#my memory wipes on what a pain it is to color balance

[spockandawe]

Things have been crazy busy over here! But metalsmithing class continues. I'm learning to flush set gemstones, which mainly means... practice. But it still Hurts me to consider just wasting silver, so when I started, I planned to keep my spacing even and colors interesting to turn it into a pendant! I started from the bottom, so I had space to saw my very first attempts off if something went egregiously wrong, but it all worked out pretty decently! I'm not going to ever start naming my projects, unless it would be really, really funny, but informally, in my heart, this piece will always be called 'learning curve'

Ruby and tourmaline in sterling silver!

And because the curse of handicrafts is that I intimately know every single thing that went wrong making it, I'm giving it away as a gift. Uh, tomorrow 😂 So last night the deadline became Real and I put the pendant on a chain and whipped up a quick box to hold it (monographed for the giftee), and used the box to experiment with getting an effect like millimeter binding on the corners. It was interesting, I would definitely try sometime similar again! And the jewelry was very fun, I enjoy this type of setting a lot, I'll DEFINITELY do that again!

[emira-addams]

Hazbin Hotel - Carmilla x Rosie - The Devil is a Part-Timer

Chapter 01: Hell‘s Gates to City Gates

Miserably, Carmilla opened her eyes. She was lying on the ground, the hard earth pressing into her back and the damp grass soaking through her shirt. The damp fabric stuck to her body. A cold wind stung her skin, carrying the distant noise of shrill sirens and roaring cars to her.

"W-What... What happened?" Straining, Carmilla blinked against the bright light reflecting off the mirrored facades of the skyscrapers around her. A glazed veil blurred her vision and her world was spinning. The silhouettes of the trees hovered above her, their long fingers interwoven to form a protective roof against the dark shadows of the skyscrapers towering all around. Airplanes crossing the dark blue imitated shooting stars. The hellish horizon with its blood-red color was gone, the setting sun bathed this strange world in a golden glow.

Groaning, Carmilla sat up and looked around. "Where am I?" she whispered in confusion. Slowly, the spinning of her world subsided and the silhouettes of the trees grew first into half a forest and then into an entire park. An entire park with trimmed lawns, raked gravel paths and neatly lined up benches. She sat among the wreckage of one of these park benches.

"Ouch..." she grumbled under her breath as her hands brushed splinters of wood from her clothes. Suddenly Carmilla froze dead in her tracks, a horrified shriek followed. "My hands!" Mouth agape, Carmilla stared at her palms in disbelief. She now had a pair of ordinary hands, not giant paws. She had fine fingertips with nails painted black, no sharp claws… Like when she was alive...

"What by Lucifer has happened to me?" In disbelief, Carmilla twisted and turned her human hands in the fading light to take a closer look. Desperately, she tried to remember what had happened. The past few hours were a strange blur, her headache was unbearable and the last thing she could remember was the end of the last Overlord-Meeting. The topic had slipped her mind and all she could remember was that she was already packing up her things with the help of her daughters. With her feet on the tabletop, Velvette had decided to stay a bit longer after the meeting had already ended to annoy Carmilla. Suddenly there had been a knock at the door and Rosie was standing in the frame, this last memory followed blank blackness...

"H-Help..."

A pained outcry suddenly snapped Carmilla out of her thoughts. Hastily, she looked around. "H-Hello?" Carmilla asked cautiously as a bright blonde mess of hair emerged from the shadows of the trees. A woman struggled to her feet, her balance swayed precariously and she had to brace herself against the nearest tree trunk. Carmilla's eyebrows began to furrow in confusion. Strangely enough, the woman's features seemed quite familiar to her. Her hairstyle, her flowing dress and the whole way she moved, everything looked pretty fucking familiar to Carmilla.

"C-Carmilla?"

She didn't recognize her until she flashed her her signature smile. "Rosie!"

Instead of the black depths of her empty eye sockets, two beautiful sky-blue orbs now peered at Carmilla in surprise, while full pink lips curled into a relieved smile. Light blonde tousled curls hung in Rosie's face as she stumbled across the damp grass on clumsy feet and fell to her knees in front of Carmilla. "C-Carmilla? What's happened to you? Y-You look so... so different..."

Carefully, Rosie wiped the wavy strands of the long white hair from Carmilla's face and cupped her cheeks. Rosie turned her head from left to right and looked at her scrutinizingly with a very skeptical expression. "You look so..." She thought for a moment. "You look so human... and you're bleeding all over your face." Concern reflected in Rosie's expression as her fine fingertips ran gently over the many scratches on her face and Carmilla winced startled. "What's happened to you?"

"I bet you haven't had a chance to look in a mirror yet, Rosie," Carmilla whispered softly. A tingling sensation suddenly spread through the pit of her stomach as she gazed at Rosie's human form in entranced awe. She was truly beautiful and the touch of her warm hands left Carmilla's skin burning.

"What do you mean?" Rosie wanted to know, confused, when suddenly the deafening sound of a helicopter, its bright lights flashing over their heads, made her flinch violently in shock and she scooted closer to Carmilla on her knees, the damp grass leaving green stains on her dress. Rosie found the noise unbearable.

"M-Mom?" a faint voice called out.

This time Carmilla flinched, alarmed. "Clara?" muttered Carmilla in sudden shock. That had definitely been her daughter's voice, she was sure of it. She and Rosie were not alone. "Clara!" Carmilla quickly jumped up. Searching frantically, she looked around. "Clara, my baby, where are you?" she called back, her voice shaking.

"We're here, Mother!" a second voice called out.

"Hey, wait for me!" shouted Rosie.

Blindly, Carmilla rushed towards the direction of her daughters' voices, momentarily forgetting about Rosie. "Clara? Odette? Where are you?" Panic filled her voice and she looked around desperately. In the distance, between the dense trees and the growing shadows in the sunset, Carmilla recognized two figures. Her steps quickened more a more and finally she began to run.

"Here, Mom!" With a frightened expression, Clara clung to her sister's arm. Her knuckles shimmered white, so tight was her grip, while her nails dug mercilessly into the rough fabric of Odette's shirt. Her older sister waved their mother towards them.

"My girls, my babies..." Carmilla sighed with relief when she reached them. The worried mother quickly wrapped her two daughters tightly in her arms and hugged them close while Clara and Odette buried their faces in her shoulder.

"Are you both all right?" Carmilla wanted to know as they detached themselves from her embrace again. "Are you hurt?" They shook their heads while Carmilla looked them up and down very carefully under a very skeptical gaze. At first glance, nothing appeared to be wrong with them, but when Carmilla took a closer look, she noticed that both of her daughters were missing the black horns on top of their heads and their sclera was no longer deep red, but white. Clara and Odette now appeared like two ordinary teenagers.

"We're fine..." Odette mumbled monotonously. All her attention was focused on her mother's face. She tilted her head while her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Mother, you have blood all over your face..." she remarked. "Were we attacked?"

"I-" Carmilla's hands carefully wiped the dried blood from her cheeks, the exposed scratches underneath stinging slightly. For a moment, she stared at red liquid on her fingertips. "I don't know..." she admitted in defeat. "The last thing I remember is the end of the Overlord-Meeting and the next moment I'm waking up in the wreckage of a park bench in this place..." She sighed sadly. At least the assumption for the origin of her injury was more or less pretty obvious, but what had happened before that?

"Y-You're... pretty... pretty fast, Milly..." wheezed Rosie out of breath as she finally caught up to Carmilla. Breathing heavily, she propped her hands on her knees and gasped for oxygen. "Hey, kids... Good to see you all safe and sound..." she greeted Carmilla's daughters with a weak smile.

"Miss Rosie? You look so different!" Open-mouthed, Clara stared at the cannibal. "Where the Hell are we, Mom?"

Odette tilted her head thoughtfully. First she attentively examined Rosie's strangely human appearance from top to bottom, then that of her mother and sister. "I doubt we're in Hell at all" she pondered aloud.

"What do you mean, child?" Rosie demanded to know, her face contorted into an look of horror. "Where else are we supposed to be if we're not in Hell?"

"We're stranded on Earth..."

"Who-" Startled, Carmilla caught sight of the slender figure of a young girl struggling to rise from the wet mud of the nearby duck pond. Carmilla's eyes narrowed to slits. She looked familiar, with her voluminous hair, her two pigtails left and right and her smug look and- "Velvette!"

Despite her clothes stained all over with filthy mud and the duckweed hanging ungracefully in her hair, Velvette nodded proudly. "The one and only Velvette of the Vees is standing right in front of you. You are welcome to bow before me..."

"Ugh..." Carmilla groaned in annoyance. Of all the sinners in all of Hell, she had to be stranded on earth with Velvette...

"Hey, I'm also not really thrilled to run into you in this park by any chance," Velvette spat back.

"By chance?" Carmilla's teeth gritted. Her words tinged with spite as she clenched her hands into fists. "It just so happens that you refuse to leave the room only once after an Overlord-Meeting, even though you can't ever wait for it to end and are always the first to storm out of the room, and the next thing I know, the five of us wake up stranded on Earth. In my opinion, that's a very weird occurrence and if I find out that this is actually all your fault, that we're all stranded on Earth because of you, then I'll kill you myself-"

"Milly, please keep your temper," Rosie interrupted Carmilla's threat, while Velvette raised her hands and put on an innocent face. She gently placed her warm hand on Carmilla's shoulder. "Finger-pointing and fighting are definitely not going to get us anywhere now. Unless one of you has found a portal here in the park back to Hell, the five of us are inevitably stranded together. We have to stick together if we want to find a way back..."

Grossed out, Velvette grimaced and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You want me to work with her?" She stared stubbornly at Carmilla.

"Yes, we all have to work together..." Odette quickly intervened between her mother and Velvette before the two could get at each other.

"Stop your kindergarten drama now, apologize to each other and shake hands," Rosie demanded.

"Are you fucking mental?" Velvette tapped her forehead and flipped Rosie the bird. "I'm not apologizing to her."

"Excuse me, Rosie?" Carmilla stared at the cannibal in dismay, but Rosie merely crossed her arms in front of her chest and gave them both a very stern look. "I'm definitely not apologizing to Velvette!"

Rosie cleared her throat. "Come now, I've had enough of you two, apologize to each other and shake hands," she repeated her words, her voice low and her tone threatening and leaving no room for further protest. She eyed them both expectantly.

"Yes, Rosie..." Carmilla was the first to obey. "I'm sorry, Velvette." She held out her hand and Velvette took it.

"Me too... Sorry, Carmilla," Velvette replied. She rolled her eyes in annoyance as Rosie praised them in satisfaction. "What do we do now?" she wanted to know as Carmilla began to lead the small group across the grass to the park's front gate. The setting sun blinded them and Velvette had to shield her vision with her hand. The first lanterns came to life with an electric flicker.

"We'll blend in," Carmilla explained as they circled the duck pond. All of their appearances seemed strangely human in their reflection; they no longer looked like sinners from Hell. "We look like humans, so we'll act like humans. We will act as inconspicuous as possible until we find a way back to Hell."

Beyond the park's heavy iron gate, the main road and the deafening roar of rush-hour traffic welcomed them.

"How... do...?" Rosie mumbled half-heartedly. Fascination glittered in her eyes, overwhelmed, she turned on the spot and marveled open-mouthed at the bright neon colors and flashing lights of the big city, which formed a world of its own in the twilight. She had never experienced such centralization and technicalization in her lifetime.

"Help! We're under attack!" Pressing her hands over her ears in distress, Rosie heard an ambulance speeding down the street in front of them, its sirens blaring. The volume was unbearable. Blinded by the flickering blue light, she closed her eyes shut tightly. If Velvette hadn't grabbed Rosie by her collar in time and roughly yanked her back onto the sidewalk, she would have been run over by the ambulance.

Rosie choked on her collar while Velvette, pale with shock, scolded her. "You'd better watch out!" she complained in a huff.

Some pedestrians shot them skeptical stares.

"But I've never ever seen things like this in Hell!" Rosie croaked out with mixed enthusiasm. "This modern world is really fascinating..."

More and more pedestrians turned their heads curiously in their direction.

"Damn it, Rosie, lower your voice!" Velvette scolded, looking panicked around to the left and right.

"You'd better let go of Rosie before you accidentally strangle her, Velvette," Carmilla admonished the girl, when suddenly a young man approached Velvette with a polite smile on his lips.

"Excuse me, please," he quipped kindly. "I must confess that I inadvertently overheard your conversation and wanted to ask if you might need my help. Are you tourists and accidentally got lost?"

"Fuck off!" spat Velvette. "Leave us alone. We're doing really well on our own, thank you!" Before the young man could reply another word, Velvette had quickly pushed Carmilla and Rosie across the street, putting them out of earshot of an answer. Clara and Odette followed their mother like two well-behaved ducklings.

"What was that all about?" Carmilla asked, confused. She glanced back over her shoulder and the young man stood silently on the other side of the street, watching them dumbly as they quickly turned into a winding alley and followed the gray sidewalk. "You were really rude…"

Velvette shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know..." she grumbled, "But when that guy approached us out of nowhere, I suddenly got this weird feeling right in the gut of my stomach. Yeah, I fucking know this guy looked completely normal and just wanted to offer us his help, but there was this sudden gut feeling... Do you know what I mean?"

Odette nodded. "Yeah, I think I felt it too... It was like a bad premonition or something, like something was wrong with him..."

"Exactly!"

Clara shook her head. "Well, I didn't feel anything at all with that guy," she said, waving it off and calling her sister and Velvette more or less silly. "Maybe you guys simply didn't like him."

"You're not allowed to have a say in this, Clara, because your range of emotions fits on a teaspoon..." Odette grinned proudly, while Clara protested indignantly and Velvette patted her appreciatively on the shoulder for her joke.

"Odette... What was that about sticking together?" Carmilla reminded her eldest daughter in a stern voice as they continued to wander through the dark streets of the city without a destination. They passed a few rancid bars and crammed restaurants, the crowds grew bigger and the pushing and shoving unpleasant. Odette grimaced at her mother, while Velvette stuck her tongue out at Carmilla. Carmilla rolled her eyes.

"Maybe we should find somewhere to crash for the rest of the night," Rosie suggested, when suddenly a drunk man stumbled out of the entrance of a bar and straight in front of the cannibal's feet.

He looked up at her with a swimming stare as he staggered to his feet. "I hear you ladies need a place to sleep?" he slurred. A nasty smile lingered on his lips as he winked suggestively at Rosie and tried to touch her. His sweaty fingers gripped the fabric of her dress.

"Careful..." Carmilla growled lowly, clenching her fists and ready to fight. Clara and Odette quickly dug behind their mother, Velvette taking cover behind her as well.

"Let go of me now..." Rosie snarled viciously. She shuddered as his hand tried to move higher. "Don't you dare!" She grabbed his wrist roughly and twisted his arm behind his back. He cried out in pain as Rosie kicked him mercilessly in the crook of his knees and he fell to his feet in front of her. A dark desire reflected in Rosie's gaze, her stomach growling hungrily. Her fine fingertips ran over his cheekbones, a sharp smile on her lips. "I want you on my platter," she whispered in his ear. "I could make delicious jambalaya out of you."

"Help!" the drunk man shrieked, his voice full of fear as Rosie indicated biting off the fingers on his right hand.

Suddenly a throat clearing stopped her. "Do we have a problem here, ladies and gentlemen?" a uniformed policeman wanted to know as he appeared out of nowhere and posed in front of them. He scrutinized the drunken man at Rosie's feet with a questioning look. "Is everything all right with you?" he wanted to know from Rosie.

Slowly, Rosie glanced back and forth between the policeman and her next meal. "Yes, now that you're here, I am!" she announced cheerfully, flashing a broad smile at the policeman, who was looking at her very skeptically. She rudely let go of the drunken man's arm.

"That man tried to harass us and she merely put him in his place!" Carmilla also pushed Rosie protectively behind her. She gave the man on the ground a hatred-filled look.

"She's insane!" the drunken man screamed in panic. His eyes wide open, he gestured frantically with his arms and hands. "She wanted to eat me! Look, she bit my fingers!"

"Okay, that's enough," the policeman exclaimed, while Rosie shook her head and put on an innocent face. "Stand up, turn around and put your hands behind your back, you're under arrest."

"What?" the drunken man protested. "You can't arrest me! You have to protect me from this insane woman!"

"I promise you that you'll be safe from the lady in our sobriety cell at the station..." The policeman handcuffed the drunken man and led the furiously swearing man to his car. "I wish you ladies a pleasant night!" bid the policeman before forcing the man into the back seat and getting into the driver's side himself.

The white car started to move and Rosie looked after it longingly. "Too bad..." she sighed sorrowfully. "I'm still really hungry..."

Carmilla angrily turned to Rosie. "You'll never try to snack on pedestrians out in the open ever again!" she swore with a hiss. "That's the exact opposite of our plan of being subtle and inconspicuous!"

"Excuse me..." Sheepishly, Rosie scratched the back of her head. "I really didn't mean to get us into trouble, but I'm really hungry and I think your children are in desperate need of sleep."

"I'm definitely ready for bed..." claimed Odette, while Clara yawned demonstratively.

"Where are we going to sleep, Mom?"

"Uhm... I..." Exhausted, Carmilla massaged her temples, straining to think of a quick solution to their sleeping problem. Panicked, her eyes wandered up and down the street, bars and restaurants lined up one after the other and there were no alleyways or abandoned buildings to hide in. "I'm sure I'll find a solution for us before the night is over..." she promised through gritted jaws. She desperately tried not to let her uncertainty slip out in front of her daughters. They were shivering, and as darkness fell, so did the temperature at this season.

"We're sleeping here!" Suddenly Velvette proudly held a key card to a hotel room under their noses, which she had produced from one of the many compartments of a leather wallet.

"Where?" Rosie looked very skeptically at the small piece of plastic from all sides. "What's that?" she asked curiously. "What do you do with it?"

"It's a key to a warm hotel room with a soft bed, which I found in the drunk's wallet," Velvette explained.

"Where did you get his wallet?" Rosie seemed really interested in the plastic card, she took it from Velvette and examined it closely. "How do you unlock a lock with that?"

"Hotel rooms have electronic locks..." Velvette shrugged her shoulders. "The wallet accidentally fell out of the guy's jacket pocket when he dropped it at your feet. He was too scared of you to notice and I just- Hey, are you fucking crazy, Carmilla?"

Carmilla ignored Velvette's protests and took the wallet. "Well done," she praised her softly as she took out the bills and coins and pocketed them. "The cash will certainly be enough to pay for a cheap place to stay for one night."

"Pay for a cheap place to stay?" Velvette looked confused. "Hey, I know you're a bit older, Carmilla, but even you, despite your advanced age, should have figured out that our stay is free with this key card, right?"

Carmilla glared grimly at Velvette. "Your theft is already a high risk for us... I can't take the additional risk of simply occupying someone else's hotel room."

"I really don't want to question your authority as a leader or mother, Milly," claimed Rosie. "But we can't exactly sleep on the street and this guy will have to give up his claim to his room tonight anyway, he's already spending the night in a cozy sobriety cell at the police station..." She suppressed an amused giggle, while Clara and Odette nodded hastily and Velvette continued to ramble on about a soft bed. "I'm afraid you've been outvoted, Milly."

"All right," Carmilla grumbled. "We'll sleep in that hotel tonight..." she surrendered. Her daughters and Velvette cheered. "Traitor..." she sighed with a put-on pout at Rosie, while the cannibal shot her a widening smile.

"You’re welcome, Milly!"

[yautjalover]

Distress Signal

I thought of this and have had it in my drafts for a few days now. I've been horribly sick with a virus, so here is some new content after so much waiting! I hope ya'll like it. <3

Content: Female Human/Male Yautja, Yautja boyfriend to the rescue, damaged ship, best friend injured

Content Warnings: bloody wounds, blood

Word Count: 1,566

Jaelah raced through the corridor, struggling to maintain her balance. The ship abruptly to its side again, forcing her to hold onto piping that lined the walls. She groaned, sucking in a sharp breath when her hip collided with another pipe. Forcing herself to take deep calming breaths, she waited until the ship righted again before continuing on. The cycling red emergency lights made it difficult to navigate the maze of corridors, but after so many months living on the ship, she had memorized every inch. Running on rote memory, Jaelah found her way to a blast door. 

She flipped open the control panel, tapping through the menus until she accessed the mainframe. The code trickled down the screen in a waterfall of blue letters and numbers, cascading vertically. 

Accessing the emergency codes, Jaelah typed in the necessary code to lock the necessary doors. The ship had already taken a great hit, so it wouldn’t survive another. Right as she went to tap Enter the ship jolted to the side again. 

Jaelah squealed in surprise when she was knocked onto her ass without notice. Her ass collided with the metal floor, sending a jolt of pain through her body. She didn’t waste time, however, in climbing back to her feet. She hit the enter key and almost immediately the ship groaned as it worked to close and secure the doors that led to the damaged parts of the vessel. 

Breathing a soft sigh of relief, Jaelah turned to run back to the other side of the ship. 

“Did it work?” Reina asked as she raced back into the common room. 

Her co-captain laid in a bruised heap on one of the couches, her long blonde hair fanned around her sweating face. Dried blood painted her forehead and chin. Her uniform was ragged and torn around her middle where a piece of metal still stuck out. Mountains of gauze were piled on the wound, most of them scarlet in color from the blood. Reina’s hands were coated in blood, too, from trying to keep pressure on the wound. 

“Yeah. I managed to close all but the necessary doors. All that’s left is the cockpit, here, mess, and medbay. It looks like we’re sleeping here until we can get help.” Jaelah relayed as she came to push her hands down on Reina’s bleeding stomach. 

Reina screamed in pain, tears falling free down her cheeks. She stiffened, struggling to speak.

“G-Good.” her co-captain managed finally. 

“Don’t worry. I sent out an SOS. Hopefully someone will get to us before the engines die out. How are you feeling?”

The blonde woman groaned, “Like shit. This hurts like hell…”

Jaelah grimaced, “Sorry,”

“It’s fine…” Reina sighed as Jaelah gave her another injection of pain medication. “I hope someone rescues us. It’s a miracle we made it out of that asteroid belt.”

“Yeah, no joke…” 

The women sat there in silence as Jaelah replaced Reina’s bloody bandages with new ones, trying her best to stop the bleeding. More blood continued to pool up around the strip of metal that impaled her best friend’s stomach. It seemed the bandages were only preventing the inevitable… Something neither woman was ready to handle just yet. Luck would have to be on their side, or even a miracle. 

An alert pinged on the tablet that sat on the coffee table. Jaelah wiped the sweat from her forehead and snatched the device, tapping on the screen to see what the latest bad news was. Shockingly, it was something she hadn’t expected so soon, or so quickly. 

“What is it, Jaelah?” Reina asked with concern, the woman having caught Jaelah’s expression. 

Jaelah watched the security footage in shock, and worry. She looked up to her friend, shuttering her expression.

“It’s…we’re being boarded by an unknown vessel…” 

“Thank goodness! Do you see any logos or serials? Maybe we can look them up before they get here!” the blonde peddled on with her theories and questions. 

Jaelah was already working on opening the doors that would lead their savior right to them. It would be easy to find them. This also prevented them from snooping around the ship. Their savior had a habit of being nosy. 

“Um, Reina,” she began, standing up to key the door open. “Remember how I said I’ve been seeing a guy on and off? Ya know, for sex and to see if we work out?”

Her friend twisted her face in confusion, muffling a whimper as she tried to sit up but failed. “Yeah… What about him?” 

She twisted her lips, chewing on her bottom one anxiously, “Well, he’s not quite…” she let out a huff of air, “Human?” 

“He’s not…human?” 

“Yeah,” Jaelah confirmed with a shy tight-lipped smile, sweeping her dark hair behind her shoulder.

She heard him more than saw him as she moved to stand next to her friend. 

“You two aren’t fighting are you?” Reina asked, worry dripping into her voice as a huge, wavy invisible figure walked through the door. They had to bend over to step inside and stand before them. 

“Pfft, no.” 

Jaelah watched as Zai’tho’s cloak fell away to reveal him. His massive seven foot tall frame made the common room look tiny. He wore his usual gray armor, covering his extremities and vital organs. As he came forward to remove his sinister looking mask, his chest-length locs swayed about, the bands in them clinking together. Under the harsh lights, his ruddy skin, mottled with black and brown splotches, looked shiny thanks to his tough hide. When he finally clipped his mask at his belt, his yellow eyes took in the sight of Jaelah smiling up at him and Reina gawking at him from the couch, the woman’s mortal wound forgotten in the face of the giant Yautja that now stood before them. 

“Zai’tho!” Jaelah greeted, rushing to throw her arms around his wide waist with a smile. “I’ve missed you.” 

The giant male purred softly, folding her into his embrace. “Jaelah, your absence has been felt.” 

She snickered, “I’m sure it has, but I’m sorry it had to be in these circumstances. How did you find us?” she pulled back to look up at him with questions in her eyes. 

“I was on the way to our rendezvous when I received a distress signal. When I saw it was you, I had to come and help.” Zai’tho explained.

He walked forward and knelt at the couch, ghosting a big hand down Reina’s stomach. Soft clicks left his throat as he opened a pouch on his belt, emptying it of various items that were vaguely familiar.

“Jaelah, I didn’t take you for someone who likes aliens.” Reina chuckled softly until she groaned in pain, reminded of her mortal wound. “Fuck, this shit hurts!”

Jaelah grimaced as she sat next to Reina on the couch, settling her head in her lap while Zai’tho prepared some kind of gel

“Sorry. I’m very private about my sex life.” she shrugged, watching Zai’tho peel back the bandages carefully. 

The Yautja smirked, “Yautja are the opposite.” 

“I already know you’ve told every one of your friends by now, babe.” Jaelah snickered, her eyes roaming appreciatively over her boyfriend’s large muscled form. 

He purred at her suggestively, “Indeed I have, but that discussion can wait.”

“Of course. My best friend is currently dying.” She explained, jumping back into business mode. “We ran into an uncharted asteroid belt and when we collided with one, Reina got fucked up in the mess of it all.”

“Yep. I ended up on the floor impaled by this piece of fucking metal.” Reina hissed as Zai’tho spread the gel around the metal. He injected her with some numbing medicine that he had formulated from his kit, this level being safe for humans. 

Zai’tho tightened his mandibles over his mouth sympathetically, “Be still while I pull this out. I will need to sedate you afterwards. From there I will bring you both to my ship and tow yours behind mine. Do not worry further, your lives are in my hands.”

Reina smiled, “Thanks, Zai’tho. Sleep is much better than this shit.” she gestured to her waist. 

Jaelah watched as her alien boyfriend wasted no time in giving Reina another injection, the injured woman quickly falling asleep. 

“Is…she going to be okay, babe? That wound doesn’t look very good…” Jaelah asked, sitting next to Zai’tho as he carefully removed the metal from Reina’s waist. 

