lostinwonderland314

[lostinwonderland314]

For the tattoo prompt,

31. No I ain't scared to die, but I'm scared to death.

With dean winchester?

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gatefleet @cosmic-psychickitty @shanimallina87 @real-sharena-h

Companion piece to:

Six Pack (NSFW) - You realise the man waiting for you isn't Dean Winchester.

Memories (NSFW) - Michael invades your home whilst you're away.

Sweet Dreams - Dean thinks about how this all started.

Deals With the Devil (feat: Michael)- You wake up with an angel in your bed.

Ten Years - You make a deal for Dean's life.

Cuts Like A Knife - You decide to give Michael what he wants.

Dean wakes up to the sound of a crackling fire, the scent of the lake and you.

He wakes up to you.

It feels like the first time in years.

There’s an ache in his chest, a dull throb that radiates through his ribcage. He presses his fingers to it, feeling raised flesh underneath the pads of his fingertips.

A scar, a new one.

It hits him then, like a freight train.

Michael’s mouth on yours, his fingers threading through your hair, him laying underneath you and then…

Agony, so much fucking agony that it feels like his soul is being wrenched right out of his body.

This is it, he’d thought, this is how I die, watching the woman I love fuck another man.

“Harlow.” He rasps, trying to sit up but that pain, it’s like nothing he’s ever felt. “What did you do?”

You shush him then, your palm coming to rest on his shoulder, guiding him back down onto the blanket. He clasps your hand, pulling you with him so your body is tucked in alongside his. He needs this right now, your comfort, your reassurance.

“I killed him.” You whisper, your fingertips tracing along the line of his jaw as he looks into your eyes. “And that means I have to stay here for a while, on the mountain. It’s the promise I made so that I could get you back.”

“How long?” He asks, his voice rough because he can’t bear the idea of you making a sacrifice for him, not after all the hell that Michael has put you through.

“Ten years.” You whisper and something inside of him just dies.

A decade out here in the wilderness alone, living in that Fire Tower, watching over the landscape. Your life as you know it is over because of him, because he let an angel into his body for the greater good, to save as many people as possible.

That’s the job, it’s always been the job.

It comes with hardship, pain, sacrifice.

It’s been a cost that Dean’s been willing to pay because it’s always been his life on the line, his flesh scared, his psyche maimed.

Now it’s yours, your world being turned upside down, your life being placed on hold indefinitely and that’s on Dean.

All of this, it’s on Dean.

Love Dean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[lostinwonderland314]

“Yeah, I’m a new student.” “Well, welcome to Gotham University! What’s your major?” “Criminology.” “What dorm are you in?” “Oh, I live off campus. My Aunt Pam owed a favor to my mom, so I live with her and her partner, my Aunt Harley.” “Excuse me?!” “It’s not as bad as you think.”

[lostinwonderland314]

Teen Pregnancy Series | Steve Harrington x Reader

Notes: This is set during season 2. Please read the note I made about the series

Warnings: Teen pregnant, labour scene

Words: 3k

"Harrington."

You walked up to him and his friends, interrupting his cool-guy play. "I finally need to talk to you." Like a dog, you grabbed him by the neck and led him to an empty hallway. "What's up with you? Need a round two?", he asked with a smug grin.

You and Steve had a one-night stand two months ago at a party. After two weeks of throwing up every morning, headaches and, finally, being late on your period, you took a pregnancy test. It turned out positive. Every time you tried to talk to him, he dismissed you. Finally, you had enough.

"I regret the first round.", you said as you took the positive test from your pocket and handed it to him. Steve got quiet for a good minute while starring at the test. "Fuck.", he finally said. You rolled your eyes at him and his dumbfounded look. "Aren't you a peach?", you asked in an ironic tone.

"So, what do we do?"

Both of you were sitting in your car after school, the only place you could find for a decent amount of privacy. "We?", you asked. "Kinda expected you to just...leave." He gave you a glare as he looked up from the pregnant test once again. "Excuse me?"

"You're a piece of shit.", you replied. "A piece of shit you had sex with.", Steve reminded you. You scoffed as you leaned back into your seat, arms crossed in front of your chest. "I don't know. I got into Columbia on a full ride." Steve looked at you, but your eyes were fixated on a bird in the parking lot. "I want kids. I wouldn't abandon you.", he said after a few minutes. You huffed once again. "Steve, I got into Colombia, full scholarship. I might get an abortion." His eyes now looked at the bird as well. "What department?" You finally turned your head to him. "Anesthesiology.", you replied. There was only two solutions to this: You get an abortion, or you reject Colombia. "There's no way I can do that with a kid. The studying, residency, exams." After two months, your pent-up tears finally poured from your eyes. Every word after was nothing but sobs "But I want to keep the baby, I don't actually want an abortion." In an attempt to comfort you, he patted your back. "Whatever you decide, I'll be with you.", he said. After a few minutes of crying, you finally made a decision:

"I'm keeping it."

"No, we're keeping it."

"Kids gonna be almost a month old when we graduate." Those weren't exactly the first words Steve expected from you when you entered his house. "I'm not even gonna gave my figure back by then." He laughed a bit. "How's the kid?" You went through your bag to find the sonogram your OBGYN printed for you earlier. "It's the size of a lime right now, so we can't really hide it for much longer." You handed him the sonogram, and his facial features immediate softened. It made you happy to see this other side of him. Steve was very attentive to you over the past month, always brought you your favourite soda to school and sat with you during lunch despite his friends teasing him for it. "I'm not gonna announce it or anything...but I don't have any larger sweaters." He knew what you were going for. "That's fine.", he said. "Although we should tell the teachers first." You nodded in agreement, knowing he was right. "So, teachers tomorrow and then you can wear whatever." His words made you giggle a bit, although he was still starring at the sonogram. "You're okay?", you asked. Steve looked up at you, smiling like an idiot. "I'm gonna be a dad." It made you giggle a bit. "Yeah, Harrington. You're gonna be a dad."

Both of you originally planned on watching a movie that evening, but the movie turned into background noise as the two of you kept talking about the baby. Talking about them with Steve made you less nervous about the fact that both of you were still in high school when he or she would be born. It made the pain of your parents not knowing if they'd support you through it bearable. It made the prospect of taking care of a child with him instead of attending Colombia not so bad.

"Actually, (Y/N), I have a question.", Steve said. You looked at him after trying to steak a peek of the movie. "We're both single and having a baby together. And I've had a lot of fun with you since...all of this. Do you maybe want us to...try at a relationship?" You raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were with Nancy Wheeler?" He sighted at your question. "Yeah, well, Nancy made it very clear that she has no feelings for me.", he said. "And if I were to tell her I'm having a baby with someone I slept with to forget about her, there wouldn't be any chance to beginn with." You scoffed at his words. "Wow, charming."

His eyes went wide when he realized how wrong his words sound. "No, not like that!" but you already burst out laughing. "Alright King Steve, let's see if you can woo me."

Everything was fine for a few more weeks. You were at his house right now, where he had planned a movie night to celebrate you making it through the first trimester. "I'm hoping for a good push present, for your own good.", you said as you plopped down next to him. "A what present?", he asked as his arm snaked around your shoulder. It became a habit of his every time the two of you were by yourself. "A push present. As a thank you for carrying the baby." He laughed a bit. "Sure. I'll find you something nice." You reached for the remote before leaning against his shoulder. "Muppets movie still in?", you asked. For whatever reason, it became your favourite. "Again?", he asked. "Yes, Steve, again." Even though it must've been the 10th time both of you watched it, he couldn't say no to you.

30 minutes into the movie, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it.", you said as you got up. Steve protested a bit, but you dismissed him with a small wave of your hand. It didn't stop him from following after you. Once you opened the door, Steve's middle school friend Dustin stood there. "Hello.", you said with a small smile. "Henderson, I'm busy.", Steve said as he put his hands in his hips like a mom. "There's more important things than your love life right now.", Dustin said to Steve before saying a small "Sorry." to you. "You still have that bat?" You raised an eyebrow at the young boy. "A bat?", you asked. Your hand rested on your small pregnancy belly. "The one with the nails.", Dustin clarified. Now you turned to Steve. "Excuse me?" He furrowed his brows. "What's going on?" Steve looked at Dustin, who looked at you. "Too much to explain. Steve, come on." You held onto Steve's shoulder. He seemed to know what was going on, and you wanted to know. "You're gonna tell me what the deal is first.", you demanded. "Else I'm coming with." Steve's confused expression turned into a serious look as he turned to you. "Absolutely not. There is no way in hell you're coming with us." Your eyebrows raised in disbelief of his tone. "Excuse me?" but Steve remained serious. "I've never said no to you ever since you told me about the baby. I'm putting my foot down right now and saying no. You're not risking yours or our daughters life."

