#i almost had a heart attack when i put this on twitter and was greeted by natasha hodgson in my replies so that's something

[mistressneo]

drawing something for every song on the operation mincemeat tracklist - act 1 (act 2 will take a while to finish!!)

[srngrque]

im just a girl.

aurélien tchouaméni x fem!reader. Fluff. when you are just a girl and he is aurélien tchouaméni, things like this will happen.

It is your sixth week as Aurélien's PR assistant, and you sat down on your rolling chair turning yourself round and round in your small cabinet, thinking and reflecting on all those nights you worked your ass off for your resume, going to endless interviews, just trying to hold onto one strong point as your feet ached to run to your manager and throw your resignation letter.

Aurélien was almost insufferable, he was one step away from giving you a heart attack. Every time your phone pinged in high-pitch, your heart would beat faster on what kind of mess he had created for you to clean.

Not that he does much around but when he does, it is a war out there for you. His spectrum fascinates you, the range goes from simple thirst traps in his Instagram stories to disclosing his actual secret campaign he did with Calvin Klein.

Yet he kept yapping and opening his mouth about the campaign again after you cleaned up his mess in his Instagram live, you almost cried out blood as your manager invested their entire being on screaming at you when your manager could handle Aurélien.

You held onto the handle of the gym door, your lips tight with a smile. Mentally preparing for a brief talk about his unprofessionalism or a hideous murder that was about to take place; his or yours, time would tell. You swung the door open just for you to shut it, your whole back pressed against the door.

This guy is almost naked, with his shorts hanging onto his waist for dear life, and a towel around his neck to clean his dripping sweat. Now, you are annoyed with him yes, of course since it is your work; but you are just a girl. The image of his heavy breathing, his tight core, and his thick thighs were not to be blamed, and nor was it leaving your mind, it never leaves your mind.

Before you pulled yourself up, the door was yanked open for you to squeal as you almost tripped but a gentle hand held onto your waist catching you before you fell.

Your eyes wide open, falling straight to the man who had awoken your need to fuck a priest, or just, well anyone out there. The glistening swear still sliding down his forehead, the hot heat of his determination in the gym greeted you.

"Princess, I would never let you fall." Aurélien's voice filled with amusement. You pulled yourself away from his grip entering the gym without a word shared. You put your laptop and your name tag down on the desk neatly sitting on the spare chair in the gymroom.

"Thank you, but I would rather not call you a prince charming right now." You mumbled for him to hear as he grinned showing off his teeth. You shut your eyes with your head facing down, "You make me want to kill myself." You confessed, shaking your head continuously. He chuckled at your defeat.

Walking toward you, he pulled an extra chair that was next to you; turning around to straddle the chair, Aurélien leaned in closer to see your face. You glanced up to see him already staring at your lifeless face.

The silence was painful, it was not those playful silence where you would playfully glare at the man and ask him to clear up his shit, and he would playfully claim that you would do the job for him.

"It can not be that bad. What did I do?" He nervously chuckled this time, he shrugged his shoulder in confusion. Aurélien had not seen you this tired of his shit, or in a very long time. You sighed, reaching for your laptop as you searched for Twitter.

Whipping the laptop toward Aurélien, you cross your arms as you see his focused face which includes a soft pout formed with his thick lips in concentration and furrowed eyebrows coming together and it only took you a few seconds to think. To reach for his face, or to take the risk of leaning as forward as you possibly can.

Aurélien seems like a such a good k-

"Okay, so I fucked up." He nervously chuckled, again realizing he did fuck up pretty bad for you.

Back to business, business, business.

You snatched your laptop away from his grip to put on the table, turning your body away to find the anger in you, your mind only comprehending just how easily he could bend you over the table, or bend the table; you would not mind any show.

Back to business, business, business.

"This isn't the first time, Aurélien. I had to make you pull out that Andrew Garfield stunt he did for the last Spiderman movie just for you to fuck me over." You expressed your anger with your fingers forcefully pushing his chest. Aurélien sat in silence, hearing you complain and complain about his reputation with the brand; but your words inaudible for the man.

His eyes were very much consumed with the way your lips would touch at certain words, and how his fingers would feel against your tongue, your hot tongue rolling around his fingers like a lollipop.

"I do not even watch Spiderman." He whispered but you bored your eyes at him quickly catching his eyes on your lips. You glanced around the room, not uncomfortable but you just didn't know how much patience you had before you launched yourself at him fully.

"I was not even talking about that, Aurélien. The whole Calvin Klein campaign is a secret, you were not supposed to mention it again in your fucking Instagram." You stood up from the chair, throwing your hand up in frustration, not wanting to look at him for another minute; to keep the job.

The whole situation is absurd, you were fully clothed while he was almost naked. The situation would most likely look crazy for an outsider but this is the form of conversation you have with Aurélien at all times.

You with your full attire while Aurélien with his gym shorts.

"You know, I do not know what game we play with each other." He said, taking you back as you gasped at the closeness with his hot chest hitting your back. Turning around, your eyes leaned up to see Aurélien had his eyes fixated on you.

It was not those mischievous eyes he would give this time. It was hazy nor did he lean down to look at you, he kept his posture composed for you to force yourself to look up.

"This is the game where I tell you about your fuck ups." You mumbled, trying to push Aurélien away but it only invited him to cup your wrist. "Let go, Aurélien." You said firmly, your eyes nervously glancing at the door of the gym. It is a free space anyone would walk in at any given time.

He shook his head. You took a few steps back as it hit the gym mirror. It was a complete defeat from your side, all that self-control aching to be released.

"Do you remember what I asked you last time as well?" He softly asked, his hot breath hitting the shell of your ears, you flinched away.

Why do you act like you don't want me the way I want you?

You cleared your throat, trying to loosen away from his tight grip. "Because it is that simple, I do not want you." You smiled tightly.

Aurélien chuckled, his boyish grin on his face; he shook his head, denying your words. "Stop lying to me. I might be shit at reading the room about anything but you," He said with his same shit-eating grin, "You are too easy to read."

Sighing, you gave up; sliding down on the gym floor with your legs pressed against your chest and your wrist still strongly gripped by Aurélien. He arched down to match your eye level and with his hand, he separated your thighs to create a room for himself.

"What do you want me to do?" You asked, tilting your head to the side; asking Aurélien with your body wanting his heat against yours.

He cupped your cheeks, and with no words said, he leaned in. You slowly closed your eyes to finally feel him but his lips never reached yours, only to hear the same annoying chuckle that had been getting on your nerves today.

You glared at him, making a joke out of you. You tried to remove his hand away from your face. Aurélien cupped your cheeks harder, "Baby, I want you to want me like how badly I want you." He said, his hand lowering down to your shirt to feel your naked skin, his fingers drawing random patterns against your skin as he reached your bra strap unhooking the button.

"Can you do that for me?" He asked.

You nodded your head. Yes, yes you could.

[desultory-novice]

Springing off of @icedragonlizard 's post about there not being a Dark Meta Knight plushie yet and why he deserves one...

...Crazy conspiracy theory here, but sometimes I feel like HAL put Dark Meta Knight in Star Allies without really thinking about the massive effect that the inclusion of the cameo Dream Friends would have on the fandom and the perception of the cast as a whole!

Like, people have already commented on how certain profiles make it sound like certain friends would be more likely to side with the Jamba Cult or just want the Jamba Heart for themselves!

But the Kirby series being the Kirby series, this suggestion of questioning loyalty faded slowly as the fandom came to warmly greet all of the friends... :cough: Susie :cough: WARMLY GREET ALL OF THE FRIENDS as Kirby's tried and true companions!

This came full circle in Merry Magoland where the park's golden statues really imply that, from the point of view of Magolor (himself implied to have seen multiple different timelines) these people are all HEROES who helped Kirby and saved the day with him!

...But then, HAL and even the fandom seemingly couldn't figure out a way to explain Dark Meta Knight's change. Even Daroach, who is almost explicitly in Star Allies to steal the Jamba Heart, was a steadfast ally in Mass Attack. It's easy enough to spin him becoming a friend. But DMK never had that moment of ally-ship. (Neither did Marx, but his heavily implied friendship with bad-guy-turned-good-guy Magolor indicates that he can at least behave.)

A few people, myself included, have worked hard to try and discover and share about DMK's heroic (?) side that could potentially earn him a place in the Star Allies! (In my verse, he's explicitly a forever unsung, uncredited hero of KatAM, mostly due to him being a terse bloodknight.) but I'm not sure HAL has decided just what he is yet.

Heck, he has NEVER had a speaking line, I don't think?!?

I don't know if this absence of additional lore means that they're still figuring out how they want to characterize Dark Meta Knight going forward or if they're all in their office sweating right now going, "Oh god!! We accidentally canonized the biggest jerk in the Kirby series as a HERO because we wanted to save on programming costs by including a palette swap Meta Knight!! How do we fix this?!?"

...But the Kirby Twitter DID make that post about DMK's ranking and the Mirror last year when Magoland was going strong, so they haven't forgotten about him. Even if they're staying characteristically... silent ...about him for now! ^_-

[ventismacchiato]

youtuber au; when your fans ship you together

xiao x g!n reader

a/n: bye this took forever to edit and tumblr wudnt let me post but here it is!! sorry if it’s incoherent i tried

✰ you started a youtube channel in your second year in university, you were having trouble making friends and didn’t want to attend the parties. so you made the internet your safe space.

✰ after you posted a compilation of your best attacks and scores your channel blew up and it became one of your main sources of income…college was expensive!

✰ through making a channel you made several friends who are also youtubers, but there was one you only admired from afar: xiao

✰ you often competed against him to be on the trending page, but more often than not got beaten. you were sure he wasn’t aware of your existence.

✰ that was until a certain video was posted

✰ in a video of xiao reacting to fanart someone had sent him one of you two in a romantic setting, people shipped you?!

✰ you were flustered at the art and at xiao’s reaction to it, he was blooming red as he stuttered his way through the clip

✰ the entire twitter timeline was in flames and you were drowning in the attention, not sure what to do with the increasing amount of subscribers you were receiving

✰ you were scrolling through the trending tag #XIAOYN, swallowing down your nerves as you saw more and more fanart of you two and edits of every time you mentioned xiao and vice versa you almost choked when you saw him in your dms

✰ you instantly tweeted in shock when he followed you back, and how could you not?! you were ecstatic at the thought of xiao wanting to collaborate with you

✰ you were a tad bit scared to talk to him in person though

✰ you both texted a time and date to meet up, making sure you were both free of classes and exams. what you didn’t expect was for him to make conversation with you up until the date for you two to meet up arrived

✰ it was a little flirty, but you just thought you were looking too deep into it. xiao was just being friendly!

✰[a collection of your texts the past week]

art: heehoocoffee twt

✰ when the day finally comes for you two to meet you’re a bundle of nerves, sweating through your shirt as you ring the bell on his door

✰ you were ashamed to admit you had to hype yourself up for five minutes before pushing the button.

✰ it doesn’t help that he’s looking as put together in his videos when he opens the door to greet you

✰ “it’s nice to finally meet you,” he drawls, gesturing you inside. you tried not to gawk as you followed him to his filming room, coming up with things to say once the conversation picked up again as you followed him like a lost puppy

✰ but you didn’t have to worry about awkward silence because once you both sat down and the cameras flicked on your personalities meshed together well

✰ xiao was on the quieter side, so you took it upon yourself to do most of the talking while xiao carried you throughout the game. you shared a laugh whenever either of you died or when you made a comment on some of the more unhinged dialogue

✰ it was some of the most fun you’ve had and after an hour you guys wrapped the video up, but continued to play together for a while. he joined your world and helped you finish some quests and you joined his to steal some of his plants. you even visited the heart island together <3

✰ and afterwards, just like xiao had promised, you both went out for dinner together. it felt an awful lot like a date, he offered to pay and pulled out your chair. he even called ahead for reservations. if that wasn’t enough even the waiter assumed you two were a couple from your matching outfits and asked for a photo after realizing who xiao was.

✰ even if it wasn’t an official date, you felt a coil in your stomach pull tautly whenever your name was said from his lips, it was addicting.

✰ the video was posted a few days later and it was instantly trending #1 and stirred commotion on twitter and tiktok, edits of you two laughing and looking at each other went viral and you couldn’t help but save all of them

✰ you two continued to text and he’d always request to join your world if you were both online at the same time, a facetime request appearing right after so you didn’t have to use the glitchy chat option

✰ constant nights of abandoning your homework to stay up gaming with him became a routine

✰ you two continued to do collabs consistently for a few months and you couldn’t fight back the crush you had, choosing to ignore it rather than pursue

✰ your feelings went unsaid, even if sometimes it seemed like they were reciprocated. but maybe that was just you seeing what you wanted to see.

✰ that was until a few months into your friendship something slipped out of your mouth as you went to end a stream with him

✰”this was fun but i have to go now,” you pouted at your camera as your chat spammed frowning emojis, you scheduled your fans to raid xiao’s stream before giving them a wave, “bye xiao, love you!” and by the time you ended the stream you’d realized what you’d done

✰ xiao’s stream was still going and he went frozen for a second, the chat was asking him if his connection was lost but he shook his head. you were this close to throwing your keyboard across the room when xiao picked up his phone, typing something in. your phone starting ringing…

✰ “are you honestly going to leave without letting me say goodbye?” xiao asked, looking at the camera as he talked to you over the phone. the chat went wild with emotes

✰ “sorry…” you weakly mumbled into the phone as you tried to not look at your screen. it was flustering.

✰ xiao turned off his microphone, making sure his stream couldn’t hear him before he continued, “i love you too, y/n.” he quietly spoke, almost as red as you, “didn’t think i’d have to confess that in front of millions of people for you to realize it.”

✰ he ended the stream soon after and you both stayed on call for an hour, circulating around the question before you both made it official. which ofc course means changing your twitter bio

a/n: hope you enjoyed! editing these photos was fun even tho i ran out of room lol

[corpsedaydream]

crash

so, here i am with a new one shot.

so before anyone asks if i’m gonna be posting frequently again or anything, i process things by writing about them. if something is running through my mind over and over and i can’t think through it on my own in my mind, writing about it generally helps me. this past weekend was supposed to be a fun long weekend away w my friends but it quickly ended when i experienced something pretty traumatic. i haven’t been able to sleep at all the past couple nights and so i started working on this. originally it was just going to be something private to help myself w the panic i was feeling then i started adding a muse into it and then i realised i was still writing about corpse without even meaning to, so i guess he’s still got me feeling musey.

anyway, i thought about keeping this private bc i’m still rly shaken up about what happened but idk feels like a shame to just let it sit on my computer.

idk if i’m back to this blog yet, i still feel indifferent about it. i’m signed out on my phone and was signed out on my laptop until just now and haven’t opened my inbox.

anyway. here’s the one shot.

word count: 1666 words (i’m not kidding)

trigger warning: car crash, panic attack

__________________________________________________

crash

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up wake up wake up.

The words repeated over and over in your head. You’d had dreams about crashing your car before, but usually you woke up just before the point of impact. This time you didn’t.

This couldn’t of happened, this can’t be real, this is a a dream, I’ve got to wake up.

But you were already very much awake, this was very much real.

The colour had already drained from your face, tears were welling up in your eyes and your heart had already sunk. Your hands were trembling, your chest was completely still, you weren’t breathing in that moment. Your body had reacted before your mind had completely caught up.

“Fuck.” Was all you managed to say as realisation had hit you. You’d gotten into a car crash.

You looked around you, wondering how the others cars on the road were still moving when it felt like your world had just come to a stop when your car had its collision. You heard your dad’s voice in your head, all the things he’d told you when he taught you how to drive, had - god forbid - you ever ended up in a situation like this.

You went through the motions as well as you could. You were in a state of shock and physically, you were definitely there, but mentally, you really weren’t present. You were having an out of body feeling in the most terrifying way, it was a defence from the panic that had overwhelmed you.

-

Corpse felt a surge of anxiety. He had no idea why, either. All he was doing was looking through fan art on twitter, he hadn’t seen anything that usually would make him feel like that. It just throttled its way into himself seemingly out of no where.

It was especially odd seeing that today had been such a good day. Waking up beside was usually something that put him in a good head space.

So he started to call you, you always made him feel better. But then he remembered you were driving and you were a cautious driver, you never answered your phone when you were behind the wheel. You’d told him in the past how tenacious your dad had been as a driving teacher and it had really stuck with you.

Just as he was about to hang up, knowing you weren’t going to answer, you did.

“Hello?” Something was off. Corpse heard it right away in just that one greeting from you.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t even greet you back, he already had anxiety running through him and the unsettling tone of your answer of the phone had only made it increase.

“I think so.” You were so monotoned. Corpse had never heard you speak this way. You were a lot of things, but monotone was not one. You were expressive, bright and dramatic.

“You think so?” He repeated in a questioning way, wanting to know what was wrong.

“Yeah.” You responded so plainly again. Corpse almost wanted to ask you who was he speaking to right now, because surely this couldn’t have been you. This person had your voice, but this was a person he did not know right now.

“What’s going on?”

