#I kinda like this ending and want it to stay the ending

[sleepy-steve]

pt 2 of steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 1.9k // pt 1 ♡

—

november 1984

Eddie checks. Of course he checks. Asks around, eventually to his superiors to make sure he wasn’t going to get in trouble for not collecting Steve. It’s uncommon, they tell him, rare, even. But not unheard of. People die briefly and come back to life. Usually only the one time. The answer should be good enough. Should be. Isn’t though. It frustrates Eddie to no end. Months of wondering and ruminating with the firm belief that he won’t get to see Harrington again anytime soon to ask.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

This time Eddie is on the boat. Leaning over the edge, a hand dangling low to the black water, staring at the same patch of grass he first saw Steve sitting. In fairness, all souls appeared in that general area. But Eddie is fixated on the exact spot Steve had shown off his deep chest wounds. It’s for this reason that Eddie jumps three feet into the air when Steve materialises in the same spot again less than a year later.

Sitting up with a rattling gasp and a look of fury on his bashed-in face—again?! Eddie briefly thinks—Steve yells, “Fucking Hargrove!”

“Christ, Harrington!” Eddie shouts, hand over his chest despite the distinct lack of heartbeat. “Could give a guy a bit of warning.”

Steve looks around, eyes surrounded by more dark bruising taking a second to focus on Eddie, chest heaving as he calms down. “Shit, sorry, man.”

They just look at each other for a few long moments, Eddie standing like a frightened cat on his still wobbling boat. He clears his throat to break the silence. “Who, uh. Who’s Hargrove?”

Scoffing, Steve drags a hand down the side of his face, then winces as it passes over bruising. “Douchebag new guy.” He sighs, settling his forearms on his knees. “His sister is friends with some kids I know. Was coming after them, so I…” Trailing off, Steve gestures to his face.

“What? Offered yourself up as a human punching bag and got yourself killed? Again?” Eddie says, trying not to sound too judgemental.

“Yeah, well,” Steve sighs. “I wasn’t just gonna let him beat up a kid. They’ve been through enough without some dickhead coming in and kicking the shit out of them.”

Eddie feels his brows pull together slightly as he sits back down on the bench of the boat, arms crossed over the edge. It’s not like Harrington was the big bully of Hawkins High, but defender of local kids is… new. “Sounds like a grade-A asshole.”

Steve snorts. “He is.”

“Kids were lucky to have you around as their… babysitter?” Eddie offers, cracking a grin.

Steve rolls his eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Something like that. Probably didn’t need me at all. Stuck around long enough to see her drug him, so they should be fine.”

Humming appreciatively, a thought moves across Eddie’s mind, and he can’t help himself. “…No monsters this time?”

“Ha, ha,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know you don’t believe me, but the monsters did actually come back, which is why I was with those little shits in the first place.” He sounds annoyed, but there’s a fond look behind those bruised eyes. One that gives Eddie a little spark in his chest. “But no, this death was just a regular guy.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to snort. “This death. So casual.”

A full grin breaks out on Steve’s face, contrasting heavily with the bruises and the blood under his nose. “Well, when it’s happened this many times, kinda hard not to view it as like. Just this thing that happens, y’know?”

Eddie doesn’t really know. Of everything he’s learnt about death—through his own and through everyone he’s met since—this thing Steve goes through is beyond him. Incomprehensible. He nods anyway.

“How many times have you died, Harrington?”

“Hmm…” Steve looks up as he thinks for a moment. “This would be… five? Or six?” He shrugs. “I’m not sure if it happened when I was a baby.”

He says it so casually, so matter-of-fact, Eddie almost wants to double-take. It sounds so truthful, he struggles to not believe him. Even though Eddie knows he’s not losing much by believing him, a small part of him still has doubts. And worries for his job. “You gonna get in the boat this time?”

Steve snorts. “Not this time, buddy.” Something jolts in Eddie’s chest at the familiarity. “Maybe next time though.”

“Next time,” Eddie mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “You anticipate dying again?”

“Well, no,” Steve chuckles. “But based on how things have been… and apparently I’m not too careful.” He gestures at his bruised up face, eyes bright with humour between the blues and purples and reds.

“The monsters?” Eddie supplies, just teetering on the edge of sarcasm.

“Monsters, douchebag guys, car wrecks… you just never know.”

The casual tone in which Steve talks about his deaths still has Eddie reeling. It’s been well over a year and Eddie is surrounded by death constantly, and he still struggles to think about his own. Tells himself he’d rather not dwell, which is true, but it also hurts. He shakes it off, shifting his focus to the bruised and beaten boy in front of him.

“Or… you could save yourself the trouble, and get in the boat now?” Eddie gestures down at his boat with a little hand flair. He’s joking. Mostly. If Steve did have the chance to go back to the land of the living, Eddie didn’t want to take that away from him. Not that he thought Steve was getting that chance. Not completely, anyway.

“Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” Steve grins at him, like they’re sharing a secret. And they kind of were. Eddie wasn’t sure how many people knew about Steve’s semi-regular dances with death.

“And since when have you ever been one to stick to the rules?” Eddie asks, propping his arm up and resting his chin on his palm. Looking at the boy on the grass. His hair is longer this time.

Steve laughs, head tilted back. “Fair point. But if you want me on that boat, you’re gonna have to come over here and drag me onto it.” He raises a brow at Eddie in challenge.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” He repeats Steve’s words back at him, mocking him.

“Well, well, well,” Steve says, tone playful. “Look who’s being a stickler for rules now.”

“I know,” Eddie drags it out, struggling to hold back his smile. “Crazy, huh? Divine punishment for being born the son of a criminal, I guess.” Eddie’s gaze drops down to the black water beneath him.

Steve scoffs at him. “Like you never smoked pot or broke speeding laws in that van of yours.” 

Eyes widening before he can stop them, Eddie’s shocked Steve even knows about the van. Shocked that Steve knows anything about him at all. What world is he in where the king of Hawkins High knows about Eddie and his beat up old van? Even being in the grade below him, Steve had a popularity pull that was noticed by those in Eddie’s grade. Confusion and surprise subsiding, Eddie finds himself leaning forward even further.

“Coming from you?” Eddie challenges back. “We all know about the famous Harrington ragers, Mister Keg King.”

The title makes Steve roll his eyes. “Never saw you at one.”

It was true. Eddie hadn’t attended any of the parties, for fear of his reputation making him a target. He drops his gaze again. “Didn’t think I’d be welcome there.”

Steve doesn’t respond, and the silence grows between them. They haven’t moved, but Eddie feels further away from him. Like the weird little familiarity they’d developed was being forcefully shoved apart. Eddie doesn’t look up to see Steve’s reaction. Doesn’t want the pity.

“So, you really can’t get out of the boat?” Steve breaks the silence with a complete topic change.

“Nope,” Eddie responds, popping the P. “She’s my new baby, now that I don’t have my van.” He pats the side of the boat with his free hand.

Steve shifts forward until he’s sitting as close as he can to the water’s edge without getting wet. Close enough for Eddie to see the broken capillaries under his skin and the little green flecks in his eyes. He takes in the cuts on Steve’s jaw and forehead, the two black eyes, the blood under his nose. The way his knuckles are bruised and bloodied to match. Something in Eddie feels oddly… protective. Like he wants to jump in front of anything that might hurt this guy he doesn’t even really know that well.

“Change your mind about getting in the boat?” Eddie asks, voice low, now that Steve is so close.

“No,” Steve huffs a laugh. “But you can’t move, so I figured I should.”

“Just that desperate to be close to me, are you?” It slips out of Eddie’s mouth before he can think about it. And Eddie wants to punch himself in the face over it.

But to his surprise, Steve doesn’t recoil away or yell at him. Instead, he laughs softly, cheeks faintly pink beneath the bruising. “What can I say? The allure of your… baby…” He says it with a smirk. “Very tempting.”

Taken aback by Steve’s… flirting is the only word to describe it, but that can’t be right, Eddie immediately switches to joke mode. He won’t entertain the idea that Steve Harrington was honest-to-god flirting with him. He won’t.

“I’ll get you into this boat one day, Harrington. Mark my words.” 

He knocks on the edge of the boat twice before smoothing his hand over the wood. Watches as Steve’s eyes follow his hand, seemingly fixated on it. Eddie briefly wonders what would happen if he touched Steve. Would that commit Steve to being stuck here? Commit him to moving on? Would Eddie even be able to feel him?

Gaze shifting back to Eddie’s face, a smile grows on Steve’s face. “Maybe. One day.” He shrugs, like his eventual death is a fun, whimsical topic.

Eddie is about to comment on Steve’s tone, but before he can, Steve’s head whips to the side, hearing something Eddie can’t. Just like last time.

Unlike last time, Steve doesn’t get up right away. “Looks like my time’s up.”

“How do you know?” Eddie is so curious, he can’t help but ask.

“I can hear—” Steve waves vaguely around his ear. “—stuff. From where I am. The kids are yelling. Hope they’re not too freaked out.”

“Guess you better get back then,” Eddie says, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Yep.” Steve pulls himself up into a standing position, now suddenly looking down at Eddie, who leans back on instinct, shifting back on the boat bench. “But I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be here.” Eddie gestures at the boat, palm up. Like he has anywhere else to go. “See ya, Harrington. Stay away from monsters.”

“I’ll try,” Steve laughs, walking backwards on the grass. Keeping his eyes on Eddie as he retreats.

“Try not to get that pretty face bashed in again,” Eddie calls after Steve’s already fading form, grinning wide.

Steve just laughs, the sound of it echoing even after his body disappears from Eddie’s sight.

[coldkingwasteland456777]

Ok wait i just read the tags and this got even better, I love the Heavenly Demon version of the abyss, (love thinking about how long it would take for Binghe to clean Shen quingqiu's blood off his sword, like every time he looks at it he almost throws up but if he goes to clean it he just hears SQ manically apologising for staining his sword with his unclean blood and just *can't*)

Ok because in the heavenly demon version I assume Binghe is still the protagonist and SQ is the big bad that reappears and has to be defeated in a glorious battle and obviously SQ had internalised a view of LB as his executioner that is disgusted by him and so after going through the torture of the abyss and then finding Xin mo which obviously does not help his sanity he unexpectedly runs into Binghe in Jinlan city (I'm thinking he's going through the path of joining Hua Hua palace sect because as a heavenly demon essentially demons flock around him in the demon realm so he's trying to avoid his canon fate as a Demon Emperor that has to be put down by becoming a righteous cultivator that blends into Hua Hua palace and never has to come into contact with LB BECAUSE the system disconnected as he fell into the abyss because like in canon Luo Binghe is the power source so SQ could do whatever in the abyss and when he got out he only took Xin Mo because he had no other way out and now he's got the sword he's under it's influence and it's not letting go. also because SQ is so lovely that everyone that knows him is outraged at Binghe for casting him off as his disciple or if he's going with the lie that he was kidnapped at the conference by demons and only just managed to fight he way out now then they can be outraged binghe didn't look hard enough for him, which is hilarious because in reality every moment binghe could spare he was using to find way to break into the abyss despite knowing he as a human could not survive) so basically when they have they're unexpected reunion SQ is both terrified and furious, even though he does'nt want to draw the protagonists ire and get executed early (and he doesn't want to hurt Binghe), binghe represents his death and his presence has re awoken the system which is the reason he just had to through years of torture.

So, SQ is so calm, incredibly calm, and his behaviour is appropriate for reuniting with a Peak Lord because of course they have no other connection. He is not holding by any feral rage by the skin of his teeth and he's definitely just not looking LB in the eye because he doesn't want to get even more of his attention.

From LB perspective, he is having an out of body experience he is so overwhelmed, all higher functions have shut down, he's just kinda, staring at SQ (genuinely questioning if he's hallucinating) but then one of the Hua Hua ask SQ a question like "Shen-shidi" and he's like ok, ok, this is real, and his chokes out "Shen Quingqiu?" and SQ, doesn't even *look* at him, and the wave of euphoria kinda breaks when he rapidly is crushed by the truth that of course SQ hates him of course! He must despise him because everything was his fault and-

so much mental spiralling happens, and he ends up fainting and when he wakes up Mu Qingfang asks him what happened, has he been infected and so and so but he can barely get a word out before LB demands to know where SQ is and then MQ gets that familiar sad sympathetic look in his eyes that LB despises because SQ is *not dead* but then he starts freaking because of course SQ is not dead but *of course* but what if he's not here? What if it wasn't real? (he's experienced this sort of situation many times, so he sprints out of the infirmary before anyone can stop him and sprints to where the Hua Hua disciples are staying and bursts in demanding to speak to SQ and of course the HH disciples are angry and deny him entry and so he goes to push through them because they don't matter and see SQ slip out the window

SQ is is like i'm fucked, my death is now, clearly the protagonist is hunting me down because despite everything I've done, despite the fact I haven't even hurt anyone and I didn't choose this I deserve to die-- and basically goes down that spiral as he runs through the city, he's either so discombobulated he forgets to teleport or he's used too much qi to be able to teleport right now so he's stuck and also the sword is particularly bloodthirsty because its hungry which isn't healing SQ handle on his growing fury at his inevitable death

So when LB catches up and corners him in an alley because of course, SQ thinks, the protagonist would find him because he never had any chance since he was thrown into this dumpster fire of a world!

So LB grasp at his shoulder desperately trying to tell if this is real and SQ, just, snaps, completely

He slams LB into the wall, cracking his head against it and screams at him and at the same time loses control of his human disguise and LB pretty dazed, from the possible concussion, the fact he can feel SQ he alive, he's real- and the slightly nonsensical screaming

I don't quite know where it would go from their but it would be fun if SQ mauled LB a bit, maybe ended up feeding him his blood (LB didn't understand what was happening but he just drunk the blood without protest because he's insane) and then HH and cultivators from other sects come across them due to system meddling and because SQ is so out of it, he's easily knocked out but the one thing he does before the fight is knock LB out with his blood parasites because he still perceives him as the biggest threat

so LB wakes up AGAIN, but this time he's told that Hua Hua palace has 'kindly taken responsibility for missing a demon in their midst and taken SQ to the water prison for execution' and of course all of Cang Qiong are protesting but LB hears this and IMMEDIATELY goes to break out SQ out of prison

on a completely separate note; shizun luo binghe with a disciple shen yuan who fell into the abyss??? *thinks about LBH canonically stealing SQQ's corpse for 5 years* he'd hallucinate i think. like, like visual and audial hallucinations.

Keeps thinking he's seeing SQQ in the corner of his eyes, or wandering between the trees, amongst a group of disciples. Thinks he hears him calling for him, but its just the wind or another disciple.

Gets Xiu Ya reforged but patently fucking refuses to make a sword mound. Because his disciple Is Not Dead :))) There was No Body. He's Not Dead. And If You keep Insisting That He Is, He's Gonna Skewer You :). He's holding onto Xiu Ya so he can return his most favored disciple's sword when he returns. It's on his hip right next to Zheng Yang where it's supposed to be.

Also this motherfucker?? does not sleep btw. He has the image of SQQ, wide eyed and hysterical and standing at the mouth of the abyss burned into his fucking eyelids. Can't use the dreamscape to escape it either because he keeps trying to save him and either he does and it's an incredibly cruel trick to wake up to, or he doesn't and he gets his heart broken in several different pieces again.

There is no convincing this man that Shen Qingqiu is dead. Absolutely nothing at all. He is buried so deep in denial that moles would be jealous of how deep he is. He keeps making tea for two in the bamboo house only to remember that it's just him. SQQ's fans are hiding everywhere, little reminders of his presence. He goes to wake up SQQ on the mornings he sleeps in-- only to find the room empty.

[melled42]

Idk if this is a huge request or not, but could you explain more about Bell? (The shitten in your au)

I would be thankful, take care.

Yeah, ive done like... 3 pieces of her max but she gets SO many asks lol. the story isn't really ready for her yet, and i'd like to finish what im working on before i do more with her, but i'll give the basic rundown.

she LITTERALY started as a joke baby post but she got so much interaction i said i'd expand on her design and now she seems to just have a following of simps (oops, like lamb like daughter)

most of the old ideas for ewen and nari with her are out of date now on the art, but heres a bunch of plot and some unposted sketches under cut

Nari and Ewen are married and leading the cult still. all the siblings have kids, grandkids and even great grandkids (excluding shamura). Its only after they decide having a child is someone for them to love and raise, not someone who they're forcing the cycle of trauma on that they have Bell. And they adore her. While growing up, one by one, the former bishops, all her aunts, uncles, and shamura decided it was time to peacefully end their long lives. So she sees death as a good thing, the satisfying end to a long life story. So when Ewen and Narinder are ready to die together, even though they say she doesn't have to, she takes on the crown and ends if for them with a last "i love you" between them. She runs the cult now which is more themed around their shared neck wound "rings" and their relationship than just the lamb. She's called "the black sheep" by her followers (or queen if they're kinky, princess when shes younger). she wields the crown as a pair of horns and a sythe, sine the cult of the black rings also referenced Ewen's large black horns and she keeps up the theme.

Baal and Aym are her "brothers" (more of her body guards and technically her cousins but she refuses to call them anything else) and her body guards, staying after their master's death. They've known her since she was a baby and still treat her as one sometimes. She's VERY protective over them, but also will bully them sometimes, like kicking their asses when training and saying they're just going easy on her like when she was a kid, knowing full well she's overpowered by the crown.