"You're having a girl?", Dustin interrupted with his childlike grin. You gave him a nod with a small smile before your lips faltered again while turning to Steve. "You're going to explain everything to me the second you return." He nodded his head before giving you a kiss on the cheek, then crouched down to kiss your stomach. "I'll be back before you know it." He grabbed his keys and turned to the door.

"Bat!", Dustin reminded him harshly.

"Shit."

Steve was gone for two whole days. Two days of not knowing what was going on, two days of worrying he might get hurt or worse, two days of running up-and-down your home. He finally knocked on the door, battered, bruised and so tired. He expected yelling, screaming, anger.

Steve didn't expect you to kiss him.

"We were so worried. I swear, she didn't stop moving this entire time, and I was so worried that something happened to you, and maybe the baby took onto that because she hasn't stopped kicking until this very second-" He interrupted you with another kiss. "I'm happy to be back as well.", Steve said once you broke the kiss. A small smile spread across your lips. "We both need a nap. Come on." Both of you slept the day away, no regard for anyone or anything. In fact, you didn't even let go of him once. He always stayed in your arms, and the only time you let him move was to kiss your belly. The explanation didn't matter right now; him being back was the only thing that mattered to you.

"And she kicked the entire time?", Steve asked with a small chuckle. "She was a whirlwind, I'm telling you." You laughed at your own words. "I think our little one knew her daddy wasn't here." A wide smile spread across his face as you called him a dad. He always wanted to be one, and now it all became so real. His head laid down near your stomach again, and your hand started playing with his hair while his ran over your growing stomach.

"I think Marie would be a sweet name." Steve looked up at you with so much love in his eyes. "Marie sounds good.", he agreed. "But Ellie Harington sounds even cutter." He listed your shirt up and ran his hand across your bare stomach before kissing it again. "Ellie Marie Harington.", he whispered to your stomach.

"Ellie Marie Harington.", you agreed.

"So I never officially asked you to be my girlfriend, but roses are appropriate as an apology.", Steve said after you opened the door. There was a huge bouquet of red roses in his hand, all for you. Happily, you took them from him and smelled them before going inside with him. "They're so beautiful.", you said as you put them in a vase. "Thank you, boyfriend." His arms snaked around your waist and pulled you as close as your belly let him. "You're welcome, girlfriend." After some giggles, the two of you kissed. "Dustin is at his winter ball today, so we have a few hours to ourselves.", he suggested. With an raised eyebrow, you cupped his face with one hand. "Lucky you, my parents won't be home until Sunday night." Steve's cheeks were squished between your fingers, a sight that made you giggle. "He's basically your practice child, isn't he?" Your boyfriend laughed at your words. "That's your point of view." His tone was filled with sass, but you couldn't take him serious with such a squished face. A quick kiss later, both of you crashed on your couch with your head in his lap. "What ya' doing down there?", he asked with a smirk. You looked up at him. "Were you expecting action?", you asked. Steves face read embarrassment and he looked to the side for a good 5 seconds. "Well, only if you're up for it. It's not like we can make another baby." With a small eyeroll, you got up from where you were resting.

"But not here. I'm not very flexible anymore."

"26 weeks already?", Max asked in amazement as she looked at your framed sonograms.

Your parents paid for a small three bedroom apartment for you, Steve and the baby. As long as one of you gets a job after high school to pay for part of it, they were more than happy to help. It pays off to have a doctor and a lawyer as parents. Right now, some of the kids were happily helping setting up your little girls nursery. It was flower themed, and while Lucas and Dustin were fighting while building the crib, Max was painting daisies and sunflowers on the wall. At least she did until you brought in the sonograms to put on the wall.

"Ellie's so big now." Max was nothing but absolutely in love with your daughter already. Maybe it was because it distracted her from her home life, but you were fine with it. Anything to help her. "Approximately 13 weeks until you can meet her.", you said to her with a smile. "She's very excited for her aunt Max." Her eyes lit up at your words, she looked up from the sonograms for the first time. "We'll always have elaborate excuses to have a girls day." A small laugh left her mouth at your promise. "We can get baby clothes, and matching shirts for you and Ellie. Anything you want." Max hasn't looked this happy in a long time. Her eyes went back to the sonogram before they met yours again. "Thank you.", she said with a smile.

As Max continued on the sunflower, you were at your wits end with the two boys fighting over how to build the crib. "Go get the mattress and the crib mobile from the the living room.", you told them before building the crib yourself. And you knew that you'd have plenty of time - Steve was picking up the crib mobile from your parents right now, so they couldn't find it. "I'm glad you're having a girl.", Max said is she painted. You didn't look up from screwing together two pieces of wood while you replied. "Because all boys are stupid?" Both of you laughed before Max let out a small "Yeah." and walked over to help you build the crib.

"What are you doing?", Steve asked when he saw you lifting the crib from the ground with Max. "No heavy lifting!" He rushed over to take over for you. With scoff, you stepped back and let him and Max put it in the right spot. "That's what the boys are here for. Where are they?", Steve continued complaining. "They're looking for the mattress and crib mobile.", you said while getting a hammer and nails. "But I was picking up the crib mobile."

"Oh, you did?", you asked with a smirk. He rolled his eyes at you. "I'll get them, you look at the beautiful flowers Max painted."

Taking finals and being 9 months pregnant wasn't a good mix. Your midwife told you that small contractions weren't a reason to to the hospital yet, so there you were: Taking your final math exam with contractions that felt like awful period cramps. Luckily, they were only 30 minutes apart so far, and you thought you could deal with four contractions during the exam. Plus, this was your last final; you didn't want to not attend.

But your contractions came every 20 minutes first, then 10 and when you were solving the very last math problem every 5 minutes. As you, somehow, walked up to the teacher to hand in your papers, you leaned foward to whisper to her. "Can you check how long Steve needs. I really need to leave with him right now."

"Is everything okay?", Mrs. O'Donnel asked.

"I'm...five minutes apart, I need to leave." You've never seen her get up quicker as she rushed over to Steve and took his exam. "I'll grade you on all you could finish, go.", she said to him. As confused as he looked at first, it all made sense once he saw you. "Oh, shit!", he yelled out before grabbing his things and running out of the room with you.

Your daughter was perfect. 19 inches, 7 ounches and a full head of brown hair. Steve was holding her in his arms while you were resting in your hospital bed. "She's so quiet.", Steve said without looking up from her once. "Maybe we were lucky and got a quiet baby.", you said with a tired smile. Steve walked over and handed her to you. "She must have that from you, because I cried a lot as a baby." He started looking through his bag for something, letting out a few frustrated huffs in between. "You okay?" Ellie was starting to wake up, making a few gurgled sounds. "Got it!", he said victoriously before walking back over. "Told you I'd get you a push present."

He sat down on the edge of your bed and opened a small box for you to look into. It contained a necklace with a round, gold charm. 'Ellie' was engraved into it in small letters. "Whenever we have another one, we'll have their name engraved as well." He helped you put the necklace on, letting his hands linger on your neck for a bit longer than he'd actually need to. "You're still so beautiful.", he whispered before leaning in for a kiss.

"Are they even supposed to be here right now?", Steve asked you with a raised eyebrow. "We're having boy problems.", you told him with a shit-eating grin. Max was holding Ellie in her arms as you, her and El were standing at the Scoops Ahoy cash register. Your daughter was awake, but laying with her head between Max's collarbones. "And I missed Ellie so much.", she added. El giggled a bit when Steve looked even more confused. "We have boy problems?", he asked in an offended tone. "Like you didn't wash the dishes last night." With an eyeroll, he made the three of you your icecream. After handing them over, he went around the register to hold Ellie for a minute. "Daddy misses you so much when he's at work.", he cooed at her before kissing the very hairy top of her head. She definitely has his genes when it comes to her hair. Max and El looked at you and giggled when they heard him talk to Ellie. "I've never seen him this mushy.", Max commented.

"She's my baby.", Steve simply said.

