#the potential for angst with this exists too i’m sure | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daycourtofficial · 5 months ago

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Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one - part five

Pairing: Eris x Azriel x reader | WC: 6k | warnings: general angst, canon violence, blood, loose medical stuff that likely doesn’t make sense

Summary: avoiding Azriel only works for so long when he uses Rhysand to get you to see Eris one more time. You’re more than shocked when your meeting is ambushed, wounds making you reconsider things.

A/N: we’re insecure, and we don’t know what for! Anyway please enjoy 💕

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After Azriel had left you in the bathroom, you stood there for what had to have been hours, the last remnants of his warmth clinging to the air around you. You had never felt so alone, his rejection an intense sting you were certain branded your soul.

Your chest felt heavy with his presence. At some point in the night you had finally figured out how to shut him out. The iron was heavy as it shackled your heart, cutting off the mate who was supposed to protect you, not knowing he was who you needed protection from.

Sleep didn’t come to you that night and it was a battle the next night to sleep for even a few hours. Your mind felt stale and stagnated, yearning for the fixation that was his journals. Azriel had given the most recent one to you just before rejecting you, not even having the chance to crack the spine yet. His confession that Eris was above you still stung too much.

You spent most of your time outside of work now laying in bed, unable to stop your thoughts from analyzing every angle of your entire relationship with Azriel. You hardly slept, no idea how much time had passed in the stillness of your grief.

Rotting in bed was an option both Nesta and the House did not appreciate - the latter stopped giving you full meals, the former making her way into your room this afternoon informing you that you would be seen at dinner so she had proof you were alive and eating.

The last people you wanted to see were happily mated couples, practically rubbing their mateship in your face just by existing. The Mother was surely testing you in some way, and you weren’t sure if you could handle the outcome of failing.

You had left your room one singular night during your solitude. The moon had been bright through the windows as you snuck to the library, leaving a note for Clotho to deliver a book on failed mating bonds to your room in the House of Wind.

It was an unusual request, but you knew Clotho would do it. You spent many nights in the library pouring over textbooks, dropping off various sweets for Clotho and the other priestesses in offering and thanks for their help.

By the next afternoon the book was on your bedside table, placed there by the house no doubt to ease your embarrassment from the nosey eyes of Cassian. Now the book on broken bonds sat on top of the last journal you had gotten from Azriel, taunting you with your future within its pages.

They were all going to find out eventually that Azriel had rejected you, but that left you in an even more impossible situation. Reaching out for comfort from your friends meant Azriel’s secret mating with Eris became public knowledge. No matter how mad or upset you were with the both of them, that was a line you refused to cross.

Would Nesta and Cassian kick you out? If Azriel didn’t want you, surely you’ve lost the friendships you’ve made the past few years with his family?

Maybe you’ll move to Spring. Tamlin surely won’t notice if you just picked a spot and built a house.

You put your head in your hands, wanting to claw the possibilities out to find which one would save you from this grief.

Your self imposed isolation hadn’t kept you safe from seeing Azriel. You had asked Cassian to fly you home from work, a job he did with delight. You avoided dinners, changed your entire schedule to maximize your potential to avoid him.

And yet you’d pass him in the hallway, see him in the stairs, and find him in the kitchen. He was everywhere, each appearance only pissing you off further. Every time you ignored him, even going so far as to bump him with your shoulder when passing by.

But he never said anything. Just looked in your direction, his eyes not catching the light like they used to. His shadows don’t even follow you around anymore. They clung to Azriel like a second skin as if holding him upright.

Were you a failure? Had any other fae had such a short mating? Was it even truly a mating?

Your anger had been simmering for a while, but now as you descended the steps to dinner, your rage was palpable, nearly carrying it with you like Azriel does with his shadows. You craved it, needed it to hold you through seeing him, having to pretend he hasn’t laughed in the face of the Mother and carved out your heart.

But your anger was for naught as you approached the dining room. Azriel wasn’t there amongst the faces of his family, a rarity for the House of Wind. Usually dinners consisted of Nesta, Cassian, and Azriel, but tonight Rhys and Feyre were in attendance, a small Nyx situated on Feyre’s left.

Your fury tampered down, taking it off the heat and letting it cool down as you walked in, all eyes turning to you.

“Just in time! Now can we eat, Nes?” Cassian was impatient, his fork already in hand, clearly waiting for the second you showed up.

“Let her sit down first, Cassian.” Rhysand laughed. “Or perhaps you’re going to gnaw on her legs, hm?”

The growl of Cassian’s stomach rippled through the air, his body’s own testament to the discomfort it felt.

“Go ahead and dig in, I wouldn’t want Cassian to starve.” Cassian let out a ‘thank you’ between mouthfuls as you sat across from Nesta. She watched as you sat, her eyes tracking as you picked up the tongs to plate your food. She didn’t relax until you began eating, and even then it was only enough for her to eat.

You watched her watch you, confused about her intensity, not even paying attention to Rhys and Feyre’s light teasing of each other.

It was wonderful that they had happiness with each other. Good for them. You stabbed your chicken with a bit more force, chewing slowly, putting on a show for whatever Nesta was watching for.

“Azriel should be back in time tomorrow.” It was almost comical how quickly your ears tuned into the conversation at his name.

“In time for what? What’s going on tomorrow?” It was the first words you had spoken, and you didn’t notice the glances they all shot to each other. Rhys turned his attention to you, violet eyes kind as he spoke.

��You and Azriel will be seeing Eris tomorrow.”

“We are?” The incredulity of your tone could be heard from streets away, other family dinners halting at the annoyed tone that floated on the breeze.

“Yes, he told me Eris is quite chatty with you. Azriel left word that Eris had something important to share and that it was urgent the two of you met with him.”

You blinked a few times, trying to push your anger aside to make way for the bewilderment. Had Eris called for this? Or was it Azriel, finally wishing to put an end to this?

Your heart hammered, the string around it pulsating tighter, worried it would be broken and left unraveled to slosh around inside your chest for eternity.

“Maybe Eris likes you.” Cassian made kissing sounds at you. Your eyes remained fixed on Rhysand, as if the longer you looked the more answers you’d get. He tilted his head, the slight caress of a claw tapping onto your mental shields the only thing to get you out of your trance.

“Don’t be gross, Cass.” Feyre chided despite her giggles. “I don’t think he’s capable of enjoying anything.”

“Eris likes fresh blood.”

“So did Amren.”

“Rhys, I’m not sure if I should go.” You broke up their joking, finally responding to Rhys’s prodding. You were pleading with your High Lord, trying to make him understand you can’t.

“I know he’s a bit much, but if Azriel’s right and Eris has some soft spot for you, it’d be in our best interest to exploit it.”

How far Cassian had been from the truth. Eris would delight in nothing more than ripping out your arteries with his teeth.

You nodded silently, looking back to your plate, pushing the peas around. You don’t say another word, you’re not even keeping watch of Nesta before retiring for the evening.

Rhysand hadn’t given you a time to expect to leave, so you spent the morning working with Madja, telling her you’d have to leave at noon to attend to some affairs Rhysand had asked of you. The older fae was annoyed, her wrinkles deepening, but she kept her mouth shut before walking off, muttering something about young males in power.

A few patients had come in, mostly to have previous injuries checked for an all clear. The cold snap in Velaris had left several fae slipping on ice, many twisted ankles keeping you busy the past few weeks.

You left promptly at noon, saying goodbye to Madja before heading out. Seeing your most recent patients had you checking every step for ice, ensuring sure footing before fully putting your weight down as you headed to the end of the road, already seeing the tips of Cassian’s wings.

You bundled yourself in your coat, burying your face into your scarf as you began mentally preparing yourself for seeing Azriel. Eris you could handle - he was cruel, but manageable. He never pretended to be something he wasn’t. But Azriel kept popping in and out, handling you delicately and with care before shattering you unexpectedly. Your heart was beating faster at the thought of seeing him, while also sinking deep into your stomach.

Your eyes followed the cobblestones, being mindful of any patches of ice, too busy to notice until you were right in front of him that it wasn’t Cassian you had seen. His blue chest siphon m was the first thing you saw, a soft expletive leaving your lips before you could stop it.

“Hello to you too.”

You finally looked up, his shadows peeking out from the collar of his leathers, tracing up his neck in beautiful patterns. You nodded in greeting.

“Where’s Cassian?”

“We’re heading straight for Spring, so I told him I could come by and get you.”

It was painfully silent as the two of you stood there, Azriel’s head moving constantly to try to catch your eye. His annoyance flared up in your chest, and you were too absorbed in it to shut it down.

“Talk to me.” His voice was pleading, but with a sharp edge.

“I don’t want to.” Your tone was petulant, a childishness to it that was uncommon.

“Why not?”

“You’ve made your opinion of me very clear. Besides, don’t you need Eris’s permission to talk to me first?” He sighed, the siphon on his chest glowing slightly. “Surely he’ll be upset you had to hold onto me to winnow here. Maybe he’ll have soap on hand to scrub your hands of me once and for all.”

“You’re being childish.”

“Can we just get this over with? I know why we’re here and I don’t exactly want to linger for a long time.”

Azriel’s eyebrows shot up at the curtness in your tone, but you couldn’t be bothered with niceties anymore. You were exhausted of chasing after him, begging for his attention, just for it to always be on Eris. The sooner this was over, the sooner you could move on.

He reached his hands out, gently scooping you into his arms. You took care not to dive nose first into his neck like last time, not wanting his scent to overpower you or make you spiral further.

The bond inside of you was rattling in your ribcage, desperate for you to fight, to snark, to do something to get Azriel’s attention. But you blocked it out, only looking ahead for the entirety of the flight.

The two of you landed in the familiar spot, an earthy scent clinging to the air. The spot was empty, and you felt Azriel’s stomach drop in disappointment at the knowledge through the bond. Your hand rubbed across your face before you quickly tampered down the bond, not wanting to know how they’re feeling about this.

The two of you waited for several minutes. The chittering of the forest was loud, heightening the awkward silence. It was so green and bright in Spring, the plant growth nearly blinding after the intense snowfall Night had been experiencing.

You felt Azriel’s eyes on you, hazel irises unwilling to depart from your form. Your name was a soft exhale from his lips, a pleading tone that would have sent past you spiraling. It only furthered your resolve.

“Don’t do that. I’m only here out of duty to Rhysand. My High Lord asked this of me, and frankly, it’ll likely be the last time Eris ever sees me.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I’m done. Clearly the Mother was wrong and clearly you and Eris both know that. It’s just taken me until now to figure that out myself.”

“That’s not true.”

You finally looked at him. Your beautiful, beautiful mate, who had always been so kind to you. He had been nothing more than a charade, a carefully crafted story to deter from his actual mate. You straightened your shoulders to gather your words, trying to voice your exact thoughts.

“No, Azriel. I’m done being your second choice, I’m done being strung along. I don’t want that for me, and as my mate, you shouldn’t want it either. So treat me with the respect I deserve and recognize I’m only here because of Rhys’s asking. You and Eris have made your opinions of me very clear.”

Azriel opened his mouth, but rage flew from yours. The dam had broken, and now a flood was headed directly for the shadowsinger.

“Was it just so I wouldn’t say anything about you and Eris? Was that why you kept stringing me along? Keep your precious bond between you and Eris, keep it to yourselves, I no longer want any part of it.” It felt incredible to say the words aloud, to try to get the point across. But his face twisted with anger, his wings twitching behind him.

“You were never just a secret keeper. You’re my friend, you’re important to me. I told you about Eris in an effort to show you something! I’m trying to reprioritize, but it’s hard.”

For the first time in ages, a shadow moved from Azriel’s body, swirling around you. You were too caught up to notice the little thing, its attempts to calm you down failing.

“Azriel, when have you ever prioritized me? Every time something happens, you’re gone.”

“What do you want me to do? Eris is my mate.”

“And what am I?”

The question cut through Azriel, slicing between his ribs, the pain fracturing through his chest. He didn’t get a chance to reply before Eris materialized in the woods.

Eris was in more regal attire now, a vest covering his tunic that was likely thousands of hours of embroidery. The stiff collar made his jawline seem sharper, his features even more cutting in such regalia. Eris blended into the trees, making the natural world bend a knee to his beauty.

“I see the two of you are incapable of leaving me alone.” He didn’t even look at the pair of you, looking instead at his manicured nails. Filed to a point, the red polish made it look as if blood were dripping from his fingertips.

“Eris, stop.”

“It’s fine, Azriel. I came on your invitation, after all. What is this most pressing matter?”

“We need to talk.”

“Think of that all by yourself?”

“Shut up, Eris. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know anything going on in your life as of late.”

You looked up, surprised at that tidbit. Maybe you weren’t the only one uncertain of where you stood with the shadowsinger.

“I’m trying to figure it out, Eris.” Azriel’s words were icy, coming from some deep, dark depths of himself.

“What is there to figure out?”

The pause after Eris’s question was too still. The forest was quiet, all birdsong gone. Not even insect chittering to fill the gaps. The world was still outside of the three of you. You looked up into the canopy above you, a chill going down your spine.

“Azriel, I asked you-“

The sound that cut off Eris was a quick burst of wind as an arrow came whizzing past. Azriel was the first to move, pushing you onto the ground, his body laying on top of yours, sheltering you. You pushed against him, trying to get up, trying to see, but he wasn’t budging. Panic flooded you as his wings formed a cocoon around the two of you, what should have been a womb of safety felt more like a cage.

Wood splintered as arrows hit trees, impossible to tell how many fae were targeting the three of you. It sounded like hundreds of arrows, each whizzing past at speeds that could easily kill.

Your breathing quickened as a new worry overtook you: had Azriel been shot? Was he injured?

And where was Eris?

Azriel grunted into your ear, his body jolting. His arms cradled your head, not even a slither of light coming through. This darkness was so different from the one that followed Azriel. It felt nearly suffocating, not even his shadows pittered about in it. It felt cold and hopeless

You could hear the roar of flames beyond the shelter of Azriel’s body, the crackling getting closer to the pair of you. Sweating and breathing heavy, it felt like Azriel’s body weighed even more. You tried to push him off again, but your ragged breathing made it even harder.

Something reached through Azriel’s body, a warm touch gripping your wrist. A flicker of light made it through, not enough for you to see anymore than a blinding white. Suddenly the world shifted, the mud beneath you hardening into wood floors. Azriel’s body was heavier now, his weight digging into you.

“Push.” A muffled voice came from somewhere beyond Azriel, nearly muffled by his body. Fear struck through you - was this whoever had ambushed you? Was Azriel the intended target and you were simply a bystander?

Or was Eris the target, carted off to some court while they dealt with the witnesses?

Despite the panic, your heart tugged in the direction of the voice, practically guiding your arms to push Azriel from you. As you did, more and more light filtered to your eyes, his shadows clinging tight to his body, securing their master’s wounds.

Pale hands wrapped around Azriel’s torso, and you thought you’d never be so happy to see the ring clad fingers of the Vanserra. It took a moment, but Eris was able to lift Azriel enough for you to crawl out from beneath him.

You glanced over Eris, the only injury to be seen were cuts on his face and arms. Relief flooded you at the sight of him, your breaths still shallow. You felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins, only speeding up with the lack of danger. The cabin was dark around you, the place seeming more empty than when you were here last.

“Aren’t you a healer?” Eris had been speaking to you for several moments by this point, his words a buzzing you couldn’t make out until now.

“Yes.”

“Then help him.”

You were frozen, unable to do anything other than look at your hands. You had never been in combat before - during the Battle of Hybern you had been left in the city to run the clinic, the only one left behind.

Azriel’s blood was on your hands, sinking into your skin. Are your bones marked red now?

“Useless.” Eris was a wildfire, moving quickly down the hall before coming back, his arms full of tonics and bandages. The sight snapped you back, your thoughts coming in full force at what to do. You stood, moving quickly to stop Eris.

“Stop, you need to give him some pain medication first.” You rifled through the bottles and bits, each of Azriel’s labored breaths making your heart sink further and further.

“No, we need the arrows out of his back, they’re killing him.”

“I can give him some medicine to manage the pain first. Removing the arrows will mean we’ll have to act quick to stop the blood. It’s better to give him something for the pain now.” Your voice took a sharp edge, the commanding tone of someone in charge. “Then we take out the arrows in his wings.”

Eris’s face was hard as he looked toward you, no doubt hating you even more. Azriel dove to protect you - his state now should have been you. You found the bottle you needed, it’s not as strong as you’d like, but it’s the best you can do.

“Azriel, you have to swallow this.” Your hand gently caressed his cheek, letting him know someone was there. He slowly opened his mouth, allowing you to pour the purple liquid down it. The grimace he made almost made you laugh, like this were any other time, having him eat something unappetizing because Nesta had made it.

Fire stung at your fingers, but you ignored Eris as Azriel finished the potion.

“Okay, we need to trim off the tops of the arrows so we can pull them out more easily. Eris, find a knife and use your fire to sterilize it.”

He started to open his mouth, but you leveled him with a stare that had him quickly closing it.

“Are you going to waste our time by second guessing everything I tell you? If you bothered to let Azriel tell you anything you would know I work directly beneath the court’s healer and am quite competent.”

Eris’s sharp canines protruded from his mouth, a low growl emitting from him, but no more protests as he heated a knife.

“Az, we’re going to cut off the arrow heads and remove them from your wings. Can you stretch your wings out for me?” You rubbed your thumb across his cheek, trying to offer any tenderness he could hold onto.

He nodded so softly you hardly noticed it, his wing unfurling ever so slowly. It didn’t extend fully, but he got about three fourths of the way there.

“I’m going to help you stretch it out this last bit, okay? I need to see all of your wings to help.” You sent a light pulse of what you hoped was soothing down the bond before closing it off again, bending to rest on your knees as you sat in front of his left wing.

Several arrows had pierced through the delicate membrane, but only four remained caught in his wings. You swallowed down your guilt - it wasn’t what Azriel needed now. He needed Madja’s apprentice, not his rejected mate right now. You took a deep breath before extending his wing further, ignoring Azriel’s groans of pain.

“Eris, hold his wing taut.” The uncertainty slipped off like a second skin, making way for the commanding presence you took on for the care of your patients. Once Eris had his wing, you took the hot knife from his hand, quickly and methodically snipping off the heads of the arrows, making sure to hold the base to keep it stabilized before pulling each one out.

You pulled the wood slowly, trying to keep the wood from grazing his skin again. Each arrow went into a pile behind you until his left wing was clean of them, the holes they left the only reminder of them. The two of you repeated the process for his right wing, this one only having three arrows in it, the extraction going much more quickly.

“Is he still awake?” Eris shuffled before a grunt of agreement came from Azriel.

“Azriel, we have to move to the arrows on your back. It’s going to hurt, but we’re going to move fast.” You looked back to the bottles of potions Eris had found, searching for anything that could help Azriel clot faster or sanitize the wounds.

“Why didn’t we do his back first? It’s worse and the arrows are draining him.”

“Because I’m not sure how much blood he’s going to lose. It was a 50/50 gamble, either way.”

“A gamble? Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Of course I know what I’m doing, Eris! I’m dealing with a squabbling family member who thinks they know better and are keeping me from my job. My job right now is to save his life, not argue with you over semantics. Now either shut up or get out.”

You don’t even watch to see his response, your attention solely on Azriel again. Your hands worked of their own accord, rubbing potions across his back, careful around the protruding arrows. You eventually looked up to find Eris just staring at you.

“Have him drink this.”

Eris took the vial, coaxing it down Azriel’s throat, murmuring softly to the shadowsinger.

“Do you have any towels or rags? We’ll need as many as you have.” Your hands felt down his back, his skin riddled with scars, each one telling a story. You couldn’t fixate on them - how the small nick by his third rib was made by steel a little over a century ago. The sideways gash across his fourth vertebrae made from a carbon blade roughly twenty years prior.

You focused on his current wounds, pinpointing how far the arrows have lodged themselves. You closed your eyes, feeling for his body. A path unfurled in your mind’s eye, following the layers of tissue and muscle the arrow penetrated.

Both arrows avoided the soft, delicate organs housed in his chest, but the longer they stayed inside, the likelihood they’d cause more damage to him.

“Eris, as I remove the arrows, I need you to immediately place rags on the wound. The arrow didn’t pierce any organs, but it cut through several veins. Is Azriel still awake?”

“Yes,” it came out as a croak, so different from Eris’s usual snark and calm.

Eris was ready as you pulled the arrow out, quick and unflinching. A spurt of blood followed the arrow, shooting onto you before Eris covered the wound.

“I can either move onto the next one or start trying to close this one up.” You were muttering to yourself, trying to decide on a course of action.

“The faebane in the arrowhead will make his healing take longer, it’d be better to pull it out.”

The faebane from the arrows was already swimming through Azriel’s bloodstream, but Eris was right - the sooner it comes out, the better for Azriel. You nodded to Eris.

“Right. Keep holding pressure while I pull this other one out. Then we’ll switch sides and I’ll start working on healing him.”

The second arrow was much messier, Eris’s rags darkening with blood much more quickly. The air held a copper tang that was getting stronger by the minute, your concern rising with it.

“Eris, do you know how to count heartbeats?” You don’t even watch for a response before you start explaining. “Count how many times his heart beats for a minute, and then keep repeating. After a few times you’ll know if his heart rate is steady or not.”

You focused on one wound at a time, magic making its way through Azriel’s skin, slowly stitching up the path of destruction the arrowhead forged. It was slow work, his body fighting against the faebane with every breath.

Every ten minutes or so you made Eris help Azriel drink water, hoping the fluids will help wash out the toxin. Each time he did, he’d also make a call out of Azriel’s heart rate.

Azriel remained unconscious, his heart rate changing drastically every few minutes. It had dropped quickly a time or two, causing Eris to panic, but Azriel’s heart rate never got below a threshold, always staying where it could manage.

The sun had set at some point, the cabin surrounded by darkness. Your hands ached from stillness, your joints crying out to move even just a little, but you refused, remaining steadfast. You were a conduit for the magic that lived inside you, magic that was slowly stitching Azriel back together again.

“Here.” Eris sat next to you, holding the cup of water before your face. You hadn’t heard him move, too focused on Azriel. You shook your head, pointedly looking down to your hands.

“I can’t.”

“I can help you.” You looked to find a new expression on his face, something you’re not sure anyone had ever seen on the male. As much as cruelty sharpened his cheekbones, the softness of his eyes made him nearly blinding in the moonlight. You nodded, unable to speak. He held the cup up to your lips, the cold liquid refreshing as it trailed down your throat. Your hands remained on Azriel, but you gulped down the entire cup, not realizing just how parched you were.

Eris pulled the cup away, settling in next to you. More time passed, all of it a blur as you kept your focus on Azriel. Neither of you spoke. Azriel’s face was pale, from blood loss or his shadows having gone missing, you’re not sure.

You slumped back against the couch, rolling your stiff neck. Azriel’s wounds weren’t perfectly healed, but your magic had repaired his blood vessels enough to allow you a break.