He purred softly, “Yes, but she needs a lot of time in the heal tank. That is the only way she lives. Yautja technology.” 

She leaned into his shoulder as he dropped the twisted metal to the floor. The male quickly coated the wound with more gel and wrapped her waist with fresh bandages. A few minutes later he was leading Jaelah through the halls to his ship. Jaelah powered down her ship and joined him in his medbay where he laid Reina in a heal tank. Once her co-captain and best friend was floating in the healing liquid, he led her to the cockpit. 

“I’m so glad it was you who found us. Thank you, babe, truly.” Jaelah thanked him, pressing soft kisses to the side of his alien face. 

The Yautja bumped his forehead against hers affectionately. “I will always be there to protect you.” 

“I love you, Zai’tho.”

“And I love you, Jaelah.”

[adrift-in-thyme]

I know I already posted a fic today but I was on a roll and ended up finishing this one too.

It's my first EPIC/The Odyssey fic yay

Set in the universe of @silvercaptain24's AMAZING fic Son of Poseidon, Child of the Sea (if you're an EPIC fan and haven't read it yet GO READ IT IT'S SO GOOD). Tysm for letting me write this, Silver!!

Fic beneath the cut

CW for descriptions of injury, blood, and death

Water is like a mirror.

He has seen them before, these shards of captured prism. They have lain on the beaches of countless islands, after countless storms of his own making. They have lain there like discarded beads, shining back up at him in the mocking colors of the rainbow. 

Sometimes, they are splattered with the crimson gore the ocean didn’t have a chance to wash away. Sometimes, crystal clear, glinting with blinding strands of bejeweled sunlight.

No matter how damaged, no matter how sullied, they are all the same. Reflecting. Always reflecting.

That is what the sea does too. It traps the images that flit above it, ensnares them, paints them in traitorous color. 

He matches them, those waters he is crafted from, that cover him in foamy waves of silken fabric and bleed into his aching irises. 

Those waters that he breathes and consumes (that consume him more and more each day, that chase away the earthen shades of his hair and eyes — those steadfast browns and streaks of age-adorned silver, that devour his salt-torn flesh, sear his broken mind like ravenous flame).

The leafy emeralds, and stormy grays, and midnight blues, the hues that balance gracefully in between all these — they are the shades he is composed of now. When he looks at the sea, the sea looks back at him.

And he despises it.

It is odd to be certain. The Son of Poseidon should never fear the waters of the vast deep, much less abhor them. Then again, he has never truly been that volatile deity’s offspring, has he?

No, since his awakening in this strange world of familiar unfamiliarity, of mysteries and pain, he has known that this is not where he belongs. 

He feels them often. Memories, recollections of a past he cannot obtain, a past belonging to the nameless, faceless person he knows he once was. They plague him all throughout the burdensome light of day. Only occasionally do they disrupt his sleep. Those vulnerable moments when his eyes slip closed, when his mind relaxes and his will along with it…those moments belong only to Poseidon. The god whispers into oblivion, words he can seldom comprehend, murmurs of plots and plans, shouted commands. Every utterance sets his feet moving…though often not by his own choice.

But the memories, these torturous wonderful things, they haunt every moment he is allowed freedom. They gather at the back of his mind, crowding in, hissing, then screaming that he notice them. That he…

Remember. 

He reaches for them again and again, even while they slide out of reach like scaly fish, shimmering tantalizingly as they slip away.

Remember, they screech, taunting and kind, excruciating and lovely. Remember what you have lost. Remember them.

A babe without a face, beloved, beautiful. His giggles are like the songs of early morning, joy spilling over in rivulets of precious gold, as tiny, chubby hands grasp at a short beard.

A queen with blurred form, graceful and loving and sharp as a blade, more striking than a goddess. She looks at him with a sorrowful smile. He aches to caress her and wipe away her tears.

A woman with the weight of living carved in rivers upon her flesh and hair the same color as his own. A woman with worn hands and a caring touch. 

A man with circular spectacles and eyes that smile. The Son of Poseidon cannot see his face, but he knows that he is kind.

And another man, a brother, stalwart, bold, and strategizing. Fierce is the way he loves. Cold and unyielding are the paths of his intelligence.  

These people, this kingdom of ruin, he knows them. And yet they are as foreign as his own two hands, as unfamiliar as the eyes that gaze back at him from within a haggard visage. 

Their voices pierce him like the pointed ends of a trident, whirl around him like the waves on the sea. Their cries suffocate him, rend him into pieces. 

In their wake, he is nothing.

Not a son of a god. Not a warrior or a princely ruler of this yawning emptiness Poseidon claims is their own. 

He is nobody. Nobody. Nobody. As dense and unsubstantial as the emerald liquid that rushes forward at his beckoning to plunge men into its eager jaws.

It is better, he supposes, better than how he feels when Poseidon invades his mind. For beneath his clawed grasp, he is dangerous, fickle, unrestrained by unspoken rules of mercy and kindness. He becomes someone…but that someone is a sadistic pawn.

He is well accustomed to being the pawn of those more powerful than he. That does not make it any less of a burden to bear.

A weapon and a wraith — those are the roles he fulfills. At least, for the majority of this mindless thing they call life.

With the young boy, with Telemachus, it is different.

Telemachus is unlike anyone he has ever met. He is as gangly and eager as a newly sprouted tree, shooting up toward the sun without heed to where it will go once it breaks through heaven’s gates. His hazel eyes, so similar to those the Son of Poseidon has beheld somewhere, somewhen in the past, are speckled with sorrow well beyond his years. But they are alive, bursting with determination, with youthful fervor and boundless emotion.

He is a garden of bursting bloom, rushing past its careful borders. He is a foal, daring to gallop, a hatchling plunging into the coursing tides. He is a mighty wolf pup, playing at being fearsome, but with a heart as soft as a silken carpet of moss. 

When he comes close, when he touches the Son of Poseidon, when gods forbid he embraces him with that foolish, foolish, and wholly complete trust, he feels, oh he feels.

Suddenly, terrifyingly, he is more than what his father has made him, his mind has made him. He has a name, wrong though it may seem; he has a purpose, punishable though Poseidon deems it; he has hope, daunting though his tentative embrace of it may be.

Suddenly, terrifyingly, he is loved.

He does not know what he has done to deserve it, if anything (if he is even correct in his assumption about the emotion he detects in those sparkling eyes). But he treasures it. He holds it close and he wraps it in layer after layer of armor until none can take it from him.

Not even the God of the Seas. 

He takes that love and, clumsily, awkwardly, fiercely, he offers his own in return. 

He shouldn’t, though.

Your love is dangerous, something whispers, a part of himself not even a deity can bury. Your love is deadly. 

Anyone who gets close to you is a corpse walking.

And so he tries to restrain it, tries to quash it, hide it from the light in which it flourishes. But then, Telemachus will come, all smiles and laughter and will point out the stars above them, or boast of his mother’s strength, or tell tales of his “harrowing” adventures with the family dog. 

He will come and he will stand close, so close their shoulders touch. And a smile will tug on the Son of Poseidon’s lips. His heart will soften anew.

“You remind me of him, Zael,” Telemachus says, one day when they are resting on the deck of Diomedes’ ship staring up at the constellations. “Sometimes, I look at you and I see him. Or what I think he looks like.”

Telemachus lifts his head from where it had rested on his shoulder and turns to him. In the boy’s eyes is that same vulnerability he has seen in those shards of glass. Something precious, something perilous, something lovely. 

“I look at you and I see Odysseus. My father.”

The other words are clear as crystalline waters. Yet, the name ushers from his lips slurred and nearly incomprehensible. It burns all the same, burns like Poseidon’s fury, like the blood that coats his hands, like the memories that vie for his attention and never come forward to receive it.

“I am not him.” 

The words come out and the Son of Poseidon hardly realizes that he speaks them. He can feel nothing save for agony and horror. Fear that Telemachus has just done something he shouldn’t have, jostled a thought that should never be touched. A thought that is sharper than his father’s trident, more broken than the bodies of those he has slaughtered.

“I’m not your father. I beg of you not to place false hopes on someone such as I.” He thinks a tear slides down his cheek, its trail harsh and heated. It is difficult to tell. All liquid feels the same. “I am no one, Telemachus. Believing me to be someone would only lead to disappointment.”

“Of course!” Telemachus nearly sets a hand on his arm, then seems to think better of it. He pulls back. “Of course, you aren’t him. I know that! I wasn’t trying to…” He shakes his head, seeming to attempt and compose himself. “I apologize. I should’ve kept that to myself.”

The worst of the pain slips away, carried by a mighty wave. Remnant aches cling to him, like ghostly strands of seaweed. The Son of Poseidon heaves a sigh. 

“Think no more on it.” He grasps Telemachus’ hand, tries for a smile. “You did not cause any harm.”

The shattered grin the lad gives him in return hurts almost as much as the sound of that name. 

…

It takes a bit for Telemachus to relax again, even longer for him to drift off. When he does, he is slumped on the man whom he named after the sea, mouth slightly agape, cheek moving up to crease his eye. The Son of Poseidon spreads his cloak over the boy’s shoulders. He brushes his knuckles against his cheek. And he wonders why that action feels infinitely more familiar, more real, than those words of defeat had when they left his mouth.

[osakunt]

AOT FINAL SEASON SPOILERS !!!! Some angst for the soul

The memory of Connie opening the door to where you stood replays one too many times. Over and over, you hear his words fall out his lips and see the tear roll down his face.

It hurt. It hurt to the point to where you wanted to go out and find a way to be with her. It’s stupid that you were in the room next door to where it happened yet you were alive and she was not.

The whole point of making the trip to retrieve Eren was to find a way to not lose anymore lives. Very naive of everyone to think you wouldn’t lose an asset like Sasha.

I’m front of her gravestone Mikasa sits bunched into a ball. You stand in front of her only able to replay memories of that night. She looks up at you waiting to say something - nothing is said. All you give her is a blank stare. The overthinking of the situation makes you light headed, causing you to sway a little in place.

Seeing your body move, Jean flies next to you to help you balance yourself before you fell. You regain yourself and put a hand up to stop him letting him know you were fine.

“I’ll be going. I’m tired of coming here”

A blunt emotionless response to the silence. You had already gave your condolences to Sasha’s family. They knew how much she meant to you. The chef was the one who had so much going on that you. Just had to go.

“And you. Please shut up ….what was your name ? …..doesn’t matter just pile down” you walk passed him.

Nicolo grabs. Your shoulder with a grip that you were able to break. Your sharp glare striking fear into his eyes. It did not stop him from yelling at you.

“Does it not hurt you ?! You two were close ?! How the hell is it that you’re acting this way”

“C’mon Nicolo Y/n is also grieving”

“Doesn’t seem like she is” he answers to Connie.

Mikasa looks over to you. Your tears at the brim - ready to spill. Your eyes were so irritated from crying. It was crazy to you how this imbecile had not noticed.

“Listen here, you aren’t the only one hurting. Sasha was very much important to me like she was to you. She was my first love - my first everything !”

Your eyes let the tears roll down your face as you talk to him. Sasha’s father steps in when he sees you step towards the taller male.

“It’s okay sweetheart, let it out. Ya needa let the pain heal” her fathers voice calms you. He was like a father figure after all. You didn’t want to alter the situation. You wiped the tears away and let Mikasa guide your once again swaying body back to headquarters.

“You need to lay down. You haven’t slept in days”

Mikasa cracks a smile towards you trying to pry your long olive colored coat off you to get you to bed. The bed was somewhere where you didn’t want to be. You wanted to stand by the window looking out at the scenery that was going dark as the sun set.

The day ended and a new started. That morning you’re walking towards Levi’s office when you’re informed that the child that shot and killed Sasha has escaped along with the little boy that tagged along with her.

“She’s related to Reiner. The stupid little button nose says it all”

You laugh at the situation before continuing to walk your way.

“I Sasha, Eren is going to be the end of us with all this havoc”

[bindtorturekillme]

I’ve had this fucking idea in my brain for ten years and now I’m finally writing it - I am looking for criticism, I don’t even like the title. 

Your Eyes, Vacant & Stained

Ch.1 - 4k

Pairing: Frank Iero x Gerard Way

Excerpt: “A soft, long groan escaped his throat as he tried to blink away the pain. The wind whooshed again, whipping the curtains. The cold snaked down Frank’s naked spine. The taste of not brushed teeth and hours of alcohol sat heavily on his tongue. Rotting.”

Warnings 

Gore, Death, Murder, WORK-IN-PROGRESS, not completed (and chapters unknown) but I know the ending, trust me guys I will write it, I just need people to love this idea with me, Zombies, Gay, mcr??

Haven’t written a fanfic in a few years, I hope this pops offs.

Support my AO3 with part one otherwise, enjoy ♥

Chap.2 | Chap.3 | Chap.4 | Chap.5 | Chap.6 | Chap.7 | Chap.8 | Chap.9 | Chap.10 | Chap.11 |

The cold room shook Frank awake. A strong breeze whipped the curtains around before settling back down. He was adjusting to the pounding in his head before attempting to open his eyes. The room was bright, he squinted and turned away from the windows. The bathroom mirror reflected the sunlight straight into his face as well.

A soft, long groan escaped his throat as he tried to blink away the pain. The wind whooshed again, whipping the curtains. The cold snaked down Frank’s naked spine. The taste of not brushed teeth and hours of alcohol sat heavily on his tongue. Rotting.

He pushed himself onto his elbow, reaching for the half full glass of water that sat on his night table. Gulping all of it down before breathing again. He dropped back onto his pillow and closed his eyes. Letting the water settle into his stomach in hopes it would kick away the hangover nausea. He attempted to recall the previous night, but the memory was hazy.

He arrived at the hotel sometime in the late afternoon, meeting a few of his coworkers in the lobby. They were out in the Mojave, somewhere in Nevada where the hotel sat on a beach with a horizon long lake, with only desert surrounding the rest for as far as he could see. Their company was paying for the trip, they were supposed to be recruiting for the new position Frank had just been promoted out of, but when Frank heard they got access to an open bar it was downhill from there.

The drinking had become an issue, he knew that. Mornings like these continued to remind him of what was unpleasant about drinking. But the sweet kisses of warmth that overwhelm him after a few drinks had become too addictive. He craved the touch of warm skin against his, but no one stuck around like alcohol did. Which... he only partially blamed on the drinking.

“Alright…” He said to himself, trying to talk up his motivation. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled himself up. The blood rushed to his head and he squeezed his eyes shut, pushing the heels of his palms deep into his eye sockets. Another, louder and angrier groan came out before he got to his feet.

The room spun a little, but he caught his balance quickly. Slowly he shuffled over to the small bathroom, turned on the shower and brushing his teeth while the water warmed up. His headache died down only a little as he kept the lights off, he spit out the previous night’s endeavors and wiped his face. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he looked more skeletal than usual.

Why do you keep doing this to yourself?

The water was hot, hotter than the bile that escaped his throat last night before he went to bed. The memory hit him like a brick and gave him another wave of nausea. He dropped his face against the cold tile wall, turning the faucet towards his face. He let the warm water nearly drown him.

You are fine. You are not going to get sick.

He pulled his face out, now red and burning. The air felt nice. He inhaled deeply and released it through his mouth. He fought through the waves of pain while he washed himself. His pale skin was a bright red color when he finally got out. The air in the bathroom was humid, but he left the bathroom door open so it stung from the chill. The breeze from the window helped clear the humid air out, leaving Frank’s skin covered in goosebumps.

Across the room, the window was wide open. He could not remember opening the window at all, he didn’t even know windows in hotels were able to open.

As he walked out into the room more, mostly searching for his clothes, he realized the window was not open. It was completely shattered. Sharp shards stuck out from the top corners of the window and Frank’s heart began to beat faster.

He was not the type of person to get scared very easily, but he knew he had little control over his anger when he drank. The fear that he might have thrown something out of his hotel window caused a strong wave of nausea to hit again. He reached out and grabbed the nearby dresser to balance himself.

The smell that he assumed was his breath earlier hit him again; something was rotting. Panic raced up his throat and through to his fingertips. If he did hurt someone, he wondered how long it would be before someone noticed and called the police on him.

He inched closer, the curtains whipped loudly unable to move, something was caught in them. He reached his hand out, he felt hot from the nausea swimming its way back up his throat. Whatever was behind the curtain, he was not prepared for the answer. As he gripped the curtain, unsure of whether the rustling was coming from the wind or something stronger. He gathered his courage and yanked the curtain back. To his horror, one of his coworkers, Kyle, from the previous night, was stuck. And he was currently hanging half out of his window.

His body was bloody and bruised, shards of glass were protruding from his torso and arms, intestines were dangling out the window, his eyes were half-closed as he glared up at Frank with a pale green glaze. His mouth hung open weakly and it looked like his skin was hugging his bones tighter. Frank began to shake. The smell was overwhelming now, he almost wished he hadn’t brushed his teeth so the smell of his own vomit would mask the rotting scent he was able to distinguish now.

A groan could be heard in the room, but it wasn’t from Frank this time. Is my mind playing tricks on me..? The groan slowly elevated into a gurgling screech. He was so caught off guard, he threw his body backwards into the bed, clutching at his towel. The groan turned into a scream and it was gut wrenching, similar to a banshee’s scream but with a more blood-choked gurgling.

Blood began spilling from the man’s mouth, but he could not move. Frank felt stupid for becoming so terrified of something that could not move, let alone hurt him. He pushed himself back up onto his feet, shaking away the fear and readjusting his towel.

Slowly, he moved towards the window. Kyle stopped screaming so loudly, Frank assumed he realized he was unable to move. Frank took a sidestep closer to the window to look down over the ledge. It seemed like the world had stopped. The water continued to lap against the beach, and he could identify heat waves in the distance coming from the sand and concrete but no one was around. When he had arrived the previous afternoon, it was hard to see through the crowds of people checking in or leaving but, this morning, it seemed abandoned.

Frank redirected his eyes down, below his window, a body had splattered across the concrete. A wet pool of blood surrounded it, he wondered if that was why his hotel window was broken and could only blame himself. But, the longer he looked, the more he realized that wasn’t the only splattered body on the sidewalk.

Why hasn’t anyone called the police…??

A nervous twist gripped his stomach as he looked back at the half-severed man next to him again who was now making biting sounds at Frank. He moved closer to the window to get a better look down and that’s when he realized what he thought was his other coworker was actually only the other half of the one currently hanging out the window. His torso was mangled and spilled out and down the side of the building, his intestines unwound and the end of his spine wiggled freely. Below, in the bushes next to another smashed other body, was a pair of legs mangled and covered in lacerations.

Frank backed up. The guy on the floor continued munching in his direction, clearly hungry. Frank didn’t feel safe getting ready around the guy, but he knew he couldn’t leave him there to stay in whatever state he was in. Frank spun around and checked his surroundings, determining the bedside lamp to be the most blunt option.

Hahaha! You really are a fucking maniac, aren’t you?

The darker voice in the back of his thoughts liked to taunt him. But he ignored it and grabbed the lamp anyways. Pulling it back like a baseball bat, he swung at the man’s head and the lamp broke. Along with a small piece of the man’s skull. The man sat unmoving now. His eyes were vacant. Skull slightly caved as Frank brought the lamp down a second, then third time. Double tap, he vaguely remembered.

Frank dropped the remains of the lamp next to the body and sat down on the floor next to the bed. He pulled up his knees and used them to hold up his elbows while he rubbed his eyes deeply, attempting to remember anything from the night before. If he was not already screwed, he was now.

Stars began forming in front of his face, when he tried to open his eyes his vision was mostly black and spotty. He closed them again and laid his head back. That was when the fog began to recede a little. He remembered the after party he and his two coworkers weren’t supposed to go to. The sun had set, and the air was even cooler.

Loud music was coming from all around him, the drink in his hand was just the ice left over from the last drink he had. The lights around the area were blinding, the bar was on top of a stage next to the DJ. Frank could feel the rhythm through his feet vibrating all throughout his body.

His face was flushed and he felt hot, the top couple of buttons on his shirt were undone, he couldn’t remember where his tie had gone but he hoped his jacket was with it. He put the sweating glass onto the bar and leaned in, “DOUBLE CROWN ON THE ROCKS?” He yelled over the music into the bartenders ear. The bartender just nodded and took his cup.

Frank looked around while he waited for his drink. The party had a large crowd, scattered around the beach and pool area, all the other bars off the stage seemed to be filled with people, even his coworkers, Kyle and Derek, were at a tiki-themed one just down the beach, chatting up some girls. He figured this one was empty due to the location of it, but that was why he picked it.

He had no interest in meeting anyone new, let alone talking to the people who were there with him. He felt the cup against his hand again and turned around. He flashed his company card to the bartender who just nodded and turned away. He dropped two singles on the bar before stalking down the beach to the tiki-bar.

The whiskey burned his lips but went down hot and smooth, he could feel himself getting drunker faster. He began his journey over to Kyle, Derek, and the girls they were schmoozing.

He took another sip, and then another. Derek took notice of him then and waved him over, one of the girls turned around to smile at him but her smile turned to a frown that eventually turned into her yelling something he couldn’t hear.

Frank was so distracted he didn’t notice the large man stumbling towards him. “Hey, easy there,” Frank shouted, holding his drink up and out of reach to prevent spilling it, but the guy didn’t seem to hear him, or care. The man lunged at Frank, teeth bared and growling.

Frank knocked the man back with a single armed push before downing his drink. It didn’t go down as smoothly when he gulped it over sipping it. The man only stumbled before regaining whatever balance he had and went after Frank again. This time, Frank dropped his glass and swung at the man, missing due to his lack of hand-eye coordination in his current state.

The man grabbed Frank’s other arm and began to bite at him. He was more than relieved to see Kyle and Derek were behind the man now and pulling him away by his arms before he actually was assaulted.

What kind of a psycho tries to bite people when they’re drunk? He thought to himself. The security for the event was there in no time, taking this guy down easily. But the man continued to bite at everyone who came near him, thankfully not actually biting anyone to Frank’s knowledge.

“Hey, you okay man?” Derek shouted, he was getting hazier as they stood around. Frank nodded while Kyle began dusting him off.

“I think I’m just gonna go back to my room…” Frank slurred, his vision had gone from single to triple in seconds and that’s when he knew he hadn’t eaten enough food to have drank as much as he did. His body swayed and Kyle casually held him to keep him straight.

“We’ll come with you,” Derek said, but Frank could tell Kyle wasn’t ready to leave yet. Frank shook his head, making himself dizzy.

“Nah- *hic* nah, you guys- you guys stay here.” He insisted, patting Derek on the shoulder, drunkenly pushing him away, Kyle detached when Frank was not paying attention. “I’ll be totally fine!” He slurred and began making his way away from them towards the hotel lobby.

“We’ll come check on ya in a little bit!” One of them shouted at him as he continued to walk away. He didn’t turn around, he just wanted to be alone in his bed.

The cold wind coming from the broken window snapped him back to the current day. He could hardly smell the copper anymore that plagued the room. He didn’t want to put the Z word on this situation, but he couldn’t think of another explanation. A half-severed body in his room that was still living. The biting at him was especially weird. But he knew he would never find anything out by staying on the floor of a rotting hotel room.

He made his way over to his duffle bag, fishing out the casual clothes he was planning on wearing on one of their free days. The trip was only supposed to be for a business week, but today was day three and everyone seemed to have fled, so he was still packed well with basic supplies.

Once he was dressed, he made his way to the bathroom, stuffing any soaps and toiletries that he could into his bag to take with him. Nearly anything not glued down was his now. He stopped and checked himself over in the mirror, hoping the black jeans and button down wouldn’t be too hot for the weather. Without thinking, he grabbed a small glob of pomade and did his hair quickly.

Once he was satisfied, he stuffed his personal products into a separate pouch in the duffle bag and began towards the bedroom door. He took one final look over to the window, the blood and the body. Something he hoped he wouldn’t have to see again but knew if this was what he thought it was, there might not be a choice in how many more dead bodies he sees.

He slipped on his sneakers and left without hesitation. The hallway was empty and quiet. His watch claimed it was a little after ten in the morning. He hoped to find at least one other living person on his way out.

He pushed away that thought. It is not zombies, he reminded himself. It cannot be, he would’ve heard about it before it hit. He would’ve had time to prepare. Unless this is the first place to be hit- He pushed away that thought too and continued down the hallway.

It felt like someone was watching him, but every time he checked over his shoulder, no one would be there. The hallway seemed longer than he remembered, the elevator was in the center of the building. He found the small lobby on his floor and began towards the elevators but stopped dead in his tracks when he rounded the corner.

Across from him was a wall completely made of a floor to ceiling mirror. A full body was slumped against the mirror, blood splattered all over it and the surrounding floor. The once white flowers on the decorative table between the elevators were also now drooping and blood soaked. Thankfully, this person’s head was down so he didn’t have to stare into another dead man’s eyes. At least, he hoped he was dead.

Quietly, he inched closer. The carpeted floors only helped. The person didn’t move. Frank reached the elevator finally, not taking his eyes off the body. He clicked the down button and a loud ding rang out. He felt his soul jump out of myself momentarily, his eyes not leaving the body that was still unmoving.

An eternity later, the doors finally slid open and he nearly hopped inside, pounding the close doors button. As they slowly closed in front of him, he regained his confidence and the elevator descended. The elevator wasn’t free of what he assumed to be fragments of people’s bodies splattered against some of the walls and floor.

The descent felt as though it was building up to something suspenseful, but, as Frank prepared a battle stance with his fists raised, the doors slid open and the lobby was surprisingly clean. The contrast of the elevator made him feel like this was just a prank for Halloween, but it was the middle of August and the blood he accidently stepped in followed him through the carpet as he walked out, squishing for nearly every step.

The second he stepped outside, the sun reignited the pounding he thought had previously departed. He gazed over the lines of cars before the pounding took full control. He squeezed shut his eyes while he gripped at his skull, stumbling forward a little. Then a scraping sound caught his attention from behind and a heavy weight smashed into his back. Without thinking, he dropped to his knees and threw the weight over his head onto the pavement in front of him. A hairy man with a vest and cargo shorts landed on his back in front of him, groaning.

Before he could think, Frank swung the slightly weighted duffle bag onto the man's head, clutching it like a handbag to control the follow through. Frank looked around in panic, anything that could be swung harder than a bag with mostly paper would be nice... He spotted a truck that had a ladder strapped to the top and bolted for it. Unsure of whether or not there would actually be anything helpful, his bag wasn’t enough and he was beginning to doubt the no zombies idea.

He practically flew into the truck as his weight slammed against it, the other man was able to get to his feet and began dragging his body towards Frank again. Now he could tell the man’s leg, ankle, and feet were all pointed in wrong directions and it made him gag. He swallowed a small chunk of vomit.

