#it'll stop being broken soon i promise

[ashtavula]

Hello could I maybe request the overbloters having accidentally hurt their S/o during their overblot? If not that’s fine I just wanted to ask.

cw: descriptions of injuries and blood, spoilers for the overblots

The overblotters accidentally hurt their s/o

Riddle:

-You try to avoid the massive rose tree that Riddle hurls your way, but you're just a bit too slow. The tree hits you, and you cry out as the thorns slice you open. Ace and Deuce try to help you out, and they manage to yank you out from underneath the sharp limbs. Blood drips from the cuts on your limbs, and you collapse as Riddle's overblot comes to an end.

-As soon as Riddle sees you, his tears intensify, and he begs for people to help you. In the days after that, Riddle insists on tending to your injuries. He looks guilty as he helps change your bandages, and he's insistent that you take your painkillers on time. It'll take him a long time to forgive himself for hurting you, even if it was an accident.

Leona:

-The sand being whipped around by the wind makes it difficult to see, and you get a little too close to Leona. He grabs your arm, and you yelp as his claws dig into your skin. Jack is able to distract Leona, and you break away, cradling your bleeding arm.

-Once it's all over, Leona's sharp nose picks up on the smell of blood. He storms over to you, and he tears a strip of fabric from his shirt. He presses it to your skin, trying to stop the bleeding as he barks for the others to find a medic. While you recover, Leona looks irritated by the sight of the bandages, but you know that he's just angry at himself for hurting you. And when you settle down next to him for your daily cuddles, he'll treat you like you're made of glass.

Azul:

-You knew Azul was stronger than he looked, but you never thought that you'd be on the receiving end of his tentacles. He effortlessly swats you aside, and you slam against a wall. Your head spins, and you can already tell that you've broken your arm. You curl up into a ball, choking back sobs as Leona and the others get Azul to stop his rampage.

-Azul is horrified when he realizes what happened. You see the color drain out of his face, and he lifts you up to carry you to the infirmary himself. For the next few weeks, Azul is your personal servant. Simply tell him what you want, and he's scrambling to get it for you. He feels awful about hurting you, and he's always fretting over your cast.

Jamil:

Vil:

-You gasp as you see Jamil approaching you and Kalim with a murderous look in his eyes. You quickly shove Kalim away, hoping to get him out of range of Jamil. The snakes that have replaced his hair dart towards you, and their fangs sink into your arm. Almost instantly, a blinding surge of agony shoots up your arm. You collapse to your knees, and pass out from the pain.

-You awaken a few hours later, dizzy and nauseated. You vaguely realize that you're laying down in Jamil's bed, and that he's laying down beside you. You squirm, and Jamil lifts his head. He immediately scolds you for getting too close to him during his overblot. Yet, as he lectures you, his hands check you for a fever, and he gives you medicine to help with the effects of the snake venom that's wreaking havoc on your body. As you close your eyes, still exhausted, you feel his lips press against your forehead, and he mumbles out an apology against your skin.

-Your eyes water as you accidentally breathe in some of Vil's poison. Your nose and throat start to burn, and you start tasting something metallic. Within a few moments, you're coughing up blood and struggling to get enough oxygen. You have to lean against Epel as you gasp for air, blood starting to drip from your nose.

-You faint as Vil stops overblotting, but you awaken a few minutes later to see Malleus staring down at you with his brows furrowed. You barely get the chance to open your mouth before Vil is yanking you into a tight embrace. You can feel his hands shake as he mumbles out apologies and promises to never hurt you again. Malleus may have helped you overcome the effects of the poison, but that doesn't stop Vil from fussing over you. As he insists on checking your throat for the fourth time that day, just remind yourself that he's doing it because he loves you.

Idia:

-The ground shakes, and you fail to see the piece of debris that falls from the ceiling. It hits your shoulder, and you scream as the joint is dislocated. Rook is able to quickly knot the Pomefiore uniform's long sleeves around you to form a makeshift sling, but it's a struggle to hold back the tears of pain.

-It takes a moment for Idia to realize what's wrong, but he nearly has a meltdown when he does. He's immediately rushing you off to Styx's medical professionals, leaving everyone else in the dust. He's trying to apologize to you the entire time as the doctors put your arm in a splint, but he's stuttering over his words so badly that you can barely understand them. Once you're back at NRC, Idia keeps you practically locked up in his room as you recover. Despite keeping you with him, Idia is even more hesitant to touch you, out of fear of hurting you further.

Malleus:

-Malleus' magic washes over you, and your eyes slide closed as you're forced into a dream. Unfortunately, you hit your head on the edge of a table as you fall over, and Malleus doesn't notice. While traversing the dream worlds, you keep feeling this faint ache in your head, but you brush it off.

-However, you immediately groan in pain, and cradle your head in your hands when you wake up. The distant ache in the dreams blossoms into a stabbing migraine, and the world spins around you. Malleus quickly takes notice, and he cradles you in his embrace as he worriedly asks you what's wrong. You feel the brief pull of his magic, and the agony subsides. His lips press against the side of your head, and he croons out apologies for not keeping a better eye on you. For the next few days, you have a draconic shadow that refuses to leave you alone, and thinks that copious amounts of ice cream will make you feel better after your "terrible injury."

[boothillssugarmomma]

Screw Loose

(Boothill x Fem!Reader)

cw-: sickeningly sweet Boothill, limb detachment mentioned, hint of talk of powering down

🎀 authorsnote: Boothill is my baby and will always be my baby and I love him so fucking muchhhhh

please don't steal my work!

🎀 Taglist🎀HSR Master List🎀Other Lists🎀

"Hey, darlin! Could you grab the screwdriver?" Boothill smirks as he walks into the living room. You nearly faint as your husband walks up to you...missing an arm!

"What?" Boothill gave a headtilt and a soft smile, "Look, my arm got stuck again ok?" He rolls his eyes and ruffles your hair with his good hand.

"Now stop gawkin' cutie and help me get it off there please?" Boothill motioned over to the cabinet ,where said arm was indeed just gripping onto the handle.

Boothill's arms and legs had the tendency to jam and malfunction, that's why he kept so many screwdrivers around the house. This was a normal thing for Boothill...but not for you.

"O-Of course...honey..." You whisper, your eyes are still glued on the arm as you slowly walk up to it and give it a tug.

The arm is stuck in place, not even budging and the door of the cabinet starts creaking from your tugging with all your might. Boothill watched on, amusement in his eyes.

"What part of 'jammed' do you not get, sweetpea?"

"...fine..." You sigh as you tug it harder, your face gets red as you pull as hard as you can.

The harder you pull, the more the cabinet creaks and Boothill finally rolls his eyes and walks up to you, smacking you away and pulling his arm away from the cabinet handle and shaking it violently.

"Just watch!" Boothill's arm made some clicking noise and just worked like brand new. Boothill flexed his fingers on his arm just to see if it worked and it in fact, did work and he smirked.

"Ain't that purdy?"

"Always my love..." You blink as your nose crinkles with disturbance.

Boothill chuckles, seeing your face of disturbance.

"Don't worry, baby. I ain't gonna fall to pieces on you, 'kay?" He walked over and kissed the top of your head.

"Seems like you already are my dear..." You poke his arm just to be sure it'll stay on.

Upon your poking, his arm gives a mechanical groan in protest from you poking at it and it just goes completely limp.

"Ah, my sweetpea." Boothill muttered the last part under his breath and he gave a scoffing laugh at his arm.

"What'd I tell you? I ain't broken down on you."

"Hmm..." You finally smile and lean up to kiss him.

Boothill kisses back, wrapping his own arm around your waist and holding you closer to him.

"See? I'm just a little wonky from time to time." Boothill gave a little chuckle, "The perks of being mechanical, huh?" His smirk widened at his last little statement.

"Perks is a funny way to put it..." You laughed softly before hugging into him.

Boothill smiled and held you close, placing his chin on the top of your head as you hugged into him.

"You gotta admit it, sweetpea. Not everything about being a bionic cowboy is bad." Boothill laughed softly, "I'm still me at the end of the day despite being mechanical like this. Nothin' changed 'xcept my flesh and organs are different than yours."

You glance up at him and sigh. "Boothill what am I going to do with you..."

He chuckled at your little comment and smiled, "Just hold onto me and hope I don't shut down one day." he teased slightly and ruffled your hair.

Boothill wasn't like many other men and you had to learn to live with that. A mechanical man was all he was. But Boothill was still the same man you fell in love with.

"Say...darling..." You whisper softly. "If you ever...were to shut down..." You trail off as your eyes begin to water.

"Don't even go there, sweetpea." Boothill muttered, pulling you even closer to him now and holding you close to him. He had his chin back on the top of your head as his arms were wrapped around you.

"Listen to me, baby." Boothyll whispered, "Ain't goin' down anytime soon." his drawl was firm and serious, meaning every word of what he said.

"Promise?" You swallow harshly and take sharp breaths against his metal chest.

"I promise, baby." Boothill whispered into your ear, "But...if I ever do go down, I don't want you to morn me long." he said quietly.

"I want you to carry on living for me."

Boothill was deadly serious, he didn't want you to have a moment where you'll just waste away in sadness for him.

"Stop it, don't say that!" You smack his arm softly. You both freeze as it starts to creak.

The arm slowly creaks before falling down to the ground , this time it was his left arm.

"Oh, honey." Boothill muttered, "Please don't break me anymore." he said in his low drawl, a teasing tone.

"I'm sorry!" You whine and rush off to find a screwdriver for your husband.

Boothilly just watches on amused as you run to find a screwdriver and you rush back to him with the screwdriver.

"Easy, sweetheart." Boothill laughs softly at your haste and he turns around so you can fix his arm.

"I didn't mean to..." You sigh as you carefully pick up his arm, a look of pure disgust crosses your face before fading into a neutral expression.

You could tell Boothill was holding back his own laugh at the expression you made, watching on as you carefully pick up his arm with the screwdriver.

"Just fix me up so we can get this over with." he muttered, still amused but was eager to get this over with.

You carefully begin to fix it with a puzzled look. "I don't know...how?"

You managed to start fixing his arm back on, but it'll take a while due to how complicated Boothill's arms and legs were.

"You just gotta turn the screw driver on the screw." Boothill told you, a bit of annoyance in his voice, "How far away are you from fixing this, darlin'?"

"I'm trying my love..." You assure him.

"I know, honey." Boothill muttered quietly and tried to sit still, "Just a little while longer." his voice drawled out. He could feel you working on his arm and he just prayed you wouldn't somehow mess it up.

"You're nearly at the finish line, baby."

"That's what she said." You smirk. The room goes quiet.

Boothill was speechless and completely flabbergasted at your boldness to finish his sentence and he just looked at you, mouth still slightly open before he burst out into a fit of laughter.

"Oh, you little devil." he grinned, "Seems you're learning a few things from me, ain't ya?"

"Learned from the..." You trail off as you screw a screw on. "The best!" You smile as his arm starts to move again.

Boothill can feel his arm working again and he gives it a small flex, "See? Told you it's not that complicated." he grinned.

Boothill gives you a kiss on the cheek and pulls you close to him.

"You did a good job, sweetheart." he whispered into your ear, "Ain't you just a smart cookie."

You giggle softly at the chain of praise he whispers into your ear. Eyes shining with pure love and adoration.

Boothill could see the love in your eyes as he whispered praises to you and he just smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek before kissing your lips.

"I'm the luckiest cowboy, ain't I? Having you in my life, in my arms." he whispered to you, "I'd do anything for you, darling."

"R-Really?" You whisper softly as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Really." Boothill whispered back, smiling as he tucked that stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"Ain't a day goes by where I ain't proud to say that you're my girl." he whispered quietly, giving a sweet kiss to your forehead.

"I love you..." You smile warmly up at him.

Boothill gives a genuine smile as he gently lifts your chin up with his hand, leaning down as his hand gently cups your face and he smiles down at you.

"I love you more." he whispered back to you, leaning down to kiss your lips gently.

"I love you most..." You giggle.

"You're such a little minx, yknow that?" Boothill whispered to you as he pulled you closer to him and held you close. He just held you close to him, smiling softly as he held you in his arms like you were his entire world...well technically...you are his entire world.

"But you love that~" You tease before leaning up to kiss his nose.

"True, true." Boothill chuckled and grinned down at you after you kissed his nose.

"You keep this up, I might malfunction with a love bug if you get any sweeter." He joked and grinned down at you, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

🎀End🎀

[rizsu]

“later,” he said—no, he promised. later he promised to apologize. later he promised it'll be alright. later gojo promised to talk it out yet again meaningless promises are meant to be broken. like a jigsaw puzzle piece to its board, they fit in well. no one cares about promises that were spat out to ease the fuel, is what he thinks. at the end of the day, if it's not important it'll end up passing like a leaf floating through the wind. to bother and not be bothered: the rules by which gojo carries on his life.

he bothers with the quests that are deemed important and alarming to him. if such fails to pass this, they will be discarded—much like the “argument” that took place last night. he doesn't recall anything that happened. other than meeting heads with the couch, there really isn't any details from the prior night that sticks out to him.

much to his disappointment, there's the prickling feeling that he did something wrong and has yet to make ends meet for it. did i fuck up somewhere? he wonders. a pout and furrowed eyebrows welcome themselves as he takes his precious time trying to figure out what or who he wronged.

he's yet to find the answer. not bothering with it any longer, he pops two painkillers dry and makes his way to your shared bedroom, unaware of you who's been in a horrible mood ever since. scratching the back of his head, he walks around confused. in his front view is you, who looks stressed even though you're asleep. the dried trails of tears deepen his confusion. just how hungover was i? he questions, oblivious to the blunt fact that it's him who caused it all.

“hey,” gojo whispers, softly shaking your body to jerk you awake. it doesn't work, so he continues until you're conscious. as soon as he sees movement from you, he stops, placing his hand stationary on your hip. watching you twist and turn, he's caught by surprise when you flick his hand away. are you mad? upset? sick? he has no knowledge of what or why you're like this.

“baby? did i do something? what's wrong?” throwing questions at you, his face contorts into confusion and worry. what's going on with you? why won't you communicate? he has many questions that only fuel your anger. does he really not remember? was it truly just like a fly buzzing around his food? is he really that self-centered? no—you know he's not but was your so called “argument” that useless to him? unbelievable.

you try your best to ignore him, really, but his bothersome behavior will either make him see his deity or see the life of being single once again. your tolerance level lowers each time you hear his voice. at this moment, you truly dislike this man. whoever wants to call you sensitive can kiss your ass. you rightfully have every right to seethe with dislike towards gojo.

“can you STOP?!” emerging from under the covers, you look at gojo. oh, how sweet he looks. so sweet yet so rotten.

taken back, gojo raises his hands in defense. if you don't at least hint to him what happened, he's going to go insane.

“what demon possessed you today?” “fuck you.”

you give no more than two words and a middle finger to him. you're too salty at the truth—the truth of him not remembering anything. not even what happened moments before he fell asleep. you're kind of sad, honestly. you love him a lot and it does hurt.

“do you not recall..?” it's your turn to question him. with the softest voice possible, you look at him, eyes wavering to observe his reaction. you hope he at least lies. the truth hurts and you're definitely not in the mood to accept it.

“... recall what?”

oh, alright. you knew he was drunk, but not that drunk. can't blame him but that's exactly what you're going to do. he just cannot act so innocently. he can't. who does that?! not anyone with a sense shame, that's for sure—but who is gojo satoru to feel such tiny things?

sighing, you turn your back to him, making sure to cover your entire body with the duvet. the longer you acknowledge him, the faster your violent tendecies will take over. although you're disturbed, you still have to speak to him, it's a habit, unfortunately, “do not bother me, gojo.”

offended and shocked being his two most dominant emotions today, he raises an eyebrow, ready to drop another question as if it's a pop-up quiz, “what do you mean by that?”

