#these little agonies may be enough to drag me down

[junkie-virus]

i endure the most evils (<- brother watching movie in my vicinity so i cant sleep)

[xiaq]

AO3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Pt. 3 I combined the prompts: Outsider POV, Steve Harrington is an Idiot (affectionate), Everyone is Queer Because I Said So, and @c0olness's hyper-specific Wayne's Boyfriend Owns a Gay Bar in Indianapolis and Introduces Steve to a Drag Queen. :)

Angel Reyes has loved Wayne Munson about as long as he’s loved himself. The timing is not coincidental.

Which is why he’s willing to wait for him, even when Angel’s patience is worn thin like the shirt he stole from Wayne three years ago and wears like a prayer to bed.

Some nights, when Wayne calls at the end of his shift and Angel is wiping down his own bar at closing, he’s tempted to say: we might not have much time left—shouldn’t we spend what we do have together?

But he doesn’t.

Because he already knows the answer.

Because the same reason he fell in love with Wayne is the reason Wayne won’t move to Indy. The man is loyal to a fault and when he gives himself to people he gives all of himself and there’s no force in the world that would convince Wayne to leave Hawkins if he thought Eddie still needed him there. Because Wayne loves Angel. But Wayne loved Eddie first. And Angel can hardly begrudge him of that.

So he repeats a well-worn mantra, only slightly comforting: not today, but someday. And he hangs up the phone and he checks the calendar and he looks forward to the time he is allowed. If there’s one thing he learned over the years, it’s that he can’t get greedy when he already has a good thing.

Wayne is worth the quiet agony of patience.

So when he’s locking up for the night and the phone rings, he expects the conversation to take a familiar path. 

“Evening, handsome,” he says, canting his hip against the counter. “You tell him yet?”

It’s been his standard greeting for close to a year. Why the man won’t just tell his gay nephew that he is, conveniently, also gay, is beyond Angel. But then, listening has always been Wayne’s strong suit. Talking, not so much.

“Well,” Wayne says. And that’s new.

“Well?”

“I did, actually. After I walked in on him and Steve kissin’ last night—“

“Finally!” Angel crows. The saga of Eddie and Steve and their will-they-won’t-they relationship had quickly surpassed even his favorite telenovela’s dramatic storylines. The pretty jock with hidden depths and the nerdy metalhead falling in love? Hospital vigils? Protracted pining while sharing a bed? Impeccable. 

“They’re together now,” Wayne finishes.

“Darling,” Angel says, not for the first time, “I’d like to remind you that you are not paying per word for this call.”

Wayne huffs at him, also not for the first time.

“Steve didn’t know liking both boys and girls meant he was bisexual. He thought there was some sort of…threshold he needed to pass to be queer enough to date a man. I suppose Robin set him straight––or, not so straight as the case may be––” he chuckles a little at his own joke, “And he came over to declare his love as soon as his shift ended.”

Angel takes a moment to digest that. “...Maybe they use Eddie as the sperm donor if they want kids,”  he suggests.

“Ease up, it’s not like they teach this shit in school. Bet I’d been a lot more confused too if I had the luxury of liking both.”

“Alright, I won’t pick on your future son-in-law, promise.”

“ Speaking of school,” Wayne says, sidestepping his implication. “Eddie got his diploma in the mail yesterday.”

“You going to do something to celebrate?”

“Actually, we thought we’d take a trip to Indy this weekend.”

Angel twists the phone’s cord around his finger. “…you’re supposed to come next weekend.”

“So you’d have to see me two weeks in a row, if you can bear it.”

“A trial, to be sure. When you say…” he pauses, trying to figure out how to clarify without breaking his own heart. “When you come this weekend. Would you want us—would you want me. To meet them?”

He closes his eyes and bangs a fist against his forehead because that is not the safe way to ask that question. 

“It'd be pretty weird if they didn’t meet the person hosting them.”

“Oh, I see. You’re just using me for my five star accommodations,” he says, because he’s apparently determined to dig his own grave.

“No. Wayne says, “those are nice. But mostly I just want to introduce them to my boyfriend.”

“Ah.”

“And saying shit like that makes me think you’re trying to compete with Steve in the stupid Olympics.”

Angel makes an outraged noise but Wayne talks over him which is unique enough an occurrence that Angel lets him get away with it.

“See,” Wayne says. “The boys have decided they don’t want to stay in Hawkins long-term. They figure they’ll stay another year. Save some money. Make sure the kids are settled. And then Eddie’s set on New York or California and I think Steve’s just set on Eddie, wherever he is. I thought we could at least make a case for Indy, though. ‘Cause if Eddie isn’t staying in Hawkins, I’ve got no reason to.”

“Ah,” Angel says again. “And you don’t have any interest in New York or California?”

“I sure don’t,” Wayne says levelly.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’ll mop the floors and clean the windows. Give them the best showing I can. Should we plan to take them to one of the…heavier… music venues? I can probably have Frank cover for me, I’d just need to ask him now.”

“Nah. I figure I’ll help you out Saturday night and let them explore on their own. Eddie’s already making a list of options. But Friday is drag night at your place, right?”

“It is.”

“We should start them with that, I think.”

Angel grins. “Their debut in queer society shall be heralded by Dolly Parton and glitter.”

“Mm.” 

Angel is familiar enough with Wayne’s thoughtful noises to know that he’s smiling.

“Enough about my boys,” Wayne says. “Tell me about your day.”

Angel does.

When Angel hangs up ten minutes later, for once, he’s grinning. He thinks, as usual, not today but someday. Only ‘someday’ suddenly feels tangible in a way it never has before.

***

Eddie Munson is exactly what Angel expected him to be when he comes tumbling out the driver’s side door of the van parked half on Angel’s driveway and half on his lawn. Angel has been hearing about him through the rosy lens of Wayne’s affection for close to five years and as a result, Angel loves him immediately upon first sight. 

Then again, he’d be difficult not to love. Eddie is a bright, frenetic, presence, all hair and chains and affected airs, who shares Wayne's smile, though he dispenses smiles much more freely than his uncle. He is unashamedly himself as he shakes Angel’s hand, tells his uncle he approves, and then asks for a tour of the house.

Steve Harrington is somehow simultaneously exactly and nothing like Angel expected.

Exactly, because he looks the part: a cropped Hawkins Varsity Basketball sweatshirt, tiny athletic shorts, and the well-built frame of someone who regularly works out. His hair is verging on ridiculous. His face is…well-suited to the body, he’ll say.

But the kid also has a hyper-awareness to him, a quick-eyed, assessing, vigilant posture, that Angel has only ever seen in war vets twice the kid’s age. He puts his back to a room’s farthest corner. He keeps doorways in sight. And he constantly, constantly, orbits Eddie like the world's most unsubtle protective detail. 

There are also the scars. Terrible, still-healing, scars. On one exposed thigh, the side of his neck, and his right forearm. On the slice of skin between his waistband and the frayed cut-off hem of his sweater. He wears them unapologetically, with the composure of someone who is neither proud nor embarrassed by them.  

Angel suspects, only a few minutes into their first meeting, that Eddie may have similar scars beneath his torn jeans and bleach-speckled band shirt. One of his arms has some sort of medical sleeve on it—the pale fabric covered in black bleed-fuzzy Sharpie drawings of bats. Angel considers the mangled half-moon-shaped lines decorating Steve’s thigh. Unless earthquakes have suddenly developed teeth, Wayne has clearly been editing his stories. 

But despite their significant aesthetic differences, the two boys are well-suited, if painfully young and unpracticed in the art of subtlety. They touch each other constantly; unthinkingly. Hands. Hips. Shoulders. Elbows. And the way they look at each other—well. They’ll need to work on that if they don’t want to accumulate more scars. Granted, they hardly have to hide their relationship in the sanctuary of his home, but he gets the feeling they don’t know how to be any other way with each other. 

It’s both sweet and more than a little heartbreaking.

“So,” he says, “ I need to get back to the bar before the opening act at 8. It’s drag night.”

“Robin is going to be furious she didn’t come,” Steve says.

“We’ll bring her next time,” Eddie says. 

They go.

***

Angel’s bar is called Innuendo. 

He can’t take credit for the name, but he can take credit for the atmosphere. It’d been a dark, sticky, hole-in-the-wall when he started working there at 21. When he’d bought it from the former owner a decade later, he’d cleaned it up, regulated the jukebox hours, and started live music, drag, and deejay nights. A few years after that, in 1984, when the mayor issued a proclamation declaring the new city policy to no longer discriminate against queers, he’d taken the boards down from all the windows. 

It’s still dark in the back where the stage and dance floor are tucked away, but the front windows with a clear view of the street are big and unashamed. He keeps the windows clean.

There’s a copy of the proclamation framed above them, along with pictures of Angel and noteworthy patrons of the establishment over the years: Wakefield Poole; Tom Higgins; Bayard Rustin; Freddie Mercury, and Jim Hutton. 

A lot has changed in the last two decades that he’s worked there, but some things, like the old oak-wood bar where all the pictures were taken, stay the same.

He brings Wayne and the boys in through the back to scattered shouts of hello from regulars. He and Wayne slide behind the bar to start helping Frank, and the boys sit on stools with wide eyes.

It’s nice, to see the place from their perspective. The magic of it is never lost on him, but sometimes he does forget exactly how magic it is: a bar that looks like most other bars but where men look and touch and kiss without concern, where there’s art and magazines and conversations that wouldn’t be permitted by common society a scant few feet outside the door.

After fifteen minutes, they get brave enough to explore—admiring the posters on the opposite wall: Bijou and Boys in the Sand; Passing Strangers, Forbidden Letters, and A Night at the Adonis.

They play a round of darts near the front windows, the boards covered in shitty black-and-white copies of Anita Bryant’s face.

They sit at a table near the stage when the show starts. They pull their chairs together. They hold hands on the tabletop. They laugh and shout and sing along and kiss when invited.

After, when they’re back at the bar, flushed with alcohol and the subtle worldview shift that Angel remembers well from his first visit to a gay bar, a few of the queens come over to introduce themselves. Leslie, currently in her Cher era, steps up to the bar, accepts her drink from Wayne with a wink, and gives Steve a clear once-over.

“Aren't you out a little late for a school night, baby?" she says in her customary baritone.

“Uh, no ma’am. I graduated last year. Sorry. Sir?”

"Sugar, do I look like a ‘sir’ to you?"

“Take it easy on him, Les,” Angel calls. “He’s new.”

“No kidding.” She purses her lips at him. “Ma’am is fine unless you meet me on the street. But here I’d prefer ‘honey. Or ‘darling.”

Steve swallows. “I promised I’d reserve pet names for my boyfriend. So. I’ll stick with Ma’am.”

“Well aren’t you a charmer. And where is this boyfriend?”

“Hi,” Eddie says.

She gives him an equally critical once-over.

“Do you know what that color bandana means in that pocket?”

Eddie glances down at his back left pocket; at the black bandana hanging against his thigh.

“Ah...that I’m into S&M but that I like to be the  submission one? Like the one getting tied up?”

“You what?” Steve says.

Angel notices that Wayne has made a hasty exit to the bathroom, which is probably for the best.

“Oh my sweet summer child,” Leslie says, “it means the opposite on that side, so maybe switch pockets.” She considers Steve’s pink face. “And also maybe talk to your boyfriend. The whole point of flagging is to find someone to meet your needs and you've got a pretty one right here who seems like he’s awfully willing.”

Steve pulls the bandana out of Eddie’s pocket and, using his teeth, tidily rips it into two. He tucks one half in Eddie’s right back pocket. He tucks the other in his left. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow like he's expecting Eddie to argue. Eddie does not argue. Eddie doesn't do much of anything except stare at him with wide, hungry eyes.

“Well,” Leslie says, sounding pleased, “My work here is done. Honestly, kids these days.”

She gives Steve a little pat on the shoulder as she pushes back into the crowd. “I’d dance while you have the chance, boys. Life is short and sometimes so is love. Capitalize on that shit!”

“Do you want to dance?” Steve asks.

Eddie is still watching Leslie with a bemused smile. “I don’t know how to dance to this music.”

“Well I won’t know how to dance to yours tomorrow, but I’m planning to let you show me.”

“Fair enough, King Steve." Eddie affects a curtsy, offering Steve his hand. “I suppose I can allow you to take me for a turn about the dance floor, good sir.”

Steve bows low over Eddie’s hand, pressing his lips to his knuckles, looking up at him with a grin. “An honor,” he says solemnly, and then drags Eddie, laughing, into the throng of moving bodies.

***

The next morning, Angel wakes up early for no reason he can determine. He’s not good at sitting idle, and he doesn’t want his fidgeting to wake Wayne, so he elects to take his book to the garden. Only, as he slips into the hall, careful with the door behind him, he can hear the quiet, indistinct lull of voices in the kitchen.

Angel moves down the hall on sock feet, avoiding the creaky bit of flooring where the original foundation meets the master addition he added four years back. 

The boys have opened the double doors to the patio and Steve is leaning against the jam on one side, coffee cup in hand, looking out at the garden. He’s shirtless, wearing only the shorts from the day before. Warm, tree-diluted, sunrise rays cast him in sepia, making the scars that traverse his flank to his thigh look less gruesome and more artistic. Poetic. He knows more than one photographer who would kill for a shot like this. Something about the coexistence of beauty and pain. Something about a commentary on perceptions of strength; the allure of imperfection resulting from battles survived.

Eddie joins Steve, sliding under his open arm like a habit, dragging a hand down Steve’s side to cup the puckered line of recently-stitched skin at Steve’s hip. 

Eddie is also shirtless—wearing jeans and a riot of bed head that Steve presses his face into, murmuring something low and clearly funny by the stifled laughter it produces. 

Angel wasn't wrong with his initial assumption: Eddie’s back is littered with shallow scars as well, but he also has a fair amount of tattoos, which makes the other marks less incongruous. There’s something about Steve’s otherwise flawless skin and sculpted muscles that make his injuries feel more visceral.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks until Steve suddenly looks behind him, like he has a preternatural awareness that he’s being watched.

“Oh,” he says, “Good morning.”

Both boys turn to face him. 

And Angel realizes that Steve’s injuries pale in comparison to Eddie’s.

Because Eddie’s chest and belly is a brutal mess of scar tissue.

It looks like something tried to gut him.

It looks like whatever it was probably succeeded.

He knows he’s staring but he can’t seem to stop himself until Steve slides a proprietary hand over the worst of it, spread fingers against what has to still be an agony of healing skin.

He meets Angel's eyes and all but dares him to say anything.

“I think,” Angel says, turning abruptly to enter the kitchen, “the occasion calls for french toast. Thoughts?”

“The occasion?” Eddie asks.

His hand covers Steve’s and presses, not a dismissal but an invitation to linger. 

“Your diploma,” Angel says, “Steve’s first time making a fool of himself in front of a drag queen. Whatever excuse is sufficient for the making of said french toast.”

“See, we’re sort of trying out this new thing lately,” Eddie murmurs, looking at Steve, “where we don’t need excuses for things that make us happy.”

“No guilt in our pleasures,” Steve agrees, voice soft, expression reverent. He tucks an errant curl behind Eddie’s ear.

Angel resists the urge to sigh at them. Instead, he toasts them with a carton of eggs. “French toast for the pleasure of french toast, then. You two go sit on the bench in the garden. The sun should be hitting it right about now and that is surely a pleasurable experience. I’ll let you know when breakfast is ready.”

Steve meets his eyes again, this time less challenging, more thankful. 

His hand slides from Eddie’s belly to the small of his back, pushing him out onto the patio.

“That sounds nice,” he says.

And they go.

When Wayne shuffles out to join Angel at the stove ten minutes later, the bread is sizzling in the skillet. 

They take their time washing the egg bowl and whisk in the sink, elbow to elbow, two men sharing space for a one-man job.

They lean into each other, considering Eddie and Steve, similarly leaned into each other, on the bench under the oak tree outside.

“You think I should talk to them?” Wayne murmurs. “About the way they look at each other. And touch each other. And how they need to cut that shit out if they’re in public?”

“Probably,” Angel sighs. “But not today.”

“No,” Wayne agrees after a moment of silence. He presses a kiss to Angel’s temple. “Not today.”

Pt. 4 (Will's POV)

[glassrowboat]

From the Past: Dottore x reader

Word count: 2000+

Warnings: Gore, psychological torture implied, toxic dynamic, and Dottore. Yes, he is a warning.

Authors note: The doctor and reader were not in a romantic relationship previous to the contents of this fic.

The sounds of wailing screams must have stopped hours ago now as Dottore walked back into the lab, the silence he was met with almost startling compared to the banging fists and pleas for help that filled the air as he left. That is if he didn't already expect this outcome. To the doctor this is just another day like any other, even as the screech of metal dragging against the floor hit his ears, a black line worn into the ground from the amount of times he's opened and closed this particular cell. 

Just another thing to fix later.

Dottore didn't even flinch as the smell of blood hits his nose in waves. Far too used to it to be nauseated now he walks through the door, bits and pieces of flesh coating the walls as blood reached high enough to cake the ceiling. The sound of a drip, drip, drip melodic. Though none of that mattered compared to the sight of a messy head of hair, the light slipping through the door way just enough to illuminate the figure that sat there as she turned to look at him.

