king danny #lol #also the dude can be anyone idc #i imagine its tim tho #dead tired #idk what theyre called

137 notes · View notes

chanranghaeys · 1 day ago

Text

😭

i've been putting off reblogging this because 1) i was busy AS A WORKING GIRLIE, 2) i was busy as a working girlie wishing for CHAN AS MY WORK SPOUSE, and 3) svt con weekend in my country haha

I'm Annotating my going insane because I Want To (below the cut~)

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting your afternoon coffee with Mr. Program Assistant?”

i hate how kae clocked me for this as a nonprofit programs girlie hate it hate it hate it LOVE IT SO MUCH I COULD CRY. chan would be such a good programs person if he worked hard on it i can See it.

He doesn’t respond verbally, just smiles at you in that way that lights up a whole room. It’s the type of grin that has you forgetting just how bad of a morning you had; you’d lose yourself in it if weren’t for the ominous presence of Vernon a couple of seats down.

wow. wow. just imagine arriving to THIS at the office in the morning. i'd faint on the spot. or just outright kiss him—office etiquette be damned.

Vernon lets out a huff of laughter at Seungkwan’s side. “I’ll bet a dollar that it’s Lee Chan,” says Vernon. Seungkwan responds with a roll of his eyes. “That’s a given.”

i've always maintained that i'd be so good friends with the maknae line irl as a forever svt maknae line truther. I Love Them.

It’s hard not to laugh when Chan is looking at you like that.

LIKE WHAT CHAN?? LIKE WHAT??

“Hey, Lee Chan, where’s your work wife?” Chan doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s in a meeting with finance,” he answers without even looking up from his keyboard.

i swear to have someone just know intimate details like this about you god i swear how was this not a giveaway???

“Well, tell her that we hope she gets better soon,” the CEO says coolly. A corner of her lip is upturned, like she’s finding this entire interaction a little too amusing.

sorry it's so funny to me that the ceo seems privy to these things seemingly evident in these little actions but of course she won't let anyone know about it my god it's so accurate imo

And, alright, fine. Maybe your knees knock into each other more often than not. Maybe Chan puts a hand over your ear whenever he wants to point something out, and maybe you lean in just a little more than necessary.

these small details gaaaahh me me me it's me i would so do this

“Of course it’s important!” Chan’s always been a little louder when he’s drunk, so his voice raises an octave or two.

CHAN IS ALSO ME I SWEAR

But the moment the corner has been rounded, Chan is sagging against your side like he’s wanted to the entire night. “Oh, thank God,” your boyfriend sighs. “I didn’t think I’d survive another minute without touching you.”

/kinilig/ 🫠

You’re not sure if he’s entirely right— you know of Vernon’s whole iPhone note, after all— but you’re willing to indulge your boyfriend if it makes him happy. “Yeah,” you concede. “They don’t know a thing.”

something about vernon being the one to list all of this down makes me feel like he's doing this in tandem with seungkwan. or maybe a bet to see who will come up with a list first. idk. it's fun to imagine really.

this whole fic made me so warm inside my little fuzzy and fluffy heart. thanks kae for this wonderful little gift huhu bless u forever ✨

the way of the work husband 📋 chan x reader.

going back to work after the holidays sucks, but at least you've got your 'work husband' lee chan to get you through it.

★ office worker!chan x f!reader. ★ word count: 1.8k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: office, alternate universe: co-workers, fluff/romance. vernon is a menace (affectionately). not proofread. ★ footnotes: been itching to write chan lately and this was the result. dedicating this to my favorite corporate girlie!dinonara @chanranghaeys, who i have been threatening a chan fic with for a little over a week now ෆ sana all may lee chan sa office. 😔 + a special shoutout to @diamonddaze01 for educating me on the how work spouses operate. 🙏

“Is Lee Chan, like, your work husband or something?”

The look on Vernon’s face is perfectly innocent, but his arched eyebrow gives some indication of just how amused he is. You shoot him a scathing glare before turning back to your work-sanctioned laptop.

You don’t answer Vernon’s question. Not at first, anyway. Instead, you opt to wryly ask, “Why do you always have to use his full government name whenever you’re talking about him?”

“Eh. Just ‘Chan’ is too short,” Vernon responds noncommittally. He should be focusing on the grant that he has to write, but he seems intent on quizzing you on your relationship with the company’s newest program assistant.

