#i whispered it to him ‘keep the hair’ in a lucid vision and so he delivered

[crandberrysaucewithpulp]

did he think we were all going to be okay after today or is he completely oblivious to what he’s done

[lomlkenji]

༊*·˚ back home | peter parker

★ summary : peter doesn't want to be complicated anymore.

★ warnings : set after no way home, SO CHEESY GOODBYE. mentions of injuries & blood but nothing too detailed.

★ word count : 0.6k

── ⋆⋅☆ main masterlist

ᝰ                 The sun starts to peak into the skyline when you woke up by the sound of constant knocking. You groaned and groggily rolled over to your side, blinking your eyes quickly to get your vision focused. The knocking didn't seem to stop. You were certain that it was coming from your window and that made you even more confused.

"What the hell-" you tiredly mumbled. Your hands moving to wipe the sleep out of your eyes as your feet patted against the floor, moving to the sound.

You squint your eyes when you noticed a figure hanging outside the window. You were still delirious, so maybe you're having a lucid dream. But when you got a glimpse of the figure outside— you can recognize that suit from anywhere.

You immediately became more awake, "Holy shit. Peter?" the figure waved and you quickly opened your window for him to climb through.

He was clutching his side, his posture was tense, and his face resembled someone who just got their ass beaten up.

"Hey." He whispered softly; a fond smile made its way to his face in your sleepy state. He felt guilty for bothering you this early in the morning but when he got to see you like this— with messy bed hair, your eyes drooping, trying so hard to keep them open, wearing his worn-down midtown t-shirt, his guilt melts away. You are so so gorgeous without even trying.

You moved closer to him, "Don't "hey" me, are you hurt?!" you worriedly exclaimed, scanning him from top to bottom.

Peter's heart fluttered at your concern. Even when he knows that you could just ignore him and go back to sleep. Your hands were carefully moving around him trying to assess any injuries and he was in some sort of a daze as he looked at you. It made his heart yearn for you even more. No one has ever cared for him like this, it was merely luck that he had met you.

"Peter?" you called out to him when you noticed the spaced out look on his face.

"Hm?"

His eyes locked on yours and you had to stop yourself from shrinking back at how piercing his gaze was. He's giving you one of the looks that the main character in a movie always gives their love interest and it makes you feel warm all over.

"You okay?"

He nodded, "I am now." He didn't look away from you and you can't seem to take your eyes off of him too. Peter seemed to be having a battle inside of his head, as if he wanted to say something he shouldn't.

"I don't want us to be complicated." he settled with. His voice was tiny, almost as if he was scared to break the little comfortable bubble you guys were in.

You furrowed your eyebrows, confusion written on your face, "What do you mean?"

He sighed before continuing, "I like you. Y/N." he spoke, stepping closer to you, making your breath hitch. "I feel like I'm going crazy every time I'm with you. You make me feel safe and I don't have to worry if anything I say will annoy you, or you'll find me weird. Cause every time I ramble, you ramble with me and my heart just explodes." he tearfully laughed. "To me, you're home."

Your eyes softened and blinked a few times before a grin made it's way to your lips. You don't know what happened to him that made him do this, but you'll remember to ask that about that later.

"So please," he whispered, leaning his forehead on yours. His voice broke at the end and it made your heart give out a painful squeeze, "Be mine?"

You didn't waste time nodding your head. "Okay." you softly whispered, and Peter felt like he could scream from all of the emotions he's feeling. "You're my home too, y'know." you snickered.

"Oh thank god. I didn't actually think this would work." he nervously chuckled, a pink blush forming on his cheeks.

Your face began to hurt at how big you were smiling, "You had my heart from the very beginning you idiot."

Everything suddenly makes sense. The pieces are all falling into place. Years of pining and you finally got him.

"And mine, yours."

reblog for a kiss <3

[roxygen22]

Timothee gets sick on the set of a complete unknown and filming has to be stopped so he can come home to rest and get taken care of cuz he’s working himself to the bone and he’s exhausted. His body now forcing him to rest.

Reader = ACU cast or crew

Awake

Timothée sat in the producer chair, looking as if he had collapsed into it haphazardly. One leg was outstretched while he leaned on his elbow in the opposite direction, cradling his forehead in hand. The cast and crew had been through a long day of retakes for A Complete Unknown. Everyone was tired and ready to blow off some steam at happy hour at the nearby dive bar.

You were laughing and carrying on with your pals on your way out the studio door when you noticed him still just sitting there unreactive. Your pace slowed until you came to a complete stop, causing your friends to turn back when they felt your absence.

"Y'all go on ahead. I'll catch up in a few," you called to them, never taking your eyes off Timothée.

"Uh huh...," one friend said skeptically.

"Shoot your shot!" called the other. They fell into a fit of giggles like a bunch of schoolgirls as soon as they stepped foot outside. You blushed, regretting having divulged your crush on Timothée to them.

You shyly started walking toward him, tucking your hair behind your ear as you silently psyched yourself up. *Ok, deep breaths. Come on, [Y/N], you talk to him every day.*

You cleared your throat to get his attention when reached the side of his chair. "Hey, everyone is heading across the street to Nicky's if you'd like to join."

Your confidence waned slightly as he just continued staring off into the void. Still determined, though, you stepped in front of the chair into his line of sight and waved your hand in front of his face.

"Helloooo! Earth to Timmy?!"

"Huh? Oh, hey, [Y/N]." Broken from the haze, Timothée looked up at you without actually seeing you. Your irritation melted into pity when you saw the dark purple stains under his eyes as he rubbed them. "'sup?"

"I just wanted to let you know a bunch of us are hitting up happy hour across the street if you'd like to join," you repeated.

"Oh, uh, thanks. I-," he zoned out and interrupted himself with a yawn. "I need- I have things to- keep working." He attempted to stand but lost his balance and abruptly sat back down, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear his vision.

"Whoa, are you okay?!" you exclaimed. "When was the last time you ate something? Or slept?"

"I- I dunno," Timothée all but whispered, words running together. There was little energy to his voice. "I'll be...I'll be fine." He stood again, and this time, you were prepared to catch him by the arm when he faltered.

"You should go home. Not just to your trailer. You're no good to us here if you run yourself into the ground," you retorted. "Let's get you into an Uber."

You were shocked that Timothée didn't put up much of a fight and allowed you to lead him outside to the bench. You paced as you opened the app to hale a ride. You vaguely remembered him mentioning his neighborhood in a previous group conversation, so you just entered a nearby address, hoping he would be lucid enough to guide the driver to the correct spot. When you looked over and saw Timothée's head slump onto his shoulder, though, you knew you couldn't let him go on his own. He was so sleep-deprived that he was essentially drunk.

The driver was nearby, so luckily there was little wait time. You shook Timothée awake and guided him to the back seat, then ran around the car to join him on the other side. Once the car started to roll, you pulled a protein bar from your bag.

"Hey." You nudged him with your elbow to get his attention as he nodded off again. "Here, munch on this while we ride." You opened the packaging to make it easier for him.

Timothée reached out to take the bar and slowly began to nibble on the corner. Every few minutes, his hand would fall to his lap until he jerked awake, and then he would eat a little more. You took the wait as an opportunity to text your coworkers and let them know you wouldn't be joining them at the bar. As expected, you were greeted with smiley and kissy faces in response. You just rolled your eyes and blushed.

As you got closer to your destination, you firmly but gently shook his shoulder. "Timothée, I'm going to need your help finding the right building and apartment, okay?" You hopped out when the car stopped and helped him stand up. "Can you point me in the right direction?" Despite holding up the man of your dreams and object of your affection, you felt incredibly alone and vulnerable as the car drove away, leaving the two of you on the empty sidewalk.

"There," he muttered as he shakily pointed across the street. Luckily, the address you had entered was just shy of exactly where you needed to be. You threw his arm over your shoulder to support his weight up the stairs. He continued to lean against you in the elevator, and you allowed yourself just a moment to enjoy his warmth.

Timothée clumsily led the way to his apartment door and fumbled with his keys. You took his hand in yours to stabilize it as he unlocked the door. Once inside, you steered him to his bedroom, where he collapsed onto the bed. You shimmied off his shoes and covered him with a nearby throw blanket as best you could.

Feeling quite awkward being in his apartment, but also feeling unsafe to stand alone outside in a strange neighborhood waiting for a ride of your own, you settled on the couch. You knew Timothée's character well enough to know he wouldn't want you to put yourself in danger for the sake of propriety.

You must have been more exhausted than you realized because you quickly succumbed to the comfort of the cushions. Sunlight from the panoramic window gently woke you, along with the smell of eggs cooking. You stretched and opened your eyes lazily, but startled when you didn't immediately recognize your surroundings. You shot straight up and looked around frantically. The plush blanket that Timothée must have covered you with fell to the floor.

You heard a familiar but gravelly voice humming in the kitchen. Your head swiveled in the direction of the sound to see Timothée come around the bar in a baggy t-shirt and boxer shorts. Your eyes went wide, and you reactively pulled the blanket back up to your chin, mortified by how disheveled you must look.

"You're awake," he noted with a smile.

"So are you," you squeaked and cleared your throat. Your heart nearly beat out of your chest as Timothée sat on the other end of the couch by your feet. *Keep it cool, [Y/N],* you admonished yourself.

"So, uhh, thanks for helping me get home safely. Sorry for derailing your night." He rubbed the back of his neck, and his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"I didn't have any big plans," you replied coolly, as if you weren't exactly where you wanted to be.

"But I bet crashing on someone's couch wasn't one of them," he retorted, causing you to chuckle.

"That certainly wasn't on the agenda," you teased.

"I made some eggs if you'd like some," he transitioned the conversation awkwardly. "It's the least I could do to repay your kindness."

"Oh, they smell delicious, but I'm already running late." You stood to look for your phone and bag.

His eyes followed you as you moved, and you couldn't help but notice the dark circles had slightly faded. "For work?" he questioned, and you nodded.

He jutted his chin toward your bag. "Check your phone. I got James to give everyone a couple of days off. I know I need it, and I'm sure the others do, too."

You swiped through the seemingly millions of notifications from your friends and coworkers who were eager for an update. Sure enough, there was also a message from the director. You raised your chin and unintentionally locked eyes them with Timothée's. *He has such gorgeous eyes.*

"Stay?" he pleaded. Your breath caught. Surely this was just a dream. "At least have breakfast with me."

You bit your lip to camouflage the grin threatening to take over your face, but it was no match for his answering grin when you nodded. "But only if you promise me that you'll actually rest and never let yourself get that exhausted again!"

"Maybe I need someone around to remind me." Timothée smirked as blush dusted your cheeks. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. Who were you to stop him?

<><><><><>

Masterlist

Tag List:

@croatianprincess @bluizh @jindongdongie @groovy-lady @pmak2002

[wild-lavender-rose]

Hi, I was just wondering if you're planning to do a part 2 for the Hawkeye story where the reader falls and gets hurt?

Hey! So, I was looking over that fic and realized that I promised a part two like, three years ago *face palms*. You are one of the many, many people who have asked me, anon and off, to write the second part of the story. So here we are! The long awaited part two of Falling. Enjoy <3

Falling (part 2)

Warning: description of injury, mention of surgery, cannon typical swearing, brief intense kiss

Time passed by without your notice. You existed in a haze, in and out of sleep as people existed around you, caring for your injuries. The pain that had been absent at first hit you like a bomb. You had a vague memory of screaming before they put you under, begging for the pain to end.

Three nails or four? You couldn't remember. Once, in the blurred existence of your concussion, you heard someone say five nails. Five nails buried deep within your thigh, extricated one by one in a three hour surgery. Twenty five stiches, that you knew for sure. You had asked Margaret once when you were lucid, watching as she changed your bandage with the discreetness of an expert nurse.

"Hawkeye did a great job," she assured you, with a kindness you didn't expect but gratefully accepted. "You'll barely have a scar."

Hawkeye had been there almost constantly. You didn't have to be awake to feel his presence. His presence felt like warm sunshine on a spring morning. You always felt safer, stronger, when he was around. If you had been in your right mind, you would have been embarrassed and ashamed because of his attention. But in your weakened state, you yielded to the attention.

At night, when you struggled to sleep from the pounding in your head, his fingers would card through your hair until you drifted off. He always whispered to you, careful to keep the noise around you lowered as you suffered through your concussion. He told you stories of his dad and things he would do as a boy. Some things were funny, some were sad. When you were awake you would thank him without meeting his eyes. And when you were resting, he would hold your hand. Once, you cautiously squeezed his finger, heart jumping when he squeezed them back.

You recovered over time, until you were well enough to sit in bed and eat the small meals that the nurses brought to you. Radar even brought you a piece of chocolate, and Klinger drove to a meadow three miles outside of camp just to pick you a bunch of wild flowers to put by your bed. Your vision was still blurry, so sometimes B.J. would read to you. Potter ensured that a screen was put up around your bed so that you could have privacy from the wounded soldiers. It felt nice to be cared for. But the best thing was being able to pretend, just for a while, that Hawkeye cared for you the most.

You were testing out your eyesight by trying to read one of Radar's bold printed comics when the sound of an argument burst into the post-op wing. It was Hawkeye and Frank.

"It's not my fault she couldn't keep her balance, Klinger's the one who,"

"Klinger didn't do one damn thing to make her fall, Frank. You were the one who told them to go up there."

"So?!" Frank's voice squeaked. "What should I have done, hang the banner myself?" He scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

Footsteps sounded, heading towards your screened in bed. You dropped the comic book.

"Go near her and I'll hang you by your toes, Frank. She's my patient and I gave orders for no visitors."

That wasn't exactly true. When Hawkeye said no visitors he really meant no Frank.

"You can't scare me." Frank sneered. "You're just using her little fall as an excuse to have her all to myself. You can't fool me, taking all the night post-op shifts so you can be with her."

Your heart stopped and stomach twisted. Your fingers fisted the blanket, straining to hear more.

"Shut up, Frank." Hawkeye's tone was even and deadly.

Frank scoffed again. "With the way she looks at you, she probably fell just to get your attention."

"Leave. Now."

Frank was silent. Maybe he had finally noticed the dangerous edge in Hawkeye's voice. You couldn't breathe. The silence filled the room, their words thickening the air.

Finally, without saying a word, the footsteps turned and walked away, followed by an angry banging against the swinging doors as Frank left post-op.

The silence stayed thick and overwhelming. You looked down, feeling self-conscious in the big shirt you were wearing. Some of the buttons were undone. You fiddled with them, shaky fingers trying vainly to button the flap closed. Tears of embarrassment began to make hot trails down your face.

Hawkeye entered your little makeshift room. You could feel his gaze on you.

"I need to go." You whispered, voice cracking. "Back to my tent, away from here."

"You're not ready yet. Your stitches,"

"I'll take care of them myself." You dropped the buttons and tried to wipe your tears away. "Please let me go."

"I can't."

"Please."

The cot squeaked as Hawkeye sat down beside you. You dared to look up at him, surprised to find an expression on his face you didn't understand.

Moving slowly, Hawkeye reached out to cradle the side of your face. It was an action he had done many times when he thought you were sleeping. He leaned forward. Before you had time to think your lips touched and time stopped.

Hawkeye kissed you deeply, earnestly, with a love you had never wanted and desperately craved. Shock melted into relief. Your hands found his hair while his thumbs wiped the tears off your face, kissing him as if his taste was your air. He leaned against you, hands sliding down to your waist.

You gasped softly into his mouth as he eased you back onto the bed, breaking the kiss as your thigh gave a painful throb.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Hawkeye hovered over you, blue eyes full of concern.

