#i love laying on the ground but the flooring at home is concrete and shitty linoleum so it's been too cold to lately

[carnographix]

Hooough new carpeted floor

[takamikeiigos]

Okay I know made an ask already like 2 days ago🙄 but what if hawks s/o had to fake their death on a mission for like a month or 2😮‍💨 and when they come back the first thing they do is look for hawks even though they’re tired, beaten and look like complete shit😩😩 I’m just such a sucker for these kind of tropes !!!

Also how’s ur day been :))

ayo i got you fam!!!

this was legit all i could think of for like 3 days so i hope it's okay!!

Title: "You Came Back to Me"

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences (for now)

Relationships: Hawks x Reader

Tags: temporary character death, violence, drinking as a coping mechanism (minor on hawk's part), emesis

Word Count: 2.8k

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3

You look up at the villain who currently has you pinned to the floor, your ragged breaths leaving your mouth with every rise and fall of your chest.

His vibrant green eyes are piercing as they stare down at you, his expression wicked and merciless as he presses his foot harder against your throat as a warning.

"Here are your options, darlin'," he pulls his foot away, instead opting to sit back on his haunches. He brushes your hair from your face and rests his hand on your cheek. It makes you flinch and your breath hitch.

"You either find a way to dissappear, or I'll track down that precious little birdy of yours and take his wings for myself."

○ ○ ○

- three weeks prior -

"Let me come with you. Please."

"Kei.." you say softly as you back the rest of your necessities in your bag, finally turning to look at him.

He's on edge, you can tell by his posture. His wings are drawn tight to his back, but his feathers are puffed out. It reminds you of how hair stands on end and goosebumps make them selves known under fear and stress.

"You know I can't.."

"This is too much for one person to handle." His arms are folded across his chest now as he leans against the doorframe of your shared bedroom.

"You don't think I can handle myself?" The words leave your mouth sounding offended, and he instantly deflates.

"That's not what I meant. If you didn't know what you were doing, you wouldn't be working for one of the top agencies in Japan." Keigo steps forward, now in your space, and you can see a faint trace of fear flicker across his face. "I just.. this man is very dangerous, y/n. And if anything happens.."

"Hey. It'll be okay. It'll only be a month and I'll be home before you know it. I won't let anything happen, I promise." Your hand falls against his cheek and he nuzzles into it, both of his hands coming to rest against your own.

"You promise?" he asks quietly, needing one more confirmation that you'll be home and safe in a couple weeks.

"I promise."

○ ○ ○

"Have you made your mind up, sweetheart?" Kimura, the man who has had the utmost pleasure in beating you within an inch of your life, asks. He slams you against the brick wall of the alleyway one more time for good measure, his hand wrapped firmly around your throat.

"Please.." you gasp out, your hands coming to wrap around his wrist, trying to relieve the pressure against your larynx. "P-please promise me you won't hurt him, that you w-wont lay a hand on him.."

He chuckles darkly, tossing you aside onto the cold, dirty floor of the alleyway.

Your vision is blurring, slowly darkening at the edges, but you manage to see him move a few feet away, bending down to pick something up off the ground. You blink sluggishly and suddenly he's in your space once more, holding the object, which you soon realize is your phone, in your face.

"Go ahead, songbird. Give him one last goodbye."

You cringe at the abuse of the nickname that you hold so dear, but weakly reach out and take your phone from his hand, Hawks' number already dialed.

All you had to do was hit send and that would be it.

You close your eyes and rest your head against the brick wall, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You can feel tears burning as they make themselves known, clinging to your eyelashes and not yet falling to your cheeks. You blame it on the amount of pain you're in, but you know the true reason is because you're absolutely terrified.

You press send.

As it rings you notice Kimura bringing out his own phone, holding it up and aiming it in your direction.

What a sick bastard.

"Baby bird!" Keigo's voice comes cheerfully from the other line. Though it warms and calms your senses, it still makes you sad knowing that he's completely oblivious to what's about to come.

"H-Hey, Kei.." you try your best to keep your voice steady, but the damage from excessive force to your throat is unforgiving and the words leave your mouth sounding raspy and distant.

"Y/n, where are you?" Keigo's voice drops an octave and you can tell his worry has set in, which was exactly what you wanted to avoid.

"I'm okay, just uh," you pause mid-sentence, your throat tightening around the words as tears threaten to spill again, "just got knocked around a lil bit."

Your laugh comes out bitter. You hate the sound of it.

"Y/n. Tell. Me. Where. You. A-"

"Kei, listen. I need you to know how much I.." your voice betrays you and cracks, and you suddenly find that you can't fight the overwhelming fear and sadness coming over you. You weakly bring a hand up to wipe at your battered cheeks, tears continuing to fall and mix with the grime and blood that covers your skin.

You try again to steel yourself, another deep breath falling from your lips shakily, making your lungs rattle. It's becoming harder each second to keep your eyes open and your mind focused, but if you make it through this one phone call, you know you'll be able to rest easy.

"I need you t'know how much I love you. 'N that everything's g'nna be fine. That you'll be okay. And to not c-"

Suddenly a gunshot rings out and your whole world stands still for a split second, before turning completely sideways.

You register warmth blossoming over your abdomen, spreading and soaking your hero uniform. You can hear Keigo frantically yelling from where your phone slipped from your hand and landed on the concrete next to your head. And the last thing you see is Kimura holstering his gun with one hand, tapping away on his phone with the other.

"What a shitty ending for a hero, don't you think?" Kimura grins down at you.

Yeah. What a shitty ending for a hero.

○ ○ ○

The quiet trickle of water finds its way to your ears, and the feeling of something cold and damp against your forehead is a soothing contrast to how hot your body feels.

Opening your eyes feels as though it takes half of whatever strength you have left, and your vision swims. Suddenly hit with a wave a nausea, you lean over and vomit over the edge of the bed you're laying on. Luckily there's a bucket on the floor, and you assume it was placed there for a reason.

That someone placed it there.

In a panic you sit up, your wounds pulling tight and your body protesting. Your vision swims again and it takes you a few moments to ground yourself.

"Ma'am, please don't move too fast. You'll re-open your wounds and you're already in bad shape," a quiet voice projects throughout the room. You look up and notice an older man, probably in his sixties, sitting in a chair next to the bed you're currently occupying.

"Who are you? Where's Kimura?" You grit out, grabbing the edge of the blankets and tossing them off of you. The man in front of you is ready for your attempt at escape and he places steady hands on your shoulders, pushing you back onto the bed.

"Please! My name is Daichi Tanaka, I am a doctor! I found you in an alleyway near Higashiosaka. I would have taken you to a hospital but you begged me not to," the man pleads, his hands persistent on your shoulders.

You glare at him momentarily, before relaxing back onto the bed, still weary of his intentions.

"Kimura? Is that the name of the person who did this to you?" The man - Tanaka - asks hesitantly.

You ignore his question in favor for asking your own, "How long have I been out?"

Tanaka stares at at you, seeming to contemplate answering, but you figure he finally realizes you aren't taking any shit because his answer comes out with a sigh.

"A little over a week. You've been in and out, your fever finally broke this morning."

Over a week. You've been out for over a week and you don't know where you are, where Kimura went, and where Keigo-

Keigo.

It all comes crashing back to you and you lie back, your hands resting over your eyes.

Tanaka seems to have been reading your mind, because he pulls your phone from the nightstand next to you and passes it over.

"I wiped as much blood from it as I could. You have many new notifications and quite a few missed calls. I wasn't able to unlock it to call anyone, but it seems there are many people worried about you." Tanaka stands then, making his way toward the bedroom door.

"I will give you some privacy for now, but expect me to be back in twenty minutes to check up on you."

With that, Tanaka leaves, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You stare down at your phone, the screen cracked and a few specs of blood and dirt tucked into its crevices. You type your pin in and pull your notifications up, Keigo's name amongst others filling the screen.

You don't realize you're crying until a small hiccup forces its way from your mouth, your cheeks wet with tears.

You notice a voice-mail from him, and though you know it's only going to make you more upset, you force yourself to open it to make sure he's okay.

His voice floods the room and it immediately breaks your heart at how wrecked he sounds. You can tell he's been crying by how gravelly his voice sounds as the message plays out.

"You know," Keigo laughs bitterly over the phone, "I punched Ryosetsu in the face for letting you go on this mission alone. Gave 'im a real nice shiner on your behalf."

The message goes quiet and you can hear what sounds like a glass bottle being opened in the background, Keigo's quiet sniffles also making themselves known.

"Fuck, y/n. They didnt even.. they didnt even find your body. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that, huh?

"They wouldn't even let me anywhere near the scene, I had to sit back at the office while they kept me informed. He said there was uh.." you assume Keigo pauses to take a swig of whatever he's drinking based off the tink of the glass bottle, "heh, he said there's a low chance you're even alive because there was so much blood. Fuck."

You grimace at how blunt he is with the statement and how distant his voice sounds. You can only hope that he hasn't been drinking as often as your thoughts are telling you.

"Please come back to me," he whimpers over the message, and a new wave of tears fall down your cheeks. "Please.. I can't do this without you."

○ ○ ○

A few days pass.

Tanaka refuses to take any of your shit.

He most definitely refuses to let you leave until you had one more solid meal in you, and one more day of rest.

You're still a little weak, bruises and abrasions littering your skin ( not to mention the nasty bullet wound Tanaka managed to sew up for you ) but you finally have enough strength to stand and walk on your own.

He pleads with you to stay one more day, just to ensure you're strong enough to be by yourself, but you shake your head and bow before him.

"Thank you, Mr. Tanaka, but I have to keep moving. It might be unsafe for you if I stay."

So instead he writes down his phone number on a crumpled piece of paper and hands it to you, patting your hand briefly.

"You're a strong one, just be sure to take care of yourself." He smiles kindly at you, and you nod before taking your leave.

○ ○ ○

Days go by as you hop around from town to town, only stopping for food and rest.

It's been a little over two weeks since you made the decision to distance yourself to ensure the safety of your friends and Keigo, and nearly two months since you were assigned the mission. While you knew faking your death was the only way to keep people from asking too many questions about why you suddenly disappeared, you weren't expecting to actually get shot and almost die.

You keep up with the recent events as best as you can, continuously watching news coverage and especially keeping tabs on Keigo's agency.

Your breath catches in your throat one day while you're moving through a rural seaside town, large red wings and a familiar hero uniform immediately catching your attention.

A flood of emotions run through you and it takes everything in you to not run up to him and hold him. But the fear of Kimura's prying eyes hold you back, and you steadily remind yourself that you're doing this to protect him.

You keep your distance and watch his every move. He's staring down at his phone for a while and after a few moments it rings. He brings it to his ear and though you can't hear what he's saying, it must be something important.

Because soon enough his wings are spread out and he's taking flight into the afternoon sky.

○ ○ ○

'Pro-Hero Hawks makes appearance in. Tanabe - finds lead on hero killer'

'Hanamatsu hero case still under investigation'

'Top Hero Agency in Japan pursuing hero killer - Kimura'

The news headlines on your phone cause your blood to run cold. How foolish of you to think Keigo would let this go so easily.

To think he wouldn't trace every piece of evidence and go to the ends of the earth to take down someone who hurt you.

○ ○ ○

You keep tabs on him as best you can. It begins to feel like you're stalking him, in a weird way, but you'll be damned if you did all of this just to put his safety on the line.

Keigo stays in Tanabe for the time being, the week passing by in a blur as you track his movements.

You figure Kimura went into hiding since his criminal activity fell flat after your encounter with him, but Keigo is as persistent as he's ever been, nitpicking every lead that comes his way.

A few days later word gets out that Kimura has been spotted in the village of Hidakagawa, just thirty minutes northwest of Tanabe.

You only hope you can get there before Keigo does.

○ ○ ○

Hidakagawa is exactly what you pictured, a perfect little town for a low-life criminal to live under the radar.

Its quiet and rural, its occupants living their lives happily tucked away from the bustling life of the city.

A few squad cars rush past you as you look at the map you have pulled up on your phone. It seems a little out of character for such a small town, so you push yourself forward and follow them.

○ ○ ○

When you finally catch up to the squad cars, the scene before you makes your hair stand on end.

Keigo has Kimura pinned to the ground, battered and bruised, his fist closed around a one of his feathers that he's currently wielding as a blade. A few dozen officers surround the scene, guns drawn and on edge.

Kimura smirks up at him and whatever he says is out of earshot, but its enough to piss Keigo off and send him into a frenzy.

"Kei, stop!" You find yourself yelling shakily. You finally manage to push through the barricade of officers and it's then that Keigo makes eye contact with you, his closed fist halted in the air.

Kimura takes the split second of distraction to knock the blade from Keigo's hand, flipping their position so the winged hero is pinned to the floor of the temple. He pulls out his gun and cocks it, pressing it to Keigo's forehead.

All the while Keigo keeps his eyes on you.

"I thought I told you to stay away, little one," Kimura grits out, wiping a trail of blood from his mouth, "Now it looks like your little hawk is about to lose his wings, all because someone can't listen."

You move on impulse when Kimura turns his attention back to Keigo, and you grab the handgun from the officer closest to you.

You waste no time in firing a bullet, hitting Kimura right in the temple. But as it strikes he squeezes the trigger of his own gun on impulse, which is still trained on Keigo, a second round going off.

- to be continued -

tbh i was super nervous to post this bc im so new to the fandom but here we go!!

also i just made up random characters bc im not quite caught up with the manga, and also picked random spots in japan that i know absolutely nothing about

rip to my writing skills lmfao

♡ ky

[13tinysocks]

Mini Mart Massacre

Nine Jeff X Reader One shot (3206K words)

Content warning for graphic gore, murder, mentions of vomit.

You’re covering for your shitty coworker’s shift again. Late night, it’s slow. A mysterious man comes in and starts killing your friends left and right. Will you live to see the end of the night?

Nine Jeff belongs to @killersnarl / @carnalhaus

“God, I can’t believe him.” You grumbled to your co-worker, putting twenty-ounce cokes in their place. 

“I know right.” Ricky mindlessly agreed. Understandable after hearing this sort of frustrated dribble from you for the fifth time this week. But you just couldn’t let it go, Shaun was really starting to piss you off. Didn’t even have the courtesy to call out of work or even ask for you to cover his shift. He just didn’t show up. Hardly had been for the past two weeks but the past few days he���d nearly dropped off the face of the earth.

Gabe said he got a text from the deserter, with a smile he told you that Shaun was in love. Good for him but if he wanted to run off with some prince charming then he better quit first so your personal time wouldn’t continuously be uprooted. Money was cool and all, you needed it to live but having to constantly cover the guy’s ass was fucking awful. You’d always gotten a weird vibe from Shaun, quiet, reserved, always stared so creepily at other people. If you didn’t know any better then you’d think he knew something about you and everyone else. Something bad. 

“Dude,” Tara called from the aisle behind you, “He’s happy. Give it a rest.”

“Well, I’m not. It’s annoying. I was gonna watch trash TV tonight but no, I gotta close with y’all. No offense.” The shift really wasn’t as bad as you made it sound. All you had to do was stock up the frozen food section with Ricky, sweep, and go home in fifteen. Tara would take care of the shelving in the aisles as there were only three that were mostly full. The Mini Mart only got enough business to stay afloat after all. Out in front was Gabe, last you saw he was leaning on the register counter and smiling at his phone.

“Some taken.” She snickered, “Really though, can you just stop being such a player hater?” 

“Yea,” Gabe called from out front, “Makes you seem bitter.”

“I am not- Whatever.” You just wanted to get home already, didn’t wanna argue about stupid shit. You could foresee yourself being short with your friends for the next few days since they were so adamant about being on Shaun’s side.

Ding-dong!

The cheerful robotic bell alerted of an unwanted customer.  From your position in the back, you couldn’t see them. A hush fell over the store, the place was closed. Little red and white sign hanging from the front door's handle said so. Guess they didn’t read it.

You could have sworn the blue fluorescents overhead started to burn a little brighter, buzz a little louder. The familiar pale blue tint only grew more saturated, the air felt thick. Dust discordantly floating about in the blue otherworldly shine. Owners really had to buy themselves better lights because this shit happened like clockwork. Every hour on the hour for nine minutes. 

“Hey, sorry man,” Gabe started at the thing that cast a long shadow across the floor, “We’re closing up shop right now. You can come back tomorrow.” 

There was no booming footstep, no quiet approach. Just a normal everyday sound of someone walking. 

“Hey dude, seriously. We’re closed. Put that down.” Gabe’s voice started to waver, hints of apparent fear bleeding through his stern intonation. 

“Would you have if they could have pleaded?” Deep and raspy, there was something about the way that man spoke. Something that didn’t sound annoyed or defensive but paralyzing instead. You could feel it deep in your gut, on the hairs standing up the back of your neck, on the goosebumps that’d risen from your forearms; He meant harm. Bodily. Psychologically. 

“What?” Gabe scoffed, “Ya’know what? I don’t care. I’m calling the cops.”

“You like that they trusted you, that they never thought to fight back. You like to watch them die.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” Gabe bleated back. The footsteps didn’t stop. You and Ricky glanced confusedly worried at one another. 

He started to pull out his phone when the mystery intruder spoke once more, “Why are you backing away then? Is it because you don’t want to drink like a thirsty dog?” 

“I- WHAT!?” A screech ripped from the front of the store. Morbid curiosity pulled you to crawl toward the nearest aisle and peak around it. Tera was staring, frozen and shaking at the sight. 

“PUT THE ME THE FUCK DOWN! FUCKING SQUARE HEAD!”

That man, that thing, was huge. Tall, broad, imposing. Only his side profile was available for viewing. Mostly obscured by long black hair, most of which had been tied into a loose ponytail. Stern browed, nose downturned, teeth showing through a tight smile. One hand about Gabe’s neck was all it took to lift the fully grown man two feet off the floor. Thumb jammed in the soft flesh where his jaw and neck met, forcing his head back. Gabe wiggled about, holding onto the man’s thick forearm for some stability but he still looked like a fish on a hook.

“SOMEONE! HELP!” Bulging brown snapped to you and the woman. No way that you were going to play hero against that fucking behemoth. Still, there was a slew of emotions kicked up by seeing a friend in that position. 

The man held a fat bottle of Bleach. Mostly used to clean out the nasty bathroom, sometimes the floor. Uncapped, tilting toward Gabe’s face. Getting what was about to happen, he twisted his lips into his mouth.

“You don’t want it?” His attacker cooed, "Aren't you thirsty after a day of hard work?"

Gabe vigorously shook his head, whining and struggling. All the three of you could do was watch. Ricky was on the phone with an operator, hopefully, help would be arriving soon but none of you wanted to brave running out the front door he was only feet away from. 

A yellowish liquid dribbled over the bottle's opening, right onto Gabe’s wide open eyes. You don’t think you’d ever forget the shrill, animal-like way he screeched. Mouth open, the man took his opportunity to jam the opening between his teeth. Gabe’s body violently revolted against the product cleaning the mucus from his esophagus. Another fat hand slapped onto Gabe’s flesh, this one squeezing his lips around the neck of the bottle. Forcing him to keep in a reactionary stream of vomit. Not without thumb and pointer pinching his nostrils shut.

"Honestly," The man started evenly, "This is so much faster than diluting it with water." Gabe violently twitched, no longer holding onto his attacker's arm but instead trying to pry to bottle away from his mouth. Nothing he did had any effect. "Hurts worse too, huh?" 

You jolted, nearly letting out a shriek when someone tapped you on the shoulder. Ricky had crawled up behind you, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. Head jerking in the direction of a gray door. Backroom, concrete floors, ceiling hight storage shelves, always smelled vaguely if cheese. 

You caught his drift easily enough but Tera wasn't looking at either of you. Completely entranced with the two in front. As much as you wanted to bolt, you had to get her attention and get her to leave. 

Calling her over would get unwanted attention. You held up a finger to Ricky, no minimum wage worker with no healthcare benefits left behind. 

Slow and steady you got yourself off the ground. Step by step, closer and closer. Hands raising to give her a little tap while your eyes didn't leave his face. With your approach, you only got to see more and more of his face. It was something of the likes you'd never seen. 

He looked like he didn't know what moisturizer was at first. Skin warped, texture looking uneven and off-color. But it wasn't a bad case of extreme and crust from not showering. His skin shone too little in the bright light. Flesh stretched and shifted when his lips curled back into a wider, toothy grin. With the movement the indent of irritated flesh running across either cheek shifted, top and bottom moving slightly different from the other as tectonic plates of scar tissue.

Beady eyes focused on Gabe, twinkling softly hateful. You couldn't tell if all he had was a pupil or if his irises were that pale.

Please, you internally begged, don't stop looking at that shuddering body.

One finger was all it took to place a gentle tap on Tera's shoulder. 

Gasp.

She jumped and turned, unfrozen and wide eyed. So did he.

The wicked wretch drawled, “Oh, hey you.” You didn’t think someone could smile that wide. “It’s nice to see you again.”

His dubiously friendly gaze locked Tera in place. You were pretty sure she was about to piss herself. All she had to say was, “Jeff.” Applying such a human title to that thing felt very, very wrong.

“I wanna say the one and only but ya’know, common name.” Jeff flatly joked.

“I- I- I haven’t done anything else. I swear. Please-”

Jeff wheezed, fully whipping around, Gabe’s body sickly swinging in his grip. “Come on now Tera. You don’t think I haven’t been checkin’ in you? You really do think you're clever.”

THUD.

Gabe’s body lay forgotten on the floor. Bottle finally rolling away from his open mouth but it was too late. Consciousness had already slipped and judging from how hollow the container sounded as it nonchalantly rolled away, he was gonna be dead soon.

“If it wasn’t for me he would have suffered for hours. Was it the guilt you felt with yourself? Was that why you didn’t kill that poor vagrant? Or are you that pathetic to the point where you try to kill an unmoving target and fail?”

You didn’t know what he was talking about. Either way, you wanted out of there. Since you didn’t want to be guilt ridden for the loss of another, you tightly gripped her and tugged. Her shoulder was like pulling on the start of a chainsaw, after you did so, things were set into violent motion. 

Jeff lurched forward, brandishing a hunting knife that'd been yanked from it's sheath. Survival instinct kicked in fully and you let go of Tera, bolting away from the ground-shaking behemoth. She just watched him come.

Nothing was like the sound she made when the knife buried itself in her soft belly. Her body crumpled in on itself. People compared a car crash to something they couldn't peel their eyes from but this was more like a burning, three lane pile up.

You’d completely forgotten about Ricky until he grabbed you by the forearm and screamed, “Come on!” 

Jeff’s head robotically snapped up to meet your eye as you were being dragged toward the storage room door. “Hey, wait up!”

“No!” You screeched, stumbling behind Rickey, “You sick fuck!”

He sighed, exasperated by your rejection, “Your friend and I are the same, you know. You'd be better off with me.” 

Romantic implications and the sound of someone groaning in agony were never the best combo. A taste sweet yet vile like milk a few days past it’s expiration settled over your tongue. You’d never felt so disgusted and you just wanted him to, “Go away!”

Whatever Jeff was doing to her sounded distinctly wet. Mac n’ cheese that squelched so loudly that it could be compared to good pussy. But when he came around the corner to give chase, you found that he’d rearranged her guts in the worst way possible.

Balled tight in his massive fists were slimy pink ribbons. Sticking out between his fingers, tightly pulled over his knuckles. All leading back to a fat slit in Tera’s belly. Screaming and sobbing, she clutched desperately onto her own small intestine to try to pull it back. Nothing worked and she continued to be dragged along the floor like a dog on a leash.

“No,” He wouldn’t stop smiling, “I don’t think I will.”

Ricky burst through the storage room door, you in tow. You’d been back here more than a few times but what you hadn’t done was load stock into the room. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen the doors before you sort of forgot in your piss-pants state of mortal terror. 

The shelves towered far over your head, compensating for the tiny space area. No sign of the exit was in immediate view. Ricky better hurry up and pick one of three possible paths or you’re dead meat.

If this was a badly directed horror movie, Ricky wouldn’t have known where to go. He hurriedly dragged you down a narrow pathway lined with half unpacked boxes. 

Tera and the backroom door screeched with Jeff’s entrance. His footsteps heavy and floor shaking. “The door's not going to work.” 

Ricky went to shove the door open with his side, it opened only half an inch. Again he rammed his body into the thing only for it not to budge. “Oh, no, no, no, no.” He kept at it while you looked for an odd lock or something obvious jamming the door. 

Tera finally stopped screaming. Passed out from shock, poor thing.

 The giant of a man cast a long shadow over the thin passage, backlit by pale blue. Giant hand relaxing, letting Tera’s stretched guts wetly flop onto the floor.

“There’s a way out for you, butcher.” Jeff spat out the title between grinding teeth. He was smiling so tender but his eyes didn’t reflect the sentiment.

“There is?” 

Wider. More teeth. “Look at you, hopeful little thing. Of course there is.” One step, slow, barely closing the distance. “An easy, free way out for someone who takes, and takes, and takes.” Two, three, four, faster. Knife bloody but not satiated.

