#had to work on this in increments but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out hope you like it!!

[whump-queen]

You have your father’s curls

Fanart of Jim from @whumpsday ‘s Kane and Jim series.

The chapter “Curls” absolutely shattered my heart.

I love your story mill, hope you like it <3

Click for full resolution :)

[hapuriainen]

Some comparisons of the “Disney girls if they were the player character in a pokemon game” designs, the earliest being from 2012.

Snow White - hasn’t changed much from the initial idea. For the most recent version aside from the improved colours (which really goes for all of these) I made the pocket a bit more sensible in size and less bland with the logo and changed the sleeves into something a little less costume-y looking. And apparently I had never bothered to check what her eye colour is supposed to be before?

Cinderella - I think the first one is way too tomboyish for Cinderella so it was a good idea to give her a skirt instead. And stop trying to copy the hairstyle as is, how is it supposed to work anyway? The most recent version is supposed to be wearing see-through plastic sneakers which was the closest equivalent of a glass slipper I could think of, but I don’t think you can see that well enough from this far.

Alice - I also like the original idea but it does look a bit too much like a costume. The more recent version is one of my favourites of the set, both with the design and how the art turned out overall.

Tinkerbell - I remember being dissatisfied with the first version (mostly for being boring) and thought I should have given her shorts instead, so here is that now. The top could still use some work though.

Aurora - She feels like she’s incrementally getting towards my ideal design but isn’t there quite yet. I probably should have done more with the half pink-half blue thing.

Eilonwy - not a lot to work with about her, though what is up with the shoes on the middle one?

Ariel - I don’t know what I was thinking with the turtleneck in the middle one, it’s supposed to be a warm weather design. Though to be fair sandals would be a better fit for that, but I like the stockings to represent her tail. Also apparently I got obscenely lazy with the shoes with the most recent one.

Belle - has barely changed at all, I remember being very happy with the initial design. Though now that I think about it the bag probably should use a different shade of blue. I’ve also done an earlier design with the yellow dress, but it’s so monochrome that it’s a bit hard to work with it.

Jasmine - I clearly wasn’t even trying with the first design, it’s just her canon outfit with very minor tweaks and a pokeball, and the second one isn’t any better. But to me Jasmine had one of the biggest glow ups with the most recent design and the art turned out cute as well.

Pocahontas - I really like the pants and would have liked to use them again, but then I thought, “is this problematic”, and ended up not using the tassel fringe thing. Overall she was a huge struggle and I’m not happy with the result at all, Pocahontas’ canon design has a lot of elements to work with, but I tried so many versions of one sleeved/one sleeve off the shoulder/layered tops and they all looked like a dancer or a figure skater. And I also attempted a tunic-like design like Yellow but that just looked like a LoZ oc. So this design is definitely subject to change if I redo everyone again in ten years. At least her face turned out cute..

Esmeralda - Another mess in both attempts, her canon design also has a lot of interesting details but somehow the best I could do with ended up being a schoolgirl? In my defense she was among the last characters I drew for this set and at that point I was just burnt out and ready to move to something else, so it was either this or not being drawn at all. Better luck next time!

Megara - the first attempt is pretty random and lazy and I don’t like it at all, but I do like how the second one turned out. Overall it does skew a bit too young though especially for a character like Megara, but she’s a kid here so maybe it’s ok?

Mulan - she is my favourite Disney heroine so it’s always frustrated me that I had never been able to really get the Poke design to work. But this time it somehow clicked that I could take inspiration from the male protagonists instead. I think the details could still do some workshopping but overall I like the result this time around.

Jane - the first one isn’t a Poketrainer at all, it’s just a jungle explorer anime girl. Though I guess there’s not much change in the second one either...

Kida - this has always been somewhat of a “just throw random ideas in there” kind of design and especially the first one I clearly had no idea what I was doing. In the most recent version I think the decision to move the mark to her hat was the best update, a facial tattoo on the supposed average kid feels kind of strange. 

Giselle - I really like the most recent one, it’s one of the most dynamic poses and I think it has a nice balance of “fine lady” and “going on a Pokemon adventure”. Not sure if any of them are properly recognisable as Giselle though.

Tiana - as you can see I have no idea what to do with her. I don’t know what’s wrong, there’s so much to work with her canon design but nothing ever works out properly. Many of my ideas, like poofy pants (because of the dress shape) also felt too kiddy and so out of character for Tiana who is at the more mature end of Disney princesses. Still, with the most recent attempt there is a lot I like, but somehow it doesn’t quite fit together and I now notice that repeating the flower shape everywhere is pretty awkward. Sorry Tiana! Maybe fourth time is the charm.

Charlotte - the first attempts feel too much like a formal party outfit instead of something for an adventure, so I had to lose the updo at least. The hat is a little silly but I figured it would fit the goofier Charlotte. I do like the bubble skirt (one of the abandoned Tiana ideas) but the top could still use some work.

Rapunzel - very pleased with how the most recent one turned out apart from the hair looking a little too brown, it’s supposed to be just shading and not two-tone hair. 

Merida - I’ve never figured out how to do her hair in Pokemon form and her canon dress is pretty stingy with workable details. I got the idea of using plaid from Sword/Shield, but I noticed everyone and their mother already drew Merida in a plaid shirt so I put it on her shorts instead. But in hindsight maybe I should have just gone with the flow.

Vanellope - her design is really fun to work with and the result is one of my favourites. With the newer version I realised that I tend to use white a lot when I don’t know what to do, which usually is at least inoffensive, but that there could be a more interesting option if I dare to try something else (talking about the socks here).

Anna - quite pleased with how the new version turned out but it could still do with some work, what was I thinking with black boots and almost-black tights? 

Elsa - I really like how the cardigan thing turned out, except for the fact that I realised I had already used practically the same thing for Aurora (but hers is more boring so it’s the one subject to change). Meanwhile the dress is pretty bland. The leggings use the ice type uniform design from Sword/Shield.

Moana - Another victim of the “I have to churn out something” project finale. I think I already had this queued and had to go back to doing at least some fixes because the initial version was somehow even more boring. I think the loose pants idea is very workable but she’ll just need more time and effort.

Raya, Mirabel - they’re too recent to have a comparison but let’s have a few words on them anyway. I just couldn’t get anything out of Raya’s design (though she was one of the last characters  to be drawn and also I really don’t like her movie so I was very much not in a mood to try very hard) so the result ended up pretty boring and definitely waiting for a redesign. As for Mirabel I like her look a lot more and especially the skirt practically designed itself, but this still kinda feels like a first draft. 

[dongofthewolf]

Hiii! Can I request no.9 from the cliché prompts and fake dating au?

Making Amends

Abby Anderson x Reader

Prompts: 9. “There’s only one bed and we sleep as far away as possible from each other but wake up cuddling” 18. Fake dating au

Warnings: swearing, fluff, hint of angst, Owen and Mel slander (sry I had to)

No pronouns are mentioned for the reader

Link to the prompt list here

A/N: Both tropes are literally my favourite things ever and it was so fun to write so ty for requesting it. It ended up way longer than I intended so uhhh yeah hope you enjoy LOL (esp if you requested it)!!

“What the hell Abby?! Have you been telling people that we’re dating?” You had cornered Abby into a secluded hallway, trapping her against the wall with your finger on her chest accusingly.

There was a flicker of fear in Abby’s eyes as she chewed on her lip nervously. Abby was considerably stronger than you and you probably looked like a mouse trying to intimidate a lion, but you didn’t care.

Abby couldn’t meet your burning gaze, all she replied with was a prolonged “Uhhhhhh”.

“Abigail Anderson, answer me right now or I swear to God-” It was rare for you to whip out her full name. And maybe it was kind of a cheap move, but it was a cheap move that almost always worked.

“Fine!” Abby interrupted, letting out a short sigh and preparing herself for the worst. “I kind of told Owen we were dating and I'm pretty sure he’s been telling other people.”

She said the words as quickly as possible, closing her eyes like a bomb was about to go off. Your reaction wasn't far off to say the least.

“You what? Why the fuck would you tell him we’re dating?” There was venom in your words and Abby flinched just slightly.

You were angry, incredibly so. You and Abby have always been close friends, or more so you had been until she started dating Owen. At first it was small things; cancelling plans or leaving early because she was busy and you completely understood. It’s not like you didn’t want her to hang out with him, and obviously you wanted her to be happy, but eventually it got to a point where she hardly ever spoke to you. Aside from the occasional greetings in the busy stadium, it was like you guys had never even been friends.

Now, after completely ignoring you for the past months, she decided it was a good idea to tell people that you guys were dating? It only seemed right for you to be pissed off.

“I just... Everyone kept looking at me like some sad puppy dog because I broke up with Owen, which normally I can handle. But every single day I kept getting the same sad fucking looks and I couldn’t take it anymore, so I told them I was seeing someone. I never mentioned your name but they kept prying, and prying and you were the first person that popped into my mind. I’m really sorry Y/N.”

You didn’t say anything at first, instead you looked at Abby without a hint of emotion on your face, and even less in your tone when you did finally speak. “Why didn’t you tell me you guys broke up?”

Abby paused, she didn’t know what response she was expecting but it definitely wasn’t that. “I um, I figured you knew. Pretty much everyone in the stadium knows.”

“Yeah well… I didn’t.” You were quiet. A part of you was angry and annoyed, but another part of you pitied Abby. She had never been one to lie, especially about something as petty as this.

Before you could think of something to say, Abby broke the silence. “Listen, I know you probably hate me right now, but I need to ask you a small favour.”

“Seriously?” You nudged Abby’s chest, pushing her into the wall again. The pity quickly dissipated to nothing, leaving you once again with a seething rage.

“Look, I know things between us haven’t been ideal but-“

“Haven’t been ideal?!” You interrupted, the absolute ignorance in her words tipping you off the edge. “Abby, you threw me away like I was trash! We were friends and you left me to hang out with Owen. I didn’t even know you guys broke up because you don’t tell me shit anymore!”

“I’ll do anything Y/N, okay? I’ll do your laundry, clean your room, I’ll even take your shifts for patrols.” Abby’s hands were on your forearms as she spoke. “Please just do this one thing for me and I’ll spend the rest of my life paying you back.” There was sincerity in Abby’s face, a hint of desperation too.

You paused. What could Abby possibly want so badly that she’d be willing to do all this for you? Even though you were angry at her, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little bit intrigued.

“I’ll do anything Y/N, please. There must be something that you want.” Abby pleaded, absolute seriousness in her eyes.

“What I want is to never see you again.” Your finger was pointed at her chest again, poking her lightly.

Immediately you could see the hurt on Abby’s face. Okay, maybe that was a little bit harsh (and kind of petty) but you weren’t just gonna let Abby off that easily. Not after everything she’s done.

“Fine…” Abby paused to contemplate her next words, wiping the sadness from her face. “Fine, after tonight if you do this thing for me, we’ll never have to see each other again, I promise. I just need you to come to this party with me. We don’t have to talk or hold hands or anything and you can spend the whole night hating me, but I just need you there.”

“I-“ You couldn't do that. You couldn’t just pretend and lie to all of Abby’s friends for a whole night… Could you?

“Please Y/N. It’s embarrassing, okay? When we broke up, Mel immediately jumped in to fill my space. Everyone knew it and I had to pretend like I didn’t care so people would stop treating me like a wounded animal. If they find out I lied about you? I don’t think they’ll ever stop seeing me that way.”

You looked at Abby and felt a tinge of sympathy, she looked so sad and desperate, and for a second you even considered it. One night couldn’t hurt, right? Wait, no.

You mentally slapped yourself, trying to snap yourself out of it. You were not going to give in that easily. Nope. This was Abby, the same girl who threw away your friendship like it was nothing, and you were not going to let her use you like this. Not even while she’s looking at you with those sad, blue eyes. Nope, you’re mad, you’re angry, you’re-

“Fine.” Fuck.

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Abby’s eyes lit up as she wrapped her arms around you, lifting you into the air while she let out a breath of relief.

What did you just get yourself into?

—

“I can sleep on the floor, it's really no problem.” Abby offered, there was a slight nervousness in her tone as she stood in front of you shifting her weight on the balls of her feet.

“Abby, that’s stupid. It’s not like I’m infected or something.” You huffed, reaching for the box of matches to light the candle next to you.

Sometime after the party there had been a power outage and the entire WLF base went lights out. Meaning there was no heat and most annoyingly, no lights.

After a night of uncomfortable looks and even more uncomfortable conversations in which you spent most of the party trying to avoid Abby’s friends, she was walking you back to your room when everything suddenly went dark.

The both of you practically crawled to your room before you could locate a light source of some kind. It had been an hour since the power went out and you insisted that Abby sleep in your room, for… safety purposes.

You shook the match till it was out, suddenly you were thankful for impulse buying those candles last week.

“It’s fine, I’ll just crawl halfway across the stadium until I find my room. No biggie.” You couldn’t tell if she was joking, but something in you felt like she would actually do it if you didn’t insist she stay here.

You sighed. “Just sleep here Abs, it’s easier and I’m offering. Plus, I don’t need you army crawling across the entire WLF base. It’s hard on the arms, even for someone as strong as you.”

“You think I’m strong?” Abby smiled teasingly and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, looking away as you tried to hide the small grin on your face. God, it was hard to stay mad at Abby.

“Shut up and take the bed.” You could tell Abby was reluctant but she still plopped herself onto your bed. She sat awkwardly on the edge, unsure of how this was going to work.

You tried to ignore Abby’s weird energy as you buried yourself beneath the covers. It took a minute for her to actually lay down in the bed but when she did, she was careful to keep her distance. It was pretty funny (and pretty cute) how unsure she was.

After a few minutes of silence you heard Abby whisper your name softly, almost like she wasn’t sure if you could hear her.

Nuzzling your nose into your pillow you whispered back a small “Yeah?”.

“Thank you.” You could hear the genuity in Abby’s voice, how grateful she was for such a simple act and suddenly it hit you, you didn’t want her to leave you alone. You missed this—missed Abby.

Instead of responding you nudged her foot lightly with yours. It was something you guys had done as kids, like a silent way of saying “I’m here.”. Under the dinner table with the Fireflies or during training when you first joined the WLF; it was an unspoken thing between the both of you. An action that spoke much louder than words possibly could.

The both of you laid on opposite ends of the bed, your backs turned to each other. You shifted under the sheets before finally finding a comfortable position, you fell asleep that night to the steady sound of Abby’s breathing.

—

You were first to wake up, confusion washing over you when you felt your head rising and falling. Why the hell was your pillow moving? Then it hit you; it wasn’t the bed moving, it was Abby. Your head lay resting on Abby’s chest, her arm over your back while your limbs were wrapped around her like a giant stuffed animal. The sound of her beating heart was soft in your ears and you could feel her breath coming out in steady increments, blowing lightly against your head.

You weren’t sure what to do about your compromising position. It was already too late for you to leap out of her arms and a large part of you didn’t want to move anyways. So you decided to pretend to sleep until she woke up. That way you wouldn’t have to decide what to do, she would.

Abby woke up shortly after you, you could tell she was awake by the way her breath hitched in her throat upon noticing how you guys were situated. However, instead of jumping out of the bed in a panic, Abby didn’t move either, and it took everything in you to not open your eyes.

After a few moments of stillness, you almost thought she had fallen back asleep. It wasn’t until you felt a light touch on your temple that you realized she was awake. The touch so light you nearly missed it when Abby brushed a small strand of hair away from your face.

Then slowly, Abby pried you off of her and you nearly let a small groan slip from your lips when you felt the absence of her warmth. She gently rolled you over, covering you with the blanket before walking into the bathroom.

That’s when it happened: the ache. A sharp, jarring ache in your heart that you only felt with her— that you haven’t felt since the two of you were best friends. It had left you when you and Abby stopped talking, but it returned just the same when you witnessed the tenderness of her actions. You never thought to put a name to this feeling (and maybe a part of you didn’t want to), but it was near impossible to ignore it.

You couldn’t possibly be harbouring secret feelings for Abby, right? You tried to distract yourself from these thoughts, it was way too early to be worrying about these things.

Feigning tiredness you rolled off the bed and headed towards the bathroom. You knocked on the door and when Abby opened it you noticed she was in the process of redoing her braid.

You leaned against the doorway as you watched her skilled fingers work. “Abs?”

“Hm?” She replied as she tied off the end of her braid.

“I didn’t really mean what I said to you last night… about never wanting to see you again. I’m sorry.” You picked at your thumb anxiously, eyes wandering around the room, looking anywhere but at Abby.

Abby turned to face you, letting the braid fall to her side. “You don’t have to apologize Y/N, I deserve it. I didn’t even hesitate to leave you when Owen and I started dating, and I was-“

“Stupid?” You finished for her, looking up from the floor to meet Abby’s gaze.

“Stupid. And for what it's worth, I’ve really missed hanging out with you Y/N, even if it is under these circumstances.”

“You know… I think I know a way you can make it up to me, if you’re still up for it?” Abby looked at you with a raised eyebrow and you noticed the corner of her mouth curling into a small smile.

“Oh yeah? What would that be?”

“You see, there’s this guy that’s been trying to ask me out for weeks even though I keep rejecting him.” You gave Abby a tiny grin as you continued. “Well, maybe if he found out I was dating a certain soldier who could pound his ass into the ground, then he’d leave me alone.”

Abby nodded her head nonchalantly as she took a small step towards you, crossing her arms across her chest. “You know what’s crazy? I think I have just the person for you.”

[illegal-spiegel]

Voice Sweet as Caramel

Pairing: deaf!Katsuki Bakugo x gn!reader Genre: fluff, slight angst? Warnings: none Summary: You meet Dynamight and don’t know that he’s deaf. Luckily for him though, when you find out, your quirk comes in handy Word Count: 5.1k words A/N: I did a lot of research to make Bakugo’s experience seem as real as possible. If there is smth that I did wrong, worded incorrectly, etc., please don’t hesitate to inform me. Thank you and enjoy!

It didn’t really bother him at first. Being deaf, I mean. He didn’t have to listen to a bunch of nonsense all the time, he could sleep in peace, villains trying to goad him on and agitate him didn’t work anymore, and so on. 

It didn’t take him long to realize just how many downfalls there are with that though. He started to fall behind in class because he could no longer hear his teachers. He wasn’t able to hear plans of attack or hear an enemy sneak up on him. 

He can’t hear your voice. 

He became deaf in the middle of his third year. It happened in the middle of a fight with the league of villains and he didn’t really have time to panic about it at the time. When school let out and he became one of the top heroes, he tried not to be bothered by it and for the most part, it worked. His other senses heightened as time went on but that doesn’t mean it made the reality that he’s deaf any easier. There were still the setbacks that will always hold him back from reaching top potential. Because of this, he’s the number three hero, right behind Deku and Todoroki. 

That’s what really crushed him. 

He never shows anyone, heroes, friends, and villains alike, that being deaf is a struggle for him, even when he gets used to it. He wants to hear the villains he defeats beg for mercy. He wants to hear his friends laugh when someone does something stupid. He wants to hear the praise of civilians when he saves them. 

He wants to hear your voice but he’d, obviously, never tell a soul that. 

He didn’t meet you until a year after he graduated.

You showed up when he was fighting some villains, and he’ll never admit that he was struggling a little bit. Somehow though, villain after villain suddenly couldn’t see him and they panicked. They’d run into buildings and each other before Bakugo beat them all to a pulp. 

Seeing as how you’re the only one else there with a hero costume on, he assumes you had something to do with it. As he hands the villains over to the police, you come over with a warm smile aimed directly at him. He stares at your lips as you speak, his ears ringing with the silence that he’s grown used to. 

He doesn’t really understand why you’re trying to talk to him, seeing as how everyone knows that the great hero Dynamight is unable to hear. So, why are you wasting your time trying to talk to him? Maybe you think he can read your lips. That is, after all, a common misconception about deaf people.

Without a word on his part, he turns and walks away from you. He doesn’t hear you stop in the middle of congratulating him. He doesn’t hear how you scoff a bit. He doesn’t see you frown at how rude he is. 

You walk into the building with a bright smile already on your face, excited for something you literally do every day of your life. It doesn’t matter how many times you do it though. This will always make you happy. Plus, you just came to Japan from America a couple of weeks ago. You haven’t been here in years. You are excited to use your improved quirk to help others. 

You greet the lady at the front desk as you grab your sticker name tag that the staff makes for you every day. You then go to your first stop, gently knocking on the door and coming in once you get the go-ahead. 

“(Y/n)! You’re back!” the little girl squeals, a large smile coming to her face. Your smile stretches out further as you walk over to her. 

“Hi, Keiko! How have you been?” you say as you move your hands slowly for her to read. She watches them attentively before perking up, her mother beside her smiling softly at the interaction. 

“I’ve been really good! I’m glad you're back!” she says happily, her ‘accent’ coming through more now that she’s calmed down and isn’t shouting. 

“I’m happy to be back too,” you agree, your hands moving with your words. 

“(Y/n),” the mother says, grabbing your attention, “Thank you for coming back. You have no idea what this means to me. To us. After the villain attack...” Her eyes are watery as she speaks, her hand coming up to pet her daughter’s head. 