Vernon leans a little further into his computer chair. He’s always been a pretty amicable seatmate; he just liked to poke the bear every so often.

“So?” he prompts. “Are you and Lee Chan… you know.”

When Vernon makes a vague, crude gesture with his hands, you groan out loud. “Don’t make it weird,” you snap. “And no. Chan and I are just friends, asswipe.”

“But you guys display peak work spouse behavior.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be grant writing?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting your afternoon coffee with Mr. Program Assistant?”

Vernon’s rebuttal has you glancing at the digital clock on your desk. Shit.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you say as you grab your wallet and get to your feet. You hate to admit it, but Vernon is right. You’ve started dedicating your fifteen-minute afternoon breaks to cafeteria trips with Chan.

All in the name of friendship, you insist.

“‘Course it doesn’t,” Vernon sing-songs. Just when you think he’s done, he throws in a final jab.

“I’ll have an itemized list of my observations,” he calls after your retreating back. “Just you wait!”

You don’t turn around to dignify Vernon’s taunt with a response. Instead, you flip him off over your shoulder as you contemplate what coffee to get with Chan today.

Rarely are you late to work. Some mornings are just harrowing, littered with minor inconveniences like your alarm not going off or the bus making one too many stops.

When you finally make it to the office, you can already imagine the CEO’s backhand comment about punctuality. Something like ‘early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable,’ probably.

That’s why you feel an immense pang of relief when you notice a vacant seat near the back of the room, one that you undoubtedly know is yours.

You make your way to the chair as discreetly as you can. The bag atop it is taken off the moment that you arrive, and you flash an appreciative grin at the one who made it possible.

Chan— who is already shifting his bag onto his lap— gives you an exaggerated wink in return.

You mouth a wordless ‘thank you’ at him. He doesn’t respond verbally, just smiles at you in that way that lights up a whole room. It’s the type of grin that has you forgetting just how bad of a morning you had; you’d lose yourself in it if weren’t for the ominous presence of Vernon a couple of seats down.

The meeting grabs your attention soon enough, but not before you notice Vernon inconspicuously typing something into his phone.

☑ You always sit next to each other at meetings

“Who’re you texting?”

“Hm?”

“Hellooo! Pay attention to me!”

There’s a guilty expression on your face as you finally glance up at Seungkwan. “Sorry,” you say meekly. “What were you asking?”

Vernon lets out a huff of laughter at Seungkwan’s side. “I’ll bet a dollar that it’s Lee Chan,” says Vernon.

Seungkwan responds with a roll of his eyes. “That’s a given.”

“Yah,” you begin to protest, ready to justify the way you’ve only been half-present throughout your entire lunch break.

Your attempt falls flat when your phone pings, and the screen lights up.

One (1) new text from Channie. 🦖LOLOL I have the perfect reel for this!! Wait a minute~~ 💖💙

Seungkwan scoffs. Vernon snickers.

Your eye twitches, and you shoot back a text underneath the table in a bid to avoid your friends’ teasing.

☑ You message each other all day long

It’s hard not to laugh when Chan is looking at you like that.

Despite the fact that there’s a whole brainstorming session going on— preparation for the company’s next fundraising event— the two of you can’t help your silent communication.

Especially when Soonyoung starts running his mouth about the fundraiser potentially being tiger-themed.

One glance is all it takes. Chan’s lips are drawn into a thin line, and you know he’s also trying his darndest not to laugh. It’s a mammoth effort to hold back yourself, but you manage— not wanting to suffer from your eccentric boss’ line of questioning.

It’s all free game once the session ends, though.

You make a beeline for Chan. He takes one look at your quirked lip before jerking his head towards the door, urging the two of you to have this discussion somewhere you won’t be lynched.

Still, you and Chan can barely resist your peals of laughter as you leave the meeting room with your heads bowed together. Vernon watches with bemusement as the two of you trade incoherent mumblings about Tigger and Pompompurin.

Not that Vernon has any idea what those have to do with anything.

☑ You exchange knowing glances from across the room ☑ You share inside jokes about work and life

“Hey, Lee Chan, where’s your work wife?”

Chan doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s in a meeting with finance,” he answers without even looking up from his keyboard.

A corner of Vernon’s lip twitches upward. Aha.

