#it being quoted at the beginning of the fic and all

[foundtherightwords]

Knight Shift

Pairing: Hellcheer

Summary: Desperate for a job, Eddie takes on the night shift at a remote convenience store in Hawkins while also preparing for his side gig as a historical reenactor. Everything is fine until the night a robbery goes wrong and a pretty EMT shows up...

Chrissy, who moved to Hawkins two years ago and now works as an EMT, is trying her best to prove herself. So when a call comes in for an attempted robbery at a convenience store, she doesn't shy away from it. Little does she know the night will bring more surprises than she expects.  

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: very brief mentions of violence and vomit

A/N: A surprise Valentine's Day fic! I wasn't planning to write anything for Valentine's, but then I saw this post and thought it sounded like a situation Eddie would get into, and then I looked into the Society for Creative Anachronism and thought it sounded fascinating (it also helped that I'm in the middle of my Hellcheer medieval AU), so I wrote this in 2 days!

I took some of the wording from the post itself. The quote at the beginning was taken from an actual Middle Kingdom newsletter (Hawkins, being in Indiana, would be part of this Kingdom). The flyer was my own creation though.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63054076

Troubles are brewing in the Middle Kingdom. In the canton of Hawk's Inn, the disgraced knight Sir Edward the Banished returns to his home with the hope of reclaiming his honor and restoring his good name. Will the people of Hawk's Inn, who had turned their backs on Edward years ago due to a youthful mistake, embrace their son once more, or will they turn him away for good?

***

A Royal Greeting from your Sovereigns, King Alaric and Queen Richilde: Exciting Adventures Ahead!

Greetings, noble subjects of the Middle Kingdom,

As we usher in the new year, Her Majesty and I are filled with excitement and anticipation in what lies ahead for Our kingdom. It is a privilege to sit upon the thrones of this mighty realm, and We look forward to sharing many adventures and moments of joy with you all in the coming months.

... We have much to look forward to in the coming weeks and months! We are particularly eager for St. Valentine's Day, when Our Canton of Hawk's Inn/Barony of Roane (Feb 10th) will host the Tournament of Chivalry. This event, now in its 25th year, highlights the true celebration of honor, skill, and valor - qualities that Our kingdom holds in the highest regard. We are looking forward to seeing a great turnout, with many returning knights and combatants (and some new faces!) from across the kingdom coming together to showcase their prowess in the lists. This will be a day of mutual respect showcasing the high ideals that make the Middle Kingdom such a noble place....

- February 1990 issue of THE PALE,

the official newsletter of the Middle Kingdom,

Society for Creative Anachronism

***

"Nobody wants to work the night shift," said Rick, the store manager, as he ushered Eddie into the dingy closet that served as his office.

"We're in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and every couple of weeks, some drunk or punk or junkie—hey, that rhymes!—would try to rob us. They don't get much—not that there's a lot to get, and insurance usually covers it—but it's a bit of a hassle. Think you can handle it?"

"I've worked as a barback at The Hideout," said Eddie. "I think I can handle a few drunks."

"Don't forget the punks and the junkies!" Rick exclaimed, clearly pleased with his joke. He grinned at Eddie, showing off a mouthful of teeth that wouldn't look out of place being unearthed in an archaeological dig. "So, you want the job?"

Eddie sighed. So far, Rick hadn't done much to sell him on the job's positive qualities, but Eddie was desperate, and Rick knew it. Anyone who applied for the night shift at a convenience store on the outskirts of a small town in Indiana has to be.

"Yeah, I want the job," Eddie said.

"Great!" Rick clapped his hands with relief and pulled out a contract from his desk. "Say, you from 'round here?" he said, as Eddie was filling out the form.

Eddie looked up suspiciously, as he always did whenever someone mentioned his past. Still, if Rick had to ask, that meant he didn't know Eddie or his family history. "Why did you ask?"

"It's just that we don't get a lot of new people here. Only drifters. This ain't a place for people to come and stay."

"Tell me about it." Eddie rubbed his eyes. "I grew up here. I left a few years ago for college, and now I'm back."

"Why?"

"My uncle was in an accident and couldn't work anymore, so I'm taking care of him." Eddie slid the contract across the table toward Rick. If Rick cared to find out, he could look up the Munson name and discover all the unsavory stories surrounding it—though none directly tied to Eddie. But somehow Eddie didn't think Rick would care.

"That's nice of you," Rick said. "So you used to work at The Hideout, eh?" he continued, nostalgia clouding his eyes for a moment. "I'd wasted a few years of my twenties there. Why'd you quit?"

"I didn't," said Eddie. "It got closed down." Hence his desperation. He needed the money, but he didn't qualify for student loans, and Wayne's disability check could only stretch so far. Just a few more months until he got his teacher's certificate and a better job—or at least one that didn't involve him dealing with robbers once every two weeks.

Rick put the form away without even looking at it. "Right!" he said, pushing back from the desk. "Let me show you around."

Eddie hung back, a little hesitant. "I got one question," he said.

Rick looked wary. "Which is—?"

Eddie lifted the hem of his shirt out of his jeans. "This isn't going to be a problem, is it?"

Rick's eyes popped. "What the hell is that?!"

"Chainmail. You know, like armor."

Rick looked from the chainmail under Eddie's shirt to Eddie's face, then back to the chainmail. Eddie could almost see the regret forming in the manager's mind. Clearly, he thought he'd hired some freak. "It's not some medical or"—here Rick glanced around and dropped his voice—"kinky thing, is it?"

Eddie had to laugh. "No. I'm a member of this historical reenactment group. You know the Society for Creative Anachronism? We recreate medieval tournaments, battles, and—" Eddie noticed Rick's eyes had started taking on the glazed look most people would get when he told them about the SCA, so he cleared his throat and continued, "Anyway, I'm training to be a knight, so I'm wearing this around just to get used to its weight."

The SCA had been one of the few reasons that made Eddie's return to Hawkins bearable. He'd thought he was done with the shitty place for good, but when Wayne got hurt... well, he had no choice. It wasn't like he was making big bucks with his history degree in Chicago anyway. To discover that the SCA had built up such an active presence in the area since he left had been a pleasant surprise, and it was nice to go to their fighters' practice a few times a week, to forget about his problems, to be Edward the Banished and not Eddie "the Freak" Munson.

"I can put my uniform shirt over it," now he said to Rick. "It doesn't show at all—see?" He dropped his shirt again to demonstrate.

Still staring at the shirt, Rick took a pack of nicotine gum out of his pocket and popped one in his mouth, chewing. Now he was the desperate one. He needed a night clerk. Could he accept one that seemed... a little weird?

In the end, Eddie's willingness to work nights trumped his taste in medieval attire.

"Make sure it doesn't show, OK?" Rick said.

Edd nodded, breathing in relief. "You bet."

Rick extended a hand with nicotine-stained fingers—the gum didn't seem to be helping—toward Eddie. "Then welcome aboard. Or however you say it in old-timey English."

Eddie smiled as he shook Rick's hand. "I'm pretty sure they say 'Welcome' too." He was going to mention that the word originated from the Old English phrase "ƿil cuma", which meant "a desired guest", but he decided this was enough medieval history for the night.

For all of Rick's warnings, Eddie's first month at the store went by without incidents. Sure, there was the promised trio of drunks, punks, and junkies, but they were harmless. Eddie even let a few of them sleep off their high or drunkenness in the bathroom until it was safe for them to go home. Rick wouldn't like it, but what Rick didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Most of the time, it was just lost drivers needing direction or the occasional horny teenager too embarrassed to buy condoms close to home. Eddie grew to like the quiet and used the time to read, do his homework, or draw up sketches for his D&D campaigns.

So that night, when a guy in a hoodie came into the store, Eddie thought nothing of it. It was a cold night, so the hood pulled low over the head was nothing suspicious, and Hoodie Guy looked no twitchier or shiftier than the average night shift customer. After a minute or two browsing the shelves, he went up to the counter and pointed to the glass case behind Eddie, asking for a pack of Marlboro.

Eddie put down the battered copy of Herodotus's History that he was reading, marking the page with an SCA flyer, and turned to get the pack.

"No, not that one, the red one," said Hoodie Guy.

With a sigh, Eddie reached a little higher for the pack the guy was pointing out.

Thump! Something—or someone—hit him between his shoulder blades, almost knocking him into the case. Eddie whirled around. Hoodie Guy was hanging with half his torso over the counter, his arm outstretched.

"What the hell, man?!" Eddie said, scowling. "Did you just hit me?"

An astonishing change came over Hoodie Guy. His face under the hood went ash gray, his mouth dropped open, and his eyes bulged in their sockets before rolling into the back of his head, as the guy slid off the counter and onto the floor, out cold.

Eddie looked over the counter at the unconscious man, nonplussed. Rick had been adamant that Eddie was not to budge from the counter, never, not under any circumstances—except for maybe a fire. You never know when an apparently unconscious or otherwise helpless man may be an attempt to distract and rob. So now Eddie just stood and waited, while the chainmail bit uncomfortably into his shoulders.

A minute, two minutes passed by, and then three, then four. Hoodie Guy remained on the floor, unmoving. Shit. He could be playing a game of chicken and waiting for Eddie to make a mistake, or something really was wrong with him. And either way...

"They don't pay me enough to deal with this, you know," Eddie said, even though he wasn't sure if Hoodie Guy could hear him or not. Then, with an exasperated huff, he went into the manager's office, picked up the phone, and dialed 911.

***

"Nobody wants to work the night shift," Chrissy's supervisor, Powell, had told her the day she joined the Hawkins EMS team. "We're a quiet town, but with all the woods and farmland around here, there's a lot of ground to cover. You may have to drive miles out of town because a farmer is having a heart attack, or some kids are messing around and get into an accident in the Quarry or on Lover's Lake. That's happened before, you know," he'd added ominously. "Think you can handle it?"

"Oh yes, sir," Chrissy had said with what she'd hoped was a confident smile. "I've seen all sorts of injuries during my time on the cheer squad and as a lifeguard in high school."

But Powell had looked skeptical, and so did the rest of the team. Chrissy didn't blame them. A city girl, coming to this small town in the middle of nowhere, all on her own—she knew what they thought of her. She knew they all thought she was running away from something, and she would come running back to her old life the moment things got tough. Well, they weren't wrong about the running away part, but she'd be damned if she came back to Chicago, back to the perfect little life her mom and her ex-boyfriend had planned for her. No, Chrissy had come to Hawkins to live her own life, and she would not quit.

And so in the past two years, she'd kept her head down and worked, worked, worked. She took double shifts back to back without complaint, she volunteered for the night shift that nobody wanted, and she was first in line when there was a bad pileup on the highway or a chemical leak at the nearby research lab. Anything to prove herself.

"They've pushed the night shift on us again," said her partner and driver, Joyce, when Chrissy reported to the station that night. "That's four in a row this week."

"I don't mind," Chrissy said.

"You should!" said Joyce. "Just because you're the only single gal on the team doesn't mean that you don't want an evening to yourself. We all have lives outside of this job."

She didn't, not really, but Chrissy refrained from saying that. She only pointed out, "You're single."

"Yes, but I'm nearly fifty and my boys are grown, so it doesn't count, does it?" Joyce smiled to soften her words.

"Does that mean that when I get a boyfriend, I'll get to work the day shift?" Chrissy said, half-joking.

"You get that boyfriend, and we'll see."

Joyce was the team mother, and as such, she saw it as her responsibility to look out for Chrissy. Chrissy smiled back at the older woman, though a little doubtfully. Joyce was right. She'd been so focused on working and saving up that she hardly had any time for herself, not to mention that the pickings of eligible young men in Hawkins were awfully slim. Then she chided herself for thinking of such frivolous things when there were more serious matters at hand.

A call came in, disrupting her thoughts. "Male, in his 30s, loss of consciousness," said the dispatcher. "Joyce, Chrissy, you're up."

The address was a convenience store just off the highway. As they drove up, Chrissy's heart faltered a little. It was one of those 24/7 places that looked like something out of a horror film, with the harsh neon lights always on, shining down on a sad selection of snacks and soft drinks. Now those lights were also shining on a man stretched out on the floor in front of the counter, and on the clerk standing behind the counter with a mystified look on his face.

Joyce checked on the unconscious man, whose vitals seemed to be stable. They moved him onto the gurney, and while Joyce called it in, Chrissy went up to the counter to talk to the clerk. She couldn't help noticing he was quite nice-looking, the clerk. When she first came in, focused as she had been on the patient, she'd only seen a shock of shoulder-length dark hair and a tall, rather intimidating silhouette. Upon closer inspection, the hair turned out to be soft curls framing a handsome face with nice, kind eyes, and the silhouette was still tall, but in a comforting rather than intimidating way. He wouldn't look out of place riding a white horse on the cover of a Harlequin romance. Perhaps not as muscular as those cover models, but still...

No. She was here to do her job, not to ogle some guy, no matter how cute he was. Chrissy took a deep breath and asked the clerk what had happened exactly.

"Well," the clerk began. His name tag, she noticed, said Eddie. "He just came in, looked around, came up to the counter, and asked for this specific pack of cigarettes, so I turned to get them—"

He turned as he spoke to show her his movement. Chrissy caught a glimpse of his back and thought she, too, was going to pass out.

Sticking out from his back, between his shoulder blades, was a knife.

"Oh my God!" she breathed out, gripping the edge of the counter. The clerk, Eddie, started to turn back to her, and Chrissy remembered her training. "Don't move!" she shouted. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah, I'm OK," the clerk said, sounding confused. "What?"

"Just—don't move."

She vaulted over the counter and ran up to him. There was no blood on his back or on the knife. But how was this guy still walking about and talking?! She carefully felt along his back and recoiled. Something hard yet flexible—like scales—moved under his shirt.

"What the hell are you wearing?!" she said, her training forgotten again.

"A chainmail shirt," said Eddie the clerk, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "I have to get used to the weight, so I wear it a lot. Why? Is something wrong?"

"You have a knife in your back!"

He twisted his head around and tried to see the knife, but as it was lodged between his shoulder blades, it was clear he couldn't.

"Uh... no, I don't?" he said. "I mean, I don't feel hurt? He only, like, punched me or something. There's no knife back there—I mean, I'd know if there was a knife back there, right?"

"I can assure you, there is most definitely a knife in your back," said Chrissy, trying to keep calm. What the hell was taking Joyce so long? "Keep still, I'm going to pull it out."

Although she knew one must never pull a knife out of a stab wound, this was a special case, and until the knife was removed, she could not assess how serious the injury was. Bracing one hand against his shoulder, she yanked at the knife with the other. It was stuck more firmly than she expected, and the sensation—oh God! She'd never felt anything like it. Somehow, the worst broken bones she'd had to set never felt as gross as wrenching a knife out of what she believed was flesh. The grating sound of the blade sent shivers up her arm and down her spine, and suddenly and unceremoniously, she bent over and threw up.

"What on Earth is happening here?" Joyce exclaimed as she came into the store and took in the scene—Chrissy leaning over the counter with her dinner splattered on the ground in front of her, and Eddie the clerk running back from the bathroom with a wad of paper towels. Some he handed to Chrissy, the rest he spread over the mess Chrissy had just made. Then Joyce caught sight of the knife still quivering on Eddie's back and her eyes widened. "Young man, there's—"

"Yes, yes, I know, there's a knife in my back," Eddie said impatiently. "I'm perfectly all right, unlike Miss"—he peered at Chrissy's nametag—"Cunningham here, so could you take care of her please?"

"No, I'm all right too," Chrissy said, even though she was dying of shame on the inside. In her two years as an EMT, she'd prided herself on never losing her nerves, yet now, faced with a knife—there wasn't even any blood!—and she was as squeamish as a trainee, her arms turning into noodles. "Please, Joyce, see to his back—"

Joyce calmly walked over to Eddie and, in one swift move, yanked the knife out.

"You should really be more careful," she said, handing it to Eddie.

"It's not mine! It belongs to the guy you have in your ambulance out there."

Joyce rolled her eyes. "Great, now it's an assault and robbery too? I'm going to have to report this." She went outside again.

Chrissy wiped her mouth with the paper towel. "Thank you," she said to Eddie.

"Are you sure you're OK?" he asked. "Do you want some water, or maybe some ginger ale? I find that helps a lot with an upset stomach."

Chrissy shook her head. "No, it's fine. I'm fine."

"Well, I'm having one." He grabbed a can of Vernor's from the nearby case and handed Chrissy one as well. "I'd much rather have a beer, but I'm not allowed to drink on the clock."

"I'm not either." Still, Chrissy took the can of ginger ale gratefully. "Let me clean up this mess for you," she said, indicating the pile of paper towels, but Eddie gently pushed her back.

"No, no, that's my job," he said. "You do your job, and I do mine."

Chrissy pressed the can of ginger ale to her face, hoping to cool off some of the blood burning beneath her skin. "I'm so sorry," she said.

"Why?" Eddie's voice was gentle.

"I came here to take care of you, and now you're taking care of me."

"Hey, we all have our bad days," Eddie said with a shrug.

Something in the way he said it sent a new wave of confidence coursing through her. She wasn't a failure just because she threw up once in front of a patient. Straightening up, Chrissy tried to gather any remnants of professionalism she still had. "I'm going to need to examine your back," she said.

"Do we have to?" Eddie said. "I don't feel any pain or anything."

Chrissy gave him her best imitation of Joyce's "mom" look. He relented and pulled off his uniform shirt. She wasn't sure what to expect, but underneath he was wearing a chainmail shirt, an actual chainmail shirt, like in those medieval movies. And it was heavy. Together, they got it off him, and even before Chrissy removed the linen shirt underneath, she knew he wasn't badly injured—no one who had a stab wound in his back could move his arms and shoulders so freely—but she was nothing if not thorough. Eddie turned his back to her, and a very nice back it was too, lean but sturdy—somehow the word lithesome snuck its way into her mind. Focus, Chrissy.

She found a small cut from where the tip of the knife had nicked him. That was probably why she had such a hard time pulling out the knife—it had been caught in the riveted links of the chainmail, not his flesh, thank God. She cleaned the cut and put a Band-Aid on it, just in case.

"May I ask why you're wearing chainmail?" she said. "Does the store get robbed so much that you have to wear protective armor?"

Eddie chuckled at her attempt at a joke. "No, I'm training to be a knight. I'm with this medieval reenactment group."

Chrissy almost laughed. Here she was, imagining that Eddie wouldn't look out of place as a knight in shining armor, and he was one!

"I think I've seen them around. Is it like a Renaissance Faire thing?"

"Not quite. Those are more for entertainment, while we're more focused on education and the study of medieval life. But some events are open to the public too. Actually"—he reached toward a book on the counter, pulled out a flyer being used as a bookmark, and handed it to her—"here's one next Saturday that I'm attending."

Chrissy looked at the flyer. In old-timey font, it said:

The canton of Hawk's Inn

In the Barony of Roane

Hereby cordially invites you to

ST. VALENTINE'S DAY TOURNAMENT OF CHIVALRY

February 10th, 1990 from 9:00 am to 9:00 pm

Site: Starcourt Convention Center, Lot No. 4281, 10 Old Highway 77, Hawkins, Indiana

Fee: Adult Registration $10.00, ADULT MEMBER $5.00,

Minors 6 to 17 $2.00, Children 5 & Under Free

Family Cap $20 Member (2 Adults, 3 children 6-17) – additional $5 per Non-Member Adult

This was accompanied by a woodcut print of two knights jousting.

Eddie explained, sounding a bit embarrassed, "I'm studying to be a history teacher."

"That's great!" And, perhaps because he had been so open to her, she added, "I'm saving up for nursing school." She had never told anyone this, afraid of jinxing it, afraid of being seen as a loser if she couldn't achieve it, yet somehow, she had no problem sharing it with this strange, funny guy she'd just met.

"To our future success then," said Eddie, raising his can of ginger ale in a toast.

Laughing, Chrissy raised hers in return before drinking deeply, the sweet, spicy soda warming her up. "This explains why the guy fainted," she continued, returning to the subject as Eddie put his chainmail back on. "Not every day the man you just stabbed turns around and yells at you with the knife still in his back."

"It's good to know that my chainmail works at least," Eddie said with a grin. A dimple flashed on his cheek, making Chrissy's heart thump in her chest. Then, just as quickly, the dimple disappeared as he turned serious again. "What's going to happen to him?" he asked, indicating the ambulance outside.

"We're going to report the incident, and the police will probably want a word with him."

"Is that necessary?"

Chrissy stared at him. "He tried to stab you."

He shrugged again. "But I'm fine. Guy's probably just desperate. I mean, you have to be, to rob a place like this. Like I said, we all have bad days. If you could leave out the stabbing part in your report—it's too difficult to explain anyway."

"That's very kind of you," Chrissy said in wonder.

Eddie looked a little abashed. "Don't let the people at the tournament hear you say that," he said. "I'm trying to create this dark, mysterious persona for my knight character."

"Well, perhaps you can be a dark and mysterious knight who actually turns out to be kind to those who know you."

Her words seemed to have hit him unexpectedly, and there was an emotional gleam in his eyes as he looked at her. He really does have nice eyes, she thought. Large and round, like a puppy's, fringed by long lashes, dark brown under the harsh neon light, but she bet that in sunlight, they would be a warm amber...

With her impeccable timing, Joyce chose that moment to enter the store, with the knife still in her hand.

"Well, the guy woke up," she said. "Hypoglycemia. As for the stabbing"—she waved the knife—"he's very sorry and he won't do it again. What do you say, Chrissy, shall we give him some glucose tablets and let him go?"

Chrissy and Eddie glanced at each other, sharing a conspiratory smile. Eddie's dimple dipped and rose again, and Chrissy's stomach fluttered in a way that had nothing to do with its recent emission.

As she and Joyce prepared to leave, Chrissy tried to give the flyer back to Eddie, but he pushed it back toward her.

"You should come and see us," Eddie said. "We don't fight with real weapons, but it can be a lot of fun."

Was he asking her out? Despite what Joyce had said, Chrissy had had her fair share of guys hitting on her while on the job, and she could always turn them down with a sharp word or two. With Eddie though, she found that she didn't mind, and the thought made her feel a little shy.

When she said nothing, Eddie continued, sounding rather flustered, "If you don't want to, that's fine." He continued in a rush, with the air of someone taking a leap of faith, "But I'm here every night, so if you ever have a craving for discount jerky or chips or ginger ale, I'm at your service."

Chrissy looked at the flyer in her hand and looked again into his smiling brown eyes and his dimples. If he had taken a leap of faith, why couldn't she?

"Maybe I'll see you at the tournament," she said, tucking the flyer into her jacket.

If Joyce noticed Chrissy smiling to herself as she climbed into the ambulance, she made no comment on it. She only looked in the rearview mirror, at the reflection of Eddie standing at the store entrance to watch them drive away, with the same smile on his face. Joyce watched the two kids with their private smiles as if their secret were not open for the whole world to see, and, remembering a time when she was just as young and foolish and hopeful, she smiled to herself as well.

Perhaps the night shift was not so bad after all.

THE END

[geek-fashionista]

Reminder that "W.D.Y.W.F.M?" by The Neighbourhood is one of the theme songs for Eros.

Singer being driven crazy by a hot-and-cold woman he's sleeping with, knowing the relationship is Bad and it's Her Fault and that he's messed up in the head, but still desperate to get through to her ("I can't deny writing this song hoping she'll find she's not alone")?

Yeah.

[victorluvsalice]

WIP Word Game

I was tagged in this by @dont-offend-the-bees in this post -- thanks for thinking of me, Newt!

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your WIP(s) that start with each letter of that word. Word assigned by Newt: BITES

Because I'm a rebel, I'm going to do a bit from both my current WIP "Londerland Bloodlines: Downtown Queensland" and my just-finished-posting-today Valicer In The Dark story "Start At The Beginning...Sort Of" --

B

LB:DQ -- Briefcase Guy nodded, trembling. “What – what if their case is full of newspaper?” he got out after a second.

“Then at least we get to watch your illiterate ass try to read it later for laughs,” the leader spat, giving him a shove. “I know they got the goods. Just don’t ass it up, or they’re gonna kill the lot of us. Now get ready, it’s going down soon.”