You smile softly at her, coming over to sit in the empty chair by her bed. “Don’t even mention it, Mrs. Suzuki. It’s an honor to be of use to you and your daughter,” you reassure. You then look to Keiko, seeing her body impatiently wiggling around as she waits for you to work your magic. 

You chuckle as you raise your hands, her eyes widening, despite knowing what you were doing. She turns to look at her mom as she shouts, “Mommy! I can hear again!” You read her lips and smile as she wraps her arms tightly around her mother. You watch with a soft look in your eyes, trying to ignore your oncoming sadness that will come when her hearing comes to an end again. 

“Keiko, I noticed that you are getting better at JSL. You must be studying so hard!” you praise, watching her chest puff out at the praise. 

“You bet I am! It’s so easy and my tutor says I’m really good at it!” she brags while using her hands for you to read, a chuckle escaping you at how proud she is. She has every right to be though. 

“That’s so cool! Can you show me what else you’ve learned?” 

You stay with the girl and her mother for their hour before slowly taking away her hearing again. She doesn’t seem to mind though. Even at her young age, she’s grateful for the opportunity that others don’t get to have and she knows that you can’t let her have her hearing back forever. 

You walk down the hall and walk into the next room after knocking. “Daiki? It’s (Y/n),” you greet softly, not wanting to spook the teen. He perks up at the sound of your voice, a smile coming to his face as he turns to face you. 

That has to be the best part of your quirk. You bring all of these smiles to these unfortunate people whose lives were changed at the hands of villains. 

“(Y/n)! I’m surprised to have you come back so soon!” he greets, holding his arms open for a hug. You happily accept it, returning his sight as you pull away. He brightens up more as the life returns in his eyes, your eyes catching the sight of his gums showing from how big he’s smiling before your own vision goes dark. 

“I’ll never get tired of seeing your pretty face,” he playfully flirts, making you chuckle as you take a seat by his bed. 

“You’re such a flatterer.” When visiting Daiki, he prefers to use his time wisely. He likes to memorize the faces of loved ones, read, watch tv, and other things that he can’t do.

When his time comes to an end, he sighs as he closes his book he was reading, a sad smile on his face. “You really are my hero, (Y/n),” Daiki says softly, his eyes roaming your face to now memorize it without your knowledge. 

“I’m just doing what anyone else would do with my quirk,” you reassure, giving him a sad smile as you slowly take his sight away again. He sighs and picks up the same book from before but with braille instead of typed words. 

“Still. See you next week?” 

“You betcha,” you say softly before kissing his cheek and leaving. 

Your quirk allows you to eliminate or heighten the five senses. You can only do one sense at a time though. You can do it in increments too, meaning you can completely eradicate or heighten a sense, or you can do it partially. For example, you can increase someone’s smelling to 100% and they can suddenly smell ten times better than a bloodhound. Another example, if someone is getting a headache by a smell, you can remove someone’s smell by 50% and leave them able to smell but not as strongly as they normally would be able to. Also, when you use your quirk, that sense is completely removed from you but only while you’re using it on someone. You also can’t use your quirk on yourself. 

It’s when you’re leaving the RCV, the Recovery Center from Villains, you notice the fight between a hero and multiple villains. You raise your hand to one of the villains, removing his, and your, sight. When you hear a loud explosion and a cry of pain, you turn off your quirk to find the villain you used your quirk on laying on the ground. You repeat this process with the other villains until there was none left standing. 

When the hero hands them over to the police, you run over with a grin. “Hi, I just wanted to say that you were incredible! I know you probably didn’t need my help but I just wanted to-”

You cut yourself off with a scoff when the blond suddenly walks away from you, a frown coming to your face as you watch him go. Well, that was rude. Especially after you just helped him take down four villains! 

“Excuse me. Were you the one to help Dynamight?” an officer asks. You give her a kind smile as you nod your head, turning to face her now. 

“Yes, ma’am. I have a senses quirk, so I eliminated their sight so, uh, Dynamite could get the upper hand,” you explain. She smiles at this, becoming more fascinated by the second as you explain what happened. You answer any questions she has, noticing the sun is starting to go down. 

“Well, it’s getting dark. I’ll let you go! Have a great day—oh! What’s your hero name?” 

“It’s Esthesia,” you say before saluting and walking away. 

On your walk home, a guy gives you an unseemly smile as his eyes flicker up and down your body. “Hey, baby. Where you going?” You give him a bored look as you raise your hand, taking his, and your, sight away as you continue to walk straight. He begins to panic, your ears listening as he runs around frantically before crashing into a brick wall. When his body hits the ground, you return both of your vision with a smirk. 

“Have a nice night!” you sarcastically call to his groaning figure. 

The second time you meet Dynamight—you learned from the news how it’s actually spelled—it was under pretty much the same circumstances. You stay by the sidelines, appearing as a civilian to everyone which is exactly what you wanted. 

You raise your hand and remove the villain’s sight, listening for signs that the villain is defeated. When you return your vision though, you find a villain coming from above to attack Dynamight. 

“Dynamight!” you shout in warning, pointing up for him to see what your warning is for. He never looks at you though, allowing the villain to attack him from above. You quickly remove that villain’s sight, hoping that you weren’t too late. Why did he just ignore you like that? Is he that stubborn?

When your vision comes back, you find that he has taken out all of the villains again. You charge towards him once you see this, coming up behind him. “Why did you ignore me? You could’ve been killed!” you shout, afraid for the hero’s life. He keeps his back to you though, his eyes moving from villain to villain to make sure that they will stay down. “Hey!” you shout as you lightly shove him to gain his attention. 

“Hey!” he copies as he catches his balance and spins around, his eyes alight with an inferno that’s normally directed at villains. When he sees it’s you though, that inferno shrinks to a flame. “What is your problem?” he screams. 

You scoff as you cross your arms over your chest, a glare of your own staring right back at him. “My problem? My problem is that you keep ignoring me! I was trying to help you back there and you didn’t even turn to acknowledge me! You could’ve avoided that attack altogether!” you shout right back, your eyes moving to the wound on his shoulder that he received from that villain. Your eyes return to his face when he huffs and looks away from you. 

And just like before, he walks away from you, causing your jaw to drop open. “Hey! You don’t get to do this to me again!” you shout, running to stand in front of him. You notice that the police have arrived to take the bad guys away, which Bakugo also notices. 

“Get out of my way,” he snaps, moving to go around you until you just block his way again. 

“No! This is the second time I’ve helped you! You can at least thank me!” He doesn’t react to your words. He doesn’t even have an expression on his face anymore. He, again, just moves around you and walks away. This time though, you let him go. 

“Fine! That’s the last time I help you then!” you declare. 

It’s not. 

He just seems to have an invisible sign that you can’t see that says, “Come attack me! I’m alone! Please beat me up!” You don’t understand why he never has backup. Well, besides you, that is. 

After helping out several times though, you finally come across him in battle with another hero. About time. Where was he the last six times you’ve helped him?

You watch from afar, only helping if one of them seems to be struggling a bit. You notice that the other hero acts differently around Bakugo. Their body language is different and he never calls out to him. Does he not like him? Cause you sure don’t. 

After the fight is over and the police have escorted the villains away, the heroes leave after interacting with the civilians for a bit. You notice that no one talks to Dynamight though. How is he the number three hero but isn’t popular amongst the civilians? That makes his situation even odder to you. 

When they finally leave, you quickly catch up to them. “Hey! Hi, sorry! I just wanted to say that you guys did a great job!” you congratulate with a grin, not even looking in Dynamight’s way. 

The guy with flaming red hair, named Red Riot you believe, gives you a toothy grin. “Oh, thanks! You’re Esthesia, right? I’ve seen you on the news with Bakubro a couple of times.” You raise your brow at the nickname but realize he’s talking about Dynamight. 

“Oh, yes! It’s nice to meet you! You’re Red Riot, right?” At this, his smile gets even brighter, if possible. 

“Sure is! You can call me Kirishima though! This is Bakugo,” he introduces. It takes everything in you not to scoff. 

“Yeah. I’ve saved his ass a time or two before,” you say as calmly as possible. Kirishima looks to Bakugo and finds that he’s not even looking at you. 

“Sorry about him. He can be so moody.” You raise your brow when Bakugo doesn’t come to his own defense, seeming to just take the playful blow. 

“That’s one word to describe him. Anyway, I don’t want to keep you guys up. I just wanted to congratulate you,” you explain with a warm smile. 

“Oh, it’s no problem at all! It was nice to finally meet the hero who has saved Bakugo’s ass so many times! Say, how about we meet up sometime? It’d be great for you to meet some of the other heroes. Your quirk is really useful!” You blush at this but nod nonetheless. 

“Oh, that would be great! I love helping where I can!” You pull out your phone for Kirishima to put his number into your phone, this finally grabbing Bakugo’s attention, but he remains quiet. 

“Super! I’ll text you when some of the others are free. We can all get drinks or something,” he says as he hands your phone back to you. 

“Can’t wait! It was nice meeting you!” you say cheerfully before you leave the duo to go to the RCV, which is where you were heading before you stopped to help. 

About a week later, you get a text from Kirishima asking if you’d be free Sunday night. You agreed to meet him at a restaurant and you couldn’t help but grow excited at the chance to finally meet other heroes in the area. 

Sunday night came in a blink of an eye it seemed, your heart beating faster with each mile you get closer to the meeting place. You park your car and double-check that your outfit is in order before heading inside. You look around for spiky, red hair, and it only takes you a second to find him. 

“Kirishima!” you call as you near the table. Everyone but a certain blond turns at the sound of your voice. His eyes look at his friends before finally looking at you. You make eye contact with him for a moment before looking at Kirishima. 

“Hey, (Y/n)! You look great!” he greets, standing up and pulling out the only empty chair. 

“Thank you,” you say with a blush, slowly taking the seat, to which he pushes the chair in for you once you’ve sat down. 

“Everyone, this is (Y/n). (Y/n), this is everyone,” he introduces playfully as he takes his own seat. Once he’s settled, he properly introduces you to everyone, to which you happily greeted them all. 

“And finally, Mr. Grumpy-Mc-Grumpy-Pants over there is Bakugo, which you already know,” he says as he taps Bakugo’s arm. Bakugo turns to look at Kirishima before following his finger to you. 

“It’s nice to officially meet you,” you greet with much sarcasm. He, like always, remains silent and looks back down to his menu. You huff and decide to open up your own menu, trying not to be bothered by being shot down by the handsome male. 

For the rest of the evening, weird things occurred. Kirishima always taps him when someone says his name, Bakugo’s eyes roaming the table until he focuses on the person speaking. Kirishima taps him again when it’s his turn to order. You’ve seen people talk with their hands, both literally and figuratively, but these people really seem to get into it, making wide and crazy gestures. 

It wasn’t until your waiter came to your table with your food that you finally realized what was going on. 

“So, (Y/n), tell us about your quirk. Bakugo hasn’t shined any sort of light on what your quirk is and Kirishima seems a little lost at what your quirk actually is,” Mina says with a smile. 

Before you can reply though, your waiter and another worker bring your food to the table. “Who got the kung pao chicken?” the other worker asks, looking around the table. Kirishima was checking his phone when the question was asked, Bakugo not letting the waiter know that it’s what he ordered. 

This is when it hits you. 

The tapping. The blank, bored look. The quiet replies. The crazy gestures. 

He’s deaf. 

God, you’re such an idiot! You work with deaf people all of the time! How did you not realize until now?

“He got it,” you inform with widened eyes, your eyes staring at the blond. His eyes squint at you for pointing at him before realizing that you were just showing the waiter where his food goes. Once everyone has their food, you clear your throat. 

“So, um, Bakugo is deaf?” you shyly ask. This causes everyone to pause and stare at you for a moment. 

“Uh, yeah,” Kirishima answers, “Sorry, I assumed you knew…” he apologizes. 

You shake your head, turning your gaze to Bakugo as you continue. “But why does he act like that?” you ask. 

“Like what?” Kaminari asks with a furrow to his brows. 

“I work with deaf people all of the time. A lot of them are decent at reading lips to some extent and most know, or are learning, JSL. Bakugo seems...like he doesn’t care or that it doesn’t bother him? Does he know JSL?” you explain quietly despite the fact that the man you’re talking about can’t hear you. 

Kirishima sighs as he sets down his chopsticks. “Bakugo has been deaf for about a year and a half now. He knows JSL and uses it when necessary, but for the most part, he doesn’t like using it or when others use it to talk to him. It makes him feel....belittled, if you will. Like he has to have special treatment or something. I do my best to help him but I’m not perfect,” he explains, the last part being directed at what just happened. 

You slowly nod your head as you take this all in, a small frown coming to your face. “So, you guys don’t know what my quirk really is, right?” you ask softly, a smile starting to come to your face. They all look confused in your change of subject but nod along anyway. 

“Yeah, I was asking you about it before our food came. Kirishima says you can make people blind, or something?” Mina pipes up. You confuse them more when you begin to grin, all of them sharing a look amongst themselves. 

“Do you want to see something amazing?” you ask, your eyes flickering over to Bakugo. 

“Please don’t make me blind,” Denki begs, starting to ramble about needing to be able to see pretty girls. Jiro shushes him and then focuses back on you again. 

You raise your hand to Bakugo, taking a deep breath before slowly giving him the ability to hear. Everyone looks to him when he drops his chopsticks, his hands shaking as he stares wide-eyed at his plate. His chopsticks landing onto the table is the last thing you hear before your own hearing is gone. 

“I’m confused. What happened?” you read from Sero’s lips. You remain quiet and just keep smiling, your eyes focused on Bakugo. Bakugo’s eyes snap to Sero when he speaks, something seeming to lodge in his throat. 

Before he can stop it, he’s tearing up. 

“Bakubro! What’s going on?” Kirishima worriedly shouts, looking between you and him. “(Y/n)! What did you do to him?” Kirishima asks worriedly. At the mention of your name, Bakugo finally looks at you.

“I can hear,” he mutters, his voice barely being heard from how thick his throat feels. When everyone starts to say that they didn’t hear him and to repeat himself, he rubs furiously at his eyes and takes a deep breath. “God, I forgot just how annoying your voices are,” he complains, trying hard not to smile. 

Everyone freezes at this. 

“What?”

“You can hear?”

“What’s going on?”

“My voice is just fine, thank you!” 

Everyone starts talking at once, bombarding him with their voices. A small smile comes to his face despite his best effort, looking at all of them fondly. He looks to you again, eyeing you up as the others continue to chatter on. 

“Well, you being able to do this would’ve been nice to know a long time ago,” he grumbles. You stare at his lips, doing your best to read them. The average deaf person can only understand about 30% of what someone is saying based on just their lips though. 

“Sorry, can you use JSL?” you ask politely before picking up your chopsticks to begin eating. 

This causes everyone to freeze once more. 

“Huh?”

“But why?”

Seeing their confused faces, you realize that you never explained your quirk. You give them the rundown before finishing with, “When I use my quirk on someone else, I lose the sense that I’m taking away or giving. So, in this case, I gave Bakugo hearing so now I can’t hear. This is all temporary, of course.” 

The table vibrates with Bakugo’s hit, making your eyes widen as you look at him. “Take my hearing back away,” he demands, not using JSL despite your wishes. Your brows furrow at this, luckily understanding what he said anyway. 

“What? Why? You were so happy just a minute ago,” you reply confusedly. 

“No, I wasn’t! I’m perfectly fine being deaf! I don’t want your pity!” he shouts, grabbing the attention of nearby customers. With him talking so fast, you weren’t able to catch what he said. This is when an idea comes to mind. 

You simply look away from him and down at your plate, starting to eat without another word. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” Bakugo shouts, realizing too late that, duh, you can’t hear him. “Don’t ignore me!”

Ah, the irony.

The others eventually get him to calm down, bright and warm smiles on their faces at seeing him act like his old self. Don’t get them wrong, he still acts like this all the time but there’s this...new fire to him that hasn’t been there in a while. 

When he finally lets it go, you all start eating. The others use JSL to talk to you, seeing as how they all learned it for Bakugo, despite the fact that he didn’t want them to use it. It was a nice dinner, really. 

When the night comes to an end, you all stand up and walk out of the restaurant together. “So, when will Bakugo lose his hearing again?” Kirishima asks curiously, signing out the words for you.  

“Well, I can only use my quirk for so long before it starts to become dangerous, just like when you guys use your quirk for an extended amount of time. Because I use my quirk so much though every day all day, he could stay like this all night. I’m assuming we are all going our separate ways though…” 

“Oh, okay. Well, we all really appreciate what you’re doing for him,” Kirishima signs with a kind smile. You smile back at him, not seeing Bakugo say ‘I don’t.’ 

“It’s no problem at all, really. I just wish I knew about it earlier, so I could help him sooner,” you apologize, turning to look at Bakugo now. By the look on his face and the way his mouth moves, you’re assuming he scoffed.

“Do you think we could hang out again soon? I think it would be good for Bakugo to-”

“What’s with that crazy idea? I’m going home,” Bakugo snaps before turning to leave. Seeing him leave, you slowly raise your hand and switch both of your hearing back. You bite your lip when he stops, the sounds of cars going past on the road and the chatter of people nearby suddenly going silent for him once more. 

He almost feels like he’s going to be sick. 

He turns back around, wondering how he can get you to give his hearing back without actually saying he wants it back. His eyes widen in surprise when all of the sounds come back, a small smile coming to your face. 

“Not everyone has the opportunity to get their hearing back, even for just a little while. So, be grateful.”

It took a while for Bakugo to finally warm up to you but after a month or so, he finally accepted your presence. It took him three to actually refer to you as a friend. It took half a year for Bakugo to admit to himself that you’re his best friend; he’d never tell you or Kirishima that though. It’s been a year and he still can’t admit to himself that he likes you more than as a friend. 

Bakugo takes a bite of the food you made, his face scrunching up in mock disgust. “What did you put in this? Rat poison?” he jokes. It honestly didn’t taste half bad but he wasn’t about to admit that out loud to you. 

He watches you dance to the music that he can’t hear, your lips moving as you sing. He wishes he could hear it. He watches you stop and turn to look at him at his insult, your mouth showing your scoff. 

“Do you want to die?” you ask as you swipe your thumb across your neck. He smirks at you as he makes a show of taking another bite. He doesn’t hear you hum but he watches as you sign, “Yeah, that’s what I thought, chump.” He’s the one to scoff now, his eyes rolling with his annoyance. 

He’s told you time and time again not to use JSL but you never listen. He secretly appreciates it because he doesn’t have to piece things together when you use it. He still acts peeved when you do it though. 

“I’m not a chump. You’re the chump,” he snaps. You set your food down before walking over to the big speaker on your kitchen counter that is currently playing one of your favorite songs. You stand in front of it and place your hands against it before raising your other hand over to Bakugo.

His ears are suddenly greeted with the sound of the music, a frown coming to his face as he looks at you. While he appreciates being able to have his hearing back, he hates that you lose yours in the process. He’s pulled out of his train of thought when you start singing, his eyes becoming wide. You use the vibrations emitting from the radio to keep tempo, singing in sync with the artist.

Talking without hearing was easy for you but you’ve never tried singing without your ability to hear before. This shows as you softly sing, your voice shaky and out of tune at some points. 

It’s the most beautiful thing that Bakugo had ever heard. 

Your voice is as sweet as caramel. He watches you with a soft smile on his face, not even realizing that it’s there. When the song comes to an end, you bring your food over to the speaker and eat while your free hand remains pressed against the speaker to ‘hear’ the music. 

To his surprise, one of his favorite songs comes on after a couple of minutes and you grew so excited when you realized this. You belt each word with immense confidence, not a sign of hesitation or worry in your voice. 

This is when he realizes that he’s in love with you.

┍━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┑

MASTERLIST

More with Katsuki Bakugo

Tag List: @nojammsss03​ ✦ if you would like to be added or removed, comment or send an ask. Also, remember to tell me if you ever change your username so I can continue to tag you :)

┕━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┙

[spencers-renaissance]

tell me how to balance my coins

Summary: When Spencer falls down the stairs one morning he decides not to tell anyone, his insecurities about not being enough winning out. Too bad insecurities don't matter when they end up trekking through miles of barren land on a search and rescue mission, and his injuries finally become too much. The team knows exactly how to make it better.

Tags: hurt!spencer, whump, hurt/comfort, hiding medical issues, insecurity, angst with a happy ending, fluff, team as family TW: self-esteem issues

Pairing: GEN / Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Set in S1 but there's no Gideon because he didn't really fit the plot, so it's just the five other field agents here. This entire fic was inspired by this post by @i-write-whump so credit goes to them for the premise! Title from this poem by Zahraa Surtee <3

Maybe it’s embarrassment that stops him from telling the team. Spencer runs headfirst into dangerous situations every day, puts his life on the line repeatedly and escapes unscathed more often than not, but his nemesis this time is the single flight of stairs in his apartment building he descends each morning.

He’s later than he usually is, and already feeling a little flustered from both his toaster and coffee machine breaking, leaving him with a cup of instant coffee and an overripe banana from breakfast, which only makes the situation worse. As if lying sprawled out in a public stairwell wasn’t bad enough. He gingerly pulls himself up, catching a glimpse of a “Caution: Wet Floor” sign he somehow missed, and winces as pain floods his body.