“I crashed my car.” You said it to him so simply. There was no emotion behind it. His heart thundered as if a terrible hail storm had just broken out. 

“What?!” 

“I crashed my car.” You repeated. Once again so eerily unemotional.

“Where are you?!”

-

Corpse shouldn’t have been driving in the state he was in, but he needed to get to you. His emotions were running so high and he couldn’t comprehend why yours weren’t.

After what felt like the longest drive of his life, he reached the crash site. His panic peaked when he spotted the ambulance, immediately thinking the worst. But then he saw you standing to the side of it. You were up and talking to the paramedics, that was at least a good sign you weren’t seriously injured.

“(Y/N),” He called for you as he got out of his own car. And just like your voice on the phone, your movements were so robotic.

You were normally so open with your emotions, you were such a readable and honest person. When you were happy, you shined, when you were mad, you yelled red, when you were sad, you cried oceans. But Corpse had never seen you in a true state of shock. He’d never seen your fight or flight response. And apparently it was a stillness and unresponsive, the complete opposite to how you were normally.

“Are you okay?” He knew you probably weren’t, but he couldn’t find any clue to how you were feeling. Until his footsteps brought him closer to you.

You didn’t respond to him at all. Even words felt like too much right now. As he neared you, though, he spotted the signs of fear your body displayed that your words did not. Your hands and arms were trembling, your shoulders were slumped, your face was completely pale, sweat dotted all over your forehead despite it not being a hot day, tears were slowly spilling from your eyes one by one, your chest was moving unevenly as you struggled to breathe properly.

“Baby, c’mere.” Corpse didn’t hesitate to gather you in his arms. Holding you so tenderly against him. That’s when he felt that it was more than just your arms and hands that were trembling, your entire body had a slight shake to it. He knew you were experiencing true terror in that moment.

-

The time between your banged up car getting placed onto a tow truck and arriving back at your apartment felt like a blur.

You’d just gotten off the phone with your insurance provider when you’d heard Corpse.

“Are you in any pain?”

"What?” You’d heard him perfectly but you hadn’t once thought about how this had affected you physically.

“Are you in any pain?” He repeated himself.

“I’m not sure.” And you weren’t, but the paramedics had said that adrenaline would be coursing through you right now and adrenaline was the biggest distraction from pain. “I’m gonna go have a shower.”

“Okay.” Corpse watched you with concerned eyes until you disappeared behind your bathroom door. He so badly wanted to help, wanted to make you feel better, break you out of this state you were in that he was so not used to.

-

You didn’t know how much time you’d spent in the shower. But it was long enough that the sky had grown darker and the moon had replaced the sun by the time you emerged. Once you’d gotten dressed, you made slow steps towards your bedroom. Your hands were trembling more violently than before and your breathing was speeding up.

The shock was finally wearing off and reality was getting ready to slap you hard across the face.

“Corpse...” Your voice was so silent, almost as if you couldn’t form a word due to the air that seemed harder and harder to breathe as a panic attack started to take control of you.

Corpse might not have even heard you had he not been on such high alert for you right now. But he was, and so he did he hear you and when he saw the state you were in, he instantly got up from his spot on your bed where he was waiting for you and was wrapping you up tight.

You were hyperventilating so dangerously, your heart felt like it was being encased in treacherous clouds that tightened with every intake of air you struggled to get.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had cried this way. You were breaking down.

Corpse was completely holding you up. Had it not been for him, you would be a crumbled heap on the floor.

-

The both of you didn’t sleep that night.

Every time you were close to drifting off, the crash would replay in your mind on an insufferable loop and you would jolt awake and the panic would restart all over.

And every time, Corpse was right there to hold you through it. He didn’t sleep due to how concerned he was about you.

-

The next day was a little easier mentally, but a lot harder physically. You’d gotten so much emotion out the night before that now the pain could have your attention.

Everything from your hips up felt sore, stiff and tense. Every time you moved your neck was scary because it felt like it was about to snap. But worst of all was your chest. It was hard and painful to breathe. The paramedics had warned you about this. The impact to your chest was going to take the longest to recover from. You kept your breathing shallow, any other kind of breathing made you wince and Corpse noticed.

“You’re hurting.” It wasn’t a question, he was stating what he noticed. He’d known the signs of someone in pain. Plus he had also taken note of the bruises that had appeared on your skin, the colouring of them looking like a painting of a galaxy, all purple and blue. 

“A little bit.”

“Mhm.” He knew it was more than a little bit, but he wasn’t about to argue with you. He looked over you laying beside him, grateful that you were still here, you were alive. A car could be replaced, but you could not.

You were flat on your back because that was really only the current position that felt even the tiniest bit comfortable right now. Corpse was on his side, one of his hands supporting his head as he leaned over you. His other hand began to soothingly run his fingers through your hair and you let your eyes flutter close at the touch.

“Tired?”

“Yeah.” You mumbled back, keeping your eyes shut and feeling exhaustion take over you.

“Try sleeping, baby. I’ll be right here.”

[hopelesshawks]

Official Accounts Part 17- The Patrol Redux

Summary: (y/n) was perfectly happy remaining anonymous, even if her best friends were all pro heroes and she worked under THE Hawks. Handling the technical aspects of hero work from the background suited her just fine, thank you very much. That goes out the window when suddenly her twitter blows up thanks Denki and the famed no. 2 hero is asking her to run his own official twitter as a result

If you don’t want to see Official Accounts content blacklist #hopelessoa

Warning: Very slight spoilers for the provisional licensing exam in the anime and spoiler for the manga

Masterlist

Hawks was well accustomed to the jovial persona he was expected to put on in front of pretty much everyone outside of the commission. After all, it was one he’d cultivated almost his whole life. Of course he had days throughout the years where it felt all too exhausting to play the joker, but hero work was exhausting. That was the nature of the business. But since he’d watch your heart shatter in real time, since he’d heard you crying on the other side of a bathroom door all while you texted him about his betrayal, the persona hadn’t just been exhausting but absolutely suffocating. Yet he couldn’t turn it off. It was almost more natural to be Hawks than it was to be Keigo now. Even when Mirko had pointed out how rough he looked, his instinct had been to sit up straighter and perk up his wings as if that would hide the bags under his eyes. Hawks never dropped the persona. But as he sat on the roof of a building by where he intended to meet Chargebolt he realized he would probably have to.

Mirko had given him a plan. A really good one at that. If it worked he’d have to thank her later. But there was no way it would if he wasn’t genuine and that meant meeting Denki Kaminari as Keigo Takami. If the conversation stayed between Chargebolt and Hawks he was screwed. Knowing it was necessary and actually doing it, however, were two different beasts entirely. He would have to ignore every instinct he had honed over the more than decade he’d been a ward of the HPSC.

It had taken all of Denki’s strength to leave the apartment. You had looked so sad bundled up in his comforter staring blankly at your laptop screen as you went back and forth between attempting to work from the safety of his home and Netflix. Eventually though he had managed to pull himself away from his heartbroken friend, no matter how much it pained him, to go join the very person who had shattered you so thoroughly. He had wanted to cancel his patrols with Hawks but after the gossip blog had tweeted out about a potential feud his agency had demanded he keep it in order to avoid a pr nightmare. Who knew being a hero came with so much politics.

He expected Hawks to swoop down from above once he arrived at their designated meeting spot. He did not expect Hawks to look as bad as he did. “You look like shit,” Denki says by way of greeting. Hawks let’s out a humorless chuckle, “you’re the second person to tell me that today. Let’s go.” Everything about the experience is odd. As the two begin to walk Denki notices the bags under his eyes, the heavy set to his shoulders. For the first time ever Hawks truly looks like a man who carries the weight of Japan on his shoulders. “I know I have no right to ask this but how is she doing?” Hawks asks. Denki wants to snap back something snarky but something tells him not to. “Not good,” he says instead, shoving his hands into the pockets of his costume. Hawks thinks for a long moment, debating whether to ask the next question that comes to mind. In the end he decides he’s got nothing left to lose. “What happened at the provisional licensing exam?” “Dude.” “Not investigating. I swear.”

It’s weird to see Hawks so serious. Even when Denki had been injured during their first patrol Hawks hadn’t stopped bantering even once. It’s what had made Denki want to continue patrolling with him in the first place. At the time he thought they were similar. Class clowns who knew how to pull it together when the going got tough. But now all traces of that joviality seemed gone, except for the few moments the two of them would pass by a civilian, then he’d watch it slide back on like a second skin. “I’ll tell you on one condition. You explain the whole funny guy act thing you’ve got going on right now. It’s creeping me out a little seeing you switch back and forth dude,” Denki says.

Hawks stops dead in his tracks. His jaw clenches because it’s fair, trading one personal fact for another, but it goes against everything the HPSC has taught him. On the other hand, if he refuses, Denki will assume he’s just investigating again and then his chances of winning you back would really be gone. Denki looks confused as Hawks agonizes. He didn’t think it was that deep a question. Expected something along the lines of why All Might used to smile as he saved people. “It was the commission’s idea. I was a quiet kid and quiet doesn’t play well for a top hero,” Hawks finally admits before resuming walking. Denki has to speed up a little to keep pace. It’s an odd answer but he recognizes it must’ve been a difficult one to give. And, well, a deal is a deal.

“Like I said, (y/n) only took the exam because I pressured her into it,” Denki starts. He expected Hawks to perk up at learning new information about you but the man only nods in acknowledgment that he’s listening. “I thought if she got her license it’d convince her to try to be a pro hero again and then she could switch over to the hero course and join my class. She absolutely crushed the first part of the exam too. Yknow we had to tag targets on each other with these balls they gave us. It felt like a game so it was fun for her because she just smoked people out of the water. You should’ve seen Bakugo’s face when he realized she passed before he did! But uh, not the point.... The, uh, the point is uhm second round didn’t go so hot. We were helping some of the fake civilians when Gang Orca broke into the arena to play a villain attacking during a rescue and it, uh, it hit a little too close to home. Reminded her too much of how her mom died. She ended up having a panic attack. That’s why she failed and that’s why she didn’t bother going to any of the supplemental classes afterwards.”

The weight on Hawks’ shoulders seems to grow. “God I really am the worst aren’t I?” he chuckles. “Yea you kinda are,” Denki agrees, “but you’re kinda making it hard for me to hate you. Looking all torn up over this like that. It’s depressing seeing the number two hero like this yknow.” “Hence the persona,” Hawks shrugs. It’s quiet today, although they both expected as much. At least it gave them the space to talk. “Why’d you do it Hawks?” Denki finally asks. “Because she was too good to be true.” “Funny. She said the same thing about you that day.” “I’m many things but I don’t know if good is one of them anymore.” “Because of what happened with (y/n)?” “No. Not just that.” “I think this is the most honest I’ve ever seen you.” “This is the most honest I’ve ever been.” “How’s it feel?” “Terrifying. Mirko says I have trust issues.” “Yea that lines up.” “I need to talk to (y/n).”

Denki is the one to stop in his tracks this time. “I swear to god Hawks if you’re just trying to jerk her around I-“ “No! No it’s not that. I-,” Hawks sighs, “I just want a chance to explain why I am the way I am. Why I was so suspicious in the first place. If she wants nothing to do with me after that then that will be the end of it. I’ll write her a glowing recommendation letter for whatever hero agency she’d rather work at instead and she’ll never hear from me again. I swear.” Denki gives Hawks a considering look. Part of him wants to deny Hawks. That’s what Bakugo would do. Tell him to fuck off and keep his stupid explanations to himself. But he thought about you, curled up in his comforter, and decided it really shouldn’t be his decision whether Hawks stayed in your life or not. And if you were going to decide, you deserved to do so knowing all the facts. “Fine. After we finish patrol you can come with me to my place and talk to her but I swear to god if you make her cry again or I detect any bullshit, I’ll fry you Hawks. Number two hero or not I’ll send a million volts straight through your face with my fist.” “Thank you.” It was sighed out like a prayer. For the first time since you’d seen his texts, Hawks felt hopeful.

Author’s Note: Denki and Mirko are good friends to (y/n) and Hawks :’) In my mind there’s no way the HPSC didn’t know about Touya so I assume they helped Endeavor cover it up and would do their absolute best to make sure word didn’t get out about him being a literal child abuser

Taglist [open]: @cathy8taffy @katzurras @grumpyfroggies @captaincyberqueen @itskindofafairything @420-uwu @someweirdshitman @oliviasslut

[tooruluv]

Tobio Kageyama x F!Reader ( part 5 )

❝ goodbyes hurt when the story is not finished, but the book is closed. tell me, have we started a new one? ❞

description: it had been years since you and kageyama broke up. it had been years since the two of you left each other, hatred brewing. fate works in funny ways, you thought, as you caught his eye across the café. love works in funny ways, you thought, as you woke up in his bed the next morning, his fiance calling his phone.

genre: forbidden love, cheating, ex lovers, (all characters are aged up)

word count: 2,101

warnings/notes: hey guys! i made a twitter :) it’s @ tooruluvv if any of you want more updates or just joke about my stories/characters! anyway, i hope you all enjoy this one <3

tag list: @kara-grayson04​​​​ @sadhwstudent​​​​ @unlikelytigerqueen​​​ @kageyamavibes​​​ @monviemoo​​ @tazzi-baby​​ @1800xibal​​ @osterfield-hollandwriter​​ @amirahroronoa​​ @lozzybowe​​ @stinkybitch1919​ @sillykittt​ @pinknugget​

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Hana opened the door, greeting you with a fake smile plastered on her face. Suddenly, Kageyama’s penthouse was Kageyama and Hana’s. You tried not to think about the fact you were here no more than a day ago.

You tried not to think of the fact her fiancé, the man she loved, had been inside of you on the couch, against that wall, in the bed she would lay down in later.

“Oh my god, it’s been so long!” Hana spoke as she opened the door to let you in. “How did you find me? Actually, don’t answer that. How have you been?”

You were going to be nice. You were going to pretend to put a smile on your face and pretend that nothing happened. Instead, as soon as you walked through the door, you turned on your heels.

“Let’s not fake this. How are you and Kageyama?” Your words were venom.

Hana froze. She avoided your eyes. “I… um.. I was going to tell you. I was.”

“But you didn’t.” You scoffed. “So, were you going to tell me before or after you got married?”

This would be a fair fight, you thought. You could punch her perfect face and break her nose, easy. She was around the same height as you, too, maybe a little taller. But you were definitely angrier. You could beat her ass.

“I was going to tell you when it all happened. But then I thought it would have been awful, so I waited. And then, I just kept waiting. And then it just seemed way too late.” She didn’t blink, hugging herself as if that would make you feel something for her.

“You’re my best friend. He’s my ex. Even a text would’ve been nice.”

It was at that moment that the man of the hour decided to walk through the door. The second Tobio Kageyama entered, he froze. His gym bag fell out of his hand. “What’s… what’s going on here?” He asked, nervousness basically sweating off of him.

“Nothing!” Hana sent him a smile. You watched her. “Look who’s back! I was just inviting her to stay with us and help me with the wedding details!”

You raised a brow, looking around to try to figure out where the fuck that came from. Kageyama’s eyes found yours, and you didn’t know what to say.

“Right?” Hana turned to you, arm now linked with her fiancé’s. A protective gesture.

“Yeah. Yeah.” You lied, staring directly at Hana. “She was just asking me to stay in the guest room until I get my own place. Help prep for the wedding.”

Hana transferred from the states in grade school. The two of you sat next to each other in class and you knew immediately that you would end up becoming best friends.

She was the only American in your school, and you were intrigued to say the least. She spoke fluent English and Japanese, had blonde hair and blue eyes, didn’t really understand Japanese customs. You were the first one who helped her out.

“You can call me Hana.” She told you when you introduced yourself.

With a smile on your face and a pack of gummy bears in your hand, you let her call you by your first name too.

You called Oikawa almost immediately. Hana told you to get your things from the hotel you were staying at, smiling the entire time as though you were simply best friends and everything was okay.

“What the fuck?” Oikawa growled over the phone. “Beat her ass. Seriously. I condone and will bail you out of jail.”

“I don’t know what happened.” You swiped your keycard. “I want to figure out what the fuck happened while I was gone that made them think getting together was a good idea. If helping with the wedding solved that unsolved mystery…then so be it.”

“You’re seriously going to go through with that whole fake story?”

“It hurts.” You shoved your extras into your suitcase. “And it sucks. And I would love to beat her ass. But I’m just going to go through the motions and hoping for the best. It isn’t like I haven’t done worse.”

“I fully believe that her going behind your back and marrying your ex-boyfriend that you clearly are not over trumps you sleeping with him one time.”

“Your logic is flawed.”

“And so is yours.” You heard movement from behind him. “Hey, I got to go. But let me know what brilliant story she concocts.”

The wind had picked up outside, rain pouring and clouds dark. They were still at practice, slaving away in hopes to go to nationals.

You waited by the lockers. Kageyama promised to meet you right after practice to start the weekend, and you agreed wholeheartedly. You forgot that he liked to spend a lot of extra time after.

Their captain, Daichi if you remembered correctly, was the first to leave. He caught your eye as you sat on the floor.

“You might want to go interrupt him and tell him to clean up.” He sent you a smile. “You know how he is.”