You knew Ricky to steal chips from time to time but that's really it. 

Ricky quaked against the door. “No I- I donate to charities,” His eyes landed on the rosary idly hanging out of the pocket of his pants. “To the church! Thou shalt forgive or something, right?”

“Thou shall not kill.” 

“Yeah, that-”

“You haven’t been a very good boy, Ricky. God wouldn’t be happy with the bodies buried underneath your basement.” Five, six, seven.

You desperately looked around for something to defend yourself with. A pack of pudding cups within your immediate reach was snatched and thrown at the beast. “Shut the fuck up!”

Caught. “Thank you.”

Eight. Closing in. You pressed yourself into a corner and looked for an escape. There was none. All you had to cut him with was fear filled shouts, “That was meant to hit you, fucking hypocrite!”

Hand over his heart he sincerely sneered, “I am a hypocrite and I deserve to rot in hell. What does that change (Y/n)?” Morals did nothing for corpses.

Dread. Stone cold and heavy in your stomach. “You know my name?”

Jeff smiled fakely docile, “I know that you steal candy from isle two. I know that you’ve been working more hours lately.” 

All things Shaun would’ve known. Wait a second. “Are you Shaun’s boyfriend!? Did he send you to fucking kill us? I didn’t think we sucked that much dick!" You sobbed.

Jeff scratched the back of his neck, “Boyfriend is a strong word.” Ouch, poor Shaun.

The giant snapped back into his imposing demeanor, “I came to cleanse.”

Ricky quaked, “Okay, uh, fine, I can do forty-five Hail Mary’s! I can atone!” 

You didn’t understand. 

Nine.

Hot, heavy, chest heaving breaths wracked Jeff’s giant body. Icily staring down his prey/ Body so wide you didn’t have a hope of slithering passed. 

You don’t know how long you all stood in that tense limbo of inaction. Eventually, Jeff moved, slow and steady he tucked away his knife. It’s over. 

Ricky was off the ground in the blink of an eye. One of Jeff’s hand’s on either side of his head, thumbs pressing into his open eyes. Ricky kicked, screamed, and begged for mercy but judgment had already been decided.

Crraaaaccck!

Ricky’s head molded into Jeff’s fingers like cracking clay.

Yank!

Hot blood splashed onto your face, your work uniform, everywhere. Ricky wasn’t begging anymore. His voice box was ripped messily in half along with his head and upper torso. Pink and red squishy bits of gore started to slide out of place. Jeff toothily smiled at you from between the two foot gap in Ricky’s front teeth. 

Yank!

Ricky’s body flopped apart. One side hogged all his vertebrae, while the other had most of the brains.

Pleased, Jeff ran his tongue over his reddened lips. Loudly slurping as he sucked in an unidentified piece of gore. 

You vomited in your mouth, pounded your fists fruitlessly against the back door and sobbed. 

The two halves of human dropped from his hands. Landing with a sound like an egg breaking on tile floor. 

Jeff stepped over the body. You pressed yourself harder into the wall, hysterically shaking your head. 

His body heat radiated powerfully from his chest, few inches away at most. “You.”

Instead of playing the useless sole survivor, you decided to attempt to go with a fight. “Fuck off!” 

Your totally kick ass, defiant attempt to punch him in the face actually worked. He just took it. Didn’t stagger back or even yelp. Stare unbreaking.

“Eat shit!” Another punch. “Die!” Another.

The beast jerked forward with a throat-tearing roar, bloody hands coming straight for your face. You screwed your eyes shut and waited for a horrible death.

It never came. 

You popped an eyelid open to find him still as a statue. Hunched over, face so close you could smell the blood on his breath. He pinched your chin between his pointer and his thumb, tilting your head back and luring your eyes to meet his. Baby blue, sparkling with mischievous delight. 

Vile. 

You gathered all the spit you could and pelted him in the cheek with a soft slap. Clear-ish ooze dribbled down his skin, picking up a red hue as it went. 

Sirens distantly wailed. 

Jeff beamed almost affectionately at you, patted the top of your head, then kissed your forehead as you uselessly gnashed your teeth at him. “Be good.” Hands dragged off of your stained body with a sense of lingering desire, almost as if he didn’t want to leave the poor, broken, thing behind. Alas, the police were closing in and he couldn’t have you screeching like a banshee as he tried to get away. 

Mercy.

The wannabe angel began to lumber away. You didn’t hold your breath, waiting for the fake-out to end. He stopped. Here it comes. 

“Oh and (Y/n)?” Tender and kind he sounded like an old friend.

You raised shaking fists, “What?”

With one last lovely look, Jeff sweetly told you to, “Have a good night.”

Mental auto-pilot had you reply with a, “Thanks, you too.”

Nine steps and he was out of view. Three more and he was out the backroom door.

Traumatized, confused, out of friends, and caked in their blood you made a promise to yourself. Next time your paths would cross you’d have a better weapon than pudding cups.

[that-good-trash]

Burn Away With Me 2

Shoto Todoroki x reader / Dabi x reader????

Warnings: mentions of death, profanity, kidnap, Angst,

Word count: 6,315

Part 1

Summary: Kidnap and murder usually go hand in hand but not like this. The world thinks your dead and you have to watch them mourn you like a princess locked away in a tower. Except princes don’t look for dead girls. You might just have to rely on the villain who took you.  

Comment: Sorry I haven’t been posting but I’m back. This took longer than I thought and there will be a third part. I’ve decided to make this a series while I work on other fic ideas. Which if any of you have any suggestions or ideas I totally need inspiration for more one shots and series’s. I hope you all enjoy. 

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

You were dead.

At least that’s what everyone thought, was told, had ‘witnessed’. In a way you were dead because having to watch the world exist without you, killed you. Watching Shoto in interviews and reading article about him made you wish you had actually died since he was lifeless. You had agreed to this so you were an accessary to his misery. The one thing you always promised was to never abandon him, to always love him. You had failed to keep that promise. You were now causing him pain and couldn’t even apologize for it.

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

After your Hollywood murder, your vanishing act, you had woken up in an unfamiliar place that smelled damp and musty, like mildew under week old wet carpet. It was toxic to your nose which had become a little sensitive from living a modern clean life. You were wearing a jacket that wasn’t yours that smelled faintly of burning charcoal and cigarettes. While lifting the overly long sleeves you had become aware that you lacked any chest covering. You were naked besides the jacket and silk panties you wore under it. It wasn’t like you had time to pack, hell you actually hadn’t expected to ever wake up again. Trusting a villain was dicey, it could backfire terribly and you couldn’t figure out yet if it had. You were alive. That wasn’t for sure a good thing. The room you were in had a bed, which you were laying in, the sheets were stained and slightly charred in places. There was a single window and two doors, one leading into a closet, the other you didn’t know where. An old suitcase sat in the corner and you didn’t really want to know what was in it. Outside the door you could hear the sound of talking, it was staticky meaning it was coming from a TV or radio. You had gotten off the bed hugging the long black coat against your body as you made your way to the door. Fear flooded your veins. You had no idea what Dabi’s plan had been. While you slept the news of your death spread across all media. You weren’t even aware of this. You were thinking that this was a kidnap ransom thing. As the knob turned you could hear the voices a little more clearly. It was a TV, the light shining down the short hallway. You walked toward it before feeling your heart stop. Across the bottom of the screen was your name, your real name and hero name. It was the words that followed that made your legs give out. Now on your knees with shaking shoulders you read the headline, hear the news caster.

[ L/n F/n – Hero Name, was found murdered in her shared home.]

“Her fiancé Todoroki Shoto cannot be reached at this time but we mourn his lose.” You read the words and listen to the tail end of his sentence piecing together what had happened. The image changed from the inside of the news room to a helicopter view, footage taken hours ago. Your shared home had been surrounded by police vehicle’s and you watch Shoto rush out of his car and directly into the house. A sob escapes as you watch the police and pro heroes look down and away. You couldn’t hear anything other than the helicopter but you could imagine he was screaming your name. What was left behind? That’s when you became all too aware of a throbbing pain in your left hand. Looking down at your hand you scream, your ring finger is missing. How the hell hadn’t you realized this to begin with. There were so many pieces missing to this fucked up puzzle. How the hell did you get here? Where the hell was here? Where was Dabi and better yet your god damn finger? These questions invaded your mind as you watched the screen continue to show pictures of you with claims of death. You weren’t dead and if you were this was one hell of an afterlife. Purgatory was a shitty back alley apartment.

“When we, the public, were informed of L/n’s death everyone wanted to hear what the Todoroki family had to say, specifically Endeavor. His interview shows his conflicted emotions and many are quick to blame grief for his lack of emotion.”

You watch the interview and listen to your future father in laws words. He didn’t care. You had stopped crying as you watched him speak on your behalf. How dare he claim to know what you wanted. If you weren’t aware of the real mastermind, you’d think he tried to have you killed. How could someone be so heartless. You had spent so much time trying to prove you were worthy of Shoto even though your lover told you that you were more than enough. The social pressure Endeavor put on you was suffocating and you were really starting to realize that just by watching some shitty interview he did for publicity. Your hands were clenched into fist despite the pain in your left hand. You stood up a little too fast and fell backward. You never hit the floor, instead a hot hand caught you. You sighed in relief before staring into your kidnapper’s eyes. You weren’t weak or none confrontational. Your eyes burned with fury, your lips twitching with words brewing behind them.

“You son of a bitch, You bastard.”

“Woah, no reason to bring my mom into this, though I will say you’d be right about my father.” He was so smug as he held up his hands in defense against your hissed insults. He had expected tears and fear not an enraged hurricane. “Now calm down, what’s got you so pissed?”

“YOU FUCKING KILLED ME!” Your eyes were bulging out and your breathing was unsteady. Your eyebrows knit together as you glared him down with hell fire behind your eyes. You looked like a savage. Like a crazed lunatic. Instead of looking scared or remorseful he just backup against the tattered couch. His arms crossed and he lifted a brow. His smirk told you that he found this entertaining.

“Um, you seem pretty alive to me doll. You can’t believe everything you hear on TV.” He laughed at his own joke, or maybe the pathetic chaotic state you were in. As you heaved your chest in exasperation. You realized that you’d made a huge mistake. You killed yourself off on your own accord, you should have fought back then maybe you’d be in Shoto’s arms and not on every news station. If you had been kidnapped people would be looking for you but they aren’t. No one is looking for you. In an instant all anger subsided. You were tired, in pain, scared, pissed, lonely, dispirited, you were dead. Your shoulders slumped with no fight lingering. You let the wall catch you before sliding down it. Your head fell heavy into your hands before settling between your bend legs. You weren’t looking at him, but Dabi did seem a tad guilty. He pushed off the couch walking toward you. He dropped down, squatting in front of you. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, you slap his hand away looking at him with feral eyes that had tears bottled in them. A sigh escaped as he stood up, he could hear the TV mention your name. He watched people on the screen hold candles standing along a dark street. This was live. He yanked you off the ground and pulled you out of the apartment making sure he covered you with a scarf he snatched from the rickety coat rack. You didn’t know where he was taking you but when you ended up on the roof of this building you panicked. Was he going to actually kill you? Maybe that would be better for you. Instead you feel your face yanked toward a specific location. This building was old and crumbling but it was tall. It seemed to be taller than plenty of the buildings near it. As you looked off squinting you saw lights in the distance.

“What are you trying to show me?”

“Shh.” You were pissed. What the hell was his problem. Frustrated you cross your arms feeling the cold breeze and get a little less mad and grow shy after remembering again your lack of coverage. You go to ask if you can return to the apartment but he points and you follow. The city lights disappear and in a Disney moment the sky seems to light up. You watch from the ground miles away lights move like waves and from the tops of buildings lanterns fade into the sky. You watched in awe.

“They are mourning the loss of a true hero, you.”

He’s not looking at you but instead watching the lights. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and he doesn’t look at you as you collapse to the cold dirty roof ground. You scream into the illuminated darkness. It’s painful, like a wolf crying out for its mate after receiving a fatal wound. A howl of sorrow and agony. Was Shoto watching these lights mourning you as well? Your knees pressed into the harsh concrete beneath you cutting into them. Dabi stood next to your broken shaking form, his hands sat inside his pant pockets. He was watching the sky letting you fall apart. He had been in a similar situation before, having to mourn his own death.

It felt like hours had passed by the time you ran out of tears. Your knees hurt from the embedded concrete, your hands were shaking and your fingertips had the slightest tint of purple. You were cold, practically naked, empty, and alone. No one knew you were alive besides the person who killed you. The sky was no longer lit up and you wondered if this was goodbye. If this was how your life as a hero ended. You didn’t get a huge battle like All Might at Kamino, or Sir Nighteye’s battle with Overhaul. You didn’t get to retire or die in a heroic way, instead people would remember you as the hero who died in her home, murdered by some mystery villain. You knew in a week you’d be old news and everyone would be talking about this in the future like it was a part of Shoto’s tragic backstory. You stood up before almost falling directly back down. You catch yourself by grabbing onto Dabi. He winks at you which you react to with disgust. He nods toward the door and you walk toward it leading the way. You think for a moment that running off the side of the building would be a good escape plan. He knows what you’re thinking as he links your arm with his own and pulls you along back into the building and eventually into the hellscape of an apartment. You yank yourself free before walking to the couch and falling back onto it with a huff. You were pouting because he had caught onto your plan, because you had to be here in this disgusting shithole.

“This place is gross.” Dabi raises a brow before laughing, his laughter echoes throughout the small room.

“Sorry this isn’t a five-star hotel princess.”

“It doesn’t have to be a luxury hotel; it just has to be livable. The TV looks like it’s from the 80’s and the carpet feels damp. This couch smells like you set it on fire and it’s still burning. The bed room has various stains in various places. I haven’t even seen the bathroom but I imagine it’s even worse, oh god I can’t live here.” You weren’t prissy or someone with high standards, this place was just literal hell and since you were dead it was even worse. You could imagine that Dabi wasn’t going to let you leave whenever you wanted so having to be stuck in this place was going to drive you insane.

“I think you sound be more concerned with clothing than housing. You have a roof and a bed; you have no clothes.” Dabi made a very good point that you forgot in your depression over the living situation. You throw your head back letting out another frustrated sob.

“Fuck, you should have just killed me.” You thought you ran out of tears and yet some slid down your cheek. You were frustrated and wanted nothing more than to curl up against your fiancé while he comforts you but you couldn’t do that.

“This isn’t forever. My plan just needs to go accordingly and you should be free to go. Think of this as summer camp or a stake out mission.” You looked at Dabi skeptically. He stared back lacking any intension to deceive you.

“Tomorrow night I’ll bring you by some clothes. If you really hate this place so much, I’ll let you clean and decorate it. Give me a list of shit you need tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do. Your stuck with me and when I’m not here you are going to be under house arrest. You don’t get to leave and if I find out you tried; I’ll show you exactly why you shouldn’t disobey me.” His eyes darkened at the end. He wasn’t the smug Dabi but one who truly would turn you into ash. Minutes ago, you would have chosen to be burn alive rather than have this as your life but that was quick to change with the hope that you would actually be released. Dabi wasn’t all that bad, scary kind of but not bad. Clothes were a blessing you couldn’t wait for. The ability to make this place livable also enticed you. He really knew how to get you to stop whining. A smile spread across your face and Dabi raised a brow. He expected a thank you, he shouldn’t have.

“You’re still a fucking asshole who kidnapped and ‘murdered’ me so don’t go thinking I like you or want to rely on you. The idea of being burned alive is almost tempting when compared to living here with you as my only company.” All this was still served with your smile. You stood up and let the coat tail spin behind you as you walked off to the bedroom. “I’m a size [Y/size], don’t forget that.”

The door shut leaving Dabi alone in the living room. His head falls backward and a chuckle escapes passed his lips. “Damn, what a weird girl. Can see why you like her little bro.”

His hands dip back into his pockets as he leaves the apartment. Once on the street below the dirty building he looks up toward your window. It’s hidden away in the alley. You are looking out it hoping for a view but there isn’t one. He knows how miserable you are but also knows you’re a fighter who will survive. He lights up a cigarette as he disappears into the night. You are left sitting on a dusty windowsill thinking about your would-be husband, your almost widow. You wonder what he was doing, how he was doing. Were his friends with him? A single tear slips down your cheek and onto the window sill mixing into the dusk leaving a dirty mark. A melancholy laugh puffs passed your lips. You close yours eyes remembering the first time the two of you met. Remembering how falling in love happened slowly then all at once.

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

Shoto Todoroki was an emotionless teenager when you met him. You were older than him by a year and met him by complete accident. You both attended UA and he got lost ending up near one of your classes. He ran into you as you rushed to deliver paperwork to the office. More like you ran into him. Instead of swooning over the mismatched eyes and hair like most girls did you pushed passed him. “Sorry gotta go, next time watch where you’re going.”

You had found him outside your classroom afterschool waiting for you. You were confused as he looked at you with about as much emotion as a wall. Hell, you’d seen walls with more emotion. He was like a red and white brick. Your fellow classmates walked around you, some whispering questions amongst each other. You were as confused as they were.

“Um why are you here?”

“You ran into me.” You raised a brow at his blunt accusation. You thought back to earlier and indeed you ran into him. You should have apologized seriously earlier but now you were curious. He waited out here just to tell you that.

“Earlier I was walking down this hallway and you ran into me, then you proceeded to tell me to watch where I was going when you were the one who should have watched herself.” A child, a first year, a stranger was scolding you. A normal person would apologize or defend themselves. You weren’t normal. Instead you laughed at him. He didn’t like that but his irritation subsided into concern. What had he said that was so funny? This seemed like a very serious topic, had he told it like a joke? “Why are you laughing?”

“You seriously waited out here, outside my classroom, just to scold me. Man, you are taking justice pretty seriously, that or I offended your pride as a man. Is it that one? Did I make you feel less of a man because I pushed you while blaming you for my own neglectfulness?” Shoto couldn’t believe how you spoke to him. His cheeks actually heated up from embarrassment and that never happened. People didn’t usually speak to or toward him like this. It was, different? You patted his head when he didn’t speak but just stood there like an old windows computer trying to start up.

“See yah.”

“Wait.” You stopped behind him and turned around. He was facing you with conflicting emotions. “What are you doing right now?”

“I have training, why?” You were put off slightly by his change in attitude.

“Can I watch.” Okay that sounded stalkerish. “I have a classmate who likes to collect information on people’s quirks. You’re from class 2A so I assume you have a unique or powerful quirk. I think he’d like to watch and I have to write a report on quirk studies so…”

Bullshit, it was all bullshit, you knew it he knew it. The janitor that passed awkwardly knew it. This boy would die of embarrassment if you brought it up. A sigh slips out and you can’t say no because you are already late and at least this would give you an excuse to give your teacher. “Sure.”

After getting changed you found four underclassmen staring at you. It was uncomfortable and almost comedic. You never really brought attention to yourself, actually class 2A never really attracted too much attention. The dual hair colored boy stood next to a green haired boy who seemed really excited to see you. The other two consisted of a taller blue haired boy with glasses and a shorter round cheeked brunette. You actually realized you knew all four of them. A grin spread across your face as you pointed at them.

“You guys are from class 1A. I watched you guys at the sports festival and I watched you guys at the school festival. Oh man you are Midoriya Izuku, you’re Iida Tenya, Uraraka Ochako, and that makes you Todoroki Shoto. They all looked amazed that you knew their names. Hell, it was hard to not when everyone talked about the class of villain fighting heroes. They were famous and you had mocked the class heartthrob. It made you laugh because you had classmates that found him hot with his cold demeanor and mysterious scar. When you looked at him you saw a socially awkward kid.

“You’re L/n F/n! Your quirk is so cool! I read about it in a book Mr. Aizawa had about former students. I would love to be able to see it in action! Would that be okay?” He was enthusiastic and you couldn’t say no. You also needed to get to training because you were even more late now. After a nod they all followed you to the training grounds. Other students looked at you and laughed at your entourage. They made teasing comments while others swooned over Shoto. You rolled your eyes. Training mattered more than some dumb boy. Little did you know how wrong you were at that moment. Running into him that afternoon started a domino effect. He had watched you never looking away as you fought. You were mesmerizing. He hadn’t heard a word said by his friends. It was cliché but he was captivated by you.

After that day Shoto found himself following you a lot. He would meet you after class and watch you train or go with you to the library. It was awkward to you but kind of cute. He opened up to you about his past and you didn’t cry. Instead you smiled and held his hands. You told him that he was strong and that his past would never define his future. He had fallen deeper and deeper in love with you, who seemed so far out of his league. Little did he know that he filled your thoughts. You always wondered what he was doing or thinking. You learned to make soba so the two of you could eat while watching the sunset. He missed being around you when you were at your work studies but he supported you behind the scenes. Eventually the two of you were inseparable, until graduation. You stood amongst your fellow classmates laughing and smiling, beaming with pride that you had made it. Everyone had flowers and gifts except you. You turned when someone had called your name. It was Shoto standing facing you, he had a bouquet of your favorite flowers with red streaked across his cheeks. He said something but you couldn’t hear over the crowds. As you walked closer you tried to hear him better. You kept yelling that you couldn’t hear so he mouthed it slowly and you realized what he said; I love you. Your heart stopped and all of a sudden no one else mattered. The loud crowd disappeared leaving just you and Todoroki. Your legs kicked off the ground flinging yourself the distance tackling him into a hug. He dropped the flowers, wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you too.” He cried against your shoulder because he hadn’t known love like this. Your love was something he gained and his trust was something you had fought for. He loved you and you loved him and that was all the mattered. That time felt so far away but in reality, it was only 3 ½ years ago. You’d been with him for 3 ½ years and engaged for six months. It wasn’t always perfect but you wouldn’t have traded it for anything, except you did trade it. You traded it for some shitty apartment and a death sentence. You were truly the villain of this story.  

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

It took Dabi two days to ‘find/steal’ the things on your shopping list. He brought you a haul of ‘crap’ and clothing of various sizes. You were miserable but this was one thing that made you smile through the depression. Cleaning supplies gave you something to occupy your time. A small chipped table for the eating nook next to the tiny kitchen, a dresser with mismatched paint and broken drawers. A clean set of blankets, sheets, and towels found a home on the bed and in the closet in the hallway. It wasn’t perfect but you were excited to put them where you wanted. It was like an interior design show for the less fortunate. Dabi sat on the couch with a bottle of bourbon while watching people play hero on the TV. You cleaned around him. He wrinkled his nose when you poured carpet cleaner everywhere. The apartment smelled of bleach and lemon by the time you finished. He was actually impressed, a smirk spread across his face as you flopped down on the couch. The large blanket he got you covered the dirty stains on it. He looked you over, noticing how you looked good in the wore torn jeans and oversized t-shirt he got you. It was casual and he liked it. He imagined from what you had come from that you wore a lot of blouses and skirts rather than this.

“You did a good job. I’d give the place two stars.” You hit him with the towel sitting on your shoulder. He laughed noticing your eye roll. “I gotta leave for a few days. While I’m gone you better behave and maybe I’ll bring you a treat.”

“Fuck you.” He had gotten used to your foul mouth and wondered how such an energetic snarky girl ended up with tight ass Shoto who only showed emotions like confusion and anger. He pushed off the couch. He needed to go back to the league and knew he couldn’t involve you in it. You were dead and it needed to stay that way. The league would use you for a different goal and he couldn’t let that happen. He grabbed his coat throwing it over his shoulder along with a wink and kiss to you. You blinked with an annoyed face before catching the kiss throwing it to the ground grinding it under your foot. His laugh could be heard even after the door closed behind him. You were once again alone which changed your demeanor from aggressive to weary. Your eye lids drooped and your shoulders fell. Your legs found themselves pulled onto the couch with your arms wrapped around them. You watched the news hearing segments talking about Deku saving three people from a fire and Red Riot helping catch a bank robber. You smiled happy for them. You never resented them, instead you rooted for your fellow heroes. They were saving the day while you scrubbed strange stains out of ancient carpet.

“As you all know we recently lost hero/name and it’s been hard to cope. This Saturday is her funeral. It is not an open viewing but we were informed that citizens are allowed to place mementos and grieve afterward outside the building. We are also being told to remind people to let hero Shoto grieve and not to bother him if you see him in public.”

Whatever was said afterword you didn’t hear because you were processing the new information. You were going to be buried, this makes it even more real. Chest tightening you stumbled off the couch reaching for the remote. Silence surrounds you as the TV clicks off. The room in spinning and you feel as if you are actually in a small box being buried. You cover your ears begging the world to stop spinning and for the voices to stop. You hear your friends giving eulogy’s, you hear crying and whispers of disappointment. You were a hero how did you lose. The ground hit you, wait no, you hit the ground. Your legs had given out and you were sobbing into the carpet, you could taste the chemicals you had used earlier. At the moment you didn’t care, not about the taste or about anything else. You had a request for Dabi that you knew wouldn’t fly well. You wanted to attend your own funeral.