[lostinwonderland314]

"We aren't raising kids; we're raising adults. If you want a kind 16-year-old, teach a 6-year-old kindness and give them 10 years of practice. If you want a __ adult, teach a kid how to be __ and give them __ years of practice." - Jon Acuff

[lostinwonderland314]

#My fav platonic soulmates <3

[lostinwonderland314]

Something something Jason Todd with a reader who falls under the “old friend” and “scientist who slowly loses themselves to their own creation” tropes

->

idk I think it would be cool for him to watch a friend/partner of his slowly descend into a villain arc. They’ve never been a fighter, and instead helped with providing medicine and/or chemicals to use in battle (smoke bomb but it’s pepper spray or something like that. Idk. Chemical and biological warfare that doesn’t kill or else Batman would hunt them down).

one of the things that they’ve been told to look into are stuff like the Lazarus pit. Maybe they discover or create something entirely separate, maybe they start combining Lazarus pit water with various fungi/bacteria/parasites. Whatever they discover, it has the purpose of Improving a person, making them slightly more than human.

as the death and destruction piles up (Jason’s being the inciting incident but not what pushed them over edge), they can’t stop thinking of the creation they’ve made. They and those they live could die at any time— so they find themselves going into their lab at the late hours of the night, just to sit and stare at the locked cabinet where they *know* the [creation] is waiting.

for the sake of the discussion, I’ll say that the creation is a type of mold. Eventually, the reader becomes less careful about safety precautions and lets themselves be infected. Cue violent symptoms of mild poisoning and hallucinations. Cue violent aggression when one tries to take them away from the Mold. Cue their body distorting and changing as the mold takes effect.

this sounds a bit like the talon storyline lol

OH SHIT ORCHARD BACK AT IT WITH THE FUCKIN BANGERS. THEY NEVER MISS. THE HALLOWEEN SPIRIT FLOWED THROUGH YOU POOKIE.

I fuck with this.

[lostinwonderland314]

Thinking about Jason Todd as your soft, sweet, inexplicably buff boyfriend who’s built like a tank but wouldn’t hurt a fly… that is, until some unfortunate soul tries to mug you and is promptly knocked off their ass by a right cross that could level a small truck

[lostinwonderland314]

looks like october is…. octover

[lostinwonderland314]

prisoner | s.r.

in which you and Spencer conduct a custodial interview with a serial killer - Spencer's first since he was released

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: post prison reid, fwb but also mutual pining, serial killers, prison, panic attack, chiromancy word count: 3.66k a/n: i originally came up with this idea in 2023 😭 😭 it's about time i finished it lol. definitely suffers from exposition overload but i don't caaaaare.

Fourteen times.

You had asked him fourteen times if he thought he was going to be okay doing the custodial interview. No one else was available to do it, but you still had your reservations. Sending Spencer to a prison felt wrong, even if he wasn’t on the inside of the bars anymore.

Without telling him the reason, Emily elected to send you with him to the facility, she said it was because you had never done one before, but you knew it was deeper than that. “How many victims?” You asked, not taking your eyes off the road as you drove to the destination.

“Eight,” Spencer answered, looking through the case file. The killer had asked for the interview, hoping to be transferred to a minimum-security facility. The odds weren’t good, but you needed to oblige the request even if it wouldn’t prove successful.

You hummed, turning down the road, you pulled up to the security station. Presenting your credentials to the guard, he lifted the gate for you, and you found your reserved parking. “Do you want to take the lead?” You asked him, trying to gauge how he was doing.

Nodding, Spencer got out of the SUV. You shut off the engine and followed suit. “Unless it doesn’t seem like he’s responding to me, I’d rather not present him with someone who fits in with his victim pool.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you said sardonically, grabbing your bag from the backseat before locking the car and following Spencer inside.

The two of you went through security, locking up your weapons and going through metal detectors. It wasn’t until you went inside the first gate that you noticed it; Spencer was fiddling with the belt loop of his slacks. “I can feel you staring,” he whispered so only you could hear. You watched his posture relax when the gate buzzed and opened in front of him.

You smiled softly, “I can see you fidgeting,” you responded. At work, the two of you were merely coworkers who knew each other really well, so you couldn’t just reach out and take his hand. Not that you’d want to, in a prison full of serial killers.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, implying that he wasn’t right now. The smile fell off your face as the two of you followed the guard into the warden’s office.

At the sight of you, the warden stood and smiled, “You must be Agents Y/L/N and Reid, thank you for making the trip down here.”

Raising your eyebrows, you reach out your hand for the warden to shake, “He’s Dr. Reid, actually.” You corrected, seeing as Spencer didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Ah, my apologies, Dr. Reid,” he responded kindly, gesturing for the two of you to follow him.

Spencer gently brushed your hand as you followed the warden. It was so subtle that someone else could’ve brushed it off as an accident, but Spencer Reid never did anything without purpose.

“Marshal Lukins is the most prolific killer we’ve had in my time here, we aren’t expecting anything to come of this, but you know as well as I do that we have to humor the psychos,” Warden McCall told you, stopping in front of a gate and calling out for it to be opened.

You raised your eyebrows, deciding against telling the warden that Lukins profiled as a sociopath, not a psychopath. “How’s his behavior been here?”

The warden shrugged, “He won’t be winning any merit badges any time soon, that’s for sure. Spends most of his time in solitary, really.”

“His file said he had gotten into an altercation with another prisoner, what was that about?” Spencer asked.

McCall cleared his throat, “turf war. You know, prison gangs can get rowdy. Especially when they find out the feds are coming.”

You raised your eyebrows, grateful you couldn’t see Spencer’s expression. “Oh, yeah,” he said quietly.

Then you were in front of a serial killer, someone who had been put away years ago, but the way he looked at you sent shivers down your spine. “Marshal Lukins?” You confirmed.

“Why hello, pretty lady,” Lukins responded, rising from the chair. His legs were chained to the ground, but his hands were free.

Behind you, Spencer cleared his throat, “Sit down,” he ordered. Taking a tone of authority that you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from him.

Taking your seat across from Lukins, you looked him in the eyes, “You may call me Agent Y/L/N.” 

Your interviewee shrugged, “I’ll call you whatever I want in my mind later.”

Ignoring the hairs that stood up on the back of your neck, you rolled your eyes at the skeevy pervert. “If you want to be transferred, you’re not making a very good first impression,” Spencer intervened, likely aware of your discomfort.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first criminal to make a pass at you, and in your line of work, it likely wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m not much worried about first impressions, people usually have a first opinion about me before they even hear my voice,” he responded, leaning back in the chair.

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from responding, yeah, that happens when you murder eight women. “What would you rather our opinion of you be? That you’re misunderstood? Did you find god in prison, Marshal?” You asked him.

He leaned over the table ever so slightly, yellowed teeth flashing beneath the fluorescent light that hung above the interrogation table, “Would you like me to show him to you?”

Raising your eyebrows, you maintained a bored disposition while flipping open your files, “No.”

With custodials like this, you weren’t allowed to have photos in your files. Lukins was a sexual sadist, and the profile that Aaron Hotchner had put together was damning, describing the man in front of you to a T. He even got the age correct, right down to the receding hairline. Even though Lukins was in prison, you’d never provide him with visual aids to relive his crimes.

“Why did you request this interview if you weren’t interested in playing nice?” Spencer asked, setting his own files on the table in front of him, but he refrained from opening them. He managed to memorize their contents on the drive from Quantico, enabling him to weaponize his memory.

Lukins put his hands up in mock surrender, “I was hoping they’d send me someone nice to look at, make a good conversation with, and boy am I glad I took that chance.”

Spencer clasped his hands together and set them on the steel table, “Thank you,” he responded, keeping himself stone-faced in the presence of the killer.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the criminal in front of you snapped, jutting his chin in your direction.

Bored, your partner spoke up again, “Yes, you are,” he corrected. You were unable to communicate with Spencer without tipping off Lukins, so you let him continue, trusting that he knew where he was going with this. “In your trial, you said all of your victims were your sheep,” Spencer recalled from the file, “Is that why you shaved their heads before gutting them?”

Lukins scoffed, bored easily within the confines of the interview, “My sheep were my friends, but every sheep needs a wolf. Isn’t that right, Bo Peep?” He asked you, meeting your gaze despite the fact that Spencer all but told him not to engage with you.

You narrowed your gaze at him, tilting your head innocently, “Would you have let me be one of your sheep?”

He gave you a look that made you feel like you needed a shower, “You would’ve been a nice addition, could’ve rounded out my numbers.”

He reached out a hand, trying to take a piece of your hair between his grimy fingers, but you stood up quickly, stepping back from the table and almost tripping over your chair in response.