You nodded, hands sliding down to rest on his shoulders. "Are you just trying to make me feel better?"

A soft smile softened his face. "I have many layers of intention."

"What does that mean?" You asked, expecting a joke.

"I love you."

You blinked, your fingers freezing against his shirt.

Hawkeye nodded, smile widening into a grin. "I do, sweetheart. I love you."

Slowly, you smiled back. "I love you too."

"Really?" Hawkeye looked as if he had just won the lottery, his grin making your heart beat hard and fast. "Well then," his grip tightened on your waist. "Next time you want to get my attention, maybe don't fall off a support beam. Deal?"

You blushed and nodded, smiling into another kiss.

And that was the day you and Hawkeye fell for each other.

Fanfic Masterlist

[love4heejayke]

SYNOPSIS: Born from the full moon's light, Y/N is sent by her witch aunt on a secret mission to Decilis Academy, the purpose of which is to investigate the source of the obscure energy that hovers under the Silver Millennium. However, when she saves her roomate Sooha from the attack of dark creatures with the power to fortify themselves from the energy of nightmares and discovers her secret identity, she promises not to tell them, but everything changes once she falls for Lee Heli, one of Decelis' star students and posibily, her past life's lover.

TAGLIST #1: (closed) @enhacolor @amarillyis @ckline35 @fairycheol @jeanbobean @heejakegf @axartia @ineedcoffeeandtherapy @rosie-is-everywhere @prdxinvade @heedeungieluvbot @jungwonnnnnnnnnnnn @bambisgirl @yebin14 @m4r1eluvr (can't tag you darling, sorry)

TAGLIST #2: (open) [comment or send ask] @l1lac-dreamer @bluemanifesto @ineedaherosavemeenow @ahnneyong @jiawji @aki1e @yjjungwon @captivq @jaxavance @rikiluvly @dimplewonie @talia02 @cherriegyu @enhastolemyheart

masterlist • next

prologue: lucid dream

That night's sky is covered with gray clouds and the environment containing dry trees with gnarled trunks and branches and dry grasses, give shape to the terrifying aspect of the Forest of Sorrows. Through the white haze, a woman ran breathlessly from faceless shadow wraiths. Even barefoot and dressed in her long white dress torn by the sharp branches of trees, the woman was able to dodge easily thanks to her powers of night vision, dodging obstacles and jumping over rocks in her path, however, when she reached a high cliff that led to the land full of sharp stones, she almost slipped to that bottom, but she managed to balance and stop in time for the shadows to surround her. One of them created, by swinging her "hands", chains of black malachite to bind her torso. The woman tried to debate and take her to the deepest region of the forest, where a creature with black skin and stars and galaxies, distorted face, horns on top of the head, arms for ears, well defined human torso and 100 paws of centaurs in place of legs, greeted the young woman whose skin was as white as the moonlight and hair as black as the trunks of the trees, with a mischievous smile.

"My beloved great-grand daughter! I've finally found you!" said the creature with 50 diferent voices in its throat

"Leave me alone you vile freak!" the brunette frowned

"If you wanted to be alone so badly, why did you come here, then?"

This was not the first time the monster had pursued her, it had also haunted her dreams, like a shadow in the grand Silver Millennium and like whispers in the winds of the forests of the kingdom, at all times it was there, keeping an eye on the woman, waiting for the right moment to persuade her and that night, it had finally arrived.

"Spare me from your cynicism, freak, you were the one who brought me here first, so I command you to let me go!" she moved but groaned loudly as she felt the chains tighten tighter and burn her skin more, making her fall to her knees, with her body being torn apart by that torture.

"Uh-uhn, be quiet my little grand daughter. These chains were made just to contain your impulsivity, so try to move as you can, you'll only hurt yourself badly." they said, tightening the height of those dark green chains by raising their hands and unleasing a dark green aura.

"Please, make it stop!" she cried in despair.

"I do, if you want to hear what I have to say."

"I'll listen, just please, spare me from this suffering!"

Far from feeling compassion for its granddaughter, the thing caused the chains to come out of its body with the gentle swing of its left hand. She glared at him with a furious look, but he, frowning and smiling slyly at her, he replied:

"Do not look at me like this, darling. I know you feel a pain worst that the one caused by me, but I brought you here just to offer you the relieve of them."

"Save your breath, demon, you don't know nothing about me!" the witch gritted her teeth and advanced her free body on top of him.

"Oh, but I do, my darling." he lifted her chin with one of his hands and whispered in her ear "I know how horrible it feels being diferent, worthless and imperfect towards your mothers and your sisters." he murmured "Poor child, all of them so strong and elegant and beautiful with their bright wings dominating the kingdom, while they trample over you like a puny insect."

The woman clenched her fists as she felt her blood boil, black veins begin to impregnate her skin and the irises of her eyes change from a shining silver to a bloody red, but she took a deep breath in an attempt not to give in to anger, but the voices of the animal were seductive and that made it harder for her to resist.

"You..." she grunted "...I... don't feel nothing."

"I know you feel it, that's why I want to give you the power to increase your magic and your influence, to take revenge on your sisters and thus be the only and most beautiful heiress of the family."

The more she tried to overcome that hypnosis, the more it consumed her, until she got to the point where in her head she heard nothing but the sounds of the horrifying creature, so she stopped debating with herself and listened to it.

"What should I do?"

"Nothing, just listen to me."

With its powers, a dark aura ascended from its hooves to its head, leaving her body and giving the beast momentum to levitate. With that, it uttered the following words:

"Under the blood moon's light on the longest night of the 1500th day, I will bestow upon you the blessing of the New Moon and the most beautiful wings this world has ever seen, however you must sacrifice the life of the person you hold most dear, or everyone you love or all of them will be cursed under my power. Once the ritual is performed, no other force in the universe will be able to stop it."

New Moon mana is the primeval mana of the Moon, corrupted by dark magic. Those born with it possess supernatural abilities such as telepathy, illusionism, invisibility, teleportation, and enhanced strength and speed. However, when the sacred power of the Moon is corrupted by dark magic, either by birth or executing a pact with beings wielding this power, dark manipulation was added to this mana's list of supernatural abilities. Although it empowers enchantments summoned by silver mana, it also makes its wielder manipulable and unconscious, consuming all of its life force until its demise, which is why its spells were banned 3 centuries ago by the experienced priests and mages of the Solar Empire.

As much as that woman appeared not to love anyone but herself, she does love somoene, someone very close to her, whose life seemed so different, but the burden they both carry is the same. However, those things that make them so distant from each other are what make her heart cold and blind to revenge, so if that someone needed to die in her hands so that she could be pretty and happy for all eternity, so be it.

She raised her head, looked in the direction of the faceless creature and shook hands, thus firming the pact. When the wave of black energy penetrated her skin, she felt strong shocks hurt her insides, shocks that were more painful than malachite chains, so she squinted her eyes and screamed loudly, at the same time which another girl shouted in the same tone.

But this was a different scenario, another woman was lying on her soft double bed, inside her dark blue room, with the white curtains overlapping the silver ceiling, decorated with fluorescent stickers of the crescent moon and stars. Her shrill scream and the destructive waves that damaged some of the decorations in her room were the last acts she could utter before passing out and her body completely paralyzing.

She stayed like that for almost 3 minutes, until she alone woke up from her unconscious state with her eyes wide open and the deep sigh of her lungs released, but she woke up with worse signs of her previous state: her body was shaking with fear, chills accompanied of cold sweat on her skin and an uncomfortable chill in her stomach. As she looked around her room, she saw a broken china vase on the floor, shattered light bulbs, cracked pillars, and her favorite silver oval mirror shattered by her supersonic scream. With her eyes closed again, she projected in her mind all these objects in perfect condition and with the sway of her fingers, she invoked blue butterflies to restore them, but as soon as this was done, she burst into tears, not only because of the fear she felt. that dream gave him, but also for the guilt of having caused so much damage with his power.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷☽⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

The star-poor sky on that dark night, lit up with the walk of that beautiful woman. Her long skirt brought the stars, not only illuminating those in the sky, but caused others to be born in her presence. Heli saw this scene through the eyes of a tall man with short-cropped hair as soft as wine color silk, eyes as golden as sunlight, and tanned skin that looked as if it had been kissed by the sun, he was staring he watched that scene dazed, as if he was hypnotized by her long straight platinum hair, blessed by the moonlight, dancing to the rhythm of the cool summer wind.

Before, the boy had looked downcast and on his knees together at a terrace, his head overloaded with conflicting thoughts, but when he looked directly into the eyes of the beautiful lady, - who sat by his side for reasons which he could not understand - whose glow was worthy of an entire galaxy, his heart sped up in a frantic rhythm, as if he were going to die that night, but that didn't matter, because when he's next to her, the voices in his head were silent and the low, but melodious and welcoming from her, was the only thing he needed to hear.

But Heli's thoughts were awakened when her fingers intertwined with his, finding himself now lying in his room, breathing unevenly, with his entire body on fire, but an unrelenting chill in his stomach.

Who was she? Was she an angel? A goddess? A sorceress? What had happened that night? What were those people talking about? So many questions swirled around in his mind, but he was unable to find the answers to all of them, yet somehow, he felt like he needed to meet the enchanted lady of his dreams again.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷☽⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Sooha now saw herself as a beautiful baby, with short hazel hair, skin and lips as soft and pink as a peach, and a nose as small as a grain of rice. She was crying loudly, terrified by the sound of swords slashing, but a tall woman with dark brown hair - whose face he couldn't recognize as his vision of her was blurry - rocked her gently in her arms and sang a lullaby to soothe her. there.

(A/N: To all my fellow Tangled stans, read this as the Sun Encantation from the movie, you're welcome, bye!)

Pretty rose from moonlight, born in the purple night

Light the darkest night, and save my fadiding sight

As she sang the melodic song, a spiral of purple waves enveloped her and the baby, slowly calming her down. The child giggled at the song and touched her mother's face, accidentally absorbing some of her mana manifesting in a purple lock behind her right ear, yet she never stopped humming until her baby fell asleep.

Guide the shining stars, heal my deepest scars

Rose from all your might and change the fate's design

The fate's design

With the harmonious voice of the woman and the protection of that remnant of purple mana, the baby fell asleep with a warm smile on her face. However, a blonde older than the brunette gently approached her and with a desolate look she said:

"Madam, the hour has arrived for us to depart."

"At this moment? Pray grant me a little more time with her."

"I would be most willing to oblige, my lady, yet the encroaching New Moon Malachites leave us no choice. Should they seize hold of your daughter and lay claim to her power, naught shall hinder them from seizing the Silver Millennium for their Master."

She sighed with regret. That woman never wanted to abandon her daughter, as she loves her with all the love in the world, but unfortunately, it was at war, and the little girl in the woman's arms that Sooha unconsciously saw, was one of the keys to conquering the enemies. So with such a heavy heart, the woman handed her eldest child to that lady, but not before saying goodbye to her for the last time.

"Farewell my little rose. May the moonlight protect you on your journey." she said placing a kiss on his forehead.

And with that warm act of affection, Sooha opened her eyes and woke up from her reverie, her heart racing and her mind more confused than usual. For a whole year she already had this kind of dream, she saw herself as a princess to be protected by her 7 knights, but this time it was different, because she saw herself as a child she barely knew in her life, with two women that she never imagined they would find them, but somehow she felt that everything her eyes had seen, belonged to her past.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷☽⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Hidden in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to devour themselves from their targets' dreams, the Umbrasugas are creatures created to suck the mana of their prey's dreams, weak and vulnerable but once they acquire enough power, they can change shape to become adapt to the environment of your next hunt. In this dawn when humans and inhumans fell asleep, an umbrassuga changed from its solid form to the shadow, using one of its suction cups to suck the air and move among the darkness, once its bristles feel the presence of active mana, it becomes drags through the air and when it comes into contact with the ground, it molds itself back to its corporeal form and climbs until it attaches itself to the head of its prey, sucking the essence of its dreams with its other suction cup, until it accumulates enough power to run behind your new hunt.

On that particular night, the creature had the feast of a lifetime by absorbing mana from 3 powerful dreams: of two princesses desperate for answers. Such power was more than enough for the creature to alternate between its shadow form to leave that room unnoticed and outside, return to solidity and transform into a beetle, seeking its new hunt in that bright night.

A/N: dear diary, I'm fucking freaking out!

[beholdthemem]

Have you done the meme with RoseEddie? I feel like you did in the tags, but can't find it

If I have, I can't find it either, so we're doin it now! Thank you @sandpancakecat for indulging me (and for your patience when I disappear T-T)

(Meme in question)

Who...

-Said I love you first?

I'm gonna say Rose, actually! It happens during yet another fate-of-the-world-is-at-stake incident (such is the life of a superhero. The world can never just stay saved, can it?). Ordinarily that'd just be a Tuesday, but this time Eddie gets himself hurt. Bad. He and Rose are separated from the rest of the team, and he's losing so much blood, and Rose is furiously applying what limited first aid skills she knows just trying to keep him alive long enough for someone better at this to reach them, and God, how many times have they been here before? 

She hates that this isn't the first time this has happened, and she's scared to death that it's going to be the last. Precognition means seeing every possible future, everything that COULD happen, with no way to know which will be the one to land. She hates that every fucking time Eddie's put his neck on the line for someone else, taken the shot trying to shield a teammate, gotten himself beaten, stabbed and broken taking on a threat he knows damn well is out of his weight class so some civilian who didn't evacuate in time can get away, she's seen a version of the world where he doesn't get back up. And what scares Rose this time is that she's seeing a lot of different futures where he dies from this. One where no one gets to them in time. One where help arrives, but by the time they've moved him, it's too late. One where he makes it long enough to die in a hospital bed, a few hours before dawn tomorrow.

"Don't you dare," she hisses, like he'd even know what she was talking about if he was lucid enough to hear her. "Don't you dare die on me, don't you FUCKING dare-"

She'd assumed the moisture on her face was sweat. It's not until her vision blurs that she realizes she's crying.

"You don't get to leave me here alone with these assholes and take the easy way out!" The smell of gasoline is choking her, his blood coating her hands, her uniform, the mask she'd taken off as a makeshift rag to staunch the wounds. "You're the only reason I came back, you can't just fucking die now..."

She hears her voice crack, and hates herself for it.

"You can't die," she's never begged anyone for anything, but she is right now. "Goddammit, I love you, you can't leave me too-"

For a split second, she thinks she sees him make eye contact with her, a hint of recognition there. And then she hears a yell from afar as one of their useless fucking teammates finally shows up to provide some help.

-Would have the other's picture as their phone background?

Eddie has this one photo of Rose that he's kept on his phone in secret for forever. She's mid sentence, talking to this little civilian girl who she's got balanced on her hip, busily telling the kid a story to keep her distracted while somebody else finds the parent she'd gotten separated from during H.I.V.E's attack earlier. The girl is laughing for the first time since they'd found her, accidentally pulling Rose's hair a little while trying to keep her grip in Rose's arms. Rose hadn't even flinched.

As far as Eddie knows, nobody else has ever seen Rose like that- gentle, reassuring, silly. It wasn't done for him to see, but... she didn't hide or downplay it while he was there. Like it wasn't done for him to see, but it was still okay that he saw it. He doubts Robin or Cassie would've believed her capable- they'd left him in charge of the sobbing little girl while they did search and rescue, as if his only child ass had the slightest clue what to do. Thank fuck Rose had been there to scoop her up, whispering whatever mysterious things one said to crying children to calm them down, and effectively saving the day as far as he was concerned. 

As soon as Eddie is provided with the slightest inkling that Rose actually likes him back, he makes that photo his phone background.

-Leaves notes written in the fog on the bathroom mirror?