Chan seems to pick up on Vernon’s smug silence. The younger boy’s head snaps up, his expression quickly becoming guarded. “Not my work wife,” Chan sputters. “Just— I knew where she was, okay?”

“Riiight.”

There’s a redness in the tips of Chan’s ears as he goes back to the Google Doc he’d been slaving away on. Vernon doesn’t say anything more, but he does feign like he’s texting someone instead of adding to his ever-growing list.

☑ Your other colleagues wonder where the other’s at when you’re not together

It’s a bit of an epilogue in its own right, how Chan is the one to know why you’re out for the morning.

The CEO had asked it mostly as a rhetorical question— has anyone seen her?— but Chan’s easy answer has the meeting coming to a stuttering halt.

“She got stuck at her dentist’s appointment,” he says.

Several pairs of eyes turn to Chan. The look on his face is comically caught.

He fumbles for his phone and waves it around awkwardly. “We were texting,” he adds hastily. “That’s why I know.”

How that was supposed to help Chan’s case, Vernon has no idea.

“Well, tell her that we hope she gets better soon,” the CEO says coolly. A corner of her lip is upturned, like she’s finding this entire interaction a little too amusing.

Chan manages a mumbled “Will do.”

The meeting pushes through. Vernon watches Chan from the corner of his eye. Aside from looking absolutely mortified, there’s just a bit of dullness to the latter’s demeanor. A slower uptake, a dimmer grin.

Gee, Vernon muses as he types away on his laptop. Wonder why.

☑ You’re kind of bummed when they’re out of office ☑ You cover for each other when one is MIA

Vernon’s running list is a fun little gig, but it all comes to head on the evening of the company’s monthly night out.

The table at the speakeasy is full of boisterous laughter and greasy finger food. Everyone’s in high spirits for the upcoming weekend, and Vernon has to hold back on teasing those who he thinks are having just a little too much fun.

You and Chan have spent much of the evening acting like you’re in your own world. Sure, you’re not touching each other— this is technically a work event, after all— but you’ve shared laughter and whispers throughout the night that nobody else is privy to.

It’s obvious to anybody with two eyes that you two are fond of each other. That much is certain.

That’s what gives Vernon the boost of confidence to play wingman by the end of the night.

“You know,” he says coolly as your group spills out onto the sidewalk. “I think the two of you live in the same neighborhood.”

What Vernon is scheming is plain as day to you. You narrow your eyes at him, but he’s undeterred. He only smiles at you and Chan like the menace that he is.

Chan, for his part, raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. He glances at you with a quizzical expression.

“You’ve never mentioned that.” He raises his hand to his chest, as if feigning hurt at being kept in the dark.

A snort of laughter escapes you. “Didn’t feel like it was particularly important information,” you say dryly.

“Of course it’s important!” Chan’s always been a little louder when he’s drunk, so his voice raises an octave or two. “‘Cause that means we can carpool together, or, like, y’know—”

Vernon interrupts with a sage, “You can probably book the same cab for tonight, actually. Make it a double stop.”

Chan’s face lights up. “Great idea, man!”

Before you can protest, Chan is already whipping out his phone to pull up his ride-hailing app. This is not a battle that you’re going to win.

All the while, Vernon grins triumphantly.

☑ You go home together after happy hour

“Can we—”

“Shhh. No, not yet.”

“But nobody’s looking!”

“Wait until we’ve rounded the corner, idiot—”

And so he does.

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you. The feeling is mutual, though, so you reach out to rest your hand on his knee.

“Commendable self-control tonight,” you note. “All the whispering was a little too obvious, though.”

Chan huffs in protest, but the sound loses its edge as he cuddles up to you in the back of the cab. “No one suspects us. It’s just Vernon,” he complains.

“And Seungkwan,” you say. “And Jeonghan, and Minghao, and Wonwoo—”

Your boyfriend gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “Doesn’t matter.” His hand rests on top of yours, just barely resisting the urge to intertwine your fingers. “They don’t know a thing about us, sweets.”

The smile threatening to fill your face finally breaks. When you laugh, your shoulders shake against Chan’s body. You’re not sure if he’s entirely right— you know of Vernon’s whole iPhone note, after all— but you’re willing to indulge your boyfriend if it makes him happy.

“Yeah,” you concede. “They don’t know a thing.”

#chanranghaeys reblog #chanranghaeys moots #hani yaps #oh yeah hani yaps A LOT HERE

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