It was easy to get swept up in healing - you have a focus, a goal. You know what steps to take next. But as Azriel’s breathing remained strong and steady, yours became shallow. The reality of the day hitting you all at once, Eris’s warmth from next to you making you feel claustrophobic.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Your words were quiet, not much louder than Azriel’s breathing. He was still so close to you, his eyes closed as he laid there. He looked so peaceful.

A month ago you would have salivated at the idea of touching him for hours, but now the smell of his blood made you want to throw up the contents of your stomach.

“He’s yours, Eris. I can’t - you won. I’ll go away, move to the continent to be as far away as possible.” A soft confession that had been lingering in the back of your mind the whole day. You were foolish to believe you could best Eris, completely underestimating the deep well Azriel and Eris’s mating bond ran to.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“You despise me. If you feel anything like I do, you want me gone.”

Eris was still, his heat nearly unbearable despite the distance between you two. It was so hard to breathe around him, as if he were drawing in all the air for himself.

“He doesn’t want me. I’m tired of fighting for his attention when his mind always goes back to you. He was my friend for so long, and the fact he can just toy with me like this.. I’m not sure how to handle it.”

All you could hear was Eris’s breathing, but you knew he was listening.

“He was my friend and now I’m- well, I don’t know what I am. He’s going to pick you, Eris. He doesn’t want me.”

The confession you had been holding so tight slipped from your tongue like silk. The words sent the bond in your chest into a chorus of screams, their agony the perfect soundtrack to your turmoil.

“Say the word and he’s yours.”

For once, Eris was quiet, no words coming from his mouth. He only shook his head, the movement so precise and imperceptible you thought you dreamt it. You looked back at Azriel, needing to prepare to winnow the two of you away.

Coated in his blood, you had to leave sooner rather than later - Rhysand is surely on the cusp of worry, and there was only so much explaining you could do without forfeiting the cabin.

You watched Eris as you grabbed Azriel’s hands, his eyes reflecting all the hurt you’ve felt the past few weeks. Eris was the easy choice to be mad at - you were tied to Azriel, Eris was just some male tethered to the other end of your mate. But watching him keep his gaze on Azriel, some part of your anger to the redhead cracked, allowing the words to come from you.

“I’ll bring him back to you. He’ll be okay.”

“Thank you.”

Eris’s face hardened as the world blurred, your grip on Azriel strong as the ground gave out beneath you, the wood flooring exchanged for the hard stone of the House of Wind. The two words followed you through space and time, ringing in your ears.

Those two words broke you completely, every ounce of sorrow and pain breaking through. There were no soft cries, only guttural wailing.

It was Nesta you saw first, having followed the loud commotion throughout the house. She found you gripping Azriel, softly crying out to him before she pulled deep in her chest to get Cassian’s attention.

She crouched next to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulder as fat tears rolled down your face.

The bond cried out in pain, practically pleading with you to change your decision, but you knew it was the right choice. Once he healed enough, you’d sever it. You had to. Someone had to put an end to the madness, and you could do what Azriel couldn’t.

Azriel almost died because of this stupid arrangement.

Too lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice when Cassian or Rhysand arrived, their voices indistinguishable to the inner anguish you felt. You were exhausted, your soul crying out in pain. You swore you could hear tiny cries echoing how you felt.

Through the thick fog of your thoughts, you heard Cassian’s voice clear as a bell.

“I bet Eris is behind this. Bastard tricked us.” You crouched over Azriel, becoming even more defensive of the Illyrian. It was a ridiculous stance, trying to shield him from his brother, but you couldn’t help it.

“It wasn’t Eris.” It came out more as a snarl that sent Cassian reeling back. “I don’t know who, but they- it was bad and- Eris winnowed us away to some clearing.”

Your pleas were gut wrenching, anger dissipating and making way for what you had pushed too far down to heal him.

“Azriel’s bandaged.”

“Eris left and got us supplies. He came back for us. He wouldn’t do this, you have to believe me.” You were sobbing now, clutching Azriel’s arm to your chest like that would fix everything. Your breaths were quick, bringing in enough air to sob once more.

“He didn’t - and Azriel-“ arms wrapped you from behind, gently pulling you into their embrace. The smell of leather and sweat enveloped you, Cassian’s strong arms slowly pulling you from Azriel.

You were blubbering now, mostly cries of Eris’s name over and over. You were scared and full of guilt for Azriel, but your mind kept playing that tender moment between Eris and Azriel over and over again. Your heart cried out for the redhead, a deep well of sadness that you had to pull him away from his mate.

Footsteps retreated away from you, but you reached out, clinging to Azriel’s sleeve to remind yourself he was still there.

Header by @tsunami-of-tears 💕

Only, only one taglist: @paleidiot @becstersworld @seasonallyapril @buttermilktea11 @wolfbc97 @carmenadkins78 @shadowsingercassia @abysshaven @myromanempiree @snatched-bubblegum-bitch @chaos-on-stand-bi @moonlwghts @witchymomfrien @awkwardnerd @ssmay123 @scarsandallaz @meritxellao @saltedcoffeescotch @2ooopenbook @wintersquirrel @manicmanuscription @wavegirl @thisishwrworld @tempermentalbookworm @romantasyreader28 @marina468 @i-know-i-can @rcarbo1 @lifesdisasters @tele86 @ireneisbored @yazzzmints @azysmate @bsenpai @curiosandcourioser @elisha-chloe @yasmin-oviedo @that-one-little-soybean @azrielslittledove @stormieandateacup @anon1227 @phoenix666stuff @asahinasstuff @acourtofbatboydreams @anainkandpaper @mother-above @sunshinedayz19 @bibliophilr @famousprincesscollector @calamislunafox @dnfhascorruptedme @saltedcoffeescotch @blightyblinders @l11lll1th @cabbageisdead @love-over-fears

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A/N: if you’ve read this far, just know I’m a bit on the fence about this part so don’t be mean to me 🔫

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x you #acotar writing #only only one #azriel shadowsinger x you #azriel x y/n #eris x azriel x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra fanfiction #eris x reader #eris x y/n

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hoonsluvr · 1 month ago

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SHADES OF BLUE

박성훈 ꒰ park sunghoon ꒱ — genre; childhood friends to (?), forced proximity, smut, angst, reader has synesthesia ୨ৎ cw; daddy issues, emotional abuse, mental health issues (anxiety and depression mentioned), pill addiction, overdose in detail, p in v, dom hoon, unprotected sex, public sex, oral f.rec, choking, temperature play MDNI. ⟡ synopsis; it had been years since you left the world of ice skating behind. four years to be exact. and now? you’re a miserable fucking mess, numb to your feelings and the outside world. so what happens when a certain boy from your past manages to find his way into your life again? ୨ৎ wc; 10.7k — library ⭑.ᐟ inspired by; cinnamon girl - lana del rey

isla yaps; hi lovelies!! this fic contains some heavy and potentially triggering themes so please make sure to READ THE WARNINGS CAREFULLY. if you decide not to continue reading this i truly understand and i’m definitely working on some lighter fics for the future. for those of you who do read, as always, feedback is appreciated :)

You had always seen him in streaks of color. Violet, blue, green, red. He was a spectrum of hues, splattered perfectly across a blank white canvas. You usually only associated things with one particular color or shape, but Sunghoon Park was far too complex to fit in that box.

Growing up, you never had to look to know he was there. The cold bit into your fingers and nose as you stepped onto the ice, but you barely noticed, already used to it. Sunghoon grinned at you from across the rink, mischief flickered in his eyes, his hair tousled.

You made a face at him, one you had made a thousand times before — a silent dare, a challenge — which he gladly accepted with a low exaggerated bow, almost slipping on the ice to make you laugh. You pressed your lips together, pretending to be unimpressed but the giggle still escaped you, curling into the cold air like smoke.

You pushed off, racing towards him, the thrum of the world narrowed to the single endless circle of the rink. Just you and him. Always you and him. He waited until the last second before darting forward to meet you, your movements synced immediately. It’s an old dance by now, older than the competitions, the medals, the pressure. It belonged only to you two.

He caught you and swung you into a wide air spiral, the force of it pulling laughter from your chest. The walls blurred, the high vault of the rink’s ceiling spun dizzyingly above and for a few precious seconds, there was no ground beneath your feet, only the electric hum of trust and flight. You hit the ground, and he almost didn’t reach you in time.

“You’re getting slow,” you teased, breathlessly as he reeled you back in.

He rolled his eyes playfully, feigning offense. “You’re getting heavy.” You gasped, scandalised as you punched him lightly in the arm. His laughter — low, warm, familiar — echoed off the empty bleachers and filled the air.

You two skated side by side for a while, laps and laps in comfortable silence, the kind of silence that only existed between people who knew each other so well, awkwardness didn’t seem possible anymore. He would push you sometimes, his hands resting at the small of your back to make you speed up and you would retaliate by sticking your tongue out at him. These were some of the unspoken laws of your universe, established over the twelve years you knew each other, sacred and unchanging.

“Come on,” he said, grinning, “we need to practice the lift.” You groaned dramatically and he shot you a look. “We’ve practiced it like a hundred times already.”

“And we’ll do it a hundred more if we have to,” he said, the stubborn set of his jaw making you smile. “Coach said we need to stick it before regionals.” Regionals. The word hung in the air between you, weighing heavier each day that it got closer. You were both getting older and expectations were stacking up around you like walls, higher every year. Not just from your coach and the public, but also from your father.

Still, you trusted Sunghoon. You always had. You nodded and he took your hands in his. His voice dropped, playful but serious underneath. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

You took a breath, centred your weight and skated backward, gathering speed. At the critical moment, you felt his hands close around your waist, felt the surge of adrenaline as he lifted you, almost effortlessly. For a heartbeat, you hovered above him, weightless, turning in a slow arc that made the lights blur into constellations. When he set you down, it was too fast, too soon. You stumbled, crashing into him and he grabbed your elbows to steady you.

“At least it’s better than last time?” You giggled.

He sighed playfully. “We’ll get there.”

Later, when you sat in the stands, peeling off your skates, he lounged beside you, eating a candy bar he had unearthed from the depths of his jacket. He offered you a bite without looking at you, a thoughtless gesture, born of long habit, and you took it without hesitation, wrinkling your nose at the too-sweet taste.

“You know,” he said, mouth half-full, “one day, when we’re, like, old and famous, they’ll make a movie about us.”

You laughed, leaning your head back against the cold metal of the seat. “They’ll make a movie about how you almost dropped me on my face?”

He nudged your knee with his. “Nah. About how awesome we were. You’ll see.”

You turned your head to look at him. His cheeks were still flushed, his hair sticking up in every direction, his smile crooked and stupid and perfect. There was not a single doubt in his eyes. Not about you, not about him, not about the two of you together. For one fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it too. That you would skate forever, that nothing would change, that this — the endless ice, the laughter, the quiet spaces filled only by understanding — would be enough to outlast the world.

And you loved him for it, in a way you didn’t have words for yet. In a way that lived in your chest like a second heartbeat, steady and sure. You would never tell him, of course. That wasn’t how things worked between you. It didn’t need to be said.

You laced up your shoes slowly, savoring the last minutes before the real world called you back. Beside you, he stretched his arms over his head and yawned dramatically.

“Wanna race to the car?” he challenged.

“You’ll lose,” you said, already hopping to your feet.

He shot you a wicked grin. “Only if you cheat.”

You laughed, and ran.

And he chased you, as he always would.

The blade of your skate caught for a fraction of a second, and the ice sent a shudder up your leg. You recovered without falling, but you felt your father's eyes burning holes into your back from the stands, sharp and dissecting. A cold flush of adrenaline surged through you, as if your body already knew, even before the mistakes happened, that he would find them.

The rink smelled faintly of iron and old popcorn from the vending machines, and the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, making the whites of the ice almost too bright to look at directly. You forced your arms higher in your routine, elbows pointed with mechanical precision, every breath a silent apology for not being perfect.

At the edge of the rink, Sunghoon watched you with a casual slouch, skate guards dangling from one hand. He grinned when you finished your spin combination, throwing a lazy thumbs-up your way, as if to say Relax. You’re fine. It’s just practice.

Your dad, however, was already on his feet. A sharp whistle pierced the air, summoning you over like a disobedient pet. You skated toward him, already dreading what's to come as the gloomy black aura hovered over his head.

“Again,” he said the moment you're within earshot. “The entrance to the triple was sloppy. You're dropping your left shoulder. It’s lazy.” You nodded mutely. Apologizing would only prolong it. “And get your damn knees over your toes when you land. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, voice swallowed by the cavernous rink.

Sunghoon caught your eye from across the boards, brows knitting together for just a moment before he looked away. You finished the next run-through stiffly, mechanically, your body moving without soul. You were careful — so careful — but when you finally skated off the ice twenty minutes later, your muscles buzzed with exhaustion, you knew it still wouldn't be enough.

“Hey.” Sunghoon bumped his shoulder into yours, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “You want to ditch for a bit?”

You blinked at him, surprised. “Ditch practice?”

He leaned closer, dropping his voice like it was a state secret. “Not all of it. Just, like... ten minutes. Before he starts giving you another checklist.” Despite yourself, a laugh bubbled up. It's quick, half-choked by nerves, but real. You glanced over your shoulder — your father was buried in conversation with your coach, gesturing sharply at a clipboard.

You nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Without waiting for second thoughts to anchor you down, Sunghoon tugged your sleeve and led you through the side doors, out into the cold winter air. Your skates clacked noisily on the concrete until you reached the deserted staff parking lot behind the rink, where you both collapsed against the graffitied brick wall, breathless from the small act of rebellion.

Sunghoon hooked his hands behind his head and grinned up at the sky that was turning a pretty shade of pink. “See? Already worth it.” You tilted your head back too, letting yourself smile — a real one this time, loose and crooked. “Yeah. It is.” You glanced at him and so many colours were jumping out from within him, curling up to him in a comforting aura. For a few moments, you just sat there, breathing in the silence, feeling normal. Not an athlete. Not a disappointment. Just a girl, fourteen years old, alive under a wide pink sky.

But the peace doesn't last. The gnawing guilt curled up from your stomach, reminding you that this tiny moment of freedom has a price you’ll pay later. It always does. Sunghoon caught the flicker of worry across your face, because he turned toward you, concern softening the lines around his mouth. “Hey. You okay?”

You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve. “He's been... worse lately,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon didn’t pretend not to understand who you mean.

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” he said quietly, exhaling a slow breath, visible in the cold air. “You’re the best skater I’ve ever met, and you don’t deserve to feel bad every time you step on the ice because of him.”

The words stung more than they soothed, because part of you thought they were lies, sweet and useless. But another part — a tiny, desperate part — folded them away carefully, like a note you’re not ready to read yet. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the cold sink deep into your bones. The wind hums against the empty lot. Somewhere inside the rink, the muffled sound of a whistle cuts through the air, calling practice back into order.

“We should go.” You breathed.

“Race you?” He grinned, attempting to try and get some of your cheerful demeanour back. It worked.

“Oh, you’re on.”

The memory of that stolen afternoon clings to you days later, like frost on a windowpane. You carry it into the competition weekend like a secret talisman tucked beneath your skin as if it was proof that you can still feel lightness, even as the weight of expectation coils tighter around your spine. You thought of it during warm-ups, when the rink smells like hairspray and nerves, and coaches bark corrections from the sidelines like drill sergeants. You thought of it when you tie your skates, hands trembling just a little. You thought of it when you step onto the ice, lights blinding, the crowd a faceless blur beyond the boards.

Race you. You're on.

You whispered the memory to yourself like a prayer.

But it isn't enough.

The routine blurred past you in flashes, the rush of Sunghoon throwing you into the opening spiral, the brief moment your blade slipped on the double axel landing — not a fall, but enough, enough for his eyes to narrow in the stands. Your body moved on instinct, muscle memory overriding the terror climbing your throat. Smile. Sell it. Pretend you can't feel the mistake trailing you like a shadow.

“Seriously, that was pretty good, right?” Sunghoon smiled at you once you were done.

You offered him a tight smile, too brittle to hold. You don't say what gnaws at you — It wasn't good enough. He saw it. He always sees it.

You knew it was coming even before the scores overhead stopped flashing.

Third place.

The bronze medal from the award ceremony later hung around your neck like a noose, the ribbon itching against your skin. You clutched the little bouquet they handed you, hands numb from the cold, and smiled for the photos even though your mouth tasted like blood.

You caught your father’s face in the crowd — stone-eyed, unsmiling — and felt your stomach drop all the way to your skates.

The fight started the moment the front door slammed behind you.

“What the hell was that?” His voice cracked across the room like a whip, and you flinched even though you told yourself you wouldn't. You mumbled something — something useless — about doing your best, about nerves, about how everyone slips up sometimes. The words scattered like dry leaves.

He wasn't listening.

“You humiliated yourself,” he said, low and dangerous. “You humiliated me.”

You opened your mouth, and then closed it again. You didn't know how to tell him that it wasn’t humiliation you felt on the ice — it was fear. A fear that had settled in your chest like a living thing ever since he started screaming at you in the car rides home, ever since every routine became another battlefield you had to survive.

Your mother stepped in then, tentative, trying to cool the air. “She’s still young. Third is— it’s still—”

“Third isn’t first,” your father snapped, cutting her off like a blade. “Third place is nothing. Third place is a waste of time.”

You pressed your fists into your sides to keep from shaking. He’s wrong, you wanted to scream. You tried. You tried so hard that your body felt hollow, your knees bruised and raw under your tights. But the shame already curdled inside you, thick and black and impossible to swallow.

“Maybe if you trained the way you’re supposed to—” He pointed a finger at you, jabbing the air like you’re an object that’s failed him. “You’ve been lazy. You’ve been soft. Crying after practice like some little—”

"That's enough," your mother said sharply, stepping between you before he could spit the rest of it out.

Her voice shook. He ignored her.

“You’re never going to make it like this,” he hissed. “You think talent's enough? You think people are gonna hand you a damn thing because you cry pretty?”

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until you tasted the salt at the corners of your mouth. Hot, helpless tears spilled over, blurring everything.

“I did my best,” you whispered. “I did— I tried—”

“Your best isn’t good enough!” The shout cracked the room wide open. You shrunk back instinctively, heart thundering against your ribs. Your mother grabbed your arm, gentle but firm. “I think you need to get a hotel room for tonight,” she said to him, her voice barely above a whisper. A recurring solution to the problems that plagued your household for the past couple of months.

He laughed. An ugly, hollow sound that echoed against the empty walls.

“Gladly.”

He didn’t pack a bag. He didn’t even look at you.

He wrenched open the door, cold air flooding the hallway, and for one stupid, desperate second you thought he would turn back — that he'd say something, anything. But he just stepped out into the night. The door slammed shut behind him, and the house fell into a silence so deep it felt like a scream turned inside out. You stood there, frozen, the bronze medal heavy against your chest, the flowers wilting in your clenched hand. Your mother rubbed your back, murmuring something soft you couldn’t hear. You couldn’t hear anything.

You woke up the next morning, expecting him to be sitting at the coffee table, to give you that same look of anger he usually did. Instead, you woke up to a house that felt hollowed out, the walls too thin to contain the silence. Your mother's voice was a brittle thread from the kitchen — muttering into the phone about how he came in the morning to take all his belongings before leaving for good.

You curled deeper under the covers, pressing your face into the pillow until the world blurred. Your skates sat by the dresser, laces tangled in lazy knots. Your practice bag still leaned against the door, half-packed from yesterday.

Everything looked the same. Everything felt unrecognizable.

The first time you skipped practice, you told yourself it was just one day. You wrapped yourself tighter in your blankets and pretended you couldn’t hear the notifications buzz from your phone. You pictured Sunghoon’s face — confused at first, then worried — and your stomach twisted violently.

You told yourself you'll explain later. You just needed a little time.

Days bled into each other, sluggish and indistinct. You didn't skate. You didn’t answer your texts. You slept through the mornings and wandered the house in the afternoons, a shadow wrapped in oversized sweatshirts and old music.

Your mother pretended not to notice. But you heard her voice sometimes, low and strained, slipping through the walls like smoke. Talking to friends. Talking to no one. The word “depression” floated by once, sharp and terrifying, but you shoved it down deep where you wouldn't have to face it.

You kept meaning to reach out. To Sunghoon. To anyone.

You never planned for it to go on forever.

You told yourself you’d go back someday.

When it hurt less.

When you were stronger.

But years passed faster than promises.

And silence is a hard thing to come back from.

You didn’t cry. You didn't scream. You didn't rip the medals off the walls or tear up old routines. You simply turned your face away from it all — the skates, the trophies, the hollow place where your father’s shadow used to fall — and decided, with a clarity that terrified you, that you were done.

No announcement. No ceremony. No goodbye.

Just absence.

You didn't tell Sunghoon.

You couldn't.

How could you explain it? That something inside you had snapped, clean and silent like a bone under too much pressure? That the ice, once your sanctuary, now stretched out before you like a punishment? You didn't have the words. You barely had thoughts. Just this thick, unbreathable feeling in your chest.

You knew, in some cruel part of yourself, that he’d think he had done something wrong. That he would shoulder the blame for your absence the way he had always tried to shield you from everything else. You hated yourself for that. But you still couldn’t bring yourself to go back.

It was easier this way.

Cleaner.

Like cauterizing a wound you didn’t have the strength to let heal.

At first, it slipped away so quietly, you almost didn’t notice.

The colors that used to flood your senses — bright bursts of honeyed yellow for laughter, deep indigo whenever your loved ones called your name — began to thin, fading like ink left too long in the sun.

You caught it one afternoon, standing at the kitchen sink, when your mother hummed an old song under her breath. Once, the sound would have painted the room a soft blue, curling in the corners like mist. Now, it barely stirred the air. No blue, no warmth.

Just the hollow weight of silence pressed into a melody.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing it back. The colors, the shapes, the brightness that used to crackle just beneath your skin, but nothing came. The world had dulled around you, muted and flat, as if someone had turned down the saturation without asking.

You slowly became a version of yourself you couldn’t recognize — or worse, could recognize and grieve. And all the while, your skates gathered dust by the door, silent witnesses to everything that you had lost.

You’re shaking, violently. Fuck, not this crap again. You try what your therapist told you to do, one deep breath in, two deep breaths out. And again. And again. And again — this isn’t fucking helping. Instinct kicks in and you reach out for the coveted orange cylinder, shakily unscrewing the cap and letting it fall to the floor with a hollow clunk, shoving a white pill down your throat. There’s instant relief as the shaking stops.

The time shows 6:26AM, the breakdowns had been starting earlier and earlier each day. You lie in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to muster up some strength. A grunt escapes as you heave yourself up unsteadily — the world already spinning. Too early for this shit.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand — one short vibration. A message? No. Nobody messaged you these days. A reminder. Group therapy session at 8AM. God this was the last thing you needed today. You should just skip it, an endless hour of overlapping voices doing nothing for you except making the dull ringing in your skull worse. But promises to your therapist harshly pound through your head. Promises to try and get your life together, start socialising again and make an effort.

Your movements are sluggish as you make your way across the room, pulling on yesterday’s unwashed hoodie, barely brushing your teeth before skipping a shower and heading down for the same mundane everyday breakfast of cheerios. You can hear your mother’s voice, she’s speaking to you as you toy with the cereal in your bowl, pushing it around. The sound, though, isn’t exactly in focus, it plays at the back of your head, watered down, the words slushing and melting together as her tone gargles. Until you force yourself to focus.