Because shes such an oddity, the mystic seller assigned one of their followers to keep an eye on her and, much like her "ba ba" she found the overpowered demigod shes now obsessed with. With some help from Ewen before they passed, they were able to translate their glyphs. Now that helper follows her around disguised as a poor imitation of a regular mortal to better understand her and the mortal realm. Or at least thats what she convinced them to do since she wants them around <3 probably not to their masters liking lol. I haven't decided on a name yet. Bell eventually give them the purple crown (they/it)

Before they left, Narinder was trying to reawaken the crowns, whether for the memory of his siblings, or that the cult was growing too large to be centered on the red crown. They're not very powerful right now and Bell is the leader of the others, more like a babysitter.

The blue crown is with Kalliope (kalli for short) (she/her), a distant relative of Kallamar's who had to fight, both physically and socially, with all her other of age relatives to get the chance, since Kallamar's polycule made a LOT of kids and grand kids. She's kind of bitchy about it and whines about everyone not respecting her or how hard she worked. shes a flamboyant cuttlefish and trans femme. also the crown is worn like an earring. Bell has little tolerance for her and they have a lot of bitchy girl fights.

The green crown is with isop (a kinda combo of isopod and aesop) (he/him) who is a rubber ducky isopod. he's Leshy's great great grandkid, and really only god the crown because no one else on the peaceful forest farm leshy put together in his later years really wanted it and figured it meant free babysitting. he's pretty young and small with a fascination for chaos and violence that only little kids without developed social perception can have, though he more watches at this point. The others tend to carry him or he rolls around in a little ball. The crown is worn like glasses.

The orange crown is with Mycelia (lia for short) (they/them plural) who is a homunculus mushroomo made through experimentation by Heket and Sozo before they died. they're the only one who is actually older than Bell. They're undying because they're a hive mind of all the mushroomo, who have been progressively growing. They can see everything the others see, can spout new bodies when needed and even feed on their own dead bodies. Bell sometimes just kills them when they're frustrated with them or other things. They'd be a threat but they're very monotone and emotionless about pretty much everything and don't care. They've worked with the red crown just because death is a natural boon to fungus and keeps them alive. The orange crown is worn as a necklace.

Heres some sketches since I haven't been able to get the designs to my liking but people keep asking so :T

[castiwls]

my number one .ᐟ

Paring; art x reader

Synopsis; You'd always been your own worst enemy. Your anxiety liked to jump out at the worst times yet your ever-doting boyfriend was determined to be there every. single. time.

Even if that meant missing his match.

Requested; anon

Notes; tysm for the request <3 i kinda based this on my own anxiety and the methods I've been taught over the years

Masterlist

“I don’t wanna be annoying.”

“You're not being annoying.”

No matter how many times he says it, you never believe it. How could you not be annoying, especially when you’ve woken him up at 3 a.m. for what must be the third time this week?

Art sighed, pulling you closer to his chest. His hands rubbed over your back in soothing circles as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Just follow my breathing, okay?” It was a saying so common that it seemed to fall from his lips without a thought. It was almost like a lifeline of sorts knowing that no matter what you’d always have the steady beat of his heart only a phone call away whenever your own decided to forget how to beat on time and needed reminding.

It was equally a blessing and a curse. A blessing to have someone like Art who would drop everything to come at your beacon call but a curse that you needed him in that way. 

Even now when he should be preparing for another tournament - against which school you can’t remember but then again your only thought right now is being able to focus enough to breathe - he’s here with you tucked around a corner from your class as you try to calm your breathing.

The moment he’d gotten your text.

Please come

Need you

He’d left the court without a second thought and made it to the building in record time. “You’re okay.” He soothed running a thumb over your cheek as he held your gaze. “You’re okay just breathe. In and out.” 

He hated seeing you like this. No matter how many times it happened he’d never shake that feeling of nausea that would swim in his stomach whenever your breath seemed to catch and your eyes grew distant. It made him want to just wrap you in his arms and protect you from anything and everything that left you feeling even slightly anxious.

You were his entire world and it hurt him to know you were your own worst enemy. 

“C’mon.” His hand intertwined with yours as he grabbed your bag. You both walked quietly back to his dorm your heart rate slowly going back to normal as you both walked. 

“Don’t you have practice?” You frowned as he placed your bag on his bed turning to watch as you shut the door. “It’s fine.” He smiled trying to reassure you as he opened his arms. “I can practice later you’re more important right now okay.” He sighed pulling you against his chest.

The practice could wait right now all he cared about was you. 

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

Not now, please god not now.

Art had already been so busy the last few days that you’d purposefully tried to leave him alone. He needed to train and you didn’t want to get in the way and worry him more then he already was. 

He’d only left his dorm an hour ago to get ready for the match and you’d been fine. Better then fine actually you’d had a great morning and for a moment you’d thought that maybe you’d go three full days without your anxiety rearing its ugly head.

And then it proved you wrong.

“Art I’m fine.” You could hear his concern down the phone as you sat on his bed, mentally counting your breaths to try and keep some semblance of calm. “You sure? I can come back for a-”

“No. No stay there and just relax okay? I’ll come find you before it starts.” You could almost picture the concern in his eyes as he sighed before relenting. If you said you were fine you were fine, pushing you would only make it worse.

“Okay but call me if you need okay? I love you.”

“I love you too.” You smiled slightly tracing shapes over his covers as you ended the call. The room was starting to feel too small as you sat, the air almost stuffy. Nothing had even happened and yet you could already feel the anxiety building.

The pit in your stomach swirled as your hands grew clammy no matter how many times you wiped them on your jeans.

You were fine.

You had to be fine. 

Taking a breath you stood pacing the small space as you tried to halt the attack. Breathe in for 10 out for 10.

In for 10 out for 10.

“Fuck.” Your voice shook slightly as tears began to prick at your eyes, your chest heaving as you tried to pull in a breath that wasn’t there. 

Your eyes darted around the room as you looked for anything to help but came up empty. You couldn’t call him. You knew the minute you did he’d drop everything and you didn’t want that.

No matter how bad this was - and it was bad by your standards - his match was more important.

Wiping the tears you sat back down closing your eyes as you tried to talk yourself through it.

You were fine.

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

The breath he’d been holding since you’d spoken on the phone a few hours ago seemed to finally release as he spotted you in the crowd. His eyes lit up and a bright smile pulled at his lips as he made his way through the crowd towards where you stood, your own eyes lighting up when you noticed him.

“Hey.” He grinned pulling you in for a chaste kiss. “You came.”

“Of course I did.” You laughed but it was strained. Your smile slightly too tight as you fixed the cap over his curls. “You ready?” You asked pulling back ever so slightly. 

“You're shaking.” 

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are I can see your hands.” Art sighed his smile pulling into a frown as he took your hand in his. “Your freezing as well.” 

Your face was still pulled into a tight smile but he saw right through it. The slight draw in your brow and the redness around your eyes gave you away almost immediately. Before you could say anything else he was pulling you through the crowd and behind the bleachers.

You swallowed back the tears which burned at your eyes. It had taken the whole two hours since the phone call for you to calm down even an inch and even now you still felt sluggish in your own body. 

“Art m’fine.” Your voice shook as you closed your eyes. 

“No your not.” He shook his head pushing a strand of hair from your face. “Why didn’t you call me?” You always called! It was bad enough knowing you’d walked from the dorms to the court like this but knowing you’d very possibly been like this since he’d last called you?

His own heart was racing at the thought.

“I didn’t wanna distract you.” His hand was now rubbing over your shoulder as you wiped at your eyes. “I know how much this means to you-”

“The match doesn’t matter.” He shook his head gently, tilting your chin up. Part of you already felt better just being near him, his presence a comfort in itself.

“Nothing matters more than you.” He smiled his eyes filled with warmth as his thumb flicked away a tear. “I’m not playing until I know you're okay. I can’t play knowing you're feeling like this.”

He pulled you closer rubbing a hand over your back. The match would never be more important than you - hell tennis would always come second to you. The fact the thought even crossed your mind was enough to have him debating putting the racket down and pulling you back to his dorm.

“Promise me you're still gonna play.” You whispered tucking your face into the crook of his neck as you breathed in the gentle scent of his aftershave for a moment. Your lungs seemed to work again as you pressed closer, sinking into his body.

“We’re not talking about tennis.” He murmured balancing his chin on your head. “You're all that matters.”

He meant his words, every single one of them. Sure he would play in the tournament but only once he knew you were okay, until then it was the last thing on his mind.

Tennis could never hold a torch to his love for you.

[mintmatcha]

Hi, you can ignore if you like. But there is absolutely a point where there’s a big fight, probably promoted by Monoma and his mind games, their teenage kid is like “fuck this I want to live with dad!” And Shinso is the one trying to keep it together, but Reader is the one who says “fine, call him, see if he’ll come get you this time”. The kid is all smug when Monoma does pickup the phone and says he’ll come get him.

Teenage kid thinks he’s won this argument, honestly. He’s at his dad’s place, little rules, no annoying step-dad, it’s great. It’s all fun and games at first, he stays up as late as he wants, his dad lets him order whatever he wants, he doesn’t have to do chores or his homework. But Monoma doesn’t know his schedule at all, doesn’t know what medicines he needs, doesn’t understand that he has extracurriculars he needs help with, doesn’t sit with him and rub his back when he gets freaked out by the battles in downtown, doesn’t make embarrassing songs that make him laugh, no Shinso who has a dry sense of humor that’s just a little too dark that makes the kid spit soda out of his nose.

The last straw is when Monoma swear that they’ll have a boys night, just them. They’ll eat dinner together, watch some movies, play video games together on the expensive game system his dad got him. But Monoma comes home late, some pretty young thing clinging to his arm and giggling. His kid is sitting at the kitchen table, trying to figure out what the fuck an imaginary number is. And he sees Monoma kinda roll his eyes and then usher the woman towards the back of the house before coming over and sitting on the edge of the table, all smiles and laughter.

And Monoma doesn’t really have apologies, just excuses. Swearing that he forgot that it was Friday, that he got busy, that his kid was too Grown Up to really need him around, and when are you going back to your mother’s house anyway?

And the kid realizes at that moment between all the nonchalance and excess promises to make it up to him, that his dad is kind of an asshole.

he has an allergic reaction for the first time in years and Monoma's only epipen is expired by years. he ends up fine, with just a quick hospital visit, but the experience is scary and all he wants is his back rubbed-

he ends up calling you and you're in the hospital within the hour, still in your work uniform, apron still knotted tight.

[mrsjellymunson]

Oh my good gawd this huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrttttttttttttttttttttt

So good tho, and also I’m glad the skirting around has finally (finally!) come to an end. I knew it was gonna be painful and unplanned, but sheesh! Both at once, parents AND Eddie? Ouchie…

I know mum was super mean. But (and stay with me here) I’m kinda on her side rn. Not in a ‘you must be the daughter we want you to be and follow a career path you don’t want’ way. But in a ‘if you’d told us this so much earlier we wouldn’t be left in the absolute shitter’ way.

“You don’t tell us a word about any of this, so we’re sitting around like idiots instead of planning accordingly.” ��👈 THIS THIS THIS

ANYHOO, gutted that Eddie’s gone doesn’t quite cover it, but honestly? I can see his side too. And he deserves a bit of something good, even if it’s not forever. But nobody’s told him what’s going on (like wtf? Fiona didn’t even mention anything??)?? This all seems a bit suss, and NGL I kinda want him to flounce off and come back when they let on that he was just a stopgap, but I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen next and I LOVE ITTTTT

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Eddie's gorgeous ex-girlfriend arrived with a proposition, and when he was hesitant to refuse it, everything the two of you have been holding back boiled over. (4.8k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, panic attack, vomiting, parental conflict, poverty, insecurities, secret relationship, sexual fantasies, idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @word-wytch for helping me with Eddie's mannerisms 💚

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter fourteen: burned

Babe.

She called him ‘babe,’ that one word laced with more than friendliness. There was a history behind it, a sultriness, all of it seeming so natural.

There was no air left to breathe; of this, you were almost certain. Your lungs constricted around nothing, shoved tight behind your ribs with nowhere to expand. 

She called him babe. And she kissed him. 

On the cheek, on the lips—it didn’t matter. She had kissed him and it didn’t sound like he’d attempted to stop her. Nor had he corrected her when she’d called the motel a shithole. His ex-girlfriend showed up and called your home–and his–a shithole, and he’d all but agreed with her.

And she called him babe.

You were going to be sick, your head spinning from the myriad emotions coursing through it. Anger, frustration, confusion, sadness, and envy stirred up a fatal cocktail that had you retching into the wastebasket next to the desk.

A door swung open, and you prayed that it was Mom or Dad, already formulating a believable reason as to why you were suddenly throwing up. Must’ve eaten something that disagreed with me; I’ll be fine–

“Heiress?”

Of course it was Eddie. Of course. His footsteps got faster as he heard you throwing up, barely audible through the blood pulsing in your ears. Before you knew it, he was crouching down beside you, one hand gently stroking your back, your shirt now soaked through with sweat.

You wrenched away, shrugging off his touch and wiping your lips. “Don’t touch me.” Your voice was hoarse from sickness and hurt.

Eddie flinched at your gruff demeanor, toppling backwards onto his jean-clad bottom with a soft oof. “Heiress, it’s fine. I’m not afraid of a little–”

“No!” You found your emotional footing, grounding yourself in anger rather than shaking it off. The last thing you needed was for him to see you as vulnerable. Even worse, pitiful. “Leave me alone.”

You couldn’t look at him without seeing her, so beautiful and badass. Everything he wanted and more. Had he blushed when she kissed him? Had his hand slid around her waist to pull her closer, to breathe in her perfection? The thought sent your stomach roiling, and it took a mountain of force to keep from getting sick again.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “I can get you some ginger ale, o-or some water–”

You shook your head subtly lest you rouse another round of nausea. “I said leave me alone,” you said through gritted teeth. Tears rolled down your cheeks, and you were disgusted with yourself for wishing he would kiss them away. “I’m fine.”

Babe. With a kiss.

“At least let me take out the trash.”

“Can you just fucking go?” You whirled around to finally face him, your heart momentarily lurching at his recoil. “You can probably still catch up with your girlfriend. She just left.”

“My…” Eddie cocked his head with a naivety that had you simultaneously wanting to comfort and smack him. “Who, Fiona?”

Logically, you knew she had a name, but hearing him say it still made everything worse. Fiona. 

“Yeah, her,” you spat. Just because you knew her name didn’t mean you had to say it.

A disbelieving chuckle escaped Eddie’s lips, half-hearted in its landing. “She’s not my girlfriend, Heiress.” His voice had a prickly edge to it, and it made you feel slightly less guilty about your own snappiness. 

“Did you tell her that?” Frustration flamed behind your eyes. “Because I heard her call you ‘babe’ and give you a kiss.”

You summoned all of your strength and pushed yourself up to standing. Eddie followed suit, though he didn’t need to lean on the desk to keep himself upright like you did. 

“Christ.” He raked his fingers through his curls. “It was a kiss on the cheek. It’s not like we were frenching in the hallway.”

The visual alone might have sent you back to the trash can, but you held your composure. What was left of it, anyway. 

“And what about her calling you ‘babe’?”

He shoved his hands in his pants pockets, an act of innocence. “Probably just out of habit from when she was…y’know…”

My girlfriend. He didn’t need to say the words aloud; you filled in the blanks without any assistance. 

“But you didn’t correct her.” You were being petty, and while you hated yourself for it, you also couldn’t stop it. A dam had been broken, and the rupture unleashed all of the frustration and confusion that you’d kept bottled up. 

From outside, a car blared its horn loud enough to startle you. Eddie brought his hand out to comfort you, almost instinctively, before he remembered you were mid-argument and let it drop to his side. 

“Honestly,” he exhaled, “I wasn’t really paying attention when she said that.”

Your stomach soured. If he wasn’t listening to the words she was saying, then what was his mind occupied with? Images of him stampeded through your head: Eddie lusting over bow-shaped lips, the subtle swell of her breasts beneath her tank top, the way her denim miniskirt emphasized the curve of her ass…all while you stood behind the desk none the wiser. 

You shoved the implication aside. “Why was she here? How did she even know you were here?”

Eddie’s nails scratched along the desk, the only sound for a few seconds until he spoke again. “I talked to her after they did their show at Webster Hall.” 

How could you have forgotten that show—the one he was at the night someone vandalized Eisen’s. 

“I told her where I was staying, gave her the room number. She took a chance and stopped by tonight.”

“For what?” You quickly assessed his clothes; nothing seemed to be rumpled or unbuttoned that would indicate any below-the-belt activities. 

Eddie caught your eyes roving his body, and not in the hungry, desire-filled way you had looked at him earlier today. 

“She asked me to rejoin the band,” he said quietly. “They want me back for their tour.” 

Rejoin the band for their tour. If the tabloid article was accurate, that meant he’d be leaving within the next few weeks. 

Your silence spoke volumes. Eddie huffed out a laugh thick with venom. “Wow, thanks for your enthusiasm. Really amps up my excitement.”

“It’s just…a lot to process.” You picked at your lower lip, the bit of dry skin suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. “Do they want you back permanently? Or just until Caleb Dalton gets out of rehab?”

Eddie’s brows furrowed. He crossed his arms over his chest and stepped back, protecting an open wound. “What are you talking about? Who’s going to rehab?”