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

A week after your ‘murder’ came your funeral. There were strict rules enforced by Dabi, you weren’t allowed to leave the apartment for obvious reasons. This rule prevented you from going but you got to watch it. After begging for some kind of way to be there Dabi returned with a laptop that had shaky footage. You didn’t know who was recording it and knew better than to ask. The footage wasn’t perfect but it gave you what you wanted. Dabi offered to leave you alone but you didn’t want to be alone. The sounds of sniffling were caught coming from many guests. The building was gorgeous. Huge with marble walls and columns near the entrance. It felt like you were at a Greek wedding not a funeral. Everyone was adorned in black. You didn’t recognize the people near the camera person. The camera angle moved and you gasped, walking down the aisle leading toward the end of the room where you assumed a casket laid were your friends. You had friends from your own classes but these weren’t them. These were the friends you made through Shoto. Midoriya walked, his hand holding tightly onto Uraraka’s, she was crying. You smiled sadly at her through the screen. They were an adorable couple who you always rooted for. Now they were finding comfort in each other mourning you. Following behind them was Kirishima with Bakugou, Bakugou looked good in a suit but his red eyes made the red around them stand out more. You felt bad since you knew how much he hated feeling or looking weak. Kirishima was smiling but it held pain. There were many other classmates following behind but the camera turned to watch people gather around the front doors. Your hands flew over your mouth and Dabi had to catch the laptop before it fell from your lap. He placed it on the coffee table angling it so you could watch without dropping it. He wanted to scoff at your pain because he couldn’t understand why you would be sad. This was all a game, a show put on for the media. No one really cared for others this much, or maybe they did, Dabi just knew that he didn’t understand why the dead felt bad for the living.

“Please let him through.” Tenya was signaling people to move away from Shoto. Once the crowds dispersed you could see him. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, his eyes bloodshot with black holes surrounding them. His cheeks were hollowing, and the rest of him looked thinner. He hadn’t been eating. His hair wasn’t styled and seemed messier, longer. His skin was dull and lifeless, like his eyes. He walked like he had no idea where he was going. Tenya held his shoulder walking with him like a guide. Had Tenya been watching over him for you? You hope someone was, you hope someone will intervene and stop his self-destruction. The camera follows as close as it can and you don’t know how much you can watch. In the front, stood rows of chairs for close family and friends. Your mother was wiping her eyes with her head against your fathers’ shoulder. They looked at the casket that you knew was empty. The camera watched Shoto tap their shoulders. They stood up and hugged him. He was apologizing to them; they didn’t take the apology. Your parents were always fond of him. They wouldn’t blame him. Shoto sat down away from them, Natsuo and Fuyumi sat next to him. Natsuo was rubbing his sisters’ shoulder as she sobbed into her handkerchief. The seat next to them was empty, reserved for Endeavor, for someone who wouldn’t show up. Natsuo had told you before that Endeavor didn’t do funerals, he even missed his own sons. You were actually glad that he wasn’t there, he didn’t deserve to be there. Dabi noticed your change from a forlorn stare to one filled with scorn. He knew you had been thinking about Endeavor, he knew because he had felt he same thing. He had been in the same situation watching people cry over him while the person that caused it was MIA. He watched the footage continue and could feel you stiffen up as people got up to speak. Speech after speech drained you of tears and life. You looked like you were actually dying as you watched Shoto stand behind the mic.

“I don’t want to talk much. I could stand here and tell you every tiny detail about F/n that I love, that I miss. I could tell you about her but I won’t. Instead I’ll say this and only this. I will not sleep, I will not eat, I will not rest till the killer is caught. No one even cares that this was a murder. She isn’t dead, she was murdered and while the rest of you cry and live your comfy lives, I’ll be out there taking down her killer.”

A sentimental speech is what you expected but received a promise of revenge. People gasped and shook their heads in disbelief. It was tasteless to people but to you it meant he fell right into Dabi’s clutches. Dabi was smiling with knowing eyes. He already knew this would happen. He knew all along and you couldn’t be mad because apart of you hoped this would get you back in his arms faster. The rest of the funeral went by without much problem. You watched the casket be lowered into a hole and buried with goodbyes and bundles of flowers. Shoto was the only one left besides the camera man. He put the camera down walking over to Shoto. You gasped as the winged hero put a hand on Shoto’s back apologizing for his lose. Shoto didn’t react while Hawks picked up the camera and turned it off. You watched the black screen feeling your hands shake, you slowly turn to Dabi.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.” You did was answers. You needed to know why the number 2 hero of Japan, Endeavors subordinate, was doing Dabi a favor. You had heard about heroes helping villains and selling secrets but this was to close to home. What the hell was happening. “Please Dabi, tell me what’s happening. Why was Hawks there? Why was he recording for you?”

“We all have secrets doll. I can’t tell you to much but I can tell you he owed me a favor and this was how he was repaying me. I needed to see your funeral as well to make sure my plan was actually working. It is and Shoto seems to be playing the game as intended. Soon enough you’ll be trading your stained walls in for your old egg shell white ones. Your pumpkin will turn back into a carriage sweetheart and while your dancing with the prince, I’ll have the kings head on a stick.” You knew he wanted Endeavor but you finally started piecing together exactly how he was going to do it. He was going to use Shoto to kill him or capture him. Either way Shoto was now a pawn on the same board as you. Dabi was playing the game against a cheater, someone who wouldn’t lose easily. Endeavor was not an easy man to break. This was going to be harder than manipulating your husband and you knew that.

“I want to help.”

“You already have. You being dead gives Shoto reason to kill. To go against his hero code. As long as you stay dead and he seeks revenge all goes well. I get what I deserve.” His phone beeps and he’s leaving you. The laptop goes with him, you don’t mind because there isn’t anything you can do on it anyway. You walk to the window watching his figure disappear into the foggy street. What an ugly night. You went to bed and curled up with a book Dabi had brought you.

Elsewhere Shoto stood in the darkness of an alley behind his fathers’ agency. Hawks walked by talking on the phone with someone not noticing the boy’s presence. Shoto waited and slipped into the building before the door closed. He couldn’t be caught using the codes or else they’d know it was him. He knew how to avoid the cameras, how to maneuver the building without getting caught. He found himself outside the large office he had been in plenty of times. To think it would be his father’s final resting place, it was perfect justice. He went to push the door open but hesitated when he heard him talking to someone.

“I offered her money, I offered her positions outside the country, Hell I had other heroes try to seduce her but nothing worked. She was hell bent on staying with Shoto. I couldn’t allow her to ruin his chances at being the number 1 hero. He needed to focus and if he were to marry it should be to someone with a quirk that complimented his. I needed her out of the picture and to think someone else took care of it before we had too.” Shoto knew his father was shitty, manipulative, abusive and so many other fucked up things but this was something else. This was beyond shitty and abusive. This was evil and a power trip. His father may not have killed you but he was going to get what he deserved for playing a part in it. The door opened under his touch and when he walked in his father turned a huge smirk across his face.

“Oh Shoto, I was just going to call you.” He put his phone down and Shoto was able to make out the name of the contact he had just been talking to, Hawks. He thought back to the funeral and pieced together theories. Hawks had a part in this and he was going to find out exactly what happened to you. His arm encases itself in fire the other arm freezing the exits. He stares at his still smirking father. “This isn’t a friendly visit. You’re going to tell me you killed Y/n and then I’m going to decide if I should kill you now or slowly torture you first.”    

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

Taglist: @flowersgirl02

Let me know if you would like to be on the taglist-

[mischiefandi]

A Shitty Love Song (Part 2) - Stiles Stilinski

Altered State Of Mind

A/N: hi guys!! im super happy im posting part 2 of this series :)) I really hope you like it and once again, huge thank u to @duskholland​ for all your help <33

Summary: Y/N is a 17 year old girl who struggles in an epic battle against herself. Whether it is amor’s icy grasp or life’s unexpected course that forces her to finally open up, only one thing is certain. The truth cannot be long hidden.

Warnings: panic attack, mentions of underage drinking, swearing

Word Count: 5,2K

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader (Y/N)

Series Masterlist

(picture is not mine -> credits to @ elevantarts on unsplash)

A blaring sound resonated in Y/N’s ears and she groaned, her fingers curling around the blanket she lay beneath. A throbbing sensation in her head forced her to pry her eyes open, sunlight seeping through the gaps in her eyelids.

Reaching up to rub her eyes, Y/N tried to sit up, the throbs against her forehead staggeringly more painful. When her eyes finally accustomed themselves to the light, Y/N glanced around, looking for the source of the insufferable noise. The blaring seemed to come from far away and nearby at the same time; Y/N was simply too tired to make any sense.

“Oh my god, my head,” she moaned, falling back against the soft pillow with a grunt.

“Would someone please shut that off,” a voice mumbled from underneath a heap of pillows and messed up sheets.

“Y/N, it’s your phone,” another voice groaned.

Passing a shaking hand over her face, Y/N forced herself to fully open her eyes and focused on the sound of the alarm, still shrieking in sync with her god awful headache. Reaching over her head, she grabbed her phone and put it on silent, thanking the universe for the sudden alleviating silence.

“Well last night was-“

“-crazy.”

Y/N shot a glance at Lydia’s bed where the strawberry blonde was propped up against her pillows, wiping off the smudged mascara beneath her big green eyes.

“I can’t even focus right now. What happened last night?” she asked, rubbing her forehead.

“You don’t remember?”

“I mean, bits and pieces, why?”

Allison and Lydia exchanged a look.

“Uh, Y/N you went wild yesterday.”

“I did?” asked Y/N, worry seeping through her oily pores.

“We had to get a cab home cause neither one of us was fit to drive, and…you definitely threw up in the cab.”

Y/N groaned, a hand flying up to her forehead. “That explains the taste in my mouth.” She thought to herself.

“Yea, you got pretty drunk. Thank god, Stiles and Scott were there or you’d have passed out right on the dancefloor.”

“Wait, they were there?”

Allison sent Y/N a confused look, biting her lip.

“Well yeah, they got there about thirty minutes after we did. Did you not hang out with them at all?” she asked.

A sudden flash of colour appeared in Y/N’s head, the feeling of skin against skin, lips hungrily claiming each other, the smell of sweat and leather. She gasped, a hand reaching up to cover her mouth. Jumping up to her feet in a burst, ignoring the violent throb in her head, she rushed over to the mirror and turned her neck towards the right, her eyes widening at her sorry reflection.

“Are those-“

“Hickeys?” exclaimed Allison, leaping off of her mattress and onto the floor.

“Oh my god…”

“No way! Who are those from?” inquired Lydia, shock painted across her face.

“I’m not sure…” answered Y/N, her voice but a quiet murmur, her eyes still fixated on the deep purple marks scattered across her neckline.

In the back of her head, amber eyes bored into hers, and she couldn’t help but notice the dark pit forming in her stomach.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Y/N stepped out of her bath, all of the dried up paint and sweat cleansed from her body. Stepping up to her bathroom mirror, she wiped the hot steam off the glass, the purple stains on her neck still very visible. She sighed, her fingers lightly tracing the mark by her collarbone, her mind elsewhere. She was at a loss.

Had it been him? Had it been Stiles? Maybe she had him confused with someone else, maybe she really had shared this moment with Jeremy. Maybe.

Y/N’s frown deepened. All that was left from that moment on the dancefloor was these purple love bites and blurriness. So much blurriness. Hundreds of questions and voices overlapped in Y/N’s head.

“What does this mean? Was it really him? What’s next?” She shook her head anxiously, quietly tapping against the steam covered sink.

Grabbing her phone with shaking fingers, Y/N typed in a message and sent it to the person she had had stuck in her brain all day long.

Y/N: did u ever show up at the rave?

Y/N: cause my drunk ass can’t remember a thing :/

Minutes seemed to last longer than hours as she waited by her phone. She sat impatiently on her bed, furiously tearing off the tips of her fingernails, occasionally drawing out a tiny spot of blood accompanied by a soft hiss. Finally, the buzzing sound of her phone snapped her back to reality and she unlocked it in a flash.

Stiles: yea I stopped by

Y/N stared down at her phone screen, puzzled.

Y/N: did you have fun?

A few minutes passed before his short answer came.

Stiles: yea it was alright

Stiles: I was just glad to get out of the rain

Y/N: the rain?

Stiles: yea it was raining when Scott and I got there

Y/N’s fingers trembled as she started typing in a new message, her hands abruptly pausing when her phone buzzed again.

(Y/N: did we hang out at all last night?)

Stiles: my dad’s asking me to help him out with dinner

Stiles: gotta go

Deleting her previous and thankfully unsent text, Y/N quickly typed in something else, her heart almost leaping out of her chest.

Y/N: oh okay, np

Y/N’s wet hair cascaded down her shoulder as she removed the towel from her head, letting her body gently plop down onto her bed.

Had she truly imagined it all? Something was off, but somehow, she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. The girl braided her damp hair and slipped under her toasty covers. Exhaustion soon took over her body and pushed her into a deep slumber, her dreamless sleep a tranquil break from her precipitating thoughts.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Amor loves to have one’s undivided attention. It slips through the thinnest of cracks and likes to hide behind your thoughts, carefully creeping around your mind, giggling at your confusion. Without even knowing it, you consume amor, you breathe it in, you bathe in it.

Amor is sneaky. Which is precisely how Y/N went about her day, ate, showered, studied, breathed without ever discerning her bewitchment.

Monday’s sunrays broke over the horizon, the song of gleeful robins piercing through the cool morning air. Lazily, Y/N slipped her clothes on and decided to walk to school, enjoying the crisp breeze. Autumn trees coasted along the route as she slowly carried herself to school, her tired eyes carefully observing the orange and brown leaves twirl down in timeless waltzes onto the cold concrete ground.

When she finally got to school, Y/N walked over to her locker, unlocking the padlock with her designated combination. As she placed the contents of her bag on top of the metal shelves and retrieved her chem notes, Y/N readjusted the wine-red turtleneck she had meticulously picked out from her wardrobe the day before.

“Uncomfortable but necessary.” She thought to herself as she turned around.

Her heart suddenly leapt into her chest, her eyes landing on Stiles’ dark blue flannel shirt. Taking a step forward, she was about to call out his name, when his eyes met hers. Time paused yet again, Stiles’ furtive gaze avoiding hers, his amber irises quickly looking down at his feet as he resumed his conversation with Scott.

A brief glimpse of the undeniable tension between the pair, a sight covered by amor’s thick layer of fog.

A wave of hurt washed over Y/N’s entire body, but she bit her lip and hurried off to class, choosing to ignore the feeling rather than dwell on it.

Class seemed to last even longer than usual, the constant tick-tick-tick of the clock rocking Y/N into a state of pure passiveness. The words spoken by her teacher floated around her head, seeping out through her ears almost as rapidly as they had penetrated her mind.

When the lunch bell rang, Y/N couldn’t help but exhale softly, releasing some of the tension stacked atop her weary shoulders since earlier that day. No matter how much she tried to focus on her notes, a chaotic whirlwind slowly formed inside of her, preventing her from following the teacher’s train of thought.

Her fingers furiously tapping against her thigh, Y/N stood up hurriedly and grabbed her bag, sliding its handles onto her shoulder. Pushing her way through the crowd of students, she walked out of the building and onto the school field, making her way towards the walnut tree.

“Hey, Y/N!” shouted Allison, waving her over with her gentle hands.

Y/N rushed over and plopped down by the brunette, breathing in the cool air.

“Where are the others?” she asked, noticing how empty the table was.

“Why are you so impatient? The bell only just rang,” Allison said, her light laughter filling the atmosphere surrounding them.

Y/N watched as the group slowly reunited, Scott and Kira walking over nonchalantly, arms linked together, followed by Isaac, unmistakingly blushing at the sight of Allison. Finally, Lydia joined the table and sat across from Y/N, her beautiful hair wrapped into a low bun.

“I am so hungry,” said Scott as he hurriedly took out his sandwich, eagerly taking a large bite out of it with a moan.

“I thought I was gonna pass out in calculus. I am so tired!” exclaimed Allison, burying her face in her delicate hands.

“Yeah, I still haven’t recovered from Friday,” agreed Lydia.

Y/N’s mind flashed right back to the sweaty dance floor, bursts of colour flooding her memory, and she bit down on her lip, shutting her eyes.

“Y/N, you okay?” asked Isaac. The group looked over at her, puzzled faces staring at her own.

“Yeah, everything’s fine!” she replied, her fingers dramatically twisting around the fabric of her coat.

“So, uh, where’s Stiles?” she asked, quickly but not subtly changing the subject.

Scott’s head slightly tilted to the right, a confused expression on his face.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Didn’t tell me what?”

Scott nonchalantly pointed at a table a few feet away from the walnut tree where the gang was seated, Y/N’s eyes following his lead. Her puzzled gaze landed on the dark blue flannel shirt from that morning, wrapped around a boy sitting across from a tall brown-haired girl, their heads buried in books, but their eyes fixated on each other.

“There’s this new girl, Malia Tate. He offered to help her with her math,” explained Scott, unaware of the pit deepening in Y/N’s gut.

As Y/N observed the pair sitting far away from the group’s table, the pumping muscle lodged between her lungs tightened with affliction, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

The voices surrounding her melted into each other, the sound of her friends’ chatter fading into the background as she kept on staring, the ache in her abdomen persisting.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Several interminable weeks had passed since this particular lunch break. November was slowly coming to an end, along with Y/N’s withering patience. The air had become cooler, and not just the one blowing through the leafless trees.

Stiles and Y/N’s friendship had started to abate, its previous progression suddenly coming to a strange halt, much to Y/N’s dismay. Her phone occasionally buzzed, the screen revealing only a brief answer on his part, or a funny picture or joke every once in a while. However, the long phone calls and texts until 2 am had seemingly come to an end.

Y/N couldn’t exactly pinpoint how it made her feel, but it didn’t feel good, that much was clear. Stiles hadn’t disappeared from the face of the earth, but his texts were spread much further apart, and when he was around, at lunch or in class, he wasn’t truly there, always focused on something else.

She couldn’t help but feel as though there was a void in her day, a gap only replenishable by the mole-speckled boy. She tried to distract herself from the looming feeling of loneliness by hanging out with Allison and Lydia, their light hearted conversations usually effective. Only, her attempts fell short as soon as she was alone again. It had come to a point where Y/N would count the hours between each message, trying to come up with reasons why he wouldn’t just text her back sooner. None of this helped of course.

Constantly thinking about the source of your pain can only do one thing: vivify it.

One rainy Tuesday, Y/N sat down at a table in the school cafeteria, dropping her lunch tray onto the cool surface with a soft thud. Squeezing in between Lydia and Allison, across from Scott and Isaac, she reached for her apple and bit into it with a satisfying crunch as the chatter surrounding her slowly increased.

The girls chatted as the boys focused on Scott’s phone, their eyes glued to the screen.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at them and leaned forward, snapping her fingers just a few inches away from their faces. Scott’s head snapped upwards and Isaac startled, the pair releasing a breath as she chuckled.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” she asked.

Isaac handed her the phone before grabbing his turkey sandwich.

“Our English teacher showed us this website with a bunch of riddles and we’re trying to figure some of them out,” Scott replied, pointing at the screen as Y/N slowly scrolled down.

“You guys are studying riddles?” Allison gasped. “Why do we always get stuck with the boring English teacher?”

“The more you take, the more you leave behind.” Y/N read one of the riddles aloud.

“Footsteps,” replied Lydia with ease, nibbling on her carrot sticks.

“Okay genius, what about this. What is easy to get into but harder to get out of?” Allison asked, peering over Y/N’s shoulder.

Lydia paused, reflecting quietly as the group observed her furrowed brow with amusement.

“Can I give it a go?” asked Isaac, hand raised.

“Go ahead.”

“Trouble?”

“That’s it!” replied Allison.

“Of course you’d get that one right,” Y/N joked, shaking her head.

“Oh okay, try this one. Who has married hundreds but still stays single?”

Suddenly, Stiles’ voice resonated in Y/N’s ears as he sat down next to Scott, his lips curled into a grin.

“A priest,” he said, accompanied by a soft click of his tongue.

“Correct,” replied Y/N, pointedly staring down at her apple.

“Speaking of weddings…when’s yours Stiles? We’re all invited right? And is it an open bar or have you not yet discussed your opti-“

“That’s funny, Isaac, that’s very funny,” answered Stiles. “Yeah, I’ll make sure your invitation gets lost in the mail.”

“Seriously though...Malia?” asked Scott, a sly smile drawn on his lips, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards.

Stiles blushed a little, avoiding everyone’s gazes as he watched his fingers repeatedly tap against the table, his lips pursing together.

“Malia, the girl from your math class?” inquired Lydia.

“Yep, and they’ve been talking…a lot…” Scott teased, his voice higher than usual. Stiles shot him a glare and shook his head in disbelief.

“You can’t keep a thing to yourself can you?” he laughed.

“Wait, so are you guys…?” Allison asked, her chin resting in the palm of her hand.

Y/N shot a glance at Stiles, her heart picking up its pace as she waited for a response.

Was something going on between them? Were they just friends? Was Malia the reason why Stiles and her weren’t talking as much?

“We’re talking. She’s fun. It’s fun. Talking, is- fun,” Stiles said, fumbling his words in embarrassment, his cheeks flooding with red.

“Wow, you’re smitten aren’t you?”

“Okay! Guys, let’s give him a break from the interrogation. He looks like he’s about to explode,” exclaimed Y/N, desperately trying to change the subject, for both their sakes.

Stiles sent her a grateful look and chuckled, the group moving onto another topic, enjoying their lunch together before classes started anew.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Later, after the busy day had winded down and the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, Y/N lay on her bed, the tiny fairy lights hanging on her wall catching her eye as she quietly hummed along to Peach Pit. As the leader singer gave way to the guitarist’s blissful riff, her phone buzzed, and her quiet bubble burst.

She sighed as she reached for it, her fingers connecting with the cool screen. Her tired eyes adjusting to the sudden blue light, she focused on the screen, her lips curling into a soft smile as she read the words she had just received.

Stiles: what comes in hard but comes out soft?

Stiles: tip: you can blow it

Y/N: you’re disgusting

Stiles: excuse me

Stiles: I don’t know what you’re talking about

Y/N: what is it?

Stiles: it’s gum

Y/N shook her head, rolling her eyes at the pervy connotation.

Y/N: ha ha ha

Stiles: it’s not my fault you have a dirty mind

Y/N: yea yea, I was completely innocent before meeting you guys

Stiles: please

Stiles: there’s nothing innocent about you

She stopped, rereading the words carefully, her memories from the Halloween rave flooding back. Those god awful colours just couldn’t stop dancing in the back of her mind.

Hesitantly, she typed in her answer.

Y/N: so what’s up?

She patiently waited, her hands still holding onto her phone, the soft music in the background rocking her peacefully.

Stiles: well

Stiles: I’ve been talking to Malia a lot

Y/N: how’s it going with her?

Stiles: actually we’re hanging out tomorrow

Stiles: in the woods

Y/N felt a pang of hurt in her abdomen but she swiftly ignored it.

Y/N: wow

Y/N: is this a date?

Time stopped for a few seconds before his painful answer showed up on the screen.

Stiles: I think so yea

Y/N: damn

Y/N: so you really like her huh?

Stiles: yea she’s great

Stiles: she’s kind of dominant too?

Stiles: very assertive

Stiles: it’s

Stiles: interesting

Y/N: you like that?

Stiles: it’s definitely not something I’m used to

Stiles: but yea it’s nice

Stiles: I haven’t really talked to anyone about this besides Scott so don’t tell anyone please

Y/N: ofc not

Stiles: thanks

Stiles: quick question

Stiles: might sound weird so don’t judge me

Y/N: go ahead lmao

Stiles: what do you do before you kiss a girl

Stiles: do you ask for permission or do you just do it?

Y/N’s heart momentarily stopped beating and she gulped, her eyes fixated on the surprisingly hurtful words. Her mind completely blank, she paused the music from her computer and passed a hand through her hair, trying to think of an answer. Finally, she drew a deep breath and replied, her hands steady as stone.

Y/N: there’s no answer to that haha

Y/N: you have to do what feels natural

Stiles: yea, you’re probably right

Stiles: just don’t want to mess it up

Y/N: you won’t

Stiles: thanks

Y/N: tell me how it goes!

Stiles: will do

Stiles: and thanks again

Y/N: npp

Y/N shut her phone off and plugged her charger in, placing it on her bedside table. Turning off all of the lights, and drawing her bedroom curtains to a close, she settled beneath her comforter, spreading her limbs with a wide stretch. As she shifted onto her side, placing her hands underneath her cool pillow, she let her eyes roam around her bedroom, thoughts churning in her head.

He had feelings for this girl. Stiles actually liked Malia. And not only was he going on a date with her, but he had talked to Y/N about it. Had she really just imagined it was Stiles on that dance floor? Had she really just mistaken the person kissing her, sliding his lips up and down her neck as she held onto him? And if so, if all of this was purely just her mind playing tricks on her, what did that mean? Did she want it to have been Stiles?