“Are you even listening to me? I hope you’re going to therapy today?” She raises an eyebrow at you.

A sigh. “Yes, I am. Can you drive me?”

Your mother is so relieved that you’re going, she complies with your request immediately, even though she knows it’ll make her late for work. You know she just wants the best for you but you don’t have the heart to tell her that the sessions were utterly useless. That she was wasting the money your family was already running short on, just for your pill problems to be worse than ever.

Nonetheless, you find yourself taking a seat in the dull basement of the hospital for the third time this week — apparently the only place they could accommodate for the group therapy. Each day, the attendants around the round gray table changed, all except for you. Guess they couldn’t handle it. Glancing around the table for this conclave leaves you with a quick realisation — you are not making any new friends today. The only other people around are a middle-aged man in a bowler hat who appears to be mute and a sniffling grandmother with a handkerchief who weakly tells you her name is Marge when you enter.

Your therapist, Barbara — a young woman in her 20s with glasses that make her look bug-eyed — flashes you a smile. You think she’s nice enough, only if she was more useful. Then again, you aren’t sure if she’s being paid enough to actually care that much.

“Welcome everyone” she gestures, “today, the intentions I had while putting this group together is to focus on anxiety, considering you all have been recently diagnosed with it. Would anyone like to share a recent experience they’ve faced with anxiety?”

Marge raises her hand and starts talking. “Yesterday I was knitting when—” You’re already drowning out her voice. Your eyes glaze over. Only one more hour. The click of the door after a rather long 15 minutes of Marge’s story makes you whip your head around, desperate for some form of entertainment.

By now, you should have realised that it’s best if you don’t wish for some things too easily because your judgement is unfortunately, usually ill-informed. The boy who walks in is definitely entertainment, but he’s also the last person you would ever want to see. Sunghoon Park.

Your stomach twists, jerking horribly. The world freezes. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of all the colors and sounds around you. The ticking of the clock becomes louder along with the soft buzz of the air conditioner while the colors sharpen into focus.

His eyes meet yours, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. A flicker of blue sparks around him before disappearing so fast, you think you might have imagined it. He looks at you for a moment, almost as if he’s trying to make sure you’re real. Still not breaking eye contact, he takes tentative steps around the table, finally settling opposite you and looking away with a hardened expression.

“Sunghoon!” Barbara’s shrill voice pierces through the air, pulling you out of your trance. “I’m so glad you could join us! I was starting to think you wouldn’t come.”

He shrugs, a nonchalant motion, as though he’s used to being in control. But you can feel it, too — that hesitation.

Not exactly the response she seemed to be hoping for to her enthusiastic greeting but she adapts to the situation fairly quickly, gesturing to you as she quickly introduces you two, not that you needed it.

“You two actually have similar backgrounds! Both ice skaters! Well at least one used to be.” She awkwardly glances at you before plastering on a smile again. “Doesn’t that open up an interesting conversation?”

Sunghoon's lips curve up in a shallow smile. “It does, you’re right.” A pause. “Funny you mention ice skating because that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about today.”

Barbara perks up, glad that at least one of you were taking interest in the session. “Go on!” She smiles encouragingly.

Sunghoon leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair. He clears his throat, his voice steady but edged with something. “Well recently, I've been under a lot of pressure. My schedules are crazy, my coach is a control freak and I barely have time to do anything else I enjoy anymore. So naturally, the panic attacks are getting worse.” His words are flat but if you listen closely, you can hear the slight break in it.

“I’m sorry to hear that, so are there any ways you’re dealing with that?”

“I’m pushing through, I have no choice. Because I'd never quit without getting what I want. Quitters,” his voice becomes low as he pauses, “they’re fucking losers, arent they?”

He’s talking about you. Fuck he’s talking about you.

Barbara fumbles with her papers, oblivious to the tension. “That’s an interesting point, Sunghoon. But don’t you think that's a bit of a toxic mindset to have?” She looks at him expectantly. He knows that though, he doesn’t need to be told. The only reason he even said that was to get your reaction, wasn’t it?

Sunghoon doesn’t answer immediately, because he’s looking at you. You can feel his eyes burning into you but you look down at the table, refusing to meet his gaze. The familiar feeling of haziness creeps into your mind and you can feel it turning to mush again.

The realisation is hitting you like a truck. The boy you loved your entire childhood — the one you adored the most, your best friend — hates you now. Can you even blame him? It’s true, you left without a word, leaving him all alone. And even though you’ve thought about him day and night for the past four years, that didn’t erase the damage he must have had to face — losing his best friend without warning, having to start his skating career all over again as a soloist.

You are the villain in his story.

The session lasted long. Too long. Longer than you remember them usually being. Your head is throbbing and your fingers are beginning to shake. You desperately need your pills.

“And I guess that means we’re done for the day! Good job everyone.”

You aggressively push your chair back, rushing to leave the room before the walls close in on you. Not before Barbara’s voice calls your name. Muttering a silent string of curses, you turn to face her with a small smile, trying to keep your cool as the others walk past you, Sunghoon not even sparing you a glance.

“Yes?”

She clears her throat. “I noticed that you weren’t too interested in today’s session. Something on your mind?”

Yes. A million things were on your mind. None of which you wanted to share with her. So instead you settle for a quick shake of your head, accompanied with a sweet smile, growing more and more forced the longer you hold it. She purses her lips, clearly not buying the act but sighs and lets you go anyway. You shove open the door, which leads into a parking lot.

You had never really liked the basement of the hospital. It was rather creepy, having all the signs of a cheesy horror film set location complete with flickering lights, ominous graffiti and abandoned cars. So you quickly make your way towards the exit, eager to go home. Except, he's standing there, blocking the door with the clearly marked exit sign hanging above it. Of course he’s standing there. He must’ve been waiting for you.

He says your name and the sound makes you lurch. It sounds foreign on his tongue. There’s a distance between the both of you that you most definitely were not going to be the one to close. A long pause and the weight of his gaze hangs heavy on you.

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again. It’s been four years.”

“Yeah, neither did I…” You trail off, afraid for what’s to come.

“Please– just–” He looks away. “Tell me why you did it.”

Your breath hitches. You want to answer him, you don’t want to leave him guessing again but your body betrays you. Not a single sound comes out of your throat when you open your mouth, as if you’ve forgotten how to speak.

He speaks up again and his tone is more emotional. “Don’t you think I deserve to know? After everything that's happened. After everything I've been through, you still can’t give me an answer. Why did you leave?” His voice is full of hurt. His expression even more so. But you can’t bring yourself to answer him.

He waits, expectantly. But when he realises you aren’t going to answer, the hurt in his eyes changes into something more like quiet anger. “I thought so, I guess I’ll see you around then.” Without another word, he turns. And it’s almost a sort of twisted irony but this time, you’re the one left alone.

And you just wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

You spend the next few days dreading the upcoming session. But there is no avoiding it. Barbara had already contacted your mom and told her how you’d been distracted the last session so she was firm in maintaining that you needed to be focused for the next one.

And so your mother drives you early for the next session, while you hope — rather foolishly — that he won’t show.

When you enter, the chairs are arranged in the same imperfect circle as before. You sit near the edge, twisting the sleeves of your sweater in your fists, trying to still the restless tremor in your hands. The door opens and your heart stutters painfully.

He’s there, tall and too familiar, his expression is carefully blank. He doesn’t look at you, not directly, but you feel his presence like a blade pressed against your skin. You glance down, pretending to study the frayed edges of the rug like you don’t care, but it’s pretty much obvious to anyone that you’re freaking out on the inside.

The session drags. Words float through the room and you say almost nothing, sparing the occasional nod and words of agreement so Barbara would buy your act. You can feel him across the circle, the bitter undercurrent of everything unsaid thickening the air between you.

At one point, you chance a glance at him.

He’s already looking at you.

The look he gives you is not sharp this time. It’s fractured. Like he’s seeing you for the first time and doesn’t know what to do with it. You look away quickly, shame burning hot beneath your skin. You don’t know how you get through the rest of it. When the session finally ends, you gather your things with fumbling hands and head toward the door without looking back.

But his voice stops you. Low. Rough. Were these after-therapy conversations becoming a common occurrence?

“Wait.”

You freeze.

You can just pretend you didn’t hear. You can just keep walking.

But something roots you to the spot.

You turn slowly.

He stands a few feet away, jacket slung over one shoulder, tension radiating off him like heat. His mouth is set in a grim line, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “I…” He trails off, exhales hard, as if the words physically hurt. “I’m sorry.”

You blink at him, startled.

“I’m sorry for—” He gestures helplessly, his voice hoarse. “For the last session. What I said— I shouldn’t have— ” He sighs, struggling to find words. “I’m sure you had your reasons for doing what you did.” You wrap your arms around yourself, not sure how to respond, not sure you can.

“I was angry,” he continues. “I am angry. But not just at you.” He swallows. “At myself, too. For not being there for you. For not— being someone you could tell when you were clearly going through something.”

Your throat closes up painfully. You want to tell him that it isn’t his fault. That you didn’t know how to ask for help, how to explain the way your world had crumbled beneath your skates. But yet again, the words won’t come. Instead, you nod. Small. Tentative. Something in him seems to unclench at that.

“Can I…?” he says, voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Can I show you something?”

You hesitate. Every instinct screams at you to say no — to avoid whatever this is before it pulls you under. But then you see the look on his face — the raw, earnest hope. And against all your better judgment, you find yourself nodding again.“Okay.”

The drive is silent. You sit rigidly in the passenger seat, your fingers twisting the strap of your bag until the leather creaks. He doesn’t try to fill the quiet. He just drives. When he pulls into the parking lot, your stomach drops. The old rink where you used to practice looms ahead, the brick building battered by time and weather, its neon sign flickering stubbornly against the dusk. You can’t move. He cuts the engine but makes no move to get out.

“I thought you should come back,” he says, voice low, not looking at you. “Not to skate. Not unless you want to. Just to see it. To remember that it’s not… poisoned. It’s still here.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says. “Just come inside.”

You stare at the building, the memories crashing over you so violently you can barely breathe.

Laughter, sharp and bright against the ice.

The sharp crack of a fall.

The warmth of a hand pulling you up again.

The last time you were here, you had been a different person. Lighter. Brighter. A person who believed skating could save her.

But he is waiting. And something deep inside you — something tired of running — stirs.

Slowly, you push open the door and step out into the cold with him in pursuit. He holds the door of the building open for you to step in first.

The smell hits you immediately — sharp, clean ice, old popcorn, worn leather. Just the way it used to be. You pause just inside the entrance, heart pounding painfully against your ribs. The rink is nearly empty. Only a few kids wobble across the ice under the bored gaze of a parent.

It should feel safe, even silly. Instead, it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. He stands beside you, close but not touching, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He watches you, patient, unflinching.

You take a breath.

Step forward.

The sound of your boots on the concrete echoes unnaturally loud.

The boards gleam under the fluorescent lights.

The ice stretches out before you — vast, merciless, beautiful.

You walk to the edge of the rink, resting your fingertips lightly against the cool surface of the barrier.

Your reflection stares back at you in the ice — blurred, broken, whole. Without thinking, you press your palm against the glass. Tears sting your eyes, blurring the rink into a shimmer of silver and white.

It hurts.

You let out a shaky breath as you slowly turn around, towards the stands, unable to look at the rink any longer. You almost crash onto the bench as you try to sit down, the world already feeling heavier. The air tastes like frost and regret, and somewhere, distantly, you realize your hands are shaking — not from the cold, but from something deeper, something unthawed and fragile. You can’t look at him. Not yet. Not when the flickering blue aura around him threatens to pull you into reality. All of this was really happening.

“I didn’t quit because I wanted to,” you whisper, the words jagged and raw, the kind of words that bleed as you speak them. “I left because he left.”

An eyebrow quirks up, he's puzzled. But he says nothing and you feel him drawing closer, in a magnetic pull that you cannot fight. Your palms find the cold steel of the bench as you desperately try to ground yourself.

“My father…” You exhale sharply, a half-laugh, half-sob. “You know how much he meant to me. You know how much he killed me inside with every cruel thing he said.” The confession tastes like rust on your tongue. You have never said it aloud before. “Every fall, every misstep, every time I missed a jump by half a second, he made me feel like I was less. Like I was wasting his time. Like I was wasting his name.”

And there you sit, pouring your heart out. You are broken. Shards of your feelings and thoughts lay on the ground, shattered. And even still, you still refuse to look at him. You can’t bear to see pity in his eyes, especially not after everything you’ve done to him. “He left Sunghoon,” you continue, softer now, “he left the day we got third place in regionals and that day, he told me I was useless. That without him, I'd be nothing. No coach would want me. No partner could trust me. And I... I believed him.” Your throat closes, but you force the next words through it anyway. “I still do, sometimes.”

The silence is heavy. Thick. Dense. Then you hear it – the scrape of his shoes on the ground, the low rustle of his jacket as he sits beside you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to fix it, doesn’t tell you you're wrong. Instead, he does the only thing you didn’t realize you needed — he stays. He stays the way you didn’t. And a part of you feels like you don’t deserve it but the warm feeling in your stomach erupts anyway.

You dare a glance at him. His eyes, when they meet yours, are not full of pity. Instead, they’re full of something else, a kind of grief, maybe, a kind of furious tenderness. And in that moment, the air between you stops tasting like regret. It tastes like rain on parched earth, like the beginning of something new.

For the first time in four years, you do not feel alone.

His hand finds yours. He threads his fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like your hands were always meant to fit together, even after years of silence and bruised memories. His palm is warm, grounding. Steady. You forget how to breathe for a moment.

“God I didn’t know. I’m— so sorry. You never had to be perfect though,” he says, voice rough-edged and low, like it’s scraping its way out of somewhere deep. “Not for him. Not for anyone. Not even for me.”

You don’t mean to, but you flinch, just slightly, as if the softness hurts more than the cruelty ever did.

He notices. Of course he notices. But he doesn’t pull away.

“You were enough before you ever landed a jump,” he says. “You were enough the first time you stepped on the ice and fell on your ass and laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe.”

You close your eyes. You can almost remember it — the taste of laughter, the swirl of light spilling gold and blue across the rink, the boy with the crooked smile skating circles around you until you shoved him in mock fury and he fell too. You hadn’t been afraid then. You hadn’t known yet how cold the world could get.

“I miss her,” he says quietly. “I miss you.”

You close your eyes for a moment and when you open them, he’s watching you — not pushing, not demanding — just there. The pain is still raw and real though and you’re still not ready to face it

“I dont– I can’t– ,” you say, voice raw.

Confusion flickers on his features. “You can’t what?”

“Sunghoon–” your voice breaks, “I– can you take me home?” He seems disappointed but he doesn’t fight it. A nod.

The drive home is as silent as the previous one and the same tension brews in the air of unspoken words. The car pulls up into your driveway as you realise with a jolt that you hadn’t given him any directions — he still remembers the way.

He gets out of the car and you follow. Your hands fumble with the keys as you rush to open the front door, trying to escape the unbearable silence. A click. You step inside, turning around to look at him.

“Uh– I guess… I’ll see you soon?” You let out timidly.

He doesn’t say anything, just nods. You blink, startled. Shades of blue, tendril-like, start to coil out from within him, desperately reaching for you, trying to break through the bubble you had surrounded yourself with. They were no longer flickering, no longer touching the boundaries between fantasy and reality. They were there. Clear as day. The first time it had happened, since all those years ago. You’re too scared to face it.

You shut the door.

It hadn’t left your mind. The rink. The ice. All the memories that came flooding back to you when you walked in. The colors that exploded out of him. You needed to go back. It’s late — but if your memory serves you right, they didn’t close the rink until 12AM.

You hesitantly open your cupboard and rummage until you reach the very back. There they were, just as you left them — your skates — and hanging just above them, a sheer blue dress, covered in diamonds. This is crazy. But you can’t stop yourself as you reach out for the skates. The second you make contact with them, the feeling of the plush leather touching your skin ignites a spark and you know you’ve made up your mind.

The walk to the rink almost feels like a walk of shame. The tight dress pressing against your skin with your skates dangling from your hands as you take quick strides on the sidewalk. The walk, under other circumstances would have been an easy way for second thoughts to weigh you down and make you question your decisions. But tonight, the moon shone a little too brightly and nothing could make you stop as you pushed open the doors of the brick building you had seen only the other day.

Thankfully it’s empty. The sweeping ice invites you with open arms. You can hear the wind caress its cold expanse, creating soft whispers that send shivers down your spine. If you listen hard enough, you can hear it talking to you. The ice beckons you. And you accept.

You look tragically beautiful in this light.

The warm blue fog envelopes your frame, diamonds on your dress shimmering. You’re still for a moment, hands crossed above your head in a starting position as the music begins to play. The soft piano notes of Cinnamon Girl echo through the rink and you gracefully start to slide across the ice. A twirl. A lutz. An axel. Even after all this time, you were perfect.

But if you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did

You falter as you realise he's standing there, leaning against the railing. Your eyes meet his and his expression is full of pain. And in that moment, it’s as if you could point out all the fucked up shit he had ever done. You look away but his gaze is still on you as you continue your routine. A painstakingly melancholic three more minutes of watching as you dance across the ice.

Sunghoon��s breath hitches as you throw your body back for the finale, gliding low against the ice in raw elegance. The atmosphere pulses with tension and he could feel his heart in his throat as the cadence of the music starts to slow, accompanying your softening movements. The blades of your skates dig into the ice, eliciting a sharp clink as you come to a halt.

“What are you doing here Sunghoon?” Your throat feels raw and your voice barely comes out above a whisper.

There’s a pause.

“Came to watch you dance. I’ve been coming here every single night since I showed you this place.”

“How did you–”

“I knew.” His voice is low now. “I knew you’d come.”

“You were perfect. Even after all this time. You always were. You still are.”

“Hoon—” The nickname naturally slips out and you notice the way his jaw tightens at the mention.

And maybe it's reckless. Maybe it’s foolish or maybe it’s the way he’s staring at you as if you put the stars in the sky. But you’re looking at his face and you can’t stand it. You can’t stand the way he’s the most beautiful human being you’ve ever met. Your hands meet his cheeks as you cup them in your palm. You wait for him to pull back as you test the waters but he doesn’t. So you pull him in instead. And when your lips meet, it’s as if nothing else around you exists.

A moment of ecstasy passes and you pull back to look at him. He speaks up first. “God you have no idea how long I've waited for you. How long I’ve wanted you.”

He glances at your lips and you notice immediately, pulling him in for another kiss. It’s gentle.

“Sunghoon. I want you.” You breathe into the kiss.

“You want me?” His voice is imperceptibly soft, almost as if he’s coaxing you.

A nod from you is all it takes as he leads you onto the bench nearby. You lay down, setting your head back, resting it against the cold metal — a sensation that sends quivers against your skin. He unties your laces, tugging off your skates gently and throwing them to the side. The situation becomes real in this moment.

“Shit Hoon— shouldn’t we go home? Anyone can walk in.”

He’s pressing kisses against your ankle now. “Weren’t you the one who started this by whining about how badly you want me?” Your face burns. He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. No one will, baby.” His voice is glazed with honey and your brain is already shutting off as you nod mindlessly at everything he says.

His gentle hands roam across your body as he peppers light kisses onto your hips.

“So pretty baby. All for me.”

You groan softly, prompting him to toy with the zipper of your dress, teasingly pulling it down. You slip off your dress and you’re left in nothing but a pair of panties in front of him while he’s still fully dressed. He murmurs something unintelligible at the sight of you, brushing his thumb over your nipples, making them immediately harden.

He spreads your legs apart, revealing a wet spot on your panties which he lightly runs a finger over. You gasp immediately and his eyes dart to yours, a small smirk forming on the corner of his mouth. “So sensitive already, hm?” His fingers are now rubbing more harshly and you can feel your body heat up. He slips his hand into your panties and pulls them off with ease, leaving you bare. “My beautiful girl, so pretty.” He praises and you whimper.

“Please Hoonie—”

“Shh, I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?” You nod pathetically, watching as he brings his head down. He starts slow, tongue licking gently at your folds. Your hands fly to his hair immediately, tangling your fingers between his waves. He moves faster, tongue slipping inside your pussy. You cry out as his nose presses into your clit, breathing becoming faster.

You’re chanting his name like a prayer, already close to your high. It only takes a harsh suck on your clit for you to come completely undone, your hips bucking upwards as you squirt all over his face, screaming his name.

“Holy fuck angel, that was so hot.” He grins at you.

You whimper in response. “N- need you more.”

He chuckles. “Patience baby. You’re so worked up for me aren’t you?”

Sunghoon flips you around with ease and presses your tits down against the cold metal of the bench, sending shockwaves through your body that makes you jerk desperately as the freezing material makes contact with your nipples.

“Yeah, you like that?” He presses them down harder and you almost shriek, ass up in the air now. You’re getting a faceful of the bench and the sensation is unbearably cold but it just feels so good and your pussy clenches around nothing. You feel his finger move to your clit and he presses down harshly making you gasp. You look over your shoulder as he undoes his zipper with his free hand. The outline of his erection is visible through the fabric of his boxers which he tugs down by the waistband, and his cock springs up, painfully hard. He presses the tip of his cock against your wet folds, teasing.

“S– stop being a tease.” You gasp.

“As you say, angel.” He pushes his cock in without warning and the stretch is excruciating. Your vision is already blurring, eyes rimming with tears. His thrusts start slow but even that is too much.

“Hoon— S’ too much please.”

“You can handle it can’t you? My perfect girl, I’m sure you can.”

It burns but you’re desperate to please him. “Yes! I— I can!” A strangled moan escapes you. None of you were even bothering to be quiet.

He lays his face against the curve of your back and you can feel his breath fanning against your skin as he thrusts in and out. “Mine, mine, mine.” He groans loudly and you clench around him desperately, fingers gripping the bench harder. He’s all the way in deep now and you can feel his balls slapping against your ass.

“Everything about you— fuck! Want to— Want to ruin you.” He rambles on, hands closing in from behind on your neck. He squeezes lightly, experimentally. And your body reacts immediately as you jerk your head up. He squeezes harder, constricting your throat and strings of moans leave your mouth.

“Thats it— let me hear you.”

The lewd noises from your mouth become louder and you’re drooling all over your tits now. The tears start to slip down your face from the sheer amount of pleasure and your hips buck backwards repeatedly, fucking him harder into you. “God— angel that’s perfect. You’re taking me so well. Gripping me so tight—”

“I can’t!” You cry out, feeling that familiar knot in your stomach build up. “Hoon– I’m gonna–”

“Come for me.”

That’s all it takes for your second orgasm to wash over you. You scream into the bench, eyes rolling to the back of your head as waves of euphoria crash over you. Nothing comes out. It’s dry. But you’re completely fucked out nonetheless. He’s still thrusting into you, chasing his high as well which comes soon after. His hot seed fills you deep, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.