“It appears you have outdone yourself again, my favorite test experiment. Did you have fun while I was gone?” Judging by the fact there's barely any remains to be had of the live test subject he threw in there with her, the answer had to be yes. 

“I did.” Ahh, simple and to the point as always. Or at least as it always is now. “Welcome back Dottore.”

“Glad to be back.” Smiling down at her he offered what could barely be called a woman anymore a hand. She may have appeared just as she did once upon a time but the blood covering her mouth was a clear indication as to otherwise. Such a sweet little face so clearly hiding a brutal and ravenous creature only he truly knew the extent of. “Now that you are fed-”

Without even bothering to accept his hand she was right in front of him in an instant. Matted hair tickling Dottore's neck as she leaned in. There was no point to be startled, or to even act afraid, not when he knew this one would never hurt him. He was confident in that.

The quick sound of a sniff however still had him looking down at her with a raised eyebrow though. “You smell like the other harbingers. Were you in a meeting again?”

Dottore chuckled softly at her question. After all, a day (y/n) actually chose to converse was a good day in his books. “Yes, I did just attend meeting with the other harbingers,” he replied, his breath brushing over her cheek. “And what is to you if I did?”

“Well,” her eyes fell down to the floor, a sight one could almost miss in the dark room. “You used to tell me when you were busy. Now you just leave without a word.”

We used to be so much closer.

“Right.” Dottore grumbled. “Things have changed. My priorities have changed; I'm sure you understand. I can't be with you all the time anymore.” He has work to do, tests to run, papers to write, just…things that keep him busy over all.

Waiting for a moment Dottore looked down at her, waiting for that sharp tongue he had grown so used to. A comment along the lines of: ‘well maybe if you had told me of this before you wouldn't come across as such a prick.’ Yet the woman leaning into him said nothing of the sort, no sharp bite to share. Not this time.

Of course she wouldn't.

“Let's get you cleaned up, dear.” Placing his hand on the small of her back Dottore led her out the cell. It wasn't meant to keep her captive anyway. She wouldn't go anywhere even without a door that screeched in sheer agony everytime I was forced open locking her in. 

The remains of what was once her meal left behind as he pushed her towards the small wash station right up until she was standing under the shower head. He didn't even bother to warn her as he turned the water on, already knowing she wouldn't mind. The freezing water beat down on her in a way that would have Dottore shivering in her place if their positions were swapped, but she barely showed a sign of recognizing what just happened.

There were no complaints of the cold to be had as she hissed at him about being a bitch. Simply standing there. Watching. 

“Are you really so unbothered by this?” Why did he even ask that, he already knew the answer. Maybe, just maybe the sound of the water would drown out the pointless question, but he knew it wouldn't. 

Dottore already made sure of that long ago. (Y/n), something that was somehow more than and less than human all at once. Needles that once filled her skin now having marked her skin with scars that were slowly being revealed as the blood washed off of her, swirling and pooling on the floor. Seconds passing by as the stark red faded to pink. It'll be clear soon enough.

“I'm fine. Just need a change of clothes.”

“Of course,” he sighed, watching as bits of flesh fell from the folds of her shirt that would have to be fished out of the drain later. “I'll have that settled soon. Just wash off, I don't need you dirtying the lab again.”

A small mutter of a “thank you” could be heard as he turned on his heel, already knowing not to bother to search for any trace of light in her like had used to so many times before. Humanity long since forgotten even before the first time she tore her teeth into a test subjects flesh. At least this time she didn't ask to be allowed to hunt her prey down. 

It was so easy to forget the woman she once was when you look at her now, the name Siearra seemingly almost belonging to an entirely new person. If that is something she call still be called to this day. He certainly wouldn't say it was the best description for her.

These old tile floors his shoes clicked on as he walked to fetch her something to change into had once reflected a woman who would easily poke and prod at him with words alone. How something he once considered so annoying could be endearing now is beyond him.

Nostalgia, such an easily blinding tool.

If she said something like that today…well, she wouldn't even dare. No calling him out for being a jerk, the guts to snap back at him the instant something proved to be displeasing almost vanished into thin air. She truly had changed, just as was intended. These days she is monstrous, can tear through a carcass with ease. She is a pride of his, a true show of just how much his work has come to grow, so there's no point missing her old self. This is simply a change of behavior as any human being would exhibit after being put through-

Dottore stopped for a moment, tongue clicking as he realized just what was going on through his head. Self rationalization? Now? Pointless. There may be memories of (y/n) curled up in a corner of his lab before one of the few heaters, but that is simply the past. It doesn't matter if he and gotten used to her presence there, had begun to expect it. It doesn't matter that if he would comment on her habit of trying to steal the warmth all for himself she would tell him “be a good little scientist and discover this thing called a coat then.”

How he had to bite back a smile, had to bite back from saying “you could have just asked for a blanket you know.”

Enough of this.

Quickly grabbing a change of clothes for her Dottore turned back to the monster that was now before him. This was (y/n) now, no matter how alike they may look. The figure sitting down on the floor with a fluffy towel draped over her shoulders and still wet hair dripping droplets onto her skin was the present.

How she looked so much like a cowering animal as she sat there simply waiting for him to return. Before Dottore could even stop himself playful words tumbled out of his mouth. “You really need to learn how to dry your hair properly, dear. You look like a rat.”

And just how she'd always respond to his snark these days followed suit, a simple “okay.” He shouldn't have expected anything else.

Things truly have changed.

“Put on your clothes already. I don't need you catching a cold,” he snapped.

“Right. Sorry.” Getting up off the floor she slipped the clothes on, so numb seemingly to every little thing. There was no strong sense of dignity from her. (Perhaps stripped the moment he first heard her begging for the pain to stop and Dottore simply told (y/n) to shut up and push through like a good experiment). 

“Don't apologize to me, just do things right the first time.” He could see her slowly mouth opening, most likely to apologize again. “I just ask of you to follow orders.” There wasn't a point to look at her to know she was nodding so instead he sat down, the old chair slotted behind the old workbench working well enough for now as he sighed. No matter how much he tried to calm down she had such an ability to rile him up. Silence or her old snark, it was all the same.

She once looked upon him so sweetly as another one of those novels were in those hands, some flowery title he didn't bother to remember printed over the cover. The anemones that were so intricately drawn however were a different story. How she cooed over the main love interest even as Dottore told her multiple times he wasn't interested in hearing about her love for romance.

(Y/n) ignored him easily, still chatting away to the point he had almost managed to tune her out between the catching of a quil on paper. That is until she playfully remarked “one day I'll find my perfect match just like in this story and then I'll run off and get married.” The rest of what she said didn't matter, not at that moment. To run off with someone and just leave him. That's what she had implied.

“Come here.” He ordered, now addressing the monster that sat a few feet away from him.

And just like he had forced her to, how he might as well have programmed into (y/n)’s once human brain, she obeyed. The skirt of the dress she had only just thrown on a moment prior dragging under her, halting and stalling the woman's movements as she crawled over to him. There was no dignity to be had, no pride, no hint of who she once was. Not even as she hung her head in front of him.

What a good girl.

“Look at me.”

His little monster, his prized experiment, his masterpiece, his dead look in her eyes that slowly settliled on him. Hesitantly so. This was how it was meant to be. It didn't matter of thoughts of doubt were running through her mind, if she was waiting to be thrown either a bone or her death penalty, all because now she can't leave. There's not a choice in the matter.

Perhaps he'd mourn the woman she once was, wish for her attitude to come back and hope to hear a comment or two that would remind him of her. But what would the lack of what once was do besides fill him full of unwelcome memories he doesn't want to recall no matter how much both of them still clung to their past?

“Have you realized your place in life yet? It's quite obvious but I want to hear you say it.” 

Without missing a beat the little creature he made her be whisper out, “by your side.”

Yes, exactly. She's finally learned. And if she dared say anything else? Well, that's just another thing to fix now.

[whumpshaped]

tw royal whump, abuse of power, past torture, implied future torture, bullying for zero reason, drowning

Whumpee had been working for hours. The Hall was enormous; the floor seemed to stretch into infinity whenever they looked up. So they just stopped looking, working square inch by square inch, never daring to check how much more work they had left.

Their knees were aching, bones pressed against an unforgivingly hard surface, skin catching on every little bump. Their arms and back were burning with the exertion, but they continued scrubbing, rewetting and wringing out the cloth again and again.

Just a little more, surely. They had to be close to done by now.

They didn’t stop working when they heard footsteps. People inside the palace would come and go all the time, it wasn’t any of their business — except this set of footsteps seemed to grow nearer still, way beyond the threshold of the Hall.

Whumpee didn’t look up. They scrubbed even more diligently, keeping their head low and their movements as silent as possible. It didn’t matter. By the time those expensive boots entered their field of vision, they already knew who it was. There was only one person who never left them alone even while working.

Her Majesty’s second son was as much of a brat as one could get, even within the royal family; with all the power and none of the responsibility, plenty of free time, and an unexplainable sadistic streak, he was the subject of many of Whumpee’s recurring nightmares. They didn’t understand what they’d done to warrant being the prince’s favourite chewtoy, and they were starting to suspect there wasn’t a reason, aside from simple misfortune.

“Busy?”

Whumpee put down the cloth, still keeping their eyes fixed on the floor. What were they supposed to say? Yes, they were, but that could come off rude. If they said no, however… well, that was a clear lie. “I’m happy to assist in whatever Your Highness may need,” they said in the end, hoping it was good enough.

“Look at me.” Whumpee swallowed and looked up, meeting the prince’s icy cold eyes. If there ever was a picture of pure malice, it must’ve been based off of him. “Do you think you’re doing a good job here, servant?”

“I’m doing the best job I can possibly–”

“Look at the water.” The prince suddenly grabbed them by the hair, making them yelp as they were dragged over to the bucket. “It’s filthy. You should’ve brought fresh water long ago, that’s not going to clean anything.”

“Y-yes, Your Highness. I apologise. I’ll bring–” They were cut off when the prince let go, shoving them down towards the admittedly quite dirty water. They caught themself before they could’ve fallen, their face just inches away from being submerged. “I’ll bring–”

He stepped on the back of their head, pushing them down as far as their body would allow. They didn’t have a chance to take a deep breath beforehand, and they certainly wouldn’t get one now. Their terrified whines and whimpers escaped them in large bubbles of precious oxygen, but the prince showed no sign of wanting to let them up.

They couldn’t breathe. They couldn’t breathe. They couldn’t–

The pressure suddenly disappeared and Whumpee yanked their head out of the bucket, getting water everywhere as they coughed and sputtered. Their lungs were burning with all the inhaled musky water, their throat scratchy and in pain from the abuse.

“Oh, by the way,” the prince began casually while they were still wheezing, “Mother sent me to check on the state of the Hall, since the event is about to start soon. I’m sure she will be very disappointed when I tell her–”

“I’ll be quicker,” Whumpee choked out, every word bringing more agony. “Please, Your Highness, I–”

The prince didn’t hesitate to kick them in the ribs with those expensive boots, and through the pain, Whumpee wondered how severely they’d be punished if their useless body were to make a scratch in the leather. “Do not interrupt me,” he hissed. “You can’t do your damn job or show respect? Have you already forgotten the last lashing?”

They couldn’t answer. It all hurt so much, they were too scared, they hated it all–

“That’s quite alright, I suppose. When I tell Mother about the servant who caused the delay, I’ll simply offer to handle the punishment arrangements myself. It’ll be a nice refresher — since the water doesn’t seem to have been enough.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Rendezvous

Epilogue for Sweet Treats AU: by character | chronological | epilogues

Warnings: these drabbles will include dark elements such as noncon, control, intimidation, and other stuff that may not be specified. Take this as you chance to scroll by.

Note: yall wanted this man.

Please let me know what you think &lt;3

🍑🍑🍑

“I’m gonna get in so much trouble,” you squeal as you dip into the backseat, the door shutting heavily against your leg.

“Screw em, baby cakes,” Lloyd sneers as he pulls you towards him, “why do they care so much?”

You don’t have a chance to answer him as his lips meet yours. You giggle as his mustache tickles and you grasp the collar of his striped yellow shirt. His hand slips around your neck and locks you against him. The butterflies fluttering in your stomach take you back to the first time he kissed you. Right behind the cafe.

He unzips your jacket and slides it down your arms. He lets it fall to the floor as his hand snakes around the back of your head once more.

You part, just enough to catch your breath. He’s close in the cramped space, his fingers curling wantingly against your nape. The car is running, the heater warming the air.

“They’re just looking out for me,” you murmur, “that’s all.”

“Don’t worry about them, babe,” his other hand crawls up your side, slowly raising your shirt, “I’ll take care of you… look out for you.”

He kisses along your cheek as shivers ripple over your body. The guilt slakes away beneath his touch. You shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be fooling around with anyone, but you’re so lonely. And Lloyd’s never reprimanded you, not like everyone else.

You sigh his name as his hand slips beneath the fabric of your shirt. He growls as he pecks along your jawline, leaning you back against the door. Your heart hammers with nervous excitement. You catch his thick fingers as he gropes your chest.

“Please, I can’t–”

“It hurts so bad,” he babbles against your throat, “please, baby, you’re making me hurt.”

“I know, I just– my ex…”

“I’m not your ex, am I?” He snarls as he nips you lightly, “hmm? I see what you are, baby face. The sexiest…” another kiss along your neck, “most adorable…” another, “irresistible woman I’ve ever met.”

You nearly swoon as his heat swallows you up. His lips reach your collarbone and he squeezes your tit, even as you hold him back.

“You mean it?” You ask as your self-control dwindles, “do you really mean it?”

“I do, cupcake, I swear,” He brings his hand down from your neck and takes yours. He guides it down to the front of his pants and he moans. His tone is laced with agony as he wriggles. “Please…”

You hum and nod, pushing his hand firmer against your chest. “Be gentle,” you plea.

“Yeah, baby, yeah, I’ll try.”

He pulls you against him, sliding you down onto the seat beneath him. He covers you with his body, his knees between yours as he kisses you desperately. He rolls his hips, grinding into you desperately as his breaths grow shallow.

He rolls your shirt up all the way and frees your tits over the band of your bra. You let out a squeak as he toys with your nipple between his teeth, his tongue swirling around the tip as he hums. You brace the back of his head, the close shave smooth against your palm.

His hand trails down your stomach and he slides his fingers beneath your pants. You tremble and moan as he feels along your pelvis and finds the patch of hair, delving further to your clit. You swallow back the memory of another’s touch, this is nicer than that.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” Lloyd nips your breast between words, “I bet you got the prettiest little pussy.”

You giggle and writhe against his touch. He plays with you cloyingly, your cunt slick and clenching.

“You know it is, you naughty girl,” he tease as he sits up, slowly dragging his hand free, “that’s why you’re laughing.”

He grips the top of your pants and yanks them down. He jolts your body as he does and you exclaim in surprise. He pushes your legs together straight and rests them against his torso, your feet above his shoulder. He shoves his hand against your cunt once more, his other fighting with his fly.

He looks down as he pulls his dick out, rubbing his tip against your cunt. He purrs again as he leans into you. Just a little, just until you moan.

“You do got a pretty pussy,” he praises as he eases in another inch, “even prettier with me inside you.”

He tilts his hips as your walls twitch around his intrusion. He urges his length deeper and deeper until you think you can’t take anymore. You reach down and press your fingertips against his thigh.

“Too much?” He asks with a wink.

“Just… been a while,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” He stretches his free arm down and slaps your ass, “or maybe that jackass was lacking, huh?”

He tickles the back of your thigh and forces his fingers between your legs. He pushes against your clit and you wiggle at the new pressure. He bucks his hips sharply and you squeal as he bottoms out.

“Ow, Lloyd, slow…” you grunt as your fingertips slip down to his knee.

“I’ve taken it slow,” he snarls and thrusts again, harder even than before, rubbing you as he builds a steady motion, “I want all of you, baby, all…” He snaps his pelvis again, “of” again, “you.”

[neteyamsyawntu]

Kinktober 10

K n i f e P l a y

Recom Quaritch x Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: 🔞MINORS DNI🔞, smut, P in V, knife play, kuru play, hate fucking, Quaritch being a "nameless" character, dirty talk, pet names, vulgar language, mentions of murderous intent, power struggle

Na’vi word key:  Vrrtep - Demon Ngeyä fahew lu kewong - Your smell is alien  Txavä’ - disgusting

Like a Palulukan stalking in the shadows you moved carefully and precisely through the Pandoran night, watching as the strangely clothed Avatar below you studies his surroundings. He was lost, separated from the rest of his group, which unaware to his knowledge, was already been dealt with by the rest of your hunting party. The sounds of gun fire had distracted you from your previous task, leaving your blood boiling when you discovered the bodies of a pack of viperwolves, mercilessly slaughtered and you would not let these invaders of your home go without a fight. Your fangs ground against each other at the way this demon walked around the forest as if he were a God. Little did he know that tonight, you would put the fear of just that into his skull. 

Just as he moved to the position directly below you, your body sprung into action leaping from the branch above with your hunting knife drawn. Your sudden weight sent the faux Na’vi to the ground with a loud grunt, making him plant face first into the forest floor. Straddling his back, you securely grasp his kuru, giving it a harsh tug, to which his head followed suit, screaming in agony, leaving his neck open and vulnerable. Without hesitation your hand wraps around to his front, pressing the blade directly against his throat, a menacing hiss spilled off your tongue like venom, “Vrrtep…”. You were utterly fuming, your skin hot to the touch. You could end him right now and be done avenging your fallen brethren of the forest, but that seemed too easy. You wanted him to suffer. 