Eddie. Every time.

-Buys each other cheesy gifts?

When they actually start dating, they both do this purely to affectionately annoy each other. If you'd told Eddie back in the early days of his crush on the cool, scary, acid-tongued sword girl that he would one day be buying her a stuffed bear holding out a felt rose and not getting his head ripped off for insolence, he would've accused you of making fun of him.

-Initiated the first kiss?

Rose, during a period of time when Eddie had lost his powers and was feeling particularly useless. Done right after suggesting that there might be advantages to being a normal squishy human, too.

-Kisses the other awake in the morning?

Rose, because she's the kind of person who gets up disgustingly early every day. VOLUNTARILY. This way of life is foreign to Eddie, and he has to be effectively bribed back into the waking world with caffeine, kisses, or Rose's very excited pitbull. She's only willing to keep the dog out of the room until 8:30.

-Asks the other if they can join them in the shower?

ROSE.

-Surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch?

In a world where they both live long enough to age out of Titans and become independent heroes with Responsible Adult Day Jobs, I think they would both do that! Eddie would just walk in to bring it to Rose without trying to hide from her coworkers, Rose would sneak in and sneak up behind him to be like 'Hey, time for a lunch break' and scare the shit out of him before he realizes it's her. Why does she insist on doing this? No one knows. Possibly she just enjoys being a little shit, or maybe she just finds his coworkers annoying. Even with enough time and therapy to be semi well adjusted, her list of Peers I Actually Like can still be counted on one hand, with Eddie at the top of the list.

-Was nervous and shy on the first date?

Unexpectedly... Rose. At least, slightly more so than Eddie (Cuz you know he was nervous too). She covered it well, nobody else would've clocked that she was anxious, but the truth is she never really... well, she never really got to do stuff like this. She didn't have a normal adolescence, so she never got to do the clumsy first-crush first-date thing most people her age practiced with. All of her relationships have been based mostly on physical stuff with some feelings occasionally thrown in, she's never had the go-out-together-in-public and be courted version. She'd dryly come to the conclusion that she's just not that kind of girl. Now that the opportunity is being presented, though, she's realizing that maybe it'd be nice to be that kind of girl. At the very least, it's nice to have the option. She has no idea what she's doing but she really, really wants this to work.

-Kills/takes out the spiders?

 Rose! Eddie pretends the reason he doesn't try to take them out is because with his body temperature he'd end up roasting them instead of helping. The truth is they just freak him out. Rose is fully aware of this and teases him about it, but removes the spiders anyway.

-Loudly proclaims their love when they're drunk?

Eddie. He has serenaded her before. He just loses all his filter of what is or is not corny when he's drunk and must communicate to Rose in every way possible that he's nuts about her. Rose tells him this is the sappiest bullshit she's ever heard but doesn't actually stop him.

[ladymarycrawley]

Together - John Stones

Request: Can I ask for a John Stones one please. Where it’s based off tonight’s match where he hurts his hamstring and you are his girlfriend or wife and one of the physios that come on to pitch to help him please

Warning: none, I just changed it a bit so Y/N doesn't work as a physio as I already wrote something along that line, hope you still like it anon 💖

Tag list: @masonxomount @chelsealover @stonesyy

No. Not again. He didn't deserve to go through all that again. The last injury was still too fresh in your memories, as all the recovery process, it couldn't happen again. Not that soon.

Your mind started spiralling as your eyes were following all that was happening on the pitch: John lying on the floor, physical and mental pain painted on his face as the medical staff was there around him to check the extent of injury. 

Your vision became blurry with tears, your fingers shaking against your cheeks. All sort of thoughts crossed your mind: you hoped it was nothing serious, as he left the playing ground on his legs but then you feared that detail meant nothing as it could still be something threatening for his condition and his career. 

Fear soon turned into anxiety, as your racing heart denoted. The feeling of fear wrapping your eyes projected itself on John's inconsolable walking frame, headed to the changing rooms. As soon as he disappeared from your sight you got up to leave your comfortable seat in the box to go after him.

"How can I help you, Mrs Stones?" A security guard asked you, seeing you wandering desperately near where the players' changing rooms were.

"I need to see John"

"He's under medical check now. You'll have to wait for him to come out"

"No, I need to see him now" You sounded rather desperate and you were practically begging to see him. In a mkment of lucidity you would have been embarrassed by your own attitude but you couldn't care less that time.

"I'm sorry but no one can enter the medical room"

You huffed, leaning against the cold wall behind you. It felt a little less cold when you tilted your head back against it, your hair absorbing that nagging feeling. Your eyes were now focused on the roof above you, in the attempt not to burst out into a sad crying. 

The noise of the room door opening soon filled your ears and brought your sight back on it.

John came out after one of the doctors, his head bowed, eyes on the ground.

"John…" Your voice calling his name was inaudible, something similar to a whisper.

He lifted his eyes to meet you. The veil of sadness you were met with caused your heart to beat faster, you feared it might have blasted out any moment.

When the doctors were done massaging him and telling him what he should have done, you got closer to him, engulfing his taller figure in your embrace. John relaxed in the warmth of your body, releasing a breath he didn't know he had been keeping for too long. His perfect face was hidden in the crook of your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin.

Your eyes were closed as your right hand was massaging his scalp and your lips were glued to his shoulder.

"Is it your hamstring?" You quietly asked him. He nodded, standing upright away from your shorter body.

"Again" He breathed out, his lips compressed.

You knew he was angry but also worried because he didn't want to watch City from the bench and, worse, he didn't want to miss the World Cup. 

"Hey, look at me" You stretched your hand out to grab his chin so he could look directly into your eyes.

"You'll be alright, as you always did. You're the strongest person I know"

He sniffled, his eyes glossy with tears. You couldn't stand seeing him like that. You just wanted to protect him from all the bad that could ever happen to him. You'd give him everything to see him smile, you wished you could have been injured instead of him.

"Don't cry, baby" Your left hand gently caressed his shaven cheek, your thumb brushing his cheekbone.

When you got home, the atmosphere was the most silent you ever witnessed since living with him. John didn't feel like talking,  he just wanted to go to bed and get some sleep, hopefully. 

"I'll be up in a minute"

He nodded and left you in the dimly lit kitchen preparing his hot tea that would always succeed in relaxing him.

The sight you were welcomed with once upstairs tightened your heart: your boyfriend was curled up in a fetal position, lights out and a deafening silence.

A sigh left your lips as you placed his steaming mug on his night table.

You crawled on the bed reaching your spot behind him. As much as you loved being the little spoon, you knew at that moment you needed to be the stronger one so you wrapped your arms around his middle, leaving a kiss behind his ear.

"I know you don't want to talk but I want you to know that I love you, so much" Another kiss was left by your lips against his clothed shoulder. "You always make me proud. Always"

After a brief pause, you picked up your little motivational speech.

"We'll face it as we did the last time and as we'll always do, together"

John's hand gently squeezed yours, his thumb moving in a soothing way over your skin.

"Thanks"

"You don't have to thank me"

"Can I have a kiss?"

"You know you can have all the kisses you want" You whispered with a shy smile, before kissing his soft lips.

Those were the last words you exchanged as he silently fell asleep cradled in your arms, the best place he could possibly be.

[bbbillylenz]

A Raw Ache

Rating: 18+ 🍋 minors DNI or I take ya knees

Pairing: Billy Lenz x Reader (second-person POV)

Summary: You wake up in the middle of the night to a figure on top of you. You do not mind him, and in fact, welcome him.

Contains/warnings: Choking, gender neutral reader, transmasc Billy, mutual masturbation, general dirty talk, nipple play, finger sucking/oral fixation, some themes or somno

A/N: it’s Christmas time aka Billy Time (at least where I’m at), so of course this was the day I needed to try my hand at some Billy Lenz smut 😌 Really wanted to play up Billy’s more regretful, thoughtful lucid side as well as the scene in which Barb thinks she’s dreaming about him. Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and happy smut Saturday to everyone else 💕💕

You weren’t quite sure when it had all happened, when the line between dream and reality crumbled away. You couldn’t even remember the dream now; what was once so vivid, so touchable, had already retreated to the shadows of your consciousness. Absently, you were aware of your eyes moving under your eyelids, still shut so tight, as if to will yourself back to sleep despite the new, foriegn weight on top of you.

“S-Shh… Just… Just go b-back to sl-sleep--”

That stuttering voice—where had you heard it before? Was it your own, your own mind willing you back to dreamland? No, no it was too hoarse, too broken and strained to be your own. Childlike, almost, in its pleas.

“What…?” The question dies almost immediately in your throat as a clammy hand presses against your lips; you can taste the sweat on its palms, can feel the hestiance in this domineering motion. Briefly, your eyes open wide, crossed together as you try to see who is above you, who’s hand is clamped so shakily on your mouth. But then your vision is cut off again; another hand, another large hand, covers both your eyes easily.

There is a fear in all these movements, a regret embedded with every twitch of those fingers. You grow more aware of the knees digging into your waist, pinning you in place. You writhe, just a little, because you are aware that’s what you should be doing. You should be kicking and screaming, should be clawing at that shadowy face you barely got a glimpse of. But instead, you close your eyes once again, leaning into those trembling hands. You close your mouth tightly too, bite down on your bottom lip. A show of retreat, of compliance.

“See? See? Good… G-Go back to sleep… You can be good? I-I’m… I’m not bad. Not bad at all. S-See? Do you see…? You see.”

But you don’t; you keep your eyes closed even as those hands move away from them. Instead, they slowly trace along your hairline, brushing stray hairs from your sweaty face. The other begins to lightly drag along your jaw, inching down to your throat. You tilt your neck without thinking, an unspoken invitation. You hear the figure gasp, as if he too is surprised you are being so good.

“P-Pretty… pretty, pretty, pretty…” he keeps murmuring, each “pretty” a bit more frantic than the last. Still, you feel flattered, flustered even. You shift under him, not to get away, but to become more comfortable.

His fingers are running through your hair now, untangling it and smoothing it down against your pillows. With his other hand, he gropes and rubs your shoulder and arm. It slips to the front of your chest, feeling for your warm skin underneath your thin nightclothes--a tank and flimsy shorts, perhaps too short for the winter, though now you are not complaining.

And he keeps whispering to you, or perhaps is it to himself? Constant reassurance, constant repetition. Though you catch a twisted little giggle once or twice too, as if he also can’t believe this is all happening, that it’s all working so well. You can’t believe it either, truthfully, and feel a mad smile tug at your own lips. Can’t believe how easily the thin straps of your tank are brushed down, can’t believe the contrast of the chill of the room and his hot breath, can’t believe how your thighs are rubbing together, brushing against his.

Suddenly, your tank is yanked down. Your shorts are quick to follow. The fabric drags against your skin. It is the roughest he has been the entire time, and you cannot help but whimper, caught off guard. That seems to snap him back; his lips are right on your cheek, kissing and cooing to you, to himself.

“No, no, no--it’s okay. S-See? See? Just a little… Excited. Pretty. You’re so so pretty. See? I’m not a… n-not a bad B-Bill--man.”

You can barely understand it; you cling to the word “pretty,” cling to the butterflies it gives you.

“Not bad…” you whisper back, absently parroting him. He lets out a wet breath; is he crying? You can’t tell. You don’t think about it too hard, though, because those hands are groping lower now. He’s exploring you, shakily taking in every inch of skin, pausing to see every small reaction.

“Lemme lick it… lick it… wana… wana taste it.”

God, you feel so exposed, so put on display. But you don't hate the attention either; you moan weakly as he brushes against your nipples, arching your back as a silent cue for him to keep going. He gasps, his hands freezing in place. For a moment you think to open your eyes, to say something to him. To encourage and goad him on.

But almost immediately, any further hesitance is gone, snuffed out like a candle.

You’re nearly screaming as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. That other large hand is back to your lips, his fingers pressing against them, against your teeth. Without thinking you suck on them, licking the pads of his fingers as he curls them inside of you. He’s moaning, too, panting and moaning as he’s no doubt watching your face. Watching as you lick and suck on his fingers.

“Pretty pretty piggy…. Suck it. Suck it good. Suck me good. It’s alright. That’s right. Shh…. Shhh…”

The thought of him looking at you tickles your skin more, makes every fervent lick all the more pleasurable.

You spread your legs, your shorts stretching as you do. Without thinking, your own hand reaches for your sex. The figure makes a low noise, almost a growl, and you stop, unsure.

“Keep… going….”

He growls it into your chest. You melt into his words, your hand now working yourself up faster. You twitch and moan, uncaring if the others can hear. For all you know, this is just a dream. And who cares, honestly, if they can hear you? The thought is comforting; you lap at his fingers in your mouth with excess, drool slipping out of the corners of your lips. You feel him work off his own pants, enough so that his other hand can bury itself before his own legs. You lift your knee up between his bare thighs; he rubs against you and his hand, growling and moaning into your skin.

You can feel how wet he is on your leg; you press against him more, milking out more moans and mewls. You bob your knee, relishing this new sense of control. None of the noises he makes are consistent; at times he sounds guttural and animalistic, deep and dark. And then, in an instant, he sounds catlike, mewling and whimpering. You can’t help but find it all so endearing, and your hand works faster between your thighs, your orgasm nudging closer and closer.

Your mind blanks as the fingers in your mouth are suddenly wrapped around your throat. You sputter out something—is it a plea to stop or to keep going? A question of why? You don’t know, but the man doesn’t hear you, or rather, doesn’t listen. You can feel his hand move from his cunt to your throat as he humps against your thigh, panting and giggling as he uses both hands to choke you.

You can no longer resist. You open your eyes, mouth agape and soundless.

The shadows of the room obscure his face, but you can make out those eyes, those teeth. The big bad wolf right in your bed. Your hand is pumping your sex on its own; you croak out nonsense, the words lost. He throttles you more as he ruts against you with abandon, his eyes crossing, teeth gnashed together. Your other hand is tightened around his wrist, but you don’t try to pull him away. You hold him there, choking you, as you rub out your own climax.

He all but screams as he feels you tense up and spasm; his orgasm is quick to follow, wet and hot against your leg.

Those hands that had choked you are now rubbing your face, smoothing down your hair again, as he shushes you.

“Pretty… pretty piggy… so good for Billy…”

He goes back to babbling the usual nonsense and you welcome his words as your eyelids drift shut again. Your orgasm leaves you feeling languid and exhausted. Your bed seems to be swallowing you up; you are absently aware that he is tucking you back in, reclothing you too.

You want to tell him to stay, to sleep here with you. But you say nothing, keeping your eyes and lips closed as the room grows colder, silent.

When you wake, you are alone. You wonder if it was all just a dream after all, your lonely mind playing tricks on you. But the raw ache on your throat is a cold indication that no, no you had been visited. And you had welcomed him. Sitting up in bed, you cannot help but feel there are eyes on you, somewhere, somehow.

You welcomed him and would welcome him again, should he so wish. The thought brings a smile to your face.

[valberryy]

good god, let me give you my life. — kaeya

another converted oc fic!!!! yes i have many kaeya thoughts....... and i missed this oc in particular QAQ anyways please accept this word vomit its like 2k words im sorry idk what possessed me

pairing: kaeya x fem!reader

content warnings: mentions of blood/injuries + alcohol, light swearing (like, three instances max)

Kaeya had seen that doe-eyed look countless times before, but there was still something about the way your gaze burned almost incredulously into his own that made his smirk grow wider.

"Kaeya, you asshole!" you exclaimed, but your half-exasperated anger just made him laugh—by the Seven, you were even more fun to tease than Diluc! 

