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yanderedrabbles · 5 months ago

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Yandere Seasons of the Year

Autumn is the nerdy girl in your book club. Pigtails, pleated skirts, too thick glasses. Whenever she's forced to speak up in class, she almost always stutters. Getting softer with each word until the teacher finally has mercy on her and let's her trail off. She has few friends, mostly other slightly dorky kids who band together because otherwise they'd all be stuck eating alone. You don't really notice her at first.

But then you read Jane Eyre and for once she isn't shy at all. She tells your whole book club all about the symbolism, the themes, how she doesn't fully consider it a gothic novel but that it definitely has gothic elements. Her cheeks are just a little flushed, her hands darting around when she talks. She's pretty, you realise slowly. When she isn't folded over herself or scurrying through the hall like she doesn't want to be caught.

Afterwards, you strike up a conversation with her. She's all shy again, not really meeting your eyes.

"My dad's got a whole collection of classics. Special edition prints, with these hand painted edges," you tell her. "Why don't you stop by and you can borrow some?"

She narrows her eyes at you like she thinks you're making fun of her. "Maybe. If I have time."

She doesn't drop by. When you see her in the halls after that, you always stop to greet her. But she looks so uncomfortable that you never get to have a conversation. Always running off with her head bent so far down that you wonder how she sees anything past the tips of her shoes.

After a few weeks of half finished sentences and always keeping her books clutched to her chest, you're about ready to give up. To take the hint that she doesn't want to be your friend.

But then... she starts seeking you out. Tentative at first. Waiting outside your class and only saying hello if you're alone. Changing her route so that it takes her past your locker. Sitting just a little closer to you at lunch, almost always two tables away so you're in her line of sight.

Maybe she realises you aren't setting up some elaborate prank by talking to her. Your hurried hellos become actual conversations. She starts walking you to class every morning. When you again invite her over to borrow some books, she actually shows up.

Standing on your doorstep with the trees flaring yellow and orange behind her, her hair pushed out of her face with a red Alice band.

"Hi."

You lead her up to your room and she perches on the edge of your bed like she's scared to touch it. Scared to be in your space.

You were in the middle of sorting through your makeup before she showed up and now you look over at her with a twinkle in your eye.

"Will you let me do your makeup? Please?"

Her eyes go all wide behind her glasses. "Uh I don't know...I don't really wear that stuff..."

You sit in front of her, your kit spread on your lap. "Come on! You'll look so good. You've got such a great bone structure, it's practically a crime to not try some bronzer."

"I guess..."

You carefully reach up and take off her glasses. She flinches. "Shh, relax. It doesn't hurt."

You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and tilt her chin up with your finger. When you smooth primer over her skin, she subconsciously tilts her face into your palm.

"That feels nice..."

Her eye makeup is the trickiest part. She flinches every time you bring the eyeliner even close to her. Eventually, you slip your free hand around the nape of her neck. She freezes just long enough for you to add some wings. Her ears turn a bright red and she ducks away from you, stuttering.

"Ah sorry. Were my hands too cold?"

"N-no. No, your hands are...perfect."

You end up so close to her face that when she finally opens her eyes after mascara and lashes, she gasps. You run your thumb across her cheekbone to clear away a little spilled eye shadow.

"All done."

Even after you step away, it's takes her a few seconds to move.

"Do you like it?"

"I look so different."

You stand behind her in front of the mirror and rest your chin on her shoulder. "That's the magic of makeup! It's a good different. And besides, we're matching."

"Oh." She touches her fingers to her lips and looks down at the lipstick smeared on her fingertips. "I didn't notice. I...I really like it."

You pull away and grin at her. "Aren't you glad you let me do it?"

"Yeah," she says, still staring at her fingers. "Really glad."

When your lipstick and then your lip balm go missing, you don't even notice. What was it the kids used to say back in elementary? That if your lips touch where someone else's did, it counts as a kiss?

Autumn walks home through the falling leaves and wonders if you realise you're her first kiss.

Winter is the student council president. Confident, clever, a guy everyone says is going to be a great leader someday.

Oh, but he's cold too. Doesn't have any real friends, only achievements. Everyone knows him. Everyone respects him. But being respected and being liked are not at all the same thing.

You wonder if he ever gets lonely. You walk past the student council office during lunch one day and see him at his computer, a half eaten apple forgotten at his elbow. You shouldn't feel sorry for him. He's on the fast track to an ivy league and a career in finance. In a few years, he's going to be richer than you could ever hope to be. He takes home every performance award in every subject.

You shouldn't feel sorry for him. But you do.

"Hey, you got a minute?" You lightly rap on the doorframe and he turns to face you, not at all ruffled by your sudden appearance.

"Sure. You're y/n, right? I think we had algebra together a few years ago."

"Yep. Before you started taking AP classes and leaving all us peasants in the dust."

You're not surprised he knows you, despite never being introduced or even having a conversation before.

You grin at him. "Is an apple really the only lunch you're having? You've got to keep your energy up if you want to protect your title as smartest guy in school."

He frowns at his apple. The parts he's bitten are already starting to brown.

"I'm not that hungry."

You lean in the door frame and cross your arms. "I'm supposed to let our student present starve? If I let that happen, who's going to be around to defend our debate title? Stand up to the tyranny of the chess club?"

He scoffs and uses the tip of his pen to nudge the apple into the waste paper basket.

"Come eat lunch with me. I've been wanting to join some clubs and you can tell me what looks best on a college application. You can call it community service if you want," you offer.

That gets you a slightly raised brow. The most expressive you've seen him yet.

"What are they even offering today? I don't really stop at the cafeteria."

"Oh, you're in luck," you say. "Mashed potatoes and gravy. And it's only slightly congealed this time."

"Yum." Still, he stands up to follow you. He's much taller than you realised, and when he picks up his backpack his muscles flex in a way that tells you he isn't afraid of hitting the gym. Again, unsurprising. Except for his lunch, he seems the type to have his life in perfect balance.

When you finally sit down in the cafeteria, it isn't long before the other kids notice him. You're scarcely two bites into your lunch when the student magazine editor starts asking him about the budget for next semester. When that's settled, the chess team are next in line to complain about the state of their boards and to ask pretty please for some new pieces. It's only when the bell rings that they finally leave him alone. His lunch sits untouched in front of him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

He shrugs and shoots you a half smile. "Thanks anyway. This was...nice."

It's only when he's gone that you start to wonder if anyone else has ever seen him smile.

You start taking him lunch in the office a few days a week. Mostly sandwiches and chocolate milk. Not exactly the pinnacle of good eating, but anything is better than nothing, right?

You always end up on his desk, ankles crossed while he reclines in his computer chair, chin tilted up slightly to meet your eyes. It's casual, easy. He's funny, in a deadpan kind of way. You end up learning a ton about college admissions, about extra credit, about Ivy League rankings.

When applications open, he's the first person you go to when you need help. Eventually, he just sighs and plucks your half finished essay from your backpack.

"Just let me handle it, jeez."

"Really? Oh my god, thank you!" You stand on your toes and pull him into a hug. "You have no idea how stressed I've been."

He freezes. And then slowly wraps his arms around your waist.

" 'Course," he mutters into the crown of your head. "I'd be happy to."

The thing about Winter as a season is that it can be so insidiously misleading. You assume the greatest danger is the ice, the cold. You don't realise that most deaths are from broken gas lines, from excess alcohol, from persistent coughs. You prepare yourself for all the wrong dangers.

You assume that if Winter wants something, he'll pursue it outright. You don't notice that your college applications are only being sent to places he's applied to as well. You don't notice the way he sneaks your name into the records for the debate team, the chess club, volunteering hours - a blatant forgery just so you have a better chance of being accepted at the institutions where he wants you.

You don't notice the way he always comes up to you when other guys are talking to you, dragging you away with a tight smile and an excuse about scheduling issues or needing your help with the budget.

You don't notice him falling for you until it's far, far too late.

Spring is the ultra cool, earthy girl in your art class. Always sporting a full afro or long goddess braids. Effortlessly chic, with gold jewellery in her hair no matter how busy school seems to get.

She moves through everything at her own pace. Not part of a clique but never alone either.

You've always known each other a little. Had a few classes together over the years, shared lunch once or twice. But life is hectic and your paths don't always cross as much as you'd like. So when you end up in art class hoping for extra credits, you're more than a little glad to see her.

She's talented. Her portfolio has art schools all across the country drooling, practically on their knees to offer her a full ride.

It would be easy to get jealous, and you have no doubt that more than a few of your classmates are. But you? You're just glad to see talent being appreciated.

It's a beautiful spring day when she comes up behind you and offers to give you some private lessons. Your hands are covered in charcoal, there's streaks of black on your cheeks and despite your efforts, your canvas is an unartistic mess.

You smile at her like she's heaven sent.

"Would you really? I know art is subjective and all, but I'm afraid everyone thinks I'm objectively bad."

She tilts your head at your canvas, beads in her braids clinking.

"Not as bad you think. I can see what you're trying to do. You just don't have enough technique yet."

When you meet her after school, the classroom is gold and hazy with the late afternoon sun. She makes you sit at her easel and leans on the back of your chair.

"Draw some perspective lines for me."

You try to, but by the third line her hands are already coming up to guide yours.

"No. Always try and stick to your vanishing point. Like this."

Her voice is low in your ear and you can smell her perfume, something sweet and flowery that makes you want to bury your face in her hair.

"See?"

"Mm-hmm. Easier when it's so direct."

"Good."

She stays right by your chair for the rest of the lesson, occasionally leaning down to adjust your grip. When the day is done, your hair smells like her perfume and your fingers ache from work well done.

She doesn't seem like the type to have a boyfriend. Maybe you're being unfair, but you just can't see it. She's so nonchalant, so very much herself, that the antics of teenage boys seem so very beneath her. She must like someone though, because a few weeks after she starts tutoring you, you get a glimpse of her latest piece. A sketch of her leaning down to kiss someone, their face obscured by the fall of her hair.

If it were anyone else, you would tease them relentlessly about it. Who do you got a crush on so bad that you want to draw them?

Not her though. You respect her art too much to make light of it like that. And when her portfolio starts filling up with love poems, with tributes, with re-interpretations of Le Printemps and Le Sommeil... Well, you pretend not to notice.

It's only at the very end of the year that you start to really wonder who it's all about. When you finish your final piece - the best canvas to date, the one you and her poured hours of work into - she leans down and presses her lips against your signature. It leaves behind a lipstick print in a deep, gorgeous red. Somehow brings the whole piece together.

"I love it," you tell her, eyes on your art.

"So do I," she says, eyes on you.

Summer is the tanned, laughing jock who's always filling up the hall with his voice. Friendly, likeable. Just about everyone has a crush on him.

Not a bully, though he has the size and strength for it. Helpful, in his big, well meaning way.

His future is clear for everyone to see. Working in his dad's construction company until its time to take over, marrying a girl just as pretty and golden as him, becoming the kind of father that other kids look at and long for. It's a good life. It suits him. Days filled with sunshine and love and laughter. He deserves it.

So when he asks you to tutor him, you assume he doesn't want anything more than a better grade. Books and calculators spread out on the bleachers after practice, the smell of fresh cut grass in the air, summer sun warm and gold over the football field. If you were more his type, you'd call it romantic.

As it is, you just appreciate the good weather and the good company. When his teammates joke that he's tanking his grades on purpose just to spend time with you, you laugh and say you're sure he's got better things to do with his time that that.

It takes a few months, but his grades do improve. And when you go through the homework together, it's clear that he understands what he's doing.

"Well champ, seems my work here is done. You're ahead of the class, you understand the methods and your papers have all come back with Bs and above."

You shrug, smile at him. "You're free to go. Have your afternoons back."

"What?" He frowns at you, water bottle halfway to his mouth. "No. The year isn't over yet."

You laugh, a little flattered that he seems so upset to see you go. "I know. But you don't need me anymore. Just practice the problems I marked out for you and you'll be just fine."

For once, he seems at a loss for words. You stand, sling your backpack over your shoulder. It's just you and him left on the bleachers, the empty football field a behemoth between you and the school building.

When you're halfway across, he catches up with you. Grabs your backpack and stops you in your tracks.

"What about English? I really need some help with the novel. And my chemistry is a mess. Seriously, we can't stop now. You can't just...leave me like that."

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he sounded almost panicked.

"I think Jackson from homeroom is your best bet with chemistry. Oh, and I'll send you my English notes. I did a whole section on themes and stuff."

He frowns again. "No. No. I don't want any of that. I want you."

The skin at the nape of your neck prickles, despite the late afternoon sun being full on your back. Was he always so much bigger than you? How didn't you notice it before?

"Hey, listen. I know you're worried. But we've put in tons of effort. You know your stuff. When exam season rolls around, you'll be just fine."

You try and walk away but he's still holding onto your bag.

"I can pay you."

"I don't want money," you say, irritated and offended both. "I never wanted to be paid for any of this. You're a great guy. I'm happy to help you out."

"Then stay."

Why is he being so persistent? His hold on your backpack tightens when you don't immediately answer.

"Please."

That decides you. How can you say no when a nice guy is practically begging? You're not a monster.

You sigh. "Fine. But only until after homecoming, 'kay?"

"Sure," he says. "I'll let you go when I'm done. Promise."

In the last light of a long summer day, you make the mistake of believing him.

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #reader insert #x reader #yandere oc #Oc x reader #tw yandere #male reader #Fem yandere #yanblr

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rotagnus · 2 months ago

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the path you're taking. | ^_^

details: basically a SIX pile reading that focuses on the future path laid out for you. remember, nothing is set in stone. this reading will read CURRENT you's energy. it will focus on any/all significant aspects of your life. choose a pile that calls you AFTER you've looked at all of them. it can be inaccurate (or very accurate) if you choose on a whim, which is why i recommend looking at them all and following your gut instinct.

!!!!!!!!!this is a very heavy reading. please only read it if you're in a good mental health space. there are some triggers in multiple piles, so i highly suggest you DON'T READ IT AT ALL if you are EASILY TRIGGERED!!!!!!!!!

this does not have to resonate. i am a 17 year old tarot reader and by no means a professional, and this does not mean that my readings mesh with you!!

p1.

i think a lot of you may be overwhelmed with the future. many of you see that there are a lot of possibilities ahead of you; you're not quite sure whether you should choose what your heart is telling you, or what others expect of you. there might be the dilemma of choosing what would make you happy, and what would be most profitable. deep down, you know which one you should choose, even if you feel a little bit (or a lot) of regret facing the other choice. a lot of you may face some grief later on, abandonment wounds coming up as all things do catch up to us eventually, pile 1.

a lot of you can feel guilty, at first. for those of you who are planning on marrying, you are most likely going to be the one that's the asset between you and your partner. you guys have a deep glow about you and for most, your partner is happy enough to sit back and observe their beautiful, bright sun. for others? be careful not to attract a husband/spouse that will be jealous of your glow. unfortunately, a lot of men are stuck in the energy of seeing successful people, especially women, as competitors. make sure that you have friends, family, and romantic partners that want all of you, and hold no spite toward the choices that you make, and the glow that you possess.

many of you who are participating in higher education may study in a more urban area, or end up living in one. something about those places calls you and you feel drawn to them. some of you are my ladies in stemmm and congrats. i think that a lot of you are very talented individuals even though you underestimate yourself; so don't worry too deeply about being financially successful. you guys are resourceful and don't mind doing jobs as long as you're respected, which is definitely something to look out for. a lot of people can be a bit disturbed by your personality, but that is neverrr your fault. many people don't like seeing people like you win, whatever that means for you; but your glow cannot be dulled, my darling.

i think a lot of you will be traveling, which means a commute to work or perhaps changing homes/countries. while a lot of you are afraid of this, many are happy and see this as a way of finally spreading your wings. i was on the school bus today and thought of this phrase i've heard; 'never cage a bird that loves its flight'. nothing will be able to bind you down to a place you hate, pile 1. so for a lot of you who are/have been/will be in toxic relationships, you'll be able to leave. i think that a lot of you should understand that you have this deep ability to change within you. you will be abundant anywhere you go, babycakes.

p2.

i'm hearing that most of you so far have had a difficult life. a lot of you have seen the worst people around you win and be happy, especially toxic family members and parents, and you have a deep doubt of your own morals and your own nature as a person. you also have this large desire to please people and to make them love you by being an easier pill to swallow. the first part of your future will definitely be reworking these wounds if you choose to. if you don't, it can definitely cloud up any potential that you have, because a lot of opportunities are ahead of you, but you must recognize your worth while just EXISTING instead of dedicating your whole life to prove that you fit into your own concept of 'worth'.

despite this, i am hearing that the happy ending you desire is in your hands. you have a lot of control over what happens next, but you need to get rid of the illusion of a life that other people want for you. you will only be happy if you follow what YOUR PATH is. what YOUR CALLING is. not what other people want you to do. i think you're more on the artsy side of the spectrum of work; this can range from fashion work, graphic design, to even the more spiritual side of jobs. your future job prospects will be very correlated with your ability to express yourself. your voice is meant to be heard, and your art is meant to be seen. a focal lesson of your life will be learning how to deal with criticism from people, and how to keep doing what you're doing despite the voices that tell you that what you're doing is wrong.

many of you are in your 20s/30s and are still dealing with figuring what you want out; a specific message for you is that you're not too 'old' to be feeling this way. sometimes life takes a while to truly feel like it fits you. you have not met all of the versions of you that exist. many of you also have this deep desire to find peace and stability, particularly within other people. i think you'll definitely have the kind of love story where you meet someone and your intuition tells you that they're the one, even though you may doubt it a bit. for most of you, your future spouse won't necessarily be the person you expect. the version of them you have written in your head won't fit like a glove, but get this; it can be even better than you expect. a lot of you think you have high standards, and i don't necessarily agree with that...but i do think that you shouldn't hold such a specific version of a person to the light, y'know?

ooh. so the same card that fell out in the start of the reading fell out again. you guys can interpret this as you want, but for me, i think it symbolizes a completion of a cycle that you guys have been taking this lifetime to learn. a lot of growth will happen and at times it can feel like an endless circle of death, but at the end, you'll be at peace and recovering from the constant growth that you experienced. your path is not meant to be easy, pile 2. but it's meant to be rewarding.

p3.

a lot of you are going to flourish in whatever you're insecure about. many of you deal with crippling anxiety that can leave you with physical symptoms, and as you grow older, many of you will realize (or have realized) that to deal with physical problems, you have to have physical solutions. yoga, pilates, going on walks...you know what i'm talking about. many of you may have struggled with addictions or grown up with a relative that did, and this deeply affected your psyche and your ability to latch onto things without having a deep desire to completely and utterly possess them or have control of them. people pride you on your leadership and your ability to be strong, but they never seem to see the story behind it.