SATBSO -- “By practicing my v-vows down the wrong alley,” Victor replied, worrying his bottom lip. “I – oh dear…” He grabbed his spoon and had a couple of fortifying sips of soup. “It’s like this – I’m due to be w-wed to the daughter of Lord and Lady Everglot, courtesy of my parents. We had the r-rehearsal today, and I was such a n-nervous wreck I couldn’t recall my lines at all. Pastor Galswells, our officiant, finally lost all patience with me after one too many mistakes, and b-banished me until I’d learned my vows. D-desperate to get them right, I ended up roaming Brightstone at random, repeating them to myself to try and get them straight in my head. I finally said them perfectly in an old forgotten side street overlooking one of the canals…and the moment I finished, a g-glowing blue figure in a w-wedding dress burst from the water, declaring ‘I do.’ I s-screamed and ran, but she managed to c-corner me on a nearby bridge and tried to k-kiss me. I fainted when her lips touched mine, and w-when I woke up, I was…” He waved his spoon in the air, as if trying to capture the enormity of the experience. “On the w-wrong side of the veil.”

I

LB:DQ -- “Indeed – or you could avoid the issue entirely,” Cheshire said, floating his smile over to another ladder on the wall in the darkened bay, just barely visible in the gloom. “I’m sure Rabbit would approve of you taking a shortcut, especially in order to avoid detection by anything that might try to stomp you.”

“I’ve apologized for that!” Hatter put in. “And made him that new watch!”

“It was the least you could do,” Rabbit said, paws on hips.

SATBSO -- “I don’t know – I don’t think so,” Victor said, letting his hands drop. “But you’re right, it is very hard to tell time in the ghost field…I’m sorry too, Emily,” he continued in a quieter voice. “I – I shouldn’t have lied to you about w-wanting to see my parents. I should have tried to explain better what was really wrong. But I – I didn’t have the words, and I was so scared and hungry and cold, and…” He sighed heavily, pressing his fingers against his forehead. “And absolutely nothing today has gone according to plan.”

“I know the feeling.” Emily perked up, a hesitant smile tugging at her lips. “But – but we can still make this work, right? We can alternate which side of the field we’re on day by day, so you can still eat and drink and not have to worry! We can even find a nice place to set up house together – one that’s in good shape in both my world and yours!”

“I think anyone who sees you two house-shopping is going to call the Spirit Wardens on you,” Alice couldn’t help saying.

T

LB:DQ -- “True,” Alice nodded. “Which reminds me – at some point tonight, I need to drop in on a certain Sean Milton. I don’t know how much honor there really is among thieves, but hopefully he has very little and will be willing to give up Muddy without a fight.”

“We’ll see on that front – and back, come to think of it,” Cheshire remarked, tail swaying as he kept pace. “But one side-quest at a time.”

SATBSO -- The gondolier gave Emily, floating near the prow, a significant look. “They always go up when the dead are involved.”

“I haven’t done anything,” Emily said, tone sulky and sparks crackling along the edge of her veil.

“And don’t start now,” the gondolier warned, frowning. “I may not be a Warden, but every one of us has got a bit of the Whisper about us. I know how to handle you lot.”

E

LB:DQ -- “Even better – they’re real robots! Well, sort of. . .” Victor popped open a bin and picked out a blue butterfly at random, showing her a block with some buttons on the – thorax, she believed it was called. “They each come with a ‘brain block’ like this where you can input simple commands. Obviously I can’t get any of them to fly – though I’ve always hoped – but I can get them to flap their wings if I shine a light on them, or follow a light being held in front of them – even play with a ball.”

“Neat,” Alice said, grinning. “You’ll have to show me later.”

SATBSO -- Emily went still, a frozen figure in tattered blue. Then she rushed forward at a speed no living human could have ever managed, face contorted in pure fury. Barkis yelped and tried to get out of the way, but she managed to clamp one spectral hand around his arm –

And, suddenly, she wasn’t there anymore. A split-second later, Barkis bent double, shrieking. “What – stop! No!”

“Yes!” came Emily’s voice – from Barkis’s own lips. Alice stared as he straightened up, wobbling like he was unused to controlling his own body. “The knife dropped from his fingers with a clatter. “You’re mine now, Eddie!”

S

LB:DQ -- She got to the bottom of the slope and looked around. While the layout was roughly the same, the entrance to level two was noticeably darker, thanks to a busted light fixture in the nearest “compact” bay. It also had different guards – two fellows who looked to be Chinese, dressed in matching burgundy jackets and wielding machine guns. One jerked his head around as she snuck closer, causing her to freeze out of habit. “It’s too quiet,” he said after a moment, shaking his head. “I-I don’t like this – this place. At night it seems so – haunted.”

SATBSO -- Smiler sorted and pointed at their eyes, brilliant yellow in their pale face. “What, do you think I was born with these?”

“...actually, it has genuinely never occurred to me to question why your eyes are bright glowing yellow before now,” Alice confessed, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. “They just seemed – completely natural on you.”

“I – I mean, I noticed, but – given everything else that was going on, they – didn’t really register as that weird?” Victor admitted, also going pink. “Alice is right, they do suit you...I sort of thought they might be a side effect of that Joy Serum you showed me before, since you said you make it yourself.”

Tagging: @nebbychan, @thesatiricaldemon, @anonymoose-au, @ace-of-tales -- the word I'm picking is TIMES!

[acid-ixx]

(01/05/25) — a loving family, an unpalatable desire masterlist

ft. romantic! yan bruce wayne w/ platonic yan! batfam x gn! spouse reader x romantic! yan clark kent w/ platonic yan! superfam

follow this post to receive the latest updates!

✮ MAIN MASTERLIST ✮

— TRIGGER WARNINGS !

- lowercase writing, nsfw themes, emotional neglect, adultery/cheating, eventual voyeurism, mentions of divorce, other warnings would be added soon.

— SYNOPSIS !

bruce wayne, he's a special man with a special reputation. day in, the crowd sees him as a billionaire, a charitable philanthropist, a playboy, and a father to multiple kids, adopted or not. day out, he's the city's guarded vigilante who spends his night fighting crime for the sake of its protection.

in all his roles, he was damn good at it.

but never at being a husband.

always absent, always busy, never turning his back on his poor spouse, you, whilst his children take it in themselves to never appreciate the effort you've exhausted caring for them.

it shouldn't have been such a surprise that you fell into the arms of a different man after the years of constantly vying for an actual family that loves you.

one day, you're saved by your very own personal hero from the crummy claws of the paparazzi, clark kent, a widowed reporter who have taken it upon himself to shield you from their invasive questions.

from there on out, you became his. and his little family became yours, too.

but not for long, because suddenly, the family you left behind wants you back in their grasp once more. this time, their hold on you won't be so loose anymore.

— CHAPTERS ! ; 00k+ words

00. — new beginnings.

— DRABBLES ! ; #series: loving family, unpalatable desire

before the bell rings (romantic! yan bruce wayne w/ platonic! yan batfam x gn! reader spinoff)

tell your baby, that i'm your baby (platonic! yandere damian wayne x gn! reader x yandere superfam)

planned fanfics

more planned fics

— ASKS ! ; #series: loving family, unpalatable desire

is it an infidelity situation?

how does damian react to jon showing the picture?

— INCORRECT QUOTES !

unorganized fake tweets pt. 1

— FANART !

jon showing damian a photo of reader

a picture of the reader in clark's wallet

before the bell rings fanar ft. feral bruce

— TAGLIST ! ; taglist is under construction!

none so far.

[onyxstyx]

ʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ʙʏ ᴀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅ | emperor geta

pairing: emperor geta x fem!reader

summary: the fates spin the thread of destiny, and mortals have no choice but to follow its path. you have other plans.

➺‘the fates, who give men at their birth both evil and good to have, and they pursue the transgressions of men and gods… until they punish the sinner with a sore penalty’ - theogony, hesiod ➺‘whatever happens to you has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time’ - marcus aurelius

A/N: i watched gladiator ii, devoured all the geta fics i could find (ty writers for feeding me <3) and i’m still ravenous. the man is gnawing at me from my insides so i had no choice but to get typing. haven’t written for like a yr so bear with me. if this flops it never happened xx

warnings: mention of miscarriage (not reader's), period-typical misogyny, morally ambiguous reader bc she’s fighting for her life out here. she’s just a girl fr :( YOU try being a girlie in ancient rome :/ enjoy !!

w/c: 5.9k

latin translations: fatum - fate, carissima - dear, domina - my lady

As the moon ascends in wake of the sun’s descent, the gilded walls of the imperial palace glint softly in the moonlight. Glorious tapestries line these walls, each one telling the tale of hallowed heroes, of terrible tyrants and of revered rulers. The history of the Roman Empire.

Their patterns, depicting stories of both rise and ruin, are woven by none other than the three Fates. One Fate spins the thread, and an heir is born. Another Fate weaves it, and a battle is won. The last Fate cuts, and an emperor meets his end.

As three pairs of hands work nimbly in the heavens, another tapestry begets itself in the mortal realm, where our story takes place.

From a tender age, you had been taught to believe in fate.

Fatum.

You had first learnt the word as a little one.

You’d been a curious creature, like most children are. Sheltered from the terrors of the world, your appetite for life was insatiable. You’d wake up with a hunger for new knowledge about the world around you, and go to bed still hungry for more, no matter what had transpired during the day. Thus, you found it impossible to go to sleep of your own accord - you relied on your mother’s bedtime stories to satisfy your appetite, and lull you into slumber.

Perched by your bedside with a gentle hand stroking your hair, she regaled you with the tale of Rome’s beginnings. A tale of abandonment, wolf-mothers and fratricide. Enough thrill to tire you out, she hoped. To her chagrin, she looked down to find widened eyes, without a trace of sleep in them, staring up at her expectantly. Instead, your eyes shone bright with the excitement of unanswered questions.

She sighed fondly before prompting you to talk. “Yes, carissima?”

And so the floodgates opened. You fired her with questions with all the sternness of a Roman general, and she listened intently with all the patience of a loving mother.

Why did the king try to kill the babies? Why didn’t the wolf eat the babies?

And finally, taking great care to be gentle, you placed a tiny hand on her rounded belly and asked the most burning question. Why did Romulus kill his brother? Your innocent mind struggled to comprehend it. You hadn’t even met your little sibling yet, and you already couldn’t fathom the idea of bringing harm to him. Or her, you thought, but your father had insisted that all refer to the babe as the male heir he so desperately desired it to be.

“Fatum,” was the simple answer she supplied. “Without the king’s cruelty, without the wolf’s mercy, without Remus’ death, our great city would never have been built.”

Eyes shining with knowledge yet untold, her gaze held yours. “Whatever happens to you, has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time,” she quoted, a tone of finality in her voice.

As well-loved children do, you’d lapped up your mother’s answer as readily as the twin babes lapped the wolf’s milk.

You had first witnessed fatum some years later, at the age of twelve.

On the brink of adolescence, much about you had changed compared to the little girl having bedtime stories told to her. Much except one. Age hadn’t quelled your curiosity - if anything, it had grown.

You’d exhausted all the resources available to a girl of your standing. You’d read enough philosophical texts to debate with Aristotle himself, asked questions faster than your tutors could find answers and yet, you knew there was much more that the world had to offer. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

With age had also come a newfound deviance. Observant as you were, you’d learned that there was much to be gained with certain types of information - if you knew how to use it to your advantage.

As such, you’d taken to eavesdropping on your father’s meetings with his fellow senators from behind a pillar. For weeks on end, they had spoken of a play becoming popular amongst patricians and plebeians alike. Oedipus.

At the centre of their discussion was a ploy to ban the play from being performed. Abhorrent, they had called it. A threat to their authority, if the people are led to believe that even kings are subject to a thing as fickle as fate. At that statement, your eyes twinkled with mischief and a devious smile found its way to your face - you were determined to see this for yourself.

So, on the fateful night you caught your older cousin in the arms of a man bearing no resemblance to her betrothed, you knew you’d struck gold.

Desperate to protect her reputation and far too embarrassed to berate you for sleuthing around when you should have been asleep, she’d hastily agreed to the terms of your silence. She would sneak you into the city’s amphitheatre to watch the next production of Oedipus, if you swore to secrecy.

And so your plan commenced. Hidden under the large folds of her toga, you observed the story unfolding before you. The mighty king of Thebes brought to his knees by the tragic fate he’d tried to escape, to no avail.

A real spectacle, the performance elicited emotions from you that were both old and new. In a short two hours you’d been perplexed, horrified, scandalised. You’d learned quickly why you had to be sneaked in - fate wasn’t the only mature theme you were educated on that night.

But you only came to understand fatum when it took the person dearest to you, two summers ago.

Pregnant again, the fifth time that you could remember, your mother had taken ill. Perilously ill. After years of unsuccessful attempts to produce an heir - one daughter, two miscarriages and two stillbirths - she had breathed her last. In her womb? The son your father demanded of her. The son he had longed for. Prayed to the gods for. What else could bring forth such a tragic end, if not the hands of the Fates?

Now a grown woman, the beliefs your mother had impressed upon you would soon be tested. Left with no living sons to continue his legacy and no living wife to bring forth such living sons, your father’s lofty political aspirations could only be fulfilled through his daughter. You.

Your father wasted no time in advancing his plans.

After a long day spent praying at the temple of Pluto, you had been ready to wind down and relax. A good distance away from the centre of the city and situated atop a number of hills, a trip there takes up the whole day. You had set out at dawn, and as the sun set over the Tiber river to bring forth dusk, your shadow darkened the entrance of your family villa.

Exhausted both emotionally and physically, your body went through the motions of preparing yourself for supper, but your mind remained absent - occupied with thoughts of what could have been and what will never be.

After your bath you called for your maid and allowed her to dress you, head still in the clouds. It was only when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the bronze mirror atop your vanity that you noticed something was amiss.

Your eyes squinted as you inspected the image reflected on the polished surface.

“Why have you dressed me in these garments? I wish to wear my usual attire.”

You wore a tunic, the draped garment secured by an ornate brooch resembling an owl, with eyes made of precious gems. Nothing out of the ordinary.

What was out of the ordinary, was the saffron yellow hue of the tunic — since your mother’s passing you had been in mourning and thus only wore dark colours. A fact well-known by your maid, who dressed you day and night.

The hands fastening the brooch faltered as she gathered a response.

“My apologies, Domina.” She stepped back, head bowed in deference. “I assumed you would revert to your previous wardrobe, seeing as yesterday marked the end of…” She trailed off meekly, allowing you to fill in the blanks.

The previous day had marked a year since your mother’s passing, and thus the end of the customary mourning period. As such, it would be socially acceptable for you to appear happy and content again, reflected in the abandonment of deep plums and drab greys for sunny yellows and bold blues. You supposed it was not odd for her to assume you desire to don brighter colours.

But upon closer inspection, your suspicion rose again. Detailed with beautiful patterns and made of the smoothest damask money could buy, the tunic was much too elaborate for a simple family dinner in the villa. The last time you wore it was to a relative’s wedding, where your father made a point of telling anyone who would listen just how much it had cost to import the material from China.

You poised yourself to question her further, but the words died on the tip of your tongue when you saw the pleading look she gave you.

“Please, Domina.”

She offered you no further explanation, but the fear in her eyes was explanation enough. She was not doing this of her own accord, but under instruction. And if you knew your father well, under strict instruction.

Whatever plans he had for you, you knew you would have little to no choice in the matter.

Wordlessly, you acquiesced and allowed her to continue. You did not protest when she brushed, braided and pinned your hair into an elaborate updo. You were compliant when she lined your eyes with kohl and blotted your lips with mulberry juice.

Primped and primed like a prized show horse, you dismissed your maid, sat by the window and awaited your fate.

Not long passed before the sound of a male timbre filled the room.

“It appears your outfit is missing something.”

You turned to the direction of the voice to see your father standing in the doorway. Instinctively, you stood to your feet - less as a show of respect and more because you were used to being on guard in his presence.

In his hands he held a translucent, gauzy material, sheer in nature and vibrant in colour, that was all too familiar to you.

Your mother’s favourite veil.

Usually fixed firmly atop her head during special occasions - festivals, birthdays, weddings and the like - you could recognise it from a mile away. Growing up, you had associated this veil with womanhood itself. You would traipse around the corridors of the villa with it wrapped around your head haphazardly, the excess fabric trailing behind you as you ran as fast as your little legs could carry you.

What a foreign sight it was to see it in the hands of your father. And what a foreign sight it was to see him in your chambers.

Following your mother’s passing, the two of you had not conversed beyond what was formally required of you, your already fragile relationship fracturing completely. Yet here he was, extending a peace offering. An olive branch.

Pleased as you were to receive it, you were not foolish enough to believe this to be a genuinely affectionate gesture. A politician through and through, your father was no stranger to symbolic gestures, and he had made no attempts to mend your relationship prior to this moment. This sudden generosity, paired with your extravagant dressing, could only mean one thing.

He wanted something from you.

Now, you had two options. Comply with his request, or comply with his request begrudgingly. You chose the latter, of course. Even if obedience was your only option, you weren’t going to make this easy for him.

You casted him a quick look of derision. “If you wish to barter for my forgiveness with a piece of cloth, I am afraid your efforts have been wasted.”

Unphased, he stepped further into the room.  “Now, now, peace, dear daughter. Let us be civil.” The faux humility in his tone was almost comical.

“Perhaps you feel…wronged by me for holding your mother to a certain standard. But, you must understand that I was simply fulfilling my duties, by encouraging her to fulfil her own. I have particular responsibilities to this family. As do you, now.”

You levelled him with an icy glare, wise enough not to express your discontent verbally, but too headstrong not to express it somehow.

“And even if I have, in some unfathomable way, wronged you; to err is human, to forgive, divine.” 

After knowing him for as long as you did, you knew this was the closest thing to an apology you would get. You also knew your father was a talented orator - it’s how he gained a large enough political following to join the Senate, after all. And so you prepared yourself to be subjected to one of his moving speeches.

“It is common knowledge that women are the weaker sex,” What a great way to start, you snarked to yourself. “Yet, I have always seen a unique strength in you. Not physical strength, of course, but a mental fortitude. Since you were a young girl you have been willful, stubborn,” he took a step closer to you with each word, purple-lined toga brushing the floor as he advanced. 

As he said the last word, he gave you a knowing look. “Nosy.”

You failed to hide your shock. “Oh yes, I saw you slinking around behind the pillars.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It matters not, now. In fact, whatever dregs of information you picked up from eavesdropping on my discussions may soon prove useful.”

His face was a picture of smugness, with an eyebrow cocked and the corners of his mouth upturned as if he knew something you didn’t. With just a few sentences he had complimented you (even if it was backhanded), revealed that he knew your secret, and teased you with a nugget of information. The perfect combination to make you anticipate his next words.

Silence filled the room as he kept you in suspense, mind whirring as you mulled over his cryptic words. 

One hand held your mother’s veil in front of him, while the other caressed its folds delicately. His eyes had a faraway look in them that suggested his mind had travelled to another time.

“Your mother was a strong woman. Not strong enough in the end, regrettably, but strong nonthele-”

“Don’t.” You interjected. “You will not sully her memory with your caustic words.”

His lips spread into a diplomatic smile, but the twitch of his eye betrayed the irritation he felt. Belligerent as he was, he ignored your outburst and continued. 

“Unlike her, you have the makings of a lady of great influence. Much like me, you have the mind for politics. That potential lies latent within you.”

With a gentleness you wished was also reflected in his words, he draped the veil over your head. “I advise you not to waste it, dear daughter, and suffer the fate of lesser women.”

You scoffed at his words, readjusting the veil so it rested perfectly atop your head and shoulders. “And how do you suggest I fulfil this…potential? The Senate is not exactly welcoming of women.”

Well-pleased that your interest had been piqued, he finally reveals his true intentions.

“Accompany me to the imperial banquet tonight. We will celebrate the successful conquest of Britannia.”

“I do not care for banquets, nor do I spare a thought for conquests.”

“You may not care for military conquests, but this banquet itself is a conquest of the political sort. In my experience, much more is won with words, than with swords. And tonight’s event presents an opportunity for much gain.”

Again with the cryptic words.

“Allow me to present you to the Emperors. Your face is comely enough to garner their attention, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, some men find opinionated girls like you to be charming.” 

Is he insinuating what you think he is?, you thought incredulously. Surely not.

“The Senate may not be the place for women, but the Senate is not the only facilitator of politics. Why not practice your politics from Palatine Hill?”

There was no mistaking it. He intended to make an Empress of you. Equally as curious as you were sceptical, you decided to test his logic.

“Beauty is fleeting. Charm wanes with time. How would I maintain their favour?”

“That, dear daughter, is up to you. I am certain you will find a way, formidable as you are.”

While it pained you to admit it, he was right. You and your father were more alike than different, what with your scheming and blackmailing. Besides, you were formidable. You were cunning. You were capable.

There may be greater things in store for you yet.

And those greater things began with this banquet.

Upon arrival, you were met with the most magnificent sight you had ever seen. Sat proudly upon Palatine Hill, the palace looked like the image your mind conjured when picturing Olympus. After ascending the intimidating number of steps that led to the entrance, you truly felt like you’d ascended to the land of the gods. Wherever you looked there was amazing artwork that instilled equal parts awe and fear in you. 

Look up, and there were grand arches to behold. Look to the side, and the spectacular frescoes offered a feast for the eyes. Look down, and there were beautifully designed floor mosaics you almost felt bad for stepping on.

As you passed through into the atrium, it was much the same. Ostentatiously decorated, it boasted gilded walls and glorious tapestries, each feature a testament to the Emperors’ opulence, and Rome’s riches.

But it was impossible to focus fully on the artwork with the room heaving as it was. Eyes darting from one person to another with every passing second,  you were captivated by the spectacle the hoard of partygoers presented. Something seemed to be happening in every square foot of the room, each guest having their fill of whatever their vice of choice was for the night. Wine was in abundance, giving way to loose lips, and scantily-clad whores prowled about in the shadows, giving way to loose purse strings.

You had been to your fair share of lavish affairs, but this was a whole new world of revelry.

Between the loud percussion of the musicians’ instruments, the aroma of the heavily seasoned foods and the leering gazes of overexcited men, you began to feel overstimulated. You stuck close to your father as he led you into the heart of the throng, finding comfort in the familiar when surrounded by the foreign. Better the devil you know.

Oblivious to your discomfort, he reprimands you under his breath. “Stop clinging to me like a child, lest our venture fail before it has even begun.”

You’d been so taken by your surroundings that you hadn’t registered where your father was leading you to. Now you stood in front of the two men at the centre of this affair, who were seated majestically upon a golden threaded couch. You prayed you didn’t look like the bewildered little girl you certainly felt like. 

With a grand, sweeping gesture of his hand, your father bowed. 

“Imperators, what an honour it is to partake in these…wondrous celebrations with your Majesties.”

“Senator,” one of them said, voice smooth like honey but with an edge that demanded caution. His face bore a smile, but his tone was calm and measured. “What a pleasure it is to see you.” The twitch of his eyebrow suggested otherwise. “In a more agreeable mood, might I add.” The man beside him sniggers.

More agreeable? Whatever could that mean? For the second time in one night you found yourself deciphering cryptic words. Father must have angered the Emperors, somehow. 

“And you’ve brought…” He trailed off, looking at your father expectantly.

“Yes, Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla,” with a single clap and an officious clearing of his throat he stepped to the side, no longer obscuring their vision of you. “May I present my daughter…”

You managed to regain your composure, exhibiting a grace only a lady of the upper echelons of society could possess when you sunk into a deep curtsy. Lifting your gaze, you were met with the hair-raising sensation of being observed. Not just observed – scrutinised.  

A pair of eyes, deep brown like rich soil, trailed over your form. The man that addressed your father with contempt - Geta. His brows furrowed as he took the sight of you in. Lined with kohl much like yours, his eyes were smouldering in their examination.

Another pair, red-rimmed and cloudy with the haze of inebriation, were the perfect contrast. The man that sniggered - Caracalla. With irises of a cold blue hue, they would have been intimidating if they belonged to a face other than his, what with his rosy rounded cheeks and seemingly perpetual impish grin. 

Despite their differences, the relation between the men was clear as day. Flaming locks of hair and the gold laurels that circled their heads confirmed their identities. These were the infamous twin tyrants.

But it wasn’t just the weight of their eyes that you felt. Lounging around the couch in various positions and in varying states of undress, was an entourage of courtesans. You did your best to avert your gaze, as theirs bore into you. 

And what a pleasant sight you were. Adorned with ornate jewellery and clad in the finest of silks, you were easily one of the best dressed at the banquet. Before a word had been uttered, your appearance relayed a message – you were a lady of fine stature, more than accustomed to luxury and thus, would be well-suited to palace life.

Well-suited to be Empress.

Not taking any chances, your father decided not to leave anything up for interpretation.