He went back to rummaging the back of the truck, there wasn’t much in the back of that either, maybe a couple of plastic buckets, a mostly empty tackle box, a couple of fishing rods; Frank became frantic and threw the duffle into the trunk before jumping into the bed as well. Being careful to avoid hitting his head on the ladder overhead.

The groaning man was only a few cars away as Frank began to throw some of the useless items out of the truck, a couple of tarps bunched into the corner of the bed were thrown over for Frank to discover a compartment built into the bed of the truck.

He dropped to his knees and yanked the compartment open to find a box full of miscellaneous tools inside. Good enough, he thought as he looked up again, the man closing in. He grabbed the biggest thing he could and swung at the man, a wrench smashing the man's jaw off as if his skin had already fully rotted.

Frank felt repugnance plague his insides as he jumped back out of the truck to see the man trying to get up again. He slammed the wrench down into the man’s skull this time, brain matter and skull fragments flew in all directions. His stomach could not take it any longer, as he examined the brain matter stuck to his pants he wretched, holding himself up by the truck.

Glancing around, he noticed there were bodies scattering the parking lot. The smell of the rot in the festering sun made him sweat harder, his nausea grew and he wretched again. Heaving up more of the whiskey from the previous night. The pungent sting burned his throat and coated his teeth, and he thought to himself, as he did every hang over, this is the last time I drink.

He looked back at the body, trying his best to avoid looking at the disaster of a head, he began to feel around the guy's pockets. He wiggled out a wallet, lighter, an Altoids tin, and a key ring with a fob attached. The first thing Frank did was click the lock button on the fob, hoping it was the truck they were intruding on but he heard a chirp a few rows away.

He quickly went through the wallet, realizing money probably would not benefit help him anymore but pocketing the seventy-eight dollars regardless before dropping the wallet back onto the body. He turned around to check out the back of the truck again before heading towards the chirp of the fob, deciding to keep the wrench just incase.

Doing a once-over, he deemed nothing else important. He looked in the direction where he remembered the chirp coming from and clicked the lock key again. He followed the noise, only letting the car chirp once or twice to avoid any more unwanted attention. As he made his way over, he flicked open the Altoids tin and, to his pleasant surprise, he found it packed with pre-rolled joints.

“This is better than what I was hoping for…” He said out loud to himself as he popped one in between his small grin, lighting it with a deep inhale that barley created a cough.

The parking lot wasn’t free of bodies, but it looked like most of the cars from the previous day were still there. Frank pondered through a couple of ideas on who had made it out alive, and what they did to fight for their life.

He swore at himself for not having much memory of the night before, but he was thankful that all he had to do was sleep through it. He rolled his eyes at himself. A couple of chirps and he found an old mossy green pick up with a tiny bit of rust.

A couple of hits and he couldn’t care what kind of car it was, as long as it got him to people who weren’t trying to eat him.

[yellowaugustnights]

2 ep Nong Last

This is only the second episode, and the series is moving like a freight train at full speed, without stopping. Frankly speaking, I didn't have the strength to take a breath and collect my thoughts. There are a lot of thoughts again, and I can't sort everything out. I watch the entourage, the dialogues, the micro-expressions of the face, and, oh my god, I catch a universal buzz from this series.

I like the balance of power in the episodes: a bit of comedy, a bit of drama. Everything is balanced and measured. We cried a little, and then wiped our snot and went to laugh. I like it, I hope this balance will remain. The way the series started amused me so much. Mork remains himself, but at the same time annoys everyone in his path. With childlike spontaneity, he announces to Ramon that he dressed simply, as she said, said that he cooks at drunken parties, compared Day to an abandoned puppy, made Night disgusting coffee because he is not his servant, but Day's caretaker.

In the opening scene, everything is done in muted gray tones, showing a lot of sharp corners and rectangular shapes. We are shown a large aquarium in which Day lives alone most of the time, and this aquarium with muddy water (gray color) represents at first glance sterility (long corridors), but is filled with danger (sharp corners). I also drew attention to the joint photo of the brothers, warming my heart, and the words about the father of the family. It often happens that these words are just a statement of fact that does not affect the plot in any way, but in this case it seems that there will be a big story behind it. Perhaps the father brought Day into the sport, was his role model, and after he was gone in their life, it had a big impact on Day and the mother threw all her strength to ensure that the younger son did not feel the pain of separation, while Night was older, and, therefore, by according to her estimates, he would be able to cope with this on my own, alone, which, of course, is not always true (okay, time for fucked-up theories).

A wonderful scene in which Mork examines Day's room, trying to create a more accurate characterization of him. A room is almost always a reflection of our souls, and it will tell us even more about us than we do. It is especially well shown that this happens when Day is asleep and cannot somehow interfere with his observation by distracting or rearranging things. Day lives in a dirty, untidy aquarium (chaos is everywhere, clothes are scattered, packages of clean water that have not yet been pulled out of polyethylene), in the dark, but surrounded by his sunny past (many things significant to Day are next to the yellow wall). Mork is told that his task is to take care of Day and ensure his safety, and he does this with great diligence, cleaning his room (aquarium) from what can cause Day's injury, giving him in the future the main tool for dealing with sharp corners - slippers (a patch on the fish in the place where it should be be a pinky? Are you serious? oh fuck), who are the personification of Day himself - a goldfish with a short memory, but, unlike her, everything is fine with his memory and it hurts him from the memories of a cloudless past. By the way, after Mork cleaned up Day's room, brownish colors began to prevail more in the frame (the color of the sandy bottom), and even when gray was present, brown dominated him, eclipsing this color.

Try to get Day out of the room, they say to Mork and he decides to accept this challenge, under any pretexts pulling khun Nu first from his small aquarium (his room) to a larger aquarium (kitchen). Mork earns his salary very well and even does more than what he was told (no one initially talked about walking a goldfish).

He will be softer with me, says Mork Porjai with such a self-confident face that I just sat and nodded like a dummy, smiling. By the way, Mork's stupid courtship reminded me so much of Puen. In fact, I caught the most terrible PuenTalay's vibes in this episode that I had to stop many times to catch my breath. The Queen Vice Versa will spread her charming vibes in every series, believe me.

Well, Day will really become softer by the end of the episode, but for now he just closes the door under Mork's nose, and this scene is just a crown.

I also can't help but mention a couple of funny things related to the Mork, such as breaking flowers in a pot and quickly covering up tracks, throwing spit and cigarette butts from the balcony and of course demonstrating beautiful body parts. The angles here are, of course, magnificent. I've already told, but can Jimmy not lose weight and stay in this shape? He looks really great.

Also Aon. This guy is definitely my favorite. We don't know his background and what a difficult path he went through, accepting his blindness, but now this guy is an absolute chill guru who enjoys his life to the fullest. Girl, whoever it is, you should run with this wonderful guy! I can imagine how happy he will be for Day later when he and Mork go to Songkhla. I told you everything needs time, he'll tell him, and damn it, he'll be right. I like their cute dynamic with Day. And in general, Kun and Sea are similar, aren't they? Both have absolutely charming smiles.

Returning to the topic of Day's seclusion: none of his relatives bothered to hide the sharp corners of the house somehow. You can remove such furniture away, replace it with furniture with rounded corners or cover the corners with a paralon. But the whole house is absolutely not ready for a blind person to live in it, even though a year has passed. No one except Mork thought that even ordinary slippers could make Day's life easier, and after all, he has known him for literally three days. I don't think the technical mindset plays any role here. My boy earns his money well. But at the same time, the family took care to put the breaking dishes on the upper shelves so that Day would not accidentally get hurt, but in his case, this is another reason for Day to feel invisible, because without his knowledge, the shelves were rearranged, and he was not informed, since "I invisible."

Mork already feels responsible for Day. He tries to make it better and more comfortable to the best of his abilities and abilities. He couldn't help his sister when she needed it so much, but now he doesn't want to fuck up and have all the efforts go to the ass. The moment with their hands, the way he felt despair in Day's words and this prompted him to think that he could do something bad to himself, and that he was obliged to prevent it - wow, I just held my breath at that moment, afraid to even squeak. The guilt over his sister's death is much stronger and clearer than he is trying to show in reality. He says it's her fault, while in his eyes there is pain from his own helplessness and the fact that he missed everything. Day wouldn't have been able to blame him for his fear if he had known why Mork had burst in on him at that moment.

Everyone tells Mork that he doesn't understand, and damn it, he's the one who really made an effort to somehow get closer to understanding what Day is feeling right now. Hardly anyone else has done this for Day. My boy Mork, he's so incredible. And, damn it, I'm not going to say here that he earns his money well (I've always said it as a joke, if anything). You are unlikely to do this even for a lot of money. To get into the soul of a guy, trying to understand what he feels, how he feels in the dark among sharp corners, with what trepidation he treats a small fish (this is a gift from Night, God, I love these brothers so much, even if they are still fucked up in their relationship, I will protect you guys) - he did this is because he wanted to, not because "this is an easy job for which money is paid." No one will blindfold in a public place where every dog knows you, because you go there every day, unless you are really curious and want to know about the feelings of another person. The strongest interest has already been from the second episode (he still did not overtake Puen), and then, apparently, these two will catch a real gay panic. The tension in the fitting room is already felt during these three seconds of the promo, what will happen next, uh?

And of course, this:

I can talk for a long time about parallels, about the Little Prince, but it will be so long that I will most likely go crazy before I finish. I also missed a lot of things, for example, Day's panic attack, but only because I no longer know how to denounce my words so that it was at least a little structured, because I had a lot of emotions when I watched it. But, my God, all the work is done with such love, so meticulously, that I admire the whole crew. But also, fuck, why isn't anyone watching this? What's the use of trends if there are no episode views on YouTube? I want to take everyone by the scruff of the neck and put them in front of the TV until they realize that this is a real movie. Why does Nong Last have as many views as a passing series that no one expected? Oh, it's terrible, do people really have no taste or just no one wants to turn on their brains a little to think? In any case, I hope for word of mouth, because such series appear once a year at best and it's just blasphemous to miss it.

[peterthepark]

begin again (7)

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: angst, fluff, mentions of blood and weapons, descriptions of wounds, descriptions of suturing, 6.3k words of pure love

summary: you and peter navigate your way around his secret, leading to hearts opening up and what should’ve been a peaceful morning.

notes: okay i genuinely think theres one to two chapters left after this!!! love this story with all my heart but all good things must come to an end <3 but for now, enjoy this chapter!

missing out? ➤ [my masterlist] - [series masterpost]

The tension in the air could cut glass. Every obnoxious creak and footstep from the floor above seemed nothing short of tumultuous.

A police siren echoed by the glass frosty windows while incessant flashes of scarlet reds and dark blues illuminated the apartment walls, reminding Peter of the sweat and blood that has been poured into this godforsaken city. Was it all worth it? Just for it to come to this? All of his attempts to protect you, were they for nothing? He was equivocally cursed, as if being a hero wasn’t enough to balance the karmic consequences in his life. What was the point of saving other people when he couldn’t save himself? What was the point when none of it eventually led to you?

Every time he was so close to touching the sky, he would fall back to Earth like an angel with clipped wings.

Peter was Icarus. You were the Sun.

Would he ever be able to reach the clouds?

His head throbbed painfully while the colors of the apartment diluted to nothingness, the dirty cracks of his palms ever prominent. The walls haven’t been this quiet in ages. It feels wrong, it feels empty, but Peter could hear the static of your mind even in the silence, even despite the distance between the shadows of your bodies. For the first time, Peter isn’t able to decipher the emotions that lay behind your lifeless eyes.

His voice came out as a weak, defeated crackle.

“Say something, please?” His broken fingers shakily reached out for you. “Y/N, come on, please.” A choked gasp left your body, and your hand trailed up your tear-stained face to cover your mouth.

All at once, the shock merged into utter betrayal. The deep furrow in your eyebrows tugged into a raised line as your words broke the tightness in your throat.

“Who are you?”

You stepped back as Peter stepped forward. “It’s me.” He shook his head at you, feigning a smile as pained tears prickled at his vision. “Same old me. It’s Peter.”

The scene in front of him pulled at his heart when you slowly doubled over, grasping at your sweatshirt in an effort to ground yourself as muted sobs pounded through your ribcage. “Oh, my god.” He rushed over to you, ignoring the way his skin felt like it was ripping to pieces when his arms abruptly encircled you.

“It’s me. I’m sorry. It’s me.”

“You’re Spider-Man.”

It wasn’t a question anymore, but rather, a dreaded statement of acceptance that he never wished to ever hear from you. Regret filled him instantaneously.

He has flashbacks to that night he had lost Gwen.

“Y/N. Come here.”

Muffled with his mouth pressed to the top of your head, the syllables of your name left him woeful. You felt the unyielding fear radiate off of his body, seeping into the coolness of your own. Peter was trembling, his limbs desperately trying to entangle with yours as if you would disappear at any moment. All traces of affliction had vanished into a simple memory when you saw that his blood had transferred onto your hands, where red fingerprints littered your skin. You erratically wiped at your tears when the liminal shade reminded you of how you lost your parents.

This was no time to feel hurt when Peter was.

Your firm whisper had cut through the rigid air, “You’re bleeding, what do I do?”

“That doesn’t matter right now. Talk to me.”

“Peter, your fucking blood is everywhere. It is on me. It is on the floor. It is on my fucking counters and my sofa. You need to tell me what to do or else I’m sending you to a goddamned hospital before this place looks like a crime scene.” You finally looked up at him. “We can talk later.” He immediately missed the familiar scent of your hair when his cheek left the comfort of your head. Your hands found his hips, delicately leading him back into the couch. “I just need you to tell me. I don’t know what to do.”

He thinks he’s lost himself in your eyes all over again.

“Stitches. Bandages. Do you have a first aid kit?”

“I don’t.”

“Fuck, uh. I have one in my bathroom, but I don’t have my keys on me…” You turned your back on him, padding over to the window near your potted plants. His face hardened when your fingers curled beneath the ledge. You roughly pulled it up until a harsh breeze sprinted throughout the room. “What are you doing? Y/N?” You didn’t answer, legs swinging up and over the fire escape while the cruel snow began to nip at your ears and your exposed forearms. “Hey! What the fuck are you doing? Get inside! Y/N!”

Peter completely lost all composure when you jumped to the window of his apartment, landing on the metal grating of the nostalgic fire escape with newfound scrapes on your palms. The injured boy tried to pace his breathing while he stared at the ceiling light — too immobilized by the sharp pain in his stomach. He could hear the shuffling of you entering his living room, then how you made your way through the messiness of his hall until you hurriedly rummaged for the kit in his bathroom.

Then, your movements suddenly became too quiet for his own liking. Peter couldn’t help but panic.

“Y/N?” He shouted, hoping you’d hear him through the wall. His voice was hoarse as he kept pressure over his wound. “Y/N!” He hissed through clenched teeth, legs unable to stay still on the sofa. Peter gasped out in relief when you reemerged into view, cheeks gaunt and lips bluing from the cold as you maneuvered yourself back into the apartment. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Your place is a mess.” You quipped. You shut the window in one motion, tossing the first aid kit onto the sofa as you went to wash your hands and get rid of the blood. “But I guess you don’t have enough time to clean anyways since you’re so busy getting yourself killed.”

“Y/N.”

“I don’t know how to suture a wound,” You dried yourself off with a paper towel. You walked back to him with long strides, avoiding his gaze as you sat beside him. “I can do it for you, but you’ll need to teach me. Is that okay?”

“I can do it myself.” He shook his head at you, propping himself up against a pillow.

“You’re in no condition to do so.”

“Y/N, I’m okay.”

“You’re shaking. How are you gonna stitch yourself when your fingers are all messed up?” Peter flexed his jaw, nostrils flaring as he stared at you despite your stubbornness. He’d been lying if he said this didn’t feel familiar, his case of deja vu was strong. He hasn’t had anyone fix him ever since Gwen, the last person to ever touch his wounds, to take his suit off and reach for his heart. Peter succumbed with a weak nod, eyes never leaving your face as you helped him shrug his jacket down his shoulders without a thought. “Shirt off.”

“Was hoping to hear that in the bedroom.” He chuckled jokingly. He could imagine you rolling your eyes. “Not while bleeding out on your sofa.”

You held back your scoff. “Pete, you’re not funny.”

The nickname felt consoling.

“Sorry, just trying to make you feel better.” He frowned, studying your body language meticulously as you slipped on a pair of blue surgical gloves.

A faint sigh left you. “I’ll feel better once you do.” Peter was torn. He didn’t know what you were thinking for once and it irked him. He thought that it would be better for either of you to never address the confession, his secret: the fact that he was Spider-Man. But as he studied the vacant look on your face, he would have rather you lashed out. He would have preferred a punch to the face or a string of heavy curses at him. But your anger presented itself as silent and that was even scarier – it spoke volumes. He didn’t miss the way your eyes fixed onto his suit. Almost in astonishment, you traced the embedded spider symbol with reverential fingertips. “You made all of this?” Peter could feel you through the lycra material, and it sent a shiver down his body as you hesitantly reached behind him to feel the zipper whilst he nodded. Your gaze flickered up to his. “Can I take it off?”

Peter held your stare for longer than he meant to. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” He surveyed you patiently as you unzipped the neck of the suit, peeling it off of his skin with the lightest touch – like he was so delicate. Like he wasn’t capable of hurting you when the both of you knew exactly what he was capable of. Like you hadn’t witnessed what he’d done to those criminals before you knew who he was. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“It won’t. Not with you.” Your face was irresistibly close to his, and he found it difficult to concentrate when your lips looked so inviting. Unsure breaths fanned over his cheeks as you pushed the suit down to his hips, letting it pool over his lap. With his chest now bare, you could see the scratches and slices along his pale skin. They were an aggressive color, and the bleeding gash along his stomach made you wince visibly at the thought of what kind of knife was used. Your hair brushed against his arm as you turned to the first aid kit, preparing to set aside a few tools on the coffee table. “Now, you’ll take the thing that looks like scissors.”

“The forceps?”

Peter coughed through a grunt. “Yes, those.” He shifted, laying back a bit to give you access to the gash on his stomach. “Grab the needle with it. It’s the curved one, not straight.” With fearful eyes, you faced him again. “It’s not a deep wound, see?” He guided your hands with his, placing your fingers on either edge of the cut. “We’ll go slow and steady. I won’t feel a thing.”

“How fast do you heal?”

“Two to three days. This one might take a little longer, but it’s okay.” You looked far-away, almost as if you were spending too much time in your own head. “Y/N.” Peter slowly took the suturing tools from you, then gingerly touched your jaw to bring you back to this moment with him. “Look at me, Y/N.” Your pupils met each other with ease. His lips tugged into an ardent smile; yours had done the same. “Hey, you.”

You had never sounded so quiet. In fact, Peter never realized how soft your voice was until now. “Hi.”

“What are you thinking about right now, beautiful?” He whispered as he searched the details of your features.

He memorized the way your teeth tugged on your bottom lip anxiously, how you eventually leaned into the palm of his hand like you had been craving his touch the entire night. You inhaled deeply, and that was all it took before tears ran down your cheeks. Peter pulled you into his arms, feeling the weight of your sobs against his shoulder.

“How come you – you didn’t tell me?”

He lifted your chin off of himself to look at you, thumb and pointer finger resting beneath your jaw. “How could I?” He narrowed his eyes for emphasis. “Couldn’t put you at risk like that, Y/N.”

You gulped, messily patting at your nose with your sleeve. “Am I not trustworthy enough?”

Peter laughed with fondness at you and rubbed his forehead against yours. “Baby, I trust you with my life.”

A hearty bubble of a giggle left your body. “Are you calling me ‘baby’ because I called you that?”

“Because I care about you.” His fingers traced over the skin of your throat then dipped into the concavity in your collarbone. “Because I like you.” He touched your lips, nose nudging against yours as he closed his eyes in unswerving rapture. “Because I want you – I adore you, I need you.” You let out a startled gasp as his mouth hovered over your neck, bestowing earnest kisses upon you as he gauged how your body reacted to him. “Y/N, I think the world of you. I could never not trust you.”

The thought rarely crossed your mind, but when it did, it felt like searing pain inside your heart. You couldn’t help but ask.

“When you see me, do you think of Gwen?”

Peter was stunned, pulling back to properly look at you.

“What?”

“Do you?”

“I would never want you to be Gwen.” He cradled your face. “Never. I don’t want that.”

You shrugged, insecurities running through your mind as everything began to connect. His loss, his hesitation, the reasons as to why he needed to keep you from knowing his secret. “Why?”

Peter’s eyebrow twitched in thought before the words came to him so easily.

“Because the way you look out for me is… it’s different. I don’t want to compare, but it’s just different.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “You got so angry with me, Y/N.” A flash of confusion washed over you. He wasn’t finished. “Earlier. The way you looked at me. It was genuine anger at most and I really never saw you like that until today. It showed me that it matters.”

“Matters? What does?”

“That my life matters. That I hated seeing you angry, you crying, you in pain. And how you care for me, well, it’s just different now — isn’t it? I was scared when you opened that door. I was scared for you, more than for myself. But when you looked at me… like I was so fragile, like I could break any second. I felt it. I felt it for the first time in a while — that I was scared to die. Because if I died then I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t have you and if it wasn’t for the reality check that was that anger, I wouldn’t have felt human.” He fought back tears, continually touching your skin to ground himself. “You make me feel human. Like it’s okay to make mistakes. Like it’s okay to forgive myself and it’s okay to feel even though emotions are complicated.” You glanced down at his wound, but he was quick to touch your chin and bring your gaze back to him. “It’s okay to love. It’s okay to want to start anew, begin all over again. It’s okay to remember my past, but I need to look forward to my future.”

You placed your hand over his beating heart. “Do you see your future?”

“I’m looking right at it.”

You kissed him. His mouth was slow against yours, savoring every drop of you and your skin as his fingers mindlessly roamed beneath the fabric of your sweatshirt. You could taste the blood off of him, but it didn’t bother you. You wanted more of Peter, and from how warm his palms were as they roamed upon your stomach, you could tell he wanted more too. Yet, you could sense the pain of his body — how his movements felt heavier, dragging, like he was exhausted.

You forced yourself to pull away from him. He groaned, not in agony, but at the loss of contact. “Let me fix you, okay?”

“Just kiss me again. S’all I need.” Your noses touched. Peter lingered by your lips longingly. “Y/N…”

“You’re bleeding.” You shook your head at him, showing restraint. “We need to stitch that wound unless you want me to…” You sighed blissfully when he nibbled at your jaw. “… get an ambulance.” His fingers pressed into your waist. “Peter, come on.”

He exhaled against you, “Okay.” He nodded, licking the taste of your chapstick off of his lips. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You cradled his cheek. “Tell me what to do.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you every step.”

You laid him up against the sofa before you ran a clean towel under the sink to clean the bloody wound — he could see how nervous you were. Your eagerness to help him was endearing, however, as you quickly approached him. Peter could tell you were trying your best to be gentle. The feathery touches reminded him of the stolen glances and the way your fingers would subtly brush against his when he first met you — shy, scared, afraid of what was going to come next. If only he could tell his past-self that it would be alright. He watched you with diligence, making sure that you weren’t piercing the needle too deep into his skin as you started the first throw — a simple knot with two loops. He felt his heart jump whenever you’d look at him, silently wondering if you were doing a decent job. Peter would smile, and push your hair back away from your eyes.

The silence hadn’t been so angry anymore.

“So, all those times that you were making noise on the other side of the wall…”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.” He chuckled as a playful smile began to form on your lips.

You glanced at him, snipping the excess thread of his sutures. “And the ‘I need help moving my sofa’ thing, that was bullshit too?” He nodded, mouth moving to speak until you interrupted with a snort. “Oh, my god. You absolute whore.” Peter gasped at the remark. You wagged a gloved finger at him. “You stalked me in the subway station too. Near Brooklyn.”

“First off, how dare you.” He ruffled your hair, laughing as you complained with a string of whining. “I did not stalk you. I ran into you. You know what?”

“What?”

“You said I had nice muscles.”

“Okay, yes! I did, it’s true. I’m not done yet. You gotta tell me about the Spider-Man boxers, don’t you think that’s a little conceited?”

Peter pouted, avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment as he gestured with a hand. “They were on sale.” You shook your head at him. He noticed the glimmer of amusement in your eyes, but your face soon fell as you finished the remainder of his stitches. “Y/N?”

“Mhm?”

“You’re caught up in that big head of yours again.”

“Yeah.” Your lips pursed together.

“Something crossed your mind?”

“You know, you saved me that night.” The sounds of scissors snipping filled the air. “In Hell’s Kitchen. And I looked at you…. and…. I don’t know. I felt something.”

“I did too.” Peter got quiet, chewing on his lip as he cleared his throat and gazed off to the side. “I’ve always wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you reached inside the first aid kit, scoffing at his unnecessary apology. “Why are you sorry?”

“Your parents. If I got there sooner — I wish I got there. That wasn’t fair to you.”

You shushed him. “You can’t change what happened.” His shoulders deflated as you kissed his forehead. “You can’t, and sometimes that’s okay.”

“Do you get mad about it?”

“Of course.” You nodded. “I get mad knowing they died for such — such fucking shit reasons.” Your jaw clenched. Peter studied the look in your eyes, knowing that feeling all too well from what happened with Uncle Ben and Gwen. “I tell everyone and myself that I’ve moved on from that night. But… but no one tells you how hard it is to lose your parents, especially because I was so young and I had no one else, really. I think that hurt more than them dying. Being alone.”

“Do you think…” Peter lovingly drew circles on your thigh while listening intently. “…that Fisk deserves the same fate?”

You paused, pulling the bandage out of its sleeve before you were laying it across Peter’s skin. “I do. Sometimes.” He hummed as you gently smoothed down the dressing. “I think he deserves to pay. Not with death, but — but he just does. I know he shouldn’t get away with this.”

“I tried. I visited one of his warehouses tonight.” Peter scoffed regretfully. “Full of his fuckin’ men. It was bait.”

“Peter.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve —should’ve said something about where I was going. I didn’t want you to follow in case.” He shuddered at the idea of you trying to find him and running into what he encountered. And again, he’d be too late. He didn’t want to think about it.

“Well, you’re pretty stupid for that.” You helped him sit up, arms holding him by his broad shoulders. “You left a note. The bookmark in Pride and Prejudice with all the addresses, was that it?”

“Fuck. You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“What did you find out?”

“I don’t know. I just… your name was thrown out a couple times. Your parents. Something about that and — and money, lots of it.”

You fiddled with your necklace nervously. “My parents worked for Fisk. It makes sense now.” Peter reached for your hand. “It was, uh, a loan. A business loan, probably for bad things. Dunno why I always thought they were so innocent or so normal. I guess they never paid Fisk back. An altercation or something happened, and well… you know how the rest pans out. My whole Batman origin story.”