"What's the rush?" he laughed, ignoring your hand on his chest to balance herself as you tiptoed to where he was holding your Vision right out of your reach. "Is widdle [Name] so scared of—"

You elbowed him in the gut at that, and his grip on your Vision wavered as he let out a pained oof. You pinned it back to where it normally hung, and a glance at your clothes—the buttoned up coat, the bags placed haphazardly on the ground next to your boots—was all it took for the lucidity to return to Kaeya's eyes.

"The others are waiting," you muttered, gaze downcast and cheeks flushed from the cold. Kaeya nodded. Wordlessly, you grabbed his hands and squeezed, ever so gently.

"I promise we'll come back to visit," you said. "And I'll write a lot."

Kaeya nodded again, a devious grin pulling at his lips but faltering at the edges. "When you do come back I'll ask Master Crepus to throw a party and I'll read out your letters for everyone to hear—"

"You—!"

"...So come back safe, okay?"

A sigh, then, and another light squeeze of his hands. 

"I promise."

With that, Kaeya finally let you go—and already missing the warmth of your palms and the fleetingness of your touch, he watched as your back disappeared off into the horizon.

Kaeya often found himself waiting, those days, to the point that he might have called himself distracted if he hadn't known any better. The smile that graced his lips at each letter—which always started with your and your brother's neat handwriting, with little comments from your sister sprinkled all throughout, and sealed with some local flower or other—never failed to go unnoticed, to the point that even Diluc found himself sighing at the sight.

"You're an idiot," he had said, and nothing else.

Each year your visits had become a staple of summer, and for days on end Master Crepus' manor was filled with foreign music and dance. Kaeya never read out your letters like he said he would, but you two would always sneak out of the party with a bottle of champagne, and you would whisper gossip to each other like you always used to, conspiratory and scheming.

(Once, just as a laugh was about to spill from his lips, you placed your palm over the lower half of his face and kissed the back of your hand. "I thought you were bolder than that," he teased, and with a scoff you plucked the bottle from his hands.

"Oh? I'd like to see you do better, lover boy.")

One year the letters stopped, and you never came to visit. Winter came all too soon. The calla lilies in your last letter had begun to wilt.

The next year, he and Diluc parted ways. As their swords clashed for the last time, he wished it was your flames that had scorched him instead.

Two years hence, the Knights of Favonius found a young woman, half-conscious and all but bleeding out, under the tree at Windrise.

Kaeya had stopped in his tracks when he heard, his silver tongue going dry behind the calm smile he put on. "Thanks for the news," he told his subordinate. "I'll check it out."

As soon as he was alone, he let the panic sink in.

His walk to the cathedral was exceedingly brief, and Kaeya wasn't quite sure if that was a good thing. As he walked towards the infirmary he heard Barbara's voice—

"...but do you remember anything else?"

A pause, then a blunt, "No."

—And as he walked inside he saw the deaconess with her tome, and a little ways behind her was...you. You seemed a little pale and worse for wear, but when you looked at him with the same doe-eyed look as before, Kaeya couldn't help but feel the slightest bit relieved.

"You really worried me back there, love," he said smoothly. "How are you feeling now?"

You glanced almost unnoticeably at Barbara, who seemed to mouth something along the lines of, "Later."

"Alive, I guess," you responded, then paused for a good moment as you glanced at him fully. Kaeya raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry…" you said, "It's just that I've heard so much about you, but—"

But what? he thought, and felt his blood run cold again.

"—I have no idea who you are."

—

Kaeya thought it the worst of cruelties for you to be so similar to your old self, yet so wholly, horribly different. You walked with the same languid grace, spoke with the same haughtiness and pride, still tapped your teaspoon against the rim of your teacup—three times, every single time, with a resounding chime.

But you no longer looked at him the same, no longer laughed at his old jokes, no longer called him by his name. It was always captain or sir, and never what he so desperately longed to hear.

"You Knights are always so ineffective," Diluc sighed, and for the first time in years the Ragnvindr brothers finally found themselves in agreement.

Kaeya laughed self-pityingly, running one hand through his hair and using the other to swirl the contents of his half-empty glass. Another sigh, and just as he was about to speak again, the door to Angel's Share opened to the sound of laughter.

"Venti, I said no—"

"Oh, come on! All you've been doing is reading that journal of yours! I thought you—"

There was an indignant, ungraceful sounding yell, and the rest of Venti's words were muffled by what Kaeya assumed was your hand. You two whispered together some more—he even thought he heard you threaten him, if he wasn't mistaken—and with your defeated sigh, Venti began to tune his lyre.

Ah, you was going to dance, then. 

Kaeya turned in his seat to the point where he could watch them from the corner of his vision, taking another drink from his steadily-emptying glass. With gentle hands, the bard began to pluck at his lyre strings, and with the same practiced, precise movements he committed so dearly to memory, your body began to sway.

He knew this one—it started off slowly, gently, only to speed up as the music did as well. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three-four, went your heels against the wooden floor, and as the song ended and you bowed with a haughty flourish, Kaeya had abruptly stood up and left the tavern.

Your steps were light against the cobblestone when you caught up with him, that same night.

"Captain," you said, "you've been avoiding me."

He turned around to face you, a practiced smile on his lips. He couldn't look you in the eyes, though, no matter how intensely your gaze burned into him. "Oh? What might you be doing out so late, Miss [Surname]?" 

You sighed, placing a hand on your hip. "You knew me before, right? That's why you keep running away?"

Kaeya's tongue went dry as he heard you speak. Ah, what does he say to this? He watched you sigh again, but this time you brought out the musty old journal that he knew hung from your waist.

You held it out to him expectantly, but he didn't take it.

"...We knew each other," he eventually replied, soft and without any of his normal bravado. "We were…close."

Your face remained impassive, but there was a glint in your eyes that gave your suspicion away. "...I see," you said. "Then…I want to start again. I can't be the person you knew before, but…"

It was Kaeya who sighed this time, endearingly. "You really haven't changed," he said, before holding out a hand for you to shake. "Allow me to reintroduce myself, then. Kaeya Alberich, at your service."

You smiled, and he felt his heart flutter and ache alike at the sight. Taking his hand, you said, "[Name] [Surname]…a pleasure it is to finally know you, Kaeya."

—

Whenever dusk fell, Kaeya would often find you at one of the many taverns littered throughout the city, but your favourite seemed to be the Angel's Share, of all places. If you weren't dancing along to whatever tune the bard was singing, you were often talking with Diluc from the opposite end of the bar, sipping from your glass of wine. 

And whenever Kaeya would walk in you would turn to him and raise your glass in greeting, crowing something or other about coincidence, and he would say something or other about fate; and then you would drink together as his brother grew increasingly exasperated at the volume. 

One evening, he had lost track of how many rounds he had when his head began to grow fuzzy. He was only half-conscious of Charles' sigh, and you saying something along the lines of, "I'll bring him home."

With practiced ease—likely from your time hanging around with that drunkard bard—you lifted him up and slung his arm around your shoulders, struggling a bit from his height. "C'mon, captain, let's get you home," you said, to which he merely nodded and buried his face in the warmth of the crook of your neck.

"Y'know, it was always you getting wasted like this," he drawled. "Master Crepus used to—! He used to always scold us for stealing wine, but you were always half passed out so you never heard any of it."

You looked down, seemingly deep in thought. "It sounds like we were very close," you said, and he chuckled and hummed in the affirmative. 

He began rambling again as you made the short walk to his house, continuing even as you dug through his pockets for his keys. How he still reads your letters, how you made fun of his eyepatch the very first time he wore it, how you two used to climb the tree at Windrise, hoping always, in vain, to somehow reach the highest bough. If he were less shitfaced and more sober perhaps he would have found it in himself to stem the waterfall of words spilling from his lips—honest and raw in a way neither of you were used to—but as it stood, all he could have done was bare his heart to you like this.

You were silent as you laid him down on his bed, mumbling more to yourself than to anyone else, "You need to drink water, Kaeya."

The silence between you hung heavy like a body on the gallows. 

"I really loved you, you know."

Another pause, then, and then the soft caress of your palm against his cheek, and the lightest brush of your lips against his forehead.

"...Good night, Kaeya."

The next day, Kaeya woke up with the worst bitch of a migraine he's ever had in his life. As he rose to get a glass of water, he suddenly became aware of several things: firstly, the fact that he was a fucking idiot; second, the fact that he needs to get black-out drunk less often; and third, the fact that you were lying asleep on his couch, your journal in one hand and your other arm hanging off the side.

He sighed, placing down the empty glass, and walked over to you—and with your same gentleness from the night before, Kaeya brushed aside your bangs to press a kiss to your forehead.

—

"Snrk—you what?"

"Oh, yes, and then after that Jean said—"

You cut off the rest of his story by shoving a piece of meat in his mouth, and when Kaeya managed to swallow it he was met with the sight of your smug smile and your eyes still bleary from laughing. 

"There's no way all of that happened because of a rabbit," you said, to which he laughed good-naturedly, followed by a sip from his glass of wine.

"You'd be surprised what kinds of things Klee can get herself into."

You laughed again, and he took another drink of wine. Ah, he missed this, he thought. Missed the way the breeze here at Windrise smelled of asters, missed the way the moonlight trickled down through the leaves of the giant tree. 

(Most of all, he missed the little way your nose would crinkle when you laughed, but he'd prefer not to say that aloud, lest he be hit over the head with the wine bottle he brought along today—amnesia or not, he knew very well it was still within your strength to do so.)

Kaeya watched as you closed your eyes to enjoy the evening breeze, your hair like a wildfire in the breeze. You looked at him then, your eyes heavy with a certain lucidity that he couldn't name, but still managed to shake him somehow.

"...I'm in love with you, Kaeya."

When he smirked and said, "So I get to brag that I made you fall for me twice?" he was met with the same indignant, doe-eyed glare from all those years ago.

"I'm being serious!" you exclaimed, but he only laughed again, and covered your mouth with the palm of his hand. Before you could protest again, he kissed the back of his own hand and pulled away, a cheeky grin on his lips.

"Where'd all that bravado go, Mr. Casanova?"

Kaeya was hit with a pang of nostalgia, then. He looked at you, cheeks lightly flushed from the cold breeze and embarrassment alike, and his smile only widened further.

"Hmm? Think you can do any better, dearest?"

[lord-explosion-baku]

Sorrow

Yandere Siren/Fae!Hawks x Reader

Warnings: Yandere content, survivalism, pain, slight blood, suggestive adult content

A/N: This is one of the fics I was gonna post in October, but didn’t finish it on time, but I guess that means I can be a spooky dude all year round.

Tears may be cheap, but you keep them sacred.

Your captor has taken almost everything away from you: your body, your mind, your freedom, but you will not be giving him your sorrow. That will stay buried, locked away inside your chest, where the key lies somewhere he will never get to. You know he wants it. He’d told you as much.

“I’ve committed all of your expressions to memory,” he’d said one night after you nearly bit his tongue off. He’d used his song to ease you into a half-lucid state, where he kept you in his lap, wrapped tightly in his arms, shrouded in his wings. “The scorch in your hateful eyes when you wish you could fight me. The tremble in your delicious pout when you wish you could resist me. The furrow in those beautiful brows when I have you forfeited to the pleasure I give you after a battle you wish you could have won.”

Air-light fingers brushed down your cheek. He’d grabbed you by the chin, and tilted your head so that your gaze was locked in with his.

“Do I really gotta sing every time I want you to surrender, little dove?”

His fingers tip-toed down your chest, past your opened blouse. His thumb encircled your nipple until it puckered for him. He’d given it a teasing pinch. You’d stifled a moan lodged in your throat. He’d noticed.

“Aren’t you sorry for hurting me?”

You remember how good it felt to have him kneading at your chest. How his breath was nothing short of intoxicating. How you wanted nothing more than to lean into him—to kiss him—to put your hands all over him. You also remember that the only reason you wanted any of that was due to his song—his sweet siren lullaby.

“Tell me you’re sorry, angel,” he’d said, cupping your face with his free hand. His thumb slid across your cheek, under your eye. You’d known he wanted to see you cry so badly. You would not.

You’d shaken your head, and took note of the twitch in his feathered eyebrows.

His hands had moved through your hair then, lightly pulling through your roots. That was when he’d parted his lips, and began to sing.

Kiego has three songs committed to memory: one to lull you to sleep, one to make you more suggestable in the bedroom, and one to beckon you to him. The song he’d sang for you that night was the suggestable one—the mesmeric tune that made you turn around so that your knees were on either side of his thighs, the one that made you melt into his embrace, the one that made you his.

You’ve always wondered why? Why you? Out of anybody in the world, the siren had grown to have an obsessive infatuation with you. At times, you have thought that if it hadn’t been you, it would be another unfortunate soul in your place—somebody else that might not be able to withstand him, or somebody else who would actively enjoy his company. But during the times he sings for you, you don’t think. You don’t have to.

When he sang to you that night, all you could think about was giving him everything he wanted; however, the stubborn sore in your heart still clung on to the idea that he would not have you in tears.

“Say you’re sorry,” he’d commanded again between slow, sensuous kisses.

And you’d responded with: “never.”

Since then, you’ve been good. You’ve been obedient. You’ve given him everything except your tears. If you don’t stick to your ideals, then you really do have nothing.

However, when one only has so little to lose, and so much more to gain, one becomes reckless. First, your recklessness comes in mere thoughts—creeping visions of harming your winged abuser, which proves as dangerous, seeing as he’s stronger than you, faster than you, and has that pesky siren song. Then, you’ve begun thinking about running. The closer, more agreeable you become, the more he lets his guard down. Unbeknownst to him, you’ve begun learning his schedule: when he eats, when he hunts, when he sleeps, and what wakes him.

Comfort and praise seems to be the ticket to getting him to trust you more. Each night, you stroke his wings, you kiss his neck, you tell him his voice is gorgeous, fathomless, and irresistible. He thinks he has you under his spell—maybe he does, a little bit—but you’re not completely lost to him. You know that you have to leave. You know that you will leave. You’ve just got to figure out when.

It happens early in the morning.

The night before, he’d brought home spirits for you and him to drink. The two of you toasted to each other, danced together, and drank together. But he hadn’t seen that most of what had been in your glass went discarded in one of the potted plants full of herbs and berries he has allowed you to tend to. He hadn’t seen when you spiked his glass with a concoction you’d been working on for weeks with the herbs and berries he’d allowed you to tend to. He hadn’t noticed when his eyes grew drowsy, and he fell into bed with you in tow, you eased away from him, waiting for his breathing to slow.

The sun’s not up yet, but you know you have to leave. When you’re ready, you tie your boots, stock some food and water, and despite everything he’s put you through, you kiss him. Once. A sort of farewell, thanks for the memories, I won’t be missing you, you piece of chicken shit.

The departure is soundless—something you’re not used to due to Kiego’s constant singing, crooning, and happy little chirps. His guard had been down the night before, so there aren't as many safety precautions to heed as you silently maneuver your way to escape his loft.

When you’re out, you’re out. Free. Running. The most you can do to not shriek with glee and alert him of your escape is to keep your goal in mind: Find civilization. Find help. Hide. Keep running. Whatever you need to do to keep your safe stead.

At least, that’s always been the plan. You hadn’t accounted for the landscape. In fact, you’ve only ever seen a fraction of the surrounding parameters of his loft. You don’t know about the drop-off point by the outer edge of the woods. The whispering oranges of dawn have only just cracked through the trees, so you don’t see the danger when you slip on some foliage and are sent spiraling. Falling, rolling, screaming, until you catch yourself on a tree. Rather, your body wraps around a tree, which nearly knocks the wind out of you.