He began listing your virtues as if reading from a handbook - 100 Things to Look For in a Roman Wife. He spoke of your piety, your beauty, your fertility. With every trait of yours that was mentioned, you grew increasingly more irate and keeping the docile smile on your face became increasingly more difficult. 

“...and lest I forget, she is most gifted with the lyre-”

“How quaint.” Caracalla interrupted, a peal of childish laughter bubbling from his lips. “He presents his daughter’s hand as if he is lobbying for a law to be passed!”

Geta scoffed, “Or a conquest to be forfeited.”

At this, Caracalla doubled over in laughter, the overfilled cup of wine in his hand threatening to spill over the rim with every jostle of his frame. Clearly there’s a joke you’re missing here.

There’s a wicked glint in Geta’s eyes that tells you this joke has guile. 

“Three sennights have lapsed since you last stood before us, spewing nonsense about abandoning our pursuit of Britannica.” The vitriol that coated his voice strung a discordant note in the mellifluous tune of his brother’s continuous laughter. “Yet here you stand in your Emperors’ palace,” he gestured at the ongoing frivolities. “Drinking and making merry with spoils from the very war you so vehemently opposed.” 

Ah. It finally clicked. From what you had picked up from your father and his associates’ discussions, you knew that this conquest had long since been under contention among the Senators. The campaign was taking longer than anticipated, and required more reinforcements than expected. The Roman force was fatigued. At home, the starving plebeians of Rome were one famine away from revolting, and without the full support of the army, politicians relied on empty promises to appease their constituents and maintain order. Yet, the Emperors were adamant on expanding Rome’s borders.

For whatever reason, at the last Senate meeting three weeks ago your father had been the unfortunate soul to suggest that the troops should draw back. And now he stood before them at the celebration of the successful conquest, presenting you as a bargaining chip to secure his pardon. Opposing the Emperors was costly, and he decided you were going to pay that price on his behalf.

Geta leaned his head on his hands as he asked, “Tell me, Senator, what makes you think you will triumph this time?”

You watched your father’s reaction with bitter disbelief. For the first time in your life, your silver-tongued father, the man that had landed you this fate, floundered for words.

Fine. If this was the hand dealt to you, so be it. But you were going to do this your way.

“Your Majesties,” At the sound of your sweet voice, Geta’s gaze affixed itself to your face. Instantly, he was beguiled. “If I may…” 

With the slow incline of his head, you were permitted to speak. 

“I know little of war,” you feigned ignorance. “But I do know that defying the odds to bring glory to Rome is no small feat.” Preening at your praise, Geta leaned forward in his seat, a silent encouragement for you to continue. “Rome and her citizens are fortunate to be led by you, Imperators, and I am grateful to be in the presence of such wise rulers.”

His mouth spread into a self-satisfied smirk. “I bask in your praises, my lady. It pleases me to see that someone in your family has a semblance of loyalty to the powers above them” A pointed look was shot at your father. “You see, all those that oppose their Emperors,” His venomous gaze roved over the group of Senators shifting uneasily as they watched this ordeal. “Will soon learn that there is only one way for a man to wield power.” He held up his index finger for emphasis and paused for suspense. “War.”

With all the self-assurance of a man that has never truly been challenged, he stalked towards you.

“What other power can bring a man to his knees and cause him to surrender?”

“I can think of nothing greater than war!” Caracalla piped up from behind him.

“Yes, brother.” Geta held his cup of wine up in agreement. “By no other means can a man wield such power. I am sure my lady agrees?” He offered his right hand, each finger as bejewelled as the next.

The ultimatum he presented you with was clear. Kiss the ring, let all be forgiven and allow this encounter to end pleasantly. Refuse the ring, and…well, don’t refuse the ring.

But compliance was predictable, and would only get you so far. Your beauty and charm had ignited a spark of interest in him, but that wasn’t enough. You needed that spark to burst into a flame.

With swan-like grace you knelt before him and took his hand, smiling inwardly when his eyes followed your descent with rapture. You didn’t miss his quick intake of breath when you halted your movements to look up and meet his eye, lips an inch away from the stunning signet ring.

“Upon second thought,” You tilted your head as if considering his words. “There exists another power great enough to make a man kneel in surrender.” At your bold words, the hand you held tightened around your fingers until he had a firm grip of your hand. “A power so great, even Emperors are not immune.”

Gasps of shock came from the onlookers sober enough to process what they had heard.

“Impertinence!” Caracalla’s cry of protest tore you from the captivity of his brother’s gaze. 

“Forgive my daughter, she oversteps her bounds.” Your father spat the words out and fixed you with a look of warning, a late and unappreciated attempt to de-escalate the night’s proceedings.

With a wave of Geta’s hand, his words were dismissed. For the sake of keeping your resolve, you pretended not to see the Praetorians return their drawn swords to their scabbards.

You returned to the intense stare of brown eyes narrowed in… intrigue? Suspicion? You weren’t sure, but you had his attention. 

“And what power would that be?”

Your gentle smile had him entranced. “The strike of a drum, the strum of a lyre’s strings. Music, my Imperator, holds much power.”

See, while your father was busy waxing lyrical about you, you had been studying Geta closely. As he listened to others speak, his fingers unconsciously tapped the thigh of the courtesan perched on the arm of the couch. But they were not tapping any old rhythm – they tapped to the beat of the percussion in the background.

The ring your lips had puckered up to kiss was not embossed with an imprint of Mars, the god of war, but Apollo, god of music. Geta the Emperor championed conflict and violence, but Geta the man held music dear.

Rich eyes twinkled as his laugh rang in your ears. “Ah, yes. Your father mentioned your skill with the lyre. He failed to mention your humour.” He didn’t believe you.

“I assure you, Imperator, my lyre-playing is unparalleled.” You indulged him with a coy smile.

“You believe you would best our most talented musician? That your playing would put your Emperors’ finest to shame?” He challenged your claim.

“Given the chance, I would outplay each of the Nine Muses,” you asserted boldly. You rose to his challenge.

His eyes gleamed with ardour as he regarded your statement with a raised brow. “I await the day I hear you play with baited breath, my lady.”

“It would be my pleasure, my liege.”

Not risking any more excitement, you curtsied and took your father’s arm as he guided you towards the outskirts of the atrium, and away from watching eyes. He wasted no time expressing his displeasure.

“Have you lost your senses, girl? Has some strange plague come over your mind?!” He released an exasperated sigh. “You should have held that tongue of yours.”

 “Oh, and left you there, stammering like a bumbling fool? Father,” you uttered the paternal term without an ounce of familial affection. “You entrusted this ploy into my hands, so leave it there.”

Anger flashed across his face like a clap of thunder. Before he could berate you for your indolence, however, a piercing shriek stole the moment.

You pushed through the crowd to see the commotion, weaving past bodies stilled with shock at whatever it is they were witnessing. When you got to the centre, you were met with a most harrowing display of fraternal discord.

Geta lay sprawled out on the marble floor, the corded muscle of his limbs tensing as he strained to hold back the man towering over him, wielding a dagger above his head. Caracalla. 

At first glance one may have supposed this fray was borne of anger, but with the spittle flying out of gritted teeth that gnashed and snarled like those of some inhuman beast, the incoherent stream of words and the crazed look in his eyes, it was clear that he did not have full agency of his person.

The rumours were true. He was having one of his infamous episodes.

Your eyes darted from Praetorian to Praetorian, waiting for one of them, any of them to take action. Their hands rested on the hilt of their swords, hesitation rooting them to their spots. To raise a hand against Caracalla would be treason, punishable by death. To ignore the distress of Geta would be treason, also punishable by death. They were at an impasse.

The chatter of mingling guests and the ambience of the musicians’ instruments had long since stopped, leaving the grunts of the brothers to take their place. All watched on in stunned silence, revelers turned horrified spectators.

Their scrambling continued. Geta managed to hook a leg around Caracalla’s ankle, toppling him over to join him on the cold marble. Wine cups clanged as they were knocked to the ground, collateral. The cacophony of sound nearly masked the sound of Geta’s desperate plea.

“Break the spell! Break the spell!”

Moved by an impetus you couldn’t explain, you barreled further through the crowd until you reached the musicians’ corner. You grabbed the lyre from the hands of the bard (who was too focused on the ongoing tumult to protest), and started strumming the tune of a nursery rhyme favoured by Roman children both rich and poor. 

Dulcet tones and sweet symphonies echoed through the chamber as you sang of Rome’s rolling hills, of fair maidens awaiting the return of brave soldiers, of the Tiber River’s ebb and flow.

Those around you listened intently, enraptured. They stepped aside, clearing a path for you towards the quarreling brothers. You walked forward as you sang, and as you reached the last verse you stood a few feet away from where they squirmed, limbs akimbo. 

From your position you saw the exact moment the muscles in Caracalla’s face relaxed, and his body went limp. He released a weak whimper better-suited to an injured animal than the tyrannical emperor he was rumoured to be.

Eyes fixed on you over his brother’s shoulder, he dropped the dagger as if compelled. Tears began to run down his face as he wailed, balling himself up into a foetal position. When they noticed his change in disposition, his entourage took the chance to spirit him away from the room. 

The final note of your song rang out. A beat passed as everyone came to, as if they too were held captive in a trance. Then, a slow, steady clap from one became a roaring applause, your fellow guests lauding your performance as if it had been planned. 

Chest heaving from exertion, Geta used a three-legged (formerly four-legged) stool to pull himself from the floor and adjusted his toga. At the raise of his hand, the clapping stopped. Flopping back to sit on the couch, he gestured for you to come forward. His expression was inscrutable. 

Before you could scrape together an apology, or some sort of explanation, you were utterly disarmed by the grin that spread across his face. 

“My lady,” He huffed between words, still catching his breath. “I stand corrected. It appears your flair with the lyre is equally as bewitching as your looks.”  

Your cheeks heated up at his confession of attraction towards you. “It pleases me that you think of me so, my Emperor.”

“Mmm.” He hummed, dark eyes taking their time to appraise you. “The power to bring a man to his knees can be very dangerous, you know. I believe it would be in the best interest of Rome and her citizens if such power was… managed by the capable hands of their Emperor.”

The chill of deja vu ran down your spine when he extended his hand in your direction. A second invitation to kiss the ring. Most people only get one.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

As your lips made contact with the cold metal of Apollo’s face and you sealed your fate, you closed your eyes and said a silent prayer. When you opened them again, you found eyes the colour of rich soil searching yours. 

He turned the hand that gripped his and pressed a surprisingly sweet kiss to the back of it. His kisses travelled up your arm, growing more and more fervent, the plush of his lips leaving warmth on every spot they pressed against. He used his hold on you to pull you towards him until you were close enough to smell the heady scent of patchouli mixed with the subtle musk of perspiration, and count the freckles on his speckled cheeks, peeking through the layer of makeup. 

His palm ran up and down your arm repeatedly, inching further up each time.

“You will make a home for yourself here, in these palace walls.” Brown eyes gazed into yours, full of a veneration you couldn’t fathom. “And you shall be my little Muse.” 

As if the troubles of your life thus far had not been a sufficient allotment of suffering, the Fates had now tasked you with weathering the twin tempers of the Emperors Geta and Caracalla. And surviving.

Gods help you.

A/N: thank you ever so much for reading ! i'm working on part two so let me know if you want me to post it when it's done <3

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated x

© onyxstyx tumblr 2025

[xoxochb]

HIII I was wondering if you could do a smut fic like the cabin seen with Percy and Annabeth but with Percy and reader instead (super sorry if this doesn’t make sense I’m not the best writer) 💝

I took most quotes direct from the book, so full credits go to rick for those!!!!

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“why did you take that knife?”

without a doubt, you knew the answer. “you would’ve done the same for me.”

that was most definitely an undeniable fact, the both of you knew that well.

“how did you know?” absentmindedly, percy’s finger trails over the wound on your tummy— diligently as to not reopen it. “where my achilles spot was?”

you furrow your brows in confusion, admittedly you had no idea. “I didn’t… I just had a feeling. a feeling that you were in danger.” you pause, silence fills the cabin for a moment. “where… where is the spot?”

he’s reluctant to respond, opening his mouth and closing it. but inside, percy was sure that he could trust you of all people. “the small of my back.”

you lift your hand, slowly traveling it from toying with your other to find percy’s spine beneath his shirt. the pads of your fingers just barely hit his skin.

“where? here?”

he takes your hand with his own, guiding it farther down his spine until reaching the designated spot. you pat it twice gingerly. percy’s eyes stay trained on your face, watching your reaction as you feel it underneath your fingertips.

“you saved my life,” he speaks. “thank you.”

you remove your hand from his spine, but he keeps your fingers intertwined. you shrug nonchalantly. “so I’ll owe you one. what’s new?”

percy laughs lightly. “you’re gonna use that to your advantage, aren’t you?”

“definitely,” you nod.

the cabin returns to a comfortable silence. you take this time to allow your eyes to travel the expanse of it. very dim, with the exceptions of a lamp and crackling fire illuminating their own portions of the room.

your line of vision falls over the window, seeing as the sun sets over the horizon, casting an incandescent pinkish glow over both the earth, but a soft light peering through the lacy curtains half opened.

your eyes fall back over percy who watches you with attentiveness, his normally sea-green eyes darker with in the lighting. his thumb rubs over your knuckles, the opposite still tracing over your injury.

with your shirt half over your torso, he leans his head over your tummy, placing his lips ever-so gently over the said wound, kissing every inch of it. your breath hitches at the sudden actions, yet you make no move to stop him, you don’t dare.

“percy,” you murmur, a nearly inaudible word you could barely hear yourself.

he looks back over to you with concern that he had hurt you. though you shake your head and beckon him to continue if he wishes.

and he does wish.

his mouth goes on with it’s pecks over your tummy, though now finding new skin by the waistband of your jeans— free hand now pulling lightly at them.

“can— is this okay?”

“yes, percy, you can.”

with your approval, his free hand unhurriedly slides down the zipper of your jeans, then being able to undo the button and take the waistband down.

but he stops in his tracks for a second. “are you sure?”

“if I wasn’t I would’ve stopped you already.”

percy nods understandingly, slipping the jeans down your thighs, eyes trailing each inch of newly exposed skin. you finish off for him, using each of your feet to discard of the remainders of your jeans.

you’re left in only your camp shirt and a pair of undeniably soaked lacy underwear. percy’s mouth falls over the edge of them, free hand tracing the skin of your bare thighs. he looks to you again, opening his mouth but you stop him.

“you can do anything you’d like.”

“are you—”

“yes, percy.”

he swallows, keeping hands entwined, positioning himself between your legs, giving you one last glance before removing your underwear, agonizingly slow pulling them down your legs until you kick the rest off.

his lips begin from your knee, kissing each centimeter of your skin, trailing higher and higher, yet each kiss slow and deliberate, open-mouthed and teasing.

“percy…” you whisper, arching your hips off the sheets to beckon him to reach your core.

his green eyes flash to you, mouth hovering dangerously close to your middle. you give him a nodded indication to go ahead.

without another second, he obliges.

his tongue swirls over your clit, licking it slowly, diligent of your recent injury that could possibly hurt still. his hand remains linked with yours, running the pad of his thumb over your soft skin, calming your racing heartbeat as he slides his tongue through your wet folds.

you squeeze his hand faintly, hips rocking into the feeling of him, eagerly, silently telling him you’re not entirely fragile with your injury. he only half follows your orders, sliding deeper inside of you, yet still at a slow pace.

you can only hope now that nobody enters the not-so private cabin.

[sonofcelluloid]

Sonofcelluloid’s Top 30(ish) Favorite Devil’s Minion Fics:

In no particular order, this list only includes finished works that are relatively canon compliant (I’ll be making separate lists for AUs and fics in progress.) Anything in italics is a direct quote from the fic or its description. Please remember to check tags and ratings before reading.

You’ll Always Be My Favorite Ghost by lestatslestits: Tales of Armand’s turbo autism as Daniel gets to know and love him. This one is so sweet and had me laughing my ass off.

outcast of all this night by gaypiratedivorce: Modern Devil’s Minion fic of all time. Rewired my brain. "I mean, I don't know how you guys did it in Renaissance Italy, but most people this century get to at least second base before wearing each other's blood around our necks." There’s a part 2: my aid against the boredom of the eternal where they finally hook up. And honestly every fic from this author is a banger.

I’d Break the Back of Love for You by kurow: 70s Armandaniel. A rescue and a sick fic wrapped in one, and I’m a sucker for both.

Like That by GrayGiantess: Fluffy 70s Armandaniel. A tooth achingly sweet first kiss fic, featuring Twinkie’s. Again, every fic from this author is a banger.

The Beginning is the End is the Beginning by trinityofone: Daniel sees a wild vision during his turning. “I deserve this,” Armand said. His hold on Daniel’s throat was almost a caress. “After what I’ve been through, I deserve something of my own, don’t I?”

make a home from a rented house by sleepdeprivedsurgeon: Daniel realizes Armand has never really had a room of his own before. Armand slowly builds his own safe place. Super fluffy autistic Armand stuff. Domestic vampire polycule bonus.

the spiral is unspooling by reedroad: Armand helps Daniel recover their Devil’s Minion years via old video tapes they filmed of their meetings. Absolutely heart wrenching and wonderful and charming and had some of the most jaw dropping plot twists I’ve ever experienced in a DM fic. The last chapter absolutely floored me and rewired my brain forever. May be my #1 fav.

forever’s gonna start tonight by trinityofone: Hate fucking with a happy ending:) Sort of a soulmate fic as well. “I fucking hate you. And you hate me. So something is making us do this.” “I don’t hate you,” Armand pants. “You mean nothing to me. Don't stop.”

care and keeping by katplanet: A surprisingly tender guide for how to step on your boyfriend. Bonus Danlou. Smutty and fluffy and freakayyy. GREAT dialogue. Very funny as well.

hell is: by cannibalenthusiast: Another turning fic. Post Dubai blowout, Armand and Daniel bond over martinis, breakups, and a Survivor marathon. They bang about it. Great ending.

5 Times Daniel Molloy Imagined Killing Marius de Romanus (+1 Time He Actually Did It) by platoapproved: This one is genuinely a masterpiece. Probably my #2 fav. Lots of protective Daniel, some really cool and original vampire-lore stuff, Louis and Lestat being beautifully supportive along with other new side characters. Armand finally gets to process his abuse among allies. A really touching Lestat subplot as well. HEAVY trigger warnings for all Marius related assaults, but obviously we get to watch him die horribly to make up for it:) Absolute banger of an ending, totally sticks the landing.

lesson three: parasitic infections by kanxie: 70s Armandaniel. Armand picks out Alice as a third and does NOT like the way the night progresses. What unfolds is some of the CRAZIEST psychosexual (emphasis on psycho) gremlin Armand shit I’ve ever seen in a fic. So perfectly Armand. Short and sweet, sad ending.

open up your skull, i’ll be there by Anonymous: First time fic. Armand dipped after Daniel’s turning and when he shows up again Daniel ain’t letting him leave. “Your blood is my blood,” Daniel says, and Armand does not flinch. “It’s your blood getting me hard. Your blood that’s pumping through me.” Armand licks his lips, and still doesn’t move. “Please. Armand, Armand, please.” “Beg for it.” “I am begging for it, this is what begging looks like —”

Disintegration by lilacaisle: Daniel goes crazy when Armand locks him in the apartment and tries to burn himself with a cigarette so it will feel like being bitten🙈 Armand does BDSM about it. This one’s actually book Armandaniel but I didn’t notice it until like the third read because it fits show Armandaniel so perfectly.

baby, cry baby by Babeblox: Daniel seeks out Lestat for an interview after Louis’ attack, but he’s being haunted by someone else. Canon divergence. This one legit made me cry. Dark but very sweet. Wild ending.

get in my mind (do you see my heart?) by Marenke: 70s Armandaniel, Armand character study. Armand is pretty sure he and Daniel have never had a problem a little brainwashing couldn’t fix. SICK AND TWISTEDDDDD (affectionate).

The Importance of Being Armand by Siria: Daniel and Armand talk about the power of naming. "If you can imagine a different set of possibilities for me as a vampire, ever think of what you could come up with for yourself, if you put your mind to it?"

Bumpin' That (Bumpin' That Bumpin' That Bumpin' That) by TheAngelsAreWatching: Daniel and Lestat are fuck buddies. They are on a tour bus a la Word Tour. They do coke. They try to bang. And then Armand stops time and walks in. Armandaniel fuck crazy style. Pure filth (affectionate).

Run, Arun! by TheNightColors: Autistic Armand, character study. Daniel learns it was considered a “crime” to turn Armand due to his “mental retardation”. Armand explains what it was like to be an autistic child in the sixteenth century, and an autistic adult for 500 years after. Heavy stuff. Trigger warning for all things relating to Amadeo’s past and for the internalized ableism instilled in Armand by his upbringing.

a haunting just for company by valkyrisms: Post Dubai blowout but pre Daniel’s turning, Armand crashes on Daniel’s couch. A modern Devil’s Minion fic for the ages. These weirdos love each other so bad. Some really memorable tender scenes. This one’s a fan favorite. “You’re fond of me.” “You’re a nuisance.”

The Company of Monsters by ruiqi: A full deconstruction of Marius’ abuse from Armand’s pov as he struggles to keep old patterns from repeating with Daniel. Overall I think this is the most realistic depiction of what it would be like for Armand to come to terms with his abuse in the modern day, especially regarding Daniel’s involvement. He’s totally out of his depth but wants so badly to help. This one made me SOB. It’s honestly a really tough read, but beautifully done. “You said, last night, that he wanted an angel,” says Daniel, “but no one's an angel, Armand. That wasn't fair to you. Besides, who would want an angel when they could have you?” “No,” Armand says. “No, you can’t say that.” “You can’t fucking stop me,” says Daniel. And it isn’t tagged, but this one is incredible autistic Armand representation. Probably my #3 fav.

Smart Boy by heliza24: Just a really good 70s Devil’s Minion era explanation of the events leading up to Armand’s decision to take Daniel’s memories away. Quite a bit of infidelity stuff in this one. Also delves a lot into Daniel’s family history, and an emotional affair is established between them long before they actually hook up. Very emotional. Heartbreaking last chapter.

We Dared Eternity and Won by faerywhimsy: A 70s Devil’s Minion era telling of the four good years they had before everything imploded. Louis has somewhat of a distant obsession with Daniel in this and so is very involved in Armand’s decisions regarding him. Favorite scene is when Armand saves Daniel from a hotel fire and the near loss devastates him because it makes him realize he’s in love with Daniel.

reprise. by SheOfBadIdeas: In Dubai, Daniel demands Armand show him the memories he stole. Armand relays the tale of their romance, but Daniel is begrudged to give Armand the satisfaction of giving in to it. That doesn’t last long;)

Waiting by bandedbulbussnarfblat: 70s fic. Daniel is living with Alice and hasn’t seen Armand in two months. He gets a call from Armand, who just got a proposal from Marius asking him to be his companion again. “I told him I couldn't go back. That I was waiting for you.” Daniel sucks in a sharp breath. Fuck. Armand's voice sounds almost wet, strained and raspy. He finally sounds as vulnerable as Daniel always wanted to see him be. “Should I keep waiting for you, Daniel?” (It’s just banger after banger with this author too.)

The Monster of my Memories by GrayGiantess: In Dubai, Daniel has just remembered his relationship with Armand and he’s PISSED. Armand gladly reminds him he’s waited 40 years for Daniel, he doesn’t mind waiting a little while more, and he’s not so sure Daniel has the same conviction🙈 Phenomenal subby old man Daniel material.

Delicate Machinery by Lilac Tinsel: An in depth look at the 70s love affair that neither man ever saw coming, in all its complicated glory. Really dives into the psychological consequences of Armand’s constant rejections. Amazing take on what the actual memory alteration would look like. The part that broke me: “I’m sorry for– for all of it. I didn’t realize how much I took. I just… wanted to stop thinking for a moment.” Armand blinks slowly and his eyebrows knit together. His voice is small but steady. “Did you take the drugs so you wouldn’t feel me anymore?”

You Taste Like Suburbia by CannibalGender: This is the only unfinished work I’m putting on this list because it’s so fucking good as is and gave me chills when I read it. It’s the 80s, Armand, famously normal about his partners' families, haunts the Molloys. I absolutely love Alice in this. Paints such an intriguing picture of what these years might have looked like from an “outside” pov.