—

minutes and hours pass by and gojo's still hosting that offended expression. really, it's the only emotion he's been feeling ever since he graced the house with his presence. today might just be the day he buries himself in search for eternal rest. when it comes to others' problems, he will be there as if he's a superhero, but his? oh, his new name might just be master deflector three thousand. gojo has a complex—it's not a god complex, rather, it's a how-do-i-face-my-emotional-demons complex. he masks everything with a joke and confidence but never permit that to steer you away from who he truly is. not a god, just gojo satoru.

gojo's alone now, sinking into his thoughts as he remembers how you left earlier. another argument occurred and just like last night, he mirrored his actions—though completely unknown to him, you clearly remember it all. the same nonchalant way he waved you off, the way he oozed of attitude as he rolled his eyes, the same way his voice dominated when he finally reaches his limit.

sipping on his glass, he pokes his inner cheek with his tongue, salty at the scene replaying in his mind. unable to contain your violent tendecies, your eyes took over as tears overflowed from the rims. you didn't shout, didn't hit, didn't throw anything—just took a deep breathe in and walked away with a sour smile.

gojo's eyes trailed your figure, watching your figure disappear without care. like always, he believes it'll be alright. he's sure that all you need is space and you'll come back. gojo believes in a simple apology being the bandaid to the injury, which is why his eyes bulged when you came into view with a bag or two.

gojo's body immediately dashed to yours from his position almost leaving a cartoonish dust trail behind him. his hand grips against yours, pulling your body closer to his. clenching his jaw, he questions—no, demands, “where are you going?”

a stuttering breath escapes from you, too exhausted to have anything else to say, you give him an acceptable answer, “away from you, obviously.”

his grip tightens, the same feeling from the moment he woke up swirls arounds. his stomach feels like a bottomless pit, the sick feeling just never ends. annoyed at your constant deflecting, the tone of his voice changes but he never raises the volume.

“fucking stop it and tell me.”

no response. he doesn't get the response he wants, but he does receive you wriggling your arm out from his grip. holding your arm to your chest, it stings as his fingerprints disappear within a blink. gojo hates it. he hates the look of disgust in your eyes. he despises what's happening. he despises that something happened before all this and he can't, for the love of him, remember anything.

uncomfortable silence dominates. you're avoiding every attempt of eye contact and gojo's eyes scan your features. she's uncomfortable, he thinks. his heart may as well shatter into separated atoms. his eyes dull in color, slowly backing away from you as he turns his back to you again. dumping his body on the couch, he rests his head on his palm, waving you off with simple words, “go if you want, leave as you wish. i'm done.”

oh okay, a bitter taste envelops your cells, he's done. loosely holding your bags, you drag your feet to the door, looking back at him for one more, one more chance to confirm if you should leave or not. his slumped figure gives you all the confirmation you need. with that, you leave. taking two steps out, you speak with a low voice, praying that he'll hear it.

“bye-bye, satoru.”

gojo raises two fingers, showing you that he heard you well. waiting for the door to click, he leans his head back on the couch, finally allowing himself to succumb to his feelings. every negative emotion and its synonym engulfs him, feeding off of his body and draining him clean of any optimism. is it over? he doesn't know. he hopes it's not. never did he ever want to let you slip through that door but what could he have done? it was more than evident that you were uncomfortable with him. he just can't be selfish and keep you.

maybe he's malfunctioning but there's very much little beads of tears forming in his eyes. it's been a rather long day so why not let it out? comforting in the feeling of the liquid sliding down the sides of his face, he forces back any vocal sound of his cries. he'll rather sink into silence than to do anything else.

[jaylver]

BABY CAME HOME — L.HS

synopsis: never trust a man who keeps your heart at bay. especially when it was your brother's best friend.

genre: situationship, brother's best friend, (heavy) angst

warning(s): profanities, hee being a dickhead (sorry :( he's an actual sweetheart irl)

wc: 1k

a/n: inspired by the neighbourhood’s song! drop a feedback like always! it'll help a lot <3 enjoy!

masterlist | © jaylver all rights reserved. 

Mistakes.

Mistakes were the death of you, it was your downfall, and you knew starting something with your brother's best friend was one too.

Lee Heeseung. 

The person you grew up seeing come in and out of your house from time to time. Watching him grow as you did too, going from the innocent looking boy to an attractive man in a blink of an eye. You would be lying if you said he had no effect on you. What mattered most to you was him remaining the same despite looking different physically. He was the same sweetheart with a charming personality.

How it started was complicated. Meeting at a party without your brother, Sunghoon, was actually the first mistake. You didn't expect to make out with Heeseung by the end of the night and let him sneak into your room through the window.

It was all fun and games, seeing each other behind your brother's back, passing glances and knowing looks, having inside jokes no one would understand. Knowing every inch of one another's bodies, where your favourite mole was, the spot of his birthmark even his friends didn't know. The unspoken intimacy you shared was something else.

Yet, none of you placed a label on whatever you had together. At first, you thought that was a great idea, no labels to stress you out, but now? Boy, you were overthinking about the relationship—situationship, actually—you both shared. 

On one of those nights where he stayed over in your room, next to you, lights low and only the television playing in the back, you decided to speak your mind. "What are we?" 

Those words were probably like spikes to him, something he wasn't ready to face or answer. He slowly sat up, his eyes unreadable. "What do you mean?"

"What?" You sat up as well, eyes flickering. "Us? Am I just a friend to you? Sunghoon's little sister that you can play around?"

"No!" He said immediately, jaw clenching. "God, Y/N, if I knew how difficult you would become, I wouldn't have started this,"

You stilled at his words, wondering if your ears had failed you or whether this was all a trick, but it wasn't. "I was a mistake, wasn't I?"

Heeseung seemed to realise what he had said, wanting to take it back but couldn't even bear to utter a word once he saw the look on your face. 

"Just … just don't say anything, leave."

That night faded into many restless nights after. You didn't know how he was doing, he could be feeling nothing and you wouldn't know either. But the worst doesn't stop there. Your cousin's wedding was nearing, Heeseung who happened to be his friend, promised to come and be your date, yet the timing just had to fuck with you.

Sunghoon somehow noticed the drop in your emotions, occasionally checking up on you, each time you could only brush him off and say you were fine. What could you do? Say you were hooking up with his best mate behind his back? That's basically a death sentence.

Being dolled up and dressed in some expensive dress, you found yourself waiting in the middle of your house's living room for the others, basking in the quietness of your surroundings. That was soon broken by the sound of the door closing, attracting your attention and having you turn your head.

Heeseung.

Black tie, clean suit, making his way in awkwardly and rather stiffly. Maybe it was from the emptiness because once his dark irises landed on your figure, he stopped in his tracks.

"Y/N?"

Why did you let him say your name still? Why couldn't you erase him from your head? Why couldn't he just be yours?

You said nothing, watching him get closer and eventually standing a few feet away from you, a coffee table separating you and him. The silence was thick enough to be sliced through, basically suffocating you to the point where you couldn't breathe.

"Well, don't you stand in front of me and wait for me to talk," you mumbled, looking anyway but at him.

"I was hoping we could talk,"

"You could've called me up—" you knew the moment if you saw his caller ID, you would've picked it up in a heartbeat, and that was the worst part, "—the phone works two ways, you know?"

"I know," He said softly, something in his eyes were begging and desperate, but his face was much more impassive. He was trying to keep his cool, but he was equally crumbling internally.

When you said nothing, he continued on, the silence from you was loud, and it was clear, clear enough to convey that you were mad, in despair, and definitely on the verge of ending you and his 'relationship'.

"Y/N, we can't just end it like this,"

"End it like what?" You choked out, heart straining against your chest. "There was nothing between us in the first place. You made it clear," you swallowed down a sob. "There was never an 'us', it was only a 'you' and 'I',"

"No, no …"

You shook your head, tears overflowing and eventually cascaded down your cheeks. Gosh, you were a mess. "I can't just continue sneaking around my brother's back just for you, doing everything just for me to not be anything to you—"

"You are something to me!"

"Oh, right? Yet you couldn't even accept the idea of us being together when I asked you that question the other night," you blinked harder, remembering the disappointment and annoyance in his expressions. "I think it says a lot,"

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't, d–don't, don't say anything," you backed away slowly, by now your makeup probably ruined and you were too much of a mess for the wedding. "Go find some other girl to toy around with, Hee."

You couldn't stand it anymore. Nausea, anger and sadness overwhelmed your senses. The tears in your eyes blurred your vision as you tried to run up the stairs, accidentally knocking into Sunghoon without even realising.

The slam of your bedroom door indicated that you weren't coming back out for the rest of the night. Sunghoon was curious as he descended the stairs, but when he saw Heeseung standing there, head in his hands and a frown etched deep, he knew, he always did anyway.

There was no way you could come back from this broken heart. 

( © jaylver all rights reserved. do NOT copy, plagiarise or edit my work and repost whatsoever. once discovered will be exposed and blacklisted. )

[harmonysanreads]

Since you have requests open: I love the way you write Venti, but I don’t think I’ve seen a yan!venti written by you. I’d love you see your take with him!

Hiraeth

yandere!venti x reader

cw: yandere, venti needs therapy probably, old writing style.

I've wanted to write Yandere Venti for the longest time actually! But the reason why I stalled on writing him is because I had the nagging feeling that Venti was different from the classic yandere, however, I just couldn't pinpoint what exactly. Thankfully, I had an epiphany prior to this ask and in its honor, here's a proper oneshot for everyone's favourite drunkard :)

Venti had let you go.

Morax and Beelzebul were baffled when the news reached them ; what went through the wind-wisp's archaic, intoxicated head were never apparent to the other archons to begin with, but this, this really might've been the most befuddling decision the anemo archon had made — by their logic, at least.

After all, they wouldn't be so careless, unclipping the wings of the object of their unbridled affections and letting them soar, watch as it pranced around the beautiful world and unto the cage of another even so — the other archons are not so rid of paranoia, they are not so selfless. Hardened by the passage of time, they merely know how to own and chain what they deem precious. Such was their simple rationale ; to hold onto the one thing keeping them sane and by doing so, rob them of their freedom.

But by what logicality, what justice, can Venti deprive you of the same freedom he preached? He might instead just steal away your ability to breathe. The anemo archon digresses, it's not like this was another one of his drunken whims, no, no. He'd already made peace with himself, as the patron of the winds, he understood the vitality of his decision and neither did he care for who it baffled or who put effort to understand.

After all, when you love a bird too much, you let it go.

Such was Venti's simple logic and when he came into terms with the same conflict that currently plagued the other archons, when the sight of your grateful and elated smile reflected on his cerulean orbs along with the unhesitant promise of returning to the City of Freedom soon — Venti knew he'd made the right choice.

For he knew this just as well, when an overly attached bird finally tastes true freedom, by its own gratitude to the owner, it'll one day fly back to its previous cage.

Therefore, the wind-wisp was worry-less ; further adding to this was the fact that despite not technically being within arms reach, you actually always are for him. Because, even the all grounding earth must stop to let the water take reigns, no thunder crackles forever, snow and fire extinguish each other and flora and fauna cannot grow in the air — but the wind, it flows to every crevice of the waking world, forever cradling it and keeping its pace to the marching of time. The winds are limitless, so there is not a single moment where Venti cannot feel your presence or hear your breath and voice. There is not a single instance where he has you out of his sight, not a single time where the same winds hadn't coerced those who'd meant you harm.

Though, it's also true that a chief characteristic of the wind is mischief. As it protects, so does it nudge towards danger. But the fun part is actually this : you'll never be able to accuse it because of its ever fleeting nature. So then, who else do you blame when everything in your life seems to go wrong in all the unfortunate times, when every turn and stride has you plunging deeper, deeper, deeper in failure and you're left beaten, broken and never having wished to leave your safe home — why, you blame the entire world and the heavens alongside it, of course.

But you can never blame the one who'd unclipped your wings, not when they'd already given their warnings but still allowed you to fly because they love you so. The blame can only be shifted to you, yourself for not listening, for being so desperate. Never to the one who'd opened the gates for you to fall victim to the world's cruelty, the same freedom's cruelty ; even if the person happened to be the patron of it.

Wandering the world, uncovering its secrets and witnessing all the events it had to offer was your wish. To not be bound to Mondstadt solely and to have the freedom of traversing the entirety of Teyvat was your one desire. The wish your ever so benevolent archon had granted you, chaining you with the shackles of gratitude. But when you finally see the world's true colours, would you wish for that same freedom again? Mondstadt is the sole nation capable of bestowing true freedom, this, Venti had told you before. But since you're so insistent, so curious, so suspecting of him — he wouldn't mind letting you see it for yourself. After all, time is something he never lacked.

Venti had let you go, yes. But it's also true that he wouldn't have done so, if he wasn't certain you'd crawl back to his arms in the first place.

[glitterguts13]

Dan Heng struggling in labor but he’s egg-bound? 👀 Just leaving that here

Honestly, I'm ashamed of myself for not thinking of this sooner!

This isn't supposed to be happening.

"Try to relax as much as you can." another cup of warm water is poured down his aching back while Himeko whispers gentle encouragements. The bathroom was small enough, but with five people crammed inside it was downright claustrophobic.

Eyes closed, a low, pained hum slipping from his throat, Dan Heng clings a little tighter onto Caelus, face buried into his neck.

This wasn't supposed to be happening.

He wasn't supposed to be able to have children, and he certainly wasn't supposed to be egg-bound of all things.

"How far are we from the nearest port?" Dan Heng finally pulls away, dark circles under his puffy, tear-stained eyes.

"Pom-Pom says a day and a half, at the least." March paces nervously right outside the bathroom door, chewing her lip.

"I'm not going to make it another day and a half-" A strangled moan catches in his chest, a soft sob bursting out as his swollen belly contracts around the stubborn egg once more.

"You're going to be just fine," Himeko asserts, "We'll figure this out."

"It's been three days!" voice cracking with emotion, Dan Heng finally feels himself breaking down, "It's not coming out...its stuck...I'm going to die, my baby is going to die with me-" his body locks up, a long, desperate wail filling the little bathroom.

Himeko and Welt share a look, the older man carefully hooking his arms under Dan Heng's and hauling him upright. The distressed dragon struggles weakly, barely able to stand on his trembling legs. A trickle of blood trails behind him as he's taken from the warmth of the tub to the cold sheets of a nearby room.

"Stop-stop...please..." he sobs, pride crushed to dust under his feet. The egg sat heavy in his hips, the rounded bottom barely peeking from his leaking hole.

"I'm sorry...I promise, it'll be over soon." being laid onto the bed, Caelus crawls beside of him, running his fingers through his soaking wet hair and smoothing it from his plaid face.

Himeko gives an order to March before shutting the door, and Welt positions himself next to the shivering dragon. Large hands cup the top of his swollen middle, and without warning, he presses down.

Eyes going wide, legs kicking out, Dan Heng screams.

"I'm sorry, I really am," Welt clenches his teeth, pressing down once more.

"Stop! Stop! You're going to break it-!" he screams again, the right ring of muscles starts to burn as the egg is forced lower.

"It's right there...it's stuck on your hips...if we could just get it past it will come right out."

"Just kill me!" the young man sobs.

"Take his legs, hold them back and far as you can." Himeko takes one side, Caelus on the other. Dan Heng finds he lacks the strength to protest, his hips burning wildly as his legs are pulled apart and back, framing his heaving belly.