His ankle is screaming at him, throbbing and burning, and for a moment Spencer has to close his eyes against the gut-wrenching pain of a twisted ankle flaring up his calf. A couple of thankfully undisturbed minutes later, the pain eases enough for him to open his eyes and inspect the damage. It’s already swelling slightly, and he’s certain he’ll be covered in bruises by tonight if the aching of his entire body is anything to go by.

For a brief moment he considers calling Derek or Penelope or someone else on his team; maybe even calling in sick, but he quickly pushes that thought away. It’s not embarrassment that stops him from telling the team. It’s a good cover story to keep him from addressing the real reason, but it isn’t the truth.

The truth is that the only time he ever feels valuable is when he’s contributing to a case. That cruel voice in the back of his head will waste no time in piping up, telling him how worthless he is, what a burden his friends see him as, how insignificant he is to the team if he doesn’t suck it up and head into work.

Fighting back the tears burning hot behind his eyes with ardent determination, he drags himself up by the stair handrail until he’s upright. His ribs ache and his ankle burns something fierce, but he compartmentalises it, breathing deeply and taking a few tentative steps, one at a time until he’s limping towards the train station.

The moment he walks into the bullpen, JJ grabs his elbow. “You’re just in time, Spence,” she says, marching towards the briefing room with a pace Spencer can’t quite keep up with. “We have a new case. Rural Kentucky.”

Everyone’s already seated at the round table, and no matter how much he tries to disguise his limp, putting far too much weight on his battered ankle, he can’t get it past a room full of profilers.

“Hey, pretty boy, you alright? You’re limping.” Derek’s tone is light, carrying the cadence of joking banter, but he can see the concern in his eyes, and that’s just unacceptable. He can’t have people worrying about him: he’s not worth their pitied looks or vapid attempts at comfort, especially not when they have a far more important case to be focusing on.

He slips into a seat, and manages to conceal a wince at the movement of his ankle swinging forward. “Oh, uh, I just stubbed my toe pretty hard on the way in.” It’s not convincing even to his own ears, but luckily it’s enough of a time-sensitive case for JJ to barrel on regardless, drawing everyone’s worried glances away from him and towards the board full of grizzly crime scene photos.

Even though he’s been on the team for close to three years now, he still feels like the new kid. Elle is newer than him, but she’s still far more confident in her place on the team than he is. He suspects that’s probably because someone like Elle doesn’t have trouble fitting in anywhere. It’s never been quite that easy for Spencer.

Pushing his insecurities aside like he always has to do in these meetings, he reads the case file thoroughly before offering his own contributions. The unsub is snatching young women from bars and clubs and holding them for weeks before leaving them to succumb to the elements in the rural countryside of Kentucky. With a missing woman and the expected deadline for the unsub dumping her fast approaching, they don’t waste any time in boarding the jet and flying the short way to West Kentucky.

It’s a short enough flight that there’s no time for personal conversation — no time for Derek (or anyone else for that matter) to confront him about his blatant lie and obvious injury — since they spend the whole journey discussing the case. Thankfully, throwing himself head first into theories and hypotheses keeps his mind off the pain a bit, but he can’t fully keep it from bothering him.

He’s just thankful that he has enough experience in disguising his true emotions that no-one’s attention is drawn to him by poorly hidden winces.

They dive straight into the investigation when they arrive at the sheriff’s station, everyone laser focused on finding Marissa Williams. By mid-afternoon, though, Spencer’s gritting his teeth as he forces himself to persevere through the pain despite it increasing incrementally every hour, and he curses himself for not being able to dedicate 100% of himself to the case. If he can’t help everyone find this woman, then what is he good for? His stomach twists at the thought.

“You gonna tell me what’s really going on, Spence?” Derek asks him as it approaches 4pm, cornering him at the coffee machine.

Spencer looks around as subtly as he can for an escape, but he quickly succumbs to his fate. “I’m fine, Derek,” he promises. It’s so far from the truth he wants to cry.

The concern in Derek’s eyes only intensifies at that. “Seriously? You’ve been quiet this whole case, I catch you wincing when you think no-one’s looking, and you’re still limping. A stubbed toe wouldn’t do that, kid, and you know it.”

He sighs, knowing the jig is up. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Derek.” He’s not sure it’s the truth, but it’s close enough to it that it doesn’t bring burning tears to the backs of his eyes.

Derek’s about to say something when JJ calls out for him. They both turn to look at her, Spencer feeling relief flood his chest, while Derek’s expression quickly morphs into one of frustration, sighing heavily as he curls his hands into tight fists.

“This isn’t over,” he says, levelling him with a serious look before walking back over to JJ, leaving Spencer to stir his bitter coffee in peace. It definitely doesn’t make him want to cry.

They finally get a break in the case at nightfall, a call on the tip line combined with their profile leading them to a secluded wooded area down by a small river. Knowing there’s nothing more for them to do at the office, Hotch gathers them all up, insisting they join the search party to find the poor, beaten woman currently suffering exposure, awaiting their rescue.

Spencer’s heart sinks as everyone gathers their equipment, and he’s almost relieved when Derek speaks up.

“Reid can’t go,” he insists to Hotch, only barely in earshot of Spencer. If he doesn’t go out in the rescue party, then he’s still served his purpose hasn’t he? He helped with the profile that narrowed down the area she’s likely to be in, he worked the case until this point, he can rest and still be worth something. Right?

Besides, it’s not exactly like he can don the heavy walking boots everyone else is pulling on. If he goes out, he’ll have to wear the same loafers that have been squeezing his swelling joint all day, and that’s hardly going to work. Hotch will let him stay back, and for once, he’ll accept the rest he’s offered.

His hope is quickly dashed. “We need all the manpower we can get,” Hotch says, clearly distracted in the same way he has been throughout the entire case. Spencer likes his boss but he has a tendency to wear blinkers when on a job, not noticing anything that doesn’t pertain to the ultimate solution. “He’ll be fine.”

Derek sighs again, clearly frustrated.

“I’ll be fine,” he says as Derek comes over to sit with him, not sure who he’s trying to convince. His ankle is still burning in pain. The last time he checked it, it was bruised and swollen, tender to the touch. It’s nothing short of a nasty sprain.

“You stick close to me, Spencer. I mean it.”

He can’t help the small smile that crosses his face, genuine happiness warming his heart at the concerned protectiveness of his friend. “Sure, Derek,” he says softly.

The pleasant temperature of the mid-Spring day drops to almost freezing as the sun sets, the moon and stars taking over the clear night sky. Even Spencer’s thickest coat isn’t enough to keep him from practically vibrating with the force of his shivers as they trek across the miles of terrain, staying as quiet as possible to listen for anything that could indicate their victim’s whereabouts. They’re spread out a little, but for the most part they all walk reasonably close together, the beams of their torches criss-crossing as they fight their way through the windy countryside.

Thankfully, it’s only a couple of hours into the search and rescue mission that a call crackles over the radio, telling them that Marissa had been found, beaten and weak but alive. Spencer can’t even bring himself to feel any kind of victory or relief, nothing being able to penetrate the haze of pain he’s in. Everyone else chatters happily enough as they converge back together for his silence to go mostly unnoticed.

His obscurity doesn’t last long, though.

“Are you ever gonna tell us what happened to your foot, Spence?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow at Spencer’s heavy limping and Derek’s worried hovering. By the second mile of their walk, Spencer had given up trying to hide the limp, instead focusing on gritting his teeth and breathing through the pain as it flares up his leg.

She’s clearly voicing what everyone else is thinking, judging by their worried expressions. Part of him wants to give in and tell the team, but the part that wants to continue to hide his embarrassment away, the part riddled with fear and insecurity wins out. He stubbornly shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly. In the kind of terrible timing so emblematic of the life of Spencer Reid, in the short second he has his eyes closed he manages to stumble into a small divot in the ground, and he trips, twisting his ankle all over again as he falls down.

His vision whites out, the pain suddenly all-consuming, punching nausea through his stomach and he can’t help the cry he lets escape as he lays helplessly in the grass.

“Spencer!”

Derek crouches next to him, laying a hand on his shoulder as he checks him over frantically, and Spencer can’t help but lean up into it, craving the kind of comfort he can only get from his best friend. Hotch joins them quickly as JJ and Elle stand close enough to offer support without crowding him.

“That’s it, Spencer,” Hotch says firmly, blinkers well and truly off by now, “you need to tell us what’s going on.”

As the blinding pain slowly fades into something minutely more bearable, Spencer forces his eyes open to face the team. “I fell down the stairs this morning,” he finally admits, sullen and teary. “Pretty sure I sprained my ankle.”

Hotch wastes no time in gently rolling his trouser leg up, exposing his ruined loafers and the bruised, swollen joint to the torches of his teammates. Derek audibly winces as he positions himself behind Spencer, supporting his back as his tired, aching body starts to collapse.

Hotch levels him with a stern glare after he finishes his tender inspection of his ankle. “Spencer, it was incredibly irresponsible to hide something like this. You not only put yourself in danger, but you put the rest of the team at risk, too—”

He doesn’t get any further in his lecture before the tears he’s been holding back all day, finally spill over and a dry, sudden sob, his bruised and aching rib cage heaving as he starts to unravel at the seams. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Softening immediately, Hotch puts his leg down gently and shuffles closer, taking Spencer’s hand in his. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry for yelling,” he says soothingly, watching as Spencer presses closer into Derek’s hold. “You’re not in trouble, I’m just worried about you, Spencer. Why didn’t you tell us you were hurt?”

He squeezes his eyes closed again: it’s as much dignity as he can hope for when his face is crumpling and he’s sobbing on the cold, hard ground as it nears midnight. “I just… I just wanted to be worth something.” It’s an admission he’ll regret later, he already knows that, but he’s so so tired and all he wants is the comfort that only his team can provide.

Derek pulls him into an even tighter hug before anyone can react, holding him against his chest fiercely while his hand plays gently with his hair. “Spencer, you are worth something whether you’re injured or fully intact, you hear me? We’d love you with a broken leg, with a bad case of the flu, if you quit the team tomorrow and decided to never work again. But most importantly, we love you now, kid. No matter what. Nothing can change that, alright?”

“He’s right, Spence,” JJ says softly, sinking to the ground along with Elle. “I know you think we only tolerate you because of your brain and what you bring to the table on a case, but you’re so much more than that. We love your nerdy rambles and your awkward waves and the way you love so openly and protectively, no matter how many times you’ve been hurt before. We love everything about you, Spencer.”

“Yeah, if you’re hurt, Reid, we wanna know,” Elle chimes in, sounding a little hesitant as the one who’s known him the shortest amount of time, but firm in what she’s saying nonetheless. “I know I haven’t been on the team that long but this is a group of people that watches out for one another, that supports each other, that builds everyone up leaving no person behind. That includes you, Spencer Reid, even when you don’t feel like it.”

“Everyone is right, Spencer,” Hotch says softly, still holding his cold and shaking hand protectively in his gloved one. “I’m just sad that you still prioritise your work over your own health. You are not this job. You are an incredibly talented and multi-faceted person that oftentimes needs a little TLC, and until you’re willing and able to do that for yourself, we’ll be here to do it for you, okay?”

Tears are streaming down his face as he nods, feeling warmer than he has all day despite the cold dark night they’ve found themselves in. The strangest part about it all is that he’s actually starting to believe them. It’s not like they haven’t all said similar things before, but hearing them all vehemently corroborating each other’s stories, hearing it all laid out in front of him as they promise him with earnest expressions that they’re telling the truth is doing something to shift the leaden weight of insecurity and low self-esteem that presses on his chest each and every day.

“Now, come on,” Derek says. “Let’s get back to base and I’ll go with you to the hospital to get you checked out, make sure it’s nothing more than a sprain.”

He shifts behind Spencer, using his already firm hold on his waist to help gently pull him up to a standing position, taking most of his weight as Spencer whimpers at the pain that swiftly reignites at the movement.

Derek turns around and bends at the knees slightly as Spencer leans on Hotch, before looking over his shoulder, his signature grin returning. “Hop on, pretty boy.”

“What— Derek! I’m way too heavy!”

Everyone immediately breaks out in amused laughter, even Hotch chuckling fondly.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Come on, Spencer, you’ve gotta weigh what, like, 140lbs? 150? You can’t exactly walk on that ankle anymore and it’s the only way we’re getting back without calling for a search and rescue team of our own.”

“Reid, I’m pretty sure I could give you a piggy-back ride,” Elle points out, raising her eyebrows. “Just let him carry you back.”

Let us take care of you is implicit enough in everyone’s words and expressions that it doesn’t really need to be said, but Spencer hears it anyway.

Hotch helps him up onto Derek’s back and they begin the long trek towards the search and rescue base, and Spencer’s never appreciated the easy banter they all share more. Hotch is visibly relaxed with the case solved and his youngest team member soon to be taken care of, so he joins in with the conversation, his light and happy expression that he only ever wears around his family or the team on rare days and nights off, replacing his focused frown.

Spencer clings on tightly to Derek and presses his face into the space between his neck and his shoulder, closing his eyes as he listens to the conversation, the vibration of Derek’s laugh and the shameless flirting between Elle and JJ taking his mind off the pain that throbs in his ankle with each step Derek takes.

When they finally get back to base, they all gather round the ambulance that’s been designated to take Spencer and Derek to the hospital.

JJ steps forward to give him a hug first. “Love you, Spence. Let us know what they say, okay?”

Hotch surprises him by stepping forward and wrapping him in a hug as well, forgoing the macho pats on the back for a short but close embrace that feels fatherly enough for tears to prick the back of Spencer’s eyes. “We all love you, Spencer. Remember that okay. And actually listen to what the doctors tell you. Morgan, you’re my eyes and ears.”

“Well now I want a hug, too,” Elle says dramatically, squeezing him in a tight embrace for just a moment before stepping back, lining up with JJ and Hotch to present a united front of people on his side.

“We’ll see you both in the morning,” Hotch says as the paramedic starts prepping for the journey, moving Spencer onto the gurney and rolling him in.

“Hope they don’t keep you too long!” JJ calls just as the doors close, making them both chuckle.

Derek takes his hand in both of his, staying out of the paramedic’s way as she quickly places a line of mild painkillers before sitting back, knowing that there’s not anything more she can do for Spencer until they get to the hospital.

Derek must see the anxious look on Spencer’s face, because he’s quick to reach a hand out and brush his cheek gently. “Hey, I’ll be with you the whole time. I’m not gonna leave you on your own, okay? You’ll be alright, pretty boy, you’re gonna be just fine. I promise.”

And on the flight home the next morning he realises that Derek’s promise was kept. He’s fitted out with a crutch and a temporary wrapping around his ankle, resting comfortably with his head in Derek’s lap while his foot sits elevated on a pile of cushions carefully built by JJ, surrounded by people who swear up and down that they love him while proving it to him in a thousand little ways, and he’s really not sure it gets any more alright than that.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @jellejareau @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

[annab-nana]

Menstrual Mess - Peter Parker

Peter’s spidey senses were telling him that something was wrong with his newest friend, but he could not quite figure out what it was. When his problem-solving brain would not give it a rest, it proved to be more harm than good.

A/N: This is my first marvel/Peter Parker imagine so I really hope you guys enjoy it :) 

Warnings: some curse words; period talk (blood, cramps, tampons and such)

Word Count: 2.8k+

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

Peter Parker was your newfound friend, possibly even best friend. Going to the same school and sharing most of the same classes is how you knew each other, but about three weeks ago when your last class got a new seating chart that placed you and Peter next to each other, your mere acquaintance became a really good friend. You both talked more, walked to your classes together, you started sitting with him at lunch, studied with each other. Y’all even started walking home together sometimes after realizing that you two didn’t live too far away from each other.

Now, Peter was still learning and getting used to his powers and senses. One day when his senses enhanced almost every time he was around you, he got a little suspicious. Something was different with you because this never happened before and it only occurred when he was around you. Something felt different and smelled different. Something was wrong with you and it worried him. He had asked if you were okay a few times throughout the day which you had noticed after the second or third time. You also noticed his worried glances and how his leg never stopped bouncing the whole day. His anxious tendencies worried you a little, but you tried to shrug it off.

“Are you sure you are okay?” Peter asked you for what felt like the millionth time just in the five hours you two had been at school.

“Yes, Peter,” you chuckled while closing your locker and looking into the boy’s big brown worry-filled eyes. “I am perfectly fine. Are you okay because you have not stopped asking me that all day long? You’re worrying me, Parker.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I- I’ve just had a weird feeling all day that I can’t seem to shake,” he told you honestly as his fingers fiddled with the bottom of his shirt.

“Did you have a bad dream last night or something?” you asked, walking next to the nervous boy to your next class.

“Umm yeah actually. You, Ned, and MJ were all getting hurt and I couldn’t help you,” Peter told you. It was a lie, but it helped to cover up why he was so anxious about you.

“So that’s why you’ve been asking if I was okay?” He nodded to answer your question and it warmed your heart. You thought it was adorable how he had a nightmare and his fears from it were carrying over into the day. He was genuinely worried that something bad would happen to you and it showed how much he cared.

“That’s really sweet, Parker,” you mumbled as your shoulders brushed each other. Your hands probably would’ve too if his hands weren’t stuffed into his pockets.

“I’ll talk to you after class, okay?” he said when you two reached the door of Mr. Dell’s class.

“Yep.” And with that, you two took your seats across the room from each other and began taking notes on the lecture your teacher was giving.

...

Peter hoped that his senses would have dialed down the next day, but they didn’t. In fact, they had heightened more, and it terrified him. He was worrying that he might have sensed a sickness or something else bad going on within you before you knew it or felt it. This time when he walked up to you, you looked a little more like something was wrong with you and not as bubbly and happy as you were yesterday.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked you with a chuckle when his eyes landed on your body that was leaned up against the lockers, your head held back, and eyes shut.

“No, I’m tired,” you mumbled, not opening your eyes. You just wanted to turn around and go back home to sleep, but you couldn’t do that.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night?” he inquired while leaning against the lockers as well, facing you. You turned your body to face his and opened one eye as you nodded your head at him. Last night, your monthly visitor came, and your cramps were a pure bitch, only letting you sleep in half-hour increments.

“Well, I heard that we’re watching a Civil War video in Mr. Miller’s class so why don’t you take a nap? He won’t be paying attention anyway and if he does happen to look up from his computer, I’ll hide you since I sit in front of you. You can get my notes on it later,” Peter offered as his eyes scanned over your calm face. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his and you nodded your head gently at him.

“That sounds nice. Thanks, Peter,” you whispered softly and gave him a lazy smile. He laughed at his tired friend before wrapping an arm around your shoulders, letting you lean into him.

“Come on, sleepy. Let’s go to history.”

Later on in the day after you had a refreshing nap and went to some more classes, you felt a bit better, but Peter’s senses were still going haywire. So, he asked once again if you were okay.

“I’m fine, Peter!” you snapped as you slammed your locker door rather loudly at the end of the school day. You both were taken back by your sudden outburst and an apology quickly flew from your lips. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s okay, y/n. Uhh, what are you doing today?” he questioned, trying to change the subject.

“Probably work on my cell model. What about you?” you continued the conversation with the boy as you two walked out of school.

“Stark internship,” he reminded you with a smile, pushing the metal door open and letting you go through first.

“Oh yeah, how could I forget the one thing that occupies almost all your time,” you joked while you waited for him to walk with you.

“Y/n, you sound jealous,” he teased, poking at your side to which you quickly grabbed his hand and shot him a death glare. His laugh sounded through the air while you dropped his hand from yours and playfully rolled your eyes at him.

“You wish I was jealous,” you scoffed and grabbed onto the straps of your backpack. You were about to laugh along with Peter, but a cramp in your stomach caused the laugh to come out as a low groan which you tried to cover it all up with a cough.

“You good?” he asked genuinely as his eyebrows drew together in confusion at whatever just happened to you.

“Yeah, just had a tickle in my throat,” you said after you let a few more coughs out to really sell it. He slowly nodded his head, unsure of what to think but he brushed it off.

“Well, this is where we split,” he announced when you two approached the point in your trip home where he had to turn to go to his internship.

“See ya, Parker,” you told him while you waved and crossed the street to continue going straight towards your place.

...

“Something just doesn’t feel right, Karen. Everything in me is saying that something is wrong with her and I don’t know what. I’m scared that there could be something seriously wrong with her and my senses are trying to warn me to help her, but I don’t know what to do. Yesterday, I thought they were wrong, but today, she genuinely seemed off and that on top of my senses telling me something’s wrong is making me really worried,” Peter told his ‘suit lady’ while being perched on the roof of a building, overlooking the view of Queens.

“Have you asked her how she feels?” Karen responded to the worried teenager.

“I’m afraid I’ve asked her too much that I might be annoying her, but I can’t help but ask her,” he stated, his eyes scanning over the city below him. He turned to his left to look over that way, knowing your building wasn’t that far away. “I’m gonna go see if she’s okay now.”

