#i did this with a concussion so like be kind

[writerjayne]

Out-context things Overheard in FOX Tower (or on campus) Pt. 4

These quotes are a combination of myself and friends, memes and random internet quotes so enjoy!

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

Drunk Kevin: Pork chips? Did you mean pork chops? Sober Matt: No

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

Matt: You look sad today Nicky: Actually, I'm sad every day. I just don't have the energy to hide it today

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

Allison: Girl advice, you want to know what boy you like? Get drunk, and you'll cry about the boy you like! Neil: Well, apparently, the boy I like is pasta. This comes as no surprise.

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

Nicky: If you see a guy with long hair he's either gorgeous or weird, and the answer lies in what kind of shoes he's wearing

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

Aaron: Please excuse my drunk ass snaps Neil: So that's what PEMDAS means

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

Andrew: Self-isolation just doesn't feel the same if you're forced to do it. Kevin: Are you okay?

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

Nicky: I'm sorry, but shouldn't British websites use biscuits? Neil: WHY DO YOU KEEP ASKING ME???

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

Neil: Is anyone else losing touch with the concept of time?

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

Aaron: Identity theft is a serious crime! Neil, sighing: I will explain once more. I didn't steal any of my identities!

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

Allison: Do you ever feel like you're not getting enough credit for simply not being batshit insane? Andrew: Nope, can't relate at all.

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

Kevin: I just want to say I'm disappointed in modern architecture and its distinct lack of gargoyles!

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

Neil: Kill me once, shame on you. Kill me twice… How did you do that??

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

Nicky: We gave morning people too much power. Why is it okay for them not to be functional past 8:30 PM, but it's not okay for me to not be functional before 8:30 AM? Aaron: You're the one who signed up for morning classes

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

Allison: What scares you about marriage? Drunk Seth: Marrying someone who just settled for me because they couldn't get who they truly wanted

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

Renee *reading a sign*: This door is alarmed after 5pm Dan: Before then, it's just generally anxious

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

Seth: I'm sure you've done a lot in your life but have you ever gone tubing with a raccoon? Matt *Concerned*: Have you??

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

Nicky: Why are you like this? Are you okay? Neil: Well I have brain damage. I got two pretty serious concussions back-to-back

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

Andrew: Every zoo is a petting zoo if you're not a coward Renee: I worry about you

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

Nicky *sleep deprived*: strawberry milk doesn't taste like strawberries or milk Andrew: Go the fuck to sleep, Nickolas

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

Neil: I have one brain cell and it bounces around my brain like a Windows screensaver Andrew: When it lines up with the corner he experiences a thought

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

Aaron: You'll never be bioluminescent Nicky: Okay that one hurt :(

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

New Fox: Why do you hate authority so much? Andrew/Neil/Allison/Literally any of them: I'm glad you asked-

[atzluvz]

Through blood and roses

A/N : Sorry it took so long time to post this, i got a lil concussion 😭😭 I think chapter 5 will be the last one in this series, though!

Trope: Mafia!san x f!reader

WC: 1k

Summary : San let his guard down once, and it cost him everything. Now, he’s built his walls higher than ever. Living with the weight of his past. But when a kind hearted florist enters his life, his carefully guarded world starts to crack. He swears he won’t make the same mistake twice; but some things are impossible to resist.

Warnings: angst, san opens up for the first time, lwk a true ateez bonding moment here fr

Chapter 2.5

“ I don't blame you, but I can't change you. Don't hate you, but we can't save you.”

The rain hammered the windows with force. The Black pirates sat in a heavy silence around the dimly lit room, each member sensing the tension in the air. Wooyoung had been watching San for days. His quiet but clear concern grows with each passing moment. He knew something was wrong, The question was whether San was ready to face it, or even admit it. He couldn't deny it forever.

Ha was always the one to speak up when no one else would. And finally he broke the silence. “San,” Wooyoungs voice was low, full of understanding. “Whatever thats been eating at you, you don’t have to carry it alone. We’re here for you. You know that, right?”

San didn’t answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the rain-soaked view outside the window,. The others waited, giving each other shared knowing looks, recognizing the unspoken weight San carried.

Finally, after a deep breath, San spoke. His voice cracked slightly. “It’s just... her. It's getting bad again.”

Wooyoung’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Her?” he echoed softly

Sans's voice came out strained, a mixture of guilt and regret. “The girl I... failed,” he whispered, barely above a breath.

The room froze. Yeosang exchanged a look with Jongho, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. They didn’t need to ask for further explanation; they knew what he meant. They knew San’s history, the traumatic event that had shaped him into the man he was now.

But it was Wooyoung who spoke up again, not letting San retreat back into silence. “That’s not the only thing, though, is it?” Wooyoung asked, his voice careful. “You’re still holding something back. Something bigger.”

San’s gaze shifted toward him then, his eyes dark with an emotion the others couldn’t quite name. For a moment, there was a flash of something vulnerable, something desperate.

A long silence followed, and San slowly exhaled.

“It’s Y/N,” he admitted,

The others exchanged confused looks. Y/N? They didn’t know who this person was: none of them did. They had only seen flashes of something between San and someone new,nothing more. And now, here San was, just laying it out there.

“Y/N?” Wooyoung echoed, stepping closer to him,“Who are they?”

San swallowed hard, struggling to put into words the whirlwind of emotions you had stirred in him. He never thought he’d have to talk about you to anyone. You were his weakness, his most vulnerable spot. Revealing that felt like handing over his soul.

“She’s...” San’s voice stuttered for a second. He cleared his throat, then continued. “She’s... everything. She’s been making me feel alive again, for the first time in forever. I never thought I could feel something like this. I thought I was broken, that I was just... empty. But when I’m with her, I feel like I can breathe again. Like I’m not the same person I was before. I want to be better for her.”

Wooyoung leaned forward, his eyes softening in understanding. “So this Y/N... shes the reason you’ve been shutting yourself off, right?”

San nodded softly, “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “ I’m afraid. Afraid that if I let myself get close to her, if I let myself care about her too much... I’ll lose Y/N. Just like I lost her.”

The pain in his words was unmistakable. Spreading the sorrow through everyone in the room.

“You’re scared of repeating the same mistake,” Hongjoong finally spoke up, the understanding in his tone clear. “You think that if you love Y/N, something bad will happen to her too.”

San’s eyes were distant as he nodded. " I promised I would protect her. I promised I would never let anything happen to her, but I couldn’t keep that promise.”

“San, you can’t keep punishing yourself for something you couldn’t control. What happened in the past isn’t your fault. You did your best, but you can’t carry that weight forever. And Y/N? Shes not her. Shes not the one you lost. You have to stop seeing her through that lens. You can’t keep pushing them away because of your own fear.” Seonghwa suddenly added, his tone laced with a feeling of anger.

Jongho nodded in agreement, his expression softer than usual. “You have to be honest with yourself, San. You can’t protect someone by keeping them at a distance. You can’t protect anyone if you’re not willing to let them in. But you have to trust her, you have to trust yourself.”

San closed his eyes, trying to steady his breath, feeling the weight of their words pressing down on him. The storm inside him raged, torn between the need to protect Y/N and the overwhelming fear that he would fail her just like he had failed the one he couldn’t save.

“I can’t do this again,” San whispered, almost to himself.

Wooyoung placed a hand on San’s shoulder, grounding him. “You won’t lose her, San. But you have to let go of the past. You have to be able to live in the present with Y/N,.You can’t keep running.”

San opened his eyes, staring down at the floor for a long moment, his heart heavy with the truth of what they were saying. He had to let go. But the fear was still there. How could he let go of something that had been a part of him for so long?

Yeosang’s voice cut through the silence again. “We’re not saying you have to forget. But you can’t keep living like this. You have to give Y/N a chance; give yourself a chance. You’re not the same person you were before.”

San looked up at them, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. “I don’t know if I can,” he said quietly. “But I’ll try.”

Wooyoung smiled softly. “That’s all we ask for, San. We’re with you. And Y/N? She's with you too. But you have to let go of your fear.”

The room fell back into a deep silence, and the rain continued to pour outside. But somewhere beyond the dark tainted clouds, the sun started to shine.

Chapter 3: Y si fuera ella - OUT NOW !!

[silly-cat-things]

hey i made another comic, please read it.

if i could always hit two birds with one stone i would really not care for any ‘rare’ bird species and would- in fact- care more for the tons of money i was going go make profiting of my new skill

[avocado-frog]

Month old writing share game

Thanks for the tag from @elsie-writes i procrastinated hard on this one but I think that the rules are just to share a bit of writing. So here's a little chunk from something I just wrote:

One time, a few years back, when Logan was nineteen, Lily was twelve, Jaxon was just about eleven, and Dylan was eight, they went to the park. He took them to the park to distract them, sometimes, but he didn't remember the specific reason that time around. Dylan had wandered off a little while after helping Logan pack sandwiches at home- after Lily and Jaxon already left- to go to the garden. Two older men, fifties or sixties, one in blue overalls and the other in a plain, grey shirt were teaching them how to use a rake. A woman a bit younger, dirty blonde hair in a bun behind her head, had a pocket of seeds for Dylan to plant. Logan sat on the bench to watch them, a bit warily. But they seemed friendly enough. Jaxon, usually, would run off to go find people to play with. He was sociable, he liked making friends, but even that day, as sunny as it was, it was still too early for kids his age to start coming over. Mostly, it was the parents of toddlers who wanted their kids to run off some energy. Sometimes, the toddlers would try and get him to play, too, and Jaxon obliged every time, but he seemed content with just his sister today. He didn't have any interest in gardening with Dylan. Lily was by the monkey bars, standing on top of the black platform underneath them. Jaxon sat on the ground, digging a hole in the bark with his hands. Lily jumped up to grab the bars, but she was getting tall enough that she didn't need to jump as high now. Once she had a grip on the yellow metal, she pulled herself up to sit on the top. She sat there for a while, talking to Jaxon about something Logan couldn't hear at the distance he was, and given his attention was split between them and Dylan.  Lily had swung her legs over the bars and leaned down in between the gaps to hang upside down, and of course Jaxon wanted to try.  He jumped up, just like Lily did, grabbed onto the bars, and it should've been a forewarning when his hand slipped before he regained his hold. He jumped up to sit on the top bars, and then his leg got caught in between, and he fell backwards trying to untangle himself.  He had picked the bar closest to the platform. Hanging upside down, right above the edge of the black platform, with his leg stuck in between the bars. He must not have been really thinking past getting his leg unstuck. Logan heard a woah, are you okay, that caught his attention just as he managed to free himself. And then he fell. And hit his head on the edge of the platform and hit it again as the rest of him landed in the bark. Jaxon hadn't even cried, which was astonishing to Logan, who had shot up like a rocket and rushed over to check on him. Because Logan would've cried hard if he hit his head like that. Twice. Lily had scrambled down to see if he was okay, too, but Jaxon only sat in the bark, moved to sit with his legs outstretched, one hand making a circle in the wood bits, blinking like he was confused. There was a steady stream of blood gushing from his nose, too. His eyes weren't quite uneven yet, but Logan didn't think for a second that Jaxon got away without a concussion. He instructed Lily to go watch Dylan, tell them where he went, while he took their brother home to check on him. Jaxon blinked again. Logan grabbed him by the arm, dragged him to his feet, and dragged him home, having to hold his own sleeve against his nose because Jaxon wasn't doing it himself.

Open tag since this is a month and a half old sorry lmao

[perfunctory-satisfaction]

.

[sega-saturn-arcade]

Last night I got curious over what exactly happened between me and Medkit and why it escalated. I’ll be walking through this in chronological order as MUCH AS I CAN, with of course the gaps of memory of the exact happenings.

This is a long one so i’m going to preface this by saying I am not entirely sure what happened yet and I can’t for sure say “this feels 100% right” which leads me to believe there’s something else to it? It’ll come in time, I am sure

GREEN is CONFIRMED MEMORY.

ORANGE is UNSURE.

PINK is THEORY.

MEMORY GAPS are in [BRACKETS]

Another Important Note is that not all unsurety is entirely true as I misremember details sometimes, and not all theory is false—it is merely speculation upon what might’ve happened. If this makes sense

Memory under the cut. CW/TW for violence and description of eye trauma.

Medkit and I enter the lab that day. It’s early in the morning, so not many people are there. Yesterday we might have had a breakthrough on the crystals in some way that showed us that there was something that could change the entire world, that they were more than simply stupid powerful. We decide to sleep on it, and come back the next day to discuss and do whatever we had to in the lab that day. We begin talking about what the crystals can do, both standing bc at our usual station. I start the conversation with wonder. I cannot remember my exact words, but I said something along the lines of how the crystals were amazing and could change the world. He agrees, and I continue.

[There is a gap here of how exactly we got onto this topic as to what was said.] I say something about how the faction’s militaries could utilize the crystals to protect its citizens and fairly have defenses, something of that sort. He disagrees with me and says that he doesn’t trust the governments, and especially Blackrock’s. He wants something better for the world in a way to utilize the crystals, something about the people personally. [I GENUINELY cannot remember what exactly he wanted however I do know it was anything BUT the government.] Maybe he perhaps wanted to keep our work away in some way, MAYBE destroy some of it? Regardless, we started arguing over it. The fight escalates very badly, and I push him and he pushes back, which sets me off and makes me go after him by pushing him again but harder.