You almost collapse face first from exhaustion. He catches your body just in time. His fingers shove into your cunt, pushing his own cum deeper into your aching hole, eliciting a strangled raw sound from your throat. You’re panting now and he pulls you up.

“You did so good for me— you’re perfect. My gorgeous angel—”

Your face burns from the praise and he pulls you in for a kiss, which you immediately reciprocate even though you’re confused — confused about your feelings for him. Confused about everything. Burning with something — something you can’t quite place — from this moment. But you don’t want to ruin it.

The second you reach your bed, you collapse into the mattress. The silence is deafening. You try to cry quietly at first, teeth clenched, chest heaving against your pillow, but it builds too fast, too violently. Within seconds, you’re sobbing — raw and loud and gasping for air.

It isn’t about him and what just happened. It’s about everything. It’s just — too much. You aren’t used to this. All these emotions are hitting you like a wave, crashing over you again and again, mercilessly. It’s more than you had ever felt all at once — the weight of the past four years pushing you down. Everything is happening so fast and you’ve never been more confused. The return to the ice. All your feelings for Sunghoon. The dull thrill of the experience you just shared. It claws at you, overwhelming you with so many decisions to make.

Your thoughts are spiraling, too fast for your body to keep up. You sit up and wipe your face with the back of your hand, but your fingers are shaking. You don’t plan it. Not really.

But your fingers reach for the little orange box of antidepressants to run away from it all. Because after all, old habits don’t die so fast.

One pill.

Two pills.

Three pills.

Four pills.

Five pills.

You’re on a roll now. You can’t stop.

You swallow each one dry, throat burning. It scratches going down, bitter and chalky, like punishment.

First, nothing. But then your skin starts to get feverish. A layer of warmth erupts right beneath the surface and it feels as if your insides are clawing at your skin, desperately trying to escape. You blink. The colours around you start to blur together. The lights streak. You’re suddenly out of breath and you grip the bedframe for support, swallowing harder, trying to make up for the lost oxygen.

You stand and the world tilts on its axis. You’re trying — trying and failing — to ground yourself. Tremors run down your spine and through your arms. Your heart is thumping out of your chest and the tears are falling, thick and fast now as you clutch your chest, trying desperately, to remind yourself that your heart is still beating. It’s still beating. As long as it’s still beating you’re okay. An ache blooms in your chest — dull at first — but growing steadily like someone’s pressing a hand into your sternum, harder, harder.

Strings of rapid breaths are leaving your mouth. You try to count. Try to breathe like the therapist taught you. Four in, seven out. But the numbers are smudged in your mind and your lungs won’t cooperate.

You’re afraid.

You call for him first.

“Sunghoon—” you croak out, but your voice is so weak, so pathetic, it barely breaks the air. He’s not here. He wouldn’t hear you even if he was.

Your mother. “Mom—” You gasp out. Just one syllable, broken and desperate, torn from your throat like a last resort.

But she doesn’t come.

Your eyes are fluttering shut now, limbs heavy. The ache in your chest is excruciatingly painful. You lie down, or maybe you fall. You’re not sure anymore.

A jolt of terror racks through you as you feel your body slowing down. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. Please—

Numbness creeps in, fingers first, then your mouth. You can’t feel your lips. You try to open them, to call out again — but you can’t. The room, and your mind, are engulfed in darkness.

Darkness so deep and black that it consumes your entire being.

The rhythmic beeping of monitors is what stirs you from your state of unconsciousness. It plays repeatedly near your ear, annoying you enough for you to finally open your eyes. Bad decision— the harsh fluorescent lights above are too bright, too white, it burns. You blink, trying to take in your surroundings.

You turn your head just slightly. There’s a tray near you, filled to the brim with syringes, IV bottles, gloves, masks and medication. The air smells sterile — like rubbing alcohol, latex gloves, and something sharp you can’t name. A white curtain surrounds the metal bed you’re laying on, half-pulled for privacy. Clear tubes snake from the tray to your arm and a cannula is taped tightly to the back of your hand. You notice your own fingers — red and trembling — and the faint stickiness of a pulse oximeter clipped onto your index finger. A high pitched voice pulls you out of your trance.

“You’re awake! Oh thank God. I’ll let the family know.”

A nurse, maybe in her thirties, tired eyes behind bright lipstick — gives you a quick once-over before disappearing behind the curtain. Her perfume trails after her, cloying and floral. You stare blankly at the place where she was, unsure how to react. Your heart thuds dully beneath your ribs. You feel floaty. Disconnected.

Then you hear it — the rushed footsteps, uneven and panicked. Your mother’s voice, quivering, enters the room before she does.

“She’s awake? Please— where is she—?”

The curtain is drawn back too fast. And there she is.

Hair thrown into a messy bun, cardigan slipping from her shoulders, face bare and worn and flushed. Her eyes are red — not from makeup, but from crying. She stops at the foot of the bed like she doesn’t know whether she’s allowed to come closer. You can’t look at her. But she looks at you like she’s seeing a miracle. And a heartbreak. All at once.

“Oh, sweetheart…” she whispers, taking a trembling step forward. Her hands reach for you, then retreat, unsure. “You’re… okay. You’re really okay.”

You don’t say anything. The words dissolve on your tongue. What are you even supposed to say? “I’m so sorry,” she says, suddenly choking on a sob. “I didn’t know— I didn’t know it was this bad. You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

You flinch. Not at her volume, but at the truth. Because it was that bad. And you didn’t tell her. And now you’re here — a bed, machines, IV lines, and guilt. Especially knowing, you couldn’t really afford any of this right now. Her hand finds yours, squeezing it. Your fingers are limp in hers.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” she says, her voice cracking. “They didn’t know if you’d… if you’d wake up. You stopped breathing for almost a minute. The ambulance barely made it in time.”

You close your eyes. Tears begin to slide down your temples and into your hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

She shakes her head, trying to wipe your tears and her own at the same time. “You don’t have to do anything alone. Not ever. I’m your mother.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you say, and the shame in your chest is unbearable now. “I already have. I already do.”

“Never,” she says fiercely, leaning closer. “Never say that. I don’t care about any of it. The money or the skating. I care about you. I need you. You’re my daughter. I love you. Don’t you understand?”

You don’t. Or maybe you do, but it doesn’t erase the guilt. The way her hand is shaking in yours. The way her voice is thinner now. You can’t stop imagining the phone call she must have gotten. The ride over. The waiting. The not knowing.

You should’ve said something. Months ago. Years ago. But you didn’t. You swallowed it down, like you always do. And this is where that gets you. Her lips press to your forehead. “I’ll give you a few minutes,” she says, stroking your hair back gently. “Someone else has been… waiting to see you.”

Your stomach flips. You know exactly who she means.

She gives your hand one last squeeze before stepping away, walking toward the curtain. Then there’s the quiet rustle of movement behind the thin white sheet, and a shadow cast through it. Tall. Still. Hesitant. And then the curtain peels back again.

It’s him.

Sunghoon.

You glance at him from the hospital bed, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

Sunghoon sits down beside you gently, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast. His hands tremble slightly as he folds them in his lap.

“You’re really here,” he says finally, voice quiet. “I thought—”

You nod, your throat tight. “I know.”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. You’re both thinking it. He thought you were going to die.

“You scared the hell out of me.” His voice breaks a little. “I walked out that night and I was still thinking about you. And then I got the call and—” He shakes his head. “It felt like the world stopped.” You don’t know what to say. Instead you study his face, the way his brows are furrowed, the slight shine in his eyes, the flush of his cheeks. He speaks up again. “Can I ask you something?”

You nod. His grip tightens slightly. He’s bracing himself.

“Was it because of… that night?”

Oh.

“No,” you say quickly. Then again, firmer. “No. It wasn’t.”

His eyes lift to yours. Searching.

You squeeze his hand. “It wasn’t your fault. It had nothing to do with you. I promise.”

He breathes out, like he’s been holding it in for days. Maybe he has.

“I just… I’ve been going over it in my head a thousand times. You left so fast, and I—I didn’t know if I pushed too far or if I scared you—”

“You didn’t.” You shake your head. “That night was real. All of it.”

His gaze falls. Shoulders drop. He looks so tired.

Your hands find his and you trace the edge of his fingers with your thumb, grounding him like he’s done for you so many times.

“Sunghoon, I love you.”

His eyes grow a little wide but he swallows. “I— I love you too.”

There's silence. You’re wondering if you should say what’s clawing at you right now. If this is the right moment.

“Hoon— I need to get better,” you say after a beat. “Not just survive. Not just go about my life or pretend like I’m okay because people need me to be. I need to actually get better.”

“I want that for you.”

You smile, sad and soft. “I don’t know if I can be with anyone right now. I don’t want to hurt you. Or myself.”

He swallows hard. “I figured you might say that.”

“And I do love you,” you add quickly. “I really do. You’ve been the only person who’s really seen me since… since everything. And that means more than you know.”

He nods. “I know.”

There’s a long pause. The beeping monitors around you continue their soft, rhythmic song. Somewhere in the hallway, a nurse laughs faintly.

“Would it be okay if we… just stay like this?” you ask. “For a little while?”

His hand closes around yours and soft blue smoke curls out from where your fingers meet. And it says everything.

It’s enough for you.

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spr1ngpvrinbwunnie · 4 months ago

Note

Two ideas. You don’t have to do headcanons for both, it’s just a thought. Do what you want :3

I have been watching WAY too many scare pranks and I wanna know how Harley would react to his s/o pranking him constantly. Not just him, but other employees as well like Leith, Stella, Eddie, etc*. That poster from chapter 1 with the rule that says: “Do NOT hide behind doors to scare Leith Pierre” I’m sure that rule didn’t apply to (y/n). And I think Harley was described as paranoid at one point and I feel like he would be SO. DAMN. JUMPY. S/o’s got it on camera.

2. How do you think Harley would react if his s/o nearly dies at work?? (I just wanna see tears and angst from him tbh)

Oh, he would be livid. (alsso the second one I had another anon request similar to this and I did it, if you're interested you can check my page)

Harley already operates with the baseline assumption that everything is a potential threat—so the idea that you, of all people, would exploit that for amusement? Unforgivable. But the worst part? He can’t do anything about it. Because you’re not some random employee—no, you’re someone he tolerates. Which makes it so much worse.

Harley’s Reaction to His S/O Constantly Pranking Him

The first time you pull a prank, he doesn’t react. Not outwardly. But you know you got him. His eyes flash, his posture stiffens, and for a single, glorious second, you see the faintest flicker of unease before it’s smothered by a glare so venomous it could kill a lesser scientist on the spot.

The second time? He’s prepared. Or so he thinks. You somehow manage to time it just as he’s in deep concentration—muttering about some experiment, tapping his pen against his jaw. You drop something behind him, loudly, and the way he jolts? Beautiful.

The third time? He knows you’re going to do something. And he still falls for it. Because you’re unpredictable. You change the pattern. Maybe it’s not a loud noise this time—maybe it’s something subtle, like swapping his coffee with tea (he hates tea). Maybe it’s something so minor it makes him second-guess himself. You’re in his head now. He hates it.

Harley Sawyer, the Paranoid Scientist™️

He starts checking things before using them. Inspecting his chair before sitting down. Looking over his shoulder more often. You’ve made him worse.

But instead of stopping you outright, he gets petty. He messes with your paperwork. He waits until you’re in the middle of something important before suddenly calling your name—just to make you flinch. He memorizes your habits, waiting for the perfect moment to retaliate.

You’ve effectively started a war, and now, neither of you are safe.

The Other Employees (A Collateral Damage Report)

Leith Pierre: Absolutely your favorite target. You know he’s the reason that rule exists. You exploit this knowledge mercilessly. Harley, begrudgingly, respects your dedication.

Stella Greyber: Surprisingly, she doesn’t get pranked as often. Not because you don’t want to—but because she pranks you back. You’ve met your match.

Eddie M. N. Ritterman: Poor Eddie. He doesn’t deserve this. But that doesn’t stop you. He’s just so… easy to startle. His glasses have flown off his face more than once because of you.

The Breaking Point

One day, you go too far. Maybe you rig his lab coat so it zaps him with static when he puts it on. Maybe you record him getting startled and show it to the other employees. Maybe you set up a prank so elaborate that he has no choice but to respect it—even as he’s plotting his revenge.

And that’s when it happens.

He stops reacting.

He stops falling for it.

You don’t know when, but at some point, he adapted. He starts predicting your moves. Avoiding your traps. And then, one day—when you least expect it—he turns the tables.

You’re in the lab, minding your own business, when you hear it.

Click.

You look down. Your pen is glued to the table.

Harley’s smirk is slow, deliberate, and deeply satisfied.

"Checkmate."

Would that stop you? Probably not. But it would make you realize—pranking him is a game of escalation, and he plays to win.

#harley sawyer #harley sawyer x reader #poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #the doctor #the doctor x reader #dr harley sawyer #╰₊✧ ﾟ⚬𓂂➢ 👁📺💉🩸#imagine #my headcanons #‹꒰ 🇶🇺🇾🇪🇳'🇸 🇼🇷🇮🇹🇮🇳🇬.꒱𖥔 ࣪~

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papayadump · 18 days ago

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on going landoscar fic rec !! :]

equal machinery by anon | race engineer oscar/driver lando

“Did you know you get, like, actual stars in your eyes, or hearts, maybe, when you talk about racing cars?” “Sorry,” Oscar’s pretty sure he’s fucked the interview, “I’m not usually like that.” – I finally write Driver x Race Engineer Landoscar as an excuse to talk about racing.

so fun and interesting to read about how oscar sees his work, sees the cars, sees lando

astra ex machina by @ne0nyx | sci fi mecha pilots landoscar

“Don’t you get weird vibes?” “Weird vibes?” Oscar repeats, eyebrow raised. “Yeah. Like… I don’t know. Like there’s something we’re not being told, something we don’t know.” “It’s space. There’s always something we don’t know.”

Lando opens his mouth to argue… but nothing comes out. He processes Oscar’s reply.

Technically, he’s right. - Lando is a Mecha Pilot, and Oscar is his mysterious new partner.

GOD, FUCK, THIS FIC ,,, newest chapter broke my heart ,, the dread and anticipation is gonna make me throw up but im still in for the ride

i think i found a part of me beside you by @complementaryhalves | driver landoscar + teammate dynamics

The night before his first Australian Grand Prix, Oscar receives a weird racing tip from his manager. When the season turns desperate, he shares with Lando, and they begin to use it. After all, what's a little strategic mutual edging between teammates? Except, it turns Oscar's rookie season into a journey of self-discovery he hadn't quite anticipated: race after race, he'll fight a lot with his own head and heart, learn many new things about himself, Lando, and the world, and maybe find love along the way.

messy teammate relationship baby !! i need to reread this one its so gooddd. teammates who rubs together,,, uh,,, well lets see how theyll end up 😭

Call It What You Want To by @dearbongjae | college au + rich people problems

Oscar Piastri didn’t mean to start a school-wide scandal. But when his “fictional” love essay goes viral across campus and the entire media, everyone thinks it’s real. Which is awkward, considering the boyfriend in question doesn’t exist. Unfortunately for Oscar, being a Piastri means his private life isn’t personal—it’s business. His powerful, reputation-obsessed parents now expect to meet this perfect mystery boyfriend. And whoever Oscar dates? They better be someone who brings value to the family name. Enter: Lando Norris. Model. Golden Boy. Media darling. And currently, the center of a PR disaster thanks to a false dating rumor linking him to a problematic, tabloid-loving model and socialite. George, their mutual friend, sees potential when others see disaster. So he sets them up. Oscar walks in with a plan; Lando walks in with an open mind and a quietly hopeful heart. What begins as a mutually beneficial arrangement turns into something much messier, because falling for your fake boyfriend wasn’t part of the deal. And Oscar is very good at pretending. Until he’s not.

SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE ! asshole ish oscar and popular golden boy lando :]

ceruse + celibacy by @agustloves | tudor era + prince lando/servant oscar

“Every Tudor rose has its thorns.” During the Tudor dynasty in England, Oscar is cursed (or perhaps blessed) to be the servant for Prince Lando. From a poor life in Italy to sleeping in the room opposite royalty. He yearns to get his family to score positions with royalty too. The only issue is, the prince he serves is infuriatingly divacious. Yet beautiful. And complex. And they fall in love. In love and war. But an arranged marriage between Duke Jenson and Prince Lando changes everything in court. Will Oscar risk it all to save an ill fated Lando?

oscar being a caring asshole (?) to bratty prince lando. lando is equally a brat and a tortured soul and oscar is equally cruel and loyal to lando. the angst here is crazy. there are a lot of moments where i audibly gasped while reading.

while the eyes are on us by amilyame | hunger games setting

Twenty-three slips with his name. That’s all it took. "I present to you the tributes of District 10 for the 74th Hunger Games!" Helmut Marko’s voice rang out. Lando glanced again at Oscar standing next to him — straight, motionless, with an impassive face. A person who had chosen to be here himself. In the district, they said that the butcher Piastri's son's hand wouldn't tremble even when he needed to slaughter a young bull. I wonder, thought Lando with sudden grim clarity, would it tremble when the time came to kill a person?

shepherd lando and a butcher's apprentice ,, the shepherd and his guard dog ,,, what more does one need. ALSO love how the author adapted "oscar being a fanboy since long" here

Satellites by @fairielux and @mintraindrop | star wars au

The Force has led Lando and Oscar into Wild Space. To a planet named Kesh. Their sanctuary and a way to learn about themselves.

im a sucker for a good crossover (?) au ,,, it feels like the authors are having fun writing too <3

#landoscar #text #fic rec

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fujii-draws · 4 months ago

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Been meaning to ask, what /did/ inspire your reading of dadnoir?

I like it a lot, i even use it, but i got it from you and i want to know more about what inspired you to write it?

Hihi!! I am more than happy to explain it :3

Admittedly at first I really wasn’t thinking too much about Ribbons/Aimilios’s relationship with him. I was also originally of the opinion “Oh those three would just hate eachother like some sitcom but tolerate the other’s existence for Grovyle/Celebi’s sakes” But that was before I made this art piece.

(Ironically the first one I did of those three before the madness deadass consumed me)

I was originally drawing with my feelings towards Dusknoir in mind (Which was absolutely trusting and loving the guy before he did the whole betrayal thing. And hating his ass) but something about it legitimately made something click. There was such an interesting, complicated, and tragic relationship to be had with those three. That had so much god damn potential for interactions/dynamics/angst that I saw equal to the whole Grovyle/Dusknoir’s uneasy truce in EP5.

“What if Aimilios(partner) wasn’t the only Pokémon who looked up to Dusknoir, but Ribbons did, too. And even more unfortunately, Dusknoir going from playing the role of their “friend”, only then get attached to them, too. Causing a whole mess of internal conflict while those two are snuggling up to him.”

Now, before I get into this next segment, I’d like to preface that I’m aware that it was never the writers intention to imply or insinuate a relationship between those three. This is just a veryyy fun what-if scenario that is unintentionally backed with some context if you squint at certain segments. I frolick in the field of headcannons and different interpretations because it’s fun, and I don’t like trying to justify the dadnoir Au’s existence over and over again with ‘ahhh sorry guys I know this is ooc :(((((‘ and am very much past that phase. I have nothing to apologize for, and neither should you if you enjoy the hc! and will now unapologetically enter my joker arc 👍

(I am also okay with people not liking /enjoying it! We can still be chill :3 so long as you don’t actively try to put the hc down out of sheer disdain. Other than that!! Cheers to the folks who don’t understand or even like Dadnoir, who are still willing to hear me out! (And even the ones who don’t and respectfully click off this post!)

Long Dadnoir Tangent undercut

—

Worrying over Hero/Partner genuinely even though there’s virtually nothing to gain from saving two random Pokémon who you’re gonna leave in a world of ruin regardless.

Defending those two while showcasing both sides of Dusknoir (where he’s willing to be merciful to the Manectric, but fight on behalf of Hero/Partner after what Team Skull pulled.)(if he was just an overly cynical, unbearable asshole why is he even bothering with this)

While this is absolutely leaning more towards him making sure they’re alright so he can prepare to officially and personally execute them, I think it’d be more sweet if this was more of a slip of the tongue on his part. “Hoho! Farewell little, vulnerable Pokémon I’ve gained a small attachment to. Wait what.” (WHILE I DONT HAVE THE SS, if you talk to him again, he tells them to be careful. Again.)

I remember a post from @defendglobe that was equivalent to “did he seem more uncomfortable with praises now that he knew he was basically deceiving everyone” and I love that take so much that I’m putting it here.

Ohhh Crystal Lake. How I love you.

Another instance. Where Dusknoir absolutely could have let everything play out. Get rid of 1/3 of his targets while incriminating Grovyle even further as a villain. He knew who partner and hero were at that point. He knew his mission. And yet he acted. It’s so hilarious how similar this and Dusknoir pushing Grovyle out of the way of the stalactite in EP5. My ghost in Christ you could have gotten rid of them so much sooner.

I fucking loooove this little scene so much. How Mespirit and Uxie go over to Azelf in pure worry. How close they get near them. How Dusknoir Hero Partner have the same interaction, yet the renowned explorer keeping physical(emotional) distance away from them. How it’s exactly three Pokémon checking up on eachother in back-to-back scenes.

I Don’t think I Need a Screenshot for the elusive “Well… this is… good-bye… Or is it? Scene; BUT. Something I never considered was him stalling bc I thought he was being a theatrical asshole and pausing for dramatic effect during his betrayal. But i remember a post of someone saying the “…”‘s in his dailouge almost felt like he was hesitating and. Shit. that makes me so insane.

And now, onto the angsty future bits.

Again, Dusknoir absolutely did the shit he did to those two. And I don’t want to take away from it by softening the blow or woobifying him. If anything, the previous explanations/Dusknoir enjoying his time with them(and Vice versa) adds onto the tragedy and angst so much more and I love it. From this point on he is as cold and calculating as he is in game. I only hc the moments of hesitation during the Stoneship fight.

There is something so genuinely heartbreaking about partner’s denial throughout the entirety of the Paralyzed future segments. The refusal to admit that Dusknoir was a horrible Pokémon, and clinging onto hope that he was still good.

AND THE GOD DAMN TEARY EYED SPRITE. YOU CANNOT MAKE THIS UP. HE LOOKED UP TO DUSKNOIR SO MUCH AND FELT SO BETRAYED.

And the implications Hero gave up too from Partner’s words alone. The fact Hero has no dialogue after Dusknoir revealed just how cruelly and easy it was to manipulate them.

And just. Partner’s teary-to-determined sprite pipeline after *finally* getting their shit together and realizing the truth. That they need to stop defending him and be there for Hero. I am going to die. Badly.

And even after all that Dusknoir put them through. Partner doesn’t just go “yeah lmao pretty much” and reels back on calling him heinous and wicked even though that was absolutely justified. (Oh and don’t get me STARTED on the Drowzee/Dusknoir parallels)

Like. God there’s so many crumbs that made me realize on rewatches that the concept had actual merit and potential. And I love it so so dearly. There’s so much potential oozing and fun to be had with Dusknoir being close to those two (or any other Pokémon you see fit.) regardless of Celebi and Grovyle that can work. I still think futuretrio is an amazing dynamic and trio of Pokémon.