Adding more pressure to the blade you begin to slide it up from his throat to his jaw, “You invade our home, uproot and kill for your own personal greed…” your native accent is heavy as you speak the alien tongue of your enemy, continuing to drag the blade up to his cheek, leaving behind a small trail of blood as it just barely rips at his skin. “Yet you are foolish to think that there would not be consequences.” You seethe into his ear, pressing the blade down with more pressure before quickly swiping at his cheek, leaving a generous cut across his skin. The man below you hisses in pain at the action, before taking a few breaths to stabilize himself, “If you’re gonna intimidate me, you may wanna cut a bit deeper, doll.”. 

Without even a chance to retaliate, your captive bucks his head back at full force into your nose, causing you to release his kuru without even thinking of your actions, as you fumble backward. In an instant the avatar is attempting to pin you down to the ground himself, trying to disarm you in the process, yet failing as you quickly come back to your senses and push back on him in defiance, trying to reclaim your earlier position to pin him below you. As the two of you roll around on the forest floor, the forests’ bioluminescence illuminating your bodies, your heart feels as if it’s pounding in your ears as the adrenaline spikes through your body. There was something about this struggle that was almost exciting to you, fighting him to end as the dominant and more powerful opponent in the end. You let out a strained cry when an aggressive tug at your kuru sends you curling up on the ground, just with enough time for the man to restrain you beneath him, yet you are quick to replace your blade against his throat, which earns you another tug at your braid.

“Feisty little kitten aren’t yuh? I can't tell if you want to kill me or fuck me.” He chuckles darkly looking between the two of you to your bare intimates, noticing how your tweng had been moved to the side during the struggle, the bulge in his pants now pressing eagerly against it. You wanted to feel sickened by his response, the revelation that he was turned on by this almost made you want to vomit… almost. If it weren’t for the fact that your rush of adrenaline had gotten you worked up to the point where you had practically soaked through your loincloth, enough to make it slip nearly clean off of you. Your initial instinct was to press the blade more firmly against his throat, yet the simple action seemed to draw out another condescending chuckle from the avatar, “I already told you; you’re gonna have to press a little harder than that. Don’t be shy… let me feel it.”.

Somehow you are compelled to obey, applying further pressure to his throat watching as his skin indents around it. If he were to make any sudden movements of his head, the blade would surely slip, resulting in a nasty cut, “That’s a good, kitty.” He growls in a hoarse, almost seductive way, or maybe that’s just how your ears perceived it . Suddenly and silently, as if to test the waters, the man slowly brings his hand from the side of your head to glide his thumb over your lips, dragging them down slightly, before pushing inward to prod at your teeth. You can only stare up at him with a confused expression, not sure of what else to do other than slowly open your mouth, allowing his thumb entry to slide over your tongue, pressing down on it just enough to manifest a noticeable sensation. “Ha… who knew a feral little brat like you could be tamable?” His words enabled you to gently bite down on his thumb as you bare your fangs at him, letting out a muffled growl.

 “Not so tame yet, hm? Why don’t we change that, cupcake?” He smirks, shifting his body weight to press his pelvis against your own, wetting the crotch of his pants with your slick, as his bulge begins grinding against your clit. Your teeth bite down harder on his thumb before progressively easing up, letting a soft whine escape you. Your mind was completely conflicted. You didn’t even know this man’s name, and here you were beneath him, letting him grind into you, a thumb in your mouth, while his other hand still firmly held your kuru. There was something about the look in his eye that was irritating enough to make you both hate him yet want to dominate him at the same time. Your eyelids gently flutter as you close your lips around his thumb, suckling at it hard, being sure that your gaze never faltered from his own. 

An appeased groan rumbles in his chest as he watches you, “Naughty little kitty… you want more, hun?” He purrs, pressing his erection harder against your clit. Although the words were familiar to you, your own failed you, only being able to nod in response. The avatar lets out a graveling chuckle as he gently removes his thumb from your closed lips with a pop, before shifting it down to the belt on his camouflaged pants, undoing its latch masterfully, then hastily unbuttoning the garment. You had seen the contraption of a zipper before on a scientists backpack before and the eager fingers of your free hand moved toward it to assist in removing the garment faster, only for a rough tug to be performed on your kuru, “Nuh-uh-uh.. no touching, pretty thing.” He orders before not as aggressively swiping your hand away to finally unzip the garment himself, shimmying them down his hips enough, along with his undergarment to allow his cock to spring free. 

Your chest rose and fell with excitement as you stared at it, absentmindedly licking your lips and spreading your legs as much as you could beneath him. “You gonna behave for me, little pup? You listen to me and I’ll let you have it, but I don’t want any games.”. You give another more eager nod, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. With a hum of approval the avatar takes his hand off of your braid to use it to guide your hip, while his other hand sits at the base of his cock as he pushes his hips forward to stroke his tip along your folds teasingly. Finally free from your restraints, your hips suddenly buck up into him, using the force of your knife to force him into submission as you roll over on top of him, his cock now sitting snugly between your pussy lips against his lower abdomen, “You will be the one listening to me, vrrtep.” You growl, lifting your hips enough for his cock to stand tall in the air, before lowering yourself into him, surprisingly sliding into you with ease despite the lack of prep. Eywa, you really were turned on by this whole ordeal.

His four fingered hands hastily grab onto your hips as you sink down on him, pinching his brows together as your wetness takes him in completely. “Ack-! E-easy there, kitty. Ahhh god damn…” he curses as you begin to slowly roll your hips experimentally, moving your knife from his neck, down his collarbone, watching as his blue skin splits with small beads of blood. “Haah.. ahh~ Ngeyä fahew lu kewong. Txavä’.” You moan with a bit of a growl as you scrunch up your nose at his intrusive scent while beginning to bounce on his cock, rolling your eyes back as it’s tip pushes against the opening of your cervix perfectly. “S’That so? Hard to tell how disgusted you are by it from the way you’re taking this alien’s cock so eagerly, darlin’.” He says between groans, bucking his hips up into suddenly, loving the view of you arching your back, nearly falling forward onto his chest, before your hand reaches out to stop you. Pleasure coursed through your core like blazing lava, your armed hand dragging the blade of your knife down his chest, tearing a very much present line down his shirt until reaching the top of his bulletproof vest, bouncing on him with more vigor, causing the recom to have to swallow his own spit before leaning his head back to let you take control momentarily. “Oh fuck yeah, take this cock baby- raah~.” He moans huskily, his grip on your hips being used to shove you down onto his cock as he thrusts assertively into you from below, making you take every inch of him over and over again.

Your moans echo off the surrounding trees, unable to control your voice with the way your tight, slick walls are hugging his cock just right, making your climax approach with an impossible speed. You lift your knife slowly finally giving his skin some relief, although crimson trails paint his neck and chest dutifully. Raising the knife higher and higher, the more the knot in your core tightens by the second, before a particular brush of his tip against the gummy parts of your cunt has your pussy fluttering around him gleefully. Just as you release your essence on his cock, you bring the knife down swiftly into the chest plate of his vest. “Holy shit!” He exclaims, as his heart doubles in pace before matching its rhythm with his thrusts. Just the adrenaline rush he needed before hastily lifting you off of his cock and releasing his load onto his pelvis. 

Your gaze was locked onto the hunting knife semi-lodged into his armored vest, your mixed pants fill the still air as you each attempt to gather yourselves. The severity of the situation then allowed itself to slip into the forefront of your mind. This was still the enemy, and if he weren’t dealt with now, he and his group of demons would only succeed in further wreaking havoc on your home. Your grip on your knife tightened, fist shaking as your nerves became tense. The recom watched you cautiously as he noted the sudden shift in your expression. In an instant your knife is yanked from the confines of his vest, now moving to your feet to stand over him, eyes finally meeting his in that instance. His own eyes showing a similar confliction as you sheath your weapon in its holster across your bosom. “Do not think because I spare you today, demon that I accept your presence in my home. This is a mercy that will not be granted twice… use it wisely.” The warning rang loud and clear in the recoms head as you turn away with those being your final words to him, unsure of if or when the two of you would ever cross paths.

Tag list: @pandoraslxna @dvxsja @jakexneytiri @blue-slxt @neteyamsoare@tiredmamaissy, @neteyamsikran @oceanstar19 @hadesbabygurl @xylianasblog @neteyamssyulang @anonymousailurophile @netyamstruelove @eyrina-avatar @justcaptiannoodles @teymars @neteyamyanw3 @eyweveng

[gardenofnoah]

your god came to you bloody and you fell to your knees

a little priest au for my dearly beloved, for my signs of God and other Devils collab (which you should totally join!!!). i tried something a little different with the style of this one...let me know what you think <3

wc: 2k tags: smutty smut smut, sacrilege, reader is not human (fallen angel but not really)

The old book told him that only those who had fallen from grace would be cast down from heaven. Angels ripped of wings–mouths that would never again speak of the divine. The abandoned blessings of a God that had so painstakingly created them. Purity and holiness strong-armed into something unsightly and obscene–an abomination of truly biblical proportions.

Yet there you were at Nanami’s feet. 

You’d slipped from the old wooden rafters, hitting the cobblestone below with a wet thud, like a calf falling from its mother’s womb. Wings still fully intact, fluttering uselessly behind you. Writhing in your agony, you crawled toward him. 

“Father,” you cried, dragging yourself toward him on splintered nail beds and bloodied palms, “Father–”

He took a step away from you, and then another–unsure of the scene in front of him, and weary of the unfamiliar coil in his chest–the one he’d been warned of, the black snake of temptation. But even broken and flailing in whatever viscosity you’d been covered in in your descent, there was no denying the pull of you that called to him. The realization that he may lack the strength he’d, until now, thought he had came distant and went on just as quickly as his eyes trailed over you. 

If it was a test from God, he’d already failed. 

The notion that you could be the image of gluttony before him carried significant weight–yet it was not heavy enough to keep Nanami from washing the film from you, however undevout it might have proved him to be. If every action had a consequence–if he was truly to be a man of service, after all–then surely to run his hands along your flesh, unmarred from the film of earthly sin, would not be such a bad thing. The consequence could not be so cruel if it was true that it was his duty–mandated by the oath he took–to extend his hand to you. That in doing so, he would not turn away from the God that he’d sworn his life to. Surely no angel could have fallen so far. Surely no angel would have come here to him. 

You spoke quietly and his body followed, like that of a moth to the light of a flame. You could not have been here to corrupt him—to touch your face did not burn him. 

“Father–” you croaked, quiet and rasped from your efforts, “please, it hurts–”

“Beloved,” he murmured back, wiping the thick sludge from your cheek, “what have you done?”

_

The water that trailed down your skin was enough to subdue you into a quiet, or maybe it was out of necessity–Nanami did not know if your silence was out of peace or of pain, as the drops crackled against your the film that encased you and dissolved it in a plume of foul smelling smoke. Unblemished you were underneath, and it was another blinking light to him–you could not possibly have been sent here to ruin him.

But as he raised the cloth to rid your wings of the slime, you let out a sigh as he touched the thin membrane, and he found himself chasing the sound. He’d only blinked and there you were, arched into his touch as he mouthed up the curve of your neck, panting and whimpering at the feeling of your silken wing under his fingers. Something called to him, a far away warning–and he dug his fingers into the flesh of his own thigh to break the spell. Bewildered, bewitched, blinking at you as if he’d only seen you now for the first time. 

“You are–” he swallowed thickly, fighting to come back to himself, “what are you?”

Blinking slowly at him, unperturbed. “You have a notion, Father?”

Like you’d called him to, he found himself moving in again–found himself stuck where he’d started, his tongue catching droplets that dripped from the wrist you’d slung over the rim of the basin. Something sickly sweet bloomed behind his teeth and told him he was damned. 

“You are no angel,” he murmured against your skin with as much certainty as could be mustered, “and yet–you cannot be a demon and remain in this house of God.”

His eyes snapped to yours at your snort, knowing at once that all along he had played to your hand. No longer were you a pitiful thing, scraping your knees against the stone to earn his mercy. Now, you held the answers, and he’d remain on his knees to beg for your indulgence. That he was sure of. 

“Do you speak only in absolutes, Father?”

Unwilling to bear broken proximity and equally unable to respond, your patience could’ve been a gift to him, if it hadn’t felt so oppressive. 

“I know that the path of righteousness is a clear one.”

Your responding laugh was a brand to the softest part of his body. 

“Father,” cooed in his ear like a secret, “your God could not be so kind.”

As you stood from the water, seemingly tripling in size and looming over him with wings outstretched, Nanami was bathed in the understanding that he was never in control. His eyes trained on every curve of your body, every droplet that trailed down your breast– knowing with certainty that what would follow would require his complete submission to you.

Knowing that you’d had it from the minute you’d called to him. 

“You ask what I have done,” your wings reached up and over the two of you, closing him into the world you commanded, “as if you have not called me here.”

All of the knowing you’d dangled above his head, now dropped unceremoniously into his own mind–the truth wasn’t nearly as devastating as it should’ve been. At once he knew he’d been the one to fall from grace. You’d merely come to collect his debt. And yet, he could not bring himself to grieve, as he’d never known a divinity like this one. On his knees, it was he who crawled to you, lowly bent to kiss your feet.  

“You will ruin me,” rasped and pathetic, against the arch of your foot. If he’d only looked up at your bared teeth, he’d have known how true the sentiment was. 

“No more that you have.”

He’d never again know an ache like the one in the pit of his stomach as you’d reached for him, and to go willingly only worsened it. Nanami made peace with the idea that if this was the hell that awaited him, he’d be cast down willingly. If the price for entry was a pleasure so sublime, he’d give every earthly penny he’d ever earned.

Settled over his open mouth, he drank from your sex like it could be the only thing to save him–the ache spread to his teeth and danced, burning, behind his eyes, but there could be nothing to thwart him from this. He’d never known an indulgence so human as this, yet the silken heat of your folds against his tongue was ingrained somewhere deep inside him, and every broken cry from your lips was something owed to him. Outside of his body, he was a voyeur to his own trailing hands, buried in the soft give of your flesh that he knew could not be human but felt that it was, until his fingertips met the slip of your wings and he was reminded again. 

A pleasure so sharp it could have been pain spread through him like you’d lit him ablaze, and he found himself closer to an edge he’d no reason to approach, as untouched as he was. And yet as he closed his fist around the papery thin flesh and pulled, it was as if he’d sunk himself inside you to the hilt. You rewarded him with a cry of the name he hadn’t yet told you and another obscene flood of arousal that flowed down from the corners of his mouth and soiled the neat fold of his roman collar. 

“More,” he groaned, pitiful against your heat, writhing in his own pleasure beneath you, “please, more–”

Suddenly you were gone from him, and mindlessly he chased you, stumbling across the stone beneath, still so damp from you–

“Does it feel good, Father?” he could only know the heat of your breath in his mouth, so close he could just lean forward and be swallowed whole by you, “your lust–the greed in your veins. Is this not what it means to be devout?”

“Yes,” he could’ve sobbed, head bowed forward like it was your forgiveness he’d sought after, “yes, please, I need it–”

Your chuckle was as patronizing as it was knowing, as it lit up everyone of his nerve endings. He knew he’d give you anything. 

“Bare yourself to me, then.”

The movement was unconscious and swift, and then he was splayed out over top the remnants of your arousal, offered up to you like a lamb to slaughter. Sweating, unable to still the incessant twitch of his hips in search of a pleasure only you could give him. Hungry in a way he’d never known in all of his years. 

Your appraisal could not have come without a price, and he closed his eyes to the shame that flooded him. But, merciful as you were, it was short-lived–you stepped to him and sank down, and you could’ve just as well reached inside him and pulled out the very matter of his being. 

It was an unbearable heat you sheathed him in—one that slithered up inside his rib cage and coiled around something raw and animalistic there, only to bring it to the surface and let it devour him alive. He writhed with it, unable to stop the curl of his spine or the snap of his hips into yours as he thought only of the wet silk of your insides. He could come up with no reason why he’d hoped so fervently for a heaven after death, when he’d been spared something far more luxurious, still alive. 

It spread like a slow moving poison until it consumed him entirely. The vice of you around him, the wings that still caged him in–it coated every synapse in his brain, dulling every other sense but to feel, and every other thought but to take, though he could hardly call it a poisoning if he’d drank from you so willingly–

“Is it so awful to give in to temptation, Father?” 

The time for morality had been long gone, and Nanami could only shake his head, moaning broken praises and half prayers to a God that watched on in horror, and still he could not think of a single reason he’d ever denied himself this pleasure. He’d never–he’d never–

“Give yourself to me,” you purred in his ear, taking great care to drag the edge of a feathered wing tip over the curve of his throat.

With only one more devastating roll of your hips, you shattered him completely–body lurching up in search of the comfort of yours, only to be met with wings that pinned him in suspension, dangling him in some blessed agony he’d hoped to never leave and to never experience again, for all it did to turn him inside out. Visions of the true divine came to him in a burning revelation–answers to questions he’d never uttered out loud came and left him as he spilled himself into you until he was reduced to the most basic function of dragging shuddering breaths into lungs that could seemingly no longer expand. 