[Memory gap, I do not know what exactly happened to get to this point.] I was on top of him, and we were struggling with each other. I clawed out his eye somehow, either with my bare ass fingers or gloves or whatever or a sharp object. I did not cut his eye out meticulously as I was too angry to consider doing that. (also, he was a childhood friend, I think the maximum amount of violence is whatever managed to occur during this fight. I also had morals despite it all.) If anything, the reason i clawed it out was because i was swatting at him with one arm and I managed to get his eye. He then (I would obviously assume) got mad at me for this and [does something to get up and turn the tides in his favor] clawed out my eye the same way? If not, he might have grabbed something sharp like a lab scalpel and specifically sliced at me.

I don’t think we had ever seen each other that mad at each other before. We weren’t thinking straight at all, or at least I wasn’t. I don’t think I ever truly intended the fight to start to begin with.

(Here’s where things start to turn into gaps and bits and pieces. I’ll try to connect them the best I can.)

I think it’s important to note neither of us had our gears—they were left at home.

We punch at each other and throw things [details unremembered and muddled]. At one point, Medkit grabs a scalpel. He slices at me and gets me pretty good in some places. He ends up stabbing me a few times in non fatal places (but they were still deep cuts that hurt—I remember retaining scars on my body from some of those slashes and stabs) This was kind of ignored by me in the long run because of adrenaline, but this fight went on for a long while and I was moving around a lot which I don’t think helped the bleeding.

As I am writing out this memory I remember him with a lab scalpel in his hand, I was on the other side of the lab and I was bleeding, but I know I was not focused in the slightest because adrenaline was doing things to my brain. We’d known each other all our lives, but I have never seen such anger and spite in his eye (this was after he took mine, judging by the conscious realization of a void on my left side of my vision).

It felt like there was only negative emotion in that expression and thought. Someone who had such gentle expression usually and tone had shown a fierce, driven-by-anger expression. I think I would have thought on it more if I wasn’t in the moment of anger myself, but I think a part of me paused to think about that. It wasn’t scary, but there was an emotion I couldn’t and cannot describe to you that was in the back of my mind.

[Memory gap. The fight continued for a while but I don’t remember the details.] Regardless, I started getting weak from the wounds I sustained and the blood loss. I remember feeling tired and a little sick, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. [Memory gap again between that, though this was a bit closer] I know at one point we grabbed each other and with his full body at full force shoved me backwards. I remember slipping on the shattered glass on the floor and falling backwards. There was a cabinet island table thing there, and I remember the adrenaline wearing off at this point. I don’t think I could physically get up. I might’ve blacked out from blood loss and gone into medical shock/hypovolemic shock.

[Large memory gap between then and the time of which I was aware I was in the hospital] I am genuinely unsure how much I faded in and out of consciousness, or if I even did because once again there’s a big memory gap. However I do know that my recovery took longer than I assume Medkit’s did, because when I was able to fully recover he had fled Blackrock entirely. I blamed myself for starting that fight and blamed myself for him fleeing Blackrock for the period of my life that I remember from that point. [Note: Assuming it was critical, it could have taken anywhere up to a week or two, to at max a month. I cannot remember what time period or how long it took.]

That is about as much as I remember of that fight, and while it is still a lot of detail I still have yet to remember it entirely as again there is a TON of missing detail. cool awesome i love memories. Yippee!

[aibari]

trying to figure out good ways to describe this headache. it's like someone installed a waterfall shower in your skull. like someone cracked an egg in your brain. like sitting on a steel chair until your ass gets numb but it's, like, also your brain. like there's hair in there and it's short and wiry. like a field of eyelashes. like your head is a large room in an abandoned building and the pain is five people shuffling around in there, echoing

[katsukistofu]

i a-door you

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. fluff. cursing. food. minor unintentional violence. ⭑ bakugo hits on you. literally.

You’re minding your business, book bag slung across your shoulder, and about to walk through the door to 2A’s classroom when something smacks you in the face.

Not only unprompted, but hard.

“Ow!”

It happens so quickly that you don’t remember squeezing your eyes shut as you stumble backwards, both hands flying to clutch your forehead.

Opening your eyes, you swear you can already feel the spot starting to bruise. The previously closed door to the classroom stood ajar and as the cherry on top of the concussion you just received, someone roughly brushes past you.

Fucking asshole.

You whip around, head still throbbing, about to give whoever it is a peace of your mind and finally speak above an inside voice for the first time since a robot almost fell on you during entrance exams semesters ago, when your teary eyes are met with crimson red ones.

He turns his head to give you a once over and your body freezes as his eyes linger a little longer on the darkening mark where the door got you. Something similar to amusement tugs at his lips.

“Pretty cute.”

You blink, dumbfounded as he casually turns on his heel to walk away.

What. The hell.

Did you literally just get hit on by Bakugo freaking Katsuki.

The identical dropped jaws of your classmates that were visible from inside the open doorway confirmed that what just happened was not in fact a post-traumatic induced hallucination, with Midoriya looking the most gobsmacked, his eyes almost comically bulging out of his skull, and upon glancing at Mina, who quickly gets over her initial shock to grin and shoot you a double thumbs up, she excitedly mouths ‘i told you so,’  and you’re not sure whether to laugh or to cry.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀:¨ ·.· ¨: ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . ꔫ

The next day, you’re sporting a fresh, new bandaid on your forehead. It was quite a fashion statement, if you do say so yourself.

It was also the last one at the nurse’s so you were pretty happy to nab it, apparently being the brand that everyone chose when they too got their respective boo-boos.

The latte Mina and the girls brought back from your favorite cafe sat on the wooden coffee table in the common area, still steaming. You refused to go out with a huge bruise marring your appearance, even with the bandaid covering the most of it, and you would take the fullest advantage of the injured person princess treatment while it lasted.

All while awkwardly avoiding a certain blond.

Now that you’re thinking about it, he’s honestly always been kind of nice to you, in his own weird way.

Like when you were forced to ask if you could borrow his eraser, because apparently no one else in the class carried one. Imagine saving Japan your first year of highschool and only writing in pen, even for calculus. Is this what the future generation has come to?

After breathlessly rushing the words out in a hushed voice and wondering if he heard you at all, Bakugo doesn’t even turn around from where he’s resting his chin on his hand listening to Present Mic’s enthusiastic lecture on subject-verb agreement, as he reaches an arm behind him to drop it on your desk.

You’re not sure if you remembered to say “your” before “eraser,” so all he probably heard was “can I borrow eraser?” and it still haunts you to this day.

Shaking the thoughts of him from your mind, you flip your history textbook open to page three hundred and ninety four, ‘A Comprehensive Timeline of Quirk Generations.’ You’re attempting to study for your next upcoming quiz in Midnight’s class.

Key word: attempting.

A delicious smell was starting to waft your way from the kitchen across the room, and now you were kind of hungry. You could feel your attention waning and shook your head, the image of your most recent report card filled with straight As sobering you up. Food could come later, right now you had to focus.

Just twenty more minutes of review, then I'll eat.

Bakugo’s placing the breakfast he easily finished whipping up on the counter. As he uses a spatula to gently coax the fluffy soufflé pancakes out of the pan, he notices the familiar petals of your favorite flower decorating the ceramic he’s putting them on.

It was from a tableware set he picked out when everyone first moved into the dorms. Glasses had assigned everyone groceries among various other things to go shopping for in small groups, and he was paired up with Ponytail to go buy plates.

They were browsing the shelves of a local Daiso store filled with colorful, adorably decorated dishes and rice bowls, when he stopped in front of a price tag, eyes dragging up to study the item it belonged to. The details on it were intricate, and breathtakingly so.

It reminded him of how he felt whenever he looked at you.

Ponytail follows his gaze, and her own eyes brighten.

“Oh, it’s decorated with the favorite flower of–!”

“I know.” He cuts her off, glaring at the floral box set of bowls and plates, before carefully putting it in their cart.

Momo’s eyes widen a bit, before a small, knowing smile spreads across her lips and Bakugo curses at her perceptiveness.

He almost wished he was paired up with that icy-hot bastard instead, who was so oblivious that if you dangled a confession letter in front of him he would have thought you wanted him to proofread it for you.

That was a while ago now, and everyone’s been happily eating meals on the plates they bought ever since.

He tops off the pancakes with a handful of fresh berries and a drizzle of honey, and slides it next to a steaming plate of a kimchi omelette with a zigzag of sriracha sauce already on the counter.

From where he stands, he snorts at your bandaid, noticing the obnoxious amount of Hello Kitty’s plastered all around it. Out of all the bandaids from Recovery Girl’s collection that she kept in her office, of course you would pick the cutest fucking one.

It was undoubtedly something you would like, he thinks, begrudging in his fondness. It was so you.

“Get your ass over here.”

You jump in your spot on the couch at the loud volume of his voice, though it sounded a bit softer than usual. With a finger pointing to yourself, you raise your head in confusion. “Me….?”

Was this about yesterday? Oh my god, was he mad?

You’re not sure why he would be, since he’s not the one that got bitch-slapped in the face by a giant door.

“I don't see anyone else I'd be talking to.” Bakugo scoffs.

He's right, to your increasing dread. The entire common area is completely empty, and you have no choice but to comply with his request.

You’re still nervously fiddling with the edge of your hoodie sleeve, the usual comfort of its softness abandoning you as you approach the kitchen to find him standing at a seat near the counter, arms folded. It hasn’t even been a minute in the same proximity as him and his presence is kind of overwhelming you already.

You’re trying so hard not to stare at his biceps. And just him in general.

“Sit.” he commands, the sound of the metal stool echoing against his hand as he pats it.

You obediently sit down, cursing your lack of a backbone. But his tone didn’t sound like he was planning to take no for an answer, anyway.

“Eat.”

He jabs a thumb at the plate of warm, sweet smelling cloud-like goodness in front of you. You stare at him, wide-eyed.

“This is for me?”

“Huh. You’re slower than I thought you were.” He rolls his eyes and starts to dig into his own plate of omelette in front of him, taking a seat on the stool across from you. It looked good too, as expected. “You’re welcome or whatever.”

With his aggressive blessing and after throwing a quiet but extremely grateful ‘thank you for the meal’ his way, you start to eat.

Your face lights up in joy as the divine taste of spongy goodness and honey spreads across your tongue, and you silently praise his mom for giving birth to the next Gordon Ramsay.

He flicks your forehead as you’re mid-bite in pancake and you yelp in surprise, raising your head to glare at his handsome face. What now? And did he have to be as infuriating as he was good-looking?

That crimson gaze once again stares you down, barely contained amusement dancing in embers of the hot coals of his eyes, and your skin grows warm as you realize you said that last part out loud.

You’re about to give into the urge to run away and take the plate of half-finished pancakes with you when he gruffly speaks up.

“You can’t retain information unless you have something in your stomach, idiot.”

You nod, mouth full, and make a mental note to study on an empty tummy away from him in the future. It’s like he reads your mind because you wince as he scowls, flicking your head again, although a little more gently this time.

Taking care to do it in a spot away from the bandaid covering the injury that he caused, your brain points out.

The both of you continue to eat in comfortable silence.

After a while, your plates are nearly clean.

You smile a little, realizing that you were eating on your favorite plate in the dorm’s kitchen the whole time, and admire the petals of your beloved flowers delicately painted in the center and outer edges of the stark white dish, with the pancakes no longer covering them.

Bakugo notices this, as you softly begin to trace the rim with your finger, and fights the twitch of his lips that threatened to curl upwards.

He’s also noticed those little glances you think you’ve been discreetly throwing his way between the bites of pancake, which you nearly inhaled to his pride.

You could almost be as quiet as that rock-faced animal whisperer of a classmate you both had, but you’ve always sucked at being subtle.

Good thing he hates subtle things.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks as you start to slide off the tall stool, a hint of smirk in his voice. It was cute, how you think you could run away from him so easily. You stop in your tracks, blinking at him as he rises from his own seat.

Strong, toned arms that you totally haven’t been staring at for the past half hour are slowly placed on both sides of you, caging you against the counter. An embarrassing noise escapes from your lips, and the cold granite bites into your back as you lean away, doing anything to avoid his gaze.

“Look at me.”

He rolls his eyes as you continue to look to the side, suddenly finding the chibi magnets of various high ranking heroes on the fridge to be very interesting.

“I said,” he grabs your chin in his hand, which was so big compared to your face that he could squish your cheeks between his ring finger and thumb, “look at me.

You huff, now forcefully held in place to face him against your will. “I’m looking.”

“Good.”

He leans down and his lips graze your ear, seeming to take great pleasure in only further adding to your embarrassment when he mutters:

“And don’t stand so fucking close to the door next time.”

not bakugo pulling the classic asian parent move and giving u food instead of a proper apology LOLL

[girlgenius1111]

take care

engen!reader - solstråle ingrid gets injured during a match. sol is overwhelmed with worry. ingrid hates being worried about, and mapi tries to keep her two engens sane. more angst + fluff with my favorite little family.

The knock looked bad from the stands. You were sitting by yourself, your usual game-watching partner unable to attend today. You stood up without thinking about it, craning your neck to see the crumpled heap on the ground that was your sister. Mapi was crouched over her, motioning towards the sidelines in a way that made your stomach clench. As the medics ran out, you looked around, realizing there was no one here to take charge. Somehow, the injured list was empty, so you were sitting without even the quiet company of some of your sister’s teammates. 