i think this life is meant to teach you security within yourself. a lot of you may perceive this as being alone, but the truth is, you're never truly alone. your ancestors, guides...whatever your belief system is, they're all rallying behind you. i think that this life is also meant to show you that you guys are truly divine, capable souls. you guys are great manifestors, and great people in general; hearts of gold, and you'd genuinely do anything that'd benefit the world. i think this life will definitely be returning all of your own inputs back to you, even though right now, you probably don't feel like it. i think many of you genuinely didn't think you'd make it this far, and now that you're here, you're experiencing this deep fear of 'what do i do, with all of this?' you guys have that main character vibe and many of you are genuine, unique people who others want to keep in their life, because that little nicheness you have? SOOO OBVIOUS. you guys are the stars, the night, and the moon, all in one.

you have a charisma that is so visible. many of you will be dealing with being seen, in your life, in many different ways. many of you that want fame will achieve it; those that desire to be understood will get it. you guys do have a strong-rooted fear of being vulnerable and exposing parts of yourselves to others, but as you go through this life, it'll become easier and easier to you. many will become mentor like figures to others, particularly younger souls (this can manifest as literal kids, or younger figures, such as students/pupils, coworkers, etc).

a lot of you will most likely end up with a future spouse that has gone down the same path you did. many of you already don't want to date someone who's 'perfect'; you understand that someone who's conventionally attractive, rich, etc. the perfect version that is very often idealized in media isn't someone who would necessarily benefit you at the end of the day. hair grays and skin sags, so a temporary feel-good wouldn't suit you. i do think that you guys will end up with someone who compliments you, and it'll heal a part of you that feared you would never find true joy in another person, due to your own 'complexity'.

p4.

many of you guys feel overlooked your whole life. nestled in the darkness, while others bathed in the light. many of you struggle with insecurities that were instilled on you by societal norms or older maternal/feminine figures that critiqued you unjustly due to their own fractured view of themselves. you hate doing things with other people and you'd much rather do them alone, partly because you know you can handle them, partly because you don't trust others, and partly because you don't want to burden others with your own problems. some of you struggled making friends growing up, and when you actually meet people who seem to like you, you're kind of like 'uhhhh right so this is a trick'.

a lot of you may end up unconventionally happy. NOW, before you get scared, let me explain. this may not be as dramatic as you think; for a lot of you, you may end up dating/marrying someone outside of your culture, which can break your relationship with your family (honestly...for some of you, good.). you may also start to break generational patterns and you're like 'mann i don't wanna do this work' but it'll truly make you happy in the end. unconventional happiness can be not having kids, or not marrying, OR just having a job/marrying someone with a job that's not a popular one, whatever. you guys are breaking norms simply by existing, and by the time you do, you're not going to give one flying fuck about what others think of you. you guys are gonna be like the rich aunt who has a history with the family. younger members will look up to you.

you guys are very impulsive people and don't have strong attachments to things, which can definitely be a benefit in some situations, however in others...you guys have a crippling fear of commitment because you believe everything is temporary, and this can really hurt the people around you if you never heal. while the other piles had open endings, there's two major ways i can see your life going; you decide that you want a good life for yourself and you start to heal and recover from the hellhole that was your younger years, and the other one is you giving up and starting to fall into old habits that leave you stranded in pain and agony until you get back up again. a lot of you may struggle with masculine figures in your life, sometimes you may seek out the feeling of 'safety' you had but is that really safety? many of you are strong women, who picked this pile, and i think that those of you who are struggling right now will be fine, just a small message.

you may have lost a battle, but you won the war. in the longer span of your life, you'll be happy. you will hold a lot of resentment for the system and people that failed you, and you will act as a guide to other people, similarly to the previous pile, that were stuck just like you. you guys have a deep empathy within you and you easily understand what others go through, which will make you a very understanding elder. romantically, there's two major paths for you too; fall for the same toxic patterns in people, or actually allow someone to see you. not every person that likes you is a trick!!!! many of you may meet your actual future spouse later in life. they'll probably be on the quieter side and what attracts you to them is the fact that they're deeply observant and actually seem to notice you, for WHO YOU ARE, deep inside that stubborn little shell of yours, rather than the image of yourself you try to put out.

p5.

you guys have hella trust issues and you're the kind of person who's verrryyy careful financially and in all aspects of life. you are blunt, honest, and deeply loyal to your friends and family. you guys tend to attract people who are loud and charming, and they kinda like you because you're sooo mysterious and alluring. shy smiles, and such a pretty face! your body is really pretty too. sorry for gushing 😔😔. BUT YEAH. a lot of you have this deep maternal energy within you and people notice this. you most likely will end up working/already do in a field that has to do with care. social workers, stay-at-home parent, teacher, etc. you guys are terribly warm people and a lot of animals and kids and women feel particularly safe with you. you uplift others without putting others down, and people think you're such a sweetheart. especially your smile. i don't know why i feel like i have to keep saying that but your smile is made of sugar spice and everything nice :)

many of you will end up with a quiet, peaceful life. you guys will truly take great care in making sure that your future is one of sweet treasures and moments of utter calm, rather than taking the easy way out and rushing through difficult processes. you guys possess a deep wisdom within you that allows you to be very committed to your goals and passions, which is ultimately the reason that you'll find security. your love is definitely going to be a focal point/lesson in this lifetime; it's the reason that you'll end up happy. you guys are the kind of people who forgive but don't forget, and your strong boundaries will definitely end up saving you many times in your future. you guys are also willing to communicate with others and work with them, which will prevent future arguments with coworkers and potential partners.

i think that i've already gushed a lot about your job prospects (you'll be fine, babe), but as for family life? many of you do desire companions. many have faced losses early on in life and you yearn for stability and softness, especially since you guys may have had family members that weren't able to show those qualities to you. you guys will have soo much intimate moments in your future, i swear. all those grocery shopping trips, all those movie nights, you'll get it all. i think many of you do struggle with patience but you're very hopeful people, so keep that up!! don't let time beat you up. everything happens on its own timeline, and listen, many of you already have a deep gut feeling that you'll end up happy, so...keep those dreams. keep your chin up. you know who you are, at the end of the day. it's never worth giving up on looking for that romcom love.

you'll end up living a long life, full of interesting moments. i think a lot of you will end up keeping a collection of journals, poems, scrapbooks, etc. that you'll end up passing onto your kids/or other younger members. you guys will truly be a spotlight for others, and they'll look to your life and your lineage for reassurance that a life of miracles and softness is truly possible. my last bit of advice for you is to never lose your belief in humanity. it is what has gotten you this far, and it'll be very useful for you later on. but also, remember that just because you're a sweetheart, doesn't mean it's your responsibility to deal with other people's bullshit. thank youuu <3

p6.

woww you guys have a deep richness inside of you. very dense with goodness, LMAO. always giving. but seriously, you guys are DOGGEDLY loyal and would do anything for your heart. a lot of you faced several problems early on; miniature adults who faced adversities way earlier than they should have. many had to act as a parent. some as an older sibling. eldest daughters here?!?! youngest daughters that ended up having to support the parents?!?! hiii. you guys feel indebted to the world, as if you have to earn something back. you guys have a deep sense of justice and people probably told you 'you should be a lawyer' before, although it wasn't always necessarily meant nicely. people try to give you backhanded compliments due to jealousy or insecurity. you guys genuinely see the good in others and it feels sooo good to be loved by you. you guys are very tender with your specific people, and others feel so graced that you let your guard up. 'i only have eyes for you'.

many of you will be intensely dedicated to your job, passion, or family. you guys don't just have a deep sense of loyalty for people, but also for other things. you guys are good, conscientious workers, and you see light in everything. but you guys also aren't afraid to stand up for what's right. you bear a lot of weight on your back. many will end up working in higher-end positions because of your dedication and your ambition. you guys deal with a similar problem that one of the other piles had; feeling like you're only good because of your achievements, not because of your existence. your optimism and creativity will carry you far, as well as your general acceptance of other people, even though they might be different from you. you have an understanding that not everyone (including you) had it easy growing up, and you feel drawn to people who have experienced suffering early on. you used to have a savior complex, but for most of you, this died away/will die away because you do recognize that you're not meant to save others, that it's their own path to heal, just like you did. you guys are willing to grow and are very determined to become a better, stronger person, not lingering in self-destructive behaviors or unhealthy connections.

your future spouse will be a figure that you yearned for your whole life. they'll see you as someone almost mystical, at first. very drawn to you, particularly to your physical looks; not just your beauty, but the hint of pain under your eyes. they will probably be someone who suffered but in the other way that you did, and deep conversations are likely. many may try to 'save' you but end up realizing you're already healed, and you can be a catalyst for change for a lot of them. either way, you'll end up in a healthy relationship, i think. it'll be a reward for not giving up, and choosing to be alone rather than to be stuck with someone who's toxic as hell. your intuition will lead you here, as well as your judgement of others who you know would end up breaking you or destroying you. you guys will end up being the powerhouse of your surroundings, and you guys would be great mothers/nurturers due to your ability to nourish others. you guys accept that life is but a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of things, and you are able to provide a lot of comfort to others. your future spouse will probably be similar, and you two will oftentimes be the only pairs of arms that holds the other, as primarily, you both have been givers your whole life.

you'll struggle with a lot of imposter syndrome in your life, because of the sacrifices you made. however, you will recognize that you truly deserve the goodness in your life. your whole path will be made of learning, and although you may get tired of constantly growing, you will always have the ability to bask in the arms of loved ones. you will end up making great, lifelong friends--you will always be progressing, and you will forge a life that accustoms you wholeheartedly. i would not have any doubt for you, at all, darling. you will end up in a bustling environment, for the most part, but you'll have your sweet moments; resting near your future spouse, or listening to music and dancing in your room. you'll be fine.

#pac reading #love reading #pick a picture #tarotblr #divine guidance #intuitive reading #tarot reading #pick a card #pick a pile #rotagnus

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levanswrites · 10 days ago

Text

in this foolish lover's game

pairing: steve harrington x eddie munson (x reader)

summary: “And I was thinking about… maybe getting her something, for her birthday. Just like… surprise her, y’know?”

And that. That stops Eddie cold.

Because he’s seen things—blood, rot, fangs, psychic carnage. Hell, literal Hell.

But nothing—not a single goddamn thing—could prepare him for the image of Steve Harrington wandering wide-eyed through a dingy sex shop in rural Indiana, trying to pick out a vibrator for his sweet little girlfriend.

warnings: 18+, discussions of sex toys/adult store, sexual fantasies, heavy pining, yearning, light angst, eddie's pov, period-typical internalized homophobia, bisexual!eddie, eddie's kind of a horndog in this one but still so so sweet, friends to lovers, eventual smut, eventual steddie x reader but reader is only mentioned in this one. title by berlin. series masterlist

It starts with a rumor, as most things do in Hicktown Central, Hawkins, Indiana.

Whispers turned into tales turned into legends, and before you know it, Eddie Munson can’t take a piss in the B-wing bathroom without hearing that damn story all over again.

Betty Callahan.

Now known exclusively—irrevocably—as Battery Betty.

A sophomore volleyball player with a college boyfriend and a neon scrunchie collection. Sent to the principal’s office on a random Tuesday for ‘behavior unbecoming.’ No one really knows what happened—just that it involved a locker, a hum, and some deeply repressed panic.

The rumor spreads like brush fire.

Tampon turned taser turned sex toy. Shame’s favorite game of Telephone.

By the time it reaches Eddie, the details are warped six ways to Sunday.

That a bullet vibrator buzzed to life during algebra. Fell out of her gym bag in the girls’ locker room and startled wriggling across the tile. Got lost between the bleachers and nearly gave Coach Walt another heart attack—poor bastard's already got a limp from the ’82 dodgeball incident.

Out of everything, Eddie will give that last one credit. It's got flair.

But he doesn’t dwell on it. Just tosses it to the burning pile of Hawkins-brand hysteria and moves on.

Rumors, gossip, cheap currency—Eddie Munson doesn’t traffic in petty change. Until, apparently... now.

“Off Route 9?”

“Yeah. You know, that place with the cartoon pickle on the billboard?”

Steve Harrington’s voice floats over, casual as the breeze.

Eddie snorts, cracks open his soda with a sharp psssft.

“You mean the sex shop.”

Steve nods, sips. “Yeah. You been?”

“Couple times,” Eddie shrugs. “Used to deal to a guy who worked there. Freaky little dude with a lazy eye. Big into latex.”

Steve laughs, quiet.

“You know if he’s still there?”

Eddie lowers the can. Leans back against the railing like a cat sensing a storm front. Eyes him, slow.

“What’s this about, Harrington? You finally caving to the dark side?”

“No, just…” Steve huffs a laugh, reaches up to scratch the back of his neck—a tell.

“You uh… you hear about George Callahan’s sister?”

Oh. Oh no.

“Battery Betty?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Just… the whole thing kinda got me thinking, you know?”

Oh, no.

Eddie lifts a delicate hand to his chest, all slow, theatrical scandal. His voice dips into velvet.

“Steven Harrington, are you propositioning me?”

He expects a laugh. Hell, wants one. Needs one. But Steve doesn’t bite. Doesn’t flinch.

Instead, he gives Eddie this look—curious, a little amused, head cocked like a golden retriever hearing jazz for the first time —and then glances away, grinning into the dirt.

“No, man. I’m serious. I’m trying to do something for my girlfriend. She heard about the whole thing and she’s been…”

Steve trails off with a half-laugh, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Fuck, it’s too hot for this. The cicadas are screaming.

Eddie licks his lips. “Ah, caught the little perversion plague, did she?” His fingers twitch. “It’s an epidemic, y’know. First sign of the apocalypse. That and Reagan getting re-elected.”

Steve chuckles, low and private, shrugging. His hands disappear into the front pockets of his jeans—too tight, always a little too tight.

“Yeah, well. Word really got around.”

A breath.

“And I was thinking about… maybe getting her something, for her birthday. Just like… surprise her, y’know?”

And that. That stops Eddie cold.

Because he’s seen things—blood, rot, fangs, psychic carnage. Hell, literal Hell.

And then there’s the other part. The part Eddie wishes he could ignore even harder.

You. God, you.

You, laughing into Steve’s neck while he fumbles with a gift bag behind his back, red to the roots and trying to act tough about it.

You, sprawled across his bed like a sin-drenched cat, lips bitten, eyes sparkling. You, flushed and wrecked, Steve’s hand splayed over your stomach while the other holds something that whirs.

Fuck.

Goddamn it.

Eddie clenches his jaw. The soda hisses in his grip. His lungs feel full of sand—hot, dry, impossible to breathe around.

Because he shouldn’t be thinking about it. He knows that.

But he is.

And it’s not just the filth—though, Jesus, that’s definitely there, loud and detailed and stupidly cinematic.

It’s the intimacy. The effort. Steve wanting to make you feel good, caring enough to ask.

And Eddie’s curiosity turns sharp. Hungry.

“So, what are you thinking?” he hears himself say, voice a shade too low. “Like a… starter kit?”

Steve’s face lights up. “Yeah, exactly.”

His smile is wide, boyish. Eddie’s head is pounding.

“Something fun, y’know? Something she’d actually be into. And maybe, like, something we could try together.”

We.

Eddie’s pulse kicks like a mule. You. Steve. Trying things. He clears his throat, cracks his knuckles against his thigh like that’ll knock the image out of his head.

“Wow,” He plays it cool, because of course he does. Because Eddie Munson doesn’t rattle easy, not after Hell and teeth and gates and blood. “And they say romance is dead.”

That makes Steve blush. Pink blooming up his neck, right to the tips of his ears.

And Eddie waits for that usual flicker of something—amusement, maybe— that smug little thrill when he manages to get under someone’s skin.

But it doesn’t come.

Just weight—something heavy sitting low in his chest, twisted and hard to name.

He shifts uncomfortably, kicking a pebble with his toe to watch it skitter off the trailer steps, bouncing across metal.

From beside him, Steve’s voice floats back over.

“I was thinking about checking it out. See what they have. But, uh…”

He hesitates. Rubs the back of his neck again.

“… kind of feels like uncharted territory.”

There’s a pause. Heavy. Humming.

Then Steve lifts his gaze, infuriatingly steady, a slow smirk playing at his lips.

“You really gonna make me ask, Munson?”

Eddie Munson blinks. Once. Twice. The cicadas keep screaming. His soda fizzes in his palm, forgotten. It’s too hot for this.

And Eddie—poor, twisted, sharp-tongued Eddie—finds himself drowning in silence.

Mouth opening then shutting, useless as a landed fish.

He takes another swig, the prickle of metallic fizz doing absolutely nothing to shut up the noise in his head.

Steve's still watching. All easy elbows and sunlit forearms and that cocky half-grin that never quite hides how earnest he really is. Hair sticking to his temple, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt.

Like he didn’t just drop a conversational landmine and go right back to sipping his soda.

You really gonna make me ask, Munson?

Eddie’s knee bounces. He wants to claw his skin off. Or maybe throw himself directly into the sun. That’d be simpler.

He could say no.

He should say no.

You’re Steve’s girl. Steve, who fought beside him. Bled beside him. Who’s seen him—like, really seen him—and somehow still keeps coming back.

And with you, well, Eddie’s already too far gone to think clearly when it comes to you. The softest laugh. Eyes so bright they nearly burn. And the biggest heart Eddie’s ever known.

He also knows, deep down, that this is playing with fire—not the kind you brag about, not lighters, or stage pyros, or matchbooks behind the gym. No, this… this is the kind that could scorch everything if he’s not careful.

He runs a tongue over his teeth. Wipes a hand down his jeans, where the sweat’s sticking fabric to skin.

He should say no.

But his voice betrays him, always does.

“You sure you want my input?”

Steve tilts his head, brows drawn, like it’s the dumbest question he’s heard all week.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Eddie barks out a laugh—short, bitter, ugly. His rings clap against denim.

“Gee, I dunno, man. Maybe ‘cause you’re shopping for a birthday vibrator for your girlfriend, and I’m...”

He waves at the air around himself, trailer-park gasoline, but he’s not even sure what it’s supposed to mean.

Steve just snorts, undeterred. “Exactly. You’re the expert.”

He says it with a grin, but there’s no malice in it. None of the shit other people layer into that word.

Just seasoned, expert freak Eddie.

“You’ve got taste,” Steve adds, a little softer now. “And you don’t weird out easy. I figured you’d be honest with me. Help me pick out something she’ll actually like.”

He shrugs. Leans back like it’s no big deal. Like he’s not burning through every frayed wire in Eddie’s brain.

“And,” Steve adds, like it’s an afterthought, “I trust you.”

And that—that’s what does him in.

Not the shop. Not the toys.