“You’re not wrong.” You chuckled. “Are you sure it’s alright that I interrupt?”

“Practice is over. Besides, I will never be the one to tell you to stop them from overworking.”

You thanked him and he waved you goodbye, heading out into the worst of the storm. You headed to the gym, hoping to get your boyfriend to leave practice early and come with you to watch a movie at yours. The sound of volleyballs hitting the court floors echoed from outside.

“Babe.” You called as you entered. You distracted them for sure, the ball instantly hitting the floor by Kageyama’s feet.

“Oh, hey.” He walked towards you. Hinata stayed behind, picking up the ball where it laid. “Hey. I promise we were only going to stay a little longer.”

“I know.” You reached for his hands. He let you hold them, despite the little ginger giggling behind you both. “It’s just storming pretty bad outside. I didn’t want to get caught up in it.”

“Okay. What if you wait for just a couple more sets and we can go?”

“Kags…”

“Please.” He linked his pinky with yours. “Just a couple more. And then you can pick the movie.”

This was different. New. He was asking you (no, he was begging you) for something. You weren’t used to him like that.

“Just a couple more. I want to see the quick attack in action.” You looked over Kageyama’s shoulder to his shorter friend. “Hi, Hinata!”

Hinata waved at you, blush spreading across his face. “Just watch us! You’ll love it.”

So you did. You watched Kageyama set the ball, Hinata spike it in a split second. If you blinked, you would’ve missed it. You were at a loss for words.

Living up to his promise, he only did it around five or six more times. That’s all it took, really, to improve even a little bit. It wasn’t long before the gym was clean and you were saying goodbye to Hinata.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to walk you?”

“He doesn’t need to be walked.” Kageyama muttered at the same time Hinata exclaimed, “No! Really, I like to bike in the rain!”

Kageyama took your hand in his under the umbrella as you walked away. He knew that he was in love with you. He was vulnerable around you, he loved your affection and praise, and he loved the way you looked as the moon reflected off of your cheek.

“You guys are amazing.” You told him. Another praise to go straight to his heart. “You have been practicing so hard, I really hope to see you do that move at a game soon. What do you call it again?”

“A quick attack.”

“The quick attack.” You repeated. “It’s amazing. I’m extremely proud.”

He had to hold back a smile. “T-T-Thank you.”

The last conversation you had with Hana was a little over two years ago. You had kept in contact for the most part. She gushed over Tsukishima a majority of the time, and you told her about the amazing places you went.

Speaking of Kei Tsukishima, where the fuck was he in all of this? What happened between them?

You thought about calling or texting the tall blonde, but you didn’t have anyway to contact him. Maybe you could call Hinata and ask. Or force it out of Kageyama.

Your bedroom (or rather, the guest bedroom you are staying in) was pretty messy, your things everywhere yet nowhere at once. You didn’t plan on staying very long, so you did your best to keep things in your suitcase or near it. Like a vacation, you thought. Like a very sucky, sucky vacation.

It was ridiculous.

The bedroom was huge, and you had glass windows on two entire walls (with curtains installed for privacy). The view was insane. The dark wood flooring contrasted with the white and modern feel of the room. It was gorgeous. It was ridiculous.

A hand grasped your wrist. You were spun around, face to face with the man of the house. If he seen you ogling the room, he said nothing.

It’s dead silent. His eyes gazed into yours. You stared back, just as silent, terrified.

It’s been almost too long, standing too close, for one of you not to say something. So, you started, “Kags..”

He had to close his eyes after you said his nickname. You didn’t expect your voice to sound so small.

“Promise me that you won’t tell her.” His voice broke at the end of his plea.

The image of Hana, his beautiful bride, played on his mind. How happy she would be, how happy he will be. He couldn’t imagine the idea of getting back together with you, breaking all of the promises that have yet to be fulfilled.

He couldn’t break Hana’s heart like you did his.

You swallow hard because you knew what he was thinking. It didn’t take much explaining to know. It sent a pain to your chest to know that after all of these years, and while he knew you better than anyone else, he still didn’t know you at all.

You would never be that heartless.

“You must think very low of me to think I would do something like that.” You told him, looking to the floor. “I would never. I won’t.”

Kageyama registered your words into his head and it took him a few seconds to believe you.

When he finally does, he nodded slowly. More to himself than anything. And turned to leave, dropping your wrists.

You wanted to call after him, to stop him and tell him right then and there that you were sorry. You wanted the never ending apologies to come, get some closure. But when he’s almost out of the door, he’s the one to halt and start speaking.

“Just. Stay the fuck away from me and my fiancé.” He didn’t want you here. He didn’t want you.

You couldn’t breathe. You waited as you felt the unbearable heat in uour cheeks and the burning in your throat. You stood there, staring blankly at the door where the love of your life just walked out of. You tried as hard as you could to not cry, or scream.

[eternalstann]

Crushes & Co-Stars

You and Tom are in an interview together when you have an unexpected guest. Tom finally realizes what he needs to do. So he does that...and more.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: Smut!!!! + jealous!Tom ;)

You’re trying your hardest to concentrate on the woman interviewing you and Tom for your upcoming movie, it just felt like every person you talked to was leading you closer to something you couldn’t put your finger on.

“Tom who’s been your favorite person to work with so far?”

Tom doesn’t even hesitate, “Jake Gyllenhaal”

You gasp, “I’m telling Jacob and Zendaya!”

“What, you know that’s my husband! And I told you we could listen to ONE One Direction song on the way here, NOT the whole album. That’s a strike for you” he jokes.

“So Y/N, you’ve always been a big fan of One Direction! Are you excited for their possible reunion?” the interviewer asks and you feel the entirety of your teenage years flash before your eyes.

“Oh absolutely! I just hope they wait until after the movie is out, cause if they do get back together I won’t be able to focus on anything else!” You joke, nudging Tom.

Your costar nods in exaggerated agreement, “Trust me, I’ve seen the pictures of her childhood bedroom. I know”

You giggle and shrug, “What can I say? They just had that one thing”

Tom groans, “That was so corny”

He pretends to be unimpressed but you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. Talking about a movie for weeks - day in and day out got boring. But doing it with you made it all worth it for him.

“Well then Y/N, we have a little surprise for you” the interviewer goes on and your eyebrows furrow. A surprise?

You watch as the door to the small interview room opens and you nearly faint when Niall Horan himself walks in.

You fumble your way out your chair, walking behind it and putting a hand over your mouth; eyes practically bugged out. Everyone laughs at your reaction, but you’re literally on the verge of a heart attack.

“No fucking way..” you breathe out, and Niall smiles big at you.

“Aren’t you gonna hug me darling?” He asks with that Irish accent you’d obsessed over for years.

You don’t even say anything, it’s like you aren’t in control of your own body and you run to him; jumping into his open arms. Your legs wrap around his waist and he holds you up.

“What a greeting!” Niall Jokes. “How’re you?” He asks and you can barely answer.

“I’m perfect now” you fawn and you definitely hear one of the videographers whisper- ‘this is totally going viral’

Niall sets you down, and you stare at him. Still unable to believe he was standing in front of you. You then realize how unprofessional you acted and apologize.

“I am so sorry for...pouncing on you like that” you smile sheepishly and you swear his blue eyes literally twinkle. “Don’t be sorry, I love when beautiful girls jump into my arms” he flirts and you think your heart might jump out of your chest.

You try to play it off with a laugh, and so does Tom. He watches this little love connection play out with the girl he’d had feelings for for months and all he could do was laugh.

“Good to know, it’s just I’ve literally had a crush on your since I was like fourteen” you gush, and Niall pushes a strand of hair from your face.

“Yeah well I think I’ve got a bit of a crush on you now...” he replies easily and you’re certain you’re dreaming now.

Toms had enough now, standing to make himself known.

“Niall, mate! How’re ya?” Tom asks stepping between the two of you, and you watch them hug. He knows everyone you think to yourself.

“Aye, Tommy! I’m great man, we have to go golfing soon!” Niall chirps and Tom nods. You roll your eyes as the two of them chit chat.

Two white boys of the month together. The power that they hold

Niall slaps Tom on the arms, something about texting him later before turning to you again. “Y/N, I was hoping that I could bother you for your phone number. Maybe we could get together some time?” He asks, holding out his phone to you.

“That’d be really nice” you hum, punching in your number.

Niall hugs you and says goodbye, and now it’s Toms turn to roll his eyes.

He doesn’t know why he’s so jealous, he’d never even made a move. He guessed he thought he had more time. And then it dawns on him. The two of you were done shooting, and this press tour wasn’t gonna last forever. You’d both go home and that would be that. Sure you’d stay in contact but it wouldn’t be the same as seeing your everyday. He had to move fast.

The interview wraps up and your both say thank you’s to interviewer and crew, walking out to the hallway.

“I cannot believe I met Niall Horan!” You exclaim, and Tom chuckles a little.

“You really gonna go on that date?” He asks, already dreading your answer.

You pause for a moment, “Yeah, if he actually texts me!”

“He’s definitely gonna text you...” Tom trails off and he can already see it playing out in his head. He doesn’t think he can take watching you and Niall galavant through town... or trend on Twitter if you ever did get together.

“He’s literally got a million other girls he could text, what makes you think so?” You nudge him, smiling softly at how your arms brushed against each other when you walked. You and Tom had become so close during the last few months, you felt like you’d known him forever. And knowing Tom you were expecting him to say some sarcastic answer, about he’d text you for premiere tickets just to really see him.

“Because you’re beautiful for one thing. Because you’re smart, and funny and talented. Because you’re kind and loving. I can think of a million reasons why I’d text you...why I’d do so much more than text you” he smiles, rubbing the back of his neck and you’re frozen in shock.

“Tom...”

“You don’t have to say anything back, I’ve gained a best friend in working with you and I don’t want to mess that up. I just wanted you to know”

You grab his hand and pull him into his dressing room.

“What’re you doing?” He asks confusedly.

“I didn’t want to cry in the hallway” you say, finally letting the tears fall.

“Tom I’ve been so anxious about all of this ending because I love being around you. I’ve never had a friend like you and I was so sad thinking about not seeing you all the time” you gush and Tom pulls you into a hug.

“Then we just won’t let each other go” he mumbles, face buried in your neck.

You pull back and wipe your tears, smirking at your friend “Did you tell me all this because you were jealous of Niall?”

“I mean, you literally jumped into his arms...” he teases.

You laugh, biting your lip before jumping up and Tom gets the memo to catch you.

“Now you’re even” you whisper looking down at Tom, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Hmm, I could get used to this”

You take a deep breath, staring into his eyes. It wasn’t weird or awkward, it was like the two of you understood each other without speaking. You could feel his thumb rubbing against your back, tracing gentle circles.

“Are we about to kiss right now?”

Tom throws his head back in a laugh, “Only if you want to”

“I really want to”

You press your lips to his, eyes fluttering shut. His lips were soft and they tasted like the cherry chapstick you’d bought him as a gag gift for finishing filming on Cherry. The fact that he’s kept a silly thing like that from you made you weak.

You tilt your head, letting your tongue run against the seam of his lips and he parts them for you. Your tongues touch, mouths moving together effortlessly.

You don’t even realize Tom walking towards the couch in the center of the room until he’s laying you down on it. You pull your lips apart for a moment to catch your breath and Tom is hooking your leg over his side.

You can feel his hardness pressed to your center and you feel dizzy at how fast things escalated. But you loved it, and you wanted more.

You lift your hips to grind against him and Tom groans, shoving your dress up around your waist. You gasp, the cold air on your thighs creating goosebumps and Toms hands run over your skin, the warmth in from his fingertips almost felt like it burned.

He left a trail of fire from your bellybutton to the waist band of your panties, slowing pulling them down.

“I want to taste you” he hums, and your toes curl in your heels at his words. You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought of Tom like this, and god it was better than you imagined.

He kisses the insides of your thighs, one if his hands pushing you leg back to your chest. He looks up at your, brown hair falling just about his eyes as he takes his first lick up the length of your pussy.

“Oh god Tom...” you moan out, letting your head fall against the cushions.

He absolutely devours you, taking his time to explore every part of your wet heat. Your legs shake next to his head, and Tom puts his mouth over your clit, sucking gently and pushes two fingers into you.

You grab a pillow off the couch, placing it over your face to muffle your screams and Tom doesn’t let up. He curls his fingers upwards, working you closer and closer to the edge and you feel bad when the heel of your shoe digs into his back as you orgasm.

Tom licks you through it, a big smile on his face and all you can do is stare at him. Oh, he was definitely a problem. You glance down at the bulge in his pants, biting your lip.

He catches your stare, “You sure you want to?”

“Tom I’m positive” you assure him, repositioning yourself on the couch to make for a better angle.

Tom is kicking his way out his slacks in seconds, and you laugh at his antics. Your laughing stops when he pulls out his dick though.

“Jeez, Tom, where do hide that thing?” You ask and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re hilarious Y/N” he answers, climbing back on top of you.

Tom rubs himself through your folds and your pussy clenches in anticipation, you brace yourself waiting and ready for him but Tom pauses.

“This isn’t going to be a one time thing is it?” He asks, voice sounding small.

“You think you can eat my pussy like that and then we just go about our lives?” You joke but Tom wants a serious answer.

You tangle your hand in the hair at the back of his neck, “Tom, I want this. Us. Whatever we may become” you say softly, pulling him down for a kiss.

That’s all Tom needed, and he pushes into you. You moan against his lips, back arching. He filled you up perfectly, and when you thrust into you the first time you knew you wouldn’t last long.

“Y/N you feel amazing” he whispers next to your ear and you just hold on onto him, taking all the pleasure he was giving you. Everything just felt so right. The way he felt on top of you, and inside of you.

“Tom please don’t stop, don’t ever fucking stop” you beg and he groans again, lifting so he can look at your face.

“Fuck I won’t baby” he promises, hips moving faster now. He pounds into you, pushing against the way your legs wrapped around your waist. You just wanted him closer and closer.

“Tom...I’m gonna cum” you pant, hand moving town to his shoulder and digging your nails in.

“Cum for me Y/N” he encourages you, pushing all the way in and grinding.

You scream and shake, Toms hand shooting up to cover your mouth as you cum again.

You clench around him as he thrusts a few more times before cumming inside of you. He collapses on top of you, burying his face in your chest.

“So you’re gonna block Niall when he texts you right?”

———————————————-

skfjsksjdn hey guyssss❤️ i literally live for jealous Tom :))) I hope u all enjoy this, drunk part 4 will be up Saturday!!

Photo Creds to @spiderszman 📸

[arvandus]

Touch (pt 3)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please!  Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi  terrified you.  Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it  that way.  That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters.

Recommended Chapter Song:

Dizzy by MISSIO

Part 1   Part 2

Artwork credit to @hellowon31​ on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 3 - Resistance

The next day, Dabi woke up feeling like a complete wreck of a person.  A mockery of a human being, made of faulty parts stitched together haphazardly by a cruel universe.  He was angry. Furious.  Wasn’t your quirk supposed to last longer than this?  His head pounded.  The sun peeking through the crack in his curtains was an assault. Sweat covered his exposed pale flesh and yet he felt cold, clammy hands shaking.  Dabi laid back on his bed to cocoon himself into his blankets when he realized…his back was still painless.

Your quirk was still working.

Dabi’s bleary eyes caught sight of his empty pill bottles on his nightstand, and realization dawned on him. Withdrawal.

It started sooner than he had hoped.  He would have refilled his stock by now, but his usual seller went missing, most likely picked up by the feds.  Dabi had already reached out to Giran to find a new source, but the old man hadn’t returned his text messages.  So, Dabi spent some of his time the day before following connections within the villain network.  His search came up with nothing; what he could find wasn’t strong enough to justify the expense or the sellers were obviously trying to swindle him with a diluted product. Long story short, he felt like shit and had no quick fix for it.

He wanted to crawl out of his skin.  Fuck. Everything.

The memory of your cool touch on his skin came forefront to his aching head and he wondered if your quirk would be useful for his withdrawal symptoms…

Dabi pushed the thought out of his head.  He wasn’t going to let that be an option.  It was a slippery slope leading to a dependency that he simply couldn’t afford and definitely did not want.  He was already on edge from yesterday’s conversation. His sympathetic thoughts, no matter how brief, made him see a man he didn’t recognize, and the thoughts plagued him ever since.  He had never considered himself a soft guy.  It wasn’t that he didn’t have feelings.  Things could still bother him if he let them.  But he had learned very early on that what he felt didn’t matter. Perhaps it was the gradual silencing of his conscience, small pieces of him chipped away like stone worn down over years of crashing waves.  Only rarely, every once in a while, did the waters of his vengeance and bitter hatred recede enough to allow sunlight to touch his burnt heart.  And in that moment, he saw you, a fragile boat approaching rocky, dangerous shores.

He frowned.  As long as you did your job, what should it matter? You chose this life just like everyone else did.  It wasn’t his responsibility to protect you from it.