You were supposed to wait here until after the game, and then head down to the tunnel to meet Mapi and Ingrid. The security personnel knew you, knew to let you in, especially after the time they didn’t let you into the tunnel, and you kind of freaked out being surrounded by the large crowds flowing from the stadium. Mapi had given the security guards an earful and since then you’d had no issue. It was different now, though, because the match wasn’t over, but Ingrid was still laying on the pitch, and you’d never been so worried in your life. 

Mapi was hovering by the medics, who were crouched around your sister, obstructing your view of her. The Spaniard looked worried, and she never looked worried when Ingrid went down. She’d check on her girlfriend, like a teammate would do. But the concern on María’s face was far from professional, and you swore under your breath, hurrying towards the cement steps of the stadium without another thought. 

You raced through the halls of the stadium, quickly exiting the fan area and nearing the team only area. Your focus was on finding a security guard you knew, on trying to remember where the medical rooms were in here. You didn’t think about Ingrid laying motionless on the pitch, the smack of her head you hadn’t heard but could imagine had been made as she hit the ground. There wasn’t room for you to pause and think and worry, because if you did that, you’d probably crumple up into a ball on the ground and never move again. 

Ingrid wasn’t prone to injuries. Ingrid didn’t stay down longer than absolutely necessary. 

Ingrid was fine. 

Mapi normally went and got water when there was an injury break, normally gave Ingrid space if she was being treated on the pitch. 

You were being absurd. It was just a knock to the head, but your body was reacting like you’d seen Ingrid get hit by a truck, and by the time you made it to the doorway you knew would lead you towards the changing room, you were out of breath for a reason that had nothing to do with the sprint you’d just done. 

Luckily, the security guard stationed there was familiar, looking confusedly at your sudden appearance. 

“Ms. Engen. Everything okay?” 

“I... no, Ingrid got hurt, and I need to-”

The confusion on the man’s face cleared, and he nodded quickly, stepping aside to let you by. Haphazardly thanking him, you zoomed by, coming to a slow stop only a few seconds later as you realized you didn’t really know where you were going. 

You knew the inside of Johan pretty well, but you’d never been to one of the medical rooms, didn’t even know where one would be. You were just about to turn around and ask the security guard for help when you heard a call of your name coming from down the hall. 

“Over here, chica!” Marta called, waving you towards a doorway just across from the changing room hall. You hurried towards her, feeling somewhat better at the sight of Marta’s easy smile. The captain didn’t seem worried at all. 

Reminding yourself to breathe again, you regarded Marta. “Is she okay?”

The brunette nodded. “Maybe a concussion, but she’s alright. She’s finishing up with the physio right now, then you can go in.” 

Relaxing just slightly, you exhaled. “How did you know I-?”

“Ingrid told me to look out for you. As did Mapi, Caro, and Frido.” Marta grinned. 

That made sense, at least. Of course Mapi had thought of you up in the stands right away, knew to make sure someone was looking for you to appear. Frido and Caro, too, though that was more unexpected and made your stomach twist with something between discomfort and appreciation. That they’d thought of you, too… well, you weren’t used to that. Being thought of, especially by so many people. 

You stepped forward, your hand on the door knob before pausing. What if Ingrid didn’t want you in there? You knew that when you got hurt, it was a 50/50 shot whether you wanted your sister or wanted to be left alone. 

“Go on. She wants to see you.” Marta encouraged, gently nudging your back. With her prompting, you opened the door and stepped inside. Ingrid was sitting on the exam table, one of the physios standing in front of her shining one of those pen lights in her eyes. 

“– a concussion for sure,” he was saying. “Probably a few weeks out.”

Ingrid swore, only catching sight of you when the physios stepped away. She gave you a half smile as the physio kept talking, gesturing you closer. 

“You know the drill. Rest, sleep, keep an eye on your symptoms. I’m sure you’ll be well taken care of.” He nodded towards you before walking out of the room. 

You hadn’t moved closer when Ingrid had tried to get you to, your eyes still flitting over your sister, as if you had to constantly reassure yourself that she was fine, standing right in front of you. 

“Hi there.” Ingrid greeted calmly, her heart melting at the concerned expression on your face. 

You chewed on your bottom lip, surging forward and wrapping Ingrid in a tight hug. She huffed as your body collided with hers, a small smile on her face. 

“I’m fine, Sol.” She assured you. “Really, just a bit of a headache.” 

You pulled away, skeptically looking at your sister. “Are you sure? You don’t look so good.” 

It was true; her forehead was already bruising and her eyes squinted as she looked at you, the light bothering her head. It had been a long match, too, and this was clear in the exhausted slump of her shoulders. Still, Ingrid rolled her eyes, lightly shoving at your shoulder. 

“Thanks. I love to hear that.” She got a half smile at that, which she took to be a win. “Alright, come on. You can come with me to get my bag and we can wait for María.” 

Ingrid stood, and even though she seemed pretty steady on her feet, you hovered behind her worriedly, one hand gripping onto the back of her shirt. 

“Sol. I can walk, it’s just a concussion.” Ingrid chuckled, patting your cheek affectionately as you both began to walk together down the long hall. 

You realized that you didn’t know very much about concussions, but you figured there was no such thing as being overcautious, so you stuck close to your sister, even as she slung her arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. Ingrid was like you in the sense that she didn’t like people worrying about her, and she hoped that when Mapi got off the field, the older Spaniard would be able to take charge and make you feel a bit better about the situation, because it was obvious you were stressing. 

And stressing, you would continue to be.

—

“Oh, Sol, can you grab my phone from my bag?” Ingrid requested, taking a bite of her pasta and giving you an innocent smile. You looked at her doubtfully, crossing your arms across your chest as you leaned against the counter. Did she think you were stupid?

Mapi chuckled, rolling her eyes as she did so. “Sí, go get it Sol. And bring it back to me, so I can make sure she doesn’t go on it.”

You smirked, walking out of the room very happy to have something to do. Ingrid deflated, sighing dramatically as took another bite of her dinner. 

“I hate this.” She said grumpily, and Mapi laughed again. The stubborn frown on her girlfriend's face reminded Mapi vividly of you. Ingrid was less obvious about her stubbornness, but you’d picked that trait up from somewhere. 

—

It didn’t matter how much time passed, apparently. It still hurt when you thought of your Mamma, especially when you weren’t expecting to think about her. But you should have been expecting it, because you knew your parents watched all of Ingrid’s matches, would have seen her get hurt. 

Still, when you pulled the phone out of her bag, and the display on Ingrid’s phone showed five missed calls, and ten texts from your Mamma, and a few more of each from your Pappa, it physically ached. 

Your parents were worried about Ingrid, clearly. After a minute, you pulled out your own phone, dropping Ingrid’s bag back onto the bench by the front door, looking at it for the first time since Ingrid had gotten hurt. 

One missed call and three texts from your Mamma. The first time she’d tried to contact you in months. 

Is your sister alright? I saw you in the stands on TV. 

She isn’t answering her phone. 

Just let me know she’s alright when you have a chance. I hope you’re doing okay, kjære. I love you. 

You inhaled deeply, the tornado of emotions inside of you quickly becoming overwhelming. You willed them to quiet down, at least for now. Ingrid was the priority. She always took care of you, and now it was your turn to take care of her. After only a second of hesitation, you quickly replied to your mother, before heading back into the kitchen. 

She’s okay. Just a mild concussion. I’ll tell her to call you when she’s feeling better. 

You knew you were doing the right thing, responding to your Mamma. It was responsible, it was mature. 

That didn’t make it any easier. 

Your Mamma seemed prepared to fly across the continent to get to Ingrid. That was fine, really. That made sense. It was just… why wasn’t she that worried when you got hurt, before? With each passing day, Ingrid and Mapi chipped away at the hold your self hatred had on you. And as each piece crumbled away, something replaced it; a deep confusion. Why? If you were deserving of love, why hadn’t you gotten it? If you weren’t a bad person, why did your Mamma always resent you? It didn’t make sense, and it was this mystery that kept you convinced, even still, that Ingrid was wrong. You weren’t worth much at all. 

You were pretty sure a part of you would always feel like that 16 year old that had finally given up getting her parent’s approval. You thought giving up on that would allow you to stop caring, but you never did. You always felt the gut punch whenever your Mamma would shout at you or ignore you or be disappointed in you. It never stopped hurting, and a part of you would always feel that worthless. 

When you walked back into the kitchen, it seemed as though someone had sucked all the life out of you. There was something disconnected about the way you moved, as though you weren’t really there. It piqued Ingrid and Mapi’s concern instantly, as you handed the Spaniard your sister’s phone. 

Mapi’s confusion faded as she clicked it open, understanding and sadness flickering across her face. 

“Sol? You okay?” Ingrid asked. You jolted out of your stupor, a very fake smile plastering itself onto your face. Ingrid was squinting at you with her face scrunched in pain a bit, and your insistence on being strong only strengthened. 

“Fine! I’m fine.” You assured her, voice cheery and fake. Ingrid looked skeptical, but Scout chose that moment to charge into the kitchen, having likely been napping on your bed. He scampered over to you first, licking your face when you bent down to pet him, before moving to Ingrid, as if he could tell she needed a bit more attention. Your sister pet Scout lovingly, and with her attention elsewhere, you slumped a bit, the weight of your emotions settling squarely back on you. 

And while Ingrid didn’t notice, Mapi certainly did. 

“Okay mi amor, go shower and then we can call it an early night.” Mapi instructed, pressing a kiss to Ingrid’s lips as you grimaced and sighed dramatically. Chuckling, Ingrid agreed, giving Scout one last pet before heading off to shower. 

As soon as Ingrid was out of the kitchen, Mapi turned to you, a sad frown on her face. There were tears leaking out of the corner of your eyes almost instantly, and you shuffled forward into her open arms. 

Mapi hugged you tight for a minute or so, gently rubbing her hand up and down your back. After a few moments, Scout evidently got bored of the lack of attention, or he felt like comforting you himself, because he pushed his way in between you and Mapi, standing awkwardly in between the two of you. This, at least brought a smile to your face, a small laugh escaping you. Mapi pulled away, giving your dog a very fake glare. He just kept wagging his tail and staring up at her. 

“Do you want me to reply to your Mamma?” Mapi wondered gently, her hand finding its way to your shoulder and squeezing. 

“No,” you replied, voice breaking a bit over the word. You cleared your throat, shaking your head just slightly. “No, she texted me and I told her Ingrid was fine and that she’ll call when she’s feeling better.”

María studied you for a minute, the way you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes, the way you shifted uneasily on your feet, as if you wanted nothing more than to run. “Sol, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” You insisted. “I just want to make sure Ingrid is okay. Are you sure it’s a good idea she showers by herself? Should we have taken her to the hospital? How often do we have to wake her up tonight? Should she sleep with her head elevated? Is ice good for a concussion? Should she have eaten more? Or eaten less? Does she need to drink extra water? What if–”

Mapi cut off your very long spiral of questions, covering your mouth with her hand. “Tranquilo, Sol. Ingrid is fine. I’ve got her, sí?  I know what to do for a concussion, I’ve got everything taken care of.”

You looked like you didn’t believe her, eyebrows furrowed and a frown pulling at your mouth. 

Mapi sighed. “Seriously. I’ve got this. I’m just gonna get her an ice pack for her head and some pain killers and try to get her to sleep. You don’t need to worry about anything” 

“But–”

“Nope. Go get ready for bed. I know you were up late last night playing video games.” Mapi was very rarely stern with you, but in this moment, you saw what her opponents must see on the pitch; a borderline scowl, eyebrows scrunched together as she regarded you authoritatively. 

“That’s not true! I went to bed at 11!” You exclaimed, moving towards the stairs anyway. 

Mapi scoffed. “When I came to get Scout for his walk this morning, you’d fallen asleep with your controller in your hand and your headphones on and you only wear those when you play late at night and you only fall asleep playing when you’re up really late.” 

You rolled your eyes, stomping up the stairs without replying to Mapi. Still, there was something so soft about the Spaniard knowing all your habits, something that made the ache in your chest hurt just a little less. 

—

Ingrid wasn’t an easy patient, Mapi knew this. She just seemed to forget because Ingrid so rarely got sick or hurt. It was a struggle to get her girlfriend to take things slow, more than once having to steady the Norwegian when she stood up or moved too fast. Ingrid was clearly in pain, too, but she kept insisting she didn’t need any pain killers, only agreeing once Mapi promised to go get her favorite coffee tomorrow morning. It was shockingly similar to caring for you when you were hurt or ill, which was more than entertaining for Mapi, since Ingrid always complained about how difficult you were in those circumstances. 

But even once Ingrid was peacefully asleep in bed, Mapi knew her job wasn’t done. The Spaniard tucked the blankets up tighter around Ingrid, pressing a soft kiss onto her forehead. She threw her pajamas on, an old pair of Norway shorts and one of Ingrid’s t-shirts, before surveying the room. The lights were off, Ingrid’s water was full on the nightstand. There was a trashcan next to the bed in case of emergency, and the white noise Ingrid insisted on sleeping with was set to the correct volume. The fan was on the second setting, and Ingrid’s phone was on charge on Mapi’s side of the bed. 

Nodding to herself, Mapi began heading down the hall to where you were almost assuredly still awake. What she wasn’t expecting when she pushed your bedroom door open, though, was to find you crying as you scrolled on your phone. 