“I do.” He scoffed dryly at the joke. “I should’ve said something that night.”

You chuckled, shutting the first aid kit and pushing it aside as you shifted closer to Peter. “Like what?” He raised his arm up, softly pulling you to his chest. He felt warm. You liked how easy this felt, your scents intermingled, how his body ignited yours, his heartbeat in your ear like a symphony — all of him felt so easy, like it was always meant to be this way.

“I should’ve comforted you, or something. Rather than just leaving without saying a word like a complete idiot. I wish I had said a lot of things to you.” He glanced at the faded picture of you and Sam on the shelf. “Not even just back then, Y/N.”

“Hm.” You looked up at Peter. His fingers slipped under your chin to hold your gaze. “You can tell me now. All the things you wanted to say to me, but didn’t.”

“You just wanna hear me be nice to you.” He blushed shyly, stroking your cheek with a curled finger. “My thoughts… they’re — I wouldn’t wanna overwhelm you more than I already have. Just stupid thoughts.”

“I’ll tell you my stupid thoughts too.”

His hazel-flaked eyes were dilated, searching yours endlessly like he could spend days admiring you. You saw autumn in his irises, brown leaves falling upon green flowered grass like he was a meadow in spring.

“Christ… I guess,” Peter sighed; his other hand still rested on his bandage as you blinked patiently at him. “Uh, when you first opened that front door… and you greeted me, I thought you were so gorgeous. Even though you looked so annoyed, you were pretty. Felt like a dumbass, asking you to move a sofa with me.” You shared a knowing look. You could feel him pulling you even closer. “I knew then that I wanted to be your friend, at that time. Just friends. No matter how infuriating you were and adamant you were on getting me to like your shitty podcast.” He laughed at himself. “Stupid, huh?”

You wiped at the dried blood by his eyebrow, shaking your head at him with an adoring smile. “Stupid.”

“Stupid.” He huffed. “Your turn.”

“That day we saw each other in the subway. I was staring at you for a long time way before you were staring at me — ow!”

He elbowed you hard. “And you called me a stalker? Me? What was it that you said to me?” You groaned, rubbing your hip with mumbled curses while he mimicked the pitch of your voice with newfound amusement. “Ogling me, Peter? Really?”

“Oh, see, I was gonna say something nice, but now you’ve just gone and ruined it.”

His apology came in the form of a soft kiss to your lips, one that lingered for too long to be called a peck. His nose brushed against yours, his voice dipping to a breathy tone. “Sorry. Go on, then.”

“I was thinking to myself that… maybe you aren’t so bad. That I liked looking at you.” You ran a thumb over his cupid’s bow. “Thought that I could get used to looking at you all the time. And that itself would be the highlight of my day.” You felt his lips part under your thumb, a smile threatening to break loose. “So stupid.”

Those brown eyes became softer with endearment as he repeated after you. “So stupid.”

“You again.”

He tenderly brushed your hair away from your forehead, features ridden with exhaustion and drunk off of your fond gaze. “I lied to you in that café.” Peter doesn’t let you interrupt him. “When I said… when I said that I liked you.” He gulped, a shaky exhale leaving his body. “That’s such bullshit, Y/N. I wanted to say something else, but – but I was scared.”

“What do you mean?” You lifted your head with knitted eyebrows as his grip grew tighter.

“The word ‘like’ is so funny, don’t you think? We use it to talk about all of our favorite things. You know, I like coffee. I like reading. I like how you look at me and I like the perfume you always use. I like how pretty you look in the mornings and how even prettier you look right now. I like being here with you.” His hand covers the entirety of the side of your face, fingers tucking itself by your jaw while tears blurred his vision. “But ‘like’ can only go so far. It’s such a simple word for what I feel towards you. Y/N, I don't even think a dictionary can help me. It just doesn’t exist — that… that word.” He hurriedly wiped the tears away from his eyes and lashes. “Stupid, see?”

“I think there’s one for it, Pete.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Love.”

“Love.” He repeated. The word left him in a whisper.

Love was one of those terms he hadn’t uttered aloud in ages, fearful that it would be too much in too little time – again, not since Gwen. A lot of things hadn’t happened since Gwen, but here he was, replaying how ‘love’ rolled off of your tongue again and again in his head. How could he become addicted to it so quickly? It felt like a drug. It felt right. And he liked it – no, he loved it. He loved how you said ‘love’ and looked at him with such unwavering hope that made him want to wrap you in his arms and never, ever let go of you. You made him feel like life was a dream, as if his days were just pictures on grainy film and his nights were nothing but sweet, sweet illusions of magic. But this, being here with you, it was no dream or illusion. It was reality and that was everything.

“We can just start from there.” You smiled sweetly at him. “Let’s start with love and see what words we can find after, yeah?” He stared as you quietly picked a fallen eyelash from his face with an innocent smile. “Hm, now make a wish, Pete.”

“Don’t need to.”

“Why’s that?”

“I got everything I need right here, Y/N.” He looked at you, then Webster who lingered by the bedroom hallway in the midst of your conversation. He took the tiny strand of hair from you, holding it between his thumb and pointer finger. “I do wish that you’ll forgive me for all the times I lied to you, though.”

“All is forgiven, spidey.”

“Good.” He kept his enthusiasm restrained, ignoring how his body bubbled with anticipation when you leaned into him.

Your lips felt kind and warm. The skin of your cheek was soft, and the frostbite on the button of your nose and tips of your reddened ears were an adorable greeting from winter itself. He wanted to remain in this moment. No fights. No arguments. No secrets and no Fisk. But Peter just couldn’t shake the thought off. Now more than ever, he needed to protect you. He needed to know that he’d wake up to the sound of you cooking in your apartment again, and that he’d see you walking on the sidewalks with your third cup of coffee. He needed to know that your voice would emerge from the other side of the wall like it always did, and that you’d laugh at him or call him a ‘doofus’ for being so loud.

But like before, Peter was petrified. He was excited for what could happen between the two of you, but he was horrified knowing that his time with you could never even be promised or guaranteed.

Who would he become if one day he knocked on your front door and it was no longer you who answered? Who would he become if one day he swung by your window and saw that someone else inhabited your apartment? The pictures of you and Sam, gone. The unwashed dishes and lively plants, gone. Who else would be able to understand him?

It terrified him. Absolutely. But the sensation of your mouth against his was enough to repress the nightmares surrounding his conscience. The feeling of his calloused palms against your hips and waist, the sounds of your needy breaths against his neck, the way your body pushed up against his as he pulled you into his lap with amorous yearning – that would be enough.

This was enough for him. You were enough.

The bedroom window was frosted over. Little, miniscule snowflakes woven intricately found solace on the ledge, blending in with the snowed-in streets outside and broken stop lights that created a whirlwind of traffic. The room was chilly, even with the matching fuzzy socks that you and Peter sported beneath the sheets, and even with Peter’s extreme body heat that made you feel like you were cuddling with a heater. He stirred against you with a groan, pulling you closer towards him despite already suffocating in the grasp of his arms.

Your bodies were ridden with exhaustion, yet the hickies on each other’s necks and the discarded clothes on the floor were a possible attest to the reasons why. You inhaled the scent of Peter, disappointed that he no longer smelled of his usual self after having given him a sponge bath last night. You rolled over to face him, eyes still laced with sleep as you cracked a faint smile at him. He looked peaceful – the most at peace you’ve seen him ever since you’d met one another, and that spoke lengths about how comfortable he was around you. A hero who was willingly allowing his guard down around someone he trusted: that was love in itself. The Spider-Man suit glistened on top of your laundry basket, littered with sliced fabric and crusted blood that didn’t look elegant in the slightest. You pressed a gentle kiss to Peter’s nose before you pried his large hands off of you, stifling a laugh as he mumbled sleepy protests at the lack of you in bed.

“Baby… come back.” His arm stretched towards you, fingers flexing as he emphasized his need. “S’early, what are you up to?”

“Gonna do some chores.” You glanced over to him. It was an endearing sight, his long frame splayed out over the mattress of your queen-sized bed, tangled in forest green sheets and weighted blankets like a little flower. “I’ll join you in a second. Just get some rest, how about that?”

He didn’t reply, only a soft grunt until he was back to quietly snoring once again.

Oh, Peter.

Making sure that you wouldn’t wake him, you slowly slipped on a hoodie. You shook your head at the heart-shaped kisses along your collarbone as you passed by your mirror, admiring his work before you were carefully taking the Spider-Man suit with you into the kitchen. The streets were loud, but the apartment felt quiet – a good quiet, compared to the giant mishap that happened between you and Peter yesterday. It was, again, domestic. Something that you always wanted for yourself, something that you didn’t realize you needed but it was here, and it felt nice. You flicked on the kitchen sink, running the suit under the cold water and over the drain as a soapy mixture of dirt and old blood seeped out of the webbed indentations. It was surreal, at the same time, holding the very thing that you sought after in all your days at the Bugle.

It still hadn’t fully sunk in that Peter was Spider-Man. But it made sense. All the unexplainable things that happened now had an explanation. The cobwebs on his clothes, the noises in his apartment, the new patrol route in your neighborhood, the polaroids.

The polaroids.

You hung the suit over the back of one of the dining chairs, letting it air-dry for now until Peter could wake up. Swiftly, you searched for your wallet, finding the array of pictures inside it. It brought a nostalgic smile to your face – with the knowledge that you had now, it was apparent as to why Peter was so inclined to help you and why Spider-Man never showed up that night. All along, he was sitting right beside you. You felt like an idiot, but you never would’ve known. No matter how many times you thought he was an oddball, you never would’ve thought it was because of his double identity.

Never would’ve guessed.

Peter leaned against the doorway into the kitchen, arms crossed on his shirt-clad chest as he studied you affectionately from across the room.

“Hey, you.”

You jumped, turning towards the sound of his raspy voice with furrowed eyebrows and a look of surprise. “You – you stalker!” Hand over your heart, a laugh graced its way upon your lips. “Scared me, Pete.”

“M’sorry.” He smiled shyly, coming towards you with slow steps before his hands took place on your arms. It reminded you of that night he went into your apartment, worried sick and reeking of protectiveness as he held you in the dark moonlight of your living room. It was a contrast now, except he held you with the same caring fervor. “Good morning, Y/N.”

“Morning, sleepyhead.” He kissed your temple, drawing his lips down your neck as he ghosted over the marks he made. You chuckled at the ticklish sensation, holding the polaroids up to his eyes with a proud smirk. “These are yours, by the way. Return to owner if found.”

“No, no, no.” He protested, shaking his head against you while he pushed the pictures from view. “Yours now. Always been yours.”

The statement held a deeper meaning, but you didn’t need details to know what he meant. You looked up at him with a chuckle, wishing that you could spend forever in his arms. But the collection of articles and documents about Fisk appeared from the corner of your eye. You fought to keep your gaze on the boy in front of you, but it distracted you – and then you were taken back to last night, how Peter knocked on your front door with wounds that he couldn’t even explain, wounds that you didn’t want to think about. And then you thought about your parents: a death that was always to come, but never was deserved. Peter didn’t notice the tension in your jaw, too caught up playing with Webster and what to get for breakfast.

With eyes that didn’t quite meet his, you piped up with an idea that lingered dangerously in your head.

“I’ll get breakfast.” You faked a smile as you subtly picked up the copy of Pride and Prejudice on the coffee table. Your fingers reached for the note of scribbled addresses, to which you pocketed in your sweatpants.

“You should stay. I can do it. Look outside, it’s freezing.” Peter reached for your apartment keys, but you quickly rushed over and captured his lips in a messy kiss. He let out a moan of surprise, laughing against your front teeth as you pulled away. “Still not done?”

“Don’t forget how hard I worked on those stitches. And like I said, you need to rest. I don’t care if you’re a superhero. You’re still my annoying neighbor.” You gestured at his stomach before you were hurriedly putting on your boots. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

Peter didn’t like your eagerness. He didn’t attempt to question you, though. You’d been through too much in the span of one night.

“You better not take too long, Y/N.”

“It’ll be like I never even left.” You scoffed, layering up with a coat. You stood on the tips of your shoes, pressing a long kiss to the brunette’s cheek as you cradled his jaw with gloved hands. “Maybe think about that word other than ‘love’, okay?”

“Hey, be careful.” He grabbed your wrist before you could leave, pulling a beanie over your ears as he admired your face one more time. You put your hand over his and squeezed.

“It’s just breakfast.”

Peter watched you leave with an oblivious smile and eyes full of hope.

218 Front Street, Vinegar Hill, NY.

You were going to find out what Wilson Fisk wanted. And you’d be damned if he hurt someone close to you ever again.

-

TAGLIST (open! some blogs unable to be tagged)

@silverwindptv @kdatthecastle @pufflepride @whatevergea @xthecyber @fandomscombine @carryon-doctor-lock @family-buisnes @hanniebee33 @renaroo123 @andeys-obsessions @ouralcohol @abibliophobiaa @spidergraph @milfodyssey @parkerssss @draw-back-your-bow @agustdeeyaa @ghostedgwen @mayxn15 @good-vibes-and-glitter @pr3ttyj3sus @jasmin7813

[notchesandbullets]

Vintage Books and Midnight Promises (Tattooed!Bakugou x Bookworm!Reader) Modern!AU

Warnings: none, just fluff. features Child!Eijirou, Child!Izuku and brief Dadzawa at the end

Synopsis: Your days are brightened by the appearance of Eijirou and Izuku but you don’t recognize the tattooed man who accompanied the two children into your bookshop one day. But he finds his way into your heart and before you can stop it, you’re already in too deep for the man with tattoos that rippled like the purest form of water and smelled like blueberries hand-picked on the warmest day.

Inspired by: @all1e23 ‘s series “Astrophile” (this is one of my favorite comfort fanfics, i highly recommend it)

Words: 9.8k

It was a beautiful, sunny day.

Steam coming from a hot cup of coffee curled in the air and you sighed as you set down the porcelain teacup that had been a gift from your grandmother on the front desk, sinking deeper into the velvety cushion of your seat as you basked in the tranquility of the empty store before the bell on the door would inevitably ring again.

The musty yet homey scent of secondhand books clung to the worn pages in all the stories of mystery, fantasy and nonfiction that filled the old and rickety oak shelving you had bought at an auction five years ago.

The cornershop sat at the end of a particularly quaint neighborhood in the small town you lived in and you couldn’t imagine anything else more relaxing other than grabbing a cup of coffee from the loft upstairs and curling up with a good book until store hours were over.

You got a steady stream of regulars and occasionally a few new faces here and there that ended up coming back quite frequently. You hoped that had something to do with the notion that they liked to read, since that’s all you could really hold a conversation about.

The latest thriller that was published or that underrated author that never seemed to get enough attention in your opinion, even though their work was such a delight for you to read, whatever it was, you could talk about books for hours.

Maybe that’s why it was so hard to act normal around those vastly more social than you.

Ever since you could remember, you had your nose buried in a book, bumping into street lamps and crashing into people as you failed to look up for even a second to see where you were going.

People never seemed to quite understand you, why you preferred the company of books over people, but you didn’t need them to understand. Books were all you had and you liked to keep it that way.

Books were consistent and there would always be more literature to read.

Luckily, it was a weekday so business was pretty slow and in just another hour, you would be free to finish up repainting the storefront.

But first, you needed to conclude this book. You were so close to the ending and the author had been stringing you along on a thread of hope that the protagonist was going to make it out and save the day, you were on the edge of your seat!!

Your eyes flitted across the pages at a speed too fast for human eyes to comprehend and you were so engrossed in the book that you didn’t notice the shadow that passed by outside.

You jumped as the door to your little bookshop flew open with a bang, losing your balance from where you had been perched on your favorite stool and crashed to the floor.

Sitting up with a groan of pain, you rubbed your now sore bottom and winced. “Ow…”

You hadn’t anticipated someone coming and wreaking havoc on your little shop. It was a good thing you had a good memory and had marked the page you left off of in your head or else that customer that had so rudely barged in would be getting more than just some curt words from you.

“Sorry.” A curt and gruff apology came from over the counter and your mouth pressed in a hard line as you got to your feet.

“Is everything alright?” You asked slowly, brushing the dust off of your clothes and making eye contact with the stranger for the first time.

In front of you was some punk who had incredibly intricate tattoos visible on his arms.

You eyed him up and down. He was pretty tall. Okay, correct that, he towered a good head over you, but what was the most intimidating was that scowl on his face that looked like it was permanently glued there for some reason.

His shoulders were broad and even under that sleeveless tank he was wearing, his muscles rippled and you rolled your eyes.

So he was one of those.

But you stopped a bit of ink twining up his neck and cocked an eyebrow at the prospect of him having more underneath his clothes.

You didn’t react despite where your mind just went, internally screaming at yourself to get a grip.

Guys like him didn’t randomly walk into a bookshop like yours. You had half a mind to call the police, thinking he was about to loot your store, but hesitated because he hadn’t done anything and it was wrong to judge someone you didn’t know under stereotypes that were groomed into you from a young age.

Not to mention, if he actually was going to rob you for whatever reason, he wouldn't have announced his presence like that.

Unless he was an idiot. Either one was equally possible at the moment while you waited for him to say something. Anything.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He said shortly after a pause, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and your stance softened a bit when you noticed how uncomfortable he looked. You could understand that feeling.

Plastering a smile on your face, you leaned back and shrugged, accepting what you suspected to be his version of an apology. “It’s okay, it was an accident.”

“Miss Y/N!!! Miss Y/N!!! Down here!!!”

“We’re down here!!!”

The small, childish chorus had your eyes brightening up in an instant as you recognized the voices and you were racing out from behind the counter within a second.

“Eijirou, Izuku!!” You knelt down to hug both of the toddlers tightly. “I didn't know you two were coming today!!”

They normally came on the weekends with their dad, it was so rare to see them on a weekday, with a new face nonetheless.

Eijirou’s shiny red eyes blinked up at you and he beamed brightly while Izuku shuffled his feet self-consciously, sniffling as he clutched his All Might plushie tight to his chest.

You cooed, lifting his chin sweetly to wipe away the tears. “What's wrong, Izuku?”

He sniffled, hugging his comfort plushie tighter as he pointed up to the scowling man that had accompanied them. “He… He’s mean.”

The ash-blond’s forehead creased in annoyance as you sent him a questioning look. “Shut your mouth, you fucking brat!!”

You covered Eijirou and Izuku’s ears, glaring at him. He matched it in intensity and it wasn’t until you saw how he wasn’t going to back down that you sighed, breaking off eye contact and conceding as you caught the tears streaming down Izuku’s round cheeks.

“Yeah, he’s big and scary, let’s leave him here, okay?” You said to the little boy, pretending not to notice the punk’s glare following the two of you as you led the now cheered up Izuku over to the back of the store.

Every time they came, you made sure to have the children’s area brushed up for them. The floor to ceiling windows in that one corner in the back had deep purple curtains drawn open during the day, shining light directly on the soft leather sofa that belonged to your family.

The perfect place to read.

A tug on the man’s hand had him looking down.

“Bakugou!!” The red-haired toddler shouted excitedly, frantically pulling him to where you were at only to run out of breath from his efforts as the man didn’t budge. “I want to go too!!”

“You’re staying here where I can see you, Shitty Hair.” Bakugou grumbled, running an exasperated hand through his spiky hair as he waited for the other brat to come back so that they could leave.

“You can come with!!” Eijirou begged, still trying to convince the stubborn man who was their guardian for the time being while their dad was busy. He huffed and puffed but still he didn’t move an inch.

He snorted haughtily, his grip tightening on the brat’s when he switched tactics and tried to pry off the hand that was holding his. “Like hell I would.”

Eijirou’s lower lip wobbled dangerously as he stopped fighting. “But you promised!!”

Bakugou inwardly groaned and looked away from the toddler. Tears from the brats were his fucking weakness and he hated it. But he still wasn’t going to let him.

The only reason why he agreed to take them here in the first place was because they wouldn’t shut up, begging for him to take them to the bookstore that they visited every week with their dad over and over again, promising that they wouldn’t ask for anything else the whole rest of the day.

They just wanted to see you.

Bakugou only agreed because they crossed their hearts that they would be quiet if he took them and if they didn’t make good on their word, then he would blow them up.

But what he didn’t mention was that he was a little intrigued by the girl that they talked about excitedly all the way there.

Tch, shitty brats. Fucking annoying.

Eijirou never cared about his threats when he declared that he would blow them up, going so far as to smile brightly in his face, completely unaffected while that shitty nerd’s face went ashen and lost all its color as he cowered behind his brother to avoid the scary man that towered over them.

Izuku lacked the spine that Eijirou had.

Bakugou pushed off the counter that he was leaning against as you came back into view with a happy Izuku in tow.

Eijirou visibly deflated and tears welled up at the corners of his eyes. “You’re all done? B-But I wanted to pick some out too!!”

You hushed him softly as you saw how close he was to sobbing, crouching down to his level and ruffled his hair. “You can choose what you want too, Eiji.”

His whole face lit up. “Really?!”

“Of course!!” You reassured with a smile, the edges of your eyes crinkling as you stood up and offered him your other hand that wasn’t joined with Izuku’s. But after Izuku swung your hand, you took that as your cue to let go. “Come on!!”

This time, Bakugou wasn’t fast enough to intervene as Eijirou took your hand and zoomed off with you trailing behind him, practically dragging you behind him as he took on the personality of a race car. He gritted his teeth in annoyance, wanting nothing more than to leave this place that had absolutely no business with and he clenched his hands into fists, storming over to where the two of you ran off to with full intention of grabbing the shitty brat and exiting with nothing more than a word.

But he faltered at the sound of your laughter bouncing off the bookshelves and unconsciously retracted his hand as he turned the corner.

To be honest, he didn’t know what made him stop. But seeing you there, with Eijirou tuckered out in your lap as you read him a book, Izuku bounding past him just to cuddle up on your other side was making him soft.

Fuck emotions. He hated having a heart.

You were seated on a huge, tan leather sofa that looked worn with age and was packed with brightly-colored pillows that looked much softer than he wanted to admit as he found himself drifting towards the three of you.

Truth be told, he only took them here because they were begging for either this or the zoo and he could not fucking stand the zoo.

What the fuck was so interesting about animals locked in a pen?

“Get up brats, we’re leaving.” Bakugou barked, glaring pointedly at the fucking brats when they cracked their eyes open as you stopped reading.

A chorus of whines and protests followed by some very pouty begging made you crack a smile at his unchanging demeanor.

“You know~” You sang, holding back a giggle at the suspicious look the man shot you as you shut the children’s book you were reading in favor of glancing at the two kids out of the corner of your eye. “I do have a ton of pizza that needs to be finished today. I don't suppose there's anyone out there that can help me with such a big task.”

Izuku and Eijirou shrieked in delight, bouncing up and down on the sofa, alternating between screaming yes and pleading for him to let them stay.

Bakugou, on the other hand, was fucking irritated as hell.

You were trying to bribe him with pizza? How un-fucking-believable. You were worse than the two troublemakers shrieking so loud, it felt like his head was going to split. He didn’t believe what he just heard. But was it working?

Yup.

Because your sundress flared around your knees as you crossed your legs to accommodate both the boys. The tresses of your hair fell around your face so softly he vaguely wondered if it was even possible for someone to look so innocent while conducting a pizza scheme.

Izuku scratched his head cutely as he yawned widely, exhausted from all the hopping he just did as Eijirou began to jump up and down around you, his endless energy coming off of him in waves.

“We can help!!!” He cried, tugging Izuku upright and the little boy stumbled, landing on his rear on the couch with an ‘oof’.

But he didn't cry. Instead, he tilted his head curiously and blinked. “We can?”

“Yes!!” Eijirou insisted. He wanted pizza. He loved pizza. And Bakugou never treated them to it whenever he watched them, he said it would make them fat. “Please Bakugou!!!”

You raised an eyebrow as you heard the punk’s name for the first time. It sounded fitting for such a stoic and emotionless person that he was portraying at the moment as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the red-haired toddler.

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “What did I tell you about referring to your elders, Shitty Hair?”

“Ahh!!” You blurted out, sending him a sharp look that was meant to reprimand him. “Don't swear in front of them!!”

Bakugou glared at you uncaringly and you matched it, throwing in a pout for good measure.

You had no idea what was giving you all this confidence now. You had never been this comfortable interacting with a stranger. You blamed it on the children. They were far too familiar.

The moment of silence as you glared at each other was broken when both of the boys jumped down from the sofa at the same time.

Weird.

“Ahh, don’t go too far!!” You called out after them as you sprang up. “And don’t leave the store!!”

“M’kay!!!” Eijirou shouted back as he tugged Izuku, who was struggling to catch up, behind him. “Can I flip the sign, Miss Y/N?”

You giggled, hiding a grin from Bakugou as you nodded even though they couldn’t see. “Yes, just be careful and don’t go outside!!”

As he yelled that he knew back at you, you moved into a better light so that that one bookshelf wasn’t blocking your view of them so you could see them. Once you were in direct line of sight, your smile softened as you saw Eijirou lift Izuku up so that he could reach the sign and flip it around to show that you were closed for the day.

“They’re so sweet to each other.” You murmured to yourself.

The closeness of Bakugou’s scoff had you jumping back in surprise and you winced as your back crashed into the bookshelf behind you.

“Geez, I was going to say hell no.” Bakugou started as he chortled, smirking at you as you collected yourself. “But you’re even more of a klutz than that shitty nerd is.”

Brushing down your skirt, you coughed a couple times to cover up your blush of embarrassment. “I am not.”

“Uh, yeah you are.”

“Oh hush.” You snapped at him as the boys came bounding back, Izuku proudly holding up another book he wanted you to read for him that he found on the way back.

You giggled and ruffled his hair affectionately before asking if they’d like to continue reading here or up in the loft, to which they both sprinted to the stairs.

Well, that answered that question.

You sent a smile over your shoulder, inviting the grumpy man to follow you. “You coming or what?”

Bakugou hid a smirk as you turned back around and followed the hyperactive kids up the stairs.

You sure were interesting, he’d give you that.

And that night, the four of you fell asleep in the loft, with four boxes of cheese, pepperoni and half-eaten vegetarian pizzas surrounding you as Izuku curled up beside you and Eijirou snored on top of Bakugou’s head.

You were very happy to see that it wasn’t the last time you saw the forever annoyed man who had barged into your store.

It had been a month since that day. And since then, Bakugou had become a regular face and you dreaded how you subconsciously looked forward to when he would show up randomly.

One time, he had popped in your store just to grunt out a greeting and toss a bag at you, demanding that you eat it or else he would fucking kill you, before leaving.

Opening it up, you saw the freshly-baked blueberry muffin inside. And when you bit into it, it was delicious.

The only thing that confused you was that there was no good bakery around here, so you had absolutely no idea where he got it from.