"Push with me Dan Heng," Welt orders, his hands pressing down as Dan Heng's womb contracts once more. Teeth sinking into his lip, Dan Heng throws his head back, pushing with what little power his exhausted body still held.

All at once, he feels something crack, a pop, and his head is swimming, vision blurring to black.

"Shit."

"Fuck! Was that-"

"Enough, both of you." Himeko hisses, letting go of Dan Heng's leg and pulling him close to her chest.

"It's over...it's over now." she whispers. He sobs weakly, head falling back.

"The egg-"

"Is safe. You did it, you did so well." she smiles softly, allowing Caelus to bring the round, pearlescent object into Dan Heng's line of sight.

Lying him down, she quickly hurries to the bedroom door. Tired eyes closing, all he hears his her whispering frantically to March and Pom Pom to reach the next port quickly.

His hips had broken from the force, but the egg was safe and sound.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

glass jaw

or: bruised, the apple of my black eye.

graphic blood, violence, and injury warnings, cutesy gory found vampire family shenanigans. i went to the haunted theme park in the middle of the woods at midnight, and all i got was this candy apple of temptation. what's up with that? alexis being the world’s best big sister in just over 8600 words.

warnings for gratuitous blood, violence and gore, graphic descriptions of injury and intent to grievously harm, and, like, one teeny tiny moment of cannibalism. i strongly encourage you to mind the warnings, and to stop reading at ANY point if you feel uncomfortable. reader discretion is advised. minors dni, 18+ only. please consider yourself warned. 

longtime readers may be aware of my sinophone!solaires hc, so ENGLISH SPEAKING READERS - for the love of GOD please check this pronunciation guide i made for the mandarin you're about to see. i PROMISE it'll help!! 💕💕💕

There’s blood everywhere.

It’s a shame. The room was quite tidy when they started – ugh, don’t say it’s got onto the upholstery again. Vampiric blood is impossible to get out of silk, and it costs a fortune to get it professionally cleaned. At least the wooden panelling in here is dark enough to hide most of the spatter.

(Thankfully, baba’s off entertaining the little ankle biters at the moment – and something about a meeting with an old friend, later on? He didn’t say when he was coming back, but it can’t be soon. Hopefully they’ll be able to deal with most of the mess before he gets back. Damned old man never wants them to have any fun.)

How long has it been? Seconds? Hours? It’s difficult to tell. She’d only come in here to sit down, feet hurting from her patrol at Wonderworld, wanting to just lie across the sofa and scroll mindlessly on her phone for an hour or two. She'd almost succeeded, too – until the furious pacing from the other side of the house had got closer and closer.

Vincent had spotted her through the doorway, carelessly cracked open, and… well. He must have had a pretty horrible day.

He’d surprised her, hurling the glass of water in his hands at her head with a sudden hiss. She’d only barely caught it in her peripheral vision, jerking back against the sofa just in time to let it whistle past her face and shatter against the far wall.

No words necessary. Vincent had snarled at her, slamming the door shut behind him, and she’d known exactly what he wanted.

It’s a habit of theirs. A bad one, maybe, but knowing it doesn’t make it any easier to break.

Heavy bodies hitting the floor, skin and spit and bone, this time it might be different. Her shin slamming into his ribs, his elbow smashing into her jaw. Blood clots underneath elegantly manicured nails, and the splinters of what used to be a wisdom tooth are spat onto the side table. It’ll grow back.

Gravity. The inescapable pull. Space bends and folds at the mercy of an impossibly strong grip, worlds and stars and planets collide, and the precious children of William Solaire once again destroy each other.

You might think that it’s madness. That it’s like some crazed, bloodthirsty, animal state that descends upon them, that it’s like they’re totally different people. You’d be wrong. Both of them are perfectly, boringly sane when it happens. There’s no madness here, no delusion – just a brother and a sister who hate and hate and hate.

She’s entirely rational when she tries to sever his spinal column with her teeth, he’s not confused about why he’s trying to rip her arm from its socket. It's never an accident. Tearing each other apart comes naturally.

Cruel spikes of broken glass glitter in Vincent's hair, the smashed mirror above the mantelpiece reflecting the thousand shallow cuts that now litter his scalp, leaking bright, scarlet blood down the back of his neck. Her forearm aches from the impact, the force of a vampiric skull smashing through the glass and into the bricks behind having radiating up through her hand, where her fingers were twisted into Vincent's hair – mostly for grip, but also to keep him from biting them off completely.

It hadn't quite worked, but whatever. She glances down at the ragged chunk of her wrist that isn't there any more, shredded fibres hanging loose, and glares at Vincent as he finishes chewing his mouthful of skin and veins and raw, twitching muscle.

He grins, wide and pretty, fangs slick and gums stained with her blood. “New perfume?”

Bastard. Like he didn't steal it off her vanity this morning, like she couldn’t fucking smell it on him when he came downstairs for breakfast.

“Depends,” she replies, and lets the fistful of dark, meticulously-conditioned and carefully-styled hair still in her hand fall to the floor. “New haircut?”

Vincent's eyes narrow, black and predatory, and, as always, she feels her mouth start to water. He's imagining what it’ll feel like to kick her through the picture window and watch her impact the paved surface of the driveway below, and she's imagining what it'll be like to dig her fingernails inside his stomach and claw out all of the softness she can find.

It’s so easy to get lost in it, the cleansing rage. Nothing but fury, white-hot and shameful as it roars alive under her skin, until she's scraped raw inside and out. The same manic look paints itself across their faces, the same sadistic glee that only comes with doing something you know you shouldn’t.

Well, they're both just as bad as each other. Perhaps it runs in the family.

She lunges, teeth bared, grabbing his shirt to try and slam him back into the brickwork – but like lightning, he lurches to the side and uses her momentum to grab her waist and hurl her bodily into the wall. Wood splinters and flecks of glass go flying as they claw at each other, blood spatter dripping down the window panes and soaking into the finely-patterned carpet.

Her ears ring when Vincent seizes the back of her head and slams her face-first into the doorframe, but she gets her own back as her broken nose puts itself back together, watching the side of Vincent’s chest collapse when she clubs him hard in the side with a metal candelabra. Sweet revenge.

Gasping for breath, he dodges out of the way of her fist and grabs her arm, pulling her painfully into the front of the heavy, wooden console table. She manages to catch his ankle with her foot as she goes, though, hooking it out from under him and shoving him down to the floor. His other hand is still locked around her wrist, so he yanks on her arm to twist himself around, landing heavily on his back instead of his front.

Luckily, she manages to keep her balance, but he can see it coming now – instead of the satisfying crunch she was hoping for, he barely manages to jerk his head out of the way so the sole of her slipper impacts the carpet instead of his eye socket. It sends a spike of pain up her shin, but she ignores it in favour of shielding her head, so the impact of him kicking her backwards into the bookcases doesn't stun her too much.

It’s kind of hilarious, when you think about it. Other families don’t cause thousands of dollars of property damage trying to violently maim and murder each other when they get bored, do they?

In hindsight, it seems almost inevitable they’d turn out like this. For a long time after Vincent’s turning, they’d fought almost constantly, and nobody had ever been able to quite understand why.

It used to be unbearable, having them in the same room together. Bitter glares and cutting remarks, sniping and biting at each other from across the table. Ba always complained about how they gave him headaches – the static whine of furious, mutual hatred, the pressure of all that blinding intensity in one place, with nowhere else to go but him.

He never took sides, and it stung every time. In her head, she knows he was right to. There aren’t the words to describe how much worse that would have made it. But deep inside, she couldn’t help the sick, dizzy feeling of her Maker abandoning her, leaving her – a necessary, instinctive fear of being cast out from the safety of his world and the shelter of his presence.

She’s his blood, she’s his, she’s his. They’re a family.

You can’t say that either of the two of them is entirely innocent. Alexis knows that there are parts of her that Vincent’s right to hate, and there are parts of him that she’s right to hate, too. They’ve both done terrible, awful things, too many to name, to other people and each other alike. Anyone else would say that one is just as awful as the other, and that with the way they’re carrying on, neither of them is making it any better whatsoever.

A boring answer, in short.

Because it’s not actually about that, is it? There’s something else too, something too tender and complicated for them to ever really unravel, the sugary decay of undeath that turns their spit to venom and their hunger to thirst. Vincent’s all the things she left behind, and she’s all the things he never had, and it’s all bundled up with the howling wasteland of the world that neither of them should ever have left.

Everyone regrets their Turning, whether they say so or not. Some regret it more than others, it’s true, but nobody gets away unscathed. The only reason it’s ever been a problem is because the House of Solaire tend to take their regrets out on each other.

(She rakes her nails across Vincent’s pretty face, deep, intentional gouges that would surely scar if he couldn’t sew himself back together so fast. He drives his foot into her knee in return, forcing the joint to fold in on itself the wrong way, and the world goes white with agony for the split second before it begins to heal.)

Sometimes, people wonder how they fixed it. How they get along so much better now, like a real brother and sister should. They never actually ask, and nobody will ever tell, but she isn’t stupid enough not to know what they’re thinking.

It shouldn’t be real. They bicker and pinch and steal each other’s clothes – she takes his keys from the drawer and drives his car instead of hers because it’s nicer, and she deliberately won’t leave him any money for petrol. He plays his music far too loudly in the room next door when he knows she’s got work to do, and eats her snacks out of the fridge without remorse, even if they’re labelled. Annoying, yes, but hardly the curse-yelling, death-threatening carnage their house used to be.

In fact, you could almost say they’re too well-behaved. They stay up late together in the living room, surrounded by every phone and laptop and tablet they can find, refreshing and refreshing the stupid ticket lottery website for the concert Vincent wants to go to of the band that she hates. They wear as many layers as they can stand and bring those UV umbrellas that block out the sunlight, so they can go out in the daytime and queue up for that pop-up event downtown that she’s been dying to go to.

Even the endless, complicated trappings of polite vampiric society are standard fare for them now. Vincent doesn’t complain when he has to stand by her vanity for twenty minutes passing her hairpin after hairpin, and Alexis waits by the front door to do his tie for him, because she’s better at doing the complicated knots that go in and out of fashion. They dress up nicely for every society ball, kissing each other on the cheek and fetching each other drinks and dancing the volta just like everybody else.

She lends him whatever jewellery he wants out of her jewellery box because it’s prettier than his. He pesters their father into letting them go to Disneyland in the evening when it’s dark and they won’t get sunburnt, three days in a row when they should be working because it’s her birthday and she wants to take pictures in front of the castle and eat the special coloured candyfloss they always have at this time of year. They proofread each other’s work documents and curl up under the same blanket on the sofa and leave their shoes next to each other by the door every day.

Shiny, red, and utterly forbidden – a devil’s deal is a wonderful thing. The apple seed of temptation took root in her sour, bloated stomach, and a shallow grave blossomed into a beautiful family tree.

It makes baba so happy that they get along now, and that makes them happy too. They’re never going to tell anyone how they do it. Isn’t there some saying about magic and secrets?

(Her arm isn’t quite back in its socket yet, shoulder screaming in pain, but it won’t stop her trying to choke Vincent unconscious against the bookcase. He spits a warm mouthful of blood and venom into her face in thanks, and knees her hard in the stomach.)

Vampiric houses are famously secretive, especially the older ones. It pretty much comes with the territory – the diet alone tends to be rather off-putting for outsiders, to say nothing of the other… well, the other habits that vampirism bestows. Generally, vampires prefer to keep the company of their own kind, and the intrinsic bond between maker and progeny is a rather powerful reason to stay.

Clans have always been compared to families in that way, and the House of Solaire takes it very seriously indeed. More so than most, although it’s not an uncommon thing. Turnings tend to isolate a person from their human friends and family. It would be remiss of their new clan, surely, not to step in and fill that void however they can?

As different as some things are, there’s no escaping human nature. If William’s taught them anything about surviving in this world, about protecting their family, it’s that nothing is off-limits. Whatever is necessary, they do without question. Knowledge, money, sex, power. Blood is blood, always. How else would the Solaire name have prospered for so long? How else will it continue?

Perhaps it’s cliche, but it’s true. Old blood means old money, and it doesn’t get much older than vampiric blood. Her world is a world of private invitations, expensive dresses, and strategic gossip – whatever you could imagine about the secretive lives of a shadowy vampiric aristocracy, it’s probably true. Champagne was made to be whispered over, after all. Long lives mean plenty of time to develop some rather particular tastes, and an instinctive thirst for blood does lend itself well to a certain nonchalance about the insides of a human body.

She’d been surprised at first, an uncomfortable revulsion that she’d had to unlearn, but she’d got used to it eventually. Vincent had too, and although it took him a little longer, he’s almost as good at playing this game as she is. Say what you will about the House of Solaire, but they are very, very good at what they do.

Nothing breeds rumours like success, and William Solaire is truly blessed. A golden name, a golden fortune, and two golden children to match.

There were always going to be rumours, certainly. Of what they might be doing behind closed doors, their ambitions for the future of their house, the secrets that lie at the heart of it. Of fresh scars in strange places, the truth of their allegiance to their father, of brothers and sisters doing things that brothers and sisters shouldn’t be doing.

You couldn’t prove any of it, obviously, and nobody ever says the words out loud. But she hears them all the same, ringing in her ears as she kisses her father on the cheek at breakfast, filling up her mind as she steals Vincent’s jacket out of his room to go shopping, and she smiles wider than ever before – because if they really knew what was happening behind the gates of Wonderworld, they’d have much more to talk about than wondering what William could possibly be holding over their heads to make them finally behave.

(In all honesty, it’s somehow more and less than you’d think. That’s not the point she’s trying to make right now, but it’s worth saying, all the same.)

They’re never, ever going to let it slip. Nobody’s ever going to know about the way she forces her brother back down onto the floor, driving her elbow into his face, feeling cartilage crack and splinter as he falls backwards in a spray of blood. He tries to scramble away, one hand reflexively covering his face, but he’s too slow - her foot comes down hard on his shin, and the scream he lets out isn’t quite loud enough to cover the sound of bone shattering under her slipper.

Vincent tries to drag himself away, fingernails tearing at the carpet, and she plants her foot on his chest to keep him in place. The break in his nose is almost fixed, crimson blood splattered all over his face, but it seems like his attention has… shifted.

That can’t be right.

He’s not that stupid, surely. What else could he be thinking of, when she could so easily crush his heart in a split second? He’s focusing on something else, but it doesn’t seem to be her – is it behind her? Is there something she can’t see? Why isn’t he paying attention?

And then, for some unknowable reason, apropos of apparently nothing… he smiles.

“What?” she spits, pressing down harder and feeling his ribs creak under the ball of her foot. “What is it?”

Infuriatingly, he chokes on a laugh, thick blood bubbling in his throat as it heals, and gestures weakly up at the wall behind her. His eyes are fixed on something there too – no, not the wall, it’s the—

“You little – fucking hell!”

She barely manages to dodge the chandelier as it comes crashing down on her head, feeling the room spin as Vincent yanks on the ceiling chain hard with a burst of psychokinesis. He manages to throw himself in the opposite direction, hand shielding his eyes as the metal hits the floor and the room fills with the deafening sound of shattering crystal.

Both of them hiss as they’re pelted with broken crystal, slicing tiny, stinging ribbons into their skin that seal up almost as soon as they appear. Shit, that hurts.

“Zhidi!”

She glares at her stupid little brother, half-crouched behind the arm of the sofa. “You’re fucking fixing that.”