“Hey, what’s this cariño?” Mapi said, referencing the tears falling down your face. She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her, noticing that it was meticulously clean, something you only did when you were anxious. You wiped at your eyes furiously, dropping your phone onto the bed next to you without locking it. Mapi picked it up, worried that your Mamma had dared to message you something that would make you cry. 

You sniffled, unsuccessfully trying to stop your tears, knowing very well that you were being more than ridiculous. Mapi wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at what she found on your phone. On the screen was a google search about concussions, and you’d clicked on a tab of all the potential dangers of a head injury. 

“Sol, don’t google stuff like this.” Mapi told you. “None of this is going to happen.” 

“You don’t know that!” You replied, standing up and beginning to pace back and forth. “She hit her head really hard, she could have a delayed brain bleed or she could have hurt her neck or–” 

Mapi wasn’t sure why you were so worked up over something as simple as a concussion, but the urge to laugh at your absurdness had faded, replaced by a deep concern as she realized you were genuinely convinced something bad was going to happen. 

“Solstråle,”

“No, Mapi, you should be in there with her watching her and making sure she’s okay!” You shouted, raising your voice almost unconsciously as you continued to cry through your words. 

“Hey! Don’t shout.” Mapi said, still calm even though you knew she didn’t like to be yelled at. 

You forced yourself to stop pacing for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. Mapi watched you silently, trying to determine whether or not you’d accept a hug from her at the moment. Your anger seemed to be fading as quickly as it appeared, your shoulders slumping as you sat heavily back down on the bed. You looked small, suddenly, in Mapi’s oversized tshirt and a pair of sweatpants. You looked like the kid you still very much were, not the adult you tried to be. 

Mapi took a seat next to you, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you to lean against her.

“What’s going on, hmm? Why are you so upset about this?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t like that she’s hurt. It makes me anxious.”

Mapi hummed, her thumb rubbing small circles onto your arm. “How anxious?”

“Very.” You exhaled, leaning into the Spaniard even more. 

Mapi smiled a bit, thinking about just a few months ago, when you would have shied away from any comfort at all. 

“Do you know why?” She wondered. 

“No.” You answered too quickly for her to believe you, and you began fidgeting with your hands in your lap, which was something you only did when you were lying. She didn’t press you, though. Instead, she kissed the top of your head and stood up. 

“Alright. It’s late, your eyes are shutting, you’re exhausted. Go to bed, nena.” 

You merely shrugged, avoiding eye contact with Mapi in a way that told her you were going to be doing anything but going to bed. The Spaniard sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose in between her fingers. 

“How can I get you to sleep, Sol?” 

You thought for a moment, before a small smile tugged at your lips and you looked up at Mapi much too earnestly. You told her your idea, and much as she wanted to say no, she knew you really wouldn’t sleep otherwise. So, she relented, and you grabbed your pillow and a blanket [and Scout], and followed Mapi down the hall to their room. 

—

Ingrid woke up with a pounding headache the next morning. With a groan, she rolled onto her side, hand searching for Mapi to grab onto. Her girlfriend shifted down from where she’d been sitting up in bed, allowing Ingrid to burrow into her chest. 

“How are you feeling, mi amor?” 

“Like I’m dying.” Ingrid sighed dramatically. 

“Dying?!” You cried, sitting bolt upright from where you had been laying on the floor next to Ingrid’s bed. She rolled over to look at you, wincing at the pain she felt from the movement, blinking a few times as if she thought she was hallucinating. 

“Did you sleep on the floor?” Ingrid asked incredulously. 

Still borderline frantic, you nodded your head. “Yes. Are you okay? Do you need anything?” 

Ingrid was silent for a second, looking between you and Mapi, completely bewildered. “Sol, why did you sleep on the floor?” 

“Don’t bother, amor. Answer her question first.” Mapi sighed, reclining back against the headboard and shutting her eyes. 

Ingrid huffed her frustration. “I’m alright, Sol. Why did you sleep on the floor?”

You frowned up at her. “I was worried. Google said the first 24 hours of a concussion are the most important, and I know Mapi is a heavy sleeper, so I just wanted to make sure-”

“Sol, that isn’t your job. I’m fine. You shouldn’t have done that, you have school today, you’re going to be exhausted and sore.” Her tone was more sharp than she intended it to be and she felt immediate guilt at the look of hurt that flashed across your face. 

“Sorry.” You said sharply, getting up and gathering your pillow and your blanket and hastily walking out of the room. 

Ingrid flopped back down onto the bed with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t mean to make her upset.” 

Mapi kissed her temple tenderly. “I know. She’s just worried, and I think you embarrassed her a little. She was going to stay home from school to look after you.” 

“She shouldn’t have to do that.” Ingrid argued. 

Mapi spoke slowly, like Ingrid was missing the point. “She wants to. She’s really anxious about this, Ingrid. She was pacing around her room last night googling concussions trying to figure out how to help. She just wants to make sure you’re okay, like you do for her.” 

Ingrid felt her heart melt a little. She forgot, sometimes, how sensitive you were, how much of a worrier. You kept so much inside that it was always a bit startling to see you express yourself so outwardly. She moved to get up from the bed, but Mapi’s arms remained locked around her midsection. 

“María, I need to go talk to her.” 

“No. You stay here, I’ll go talk to her.” 

“I’m not staying in bed all day.” Ingrid grumbled, fighting back a smile as Mapi kissed her cheek once, then twice more. 

“No, of course not.” Mapi agreed. “You can lay down on the couch, too.” 

Ingrid groaned, slumping back onto the bed and crossing her arms over her chest. “I hate this.” She called. 

“I know! Mapi replied, shaking her head at her girlfriend’s dramatics. 

—

Mapi knocked on your door, hearing a huff that she assumed meant she could come in. You were stuffing your things into your school bag, angry tears tracking down your face. 

“Sol, stop for a second.” 

“No, I’m going to be late.” 

“Solstråle.” 

“Go away, Mapi.” 

“No, stop it.” Mapi said, more firmly this time. She took your bag out of your hands, attempting to hold it out of your reach. You glared at her, lower lip trembling as you did so. “You can stay home. I talked to Ingrid.” 

“She doesn’t want me to stay home.” You choked out, humiliated at how upset this was making you. 

Mapi looked at you for a moment longer before placing a hand on your shoulder. “She does, she just doesn’t want you to worry. Just like you don’t like us to worry about you.” 

“No, she doesn’t want me here.” You argued, finally ripping your bag away from Mapi and slinging it over your shoulder. Mapi almost commented on the fact that you were very clearly still wearing your pajamas, and that school didn’t start for another hour, but another voice cut in before she could. 

“I do want you here, sweetheart. I just don’t want you worrying about me.” 

Both you and Mapi turned to face Ingrid amusingly fast. 

“Ingrid, I told you to stay in bed!” Mapi chided good naturedly, knowing how much her girlfriend hated to be babied. 

“Sol-”

“Go lay down, Ingrid. I’m fine.” You pleaded, the redness of your eyes and the wobble of your chin not helping your statement. 

Your sister ignored you, crossing the room in two long strides and pulling you into an almost painfully tight hug. Mapi stepped out of the room, knowing that this was one of your Engen moments, where you really just wanted your sister. 

“No, Sol. I’m fine.” Ingrid told you, her fingers scratching lightly at your scalp where her hand rested. 

You sniffled, pressing your face further into her shoulder, as if to assure yourself that she was really there. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure. I’m okay. Everything is okay.” Ingrid promised, pausing for a moment before she extracted herself from the hug and led you to sit on the edge of your bed next to her. She gave you a second to calm down, still crying softly into her shoulder, as she took in the sight of your room. The framed photo of the three of you on your desk. The polaroids up on the wall, all taken at the top of a hike you’d completed. The map that Mapi had given you, and the painting of the waterfall in Norway. 

Ingrid didn’t like to see you cry. But your tears, just like the things decorating your room, showed that you were feeling things. Not like before, when it was difficult to even get you to explain how your day was in more than two words. You felt safe to feel here. Safe to be vulnerable. 

So, she didn’t like the tears. But everytime she saw you cry, she thanked the universe that you were still here with her to cry, still willing to push your face into her shoulder and grip onto her shirt with your fist like you’d done when you were little. She’d never take that for granted. Ever. 

She didn’t take her responsibility to care for you lightly, either. 

“What’s going on, Solstråle? Why are you so worried?” 

Again, it was that magic ability Ingrid had to get you to admit things you normally never would. Instead of brushing your sister off like you’d done to Mapi the night before, you sucked in a breath and tried to explain the absolute mess of feeling inside of you.

“Do you ever… feel like things are too good? Like everything is going so well. And you’re happy, but you aren’t sure you deserve to be. So something bad must be about to happen to ruin it all? It feels like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s too good to be true, and I’m so scared, all the time, that I’m going to do something to mess everything up, or something bad is going to happen.”

Ingrid wasn’t really quite sure what to say to that. Whether it was because her head was pounding with an incessant headache, or because she’d truly never felt the way that you were describing right now, she wasn’t sure. She just knew that you needed reassurance that no one was going to come and take away your happiness. 

“You deserve to be happy. You’ve been through so much, Sol, and you deserve to be happy. I’m not going to let anyone take that away from you. Ever. It’s not too good to be true. No shoe is going to drop. Nothing bad is going to happen and you’re not going to mess anything up. I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere. I love you so much, Solstråle, and no one could ever take that away. Nothing could ever stop me from loving my baby sister.” 

Ingrid felt tears soaking through the fabric of her shirt, and she worried she’d said the wrong thing. Still, she kept running her hand up and down your back, keeping you held close to her. She wouldn’t be the first one to pull away. 

“I… I want to believe that. I just don’t know how to stop being scared. I don’t know how to convince my brain that nothing bad is going to happen.” 

“I don’t really know either.” Ingrid hummed. “But we’ll figure it out together, no?” 

You nodded, feeling absurdly emotional at the together part. 

“And anytime you feel scared, you tell me or Mapi. And I’ll be rational and give you a hug and Mapi can make a joke so bad you have no choice but to laugh, and she’ll be happy because her goal was just to distract you anyway.” 

You let out a weak laugh, leaning away from your sister to wipe at your face with your sleeve. 

“Okay.” You agreed. “I’ll try.” 

Ingrid smiled at you. “Good. Now come downstairs with me. We’re going to put on a reality TV show and you’re going to describe everything happening on screen because I can’t watch.” 

You laughed again, standing and following your sister out of your room. You held onto her arm as she walked down the stairs, and Ingrid let you. Sometimes, she couldn’t fix things right away. She’d let you hover, and in time, you’d realize she was alright and you’d be okay. 

Or, she’d have to climb out the window in the middle of the night and run away to Frido’s just to get away from your and Mapi’s hovering. Either way. 

—

:) i love my child sol.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Daryl x Fem!reader Warnings: language

Daryl stirred on the pillow. His blue eyes blinking open but were still a little bleary, probably from the pain medication (or maybe the concussion).

"Hey," you soothed gently, leaning forward to grab his hand. "How are you feeling?"

Daryl stared at you for a long moment and then looked down at your hand around his. He had a queer expression on his face and averted his eyes back up toward the ceiling.

"Daryl?" you prodded him softly.

"W—where am I?"

Your brow furrowed. "In the clinic. Do you remember what happened?"

He glanced over at you again and his blue eyes studied you carefully. That same expression was written all over his face, a vague, foggy kind of look. He looked down at his hand again, now sandwiched between both of yours.

"Daryl?" you said again. Man, must be some good medication the man was on. Probably the anesthesia still wearing off too.

"Who, uhh... do—do I know ya?" he drawled, squinting at you.

You were stunned for a moment and then a smile grew on your face. You couldn't help laughing a little as you answered. "I'm your wife," you said. "You don't remember me?"

He looked confused and then shocked. "Yer my wife?" he drawled, not taking his eyes off you. "Goddamn..." he breathed, looking you up and down. "I fuckin' married up... Are ya sure?" he asked again, fixing his eyes back on your face.

You laughed again. "I'm pretty sure. You did give me this wedding ring I'm wearing. And you have one that matches so... evidence seems to point that way."

"Fuck me," he drawled, a dopey smile growing on his face. "Did I hit my damn head so hard I woke up in a daydream? How long we been married?"

"Five years," you said, grinning. "Together way longer than that."

"Shit... I must be the luckiest sonofabitch in the world," he drawled. "You're beautiful."

You shook your head, still smiling at him. He wouldn't take his eyes off you.

"You still gonna be my wife when I get outta here?" he asked dreamily.

You giggled again. "I think so."

"Fuck, I can't wait to get outta here," he murmured, more to himself than to you. You reached up tp brush his hair away from his eyes and the man looked like he really was dream-walking...

A/N: Ommmmg fuckin' hell this is so fluffy I can't handle it! It also gave me an idea for a similar one shot that I really wanna write ughhhhh! <3

[rosenclaws]

Lost || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You risk your life on missions when you shouldn't. Logan can't stand it. He thinks it's because you want to play hero. It isn't until something shifts that he realizes there's more to it. That the two of you are more alike than ever.

warnings: Suicidal ideation, implied Self harm (scratching), depressive thoughts and feelings, self hatred manifesting in different ways, mostly the reader is very mean to themselves, the reader is having a mental spiral basically, poor eating, angst, injuries, hopeful ending.

wc: 3.3k

a/n: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! This fic contains very triggering topics and if you think that reading or being exposed to them will hurt you please DO NOT READ. I value peoples well being over this fic 1000%. If I'm being honest this was my own kind of therapy. The way I wrote the reader's thought process and feelings is a lot like my own. I've been going through it a little and I just needed to get something out. I would also like to disclaimer that I am okay! Please take care of yourself first and be gentle to yourself. If you need someone to talk to my dms and inbox are open or please consider reaching out to someone

Things worked like clockwork around here. The kid would go to class. Do their homework. Play outside. The adults would be training or teaching. Dinner was at the same time every night. Occasionally the team would get sent on a mission and even then things worked like they normally did.