A few prison guards came in at the sudden movement, and Spencer had a vice-like grip on Lukins’ wrist, keeping him away from you. Tossing his arm back at him, Spencer glared at the killer, “No touching,” he instructed, looking back at you to check-in. He opened the door to the room, ushering you out before looking at the guards, “I want him in cuffs.”

With a hand on the small of your back, Spencer herded you to the private space that the two of you were expected to inhabit for the day. “Hey,” you spoke to him once the door was shut behind you.

Spencer was filled to the brim with nervous energy, shaking out his hands in an attempt to expel his nerves, “We should just go back to Quantico.” He shook his head, brown curls fanning out around his face, “There’s no way he can tell us anything that will get us to endorse his transfer.”

Watching him like this made your chest ache, and you had no idea what to do with that emotion. Your relationship with Spencer was strictly horizontal—usually—and you found yourself floundering when it came to how to act outside of bed. You wanted to take his hand, desperate to run your fingers over his knuckles and find the familiar callus from where his pencil rests on his finger, but you just couldn’t get yourself to reach out.

You hadn’t known Spencer before he was arrested in Mexico, but you made your mark on him without ever letting him lay his eyes on you. You sent letters to him along with the rest of the team, refraining from talking about cases and instead choosing to use your letters as a personal diary, chronicling your first three months with the Behavioral Analysis Unit with your prison pen pal. Periodically, you put money in his commissary account, despite the rest of the team telling you that you shouldn’t feel inclined to.

Pressing your lips into a thin line, your eyes tracked his pacing in the conference room before you started to voice your concern, “We have to go back in, Reid.” You grabbed a water bottle from the counter and twisted the cap off before handing it to him.

He took the water begrudgingly, glaring at you as he did so, “Why do we have to go back in, exactly?” After taking a sip of the water, he handed it to you so you could have some. You could’ve grabbed your own, but surely this was quicker.

“Lukins said I would’ve rounded out his numbers,” you told him, nervously fiddling with the cap of the water bottle as you waited for him to get it.

Spencer adjusted his tie, pulling the silk fabric further from his neck, “Yeah, I heard him.” It bothered him, the slightest implication that you were endangered in that interview room put him on edge, but all you could do was sit down and watch him.

You sighed, “We only have a record of eight victims. We don’t know what he’s rounding to, but that’s at least two more bodies that we don’t know about.” Lukins could be rounding up to ten, which would be the closest option, or you were looking at the possibility of a considerably higher body count. Your fear was that he would use those additional kills as a bartering tool to get a transfer.

He stopped in his tracks while he processed what you were telling him. Spencer turned to you, lips parted before he nodded, eventually agreeing with you even if it pained him to do so. “We should call Emily and let her know what’s going on,” he told you, taking a seat across from you and placing his head in his hands. “I’m gonna step outside for a second,” he said, getting up just as quickly as he took a seat and swinging the door open, leaving you alone in the conference room.

Holding your tongue, you stopped yourself from voicing your approval, even though you did think some fresh air would be good for him. Instead, you watched the door click shut before fishing your phone out of your pocket, tapping on Emily’s contact before bringing the phone to your ear.

“How’s it going?” Emily asked you as soon as she answered, and you couldn’t help but picture your unit chief waiting by her phone, hoping to hear from you or Spencer.

You sighed, inadvertently cluing her into how the custodial interview was going, “We might have a problem,” you told her. Continuing on to explain what had happened between you and Marshal Lukins, all the way up through your discovery that he might have a higher victim count.

Prentiss clicked her tongue on the other end of the line, “What does Spencer think?”

The question didn’t come as a surprise to you, neither did the fact that her inflection told you that she was sneakily trying to ask you how Spencer was. Wiping your free palm along the fabric of your pants, you leaned against the table, “Reid thinks Lukins is out for blood.” You opened your mouth to continue but were interrupted by an alarm being tripped, your head snapped up as lights started to flash on the walls.

“What’s going on?” Emily questioned you over the phone, but you could barely hear her over the blare of the alarm, a low-pitched buzzing sound that made your brain feel like it was vibrating within your skull.

Clambering to your feet, you grabbed your water bottle and walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind you as you looked aimlessly around the prison for someone who could offer you an explanation. “I’ve gotta go,” you blurted into the receiver, stuffing your phone in your pocket and making your way to the front of the prison, ignoring the men who shouted at you from behind bars.

You looked down the walkway, watching as the failsafe on the doors was triggered and they slowly started to shut, triggering you to try and make a run for it. “Y/N,” Spencer called out your name, picking up his own pace from the opposite direction.

It didn’t take you long to realize that you weren’t going to make it, skidding to a halt as the bars clicked shut in front of you. You weren’t scared until you watched Spencer pull at the door, frantically trying to slide it open, “Reid,” you said his name, trying to get his attention. “Reid,” you shouted that time, trying to make sure he heard you over the alarm.

He didn’t pause to look at you, he simply continued to pull at the bars.

“Spence,” you said desperately, and that time his eyes snapped to yours. Wide brown eyes bore into yours as you placed one of your hands on his, both of them encircling the bar. “It’s not going to open,” you reminded him. A fact he was well aware of but didn’t want to acknowledge.

Silently, he leaned back into the wall, sliding down the side of it and looking up at the ceiling, pulling at his tie again, this time taking it all the way off. “It’s a lockdown,” he panted helplessly, “They’re in a lockdown.”

You nodded softly, having drawn that conclusion on your own, “It’s okay,” you told him softly, reaching through the bars and taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re alright, Spence,” you continued, your tone bordering on a coo.

He pulled his knees to his chest and slung his free arm over his legs, hugging himself.

It broke your heart to watch him like this. You pointed in the direction he came from, “Look. Hey, you could be free to leave, I’m the one who’s locked in,” you told him, highlighting the fact that the bars were blocking you, but Spencer could make his way back to the entryway.

“Not helping,” he told you, his voice almost a gasp as he tried to regulate his breathing.

Your shoulder’s slumped forward slightly, “I’m sorry. What can I do?”

Spencer just shook his head, squeezing your hand in response when you started sweeping your thumb over his knuckles. You ignored the buzzing of your phone in your pocket as you watched him, completely focused on making sure he was okay before you did anything else.

With your free hand, you grabbed the water bottle that you took from the conference room and slipped it through the bars. “Here, take this,” you murmured, setting it on the ground next to him when he didn’t take the bottle from you.

He visibly relaxed when the alarm stopped going off, but the lights were still flashing, which offered somewhat of an explanation as to why the door hadn’t opened yet.

You fiddled with his hand, opening up his palm and tracing the lines on his hand with your index finger, “Have you ever had your palm read?” You asked him, twisting your head to get a better look at it.

He looked at you, the panicked look in his eyes had subsided, promptly replaced with incredulity, “When have I ever struck you as the kind of person who would get my palm read?”

Shrugging, you slowly traced his love line, “You like Halloween, I thought maybe you’d let your curiosity get the best of you.” Although you supposed if Spencer really wanted to have his palm read, he’d just do it yourself. “When I was in college, my summer job was reading palms in a booth at an amusement park,” you informed him.

Spencer chuckled at your revelation, and the sound made your heart sing, “That is… oddly endearing.”

Nodding, you looked at his hand again, “Chiromancy says men were born with their left hand, and their right is what they accumulate throughout life,” you told him softly, sliding your other hand through the bar.

“Actually, I was born with both of my hands,” Spencer responded, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, studying his left hand intently, “You have water hands,” you said, showing him his own palm as if he’d never seen it before.

Spencer raised his eyebrows at you, “Well, now you’re just making things up,” he openly teased you that time, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

Humming, you furrowed your brows and pointed at his hand, “This is your head line,” you explained. “See how it’s long and straight? It sort of tapers off before the end of your palm—that means you tend to think realistically.”

“I could’ve told you that,” he challenged, but his eyes were following along as you pointed at his palm.

You shook your head and sighed, “Here’s your life line,” you said, pointing to a different line and tracing it with your fingertip. “It’s straight and goes down to the edge of your palm, which means you’re cautious about relationships,” you continued softly, leaning your head against one of the bars of the door.

He was silent after that one, briefly taking his bottom lip between his teeth and looking down at his hand. You could tell that even though he didn’t quite believe what you were saying, he was perfectly fine with humoring you.

“This is your fate line,” you told him, entirely expecting to lose him the moment you began discussing fate. “It’s broken down the middle and curved in different directions, and that means you’re prone to a lot of changes in life. Changes influenced by external forces.”