“Why?” he snickers, pretending to pout, and she’s so tempted to just drag him out into the hallway by the hair and sling him down the stairs before he can finish the thought. “You’re so much better at magic than me, lili…”

“Yeah,” she grumbles, crossing her arms in the face of his unapologetic grin, “which means you need the practice more.”

Vincent groans, downcast. “But he’ll be so mad if I do it wrong!”

He huffs when she just sticks her tongue out at him in return, tossing his head to get his hair out of his eyes. “Can’t you just do half, and I’ll copy?”

Narrowing her eyes, she shakes the debris from her slippers and picks her way over to the window. It takes some concentration, but she runs a hand over the splintered mess of the frame, watching as it sews itself back together. “This is my half.”

“But it’s so hard!” he whines, little brat that he is, and she hates how the obvious manipulation still tugs at her heartstrings. He’s sitting cross-legged in front of the sofa now, hands extended over the sparkling rubble of the chandelier. “You make it look so easy, jiejie…”

Alexis sighs, and begrudgingly reaches down to ruffle his hair. Tiny flakes of mirrored glass fall onto the carpet around him as she does it, slicing little papercuts into the tips of her fingers.

“You do all the light fixtures and the mirror, and I’ll do the rest.”

He looks up at her, suspicious. “Half the mirror.”

“Two thirds.”

“Three fifths.”

“Two thirds, and I don’t tell ba you dropped the chandelier.”

“Deal,” he graciously concedes, and they pinkie promise.

She rolls her eyes and pretends she can’t see him grin, knowing full well she’s being far too soft on him. “If he blames it on me, I swear I’ll key your goddamn Volante and make you watch.”

“What? No!” Vincent gasps, looking betrayed. “Don’t you know how much that cost?”

“Yeah, I do,” she says sweetly, “which is why you’re not going to fuck it up, are you?”

He mutters something unflattering in French under his breath, and she snaps her fingers accusingly in his direction. “What was that, didi?”

“Nothing.”

She smiles winningly, before waving her hand and dragging all the books up off the floor and back into the bookcase. “That’s what I thought.”

They clean up in silence for a little while, their earlier animosity dissolving unnoticed into dust. It’s slow going – neither of them are especially gifted with magic, or have very much of it at their disposal, so they have to keep stopping every few minutes or so to recover.

Before long, they’re both out of breath and exhausted, smashed crystal still crunching beneath their feet and coughing up white plumes of plaster dust.

“When’s he even coming back, anyway?” Vincent asks, peering at the tall jade vase he’s trying to coax back together. “Tonight?”

She nods over her shoulder, trying to stitch the long gash in the sofa cushion closed and failing miserably at getting the complicated pattern to match up again. “He didn’t say when, but it can’t b—”

“Fuck.”

Vincent cuts her off, staring down at his phone as it buzzes, before looking up at her with a grimace and turning the screen to face her.

I’ll be home in ten minutes. I’m sure nothing will be broken or out of place when I get back.

Of course he’s coming home earlier than they thought. Of course. Why wouldn’t he?

“What should we do?”

Christ, he’ll be furious once he sees what they’ve done to this room. If they really, really hurry, they might be able to get away with at least a little bit of it, right?

With a huff of exertion, magic builds beneath her palms, and all the fragments of mirrored glass scattered across the room start to shiver as she prepares to sew them all back together. The mantelpiece needs to be fixed, and there’s a whole section of the doorframe that’s almost totally gone, and she doesn’t even want to think about the horrible, gaping wounds in the wooden panelling that need to be repaired and relacquered…

“Come here,” she mutters to Vincent, beckoning him over to her and pressing her palms flat to his chest. He closes his eyes and nods, resting the tips of his fingers at her temples, and they slowly, carefully, start to reach out to each other.

Her threads brush clumsily against his, once then twice then three times, the connection weak and fluttering as they try to concentrate. She stretches as far as she can, searching for that familiar feeling, anticipating the sickening lurch in her stomach that she knows is surely going to come any second, the momentary freefall as her core latches on to his.

When it happens, it takes her by surprise – her knees buckle for just a moment, and she sways slightly from side to side. Vincent rests his forehead against hers to try and keep upright, and she feels his wordless reassurance through the fledgling bond.

How does he do it? Vincent’s only a few inches taller than her, even less so when she’s in heels, and yet he always seems to tower over her – the looming shadow in the corner of her eye, the impossible weight of his gaze on her through the crowd.

The perfect height for dancing, their father had said, laughing gently as they stumbled through a clumsy waltz around the living room. She’d stepped on Vincent’s toes almost as many times as he’d tripped over the hem of her long dress, a poor stand-in for the real one she’d be wearing at the summer ball in a few months’ time. Elbows up, xiaozhi. They will not be so forgiving in Marseille as I am, you know.

Magic pools beneath her skin as she siphons it greedily through the bond, flooding her core with Vincent’s stolen power, and she luxuriates in the sensation for a long, languid moment. Then, she grits her teeth, and focuses.

With the extra rush of his magic, it’s almost laughable how fast she manages to race through most of the remaining cleanup – the blood dripping down the windowpane vanishes, the claw marks in the carpet disappear, and even the mirror above the mantelpiece clicks neatly back together as if it were never broken. The slashes across the back of Vincent’s shirt close up, and all the little chunks of bloody cartilage stuck in her hair vanish without a trace.

Her brother staggers in her arms as she keeps pulling on their bond, and she manages to ease them both down onto the sofa without too much fuss, still trying to get as much of the chandelier fixed as she can. About half of the crystal is back in place, but the chain just won’t – she can’t quite—

“Enough!”

Vincent breaks away from her with a sharp, sudden breath, slumping backwards onto the newly-repaired cushions and clutching weakly at his skull. “Too much, lijie, too much…”

He gestures vaguely towards the door with one hand in what she thinks might be thirst, and she runs out into the hallway and downstairs to the kitchen as fast as she can to get some blood out of the fridge. There’s already a glass on the counter that he must have got out earlier, so she fills it up with the half-empty bottle of O positive.

Sharing their magic always does this, but once he gets enough blood in him, he should be fine in about twenty minutes or so. It’s a lot like bridging, that way. Their cores will be synchronised for a little while, and they’ll be more keenly aware of each other’s magic, but that doesn’t really mean much when their senses are already so sharp.

A vampire’s core isn’t magically rich enough to do a huge amount all at once, so sharing magic like this is generally their best bet for doing things quickly. It lets them make the most of their limited reserves – rather than working individually, one of them can keep feeding the other magic as they concentrate on the whole picture.

Her steps are quiet but urgent as she runs back upstairs with the blood, slippered feet sliding a little on the kitchen tile. How much longer have they got until ba gets back, again?

When she pushes the door open, Vincent hasn’t moved, still sprawled across the sofa with a hand pressed over his eyes. Gently, she folds the fingers of his other hand around the glass, and he mumbles out a slurred thanks as he gulps the whole thing down in almost one swallow.

She’s just about to try the chandelier again, threads uncomfortably sore and stretched, when there’s a sudden sound from downstairs. The faintest jangling of keys, the scrape of tiny metal pins in the cylinder as the lock turns, and all of a sudden—

“Hui jia le.”

Downstairs in the foyer, he doesn’t have to shout. He already knows they can hear him.

Vincent curses silently, staggering up off the sofa and disappearing off to his room as she flings whatever magic she can at the chandelier chain. If she can just get it to stay together until he goes out again, they can probably recover enough magic between them to be able to fix it properly, right?

“Lili?” Ba’s voice is soft yet confused, the quiet sounds of him taking his shoes off and hanging up his overcoat, wondering why they’re not saying anything. “Xiaozhi, where are you?”

The question is entirely redundant – they all know that he can feel exactly where in the house they are. Vincent isn’t saying anything, so should she keep quiet as well…?

No, it’ll be too suspicious if neither of them goes and sees him, so she throws one last worried glance at the chandelier and hurries out of the room. When she gets to the top of the stairs, he’s just putting his slippers on, and she does her best to keep her heart slow and her smile easy when he looks up and notices her.

“There you are,” murmurs baba, and holds out his arms for her.

Is it embarrassing, how quickly she scrambles down the stairs and throws herself at him? He laughs, strong hands catching her waist and lifting her clear off the floor in a brief, joyful circle. “Ah, I have missed you, chérie.”

“Missed you too,” she says into his shirt, curling happily into his chest as he wraps his arms around her, fondly kissing the top of her head. The Maker’s bond between them sings at their closeness, warm and comforting as it bubbles in her chest, and she feels him smile even though she can’t see it.

“Vincent is upstairs?”

“He, um…”

The words freeze on her tongue as she tries to figure out a half-truth that she’ll actually be able to say – she can’t lie outright, but she can say something that’s technically true, even if it’s not the whole story.

“Headache,” she mumbles noncommittally, and crosses her fingers that he won’t push it.

Ba hums quietly in acknowledgement, seemingly in acceptance. “I see. Was the patrol alright?”

He smooths his hand over her back in wide, slow circles, just the right amount of pressure. “No trouble, I hope.”

She shakes her head, and tries her best to relax. “Just some unempowered kids, looking for somewhere to have a bonfire. It was easy.”

There’d been about six or seven of them piled into some beaten-up old thing, driving down the abandoned road that leads to the gates of Wonderworld, clearly not sure where they were going. Even if she hadn’t spotted the dim headlights through the trees, or heard that god-awful music from the speakers inside, she probably could have smelt them coming – whatever they were drinking, it seemed less like moonshine and more like rubbing alcohol. If they go blind, it’s not her fault.

They’d stopped just before the gates, about to get out when she’d suddenly appeared by the driver’s-side window. He’d been surprised to see her, tapping at the glass until he rolled it down, and she’d taken the opportunity to have a little fun with it before she’d have to trance them.

Mm, you boys are out late, she’d drawled, leaning forwards and resting her arms along the edge of the window. Can I… help you, with anything?

She’s not stupid – she knows exactly what she looks like, and she knows exactly what to do with it. There’s always college students from the nearby towns sneaking into the woods at night, and they fall for it every single time.

Ah, it really had been cute. She’d had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the way all of their eyes suddenly couldn’t stay on her face, conspicuously flicking back up to her eyes whenever she moved.

Just, uh…

The one driving had really, really tried, shifting awkwardly in his seat as she tilted her head to look down at him. Just lookin’ around, ma’am, nothin’ serious…

Nothing serious? She’d smirked at that, careful not to let them see the sharp tips of her fangs as she reached out to gently brush a stray lock of blonde hair out of his face. Honey, you’ll break my heart, with talk like that.

His friend in the passenger seat still hadn’t stopped staring, slack-jawed, and she’d pushed herself up on her tiptoes to stretch her arm out towards him, pressing the tip of her fingernail under his chin to snap his mouth shut. Oh, it was like something out of a movie! She’d always wanted to do that in real life.

I can think of somewhere you’ll like.

Foolishly, they’d all been very liberal with their eye contact – trancing them had been as easy as anything.

As soon as I stop talking, you’re going to turn this car around and drive all the way back to the freeway, and you’re going to drive all the way to the next city before looking for somewhere to have your little party. You won’t remember this conversation at all, you won’t remember ever meeting anyone here, and you won’t remember anything about me.

She’d smiled nice and wide, scarlet eyes burning into each of them in turn, listening to their terrified hearts race at the monstrous sight of her. Isn’t that right, hm?

They’d nodded in unison, the driver’s hands already back to the wheel, and she’d blown them a kiss as they drove away and disappeared back into the trees. Ah, humans.

“Well, that’s good.”

Ba’s voice shakes her from the memory, slowly guiding her away from the door and towards the kitchen. “That reminds me – you should have heard the little ones tonight, my goodness…”

“Really?” She’s curious, not having met them before. “What did they say?”

Deft fingers pull the carafe of A positive out of the fridge door, and he blinks down at the bare countertop for a second before reaching up and taking a glass out of the cupboard.

“The Aguilars are… they are unchanged, shall we say.”

It makes sense. He’d been over at the Aguilar estate tonight to meet their new blood informally, before the Summit in a few months’ time when they’ll be properly introduced. The family is always very friendly, and she gets on very well with the aunties there.

Poor Vincent doesn’t like them as much as she does, but that’s mostly to do with that god-awful girl – a cousin from one of the branching bloodlines, she’s fairly sure – who’s had a crush on him ever since he was Turned, and who follows him around incessantly whenever they’re at the same parties. It’s hilarious to watch him try to shake her off, and the look of relief on his face when she finally steps in and makes up some lie about how he promised to dance with her is well worth the hour of complaining he’ll do later in the car on the way home.

The only thing is that it’s a big family. Much bigger than theirs, and it can be rather overwhelming when it gets loud. Obviously, ba doesn’t like to say anything about it, but she can feel his headaches building in the back of her own skull – his stronger senses mean he’s a lot more sensitive to the noise than she and Vincent are.

Still, they’re far more pleasant company than the House of Bennett. The only one who can make that family bearable to be around is cousin Porter, and that’s only because he likes to add a little of his own blood to the drinks so that they actually feel like they’re alcoholic.

She nods, leaning back against the sink. “Chatty, I take it.”

“Little… ah, what is it?” Sipping his glass of blood as he leans against the kitchen table, he gestures vaguely in the air with one hand. “Little pitchers that have big ears.”

It really shouldn’t be a surprise. Big houses mean more gossip, and freshly Turned vampires do love to put their shiny new senses to use.

She shrugs. “As long as they’re not spilling state secrets yet, it’ll be fine.”

“If the state tells its secrets to the House of Aguilar, we are already doomed, mon ange.”

They both laugh, washed in the pale light streaming through the windows, and baba closes his eyes as he reaches up to gently pull the fa zan from his hair.

He likes to tie it back when he goes out, partly to stop the wind from tangling it, and partly because it’s the way he says gentlemen used to be when he was young. Over the years, he’s amassed an almost staggering collection of little clips and ribbons and pins – a not insignificant number as gifts from her and Vincent – that he likes, but he generally just wears it down when he’s at home and there aren’t guests.

The moonlight turns the edges of his black hair to silver as he shakes his head with a relieved sigh, running his fingers through it quickly to smooth it out before flicking it back behind him. He likes to keep it long, at least several inches below his shoulder, and she’s always been so jealous of how he seems to make every hairstyle he tries seem so effortlessly elegant.

“Still,” he continues with a wicked smile, “you will see for yourself when we see them next. I think they will have many things to discuss with you, perhaps.”

He tips his head languidly to the side as he pushes his phone across the table, the screen lit up with a photo of Vincent from last summer. If she remembers correctly, it’s from when they were taking a break at the summer house down by the coast – he’s shirtless, knee deep in the water, turning back to the camera with a rakish grin, dark hair already wet from the splash fight they’d been having and fangs glittering in the moonlight from above.

In short, he looks painfully, achingly handsome. Scandalised, she smacks her father in the shoulder and gasps theatrically, like she can’t believe what he’s done.

“You didn’t!”

“I certainly did.”

“He’ll die!” she whisper-shouts, trying desperately not to laugh too hard. “He’s already having trouble outrunning marriage proposals from one of them, and you’re setting the new blood on him too?”

Ba just shakes his head, imperious, looking down his nose at her like he’s imparting some grave wisdom. “They asked to see a picture of my progenies.”

“So it had to be that picture?”

“I showed your picture as well.”

Resigned, she buries her face in her hands. “I dread to think.”

“Oh, you are so dramatic, chérie,” he laments, and he even has the gall to click his tongue in faux-disapproval when she narrows her eyes at him. “See? The picture is nice!”

It takes him a second to find it, but it’s just as bad as she feared – it’s from the same holiday as Vincent’s photo, probably taken later that night. She’s wearing that nice floaty sundress she bought in Singapore, barefoot in the sand as she blows a kiss to the camera, lips still stained with blood from whatever scarlet cocktail she’s holding in her other hand.