Amor was lingering around her head but she couldn’t see it. All of these questions bustling in her mind soon blended into silence as she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

The next day flew by in a blur of classes and scribbles on sheets of paper, a bland and monotone school day. Only one event stood out.

Stiles: well it’s official

Stiles: Stiles Stilinski is a bachelor no more

She congratulated him and heard all of the details surrounding Stiles’ date with Malia. The brunette had laughed at his jokes, she’d held his hand, they’d walked down the stream in the woods, talking endlessly, and then he had leaned in and kissed her.

And she had kissed him back.

What the group had originally thought to be a fling had turned into something more, it had become a real serious relationship.

More absent than ever, Stiles spent most of his time with his new girlfriend, enjoying the feeling of her lips against his own when they kissed each other and the complicity between them. Everyone could tell he was beyond excited about the thrilling sensations that came with young love, though no one other than Y/N knew just how much.

Every day, her phone buzzed, the notifications reminding her that her friend loved making Malia laugh, or that Malia liked the same band he did. Reminding her that he was happy.

And Y/N was unbelievably happy for him as well. She tried to focus on the positives, mainly the fact that the pair had started talking again. Things had gone back to normal, their inside jokes rekindled and their conversations more frequent. But still, something just didn’t sit right.

Y/N pushed this feeling away, diving into new hobbies and hanging out with her friends. As a child, she had always loved drawing and painting. As a matter of fact, she had even followed lessons in an atelier not far from her house, in her hometown. She’d always loved painting but as she had grown older, her extra time had become much slimmer and with life getting in the way, she had had to let it go.

Then one fateful December afternoon, Lydia forced the girls to paint with her in the art room at school. Much to Y/N’s surprise, the tranquility she had felt as a child while holding a brush came back unbelievably naturally.

It was like the brush had never left the palm of her hand. So she started painting again.

When she wasn’t studying or spending time with the pack, creating timeless memories with them, she was hidden away in her room by the window, her fingers curling around her paintbrush, her hair wrapped into a loose bun.

The simple act of turning thin stripes of colour into shapes and scenes was so beautifully appeasing to her. With every flick of her hand, with every twist and turn of blues and yellows onto the white canvas, she felt herself come alive again. Every worry, every disappointment, and every doubt poured out of her hands and blended into the mythical paradises she painted.

Sometimes we live without something, and we don’t realize just how much we miss it until we let it back in. She had missed this terribly.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

As the early mornings became darker and darker with every passing day, Y/N spent hours watching the sky and the leafless trees, observing time and its slow and tantalizing movement. She memorized the scenes before her as she got dressed for school, her eyes lingering on the dark blue sky outside and the yellow halos of light emitted from the streetlamps.

Sometimes simple things like the way your eye catches the light can be astoundingly beautiful. Y/N paid attention to details in order to paint them later. Every trace, every shadow, every speck of light was equally important.

One morning, finally ready for school, Y/N walked out of her home, adjusting the red beanie on her head, her bag swung over her shoulder. The frosty morning air greeted her and she thanked herself for having decided to wear her dark grey wool sweater. Turning on the ignition (and the heat) of her dad’s car, Y/N left the driveway, and made her way to the high school, the sun slowly but surely peaking above the horizon.

Y/N’s fingers furiously tapped against the steering wheel of the car, the school coming into eyeshot. Classes were becoming more and more exhausting with winter exams right around the corner. The air was tense inside the school, students talking about their exam schedules and fears about their upcoming performances.

Y/N was nervous too. She was a good student, but quite often, she would get lost in her thoughts, ignoring her teachers rant about equations and The Scarlet Letter. She studied and she handed in her essays on time, however doubt clouded her mind, and maybe her hard work wouldn’t be enough.

These thoughts played on a loop in her head as Y/N attended her first two classes, time ticking by slowly.

When Y/N entered her classroom for the third period, students shoved past her, quickly exiting the room and heading on to their next lesson. She slumped into her seat, her bag landing on the surface of her desk with a thud. As she waited for her history professor to get to class, her eyes scanned the room.

She watched her fellow classmates enter the room, chatting loudly, groups forming around students seated on their desks or lingering by the windows. She glanced to her right and noticed Stiles, always recognizable due to his colourful flannels, seated a few desks away from her, close to the blackboard.

“Stiles!” she called out his name, puzzled. He didn’t have history class with her. Her eyes lingered on his arched back and she repeated herself. “Stiles?”

His back still turned to her flinched at the sound of her voice and she frowned before standing up and walking over to him. As she inched closer, she glanced down at his fingers, curled around the edge of his desk, the tips white from the pressure of his grip. His knee burst up and down at a furious pace as she placed her hand on his shoulder, the color draining from her face when her gaze fell upon Stiles’ contorted expression.

“Stiles, what’s going on? Are you okay?” she asked with a whisper as she bent down next to him.

He emitted a small whine, his breathing suddenly more audible.

“Sti, talk to me,” she murmured, rubbing his back slowly.

His breathing became more unsteady with every movement of her hand and he gasped, making Y/N’s heart leap in her chest. The room had started to quiet down, and she turned, quickly realizing the scene was starting to draw a lot of attention. Putting her arm around her friend, she stood up and dragged him out of his chair, his legs staggering as he followed her out of the room.

As soon as the pair had gotten out of the classroom and into the hallway, Stiles’ breathing tripled in velocity, his breaths short and intense. Y/N held onto him, treading as quickly as possible through the hall, trying desperately to get to the boy’s locker room, where they’d be alone.

Pushing past the crowd of bustling students, Y/N’s eyes lit up as they approached the blue door she had been looking for. The pair burst into the dim locker room, Stiles rushing over to the back of the room, his legs giving in under the weight of his shaking body. His breathing was erratic and fat tears rolled down his cheeks as he punched the floor, the pain in his knuckles incomparable to the burning sensation in his gut. Y/N ran over to him, her knees hitting the floor with a painful thud, but she didn’t care, instead focusing on Stiles’ pale and tormented face.

“Breathe. Come on, breathe with me,” she said, an undeniable hint of worry in her voice she had difficulty hiding.

“I-I…can’t,” he gasped, a choked sob escaping his throat.

Y/N grabbed his quaking hands and held them in her sweaty palms, her eyes fixated on his.

“Sti, look at me. Look at me,” she insisted and he squinted at her through the thick tears spilling over the barrier of his eyelids. Soothingly caressing his shaking hands, her eyes piercing through his, she spoke, her voice a gentle anchor grounding him into reality.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be fine. I’m here. You’re okay,” she repeated, her voice slightly trembling.

She had never seen him like this. He was a shaking mess, his face wet and twisted in pain, his breathing still highly unsteady.

Stiles held onto her hands with difficulty, his chest heaving as he struggled not to give in to the never-ending waves of panic washing over his quaking body.

Y/N inhaled and exhaled slowly, her eyes never leaving his. Her exaggerated breaths were soon followed by his own weak attempts at controlling his lungs, groans of pain slipping through his gritted teeth.

“Here do this. Press your finger against one of your nostrils and inhale for 5 seconds with the other. You can do this,” she said, acting out her words as carefully as possible.

Stiles struggled to follow her lead but slowly, he pushed the tip of his shaking finger into his skin, blocking the path for oxygen through his left nostril.

“Okay, good. Inhale. 1…2…3…” she counted, and he inhaled with her, his breath occasionally bursting through his mouth.

“Keep going, come on. 4…5…Hold it in!” she cried, her eyes welling up at the sight of Stiles’ pained expression, his chest obviously about to burst.

“Okay, breathe out, with me. 1…2…3…4…5…” Y/N murmured, her gentle fingers caressing his hand. The boy exhaled with her and shook his head, almost as if he couldn’t believe the method was starting to work.

“You’re doing great. Switch nostrils now. There you go. 1…2…3…”

The pair breathed in and out in sync, Y/N’s hands still holding Stiles’. After a few minutes, each breath of his was accompanied by a slightly deeper one, Y/N’s shoulders loosening with relief as a wave of calm washed over her.

As the chaos in the room started to subside, she felt Stiles’ fingers tighten in her palm, his sweaty skin pressed against hers. She looked into his red-rimmed eyes and gave it a reassuring squeeze, her unoccupied hand reaching up to wipe the tears off of his weary face as her body shifted upwards.

Before she could touch his skin, Stiles caught her hand and pulled her into an embrace, his lips quivering tremendously as he broke down, warm tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Don’t leave, please. I need you. I need you,” he repeated like a mantra, his entire body going limp in Y/N’s arms, strangled sobs escaping from his sore throat. The girl closed her eyes as the felt Stiles’ heart thunder furiously against her chest, small tears threatening to spill over her eyelids.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered in his ear, tightening her embrace.

“I need you. I need you.”

A/N: hope u liked this part!! please reblog if u did :) feedback is also always appreciated <3

if you would like to be added to this series’ taglist, please send me an ask :)

If you would like to be added to my taglist(s), feel free to fill in this form

[bakugou-tm]

fate’s design; bakugou

Okay so this was one of the few ideas I had going on but this one I had after I heard about the live action Tangled being made (literally wanted to be cast for that so bad). But anyways the reader has a healing quirk from her hair just like Rapunzel’s when she sings the song, and you can find out the rest as you read ;)

word count: 3000+

warnings: kidnapping, mad angst but a happy ending :-)

Emotion was a long lost friend of yours.

When you were younger, your life was filled with emotion.

The joy you felt when your family came over for summer cookouts and you got to play in the pool with your cousins while the sweet smell of meat burned on the grill. The sadness you felt when you had to reveal to your parents that you flunked your first math test. The anger you felt when your father ate the last cookie you had made with your mother that weekend, though it was quickly resolved when he returned to the store with a fresh batch.

All of these emotions, no matter good nor bad, you were at bay with. Content with even. Because at that time it was just so nice to.. feel something. Anything.

How you wished you could feel again, have a family again, a life.

That was all ripped from your grasp when you felt your very last emotion: pain.

The day was just like any other, you were walking home from school on sixth year in primary school. Your classes were beginning to grow harder, but thanks to your helpful friends and wise parents you had no troubles. After all, you and your peers were preparing for high school.

You remembered how excited you were for high school. Getting to meet new friends, join new clubs, play new sports. Perhaps you watched too many cliché high school movies, or maybe you had been too naive.

Probably the ladder.

You took the same path you always took, crossing through pretty neighborhoods with large historic trees and cracked sidewalks that brought back memories to your youthful days.

Just as you turned the corner you felt that feeling of comfort in your chest upon seeing the rustic color of your home, the smell cherry blossom tree overwhelming your senses as it did every afternoon.

You allowed the faint breeze to flow through your long soft locks, the occasional blossom falling far from the tree and into your hair.

You would always think... silly flower, you don’t belong in my hair. You belong in the tree with your family.

Walking peacefully down the street you made sure to skip over each crack, the knacking fear of the old children’s tale still in the back of your head.

To you it was just like any other weekday, the same old routine, same old walk, same old emotions.

But that day was far from normal, it was the last day you had the luxury of feeling.

You remembered the way a shiver ran up your spine when you felt someone entwining their fingers in your long locks. You remembered the way your parents ran outside at the sound of your shrill screams. You remembered being held back as you were dragged into a rundown van, your poor excuse of trying to escape proving to be useless. You remember having to watch your parents get engulfed in flames, their screams of agony filling your ears which over-rid the sound of tape being slapped across your mouth and body.

But the one thing that really swam in your mind like poison was the torn blossom that laid much to peacefully on the palm of your hand as tears of pure fear danced down your cheeks.

Silly flower, you don’t belong here.

Things have never been the same since that day. Sometimes you tried to think back on that day, those memories, just to try feel something again. But it never worked, nothing worked.

You followed the same routine everyday. Wake up, eat whatever scraps you could get, sit in the corner silently with no thought in mind, wait for one of the injured villains to come in, sing your song, heal them, hope they didn’t ask for much more from you, sleep, repeat.

You used to hate it so much, helping the people that took your life away against your will. Knowing you were the power of the sick people that ruined other people’s lives everyday. But at this point, you didn’t even know what it felt like to hate.

All you knew how to do was sing that sickening song and sleep. Nothing sounded the same anymore, nothing felt the same, nothing tasted the same. The bottom line was, nothing was the same.

And for six years that was your mindset, nothing would ever be the same. This would be your life til the day you die. That is, if you were lucky enough to see death’s doors.

But one day that mindset changed, your life changed forever. Thanks to the boy with crimson eyes.

-

You sat in the corner of your room, your bottom growing numb against the hardwood floors but you couldn’t care less.

Admittedly your room had gotten some upgrades since you first arrived here. From 11 to 18 you had finally been able to see a bed again, but it mattered not. The bed felt the same as the floor at this point.

Your (e/c) orbs were glued to the floor, your eyelids forcing themselves open pitifully as you traced the outlines of the hardwood as you did everyday.

With your room being below ground, probably in the middle of some rundown city, you weren’t able to hear much of what was going on in the outside world. Sometimes you would imagine what was happening, what holidays were going on and what families were spending time together.

It probably felt nice.

When a loud bang arose from upstairs, your eyes merely flicked to the door with uninterested. Probably one of the villains getting in a fight. Their hideout was in a rundown bar of sorts, this leading to the buffoons always being a drunk mess.

All you could do was hope that they would be sober enough when they had their daily visit with you.

The banging only proceded to get louder, shouts filling the air but you simply ignored it. Letting your head lower to the ground again as your (h/c) locks showered along your face.

Through everything you’ve been through, one thing that never changed was your hair. No matter how much you tugged and pulled at it, wishing it would fall out and end this misery you called a life: it remained.

Soft and gentle as ever, the strands never bothering to move out of place as the cascaded down your smooth shoulders.

It made you absolutely sick.

As the banging grew closer to your door you swore you almost felt a bit of curiosity fill your mind. But who were you kidding, you knew it was only your mind playing tricks on you.

Even as new voices filled the air and quirks seem to go off every which way, you failed to believe it was anything of your concern. You had been tricked long enough, you wouldn’t dare fall for hope again.

Curling your scratched up knees to your chin you let more of your hair cascade around your face, hoping to drown out the sounds and maybe even fall asleep.

The vibrations along the walls were surprisingly lulling to you, your head leaning against the cold concrete as you let your (e/c) irises see the last of this damp room for today. 

But apparently your luck was runnign short today. Just before you could doze off into what freedom you had, the door slammed open.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, your (e/c) orbs peaking up to see which villain you had to heal today, only to see a figure you didn’t recognize.

He was dressed in a uniform, perhaps a villain you’ve never met? But he had no serious injuries, what else could he be here for?

One thing that stuck out to you was the slight confusion and horror that was washed over his expression as he looked you up and down.

If you had any bit of feeling left in your body you would almost be intimidated by the handsome man, his crimson iris’ slicing through you as his lips formed into a snarl showing off his near perfect teeth.

“You’re the flower they’ve been talking about?”

The sound of the word flower made you grimace, the word making you sick to the stomach as a quick flashback of the broken blossom in your hand so many years ago came to mind.

When arriving this the dungeon you now called home, the villains took note of the many blossoms in your hair from your tree at home, deciding to give you the nickname “flower”.

The word you once loved now made you sick.

Your flinching didn’t go un-noticed by the man before you, his eyes narrowing into mere slits as he clenched his fists.

“Sick bastards.”

Before you knew it he was walking over to you, extending out a palm to you awaiting you to take it.

He stood there, his eyes glancing back at the door to make sure no other shitty villain was coming before he glanced back at you only to see your body shoved even further into the corner.

His eyebrow rose in confusion as he shook his hand in an annoyed manor. What the hell were you doing?

“I’ve already done my job for today, please let me rest until tomorrow.” You spoke with quivering lips, only leading the ash blond to click his tongue.

“I’m not here to use you I’m here to get you the hell out of here, I’m a damn hero.”

In that moment you had never felt so overwhelmed in your life. So confused and unsure what to do. Hero? There was such a thing? How could this be real? You were sure your doomed life had been planned out, what was going on? Could life not let you chip away in peace?

The so called “hero” before you was growing impatient. He quickly crouched down on his toes, letting his arms lay across his knees as he looked at you with stern eyes, mumbling something about this being shitty Deku’s job.

“Listen I’m a fucking pro-hero okay? We’ve been chasing this case for months, hearing that the League of Villains had a secret weapon called their “Flower” that’s been the source of all their success these past few years,” The man explained with a sigh as he grit his teeth, “We expected you to be an actual flower, not a damn human, but it turns out these assholes are more disturbing than we expected.”

Your eyes felt glazed over as he offered his hand out once more.

“Now I need you to fucking trust me so I can get you out of here got it?”

For once in these past long years... you felt something. You felt the warm salty water dance across your cheek. You felt the rough rubber of this man’s glove as your slender fingers slid across his own. You felt... damn you say it.. hope.

Swallowing what saliva you had formulated in your mouth, you gave a quick nod before completely taking his hand and allowing him to lift you up from the floor.

One moment you were in the room you had lived in for six years, now you were running down the hallway. Nothing was in your way, it felt so surreal.

This had to be happening for a reason, maybe this was a test. Were they going to kill you if you betrayed them? Who were you kidding, killing you would be the easy way out. They needed you.

When the sight of stairs came into sight your eyes widened, you remembered those from your first day here. Upstairs, outside those doors was the real world.

For a quick second you almost felt like smiling, like screaming from pure joy. But you should’ve known what that would lead to. As a bullet sunk through the chest of the hero before you a scream did end up releasing from your chest.

But not from pure joy.

The hero sunk to his knees, his free gloved hand grasping his now bloodied chest before falling to the ground.

“Now now look what you’ve done flower, you know we have strict rules to keep you safe here.” The villain spoke before you, his gun flicking around his finger as if it were a toy as he began to walk towards you.

So the universe was still playing tricks on you, it wanted to make sure that you knew life still could be worse. And it was, it just kept getting worse and worse.

At least before you didn’t have to see the lifeless bodies that you had caused, but now as you saw the hero before you losing any sign of life in his crimson orbs you felt as if your body was being torn up from the inside. Just like when you saw your parents.

“Come on now flower, let’s get you back to your roo-”

A loud explosion from upstairs was heard causing you and the villain to stumble to your feet. Glancing up you noticed that heavy amounts of dust and ash from the cement walls were clouded around the villain before you.

In that moment you saw two choices. Two choices that life had bestowed upon you. You could either wait for those five seconds and allow the villain to take you back to that prisoned hole.

Or you could safe this hero and possibly have another chance at life. But why would you even try. Had you not learned after six years that life was not in your favor? What was even the point?

As your (e/c) eyes flicked down to the lifeless hero you wanted so badly just to lay beside him and give up, accept the cursed fate stowed upon you.

But as you looked into his crimson eyes, the only thing you could see were the eye’s of your parents. The lifeless look across their expressions as they screamed in pain from the intense flames engulfing them.

Back then you were too weak to do anything about it. You had to watch that happen and allow your life to become what it was. You... You couldn’t do that again.

No.

Gritting your teeth you dragged the hero through one of the now broken down doors, hastily wrapping your locks of hair around his chest as he coughed most likely from pain, holding at his wound.

You narrowed your eyes intensely and focused on making sure you hair wrapped around every inch of his wound.

The ash blond hero narrowed his own eyes up to you weakly, fighting to speak as he watched you maneuver around his corpse.

“W..What the hell are y..you doing?” The hero rasped, his hand trying to grasp around your wrist in an attempt to stop you, “Get the fuck out of here, save... save yourself!”

You simply ignored his pleads, tightening your locks of hair before inhaling deeply.

“Flower, gleam and glow, let your power shine..” You spoke softly, your eyes closing in focus as the hero before you gave you a crazed expression, “Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine.”

Initially the hero was disturbed by your soft singing, wondering if this was some sort of song of lost hope. How could you accept your fate like this? He couldn’t seem to plug anything together until he noticed your roots of your long (h/c) locks glow a bright golden color, the bright effect slowly cascading down your locks like a waterfall.

“Heal what has been hurt, change the fates’ design,” You sang peacefully, channeling your quirk’s energy to the man’s injury, “Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine...”

Upon those words of the song your gentle (e/c) eyes opened slowly to glance down to the hero beneath you, his eyes growing wider as a mix of shock from your quirk’s magic and his sudden energy being brought back to him.

“What once was mine.”

The ash blond failed to notice his steady breathing once again, rather focusing on your hair’s golden shine fading away as your locks began to loosen from around his chest. His eyes followed down to his once bloody chest to now see the hole from the wound completely gone.

Suddenly it all made sense.

You were their healing flower, the source of their power. None of the members of the League of Villains were being taken down because they had unlimited lives. That’s why they had no fear running into battles, they knew they had no risk. Because they had you.

The young hero wasn’t sure if it was from the purely radiant song you sang, or maybe it was the action that had become of the song, or maybe now he was realizing just how truly beautiful you were inside and out. As if he had known you for years. But there was one thing he knew for sure.

Sitting up from his laid down position, the hero gently held both of your palms into his own as he gave you a gentle yet stern look.

“Flower, I will protect you at all costs, from this day on. You will never see the likes of these sick bastards again. We’re going to survive this and I’m going to be your damn hero.”

What was that feeling? The overwhelmingly warm surge through your chest. It felt as if he you had been stabbed in the heart, but it wasn’t pain you were feeling at all. In fact the warmth was spreading through your entire body, as if something inside you had been reawakened.

Part of you wanted to feel concerned about it but you just couldn’t with the other thought swarming in your head.

The hero just called you by the name you swore you would hate for the rest of your life, and yet you felt nothing but trust in the man. The word you swore would always make you feel sick... made you feel hope. 

And for once in six years you allowed the corners of your lips to rise as you took his hand and spoke the first words of your new life with this crimson eyed man.

“I trust you hero.”