Not even the unholy image of you moaning into Steve’s mouth while he shows you what he—they, fuck—bought.

It’s the way he says that. Like it’s just a fact. Like it’s always been true.

Eddie exhales. Looks down at his shoes, at the scuffed floorboards. Anywhere but at Steve.

His voice is quiet when it comes.

“…Yeah.” A pause. A swallow. Then:

“Yeah, okay. I’m in.”

And Steve smiles—god, he beams—like Eddie just agreed to help him move his couch.

“All right, Munson.” He pushes off the railing, stretches, dusts off his hands like this is all settled now. “We’ll swing by tomorrow? After Hellfire?”

Eddie nods. Just once. Tight.

“Cool. Later, man.” Steve nudges his foot against Eddie’s like a kid saying goodbye at recess, then hops down the trailer steps, whistling something breezy as he goes.

Eddie stays where he is.

His soda’s warm now. His shirt’s stuck to his back. The air’s thick with heat and cicada song and a thousand tangled thoughts he can’t quite name.

He shouldn’t think about it. About you. About the we.

But he is.

And he knows—he knows—he won’t be able to stop anytime soon.

He smirks into the lip of his can and drains the last sip, bitter and flat and nowhere near strong enough.

“Later, man.”

They pull up in front of the place just after seven.

The sign above the door reads THE VELVET PICKLE—a holdover from the billboard off the highway, complete with a smug little cartoon gherkin giving a thumbs up. Half the bulbs in Pickle are dead, so it just reads VELVET PI---E, like it's trying to be coy. A cherry-shaped neon light buzzes low overhead, red and tired.

Eddie slings the van into the lopsided parking spot, gravel crunching under his tires. The sky's bleeding out golden, streaked with wisps of pink and lavender. Neither of them has said a word since they turned off the main road.

Eddie cuts the engine, glances sideways.

“You ready, big boy?” he smirks, teeth sharp, ignoring the drumbeat pounding in his throat.

The entrance looks worse up close—blackout film peeling at the corners, and a laminated red sign that blares: NO RETURNS. NO EXCEPTIONS. DON’T ASK.

Eddie swallows as he pushes the door open, stepping into the blast of recycled air and fluorescent lighting.

The smell hits first: thick, stale—something between old rubber and dollar-store strawberry. The air conditioner wheezes overhead like it’s been smoking unfiltered Camels since '72. Swampy heat clings to the walls, and the dim red glow casts a sticky haze that makes everything feel vaguely pornographic, even the welcome mat.

A cardboard cutout of a nurse with D-cups and a 7-inch ‘thermometer’ greets them at the door, dead-eyed and faded.

Eddie whistles low. “Yep. Still classy.”

Steve steps in behind him, immediately knocking his elbow into a rotating rack of fishnet stockings and crotchless panties, the metal jangling like a wind chime in a haunted house.

“Shit.”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, turning to watch as Steve wrestles with a tangled pair of edible underwear.

He tries not to grin too hard. “You alright there, Harrington?”

Steve shoots him a look—half sheepish, half stubborn—hand stuffed back in those too-tight Levis, eyeing the mannequins by the door like they might start swinging their riding crops.

Eddie smirks. “Welcome to the jungle, baby.”

Inside, the shop is a claustrophobic maze, shelves so packed you have to sidle through. Old VHS pornos, glitter-labeled lube bottles. A bin near the front holds a bunch of novelty junk—fuzzy handcuffs, penis-shaped pasta, and a vibrating rubber duck that’s seen better days.

Eddie tries to walk like he owns the place. Not his first rodeo. Yet his heart is pounding so loud it feels like it could rip right out of his chest.

He eyes the guy at the register—new, definitely not Latex Larry.

This one looks like someone’s half-retired uncle; flannel rolled to the elbows, a pair of readers perched low on his nose as he flips through a wrinkled copy of Popular Mechanics. Doesn’t even glance up.

“Evening. Tuesdays are ten percent off if you don’t ask any questions.”

They move slowly past a shelf marked Couple’s Play—feather ticklers, leather cuffs, two dozen plugs in every color and shape you can imagine.

Steve briefly stalls in front of a black silk blindfold, fingers brushing the fabric.

“Think she’d be into this?”

Eddie’s mouth is instantly dry.

No, he’s fine. Shut up.

He raises a brow, deadpans: “Yeah, man. You’d look hot in it.”

Steve rolls his eyes. Eddie grins at the floor and keeps walking.

Then, they hit: The Wall of Dicks.

No other name for it—just rows and rows of dildos. Neon, glittery, shockingly pink. Others disturbingly realistic, veins and all.

Steve goes still, eyebrows somewhere in his hairline.

Eddie snorts—can’t help it.

If someone had told his fifteen-year-old self that one day he’d be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve Harrington, contemplating a rainbow array of synthetic dicks…

Yeah. That kid would’ve laughed himself into a coma.

Steve snorts quietly from beside him, then keeps on moving.

“Nope. Definitely not.”

Toward the back, things mellow a little. The lighting softens. Shelves are labeled Personal Massagers in soothing cursive—toys in sleek lines and pastels encased in transparent clamshells.

Eddie picks up a box and clears his throat. Drops his voice to baritone, smooth and ridiculous:

“Ten speeds. Dual motors. Couples-tested. Prostate approved.”

Steve snorts. “Prostate approved?”

“Like a dentist,” Eddie shrugs, stone-faced. “Four out of five recommend this one in particular.”

Steve chuckles and leans in to scan the fine print, head tilted, mouth moving silently as he reads. There's a little crease between his brows that Eddie has zero business finding so endearing.

Steve flips the box over, then moves to the next shelf, picking up another toy and squinting at the label. His bottom lip catches between his teeth, and he makes this thoughtful humming noise under his breath that lodges itself squarely in Eddie’s chest.

He points something out on the packaging—something about battery life, maybe, Eddie doesn’t really hear it—then gives him this half-crooked grin, like they’re comparing crushes instead of, y'know, vibrators.

Eddie nods mutely.

His pulse is doing weird things. His mouth is dry again.

No, he is absolutely fine. Shut up.

Then Steve goes right back to browsing, eyes focused, curious. And just, comfortable in a way Eddie never quite is, even when he's trying his hardest.

His throat feels tight.

His heart’s thudding like it’s pressing up against the back of his teeth. His palms are drenched, and when he shifts, he realizes he’s been leaning in without noticing. Like gravity’s got ideas of its own.

No, he’s fine. He’s fine.

“So,” he says, too loudly, too fast, yanking himself back. “What’re we thinking, Romeo?”

Steve glances at him, then at the shelf. He rubs the back of his neck, expression gone a little soft. “Something simple, right?”

He bends slightly, scanning the lower row. Eddie’s eyes follow without permission. The denim of those too-tight jeans strains across his thighs and—yep, abort. Look away. Look literally anywhere else.

“What about uh…” Steve says, a little hesitant. His fingers turn the box over once, then back. “What about this one?”

It’s small. Lavender. Smooth silicone, soft matte finish with a gentle curve.

And the look on Steve’s face—focused, a little uncertain, lips pressed together like he’s waiting for approval—hits Eddie straight in the chest.

God, this guy.

If Eddie had a single working brain cell left, he’d say something smooth, something teasing.

Instead, he just stares, gaping like an idiot.

He clears his throat, desperate to push the air back into his lungs.

“Add it to the basket, Loverboy.”

Steve snorts and tosses him a look, bumping shoulders with him before moving past, and Eddie holds on for dear life.

On their way back, Steve lingers near the lube display. Bottles in all sizes, colors, flavors. Eddie makes the mistake of reading one labeled Glazed Donut Fantasy and physically recoils.

Steve notices and grins. “What, not a fan of dessert?”

“Not that kind,” Eddie mutters, ears going pink.

Steve picks up a cherry bottle. Holds it up between two fingers like a fine wine.

“This one’s safe, right?”

Safe. Like this is a normal, logical, harmless thing they’re doing together. Shopping. For lube.

Eddie tries to play it cool. His voice cracks: “Classic. Can’t go wrong.”

Steve nods and drops it into the basket next to the vibe.

That’s two. Two deeply compromising items in a basket that Eddie is now definitely holding more awkwardly than before.

And then—it happens.

Steve turns to look at something on a nearby shelf. Just turns. Stretches a little to reach for a different bottle, and the fabric of his polo shifts just enough to ride up over his hip, and Eddie catches the smallest flash of skin above the waistband of his jeans and—

Okay.

He needs something.

A distraction. A shield. A miracle.

He reaches blindly and grabs the first thing within arm’s reach: a wrinkled old issue of Big Racks Quarterly with a glossy blonde on the front wearing nothing but whipped cream.

Steve turns back. Blinks.

“…Really?”

Eddie shrugs, real casual, slipping the magazine upright along the inside of the slotted basket. “What? Research.”

“Uh-huh.”

Eddie does not—will not—explain that he needed something large, preferably eye-catching, and definitely boner-concealing between his hips and the world.

Behind the counter, Flannel Uncle is still buried in his magazine, barely lifting his eyes as they approach. When he does, it’s just a slow nod—like two guys carrying cherry lube and a vibrator and a porn mag is just business as usual.

Which, for him, it probably is.

“Need a bag?”

“Yeah,” Eddie croaks. Then, with slightly more dignity: “Please."

Steve stands beside him, hands in his pockets, bumping Eddie’s shoulder lightly as they wait for the total. Easy, casual—like someone who’s never had to hide a thing this obvious. This shameful.

Eddie doesn’t look at Steve. Can’t.

Just keeps his eyes on Steve's hands, instead, watching him slide crisp twenties across the counter. Follows the clerk’s fingers as he counts the change, like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

Outside, the heat clings thick and wet, pressing in like the air's trying to suffocate them for their sins. The paper bag under Steve’s arm rustles with every step, loud in the quiet.

And Eddie tries not to dwell on it. On any of it.

Partly for his dignity, partly for that deeply inconvenient problem growing in his pants, but mostly because… he can’t afford to.

Can’t afford to lean into it.

To mistake kindness for anything else.

Can't let himself think that he can, because hope is the thing that’ll burn right through, scorch him clean to the bone.

Like how, just before they left, the cashier winked and said, ‘Y’all have fun,’ and Steve didn’t laugh. Didn’t try to correct him, didn’t even blink. Just thanked him and moved on, and that scraped something raw and stupid in Eddie’s chest.

Or how, outside, Steve bumped his shoulder again—easy, playful—and Eddie had to light a cigarette just to keep his hands from reaching back.

Or how, once they were back in the van, windows rolled down, Eddie made some half-assed joke just to kill the silence, and Steve laughed.

A real laugh. Thrown-back-head, sun-in-his-teeth laugh.

And Eddie didn’t know what to do with the sound of it stuck in his ribs.

Didn’t know where to put it except somewhere deep where he knows it’ll bruise.

It all gets buried in the same place, eventually. Like when they ended up shoulder to shoulder at some greasy drive-through after, sharing fries from the same bag, and Steve didn’t flinch when Eddie accidentally handed him the milkshake by the straw instead of the cup—fingers sticky, too slow to let go. Just leaned in, drank deep, then made a face and declared his was better.

Like none of this shit was weird.

Normal.

And maybe it is. Maybe to Steve, it’s just another night.

Another friend. Another milkshake.

But to Eddie?

It’s a little too warm in his chest.

A little too close to something he’s not supposed to want.

So he focuses on the road, instead.

White-knuckling the greasy steering wheel, mind locked dead-ahead.

On the glow of streetlights blurring through the bug-splattered windshield. On the static-laced hum of the song on the radio, something low and clean and feel-good.

Steve probably knows it by heart.

Eddie doesn’t care for it. Never has. Steve’s humming again—under his breath, off-key.

And Eddie keeps driving.

Tries not to turn and watch.

To let that warmth sink in too deep.

But damn if his eyes don’t keep drifting anyway.

a/n: and what started as an absolutely debauched steddie x reader idea has turned into, well... this. i hope you enjoyed. lmk ur thoughts! ur lovely comments and reblogs keep me going :)))

also, lmk if you'd want to be included on a taglist!

read pt. 2 here // series masterlist

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batsandbirdbrains · 23 days ago

Note

Thinking about 8 year old Dick and worlds finest. Like young Bruce and Clark trying to form a team and learn to trust one another while also co-parenting the Baby Ever. And they make it work for years!!

Eventually the JL is up and running and people get busy so Clark isn’t as involved and Dick is also spreading his wings and growing up (becoming Nightwing), so by the time the other bat kids are established they have no idea about how *close* superbat (romantic or platonic) + Dick used to be.

Maybe only Jason got a glimpse of the original trio, but the memory has long since faded. And one day everyone is looking through pictures at the manor and they find a whole album, covered in dust on a bottom shelf, FULL of pictures !!

- 9yo Dick wearing a proto type robin suit being lifted into the air by Superman in the batcave with Bruce in the back visibly panicking

- side-by-side pictures of 10yo Robin asleep in Batman’s lap on a random rooftop and in the other it’s the exact same pose but Dick and Bruce are both asleep in the manor with Clark taking the picture selfie-style

- 11yo Dick blowing out candles on a Superman themed birthday cake with Clark in the background holding back tears!!

Like his childhood obviously wasn’t perfect but Dick was sososo loved and it’s evident in every photo and idk I just really like when others see it too

My heart is going to BURST I love this. I love Bruce & Clark being best buds, Clark introducing Bruce and an eight year old Dick to his parents like “yeah this is my best friend and his adopted son we’re co-parenting” and Ma and Pa Kent are immediately enamored by Dick and telling him they can call him gramma and grampa.

Actually wait are the Kents the kind of grandparents who would have silly names like memaw and pop-pop? Nana and Pappy? Or smth along those lines? Idk I like to think Dick would change it up to keep everyone on their toes but always falls back on the good old gramma and grampa.

I want the other Batkids to stumble upon home videos of teeny tiny Dick Grayson covered in flour because he and Bruce were trying to make a pie for Clark to remind him of home and things went awry. Dick is giggling up a storm and Bruce ends up pulling a frozen pie out to heat up in the oven. They bought it at the store as a backup and it was damn good planning on Bruce’s part.

Maybe a video of Dick trying to teach Clark how to a back flip, “And you can’t use your superpowers, that’s cheating!” Bruce is very smug at the end bc it took Clark a long time to figure it out (he eventually cheats and uses his superpowers but Dick doesn’t know, or at least doesn’t let on that he knows), but Bruce just does it like it’s easy-peasy.

Perhaps a picture of Dick holding onto the bill of a baseball cap as he wears it, his nose scrunched up because it’s for the Metropolis team. He’s an avid Gotham Knights fan, but Clark got free tickets from work and invited them to go with him, so Bruce said they had to wear Metropolis gear. Dick is still wearing a Gotham Knights jersey though (they aren’t even playing in this game, they’re not even in the same league). Clark is sitting next to him, his arm wrapped around Dick, and he’s grinning and holding a thumbs up.

A picture of all three of them after a gala that Bruce took in a bathroom mirror lmao but Dick is passed out on Clark’s shoulder, drooling.

There’s a whole folder of childish drawings of the three of them doing whacky stunts as both their normal selves and their superhero alter egos. They were clearly drawn by Dick, but there’s a stray few that might have been drawn by Clark or Bruce, most likely when they were all coloring together because Dick insisted.

It’s just so cute I want it so bad give me all the fluffy slice of life found family stuff pls I love it.

#dick grayson #clark kent #Bruce Wayne #worlds finest #anon #asks #fic prompt

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parkerslatte · 9 months ago

Text

Weak At The Knees

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none

Summary: At Starfall, Y/N is searching for Azriel and when she eventually finds him, she is surprised to find him drunker then she had ever seen him before.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

As Y/N turned, her dress spun around her elegantly. The light blue was a contrast to everyone else’s darker gowns making her stand out within the mass of people. Y/N hadn’t picked the dress she wore, that had been down to her mate. Her mate who she hadn’t seen in a while.

She scanned the room and didn’t see his face in the crowd, nor did she see the shadows that were usually resting calmly upon his shoulders. There was no trace of him.

“Feyre,” Y/N said, catching the attention of the High Lady.

Feyre stepped away from Rhys and turned to Y/N with a tired smile. “Y/N, I haven’t seen you all night!”

“I know but I’ve been in search of my mate all night,” Y/N replied. “Have either of you seen him?”

The High Lady shook her head. “The last time I saw him, he was with you.”

Y/N sighed. “That was about an hour ago.”

Y/N looked around the room and out of the corner of her eye spotted a shadow darting towards her. Y/N quickly bid Rhys and Feyre a goodbye and walked to the shadow. It darted out and wrapped around her body, Y/N shivered. Despite his shadows not being a physical being, they were always chilly to the touch and she could swear that she felt Azriel’s hands in their caress.

“Now where is your master?” Y/N muttered and followed as the shadow led her to a door.

Y/N opened it and smiled at the sight. Azriel was slumped on the floor, his wings stretched out at his sides, seemingly laying on the floor. An empty bottle resided beside him as he looked out of the floor to ceiling window.

“There you are,” Y/N said, walking over to her mate.

Azriel’s head snapped to her and a lopsided grin spread across his face. “Y/N, come and sit with me.”

The moment Y/N sat down beside him, Azriel frowned. “I need you closer.”

Y/N shuffled closer and Azriel continued to frown. “Not close enough.”

Azriel let his legs fall open and gestured for Y/N to sit between them. Y/N chuckled and did as he wanted.

“Where have you been for the past hour?” Y/N asked as she leant back in his arms.

Azriel pressed her back to his chest firmly, pressing a soft kiss on the back of her neck. “I’ve been here, waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me?” Y/N questioned, fully relaxing into Azriel’s arms. “Az, I had no clue where you were.”

“Oh, I thought I told you to meet me here?” Azriel asked, caressing her arms, causing goosebumps to trail in his wake.

“No, my love,” Y/N said. “You never did.”

Azriel huffed. “That explains a lot. I thought you forgot about me.”

“Sweetheart, I could never forget about you,” Y/N said, turning her head to look at him. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not a lot,” Azriel replied, burying his head into the crook of her neck.

“Then explain the empty bottle beside you,” Isal said, cupping his face.

“That was for my shadows,” Azriel replied, fighting a grin trying to force its way onto his face.

“I completely believe that1,” Y/N said with a smile as she pulled away from Azriel and stood to her feet.

Azriel reached out for her, a pout on his face. Y/N chuckled. Azriel rarely ever got this drunk, in fact he rarely ever got tipsy. It had been years since she had seen Azriel indulge this much.

“Come on,” Y/N said and held Azriel’s hands in hers.

“Where are we going?” Azriel asked, stumbling to his feet causing Y/N to balance him.

“To get you to bed,” Y/N said, wrapping her arms around her mate.