This was exactly his plan, in other words, and she’s going to fucking murder him in his sleep. If any of those upstart little ankle biters tries to chat her up, it won’t be pretty – the last one got a cake fork stabbed straight through his hand and several inches into the table beneath it, and the one before that still visibly trembles at the sound of her stilettos clicking softly against the floor.

“If I kill an Aguilar new blood at the summer ball, it’s your fault,” she mutters threateningly, hissing and baring her fangs at him when he reaches out to take her face in his hands and draw her closer. “I mean it!”

“Of course you do, xiao gong zhu,” he murmurs indulgently, and kisses her forehead. “You are telling me, so it must be true.”

Upstairs, the sound of floorboards creaking, fabric rustling. Vincent.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” ba adds nonchalantly, “about broken things.”

Shit. She blinks, innocent as anything as she beats back the guilty urge inside her that yearns to spill the truth. “What’s broken?”

“Lili.”

He raises an eyebrow, discreetly tapping the shell of his ear, and she strains to figure out what he’s hearing. “I am old, baobei. Not stupid.”

If she listens, really listens, she can just about make something out. Another noise, something much quieter – a sort of stiff, metallic creaking from upstairs, on the other side of the house to Vincent’s bedroom…

Her smile wavers as ba swans serenely past her, disappearing out into the hallway, deft fingers picking up his fa zan from the table as he goes past. “It is nothing, surely. Perhaps you will bring Vincent something for his head while I am changing?”

God fucking damn it – she might be able to fix the chandelier without him noticing, but what are the odds? He’s meeting that friend tonight, and if he’s going to change now then it probably won't be long until he goes out, but there’s no way of knowing if it’ll hold until then.

Scowling, she pours another glass of blood for Vincent, and one more for herself, before reluctantly trudging upstairs.

It's a fact of life, or at least a fact of vampirism: you can’t really have any secrets from your Maker, and that’s even without the whole truth-compulsion thing. No matter what you do, your Maker is always aware of what you’re feeling, when you’re feeling it.

The emotional bond never goes away, though the strength of its effects ebbs and flows. Sometimes it’s so faint as to be almost nonexistent, a tiny shiver down the spine – and sometimes it’s almost overwhelming in its intensity, foreign emotions bursting out of nowhere like fireworks, blindingly bright and terrifyingly loud.

For young vampires, it’s a lot to get used to. Some take years to become accustomed to the bond, while others are oddly comforted by it. New Makers are often surprised by the strength of as well – it goes both ways, but generally the Maker feels more of their progeny’s emotions than the other way around. Nobody's really sure why.

More complicated feelings don’t come through especially clearly, apparently a little bit difficult for the bond to transmit, or perhaps for the other body to decipher. But simpler, more basic emotions are very, very easy. You might even say they’re too easy, in fact. Things like fear, sadness, joy – and, well…

He must already know what they’ve been up to. That sort of anger, the instinctive viciousness that comes so easily to them. They all know from experience how quickly that can wash over the bond, twisting and curling as it spreads like dark ink through water. After a while, it stops being so intrusive – it’s just how it works, and it’s not as though they can stop it. It’s possible to tune it out, and before long it generally goes away.

But a Maker with two progenies, both of whom are busy winding each other up at the same time? Who never seem to know when to quit, chasing that addictive, acidic feedback loop of rage that only ever seems to push them higher?

Ba doesn’t mind what they get up to, per se, as long as they keep it discreet and clean up after themselves. But even so, it’s not difficult to see how it could be… distracting.

He definitely knows what they were doing, is the point. And he clearly knows that there’s something they broke that she hasn’t been able to fix yet. She just needs to make sure it’s all neat and tidy by the time he gets back later, and hopefully they can all pretend that it never happened.

“What.”

Vincent glares at her from under his duvet when she pushes the door open with her foot, crimson eyes staring out from the blackness as she gets closer and closer. The lights are off and the blackout curtains are closed, so it’s almost entirely dark, but she can make out the shape of the bed well enough.

“Blood.”

She holds out one of the glasses, not breaking eye contact until a single hand slithers out from under the duvet and takes it from her.

He doesn’t seem to have thought about how he’s going to drink it, lying flat on his stomach and sprawled sideways across the bed, and she snickers under her breath as he blinks stupidly at the glass. With a flourish, she takes the second straw out of her own glass and drops it into his, sticking her tongue out gleefully at him when he mumbles something unintelligible into the mattress beneath him.

She shrugs – it’s close enough. “You’re welcome.”

Perching herself on the edge of the bed, she watches in amusement as he drags himself forwards under the duvet so he can get the straw in his mouth without having to lift his head, occasionally poking the mound of blankets that claims to be her brother in the side to see if he can feel it or not.

(He can. She knows. It’s just funny.)

Because she’s very generous, she gets up to grab a few of the books off his desk, stacking them up by the side of the bed, level with where his face is. He complains when she takes the glass back out of his hand, but acquiesces as soon as she puts it back down on the books, army crawling towards the end of the straw that’s now level with the top of the mattress and haughtily sticking it in his mouth.

“Better?”

The Vincent-shaped duvet creature next to her slurps loudly at his glass of blood, and doesn’t say anything.

She’d use telepathy, but she needs to save all the magic she can get. Quickly, she pulls her phone out of her pocket, turning the brightness down all the way and typing a message in her notes app to show him.

He knows something’s broken, and the chandelier chain isn’t going to last long if I don’t go and fix it. Do you have enough magic to help yet?

“No,” Vincent grumbles, and coughs pointedly.

Great. How much longer?

He coughs again, baleful red eyes turning to look witheringly up at her from his blanket nest, and she doesn’t have to be able to see his hands to know the gesture he’s making at her.

Fine, she types, as sarcastically as it’s possible to be when you can’t say anything out loud, but if he hears, I’m blaming you. Distract him.

Obediently, he starts moving around again, making sure the sound of mattress springs and sheets rustling is loud enough for her to slip out of the door and towards the drawing room they ruined earlier. Luckily, it’s in the opposite direction to baba’s room, but she still holds her breath and tiptoes as quietly as she can in case he—

“Lili?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

She whips around, totally innocently, to see her father beckoning her down the stairs as several sets of cufflinks rattle in his palm. “Come and help me choose.”

Helpless to protest, she’s forced to follow him down into the foyer, umming and ahhing over which cufflinks she thinks will suit his outfit the best. In her head, though, she can’t stop worrying about that damned chandelier, the creaking sound from upstairs that she’s sure is getting louder, the increasing amount of magic she’ll need to fix it as it surely gets worse and worse…

“A good choice as always, mon ange.”

She startles slightly as baba nods approvingly, smoothly taking the silver pair she’d mindlessly chosen and putting them on, before leaving the rest in the dish on the low console table. “I won’t be back until the morning, so you will look after Vincent, won’t you?”

Hastily, she nods. “Yeah, I will, I will.”

“Alright.” He rests his hands gently on her upper arms as he kisses both her cheeks, before taking his car keys out of his pocket and heading out of the front door. “See you later, chérie. I love you very much.”

“Love you too!”

She waits the agonisingly long half-second it takes for the door to close behind him before racing back upstairs, and she hears Vincent, still clutching his half-empty glass, scrambling out of his room at the same time. They nearly crash face-first into each other in their haste, yanking the drawing room door open and tumbling through it as fast as they can.

“I thought your head still hurt?” she says quizzically to Vincent, watching his hands trembling faintly around his glass, but he just makes a face.

“The alternative’s worse,” he replies, and she nods. He’s right.

She reaches for her core, willing the magic to come – it’s slow and it’s weak, but she yanks on her threads as hard as she can to try and summon it to her fingertips. The chandelier sways ominously above them as she screws her eyes shut to concentrate, and she can feel Vincent’s aura flicker next to her as he does the same thing. Come on, come on…

She’s nearly there, power surging under her skin and ready to be channelled outwards, when there’s a sudden—

“Shit!”

The magic fizzles uselessly away as her eyes fly open to see Vincent, clutching his head in pain, cursing as the front of his shirt is drenched in blood. There’s shattered glass all over the floor from where he’s dropped his drink, and she chokes down the irritated vampiric growl that rises in her throat. “Fucking hell, xiaodi!”

“I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it!” he moans, slightly unsteady on his feet, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “Look, at least it’s not the—”

Something moves, just at the very edge of her vision.

Above her head, the room plunges into blackout as something snaps.

“Move–!!”

She barely manages to shove Vincent away from her before the heavy metal body of the chandelier comes crashing down on her head. It’s not heavy enough to knock her out, but the surprise is enough that all she can do is stand there as 15 kilos of brass and crystal and electrics falls directly on top of her and shatters.

He skitters backwards, recoiling from the spray of tiny crystal shards that covers the floor for the second time today, nearly tripping over the leg of the side table as he goes. A thousand stinging papercuts split their skin, sealing themselves up and leaving tiny droplets of crimson blood dripping down their arms and faces.

Without even noticing, she instinctively catches one of the twisted metal arms of the chandelier that must have been sheared off when it impacted her skull, raw edge snagged painfully in her hair as it slides neatly down into her arms.

They’re so fucked.

They both freeze guiltily as a floorboard creaks outside in the hallway, far too close to be a coincidence, and she winces as there’s a polite knock, knock, knock at the door.

“We—” She chokes, breathing in a hacking lungful of debris, voice cracking slightly from her dry throat. “We’re in so much trouble.”

Vincent stares wide-eyed at her through the sudden dark, blood dripping slowly from his chin and soaking into the carpet..

“Yeah,” he mumbles distantly, “probably.”

The drawing room door swings open, and both their heads snap towards the open doorway so fast it would give a human whiplash. There, silhouetted against the light, car keys still jangling in his palm and running an exasperated hand through his long hair—

“What,” hisses William Solaire, raising an irate eyebrow at his children, covered in glittering crystal dust and leaking blood into a very expensive carpet, “did I say about breaking things again?”

The clan always sticks together. Family comes first – nothing and nobody could make them betray each other, and they’d rather die than leave one of their own behind. It’s the central tenet of their existence, the core fact of their messy, gory lives.

Some things are just… true. The earth is round, the sky is blue, and there is no power known to men or gods that could turn the House of Solaire against itself.

Baba shifts his weight slightly, eyes narrowing accusingly.

And very, very slowly, Alexis and Vincent both point at each other.

link to the glass jaw pronunciation guide

main masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[oneshotnewbie]

B!D's stomach pain comes back?, but this time it ends up being an ulcer. Kara comes back from patrol to hear her crying in pain in her room, and goes to comfort/hold her while she's in pain until that morning when they go to the ER?

Authors note: This request is so old and probably came in when I published the "Stomach Inflammation" series. I'm so sorry it's only coming now. I totally missed it!

ᕚ---ᕘ

Night fell over National City as Supergirl returned from her patrol. The wind carried the scent of smoke and despair as she flew over the rooftops of the city. Her red cape fluttered in the wind as she listened to the sounds of National City with her ears pricked.

But in the midst of this nightly chaos that plagued the National City, she heard a sound that immediately stopped her in her tracks. A quiet sob, muffled and desperate, came from one of the windows below her. Supergirl hovered indecisively for a moment before deciding to investigate the source of that sound of distress.

With a quick push of her powerful legs, she landed on the roof of a building that included your apartment. Her super ears could now clearly hear the faint cries of pain, and her heart clenched at the sound. You needed her help.

Without hesitation, she floated down to the front door and walked silently up to your apartment. It was dimly lit by the moonlight, and she could hear the soft whimpers coming from your bedroom before she silently walked into your bedroom and spotted your figure on the bed, seemingly in pain.

“Y/n?” Kara whispered softly as she slowly approached. Her super eyes immediately took in the scene: you were curled up on the bed, hands clutched tightly around your stomach, tears streaming down your face. You raised your head and looked at your sister with tear-filled eyes. "Kara," you sob. "It hurts so much. I don't know what's wrong."

Her heart ached at the sight of you in such agony. She had seen you struggle with stomach problems often enough, but she had never seen you so desperate. “Oh, my sweet girl,” Kara murmured, sinking onto the bed next to you. She gently placed a hand on your shoulder and felt your body tremble under her touch. "It'll be okay, I promise you."

But deep down the blonde knew that she couldn't keep that promise. Because she knew that your stomach pain wasn't a simple case of stomach problems. They were a symptom of something much more serious.

Kara hugged you tightly as you clung to her as if you were holding on to the last shred of hope. But in that moment, Supergirl knew she was facing a new challenge. A challenge stronger than anything they had ever experienced before.

The night had long since reached its climax when you and Kara were still sitting in your room. The silence was only broken by the muffled cries of pain from you as you writhed on the bed, trying to endure the excruciating pain. Kara sat next to you, one hand gently on your back as she tried to provide comfort as best she could.

“It will pass soon, y/n.” She whispered reassuringly, even though she knew her words could provide little relief. "I'm here with you. You're not alone."

You squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your fists in pain. Every breath was a challenge, and you desperately fought the tears that stung your eyes. "Why is this happening to me?" you whimpered quietly, your voice barely more than a breath.

Kara swallowed hard as she pulled you closer and hugged you tightly. “Sometimes things happen that we can’t control,” she replied quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "But you're strong. You've gotten through this before, and you'll get through this time too."

You leaned heavily against your sister, your cheeks wet with tears. The pain continued to pulse through your body, but in that moment you felt a little less alone. Kara was with you and that gave you strength to keep fighting.

The minutes passed slowly, each second filled with the agony of you and the silent support of Kara. The first gentle rays of the sun broke through the curtains and bathed the bedroom in a soft and calming light. You were still lying on the bed, your eyelids fluttering as you slowly woke up. A dull ache still pulsed in your stomach, and you sighed softly.

Kara was still sitting on your bed, her back leaning against the headboard, her gaze resting lovingly on you. The tension of the past few hours still weighed heavily on her shoulders, but in that moment she also felt a deep gratitude that she was able to stand by you when you needed her most.

But before you even got to sit up, you felt a firm grip on your shoulder, gently pushing you back onto the bed. Kara was next to you, a worried look on her face. "Slowly, y/n," Kara spoke softly, stroking your forehead. "You do not have to hurry."

You nodded weakly and fell back into the pillow. "How do you feel?" she asked, her voice gentle like a hug. You sighed and tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through your stomach, forcing you back into bed. “Not too good at the moment,” you mumbled, forcing a weak smile. "But thanks for being with me, Kar. You really helped me.“

She stood up and adjusted herself correctly so her head was close to yours before wrapping an arm around you. "That's what sisters do, y/n. We stand up for each other no matter what."

You smiled tiredly and nodded, grateful for the unwavering support from her. But despite the apparent calm, you both knew that you couldn't just carry on as before. You needed medical attention, and quickly.

Determined, Kara stood up and reached for her phone, her expression serious as she looked at you. "I'll call Lena and hope she'll help me make an appointment for you at the hospital. It's important that you get checked out."

You nodded in agreement while your sister arranged the phone call. The idea of going back to the hospital scared you, but you also knew it was the right step to figure out what was wrong with your body this time.

When you finally entered the hospital, you felt uncertain and afraid. However, Kara stood firmly at your side, her hand firmly in yours, giving you the strength you needed to take the next step. The doctors welcomed you together with nurses who immediately began to examine you. Hours passed, filled with lengthy tests and exams as you patiently persevered, strengthened by the knowledge that your sister was by your side.