Scott led the team with a plan, Logan usually ignored that plan, Ro got between them when their childish bickering got to be too much, and you all got home just fine.

"Again?" Beast is shaking his head as you hobble into the lab again. A pained smile on your face as Scott helps you onto the cold metal table. 

"What can I say beastie, I just love your company." You groan as he gently touches your side. A sharp pain shoots through your body and dark spots cloud your vision.

 "Broken ribs, definitely." He mutters as he writes something down. He asks you to follow his finger and you do your best. 

"Concussion. Again." You wince as his tone grows harsher.

 "Superficial cuts and bruises." The list goes on and on as you're examined.

"Can you just prescribe me some pain meds and let go? That's what we did last time." You ask and he just looks at you like a disappointed parent.

 "We did that last time and the time before that and the time before that. This is your third concussion and I can't even remember how many broken ribs." You feel like a child as he starts lecturing you on safety and the dangers of missions and blah blah blah.

Look you get that this isn't great but you're an X-Man right? They help people by any means even when the world seems to hate them. So you're helping people by putting yourself in harms way. Even your teammates.

 "I really don't understand why you continue to do this to yourself." Beast injects something into your arm and you flinch.

 "Fuck! A little warning next time please." You rub your arm and close your eyes as the exhaustion is starting to catch up to you. 

"No missions for at least three months." He says to Scott who you forgot was still there. 

"What!" You shoot up and double over in pain from your ribs.

 "Come on, you can't bench me for three months." You whine as you look at Scott. 

"Our top priority is that you're safe and healthy firefly." Scott says and you scoff. 

"No our top priority is helping people." He sighs and pats you on the shoulder. Great, is this another scolding? Beasts was like a parent but Scott was always more brotherly than anything.

 "Firefly, We understand the want to help but you can't help people if you keep getting hurt. You throw yourself into danger without even thinking about it." 

"So does Logan!" You protest but you know the argument is futile.

 "Logan has rapid healing factor. You don't. Look, just take the three months okay? Please? We worry about you." Scott says with such sincerity it makes you feel a little bad. 

"Okay fine." You mumble in agreement. Satisfied with your answer Scott leaves, letting Hank patch you up. You're silent as you think back to the mission.

It was dangerous. You weren't dealing with low level grunts or something. These people were deadly. They weren't going to spare anyone. Rogue and Jubilee joined the mission and as much as you loved them they weren't ready. The fight was getting messier and exhaustion was kicking in.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jubilee and Rogue barely fighting off their attackers. Without thinking you jump in to help them. The calls to retreat came and you saw Logan come help the three of you. His claws sliced his way through. 

"Get back to the ship!" He growled as he took down yet another man. Everyone else was safe except for the four of you. 

"Go, I'll be right behind you!" You yell over your shoulder.

You put up a wall to block the bullets as you walk back. In your head you know how this plays out. You get on the ship and they shoot it down, killing you all. Or you don't make it. Or a million other ways it can go wrong. As Logan grabs Jubilee and Rouge and pulls them onto the ship he holds his hand out to you.

 "We need to go!" Without thinking you take down you start to build energy in your hands. The wall wavers as the bullets continue. 

"Quit fucking around and get in here!" Logan roars. Sorry Logan, you tend to ignore him anyways on missions. Which is how you tend to get hurt but you always end up okay. 

"I got this!" You can hear Logan's angry shouting as the plane door closes. They had no choice but to listen to you. A bullet pierces your wall and rips through your side. You let out a cry as your knee buckles. Sweat pours down your face as you gather every last bit of your energy into your hands.

 "Eat shit." You snarl as you make eye contact with who you assume was the leader.

You release the energy and it blasts through everyone and everything around you. The ship is safe due to protective measures but you aren't. The blowback slams you into the hard jet doors. A sickening crunch as your body hits the cold metal. Your vision becomes hazy as you hit the ground hard. Spots dancing in your vision as you crawl away from the jet.

Everything fucking hurt. You vaguely hear the doors opening again and the hands-on your face. Someone's talking to you but you don't register a thing they say. Which landed you back in the lab. Right now getting patched up.

"Thanks Hank." You say as you hop off the table. You decline any help getting to your room and awkwardly walk to the doors. To your surprise, Logan stands right outside of them. Arms crossed a really pissed off look on his face. 

"Logan, always a pleasure." You flash a smile and he rolls his eyes. He stalks after you as you walk slowly to the elevator. 

"Did Charles send you to check up on me or something because I'm really not in the mood." 

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He snarls. He slams his hand on a button and the elevator stops.

 "Logan I really want to go to bed." You groan as you try to push past him but to no avail. It was like a brick wall.

 "No, you're going to shut up and listen. I don't know what compels you to be so incredibly stupid but you need to fucking quit it." You shrink under his harsh words.

 "I've seen people like you before, always trying to play hero. You're reckless. Putting yourself into danger so you can be the one to save the day." You let him rip into you. Not speaking a word he slams his hand on the button and the elevator moves again.

 "Nothing to say?" He rolls his eyes and storms out of the elevator. 

"I'm sorry." You whisper to no one as the elevator doors close on you.

No one sees you for a while. You stay locked up in your room. Not even coming out for food. Every day some student brings food to your door and leaves it there. You wonder who told them to do that. Jean maybe, probably 'Ro. 

Sometimes you take it just so they don't worry but other times you leave it there until the next plate comes. You spend your day staring at the ceiling or sleeping. Sometimes though you're too tired to sleep. Does it make sense? No but it's how you feel. Logan's words replaying in your head.

If Beast and Scott were like family, Logan was something more. As much as you tried to hide it your feelings had changed, evolved from friendly into something more. You cared so much about what he thinks of you even when you don’t want to. You can’t help it. 

So his words cut deeper than anyone else's. You aren't trying to be a hero or take the glory. But maybe you are? Maybe you want that love and recognition from people, from him. Does it matter though? What your intentions were?

Apparently, you come across as an egotistical reckless person with a hero complex. It's not like that. You argue with yourself about it all the time. Shifting from hero to villain in an instant. You're selfish. You do it for attention. 

No wonder he thinks that way. Does everyone else think so too? But you care. You're an X-men but you aren't one of the X-men. You're not the one people think of when they come to save the day and you're okay with that. Your expendable. Better you than them. Right? You've hurt people in your past. You aren't worthy of this life. This family. You need to prove yourself. Sacrifice yourself if needed.

The spiral won't stop. It never. Stops. You can't get it to stop. You just want peace. Just one day where you don't wake up and feel guilt in everything you do. A loud knock on your door rings through your room but you don't move. 

"Hey." It's Logan. What is he doing here?

 "Look I uh, I shouldn't have snapped at you. The other day." You can tell he's struggling to get his thoughts out. Not that he didn't want to do it, he just didn't know how.

 "I was angry." He waits a few moments and you hear a frustrated growl. 

"Come on firefly, you've been holed up here long enough." You roll onto your side to face the door. Looking at his shoes through the small crack in the bottom. He's pacing.

 "Seriously I-er We're getting worried alright?" You don't catch the slip of his tongue. Too wrapped up feeling guilty. Again. Guilty for hurting your team, for not understanding what was wrong with you. Guilty for even feeling this way in the first place. 

"I thought you should know that Remy's making your favorite dinner." You hear him sigh and walk away. More guilt creeps up on you. You're making everyone worry about you.

 You're being selfish, just pull it together. Beating yourself up over and over again. As the sun goes down the smell of dinner wafts through your room. It doesn't normally do that so you suspect someone is trying to lure you out. Enough of this.

You get up and change your clothes. You stop and look in the mirror, trying to put on your best smile. You don't look very convincing but it should be fine. Peeking your head out you hear a lot of voices coming from the kitchen. You quietly walk into the doorway.

It takes a second but someone notices you and then everyone does. The talking dies down as they just stare at you. It's really uncomfortable. You feel terrible for making them worry. You don't deserve to be worried about like this.

 "All this for me?" You joke and thankfully the room grows louder again.

You say hi to some of the people who come up to you. A plate is placed in front of you and you graciously accept it. Looking across the room you can see Logan staring at you. He's silent but watching your every move. 

"So how's recovery coming? You've been taking bed rest pretty seriously." Scott says with a smile.

You know he doesn't mean anything by it but for some reason, it stings. Like you've been lazy or something. You're a mutant. Recovery shouldn't take this long. You're not putting in the work. You're wasting your time. You don't get to rest. 

"Hey? Firefly?" You snap out of it and put on a smile.

 "Going great, it's nice being able to sleep without interruption." People seem to accept that answer and the conversation moves on.

You pick at your food, moving it around your plate and chopping it up but never putting it in your mouth. It's your favorite meal but you just, can't bring yourself to eat it right now.

The room is so full of talking and laughter but for some reason, you feel a million years away. Like you're lonely. Really, really lonely. How can that even be? To feel so alone while being surrounded by so many people. 

As dinner wraps up you quietly slip out. Sneaking out to the gardens instead. It's cold and you have no coat but you don't care. Some fresh air is what you need. Maybe the trees can tell you what's wrong with you. You find a small bench and sit down.

The stars shine so nicely tonight. You wonder what it'd be like to be a star. If it's freeing to be up so high. Or is it lonely? To lack the warmth of the sun and be a million light years away from each other. 

"What are you doing out here?" Logan stands in front of you. You hadn't even noticed him. 

"Nothing." He lights a cigar and takes a seat next to you. His legs spread out, knocking his knees into yours. 

"So you wanna tell me what's going on?" 

"What are you talking about?" You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hide away. 

"You may have fooled everyone else but I know somethings going on in that head of yours." You just shrug. 

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit." Logan scoffs. You watch the soft glow of cigar ash tumble to the ground.

The light dies out as it hits the cold cement. He wants to help, or at least he wants to listen. For some reason, you can't get the words you. Anger replaces any rational thought. You want him to leave, to not care so damn much.

"Why do you even care? Last time I checked you don't do these heart to hearts." You snap.

The cold air bites your face and you shiver. Your nails scratch down your arms harshly. The slight stinging soothes you in some fucked up way. Logan notices and grabs onto your hand. Taking it and holding it in his warm one. 

"Just leave me alone Logan." You try taking your hand away but he won't let you.

"No. You're right I don't do the sappy shit but this is different. It's more than you're letting on." You feel a pit forming in your stomach.

Everything in your body screams for you to run. To hide and put up your walls and ignore this ever happened. But then you look into his pretty hazel eyes. The rough and tough Wolverine was silently begging you to stay. To talk to him. 

"I don't try to be a hero, It's not a hero complex, or a savior complex or whatever you want to call it." His thumb rubs over your hand as you talk. He wants to butt in but he lets you talk.

 "I don't know. It's a lot. What goes on in my head." You start to count the blades of grass that you can see. Anything to keep you from breaking down. 

"I don't care if I get hurt if I'm helping people. I just. It's how I help. My life is worth saving people. Saving you guys. I don't care if..." You trail off. You can't get the words right.

 "You don't care if you die." Logan finishes. He swallows harshly. It breaks his heart to hear but that small part of him understands. More than you’ll ever know. 

 "Kind of. It's complicated alright? I'm not actively trying to die but...Look I don't think I deserve this life sometimes. I've caused a lot of hurt and I've lost so many people." Logan reaches up and wipes away a tear.

There's a lot of pain that sits with a lifetime of trauma. Pain that you've chosen to ignore over and over again. Burying it until you've convinced yourself this is what life is like. What you deserve. 

"It's stupid right? There's so much that I should be grateful for. What right do I have to complain about?"

 "You're a mutant, your life hasn't been easy." 

"Yeah I guess." Logan doesn't let go of your hand. He holds it, squeezes it. Its warm and fits perfectly with yours. 

"Life sucks, a lot. Trust me I understand. It's like the days blend together right? There's this massive hole that just seems to get bigger. You can stuff it with things, try and close it up or even pretend it never exists. But it never goes away." Logan says.

He understands because he feels the same way. Maybe not exactly how you feel but he knows what its like. To have this, hatred for yourself grow and fester until you can't breathe. You convince yourself that nothings going to change so why even bother? 

"I just want it to go away." You whisper sadly. 

"It will, we're tough. We survive."

"What if I'm tired of surviving? What if I don't want to be strong anymore?" You confess. You feel like you have to be strong all the time and it weighs you down like bricks. You're drowning. 

"That's okay, you come to me and I'll carry what you can't." He pulls you in closer and you bury your face in his neck. He's warm, protecting you from the chill.

 "Just please, promise me no more heroics on missions okay?" He mumbles. 

You scared the shit out of him. You were bleeding and in so much pain. You couldn't even register that it was his hands on your face. That he carried you to the jet and held you while you went in and out of consciousness. He stayed by your side until you got back. He disappeared to the background as Scott took you to the lab. His worry and fear of losing you turning to anger. Wondering why you continue to put yourself in danger.