Today, another weekday, they came again all bright smiles and sunshine and you bolted off your stool, abandoning your freshly-brewed coffee to greet them before they could even step into the bookstore.

There were still a few hours of daylight until closing time and you had some more things to finish up.

Bakugou leaned against the wall as you rearranged the display on the top shelf. The ever energetic Izuku and Eijirou had sped over to their corner the second they ran into the store, greeting you over their shoulder as the two boys tunneled past you.

You had pouted but let them go have their fun since tonight would be another night of pizza and soft drinks while you read them their favorite books.

Last time, Eijirou came to you with a stack of at least fifteen and you nearly had a laughing fit when one of them was a little too high for his age group.

He could read all those young adult novels with glorious battles featuring knights and dragons when his vocabulary increased a bit more.

A green-haired boy with freckles toddled up to you with his counterpart and buddy in crime nowhere to be seen.

Giggling, you approved the ones that Izuku held up to you with wide eyes blinking slowly.

“I’ll read it for you a little later, yeah?” You said, patting his head.

“Okay!!”

You flailed for a second as you lost your balance, the little boy disappearing from sight once again before he could realize you were off kilter due to the speed that he zipped at but a pair of strong hands settled on your waist to steady you.

Lips parting in surprise, you turned around to see Bakugou’s trademark sneer as he stared up at you.

“Dumbass.”

“Hey!!” You protested, all gratitude gone, and your lips pursed in a firm line as you disputed his claim.

But you were startled at the rough rumble that emitted from his chest and it took you a second to realize that he was laughing. At your expense, but still, it warmed your heart to hear.

“Well, look at that.” You teased. “He’s not so cold after all.”

“Tch.” Bakugou’s amusement faded as he glared at you for that but you just brushed it off.

You turned your attention back to the top shelf but misjudged the distance as you stretched out your hand. Yelping as one of the stool legs gave out, you careened to the side and squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the impact.

But your eyes shot open as you didn’t hit the ground like you expected. Instead, you landed on something softer than the hardwood floor.

When a pained groan sounded underneath you, you scrambled upright.

“Oh my gosh!! I’m so sorry!!!”

Bakugou had somehow cushioned your fall, making you land on him rather than crash to the ground.

Your cheeks flamed when you realized you were straddling his waist, hands splayed on his chest and you squeaked when he caught you staring.

“Oi, are you going to fucking stare at me all day?” Bakugou snarked and you huffed, clambering off of him clumsily.

It was a good thing you weren’t wearing a dress today. That would’ve been so embarrassing.

“I’m really sorry.” You apologized again, sheepishly tucking your hair behind your ear as you tried to appear less frazzled than you felt as he picked himself up from the floor.

Before he could say anything, though it was probably something not very nice, Izuku ran around the corner with Eijirou hot on his heels.

“Miss Y/N!!!” Izuku called out breathlessly, his chubby cheeks flushed pink from running so fast. “Miss Y/N!!! I have a secret to tell you!!”

“Izuku, I want to tell her!!!” Eijirou complained with a small pout.

“No, I want to!!!” He pushed back fiercely before he turned to you with bright forest green eyes and beamed. “Miss Y/N—”

“Bakugou has a crush on you!!!!” Eijirou interrupted, dancing in circles around you and out of Bakugou’s reach as the man swiped at him.

Bakugou snarled as the toddler screeched and dived in between his legs to escape him. “Get back here, you fucking brat!!!!”

Izuku tugged on your pant leg, tears brimming in his eyes as his lower lip trembled. “M-Miss Y/N…”

Your giggles died down as Bakugou continued to chase Eijirou and you smiled reassuringly, bending down to pick him up.

“Aww, it’s okay, Izuku.” You reassured with a chirpy smile. “If you want, we can just pretend you told me, yeah?”

He smiled and kicked his feet happily, giggling as he waved his All Might plushie back and forth.

“Do we get to stay tonight too?”

“Yup!!” You beamed, hoisting him higher as you collected the book that you needed to put away and balance it on your head so that you could hold the toddler with two hands. “I already checked it with your dad and he said it was okay!!”

Aizawa had sounded stressed when you called him but that was to be expected. His line of work was tough but he had quickly agreed to it. He had interacted with you enough to know that you looked out for them almost as much as he did.

Besides, in the small town, word got around fast. If there was dirt on you, he would’ve heard about it by now.

Izuku tugged on your braid innocently to catch your attention. “Can we leave him downstairs when you read to us?”

You giggled and booped his nose, watching it scrunch up cutely. You already knew he was talking about Bakugou. “Why do you want him to stay downstairs?”

Izuku pouted. “Because he snores too loud.”

“Hah?! Say it to my face, Deku!!!” Bakugou’s yell echoed from somewhere on the other side of the store and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from bursting out laughing.

“C’mon,” You said softly, bouncing Izuku on your hip as you crept around the other side. “Let’s go see if we can help Eiji and then we’ll sneak upstairs before he finds us, yeah?”

“Yayyy!!!” Izuku cheered happily.

“FOUND YOU, SHITTY NERD!!!”

“Uh oh, Miss Y/N, run!!!!!”

An hour and a lot of duct tape later, Bakugou was sitting in the punishment chair for those that misbehaved while you read to the boys upstairs.

About ten minutes later, you flicked the lights off upstairs as you headed back down, being careful about which lamps to turn on since you didn’t want to wake the kids.

You fought back a grin as you saw the poorly wrapped duct tape tying his wrist to the chair. Apparently you could’ve been more clear to the boys that since the stuff was sticky, they didn’t have to necessarily tie it around his arm like string.

You were quite sure that Bakugou could've gotten up if he wanted to so you left him down there but when you finished the last book and he was nowhere to be seen, you came downstairs only to find him in the exact same position you left him in.

“What's wrong? Tied you up too tight?” You teased, knowing it had no merit.

“Ha ha, you’re so fucking funny.” Bakugou glowered at you, then his blank expression morphed into subtle curiosity. “The brats asleep?”

“Yeah,” You said, rubbing your arms as a breeze blew by and you frowned as you held out your hand and started to follow it all the way to its source and it only furrowed deeper when you deduced that it was coming from a crack in the front door. “Rats.”

“What the…” Bakugou trailed off as he came up behind you and at this point you didn’t even flinch.

For someone who was so tall and had such a fit physique, he sure moved like the wind. You were used to it by now.

You sighed, planting your hands on your hips after testing the lock to make sure it still worked properly. Thank goodness that was still fine. “It happens every winter. I think it has something to do with the wood and the weather when the temperature drops but I already fixed it this past season so I don’t know why…”

Burrowing your face in your hands, you groaned and tried to put it in back of your mind for now.

But Bakugou’s brow knitted at the safety concern and he jangled the knob to play around with it.

By the time you had stopped trying to think of ways to solve this problem temporarily until you had the means for a more permanent solution, Bakugou had fixed it.

Your jaw dropped as you saw he had stuffed some kind of weather strip you had laying in the corner with the rest of the maintenance tools collecting dust and bluntly claimed he’d fix it in the morning for you.

“You don’t have to do that!!” You cried out, feeling bad and not wanting to owe him anything.

Bakugou snorted. “That wasn’t a fucking question, dumbass.”

You opened your mouth to protest but the pitter-patter of tiny feet scaling down the stairs made you both raise your heads.

Your eyes filled with concern as you saw the little boy dragging a blankie behind him with his thumb stuck in his mouth.

“Izuku?” You rushed over and dropped down to the floor, not caring how you scraped your knees in the process. “What’s wrong?”

He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“... had a nightmare…” He mumbled under his breath, close to tears and your gaze softened sympathetically.

Opening your arms to him, you caught yourself as he ran into you and you walked back to where Bakugou was observing.

Nightmare. You mouthed at him and his eyes grew dark for a second.

You didn’t understand why but you didn’t ask any questions as you focused on consoling the crying boy.

“Hey, Izuku,” You whispered softly when he had calmed down enough to be coherent and tell you a little what it was about. “You know what always makes me feel better?”

He blinked up at you. “Pizza?”

You giggled and tapped his nose gently. “Well yes, but I was thinking more along the lines of ice cream…”

You didn’t miss the way eyes lit up and he automatically turned to an indifferent Bakugou watching the both of you while leaning against the wall with a pleading expression, and immediately, the man was shaking his head violently.

“Hell no.” He refused flatly. Upon the fresh tears that welled up in Izuku’s eyes, he turned to you, as though he needed to prove to you that he had a good reason for saying no. “It’s late out.”

“There’s a 24/7 store that carries ice cream right down the street.” You supplied helpfully, smiling innocently when he glared at you.

Bakugou sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair, gripping it in frustration. “It’s dark, Y/N. It’s dangerous.”

“I can go.” You suggested, trying to pry off an Izuku who was clinging to you.

“The hell? Fuck no.” Bakugou hissed and you sighed, giving up on trying to make the green bundle that was pretending to be a leech unstick from you.

“I’ll be right back.” You negotiated. “It’s not even that far—”

“You’re not going.”

You balked at the unrelenting tone he took with you but shut your mouth when you saw the look in his eyes. The look that told you he had seen things that he probably would never tell you.

You saw it in the way his hands shook ever so slightly when he held either Eijirou or Izuku, like he was afraid they would disappear on him the second he let go. You knew that kind of fear and you didn’t argue against him.

But before you could smile sadly at Izuku for letting him down, Bakugou was stomping upstairs and waking up the other slumbering toddler.

There was a muffled shout and then a grunt from above.

“Wake up, Shitty Hair.”

“Eh?! Where are we going?!”

You winced as a crash sounded from the upper level. You didn’t want to know what he broke this time.

But you followed Bakugou’s thinking. Even if the door was sturdy for now, it wasn’t a good idea to leave a child alone for whatever reason, even if you weren’t going to be gone long. If Eijirou woke up all alone, there was a good possibility he would venture outside by himself and that wouldn’t be good.

Besides, Eijirou would be sad if he missed out on this adventure.

It had taken five minutes for Bakugou to wrangle Eijirou, who was way too energetic this late at night, and an additional ten just before the four of you left the store.

Bakugou locked it behind you as you carried Izuku out.

Initially, he had insisted that he could carry him to give you a break but you told him you didn’t mind.

And you really didn’t. The little boy was snoozing softly against your shoulder and you were happy that you could provide some small amount of comfort to him after such a scary bad dream.

The trip was pretty uneventful. Nothing happened, you guys got there safely, Bakugou paid for more ice cream than you guys could consume in one night, saying something about how it was so he didn’t have to do this whole thing again and you walked back.

There were some stragglers out and you got a couple of glances that normally would’ve made your skin crawl but for some reason, this time you felt reassured as Bakugou drifted to your side and kept you close as he made sure Eijirou didn’t let go of his hand.

Eijirou was good, for the most part.

He was unusually serious and didn’t goof off inside the grocery store like he did in your bookshop and you were grateful for that. You didn’t know if you had the energy to chase him down like Bakugou had done earlier if he decided he wanted to play hide-and-seek.

At one point, Bakugou’s free hand that wasn’t busy holding onto the tubs of ice cream or Eijirou, to make sure he didn’t wander off, crept around your shoulders and pulled you close when someone who was drunk out of their minds strayed too close to you.

“Back the fuck off.” He growled protectively as he tucked you and Izuku into his side, glaring at them until they got the message and went on their way.

You were thankful that there wasn’t enough light for him to see the blush present on your cheeks and as you stepped back inside the safety of your bookstore, the boys going after the comfort ice cream like puppies with ice, you didn’t know quite how to feel when his scorching touch left you.

And you wondered why your heart was beating so fast.

By the time the next weekend had rolled around, it was their twentieth time coming together and you were starting to get a bit alarmed at how familiar their appearance was. You actually had to stop in your tracks when you realized you not only were looking forward to seeing Izuku and Eijirou but also Bakugou.

Crap.

That punk had wormed his way into your heart even more but you’d be damned if you let him stay there.

Convincing yourself you’d get over this petty little crush before it became a problem, you picked out some gifts for the two boys the next time you would see them.

By the time you had walked down the street to your shop from the toy store, you actually realized that they beat you to it. You had to calm the two toddlers down as they ran up to greet you, Eijirou vastly quicker on his feet than Izuku, even though the little boy tried his hardest.

They squealed as you gave them presents, showing them off to Bakugou and sped off into their corner to go play. Just like clockwork.

“So…” You started, cringing at how awkward you sounded now that you were alone with Bakugou. “Where’s their dad today?”

Bakugou coughed, then cleared his throat. “You mean that scruffy old man?”

You cracked a smile. “That’s the one.”

He was always with them. He was the first one to bring the boys in on a slow day, which quickly livened up due to the endless amount of energy contained inside a little Eijirou and a tiny Izuku.

Midgets. You loved them so much.

Their cheeks were so squishy, too. Adorable.

It had been months since you had last seen Aizawa and you were a little bit worried about him. But you figured if anyone would know if he was okay would be the man entrusted to watch his sons.

Bakugou sighed, crossing his arms over his chest so that his muscles bulged out from that sleeveless tank he was wearing. The patches of ink rippled in the light and moved almost like it was real. “Aizawa-sensei’s not their dad but he acts like it too fucking much to pretend that it’s not true anymore.”

You giggled at his harsh words edged with a bit of something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Something that sounded like begrudging fondness.

Bakugou jerked his chin to where Izuku was chasing after Eijirou, begging him to help him get a book down from the shelf. Usually, you’d go help them but the adorable little toddler puffed out his chest and started clambering up the step ladder to get it.

Bakugou had bought that one himself to replace the rickety one you had accidentally broken and fallen off of so you knew it was sturdy. They would only fall off of it if they weren’t careful but you were within sight of them so you weren’t too worried.

“He’s enlisted in the military so he can’t always watch them even after they blacklisted him. His old unit just recently got reinstated.” Bakugou said with a scowl, not bothering to elaborate on that, but his eyes softened the tiniest bit as Izuku huffed and puffed to catch up with Eijirou, his little legs working overtime to compensate for his lack of height. “So he gave the brats to me to make sure they didn’t kill themselves or something.”

You grinned, clasping your hands behind your back and stuck your face close to his, skirt swirling around your ankles as you sent him a cheeky smile.

“You volunteered, didn’t you?”

“Shut the hell up, no I didn’t!!” He shouted but you bit back the smile threatening to overtake your entire face.

“You’re too easy to read~” You teased.

Bakugou grabbed for you but you dodged easily. Gritting his teeth in determination, he ran after you and you yelped at how quickly he was gaining on you.

Damn, it was a bad day to wear these shoes.

You ducked around the corner only for him to catch up to you in a split second. You squeaked as he slammed you into the bookshelf, caging you in between his arms as he smirked down at you.

“I won.” He declared triumphantly.

You rolled your eyes and stuck out your tongue. “Such a child.”

Bakugou scowled. You were one to talk, taunting him like you two were friends or something. “Oi, fucking take that back.”

Your eyes glinted mischievously. “Or you’ll do what? Try to punch me again? Maybe this time you’ll actually land one and not miss like a lose—”

You gasped as his chest bumped into yours, his red eyes glimmering dangerously. His breath was hot against your face and your heart stopped.

“I don’t fucking lose.” He growled.

You gulped. Perhaps you had crossed a line. Your gaze darted away from him for a second, not even bothering to push him away because you knew you couldn’t.

“Thank you.”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow in surprise but masked it quickly. “For what?”

“For the other day.” You clarified. “I think I would’ve been screwed if you hadn’t come with, so thank you.”

He snorted and looked away. “Don’t mention it, dumbass.”

You were going to leave it at that but at that moment, a soft giggle floated through the air along with some very loud and obvious shushing.

Bakugou immediately tore after the little brats without a second thought as both Eijirou and Izuku poked their heads around the corner to spy on you and you threw your head back and laughed.

They were so goofy but maybe that crush they had told you about that you had so easily dismissed at first wasn’t so ridiculous after all.

While you were busy helping other customers throughout the day, Bakugou occasionally came to check in on you and make sure you were taking your breaks and eating, all while reassuring you that the shitty brats were fucking fine and you didn’t need to be worried about shit.

He could handle it.

You smiled and waved a hand at him when he left, giggling when he flipped you the bird before turning to the next person who wanted to check out.

The sun set and night fell, all along with the comfortable routine you had grown accustomed to having with all three of the boys.

But you bolted upright as Eijirou nonchalantly revealed something you didn’t expect the instant you finished setting up the tent for movie night.

“IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY?!?!” You screeched in Bakugou’s ear.

Bakugou clapped a hand over your mouth, sending you a death glare, undoubtedly for your insanely loud volume, but you wrangled him off of you.

“Bu— You— Why didn’t you say something?!”

He looked at you as though you were crazy. You two barely knew each other and if he knew it was going to spur on this reaction, he definitely would’ve stopped Shitty Hair from saying that shit.

Too late now.

Bakugou slumped back against the makeshift fort you had set up for the boys in the loft. Said troublesome toddlers were currently going to town on your DVD collection so that they could choose a movie for tonight.

You only had cartoons from your childhood so it was a perfect selection for them. They were currently hunting through the bookshelf in your room that was connected to upper floor, just down the hall.

“What the hell is there to tell?” He grunted in your direction, a deep seated scowl on his features from the starry blankets and pillows that surrounded him.

You frowned. Growing up, birthdays had always been days that you looked forward to. The parties, the presents, family and friends to celebrate it with, you always loved it. Maybe there was a reason he didn’t want to celebrate it.

Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, you idly rocked back and forth as you thought about how best to approach the reproachful man.

Bakugou sighed and glared at your crossly. You weren’t going to let this go until he gave you an answer.

“There ain’t no deep reason for it, none of that bullshit.” He ground out eventually and you perked your head up, listening attentively. “I don’t see what’s so special about the day I was born, it’s the same as every other fucking day.”

He was caught off guard as you rapidly shook your head, crying out at his words.

“It’s not!!” You implored earnestly, the roots to your ideals running deep as you leaned forward. “The day you were born is so special!! It celebrates your life, Katsuki!!”

Bakugou swallowed hard. Your proximity was making it very hard to breathe. That light in your eyes, the one that was able to find happiness in even the smallest of things, he didn’t understand it.

It was the same kind of light that Deku had. How fucking annoying.

“Damn idiot.” He muttered as he turned your face away from you so that he wouldn’t be tempted to kiss your lips. They looked so soft…

Fuck, he was screwed over. Quick, he had to think of something else.

Luckily, the distraction came in the form of two very energetic boys barreling into the tent. You collapsed in a fit of giggles as Eijirou returned from his adventure and tunneled into you, Izuku tripping on the way in only to be caught by the back of his collar by a reluctant Bakugou.

Eijirou quickly fumbled with the DVD, holding the cartoons he and Izuku had selected together up proudly for you to see.

You cooed, pinching his cheeks and praised them for making such a good choice. This one was one of your favorites when you were younger and you hadn’t seen it in a while so this was as much a treat for them as it was for you.

The little tent was a bit more cramped than you had anticipated, especially with the two hyperactive boys added into the mix, but it was doable for now. Your leg was pressed up against Bakugou’s warm thigh but you tried not to think about it as you popped the DVD into the small TV you had set up on a table outside of the cozy fort.

Eijirou snuggled up in your lap while Izuku hesitated to climb onto a very comfy looking hothead, who was actually quite tame at the moment.

Unfolding his arms, Bakugou's lip curled back in a scowl. "Tch, hurry up, nerd."

You couldn't even bring yourself to say anything about his language because while Eijirou seemed largely unaffected by it, Izuku’s forest green eyes actually sparked as he recognized the indirect permission granted.

It was actually quite adorable how the boys could read the disgruntled older man like a book.

Bakugou attempted to hide it from you but he couldn't stop you from seeing how gently he rested his large hand on top of Izuku’s little green curls. The tent didn't provide that much privacy.

Not wanting him to stop showing the rare display of affection towards the affection-starved child, you averted your eyes so that he could carry on. You knew he would retract his hand so fast if he thought you were looking at them.

You didn't want to ruin the moment.

Snuggling back into the plushy pillow, you held onto Eijirou as he curled onto your stomach, straining to see the small screen that lit up with moving pictures.

“Izuku, it’s starting!!” He exclaimed excitedly.

There was a crash and then a loud swear and as you looked over to make sure that Izuku and Bakugou were both alright, you had to clap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing at the scene that you were presented with.

At Eijirou’s well intended announcement, Izuku had hurried upright, knocking back into Bakugou at the same time as he scrambled forward to be able to see.

But in doing so, he had tripped over the cord connecting the TV to the outlet that was behind you and fell forward. Right as the box came crashing down, aimed directly for his head.

Luckily, no one was hurt.

Bakugou had caught Izuku by the collar of his shirt and hauled him back, out of harm’s way before anything could happen to him.

Any other time, you would’ve voiced how impressed you were but now you were just worried about the little boy, who was openly crying, apologizing over and over again for breaking it.

“It’s alright, Izuku.” You reassured gently, patting his head comfortingly. His emerald eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he blinked up at your, his freckled cheeks flushed an embarrassed shade of pink and your eyes softened. “You’re safe, so no harm done!! Don’t worry, okay?”

He sniffled and shakily nodded.

Bakugou had yet to say anything but his fingers were still curled protectively around Izuku’s stomach, ensuring that he didn’t move around carelessly. Next time, he might not be as lucky. Not that he was going to admit that he was scared or anything.

How fucking ridiculous.

While you switched out Eijirou with Izuku to calm him down, Bakugou took charge in cleaning up the shattered shards of cheap plastic that had broken upon impact.

Your TV wasn’t completely destroyed but the plastic screen had cracked at the corner. For something so old, it sure was robust, he’d give it credit for that.

Eijirou tugged on his hand, losing his balance and Bakugou’s arm shot out to prevent him from face-planting in the shards that he had just swept up.

“Watch what you’re doing, Shitty Hair.” He growled, concern masked under his sharp reprimanding and he glared at the now sheepish toddler.

“C’mere, Eiji.” You coaxed, waving your hand to have him come closer to you so that he was out of the way until Bakugou got rid of the small, clear pieces hiding on the floor. “I don’t want you to get hurt, so let’s stay out of his way, yeah?”

Eijirou nodded vigorously, finding the logic in your words with relative ease and agreeing with them instinctively.

Sighing to yourself, you unplugged the TV so that an electrical surge wouldn’t cause a fire. That was the last thing you needed.

You were sad that the boys were disappointed with the short-lived movie night. But Bakugou insists that he can fix it just like he fixed your front door so the three of you waited for him to work his magic while you curled up with a good book to read to them.

You had already asked if he wanted help but he glowered at you for suggesting such an insane thing and you backed off with a shit-eating grin.

After almost an hour of reading books and playing games to pass the time, he got it up and running again, laying the cable on top of the fort you built so that it was out of the way, making it impossible for anyone else to trip on it again.

This time, everything ran smoothly and all of you gorged yourselves on popcorn and soda as the cheesy cartoons played out on the screen, thoroughly entertaining the two little boys while you and Bakugou stole glances at each other the entire time.

By the time it finished, Izuku was already fast asleep and Eijirou was struggling to keep his eyes open.

You put them both to bed, Bakugou’s soft half-smile going over your head as you tucked them into the spare futon you had set up for them specifically, almost three months ago, when this all started.

“You’re too fucking soft.” Bakugou decided as you two went downstairs to let the boys sleep.

It was familiar, it was routine. After every night when they fell asleep, you two would stay up talking for hours about anything and everything.

He eventually opened up to you about the life he had been involved in before he met Aizawa, who saved his life. After that, he reformed, he got clean, the whole nine yards.

And you were proud of him.

You told him about your life, though it probably was nothing at all that interesting compared to his problems that he dealt with. But surprisingly, you found him nodding along understandingly as you voiced your hardships with being anti-social and having a bunch of insecurities and anxieties that often made talking to people a nerve-wracking experience and you were astonished to find the weight that uplifted as soon as he put in his two cents and said that he really did understand.

You skipped ahead of him, spinning around to tell him how much you’ve grown to look forward to your conversations when the guarded look on his face made the confession die on your lips.

“You okay?” You asked concernedly, approaching him cautiously to give him enough time to push you away if he wanted to be left alone.

He grunted in your direction. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But he didn’t sound fine. His voice was strained and a bead of sweat ran down his forehead.

Biting your lip, you tilted your head contemplatively. Ice cream and books generally made you feel better when you had a bad day but you realized you had no idea what comforted him.

Gingerly, you took his hand and frowned when you saw the faded scars. He had been hurt.

“What do you need?” You asked softly and he sighed in defeat.

“What’s your favorite book?” He grumbled out and your mouth parted in surprise at the odd request.

Wordlessly, you led him over to the counter to grab the same book you had been reading that day he had first barged in and so rudely knocked you off your stool.

You held it up to him and still holding your hand, he led you in the back where you normally sat with the boys to read to them.

“Katsuki?” You questioned.

He gritted his teeth, mumbling something under his breath.

“Um…” You trailed off nervously. “C-Can you say it again? I didn’t really hear you…”

Bakugou whirled around and you squeaked at how close his face was to yours.

“Read it to me.” He demanded without pause and you would’ve laughed, thinking he was playing a prank on you if it had not been for his steely gaze.

“Okay…” You drew out slowly, wondering where this was suddenly coming about as you sat down on the tan leather sofa and patted the spot beside you, turning on the table lamp beside you so that you could see him. “Do you want me to start from the beginning? I’m not sure if you’ll even like this book, I have no idea what you like to read—”

Bakugou shook his head to cut off your anxious rambling, recognizing that it was stemming from your nervousness at him possibly judging you for what you liked to read and he leaned back, resting his arms behind his head.

“Doesn’t fucking matter.” He mumbled. “Just start.”

Even though you had numerous questions running through your head, you obliged and began reading, the words flowing off your lips with practiced ease.

Bakugou never told you but he was jealous of how you always read to the brats. Granted, he was a full-grown adult who shouldn’t pout in the corner when they got more attention than he did but it was so fucking stupid how soothing your voice was and how much of an effect it had on him. 

He could listen to you for hours and never get bored. Why do you think he always stuck around when you hopped up on the same tan leather sofa to read to those shitty kids?

It wasn’t just because he liked to look at your face, but it was because of the smile you had whenever you would read to them, that soft tilt of your head when the books evoked emotions from the children you were reading to and the giggle that bubbled past your lips when they laughed at something that the character did.

It never failed to do things to his heart.

Bakugou’s eyes eventually drifted closed after an hour of reading to him and you tensed when he careened into you by accident.

“Sorry.” He said shortly as he righted himself and you shyly reassured him that it was okay.

He didn’t say anything but you knew.

Ever since he got out of his old life, he had found a steady job but it was in construction and the risk was incredibly high. The hours were long and often the conditions were unforgiving. He had seen things happen on the daily and you were cautious to ever bring it up to him when he pressed closer to you than usual or who stayed longer by the front desk while you worked during operating hours.