As if his heavy thoughts summoned you, your familiar knock rang through his door.  He cursed under his breath.  During his misery, Dabi had forgotten that you were going to visit him this morning.  He had planned to be gone before you came looking for him, a silent show of defiance to your mothering.  But instead he here was, stuck, feeling the shittiest he felt in a long time.  Maybe if he just ignored you…

You knocked on the door again, your pounding louder, incessant.  You were so fucking stubborn.  He glowered at the wooden barrier angrily, the intolerant noise sending a ringing like a tuning fork into the depths of his brain.  He contemplated setting the door on fire just to make a point. He held his restraint by hair, only vaguely aware that doing so would make him feel even worse, if such a thing was even possible.  Plus, you were the only person here with a lick of sense for medical care – he was ninety percent positive you had some sort of medical background.

“What?” he growled as he sat up begrudgingly, unwilling to let you see him so weak.  Nausea permeated him from his sudden motion.

On the other side of the door, you stared at the wood in confusion.  The sound of Dabi’s voice shocked you – low, scratchy, slurred… menacing.

You almost wanted to concede to the unspoken request, but your determination to treat him held tight to your will.  “It’s me.” You replied, hoping your voice didn’t sound as small as it felt.

A pregnant pause greeted you before he finally spoke. “Come in.” It sounded like an order.  Or was it a surrender?  Could it even be both?  How did this man always seem to have two versions of himself running simultaneously?

You came into the room and closed the door behind you with a quiet ‘click.’ You were met with a dark stuffiness, the air unusually warm and infused with the stink of sweat. The curtains were drawn closed, light straining to seep out along the edges of the fabric.  A thin slit of light stretched across Dabi’s bed where he sat, his back facing you.  He looked like a fallen angel, a broken soul.  His shoulders were hunched, drawn tight like a bow string, struggling not to fold in on himself and break.

His bravado was gone, his casual presence muted in the deafening silence.  He wasn’t even trying to pretend this time.  His distress was palpable.  You felt shame being here, your presence intrusive.  You weren’t supposed to see him like this.  So why did he let you in?

A mild panic filled you. Did he hurt himself again since you last saw him?  Or was this your fault?  Did your quirk wear off already?

“What’s wrong?” you asked. He didn’t respond.  You stepped forward cautiously.  “Dabi…?”

Your voice grated on his conscience – words of concern, a tone meant to soothe. He didn’t want your compassion.  He wanted you to be cold and indifferent, a mechanic repairing a broken part.  Or maybe even have you be as crazy as the others, waxing poetic about bloodlust and freedom.  That was a language he understood, that he could navigate with ease.  Not this benevolence.  Not this normalcy.  Why were you so different?

“You’re annoying.” He growled just loud enough for you to hear.

You halted your approach and your back stiffened.  “What?”

“Stop acting like you fucking care.”  The words spilled out of his mouth without a concern as to their damage.  He knew you cared, even if it was on a basic level, which was why he desperately, accusatorily denied it.

Everything bothered him. His head.  His body.  The stink of this room… you seeing him like this.  Why did that bother him?

You pressed your lips together, your jaw taut.  The tension in the room became as palpable as the stifling air.  What could you possibly say? That you did care?  Well, did you? You cared enough to be here, at least. You had a responsibility to treat him, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said he hadn’t been on your mind more than usual the past couple of days.  Of course, he’d never know that…. But were you friends by any stretch of the definition? No.  Definitely not. So, if he wanted to be a jerk and suffer with his pride, then you’d let him.

“If you want me to leave, just say so.” You replied coolly.  “I’m just here to do my job.”

Your answer satisfied him, cold and to the point, a counterbalance to your overwhelmingly gentle nature.  It provided him the emotional distance he needed, a cloak he donned willingly to shelter himself from your prying eyes.  And through his mental fog, he realized in mild amusement that it was the second time you called his bluff, grinding in your heels to deflect his verbal strikes. You weren’t easily bullied; at least, not as easily as he’d originally thought.

“Whatever.” He grumbled. “Let’s just get this over with, I got shit to do.”

You clenched and unclenched your hands around your bag.  You were grateful Dabi caved, your conscience breathing a sigh of relief.  You’d make it quick, to address what you needed to and leave him to sort himself out in solitude, like you knew he wanted.  You began to approach him, quiet steady steps around his bed so you could get a closer look at him. If he was going to let you treat him, you might as well try to make the most of your limited time and see if you could figure out what was wrong.

As soon as you could see his face, you realized he was holding something in his hand. An empty pill bottle.  His eyes stared at it like it held the answers to the universe while also cursing its existence.

Suddenly, everything clicked.  The agitation.  The pain. The misplaced anger… Of course.

You closed the distance between you until you were standing in front of him.  Without saying anything, you quietly took the bottle from his hand, which, surprisingly, he let you.  You read the name and the dosage.  It was a strong one.

“Dabi,” you said quietly, hoping you didn’t sound patronizing, “How long has it been since you’ve had your medication?”

There it was.  That kindness again.  You brought it forth so effortlessly, as if he didn’t just insult you a moment ago. Somewhere, behind his defenses, the itch of guilt settled itself into his mind like an unwelcome guest.

He was quiet for a moment as he stared at the bottle in your hand, his eyes either unable or unwilling to meet yours.  “Two days.” He replied, his voice scratchy.

You quickly did the math in your head.  He had mentioned that his pain meds ran out when he first asked for your help, but you had thought nothing of it at the time, assuming he had ways of fixing his problem.  You should have known.  You should have checked with him.  Drug withdrawal was no joke.

“When are you getting more?” you asked.

“Not sure, doll.  My supplier has gone AWOL and I haven’t found a backup.” He put his head between his hands and rubbed at his temples.  You watched him with quiet concern.  At first you wanted to use your quirk to try to help him, your hand starting to reach out to his wild raven hair instinctually. You faltered.  Would your quirk even work with this?  This wasn’t a cut or a burn or a broken rib… this was a chemical imbalance in his brain.  What if you hurt him or messed him up somehow?  Slowly you lowered your hand.  He needed his drugs.  

“How many of these did you take a day?” you asked as you looked at the bottle again.

He answered.  Your eyes bulged slightly.  How was this man not stumbling around when you first met him? He must have built up a tolerance over years of use.  Besides, quirkology affected everyone’s body a little differently.  Still, it definitely explained his bored expression and overall body language – this guy was constantly high.

“Don’t look so surprised, doll.” He stared up at you with shining bloodshot eyes.  His forehead was beaded in sweat, his skin so ghostly pale that only the rise and fall of his shallow chest indicated he was a breathing, living human.

You watched him, taking in his current state.  If he did finally get a hold of new meds on his own, would he be able to show restraint? Logically, you knew that he was experienced with this – it obviously wasn’t his first rodeo.  But still, a part of you couldn’t help but worry.

“You could really hurt yourself with these.” You replied softly.

“I know my limits.” He stated firmly, annoyance starting to seep in.

“That’s what everyone says, until they don’t.”

His brow furrowed, dark eyebrows pulled together like closing gates.  “Look, doll.  If you’re gonna lecture me, then you really can leave.  I don’t need your help with this.  I got by just fine before you came along.”

You wanted to snap back at him, to defend what seemed common sense to you, but you held back.  Poking the bear would help no one.

You kneeled down next to him and opened your bag, rummaging through your things.  “I’m not trying to lecture you.  I’m trying to help you.”  You found what you were looking for and pulled it out.  Nervousness filled you – you hoped he didn’t ask too many questions.

Dabi eyed the bottle of medication in your hand in hunger.

“It’s not as strong as what you’re used to,” you explained, “but it will take the edge off.”

“What kind of doctor are you, aiding a drug addict?” he teased.

A pang of guilt shot through you, but you steeled yourself against it.  “If you’re going to be taking pain meds, then I’d rather have it be something reliable and safe that I can monitor instead of something you find on the street through dubious means.”

“Oh yeah?  Like all of your little supplies don’t come from shady sources.  You can’t exactly get this stuff from anywhere.  Those are prescription only.” Dabi nodded at the bottle clutched so tightly in your hand, that he couldn’t see the label on it.  He couldn’t help but wonder… was it your name on that white sticker?  Or someone else’s?  What other items did you have in that bag of yours?

You lifted your chin pridefully.  “I have an inside source.  Trust me, the stuff I get is the real deal.  And that’s all you need to know about that.”

Dabi grinned as you gave him two of the pills from the bottle.  “Well, look at you, doll.  What a criminal.  You could get in serious trouble for this, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I think we’re well past that by now…” you replied with a grin, which earned you a chuckle.

Dabi popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.  Your smile faded slightly as you felt the urge to say one more important thing to him.

You stared at his hands in front of you, long fingers intertwined together and suspended in the air as his elbows rested on his knees.  “Look, Dabi…” you started.  Your eyes traced the metal rings holding his skin together.  “I can’t imagine the kind of pain you’re constantly in.  I understand why you take drugs. I think anyone would.  That’s why I’m helping you.  Not having pain meds isn’t really an option for you.”

“So, does that mean you’re gonna let me have that bottle?” his eyes stared at the bottle still clutched in your hand.

You held the bottle to your chest protectively, a part of you afraid he’d try to snatch it from you. Withdrawal made people do desperate things.  He raised an amused eyebrow at your defensive action, a small smirk upturning the corner of his mouth.

Your body felt warm and you broke eye contact.  “Not yet.” You replied.  “I want to make sure you’re okay with it.  It’s different from what you were taking before.  It might feel weaker than what you were taking or might have different side effects for you.  I don’t want you to overdo it.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” Dabi pried, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as his head tilted.

You put the pills back into your bag as you looked away from him.  “I have a medical background, so I know a lot more than you might think.”

Dabi grinned, despite his headache, the skin pulling tight enough along his rings to send an ache of pain along his jaw.  He was right. Not that it was that hard to figure out, but he liked that you answered him honestly.

“You don’t trust me, doll?” Dabi’s teasing tone made you look up at him to find his fiery eyes piercing yours.  That familiar spark of life, dangerous and wild, was starting to return to his drawn features.  Oddly enough, you found it comforting even if it did send your pulse racing like a scared rabbit.

Meanwhile, he was amused at your caution.  Little did you know how many drugs he’d tried over the years, how many times he came close to ‘overdoing it,’ as he learned what his body could and couldn’t handle. Sure, he needed his drugs to keep the pain at bay… but he also needed to carry out his mission.  He refused to let himself devolve into a zombie when he still had unfinished business.

You rolled your eyes at him.  “I just want to make sure you transition to this new pain medication okay.  Switching drugs can be a messy business.  If I decided to trust you and something went wrong, well…” your words faltered, unable to finish your statement.  It almost surprised you how much the thought of something horrible happening to Dabi bothered you… especially if it was caused by your own negligence.

“Aw, doll, you’re making me blush.” Dabi grinned.  “You better not try to take advantage of me. I’m under the influence.”

You raised an amused eyebrow at him.  “Really? Who’s taking advantage of who here? Someone just got free drugs.”

“Trust me, sweetheart – you’ll know when I’m taking advantage of you.”

A proper comeback couldn’t find its way to your lips while your mind was so distracted by suggestive thoughts.

He continued on unfazed, as if his previous words meant nothing to him.  “So, how are we gonna do this then?”

You cleared your throat and wet your parched lips with your tongue.  Dabi watched the gesture intently, but you didn’t notice as you avoided eye contact.  “We’ll start with what I gave you. When it wears off and you feel like you need more, you come find me.  If you have any issues or feel anything weird, you come find me.  I don’t care what time it is.  If it’s 3 in the morning, you come find me.”

A devilish grin spread across Dabi’s features as his head got a rather detailed less-than-pure mental picture of a late-night visit.  He knew that wasn’t what you meant, but he enjoyed where his imagination took him, nonetheless.  He eyed you for the first time since you came into his room, allowing himself to take in your appearance from head to toe, his eyes lingering where he wanted them to, without a care as to if you noticed.  He might not be willing to touch, but he was definitely willing to look. Life was too short to not appreciate the finer things in life, and at this moment the finer thing was you.

You shifted nervously under his penetrating gaze, your pulse quickening under your skin like a raging river. You weren’t quite sure what he was thinking, but the light of his eyes made you feel exposed.  You resisted the urge to wrap your arms around yourself protectively, your self-consciousness fighting to get the better of you.

Your forced yourself to continue, looking away abashedly.  “I’m still coming to take care of your bandages, so I’ll be checking up on you again tonight.  Do we have a deal?”

Dabi was quiet for a moment as he stared at your determined face.  Finally, he smiled.  “Yeah, doll. We got a deal.”

“Good.  Now let me check those bandages.”

He stood up and you instinctively took a step back as his presence filled yours within the tight space between his bed and the wall where you stood. The scent of him filled your nose and you resisted the urge to inhale.  You liked it and you couldn’t explain why.  He turned his back to you and removed his sweat-soaked shirt.  You waited to see if he would move to the more open space of his room, but he didn’t, and you stood awkwardly before deciding to just change his bandages where he was.  Maybe he had a headache and moving was a little too much for him.  It’d take about thirty minutes for the pills you gave him to really get into his system and start working, and you’d be long gone by then.

You changed his bandages quickly and efficiently as well as added a little boost with your quirk to make sure his back was pain-free until you returned to check on him later in the evening.  He seemed to have enough on his plate to deal with without having your quirk wear off.

He was silently grateful you changed his bandages in silence as he waited for the pills you gave him to kick in. He was familiar with them, of course – they weren’t the best for what he needed, but you were right when you said they’d take the edge off.  Still, he didn’t want to use up your supply.  He didn’t know if that was your only bottle, and at the rate that he typically popped pills, you’d be out within a few days.  He’d reach out to Giran again to get a hold of his own.

Once you were done, you packed up your items to leave.  But before you did, you reached into your bag and pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to him.

“Hydrate.  Please.” You said.  “You took those pills and they might make you nauseous on an empty stomach.  Besides, your body needs more than coffee, energy drinks, and alcohol.”

Dabi grinned.  “Have you been watching me, doll?  You’re not stalking me, are ya?”

“I watch all of my patients.” You replied with a critical eye.  “Nice try, though.”

“You got any ramen in that bag?” Dabi teased as he opened the water bottle and took a swig.

“No, but I got a granola bar.  You want it?” you replied casually. You pulled out said item and waved it in Dabi’s face.

Dabi’s lip turned up in disgust.  “That shit’ll get stuck in my rings.  And it’s disgusting.”

“It’s healthy.” You replied with an extra wave for added emphasis.

“You’re like a walking drug store.”  Dabi commented as he watched you put the offending food away.

“I feel like a damn mom with all this stuff, but you’d be surprised how often it comes in handy.” You replied.  “Alright, well I’m gonna go and let you rest.  Do you have my number?”

You said it so casually, that Dabi had to stare at you to process your words for a moment.  He didn’t easily fluster, but he also didn’t ever have pretty girls offering their number to him, his scars always scaring them off.  It was such a personal gesture and completely alien to him.

“What for?” he finally replied.

“In case you need me for anything.  Like if the drugs wear off, or your bandage comes loose or something. We might not always be in the same place at the same time and I’d hate for you to not be able to reach me if something’s wrong.”

The tension in Dabi’s chest eased slightly.  Of course, it had to do with his health.  He noticed that about you – when it came to business, you cut straight to the chase.

He wanted your number.  But as soon as he realized it wasn’t for health reasons, he immediately shot it down, his iron wall crashing down.  “I’ll be fine.”

You stared at him and shrugged.  “Suit yourself.  Just trying to be efficient.  If you change your mind, you can reach out to one of the others.  I think you’re the only one who doesn’t have it.”  You walked to the door and turned back to him.  “Like I said, I’ll be back tonight, probably at around 9pm.  You’d better be here, or you won’t get your pills.” Mischief danced in your eyes and Dabi realized you were teasing him. He grinned.

“You think you can manipulate me?” he challenged.

“We’ll see…” you replied casually and left his room.

After you were gone, he stood there for a moment staring at the water bottle in his hand before he realized he had a dumb fucking smile on his face. He threw the water bottle in his trashcan.

You were a goddamn pain in his ass.  And he was a damn idiot, getting flustered over a pretty face being kind to him. What was this, fucking middle school? Like he’d never been around a girl before?  You were here to treat him.  As soon as his wounds were healed up and he got his own drugs, things would go back to normal.

It had to go back to normal.

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Part 4

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Taglist: @lemonfvck @vs-redemption @inanabsentia ia @sheedaabee @toshiuwuu @marydragneell @chillinwithmybakubros​ @genuinelytodorokisbitch @sam-i-am-1025 @redflannel @axerrri​ @necccomancy​ @miadraws0​

[akashifae]

The little scene and dialogue lines from this one picture I saw by the incredible Hntrgurl13 on twitter had me wanting to write a short little story idea involving Stolas being wounded to an extreme degree. Probably more melodramatic than angst, but I like the idea of getting more dark so we'll see if that happens!

This is probably just going to put more detail into that scene, but the lead up to it would be the I.M.P. gang being tasked with protecting Stolas after a close encounter with an executioner squad. The gang go from hotel to hideout to try and evade them, but eventually they're left with no choice but to fight them head on. The trio do a good job holding off the executioners after they catch the group making their escape through the streets. Stolas was hard at work making a portal open not too far off. They had to show off why they were so good at their job after all.