 "Okay." You lean in and press a light kiss to his cheek.

"Logan, Can I ask why you're out here? How did you even notice something was wrong?" It's not that you weren't friends, in fact you were closer than most. But Logan isn't really the best with this kind of thing. Yet somehow, he always knows what to say.

"You mean a lot to me firefly..."

He could tell you that he loves you right here and now. Tell you that you're everything to him. How he's fallen in love with you over the years. But he keeps it inside. It's not the right time. Sometimes love isn't enough to get better and he knows that there's work to be done. He doesn't want to put this pressure on you to get better for him. He wants you to get better for yourself. He'll be by your side for the whole thing though. He won't let you spiral as long as he's there. 

"You mean a lot to me too Logan." You smile, a real one this time. He caresses your face, tilting your head as his lips kiss your forehead. You giggle as beard tickles your skin.

 "There's that sweet sound," He hums. He takes off his jacket and places it on your shoulders. The worn leather smells like him.

 "You really think things get better?" You ask as you link your hand with his. He doesn't answer right away. He'd be a hypocrite to preach that everything's fine and dandy all the time. Sometimes he doesn't believe it himself. But he keeps going, every day. Just as you do. 

"Yeah I do, I don't know when. But someday it will." You nod and rest your head on his shoulder. It might take a long time until you truly feel better but you can keep going. Waking up and living.

With a hope, no a belief, that someday. It will get better. 

[certaimromance]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Tall Child I.

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader (platonic)

Summary: No matter how hard you try to impress him, Agent Hotchner never seems to be satisfied with your work. And it all comes crashing down when you decide to confront him.

Words: 2,7k.

Warnings & Tags: mentions of crime. reader was injured (nothing serious). angst WITHOUT happy ending. hotch being a father figure. soo much angst (yes, again). father and rebellious daughter type discussion. temporarily located in the first season. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This was painful to write, so I loved it (I literally wrote it with I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski in the background).

Anyone who knows you knows that your lifelong dream was to help make the world a better place.

And from your day one at the BAU, you felt like your wildest dreams had come true. You were saving lives, reassuring victims, and helping to bring to justice those who tormented them so they could never do it to anyone else again. You were making a real difference in the world, even if you weren't the caped superhero you wanted to be as a kid.

But, as they say, nothing's perfect. And your job had more contradictions for your mental and physical health than there were fingers on your hands to count. The long and unstable schedule, the few hours of sleep, nightmares about the atrocities you saw, no social life outside the team...and of course, the constant disappointment you felt from Aaron Hotchner, your boss.

From day one, you had worked tirelessly to prove yourself. You craved the approval of your superiors, the respect of your colleagues. The job was demanding, yes, but you wanted to show that you could not only handle it but thrive under the pressure. And you had earned the trust and admiration of everyone around you, except for him.

Agent Hotchner was an enigma to you. There was something about him that both intrigued and intimidated you. He was always so calm, without showing much emotion, without so much as a smile for you. He was a wall you couldn't break through no matter how hard you tried. You had tried so hard to impress him, to make sure he saw your dedication, your work ethic, but you always seemed to fall short. His approval, or lack thereof, hurt more than anything else. You had gotten used to it by now, but it didn't make it any easier.

And now, here you were, in his office, watching him scrutinize your medical diagnosis. He had just glanced at the report from the doctor that had followed you back from the Utah case. Your shoulder, a minor injury, but one that could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t thrown yourself headfirst into the danger in the way you did.

Finally, after several moments of awkward silence, you dared to speak. “What do you think? I am practically at my best.”

Deep down, you knew you were lying through your teeth and that you were not well with an injured shoulder, a concussion, and several bruises, but you refused to say so out loud. You were a brave girl, and he should know.

Hotch looked up from the report in his hand and stared at you. It was the kind of look that made your hair stand on end and gave you a feeling that something was wrong.

“No, you're not.” He sighs and closes the folder before walking over to the desk you were sitting behind. He leans against it as he looks at you, arms folded across his chest. “You disobeyed a direct order during the case. You abandoned your partner.”

“I didn’t abandon Reid,” you replied, your voice sounding more defensive than you intended. You straightened in your chair, wincing slightly as your shoulder protested the movement. “I simply suggested he wait behind me. And it worked, didn’t it? He saved the victim, and I stopped the unsub.”

Teamwork, as you liked to call it.

“It paid off this time,” he said, his voice low but firm. “But that doesn’t excuse disregarding protocol. You put yourself and your partner in unnecessary danger. That’s not the kind of decision-making we can afford here.”

Oh no, here comes the usual chatter you didn't want to hear this time. Normally, you would be quiet, listening and nodding at his every word, but this time there was something different. You just longed for congratulations. Was it really so difficult for him to tell you once that you did something right?

You stiffened in your chair, the ache in your shoulder suddenly more pronounced. “With all due respect, I evaluated the situation and made a hard decision. I’m not some rookie who doesn’t know how to handle themselves in the field.”

Even as the words came out, you felt very nervous. You didn't know if it was the drugs they gave you in the hospital to fight the pain or if it was just your shyness leaving your body completely for no reason.

“I’m not questioning your skills,” he replied sharply. “But you’re not operating at one hundred percent, and that affects your judgment. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard for months—longer, maybe. And now you’re injured. You need time to recover and think about this.”

God, no.

“I don’t need time; I need to work,” you shot back, frustration lacing your tone. This job was your lifeline, your purpose. Without it, who were you?

“You know we work as a team. A unit. And when one part of the unit breaks down, there are consequences.” His voice wasn’t just firm; it was unyielding, like a warning. The way he said it almost felt like he was speaking to a child—a reprimand you didn’t want but knew you had earned. “No one is above the team, not even you.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it or the words he used, but it was like the straw that broke the camel's back, and you were tired of putting up with the situation. This was the first time you had made a decision on your own, the first time you had not discussed your ideas with the team only to have them ignored and then spoken louder by someone else. Finally, you had acted, and even that was wrong.

You were tired, fucking tired of being ignored and judged much more harshly than the rest.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, barely audible but heavy with frustration. The ache in your shoulder seemed to flare as if your body was responding to the tension in the room. “And what consequences are you thinking of, sir?” you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm. There was no hiding the venom now. “What’s worse than not being valued even when I do my job?”

His gaze turned hard as if your tone had cut him deeper than any physical injury could. He didn’t take kindly to disrespect, especially from someone who had otherwise followed his orders without question. You saw the shift in him, the quiet fury simmering beneath his usually controlled exterior. If you were anyone else, the conversation would have already escalated. But you weren’t anyone else. You were someone he knew far too well.

“Don’t use that tone with me,” he bit back, his voice low and steady but carrying a weight that made your stomach twist. There was no mistake now—this wasn’t just about the case. This was more personal. “You are suspended. Your gun and badge on the table. Now.”

Oh, oh, oh.

The words hung in the air between you like a guillotine, sudden and final. The room seemed to close in on you, the breath in your chest catching in surprise. You didn’t know if it was the shock or the disbelief, but your mind struggled to grasp the magnitude of his command. Suspended? Your world was spinning.

You opened your mouth to speak, to argue, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you with nothing but a hollow sound of confusion. “What? Why?”

“Agent, you disobeyed a direct order and endangered yourself and your partner,” he said firmly. “I don’t take your actions lightly. Suspension is not a punishment—it’s a consequence. You need time to heal, both physically and mentally.”

The idea of being sidelined was incomprehensible. The thought of doing nothing—being stuck in your apartment, forced to be still—felt suffocating. No. You couldn’t accept it.

“This is ridiculous. I did my job! I stopped the unsub! Reid saved the victim because I made the right choice!”

You saved a life, even if it meant risking a little of your own. You did save it.

“And what happens next time?” Hotch shot back, his voice rising slightly. “What happens if your judgment falters again because you’re running on empty? What if next time, it’s Reid who doesn’t come back?”

Then, silence.

The thought of Spencer getting hurt turned your stomach and made you question your actions. If anything happened to him, you would never forgive yourself…His life did matter, a lot.

“Gun. Badge. Now.” Your boss talks again. He gestured toward the desk.

Your fingers trembled, betraying you as you reached for the gun on your hip. The cool metal felt foreign in your hands, like something that had never truly belonged to you. Your mind screamed for you to stop, to stand your ground, to fight this. But your body, exhausted and broken, refused to cooperate.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice cracked before you could get the words out. “I…I didn’t mean…I just…”

Finally, with a shaky breath, you placed your gun on the desk. The thud it made as it landed felt like the sound of everything you had worked for being shattered in front of you. You could feel the sting of unshed tears burning in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

It didn’t matter what you said. It never seemed to matter, not with him. You had tried so hard to be the one who did everything right, to be the one he could rely on, and yet all you had earned was this—this cold, final judgment. He wasn’t just your boss in that moment; he was the embodiment of everything you had tried to prove yourself against. A reminder that, no matter what you did, it still wasn’t enough.

The words spilled from your mouth before you could stop them, the bitter taste of them already familiar. “You think I’m weak, don’t you?” The tone you had intended to be defiant came out more like a desperate plea. “You think I can’t handle this, that I’m just some liability?”

He didn’t flinch at your outburst. His gaze softened, but just barely. “No,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle but firm. “I think you’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re not weak. But you’re hurting, and I can see it. You need time to recover.”

The words hit you like a slap, unexpected and unwelcome. You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as you tried to fight back the burning in your chest. You refused to let the tears well up, to let them gather where he could see them. Not here. Not now. Please, not now.

“I don’t need time,” you said, your voice sharp, biting. But underneath the defiance was something raw and desperate, a quiet plea that you couldn’t fully suppress. “I need to be here. I need to do my job. I need to save lives.”

The last part came out as a whisper, as though saying it too loudly would shatter the fragile conviction you had left. You felt like you were slipping, like the ground beneath you was crumbling, and all you could do was cling to this one thing—the job. The only thing that made you feel like you mattered.

“The only life you need to save now is yours,” he said, his voice quieter but still heavy with authority.

You froze, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a crushing tide. Your stomach churned, and you fought to keep your composure, to keep from lashing out, even though every part of you wanted to scream. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t.

A bitter, trembling laugh bubbled up from your throat, unbidden and full of venom. “If it had been Reid or Morgan, you wouldn’t be doing this,” you snapped, the accusation like a raw wound exposed to the open air.

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—anger, hurt, or something you couldn’t quite place. His jaw tightened, his posture stiffening, and when he spoke, his voice was sharper than before, each word deliberate and cutting.

“No,” he said, the firmness in his tone slicing through the room like a blade. “Because they would never have done this.”

The silence that followed was deafening. It slammed into you like a tidal wave, drowning out every other sound. His words rang in your ears, echoing in the hollow space left behind by your crumbling defenses.

They would never have done this.

Your chest tightened, a deep ache settling in your ribs, and for a moment, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and unforgiving. He wasn’t just saying you’d made a mistake—he was saying you were the mistake. That you weren’t good enough. That you never would be.

“Is this because I’m a woman?” you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended. There was a bitter edge to them, a question that had been gnawing at you for far too long. “Because Elle is too, and even she has more, or is it because of my age? Reid is younger, and you never doubt him.”

“It’s not about any of that,” he said finally, his voice low and tight. But it wasn’t reassuring. It only sounded like an evasion, like he was brushing your concerns aside, and it made your chest ache all over again. “It’s not about your gender or your age.”

“It’s about me,” you said, the words like glass shards scraping at your insides. “It’s about how you don’t trust me.”

For the first time, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something almost like guilt, but it was fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. He opened his mouth, but the words he spoke next were measured, controlled. Too controlled.

“No,” he said, his voice so steady it almost hurt. “That’s not it.”

You stared at him, heart racing, hands trembling, as the truth wrapped around you tighter than you ever thought possible. His words weren’t just dismissing your feelings—they were rejecting everything you had ever believed about your worth, about why you were here, in this moment, fighting so desperately for something you couldn’t even name.

But this time, it was different. You weren’t going to back down. Not anymore.

“Then what is it?” You whispered, voice breaking, tears finally threatening to spill. “What is it, Hotch? What is it about me that isn’t enough?”

“It’s not about you,” he said, but his voice lacked the certainty it usually held. “It’s not about trusting you…It’s about protecting you.” His gaze softened just enough for you to notice, but it only made the pain worse. “I can’t lose…I can’t let you lose yourself.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You were trembling, your pulse racing in your ears, but now there was only a terrible stillness. You swallowed, trying to push down the bitterness that rose up in your throat.

“You don’t get to make decisions for me,” you snapped, barely holding back the frustration that bubbled to the surface. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You don’t get to act like you’re my father, making me follow some imaginary line, keeping me under your control. If you want to raise someone, you already have a baby at home.”

The moment the words left your lips, you saw it—just the faintest flicker of hurt in his eyes. The barest flinch. But it was enough to make you feel the weight of your accusation like a stone, sinking into your chest. The silence that followed was thick with it, suffocating, and you could feel the air growing heavier between you.

“I’m not your dad,” he said, the words low, the icy calm of his voice unmistakable. There was no anger in it, just a hollow, painful truth. But the sting of it was sharp enough to leave a mark.

You blinked, the sharpness of his response cutting through you like a blade. You wanted to fight back, to lash out with everything you had, but something stopped you. Instead, your voice came out quieter, almost hollow as you whispered, “I know…Do you know that?”