Gently, Spencer pulled his hand away from yours, flexing his hand before looking down at it, “You’ve officially lost me.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up, “I’m surprised you lasted this long.” Just long enough apparently, the doors buzzed soon after, and you withdrew your hands from the slots as the bars slid into a hole in the wall.

Spencer got up first, dusting off his hands before he extended a hand to help you up. Your hand lingered in his for just a moment too long, the exchange oddly intimate for the two of you before his arms dropped to his side, “Thank you,” he murmured, a shy smile on his face.

Shrugging, you crossed your arms in front of your stomach, “There’s nothing to thank, Reid.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that it was disappointment that flashed across his face at your reply.

The warden had rather unceremoniously asked the two of you to leave, citing security concerns and letting you know that he’d be in contact with Emily to reschedule. Emily had called you six times during the lockdown, but you’d texted her once everything was clear.

Which left you heading back to the SUV with Spencer, there were prisoners out in the yard, so he walked on the inside, blocking your body from the view of the inmates. “Are you alright?” You asked him, feeling more free to inquire now that you were in the open air.

He nodded, “I’m fine, I just really wasn’t expecting something like that to happen when I asked Emily to send me on this custodial.”

Your footsteps faltered at his words, “You asked to go on this custodial?”

Spencer frowned, “I was on this case originally ten years ago, so I asked Emily to let me go.”

“And she said yes?” You asked incredulously.

Spencer opened the back door for you to place your bag in, “Not initially, but eventually she realized that I’d be her only option if she wanted to get it done today.” He shut the door and shoved his hands in his pockets, “It’s a lot earlier than I thought we’d be getting back, do you want to stop and get lunch on the way back to Quantico?”

Your eyes went wide and you were grateful that he couldn’t see your expression, “Uh, sure. Why not?”

“Perfect,” he said, “Maybe I can get you to tell me why you avoided reading my love line.”

[lostinwonderland314]

My boyfriend is so open and communicative that today I said “No man is ever going to love me like a Hozier song” and he instantly went “Well, what can I do to make you feel more loved?”

Shut up shut up shut up

[lostinwonderland314]

“Fucking traffic,” Jason groaned, his hands carved around the wheel, resting his head back against the headrest in exhaustion and waning patience. “The lights have been on green at least twice, and we haven’t moved.”

"Hey, it’s not like we're going anywhere important," you reasoned, attempting to calm him.

As a small smile appeared on your lips, your hand ghosted over the expanse of Jason's thigh, and as soon as you placed it against the fabric of his trousers, you felt his hand cover yours. A small sigh left his lips, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. You gazed softly at his side profile, watching as his jaw unclenched under your biting eyes.

“We can talk about something, ─ to keep you distracted,” you suggested. 

“I’m just tired,” Jason replied, meeting your gaze before looking away.

A small laugh escaped through your lips at his irritated sigh as the traffic lights flickered from neon green to a bloody, brick red.

“You know, we’re supposed to kiss at every red light,” you hummed, grinning at his stifled appearance, his tense body slowly relaxing at your voice like the echo of a poisonous psalm.

“Really?” He asked, looking over at you with a small huff. 

“Yeah, so I think I should,” you hummed, leaning towards him, making sure the traffic in front of you wasn’t moving. “Do you wanna kiss me, Jason Todd?”

“When do I ever not want to kiss you?” He whispered, turning your head towards his before leaning in, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his lips against yours. Your stomach erupted with butterflies at his touch, a small giggle leaving your lips when you parted. His kisses were bittersweet and warm as a humid summer night, they made you feel wanted, and his hands always seamlessly drifted around your body, however, he had to keep his right hand on the steering wheel just in case.

“Fuck, we’re finally moving now,” he laughed, pressing a peck to your forehead as he turned to focus on the road. 

“Do I get more kisses when we get back home?” You smiled, biting at your bottom lip.

“Fuck, you didn’t even have to ask.”

[lostinwonderland314]

Daredevil: Born Again teaser

[lostinwonderland314]

Source: poeticalphotos

[lostinwonderland314]

[lostinwonderland314]

NYC by 212sid

[lostinwonderland314]

Wranglin' the Owenses

A series of short fics, drabbles and thoughts about Tyler being a dad to a truckload of kids!

Tyler Owens x Reader (no use of Y/N, reader's nickname is Tweety)

Allen's Adventure

Word count: 3.4k

Author's note: Hush Little Baby lyrics are by Sylvia Long.

Warnings: Mentions of hospital visits, parental neglect (not Tyler and reader!).

Your home had always been a noisy one. Even when it was just you and Tyler, in those short few months before the twins came along, silence was a rarity. The small trailer on the outskirts of Tyler’s aunt’s farm was bursting with the music of life.

The mornings began early. You woke to Tyler humming to himself, a whistling kettle, and the shuffle of heavy boots as your husband prepared for a day of toil - either on his aunt’s land or whichever local ranch would take him that week. Then, once he’d left for work, you would turn the radio to your favourite country station to keep you company as you did your best to repair and renovate the trailer, ready for the impending arrival. As your due date grew closer, you promised Tyler you would take more breaks. You lovingly painted an old two-seater bench and would take your rests outside, gently stroking your belly and singing lullabies to your little ones, letting them know how excited you were to meet them, and how hard you were trying to give them a good life.

In the evening, Tyler would shower noisily, washing away the day. More often than not, you would join him (to save water, of course), until your belly grew too big for the both of you to fit in the cubicle. You’d share the trials of the last 24 hours over dinner and promise each other you were making the right choices, and that things would get better soon. Then, when the sky grew black and rain battered the tin roof, Tyler would listen intently as you played the piano (it took up too much room, but Tyler insisted you keep it, knowing it would have broken your heart to leave it behind when your parents kicked you out).

Your family had grown by six since then, and the ranch house you lived in now was ten times the size of your beloved trailer. The trailer was still in the garden though, and had been converted into a music room, your childhood piano now centre stage.

So much had changed, yet, as you wandered through your home, singing Allen to sleep in your arms, you were still surrounded by a comforting cacophony of noise. Little Dora’s delightful giggles and Issac and Theo playing some raucous game out in the garden. Connie would be on the phone somewhere, stretched out on her bed or on one of the sofas, chattering to her friends about this or that. Tyler and the Wranglers crew would be in the barn next door, planning their next chase and cracking jokes. Charlie would be alongside them too, once he’d promised Tyler that all his homework was done.

Some people wouldn’t have been able to stand the constant barrage of sound, but you found it reassuring. It meant your family was thriving and full of life.

Tyler agreed. He’d never liked the quiet. As a kid, prolonged silences meant his dad had stayed out for too many days drinking again, and his mom was shrinking into one of her reclusive depressions. Even now, your husband couldn’t sleep without the ticking of a clock, the hum of a ceiling fan or the sound of your (supposedly adorable) snores.

And, in Tyler’s line of work, silence was a warning sign. The supposed ‘calm’ before the approaching storm.

Your children clearly shared the same attitude to peace and quiet.

All except Allen.

He was only a year old, but his temperament was markedly tranquil and easy-going compared to the five Owens kids that had come before him. He slept through the night without much hassle, barely cried once he was out of the newborn stage and appeared entirely unperturbed by the constant ruckus surrounding him. He was perfectly content to sit on somebody’s lap and watch the world go by, completely unphased by the yells, shouts, crashes and bangs of his siblings and extended family.

Tyler reckoned Allen could nap through a tornado.

You just supposed that now you were on your sixth child, you and Tyler were finally getting the hang of sleep routines.

“He’s a soulful one, aren’t you little man?” Tyler would say, sitting outside on the bench you’d painted all those years ago, standing Allen up on his thighs so he could see his brothers and sisters playing as the evening drew in.

“Watching quietly with those wide eyes, taking in the world. Gonna be a deep thinker for sure.”

You would hum in agreement and rest your head on your husband’s shoulder, utterly content.

“I like the sound of that.”

—

“Mr and Mrs Owens, I believe your son is deaf.”

“Deaf?”

This wasn’t how the day was supposed to go. This was just a routine check-up. The doctor was supposed to tell you that Allen was happy and healthy and then send you all on your merry way. You hadn’t entertained the thought of anything different.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler said. “Am I understanding correctly? You’re saying that Allen can’t hear us? He can’t hear anything at all?”

His voice was clipped and firm. He could see the shock on your face, your features pinched with worry. If there was any chance of there being a misunderstanding, he needed to know it, for your sake.

“Yes sir. He’s not in any pain or discomfort and he's clearly a well-loved and cheerful little boy. It’s likely Allen was born without hearing, so he doesn’t know any different.”