“I don’t want to go to bed,” Azriel complained. He wrapped his arms around her waist tightly and rested his forehead against hers. “I want to stay here with you.” Azriel pressed a sloppy kiss against her lips. “I wanted to stay here and share a drink with you.”

Y/N pecked his lips. “You took care of that yourself, my love.”

Azriel sighed., frustrated with himself. “Will you come to bed with me?”

Y/N smiled and caressed his face. “Of course. Now come on.”

Y/N led Azriel out of the room, him clinging to her the whole time. There were eyes on them immediately when they stepped out, everyone clearly not used to seeing Azriel act the way he was.

“I was wondering where Az slipped away to,” Cassian commented, sliding up to the mated pair.

“He was hiding away in a separate room waiting for me,” Y/N answered while Azriel simply pulled her back against his chest. “An idea he completely forgot to tell me about.”

Cassian looked at Azriel and a quiet laugh sipped past his lips. “It’s been years since I’ve seen him this drunk. But I’ve never seen him like this, the last time he was just…broodier than usual.”

“That’s not true,” Azriel mumbled against Y/N’s head. “Y/N, tell him that it’s not true.”

Y/N laced her fingers with his. “Cass, it isn’t true.”

Cassian laughed and finished off his drink. “Well, I’ll let you get Az to bed. Mother help me when we go to training tomorrow with his hangover.”

Y/N peeled herself away from Azriel, to his dismay. She wrapped Cassian in a quick hug. “Well it’s a good thing that is your problem and not mine.”

“He’s your problem tonight,” Cassian said and pulled away.

Almost immediately, Azriel’s arms snaked around her waist and pulled her against him and buried his head into the crook of her neck, his lips pressing soft kisses against it.

“Don’t worry, he’s not a problem,” Y/N said as she turned in Azriel’s arms.

As Cassian bid goodbye to the couple and went to find his own mate, Azriel began to press more kisses against Y/N’s exposed skin. Despite being mated for over a century, Y/N felt herself begin to get flustered

“Having fun there?” Y/N asked, locking her arms around his neck.

“I love you,” Azriel mumbled.

Y/N smiled and gently cupped his face, pulling him away from the crook of her neck. “I love you too.”

“I don’t want to go to bed anymore,” Azriel said. “I want to stay here with you and watch Starfall.”

“Well we can find somewhere to sit,” Y/N suggested.

“But I just want to be with you,” Azriel whined.

Y/N’s eyes filled with amusement. “My love, have you forgotten in your drunken haze that there is a balcony connected to our bedroom.”

Azriel smiled. “Can we go there?”

Y/N pecked his lips. “That is where I was taking us anyway.”

“I love you,” Azriel muttered again.

“You’re awfully affectionate tonight,” Y/N commented.

Being affectionate was common for Azriel, but only behind closed doors. The most he would initiate any sort of public affection was maybe a quick kiss on the lips or cheek or a squeeze of her hand. But behind closed doors Azriel was the most affectionate male in existence.

Whenever they were alone and just lounging around after a long day, Azriel’s favourite position was to lay with his head on Y/N’s chest, silently listening to her heartbeat, her fingers tangling in his hair.

“I’m with you,” Azriel answered.

“Come on,” Y/N said and linked her fingers with Azriel’s.

Y/N led her mate to their room and closed the door behind them. The moment the doors were closed, Azriel began to pull Y/N over to the double doors to the balcony. Y/N followed him, watching as his wings scraped against the floor. Azriel didn’t seem phased.

Proceeding to open the doors, Azriel pulled her out into the cool night air. Y/N couldn’t help but smile in response to the genuine joy that presented itself on his face.

Azriel wrapped his arms around Y/N and pulled her close to him and planted his lips on hers. Y/N smiled into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“There was something I wanted to tell you tonight,” Azriel mumbled against her lips, his body swaying. “I wanted to tell you when I snuck away.”

Y/N caressed Azriel’s cheeks. “What was it, my love?”

Azriel pulled away from Y/N and walked to the end of the balcony. Y/N followed.

Azriel pointed into the distance. “I bought that cottage you liked.”

Y/N looked at Azriel in disbelief. “You didn’t.”

Azriel turned to Y/N, a smile on his face. “I did. You liked it so I bought it.”

“But you said you didn’t want to move too far away from the rest of the Inner Circle in case anything happens,” Y/N said, wrapping his arms around his neck once again.

“I know,” Azriel said, his arms slipping around her waist. “But I need to start doing things for myself, not for others. And I have my own family now.”

A fond smile spread across Y/N’s face. “Are you sure about this, Az?”

Azriel nodded. “I had everything planned out tonight. We would slip away and share that bottle of drink together and I would tell you, but I think nerves got in the way and I began to have a few drinks to find the courage to tell you and then I had already finished the bottle and completely forgot to tell you to meet me.”

Y/N threaded her fingers through his hair. “You talk a lot when you’re drunk. And you’re not as articulate with your words either.”

Azriel groaned and buried his head into the crops of Y/Nm’s neck. “This isn’t how I planned it.”

Y/N’s hand found its home on the back of Azriel’s head. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Azriel.”

“I love you so much,” Azriel mumbled, peppering kisses up her neck until his lips met her mouth once more.

Y/N melted into the kiss, somehow feeling herself falling more in love with Azriel— if that were even possible.

“I will never tire of kissing you,” Azriel whispered, his hands squeezing her hips.

“Then kiss me again, but—mmph—“

Y/N was cut off by Azriel's lips on hers, this time his mouth fully dominated hers as if he were a starved man. Y/N clung onto him, afraid that if she were to let go, her knees would buckle.

She could get lost in his kisses with no way out and she would die a happy woman.

However, the moment Azriel removed one of his hands from where he gripped the railing of the balcony, his body immediately began to sway. Y/N pulled away from the kiss and tried to stop the inevitable conclusion to this stunt but it was too late. Azriel fell back, pulling Y/N down with him.

His back landed onto the stone balcony with a loud thud while she landed softly upon his chest. Y/N quickly looked at Azriel, afraid that he was hurt but before she could ask him, the most beautiful sound rang through the air. Azriel’s laughter.

Azriel never laughed often. He would offer the occasional chuckle, or if he were in a specific instance— a giggle, though he would rather be shot down from the sky than ever admit that.

The laughter was contagious as Y/N began to laugh with him, fully relaxing atop his chest when she knew that he wasn’t hurt. Azriel’s hands rested on her back and hip, keeping her pressed against him.

“You have me weak at the knees,” Azriel spoke through his laughter.

“You didn’t need to bring me down with you,” Y/N replied.

“Wherever I go, you go,” Azriel teased.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “When I said that at our mating ceremony, I didn’t have this particular instance in mind.”

Azriel smiled wide. “It doesn’t matter. You said it.”

“And now I’m living to regret it,” Y/N joked.

Azriel’s hand caressed her face, his hot breath fanned across it. “No you don’t.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Y/N replied.

The moment their lips touched, the most beautiful sight that happened once a year shot across the sky. Both Y/N and Azriel were too wrapped up with one another to notice, but neither of them cared. Their most beautiful sight was when they looked at each other.

#acotar #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fluff

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prythianpages · 3 months ago

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Take Me Home | Azriel x Reader

Azriel x Reader | When Azriel gets drunk, he forgets he has a wife.

warning: drinking, drunk & fluffy Az

a/n: You can thank tiktok for this one. It inspired me to take a little break from all the angst. I literally have never written a fic so fast before, this took me a little more than an hour. Just something short & sweet (1K words.)

Azriel liked to drink every now and then. Rarely, would he get drunk. He preferred maintaining control, always mindful of his surroundings and alert to his ever-listening shadows.

But when he did get drunk, he'd sometimes forget he had a wife.

Normally, it was Azriel who stayed at your side. He was the hand that always found yours under the table when your words began to slur or the gentle pressure at the small of your back keeping you upright as you stumbled through the crowd. But tonight at Rita’s, something in his shoulders told you he needed to let go.

So when Cassian ordered shots for the table, you passed yours to Azriel with a playful grin, silently telling him, “your turn.”

He hesitated but after a few teasing remarks and a chorus of encouragement from the rest of the Inner Circle, he tipped the glass back and knocked it down in one go. Then another. And another.

You watched the shift in him slowly unfold. His shoulders began to ease from their earlier tense posture. Though it was dark, you could see the inky tendrils of his shadows twitching and rippling less against his skin. Almost as if, they too, were content.

You knew he was tipsy the moment he let Cassian drag him onto the dance floor without so much as a protest. And you knew he was drunk when he nearly tripped over nothing and just laughed before catching himself.

Across the table, you met Rhysand’s gaze. He was lounging back with a smirk, swirling his drink lazily in his hand as he watched the scene unfold.

“Should I stop him?” you asked, though your voice lacked any real concern.

Rhysand raised his glass in salute toward Feyre, who had joined Cassian and Azriel on the dance floor. “No. Let him. This is the most relaxed I’ve seen him in weeks.”

Sensing your mate’s gaze on you, you turned your head back to the dance floor only to see Azriel shying away from your gaze. Oh yeah, he’s definitely drunk. Rhysand chuckled, mirroring your thoughts.

Rhysand was right, though. This was the most relaxed you’d seen your mate in weeks and your heart ached a little with how much he had needed a night out like this.

Azriel continued to sneak glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. He didn’t last much longer on the dance floor. Cassian’s spinning and swaying became too much, and eventually, he slipped away from his friend. His steps were a little uncoordinated.

Then, his eyes found yours. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at you like you were the only steady thing in the room. The grin that spread across his face was boyish and a little lopsided as he approached the table.

“Hey,” he said, swaying slightly.

“Hey.” You grinned back up at him, a hand reaching out to push back his hair. The stool you sat on gave you just enough advantage in height to do so. His wings shuddered in response, making your grin widen at how easily flustered he got when drunk. You adored it, reveling in being able to make him feel that way.

Azriel’s shadows danced lazily around his shoulders like they, too, were drunk. He leaned down, one of his wings casting a small shadow over you, offering some privacy in the midst of the noise.

“My friend over there,” he whisper-yelled, breath warm against your ear and his scent washing over you, “thinks you’re cute.”

You blinked, pulling back to look at him. “Friend?”

Before you could even process, he pointed to the side. You followed his hand, confused, just as a soft whoosh sounded beside you.

And there he was.

Standing a few feet away with the same grin on his face, exactly in the spot he had pointed to you. You pointed your hand at him and silently beckoned him back to you. With a dark glimmer of shadows, he vanished from across the room and stumbled right back in front of you. You hopped off the stool, catching him with both hands on his chest and helping in steadying him.

“Tell your friend I’m really flattered but I’m taking my husband home.”

You showed him your ring, lifting your hand in front of his glazed eyes. He blinked at it, brows pulling together. Something like disappointment flashed across his face, his wings drooping slightly behind him.

“Oh.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, your heart melting as you gently reached for his hand. You lifted it, bringing it up the same level of the hand flashing your wedding ring. The matching silver band to yours gleamed on his finger, and you gave your finger a little wiggle for emphasis.

His eyes widened. “Oh.” A pause. “Me?”

You nodded, your fingers lacing with his. His whole face lit up, that grin of his brighter than ever and reaching all the way to those hazel eyes you loved so much. He turned to the person closest to you both, Rhysand, “I have a wife!”

Rhysand raised his brow in mock surprise. “Just wait until you find out you have a mate, buddy,” you heard him mutter.

But Azriel didn’t hear. Or maybe he did, and chose to ignore it. Either way, he turned back to you, stepping a little closer. You released his hand and Azriel was quick to place both his hands on your waist.

“Well then, my wife,” he said, pulling you flush to him, his tone and touch possessive in a way that made your stomach flutter.

He dipped his head, his forehead resting against yours, nose brushing yours in a gentle nuzzle. His eyes flicked to your lips, lingering for a beat too long, before lifting back to yours.

“Take me home.”

You laughed softly, cupping his cheeks and placing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Okay, my husband.”

He looked at you like he was falling for you all over again and then, his lips were chasing yours for another taste. Warmth bloomed in your chest, the bond between you thrumming with love and adoration.

Because even if Azriel forgot he had a wife when he was drunk, his heart always knew.

At the end of the night, in every life and every state of mind, he always chose you.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed this silly little fic! & kudos to you if you recognized the tiktok that inspired this.

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

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

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith, @xadenswhore, @kodafics

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel fluff

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wherenymphsroam · 1 year ago

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GUNDA !!!!! ty for the tag ml !! 🤍

pictured in order: euronymous (rory culkin), billy loomis (skeet ulrich), vendetta leon kennedy, n javier peña (pedro pascal) 💗 totally not seeing any common denominators !!!

tags: @ovaryacted , @rigorwhoring , @littlemissloser , @virgincels , @sqiim , nnnnn @gor3-hound 💌

MY MAN!

I was tagged by @red-orchid and @justreblogginfics to give four characters who make you yell "MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN" !!

(That is not the only thing they have me yelling)

I'm sure this won't be at all surprising to you.

No pressure tags for @rhoorl @musings-of-a-rose @itspdameronthings @stealfromthedevil @navybrat817 @maggiemayhemnj @ramadiiiisme @middleearthpixie @sotwk and absolutely anyone else who wants to play and proudly show off their MEN 💗

#yaps. ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚#GOD I . should talk about the other three more #SOWWY GUYS #will spread my wings …. eventually ….#writing for dead fandoms is scawie 😞#fairies. 𐦍 #MWAH ty for da tag cutie 🫶🏻

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sparrows4bats · 3 months ago

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I believe in Disney Princess Damian supremacy. I believe in a boy who loves nature so much it loves him back just as fiercely.

Odyspenelope on ao3 wrote a one shot and it has occupied my every waking thought since. The Al ghul are eco terrorists, the boy loves the world and I need that influence and core belief to filter into more of his actions.

Give me a Damian that when he came to Gotham, was horrified at the state of local animals and ecosystems and since his father will not allow him to punish every abuser or ceo who destroys the environment like they deserve, He will work to fix their mistakes. Fulfil both his parents' legacies at once by making this city better for all living creatures, not just people.

Give me a damian who, after causing so much pain, learnt unconditional love and forgiveness from Goliath, the bats in the cave, and Titus. Let him learn how to spread it to other animals and eventually people.

Give me a Damian who feeds every stray he comes across no matter the species to the point Alfred sows him extra pockets in his robin uniform and civilian coats for the food. Some are big enough to hold cats and injured birds safely during fights.

Damian brings home and fosters any animal he can hide from Bruce. The largest so far has been a horse he liberated from a neglectful carriage driver in Gotham Park. (Father caught Goliath within three days so it doesn't count.)

After batcow arrives, it becomes easier because when she is not in the cave, Bruce doesn't look in her Barn. The Barn becomes his base of animal and plant rescue operations. With the help of Alfred and a very amused Oracle (she found out after watching Damian on traffic cams with dozens of cats following him around like adoring fans), it grows larger and more extreme.

He creates relationships with every no kill shelter in the city and most decent veterinarians. The network becomes helpful in finding good homes for the animals he rescues and blacklisting bad owners.

Anyone found abusing an animal lives in fear of katanas. They hear soft words to puppies and cats after they have been brutally incapacitated.

He investigates companies with harmful environmental practices and passes any information he has onto Oracle to deal with. (For particularly bad offenders, he let's poison Ivy deal with them)

He carries around wild flower seed balls and puts money into local parks and nature reserves. The harbour is his next big project. ( There's so much he could do with an oyster and seaweed farm for biological filtration and detoxification of the water.)

He just never expects Gothams animals to protect him aswell.

He rescues an army of pigeons who attack a mugger after they gets a lucky shot in and get Damian in the throat. The birds descend in a fury. The mugger is so terrified he gives up before Damian can get him back for the throat punch.

The cats are next. Clawing and Biting human traffickers. Bruce assumes Silena did it, but Damian (who has twisted his ankle in the fight) knows.

It's only after a raccoon starts handing him back batarangs that he's thrown that he decides to try cultivating this behaviour on purpose.

Jon, who he goes to for animal husbandry advice and later training tips, thinks this is the funniest thing to happen ever. (Once he knows the amount of work Damian does for so many animals, he starts to fall a little in love with the boy who has birds happily making a home in his hair and only truly smiles at his strays.)

It's not long until every criminal begins to fear the sound of wings in alleys and claws on cement. You never know which stray is one of Robins.

The batfamily only realise what's going on when Damian is kidnapped and is rescued by a pack of stray dogs somehow. Each has a robin themed collar. Dick thinks it's the cutest thing in the universe, and Bruce gives him funds directly to increase the size of his operation. (After he freaks out about Damian being so much like Talia and how could he be this blind to what's going on in his house. He rescued hundreds of animals??? How??)

Robins Strays now includes exotic birds, a tiger, a couple of goats, a deer, and hundreds of rats and mice, each trained to gather information and retrieve lost and missing items during investigations.

Ivy, Harley, and Silena have dubbed him a Siren and give him any animals or environment related cases they can't personally handle. (Damian adores them, especially after meeting Harleys hyenas)

Gotham adores Robin and knows never to hurt an animal with an R on it or any animal, really. They make plushies of Goliath when he is introduced to the public after an arkham asylum breakout. (Bruce gave up on trying to get the animals to stop fighting crime. It's as useless as trying to stop his children.)

Jon eventually asks Damian out while they are bottle feeding newborn kittens in the barn under the watchful eyes of two dragons and a zoos' worth of pets.

He gets shovel talked by Silena and Ivy first. It's terrifying.

#batfamily #damian wayne #supersons #jondami #batcow #goliath #batman #jon kent #batman and robin #dc robin #MIGHT CONTINUE THIS LATER I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS #wiggles the dragon #damijon

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mahalachives · 4 months ago

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Part 8: Everything I Am, Everything I Will Be

Azriel x f!reader

Genre: fated mates, rom-com, crack humor, eventual angst, eventual smut

Summary: Azriel never expected to finally meet his mate and to be… this.

A walking disaster with a talent for tripping over air, an uncanny ability to charm even the grumpiest Illyrian, and a knack for throwing herself headfirst into situations that require his immediate intervention.

She is warmth where he is shadow, laughter where he is silence. And worst of all? She makes him smile without trying.

Azriel, Are you Okay? - Masterlist

Azriel had first noticed you in Velaris, long before fate had decided to intervene.

It had been an ordinary afternoon in the Rainbow.

Azriel had been returning from a briefing with Rhys, his shadows trailing behind him like gentle wisps of midnight.

Most people gave him a wide berth—the Shadowsinger’s reputation ensuring his solitude even in crowded streets.

She’s coming, his shadows whispered suddenly, their tone unusually bright, almost melodic. The one who speaks to plants.

Azriel tilted his head slightly, curious.