And then, just like that, you turned away, your breath ragged in your chest. You didn’t wait for his answer, didn’t wait for anything. You couldn’t stand the ache that had taken root in your chest, the fear that had begun to take shape in the corners of your mind.

And the door slammed behind you.

[cherrycheolkat]

• random slutty CUTE thoughts - seungcheol •

the valentine’s day one with clumsy cheol

seungcheol has big plans for valentine’s day, but everything seems to be going wrong - he just wants to make it the best valentine’s day you’ve ever had, no matter what

seungcheol had plans for your valentine’s day evening - he planned the food, the jewelry, the flowers, literally everything PLANNED

but now he’s lying on his back in a hospital bed because he tripped in the bathroom - he wasn’t even showering - he just slipped and whacked his head on the tile and maybe got woozy when he saw some blood

it was so embarrassing, literally everything about tonight was supposed to be sexy

but when you come into the hospital room, worried and squishing his cheeks, asking if he’s ’okay’ and ‘what can you do’ - all he can think is how you’re so cute when you’re worried about him, cooing over him and petting him, calling him ‘baby’ and kissing his forehead - he certainly doesn’t hate it

plus, he’s usually the one who’s protective, but you’re kind of scary when the nurses can’t answer basic questions, like whether it’s a serious head injury or a mild concussion

he’s annoyed when the doctor says he needs to stay the night because he can literally imagine everything he planned sitting at home and going to waste, but at least they say you can stay the night too

you had planned for that, of course, and already brought some extra clothes for yourself and for him, plus a tablet full of downloaded shows and movies and the pillow he likes and an extra blanket

it’s funny to him how a few things from home and having you curled against him make a hospital room seem almost homey

he’s almost okay with things, but also he isn’t at all - tonight was important - he had been waiting to tell you something and this wasn’t the romantic evening he had planned

but when you lean up to kiss him, your warm lips pressing to his, he immediately feels all the warm, quivering feelings you always make him feel - he loves those feelings dearly

you lean back slowly, smoothing his hair and staring at him quietly for a few moments, he returns your gaze, adoring the gentle way you look at him, like he’s someone truly special to you

you lean down again, kissing his cheek softly, “you’re so sweet for planning everything,” you whisper

he flushes slightly, “you weren’t supposed to see that,” he whines

you just smile, “but i did and it was so perfect” —

he stops you, “i know, but then i fell and ruined everything”

you shake your head, “you didn’t ruin anything, cheol,” you assures him, “it’s just a special story we can tell everyone one day,” she smiles, “the day i realized i was completely in love with you,” you kiss him again, lingering for a moment before pulling back

his eyes were large, “i was supposed to confess today!” he whined again

you laugh softly, “so go ahead then - it’s not like we can’t realize it the same day”

he shakes his head, “no, i’ve known - i just wanted to tell you today so it’s romantic…special,” he pouted

you nod, “ah, so you wanted it to be memorable when you told me?” you giggle, “there’s nothing memorable about today, i guess”

he knew you were joking, but he still sulked, and you press closer, “cheol,” you stroke his cheek, “really, i mean it, i love you,” you whisper, “just you,” you press another kiss to his cheek

“maybe i’ll pick another romantic day,” he exaggerated his pouting, making you laugh softly

you nuzzle close, “at least i told you as soon as i knew how i felt”

he sighs, “i knew at christmas when you picked the matching necklaces and refused anything else they had”

she laughed, “that? can it be something else?”

“no - it’s just when i knew you were really the person i love,” he strokes your cheek

you smile, “i guess it’s okay then”

he rolls his eyes, “i love you too,” he finally confesses

you nuzzle closer, enjoying his warmth, “i love you more”

he swats your arm gently, “i’m injured, let me win,” he pouts

you grin, “of course you win, my perfect cheol”

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

a/n: i just wanted something cute for cheollie

♡ kat

if you want to be tagged, go [here] my [master list] if you want to read more

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

Dustin shows up at his house the next morning.

"You have a concussion," Dustin says when Steve answers the door.

Steve squints at him. "Did you get your medical license when I wasn't looking?"

Dustin rolls his eyes. "Haha, very funny. Are you going to let me in?"

Steve doesn't really have a reason not to.

All right, well, he's got several reasons not to, starting with the fact that Steve isn't actually feeling so great and ending with Dustin being like thirteen and somehow always around when the world is ending.

But Steve is lonely, and feeling kind of pathetic, and none of them seem like good enough reasons, so he opens the door and lets Dustin in.

"From my mom," Dustin says, setting down a Tupperware of brownies on the coffee table.

Steve immediately knows he's made the right decision, taking a massive bite of chocolate, fudgy heaven. It's only after he's devoured one and he turns to Dustin to ask him to tell his mom thanks that he sees that Dustin's plopped his heart onto the coffee table, too.

"Hearts out, Steve," Dustin says matter-of-factly.

"Why?" Steve bitches. "What do you even need to look at it for?"

"You're in the Party now! Party rules, you have to show your heart before you can get your walkie," Dustin says.

Steve pulls a face, and immediately regrets it as it makes his eye and nose burst with pain. "Who says I even want to be in your party?"

Dustin's face falls. "Don't you?" he asks, sounding hesitant and uncertain.

It makes Steve's resolve crumble immediately.

"How about we start with friends?" Steve offers.

The kid's face lights up at that, giving him a gap toothed smile, but then he nudges his heart closer to Steve and looks at him expectantly.

Steve sighs and takes his own heart out, wincing a little as the motion twinges his bruised ribs. He sets it on the table next to Dustin's.

"There you go," Steve mutters.

Now that the light's better, he can see a hole right in the middle of Dustin's heart. It's small, but it goes all the way through, and it makes Steve's own heart give a soft pulse in empathy.

Dustin catches it, looks up to follow Steve's gaze, and drops his eyes. "My dad," Dustin mutters.

"Hey," Steve says softly, reaching out without even thinking about it to turn his heart a little.

There's two overlapping holes in the same place on his own heart, and Steve rubs his thumb over them, biting the inside of his cheek at the way it still prompts a soft echo of longing. "My parents," he tells Dustin.

Dustin looks around, like he's only just now realizing that there's been no sign of them since he rang the doorbell. "Oh," he says, soft and full of understanding.

It's honestly the most understanding he's ever received about his parents choosing to be mostly absent from his life, which makes him feel kind of pathetic, but also makes his heart warm in a way he's not sure it ever has before.

Dustin reaches out, stopping just short of touching Steve's heart as he gestures to the jagged line cutting through it.

"Nancy?" Dustin asks.

Steve's jaw sets.

He doesn't want to talk about it.

Dustin seems to take that as answer enough, though, because he just goes back to eagerly examining both of their hearts. Steve's is bigger than his - of course it is, because Dustin is thirteen, but they're both the same deep, vibrant red, and they both beat strong and steady.

It's barely any time before they're beating in unison.

Dustin looks back up at him, beaming that wide, goofy smile of his. "Cool," he proclaims.

—

Every time Dustin comes over after that - and it's a lot, honestly, Steve still doesn't know what to make of it - he plops his heart onto the coffee table and waits expectantly until Steve takes his out and puts it next to Dustin's.

They never touch each other's hearts, they never even talk about it, but at least twice a week Steve's able to breathe a little easier, able to actually relax.

—

He waits at the picnic table in the woods after school on his first day back.

Munson looks bored at first when he gets there, but then he does a double take, like Steve's injuries are worse now than they were at lunch.

Or maybe it's just that he's up close now, instead of on the other side of the cafeteria, or maybe it's just that Steve's tired and in pain and he doesn't give a shit about pretending like he isn't.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” Munson mutters, dropping his lunchbox on the table.

Steve shrugs. “I'd say you should see the other guy, but everyone did already.”

Munson is looking at him with suspicion, eyes narrowed as he takes him in. Steve wonders if he doesn't buy the story that's been floating around, if it's too easy to see that he and Hargrove both look pretty fucking bad for just blowing off steam and getting carried away.

Wonders if he'll call him on it.

Munson's expression smooths out, though, and he flips the lunchbox lid open. “How much do you want?”

Steve's eyes flick down to the chains on Munson's leather jacket, but no heart there today. Not that he could see anything if it was - Munson's been wearing his heart pinned to his jacket off and on since the last half of Steve's freshman year, but it's always wrapped up tight in chains or leather so that no one could get more than a glimpse of it.

Everyone said it was a flaunt of defiance against tradition and a way he could cheat people in his deals while maintaining the appearance of a fair exchange, but Steve always kind of figured it was just because he was tired of people demanding to see it whenever he sold to them while being reluctant to show theirs.

That, and it was like everything else Eddie Munson did - loud and in your face and purposefully drawing attention to what he wanted you to see, while guarding what he didn't close to his chest.

Steve's never bothered with attempting a mutual show of hearts the handful of times he's bought from Munson before - they aren't exactly new business partners, not even the first time he actually bought from Munson himself, and frankly Steve's never needed to see Munson's heart to know he's trustworthy enough that he's not going to give him bad shit, even if he does overcharge him.

But today's different.

He gently pops open his own chest, ignoring the faint twinge of his ribs, and takes his heart out, setting it on the table next to Munson's lunchbox.

Munson's eyes widen for a moment before his jaw sets, lips thinning out in a flat line as he looks down at Steve's heart and then back up to his face. “What the hell is this?”

“My heart,” Steve replies evenly.

Munson looks unimpressed. “I'm not showing you mine.”

“I didn't ask you to,” Steve says, unable to stop himself even though he knows he's being kind of a dick.

Munson looks at him for a moment. Then, “Whatever. How much do you want?”

Steve opens his mouth to say he isn't here to buy today, but - actually, no, he could probably use some weed to dull the pain and help him sleep. It's routine for a moment, both of them ignoring Steve's heart beating on the table next to them as they make the trade, until Steve's baggie is tucked inside his jacket and Munson's shoving cash into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Your Majesty,” Munson says, doing a little bow.

“Munson, wait,” Steve says.

Munson straightens, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Hargrove tried to blame this on you.” Steve gestures at his face. “Told me you sold him some bad shit.”

Munson goes very, very still. His eyes flick down to Steve's heart, so quick that Steve's not sure he would have noticed it if he wasn't watching Munson so closely.

“That so?” Munson asks. There isn't an edge in his voice - if anything, there's such a quiet neutrality to those two words that it almost feels more dangerous than if he'd tried to put a warning in them.

Eddie Munson's never scared Steve the way he does half the school - honestly, shitty as it is, Steve doesn't exactly think of him all that much - but there's no denying that Munson is no pushover. He can't tell if Munson is afraid, or angry, or just itching for a fight, but Steve didn't come here to freak him out.

He holds his hands up, palm out, and purposefully drags his gaze down to where his heart is beating calm and steady. “I don't believe him.”

Munson looks down at Steve's heart, lingering for a moment before darting back up. His expression is still unreadable. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he said he was going to spread it around, that you were lacing your stuff with something,” Steve says. “I'm pretty sure I convinced him it was a bad idea, but just in case.”

“You convinced him it was a bad idea,” Munson repeats flatly.

Steve shrugs. “I told him he should be nicer to you, that you always sell me the good shit.”

That gets a little snort out of Munson, startled and almost amused, and Steve grins at him.

“It won't be hard to tack that onto the rumor if he tries to spread it,” Steve says. “So you should be safe.”

Just like that, the amusement in Munson's expression is gone. “Yeah?” he asks, disdain clear in his voice. “And why does King Steve give a shit if I'm safe?”

It's an obvious challenge, and for just a moment - for just a moment, Steve wants to tell him.

To tell him how the King Steve shit first came about because Carol loved fairy tales when they were little and his parents were gone so much that Tommy called him king of the castle, that he has tons of people who call him their friend but the only people who come close to understanding him are his ex, her new boyfriend, and a gaggle of middle schoolers who're waiting for him to come pick them up.

That he's more tired than any seventeen year old should ever be.

“What kind of king would I be if I didn't protect my people?” he says instead of any of that, refusing to look at whatever his heart is doing.

It's high school, it's politics, it's bullshit, but it's still a game he has to play for a little longer.

Munson is watching his heart, now, and whatever he sees makes something complicated cross his face. For a moment, Steve picks up a hint of longing, but it's gone by the time he looks back up.

“Well then,” he says, wide grin back in place as he bows again. “Consider this court jester protected, Your Majesty.”

—

The phone rings at one am a few days later.

He isn't asleep - had been, earlier, but a nightmare had tipped him quickly into wakefulness, and he hadn't gone back - so he answers it almost immediately.

Nothing good comes from one am phone calls.

“How many teeth do you think those things have?” Max demands without so much as a hello.

“I don't know,” Steve bitches before he's thought better of it. “You want to come over and count the bite marks on my leg?”

There's silence for a moment.

“Yeah,” Max says, and Steve's gut twists.

“It's one in the morning, Mayfield,” he says. “What are you going to do, skate over? It's dark and cold as shit out there.”

“Didn't stop us at the junkyard,” she shoots back.

He's quiet for a moment. Then, “I'll pick you up.”

She snorts. “You're going to show up at my house at one am and pick me up? Yeah, that'll be a great look for you.”

“Then it looks like you're out of luck, and you'll have to pick out the teeth marks on my leg tomorrow.”

She doesn't say anything for a while. He doesn't rush her, just settles back with the phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear.