And i am also of the opinion of him only rarely showing devotion and care for Pokémon he loves. But still is fairly respectful to randoms he doesn’t know as well. And I think it not being solely restricted to Grovyle/Celebi can can make for some really sweet dynamics. Again, I love Grovyle/Celebi/Dusknoir so much. And Ribbons/Aimilios/Dusknoir’s relationship makes me equally as insane if not more.

It’s why I adore it when I see Dusknoir x oc or Dusknoir x sona’s in the fandom that are unapologetically lovey. I hold hands and continue to love whatever new future trio art my mutuals/friends have in store. I appreciate majority of this fandom for it’s open mindedness and kindness.

And on one last note, the reason why the concept of Dadnoir appeals to me so much, is explained so masterfully by one of my good friend’s @gaydiation-poisoning that I will now share with you all

^^^ they’ve been on the dadnoir train for the longest out of anyone I’ve ever met (EVEN ME.) and they put it. So well. (Without even mentioning the pure drama and bittersweet tension upon his return to Treasure town.)(Like fuck man. The idea of Hero/Partner slowly learning to retrust him after… everything. Emotionally and Physically. The time it’d take. The conflict and continued back-and-forth dynamics between them. and the one ghost who desperately wanted to live in retribution for their lives; trying genuinely, no stings attached this time, to try and reconnect with those two.) [not even mentioning the fun switch up of famous explorer + two recruits trying to impress and get close to him, vs famous explorer(s) + fallen from grace explorer trying to get close and rekindle a tainted relationship.] take these three away from me they make me sickkk

And I really hope I, alongside the many others who’ve adapted this hc, can inspire u to keep loving whatever you want anon. Regardless of how in-character or out it may seem. Don’t be afraid to make what you love.

#asks #pmd eos #Dusknoir #dadnoir #I WANTED TO DO ONE EVER SINCE I JOINED THE FANDOM but never had the time #ALSO TY FOR GIVING ME THE MOTIVATION TO FINALLY MAKE THIS #may pin this or redirect it to ppl if they ever get curious about the concept :3

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her-power · 1 year ago

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So Called Chaos (Part One: Modern single dad! e.m x fem reader)

❤️‍🩹🚨‼️18+ Minors DO NOT interact ‼️🚨❤️‍🩹

Trigger warnings/content warnings: Talk of suicide, talk of death, grief, hurt, comfort. Talk of PPD/PPA. Smut will come later, not explicit but sensual I guess? (warning now) strong language, angst, fluff.

Summary: This takes place in modern times. Eddie & reader are in early 30s. Eddie is raising his two year old son, Hunter, alone while coping with the death of his son’s mother who he had a complicated relationship with. He runs into an old friend at the bookstore (the reader) and memories of their time together as teenagers flood his brain to a point where he cannot stop thinking about her and the what if’s. This blossoms into a beautiful rekindled friendship and potentially something more.

Word Count: 5.1K

Thirty-four-year-old Eddie Munson hovers over the crib, his eyes bloodshot, he was so tired, but he always made sure to watch him fall asleep. His sweet son, Hunter. He was turning two years old tomorrow. Two whole years. Eddie couldn’t imagine him not existing, even if it didn’t start out the way he wanted to. Hunter’s mother had died six months after he was born; it was a subject Eddie didn’t talk about with many people. Not even his friends. Olivia was sick, she was tired, she thought the easiest way was to just disappear forever. He was angry at her, but he had loved her. In a way they only knew how to love one another.

Hunter was the best thing that ever happened to him. He reaches his hand over to his face, gently caressing the spot between his eyes, his brown curly hair lined his face perfectly. His lips puckered while he slept, and he would go into random laughing fits in his sleep. Eddie would tell him that it was grandma making him laugh from Heaven. He sighs, taking the video monitor and putting on the white noise machine.

He walks downstairs and plops himself onto the couch.

“You’re doing good, Eds.” The voice comes out of the shadows.

Oh yeah, he also talks to the dead mother of his child. It was worse after she died, then it went away for awhile. Now, it’s been a daily occurrence. He isn’t sure if it’s his way of coping with her death or if he’s actually talking to her, but he wasn’t in the mood.

“Go away.” He mutters.

Olivia’s form reaches his peripheral vision, but he doesn’t turn his head. He couldn’t. The last time he did she didn’t look normal, she looked very dead.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers.

“You keep saying that and I honestly don’t think you are.” He laughs, feeling tears form at the corners of his eyes, he sniffles them back. “It was your choice to leave us. Leave me alone.”

“I just want you to be happy, Eddie.” Her voice is fading.

“Who says I’m not happy?” He grumbles, glancing at the time on his phone. “Go say happy birthday to our son and then stay away.”

He doesn’t feel her presence in the room, and he’s almost relieved. Their relationship was complicated, even before she got pregnant. They were just friends with benefits, met at the hideout and it became a weekly thing. He loved her, but he wasn’t in love with her. She felt the same, but they tried to make it work when she got pregnant. He noticed a change in her after Hunter was born, she stopped going to her postpartum appointments, had denied that she was depressed. She was a wonderful mother, but she didn’t think she was good enough. She said so in her note, and it has taken him over a year to prevent himself from lighting it on fire.

He was grieving, he knew that. But he was grieving more so for Hunter not having a mother. Like himself. Robin has been a big help. She would show up unannounced, demand him to take a nap or shower and she would take care of Hunter. He didn’t say many words but when he would see her, he would say “Teetee”, Auntie was too hard for him right now. He sighs and texts Robin:

Been hearing her again.

His phone immediately rings and he groans, sliding it to answer. “You know I hate talking on the phone.”

“I don’t care. When did it start up again?” He hears the beeping from inside her car and her door shut.

“Robin, you don’t need to come here, I’m fine.” Eddie groans, falling back on the couch, his long hair falling out of its half bun.

“When did it start?”

“I don’t know, two weeks ago maybe.” He pinches the bridge of his nose as soon as hears Robin huff. Demanding in the sweetest way possible why he didn’t tell her sooner, and if he needs her to come over more. “Robin…Robin…slow it down. I’m fine. I promise.”

“Well, I’m still coming over.”

Eddie groans. “I was just gonna smoke a joint and go to bed.”

“Okay, smoke a joint, I’ll be there in five.”

She hangs up and Eddie sighs, running his fingers through his hair. He gets up from the couch, taking the video monitor with him and goes into the two-car garage. He turns the light of the garage on, his truck sat idle in one of the spaces and his Sweetheart, drum set, and musical equipment sat in the other spot.

He lucked out finding this house; it was a fixer upper, and they gave it to him 3,000 dollars below the asking price. He was able to finish the basement; he did it all himself, with the exceptional help of Robin, Steve and Dustin. It was a two-floor cape house; covered in wall-to-wall carpet. Ripping it up was easy, adding new flooring was not. Uncle Wayne had helped with the rest, and Eddie had settled for area rugs and the house came together beautifully. Hunter took his first steps in the hallway; he got his first bump on his head on the kitchen cabinet when he didn’t know how to slow down when he was “running”.

Eddie chuckles as he rolls the joint, at the time it wasn’t funny, because Hunter was screaming, and Eddie thought he had brain damage. He remembers Robin saying, “don’t react, don’t react…be calm”. And once he calmed down, Hunter calmed down and went about his business, finding his toy bus and playing with it in the living room.

He lights the joint, inhaling on it deeply and letting it out slowly of his mouth. He hears Robin’s car pull on the driveway and he carefully lifts up the garage door, her lights blinding him. He waves at her to shut them off and she flicks the high beams at him twice just to add some extra annoyance.

She giggles, coming out of the car, holding two plastic bags of snacks and drinks. He takes them from her, immediately opening the popcorn.

“You really didn’t have to come here.” He says, chewing on the popcorn and then inhaling on his joint. He passes it to her, and she takes it willingly.

“I’m on vacation and Vicky is away for the weekend with her sister.” She passes the joint back to him as they walk back into the garage. “Plus, you need a day off.”

“I’m on vacation too.” He grumbles, and he was, he took two weeks off from the record shop he co-owned just to spend more time with Hunter and potentially start writing music again.

“Dude, I mean like a day off.” She says, passing him a soda from the bag. “Me and Hunter can have an auntie day, and you can go run errands or go scream in the woods.”

Eddie chuckles. “Screaming in the woods does sound appealing.”

“Please just take the day for yourself, man.” She tells him kindly, both finishing off the joint and walking back inside. “You need it.” She peels off her jacket, it was springtime, but the nighttime air was still a bit chilly.

“I don’t want to put a burden on you, Rob. He can be a handful, and it’s his birthday.” He tells her, moving his way to the living room to check the monitor.

“He’s obsessed with me. He saves the tantrums for you. I’m not saying go out for the whole day, just go do something for you for a couple hours, and then we can have cake when you get back.” She pats his shoulder, and he laughs. They both sit on the couch; Eddie puts on a music documentary for background noise.

He feels her eyes on him, and he turns his head to look at her. “Go ahead, ask the question.”

“Are you really okay?” She asks him, pulling her knees up to her chest.

He sighs, leaning back on the couch. “Okay in what sense?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m okay when I’m with Hunter. When he giggles at something he finds funny, when he grabs my face just press his forehead against mine, when he hugs me. Nighttime lately has been…lonely, I guess.” He groans, hating that he was opening up like this, but Robin could unfortunately read him like a book.

“Do you miss her?”

“Of course I do.” He says, sighing loudly after he hesitates. “I miss having a partner, she was so good. And Hunter loved her…” His throat clenches, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m pissed at her for robbing him of a mother. I’m fucking angry, Robin. She had the help in front of her, I don’t understand.”

Robin is silent for a moment. “Sometimes it’s hard for some people to get out of that darkness. Being in constant pain everyday and just trekking along. It wasn’t your job to save her, Eddie.”

“I could never leave him like that.” His voice trembles. “He’s everything to me.”

“And he was everything to her.” Robin says, leaning over to grab his hand. “But sometimes, that isn’t enough.”

“Well, it should’ve been.” He wipes his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore, the more I talk about her the angrier I get.”

“Has Hunter talked about her?”

And…we’re still talking about her.

“Not really, he will stare at her picture and smile. His eyes twinkle like hers, that bright blue mixed with green. It’s beautiful.” He tries to smile. “I just feel like his life is already gonna be fucked up because of this and because I’m his dad.”

“You’re a great father, Eddie.”

He’s quiet.

“I question it sometimes.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. That little boy loves you.” She squeezes his hand. “I don’t know a thing about being a parent, but I know my parents, and they sucked. It’s not easy, but you’re doing your best.”

He rolls his eyes, groaning, laying his head against her shoulder. “Can’t you just let me be self deprecating for once? I hate that you’re a nice person sometimes.”

“I hate that you’re mean to yourself. You’re my best friend, and I wish you would just see what I see.”

“I need to write again.” He sighs.

“So, write. Go somewhere tomorrow and do that.” She rests her head against his. He pats her knee, sighing.

“Fine. I will do that…after I express some more self-deprecating behavior.”

“You’re so annoying, dude.” She laughs, shoving him away.

“It’s your fault for wanting to be my friend.”

***

Hunter had woken later than usual; he was happy and giggling and as soon as he saw Robin’s face, he squealed with delight. Eddie had put on one of Hunter’s favorite songs, Let’s Dance by David Bowie and the two of them danced and sang the song to him with goofy faces which made him have full belly laughs. It took Eddie a few pushes from Robin before she could get him out of the house. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to go, but as he drove, he realizes he hasn’t been to the bookstore in a while. He had bought a lot of his music books back in the day from there, along with anything that had to do with the Lord of the Rings. He pulls into the parking lot and steps out, adjusting his jeans and his Knocked Loose t-shirt. As soon as he steps in the doorway, he is hit with a familiar aroma of books. He forgot how soothing it was to just stand there and take it all in.

He wasn’t sure where to go first; they had done a lot of rearranging of the place. He settled with heading to the children’s section first. He felt like a little kid himself, remembering how it felt to open a new book and see the pictures pop out from the pages. He had a pile in his arms, one of the workers had to give him a basket so his arm wouldn’t fall off. He found children’s board books called Baby Bowie, Baby Janis and Baby Elvis. He found a children’s book rendition of the Goonies and Back to the Future, as well as a cute store about a pack of baby wolves in the woods. He exits the area, completely distracted by his next his adventure into the horror section when he accidentally collides with a woman in the aisle. He drops his basket, as well as causing her to drop her pile of books.

“Oh shit, I am so sorry.” He tells her, squatting down to help her pick up up the books.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

That voice.

Eddie looks up.

Your voice.

The two of you lock eyes; Eddie almost topples over.

“Oh my god…Eddie?!” You squeal with delight, getting to your feet and Eddie follows, lifting you off your feet as he hugs your waist tightly. He was almost shaking; it had been close to twenty years since he last laid his eyes on you.

He pulls away to look at you and he smiles. “You haven’t changed.”

You blush. “Neither have you.” You curl a piece of his hair in your finger. He stares at you and is having a hard time trying to find words as he hands your books to you.

“How-how long are you in town for?” He asks you quietly, still smiling.

“Oh, uh…permanently.” You say with a small laugh. “I moved into my parents house…my mom died a few years ago and my dad had to go to nursing home.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” He says sadly, grabbing your hand. “I didn’t know.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to come, Eddie. You got your hands full. How’s your son?” You smile sweetly at him, and his heart does a pitter patter.

“He’s awesome. He’s two today. He’s at my house hanging out with Robin.”

“Robin Buckley? How is she?”

“She’s great, getting married next year to Vicky.”

Eddie had heard that you were married a few years ago, but he didn’t want to pry when he didn’t see a ring on your finger and the admission that you were living with your parents. You smile, shaking your head and taking out your phone. “You probably should be getting back to Hunter. I would love to catch up though.” You ask him for his number which he gives willingly, and you send Eddie a melting face emoji and he giggles.

“Got it.” He smiles at you, and you smile back. You sigh, going up on your toes to hug his shoulders. “It was so good to see you.”

Eddie squeezes your waist, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut. It has been a long time since another man held you like this. You pull away and say your goodbyes, going your separate ways.

Eddie is still dumbfounded when he gets home, he couldn’t believe he ran into you. Robin notices the look on his face, and he tells her everything.

“Whoa dude, the one who got away.”

“I mean, not really.” He says, moving Hunter’s curly hair out of his eyes and kissing his forehead. “The only thing that happened was we kissed, and that was short lived because the cops came to break up the party in the woods.”

“Kissed key word. Steve and I had been rooting for the two of you that whole summer.”

Eddie laughs. “We were just friends at that point.” He pulls Hunter in his arms, rocking him gently and he lays his head against Eddie’s chest, ready to fall asleep for his afternoon nap. Eddie stares at Hunter, taking him all in as he sometimes does. His beautiful round cheeks, his full lips. The dimples he got from Eddie, so much more prominent. His bright blue eyes stare into his, and his little hand goes up to cup his cheek and Eddie kisses his palm. Robin was watching her best friend from the background, knowing that his little moment he was sharing with Hunter was a moment just for them. Eddie begins singing a soft melody to him, and by the time he’s finished, Hunter is sound asleep in his arms.

Eddie had placed him in his pack and play in the living room, covering him with his favorite blanket.

“Go write some music.” Robin says gently. “I’ll hang in here with him.”

Eddie nods, gently squeezing her hand. “Thank you.”

Eddie walks in the garage, sighing as he takes a pack of cigarettes he had hidden in the cabinet. He barely smokes anymore, but when he needs to write something, a buzz from nicotine will usually do the trick. He sits down on the stool behind the drum set, laying his composition notebook on the snare drum, opening it to a blank page. He lights up the cigarette, letting the fire burn his lungs. He closes his eyes, slowly letting out the smoke. He takes the cap off his pen with his teeth and hovers it over the blank page.

A sound of a beer can opening…

A cute laugh…

He stares off for a moment, remembering…

A long time ago…

Eddie sits on a broken tree limb, smoking a cigarette and sipping his beer, staring at the bon fire. He was seventeen, sitting by himself while watching his friends socialize. He wasn’t in the mood to socialize tonight; he was already in a bad mood, but Robin and Steve really wanted him at the party. His dad had called from prison, asking Eddie to wire him some money for his canteen. Eddie told him to fuck himself, and his father ended the call to tell him it was the anniversary of his mother Elizabeth’s death. Which he had forgotten about. And he was oddly overcome with so much sadness and grief he didn’t know how else to process it besides sulking. Eddie feels a presence next to him, and turns to see you, gripping an empty beer bottle.

“Walk with me.” You mutter quietly.

“What?” Eddie asks you, confusion setting in but also concern on why your hands are trembling. “Are you okay?”

“No.” You whisper. “I’m pretty sure one of the dudes over there drugged me…please just walk with me.”

A burning rage fills up Eddie’s lungs as he looks over at the crowd of football players, passing small glances over at the two of you. Eddie couldn’t fathom why someone would do that…especially to someone like you. Eddie stands up, about to walk over there but you grab his denim jacket in a tight fist.

“No, Eddie. Walk with me.” You tell him, desperation in your tone and Eddie lets out a sigh and nods. You drop the beer bottle when he takes your hand and the two of you walk down a dark path towards where the moon overlooks the lake.

You lean against a tree; Eddie watches you as you take in a few deep breaths. He walks towards you, gently taking your hand.

“Walk me through it, are you feeling it?” He asks you carefully.

“I don’t know…maybe? My legs feel weird. I know I’m drunk, but my heart won’t stop racing. I feel like I’m gonna get sick.”

“If you puke it will dial down the effects of the drugs.” Eddie tells you gently, the rage still burning. “Who was it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You say, hiccuping and then holding your stomach. “Some douche bag.”

“I need a name.”

“No, you don’t, what you need is to hold my hair back because if you keep talking, I’m gonna throw up on your shoes.” You awkwardly stumble into him as you clench your stomach with your arm, and you feel the bile rise to your throat and the vomit come out like a faucet. Eddie’s holding your hair and gently rubbing your back as you violently puke behind the tree. When you feel like you have nothing left from your insides, you groan, leaning back against the tree. You didn’t feel like you were going to black out anymore, but the slight high was still there.

“There’s…water…in my bag…” you tell him quietly. “Can you get it for me, please?”

Eddie nods, going through your bag and handing you a steel water bottle. You chug it; Eddie tells you to slow down so you don’t puke again but you wave him off. You slide down to your bottom on the cool ground, your legs covered in dirt. “Thank you.”

“Now will you tell me who it was?”

You giggle. “No. It’s over with. I’m the idiot who took a drink from a stranger at a party in the woods.”

“Don’t victim blame.” Eddie tells you with a smirk.

“I’m not a victim. You, Eddie Munson were my knight and shining armor who rescued me.” You giggle at how ridiculous you sound. “Sorry, I’m still drunk and I’m trying to keep it together.”

Eddie laughs, sitting next to you. His heart doing a pitter patter as he stares at you. Steve and Robin had introduced you to him two summers ago. You had hung out together but never alone like this, he couldn’t get over your beauty. Even in the moonlight, your features were breathtaking.

“Are you okay?” You ask him quietly. “You’ve seemed a little off all night.”

Eddie is caught off guard by your question. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He smiles at you, taking out his cigarettes.

“Those are bad for you.” You smirk at him. “Haven’t you seen those commercials?”

“Yup.” He laughs, twirling the lighter in his hands. “I won’t smoke if it bothers you.”

“No, it’s fine, cause I’m probably gonna ask you for one.” You laugh.

“But these are bad for you.” Eddie teases and you gently nudge him with your foot.

“Give me one.”

Eddie laughs, taking two from his pack, and handing you one. He lights yours first, the flame illuminating your face as you inhale deeply, you only cough a little and you lean your head back against the tree. The two of you sit in silence, your anxiety was subsiding. His presence alone was making you feel safe, comfortable.

“I was thinking about my mom.” Eddie tells you after a moment and you glance over at him, he’s not sure why he told you, he guesses he just needed to say it out loud. “Today is her anniversary…and I forgot. So, I feel like a shitty son.”

You lean closer to him. “I’m sorry.”

Eddie shrugs. “It’s just a lifelong thing I have to deal with I guess.”

You inhale on the cigarette, letting it billow from your nostrils. “My dad lost both of his brothers during Vietnam. His older brother got killed over there and his other brother came home but never left until he took his life. I remember being young and asking him how it feels to grow up without them, how they stay the same age, and he gets older, approaching their ages year after year. I think I caught him off guard because it took him awhile to say what he said. But he said, ‘it feels like being trapped in a current, one side of the water is pulling you towards where you don’t want to go, and the other side is fighting against you. You can either swim with all your might to avoid it until you’re exhausted, or you can let the current slowly carry you. That’s what grief is, it’s never ending, sometimes it’s okay to fight against it, but sometimes it’s not. It’s just empty love’.”

Eddie stares in awe at you, feeling tears creep up into the corners of his eyes. “Wow. I never thought of it like that.”

“Me either, but I’ve also never lost anyone.” You sigh, glancing at his solemn face. “She must’ve been an amazing woman.”

“Yeah.” Eddie hesitates. “From what I remember. She’s why I love music, so I guess when I play music or write songs, I take her with me.”

You smile, and gently rest your head against his shoulder. He tenses a little but relaxes, resting his cheek against the top of your head. This felt natural to you, and it surprisingly felt natural to Eddie. You didn’t even know what time it was, and in that moment you didn’t care. You could stay curled next to him forever.

“Will I feel like this tomorrow?” You whisper.

His curly hair tickles your forehead. “You’re probably gonna have a headache in the morning. Drink a lot of water.”

“I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there…or if my first instinct wasn’t to come find you.” You lean your head up to look at his face and he meets your eyes, his heart racing over how close your faces were. “Thank you.”

Eddie smiles, gently squeezing your hand. “Don’t need to thank me. You could give me a name though.”

“Nope.” You laugh and he sighs, shaking his head.

“I’m gonna find out eventually.” He says, snuffing the cigarette out on a rock.

“And you’re going to do nothing because I told you to do nothing.” You say, meeting his brown eyes, staring at them and he stares back at you. “Did you know that your eyes have a bit of gold in them? They’re beautiful.”

Eddie blushes and giggles. “You’re just drunk.” He bumps you with his shoulder.

“No, well, yes but…I never noticed them before.” You move your hand up to cup his face and he almost flinches. “There’s a lot I didn’t notice before.”

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat, carefully turning towards you so your knees are touching. He lifts his hand to curl a piece of hair behind your ear and you tremble. You lean towards his lips, and he pulls back a little, cupping your cheek. “Are you sure? You’re still drunk, I don’t want you to—"

“Just kiss me, you dork.” You laugh and he smiles shyly. He leans carefully towards you, slightly trembling as his soft lips press against yours. A thousand volts goes through your entire core as you kiss him, and he wonders why he never got the guts to kiss you before now. The kiss deepens, and you push your body closer to his as he cups the back of your head. His other hand grips your waist, and you sigh, sitting on his lap.

“COPS!”