Shit. You screwed your eyes shut, but there was no more feigning ignorance. He had to know the truth, and you had to be the one to break it to him. 

And so you told him everything: the public intoxication arrest, the rehab stay, the threat it posed to the band’s future. When he asked how you knew all of this, you were honest about that, too. 

“So, wait.” Eddie held up his forefinger to stop you, though you’d already run out of words to say. “You knew about this stuff since our first date? And then you read the article today? And you never thought to tell me about any of it?” 

Shame snaked its way through your veins, heating you from the inside. Fresh tears pricked at your eyes, and you forced yourself to blink them back. You knew you should have told him; maybe not during that first date, but certainly in the days following. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t had the opportunity. Even spotting that article this afternoon brought up the perfect moment. 

But you’d let your cowardice take over, and now you were paying the price.

“I wasn’t sure what to say.” It was a pathetic excuse, and you both knew it.

Eddie raked his fingers through his hair, snagging them on a knotted curl. “How about, ‘hey, Eddie, did you hear about what’s going on with your old band?’ Or you could’ve come right out with it, something like, ‘your replacement is in rehab, just so you know.’” He shook his head in stunned disbelief, his nostrils flaring with each word. “Anything, Heiress. Anything!”

You winced at his increasing volume. “Eddie, maybe we should talk about this another–”

“No!” He hissed through gritted teeth. “No, I’m so fucking sick and tired of waiting. Waiting for you to tell your parents about us, waiting for another big break, waiting for something to finally go right for once in my stupid life!” He slammed his fist on the desk, rattling the old wood and your nerves, veins pulsing in his forearm. “I’m such a goddamn idiot. I should’ve been saving up every penny to get back home, but I stuck around here for…for someone who doesn’t give a shit about me.”

Every part of you ached to refute that statement, to insist that you did care about him. But it wouldn’t be of any use; he’d already made up his mind that he meant nothing to you. And what did you have to disprove him? The way fear kept you from telling your parents the truth? The constant sneaking around to avoid the inevitable confrontation that came with them discovering the real relationship between you and Eddie?

“And every time I ask you about it, it’s always ‘soon,’ or ‘I’m going to.’” Eddie continued, his jaw twitching as he inhaled. “I might as well be back in high school, hooking up with cheerleaders behind their boyfriends’ backs, acting like nothing happened between us.” He looked at you with utter disgust. “At least they had a decent excuse. You’re just selfish.”

“Selfish?” Of all of the words used to describe you, good or bad, selfish hadn’t ever been one of them. “I’m…no, I’m not–”

The scent of stale cigarette smoke choked you. “Well, what would you call it, then? What would you call stringing me along while you weave your little web of lies?” He leaned in, though there was no need with how loud he was speaking. “I thought we were a team, Heiress. And a damn good one at that. But you were playing by yourself this whole fucking time.”

Your throat went dry, your body hollow. You were selfish. You spent so much time worried about the potential backlash that you never considered how he felt. 

Eddie didn’t stop, not even when the tears rolled down your cheeks. “You know what I think?” He pressed his lips into a thin line, like he knew he should suppress what he was about to say but no longer could hold back. “I think you can’t handle people following their dreams when you’re too scared to follow yours. I think you liked having me here because that meant I wasn’t out there trying to be a ‘superstar.’” He hooked his fingers to make air-quotes. 

“But I’m done with your games, Heiress. I’m done pretending to just be the handyman you happen to get along with. I’m done with you.”

A response, a retort, a poignant Fuck off all stayed lodged in your throat. Only the sound of a door swinging open echoed through the motel. 

Shit. Your parents. They must’ve woken up from the arguing and—

“What the hell is going on out here?” Phyllis’s rough, irritated voice called out. Her robe was half-open, the top of one freckled breast visible. She had her trusty bat raised, ready to fight, but when she saw the commotion was only you and Eddie, her posture loosened. “Jesus Christ, I thought someone was trying to…never mind.” She shook her head and scowled. “If you two don’t learn to keep it down, then I’ll just have to be louder.”

You and Eddie normally would have laughed and shot back a cheeky comment, but neither of you mustered up a joke. Phyllis had already turned back around to her room, figuring out how to salvage her client’s evening after the interruption. 

“I’m leaving anyway,” Eddie grumbled. The tips of his ears were pink from the sheer heat of his anger. 

“Leaving? Like, for good?” Your voice was so tiny that you barely heard it, and you were surprised that he did. Even more surprised that he didn’t pretend not to hear it and keep walking away. 

He sighed with the weight of the world. “Yeah, Heiress. For good.” He turned back to face you one last time, a serpentine bite in his tone. “And for what it’s worth, I liked when Fiona called me ‘babe.’ It was nice hearing someone say it without checking their surroundings first.”

So he had noticed it—the way you made sure your parents weren’t around before calling him a pet name or pressing a kiss to his waiting lips. You weren’t as subtle as you’d hoped, and he’d picked up on it. 

Eddie held his same stoic expression as he watched your face fall, your posture slumping in total defeat. His words were cruel, but they didn’t lack truth. And it didn’t mean you were ready to hear them. 

“Fuck you,” you said weakly. You no longer cared if he saw you cry. Shame over vulnerability couldn’t hold a candle to the loss you already felt, though he was still standing in front of you. “Just…fuck you. I should’ve left you on that bench.”

“Then who would be your charity case?” His brown eyes, usually soft and comforting, teasing, or filled with lust, held only rage now. “Who would you pretend to give a shit about?”

Insecurity chipped away at your minimal resolve to stay upright as you wondered what kind of eyes Fiona saw tonight. 

“Do you…” you sniffled, wishing you would just wake up and realize the whole argument was a dream. “Do you really think this was all pretend for me?”

Eddie paused for a moment, actually considering the possibility. Its mere feasibility was another dagger through your already broken heart. 

“Honestly, Heiress,” he finally said, “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

He left you in stunned silence, only the sounds of boulevard traffic filling the air. Life had been sucked out of the lobby, leaving it devoid of the lightheartedness it only began holding when Eddie came around. 

Before him, before that night, you were alone. You were lonely. It had only been two months since then, yet you found it impossible to remember a time before him. Tonight felt like the first time you’d ever spent a shift by yourself. 

What if you followed him back down the hall? What if you took his hand and held it, promising not to let go until you told your parents about the relationship? What if you peppered his face with kisses until his anger melted into something resembling forgiveness?

The young woman who you’d been on his first night in the motel would roll her eyes at the mess you’d become. She would have told you not to waste your efforts on a man, especially one who was so obviously a temporary fixture in your life. Dating a guest? One who had no connections to the city? It was destined for failure from the start. 

Maybe it was best if you let him be for the evening. Give him some time to cool down. Not to mention, you’d be leaving the desk unmanned if you followed him, and what a way that would be to break the news to your parents. 

Sorry I abandoned my job; I was just trying to keep my secret relationship with Eddie from ending. Did I mention that Uncle Mo and Aunt Tam caught up making out in the park?

Eddie didn’t leave his room for the rest of the night. You sighed with relief at six A.M. when Dad took the desk and there was no sign of Eddie. 

He probably fell asleep, you reasoned as you changed into your pajamas. I’ll talk to him when I wake up and we’ll work it out. 

You were done hiding your feelings. 

As you tumbled into bed, the weight of exhaustion somehow heavier than your guilt, you mentally sketched out your apology. No, it was more than an apology; it was a promise. A promise to proudly be his girl no matter who was watching. A promise to give him your heart with no stipulations. A promise to be the team he thought you always were. 

For the first time in a long time, you awoke before your alarm. Nerves fluttered in your belly as you got dressed. You threw on the nearest clean clothes you could find, lest you wimp out before you even left the room. 

Eddie, I’m so sorry. It’s me and you. I want it to be me and you. I’ll tell my parents about us right now so we don’t have to hide, because…I love you, Eddie Munson. I love the way you always pat your pocket for your cigarettes and lighter before you go anywhere. I love the way your tongue pokes out whenever you’re focused. I love the way you hold me, like I’m safe as long as you’re around. 

And then you’d kiss him, soft and slow, losing yourself in his touch with the intention of never again leaving him behind. 

Knock knock. 

No answer. 

Knock knock knock. 

Again, nothing. 

You waited for a few minutes—or maybe it was only a couple of seconds. Time crawled as you waited for him to answer. 

“Eddie?”

Silence. 

“Eddie?” One more, but louder. Loud enough to catch Dad’s attention from the lobby. 

Dad’s brows knit together. “Eddie left this morning around 6:30. He didn’t tell you?”

Dread rose in your esophagus and almost had you hurtling towards the trashcan again. 

Of course he left. Why wouldn’t he? What did he have to stay for? Did you actually expect him to give up the opportunity to tour for a life of motel repairs, subway station guitar shows, and a girlfriend afraid to have a public relationship?

“I assumed he told you…” The wrinkles in Dad's forehead became more pronounced with confusion. 

You cleared your throat and faked a laugh. “Oh, right. I must’ve forgotten.” You gave yourself a little bop on the head as if to say, silly me! “I, uh, should probably clean his room.”

Dad nodded and said something about the washing machine acting up, and to be cognizant of laundry load size. And despite what you now knew, your first instinct was to ask Eddie to fix it. 

Room four still smelled like his drugstore cologne and his cigarettes. In fact, that coupled with the used ashtray and the unmade bed were the only evidence that Eddie had been here at all. That this man hadn’t been a figment of your imagination for the past few months. 

Your eyes roved the room for something—anything—to indicate a hint of forgiveness from him. Something to tell you this leave was only temporary. Maybe a note or even the phone number of where he’d be staying. 

Probably with Fiona. 

Your lungs struggled for air, tightening with each shallow breath. You couldn’t reach your room fast enough. 

You pictured the two of them sharing a bed, limbs intertwined. He’ll look at her with love and desire: the talented badass girl he truly wanted. That he’d ever wasted time with someone who was quick to confront a stoned stranger but couldn’t lie to her parents would be a blip on his dating radar; a lapse in judgment he’d one day laugh off. 

If he wasn’t already laughing at you. 

July arrived a few weeks later with near-literal roaring flames. 

Independence Day brought a few extra guests to the motel, mostly young couples who booked last-minute getaways to see the Macy’s fireworks display. Raw envy bared its teeth with each affectionate touch and stolen kiss, and you’d had to hold back a biting remark every time you saw an exchange of intimate gestures. 

You and Eddie could have taken a moment to watch the fireworks display, his arms wrapped around you and his chin on your shoulder as colors lit up the sky. 

Heat came the week after. 

It ripped through the city; even the local weatherman’s warnings didn’t fully capture just how stifling it would be. 

A line of perspiration trickled down your back as you folded towels and placed them on the closet shelf. 

Mom was at the desk, a battery-operated oscillating fan doing its best to keep her cool. It stopped mid-rotation, and she smacked it to start it up again.

“Dad didn’t get the big one?” The batteries must nearly be drained after use for days on end. The corded one would be better, and would last longer than one reliant on batteries. 

Mom shook her head. “That thing sucks up electricity like a monster,” she said. “No use running up the bill over it. I’ll just pick up new batteries later.”

The mention of the motel’s financial decline sliced you open, and you quickly tried to patch the wound with a distraction. 

“I can go now.” Before Mom could protest, you plucked your wallet from your room. It was brutally hot outside, the humidity enveloping you the moment you opened the front door. But anything was better than staying home and creating imaginary scenarios where Eddie would come from around the corner, wearing his signature smirk. 

In some of your wilder daydreams, he wore little else. 

Outside wasn’t much better than inside, especially with the sun beating down, but a breeze blew by every so often that provided some relief. Kids played in the street, opening fire hydrants and splashing around. They had no reverence for the beauty of childhood summers. Not yet—that would come with time, when opportunities to cherish that innocence were solidly in the past. 

You and Ben used to play like that, your parents peering out of the motel window every so often to make sure you were both still there, still safe. Always looking out for you, even as you stretched into your teenage years and craved independence. 

You should call Ben and meet up again. Maybe invite Nora, too. They’d take your mind off of your never-ending and ever-growing list of mistakes. 

The trip to the convenience store was for naught, the cashier informing you that they were sold out of everything except for watch batteries. Same went for the next two stores you tried. Apparently everyone’s portable fans decided to crap out on the same day. 

Resignedly, you trudged back to the motel. Maybe you could convince Mom to use the corded fan, or at least tell you where it had been stashed so you could set it up during your shift. 

All thoughts of fan whereabouts disappeared when you got back to the motel and saw Mom and Dad standing at the desk. Dad kept his head down as though inspecting the scratched wood. Mom was the one glaring at you, an open envelope clutched in her hand. It bore a violet emblem on the top left-hand corner. 

“What is this?” She phrased it as a question, but her clenched jaw told you that she already knew the answer. 

“I-I don’t—”

Mom shook her head. “No. Don’t tell me you don’t know why you got a tuition bill from NYU.” She glanced once more at the logo. “From the Silberman School of Social Work, actually.”

You said nothing. Ever since Admitted Students’ Day, you always made sure to be around when the mail arrived. The one day you left, it arrived without warning. 

Dad spoke your name in a breath. “How did you get into a social work program if you majored in hospitality?”

And then there was that. No lie, no matter how tangled the web, could explain the cold, hard proof in front of them. 

Words poured out of you, barely giving you moments to breathe. 

“I meant to tell you–I wanted to tell you. It’s just…you’ve been counting on me to take over the motel. I never wanted to let you down.” Despite your assumption that you’d depleted your reservoir of tears over Eddie, your throat tightened with the beginnings of a crying jag. “I just want to help people.”

Mom’s fist clenched around the envelope. “And how is this helping us?” She opened her mouth to speak again, but Dad gently placing his hand over hers temporarily silenced her.

“You lied to us,” Dad said. “You lied, and then you kept lying.”

“I know.” Your voice was so small that you could barely hear it. Or maybe that was because of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

“You know.” Mom scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, how nice of you to be so self-aware.” She let out a disbelieving laugh. “So what did you major in? And how did that lead you to one of the most expensive schools in the city?”

You told them everything–the decision to study psychology, the graduate school fair that you’d attended, the student representative you’d spoken to who assured you that you’d make an excellent candidate for their Masters program. And lastly, you told them that the program requirements would prevent you from working at the motel starting next month.

Mom stayed angry, her eyes narrowed, biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from interrupting you. But Dad…

He was slightly hunched over and unsettlingly quiet. You’d almost rather he’d be yelling, or at least hurling his feelings toward you like Mom was.

He looked at Mom when he finally spoke, but his words cut you with a serrated edge. “We can’t pay for a new employee. And we need a third person to run the place, unless you and I want to split twelve hour days–”

“No. I–I’ll fix this.” There was no way that your aging parents would be working over eighty hours a week. “I won’t go to NYU. I’ll call them right now and see if I can rescind my acceptance, and then I’ll cancel my student loans.”

“Do you really think we can trust you after all of this?” Mom’s shouting startled you, but your flinching didn’t deter you. “And let me guess–you have some part in Eddie leaving, too?”

Now that you weren’t expecting. The pause between Mom’s question and your nod gave her all of the information she needed.

“Let me get this straight,” she seethed. “You pick a major that has nothing to do with hospitality. You apply to and then accept an offer to a graduate program that means you can’t support the family business. You don’t tell us a word about any of this, so we’re sitting around like idiots instead of planning accordingly. And then,” she pointed her finger at you, “when we do find someone to help out around here, you strike up an inappropriate relationship that I told you would end badly.”

Dad’s teary eyes met yours. “How could you do this to us?” Once again, his whisper was a knife.

“I’m sorry.” You didn’t bother to wipe your cheeks, knowing they’d stay damp until you couldn’t cry any longer. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Your brain throbbed against your skull, the forming pounding headache distracting you from the flickering lights. Everything was blurred anyway.

Mom noticed–she always noticed when something was awry, even if she couldn’t pinpoint its exact cause. “Great, now the bulbs are going.”

“I’ll get some new ones.” You’d pay for them yourself if you had to; you wouldn’t dare touch any of the money in the register. “I’ll go out right now and–”

The lights flickered once more, only this time, they didn’t go back on. The hum of electricity died out in an instant. You poked your head out of the front door, heart sinking as you saw the other business owners doing the same thing. The block was quiet except for the exchange between a flour-covered pizzeria worker and the cashier of the ninety-nine cent store:

“Is yours out, too?”

“Sure is.”

An overwhelming stillness encompassed the neighborhood. There was no hum of air conditioning coming from any of the other businesses. Traffic lights had gone dark, drivers slowing to a crawl upon the realization that there was neither a red, yellow, nor green indicator. A glance down the street at the high-rise office buildings, their windows suspiciously void of their usual overhead lighting, told you that the rest of the city wasn’t faring any better.

A blackout. In the middle of the hottest week of the summer.

In more ways than one, you were totally and completely powerless.

--

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[leviathanxprincess]

Introducing the Gehenna Devils to Your Plushies - Pt. 1

The Gehenna Devils deciding to show up to your room for sex end up getting met with you deciding to sit down and show them all your plushies!!

I've decided to split Gehenna into two parts for my mental sake.

Notes: mildly sexual content, nothing to crazy. Gender neutral reader! This part includes: Sitri, Amy, Paimon, & Leraye!

Satan and the other Kings found here !

Sitri

Honestly, he'll hold back on sex for as long as you wanna talk for.

He listens intently, hanging on to your every word. He's taking notes in his head, jotting down names, any lore you have if you do.