Groaning, you lay there for a while and breathe. The air filling up your lungs is frigid. Deadly. A part of you wants to fall asleep, find warmth in your dreams. A part of you knows that if you do that, you might catch hypothermia and die.

So you stand.

The world is dizzying. Trees tilt, while shrubs and rocks spin around you. Your first few steps are a sideways hustle. You’re like a toddler first learning to walk. There’s a sharp pain in your leg, and it takes everything out of you not to look down. If you think you’re seriously injured, you’ll give up. You hadn’t packed anything for first aid, and even if you had, you’ve lost your water and food during the fall.

You’re not sure which way to walk for a few minutes. You’re dawdling, finding your footing. The destination should be away from the drop-off, so you slowly make your way down the hill, sitting and scooting when you’re unsure if you’ll fall again.

It’s only when you find solid ground again that you hear him. His song. Some new hypnotic tune, miles away, reverberating throughout the forest. It’s nothing short of haunting and you don’t spare another second to listen. He’s awake. He knows you’re gone.

The next mile is clumsier than before. Though you’re sure not to fall, your balance is off, and your body slams into a dozen trees. Sometimes it’s because you can’t help it, while you often just need one to hold you up so you can breathe. Your palms cover your ears the entire time, and even still, his song gets louder. Invasive. He’s growing nearer. If you don’t hide, he will find you.

By nothing short of a miracle, you find a large tree where the trunk is hollowed out. You crawl in, allowing your hands to touch the ground, away from your ears for only a moment, but a moment is all the song needs.

Suddenly, you’re struck with an aching. It’s anguish. Mourning. Sorrowful remembrance. Your chest constricts with a dire need to release, but you don’t go so far to ponder exactly what it is trying to crawl its way up your esophagus. You hold back your emotions with what’s left of your strength, while you try to keep your breathing steady.

Through the cracks in the trunk, you see a flash of brilliant crimson. The ground thuds with his landing. It’s silent for a moment, until his song starts up again. You keep your palms clamped over your ears while you bury your head between your knees. You’ll stay like that for however long is needed. You will not allow yourself to be seduced or lulled or beckoned. You will not be found.

There’s no telling how much time has passed. Seconds crawl to minutes, and minutes crawl to excruciating tension. You’re not aware of the end of his song until you use your hand to wipe at your leg. It’s sticky, probably from blood, but you won’t think about it until you’re safe.

It has to have been awhile since he’s scoured the area. You army crawl out of the tree, chest scraping away at the frosty, dirt floor. The sun is barely peeking up through the trees, and you allow its warmth to touch your mud-caked skin.

In the distance, there’s smoke. With a bit of walking, you see a fire pit, and someone in a black, wool cloak sitting by it.

Picking up your pace, you call out to him, but your voice cracks to only a squeak. Still, the hooded man looks up at you. You hope he can see that you’re hurt, recognize that you’re in need of first aid. He can shelter you, take you back to civilization, and save you.

But while you half-hazardly bound towards him, you’re pushed to the side. Rather, you’re zooming through the air, unable to utter a scream, until your back slams into a tree.

Despite the pain, the loss of energy, you writhe and howl under Keigo’s harsh scrutiny. His wings spread out, taking a predatory stance, while desperate amber eyes search your body. Though his face doesn’t show a hint of malice, you know the trouble you’re in. His lips part, and an unfamiliar melody begins.

“No!!!!!” Your hands fly up to your ears, but he catches them in a vice grip, pinning them back against the giant tree’s trunk. He begins to sing and you know you’ve lost.

Loss. That’s what this is—his song. Unbridled, unrelenting grief. The tune sweeps across your feet, slowly creeping up your body. It hugs your waist as it wraps around you, squeezing as it coils. You choke as the substantial heartache clogs your throat with the emotions you’ve been repressing for months.

Tears burn your lower lashes and your vision blurs. You blink, and a hot stream runs down your cheek. Though Keigo continues to sing, you see a subtle tilt to his mouth. While your body slackens, too tired to fight him off any longer, he cups your face and pulls you into him before you can crumple. He pets your beat up, bruised back, and coos.

“Sneaky little bird.” There are two octaves in Keigo’s voice as he speaks to you, as if two people were speaking at once. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

A part of his statement is true. You can feel it. His songs reflect his emotions and desires, and he wouldn’t be able to create this relentless melody unless he, too, felt the way it made you feel. But you also hear the triumph on his tenor. He has obtained what he’s always wanted: the key to that sacred place in your heart you wouldn’t allow him to venture to. There’s no saying that he doesn’t now own you completely.

“My sweet angel, what am I going to do with you?” As he speaks, you cling to him, knitting your nails into his shirt.

“I’m s-sorry.” It’s a faint croak, but it’s all you have to offer him. It’s all you can do to stop more renegade tears from staining his shirt. His chest shakes as he chuckles.

A twig snaps in the near distance. Keigo sharply turns towards the noise, and wraps an arm around your waist, one of his wings shrouding you slightly. Through his puffed out feathers, you see the man from the fire pit standing near a tree. He eyes the both of you with intrigue, but not concern. You cast him a pleading look, and you know he sees you, but all he does is sigh.

There’s a low, sort of echoing growl coming from deep within your captor’s chest. It’s menacingly territorial, but the cloaked man doesn’t react. Instead, he steps back and into the tree. Not like he stepped into the tree, rather, at one point he was a man, and now he is the tree. Two separate objects becoming one.

Keigo lets out an annoyed grunt, and in one swift movement, hoists you into his arms, carrying you in bridal style. He looks down at your leg, which you can now see has a giant scarlet puddled gash in it.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says while his wings begin to flap. The gusts blow foliage around you as you lift off the ground, and Keigo offers you a sort of sweet, conjugal smile. “After that, we can discuss your...punishment.”

A sob tears out from your throat. Keigo tuts, cradling you closer to his chest.

“You don’t have to worry, little dove. Though, I do promise to be gentle, don’t expect me to act like a gentleman. You’ve put us through the ringer today, and once you’re healed and healthy, we’ll work on all the ways you’ll be apologizing. Until then, let’s go home.”

Home. The place where Keigo will have you locked away in his birdcage of a loft. The place where you give him your body, your mind, your freedom, and now, even your sorrow.

While the two of you take flight, you think to cry some more--to let it all out of your system before you have your captor’s undivided attention. But as he flies, he hums a tune, and soon your eyelids fall, and you slacken in his embrace.

[winterscaptain]

permanent.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: just in case you missed it, i published a family tree for the hotchners! at this point, jack is married to bella and living in d.c. she’s a journalist for the washington division at the new york times and is generally pretty awesome. as always, lemme know what you think!

words: 3.1k warnings: language, hospital setting, canon-typical injury

summary: “write your injuries in dust, your benefits in marble” - benjamin franklin. au!december 2035

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

“Come on, Soph! Go, baby, go!”

Your daughter is a vision. She streaks across the field, her green and yellow uniform almost melding with the grass as she keeps control of the ball. You can’t see her face too clearly, but you know she’s scanning the field with the same intensity you see in Aaron’s face beside you. 

Isaac plops down on the bench behind you, home from Los Angeles for winter break. “How’s she doing?” 

Aaron half-turns his head, keeping his eyes on the field. “Going for a hat trick - if she makes it, it’ll be her third this season.” 

“Excellent.” 

Caroline, down the field with her choir group, lounges happily between the legs of one of her friends, eating popcorn. When she sees you looking, she waves at you.

You wave back for a moment before your attention’s caught by a collective gasp and Aaron’s hand shoots to your forearm. You turn back to the field, but you missed it. 

Everyone’s moving and you don’t know why. 

With shocking agility for his age, Aaron all but leaps down the bleachers and onto the field. Your eyes search for Soph, but there are too many people on the field, all of a sudden. 

Caroline’s standing on the seat of the bleachers, her friends steadying her with their hands on her arms and ankles. 

There’s a hand, soft and scared on your shoulder. “Mom?”

You open your arms, and your nearly-grown son ducks under it, curling into you as you stand. “Do you want your earbuds?” 

You feel him nod and you pull them out of your bag. His trembling quiets a little after he fits them in his ears. 

There’s a clamber, and Caroline appears at your side. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching.” 

She exhales, shaky and worried. “Where’s Dad?” 

“On the field.”

But where? 

You find Aaron, his salt-and-pepper hair stark in the autumn light. He’s talking to the referee, his brows low. 

You hear sirens. 

+++

“Oh, hey! What’s up, Mom?” 

You almost hate to ruin his mood. 

“Jack, honey, can you get down to the house at any point tonight?” 

You try not to grip the handle above the car door too tightly as Aaron races through the suburban streets, following the ambulance. Soph was definitely lucid when they loaded her up, but definitely in a lot of pain. 

“Ye - Yeah...Why?” 

“Soph’s headed to the ER - something happened on the soccer pitch today and her knee…” You shake your head. “I dunno. Her knee looks really bad.” 

“Fuck. Okay.” You hear him shuffle around and click his mouse - checking his schedule. “I can get down there after my last meeting at four - I’m headed there in a few minutes, but won’t be able to swing any earlier. I’d cancel it, but it’s literally SecDef and the Joint Chiefs and -” 

“That’s fine - I just need someone at the house with the kids until one of us can get back. Elliot’s at baseball practice until six and I’m not sure if -” 

“I’ll be there. I’ll get El and then I’ll swing by for Isaac and Caro if they’re still with y’all down there.” 

You glance over at Aaron and nod. He heaves a sigh of relief and mouths Thank you. 

“Thanks, Jack.” 

“Yeah. See you soon. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.”

+++

When you’re finally allowed in to see Sophia, her eyes are red and puffy with tears. Her right leg is braced and elevated at the knee. 

Her doctor explains the situation - dislocated knee and splintered patella with a torn meniscus and ACL. “This kind of traumatic knee injury poses a couple of issues…” 

He explains that the rehabilitation and surgery needs for both the ACL and meniscus are exceedingly different, and “It’s entirely possible Miss Sophia will experience permanent joint damage. However, we won’t know that until we have an orthopaedic surgeon look at it tomorrow.” 

“What about sports? Can I still play?” Soph tries to sit up farther, but Aaron’s arm shoots out, locking her against the bed across her shoulders. 

The doctor looks hesitant, and it’s all she needs to burst into tears again. Aaron moves, sitting on the side of the bed and wrapping her up in his arms. He looks over her head at you and your lower lip disappears into your mouth as you meet his gaze. 

You shift your attention to your other children sitting patiently behind you.

Caroline’s practically bit her nails to the quick - her hands looking more and more like her Aunt Emily’s as the moments pass. 

Isaac’s been sitting in the wide windowsill for the entire afternoon, his headphones on, staring out the window, his mouth tight and fingers tearing into the foam stress ball you keep in your purse. 

We’ll need another one of those. Or five.

 You get a phone call, and you step out. “Hey, Jack.” 

“Hey. Just got Elliot. We’re headed over to the hospital now. How’s she doing?” 

You sigh and press a hand to your forehead. 

“Oh, shit. That bad?” He asks. 

You don’t comment on his tell pickup. It’s in his blood, at this point. “Yeah. She’s definitely out for the rest of the season, and we’re looking at some long-term stuff, too.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Hey! I’m still here and she’s gonna kick your ass if you keep swearing in front of me, dude.” Elliot shouts from the back and it almost makes you smile. 

“I’m actually inclined to agree with you, Jack. We’ve got a dislocated and splintered patella in addition to a torn meniscus and ACL. It’s going to be a long rehab.” 

You hear a deep sigh into the bluetooth system in Jack’s car. “Well, I’ll stay here for the duration.” 

“No, no honey it’s alright. Your dad is home full-time and you’ve got a huge project reaching critical stages. Your room is all ready for you, but you really don’t have to hang around if you can’t manage the drive every day. And Bella -”

“Bells is looped in. She’s fine. She’s more than happy to tag out if we need to. Her deadlines are really loose right now what with the whole ‘nothing going on in Arlington’ thing this week. She’s heartbroken for Soph and wants to help where she can.” 

“Alright.” 

“Hey,” He huffs, sounding a lot like his dad. “I’ll let you go. I’ll text when I’m outside.” 

“Okay. Thanks, bud.” 

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Anytime.” 

+++

Sophia’s sleeping when Alice and Hank come to visit later in the evening. Aaron went home a couple hours after Jack, planning to tag out with you later so you could get some sleep in your own bed before work tomorrow. 

Alice immediately embraces you, all but falling into your lap as you hold her. She’s shaking.

“Is she okay?” 

You push her back, smoothing some wayward edges at her hairline. “She will be.” 

Alice’s dark eyes fill with tears, and you brush them off her cheeks as they fall. 

“She’ll need your help, though. It’s gonna be a long time before we figure out what’s permanent and what’s not.” 

Alice nods and retreats, sitting in the plastic chair by Soph’s side, folding her arms on the mattress and laying her head on them. “Hey, Sofa,” she whispers, though Soph can’t hear her. 

“I haven’t heard that one in a while,” you tell her. Sofa is a nickname Derek gave Sophia when she was little. No big meaning to it, but it stuck. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if she stayed there all night. 

Hank lingers by the door. In the shadow of the room, you could easily mistake him for Derek, but that concerned pull at the corners of his eyes screams Savannah. 

Eventually, he crosses the room and sits on the little lounger beside you. 

He takes your hand and you kiss his knuckles. “I bet this isn’t how you wanted to spend your winter break, huh?” 

A little laugh leaves him. “Maybe not, but little Miss Thing over here dragged me out the door before I could get two words in edgewise.” He gestures vaguely toward Alice and you actually smile. 

“Yeah. In my experience, Morgan women don’t fuck around.” 

“You got that right,” comes a voice from the doorway. It’s Savannah, fresh off her shift and still in her white coat and scrubs. She scours over Sophia’s charts and checks on her before sitting on your other side. 

“Do you want the bad news or the good-but-also-kind-of-bad news?” She asks, almost inaudible. You glance up at Soph but Savannah shakes her head. “She’s out - those pain meds will leave this entire visit a blur.” 

You sigh. “Fine. Hit me with the bad shit.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” 

Savannah rests her elbows on her knees. “I’ve seen a knee injury like this exactly once before. No matter what you do, they can’t and don’t always heal right. She could need a mobility device permanently, even after she’s healed, and I can tell you now she won’t play again.” 

That’s okay. She’s okay. 

Better soccer goes than her life. 

Soccer is her life. 

You only know that Alice can hear everything when her shoulders start to shake. She doesn’t make any noise as she cries. She’s like her dad that way. Hank stands and places a hand between her shoulder blades, but says nothing. 

“Is that the worst of it?” 

Savannah nods. “Yeah.” She takes a breath. “The kinda good news is that she’ll be totally fine no matter what obstacles she may run into. She’s tough. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Hotchner.”

She snorts. “Hell, I watched you bounce back from crazy life-threatening shit with a quip and a grin.” 

You raise your eyebrows and shrug. “I do what I can.” 

+++

Caroline curls into her father’s side, her double bed big enough to manage the both of them. It feels a lot like when she was little - she’d have nightmares or couldn’t fall asleep and Aaron would come and sit with her until her breath was even and slow.

“Dad?”

“Mhmm?”

“What’s Soph gonna do about college?” Caroline’s voice is small, nearly smothered in Aaron’s shirt. “She already has scouting offers and stuff.” 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not sure. We’ll all have to figure it out together, won’t we?”

+++

Aaron steps into the room, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Alice, just as you predicted, snoozes next to Sophia, her head pillowed on her arms. Sophia’s upper body almost arcs around her and she managed to snag one of Alice’s hands in her adjustment. 

Those two…

Maybe he won’t escape the inevitable after all. 