And when finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the doctors came into the room with serious faces, your heart began to beat faster than you were hoping for your diagnosis. "Mrs. Danvers," the senior doctor began to speak. "After our examinations, we found that you are suffering from a stomach ulcer."

Your heart sank at those words and a wave of fear washed over you. A stomach ulcer - that meant more treatments, more pain and an uncertain future. But before fear could overwhelm you, you felt a firm grip on your hand, gently bringing you back to reality. "We'll get through this together, sweetie," your sister spoke softly, her eyes full of compassion and love. "You are not alone. I am here with you."

You smiled weakly, your eyes filling with tears of gratitude. In that moment, you knew that as long as you stuck together, you could do this. Together you left the hospital and plunged into a new phase of your life, ready to face whatever challenges came your way.

[touchtheinvisiblestars]

Imagine Javier when he finds out you went out alone against his orders.

***

The perpetually stressed man marched through the corridor, looking inside each office as he passed. Each room he looked in, he was left with a more and more unsettling feeling inside.

Where the hell are you?

When he reached the end of the corridor he paused. Trademark hands on hips stance, deep in thought.

Walking back to his own office he had a mind to ask Messina where you'd gone. Settling on grilling Steve first, he entered the office and made a beeline for the blond nose deep in a file.

"Murphy, where is she?"

"That's a can of worms I'm not getting into." He barely looked up from the file.

"Murphy." Pulling a chair next to his desk and sitting down, still staring at his colleague with disdain.

"Hm?"

"Tell me."

"She told me not to, kind of made me promise. Want me to start breaking promises now do you?"

"If she's doing something stupid, it'll be on you when she gets hurt and none of us were there to help her."

"Ahh, fuck- fine. She got approval to go investigate a tip we got."

"Where?"

"Over in Tequebusa, the got word of a disused school being used by a few of Escobars guys."

"Fuck. " Javier shot up, making Steve jump a little and stormed out of the room.

Following him, Steve was pulling on his jacket, "you can't go after her. She left fourty minutes ago and its an hour drive. By the time you get there she'll probably be on the way back"

"Do we have any way of contacting them?"

"No, they told us they would get into contact once they knew what was going on." Javier paused, stopping in the hallway to face Steve.

"Who the fuck agreed to that?!"

"You know who."

Javier thought for a moment. Weighing up his options.

"Fuck it, I'm going." He decided, taking off again.

Steve let out a sigh, "shit, I'll come too."

The pair rushed down to Javier's car, exiting the compound as fast as they could.

Speeding most, if not all of the way Javier found he couldn't stop worrying. Fuming at the same time that she was allowed to go with such a small team. Stetner knew they were still researching the scale of the activity going on there. That it was far too soon to move in on the lead they had been given.

Making up almost twenty minutes of time. They arrived, and as expected it was already done. The scene looking like a total disaster. Emergency services all over.

Stopping the car, Javier was out in an instant. Lighting a cigarette out of habit, and stress.

"Fucking hell, this is a shit show." Steve huffed, looking around it was hard trying to recognise anyone in the evening light.

"What the fuck happened". Steve asked one of the armed guards, who was covered in blood.

"It was a shitshow from start to finish. They knew we were coming and were waiting for us. First car got blown up as soon as it crossed the perimeter line. We managed to get a few of them. But it wasn't easy. Y/Ns in that ambulance there." He motioned to one of the ambulances.

Javier didn't need another invitation, he stormed over to it. Fearing the worst.

There you were, laid up on the bed, wincing as you were dealt with by the EMT. One of your arms bound in a sling, the EMT was trying to clean the wound on your leg

"Y/N. What happened. Why the fuck didn't you tell any of us?" Javi scolded as he stepped into the ambulance.

You winced as the paramedic pressed a bit too hard on your leg, "I got a classified letter with all the details on it. I was told you guys weren't needed as there was already a team here. Get here and we get fucking ambushed."

"So they're baiting the mail now. Fuckers."

"I rang Stetner, he told me the info was legit, when I suggested joining the team here, he was all for it." You explained. "I'm going to give that fucker a piece of my mind when I get back there."

"That's if there's anything left for you to shout at after Javi's done with him," Steve snickered, Javi shot him a sour look.

"All cleaned up. Ma'am I don't think that shoulders broken, but you should get it seen to by a doctor in the morning. It may just be a sprain, but better to be safe than sorry. You also need to rest that leg. It's only a minor burn, but you need to clean it and redress it twice a day."

"Thanks, uhh, can I have some painkillers?"

"Of course," the EMT reached into one of the ambulance compartments and pulled out a box, reading the contents before handing it to you, "two a day maximum, and there's 10 in there."

"Fantastic."

You slowly pulled your legs over the side of the gurney and stood up, trying to lean on your uninjured leg as much as possible. Javier watched as you limped to the steps, Steve already there to help you down.

"Come on, I'll drive you home," Javier joined your other side, hovering in case your leg gave out, "have you got food at home?"

"You think I'm taking medical leave? Javi, I've got paperwork to do and a boss to murder."

Steve gave Javi a perplexed look, "Y/N you can't just go back to work. Messina will send you home as soon as you sit down at your desk. You need to rest."

"I'm not going to win this argument am I?" You asked the pair of them.

"Nope." They both said at the same time.

[vrmxlho]

So can you make a fluff headcanon about blue lock with bachira and/or isagi. Your choice Feel free to ignore this have a nice day/night and take care of yourself

i'm gonna be honest w y'all i have no idea if i'm good at fluff cuz my bf and i are not fluffy at all (i don't think???) so if this is shit don't be afraid to tell me lmao T-T +++ btw thank you sm for requesting <33 SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO MAKE THIS I WAS SCARED TO WRITE IT LMAO ++ i couldn't stop writing once i started so this is hella long

MEGURU BACHIRA 蜂楽廻

bachira's love language is 100% physical touch like you cannot tell me he doesn't love just holding you or kissing you or holding your hand

he could be in a really shit mood but as soon as he sees you and is able to feel your presence next to him, he's forgotten about whatever was pestering him before

if you like flowers he'll get you flowers every. fucking. time.

and if you don't like them or are allergic, that's what lego flowers are for!

i can just imagine him buying those lego flowers and staying up till like 4 making them for you because he just wants you to be happy

i also feel like he's scared of abandonment :((( and that just means he's always with you, always pestering you, always talking to you

he just needs reassurance that you'll stay with him

ok when i said his love language is 100% physical touch i lied, it's both physical touch and quality time

gosh he will come up with the most weird and complicated reasons as to why he has to see you right now

he mostly does it cuz he loves being around you but also because of how annoyed and petty you get, he finds it so so funny 😒

"i broke my foot, i can't play football anymore" "WHAT? ARE YOU OKAY? I'M COMING OVER, I KNOW FOOTBALL MEANS THE WORLD TO YOU </3333" turns out he had not in fact broken his foot, he just wanted to see you. god, this boy is so oblivious he just needed to text you something simple like "come over" and you would've been on your way, there was absolutely no reason to lie about it LMAOO

omg ok hear me out

bachira does not have an ideal date as long as its with you

when asked the question "how would you like to spend a whole day with your s/o?" he just thought 'wtf' like???? i love them sm, i could be picking up garbage and still enjoy it if i'm with my s/o

all his friends called him a simp, but he was proud abt it, after all who wouldn't simp for you

he's also really spontaneous, yk with his 'ego' and everything

y'all could just be hanging out and then suddenly out of nowhere you're at a theme park, or at the beach, or a kiddie park

once during the summer, when it was too hot to do anything except complain and eat ice-lollies, he pulled you all the way to a theme park just to have a change of scenery

"please bachira, it's like 30º, we're gonna die" "will you shut up about the heat? you're like a little baby, i promise it'll be fun" and oh was he right. it was getting warmer and warmer but not even a heat wave couldn't ruin the fun. you had gone on all of the rides at least twice but nothing could beat the relaxing water log one. the two of you kept cutting the line as soon as you were done, jumping over the metal barriers and running from the security guard who was sure he'd just seen you (am i going crazy he thought). after about the fifth time he was just so done with the two of you he gave up. you'd be drifting on the log, splashing each other with the kinda gross water. neither of you could stop laughing (nobody knows why), everyone around you thought you were maniacs, but neither of you cared.

although he's always happy when receiving presents, he prefers giving you presents

and by presents i don't mean rlly expensive things but more like little things that remind him of you

he saw a paperclip that was shaped like a heart? present material

your favourite soda? present

you really liked that one song??? well he knows about three more like that, he's making you a playlist as we speak

is it any good? um excellent question! not too sure about his music taste...

just like him it's all over the place

your music tastes do not go well together but that's not gonna stop either one of you from trying to brainwash the other into liking your favourite songs

"this is ass, i can feel my brain melting" "y/n, this song saved my life" "and it's pushing me off the edge, please get a grip" he gets really pouty and pretends he hates you, but that lasts about five minutes because deep down he knows you're right 😭

omg and his kisses

he's never awkward of hesitant about it, he just goes straight for it

your very first kiss was a bit random, the two of you were just talking before he leaned in and quickly pecked your lips, you were a blushing mess, and he liked seeing you like this so he did it again, and again, everywhere this time, your eyes, you forehead, both cheeks, the sides of your lips that were super ticklish

and he does this every time

one kiss isn't enough he needs at least 8!

he does not care about PDA, in fact the more ppl who know you're his, the better

if y'all were any trope it would definitely be childhood sweethearts, yk when you marry your best friend in like primary school? yeah, he probably proposed to you

"to y/n i give my most prized possession, my football" "bachira, i'm tired, i don't feel like playing today" "nonono this is just a gift for the bride" oh silly child, he's not asking you to play with him. he's in love with you <33333

his mother (yu bachira) is literally molly weasley incarnate

like she's out here locking you in their house, there's no way she's letting you go back home?? no, you're her guest!

has a list of foods you like and don't like just so whenever you're home she can cook for you and everything 🥲

she's currently teaching bachira how to cook your favourite meals, she'd never want you to raise a single finger, ever

YOICHI ISAGI 潔 世一

the world's purest, but also the world's most talkative person ever

homeboy has an average of 10000 words spoken per day (fyi that's a lot)

he just wants to tell you about everything <333

if anything, even the smallest thing, happens when you're not there with him he's 100% filling you in later

hosts a daily ted talk where he just tells you about all the other guys and how they suck 🙄 and how he's getting better at football and like he's pulling up stats you've never heard of???

"and i checked his stats and the only thing he's better at is aerial duels, but it's only by 0.2, so honestly who cares right?? i mean its negligible" "like the charge of a neutron" "wtf is a neutron?" no babe, wtf does 0.2 aerial duel mean??? since when can you fly??? (it's when players fight for the ball while jumping btw)

but don't get me wrong that does not mean he doesn't listen cuz he's such a good listener omg, the best one honestly

why's he good at everything dammit

he loves hearing about your day

he'll ask you about it without fail every single day and he genuinely listens it not like he's doing it out of common curtesy he just loves hearing from you

to him, you could make the most uneventful day sound interesting

he'll be looking at you in awe like a little child being told about magic or smth like that (this was not a great analogy help)

and that makes him supper attentive too

he can instantly tell when something's even slightly off and somehow he knows exactly how to make you feel better

omg he's the type of boyfriend who has a polaroid of you in his phone case and he just stares at it from time to time

OMG I CAN IMAGINE HIM TRYING THOSE FUCKING TIKTOK FILTERS WHICH ARE LIKE "THE INITIAL IT LANDS ON IS YOUR SOULMATE"

and he takes them soooo fucking seriously, unless it's not your initial, no, then that's bullshit 😰🫡

he's 100% husband material, marry him rn like actually

unlike bachira he already knows how to cook and he's gonna get physical if he ever sees you doing anything, he's more like bachira's mother in that way

his ideal date is walking around and going on cute ass picnic dates

ESPECIALLY IN AUTUMN WHEN THE CHERRY BLOSSOM FLOWER PETALS ARE LIKE GENTLY FALLING AND FLYING IN THE WIND OMG

he loves when y'all go on dates when it's a bit chilly

"why didn't you wear a jacket?" "it would ruin my outfit" :(((( "ugh, just wear mine then, i don't want you getting a cold" it really wasn't cold that day. you just wanted to wear his coat. little did you know that isagi too was praying that he'd be able to pull of that move, he'd been thinking about it ever since he saw those stupid rom-coms where the guy gives his crush his coat and then they fall in love or smth. my silly children 😪

his love language is quality time, he hates being ignored and he wants to be with the people he loves at all times possible

lucky for him everyone loves him, he's such a sweetheart

his favourite pastime (apart from football ofc) is lying in your lap while you read him a book, gossip or just sit in the silence

he loves looking at you from below especially after that one time he saw the sun shining from behind your head and he swore you looked like an angel (you really did, i was there)

omg listen to this

y'all have a bit of a rivalry when it comes to bowling

you're both so god awful at it but you're both also convinced you're better than the other

"you're supposed to be aiming at the pins, not the hole..." "okay in my defence, when shooting you usually aim for the place with no defenders, so you can score!!" "don't pretend this is about football, you just suck 😒"

he loves kissing you, its the best thing ever

your first kiss was a bit awkward but it had its charm

you both had already been together for a while now but neither of you knew how to initiate the kiss

until you both were laughing at the dumbest joke he'd ever made in his whole life (he still cringes at the memory of it)

you just looked so fucking beautiful, with small tears in your eyes from laughing too much, a smile wide and that cute laugh

he couldn't help it so he just pushed himself onto you

and keep in mind there was some distance between the two of you so when he kissed you the two of you fell

but i mean, at least it was memorable???

gosh you both are the definition of first and last love <3333

[happyk44]

Thinking about half-suicidal Percy who is still guilt-ridden about Bianca but can't do anything about it because he promised he'd keep Nico from being the prophecy kid so he has to live and then the war ends and Annabeth is alive, and Grover is alive, and his mom is alive, and Nico, dark angsty Nico who helped them win, is alive and it's all great and magical and then.

Then the adrenaline fades. Holding hands with Annabeth isn't enough. Goofing off with Grover isn't enough. Going home to his mom isn't enough. Nico stands out like sore thumb among the other campers, constantly clinging the shadows and struggling to fit in and Percy hopes another Underworld kid will get claimed soon, he wants him to have a friend, someone he can relate to.

He did have someone, his mind whispers in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Bianca's. He did and you lost her. You let her die, remember?

He does remember. He remembers all the time. Every time he sees a little girl guiding someone smaller and younger across camp to various activities. Remembers when Annabeth struggles to read a book aloud to her half-siblings.

He remembers.

And it chokes him.

Why is he alive? It wasn't supposed to be him. Bianca was the oldest, or, at least, she was supposed to be. She should've been the hero. Not Percy.

Guilt pools in him as loss does. There are memorial shrines up all across camp for everyone to pay their respects to the deceased and he sees every name etched in pretty white marble and accounts it to his pool of failures.

He goes home and it doesn't fix him, but he smiles and pretends as his mom fusses over him and he prepares for the new school year and it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter.

(Dozens of kids will never see their mortal friends again, will never see hard to read markers on a bright white board, or hear the sound of a bell. Why does he get to? Why does he get to? Why does he get to?)

His mom has Paul. It'll be fine. They're both young. She can start over. It'll be fine.

It'll be fine, it'll be fine, it'll be fine.

(His mom asks about the scars on his arm and he lies through his teeth about a monster fight, trying not to look to the dagger he's hidden behind books he's never read.)

"Percy?"

Everything shatters. He stumbles but doesn't quite fall. Darkness pulls him up and away from the ledge, gripping tight until he's planted firmly by Nico's side. And even then it doesn't let go.