Your the most important person to him after, so every word you have to say is equally important!

He adores being one of the only ones allowed to see this side of you as well.

He has such a soft, endeared smile on his face as he listens to you talk.

Even if you spend hours talking he doesn't mind! He'll let it happen.

Of course, the fact he was here for sex doesn't change, that's always in the back of his head.

And by the time you're done talking he's practically smothering you in affection anyway because of how adorable you are! So of course that leads exactly how you think it will.

And if you just happen to get flustered by said affection, well then that's even better for him! Your heart rate does increase then, after all.

Amy

He's gonna be kinda blunt about it I think. You start talking about your plushies and he's just like "Okay but I'm here to fuck."

You can give it to him right away, or you could make him wait and keep talking! It's more fun if you go that route.

Tell him he's being too impatient and he can wait a bit!! And then just go on and on and on until he can't take it anymore.

He's annoyed, but most importantly, it's kinda turning him on more.

On the other hand, he also can't deny you're cute like this.

I feel like he's the type to get cuteness aggression.

He's gonna try and start grabbing your cheeks and biting you, once again you could give in. But you could also swat him off and force him to wait longer.

If you really wanna make it worse on him through a little comment his away about how he's acting, a little degrading if you want.

Honestly with the amount of teasing you do to him and how long you make him wait, he's not retaining a single damn piece of information about those plushies.

Be careful your next steps, if you don't stay in control of the situation once you actually allow him to fuck you (which won't be hard if you're trying to dom him), he will take it back. And he's not gonna be the nicest given how frustrated he is lol.

Paimon

Oh my goodness, you're the cutest thing to him right now!!!

He's practically covering you in kisses, all giggly watching you talk!

He's bound to have a few plushies himself, he'll be sure to show them to you later.

Right now though, he's letting you do your thing. You won't succeed on telling him about every single one in one setting, but he'll listen to however many he can.

Unfortunately you won't be able to talk the more he gets worked up.

He's just thinks you're so adorable!! Eventually he's gonna snap and just start squishing and pinching your cheeks!!!

He can't control himself! He's throwing so many compliments at you and not letting go of your face and giving you kisses!!! Your head is gonna start spinning at the rate he's going.

Of course this leads back to the original reason he was here.

I wouldn't be surprised he gets cuteness aggression too lol.

So prepare for that!!! If your covered in bites after don't even be surprised.

Leraye

Hey, he has a lot of plushies too!!!

Well, they're all headless. But it's fine!!!! He cherishes them a lot still!!! Mostly because Satan was involved in the being headless part but still !!!

I think he'd be so interested in listening he'd completely forget the original reason he was here for.

I don't know how much he remembers, but he at least knows their names!!!

Honestly I think he just likes hearing you talk. Doesn't matter about what! If you're happy than he's content!!!

By the time you're done, he's just wrapping you in his arms and giving you kisses!

Like I said, he kinda forgot about sex.

It'll come back to him at some point during him kissing and cuddling you. Probably.

Definitely will if it someone starts thundering at least?

Worst comes to worst just ask him what he was here for then you're back on track! And well, maybe turn your plushies around so they won't have to witness what follows.

[hannieehaee]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSYgDcHDA/

Hellooo,I was wondering what do you think SVTs response would be to this question from their S/O😅

Like who in your opinion would say that boobs are perfectly fine and who would dare to ask why they are small😂

reacting to why your boobs are small(?)

content: boobs, established relationship, teasing, banter, etc.

wc: 554

a/n: i had no idea how to title this reaction lol but here's the tiktok in case anyone wants context (but im pretty sure its deleted now 😭)

masterlist

seungcheol -

confused and lowkey annoyed bc one side of him just doesnt get what you're saying and the other doesn't understand how your size could possibly be used as some sort of critique when he's spent countless nights enjoying them. also maybe a little bothered by the implication that someone may have asked about your boobs.

jeonghan -

you can never catch him off guard. he'd start by shrugging just to get a reaction out of you and proceed to compliment them bc being real .. he's a huge fan of your boobs.

joshua -

immediately clocks it as a tiktok thing and pretends he doesnt know what you mean just to bug you. will say something like 'yeah, they're pretty small, did you never notice before?' only to get smacked at by you. will laugh and apologize, telling you that ofc he doesn't care about the size! he's a man, he just likes your boobs!!

jun -

as the biggest connoisseur of your boobs, he's very well aware of their size and shape. any question as to their size would be met with a curious tilt of his head and maybe even a side eye.

soonyoung -

incredibly confused. would need a step to step explanation as to what you mean like what do you mean?? theyre perfectly sized. would even inadvertently lift up his hands and make a cupping motion to show you how perfectly sized they are only to be stopped by u bc ur in public!!

wonwoo -

a little afraid he might give you the wrong answer so he stays quiet as he thinks about it. ends up deciding on a 'theyre pretty,' to express his opinion on the matter.

jihoon -

also super confused. thinks this is some sort of bf test so he kinda doesnt wanna entertain it bc thats kind of silly ... but he also really likes ur boobs and missed no chance to compliment them (even though he gets red as fuck when he does).

seokmin -

pouts and almost whines at you bc what do you mean??? small??? theyre perfectly sized for him!! he'd react like this to any sort of criticism you had of yourself but your boobs were just a personal subject for him like who and why and when and what do you mean??

mingyu -

he'd literally show you with his own two hands how theyre the perfect handful and roll his eyes at any implication they're not perfectly sized. he takes this kind of stuff very seriously!!

minghao -

rolls his eyes lightheartedly bc he thinks you're being silly. but still, he entertains you and even goes on a long rant about your body being perfect bc its yours.

seungkwan -

huffs, knowing its some sort of trick question, whining at you to stop trying to catch him off guard for tiktok. it'll just turn into a whining competition between the two of you lol.

vernon -

doesn't really understand the question but just assumes its a girl thing and responds accordingly. tells you he has no complaints and is actually quite a big fan of them as they are.

chan -

very confused. literally disregards the question because he just doesnt understand. wont catch on to the joke, but his eyes will keep trailing between you and your boobs bc what do you mean why are they small? they're small? why?

[izukumidoriyanumber1]

Alastor With A Seemingly Innocent S/O

-He wonders how the fuck you’re in hell

-like, someone as perfect and sweet and kind as you? No chance.

-until you tell him how you brutally murdered a huntsman and hand to hand strangled his three dogs after killing your boyfriend.

-coincidence? I think not.

-Alastor knew this story sounded awfully familiar but couldn’t quite place what it was he remembered about it. 

-anyways

-Alastor would try to change how he acts, especially around you.

-so no killing or maiming when his s/o is around. 

-the only time your not your sweet, innocent little self is when Angel Dust drags you into a terf war or something. 

-then hes laughing and cheering you on from the sidelines. 

-As you know, Alastor loves to dance and sing.

-so expect him to turn on some swing jazz and quite literally sweep you off your feet in the middle of the lobby. 

-lots of spinning, dipping, and side stepping.

-he’ll also sing along to whatever is playing, too. 

-if its a slow song, expect to be held close to him as one of his hands clasps tightly to yours and your chest is pressed against his.

-his other hand will wrap around your waist as he hums along in your ear. 

-but this kind of dancing normally only takes place behind closed doors and within the comfort of your shared room.

-speaking of rooms, he would love it if you’d stay with him at night. 

-he doesn’t sleep a whole lot, so make sure he gets the well deserved rest he needs. 

-he’ll hold you close while petting your hair or running his hands up and down your arms to help you fall asleep.

-in the most non-creepy way possible, he loves to watch you sleep.

-he finds it so wholesome and heart warming that you choose to lay next to him every night.

-Alastor has never been a huge fan of sex, but when its you, he can’t help himself. 

-especially when he’s in a rut. He almost always cant keep his hands off of you.

-as much as he cant, he loves to breed you

-he constantly praises your body and loves the bump that forms at the bottom of your tummy when he fills you up.

-saying things like “darling, you take me so well, gonna fill you up so nice” like AHHHHHHH

-aftercare is a given. He’s an old timer, he knows how to treat a woman.

-expect to be carried into the steamy bathtub as he crawls in next to you and scrubs you clean.

-pda is a little iffy with Alastor. 

-he could either be all over you, a hand on your waist, shoulder, or arms linked 25/8

-OR he could have a no touching day (which you are completely understanding to)

-i think you would deny his request of proposal many times. 

-maybe you are trying to redeem yourself and you dont want to hurt him if you do end up going to heaven.

-but either way, you ended up saying yes, and the wedding was held at the hotel with minimal guests. 

-im sure he would invite rosie and mimzy, too.

-who both absolutely adore you

-rosie ends up being that of an older sister to you

-mimzy is just kinda…there.

-you dont like her very much.

-on top of it all, he loves you so very much and wont be afraid to show you just how much. 

-he would do absolutely anything to have his way, and if someone (like Vox) were to get in his way, he’d make sure it wouldnt happen again.

message me for more <3

[goldfades]

★ dancing phantoms on the terrace; are they second-hand embarrassed, that i can't get out of bed? cause something counterfeit's dead; it was legendary; it was momentary; it was unnecessary ─── PB⁵

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 6.4k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and paige have always danced around each other—an intricate waltz of unspoken words and fleeting touches, each step pulling you closer to the edge of something you both feared to define. but when your feelings finally bubble over, paige’s silence cuts sharper than anything you could have imagined. in the wake of her denial, you vow to let her go, but it’s hard to sever the bond when she keeps lingering in the corners of your world, drawing you back like gravity. what happens when you can’t be friends, but letting go feels impossible?

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst w/ no happy ending. weird fwb, cheating (kinda?), toxic relationships, emotional manipulation, unhealthy attachment, and cycles of miscommunication and unresolved feelings.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | this is lowkey just a word vomit... idk how to feel about it. i've been on an angst kick lately and i'm apologizing for this fic right now, it's EMOTIONALLY DAMAGING. um anyway, don't even ask how i am right now... enjoy?

The gym smells like worn leather and ambition—Paige’s favorite cocktail, if you had to guess. The echo of bouncing basketballs fills the cavernous space, and there she is, effortlessly commanding the court like it’s her birthright. You’d think the sight of her—golden hair slicked back, sharp focus slicing through the room—would dull with time, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s worse.

You don’t mean to stare, but when it’s her, you always do.

“Hey,” her voice cuts through your thoughts, soft but with a rasp that’s always felt like a secret shared just between the two of you. Paige jogs toward you, her smile easy, but her eyes? Complicated. Like she knows. Like she’s always known.

“Hey,” you manage, though your throat feels tight, your body betraying you with a spark of something you’ve tried to douse for months.

She stops just short of you, close enough that you can smell the faint citrus of her shampoo. “Thought you were too busy to come by anymore.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool, but the weight of her gaze makes it impossible. “I’m not staying long. Just… passing through.”

It’s a lie. You’ve never been able to just pass through when it comes to her.

Paige grins, wiping sweat from her brow with the hem of her jersey. It’s a fleeting movement, but it leaves your pulse racing, and you hate yourself for it. She doesn’t notice—or maybe she does, and that’s worse.

“You’re a bad liar,” she says, her tone teasing but gentle. She tilts her head, like she’s reading something written on your face. “You okay?”

It’s such a simple question, but the weight of it threatens to shatter your resolve.

“I’m fine,” you say too quickly. Too sharply.

Her brows knit together, but she doesn’t push. Paige never pushes. It’s you who always falls, silently hoping she’ll be there to catch you.

But you’re tired of hoping.

“I should go,” you mutter, turning before the cracks in your chest start to show. But her hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you.

“Wait.”

It’s a single word, but it roots you in place, her touch burning like truth against your skin. You turn back to her, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breath and the ache of everything you’ll never say.

And Paige, looking at you like she wants to say it too.

SIX MONTHS AGO

The party was already half a blur when Paige walked in, but her presence made everything snap into focus. You hadn’t been looking for her—you’d told yourself you wouldn’t—but there she was, a magnet pulling every molecule of you in her direction. She wasn’t dressed for the occasion like everyone else, no glittering dresses or expensive heels. Just a hoodie, sneakers, and that disarming grin.

You were nursing a drink, not for the taste, but for the illusion of control. People were scattered across the house in little clusters, and you were tucked into a corner of the living room, balancing somewhere between tipsy and regretfully sober. That is, until Paige caught sight of you.

Her gaze found you through the crowd like it was the easiest thing in the world, and you felt it—really felt it. That invisible thread between the two of you, taut and unyielding.

“Hey, stranger.” Her voice carried over the low hum of music and chatter as she slid into the empty space beside you on the couch.

You laughed softly, but it came out more nervous than amused. “Stranger? I didn’t know you even remembered my name.”

She tilted her head, her grin shifting into something softer. “I remember a lot more than that.”

The comment shouldn’t have sent a shiver down your spine, but it did. Paige had a way of saying things like they were just words when they were anything but.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you admitted, your fingers tightening around the red Solo cup in your hand.

“Yeah, well…” Paige’s eyes dropped to your drink before returning to your face, and it made you feel naked somehow. “Needed a break. Thought I’d find you.”

Thought I’d find you.

The words hung in the air, charged, and you couldn’t tell if she was teasing or telling the truth. Maybe both.

The night blurred after that, the two of you falling into a rhythm that felt far too natural for how often you tried to keep your distance. Drinks were passed back and forth, jokes were made, her laughter melted into yours. Every time her knee brushed yours, your pulse spiked. Every time her fingers lingered on your arm, your stomach flipped.

At one point, someone turned up the music, and people started dancing in the center of the room. You didn’t want to, but Paige grabbed your hand, her touch electrifying. “C’mon,” she coaxed, her eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

You followed, of course.

The two of you didn’t so much dance as sway, caught in your own little bubble amidst the chaos. Her hands found your hips, and she pulled you closer, so close you could smell the faint tang of beer on her breath. The way she looked at you—dark, intent, unflinching—made the air between you too thick to breathe.

“Having fun yet?” she asked, her voice low.

You nodded, though fun wasn’t the word for what you were feeling. It was something else entirely.

“Good,” she murmured, leaning in. Her lips brushed your ear as she spoke, sending a shiver through your entire body. “’Cause you deserve it.”

When you pulled back to meet her gaze, you saw it: the crack in her armor. That small, fleeting look of hesitation before she leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t shy. Paige kissed you like she’d been holding back for years, and maybe she had. Your drink slipped from your hand, forgotten, as your fingers found their way into her hair. The rest of the world vanished, the party, the music, the people. There was only her—her lips, her hands, the heat of her against you.

Somehow, the two of you stumbled your way upstairs, her hand firmly gripping yours as she led you to a bedroom. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly it was just the two of you, no distractions, no pretense.

You shouldn’t have let it happen, but you did. And it wasn’t just the alcohol, wasn’t just the heat of the moment. It was years of longing packed into a single night.

When it was over, you lay tangled together, the glow of the moon casting soft light across her face. Paige was quiet, her fingers drawing absent patterns on your bare shoulder. You wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat.

“I can’t do this,” she finally whispered, her voice breaking the fragile silence.

Your chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

She turned to face you, and the conflict in her eyes was enough to make your heart ache. “I’m… I’m trying to focus on basketball. This—us—it’s too much.”

Her words felt like a slap, but the way she looked at you—regretful, hesitant, almost desperate—kept you from walking out right then and there. Instead, you forced a nod. “Okay.”

“But—” she added quickly, her hand finding yours, “this doesn’t have to be it. We can figure something out. Later.”

It was a promise she had no right to make, and deep down, you knew that. But when she kissed you again, softer this time, you let yourself believe it.

That was the beginning of the end.

Paige had a way of engulfing your life without even trying, and the worst part was, you let her. She wasn’t yours—you weren’t hers—but she consumed you, seeped into the quiet corners of your world until there wasn’t a part of you she hadn’t touched.

She made it look so easy, too. Like you were the one complicating things.

Every time you tried to pull away, she’d reel you back in with a text, a glance, a late-night phone call that started with “I was just thinking about you.” It was never enough to feel like a relationship, but it was always just enough to keep you tethered to her.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need a label, that you could handle the messiness of it all. But then you’d see her with someone else at a party, her arm slung around a teammate’s shoulders, her laughter spilling over like champagne, and it’d feel like your chest was being hollowed out with a dull spoon.

Still, you stayed.

You stayed because of the way she looked at you when no one else was around, like you were the only person in the world who mattered. You stayed because of the fleeting moments when she let her guard down, her fingers lingering on yours a second too long, her voice soft when she whispered your name.

And you stayed because of the promises.

“I just need time,” she’d say, her hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You understand, right?”

And you’d nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, because of course you understood. What else could you do? Tell her no? Walk away? The thought of losing her entirely was worse than the slow, aching heartbreak of being caught in her orbit.

But it was exhausting, being held at arm’s length while she continued to live her life exactly the way she wanted.

There were nights when she’d come over, late and unannounced, her hair still damp from the shower after a long practice. She’d climb into your bed, curling into your side like it was the most natural thing in the world, her hand slipping under your shirt to rest against your stomach.

“I missed you,” she’d murmur, her voice drowsy.

And for those moments, you’d believe her. You’d let yourself believe that she meant it, that maybe this time things would be different.

But the mornings always came.

She’d wake before you, slipping out of your bed as quietly as she’d slipped in. By the time you stirred, she’d be gone, her spot cold, the faint scent of her shampoo lingering on your pillow. She never left a note, never sent a text. You’d see her later that day, laughing with someone else, like the night before had been nothing more than a shared dream.