Two parter I’ll chew you up and I’ll spit you out and Oh dear diary, I met a boy by weathermood: Loumandaniel in Dubai, set just after the season 1 finale. Asks, what if Daniel doesn’t want to remember? An exploration of identity while Louis and Armand try to persuade Daniel to allow his memories of their past relationship to be restored. Explores dreams and memories beautifully and with delightful humor. Classic unhinged Armand.

138 lbs, for the metrically challenged by hummingbeeoOo: Fluffy and funny. After Daniel’s turning and subsequent hunting down of his maker, they’re shacked up and happier than ever, but a little something from the interview has kept nagging at Daniel. Or: there is exactly zero way a beanpole like Armand weighed a measly 62.5 kilograms a day in his adult life. The end of this fic had me kicking my feet and giggling. This whole series is great tbh.

This list is my pride and joy. Thank you to the anon who asked for recs<3 Feel free to share your own favorites in the reblogs:)

[daddy-dotcom]

Bang My Line

Summary: You're Penelope Garcia's first intern, and you learn a lot more from her than just her technical skills.

Rating: M

Words:4, 357

Warnings: Fluff, typical canon violence mentions, smut ;)

*reblogs or comments r much appreciated*

Read my newest fic Scents and Sensibility out now 🤭

_____________________________________________

The first day was a blur. It was scary enough to completely change career paths, but working for the FBI was an entirely different beast. Between what seemed like hundreds of background checks and interviews, I finally made it to my first day. Granted, I would just be an intern for now, but hopefully this would lead to a permanent position as a technical analyst. I waited in the lobby for Penelope Garcia, the woman who would be my mentor for the duration of my time with the BAU. We had spoken over the phone and even texted back and forth a bit, but this would be my first time meeting in person.

“There she is! My shiny new intern.”

“Hi you must be Agent Garcia,” I replied with my arm outstretched. She took it and gave what was the most enthusiastic hand shake I’ve ever seen.

“Oh honey, I’m way too fun for you to call me agent. Call me Penelope.” I shook my head in agreement and she led me towards the elevator.

“I know I gave you a rundown of the team via our text messages, but be prepared for them to ask you a million questions. You’re my first ever intern and they’re dying to meet the newest member of the team.”

“Duly noted, just know I’m going to be doing the same to you Penn because I’m a little out of my element here.”

“hmm Penn, I like the sound of that.”

As the elevator doors opened, I could see the rest of the team gathered around a desk, too focused on their own conversation to notice me and Penelope.

“Everyone, please welcome my first and only intern (Y/N).”

The man in the crisp black suit stood up first to greet me and introduced himself as Agent Aaron Hotchner.

“Penelope has not shut up about her new intern so it’s nice to finally put a pretty face to the name. I’m SSA Derek Morgan.”

I let out a bashful chuckle as I shook Morgan’s hand. Penelope did warn me that he could be a bit of a flirt. I was then greeted by a blonde woman who goes by JJ and an older man named Agent Rossi.

“Don’t tell me you write in pink sparkly gel pen too?” he jokingly asked.

I smiled and shook my head no, before being greeted by Agent Emily Prentiss.

“Don’t mind Rossi, it’s always nice to have another woman on the team to keep these boys in check.”

She gestured towards Morgan and the other agent beside her, who I can only assume is none other than Dr. Spencer Reid.

Penelope had described him as quote “Steven Hawking trapped in a young Bill Nye’s body.” What I didn’t expect was for him to actually be attractive. Sure, Agent Morgan and even Agent Hotchner were easy on the eyes, but Spencer Reid was strikingly handsome in the most unassuming way. The soft golden waves that covered the top of his head combined with those puppy dog eyes were enough to remind me how nervous I was to be joining the team.

“Nice to meet you (Y/N)” he said as he took my hand. My palms were beginning to sweat, but the steadiness of his firm grasp eased my nerves.

“Likewise,” was all I could manage to say. He held my gaze for what felt like both a moment and an eternity, before releasing my hand.

“Well, (Y/N), let’s get you briefed on your first case,” said Penelope.

I followed Penelope into the briefing room and decided to sit in the seat closest to the screen so that I could take notes on her presentation. To my surprise, Spencer took the seat next to me. As if I wasn't already a nervous wreck, his close proximity to me was going to make my writing even more illegible than usual. Still, I could get used to sitting next to the most handsome member of the team.

As Penelope wrapped up her presentation and the rest of the team departed on the jet, the bubbly blonde gave me a little tour of her office. Rossi wasn't joking about Penelope's love of glitter gel pens, and her desk was adorned with unicorn paperweights and mermaid statues.

"This is your workspace over here, (Y/N), although you'll mostly be assisting me for the first couple of weeks. Feel free to decorate your desk with as many unicorns as you please," she said.

The first hour or so of work was mostly getting situated in my new workspace, but we soon got our first call from the team, and it was from the man himself, Derek Morgan. Penelope pressed the button to answer the phone and his voice immediately came through the speaker for both of us to hear.

"It's your babygirl and her babygirl in training, what do ya need hot stuff?" said Penelope.

"Hey mama, I need you to look into Walter Price's bank activity for the last few months, see if there were any suspicious withdrawals or transfers."

"Anything for you gorgeous"

"Thanks babygirl, I'll be expecting your call back soon."

I sat with my mouth slightly ajar, looking over at Penelope dumbfounded.

"Do you talk to everyone on the phone that way?" you asked.

"Nope, just my sweet lover Derek Morgan."

I paused for a second before asking my follow up question, "so are you two like...in a relationship?"

"Only in my dreams," Penelope said with a wink. I let out a laugh because this whole situation surprisingly made me more at ease in my new job.

"As your intern, I guess it's my job to learn how to answer the phone like you?" I said with a wicked smile.

"Oh no my dear, at least, not yet. We've got a long way to go before you get to my level. And of course you'll have to find your own gorgeous man to talk dirty to, Morgan is already taken."

That definitely wouldn't be a problem, I already had the most gorgeous man on the team in mind.

I spent the next few weeks listening in on Penelope's phone calls and looking up information for her. I even got to help her present a new case to the team. After my first week, the team took me out to celebrate surviving my first case with the BAU. Even though I had become more comfortable around everyone on the team, I couldn't shake the butterflies Reid gave me whenever we interacted. However, I did notice that I was much more confident over the phone than in person. I tried to conceal my blossoming crush on Spencer as best I could, but I couldn't help but be the slightest bit sweeter to him whenever he was the one who called us.

During my second month of internship, we had a particularly hard time tracking down an unsub. Penelope was getting way too many names and she called Spencer to help her narrow down the list.

"There were traces of chlorine and calcium hypochlorite on the body which are chemicals commonly used in pool maintenance, Garcia narrow it down to men over 40 in the area who own pools or work in pool maintenance," he said.

"One name! It's Michael Dunlop, he works as a freelance pool maintenance man and, ooh get this, he hasn't responded to any jobs since the first murder on June 11th."

"Sending the address to your phones right now!" I interjected.

"Thanks (Y/N),"

"Anything for you, cutie" I said, with a sudden burst of confidence.

As I hung up with a satisfied look on my face, Penelope glanced over at me looking smug as ever.

"Cutie huh? That's a new one," Penelope said, "I knew I'd rub off on you sooner or later." And she was right. I started incorporating more color into my work wardrobe and I even brought my tiny stuffed cow to sit at my desk.

"You said I had to find my own gorgeous man to flirt with on the phone...so I did."

"I knew it! You have a crush on our genius boy-wonder!" She was positively giddy just by the thought of it. "I mean he's always sitting next to you and looking over at you when he thinks no one is noticing. You would think in a room full of profilers that I wouldn't be the only one to notice, and yet here we are."

It never occurred to me that my little crush might actually be reciprocated. Spencer was always a bit socially awkward, so I just assumed that he was the same way with me. I never once thought that he was actually as nervous to talk to me as I was to him. This fact somehow boosted my confidence even more, and I decided to have some fun with Spencer over the phone.

---------------------------------------------------------

"Cutie huh?" Morgan asked the blushing boy. Spencer was used to Penelope teasing him, but this was different. He had been harboring a small crush on their newest intern for the past month, and when she flirted with him over speakerphone for Morgan, of all people, to hear, Spencer couldn't help but turn as red as a tomato.

Of course, being a profiler, Morgan took notice of Reid's crimson cheeks. "Call me crazy but I think she likes you, pretty boy."

"O-of course not, she's just copying the way Garcia talks to you," Spencer stuttered.

"That may be true, the only difference is that you have a little crush yourself."

Spencer didn't bother trying to lie since he knew Morgan would see right through him, so he just mumbled something about Prentiss and Hotch needing them at the location (Y/N) sent.

---------------------------------------------------------

It was a lot easier to flirt with Spencer when he wasn't physically in front of me. When we were in the office together, we'd shoot each other smiles from across the room or he'd bring me an extra coffee in the morning. But when he was out in the field and I was back at my desk at the BAU, it was a whole different game. I tried my hardest to make him blush over the phone any chance I got, and it seemed to be working. After Penelope found out about my little crush, she decided to play matchmaker and slip Spencer my work phone number to call me instead for information. For the first time, I heard my phone ring instead of Penelope's and I immediately answered.

“Give it to me good baby, what do you need from me?” I replied. I knew it was Spencer since he was the only one who had my number.

"Hey (Y/N)" he said, and I swear I could hear him smiling through the phone. I could tell he had become more comfortable with our one-sided phone flirting over the past month. "I need you to look up all of Dr. Gupta's patients at the psychiatric clinic for the past 3 months, see if any of them drive a black van."

"You got it, gorgeous. If you need anything you know you can always bang my line."

---------------------------------------------------------

“You have (Y/N)’s number?” JJ asked.

Spencer looked puzzled, “Yea.. don’t we all?”

“I think it’s just you pretty boy” Morgan quipped, as he chuckled and gave him a pat on the back.

Spencer had grown fond of (Y/N)'s phone flirtation, but he was too embarrassed to return the favor in front of his colleagues. He loved watching her walk around the office in her high heels, trying to keep up with Penelope's fast pace. He knew brief glances and morning coffees weren't going to cut it anymore, he had to do something before her internship was over. So he decided to call her on his way home from working the case.

---------------------------------------------------------

The team had just finished a case and were on the plane headed back to Quantico. Penelope had plans so she left me to wrap things up in the office. Just as I was making my way towards the door, my phone began to ring. Confused, I picked up the phone and listened to see if it was a misdial.

"Hey babygirl."

I nearly choked when I realized who was speaking. My body involuntarily shivered and my heart quickened its pace. This "babygirl" hadn't come from Morgan, it was Spencer on the other line.

"Hi Spencer! What's up I thought you guys wrapped up the case?" I asked in a confused tone.

"We did, but I thought I'd call you without everyone else around." His voice sounded sultry and silky smooth, unlike his usual rapid rambling, and it made it so much harder for me to speak. "We should be landing in about twenty minutes, stay in your office and I'll meet you there."

"Okay, I'll be waiting here, handsome."

--------------------------------------------------------

Those twenty minutes were the longest twenty minutes of my life. I knew Spencer had a crush on me as well, but what could he possibly want to meet with me for? Was he going to ask me to stop flirting with him on the phone? Was he going to ask me out? Was he trying to make out with me? God I secretly hoped it was the latter...

Just as I had been getting lost in my own thoughts, I heard the familiar voices of the rest of the team down the hall. I knew Spencer would be walking into my office any minute, so I nervously fixed my hair and applied the lipgloss Penelope gave me.

"Hey babygirl," said the tall man standing in the door frame.

"Hi Spencie," I said with a smile as I called him the nickname I lovingly gave him, which I'm sure he secretly hates. I couldn’t help but grin since the word “baby girl” still seemed so foreign coming from his mouth. I stood up to meet his gaze as he slowly made his way over to my desk.

"I know you've been teasing me these past couple weeks," he said as we closed the gap between our bodies. I would say our faces were inches from each other, but he was impossibly tall and my face didn't reach past his chest, "but now its my turn to tease you," he said as he brought his hands behind my ears and pressed his lips onto mine. He was gentle and tentative at first, but I passionately pressed my lips back against his to deepen the kiss. I ran my hands through his gorgeous locks and began to tug. We quickly became a breathless mess and I couldn't help the feeling building in the pit of my stomach. His hands traveled down to my waist and he gingerly pulled me closer. He was both hesitant and passionate, not quite sure if he should act on his instincts. He pulled back for just a second to speak:

"I know you only have a few weeks left with us, but would you like to get coffee sometime?" he asked with those same puppy dog eyes that made me fall for him in the first place.

"Oh Spencie, we're a bit past coffee don't you think?" I said with blushy cheeks. "Let's get dinner sometime, I'm free any night except Tuesday, I have Zumba class with Penelope."

"She really has influenced you a lot hasn't she?" he said, making a mental note of the pink scrunchie in my hair.

"In more ways than one hot stuff."

---------------------------------------------------------

Over the next few weeks, I spent my days phone flirting with Spencer at work and my nights making out with him in my office or eating Chinese take-out in his apartment. No one on the team, not even Penelope, knew about our brewing workplace romance, and we intended to keep it that way until I was hired permanently. However, that didn't stop him from flirting back on our calls. I was on my last week of internship and I was now the only one who Spencer called when he needed information. Spencer and I had agreed to take it slow, but our most recent calls had me desperate to find out what else he was packing besides the gun strapped to his hip. Just then, a call interrupted my wandering thoughts and I immediately picked up knowing it was him.

“Dayton Ohio you're on the air" I answered in my sexiest voice possible.

"I'd like to make a request," Spencer replied.

"You can request anything you want, doctor" I could hear him chuckle behind the phone before telling me what he actually needed.

"I need you to look up a marketing firm by the name of Firsthand Media and see if they have any connections to the colleges of the first set of victims."

"I'm on it, sugar" I answered.

"Oh and one more favor, look up the words beautiful and brilliant and see what you can find."

"Look at that, it's me"

"You're the best (Y/N)"

I could feel Penelope's eyes on me before she turned around and said

"I've never been more proud."

The rest of the day was filled with calls from the other agents to Penelope, mostly Morgan, until that evening when I got one last call from Spencer. He asked me to see if there were any men who had been admitted to the hospital in the last 6 months for brain injuries, but no one came up.

"Couldn't find anything, looks like you're going to have to punish me Spencie," I replied.

"You'll just have to wait til I get back for that"

He hung up, and I couldn't believe what I just heard. Penelope and I were in shock that Spencer Reid could be so dirty. For once, I was the one blushing on the other end.

"(Y/N) I swear to god if you don't let that man make sweet love to you I am personally writing your letter of resignation"

"Penn! We just flirt is all, like you and Morgan, I could never actually be with him"

"So you two haven't been using my sacred office space to make-out between cases?" she asked with raised eyebrows. I stood there, with my mouth open and eyes wide, looking guilty as ever.

"You do know there's a camera in this office right?" I was mortified. Thank God we'd never done anything more than kiss in this office.

"You knew this whole time? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh Morgan knows, but everybody else is still in the dark because I didn't want to risk you not getting hired. And I hacked into the security computers and deleted the footage."

"Thank you so much Penn, and I promise I won't have anymore heated makeout sessions in this office, or anywhere in this building for that matter."

"Anything for my little protege. But in all seriousness, you should definitely ride boy-wonder off into the sunset and make it official once you're hired."

"Penelope!" I hit her in the arm, only half jokingly because I knew deep down that that's exactly what I should do.

---------------------------------------------------------

As usual, I waited in my office for Spencer to meet me. But this time, I was determined to go back to his apartment and finish what we started over the phone.

"Hello beautiful" he said as he made his way over to me. He greeted me with a hungry kiss and it took every ounce of strength I had not to pin him down and ride him in this office.

"Spencer listen, we can't makeout in this office anymore. Garcia and Morgan know about us already and she had to delete the footage off of the security cameras."

"Morgan knows? That present he gave me actually makes a lot of sense now."

"Nevermind that," I said before moving closer to whisper in his ear, "what I need now is for you to punish me like you said you would."

I could feel his heart beating out of his chest, his eyes went wide but faintest hint of a smile appeared on his deliciously soft lips.

"well then what are we waiting for" he said as he grabbed my hand and practically pulled me out of the office.

We wasted no time getting back to his apartment. Reid was always such a cautious driver, but this time he was driving like his life depended on it. Once in the building, he wouldn't let go of my hand and we were practically sprinting towards his door. He fumbled with the key for a moment before the door sprang open and I pushed him inside with the force of my lips on his. His hands had become quite comfortable exploring my body, and tonight was no exception. I tugged on his tie without breaking the kiss and he let out a heavy sigh as I led him towards his bedroom. I pushed him once again, this time down onto the bed, and I practically jumped on top of him to straddle his waist. As I let my weight rest on the growing bulge in his pants, he let out the sexiest groan and I could feel the wetness pooling in my panties. I continued to grind on him as we completely devoured each other. This wasn't the first time we'd done this, but this time it was different, we both wanted more.

"Spence please," I whined, "I need you."

"You can have me baby," he replied, looking up at me with those puppy dog eyes that I adore so much.

We quickly undressed and I raced to climb back on top of him.

"You really are beautiful," he said while tucking a loose strand of hair back behind my ear. I smiled back at him and gently kissed his lips before going back to grinding over his now bare cock.

His groans were like music to my ears and I couldn't help but sighing at the feeling of him gliding across my exposed cunt.

"Baby please, I want to be inside you," he pleaded.

"Do you have a, uh, condom?" I asked, somewhat sheepishly.

"I do...that was actually the 'gift' that Morgan got me," he said followed by a nervous chuckle. He reached into the drawer on the bedside table and, slightly trembling, opened the package.

"I-I just want you to know that I haven't done this in a while, (Y/N)," he began, "I don't know if I'll be any good." He was just as nervous as I was. I gave him a sympathetic nod before replying.

"It's okay Spence, it's been a while for me too. I guess you could say we get pretty caught up in our work."

"Agreed," he said, slightly more at ease.

As soon as he finished up rolling on the condom, I wasted no time lining him up with my entrance and sinking onto his length.

"Fuck, baby" he moaned with his eyes screwed shut "you feel so good." It was insanely hot to hear such foul language come out of Spencer Reid's mouth.

"You want me to ride you baby?" I asked teasingly.

"Yes please..."

I began to bounce rapidly on his dick, feeling every inch of him come in and out of me. I had a feeling he wasn't going to last long, but I didn't care, I was beyond happy to just watch the pleasure that I was bringing him. I took his hands and placed them on my breasts, which caused a simultaneous moan to come from the both of us.

"God (Y/N) you're going to make me cum" he said, nearly out of breath.

I knew he was close, but I was slowing down as my legs began to give out on me. He sensed the slowing of my pace, so he took one hand from my breast, wrapped it around my waist, and began to pump into me from below.

“Consider this your punishment babygirl”

This new angle was heaven to me and I couldn't help but cry out. He was fucking me so hard I swear I could see stars.

"Oh god Spence," I moaned. For someone who has been out of the game for a while, he was making me feel so good.

"I'm gonna...I'm..." he muttered.

"Let it out Spence, cum for me baby."

And with that, he spilled his load inside the condom. He just kept coming and coming inside of me until there was nothing left. Spencer Reid was utterly and completely spent.

---------------------------------------------------------

“Well Dr. Reid, you sure know how to please a woman,” you said poking him in the rib.

“What can I say, I’m an overachiever,” he replied with a cocky smile plastered on his face.

As I was about to go in for a kiss on his cheek, my cellphone rang, and it was a call from Penelope.

“Hello my pretty! Sorry in advance that I’m probably interrupting your sexy times with boy-wonder but I just couldn’t wait to tell you. You got the job!”

“Oh my goodness! That’s great news, thanks Penn! What department am I in?”

“You’re going to be working in the international intelligence department, aaaaand that means you’ll probably have to report your little romance directly to human resources.”

“Sounds good Garcia, we’ll take care of that first thing in the morning,” Reid interjected.

“Ah, so boy-wonder is there with you! Looks like you took my advice after all (Y/N),” Penelope replied.

I rolled my eyes and said “Goodnight Penelopeeee” in a sing-songy voice.

“Goodnight you two, be safe and don’t stay up tooooo late.”

“Aww, what ever happened to the fun Penelope Garcia?”

“She’s not here right now but leave a message, bye!” And with that our conversation was over.

“Guess it’s time to tell the rest of the team about us”

“I guess so Spence, good luck handling all the teasing on your own baby,” I said with a giggle and planted a kiss on his cheek before drifting off to sleep. Tomorrow was surely going to be an interesting day at the office.

__________________________________

AN: Thanks for all the love, shameless plug for my newest oneshot The Visit

Taglist: @alondralolll@irehluvr@abbeyskeff@kaldurahms-lover@mischiefmanaged21@cheerful-clarinet@julesasf69@its-like-twilight@spearbsm@xxrookexx@oliveoilthoughts@twilightlover2007@comboboo@breadrobin@sunflowers-420@the-holy-trinity-l@frickyea-guacamole19@ayatos-wife@ghostheartbeat@famfan-1034@ivyproblems@lavenderrway@rogerismyqueen@talkintrashcann@chatxconverse@phoenix1388@dumbredpotato@ourprisma@autisticallyreid@curvingdoll@strwbymoon@tomorrowxforever@alexabsinthe@myliteralhyperfixations19@cloudy-em@prentisszlover@cami-is-reading@ichundjulia@rubywritesblog@blameitonthenight21@xsophx27-blog@mariezanny@gubes-sweaters@ohmoaohbaby@lockwoods-coat-and-reids-vests@secludedstarlight@clockgirl94@theonewhereifangirl@nervousmoongiver@tearsofsound@suburban-forest@unkn0wnnerd@creativeuser101@bigassnocash@chasedbyunclewalt@abbyandersonssecretgfsecretgf@iheartlilia@cryingabta@justsomeimbicel@ssaspencerreidswife@likeawinebottle@imanewsoul@singinghamtaro-blog@lovingperfectionsblog@deafeningmiraclecherryblossom@secretlovezz@inlovewithemilyprentiss@jenthebin@walmartclearance89@theseverefangirl@tulips-ean@gummybear123@myravenchaser@tpickett@librarymousesqueak@pocketful-of-sunflowers@climbingivy97@ghost-wonder@sparrow-winchester@thbckgrnd@mswgtsd@kirmaaa@taliegator@jinecie@unlikelypaintertreeknight@notagirlfangirl@sarahsmiles-user@luvehotch@cosmoscoffeee@ara-a-bird@lesbiansayaishii@itsmeelena@just-a-lil-xtra@willowtree42095@the-way-of-the-hall@theedwardscissorhandslover@thosewhocantdo-teach@slay-and-gay@luvurmind@witchyval@fandom-alley@wifeyreid@samandhislostshoe@whoamiomakeachange@xcastawayherosx@danis-stuff-is-here@love4lando

[goldfades]

oh, golden boy, you shined a light on our home; and at your best, you were magic, we were sold; so don't tell them what you told me; don't even tell them that you know me; i would rather burn forever, but you should know that i died slow, running through the halls of your haunted home; merry christmas, please don't call; merry christmas, i'm not yours at all ─── PAIGE BUECKERS

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.9k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and paige had been the kind of love story everyone admired from afar: picture-perfect in the daylight, chaotic behind closed doors. it wasn't her fault, not entirely. paige had her own ghosts, shadows you couldn’t chase away. but this Christmas, as the snow falls in connecticut and the ache of her absence presses like a bruise against your ribs, you realize you can't keep bleeding for someone who won’t stop breaking.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SOULCRUSHING ANGST W/ NO HAPPY ENDING!! pazzi mention, paige being a PLAYER and descriptions of anger (directed at reader), manipulation (?), just overall angsty

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | i've been listening to merry christmas, please don't call so i just HAD to make an angsty paige fic, i hope yall enjoy! (im so sorry for this fic)

There’s something profoundly cruel about December. The way it wraps the world in glitter and glassy snow, fooling you into believing anything could be beautiful if you squint hard enough. The kind of month where people hold hands and drink too-sweet cocoa, and you’re left standing under a streetlamp that flickers like a pulse—waiting for a call you know better than to answer.

You tuck your hands into your coat, biting back the cold. Connecticut is quieter than you remember, or maybe it’s just your corner of the city. Paige isn’t here to fill the space with that too-bright laughter that used to feel like sunshine and now feels like static in your chest.

The coffee shop across the street is closing for the night. You watch the barista flip the sign, your reflection ghosted in the fogged window. It looks like someone else—someone better, someone softer, someone who could’ve saved her.

But you couldn’t save Paige. Not from herself. Not from the carousel of pressure and pain that spins faster than either of you can jump off.