[shireness-says]

Wherever You’re Going (I’m Going Your Way) [4/6]

Summary: 1952. A lost boy without a home, Killian Jones rides America’s back roads on his motorcycle, searching for a purpose that’s just out of reach. This pit stop was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but a pretty blonde waitress just might be his salvation. Is he brave enough to let her? Rated T for language. ~4.9K.  Also on AO3. Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3

~~~~~

Killian sighs, but complies, rotating slowly to face a uniformed officer. “I have a key,” he tries. His second mistake — after the excess of hope — is falling back into flippant defense mechanisms.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” the officer scoffs. “Hands in front of you, you’re under arrest.”

Killian stands docile, wrists held out to let the other man snap the cuffs on. Some might call it shocking, just by what they think of him, but it’s the first time Killian has been in this situation. He can’t say he likes it. The policeman does look surprised when Killian offers the key once the metal cuffs are secured around his wrists, but his face settles into even deeper suspicion as he slides the little piece of metal into his pocket.

“Where’d you get the key, then?” he all but snaps. 

“From David. Call him and ask if you like, I’m not lying.”

“Don’t think I won’t. Now into the car, we’re going to take a little ride to the station.”

Bundling him into the back of the police car seems excessive when Killian knows the station is just down the street, but he complies with the order. In a case where this truly is all a misunderstanding, especially where the sheriff doesn’t believe what he says, it’s easier to be cooperative, attempt to prove that he’s not the enemy of the law.

He hasn’t had occasion to inspect the police station, and it proves to be a small but well-kept building. There are only two cells inside, looking out into an open office space, but as the sheriff leads him into one of them, Killian is relieved to find that the cot and chair, though spartan, are neat and maintained. Someone takes pride in maintaining this place, and if he had to guess, it’s the sheriff himself. Killian would bet he takes that same pride in the whole of this little town, too. 

The man in question is across the room at what must be his desk, paging through a thin telephone directory. He’s casual in his space in a way that Killian thinks must be unique to small town law enforcement — jacket draped over the back of his chair, holster and weapon removed and draped across the desktop, and the man himself leaning with crossed legs against the side of the desk. 

“David? It’s Graham,” he says into the phone. The name fits; somehow straight-laced without being too regimental or dictatorial. “Listen, I caught someone trying to break into the garage…” Killian rolls his eyes as the sheriff — Graham pauses to listen to whatever David has to say. “He says you gave him permission to be there, but I know you wouldn’t…”

“Oh for the love of God,” Killian cuts in. “Tell him it’s Killian Jones — I swear, he knows who I am and what I’m doing.”

“That’s enough from you,” Graham snaps back. David must have heard, though, as the sheriff sighs heavily. “Yes, he said Killian Jones.” Pause. “You’re not telling me that means something to you?”

“It’s almost like I wasn’t lying,” Killian mutters to himself, just barely loud enough for the sheriff to shoot him a dirty look.

“You’ll have to come down to the station to identify him, David. I’m sure you understand, I can’t just release him without your verification that he is who he says he is -” Another pause for response. “Well, I’d hate to pull you out of bed just for this. I can keep him in the cells overnight and you can come by in the morning… Well, if you insist, then. We’ll see you soon.” As professionally concerned as Graham looked when he picked up the phone, he just looks put out when he hangs it up again. 

“So he’s on his way to the station, then?” Killian calls from the cell. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Good man, that David Nolan, and good, law abiding men don’t have much cause to think that the cots in jail cells are even remotely comfortable.” As if to illustrate, Killian kicks back and lays down on the cot in question. By most people’s standards, it’s probably pretty rough, sure, but he’s a man that’s used to sleeping on the ground and park benches and in all other matter of unusual places. This is downright comfortable, bordering on luxurious.

David arrives before a half hour has passed with a distinctly displeased look on his face.

“I really could have kept him overnight,” Graham jumps to assure. “I didn’t mean to disturb you for this.”

“Believe me, you had already disturbed me as soon as the phone rang, Sheriff Humbert,” David replies back in a strained tone probably best described as false patience.  He cranes his neck to search around the room before spotting the cells and Killian in the far corner. “You doing alright, Jones?”

“Aye, I’m fine,” Killian replies, pushing himself back to sit upright. “Sorry that you’ve had to come all the way out for this.”

“Not your fault,” David replies, before turning to address Sheriff Humbert again. “This is definitely Killian Jones — the man I gave a key to. Who was supposed to be at the garage. Is that all you need? Do we need to sign something, or…”

“No, that’s it.” Graham hastily moves to unlock the cell door, responding to the irritation in David’s voice. It’s a relief to have the handcuffs off his wrists; no matter how still he tried to keep his arms and wrists, they chaffed, scraping along his skin over and over. 

“Well, thank you for your hospitality,” Killian can’t help but quip. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you around town?” Graham just glowers. “Or not.”

At a certain point, it’s just easiest to take the garage key and go before anyone says something they’ll regret.

Storybrooke has a whole new feeling at night as he and David walk back to the garage. Without anyone on the streets — that’s a small town for you — there’s an anticipatory feeling in the air, like the town is just waiting for sunrise and life to resume. Killian finds that he doesn’t much like it; then again, maybe he’s just still on edge from everything else that’s happened tonight.

“Thanks for coming to bail me out,” he tells David in a quiet voice. 

David hums in response. “Is it truly called bailing you out if there was no bail to pay?”

“I suppose you’ve got a point,” Killian chuckles. “Still. I’m sorry to disturb your evening.”

For some reason, those words stop David in his tracks. Slowly, carefully, he turns to grasp Killian by the shoulders. “I want you to listen to me, Jones,” he says with a gravitas in his voice that Killian has never heard from David before. “This isn’t your fault. I gave you that key, and you used it. None of us could have known that Graham would arrest you; why would we think to tell him about this ahead of time? And that is not your fault. Do you understand?” David holds his gaze intently until Killian finally nods. “Good,” he nods in return. 

They walk on in silence until they reach the garage again. “Well, this looks like your stop,” David says. It must be a joke, or at least an attempt at one; the side of his mouth twitches in an attempt at a smile. “I say we open up late tomorrow, what do you think?”

“I think that sounds just fine.”

The key slips smoothly into the lock, tumblers shifting in welcome. David claps him once more on the back companionably in farewell. “Sleep well, Killian.”

It feels like trust, and the brotherhood he lost.

(This was only supposed to be temporary — a few days, a couple of weeks at most — but the longer Killian stays here, the more Killian becomes attached.)

(The longer he stays here, the more he wonders if he might still find a home — in the people, if not the place.)

———

Emma is less than pleased about the debacle the next morning.

Killian hadn’t planned on telling her, honestly; he’s a little ashamed of it, for one, and he doesn’t much relish the idea of how Emma might react. Will she be mad at him? Unsurprised? He’s treasured the time they’ve spent together, and he’s a terrified that this stupid incident will color the way she sees him and cause everything to fall apart. 

Emma surprises him, though, showing up at the shop with lunch only to pace furiously back and forth across the concrete floor. Lord only knows who she found out from; like any good diner, Granny’s is a known hive of gossip.

“I can’t believe he’d do that!” She fumes. “That absolute, utter — ”

“It’s alright, Swan,” Killian tries to assure her. “Nothing happened. It doesn’t really matter.”

She whirls on him in a toss of curls, staring at Killian in disbelief. “Of course it matters — and it’s not alright! This never should have happened.”

“Maybe not, but David got it all straightened out,” he soothes. “No harm, no foul.”

“Yes, but I just don’t understand how it happened. I’ve known Graham for years — ” Enough to be on a first name basis, it seems, though Killian tries to control his jealousy — “and I just can’t believe he’d do a thing like this — that he would think you were breaking into the shop, even when he knew you had a key —”

“You can’t believe it?” Killian interrupts. “Because I can. You look at me and see only the best, and I — I admire that in you, but that’s not what most people see. Most people look at all this —” he gestures to himself as if to illustrate, “—and see the leather jacket and the motorcycle, and they think I’m trouble. It’s a damn miracle this hasn’t happened before; we’re just lucky it was some place someone could vouch for me.”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

“No, but it doesn’t make it unexpected, either,” he tells her. “There’s nothing we can do about it now, except be grateful this just ended as a shitty story to tell someday.”

Emma is quiet for several moments, as if soaking his words in. “You’re a good man, Killian Jones,” she finally says.

“I’m glad you believe that.” Yours is the only opinion I truly care about, he doesn’t say, though it probably is splashed across his face regardless. He’s never been quite as good at playing the blank slate, devoid of emotion, as he’d like.

(I don’t know if I believe that, he doesn’t say either, but she probably knows that too.)

He expects Emma to fight him on it and insist he believe it too, or for her to finally drop it and let him have his sandwich in peace. He expects them to maintain this dynamic they’ve settled into of ignoring whatever current runs between them, practically electric.

“We should go out,” Emma says instead.

It’s… baffling, in a way. As much as Killian feels — comfort, trust, affection, all those kinds of emotions he thought were lost to him — he never dreamed she’d reciprocate so strongly as to make such a proposal, especially when they both know his time in Storybrooke is limited.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Killian forces himself to reply with the greatest regret.

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to you. I’m not… I’ll only be here until the parts come in. You deserve more than a man who’s destined to leave.”

“Maybe that’s my choice to make,” Emma shoots back. She doesn’t seem angry, he’s grateful to see; just stubborn, like he already knew she is. “Maybe I’d rather have a handful of good memories than a bucketful of what ifs. So tell me honestly, Killian — if your leaving wasn’t a factor, if we had all the time in the world… what would you do?”

Killian knows exactly what he’d do — he’s halfway in love with her already, his angel, maybe even more, and it’d be the greatest kind of bliss to feel he could express that. What can he say, though, when being honest and being fair are at odds with one another?

“I’d be brave,” Killian finally says softly, caving to the temptation of brushing a stray curl out of Emma’s face and back behind her ear. “I’d bring you flowers and take you to dinner and everything else. I’d romance you, court you properly.”

“Then let’s be brave,” Emma smiles back. “Who cares if we don’t have long? Let’s make the most of what time we do have.”

And as much as Killian has told himself that starting anything will only end in pain, the truth of the matter is that he’s weak for Emma’s smile and already can’t deny her anything.

“Alright, love. Let’s be brave.”

Emma beams at him — that response alone making this all worth it. Not that he’d ever deny the kiss she presses to his cheek immediately after — more than he ever thought he’d receive, let alone deserve. It leaves a phantom sensation behind, like her gentle lips are still pressed to his skin, making him feel beloved, and maybe even precious.

“I’m off the day after tomorrow,” she winks, before sauntering back out the door like the most beautiful whirlwind.

It looks like he’s got a date to plan.

———

He shouldn’t have underestimated David, or at least not his wife’s ability to wheedle news out of anyone in town. It’s not that Killian wanted to hide his and Emma’s planned date from the other man; he just hadn’t known how to approach it. It’s obvious that David views himself as Emma’s de facto brother, and Killian knows that she sees him the same way. There’s a bond there that’s deeper than blood — one of affection, and choice, and loyalty. David has already issued him a warning when Killian and Emma’s friendship began, and Killian isn’t looking forward to whatever talk he’s earned for this.

Any attempt at that is over, however, by the time David unlocks the doors the next morning. David finishes his morning routines in a complete, uncharacteristic silence that sets Killian’s teeth on edge, working at a pace best described as leisurely, before deigning to address Killian.

“I thought you said we didn’t need to have a talk,” he observes, deceptively mildly.

Killian fights the urge to gulp, like some exaggerated movie character. “In my defense, she was the one who asked,” he replies, his attempt at levity flopping between their feet. 

“Doesn’t mean you had to say yes.”

“No. No, I suppose I didn’t.” He’s sure the nerves — hell, the entire mess of conflicting feelings must be evident in his voice when he responds to David.

“So why did you?”

Killian fiddles with the hem of his shirt as he thinks. Truthfully, he hasn’t examined this himself. Because she asked and to make her happy should be good enough answers, perhaps would be in any other circumstance, but with David staring him down, Killian feels like he needs a better explanation.

“I tried to turn her down, you know?” he says, daring a glance upwards to meet David’s eyes. “I reminded her that I’ll be leaving, that anything we had would be fleeting. I told her that it wouldn’t be fair to her, but she’s stubborn.” Killian can’t help but smile faintly at the memory, though it doesn’t hold. “At a certain point, I just figure… You know, I haven’t been particularly happy in a long while. Years, really. Not since my brother was killed. But being around her… it gives me hope that maybe I could be, again. Happy. And it seems foolish not to grab onto that, if only for a little while.” Somehow, Killian musters the courage to stare David down, hoping to show even half of the honesty and earnestness of his words. It feels like a staredown in a hokey western, the intensity of their stares making up for the mechanic’s tools around them.

It’s an unspeakable relief when David finally breaks the current to huff and shove a hand through his hair. “What am I supposed to say to that?” he complains — nearly whines. “I can’t argue with it. Hell, I might have been the same after the war if it weren’t for Mary Margaret.”

“I’m not looking for your blessing, Nolan,” Killian says quietly, making sure to maintain eye contact. “I’m just hoping for your acceptance. All I want is to make her smile — to make her happy, even if it’s only for a little while. The last thing I want to do is hurt Emma.”

“You promise?”

“Aye, I promise. And if I do… you’ve got my full permission to make me regret it.”

“I’ll be holding you to that.”

Even if they’ve reached an understanding on the matter, asking David for advice is obviously out of the question, Killian well aware that it would only cause the other man’s protective instincts to flare up again. Emma rather needs him alive if she wants him to take her on a date. Instead, he asks Ruby’s advice in the diner in a rare moment that Emma is trapped back in the kitchen. He can’t say he knows Emma’s friend very well, but she’s one of the handful of people in Storybrooke who was friendly to him from the very beginning. Plus, he knows how much she wants Emma to be happy; if she’s willing to assist, Killian thinks he can help with that goal. 

Sure enough, Ruby is more than game, her regular opinionated and outgoing self. “You got that notebook ready, Jones?” she smirks at his request. “Because you’re going to want to write these down.”

———

It’s not much — not nearly as much as she deserves. But he’s been told that she’ll love this, and Killian has to trust that it’s true. 

He takes her down to the beach — a little spot that Ruby had promised was secluded and where they can see the stars. Even his desire to impress Emma doesn’t temper his dislike for the ocean; he doubts anything will soothe that fear. But it’s a beautiful view from the sand, and besides, Ruby had told him how much Emma loves the waves.

(He probably could have guessed that, too; he remembers Emma talking during one of their late-night diner chats about how the ocean reminded her that there was a great wide world beyond her tiny hamlet. And if there’s one thing he knows about Emma, it’s her yearning to see all the multitude of places that exist beyond her personal horizon.)

Normally, he’d be a wreck worrying about how much Emma does or doesn’t want to be on this date, but that’s the small blessing of agreeing together to be brave — he knows she wants this, more than almost anything. That doesn’t mean there aren’t other things to worry about — the weather and the preparations and especially what the people of Storybrooke will think when they learn that he’s treating their precious princess to an evening out. 

Truthfully, he expects to be chewed out by Granny when he stops by the diner to pick up dinner to go. Mrs. Lucas is a fierce old broad, stern and protective over those she views as hers, and Killian knows damn well that Emma counts in that number. Storybrooke’s matriarch surprises him, however, when he works up the nerve to approach the counter and collect their meal. Granny gives him a fond smile as she hands him the bag, and even pats his cheek briefly.

“Now, I expect you two to enjoy yourselves and have a wonderful time,” she commands. “I don’t want to hear anything else. Especially from Emma, but from you too. Is that understood, young man?”

“Aye, ma’am.” Killian already knows that it’s not wise to tell Granny no, and besides, he just doesn’t want to.

Emma, of course, is beauty itself when he picks her up from the small apartment she shares with Ruby. It’s not that she’s dressed particularly fancy — the light summer dress is nice, with a lovely draped neckline, but by no means the height of fashion. But it’s the exact green of her eyes, and the skirt swishes softly around her calves, and she looks beautiful. With what he has planned, there wouldn’t be any point to some fancy cocktail dress anyways. 

“Swan,” he breathes, making a valiant attempt to drink in every bit of her with his eyes. “You look…”

“Yeah?” Emma’s hands nervously fiddle with her skirt, smoothing the fabric of non-existent wrinkles. She doesn’t need to; Killian would still think her to be the most beautiful creature alive if she had opened the door wearing a burlap sack. 

“Aye,” he smiles back. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you.” The compliment makes her smile, and Killian can’t help but grin back, leaving them a pair of idiots beaming at one another in the doorway. 

They probably would have stood there half the night, too, if not for Ruby. “Are you two planning to move at any point?” she jabs, though her voice is more teasing than annoyed. “Because some of us have to go work the night shift while you’re off on your little rendez-vous.”

That’s enough to snap them out of it, and after an awkward little laugh — his ears must be crimson red — Killian gladly escorts Emma down the stairs with a light hand at the small of her back. 

(Never let it be said that Miss Ruby Lucas doesn’t raise a good, and timely, point.)

In a fit of whimsy, he insists on Emma closing her eyes as they approach the end of Main Street where the road gives way to the pier and the beach below. It feels unimaginably silly, but Emma smiles and laughs.

“Promise you won’t let me trip and fall?” she teases, eyes already shut. Her trust in him is astounding, wonderful, damn near miraculous. 

“Never, love,” he vows. 

As ridiculous as he feels carefully leading Emma down the stone steps of the pier with a hand covering her eyes, it’s easy to forget as soon as she gasps in pleased surprise to see the picnic blanket spread out on the sand. Besides their dinner from Granny’s — Emma’s favorite grilled cheese, onion rings, and potato chips, plus another bag with a carton of rocky road ice cream for the little parlor just down the road from the diner. Ruby had been indispensable in assisting him to arrange this all, from telling Killian about Emma’s favorite foods to arranging for him to borrow a blanket and basket from Mrs. Nolan. Now it’s all on him to make this memorable.

The sun was already setting when Killian picked Emma up, and by the time they’re through eating, the stars are on full display. He’d been concerned about the light, simultaneously worried there’d be too much and not enough, but the street lamps along the stone wall of the pier offer enough illumination to feel like he can see Emma but not so much as to obscure the stars above them. It’s the purest kind of joy to lay with Emma on the blanket, pointing out all the constellations he knows, and he lets himself enjoy every bit of it for once without reservation. 

“How’d you learn all these?” Emma asks. She’d turned into his side to ask the question, and Killian can’t help but take that as an invitation to slip his arm around her shoulders and draw her closer. Her skin beneath his fingers is indescribably soft, though dotted with little bumps — perhaps goosebumps. He’d be covered in them too, if she had dragged her fingers along his skin.

He uses that same sensation, the warm silk of her arm, to ground himself as he answers. “My brother,” he tells her, smiling faintly. Talking about Liam like this, remembering the good times, is always a gentle thing, an indulgence to lose himself in the memory, even if the melancholy of current circumstances pervades the memory. “Liam loved astronomy, loved learning about the stars and planets and all that. He used to take me out to see the stars whenever there was a new moon, and we could see them all the more clearly. Came in handy when I joined up later, let me tell you.”

“I’ll bet,” she replies, just as softly. “I’m glad you could share that with him.”

Killian hums before steering the conversation back towards safer ground. “You want to know my favorite constellation, though, love?”

“Which one?”

“Give me your hand.” Twining his fingers together with hers, leaving only their index fingers free, he guides their fingers to the right quadrant of the sky, only to trace out the shape of an X. “Right there.”

“There?” She mimics the gesture, and Killian hums in confirmation. “What is it?”

“Cygnus,” he responds, before turning on his own side in order to whisper in her ear. “The Swan.”

In the faint beams of light that trickle over from the street lamps, Killian can see her awed smile. If he was a bolder man, less measured and patient, this might be the moment he finally leans in for a kiss, but there’s still one thing Killian wants to do. Gingerly, he pulls himself back up to a crouch, extending a hand back to Emma as she stands up herself. “Now what do you say, my Swan, to a little dance under the stars?”

Emma beams in response.

He’d managed to borrow Mrs. Nolan’s old crank-powered phonograph, and after a good bit of cranking, a dance tune finally warbles out. Something slow. Something heartfelt. Something that makes his heart soar and his feet fall into time, even as they both giggle and chuckle at the way their feet stumble in the soft sand in a search for purchase. As they settle into a swaying rhythm, he gazes down at Emma, his lovely Swan staring back with soft eyes and an even softer smile.

It’s perfect — the kind of fairytale moment he thought he no longer deserved. 

Maybe it’s the stars, or the moment, or the way Emma’s slight build feels next to his own, but Killian feels all his hesitation and nerves wash away as if carried by the tide. Why should he feel nervous, when Emma smiles softly up at him as they sway in the sand? When she’s the most beautiful thing he can remember? When she’s the reason he wants to be brave?

It may be the moment, or the woman herself, but he’s not scared anymore for a beautiful, blissful moment, and it’s easy to lean down that last little bit to capture her lips with his own. It could be his own fanciful imagination, but Killian swears he can feel Emma sigh and sink into the kiss. It’s hard to tell much over the frantic thumping of his heart in his veins and ears. 

There’s things he forgot in the time since he last attempted anything like this, like the logistics of noses, but even the brief moment they break apart to giggle at the attempt feels natural, feels right in a way that’s special to Emma. It only makes Killian twine his arms tighter around her back to draw Emma close against his chest and finally cave to the desire to snake his hand up and into all those glorious golden curls. Emma gives as good as she gets, too, taking the initiative to slip her tongue into his mouth to play with his own. Faintly, Killian is aware of one of her hands clutching at the lapel of his leather jacket, but it’s far easier to get lost in all the sensations than try to catalog every little detail, no matter how much he wants to. 

They’re finally forced to break when the air between them finally runs out, though Emma refuses to let him go. Killian is more than fine with that; it’s a unique kind of joy just to lean his forehead against Emma’s, sharing the same space and same air as they both fight to catch their breath. At some point, the music must have petered out, as Killian can only hear the rush of the waves behind them; he’d been too caught up in their kiss to even notice when the song stopped. 

“It’s about time,” Emma teases. Any chiding is severely undermined by the way her fingers fiddle with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I was wondering when you’d make a move.”

“I’m sorry to have ever made the lady wait,” Killian murmurs, dropping his lips to just below where her head and neck meet. Goosebumps bloom along her skin where his mouth just brushes. “But I’m more than happy to make up for it now.”

(And it may not have been a perfect date, but it still may have been just what they both deserve — a moment together, away from everyone else. A moment to be them without the pressures of family or expectations or time.)

(A perfect moment. And he intends to savor every bit of it.)

(It was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but he wouldn’t trade this for the world.)

~~~~~

Tagging: @kmomof4​, @aerica13​, @thisonesatellite​, @searchingwardrobes​, @let-it-raines​, @teamhook​, @ohmightydevviepuu​​, @optomisticgirl​​, @winterbaby89​​, @spartanguard​​, @scientificapricot​​, @snowbellewells​​, @welllpthisishappening​​, @tiganasummertree​​, @captainswanbigbang​​, @snidgetsafan​​, @thejollyroger-writer​​, @profdanglaisstuff​

[fleckcmscott]

Comfort & Joy

Summary: Arthur & Y/N celebrate their first Christmas together. Not everything goes as planned.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst

Words: 4,645

A/N: A request from the mind of dear, sweet @ithinkimawriter​. Special thanks to @sweet-nothings04​ for being the wonderful beta she is!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

If you’ve sent me a request and I haven’t responded, it’s because I am working on it and will once it’s posted! 

Arthur was on his way to Y/N's apartment when the storefront's window captured his attention. Batting covered the floor, imitating fake snow. A plastic fireplace, painted yellow, orange, and red, was angled against the left wall. The artificial tree, bedecked with multi-color lights and a plethora of wrapped gifts underneath, shone prettily. To the right, a cardboard cutout of a couple wearing Santa hats and embracing stood in front of a brand new refrigerator. The large sign suspended from the ceiling, tied in a red bow, advertised low-interest store credit: "Make all your Christmas wishes reality!"

There was a sweetness to the display. A festive cheerfulness. And it induced in him an ache borne of dejection. With Penny in her parallel universe and their lack of resources, his life had never had a place for holidays. Seven or eight years ago, he'd made his last attempt at doing something special. They'd shared the turkey dinner he'd sprung for at a nearby greasy spoon. She'd been mildly cognizant of the make-up compact he'd given her, one he'd gotten off the clearance rack. Then she'd gone to bed, leaving him alone to watch the television special he'd picked out. It had been one of the rare nights he'd poured himself a drink in an attempt to sleep.

Smoke swirled in Gotham's cold, night air as he exhaled around his cigarette. The heaviness in his stomach, his hint of indignation perplexed him. Why on earth did he feel shitty when he had a chance to have the type of Christmas people wrote about? That Sinatra, Cole, and Martin sang about? The type he'd dreamed of, despite knowing he'd never have it? He frowned as he trudged down the street, hoping he wouldn't fuck it all up.

Y/N's greeting was warm as always; the refuge of her arms, the smile she reserved just for him dulled his sharpest edges. He tried to take pleasure in her simple courtesies. How she hung his tan jacket next to her coat, all the while insisting he get a hat and mittens. The hot mug she handed him, the way it thawed his slender fingers. The taste of cocoa on her silken lips as they kissed and she declared she'd missed him.

There was quiet conversation. She did most of the talking; he did his best to pay attention through the distraction of his anxiety. The cards had to be finished, she said. Just for her colleagues, a couple of family and friends, and, if he didn't mind, Penny. He didn't react to that last name, letting Y/N draw her own conclusions. She moved to sit side-saddle on the floor to work, next to her coffee table. As her hand crossed the cream cardstock, he noticed she was signing both their names. He gaped slightly in shock, delight spiking through him. But then delight twisted into unworthiness, and he averted his gaze to his hot chocolate.

He'd believed he was doing okay, though he still didn't have his medication. Especially since Penny had been transferred from Gotham General to the nursing home he'd chosen two weeks ago, and it had clicked that he'd never have to see her again. There were days he woke up (if he was fortunate enough to sleep) energized and confident. He had slipped into delusion once or twice. A call to Y/N or the feel of her hand had helped ground him and bring him back to lucidity. But his negative thoughts were bearing down on him. It was getting harder to separate what was intrusive and what was Arthur. If only he could find it within himself to be better.

Once she finished addressing the envelopes, Y/N extended a hand his way and smirked. Unsure if she wanted him to help her up or join her, he sat on the plush, cream color carpet. "I can hear you thinking. I'm surprised smoke isn't coming out of your ears," she said, laying a palm on his thigh. "You haven't told me what you want to do for Christmas."

He picked up one of the cards, traced his fingertips along the corners. He was bereft of his own traditions to draw from; all his points of reference were from popular culture. It was difficult to know what he'd actually like doing. He gave it a go, anyway. "I dunno. A tree? Listening to music? Being together?"

Chuckling, she put her head on his shoulder. "Of course we'll be together. And we can do the other stuff, too." Her voice lowered as she continued. The caress on his leg became a massage. "I get out early Thursday - Christmas Eve. How'd you feel about me being your guest for three days?"

"Hm." He loathed the possibility of exposing her to what was going on in his brain, his darker notions and malaise. He wanted to hold on for her. To be the gentle person she claimed he was, the man she claimed made her happy.

The man she was mistakenly convinced deserved her.

A kiss on the sensitive skin of his neck. "I'll bring dinner and everything."