Tears filled your eyes, and Tyler immediately grabbed your hand and held it tight. You watched Allen playing with the nurse, his tiny legs kicking with glee as she passed him another coloured block for his little fists to stack. He made a tower of five and looked positively delighted with himself.

“Oh Allen that’s so clever! Well done!”

You jumped to shower him with praise, as you always did, but as soon as the words left your mouth it hit you.

He didn’t turn at the sound of your voice. He never had.

He’d never even heard his own name. And now there was a chance that he never would.

-

The drive home was an unnaturally quiet one. You didn’t know what to say. Tyler didn’t switch the radio on for you to sing along to either. It would have felt like a betrayal. As if you were deliberately freezing Allen out by speaking now you knew he couldn’t hear you.

Later that night, once the kids were all winding down in their rooms and Tyler had taken Allen to bed, he found you sitting alone at your piano. The lid was open, but your hands were clasped in your lap instead of dancing over the keys.

“Well, now we know why it’s so easy to get the little man off to sleep,” he said lightly, in a hopeful attempt at humour.

His words had the opposite effect of what he’d intended.  

“How could I have missed this?!” you cried. “I spend almost every hour of every day with him! How could I not have noticed he couldn’t hear me? What kind of mother-”

“Hey! Hey. None of that.”

Tyler was kneeling in front of you now, holding your face in his hands.

“I won’t hear one bad word about the mother of my children, not even from the woman herself," he said firmly.

“But he’s never heard our voices, Tyler. His own mother and father. He’s never heard his brothers and sisters’ laughter or the birds chirping outside or the sound of your truck rolling up the driveway. He’s never heard me sing to him - he’s never heard any music at all. And - and - he’s never heard me tell him I love him.”

You shattered then, your body convulsing with wretched sobs.

All throughout your life, people had told you that above all else, children need to know that they’re loved. If a child knows they’re loved, they’ll be ok, come hell or high water. You told your kids you loved them every day and every night to make that true.

But how could Allen know if he’d never heard you say it?

Tyler scooped you into his arms and onto his lap. He hugged you tightly and rocked you gently, conscious that you needed time to let out your worries before he spoke again.

“It breaks my heart too,” he said softly, his big warm hand caressing your back. “But there’s no doubt in my mind that he knows you love him. He doesn’t have to hear you say it to feel it. That’s how it is for me. Love radiates off you, Tweety.”

His voice was tender, yet his words had a solidity to them, sure and enduring.

“I know for a fact, that each and every one of our kids feels more love from you in a single day than I felt from my parents in a whole year. You are an extraordinary mother and a remarkable woman. We are all so damn lucky to have you.”

Tyler reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean tissue for you to dry your eyes with.

“We’ve weathered plenty of storms together over the years, the two of us. Think of Allen being deaf as just a change in the weather. And now that we know, we can prepare for whatever comes next.”

You knew he was right. Discovering Allen’s deafness today was a good thing, a positive thing. It wasn’t a reflection on your ability as a mother. It didn’t change the makeup of your family or put Allen or anyone else in danger. It was just a different path, a new adventure, an opportunity for you all to learn and grow alongside your little boy.

Tyler ducked his head to give you a kiss.

“Just promise me something,” he whispered softly against your lips.

“Anything.”

“Don’t stop singing to him.”

—

You and Tyler did your best to carry on as normal. You didn’t want Allen to sense that you might be treating him differently, and you didn’t want your other children to think anything was out of place either. You didn’t want to tell them until you had Tyler had decided on what the next steps would be.

The doctor referred you to an audiologist, who confirmed that Allen’s deafness was profound, and patiently explained the options available to him. She told you about the possibility of Allen getting hearing aids or cochlear implants and spoke about communication approaches, such as sign language. She mentioned the potential need for assistive technology like radio aids or emergency alerting devices and highlighted the benefits of speech therapy and teaching Allen to lip read.

You and Tyler left the appointment with a stack of leaflets and a list of websites to visit, as well as brochures for all the schools in the nearby counties that had facilities to support deaf children. The audiologist also put you in contact with two local charities; one ran activity days and summer clubs, especially for deaf children, and the other brought together a community of parents (who were a mix of deaf and hearing themselves). They met regularly for coffee or evening drinks in the city and kindly invited you and Tyler along so you could ask questions and learn about their and their children’s experiences first-hand.

But you still felt like you hadn’t done enough research. There was more information to be armed with. You scoured multiple online forums for advice but quickly found that there were divisions within the deaf community itself, which only caused you to fret further. What if you and Tyler weren’t making the right choices? What if Allen would be judged and ostracised by his peers?

Thankfully Tyler was quick to pull you back from the pit of doubt.

“That’s just the internet for you, Tweety. There will always be folks out there that disagree, with anything and everything. You’ve seen the comments on my videos - full-blown arguments over which belt buckle I ought to wear. I've learned the best thing to do is hold on to what’s helpful and read just enough to figure out which way the wind is blowing. The rest is just flying cows."

-

“Hi Allen! My gorgeous boy. How was your sleep? Today is a big day, yes sir. You’re going to be getting your cochlear implant.

What’s that? Well, your daddy and I didn’t know what it was right away either until the doctors explained it all to us. It’s a special little machine that you can wear on your ear that will help your hearing. It’s very clever. It will collect all the sounds and voices around you and deliver them to your brain to tell you what they are. Isn’t that amazing?

So, once you’re all dressed, we’re going to hop in Daddy’s truck and go to the hospital for a little while. And, when you’re having your nap later, the kind doctors will place a little magnet on your head, just here, tucked under the skin, to help the cochlear implant stay on for its special sound deliveries.

Wearing it might take some getting used to. And it will probably be a little overwhelming at first when we switch it on, going from silence to all that sound is a big jump! But that’s ok, because mommy and daddy and the doctors will help you. And, if it gets too noisy and you need a break, that’s ok too. I even promise not to be offended if you want to switch it off while I’m singing. But I hope you’ll like some of my songs, I can’t wait to find out which will be your favourites.

There. Look at you, all smart in your dungarees!  All the nurses will be cooing over you, my handsome boy.

Daddy has loaded up some toys for you to play with too. He’s coming up the stairs now, probably to tell us it’s time to go. Here he is.”

“Hey there little man. Are you ready for today’s big adventure?”

-

There was no miracle moment like in the Instagram clips or TikTok’s you'd seen. The audiologist had warned you not to expect such a sudden reaction and that it was unlikely Allen would respond positively to your and Tyler’s voices right away.

Yet all the warnings and your own reassuring words to Allen from earlier in the day didn’t make the experience any easier.

At first, Allen just looked confused. He wore the cochlear implant with no trouble, but he seemed annoyed about being distracted from wheeling his toy truck along the audiologist’s desk. As the next few sounds were transmitted to his implant, his tiny features scrunched up in bemusement, then irritation, as things got progressively louder.

“He’s noticing the changes in volume, that’s what matters,” the audiologist said, trying to reassure you.

But when she switched on the cochlear implant fully, and all the noise of the world around him came crashing into Allen’s ears, it became too much.

“Hi Allen, can you hear Mommy? - Oh baby - I’m sorry - maybe I’m being too loud?”

“Hey little man, it’s Daddy. This must be kinda strange for you - oh - it’s ok, my voice probably isn’t what you were expecting -”

Allen tried to wiggle from your lap, and shook his head frantically, as if he might be able to throw off the noise. He started to whine with distress and cried out, but his own wails startled him, each one more so than the last. His eyes were wide with fear, and he looked desperately helpless, so much so that you worried he might be in pain.

“Is it hurting him?” you asked urgently.

You turned Allen into your chest, covering his ears with your hands in the hope that it might protect him from the onslaught.

The doctor shook their head.

“This is perfectly normal, Mrs Owens. It’s a lot for him to take in, that’s all. He doesn’t yet understand where the sounds are coming from and why they��ve suddenly started to appear.”

Allen was screaming now, tearing his throat raw, scared and confused. His waterfall of tears soaked through your shirt and drowned your heart.

You wanted to pull the cochlear implant from his ear and promise that you’d never make him wear it again. But you knew that was irrational, your mother bear instincts kicking in. You needed to give the cochlear implant a chance. Allen needed time to adjust, as hard as the first steps on that journey might be. This was the eye of the storm, that’s all. Like Tyler said, you’d weathered plenty before.

And Allen was the son of a storm chaser. He could weather this one.

“You could try singing to him,” Tyler suggested gently.

“I - I don’t know, he might not like it.”