His shadows often brought him snippets of information about the residents of Velaris, but rarely with such… delight.

That’s when he saw you.

You were hurrying along with an armful of ancient scrolls, humming softly to yourself about deadlines and temperamental flora.

Before he could step aside, a particularly ornate scroll adorned with painted lilies slipped from your grasp, rolling toward his feet.

Catch it, his shadows urged eagerly, already curling toward the falling parchment.

He caught it before it could unravel completely, his gloved hand gentle with the delicate parchment, careful not to damage the exquisite illustrations of rare night-blooming plants.

“Oh! Thank you,” you’d gasped, “These are absolutely irreplaceable botanical records, and my supervisor would have my head if—”

You froze mid-sentence as you finally looked up, eyes widening in recognition, a small pressed flower falling from between the pages of your notebook.

“You’re Azriel,” you whispered. “The Shadowsinger.”

He’d simply nodded, extending the recovered scroll with one hand while quietly retrieving the fallen flower with the other.

Her heartbeat sounds like hummingbird wings, his shadows observed, sounding almost… enchanted. She smells like lavender and old books.

Your fingers brushed as you took both items, a fleeting touch that sent an unexpected warmth shooting up his arm like gentle sparks.

His throat tightened pleasantly, a subtle flutter spreading across his chest as his shadows curled briefly toward you like morning mist reaching for sunlight.

Warm, they murmured happily. Bright. Remember her forever.

“Thank you,” you’d said again, softer this time, a small smile lighting your features.

He'd inclined his head in silent acknowledgment before continuing on his way, gently quieting his shadows when they tried to urge him to follow you, to learn more about the female who’d caused such a stir among them.

We’ll see her again, they whispered confidently as he walked away. She matters to us.

Azriel had dismissed their unusual behavior with fond exasperation.

His shadows could be fanciful at times, prone to innocent fixations that often proved meaningless.

Besides, his heart had belonged to Mor then.

Had for centuries. Would for centuries more, he'd thought.

He was wonderfully wrong.

Five centuries of life had prepared Azriel for many things.

Torture. War.

The darkest corners of Prythian's courts. The weight of secrets that would break lesser males.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared him for the paralyzing uncertainty of preparing for his first date with his mate.

"You look like you're planning an assassination, not a romantic evening," Cassian drawled from where he lounged against the doorframe of Azriel's private chambers in the House of Wind. He eyed Azriel’s fourth—or was it fifth?—tunic choice of the evening. "I mean, if you’re aiming to impress her with murder skills, go for it. But I’d suggest toning down the ‘serial killer’ energy at least a notch."

Azriel didn't respond, busy adjusting the collar of his tunic for the fourteenth time.

The fabric embroidered with silver stars seemed simultaneously too formal and not formal enough.

He'd never cared about his appearance beyond functionality before.

But tonight... tonight mattered.

You mattered.

"I've never seen you this rattled," Cassian continued, his grin widening. "Not even when we infiltrated the Winter Court during the Frost Solstice and you got cornered by that deranged—"

Azriel shot him a warning look, shadows coiling tightly around his scarred hands. "I'm not rattled."

Liar, his oldest shadow whispered in his ear. Your heart races at the mere thought of her.

His shadows had been insufferable since the day you'd fallen on him in the archives—growing more vocal, more insistent with each passing day.

They'd recognized the mate bond before he had, whispering your name when he tried to sleep, urging him toward you at every opportunity.

Centuries of perfect control, undone by one female with a talent for calamity and eyes that saw straight through his carefully constructed walls.

"Have you decided where you're taking her?" Rhys asked, materializing from the shadows of the hallway. The High Lord's violet eyes gleamed with barely suppressed amusement.

Azriel nodded once. "The oak grove."

Cassian raised an eyebrow. "The treehouse? No one knows about that place."

"Exactly," Azriel replied, finally turning away from the mirror. He didn't need to explain further.

Both males understood the significance—he was sharing something private, something he'd kept hidden for centuries.

Rhys's expression shifted, something knowing gleaming in his eyes. "Interesting choice," he said, the words weighted with meaning Azriel couldn't quite decipher. "There's something... fitting about it."

Before Azriel could respond, Cassian clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make lesser males stagger. "Well, don't keep the lady waiting. And remember—" he winked "—I've got a favorite blade riding on you sealing the bond by the full moon."

Azriel growled low in his throat. "Get out."

Both males laughed as they retreated, though Rhys paused at the doorway.

"Az," he said softly, all humor gone from his voice. "You both deserve this. Remember that."

The words struck deeper than Azriel wanted to admit.

Five centuries of darkness and solitude had convinced him he deserved nothing but shadows.

And then you had crashed into his life—literally—upending everything he thought he knew about himself.

She is your light, his shadow whispered. Your starlight. Your home.

He had one final thing to retrieve before leaving.

From his desk, he took a small wooden box containing the gift he'd spent hours carving.

A ridiculous gesture, perhaps, but one he hoped would make you smile.

That smile.

It haunted him.

Brightened corners of his soul he'd thought long dead.

With a deep breath, he unfurled his wings and stepped to the balcony.

Before launching into the evening sky, he allowed himself one moment of vulnerability, one whispered confession to the sunset.

"I am terrified."

You had faced many terrifying things in your life.

Cave-dwelling monsters with too many teeth.

That one particularly aggressive goose on the mountain trail.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared you for the sheer, overwhelming panic of getting ready for your first official date with Azriel.

"I have nothing to wear," you wailed, flinging another dress onto the growing pile on your bed. "Nothing."

Lira, sprawled on your one comfortable chair, didn't even look up from inspecting her nails. "You have approximately seventeen outfits on that bed alone. Not to mention the three I brought over. And the one Mor sent with a note that said—and I quote—'wear this if you want to see a shadowsinger blush.'"

"None of them are right!" You held up a midnight blue gown with silver accents. "Too formal."

A casual tunic and pants. "Too boring."

A revealing red number that had somehow found its way into your closet. "Too... Mor."

Lira sighed dramatically. "He's seen you with bedhead, covered in mud, drenched in the Sidra, and tripping over literally nothing. If you showed up in a flour sack, he'd probably still look at you like you hung the stars."

"That doesn't help!"

"Fine." Lira finally stood, sifting through the fabric mountain with expert precision. "Wear this. It's pretty but comfortable, and the color brings out your eyes."

She held up a simple but elegant dress in a deep violet hue with subtle silver detailing.

The fabric was light and flowy, perfect for a summer evening in Velaris, yet structured enough to look intentional rather than haphazard—something you desperately needed help with.

"Are you sure?" you asked, taking the garment with reverent hands.

"Positive. Now..." She gestured vaguely at the disaster that was your hair. "Let's tackle that next catastrophe."

An hour later, you stood before your mirror, barely recognizing yourself.

The dress fit perfectly, highlighting curves you didn't know you had. Your hair was pinned in an elegant-but-not-too-fussy style that somehow made you look like you belonged in the Night Court's fashionable circles.

"See?" Lira said smugly, adjusting one final pin. "You clean up nicely when you're not falling into things."

"Don't jinx it," you muttered, nervously touching the moonbloom pendant that hung around your neck.

The delicate flower seemed to pulse with life in the fading evening light, a constant reminder of Azriel's feelings.

Gregory bubbled energetically from his bowl, performing what looked suspiciously like approval laps.

"Even Gregory thinks you look good," Lira commented, tossing a pinch of fish food into the bowl. "And he has very high standards. Don't you, Gregory?"

A loud knock interrupted your nervous fidgeting.

"He's early," you hissed, panic rising again. "He said sunset! It's not sunset yet!"

"It's close enough," Lira pushed you toward the door. "Now go. Be awkward. Be romantic. Be yourself. And for Cauldron's sake, try not to fall into the Sidra again."

With one final glare at your so-called friend, you took a deep breath and opened the door.

And promptly forgot how to breathe.

Azriel stood there, not in his usual Illyrian fighting leathers, but in formal Night Court attire—well-fitted black pants and a deep blue tunic that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. His wings were meticulously groomed, the membranous material almost glowing in the late afternoon light.

But it was his face that caught you off guard.

The usual carefully controlled mask had slipped, revealing raw appreciation as his hazel eyes swept over you.

"You're beautiful," he said, the words coming out rougher than usual, like he hadn't meant to speak them aloud.

Your cheeks heated.

"You too." You winced immediately. "I mean, not beautiful—well, yes, beautiful, but handsome. You look handsome. Good. Nice. I'm going to stop talking now."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "I brought you something."

From behind his back, he produced not flowers—which would have been the conventional choice—but a small, intricate wooden box.

"For the menace," he said, gesturing toward Gregory's bowl. "From one guard to another."

You opened it to find a tiny, perfectly carved castle tower—a fish hideout for Gregory's bowl.

"You got my fish a present," you said, staring at the delicate woodwork, complete with miniature windows and a tiny door. "Did you... did you make this?"

A rare flush crept along Azriel's cheekbones. "I had time."

The image of the Night Court's most feared spymaster whittling a tiny castle for your emotional support fish was almost too much to bear.

"Gregory appreciates your dedication to home security," you managed, placing the tower carefully in the fish bowl. Gregory immediately swam through the tiny doorway, clearly approving of his new quarters.

"Shall we?" Azriel offered his arm—a formal, courtly gesture that somehow seemed both foreign and perfectly natural coming from him.

"Where are we going?" you asked, slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow and trying not to focus on the firm muscle beneath your fingertips.

His shadows curled playfully around your wrist. "It's a surprise."

Your eyes widen with wonder as you take in the treehouse, your lips parting in surprise.

You can't believe Azriel has brought you here—to a place he built with Cassian centuries ago and maintained alone for three hundred years.

"You're taking me to your secret hideout?" The words tumble from your mouth, wonder filling your voice.

Azriel's hand moves to adjust the moonbloom pendant at your throat, his fingers lingering against your skin.

The touch sends a flutter through your chest, your pulse quickening beneath his fingertips.

"I wanted to share something with you," he says, his voice rougher than usual. "Something private. Something no female has ever seen."

The weight of his admission isn't lost on you.

Five centuries of guarding his privacy, his secrets—and here he is, offering a piece of himself so willingly.

"I'm honored," you say, meaning every word.

"You should be," he replies, a rare lightness in his tone. "Cassian doesn't even know I still come here." He pauses before adding, "The wards only recognize my blood... and now yours."

Your heart skips a beat at the revelation that he'd altered ancient wards for you.

As you climb the stairs, your foot catches on the lip of a step—your usual gracelessness making an appearance at the worst possible moment. Before you can tumble backward, Azriel's hand snaps out to steady you. Instead of a polite rescue, he pulls you flush against him, his palm splayed across the curve of your lower back, fingers edging just a little lower than strictly necessary.

Heat floods your body at the contact.

The thin fabric of your dress does nothing to hide the firmness of his chest against yours, and you can't help the quiet gasp that escapes your lips as you look up at him through half-lowered lashes.

His shadows coil around your legs, bold and hungry.

You can feel them reaching for you, as though they want to slip under your dress and map every inch of your skin.

"Careful," he murmurs, but his dropped voice makes the warning sound more like an invitation.

When you try to straighten, he doesn't let you go immediately.

Instead, his fingers flex over your lower back, pressing you firmly against him. Your breath hitches as something pulses between you—an unspoken promise of what could happen if you just gave in.

With visible effort, he loosens his grip, drawing a shaky breath as he eases you upright. But his thumb grazes the curve of your hip in a final caress that feels like a claim.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Try not to fall again," he teases softly, his tone laced with sin. "Next time, I might not let go."

"Sorry," you murmur, your cheeks flushing. "Gravity and I have a complicated relationship."

"So I've noticed," he replies, fondness warming his voice.

As you enter the treehouse, you're struck by the beautiful details—floating faelights, a moving star map, a low table set with foods that somehow match exactly what you like.

But it's the walls that truly capture your attention.

Maps, notes, sketches—centuries of observations, thoughts, a private world spread out for you to see.

"What is all this?" you ask, moving closer to examine a map of the Night Court.

"Records," he answers, standing close enough that his wing brushes against your back. A small shiver runs through you at the contact. "Observations. Memories."

You realize what you're looking at—his personal history, his private sanctuary where he keeps the parts of himself he shows to no one.

"Why did you bring me here?" The question comes as a whisper, vulnerability plain in your voice.

"Because you deserve to know me. All of me. Not just what others see."

For a male who has spent centuries in shadows, who has built his life around secrets and silence, the offering is monumental. He is giving you the power to truly know him—and with it, the power to truly hurt him.

"I don't know what to say," you admit.

"You don't have to say anything," he assures you, guiding you to the table with his hand at the small of your back. "Just... be here. With me."

As you sit across from each other, Azriel's shadows refuse to stay contained. They reach for you, wrapping around your wrists, tracing the line of your neck with a boldness that makes your skin heat.

"Your shadows are very... hands-on," you observe, watching as they caress you like living extensions of his desire.

You notice the heat creeping up Azriel's neck. "They've grown fond of you," he says, clearly understating. "They've never... responded to anyone like this before."

"Just the shadows?" you ask, surprising yourself with your boldness.

His eyes drop to your lips, and you can almost feel the phantom touch of his mouth on yours.

"No," he says, his voice dropping to a register that reveals his desire. "No, starlight. Not just the shadows."

The endearment sends warmth blooming in your chest.

Throughout dinner, you watch Azriel relax in a way you've never seen before.

He tells you stories he's never shared with others—mishaps and adventures with the Inner Circle, lighter moments that few would associate with the fearsome shadowsinger.

You laugh freely, entranced by the way he watches you, the way his lips curve when you throw your head back in amusement. Around him, you feel lighter, brighter, more than you've felt in a long time.

Your peaceful dinner is interrupted by a faint sound outside—one that Azriel's trained ears catch immediately.

"Was that...?" you ask, peering into the darkness.

"Ignore it," he sighs.

"But it looked like—"

"Cassian," he confirms, caught between exasperation and amusement. "And if my shadows aren't misleading me, Mor is with him."

Your eyes widen. "Are they spying on us?"

"They're attempting to," he corrects dryly. "Rather poorly."

You burst into laughter at their friends' antics, finding humor where others might find irritation.

"We could give them something to spy on," you suggest, mischief dancing in your eyes.

Azriel arches a brow, heat visible in his gaze. "What did you have in mind?"

The idea of acting out an exaggerated romantic scene to scandalize your friends delights you.

"Oh, Azriel," you exclaim in an exaggerated breathy voice. "I had no idea you could do that with shadows!"

He plays along with surprising enthusiasm, his voice dropping deliberately lower. "It's a rare talent. One I've been saving for the right person. For you."

His shadows put on a dramatic display, swirling around the room with theatrical flair. But some use the opportunity to touch you in more intimate ways—tracing down your arm, caressing your collarbone, stealing touches that make your breath catch.

"The right...angle?" you continue, your tone deliberately suggestive. "Or the right... position?"

When Cassian crashes outside, you have to bite back your laughter. But beneath the amusement is a rising heat, a dangerous awareness of Azriel—of how beautiful he looks with rare humor in his eyes, of how much you want to turn this playacting into reality.

"Both," he says solemnly. "It requires... flexibility. And endurance." He leans forward, dropping his voice to a husky whisper. "Fortunately, I have centuries of practice."

One bold shadow caresses your neck.

You break into laughter, the tension momentarily diffused. "That," you gasp between laughs, "was the most fun I've ever had fully clothed."

When your laughter subsides, you find Azriel studying your face with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"I've existed for over five hundred years," he admits quietly. "And I can't remember the last time I laughed like that."

The vulnerability in his admission touches something deep within you.

"Well, I'm happy to make a fool of myself anytime if it makes you laugh," you say with a warm smile.

"You weren't the fool," he counters, rising and moving to the window. "Come. There's something I want to show you."

When you join him at the window, his wing brushes against your back—a casual touch that sends a shiver down your spine. The view of Velaris at night stretches before you, a tapestry of lights and shadows.

"It's beautiful," you whisper.

"This is how I see the city," he tells you, his voice an intimate murmur. "From above. In shadows and light."

When you turn to face him, he's already watching you—his hazel eyes reflecting the faelight, turning them to liquid gold.

"What are you thinking?" you ask.

"That I never thought I'd have this. That for centuries, I accepted solitude as my due. And then you—" He shakes his head, wonder in his expression. "You fell into my life. Literally."

You reach for his scarred hand, tracing the ancient burns with gentle fingers. The tissue is rough beneath your touch, but you don't hesitate or flinch. These marks are part of him, as essential as his shadows or his wings.

"These are part of you," you say softly. "Just like your shadows. Just like your wings. Parts I wouldn't change." You pause, realizing something. "You haven't worn your gloves since the library incident."

The observation seems to startle him, as if he hadn't realized it himself.

"Why?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

His shadows curl closer as vulnerability passes over his face.

"Because I've spent centuries hiding these scars." His scarred fingers intertwine with yours, the contrast between his damaged skin and your softness both stark and beautiful. "But after you fell on me that day, after you touched me without flinching... I found myself yearning to feel your skin against mine, even if by accident."

He moves closer, the bond between you drawing taut. "Do you know what it's like? To want something so badly you can hardly breathe with it? To have your skin ache for a touch you've convinced yourself you'll never deserve?"

The raw emotion in his voice makes your heart ache.

"Most people avoid touching them," he says, his voice rough as you continue to trace his scars.

"I'm not most people," you remind him, your tone dropping to match his. "I'm your mate."

The word hangs between you—mate—sacred and true. The bond between you flares at the acknowledgment, a rush of warmth that suffuses your entire being.

"Yes," he agrees, his voice rough with possessiveness. "Mine."

He reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip in a touch that makes you tremble. His scarred hand against your skin feels right—as if you were made to complement each other, to balance his darkness with your light.

"In Illyrian tradition," he says, barely above a whisper, "the first kiss between mates is a sacred vow. A promise more binding than any words." His shadows embrace you both, creating a cocoon of privacy. "I do not make such promises lightly."

Your heart pounds as you understand the weight of the moment.

"What are you promising me, shadowsinger?" you ask, the title feeling right on your lips.

His eyes meet yours, centuries of loneliness and newfound hope converging in his gaze. "Everything I am. Everything I will be."

The words feel ancient, powerful, true.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he declares, the words both a warning and a vow.

"Good," you reply, unable to resist lightening the moment. "Because my knees are about to give out, and I'd hate to fall again."

A smile touches his lips, tender and full of promise. "I'll catch you," he promises. "I always do. I always will."

And then he's leaning in, his eyes never leaving yours. Finding no hesitation, he closes the distance and presses his lips to yours.

The first touch is gentle, reverent—a question, an offering of his heart. His shadows engulf you both, creating a world where only the two of you exist. He cradles your face like you're something precious, something to be cherished.