You were about to stand up and leave so that he could sleep since he was obviously exhausted but his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t go.”

It was quiet and it wavered but you didn’t hesitate.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you eased him down and swallowed hard when his own encircled your waist, bringing you close to him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You promised.

Head laying on his chest, your heartbeat eventually synced with the rise and fall of it and you drifted off, unaware that Bakugou sealed your promise with a soft kiss to the top of your head.

The fragments of his heart gently pieced itself back together as he held onto you as though you were his lifeline and he couldn’t help but whisper brokenly.

“Thank you.”

Bonus:

“Papa!!!”

“You’re back!!”

Aizawa held a finger up to his lips as his boys reached for him at the same time, chuckling softly as he caught them both as they launched into him. He didn’t change out of his military gear yet, he wanted to see them first.

“Shh… “ He hushed quietly, ruffling both of their heads at the same time. Damn, he missed them. “Y/N’s sleeping downstairs.”

Instantly, both the boys shut their mouths and shot out at the speed of light.

Aizawa followed them downstairs just in time to see the two of them screaming silently as they danced around in rings around their favorite couch that you and Bakugou were cozied up on.

Your face was tucked under Bakugou’s chin and you were sound asleep. Meanwhile, the man beside you had his arm draped over your waist, the other one supporting your head as a makeshift pillow. The blankets on top of you were rumpled, as though they had been kicked aside in favor of you both seeking out each other’s warmth.

It was cute. Aizawa admitted it was one of the most heartwarming things he’d ever seen.

“Don’t wake them up.” Aizawa instructed as Izuku reached out to touch Bakugou’s spiky hair since he wasn’t awake to tell him off. “Not yet.”

Eijirou was curious but a wide grin broke out on his face when his dad pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures.

“Oooo, Papa, can I?! Please?!?!”

Gesturing for him to lower his voice, Aizawa nodded and handed it off, watching Izuku and Eijriou briefly squabble about who got to use it first when they sorted it out amongst themselves and Izuku took the first turn.

You awoke to the sound of a shutter clicking right by your ear and blinking slowly, your eyes shot open and you jerked as you realized where you were.

And who you were with.

“Katsuki, get up!!” You hissed as the boys laughed loudly. Hell, even Aizawa cracked a smile and you threw him an apologetic look, though you didn’t know what it was for. “Katsuki!!”

He groaned and turned his face the other way.

This time, Aizawa couldn’t help but tease him a little. “Katsuki, huh?”

Bakugou turned back around and glared at the offending person smirking at him. “Shut the hell up.”

Aizawa clicked his tongue. “Respect your elders.”

“Oh f—”

“OKAY!!!” You shouted, clapping your hands together before he could cuss him out. “Who wants breakfast?”

“Oh, oh, oh, me!!!” Izuku cried, jumping up and down excitedly.

“Yay, food!!!” Eijirou cheered.

Bakugou blearily rubbed his eyes and yawned. Thank goodness he didn’t have to go in today. “Oi, didn’t you just eat?”

“Yeah, but that was last night!!” The little boy protested. “My stomach is hungryyyyy.”

“Fucking Shitty Hair.”

A warning tone came from Aizawa. “Bakugou.”

“... Sorry.”

“Coffee?” You offered to Aizawa as you all traveled back upstairs, the little ones racing ahead of you.

He sighed gratefully, blinking his eyes tiredly. “That sounds perfect.”

He was exhausted and the trip back was even more brutal than the one that took him to his destination. But he didn’t want to get into all of that now.

Eijirou and Izuku shot to their designated seats at the kitchen island and you put on an apron before pulling open the fridge to see what you could make.

“I meant what I said.” Bakugou confessed quietly while you cracked the eggs and prepared the bacon.

You didn’t look at him, not wanting to give it away to the other three who were watching you both like some kind of TV show.

“I know.” You murmured, a soft smile playing on the corners of your lips. “I did, too.”

Your heart fluttered as he boldly pressed a kiss to your temple and you blushed violently when the boys whooped and hollered at the two of you, Eijirou making faces of disgust and pretending to gag when Bakugou made it look like he was going to kiss you on the lips in front of them.

Aizawa chuckled as he handled the coffee machine, able to easily figure it out as he brewed enough for the both of you. “Look at that? You have learned how to play well with others, Bakugou.”

And this time, Bakugou didn’t even spare him a glance as he gazed at you until you looked his way.

“What?” You asked nervously, wondering if you had something on your face.

Bakugou hid a smirk.

“How ‘bout blueberry muffins to go along with that coffee, sweetheart?”

[annabethy]

Annabeth making Percy a surprise dinner?

in which Annabeth tries to bake but Percy’s a much better (and entertaining) cook,, percabeth

Percy honestly doesn’t know what to expect at home when his wife stops answering her texts halfway through the day. At first, he chalks it up to her taking a nap, which is understandable considering she’s still recovering from a nasty cold that had her out for a week, but when it stretches hours with no response, he starts to get a bit suspicious.

He goes about his day at work normally, glancing at his phone every couple of minutes in anticipation for a response that never comes. He manages not to get too worried because knowing her, she probably forgot to charge her phone, but it doesn’t stop his leg from bouncing up and down in the driver’s seat of his car.

Percy practically jumps out of the car the second he’s parked and makes his way up to their apartment. There’s not really much going through is head besides him repeating where Annabeth over and over in his head like a broken record. He struggles to unlock the front door, and while he’d like to say it was due to his nerves, it’s much more likely that he is just bad with locks.

When the lock does click open, he is immediately met with the sound of something metal clanging in the kitchen and the distinct smell of smoke.

“Annabeth?”

He shuts the door behind him silently, kicking his shoes off. His footsteps are light against the wooden floor as not to startle her. When he rounds a corner and she comes into sight, there is an image in front of him that makes him want to both laugh and cry.

His kitchen looks like a bomb went off inside of it; there’s flour in every square inch of the room, and he’s pretty sure the counter is going to be permanently stained blue with the amount of food coloring she’s managed to spill. The oven is on, though there’s nothing in it, urging him to believe she may have forgotten she’d turned it on entirely.

Annabeth doesn’t acknowledge his presence, which isn’t a surprise considering the amount of noise she’s making. Percy leans against the wall to watch the scene unravel — Annabeth is wrestling a pile of dough that she clearly hasn’t let rise yet. It’s comical, watching her attempt to bake. She’s never been the best at it so he’s resigned to cooking for the two of them, so when she did take over cooking every once in a while, he couldn’t help but stop and laugh at her in adoration.

She’s with her back to Percy, so he makes to move behind her. If she’s startled when he wraps his arms around her waist, pressing his face between her shoulder blades, she doesn’t let it show.

“Hey,” Percy whispers, pressing his lips right below her ear. The skin is incredibly soft, and he loves the way she smells, so sweet and like herself. “What are you doing?”

She doesn’t answer, instead twisting out of his grasp and smiling innocently. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You mean you’re not destroying our kitchen?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Annabeth looks around the room before looking back at him, as though saying see?

“So we’re not going to talk about your hands stained blue?”

“Uh– no.”

Percy gives her an accusing look.

“I was trying to do something nice for you,” she admits, “but you’re home early and ruined the surprise.”

“Yeah?” He moves to stand in front of her, attempting to corner her against the counter. She protests for a moment before giving in to the kiss he presses to her forehead.

“It didn’t work anyways. I’m not a very good cook.”

“You’re not,” he agrees. Annabeth pouts, and Percy wants to kiss her, so he does.

“Why are you trying to do something nice?”

“Because,” she starts dramatically, slumping into his arms. “You took care of me all last week, which couldn’t have been fun.”

“It was lots of fun,” Percy tells her.

“Absolutely not.”

Percy hums in disagreement. “I get the best snuggles out of you when you’re sick. Otherwise, you’re just mean.”

Annabeth pushes his shoulder lightly. “I’m not mean.”

“Sometimes you’re mean,” he says playfully.

“I don’t think I like being married to you anymore.”

“You love being married to me,” he dismisses, pulling away from their hug. He regrets it a few seconds later, missing the heat of her body against his. “Can I help you finish?”

Annabeth whines. “No. It was supposed to be a surprise, so go do something else while I finish.”

On any other day, he would, but he’s missed her today more than usual. Besides, he’d much rather stay and watch this train wreck unfold in front of his eyes. It’s times like this he loves the most, he thinks, when the two of them get to make a mess with a childlike innocence, just being with one another. That’s what causes him to shake his head and kiss her once more.

“I want to help.”

“You want to help?”

“I love watching you fail at cooking,” he says sweetly, narrowly dodging the flick to the tip of his nose. “Come on. I’ll even clean everything up for you if you let me help.”

Annabeth pretends to think for a minute before stepping onto her tiptoes so she can press a kiss to his lips. “Fine,” she mutters against him, “but the joke’s on you. You were going to be cleaning everything up anyways.”

Percy rolls his eyes, but he can hardly be upset when she’s looking at him with such affection in her eyes.

It doesn’t take long at all before Percy decides to start messing with her. She leans over his shoulder while he begins to mix a bowl of buttercream frosting, and he practically has to shake her off of him. He pretends to be annoyed by the kisses she presses into his neck, the task at hand completely forgotten on her end, but it sends a jolt through him each time she makes contact with his skin. He honestly doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this.

“It needs food coloring,” Annabeth tells him.

“Why don’t you pick a color?” Percy isn’t entirely thinking when he says that. Annabeth takes it as an invitation to pop open the cap to a small glass jar and tip it into the bowl he’s mixing in.

Percy chokes, snatching the food coloring from her fingers. “Annabeth!”

“What?”

He sets the jar aside carefully and shakes his head at her, amused. “You’ve just managed to turn our insides blue for a week.”

“I thought you liked blue.” Percy dips his finger into the bowl, scooping a glob of the deep blue frosting up. He glances at Annabeth, contemplating his next move. She’s looking at him with an emotion he can’t read, and so he looks back to the frosting.

“It’s a pretty color, don’t you think?”

Percy laughs. “You think so?”

“I’m surprised you don’t.”

With that, Percy decides to drag the frosting in a line down her cheek before she gets the chance to move away. It leaves a thick trail of blue that’s no doubt going to be stained on her face for the next day, given the way his finger is colored.

“Percy,” Annabeth threatens. She reaches for the bowl in a sudden movement, but he shoves it away before she gets her hands on any.

“You like the color!” he defends. Annabeth starts moving towards him, and he moves in the opposite direction, attempting to use the island as a barrier between the two of them.

Annabeth just stops and stares at him. It’s not particularly threatening, but it’s calm enough to make him sure that she’s about to make him regret it.

Annabeth points at the ground in front of her. “Come here.”

“I’m good where I am.”

It’s then that she starts towards him again, and he stumbles backwards, stubbing his toe on the corner of the counter. The sharp pain distracts him from the fact that his wife is rapidly approaching, and the next thing he knows, Annabeth is jumping on his back. His knees buckle for a moment before he manages to gain his balance.

Her hand splays across his face as she tries to reach across the counter for the batch of frosting, so Percy does just about everything he can to prevent it. He tries to shake her off, but she just grabs him by the entire face and squishes his cheeks.

“Stop moving,” she scolds, tugging sharply on his hair.

Percy desperately doesn’t want to be turned into a smurf for the next week, but he doesn’t particularly want to drop his wife on the ground either, so he has no choice but to let her crawl across his back for the metal bowl.

“Baby,” Percy breathes out, watching her scoop up a glob of frosting. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I think we both know I do.”

“I promise to be a good boy from now on.”

“Your words mean nothing to me.”

“You won’t do this if you love me.”

Annabeth giggles into his ear, and it’s so cute that he can’t even be mad about what happens next.

She slaps him in the face with a fistful of blue frosting, and it goes in just about every hole on his face. Annabeth’s laughing gleefully in his ear when she slides off his back and admires the work she’s done.

“It’s beautiful,” she says.

Percy wipes his eyes so he can open them without the threat of getting sugar in his eyes. He’s met with her bright smile, her dimples becoming prominent, and he falls in love with her all over again.

“You look good in blue.”

Percy lifts the corners of his mouth, wiggling a finger in her direction. “I think you’d look even better in blue.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Before she can protest, he tugs her back into his arms and smooshes his face against hers. She tries to twist out of his grasp, but he just holds on tighter until she’s laughing to the point that she can’t breathe.

“Now you look good in blue too,” he says. She opens her mouth, about to complain, but then he lowers his lips to her cheek, and her words falter. Her eyes flutter shut as he kisses around her face, peppering featherlight touches everywhere he can reach, before ending against her lips.

“I love you,” he says, “even when you cover me in sticky frosting.”

Annabeth rolls her eyes and kisses his nose. He pulls her in tighter.

“I love you too,” she tells him, “even when you ruin my surprises.

“Oh please. I just made this a moment to remember.”

It’s true, he thinks. It’ll be a pain to clean up, but she looks so happy that he thinks it’s worth it. It’s a memory they’ll pass on and recreate. And maybe, one day… he likes to think that there will be kids that they can bake cookies with. Days spent together filled with laughter and endless love.

Percy’s sure he has a soft smile on his face when Annabeth taps him on the forehead.

“What are you thinking about?”

Percy nudges her nose with his. “Us,” he admits quietly, “baking a few years from now, with one or two kids.”

Annabeth’s smile matches his. “Yeah?”

“And…” Percy bites his lip. “Never mind. It’s silly.”

“Tell me,” she says, eyes sparkling.

“You’re laughing at me,” he complains.

“I’m not laughing at you. I want to know.”

Percy thinks for a moment. “I don’t know. I just love you and us and this.”

Somehow, she knows what he means. She doesn’t say anything because she doesn’t need to. Instead, she just smiles and kisses him like there’s no one else but them.

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Painted - Chapter One

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.” - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Y/N has moved on, her scars are barely noticeable anymore, and she’s finally stable. Or at least she was.

10 years after the worst day of her life, Y/N found herself staring face to face with an unimaginable horror. In the wake of her worst nightmare come to life, she finds herself reunited with the man that saved her all those years ago - Agent Dean Winchester who had left her a decade before broken and wanting.

Dean Winchester has spent the last 10 years trying desperately to forget Y/N and the tragedy that he pulled her out of, but when she called asking for his help he dropped everything to come to her aid as he knew he always would.

Can Y/N and Dean solve the mystery that has resurfaced after all this time? Will they be able to resist the pull between them? Or will this be the final brush strokes on a canvas, sealing their fate for good?

No Beta currently, all mistakes are my own!

Pairing: Dean/Reader

Tags: Dark!Fic, Agent!Dean, Serial Killer Fic, Smut etc.

Chapter One

Everything has a color. To Y/N, violence was red. She pulled back her arm, her fist colliding with the heft of her punching bag with a soft thud . One, two, kick. She liked training alone, it centered her, cleared her mind. She didn’t have to worry about pulling her punches, avoiding the knees when she kicked. The biggest danger was the skin on her knuckles, which were expertly wrapped.

It all started as self defense, a way to ease her mind as she walked back to her Jeep on the dark nights, but it had evolved to something else altogether. She didn’t fight because she was afraid, she fought because she was pissed . She was pissed that she had to learn to defend herself; that other women did. She taught classes so that her community would be safe, so that they’d find less women abandoned in ditches beaten to death.

But when she was alone, it was something else completely. The why of the thing was a mystery most of the time, even to her. People used to ask her if she was afraid she would see him again. She wasn't, not really. But she kept fighting anyway, and she would be lying if his face wasn’t the one she pictured every time her fist collided with the bag.

The beat of her music throbbed in her ears like an angry heartbeat as she went for an uppercut that rattled the bag. She was panting, sweat rolling down her temple. Each hit was a beat of her heart, causing the bag to come alive. With each swing she made, it swung back at her. She was strong, and she wasn’t holding back. One, two, kick.

Her watch chimed to alert her that she hit her workout goal for the day, but she had more fire within her that needed to be extinguished. It was a long workout, even for her, but she had a lot on her mind. If she was thinking about the ache of her knuckles and burning in her biceps, she was less likely to obsess over the things she couldn’t control. So she hit the bag again and again.

The sun was starting to speckle through the blinds on the storefront window, making the sweat on her arms glisten like diamonds. She considered, just for a moment, how the coast would look against the purples and oranges of the sunrise. She could have a coffee and just enjoy the silence. Or she could keep fighting. That answer was easy. She didn’t have time to appreciate the beauty in life. She hadn’t for a long time. All of the colors had lost their brightness, the depth that he used to talk about so frequently. The thing that kept him mixing until it was just right.

She hadn’t thought of him in so long, so when the thought came to her, she didn’t react fast enough to the bag swinging back toward her from her last hit. It collided directly with her face, sending her backwards onto the mat. A loud, painful crack echoed through her skull as her nose collided with the bag. She laid there for a moment, groaning. She tried to sit up, her nose throbbing and her mouth filling with blood from the hit. “Fuck me,” she whispered to no one in particular.

Trauma was black. According to her therapist, there were different types of trauma. Y/N learned that they all could be sorted into one of three main categories: acute trauma that results from a single incident, chronic trauma that is repeated and prolonged such as domestic violence or abuse, and complex trauma which is exposure to varied and multiple traumatic events, often of an invasive, interpersonal nature. More so, there was capital T trauma and what she called little t trauma . Capital T was the big stuff, the stuff that wrecks a person in an irreparable way. Little t was less so. It is possible for a traumatized person to get over a little t trauma.

In Y/N’s life she’d seen her fair share of trauma. Probably more than a thirty-three year old woman should’ve. She’d seen trauma happen to others, happen to herself, and continue to happen in case after case that she worked. She saw trauma that others didn’t. The kind of trauma that couldn’t be seen from the outside. The kind of trauma that a person inflicts upon themselves.

She was always told that trauma healed over time, like a bruise, but for her, trauma was a cut that kept reopening. It was a scab that she couldn’t stop picking at, a bruise that seemed to deepen to a darker purple before it ever yellowed. Her eyes stung from the hit, and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

The only way she knew how to heal was to move on, leave the trauma behind. Her therapist told her to imagine herself placing the memories in a box and locking them away. Sometimes, when she was alone, she could hear that box screaming, banging, and begging to be opened. She resisted the urge, especially today.

She forced herself to stand, her head spinning. She leaned against the wall to regain her balance before she walked out to her car, her head tilted back. She could feel the blood roll down the back of her throat since it was unable to escape her nostril. She’d be pissed if she broke her nose, but, from what she could tell, it seemed intact even though it hurt like a bitch.

Her headphones were askew, but still playing her workout mix. She adjusted them and spit some blood from her mouth. She wouldn’t be thwarted by a fall; no, she wouldn’t be taken down so easily. If she fell in the gym and no one was there to witness her humiliation, did she even fall? The answer to that depended on if anyone would notice her bruised nose after the fact. If they didn’t, as far as she was concerned, she had a perfect refreshing work out with no issues whatsoever. Maybe with enough makeup her secret would remain her own.

10 years earlier

The sound of his paintbrush swiping delicately against canvas was soothing to Y/N. She sat on the edge of the bed, atop black satin sheets, resting on her hands, her back arched and her legs spread just right. Her long strawberry hair fell down her shoulders in loose waves onto the sheets.

“Just like that,” Lucifer murmured, a blonde wave falling into his eye. He was focused, his tongue partially out of his mouth, his eyebrows knitted together. She wasn’t able to see the painting from her vantage point, but she knew what it was. It was always the same. I just can’t get you right, he’d complain, his voice laced with pain and disdain. She thought he made her more beautiful than she ever could be on her own.

When she’d met him, he was so focused on his art. He would eat, sleep, and drink his paintings. His clothing was speckled with oil colors, his fingers calloused from gripping paint brushes for hours on end. She found him sexy and mysterious. She was dying to know the man behind such beautiful pieces of art.

It didn’t take long for his obsession to shift from his art directly to her. He doted on her endlessly, showering her in flowers, candy, candlelight dinners. They made love constantly. He couldn’t get enough of her.

“Let me paint you, Y/N,” he’d purr between her legs. “I just want to paint you.” It took her weeks to say yes. She’d always brush him off, blushing and insecure. “You’re exquisite. Please let me paint you.”

She struggled to deny Lucifer’s requests when he asked as his breath tickled the inside of her thigh. It was hard to deny him of anything , if she was being honest. The first time she said yes, he arrived in her bedroom and asked her to drop the floral robe she was wearing. He’d seen her naked dozens of times, but she was still nervous, vulnerable, staring at him. She brought him a bag, insisting that he look inside before she disrobed.

He stared at the bag, confused.

“They’re body paints,” she explained. “I thought you wanted to paint me.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. They made love on the apartment floor, painting designs on each other's skin until she was swollen and wanting, gasping his name into the night.

When she woke up in the early hours of the morning, she found him painting her image onto a canvas laying splayed out, covered in swirls of sex and paint. “Don’t move,” he instructed calmly. She wanted to be angry, but she still felt drunk from being ravished, and his eyes examining her were sensual and slow. She watched his wrist spin and curl, and a chill ran up her spine.

“Lucifer, how much longer? ”

“You’re just so beautiful, Y/N. You know that, right?”

“No,” she murmured, and his eyebrows knitted together.

“We will fix that,” he promised. “You will always be this beautiful.” He was talking to her, she logically knew that, but from her vantage point she could’ve sworn he was speaking to the canvas.

Present

Y/N entered the code to unlock the front gate to her property, leaning half out her car window. Thankfully, her bleeding had stopped, but her upper lip and chin were still crusty with blood. She looked like a mess, if she was being honest, but the only one there to judge her was her chocolate brown pit bull, Castiel, and Y/N figured that Cas wouldn’t care much either way.

The iron gate opened with a groan, sliding to her right. She slid back into her seat and shifted out of park to pull forward down the driveway toward her house. It was modest, nothing too big or magnificent. The outside was grey brick, a two story home with a large green yard and a pool in the back. As she pulled up, she could already see Castiel’s nose pressed against the window, her head through the thick curtains. Y/N smiled, her heart warming at the sight. She wiggled her fingers at Castiel in a small wave.

Castiel greeted her at the door, his tail wagging excitedly. She knelt down to pet his chin only to be met with deep blue eyes and a pink tongue. “I know, buddy. I need to shower somethin’ fierce.”

She kissed his nose and murmured. “I’m good. We’re good.” Half the time she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. She locked the front door behind her and kicked off her shoes. Her arms ached and her heartbeat was still residing in her sinus from her fall. She let her hair out of the tie that kept it up in a high ponytail, letting it fall down her back. Her head was sore from her hair being up for hours. She massaged her scalp with a wince. Everything hurt and she couldn’t wait to wash her problems down the drain and start fresh.

Her work out clothes were discarded on the bathroom floor, the sound of running water and the steam accumulating in the air were already starting to soothe her. She took a deep breath in through her nose with a wince before stepping into the shower and closing the curtain behind her.

Y/N faced the water, letting the heat roll down her skin. The water ran brown from sweat and blood. She braced her hands on the walls of the shower to keep herself steady. She closed her eyes, letting the baptism wash her worries away. Time has a way of wrecking a person, she knew that much. It gave a false sense of security, a sense of growth and change. She spent so much time trying to put her past behind her, locked away inside of a box.

She opened her eyes and looked at the half sleeves covering her wrists and forearms. The flowers and vines twisting around her arms, climbing, and growing out of thick, pink scars - creating something beautiful out of tragedy. She had hoped, when she got them, that they would help her heal and forget. She could laugh now at that naive girl who thought anything would let her forget. Time heals wounds, yes, but the greatest ones still ached in the cold and the rain.

Suds from soap and shampoo swirled down the drain, and she reached down to turn off the water. She wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped into her robe. She could hear Castiel whine outside of the bathroom door, unusually unhappy with not being able to see her. “You’re good, Cas,” she called out, wiping the fog from the mirror. She examined her nose. It was a little swollen and already beginning to bruise. She cursed to herself and just hoped that it’d be dull enough that her painted foundation would cover it. The last thing she needed was to worry those around her.

Castiel scratched at the door again, and she opened it, her dog circling her legs impatiently. “What is your deal?” Y/N reached down and scratched behind her ear, eliciting licks from Castiel.

Towel drying her hair, she stepped out of the bathroom and rounded the corner. Her eyes were heavy, and her head pounded from the hit. She needed coffee, bad . As she turned the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks, her towel falling from her hand. Castiel whined insistently, nudging Y/N’s leg with his nose. She stared face to face with something so familiar that it made her gut tighten, acid crawling up her throat.

A painting hung at her eye level in the hallway near the bathroom. Fine brush strokes of pale peach skin, strawberry twists of hair splayed out on black satin sheets, flushed cheeks, parted lips, and freckled legs spread out, exposing a delicate pink vagina tucked between them.

Y/N stared at herself. Her eyes closed, her swollen mouth, her pink cheeks on a face and head that belonged to her. Her freckled neck blended downwards onto heavy breasts with dark nipples and a mole under the right that she’d never seen before.

Her knees were weak, and she stumbled back, bumping into Castiel and tumbling backwards. She fell, hitting her tailbone on the wood floors with a hard smack . Tears burned in her eyes, from pain or fear she wasn’t sure. Castiel came to her, licking her cheek in concern.

Anxiety crept into her chest, pressing down heavily. She gasped for breath and clamped her eyes shut. She pictured the box inside of her mind, thrashing and pulsing with anger, begging to be opened. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she forced herself to stand on shaking legs. She made her way to her bedroom and quickly spun the code on her safe, pulling her gun from it. She clicked the safety off and held it in front of her.

With each room that she checked she only found an emptiness that overtook her home with a heaviness that seemed to engulf her completely. Nothing seemed strange or out of place other than the large depiction of her naked body that hung on her wall.

She kept her gun positioned outward and pulled out her cellphone, dialing the number that she could never forget. All she could hope for was an answer, and as a ring met her ear she let out a sigh of relief. It had been so long, she had expected a disconnected tone. She pressed the phone closer to her ear as she heard his voice.

“Y/N?”

“He’s back.”

------

Chapter Two

Read on A03 Here

Tag List: @lyarr24

@dean-winchesters-bacon

@waywardbaby @akshi8278

[kaijurakunsobs]

The Beauty in Empathy

master list

ya boi took all the time in the world writing this but here we go baby! also...yall get soft!Heisenberg content

⚠ Trigger: Panic Attack, PTSD

Summary: the travel to the village has left you shaken up and unsure of what to do with your life. You lack direction, an objective, something to anchor you give the sense of control, it doesn't matter what, you just need something to control.

It, almost, feels nice to come back to the factory, not carrying for the ache in your limbs or the blisters on your feet, you need to feel safe in any way shape or form, and the closest thing to a safe heaven...is the factory. Where no one can touch you, where Heisenberg's sole presence is enough to ward off unwanted visits, where you could run through the maze of corridors and find refuge in some empty room.