Morgan-Hotchner? Hotchner-Morgan? 

He really only ever prepared to lose his name with Caroline. Soph always seemed far too… herself to take on a new one. 

We’ll see.

You’re asleep in the pull-out chair, your brow drawn and arms crossed over your chest. He approaches you as quietly as he can, putting his go bag down and sitting beside you. 

Much to his chagrin, you startle awake. 

“Sorry,” he says in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

You shake your head. “You didn’t.” Talking through your yawn, you add, “Just had a weird dream is all.” 

Aaron pulls you close and you relent, tucking into his side with a hand pressed to his chest. 

“Did Savannah come by?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“What did she say?” 

You sniff a little, more from the antiseptic smell than any emotional response - that will come later. “Soph won’t be able to play again unless fuckin’ divine intervention or some shit comes along and fixes her knee from scratch, but she’ll be able to move around just fine with a cane or brace or something after a while.” 

Aaron can only imagine it now - fits and righteous anger about getting around the house, watching games from the bench - the list could go on forever. “She’ll hate that.” 

You hum in agreement. “Just another parenting challenge. Already have the rest of the gamut covered neurodevelopmentally, so we were bound to get a physical challenge at some point.” 

“Never more than we can handle.” 

Shaking your head, you note, “This one just might do us in.” 

+++

“I swear to God, if I see you in the office at all this week I’m gonna smash your kneecaps in.” Emily pauses. “Sorry. Too soon?” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” You laugh a little and Soph sits up, her brow asking a question. 

You answer, pulling the phone away from your mouth. “Your Aunt Emily told me she’d smash my kneecaps if she saw me at the federal building this week.” 

Soph snorts. “Nice. We could match.” 

You reach over and tweak her nose. “We already match.” 

“Hey.” Emily grabs your attention again and you put your cell back to your ear. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to be here. Stay home for Soph right now and I’ll sign off on it and turn everything in for you.” 

You roll your eyes. “I can’t believe you turned into Rossi, Miss I’m Past Retirement Age But Twisted the Bureaus Arm to Let Me Work Myself to Death.”

She laughs and hangs up, leaving you and Sophia alone again in the hospital room. She tucks back into her Jello, taking bites that are way too big. 

“How are you feeling, bug?” You brush her cheekbone with your thumb and she shrugs. 

“Can you hand me my headband?” 

You reach over and dig around in her back until you find the wide swatch of colorful fabric. She takes it from you and shoves it over her head, pushing her hair back with practiced ease. 

She’s just like her dad. 

What? Loyal? 

Yeah. But also chronically avoidant. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

She huffs, playing with her fingers. “I’m fine. I think.” Her breath is shaky. “I can’t really tell with all the meds I’m on, but it feels… really bad.” 

When she looks over at you again, her eyes are glassy, tearful. “I know I can’t play again, maybe not even run.” 

You reach out for her hand, but don’t say anything. 

“Momma…” She pauses, looking down at her blanket. “Momma, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I feel like I only know how to play soccer. I don’t know how - I don’t know if I want to do anything else. I’ve never thought about it before.” 

You run your thumb over her knuckles. “Soph, you can do so much. You have a great strategic mind - you think in these big, creative webs. It’s such an asset.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not profiling you, baby,” you tell her with a smile. “I just know that about you because you’re my daughter.”

Her mouth twists. “Right.” She looks down when her phone buzzes. 

“Who is it?” 

The corners of her lips tip up. “It’s Alice. She’s asking me if I want anything from the drive thru.”

You mirror her little smile. “That’s nice of her.” 

“Yeah.”

+++

“Alright so you have twenty nuggets, large fries,” Alice digs around in the bag, taking things out as she speaks. “And… a vanilla milkshake.” 

“God, I love you.” Sophia wraps her hand around Alice's head and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

Alice laughs, deep from her chest. “Shit, Soph, if all I have to do to secure your love is get you crap chicken, sign me up.” 

“You could get damn close.” 

Aaron watches the girls sit beside each other in the bed, taking turns dipping their nuggets in the sauce. They’ve always been this way, exchanging barbs and affection in equal measure. Symbiotic in the extreme, one is never far from the other. 

You’re home, getting everyone else in bed and settled for the evening. Isabella drove in a night early - Jack’s headed back to D.C. apartment for a series of days-long meetings at the Pentagon regarding his latest project. 

Aaron’s excited to see her. It’s been a helluva thing to see his son married, even more surreal to know and love his son’s wife like his own daughters. 

His phone rings. 

Speak of the devil. 

“Hey, Bella.” 

Sophia looks over at the mention of her sister-in-law, and Alice looks beside herself with delight. As well as being a hit among the parents, Bella’s a winner with the kids, too. 

Some days, Caroline likes her more than she likes Jack. 

“Hey, Pops. Want to tag out?” 

“Sure. I’ll switch with you. How long do you want to be here?” 

He can almost hear her shrug. “Eh. I’ll spend the night. My column isn’t due until the end of the week and I’ve got it covered. Don’t need to work, don’t really need to sleep. Win-win.”

“If you say so.” 

“I do. I’ll be there in twenty.” 

She hangs up before Aaron can respond, so he just pockets his phone and takes the loss. Sophia, after taking a sip of her milkshake, asks. “Is Bella here all night?” 

“Yeah, bug. She’ll be here.” 

Soph and Alice share a look. 

+++

“Well, Bella has more patience than I do,” Aaron says, dropping his go bag at the bedroom door. “She’s stuck with H&M for the rest of the night at the hospital.” 

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad the girls have company, and fun company, at that.” 

“Fair enough.” 

The two of you quiet for a moment, and you tuck further under his arm, placing your hand over his heart. 

“Aaron?” 

His hand traces up and down your back, slow and steady. “Yeah?” 

“What can we do for her? She sounded so… defeated today.” 

And it’s true. You’ve never seen Soph like that, even at her lowest. If you were honest, it scared you a little. 

“We can be her parents. That’s all. And she’ll figure something out. If she needs to take a gap year, she’ll manage. She and Alice can search for programs together.” He sighs before he continues, leaning back to look at you. 

“All we can do is ask her what she needs and support her as best we can.” 

+++

tagging: @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygranger @hotchsflower​ @hotchslatte​ @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @kerrswriting @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @venusbarnes @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner @happyvol7 @ssa-holmes @mac99martin @ssahotchner99 @triangularroses @vagabond-ing @itsmytimetoodream @magic_in_the_eyes_of_the_beholder

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙰𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚣 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜: 𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝙷𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, encouraging, justifying, promoting nor romanticizing yandere behavior or lifestyle. This is all a work of fiction and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

Warnings: Mentions of toxic relationships, stalking, murder, kidnapping, torture, mental manipulation, use of LSD, physical violence, mind breaking, sexual scenes and other yandere behavior. Read at your own discretion.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:

𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎: 𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝙷𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐

𝙳.𝙾.𝙱: 𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟽𝚝𝚑, 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟾

𝙷𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝: 𝟷𝟽𝟸 𝙲𝙼/ 𝟻'𝟾 𝙵𝚃.

𝙰𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■□80%

𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■■100%

𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢: ■■■■□90%

𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: 𝙷𝚒𝚐𝚑

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚛

𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚜:

𝙴𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚢/𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 .

𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎.

𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚡𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 '𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝' 𝚘𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝.

𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He was a lost and wandering soul when it happened.

It wasn't that he was depressed or unsatisfied with his life.

But for the longest time he felt....empty.

As if he was carrying a void that couldn't be filled.

Not even his favorite hobbies gave him joy any longer.

It was as if he was either tapping out tunes on the piano or splattering colors on articles of clothing.

They had no meaning whatsoever anymore.

Live no longer felt to have any more meaning to him.

He felt like he was merely an empty shell, just going through life but never actually living.

Coming out of an arts and crafts store, his hands were full of all sorts of acrylics and watercolors he had just bought.

A passing cyclist didn't see him and didn't really care as he slightly collided with Hongjoong.

Letting out a big "oof!" he stumbled onto the pavement underneath him, all his materials flying out.

Although he wasn't hurt much, he still let out a groan and tried to get up.

He was startled when a gentle hand reached out towards him, lending him some help.

Looking up, his heart somersaulted as he stared at the kind and beautiful stranger that was offering him assistance.

"Are you all right?" Her eyes were full of concern and tenderness for him.

Hongjoong forgot how to speak in that moment, too amazed and stunned by the beauty standing right in front of him.

Nevertheless he did take her hand, his body trembling nervously as soon as he had the first physical contact with her.

The woman shook her head as her eyebrows furrowed.

"Seriously, what a jerk. Can't believe some people honestly."

Hongjoong still didn't respond, instead he shyly began picking up some of the stuff that had fallen.

"Let me help you." She offered her help once more.

Of course she was faster and picked up most of the stuff because he had a huge scrape on his knee and he was limping slightly.

"Thank....thank you." His voice was barely above a whisper as he took the stuff away from her.

"You're welcome. Would you like me to help you carry them to your car?"

Waving his hand he adamantly denied her offer, assuring her over and over again that he was all right.

Before he could leave, the girl extended her hand once again.

"I'm Y/N by the way. Nice to meet you."

"Y/N...."

Her name repeated itself over and over again in his head even hours after she had left him.

Even as he layed in his bed and stared blankly at the ceiling, he couldn't keep the softest smile off his face.

He didn't know if he had drifted off to sleep or was zoning in and out of a lucid dream, but all he could think about was her.

He was up as soon as the sun rose up, flinging his blanket across the room as he ran to his desk and took out his sketchpad.

Right away, he began to outline her face, wanting the vivid image of her to stay with him should his mind ever dare to erase her from his memory.

Although he was satisfied with the ending result, it was still not enough for him.

He felt his goddess, his newfound muse needed more justice than just pencil to capture her beauty.

Watercolors, acrylics, oil pastels and even ink, there wasn't any art material that Hongjoong didn't use to create a portrait of Y/N.

Soon his studio was filled and covered with paintings of her and he couldn't be happier...

Until he realized how much he'd rather have the real thing right there in person with him, in his arms, holding her and never letting go.

He almost fell into a depressive state again, dreading the fact that he'd never see his beloved muse ever again......

Until he saw her once again, walking across the street from the cafe he was in.

He quickly sprung out of his seat and ran out the door, eager to see her once again and hopefully talk to her more.

Just as he was about to call out to her, he stopped when a male came up to her, hugging her ever so intimately and ruffling her hair.

Hongjoong's hand tightened into a fist, nails digging into his skin as his eyes burning with anger and jealousy.

"She's my treasure, I found her and I won't let anyone else take her from me."

Making sure they were unaware of his looming presence, he stalked them out, trying to find the perfect opportunity to strike.

They seemed to be going on some sort of date, which only fueled his anger.

Finally, after they both went their separate ways, Hongjoong followed the mysterious man home, not letting his chance escape.

As soon as the man parked in his driveway and got out of the car, Hongjoong cornered him.

Using his belt as a makeshift weapon, he wrapped it around the man's throat, tightening it until he cut off his air flow.

Although he put up quite a struggle, Hongjoong was so full of anger and rage that he kept him strangled until his body stopped writhing and layed cold on his feet.

Taking his keys, Hongjoong decided to go inside the house to see if he could find anymore information about his precious treasure, figure out where she lived and what not.

Finding a cabinet full of documents, not only did Hongjoong found her address but also ended up discovering the man he just killed was actually her brother, and not a lover as he believed him to be.

"Oh well. Mistakes happen." He justified himself.

"Besides, he still would have been an obstacle and might have come between us."

A week later and now he was waiting for her inside her house, not having any difficulty in breaking in.

His eyes would anxiously look at the time, waiting for her to come home from work like she would usually do at that time.

When he heard her car come up in the driveway, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

Y/N walked into her house as usual, throwing her bag onto the couch.

As she was about to turn on the light, she felt a hard blow to her head, knocking her to the ground, her vision suddenly turning black.

When she awoke, she was beyond startled by all the countless portraits and clay figurines modeled after her.

Her eyes scanned the entire room, somewhat frightened by all the countless images of her staring back at her.

She was so bewildered by the scene that she didn't hear the door open and didn't see the person who came in until she was jolting out of her seat when a hand placed itself on her shoulder.

When she turned around and saw who it was that was smiling at her, she couldn't believe her eyes.

"You......you're...you're..."

Hongjoong nodded. "Yes my darling. I'm the man you helped out a month ago. Which, by the way I'm still grateful for."

Cupping her chin with his fingers, he leaned in to give her a kiss but she backed away, which made him frown.

"Hey, it's not very nice to reject someone's offer of gratitude darling. Did they not teach you manners at home?"

When he reached out to touch her once again, she smacked his hand away, moving as far away from him as possible.

Although it didn't really hurt him, Hongjoong was disappointed that his beloved muse could actually strike at him.

"This isn't what I imagined or expected from you love. You're supposed to be gentle, serene, obedient and just outright perfect.... like the pictures surrounding you.."

Y/N put her hands above her face when he crept closer to her once more, but Hongjoong, who was deceivingly strong for his body built, quickly took hold of them and uncovered her face.

"But that's ok.......if a small lump of clay can be easily molded into a beautiful vase, I'm sure I can mold you to perfection."

Y/N shuddered at his words, and tried to writhe her way out of his grasp as he pulled her out into the hallway and dragged her down into what she assumed was his basement.

Using his strength to overpower her, he easily strapped her down into one of the chairs he kept there, binding her legs and hands down.

"I suggest you start familiarizing yourself with this place Y/N. This...."

With an eerily calm and somewhat sadistic smile, Hongjoong extended his arms to gesture around the room.

"Is where your training begins."

7 months.......for 7 excruciating months, Y/N had been kept in Hongjoong's house, 3 of which were spent inside his room of horrors.

She still didn't understand how she came out of there alive and in one piece.

There wasn't a single night where she didn't relive the torture she went through.

Slapping, canning, limbs stretched out til they were almost out of their sockets, head submerged in water til she nearly passed out.

One time she had resisted so much and pissed Hongjoong off extremely by slapping him that he strapped her hand down and smashed her fingers one by one, breaking them entirely.

Of course, although he helped her heal them as he did her other wounds because he didn't want permanent physical damage on his treasure.

It'd only serve to ruin and taint her perfect image.

But the worst for Y/N wasn't going through all the physical torture.....

Her worst nightmare was all the times Hongjoong dosed her on LSD, prompting her to start hallucinating horrible scenarios.

Her mind seemed to weaken with every dosage he gave her, it would slowly eat away every last bit of her sanity.

Which might explain why now she tried to be more obedient and pliant towards Hongjoong, doing everything as he said and exactly how he wanted her to.

Although occasionally she would still step out of line, he'd shoot her a glare and warn her about it.

"Do you want to go back down there? Did I not give you sufficient training?"

At the sole mention of being taken back downstairs, she'd immediately remember herself and portray the illusion he wanted.

Hongjoong seemed thrilled to finally have created the perfect model, his beautiful creation came to life.

He was absolutely head over heels for his lovely goddess, she was beyond perfect and ethereal.

Sure she still had a little bit of stubbornness in her, but that was easily fixed and she'd be his perfect little doll once more.

And he loved praising her and reminding her about it, especially when they were intimate.

"See love? I knew you would come to love me." He whispered softly in her ear, a low moan escaping his lips as he moved inside of her.

Kissing the sides of her neck, he panted softly as he came inside her.

"My beautiful and perfect goddess."

Months turned to over a year and although Y/N still played the part of a loving and perfect soulmate, she didn't know how long she could take it anymore.

Perhaps it was being locked up for so long, perhaps it was the fear Hongjoong instilled in her. Maybe she was tired from playing a role she couldn't keep up with anymore.