Someone yells as they run past you two, and your lips pull away quickly. You could hear the sirens by the fire and the sound of walkie talkies. The two of you scramble to your feet, you grab your bag, and he takes your hand, both going into a sprint through the woods. You couldn’t stop laughing, the excitement of kissing him as well as the adrenaline from escaping the cops was making you feel all kinds of giddy. When the two of you felt comfortable enough to slow down, you both end up on a quiet road, which was near your house, the silence was calming, and you had to catch your breath from the laughing.

“That was insane.” You laugh. “I’ve never run from the cops before.”

“It’s a cake walk for me now.” Eddie laughs, taking your hand as you two walk silently towards your street. Thunder booms over head, rain begins to pelt you both. You laugh loudly as the rain becomes torrential and you’re running again to the sidewalk in front of your house. He walks you to the front door, the awning shielding you both from the rain and you giggle, moving your wet hair from your face.

Eddie laughs, picking a piece of a leaf that landed in your hair. You smile at him, clearing your throat.

“I had a lot of fun.” You tell him and he smiles.

“Yeah, me too.” He grins. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll message you if I need you to pull me out of a black out.” You joke.

“Don’t scare me because I will sleep outside your window.”

You smile at him, gently patting his face. “Thank you for everything, Eddie.”

Eddie gently cups your chin, smiling. “Don’t need to thank me.”

You laugh, shaking your head, opening your screen door quietly. You stop at the door, looking up at him. You lean up on your toes, kissing him softly on the lips and open your front door. You wave to him from your foyer, telling him to text you when he got home safely.

Eddie walked through the rain that night with a smile on his face, still feeling the tingle of your lips against his.

It was a feeling he hasn’t felt before, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to lose it yet.

Eddie groans, closing his notebook. He didn’t write anything, he was in a daze, thinking of you, remembering that kiss. The kiss that sealed the deal that you were the girl of his dreams, but then life happened, you never really saw each other again. But he always thought about you, always wondered what if, even when he was with Olivia. He sighs, taking his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolling to the text message you had sent him earlier.

He didn’t know what to say, or what to ask. He didn’t know if it was too soon to reach out to you or if you were waiting for him. Coffee was innocent enough, right? He needed to find a babysitter first, only for a few hours. He couldn’t ask Robin again, he felt too bad, but he knew she would say yes. He felt extremely guilty suddenly; he shouldn’t be leaving him with babysitters.

“Text her.” Olivia’s voice comes out of the shadows and Eddie gasps loudly, falling off the drum stool.

“Fuck.” Eddie says, catching his breath. “Go away.”

“Not until you text her.” He could feel her presence, and his hands tremble as he keeps his eyes fixed on the high hat. He knew she was right behind him, but he wouldn’t look.

“You’re an actual nightmare.” He mutters, reaching for his phone.

“Take Hunter with you if you have to.”

“No, I don’t want to confuse him.”

“How would you confuse him?”

“She’s not you.” Eddie says, his heart slowly breaking.

“No, she’s not. But, Eddie…this will be good for you, for both of you.”

Eddie stares at the blinking cursor on the text thread, his fingers hovering over the keypad. He doesn’t feel Olivia’s presence anymore and quickly types up a message, hitting send.

Hi, I’m not sure if you have plans or not tomorrow, but would you like to meet for coffee in the morning? There’s a café near my house where they have cake pops that Hunter loves. I hope you don’t mind that he tags along.

She responds immediately: Why would I mind? He’s your son. Of course I would love to meet for coffee. 8am okay?

Eddie smiles. That sounds perfect.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fluff #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson series

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raileurta · 20 days ago

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You mentioned expanding this AU into different continuities and it just reminded me of the fact that technically rescue bots and prime are in the same universe (and also ghosts are canon???? Like human ghosts). Do you think unicron keeps tabs on the kids initially just to try and convince them to go full feral but eventually comes to just like talking to them? Like he starts out with the whole “you’re right on his shoulder, you’re so close, that spark must be mighty tempting.” And it eventually becomes stuff like “you need to drink more water” not cause he cares or anything, it’s just that his little spark eaters can do more damage if they’re in good health (sure that’s the reason).

Thinking about how you mentioned Wheeljack and Bulkhead squirreling away immobilised mechs and like, do you think unicron is lowkey helping them out with that? Like, “wow that’s an awfully convenient hiding spot for this mech. Not gonna think too much into that.” Hell, do you think he’s kinda fond of them in a way? Like he’d never admit it but he’s kinda like “well…even if they are creations of primus…they are helping feed one of my spark eaters…so they get a pass…for now.”

(Lowkey very tempted to write a little horror drabble from an immobilised mechs pov about that cause the potential is very interesting. listen I’m a nerd who will always fall for horror and angst tropes lol)

You’ve mentioned being willing to talk about messenger/metamorphosed humans appearances so I’m kinda curious about what impacts their appearance. Like I know you said insect wings aren’t really viable but hummingbird wings kinda work in the same way 👀. (Double hummingbird wings???) Is it straight “biology” based on the traits they already had or does the humans personality impact their appearance? Since the kids are…y’know, kids, are they done growing after metamorphosis or will they keep growing normally? Or maybe would they grow slower because they live longer now?

Do you think Unicron is trying to convince Miko and Raph to put themselves into situations to allow him to messenger metamorphose them? I figure it needs a specific set of circumstances if only Jack has been “messengered” so far cause he absolutely wants Miko at maximum chaos potential lmao

Anyways uhhhh…I’m a bit brain dead from a 7 hour car ride, here’s some shitty doodles I made cause I thought they’re silly and fun.

(Can you tell I can’t draw?)

Have a nice week!

Firstly, thank you for the fanart. I will treasure it greatly. *Hangs it on my Tumblr fridge* I did chuckle at some of the stuff I saw lmao. XD

Yeah I also forget rescue bots and prime exist in the same universe- (We're not talking about that poor excuse of a sequel that shall be named) it is a little funny as tfp is like the one singular alt edgy older teen at a family gathering.

I do believe after a while on Unicron trying to be the all powerful robot Satan manipulator he…. just kinda gives up. Humans- the kids, let's be real here are quite frankly too stubborn and self destructive to deal with. Especially with people like Miko who's self preservation is in the negatives, and probably beyond that. He is forced into the role of an actual caregiver as he has to drag the kids kicking and screaming into taking care of themselves. He's just so distracted by this he just puts the manipulation onto the back burner then later ultimately decides it's not worth the effort.

Unicron is enabling the hell out of them without actually trying to be caught or admit to doing it. Once he first heard of this happening he was completely on board with it 100%. He just doesn't admit it since he does have a reputation to uphold, plus he's also just a tsundere. He conveniently, “accidentally” just happens to make perfect caves to hide undisclosed large objects a lot, does a few distractions here and there, all kinds of things.

I would encourage you to do so. 🙏 What they are doing is pretty horrifying and it definitely makes you question their morals. However it is a great premise for a horror fic with all kinds of fucked up.~

I don't remember saying that??? I think I didn't? If I did, regardless, consider that retconned. I don't care too much about physics considering *gestures vaguely to the entire tf franchise* and all that. So go crazy.

It's kinda a mixture of their personality, what they represent as a Messenger, and “biology.” I don't want to spoil you as that's a post for the redesigns but there is lots of stuff at play here.

Oh absolutely yes he does. For someone to become a Messenger-

*spoilers*

they have to embody what they would represent fully at a point in their life. Jack, as the Freedom part of chaos, really needed to want freedom. When he was abducted he was caged and subjected to lots of things he was definitely going to talk about in future therapy. Once he was terrorizing the ship he was completely panicked. He was now forced into a body he didn't want or understand desperately trying to evade capture by the decepticons. It all came to a head when he was cornered and before he was set out into the volcano Jack wanted to be free.

Jack needed to be free.

He couldn't believe Megatron has possibly done this thousands of times to various people already. At that moment the once human yearned with all his heart that no one would be trapped like this ever again.

He then was ground bridged and the rest is history.

Have a good few days too. 👋

#transformers #tfp #maccadam #transformers prime #tfp miko #miko nakadai #tf #ask #tfp jack #tfp unicron #spark-eater au #fanart for me #kitty miko #dad unicron #earth is Unicron

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oceannicmuse · 3 months ago

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Sing, poet, the echo of my will.

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Hi my Odesingers! It's Oceanic Muse here to entertain *Love in Paradise plays in the background*. How are you? I'm meh, y'know.

This is the part two of the previous post! I mean, some other points to form the lore of my version of Athenide AU.

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DISCLAIMER: English is not my first language, so all of this was translated with the help of AI and Google Translate. Please be kind!

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PART II — INTRO & AU LORE

Love interest?

I get why some people avoid including a love interest or keep Percy single during these time travel AUs—especially considering canon Percabeth. But in my fic, Percabeth doesn’t exist, and honestly, I need angst to keep the children of Aphrodite entertained. So here are my two main contenders:

(Mortals are out of the question. Percy, being on the path to ascension—or with inevitable ascension—wouldn’t consciously get involved with a mortal knowing how painful it would be for both.)

My bets are on Apollo and Hermes. They both have a lot in common:

• They’re charismatic, and Percy knows them in the future. In the past, they’re feared but not described as especially awful.

• They’re not married or romantically linked to any major divine partner (unlike Ares and Aphrodite, often treated like a couple).

• The potential for fluff and angst is just too good to resist.

Personally, I went with Hermes. I wanted to explore something I’ve never seen before. And trust me, now that I’m developing it, I kind of regret it—it’s more complicated in some ways—but I think it’s worth it. Besides, there are already tons of Perpollo fics (I married that ship).

Does Percy return to her time?

Yes, but not in the way people expect. Her physical body vanishes in Ancient Greece, and her essence (I’m not sure what to call it—maybe her deified soul?) returns to the modern era. It’s like fate telling her: “You’ve fulfilled your purpose here” and “everything must return to where it belongs.” Even though she physically adjusted to the Hellenic world, she’s still a temporal agent with a mission to complete before returning.

When Percy returns to her body in the present, she remembers nothing of what happened (yes, it’s a cliché—but a beautiful one!). A while back, while diving into this fascinating AU, I read some amazing Tumblr blogs—ideas from anotheroceanid and chaoticdumbassrogue, if I'm not bad. Their fics inspired me so much that I even tried to figure out Tumblr (spoiler: still confused).

One of the ideas that stuck with me was Percy gradually recovering her memories during Son of Neptune. Imagine: a Percy trying to reclaim her identity at Camp Jupiter, while having flashes of her life as a goddess in ancient Hellas. An identity crisis of epic proportions—the mortal Percy and the divine Percy are one and the same, yet also not, like the Greek and Roman versions of the gods. And to make things worse, she’s furious about how everything she fought for turned out.

Interference and Time Paradox

Percy messes with a lot of stuff in the past, but she doesn’t break the space-time continuum or anything.

Everything she did was already meant to happen. Time always expected her to be there, saving the day or causing chaos, or both. As she was growing up, the past she’d eventually live through was already baked into the present. So she doesn’t change history—she completes it. Like that one puzzle piece nobody knew where to put until suddenly, perfect fit.

So why isn’t she mentioned anywhere?

She vanished, and slowly, so did her legacy. No goddess, no miracles, no prophecies. People started to forget. Her name stopped being spoken. Temples crumbled or got rededicated to other gods. Some of her deeds got misattributed, others erased. When the Romans took over, she got lost in translation.

Maybe there are scraps left. A weird myth with no clear hero. A statue with features that don’t match any known deity. Symbols no one can explain. But no one knows it was Percy.

Except the gods. They remember her. Some with warmth, some with guilt, but all of them know she was real. The sad part is, even after centuries, none of them managed to make mortals remember.

(Classic patriarchy erasing powerful women from history, right?)

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I hope you enjoyed this and that it made sense, and not just my ramblings! See you in the next post.

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I'm not a player, I'm the puppeteer.

#greek mythology #riordanverse #perse athenide #percy pjo #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #athenide au

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twirlywhirlywriting · 1 year ago

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Consequences of Being a Brat

Eddie Munson Fic Incoming!

NSFW 18+, Minors DNI! Okay so this one is… whoo. A lot more intense than my previous fics. I know I said my next fic would be with Clarke Griffin from The 100 but I got smacked in the face with inspiration for this so, here you go. This fic is purely self indulgent and I pretty much made it just for my own desire BUT I am sure all you dom!Eddie lovers out there will enjoy it too. I honestly have no clue if The Magic Wand existed in the 80’s but for the sake of this fic, it absolutely did. The ending is super fluffy so please stick around for it too! Please like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed this, it would mean the whole entire world to me!

Word Count: 9,016

Warnings:NSFW 18+, Angst (very slight), Smut, Fluff, AFAB Reader, Aftercare, BratTamer!Eddie, Brat!Reader, Breath Play (one time near the end), Bondage, Biting, Potential CNC? (honestly I’m not sure if it is or not. Reader doesn’t want to accept punishment but it’s all a part of their brat/tamer dynamic and consensual, but as always, read at your own risk), Choking, Crying During Aftercare, Dom!Eddie, Degradation, Dacryphilia, Eventual Submission, Extreme Sensitivity, Face Slapping (Only a couple of times and it is not extreme), Forced Orgasms, Fingering, Humiliation, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Oral Sex (f and m receiving), Orgasm Control and Denial, Punishment, P-in-V (unprotected, wrap it up irl folks), Rough Sex, Sub!Reader, Spanking, Swearing, Squirting, Subspace (mentions of, it’s not super deep), Vibrators

Idk I feel like I overdo it with warnings sometimes but I want you to be able to read at your own risk and avoid your own triggers, I do not want my writing to cause harm! Only horniness and happy feelings! Anywho, here is my newest fic and I really hope you all love it!

Consequences of Being a Brat

The stage lights focused, the crowd hushed, and the electric hum of anticipation filled the air. Eddie Munson, with his shaggy brown hair cascading over his shoulders, stood center stage. His fingers started strumming his electric guitar as Corroded Coffin launched into their first song. In the sea of people, Eddie scanned the crowd, looking for one face in particular–yours. You never missed a single concert, and tonight shouldn’t have been any different. But tonight, no matter how hard he searched, you were nowhere to be found.

Where the hell is she? He thought to himself. As the concert reached its crescendo, Eddie’s mind wandered, his performance slightly faltering. Once the last note echoed through the quarry, Eddie rushed offstage. His heart pounded with a mix of post-performance adrenaline and concern for where you could be.

Back at home, I was absolutely fine. My coworker at the bakery asked me to pick up their shift, so I was working overtime and honestly forgot about the concert tonight. I was laying on the couch, lounging in Eddie’s Hellfire club shirt and black cotton panties while watching some cheesy horror flick. I was just about to get up from the couch to call in for a pizza delivery, when Eddie crashed through the door.

He looks absolutely frantic, making me feel instantly guilty. I totally forgot to tell him that I wouldn’t be able to make the concert tonight. Fuck. “Eddie, I’m so sorry! I had to cover Emily’s shift tonight and I completely forgot to let you know I wasn’t going to make it. I feel terrible.” I stand up to give him a hug, he looks like he needs it.

Eddie’s frustration softens, but is still very present. “You just forgot to tell me? I was worried sick, baby. I thought you were hurt.” He hugs me back tightly, before sighing and letting me go.

“I know, I know, Eddie. I’m sorry,” I say, stepping back as he runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. One of the rings on his fingers gets stuck in his hair and as he is figuring out how to get it un-stuck, I can’t help but giggle.

His head immediately snaps to look at me, questioning, “What’s so funny?”

I try not to, but I can’t hold back another giggle. “I can’t help it, you looked so worried.. It was kind of cute.” I know this conversation will get me nowhere but trouble, but my heart feels so inflated with how much he cares about me, I don’t even care right now.

His eyes close for a moment as he processes what just came out of my mouth, his tongue jutting into the side of his cheek. When he opens his eyes again, they seem much darker than they were before and I knew that my words had started something. His tone itself could cut through ice. “Excuse me? Would you like to repeat that? I’m just not sure that’s what you were really trying to say, sweetheart.”

His words shoot a shiver through my body and directly down to my core. He doesn’t call me that unless I’m really starting to push my limits. It’s a fucked up nickname because it’s way too gentle for whatever he’s planning to do to me.

For some stupid reason, the desire to provoke him becomes unbearable. “That is actually exactly what I was trying to say. You were so worried about me that you ran home and almost tore the front door off its hinges. It was absolutely adorable.” I put extra emphasis on the last word, a smirk playing on my lips.

His eyebrow raises at me as his arms cross over his chest, his fingers tapping his arm in an attempt to control his desire to put me over his knee right that second. “Oh yeah? Wanna make that hole you’re in a little deeper?” He takes a step closer to me until it feels like he’s towering over me, his face only inches from mine, and whispers, “Go on, say something else. I dare you.”

Those fucking words. Maybe on any other day, I would have just apologized and took a spanking or two. But daring me? Oh boy, today was not the day. I just got done with two fucking shifts at work in a row and okay, yeah, I can see why you’d be worried about me and now you’re mad that I’m mouthing off, but seriously? Fuck you, Eddie! I thought to myself.

Surprise registers on his face as his mouth opens slightly, eyes widening. Oh god. Did I just say that out loud? I look up at him and laugh nervously. “Is it too late already to say I’m sorry?” My voice is much more quiet than I mean it to be, but it’s too difficult to speak up when his eyes are on fire and it’s directed right at me.

He just stares at me, his eyes going from that teddy-bear brown to straight up black. He starts unbuckling his belt, pulling it from the loops slowly. My mouth dries out and for a moment, I’m frozen in place before the realization of what he’s about to do hits and I fucking bolt towards the bathroom so I can lock myself in there for a while until he calms down.

His hand quickly reaches out and grabs me by the wrist before flipping me around to face him. He grabs my chin and forces me to look up at him while his other hand continues pulling his belt from the loops at an agonizing pace. “And just where do you think you’re going? You really think you get to say that shit to me and then run off to avoid my belt? Really?” He can’t help but laugh at my escape attempt, but his laugh sounds empty.

I try to pull my face away from his grip, but it’s impossible. My nerves turn into anger and I suddenly swat his hand away from my face, my voice raising to a yell. “You can’t get me in trouble for this! I was just messing around, Eddie, can’t you take a fucking joke?”

The growl that escapes his lips is feral. He grabs me by the back of the neck and pushes me forward, forcing me down the hallway towards the bedroom as he bites back, “Eddie? I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talking to, sweetheart, but that is incorrect.”

I’m practically stumbling over my own feet, he’s pushing me so hard and walking too fast for me to find a good rhythm in my steps. I get shoved down onto the mattress face first, but quickly flip myself around and sit up, scrambling backwards to the opposite side of the bed. “Stop it! Eddie I said I was sorry, I was joking! Don’t do this, seriously.” My voice is definitely mixed with panic and anger… arousal is in there somewhere too, judging by the wet spot I know is coming through my panties right now.

He grabs me by my ankles and drags me back towards him, before flipping me over, scolding me as he yanks off my panties and giving my ass a few hard spanks with his hand to warm me up. “Let me get this straight. You are acting like a fucking brat, and now you refuse to take your punishment for it? Not only that, you know how you’re supposed to address me right now, yet you keep acting like you’re just my sweet little girlfriend and calling me by my name. But you’re not my sweet little girlfriend right now, are you?”

He doesn’t even give me a chance to respond to his questions, he just grabs his belt and uses every harsh spank with it to emphasize his next words. “You. Are. My. Bratty. Fucking. Slut.” I wince and whine at every smack, and then my hands fly back to cover my now-bright red ass for protection. He has no patience with me anymore, I can tell. He grabs my hands to pin them behind my back, which makes me groan out in frustration and panic, and without even thinking about it, I’ve kicked my feet at him and hit him right in the thigh. Thankfully it wasn’t a direct kick to the balls, but it was close. And now I’m fucked.

I look back at him as best as I can, and the look on his face sends another round of chills down my spine. I can feel myself getting wetter by the second though, fuck my life. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it!” I scream at him, squirming as hard as I could to try to get away, “I wouldn’t have done that if you had just let me go!”

He tuts at me from behind, sighing in disappointment. “You really need a lesson in obedience today, don’t you? I tried to just give you a few spankings with the belt. Just a few, and you just can’t stop making things worse for yourself.” He grabs me by the hair and yanks me up to sit, making me yelp. My shirt is torn off of me before a quick, double-handed shove sends me crashing back down. It’s not gentle, and I let out an “oof” when I hit the bed. He grabs me by my hips and flips me over again before getting onto the bed and straddling me so I can’t squirm away.

He leans over and grabs a piece of rope in the bedside table drawer before grabbing my wrists harshly. As he is tying my wrists together, he talks to me rather calmly, as if he’s explaining how two plus two equals four. “If you had just taken your punishment like a good girl, I wouldn’t be having to do this, sweetheart. But you just couldn’t shut your mouth, could you? And then you kick me? You actually kick me? Well, when this all gets too intense for you, just remember that you brought this on yourself. I tried to let you off easy, I really did. But now it’s time to face the consequences, sweetheart.” He sighs as he pulls my arms up to tie the other end of the rope against the headboard, acting like my squirming is literally nothing to him. The entire time he’s talking I’ve been doing my best to squirm, to look at him with pleading eyes, to whimper at him submissively like I know he likes, but none of it was doing a single thing to change his mind.

I suddenly notice just how naked I am, and just how clothed he is. It makes my thighs squeeze together as I try to hide just how fucking turned on I am by all of this. Am I terrified? Yes. Have I ever gotten in this much trouble before? No. Am I wetter than I’ve ever been before in my life? God, yes. When he is done with the ties, he looks down at me with his arms crossed against his chest again and his eyebrow raised, waiting for… something?

I look up at him for a few seconds, getting a little bit irritated by the way he’s sitting there and staring at me expectantly but not doing or saying anything. “What?” Oops. That came out harsher than I meant it to.

“Well? Are you going to apologize?” He demands. Why the fuck is my only urge when he looks like that to make him even more agitated? I know punishment is coming. I know he’s at his limit with my disobedience and attitude. And yet it’s just too entertaining to witness all of his reactions when I refuse to give up.

“No. You don’t own me, you can’t make me do shit.” I glare at him, shutting my eyes and pulling at the restraints slightly as I prepare for a slap. It doesn’t come.

I slowly peek one eye open and he leans forward, grabbing my chin in his hand so hard it hurts until I fully look at him, and then whispers, “Oh, but I do. And you’re going to learn that the hard way.” I can’t help but swallow hard, and my mouth dries out again. I have no clever response to that.

He crawls off of me and grabs the underside of my knees, yanking them open despite me trying to keep them closed. I knew I was a mess down there and I didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that too. When he sees how wet I am, he lets out a whistle. “Damn, baby. You are such a dirty girl.” His fingers go right to my core, spreading my lips apart with two fingers, causing me to whimper and turn my face away from him because the way he’s looking at my pussy right now has my stomach doing flips.

He slides two his two fingers up and down my slit to wet them before shoving them both inside me, giving me absolutely no time to adjust before he starts pumping them in and out at a much faster pace than he normally warms me up with. I moan out as his fingers are sliding in and out easily. I can already hear how wet I am on his fingers, and it makes my cheeks flush at the sound. I can’t even help it at this point and I squirm at the sensation, my legs closing around his hand. Which, obviously doesn’t do fucking anything to stop him or even slow him down. He curls his fingers up once he feels my g-spot start to swell from stimulation, not only making a “come here” motion but also still bringing his fingers in and out of me at a vicious pace. I squeeze my legs tighter and my moans straight up sound like I’m in a porno movie or something.