The mate bond explodes between you, a surge of sensation so intense it nearly buckles your knees. Colors, scents, feelings—all sharper, brighter, more vivid than you've ever experienced. You can feel his heartbeat as if it were your own, can sense his emotions mingling with yours in a tapestry of wonder and desire and rightness.

You slide your fingers into his hair and pull him closer, wanting more. A growl rumbles in his chest as he backs you against the window, his body pressing against yours with an urgency that matches your own. The feeling of him against you is more intoxicating than anything you've ever known.

"Azriel," you gasp against his mouth, unable to contain the emotion swelling within you.

"I can feel it too," he murmurs, wonder threading through his words as the mate bond flares between you. "The bond. It's singing."

Kissing him is like finding a home you never knew you were missing. His taste, his scent, the way he responds to you—it's intoxicating, overwhelming, perfect. His wings curve around you both, shielding you from the world in the most ancient Illyrian tradition.

Your scent and his mingle—your parchment and lavender now blended with his night-chilled cedar, marking you as his. Every nerve ending in your body feels alive, hypersensitive, attuned to each small movement.

You slide your tongue along the seam of his lips, drawing a feral sound from his chest that sends heat pooling low in your belly. He answers with a rough, devouring kiss that makes you moan softly into the quiet space around you.

His shadows take on a life of their own, swirling in a dizzying dance over your shoulders, skimming down your arms and waist—touching, tasting, exploring in ways that make you shiver with need.

The moonbloom pendant at your throat suddenly flares with bright, shimmering light, bathing you both in ethereal glow. You clutch at him, fingers threading into his hair and tugging just hard enough to make him groan.

When you finally pull apart, you're both panting. His eyes gleam possessively, making your breath catch. Your hair is mussed from his restless fingers; your lips feel swollen, tingling with the evidence of his kisses.

"Well," you manage, voice quivering with excitement, "as far as first kisses go, that was…"

"Insufficient," he growls, low and ragged, already leaning back in. He drags his thumb across your lower lip, collecting the lingering taste of your kiss. His wings flare behind him in a display that screams possession. "We should try again. For thoroughness."

Your laugh comes out breathy. "Thoroughness? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

His eyes narrow in challenge, the corners of his lips tilting into a predatory smirk. "I'm over five hundred years old," he reminds you, his voice decadently deep. "I'm no kid. And I'm very, very thorough."

A delicious tension crackles between you, heightened by the knowledge of just how far that promise could go. The mate bond pulses like a physical tether, tightening around your souls.

"Thank the Cauldron for that," you whisper, already tipping your head for another kiss. "Think of all the practice you've had."

His shadows flare, enveloping you both in a cocoon of midnight.

They skim across every curve, every hollow, every dip of your body they can reach, impatient for him to join them in full exploration.

Azriel swallows a groan, every muscle tensing as he fights for control. But one look at your parted lips and the flush darkening your cheeks, and you see the moment he decides to let go, to show you exactly how long he's waited, how desperately he's craved this moment.

"Practice," he echoes roughly, his breath skating across your mouth. "You have no idea."

Then he bends his head and captures your lips again, the kiss far from soft—raw and hungry, a promise that the thoroughness has only just begun.

You practically skip into the Botanical Archives, a goofy smile plastered on your face as you clutch a small bag of pastries in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other.

The memory of last night—Azriel’s treehouse, that kiss (kisses!)—still swirls in your mind like a flock of delighted starlings, making your heart flutter every time you replay it.

The Archives are quiet at this hour, mostly hushed librarians and scholars drifting between shelves.

But one voice shatters the hush the moment you step inside.

“Well, well, look who decided to waltz in here like she’s the High Lady of Good Moods,” Lira crows from behind the reception desk. “Did someone have a fun night, perhaps?”

You try to tamp down your giddy grin—but fail spectacularly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, setting your tea down and carefully ignoring the fact that you nearly trip over a stack of dusty tomes.

Lira narrows her eyes. “That’s not your I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about face. That’s your oh-mother-above-I-think-I’m-in-love face.”

Heat floods your cheeks. “Shh! Keep your voice down or the entire Archive will know I have…a reason to be happy.”

She laughs, straightening. “Please. The entire Archive already suspects you have some reason to be happy. You’re glowing like a star under a Cauldron-blessed spotlight.”

You roll your eyes, though the corners of your mouth curl upward anyway. “Anyway, are we cataloging the new Day Court scrolls this morning? Or are you just going to stand there and harass me?”

“Bit of both, probably,” Lira says brightly.

She taps a wooden crate with her foot. “We got a new delivery—again—like those Day Courtiers have nothing better to do than bury us in half-translated manuscripts. Go forth and sort.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, picking up the top scroll. “Ah yes, I shall valiantly bury myself in dusty documents for the sake of botanical advancement.”

Lira pretends to salute. “What a trooper. Let me know if you start missing that shadowsinger so much you can’t function.”

You open your mouth for a scathing retort, but she wiggles her fingers in a sassy goodbye and flounces away, leaving you alone with your scrolls, your warm tea, and approximately one million butterflies in your stomach.

You set to work at a large wooden table in a back alcove, where the morning sun filters through high, arched windows.

The gentle hush of the Archives usually soothes you, but today you’re too antsy—your mind keeps wandering to Azriel.

To the feel of his lips against yours, the warmth of his scarred palms, the way he promised to catch you if you fell. (And, to be fair, you are pretty inclined to falling.)

A silly grin curls your lips.

You find yourself humming a jaunty tune, tapping your quill on the table.

At one point, you even spin in a small circle, the skirt of your lilac day-dress flaring around your legs. If any of your coworkers see, you’ll deny it.

Forever.

“Snap out of it,” you mutter, unrolling a parchment with care.

The Day Court has included a thorough treatise on cacti. Instantly, your mind conjures Azriel’s shadows swirling around spiky succulents, and you stifle a giggle.

You’re so lost in daydreams that you almost miss the moment the alcove falls too silent.

A cool draft brushes the back of your neck, sending a ripple of unease across your skin.

Your humming halts.

You glance over your shoulder, expecting to see Lira or one of the other scholars.

But there’s no one—just row upon row of towering shelves and the gentle flicker of faelights.

Maybe it’s just a draft, you think, trying to steady your heartbeat.

You turn back to the Day Court scroll, pressing its corners flat against the table.

Then you hear it—a voice so soft it barely registers over the faint rustle of parchment.

“Hello…”

Your entire body goes rigid.

Slowly, you set your quill down, dread curling in your stomach.

The fine hairs at your nape prickle as a memory stirs—one you can’t quite place.

“Lira?” you call softly, forcing a calm you don’t feel.

No answer. Just eerie silence.

You let out a forced laugh. “I’m hearing things. Perfect.”

You try—try—to read the neat calligraphy on the scroll. But your eyes keep flicking to the edge of your vision, half expecting some lurking figure to emerge.

“She’s here…” another whisper comes, colder this time. “She’s back.”

Your blood runs cold.

The timbre of that voice claws at something old inside your head.

Your hands tremble as you half-rise from your seat.

You open your mouth, intending to speak—but the words never come.

Because suddenly, the hush around you fills with whispers, overlapping voices, some trembling with desperation, others echoing with a cruel, mocking tone.

“Do you remember us…” “You left us…”

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, and a jolt of raw terror streaks down your spine.

Flashes of old nightmares rise in your mind, a dark corridor, flickering torches, voices that taunted you in the corners of your dreams.

“She hears us again...” “Help us…let us out…” “You never should have run.”

Your vision shivers, the edges going hazy.

This isn’t real, you tell yourself.

Except it feels so real, the air turning frigid, your lungs refusing to draw breath properly.

You clutch your ledger like a shield. “W-who’s there?”

You hate how shaky your voice sounds.

No answer, just a chorus of nearly soundless laughter—both sorrowful and cruel.

It wraps around you like cold fingers.

And in that overlapping cacophony, you catch snippets of an old plea, your plea, from long ago.

“Leave me alone—please—go away!”

You slap your free hand over your ear, as though you can block them out.

“Stop,” you manage, voice cracking.

A chilling breeze seems to swirl around you, rustling the edges of the scroll. The ghosts’ voices crescendo.

“She fears us still…” “She remembers nothing…” “Don’t forget the blood…”

Tears prick your eyes, your throat tight with panic.

You don’t know what they’re talking about—you don’t recall any promise, any them.

“Stop,” you beg again, tears threatening to spill. “Please—”

A hand seizes your shoulder.

You yelp, spinning with your ledger raised defensively—only to find Lira, her face etched with alarm.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, hands up in surrender. “Easy! I come in peace!”

You blink rapidly, tears and panic making everything blur.

The voices vanish as if yanked away by an unseen thread.

Suddenly, you’re in the quiet Archives again, the morning sunlight streaming like nothing’s wrong.

Lira lowers her arms, stepping closer. “You okay? You look like you just saw the Bogge itself.”

“I—” You struggle to breathe normally.

Your pulse still pounds, and your ears ring with phantom echoes. You never should have run. “I thought I heard…” You shake your head, shame creeping in. “It’s nothing. I’m just—tired.”

She lifts a brow, unconvinced. “That was more than just tired. You were talking to someone, or something.”

You swallow, gaze darting to the corner of the alcove.

The weight of old nightmares lingers in the air, but the ghosts are silent now—lurking behind the veil, waiting.

“Maybe I… dozed off for a second,” you finally mumble, the excuse tasting sour in your mouth. “I’m really not sleeping well lately.”

Lira’s expression softens. “Then let’s get you some air. Trust me, inhaling stale parchment fumes isn’t gonna help if you’re feeling faint.”

Normally, you’d protest.

But the thought of staying here, alone, at this table—where those voices might return—makes your stomach churn.

So you nod, following her toward the exit, your heart still hammering.

As you pass through the high-arched doorway, Lira chatters about random Archive gossip, clearly trying to distract you.

You manage a weak smile here and there, but your thoughts remain fixed on those voices, how they echoed the nightmares you once had, how they accused you of leaving them behind.

Leaving who behind?

You can’t remember.

A final chill scutters down your spine as you glance over your shoulder.

In the alcove’s corner, the shadows are thicker than they should be, almost shaped like hunched figures.

Watching. Waiting.

A faint echo flickers in your mind, too familiar—childish whimpers, fear overwhelming your small body as you clung to blankets at night, wishing the voices would go away.

As you hurry after Lira, the rasping whispers claw at your memory.

“Don’t forget the blood… She’s still ours…”

Azriel appears so suddenly you nearly drop your ledger—one moment it’s just you and Lira in the corridor, and the next, the spymaster stands at your side, wings half-flared, shadows swirling restlessly.

His hazel eyes flick over you in a swift, razor-sharp sweep, cataloging every inch as if looking for injuries or signs of distress.

“Az,” you whisper, your voice still shaky from the lingering terror.

Lira startles, almost dropping the scrolls in her arms. “Cauldron,” she mutters, stepping back to give him space. “I’ll just…yeah.” She shoots you a worried look, then disappears around a corner, leaving you alone with Azriel’s intense gaze.

He doesn’t move for a beat—just stares, tension radiating from every line of his body.

The hush of the Archives thickens.

His expression is pure spymaster: unreadable, assessing, tinged with lethal calm.

Finally, in a voice carved from steel, he asks, “What happened?”

A wave of guilt crashes over you. You attempt a weak, tremulous grin. “Nothing. Just—library chaos. You know how it is.”

His jaw clenches, shadows uncoiling around his wrists like they’re ready to hunt.

“Don’t lie,” he says quietly. “I felt your fear through the bond.”

Your chest tightens at the reminder of how strong your panic must’ve been for him to sense it.

“I—” The words stick in your throat.

This man has faced wars, horrors you can’t fathom; the last thing you want is to burden him with ghost stories you can’t even explain. So you plaster on an overly bright smile. “It’s fine. Seriously, you can relax your wings now.”

He doesn’t.

If anything, they flare wider, as though to shield you from whatever threatened you. “Your hands are still shaking,” he observes grimly, eyes flicking to your trembling grip on the ledger.

A lump forms in your throat.

You force a laugh that comes out sounding like a pathetic squeak. “Must’ve been a dizzy spell. Too much dust. Really, Az, stop worrying.”

His nostrils flare with impatience—he’s clearly not convinced. Before you can protest, he steps forward, gathering you into his arms in one swift motion, ledger and all. The sensation of his firm chest against yours sends a jolt through your system that’s part embarrassment, part relief.

“Az!” you protest, cheeks heating. “We’re in the middle of the—”

He lifts you just enough to curve his arm beneath your knees, his other arm bracing your back. A neat little scoop that leaves you clutching at his shoulders, eyes wide. You can practically feel the hush of the Archives intensify as a few onlookers peek around corners.

But Azriel doesn’t seem to care.

His shadows swirl closer, forming a hazy barrier of privacy.

“You’re pale,” he says simply, as though that justifies everything. “And I’m not putting you down until you stop pretending this is nothing.”

“Az, I—” Heat flutters across your cheeks.

You glance around, mortified to be cradled bridal-style in front of whoever might pass by. But there’s no ignoring the steady thump of his heart against your ear, the secure hold of his arms.

It makes you feel…safe.

He looks down at you, his usually controlled features pulled taut with worry and frustration.

“You terrified me,” he admits low enough that only you can hear. “I’ve felt you anxious before, but never that close to panic.”

Guilt churns in your gut. “I’m sorry,” you manage, voice tight. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

His gaze lingers on the lingering tears clinging to your lashes, and the hardness in his face softens just slightly. “Tell me what scared you.”

“It’s nothing you need to hunt, I swear,” you say quickly, wanting to stave off the spymaster in him. Your voice trembles with the weight of the half-truth. “Please—just stop worrying.”

For a moment, he just studies you.

Then, releasing a sigh that ruffles your hair, he nods toward the nearest reading nook, a cozy alcove by a tall window. “We’re talking. Properly. Somewhere less exposed.”

He moves—with you still in his arms.

Your stomach swoops. “Azriel,” you hiss, mortified, “put me down. I can walk!”

His mouth presses into a stubborn line.

“You’re shaking,” he repeats. “Until I see you steady on your feet, I’m carrying you. You can glare all you want.”

You do glare. Furiously.

But you don’t exactly hate the warmth of his hold, or the reassuring solidity of his body. So with a defeated huff, you bury your face in the soft fabric of his tunic, hoping to hide from the curious glances of passing scholars.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach the alcove, where he sets you gently on a cushioned bench. One of his wings curls protectively around you in a half-shield, blocking out the rest of the Archives. Even as your feet touch the floor, he keeps a hand on your shoulder, as if afraid you might vanish.

“Tell me what happened,” he says again, voice firm but edged with a tenderness that tugs at your heart.

Your gaze drops to your ledger, your voice catching.

You can’t bring yourself to explain the whispers, the shadows, the half-buried nightmares you don’t fully understand. “I was just…overwhelmed,” you mumble, blinking rapidly against fresh tears. “I’m so sorry. I know you must have a thousand better things to do than rush here for no reason.”

Azriel’s expression darkens, and you sense that protective fury simmering behind his calm facade. “You are never ‘no reason,’” he says, each word clipped. “I’ll always come if you need me. You know that.”

“But—”

He slides onto the bench beside you, capturing your trembling hands in his. The warmth of his scarred palms steadies your breathing. “I can’t fix what you won’t tell me,” he murmurs, “but I can sit here until you feel safe again.”

The bond pulses gently, your chest loosening. You sniff, nodding gratefully. “I’m okay now,” you whisper, daring to meet his gaze. “Really.”

Azriel’s eyes remain narrowed, but you catch the barest flicker of relief. “If you say so.” His grip tightens just a fraction. “But if I sense that level of fear again, I will tear this place apart until I find the cause.”

The conviction in his voice sends a shiver through you. “Not sure the Head Archivist would appreciate you wrecking her shelves.”

He arches a brow. “Let her try to stop me.”

Despite yourself, a shaky laugh escapes your lips.

The absurd image of Azriel tearing down entire rows of rare scrolls in search of some imaginary threat is enough to dispel a bit of the tension knotting your gut.

“You’re impossible,” you say, but there’s no heat in your words.

He raises one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Maybe.” Then, more quietly, “I’d rather be impossible than let you face your fear alone.”

The sincerity in his tone nearly breaks you.

Emotion swells behind your eyes, though you manage to keep from crying again. Carefully, he shifts you closer, tucking you against his side. With his free arm, he drapes one dark wing around you like a shield.

Your heart flutters. The pressure of the wing against your back, the lingering hint of his soap-and-leather scent—together, they feel like an unspoken promise of safety.

A heartbeat of silence passes, your pulse steadying in time with his. Then, in a clipped tone that can’t entirely hide his concern, Azriel says, “Next time you sense anything—anything—off, you call me. Immediately.”

You open your mouth to argue—maybe you don’t want to feel like a damsel in distress—but the unyielding determination in his eyes melts your resistance.

“Okay,” you breathe.

He relaxes. Just a fraction, but enough that you feel the tension ebb. “Good.”

For a moment, you sit there in the hush, wrapped in Azriel’s wing, the rustle of his shadows quieting. You can practically hear his mind whirring, but he refrains from interrogating you further. He simply stays, presence unwavering, until the trembling in your limbs finally subsides.

Eventually, Azriel shifts.

You expect another question, another gentle demand for honesty. Instead, he lowers his head, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your forehead. It’s brief—barely more than a brush of his lips—but it speaks volumes.

A silent vow of protection. Of understanding.

Warmth unfolds in your chest, and you lean into him just a little more. Grip the fabric of his tunic a little tighter. Silently thank him for coming.

Even if you can’t tell him everything, even if your nightmares remain locked away, at least he’s here, fierce and unyielding, ready to chase away whatever haunts you.

You might not be entirely free of fear, but in his arms, with his protective wing folded around you, everything feels just a little more bearable.

Author’s Note: Azriel may be the king of quiet brooding, but she is the queen of secrets she doesn’t even know she’s keeping. I adore writing their soft, chaotic romance, and watching the shadows stir as her past begins to claw its way back. Things are only just beginning. 🖤 Tag List: @songbirdpond @tothestarsandwhateverend @lovely-susie @kksbookstuff @ladycaramelswirl @gamarancianne @writtenbypavani @bubybubsters @moonlitscrolls @valyas-corner @iris-lavender @lreadsstuff @nebarious @azrielssgirl @lamimamiii @fantasydreamwalker @dallynjennasgirl @tenshis-cake @lilah-asteria @sweetsugarcoffee @fall-winter-heart97 @lovely-susie @lreadsstuff @sofi03 @songbirdpond @nico707 @justtryingtosurvive02 @yourlocalcancer @saltedcoffeescotch @thatacotargirl @happypeanutstrawberry @theverseoftheblackpearl @tele86 @highladyofhogwarts @fuckingsimp4azriel @thegoddessofnothingness @lovelyflower7777 @stressed-reader @karespocketboyfriends @lreadsstuff @yourdarkroses-blog @plants-w0rld @oldernotwiser26 @ashduv @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @adventure-awaits13 @thegoddessofnothingness @fuckingsimp4azriel @highladyofhogwarts @stainedpomegranatelips @i-am-infinite @arcticfoxxes @hellohauntedturnstudent @yourallaround-simp

#acotar #azriel x oc #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand #cassian #nesta acotar #feyre acotar

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deadghosy · 1 year ago

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Since your stuck I decided to help you out with the power of creativity!