The two of you had been magnetic once. You couldn’t say it was perfect—it never was—but there had been a time when Paige made the air around her shimmer like heat on asphalt. Everyone wanted to be near her, but you were the one she chose. At least, that’s how it felt in the beginning.

The story of you and Paige wasn’t simple. It couldn’t be, not with how bright her world burned, how impossible it was to separate the good from the bad, the joy from the heartbreak. It all started with her charm—effortless and magnetic, the kind that made you believe she could do anything.

You met during her sophomore year at UConn, the same year her name became synonymous with excellence. She’d smile at you during study sessions, her sneakers squeaking against the gym floor as she absentmindedly dribbled a basketball while you worked on assignments. Her laugh was a sound you could pick out of a crowd, bright and airy, like it didn’t belong in a world this heavy.

The early days were golden. Paige had this way of making you feel like the only person in the room, her attention sharp and unwavering. She'd surprise you with late-night drives to nowhere, the car filled with the smell of takeout and the sound of her carefully curated playlists. She'd drape her hoodie over your shoulders when the Connecticut winters bit too hard, her hands brushing yours in a way that sent sparks down your spine.

She wasn’t just a basketball prodigy to you; she was Paige, the girl who could quote Parks and Recreation word for word, who cried during Marley & Me, who kissed you for the first time under a canopy of stars in a parking lot after a particularly grueling practice.

You learned quickly that loving Paige meant loving her ambition, her relentless drive. But it also meant loving her through her shadows—the doubt that crept in after a bad game, the pressure that clung to her like a second skin. At first, you thought you could handle it. You thought your steady presence could be her anchor.

But Paige’s world was intense, overwhelming, and sometimes suffocating. There were moments when she’d retreat into herself, shutting you out completely. Nights when she’d sit in silence for hours, staring at the wall, her thoughts a storm she refused to share.

“I’m fine,” she’d say, her voice clipped, whenever you tried to reach her. “It’s just basketball. It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing, and you knew it. It was the weight of the world on her shoulders, the unspoken expectation to be perfect, to never falter. And sometimes, that weight turned her into someone you didn’t recognize—distant, sharp-edged, unreachable.

There were good days, though. The kind of days that made you believe you could weather anything together. The way she’d look at you like you hung the moon after a big win, her joy infectious and radiant. The soft kisses she’d press to your forehead when she thought you were asleep, the whispered promises that everything would be okay.

But the cracks in the foundation grew wider as time went on. Paige didn’t know how to lean on you—didn’t know how to share the parts of herself that weren’t shiny and triumphant. And you, in turn, didn’t know how to break through the walls she built so carefully around her heart.

The arguments started small: missed dates, unanswered texts, her constant insistence that she “needed space.” But they grew sharper, uglier, as the stress of her career bled into every corner of her life. You tried to be patient, to understand that her world was chaotic in ways yours wasn’t.

“I’m trying,” you told her one night, your voice breaking after yet another fight about her shutting you out. “But I can’t keep doing this if you won’t let me in.”

Her response was cold, distant: “Maybe I don’t need you to fix everything for me.”

It was the beginning of the end.

The good moments became fewer, swallowed whole by the tension that never seemed to fade. Paige became harder to reach, her laughter rarer, her smiles strained. She’d come home late, exhausted and short-tempered, and you’d sit across from her at the kitchen table, wondering when you stopped feeling like her partner and started feeling like a stranger.

And love, real love, isn’t just about the good moments.

The cracks began to show in small ways. The way she’d go silent when you asked how she was really feeling after a rough game. The forced smile she’d wear in public, only to collapse into your arms behind closed doors, her exhaustion radiating off her in waves. Paige didn’t talk about the pressure—not really. She’d shrug it off with a joke or brush it aside with a kiss, but you could feel it in the way she clenched her fists when she thought no one was looking.

And then there was the anger.

It didn’t show up at first, not in ways you could name. Paige was too composed, too practiced at keeping herself in check, her emotions folded neatly into the corners of her well-rehearsed smile. But over time, the cracks in her composure grew sharper, splintering into moments she couldn’t quite hide.

You remember the first time it caught you off guard. It was late November, and the two of you were walking back to her apartment after a grueling game. Paige had played well—at least, that’s what everyone kept telling her. She’d drained three-pointers with a precision that seemed almost effortless, threading passes that left defenders spinning. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough for Paige.

“I should’ve done more,” she muttered, her voice low but heavy with frustration. You glanced at her, confused.

“Paige, you scored 26 points,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “I think that qualifies as doing more.”

She stopped walking, her breath fogging in the cold air. Her jaw clenched.

“You don’t get it,” she snapped, and the sharpness in her voice cut through you like a knife.

You blinked, taken aback. “Then help me get it,” you said carefully, stepping closer. But she only shook her head, her hands buried deep in her pockets.

“Forget it,” she muttered, and the conversation ended there.

But the tension lingered.

It wasn’t always so direct. Sometimes it was the way she’d sigh too loudly when you asked her a simple question, or the way she’d press her fingers to her temples when you suggested she take a break. Other times, it was silence—the kind that stretched too long and settled too heavy between you, a chasm you didn’t know how to cross.

And yet, there were still moments of sweetness. Paige was never just one thing. She’d show up at your door with takeout after you’d had a rough day, or pull you onto the couch, wrapping you in her arms as though she could shield you from everything. She’d kiss the top of your head and whisper things like, “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” and for a while, you believed her.

But the anger didn’t go away. It grew, festering in the quiet corners of your relationship until it felt like a third presence in the room. It wasn’t directed at you—not always—but it seeped into everything.

You’d watch her pace the living room after a game, her movements restless and sharp, her hands running through her hair. She’d mutter under her breath about missed shots, bad calls, and how the team deserved better. You tried to comfort her, to remind her that she was enough, but your words never seemed to stick.

“Stop,” she’d say, cutting you off mid-sentence. “You don’t have to fix this. Just… let me be.”

You told yourself it wasn’t personal. That she wasn’t mad at you, but at the weight she carried, the expectations that pressed down on her until she couldn’t breathe. And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were becoming collateral damage.

The fights started small—little disagreements over nothing. Where to eat, what movie to watch, whether she could manage to take one damn day off. But they escalated quickly, her voice rising in frustration, yours trying to keep up.

“I’m trying to help you,” you said one night, your voice cracking under the strain.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” she shot back, her eyes blazing. “You think you can just fix everything? Newsflash: you can’t.”

Her words hit you harder than they should have. Maybe because deep down, you’d started to believe she was right.

The nights after those fights were the hardest. You’d lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, the silence between you louder than any argument. Paige would sit on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands, the weight of her regret pressing her down. She never apologized—not with words, anyway. Her apologies came in the form of a soft kiss on your shoulder, a whispered “goodnight” that barely reached your ears.

But you started to wonder if love was supposed to feel this heavy.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love her. God, you loved her. Even when she was angry, even when she pushed you away, even when the weight of her world started to crush you, too. But love wasn’t enough to keep you from drowning.

The night it all came crashing down, the snowstorm outside was unforgiving, a whiteout swallowing the world whole. You stood in Paige’s apartment, the dim light of her living room casting long, jagged shadows across the walls. The heater rattled and hissed, struggling to keep the space warm, but it couldn’t touch the frost between you.

Paige sat on the edge of the couch, her elbows resting on her knees, her hands gripping her hair so tightly you thought she might pull it out. Her breathing was uneven, each inhale sharp and jagged like broken glass.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she said finally, her voice cracking on the last word.

You flinched at the sound, the weight of her statement hitting you square in the chest. It wasn’t the first time she’d said something like that, but tonight it felt different. Final.

“What does that mean?” you asked, your own voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it.

She looked up at you then, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy, her face a mask of exhaustion. “It means I’m tired,” she said. “Of… of everything. Of trying to be everything for everyone and failing every single time.”

“Paige,” you began, stepping closer, but she held up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t,” she said sharply, and the venom in her voice made you stop in your tracks.

“I’m not one of them,” you said, your tone soft but firm. “I’m not asking you to be perfect, Paige. I’ve never asked that of you.”

She laughed bitterly, the sound so hollow it made your stomach churn. “But you expect me to be okay,” she said, her words like knives. “You expect me to keep it together, to let you in, to… to lean on you like that’s supposed to fix anything.”

“Is that such a terrible thing?” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “To want you to let me help? To not have to feel like I’m walking on eggshells every second I’m around you?”

Paige stood abruptly, her sudden movement startling you. “You don’t get it,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ll never get it. You don’t know what it’s like to have the whole damn world waiting for you to screw up. To know that no matter what you do, it’s never gonna be enough.”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge, daring you to respond.

“You’re right,” you said after a long pause, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t get it. I don’t know what it’s like to be you. But I do know what it’s like to love you, and to feel like I’m not enough for you.”

Paige’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she looked at you like she wanted to say something. But then her expression hardened, her walls slamming back into place.

“Maybe you’re not,” she said, the words so quiet they almost didn’t register. Almost.

You froze, your heart dropping into your stomach. “What?”

Her eyes were cold now, her shoulders tense. “Maybe you’re not enough,” she repeated, louder this time. “Because if you were, I wouldn’t feel like this all the time. I wouldn’t—” She stopped herself, shaking her head as if trying to clear it. “Forget it.”

“No,” you said, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to say something like that and then just walk away.”

Paige turned away from you, running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t mean it,” she muttered, but the damage was already done.

“Yes, you did,” you said, and the finality in your tone made her turn back to face you. “You meant it, Paige. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not enough for you. But I’ve been trying. I’ve been here, through everything, while you’ve been pushing me away and blaming me for things I can’t control.”

She didn’t respond, her jaw clenched so tightly you could see the tension in her neck.

“You want to be alone so badly?” you said, your voice breaking. “Fine. Be alone. I’m done trying to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Paige didn’t move, didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at you. And that silence said more than words ever could.

You grabbed your coat, your movements mechanical as you headed for the door. Your fingers fumbled with the handle, but before you stepped out into the freezing night, you turned back one last time.

“I loved you,” you said, your voice trembling. “I hope you know that.”

And then you left.

The cold hit you like a slap in the face, but it didn’t compare to the hollow ache in your chest. You walked away from her building, your breaths coming out in shaky puffs of air, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

But as you disappeared into the snowstorm, you couldn’t shake the image of Paige standing in that living room, alone with her anger and the ghosts she refused to let go of.

It was summer in Connecticut, the kind of evening where the world seemed to hold its breath, suspended in a twilight haze. The sky was streaked with pink and gold, casting a warm, nostalgic glow over the small lake where Paige had driven you after practice. She had her hand on the back of your neck, her thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin as you leaned against her car, watching the water ripple in the breeze.

“This is the spot,” she murmured, her voice low, almost reverent.

“The spot for what?” you asked, turning to face her.

“For when it gets too heavy.”

Paige rarely talked about the weight she carried—her expectations, her relentless drive to be more, to be better. But you could feel it in her sometimes, the way she’d go quiet after games or the way her smile would falter when she thought no one was looking.

You followed her gaze out over the lake. It was still, reflecting the sky like a mirror, and for a moment, the world felt smaller, safer. Paige tilted her head back against the car, her eyes closing as she took a deep breath.

“You ever feel like you’re just… spinning?” she asked softly.

“Like everything’s moving too fast, and you can’t get off?”

She opened one eye, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, like that.”

You laughed, the sound breaking through the stillness like the first notes of a song. “All the time.”

Paige turned to you then, really turned, her gaze heavy and intense in that way that always made your heart stutter. She reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Her hand lingered, her fingertips brushing against your cheek.

“You make it stop,” she said, so quietly you almost missed it.

“Make what stop?”

“This,” she gestured vaguely, her other hand cutting through the air like she was trying to grab hold of something intangible. “The spinning. The noise.”

Her eyes locked onto yours, and in that moment, you felt the full weight of her, the vulnerability she rarely let anyone see. Paige Bueckers—the golden girl, the superstar—looked at you like you were the only thing holding her together.

And maybe you were.

She leaned in, pressing her forehead to yours. “Sometimes I feel like I’m on this carousel, you know? Like I can’t get off, even when I want to. But when I’m with you…”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “When you’re with me, what?”

“I forget about it,” she said, her voice cracking just a little. “I forget about everything else.”

You stayed like that for what felt like forever, the two of you wrapped in a quiet moment that felt too fragile to last. Paige’s hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but the soft rise and fall of your breaths.

“Promise me something,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your temple.

“Anything.”

“Don’t leave. No matter how bad it gets, don’t leave.”

You pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, your heart breaking at the vulnerability etched across her face. “I won’t,” you said, the words heavy with meaning.

Paige kissed you then, slow and deep, her hands framing your face like you were something sacred. And for a moment, the world did stop spinning.

Later, when the sun had dipped below the horizon and the stars began to flicker into view, you lay on the hood of her car, her arm wrapped tightly around you. She traced constellations in the sky with her finger, whispering their names like secrets only you were meant to hear.

It was moments like this that made leaving unthinkable. Paige could be selfish, distant, and infuriating, but she was also this—the girl who made you feel like the center of her universe, if only for a little while.

And that’s why, even now, with the carousel spinning faster than ever, you knew that if she called, you’d pick up. You’d step back into the whirlwind, the heavy gaze, the endless cycle.

Because Paige had a way of making you believe in the calm between storms, in the stillness of a summer night by a lake that felt like it belonged only to you.

Paige had this way about her—a pull that felt almost gravitational. It wasn’t just her talent, though that was undeniable. It wasn’t even her looks, though you’d be lying if you said her golden hair and sharp blue eyes didn’t make your stomach flip every time she turned that full-force charm your way. It was something deeper, something intangible. Paige made you feel seen, even when you didn’t want to be. Especially when you didn’t want to be.

She’d waltz into a room like she owned it, every movement effortless, every smile calculated but somehow still genuine. Paige Bueckers had the kind of confidence that bordered on arrogance, but with you, it softened. She let you see behind the curtain—the cracks in her armor, the moments when the golden girl wasn’t so golden.

And God, those moments were everything.

You remember one night in particular, when the weight of everything had been too much for her. The team had just lost a game they were expected to win, and Paige had been uncharacteristically quiet the entire bus ride back. You’d waited until everyone else had cleared out of the locker room before approaching her, unsure if she even wanted you there.

But the second she saw you, something in her crumbled.

“I can’t,” she’d whispered, her voice shaking as she sank onto the bench. “I can’t keep doing this.”

You didn’t say anything, just sat down beside her and pulled her into your arms. She clung to you like a lifeline, her tears soaking into your shirt as you ran your fingers through her hair, whispering soft reassurances.

It was moments like that when you realized just how deeply Paige had wormed her way into your heart. She wasn’t just the superstar everyone else saw; she was vulnerable, complicated, and so achingly human. And she trusted you with that side of her—a side no one else got to see.

But it wasn’t just the heavy moments that kept you tied to her. It was the good ones, too—the nights she’d show up at your door unannounced with takeout and a goofy grin, insisting that you needed a break from studying. The way she’d drag you to the park at midnight just to lay on the grass and stargaze, her hand intertwined with yours as she pointed out constellations you’d never heard of.

It was the way she looked at you, like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

Paige had a way of making every moment feel electric. When she kissed you, it wasn’t just a kiss—it was an event. Her hands would cradle your face like you were made of glass, her lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your knees weak. And when she smiled at you afterward, that lazy, lopsided grin that was so uniquely hers, it felt like the world had been set right again.

You knew it wasn’t healthy. Paige could be selfish, possessive even. She wanted you on her terms, when it was convenient for her, when she needed someone to hold her up. And you let her, because when Paige loved you—even if it was only halfway—it felt like the sun had risen just for you.

You told yourself that you were the one who truly knew her, the one who saw the real Paige beneath the accolades and the golden glow. And maybe that was true. But knowing her didn’t make it hurt any less when she started to pull away.

Because Paige Bueckers had a chokehold on you, and no matter how much you wanted to let go, you knew you never really could. Even now, with everything that had happened, all it would take was one call, one look, and you’d be hers again, no questions asked.

That was the thing about Paige—she was a storm, unpredictable and destructive, but you couldn’t help but stand in the rain, hoping for just a little more sunlight.

The air was thick with warmth and laughter, the kind of joy that buzzed around a room full of people who felt like family. Paige had insisted you come to the team hangout, her eyes softening in that way that always made it impossible to say no.

"It'll be fun," she had promised, lacing her fingers through yours. "And Azzi will be there, so you won't feel out of place."

You swallowed back the irony now, standing on the fringes of the crowded living room as Paige and Azzi shared a quiet laugh across the room. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen them together, their bond growing closer in ways that should’ve been comforting. It should have made you feel secure—Paige having someone who understood her world, who could shoulder the weight of the same pressures.

But it didn’t.

It hurt.

Azzi’s laugh was the same pitch as Paige’s, soft and genuine. The way Paige leaned in when she spoke, her eyes crinkling at the corners, was painfully familiar. You’d seen that look a thousand times before—directed at you. Once.

You stayed pressed against the wall, your drink warming in your hand as you watched them. It wasn’t just the way they talked, like no one else was in the room, or the casual touch of Paige’s hand against Azzi’s arm. It was the comfort, the ease. The way Paige smiled at her, unguarded and free.

You’d been here before. In the passenger seat of her car during late-night drives. On her couch, curled up with her hoodie draped around your shoulders. Sharing secrets that felt too heavy to speak aloud. It was supposed to be your safe space—yours and Paige’s.

Now, watching her light up for someone else, you couldn’t help but feel like a ghost. A witness to something that wasn’t meant for you anymore.

Azzi said something that made Paige throw her head back in laughter, her hand brushing Azzi’s knee as she doubled over. The sound echoed in your chest like a bullet ricocheting off hollow walls.

And you died slow.

The walls of this house weren’t hers, but they may as well have been. Paige had a way of haunting every space she occupied, leaving pieces of herself in every laugh, every look, every touch. But tonight, it felt like you weren’t welcome in the hallways of her haunted home. You were an intruder in a space you used to know intimately.

The toughest part wasn’t the way she drifted to Azzi like a planet pulled into a stronger orbit. It was the fact that you both knew exactly why it was happening. Paige wasn’t trying to hurt you, not intentionally. She was finding something she needed—something you couldn’t give her anymore.

And it crushed you, knowing she wasn’t the person everyone else thought she was. She wasn’t just the golden girl with the easy smile and the killer jump shot. You knew the sharp edges, the flaws she tried to bury under layers of charm. The way she’d lash out when she was scared, the selfishness that reared its head when she felt cornered.

You knew her. Really knew her. And you still stayed.

Stayed when she’d shut you out after a bad game, refusing to talk for days. Stayed when her ambition left no room for you, when she forgot birthdays and date nights and promises. Stayed because Paige wasn’t just the bad parts.

She was also the Paige who kissed your knuckles when you cried, who brought you flowers "just because." The Paige who whispered “I love you” like it was a secret meant only for you.

But now, watching her laugh with Azzi, you wondered if you’d stayed too long. If you’d held onto someone who wasn’t yours anymore.

Paige glanced over, catching your eye for a brief moment. She smiled—polite, distant. And then she turned back to Azzi, her attention snapping back like a rubber band.

It hit you then, the final blow.

Paige’s world had shifted, and you weren’t the center of it anymore. You were the afterthought. A memory of a time when she was still figuring out how to carry the weight of her life.

And for the first time, you let yourself wonder if maybe Paige wasn’t yours at all. Maybe she never really had been.

There’s a cruel intimacy to grief. The way it finds you in the smallest moments, in the cracks of your routine, in the way the wind moves through the trees or how a song starts playing in a grocery store. Paige is everywhere in Connecticut. Or maybe she’s everywhere in you.

You tried to move on. God, you really did.

At first, it was sheer force of will. You buried yourself in work, in plans with friends who didn’t know Paige beyond the headlines. You deleted her photos off your phone, shoved her sweatshirt to the back of your closet where the scent of her—a mix of fresh linen and something indefinable—couldn’t haunt you.

But grief has a way of sneaking back in. It wasn’t the big things that unraveled you; it was the little ones. The way every basketball game you flipped past felt like her shadow. The sound of laughter at a bar that hit the same pitch as hers, making your chest tighten with phantom warmth.

And God help you, it was the moments when you wanted to hate her but couldn’t. Not when you’d catch yourself remembering how she used to light up at the simplest things—pancakes on a lazy morning, a dumb joke that wasn’t funny but made her laugh so hard she’d double over.

Then there were the rumors. Whispers and Instagram stories. Paige and Azzi—courtside banter turned into something more. The first time you saw it, you scoffed, dismissing it as gossip. Paige always had a way of pulling people into her orbit, Azzi included.

But then came the photos. Nothing overt, nothing scandalous. Just Paige leaning too close during post-game interviews. Azzi’s hand on her shoulder, casual but deliberate. They weren’t trying to hide it, but they weren’t broadcasting it either.

The night you saw it, you stared at your phone for too long, trying to decipher the ache in your chest. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. You hadn’t expected Paige to wait for you, not when she had the kind of life that moved at the speed of light. But it was the simplicity of it that hurt the most. The way Paige could give Azzi the pieces of herself you’d fought so hard to hold onto.

You spent the rest of that night curled up on your bed, scrolling through her photos until the light from your phone burned your eyes. By the time you fell asleep, the only thing you felt was exhaustion—the kind that settled in your bones and didn’t leave.

And now, it’s Christmas Eve.

You’re back in Connecticut, surrounded by family and the kind of warmth that’s supposed to feel comforting. But it doesn’t. Not entirely. The house is decked out in garlands and twinkling lights, your mom’s favorite holiday playlist drifting faintly from the kitchen. Your siblings are laughing over some board game you’ve never liked, and you’re standing by the window, watching the snow fall.

It’s quiet in your corner of the house. Too quiet.

The phone in your pocket buzzes. Once. Then again.

You don’t have to look to know who it is.

Paige’s number is burned into your memory, as familiar as your own name. Your chest tightens as you pull the phone out, the screen glowing with her name. It’s been a year since you last spoke. A year of awkward smiles at mutual friends’ events and polite nods when your paths crossed. A year of trying to forget the sound of her voice, the way she’d say your name like it was something precious.

You should answer. Or maybe you shouldn’t.

The buzzing stops, and you think it’s over. But then it starts again, more insistent this time. She doesn’t leave voicemails anymore. Just lets the silence hang in the air between calls.

Your hand hovers over the screen, your breath hitching as the familiar ache rises in your chest. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on the cold seeping through the windowpane, on the distant sound of your family laughing.

When the buzzing stops again, you shove the phone back into your pocket.

Merry Christmas, Paige. But I can’t do this. Not tonight.

You turn away from the window, your heart heavy with the weight of all the things you’ll never say. The snow keeps falling, covering the world in glitter and glassy silence. Paige is still everywhere, even when she isn’t. And you?

You’re still trying to move on. Still waiting for the day when the sound of her name doesn’t feel like a knife twisting in your chest.

The night stretches on, slow and agonizing, the kind of quiet that sinks into your skin and keeps you awake for all the wrong reasons. You sit by the fireplace long after your family has gone to bed, the flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. Your phone sits heavy on the armrest, as if its weight could pull you under.

You wonder what she wanted to say.

Paige wasn’t one for grand gestures, not outside the court. She wasn’t the type to pour her heart out over the phone, but you knew her well enough to read between the lines, to decipher the emotions she couldn’t put into words. And that was the worst part—knowing that whatever it was she wanted to say, it would hurt.

She’d moved on. You were sure of it. Azzi filled the space you used to occupy, and that should’ve been enough to keep Paige away. But here she was, her name lighting up your phone like some ghost that refused to rest.

You couldn’t stop yourself from picturing her—where she was, what she looked like tonight. Was she staring out her own window, watching the snow fall, her lips pressed into that familiar line of determination? Or was she somewhere loud and bright, surrounded by the buzz of life, calling you from the edges of a party she didn’t really want to be at?

The questions gnawed at you, each one another layer of hurt you couldn’t shake.

You thought about the last Christmas you’d spent together, curled up on the couch in her apartment, the world outside forgotten for a few stolen hours. Paige had draped an arm over your shoulders, her face buried in your neck as she mumbled something about how she wished every day could feel like that—quiet, safe, yours.

But nothing stayed quiet with Paige. She lived in a whirlwind, and you’d gotten caught in the eye of the storm. You let her pull you under because you thought, for a moment, that you could save her.

Instead, she left you drowning.

The fire crackles, breaking the silence, and you blink back the tears threatening to spill.