Shooting his web at the next building over, he jumped and swung over as he repeated the process until he was crawling on the brick of the wall you always saw when you looked out your window. He glanced towards your window, seeing as you still had your curtains open. You normally kept them open to let the sunlight in, but the sun was going to set soon. Peter saw you laying on your bed, your body clothed in some black sweatpants and your big blue Midtown School of Science and Technology sweatshirt. You had the sweatshirt lifted slightly and your hand rested on the section of your stomach that was showing.

Peter jumped over to your building’s wall to get a better look in your window. Was he invading your privacy? Yeah, a little, but he was trying to make sure you were okay. He noticed that you were clutching at your stomach and you wore a pained expression on your face. There were two pill bottles on your nightstand, but the labels were turned away from him so there was nothing he could use from those to help answer his question. Against his better judgment, he tapped at the glass and alerted you of his presence.

When you heard the tapping, you were intrigued to say the least. You were pretty high in this building so it would be fairly difficult to climb up here, but when you saw who it was, it clicked as to how they got up to your window. You pulled your shirt down and furrowed your eyebrows before getting up to open the window.

“Hello?” you asked the masked hero who was in front of you who could probably be doing better things like fighting crime than coming to random windows. If Flash were in your position right now, you knew you’d never hear the end of it.

“Hi, ma’am. I was swinging by and noticed you seemed to be in pain. I wanted to make sure everything was alright,” he stated in a deep voice which threw you off. In the videos on YouTube, his voice seemed a little more high-pitched. Something about him brought you a sense of familiarity and comfort, so you let the change in voice go.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you told the man in red and blue as you rocked back on your heels. Peter looked a little to his right and spotted what looked to be your untouched cell model that has yet to be done. A light chuckle escaped his lips right before Karen told him that his help was needed elsewhere.

“That’s great, but I’ve got to go. Uh, stay in school!” he shouted awkwardly as he shot a web and swung away. You watched him disappear around the corner and shut your window before returning to your bed. You were about to lay there and think about what just happened, but the pain that has been ripping through your lower abdomen for the last twenty-four hours stole your attention as you groaned. After the pain subsided for a moment, you reached over for your laptop to put on Netflix to help distract you and maybe help you get some sleep.

...

You were the type to get actually dressed for school and you would even wear a little makeup, so naturally, when Peter noticed you fresh-faced with leggings and a hoodie on and your hair lazily thrown in a bun, he knew something was wrong. It was not that he didn’t like the look. He thought you looked cute, but it just wasn’t you. At least, it wasn’t you at school. Peter held off asking you if you were okay as much as he did the past two days, but he still had to check. It was not until you left your second to last class of the day to go to your locker that you began to grow very irritated by the constant interrogation of your wellbeing.

“You okay?” Peter asked again when he noticed your slightly widened eyes.

“Yes, Peter. I am okay. There is absolutely nothing for you to worry about so can we drop it please?” you muttered while you rummaged through your bag looking for one thing.

“Yeah, ummm… oh, do you want to come over to my place after school? We can work on our paper or do our trig homework,” he told you while you huffed, pushing the random things in your bag around to try to find the thing that you so desperately needed in this moment.

“I’d love to Pete, but I’ll probably just go home. I don’t feel too good,” you stated as you stood up and pushed the books in your locker to the side in search of the small bag you kept back there for emergencies like this.

“Are you sick?” That damn worried tone checking on you again sparked more aggravation, causing you to snap.

“No, Peter. I am on my period and there is blood dripping out of me as we speak, so if you don’t mind, I am going to go to the bathroom and change this,” you informed him while showing him the tampon you just pulled out of the bag and slamming your locker door shut before heading to the restroom.

Peter stood there for a second thinking how he could be so stupid. He should have known. You were never so moody or snappy before. You normally were never so tired and were much more chipper in the mornings. He also felt like an idiot for prying so hard, but he only did it because he cared. He felt like shit, so he ran to the vending machine. He tapped his foot impatiently against the floor as he watched the candy bar fall from its spot and land in the box below.

After quickly grabbing that, he dashed back to wait outside the restroom for you. Your eyes met his briefly when you opened the door before you rolled them and walked the other direction. You were embarrassed and agitated and seeing him only reminded you of it, so you tried to speed ahead to get to the last class of the day.

“Y/n, wait!” Peter called ahead while he grabbed your arm to slow you down.

“What, Peter?” you spat as you stopped walking and turned to face him.

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry and get on your nerves. I just felt like something was wrong, so I wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m sorry if that made you feel angry or upset. I just care about you,” he apologized quickly as his brown eyes flickered between your own quickly, looking for a hint of forgiveness. You let out a sigh before speaking.

“It’s okay, I guess. Just next time leave me alone a little,” you chuckled lightly which brought a big smile to Peter’s face.

“You got it. Once a month, it will be like I don’t even exist,” he nervously laughed along with you as you both began to walk again to the class that kindled your friendship.

“I want you to still exist Parker, just not asking if I am okay every other minute.”

“I can do that,” he told you before stuffing his hands in his pockets until he felt something in his pocket.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I got you this. I heard that chocolate helps, or at least that’s how it is in movies and tv shows and stuff,” he rambled while he handed you your favorite chocolate bar.

“Aw, thanks Peter. That is really sweet of you,” you complimented, a slight blush dusting over his cheeks. His blush grew when you leaned over to press your lips to his cheek as another way to thank him.

“Uh, so Ned and I are having a Star Wars marathon tomorrow if you want to- oh wait, you probably won’t feel up to it. Forget I said anything,” he stumbled through the sentence as he looked at his feet.

“It’s okay, Peter. Thanks for thinking of me and I’ll let you know tomorrow if I feel like going,” you told the blushing boy as you both walked into the classroom and took your seats next to each other.

“Okay, that sounds good,” Peter nodded while speaking before he pulled out his notebook and you followed suit. You both took notes for your class while communicating with each other by writing notes to each other in the margins of your paper and smiling like idiots at the dumb jokes you’d both crack. It was the most peaceful hour or so you had in the last two days which proved that when Peter was not continuously asking you if you were okay, he was the only one who could distract you from your cramping stomach and for that, you were thankful for the caring idiot that sat next to you.

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

tag list: @rebelemilu @starrybrock

click here to be added to the taglist

[instasiswetrust]

Bloodshot

Brown eyes stare into the void.

And the void stares right back.

Pitch-black and dark.

Dark, darker, and yet darker.

Vaguely, he registers liquid inside his mouth. His lungs. His chest. A part of his brain that's still working whispers that he's choking. Weird. He thought it would hurt more than this. Thought there would be more panic and flailing. Desperation to breathe.

Instead, all he feels is calm.

There's a sense of peace that instills in his body. Fills every crevice, nook, and cranny inside his flesh. Inside his bones.

Yes, he's dying, but he's accepted this as an immutable fact.

What use is there for panic when the croon of Miss Death is already so sweet in his ear? Why should he flail and claw to a life filled with heartache and pain, when instead he could stay in this calm embrace forever?

He's dying, and he's fine with this.

At first, he thinks he might be at the quarry. It would make sense. Maybe he was too drunk, tripped, and slipped off the ledge. Those kinds of things tend to happen to lonely people like him. Maybe others will think he jumped, instead. That's fine too.

But the liquid in his mouth tastes salty and coppery. A little too thick to be water.

Oh. Right.

Blood. He was choking on his own blood.

Things are coming back to him in slow increments. Flashes of scenes. He understands now where he is.

Or was.

Time is confusing when you're dying.

They had been in the tunnels. The demodogs had been close at their heels and the entrance just a few feet away. He had been so scared, utterly terrified, but not for himself. Never for himself. He needed to get the kids out first, all of them.

And he had.

Too bad it had been just a second too late for him.

Just as he was about to reach for the rope, a strong body had crashed into him and he had fallen on his back. Pain had jolted through his nerves as claws dug themselves into the skin of his chest. He remembers being vaguely concerned about the wetness spreading in his chest before that maw had bloomed into the most horrifying of flowers, and the petals wrapped themselves around his neck.

He thinks Dustin might've screamed. Steve felt bad that the kid had to see him like that.

But now the pain was no more and he was suspended in the void. Calm. Serene. Accepting.

Death was peaceful.

Until it wasn't.

---

The thing that crawled out of the earth, a whole week after the gate was closed, was not Steve Harrington.

At least not anymore.

Not in a way that mattered.

He still looked the same. Sounded the same. Moved the same. Felt the same.

He could think, and like, and long for things the same way he could when he had been alive.

But his mind was never quiet these days.

Hunt. Feed. Claw. Rip.

Blood.

A never-ending loop of words strung together until they sounded unrecognizable until they no longer made sense. And yet the feelings that came with the words would never go away.

Not when he started cooking his meat less and less to the point he resorted to just shoveling spoonfuls of raw hamburger meat into his mouth.

Not when he passed by the rotting corpse of a deer in the woods and had to take a moment to wipe the drool off his chin because for some reason the scent was appetizing.

Not when he gave in and hooked up with Nina Collins, and she let him bite her neck until he drew blood.

They never went away. Neither did the gnawing hunger inside of him.

And Steve could only be so dumb. He knew perfectly well what it was the voice in his head wanted. Could recognize it in the way his dreams had been filled with spiked bats hitting skin, breaking bones, and hands burying themselves in a mess of blood and guts.

He only wondered for how much longer he could hold himself back.

The answer came to him less than a week later.

---

First thing he notices when he wakes up, is that the hunger is blessedly gone.

For a single moment, he's glad. Happy and relieved. Until realization settles in and horror fills his chest.

Second thing he notices is that he's naked, sitting in a puddle of blood. The scent is strong.

And appetizing.

It makes him curl up onto his side and retch, but thankfully nothing comes up.

Quiet breathing is what clues him on the third thing. It also freezes him in place.

Somebody is looking at him. Saw what he did. Who he is. What he is.

Fuck.

Then they speak.

Double fuck.

"I knew you were fucked up, Harrington. Didn't think you were this fucked up though."

It's not the words that make him turn, eyes open wide. It's the voice. Because he knows that voice. Because it's Billy Hargrove's voice.

Ain't that just nice?

With the hunger and the voices gone, at least for the time being, it's much easier to try and recall the events of the night before. Steve almost wishes he couldn't though, because what he experiences -- not sees because those creatures don't have eyes -- is so repulsive that he can feel nausea clawing up his throat again.

"I killed your dad."

It's a fact, not a question. He doesn't need confirmation, his memories of the event are clear albeit fuzzy.

"And ate him. Yeah."

The fact that Hargrove doesn't sound horrified, or scared in the slightest, confuses Steve. He forces himself to ignore the panic, the nausea, and the embarrassment warring for his immediate attention and instead focuses on Hargrove's face.

Hargrove meets his gaze unflinchingly.

There's not a single ounce of remorse in those blue eyes but then again, why would there be?

After all, the bruises and cuts that litter his face and naked chest, speak enough about the type of man Neil Hargrove was.

"I did not... hurt you, right?"

Steve doesn't remember having approached Hargrove. The demodog hadn't wanted to hurt Hargrove, like at all. Still, he has to make sure. Just to put his mind at ease, of course. Not because he's worried about Hargrove or anything.

Hargrove shakes his head, frowning. The bruises must hurt pretty bad though because he winces. "You don't remember?"

"The memories are... fuzzy." Steve grimaces, pushing down another bout of nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. "It's not- I'm not- I know what it looks like but I'm not that thing, okay? The dog- That's not me."

"And yet I watched that thing morph back into you. You are still lying in a pool of blood, you know?" He sounds unimpressed. Slightly annoyed too. "You just said you have memories of it. I'd say that counts as you being that thing, Harrington."

Yeah, okay. Steve can't really counter that logic. Doesn't help lessen the knot of guilt that sits heavy at the pit of his stomach, though.

"Fine. Okay. Yes. I just-" But the words die on his tongue because he's not sure how to even finish that sentence. He's just what? Horrified? Guilty? Considering taking a dive off the quarry or meet the bad end of Nancy's shotgun?

Hargrove must have read the indecisiveness on his expression because he huffs, crossing his arms. He winces again and Steve’s almost tempted to demand he take it easy.

"Here's what we are going to do, Harrington." His voice has an unexpected strength to it that commands all of Steve’s attention. “You're going to take a shower, borrow some clothes, then I'm going to clean off all this blood before Max and Susan get back, and then we're going to talk about Neil’s sudden disappearance. Understood?”

“Uh...”

Hargrove was... helping him. He was helping him cover up a murder. The murder of his own father. Hargrove watched as the demodog fucking ate his dad, morphed back into Steve, and now he was helping him.

Steve wasn't sure how he was feeling about this but grateful and confused came pretty close to explaining it.

“I asked if you understood, Harrington.”

“Yeah I uh, yeah. I understand.”

So that's how he found himself in Hargrove's kitchen half an hour later, clad in grey sweatpants and an AC/DC shirt that had seen better days. Hargrove sat in front of him, idly eating from a bowl of Lucky charms, his gaze not straying far from Steve.

The clank of the spoon as it fell back into the empty bowl was jarringly loud in the awkward silence.

"You really don't remember what happened last night, then?"

His gut reaction was to say no. He didn't remember anything. That the memories were fuzzy and the thing wasn't him. But that would be lying, wouldn't it?

And he had to admit that being able to share this secret with somebody else, even if it was Billy Hargrove of all people, felt like a much-needed reprieve of all the bullshit life had been throwing at him lately.

"I do but as I said, it's fuzzy. Fragmented, I guess?" He looks down at the table, drumming his fingers on the worn tabletop. "This thing, it doesn't see things as we do. Doesn't have eyes."

Hargrove hums, and Steve can see the way he leans back on the chair. Feels those eyes on him, not moving. It should set him on edge but instead, it makes him feel grounded. Like this is the first time, since he crawled out of the earth that somebody bothers to truly look at him.

It makes him want to look up and meet that gaze.

So that's exactly what he does.

"It was you that I- that the demodog was hunting, not your dad." Steve is glad he doesn't look away because it allows him to see the shadow of regret that crosses those blue eyes. "But then I- it jumped through the window. Saw what was happening. So the prey changed."

"And you have lived with this thing for how long?"

"Technically speaking, I'm not alive. Haven't been since that night in November, a little after the whole thing at the Byers."

Hargrove blinks, taken aback by what must surely sound like nonsense considering Steve was sitting across from him, breathing and talking. He's not sure how to explain it either but he knows with unwavering certainty that he's not alive anymore.

Not like he should be.

Not completely.

Liminal spaces. Whatever. Fuck.

"One of those things bit me. Dustin saw it happen too. Or at least saw the blood. And I remember dying." He shrugs, drums his fingers again just to have something to do. Restlessness eats at him but he's still under Hargrove's gaze and the itch to run has settled for now. "A week later I apparently dug my way out of the earth and Hopper found me at the junkyard. I can't remember it at all."

The marred skin of his throat is evidence enough. These days he does his best to cover it up with makeup or turtlenecks, not wishing to deal with the unwanted questions that would undoubtedly come. Not to mention that Dustin can't see it without tearing up. Kid still has nightmares about Steve covered in blood with his throat ripped out.

"Shit, Harrington." Hargrove tangles a hand in his blond curls, pulling lightly on the strands. As if the pinpricks of pain could reassure him about all this being real. "This is what you and those snot-nosed brats were up to that night? Fighting these things? Are you insane?"

"Only a little." The self-deprecating grin that accompanied it really sold it.

Steve watched as Hargrove's hands formed into fists, a dangerous sort of fire lighting up in his eyes. It lasted for a second or two before the fight left his body in a rush, body slumping slightly into the chair. It was a little impressive.

"What even are these things?"

The thing is, Steve's not even sure what those creatures are. He says as much and spends the next fifteen minutes explaining what he knows -- and what he's theorized -- about Will Byers, the Upside Down, the Mindflayer, and Hawkins Lab. Surprisingly enough, Hargrove listens through it all without commentary.

"Nobody understood how I was alive but I didn't want to question it too much. Guess I already knew something was wrong with me but I didn't want to see it."

Hargrove's eyes have drifted down to his empty cereal bowl but it doesn't seem like he's really looking at it. After a moment, he nods. "Okay so what now, Harrington?"

Steve's taken aback by the question, not understanding what Hargrove is getting at. "What do you mean what now?"

If looks could kill, he's sure that he would be dead again. Hargrove heaves an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before facing Steve.

"Harrington, I knew you were an idiot but this is too much even for you." Steve makes a sound of protest but Hargrove throws him a look and he goes quiet again. "The demodog needs to eat people to live, meaning you need to eat people to live. So tell me, what are you going to do about that?"

"Oh."

Well fuck.

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Lost Boys: A Thousand Words

Star x Reader

Word Count: 1,340

Summary: Reader spots Star through a camera lens and can’t look away. 

One of the most important things to consider in photography was lighting. Without good lighting, the photo might not turn out, no matter how interesting the composition was.

That could become even more complicated if you decided to shoot at night, but in a bright place, like the boardwalk, it wasn’t an issue. Everything was still lit up to max capacity. The stores all had their lights on, the rides blinked and flashed their colored bulbs, not to mention the lamp posts that were incrementally placed throughout the amusement park.

You were working on a photography class portfolio and decided to center your theme on emotions. It was easy to pick the boardwalk as one of the settings. 

Tons of people, tons of emotion ripe for capturing. And going at night would open up possibilities for different lighting.

Different from the stuff you normally shot during day anyhow.

The flash went off with a noticeable click, some people giving you a wide berth. A group of girls had just come off of the tilt-a-whirl with messy hair and exuberant faces. It could make a good addition to your portfolio.

You’d been at it for about ninety minutes and had already used up a roll of film. The one currently in the camera might have to be swapped out soon; you had already taken quite a few.

Camera slung around your neck, you wandered down towards the t shirt shops.

It was best not to stay in one place the whole time. You had been doing photography long enough to know that people got antsy, suspicious even, when someone kept continuously taking pictures in one spot. Like they were worried about being under surveillance or something.

Photography was a comfort to you. As a kid, you had trouble connecting with other people. You were a ‘weirdo’ so to speak. But when you tried photography, it clicked with you and you’d been doing it ever since.

Peering through the lens, you saw a toddler throwing a tantrum with a popsicle dripping down their chubby fingers. Maybe not the most flattering shot but not all emotions were positive ones. 

Your finger hovered over the shutter button but before you could take the picture, someone else came into the shot, blocking your view.

At first, you were mildly annoyed. Until you got a good look at the newcomer.

She was…mesmerizing.

If it weren’t so sappy, you’d say ethereal. Even angelic. But that was ridiculous—you’d only just seen her. Didn’t know her at all outside of the lens of the camera. You frequented the boardwalk enough but had never seen her around.

She was a great subject though. Despite it being nighttime her skin positively glowed. Her riotous curls were wild and thick. Her cheeks looked soft, her chin delicate.

You took a photo on instinct, the flash going off.

The flash was its usual brilliance but it wasn’t particularly loud. It should have been drowned out, especially since it was so crowded at the boardwalk at that time of the night. Still, she turned and looked you directly. 

You stopped breathing, your lungs frozen. And then she started walking towards you.

Suddenly, you couldn’t stop breathing, your chest hitching in panic as your blood pressure rose. Was she going to yell to you? Talk to you? God. You didn’t think you were prepared for that.

“Hi,” she smiled stopping right in front of you. Her bracelets chimed as she tucked a curl behind her ear.

You waved back awkwardly. “Hi.” The camera suddenly felt heavy around your neck.

“So,” she gestured at the camera. “You’re into photography?”

Not wanting to seem even more stupid, you cleared your throat in a herculean effort to say something. Anything.

“Y—yeah. I am. I’m sorry, were you bothered by me taking pictures? Cause I throw that out—”

“No, no. It’s okay. You’ll have to let me know if it turns out.”

You were quick to nod and it didn’t register that she said ‘if’ not ‘when.’ You were still dazed by the fact she was talking to you at all.

“It’s for a portfolio, actually. I’m in a class and this is part of a final project.”

That seemed to interest her judging by her lips curving up. “A portfolio. That’s cool, I like that.”

As she talked, she began walking. The crowds were thick so it was harder to walk side-by-side and she reached back for your hand to pull you along. You trailed after her like a moth to a flame; a pretty accurate description, you thought.

Her fingers were surprisingly cool to the touch and the difference in temperature only made you further tuned into the touch.  

She asked more about the photos and you were only too happy to talk now that the ice had been broken. You chatted about your theme, how you liked the soft rings of light, even about the group of boys that had hassled you earlier.

“Wait, what did these boys look like?” There was a worried furrow on her brow.

“Like the normal beach crowd, I guess. A few of them had bleached stripes in their hair, some were shaved down to the scalp. But they didn’t do anything serious, only gave me a hard time before stomping off.”

She hummed, sounding relieved. “Good. That’s good. I’m Star by the way.”

“Star,” you repeated. A pretty name for a pretty girl. And very fitting. “Y/N. Sorry I didn’t give my name earlier.”

The two of you passed the games and continued on to the ferris wheel. There were several benches in the area and she promptly seated you at one, sitting down besides you. 

Close enough that her hair blew in your face with the wayward breeze but not so close that it could be construed as…well, something else.