How would characters of Hazbin Hotel react to Swan/Duck reader it's branching from penguin reader with how she got stuck in hell for a while

The power mainly focuses on them flying and wind magic ect!

REMINDER: REQUESTS ARE CLOSED‼️

HAZBIN HOTEL X DUCK! READER

Warning: yandere themes.

prompt: a common mistake made your life eventual as people started to fawn over you

You were supposed to be in heaven…BUT NOOOO, they sent you to hell because they mistook you for someone else. They could’ve just said they were full like a night club…

So now you are in a pond swimming around peacefully. But there’s always a man with a hat and an apple cane that comes to see you literally everyday. You don’t know who he is, but he got attached badly. He would bring bread and show you rubber ducks with an awkward smile.

You just go over to him and eat the bread. You never learned how to talk since birth since your mother abused you. Being jealous of your pure soul and natural beauty. She always told you to shush. Making the sour taste in your mouth sting to never talk.

Eventually the man introduced himself as Lucifer, that’s when it hit you that this man was the first fallen angel, and king of hell. He must have seen your eyes widen in shock. “You can understand me?” He asked you as he scratched under your beak making you lean in his touch. You nodded as he smiles showing his sharp teeth.

“That’s even bettter.” He said

Two days after that, you were literally sleeping when you woke up to feel two hands pick you up, it was Lucifer who cooed at your drowsy face as he takes you to a hotel. Were you finally getting a place to stay instead of outside?

“Listen, my daughter has a dream…to redeem sinners…I wanna believe in her, but our people chose to make hell this way.” He says with a somber look. He took you inside to see basically a female version of Lucifer but more cheery looking as she gasped at you. “Dad? Is that the duck you’ve been talking about?! Aww they’re soooo cute!” She says as she holds you.

And that’s your story of how now you are basically part of the hotel’s family.

I imagine you just getting prince/princess treatment everyday from the hotel and Lucifer himself as he literally trims your duck fur as you just sit there on a fancy ass pillow.

I headcannon that angel dust buys you shades a lot because your yellow/white feathers is so majestic, he just had to make you even more bad ass.

Angel dust loves how high headed you are, not letting anyone tear you down even with a word. He admires you, so he wants you to admire him as well.

I headcannon for you to deadass have an attitude when bothered. Literally Alastor wanted to see what was so special about you. And so he woke you up from your beauty sleep making you go haywire on him.

You pecked him as he tried to hit you, possibly trying to injure you only to injure himself as he came out pissed off with a smile. He definitely spit out a feather as you quacked out a laugh as if this shit was looney tunes.

Charlie always rants to you about her days and how her and vaggie’s relationship is going. Charlie was notified by her father that you can understand her. She doubted it at first, but when you actually nodded she gasped shocked with stars in her eyes.

You and Charlie grew close…to the point she was almost like her father. Constantly checking up on you, feeding you. Watching you. You tried to push it off…but it was kinda unsettling.

You could obviously fly, which you do around the hotel to spread your wings. But when you fly you have a glowing yellow light around you.

I can see you just chilling at the bar as residents come in and out as you just get petted as husk grumbles a little and also pets you. Husk was immediately enchanted by your soft duck feathers

You love to make small tornados at sinners who cause trouble in the hotel. You are the hotel’s duck, so you must at least protect the guests at least.

Vaggie is the one to always make sure to research what ducks eat before making sure you can eat them. She likes how you make everyone feel fuzzy and warm inside. Even her.

You damn well hated that you died into a duck body..but it felt nice knowing that you couldn’t just live the possible human or at least whatever you are. Demon or angel. You could possibly be in a pond sleeping and eating bread all damn day.

I imagine Sir Pentious had put a top hat on you that’s similar like the ones his egg boiz wear. So he loves to have you around when he builds things.

You doze off like this and it’s so cute to the point they will record and take a picture of you. (If you don’t wanna click link, it’s a duck nodding its head off until it goes limp since the duck is tired)

I headcannon Alastor to hate you at first and want to cook you for duck stew, but then he falls in love with how entertaining and smart you are. You technically aren’t just a mere duck.

I can see you just making small hurricanes in your bath tub when niffty has to wash you. You once accidentally splashed her. But she chuckled splashing you.

A sinner once tried to take you from the hotel’s pond that Lucifer made for you only be found 30 secs later taking you.

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TOUCHING MY DUCKLING?!” Lucifer yells angrily at the sinner who got knocked flat on their ass. His demon form was coming out as fire spits out his mouth when he huffed.

You did a comedic side eye at Lucifer who was acting possessive as hell itself. You didn’t even know what to do as this man kept holding you like a pet duck you seen fat white men do in the streets.

The sinner didn’t live after that.

I can see husk just petting you softly and then eventually just falling asleep on your body. Like his head is on your body as you just watch hell tv as he snores. Oddly comfortable in your soft feathers.

You literally waddle around the hotel wearing a cute scarf with your favorite color. Alastor oddly knitted it for you like a old grandma to their grandchild 😭

I imagine you just side eyeing Lucifer as he suddenly had the urge to read more information about ducks and how their eggs look. So imagine how Lucifer would act if you pregnant. But the thing is, you rather die then be in pain in birth.

Lucifer makes you a lot of blue things to remind you of a pond since that was the place you chill in a lot. It was to the poke Charlie and Lucifer nodded to make you a pond in the backside of the hotel. It’s your little chill haven.

You felt pissy one day because your feathers were molting..so the wind outside was heavy cause your feathers were just falling and you hated it. You felt insecure but the crew felt your feelings and started to cheer you up. Soon or later, your new feathers came back quickly.

The Vee’s had definitely notice your presence since you first came here. I mean who the hell looks like a damn duck down here with pure beautiful feathers that remind them of so called heaven.

I can see the Vee’s and you having the relationship where it’s basically like team rocket and pikachu type troupe. 😭 they always fail trying to kidnap you because you literally put out ducks that look like you and they fall for it, EVERY SINGLE TIME-

I headcannon you have a ribbon your favorite color wrapped around your neck like a bow or collar with your name on it❤️

Vox had literally set his drone to spy on you as he watches with a sick grin at how adorable and elegant you looked just swimming in your sweet pond and how you just outsmart Alastor.

Imagine how badass you are to suddenly turn big in size because the hotel was being threatened. So you literally grew in a size of the hotel building and flapped your wings to fly them bitches to who knows nowhere.

If you were on the same branch, you would definitely be the older sister of penguin! Reader if it was lore type shit 😭 you don’t play no games about your emotions as you are always observing

LOL IMAGINE YOU WADDLING TO GO TO THE BATHROOM LIKE A HUMAN AND THE EGG BOIZ JUST FOLLOW AFTER YOU AS IF YOU WERE THEIR MOTHER-

The Vee’s definitely sneak on you by Vox’s drone that swarms around your pond without your knowledge.

Velvette literally sends you nice outfits your size. Literally cute outfits where the holes are for your wings so you can fly and look drippy as hell.

See I could definitely imagine you sneaking out the hotel to just get hooked up with your new outfit stylist which is Velvette now.

Vox

Imagine how cold the state duck! Reader has (hear me out, edit audio type shit starts playing-)

I can see you just swimming and Lucifer takes a picture of you, admiring your beauty in place as you just flock around your damn pond. “That’s my baby….” He says wiping a dramatic tear from his eyes.

Valentino. Now I won’t say he would be obsessed romantically but more platonically as he would love for you to be part of his life as his pet only. Like an actual pet he would take care of.

I headcannon Alastor actually tried to feed you some bread…and you accepted it making Alastor smile wildly at how you trusted him getting close to you for one.

Lmao you literally did some Wingardium Leviosa ass shit on someone because you didn’t like how they looked at you 😭

You literally are so coddled and spoiled…it was to the point you would be walking or more like waddling down the damn streets alone and people would aw at your beauty and gracious. It’s overwhelming, but at least you know people won’t fuck with you.

But people just never learnt to keep their hands off of a beautiful creature.

Once Adam got sent down to find an angel that was suppose to be in heaven. He didn’t except for you to be a fuckin duck. So he laughed and took you up with ease as you quacked furiously, trying to get at least someone’s attention.

It was too late as Lucifer sees you get flown up into the heaven portal. Lucifer dropped the tray of lemonade in shock to see his beloved flying into the portal. Lucifer felt his heart squeeze knowing that the bastard knew he couldn’t get into heaven.

Lucifer quickly spout out his wings and fly sharply towards adam’s fading figure. Adam snickers seeing Lucifer’s anger in his glowing red eyes. He turned around and waved you around to taunt Lucifer as you had a “I don’t have time for this…” face. Literally you pecked Adam’s face and hands making Adam spazz out and throw you at Lucifer’s face.

“FINE! TAKE YOUR DUMB ASS DUCK!” Adam yells as he flies off grumbling about making you into duck stew

So Lucifer was happy with a derpy expression and calmed down holding you. He got even more protective as he makes sure you are watched 24/7. He wanted to give you freedom…but after that stunt Adam did. He’s not letting anyone touch you without his permission. Of course his daughter can though!

But what if Adam had succeeded in his capture of you, things would be most likely how it was in hell….just more clean and healthy.

St. Peter definitely greeted you with a warm smile as you didn’t….you didn’t like how he just sassed you and let you fall to hell. So of course it was rocky, but soon or later you two got along since he brides you with bread. He soon gets obsessed with how you get so trusting over things. He uses that to his advantages.

Sera greets you with open arms, literally as she picks you up. Cooing at your pure yellow/white feathers that matches the aesthetic of heaven. You match perfectly here as your angel form is two pair of wings. Your normal duck wings and angel wings. You are the most beautiful angel she ever met and laid eyes on as she shows you around heaven. Every part and area of it. This shall be your new home.

Emily won’t be a crazyyy person over you. As I can see her being a light hearted person who doesn’t love bomb you in a manipulative manner but only wants to be your friend in a loving way. She finds you amazing at how smart and caring you are towards her as you visit her and she visits you back. She brings you every bread know to man and heaven as she noticed you like bread. You and her are clearly amazing friends to each other.

The Angels adore your every movement as if you were also a god/godesss. You were confused at this attention. It was way more overwhelming when you were in hell with the others. Just like how the penguin! Reader was, you made a social media account and half of heaven followed you. It was an insane amount of followers that you didn’t mean to have. But the angels love to greet you as you fly/walk by. With you being so graceful here, who wouldn’t say you belonged here.

Adam most definitely is possessive and always manipulates you into thinking he is superior. He forces himself to be your caretaker, he literally makes you stay in his place all day and all time watched over. He feels the need to control your very bidding and movement as this dickhead degrades you to make you feel useless. It sometimes works, but sometimes doesn’t.

Lute is a controlling person who sees your intelligence as a threat as she wants to break you into her clasp. She’s the second most controlling than Adam. But she’s an overwhelming controlling as she wants you you to see her as your protector and person you can be dependent on at all times. She wants you to be able to tell her everything you know so she can just please you.

Adam finds it amusing at how you got use it heaven so quick despite this new attention. You literally sit on his lap napping as he lounges on the couch. Basically watching sports or whatever.

You can’t help but think, “why am I even surprised.”

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syluses · 3 months ago

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big girls dont cry QNA

i know you guys have lots of curiosities about this fic lolll so i’ll try to answer some of the questions i received (∗ᵕ̴᷄◡ᵕ̴᷅∗) 💕 if u still have some, just shoot me an ask!! :] also im really bad at explaining so i apologize 🤦🏻‍♀️ i have the plot nailed in my head but its tricky to articulate it in a clear, linear way for yall considering all the little nuances i added lol. i’ll try my best tho hehe :,)

Okay so there’s a whole ‘nother plot that exists in the background of this fic- which was super fun for me to write, but im sure from a reader standpoint it’s also kinda thrilling to try to connect the dots i left lol. thats why theres so many interpretations for this story (which i love!! i loved reading all yall’s theories)! 💕 BUT. that being said, the ‘canon’ goes like this:

SPOILERS BELOW read it first then come back! ( ⸍ɞ̴̶̷ ·̫ ɞ̴̶̷⸌ )

was caleb really dead?

No. Caleb staged his own death and then, similar to the main story homecoming wings, didnt tell mc :,) for his own reasons, for a time, he decides he’ll let her go on believing he’s truly gone…

why did he stage his death?

I dropped little crumbs of it in the fic, but it’s hinted that mc, on top of all her grief, feels a bit bitter over the whole shebang and also blames herself for it. hmm… why would that be? 🤔 well because their final moments together (or so she THOUGHT) were emotionally charged and volatile.

the foundation of their sibling relationship was growing weaker and weaker before the explosion. arguments are forming out of nowhere- things are becoming more tense and mc, for the life of her, can’t understand why her gege is always pulling her into a heated debate about safety, danger, blahblahblah, this that and the third, every time they interact. He’s being wildly unreasonable, which she knows, and protective- a trait that has snowballed as they entered their adulthood- but what she doesn’t know is the why behind it. she tells herself she just has a super protective older brother who views her as a little baby in need of his guidance- which isn’t entirely wrong… but she doesn’t see the full picture. His true feelings. All this tension eventually climbs to its peak. Caleb just gets worse and worse. He needs to do something before the world collapses on them both.

Now, in this au, he works at EVER, a somewhat shady but lucrative company- which dabbles in robotics amongst other things. I imagine they have abundant resources and wealth- and what with his promotions, it’s safe to say caleb is making a LOT. So, the delusional guy he is, he buys a big fancy suite with the idea in mind of two eventually living in it ;) but mc doesn’t want to- she has her own life in linkon!! She wants to spread her wings and separate from the nest anyway. Partly to start her own life; partly to prove to her gege that she can take care of herself. The argument that unfolds over this is the last they have before the big tragic explosion 😭 caleb, putting on a show with his beaten puppy eyes, leaves and then that’s the last time she sees him.

Caleb meticulously plans his ‘death’ out (with some help from his wingman ofc) and then eventually the robot is introduced to mc. It serves as a trojan horse. He’ll finally conquer her heart with it and win full autonomy over her. THIS IS HIS MAIN GOAL WITH THE ROBOT. WHY HE EVEN DOES ANY OF THIS TO BEGIN WITH.

Caleb gets to spy on mc with it and also slowly reshape her to accept his feelings; his ‘death’ has left her in a fragile state of mourning and he knows, after she warms up a bit to not-Caleb, he can more or less get away with anything- bc she will claw for whatever’s left of her family member. He can make her finally reciprocate and understand him— whether that be his feelings or fear or love. He tried to be patient, to be good, but obviously he had to travel a new route. He’s thinking of her 24/7. He’s obsessive, longing, protective, you name it- and all of this just worsens the more she denies him. When push comes to shove… well, caleb will do whatever it takes to win her :] He knows it’s unconventional and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt him too- monitoring his endearingly stubborn, but sweet meimei and the shattered pieces he left of her through his android’s eyes— but it’s all temporary, and he truly believes it’s for the better.

did gideon know?

Yes, Gideon knew all along. He’s Caleb’s best buddy after all. To be matter of fact- Gideon didn’t just know, he quite literally ‘herded’ mc into the lion’s den in a way. Mc knew vaguely of their work at EVER, but not too much; so Gideon was the one who shined that light on their robotics and really introduced her to the concept of not-Caleb. Now, i wouldnt say Gideon is exactly comfortable with his involvement, but he actually really does care for mc and thinks she needs that help- as dubious as the means are. Anyway, it’s almost impossible to shut out all of his buddy’s demands: the brunet is nothing if not insistent on getting what he wants. In his own whacky way, Gideon thinks what he did- playing into Caleb’s plan- was for the better as well. I mean, Mc clearly wasnt doing good before not-Caleb came along,… but with the few visits he managed before the android got a little too stingy and sent him off, Gideon actually managed to catch a smile or two from her! So clearly he did the right thing 👀 not to mention… the real caleb seems very pleased with the progress, too. besides- the whole robot situation is temporary anyway :] She’ll be reuniting with the beloved gege she misses so much sooner rather than later.

how accurate was not-caleb?

His programming is like 100% accurate. Mc, for a mix of both naiveity and delusion, thinks not-Caleb is flawed when he starts to show signs of amorous/romantic feelings for her. Really, though, after she tells him to stay the night with her (innocently; and after years of having not shared the same childhood twin bed), it triggers a part of his ‘brain’ that undoes all real caleb’s self restraint thus far :] If the same exact situation happened with the real caleb, his reaction would’ve more or less been the same. Homeboy can only keep his feelings in check for so long

who programmed not-caleb?

Real Caleb

how is mc pregnant?

Because the robot’s creator wanted to add his own special touch to his work if you know what i mean :) yeah he’s a freak like that. Dont think he WOULDNT install in his robot the ability to indirectly knock his ‘meimei’ up. I will say though, that while caleb wants to get mc pregnant, its not fully bc he wants to start a family- at least not right away- but because he wants to emotionally and legally trap her with him. Besides monitoring her/wearing down her walls while she thought he was ‘dead’, this was actually one of caleb’s biggest goals with sending not-caleb into her home.

is not-caleb self-aware?

Yes

what’s real caleb been doing all this time?

Basically climbing the ranks of EVER from his lil perch somewhere in skyhaven. all the while, of course, spying on mc like a hawk. Biding his time & waiting for the right moment when she’s at her weakest, most codependent state to replace his carbon copy :)

was caleb controlling his robot?

No. But he essentially created its whole program. And there are cameras inside its eyes in which he watches mc from :) and cant help but snap pics with sometimes: she’s just so pretty— and endlessly sexy when he finally, in a vicarious way, gets to lie her back and make love to her <3

what is real caleb’s motive/ultimate goal?