You reach for your phone, your thumb hovering over her name. It would be so easy to call her back, to let her voice fill the space between you. She’d say something half-apologetic, half-charming, and you’d forgive her like you always did, because how could you not?

But you don’t.

Instead, you turn the phone off and set it face-down on the table. The room feels emptier without its glow, but you welcome the darkness.

There’s something profoundly cruel about December. The way it promises joy wrapped in ribbons and snowflakes but leaves you colder than before. It’s a month of ghosts, of memories that slip through your fingers like frost.

And Paige? She’s the cruellest ghost of all.

↳ 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 ♡

[softlypaintedseafoam]

orpheus

synopsis. he looked back.

pairing. portgas d. ace x f!reader (afab)

word count. 7.1k | masterlist

content warning. marineford/post-war arc spoilers, reader is coded black (written ambiguously. anyone can read), character study, childhood friends to lovers, open-ended

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

my premiere fic on this acc! as someone who was watching op back when it aired on 4kids, ace has been my favorite character for over a decade. so come to my inbox and let's talk about how much we love him! the 'poem' the reader recites is actually a quote from this short film you should definitely watch

Dadan is doing your hair before bed when you learn of this story.

The night is late on Mt. Corvo, baths taken and house cleaned after the chaos of dinner. Much too late for you to trek down to your home in Windmill Village, ensuring that for the fifth night in the row you'd be spending the night at your friends' house. ("You're going home tomorrow," Dadan insisted, hands on her hips sternly. "This a base for bandits, not a daycare!")

The one who mentions the story is Leif.

The man is a strange case among Dadan's brood with his glasses and delicate mannerisms. Someone who seems like he should be a normal person in society rather a bandit. Perhaps that's what makes him so useful to Dadan's team; he looks like a normal person. He seldom swears, seldom drinks himself tired. Most evenings, like now, it isn't strange to see him reading a book in the living room among his friends by the window. Suddenly, he shudders, setting his book aside and closing the window firmly with a click of his tongue. "Orpheus must have looked at Eurydice," he mutters.

"Who- hey!" Luffy cries belligerently when the brief moment of distraction leads to Sabo smacking his hands. They're playing some sort of hand game where you're supposed to move your hands before your opponent hits them. 'Reflex training' Ace called it. "No fair!"

Sabo grins with a victorious laugh, ignoring Luffy's demands for a rematch. "You snooze you lose, Luffy!"

Ace's expression is just as smug, "your reflexes suck."

Amusing as their antics are, you wave an arm to regain Leif's attention. "Who's Orpheus and Eurydice?"

"Ohoho," Leif perks up, pleased. "They're characters from an old story."

Luffy cocks his head, "how old?"

"Older than Dadan probably," Sabo surmises without a second thought.

"Brat," Dadan seethes under her breath. She turns your head to an angle, beginning the first of your french breads.

Eyes wide with intrigue, you lean forward eagerly before Dadan's grip on your hair reminds you your actions are limited. Dadan picks carefully through the accumulated naps and tangles. The woman's only solace is that you're not tender-headed. You can't afford to be when most of your daytime activities lead to your hair being filled with sticks and leaves. ("What on earth are you brats doing for your hair to get like this?" You and Luffy share a look, snickering mischievously. It's no secret to anyone in this house that the woman's exasperation is worse than her bite.) "I wanna hear the story!"

Leif is more than happy to recount the tale of two lovers.

You liken the story to the life and death of spring.

The new life of spring is in their love as their dance causes petal after petal to bloom in the wake of their steps. But spring's death is in Orpheus’ turn and the sorrow that follows. In that stillness of spring that one seldom notices.

Orpheus’ delight in seeing the sun.

Eurydice's stumble.

Her silence.

Maybe he thinks he’s been tricked.

Regardless the variety of the tale, it all ends the same Leif tells you gravely. Dramatically, as if singing a song. Orpheus looks back and his beloved disappears.

The death of spring itself.

It's the most beautiful story you've ever heard.

"Well that's dumb," Ace crosses his arms, thoroughly unimpressed. "The exit was right there. He couldn't wait five minutes?" It doesn't take long for Luffy to agree with the eldest of his brothers, arms crossed with a matching expression.

Sabo rests a hand on his chin thoughtfully, "and if he heard her stumble in one version, he should have known she was actually there and not a trick."

Ericht, a hardy man with a throaty voice chuckles, raising a tankard at the boys' words. "See, Leif? Even the kids think it's ridiculous!"

"I don't think it's dumb," it's hard to be taken seriously when your head is at 45 degree angle, however. "It's sad and pretty."

"At least one of you lot have taste," Leif huffs, index finger raised indignantly to the air. "The rest of you are completely missing the point! It’s human nature to look! That’s what makes the story beautiful! It’s human to love. Love is why Orpheus looks back. He wants to tell Eurydice the sun is right around the corner! He’s worried for her safety. He’s afraid he’s been tricked-”

Luffy stands firmly, hand resting on his puffed out chest, "I wouldn't have looked back!"

"Me neither!" Ericht proclaims.

"Hear, hear!"

A clank of mugs and a chorus of cheers ensue and his audience is lost. Leif plops down beside yourself and Dadan in annoyed defeat. "This is what happens when you try to bring classics to criminals."

"You're a criminal," Dadan reminds the man with a snort.

It's a comment that causes the mild bandit to laugh. "I suppose you have a point there," he chortles. Moments like this makes you wonder once more why he turned to crime instead of academics. In another life, perhaps Leif becomes a teacher. Leif gives you with a small smile, sparing a glance the rest in the room. "They would have looked," he says just quiet enough for you to hear and you giggle as if you've been told a funny secret.

The rest of the night is uneventful as Dadan finishes your hair. She rushes the four of you to bed as soon as possible and even then, you rowdily have one final round of sparring before settling down. (At least Luffy doesn't fall through the floorboards this time!) Sleep doesn't find you as easily, your mind full as Sabo and Luffy snore around you. Turning onto your side, you stare at Ace's back.

"Ace," your whisper is just barely audible over the cacophony of sleep. "You awake?"

There's enough beat of silence before Ace shuffles, turning around to face you. You blink, unsure if its surprise you feel or otherwise. You'd suspected he hadn't been sleeping when you noticed how quiet he'd been. Yet you're taken aback he turned around anyway. It's strange. “What?”

"Would you look back if you were Orpheus?"

"That story again?" Ace whispers incredulously. You don't need a light to know his brow is furrowed in disbelief.

"I feel bad for Orpheus," you murmur as you recall Leif's words. It was a beautiful story as much as it was sad. "He just wanted to be with his wife again and now he can't ever be with her again." It's human nature to look, Leif said. It's human to love. It's what makes the story beautiful. With more quiet than noise in the room, it's not as easy seeing the beauty. But I can, you squeeze your hand into a tiny ball in quick protest. Apparently it is also human to be contradictory. I think I can see the beauty. Maybe the beauty is what makes it so sad.

There's a brief sigh that leaves the boy and you wonder if he's annoyed until he asks, "well would you look?"

The dance of spring. The death of it in Orpheus' turn.

If it was Ace or Sabo or Luffy behind me…

When you look behind you to see how far away Luffy is.

When Sabo swallows his saliva the wrong way and coughs.

The moments where Ace falls quiet and suddenly, even if he is with you and his brothers, he looks like the loneliest boy in the world.

You look back every time.

"Yeah," you curl into yourself into a small ball. A sigh escapes your lips in your admittance. "I guess we'd never see each other again, huh?"

You half-expect Ace to balk at your words. 'Why am I Eurydice, huh? I'm a guy!' Instead he's quiet and you wish you could see his face so you can try and guess what he's thinking. It's when Ace is quiet when he's the hardest to read. "Well," Ace proposes after a moment. "Maybe Hades'll be nice and Orpheus can try again some day. That time he won't mess up." He pauses, scratching the side of his head. "So stop being all sad about it."

A warmth settles in your chest at his clumsiness. "Yeah."

A particularly loud snore from Luffy makes you both snort silently. You hope the bright-hearted boy never changes. Once your amusement subsides, you yawn. "You never answered my question though," you yawn once again. Sleep will be upon you soon. "Would you look back too?"

"No, dummy," Ace replies without a second thought.

Your cheeks puff into a petulant pout, "Leif said looking is what makes us human."

There's another beat of silence.

"Maybe I'm not human then," it's a reply void of Ace's typical cocksure and defiant attitude. There's a shuffle and Ace turns around, his back facing you once more. "Night."

"… Night."

The next day, life continues as it always does. If anything, this nest of thieves in the mountains is as much a home to you as it is for the actual residents. A stray shoe of yours there, a few shirts that belong to you there. Even the rituals of the morning are your own, rushing out of the house before Dadan can wrangle your band into chores.

Hunting for your own breakfast with steel pipes and vinegar and a healthy dose of throttling thugs for your pirate savings.

Ace and Sabo with wide smiles, making sure Luffy and his tiny legs are keeping up.

Ace huffing when you trip and fall on your face, reaching out a hand for you to grab regardless of his gripes.

Orpheus and Eurydice aren't far from your thoughts.

"What are you smiling about," Ace raises an eyebrow as he tugs you onto your feet.

"Nothing," you laugh airily in return. You're human.

Ace looks back at you again another time, more concerned than his grouchiness let's on as he grumbles you're not talking as much as you always do. It's rich coming from the guy who constantly complained you talked to much your face when you were first getting to know him. "It's better when you don't shut up than when you're quiet," he barks when you point this out. "It's weird."

(You're human.)

The island is covered in snow the day you decide you'd join Ace's crew after months of indecision. Your vision of freedom is different from your friends'; you don't want to be a captain of your own crew. You don't want the worries of having to lead. So, the boys decide, you have to join one of theirs. It's hard picking between your friends. That indecision goes out the window the day you meet Old Man Naguri and you listen to his tales about his battle against Roger for all of until whenever you notice Ace leaving quietly.

"Ace," he turns around, surprised at your sudden appearance. He must have been deep in his thoughts if he didn't hear the snow crunching underfoot. "Are you okay? It's okay if you were scared of Naguri's story." Although the man had told it warmly ー fondly, even ー it's a haunting thought that they were defeated so easily when the older man was so strong.

Despite your attempts to comfort him, Ace is quick to shut down that train of thought immediately. "I wasn't scared," he retorts. "I just don't feel like hearing stories about Roger." He doesn't expand on his reasons and you decide not to ask. You only want the look on his face ー the lonely one ー to leave him. You never want to see him make that face ever again.

So you change the topic; ask him if he thinks Naguri's old crewmates would ever want to sail the seas together again as you walk back to your secret base. "I dunno," the dark-haired boy shrugs. The freckles on his face almost seem like snowflakes in the surrounding weather. "Probably not," he decides with a grumble. "Their adventures are over now so what's the point in staying together at that point?"

It crosses your mind not for the first time that Ace is the most independent kid you know. Maybe one of the loneliest. Even if it's different, you understand the feeling. You were the weird one in your group of friends in Windmill Village. The one too loud and too strange, lost in daydreams and content to play all the roles yourself if it came down to it. The kid with animal bones and dead flowers mixed into your collection along with seashells and stones. You couldn't curb those interests.

Not for any lack of trying, however.

You did try.

You just couldn't. You tried talking less, you tried being normal but you inevitably would open your mouth and your oddities rolled off as naturally as breathing.

No one on Mt. Corvo is normal, however. That's what makes you fit in. Ace's problem, whatever it is, doesn't seem like it's the same.

"Well I'd stay with you," you tell him earnestly; vehemently. It isn't enough to say it if Ace doesn't believe you. "Even if the adventure's over too. You're my friend." The adventures could be over and there could be no more treasures left to find but you'd still stay with him. "We can find another journey to go on after the first one and another one after that. And even we don't have anymore to go on, I'll still stay with you! Then you won't be alone when the journey's over because I'll still be there."

There's a pause, a blink and Ace lets out a sound of surprise. "But you said you didn't want to ch-"

"I'm choosing your crew right now, duh!" You rest your hands on your hips, nose pointed in the air. "Got it, Captain Ace?"

Ace's cheeks are cherry red from the cold but his usual frown shifts into a something as bright as the sun. "Fine, but I'll be a strict captain, you know!"

We're all Orpheus, you kick up snow with wide footsteps while you and Ace excitedly discuss all the things that would be on your ship. All the places you should go on your ship. It's because we're human. You think as much as your hands brush against one another, cold and warm at the same time.

You think as much when you both turn to Sabo and Luffy loudly returning home with a-

"Oh, hey guys! I didn't know that you were home!"

"Oh, Ace! I didn't know that your father was Roger!"

A look akin to horror blossoms across Ace's face as he looks back at you at break neck speed.

(You're human.

You knew Ace was human all the times he looked back at you before. You still know he is human when he meekly asks one week later if you still want to be part of his crew. It's the smallest you've ever seen him and the most uncertain.

"You're stuck with me forever, you dummy!")

𖤓

Orpheus and his dilemma doesn't return to the forefront of your mind again until the Burning of the Gray Terminal. You hug your knees to your chest, pressed against Ace firmly now that it's over. He doesn't make to push you away, nor does he call you a 'baby' despite how quick he was to disparage Luffy and his tears earlier.

You can still hear the fire roaring in your ears; the smoke thick, darkening the sky and Bluejam holding you at gunpoint. Sabo was gone, taken by his noble family and far from the chaos unfolding in the slums of the Goa Kingdom.

For the first time in your young life, you understood what hell on earth looked like.

The screams of the helpless drowned out in fire; a mysterious power knocking all but Bluejam himself unconscious. You were never one for believing in gods but Dadan and her band's intervention was nothing short of a miracle. Still fear had gripped you in your entirety, draped over Ericht's shoulder, when you saw Ace wasn't running behind you guys.

"I'll never run away," he proclaimed, defiant as ever. The sparks surrounding you look as if they were stars leaping from his body. A display that, in any other situation, would have looked breathtaking. He was that boy ー your boy ー in the fire. Your boy who never turned around, not even when Dadan went to stay with him.

Look back, You wanted to scream. You wanted to scream it for the whole world to hear. Look back!

He didn't.

You didn't see them again until over a week has passed and the belief they'd been reduced to nothing but ash nearly took hold of you.

You never want to experience anything like that again.

You're sure you'll love Dadan for the rest of your life. Her skin is wrapped nearly head to toe in bandages and the burnt ends of her coily hair will need to be cut off. Still she's alive. You'll take Dadan bandaged and bruised over any other possibility. She speaks for all of you when she wearily asks Ace, "why didn't you run away?"

The answer isn't immediate as Ace mulls over his answer. You're too tired to press him to hurry in divulging his secrets. "Sometimes, I get so angry," the boy begins gingerly. Tenderly, as if he doesn't want to touch a bruise too firmly. "And I feel like if I run away, I'll lose something I could never get back. And this time, Luffy and," he trails off unexpectedly. Your head dips as he shifts to scratch his head, one of his tics. "They were behind me. I don't know why but that's probably the reason."

They're words that make your lips tremble. "It's 'cause you're human," you mumble, exhausted. "You're human. Like Orpheus." You close your eyes, ready to drift asleep on Ace's shoulder. You won't cry; you've cried enough to last a lifetime. "Being Orpheus is scary."

Dadan sighs testily, "that old story again?" Her words are more amused than disgruntled. "Leif, quit teaching weird stuff to the kids."

"They're taking after my love of the classics," Leif sniffs wetly. "There's nothing weird about it at all. She's right," it must be a vindicating feeling for the both of you. "It is scary to be Orpheus."

Maybe it's why Ace didn't look back. You press into his shoulder more firmly. "You don't have to be scared next time, I'll be there too." I'll protect you.

"I wasn't scared," he protests, resting his head atop yours. "You were the scared one." There are no arguments to be had there.

(It's a few hours later Dogra comes home, news pertaining to Sabo freezing your blood.

You never see the boy with the missing tooth again.)

𖤓

You leave Dawn Island when you're 17 on a small boat sturdy enough to get you and Ace by until you get your actual ship. You're pirate savings are long gone. "What pirates having savings anyway," you said when you remembered the silly notion you had as children. "We were so dumb for that!"

That's right, we were kids.

Kids who, for the longest time, could only talk hypotheticals about your ship and your adventures. That precious promise of the forever beyond journey's end. Now you're finally on the sea, you inhale in shaky belief at the long stretch of blue surrounding the two of you. We're finally doing this.

You run your hand over the water's surface, admiring how it feels silky to the touch. The distant cries of seagulls in your ear and the briny smell of the sea breeze in the air. You sure that you're going to blink and suddenly you be back in the boys' room, groggily staring at the ceiling in puddle of your own sweat as Ace and Luffy hold you tightly. Their snores sound vaguely enough like seagulls that they could be tricking you into thinking you're sailing right now.

It's spring, you breathe.

"Where to now, first mate?" Ace's voice pulls you from thoughts and you see him smiling. Frowns are no longer commonplace on his face anymore. It suits him as much as the sun shining down on him does. A sun child, that's what you are.

"Wherever the wind takes us, captain," you salute before breaking into a laugh. You aren't sure what to do with all the giddiness swelling in your person.

Ace matches your energy tit for tat, tugging the sail in the direction the wind. "Then off we go to uncharted waters!" You whoop excitedly, water droplets following your hands as you raise your arms.

You initially think it rotten luck you shipwreck on Sixis a few weeks into your journey, following legends of bountiful treasures. After acquiring Deuce and Ace eating the Flame-Flame Fruit to boot, you're more inclined to say fate works in mysterious ways.

Deuce is nice; you like Deuce.

The start to your friendship may have been rocky with his comments about Roger's son ー as well as you subsequently throwing your shoe at the back of his head ー but things ultimately had been smoothed over. It's hard to tell there'd been any foul feelings before, at least on Deuce's part. Not with how Ace throws his arm around Deuce's shoulders as he cheerily recounts a story about Luffy for the millionth time.

It's sweet.

It makes your stomach churn uncomfortably.

You groan, palming your forehead. I'm jealous. This is so stupid. It isn't even like we're not best friends anymore. You know that is fact. It's the 'whys' behind your jealousy that you don't understand.

The Spade Pirates have grown considerably since it was just you and Ace in a rickety boat. There's Deuce, Cornelia, Pinnacle, there's even a lynx in your crew. All of whom who joined this crew because they liked Ace. Most of them liked him almost immediately; it's darling in how effortlessly he does it. There is no effort, you realize not for the first time.

Even when you were 10 and Ace found more reasons to try and keep you at arm's length, you liked him. You always wanted to be his friend; it's something you and Luffy have always had in common. Your old friends in Windmill Village were unable to see your vision, however.

In hindsight, it's objectively not hard to see why.

Ace had been an angry, belligerent child with a harsh mouth. The Ace on the deck before you is practically a different entity entirely. Polite, gentle and extroverted. It's hard believing how easy making friends comes to him now when before the only friends he was able to gain were you, Luffy and Sabo. Which it is why it's so great Ace has so many now, truly. Truly.

This is what you wanted, isn't it? You've always wanted this ever since you were able to further understand Ace's complexities.

You are happy. As such, you're unable to grasp why you feel so gross. No, you sigh. That's a lie. I do know why. You're not Ace's only confidant anymore. He'll still go to you when he needs you, of course. It's just that you're no longer the immediate choice. It's simply a period of adjustment. You hold back a huff but Wallace, your friend in the crow's nest, is quick to notice your mood.

"Everything alright over there, partner." It's not truly a question; you can tell by the lack of rising intonation. It's a prod.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you tell the fishman offhandedly. "Just thinking."

"Oh no," Wallace grins wickedly, dark eyes dancing mirthfully. Even if he worries, Wallace seldom pushes if you really don't want to talk about it. It's his best trait after his humor. "Sounds like we're in trouble."

"Oh shut up," you hiss playfully, giving him a light shove. "See if I haggle for you again the next time we go to a market." Despite your sharp words, you're both laughing. From the corner of your eye, you see a flash of black turn around into tan and freckled flesh. You ignore wishful(?) thinking in favor of reality. You're not Ace's number 1 confidant anymore and that's alright. It's an awkward feeling having to share the role with someone else after so many years in that best friend role.

It'll pass; it'll pass.

𖤓

You realize you've been in love with Ace for the better part of your life one year later after the Spadille washes up on the shores of Amigasa Village. The entire affair is an ugly thing. Tears at the weight of your emotions; tears from realizing how much weight you were carrying in your heart to begin with.

What's worse is there's no grandeur in what causes your awakening.

It came to you slowly then all at once watching your oldest friend, snoring into a bowl of tororo soba. His face was a mess, flecks of tororo smeared on his face while the locals panicked assuming he had died mid-meal.

I love you, you chuckled silently, chin propped on your palm.

Then you blinked and everything else hit you like a surge of conqueror's haki.

"How could I be so blind and stupid," you screamed into your hands, Wallace patting your back all the while. Even being around Ace was a struggle. I told him I needed to go and forage mushrooms when he asked if I wanted to learn how to weave kasas with him. Mushrooms that even locals barely were able to find themselves. It wasn't your smartest attempt to process your emotions alone and far away from the cantankerous heartbeats Ace caused. "Was it obvious? Tell me it wasn't obvious!"

"I mean," Wallace's strained, sharp-toothed smile offered zero comfort. "It isn't to Ace?"

"Kill me."

"Hey, the hard part's over now," the weedy stingfish fishman shrugged. "It isn't like it isn't reciprocated."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you grumbled.

"You know Ace is in love with you, right?"

"Wallace."

"He is, though! Not that he's noticed but- come on, now," Wallace's tone was pressing, as if he was stating a long known truth. "You have to have noticed you're special to him, right?"

'Because I'm his oldest friend,' you wanted to say. Somehow you knew it wasn't an answer Wallace would accept.

It was a trying five days of woes and sorrows; scouring your memories.

(You can pinpoint the exact day you fell in love with Portgas D. Ace.

A day only a few months after Sabo's death and Luffy's inability to even begin the process of healing from it. When he begged Ace on that windswept cliff not to die to which Ace vehemently declared that he wouldn't.

In that moment, Ace was sparkling.)

By day five, you've gone through most of the five stages of grief. In all honesty it felt like you'd gone through ten, you truthfully believe as you recuperate by the shore.

There's not another place in the world as healing as the sea at sunset. In a world of power holders and haki, it's almost an impossible magic to perceive. How the sky becomes shades of indigo and vermilion and the sea becomes wine-dark. You close your eyes, breathing deeply as you lean your head back as if in meditation.

It's hard to tell what you notice first ー the crushed sand or the rise in heat behind you. You whip your head over your shoulder, a motion practically second nature.

"What are you sneaking around for," you smile lightly as Ace winces, brow furrowed, like he's been caught doing something wrong. His fidgeting is almost secondary to how he looks in the light of the setting sun.. It's a good look on Portgas D. Ace even before he adopted his gentle demeanor. For a second, you feel like Orpheus when he sees the light and turns, forgetting he wasn't supposed to gaze at his beloved until after they'd left Hades' domain. How Eurydice looked in his memory when bathed in its light. I get it, your eyes feel hot looking at the boy turned man behind you. I get why you looked.

"Mind if I join you," comes a hesitant reply, Ace.

"Since when do you ever have to ask to do that?" Nonplussed, you tap your fingers against the sand. He waits, as if gathering his bearings, before gingerly taking a seat to your left. Your heart flutters as your knees brush against each other and you wonder if this reaction has always been present. If you've merely been blind to it. "Your shadow isn't with you."

"Tama?" You raise your eyebrows with a questioning smirk as if to say 'who else would I be talking about?' A light chuckle falls from Ace's lips. The young girl had been attached to Ace's hip ever since you washed up on the shore. "Yeah, she's a sweet kid. But Kotatsu stole her away from me. Cats always win over over people at the end of the day."

"Tragic," your chuckle as you picture the yellow lynx allowing the girl to sleep atop him as he purrs and purrs. The thought inspires memories of Luffy, clinging to your person even as you try rolling out of the sleeping boy's grip. "Tama's lucky. It took me and Luffy three months before you could start tolerating us. It took her basically nothing."

"Aaah," Ace makes a sheepish sound at the reminder. If it were up to him, he'd be more than happy to pretend that weren't the case. In fact, that part of your knowing each other always fails to be brought up in Ace's many, many stories about Luffy and your childhood. "That… is something I don't rightly remember," he coughs out at last. "Maybe you're remembering wrong."

"Oh am I now," you snort, equal parts incredulous and entertained.

Ace nods, black tresses dancing with the movement. "Pretty sure. We've always gotten along."