“I think this would be a great place for taking pictures. The ferris wheel isn’t exciting but it is intimate.”

You looked at a group that was coming off the ride and could see what Star meant. They all had a soft, warm look about them. You snapped one and then paused, deliberating. Maybe…

Mind made up, you lifted the strap around your head and passed the camera to her. “Here. Wanna try?”

“Oh. Are you sure? I’m not familiar with these,” she confessed, holding the object carefully, almost as if she were afraid she’d break it.

You easily waved off her concern. “It’ll be fine. Just look through the lens here and press the button on the top when you’re ready to take it.”

Hesitantly, she followed your instructions and raised it eye-level. The flash went off and the whole thing was over in a matter of seconds.

“See? Easy.”

She returned the camera to you with a bright smile, her teeth white. “I can see why you like it. It’s different, looking at people through a filter.”

Heat throbbed in your cheeks. Pretty and perceptive then. Trying to take the attention off of yourself, you told her she could take more, if she wanted.

“Actually,” she handed it over to you again, “I have to meet some people. So I’d better go.”

“Right,” you nodded. She was still cold and it sent tingles up your arms when you accepted the camera. The sensation made up for the disappointment at her leaving. “See you around.”

Her eyes perused you over, not obnoxiously but enough for you to be able to tell. Peering directly at you with a warm expression in her brown eyes, like she had when you first spotted her, she waved her fingers gently and was left without anther word.

You watched her retreating figure for as long as you could but very quickly she disappeared into a mass of faceless people. She had only just left but her feminine scent still lingered in the air. You met briefly, and still knew next to nothing about her, but you were definitely interested.

Maybe she’d come back tomorrow.

You really hoped she did.

_______________

First time ever writing for Star. What even was this? Haha. Just wanted to try something different, hopefully I wasn’t too off with her. Thanks for reading :) 

[greymantledlady]

you are my sweetest downfall

Adam squeezes Michael’s hands again, reassuring. 'Remember – back down there – how we agreed to talk to each other if anything bothered us? This is like that, okay?’

Michael looks stricken. ‘Oh,’ he says in a small voice. ‘Oh. I didn’t – it really isn’t anything worth your time – ’

My second fic for @midamweek! People seemed to really enjoy Adam calling Michael 'sweetheart' in the previous fic in this verse, so I decided to expand on it. Michael is a dork, honestly.

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

Having an archangel as your boyfriend is really good, actually. Better than good.

Adam, in all his years of (largely) calm and resigned pining in the Cage, had never actually, truly believed he had a chance of anything like this with Michael, anything so soft and domestic and - well, astonishingly, normal, really. It still hits him sometimes, that warm rush of astounded happiness when Michael can't stop looking hopefully down at his lips until Adam simply has to press in close and kiss him, when Michael flushes at Adam making the mildest and most low-hanging of innuendos, when Michael asks him what would be the best gift to give Adam for St Valentine's Day. 

The last incident had occurred in July, because Michael had thought Adam would probably forget all about the conversation by the time February rolled around, and he had been so endearingly pleased with himself over this plan that Adam had started laughing and pulled him down onto the couch by the fire and kissed and sucked all the way down his neck until it bruised.

Given that Michael was at the time a metaphysical projection of grace shaped into a copy of Adam's own body and existing in a dimension faintly to the left of the mortal plane, it probably didn't actually need to have bruised, but Michael had warmed extremely quickly to the concept of hickeys, apparently. He likes them a lot, likes to keep them and nurse them and admire them in the mirror when he thinks Adam's not looking, and Adam thinks it's kind of the best thing ever.

Right now, though, Adam's a little worried.

Michael has been - off - for a little while now. Not worryingly so - nothing like the shaking bouts of grief that Adam had held him through when he'd first gotten back, when he'd been mourning the asshole father who'd never loved or deserved him. Nothing like that, it's just - a sort of odd wistfulness that seems to fall over him sometimes, at the strangest of moments, and Adam is determined to work out what’s causing it.

***

They're in bed, Adam happily boneless and tired out and curled around Michael, stroking his hair while Michael smooths his hand up and down Adam's back in the firm way that Adam likes, his grace-formed body firmly anchored to the physical world this time, as warm and solid as Adam's own. Adam nuzzles his cheek affectionately, smiling against his skin when Michael hums with contentment. 

'Hey,' he says quietly, squinting a little to focus on Michael's face.

'Adam,' Michael says, just as soft. He looks hopeful for a moment, as though he's waiting for something. Adam's not quite sure what it is. He traces his thumb gently over Michael's collarbone, waiting to see if he'll come out with it, but eventually Michael just sighs quietly and turns his face to press it into Adam's hair.

***

Adam, before he’d been killed and resurrected, had enjoyed baking.

Of course, that had been more than a thousand years ago, but – well, time was weird that way, when it came to being trapped in an archangel cage in Hell. It wasn't that he'd forgotten any of it, of course, and he valued those memories, the way Michael had softened, increment by increment, until somewhere along the line he'd become someone Adam couldn't live without.

It was just that, once they'd gotten out, the memories seemed condensed, so that you weren't sure at all if it had been ten years or a thousand. Adam wondered sometimes whether that was what Michael's billions of years of existence must feel like to him, too.

Anyway, he'd liked to bake. When he'd come back, after the first long pain-filled months of negotiating with the Winchesters to bring Michael back too, and after the first whirlwind of joy of finding out Michael wanted him the same way, he'd started again, searching up recipes online on his phone and writing them out in a notebook if they turned out successfully.

Today, he’s craving choc chip cookies, so he looks at the pantry and pulls out flour and sugar and chocolate chips, opening the packet immediately to sneak a few to nibble on as he starts to measure everything out. They need a medium-sized mixing bowl; he needs to put that on the list for the next time they go grocery shopping. The big one is fine for today, though.

‘What are you doing?’ Michael asks, coming up behind him. He touches Adam’s elbow with a soft hand as he passes, leaning on the counter to watch.

‘Baking!’ Adam says. He bumps his hip gently against Michael’s. ‘I’m making choc chip cookies.’

Michael shifts a little closer so they can stay connected, and leans over to inspect the ingredients, poking a finger into the well of flour Adam has measured out, leaving a little dent. He’s always been surprisingly tactile, liking to touch new things, test them on his fingers.

‘Don’t eat that,’ Adam warns. ‘It tastes awful raw. Choc chips are better, here.’ He picks out a single chip – no need to overwhelm Michael’s still-developing sense of taste – and says, with a grin, ‘Open your mouth.’

Michael raises an eyebrow, looking at him, soft-eyed and so in love that it makes Adam’s heart pulse with warmth. ‘Okay, kid,’ he says, and opens up.

Adam puts down his spoon, buzzing with affection, and presses closer, leaning up against Michael’s chest and delighting in the way Michael’s arms come up to circle his waist. ‘Hey,’ he murmurs, up close, and runs his thumb along Michael’s parted lips, just to tease him a little.

Michael sighs, soft, bending forward, only to be foiled by Adam’s hand. ‘Choc chip,’ Adam reminds him, and pops it in.

‘Mm,’ Michael says, nibbling. He looks so surprised at the small burst of sweetness that Adam grins again.

‘Good, yeah?’ he says. ‘Do you want another one?’

Michael licks his lips. ‘It was good,’ he says. ‘I don’t want another one, though.’ His eyes dip downwards, his hand stroking a hopeful little circle on Adam’s back.

‘I can’t imagine what you do want,’ Adam teases. He snuggles himself a little more firmly against Michael, runs his hands down his sides and around to fit into his back pockets, enjoying the way Michael shivers. ‘Oh, get over here.’

‘I am here,’ Michael says, but then Adam kisses him, slow and sweet, smiling against his lips before pulling back. ‘Oh,’ he says softly. ‘Adam.’

‘Michael,’ Adam says, just as softly, and leaves another tiny kiss at the corner of Michael’s mouth, the moment drawing out soft and gentle; the kind of moment that you could live in forever. Michael’s eyes are soft and hazy, leaning into him, and Adam reaches up to run his knuckles over his cheek.

Michael exhales, and strokes his hands gently across Adam’s back, watching him closely. He has that odd, hidden wistfulness in his face again, as though he’s waiting for something, and Adam wants to do something about it, wants Michael to tell him what it is so he can give it to him.

‘What is it?’ he says gently, and holds back the endearment that wants to spill out, absurdly tender. He’s pretty sure it will only make Michael more embarrassed.

Michael sighs again, very soft, and glances away. ‘No, it’s nothing,’ he says.

Adam’s pretty sure it’s not nothing, but he doesn’t press. They have all the time in the world, after all, and he has cookies to bake for them. Michael will come out with it eventually.

***

Except Michael doesn’t come out with it, and it keeps happening, and Adam is honestly starting to worry. They’ll be together, and happy, so happy – he knows Michael is happy, can feel it in the grace that’s constantly twined around his soul. They’ll be kissing, or snuggling, or making love, and it will be a perfect moment, the kind of moment that makes everything worth it, like a warm soft blanket to lose yourself in.

And then suddenly Michael will be looking all wistful, like a sad little puppy wanting a morsel, and disappointed, and Adam is beginning to really, really not like that at all.

He’s tried everything – more kisses, cuddling, even that one thing that Michael really likes during sex but gets incredibly flustered and blushy over, so Adam saves for special occasions. And Michael loves it all, he really does, Adam can feel it, but none of it manages to soothe that particular, wistful little ache in his grace.

When he was small, and he’d had a problem, or felt bad, or unhappy, or guilty, Mum had always managed to coax it out of him eventually. She would sit him on the couch and give him a glass of milk, and tell him that it was always better to talk things out, not hold them inside of you till they hurt. Bad feelings were like appendicitis, she’d say, they’d make you very sick if you left them inside.

Adam thinks Michael has the equivalent of emotional appendicitis at the moment, honestly, and he’s pretty sure he needs to do something to fix that.

***

When Adam comes to find him, Michael is sitting at their kitchen table, inspecting a small pile of rocks. Months ago, he’d read a magazine article about gemstone tumbling, and then read it again, and again, and again, until the pages were dog-eared and Adam couldn’t help but notice. So he’d gone online and bought him a little tumbling kit on Ebay, as a surprise, and Michael had been hugely and gratifyingly pleased about it. Now every time they go for a walk, he comes home with his pockets full of bits of quartz and such, and their house is filled with shiny little piles of gems, like some kind of dragon’s hoard.

(‘It reminds me of creating planets,’ he tells Adam once, softly. ‘I used to polish them until they were so beautiful and round.’)

Now, he looks up as Adam comes up behind him, leaning his head back against Adam’s stomach as Adam slides his arms over his shoulders. Adam kisses his ear. ‘Hey, you,’ he says. ‘You got a moment?’

‘Of course,’ Michael says immediately, at attention. ‘What do you need, Adam?’

‘Just you,’ Adam says, and gives his shoulders a little squeeze before pulling out the chair next to Michael’s and sitting down, swivelling towards him. Michael puts down the rock he’d been inspecting and turns to face him, the full force of his attention directed onto Adam’s face.

‘Okay,’ Adam says, and reaches out to take Michael’s hands in his own, squeezing. ‘I need to talk to you about something, Michael – oh, no, don’t look at me like that,’ he breaks off, running a comforting thumb over Michael’s knuckles. ‘It’s nothing bad.’

Michael nods, still looking rather worried.

Adam decides to get it over with. ‘Look, I’ve noticed that there’s something bothering you,’ he says gently. ‘Something that you want, that you’re not telling me. I can feel it in your grace – like last night, when we were falling asleep, and when I made cookies, and other times, too.’ He squeezes Michael’s hands again, reassuring. ‘Remember – back down there – how we agreed to talk to each other if anything bothered us? This is like that, okay?’

Michael looks stricken. ‘Oh,’ he says in a small voice. ‘Oh. I didn’t – it really isn’t anything worth your time – ’

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Adam says softly, because he can’t help it, ‘of course it is, it always is – ’

And suddenly, bizarrely, Michael’s grace is going wild, elated, looping and twining, wrapping around his soul with little, soft, shuddering ripples of happiness. He looks as though he’s about one step from breaking down, swaying a little towards Adam with his eyes shiny and his lips a little unsteady.

Okay, what?

‘Okay, what?’ Adam says, and reaches out to touch his face. ‘Michael, what was that? What happened? That was it, wasn’t it?’

Michael swallows, his grace still buzzing with happiness, turning his face into Adam’s touch. ‘You said it again,’ he says, closing his eyes for a moment like he’s basking in Adam’s warmth.

‘Said what?’ Adam says – and, ‘wait, ‘sweetheart’?’ His heart feels like it’s melting. ‘That was all you wanted? For me to call you pet names?’

Michael is going pink now, avoiding his eyes. ‘You must think I’m foolish,’ he mumbles.

‘Of course I don’t,’ Adam says, overwhelmed with sheer fondness. ‘Well, maybe just a little bit, for not just telling me, honestly.’ He knuckles gently at the corner of Michael’s eye, and it actually comes away a little damp. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he says, knowing he sounds ridiculously tender, and that pulse of sheer bright happiness ripples through Michael again, through his grace.

‘It was the first thing you said,’ Michael says softly. ‘When you brought me back. My name, Michael, and – and you called me that. And I asked about it, and you kissed me and I was happy, but you never said it again. I,’ he swallows. ‘I don’t know why I. I wanted you to say it.’

‘Okay, you need to come here right now,’ Adam says, and climbs directly into his lap. He brings his hands up to hold Michael’s face, looking down at him. ‘Fuck, I love you,’ he says helplessly, and Michael’s whole face twitches, his hands coming up instinctively to fit at the small of Adam’s back.

‘I love you too,’ he says immediately, honestly. ‘Adam.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I – would like it if you said it again, please.’

‘Yeah, sweetheart, okay,’ Adam murmurs against his lips. ‘I’m never going to stop.’

[boykingsofhell]

Aftermath

I couldn’t get John’s Journal out of my head regarding him making Dean salt and burn dead gay nuns for his 17th Birthday. Here’s a short fic about the aftermath of that <3

Dad’s asleep when he returns, sprawled out on a motel bed, boots on, .45 held loosely in one hand. The ratty yellow curtains on the motel room windows are drawn shut, sun streaming through anyway, lighting up the room with a sickly yellow glow. Sammy’s gone, at school if he’s got any sense at all. Something aches in Dean’s chest. He should have been there to walk him, though he hadn’t stepped through school gates himself in near two years. Dad had been pleased when he’d looked old enough to be out of school years before he actually was. Sammy with his baby face would be stuck in that hellhole a few years longer at least, but Sam never looked at school with the same disdain and get-through-it attitude Dad and Dean always held onto.

Anyway. Point was, Sammy wasn’t there. Not that Dad’s snoring wouldn’t have driven him from the room by now, even if the little shit wasn’t such a nerd.

Dean’s hands were still stained with grave dirt, crusted under his fingernails and God knows what else. The duffel slung over his shoulder clanked as he set it down, guns and loose bullets rattling where his hands had been shaking too hard to pack them down proper. His hands were still shaking. Not just from the hunt, from the sweat and effort of digging up two graves instead of one, and not just from the bruises blossoming on his left side where one nun had thrown him into the wall.

Dad knew. He knew.

Dean didn’t know how. He’d been so careful, had fucked plenty girls, looked away from enough boys, had laughed at Dad’s jokes and sneered at the right people.

And still, John Winchester had shoved a shotgun loaded with rock salt into his hands and aimed him towards exactly the sort of people he was meant to despise. He’d called it a Birthday present.

Happy fucking Birthday to him.

He sat down heavy on the empty motel bed, toed off his boots and dug crescents into his fists. He turned and his left side flared, pain radiating with each inhale. Nothing was broken. Dean had long learnt to tell if an injury was bad enough to tell Dad about, and this one wasn’t. He dug two advil out of the bedside table and swallowed them dry. Give it a few days and he’d be fine. Plus, he’d avoid the dressing down he was sure to otherwise get for being so careless on a hunt. Five minutes of careful breathing and the pain had lessened to only a sharp throb.

Carefully, Dean rose to get a glass of water, rinsing the motel glass before he filled it from the tap. He got another, set it on the table near Dad, for when he woke with a throbbing head and who knew what kinda mood.

Back into the kitchen, he leaned into the counter too hard and recoiled, fresh pain shooting daggers down his side.

“Shitfucksonofabitch,” he hissed, closing his eyes against the stars burnt onto his eyelids.

John sat up immediately, .45 clutched tight, eyes bright and aware even when Dean knew the pounding that was going on behind them. He saw Dean wincing against the counter and relaxed incrementally. Even half-asleep and hungover, John Winchester could evaluate and dismiss threats in seconds.

“You hurt, son?” Dean didn’t notice the worry in his voice behind the question.

“No. I’m fine, Dad. Don’t worry about it.” He grimaced, propping himself as the stars disappeared from his vision.

Despite the evidence to the contrary, Dad was willing to take him at face value. This time.

“How was the hunt?” John got up and moved closer, reaching for his pistol, checking and rechecking the safety. A habit.

Dean gave an easy grin and stood straighter. “Great. Easy. Malevolent, but nothing too crazy. I busted them up pretty quick. Rock salt worked great.”

“You learn anything?” The words were casual, forced. There was steel in that question. Dean’s guts churned even as he nodded. Matched John’s tone.

“Yes sir.”

Silence hung between them, heavy and uneasy in a way Dean usually didn’t let it get. John broke first.

“Go to bed. We’ll debrief once you got some shuteye.”

“Yes sir.”

Dean moved to lay down over the covers, grave dirt still clinging to him like sin. He’d wash it off in the evening, and everything would be fine. He’d been waiting to check the water pressure anyway. Dad moved around the kitchen, sighing and clanking and pulling open yesterday’s newspaper, no doubt to circle the right kinda stories in red. Dean fought the urge to turn away. He made his breathing even out, let his eyes slip closed. Both he and John knew he wasn’t sleeping.

Later, when dark circles haunted the space beneath his eyes Dad wouldn’t comment. Wouldn’t reprimand him when his voice cracked over the debrief except to tell him to speak clearly.

When Sammy got home, he’d stand by the door, eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what no one would tell him.

No one would tell him, and it would be twenty years and the hundredth read of Dad’s journal before he connected his memories and the written word. He'll curse John Winchester and Dean both, and look over at his brother, standing too close to Cas. He won’t mention it.

[wisteria-lodge]

a bird secondary with a *very* unhealthy badger model

i’m pretty sure i’m using both Bird and Badger secondary tools - i just cannot for the life of me figure out which one’s my actual secondary, and which is the model. it doesn’t help that both of them are at least slightly charred. when i was younger, i was surely a Bird secondary, no doubt.

One of the reasons I ask people for childhood stories is I fundamentally don’t believe that sortings ever change. (Maybe that’s the Lion in me talking.) You can build beautiful models that you adore living in, but important aspects of yourself don’t just... fall away. They change, and grow, and level up. 

i’ve always loved collecting knowledge, i store trivia better than many a fandom wiki, i’ve studied things just because they interested me, i’ve once memorised a big portion of the pokedex just for fun… you get the idea.

I’m going with Bird secondary as a hypothesis, but this doesn’t necessarily say bird secondary to me. Bird of some kind, sure. But it could still be a model. 

when academia kicked my butt (hello, undiagnosed adhd), and i realised my natural talents and good memory won’t help me, i think i burnt my Bird. it really hit me very hard.

That can happen. And it’s brutal. But when a secondary burns from over-use, it’s not gone it’s just... tired. 

i’ve started appreciating kindness and hard work, and i wanted to be a person who - wasn’t necessarily the smartest in the room (because i felt that this ship has already sailed.)

There’s a fun word for someone who thinks they’re the smartest person in the room. And that word is “asshole.” :) Seriously, ‘being the smartest person in the room’ isn’t a real thing, and definitely not something to aspire to.

didn’t help that i’ve also acquired a nemesis who was just as smart as me, but an asshole, lmaoo. 

Like I was saying...

But I thought perhaps I could be the kind one. the patient one. the steady one. of course, that didn’t work for me with my adhd at all, lol. i am physically and mentally unable to reach that ideal of stable, patient, consistent, reliable. and it hit my self esteem real hard again. 

There is some sort of POWERFUL Badger secondary influence in your life, making you believe that you need to be that way too. And you don’t. That’s the entire premise of this system. That there are many ways to solve problems, all equally effective and valid. 

after all, not everyone can be smart, and that’s alright - but everyone can be a hard worker, right? it’s not a matter of any innate abilities.

You think the chip that allows you to settle down and focus on doing a non-preferred task in increments over long periods of time is not an innate ability? This is why I hate standardized tests. They test your ability to take a test much more than they test the material. Not everyone *can* sit at a desk in a silent, windowless room and do math problems for four hours. And why on earth should that be that a desirable, rewarded ability? The end goal is not to graduate and start working in a factory like its 1905. 

my bachelor degree’s taken me a year longer than it should have, because i’ve started just… not doing my work. didn’t come to class, didn’t hand in my homework, didn’t contact my professors. did everything at the very last minute, if at all. and i didn’t know why.