It wasn’t fair. You knew that. But Paige wasn’t the kind of person who played fair, at least not when it came to this. She played basketball like her life depended on it, with precision and purpose, but with you? She was reckless, careless, and sometimes it felt like she didn’t even realize it.

“You’re overthinking it,” she’d say when you finally mustered the courage to confront her, her tone light, dismissive. “We’re good, aren’t we?”

And every time, you’d cave. You’d tell her what she wanted to hear, because the alternative—calling her out, forcing her to make a choice—felt too dangerous.

So you kept waiting.

For the next stolen moment, the next broken promise, the next time she’d pull you in and push you away all over again.

It was a slow unraveling, and you didn’t know how much more you could take. But as much as you hated yourself for it, you knew one thing for sure:

You’d keep waiting. For her love. For her to choose you. For something you were terrified might never come.

The gym was cavernous, every dribble of the ball echoing like a drumbeat in your skull as you stormed in. You didn’t stop to think. Logic and restraint had abandoned you the second you saw the picture. Paige, her hands on someone else’s waist, her lips pressed to theirs in a way that made your stomach churn.

Her laugh was unmistakable even above the squeak of sneakers and the occasional shout from her teammates. It grated on you now, sharp and mocking. She didn’t see you at first. She was mid-layup, her ponytail flying behind her, the sweat on her brow catching the fluorescent lights. The picture was still fresh on your phone, the brightness of the screen almost taunting you.

You didn’t care who was watching.

“Paige!” you barked, your voice cutting through the gym’s rhythm like a knife.

The ball thudded against the floor, rolling away as she froze mid-turn. The laughter stopped. Heads turned.

Her eyes found yours, widening slightly before narrowing. A flicker of annoyance crossed her face—then something else. Panic? Regret? It didn’t matter.

She jogged over, wiping her hands on her shorts. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, keeping her voice low.

“What am I doing here?” Your laugh was humorless, loud enough for the whole team to hear. “What the hell are you doing, Paige?”

“Let’s talk outside.” Her voice was tight now, her eyes darting toward her teammates, who were whispering among themselves.

You ignored the way she grabbed your arm, the way her fingers pressed a little too hard against your skin as she dragged you toward the double doors. The moment you were outside, the cold air slapping your face, you yanked yourself free.

“I saw the picture,” you snapped.

“What picture?” Her face was the picture of practiced innocence, but her tone was wary.

“Don’t play dumb, Paige. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You were kissing her!”

Her jaw tightened, and her eyes flicked away for just a second—long enough for you to catch it. “It’s not what you think,” she said, her voice measured, like she was trying to calm a storm.

“Not what I think?” You could feel the heat rising in your chest, your hands trembling. “You had your hands all over her. What is there to think, Paige?”

She took a step closer, lowering her voice. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

“A bigger deal? Are you serious?” Your voice cracked, the anger spilling over, loud and raw. “You told me—no, you promised me—you weren’t seeing anyone else!”

“I’m not,” she shot back, her own voice rising now. “It was just a stupid kiss, alright? It didn’t mean anything.”

Your laugh was bitter, cutting. “It didn’t mean anything? Do you even hear yourself? You think that makes it better?”

Her frustration boiled over, her hands running through her hair as she paced a tight circle. “You’re acting like we’re in some committed relationship or something!”

The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as your breath caught. “So, what? This—us—it’s just nothing to you?”

“I didn’t say that!” she yelled, her voice echoing off the empty hallway. Her eyes blazed as she stepped closer, her finger pointing at you. “But you keep pushing me, and I don’t know what you want from me!”

“I want you to stop messing with my head!” Your voice cracked, raw and thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “You can’t keep pulling me in and then acting like I don’t exist whenever it’s convenient for you, Paige!”

She blinked, the words hitting her harder than you expected. For a moment, the anger on her face faltered, replaced by something softer, something you’d almost call guilt.

But just as quickly, her defenses snapped back into place. “I told you I needed space,” she said, her voice quieter but still edged with steel. “I told you from the start this wasn’t going to be easy.”

“Easy?” You shook your head, a humorless laugh bubbling up. “No, Paige, this isn’t hard—it’s cruel. You’re cruel.”

Her face fell, the anger draining from her expression. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

But the words felt hollow, like a script she’d practiced too many times. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms, trying to anchor yourself in something, anything, besides the spiraling frustration.

“Yeah?” Your voice was low, trembling under the weight of restrained fury. “You didn’t mean to hurt me, Paige, but you knew. You knew how I felt—how I feel—and you kissed her anyway.”

Her eyes darted away, lips pressed into a tight line. “I told you this wasn’t... I told you I didn’t want anything serious.”

You laughed, sharp and bitter, the sound bouncing off the cold concrete walls. “No, you didn’t want anything serious, but you didn’t want to let me go either. You wanted me close enough to have whenever you felt like it, but not so close that you had to be accountable for it.”

“That’s not fair,” she snapped, her voice cutting through your words. She squared her shoulders, looking at you like you were the unreasonable one, like this was all spiraling because you couldn’t control your emotions. “You’re acting like I’m the bad guy when you’re the one who stormed into my practice and made a scene.”

“A scene?” Your voice rose, the sharp edge of disbelief slicing through the tension. “You kissed someone else, Paige. What the hell am I supposed to do? Just sit at home, pretend it didn’t happen, and wait for you to toss me a few scraps of affection when it’s convenient?”

“That’s not what this is!” she shouted, the crack in her voice betraying her frustration. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, alright? I didn’t plan it! God, why can’t you just trust me?”

“Trust you?” The words tore from you, laced with incredulity. “How the hell am I supposed to trust you when you do things like this and then try to make me feel crazy for reacting?”

“I’m not making you feel crazy!” she fired back, but the flicker of guilt in her eyes betrayed her. She stepped closer, her hands gesturing wildly as if she could will you to calm down. “I just... I didn’t think this would turn into... into this.”

“This?” Your voice broke, the vulnerability slipping through the cracks in your anger. “Paige, I let you have all of me. You knew that, and you’re acting like I’m the one who crossed a line.”

Her face softened for a split second, and you saw the Paige you thought you knew, the one who made you laugh so hard you cried, the one who looked at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the room.

But then she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t ask for this to get so complicated,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“Complicated?” The word fell from your lips like venom. “You made it complicated. You wanted me enough to keep me on a leash, but not enough to—”

“Stop,” she cut you off, her voice sharp. “Just stop. You’re spiraling, and you’re putting all of this on me like you don’t have a choice in any of it.”

The sheer audacity of her words made your chest tighten, heat flooding your face. “A choice? Paige, I chose you. I keep choosing you, even when it hurts.”

For a moment, you thought she might say something—an apology, an admission, anything to make this feel less like a freefall. Instead, she just stepped closer, her voice softening. “You’re overthinking this. You always do.”

Your body went rigid, the casual dismissal slicing through you like a blade. “Don’t do that,” you warned, your voice trembling. “Don’t make this about me being too much.”

“I’m not,” she said quickly, her tone too smooth, too rehearsed. “I’m just saying... maybe we’re both a little out of line here.”

“Out of line?” You scoffed, the hurt morphing back into anger, fueling the fire between you. “You kissed someone else, and I’m out of line for calling you out on it?”

Her jaw clenched, her shoulders squaring as her frustration boiled over. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? That I’ll never do it again? Because I can’t promise that, alright? I can’t promise to be someone I’m not!”

The admission knocked the wind out of you, the raw honesty of it cutting deeper than any excuse ever could. You stared at her, your heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

And then, without thinking, you grabbed her face and kissed her.

It wasn’t soft or tender—it was a collision of lips and teeth, anger and desperation crashing together in a way that felt like drowning and breathing at the same time.

She didn’t hesitate. Her hands found your waist, pulling you closer, her frustration melting into something else entirely. For a moment, the world disappeared—the hurt, the anger, the confusion—and all that was left was her, her lips moving against yours like she was trying to prove something, to take back control.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads pressed together.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Her lips brushed yours again, softer this time, almost apologetic. “I know,” she murmured.

But it didn’t stop her, or you, from letting it happen again. And again. And again.

This was the beginning of a vicious style. Paige would do something — something reckless or selfish or dismissive, something that cracked the fragile balance you were barely holding together. You would crash out, spinning into anger or heartbreak or desperation. Then, when the storm was at its peak, you’d collide in a mess of kisses and tangled limbs, pretending the hurt didn’t exist. And for a little while, it would work.

Rinse, repeat.

It was like a drug. The highs were euphoric — the way she’d whisper your name in the dark, the way her hands knew the map of your body like they’d been there a thousand lifetimes. But the lows were brutal. Paige wasn’t just in your life; she engulfed it. Even when she wasn’t physically there, she was everywhere — in your thoughts, in your chest, in the hollow ache that came from wanting more than she would ever give.

And yet, every time you told yourself this was the last time, she’d reel you back in.

It was always the same. She’d make promises she couldn’t keep. I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I don’t want to lose you. They were just words, fragile and insubstantial, but you clung to them like a lifeline. Because even if Paige didn’t love you the way you needed her to, she made you feel.

But feelings weren’t enough. Not when the cycle kept repeating, each round leaving you a little more frayed, a little less whole.

Looking back, you didn’t see it at first. How could you? In those early days, it all still felt new, like you were learning each other in ways no one else ever had. The tension, the passion, even the arguments — it all felt alive.

But what you didn’t know then was that this wasn’t building toward something better. It wasn’t growth or healing or progress. It was just a loop, and the more you gave, the more it took.

And it all started here — in a practice gym with her teammates staring after you, with a kiss that should have been an apology but felt more like a warning.

This was how it was going to be. You just didn’t know it yet.

It was over long before she said it. That was the truth you’d been carrying for weeks, maybe even months, like a stone in your chest. The late nights tangled together, the whispered promises that never quite landed, the explosive fights that burned hot and fast — they were all just delaying the inevitable.

Paige didn’t love you. Not the way you loved her.

And even though you’d told yourself a hundred times that you’d walk away first, that you’d save yourself the heartbreak, there was a part of you that had been waiting for this moment. Waiting for her to finally say the words so you wouldn’t have to.

When she said them, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair messy and her lips still swollen from the argument-turned-kiss that had just played out like a broken record. Her voice was quiet, careful, like she thought if she said it gently enough, it wouldn’t hurt.

“I think we should just stay friends.”

Friends. As if that word hadn’t already been stretched beyond recognition between the two of you.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t yell. You didn’t say anything at all. You just nodded, a single dip of your head that felt like letting go of a thousand unspoken words.

Because by then, you were too tired to argue. Too numb to care. You’d given everything you had to Paige Bueckers — your heart, your time, your trust. And in the end, she’d left you with nothing but empty promises and the ache of what could have been.

She watched you, her expression unreadable, maybe expecting a reaction. But there was nothing left to give. No anger, no tears, not even the kind of hope that had once kept you tethered to her.

And that’s when you knew.

It had been over long before it was over.

The first few days after Paige walked away, you told yourself you were fine. Numbness had a way of masquerading as strength, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you believed it. You went about your routine mechanically, ignoring the ghost of her laugh that seemed to echo in every corner of your mind, or the phantom sensation of her fingertips trailing down your skin.

But it didn’t last.

The cracks began to show in the quiet moments, the ones you couldn’t fill with distractions. You’d see her everywhere — not in person, but in the lingering memories that clung to every inch of your life. The way she used to leave her hoodie draped over your chair. The playlist she made you that now sat like a ticking time bomb on your phone. Even the way the air smelled after it rained reminded you of her, of those late-night walks when the world felt small and it was just the two of you against everything.

Now, it was just you.

The nights were the worst. That was when the realization hit hardest, settling in your chest like a lead weight. She wasn’t coming back. And not only that, she seemed fine. Perfectly fine without you.

Social media became your own personal form of torture. Paige smiling with her teammates, Paige at practice, Paige at a party with her arm slung casually around someone else’s shoulders. She looked radiant, unbothered. And why wouldn’t she be? You were the one left unraveling, trying to pick up the pieces of something that had already been broken long before it officially ended.

You tried to bury yourself in distractions, in work, in friends, in anything that could occupy the space she used to fill. But nothing worked. Everywhere you turned, there she was, in your mind, in your heart, like she had embedded herself into the very fabric of your being.

The worst part was the silence. Paige hadn’t reached out — not once. Not to check on you, not to see if you were okay, not even to pretend that she cared. She had moved on seamlessly, like you were just a chapter she had finished reading. But you? You were stuck. Stuck rereading the same lines over and over, trying to figure out where it all went so wrong.

You hated her for it. And you hated yourself more for still wanting her, for craving the sound of her voice even when it was the last thing you should want to hear.

Sleep became elusive. You’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying every argument, every kiss, every unspoken promise. Your mind refused to let go, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end. But deep down, you knew better. Paige had already moved on. And she wasn’t coming back.

It was a cruel kind of clarity, realizing how little you seemed to matter to her now. While you were drowning, she was breathing just fine.

And so, you began to sink. Not all at once, but slowly, steadily, as the days turned into weeks and the weight of her absence pressed down on you. You stopped checking your phone, stopped looking at her social media, stopped pretending you were okay. Because you weren’t. You were a mess, and she was gone, and there was no fixing what had been broken.

For the first time, you understood what it meant to lose yourself in someone. Paige had taken pieces of you when she left, pieces you weren’t sure you’d ever get back. And as much as you hated it, as much as you hated her for making you feel this way, you couldn’t deny the truth.

You still loved her. And that was the hardest part of all.

The first time you saw the picture, it felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. Paige stood there, her arm draped casually over a girl you didn’t recognize, her smile so effortlessly carefree it made your stomach churn. It wasn’t just the picture—it was what it represented.

She wasn’t hiding anymore.

For months, you had clung to the idea that Paige’s reluctance to be with you had been about timing, about her career, about her focus on basketball. You’d told yourself over and over that it wasn’t about you—that she wasn’t ready for anything, not just you. But seeing her like this, so at ease, so perfectly content in someone else’s arms, shattered that illusion into a thousand irreparable pieces.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t ready. She just didn’t want you.

The realization hit you harder than any of the fights, any of the cold silences, any of the times she had pushed you away only to pull you back in. This was different. This was final. And it sent you crashing in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

The next few days passed in a haze. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat, to sleep, to function like a normal person. Every time you closed your eyes, the image of her with that girl played on a loop in your mind. Her hand resting on her shoulder. The easy grin that you used to think was just for you. The sickening thought that this new girl got the version of Paige you’d always wanted but could never have.

Your friends tried to help. They texted, called, even showed up at your apartment uninvited, but nothing seemed to pull you out of the spiral. You were stuck, trapped in the memories of what could have been, haunted by the ghost of what never was.

And Paige? She was fine. She was more than fine. While you were unraveling, she was out there, living her life like nothing had happened, like you had never happened.

It wasn’t fair.

You replayed every moment in your head, dissecting every word, every touch, every promise she had made and broken. You thought about the nights she’d held you, the mornings when she’d whispered things you now realized she didn’t mean. You thought about the times she’d called you "important," like that word was supposed to mean something, like it was enough to keep you tethered to her while she gave you nothing in return.

The more you thought about it, the angrier you got. Not just at Paige, but at yourself. How had you let it get this far? How had you let her take so much of you, only to leave you with nothing?

But even as the anger simmered beneath the surface, it couldn’t erase the pain. Because no matter how much she hurt you, no matter how many times she let you down, a part of you still wanted her. You hated yourself for it, but it was the truth.

She was the love of your life—or at least, that’s what you had convinced yourself. And now, as you watched her move on so effortlessly, it felt like you had lost not just her, but a part of yourself.

You thought about the nights you’d spent together, the dreams you’d secretly dared to have, the way she had made you feel like the center of her universe, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. You thought about the way she’d look at you sometimes, like you were the only person in the room, and you wondered if she ever looked at her new girlfriend like that.

The jealousy burned, but it was nothing compared to the ache of knowing you weren’t enough.

And that was the hardest part. Not the fights, not the breakups, not even seeing her with someone else. The hardest part was realizing that no matter how much you loved her, it was never going to be enough. She was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.

But you still saw her everywhere. In the songs that played on the radio. In the basketball games you couldn’t bring yourself to watch anymore. In the small, stupid things that reminded you of her—like the way she used to steal the last piece of pizza or the way she’d hum under her breath when she thought no one was listening.

You wanted to hate her, to erase her from your mind and move on with your life. But how could you hate the person who had been your everything, even if only for a little while?

So you sat with the pain, let it wash over you like a tidal wave, drowning in the memories of a love that had never really been yours. And for the first time, you let yourself admit the truth: Paige had been the loss of your life. And no amount of time, no amount of distance, was ever going to change that.

PRESENT

You’re standing there, caught in the pull of her gaze, the space between you both charged with unspoken words. It feels like you’ve been here a thousand times before, standing on the edge, your heart teetering between wanting to stay and knowing you should walk away.

Paige’s hand still grips your wrist, and the simple touch feels like a tether. A lifeline. But you know better than to think it’s something more. She’s always been like this—holding on just enough to make you feel wanted, but never enough to pull you all the way in.

“Are you really fine?” she asks, her voice lower now, softer, like she’s trying to break through your walls. Her thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles against your skin, and for a brief moment, you feel the weight of the last few months—how everything has spiraled, how much you've tried to hold it all together.