Fuck. She thought he didn't want her, that she had to sell him on the idea of her company. He had to put a stop to that assumption. Didn't she know she'd become a brick, a building block in his unstable foundation? He couldn't deny her - he didn't wanted to deny her. Taking a deep breath, he turned to her. The warmth in her eyes buoyed him enough to use what little confidence he could muster. He took her hand, ran his thumb over the back of it, and he forced the corner of his lips up. "I'd love that."

~~~~~

There wasn't normally a spring in Y/N's step, but Arthur had a habit of causing one. She was smiling like a fool, too, walking with her suitcase and canvas bag. The happiest woman in Gotham. It couldn't be helped, even as she struggled to climb those damned concrete stairs to finally reach his block. This would be the best Christmas in ages.

The holiday had been her childhood favorite. But it had become taxing as her father's dementia had worsened, and her sister and she had grown apart. Not being able to leave her father unattended had forced them to celebrate at his house, which Y/N shared with him. A couple of slow cooker dishes would be made, ones her niece and nephews liked. She would do her best to make the large dining table festive, using a red tablecloth and making a centerpiece out of a wreath. Once everyone had sat around it, she'd alternate between taking a bite herself and trying to feed her father, trying to convince him to eat.

The final year had been the hardest. Distress had been clear in her sister and brother-in-law's faces, in their stilted conversation. The middle child had asked why grandpa wasn't talking. Y/N had never learned to communicate on a child's level, and had waited for her sister to take the lead. That hadn't happened. So she'd tried to explain the most painful, complicated situation she'd ever been in in terms a four year old could understand. When her father had started spitting out his mashed potatoes and crying, everyone had packed up and left.

It was understandable. Handling him was exhausting and she didn't want the kids to be traumatized. But it had left her resentful and grief-stricken. She'd cleaned him up and changed him. Then she'd sipped the nice wine she'd bought for the occasion and taken down the tree, tearing up with each bauble she'd put away while her father stared at the television in his wheelchair.

After dropping off a card at Ms. McPhee's, she hurried around the corner to Arthur's building. He was waiting for her at his door, dressed in the red sweater he knew she loved on him. She pecked his sharp cheekbone as he bent to take her luggage, and watched as he made a show of putting it beside the sofa. "Did you pack your whole apartment?"

"Almost," she said, already digging out the food she'd brought and placing it on the kitchen counter. The ham and pineapple casserole had to be popped in the oven for forty-five minutes. The two pieces of pie were from the diner near her office. Lastly, there were a carton of eggnog and a small bottle of whiskey.

He didn't say a lot, but she had a pretty good notion of what he was thinking: a variation on the refrain that she'd done too much. "Arthur, this is for me, too. Besides, you got the tree." Then she pulled him in for a kiss. Though his lips were soft and returned her affections, she could sense the apprehension in his shoulders, her palms sweeping across them. He was probably excited, she figured. And a little nervous, too. This was a milestone for them, after all. She smiled up at him encouragingly. "We're going to have a great time," she said. His nod was gentle.

Dinner went by quickly, which was a blessing because it was terrible. ("I swear, I followed my mother's recipe.") The apple pie was a good substitute for her favorite, blueberry. There wasn't any nutmeg to add to the eggnog. And Arthur covered the top of his mug when she wanted to spike it. He appeared to like it, anyway, and was soon pouring himself a second serving. GCR was playing Christmas music non-stop instead of news, so she turned on the radio. She led him to the living room and admired the tree he'd gotten.

The fir was maybe four inches taller than he was, probably six feet. There were plenty of branches, but it was slim enough to fit into the rear corner of the room, by the windows. The sharp, fresh scent of pine was wonderful. "You picked a great one." As she got into her luggage and dug out the white mini-lights, Arthur searched for an extension cord. Once the bulbs were in place, she knelt before the tree and handed him one of the tins of ornaments she'd packed.

Arthur tackled the upper half while she took care of the bottom. Her gaze turned up to him and she grew fuzzy all over. Concentration was plain in his squint, his handling of the glass-blown, red bulbs cautious. His fingertips carefully closed the hooks over each bough. How long had it been since he'd last done this? She reached out, giving his leg a reassuring squeeze before going through her own box of baubles. A soft sound stuck in her throat as she discovered what was inside.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

The shellacked, round cookie was in surprisingly good shape, its ribbon firmly attached. "My sister made this for me when we were little. I'd forgotten about it." She cradled it in her palm, a peal of laughter bubbling up. "One year I got a toy oven. Set the smoke alarms off, scared my mother half to death." Sipping her drink, she shook her head. "Mabel - who's younger than me, remember - decided to show me how it was done. She was always better at that stuff."

The memory prompted Y/N to continue. She mentioned her parents taking them to a department store a few towns over to visit Santa. How she'd been completely boring and asked for a typewriter and doll, which she'd gotten. The milkshake she'd had at the restaurant on the top floor. She felt uncharacteristically wistful. "That was a lifetime ago."

Most of the tree was adorned when she noticed he'd stopped responding. It was as though he was frozen in place, his face turned towards the floor. Y/N stood, taking in the clenching of his fists at his sides, the quiver of his frame, the twitch of his cheek. "Arthur?" She reached out to take his hand.

His arm yanked back as if she'd hit him. Then he marched around the sofa, past the television, and went straight into the bathroom. The locks slid into place as soon as he closed the door.

She was stunned. And, if she was honest, disappointed. All she'd wanted was to share more of herself with him. Gingerly, she walked to the door. No light shone from beneath it. The picture of him sitting alone in the dark on Christmas Eve pained her. She knocked.

Laughter broke up the strain in his voice. "I need a few minutes." After a pause, a hushed plea. "Please don't go."

"I won't."

Her lips pursed. The last few times she'd visited, she'd made a note to check his usual spots for prescription bottles. There hadn't been any. And there'd been no indication he'd used any of the doctor appointments she'd paid for. They'd have to discuss it. But not now. New Years was next weekend. She'd mention it then, as well as her hopes they'd be living together soon, treating it as something positive.

Beyond his laughing, he hadn't yet gone into any level of detail about his afflictions, his diagnoses. Since his appearance on Murray Franklin, she'd read almost the entire "Loving Someone With" series to learn how to handle problems when they arose. It had advised kindness, calm, and providing regularity. Discussion of normal things, plans for the future. That was what she had been trying to do. Why had Arthur reacted so poorly?

Then it dawned on her: the experiences that were normal to her, to most people, hadn't ever been so for him. Her thoughts went to the terrible details in the Arkham file he'd brought over. The unspecified categories of abuse he'd suffered. His severe head injury and its permanent effects. The radiator...

She recalled his reaction to the journal she'd given him for his birthday. He'd tried, in vain, to hide how affected he'd been by it. And it was only a few weeks ago he'd meekly asked if she'd ever stop loving him, as if it was a chore for her instead of bliss. It was tough, knowing how hard he had to work to accept her kindnesses.

Rubbing her eyes, she concluded she'd been an idiot. Well-intentioned, but an idiot regardless. She'd so looked forward to making new memories with Arthur, to being able to spend the holiday with someone who could enjoy it, she'd overwhelmed him. Set him off.

He needed space and, so far, she'd always paid the respect of giving that to him. It wouldn't be easy tonight, however. Every fiber of her wanted to rush in there, hold him, and tell him to confide in her. To allow her to support him. But she needed to listen to her brain instead of her heart (which Arthur made hard to do, being the one who'd helped her unlock it). She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes would be a good compromise. She could give him that.

The music had become deafening. After turning it down, she made her way to the kitchen and put away the rest of the food. Every scrub of the dishcloth on the beige plates they'd used, every wipe as she dried the cutlery, expressed her concern. Ornaments still littered the living room floor. A few more were hung before she put their boxes in her suitcase. She worried her lip when she came across the presents she'd gotten him, wrapped in luscious greens and golds. He'd like them, she was certain. If he was up to receiving them. She placed them under the tree, adjusting the tags so he could clearly read "Arthur," written in her looping cursive.

The clink of the bathroom door being unlocked was barely audible. Not wanting him to think she'd been hovering the entire time, she waited before approaching. Then she stepped forward and slowly opened it.

The light from the hall spilled into the room, sufficient to see Arthur sitting on the pink, tiled end of the bathtub. She took in the slump of his shoulders, his arms slack and folded in his lap. He spoke and his miserable rasp split her heart. "I'm- I'm sorry. I'm ruining everything."

"You're not." She turned on the floor lamp in the corner, then sat down on the closed toilet. "It wasn't fair of me to babble on and on like that. I didn't think abou-"

"Don't." It was clear the harshness of his tone was directed at himself. His dark brows creased in the middle as he wiped his nose, embarrassment clear in every gesture. "I just... I wanna be able to enjoy this like everyone else."

The skin of his hands was pink, likely from wringing. And his nails had been freshly chewed. Her chest tightened. "May I touch you?" she asked. At his curt nod, she smoothed his sleeve up to stroke his forearm. The grimace he wore was tight enough to show his dimples.

She'd learned it was vital to speak to his virtues in these moments. That was an easy thing to do - he had many. The compliments she paid him were true, and reflected what he valued in others. "You're so caring, Arthur." Her fingertips drifted down his laugh line to his thin lips. "And good. And funny." She blinked away the tears that threatened, the news articles from his mother's file fresh in her mind. "And strong. Stronger than anyone should have to be."

A dry, hitched sob left him and he shook his head. "You don't need to tell me lies."

"I'm not. I never will." Her kiss brushed the shallow wrinkles on his trembling chin, and she took his hand between her own. "You don't have to talk about it. But I'm here if you want to." A long silence followed, interrupted only by their soft breathing. Eventually, he trailed lines down her thigh, to her knee, caressing her as if she were gossamer.

She considered how he could have gone through such brutality, yet be the gentlest person she'd ever known.

Releasing a long sigh, he leaned his forehead to hers. "I can't," he whispered, lifting one shoulder.

"It's all right." Her grasp slid up and down his sides comfortingly. "I love you. It's okay."

It was awhile before he stood, pulling her with him and against his chest. She nestled into him and soaked up his heat, carding her fingers through his loose curls. "I- I picked out a movie. I think it starts soon." He held her hand as he walked towards the living room.

The analog TV sounded with bells and strings as Y/N got a blanket from the bed. She scurried to him and saw the names Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire flash on the screen. Of course, she thought. He'd picked a romantic musical. After turning off the lamp, she situated herself next to Arthur and draped the cover over them. The opening credits were rolling, but she could feel him watching her instead of the film. Then his touch grazed her bare ankle. She shifted towards him, a smile spreading across her face at the softness of his features. "What?"

His gaze dropped. "I wish I knew how to say how much I love you. Show you somehow."

The lights from the tree were giving his skin a warm glow, and reflected beautifully in his green eyes. She tipped his chin up and kissed him deeply, until they both had to pull away for air. Pink dusted his cheeks and he grinned bashfully, crooked tooth on display. "I know, Arthur." They snuggled closer under the cover and he entwined their hands. "I know."

~~~~~

Since she'd returned to him after Murray, they'd spent an increasing number of nights together. Arthur usually let Y/N sleep as long as she needed. Insisting she wake up with him wouldn't have been fair. She worked hard and the extra hour or two was helpful. But he couldn't hold back Christmas morning.

He made a valiant attempt to pass the time. Really. He'd already shaven, smoked a couple of cigarettes, retrieved her presents, and plugged in the tree. He noticed she'd placed gifts under it, labelled "Arthur" and elegantly wrapped in paper nicer than what he'd been able to pick-up at the drug store. He glided his fingers over them. The corner of his mouth lifted. Written in her script, his name was beautiful.

Thankfully, he was in better sorts than the night before. Enthusiasm for her gripped him. He tip-toed to the bedroom and watched her sleeping form from the doorway. It was still dark - the sun wouldn't be up for another hour - but he could picture what she looked like. Her wet breathing and slight snore meant her pillow had a spot of drool near her mouth. There was a fifty-fifty chance her nightgown had twisted up just beneath her breasts. The blanket may have slipped below her waist, leaving her hip exposed. He knelt next to the bed and palmed the side of her neck, planting kisses to her face until she groaned.

"Your hair tickles," she mumbled. Her arm went around his back and brought him closer. "What time is it?"

"Early." Before standing, he gave her one last peck on the mouth. "But I couldn't wait any longer." He padded to the kitchen to start the french toast they'd decided on.

He was in the middle of cracking eggs when she sat across from him on the other side of the breakfast bar. "It's nice to have someone to celebrate with again," she said, leaning up and forward to peek in his bowl. "I'm happy it's you." He cocked his head at that. She'd had a family before, a sister and brother-in-law. Nieces and nephews. A father. He asked her to elaborate but she shrugged it off. "Just a few rough years. That's all. Don't waste your time on it."

Learning about her was one of the things he liked about having a girlfriend. As sappy as it sounded, even to himself, it made him feel like she was a part of him, and he a part of her. Dr. Sally said open communication was important. If he was going to be a good boyfriend, Y/N should be able to talk to him without fearing he couldn't handle it. He grasped her hand and borrowed her phrase from last night. "You can talk to me." Their gazes met as he ran the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. "I'm okay today."

A wry grin appeared. "Let's just say we've both experienced difficult family situations." She took his fork and finished beating the eggs for him as he turned on the stove. "This is a big step in putting that awfulness behind me."

The way she seemed to understand him, even if she was talking about herself, prompted him to clear his throat. "Me, too." He dipped the bread in the bowl, then placed it in the frying pan.

When they were finished eating (it'd been so much better than the casserole she'd made, and he'd never had real maple syrup before), Y/N poured them both more coffee and made her way to the living room. Arthur offered to turn on the news, aware she was still waiting for coverage on the Wayne Foundation case, but she waved dismissively. "I don't want to think about that today. God knows I already think about it too much."

They took turns opening gifts, sitting on the floor by the tree, close enough for him to feel the heat she was emanating. Y/N immediately opened her chocolate Santa and broke off a piece for him. The musk oil perfume he'd picked up for her at Helm's Pharmacy had been on sale for $1.79, and he was grateful he'd remembered to remove the price tag before wrapping it. She dabbed it on her wrist. It was different on her than it was in the bottle, a bit stronger than expected. But she was wearing something he'd given her, so it was lovely nonetheless. Her favorite of the three presents seemed to be the old, tapered, white vase he'd found. She needed it, he explained. That time he'd given her a rose, she'd stuck it in a drinking glass.

What he'd given her were simple trinkets, born out of a vague idea of what women were supposed to like. Despite her apparent delight and the kisses she'd bestowed on him after opening each one, they felt inadequate compared to what she gave him. There was a teal sweater, one she claimed would bring out (in her words) his "beautiful eyes." He pulled it on over his thermal shirt, tags and all. She'd gotten him a book on comedy writing. He wasn't sure how to take that - had she decided his jokes weren't very good? But then she told him she expected more material for his next stand-up show.

Picking up the last gift, he studied it with mock seriousness. Its shape and weight gave away it was a record, but he had no idea which one. They often enjoyed quiet evenings with his collection of older standards, but she preferred more modern songs. Maybe it was an attempt to introduce him to what she liked. He'd gladly listen to it, at least once. He peeled the pretty paper back and exhaled sharply. The LP was old, the cover worn. It was the soundtrack to Modern Times, a film he'd caught once or twice and loved the music of. Holding it to his chest, he murmured a quiet, "Thank you." Eagerly, he got up and put it on, letting the orchestra and his love for her wash over him, soothe his battered soul.

Y/N followed and splayed a hand on the small of his back. "Gotham Pops played this at the Wayne benefit last month." Giggling, she tousled his hair. "I spent the evening wishing you were next to me. It would have been nice to show you off, all dressed up and handsome." He stiffened for a second, wondering if he should tell her he had been there. If he should practice the honesty he'd been working on since Murray. Perhaps knowing he'd accompanied her, in his own way, would please her. But she interrupted his thoughts before he could speak. "The Christmas parade starts in an hour. We should go now if you still want to see it. Neither of us are very tall - we need a good spot." Her lips brushed his ear. "I brought an extra hat and mittens for you."

He spun to face her as he nodded, and she nuzzled at his nose and sighed. The wide smile she wore halted his breath. It would have been nice if this hadn't been his only real Christmas. If his first thirty-five years hadn't been a cruel joke, a tragedy. But he was glad to have this taste of happiness with her.

He hadn't longed for a paralegal from another part of the country, a woman who couldn't dance well and never guessed the punchlines of his jokes. But what he was about to say was true all the same. He cupped her face and kissed her firmly. "You're the one I always wanted," he whispered against her. "Merry Christmas, Y/N." The words felt unnatural - he was unsure when he had last said them.

The love in her look let him know he'd done all right. "You're the man I never knew I needed. And I do, Arthur." He closed his eyes at her embrace, laying his cheek against her temple as she cuddled into him. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Fleck." Her next sentence and the touch of her mouth to his jaw made him shiver. "Maybe next year we won't have to choose whose apartment will have the tree."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @ithinkimaperson​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @fallenstarsabyss​ @gruffle1​ @octopus-plasma​  @tsukiakarinobara​ @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​

[meganshinsou-tm]

Vermilion. (m)

↳ chapter seventeen: weakness

❧ genre:  pro-hero’s bakugou/kirishima, poly, happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: hospital setting, bandages/wounds/bruises, self-doubt/blame, panic attack, anxiety 

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

“I swear to god old lady, tell me where the fuck she is or –“

“Bakugou, chill! Go stand over there and let me handle this, we’re not going to get anywhere with you treating these people like this!”

The explosive hero glared at the nurse behind the desk and clicked his tongue as he roughly turned away and planted himself in a chair. Kirishima turned to the nurse and apologized continuously for his friends outburst.

“I’m so sorry ma’am, we’re just extremely worried about our girlfriend, we came as soon as we got a call and he’s only been able to see red.”

The woman behind the counter quirked a brow at Kirishima then at Bakugou.

“’Our’ girlfriend?”

Katsuki growled, this shitty lady was more concerned about the definition of your relationship rather than giving him and Kirishima your room number so they could finally see you.

“Yes you backwards old bat, our girlfriend!” He yelled over, making Kirishima scold him and causing the nurse to scoff.

“Can you please, please just tell us where she is, we have to know she’s okay.”

The red-head pleaded, his voice almost breaking. Both men were shaken and scared to death the second they received a call from Shouto about an ambush that occurred during your normal patrol, apparently you had gotten the worst of it, so much that you ended up in the hospital. The nurse could see the fear and heartbreak in both of the heroes faces as they looked at the ground, Katsuki not being able to keep from tapping his booted feet as his fists were clenched together; Kirishima sniffling and holding his face in his hands at the desk.

“What was her name?” The nurse asked softly.

At the same time the heroes looked up with mouths agape, Eijirou rubbed his nose with his forearm and gave the nurse your name. After a few clicks of the keyboard and mouse she found your information.

“She’s in room 1156, it’s on the 3rd floor, she is able to take visitors now.”

Before the nurse could even finish her sentence Bakugou lunged from his seat and took off in the direction of your room. Kirishima sighed and thanked the nurse for all her help and tried to catch up with the blonde. 

Eijirou was right, Bakugou was seeing red the entire time since they got that gut wrenching phone call. He wanted everyone dead, the villains and Shouto, most of all Shouto for not protecting you better!

“That fucking half and half piece of shit, I’ll kill him!”

Katsuki didn’t have time to waste with elevators, he sprinted up the stairs to your room, so many worst-case scenarios running through his head. Your frame laying in the rubble of a destroyed location, bloodied and beaten to a pulp, air barely escaping from those lips that formed that heart stopping smile. Hot and anger filled tears started to form in the corners of his eyes as he ran up the stairs and tripped. Gritting his teeth he slammed his fists down on the concrete step, on his knees he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the surface and sobbing. “Stupid fucking girl!”

Meanwhile, Kirishima wiped the vomit from his mouth as he sat back on the bathroom floor, his bare back touching the cold door behind him. His nerves were shot as he took the elevator up to your floor and he dodged for the nearest toilet before he threw up everywhere. Tears fell from his crimson eyes, falling onto his knees.

“It’s happening, all over again! Why …  I’m so fucking useless!”

Middle school memories flooded back into the heroes head, flashbacks of him not being able to stop a villain from hurting that group of girls, or him not being able to stop a simple bully from picking on someone. He thought he had gotten past all his failures but now his biggest fear was coming true and he failed once again. Kirishima knew that he should be knocking down your door right now, but he was terrified, terrified to see you in such a state that wasn’t happy and bright. His heart couldn’t take seeing you bloodied and covered in bandages, sure he knew it could happen one day but he hoped it never would.

“What kind of man am I? She needs me.”

You were such a sharp and focused hero, your quirk gave you distance from danger, the most you ever come home with was a scratch or bruise. You were always the one having to doctor him and Bakugou up, they were the reckless idiots not you.

After a few more minutes, he finally rose to his feet and washed his face before making his way out and to your room. As Kirishima got closer he could hear yelling and nurses running towards the commotion, his heart dropped and he thought the worst. Finally, his feet started to work and he sprinted towards your door.

“Give me one good reason not to blast your ass into oblivion mother fucker! Who the fuck do you think you are sitting in here!”

“Katsuki, please! It was an accident, calm down, he can’t breathe you fucking moron!”

Kirishima walked in to see Bakugou holding Todoroki in the air by the throat, his teeth bared and small explosions emitting from his free palm he displayed in front of his victims face. Shouto clearly was struggling and nurses tried to contain the situation but Katsuki was too strong.

Kiri bolted for his friend and gripped his shoulders, “Hey man, let him go! You don’t want to do something stupid!”

Bakugou smirked and chuckled, “I don’t? Tch, I’d love nothing more right now than to see this piece of shit in her place!”

“Look, I know you’re mad and scared right now, but this isn’t the way. Just fucking drop him man or it’s you that’s gonna need a doctor!”

Kirishima growled, patience running thin with his friend. He expected this reaction, honestly, but it didn’t mean he had to be cool with it. Most of all, this isn’t what you needed right now, you didn’t need your boyfriend pitted against your friend.

The blonde growled and gave Shouto’s throat one last squeeze before releasing him and making his weak body drop to the ground. Kirishima was by his side, a hand on his back and helping him stand to this feet.

“You okay Shouto?”

Todoroki nodded as he rubbed his neck, coughing and trying to let air back into his trachea.

“I’m so sorry, t-they came out of nowhere, we had no idea!” Shouto apologized.

Out of all the commotion Kirishima didn’t get a chance to seek you out, he finally looked from the two toned hero and towards the bed where you sat. A busted smile crossed your dark and grimy features, a chuckle left your lips causing you to cough.

“Sorry I look so rough Red, these fuckers won’t let me wash up until my statement is taken.”

“Shut up! You look fine!” Katsuki blurted out from the chair next to you.

Kirishima smiled and walked over, placing a kiss to your forehead and searching for your hands but they were hidden under the covers. Your lip was busted and a scratch crossed your cheek, you had wraps and bandages variously placed across your arms. You noticed him trying to assess all your wounds and smiled.

“I’m fine Red, really.”

“No you’re fucking not, go ahead, show him!”

You looked over at Bakugou, giving him a death glare and swallowing harshly. Kiri looked back and forth between you, an obvious question in his eyes.

“Show me what?”

Shaking your head, you kept trying to brush off his question with bullshit excuses until Katsuki growled and stood from his chair and pulled the covers from your body.

You bit your lip and looked at Shouto who sat by the window, looking at the floor. Kirishima gasped as he took in the worst of your wounds, both of your hands were wrapped generously in bandages as well as your thighs.

“What is all this, what happened?”

You refused to answer, knowing that once Kirishima knew he’d lose it and worry more than he already did, so Bakugou took it upon himself to inform his friend.

“They tried to break her hands beyond repair and skinned the runes from her thighs like fucking animals!”

Shouto finally looked up from the ground and caught you staring at him, he gave you an apologetic expression. He felt terrible for what had happened, wishing he could’ve helped more than he did but he too was incapacitated. Bakugou clicked his tongue and threw the blanket in your face, catching it, you looked down at your lap and sniffled. His reaction stung and made you choke down a pathetic cry. Bakugou didn’t like weakness, you couldn’t show him that.

Kirishima threw the blonde a warning glare, placing a hand on your back and rubbing reassuring circles on it until you leaned into him and relaxed. He reached out his free hand, asking if it was okay to hold your own, you nodded with a forced smile as he very carefully took one. 

His thumb brushed over the bandages and he grit his teeth, “Why would they do this?”

Shouto stood from his chair and rubbed his neck, “To break her and make it to where she couldn’t use her quirk. It’s obvious most of her power comes from her hands, without them she can’t use telekinesis or draw runes onto her skin. The mind and her hands work together to make her levitate, so without them she can’t do that either.”

Bakugou leaned against a wall and crossed his arms, an angry pout on his face.

“She’s been kicking ass and making a name for herself lately, it’s not unusual for villains to want to take out heroes they deem a threat. If she slipped and they got their chance, there’s no doubt they wouldn’t take it.”

At Bakugou’s assumption you sulked even more into Kirishima. He looked down at you and frowned, his red eyes shooting back up to his dumb-ass friend who wasn’t helping your situation.

“Hey man, lighten up, nobody is fucking perfect alright? Even you fucking slip, she doesn’t need to hear that shit from you, do you have a fucking brain?”

The blond raised a brow at Kirishima, as if he were challenging him in some contest and he couldn’t believe it. Before he could bite back, your voice was in his head.

“It’s fine Red … it’s just how he is. I have to be s-stronger I get it. Please just let him be … I c-can’t cry here.”

Bakugou froze and looked at you blankly, noticing how you clung to Kirishima and looked up at him. 

Those words, they weren’t meant for him, they were meant for Kiri. 

Usually you had fucking amazing control over your quirk and Bakugou assumed that since the accident you were still a little off, shaken and … hurt, so you accidentally spoke to his mind instead. Guilt quickly flooded the hero and he hung his head low. It was happening again, he was making it seem like he didn’t think you were strong. That you couldn’t so much as even fucking cry in front of him. He had only officially been your boyfriend for a few weeks now and already he was fucking up.