Stolas got to quick work making the portal, it wasn't too much trouble at all finding a decent spot to hide away in. The living world seemed like a decent fit for them. Though as he did, he saw the imps being rather dangerously outnumbered.

He knew not to draw the attention to him, but he couldn't stop himself from worrying about his Blitzy. The bravest imp he knew, the light of his life, fighting tooth and nail to keep him safe. His affections getting the better of his judgment, he moves forward to assist.

He spawns forth a powerful roaring fire from his claws, dispatching a few executioners with a few well placed tosses.

"Your majesty?! You're not supposed to be this close to the fight! Is the portal ready?" Moxxie yelled out over the gunfire.

"Yes! Quickly, let's get out of here!" He said, tossing one last ball of fire at an executioner near his Blitzy.

They made their way down the alley, getting ready to leave when Blitzo opened his mouth.

"Hey! You were supposed to stay back here and make the portal, you could've gotten your ass shot or stabbed or worse out there! Did you fucking think before you just threw yourself into harms way like that?!" He shouted at the tall bird.

The other two were almost shocked to hear such language being thrown to the prince, but he apologized and even leaned down to bow his head.

"Yes... I just didn't want anyone to hurt y--" he cut off his sentence as he caught the sight of one last executioner creeping up behind Blitzo.

He didn't think this time.

His body reacted on its own, pushing Blitzo behind him within a moment as his arm reached out to summon more flames. The executioner was already thrusting his spear; however, and it pierces through the bird's tender torso within that moment.

The sharp point went through him so effortlessly, and he pulls it out expecting Stolas to fall over. He's instead greeted to the Owl's claw grabbing his skull and casting flames upon it, burning him to cinders within seconds.

The tall prince tried to keep his body standing, but that wound was much more serious than he thought. He could feel himself struggling to breathe a bit. He'd never been wounded in such a manner before...

He fell onto his rear, clothes growing dark as Blitzo got up to see what had just transpired. The owl propped himself up onto a wall of the alley to steady himself. One hand holding against his torso, and the other resting on the ground.

They were all speechless, except for Blitzo... he could only see the injured owl, his heart sinking as he watched him cough up a bit of blood. The wound looked like it could've pierced a lung. On a body so slender, a stab wound from something like that could have punctured several things. The imps mind was racing faster than he could possibly think, knowing they needed to get him help, fast.

"Stolas..."

The large owl looked to them at near eye level. He wanted to say something to him... anything, but his body was aching...

He was starting to feel tired.

His vision was getting more blurry by the second, but he could still make out which one was him. His claw left the ground beneath them to caress the cheek of that precious imp in the middle. As if he'd already come to accept his fate, he manages to mutter something out.

"I'm sorry... Blitzy. I should have listened..." Was all he said before his eyes started to close.

A nap sounded so nice right now. He'd be up in just a few minutes, he was still breathing after all...

Blitzo; on the other hand, nearly broke down at the sight of Stolas bleeding out in front of him, hearing strained breathing coming through the owl's lungs. Overcome with emotion, the small imp grips at the owl's body and starts yelling at him. Unrelenting in his vulgar assault of words, the only way he can think of to express the feelings that are twisting his heart up. He wants Stolas to hold on for dear life, even if it's to the sound of him cursing him out until hell freezes over.

"Oh you fucking think so?! You think you should've fucking listened to me?! The one who's fucking job is to protect you!" He screamed out in pain. "I'm not the one who's supposed to be here telling you to hold on, Stolas...!" He said through a tightening throat.

"This isn't some stupid fucking game... you can't do things like that!" He said, his emotions threatening to explode within him.

"You need to hold on Stolas... you need to... please..."

He didn't think of the potential consequences of saying all those vulgar lines to Stolas. His words flying out of his mouth from the suffocating pain his heart was feeling.

When the breathing began to grow lighter than the feathers on Stolas' body, those big yellow and red shoot open with heart-sinking horror. His hands grip at his shirt, shaking him and pleading to him now. Legs growing weak as his will to stand begins to falter. He can feel those emotions growing more and more aggressive by the second. He can feel his vision growing blurry.

"Oh no you fucking don't. You are not doing this to me... M-Moxxie!" He stuttered briefly. Shit. This is bad.

"Sir?" He said, the first thing he said to break his silence.

"Do you have the extreme emergency first aid kit?" He asked him

"Yes, sir." He replied, pulling it out of his bag. It had all kinds of emergency medical stuff within it.

"Thanks, Mox. Go to Hideout B for a bit until things cool down. I'll tend to this dumbass for now." He said before hopping through the portal.

"But sir, shouldn't we come with--" before he could even finish the sentence the energy powering the portal flickered and fizzled out, leaving them separated. Thankfully, they still had communication via phone, but it was going to make things very tense for a few days.

They landed in what looked like one of the many rooms in Stolas' home. It wasn't their personal bedroom, it looked more like a guest room from cursory glance. Though what mattered more was that Stolas didn't die.

Blitzo still had a few choice words for him. Though now that they were alone, he could finally let his guard down a bit. He was starting to get overwhelmed by his emotions, his vision getting blurry...

First time in a long time that it wasn't from a fist-fight or a botched assassination job...

The owl could be heard panting still, and Blitzo got to work. He'd fixed himself up from bullet wounds before, so it wasn't too much of a surprise that he was skilled enough to fix a bird who got stabbed.

Disinfecting, cleaning, and a lot of careful stitching, the imp was desperately racing to fix up his prince.

Wait... his prince?

Not the time to think about that Blitz! You have to keep on fixing him so he could open those damn eyes and you can give him a mouthful already!

The owl would wince and occasionally groan in pain as he felt the pinch of his insides being carefully reconnected. His body feeling far too heavy to move, he feels himself pass out during the treatment. Blitzo nearly has a heart attack at that moment, but being able to hear the somewhat steady breathing had him back on track.

Several hours passed, but it was done. More of the bird's blood on his hands than he ever wanted to see ever again. Looking at the exhausted prince laying in bed, he sniffled and leaned himself forward a tad.

"You fucking dumbass. Throwing me out of harms way only to fucking get yourself nearly killed." He said with a snide, almost condescending voice.

"It pisses me off how much you care." He said, his eyes welling up. "How... easily you can show it..." he followed up in a whisper. He felt so embarrassed that the only time he could express his feelings to him was when he was when he was near death in his own bed.

Grabbing the gauss bandages, he wraps up Stolas' chest; mindful of the chest plumage. "I don't know why you fucking care about me so much... how, you care about me so much..." he said as he continues wrapping him up. "But..." he finishes up with a rip of the gauss.

"...Thanks, Stolas." He said as he wiped some of the tears off his face. "I dunno if you can hear me but... I... I care about you too." He said, swallowing his pride mid-sentence. "I r-really care about you. Sorry it... took you nearly dying to say it." He muttered out before giving the resting owl a kiss on his beak.

The owl seemed stable enough, resting for the time being as Blitzo takes a large hand into his own. His fingers lace between Stolas' own, his eyes staring at them longingly.

Though when Stolas' hand closes a bit to hold Blitzo's own, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

At least he was feeling better, he figured... but, it couldn't hurt to rest like this after a long day like that.

Lying on his back, he tightened his grip around Stolas' claw, and before he knew it...

He was out like a light.

[thorne93]

History Repeats (Part 14)

Prompt: Life’s hard, right? Well throw in a not so great job, a broken heart, and chasing a pipe dream in LA. But could someone come along to make all the bad shit disappear? Or is he just another heartbreak waiting around the bend?

Warnings: language, drug addiction, alcohol addiction, angst/heartbreak, adult themes (??)

Word Count: 2525

Note: Aesthetic made by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo because she’s absolutely amazing Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo . Brainstorming from @carryonmyswansong​

**Song Inspiration: I Almost Do by Taylor Swift; 3AM by Halsey; When The Party’s Over by Billie Eilish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up, you felt like shit, and not because of the drugs and alcohol that only recently vacated your system. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. Did you really kick Hayden out? Were you honestly that far gone? 

Yeah, he broke your heart. He wasn’t the first asshole to do it, but he did stick around. Maybe that was because he had to though.

No, you knew better. He had enough money to stay at a hotel, but he stayed with you. He cared about you. It just hurt so bad to not have him any more. You hadn’t said you loved him, not yet, but you did, you loved him with everything you had and he just… broke everything. 

 Maybe you should go apologize.

Pulling yourself out of bed, you slipped on a comfortable shirt and yoga pants before you trodded out to the guest room, Hayden’s room. You knocked on the door before poking your head in. 

Only, there was nothing there. All of his things gone. His suitcases absent. No note, no letter, not even a post-it note. 

A choked sob escaped you. You knew you kicked him out, but you gave him until the next night. He was already gone?

So much for staying. So much for caring. 

No text, no call, no letter. It seemed as if he truly did want to be gone from you. 

Fine. If that’s the way he wanted it… Wish granted. 

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

Months went by and you tried to forget him, tried to turn your pain into art.

Trey worked hard to get your EP ready. You had several tracks that you wanted to feature and he did enjoy your lyrics and tune. He was happy to work with you and the other members of your band to get the sound you wanted. 

By the time the singles were released, you were already becoming a hit. You hit all of the media platforms and your work exploded, sending you soaring to the charts. You weren’t quite topping them yet, but you were definitely being demanded on the radio and your Youtube and Spotify numbers were great, rising all the time. 

As time went on though, your addiction only grew. With Hayden out of your life, the glaring reminders that you lost all your old friends, and none of your old boyfriends seemed to ever love you, there was nothing to stop you from becoming nearly dependent on the drugs and alcohol. 

You’d never been like this in your life, but you’d never been at such an odd time in your life either. On every romantic and personal front, your life was a total flop, a zero sum. But your career, your dream job was finally taking off. The world was your oyster, you were rubbing shoulders with musical big wigs, meeting huge names and musicisinas. 

Between the complete amazement you were in from being discovered and having your heart broken for the last time, you were a mental mess. 

Hayden wasn’t just another guy. Jason was just another guy, just like every ex before him. 

But Hayden, he was different. When you and Jason split up, it wasn’t the man you mourned, but the death of yet another relationship. With Hayden, you missed him, not being together. You missed the light he brought to your life. You missed the way he supported you. You missed the way you two could joke about movies together. You missed how you could act completely goofy and silly and he joined in. 

You loved him, you were in love with him, and he pulled the rug out from under you.

That was why your habit of using coke was slowly getting worse. You managed to keep your job, for a while, keep the desires away. Then you started to get where you were barely sober for that too and just when your boss mentioned it, you decided it was time to leave anyway. You put in your two weeks and left gracefully.

As soon as you were no longer tied to the hotel, Trey put you in every lounge, venue, and club he could find. You were singing all of your songs on your EP. Every night you did a show, you got off the stage, got drunk or high, or both, and then you crashed. 

Same routine, every night. 

Anything to numb the pain of losing Hayden, of feeling like your life was in shambles. It wasn’t just losing Hayden, it was realizing you had no close friends, no one else to lean on. He’d become your best friend, your confidant, your lover. He was everything you ever wanted or needed, and he was gone. 

Neither of you had sent any messages to each other. It killed you, but you had to move forward, if that’s what you could call drowning your sorrows in a bottle or a baggie. 

Tonight, you just got done singing a set and you were hanging out with Darren, Veronica, Brad, and Tai. Unbeknownst to you, Hayden was actually about to make a stop by this bar. He had some contacts in your circle, a few people he knew in the music world that he asked to keep an eye on you, and if you got too out of control or needed help, they should let him know. He also watched your Instagram and Twitter, keeping an eye on your partying that way.

He’d gotten a few texts before about you, just an update on how you were, but tonight was a red alert from a guy that was somewhat in your circle. He watched you as you did a bump of coke, drink whatever was passed to you, and you were all over everyone in the bar. It was a sloppy mix of drunk-high. You held onto everyone, laughing, trying to crawl on the bar, making a complete ass of yourself. 

Typically your antics were cheered on because everyone in your scene was pretty wild, but even tonight some of them were worried about how you were acting. 

Hayden made his way downtown as soon as he got the text, looking for the bar. Finally, as he walked by, he saw you through the window. You were laughing, throwing your head back, hanging on other people, and trying to dance. 

You were a mess, and that was obvious. 

He pressed his lips into a thin line before going into the bar. He made his way over to you. He wanted to say he felt relief when he saw you, but he didn’t. He just felt worse. He wasn’t an idiot about your drug abuse, he also wasn’t stupid to see what had triggered it. He just thought it was stupid for you to get mixed up in this shit over him. He wasn’t worth it. 

He could see how it was affecting you. Dark circles painted your eyes, your clothes hung loosely on your body, you looked as if you were awake solely from the drugs. He hated how bad you looked.

“Hey,” he greeted loudly over the bar music and patrons. 

You looked over and saw him, your eyes going in and out of focus. “Oh my god, it’s you! Hey! Stay! Have a drink!” you encouraged as you fell all over him, putting your arms around him. In your current state, none of the pain that would’ve normally come from seeing him happened. 

“Hey, no, I’m good. This isn’t really my scene. Y/N, you seem really far gone, do you want me to take you home?” 

You pushed away from him, frowning. “What? No, why would I want that?” You reached in your purse and grabbed something, about to put it in your mouth. “I’m having a good time here, Hayden. You should try it,’ you urged giddily.

“Are you fucking crazy?” he demanded as he slapped the little white thing out of your hand. “Was that fucking E? On top of what you already have in your system?”

“The fuck is your problem?” you ordered, angry.

“My problem is you destroying your life and your body,” he informed.  “I’m taking you home,” he stated firmly. He started to turn you around and push you outside. Everyone started to look your way. 

“No, you aren’t!” you protested loudly, moving wildly, but he just persisted. He went around in front of you, grabbed your wrist, and tugged you outside and started walking you down the sidewalk until you got yourself free of his hold. “Jesus! What the fuck is your deal? Those are my friends. I’m having a good time!” 

“A good time?” he demanded, his voice reigned in anger. “You think this is a good time? You’re out of your fucking mind.” 

“Hey, Mr. Entertainment Business newsflash,a  party-girl image is great publicity. Trey encourages this so long as I’m fine to record.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that your producer endorses you getting high and drunk, as long as you’re off the clock.” 

“You aren’t my handler, you’re not my parents, yo’re not my baby sitter, so just fuck off.”

He stared at you, clenching his jaw. “If you want to stay here and become like---If you want to stay here and party, that’s fine, but I’m done. I’m done with this. I’m done watching you ruin your life and throw so much potential away. I’m not gonna stick around to watch you drive your self into rock bottom when I’ve tried like hell to get you to wake the fuck up.”

“You didn’t stick around! Newsflash, asshole! You left! You left me high and dry.” 

“You kicked me out!” he reminded. “After I tried to approach you about your addiction. And I did stick around, you just didn’t know it.” 

“You didn’t approach me about it, you attacked me about it. Besides, what the hell do you mean you’re not going to stick around or watch me? You haven’t been around.” 

Letting out a sigh, he ran his hand down his face. “When I left, I may have asked some friends to keep an eye on you. I told them to update me if you were getting worse or better.”

“You were spying on me?” you asked, gasping.

“No, I just had people keeping an eye on you. If they were at the same party or something, they’d just let me know how you were doing.”

“Oh, nice to know you cared so much,” you retorted, rolling your eyes. You were getting more and more sober with the fresh air and the anger.  

“I do care. I think I’m the only one you know who does’ fucking care about you. I’m the only one not letting you just become an addict. I’m fighting for you.”

“Oh, is that what you were doing when you broke up with me? Fighting for me?”

He glared at you. He didn’t want to have this conversation. “Yes, I was. I was trying to make sure we were making the right choice.”

“Oh, spare me the bullshit!” you shouted, your head falling back. “I’m sick of this. I’m sick of the lies. Just be honest with me. You didn’t care about me, you didn’t love me, you wanted a rebound. You weren’t worried about the both of us. You’re just like everyone else. You wanted something to distract you from your ex leaving you and I was the perfect replacement. Then when you got bored, you cast me aside.” 

“You weren’t a replacement! You weren’t my rebound,” he yelled. 

“Then what was it?!” you screamed. “Because from where I stood, you and I were perfect, more than perfect. We could spend time with each other, lean on each other, support each other, we lived together, I met your child, we had date nights all the time and all of that just -- you ended it. Without warning. We didn’t even talk about it. You didn’t even ask me how I was feeling, if I cared about you. You just decided for the both of us that it would be better if this wasn’t a rebound. But it wasn’t ever about that. It was about me taking putting someone else before me like I always do, and I’m the one who got fucking hurt, not you.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry that you got hurt. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It hurt me too. And it hurts like hell to watch you do this to yourself. You think I liked watching you come home high and drunk all the time?” 

“I don’t imagine it bothered you too much. We weren’t dating any more.” 

He shrugged. “So? Just because I’m not dating you, it doesn’t mean I don’t give a shit about you.”

“See, in my world, it does. You don’t break someone’s fucking heart then try to tell them you still care. You’re the one who decided to date me. I asked, you shot me down. Then, when I was really happy, when I thought this was real, that we had a shot, that this was something that would last and you just ripped it away. No conversation.” 