You want to scream, to ask her why it’s always been this way, why she makes you feel like you’re the one losing the fight when you never even had a chance to begin with. But instead, you swallow it all down, pushing the rawness deep inside, out of sight.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, and this time, it sounds almost like a plea. A hope that if you say it enough, you’ll start to believe it.

Paige doesn’t let go. She studies your face like she’s looking for something—some crack in the surface that would make everything make sense.

You hate how easily she does it. How she makes you feel like you could fall apart right here, and she’d still somehow be the one holding it all together.

But she’s not the one holding the pieces anymore.

“Don’t do that,” Paige says, her voice a little rougher now, her grip tightening just slightly. “Don’t close off from me. We’ve never been good at that.”

You can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes you. “We’ve never been good at anything,” you snap, but the words feel too raw, too real for this moment.

She flinches, just barely, but you see it. You see the way her shoulders tense, the way her jaw clenches. It’s a reaction you’re so used to by now—the shift in her, the way she pulls back whenever you push too hard, whenever you force her to confront the mess between you two.

But this time, there’s something else in her eyes. Something you can’t quite place. Maybe it’s guilt, or maybe it’s regret. But it’s there, lurking beneath the surface, and it stirs something in you.

“I didn’t mean that,” you add quickly, your voice softer now, almost apologetic. But the damage is already done. The walls between you, the ones you’ve spent months building and reinforcing, are beginning to crumble.

Paige shakes her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “You never do.”

You don’t know what to say to that. The truth is, you’ve always known. You’ve always known that Paige was never going to be the one who could fix this. Fix you.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a beat, and the words hang in the air between you like a promise you both know she can’t keep.

It’s the same thing she’s always said. The same thing she said when she left. The same thing she said when she came back. And each time, it meant less and less.

You swallow hard, blinking away the sting in your eyes. “It’s fine,” you whisper, but the words feel hollow. Because it isn’t fine. It never will be.

Paige looks like she’s about to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she leans in, her lips brushing against your cheek in a fleeting, soft kiss.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

And just like that, everything falls back into place, if only for a moment. She pulls away, her hand still around your wrist, keeping you there, keeping you close—but not close enough.

You don’t know what’s worse: the way she makes you feel like you’re everything she’s ever wanted, or the way she makes you feel like you were never really a part of her at all.

You look into her eyes one last time, and for a moment, you see something there—something that makes you think maybe, just maybe, she feels it too.

But before you can get lost in it, she’s already pulling back, walking away. And you’re left standing there, once again, at the edge of it all.

The gym feels cold now. The bouncing basketballs echo through the space like the rhythm of your own heartbeat—distant, unsteady, and out of sync with everything else.

And in that moment, you realize something.

You’re never going to be okay with this. Not really.

But you’ll keep pretending, even if she has a girlfriend. Even if you've "moved on". Because that’s all you know how to do.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[gnomewithalaptop]

Batfam Time Travel Fic Recs

Because @clarenceislazy requested it on my last fic rec compilation, here's a list of my favorite DCU time travel fics! They're all pretty Batfam-centric, but eh niche is niche what can you do

Damian fics:

A Good Place by LemonadeGarden - Damian gets sent back in time to a Batman who's never had a Robin. Very sweet, very fun.

The Rule Stands by Engineerd - After Dick's death, Damian has to deal with a time-displaced ten-year-old Dick Grayson. Love a good Dick and Damian bonding moment, PLUS this gets a happy ending <3

to stay in one place by Jezebunny - Injustice!Universe Nightwing!Damian time-travels/dimension-jumps to a timeline where Dick Grayson is still alive and his counterpart is still Robin. Ugh this is so angsty -- I have an unreasonable amount of love for Injustice Damian

looking for the shapes in the silence by popsunner - In a world where Dick died on the job, Damian falls through a hole in reality where Dick is still alive and finds that some things don't fit the way they used to. SUCH an amazing representation of complex grief -- literally every time I read it, I cry

Steph fics:

time slip by almondrose - A mistake in time leads to six Robins meeting. Honestly, this one is kinda cracky, and only barely qualifies as Steph-centric, but I still like it a lot

and we'll never be the same by almondrose - Steph and Tim go on a road trip to figure out the post-universal-reboot anomalies. This is more of a post timey-wimey-bullshit fic than a real time travel fic, BUT I think it's real cute regardless

Tim fics:

Tractors by lieu42 - Ooh this one is honestly so so fun! In a reimagined universe where DC's heroes operate out of the UK, Red Robin Tim finds himself right back in the year before everything went to hell. He has a duty to get back to his correct timeline so he can find Bruce, but with Bart and Kon still alive, there's a part of him that doesn't want to leave. Literally SO well written and trippy as hell -- this fic deals a lot with addiction, drug use, and grief, so definitely go into it forewarned. TimKon

not for very much longer by CreamOfTomatoSoup - ugh what CAN'T I say about this fic, apart from the fact that it's one of my favorite time loop fics of all time. Post Cult of Dionysus Bernard Dowd finds himself reliving the worst day of his life -- the day Darla got shot. Featuring identity porn, Steph as Robin, Original-Personality!Bernard, the grief of a childhood you can never return to, and the weirdness of having to interact with your significant other when he's currently a sixteen year old who doesn't know he likes dudes. Don't look at the incomplete warning -- it's not abandoned, just a wip, and I legitimately cannot recommend this fic enough. This fic made me read War Games. This fic made me a Darla Aquista stan. This fic made me ship timbern. Please read this fic.

Jason fics:

The View From Jade by lowflyingfruit - Jason Todd accidentally travels back to before Bruce took Dick in. I feel like this is on every time travel rec list, but what can I say: I'm a basic bitch

Two Dead Birds by InsaneTrollLogic - Jason Todd wakes up in the middle of his Mob Boss Era and immediately decides to rewrite his own history. This is very funky fresh of him, just in my personal opinion.

Dick fics:

So It Goes by 60sec400 - Bruce from Dick's Robin era receives a troubling call from Nightwing. Be warned -- this fic is angsty as hell. Implied major character death. Don't look at the incomplete warning -- it's a lie (the author has specified they intended it to work as a oneshot)

In This Or Any Other Universe by wildsofmarch - Dick-as-Batman ends up in Battinson-era Gotham. Again, I think this counts more towards the Dimension Travel pile than the strict Time Travel variety, but I'm still putting it here because I enjoy the hell out of it

a million dreams by CaptainOzone - In the seconds between the trapeze line snapping and their bodies hitting the ground, John and Mary Grayson find themselves transported twenty years into the future. SO GOOD I honestly can't stand it.

If you think I missed a fic you love (or if you've written any yourself and want to self-plug), feel free to drop a link in the reblogs! Especially if you know of any that center around Steph, Cass, or Duke -- istg I've scrolled through fifteen pages of the AO3 Time Travel tag, and I've found like maybe two fics that center around any of them. It's honestly a little ridiculous

[not-rigel]

would you be interested in writing Sevika x (top) reader who is taller than her, stronger than her, and overall just larger than her and very masculine BUTTT is very submissive??? Kinda like a power bottom Sevika x sub top reader situation👀👀

uhhh YEA!!! hope i did your idea justice!

a little treat for arcane eve (i can expand more after arcane ends but i felt we needed a liiiitle enjoyment before losing our collective minds)

Set between s2 act 1 and 2

WC: 1.1k

Sevika honestly couldn't blame everyone for dropping ship when Silco decided to quit breathing. They have their own lives to lead. But the fact that you stayed stood out to her. When she sat in Silco’s office beaten and broken, you were the one that came to deliver the news and defend the Last Drop with her from the Chem Barons influence. You made grieving easier but the feeling was never gone. Sevika couldn’t talk about those things so most of the time she settled for drinking or flirting with you. Right now she decided on teasing you in her new office. 

“So, pipsqueak, what’ll you do if I can't fix this shitstorm?” 

You roll your eyes, you have no idea why she insists on giving you stupid nicknames, “Sevika, I could throw you across the room without even trying. Between the two of us, you’re the pipsqueak. And everything’ll be fine.”

“I argue that I can take you,” she says. Unbeknownst to you, she doesn’t mean in a fight. 

She's been attracted to you the very moment she saw you, back when Silco hired you on for muscle. She never made a move, for the sake of professionalism. Even after Silco’s death she held back, unsure how she’d emotionally handle a sexual entanglement. But she was getting better, now that weeks have passed and she changed her look. So she let herself consider making a move.

“Alright, and how many times have I held you back while you were on shimmer?” you challenged. 

“That’s in the past, pipsqueak. I'm talking now.” 

There’s that nickname again, “Fuck you, Sevika. You need to stop calling me that, please.” 

“Are you offering?” she quips back. 

Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“You said ‘fuck you’. I’m asking if you were offering to fuck me,” she clarifies.

You’re speechless. Sure, you’ve thought about Sevika in that way on several occasions but it was always just a thought. You thought about her, when she barked out orders to Silco’s goons. Or stared down at Enforcers, daring them to so much as lay a finger on her. She was always scarier than you in that regard, someone who could take real charge. It always excited you. You watch her now, for some sign that she was messing with you but you can’t find any.

“Not initially but… I’m offering now,” you say before hesitation can sink in. 

She smirks, standing from the sofa and walking over to the desk. You watch her open a drawer and pull out something you recognize. It’s her old choker, the one she wore before changing her appearance. You gulp as she approaches you. 

“What’s that for?” you asked. 

“It’s for you,” she explains. She fits the collar around your neck, adjusting the fit. You think it might be too loose but she slips a finger underneath and drags you to her by it. You let out a whimper as she pulls you by the choker to her lips. 

“You’re so strong, so tall, so fucking masc. It turns me on so fucking much,” she whispers against your lips. You could take control right now, she’s only exerting a small amount of force over you. Holding you in place by a choker, but you don’t resist her. 

She pulls the collar again, setting her lips right by your ear, “Been waiting for you to fuck me.”

Immediately you’re filled with nerves. You love to top but you’re not dominant, despite what your appearance might suggest. You want to fuck her and by all physical means you could manhandle her, but it never came naturally to you. 

“Can you… Tell me what to do? I really want you, I do,” you sigh. 

Sevika shivers. She’s never met anyone so perfect before. Sevika needs you to fuck her, but more than that she needed to boss you around. It always gave her the sweetest thrill. And to boss around someone physically stronger than her, to have you relent all the power to her? She could fall in love in a minute. 

“Would you submit for me? Let me boss you around? Tell you how I’ve dreamed about you fucking me?” She purrs into your ear. Her words are sweet drops of fire, licking your skin deliciously.

Your chest rises and falls with heavy, uneven breaths, “Yes. Fuck, I’d love it.” 

“You’re so strong and all I have to do to get you weak for me is pull you by your collar? You’re so precious,” she moans. 

“I like it when you boss people around. Made me so wet. I’d do anything you tell me to, please Sevika,” there was no holding it in now, the choker and her words eased you into subspace.

That’s how you find yourself knelt between her spread thighs while she sits with her ass perched on the edge of the sofa, shoving your head into her cunt. She doesn’t wait for you to find her clit, instead shifting her hips to move it below your lips. 

“Grab my hips,” she orders, needing you to manhandle her. Just to show that you could control her, but ultimately won’t. You grip her hips, and she shifts her thighs over your shoulders so you have to hold her weight up. You rest your elbows onto the sofa for support, and hold her hips in the air. Both of you were feeling a perfect rush, the sexual dynamic making you thrive like you never had before. 

Sevika groans hearing your sweet little whimpers as she begins to grind onto your face. You move to keep up with her grinding, trying to hold the suction you have on her clit. 

“Stick your tongue out, mouse,” she demands. She loves giving you nicknames to insinuate you’re small. You’re not little, and she loved that. Every time you convinced her to drop one nickname, she came up with another. It was a power trip for her. 

You flatten out your tongue so she can ride it, and you moan as her fluids spread over your face. She leaked onto your chin and you loved the sensation of being covered in her. Loved how she barks commands at you. 

“Shit, gonna cum on your handsome face,” she announces, knees bending to pull you closer. You keep your tongue still, letting her ride your face until you feel her thighs tremble. Her thighs squeeze your head as her hips stop their movement. You shove your tongue into her cunt, feeling her walls pulse around it. She cums loud and hard, juices leaking down your chin and neck. You shudder, feeling your own arousal drip from you. When her orgasm is over, she has you set her back onto the couch. 

“You’re not done, runt. Still need you inside of me,” she rasps. You’re alight with excitement for more of her demands, ready to beg for her all night long. 

[prythianpages]

Out of My Head | Azriel x Reader

Azriel x Reader x Eris | Your father, the Night Court’s astrologer, is called to Velaris and you tag along with the hopes of catching a glimpse of Azriel, the one you’re madly in love with. The opportunity for Azriel to show you around comes up and you take it, unaware that things are about to become messy…

warning: this was meant to be cute & short to show your relationship with Az but it ended up being 5,685 words oops lol, some angst, rhys kinda being an asshole again

a/n: Eris does make an appearance in this if you look closely 🤭 I tried to write this fic off as a stand alone so it's still easy to follow but if you need more context, here is the masterlist.

Meeting Azriel had felt like fate, as if the stars and his shadows themselves had conspired to cross your paths. Becoming his friend had been a choice. But falling in love with him? That was out of your control, like being swept away by a tide you hadn’t noticed rising. 

Now, you were drowning and happy to drown. To let the flood of him consume you entirely. Every time you’d see him, even from afar, it’d fill your chest with a feeling you couldn’t explain, your heart leaping at the mere thought of catching his gaze.

You welcomed the flood of emotions, let it carry you to depths you’d never dared to explore. Your heart was so irrevocably his, you had no desire to find the surface.

So when Rhysand had invited your father to Velaris to discuss his first born’s birth chart, you insisted on coming along. It had taken days of pleading to wear down his resolve, but you had done it. Manifested it, rather, with the help of the moonwater you kept hidden beneath your bed.

Seeing Azriel was not guaranteed, as you were unsure if he’d even be in Velaris. But that wasn’t the only reason you wanted to go. Leaving behind the harshness of the Court of Nightmares, even for a short while, was reward enough. And if fortune smiled upon you, perhaps your father would let you assist with the reading, just this once.

Your father had never quite embraced your desire to follow in his footsteps.  The way he’d look at both you and your brother with that disappointed gleam in his eyes stung. He had always hoped you would stay at home and learn the ways of a “perfect,” traditional Night Court wife, much like your mother. His dreams of a successor rested squarely on your brother’s shoulders, not yours. But much to his dismay and your relief, your brother had chosen to become a warrior in Keir’s army.

Everything you knew of astrology, you’d learned by sneaking into his sessions, stealing glances at his star charts, or losing yourself in the dusty books of the Night Court’s observatory. That cold, stone-walled tower had become your sanctuary—your only glimpse of the night sky.

Though still in the Night Court, the air in Velaris was different. It felt cleaner, lighter. Freer. A wonderful contrast to the oppressive weight of the Court of Nightmares. You took a deep breath, savoring the rare glimpse of the day sky from the High Lord’s impressive townhouse, your father having just winnowed you both.

The sun felt so warm and soothing against your skin. Too caught up in the beauty of the daytime sky, you didn’t notice when your father abruptly stopped. You walked straight into him, sending the heavy box and stack of books in your arms tumbling to the ground.

A hiss of disapproval escaped your father as he turned to scowl at you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, quickly dropping to your knees to gather the scattered items.

“I should’ve left you at home,” he said with an exhausted sigh.

"But who then would assist you in bearing the weight of all these books, given the state of your back? Rest assured, my arms are more than capable,” you said with a huff as you slowly rose back to your feet, arms overwhelmed with the weight of your father’s things. “I shall gladly bear the burden for you, father."

“Clearly.” Your father said dryly, his gaze pointedly lingering on the dented corner of one of the boxes.

You winced at his tone, grateful his back was turned to you again. The door to the High Lord’s and High Lady’s house opened, the former being the one to greet you. Even Rhysand was different here. His violet eyes gleamed warmly, free of the cruelty he wore like armor in the Court of Nightmares. The smile he sent you both softened some of the tension knotting your chest.

 “Damus, Y/n,” he greeted. “I appreciate you both coming all this way.”

Rhysand gestured for you to follow him. This was not your first time in Velaris but it was your first time meeting Rhysand in a private residence of his here. You couldn’t hold back the small gasp that escaped you as you marveled at the beauty around. Paintings, no doubt crafted by the hands of your High Lady, adorned the wall and there was light. So much light and warmth in this house. It truly felt like a home. No stone walls, no darkness, no cold.

There was a flutter in your chest when you felt something cool and velvet-like brush against your legs. You instinctively glanced down, though the books obstructed your view. And when you looked back up, there it was–that giddy leap in your heart.

Azriel immediately rose from the couch he had been seated on, his hazel eyes meeting yours before they dropped to the weight in your arms. With a few swift steps, he was in front of you, plucking the boxes and books from your grip as though they weighed nothing. You exhaled softly, your thanks barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears.

Azriel smiled, shadows curling gently around him as he shifted closer. “I wasn’t sure you’d be coming along today,” he murmured.

“Neither was I,” you admitted, turning your head toward him as you continued to walk. “But I’m glad I did.”

“So am I,” Azriel said.