When he opened his eyes to find himself alone, he could feel no surprise. Nor was he startled to hear a now familiar, echoing laughter against the halls of the cathedral as he let out a low curse and dragged his naked, aching body off of the cold stone. 

It was another unearned indulgence to allow the smile to spread slowly across his face as he pulled his robes back into place.

Perhaps he believed in acts of God after all. 

[hbyrde36]

Times Like These (The Anniversary Edition)

CH 1 CH 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch5 Ch6

Chapter 7: Running in Circles

WC: 6637 | AO3 link

The moment Eddie landed back in his body he fell to his knees and sobbed.

He wanted to lay down and die all over again. 

Anything to escape the agony of losing. Losing in general, losing Steve. Never mind that the loop had managed to reset itself, meaning there was a brand new Steve only a few miles away who was just fine. Who Eddie had another chance to save. 

But he wasn’t ready to think about that just yet. 

Not that he had any time for mourning. Time was both his greatest asset and his mortal enemy in this moment because he so desperately needed it all to fucking stop, if only for a little while. 

But, as the saying goes, time waits for no man. Chrissy was standing there, right in front of him, and the countdown to her demise had begun the second he landed back at the beginning of this godforsaken nightmare. 

He gave himself one minute to feel it. Sixty seconds of wallowing in heartbreak—of saying goodbye to a past that only he would ever remember, before shoving it all down and getting to work. 

He mumbled vague apologies to a very confused and concerned Chrissy when he finally picked himself back up, and then simply walked away, striding quickly to his room to take up his acoustic guitar and play for her again. 

It worked, even if he had some trouble putting his whole heart into it this time, and he was grateful that it did. He didn’t know what he would have done if it hadn’t. 

He held her close after she fell—still tried to put her back together again even though it felt impossible when he was missing so many of his own parts, but he didn’t give her long. He didn’t give either of them long enough to truly recover from their respective ordeals before dragging her to her feet.  

“Stay here a second?” He said, not waiting for a reply before returning to his room.

Frantically he dumped the contents of his backpack on the ground and filled it with clothes, his walkman, and his trusty black lunchbox. He had a feeling he might need it to get through the next few days. 

Back in the living room he grabbed his keys, took Chrissy's hand, and led her outside.

The goal was to grab Max and get the hell out of Dodge before Jason showed up looking for Chrissy, or a fight. He didn’t want to see that motherfucker ever again if he could help it, and he certainly could live without another broken nose. 

He flew up the front steps of Max’s trailer and began pounding on the door.

“Max!” He shouted, continuously banging his fist. “Code red, Max. Open up. We gotta go right now!”

The door flung open suddenly, revealing a very annoyed and very wide-eyed redhead.

“What the hell, dude?! Did Dustin put you up to this?”

“No Red, he didn’t, and there’s literally no time for me to explain, so–” Eddie shrugged one shoulder and pushed past her without waiting for an invitation, heading right back to her room while pulling Chrissy along behind him. 

“What are you doing?!” Max yelled, trailing behind.

It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t know he was acting, maybe, a bit erratic—but he was frustrated at once again being the only one who knew there was trouble brewing, and frankly he just didn’t have the mental strength to ease anyone into it. Any patience he had left died in the last loop.

“Pack a bag.” He told her as he perused her tape collection, picking out the right Pat Benatar tape. He checked for the other but it didn't seem to be on the shelf. It was probably already in her player.

“You’ll need your walkman, and your Kate Bush tape too. You might want to grab some clothes while you’re at it, we may not be back for a while.”

“Wait… what?”

He finally looked at her, really looked at her, and realized that under the show of annoyance, she was scared. He was freaking her out.

He sighed, running his hands roughly through his hair. “You saw the lights flickering earlier, right? Over at my place?”

She bit her lip, nodding reluctantly. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Yes,” he said, as softly as he could manage, picking up her school bag from the floor and handing it to her. “And I'm sorry, but we need to go now.”

“Where are we going?”

“Steve’s.” Eddie swallowed thickly. “Grab your walkie, we’ll call him from the road”

Max continued to eye him suspiciously but she didn’t argue. Sometime later he’d have to wonder why the girl went along with him so easily, but for now he was just grateful she didn't put up more of a fight.

Chrissy was quiet throughout the whole thing, and seemed a lot more shell-shocked than last time. Which was fair, considering he was acting like an insane person, had given her zero time to recover from her attack, and had explained exactly nothing. He just… he needed to get out of here. He needed to see Steve. Then maybe he could settle down long enough to tell her and everyone else what was going on. 

On the bright side, at least he wouldn't be showing up on Steve’s doorstep battered and bloody.

-

“Pass that radio up here, will ya?” Eddie asked once they were on the road, reaching back to where Max sat. She handed it over without a word.

He cleared his throat, holding the button down as he spoke into the device, steering with one hand. “Code red, I repeat, code red. Anyone who can hear me right now needs to meet up at Steve’s house as soon as possible. And, uh, Harrington, sorry to interrupt date night but you need to ditch the lucky girl and pick up Robin and Dustin on your way home.”

It all came out a little more manic and bitter than he’d meant it to, but it couldn’t be helped. It was all he could do to keep it together long enough to get to Loch Nora safely.

“Who the hell is this? Over.” Dustin said

“Hey, Henderson.”

“Wait… Eddie?”

“Yeah, man, It’s me. Listen,” Eddie paused, tapping the radio against his cheek. “I know you probably have like a million questions right now and I swear I will answer every one of them, but please just—hold off for a bit.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” Another voice asked.

Eddie sucked in a breath, eyes stinging as Steve came over the line. He knew the other boy would be listening, he should have expected it—had expected it, but somehow it still caught him off guard.

“I wish it was, pretty boy, I really wish it was. There was a little problem down at the trailer park. Max is with me, and a–friend. I’ll explain when we get to your place.”

After a moment of dead air, Dustin spoke again. “Steve?”

“It’s fine, Henderson,” Steve replied quickly, sounding irritated, if resigned. “I’ll be there to get you as soon as I can.” 

“Should I call the others?” Dustin asked.

“Yes.” Eddie cut in.

“Why not.” Steve scoffed. “Party at Steve’s! It’s not like I had plans on a Friday night or anything.”

It didn’t occur to Eddie until he turned the radio off and handed it back to Max that not once did Dustin complain about the lack of ‘walkie etiquette’. That maybe should have been his first sign that things weren’t exactly going well.

-

As soon as they pulled up to Steve’s, Max burst out of the rear doors of the van, all but running into the house before Eddie even had the chance to put it in park. Chrissy didn’t move or react. In fact, she’d done nothing but stare out the passenger window for the entire ride over. 

“Hey, Chris?” He said gently, turning in his seat to face her. “I know this whole night has been crazy and you don’t know me very well, but for what it’s worth I really can explain what’s happening… if you can trust me enough to come inside?”

She remained still and quiet for long enough that he was concerned she’d become catatonic, but eventually she tilted her head to look at him and gave a shallow nod. He jumped out, rounding the front of the van to open the passenger door for her. She faltered, stepping out on unsteady legs and he offered her a hand, which she took instantly, and held onto for dear life.

Eddie hesitated at the front door, his instincts telling him to just walk inside, but he wasn’t sure Steve, who barely knew him now—again, would appreciate that. 

Holding his breath, he rang the bell.

Intellectually, Eddie had known that the loop resetting meant Steve was alive, and he’d already heard his voice, but to actually see Steve physically standing there in one piece filled him with a sense of relief that made his knees weak. 

For a moment he forgot himself, stepping forward fully intent on wrapping the other boy up in his arms. He itched to press his face into Steve’s neck again, breathe him in deep and think about better days, but he caught himself at the last second and held back, instead giving Steve a friendly pat on the shoulder with his free hand while using the momentum of the near-hug to push past him and into the house, tugging Chrissy along with him.

“Sure, come right in.” Steve sniped.

Eddie didn’t look, but he knew that tone well enough to be sure Steve was rolling his eyes at their backs.  

He guided Chrissy to the living room and sat her down on the couch, while Steve blew past them, disappearing into the kitchen where Robin must have been. He could hear them whispering about him, though not quietly enough, because he heard it clear as day when Robin hissed, “oh my god, and he’s got Chrissy Cunningham with him?”

He stopped listening after that, in favor of paying attention to the girl in front of him. He hadn’t taken very good care of her this time around, and he needed to fix that as soon as possible.

“Can I get you some water or anything?” Eddie asked, crouching down in front of her, smoothing the hair out of her eyes.  

“Yes, water, thank you,” she said, managing a weak smile. 

“You got it, I'll be right back.” He patted her knee and marched straight into the other room, where Robin and Steve fell abruptly silent at his entrance. 

He ignored them, not really knowing how to act just yet—but did know, without a shadow of a doubt, that if he looked at Steve for too long right now he might lose his shit. Which would be less than helpful at this stage. He went to the cabinet where the glasses were, moving through the space like he was familiar with it—because he was—and crossed to the fridge, filling the cup he retrieved with the pitcher of water he knew Steve kept in there. 

“What—you—how?” Steve sputtered, narrowing his eyes. “Have you been here before?”

“No questions until everyone is here.” Eddie said over his shoulder, already walking away.

Dustin and Max had appeared in the living room while he was gone, and they watched curiously as he handed the glass over to Chrissy and sat down.

He leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands as he took a few deep breaths, remembering the way Steve had coached him through his panic attack on this same night, as he tried to settle his thoughts.  

“You know what? No. This has gone far enough!” Steve bellowed, rushing into the room. “You gotta give me something, man or I’m gonna… I don’t know. Call the police or something?”

Eddie dropped his hands but kept his eyes trained on the floor. Seeing first Steve’s socked feet come into view on the carpet in front of him, then Robin’s converse sneakers right behind. 

“Steve!” 

“Don’t give me that shit, Dustin. You see how he’s acting. He's clearly high on something. Or maybe drunk? Taking one of your D&D sessions a little too seriously? What?” 

Eddie looked up just in time to see Steve pull his signature move. His hands flew to his hips, and the accompanying glare was as fiery as ever, even though his hair flopped into his eyes when he tilted his head.

It almost made Eddie smile.  

“How the hell should I know?!” Dustin shouted.

“Well he’s your new best friend, isn’t he?!”

Oh, right. 

Eddie had forgotten this part. 

Up until their week-from-hell bonding session, or in the case of the last few loops, up until he learned the truth of what Eddie was going through, Steve had been jealous of his budding friendship with the kids—well—Dustin, in particular. Granted Eddie had been jealous too, but those days were far in the past for him. 

“Steve, that’s not–” Dustin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why would you assume he’s on drugs anyway?” 

“I hate to break it to you kid, but your new buddy here is the town–”

“Oh my god, Harrington!” Eddie quickly cut him off. Not that he really cared if the kid found out about his little side business, he’d be learning about it momentarily anyway, but he’d had enough. “I'm not high! And I’m not drunk either. I’m stuck in a fucking time loop.” 

“Bullshit.” Dustin snorted.

Eddie’s heart sank. Dustin always believed him. Had he really screwed things up so badly that even that had changed? 

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “You can’t expect us to buy that.”

Eddie had to turn away from the hard look in Steve’s eyes. He’d understood it before, the first few times around when it had taken a bit of time, and a lot of explanation, for the other boy to trust him, but now it just… hurt.

He felt so alone.

“Dustin, you told me something, in the first loop. You said if I told you this thing, you’d believe me.”

Steve tapped his foot impatiently on the carpet. “Okay, let’s hear it then.” 

“Don’t be an asshole, Harrington.” Eddie snapped, getting up from his spot on the couch to approach Dustin. “It’s his secret, if he wants to tell you someday, he will." 

He bent down and whispered quietly into the kid’s ear, “You're adopted. Your mom told you a year ago and no one else knows, not even Steve.”

Dustin’s eyes went impossibly wide as he blinked up at Eddie in utter shock for a second, then his face spread into a wide grin. “Holy shit, he’s telling the truth! This is amazing! But what–” 

The smile dropped suddenly off his face as the implications started to sink in. “On the walkie earlier you said code red, but I didn’t think—does that mean this is…”

“Upside Down related?” Eddie finished for him. “Yeah, I'm afraid so.”

Steve watched the two of them with a deeply furrowed brow, no longer looking quite so bothered and skeptical, now he just seemed worried. Eddie softened, letting his own problems take a back seat for a minute. This was Steve, who—whatever he thought of Eddie right now—he cared about so fucking much. 

"I’m sorry, Steve.” Eddie said, and never had he meant those two words more. “I know what you’ve all been through over the past few years, and I’m sure this is the last thing you want to hear right now, but it’s the truth. You have no idea how much I wish it wasn’t.”

-

Erica arrived a short time later on her bike, and Eddie used the distraction to escape to the downstairs bathroom and splash some cold water on his face.

He’d only been near Steve again for less than an hour and he was already going out of his mind, how was he supposed to make it through an entire week?

“Hey, man, are you okay?” A voice called from the other side.

It was Steve, because of course it was.

A part of Eddie longed to let him in, to steal a moment with the boy he was almost sure he was in love with, but it wouldn't be the same. 

Steve didn’t remember the many nights they spent comforting each other and sharing their most intimate secrets. He didn’t know how they’d cooked for each other, and swapped stories, and kept each other sane in the midst of the world crumbling down around them. 

He could have let him in anyway, and maybe tried to start over, build them back up into a version of what they were, but Eddie didn’t think he could survive getting that close, going that deep, only to have it ripped away all over again.

Nancy's voice filtered in from down the hall, and assuming she’d brought Mike along that meant everyone was there and accounted for. It was time.

Plastering a fake smile on his face, Eddie took one more deep breath for good luck and opened the door.

“I’m good, Harrington. Let's get this over with.”

He tried to walk past but Steve stopped him with a hand on his elbow. “Eddie, wait.” 

Eddie stiffened, heart pounding. Déjà fucking vu, of the most painful kind.

“I’m sorry for giving you a hard time before.” Steve let him go, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. “If Dustin believes you, then so do I. Honestly, after everything I’ve seen… it’s not even that much of a stretch.”

“Thanks,” Eddie said, looking anywhere but at Steve’s face.

In the process of avoidance, the closed door to Steve’s father’s office caught Eddie’s eye and it gave him an idea. He remembered Steve taking a phone call in there once before, and recalled that it didn’t look like an ordinary household model. 

“The phone in your dad’s office,” Eddie began, hooking a thumb in the room’s direction. “Any chance it has a speaker?”

“Yeah, why?”

Pushing his inner turmoil aside for the time being, Eddie filled Steve in on how the Byers and El needed to be brought into this too, and how much more efficient it would be if they could be on the phone listening as he explained what was going on.

Steve gaped a little, still not used to Eddie knowing so much about all these things that had been secret for so long, but ultimately he was on board, and took on the task of telling the others to cram themselves into the small office room. 

“What the hell is he doing here? And where’s my brother?" Erica asked Steve, spotting Eddie as they all piled in. "He didn’t come home after the game, I figured he’d be here.”

“He’s… ” Steve started to say but trailed off, looking to Eddie for an answer. “Where is Lucas?”

“Partying with the basketball team.” 

“Why are we talking in here again?” Nancy asked of no one in particular.

Robin shushed her, Mike laughed, and Eddie stayed out of it. He dialed the number Steve had given him for the Byers house in California and switched on the speakerphone, praying someone would pick up. 

Joyce answered on the second ring. 

“Hello?”

When Eddie hesitated, realizing that the woman wouldn't know who he was, Steve jumped right in.

“Hey Joyce, it’s Steve. Uh, Harrington.”

“Oh, Steve. Honey, is everything okay?”

“I’m sorry to call out of nowhere like this, um, listen, I’ve got the usual group together at my house and uh, no. I guess everything's not okay? We have a friend here, his name is Eddie, and he has something to tell us. Can you get the kids and Jonathan to listen in too?”

It was proof of just how much these people had been through together that she simply said, “Ok, sure.”

After explaining, briefly, the whole him-time-looping thing in general, Eddie began by going over the original timeline in detail, starting with Chrissy’s death and ending with his own. He brushed over the next two loops, claiming they weren’t important. Which was true, he hadn’t changed anything or learned anything new, so nothing could be gained by forcing himself to recount them. 

Finally, he moved on to the last loop. He told them everything, apart from the private moments he and Steve had shared, and managed to keep it as clinical as possible until he reached the point in the story where the group had separated at Benny’s—falling silent as he replayed in his mind the moment he and Steve had said goodbye. 

Steve’s grip on his hip, the way his soft lips had felt pressed against Eddie’s own, the terror that had coursed through him when the clock chimed one, two, three, four times. 

“Shut it!” Steve shouted, drawing Eddie out of his reverie. 

While he’d been zoned out, Dustin, Mike, and Erica had been shouting over each other, badgering him to go on. 

“Give the guy a break will ya? He’s been through enough without having to deal with…” Steve broke off with a frustrated sigh, waving a hand. “All of you. Just give him a second.”

Steve Harrington to the rescue as always, Eddie thought with a pang in his chest. 

He started again, determined to finish the story and be done with it. 