“It’s possible it could soothe him,” the audiologist said. “No guarantees, but if it’s something he’s used to - feeling the vibrations of your body, I mean. Something slow and melodic would be a gentler sound.”

You weren’t sure. Right now, it seemed like only silence would make Allen happy.

“There’s no harm in trying, Tweety, please?”

Your sweet husband’s eyes were pleading. You knew Allen’s distress pained him as equally as it pained you, and if Tyler truly believed your song could help your son, then you owed it to them both to try.

It felt like the performance of your life.

You racked your brain for something that might work, but you couldn’t think of anything except a simple lullaby, one you’d used to sing all your babies to sleep, once upon a time.

“Hush little Allen, don’t say a word, Mama’s going to show you a hummingbird. If that hummingbird should fly, Mama’s going to show you the evening sky.”

The first notes that passed your lips were quiet, so you wouldn’t startle or overwhelm Allen further. You kept your voice as soft as the hummingbird’s feathers and imagined the song’s melody taking flight on its wings, swooping into the air among the clouds.

“When the nighttime shadows fall, Mama’s going to hear the crickets call. While their song drifts from afar, Mama’s going to search for a shooting star.

When that star has dropped from view, Mama’s gonna read a book with you. When that story has been read, Mama’s gonna bring your warm bedspread.

“It’s working Tweety,” Tyler said, his voice softened with awe.

You’d been so focused on your song that you hadn’t registered the reduced volume of Allen’s cries. His sobs were less frequent and half had been replaced with subdued murmurs and moans. He was still clearly unsettled, his delicate lips turned downward in a slight frown, but his face was no longer clouded with helpless frustration.

“When that quilt begins to wear, Mama’s gonna find your teddy bear. If that teddy bear won’t hug, Mama’s gonna catch you a lightning bug.

If that lightning bug won’t glow, Mama’s gonna play on her old banjo. If that banjo’s out of tune, Mama’s gonna show you the harvest moon.

As that moon drifts through the sky, Mama’s gonna sing you a lullaby.”

When you reached the end of the final verse, you realised that the room had become quiet. Everyone was entirely transfixed by your song. The audiologist nodded at you silently, as if she had known this would happen all along, and Tyler's eyes shone with pride and happy relief.

But the most important member of the audience was the son you held in your arms. Allen was himself again; calm and serene. Whilst you’d been singing, one of his curious hands had reached for your throat and rested there, sensing the vibrations of each new note beneath his fingertips.

You smiled warmly at him, and he looked back up at you in wonder.

“Hi Allen, my beautiful boy. I love you.”

This one is close to my heart ❤️ It's taken a while to write but I'm pleased with how it turned out - I hope you are too! I'd love to know your thoughts!

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Steddie Amnesia Ficlet: Part Two

-> Part 1

cw: more head trauma/concussed!Steve discussions.

Steve hears Eddie call after him, but he doesn’t stop—he can’t face it. Not right now, anyway. Not when his eyes are stinging and his heart is pounding in his ears, each pulse more painful than the last. His legs take him to the building he’s supposed to go into, fueled purely by muscle memory. Not brain memory, of course, because nothing up there works properly anymore, apparently.

The Brain Injury Recovery Center.

It’s where Eddie expects him to go. He’ll catch Steve if he goes in, or he’ll wait for Steve by the doors until he comes back out—both options involve facing Eddie after Steve had made a total idiot of himself. Both feel utterly mortifying.

So he ducks into the alleyway beside the familiar brick building instead, just to catch his breath. It takes Steve longer than the average bear to sort out his feelings now, after all. Jesus, who’s he kidding? Everything seems to take him longer.

Steve feels hot tears streak down his cheeks before he angrily scrubs a sleeve over them. Of course Eddie isn’t his boyfriend. Eddie’s funny and cool and he’s in a band and he lights up every damn room he walks into—and Steve… well, maybe Steve was something a few years ago when he was in high school, and maybe he was even something before his accident, but now…

There’s a sharp clapping noise that sounds like thunder. A door slamming, Steve’s brain sluggishly supplies. It’s followed by shouting.

“Steve? Steve!” Eddie calls from somewhere on the street.

Steve’s heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his ass. His face is probably still blotchy and wet, his breathing hasn’t evened out yet and his eyes are still leaking like a goddamn faucet. He’s pathetic.

Can’t let Eddie see him like this…

He ducks behind a metal garbage bin, careful not to let anything but the bottom of his sneakers touch the sticky looking surfaces around him. It stinks, like rot.

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice echoes off of the alleyway walls. Steve claps a hand around his mouth to muffle out any of the pathetic sounds that seem determined to escape from him. So much of his body just does whatever the hell it feels like now. Out of Steve’s control, like everything else.

For a few, tense seconds, there’s silence. Eddie’s listening for him, maybe. Steve shuts his eyes and waits him out.

It feels like an eternity before he hears Eddie’s hurried, retreating footsteps, continuing his shouting for Steve. He sounds almost as panicked as Steve feels. Almost.

Steve gives a noisy, wet sniff and does one final scrub of his face before getting to his feet. He starts walking.

As he goes deeper into the alleyway, he thinks back on all the things he’s been wrong about. The fact that Eddie had some of his band t-shirts mixed in with Steve’s clothes… well, that was because they were both guys who wore about the same size, and Eddie left his shit everywhere. It’s no wonder some of his stuff got mixed into their laundry. And the times Eddie’s driven him places? That’s just… what friends do, Steve supposes. And all those times Eddie made Steve laugh? Made him feel like the center of the universe? Well, that’s just… Eddie. He must make everyone feel that way. It’s like his super power. But it isn’t romantic… It doesn’t mean anything more than Eddie being a magnetic person.

Steve is just so stupid. Painfully so.

He blinks as the sun hits him. He must’ve reached the other side of the alleyway.

Steve cups a hand over his eyes and grimaces. His migraine wasn’t backing down. He sighs. Time to head back.

Steve turns back into the alleyway he’d emerged from, only he’s about halfway through when he realizes the color of the buildings on either side of him are wrong. They’re brown on one side, painted green on the other. That isn’t right…

His heart jackrabbits in his chest, but he keeps walking forward. Maybe he’ll recognize the street once he’s back on the other side.

But when he gets there, it’s as unfamiliar to him as the alleyway. Steve turns, looking up and down the road to see if he could spot Eddie, or his van, or the Center. But there’s nothing.

And when someone shoulder checks him, Steve supposes he was sort of asking for it, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like that. He apologizes, but it’s too late. The person’s already out of range to hear him.

It’s as if everyone else is on fast forward while Steve’s stuck on pause. The world keeps moving along while all he seems to be able to do is watch it go by.

Why would he ever think someone as dynamic and spirited as Eddie would hitch his horse onto Steve’s busted up, barely mobile cart?

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and wills himself not to start blubbering again like a goddamn baby. His life is already one big, painful lesson in humility as it is, he doesn’t need to wallow in it.

Steve keeps walking. Figures he’ll spot something, or someone familiar to him eventually. The pounding in his head’s eased off to a dull ache, at least. Maybe there was something to this exercise and fresh air thing the doctors were always going on about, after all…

The thing is though, Steve doesn’t spot anything familiar. Not even vaguely so, and it’s not until the streetlights turn on that he realizes he’d spent the majority of the day wandering around the streets like some lost dog that managed to slip his leash.

It’s cold too, and all he’s got on is jeans and a polo. It’s October, isn’t it? No wonder he’s got goosebumps all up and down his arms.

Then, he finally spots something familiar; a phone booth. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He’d just call his parents. They’d come pick him up.

He gets the booth and lifts the receiver before he blanks. A quarter. He’d need that. Duh, Harrington. So he hangs up the phone and pats his pockets until he finds a wallet, but all that’s inside of it are a couple of crisp bills. He’d need to break one.

Steve turns, scans the street until he spots a well lit, invitingly warm looking diner. The joint looks so damn cozy that he forgets to make sure the street is clear before he steps out into the middle of it.

Tires screech, harmonizing with the horn that’s blasting at him—Steve flinches, reaching up to cover his head and braces for impact.

To his great relief, the hit never comes. Which, thank fuck. He can’t afford anymore accidents. As it is Robin’s threatened to make him wear a helmet full-time.

Steve doesn’t listen to whatever the person yells at him, he just hurries to get the hell out of his way of the other moving vehicles.

“Smooth, Harrington. Real smooth.” He mutters to himself as he catches his breath.

He pushes the door to the diner open with shaking hands, but it’s blissfully peaceful inside, and he can actually feel his insides unclench as he stands inside of it.