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you quickly averted your gaze. Azriel was glad you were here. Perhaps, even waiting for you, hoping for you to show up. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Perhaps it was proof of what you’d always suspected—that the bond you felt pulling you toward him wasn’t one-sided. A spark of vindication flared as you imagined Eris sneering at you from some dark corner of your mind. If only he were here to witness this moment. To see just how wrong he’d been.

Azriel did like you and it was only a matter of time before it evolved into something more.

You frowned, shaking the thought away. Why were you even thinking about Eris? And since when did proving anything to him matter?

“Y/n.” Your father’s sharp tone dragged you back to reality. “The books.”

“Oh,” you breathed, glancing at Azriel, who still held them. Before you could speak, your father’s gaze darkened as he realized the task you were supposed to handle had been passed off.

Azriel’s jaw tightened but he said nothing as he handed the books and boxes over.

You moved to follow your father into the study, but he blocked your path, his glare cutting through you. “Stay here and don’t cause trouble,” he said before the door shut with a resounding thud.

You flinched, staring at the closed door. “Sweet Cauldron,” you muttered under your breath, “did Mercury retrograde move into his mood?”

A shadow curled around your wrist, the soft caress of it soothing the sting of your father’s dismissal. The corner of your lips lifted slightly. Azriel had told you once how the shadows came to him during a time of unbearable darkness, offering comfort when nothing else could. They showed him that darkness wasn’t inherently wicked, that it could hold its own kind of solace and strength.

Azriel had also told you that his shadows didn’t approach others. At least not like this, so openly and friendly. To them, you were one of the few exceptions, having met them before you properly acquainted yourself with their master.

You often wondered why. Did they sense the sorrow you tried to bury beneath and conceal? The longing that seeped into your soul–longing not just for their master but for freedom, for a life beyond the suffocating confines of the Court of Nightmares?

Your gaze lifted, finding Azriel’s attention focused on the tendril wrapped around your wrist. His hazel eyes darkened slightly, thoughtful, as if trying to decipher a mystery.

“Well, what am I supposed to do now?”

Azriel blinked, his attention falling back to you, gaze softening. The siphons on his leathers caught the light and your eye. You followed the movement of his arms as he slid his hands into the pocket of his leathers and wondered what they’d look like in casual clothing. And how far did those tattoos stretch, the ones that peeked above his collar and disappeared into those leathers? 

“We could go for a walk?”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “A walk?”

Azriel sauntered closer to you and a tingly sensation bubbled up in your stomach. “It’s a beautiful day outside and I would hate for you to waste it in here.”

“But my father…”

“He doesn’t have to know,” Azriel replied with a small, sly grin that felt almost boyish, his shadows dancing around him. He then gestured toward the door to Rhysand’s study, where some of his shadows had already slithered beneath the gap, lying in wait.  “Your father will be in there for a while. And besides, I did promise you I’d show you around, didn’t I?”

You bit your lip in contemplation, gaze flickering between the door and Azriel. This was what you’d wanted, been hoping for, wasn’t it? A chance to see Azriel, and now here he was, offering you his time. Your heart leaped at the opportunity, already screaming yes.

But your mind wasn’t so easily swayed. What if your father needed you? Wouldn’t this be your perfect chance to prove your worth, to show him how capable you were? Then again, the way he had dismissed you earlier, slamming the door in your face, made it clear he wasn’t expecting or even wanting your help…

“Only if you’d like, of course,” Azriel added, his tone soft. He must’ve sensed your troubled thoughts. “I can always keep you company here instead.”

The flutter in your chest returned with full force. Azriel seemed to really want to spend time with you. Alone. And as much as you admired the beauty of the High Lord’s house, the promise of fresh air, open skies, and Azriel’s company was too tempting to resist.

You found yourself nodding, your heart overriding your head. “I think I’d like to go for a walk.”

**

Velaris continued to take your breath away. 

Children darted between market stalls, their faces alight with pure delight as they chased one another without fear. So incredibly and unbelievably different to the cold silence and rigid rules of propriety in Hewn City. Here, no one glanced over their shoulder with suspicion or hurried along with their head bowed.

The people of Velaris moved freely. Kindness radiated from strangers who greeted one another warmly, who paused to chat in the bustling markets or helped an elder carry their bags. Artists lined the streets, painting the city’s beauty on canvas while musicians filled the air with beautiful melodies.

Azriel led you through the city, showing you as many places he could. He took you to a small bakery first, where he swore the best chocolate croissants were made. Then, to a cafe that sold a variety of appetizing teas. You drank it all in, committing the wonders of Velaris to memory.

As you walked along a bridge, the river’s gentle current caught your eye. It was broad daylight yet, the water glimmered like liquid starlight. You paused, resting against the bridge’s railings. Azriel moved to stand beside you, tucking in his wings so they wouldn’t bump against you. 

You couldn’t help but think how unfair life could be. For a place such as Hewn City to exist at the same time as this one. Both of the same court, yet so divided. And why had you been born in the wrong one? 

Azriel picked up on the way your expression had fallen. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said and at the way Azriel’s eyes watched you closely, you knew he was not convinced. You let out a soft sigh, relenting.  

“It’s just…I thought places like this only existed in my dreams,” you glanced down at your hands. “And now, I just can’t help but dread my attendance at the next Court of Nightmare’s ball even more…when I could be here instead, watching the stars from the City of Starlight itself..free of any worry, any burdens.”

Azriel frowned at the hidden implication of your words.

A dark tendril fluttered toward you, brushing the hair that had fallen back behind your ear. Another softly brushed against your face and wiped a stray tear away. More went to you, wrapping around your hands, seeking to give you comfort and you honestly weren’t sure if it was of their own will or Azriel’s.

Their comfort brought you back to the fateful night you first met them. You’d known of them–of the Night Court’s shadowsinger, at least–long before you actually knew them. The same way you had known Cassian was the Night Court’s leading general and Morrigan, the court overseer.

**

Things had changed after the events under the mountain. High Lord Rhysand had gathered the Court of Nightmares council, a tense meeting filled with bitter accusations thrown across the room. Keir and a few other noble lords, including your father, sat around the table, each one arguing fiercely over who did what under Amarantha’s rule.

As the heated exchange unfolded, your father’s loyalty was questioned, and the words left you unsettled. You had nearly spilled wine over one of the lords in your discomfort, hands trembling as you failed to properly grip the chalice.

But then, a dark shape emerged from the shadows, winding its way around your wrist like a silent guardian. The shadow stayed there, curling around you in such a way that was strangely comforting.

You had snuck glances at the shadowsinger then. 

Azriel stood just behind Rhysand, his face a stoic mask. His attention was elsewhere, either unaware or pretending to be, of the shadow that had strayed from him and wrapped around you.

A break was called. And then, Keir, always the one to provoke, threw an insult at your father. You had no control over your tongue, the words slipping from you without thought. It was in defense of your family but speaking out of turn was a dangerous thing for a female to do. Especially in this court. 

And though you had done it in your father’s defense, he did not return the favor. His face twisted in a mixture of disgust and disapproval, making you feel smaller than you ever had.

Keir’s face reddened with rage and as he glared at you, the shadow around your wrist tightened. Azriel’s eyes flashed, a cold, sharp stare locking onto Keir. It was the closest thing to protection anyone had offered you in this ruthless court. It left you stunned and wide-eyed. 

You had been quickly dismissed by your father then. The weight of your court’s cruelty pressed down on you, suffocating. You fled, finding an empty room, locking yourself away in a cold, lonely corner of the building.

And then the tears came. You didn’t even notice the darkness that had formed around you, so accustomed to the shadows yourself. But this wasn’t the same darkness. This one was… different. Comforting. Protective.

You could only stare at them in awe, one hand reaching upwards to touch the shadows.

But when the door creaked open, your hand fell back to your side. Fear had risen in your throat as your gaze shot to the tall figure in the doorway. You shifted backwards, your back hitting the stone wall behind you, fearing the worst. It was the shadowsinger. And he had come to punish you on behalf of your father.

But he did no such thing.

His eyes swept over the shadows surrounding you—his shadows. The mask of indifference he always wore slipped for just a moment. A faint furrow appeared between his brows, shock flashing in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, sending the shadows a look that had them slithering back to him, albeit reluctantly. “If they’ve scared you. They don’t normally do this…are you alright?”

You blinked the tears from your eyes. “You’re not going to punish me?”

His brow furrowed deeper, confusion crossing his face. “Punish you? For what?”

There was a flicker of recognition in his gaze, followed by a soft exhale. He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. His shadows swirled around him, some curling around his ear, whispering to him. Whatever they whispered to him had his expression softening.

“If anyone needs punishment, it’s Keir. For having the nerve to talk to you like that.”

Azriel took your silence as an invitation. He lowered himself, slowly, attentive to the way your breath hitched. Finding no resistance from you, he flared his wings slightly to allow him to settle on the floor across from you. His boots brushed against your shoes, and he gave a quiet apology. Others had done much worse and yet, no one had ever apologized to you.

“I’m Azriel,” he told you with a small smile, quickly adjusting himself to the cramped space. “You’ve met my shadows. Though I control them, they don’t always listen. Sometimes, they follow their own will. I really hope they didn’t frighten you.”

You were still frozen in disbelief, but in that moment, something inside you shifted. A spark of hope—a spark you hadn’t known existed in the Court of Nightmares, didn’t know could exist.  

“They didn’t. They’re nice,” you admitted quietly, gaze following the movement of his shadows. Your eyes then met Azriel’s, surprised at the warmth you saw in them.

And then slowly, you felt your body relax. “I’m y/n…”

**

A shadow wrapped itself around your wrist, squeezing you gently, pulling you from your thoughts. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same one from that night.

“Sorry,” Azriel murmured sheepishly, the same way he always did when his shadows caught him off guard.  “They really like you.”

The shadow unraveled from your wrist, slowly and reluctantly. It returned to Azriel, the others that had begun to surround you doing the same.

“S’okay,” you shrugged, though a small wave of disappointment settled over you at the thought of his shadows acting on their own will and not his. “I like them too. My little friends, they keep me company during those dreaded court events. Them and Eris, though the latter isn’t exactly one I welcome…”

Azriel’s body tensed at the mention of the Autumn male.

“But it’s strange,” you continued, not sure why you were telling Azriel this. “Despite all the insults he throws my way, he’s somehow kinder than all the other males at court. Maybe Autumn males are–”

“Please, don’t ever pair Eris and the word ‘kind’ in the same sentence,” Azriel interjected, his tone filled with disbelief. “You have to be careful around him, Y/n. I don’t know why he gravitates toward you…” Your heart stuttered in your chest and Azriel's gaze hardened. “But he’s not to be trusted. If he continues to bother you…”

Was that… jealousy? The thought made your pulse quicken, but you kept your expression steady.

“He’s fine,” you said, your voice a little too casual. Azriel went still, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. You felt the heat rise in your neck, and you hastily added, “I mean—it's fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to,” Azriel insisted. He turned to face you fully, and your stomach fluttered at the intensity in his gaze. “I can handle him for you.”  

Azriel’s presence alone was enough to make anyone think twice before crossing you. It sure kept Keir from lashing back at you all those years ago and the handsy, sickening males away from you during court events. You knew he would handle Eris without hesitation. So you should’ve said yes, and accepted his offer. 

But, as the words settled on your tongue, you hesitated. You weren’t sure you wanted him to.

However strange and uncomfortable your encounters with Eris often were, there was something intriguing about him. Something that pulled at you despite his sharp words and caustic demeanor. It was almost like a game, a dance of sorts, and you found yourself drawn to it. To him, more than you cared to admit.

A small part of you wanted to continue this twisted back-and-forth with him. He was not a welcome companion but one whose absence would, much to your denial or disbelief, go noticed. The way he challenged you, made your pulse quicken, even when you didn’t want it to. The way his eyes lingered just a little too long, and how he always seemed to know exactly how to get under your skin…

No. You didn’t want Azriel to step in. Not yet. Not while this strange curiosity about Eris still simmered beneath your skin. 

“I can handle it,” you murmured, though the words felt more like a reassurance to yourself than to him. Your gaze trailed after the fae strolling along the river’s edge. Before Azriel could protest, you turned to him with a smile, changing the conversation. “Can we walk along the shore?”

The Sidra river was even lovelier up-close. With the sun beginning to set, the sky blushed in hues of pinks and oranges and you felt as if you were walking through a dream. A dream you didn’t want to wake up from. Azriel walked quietly beside you, the tension from earlier gone.

You breathed in deeply, reveling in the sweet mixture of fresh air and Azriel’s scent. The sound of water rippling against the shore was just as soothing as the early evening breeze. Your gaze fell on a rock ahead, its smooth surface glimmering in the fading light, and you quickly bent down to pick it up. 

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, watching as the stone sparkled like starlight cupped in your hand.

“It’s a rock,” Azriel said drily.

You couldn’t help but grin, lifting the rock to show him. “It’s not just any rock,” you corrected him. “It’s a rock from Velaris. It’ll make a perfect addition to my growing collection of–”

“Rocks,” Azriel finished for you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

He knew about your rock collection. Of course, he knew. How could he not? Azriel had been the one to enable it. It had started as a joke, a silly request from you when he had mentioned visiting Spring. You had asked for a souvenir, half expecting him to politely decline.  

"What could you possibly want from Spring?" he had asked. “A rock?”

And out of all the things you could’ve chosen, you had simply nodded your head. “Sure.”

The way he had returned from his mission, slipping a smooth rock from his leathers and placing it in your hand, had been so unexpected, so sweet. You’d gasped, unsure whether to laugh or cry. He had remembered. 

And when he mentioned going to Winter Court next, you had shyly grinned at him, asking for another “souvenir.” What had started as an innocent collection had become something far more significant to you. Azriel didn’t know but that rock from Spring was the first gift you had ever received in years–decades, almost.

You treasured those silly rocks, keeping them lined up neatly on your dresser. You even painted them with little designs—daisies on the rock from Spring, a tiny shell on the one from Summer, and snowflakes on the one from Winter.

“This may actually finish my collection,” you mused, slipping the rock into the pocket of your skirts, your smile soft.

“I thought I had brought you one already?”

“Must’ve slipped your mind,” you replied with a playful shrug of your shoulders.

Azriel’s expression shifts into one of mock seriousness. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said, bowing his head before his voice turned teasing. “What will I bring you now, then? I’ll be flying out to Dawn next week. You sure you don’t want another rock from there? Or perhaps, this time, a jar of dirt?”

You rolled your eyes, the motion automatic but immediately followed by a sharp pang in your chest as your heart seemed to freeze. A lady, especially one from your court, rolling her eyes at a male? No matter how familiar you could be with a male, a gesture such as this was dangerous and unforgiving.

But Azriel only chuckled, his gaze warm and unbothered. Relief rushed through you, leaving you momentarily breathless, though you tried to play it off with a dry tone. “Ha,” you said, your thoughts already drifting to other possibilities. “But, if you are going to Dawn…”

He tilted his head, eyebrows raising slightly as his lips curved. “Go on.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to a feather…”

His dark brows furrowed in confusion, and you felt your heart beat louder in your chest. “A feather?” he repeated.

You shrugged again, trying to look casual about it. “A feather from a swan from Dawn. They’re native to the court and mate for life, you know. Some see them as a symbol for love and fidelity. I’d like a feather so that I can add it to my Aphrodite altar.”

“I see.” Azriel’s gaze had turned thoughtful, clearly processing the information. There was a brief pause, and you held your breath, suddenly aware of how ridiculous your request might sound…

 “Y/n, are you… practicing witchcraft?”

You react almost too quickly, it’s suspicious. 

“No,” you said, shaking your head with a small laugh. Even though you had sought out the help of a witch not too long ago, something you’d probably take to the grave with you, given the failed results. Or the fact that this feather would be an offering given with intent to Aphrodite for luck and blessings in love…

”Well, not exactly, I just–it’s a…”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Azriel mused with a chuckle, saving you from whatever disaster of an excuse you could come up with. The sound of his laughter was like a release, the tension in your shoulders easing. “If it’s a Swan’s feather you want, then I’ll make sure I bring one to you.”

There was something in his tone, the certainty in which he said the words, that had warmth pooling in your stomach. It was the kind of warmth that spread quickly, making your whole body feel lighter and creeping up into your chest. 

You turned to look at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

Your feet faltered as the rush of emotions made you dizzy. You barely noticed the uneven ground beneath you, and before you could regain your balance, you felt yourself tipping forward. Azriel’s hand shot out, gripping your arm and pulling you steady against him.

Your breath hitched at the feeling of his touch, gaze falling to where his hand rested on your arm. Slowly, your gaze trailed upwards. Azriel’s gaze was soft, his eyes searching yours in that way that made your heart race. 

“Thank you,” you breathed.

“Of course.”

You were both so close now, you could feel the heat of his breath. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. The sound of the river faded, replaced by the pounding of your heart. His free hand brushed against yours, a touch that sent a spark skittering across your skin.

And then, it happened.

A sharp, sudden tightening in your chest.

It wasn’t the pleasant flutter you’d grown accustomed to in Azriel’s presence. No, this was something else entirely. A pull, intense and demanding, like an unseen thread yanking you backward. You gasped, flinching out of Azriel’s grip, who immediately let you go when he felt your resistance.

Your hand flew to your chest. Azriel’s brows furrowed in concern and his shadows stirred anxiously, circling you as if they could shield you from whatever had caused your distress. “Are you alright?”