He shook his head. “Yeah, and I’m sorry for that. I am. I should’ve talked to you, but is this really what you want? You want to be so numb and fucked up on drugs you can’t function?”

“I can function just fine, thanks for checking in!”

“I can’t believe you’re fine with this. You’ve been so strong since I met you. Going after your dream, working hard at your job, you never would’ve given into this bullshit, despite what happened between us.” 

“Yeah, well shit changes. Clearly you know that.”

“Nothing changed. I cared for you then, and I do now.” 

You scoffed. “Spare me, alright? It was clear to me after you left you never gave a shit. I licked your wounds so you could heal and then you left me. Fuck off. You don’t get the right to tell me where I can hang out, what I can do, or when I can do it.” You got in his face, your voice low before you turned around to head back inside. 

He stood there more upset than he had been when you two first broke up. He wasn’t sure what he thought he would gain from coming out tonight. He just thought he could save you from yourself. He knew he was the reason you went on the downward spiral but he didn’t know how to fix it. 

He bit his lip to keep from crying as he watched you rejoin your friends and pick up a shot glass and knock it back. He shook his head as he turned to walk down the street.

He couldn’t keep doing this to himself, or to you. He needed to move on. He couldn’t watch you suffer any more. He had tried to help you. Every time he did though, you turned him down - hard. 

With his heart heavy, he took a taxi back to his new hotel and tried to forget all about you.

If only it were that easy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tag:

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Hayden Christensen:

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History Repeats:

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[mulletcal]

self care night -- a calum hood blurb.

a/n: i got this request for a self care night where fans are being mean to the reader and calum helps take their mind off of it! sorry this is so short i was stuck kinda writing this

word count: 842

----

You had been doing well keeping your relationship with Calum a secret - no one outside of your trusted friend group or family knew about it.  All of your socials were now private, something you genuinely never thought you would have to do.  In the end though it made your mental health feel better knowing that people couldn’t see you and judge you.

It couldn’t stay a secret forever, though, and you knew that.  You had been fairly conscious being around the house when Calum was on a livestream, but today he had asked you to bring him tea, and who were you to say no? You thought the way you handed the mug to him you were out of the frame, but judging by the way Calum’s Twitter had blown up almost immediately you hadn’t done as well as you had thought.

He had tweeted something earlier in the day, and after that moment his mentions were flooded with questions of who did the hand belong to, because it didn’t look like Roy’s hand - how they knew that was beyond your realm of caring.  But the fandom, being filled with search talents that could rival the FBI were able to find you in no time; and since your socials were private, they began to harass friends of yours who didn’t think they’d need to do the same.

Pictures of you were on their profiles, and that was something that never occured to you when you were being overly cautious.  Immediately, people were attacking your looks, your motives, and your character.  You wished you could stop reading the hurtful words they were saying, but on top of everything else, the message requests didn’t stop coming in too.  It was too much, all too much, and you found yourself on the floor in front of the couch - having tried to paint your nails to distract yourself from what was going on; but it didn’t take long for the tears to flow. 

That’s how Calum found you nearly an hour later, sobbing into the blanket so he wouldn’t hear your cries - you didn’t want sympathy from him, because it wasn’t his fault.  The feeling of his arms around you eased your pain at first, but the panic crept back up into your throat because you knew that if you weren’t in the picture he wouldn’t have to deal with this.

“Baby, hey, look at me,” Calum whispered, “Where’s your phone?”

It had been placed behind you, a feudal attempt at encouraging yourself not to look at it. You motioned behind you, and Calum reached over to grab your phone, going in to delete all the apps on your phone where people could reach you, before turning your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’.

“What’re you doin’?” You hiccuped, tucking yourself into his side gently, being greeted by his soft hum of content.

“Deleted your apps, you don’t need to see that shit.  I’m gonna tweet something out, and then we’re gonna finish your nails and have a self care night, hm?”

“Cal, you don’t have to tweet-”

“No, I do.  Because people need to learn boundaries, and realize this shit isn’t okay.” He pouted, pressing his lips to your forehead, turning his attention to his phone.

‘Never did I think I’d need to write something to remind you all that not only my significant other, but the other guys too, are real people.  Words have power, and everyone should be more conscious of how they treat others.’

It was simple, to the point.  He could have said more, gone on a rant if he wanted to, but he knew that would do no good.  Right now his focus needed to be on the person in front of him.  Seeing you so distraught and sobbing, it broke his heart and he wanted nothing more to be able to kiss away the tears and make you feel better.

The rest of the night was spent painting your nails, and putting on your favourite movie.  At one point you asked Calum if he would let you paint his nails, and he couldn’t see a reason to say no.

So there the two of you were, laughing at The Neighbors  playing on the TV, your favourite long over and a bottle of bright blue nailpolish between the two of you.

“You know I love you right?” You said softly, finishing the coat on his last nail before turning your gaze up to him - it was a little difficult not to laugh at the cracked light green mask that was over his features.

Calum smiled in response, nodding, “Yes.  I love you too, you know that.  No one’s opinion is gonna change that.  They don’t know you like I do.” He leaned in, lips puckered for a kiss which you met gratefully.

You couldn’t help but to wonder how you got so lucky with this man, or wonder what you did to deserve him - but you also knew that you would never go without knowing how much he cared about you.

tag list:  @haikucal @talkfastromance4 @softbabiestan @boyfriend-cal @calum-uncrowned @wildflowerirwin @irwindoll @gosh-im-short @atlcalm @thesubtweeter @heavenisapeach @ridingcthood @loveroflrh @wokeupinjapanisabop @mantlereid @inlovehoodx @irwinkitten @n-ctarinenga​

[gossipchii]

Drive to survive

FF.net: here / AO3: here

Characters: Ishida Yamato

Words: 5100+

Notes: I promised this on twitter, and here as well and well, it happened. A Digimon story on my latest obsession. the Formula 1.

It’s safe to say I got excited, this is my longest story in forever!

Anyway, hope you like it as much as I do. Enjoy!

He was making history; he could not let himself forget it. Not ever had there been a Japanese driver to win podiums, and so far, during that season only, he had five. He had been working towards where he was right now ever since he was 8, when his dad had taken him to a kid’s go-kart circuit in Tokyo and had found out his heart had never beaten quicker. His mom had gotten scared when he told her how much he had liked it, and that he wanted to go back.

The owner of the place, a former engineer for Formula 1, was impressed as soon as he placed his eyes on him.

“He’s got talent,” he had told his mother, she shrugged it off. It was only a hobby, it had to be.

When his grandparents had gone visiting from Paris, Yamato had insisted on them seeing him race, he was only ten at the time. His grandfather knew he raced go-karts from his calls with his mother, but since she had insisted it was just a hobby, he took it that way. Of course, as an old French man, he was a big afficionado of car races, and nevertheless he was impressed by how fast his young grandson was.

“He’s a natural Natsuko, you must understand this is not just a hobby.”

Yamato traveled back to France with his grandparents, after he had heard them discussed with his mother about him taking a shot at race teams in Europe, professional ones. He had never been a professional before, he was not even sure what that meant, since Formula 1 was not a popular sport between his classmates, it was all about soccer and baseball, he did not know people could get paid by racing.

Michel, his grandfather, had a friend, who knew a friend, who was a part of the recruiting team of Renault’s quarry, and as soon as they saw 10-year-old Yamato behind his tiny wheel, they knew he was a natural, good enough to start training as soon as possible with their team.

It all happened too fast for him, he had to go back to Tokyo to pack up his life and leaving for good. He was not even certain if he were feeling sad or nostalgic, all he knew was school would turn into something he could do at home, and in French, and that he would be racing all the time. It all sounded like a dream, really.

“Don’t tell your grandma I’m telling you this but go kick those English kids’ butts!” had been the encouragement words coming from his grandpa before his first-ever professional race. He was 13 at the time, already gaining enough attention from the media, especially from his home country, despite only stepping foot in Japan once a year.

He tried not to read anything regarding himself, they tended to be mean, and underappreciating him. He knew after the first article he had read, he would never read it again, what was the point anyway?

“Next time I see anyone writing something mean they’ll be fired, even if they work elsewhere,” his dad had threatened.

“It’s okay, I don’t even care anymore. Let them talk, all I care about is getting podium, again.”

And so, he did, until he was old enough to jump to the bigger leagues. From Formula 3 to Formula 2, and finally, with only 21 years old, signing a five-year contract with the team Michel had always admired: Scuderia Ferrari.

Sadly enough, he had not had the chance to see him drive in red, because he had passed away due to a heart-attack, his grandmother passing away shortly after. People said she had died from heartbreak. Yamato only took it as another reason why he had to prove his best. His management team had told him media were already calling him the best Japanese driver in history, and that was nice, but only if he made it reality.

Yamato had helped Ferrari pound back to being the first-place team once again, after years of competing against Red-Bull and Mercedes. But he had only been the fifth best racer, not good enough if he wanted to make history.

That week he was back in his homeland, Japan greeting him as a hero for the Japanese Grand Prix. It was scary how much his face was everywhere he looked, even more so than pop-icons. He was glad his team respected his choice to remain mostly private, and when they wanted advertising, his team-mate, an Austrian dude who was six years older than him, was more than happy to do the interviewing.

It was safe to say he was not pleased when they asked him to do a photoshoot for a local fashion brand, up and coming worldwide, apparently. Yamato did not care much about fashion, despite him being called the best dressed racer a few years in a row. Not that he knew about it, plus he usually put on an all-black outfit and he was through.

“Why can’t Lechner do it?”

“They want you specifically, Ishida.” His manager said softly, “even the Japanese embassy is paying for this partnership. Aren’t you proud to be Japanese?”

“Of course, I am, asshole.” He smirked, rolling his eyes as he decided it was the perfect timing to visit his brother.

As expected, he was on a tight schedule, this could never count as a vacation visit to Japan, but he had asked his team to send him into Japan two days earlier to visit his family. It was a tradition he tended to do ever since he started racing world-wide.

He took his ever-loved motorbike and drove as fast as he could to Odaiba. Driving a motorbike had been what he could call his hobby, since karting had turned into his job, having built a couple of them while living in Italy.

“He better be home,” he stretched his arms as he opened the door in front of him, knowing damn well his brother always made the mistake to leave it unlocked. He heard him singing in his bathroom, which meant he was finishing taking a shower. He looked around to confirm his mother was not home and shrugged it off. He had drifted apart from her when he initially moved to France with his grandparents, and even more so when his parents (finally) got divorced.

“Don’t you dare opening that door if you’re naked.”

“YAMATO?” Takeru opened the door wearing nothing but his tiny white trousers.

“I truly do not feel like seeing you naked,” but of course his younger brother could not care less and ran to greet him with a hug. He was the only person on earth allowed to hug him.

“What a funny way of admitting how much you had missed me!!” He gifted him one of his traded white smiles, the warmest smile Yamato knew. “Nervous for this weekend?”

“As long as it doesn’t rain, I don’t see why I should be.”

“Even when it rains you succeed, you’re always making everyone proud!”

“Even you?” he served himself oolong tea. He was surprised to see beer in his mom’s fridge, forgetting for a second his younger brother was legally allowed to drink.

“You know I’m your number one fan, those old-rich men are nothing compared to the original Yamato Ishida stan!” Takeru walked into his room to get dressed, for Yamato’s relief. He had offered his mother if they wanted to move to a bigger apartment, considering he now had the money to provide her and Takeru with something better, but she had refused, and he gave up after the third time.

“Going out?”

“I was going to, with the good-old gang, but that was before I knew you would pay me a visit.”

“So Hikari and company, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, even Taichi is coming, you should come, too!” Taichi was his oldest friend, the only one he missed when he moved to Europe.

“Nah, you know I don’t drink.” And it was not merely because of his strict diet, he was not a fan of what alcohol did with his mindset. “But you go and have fun, I must get back to my place, anyway, and be as early as possible in Suzuka tomorrow morning.” Takeru looked disappointed, Yamato felt a pinch of guilt for not being what a fun older brother was supposed to be. “But I’ll text Taichi! Remind everyone they’re invited this weekend, VIP seats and all!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, brother.” Yamato smiled softly before playing with Takeru’s hair like he used to when they were kids, even if he was almost his height.

He took a chopper ride from Tokyo to Suzuka the morning after. He had much rather taken the train, but Ferrari strictly prohibited him from doing so.

“Are you insane? People would eat you alive, you’re pretty much as famous as Hello Kitty is in this place!” He ignored his comment, it was always annoying to Yamato when they were in Japan, because most of his team-mates were foreign to Japanese culture, and he did not have the patience to educate every single one of them.

It was Thursday, which meant he could do strength exercises before the testing race the next day.

“How’s my superstar doing?” the mere voice of his manager irritated him, but he had another year signed up to him, afterwards he had decided to work by himself. After all, he still had another three-year contract with Ferrari.

“He’s extremely focused,” and he was strength training was the hardest to him.

“Don’t forget you have that photoshoot I had mentioned you in an hour, and I wouldn’t like you to go there all sweaty.”

“Do you think I would forget?” but in fact, he had forgotten it, his mind had probably erased the memory of that specific event.

“I’m glad we’re finally on the same track,” he winked at Yamato, before shutting the door of the hotel’s gym.

Yamato did not have much of a choice, so he took a cold shower before heading to one of the hotel’s meeting rooms. It had all been transformed for it to look like a Sakura garden. In reality, it was October and Sakura’s were far from blossoming. He would be lying if he did not admit it looked rather breathtaking.

He had heard about this up-and-coming brand. They had turned the Japanese typical attire and turned it into mainstream. He had to admit he was a fan.

He had also heard the brand had been started by a young student from Bunka Fashion College, under the wings of a bigger brand. He had heard, not that he cared, really, that the founder was around his age. Suddenly, he was curious.

“Ishida Yamato, what a pleasure to finally meet you!” a man around his thirties greeted him rather enthusiastic.

“You must be…?”

“Oh, you’re a funny one! Yoshio Fujiwara, of course!” And the Fujiwara branding was the bigger one who had taken the young designer under his wings, he wondered where she was.

“Of course, of course,” he bowed, always traying himself to remain close to his Japanese customs and traditions. “A pleasure to meet you, Fujiwara-san.”

“No need to be formal with me, I’m very used to western traditions, having spent most of your life in Europe, I would have killed for an opportunity like that!” Yamato tried his best not to roll his eyes, faking his best smile. “It is our biggest pleasure that you have accepted to be the face of our newest collection.” Yamato saw a petit figure running around the room with pieces of clothing covering her, he wondered if that was Fujiwara counterpart.

“It’s always delightful to put Japan’s name high, you know.” He cleared his voice, “so, am I also going to meet Takenouchi-san?”

“You absolutely will, she must be somewhere around… Sora!?” The fast-paced person finally stopped, uncovering her face from the piles of clothing she was carrying. “Don’t be rude and introduce yourself to Yamato.”

“Sure thing, just let me finish up the final touches and…”

“Now?!” Yamato noticed a subtle sigh coming from her lips. She surely seemed young, barely his own age. For the first time since the encounter started, he felt safe.

She ran right next to him, her attention still clearly on the mess she had left. He could immediately tell how passionate she was about what she was doing.

“It’s a pleasure, Ishida-san. I would love to lie and say I’m a fan, but truth is this is my first time having an encounter with races, or cars in general…”

“Sora! You’re being rude!”

“Sorry, I still take the subway and I never got a driver’s license!” Yamato snorted, in those five seconds he decided that redhead was his favorite person in the room.

“Well, I’m glad to admit this is not my first encounter with your brand, I’ve read so much.” Her eyes lit up; Yamato could have even sworn he spotted a subtle blush in her face.

He was rather awkward in front of the cameras, never quite a natural. Another reason why his team-mate was the one to do most of Ferrari’s advertisements. But Sora helped him feel in his element, somehow. He liked how much she got into her character, almost ignoring him by how much she cared on how her designs looked on him.

“I think we’re good, we shouldn’t take much more of your time.” By then, Fujiwara had left the room, Sora was certain he had slipped into the hotel bar.

“That must have been the less stressful photoshoot I’ve ever had, thank you, Takenouchi-san.”

“Oh, don’t call me that! I’m not older than you are.”

“Then you must accept to drop the formalities with me as well.” A grimaced appeared on her face, clearly unsure.

“But you’re a client, that would be completely unprofessional!”

“I promise I won’t tell anybody,” Sora liked that, a dirty-little-secret.

“Fine, but if Fujiwara is around, I’ll go back in character.”

“Deal,” Yamato grabbed a bottle of water and doubted if he should say what his mind was begging at him to do. “Are you staying for the race?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I had no idea how this worked.” She shrugged, clearly embarrassed. “I don’t understand why it lasts so many days, it’s confusing. This whole sport is confusing.” Sora liked sports, for instance, sports where a ball had to go from one side of the court to the other, not cars and tires.

“It’s not that hard, you’ll see,” they took a seat on the fake grass Sora had built for the photoshoot. “The first day is merely for us to get familiar with the track, nothing formal. The second day the places for the actual race, which is on Sunday, get settled. And that’s pretty much it.”