There was so much going on, the euphoria you got that morning over the small win against Heisenberg was gone now, replaced by uneasiness, fear of what you don't understand, of what you had gotten yourself into. But you don't let panic subdue you again, taking deep breaths, you run to the living quarters, crates creaking with the movement, fresh vegetables, and cans making so much noise, you were sure the Lord would come and yell at you, he never comes, not even when you almost throw down the door and begin to scream, he's not there.

It takes you a bit to calm down and regulate your breathing, you feel disoriented, suddenly everything is too much and you begin to get rid of the rope wound around your shoulders and hands, wincing when the crates and sacks do so much noise.

And there you stay with your head pressed against the door and eyes shut, remembering how your mother used to cook and clean when stressed, she said cleaning your living space clears the mind and keeps us sane, cooking fills the soul and your stomach with the warmth of your home.

That makes you get up slowly, moving to the kitchen to clean it and the fridge thoroughly, ignoring your aching and shaking limbs in favor of putting everything away and leaving out some ingredients to make a simple vegetable soup. Taking a cutting board and knife you start chopping and cutting vegetables, casting a glance at the clock in the wall and wondering, when will Heisenberg come back and if you should leave him something to eat.

You are done cooking, letting the soup boil, and slowly make the room smell deliciously, remembering how your mom used to cook this soup when you were distraught or sick, you are distraught indeed, but getting lost in memories of people that don't exist anymore feels...useless, painful, stupid.

All of your attention is brought back to the mess on the table and coffee table, all those blueprints and papers just laying around, feels wrong. Picking up every single one you do quick work of rolling it and placing it upright in one of the crates the Duke used to pack your groceries, carefully stashing papers and placing them with the prints, dropping the crate over the kitchen table, grabbing the broom and sweeping the small living room.

With a prideful smile, you stare at the much cleaner area, serving yourself a generous portion of soup and taking a seat at the table, it tastes just as good as your last meal last night, you feel pleasure by eating something this warm, feeling the heat go down your throat and radiate through your entire chest and bleeding down your body, it's nice a feeling. But the heat doesn't linger long and the cold of the world beyond the factory hunts you.

You lost it all so fast, everything stole away by Miranda and the creatures that attacked you, yes, you have a "home" here and a room, and Heisenberg's presence seems to guard off against anyone coming close to this place, but you have no control over anything anymore, and that's what scares you, the lack of control over something.

Routine...that's a way to control your life, something so easy yet so valuable right now, that you don't fight off the prospect of binding yourself to something as monotonous as routine. You were adventurous and brave, now you are scared and ready to find some resemblance of normality, it might be hard, seeing how Heisenberg seems to be more on the chaotic side, but, starting tomorrow you will need to work on that, you need to reclaim a bit of your life.

For now, the best you can do is rest, tame your emotions, abide by the contract you made this morning, maybe...if you play your cards well, you get more perks or small liberties.

Heisenberg drags you out the next day to finally help him with the ventilation, barely giving you time to eat anything and forcing you to chug your coffee, running after him to not be left behind.

The Lord can see you, scribbling something on one of his old note pads, stopping outside of certain rooms to scan the place and write down more notes, mumbling to yourself about what you will need to fix the room. So you are a planner, he likes that, you could also be faking it in favor of getting on his good side, let's see how well you do.

"Let me get this clear" you sigh putting on a pair of his gloves, looking at the rather shabby board connecting the railway and the hole in the wall where the ventilation duct is visible "I have to go across this, get inside and then find the problem?"

"Yeah, basically" he's looking at you, judging your reaction, half expecting you to back off and run away "Is there a problem, sweetheart?" he leans close to you, blowing smoke in your face

With a huff, you take the cigar from his hand and take a drag and puffing the smoke back on his face, jumping over the railing and swiftly balancing over the board towards the hole "You better find a way to pass me whatever I need, cuz im not doing the trave back and forth every fucking time!"

Karl grins at your boldness, smoking his Cuban cigar like it's nothing, raising a brow when you finish it "Will find a way, don't worry about it"

"You better do, Karl!" turning around you grimace looking at the duct, there's water and cobwebs "This is asinine..."

"You will do amazing, darling!" he screams with a lot of amusement when he sees you climb into the duct, enjoying the view of your ass "way better than I could do"

"Oh, bite me!" you yell back with a bit of humor, quickly crawling to the spot marked on the map he gave you the day prior, only stopping to wipe off the sweat from your forehead and assess the damage "Hey, Heisenberg! We have rats here...seems they been doing a number on the ventilators' wiring!"

"Fucking hell! again?!" there's a moment of silence and you use it to look around, definitely, there are rats here, he should think about acquiring some cats, "Think you can fix it?!" you hear him clearly as you make your way back

"If you have some electrical tape and new wires? I could do it today but the rats will come back and eat the new wiring!" he sees you come back, looking at him expectantly

He waves dismissively, turning around to dig through the toolbox, he swears he saw some spare wires here..."Oh don't worry about that, darling, you fix the wiring and I'll just let the lycans have a feast on the vermin" he says as if you knew what he's talking about.

"The WHAT now?" Heisenberg chuckles at your expression, smiling a bit when he tosses the tape and wire in your direction barely catching them.

"More fixing and less asking, you can meet the pack later after we are done with everything you need to work on!"

You hate the way he's smiling, it makes you shudder and feel weary for whatever he's planning.

And you are right in feeling apprehension, Heisenberg keeps dragging you around, helping you up when the repair it's too high, happily taunting you when he sees you stand on a piece of metal, watching your legs wobble and the slight terror when he screams for you to balance yourself because he's not going to save you if you fall, cackling when you tell him to shove it and balancing on the metal sheet.

At the end of the day, he's surprised at how unbothered you seem at being covered in grease and sweat, nonchalantly cleaning your face with your sleeve "And here I thought you were lying about being a mechanic, color me impressed"

"I told you, I'm a woman of my word, I would never lie to you Heisenberg~" something stirs inside him in the way you smile, cocking your hip to the side, he hates your guts but he gotta admit, you are a sight for sore eyes "This has been a beautiful day and everything, but! I'm in need of a shower and I wanna eat something"

"Not yet princess" you yelp when Karl grabs your shoulders and quickly pushes and guides you "You were curious about the lycans, yes? I think is only fair for you to meet them, seeing how you will be staying here for a long time, it's better if they understand that you aren't food"

"WHAT, WHAT DO YOU MEAN!?" you try so hard to hold onto the door frames, make him stop by refusing to walk, try to walk backwards, only making him grow annoyed and throw you over his shoulder "HEISENBERG I'LL DECK YOU AGAIN, PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN!"

"I would LOVE to see you try that stunt again, girly. It's quite clear your daddy never showed you to be more respectful, I might need to teach you so manners" he has the good forsaken audacity of slapping your ass with his free hand

Heisenberg grunts and chuckles when you trash in his hold, trying so hard to run away from him "HOW DARE YOU?! IM BEATING YOUR DUMB FACE WHEN YOU PUT ME DOWN!" you make him laugh when a yelp scapes you the moment the cold air of the outside hits your skin and at least has the decency of softly putting you down, raising his hands as if ready for you to pounce "DON'T you dare to do that again, got it!?"

"We'll see if you mishave and threaten to punch me again, there must be some punishment, don't you think?" he's all smugness when he speaks, puffing up with pride when you blush and begin to frown, getting ready to tell him off only to get cut off when he whistles.

The sound is loud and fills the still air with a disturbance that feels disrespectful, making you wince when he keeps whistling rhythmically, that reminds you of how your grandfather used to have whistle based commands for the digs in his farm, which means...that the lycans are dogs, probably, and Heisenberg just lets them roam around, there's a small chance that the dogs are trained to chase or hunt vermin.

You both stay outside, waiting, getting a bit excited at the idea of seeing a dog after so long. Karl lifts a brow at the eager look on your face, wondering if you even know what's going to happen or if you are that stupid. He's ready to see your reaction, heard you scream in terror, or try to run back to the factory, although, he hopes you don't do that otherwise the lycans might give change and end up killing you.

The cocky smile on his face grows when he sees you pale in horror when the lycans come running, snarling and snapping their fangs at each other. Heisenberg was ready to hear you scream and see you escape, but he is not prepared for what you do next.

All that eagerness, the small hope you felt, all die when you see those beasts, all running to you like it happened that day, the phantom pain in your side makes you choke and freeze, these aren't the same beasts that...killed you...but the memory is still fresh, a part of you tells you to run, to hide, you scream or fight! but the rest of your body refuses to move. The closer they get, the louder the voice in your head becomes, so...you run and hide.

Last time you tried to run to your home and that got you almost mangled, this time? you let instinct guide you, pulling Heisenberg's coat up and hiding behind him, like a child would do, both arms winding around him with crushing strength.

In another situation, he would have made fun of you, laughing and asking where all that bravado of yours had gone to! But he can feel your chest rising and falling so fast, your entire body is shaking so hard it's making his necklaces clink and your teeth clack, you are muttering something but he can't tell what, more importantly...you are crying. He knows the signs of shell shock, oh he knows them too well, whatever happened to you, the lycans triggered a flight or fight response in you, a very strong one.

You can't hear anything over the ringing in your ears, so it's impossible to hear when Heisenberg whistles and makes the lycans scatter again. You do feel his hands peeling yours off him, the weight of his coat covering you and how, strangely, careful he is when picking you up, barely able to register his voice telling you to put your arms around his neck, the firm hold of his hands on your legs and what you guess, was a huff when you locked your legs behind him.

He's beyond surprised when you willingly allow him to pick you up like this, a million questions running through his head over your reaction. Guilt taking a hold of his heart knowing he made you THIS scared, to the point of sobbing on his shoulder and refusing to let him go even after making it into the living quarters but he manages to convince you to let him go, sitting you where you can see him cook and barely hear him talk...something about helping him with a reactor? you are not sure.

Karl watches you eat slowly, looking for any sight you might throw up or if the shaking in your hands gets so bad you might be unable to eat. He goes as far as to escort you to the bathroom, leaving you a new shirt and alone. There are no words to be exchanged but you know, he will come back to check on your jittery self and take you back to your room.

Once alone, you let shame eat you alive, wondering if he thinks less of you, if he will make fun of what just happened, or if tomorrow he will relegate you to some stupid minimal task thinking you are some weak damsel in distress. Dread crush you, not excited for the next day.

Waking up is torture and dressing up is suddenly the toughest task you have been saddled with, the smell of coffee fills the kitchen and, to your disgust, you see Heisenberg dump what might have been three spoonfuls of sugar on his cup. The man perks up when you get close to the table,

"Alright darling, let me start by saying..." here he goes, he's going to laugh and humiliate you "I'm NOT your fucking delivery man" Heisenberg throws a utility belt at you, the weight of the tools on it make you tip back and almost lose your footing "I went to the Duke to see if he got me some new stuff and he said your tools and boots arrived early, I only brought all this back so you won't lose time passing you anything"

"Eat something, we have time" He knows he shouldn't bring back up what happened yesterday, giving you time to process it all and think about what his next steps should be regarding the lycans and your fear of them.

The day is just like yesterday, but you pick on the subtle differences, Heisenberg seems more aware of any sounds that might startle you, steering you away from areas where he knows the lycans are chasing after rats and having a feast on some other things. You don't comment on it, smiling inwardly at his attempts to prevent you from going into another panic attack.

You are sitting in front of a broken generator, judging the damage and sighing when you come to the sad conclusion that you might need to rebuild the entire engine, Karl is close by, two rooms down from where you are. Getting up and stretching is a small pleasure, hearing your back crack loudly, groaning over the stiffness on your neck.

"I got you bad news, backup generator number eight? dead as fuck! I might need to rebuild it which means I'll be doing a list of what I need" you say while entering the room, his back is facing you and he seems to be deep in thought hunched over something.

Getting close you can see him pulling pieces towards him the metal listening to his command and coming his way, a screwdriver in one hand and a magnifying glass in the other, he seems to be struggling to assemble something.

Smiling a bit, you are careful when putting your head on his shoulder, effectively making him jump "Whatchu doing~?" Heisenberg curses under his breath, looking at you to the best of his abilities

"Reactor, damn thing keeps exploding whenever I do test runs" he feels you hum and see your hand get close to the project without touching

"Maybe it's the material or the lack of a cooling system, but that's my opinion" you straighten back "And like I said, the generator is dead, gone, either replace the whole unit or we rebuilt it"

You hear him grunt and pat his pockets looking for something, soon the smell of tobacco fills the air and he too gets up, looking at you, clearly thinking something or how to say it "Princess, about yesterday..." you go stiff, immediately looking away "I don't know what happened before you were brought here, but I do know that it's important for your safety that the lycans learn that you are a part of my..." at this he hesitates, chewing his cigar "family, so if you ever need it, they will come and help you"

He waits for you to say something or to see if you panic again when he sees no sight of terror he continues "There's a small group of lycans that are a bit more tamer, and I was thinking about introducing them to you, one by one"

"You want me to just do what, play fetch with them, scratch their bellies!?" there it is, your panic begins to raise and before it explodes, he grabs your shoulders making you look at him.

"You won't be alone, I'll be there and if the lycans try to EVEN bite you, I'll kill them on the spot! I will even teach you how to control them, that pack will be your...personal guard, but I'll be there"

You relish in the feeling of his gloves hands over you, thinking slowly about this. You need routine and maybe training the beasts to obey you might be good...having control over another being could be good and Heisenberg said he will be there the whole time, something about his voice makes you trust him. "If you leave me alone even ONCE, I'm destroying your knees with a wrench"

And there's that wolfish smile and hearty laughter, with renewed joy he pulls your hand telling you about how you will have the right to do that if he abandons you ever after this, he's staying with you throughout the whole process. Heisenberg catches you off guard when he takes off his coat and drapes it around your shoulders, pulling you outside, standing next to you.

"Let's start with whistling, ok?"

You must admit, you have a lot of fun learning how to do the right whistle command to call this particular pack, laughing a bit when Karl squishes your face whenever you fail to produce the right sound, once you get the sound right, he teaches small commands, how to make one sole lycan come to you, have them stop dead in their tracks, among others and how to make each whistle sound loud.

He does chuckle when you jump the moment the pack comes bolting from the woods towards you, the grip on your shoulders return and that anchors you, giving the stop command and smiling once the small group stops, Heisenberg all but smiles proudly when you take control and pick one lycan to get close and dismiss the others.

"Once it's close enough" Karl whispers low enough for you to hear "take off your gloves and let it smell the back and palm of your hands" he sees you nod and waits for the lycan to get near you, his hands sliding up and down your arms, he can feel you tremble a bit when you take off his gloves and let the beast smell you.

The lycan looks up to you, then at Heisenberg, opting for keeping its attention on you, you called it after all "It won't bite you, it can smell that you belong here, it knows better" Even with his reassurance you are weary of the beast, everything inside asking you to run away, yet you stay put, dogs can smell feat and react to it and that never ends well.

"What else can they do?" Karl can hear the terror in your voice but feels proud of your bravery, quickly teaching you what other tricks the thing can do.

By the end of the day, you are rather surprised when he cooks dinner again, he's actually pretty decent, his cooking lacks a bit of salt but it's good and he's doing his best to have you well fed.

"May I ask...why are you being so nice?" you ask him looking at his back "I've been a bit of a brat"

He laughs looking at you over his shoulder "I suppose...I understand what you are going through" he says, turning his attention back to the stove.

You want to ask him what happened to him, what made him so emphatic out of the blue but the tone of his voice and the stance of his body is enough indicator that this time is not the right moment to ask about it, perhaps one day, you two can share the pain that haunts you both.

[forever-rogue]

#6 on prompt list #5 for Frankie please, thank you bye😌

Prompt: “You were supposed to be my friend. That’s all...that’s all I asked of you. To be my friend - to care-”

Did someone order from pain? Angst? Perhaps Fluff? Here ya go!

Frankie x Fem! Reader; no warnings

Frankie Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

You sighed heavily as you sat in front of the television, watching the third - fourth? - mindless movie on Netflix, and while you were tired and felt strung out, your mind was wide awake. Like the frantic beating of a heart and the incessant tick tock of an aging clock your mind went back and forth from point a to w to d to l. 

Every thing, every word, every breath, every emotion was glued in your mind. It was like a recurring nightmare, continually plaguing you, but even that could be relieved by the light of day. This? This never seemed to go away. It haunted your dreams, causing you to wake up in tears and a layer of sweat, but during the day it occupied every part of your mind as well - every waking thought. 

Breaking up with Frankie Morales had been the worst moment of your life.

Except it hadn’t been a breakup...not really, but yeah?

If it wasn’t a real break up, then why did it hurt more than any other actual breakup you had gone through?

But best friend breakups counted, right? Surely, they must have. Or it definitely wouldn’t have hurt this bad. 

Then again, Frankie wasn’t just a  friend...he had never been just a friend. He was always much more than that, except he didn’t know that. And now he never would, because the two of you were no longer speaking.

It had been two weeks, three days, and fourteen hours since your heart had been ripped from your chest and you felt like nothing but a gaping hole was in your chest. It still hurt now just as badly as when your heated words were first exchanged. 

When would it stop hurting? You hoped it would soon. It couldn’t keep hurting like this, right? 

Turning off the television with a huff, you decided to try and get some sleep. It was still early, and night had barely fallen, some faint bits of gold and orange still visible in the distance. Yet, you were exhausted, mentally and physically and hoped that perhaps it would weigh heavily enough on you that sleep would come easily and dream free.

Shuffling back into your bedroom, you stripped off your extra sweater and climbed into bed, pulling the covers tightly around you. There was something comforting about the warmth being wrapped around you, almost as if trying to shield you from the horrors of the outside world.

Closing your eyes, you tried to conjure up your happiest things in order to pull in nothing but good thoughts to occupy your mind.

Unfortunately even that didn’t seem to work - all your happiest memories, in one way or another circled back to Frankie. Even if he was just some background force at work, he was there. It always all seemed to come back to him. 

And somehow, as you drifted off to sleep the happy bits morphed into the last heated moments you exchanged with Frankie.

“I’m doing this for you!”

“You’re being selfish - you don’t care at all!

“Of course I do! I’m your best friend. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t love you!”

“If you loved me you’d be supporting me, not trying to sabotage my relationship.”

“She doesn’t care about you, Frankie! I know she doesn't. Please just listen to me -”

“You were supposed to be my friend. That’s all...that’s all I asked of you. To be my friend - to care-”

“I do , Francisco, more than you will ever know. I love you and that’s why you need to hear this from me.”

“I think you’re lying to me. You just don’t like her.”

“I would never-!”

“Get out. This is over.”

You startled out of your dream and sat up, breathing heavily, and finding half dried tears on your face. You reached up and wiped them away, resting your face in your hands in order to ground yourself and regain some sort of balance.

But before that could happen - a loud, booming knock came at your door. You almost jumped out of your skin as you pondered what to do. Glancing at your phone you saw it was nearing one in the morning. Against your better judgment, your sleep deprived self hustled out of bed and grabbed your discarded sweater, slipping it on as you walked to the door. 

Without even checking to see who was at the door, you swung it open. As soon as you saw who the late night intruder was, your jaw dropped and almost hit the floor. There was Frankie, drenched in the frigid rain, his eyes glossy and red rimmed almost as though he had been crying. 

“Frankie?” you stepped aside to let him but he shook his head and stood there, wordlessly staring at you. His dark curls were wet and sticking about wildly as his lips trembled - whether from the cold or his emotions, you couldn’t tell, “Frankie, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” it was so soft, so gentle that you almost didn’t hear it. You met his eyes, those damned soft eyes and they conveyed everything that seemed to be stuck in his throat, “I should have listened to you.”

“Frankie, please, it’s pouring rain! Come inside, please,” you reached for his head but he refused to move, “what’s wrong?”

“I know I ruined everything, but I have to tell you this first and foremost. Even if you never speak to me again because of the jerk I was,” he was starting to ramble, but you waited for him to go, offering him a soft, reassuring nod. He took a deep breath and stilled himself before inhaling and exhaling deeply, “I’m in love with you.”

“Just come inside and dry off and  - what?” you reached for his arms but stopped yourself when you realized what he said. You looked back at him and his expression was so nervous, so expectant, and all consuming, “what did you say?”

“I have fucked everything up,” he admitted slowly, “I got mad at you for no reason, and I shouldn’t have pushed you away. And I know you might never forgive me, and I don’t know if I deserve forgiveness, but I had to tell you.”

“You have a girlfriend,” you pointed as he fiercely shook his head, “w-what’s going on?”

“I broke up with her,” he confessed, “right after we...fought. I realized you were right. I talked to her and she admitted that she never loved me - she’d been...cheating. She said it didn’t matter because I was in love with you anyways.”

“Francisco-”

“And she’s right,” he met your eyes and grew nervous as your eyes were wide, but he was unable to read what you were thinking, “it’s always been you. I...I pushed and pushed and pushed you away because I was afraid. I’ve always been afraid of what would happen if I told you,..a life without you is not worth living. And if I had to always keep you as a friend and nothing more, it would have been okay. But now…”

“How long?” you blinked back your own tears as you tried to keep your head and your heart straight and not completely lose your grip. There was no way he was confessing his love for you; if nothing else, you always pictured that it would be the other way around. But here he was, in the pouring rain at your doorstep in the middle of the night, “how long have you known?”

“Ever since that day, when we were in college,” he started, “it was with that chemistry experiment that burned me. You were so upset and mad that I was so careless and hurt myself and you bandaged and cleaned my hand up and then made me rest and take a nap. When I woke up you yelled me at some more and told me to be more careful. It was just a little acid burn, so small and insignificant, but you were so damn mad and upset. I knew since that day.”

“That was fifteen years ago,” you remembered the day so clearly, “all this time?”

“Always,” he admitted as you stood there and watched him. A million things were running through your mind at once, and at the end of it all, you didn’t know how to deal. So you watched him in silence, and eventually he gave you a small nod, along with another mumbled apology before turning to walk away, down the dark driveway to his truck. 

Before he reached the door, you called his name and ran after him, unable to let him go like that. Things weren’t going to just be over with him - not like this. 

“Frankie,” you stopped when you got to him, watching a confused expression cross his features. You were almost instantly soaked, but none of it mattered, not now. You needed to do this for yourself and him, “you hurt me, Frankie. Your words stung.”

“I know,” he agreed, “I told you I was a jerk and don’t deserve forgiveness, but I had to see you one last time.”

“You hurt me,” you said anything, “and it will take a moment to get over because I’ve been thinking of nothing but you for the last two weeks.”

“I don’t-”

“But I’m in love with you, too,” you finally got it off of your chest after all these years. It felt like the weight of the world was off of your shoulders as a gentle moment of quiet, despite the pounding of the rain, fell over the two if you, “have been for a long time too. That’s why I always wanted nothing but the best for you, even if it wasn’t me.”

“You...you love me?” he seemed shy as a bit of color rose into his cheeks, “I don’t know…”

“We've got a lot to talk about,” you informed him, “but right now, I really, really just want you to kiss me. I didn’t come after you in the pouring rain not to have a completely cliche movie moment.”

“M-may I?” he asked gently as you nodded, unable to keep the grin off of your face, “may I kiss you? Finally?”

“Yes,” you breathed out as he kissed. Finally.

It didn’t matter that the both of you were soaked and crying, and it was in the wee hours of the morning. 

The only thing that mattered was this. Everything else could wait for now.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[j-amespotter]

★ august [pt. 2] - s. b.

“i never needed anything more.”

Pairing: Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader, Regulus Black x Slytherin!Reader 

x. x. x.

Summary: As one of the Order of the Phoenix’s freshest recruits, love certainly was not on Sirius Black’s mind the summer after he finished school – especially not with a Slytherin, who just happened to be his brother’s girlfriend. 

Genre/Warnings: angst/fluff, infidelity, mentions of torture, war, & sex. 

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: by popular demand... part 2 of august! let me know what you think & if you’d like to be added to my taglist! posts will be slower because i’m back at uni

masterlist

PART 1

It was a cold, snowy day in the village. The streets bustled with young passersby. They huddled together with flushed cheeks and dopey grins, reveling in their distance from stingy professors and half-written essays. The line for butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks wrapped around the street. The scene was all-too-familiar for the raven-haired troublemaker and his bespectacled companion hidden in a dark alleyway behind the Hog’s Head.

“Think we can sneak to Rosmerta’s for a butterbeer?” asked James, nudging his best friend with his elbow. “She’d let us jump the line.” 

Sirius rolled his eyes and snorted. “Yes, that would help the whole ‘lying low’ thing, wouldn’t it?”

James raised a concerned eyebrow at Sirius. “I thought you’d be up for it,” he said with an edge in his voice. 

“We’re on a mission,” snapped Sirius. “Let’s just hope nothing is waiting for us so we can get out of here.” 

“You’re jumpy,” grumbled James in response. “Mate, you didn’t have to come if it was going to bother you.” 

“I’m not bothered,” said Sirius defensively. “Focus, Prongs. Suspected Death Eater activity in Hogsmeade Village. We need to wait it out and hope for the best.” 

James shrugged, though he looked like he wanted to say more. The two men turned the corner and peered through the window of Dervish and Banges on the lookout for hellish masked figures that were quickly becoming the bane of Sirius’s existence. 

It had been four months since the summer Sirius’s life changed. His world lost the little color it had, and unfortunately, his friends were bearing the brunt of his moodiness. Sirius knew it was unfair. It was not James’s fault he was scorned by a cold, conniving snake of a woman, who showed him more love than he knew what to do with and then snatched it away without a second thought. 

It was bad enough they were there on a Hogsmeade weekend. He knew you were most likely somewhere in the village, probably in Regulus’s arms, shielding yourself from the cold. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, one he decidedly ignored as he turned to his partner-in-crime. “We should split up,” said Sirius. “Get under the Cloak and keep an eye on the station. I’ll do a walk-through. I’ll call you from the mirror if I see anything.” He gestured to his jacket pocket. 

After bidding James goodbye and good luck, Sirius made sure to lay low as he sifted through the snow-covered streets. Though he recognized some of his former classmates, he did not stop to greet them. He was not the type to let his personal life tear his eyes away from the prize. What frightened him was how difficult it was proving to be. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius spotted movement across the hill through the shattered glass window of the Shrieking Shack. Frowning, he pulled up his hood and jogged towards the disturbance. 

When he was safely away from the crowd, Sirius crouched behind a bush next to the house, close enough to hear vaguely-familiar voices – at least two. He inhaled a gust of cold air warily, feeling his heartbeat pick up at rapid speed. No one except the four Marauders ever dared to enter the Shrieking Shack. Who could these intruders be if not Death Eaters? Sirius’s fingers grazed the mirror shard tucked away in his pocket. Should he call James for help? 