“I… I don’t know,” you murmured, your fingers pressing against the spot where the ache had settled, desperate to soothe the inexplicable burning. “But I think I’m fine now. ”

You weren’t sure if you were reassuring him or yourself. But you pushed the feeling aside, turning back to Azriel with an uncertain smile.

He took a hesitant step closer, hand hovering over your shoulder. “Are you sure? I can take you to a healer–”

“No,” you immediately shook your head, eyes widening. Calling for a healer meant risking your father finding out you had not heeded to his order of staying put, of you not causing trouble. You’d rather suffer the consequences of whatever sickness had suddenly struck you than be left to deal with your father’s reproach.

“I’m okay. Could we–could we head back now?”

**

Azriel's pov

Worry continued to brew in Azriel’s mind as he watched you settle onto an armchair, hand still rubbing at your chest. His shadows twitched restlessly, curling tighter around him. You had always been easy to read but he found himself struggling to decipher the distant look in your eyes. You hadn’t even looked his way once since he winnowed you both back to the townhouse.

He parted his lips, ready to urge you to see a healer, despite your earlier protest. But a shadow curled itself around his ear and he made himself busy with the book in his hand instead.

The door to Rhysand’s study opened. Azriel’s shadows whispered to him as they noted the way you had stiffened the moment your father stepped out and forced a smile onto your face. He was always unsettled by your father’s indifference to you, his grip on the book he held tightening.

"Let’s go home."

Lord Damus’s voice was detached as he dumped the books in his arm into yours. Azriel noticed immediately that it was a smaller load than what you had arrived with, but that did little to ease him as you winced under the weight.

He moved instinctively to help you, but the harsh stare Rhysand shot at him from across the room made him pause. Azriel blinked, momentarily stunned by the anger that flashed in Rhysand’s eyes.

"Thank you for your time, Lord Damus. I wish you both a safe trip back," Rhysand said, his voice smooth and composed, contrasting the look he had sent Azriel.

Lord Damus bowed in respect and you did the same. Albeit, with a struggle, given all the weight in your arms. Some of Azriel’s shadows darted toward you, hiding within the shadows of the sitting room. They settled underneath the books you carried, helping you silently. And at the way your arms eased, so did Azriel’s.

It was short lived because as soon as you and your father disappeared, Rhysand turned back to him.

“My office. Now.”

Rhysand’s tone left no room for questioning or contemplating. Azriel’s shadows hissed at the sharpness but the shadowsinger yielded to his High Lord’s command. As he entered the office, the faint traces of Feyre and Nyx’s scent lingered in the air, but neither was there now. 

“Did something happen?” Azriel asked, senses on high alert.

Rhysand leaned against the front of his desk, his gaze locking onto Azriel. "I didn’t think I’d have to ask this twice, but... are you out of your mind?"

Azriel’s shadows swirled around him, speaking in tongues. He let out a sound, a mix of disbelief, defensiveness, and the all-too-familiar hint of rage that had been waiting just beneath the surface. Not again.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

Rhysand’s humorless chuckle cut through the air. “Oh, trust me, I wish I was.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. 

“I can’t believe you would be so careless as to sneak her out of here when…”

“Her father has no clue,” Azriel shot back, trying to defend the choice, though even he knew it wasn’t enough.

“I bet your scent still lingers on her,” Rhysand snapped. “Do you know how dangerous that could be? For an unwed lady of her status to be caught alone with another male, to smell like another male? It could ruin her. I don’t know what you’re intentions are with her but Y/n is in love with you—”

“I know.” Azriel cut in sharply.

Rhysand’s expression darkened further, his voice hardening into ice. “So you do know. What’s your game here, Az? Because all I can think and worry about is how it will end for her.”

Before Azriel could respond, Rhysand’s voice rang out again, cutting through the growing tension like a blade.

“You will stay away from her.”

The words hit Azriel like a slap, his body going rigid as the words seemed to echo in his mind.  Because this was not his brother talking to him. It was his High Lord. His shadows were seething, reflecting the storm brewing inside. How had it come to this…again? The same damn warning, as though Azriel couldn’t be trusted to make his own decisions. 

First, it was Mor. Then, it was Elain. And now you.

Unbelievable. His lips twisted into a humorless, bitter smile then. “Should I just ask you for a roster of females I’m allowed to be with? It would save us both a lot of time and trouble.”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again.” Rhysand breathed in sharply, barely able to restrain his vexation. “And I pray to the Mother I won’t have to say it for a third time...”

Azriel’s shadows froze mid-whisper. The room grew quiet and unnervingly still. His wings twitched, as if they too, braced themselves. Because he already knew what was coming. 

But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

“If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall. Heck, I’ll offer to pay for it this time.”

And the words stung just as sharply as they had the first time.

“Just stay away from y/n.”

[series masterlist]

A/n: I had fun writing this <3 and I hope you can understand a bit more of why reader is madly in love with Az. I mean, who isn't? lol But does he like her back or simply like the idea of someone being in love with him for a change…😈

series tag list: @kaitttttttt , @nebarious , @daughterofthemoons-stuff , @justyouraveragekleemain , @tothestarsandwhateverend ,

@ratgirl2020 , @myromanempiree , @vanserrasimp , @itsswritten, @acourtofbatboydreams

@imjustagirl713, @paleidiot, @scarsandallaz, @marina468

@utterlyhopeful-fics, @bia-wayne-west

if you asked to be put on the tag-list and don't see your username, please remind me!

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits15, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[wings-of-ink]

Update Progress and Things to Look Forward to

Hello everyone! I hope you are safe and well.

Chapter 5 is coming right along. My goal is to still have it out by the end of November, but the way the last couple of weeks have been for me, we might hit a little delay into the first week of December.

And do not worry, because I know some of you will, I'm good. It's just been busy this month. I've had a friend going through a hard time who's needed a hand up, and I've also needed to work overtime at my daytime gig. My friend is doing better now and I won't need to do more overtime again until sometime in mid-December.

I will not say that the chapter will for sure be delayed, though. This coming week I have extra time off from work (and there was much rejoicing), and I am hoping to dedicate more of it to finishing the final segments of the chapter. And then, I just have to fuse all the individual segments together and do as much proofreading as I can before I deem it "good enough for now" and publish it.

This chapter is a big one, lol. But, I didn't want to cut it short since it is an important section where you learn a lot, grow a bit, and connect with your crew (and maaaaaybe get into some big trouble).

I still have a couple short scenes to flesh out, and then a bigger finale, which I am so excited to finally write!

I'll go ahead and note that saves will almost definitely be broken - again. I had a few things that I did not anticipate before and had to make some coding changes for the earlier chapters. On the plus side, I also figured out where I went wrong with the fonts, so that should be fixed at least.

I will be opening up the Patreon with the release of Chapter 5 if anyone is interested! We'll start out with a couple tiers and grow from there. Both main tiers will focus on extras and early chapter releases - so expect POVs, drabbles, and spicy things.

In December, I'd like to release a couple extras both publically and in the Patreon, but I won't spoil any of that now so I can tease you with it later.

In the more distant future, I plan to create a way to skip chapters so you don't need to speedrun to get to new content. I will take more time to get Chapter 6 out so I can fine-tune a few things for all the previous chapters as well. I'm hoping to get them more smoothed out with a good deal of copyediting.

Reaction-style asks are still paused, but if you have general questions/recommendations/comments, send them my way!

There are many adventures ahead, my friends!

Take care, everyone! Stay safe! ^_^

As a treat, there's a semi-spoilery (kinda not really???) sneak peek below!

Hmmm...who are you with and why is your friend watching you so close???

[tanoraqui]

now that this fic is all published, I can ramble about the things that happen afterward in the timeline! Feel SO free to ask about anything you want more details of.

First off, all three posts about Dave the Balrog are 100% canon to this au, except for where they sometimes contradict the fic's worldbuilding or plot bc I hadn't settled on every detail yet. Also, Dave’s name is probably more like “Drav”, from the Sindarin “drava-”, “to hew.”

That happens much later, though - about 1980 TA. FIRST, immediately, as Celebrimbor says: it's time to save the orcs!

That is, wildly self-indulgent crossover with @ceescedasticity's fic(verse) elves, once, which isn't 100% my headcanon for orcs but it's essentially canon for this au because it makes everything VERY FUNNY in a tragic irony way. I've thought about this so much that it really deserves its own bullet-point post, but highlights include:

- Annatar attempts to conceal the fact that Curufin and Celegorm are orcs, and, y'know, have been since they died. This works until Celebrimbor identifies a bunch of the orc army's weapons as made by his father, even if the style is strange and fell, and the two of the have a HUGE fight in front of representatives of every Elvish kingdom in Middle Earth and most of an army of orcs.

- Bellow/Turgon is having the single strangest, most uncomfortable road trip of his life, and he counts the crossing of the Helcaraxë in that total.

- Turgon tries to convince Galadriel to take Celebrían and Elrond and get out of here, because inevitably this must be a cruel trick and all the orcs will be forced to turn on all the Elves. Galadriel is like, "Honestly, I've been watching Celebrimbor's slow corruption and Sauron's slower un-corruption for about 2,000 years now, and I think we actually have a shot at this. Also, bold of you to assume you can beat me in a fight."

- Curufin and Celegorm had BOOKED IT when Annatar's summoning-compulsion snapped, on the reasonable assumption that any plan the Dark Lord had for them + Celebrimbor could only be cruel to the extreme...so Celebrimbor and Annatar go on a bonus road trip to retrieve them.

- Everyone meets up by the Sea again, but instead of taking (or, obeying) the offer of escape into Ulmo's hands, Turgon and probably a bunch of other orcs volunteer to come help break the Crucible. They Deserve This.

- In the end, as usual, the day is ultimately saved - as are the souls of thousands of trapped elves - by the power of love and overwhelming violence.

AND THEN...

Celebrimbor & Annatar don't actually rebuild Ost-in-Edhil and Eregion as they were. Those days are over, and also the surviving Númenoreans kinda...regard Annatar as Absolute Evil, for some mysterious reason. And those who knew about the whole or even partial conspiracy - namely Tar-Miriel herself - aren't too keen on Celebrimbor, either.

They leave whoever wants to stay and rebuild in Eregion, leadership tbd based on the traditional system of craft-based meritocracy, and take a few decades off to lay low from geopolitics, work on their marriage, and for Celebrimbor to learn a little bit of necromancy so he can manipulate his own fëa and hröa, thank you very much.

They stay with the Witch-Queen of Calador for a while, discreetly because officially that kingdom is also not on good terms with its “former” evil-ish overlord. (The Witch-Queen of Calador and her not really sane, almost certainly unsafe, but arguably consensual relationship with Annatar really deserves her own post, too. She’s my favorite OC of this au. She really loves bats.)

Elrond & Celebrían get married! Elrond always knew his wedding would have to involve stopping drunken brawls from erupting between people who love him but hate each other, but he’d assumed it’d be Iathrim and Fëanorians, not an elderly Queen Miriel going for Annatar’s eyes with a butter knife.

Annatar regards the birth of Elrohir and Elladan with some concern, this alarming lineage now augmented by the blood of Arafinwë (cut off Melkor’s foot) and Galadriel (Melian’s pupil, hates him). But that’s nothing to how freaked out he is by Arwen, who is such an obvious Reprise of Lúthien that it’s now CLEAR that this was all a Melian scheme to assault him, personally.

He can’t just kill her now—Elrond and Galadriel and both right here, not to mention Celebrimbor. And then she’d absolutely be his enemy when she Returned… No, the only solution is to stay in Imladris for a while and become her most beloved uncle whom she would not dream of assaulting, whom she could not bring herself to injure even if circumstance and conscience forced her hand. Love has ever been the undoing of Melian’s line. The Reprise is obvious, but not so established that he cannot twist it into irony, Lúthien’s heir as his devoted student and companion rather than foe.

[smash cut to late 3rd Age Annatar watching the Music settle into place as Arwen interacts with the newest, currently toddling scion of the House of Elendil and nearly killing the child right then because no, no, thats not how this was supposed to Reprise—that’s his jewel of an elf-queen, Singer and trade-manipulator and niece, and he’s going to lose her forever? Killing the brat won’t even work, that would only make her follow him sooner, one way or another—]

Celebrimbor doesn’t want to build a city (and have his heart broken by the loss of the city) again, but he very much does want to ImproveThe World, and also to Make Things With His Hands. So he and Annatar, and whoever of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain wish to join them, set about… “Traveling” is too loose a term; just because they’re not city-building doesn’t mean anyone here wants to live on the road. They need workshops, forges, and ideally a maia-sized cat tree tall tower from which to survey their domain. They are a highly skilled work crew/technical, artistic & management consultants who change cities every 5-200 years, throughout Middle Earth and perhaps even other continents.

This what Celebrimbor and Annatar do, for most of the rest of their time in Middle Earth. A few of the Mírdain travel with them all the time. Others strike out on their own, or in similar small groups. Others stay in rebuilt Ost-in-Edhil, or Rivendell or the Havens or another Elvish kingdom, and come lend a hand when their particular talents are called for. Everyone who “died” in Númenor and was “resuscitated” by Annatar walked away with a strengthened, basically permanent osanwë connection to the simulated workshop group chat, which they’re aware of, and a location tracker and fëa-stamp saying “PROPERTY OF MAIRON, FUCK AROUND AND YOU WILL FIND OUT” which only an Ainu could detect.

They're the mysterious stranger(s) who accept an offer of hospitality on a stormy night and reward you with a magic ring that blesses your farm with fecundity. They arrive in a city in the middle of a cholera outbreak and inform the local rulers that they're here to overhaul the whole wells & sewers system in exchange for room and board; no, the local rulers do not get a choice in this. One time they do oust an evil ruling dynasty and just kinda take over the kingdom for a few centuries, but then Celebrimbor starts to get paranoid of his own growing attachment so Annatar reluctantly agrees to find and raise some honorable candidate for kingship [gender-neutral]. One of the Mírdain with them says, what about the choice of the people? And then after a lot of discussion, partly in collaboration with their local Men, they write up and seal with Power a Constitution that establishes an oversight body of political, economic, craft and etc. experts to oversee and have veto power over popular elections to kingship from a slate of candidates chosen by the current/soon-to-be previous king, on a strict thirty-year schedule. There, that should stabilize the whole messy business of mortal succession!

Also, 1300 years or so into the Third Age when this version of Gondor hits its equivalent of the Kin-Strife, Annatar takes advantage of its weakness to initiate a plan he's been contemplating for a while, especially while gaining local insight into a variety of nation-states and their management, and returns to Oroduin to forge what may he his last Great Work...a new standard of currency.

It’s called, in the common tongue developing from Adúnaic and Sindarin, the “mira”, pl. “miran”, from Quenya “mírë” (“jewel, precious thing). Where pettier currencies are based in gold or silver or the might of some particular empire, these hold value Because a Great Maia Said So—indeed, Sang So, Sang a new line into the Great Music that these coins would always have a value of…whatever he said so, if he updated a petty lyric or two of their Song. Those who use the coins don’t need to know this; they simply intuit, with coins in hand, what they are worth.

(You can lead even the mightiest empire by the nose if you control the price of grain alone, much less other commodities, or one currency relative to another. Each minute adjustment takes Power, especially to shift the natural balance of multiple interlocking goods…but Annatar is a master of the perfectly placed lever with which to shift the world.)

Maybe at some point the Valar are like, “okay, I think they don’t irrationally hate us anymore, I think this could work” and send a small group of Maiar to openly, humbly approach Annatar and Celebrimbor and ask if they might be apprentices in the craft of…whatever the fuck is happening here. Or maybe something adjacent, because Pallandro and Alatar would really like to fuck off into those excellent looking woods and hunt the remnants of Ungoliant’s spawn, and Radagast actually wandered away 5 minutes ago to talk to a bird. He’s gonna be a while. But Curumo and Olórin are listening politely!

…Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just the Jewelsmiths, slowly becoming folklore, bettering the world (and manipulating wide-scale economics) one stone at a time. (They’d still be the “Jewelsmiths” anyway, even if they included those who, in another universe, were called “The Wise.”)

As stated in the third Dave the Balrog post, they do Sail eventually, several centuries after Arwen’s death. Celebrimbor just gets tired, and Annatar can’t fix it. Ossë spends the whole voyage backstroking next to their ship and sarcastically quoting Annatar back at himself, Years of the Trees insults about being made weak and pathetic by love, until Annatar nearly lunges over the side as a wolf to tear his throat out.

[ali3nboyfriend]

i know a lot of people feel, like... guilty? when they think about teaching their dogs discipline? i think at least in american society we tend to view dogs in similar ways to children, and that kinda muddles how we think about training them, because we don't like the thought of removing their autonomy from them. but please believe me when i say that a dog with no discipline is stressed out, anxious, and at the end of their rope. there's a reason they vocalize more, are more reactive to certain situations, and have more behavioral problems than most dogs who are not allowed to jump on people when they meet them and stay kenneled overnight.

dogs want to know exactly what is expected of them and exactly what will make you happy. we genetically engineered them, literally, through selective breeding over centuries to follow our lead. they do not like guessing. they do not like figuring it out for themselves. setting down rules and boundaries for things like house training, leash etiquette, and behavior around other people and dogs and enforcing them consistently makes for a much more well-adjusted and overall happier dog.

your dog isn't a human person. they might be your family, they are definitely your companion, but they are not a human person. treating them like what they are will make you a better caretaker for them.