Nico isn't looking at him. Is staring plainly at his chest, looking past him and seeing something deep inside. Is it what's wrong with him? He doesn't know what's happening with his brain. Why everything is hitting him now.

Why he can't breathe.

It's like he's a fish out of water, drowning on dry land.

He just wants to it be over. For the fisherman to take the knife and gut him open, feed him to their family and throw the scraps out to the cats.

Nico tilts his face up to look at him. The moonlight shines bright on him. His pale skin seems to glow. It reminds Percy of Bianca, her ghostly glowing form.

You failed him, his mind whispers. You promised and you failed him.

"What's going on?" Nico asks like it isn't obvious. Like they always have conversations standing on the edge of rooftop of Percy's apartment building in the middle of the night.

"Not much," Percy says. The darkness clinging to him tickles his cheek. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know, just stopping a friend from committing suicide."

The silence holds heavy and thick between them.

Percy is the first to break it. "Please don't tell my mom." It's a broken whisper of a sentence, and he hates himself for it. All that Nico has done and he's still asking for more. Still asking when he couldn't even hold a simple promise.

Nico's eyes glitter. "I won't," he says softly.

He taps Percy's chest and a cold freeze shoots over him. It dissipates slowly. The late August, early September heat washes back over him, melting the small remnants of cold out. The night sky twinkles.

"Come on." Nico reaches for Percy's hand and holds it tight. The shadows sink into the ground, melting out across all the shadows around them. One strand stays. It wraps tight around their entwined hands, sealing them together. Nico tugs Percy's hand. "If you try to jump again, you'll just be pulling me down with you."

Percy stares at him.

Then follows quietly back towards the door.

[zmediaoutlet]

murder in the city

for @wincestwednesdays - blood

They've started dimming the bunker lights at night. More like a real place, that way, a motel or a house to squat in. The concrete floors are cold on Sam's bare feet. Still doesn't totally know his way around, but that's all right. There are plenty of long nights ahead to figure out the layout. Or maybe not that many. He's been trying not to think about it, but. Lot of long nights.

The infirmary, the gun range, the library. The kitchen, and the coffeepot, and the newspaper left on the island with a couple of obits circled in thick sharpie, and it's probably meant to be a distraction for him but it's probably a real job, too. Sam leans over to check it out but his eyes blur and he sinks to his elbows, and then puts his forehead down to his clenched fists. His mouth tastes like pennies. All the time now, practically. In his throat the urge to cough rises and he breathes very carefully through his nose because he just—doesn't want to. He doesn't want to have to.

A box of black Lipton appeared on the shelves, when he kept coughing and hasn't stopped. He heats water in the old-school steel kettle, leaning against the stovetop, his fingers shoved in to the soft part of his throat next to his windpipe. Like if he strangles himself maybe that horrible tickling urge won't creep in. He keeps his eyes closed and feels his pulse thump against his fingertips, slow and steady. Imagines a day sometime soon when that'll change. Either staggering and erratic or all-too-fast—like years ago, in those worse days, when there was no unexplained tea as a clumsy attempt at care, when the iron-taste riming his teeth was all his own fault.

If all this goes the way he expects, it'll be yet another broken promise. His ears ring. It takes a second to swim past that to realize that, no, it's the kettle, whistling. God, he's tired.

"You gonna make your tea or do I gotta do it for you, Miss Marple?"

He jerks, turns. "I—sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up."

"Unless you made me have to pee I think you're innocent, this time," Dean says, but not really smiling. He's wearing the robe he claimed, hands deep in the pockets. Squinting at Sam across the kitchen like there's something to see.

Sam turns and busies himself with the kettle. Splashing over the tea bag, pouring too fast so that it judders out of the spout, spattering the back of his hand. He hisses, and for the hissing he's punished with not being able to keep the cough down, and it stings, god—stings so bad, not that deep down-in-the-lungs coughing that feels like it's actually doing something, like the one time he got the flu and thought he'd turn inside out, but just—scratching, shredding, making his eyes water and his mouth fill with—

"Jeez, you're a safety hazard," Dean says, and he's right there, at Sam's side, taking the kettle away, a clatter of the steel somewhere, and then his hand heavy between Sam's shoulderblades. Warm, patient, while Sam hacks and shudders and tries to remember how to take breaths that feel clean. "Yeah, okay. Get it out."

There's no getting it out. Sam inhales very cautiously through his nose and doesn't say it, because that would be cruel, and it's too late or maybe early to get into that kind of fight. Especially when Dean's warm against him, and soft in that robe. His arm slides down around Sam's back, and Sam doesn't need help walking but he lets Dean take him over to the sink, and he leans down with his elbows on the porcelain rim and washes his mouth clean, spitting. With the lights low he hopes Dean can't see the color.

He sits with his back to the table and watches Dean move around the kitchen. His space, like the library's Sam's. Dean wipes up the spilled water and puts the kettle back in its place and glances at Sam, and then goes to the pantry shelf where he's got a bottle of bourbon stashed and pours a healthy glug into Sam's mug. "Seriously?" Sam says, and Dean shrugs and then pours another mug full of bourbon for himself, and brings both of them over to the table. He holds Sam's out to him handle-first and says, "It's medicine," and Sam smiles at him, too tired to do otherwise. Dean clunks his mug against Sam's, very carefully, and Sam winds the trailing string of the teabag over his knuckles and takes a sip, cautious. Hot, both temperature and alcohol, but sweet too. Might not really help but it feels good, and that's something, at least.

Dean waits for him to swallow, and then drinks his own mug down in a single shot. Grimaces into it, when it's empty. He looks as tired as Sam feels. Maybe more. Sam sits forward and sets his hand on Dean's hip, sorry in this—thin, entirely inadequate way. Knowing he'd make the same choice all the same. Dean licks his lips and sets his mug on the table by Sam's shoulder and then steps between Sam's knees, and Sam puts his forehead to Dean's sternum and holds Dean around the waist. Warm dark. His mouth tastes like bourbon now, at least.

Fingers through Sam's hair, carding it off the back of his neck. "You slept through the night once, this week?"

He takes a deep, careful breath. Raw over his raw throat. He's not supposed to lie, anymore. He promised. Dean's always asking Sam to make promises he'll be forced to break. "Once, I think," he says.

Dean sighs but doesn't call him out. Maybe he doesn't want to fight, either. Ever since they moved in here it's been—good. Better. Dean happy to have a home and Sam just—well, it doesn't matter. He leaves his forehead against Dean's chest and feels his breath rise and fall, his fingers tucked just barely inside the elastic of his boxers, holding on. Dean has a place, here, the safest place either of them has ever seen, and all this knowledge at his fingertips, and if Sam manages not to screw up these trials then it'll be—worth it. The world safer and Dean… he'll be okay, Sam thinks. In this bunker their family gave them. It's worth it, for that.

"Can't believe I got up for this sappy crap," Dean says, very quiet.

"Thought you said you had to pee," Sam says, muffled, and Dean says, "I can multitask," and then tugs on Sam's hair at the back so he's forced to tip his head and look up, and before he can say anything Dean dips down and kisses him, soft with a closed mouth, just—pressing close. When their lips part with barely a sound he holds there, his forehead against Sam's and their noses brushing and his breath coming slow against Sam's mouth. Steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. Sam's anchored his whole life to it more than once. He touches Dean's throat and then drags his fingertips down, hooking the collar of his t-shirt, feeling that empty space where he used to wear—but that doesn't matter, now. Dean's here. Nothing matters more than that.

"You're wearing my shirt," Sam says, fingers caught in the v-neck.

"Finders keepers," Dean says, and then lifts up, and tucks Sam's hair behind both of his ears, and looks at him, eyes low and tender in the dim. "Man," he says, soft, and Sam doesn't know why, but then Dean touches his chin with one thumb and says, in a more normal voice, "Finish your tea, princess, and then come back to bed, huh? Cold down there without the human space heater."

"Not exactly selling it with your icicle feet," Sam says, and Dean shrugs, smiling at him kinda one-sided, but then he leaves the kitchen, and Sam's left there, listening to him scuff along the hall until he can't. He sits with his mug in both hands, looking at nothing across the empty kitchen. Since the first red spot he's been composing a note, mentally. Trying to figure how he could say everything that's worth saying. He never ends up writing anything down. Nothing he can think of comes close.

He drinks his tea. Leaves the mug by the sink knowing it'll make Dean bitch at him in the morning. His mouth still tastes like metal. But then—when he goes to Dean's room, he gets into bed and puts his arm around Dean's waist and puts his nose to the soft buzz of hair at the top of Dean's spine, and Dean sighs and pushes back against him, and he's warm against Sam's whole body except for his toes that tuck in behind Sam's ankle, freezing, like he's done since Sam's earliest memories. His skin like ice and then warming slowly against Sam's. What more could Sam ask for.

[whumpafterdark]

clementine: chapter one

tws: EXPLICIT noncon, intimate whumper, implied stalking, implied torture of another character, just general creepiness

clementine had no idea where he was.

the last thing he remembered was going with his best friend maddie to a bar... then after that, nothing. and now, his hands were shackled to the wall above his head, giving him just barely enough room to sit. panic spiked inside of him.

"maddie? hello? where are you?" he called out frantically, but received no answer.

the door swung open, and a small part of him was hoping that it was maddie here to rescue him, but it wasn't. instead, he was met with a tall, fair skinned man with white hair in a ponytail and one eye covered by an eyepatch. despite his scary appearance, he had a soft smile on his face.

"hello, dear. my name is tanner. and who might you be?" he said, his voice honey sweet.

"i-" clementine struggled to speak, fear rising in him. tanner knelt down in front of him and cupped his face in his hands, an adoring expression on his face.

"you're so cute. it's okay clemmie, i already know your name. i've been watching you for a while. and now we finally get to meet!"

clementine sobbed with fear, trying to squirm out of his grasp. tanner wiped the tears off of his face gently before leaning in and kissing him, not stopping until clem was breathless.

"pplease let mme go..." he whimpered meekly.

"sshh. soon, you'll never want to be anywhere else." tanner promised as his hands moved from clementine's face, lower, caressing his chest, then his abdomen... clementine suddenly realized what was happening, all too late as tanner began to take off the younger man's pants.

"nno! wait, don't, PLEASE!" he begged, kicking his legs out in a feeble attempt to hit the man.

"you're adorable, clemmie. sshhhh. just hold on, it'll hurt at first- i know you're a virgin- but then i promise it'll feel so good." tanner smiled at him tenderly as he pulled off clementine's pants, taking his underwear with them.

"nnno, nno! sstop! HELP! ANYONE- PLEASE!" clem screamed out, thrashing around to try to escape what he knew was going to happen.

"you know it's pointless, baby. just relax, try to enjoy it." tanner whispered to him as he stroked down clem's length with one hand, unbuckling his belt and sliding his own pants off with the other.

clemmie was scared beyond words at this point, blubbering incoherently as he wiggled around like a fish out of water. tanner was kneeling on top of his legs, which pinned them down firmly and spread them apart.

the young man screamed in pain as tanner forced himself inside of him without warning, tears filling up his dark eyes.

"i'm sorry baby, i just can't help myself, you're so pretty when you cry." he said as he thrusted inside him, spreading him further than he even knew was possible.

another scream was wrenched from him, one of desperation and pain, but then he quieted to scared whimpers. clementine was unable to turn his head fast enough to avoid tanner's lips meeting his and forcing his mouth open, kissing him again while he felt like he was being torn apart.

when he finally broke away, clementine cried out with pain again from tanner's roughness, tears flowing freely down his cheeks.

"you know, you should be grateful to me. i'm going easy on you. your friend wasn't so lucky."

the words felt like ice in his veins.

"wwwhat ddid you ddo to mmaddie?!" he gasped out in between broken sobs.

"oh, nothing much... yet. she's not my type, don't worry about that. she's much funner when she's short a few fingernails."

his eyes stretched open wide with horror, and then he screamed again as tanner began to thrust harder, a look of pleasure on the older man's face.

clementine's mind felt like it was filling up with fog, as it became harder and harder for him to focus. he whimpered, then fell silent as he dissociated to the point where he couldn't feel the pain as much anymore.

the next thing he remembered was tanner gently, carefully putting his clothes back on him, ignoring the blood trickling down his leg, caressing his face once more and then standing up and leaving him there alone.

his head drooped to the side. this was all too much, too much, and he felt his consciousness waning before he passed out.

[mostlymarvelgirl]

Forever & Infinity (Erik Lehnsherr)

WARNING(S): Angst, self harm intentions, sadness, losing control of powers, erased memory, nearly break up....

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@groot-the-tree-writes I'm sorry.. thus wasn't how it was supposed to go. But my mind wandered, and this is what cane out. Thank you for the idea

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IMPORTANT PLZ READ TO UNDERSTAND THE FIC: The reader here has some personality issues and suffers from bipolar disorder.

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" I used to walk into a room full of people and wonder if they liked me. Now I look around and wonder if I like them."

That's what she said. Raven. It sounded very different when it came from her. A girl who once I remembered was no longer who I thought she was or she would be. I knew this one day would come.

People change, like the intricate design revolving in a kaleidoscope, never changing to the same pattern ever again yet, maintaining the old forms hidden but not gone. Perhaps, that's where it clicked.

I've always felt and also been told that to be like others and how they want to be. But I didn't quite listen to that. And no one should. I learnt this from someone. Yes. The one and only Erik Lehnsherr.

That man had an aplomb aura around him. The way he carried himself, it was something that most kids needed in this school. His way of talking, being precise about his decisions, having his things under his control and what not. He's my role model. And also my husband.

This is what everyone thought. And so did I at some point. His demeanor served as an allegory to society. But, knowing him for a long time, I knew he wasn't always like this all the time.

We all have our moments, where we face our rawest emotions at the highest degree. No one would believe me if I said that Erik Lehnsherr or Magneto could cry and feel guilt and disappointment. Well, Charles is an exception.

The reason for this entire thought is because of what I did. Erik never really showed his emotions to other people or outside. Which I can very well relate to. Because neither did I.

But being in a relationship meant that you were supposed to be there for the other person at all times. Well, I've clearly failed my duty and broken my promise.

He's been awfully quiet. Well, actually dead silent. His answers to me are short. Not just me, even Charles and the other first class xmen.

*FLASHBACK*

"This isn't how it's supposed to be, Charlie. The ending was too happy and very Disney type.", I said.

"Well, Y/n, not everyone and everytime has or have a sad ending. This is-", Charles was interrupted by the door opening.

The door opens. Erik walks in.

"What are you both arguing about?", Erik asked would raising his eyebrow knowing it was one of those silly debates on TV shows.

"Erik, just go away. You're interrupting our debate.", I replied casually.

"Please, not today, Erik.", Charles said.

*FLASHBACK END*

He left with no word. That was once. And it went on for days. Ignorance was not new to me. But, I never wanted someone to feel something bad like I did. He promised me that when we got married. And he tried many times to talk to me about my behavior. I just kept snapping back and ignoring him.

Slowly, day after day, I started noticing changes bit by bit. My mood was becoming worse, and I kept on harsh with him. Then it soon started to go to others.

I realized that I had become like them. Like everybody else. And it was just too late. He had left already. Without a word. And I deserved it. I was a pathetic person.

1 cut.

Maybe it'll help. For atleast a while.

I felt heat rushing to my wrist. I looked down in horror and realized what I had done. But....... it felt good. I deserved it.

2 cut.

The bathroom lights started to flicker. My powers were reacting. My body was telling me to stop. I could start seeing some black dots start to blur my vision.

Last thing I wanted was for Erik to hate me. Feel the way I used to feel during my younger years.