“Can you give us a moment?” Bakugou finally spoke, his voice low.

Shouto and Kirishima looked at each other before looking at you. You shrugged and squeezed Kiri’s arm, letting him know it was okay. He nodded and leaned over to place a kiss on the top of your head before him and Shouto left you and Bakugou alone in the room.

There was an uneasy silence between you, your hands busying themselves with tracing the bandages that wrapped your legs.

“I’m sorry.”

You swallowed and turned your head to look at Bakugou. He slowly walked and made his way to the chair next to you again and pulled it closer, his head remaining looking at the floor and his hands clasped as they rested between his knees.

“You didn’t do anything Suki, there’s no -”

“Bullshit,” he cut you off and finally looked up, “You got into my head, not his. I heard everything.”

At this you paled and looked down, teeth chewing on your bottom lip.

“I - I can explain.”

“You don’t need to, I do. (Y/N) … never have I ever thought you were weak, even back in UA, I thought you were so fucking strong. I say the wrong shit at the wrong time, I know - I’m just scared alright? I’m not thinking straight. Not once in my life had I have to worry about someone I love more than fucking life itself getting hurt and being in danger. My dumb parents don’t count, they’re safe, they’re not heroes. You, you’re right there on the front lines with me, with us. Just like me, you get sent into danger head on without any fucking fear and at the same time I now have one fear and that’s … it’s fucking this! That phone call, this whole situation … it’s my worst nightmare coming to life. And I don’t know how to handle it, you’re safe thank god but there’s no promise that this won’t happen again, that you won’t be here again … or worse.”

You never broke eye contact with Bakugou as he poured out his heart to you. His own red eyes slowly but surely started to pool with salty tears as he continued, reaching out a gloved hand for yours and a sigh leaving him when you quickly took it in your bandaged ones.

“You don’t have to act tough around me 24/7, you don’t have to act indestructible. You’re fucking human too and I of all fucking people know that crying is not a sign of weakness. I also know that it’s fucking okay to be weak! There’s not a damn thing wrong with it! You should feel comfortable being weak, being vulnerable or sad around not just Kirishima but me too! We’re both here for you, I want to be there for you when you cry too dammit because I need you to be there for me when I cry. You’re not weak, you’re fucking strong. If you slipped up that’s okay, we all do, I do! Just … please, don’t be afraid of me, don’t be afraid to open up to me please! Let me be a fucking good and supportive boyfriend for you!”

The second Bakugou finished, you were flinging yourself at him, his arms quickly catching and embracing you as you hung off the bed and into his lap. His face nuzzled into your neck and hair, breathing in the faint scent of your shampoo that mixed with blood and dirt. He let a fresh wave of tears flow at the feeling of your warm and breathing body in his arms, holding you tighter. Your own arms held him close as you cried into his neck, ignoring all the pain in your body.

“I’m sorry Suki … I didn’t mean for this to happen, I didn’t mean to make you and Kiri worry.”

Bakugou shook his head and kissed you cheek, pulling back to brush your hair out of your face and press his forehead to yours.

“Some things we just can’t fucking control princess, it’s part of the job. All that matters is that you fought, that you’re fucking alive and you’re right here! No matter what, we’re always going to worry, we fucking worry about you in the shower cause you’re so fucking clumsy,” you both chuckled and he kissed the corner of your weak smile. “But what makes us worry just a fraction less, is that fact that you’re a fucking fighter, you’re powerful and you can handle yourself and if we’re with you then you know damn well that we’ll be there to protect you and make sure that you can keep fighting - with us.”

A bandaged finger traced the strong line of Bakugou’s jaw and he melted into the touch. You smiled and leaned in to capture his lips with your own. The two of you shared a sweet kiss before it broke and you looked at each other and wiped the tears from your faces.

“I love you so much Katsuki.”

Bakugou smiled and kissed your forehead, “I love you too princess. Now - let’s get you back into bed and get the rest of this shit taken care of so we can get you home.”

You nodded and let him pull away from you enough to get a good hold under your arms to help move you back on the bed. When you were comfortably seated again, you couldn’t help a cackle that left your mouth, making Bakugou look at you with confusion.

“The fuck is so funny?”

You held up one of your hands and winced as you tried to bend your fingers in an odd way, “T-take my strong hand.”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes and sighed as he grabbed a pillow and lightly put it over your face. “Shh, I’ll make this fast and peaceful you fucking dork!”

[daviddoughbrik]

Grow A Pair - a D. Dobrik Imagine

Thank you for the request @dobrikburrito!

WARNING: A LOT OF CUSSING

“I don’t know how to model this merch for the end card,” David whines throughout the house as he turns the corner to the living room. He stands there with his hands on his hips and his bottom lip stuck out. You look up from your spot on the lovesac. You put your bookmark in your book and set it aside.

“Come here, pouty boy,” you say with grabby hands. David takes off running to crash on top of you, sliding the lovesac further against the wall. He lands with an oof and he headbutts your boobs. “Ow, babe. Your hard head hurt me,” he laughs at you before leaning down towards them.

“Awe where did I hurt you, baby?” he coos, settling himself between your thick thighs. “Here?” he asks kissing your the swell of your breast over your shirt. You let out a hum, though you couldn’t feel it much. “Here?” he asks again, moving to another spot and placing a kiss there. “Ugh, stupid bra, I can’t feel how soft you are because there’s too much stuff between!”

Your head is thrown back in laughter as he grips your shirt at your waist and sticking his head under it. He makes quick work and lifts your bra up and over your boobs awkwardly. “David!” you laugh. He’s nipping and kissing as much as he can. Then he decides to tickle you while he’s under there. You’re both laughing hard as Natalie comes out of her room.

“You guys are so weird,” she says as David’s head is still under your shirt. “Better watch out though, Cas is on her way over with the girls from her job,” she warns. “If they get here before I’m out, will you tell them I’m taking a quick shower?”

“Ah, it’s okay, we will be careful! I’ll tell them!” the last part of that sentence was up an octave from David continuing to kiss and tickle your soft stomach. “David!” you screech again. Just then the doorbell rang. Both of you groan as he pulls his big ole noggin out from under your clothing. “Fun’s over,” you mumble.

David gets up and let’s them in, and the people just keep on coming. Cas and her friends from work arrived at the same time as Jack, Jason, Zane, Kelsey and Stassie.

“What’s up bitchesssss,” Zane hollers through the house. David just shakes his head. “Oh, hey, what are you doing here?” Zane asks pointedly at you.

“Oh I’m just chilling. My apartment is getting exterminated again,” you lie, grabbing your book again. You’re literally in yesterday’s clothes from sleeping at David’s last night.

“Damn, again?” Jason asks. “They just did it last week didn’t they?”

“Yeah, and apparently it didn’t take because the people below me brought back something from Jamaica,” you lied again. Jason shakes his head in disapproval before getting into the conversation with everyone else. You dive back in your book as everyone talks and mingles.

You always were a little different than the rest of the group. For instance, you’re the only one who reads on a regular basis. You’re not the going out type or the drinking til you black out type. You really didn’t know how you ended up in this group. You shrug to yourself and get back into the story you were reading.

Days passed by in your book, but it was just minutes in real time. You’re brought out of your reading zone for whatever reason. “You need to put hot girls in there,” Jason says.

“Why though? Why can’t you two just model them?” David asks, referring to his new merch coming out soon.

“Because, hot girls will sell it better. Like, Stassie and Kels and Cas and her friends, they could do it and it would sell so well,” Jack adds. All you can think is “what a creep”. Then he says it. “I mean like we couldn’t have Y/N in it, she wouldn’t sell it as well, because you know...” he mumbles, trying to not let you hear him say it.

“Okay, sex sells, I get it,” David laughs. Suddenly, you’re really interested in seeing how he’s going to make this work with the “hot girls”. He throws merch at them and they go and put it on. They roll up the tops of their shorts and crop the shirts shorter trying to show more of their bodies. David turns some music on and they’re all dancing on each other and showing off the merch. Zane is behind David’s camera and lifts his shirt up so they’d do the same, showing off the new sports bras. Their tits are all in David’s face and you can’t help but to get more and more upset at the different shots he takes of them.

“David, how about we do a clip with you with them?” Jack suggests. David shrugs saying “why not”. Jason takes over the camera. “Wait, how about two of you just have the sports bras on the top and two of you can have the shirt on?”

Fucking creep.

They agree anyways. The music plays again and they’re running their hands all in David’s hair and rubbing up and down his arms. Your face turns more red as the seconds pass. His face says he’s enjoying it. He’s enjoying having other girls with their shirts off rubbing all over him.

You’re finally at your boiling point and you slide the patio door open hard and slam it shut, making the glass in the frame rattle. Your head falls in your hands as you try to calm down. You can hear chatter in the house before hearing David say “I’ll go see what’s wrong. Hold on.”

“Leave me alone,” you say as he takes one step out of the house. He doesn’t listen and closes the door behind him. “I’m serious,” you warn.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks tentatively from across the concrete.

“What’s wrong? Are you fucking kidding me? If you don’t know what’s wrong then I guess there’s no point in being here,” you say throwing your hands up.

“Babe, it was just for the end card,” he bargains. “I don’t even like them,” he says crossing his arms.

“You know what, it was kind of shitty of you to let several other girls touch you and shit for the vlog. But you know what else is really shitty of you? The fact that you sat there and let Jack talk about me that way. ‘she couldn’t sell it as well because you know’,” you mock.

“Baby, you know how he is,” he begins trying to take a step toward you.

“Yeah, David, I know how he is. He’s a prick, but I didn’t think you’d seriously let him say that shit. First of all, because I am a fucking woman who you say you love. Second of fucking all, because I was sitting right fucking there. Third of fucking all, because you know just how much I’ve struggled with everything. Fourth of everything and what hurts the damn most, you don’t even want them to know we are together. That’s why you won’t even stick up for me. It’s your own selfish reasoning. So don’t you dare stand here and act like that and call me baby like it’s okay because it’s fucking not, David. It’s not.” David is speechless. He knows you’re right. He can’t even manage to open his mouth. “Fuck this,” you yell and storm back inside.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he yells after you. You’re grabbing your things: your book, your shoes, and you even go and grab your underwear from his bedroom floor. You wave it around so they can see it’s clearly yours since it’s not sexy enough.

“Fuck you, Jack. Literally fuck you. David sure must think I’m sexy considering he was sucking my titties just before y’all showed up. Y’all don’t know anything. Oh and fuck you, David. Call me when you grow a pair and remove your head from your ass. Seriously, go fuck yourself and lose my damn number.” With that, you’re out the front door heading to your car, ignoring the tears rolling down his face and all the agape mouths. You think you’re going to speed off, except you didn’t drive. David picked you up last night.

With all the frustration you have, you don’t even bother putting your shoes on. You take off walking as if you could ever make it to downtown to your apartment. Soon your feet are just about bleeding on the pavement, but that pain could never compare to what your heart is feeling right now. Soon, you’re weeping on the side of the road in Studio City. You’re crying so hard you just about pass out, so you sit on the sidewalk with your head in your hands. At this point, who cares what’s going on around you. Nothing could ever compare to the pain David has caused you. Cars are passing you by and no one pays you any mind. That is until the familiar white Tesla pulls up beside you. “Y/N. Please,” he says getting out of the running car. “Let me take you home, you shouldn’t be in this neighborhood alone,” he bargains. “Please.” You can’t even raise your head to look at him. You won’t give him that respect or satisfaction. He stands there waiting. No words exchanged. Thirty minutes later he lays his keys down in front of you before taking off walking back to his house, miles away. You sit there until he is out of view. You could feel his eyes on you until he finally gave up and was out of sight. You pick the keys up off the ground and get in the drivers seat. You’re off to your apartment and way fucking far away from David.

[abimee]

i'd like to request susie and kris just being friends having an alright day, whatever that means. if ur not feeling that as a writing prompt that's all cool- i love ur work and wish u a nice day.

this one is called ‘’Anthems For a Seventeen Year Old Girl” by Broken Social Scene for a title. It’s very silly but it was fun to write

Susie had a pretty sick bedroom, they had to admit.

It was like, painfully poster child aggresso-punk kid territory, with the strewn about clothes and the flannels with patches hanging on coat hangers that were hanging on command strips on the concrete wall, alongside various fucked up and wrinkled band posters and tacked-on F-graded exams and detention slips.

Her bed was grounded and without frames, and it was just two mattresses stacked together with no springboard, and Kris hopped on it and felt the top layer slightly move as they jostled the shitty thrifted blanket. Susie came in close behind them, slamming her door hard enough for the walls to shake a bit.

She took a seat at her desk, which was covered in a homemade paintjob of Walmart acrylic paints in various shades of blue. Kris stared at her ceiling fan, which shook with each swing, dangling a small string switch-pull.

“ Pretty sweet place you got going on down here,” Kris stared at the smallest window near the ceiling that gave them ground-level view of her backyard. Kris always wanted a basement bedroom.

“ Yeah, don’t anything that ain’t yours,” She pointed a finger at them before moving to face her desk. She fiddled with the various bullshit taking up real estate on it’s top, from stacks of CDs and empty fast food cups to a surprisingly large collection of god awful looking ceramic projects. Susie liked blowing up stuff in kilns, it seemed.

Kris rolled off the bed, meeting with the rug on the ground that protected them from the hard flooring. Susie didn’t bother taking off her shoes when she came down, but Kris had at least the courtesy to take their’s off, and they moved across the floor feeling the slight cold emitting from it.

A large closet stood opposite to the bed, door wide open and billowing with even more bullshit --- Susie had a knack for collecting the useless, it seems.

“ Hey, what’s the plan, nerd.” She asked as Kris grabbed the neck of a baseball bat that was poking out from a carton at the bottom of the closet.

“ Put on some music?”

“ Alright, whatcha listen to?”

“ You got Alternative?”

Susie’s brows furrowed, “ Specifics, dumbass.”

“ ‘Taking Back Sunday’.”

“ They’re not Alternative, they’re Rock.”

“ So you got them?”

“ Of course. You got good taste.” She complimented, pulling a CD out from the stack on her table, “ Is ‘Louder Now’ good for you?”

“ Oh fuck yeah it is,” Kris started to swing the bat around to get their bearings. It was a slugger, metal. Softball bat. “ Play ‘Make Damn Sure’ first.”

“ I’ll play whatever the first track is, i’m not scratching my CDs for you,” She smacked a small CRT TV that sat next to her desk on the floor. It seemingly turned on, and she pressed a button to open the slot and dispense the disc. She smacked the buttons to turn the sound all the way up, the crackle of the speakers warming up before filling the room with the sound of good, rough rock.

Kris struck a pose with the bat, “ You having fun with that?” Susie prodded, turning to face them on her chair. Kris pretended to hit a home run.

“ You play softball?”

“ No, it’s for protection,” She shrugged, “ Never know when you’ll need it.”

“ No wonder you’re so good with that axe, jesus christ.” The slugger had a decent weight to it, considering. If Kris didn’t keep a good grip it would definitely slip out of their hands and hit something.

Susie seemed embarrassed by the backhanded compliment, and the music just blared louder in their moment of silence, “ Thanks, I guess.”

They listened to the next handful of songs in silence, Kris moving around Susie’s room with pedantic hands, touching things not of their belonging and looking at the various notes on Susie’s wall--- she just watched them with calculating eyes, making snide remarks when asked about any of it.

Eventually it all got boring, and Kris returned to playing around with the slugger. Susie asked to change the CD, and Kris shrugged, “ Sure, it’s your music.”

She changed it to something else, something with a soft vocalist with obvious autotune on while a banjo plucked in the background, violins and soft instruments that didn’t feel anything like Susie. Kris laid down onto the bed, legs dangling off one end and head dangling near the other and still holding that stupid bat they’ve grown fond of.

Susie leans her head to rest on the chair, hands crossed beneath her chin. The silence was different, this time, as Kris saw Susie close her eyes and listen to the song; a constant repetition of lyrics about being wretched, about bleaching teeth and dreaming and a building of chorus in the sound.

But Susie seemed to have softened as she listened, and Kris found themself feeling tired to the music. For a little bit, they just relaxed there, in Susie’s basement bedroom, listening to chaotic music, thinking about nothing and holding that slugger, sitting in that chair, laying on that bed, thinking about nothing, thinking about nothing.

It was nice, surprisingly.

It was nice to be around Susie, when she wasn’t putting walls up. Little concrete walls, which she guarded with a little metal slugger bat in her hands.

Because, as she said, you never know when you’ll need to protect yourself.

[collectionofdestiel]

“It’s a break.” 

“You don’t sound like you believe that.”

Castiel closed his eyes, knowing that his brother was right. Why else would he be in Gabriel’s kitchen a little after one in the morning with a duffel bag of clothes and fresh tear stains on his cheeks? How could this be just a break when Castiel’s heart has been breaking for months now and all that is left is an empty hollow shell of an organ. No, he didn’t believe it. He didn’t believe those three little words, not as he whispered them like a madman’s mantra on the drive over here. But if he admitted it, really truly believed that this wasn’t a break… Castiel feared he wouldn’t be strong enough to handle it.

Gabriel let out a sigh at the deafening silence. It broke him to see his younger brother battling so hard in his mind when the reality was so heartbreaking. Taking a deep breath and moving his eyes over to the clock on his oven, he decided tonight wasn’t the night to hash this out.

“The guest room is all set up. Lotta pillows and blankets. Get some rest and we can discuss this more in the morning.” Standing up, Gabe waited to move until Cas did.

But Castiel couldn’t move. It was like his bones were concrete and his skin would rip at the slightly movement. It was like everything that was holding his body together would suddenly collapse and he would be only a puddle on the floor. If he moved, if he slept in a bed that wasn’t theirs… it would be the beginning of the end.

“Listen, Cassie-”

“I love him, Gabe.” Castiel finally opened his eyes and stared up at his brother with the look of a man starving for happiness. “I love him and he-he-”

“I know.” Gabriel knelt down in front of his brother and set a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know you love him but dammit Cas, this isn’t good for you. Or him. I know that you two love each other and would go to the ends of the earth for each other but this isn’t healthy and some times people can love each other and not end up together.”

A harsh sob ripped through Cas’ throat before he could stop it. “I can’t let him go. I can’t. I can’t let him go, Gabe, please, I can’t-”

Applying more pressure to Cas’ shoulder, Gabriel pulled his brother off his chair and held him to his chest on his kitchen floor. He rocked the other man for minutes as they both tried not to cry, Cas mumbling and pleading to a deity that it would be ok and everything would work out, and Gabriel clung to his brother and pleaded with every fiber in his being that he would be ok.

~

“It’s more than a break.” 

“Okay.”

Castiel felt the life seep from his pores as he stood in the doorway of his brother’s living room and said what he had been dreading to say as he lay sleepless the night before. After hours and hours of thinking about the past decade of his life, and the smile that used to mean everything to him, he made himself realize that it was over. It was all over. The life he built, the home he shared, the garden they tended on warm summer days… it was over.

“I am going to call him. Make arrangements to get my things.” Cas felt the sour taste of bile start to eat at the back of his tongue. “Do you mind if I stay here for a few days until I get back on my feet?”

“Days? Little bro you can stay as long as you need.” Standing from his place on the couch Gabriel walked up to Castiel and pulled him into a firm hug, scared he might slip away in despair if he didnt ground him right then and there.

Castiel leaned into the warmth and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Gabriel.”

Smiling sadly, Gabe pulled back and looked into Cas’ eyes. He searched them for any spark of the man he grew up with, the love and excitement that always shown through the deep blue, but found nothing except emptiness. Trying to keep the tears from gathering, he turned and made his way into the kitchen for a sweet treat.

Castiel reached into his pant pocket and pulled his phone out. He stared at it for a little while, watching his reflection in the black mirror. Last night he had been so emotional and stuck in his own head that he hadn’t checked for messages or calls. There wasnt really a part of him that thought his husband would have looked for him or cared. 

Gathering any energy he had left he pressed his thumb to the side of his phone and the bright light met his eyes. Gasping softly he read quickly through his notifications. There were thirty seven missed calls from his husband, and more ninety nine plus text messages. Feeling guilt start to seep into his bones, Cas slid open his lock screen and pressed the number that used to bring him comfort. Closing his eyes, he pressed the phone to his ear and listened with a heavy heaving heart as it rang.

The second it picked up he knew that this was going to be the worst phone call of his life.

“Cas!?” His husband’s voice ripped through the phone so abruptly Cas flinched.

Clearing his throat, he tried to remember the speech he had prepared last night. “Dean-” “Where the hell are you?” Dean’s voice was followed by a car door slamming. “I’ve been driving all over the goddamn county looking for you.”

A part of Cas wanted to call bullshit, to say that if Dean cared at all he would’ve guessed Gabriel’s house immediately. But instead he took a deep breath and pushed onward. “Dean, what happened last night has been a long time coming. We both know that things haven’t been  working between us for-”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean screeched. “You’re breaking up with me on a phone call?”

“Dean-”

“No. Don’t. Where are you?” The venom in Dean’s voice was dripping off each word. 

“You really don’t know?” Now Cas could feel his own voice rising, the anger starting to ebb into his head and twist his thoughts. “You really couldn’t guess that when I came home to my husband kissing another man on our couch that the first place I would do is Gabriel’s?”

Silence met his ears for a few heartbeats until Dean’s voice came through softer. “You flew our to Colorado?”

Seeing red, Castiel let out an angry snort or disbelief. “Really, Dean? Gabriel moved back here last year. How long have you been ignoring me, thinking about this other man? A year? Two? This whole time?! Was our entire marriage some kind of sick joke to you?!”

“Cas if you would just let me explain what happened last night! You didn’t even give me a chance to explain what happened! And I swear to God I don’t remember Gabriel moving back at all. The guy hates me, I never saw him even when he visited before.” A car engine roared to life. “Whats his address?”

“No.” Castiel felt his knees give out and he curled himself up into a ball with his forehead pressed to his knees. “I can’t see you, Dean. All I can see is that man… and you and-”

“I didn’t kiss him.” All the anger drained from Dean’s voice. “I invited him over for a couple drinks cause he’s a guy from work. We did a couple projects together and he seemed like a cool guy. When I went to get the remote to turn on the TV he… he kissed me. I pushed him off. I didn’t even know you had come home. I didn’t know until I heard your cry that you had seen it.”

Castiel clamped a hand over his mouth and tried to tense his muscles before the sobs broke through.

“I love you, Castiel. I know… God I know how this looks. We haven’t been on the same wave length recently and,” Dean sighed and groaned, “and I have been a shitty husband and I took us for granted because I mean… it’s always been you and me and I guess I didnt think about the fact that you could leave me.”

The tears were flowing freely from Cas’ eyes but he couldnt move, couldnt open his mouth or breathe. 

“I love you more than anything in this world or the next, I swear to that. I have never wanted anyone else. I know things have been rough but fuck me I’d rather have you like this than be perfectly happy all the time with someone else.” A deep breath and then the car engine stopped roaring. “I won’t come get you. I won’t guilt you or beg you or do anything else. If you want to stay there, I’m not going to fight you. I want you to be happy, Cas, that’s all I ever wanted. So, um, if this is goodbye then I won’t hurt you anymore.”

Castiel pitched himself forward and let out all the sobs he had been trying to keep in. He cried and cried and pressed the phone so hard to his face he could feel the soreness in his cheek start to ache. But he couldn’t make any words come out. Every time he opened his mouth it was only broken whimpers and staggered breaths.

“Castiel, I love you. Goodbye.” And then Dean’s voice was gone.

SIX MONTHS LATER

Castiel watched the people coming and going outside the window of his small book store. It was started to get cooler outside and he always thought that the best addition to his peep watching was the brightly colored hats and scarves passing by. Winter was always so vibrant to him, always the season that made him smile the most from simply looking out a window.

The coffee in front of him had long stopped steaming but he still hadnt taken a sip yet. Instead he found himself captivated by the bustling street laid out before him. Most days his bookstore wasn’t busy, most of his sales being online, but he couldn’t blame anyone when it looked so nice to be outside walking in the cool air.

The bell dinged causing his eyes to leave the window and meet those of whoever walked in. When they were met with a perfect green, he felt a lump form in his throat and his back straighten just the slightest.

Dean Winchester walked slowly up the counter, as if he himself was feeling nervous about this and any moment he may change his mind and bolt for the door. But he kept walking, their eyes never leaving the others, until he was standing directly in front of the front desk.

“Dean-”

“Look, I know what I said.” Dean’s cheeks flushed as he dropped his eyes and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I know that I said I wouldn’t fight or give you any more trouble. But, Cas, I can’t-I havent-I just can’t do this.”

Feeling tears well in the back of his throat, Castiel nodded to try to keep himself from crying again. “I know.”

“And um, I just, I know that we are seperated and I need to sign the divorce papers but every time I go to do it I just... “ Dean cleared hsi throat as his voice started to grow hoarse. “I can’t get myself to know that this is over.”