“You are so fucking wet. I don’t even need to warm you up like this, do I? No, I don’t think I do.” He rips his hands away and leaves me whining at the empty feeling, but it is quickly replaced by the tip of his cock teasing my entrance. I don’t even remember seeing him take off his pants. He slides it along my slit and barely touches my clit with it, which makes me flinch. He slowly pushes himself inside of me as he grabs my hips so hard, I swear they’ll bruise. He leans his head back and groans at the feeling, but just a moment later he is pounding into me at an unforgiving pace. I look at him as my mouth hangs open, keeping eye contact as I’m unable to hold back my moans yet again. The speed of his thrusts mixed with just how turned on I am causes me to get closer to an orgasm much faster than I’d like to.

I absentmindedly try to wrap my arms around him for something to hold on to but the ropes promptly remind me that I can’t. As he feels my pussy starting to twitch and throb the closer I get to an orgasm, he grabs onto the back of my thighs and pushes my legs up and to the side of me, giving him a much better angle to hit my g-spot with every thrust. When he hears the sweet sounds I’m making at this angle, he starts pushing himself deeper and thrusting his hips even harder, practically slamming into my cervix every few thrusts. If it weren’t for how ruthlessly he was fucking me, I would be extremely distracted by the heavenly groans that were freely flowing from his lips right now.

I’m heading towards an orgasm so quickly, I barely have time to say “I’m gonna” before he pulls his cock out of me faster than I can realize what was happening. Right as I’m about to open my mouth to argue or whine at him for rudely stopping my impending orgasm, he brings his hand down to slap my pussy. The wet sound it makes mixed with the sting on my sensitive lips makes me arch my back and groan. He chuckles darkly and slaps my pussy again just to hear me make that sound again.

Then he gets right in my face, and his voice sounds like it’s practically an entire octave lower than usual. “Do you want me to make you cum? Hm? Is that what you want?” I know where this is heading, and it is not in my favor. I nod my head quickly at him, making my voice sound as submissive as I can manage right now, hoping it will work.

“Yes! Yes please, please make me cum! Please Ed-Sir! Please make me cum Sir!” When I almost called him Eddie, he looked like he was about to fucking lose it, so I corrected myself. There have been times before when he’s edged me for days without letting me cum, and I absolutely cannot take that kind of punishment right now.

He places his hand around my throat, squeezing tight enough so that I can’t easily speak and then slams himself inside of me again without warning. No sound comes out when I try to cry out from the sudden force. He speeds up and slows down in a repeating pattern until I’m quivering under him and he can feel just how close I am. He loosens his grip on my throat and has a devilish smirk while he says, “Say it again. Beg me. Say ‘Please Sir, please make me cum like the little slut I am.”

I balk at his words; my voice is caught in my throat and I even stop moaning for a second. I’m so fucking close to cumming though, my legs are shaking uncontrollably. He slaps both of my tits, hard, to jump-start my brain into saying something. “Fuck! Don’t make me say that, God, please just let me cum!”

A chuckle escapes his lips and he tuts his tongue at me in disappointment. He slaps me in the face suddenly. “God isn’t here, sweetheart. It’s just me. You just don’t want to listen, do you?” He says this casually, as if he didn’t just hit me. He pulls his cock out of me again, and I whine as my impending orgasm fizzles out again. He leans over and grabs more rope, silently tying my calf to my thigh and then tying the other side of the rope to the headboard. He does the same thing to my other leg, so that both of my legs are tied up and out of his way. I give the ropes a test squirm and become increasingly nervous as I realize just how little wiggle room I have. I can barely even move my hips an inch. Not good.

I want so badly to complain, to whine, to beg, to argue my way out of this. But as soon as my mouth opens, no words come out. Which is good, because the way he’s looking at me is telling me that now my punishment is going to really begin, and I am too nervous to make it any worse than it’s about to be. He reaches his hand out towards me and grips my cheeks in between his thumb and fingers, digging in. “You have been such a brat today, you don’t deserve an ounce of mercy, sweetheart.”

He lets my cheeks go with a bit of force, before aligning himself up against my entrance and slamming inside me again. I’m hitting the edge so fast, I can’t even help myself from begging, despite what he literally just told me about not deserving mercy. “Please! Please just let me cum. Don’t edge me again, please! Two times is enough, Sir. Please, two times is enough!” My voice sounds whorish, even I can hear it. The force that he’s slamming into me makes every other syllable sound strained through my moans.

“Oh, you think two times is enough?” He scoffs at me before pulling all the way out until just the tip is at my entrance, before slamming into me all the way and growling, “You think two times is all you deserve? You’re pathetic, baby. You don’t even realize how much you need me to break you, to put you in your place.”

He pulls out and slams into me again, his hands reaching up and pinching my nipples hard enough to make me yelp. He continues at this pace, keeping me right on the edge with his incredibly slow, forceful thrusts. “Now beg me for it. Tell me you want me to make you cum. Say ‘Please Sir, please make me cum like the little slut I am.’” He spits out the word “slut” with venom, his eyes don’t leave mine for a second. I’m so close, so needy, so fucking close that I don’t dare look away from him either.

I cry out in frustration, a “no!” escaping my lips before I can even stop it. I look at him desperately, about to apologize for defying him yet again and beg him to just let me cum, but he smacks my tits again and uses both of his hands to grip my throat. He squeezes just enough that I can still breathe, if I really focus, but there’s no way I can talk.

“No?” he repeats, an evil grin spreading across his face as he pulls out of me all the way again, and I think for a second he’s going to stop completely. “Well then, I guess we’re just going to have to keep going, aren’t we?” He leans in and bites the inside of my tit right next to my nipple so hard that I pull against the restraints and my eyes squeeze shut. He pushes himself back into me again, his pace so fast the bed sounds like it’s going to fucking break. I’m so close, so so close, and he knows it. He can feel it. “Don’t you dare fucking cum, babygirl.”

As tears start to spring to my eyes, he lets my throat go and places his hands on each side of my head instead. The second I can, I’m begging as best as I can, “Please! Please pleasepleaseplease let me cum, Sir I can’t take it, please!” My words are barely even words, they’re all mushed together and tangled in between moans. My entire body is shaking from being so close as I try my best to hold it back.

The grin on his face is sinister. “That’s more like it! Keep fucking begging, sweetheart. Say those magic words for me and I’ll let you cum.” His pace is unrelenting, giving me no option other than to hold back my orgasm, which he knows I can’t do for long.. Bastard, he isn’t giving me a choice anymore.

My breathing becomes ragged as I fight desperately not to cum, but I can’t do it anymore. My eyes fly open wide and just as I’m about to lose control, he pulls out of me all the way. I never thought I’d be so relieved to feel the sensation of my orgasm fading away. I immediately pout at him, my voice barely above a whisper, “I can’t say it, Sir.. It’s too embarrassing. Please, please just let me cum.”

“Oh, is it embarrassing for you?” He asks, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He wraps a hand in my hair, pulling my head up just a bit and putting his face very close to mine. “You think it’s embarrassing to beg for my cock? To admit that you’re mine and you’ll do anything for me to let you cum?” He slides his fingers inside of me, curling his fingers up towards my g-spot and fingering me violently, putting his entire arm into it, causing my hips to jiggle with the pure force of his movements. “Well, you’re gonna have to get over that embarrassment and beg me the right way, because I’m not stopping until you do, slut.”

Tears form in my eyes at his words and the fact that he’s yet again working me so quickly towards an orgasm. It’s making my brain start to go fuzzy from all of the edges, slaps, and harsh words. My mouth opens and I can tell that the moans and gasps coming from me are just entertainment for Eddie at this point, because he mockingly moans right back at me, then growls. “Yeah? That feel good baby?”

I can’t handle it anymore, all of my nerves feel like they’re being set on fire with how much I need to cum right now. I let out a single whimper in defeat, and my eyes drift away from him despite the fact that he’s holding my head up and forcing his face in mine. “Please Sir! Please make me cum…” the second half of my sentence is barely above a whisper, but I know he can hear it. “Like the l-little sl-slut I am.” My cheeks are on fire and I’m sure I am the color of a tomato after I finally say it.

He sighs with satisfaction, his smirk turning into a huge grin and he finally lets my hair go. Just as I think he’s finally about to let me cum, he pulls his hand out of me yet again. I squirm against the ropes and a single tear falls onto my cheek with pure frustration, looking at him with horror as if he just committed a crime.

“You’re not getting off that easy. Say it like you mean it, baby. Say it like you’re proud to be my slut.” He slides his cock back into me, both of us emitting a low, guttural groan at the same time. He barely gives me a second to hesitate before slapping me on my cheek again, his voice as sharp as a knife. “Fucking. Say. It.”

I gasp as he slaps my cheek again before letting out a mix between a moan and a whine in frustration from how torturously slow he’s going. His goal right now is just to keep me teetering on the knife’s edge of an orgasm. I finally give up and cry out, “Please! Please Sir, make me cum like the little slut I am, please! I can’t take it anymore!”

The smirk that crept back on his face was pure evil. “Good fucking girl!” he groans as he finally picks up the pace, pumping into me deep and hard and fast, slamming into my g-spot with every thrust. As my orgasm finally crashes into me, I practically scream. My back arches as much as it is allowed and I can still hear the sloppy wet sounds of him slamming into me over and over, despite how loud I am. My breath is stolen away from me with how intense it all is, all of those edges making this one orgasm almost unbearable. My limbs keep shaking and fighting against the rope even as my orgasm slows down because my pussy immediately feels overstimulated. My eyes look glossy as tears are filling them again and I can’t stop squirming. “Please stop, please stop, it’s too much! I came, I’m done cumming! Sir I came, now please give me a break!”

He chuckles at my predicament, leaning down and brushing his lips against my ear as he whispers, “You are mine to use however I want. I’m not going to stop until you’re a sobbing, blubbering mess.” The sound I make at this is in between a cry and a moan, since he is fucking me so hard and fast that I’m immediately being dragged toward another orgasm. The sound I make causes him to groan and add, “And even then, I might not stop. Not until I’m good and ready to stop watching you cum. You have been such a naughty fucking girl today, and I am going to teach you a fucking lesson.”

I cry out at his words in protest, hopelessly squirming against the restraints as he fucks me closer and closer to my next orgasm. The closer I get, the more uneven my breathing becomes. I look up at him, pleading with him desperately. “Sir, please don’t do this to me! I’ve learned my lesson, I promise!” I can’t help but squeeze my eyes shut, fighting hard to hold back my next orgasm threatening to hit me like a brick wall.

“I don’t believe you,” Eddie growls, thrusting harder as he feels me tensing up beneath him. He looks down at me heartlessly. “You’re going to cum for me. Right now.”

As soon as he tells me, no, fucking commands me to cum, I’m seeing stars. I can feel his eyes locked on my face, committing the look of pleasured agony on my face to memory. My moans are stuck in my throat with the intensity and my entire body is shaking and twitching and squirming. The sounds coming from his cock slamming into my pussy is fucking filthy. As my orgasm slows down, my limbs go limp and I am panting hard, trying like hell to catch my breath.

He finally pulls out of me, leaving me twitching and whimpering from how hard I just came. My eyes flutter open at him, thanking him wordlessly for finally giving me a break. As I lay there with my chest heaving, believing he’s going to actually have some mercy on me, he lets his eyes trail down my body and fall onto my pussy. More specifically, my swollen and twitching clit.

The sight makes him look at me like he was just given a new favorite toy. “Oh look, your poor little clit is just begging for my attention. I’ve been so mean to neglect it!” He slowly glides his fingers down my thigh, looking into my eyes and chuckling, “I hope you didn’t think I was done with you, sweetheart.” He quickly removes his own shirt before ever so gently sliding his fingers up and down my folds, before landing on my clit and gently circling it, but not quite touching yet. He leans down and kisses my chest, working his lips all the way down to my pussy, ignoring every one of my whimpers. He places a single, very gentle kiss directly on my clit as a warning for what’s to come, making me jerk and squeal.

“Please Sir, my I’m way too sensitive for this!” I beg, a full pout on my lips. “I’m too sensitive..”

Eddie laughs in amusement at my protest. His tongue darts out to flick at my clit, making me gasp and jerk my hips again. “Oh baby,” he breathes, “You’re always too sensitive for me.” He smirks and flattens his tongue, slowly licking from the very bottom of my entrance to the top of my clit, making me squirm and whine, unable to peel my eyes off of him. He suddenly pulls back, bringing his hand down to slap me 5 sharp times on my pussy, which makes me throw my head back with a long groan and flinch with every hit. “I don’t remember asking for your fucking opinion, though, slut.” He leans back down, placing his lips directly over my clit and sucking just barely, before rolling his tongue slowly. He only gives me about 2 seconds of soft touches before starting his assault. He violently lashes his tongue against my clit, then starts sucking hard, rolling his tongue with force.

I squeak and jerk, before ungodly sounds start falling from my mouth. My arms and legs pull against their restraints and I do my very best to buck my hips away from his ministrations. I’m babbling nonsense and moaning lewdly, already fully overstimulated and he’s barely even started eating me out.

He groans at the sight of me squirming, sending vibrations through my clit. He’s unable to stop himself from groaning out some more as he hears every one of my incoherent babbles for mercy. He keeps going at a steady pace, pushing me close to another orgasm. He could spend days down there, the sound and sight of me right now just too sweet for him to not enjoy every single second of it.

I’m internally panicking as I near the edge of another orgasm. My breathing is fast and shallow and I can barely get a single word of my begging to actually sound like a real word. “Please, please no this is too intense! I can’t!” I pant out, praying he can understand me between my moaning and panting and how much I’m stuttering through my words.

Eddie chuckles darkly at my pleas, happy that he’s got me exactly where he wants me. He pulls back just enough to lick a long strip up my entire pussy again and looks up at me with a smirk. When I look back at him, I gasp slightly. His eyes are fucking black, his pupils are so huge that all the pretty brown in his eyes have disappeared. There wasn’t a single ounce of leniency in his features. “You can’t handle it, huh?” he taunts, laughing. “It’s too intense, baby?” He pouts at me mockingly, using his fingertips to gently rub my clit, keeping me from getting a real break, but I’m grateful to be able to catch my breath at least.

I whimper at him pathetically and nod, looking at him with tears threatening to spill out of my eyes. “Yes! Please, please no more Sir, it is too intense, it is! I won’t be able to handle cumming like this!” My words are flying out of my mouth as fast as I can say them, hoping beyond all hope that he listens to me this time.

He watches me intently as I beg and the tears threatening to spill down my face are obvious, but his eyes don’t soften one bit. If anything, they seem to somehow darken even more. He shakes his head slowly, his lips curling into another sinister smile as he whispers, “Oh, it’s so cute when you beg me like that. I think you’re finally starting to learn your lesson in respect.” And with that, he returns his tongue to my clit, thrashing it cruelly against me and wrapping his lips around, sucking and rolling his tongue to elicit more sweet, desperate cries from my mouth.

I let out a strangled moan as soon as he continues, and my orgasm hits me almost immediately. I struggle and thrash against the restraints, this orgasm feeling 100 times more intense than the others. Tears fall onto my cheeks as the pleasure turns into pure torture, words lost in my throat yet again as all I can do is scream and moan and take it.

His tongue works up a frenzy, not giving me a moment's rest as he forces my orgasm to be drawn out as long as he can. When I finally come down from my high, he looks up at me to see my ruined face. Pink cheeks, tear stains, red and swollen lips from how much I’ve been chewing on them. His hand moves to gently rub my pussy lips, licking his lips at the sight of me. “That’s it, my little slut. You belong to me. I can do whatever I want with you. Right?”

His question is a test, and I am desperate to pass with flying colors. “Yes! Yes Sir, I belong to you! You own me, please!” I look at him with pleading eyes, a few tears leaking down my cheeks again as my legs tremble uncontrollably.

To my utter relief, his eyes finally soften towards me and he smiles up at me. He pulls himself up to kiss my lips gently, slowly sliding two fingers inside of me, thrusting them deep and hard, but slow. “That’s it, good girl. I’m so glad to see you’ve finally learned your manners, baby.” He pulls back to watch me, enjoying the sight of me being so submissive as he slowly slides his fingers in and out of me with force. After a minute or so, he talks gently to me. “I’m going to leave you tied up, sweetheart. I know you’re being good now, but you understand that I have to finish your punishment, right? I can’t let you off the hook just because you’re finally being my good girl.”

I’m so grateful that he’s finally being gentle with me that it takes me a good few seconds to process what he says. My eyes are glossed over and my brain is so fuzzy; I can feel myself drifting into subspace with every passing moment. He can see it in me too, he knows me so well. I sniffle when I finally realize what he’s said and he’s expecting a response, slowly nodding my head. My voice is hoarse from all the sounds I’ve been making. “Yes Sir. I’m sorry Sir.”

He hums, visibly pleased with my response. “That’s better baby, I know you are.” He pulls his fingers out of me before standing up, turning towards the night stand again. He opens up a drawer and pulls out my arch nemesis: The Magic Wand. I can never handle that without begging and sobbing for mercy, even without it being a part of a punishment. Even when he tries to be nice, it’s always too much.

He turns back towards me, searching my face for any sign of resistance, just to make sure that I really have learned my lesson and I plan on being a good girl. The second I see the wand my cunt clenches and I let out the tiniest whimper, gulping nervously. A single tear falls down my cheek again and he brings his hand up to wipe it away. “I know baby, I know.” He says softly before turning around and plugging it into the wall.

The moment he turns back around and switches it on, he presses it against my clit, watching every single expression on my face. I jerk against the restraints and feel like the wind has been knocked out of my lungs. He bites his lip for a second before groaning out, “Ohh, that’s it baby. Feel that?” I can only whine at him in response, struggling to keep my eyes on his but somehow I manage, although tears are threatening to spill out any second from the overstimulation. “You’re going to cum so hard for me, aren’t you baby?” He presses it into my clit more, making tiny circles, causing me to cry out and arch my back, my entire body pulling against the restraints whether I want them to or not.

“Yes!” I cry out in response to him, although it barely sounds like a word. My entire body feels like it’s being electrocuted, and I can’t help but shake violently as I’m being thrust into an orgasm within seconds of him asking. A scream rips itself out of my throat and I feel like I’m going to explode. Eddie’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he hears me, groaning out, “That’s right, fucking scream for me.”

I feel like this orgasm is never going to end. My vision is going black, or maybe my eyes are just squeezed shut, I can’t even tell anymore. The way I scream is absolutely primal, tears rolling down my face and my crying turns to sobbing. My entire body is full of electricity and suddenly, I feel it. My body is fucking convulsing (as much as it can against the rope, anyway) as fluid starts squirting from my pussy. I feel it pool up underneath me and I hear a gasp and a groan from Eddie. “Thaaaat’s it baby, look at you fucking go!” he sounds like he could cum just from the sight of me. As soon as it ends, he finally turns the vibrator off and pulls it away. I feel like I can finally fill my lungs with oxygen again.

When my eyes open, Eddie and I stare at each other with the exact same look of utter shock on our faces. That’s the first time I have ever done that. His look of surprise is short-lived though because when he sees the mess I’ve made on his hand, he drops the vibrator to inspect his hand in the light. He licks off every finger with a smack of his lips and a wicked fucking grin on his face. My face is frozen still, especially after seeing him do that. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathes, staring down at me with a mixture of awe and something wild in his eyes.

I close my eyes and a few more tears fall out onto my cheeks as my breathing is still a bit ragged. I feel his hands gently wipe away my tears and he whispers, “Baby, look at me.” My eyes flutter open halfway, nibbling my bottom lip. “Color?” He asks, his eyes look so warm and caring at this moment. I lean into his hand on my cheek with a tiny smile and a sniffle.

“Green.. I promise I’m okay. That was just… I don’t know if I can do that again.” I shake my head at him to emphasize my words, but I feel much more grounded after the check-in.

He smiles gently at me, nodding back as his expression softens. “I know baby, I know that was a lot. But you’re doing so well.” He puts two fingers under my chin, making sure my eyes stay trained on his so that I really hear every word. “You can do this, sweetheart. I know you can.” He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead before lifting back up, a stern expression on his face again. “Now. I want you to repeat after me. Say ‘Please Sir, I want you to make me cum like that again.’” He watches me closely, licking his lips as he waits for my response.

I close my eyes as he kisses my forehead, nodding through his encouragement. But my eyes fly right back open with his last demand and my voice gets caught in my throat again. Even as fucked out and obedient as I am now, my heart rate spikes at the thought of having to do… that again. Still, I swallow hard before somehow forcing the words out. “Please, Sir… I want you to make me cum like that again.” My lower lip is quivering as I whimper the words out.

He groans as I say this, his cock twitching noticeably. His lips suddenly crash into mine, kissing me roughly. As he pulls back, he’s got that wild look in his eyes again as they trace over every inch of my body. “That’s my good girl. I’m going to make you cum one more time while I use that throat of yours.” He climbs onto the bed again, facing away from the headboard and putting each of his legs on either side of my head. I open my mouth and stick my tongue out, the heavenly sound of his own moan flooding my ears as he slowly lowers himself into my mouth, making sure to glide himself all along my tongue on the way in. He pumps his cock in and out of my mouth at a steady pace, slowly working its way towards my throat. After a couple minutes of this, he feels himself getting close to his own release. He leans over and grabs the wand again, turning it on and growling, “Get ready, slut. Knock on the headboard if you really need to breathe.”

He shoves his cock deep into my throat and I can’t help but gag, struggling to breathe through my nose and relax the muscles in my throat. “Fuck!” he groans out, before he pulls the hood of my clit back, something he knows is the most cruel thing he could do, and presses the wand firmly into my clit. Every single muscle in my body cries out in agony, begging to be allowed to squirm away from the sensation. I try to scream out but it makes me gag, and I lose my ability to breathe at all as my lungs refuse to work anymore from all of the stimulation. Too much stimulation. My brain feels like it’s short circuiting. Just as my lungs are starting to burn from lack of oxygen, I cum somehow even harder than I did the last time. I feel like I’m on fire and being shot up into icy space at the same time. I can’t move, I can’t scream, I can only cum. Once again, I feel myself start to squirt, and it all becomes too much. I start gagging on him again, and I hear him fucking whimper before groaning. His cum shoots down my throat and I have no choice but to swallow it.

He turns the vibrator off and throws it to the side, pulling his cock out quickly as I gasp for breath, taking in huge gulps of air as he makes quick work of my restraints. He slowly guides my arms down and gently rubs my shoulders, then helps me close my legs and gently rubs my hips. He whispers, “I know baby, I know,” as I wince from the pain of finally being able to move my limbs and them being so sore.