All that combined with the fact she was now pregnant with Hongjoong's child, her hormones going crazy and her mind worrying about what her future would be like had her ready to snap.

One particular day, she just about had it.

Hongjoong had been smothering her all day, constantly nagging about taking care of herself and not harm the baby.

Her blood was boiling with rage as he kept pestering her about it over dinner.

Having had enough, she got out of her seat and reached for the nearest kitchen knife and pointed it at her stomach.

"Why don't I just rip out the baby out then? Maybe then you'll be satisfied."

Hongjoong immediately got up and tried to take the knife away from her.

"Y/N! Have you lost your mind?!" He exclaimed.

"If I lost my mind it's all thanks to you!"

Even after Hongjoong managed to toss the knife out of her hands, Y/N still continued to struggle and smack her hands at him, beating at his chest as hard as she could.

"I hate you!" She declared before her fist tried to collide with his face, but Hongjoong being faster than her, stopped it from hitting him.

Outraged that his model was breaking down, he picked her up, not caring about her being pregnant and stomped his way back to the training room.

Y/N was already bursting into tears when he began strapping her down into the chair, protesting about it.

"You'll hurt our child you mon-."

Gripping her throat tightly, he cut her off from finishing that sentence.

"This coming from the one threatening to rip the innocent baby out herself. But don't worry, I'll make sure no harm comes to our child."

Letting go of her neck, he quickly took out a familiar vial and needle out of a cabinet.

Although Y/N tried to get away, it was no use as she was once again tied up and the sting of the fluids shooting up her veins, making her dizzy immediately.

Hongjoong only watched with a blank face as the drugs started to take effect.

Going back to the cabinet, he took out a folder and walked back to Y/N with it.

"Now.... I never planned to show you this, but I guess you left me no choice."

Even in her hazy state, Y/N could make out what seemed to be a picture of her brother, but she wasn't sure if it was an illusion or not

"Yes, that is your brother indeed. Took care of you when your parents died and you were very attached to him. Your only living relative right?.....or is he?"

Pulling out another picture, Hongjoong made sure to hold it up right in her face so she could clearly see the gruesome image.

"This is how I left him after I attacked him one night. You'll be proud, he put up quite a good fight, but as you can see......in the end he still lost." He actually had the audacity to chuckle as if it was an amusing thing.

Y/N wanted to scream, but her body wouldn't allow it.

She couldn't believe that her remaining family, the only hope she could grasp onto and help get her out of the mess....

Was gone, forever vanished from the face of the earth by the same monster who took her away.

She no longer had the physical, mental nor emotional strength to resist and fight anymore.

She allowed her body to succumb to the effects of the drugs, eyes closing as she fell into a deep sleep full of haunting memories and images.

When she awoke hours later, she felt absolutely nothing, only numbness.

Gently stroking her hair, Hongjoong leaned in and scanned her expressionless face, satisfied when she just allowed him to pet her as he pleased, no longer resisting his touch.

"Do you know who you are?" He simply asked her.

Without even so much as blinking, she answered in a monotone, almost robotic voice:

"I'm your soulmate, your muse and your goddess, and I love no one but you."

Hongjoong nearly bursted into tears. Finally after so long, after so many experiments and efforts, he finally created his ultimate masterpiece.

"Perfect......at last...you're absolutely perfect.

[mxvladdy]

True Form- Belphegor

*collapses dramatically* Oh Gods its done! Sorry for the break! I hope my edits are good! 

More to come in this series soon :) 

Hope y’all enjoy!

True Form- Belphegor

Keeping a defined for is hard. Too hard for him anyway.

His true form is inconspicuous. He just naturally doesn’t take up much space in the physical realm. He likes it this way though.

An overlooked predator is a dangerous one.

If he is ever seen in this form it looks like a thin film. He drapes over everything, like dust in an unopened room, or the cling of fresh dew in the morning in the rose garden.

He never uses it when awake. His human form is more palatable and functional in all honesty. Don’t get me wrong though, he doesn’t hate it. It used to be really useful when he wanted to nap and Lucifer was on the prowl. But, such good things can only last for so long. Now Lucifer can sniff him out from a mile away incorporeal or no after centuries of practice.

His real form is best implemented in the minds of his slumbering victims. He can cultivate himself there, using his form to feel out the needs and desires of his unsuspecting host.

He is a manipulator, tried and true. His cunning and wile gets him pacts more than a promise of power or wealth.

Belphegor draws them in with promises of grandeur and unexplored inventions. Limitless discoveries all at the very tips of their fingers, if only they take one more step further. One more little slip deeper into the abyss. Then they can stay sleeping forever with him.

Even as an angel he was known as a dreamer. More often then not he could be found in the inner sanctums sleeping with Beel and Lilith during lessons or being carried around by Lucifer. Back then he always had pleasant dreams or innovative ideas that the other angels made use of. The little inventor.

Now that he has fallen, nightmares come to him more often than not, uncontrollable flashes of The War, his sister’s death, and the pain of betrayal. Perhaps that was his punishment, always drowsy with no control over when he sleeps, with nothing but nightmares to accompany him.

When he has control over himself in his slumber he likes to flit around into other’s dreams. Most of the time he goes to Beel’s as they are very pleasant and help distract him from the night terrors he had just escaped from.

Sometimes when bored or pissy he jumps to Lucifer’s dreams. It’s a rare occurrence when they are asleep at the same time, but he takes absolute delight in fucking with his oldest brother’s dreams or looking for secrets to lord over him.

He doesn’t come into your dreams uninvited though. Not after you freed him. You have given him permission to. But he uses it sparingly. When he needs a break from his own head he might control when you are tired. Just so he can have some time out of his head.

He is very controlling in that retrospect. He will form the shape of your dreams at first. But, you ween him out of it. Now he trains you to lucid dream. He lets you shape your reality around you both. You don’t know it, but he is allowing you to shape him as well.  

Mini Fic

He watches you from a distance. The grassy knoll you built was bright and airy. Pink and purple flowers sway in the light breeze you created, winking at him as they move. The large willow draping over you pulls a happy little hum from your chest. The swinging branches tickling your sun kissed cheeks. You lounge sprawled out on the ground staring up at the false sun with the largest grin on your face. The rays of sunshine illuminate your prone form, casting stark shadows in its wake. They travel down the hill searching and coiling for shelter from the strong lighting. They find him, latching on to his bare feet and merge with his own disjointed outline. How apropos.

"You can come up here Belphie. Promise I won't bite." You call out into the sky. Your eyes were still closed, but you tilt your head in his direction none the less. The smile you throw down at him is more blinding than the sun you dreamt up.

“I don’t want to intrude.” He steps out from the tree line blinking owlishly. Being welcomed in a dream had been unheard of before you. The mindscape was an intimate and private space. He was meant to be an invader, a taint. Before this he had been nothing but a rogue clinging to the edges. A whisper of temptation carried on the wind, or the hollow thud of a heel echoing down an empty street. It’s different here, with you. You expected to see him or sense him in whatever form he chooses. It was-nice.

“You're never an intrusion.” Your raw honesty floors him still, even after all this time together. “Had a rough night?” You ask patting the space beside you.

“Something like that.” He murmurs dropping down next to you. He is distracted momentarily by the heat radiating off your body. “You’ve been practicing.” You beam, proud that he noticed so quickly. His lessons on dream walking and lucid dreaming were hard, but looks like they were finally paying off.

It had been difficult at first, keeping a solid detailed form while knowing you were asleep. Then trying to stay asleep while doing it. You had to fight against the instinct to wake up constantly. It was like somewhere deep inside your psyche was trying to protect you, like it knew what happened when a human ventures too far into this place. Almost like it knew that a cunning little demon was lurking somewhere down here.  

“How’d you guess?” You ask rolling onto your side. He answers by reaching out to you and dragging a soft finger down your bare arm. You shiver at the cool touch, little goosebumps awakening under his touch. Your picturesque scene wavers at the corners from his touch. The caress breaking your concentration for a moment. Belphegor smirks. “I’m still working on it!” You blush.

“I don’t mind, as long as I’m the only one that that can shake you so.” He pulls away to summon a large pillow for himself. You watch him try to get comfortable. He punches and rolls around the poof for a moment trying to get comfortable. You could tell something was troubling him. The energy in his gaze was borderline manic. His usually relaxed stature was strung taut, right on the border of snapping. He would murder you again if you said it; but he looked so much like Lucifer right now. Tight, cold, and rigid. A clear signal of distress.

“You want to take the helm?” You wave around the small scene offering him a distraction. He could expand the scene far further than you could, probably ever could. “Or do you want to let your hair down?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him. You smile at his little snort, that human saying always got him to laugh.

“Sure you don’t mind?” You shake your head and sit up. Truth be told, you liked his weird demon form. You could never entirely place where he was when he was in it, but you just knew he was there and close. It was reassuring.

He breathes a sigh of relief before flopping backward. He disappears on impact with the soft ground. The grass and flowers coming up to engulf him as he takes over.  He flows around you into every corner of your mind, stretching himself to the furthest corners of your dream. He weaves himself in your fantasy. You get swept up in it for a moment. The raw force of him pulling at your center. It is suffocating for a moment, the oppressive weight of his magic. It brings out a bone-deep weariness in you without meaning to. You feel the growing need to just rest. Just a moment.

“Back with me?” You open your eyes. When had you closed them?

“Ye, sorry.” You lean up onto your elbow and shake your head to clear the fog that still clung to it. It was always a head rush when he did that. Blinking the rest of his magic away you take in your now joint dream. The sun was gone, replaced with twin moons and awash with multicolored stars. His sky bled colors, dripping purples and blues onto the green grass around the edges of your vision. The more you focus the more the field grows and stretches. Off in the distances, tiny tents emerge, sprouting up like shoots from the blackness. “Really?” You eye the tents with a wry smile. If you strained your ear you could hear faint carnival music.

A low rumble bounces around you. “You suddenly have an issue with the circus?”

“Absolutely not!” You raise, calling out into the vastness around you. “You better make a carousel!” You could feel him chuckle around you as you began your trek down the hill.

Belphegor is quiet while you navigate the forest. He’s whole being hyper focused on building the world around your quick steps. His was divided and working overtime in an attempt to distract himself. Part of him was busy building the carnival, another working on making sure you don’t stir from your slumber, and the other awake and aware. He hasn’t done this in a while, splitting his consciousness so thin like this. His human body lumbering along in the physical world while his mind was busy in the subconscious one. Hopefully, none of his brothers were awake and would try to intervene. He wanted to be close to you, in both body and mind tonight. You reach the edge of the woods and he turns his full attention back to you.

He had gone all out for you. Bright lights and the echoing laughter of imaginary guests assault your senses. You could even taste buttered popcorn and caramel on the tip of your tongue. A warm hand takes yours causing you to jump. Belphie gives you an apologetic grin for startling you before dragging you off into the park without a word. Who knows how long the two of you spent. Time, as you understood it, worked differently here. Faster or slower you had no idea. But, right now you didn’t care. He needs you here in the present.

“So-” You start hesitantly much later in the evening. You lick at some cotton candy that had gotten stuck on your fingers. “Want to talk about it?” Belphegor shoots you a look from where he perched. His feet dangling from a study steel fence. He watches you ride the slow-moving carousel as it goes round and round in lazy circles. He mulls over what to say as you make a rotation.  

“I dreamt of Lilith again.” He admits. He comes to sit on the metal animal beside you, disappearing and reappearing in a puff of smoke at your side.

“I’m sorry.”

“Ye. Me too.” He pats the kelpie he sits on. Its listless eyes bore into his. His old nightmares reflecting in their ruby gaze. He wanted to be over this. Why wasn’t he over this? The longer he stares into the horses dead eyes the more his nightmares creep back onto him.The dream shifts around you. The air dropping in temperature drastically. The merry background noises choked off and replace with a buzzing that made your head hurt. The sound of metal striking metal and shouts start to grow at the base of your neck.  

“Belphie-” You reach out for him, cupping his face. He doesn’t notice you anymore. His mind going somewhere you shouldn’t venture. His expression turns stormy, closing off to you completely. Fear begins to build up inside of you. Something uncontrollable riding in on the fast building winds. The night sky he built changes. Stars blinking out one after another like blown bulbs. The moons swelling in size, crashing into each other as your dream begins to crumble. “Shit.” You had to wake up, and fast.

You awake with a start back in your bed. Eyes snapping open while your body lays motionless. An odd sensation of sleep paralysis locking your joints. Something radiates behind you, a lanky body drawn close to yours. Sweet breath tickles the nape of your neck. Fighting the paralysis that held you, you turn to greet your bed guest.

Belphie’s half-lidded eyes seem to look through you. His body was icy, a ghostly vapor wafted over of his pale skin. You tried to wake him but your tongue was stuck. All you could do was stare wide-eyed as he dreamt. He comes back to you slowly. His eyes twitch and roll sporadically until he blinks, drawing in a ragged breath as he comes to. His skin warms with each passing tick of your alarm clock. As your drowsy demon stirs the stiffness in your body begins to ebbs. His chokehold on your mind weakening. After what seemed like an eternity he awakens. He takes you in for a moment and then he’s on you, lurches forward to drag your pliant body to his. “Scared me for a second there Belphie.” You mutter into his soft hair.

He sighs, breathing in your scent and focusing on your strong pulse. It had been a while since he had lost control of himself like that. Building up a world was easy. Tearing it down was even easier. The thread that kept people under was thin, like a single strand of silk. To lose himself to a nightmare in another being’s head? It was unheard of. It terrified him. “Did I hurt you?” He rasps.

“No,” You reassure him, pressing a kiss to his sweaty brow. “I woke up in time.” He goes quiet again trying to keep his breathing steady. “Hey.” You stroke a few strands of hair from his face. “You’re thinking pretty hard there, can I help?”

Could you help? If he was losing control of his dreamscape again… He would have to tell Lucifer. A shudder runs up his spine at the thought of retraining. No, he was still strong enough to keep it under control “Just keep stroking my hair, please?” He yawns widely, lethargy hitting him hard. He drifts off to the feel of your fingers flowing smoothly through his hair. The lingering fears slip further and further from his mind with each soft caress.  

[thesacredtwink]

23 with Hyrule. make it as angsty as you possibly can. :3

GLADLY.

HYRULE IS LIKE THE ONE CHARACTER IN ALL MY FANDOMS THAT I DON’T HAVE A PROBLEM TURNING INTO HUMAN HAMBURGER. SO LETS DO THIS

----

His fingers scrape the ground to find some sort of purchase, but the hard stone is unyielding and all it does is rasp another layer of skin off of Hyrule’s abused digits. His legs trail uselessly behind him, one bent at an unnatural angle, but not even the pain of the broken femur is enough to stop the Traveler from trying to crawl his way forward.

A solid boot to the center of his back stops what little forward progress Hyrule was able to achieve, and the pressure forces air and blood from his lungs.

Face down on the floor, he coughs in an attempt to keep from drowning in a puddle of his own blood, and when the leather gloved hand threads its fingers through his hair and lifts his head upwards, its almost a relief.

Almost, but not quite because the action brings into sight the crumpled forms of eight other men.

Slowly, the hand holding his head up rotates so that Hyrule can see them all, their chests barely moving and eyes that flutter somewhere around wakefulness and unconsciousness. The prone form of Four doesn't move at all.

With a violent jerk, Hyrule is flipped onto his back and his head collides with the ground with a crack. His vision swims for a moment, and in the confusion a face presses close to his.

“Nobody is coming to save you,”

A knife, slender and shining is presented to the disoriented hero, and Hyrule has just enough lucidity left to recoil from the object.