“Obviously we weren’t successful, otherwise I wouldn’t be back here. I can’t tell you exactly what went wrong. I don’t even know if El managed to piggyback into Steve’s mind, but either it didn’t work or Vecna was too strong because…” He trailed off, struggling to swallow past the lump forming in his throat. 

He couldn't say it. He just couldn’t. 

Thankfully, they were all smart enough to follow the context clues, and he didn’t have to. 

“Why didn’t I pull Steve out with the music thing?” Dustin asked, a slight quiver to his voice.

And absolutely not was he letting this kid feel like it was his fault for even a fraction of a second.

“Jason fucking Carver.” Eddie said quickly, and with gusto. “He and Andy saw Steve’s car or something. They showed up at the Creel house, threatened you all with a gun and somehow broke the walkman in the process.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” Chrissy blurted out. It was the first time she’d spoken since they left the trailer hours ago. “I should have broken up with him a long time ago, I knew he was a jerk, but–” She broke off sobbing. 

Shit.

Eddie was too far away to reach out to her himself but Robin was there, throwing an arm around her, and Chrissy tucked herself into her side.

“None of this is your fault, Chris,” Eddie said, holding her gaze in hopes that would help it sink in—to make sure she knew he meant it. “I know you don’t remember, but trust me you helped us so much. You were there for me–at the end. I will never forget that.”

She nodded, but still dissolved into a new wave of tears against Robin’s shoulder. 

While everyone else was looking at her, Eddie felt Steve’s gaze on him like a physical weight, impossible to ignore. “You said the loop resets when you die, right?”

Before he could stop himself Eddie locked eyes with the other boy, and suddenly it was like they were the only two people in the room. 

“What happened to you last time?”

On top of everything else, Steve had just learned about his own mysterious death at the hands of a psychic monster, but here he was—not concerned with that, but with Eddie, and what his fate had been.

He tried to deflect, dropping his gaze to the desk as he spoke. “That reminds me, I should really hide my van when we’re done here so no one thinks you’re associated with me if something goes wrong.”

“Eddie, what happened to you last time?” Steve asked again, insistent.

With a heavy sigh, Eddie grudgingly answered. “After they took off from the Creel house, Jason and Andy showed up at Benny’s. I guess they saw the cars and got curious, or maybe they came to check the place out again after Patrick died. I don’t know, I didn’t exactly get to ask any questions. He, um… he shot me. Point blank in the chest.”

By the end he had the room’s full and silent attention again, save for a muffled sniffle over the phone’s speaker, and a warm palm landed on his shoulder. He didn’t even have to raise his head back up to know it was Steve, who’d moved to stand beside him at some point during his latest speech. 

He’d know the feel of those hands anywhere. 

“Okay, hear me out,” Dustin blurted wearing his patented, I’ve got a brilliant idea, face. “What if we call Owens now and get El together with him sooner. It sounds like she didn’t get the chance to fully regain her powers before they were ambushed, and I’m guessing her battery got drained in the escape with the whole helicopter thing, so she was definitely working at a disadvantage.”

It was a brilliant idea, Eddie had to give it to him. He didn’t realize they had a line to this other doctor guy.

“Yes, I think you are right.” Eleven agreed. “Eddie, you said… Papa was there? In the Nevada place?” 

Fuck.

“Yeah, he was there. Somehow he’s alive, I know you thought he wasn’t. I’m sorry. Jonathan said he helped you though, and that it had been your choice to stay.”

“It’s okay, I understand.”

There wasn’t much else to be said for now, and they needed to hang up so Joyce could make her phone calls, but there was one more order of business to deal with first. 

“Uh, Mrs. Byers, are you still on the line?” Eddie asked, eyes flicking back to Steve before quickly looking away again. 

“Call me Joyce, honey, and yes I’m here.”

“I need to talk to you alone for a minute, if that’s okay. Steve too.”

“Oh. Give me a second to make sure the kids hang up.”

Clearing the office out was a fight, Eddie had expected nothing less, and though they had to be as curious about what was going on as anyone else, Robin and Nancy stepped in and managed to convince the others to leave.

He was sure they’d demand answers at some point, but he’d worry about that later.

“Are you alone?” Eddie asked. 

“Yeah.” Joyce said.

“You might want to sit down for this.” He said to Steve, indicating one of the newly empty chairs in the room. Steve grabbed the nearest one, pulling it close so they were sitting side-by-side.

“Okay, there’s no easy way to say this… Hopper might be alive. Joyce got a package from Russia with a ransom note. Some guy named Murray is flying in tomorrow to help her figure it out.”

Joyce gasped, the noise echoing in surround sound for Eddie as Steve did the same beside him. 

“It’s real then?” She asked.

“I think so. You’re going to call the number tomorrow and the person who answers will tell you to fly to Alaska with some money. I don’t know any more than that. You called us once after you arrived, right before you went to meet with someone but we didn’t hear from you again. You said Hopper was being held in a Russian prison, and the guy who sent the ransom note was going to break him out.”

Steve went white as a sheet at the second mention of Russian involvement, and though he’d been thinking it would be smarter—easier, to keep some separation between them in this loop, Eddie couldn’t fight his instinct to reach out. He covered Steve’s hand that was resting on the surface of the desk with his own.

“I guess there’s nothing for me to do but follow the trail again.” Joyce said.

“But what if something happened, er, happens to you?” Steve asked.

“It’s Hopper." She said, as if that was an answer in itself. "I’m going to hang up so I can call the number Owens gave me. I’ll let you know what he says—and boys? Please don’t tell anyone else about this. Not until we know for sure.”

“Okay,” Steve mumbled, at the same time Eddie said, “of course.”

“Are you alright?” Eddie asked once they’d ended the call.

Steve was still staring lost in thought down at the phone, but at Eddie’s words he shook himself out of it. “Yeah, sorry. Just–”

“The Russians,” Eddie supplied, bobbing his head. “I know. I’m sorry, but I thought you deserved to know, and Joyce told you last time, so–”

“And then I told you?”

Eddie cleared his throat, abruptly taking his hand back as he leapt from his chair, heading for the door. “We should go, uh, check on the kids—make sure they’re not wrecking the place or anything.”

-

They wound up moving Eddie’s van into the garage. There was plenty of space, and it was such an obvious solution that he had to kick himself for not having thought to park it in there last time—for not having thought to hide it at all.  

He’d just sort-of assumed that if Chrissy didn’t die, and he didn’t become a suspect in her murder, the whole Jason thing would go away. 

He knew better now. 

Though, maybe this round he’d get a break since they’d skipped the run-in at the trailer park.

Dustin and Mike took charge of making the looped recordings for the party members who needed them, and were just moving on to the b-side of Max’s custom ‘Running Up That Hill’ tape, when Lucas burst through the front door. He froze in the entrance to the living room, looking from one friend’s face to another, and, much like the last time, did a double take when he spotted Eddie and Chrissy.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but Jason has lost his mind. He thinks Eddie did something to Chrissy and now he, Andy, and a few of the other guys are out looking for him.”

“Oh, come on!” Eddie yelled, throwing his hands up. “He didn’t even see me this time!” 

So much for getting a break from that asshole jock and his evangelical bullshit. 

“O… kay," Lucas said, blinking at Eddie for a beat before continuing. “Someone saw her leave the school with you after the game and—” He trailed off, finally noticing the music playing and the tape recording set-up. “What’s going on?”

Steve and Erica stepped in to explain, taking him through to the kitchen to talk. He wasn’t sure it was for his benefit but Eddie was thankful anyway, he didn’t want to hear it again anymore than he wanted to re-tell it. 

Not long after Lucas showed up, Nancy and Mike left to make their excuses at home for canceling Mike’s trip. 

Everyone else was staying over, and Steve had already made them all call home so no parents would panic. Even Eddie left a message on his home answering machine for Wayne since he was at work. He’d have much rather heard his uncle’s voice again, but it was undoubtedly easier to lie to a recording than it was to the man himself. 

Then it was time for bed. 

Again, Robin offered to share the guest room with Chrissy, while Max and Erica called Steve’s parents room—and as the boys gathered up the spare pillows and blankets they'd be using in the living room, Steve gave Eddie—a look.

He knew where this was headed, and honestly he’d never been so conflicted. Of course he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with Steve after the terrible day he’d had, but that wasn’t where they were with each other anymore. And, in the interest of keeping some distance between them, to save himself future heartbreak even if it meant feeling a little pain right now, sharing a bed had to be where Eddie drew the line. 

“I’ll stay down here with the boys.” Eddie said, before Steve could even make the offer. “They can share the big couch, I'll take the other one.”

“Oh.” Steve said, almost sounding disappointed. “Do you want something to sleep in at least?”

Eddie gulped, wondering what the odds were that Steve would give him the swim team top again if he said yes. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Actually, I packed a bag this time, so I’m all set.” 

-

After a visit to the garage to grab his bag from the van, Eddie changed into his own version of pajamas—an old ratty pair of faded black sweatpants and a cropped Iron Maiden t-shirt, so worn that the band’s logo was all but illegible. Lastly he took one of the pre-rolled joints from his stash and slipped out onto the patio through the kitchen’s sliding glass doors. 

He sat cross-legged on his usual lounge chair, facing the pool and the woods beyond as he lit up. He took a long drag, and as he blew out a plume of smoke heard the sliding glass door open and close again behind him. He didn’t bother to hide what he was doing, though he probably should have. It could have been anyone coming out to look for him, Dustin or Mike maybe, but somehow he knew it wasn’t.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Steve said when he got close enough that Eddie could almost feel the heat coming off of his body. He shuffled his feet, hovering next to the chair. “I saw you out here through my window and I just… I wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

Eddie finally looked up, unprepared for the way seeing Steve in his usual blue flannel pajama bottoms and white shirt would make him feel like he was drowning. Coupled with the tousled hair and soft look in Steve’s eyes, it was almost more than he could handle.  

So he focused on something else. 

The headphones Steve wore loosely around his neck were quiet, the wheels of the tape unmoving inside the player that was hooked to the elastic band of his pants.

“You should really be using those.” Eddie said, sliding over on the chair and patting the empty spot next to him in invitation. “Or at least have it playing even if they’re off your ears.” 

As Steve sat down Eddie took another long hit, halfheartedly offering the joint up when he was done. He didn’t know if Steve still smoked or not, knew he used to when he ran with Tommy and Carol but it wasn’t something they’d gotten to talking about before. 

Steve accepted it, taking a drag like a pro and Eddie supposed that answered that question. He grinned despite himself. 

“After all the shit you gave me earlier?” Eddie said, knocking their shoulders together.

Steve ducked his head. “I meant like mushrooms or something, I don't know. Weed doesn’t count.” 

He passed the joint back and started fiddling with his walkman, popping the tape out, flipping it over, and hitting play.

“I didn’t even realize it had stopped.” Steve said absently, accepting the joint when Eddie passed it over again, their fingers brushing lightly. “You know I was thinking about that. What happens when we’re sleeping and the tape runs down?”

“I don’t know what Max or Chrissy did, but anytime I woke up I’d flip your tape over and restart it.” Eddie answered without thinking, catching what he gave away far too late to backtrack, blaming the weed for loosening his tongue. 

Steve stilled, staring at him incredulously. 

“You—did you stay with me last time? In my room, I mean?”

Eddie busied himself picking at a loose thread on his pants. He didn’t know what to say.

“Is that why you’re so uncomfortable with me? Did I do something wrong, or?” Steve asked when the silence had grown too heavy to manage.

“No, Steve.” Eddie shook his head. “God, why is it that you always think you’re the problem?”

“I’m… sorry?”

“No, Stevie. I’m sorry.” Eddie sighed, taking the offered joint back again. It was almost done, and he took one last hit from it before leaning down to stub it out on the concrete. 

“Yes, I stayed with you before. We all sorta paired up to keep an eye on each other, and I guess you could say we got… close, over that time, but–”

“Oh! So, we were friends, but now I don’t remember and you’re not sure how to act around me. Is that it?” Steve guessed, and it was criminally adorable how proud of himself he was for figuring it out.

Almost figuring it out, that is, but he didn’t know that.

Eddie smiled, huffing a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it exactly.”

The almost-admission served to break some of the ice between them. Steve relaxed a little, and Eddie found himself following suit.

They sat under the stars talking off and on for over an hour, and with each glance up at the sky Eddie was reminded of Steve’s childhood dream. He smiled, picturing a tiny baby Stevie standing in this very same backyard—looking up at the moon and daring to imagine himself going there one day. 

He almost brought it up, more than once. 

They chatted about nothing important or in particular—the kids, mostly, how they were adjusting to high school and things like that. Eddie told him what he knew, and in return Steve told him about middle school dances, and sneaking their shared brood into movies at the mall. 

As much as it pained him to sit there, knowing that their every interaction meant much more to him than it did to Steve, he still found himself happy just to be in his presence. 

Maybe that could be enough. 

He could still be Steve’s friend, as long as he kept him at arm's length for now, and if they somehow managed to make it out alive—maybe then he could try to reclaim some of what was lost. 

Eventually their slowing words turned into yawns, and Steve suggested they should go back inside and get some sleep. “Maybe we should stick together again.” He whispered, as they made their way through the darkened kitchen. 

Eddie hesitated, he needed to maintain the boundary for his own sake, but he hadn’t considered Steve might be scared to be alone. “You’ve got your music now, just keep the tape going and you’ll be alright, I promise.” 

“It’s not me I'm worried about.”

Oh.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Steve. In all this time, Vecna’s never come for me.” 

Even more so than the first time they said goodnight, Steve looked like he wanted to argue, but ultimately he let it go. “If you’re sure.”

He couldn’t do this again. He would not allow himself to fall further when the future was so uncertain—when he still didn’t truly know, would never know, what their one shared kiss had really meant.

“I’m sure. Good night, Steve.”

“Good night.”

Eddie watched him climb the stairs, not walking away until Steve turned the corner and was out of sight. 

It was better this way, he reminded himself, and he’d keep on reminding himself as many times as he had to—needing no more motivation to keep some separation than to recall Dustin’s trembling voice saying, he’s gone. 

That was the sound Eddie carried with him as he curled up on the small couch, turned to face the back of it, and silently cried himself to sleep.

Chapter 8

Special thanks to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.

Reblogs are always appreciated and if you want to be tagged, just let me know! I'd be more than happy to do so 💜

Taglist: @hitlikehammers @pearynice @cranberrymoons @thoroughlycollected @blubblesandink @finntheehumaneater @brbsoulnomming @estrellami-1 @hellion-child @manda-panda-monium @spicysix @kikidoesfanfic @dreamwatch @lawrencebshoggoth @stillfullofshit @lil-gremlin-things @mamafaithful @klausinamarink

[obsessive-clown]

Hello first time reader, May I please request Hcs for Yandere Nanami wherein after they save him in Shibuya they leave because they were wanted by the higher ups because their power is too powerful to control. How would he react to see their darling again roughly around the culling games arc ?

Hmm I like this idea! While I’m not too familiar with the Culling Games Arc, I tried reading as much as my ADHD mind would allow me… So, with that, allow me to try and tell you how I think this goes down.

༺✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧༻

Let’s say our lovely reader ends up arriving to save Nanami after he’s been fried like a piece of bologna…

— As if almost dying wasn’t scary enough, by the hands of Mahito, nonetheless, seeing you suddenly appear to save him instilled more fear into Kento. Mahito is no ordinary curse after all, and even if you are an incredibly powerful Jujutsu Sorcerer, Kento will always worry about your safety and wellbeing.

- You may not have eliminated the curse in question, but you damn sure put up a good fight and gave yourself and Kento enough time to escape. To say Kento is both surprised and grateful is an extreme understatement… The man is in awe, and more than likely getting butterflies every time the memory of you coming in to save him, replays in his mind.

- Kento refuses to rest. He refuses to not be around you, standing at attention in some sort of way. You may have saved him and proved to be perfectly capable of protecting yourself… But you’re his one and only, and every fiber of his being, no matter how much agony he may be in occasionally, tells him that he must be there to try to protect or help you if anything happens.

- You being wanted because of your power does not make Kento any less stressed. In fact, this ends up making him clingier than before. Far clingier. He always has an arm or hand settled on or around you in some way, keeping you close, no matter the situation or surroundings. He is also constantly trying to drag you around, insisting that you must keep moving, in order to avoid anything that could separate you two, this mainly being the higher-ups and anything regarding the culling games arc.

- (I’m not too familiar with the Culling Games arc, again, but I will use what very little knowledge I have) However, the CGA isn’t exactly avoidable, and someone with the power you contain, is of course, desired to be entered in the game.

- Assuming the two of you happen to be separated for an amount of time, Kento would be looking for you tirelessly. His body is very slowly recovering and his burns are improving, but all his energy goes into reconnecting with you. And once he finds you, during the CGA, he’s back to square one, clinging to you and giving you no space to breathe.

- There is absolutely no getting rid of Kento at this point and he has inevitably decided to help you get through the CGA, determined to make sure both you and him come out of this catastrophe alive. So much for that vacation to Malaysia he wanted to take with you, huh?

༺✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧༻

I’m sorry if I misunderstood or misinterpreted this ask, or it didn’t come out how you desired, I haven’t educated myself on the Culling Games Arc enough (and cannot bare to watch my man die in 4K on my phone). Either way, I hope you like this..!!!?