"Luffy told me you punted him off a bridge his first day at Dadan's."

"I-"

"There was also that time you basically threw boulders at us for following you."

"That-that was-"

"And I'm pretty sure-"

"Okay, okay, I was a brat!" Ace throws his arms in the air, you guffawing all the while. "Stop reminding me!"

"What's funnier was your first etiquette lesson with Makino! I half expected you to call Red-Haired Shanks a bastard when we met him last month!"

Ace groans your name in embarrassment, face in his hands and the tips of his ears blazing red. Resting your arms on your knees, you lean forward against your chest in. Sitting there on the beach, ocean singing in the background, you could almost delude yourself into thinking you're the only people in the world. There is no Amigasa Village, no World Government and no concepts like Emperors and government-sanctioned pirates.

It's simply you and Ace.

What was I panicking about so much before? Watching Ace settle into himself, stardust dotting his skin and wavy hair moving in the breeze only cements the feeling. I love you; so much.

Enough that you'd traverse the realms beyond to bring him home.

Enough that you'd damn yourself right when victory is on the horizon.

And that's okay.

"What are you thinking about," brown eyes glance in your direction, lips twisted into a suspicious pout.

"Nothin'," you reply petulantly. I'll tell you one day, you vow silently. Once I get used to it. I've spent the better part of my life being in love with you without knowing. I wanna enjoy it now that I do. Treasure it like you're holding something precious because you are. "What are you thinking about?"

His eyes dart away following your question, Ace opening and closing his mouth a beat after. You shuffle your feet, shifting back and forth between the tips of your toes and your heels. Remembering your odd behavior the past few days, you don't doubt it is at the forefront of his mind. "... are you mad at me?"

You make a sound of bewilderment, leaning back and brow furrowed. "No? Where did that even come from?

"Sorry that isn't-," Ace stumbles over his next words. "It wasn't what I meant to- I just meant I knew something is bothering you but I didn't know how to bring it up but I know you talked to Wallace and I didn't want to come off as nosy or... I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Ace breathes, the deluge of words slowing down. "I'm always here to talk. But if you don't that's okay too. I just don't... It felt like… maybe you were avoiding me or something." He is mumbling by the time he finishes, abashed, after thoroughly exposing all of his cards.

Oh, I definitely was doing that. It will be a a cold day in hell before you admit that, however. Ace would only feel worse.

"I know how it must've looked but I promise that was just me making a bigger deal out of something than it actually was." Wallace will certainly agree with that sentiment. You can only imagine how he must have felt watching you be so obviously smitten. "But it wasn't you! It was just me! I didn't want to worry you and I was getting in my head and well, Wallace just kinda happened to be right there and well... it kinda just got word vomited onto him. Otherwise, I would have kept stuff to myself."

Ace rasps the back of his hand against your arm, "you're sure you're okay?"

You know Ace is in love with you, right?

"Yeah," you press yourself into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. "I'm good. I just had to freak out about it, I think. Everything's perfect." Nice isn't enough to describe how it feels, being enveloped in the warmth that flows from his body. I could die like this, you remember a poem Leif recited a long time ago. Softly; peacefully. In the middle of a dream.

𖤓

"Gimme my props."

The only response you have to your sing-song demand is a playful groan.

You nudge into Ace's arm with your whole body, "come on, flame boy! My props!"

The night is young on the seas, the Moby Dick alight with drink and song. Pirates never miss a reason to party, Ace becoming the Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates is no different. He deserves the position more than anybody, in your extremely biased opinion. He's more than earned it and you're happy to see him accept it, even if it was with an uneven stride.

"Ace, we're on the ship of the world's most tolerant pirate," you told him the night before when the two of you sat alone in one of the crows nests. "If you trying to kill him a hundred times didn't get you kicked out, I don't think Roger being the cherry on top is going to do anything either."

"You don't know that," he replied quietly, shoulders to his ears. It was like you were children again and he was so sure you'd take back your promise. As if him being Roger's son would be a dealbreaker. Ace could have been the son of the devil himself and you'd still have kept your promise.

"I don't," you agreed promptly. Still, you knew Whitebeard's character. He was the father to an entire fleet of vagabonds and rejects; what was one more with a large secret?

"And what if you're wrong?"

"Well, first as your friend I would tell you that you really picked the wrong tattoo," you grinned at his snort, watching as he failed to keep his lips from curving upwards. You raise your right hand, showing off your own, smaller Whitebeard jolly roger on your inner forearm. "Alright, alright, I'll say we both picked the wrong tattoo. And that we really fucked ourselves over burning down the Spadille." The ship was long gone now, only existing in your memories. "So assuming we have to battle our way dramatically off the Mobyー we'll jump on the Striker, head to the closest island to get some cover ups and we'll start over," you wink and Ace's eyes softened, looking as if he was staring through you. "But I doubt things will go that route and I look forward to you telling me I was right."

"Okay," Ace drapes himself over you, pulling your back into his chest. You squeal as rough fingers tickle your sides. "You were right so be humble about it!" Perfect. Ace is absolutely perfect.

"Stop it already! I'll be humble!" It doesn't take much time for the tickles to stop with your ceding, Ace's arms lying lazily across your stomach. In the far distance ー as distant as distant can be on a ship so ginormous ー Binks' Sake is being sung on loop with Jozu and Haruta particularly off-key. There's something comforting in how terrible they sound, you giggle softly. "Hey," you press your back further into his chest. "I love you."

"Yeah, I love you too," Ace snickers, lips curled into a lazy half-smile. There's no deep pondering at all behind those eyes. No inclination to look deeper into your words.

Not quite, you brace yourself with a quick in-breath. "No; Ace," while not enough to pull yourself out of his hold, you lean forward enough to look over your shoulder with ease. "I love you."

There's a pause.

Panic then flashes across his face, nothing but a grunt of shock escaping his ajar mouth. You stumble at how quickly Ace is to separate from you, attempting to make his exit to Oden knows where before you grab one of his hands.

"Ace," you squeeze his hand delicately as he stands completely still, face buried in the hand he has left. "Ace," you call again and Ace looks back at you ー truly looks back at you, brow furrowed and eyes wet with conflict. "I'm in love with you. You and no one else. You, Portgas D. Ace, and you can't run away from that. And," your throat clenches. "I want you to admit that you're in love with me too."

"You shouldn't-"

"Do you love me?"

A choked sound escapes him, "you can't-"

"I can and I do," you interrupt him belligerently, both your hands wrapped his tightly. Like he's begging you to end this torment for something he can't have; that you shouldn't want. That maybe he never wanted to know he wanted in the first place. "I'm in love with you. You don't have to love me back just don't," the breath you release is shaky. "Don't run away from it. Don't run away from how you feel about me."

You know Ace is in love with, right?

"You're in love with me," you ask with a falsetto pitch, face warm and throat tight. It takes more strength than you're prepared to admit to tug Ace into facing you directly. It takes more strength than you're prepared to admit to hold his gaze. "Aren't you?"

"I," he starts, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes. It's a steadying process of half-formed words, stumbles and shaking shoulders. A steadying process of deep breaths. "Of course I love you," he chokes at last. "I've always… always," it's enough for you, those words. More than enough; you can tell from how Ace's figure suddenly becomes unclear. Whatever else he wants to tell you can wait for later when he's able to say them.

Finally, something you in whispers. Finally.

"Can we kiss?" The two of you can't help laughing at your own words. It's a clumsy affection, unsure what to do with itself. You look forward to figuring it out together. We have forever, after all. It's what you promised one, long winter ago.

"Yeah," Ace nods with a sniff. You wonder if he's remembering the same winter. His smile tells you he is. "We can kiss," the first of many, chaste with the underlying taste of salt. Warm and yours; your personal spring in the sea.

𖤓

For the second time in your life, you're seeing hell on earth.

You're battered, bruised and the ground is littered with more corpses than you can count; pirate and marine alike. Your blood roars through your ears, your breath just as loud. Breath after breath, stride after stride.

The scent of death, fire and everything in between is cloyingly thick but it doesn't matter.

None of it matters.

Ace is safe; alive.

The Moby is gone and Pops will soon be another memory along with it you acknowledge sorrowfully as you leave the strongest man in the world behind.

You'll grieve later, you decide. When you're far from Marineford, far from Garp who'll never choose his grandsons no matter the cost and far from the people who nearly took your beloved from you.

We're almost there, you pant. We're almost there, the edge of marine headquarters so close you can almost taste the sea salt.

It's surprisingly easy to pick out the sound of Ace's shoes and Luffy's sandals drumming against the pavement.

Your boys are fine, your boys are well, your boys are alive.

You'll cry all you want after you make it back to the ship.

"Well your captain is that guy so you can't help it, can you," Akainu's voice is velvet smooth. Too calm in the chaos but still so loud. "Whitebeard is just a loser from the old times, isn't he?"

Ace's footsteps come to an abrupt halt, "loser?" Why is he stopping?

"Ace," Luffy cries out, just as confused.

It's strange how Orpheus comes to mind as you nearly fall over in your attempt to stop running. Your lungs burn white-hot from exhaustion, only seeing the purple and white of Ace's tattoo. Your body stopping doesn't feel like your own, like an out of body experience.

This whole war feels like you're one of the thousands of civilians watching the broadcast from all parts of the world. All watching with bated breath to see who will claim victory; watching to see how the season will change.

You feel like your that little girl again, confined to Dadan's work on your hair as Leif tells you the most beautiful story you've ever heard.

It's new life of spring when it was all Luffy could do to cry out joyfully Ace's name, the flames of his now unextinguished powers on fully display. The chill of late winter still clings to the season with how Whitebeard has to be left behind. The stillness of spring that one seldom notices.

Orpheus’ delight in seeing the sun.

Eurydice's stumble.

Her silence.

Maybe he thinks he’s been tricked.

Regardless the variety of the tale, it all ends the same Leif told you gravely.

He looked back.

[syd-djarin]

private eyes - jack daniels x private investigator!f!reader (18+ MDNI)

this is for @iamasaddie little lady kinky may challenge! congrats on 2.5k! <333 I was paired with Jack / Voyeurism.

banner by: @cafekitsune

tags: voyeurism (reader watches jack), masturbation (m & f), reader is a private investigator, gratuitous descriptions of my fav cowboy stroking his big cock, dub-con a little? reader masturbates in her car but there isn't anyone around so public but private

a/n: this is the first fic I've completed in months. it's short and to the point, idk how i feel about it but it pushed me out of my writing slump! kinda want to do a part 2 for this, what do y'all think 👀

wc: ~1.6k

smut below the cut

 “I want you to catch that son of a bitch in the act.”

The visibly scorned woman, Camilla, sitting across from you asks through tears, ones that she hasn’t allowed to escape down her cheeks; catching them right at the waterline with an overused tissue.

This isn’t the first time a disgruntled, mistreated, or betrayed lover has sought out your services — no shortage of shitty men leaving trails of destruction while they pillage and greedily chase their own interests. She’s no different, seeking closure from the broken-off engagement from her now ex-fiancée, Jack Daniels. The pair had been together for a year, engaged for three months and one day, out of the blue, Jack broke it off. According to her, he didn’t give a concrete reason, something vague about being consumed with his job and that “she deserved a better life than that”. 

Of course you get paid a pretty penny for your work, but you take great pleasure in catching a man in the act. Whether the woman needs proof for divorce settlements, custody battles, or to just have leverage. Whatever the case may be, you find a gratification you don’t get anywhere else; the upheaval of a man trying to have his cake and eat it too. 

The conventionally attractive woman you couldn’t pick out of a line-up slides her homemade dossier across the coffee shop table, tacky & sticky from previous patrons. You flip through the information presented to you, taking mental notes as you go. You can’t deny the heat that rises up your face as you study the picture of your next target. The deep sable eyes resembling a baby calf’s are staring at you through the glossy photo paper. He’s sporting a mustache reminiscent of Burt Reynolds that is calling your name. His smirk is laced with a charming cockiness. 

“He’s quite the looker, I know. Hell of a lay, too,” her words snap you out of your daydream. Her words feel hollow, his looks are the only attributes she’s mentioned during the duration of the consultation. You're not getting paid for moral judgements and you remind yourself you don’t know the whole story. 

“Which is why I want to know who he’s fucking. I know there’s another woman, or maybe even a guy… he’d answer calls in the middle of the night and step into another room and I swear I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, he’d tell me he’s going on work trips… he works at a whiskey distillery, why the hell does he need to go on all these trips?” She explains, putting air quotes around ‘trips’ with her dainty, well-manicured hands, “he’d stay late at work a few nights a week, and then it turned into a nightly thing… Anyways, you come highly recommended, so I’m trusting you won’t let me down,” she adds. You’re not a fan of the passive aggressive, back-handed compliment she gives you, but ultimately you give her an understanding smile as you both rise from the table. 

“I’ll be in touch,” you tell her, as you exit. As cliche as that line is, you love saying it every time. 

Days of following Jack around have proven to be fruitless. The man has a simple routine: wakes up at six, traipses to the bathroom to begin his morning regimen of a showering, shaving and grooming his beloved mustache, and to conclude,  adorns his body in his tight denim jeans, a crisp button-down, a cowboy hat, and boots to match. You hate to admit it, and someone would have to waterboard this information out of you, but the hat is doing something for him. 

Or you. 

Whatever. 

He shops weekly on Wednesdays (he always puts the cart back inside the store, not the cart returns in the parking lot), takes the same route home everyday, watches Jeopardy while he eats dinner – you caught on quickly that he cooks during Wheel of Fortune, it appears he isn’t a big fan of Pat and Vanna, dishes promptly following Final Jeopardy and bed by nine. In three weeks Jack hasn’t had a single visitor, of any gender, leaves work at five like everyone else, the man isn’t adding up to be a cheating womanizer like Camilla had set him out to be. Not to say that he isn’t, but you’re not finding any evidence to support that claim. You’ve actually found yourself developing a crush on the man. He’s undoubtedly handsome, seemingly laid back despite his strict routine, and there’s something mysterious that lies beneath that you’re itching to unearth.

You’re parked discreetly across the street from his house. It’s a nice quiet street, with only two lamps to illuminate the surrounding neighborhoods, allowing you to stay shrouded in the night. 

You’re about to call it a night, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, when you notice a lamp turned on in the living room. Fortunately, the window faces the street, making your job that much easier for you. You pick up your binoculars to peer in, adjusting the focus for your prying eyes. Thank the universe he left his blinds open. 

He sits on the couch with his back facing you. It looks like he’s reaching for the remote, like maybe he’s having trouble sleeping, but when he settles back into the couch, you notice he’s butt ass naked, in all his glory. Even through the binoculars, you can see how big his cock is. Your mouth salivates at the sight, wanting to feel the stretch of him in all your holes. 

You’re not supposed to see this. Not at all. Usually in your assignments, you don’t get the full X-rated view, just the PG-13 suggestive one, and you are more than grateful for that. 

But not now.

You’re getting your own private peep show from the man you’re getting paid to spy on. You’re feeling like a grade-A pervert right about now but the sight is too glorious to look away. He spits on his hand, and languidly begins stroking his cock. He runs his other hand through his hair, his toned arms flexing with his movements, his chest heaving. 

It shouldn’t turn you on like it does. For one, it’s highly unprofessional. Secondly, he’s unaware he’s got an audience. Morally speaking, it’s definitely not your shining moment. But it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, watching him tease and work himself up. You couldn’t pry your eyes away if you wanted to. 

Jack’s not the only one getting worked up; your clit throbs so hard you feel like it’ll go numb. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears thump-thump thump-thump. You let out a whine when Jack massages his tip, precum dribbling out like a sweet nectar you’d like to feast on. He continues his slow movements, dragging out his pleasure at a delicious and excruciating pace. Somehow, this makes the whole scene that much hotter; the display of restraint and discipline. You wonder if he does that with his lovers. Teasing, teasing, teasing, giving just enough to drive you insane before slowing almost to a stop. 

Possessed by desire, you haphazardly look for any lingering people outside before unbuttoning your pants to shove your hand to where it's needed most. You gasp at the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy, you can smell your own arousal seeped into your panties and it spurs you on further. You mirror Jack’s pace - teasing your lips with a featherlight touch, inching closer and closer to your needy clit, stopping just shy of it, to tease yourself more. It’s agonizing in the best way, taking your time like this. Normally, you like efficiency when making yourself come, rarely going the extra mile to turn the pleasure dial up, but this makes you question why you’re ever in a hurry. 

You reach your clit, going in gentle circles to match Jack’s unhurried pace. You wish you could hear the sounds he’s making, all the grunts and whimpers escaping his plush lips. 

He speeds up his strokes, now ravenous for his delayed release and so are you. Overtaken by the need to come, you drop the binoculars, letting them fall to the floorboard. You’re not even watching him anymore, having seen more than enough to commit to your spank bank. With your eyes closed and head pushing into the headrest, your mind is flooded with images of Jack fucking you slow, hard and deep, absolutely destroying your pussy – legs over his shoulders, hitting the spot that makes you scream and cry in euphoria. The image of him spilling into you, filling you up with his come is what tips you over the edge, your body shivers in bliss and you rock against your hand to ride out the high, feeling faint from the intensity. 

After you’ve recovered and fumbled your chance of ever seeing The Pearly Gates, you dare to look back to his house, to find all the lights back off. It’s a bit of a relief, feeling less shameful of what you’ve done now that you can’t see him at the moment. 

You button your pants backup and lean over to retrieve the forgotten binoculars from the floorboard, as your fingers grab them you hear a knock on the window. The sudden rap on the glass makes you flinch, feeling your skeleton attempt to flee from your corporeal body. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see Jack standing outside your car, leaning one forearm against the body so his face is level with yours. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been caught. Dizziness and nausea war within you as you roll down the window. You open your mouth to explain the situation, but words never escape your mouth. 

“You like watchin’ people don’t ya?” he asks, his tone is dark, but not angry. No, it’s something else entirely. 

“I–”

“‘S’alright. Caught onto ya pretty quick. A pretty face like yours ain’t hard to miss.”

“I– i’m sorry, um,” you scramble to find words, any words but Jack interjects again. 

“You like watchin’, but darlin’ I want to know, do ya like bein’ watched?”

[mythrilthread]

My magnum opus, the jewel of my Binderary round-up, the result of four months of hard work (that is to say, a lot of force applied over distance), the project affectionately known as The Motherfuckers (because it was rather unclear if I was going to finish these books or if they were going to be the end of me).

Force over Distance by cleanwhiteroom. It is currently also on AO3.

I was first introduced to this incredible story by a dear friend, who first sold me on actually watching SGU, and then said that they remember this fic since like 2011, which is always a promising sign. I went digging and found out I was in luck - the story was being rewritten and reuploaded on the author's blog. The next two weeks are described by the same friend as "one of the scariest moments in our cohabitation" as I'd spent literally every waking moment injecting the story directly into my eyeballs, and let me tell you, I'd not been doing a lot of sleeping at that time.

Then I gathered up my courage and reached out to CWR re: my burning desire to bind this story. And the rest, well. Let's dig into it, shall we?

This was my first time typesetting 540k words. Considering I tend to prefer larger font sizes for increased legibility, it was immediately obvious that this was going to be a multivolume project. I settled on three, as it's the relationship between three individuals that forms the core of the story.

I also knew I wanted to keep the typeset in black and white, but play around with light and dark a lot. So I did. One of the first design idea I actually had was the way I wanted to handle projected speech. Mental link between Young, Rush and Destiny is THE most vital part of the story, and I wanted to make it immediatly obvious. I also wanted to be able to take one glance at the page and tell how much of the action is actually just two guys staring each other down :) Hence the blackout effect of thoughts being represented as light over darkness.

I also wanted to preserve as much of my reading experience as possible. So I saved all the chapter quotes/summaries in the TOC, and hid the chapter content warnings in the frame of the gate that marks the beginning of each chapter. For most of the chapter the warnings stay the same, so after a while you stop really noticing them, but then you open a new chapter and see that the familiar shape of the words has changed, and get this UH-OH feeling. Which, I think is very much how it works in my design, because when the warnings change there's usually another line of text added.

For flashbacks and dream sequences I switched from italics to a lighter shade of gray. I woudn't say it's more legible per say, but it's in keeping with the overall light/dark theme.

There are instances of people using handwritten notes in the story. I collected more than a dozen of assorted handwriting fonts, with each character having their own "handwriting". So when, for example, someone begins writing in someone else's hand, you immediately know it.

The most insane, labor-intensive part of the typeset, however, was the way I decided to handle the Ancient translations. CWR's gone through the trouble of setting up hover-to-discover for it, which gives you a very different reading experience than, say, having the translations in the endnotes. So, naturally, I said to myself that I want to replicate that, and footnotes just won't do the trick. So. Every instance of Ancient in the text has an underlay of light gray Ancient script. And an OVERLAY of paper vellum with the translation printed in blue. Now, not to toot my own horn too much, but if looks SICK AS FUCK. You also MAYBE SHOULD NOT LIVE LIKE THIS. For the two copies of this work I had to cut up 10 sheets of vellum into strips, and then spent from 20 minutes to an hour per volume tipping the strips in their proper places. I then had to wear kinetic tape on both my hands to help with the joint pain. (It was worth it.)

Now for the title spread. It is also paper vellum that you see as soon as you turn the first page (the half-title), and see it covering the title of the book and author's name. And then you turn it. And the shields sing the matter wave of Destiny through the black. And yeah, I think that's very, very clever of me, actually.

Then, of course, were the endpapers. All 12 of them are unique abstract paintings done on black cardstock by hand with brush pens and correction tape, I scanned a sample of each set for posterity. All of them are my interpretations of characters' midscapes. For volume 1 I went with the fire wind of Rush's thoughts. Volume 2 was for Young, and I went for the reverse blackout poetry effect (because for all the mental talking they do, the unprojected thoughts are opaque to their counterparts) and all the loops, hairpins and blocks he does. Volume 3 is for the combination - Rush's fire wind, changing its color to match the circuitry pattern of Destiny's AI.

The rest, in comparison, is easy. All volumes are stitched with 3 strands of embroidery floss, a combination of black, blue and silvery-gray. The French double-core endbands are sewn in the same color scheme (though with a different shade of blue and gray switched for white for added contrast). The edges are painted and splattered to look like space.

The covers feature my (signature at this point, I guess) half-cloth river pattern, with the base being dark blue linen and the printed parts being Spitzer telescope images of the W51 star forge, Jack-O'-Lantern Nebula and the Eagle Nebula (courtesy of NASA), waxed by hand for added sheen. The spines are foiled in silver with a foil quill.

Each set is 5 pound of solid hand-crafted book, with one set being my personal copy, and the other sent as a gift to the author.

And that's it, folks! This has been an incredible project to work on, and I'm very proud of what I achieved with it.

[sonysakura]

🚫 My Sonic Big Bang 2024 Experience

...Or how a few months of my life were severely negatively impacted by someone else's bad management. See for yourself.

Proof of the rule they're speaking about being actively hidden from the participants to this day: FAQ – archived link, screenshot with "Who can participate?" on top, screenshot with "explicit" word search, screenshot with "nsfw" word search; Master Guide – screenshot with "explicit" word search, screenshot with "nsfw" word search; server rules – long screenshots of General Server Rules and StH Big Bang Specific Rules: Mar 12 and Jul 01, screenshots of Strike Policy: Mar 12 and Jul 01, long screenshot of General Guidelines, long screenshot of Collaboration Thread Guidelines.

I feel like this is extremely unfair 😭 One moment I was participating in the event I dreamed about for years, and the next moment I'm thrown out into the cold when I did nothing wrong. I need to get it off my chest...

Below, more about my experience with the event, though it ended up a little vent-y, a detailed (and verified!) record of what exactly happened in private thread #48, the aftermath and some fun facts I discovered or want to share:

First things first! Yep, I signed up for Sonic BB as a Writer back in January. I didn't talk about it outside of my server 'cause I wanted it to be a surprise – when I roll out a lo-o-ong illustrated fic without a warning. I'll admit, I always wanted to participate in a Big Bang for this fandom, it was a dream of sorts. And still, before sending my form in, I carefully read all of the Master Guide and the FAQ both. Seeing as how for my neurodivergent brain the rules and regulations are important, that's what I usually do for events, and this one wasn't an exception. Confident that I understand what the event would require of me, I signed up.