It’s because you struggle with executive dysfunction. Because you’re neurodivergent.

i’ve felt terrible about it, because i wanted to be a good student, you know? i wanted to feel like i earned that degree. i passed, because i’m bright and i can extrapolate based on the knowledge i already have, and i have a lot of knowledge in this wonky brain of mine - but it doesn’t feel like i… deserved that pass. 

for instance, we had this class - literature masterpieces of XX century. we were supposed to read one book each week. obviously i didn’t manage, bc despite reading as if my life depended on it in my early years, i lost that ability sometime during my high school years (when depression hit). so the night before, i’ve sat down, read the wikipedia article on every book and every author on the list, read goodreads’ reviews, sparknotes, whatever i could find. sometimes even fragments of the original text. and i passed that (oral) exam, even with this extremely strict professor. and i felt horrible about it, because i didn’t feel i deserved to pass that. i didn’t read those books! i’ve lied to you! i’ve cheated! 

Listen. I’m a teacher, and I am telling you, you deserved that degree. You got the info, you thought about it, you understood. You didn’t trick your strict professor. Your professor did a good job, and allowed you to think and learn and demonstrate your knowledge in a way that worked for you. (Which is what they’re supposed to do.) I love students with ADHD, their brains are fast and non-linear, and yes they skim the reading, but they make connections and take things to new levels and process things in such cool way, and it just makes me feel alive you know? 

I actually have more trouble with the opposite type, the student who obviously did the reading, but didn’t play with it or connect it to anything else they know, so it just kind of sits in their head like a lump, not doing them any good. But they are really good test-takers.

then again - doing things the right way was (and still is) sometimes just simply unaccesible to me.

There is no right way to do things. The right way to do thing is whatever makes you happy and gets the job done. But that’s a hard one to internalize. I still have trouble truly internalizing that one. But I’m getting better. 

the badger secondary, therefore, is not anything that’s actually… useful to me, most of the time, lol. 

You are crushing yourself under the weight of a Badger secondary model.

unless it’s the ~vibes~ of the badger that make professors like me, most of the time - and because of that liking, they’d often turn a blind eye to just how badly i’d fuck up.

I bet your professors like you because you’re an interested, interesting student who brightens up their day. And if they’re turning a blind eye, it’s because they know that people with ADHD struggle with deadlines sometime. And that’s /fine/

i often seem trustworthy and reliable in the beginning, before my executive dysfunction trips me up, and makes me beat myself up for not actually being that.

My thoughts on secondaries and executive dysfunction. 

it’s the bird that helps me still achieve anything these days - the knowledge i still have, and the things i pick up along the way, from friends or twitter or online articles. i can bullshit my way through many things, because i know quite a bit about a wide range of topics.

It is so easy to pick up on true bullshit as a teacher. We *know* when you don’t know what you’re talking about. When you put together interesting statements and arguments on the fly - when you pull something out of your ass - it’s still coming from you. That’s just an alternate way of thinking. Also, everything you have written is SO BIRD.

but actually applying myself - which i feel is both necessary to succeed 

It’s not.

and the right way to do things

There’s no such thing.

 - is just… out of my reach. sorry for the rant, but i’m just so super confused, lmao. if you have any thoughts on this mess, i’d be very grateful. apologies for any mistakes, too - english is not my first language.

English isn’t your first language??? Your English is amazing. You’re a bird secondary, and a pretty brilliant one by the sound of it. And you are torturing yourself because you aren’t living up to an entirely arbitrary Badger secondary ideal.

[hopelikethemoon]

First Words (Javier x Readr) {MTMF}

Tile: First Words Rating: PG Length: 2100 Warnings: Fluff Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in 1993 after A Dance Owed.  Summary: Reader and Javier spend their last day in Laredo and it’s one of firsts.

@grapemama​ @seawhisperer​​​​​​​ @huliabitch​​​​​​​ @beccaplaying​​​​​​​ @thewallpapergoesorido​​​​​​​ @twomoonstwosuns​​​​​​​ @gooddaykate​​​​​​ @livasaurasrex​​​​​​​ @ham4arrow​​​​​​​ @plexflexico​​​​​​​ @readsalot73​​​​​​​ @hdlynn​ @lokiaddicted​​​​​​​ @randomness501​​​​​​​ @fioccodineveautunnale​​​​​​​  @roxypeanut​​​​​​​ @snivellusim​​​​​​​ @lukesrighthand​​​​​​​ @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts​​​​​​​ @awesomefandomsunited​​​​​​​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​​​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​​​​​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @ah-callie​​​​​​​ @swhiskeys​​​​​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​​​​​ @u-wakatoshii​​ @space-floozy​​​​​​​ @cable-kenobi​​​​​​​ @cool-ultra-nerd​​​​ @himbopoes​​​​​​​ @findhimfives​​ @pedrosdoll​​​​​​​ @frietiemeloen​​​​​​​ @arrowswithwifi​​​​​​​  @cinewhore​​​​​​​ @random066​​​​​​​ @uncomicalhumour​​​​​​​ @heather-lynn​​​​​​​ @domino-oh-damn​​​​​​​ @cyarikaaa​​​​​​​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​​​​​​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl​​​​​​​ @yabby-girl​​​​​​​ @xqueenofthecraziesx​​​​​​ @punkass-potato​​ @coredrive​​​​​​​ @pascalesque​​​​​​​ @theduchessofkirkcaldy​​​​​​​ @queenquazar​​​​​​​ @sabinemorans​​​​​​​ @buckstaposition​​​​ @holkaskrosnou​​​​ @yespolkadotkitty​​​​​​​@seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie​​​​​​​ @jaime1110​​​​​​​ @katlikeme​​

“She’s gonna say abuelo before she gets either of our names right.” Javier said lightly as he walked in from the back patio, sliding the screen door shut behind him. “Wrapped around his finger.”

“Josie’s fond of her Peña men.” You retorted, glancing up at him for a second before turning your attention back to the tomatillos you had boiling on the stove. “I can’t say I blame her, however—“ 

Javier arched a brow at you as he walked further into the kitchen, “However?”

“I can’t help but feel like I’m being a little set up here.” You told him, reaching for the spoon and giving the pot a stir. 

“I told you I’d help.” He ran his tongue over the front of his teeth as he gave you a look. “But I know you know how to make it.” 

“I do know how to make verde. It’s simple.” You retorted, setting the spoon back onto the stone holder on the counter. “But I’ve made this for the two of us, not your extended family.”

You knew Chucho and Javier were just trying to make you feel like part of the family — because you were, but at the same time they’d inadvertently set you up for failure. 

“Hey,” Javier said lowly, hooking his finger into the belt loop of your jeans as he drew you away from the boiling pot. “They’ll love it.” He assured you, smoothing his hand down your hip. “You made a good impression at the wedding.”

“I figured the only impression I made was — that poor girl Javier accidentally got knocked up.” You taunted, cocking your head to the side as you looked up at him. “I’ve never had to do the extended family thing.”

“Me neither.” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth. 

You gave him a skeptical look, “You almost married a woman, Javier. You never met Lorraine’s grandparents? Her aunt? A weird uncle?”

He scratched at the back of his neck and glanced downwards, “Touché.” 

“That’s what I figured.” You grabbed the dish towel off the counter and swatted him in the thigh with it. “If you’re going to stay in here, get the blender out.”

You’d had a handful of serious relationships in your life, and every time they got remotely close to really serious you’d quickly found a reason to skirt out of it unscathed. 

Maybe you didn’t want to admit it aloud, but that was exactly what had happened with Lance too. Except it was paired with the sobering realization that you wanted Javier — who had seemed unattainable. 

Who never once gave you the impression that underneath his bachelor veneer, that he could be something like a family man. When you first met him you never would’ve imagined yourself standing in Texas in his father’s kitchen, making salsa verde because his tia was coming over to visit before you went home to Miami. 

“Baby, did you remember cilantro?” Javier questioned as he hauled out the blender and plugged it in on the counter by the microwave. 

“There are so many knives in this kitchen.” You shot him a look over your shoulder. “And don’t the neighbors have pigs?”

“Ouch.” He feigned injuring, clutching at his chest. “I might have to take my offer to take ownership of the verde off the table.”

“Ha. Ha.” You laughed humorlessly, shutting off the stovetop. 

Javier leaned against the counter opposite of you, arms folded across his chest as he watched you work. You could feel his eyes on you as you blended down the sauce in small increments, before pouring them into a bowl to cool. 

“You know, they all adored you.” He told you, once you shut off the blender. “Pretty sure they couldn’t figure out what you were doing with me, but that didn’t change that they adored you.” 

You smiled at him as you cleaned up the mess you had made, tucking the dirty dishes into the sink, “They’ve all made me feel so welcome. Doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.” 

You recognized that some of the kindness was probably pity. You weren’t stupid — you were fully aware of the optics of the situation. 

Javier had a history of burnt bridges; a history that his entire family and the whole goddamn town knew about. You and Josie probably looked pretty flammable to them. If only they knew you’d been made flame resistant from all the bridges you’d set alight while standing on them. 

They hadn’t seen him in Colombia after Josie was born. They hadn’t been there through the years that mattered. 

Chucho was probably the only one who actually believed that you’d still be around next Christmas.

“Just one more night, baby.” Javier reminded you as he crowded in close to you at the sink. “Then we’ll be in Miami.”

You sank back against him and sighed heavily, “I’m looking forward to it being just the three of us again.” You curled your fingers around his arm as he curled them around your waist. “I haven’t spoken to my own brother in years. You can imagine how navigating your extended family feels.”

“You do it so well,” He pressed a kiss to the crook of your neck. “Couldn’t even tell you were nervous.”

You elbowed him in the gut, making him swear as you twisted around in his hold. “Fuck off.” You taunted, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips before slipping away from him. “I’m gonna go see what Josie and Chucho are up to.” You gestured to the cooling dish. “Finish our verde.” 

Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth and nodded, “I’ll be out there in a bit.” He told you as you slid the back door open and stepped outside onto the patio. 

Laredo was a nice change of pace from Colombia. Wide open spaces and a little peace and quiet. You almost regretted that the three of you would be moving back into an apartment in a few days. 

You tried to picture what a younger Javier looked like working on the ranch alongside his father. You’d seen the pictures in frames on the walls, the old high school graduation picture stuck on the side of the fridge alongside the pictures of his cousins and their kids. 

It was hard to picture him without the mustache, the worry lines, and the weight of life on his shoulders. 

You shielded your eyes from the sun, looking across the yard towards one of the horse paddocks where Chucho had Josie. 

You couldn’t picture Javier as a younger man, but you could picture Josie growing up here. Christmases, birthdays, family reunions. Snapshots of life that you couldn’t relate to. 

All you wanted was for Josie to have a normal childhood. A happy childhood. Two parents who loved each other, a stable home life, extended family members who cared. You wanted her to have everything you didn’t have growing up. 

You never wanted her to worry. 

“How are you doing, chica?” Chucho called out as he started back across the yard towards the patio. “You get that verde finished?”

“Javier’s finishing it up.” You answered, hugging your sweater around your middle as you moved to sit down in one of the chairs around the stone fire pit. “How’s Miss Josie?”

“Having the time of her little life.” Chucho bounced her in his arms and she giggled and squealed. “Give it two years and I’ll have her out there on one of my best mares.” 

You laughed, holding your arms out to take her as she tried to squirm out of Chucho’s hold to get to you. You could tell she was tired — but she was trying to soldier through it. 

“She’ll never want to leave then!” You kissed the top of her head as she flopped against your chest. “You’re going to need a nap before dinner.” You brushed your fingers through her curly hair as she sighed dramatically. 

“Javier was a natural in the saddle,” Chucho recalled as he sank down into a chair across from you. He gestured out towards pasture. “Not even two and I had him in the saddle with me, going out to check on the fence line after a storm.”

“You could probably convince me to let her ride when she’s three.” You offered with a short laugh, rocking her in your arms. 

“Deal.” He chuckled, adjusting his hat on his head as he sank back in the chair. “You looking forward to the big move?”

You shrugged, “I’m looking forward to being settled. It’ll be good to see our friends again. To get back into a rhythm.” 

“Never thought I’d see Javier settled.” Chucho told you, shaking his head slowly. “But it’s a good look on him.” 

“He’s a really good father.” You smiled warmly, looking towards the back door, you could just barely see Javier through the glass as he moved across the kitchen. “I know the situation isn’t ideal—“

“No.” Chucho cut you off. “Things happen for a reason. They always do. There’s no such thing as ideal or not. The two of you are good together.”

“Yeah, we are.” You agreed, kissing the top of Josie’s head again. “It’s all just very new for me.” You admitted. “The wedding was a lot.”

“Would’ve gone better if Javier had given his old man a head’s up.”

You felt your cheeks warm, “I know.” 

“Everyone was real impressed with you.” Chucho told you, “Javier was worried.”

You frowned, “He was worried?”

“That they wouldn’t welcome you with open arms.” 

“Oh.” You had assumed he meant that Javier has been worried that you wouldn’t fit in. But he’d been worried for you. “I really appreciated being included. I mean, I did show up unannounced.”

He waved a hand, “You know what you need?”

“A stiff drink?” You laughed. 

“A joint.”

“Excuse me?”

Chucho gave you a look, “You didn’t strike me as a tight ass like Javier.”

“I’m not.” Your brows furrowed together. “Just so we’re clear — you mean a joint joint, right?”

“Is there any other kind?” He questioned as he stood up slowly. “Old age takes its toll on you and I’ve found a bit of marijuana helps take the edge off.”

“I would agree but,” You gestured to Josie. “I’m still breastfeeding her. As tempting as the offer is.” You glanced back towards the house, “Does Javi know?”

Chucho shook his head, “Let’s keep this between the two of us.”

You grinned, “Now I really do feel like part of the family.” 

The back door slid open and Javier stepped out onto the patio. “The verde is finished and the blender’s washed and put back up.”

“Look at that,” Chucho clicked his tongue against his teeth. “He cleans too.”

“Funny, pops.” Javier retorted as he strolled over to where you were sitting. “Real funny.”

Josie perked up the second she heard Javier’s voice, scrambling to get out of your arms. “Da-da!”

Javier stopped dead in his tracks, looking between you and Josie. “Did she just—?”

“Can you say it again?” You questioned, smoothing out her curls as you turned her in your arms so that she was reclining back against your chest and facing Javier. “Can you say daddy?”

Javier knelt down in front of you, grinning from ear-to-ear at Josie. “Come on, princesa. You know you want to say it.”

She clapped her hands together, rocking back against your chest. “D-d-d!” 

“Say daddy.” You kissed the top of her head. 

“Are you going to say daddy, JoJo?” Javier questioned, tapping his finger against her nose as he leaned in to kiss her cheeks. “Say daddy.” 

Josie let out a shrill squeal, “Dada!” 

You grinned down at him, “Javi!”

“Ha ha ha!” Josie cooed, tilting her head back against your chest to look up at you. “Da da da!”

Javier gave your knee a squeeze as he met your eyes, “Baby, you’re gonna have to pinch me.” He glanced back at his father then, “You hear that pops?”

“I sure did.” Chucho smiled at both of you. “You know, I think I’m gonna take the truck out and check on some work I sent the boys to sort out this week. I’ll be back before they show up.”

“You need any help?”

Chucho shook his head, “You stay right here, Javier.” He gave you a knowing look, before heading back in the house. 

“Are we sure she said daddy?” Javier questioned as he scooped her up, cradling her against his chest as she babbled nonsensically. 

“I am certain.” You assured him, your heart aching from just how happy you felt. The joy on Javier’s face made everything worth it. The nerves, the worry, the anxiety, the uncertainty. Those two people made it all worth it. 

This was the Javier that no one else saw. The Javier that was madly in love with the tiny baby girl that the two of you had brought into the world. The Javier that was looking forward to being a stay-at-home dad. 

“Now we’ve got to get you saying mommy.” Javier murmured to Josie as he bounced her in his arms. 

[whatanoof]

Luck Be the Lady Tonight

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Reader

Word Count: ~4.4k

Content: blood, violence, fluff, death, gods who like to fuck around with peoples' minds, oh did I mention swearing yet?

Prequel to I Wished For Your Happiness

Dawn filters across the sky like the coming of the tide. It pushes into the inky twilight gradually, so slowly that one doesn’t notice the changing colors until it’s in full swing. Reds and oranges and yellows and the slightest hint of pink streak across the clouds and chase away every memory of the previous night.

Not that you were awake to see it of course, Max made sure of that last night when he exhausted you with… um… certain activities. But shortly after the dawn, the door to the bedroom creaks, waking you from peaceful sleep to the drowsy world of the waking. The creak is the only warning you get before the seven-year-old boy equivalent of a mortar shell drops onto the covers, bouncing the bed violently and bringing weak protests from the man under the covers to your left.

You thank every star in the faded night sky that Max had the awareness to redress both you and him last night before falling asleep. Good luck.

“Good morning!”

Max groans sleepily and pulls the covers over his head, “Alistair…”

You smile and blink blearily, “Good morning, Alistair.” You stretch under the covers luxuriously, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Come on, come on! We have to go soon!” Every other word is accompanied with another bounce on the sheets, and you wince. Ali is pretty much situated completely on top of the Max-sized lump under the blankets, and that can’t feel good.

“Okay,” You laugh, sneaking out from under the sheets. “Come on, let your dad sleep in just a little bit more. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Silvia usually makes eggs,” You nod. Silvia is Alistair’s nanny that accompanies him back and forth between his parents, but you had given her the weekend off. It was her twenty first birthday, and you only turn twenty-one in America once.

So you decided to take time off too, and to take Alistair for a day on the town. Max had been more reluctant to take the day off, but you’d pestered him until he’d given in. And you’d promised him a weekend of nighttime fun in return, so who was he to deny you? “But I want pancakes!”

You laugh, “Pancakes it is! Chocolate chip, or strawberry?” You don’t even have to ask, you already know that Alistair is going to pick chocolate. That child is just like his father: a ridiculous sweet tooth and too adorable for you to say no to.

You’re halfway through the mixed pancake batter, and Alistair is most of the way through his second pancake by the time Max stumbles into the kitchen, hair mussed and eyes half-open without coffee. It’s a struggle to hide the giggle that threatens to burst from your throat, but you manage and pass him the steaming mug that’s been sitting by the stove to keep warm.

“Woman, you are a true goddess.”

“I know. No need to feed my complex.” You smile as Max hugs you from behind and buries his nose into the crook of your neck before going to sit beside his son.

“Big day planned?”

“Yep.” You flip the last pancake onto the plate. It’s a little crooked, but passable considering your normal amount of cooking talent. “Sight-seeing, museums, walking around…”

“And parks!” Alistair interjects, “And the airplane museum!”

“Of course the airplane museum!” You place the dishes in the sink and pick up your own plate, “You coming, Lorrie?”

“Have some work to do, but I’ll be done before noon.” His shoulders hunch even as you stare him down. “Promise, baby. Something came up right before I left the office last night. It’s urgent.” You raise a single eyebrow at him, and he raises his hands in mock surrender, “I didn’t plan on it. Bad luck, that’s all.”

“I--” You level the dirty spatula at him, “--will take your word for it, Lorrie.”

He grins and stands, taking the kitchen tool from you and gently placing it in the sink. “Thank you, my love.” He folds your hand into both of his and kisses the tip of your nose, and you giggle as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Gross!” Alistair claps both of his hands over his eyes. You and Max laugh together as he detangles himself from you.

“I am going to get dressed.” Max grins at you rakishly before walking over to his son, who still has his hands covering his face. “And you--” He taps Alistair on the nose, and Ali giggles as Max leans in and gives him a hug. “--have a good day at the airplane museums.”

---

The minute you step into the Metropolis Space Museum, Alistair is heads over heels in love. You truly can’t believe that it took the kid seven years to get to the most iconic airplane museum in the city that he grew up in, but his childhood wasn’t exactly normal. You understand Max’s work ethic and schedule all too well, having parents who were workaholics as well. So when you’d first met the starry eyed little kid, you’d silently promised yourself that he was going to have a better childhood than you. You’re not his mother or his nanny, but Max is a dedicated father. And you’ll be dedicated to this kid too.

Alistair sprints through the museum with all of the speed of The Flash himself, and it’s all you can do to keep up with the little ball of energy. You wonder how he’s able to even take in the aircraft with the combination of the speed and his small stature, but this is his day, and you’re just the chauffeur.

He finally hits a wall when he reaches the astronaut exhibit. You’re walking among the space shuttles when you find Alistair gazing up at the Artemis I craft.

“See something you like?” You stop beside Ali and grin down at him. He hasn’t ripped his eyes away from the craft, and you can see the fluorescent lighting reflecting in his dark eyes. You turn to admire the shuttle again.

“That.” Alistair only speaks the one word, and you raise an eyebrow down at him. He’s pointing, “I want to be able to fly in that when I grow up.”

You chuckle, “It’s possible. You work hard, and you can be an astronaut when you grow up.”

“Work hard like Daddy?”

“Yes. Just like your Daddy.” Your gaze softens as you look down at the boy, seeing shades of his father in his determined expression. You check the time on your phone, “Speaking of, he should be meeting us soon. Wanna grab a snack, then we can go see him?”