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Original Sin

iI already know what my sentence will be, long before the judge begins to speak. In my unconquerable, relentless optimism, I imagine that there will be a miracle, that It will instead call for an immediate execution.

I’m wrong, of course. There can only be one sentence for the slaughter of a god.

“The transgressor shall be Voidcast,” the judge intones, as I knew It would. “May your soul burn alone in the darkness for ten billion years where no innocent soul can witness your agony, until the merciful hand of nonexistence finally claims you.”

I can’t fully keep the horror from my expression. Even knowing what the sentence would be, I’d been hoping for a shorter life – a billion, maybe even just millions of years. Ten billion… but I don’t fight as the guards drag me to the Circle. There’s no point, and I don’t want to waste my last few precious moments in the real world being in any more pain than I have to. Pain is something I will have aplenty, soon enough.

They throw me down onto the sacrificial slab, careless of how the rough rock scrapes at me. The highmage lights the flame, expression dispassionate; It has done this millions of times before, and what is one more endless torture? I go to scream the most vile string of curses I can think of, but before I can say a word, Everything is gone.

Everything

Is

Gone.

Well. Not everything. There is the all-consuming fire, eating away at all that is left of me, as it will continue to do for as long as there is anything to eat. There is my own endless screaming across the entire electromagnetic spectrum, broadcasting my agonies in ways that I am too overwhelmed to even try to control. And there are others; bright spots in the void, their own screaming visible an almost incomprehensible distance away.

We can’t communicate. The distance is too great, the pain too overwhelming, and even if we could, what would there be to say? What could we tell each other that we weren’t telling each other already? There is long, laborious, unrelenting pain and then there is the mercy of nonexistence. We all know this. There is nothing else.

Sometimes, one of my fellow sinners vanishes, and I am distracted for a moment by a furious envy, a rage that It has been granted the escape of an end while I still suffer. Sometimes, a new light appears in the void, and I am distracted a moment by a strange joy that another who would otherwise have lived a blissfully ignorant life will instead truly understand my pain.

I would worry that this experience was making me a worse person, except that it is already reserved for the worst of the worst.

This is how it goes, and this is how I know it will go, unchanging, until the end.

Except

Something changes.

Amidst the screams of my fellow prisoners and the debris left of long-dead former inmates, I see/hear something new. Faint, oh so faint; I wouldn’t have noticed it at all, if it weren’t for the novelty.

A song.

It is nothing from any culture I recognise, but there is a rhythm to it, a declaration. Something singing that it is here and alive. Can the others hear it? I have no way to ask. To do that I would have to stop screaming, and even after billions of years, the pain is too great for that. I think it’s too close, anyway; close and quiet. Somebody humming nearby. Somebody alive and not screaming. Somebody in the void who was not Voidcast.

An innocent, bearing witness? Dare I even hope?

It is hard to see anything within a limitless nothing drowned in the clamour of burning sinners, but I listen as quietly as I can. There’s little else to do with my time.

The innocent is moving. Wherever It is, It’s going in circles, around my general area. It takes approximately, but not exactly, one year (the span of time that I am used to viewing as a year) to lap me once.

The innocent moves steadily. Judging by the direction from which the signal comes, It is moving in an elliptical orbit. It must be moving very, very fast, unless It is extremely close.

The innocent speaks more and more over time. A whisper becomes a murmur becomes speech, in waves of coherent light cast into the void. I do the math, I watch the direction, I notice that It is not slowed or waylaid by any other prisoner that may be in Its path. I see that It is very

very

close.

I look close, and then I see It.

It's almost on top of me! A tiny, fragile thing, clinging to a piece of debris left by – I think – my own arrival, a cast-off limb that never cast off far enough away to be gone. I cannot even see the innocent, merely hear It dwelling on the debris, and It is not shy about making its presence known. Is It trying to communicate? We have no shared language in this place, so far from reality.

I can’t respond, anyway, no matter how much I try.

I watch, and I learn, and in my limitless free time with nothing else to do but burn, I learn a lot. The innocent is… strange. It is like unlike anybody I know; unlike anybody in reality, unlike the other sinners, unlike me. It is many things and one thing and It speaks in one voice of many fragmented pieces on many spectra. I do not know how It got here, I do not know where It came from

Unless

I think it came from here.

I know! Ridiculous! The void is nothing; that is its purpose! It is an unreality reserved for those who deserve far worse than a quick death, where their sins and punishments cannot impose upon the real world. Nothing can be ‘from’ the void! It makes no sense!

And yet, here It is. Something not Voidcast, in the void.

It feeds on me, on the fragment of offcast corpse upon which It clings. I do not resent It this; I wasn’t using it, so somebody might as well. Besides, to somebody in my position, the ability to give something to anybody to benefit them in any small way is an incomparable joy. The innocent can take all of me, if that will help.

And, as I learn slowly, It is doing exactly that. It sounds impossible, but this strange being feeds on agony.

As I scream my torment across the electromagnetic spectrum, the singer upon the debris collects it, traps it, uses it to live and to grow. Its singing strengthens, fed by my screams. My pain and my body, together, nurture this life that slowly consumes me piece by piece.

I have never been so proud in my life.

I had known since the moment that I slaughtered the god Eden that the void would be my fate. Since then, my unshaking optimism had been burned out out of me over the course of billions of years, failing me just before a miracle. I had never expected to nurture another, to be useful to anyone, ever again. But here we are.

Do the other sinners have this? Are there little singers like this elsewhere, too far away for me to hear their faint song? I have no way of asking, and the other sinners have no way of responding.

I don’t know whether they have such blessings. But I know that I do.

I scream loudly and resolute. I burn as brightly as I can. I revel in my pain, knowing that every ounce of it strengthens the song of my strange voidborn child.

And for the first time ever, ten billion years doesn’t seem like nearly enough time.

[xseekingsaturnx]

slipping through my fingers

A study of "I love you"/"I know" that I found in my drafts. Enjoy, all who are interested. Han Solo/Leia Organa

///

Somehow she’d always known they were running on borrowed time, precarious moments all loosely strung together by the will of luck. 

Or—by the will of the Force. She doesn’t know which. The two most prominent men in her life have such divided perspectives concerning how things come to be. Personally, Leia’s never quite believed in luck. And the Force is a little out of her element. Bygones, she supposes. 

But if either happens to exist, Leia prays one will intervene. Now would be the time. 

Please. 

Leia curses herself for not knowing, not realizing sooner. She curses this star-forsaken gas mine and Lando Calrissian’s crackling audacity. Most of all, though, Leia curses the name of Darth Vader. So help her, she has half a mind to go tearing at him full force, screams rattling her throat. 

But Leia knows better than that. It would only worsen matters. Not that things could get much worse, but she’s not in any mood to risk jinxing the situation. 

Not when Han’s life is on the line. 

“Nothing to worry about,” he’d said, upon their landing in this traitorous sky metropolis. “Trust me.” 

She’d trusted Han, truly. Really, she had. It was Lando who triggered her suspicions and it was Lando who betrayed them. Leia should’ve trusted herself, when have her instincts ever led her astray? 

Now the love of her life is being ripped from her white-knuckled grasp and Luke is most assuredly on his way, moments from tumbling into this mess, just as Vader intended. It’s a disaster, it’s a catastrophe, it all could’ve been avoided if only she—

Leia’s mind is racing faster than Coruscant traffic, there’s so much static between her ears that she hardly notices Chewbacca’s raging tantrum or Threepio’s panicked shouting. She’s lightyears away, she may as well be back in that revolting slug’s throat, that’s how utterly useless she is—

Han’s gaze locks with hers, green and brown mingling, expressions tight with sorrow and suddenly Leia is rendered immobile. The most basic of functions now sit just out of reach. Breath hanging idly in her lungs, heart resting motionless in her ribcage. For one electrifying beat they are a portrait, etched in the shattered passage of time. 

The next double-crossing second sends time barreling onward once more and in a desperate instance of impulse, Leia is grabbing his shirt and Han is crashing into her and they’re tangled together in a kiss born of a nebula. 

They’re breathing each other’s air, starved of this closeness, passion rushing through fingertips and fingers brushing through hair and all Leia wants is this. This this this, this forever, until the end of time itself. 

And just as suddenly, Han is pulled away, brute force dragging him farther from her arms, farther from her lips, farther from her, and Leia has never known a pain like this. 

That pain—that hollow, yawning cavern spreading through her chest—is what drives her to the words.

Words she’s never said, words that were always reserved for family, words so powerful that perhaps Leia’s gripping some obscure hope that they might reconcile this tragedy. 

The words leap from her mouth.

“I love you!”

They explode, echoing across the chamber, dancing their way to Han’s awareness and she sees the way his eyes flood with something cosmic. 

“I know.”

He knows.

He knows he knows he knows—

That smart-mouthed son of a bantha, of course he knows, he’s known all along but she’s too late, too late, and the platform is lowering and Han is disappearing and—stars, if the circumstances weren’t so bone-achingly grievous, she might actually laugh. 

He knows. 

That information isn't much but it’s enough, it’s enough to fill the chasm, it’s enough to soften the sharp-edged agony coursing through the tunnels of her veins. Twin tears streak down both cheeks and she doesn’t even care, she doesn’t care about her reputation or her image or anything.

With a final inkling of self-preservation, Leia turns away, burying her face in Chewbacca’s fur coat because she can’t watch anymore. Everyone has limits. She should’ve reached hers years ago. It’s nothing short of miraculous that her knees have the strength to keep her standing, the cold, durasteel floor has never looked so enticing.  

Threepio is rambling on, robotic anxiety rolling from his speakers. Leia hopes Lando feels this anguish, she hopes he’ll remember it for the rest of his back-stabbing, rotten existence in this merciless galaxy. She hopes the torment of guilt will haunt his sleepless nights, she hopes it’s unbearable. 

And when the steaming slab of carbonite is lifted from within, Leia’s eyes have a mind of their own and she risks a treacherous glance. 

There he is. Her whole heart, frozen in a contortion of dismay. Stuck there. Trapped there. She wonders if he felt it. She wonders if he was afraid. 

She shouldn’t have looked.

Vader’s imperious rumble cuts through the air, “Well, Calrissian? Did he survive?”

A question, reminding her how dire these circumstances really are, reminding her he might not have survived— 

Leia’s stomach lurches with anticipation and she’s seconds away from another spiral, but then Lando chimes in. 

“Yes, he’s alive. And in perfect hibernation.” 

Relief. Alleviation rushing across sweat-soaked skin, premature consolation spreading like the sunlight of daybreak. He’s alive. Han is alive. And despite the trials she knows are about to bend her in half, Leia feels oddly renewed. Love has finally found her. She sure as hell isn’t about to let it slip through her fingers.

[elvenxwarrior]

Awakened Beast - Mammon

Masterlist

You can also find this posted on my AO3!

WARNING: Smut, very kinky, exhibitionism, degrading nicknames, lots of cursing. Sorry I'm bad at content warnings. MINORS DNI.

Teasing Mammon may have not been the best idea.

A brief squeak left you when you felt the soft mattress of Mammon's bed had met your back, the snowy haired demon looming over you. His curled horns and bat-like wings were present in a split second; you safely assumed he was pissed.

"You better stop. Right. Now." Mammon's voice was low as he held you down. This side of him was surprising and it sent a flutter to your stomach. "Or..." He lowered his mouth to your ear, licking up its helix, "Do you wanna find out what happens if you don't~?"

"Bite me." You should not have called his bluff.

Because he did exactly that.

His teeth eagerly sank into your shoulder as he began to remove each piece of your clothing, practically tearing them off of your frame and throwing them somewhere else in the room.

"Do you want this, [Name]?" His voice was nothing more than a growl as he hooked his fingers into the sides of your underwear.

"Yes... please, Mammon, yes...!" You leant your body into his touch, giving him the perfect angle to line his cock up.

"I'm so happy you said that." He pressed his hips forward, slowly sinking himself fully inside you, letting out a deep groan.

As his cock went further into you, all you could let out was a breathless whine.

He pulled his hips back again, each movement like agony with how slow he was being. His smirk was one of power, the tip of this canines just touching his lower lip.

"M-Mammon..." You looked up at him with hazy eyes, "P... pl... please...!"

His smirk grew a little, "Awh, well since you asked so nicely~."

The sudden change of pace caused a warm surge through your whole body. He was relentless with a firm grip on your thighs, letting out low groans every so often.

"You fuckin' like that, human?" He asks, grasping a fistful of your hair and pulling it, "You like gettin' fucked by The Great Mammon?"

"Yes- Ah~!" Mammon hit a particular spot inside you, making your head roll back, "Yes~!!"

"Ah fuck~!" He looked down at you, panting desperately, "People pay decent money to fuck slutty holes like yours~," A growl left his throat between thrusts, "But I get it allllll for free~!"

"M-Mammon~! I'm gonna-"

"Me too, darlin'~! Let loose...~"

As you both reached your limit, Mammon buried his head into the crook of your neck, while your back arched up as far as it could.

After a moment's rest, you reached for your shirt, which happened to end up near the end of the bed with his haphazard throwing. Mammon suddenly grabs your wrist and pulls you away from your target.

"Oh? You think we're fuckin' done?" He asks, grasping your wrist to help you up. Mammon saw that your legs practically weren't responding so gently set you to your knees. "You ready?"

"Y-... yes...!" Your desperate plea to get used by the second-born again was sweet music to his ears.

"Open."

He places his cock on your tongue, dragging it around it and sliding it from the tip, to completely in your mouth; his dick was soon fully submerged in your mouth.

"Let's finish then, huh, human?"

With a mouthful of dick, you managed to let out a faint 'Mmhmm!'

Mammon started thrusting into your mouth as soon as you gave the green light, not sharply or deep enough to cause you to gag - he knew your limits - but enough that your throat was bound to be sore in the morning. It was like he hadn't lost any stamina from previous actions, at least in the energy department.

"Fuck- Fuck- Oh fuck~!" His nails dug into your scalp, "C-Cumming-!"

Mammon let out a long, sigh-like moan as he emptied his second load into your mouth. "Don't swallow."

You tilted your head, 'Don't most partners want you to swall-'

"Open your fuckin' mouth."

Interrupting your thoughts, you saw Mammon holding his phone.

His thumb gently grazed your lips before slowly opening your mouth, letting the mix of his cum and your saliva drop to the floor and between your legs.

The demon above you snickered, "I reckon the guys'll enjoy this."

Both of your phones were pinging notifications like crazy for the rest of the night.

[logicalbookthief]

If you're still taking writing prompts, how about 62 or 72 with Darius and Hunter? 👀 Your choice. I think that anything of yours about those two would be a great read. But no pressure if you already have your plate full!

72. “There’s always another way.”

@thyandrawrites thank you for dadrius prompt and for giving me an excuse to write a one-shot for an AU I will probably not have the chance to write in its totality <3333

Anyway, this basically an AU where the whole Day of Unity/Collector fiasco ends tragically for everyone, but Darius wakes up back in time during the events of Eclipse Lake and thinks he may be able to prevent it, despite the massive amounts of PTSD.

Enjoy!

Darius? 

He recognizes that voice. That annoying little voice, pestering him with questions, asking for advice, or his orders. It prods his mind like sunlight peeking through the curtains, urging him awake.

Darius? Darius, wake up! 

Waking would be agony. His body remembers, even if his brain has yet to catch up. Veins of gold fracturing up his arm, his shoulder, his neck. His throat tightens, it burns, he can’t breathe, or cry out, they’re too late, it’s too late, to—

Wake up!

Darius shoots up in bed. Eyes flying open, searching for... For the boy, that’s who the voice belongs to, where is...?

Where am I?

His vision swims for another second or so before it clears. He’s alone. Alone in his room.

A room that isn’t in shambles. A castle still in-tact.

Darius yanks down his sleeve. Stares at the skin of his sigil, no longer inflamed, or fractured by scars. He inhales sharply, scrambling to his feet.

The date on the calendar isn’t correct. The date says they have weeks until the Day of Unity, the eclipse, the Collector—

His lungs seize impatiently. Choking on the breath he forgot to let out.

Flummoxed, Darius staggers back, missing the bed and landing hard on the floor. The pain is real, grounding. There’s a layer of dust beneath his fingertips, and that’s real, too; he hasn’t had the time to clean, too focused on averting the end of the world. An end that’s already come to pass.

 Am I really...?

Time travel does not exist, he reminds himself, rather deliriously, given the circumstances. How else does he explain this anomaly? Even the Collector’s nigh-infinite power can’t warp the past.

Could it be a trick, an illusion cast over his mind? For what purpose? No, the Collector was just a child too callous when handling his toys. Malicious, yes, not calculating enough for this — whatever cruelty this is.

Darius never paid much heed to the Titan’s will, even prior to the revelation it was all a ruse. If he were a Titan-fearing man, this certainly seems like some divine form of punishment. To force him to witness it all over again, fully aware of the hollow victory their initial failure spawns—all the friends he loses, sacrificed to the greater good, which turned out to be a mediocre good at best—

As far as panic attacks go, it isn’t the worst he’s experienced. Not when he’s intimate enough with death to distinguish the difference now, the what separates this fire-laced fear in his chest from the dread of knowing you and all your loved ones will die as you’re dying.