“Why'd you do it?” she asks eventually.

“I ask myself that about a lot of things,” he replies. “Which one?”

He half expects another snappy retort, but her voice just goes even quieter.

“Put yourself in front of me. Stand up to him.”

Oh.

“I don't need protecting,” she adds, and yeah, there's the attitude.

“I know you don't need it,” he says, even though that's a lie. She does need it, they all do. “I know you can look out for yourself.”

That's not a lie.

“But you shouldn't have to. You should have someone who'll look out for you.”

She scoffs. “And that's going to be you?”

He shrugs, even though she can't see it, and it hurts a little. “Why not?”

She's quiet again. “You don't even know me.”

He does, is the thing. He knows the way her eyes looked when she said Billy was going to kill her, he knows not being able to rely on the people you should count on most, even if it's not the same.

He knows how he felt the summer before high school, when his father finally grew too frustrated with waiting for Steve's heart to change, how he picked it up and nearly threw it across the room. He knows the sound of his mother yelling, how viciously they fought. How his father never touched him or his heart again, but Steve now knew what lurked behind his eyes when he smiled too big.

He knows how his mother has looked at him with disappointment more times than anything else, after that.

But he doesn't say any of that. Instead, he says, “So let's change that. Skate park or arcade tomorrow?”

“What?” she asks, clearly thrown.

“After you're done staring at my leg wound and counting teeth like a creep,” he clarifies. “Am I taking you to the skate park or the arcade?”

“Hawkins doesn't have a skate park,” she says dismissively. “It has abandoned parking lots and dirt holes.”

He waits.

“Arcade,” she says. “And I want popcorn.”

—

His walkie flares to life at night, sometimes.

After the first time, he leaves it on a different channel than their usual one - makes sure the kids know which one it is, if they need to use it - and sometimes, they do.

Okay, more than sometimes. It's not like Steve's sleeping all that well, though, so he doesn't mind when it happens almost every night for a few weeks.

“Steve, you awake? Over,” Lucas says one night.

“Yeah, I'm up,” he mutters into the walkie. Then, after a moment's pause, “Over.”

There's silence, and that wakes him up more than the walkie itself had.

“Lucas?” he asks.

“What if you weren't there?” Lucas says.

“What?” Steve asks.

“At the junkyard. With Billy. What if you weren't there?”

“But I was,” Steve says, frowning.

“I know, but what if you weren't?”

Steve sits up, rubs at his eyes a little. “I'll always be there when you guys need me, okay?”

“You can't promise that!” If it was Dustin or Mike it might have been an angry bite, but Lucas just sounds frustrated. Maybe even a little scared.

“Sure I can,” Steve argues, even though he kind of knows Lucas is right. “I have the walkie, right? You guys call me, and bada bing bada boom, I'm there.”

Lucas is quiet for a moment. “Are you still trying to get Nancy back?”

“What? No, of course not. Why?”

“Dustin said you were bringing flowers to Nancy when he made you help him look for Dart.”

Right, of course he did. Do these kids keep any secrets from each other?

“This isn't about Nancy, okay? This is about you guys. I showed my heart to Dustin and I have my walkie and everything, doesn't that mean I'm in your party?”

“You actually want to be in the Party?” Lucas asks, sounding skeptical. “But you're Steve Harrington.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Steve asks.

“Aren't you way too cool to hang out with us?” Lucas retorts.

This is - quickly becoming a conversation that Steve doesn't really want to have over a walkie talkie at past midnight on a school night. He huffs out a frustrated breath of air, then pushes the talk button on the walkie again.

“This weekend. Arcade or shooting hoops?”

There's a pause. Then, “Really?”

Steve swallows down his urge to be a dick. “Yeah. Really.”

“Basketball. The park?” Lucas asks.

“Nah, we can use the hoop in my driveway. Come on by whenever.”

—

Lucas is good. Unpracticed, especially at any kind of teamwork, but good. Steve has to be careful, with his injuries, but they still get some good work in, and it's fun.

It's not until they're finished and raiding the kitchen for some snacks that he asks, “So what was that about, a few days ago?”

Lucas noisily pops open his can of New Coke, and takes such a long drink that Steve's pretty sure he's doing it to avoid answering. Steve just raises an eyebrow.

“Nancy used to hang out with us,” Lucas says, almost reluctantly. “She even played D&D with us a couple of times. Then she went to high school, and then she started dating you, and suddenly she's too cool to hang out with us. Then - then everything with Will, the first time, and she promised Mike they'd spend more time together, but she didn't. Just kept dating you.”

That's - a lot. He hadn't known that about Nancy, except that she wasn't as close with Mike as she wanted to be, that she didn't know how to talk to him about everything that happened. He thinks about protesting that hey, he's the one who got Nancy to talk to Mike about Will - and had to be a part of it, ugh - but again, he's trying not to be a dick.

“So you're, what, worried that I goaded Nancy into not hanging with you guys?”

Lucas makes a face at him. “No, Nancy doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do. I believe you that you'll be here if we need you for Upside Down stuff again, but why would you hang out with us for the in between?”

That's a fair question. He wants to be flippant, wants to deflect with something like because Dustin keeps showing up at my house and won't leave me alone, but -

He remembers how terrified Lucas looked with Billy pinning him against the cabinet. He kind of wonders if anyone's talked to him about it, or if it got lumped in with all the other weird terrifying shit going on.

“Because it isn't always Upside Down stuff,” Steve says softly.

Lucas goes quiet. “El says Hopper told her you guys fixed it so Billy would leave us alone.”

“I think Max did that well enough, but yeah, Hop and I had a plan.”

“How?” Lucas asks.

Bullshit, is how, Steve wants to say, but he doesn't. “Billy's on the basketball team, and he wants to stay on the basketball team.”

Lucas frowns. “So?”

“So I've been on the team longer than him. Coach knows me better, the guys are used to looking to me. Well - some of them.” In all fairness, the basketball team's been kind of split - some of them gravitating to him, some to Billy, some trickling back and forth like kids with divorced parents.

“So… you're one of the cool kids, and you like us, so the more douchebag ones stay away from us?” Lucas asks.

Steve's nose scrunches a little as he considers that, but it's… not wrong. “Yeah, I guess so. Most of them are good guys, they don't like bullying anymore than I do. It doesn't stop the ones who are assholes from doing it where we can't see it, but it helps.”

Lucas looks like he's considering that for a long moment, until finally he nods.

Steve thinks that's the end of it, but later, as Lucas is heading out to leave, he asks, “So what happens if you're not there, and you can't see it?”

Steve resists the temptation to pinch the bridge of his nose - mostly because he knows it'll hurt like hell.

“The Y is offering self defense classes,” he says, when he's gotten himself under control. “I was thinking about taking one. You in?”

Lucas is in.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

-----

Part 4

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy

[sanguinesmi1e]

A Round Door Like a Porthole Lazarus Green Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

Part 4: An Unexp-ectoed Party

“So if I sink through this floor are you going to just summon me back here?” the man who had transformed into a child and then a small cat snake creature asked, resigned.

“Safe bet, yeah.” Tim answered before Constantine could point out that the summoning circle hadn’t done a very good job of containing him. Tim had so many questions. What was up with the first transformation? The guy had undergone some hellish amalgamation of a magical girl transformation sequence and spaghettification into a gordian knot, with all the grace and majesty of a dog horking up a half digested hot dog and then eating the barf. Tim wasn’t sure if he wanted to watch it again on repeat to analyze the bizarre, physics breaking sequence, or if instead he wanted a swift concussion that would  make him forget everything about it. Also, why turn into a child? And how? Is the guy a meta? Why did he do a color switch and reappear/reform wearing a jumpsuit that looked like a cross between a Level C HazMat suit and a superhero (or -villain) costume? Why was he in the lab in the first place? Who was he? Where’d he come from? Why was he disassembling a vehicle? Was this an attack against Fenton Works, WE, or something preemptive in case Luthor got his hands on the place? Is he working for Luthor? Fuck that would be bad. Tims thoughts kept scrolling through a list of all the information he needed to extract from the man.

“Ugh, fine. Let’s get this over with.” He swiped his hands down his face and sat up, uncaring or unaware that he left a big smear of grease on his cheek. “Before we start, what do you plan on doing with this information?”

“I’m doing an assessment of assets for Wayne Enterprises.” Tim prevaricated.

“And I was hired to consult when it looked like some magic shite got tangled in the tech.” Constantine added when the man turned his pointed gaze in his direction.

“Okay, so if it isn’t related to WE’s business, will you keep everything I say off the record, just between us?” the stranger asked. 

“Yeah, of course.” Tim lied.

Constantine shot him a strange, warning glare. “If it doesn’t endanger anyone to keep quiet, I agree to your terms.”

“Great!” His grin stretched inhumanly wide, full of teeth that were just a little too sharp. “The pact is sealed. So mote it be.” He clapped his hands together and a wave of green light washed over them.

Fuck! Was that some kind of fae bargain!?

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely! could i pretty please get a blueberry muffin (part 2) with this fic:

https://www.tumblr.com/moonstruckme/727381518213857280/not-sure-if-youre-taking-requests-buttttt

thank you!! 🫶🫶

Thanks for requesting <3

part 1

cw: concussion, vomit mention, maybeee some d/s dynamics? in the soft sense though

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 812 words

You’ve forgotten your sandwich again. It stays suspended in the air, halfway between your mouth and your plate, while you stare at the coffee table like there’s a riddle in the scratches on the wood. 

“Sweetheart,” Sirius prompts you. You look over at him, lost, and he nods to your sandwich. “Are you full?” 

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No.” 

You take another bite and press your lips together hard as you chew. Sirius worries you might cry again. It’s been on and off tears since they nabbed you from Marlene’s and if your aim was to cut through Sirius’ anger about you going when you shouldn’t have, you’ve done it thoroughly. He feels like he’s being cleaved open with each one that rolls down your cheek. 

“Does the paracetamol feel like it’s working?” Remus asks you. 

You nod, swallowing. 

Remus repositions himself in the arm chair, propping his chin on his hand with a sigh. James stops midway between the bathroom and the sitting room, his hair wet from the shower. 

“Uh oh,” he says. “Are we talking?” 

“We’re talking,” Remus confirms. 

James makes a face but sits down. His knee immediately begins bouncing. 

As ready as Sirius was to tear into you earlier, he feels for you too. You look into your lap as you pull the sleeves of Remus’ jumper over your fingers, waiting for someone to start. 

“Dove,” Remus sounds exhausted with this already, “you knew why going to that party was a bad idea for you.” 

“Yeah,” you say quietly. 

“Then why did you?” 

You’re picking apart the knit of Remus’ sleeve. Sirius takes your hands in his, stopping you. Your eyes linger on them. “It’s Marlene’s birthday,” you say. “She’s my friend.” 

“She is your friend, angel,” James says gently. “Do you think she really would have cared if you’d missed her party if she knew how awful it was for you to be there?” 

You look like you’re chewing the inside of your lip. “It wasn’t awful.” 

“You got sick on the drive home,” Sirius reminds you. Okay, it’s possible he’s still a little angry. “Do you mean to tell me that was the result of you having a good time?” 

He immediately feels like shit when your expression twinges painfully. 

“I know you wanted to be there for Marlene,” Remus cuts in, “and to make her happy, but I don’t think it was worth making yourself miserable.” His voice is calm. Sirius doesn’t know how he does it; Remus was the most upset when they learned you’d gone to the party, but somehow he manages to keep his tone gentle, his expression kind as he talks you through the fallacies in your own reasoning. “You need to be more considerate of yourself, dove.” 

“You are a considerate person,” James says. “We love that about you, sweetheart. You’re kind, and you’re always thinking about everyone else, it’s just that sometimes you think about them too much. Marlene getting to see you at her party, versus you getting the rest you need to keep your concussion from getting worse…” He mimes a scale with his hands, making a face. “It’s not a very fair trade-off, yeah?” 

You nod but don’t speak. Your eyes are on your lap, and when Sirius dips his head to try and see you better, your lips are a harsh, tortured line. He squeezes your hands. 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice thin. 

Remus makes a soft sound, reaching for you. “Come here, babydove.” 

You join him in his chair and Sirius sees his boyfriend’s worry finally dissipating as he mushes brief, ardent kisses into your hair. James smiles softly. 

“You’re alright,” Remus promises, voice muffled from how his lips are stuck to your head. He rubs up and down your back firmly while you hide your face in his chest. “We just want you to understand. So you don’t do it again.” 

“I know.” Your voice sounds fragmented, and it’s like ice picks through Sirius’ chest. “Sorry, it’s not you guys, I just—” You take a stilted breath. James moves to perch on the arm of Remus’ chair so he can squeeze your shoulder. “I just really don’t feel well.” 

“Oh, I know.” Remus rests his forehead on top of yours. “I’m sorry.” 

“Do you feel like you could be sick again, baby?” Sirius asks. When you shake your head, he stands. “Then let’s go to bed, yeah? Do you feel sufficiently lectured?” 

Your shoulders give a little shake, and though he already suspects it’s from laughter, James’ grin confirms it. 

“Do you want us to keep Remus away from you?” James teases, giving your shoulder another squeeze. “Would that make you feel better?” 

“Yes,” you say, while winding your arms around Remus’ waist. 

Remus doesn’t even feign offense. Only cups the back of your head and mushes another kiss into your hair.