First month of the event went well. My questions were answered (even though I wondered why some of the things I asked couldn't have been in the Master Guide from the beginning), I wrote my fic summary and submitted it without many problems, etc. There was a small hiccup at the very beginning of March when I noticed how strict the management seemed to be (no changes or adjustments allowed), and my anxiety got the best of me, so I asked the mods if there's a plan in case a collab team doesn't work out: screenshot of my message in #writers-info-and-questions, pulled from my Discord data; screenshot of my detailed explanation in DMs; screenshot of Mod Joy's reply. Here are the most important quotes from his reply:

I understand wanting to plan for the worst case scenarios, but I would caution you not to freak yourself out over what all could go wrong! There are some absolutely lovely artists in this event who are excited to work with the writers. Odds are, things will go off without a hitch.

We are highly encouraging that no one drops out after the assignments, especially writers, unless due to extenuating circumstances.

We want to make everything as fun and stress-free for everyone. Know that we will be around to moderate threads and dissolve any tensions that arise,..

In short, I was placated with reassurances of careful moderation, not dropping writers and ✨positivity✨. I decided to stay and challenge myself since originally BB is meant to be a challenge and all...

For those of you who haven't participated: the way it is supposed to go is that writers submit short summaries of their stories, these summaries are stripped of the writers' names and given to artists to pick through. The artists then have to list their Top 10 stories to illustrate during the claims period. After the claims, private collab threads are made for each writer and their artists with a couple of mods. So no one else could see what happens in these threads.

Now flashforward to March 11th and the threads being created. Obviously I don't have screenshots of that due to being kicked off the server without any warning and before any chance of communication, unable to delete my personal information or save anything that might be used against me which was a case of poor management at best and a deliberate move at worst, so I'm retelling as faithfully as possible. It also has been verified by [artist 1] and according to them, this is exactly what happened.

My fic was in the 4-8k range, and I got two artists. I was asleep when the thread opened, and they talked about how excited they are for my fic before I came in. Both of them are 18, young but adults. I’ll call them [artist 1] (they're cool), and the other one is [artist 2]. Both artists seemed to talk to me normally.

Oh, I have to point out that there were hmm, Mods Chaz, Joy, Summers and Frostios in my thread. I think only four of them, but I know for sure Mod Summers was reading our conversation at least in the beginning because I noticed my fic's Warnings saying "None" (the original summary I submitted had Warnings: Discussion of Homophobia, Slight Internalised Homophobia), and I pointed out that there are warnings, though I don't know if they were lost just now or weren't in the sheet available to the Artists either, and whether they were actually lost or mods didn't consider it a big enough warning to keep... I still don't know. Mod Summers just silently pinned my message.

I mentioned how I'm in one of the Asian timezones geographically, so I might be awake or asleep at unconventional times, and they told me their timezones (I didn't ask!), so I figured I can make a timebuddy chart for easy tracking what time it is for everyone. Made one, sent the link to the thread, Mod Summers asked me if I want it pinned, too, and then a couple of hours later (I think?) [artist 1] came and said it's very helpful. This is my evidence for at least Mod Summers probably reading the conversation that followed but also maybe not. I think all of the mods were online or at least visually online when it was happening.

This is where I reveal that the entire conversation happened in like... one afternoon 🥲 Roughly 7 pm to 2 am for me.

Back to the conversation itself. There were a few questions I had so I started with them, basically 1) if they've read my fics before (explained that I'm asking so I know whether I need to tell them about my writing style and Sonadow dynamics I write); 2) do they want me to send in scenes as I write them or they want a full draft; 3) if they have any immediate questions for me. Question 1) is what we need. Both of them said they've never read my stuff before, and that they don't have any questions now but they want art to be as close to text as possible, so they will ask in the future. This is how it went down after (as per my memory, artist rendition I guess):

[artist 1]: I haven't read your fics but I'd like to! Your Ao3 is the same as your handle? [no link]

Me: It isn't a requirement, you don't have to! But that's right. I have to warn you though that I usually rate my Ao3 profile as 18+ when I link it, though 33/36 of my Sonic fics are rated G and T, and I feel like a warning is in order anyway so people don't accidentally stumble upon something they don't want to see and know what to avoid/filter out. [I didn't post any links or encouraged the artists to read my profile, just made a warning to be cautious]

We go into discussion of how long I have been writing, [artist 1] shows no problems with knowing my Ao3 has 3 Mature fics, I describe what series my fic will be for [the series is completely SFW, and even then I didn't post the link to it] and go into details of how I write Sonadow dynamics in my fics without mentioning the NSFW ones obviously, we speak about Question 2).

[artist 2]: [replying to my warning about my Ao3] ooohh so you write gore sometimes?

Me: Nah, I don't actually, I'm pretty uncomfortable with it tbh, so no, I don't. Some blood and a quick description of Maria's dead body is the most I have ever done 😅 All the angst I make characters go through is emotional rather than physical!

[artist 2]: oh I shouldn't have assumed, sorry. It's just the first thing my mind went to

Me: It's okay! I've been a medical student at some point and I think I've just had enough of that - one of the main reasons I'm not a doctor but a linguist.

[artist 1] gets excited about this for some reason, and we chat about it for a moment.

Normal conversation continues like...

Me: Okay, where were we

[artist 2]: i wasn't paying attention errr

Me: Me neither! But it's Question 3)

I go into saying how them wanting to draw as close to the text is 💯 what I wanted to hear because for me my texts are an extension of my soul, I'm fragile about them, and I'd prefer the art to be exactly according to it blah-blah-blah, I describe my thoughts about a plan of work for us and how I'm going to share pieces of my fic according to their respective wishes.

[artist 1]: Sounds great!

[artist 2]: yeah, sounds good

[artist 1] says something else which I just react with an emoji to, and I start getting ready for sleep because it's almost 2 am, and I have to get up at 6 am.

Nothing else was said in the thread. That's it.

I got to bed and as most people nowadays I check my phone one last time. I see [artist 2] requesting a mod they can DM to, but I don't think much of it…

So 6 am. I wake up and again, as most people nowadays, I check my phone. I went to sleep in a good mood, seemingly in good relations with my artists, excited for the collab and having a solid plan everyone agreed to, so I eagerly open Discord to see if they wrote anything new in the thread. I see no Sonic Big Bang 2024 server.

I will not go into too much detail about my state, but I have an extremely acute reaction to stress very similar to a panic attack that lasts for hours. So with shaking fingers I open my DMs to see the message from that first screenshot I started my post with. The following exchange with me learning about the hidden rule happens the next day. Unfortunately, before that I still have to go to work for a full day in that very same mental state, oof. Plus I have no breaks on Tuesday... I go back and forth all day with my friends about how shitty this situation is, and one of them asks me how [artist 1] reacted. I say that I don't know, but they still follow me on Tumblr so I go and message them, and from what they tell me, it sounds like a mod pretended to them that I was removed because of an existing rule that's stated somewhere. They didn't argue with that, and that's understandable of course.

At home, I notice one of the event mods blocked me.

It is difficult to explain what's happening in my mind without going into details of what my [disorders] are, but things that are unfair, things that are injustice put my brain in a loop until all wrongs are righted. I'm ranting about it to friends, and I think about it day and night. On March 14th I vent about it in the tags of a related reblog, and this is the only instance of me talking about StH BB on my blog. Next morning I'm blocked by the event blog and over the next 2 weeks – by two more mods, while another mod speaks to me passively-aggressively in a shared Discord server. Then I'm shown a screenshot where one of the mods claims I offered my Ao3 to my artists (I didn't) and implies everyone who writes NSFW is dangerous. And then I receive a hate ask about the event, calling me "creepy"... All this time, my brain is still stuck in a loop, and let me tell you – it's not fun. It doesn't help that my first reaction to everything that makes me feel bad is always to assume I'm at fault for everything, and seeing how hostile people are to me, I'm drowning in self-blame. Without going into any more detail, it takes me 2 months and a lot of help to somewhat recover, so I finally send my reply to Headmod Chaz and receive one back:

If you got to this part, you know that half of Headmod Chaz's reply is simply untrue since there were no "multiple instances", and in any case I was never asked to keep quiet about my ban (and why should I?). I sent another reply a month later expressing my confusion and wondering when the messages will be removed (only my intro was removed). As of today, that reply is still ignored, and the messages aren't removed 🤷

And this is the entirety of my Sonic Big Bang 2024 experience. Now for some Q&A:

Why did you wait so long to make this post? I didn't want to put any participants under fire, particularly my friends because I'll admit, the mods seem like petty people. And also I was worried about throwing shade on other participants (people associating their works with this) or spoiling the event for people who were genuinely having fun with it. Thus, I waited until it was over!

Is this a callout post? According to definition as "public criticism or asking someone to explain their actions", I think it is – in terms of calling out bad management. It is definitely not a call for harassment. There is a reason I censored some names and left vague who reported me, blocked me, was hostile to me or spread rumours about me. Please don't bother anyone, and if the mods decide to engage with this, they can post their own statement.

Aside from the above reasons, why make a post at all? Two reasons: a personal one and an altruistic one. Firstly, I hope to get closure this way since I still feel like I was unjustly thrown away when I was just being a dutiful person. Secondly, while Headmod Chaz said they will be transparent about this rule next time they run an event, as you can see they fully ignored my suggestion of doing it now, and in general keeping a rule hidden to such an extent where you lie in your FAQ is pretty shady... I don't trust them not to do it again next year.

Is it okay to reblog the post/reply to it, what about sending an ask or a PM? Yes to all. I don't expect anyone to reblog, though if you think it's necessary, go on. I'm posting it to the event tags, so-o I think people who need to see it – will see it. If you decide to be negative or call me names, however, be prepared to be blocked by IP or username.

Finally, fun facts as promised 🔥

There are other participants out there who have had negative experiences with BB or were made uncomfortable by the way it was managed, but I'm not going to speak for them;

There was this whole thing with hypocrisy and possible favouritism;

Despite the mods insisting on ME being quiet about my ban, it's now known that they shared information about it outside the mod group;

Out of 6 mods: 5 have me blocked, 2 were passive-aggressive with 1 of them going as far as verbally lash out at me in DMs, and only 1 mod gave me a human apology (not pictured in screenshots);

I saw 3 NSFW writers and at least 2 NSFW artists participating in BB just by scrolling through my dash, without seeking them out, and this is not counting people I noticed in the server prior to me being banned;

Some people are posting Mature and Explicit extras and sequels/prequels to their BB stories already;

The artist who reported me seems to have dropped out anyway;

There's a joke reason why I'm making a post, too: I have to earn being blocked from the event blog since they said they did it because of multiple instances of me talking about my removal;

I'm actually grace and most of the time write my characters as aspec, and I'm exploring what sexuality and intimacy mean for me through writing, so this situation felt a little... like gatekeeping;

My fic was #48 under the title Chao Care 101, and I want you to give me a high five if you had it among your top choices 🖐

Originally, I wasn't going to complete my BB fic because it made me feel bad, but now I've decided I want to reclaim it, so I'm writing it now. Almost 8k words at the moment. It will be published. And it will be illustrated;

Meanwhile, what came out of this disaster is Sonic Supernova 2025, and I recommend you all to keep an eye out for this inclusive Big Bang-like event 🌟

[seokgyuu]

growing up with heeseung, jay and sunghoon you never once imagined them being anything more to you than your childhood best friends - and to some extent you're correct: they remain your gross boy best friends up until college, when suddenly things start to feel different. with all of them.

✧ heeseung x fem!reader, jay x fem!reader, sunghoon x fem!reader ✧

✧ childhood friends to lovers, fake dating trope, college setting, story begins in childhood and leads us through all the important phases ✧

✧ this work contains: intended lowercase, poor tries at comedy, simp!hee, simp!hoon & simp!jay as well as very oblivious reader, jake as the first ever boyfriend, hanni, chaewon and beomgyu have a cameo ✧

✧ warnings! mentions of bullying, smut (MDNI), more to be added if needed. ✧

hi! for my very first enha fic I have decided to open a taglist! You can join it by sending me an ask, so that I can keep track.

taglist: open

current word count: 4k

estimated word count: 15-20k

posting date: tba

taglist: @kgneptun, @deobitifull, @lovelickies, @tinie03, @moon4moony, @sousydive, @jebetwo, @haechology, @wooziswife, @havetaeminforbreakfast, @vannabanana1995, @nctislifue , @wiley199, @lovgfrd, @heegyuwrld, @caravm, @adoredbyjay, @notevenheretbh1

teaser

the principal's office could really use an interior designer, you think. or just a whole renovation at this point. the ceiling is showing signs of leakage, there is paint peeling off the walls behind the desk. and the desk itself, jeez, principal higgs should have gotten rid of it ages ago, you keep telling him!

“how many visits will that be for the week?” he doesn’t even look up from whatever he was writing as he says this. you shift on your seat and look to your left where jay is tapping his fingers on the armrest of the uncomfortable chair and heeseung next to him is just staring at the principal’s receding hairline. meanwhile sunghoon to your right is silently plotting your death.

since none of the boys speak up, you clear your throat.

“the fourth, sir,” you say with a smile you think is charming but it actually isn’t. principal higgs sighs and puts his pen down as well as his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“thank you, miss y/l/n,” he replies, “and how many more times are you planning to sit in these horribly uncomfortable chairs this week?”

“none, sir,” you continue, the smile still playing on your lips. the older man behind the desk closes his eyes for a second.

“you say that every time and yet here we are again. so, what did you do this time? did you accidentally fall and hit mr. park in the face again?” he looks at jay, who rolls his eyes at the reminder, “well, he doesn’t look like he got a black eye. so, what is it?” 

when even you don’t respond, avoiding the principals eyes as he opens them again and the boys are all hopeless cases anyways, mr. higgs takes a deep breath and puts his glasses back on. 

“fine. let’s see,” he pulls on the stack of papers he has gotten from his secretary and looks at it with his lips pursed. all four of you shift on your seats now.

“alright then. mr. lee, as it seems you… put several worms in mr. sim’s locker?” higgs eyebrow pierces up and heeseung coughs. 

“and mr. park, jay, you… sabotaged mr. sim’s chair so that he fell on to his backside and then told him to “go suck it”?” jay snorts, still tapping against the armchair and not looking at the principal. higgs takes a deep breath.

“mr. park, sunghoon,… you held out your leg for mr. sim to fall over… almost twenty-three times in one day.” 

sunghoon has to concentrate not to look too proud of himself.

“and finally, miss y/l/n. you yelled at mr. sim in front of your whole class, saying, and i quote “you’re a stupid asshat anyways, i hope you trip and break your butt, you ugly little worm”.” 

you smile innocently. 

“you also kicked him in the shins, as a grand ending gesture, as mrs. james was kind enough to write down for me.” 

he puts the notebook down and looks at the four of you.

“come on you guys, i know you like to play harmless pranks on teachers. like to make one joke too many in class. but this? if mr. sim’s parents hear about this, and they will, there could be consequences that even i can’t hold back.”

[dangermousie]

I am sorry, this is not even subtle, this is 100% the moment OTP meets after a time jump in so many kdramas - just look at Ju Won's face omg when he hears DS' name.

And the little matter of fact way DS throws out in convo that his father has nothing to do with him and the way JW drinks it in? He will always need reassurance on that score; or at least for a long time.

And the meal, such a contrast to how he didn't fit in, in the beginning or the formal meals with his father. And he is willing to share utensils and try new things and just - he was wound up so tight for so long, just in a different way than DS, and now he's slowly being unwound and relaxing into something much more laid back and normal. He might still be particular but it feels much less stressed now. (But also, the gang being willing to accommodate his quirks no questions asked; love it.)

I am sorry but once again, not subtle.

The very last scene is lovely in every particular - JW now looks for lost people the way DS used to - it makes me think of this quote from 2ha:

But then there is this very very last scene in the drama and I love it so because it's practicalities as caring and the return of some sort of banter, acceptance of normalcy (the way JW looks like he's received a gift before he puts on the carping mask):

The way JW drinks in the praise!

And the end on their faces smiling, happy, in peace and both fully in the sunlight.

I have finished and am bereft and not sure what to watch next and this is def going on faves list.

When I started it, I thought it was solidly written and impeccably acted but why people were nuts for this I didn't get. And now I get it. Oh boy, do I get it!

PS Gimme all the fic recs pls. I don't normally do fanfic much but here I wanna read all the good fic pls.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

summary: a carnival comes to town and the night takes an unexpected turn when you meet a strange man.

warnings: 18+ mdni. vampire!max philips x afab!reader. max being max. smut. biting. blood. memory wipe. reader is abled bodied. reader is not depicted in the moodboard. w.c. 1.6k

author's note: first time writing Max. be nice pls. thank you @ghotifishreads for letting me whine and helping me think through this fic. you’re a treasure.

-> for the summer lovin' challenge ~ carnival #4 - max philips - the quote "are you lost, my dear?" and the attached moodboard

thank you to @pedgito @chaotic-mystery @amanitacowboy for hosting this fun challenge!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬

"Are you lost, my dear?"

You spin on your feet when a smooth, self-assured voice calls your attention as you wait on the sidelines for the traveling circus to begin.

He's devastatingly handsome, with sparkling dark eyes and short brown hair; he looks out of his element in a crisp three-piece black suit with a red tie. He flashes sharp, pearly white teeth and cocks his head with a smirk.

"Not anymore." You quip.

"My name is Max." He extends a hand, and you mirror him, offering your name loud enough to hear over the cheery music blasting across the expansive tent.

"Come to the circus often?" Max asks, trailing his wild eyes shamelessly down your body. Usually, you'd be repulsed, but something about him called to you. If anything, you wanted to get to know him more.

"Actually, this is my first time." You confess.

His face twists with amusement. "Oh, a virgin. I love it."

"I never would've pegged you for a fan of the circus." Your eyes flick up and down his body.

"I actually work for the circus."

He laughs when one of your eyebrows shoots into your hairline. "It's true. Every circus needs a lawyer, just in case any incidents happen. So I travel around with them."

"Wow. I never would've thought."

He sends you yet another coy smirk. "I like keeping people on their toes. Besides, a circus is a great spot to meet new people."

"Oh yeah? Do you find yourself picking up people often?"

His gaze grows tight, and his eyes turn a faint black before he takes a slow, deep breath. "A few."

The lights flash a beat before slowly dimming, signaling the start of the show.

"Come with me. I know the best seat in the house. " He clasps his hand around yours and tugs you along behind him. You instinctively dig your feet into the ground, knowing in your heart it's not safe to wander off with a stranger, but Max turns on his heel and locks eyes with you.

"It's ok. You're safe with me."

Your resolve crumbles without a second thought, and you go willingly.

Energetic circus music blasts through large speakers as guests cheer and yell. Hidden animals roar from beyond the curtains as Max walks you, hand in hand, toward the performers-only section.

He leads you up a set of stairs and down a dimly lit hall before turning into a small, dark room with one wall made entirely of glass. It overlooks the large tent, giving you a bird' s-eye view of the circus stage.

You watch it in awe as the performers move seamlessly in their choreography and tumbling movements.

You're so caught up in all the action you momentarily forget about Max. You turn towards him, swiftly apologizing.

He brushes you off with a smile. "Don't be sorry. Enjoy yourself. I know I am." His gaze slowly travels down to your neck.

You turn back to watch the colorful sights when you feel Max step behind you. He leans his body against your back, pressing the sturdy length of him along your spine.

You suck in a sharp breath as a strong arm curls around your waist, and plush lips find the junction of your shoulder and neck. You shiver from the cold kisses that splay over your sensitive skin.

"M'm you smell good," he murmurs before licking a wet stripe up the curve of your neck. You squirm in his arms, making him hold you tighter as he grinds his growing length against your ass.

"Keep your eyes on the show," he directs, dragging his bottom lip along the curve of your ear. "Don't want you to miss a thing."

As the performers engage the audience with fire eating and

high stakes aerobatics, large hands travel down the length of your body, over your curves, before reaching under your skirt and settling between your legs.

Your belly cramps when he presses against your panties and rubs your folds hidden by the thin fabric.

As Max slips two fingers beneath the elastic and grazes your throbbing core with a brazen touch, a hushed moan slips from your throat. Your body instinctively arches toward his touch, greedy for more.

"Looks like someone enjoys being naughty with a stranger." Max purrs while teasing his fingers through your swollen folds and dragging out the slick that's dripping from your pussy.

You turn your head, desperate to feel his lips on yours, but he asks. "Eyes to the front. Don't make me punish you, Kitten."

The soft threat makes you mewl and grind against his fingers. Your cunt throbs under his touch, soaking his fingers, wishing he'd push them inside.

Suddenly, you feel a strong hand push against your upper back until your face and chest are splayed against the window. The lewd sound of sucking hits your ears, followed by a low, dark moan. "That pretty pussy is absolutely scrumptious." He groans, lapping at his soaked digits.  

Your heart pounds under your ribs as you're pressed flush against the glass. Anyone could look up and see Max doing whatever he wanted with you. The thought should horrify you, but instead, your fingers spread wide against the glass, and you push back against Max's growing length.

"'Atta girl." Max purrs. You hear a zipper and a rustling of cloth before he hooks his fingers beneath your panties and pulls them to the side.

The cool glass feels like heaven against your heated cheek as he taps the bulbous tip of his cock against your shiny folds. He feels huge.

"Are you a virgin?" He hesitates, voice hinting slight concern.

"No," You whisper, eyes flicking to the side to watch as he spits lewdly where you're almost connected. Some spittle lands on your cunt, making you jolt.

"Oh, shucks. Virgins always taste so sweet." He laments before his features turn on a dime and kisses his fingers like a chef. "Then again, that pussy did taste fucking delicious."

Just as your mind begins to melt from his words, he slowly tips his hips and sheathes his length inside of you in one long, unending push.

The stretch is tremendous. Your fingers claw at the glass as he molds you around his cock like a hand slipping inside a glove. Max hisses through his teeth at the pressure before slipping a hand around to rub gingerly at your clit.

"Come on, relax for me, Kitten. I want to fuck this pretty pussy. Get 'er meowing for me."

A half-broken laugh and moan tumble from your lips as a wave of arousal blossoms in your belly. Your cunt swallows his length until you feel wiry hairs leading down to his pelvis graze the soft cheeks of your ass.

"atta girl."

Greedy hands encase your hips as he sets a steady pace, sawing his girth in and out, leaving you gasping and choking on your own moans.

Your body writhes under his touch. His balls smack thwap against your clit on every punishing drive as glistening slick drips from your weeping core, staining your inner thighs as you shove against the glass, meeting each demanding thrust.

"I found quite the meal ticket tonight," the shameless moan ends in a growl.

You're too blissed to comprehend whether that's a compliment as he splits you in half, pushing you further up the glass and closer to the impending orgasm you can feel lingering deep inside your cunt.

Max splays his body over yours; his broad shoulders encompass yours so entirely that you can't help but feel an odd sense of dread come over you.

"Oh, I've got that pussy right where I want 'er," He hisses, jaw clenching as your velvet walls quiver, greedily trying to milk his balls. His lips find your neck, slotting hurried kisses along the sensitive column. "Are you gonna come all over my cock, Kitten? Make a mess for me?"

Your head spins as you feel his teeth graze your skin. The pressure of his sharp canines sinking into your flesh sends you plummeting into a deep canyon of ecstasy. Your cunt locks around him like a vice, and a hoarse, depraved moan is pulled from your lips as he keeps a steady rhythm fucking you through the mind-bending pleasure.

Max thrusts faster once your blood touches his tongue. He greedily laps at the metallic crimson that pours freely from the tiny holes in your neck. You never register the pain. All you can sense is his bulbous crown inching further and further into the deepest part of you.

A choked grunt rumbles against the side of your throat. His hips stutter, cock drenched in your sweet cream allowing him to drive straight to the hilt before spilling his spend into your convulsing core.

Your mind goes fuzzy as you try to catch your breath. Fingers grip your chin, and your gaze lands on something from a horror movie.

A dark red stain paints the lower half of Max's jaw. His lips are flush and dripping with your blood. His tongue licks at the corners of his mouth, "Knew you'd taste as good as you looked."

You go to scream when he shakes his head slowly from side to side and tsks once more. His eyes lock on yours, piercing your soul as he speaks calmly.

"You got lost on the way to the bathroom."

You repeat what he says in a lifeless tone.

"A bug bit the side of your neck."

Again, you repeat his words.

"Now, close your eyes, Kitten."

You follow his orders before blinking them open a second later and find yourself seated among fellow circusgoers in the middle of the bleachers.

As the show continues, you rub a tender spot on your neck and spy a large glass window. You notice a handsome man smiling down at you from beyond the glass.

He winks and playfully tongues one of his sharp, pearly white fangs.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!