“Sit anywhere, hun, I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice tells him. Steve nods and slips into the nearest booth overlooking the street. Watches the cars go by. There’s even a couple of cop cars, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Steve wonders briefly what sort of emergency they’re rushing off to when the waitress comes to his table.

“What can I get you, handsome?” She asks, cheery and warm like the rest of the diner.

“Uh…” Steve frowns, taking a few seconds to process the question, “nothing. I’m just waiting for my parents to come pick me up.”

The waitress taps the side of the notepad. “Well you gotta order something, hun, or you can’t stay here.”

Steve wants to stay here. It’s warm and smells fucking amazing, like “pancakes?”

She waitress smirks. “Yeah, we got those. You want a stack?”

“Yeah, please.” Steve smiles back, laughing along with the waitress like he’s in whatever joke that’s currently so amusing to her. “I’m starving.”

“You want some coffee too, to help you sober up, maybe?”

“Oh, I’m not drunk.” He huffs out a little self deprecating laugh, “I wish. No, I—uh, my meds, they’re the kind that you can’t mix with alcohol. Coffee too. Bummer, right? Yeah… But, uh, it is what it is, I guess—so…”

He can feel it. The way his mind so often wanders. He’s lost his train. His track. He frowns, eyes drifting towards the street again, watching the headlights zip by.

“…so just the pancakes then?” The waitress asks, jolting his train back onto its rails. His attention snaps back onto her.

“Yeah, pancakes. Sure.” Steve flashes her what he hopes is a charming smile.

She returns his smile and leaves him be, and he lets himself relax. Props his head up on a fist and watches life go on for everyone else but him.

He gets his pancakes, and some juice too that he doesn’t remember ordering, but hey, that’s nothing new. And damn, the pancakes taste even better than they smell. He needs to remember the name of this place so he can come back with everyone. What did the doctors say? Repeat something in your head over and over until it sticks. Repetition. Repetition, repetition, repetition…

It’s around the time his fork hits an empty plate that one of the police cars stops in front of the diner window, lights on, but the sirens are off now.

Hopper steps out.

Huh. That’s weird. Steve wonders what sort of emergency he’s here for.

When Hopper enters through the glass doors, the bell hung over the entry way rings out pleasantly. An angel getting their wings.

His eyes land on Steve and the older man sighs, shoulders falling. Relief, Steve recognizes. Hopper pulls the radio from his belt and says something into it before stomping over.

Then it clicks.

Oh. Steve’s the emergency.

He feels his face heat up. The handful of other patrons scattered across the diner are all looking at him.

“There you are.” Hopper sighs, gruff and exasperated.

Steve sinks into his seat, just a little. “Shit. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Just a little.” Hopper chuckles dryly. He takes off his hat and slips into the booth across from Steve, apparently not in any sort of hurry now that he’s found the runaway dog.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic he’s developed. “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be sorry. Just strangle Munson for me when you see him next, will ya?” Hopper drops his hat onto the table and waves the waitress down. He orders a coke.

Munson. Eddie.

The memory of how he made a total and utter fool of himself comes rushing back, slamming down onto him like one of those cartoon anvils. Jesus, how did he forget that..?

Suddenly the pancakes aren’t sitting so good in his gut. Feels like he’s gonna ralph.

“Was he freaked out? Eddie, I mean.” Steve asks, cautiously approaching the question. Did Eddie say anything about why…?

“Yeah, him and Robin both. Then the kids found out too—don’t ask me how. I suspect the curly-haired one has an illegal transmitter.” Hopper leans back in the booth as the waitress drops off his coke. He takes the straw out and drinks it right from the glass. Steve waits for him to finish, doesn’t say a word.

When Hopper puts the glass down, Steve just sits and watches the way the drops of condensation run down the cup, distorting around the fingerprints Hopper’s left. “Anyway, they’re all out on their bikes looking for you too.”

Hopper smiles fondly, like it’s something charming and not… pathetic. “You got a lot of people that care about you, kid.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, and nods. Tries for a grin, but it’s weak. Probably wouldn’t fool anyone, much less a cop. “Yeah, I’m a real lucky guy.”

Hopper looks like he wants to say something else, but he just takes a breath and nods. Steve’s grateful he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t think he has the energy in him right now to fend off the ‘but look how far you’ve come!’ ‘Your speaking’s gotten so much better!’ ‘It could be a whole heck of a lot worse!’ comments.

“What do you say we get you home? Unless you want dessert? My treat.” Hopper offers with a grin.

“No, I just want to go to sleep,” he says, before remembering his manners, “thanks, though.”

“Alright then.” Hopper glances down at the cleared plate of pancakes and the half finished coke before sliding out of the booth, followed by Steve. He takes out wallet, but Steve beats him to it. He tosses down a few bills, hoping it’s enough. Hopper doesn’t comment, so it must be.

The drive back to his and Robin’s apartment is a solemn one, but it’s strangely peaceful. Hopper’s got the heat on full blast due to Steve’s lack of coat, and the motion of the vehicle along with the darkened sky leaves Steve feeling wrung out in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

In fact, when they finally arrive, Hopper’s gotta shake his shoulder to wake him up.

“We’re here.” He rumbles out in his gruff baritone.

Steve lifts his head from his folded arm and looks up at the modest building. He wonders how far they live from the pancake diner. If they could walk there, sometime, him and Robin and Eddie.

But then Steve realizes he never got the name of it. He feels his insides sink. Another thing lost to him.

“Thanks, Hop,” Steve gives Hopper a nod and what he’s sure is a tired smile. “I’ll, uh—I’ll try not to run off again.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Hopper says, diplomatically. “Let me walk you in.”

Steve cringes at the idea. He’s grateful for Hop and all he’s done—especially the part about not making him feel like a complete dummy—but he just wants this all to be over and for things to revert back to how they were. And at this point he’s so close he can taste it.

Steve busies his hands by undoing his seat belt. “No, it’s okay, really—“

Hopper looks like he’s about to argue but Robin damn near crashes out through the building’s illuminated front doors. She makes a b-line for Steve, who’s just barely gotten out of the cruiser.

She wraps her arms around him and doesn’t let go. “Steve! Holy shit, you scared me so bad. I’ve been out of my mind!”

Steve’s arms are trapped at an awkward angle, but he reaches around her as best he can, arms like flippers. “I’m okay. Seriously. Look, not even a scratch.”

She doesn’t laugh. Just squeezes him harder. Truthfully, Steve doesn’t know if he’s okay, but it’s what everyone always seems to want to hear from him, so he says it often.

“I’ve already killed Eddie like three times.” Robin murmurs into Steve’s chest, before finally pulling away. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose stuffy, like she’s been crying.

“It’s not his fault, Rob.” Steve’s brows pinch together as he frowns, “is he…”

But when Steve looks up towards their building, he can see Eddie standing in the doorframe, his dark silhouette illuminated by the entry way lights. He’s still as a statue, holding open the door for them, arm extended out into the cold autumn night. Steve’s insides squirm.

“You got him from here, Buckley?” Hopper calls from his cruiser and Robin ducks to meet his eye before giving him a thumbs up. She loops her arm around his waist and they start towards their place—towards Eddie.

Before they reach him, Steve keeps his voice down as he asks, “Can I just go to bed? I don’t—I can’t talk about it right now.”

“Okay.” She nods, “I get it.”

But she doesn’t, not really.

Steve avoids eye contact with Eddie when they finally reach the building, and before he can say anything, Robin interrupts. “He’s going straight to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Eddie says in a small voice. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even follow them back up to their apartment. Maybe Eddie’s even relieved he doesn’t need to confront it tonight. Maybe they won’t ever confront it… maybe he’s hoping Steve’s brain will take care of everything and make him forget. Make it like it never happened. Part of Steve wishes—

No. He doesn’t wish that. His brain’s already functioning at half capacity, he doesn’t want to thank it for fucking up, even if it might make Steve’s life easier.

Whatever Eddie’s expression is, Steve doesn’t look back to find out. He keeps his eyes on his feet, focusing on putting one step ahead of the other.

When they finally arrive at Steve’s matchbox sized bedroom, he doesn’t even bother changing into pajamas, or even out of his jeans for that matter. He just falls into his bed, pulls a pillow over his head and wills himself to let go of the day and surrender to the sweet pull of blissful unconsciousness.

🫣 Oops, I made it worse. But I promise the Eddie and Steve confrontation is in the next part! 🙏 This is tagged angst with a happy ending for a reason.

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