“And you get to travel the world for that?”

“People can be very serious about their cars.”

“Incredible,” she locked eyes with Yamato, she was not familiar with his sport but she sure was with his face, and not only because it was everywhere she looked around the city’s billboards, but because she had studied it for the whole photoshoot, and even for the particular line she was about to launch.

“It would be fun if you stayed, some friends around our age are coming too, so it won’t be that weird for you.”

“Okay, but I’ll stay for fun, not as a part of my job schedule.”

“Great!” He said way too enthusiastic, regretting it right away. “I can get you great tickets, so don’t worry about that.” She chuckled, taking out her VIP pass.

“Don’t worry, I have that part settled.”

“Of course, you do,” he felt stupid, all sponsors got the best tickets, even better than he could even get most times.

“So, I’ll see you around? Do you say break a leg for this?”

“Absolutely not! But I appreciate your luck wishes.”

He was glad on Friday’s there was never much of a crowd, that way he could stay focused on what mattered: getting comfortable enough with the track. Whenever he raced, he felt an almost out of body experience, where he could disconnect from his current reality and be one with his car. Ferrari had nicknamed him the racing samurai, for how dramatic his recovering could be whenever he was behind on the race.

Japan had never particularly been the biggest crowd when it came to Formula 1, but ever since he had started getting podiums, and making a name out of himself, it had a 180 degrees change. Ferrari could not be happier with the now 23-yeard-old racer, he was smart, analytic, and cold headed.

When he got back to the Pits, he was greeted by his family, not expecting to see them until the day after.

“You were pretty fast out there!” his dad said, as awkward as he usually was.

“This was merely the boring race, we were just testing the track,” he smiled widely, greeting him by what could be considered a hug, or sort of one.

“But Hiroaki is right, you were extremely fast. That car you’re racing, is a beauty,” seeing his mother was always an adventure for Yamato. Ever since he left home, at such a young age, they had drifted apart. Naturally, she was worried for her older son, racing and putting his life at risk every time he did so. Yamato had heard her fighting with his grandpa countless times, until she finally gave in. She was never going to win, Yamato loved karting the same way she loved writing.

“You were tremendous there, superstar!” his manager came to greet him, as much as he annoyed him, he was not a bad person, he just clearly loved the money Yamato made him gain. “You better keep up the pace the rest of the weekend.”

“That’s the plan,” Yamato served himself a cup of tea, while he took a seat in front of the screen that was studying his track performance. He was nearly obsessed with improving, never not paying attention at even the slightest mistake.

“Before I forget,” his manager was French, and spoke a very heavily accented English. His family, apart from Takeru, barely spoke any English at all, hence why they did not communicate with one another. Yamato despised that, considering he could speak four languages. “Young Takenouchi asked me to give you her number, Romeo.” Yamato’s cheeks flushed, as he took with both hands the business card he was being given.

“I’ll quickly go to my room,” he excused himself with his family, promising he would meet them for a quick dinner.

He wrote and re-wrote his text message towards Sora, not wanting to appear desperate. Formula 1 drivers, at least some of them, had the reputation of being more than successful with the opposite sex, however Yamato was rather unlucky. He put so much effort into his performance inside the track, he tended to neglect everything else. Hence why it felt nice to have a close to normal conversation with someone his age, a woman his age.

“This is Yamato, I heard the rumor you wanted to have my number,” he finally sent, wanting to throw his phone over the window right after.

“How come we spent so much time talking yesterday and I had to ask your manager for your number?” she replied right after, Yamato felt relieved.

“I guess we lost track of time.”

“Hey, I had to come back to Tokyo, business matters. But I’m not one to break any promises, so I hope you still save a seat for me for the big race on Sunday. Did I say that correctly?”

Yamato immediately felt disappointment, but he had to understand he was not dealing with someone unoccupied; this was a young entrepreneur with a worldwide successful fashion brand.

“Are you sure you want to make a four-hour trip to see some car racing?”

“As I said, I’m not a promise breaker. Plus, is not Formula 1 supposed to be the best car racing in the world? I won’t miss it, and I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry, and your spot on Scuderia Ferrari will remain untouched.”

“Great, I’m actually pretty excited! You have turned it into such a big deal for the country, I’ve never seen such a media coverage on the sport before. How was the tracking test?”

Yamato’s stomach made a turn. He did not want to focus on the pressure it meant to be in his home country, he just wanted to do what he always did, which meant to give his 100% performance, and get better every time. He just really hoped it would not rain on Sunday…

Him and Sora kept texting for the rest of the day, and the morning after as he got ready for the weekend’s second race. His goal was to qualify on the front row, that was always a determining factor for the final race. His mom had been right when she mentioned his car was a beauty, because it may not be the fastest car, that would still go to Mercedes, but if Ferrari had something no other team could fight with, was beauty.

He was not one to make many friends, but he was always amicable with the rest of the drivers. He saw them more than he saw his family, and even grew up with a big amount of them, but he always tried to focus on what they really were: his competition.

The weather so far had looked hopeful, a rainy race was one of his biggest fears, he had already had more than one rainy accident, and they had been hard to get over. He tried not to put too much thought into it, how he put his life at risk every time he got into the car, because there was no point in doing so, considering he was not going to stop, racing was the most important part of his life.

He got behind his wheel and his team assured his car was ready to go for the last time, and he got into driving mode, forgetting everything else, the pressure, the people, the weather, his friends. He almost disassociated from everything, but the track, and his team speaking whenever there was something to say, like which place he was on at the moment.

He had gotten so used to Ferrari, after being over two years on the team, that he could go as far as to describe its motor as a part of him. The first few laps were always the most stressful ones, and were most of the accidents happened, everyone tried to gain that valuable P1 as fast as possible, but Yamato thought of it as a waste of energy, he would rather stay behind for the first few laps and give it all in after. It had worked for him so far, avoiding the turmoil behind it.

There were 53 laps in the Japanese track, not that he counted them, but he always studied the tracks of wherever he was at. He just focused on staying in track, passing the rest of the drivers and being fast, and his team made sure he did not forget where his position was at the moment, which was a P5, his teammate was currently second. Fifth was not a bad position, it was still second row, but it was not his goal, he truly wanted first row. In the end he had managed to end up fourth, which his team congratulated him for, he still was not happy.

Back in Ferrari’s box, he had a bigger crowd greeting him, not only his parents and brother, but some of his closest childhood friends.

“Man, how does it feel to be able to fly!” Taichi said before giving him a big hug, which Yamato did not mind, he guessed he was also allowed to hug him.

“What I wonder is what that amount of speed can do with your body, I read you lose up to 3 liters every time you race,” Joe patted his shoulder, the soon-to-be-doctor never missed to drop a random anatomy fact on him. “And sorry, but it seems to Koushiro your car’s machinery is way more impressive than you.”

His third friend, a genius redhead, had been talking non-stop with his team’s engineers, asking questions Yamato could possibly never answer.

He spent the next few hours doing interviews, as much as he hated them, it was on his contract to do them before and after every Grand Prix. He also took more time studying his career, and where he could improve. He wanted to get podium on his home country more than he had ever wanted before.

But of course, he also took the chance to spend some time with his loved ones, catching up about their crazy adult lives.

“Koushiro could soon enough buy one of these teams, you know? He’s getting so rich!” Taichi had a big mouth, but they had gotten used to it. And to be fair with his brunette friend, he was not wrong, considering Koushiro’s software startup had gotten public, and the dude was only 22.

“And Jou’s about to be a doctor, and you, well, you didn’t get kicked out of Uni!” They all laughed, Taichi rolled his eyes. Yamato had gotten so comfortable with their conversation, he got scared when his phone began ringing.

“Yes?”

“Guess who’s just landed in Suzuka!” it was Sora, his heart skipped a beat. “I’m glad I made it a few hours before I had promised, I truly didn’t want to miss tomorrow’s race.”

“Where are you exactly? You should come join us! I’m at Ferrari’s tent with some childhood friends, I mean, if you’re not too tired.” His friends started yelling embarrassing things to him, as friends did whenever you spoke on the phone with someone, even if that someone was your own mother. Except, of course, it was not his mother.

“Great! I’ll ask the driver to drop me off.”

They spent the next few hours chatting, and laughing, and making fun of Yamato with embarrassing stories Sora was rather intrigued to keep on listening. Of course, Sora had hit it off with his friends, she was a great talker, they all had liked her, he could tell, especially with Koushiro, considering the man was the clearest book when it came to first impressions. He felt disappointed once he checked his watch to confirm it was time for him to go to bed, the big day was closer than ever.

Suzuka was one of the last races on Formula 1’s schedule, which meant every single point counted even more. He was disappointed when he checked the weather, there was a rain forecast, but there was nothing he could do, he still was willing to give the best race he had given in his career span. His friends and family wished him the best of luck, just as he dressed up in the famous red suit.

He had never felt this overwhelmed before, as soon as he stepped a foot outside of Scuderia Ferrari’s box, the crowd chanting his name was like nothing he ever heard before. He bowed shyly, turning the shouts even louder. Fame had never been something he had been looking for once he started racing in Formula 1, but he thought at the end of the day it was only inevitable. He really wanted to make his co-nationals proud.

P4 was not a bad place to start racing, yet he could hear his heart beating up to his ears. A rainy race was always messy, and there was always a bigger risk for accidents, not just for him, but for the other racers as well. He had to drive smartly; speed was not all that mattered in that moment.

His eyes were fixated on the checkered flag, as soon as it went down, his feet went all in. Suzuka’s Grand Prix finally starting.

As it was expected, some cars lost control on the very first curve, him being noticed by his team on the other side of the microphone. He hoped nothing bad had happened to them. On a rainy race it was important to have extra control while reaching a curve, and absolutely never trying to overpass another racer while on them.

By lap 30 he had improved to P3, the engine of the previous third place had had some issues, which pushed him into the pits. The Ferrari engine had significantly been improved for the current season, and it showed. It had been a while since the red team had had both of their cars in podium position, and he was doing quicker laps than the last year’s race.

Everything appeared to be going according to plan, Yamato wanted to win, of course, but he was not unhappy with the third place. Yet, the unthinkable happened on lap 49, when his teammate lost control of the steering wheel. It all happened so quickly, Yamato could barely avoid the inevitable crash, which was bad enough for them to call a red flag, every racer had been sent back into pits.

His teammate had been fine, he could even walk by himself; however, his car could have been confused with garbage. A shame, really, everything had been better than what they could have imagined. Now every podium expectation fell on his shoulders, and he could hear the public screaming his name even louder, as if he was some sort of rock star.

“Only 4 laps left, you can do it,” and he was now put in second place, a bittersweet feeling inside his gut.

The final lap felt like the longest he had driven, all he truly wanted was for it to end. He was less than two seconds away from the first place, which his team kept repeating. He knew he could do it, if he tried and overtake him near the end, right after the final curve… And so, he did, winning a podium for the first time in his short Formula 1 life career. He had not done it for himself only, but for Lechner as well. It felt insane, he was no longer feeling the ground, he was still flying somehow.

Champagne soaked him as soon as he stepped out of the car, being hugged by everyone on the famous red car team. He was not easily to make cry, but he could not help the tears coming out, and he wished, if he were ever going to cry again, it better be as good of a feeling as he finally lifted the trophy for Suzuka’s Grand Prix.

[woah-were-halfway-there]

Can you write a little fluffy piece of you and Auston in present time with being separated because of covid and all

Here you are my dear! It turned out longer than anticipated but oh welllll

Word count: 1.7k

Quarantine sucks, to put it simply. Places are closed, events have been cancelled, everyone is expected to stay home unless it’s essential to leave, and to make it all worse, you and Auston are spending it in different countries.

A week after the NHL announced the suspension of the remainder of the season, Auston flew back to Scottsdale. Seeing as this was before things got too intense, you still had to work and insisted that he go without you. Your office had plans to shut down by the end of that week as a precaution for the pandemic. After that, you knew you would be off for at least two weeks, so the plan was for you to fly to Scottsdale to be with your boyfriend then; but that never happened.

The severity of the situation got real bad real fast, and you were no longer able to travel. Therefore, you ended up having to stay in Toronto alone.

Auston remembers getting the text saying you had cancelled your flight as if it just happened yesterday. He had just woken up, that three-hour time difference between the two cities not helping the situation at all, and was quick in calling you to ask why.

“Aus, you should see the news,” you explained to him. “It’s a whole mess out there, and it only seems to be getting worse. Places are closing down, people are buying ridiculous amounts of toilet paper, and the government is advising that people don’t travel. Trudeau is closing the border, babe. I want to be there with you; I really do. I miss you so much already, but I don’t think I should leave Toronto just yet. Surely, this won’t take too long to blow over, and I’ll be there sooner than we both know it.”

Clearly, that was a bold assumption for you to make because over two weeks have gone by, and the two of you are still separated.

Auston still cannot get over the fact that you got stuck, and alone of all things. He hasn’t stopped beating himself up over it either. In Toronto, you don’t have a roommate to hang out with, seeing as it’s just you and Auston that live in your unit, and that alone only has made him feel so much worse about everything.

With social distancing, you can’t just go over to Mitch and Steph’s like you usually would either. Although it’s gotten to the point where the two have invited you to just stay with them until this all blows over, you keep saying no out of fear that you may have come in contact with the virus and could pass it on to them. That just wouldn’t be fair.

So, all that you really can do now is suck it up and try to make the most out of your isolation, even though it’s really hard sometimes. And god, do you miss your people. Without there being much to do other than the odd thing for work; all you’ve done is clean the condo, get groceries when you need them, watch a lot of Netflix, talk with Steph all while trolling Mitch in the comments on his Twitch streams, and of course, FaceTime you boyfriend as much as possible.

Regardless of how hard you’ve tried, you just haven’t been able to develop a routine you feel motivated enough to stick to. It’s a depressing time. So, the fact that you’re flopped on your bed, staring at the ceiling, with a half-empty bottle of wine resting next to you on the bedside table, and Champagne Supernova blaring from your Bluetooth speaker late on a Friday night; really shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. You’re in quarantine; you’re allowed to mope.

Completely and utterly bored with your current situation, you roll over onto your side to grab your phone and wine from the table. Ignoring the empty wine glass that was there too, you settle on taking a swig right from the bottle and smiling sadly at the adorable picture of you and Auston that’s set as your lock screen. The image was from last summer when the two of you were on vacation with his family and just makes you feel so warm and fuzzy on the inside, even though it makes you long for how easy times were before all of this.

Great, another wave of depression.

Shaking your head clear of the intruding thoughts that decided to creep into your mind, you unlock your phone and start scrolling through social media… again. After opening Twitter and quickly getting bored with the content on there, you move to Instagram to see what the people and celebrities you follow are up too on there, only to be met by a picture posted by your boyfriend as soon as the app loads.

“No, why!?” You groan and flop onto your back again dramatically. You’re lucky the bottle of wine you’re holding is almost gone, or else it probably would have spilt everywhere with your dramatics, which you’re aware of, but really couldn’t care less about. After a moment of just laying there in silence, you eventually sit back up to take another sip of wine before setting it on the table and unlocking your phone, so you can really take in this new picture.

Everything about the picture feels like a direct attack. Not only is the scenery stunning with the beautiful Arizona sunset in the background, the image also consists of Auston looking fine as hell, shirtless, wearing one of the many snapbacks he owns to keep his hair out of his face, all while supposedly ‘discovering portrait mode.’ Honestly, how dare he?

You just can’t seem to look away. It’s such a good picture and man does it make you miss him even more. Without giving it a second thought, you close out of the app and open FaceTime, suddenly overcome by an intense feeling of neediness.  

Luckily for you, it doesn’t take long for him to answer the call.

“Hey, babe,” he greets before taking a sip of water and plopping down onto his couch. He’s still shirtless, wearing the same snapback, and the sun is still clearly setting out the large windows behind him, which makes it clear that this is a very new picture you just experienced, and you’re unsure if that makes you feel better or worse. “What’s up?”

“I miss you,” you pout and let out a sigh. “So much. And then you had to go and post that on Instagram, which was just rude on your part in complete honesty.”

“Sorry,” he chuckles and shakes his head while you roll your eyes at him. “I miss you too. How was your day?”

“Kind of not great,” you tell him honestly. “I’ve been feeling pretty down.”

“Ah, so that’s why I can hear Oasis playing.”

“They’re on my sad girl hours playlist, alright? What do you want from me?”

“I know they are,” he laughs again, but it isn’t long until his expression grows serious. “And nothing, other than for you to talk to me about what’s bugging you. What’s going on?”

Damn, he knows you well and is so good at easing into these types of conversations.

“It’s just,” you start and take a deep breath in hopes the tears you already feel pricking your eyes don’t decide to overflow. “I miss you, and our friends, and how life was before all of this. I know it’s only been two weeks, but Aus, I feel so alone. And don’t you dare try to blame yourself for that, ok? You’ve done so much for me already even though you’re so far away and honestly, just talking with you helps a lot. It reminds me that I’m not alone. That there’s a lot of people out there who love and care about me, it just sucks so bad being stuck here and it’s messing with my mental health quite a bit.”