I could feel myself falling and heard a distant scream and a help. I was mentally awake, but my physical body was just paralyzed. I could everyone's voices. Hank, Charles, Jean, Raven and... Erik.

"I don't know if you can hear me or not, but this is too dramatic and selfish of you to do this to yourself. Remember? You said yourself. Now just hold on, you'll be alright.", Erik said while breathing heavily. I could feel the concern, sadness, and anger in his statement. Then I lost my mental consciousness.

*A few days later*

I felt cold. And numb. And my lips were dry and stuck with the other one. My arms felt cold and sort of thread like texture. My toes were freezing and fingertips as well. I could feel someone sitting beside me. I could feel their breath. They were sleeping. Their hand was near my ear. It was Erik.

I opened my eyes slowly. I was getting used to light, even though it was dim. The smell of sanitizer was abundant. And quite disgusting. I was in the mansion's basement. I tried to move my body, but it was somewhat paralyzed. I couldn't move it. At all. I tried talking, but all that came out was a light voice. Not words. It felt soo hard and rough. My throat was dry, and it hurt.

All I could slightly move was neck and my eyelids. I turned slightly towards Erik, who quickly got up, feeling the slight movement.

"Hey", He said in a low voice. He palmer my cheek, to which I leaned in, feeling the warmth of his hand.

I tried to talk, but all that came out were tears. And a light moan. I started to cry. After a long time, it felt as if weight was going out my body.

Erik pulled himself close over my body and ran his fingertips under my eyes to wipe my tears.

"Sshhh, It's okay... let it all out... it's not your fault.... just come back to me...it's alright.", his deep soothed me into loud cry.

My body immediately got up and fell over him. I couldn't handle my weight since I wasn't able to control my physical body. He just held tightly and rubbed my back holding me from falling back.

"Im-im-mm-so-sor-sor-rry Erik..', I said finally being able to speak.

"It's alright, I won't ever leave you again.. just stay with me... okay?", he said while holding my face and wiping my tears.

I probably looked horrible. But it didn't seem to bother him. He knew about my disorder. But it felt like it was my fault, and I did it with my intentions. No matter how much I tried, he just made me feel like it was never my fault, and he would always come back to tell me that.

"You did the same for me many years ago, many times. I made a vow to do the same for as long as I live. Forever and infinity?", he said while a tear escaped his eye and our foreheads touched. It may have looked cringe, but that's just who we are. And who we will be. No matter what. We will never part our ways. Together, we were everything.

"Forever and infinity."

[wednesdaymunson]

I Was Made For Lovin' You

Baby Daddy!Eddie x Fem!reader

Summary: Eddie is back in town after doing press. You may not be together, but you call him when you want to get off.

Head Over Heels-pt2

Warnings: angst, slight fluff, smut, mentions of cheating, oral(f receiving), Keanu—Eddie makes sure to take care of his baby momma to where it affords her a lifestyle where she meets celebrities, dated technology..Um that's it..I think.

You hear the rhythmic knock on your door. The only person who knocks like that is him. "Y/N, babe! Open the door!" Eddie yells. You get to the door and open it. 

"Eddie! Stop being so loud! And don't call me babe!" You scolded

"Well I did have the key to this house at one point. If I still had it, I wouldn't have to knock and get loud like that. How do I know you weren't unconscious somewhere in the house or…tied up somewhere waiting to be rescued by your knight m'lady?" He grinned.

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, well you lost those privileges a while ago. Just call the cops for a wellness check, dweeb." You laughed

"Oh, we're on the level of pet names again, Princess?"

You felt a warmth in your core when he called you that. It brought back feelings and memories from when you both started dating each other and before Evelyn. 

"Don't Edward."

"Fine Y/N, you're no fun. You used to be a lot of fun. Like that one night in the cemetery?" He teased.

"Whatever." You sighed. 

 "Where's Starchild? I promised her we'd have a tea party before Luna picks her up."

"I had Luna pick her up early. She doesn't need to see us like this. It'll confuse her. "

"Like what? Her parents getting along and co-parenting together? It's not like we're making out in front of her." He scoffed. 

You could see a bit of sadness in Eddie's face, especially in those big, brown eyes. He wishes things were different. He wishes he could go back in time, erase all the pain, start fresh and new. This was the only time you would let him in your personal space and life aside from the daughter you shared. The times when he came off tour or when you couldn't sleep and he just happened to be around. If you called, he was there. 

You found out you were pregnant with Eddie's child as soon as Corroded Coffin got signed and went on tour. He missed a lot of the pregnancy and almost missed the birth of his daughter, Evelyn Starchild Munson—the middle name was agreed upon when you figured out that you most likely conceived the night of the Kiss concert. It was a long labor, she came out fierce and without assistance, let out a powerful cry. Eddie was convinced she would be a great singer later on in life. Eddie was over the moon with her and you. He never left the hospital for the entire stay. 

Eddie was a great dad when he was home, but you eventually found out he wasn't ready to be committed to you and only you. You would get random calls from girls claiming he had slept with them on tour or at the studio. You had found phone numbers in matchbooks when doing laundry. It bothered you and when you confronted Eddie he would tell you that these girls were jealous and wanted to ruin the relationship. You believed him for a while until one day you heard a knock on your door. 

She was a beautiful redhead, legs for days, she could have been a supermodel. She greeted you like she knew you and said she needed to tell you something. Your heart dropped to your stomach knowing what was about to be said. You invited her in and offered her a seat on the couch nearby. She declined the seat, but told you that she had been sleeping with Eddie for about 6 months and he had told her that he had broken up with you. Eventually things didn't add up when she couldn't reach him for days or weeks. She started asking around and someone confirmed that you two were still together. 

She showed you Polaroids she had of them two to show she wasn't lying. She apologized profusely, said she wasn't that type of woman, and said she thought you needed to know what he was doing. You thanked her and walked her to the door and said goodbye. 

You had the sitter come get Evelyn for the rest of the day. You cried for hours until Eddie came home later that night. The two of you fought until the sun came up. He packed a bag and left. That would be the last time you shared a house as a family. 

That was three years ago and here you both were in the same house making out like it was the first time. Eddie had pushed you against the wall. His hand trailing up your shirt while the other gripped your waist. Your hands found their way to the long brown waves of Eddie's hair, a familiar place, lightly gripping at the roots. You can feel his bulge press into you. 

Eddie pulls back. "You want to do this in the bedroom, sweetheart?"

"Stop with the pet names, asshole!" You bite back while pulling his hair

"Mm I love it when you call me names, Y/N." He chuckled. 

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Eddie nods. 

"Weirdo. And yes, let's go to the bedroom."

Eddie leads the way to the room you once shared with him. Each of you remove all of your clothing, you rather this than undressing each other, it seems less intimate. Eddie sits on the bed, stroking his hard cock, staring at your body in awe. You stand between his legs, lean down and crash your lips into his, tongues rolling over each other. His hands grip your round, firm ass. You let out a small moan into his mouth.

Eddie grabs the back of your thighs and drags you on top of him as he lays down on the bed. You sit up and sit back on his thighs, you take his hard member and stroke it gently. He's thick and veiny, uncut— just the way you like it. Eddie lets out a small moan while squeezing your thighs. 

"Where's the condom?" You tilt your head while looking at Eddie. 

"Uh, f-fuck. Princess, you can't ask me questions like that with my dick in your hand. Your touch is heaven sent."

You ignore what he called you, but you don't stop. You grip his cock harder. 

"Dammit! Uh, I-I put it on the nightstand." He groaned.

You reach over with your free hand and grab it. 

"Um, Sir! This is expired!" You shout. 

"What the hell? I grabbed it from the glove box in the car. You know I just got home from doing press, I haven't had time…wait where's your stash??" He retorts. 

"We used them the last time you were here!"

"Well sweetheart, I'm clean and I haven't been with anyone in a year. But let me take care of you."

Eddie reaches both his arms under you, grabs the back of your thighs and pulls you up to his face. 

"EDDIE!" You yelp.

He takes in a deep inhale of your scent. "Fuck, Y/N! You smell so fuckin good! 

He nuzzles your swollen, sensitive bud with his nose, making you gasp. He hooks his arms around your legs and anchors you down on his face. He licks a firm stripe from your dripping hole to your clit, making your hips buck. Eddie maneuvers his tongue up and around your wet folds. You find your fingers running through his soft, brown wavy hair. 

"Fuck, Eds! Your tongue…it feels…so good!" You cried out. 

Eddie feverishly flicks his tongue over your clit. You feel fire pooling in your lower abdomen as you rock back and forth on Eddie's face. He alternates between sucking and licking your clit. Your thighs tense up, all you can hear is white noise, letting out small whimpers as you dissolve into pleasure. 

Eddie taps your thigh three times.

You quickly roll off him and on to your side. "Sorry Eds." You breathed— realizing you're letting you wall down, slipping back into familiarity. 

" 's all good, beautiful. It would have been an honorable death." He grins with a mixture of spit and slick all over his face.

"Oh god, how would I explain that to the cops?!" You laughed.

You reach over to the night stand and get a couple of wipes to clean Eddie's face. You cup his face and wipe it clean. You lock eyes with him for a few moments. You decide to be a bit more personable than you were earlier. 

"Munson, what's on your mind? Let it out."

"I..Y/N…it's nothing. Don't worry about it." Eddie pauses and lets out a sigh with a slight smile. 

"I think I need to head to the penthouse. I'll be back around noon to pick up Evelyn, yeah?"

"You don't want to get off?"

"No, I'm good. I just wanted to make you feel good." He winks. 

"Well, I'll make sure to buy the bulk size condoms this weekend." You teased. 

You both search for your clothes and get dressed. You walk Eddie to the door, he places a gentle kiss on your forehead. Your hands find each other, barely touching, wanting to intertwine your fingers together. 

"Remember, noon tomorrow." He stated

"I'll have her ready for you." You nodded.

"Goodnight, Eddie. "

"Goodnight." 

Eddie made his way to his car and sat in your driveway for about twenty minutes going over the conversations he wanted to have tonight. He wishes he could have begged for you back. He wanted to bleed his heart out to you, apologize for hurting you, tell you that he's changed. He was unsure of your feelings, he was scared in those moments, the same scared boy you had met back in Hawkins. 

You shut the door and leaned against it. You wanted to open it and yell for him. You missed him, missed your family. You missed the pet names, his touch, and his sinful tongue. God couldn't have made something that filthy. But you remember the red head, all the calls and rumors of other women. You could never bring yourself to ask Eddie why you weren't enough, afraid of what he might say. 

You were brought up to be strong, not to let things like heartbreak ruin you. 'Chin up! Don't let them get the best of you! Dust yourself off!' You can hear your grandmother tell you as a kid. She was one tough bird and you needed her more than ever. 

You push off the door, wipe the tears away, and head to the bathroom to take a shower. After you get out of the shower and get dressed, you see a flashing light on your answering machine. You had two messages, you push play. 

'New message'

'Hey Y/N, it's Keanu. I'm back from filming and want to see you. Call me tomorrow, gorgeous.'

You could hear his smile and it made you giddy. You've been seeing Keanu casually, nothing serious due to his work. He knew about Eddie and what happened. He was more than fine that you had a daughter. He always included her when he sent gifts and asked about her. 

'New message'

The message is silent at first, then music starts. Your eyes widen when you recognize it. It's "I Was Made For Lovin' You" by Kiss. It was one of your favorite songs by them. One you would serenade horribly to Eddie every so often.

It was Eddie. His message left a lump in your throat. You missed him and wanted him, but you didn't want to be a doormat and end up getting hurt again. 

You let out a heavy sigh, crawled into bed, and went to sleep with a heavy heart. 

Divider @racingairplanes

[ateriblewriter]

Baby Duck (j.d)

Baby Ducky au

masterlist

a/n: feel free to send in thoughts comments questions requests for this! everything is welcome!

warning: mention of blood and death

everything had just happened so fast. one minute they had been lounging around at home, the next they were racing to the hospital. something felt not quite right because there was a lot red sticky stuff.

"jaim, i'm scared. what if she's not okay." his girlfriend squeezed his hand as hard as she could.

"it'll be okay. you'll be okay. our girl will be okay." jamie placed a kiss on both her knuckles as well as the side of her head, trying to reassure them both. he couldn't help feel like it was an already broken promise.

and it was. shortly after the small creature was delivered, he was being pulled from the room. the doctors were saying something about the bleeding not stopping and there was too much. never a good sign.

"i'm really sorry, there's nothing more we could do. we really did try everything." the doctor apologized when giving the news that mother of the newborn hadn't made it and died.

"no. no. please. no." the tears came and the hockey player felt his legs go weak beneath him, not believing what he was just told. she couldn’t be gone. the two of them were supposed to have a baby and live a happy life together, maybe even get married one day. she was supposed to go on trips. have more children. everything. but none of that would come anytime soon. 

"if you would like to say goodbye, there is a little bit of time before we have to take her away." the doctor showed to the room that house the mother of his child.

“I’m sorry my sweet girl.” he managed to quietly say his goodbye to her in between sobs. jamie stayed with her until it was time for them to take her away. after he was ushered to awaiting room where he sat against the wall crying, starring, contemplating, and completely unsure of what to do next.

"hey sir, have you met your daughter yet?" a nurse walked by and stopped in front of the man sitting on the ground.

"what?" jamie furrowed his brows looking at the nurse who had knelt down beside him. by now his tears had dried up. but he was still in shock over the big hole that had just appeared in his world.

"your daughter. would you like to meet her? we've cleaned her up. she's a tiny little thing, but she sure is an adorable little ducky. oops i meant little baby."

as soon as the nurse mentioned the baby, he broke out of the trance he had been in. there was another soul that needed his attention. one that was still here. the father needed to see her.

the nurse helped him up and led him over to where his baby girl was helping held. they were right, the little girl was tinier than what she should have been. she was perfect, ten little fingers and ten little toe, and he was more than certain there was a tuft of black hair under the little cap that she wore.

upon further inspection there were a few wires sticking out of her petite frame for monitoring purposes. but she was breathing on her own and seemed to be doing alright.

"she's doing perfectly, despite being born slightly earlier than we would have liked. we're going to keep her here a couple of days for observation, but after that you should be able to bring her home."

relief washed over jamie when they said she would be okay. he had already lost the love of his life, he didn't know if he would survive if his little girl left him as well. jamie thanked his lucky stars that he wasn't going to have to experience that pain.

"thank you." he whispered.

"of course. but she's the one doing all the fighting you know." the nurse, whose name he soon learned was gia, smiled at him. "say would you like to hold her? and it's almost time to feed her, so you can do that as well."

jamie nodded as he was instructed to sanitize his hands and sit the rocker next to his little daughter. gia gently picked up and place the little one in his arms. an overwhelming emotion of love he couldn’t describe filled his heart, making it feel like it was going to explode. he memorized her little face further and sad smile crept onto his face.

"does she have a name? we've been calling her baby ducky because well you are well you. but it would be nice to give this little one a name."

"kinsley jo drysdale." jamie recalled one of the last conversations he had been having with his girlfriend before this whole mess started. "her mom picked it out."

"okay. that is super cute!" gia gave jamie the tiny bottle instructing him how to feed and take care of baby kinsley afterwards before leaving them alone for a bit.

“hi baby. it's me daddy." he rocked the tired baby after she finished gulping down the bottle. "i know i'm not going to best dad, you’re going to have to bear with me here. i have no idea what i’m doing here. mommy was supposed to be here, going through this with us. but she's not. but you’ll always have me. no matter what. i promise my baby.” he kissed the top of her little baby head.

“I love you so much ducky.”