Suddenly, he heard faint, quiet sobs from inside. On instinct, he jerked his body slightly upward and transformed into Padfoot. Taking soft steps forward on four legs, Sirius expertly stepped over a creaky floorboard. He remained hidden in the shadows, facing the back of a tall, skinny figure, whose scent overwhelmed his canine senses with the soiled flavor of repressed memories. 

When the stranger spoke, Padfoot winced at the tauntingly grim echo in his eardrums. “Stop crying, darling. It’s pathetic,” said Regulus. 

“H-How could you just…” you said nasally, unable to finish. Sirius felt his heart sink as he heard your broken, empty words. It was your voice that haunted his dreams, and there you were, looking cold and miserable, merely ten feet away from him. 

“You’re wasting your tears, (Y/N). She’s filth. She deserved it.” 

You looked indignant, raising an accusatory finger at your boyfriend. “N-No one deserves torture for who they are,” you said shakily.

Regulus sighed. “Honestly, you’re acting as if we killed her. She’ll be fine. Besides, I didn’t do anything to her. If I knew it would have bothered you, I wouldn’t have stayed.” 

“You just watched, Reg! You watched your dreadful friends torture that poor girl! Why? Because she’s Muggleborn? Why didn’t you let me stop them?” 

“They did stop,” answered Regulus heatedly. “They stopped for you. You should be more careful. If it weren’t for me, they would be spreading some nasty rumors about you. If I didn’t know any better, I would call you a blood traitor.” 

You scoffed. Sirius, still in dog form, shuffled to the side and hid under a scratched table. Emotions were high, so his swift movement remained unnoticed. 

Regulus strode toward you and placed his gloved hands on your shoulders. “Forgive me, (Y/N). I know how sensitive you can get.” 

You sniffled. “It’s not about being sensitive, Regulus. It’s about right and wrong! You know they would have killed her, you know it! The worst part is that you would have let them, and it doesn’t even surprise me anymore.” 

“What has gotten into you? I know you prefer to stay away from conflict, but you’ve been skittish for quite a while now,” said Regulus, dropping his hands off of you.

You were quiet. With one glance at your glossy eyes, Sirius knew what was going to happen before it did. “I have to tell you something. I did something bad.” 

The selfish part of Sirius wanted this. He wanted exactly this. But there was a sinking feeling in his chest, seeing it happen right before his eyes. He attempted to telepathically will you to stop talking, but it was too late. Regulus stared at you expectantly. 

“Last summer I… I was with someone else. I cheated on you, Reg,” you cried.

Sirius’s normally-reserved brother could not contain the shock dripping from his voice. “What?” 

“Regulus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I swear!” 

“How could you?” snapped Regulus. “I let you stand here and scold me over my activities as if you have the moral high ground between us! You had an affair? With whom?” 

You looked pained. “Don’t make me say it, Reg. Just know how sorry–” 

“With whom?” 

“W-With your brother, Regulus. With Sirius.” His name sounded like a melody on your tongue. Sirius held his breath, swallowing the emotion pooling inside of him. 

“What? My brother? You had an affair with my brother?” Regulus looked as though he was about to strike. Sirius bent his front legs, ready to pounce. “Did you sleep with him?” 

You turned away, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“Did you sleep with him?” 

You nodded slowly. It was as if you were carrying the weight of a thousand bricks. 

Regulus ran his hand through his hair. He paced the length of the room, unable to form a coherent sentence. “Okay,” he said after a tense silence, “we can fix this. I don’t blame you; I know how my brother is. You can be so gullible. He tricked you into sleeping with him. I was away for so long. You were upset. I can forgive you. We can move past this.”

You stared up at him, wild-eyed. “W-We can?” 

“Yes, we can,” said Regulus. “I know it wasn’t your fault. I forgive you.”

“I don’t think I can,” you said slowly, lifting your eyes to gaze directly into his. 

“What do you mean?” 

You wiped away your tears hastily. “I tried so hard, Reg. I tried so hard to forget him, but I can’t. I’m in love with him.” 

Sirius nearly yelped in giddy shock. She’s in love with me. (Y/N) loves me, not him. She loves me, not him, and he knows. 

Regulus had an unreadable expression on his face. “You’re in love with him? So all those years between us, they mean nothing to you?” 

“Not at all,” you argued. “I love you so much, Reg. But you aren’t the same anymore. You’re hurting me.” 

“Don’t you dare blame this on me,” said Regulus angrily. “You did this! You’re the one that slept with my brother!” 

“I’m telling you, it’s not like that! It wasn’t just sex. I went to him for help. I went to him for you,” you said. “It wasn’t on purpose. I never meant to hurt you. But I can’t pretend anymore. I’m in love with him.” 

Regulus was seething in a characteristically quiet way. “My brother,” he spat, “cares for no one but himself. I am sure you two will be perfect for each other. We are done.” With that, he spun around and walked out of the Shrieking Shack, slamming the door behind him. 

You fell on your knees, sobbing into your hands. Your soft whimpers broke Sirius’s heart into pieces. He poked his head out from under the table and pawed his way toward you. You looked up and gasped in fright. Sirius had forgotten about Padfoot’s unnaturally large size. Gently, he nudged your leg with his snout. “Sorry, you had to see all of that.” You buried your face into your knees. “Are you the big, bad wolf in this joint?” 

Before he could combust at your innocence, Sirius jerked upward again and balanced himself on two feet. “Nope, but he’s a friend of mine,” he joked softly. 

Your head snapped up. You jumped in complete surprise. “Sirius! What are you doing here?” You stared at a spot on the ground. “Are you an Animagus?” 

“To answer your second question, yes,” said Sirius hurriedly, wanting more than anything to skip the small talk, “and to answer your first, this is almost like a second home to me. How did you know about the wolf?” 

You looked at him in awe, then shriveled backward in shame. “Severus Snape spread some awful rumors when you all were at school.” You couldn’t meet his eyes. “Sirius…”

Sirius took tentative steps toward you. “No more lies,” he whispered. “Are you really in love with me?”

You stared into his grey eyes. “Yes,” you said in a hushed whisper. “I’m in love with you, Sirius. And I’m so sorry about what I said that day. I was scared. I know it’s no excuse, but it’s the truth.” 

In an instant, Sirius felt warmth rush up his body. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you without a second thought. To his utter delight, you kissed him back hungrily. Your arms wrapped around his waist, inhaling his musky scent. “I never stopped thinking about you,” he whispered against your lips. 

You smiled sadly. “Me neither. But how can we possibly be together?”

“Well, you’ll be home for Christmas soon,” said Sirius. 

“That’s only for a few weeks,” you argued. 

Sirius kissed your cheek. “It’s plenty of time. Plus, I can get into the castle whenever I want.” 

You looked skeptical. “How?”

“I have my ways,” said Sirius. “I’m never letting you go again.” 

You felt tears prick at your eyes. “How am I supposed to go back? To face all of them again?” 

“They wouldn’t dare lay a finger on you, not under the teachers’ noses,” said Sirius, mostly to assure himself. “Stay away from Regulus, too.” 

“Easier said than done,” you said. “They dragged some poor Muggleborn third-year here just to torture her. You don’t even know what they get up to at school.” 

Sirius pulled you into a tight embrace. He felt a tingle in his jacket. Pulling out the shard, he met a very familiar pair of hazel eyes. “Is everything okay? Did you find anything?” asked James. 

Sirius pulled away from you. “Yes, everything’s fine. I've searched the whole village. It was just a few Slytherin sixth-years, but they’re gone now. I’ll meet you there.” 

With a nod, James vanished. 

You tugged on his sleeve. “What was that? You have to go?”

Sirius made a motion to pocket the mirror, glancing at it thoughtfully before doing so. After a quick moment, he shoved it in your direction. “Here, keep this. It’s a way for you to call me at school. Whenever you need me, don’t hesitate.”

You paused. “Are you sure? What about James?” 

“He won’t mind,” assured Sirius. “Promise me you’ll use it. Even if you only want to talk.” 

Smiling, you pulled him into another kiss. “Definitely.” 

Sirius feared letting go, though he wasn’t afraid you would walk away again. He wasn’t sure what his brother and his friends would do. “I’ll see you soon, love. Don’t worry too much. You’re Sirius Black’s girl.” 

“That I am, darling. For as long as I can help it.”

Taglist: @iwritesiriusly @mads-bri @she-seeks-magic @sarcasticallywitty15 @lunalovecroft @fific7 @lindatreb @u-no-poo @justmesadgirl 

[minkmousesworld]

Hi! I was scrolling through your blog and oh mah lord its amazing 🥺. May I request a forest!au raccoon dog!Tanjiro x snow leopard!reader where the reader is injured, crying and shaking and Tanjiro is trying to calm them down? It's Oki if you can't! I hope you're staying safe and hydrated! Also, don't forget to take breaks bby 🤍

- 🌌

hello, honeymouse♡ thank you for your request! I wasn't sure exactly how you wanted it done, so I left it to my choice. I hope you like it! thank you so much for being so sweet. don't forget to rest and drink water♡

⌞ʟᴏꜱᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ꜱɴᴏᴡꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ⌝

𝔲𝔫𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔢: forest au

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: UST, comforting, mention of blood (wounds), mention of panic, mention of escape

𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤(𝔰): raccoon dog! Tanjirou Kamado x snow leopard! Reader

writer's note: as I was advised, after I completed the request, I fell asleep... and recently I woke up because of the alarm clock, which I put on "just in case". and I realized that I didn't publish. ouch. also! it's so cute when you use au names(´ ω `♡)

Winter.

In your home, in the mountains, it was almost always winter. Pure snow lay on the mountains, untouched by the hot sun or the footprints of others; except that mountain goats and other snow leopards touched it. And you were comfortable with such a neighborhood.

Down below, it was different. Even the air here wasn't as clean, but it was easier to breathe in. You'd even enjoy it.

If only your lungs weren't burning from running for so long.

When you stepped on the fresh snow with your broad paws, you left shallow, bloody footprints, which the snowfall immediately covered up, covering your tracks. It was hard to move, every step was like stepping on sharp stones, but you tried to get as far away as possible, limping and gasping for breath.

Even if you had no idea where this road would lead you.

The wind began to howl even rougher, driving you forward in icy gusts. The blood flowed more slowly, took on a maroon color and froze on you in thin lines. Even the thick fur didn't help with the cold, which was chilling to the bone.

It seemed that with each breath of frosty, dead air, everything inside you cooled and froze. Trapped in the forest, you had no idea where to go to find shelter.

Running away from one death led you to another. You tried to wipe away the tears that had gathered in your eyes and prevented you from seeing further.

Too much stress.

You snuggled up against the tree and buried your nose in the bark, catching your breath. Memories of the past flashed slowly before your eyes, as if frozen. The moment when you were born, when you lived in a cave; when your mother first took you on a Groundhog hunt; when she said that "a good Snow leopard always knows their snow, and a bad Snow leopard dies in the mud".

When she left and you were alone, surrounded by snow and caves. It wasn't something painful, although at first it was unusual to realize that the only reason you might want to see other snow leopards is "mating season". But soon moving forward, finding a cave to sleep in, and getting food was all you cared about.

While the inhabitants of the forest built burrows, formed pairs and hid from the rains and snows, you ran around the mountains, balanced between cliffs and killed future food, sometimes breaking down from the mountains with prey in your teeth, just to make sure that you would have food.

Until They came.

Wrapping a long tail around your leg, you tried to hide from the wind behind a thick trunk with the last of your strength. They smelled of blood and dead things, and you were running faster than you knew what was happening. That alone saved your life.

"Strangers always bring trouble" — that's what your mother told you. She was a very wise snow leopard. [If you had the strength left, you would hope that They didn't reach her, she deserved more].

You put your arms around your shoulders, hugged your knees to your chest, and hid your face in them. The wind will soon stop, and you will be able to find food for yourself. Then go back... there will be no strangers there. You hope for this and that you will find your way back.

Your eyes were uncomfortably close from crying, and your cheeks ached from the cold. It was morning by your biological clock, the time when it was time for you to fall asleep in a cave, tucked into a strategically advantageous corner.

Your head was spinning — from the other air, from the cold, or from fear, you didn't know. The body that had carried you forward on pure fear and lust for life was now a weak meat that needed to rest. Perhaps a little sleep will help you feel better ... Thick fur will protect you from frostbite, frozen wounds from the cold will not disturb.

The wind became weaker. You were sure that by the time you woke up, there would be no wind at all, or it would be very weak. The spirits of the Mountains are merciful to those who need their mercy.

But you couldn't rest.

The smell (pleasant, tart, a stranger) suddenly came up to you. Following the smell, you heard the soft rasp of snow. Something was creeping up on you.

They. They found you.

You didn't understand when you abruptly got to your feet, one paw gripping the trunk of a tree to keep from falling, and when your body became so weak that the sudden rise made you dizzy. It wasn't important.

Your entire body was focused on the outsider, who, meanwhile, was in no hurry to come out of hiding. It was sitting in a thicket of thin branches, and at first you thought you were imagining it.

Before something jerked their ear and you froze in horror. Your throat is parched from the cold; even if you could speak, what would you do? Purred?

Your fingers ached, and you knew that with claws as broken as yours, you would rather catch on to this creature than scratch it. Run away? But where? What if it gets you faster?

Meanwhile, the creature twitched its ear again and... crawled out. It looked a little like a gopher: round, small ears; intelligent, curious eyes. Only the color of this creature was dark, which made it perfectly hide in the bushes and near the trees, but it looked like a bright spot against the background of snow.

When it came out of hiding, looking timidly at you, you didn't move.

It (he? she? the creature looked androgynous, and you didn't understand what gender it was) looked defenseless and tiny, like a weak herbivore that was attracted by an unfamiliar smell. So it wasn't a threat.

Herbivores do not attack without provocation.

But it began to come closer, coming too aggressively fast in front of the bushes.

"Shhh...", the creature stretched out its arms, "it's fine…"

And you staggered back in horror and fell to the snow. The creature paused, letting you catch your breath a few times before starting to get closer. Tears began to gather in his eyes again, making the creature blurry.

But you didn't even try to wipe away the tears.

"Don't cry... It's okay… Don't be afraid of me…"

The creature stretched out its arms. Checkered clothes, hair in a short ponytail, short stature. If you run now, it might catch up. Better to bite. Poor view to aim at the neck.

Even if the review was good, you wouldn't jump at it. Just running.

But it seems to have understood your intentions.

"Wait! I really---"

You immediately rushed back, but fell due to weakness in your hands.

The tears began to gather in her eyes even faster. Your chest ached even more, and you couldn't stand it anymore, sobbing, shaking, trying to crawl as far away as possible. Your body ached for pain and resentment, for your weakness, but your mind screamed that it would devour you, strangers bring only trouble.

The creature stopped. Then it reached into the bag (which, it turns out, was behind its back), and took out something.

Meat.

"You must be hungry," it said softly. "I just want to feed you. Will you let me?"

You couldn't take your eyes off the meat. Not yet frozen, large… you were sure you could smell it. Your body began to whine about hunger, your mind was silent.

"Here, food… I'll just come over to give, okay? I'll leave right away"

The creature crouched, became even smaller and more defenseless, and slowly began to come closer. When it was at the minimum safe distance, it carefully threw a piece of meat closer to you. And then it went away, as promised; timidly (I think, even with regret) looked at you and... went behind the bushes.

And you were left alone. The meat was softer than you thought, but a little bitter. Maybe it was a little rude to chase the creature away like that. On the other hand, what if it was afraid of your reaction and therefore ran away? You just wanted to protect yourself.

With such thoughts, having been sated and warmed, you fell asleep. And even the wounds seemed to hurt less.

◇◇◇

You didn't know what you were dreaming about. The dreams were vague and frightening, and you couldn't get out of them. The images became more eerie and bloody, the sounds grew louder and higher, and you felt trapped.

The only thing that calmed you down was the gentle melody you heard when things got particularly creepy. It was as if there was no escape. Like everything was fine.

The spirits of the Mountains are merciful to those who endure all trials with fortitude, and send their helpers. Sometimes, in your dreams, that creature appeared — with a gentle smile, which said that everything was fine.

And you believed it.

And then they fell back into oblivion.

◇◇◇

You woke up in a warm place.

Earthy air and little light... it was a hole. And you would have rushed up to find the owner and find out what you were doing here, but your body was too weak and your mind was too exhausted. You took a deep breath and looked up. Definitely a hole.

"Good morning", you heard a gentle whisper nearby. "Are you feeling better?"

And after a couple of seconds, next to you sat... a creature.

There was silence. He (up close you could see that it was a rather cute boy) looked you over tenaciously before he began his monologue again:

"You had serious injuries, so I brought you to my house", he raised his head, looking around as if for the first time, "do you like it? Not as cozy as my family's burrow, but after I became an adult, I tried to recreate the same atmosphere at home..."

The boy turned to you with a sunny smile.

"My name is Tanjirou. I am one of the raccoon dogs, Kie's son. You probably haven't heard of me… But I'm still happy to see new residents in the forest! It is sometimes quite lonely here, especially during heavy snows. It's a great stroke of luck that I managed to find you! You're so inconspicuous in the snow!"

Tanjirou paused, looking at you. You only nodded weakly, supporting the monologue.

"You're not from around here, are you? From somewhere in the mountains? I... ", the boy suddenly fell silent.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter where you're from, I'm glad to see you anyway! You can stay with me as long as you want, but I won't let you leave until your body is healed! It's important to take care of yourself, you know? And take care of each other too! We're all friends!"

He looked at you kindly again.

"You're lucky you were able to come down. When I saw you, your wounds were monstrous… You're very strong… Is that what I was talking about? Oh, yes! In the forest…"

And under his quiet, lulling voice, talking about all sorts of nonsense, you involuntarily fell asleep. Only at the edge of consciousness did you feel a light, soft kiss on the forehead, and a quiet "sweet dreams" before falling asleep.

◇◇◇

Tanjirou kept his promise and nursed you for a long time until you looked like a healthy snow leopard.

He constantly brought you food and water; changed your bandages and smeared your wounds with medicinal herbs; helped you warm up your muscles when you were finally able to get out of bed on your own. He massaged your shoulders and didn't ask what happened. During bouts of fever, he brought down the temperature, sometimes sat with you at night and gently held your hand, even if you convinced him that you could handle it yourself!

Tanjirou just shook his head, refusing, and did not move away.

◇◇◇

"The season of flowers is here", Tanjirou once told you, as you were doing muscle exercises, preparing to get completely out of his care. "The snows are gone. You?.."

You gave him a curious look.

Tanjirou hesitated uncomfortably and looked away.

"Recently… I mean, you don't look like that anymore...", Tanjirou took a deep breath, and continued quietly: "I mean… Are you planning on leaving?"

You didn't even have to turn your heads to know which face he asked it with.

Sometimes Tanjirou looked like a real puppy.

[cuttingthe-painter]

I just really need my fae bae to comfort me saying he won't leave me for any other creature because he loves me even though I'm a plain boring human... ;-;

I have been in quite the slump recently, my friend, and this prompt (that I know you sent forever ago) finally helped me break out of the creative hole I had found myself in!! I really hope you enjoy the fae bae I have created for you!

***feel free to reblog***

Nyn - Fae Boyfriend (sfw)

male fae x human reader

word count: 1718

warnings: insecurity, slight jealousy, sadness, slight mention of past stalking/attempted assault (very brief, 2 paragraphs), PLEASE let me know if I missed any warnings/incorrectly labeled them.

Silence blankets the apartment with the setting of the sun, the only interruptions the soft turning of pages and your persistent nagging thoughts. The television flashes bright colors in the dimly lit room and a dull ache begins to form behind your unfocused eyes. You blink away the dryness, hoping to bring your mind to the present and away from the memory of Nyn and the woman in the park.

It shouldn’t bother you so much; you should be happy that Nyn finally met another fae like him, another fae made from the silky shadows of night, but it’s been three days and you can’t shake the way the stars in his eyes danced when he met her stare. You’ve looked into his eyes countless times, memorized the universes living in them, and they’ve never come to life like that.

They looked like they had been made for each other, Nyn and the woman in the park. The crawling smoke under their ashen skin turning into raging black flames that radiated off them, rising into the night air and burning together. You’ve only seen Nyn’s shadows engulf him one other time, on the night when you’d first met.

Work ran later than usual that night and you found yourself walking home down seemingly empty streets. A few blocks into your commute, a set of footsteps echoed on the sidewalk behind you, matching your pace for a few moments before quickening. Panic seeped into your body, a restless anxiety taking hold of your limbs and sending you running down the nearest alley. The man behind you mirrored your sprint, his hand reaching out to grab your jacket. He yanked it and you twisted to free yourself, only to find your balance thrown off.

You expected to feel the sharp crack of concrete against your head, but it never came. Inky shadows snaked around you, softening your fall, and exploded into the alley between the man and you. You stared into the impervious smoke, wondering if you had hit your head and if this is what death was like, a dark and empty nothingness. But then it receded into a solemn silhouette and you could see the streetlights again.

Your mind is a broken drum, comparing the scenes over and over and over until you feel like you’re about to break. Something silky wraps around your ankle, skates up your outer calf with a feather-light touch, and pulls you from your mental prison.

“Where were you?” Nyn has his hands resting atop his now closed book, brows furrowed and dark eyes locked on you. You try to choke down your insecurity and force out a small laugh.

 “I was right here watching the show. What are you talking about?” He purses his lips and you know that he knows you’re avoiding the question. His shadow around your leg retreats back to him and he rises from his chair. Fear twists in your gut, fear that maybe he’s angry or that he’ll leave, but instead he grabs the blanket from the back of the couch, lets it fall open behind him, and crawls up the couch, squeezing himself behind you and wrapping you both up.

“I’m here if you want to talk,” he says, pressing soft kisses into your hair. You both lay there, the soft murmurs of a mindless sitcom lulling you to sleep in the comfort of Nyn’s embrace.

Even in sleep you can’t escape her. She’s standing beside him where you should be, ethereal and fae and made for him. You lay crumpled at their feet, feeble and weak and human. When he grabs her hand and pulls her to him, your body jolts awake and Nyn’s arm tightens around you.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, his sleepy voice riddled with panic. Your body curls into itself, tears stain your face and Nyn brushes away your hair sticking to the wet tracks. He cradles you to him, whispering soft I love you’s and It’s going to be okay’s in your ear. You try to believe him, try to believe that it’ll be okay because he loves you, but then you see her and the way his eyes danced when he looked at her and you wonder if it really will be okay.

“Please tell me what I can do to help.” He sounds desperate and scared and you want to be okay just to make him sound normal again but you don’t know how. He lifts himself off the couch, letting you roll onto your back, and hovers over you. His eyes soften when he sees your pained face and shadows snake out from him, coiling through the air towards you, reaching out until they’re soothing away your tears.

It’s getting easier to breathe, each inhale feels less and less like swallowing glass. You raise your hand to stop the shadows, to wipe away your own tears, but they stop you. The dark wisps entangle your fingers and squeeze three times in a silent I love you and you know you have to tell him.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see you and that woman standing there,” you whisper, hoping Nyn can hear you over the breaking of your heart. “And then I open them, hoping she’ll be gone, but she’s still there and I can’t stop myself from wondering why you’re still here with me.” 

“I-“ Nyn starts slowly, mulling over his words carefully. “I’m afraid I don’t understand… Why wouldn’t I be here with you? This is our home.” Tears fill your eyes again and you roll your head to the side, avoiding his gaze.

“Because when you looked at her, your shadows came to life and the stars in your eyes danced and that’s never happened when you’ve looked at me. She’s like you and I’m…I’m just..me.” A gentle hand caresses your cheek, slowly turning you back to face Nyn. A look of understanding settles across his face and he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“Those things, they don’t happen because when I look at you, I feel safe,” he whispers against your skin. His warm breath fans down across your face, and your eyes blink away the dryness. Safe. He feels safe. You let the words sink in, hoping that safe isn’t just a proxy for bored.

“I thought maybe it’s because I’m, y’know, human,” you whisper back, willing away the tremor in your voice. Nyn pulls away, staring down at you with a look so soft and so foreign, and you swallow helplessly at the lump straining your throat.

“You say human like it’s an insult.” Seriousness laces his words and you wish you could rewind time and stop yourself from ever mentioning it.

"Isn’t it, though? I mean, compared to you and her?”

“Absolutely not. You being human keeps me sane, makes me want to do better and be better. That’s why when I look at you my stars are still and my shadows contained. Our shadows, they can be dangerous, can turn us dangerous. If we live in them for too long, we become them and lose our sense of humanity.”

Nyn positions himself back around you on the couch as he speaks, wrapping one arm around your waist and tucking the other under your head. His words sooth the lump in your throat, coaxing it to relent enough to let you breathe normally.

“That’s what happened to her,” he continues, soothing circles into your hip with his thumb. “And when she saw us together, she thought that’s what had happened to me. She was dangerous; the things shadow fae will do when consumed by their shadows are… not pleasant. When I heard what she wanted to do, what she thought I wanted to, I did what I had to do to protect you.”

To protect you. Your heart feels like it's going to beat right out of your chest. It clicks then why the only other time you’ve seen him erupt like that was back in the alley, when you were being followed. But how did he know she had ill-intentions? You try to remember when the woman was talking, if she had said anything other than ‘hey there’ and ‘nice to meet you’.

“How did you know she was dangerous? I never heard her say anything weird,” you say, still trying to recall the night more clearly.

“Her eyes,” he says. He’s back there at the park, you can see it in the way his eyes go glassy and his shadows swell out from him. He blinks away the memory and keeps going. “We talk through the lights in them, that’s why they ‘dance'." You don’t really understand it, but you can at least understand enough to get it. You let out a quiet ‘oh’ and wait for him to continue but he doesn’t.

The room quiets again and you focus on Nyn’s slowing breaths, attempting to match yours to his, hoping to leech some of his calm. He nuzzles his face into your hair and hums in content and you feel the pent-up anxiety in your body dissipate. Tears flood your eyes at the sudden rush of love coursing through you and you can’t help the sudden urge to turn and crowd into Nyn’s space, smothering him with kiss after kiss.

He laughs into the kisses, threading his hands into your hair, holding you still and deepening the kisses. You feel his shadows dancing around you, tickling across your skin, and you feel ridiculous for ever doubting how much he loves you. You pull away for a breath and he chases the movement, gently nipping at your lip with his pointed teeth.

“Nyn,” you half-mumble half-moan. He makes a muffled sound in response but pulls back to listen. You smile up to him and say “thanks for protecting me” and he smiles back at you like you’re his entire world, then kisses you again, slow and purposefully and with no intention to stop.

Later, after the kisses have finished and you’re pressed against Nyn under the sheets of your bed, on the verge of sleep, you hear Nyn whisper “thank you for letting me love you” and then you’re gone, dreaming of dances with the shadows in the stars.