“But there is nothing in the Magicians writings that say you have to be dead for this either.”

The hand returns, this time grabbing Hyrule by his collar and dragging him towards the center of the room where a pedestal and urn stand. He is hoisted to his feet, and when it becomes clear that the Traveler cannot support his own weight, two people, cloaked and hooded, emerge from some unseen room and hold Hyrule.

Looking down, the brunet is just able to make out the contents of the ceramic jar. Ash, fine and silvery sit innocuously in the vessel, and Hyrule has just enough time to whisper a soundless apology to Aurora and Dawn when the blade from earlier is pressed to his neck.

Compared to the abuse he has already been subjected to, the fine line that is cut into his skin is gentle. But when the drops of blood land in the powder, Hyrule swears he hears the earth itself groan.

“Long live Ganondorf.”

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 2

So the first part did decently well, so I figure I could add a second part. 

---------

For the next few hours I waited, making sure he was truly asleep. The Michael I knew was a heavy sleeper, but I would never be able to tell if that was a lie too. During that time, I tried to make a plan on how to escape. If this was Michael’s apartment building, it meant it was on the outskirts of town and nowhere near the police station, so my only option was running. But it had been a while since I had any food or water, so my ability to do any running was limited to one short sprint. As far as getting out of the chair went, there was the knife that Michael threatened me with at my feet. But I was conflicted about using it. Had he left it there on purpose to taunt me? It was my only way of escape, so caution had to be thrown to the wind. 

Using the rubber on the soles of my shoes, I carefully got the knife handle between them. The next challenge was to get it up to my hands. All those crunches Coach did were paying off. I took the knife from my shoes and relaxed, gripping the handle tightly. Awkwardly, I began slowly cutting at the duct binding my hands together and then around my chest until I was free. Every cut took what felt like hours, but I didn’t want to be loud to make sure he didn’t catch me. By the time I got finished it was the end of the afternoon, the sky slowly fading from blue to the sunset.  Once free, I stood up slowly, hoping the floor wouldn’t creak underneath my feet. I took my steps slowly, feeling my heart pound. The door to the outside world felt so close yet so far away. Out of the corner of my eye, Michael’s door was in my vision. But the problem was that the door was closed earlier, but now it was opened with just a crack. 

He was awake, but he hadn’t heard me. It was now or never, I walked quickly to the front door and made my way into the hallway, the heavy door slamming behind me. 

“(Y/N)!” I heard Michael shout. I started to run, Michael’s apartment was on the third floor so running down the stairs was the only option since taking the elevator would mean he would be at the bottom. By the time I had made it to the second floor, I could hear his booming steps behind me. 

“GET BACK HERE!” I picked up my pace, almost tripping down the steps multiple times. Until I saw the front door of the building, slamming into it and making my way outside. The parking lot was empty except for a black Camaro, a man was leaning against it, looking towards the woods. It was a risk, this guy could be working with Michael. But Michael never really worked well with others in school. 

“HELP!” I screamed, feeling my legs start to ache from running all those stairs. The adrenaline running through my veins halting, “HELP ME!” The man turned and my heart almost stopped. It was Derek Hale. One of the survivors from the Hale fire six years ago. 

By now he had turned to face me, looking at me and then Michael who was hot on my heels. 

“Help!” I shouted, crashing into him. He didn’t move, it felt like running into a wall, “Please help me.” I held on tightly to his leather jacket. 

“Please.” I pleaded, hoping that he was just there at the right place at the right time. By that point, Michael had caught up. 

“Hey, man.” Michael panted, “Thanks for catching her. My girlfriend gets a little crazy when she’s off her meds.” 

Derek looked down at my face, his expression became hard and frightened me a bit. He took my hands from his jacket. It’s over, he’s going to hand me over. But then, he pulled me so I stood behind him, keeping him between me and Michael. 

“I think you should leave.” Derek said. I had never heard him speak before. From what I could remember from high school, after the fire Derek had become reclusive and kept to himself. 

“Listen, pal, if you don’t hand her over, I’ll need to get physical and we both know you don’t want that to happen.” Michael warned, gripping a knife in his hands. But the way he spoke made it seem like they knew each other, but Michael had never mentioned Derek before. 

“(Y/N), come on. Let’s go home.” Michael said. 

“No.” 

“Fine.” He glared, “Then leave.” He spat his words like they were laced with venom. Derek glanced towards the passenger door, like an invitation to freedom as he made his way to the other side of the car. Michael, however, went back on his words. He stalked towards Derek, knife in his hands. 

“No!” I scrambled to stop his path and the knife meant to Derek’s back found its way into mine. The pain itself made my body seize up, making me fall into Derek once again, his green eyes looked full of panic. 

“Shit.” Michael hissed, pulling the knife from my back and sprinting away. My knees buckled, the last of the adrenaline gone. 

“Hey, hey.” Derek held me up, pulling me with ease towards the back of his car, “You’re gonna be okay.” He laid me down in the back seat, slamming the door and getting into the front, starting the car. The Camaro’s wheels screeched on the pavement as they sped off onto the road. His eyes kept looking back at me in the rear view mirror. 

“Hey, stay awake, (Y/N).” I tried to speak but my vision was going black, as it was I could hear Derek’s voice farther and farther away. 

- 

“(Y/N)?”  A sweet voice called, “(Y/N), can you hear me?” My eyes slowly fluttered open, then squeezed shut at the bright lights. 

“Where am I?” I whispered, my throat was sore.

“You’re in the hospital. We took you into surgery, everything went well and you’re healing just fine.” She said sweetly. I was finally able to open my eyes and found the nurse who had been talking to me. She wore burgundy scrubs and had her blonde hair pulled back into a bun. 

“The Sheriff is here to see you, but I told him that you still needed rest.” She said, standing up and writing her vitals. 

“No, it's okay to let him in.” She took a deep breath, “He’s my godfather.” The nurse nodded and she walked out the door. But instead of Uncle Noah, Stiles rushed into the room, the nurse right behind him. I slowly began to sit up to greet him. 

“Hey, hey, hey, you sit right back down. Are you okay?” His words rushed from his mouth. 

“Slow down.” I smiled weakly, “I’m okay.” 

“You got stabbed.” 

“I’ve been better. How’s that?” Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the Sheriff make his way in the room. 

“Hi Uncle Noah.” I said softly. He looked like he usually did, stressed and tired. 

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry.” His voice was somber and brought back the memories that my parents and my home were gone forever. My eyes brimmed with tears, my lips tight to hold back my sobs. Uncle Noah came to my side, and sat on the edge of the bed. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side, rubbing her shoulder softly. I turned into his side, wet spots growing on his uniform from my tears. Stiles held my hand, moving his thumb across my knuckles.

- 

Later after feeling a little more lucid, Uncle Noah wanted to take my statement. 

“Can you tell me about what happened last night?” 

I took a deep breath, “I went out to go to a party. Around eleven o’clock. On my way there I ran into Michael. He….” I looked up, trying to avoid tears again, “He knocked me out and took me to his apartment. And he tied me up. He showed me the news telling me mom and dad were dead.” I hiccupped back a little sob, “He threatened me with a knife then he went to bed. He dropped the knife at my feet, I cut myself out, and ran. He was running behind me and I ran into a guy in the parking lot, Derek Hale.” 

“Derek Hale?” He asked, stopping his note taking. 

I nodded, “Yeah, he was just there in the parking lot. I ran up to him, he was going to drive me away from there. Michael came after him with the knife and I got in the way. I don’t remember much after that.” 

He nodded, taking his notes on a small flippad. 

“Isn’t that the guy who survived in that fire five years ago?” Stiles piped in from a chair in the corner. 

“Yeah, that’s him. I’ll have to track him down to find him. Get his statement.” Uncle Noah put his notepad in his pocket. “Get some more rest, kiddo, you’re getting discharged tonight into my care.”

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

Read part 3 here!

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[supersilversleuth]

This Pain Isn’t Real (Because I Couldn’t Handle It Alone If It Was) by SuperSilverSpy

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)

Rating: General Audiences

Category: Gen

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson-centric, Dick Grayson Whump, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Whumptober2021, touched starved, Bruises, Starvation, SuperSilverSpy, SilverGrayson, SilverWhump, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne’s Parent, I think I might have attempted, Fluff, in this

"I'm telling you, brat, Goldie is probably fine. It wouldn't be the first time he'd run off without telling anybody. Besides, it's only been..."

"Tt, something doesn't feel right, Todd. He would have answered my calls by now, if he were oka—"

Jason saw him first, then Damian. Both of them freezing in place, staring at him with wide eyes.

OR Dick&fam in the aftermath of his kidnapping (comfort-ish fic)

No. 6 - TOUCH AND GO bruises | touch starved | hunger

Part 6 of 2021 Most Whumperful Time of the Year - Dick Grayson-centric

Language: English Words: 1,410 Chapters: 1/1 Collections: 1

It’s fine, Dick thought, it’s fine.

Your fingers are bruised , said that incredibly negative voice in his head, so are your toes, and your back and your bu—

Shut up , Dick thought back firmly, I’m not bruised, see? He looked down at his arm. No bruises. I can’t see them so they’re not there.

Liar, hissed the voice.

Memories flashed through his mind, courtesy of the crazy witch lady that had captured him two weeks—no, two days ago.

Just because it felt like two weeks and she said it was two weeks and my body is missing two weeks worth of breakfasts and lunches—doesn’t mean it was two weeks.

Afterall, the newspaper and his phone and the nice old lady across the hall said it’d only been two days.

So, Dick concluded, he had no right to be acting as he was. Kneeling on his living room floor, barely clothed, holding his weak and shaky arms out awkwardly as if keeping them from touching anything would make them hurt less.

Which, he thought, it might.

But it was all in his head, the bruises weren’t actually there. It only felt like they were. Just because he’d seen them with his own eyes didn’t mean they hadn’t gone away when he’d escaped.

Even so, Dick couldn’t bring himself to move, let alone stand up and actually do something productive. Any time any part of his body so much as touched something, it would hurt. Not to mention, his muscles were sore and achy, and he was very thin and malnourished. Stupid witches and their pain-in-the-a** magic. Dick smirked bitterly to himself at the pun.

You’re pathetic, said that incredibly motivational voice again.

Fine, Dick thought back, I’ll get up.

So he did. Well...he tried to at least. He made it to his feet, staggered a bit, and collapsed against the side of his couch. Progress.

Oh but how it hurt . His feet couldn’t handle the pressure of his body weight--lessened though it was--and when he hit the couch, it was as if every breath of air left him at the pain.

Dick groaned.

—

He didn't notice it at first, through the agony, but a couple hours later he could really feel it.

The cold.

Oh, f*** his life. The one time when his skin felt so tender he felt like a mild breeze might send him crashing to the ground—and now he was feeling cold.

It was ironic.

His blankets were heavy and soft, but it was the heavy part his brui—body didn't agree with. Dick dragged himself onto his couch, pressing against the cushions. Stars seemed to spark in his vision, pain radiating from his shoulder and arm, where he was putting the most pressure. His legs sank into the scratchy fabric as well, creating a sharp ache in his shins.

Dick shivered.

It felt as if he were trapped in a freezer. He breathed heavily, trying to control his breaths, looking ahead of him as if he might see the product of frosty breath in the air.

Relax, it's nothing, it's all in your head. He thought to himself.

Dick shivered again, tried to keep his teeth from chattering. It wasn't a very successful attempt. Against his better judgement, Dick rubbed harshly at his arms. He felt as if he was tearing through his own skin, though he did feel a very brief flash of warmth.

When was the last time I had a hug? It was three weeks ago—no, just a little over a week.

Dick sighed into his couch. He was a grown adult now, there was no reason for him to be sitting there, wishing for a hug as if he were some hopeful, naïve child.

Just as he was in the process of making himself pass out from pain, the door opened, and in walked two of his younger brothers.

"I'm telling you, brat, Goldie is probably fine. It wouldn't be the first time he'd run off without telling anybody. Besides, it's only been..."

"Tt, something doesn't feel right, Todd. He would have answered my calls by now, if he were oka—"

Jason saw him first, then Damian. Both of them freezing in place, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Hey, hey Dickie?" Jason asked slowly, "You alright?"

Damian burst into movement, hurrying towards Dick's side. He knelt on the floor, hesitantly putting a hand on his shoulder.

Dick held perfectly still, trying not to flinch away or show any kind of pain. But Damian knew him better than that.

The kid's warm palm against Dick's skin felt wonderful, and there was hardly any pressure behind it.

Dick felt his eyes water at the relief.

Behind them, Jason scoffed, shuffling his feet as if uncomfortable. Finally, he began heading towards Dick's kitchen, muttering curses under his breath.

Not long after and there was a loud exclamation from the kitchen, Jason had probably found out just how much food Dick...didn't have.

"Richard?" Damian asked him, completely ignoring Jason in the background. "What happened to you?"

"It's—it's nothing," Dick stuttered out, "N—Nothing happened."

He shivered, instinctively clutching Damian's arm, bringing it up to his face.

Damian's expression was solemn, yet concerned. "It's alright, Grayson. You needn't have to tell us."

"You're so warm," Dick shuddered, running tender fingers along Dami's arm.

"Richard? Where are you injured?"

"Everywhere." Dick felt the words slip through his usual defenses. He would've felt surprised, but all he could feel was numb except for that one spot where his little brother's hand lay on his cheek.

Baby Bird pulled back, and the previous warmth was gone, taken from him. Dick whined at the loss. Damian froze yet again, startled expression trained on him.

"Dami..." Dick whispered, drawing out the "e" sound. "Come back."

His arm flopped out, reaching out half-heartedly for the kid. It hit the edge of the couch, sending a wave of pain through his arm and back to his chest.

"What is wrong with you, Grayson?"

Dick closed his eyes, muttering tiredly about physical touch and feelings of cold--likely caused by starvation, he might add. Not because he needed a hug or anything. He hoped Dami would get the hint without him having to actually say it.

"You...of all people..." Damian stared at him in disbelief. "I consented to such physical atrocities just last week!"

Sighing, Dick turned his head away. "It's a long story."

He opened his arms as wide as they could go (which wasn't very), and tried to look inviting.

With mild grumbling, Damian stood, slipping onto the couch to join Dick there.

He sighed, content, wrapping his arms around the boy and burying his face in the kid's hair.

—

"Geez, what happened here?" Steph took in the disorganized mess before her.

Jason scowled. He wore a stained, ugly-yellow apron around his waist, and looked like he'd been in the middle of cleaning up something nasty.

"Dickface went and got himself starved in the two days he went missing—how is that even possible? And he seemed to be all drugged up on some sort of cuddle concoction. He was in the middle of snuggling the demon spawn when his fever started."

Steph winced. "How bad is it?"

"He's been lucid exactly twice since the first time he woke up and spat out parts of his stomach that I'm pretty sure should still be in there. The little sh** there though," Jason nodded to where Damian was adorably curled up within Dick's embrace, "Somehow Dick doesn’t splatter him every damn time he expels little bits of his organs. And he won't let go of the kid. I swear the universe is getting back at me from the last time I flipped it off..."

Steph cracked a smile, "So why am I here then? You're obviously being overdramatic about Dick's health, I can tell you're not that worried, you know."

The man just chuckled, tossing her the mop that had been in his hands before. "The next time Goldie wakes up, I'm gonna have some soup all ready for him. You, young lady, are here to clean up the rest of this mess."

Steph looked around, opening her mouth to argue.

Jason just raised his eyebrows, shooting her a pointed look as his phone seemed to materialize between his fingers.

Crap. That's what she got for letting blackmail material fall into the wrong hands.