Tension settles beneath his ribcage, tugging helplessly at his heart. Ignorance is bliss, he thinks, if it means with walking into this rebellion with eyes blinded by hope. Instead of being dragged back while knowing there’s no way to stop—

There’s always another way.

He recognizes that voice, too, even if it’s distorted, as though traveling over a distance. The whisper of it eases his pulse, eases his mind out of its panic, anchoring him in a moment much further in the past.

“Well, I’m no oracle, but…” The Golden Guard surveys the room, deftly dodging a splatter of abomination as it drips from the ceiling. “I suspect you have a shift full of cleaning duty in your future.”

“I can’t get this spell right,” Darius groans, picking flecks of goop out of his hair. “I’ve followed all the instructions, done everything right, and yet—”

He gestures to the cauldron, still bubbling with sinister intent. Mocking him.

“Oof,” the Golden Guard grunts eloquently. He bends down to examine the mixture. “Any idea where you’re going wrong?”

Darius scowls. “Did you miss the part where I mentioned I’ve done everything right?”

“What I mean is,” he interjects, wryly. “Have you tried approaching it from a different angle?” 

Frowning, Darius crosses his arms. “This is the way the book says to do it,” he mutters, defensively. Even a hack like Alador can follow the instructions.

The Golden Guard chuckles. “Trust me,” he says, and, though it’s perhaps to his detriment in the long run, Darius does. “There’s always another way.”

Reminded of his mentor’s advice, Darius exhales. Dusts off his clothes. Reassess. 

The Day of Unity is weeks away. Belos is still alive, still plotting to destroy every witch in the Boiling Isles. The Day of Unity is weeks away, and Darius knows, he knows precisely what they failed to do before, and precisely what they need to do to ensure it won’t happen again.

Maybe this isn’t a cruel, cosmic joke. Maybe this is a second chance.

He checks the calendar once more. He can’t remember anything remarkable about this day in particular, though it hardly matters, when he intends to change the outcome of it all.

Coven meeting in thirty minutes.

Rushing through his routine, Darius manages to look fairly presentable, all things considered. Operating on muscle memory, he walks through the castle halls without any stumbles, as if he’s never left. It feels a bit like he’s sleepwalking.

“If this is a dream,” he grumbles to himself. “It is a very long, elaborate one.”

Surreal or no, the familiarity will work in his favor. He resolves to appear as normal as possible, since that was the folly of their last plan. Terra suspected Raine from the start and saw the betrayal coming.

Fortunately, Darius’s superior acting will be able to pass the test of scrutiny. 

He hears the pitter-patter of claws against the tile, a swoop in the air, and then there’s a weight on his shoulder, the bristle of unruly fur against his cape. Darius stiffens.

Scalpel against his throat, eyes blown wide in fear, a fear he’s rarely witnessed in his friend. Darius can’t move, can’t do anything as he’s restrained, can’t do anything as the draining spell begins, his friend collapsing in pain despite all his efforts to save—

Jumping down off his shoulder, Eberwolf tilts his head. Something wrong? 

Darius forces out a scoff. “Nothing of note,” he replies, shortly. Any lingering traces of turmoil could be blamed on irritation. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Eberwolf falls into step aside of him. It’s your bed.

“You have no room to talk. You sleep in a pile of filthy fur pelts on the floor.”

And of the two of us, who looks more rejuvenated? Eberwolf preens.

He scowls half-heartedly, too busy swelling with joy. Titan, he missed this bickering.

Meeting with the coven-heads should be a cinch, now that he’s already had this episode with Eber. He’ll be prepared to handle these emotional outbursts should they try to inconvenience him again.

Nothing prepares Darius for the sight of Raine, standing awkwardly next to Terra, waiting for everyone to arrive.

 A bard should never be as silent as this. The draining spell left all of them groggy, weak. Raine has yet to stir. Not even as Eda pleads, and sobs, and cradles their body, which is still except for the gentle rise of their chest. 

Whatever strength they needed to wake was used up to save the woman they loved. Even as the world screams, a symphony of terror and noise, Raine remains silent. Catatonic, alive in name only...

“Something the matter, Darius?” asks Terra, an ice-cold echo of Eber’s concern. Her voice snaps him back to the present, realizing he’s now the subject of her undivided curiosity, bordering on suspicion. Fuck.

“Yes,” he deadpans, pointing to Raine’s vest. Today it’s a rotted burgundy color. “That eyesore of an outfit caused a momentary lapse in composure.” 

Raine pulls a face, shooting Darius a look. Laying it on a little thick there, aren’t you? 

You’ll thank me later, songbird. “Remind me to bleach that image from my eyeballs when we’re done here.”

Terra chuckles, not bothering to hide her amusement. That was the trick with the old crone, he’s learned. Keep her entertained and she’s no trouble.

The meeting goes by without another incident. Darius stalks off on his own in search of “eye bleach” afterwards. It gives him a chance to sift through his swirling thoughts, which keep circling back to how this occurred. He removes time-portals from the equation, since it’s solely his consciousness that’s done the traveling.

Out-of-body experiences reek of oracle magic. Loathe as he is to admit, he could use Odalia’s consult on this, though the cost would be enduring her smugness. However, she was a bit too chummy with Kikimora, as he recalls... 

Darius wrinkles his nose. Decides he’d rather eat his own boot than ask her for help. 

He’s pondering so intently that he fails to look as he’s turning the corner, colliding right into someone else.

“Watch where you’re going!” 

That voice. Full of anger, and no small amount of irritation, as its owner tries to brush past the coven head.

Without a second’s hesitation, Darius catches the kid by the wrist, both of them freezing in the middle of corridor. Suddenly, he’s struggling to breathe past the smell of smoke—

—smoke paints the sky black. Flecks of gold mingled in the ash that springs from the from the pyre. 

Belos howls against his bindings, very nearly free. The youngest of the Golden Guards stands vigil.

“This curse of our family ends with you,” he vows, a flame glyph clenched in his fist. His words are grim, final.  “And with me.”

Darius realizes too late what he means. He isn’t fast enough.

The wire trips, the trap set—

Hunter glares at his lack of response. "What do you want?" he asks wearily. "And why are you staring at me like—mmph!"

His yelp is muffled against Darius's chest as he’s crushed in an embrace. The boy squirms, radiating his uncertainty. Darius holds tighter, reassured by his fluttery pulse. His hand clasps against hair that’s still blonde, not blackened by soot. Skin not blistered, or burnt, his remains distorted beyond recognition. No, Hunter is alive, and whole, and nothing could ever compel Darius to let go—

Something smears onto glove.

"Ack!" Darius gasps, shoving the boy to arm’s length. He glowers at the state of his clothes. "Gross! You're covered in sludge!"

"Well, it wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn't tried to smother me!" Hunter sputters.

"I wasn't smothering you,” he snaps. “That was a hug. Do you not understand what a hug is?"

“A what?” Hunter exclaims, answering that succinctly. “Did you hit your head recently!? Should I call the healing coven?” 

Darius pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. His hand’s trembling, but he doubts Hettie Cutburn has anything that will treat this unique brand of head trauma.

"I was...” He fumbles to explain to Hunter, this Hunter, who has no reason trust his word, steadfastly devoted to the emperor. He hasn’t the faintest clue what sort of danger he’s in. Hasn’t an inkling of the fate that awaits him, a graveyard of golden masks and bones…

Titan, does he even have Flapjack yet? Has he met Eda’s human? Too many liabilities. So many ways this single, persistent child could compromise the mission.

If he was smart, Darius would leave him alone. Claim temporary insanity and push the kid aside, just as he’s done a hundred times before. Hunter would barely notice, accustomed to this kind of neglect. 

Besides, the sooner he defeats Belos, the sooner he saves Hunter, and everyone else. When this is over, he can apologize properly, and make up for it, and—

“Let me help,” Hunter beseeches. “I know my uncle better than anyone. And I learned plenty about my family in the human realm,” he adds, grimacing. “I know what I have to do.”

Darius’s exhaustion is bone-deep by this point. Somehow he summons the energy for a smile, threadbare as it is. “Forget it, kid.”

Hunter frowns. “After the draining spell, you’re short on able-bodied witches. I’m no witch, but after all this, you can’t seriously be underestimating me.”

“What about your friends?” Darius retorts. “Would you allow them to join such a mission?”

“They’re kids.” Hunter’s resolve hardens. “Real kids, with families, and homes. I belong here. Fighting, following orders. It’s what I know what to do, what I was made for.”

Stiltedly, Darius opens his mouth, unsure of how to broach the subject. This conversation confirms what he assumed already, that Hunter has no relatives, and nowhere to go.

You could have a home with me, he wants to say, but a shout from Eda draws his attention. It sounds urgent, more important, so Darius shelves the discussion for later. They’ll have time, he thinks, once this is over. It can wait...

“I was checking on you,” he rushes out, stunning the boy into silence. “You look a bit, um. Banged up.”

"Yeah, you would look that way too if you were traipsing around in the mines all day, searching for Titan’s blood.”

“At the Knee?” Darius knits his brow. Belos needs Titan’s blood for the portal. Why send his scouts on a such a fruitless endeavor? “Those mines have been dry for decades.”

“Wish you would’ve told me earlier,” Hunter mumbles. “Nothing left to find there except fool’s blood.”

“Fool’s blood is highly unstable,” Darius says with growing horror. He examines the boy’s face more closely, noting that he’s littered with cuts and bruises, most of it superficial.

“That’s what I said!” Hunter exclaims, throwing his arms in the air. “Try telling the idiot Owl Lady and her rat that.”

So he’s definitely met Edalyn, judging by his utter frustration. Darius huffs out a laugh, short-lived as he glimpses the nasty-looking cut on his forehead, hopefully not caused by any explosions.

He moves to tuck that errant strand of hair out of the way so he can get a better view. Hunter flinches from the touch. “Get away from me,” he says, waspily. 

Obligingly, Darius backpedals. “You look like you’re ready to collapse,” he observes, perhaps a bit hypocritically, when he’s teetering over the edge of exhaustion himself.

“Because I’m tired,” Hunter murmurs, the bags under his eyes darker than usual. Despite his admission, he says, “If you’re finished with your weird little interrogation, I have work to do.”

Good, he’s leaving of his own volition. Just let him pass—

Panic blooms in his chest. Burning, frantic and baseless. For Titan’s sake, it isn’t the kid will meet some terrible fate the moment he leaves his sight!

His feet act on their own accord, stepping in front of him and blocking his path. Hunter groans.

“Wait!” Darius halts. Tries to think of something, anything that could detain the boy without drawing suspicion. “Are- Are you hungry?”

Of the excuses he could’ve conjured, that’s a contender for the stupidest.

Hunter opens his mouth, all ready with a snide reply, but he’s interrupted by a long, rumbling growl from his stomach. He flushes, teeth clicking shut. 

That’s a yes. Darius smirks victoriously, motioning for Hunter to follow. Reluctantly, the boy complies.

                                           __________________

“Stop staring at me,” Darius snaps, though there’s no heat behind it, unless he counts the steam wafting from his cup. “Didn’t anybody ever teach you manners?”

“I’m confused,” Hunter shrugs by way of response. Darius shoves a tin bowl of cookies in his direction as a distraction.

He didn’t mention that any food in his room was whatever snacks Eberwolf hadn’t eaten from his cheat-day stash.

“You have literally never invited me to tea,” Hunter points out. “Or tolerated me for longer than ten-minute increments.”

“That is... Oddly specific.” And incredibly sad. He acted so arrogant as the Golden Guard, trying to boss around adults that he technically outranked, but who was supposed to take a child seriously? It was such an effective front that it never occurred to Darius that Hunter may be aware of how disliked he was among the coven heads.

There was a lot you didn’t consider.

Oblivious to his guilt, Hunter nods. “Your record is higher than most coven heads. Graye can only stand me for four minutes at best.”

“Maybe I should keep you around,” Darius snorts. “Save me the headache of dealing with him.”

Hunter cracks a smile. He munches on a cookie from the tin, seemingly without a care for how stale they are, quickly grabbing another. While he’s scattering crumbs all over his table, Darius sets his cup down, surreptitiously gathering the medical kit he snuck over with the kettle.

When he realizes his intent, Hunter grunts and bats his hand away. “I told you—”

“Hold still,” Darius barks. Regrets it when Hunter goes rigid, instantly obeying. Softly, he dabs at the cut with disinfectant. “Don’t be , it won’t hurt you. This looks like it smarts, though.”

“This? No,” Hunter scoffs. “I’ve had worse.”

He brandishes this fact proudly, a badge of honor. It comes across rather differently to Darius, a child who doesn’t know any better. His gaze flicks over to the scar on the boy's face and decides they both need a distraction. 

Luckily, the boy loves to talk, so Darius asks, “Was your mission a success?”

“It...” He deflates at the question, visibly wavering. “The emperor didn’t seem pleased with me.”

Rage overwhelms his senses, because he knows, he knows now what a displeased Belos means for the boy. He manages to reign in his anger. Barely.  

“Oh?” he says, faux-casually.

“I sort of. Disobeyed his orders.” Hunter winces in a way that has nothing to do with the disinfectant. “But! I got what he needed! Which is more than Kikimora can say.”

He smirks at this, although it’s bittersweet at best.

“Any other complications?” Darius fishes, applying a bandage over the cut. “You mentioned the Owl Lady.”

“She was there,” Hunter confirms. “And the youngest Blight.”

Interesting. He files away that information for later.

“We fought over the Titan’s blood, and I...” Hunter dithers for a while, sipping at his tea. His fingers twitch restlessly against the ceramic. “I did what I had to do to win. And I fulfilled my mission, so I should be happy, shouldn’t I?”

He doesn’t wait for a response.

 “Only she said some things and I... I didn’t want to fight her, really. Or resort to what I did to win. But it was the Titan’s will that Belos have that key, I did what I was supposed to do.” Hunter dares to glance at Darius, who’s listened patiently up to this point. “So why do I feel like I... Like I did something awful? That’s stupid, right? They were the ones opposing the emperor, after all.”

Being a spy is striking a delicate balance between what’s true and what’s necessary. He could tell Hunter the entire, sordid truth right here, right now ... and he would certainly be executed for treason by the next morning. He should be allowed to come to these conclusions naturally, like he is already, and on his own terms...

...though that’s not to say he couldn’t do with some prodding.

“In the coven, there’s no room for second-guessing. You use any method you have to in order to succeed. The ends justify the means and all that.”

“Exactly! You understand.” Hunter sounds relieved, his shoulders sagging with the weight of it removed.

“I’m afraid it isn’t that easy, little prince.” Darius smiles thinly, closing his eyes against the twinge of a headache. “Whatever you’re willing to do, you have to ask yourself — what is this going to cost me? What am I willing to pay?” 

Scalpels. Silence. 

Fire, everywhere.

He opens his eyes.

“Never mind the emperor for a moment,” he says, fiercely. Hunter balks, taken aback by this blasphemy. “Will you be able to live with the consequences?”

Hunter fidgets with the hem of his cloak, which has yet to be repaired. “I had to,” he whispers, though to whom, Darius isn’t sure. “It was the only way.”

“There is always another way,” Darius imparts. “That was something your predecessor taught me.”

“You knew the Golden Guard who was before me?” asks Hunter, the words skipping over each other in his excitement. Crumbs spew from the corners of his mouth. “What else did he teach you?

“Not to chew with my mouth open, for one,” Darius grumbles. He bops the crown of his head with the side of his palm, despising how it makes Hunter flinch. He’ll ensure that in his timeline, Belos dies a much slower, painful death. “Sit down. I’ll tell you anything you want about my mentor on one condition.”

Hunter nods eagerly.

“If you get hurt like this again, or at all, you’ll come to me for help.” Darius raises his eyebrows at the kid, awaiting his agreement. “Deal?”

Though he seems rather stunned by the terms, his curiosity outweighs everything else. “Deal.” 

[andromeda-galaxy2877]

I come bearing amenities for our little AU competition. Good luck ;)

- REBOOT: Second Chance AU Donnie

Oh my gosh this jumpscared me- /pf HAHA, I was not expecting to get an ask! Thank you so much, and good luck to you too! Heres a little written response from my silly little guy since I can't really draw that well :D

________________________

The first thing Leo noticed was the sheer 𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘦 of everything going on around him. So many different familiar voices all speaking in a loud reverberating hum of sound. His head swam amongst the sea of colors surrounding him; all familiar and comforting shades of red, blue, purple, and orange.

Leo pulled the hood of his blue cape over his head, gritting his teeth against the noise. It was 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩- nothing like the deafening, eerie silence of the Prison Dimension that promised agony at any wrong turn. While that silence had been chilling, eight years of it had made him far too used to it to handle such a large crowd. At least, not without-

"𝘉𝘈𝘙𝘒!" Leo felt a large presence at his side, a massive head nudging his hip. He glanced down, smiling slightly at the little Krang hound as he reached down to pat her head, anxieties melting away just enough for him to focus. Pinky's entire body wagged as a result of the attention, happy purrs erupting from her glowing maw.

"Hello, may I interest you in some uranium? It may come in handy for the competition~" a familiar voice from behind him caught his attention quickly. Leo turned, blinking in surprise at his twin- or at least, an alternate version of his twin...? He was 𝘴𝘰 beyond confused, but the display reminded him enough of his own brother he couldn't help but crack another small smile.