You can see Ali’s obvious reluctance to leave the exhibit. “Alistair, ice cream…” You trail off with a teasing grin as Alistair turns.

“Yes please!”

You grin, “Alright! Come on.”

Alistair speeds ahead yet again, and your phone buzzes. You take it out, and it’s from work. You send a text off to your partner as you reach the stairs.

Your heel hits the edge of the step wrong. Your heart drops in your chest as you pitch forward, your arms wheeling in the air. A scream lodges in your throat as you fall forwards down the steps.

You land hard on your chest and you feel a stabbing pain in your chest as the air is knocked clean out of your body. Alistair screams your name, and you roll over to find the gazes of dozens of concerned strangers fixated on you as Alistair rushes to you.

“Are you okay?” A woman crouches over you.

You chuckle dryly, the air coming back to your body in small increments. Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat, “Yeah, missed that last step. Bad luck, huh?”

“Good luck that it was the last flight. Could have been much worse.” She straightens and extends a hand to help you to your feet. “Anything hurt?”

“Besides my pride? No, I’m fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.” You accept her help and stand, wincing at the residual pain in your chest. You remember what you’d distracted with that led to the misstep, “Where’s my phone?”

Alistair holds his hand out with a solemn look on his face. He’s holding your shattered phone, “I think it’s broken.”

You sigh. Bad luck. “Thank you Alistair. And thank yo--” You turn, but the woman is gone. Huh. Interesting. You look all around you at the bustling crowd, but no one looks familiar, and all of the gapers have gone back to their business. You prop your hands on your hips, “Well. How about some ice cream now?”

---

Max’s brow furrows as he stares down at the glinting ring. A twenty-four karat gold band, platinum setting with tiny obsidian studs and a diamond the size of a pistachio. The ring is exactly his style, and it’s the ring that he always imagined himself buying for the hypothetical girl that he would have if he ever got his work done. But ever since meeting you, he’s been learning to remember that his likes aren’t necessarily the likes of the others.

For example, you don’t like flashy. Which is ridiculous, because his entire existence is flashy, so he can’t begin to imagine how you ever were attracted to him. The memory of your first meeting draws a grin to his lips. But now he knows better after a couple of botched Valentines and anniversary gifts. Your look of horror at the massive bouquet of flowers and yards of chocolate will be forever seared into his mind. Flashy and gaudy is a big no no, though maybe he can make the proposal a little more to his tastes. His gaze is drawn to another ring to his right.

“Excuse me?” The sales associate comes over to him. “Can I see that one?”

---

“Alright, you don’t tell your dad, and I won’t tell either.” You plop the massive ice cream cone into Alistair’s hand before settling down next to him with a cone of similar size.

Alistair grins mischievously at you, “This is a lot of sweets for one day.”

“Ah!” You hold up your free hand, effectively silencing the kid, “Snitches…?”

“Get stitches!” With that, Ali digs into his chocolate fudge cone with sprinkles, and you start with yours, gazing at the city across the water. The beach is empty on an early spring day that is much too cold for swimming. Seagulls screech across the sky, and the sand looks fun and inviting, but Ali seems content to sit beside you on a bench and look across the water at Gotham City.

The sun is shining, the water is glowing in the afternoon sun, and it’s a perfect afternoon. Until an explosion rocks the building that you’d been admiring in Gotham City across the bay and the miniscule figure of a supervillain appears as a shadow in the dust. You sigh. Bad luck. “View ruined.”

Alistair shrugs, “Pretty. Big booms are cool.”

“Since when do you like explosions?”

Alistair looks up at you, and makes a zooming motion with his hand before mimicking a takeoff with massive engine explosions. Oh. Right.

You finish your ice cream and reach for your phone to check the time before remembering that it’s broken. “Hey, Ali. What time is it?”

He shows you with his little digital watch, and it’s half past noon. Max is probably looking for you. You rummage in your pocket for some change, and pull out the coins to count them. Oh good, you have a quarter left over from the ice cream cones.

“Come on, we’re going to find a pay phone.�� Alistair stands and follows you off of the beach and towards the street.

Only, I shit you not, a chunk of building hits the water with a boom near shore, and water explodes into the sky like a geyser. Debris scatters the beach, and you wince as you see the amount of rocks that hit the bench where you had been sitting not five minutes before. You stare for a split second, then over at Gotham, where you can see the supervillain hefting cement chunks over his head and lobbing them at a speck in the sky. That’s an interesting combination of luck that you’re not sure you want to dissect mentally at the moment.

Alistair whines, “How did we miss Superman in the sky?!”

---

Max walks out of the museum, squinting in the sun as he fumbles in his pocket for his phone. You’d said that you would be at the museum until afternoon, but he’d waited at the entrance for an hour and you and Ali never came out. He calls you, but the line rings to voicemail.

The little velvet box weighs heavy in his breast pocket. It almost feels like it is burning a hole in his chest with how hyper aware he is of the promise pressing on his chest. He can’t even remember when he woke up feeling like this. Well, of course he only recognized the feeling today, but he’s been feeling it for sometime now. That swelling in his chest when he looks at you, the one that seems to increase everytime he sees you with Alistair, or when you’re laughing, or when you raise that single infuriating eyebrow that communicates every feeling of skepticism within your body. It’s been building over the past years, it’s not new. The label is new, it’s the one that he realized this morning after you got up and promised Alistair pancakes for breakfast.

He’s ready to make this promise. He’s ready to swear to spend the rest of his life with you. Now, if only he could find you. Bad luck, it would seem.

His phone rings right as he pulls it out of his pocket, and he glances at the caller ID. It’s you, and he swipes the ‘answer’ icon excitedly and raises the phone to his ear.

“Hey, I’m at the museum, where are you?”

You sound a little harried, “A payphone near Stryker Beach. Sorry, my phone’s busted up, so I couldn’t tell you that we left the museum.”

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll come get you. Give me an address.” He swipes around on his phone until he gets to his maps, but he’s interrupted by a resounding boom on the other end of the line. “What was that?”

“Nothing. There’s another Gotham villain, and Superman is fighting him over the bay. On second thought, you probably shouldn’t come here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you two could be in danger.” He already has the car keys in his hand when you cut him off.

“Lorrie.” Your voice is every bit as intimidating over the phone as it is in real life. “Stay there. Traffic is awful over here anyway, we could walk to the museum and back twice by the time you get through it. See you in a few.” He can’t wait, excitement thrilling in his chest even as worry tamps it down a little.

---

His palms are sweating. Why are his palms sweating? He hasn’t been this nervous since his first kickstarter campaign for Black Gold Corporations. He’s scanning the crowd for any sign of you and Alistair, though he’s simultaneously dreading your appearance as much as he’s anticipating it.

There! He sees a flash of your hair through the mass of people, and then you’re standing on the other side of the major street, gorgeous and windswept and smiling at him while holding Alistair’s hand. Cars whizz through the intersection, but even the minor interruptions in his line of sight to you can’t detract from your beauty. Fuck, he’s nervous,

So nervous, apparently, that he fumbles his phone and drops it on the sidewalk. As he bends over to pick it up, the velvet box slips out of his pocket and falls to the ground with a small thunk that may as well have been the impact sound of a meteor.

His gaze darts up nervously at you, and your eyes are glued to the small black box. They flick back to his, and read the nerves as clear as the day. Understanding floods through your face, then shock, then your mouth falls open and he can hear your joyful laugh from where he crouches twenty feet away.

Shit. He had wanted to do it differently. Maybe by the massive fountain, or on the Ferris Wheel by the bay. Something that brings a little bit of pizzazz and flash and romance, something that is distinctly him. But he sees the giddy look in your eye and everything else falls away.

The pedestrian sign flicks on, and the rest of the crowd starts moving across the street, pushing you and Alistair with the flow of people. Your hand still firmly grasps Ali’s as you move across the street, and his heart fills at the sight of your love for his son and steadies his hand as he picks up the box and opens it towards you. His knees bend, and he sinks to the hard concrete, awaiting your approach.

His knee is centimeters away from the sidewalk when a swoosh echoes overhead and Superman rips through the intersection. The crowd tracks him with a rush of murmurs, but you’re still watching Max and walking forward with a spark in your eye.

Then the gunfire starts. Everyone ducks as Lex Luthor’s latest mech suit flies overhead in pursuit of the flying hero. Bullets whizz through the air, pinging off of telephone poles and shattering windows. You’re only a fraction behind the crowd, your eyes widening in panic as you finally notice your surroundings. Max is frozen in time, watching you cover Alistair with your own body. Bad luck.

Then the spell breaks, and everyone is running and screaming, and Max’s heart rises into his throat. He loses sight of you in the middle of the road, and he stumbles to his feet and begins shoving through the crowd.

“Alistair!” He screams your name too, but his voice is lost in the surrounding noise.

Finally, finally, he catches sight of your hunched form in the middle of the road. Right as he sees you, your head raises and begins scanning around you, and he allows himself to breathe. Good luck.

He grabs your arm and yanks you to your feet, his other hand securing around Alistair’s upper arm. Then he’s moving and dragging you to the other side of the street. You’re almost there, you’re almost safe when the explosion happens.

It’s small, a stray thermal charge that’s miniscule compared to the previously witnessed destruction. But a shudder passes through your group. Max’s heart sinks in his chest and he turns to look. Alistair is staring up at you with a look of complete horror on his face. Your hand lets go of Max’s, drifting up to your chest where a bloodstain is rapidly spreading over your chest. Your eyes meet Max’s, and then your eyes roll back in your head and you pass out.

---

The ambulance ride is a blur. Alistair is crying into his chest, and it’s all Max can do to keep it together while he holds your hand. You’re still unconscious, but the ambulance had gotten there fast, and you’d been one of the only casualties in the intersection. Hope. He has to hope, because he has to hold it together for Ali.

Words float around his head from the paramedics, words like random, ricochet, shrapnel, and bad luck. Bad luck. Fury swells in him. Your life is worth more to him than simple bad luck. Villain or hero, how can it matter? Who gave them the right to leave charges in public places, to scatter bullets like rice on a wedding day?

But what can he do about simple bad luck? What can he do about super-powered people who hold the power of gods in their hands? The answer is nothing, not right now anyway, because Alistair needs him, and you need him, and he will bide his time.

---

You wake up when the ambulance gets to the hospital. The gurney jostles as they lift you down from the ambulance and he wants to yell at the paramedics. But he holds himself back. Your voice echoes in his head, ‘They’re just trying to do their jobs, Lorrie. Leave them alone.”

So he does, clinging to you as your eyelids flutter. “Lorrie?” Your voice is a painful rasp that hurts in his own chest. You tighten your grip, bringing your interlocked hands up against your chest, slightly to the right of the roughly bandaged wound.

“I’m here.” He grips your hand all the more tightly, pressing a kiss to your knuckle. You murmur something, and he doesn’t catch it the first time. He leans in, “What? Say it again, baby.”

“Yes.” You whisper into his ear. With shaking hands, Max takes out the little black box and puts the ring on your bloody finger. It’s a simple gold band, curling around a teardrop onyx gem. Perfectly you and him. You only have time to lift your hand to gaze at the ring before you're whisked away to surgery. Max is left standing there with empty hands, feeling like the world has been yanked from his grasp.

---

When you wake up again, the world is sterile and cold and Max is gone. Your hand instantly flies to your chest, where the phantom wound throbs. But your hand grazes over nothing but your own skin and clothes. A glance downwards confirms your suspicions. The wound is gone, the ugly shrapnel vaporized as if it never existed.

But the glance down confirms another suspicion that only just started brewing in the back of your mind, one that you hadn’t dared to confront.

“Am I dead?” Your eyes widen in shock, and you reach to touch your lips. They hadn’t moved, and yet you had heard your own voice echoing into the void. You whip around, your toes hovering above the surgical table where your body rests. Surgical tools scatter around the trays, and the monitor emits a continuous, flat tone. Doctors lay down their tools, taking off their masks and caps with an air of exhausted defeat. Your body is still, covered in tubes and sheets so that you can barely see a hint of gray skin. Fuck, Max is going to be devastated.

“In a way.” The voice is wonderfully melodic, and you look to find that one of the doctors is staring at you while the rest look right through you. Her mask is still up, but there is a familiar air about her that you can’t place. “You are caught in-between right now, unable to move on, but unable to return.”

“So, purgatory?” Again, your disembodied voice speaks the words directly from your mind.

She laughs, and the tinkle settles somewhere deep in your soul. “No. Powers of another sort, past the Catholic tradition.”

You work your jaw, testing it before mouthing the words along with your voice. It just feels right, more natural. “I don’t understand. I’m trapped here?”

“Not trapped. Suspended, perhaps.” Her eyes are a piercing gray. “The Lords’ refuse to let you go. One might say that it’s luck. Good or bad, depending on if you are scared of what’s after. I hear you and Maxwell like to keep count.”

You blink. She’s right. You and Lorrie had a running joke that bad luck seemed to follow the both of you wherever you went. Today had been especially heavy with bad luck. “And if I’m not scared?”

“Luck is entirely dependent on perspective, child. But, I will admit, your death was more accident than anything.” There’s a cold, callous tone in her voice as she remarks about your death as no more than a minor inconvenience. “Couldn’t have been avoided, and that’s true bad luck.” Her brow furrows, then it lightens and she claps her hands, “But, good luck now! You get to go back!”

Your spirits lift. Back to Earth. Back to Alistair and Max. Max. You bring your right hand up in front of you. The ring is gone.

“Missing something?”

Your gaze darts back up to the woman, and she’s holding the ring to the false light, examining it closely. You try to keep the tremor out of your voice, “That’s mine. Give it back.”

She gives you a long side-eye, “You do not command me, girl.” You shudder at the tone of her voice, vibrating through your non-existent body and threatening to dissipate it. You grit your teeth, and continue to stare her down. She raises an eyebrow, and you think that it’s a look of approval in her eyes. “But, I suppose it is yours. Catch.” She tosses the band back to you, and you snatch it from the air. She continues, “Consider that my token to you. A favor from luck itself. Not many mortals ever gain such an item.”

“I don’t care what it is to you.” You only care about what it means to you and Max. It’s a promise. There had been a shared understanding in the emergency room, that you probably wouldn’t make it. And that understanding had been correct. But he promised anyway, and you’d promised him right back. “Who are you?”

“Lady Luck, at your service.” She winks, pulling her mask down finally. It’s the woman from the museum, but there’s a different air about her. An air of power that didn’t exist back on Earth hovers in her every word and motion.

A chime echoes through the air, and Lady Luck straightens. “That’s my cue. Don’t worry, you won’t remember this encounter when you wake up on Earth.”

“What was the point of this conversation if I’m not going to remember it?”

She looks back at you with a hint of humor in her eyes. “There wasn’t one. Just me testing out my wisdom on a mortal. Don’t get much chance for that anymore.”

“Any last wisdom then?” Your lips twist in a wry grin.

Lady Luck regards you, “Luck isn’t everything. But it isn’t nothing. Remind your Lorrie of that for me.” Then she turns and waves her hand, and the world filters to blackness around you.

A/N: This made me sad, but it was actually pretty fun to write and play around in the DC universe. I don't get over there much, it's mostly Marvel over in Oofville these days. But yes, now I'm expanding this universe as well too, because it's not like I don't already have enough WIP yet. It's fine, it's all going to be fine.

But Max's planning for the engagement?! Gave me life, it made me so happy.

Taglist: @alliterative-albatross

[kimjongdaely]

Eternal [Chapter 10]

Vampire!AU

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, abuse, sexual situations, abortion, mention of suicide

Summary: You’re not sure how to deal with your current situation. Your owner, Byun Baekhyun, isn’t helping with the stress. But what happens when you find a risky solution that might just solve all your problems?

Prologue [M]│Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8│Chapter 9│Chapter 10│Chapter 11│ Chapter 12│Chapter 13

You feel the world stop around you. You look at Sehun with wide eyes, exhilaration filling you to the brim, electrifying your nerves, the sound of your heartbeat drumming in your ears.

You gesture quickly for him to enter the room, letting him sit down on the bed next to you. “Are you serious? How?”

He nods, then bites his lip, looking around nervously as if he’s afraid of being overheard. His face is serious. “You have to keep it between us though. Don’t let Baekhyun know.”

You frown. “Why? What exactly did you find?”

He takes a deep breath, looking down and fiddling with his fingers. “It’s not exactly…a fool-proof way. And it could potentially go wrong. I’m afraid if Baekhyun finds out, he won’t even attempt it.”

The exhilaration is replaced with worry now. “Tell me how first, and then I’ll think about it.”

“Well, I think I found a way to turn you into a vampire like us.” He says. “If we can somehow merge your blood with a vampire’s, I think it can work, since our blood has special properties. In small doses it could heal wounds, while large doses can be used as poison. If we can just get the amount right…”

Your eyes widen. You’re beginning to understand what he’s insinuating, the question like lead on your tongue. “You can potentially bring me back to life?”

He nods. “Or rather, preserve your life before it ends completely. Of course, there might be aftereffects. You might not be human anymore, but you’d be alive and so will the baby.”

You furrow your brows, thinking about it. It’s plausible. Also risky, but if you were to slowly increase the blood intake in small increments, you can avoid getting poisoned, at least.

You also understand why Sehun doesn’t want you to tell Baekhyun. If there’s a possibility of you becoming a vampire…you’re not sure he would be happy with that. Baekhyun doesn’t like his life as a vampire, he doesn’t want to live for an eternity, and surely he wouldn’t want that for you either.

Or maybe…maybe he would be happy? To spend eternity with you and your baby?

Uneasiness churns in your stomach, and you place a hand over your baby bump to calm yourself.

“You can think about it.” Sehun says. “You don’t have to make a decision right now. I think it would be best to do it when you’re in labor, there’ll be a small window where we can try to do it.”

“I’m worried about Baekhyun.” You admit, chewing your lip. “He’s working tirelessly to find a way to save both of us and I know he probably won’t die from fatigue but…” You frown at the floor.

“I know.” Sehun pats a hand on your knee to comfort you.

“And what if there’s aftereffects?” You continue. “For the baby? Right now it’s half-vampire, half-human. But if I were to turn into a vampire halfway into labor, what does that mean for the baby? Does it become full-vampire?”

You shake your head. “There are so many questions and…I’m scared.”

Sehun has an odd expression on his face, something like sadness—which you can understand—and…disappointment? “I get it. Don’t worry about it, I was just giving a suggestion. Maybe we’ll find another way.”

He stands up to leave, offering you a reassuring smile but it’s tight. Deep down you feel like there isn’t another way. You have to accept the risks or result in death.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as the door clicks shut, leaving you in darkness.

Baekhyun sighs, leaning back against his chair. He closes his eyes, honing in on Thorn, and even through the wall he can hear her gentle breaths, the steady beating of her heart. Faintly, he can even hear the baby’s heartbeat.

It’s still such a strange thought for him. He has a baby coming. He’s going to be a father.

What does that even mean? He doesn’t have the slightest inkling on how to act, what to do. He’s never taken care of anyone before; his brothers certainly don’t need his help with anything.

Will he be a good father? Or will he…

He sighs again, pressing his clasped hands against his forehead.

If the baby looks like him at all, he might want to kill it.

He can’t banish the evil thought. Can’t pretend it never occurred to him. If Thorn were to die during labor…if the baby comes out healthy and grows up to resemble either of them in any way, Baekhyun doesn’t think he could bear it.

It’s just…too much.

Which is why he’s determined not to let Thorn die. He knows how much she loves this baby, even if he can’t understand. He knows she would hate him if he were to hurt the baby in any way. She’d come back to haunt him for eternity.

And he knows that he won’t be able to stop himself from acting rash and violent if anything were to happen to her. So she can’t die. Definitely not.

But he’s been searching high and low for months now for a way to save her. He still comes up empty handed. He has a few potential theories that could work but…he’s skeptical about trying them.

He taps his pen against his notebook, focusing on the name he wrote down a while ago. He had left this idea hanging, his mind going numb when he thought about it too much.

But now that he’s revisiting it, maybe…?

He stands, chair scraping against the wooden floor as he hurries out the room. He walks down the hall, knocking on his brother’s room, quietly since he’s probably with his Pet, who must be asleep at this time.

The door opens slowly, Jongdae’s face poking out. His brother furrows his brows in surprise when he sees Baekhyun. “What’s up?”

“Can we talk?” He tilts his head towards his room and Jongdae nods. He closes the door quietly behind him, following Baekhyun back to his room.

Once Baekhyun closes his door, away from listening ears, he gestures for Jongdae to sit down next to him. “How’s it going with your Pet?”

A smile blooms on Jongdae’s face as he sits. “Pretty good. She seems to be completely over what happened with Victoria. She’s very affectionate.” Jongdae gives Baekhyun a sly wink.

“That’s good to hear.” Baekhyun says, strangely stiff and Jongdae frowns.

“So?” He raises a brow. “I doubt you called me over just to ask me about my Pet.”

“I wanted to ask about Victoria.” Baekhyun says, and Jongdae tenses. “Back then, you watched her die, didn’t you?”

Jongdae’s face darkens as he stares at his hands. “Yes.”

“You were sure she was dead?”