The second he looks me in the eyes and is about to ask how I feel, my vision goes blurry and I’m confused for a second before I actually realize I’m crying again. I can’t stop it though, my body is so exhausted and my brain is so fuzzy and every part of me is buzzing and sore. He instantly wraps me up in his arms, cradling my head against my chest and kissing my head. “Good girl,” he whispers to me, and his voice back to the normal, sweet and kind Eddie I hear every day. “You are such a good girl, I am so fucking proud of you, baby.”

This was easily the most intense punishment I have ever been through, and he knows it. I’ve never squirted before in my life. I can barely even hear him whispering reassuring words to me over my own ragged breathing and sniffles, but I do notice that I am clinging onto him for dear life. He holds me close, rocking me gently back and forth. He kisses me on the top of my head again, and his voice starts to soothe every ounce of unrest in my body.

“Shh, shh.. It’s okay baby, I know it was rough, that was a really hard lesson. But you did so good.. I’m so so proud of you, baby.” He slowly takes his hand off of my head, leaning back enough so that he can wipe away the tears on my cheeks with his thumbs. Then he cups my cheeks in his hands and kisses all over my face. He starts at my forehead, then my nose, then both of my cheeks, and over my eyes. He is so gentle with every kiss, and about halfway through my tears stop falling and a little tiny giggle escapes my lips.

I open my eyes to look up at him and his heart breaks when he sees my eyes red from so many tears and my cheeks absolutely covered in tear stains and blotchy pink skin. “Was that too much for you?” he whispers, talking so softly, as if his tone itself could blow me away if it was too loud or firm.

I smile softly and shake my head, still sniffling but just barely. His eyes look so pretty, I could get lost in them and never want to find my way out. His eyebrows are furrowed with concern and I can see his eyes scanning my every feature to make sure I really am okay. My heart swells about a thousand times its normal size. “No, it wasn’t too much, Eddie. It was so, so good. It was easily the most intense thing I’ve ever felt in my life, but it wasn’t too much. I promise. I just need lots of love now, okay?” I smile at him again with a little scrunch of my nose, trying to make extra sure he knows I really am okay.

Eddie lets out a shaky breath but I can see the relief on his face as he brings my head into his chest again, holding his hand there to cradle it as he tickles gentle circles across my back with his other hand. “I’m right here, baby. I’m right here. I’ve got you. I love you so much.”

I close my eyes again because the sensation on my back feels like heaven. I mumble into his skin, “I love you too. So much, Eddie.” I start trying to regulate my breathing, every deep inhale brings his delicious scent of woodsy musk and cigarettes. Once I feel like I’m returning back into a normal headspace, I pull back a little and show him my wrists and point to my legs. They’re still red and indented from the rope. “Can you help these feel better please?”

He smiles softly down at me, his eyes and fingers running over every single mark on my skin, before nodding. “Of course, baby. Let’s go into the bathroom and I’ll take care of you.” He gets off the bed before picking me up and helping me wrap my legs around him. I press my face into his neck and wrap my arms around him and can’t help but smile. I could honestly live like this, in his embrace. Smelling his skin. His hair tickling my face. Feeling his chest against mine. It’s all perfection.

Once we get to the bathroom, he slowly puts me down and spins me gently to face the mirror. He looks into it at me, smiling and petting my hair to smooth it down. “There’s my pretty girl,” he murmurs, “You are so perfect.” My face turns a bright ride and I hide my face in my hands, unable to help myself.

“Eddie!” I giggle out. He always knows how to make me smile and completely fluster me at the same time. I gently peek at him in the mirror through my fingers, his smile is so sweet as he watches me. He chuckles at my reaction, gently placing his hands on my hips and spinning me around to look at him. I lower my hands and stare into his eyes, practically entranced.

“You’re so cute, baby.” He smiles and kisses my forehead again, bringing each of my hands into his and up to his lips, kissing each one so gently. He guides me over to sit down on the toilet seat, before turning to the tub and turning on the water. “Let’s get you all cleaned up, yeah?”

As I sit down and watch the tub start to fill, I nod and lean forward to rest my head against his side, wanting to never stop touching him. “Yeah…yes please, I’d love a bath.”

We wait in silence for a few minutes before he checks the temperature. Deeming it perfect, he grabs my hands again to help guide me towards the tub. As I sit down and relax into the water, he smiles at me and says, “Ahhhhh, that’s better, isn’t it? Feel good baby?”

I nod and smile up at him and watch as he grabs the shower head to bring it down. He sits down next to the tub, turning on the shower head and he is so careful about wetting my hair without letting water drip onto my face.

He takes his time, massaging my scalp slowly and with the perfect pressure as he shampoos it. After another few minutes of silence, I hear him starting to hum one of the songs from that Black Sabbath album, Master of Reality. I can’t tell which song it is, though. My eyes start to droop and I giggle a little at the end of the song as he’s slowly rinsing the soap out of my hair.

“You’re going to make me fall asleep if you keep this up, you know. Warm water, massages, and music? You’re spoiling me, Eddie.” I say, my eyes closed still to make sure no soap or water gets into my eyes as he rinses my hair off.

He chuckles softly at me, pressing a kiss to my now-clean hair. “I could do this for hours, baby. Plus, you deserve to be spoiled. Trust me.” I sigh in content and lean into his kiss, feeling utter bliss in the calm of the moment.

Once he is done making every inch of me nice and clean, continuing the whole time to give me praise and making sure he is absolutely as gentle as he can be, he drains the tub for me and helps me stand up. He wraps me in a towel and gives me a great big hug, and it takes him a few seconds to let go. He picks me up again, bridal style this time, and brings me back to the bedroom despite my giggling at him that I am able to use my feet again.

“I know you can, but I’ve got you baby, don’t you even worry about it.” He presses another kiss into the side of my head, which is probably the thousandth kiss of the evening. Not that I’m complaining for a second. He helps me get dressed into my comfiest pajamas and then dresses himself in boxers and a random t-shirt. He turns to me when he’s finished, cocking his head at me with a smile.

“So…I call for pizza, you pick the movie?” he asks, already reaching for the phone. Yeah… I’m so spoiled.

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backwardsbread · 1 year ago

Note

CHRIST! your writing is absolutely gorgeous, i love it so much <3

i was wondering if i could request a husk x reader angst, where it's extermination day and reader gets severely injured while protecting husk? kinda something like an executioner lunges at husk while his back is turned so reader saves him from dying but in turn ends up dying instead? as the reader is dying they're also trying to comfort husk, telling him that they wanted to save him. probably a scene where husk is shaking the readers dead body begging them to wake up, that they were supposed to be the one who died and not them????

(i am a sucker for husk angst, and there isn't enough of it ; ;)

Oh my- oh my gosh- LISTEN- I KNOW IM USUALLY A FLUFF WRITER

But this is awesome and I’m a sucker for angst. Yall have no idea. >:)

Ask and you shall receive~

Husk x GN!Reader ANGST

~Live Happy~

Warnings‼️:Angst, gore, blood, heartbreak, descriptions of death, descriptions of grief, not a happy ending, the author is TERRIBLE at writing fight scenes, swearing, Pentious’ is mentioned but barely acknowledged.

~Semi proofread~

Extermination day was here.

The hotel was prepared, armed with the hotel’s residents and Rosie’s Rebellious Cannibals. The sky split, golden light pouring down on Hell’s dark cities. The sight would’ve been beautiful under any other circumstance, something you had hoped to see when death crept up on you. But as villainous angels swooped down from the portal to the golden realm, reality struck like a knife.

As much as you wished to be living afterlife comfortably, with no threats or potential harm to come,

You weren’t completely alone.

“Now! For yours souls!” Vaggie shouts, causing you to grip your angelic weapon tighter. Adrenaline pumps through your veins making your heart quicken its pace. Your hands trembled slightly against your hold on the weapon. The moment didn’t feel real, how had it come to this? You had tunnel vision towards the direction of the portal.

“You ready for this, hot shot?” You hear to your side, making your head snap in the direction where it came from.

There you saw Husk, offering a grin to you. Of course he was nervous, equally as nervous as you were. Husk’s eyes shook wildly with anxiety, gripping some explosive dice in his palm. You felt a boost of confidence, knowing that whatever was to happen, Husk would be there.

Your relationship with Husk only started when you found the hotel on a whim. You had ‘joined’ the princess’ team when you just needed a place to stay and keep safe. So much that did for you when war was about to commence.

But you wouldn’t have traded your impulsive decision to go to the hotel for anything. Sure, the reason the Hazbin Hotel existed was for redemption, something that felt so unfit for you. However, through your stay, you made friends and memories that put your old life to shame.

Husk being one of the most influential players in you staying and fighting for the hotel. At first Husk was tough, hard as nails and sharp as a knife. You shared a few drinks with him on late nights, not really speaking much until you were too tipsy to comprehend words leaving your mouth. It was something Husk was used to. Sinners coming to his bar, getting drunk, and spilling their guts to him.

Husk found your company different than the rest of the hotel members. You were oftentimes quiet, which he could appreciate. But you had a way of being able to sense his emotions. Anytime he was frustrated, he found you somehow just knowing and trying to find a way to calm him. Your company was more intoxicating than any liquor he could get his hands on in Hell.

Did Husk gain certain feelings for you just because you were willing to listen to him? Highly possible.

Was he ever going to act on those feelings? Not in this afterlife, maybe the next.

He couldn’t bear the thought of you guys growing distance all because he couldn’t get a grip. He could put on a brave face and stayed mature, never willing to ruin the bond you both shared.

Unaware of the effects Husk had on you by his little comment, a smirk works its way on your lips. You chuckle, twirling the angelic weapon in your hand.

“As I’ll ever be, whiskers.” You comment back, letting Husk roll his eyes at the nickname you called him. He had no time to come back with any witty banter.

There were more pressing matters at hand.

Surviving.

Battle started, angels swooping down with weapons at the ready. Aimlessly swinging and stabbing at demons ready to rebel. You were never a fantastic fighter, but if meant for your soul, for you to see afterlife better than this, you’d fight until your legs couldn’t carry you anymore.

It didn’t take long for Alastor to form a shield around the hotel and its rebellious sinners. His laugh echoed loud against the shields walls that formed, causing the angels trapped inside and be slaughtered. The sound of explosions, the smell of dirt and angelic blood, it was intoxicating. Revenge felt so sweet as you plunged your angelic weapon into an angel’s gut, letting them fall from grace. You yanked your weapon out, the silver now coated in liquid gold.

When the angel’s movements came to a halt, you couldn’t help but grin. It felt so freeing, all those years in Hell you stayed scared and hidden. Now it was the angels who looked weak by your hand. Your senses filled with empowerment, hope for the future as you continued your slaughter.

With a loud boom, the ground beneath you shook. Hell’s red skies got brighter as Alastor’s shield slowly cracked away, broken by Adam who wore a sinister grin. Your eyes widened, as more angels found the opportunity to swoop down and attack. You took a few steps back, pupils beginning to shake.

There were so many of them.

Your shoulder collided with Husk’s as you backed up. You stumbled a bit, looking over at Husk, gripping your weapon tighter in case he was an enemy. Husk put his hands up in defense. You relax once you see who you had bumped into, seeing no threat. Husk sees the panic in your eyes, how your body started to freeze in fear of any movement that would cause attention to you. He gently grabs your forearm. Despite how unsure he was about how this was all going to play out, he wanted- needed- to keep you safe. And part of that was making sure you were not frozen in fear, waiting for an angel to come attack you.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.. we’ve got this. Just stick with me, okay?” Husk held your forearm, pulling you closer to him. Your body, like a dog to a dinner bell, instinctively relaxed under his touch. How long had he had this power over you? Even in war, Husk’s presence felt so warm.

Your eyes catch something behind Husk, making them widened. You pull on Husk’s arm, dragging him behind you. With a need to protect, you plunge your angelic weapon into an angel’s throat, that had just been behind Husk, ready to strike. The angel falls limp against your weapon, falling to the ground. Golden blood sprays out of the angel’s neck as your rip your weapon out. You wipe your face with your sleeve, looking back at Husk who looked shocked yet amused by your sudden attack.

“Stick together.” You say, a new sense of accomplishment running through your veins at Husk’s silent approval.

And that is how you fought, making sure you had your friend’s backs whenever they needed. You weren’t alone. You were all fighting for a cause you weren’t sure you really believed in. This wasn’t just a fight for Charlie though. It was to prove that despite how something beyond you decided you were demonic, you weren’t helpless.

Holy light struck the ground, making it shake once again. You looked up to see Adam, shooting rays of golden light down at you and your team. Where was Alastor?? Wasn’t he supposed to be fending off Adam-

Realization hits like a freight train. It got harder and harder to fend off the angels, especially now with Adam’s brutal attacks. You watch Pentious’ ship suddenly start to fly its way right towards Adam.

“That crazy motherfucker..” You hear AngelDust mutter, watching Pentious’ ship head straight towards Adam, its death ray lighting up. In the blink of an eye, the ship disappeared with a single shot of holy light towards it. Your eyes widen as your heart shatters a bit.

Charlie falls to her knees, Vaggie moving down to comfort her. You hang your head low, swearing under your breath and wiping away the tears that threatened to fall. You didn’t even have time to grieve the loss that just happened. You hear Charlie growl under her breath, losing control of herself over the loss of someone she had promised to protect.

She called for Razzle and Dazzle, the two once small rams turning to dragons as Charlie let her true colors show. Vaggie and Charlie flew off towards Adam, a thirst for revenge of a fallen solider evident.

But that left you, Husk, Angel, and Cherri down alone, with the army of cannibals whose numbers were quickly falling. You were exhausted but had no time to pause, each exorcist attacking right after another. As you stabbed through another exorcist, each breath made your lungs feel like fire, unable to get a real breath in.

“Agh—! Fuck-!” You hear Husk swear, causing you to turn in his direction. You watch an exorcist pull him down by his ankle out of the sky. The exorcist yanked Husk to the ground. Husk was quick to regain himself, reaching into his pocket for more explosive dice. Before he can grab it out, the clever exorcist stabbed their spear through Husk’s wing.

Husk cried out in pain, now being pinned down on his stomach. The spear had gone through the base of his wing and now dug into the ground below him, making him unable to move without tearing his wing in two. Husk panted, also out of breath from the intense battle. He tried to get up, but the exorcist’s boot shoved into his back, keeping him down.

The exorcist chuckles in sickening amusement. They reach down towards an angel’s body, grabbing a dagger. Husk’s eyes widened as he found no escape from the angel. Heart pumping hard in his chest as if it was the last time it would be able to.

Your legs burned, your chest heaved with unsteady breaths, and all you could see was red. Your feet carry you, your body moving before your mind can keep up. Gripping your weapon, you stab it through the exorcist who had Husk down. Stabbing where their shoulder met their arm. The exorcist cried out in pain, looking back at you. The exorcist made a sloppy swing with their dagger in your direction. You catch their arm, swinging them back behind you. The exorcist landed on their injury, a loud snap making them scream out in agony.

Husk barely saw what you did, his vision fuzzy from the adrenaline high. He tried to move, but yelped when his wing started to tear because of the exorcists spear. Your attention falls back on Husk, panicking when you saw the spear keeping him against the ground. You bend down, grabbing the handle of the spear, you hesitate. You look down at Husk apologetically.

“This is gonna hurt.” Giving Husk no other time to process, you pull to spear out of his wing. Husk swears at you loudly, wings shrinking in towards his body as blood pours down his wings, the crimson color blending in with his feathers. Meanwhile, the exorcist who had you had tossed to the side, weakly got to their knees.

“You fucking-..” Husk growled out, shooting a glare at you. His harsh eyes turn to confused ones as he watched you go over to a fallen exorcist, ripping their shirt. You’re quick to move back to Husk, wrapping the thing cloth around his wing. It was barely able to stay due to the size of Husk’s wings, but it would due until the battle was over. The bloodthirsty exorcist made a weak attempt to crawl over to you and Husk, gripping their dagger tight.

“Thank you..” Husk mutters, eyes softening towards you as your tightened the cloth around his wound. You look towards him, offering a small reassuring smile.

“No problem, pussycat.” You shoot back, standing to your feet. Husk rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the grin on his face. You take in a deep breath, holding your hand out to Husk.

“Now let’s-!” Sharp. A pulsing sharp pain in your gut that twisted violently before being yanked out. Blood sprayed onto Husk’s face from the harsh stab.

Warmth. Warm blood that gushed from the fresh open wound, coating your skin, making it shine like rubies. Hot tears involuntarily fell from the pain that coursed through your body.

Shock. All you could hear was ringing, all you could see were tears. Your knees gave out as the angel behind you lifted their weapon to deliver a final blow to you. With the sound of a muted gunshot, you felt the angel fall against the back of your legs.

Cold. Your body chilled in Hell’s fiery atmosphere. It almost felt refreshing if the pain wasn’t sitting beside it. A hand came over your gut, where your stomach split, hand getting soaked in blood. You leaned forward, hand that wasn’t over your wound catching you so you wouldn’t face-plant. Lifting your hand, you saw pretty red liquid running down your arm.

Blank. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t hear. Letting out a breath felt like torture as you coughed painfully, blood spitting out of your mouth. You barely even felt strong arms lifting you and sprinting out of lines of fire. Black patterned wings acting as a shield to you and..

Husk.. you look up, seeing Husk with panicked eyes. He looked to be shouting, but despite his close proximity, you couldn’t seem to hear his words. Husk ran to the side of the hotel, panting as he did a quick glance to make sure no angel’s were following him. He bent down with you in his arms, your eyes staring blankly back at him.

Adrenaline stopped pumping, causing more intense pain to shoot through your body. You back felt like it was on fire. It felt like your guts were being ripped out slowly.

“Hey! Don’t you do this! No no no no, come on now!” Husk’s voice finally made way to your ears. Your eyes darted to his. He was frantic, looking at your injury then around as if someone could come help. He pressed his palm down on your injury, making you scream in pain.

“I know I know I know— shit!” Husk shielded you with his wings. His weak attempts in stopping your bleeding felt hopeless.

God- his eyes still seemed to draw you in. Even while frantic, you felt nothing but love for Husk. Love? Geez why did death always have to interrupt. Why did it always make you realize things a little too late? You didn’t want to die. You weren’t ready to find out what was beyond afterlife. Was there nothing? Was it light? Was it dark? Was it the heaven you always wished to see? In the back of your mind you knew it was the end, but your life felt less important than Husk. You couldn’t just leave him, not like this.

Your bloodied hand reached up to hold his cheek, letting him look down at you. You felt his breaths coming out fast and shaky, his hand pressing down harder as your blood pooled around his fingers. You hissed in pain, grip tightening on him. Your breath came out slow and labored, trying hard to keep strong in the last moments you’d have with the one soul you didn’t want to leave.

“It’s okay..” You managed to whisper, immediately regretting speaking from the way it made your body move. Husk shook his head quickly.

“No, no. Shut the fuck up, okay? Don’t go saying anything, we’ll fix this..! I’ll fix it, just give me time, please.” Husk glanced towards where your friends were battling. Now that they were down two more people, heavy hitters at that, they struggled to keep the angelic army at bay.

As if you could read Husk’s mind, like you always did, you spoke, “They need you, Husk.. don’t leave them..” you mutter, your thumb moving shakily to rub Husk’s cheek. Husk shook his head again at you, pulling you close to his body.

“It— it can wait. I’m not leaving you here! Are you crazy?? Just wait and I’ll-!”

“Husker.” Husk’s eyes dart down to you. Looking you up and down, his heart dropped. Your eyelids and body felt like dumbbells. A weight on your body that made it slow. His hand covered in your blood as the wound only spilled more. But despite it,

You smiled.

Husk couldn’t take it, he couldn’t keep losing people. He couldn’t lose you, not like this. Not for this cause you seemingly were dragged into. Why were you smiling at him??

“Stop it. Stop, no- quit it! You’re not doing this to me!” Husk was desperate for any salvation. He’d repent, he’d quit booze, he’d do anything to keep you here and breathing. He watched you blink heavily, trying to stay awake for him. You leaned your head into him.

“I’m sorry, Husk.. I can’t..” your body felt so heavy. Everlasting slumber approaching, making your body feel numb. You couldn’t even feel the pain anymore, only Husk’s arms around you, desperately trying to keep you here.

“Stop! What am I supposed to do??” Tears pricked at Husk’s eyes and were quick to stream down his face, “How am I supposed to live this Hell without you??” He asked desperately, as if the guilt of dying would somehow convince your body not to give up.

You smile to him felt like a taunt. A tease of the future ones that could’ve been. “The same way you did with me..”

“Happily.”

Husk felt frozen at your words, tears falling from his face and onto your body. How was he supposed to.. no not like this. He couldn’t. Not without you there. Your absence would be a void he would never be able to fill. He slowly shook his head, sobs wracking his body that he desperately tried to keep back. You did nothing but close your eyes, pressing your face against his stomach.

“Eternity is too long to suffer for its entirety..” you mutter, breath shallow as your grip on Husk loosened. “Don’t let me.. make you suffer..” you mumble, voice barely audible.

Warmth. Comfort. Soft was the last breath you let out, all strength leaving your body as your body relaxed to rest. Your heavy eyes drooping nearly shut as all life behind them faded to whatever was after this Hell. Husk watched your body fall limp, his grip on your growing tighter in false hope you would hold him back.

Words unspoken. Husk kept his wings around your body, letting out choked sobs while he whispered how sorry he was. How he couldn’t protect you. Hell had taken his pride, his soul, and now his heart. Hell tore everything away from him.

Whatever made him deserve it, he’d go back and do it over and over again to get it right.

If it meant you could’ve been there.

——————————BONUS———————————

Husk flipped a light switch, the sudden harsh light making him groan and squint. He rubbed his eyes, walking down a memorized path just outside the entrance of the hotel. He never was a morning person, he hated getting up so early just to be met with a raging headache from the prior night. He grumbled to himself, going over to a bench at the side of the hotel. He sat down with a huff, setting down the extra mug of coffee he had made next to him.

“Mornin’..” He mumbled, taking a sip of his own coffee that, the warm liquid making his body relax. His greeting was met with silence, something that felt all too familiar ever since the last extermination day. He sighs, leaning back against the bench, and looking up at the wall.

Where a portrait of you was hung right next to Sir Pentious’.

“So you’ll never believe the night I had..” Husk started, going on about last nights quarrels in the hotel. Keeping you updated on any events you were missing out on. Just how it used to be.. the gossip you would share with one another. Quietly judging the other hotel attendees, ranting about your day, or whispering sweet words to another.

An effort to soothe Husk’s grief at the loss of you.

“..and because Lucifer is stayin’ I keep finding these fucking rubber ducks everywhere..! The guy seriously has a problem, I tell ya.. you’d get a kick out of it.” Husk finished off his little rant, sipping the last of his coffee. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the lobby lights inside the hotel flick all the way on, showing someone (most likely Charlie) was up as well. Husk sighed, looking up at your portrait again.

A painted smile on the canvas, one he missed the warmth and comfort of. He held his knees, slowly getting up. He stretched his arms over his head, before reaching down and grabbing your cup of coffee, still full but now gone cold. He gently raised the glass a bit towards your portrait.

“Live Happy..” he muttered, a motto he now followed ever since your dying words. As much as the words made his heart feel heavy, he would try. Try and live happy.

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