“I know, babe, I know,” he soothes and lets out a sigh. “I want nothing more than to be with you right now. Whether that be here or there, I wouldn’t care. I just miss you so much, and I’m so sorry you’re feeling the way that you do. I know that me telling you all of this may not mean much seeing as I’m in a different freaking country, but I mean it. I love you and am always here to talk if you want to.”

Now you’re crying.

“I love you a whole lot.”

“Oh, no, please don’t cry, I-,” he apologizes, but you just shake your head.

“No, it’s ok,” you tell him and use the sleeve of his Maple Leafs sweater you’re wearing to wipe away the tears that broke free. “It feels good to let it all out, you know? Thank you for making me feel comfortable enough to do that.”

“Of course, anytime,” he assures you softly. “I’m always here. And I hope you know that as soon as we’re out of this, you’re not leaving my side. If you thought you could get sick of me before, just wait until we’re back in the same place together.”

“I could never get sick of you, Aus,” you chuckle and shake your head at how dramatic he’s being.

“If quarantine has made me realize anything, it’s never to take the time I get with you for granted ever again,” he explains, making your heart swell with affection. “I mean it.”

“I know,” you reply and smile at him. “The feeling’s mutual. I can’t wait to see you in person again.”

“Me neither. Going to hold on to you a little tighter, that’s for sure.”

He goes on to ask about the positives of your day, and you spend the next little bit telling him all you’ve accomplished in your free time and asking him about his day. After a while of chatting with your boyfriend, you eventually crawl into bed while remaining on the call, and attempt to watch an episode of Ozark together.

You end up falling asleep while on FaceTime, and Auston can’t help but smile at the peaceful image of you sleeping on his phone screen. Knowing he should probably start getting ready for bed soon too, Auston quietly reminds you that he loves you and hangs up before sending you a sweet text to wake up to and forcing himself to think about how all of this will be over soon and he’ll be back with you in no time.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Beneath the Blade zine! I just love Ingrid and her relationships with Felix, Sylvain, and Dimitri. You should check out @  kaijujuice on twitter for the collab art!

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Ingrid knew the Gautier house like the back of her hand. Since she was a child, she had roamed its gardens and halls as though it were her own home. She knew Sylvain’s favourite hiding places, the number of training dummies Felix had destroyed, exactly where they had to plaster over to hide Dimitri’s clumsy strength. Through the seasons and years, she had come and gone from this house without much thought beyond how hopeless her boys were.

 The place standing before her couldn’t possibly be the house in her memories. Flags erect, generals flowing in and out of the doors, and training grounds crowded with soldiers, the Gautier home was dressed in the colours of war. Ingrid swallowed as she stood in front of the house, unable to go in, unable to leave. Had it only been yesterday that they’d all be in the academy, chastising Sylvain for his latest conquest?

 “Ingrid!” A cheery voice greeted her. Speak of the devil; it was like thinking about him had summoned him. “You’re looking as beautiful as ever.”

 “Run out of people to flirt?” she retorted automatically, turning around as she spoke. Ingrid froze at the sight before her, at the boy (man) dressed in armour, the metal gleaming in the afternoon sun. Despite his grin, he wasn’t Sylvain. He couldn’t be. There was something harder, tougher about the person in front of her, a sharper edge than Sylvain had ever had.

“Only stating the obvious.” He smiled easily, and that much hadn’t changed. No matter the situation, he had always found the lighter side of things. Though, something about his expression felt off. When she didn’t say anything, he winked, “What, did I make you speechless?”

 Ingrid didn’t know where to start. How to start. Lamely, she mumbled, “Your hair…”

 “Oh this?” He tugged on a particularly long strand tickling his chin. “Thought I’d grow it out a bit.”

 She wondered how much of that was the truth, and how much of it was because he hadn’t had time to cut it. You look like a knight, she almost said, but she bit back the words, fearful that saying them aloud would make it all the more real. It was bad enough that they were at war, that Dimitri was dead. Now Sylvain looked serious for once in his life and those carefree days from the monastery were really gone, weren’t they?

 “Ingrid?” Sylvain asked, worried now. He reached out to squeeze her shoulder, his grip firm, and she’d never thought of him as reliable before this point.

 “It’s nothing.” Forcing a smile, Ingrid pulled out an envelope from her bag. “I just came to deliver this.”

 “What’s that?” He plucked the letter, turning it over in his hand. “For the—”

 “For your father, so don’t open it,” she admonished before he could rip it open. When he gave her a pitiful look, she looked away, ashamed. “We…we won’t be joining you.”

 “Oh.” Sylvain looked at the letter, then back at her. Still wearing a good-natured smile, he shrugged. “It’s a good decision. Everything’s going way too fast as it is, better to just sit back and wait.”

 Ingrid’s jaw dropped, and she hissed, “What?”

 He backed away, his hands held up in surrender. “I’m wrong?”

 “Any honourable knight would, would…” she choked back a sob, forcing the words out. “Avenge their liege. It’s the honourable thing to do.”

 “Honour, huh?” Sylvain smile disappeared. Grimly, he replied, “I don’t know how much of this is really about honour. If honour is really worth all this death.”

 “That…we can’t just do nothing,” she replied lamely. “Not after what they did.”

“Maybe, but reacting like this’ll just get a lot of people dead.” Sylvain rubbed his neck, looking away. Softly, he added, “Like Duscur.”

 Ingrid couldn’t say anything about that, couldn’t deny or agree with his words. She wondered if she’d ever be able to think of Duscur objectively, be able to hear the name and not think of Glen, think of Dimitri’s parents, think of those lost.

 If she’d ever be able to think of it without remembering Dedue and wonder what could have been.

 “I’m not saying we’re wrong, it’s just…” Sylvain looked over his shoulder, at the knights training in the distance. “Dimitri’s…Dimitri’s dead. Getting revenge won’t bring him back.”

 “But we swore—”

 “That doesn’t matter to a dead man.” Sylvain looked back at her, his eyes clear. “Why risk your life over this?”

 “And what about you?” she snapped back, her hand curling into a fist. “Why are you fighting?”

 Sylvain laughed sheepishly. “Got me there. I don’t really have a reason. It just…” He trailed off, looking up at the clear blue sky. “It just doesn’t feel right, what happened.”

 Oh. That’s what it was. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. Ingrid looked away, quietly agreeing, “Nothing feels right.” She didn’t think anything would feel right ever again.

 -x-

 The trip to House Fraldarius was quicker, quieter affair. Rodrigues didn’t condemn her as she handed over the letter, as she rubbed her arm and offered her apologies. Instead, he had merely nodded, his eyes kind and tone kinder. It was more than she deserved. The Galatea bannermen were refusing the call, selfishly stepping back and avoiding conflict. A rebuke would have been expected. A harsh judgement even better.

 Guilt was the only reason she could give for seeking out Felix immediately after. As usual, he was in the training ground, sword in hand and sweat dripping down his skin. There was no finesse in his sword work, none of the grace she’d come to associate with his attacks. Each strike was more brutal than the next and his rage was a palpable thing.

 “You’re not joining us,” Felix grunted as he delivered one last strike, stabbing straight through the dummy. Straw flew in the air as he savagely yanked his sword back out.

 “Did Sylvain tell you?” she asked instead, watching as he turned to her. His hair was longer too, his frame taller, and she didn’t know if these changes were overnight or if they’d happen quietly, where she couldn’t see. If like with Dimitri’s obsession, she had averted her eyes from those around her.

 Felix snorted. “He didn’t have to.”

 It stung more than she’d expected. “Was it really that obvious what my father would choose?”

 “It doesn’t matter. You aren’t needed.” For once, his words lack their usual bite, their malice half-hearted.

 In another time, she would have argued back. Now, she felt as tired as he sounded. Ingrid peeked at his hands, at the bleeding calluses. “You won’t be much use either, like that. You should rest.”

 Felix flexed his hand and shrugged. “I don’t have time to wait for it to heal.”

 “That’ll get you killed.” Ingrid frowned. “Why are you even fighting? To die?”

 Felix’s lips curled into a snarl. “Of course not!”

 “Then why?” she pressed, stepping forward and grabbing his hands. “Why are you hurting yourself like this?”

 He yanked his hand away. “Isn’t it obvious? The boar—I—I…” And just as quickly, his anger died down, his eyes flickering to the practice dummy. “I…”

 They used to train there together, the four of them. And then, after the massacre, just the three. Felix could barely tolerate her and left immediately whenever Dimitri arrived. Was he thinking of that? Or further back, to when it had been just him and Glen? At what point did a memory stop hurting, at what point did a regret stop keeping them awake at night?

 She didn’t know the answer to that, anymore than she knew the answer to how they’d reached this point. Maybe it was when Felix had forgotten how to be happy, when Dimitri had learned to hide his rage or Sylvain faked his smile or even when she had left behind her dreams for her lance. Their fracture had started long ago.

 “I don’t know,” Felix muttered finally, loosening his grip on his sword. “The boar…this wasn’t how he should have gone.”

 “No, it wasn’t.” Ingrid rubbed her wrist. Life wasn’t fair. She had learned that lesson long ago but at some point, she’d forgotten it. At some point, she’d thought they were impervious to it.

 Life wasn’t fair. It was a lesson she hoped she’d stop learning.

 -x-

 Dimitri didn’t have a grave. It was the fact that bothered her the least—Glen’s name was carved into a marble tomb, the letters cold in a way he had never been. Ingrid had never found him there, but instead in the training grounds, in the spaces they used to spar. She had not loved him. She wondered if she might have.

 Death had a way of taking away all possibilities.

 When they were young, they used to play in a brook on her lands. Sylvain would tan on the banks, Felix would train on the side, and knee-deep in the cool waters, a cocky smirk on his face, Dimitri would try to catch the fish with his bare hands. He hadn’t looked like a prince then, just a boy who couldn’t control his own strength.

 The brook was still there, even if the people weren’t. Ingrid’s armour clanked as she sat down on a log by the riverbank, staring down into the clear waters. Her lance sat on her lap, balanced precariously. It was quiet here, away from people. The brook babbled, the birds chirped, and Ingrid pulled out a book from her satchel. Her fingers traced the title, Sword of Kyphon, before she opened it. A lifetime ago, she and Ashe used to pour over the books, the candles flickering as they talked deep into the night about loyalty and honour.

 How simple it had seemed then. How easy. She should have realized it then; the knights never had it easy, honour was earned only through spilled blood. If the king had died, what would these knights have done? Avenged him? The line between justice and revenge was a thin one. And after that, after the king’s ghost had been put to sleep, then what?

 Nothing. No one ever planned for the ‘after’.

 The brook babbled. The birds chirped. And the children were long gone. Ingrid closed her book and tucked it away in her satchel.

 “I’m sorry, Dimitri,” she murmured, standing up. “I can’t hold your ghosts.”

 Ingrid had always thought of Dimitri as strong but she’d never realized just how strong till now. His ghosts, his rage, his vengeance—all of it had been hidden behind a polite smile, all of it simmering below the surface. She only had two ghosts, two regrets, and she couldn’t handle that much. Yet, despite his strength, Edelgard still walked, his revenge incomplete.

 No, worse than incomplete. It was dragging everyone else into it, ruining lives faster than rot through a field. A war was brewing, whether she liked it or not.

 And whatever her parents wished, Ingrid was going to enter it. Gripping her lance tightly, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the staff. “I cannot get your justice. But I will protect everyone else. At one point, I think that would have been enough for you.”

 It was too late to save Dimitri, too late to apologize to Dedue, too late to love Glen. But Ingrid had enough with lingering regrets and she wasn’t going to add to their weight.

 When the war was over, her friends would be alive by the end of it.

 And maybe, just maybe, somewhere on the other side, Dimitri would be at peace with that.

[erule]

Under the Mistletoe

Title: Under the Mistletoe

Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Eileen, Claire/Kaia

Word Count: 978

Warnings: fluff, comedy, Christmas time, mention of sex education, bad jokes.

Summary: Dean, Cas, Sam, Eileen, Jack, Claire, Kaia and Miracle spend Christmas together.

A/N: Hello hello! This was born on Twitter, it was just a cute hc but since people really liked it and I thought that we all deserved some sweetness, I wrote this. You can also find me on AO3 and Wattpad. Enjoy!

Story under the cut!

Dean had a feeling. That morning, things seemed too good to be true but for once, just once, they were really good. For real. No catch, no faking, no dream. It was an authentic moment of true happiness. He knew he didn’t have to consider it a habit, but he wanted to enjoy it.

He woke up very slowly, looking around. His room was a mess like always, but he could notice Miracle sleeping on his left foot. He smiled, while some notes of a Christmas song were dancing between the walls of the bunker. It was that moment of the year. He have always hated Christmas before, because he used to spend it in a cold motel room with Sam, taking care of him like their father were supposed to. It didn’t bother him, because he loved Sam to death and he still did, but he always thought that it was pretty unfair. He couldn’t give Sam a proper gift or meal, but now he finally could. And he was not alone in doing that.

He rose from the bed and went to shower. Miracle wasn’t pleased, but he walked away in order to find something he could eat. When Dean entered in the living room, he found Sam and Eileen already decorating the Christmas’ tree. Cas was looking at them mostly confused, like he couldn’t understand what they were doing and Dean chuckled at that. It was literally hilarious.

«Hey Sammy, I know that Winter is coming, but I’m freezing here!» Dean exclaimed.

«Dean! Good morning» Castiel greeted him.

«’Morning, Sunshine» Dean said with a wink and Castiel blushed.

«You’re so cheesy» Sam said, with a fake disgusting expression on his face. Dean shrugged.

«Like Demi Lovato says: I really don’t care» Dean replied and Eileen laughed. «Anyway, take a look at the heating, even though there’s only someone who’s smokin’ hot in this room» he said, looking at Cas in an eloquent way.

Cas frowned.

«Am I burning up?»

Dean tried to answer, but then he shaked his head: the dumb pick-up lines were so wasted with Cas, he just had to admit his defeat.

«Nevermind.»

«Hey, Claire is coming!» Eileen warned them, looking at her phone.

«Good, so we can have that… talk with her» Dean said, worried.

«The sex education talk?» Castiel asked him and Sam widened his eyes.

«What? Isn’t she grown enough for that?»

«Yes, but, you know, she’s with Kaia now and since we’ve formarly adopted her…»

«She knows, trust me» Jack’s voice said, appearing from nowhere. Dean almost had a heart attack.

«I told you not to do this again!»

«Sorry» Jack said. «Anyway, Claire knows everything. She’s good.»

Castiel hugged him, welcoming Jack to their celebration.

«How do you know?»

Jack shrugged.

«We talk.»

Anyway, one hour later, they were all reunited for the party. Claire was baking some cookies with Kaia, while Eileen and Sam were dancing while listening to Mariah Carey, Jack was putting some plates on the table and Dean was watching Cas trying to put some last decorations on the Christmas’ tree.

«You know Cas, we always put an angel at the top of the Christmas’ tree. Maybe we could put you this year» Dean said, holding back a laughter.

«Dean, I think that I can’t. I’m not small enough to stay there» Cas answered.

«But you’re not big enough to sleep with Dean in the same bed, right?» Sam said from across the room.

«Sam!» Eileen exclaimed.

«And that’s why this will become a bloody Christmas!» Dean said, coming closer to Sam, who started running so Dean had to follow him in order to catch him.

Half an hour later (and a second shower for Dean), they were ready to sit at the table. Castiel went to the kitchen in order to help Sam and Eileen to bring the food, but something catched his attention. It seemed a plant or a flower with some red berries hang on the top of the door.

«Hey Sam, what’s that?» Castiel asked him, pointing at it.

«Oh, it’s the mistletoe!» he answered. «You know, when you find yourself under it, you usually kiss the person next to you. Eileen and I always do it when we enter the kitchen» he said and Eileen blushed a little.

«Oh» Castiel said.

He would loved very much to kiss Dean under the mistletoe, like humans always did, but he was too shy. He didn’t even know if Dean would have been on board with that. He seemed to prefer to keep their relationship like a secret, exchanging sweet touches or passionate ones just in the bedroom. He respected that, but sometimes, with the family, he would have wanted them to be a couple like Sam and Eileen. Just for one day. It was his Christmas’ wish.

«Hey, why don’t I see pie on the table?» Dean asked on the door.

Castiel looked around to look at him, his heart racing in his chest and his eyes locked to Dean’s plump lips. Dean noticed it, without getting the reason why Cas was looking at him like that, but then, Eileen pointed at the mistletoe and he understood.

«Hell, if you want to kiss me, you shouldn’t even ask!» Dean exclaimed and then he took Castiel by the collar of his trenchoat and kissed him, leaving a trail of fire on his mouth that went down all over his body, until it met all the most sensitive parts of his skin, along all the limbs.

«Guys, you’re so cute!» Jack said, while Claire was looking at them with a disgusted expression on her face.

«Gross, get a room you too!»

They all bursted into laughing, except for Castiel, who was too confused to process what had just happened, with a pair of some red cheeks that Dean caressed.

«Best Christmas ever.»