“Absolutely.” His voice trembles and cracks, eyes glazing over when he says, “I held her in my arms and she...was gone.”

“Then when she came back,” Baekhyun says carefully, looking right into Jongdae’s eyes, “she was certainly revived, wasn’t she?”

Jongdae hesitates, then nods. “What are you getting at, Baek?”

“If a vampire can be revived, is it possible to turn a human into a vampire?” Baekhyun asks, his hands clasped tightly together until his knuckles are white. “Since vampires have incredible self-healing capabilities and near-immortality—to be able to even bring a vampire back to life—perhaps if we used a vampire’s blood, we could save a human from the brink of death as well.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Jongdae waves his hands to slow Baekhyun down. “I don’t know how Victoria was able to come back to life…but you’re suggesting someone fed her blood to bring her back?”

“It seems like the only logical answer.”

“Who would’ve done that?” Jongdae frowns. “And why? Why Victoria?”

Baekhyun sighs. “I don’t know. I’m still piecing things together. I just want to know what you think, and whether it’s worth a try.”

Jongdae takes a moment to mull it over, tapping a finger against his chin. “Certainly, it’s a logical idea. It could be possible. But isn’t it too risky?”

“Yeah.” Baekhyun sighs. “There’s no knowing the effects on her body and the baby’s…and it’s hard to calculate just how much blood we’ll need.”

“Well we shouldn’t scrap the idea just yet.” Jongdae says. “Maybe we can expand on it and find a better solution. I think a vampire’s blood could be beneficial to her.”

“Yes, maybe.” Baekhyun falls into deep thought.

“Still.” Jongdae leans back on the chair, brows furrowed. “Who do you think revived Victoria? What are their motives?”

“Someone who has a grudge with you?” Baekhyun suggests. “Someone who knows about her, so it can’t be a human, since it happened so long ago. It must be a vampire as well. Perhaps a rival clan.”

“But what good would bringing Victoria back do?” Jongdae frowns. “She only wanted to be with me again, and tried to kill my Pet. She wouldn’t have done anything to the clan.”

“That’s true…” Baekhyun frowns. “Found anything on your patrols lately? Any new suspicious deaths or activity?”

“None noteworthy.”

“Strange.” Baekhyun looks down as he tries to think. “If it’s really someone who wants to cause trouble for us, there’s no way they would stop there. They should’ve made a move by now.”

“I agree.” Jongdae stands, offering Baekhyun a nod. “Let’s meet up with the others for a meeting soon and talk about this. I think the older hyungs may have a better idea of what to do. Yixing might have more knowledge about the blood transfer idea.” Jongdae hovers by the door, before turning and giving Baekhyun a small smile. “Good luck with the pregnancy.”

Baekhyun feels a sharp pang in his chest. “Thanks.”

You wake up to a body pressed gently against your back. You smile, turning and finding Baekhyun’s sleeping face. He looks so tired, dark circles under his eyes and his skin even paler than usual.

Pressing a hand to his cheek, it’s freezing. You frown. Has he been feeding properly? He’s cut back his feeding frequency, but could it be that he’s stopped altogether in order to spend more time researching?

You lean up to kiss him softly, feeling him stir against you, his eyes snapping open. You feel guilty for waking him up, even though he probably just got into bed. It’s been happening more ever since you became pregnant, but it’s still unusual for him to sleep with you like this. “Sorry, go back to sleep.”

He mumbles something, pulling you as close as your baby bump allows. His breath is cold against your forehead and you shiver. “I’m okay. How are you?”

“Good.” You can’t help the smile that grows on your face. You try your best to warm him up by wrapping your arms around him and pressing even closer to him. “Baby kicks in the middle of the night sometimes and I have to go to the bathroom a lot, but I’m happy.”

“That’s good.” He sighs against your hair, and you feel him relax. “What time is it?”

“It’s ten in the morning.”

He let’s out a soft groan. “Go, get some breakfast. I’ll be sleeping.”

“Alright.” You push yourself up, pecking him on the forehead before heading to the kitchen. You’ll be sure to let him sleep for a few hours at least.

Baekhyun blinks awake, finding a sliver of sunlight creeping in from the small gap between the curtains. That tells him it’s still daylight, he hasn’t slept nearly enough. He can hear some laughter downstairs from the Pets, Thorn’s voice standing out to him the most. He guesses it’s around mid-afternoon.

He pushes himself groggily out of bed, stumbling back to his own room. Though it’s comfortable in Thorn’s room, he finds himself too thirsty when he stays in there too long. She just smells so good.

He eyes the bed and wonders if he should get some more sleep. But he had a strange dream that gave him an unusual idea, something seems to click inside him, so Baekhyun chooses to sit down on his desk.

Baekhyun scribbles into his notebook again, history books and medical books open, scattered about on the desk and on the floor. He hadn’t bothered cleaning anything up. Talking with Jongdae last night cleared up some of his thoughts. Vocalizing them really helped him think, and hazy dream he had making a sliver of anxiety begin to brew. He churns ideas and theories and crazy speculation in his mind, scrawling them down in hopes to find some sort of coherency in all this mess.

And finally, he writes down a name that makes his mouth dry, his hands tremble.

Surely it’s not true. Surely he’s just being paranoid, anxious about the pregnancy and about Thorn’s fate. Surely he’s mistaken somehow, and picked up the wrong hints. Yes, that’s right. There’s nothing to make him speculate. No reason for this person to do such a thing.

But deep down he feels so uneasy.

He writes it right under Victoria’s name. He circles it, draws an arrow upwards, connecting their names and then by the side writes, “blood research?”

Could it be?

Thank you so much for reading Eternal. From this point forward, the remaining chapters can only read by paid members on AFF.

Previous Chapter│ Next Chapter [Members Only]

Eternal Mini Masterlist

A/N: I know a lot of you will be disappointed with this. The thing is, I want to receive something in return for my hard work. No matter how much I ask for comments and reblogs, they all go unheard. So I’ve decided this is the best course of action. Please, please, if you like my writing, please consider giving me monetary support so I can keep writing without starving. Thank you sincerely, and I’m sorry.

Tags: @loser-dot-com @meryljill-111192 @ugeuuupabo @baekyeolbeom @weirdsofagirls @and-you-found-me @ilovexiu @enchanting-exo @byunfirstlady @skjdln @iietherealsky @1039-smooths @dear-fake-diary @chibi-desu-yo-01 @marimsun @sebootyforlife @baekhyuq @kyoongies @lavellanfriendliness @wongxiexie @always-wishing-for-rain @suhoandbaekhyunruinme @noonaofjungkook @mango-bear @lightmochi @simplyyeol @moon8894 @luvvaerihun @his-mochi-cheeks @sweetjellytine @junmyeonnoona @haruharux23 @sunbyun21​ @sekshi-namjas​

Tell me if you want to be tagged!

©kimjongdaely

Talk to me!│Support me on Ko-fi!

[sylvie-writes]

Lonely Weekend

a/n: this one is quite the rollercoaster. also a quick psa.

A. I’ve never written for Ari Levinson nor have I seen the movie sooooo...

B. I just wrote this to give y’all a little something and it’s not rlly proofread.

C. And finally, yes this is another Kacey Musgraves song. Just feedin my addiction.

It's a lo, it's a lo, it's a lonely weekend

It's a lo, it's a lo, it's a lonely feelin' without you

 It had been a few months since you’d seen Ari. Almost every night, you’d try to call him despite the crazy difference in time that separated you both. Unfortunately, four out of the seven times you would call, the answer dial would echo in your ear. With a defeated sigh, you’d place the handset back on the receiver, going back to whatever was keeping you busy at the time.

 About a month ago, Ari had called you, catching you off guard as he was never the one to initiate the call.

 “Guess what, sweetheart! I’m coming home!”

 His words brought tears of joy to your eyes, causing your pitiful sniffles to travel through the phone.

 “Oh sweet girl, don’t cry! I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

 After the longest four days of your life, you dashed out of work and straight to the airport. You waited and waited at the terminal for an eternity, puffs of smoke suffocating your nostrils and loudly spoken words surrounding your mind. When you caught sight of Ari’s gorgeous face, all of the nuisances from before didn’t matter, and you practically ran through the crowd of exiting passengers just to run into his arms. 

 Ari chuckled and dropped his bags, spinning you around in his arms and ignoring the annoyed huffs of the remaining passengers who were trying to pass you both. He pressed his lips against yours in a kiss you both savored. 

For a good month, everything seemed right as rain between you and Ari. Things honestly couldn’t have gone better, yet when you and Ari started to fall apart, it happened in small and unnoticeable increments. 

 Monday, I was gone, and Tuesday, you were working late

Wednesday went to hell, and Thursday kinda had the wait, yeah

So far everything imaginable that could go wrong, went wrong this very week. Reality hit you like a freight train, knocking you out of your blissful little bubble with Ari. 

Monday, you had left for a business meeting a few hours away, something you honestly didn’t want to show up for. You spent more time driving than you did in the actual meeting, which was aggravating as they could have sent someone else in your place. You went home that night, hoping to have Ari hold you in his arms, yet he was knocked out cold in bed and you didn’t want to bother him. 

The next day, Ari had gone into work as you stayed home, the two of you switching places pretty much. Around noon, Ari had called, saying he’d be working late. It did hurt you just a bit as you had planned a nice dinner for the man. You had even spent all morning preparing food and such. On the phone, you acted as if everything was okay, but this was the last straw and you broke down into tears. 

Wednesday, you got some news that you had been laid off. It seemed so surreal and you were just a walking zombie for the rest of the day. The most you had said all day was “yeah.” Ari was a bit worried, but he gave you your space and allowed you to carry on. If only he had seen how broken you were before he rushed out to work.

You spent a majority of Thursday in a weird funk, after all you had been laid off for heaven knows how long. It wasn’t that you were displaying anger or sadness, you were just numb, a blank expression on your face as you went along. Ari had left early that morning and you hadn’t even noticed to be honest. Actually, you hadn’t even noticed it was Thursday yet. 

 Friday, you were leavin', goin' out of town again

I should see what's goin' on, only got a couple friends

“Hey sunshine, how are you feelin?”

 Ari kissed your bare shoulder as you continued to wash the dishes, a small smile on your face. The man wrapped his arms around your waist, placing kisses up your neck, his beard tickling you slightly. Yesterday, you eventually cried out all of your feelings and just accepted your fate as it was handed to you on a silver platter. Now, you were just happy to spend some time with Ari.

 You quickly dried your hands on a dish towel and turned in his embrace, running your hands through his long hair. 

 “Oh Ari. What are we going to do, my love?”

 He sighed and placed a gentle kiss on your nose.

 “We will figure it out, Sweets.” 

 Ari pulled you closer to his chest, resting his lips by your ear.

 “Oh honey, I hate to do this to you, but I have to leave. Tonight.”

 Your heart stopped for a minute and you just nodded, some silent tears streaming down your face and onto his neck. Ari felt terrible, but there was nothing he could say or do that would help. Instead, he just rocked you in his arms until you started to nod off on his shoulder. Gently, he scooped you and took you to bed. Ari had to leave in a few hours, so he dedicated to join you under the covers, spooning your fragile body, much tinier in comparison to his broad physique. 

 It's a lo, it's a lo, it's a lonely weekend (so lonely)

It's a lo, it's a lo, it's a lonely feelin' without you

  Ari left that night as he had said, kissing you with a passion and then leaving, being pulled away by work. You stayed curled up in bed, even changing into Ari’s most recent tee shirt, snuggling up into his pillow as well. Needless to say, you wished he was there with you. Being in his arms felt like nothing could get to you, whether that be bad news or bad friends. You felt protected and loved when you were with Ari. 

 Guess everybody else is out tonight (out tonight)

Guess I'm hangin' by myself, but I don't mind (I don't mind)

Saturday rolled around and you were yet to hear from Ari. He should have called you as he was still in America, just a week long business trip, that’s all. You moped along, pulling yourself together even though there was nothing to do. Your friends that lived in town were most likely busy, after all it was the weekend and you should have been busy too. It did get a bit depressing when your negative thoughts were the only thing keeping you company. They made you realize that you were going to be all alone when you needed people the most. 

 It's a lo, it's a lo, it's a lonely weekend, yeah

I got a million things to do, but I haven't done a single one, no

And if my sister lived in town, I know that we'd be doin' something fun

 Some would say you had responsibilities to take care of, but you honestly didn’t feel like doing any of them. None of those chores involved seeing your loved ones, instead leaving you subject to the degrading voices in your head. One thing was for sure, and that was you weren’t going to be tending to those at the moment. With nothing to do, you tried calling your sister, the one who always made your day, just by a simple phone call. Unfortunately, just like Ari, when you needed her most, she wasn’t there to answer. 

 I keep lookin' at my phone, puttin' it back down

There's a little part of me that's got the fear of missin' out, and

It's a lo, it's a lo, it's a lonely weekend (so lonely)

It's a lo, it's a lo, it's a lonely feelin' without you

 You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the phone as if it would ring from intimidation. Minutes passed and no one called. The little part of you that had hope was crushed and you just leaned back onto the bed, sighing that no one called. Maybe they had forgotten about you. At least that is what your thoughts left you to believe. You knew they weren’t most likely true, so you just shut your eyes, hoping to take a nap and drift off to some lovely dreamland.

 I guess everybody else is out tonight (out tonight)

Guess I'm hangin' by myself, but I don't mind (I don't mind)

 Everyone was gone, out having fun. You had yourself, and that was enough for now.

You could manage, you’d done it before. But it was different now. Things were tough and you wanted someone to talk to.

But all you had was you and that was enough.

 Right?

 It's a lo, it's a lo, it's a lonely weekend, yeah

Even if you got somebody on your mind

It's alright to be alone sometimes, sometimes

 Ari was on your mind, even when you woke from your nap, he was still there. His adorable smile engraved into your mind. You woke up, seeing the sun had set and it was not around nine. With a bit of a fresh mindset, you left the bed and moved to the couch. To pass time, you decided to learn solitaire. It was a last resort, but it was better than taking another nap.

 It's a lo, it's a lo, it's a lonely weekend (so lonely)

It's a lo, it's a lo, it's a lonely feelin' without you

I guess everybody else is out tonight (out tonight)

Guess I'm hangin' by myself, but I don't mind (I don't mind)

 After spending an hour attempting to learn solitaire, you tiredly gave up and turned to the tv, flipping through the channels looking for any form of entertainment. As you did so the front door creaked open, although you had just assumed the sound was on tv. Suddenly, a warm hand ran over your sweater clad arm, making you jump in your seat. You snapped your head in the culprit’s direction, your stern expression softening when you saw Ari’s bright smile. His face was illuminated by the tv’s light giving you a clear pathway to his lips. In no time, you crashed your lips against his, grabbing at his shirt and practically pulling his upper half over the back of the couch. Ari pulled back laughing, taking one hand to smooth your hair as you lovingly gazed up at him.

 The man swung his legs over the couch in a swift jumping movement. You giggled at his actions, pulling yourself into his lap for a much needed hug. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m here now.”

 It's a lo, it's a lo, it's a lonely weekend

It's a lo, it's a lo, it's a lonely weekend

 Or so you had thought...

[loveislattes]

NSFW Alphabet - Wilford Warfstache

THIS IS A REPOST DUE TO THE ORIGINAL GETTING LOST! This was originally written 2-3 years ago! 

These are all personal opinions of mine. Of course, others might see it differently, but I hope you all enjoy the read no matter what!

(Re-post! The original got removed because I had an actual sex gif in here, so now there’s just a link!)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Wilford will always cuddle his lover after sex, and do everything in his power to make sure they are comfortable and happy. Whether it be playing with their hair, rubbing their back, or whispering sweet compliments in their ear, he will never leave them wanting. He quite often falls asleep with them after.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part of his own would have to be a tie between his fabulous mustache and his hands. The first comes from a place of pride, knowing how unique it is and how well it suits him. The second comes from the strength and dexterity behind the fine sinews of his fingers and how well they play your body.

His favorite part of his lover’s body is their eyes. He loves seeing the depth of emotions swirling in the beautiful colors. No matter what he first thought his favorite color was, it instantly became your eye color the first time he made love to you and stared into your hooded orbs.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

100% Wilford loves to cum deep inside you, just to pull out and watch it drip down your thighs. He might even scoop it up and offer it to you, watching with a patient gaze for you to take the offer.

Anytime he goes down on you, which is like every time you’re intimate, he pushes and pushes until you make a mess all over his face and he gets to drink you up.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Maybe not so secret, but he has a major daddy kink. He loves to spoil his lover with both material goods and physical affection, and loves to be in the position of the protector that they rely on.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Wilford is rather experienced. His charming and bubbly personality mixed with his good looks get him many fans, and while he’s now settled down with you, he took his fair share of romps with the women and men that fawned over him before. He knows his way well around the human body and knows just how to use hands to bring their lover to their knees.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Favorite Position Gif!

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Wilford goes back and forth depending on the mood. Sometimes he’s very intense and focused on the moment, other times he’s laid back and there’s a lot of tickling and giggling joining the pleasure.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

While at one point he dyed his pubic hair pink, it’s now back to it’s natural dark shade. He doesn’t groom often but if his lover preferred it, he would.

He doesn’t particularly care about his lover’s grooming style either. As long as he gets to go down on them and make them cum, he couldn’t care less about appearance.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) Wilford is extremely romantic, from sweet talking his partner to showing with kisses and touches, he always conveys his love for them thoroughly.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He has a super high sex drive. As such, if you are busy or don’t feel up to it, he has no problem taking care of himself, and is still willing to go at it with you later. He takes his time as he would with you, all while picturing your hand or mouth on his cock, until he cums with your name on his lips.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Super huge daddy kink. (Not necessarily DDLG!) He loves having a protective position in his lover’s life, being able to provide for them and take care of them without them having a worry of their own. This translates heavily into the bedroom as well, giving every last bit he has to make sure his partner is pleased beyond their wildest dreams and taking his own selfish pleasure in going down on them for an unbelievable amount of time.

Oral kink like no other. While he enjoys receiving, he gets the most enjoyment out of giving. He likes getting to drive his lover insane with over stimulation, using his tongue and hands as blissful torture instruments. He’s not done until his mouth and jaw are covered in their cum, and they’re shaking from exhaustion.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

As long as the lighting is good, he doesn’t have a strong preference to where it takes place. He just wants to be sure he can see every inch of his partner so he can remember it later.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Wilford gets turned on easy, thanks to his high sex drive, but the surest way to get him going is to dress up. Whether it be a cute outfit he picked out for them, or them wearing one of his shirts or suspenders, he loves to see his partner in something that screams him. Short skirts/shorts and thigh highs on his lover would be the next best thing. Not to mention if you were to come straight out and tell him how badly you wanted him, it’d be like flicking on a switch and you’d find yourself on your back with his mouth between your legs faster than you could think.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He absolutely refuses to hurt his lover. A light spanking, a love bite here or there, those are safe, but anything that would leave bruises or harm them, he is adamantly against.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He craves to be between your thighs, tasting how aroused you are for him as he makes you shake and quiver. He is more skilled than the best, having spent so much time crafting his practice and is willing to learn even more by testing out different techniques on you. While he won’t say no to receiving, he definitely prefers giving.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Wilford likes to take his time with his lover, going slow and easy as to appreciate every second he’s gifted with them. On the rare occasion he’s fast and rough, it’s usually if he’s been apart from his lover for a decent amount of time and he can’t wait to be in them.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

As stated above, Wil takes his time. He makes sure his lover is thoroughly pleased and sated before focusing on himself, and that can’t be accomplished in a quickie.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Wilford is up for some experimentation, such as a food in bed or a new position, but he’s not much of a risk taker. He’s more concerned with the safety of his partner.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Wilford usually keeps it to one round at a time because of how long he takes, but given the opportunity, he would spend the entire day worshiping his lover’s body.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He owns some toys that he picked out for his lover, such as a vibrator, a small dildo, and fluffy handcuffs, that he delights in using on them. He will occasionally let his lover use something like a vibrator on him when he’s receiving oral or letting them work him up, but it’s more so for them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Wilford can be quite the tease. From a slap to the butt passing in the hall, to pulling you in a closet and grinding his thigh against your sex during a heated make out, he is insatiable but knows the big show has to wait. He just has to let out some of his frustration in little increments some how.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Wilford is veerry vocal. He doesn’t hold back on his noises of ravenous hunger when he’s going down on his lover, and when he’s buried deep in them, their name comes out just as loud from him as his does from them. He wants his partner to know how good they make him feel, because he knows he loves hearing it as well.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

When drunk, he can get a little more promiscuous than normal, dabbling in dressing up some himself for his lover. He keeps it simple, but he’s been known to strut around in pink short shorts with one of his lover’s pink garters or their thigh highs on, teasing them with how good his legs look in them. He seems to be more exhibitionist when drinking.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Slightly over average in length and much thicker than average, he is hung to please the most picky of lovers but not harm them with his size.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Insanely high, and he struggles to control it. He just craves his lover at every moment of the day, but keep just enough hold on his actions to make it

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Snuggled up to his partner, he falls asleep fast once he’s assured they’re comfortable and safe.