"I don't think I have anything on me if you're selling it." Leo chuckled, eyes suddenly flashing with alarm as Pinky stepped from his side to sniff at the uranium curiously. Her eyes practically bugged out of her head as she leaned forward to snatch it- right as Leo wrangled her back to his side.

"On second thought, I should probably get her away before she eats something that'll make her explode. Good luck in the competition!" Leo called, dragging his pet away as she whined in protest.

[erabundus]

@roleplay-abiogenesis2 &&. said... ‘ i know i’m not the person you want, but i’m here. ’ ~ Cyno here for his Ren fix~

not  the  person  he  wants?  such  powerful  words;  ren  can't  help  but  breathe  a  little  laugh.  it's  as  though  he  thinks  he's  actually  DYING  —  which,  from  the  general  mahamatra's  perspective,  he  might  as  well  be.  the  remnants  of  an  entire  building  rest  upon  his  back;  wood  and  stone  and  clay,  long  abandoned  and  rendered  brittle  by  innumerable  years  baking  in  the  hot  sun.  one  particularly  hard  blow  and  the  wanderer  (  equal  parts  unnaturally  light  and  unnaturally  durable  )  had  gone  crashing  through  its  aged  walls.  that  on  its  own  wasn't  especially  troublesome.  the  structure promptly  collapsing  on  top  of  him,  on  the  other  hand,  was.  although  to  be  frank ...  the  shame  he  feels  at  being  caught  in  such  a  situation  brings  him  more  AGONY  than  any  physical  wounds  littering  his  body  ever  could.

there's  blood  pooling  on  his  tongue.  he  spits  it  out  and  quietly  swears  to  hunt  down  those  responsible  and  kill  them  in  the  most  painful  means  he  has  immediately  available.

❝  you  seem  so  WORRIED.  ❞  he  rasps.   ❝  keep  it  up,  and  i  may  start  to  believe  you're  actually  serious.  ❞  it's  good  that  he's  here,  though  —  certainly  saves  ren  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  he  has  one  arm  free,  but  it  isn't  enough  to  drag  himself  out.  not  when  the  sand  doesn't  afford  him  much  room  for  purchase.  he  still  gives  it  one  more  try  —  fingers  clawing  pathetic  gouges  in  their  wake.  a  frustrated  growl  builds  in  the  back  of  the  wanderer's  throat,  and  he  ducks  his  head.  (  swallowing  PRIDE.  )  seems  his  efforts  are  pointless;  he  can't  free  himself  —  not  like  this.  not  without  lesser  lord  kusanali  knows  hours  of  struggling.  he  isn't  even  sure  what  state  the  rest  of  his  body  is  currently  in;  there's  so  much  pressure,  it's  impossible  to  feel  anything  beyond  the  weight  of  stone.

after  a  moment,  he  looks  back  up  and  fixes  cyno  with an  uncertain gaze.  i'm  here,  he  said.  (  may  as  well  test  that.  )   ❝  i'm  not  dying.  ❞  the  wanderer  begins  to  say  —  each  word  slow,  as  if  wrought  with  careful  CALCULATION.   ❝  these  injuries  aren't  as  severe  as  they  look.  ❞   not  for  him.  ❝  but  if  you  want  to  make  yourself  useful ...  getting  some  of  this  rubble  off  of  me  would  be  a  START.  ❞

RANDOM DIALOGUE STARTERS

[auroramoondrop]

~^Not a request, an Idea I came up with^~

Mentions: Angst, comfort, fluff, medical tools, (slight mentioning of body horror?)

Sorry if this may seem kinda crappy, but I'm actually proud of myself with this one. D/n means daughter's name! Not proofread!

'I'll be your left, you'll be my right, mama!'

Sevika x fem! Reader and their daughter!

(After the explosion and a full month of recovery, Sevika must go home. Each step she takes near her abode gets nerve-wracking. What will her daughter think of her now that she isn't 100% herself?)

The Undercity is cold tonight, it nips at Sevika's skin like frostbite, making the strong woman shiver. It was about nearing 11, and her daughter was soon to be put asleep for the night and have restful sleep full of beloved dreams. As Sevika walks her mind ponders over this month.

'Did D/n get good sleep when she was not there? Not kissing her forehead like she used to do every night and reading her a story she stole from Piltover?' She sighed thinking about this, each step nearing the small apartment they called home.

'What would she think of me now? I'm not going to be able to protect her or my love.' Sevika closed her eyes and felt heartache. You heard about the explosion and ran as fast as your legs could take you, not before you made sure your daughter was asleep in a emergency spot you and Sevika made to keep her hidden.

She remembered when she woke up, she screamed in agony. Sevika started to hyperventilate when she saw Singed picking up a syringe in his hand and a saw in the other. As soon as she screamed, you bolted through the door with a tear-stained face, you immediately went to her side crouching and caressing the left side of her face while your other held her head near your breast for her to hear your heartbeat.

"Shh, it's okay Sev...I'm right here. I'm not leaving, just listen to my voice dear, okay?" She could tell you were panicked and you didn't have enough strength to hide it, that's what made her fall into the deep end with you. You showed emotions that people considered weak, what she used to consider weak. But, you convinced her that it shows you're still human and she was too.

"Ba-babe, I..I'm really scared...I don't want to-to..die! I still haven't done what we wanted to do, I-I want us to be together until we pass together peacefully! Th-that corny shit we wanted to do, and oh..oh go-god! I want to be there for our girl! I didn't even get to teach her all the stuff she wanted to learn about mechanical parts a-and get her into a good school! Oh, Y/n please I'm so scared I can't di-die I need to be there for you two, to protect you. I need to D/n again! I need to see my little gi-girl again!" She started to choke on sobs hard against her, Sevika felt the tears from you. Both of you couldn't stop the overflowing tears streaming down your faces.

Singed even had a look of sorrow, he knew the pain about these types of hardships he stepped next to Sevika.

"You won't die, I'll make sure. You will get to go home to your daughter. I promise. Try to breathe, I'll put you under a sedative so you won't feel anything." She was hesitant and her grip on your waist tightened as she look at you with those glistening silver doe-eyes. You gently squeezed back, looking back into her eyes, your soft voice calmed her like the sun taking over the thunder and putting it into a peaceful dream.

"I will be right here, Sevika. I'm not leaving until I'm dragged out of here by all of Silco's henchmen." Sevika let out a soft and weak chuckle.

"Could...you hum that song you usually do...please?" You nodded and started the tune. She rested her head back calming down, wincing at the puncture of the needle. She fell asleep to your humming. You kept your word and for full 5 hours, you stayed beside her and she woke up to you still caressing her face. The ache in your hand was very visible, however you would do it for thousands of years if it meant helping your wife. You eventually had to go home to take care of your child.

She was upset she had to recover for a month in this creepy rancid lab. Sevika was more worried about her daughter, would she cry? Would she think her dear mama left her? Her fear did come true that she did cry, you had to let her know that Sevika would have to recover from an injury.

You also had to let her know not to accidentally say something that could be hurtful to Sevika, as she wasn't in good shape. Both you and Sevika, had taught your daughter right so you didn't have to re-teach her. Just remind her.

Sevika's time spent in the lab wasn't all too bad though, she learned how to treat her wounds and practiced with one arm to do daily tasks. Singed told her she is getting a prosthetic that should be done two weeks after she goes back home. She might have cried a few times from happiness and an ounce of sadness when D/n made get-well letters and cards for her. D/n's writing skills weren't top-notch like Piltover, but way better than anyone in the Undercity. Sevika could still decipher the messy, 'I love you, mama!' 'Get better soon mama!' 'I'll beat your butt in poker when I see you!' It made her heart warm and squeeze in contentment.

Sevika stopped at the homey rug that somehow hasn't got stolen in this shithole. She took a deep breath, the key hovering over the keyhole. She released it slowly, nerves still present as she puts the key into the hole and unlocks it.

She walks in with little D/n on the floor playing with her car figurines, doing whatever hell battle she's putting them through. You on the couch with Sevika's favorite blanket that smelled like her cologne and her favorite coconut oil. You were reading another book but not the usual, a medical book Singed gave you if you ever want to help her wounds, especially helping her put on her prosthetic.

Both of you look up as soon as the door opens D/n immediately runs to her mama but trips on her many scattered cars. Sevika rushes to help her but is soon stopped by her daughter getting up again to hug her leg. You let out a soft laugh at the scene and jumped up to join them, 'gracefully' jumping over the battlefield.

"Mama mama! I'm so happy to see you ma!" Your daughter exclaims, Sevika having a big smile on her face, she leans down to pet her head gently. Running her fingers through her ebony hair, D/n looked like Sevika a lot only the difference is she had vitiligo skin. Beautiful contrasts with caramel and pale snow, she was Sevika's lucky charm.

She had her silver eyes, that's what you first noticed about your daughter those eyes that you could stare into forever. It was a true sight to behold when you held her after giving birth, after opening her eyes.

"I missed you too, my sweet girl!' Sevika held love in her eyes and she finally looked at you, her pupils full-blown. 'Hey, dollface. Missed me?" She held cockiness with no malice, you put a hand on her scars caressing her cheek. She leaned in closer to your touch, melting.

"Of course I did, now you can start making breakfast again instead of my mediocre shit-job with greasy bacon and eggs." You retorted back, Sevika threw her head back howling with laughter as if it was the funniest shit you have told her through your entire relationship.

"Well, Mama V is in the house so ain't no worrying your asses off no?" It was your turn to laugh, hooking your left arm to her right and right hand bringing her face closer to yours as you had a soft and tender kiss. These kisses made you tingle, your hair on end, and to be honest, Sevika felt an explosion of butterflies every time you share these moments.

Both of you pulled back, both of your faces flustered like it is your first kiss all over again. D/n whined not getting attention, making the couple chuckle. You picked her up and held her near Sevika, bouncing her playfully. She reached her hand out to caress D/n's cheek, she leaned in and gave her a loving peck on her daughter's forehead.

Giggling softly she reached her tiny arms with the help of you to Sevika's shoulders and rested her forehead on her mom's chin. Sevika had a sad smile on her face remembering her missing limb, she tried to keep the strength to hold her smile but her heart ached knowing she can't pick her up and twirl her around when she first comes home.

"Sweetheart? Do you know why I was recovering for a month?" She held a sweet tone to her. Sevika carefully took D/n from you and secured her daughter's tiny form firmly against her.

"Yeah! Mommy told me you had an injury, but not sure exactly what. Can you tell me what type of injury mama? Maybe I can give it kisses to make it feel better!' You smiled softly at your daughter's kindness. Sevika smiled but she also looked hesitant to show her. She had a cloth that she tied around her neck loosely, it stopped about at her abdomen. D/n grabbed her mother's face softly, gently turning her head to meet her eyes. 'Please mama. You can trust me, I'll be very gentle. Injury or not you're still and always will be my ma!"

Sevika sucked in a breath, she felt her eyes become glossy. If D/n didn't look like you, she sure as hell had your personality, so wise and kind with words, words that spoke the truth. She motioned her little girl to untie the cloth, she did and gently lowered it looking at the bandaged nub. Sevika turned away, not being able to face you two.

You put a hand on her lower back for reassurance, D/n was quiet, putting Sevika on edge, tears starting to prick at the corners of her eyes.

"Mama?" She asks. Her mother responded shakily.

"Ye-yes?" D/n puts out her arm fully extended, barely brushing the nub. She doesn't want to cross boundaries so she lets her mum decide to lean her bandage shoulder into her hand.

"How did it happen if you don't mind telling me?" She asks with that soft voice. Sevika wanted to leave out how Vander and all the other kids except Powder, died.

"There was a big explosion, the explosion was coming near Silco so as the badass mama I am, I jumped in front saving a life and have a battle scar." She tried to make it sound more heroic than giving her 7-year-old daughter a whole discussion about how many people died and she was far from a hero.

"That's so cool mama! You look amazing, I have the best mama ever! It's a miracle you survived!' D/n made a dramatic gasp, 'I have a superhero mama whose powers are to kick butt and be a miracle!" Sevika was flabbergasted, she didn't even think the shoulder was hideous. But a huge smile grew showing her tooth gap and D/n continued to ramble until she looked at her mother.

She smiled, her own matching tooth gap showing. Sevika let out a gasp with wide eyes.

"Since when did you get a tooth gap?!" You let out a laugh, she turned to you.

"Well miss clumsy went down the stairs and fell losing her tooth by her face hitting the concrete floor. I almost started to cry from panic rushing towards her, luckily it's healing after I fixed it." Sevika shook her head and disbelieve and looked back at her little bundle of joy.

"Gotta learn on that after I get my prosthetic, huh?" D/n's eyes beamed with excitement about a new arm, all she could do is wrap her small arms around Sevika's thick neck. She laughed and held her tighter, she looked over at you and beamed.

"C'mere, baby girl!" You laughed and joined in on hugging Sevika to death even though it felt like a weighted blanket was on her, considering how strong she is. You all laugh, a month without Sevika was like a toll. She knew how it affected you, she was definitely gonna make up for it with family time. D/n made an 'oh' sound,

"Ooh! Until you get your new arm back, I'll be your left, you'll be my right, mama!" Sevika gave her a hard kiss on her forehead, leaving lipstick smeared on her.

"I like the sound of that kiddo! Now, in those letters, you said you were gonna beat me at poker mmm?" D/n gave a devilish grin.

"Yeah! I'll make your wallet run dry!" She stated boldly. Making Sevika cock her eyebrow and her smirk became smug.

"Well I'll like to see that, go fetch me my poker set will ya? Sit it on the table and we will start yeah?" She gently let her drop to her feet and ruffled her hair, D/n giggles and runs off, this time not being clumsy. You watch as she leaves, 'Just like her mother' you thought.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Sevika embraced you and tilt your head up towards her. Her steel eyes filled with adoration and her face was tinted with a deep blush across her face.

"I missed you a lot doll, thank you for being strong for me. God, baby, I missed you so fucking much." She pulls you in a passionate kiss, with no sexual hunger, but a hunger for touch. Needing to feel that you were there and not leaving her again. If this was a dream, for the love of Zaun don't wake her up.

Your arms slip around her waist but she forces your arms around her neck to deepen the kiss. She gently nipped your bottom lip for entry, however, as the tease you are, you nipped at her upper lips. She growled and bit down a little harder for only a gasp to come out, she flatten her tongue over the small indents she left behind then slipped her tongue in your mouth.

It was euphoric, there was no battle just tongues embracing each other. Her lips were soft and plump, her tongue explored all of your mouth before embracing your tongue into another savory moment. As much as you wish for this moment to be forever, it was hard to breathe for both of you. Hot breathes, the dizzy feeling you got in your heads, and the butterflies that flew wildly.

Sevika was the first to pull away, huffing out like she had run from Piltover to the Undercity. You chased her lips instinctively, making her release a breathy chuckle, your foreheads rested against another. Your hands rub the sore tender muscles of her neck making her moan and lean in closer to your touch, she let her thumb rub circles underneath your shirt.

You heard things being moved behind you, and you both turn around, seeing your daughter fixated on setting up the poker game. Realization struck you.

"Wait D/n...how long have you been in here?" Sevika felt her cheeks warm.

"It didn't take me too long to find the game, anyway, you both done doing your sloppy, sappy stuff? I wanna play!" She exclaims, you laugh with faint flush on your cheeks. You nudge Sevika,

"Well, what are we waiting for? You have a lot of making up to do, better yet to collect your debt!" She laughed and with an arm around your waist, walks both of you to the couch where an impatient attention-seeking cutie, waits for her parents to play.

A month later, things haven't been too rough. Strictly with Sevika's job and having to go home every day to meet her little pumpkin and her gorgeous wife after she probably slaughtered people earlier in the day. D/n kept her promise and always holds her mother's left hand. Her mama gets tears in her eyes and smiles largely when you kiss her tears away.

Silco starts to like having D/n over, it helps Jinx mentally and can keep her under control. You and Sevika were worried but it became clear that they were too cute and inseparable. Sevika didn't like Jinx because of her arm incident, but, she treated Jinx like her own child at this point, and Jinx loved her new little family

Silco got a little worried about her liking you 3 more but the little blue-haired menace always sticks to his side even if y'all are all together. Sevika loves her little family, she will protect it with all of her damn being, she loves you so much she thinks of herself being the luckiest woman of all of Runeterra.

She is scared cause you and her little girl are her weakness. One day, maybe one day, you 3 will run away together somewhere without the treacheries of the globe. Somewhere upon a euthymia.

"Hey, mama?" D/n whispered, Sevika looked at the adorable child.

"Yeah honey biscuit?" She and her daughter talk quietly whilst you lay asleep in your wife's lap. D/n comes close and puts a warm soft kiss on her mother's missing left limb. Sevika felt adoration and with her right arm, she tugs her little one close.

"I love you, mama.." Her eyes start to close after the long day, Sevika presses a soft kiss on D/n's forehead and lays a warm kiss on the corner of your mouth.

"I love you too, my little gal." She finally closes her eyes, following asleep after her wife and daughter. Wherever she may feel stress and lose hope, she thinks of home, her wonderful love of her life, and her mini-self waiting for a better future for Zaun.

~End~

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did! My requests are open so feel free to drop a request down! Love you my StarDroplets!

Goodbye! Aurora out!

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