1. to control/protect/‘tame’ mc through the robot; get her to see things from his point of view (which means realizing she belongs with him- where it’s safe and he can protect & love her)

2. to knock her up (hence the. ahem. reproductive abilities of the robot) so that he can trap her with a baby on top of all the other emotional strings he’s hogtied her with.

does gideon want mc too?

the question is not would gideon smash her. the question is would caleb LET him…. 👀

also, below i just attached a screenie from some of the notes i took. theyre ofc a little disjointed but i think it might clarify things too :] im so bad at answering questions esp for a plot this spiraling but i really tried my best guys my brain is tired forgive me :,)

#mailbox #big girls don’t cry #why was answering all these questions harder than writing the fic 😭#i feel like i cant easily put this all in laymans’s terms im sorry 🥲#but i hope this cleared things up at least a lil bit haha 🫰#the lore is sooo deep but its complicated asf so i tried to make the answers here as simple and short as possible #if u want more clarity on certain stuff tho just ask me hehe #also if i ever write a caleb x mc x gideon… expect them both to be up to no good like they are here 💀#gideon is a lil handsome im ngl #thomas cute too #but thats besides the point #believe it or not this is me at lowest yap state

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pizzaapeteer · 3 months ago

Text

speed dating

mattheo riddle x fem! reader. week 1 of @acourtofchaos festivalofau event!!

street racer!mattheo can't take his eyes off you even when he's driving, especially when you bring his heart to life by impressing him with your own skills.

an: big thanks to my love leigh for proofreading <3 I don't know anything about cars - this is very much inspired/uses fast and furious scenes, and I look forward to eventually writing a full fic for this au. ty for your patience as always <3 wc: 1.9k

"Okay, so next time, we're definitely dancing," you say with excited exasperation, the two of you exiting the rowdy Cuban restaurant and into the heart of street life. It's nearing 11pm on Friday, the beat of the night is picking up pace, like the rhythm of a song, the lively chatter blending into the roars of cars flashing by you.

He laughs, shaking his head, "oh sweet cheeks, you won't catch me dancing," sliding his hands from his pockets, he places one on your lower back, gently guiding you respectfully. "Or at least not till the fourth shot of tequila."

The sound is so deep and rich; a low hum like a car's engine that makes your insides squirm with delight, and then he smiles like he's been doing all night. His lips curling up on the edges in a way that if his eyes weren't matching its sincerity, he'd have you queasy in an entirely different way.

The way he looks at you, brown eyes that glimmer with warmth under the glow of the amber streetlights, as if light is blooming out from inside him. It's hard not to get attached, and that's the last thing you need right now. You've only known him a week. But there's something enticing, though dangerous about him, like a shot of whiskey knowing it's going to burn on the way down but overall spreading a fire of heat in the pit of your stomach.

Offering him an infectious smile of your own playing on the challenge presenting itself. "Sounds as if you're encouraging me to get you intoxicated." Ardently, you raise a brow at his inquiry. "Is that something that interests you?"

"There are a lot of things about you that interest me." His eyes sparkle with mystery, as he grins boyishly like he knew the affect those words would have on you.

You play it cool and collected, smiling back at him, the two of you strolling side by side, the silence isn't uncomfortable, and it hardly seems quiet with your heart becoming erratic, thumping around inside your ribcage like a hummingbird's wings.

You pass by distinct smells of nicotine, a cigarette shared by couples couped in the alcoves of their doorways. Clangs and rackets of neighbourhood cats, balancing along fences, chasing one another. There are bopping beats of music heard from the thriving clubs and bars further down, invitingly attracting groups of young people from all over town.

"So, this is me, my ride." Mattheo comments, as he stops you outside a parked bright orange car. He's offered to take you home, for a multiple of reasons. Some are selfish, wanting to show off his baby, not that he thinks you'll be highly interested, but it's his ego and pride, and it's worn just like the paint and wax shining proudly on the exterior.

Other reasons, safety and protectiveness. He's always cared about women, and while he's only known you a week, he's grown extremely fond of you. He doesn't want you catching the bus like how you got here. And well, third, he just can't take his eyes off of you. He's never smiled so damn much on a date, the unfamiliar feeling of it beginning to make him nauseous. But it will be worth it, if it means he gets to see more of you.

"Woah, no way! You drive a supra turbo MKIV? That's so sick." The sudden and surprising exclamation from you makes his heart pound faster. Your jaw is practically touching the concrete, unable to pull your eyes away from the beast before you, a glimmer of awe in your eyes.

That is before you remember you're actually trying to impress Mattheo and not come across like a psychotic car fanatic, clearing your throat and tucking your hair back timidly. "I mean it's, um, a pretty colour."

He laughs heartily, amused by your quick and terribly obvious action to hide your knowledge of cars. He flashes you a charming smile, feeling in wonder at the woman beginning to unravel, fishing his keys out. "You know cars?”

Pulling your eyes off of his car, you nod, admitting your fascination with them with a wide grin, "Yeah, a thing or two."

“You wanna take a spin?"

Flabbergasted, you speak, "What, seriously?" When you realize stupidly, this is your only way home you're clambering into the vehicle with buzzing excitement. It's so beautiful, the interior's sleek black seats lined with soft leather that have you sinking right into them.

The dashboard illuminates, lighting up a neon orange, and the roar of the engine comes to life. It’s loud and powerful and makes your heartbeat full of adrenaline, a smile gracing your lips with excitement.

Mattheo's expression matches yours, his eyes blown a little darker, revving the car again, the deep rumble vibrating down to his bones. He flicks on the radio before he shifts the clutch into drive, taking off down the road and merging into the mainstream flow.

It's busy, the night awakening with charged energy as Mattheo swerves in and out between gaps of cars, the wind blowing through your hair, the summer warmth of ocean breezes. "Where do you wanna go?"

You look over at him, only to find him already looking at you. The contact makes your pulse spike just like the kilometers increasing on the dash are. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, matching the roaring of the car. You don't even know him that well, and yet you have full trust in his ability to maneuver through the thick onslaught of traffic without looking.

He’s clearly got an edge of cockiness to him as his eyes continue to flicker back and forth, always taking the extra time to focus his gaze on you just a little longer. "Up for ice cream?"

The casualness in which he asks makes you laugh, "Might wanna keep your eyes on the road, pretty boy."

“Why you think we’re gonna crash?”

Flashing him a playful grin, you shrug. "Not sure yet. Should I be making a bet?"

He grins, enthused by your lack of worry, his hand shifting up the gear and pressing his foot harder onto the acceleration, the two of your eyes staying locked in contact. Mattheo's eyes no longer resembled that cool tone of warmth he exerted in the restaurant.

They shine brightly with a glimmer of exhilaration and a hint of darkening mischief. His smile is full and broad, expressing the thrill and joy he felt, like a boy with his favourite toy.

The car zips with smooth control in between gaps, as flashes of vehicles pass in a blur on either side. The steady hum of vibrations continues drowning out the radio completely. All that's left is the wind, and the intense atmosphere shared between the two of you, making you wanna stay in the car forever.

A wave of disbelief cascades out of you with a breath of relief when he finally breaks, slowing down for the nearest stoplight. His eyes finally break their contact from you, and he relaxes his grip, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel. Taking the next right, he pulls up to the sidewalk, outside an adorable ice cream shop.

He tousles his dark curls, gazing at you with admiration he can't help but feel a sense of pride for your reaction to his flirtation. "How this?" Your body feels electric, the familiar dopamine rush fuelling every nerve. It's been so long since you got in a car this fast, you're craving more. "Not bad show pony." Grinning, you run a hand through your windblown hair, detangling the newly made knots.

"Driving or the dessert?" Mattheo asks, offering a toothy grin, angling his body towards you, resting his arms along the tops of the steering wheel. He's eager to impress. It's not often Mattheo wants to put real effort into his dates with pretty ladies. His mind constantly set on autopilot, a two-step routine. 1. Rev the beast and blow her mind and 2. rev his beast and blow her mind.

And now he sits, admiring a beautiful woman, sitting in his passenger seat, looking like she's stepped straight out one of Enzo's automobile sex magazines. Excluding the lack of clothing, though, his mind has already gone there.

But there's something more about the way you're looking at him, a burning blaze of wildness that lights your face. It's radiant and alluring and he feels the pull, the magnet attracting him further in, something you're offering he didn't know he wanted.

You huff, amused, and don't answer yet, letting his question linger in the charged space between you two. "Both."

Pleased with your answer he begins to exit the car when you spit out the proposed suggestion, an itch that's dying to be scratched. "But! may I counter a second opinion?"

He sits back down at your polite protest, shrugging, he doesn't mind what the two of you do as long as you're enjoying yourself. "Yeah, sure just tell me where you wanna go."

"Actually, is it cool if i drive?" With a flutter of your lashes, you give him your best adorable smile full of sweetness, a known trick of yours to make a man concave in a heartbeat.

He raises an intrigued brow, wanting to make sure he's heard you correctly. "You want to drive?" The genuine smile on your face melts his heart, and he's suddenly stammering around like a dickhead, "Ah-I mean yeah alright."

As the two of you switch places, he can't help but think what the hell he's even doing, letting some random chick drive his baby. But it's that look in your eye, the sense of belonging and ease in which you sink into the driver's seat, that makes him relax with full faith you won't crash his precious car.

Gripping the soft leather of the steering wheel, you immediately feel at home in the right seat. Familiar goosebumps of excited nerves prickle at your skin, turning the ignition, awakening the car back to life. Pressing your now bare foot hard onto the acceleration, you veer off, merging back into the nighttime flow of traffic. The prodigies breathe, blasts through the vehicle as you turn the speaker up, giggling with comfort.

Mattheo watches bemused by your infectious happiness, how comfortable and free you appear. The wind fanning out through your hair, as you grip the wheel with a sense of familiarity glancing at him every so often with full-blown bliss. The car cruises into downtown Miami; zooming along the roads smoothly and Mattheo starts up the conversation again.

"Not bad-" his words halt on his tongue as the car swerves, swinging around wide, cutting across the next lane spinning in a 180, positioning the car backwards. That contagious laugh fills the car once again, as blares of horns honk from left and right at the sudden commotion.

His sweet brown eyes widen in surprise, and you giggle again at his reaction, snapping your head behind to see where to go. The car waltzes in and out of spaces, maneuvering skillfully between the lanes.

He’s never believed in a god above, or soulmates or true love for that matter, but in that moment as his heart threatens to jump right out of his body he’s sure destiny has thrown him a bone and landed the most perfect woman in his lap. With everything he's learnt about you in the last couple hours, this knocks it all out of the park. How can a woman be this hot? His body is tense, including his cock that he swears is spurring to life faster than the miles on the dash are pushing.

He's frozen, mesmerized at the scene, stuck in a state of pure astonishment and awe. His pulse is rising as he looks at the window, watching how the car swerves sharply. Repositioning itself facing forwards, to take the next right onto the offramp, leaving behind the sounds of tires screeching and another round of horns blaring behind.

Glancing at him, another free-flowing giggle escapes catching his bewildered stare, the car coming to a halt outside a charming sorbet parlour. Cutting the engine, you slip your shoes back on and exit the car.

He's still a little dazed comprehending the fact he wants to skip the rest of the date and drive you straight to bed the keys landing in his lap. You offer one of your famous shit-eating grins already on the pavement, “come on, keep up, Bambi.”

⤷ navigation. ⤷ masterlist. ⤷ mattheo masterlist. ⤷ dividers. All work is my own and is not to be copied, claimed or stolen. ©️pizzaapeteer 2025. ty for reading!!!

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x fem reader #festivalsofau #mattheo riddle fluff #streetracer! mattheo #fast and furious #fast and furious au #fast and furious mattheo riddle

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choerypetal · 4 months ago

Text

Mother Figure | Batfamily. Bruce Wayne x Reader

summary: Bruce offers you the promise he made a long time ago. To marry him and become his wife. Later he eventually adopts Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Barbara. All of a loving family, until one sibling in particular finally finds himself right at home.

ps English isn't my first language, so i apologize for small errors.

How it started:

Dick was the very first to be adopted into the family, and Bruce took him under his wing almost immediately. At the time, you hesitated with the idea—it was a significant change, especially considering Bruce had never truly experienced a childhood himself. Not after witnessing both his parents death.

On one night, just as you were about to make yourself something to eat, a sharp knock echoed from your front door. You called out, “Coming!” without thinking much of it—until you opened the door and found your childhood friend standing there. A soft gasp as soon as you met him at the door. “Bruce… Why so late?”

Bruce looked worn down. His hair was damp, his clothes disheveled, and he hadn’t been sleeping—anyone could tell. He stepped inside without a word. The silence wasn’t unusual, but something about him that night made you more anxious than usual. You caught yourself gently chewing at your fingernails as you offered him a cup of hot coffee. He took it without protest and followed you to the living room.

You both sat in silence, the television murmuring in the background, while rain continued to pour steadily against the windows—Gotham’s lullaby.

You hadn’t realized how much silence it would take to finally notice the small, quiet details of life—until Bruce’s hand brushed gently against your leg. A sigh escaped him, heavy and worn. A part of you wanted to lean in, to hold him, but you chose instead to respect his space. “You remember when we used to talk about building a family someday?” he asked softly, his eyes fixed on the coffee mug cradled in his hands.

You gave a small nod.

“That if we were still single by our twenties, we’d… arrange a marriage.”

Your gaze met his then. Of course you remembered. It was just a few months ago, right before Christmas. The snow had been falling in thick, quiet sheets. You’d been a wreck—your partner of three years had left you without warning. You’d ended up at the gates of Wayne Manor, a mess of heartbreak and numbness, and Bruce had found you there. From that night on, he promised to protect you—from the world, from yourself, from whatever darkness came.

“Yes…” you said, your voice low. You remembered every word.

Even so, it had taken time for you to believe he truly meant it. But now, as he sat beside you, his touch lingering and his words hanging in the air, you understood.

Tonight, he did.

Then, without a word, Bruce slowly lowered one knee to the floor. His hand reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small box. Your breath caught the moment he opened it—a delicate, glimmering ring nestled inside, catching the light in the most breathtaking way.

You gasped, not just from shock, but from the sheer beauty of it. Words failed you. Both hands flew to your face as tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as you choked out a soft response—barely audible, but clear enough. You nodded, again and again, unable to stop yourself from smiling through the tears.

Bruce’s smile was gentle, full of quiet certainty. He took your hand with care, sliding the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly—of course it did. He had planned everything.

And in that moment, as he leaned in to kiss you, it felt like the beginning of the perfect marriage.

Becoming the Mother of the BatFamily:

It wasn’t an easy life to step into. Being part of the Wayne legacy meant your relationship would never stay private for long. News would spread across Gotham in an instant, with journalists camping outside the manor, desperate for even the smallest detail. The attention was relentless. So much so that Bruce insisted you stay within the manor unless he said otherwise—his way of protecting you from any danger.

Surprisingly, you felt a strange relief in his caution. It allowed you to breathe, to settle into the rhythm of your new life—not just as Bruce’s wife, but as a soon-to-be mother. And in that quiet sanctuary, far from the flashing cameras and murmurs of the city, you finally began to embrace the peace you never thought possible.

Of course Bruce knew the Joker would taken a twisted interest in you. It was exactly the kind of danger he anticipated—which meant there was always someone from his team discreetly patrolling the manor grounds. Whether it was one of his own or some cutting-edge tech only Wayne Industries could produce, Bruce made sure every precaution was in place.

Letting the Joker get to you was never an option—not with everything else at stake. Not when he also had to protect Dick, Jason, Tim, Barbara, and Damian. You weren’t just his wife. You were part of the family now. And nothing in Gotham was more important to Bruce than keeping that family safe.

Out of all the kids, Dick took the quickest liking to you. Barbara followed not far behind, then Tim, Damian—and of course, Jason in his own way. But it was Dick who made the effort feel effortless. He’d often join you in the kitchen, cheerful and attentive, and every morning your lips curved into a soft smile when he was the first to rise for training with Bruce, only to wander in and quietly start helping you with the dishes.

“Let me help you,” he’d insist, already rolling up his sleeves.

You would open your mouth to gently decline—only to be cut off by the familiar warmth of Bruce’s arms wrapping around you from behind. A silent reminder that you weren’t alone anymore. You were his.

Bruce’s firm arms wrapped around your waist as he leaned in, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. It was gestures like this—quiet, tender, and unspoken—that you cherished most about him. He wasn’t flashy, never one to boast or show off. But when he chose to be affectionate, he made sure there was no mistaking it.

“Geez... Love you, Mom,” Jason’s voice suddenly cut through the moment, catching you off guard. “But can you at least get a room?”

You let out a startled gasp, half laughing, while Bruce remained entirely unfazed. If anything, his grip tightened, and his teeth brushed teasingly against your skin, dangerously close to leaving a mark. You let out a soft whine, half protest, half thrill, and reached down to tap his hand.

“Bruce,” you warned gently. He groaned in reply, shaking his head like a stubborn child. “Jason’s grumpy all the time…” he muttered against your neck, refusing to let go.

“Well perhaps I am grumpy for a good reason!” Jason complains as he steals a warm pancake from the plate. “Mom is our mother you know? I know you like showing her off but damn. This early.”

And then it clicked. Your eyes widened at the unfamiliar words Jason was suddenly using. Not just you, but everyone had never heard him speak like this—at least not until now. Tim couldn’t resist teasing his brother, “You’re going to make her cry,” he said, nudging Jason’s arm. He didn’t actually mean it, but the moment the words left his mouth, he felt guilty. Poor thing, just a naive boy, Tim thought, chuckling as he swiped a pancake from his sibling. Dick’s laughter echoed softly in the background.

Jason noticed, though. When your gaze lifted, now free from Bruce’s grip as you handed him a coffee, you leaned in to kiss his cheek, smiling softly. You mimicked Tim’s teasing tone, using the exact same words to nudge Jason further. On the other side, completely oblivious to the playful exchange, Bruce added, “Yeah, J. Be a little nicer to your mother.” You nudged your husband’s side gently before giving your arm a playful slap, chuckling as he did.

Jason groaned, his lips forming a soft, yet annoyed pout. “I wasn’t trying to be mean! I just said, 'get a room,' geez. If we can’t–” But before he could finish, you walked behind him, setting a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon beside him. You kissed his cheek, and now he was just plain confused. “It’s not that what you said wasn’t reasonable,” you said with a smile, “but rather the fact that you finally acknowledged the family.” Now it was his turn to blush. He looked around at everyone, all smiling at him, with Bruce nodding proudly in the background.

“And it only took him 22 years to finally call her 'mom,’” Bruce teased, though deep down, you understood why Jason had never said it before. After all these years, he was still that hurt boy, longing to find a family of his own, to be loved by both a father and a mother.

Jason looked back at you and Bruce, rolling his eyes but mirroring the same smile that made his words sound less convincing. “Yeah, yeah, I love her just as much as you do, jackass.” With that, everyone moved in to embrace him. A huff escaped his mouth, and he groaned, “Alright, alright! I love y’all. Can I get a little breather here?”

And even though there was a slight annoyance in his tone, it was the loving gazes of his parents and siblings that made him realize, for the first time, he truly felt at home.

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