Castiel didn’t talk, but he nodded again and let the tears flow down his cheeks.

Bringing his eyes up, they looked into each other and for a moment the pain that had been clawing at their souls for months was gone. They could breathe again, there was hope sparking in their eyes that mirrored the others.

“I love you, Cas. And I won’t fight you if you want me to sign the papers and walk out of your life, but I will fight with you to keep you by my side.” Dean gave a small hopeful smile full of promise.

“Okay, Dean.” Castiel scrunched his eyes painfully as he let out a sob and ran around the counter to throw himself into the love of his life’s arms. “I never stopped loving you no matter how hard I tried.”

Dean held Cas to his chest so tightly it was hard to tell where one of them ended and the other began. “I know, sweetheart, I tried, too.”

~

“So, I can burn these papers, right?” 

Castiel looked up from his side of their bed with a yawn. “Hm?”

Dean, standing in the doorway to their bedroom with only a pair of low hanging lounge pants on, held up the divorce papers that neither of them had signed. “Burn these?”

Chuckling softly and closing his eyes to dive back under the covers, Cas replied with a simple, “Yes, honey.”

[whumpywhumper]

Bloodhound in Chicago-Part 1

So, @comfy-whumpee put the idea into @0idril0 and I’s whumpy heads to do a collaborative project wayyyyy back when with Clint and Lucien, and we’ve finally gotten around to posting part one. That’s right, there’s more, so keep an eye out. :) 

This is set prior to either one of our series. 

Thanks @voidwhump for reading through this 

Edit for Masterpost

<>

Lucien was growing soft in his old age.

He watched one of his young clumsily play with the human he had caught for him and all he felt was a swelling pride when the vampling stumbled and fell over his feet, not used to his new found speed. The human girl was no more than nineteen, pretty, with mousy hair and a bad knee. Someone easy for little Tristan’s first feeding.  

Tristan’s eyes were a stone cold grey, not yet the ebony black they would be when he was finally blooded. The older vampire found that he liked the way Tristan’s hunger sparked in those eyes when he focused in on his prey. He licked his lips and leaned forward, eyes skating down the exposed muscle under Tristan’s shirt, at the messy blond hair that stood up over his forehead. A scream pierced through Lucien’s careful perusal of his newest nestmate.

The girl had fallen, her knee giving way when she turned to dash away from the reaching vampire. She hit hard, her hands slapping against the concrete. Flailing, she turned over and stared up with huge eyes, tear streaks standing out on her red cheeks. “Please, please, don’t-don’t do this!”

Lucien knew that, by now, Tristan was beyond caring about what his prey said, what she begged or promised him. The venom was pounding in his mouth, the instinct to rip into her throat overwhelming. He could see his hands shaking and an echoing growl rumbled up through the air. Tristan backed the girl up to the wall, and Lucien felt a swelling in his own mouth at the mewl of fear that tumbled from her mouth when her shoulders hit the cold stone.

Experience told him that Tristan would need help soon, and Lucien stood, stalking forward, to hover behind the trembling vampling. “Grab her, Tristan,” he murmured, coaxing. Tristan shuddered at the sound of his Elder’s voice and leaned back into Lucien with a whine. The older vampire chuckled, arms encircling his lean waist. “Do you want my help, love?”

Tristan nodded, his head laying back on Lucien’s shoulder. He could feel the want rolling off of the young man, and Lucien swallowed back an urge to bury his fangs into that pale throat. That wasn’t what they were here for so he pushed Tristan away to bend over their shaking prey.

“Please, please, no!” She held her arms over her head, and Lucien caught the foul smell of adrenaline and urine seeping from her. Lucien’s nose wrinkled, but he leaned down to grab her anyway, his hands encircling her wrists to pull her up. She was featherweight to his enhanced strength, and her inane struggles did nothing to his grip.

Lucien smiled, fangs pressing into his lower lip, when she tried to kick him. “That never works, darling.” His hand encircled both of her wrists, and he pulled her against his front, other arm wrapping around her back. She quivered, trying to pull away from him, whimpering and sobbing. He rested against the wall, turning them so that the girl’s back was to Tristan, and met his hunger dazed eyes. “Come here, love,” he ordered, his voice breaking through Tristan’s haze.

Tristan started forward, his fingers carding through the back of the girl’s hair in a disconcertingly gentle grip, his other hand stretching her shoulder. Lucien could feel her breath against his throat, quick puffs of terror, could hear the thundering beat of her heart. God, this was beautiful. His young’s first feeding.

Virgin fangs pierced into the girl’s unbroken flesh, a little too in the middle of her throat, but not off enough to cause any problems. The girl’s eyes flew open when the younger vampire started feeding, startlingly green eyes staring at him in horror, and a protesting cry dropped out of her mouth. Lucien could tell when Tristan released his venom, the girl twitching in his arms, bucking against the invasive feeling, eyes dazing in pain. Tristan gave a low groan, throat working, swallowing loudly. The seal wasn’t perfect, and Lucien watched scarlet droplets dripping down to the sweet girl’s collarbone.

He licked his own lips when the girl’s eyes fluttered, and he smiled at Tristen when he opened his eyes. They were coal black with no whites showing, glassy with pleasure, his mouth still suctioned on her neck. “Good job, love,” he crooned, “Well done.”  Lucien took more of the girl’s weight as her legs collapsed, her heart galloped hollowly in her chest to Lucien’s sensitive ears, weak whimpers pushed out with every feeble breath.

Tristan bled the girl dry, her heart giving out moments before he drew his fangs out of her throat. Lucien leaned forward, licking the sweet beads of blood from the girl’s skin, before dropping her to the ground. The body fell gracelessly, sprawling between them. But Lucien didn’t pay it any mind when he pressed forward, stepping over the empty corpse to get into Tristan’s space, to grab him by the hips. “How was that, love?”

The vampling groaned, swaying into Lucien, nuzzling at his neck. “Oh my god, Lucien,” he said, “I didn’t—I had no idea—It was so-so. . .“

Lucien chuckled, “I think I understand.” He pulled the younger vampire to him, rutting their hips together. “Do you want to go home now?”  Tristan bit his lip, nodding vigorously, black eyes still glassy.  “Follow me then.”

The two vampire’s stumbled to leave, hands traveling up each other’s bodies. Leaving their prey on the concrete floor. Discarded.

<>

Clint walked into the police station already itching for a fight. Two hours. Two hours he’d been in the city. He’d nearly been run over on his motorcycle three times since he’d been in the city. If he got out of here, and his bike was gone, he was gonna be pissed.

Clint consciously suppressed a growl, squeezing his eyes shut to hide the yellow. “You’re in the middle of a group of people who would actively attack you if they think you’re dangerous. Get it together, numbskull.” He shook himself, looking around the station for his contact. The station stank, burnt coffee and homeless sweat permeating the air. That, combined with the click of keyboards and telephones..... he had a headache.

“Oí, perrito, over here.”

Clint groaned, grinning slightly as he turned toward the thickly accented voice. A small Latina was smirking at him from behind a cubical, and he felt some of his built up frustration ease at the sight of the familiar face. “Amada, my Latina Doll, I wish you wouldn’t call me that, you and every other woman seem to like comparing me to three pound fluff balls now.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t act like one, show a little fang every once and a while, maybe we’d be more respectful.” She winked at him, waving him towards her overflowing desk. Her partner’s desk was unoccupied and he was grateful, Steven didn’t particularly like him.

Scooping the thickly built woman up into a hug, he snorted. “I’m pretty sure I could eat a dear raw in front of Illyn and she’d still call me puppy.” He placed Amada down and spun her extra chair around so he was sitting backwards in it. “Now, can you please tell me why I drove sixteen hours up here, and stayed in a really shitty motel last night? I need a shower and a snack before I wolf out and one of your friends shoots me.”

She smacked him with a file before settling into her chair. “They’d have to beat me to it, I’ve been itching to shoot something since I got this case.” Amada muttered something else in Spanish before handing him the file.

“Nineteen year old female; Caucasian; lived just outside Canton, Ohio until last year.” Clint opened the file and the dimpled face of a rural charmer greeted him. Mousy blond locks framed her face and a frizzy braid had been pulled around one shoulder. “Per her parents, she developed an unhealthy obsession with tarot cards, and started trying to brew potions. Kid stuff. The coroner checked though, and she did have tracers for some latent magic; says her attacker probably didn’t even notice. So, obviously, the city is writing the death off as sup vs sup.” Amada’s face was drawn, all laughter forgotten as she laid out a crime scene photo of the victim.

Oh Sunshine... Clint cleared his throat as he picked up and examined the photo. The girl was splayed, clothing a mess on her tangled limbs. Her legs had twisted at awful angles underneath her, and her eyes were vacant and dead. “I was really hoping you would take the case so this wouldn’t happen again.”

Clint put the the picture down slowly, decision already made. “You still have the body?” Amada gave him a tight nod. “Good. We’ll stop there, then we can see what else we need.”

“We? You trying to steal my partner again?”

Clint huffed, rolling his eyes at Amada, before plastering a bright smile on his face to greet her partner. “Oh, ya know me Steven, I just can’t wait to do your job for you.”

The man glared at him before settling down at his desk, fighting his belly as he pulled himself to it. “We don’t need your help with anything. I told Amada not to call you, there’s no case.” The Latina cursed, spewing in Spanish. Steven ignored her, talking louder. “Local vamp probably got out of control when he tasted her magic. That’s it. No judge is going to prosecute, we don’t get involved with sup victims that’s just the way it is.”

Clint couldn’t help the sour growl that rumbled in his chest. “If a vamp got someone with magic, I can guarantee that this girl wouldn’t have died so quickly.” He pushed himself from the chair, jerking his head to Amada.

The heavy set man called after him, “There won’t be a finder’s fee with this one Clint, there’s not a case!”

Amada hurried to keep up with him as he walked, following his nose towards the morgue. “I’m sorry Clint, I didn’t even think of that.”

“Don’ worry about it, Doll. I bring a killer vamps head in for a bounty, I get paid either way.” It is what his boss paid him for after all, it was just a perk when the police paid him too.

When Clint stepped into the morgue, the smell of decay and disinfectant made him crinkle his nose. His sneeze echoed off the metallic surfaces of the room, and he shook himself. “Which one she in?”

Amada tugged him towards one of the farthest freezers and slid the slab out. Hackles rising, Clint approached and slid the zipper open. Death always put his wolf on edge, made it search for predators. It made him good at his job at least.

Clenching his jaw tightly, Clint pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves. Hi Sunshine... They’d removed her clothes, and he could see where they’d collected evidence. But other than that, the girl was untouched, black makeup streaked down her face, whorls of blood covering her pale throat. The brilliant green eyes were cloudy and half lidded. He closed her eyes, hiding her the best he could from his necessary voyeurism. The stench of urine and bloated bowels stung his nose, making his eyes water even as they flickered yellow.

“This wasn’t a ‘local vamp’ Amada.”  Clint whispered, gently gripping the girl’s jaw and turning her head to view the punctures more closely. There was a crust around the edges of the wound, crystalline and hard. Rubbing a finger over it, he let more of his wolf surface. Amada took a shuddering breath and stepped back as his face cramped before elongating slightly, canines biting into his gums.

“Wha-“ There was a thick cough as Amada cleared her throat, regaining her composure. “What do you mean by that?”

Clint took a deep breath, mouth falling open slightly as he let the scent of venom flow over his tongue. He brought the glove, coated with the crystal substance, closer to his nose and snuffled. He grimaced at the stale scent, it wasn’t strong enough. Sighing, he stuck the finger in his mouth and swirled his tongue around the appendage, liquefying the crystals from the glove. He heard Amada gag, and Clint smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, lips wrinkled in disgust.

“Por qué?! That’s fucking evidence, perro estúpido, Dios mío!” Snatching up a stack of papers she struck at him, pushing him away from the body.

Clint snickered at her, baring a long fang in a grin. “Would you rather have waited another few weeks for someone to tell you that you’re dealin’ with more than one vamp’?” Clint batted his eyes at her, face returning to its pure human form. “I’m faster than your lab, especially because they don’t believe there’s a case here.”

Anger thrummed through the air, Amada’s fists rattling the papers as she clung to them. “That’s still disgusting, you practically licked a dead body.”

Clint shrugged, smirking again. “Werewolf.” Raising a thick brow, he nodded to the body in front of them. “Now that we’ve established I do some weird things, do you want to know what else there is?”

“Lick anything else, perrito, I’m out.” The Latina folded her arms, staring pointedly at the young girl in front of them.

“This vamp’s never fed before, or at least if it has, it’s still too young to know what it’s doing. I think this was an initiation feed.”  Clint let the statement hang heavy in the air, watching as what he was suggesting crystallized in Amada’s mind. Her plush lips parted slowly, eyes squinting as she looked up from the body.

“What do you mean?” Her voice was skeptical, not experienced enough with the supernatural to see what he saw.

“I mean, this whole thing looks wrong. For one you’ve never had to call me for a vamp’ case in Chicago, it’s always some other sup. For two, you’ve seen a vamp’ case before, right?” Clint waited on her nod before continuing. “Look at the puncture marks. She was bitten in the wrong spot, an experienced vamp would have gone farther forward so they didn’t have to deal with the muscle. And what’s the other big part of vamp kills?”

Amada scrunched her nose, examining the puncture mark. “They don’t leave any blood behind.”

“Exactly!” Clint tilted on his toes, leaning on the slab. “Usually with a vamp kill there isn’t any blood, their saliva seals the injury off so there isn’t any clean up. But newbie vamps sometimes don’t do it right, they dribble like a fucking toddler, see the blood smears?” At Amada’s nod, he scraped a finger through the crystallized saliva again. “The saliva here is from two different vamps, one doing cleanup, zero waste, shit like that.”

Splaying playing his hands to emphasis the girl in front of him. “This is like a mother cat teaching her kittens to hunt, I can almost guarantee that the Elder was the one to lure her in. Little vamplings don’t have good control of their glamor yet, what I’ve seen with a vampling that gets made and abandoned is, let’s just say, gory.” Clint rolled the zipper of the body bag further down, examining the rest of her with careful hands. “I bet you she has some sort of deformity, or injury, that made it harder for her to run when the Elder let his glamour go to let the younger practice.”

Humming, Amada ruffled through the charts before pulling a slender folder from the stack she had snatched up. “Looks like she broke her right knee falling from a horse when she was a teenager, coroner’s report says she’s got a few metal rods in.”

Grunting, Clint examined her knees, black blood was crusted there, oozing from abrasions that hadn’t had a chance to heal. He picked up a strong wrist, feeling a small pull of sadness as he did. Her wrists were delicate, even though they wouldn’t be considered the traditional willowy. She shouldn’t have been an easy target, for any human she would have been able to put up some sort of fight. Dark bruises had bloomed on her wrists, the grip of slender, powerful hands forever cast onto pearly skin. He held her wrists up for Amada to inspect. “Vamps don’t need to do this, not unless they’re new or they have someone they can’t glamour.”

Amada’s skin turned a sickly yellow as she looked up to Clint, eyes wide as she searched his face for clarification.  “But, we have several established nests in the city, they don’t do anything like this. They have contracts with blood donors, they’ve also made contracts with halfway houses.” At Clint’s questioning glance she clarified. “Apparently, the venom is like methadone, and it makes it easier to transition off of drugs. It’s also healthier if they can’t kick the habit. The vamps that have the contracts make sure they’re healthy.”

Clint nodded his head, brow quirked with understanding. “Another point in favor of what I’m saying. Your nests wouldn’t need to kill, and they definitely wouldn’t leave a body for anyone to find. There’s a new Elder vamp’ in town trying to push in on territory, and he’s finding converts. This is just the beginning, unless we find them first.”  

Letting out a groan, Amada settled into a nearby chair and rubbed at her temple. “Mierda.”

Nodding, Clint passed a hand through the girls soft hair before gently zipping up the body bag. “Don’t worry Sunshine, I’ll find them.”

[ethereal-mists]

Of Fame and Misery

I decided to start writing a Hollywood AU/Bodyguard AU for Castlevania

Summary: 

Trevor is a fighter in an underground ring. Adrian is an actor and model for his father's esteemed agency. It seems unlikely that their paths would ever cross, until Adrian starts receiving death threats with no idea who's sending them, or why.

With his son's life at risk, Vlad Tepes hires him a bodyguard. Though they don't quite get along, Trevor and Adrian are stuck with each other now, and with the help of Adrian's co-star Sypha, they will find a way to keep him safe.

( Also on Ao3 )

                                               Chapter One

“HIT HIM IN THE NOSE!!! THE NOSE!!”

The crowd cheers ravenously, circled around Trevor and his opponent and eagerly watching as the two men beat the ever-loving shit out of each other in the middle of a dusty old basement. Who exactly the crowd is cheering for, he doesn't know and doesn't care. This fight isn't about pleasing the crowd, at least not to Trevor. No, it's about money. Like it always is. And with rent payments due soon, Trevor has no intention of losing.

 Each powerful blow sends another painful jolt through his body, and he knows that by tomorrow he will be a bruised and aching mess. But right now that doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is bringing down the ugly bastard in front of him. Gerard, he thinks his name is, if he goes off of what a good chunk of the crowd has been cheering. If he had to guess, Gerard must be in his mid thirties, balding, crooked jaw - no doubt from a long career of underground fighting - and is probably twice Trevor’s size. Gerard grins and swipes a meaty fist at him, and Trevor takes a step backwards on instinct. The fist harmlessly swings by only inches from his face, and he feels both immensely relieved and proud of himself for dodging a blow that would have surely left a nasty bruise.

“Ha! You missed.” Trevor goads, taking a moment to catch his breath. He’s panting heavily from the exertion of the match, and he's reached the point where he can no longer hide it. And although he's disappointed in himself for showing how worn out he's getting, Gerard doesn't look too much better, face reddened and body entirely drenched in sweat. This match has been going on for far too long. Gerard scowls and lunges forward, his other fist poised for another attack. Trevor is ready for it, but the punch doesn’t come. Instead, he kicks at Trevor's legs and sweeps them out from beneath him, and Trevor is falling, falling, falling onto the filthy concrete floor of what was affectionately dubbed The Brawl Hall. “Oh shi-!” He yells out as he goes down. 

If he wasn’t already covered in dust, he sure as hell is now. Every bit of dirt and grit that makes contact with him clings to his sweat soaked skin like he’s some kind of swiffer duster. But really, that's the least of his worries.

He manages to catch himself as he falls, preventing his head from smashing into the concrete floor. The last thing he needs today is a concussion. There’s no time to thank himself for his quick reflexes however, because that bloody fist is back and it’s connected with Trevor’s left cheek. He does his best to scramble backwards on the floor, away from the brute, but he can only go so far before he feels the boots of spectators nudging him to get back in there and fight, or at least, take it like a man. 

His opponent saunters towards him with a smug look. He knows he has the upper hand now. He knows he’s going to win. Trevor can feel the adrenaline - and alcohol- pumping through his veins. He can hear it in his ears. It’s deafening and desperate, and begging him to do something, anything, to just keep going, keep on fighting, even though his body is screaming at him to give in and yield.

But Trevor Belmont doesn’t give up so easily.

As the man bends down to grab him, Trevor doesn’t try to duck out of the way. Instead, he reaches up to meet him, grabs him by the shoulders, and pulls him down and forward as he uses one of his legs to kick at his stomach, pushing his back-end up in the air. The man, rightfully surprised, flips over Trevor and onto his back. The crowd has to jump out of the way to avoid getting caught in the crosshairs. 

Gerard lays on the ground groaning, and Trevor uses that moment to climb on top of him and knock him out with a quick fist to the chin. 

There’s a moment of silence, and then the crowd is cheering. Most of them, anyway. Some bystanders boo him and yell that he got lucky. Trevor flips them off and spits in their direction.  Luck or not, he doesn’t care. He’s won. And that means he gets to collect his prize. 

And that means he can go upstairs to the bar and get himself a nice drink before he fully sobers up. 

God forbid that happen.

                                                   —————

By the time Trevor is all cleaned up and paid, two other fights have started and finished, and most people seem to have either cleared out and headed home, or gone upstairs to grab a drink like Trevor planned to do. 

Everything hurts, just as he knew it would. Just like it always did after a match. It somehow feels good, in a way that Trevor can’t quite put into words, but it’s still a bitch to deal with, and Trevor knows that it will be no better tomorrow. But that's how life goes when you make a living with your fists, he thinks absentmindedly. He’d do something else if he knew how to, but with no high school diploma, and no so-called ‘dreams and aspirations’ beyond getting his next meal and drink, there was no reason to go to the trouble of changing what was already clearly working for him. After all, he was still alive, still had a roof over his head, and in the end, that’s all a person needs, right? Somewhere to sleep, something to eat, and occasionally, someone to fuck. That’s what he tells himself. That’s all he needs, he thinks, and the aching emptiness that creeps up on him sometimes, threatening to suck him in and swallow him whole… well. That’s what drinking is for. 

He climbs the creaky stairs and gives a quick nod to the bouncer that guards the entrance of the Brawl Hall. The upstairs area is much nicer than the dusty makeshift arena hiding beneath, and even the old storage room where the hidden entrance is, is much cleaner at the least. The rest of the place is just your run of the mill bar, with all the expected amenities that a bar might have, including an old jukebox that sits in the corner and never works and a neon sign above the bar that says ‘Harold’s Pub’. 

The smell of old varnish and whiskey is warm and welcoming by now, and if he’s being honest, this shitty little bar is the closest thing Trevor has had to a home in years. Landlords kick you out, apartments come and go, but Harold’s Pub never changes. It’s still the same shithole he walked into years ago, searching for work. Still filled with the familiar faces of lonely broken people that come here night after night, hoping to drown their sorrows in the bottom of a pint. Trevor can’t help but feel sorry for them, but sometimes he wonders if he’s any different. Maybe being an old man, drunkenly passed out and alone in the corner of a shady bar was what the future had in store for him. The thought always unsettles him more than he’d like to admit, and yet he feels almost resigned to it. It’s not that he never had dreams or ambitions for himself. He had plenty of them when he was younger. But that was a different time, and a different Trevor. One who was young and naive and not yet broken, one who didn’t know the meaning of loss and how it can haunt you endlessly, even in your dreams.

He slides onto one of the barstools and raises a hand to get the bartender's attention. Clearly, he’s sobered up a bit too much.

The bartender is an old man with a kind face and greying dreadlocks named Carlson. He’s familiar with Trevor, and doesn’t bother asking what he wants - just pours him a pint and slides it over without a word. Good man, not very talkative, but Trevor likes him. Too many people these days like to stick their noses where it doesn’t belong, like they’re entitled to know your personal history simply because they’re bored. 

He takes a sip of his beer and peers around the room. It's not too busy, and he can recognize a few familiar faces. Like the tough looking woman he knows as another fighter, sitting on the other end of the bar. He doesn’t know her name, but he sure as hell remembers her face (it was the last thing he saw  before she knocked him out in their match last week). Trevor makes a point of not spending too much time looking in her direction. Asides from her, there’s a pair of old men huddled in a booth over their whiskey, whispering amongst themselves, a shifty man sitting in the back corner, and a few of other fighters celebrating their victories or drinking their losses.They"re all regulars. But there are a few unfamiliar faces too. A young couple flirting in a booth, and a beautiful woman with platinum blonde hair and sanguine lips that smile as she meets Trevor's gaze. He freezes momentarily, but quickly gets his bearings and gives her an awkward smile in return, throwing in a little wave for good measure. Compared to the rough-and-tumble appearance of the usual patrons this place attracted - Trevor included - she looked like she belonged in a museum, as if she was a marbled statue of a Goddess that a man might pray to. 

Maybe if Trevor played his cards right, he could pray to her too.

Hes considering whether or not he should send a drink to her table when she gets up, heels clicking on the old wood panelled floor, and comes to settle on the barstool beside him. He flashes her a smile, which he hopes passes as charming.

"Can’t say I’ve seen your face around here before." he begins, "Though I must admit, I'd like to see a lot more of it."

She scoffs, and he can feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up on him. He rubs the back of his neck nervously, and she watches him like a hawk - no, a tiger, analyzing its prey. And then suddenly she’s all smiles.

"Listen, Trevor - it’s Trevor, right?” She asks, and he wonders how she knows. He could swear that he’s never seen this woman before in his life. He opens his mouth to respond, but she waves a hand at him before he can get a word out. “It doesn’t matter. Now listen to me…” her eyes narrow and her smile disappears, “I'm not here to listen to your pathetic pick up lines." she states, “nor am I here to flirt and make pleasantries.”

"I... see." Trevor responds, for lack of anything better to say. There’s a moment of silence, and he doesn’t know whether or not he’s supposed to say something. He can feel her eyes boring into him, sharp and glinting like ice against the warm light from the neon sign. He supposes that he is meant  to say something after all, and sighs, too tired and worn to play into whatever game she’s after. "Well, if you’re not here for a hookup, what do you want from me?”

"To get to the point, I saw your fight.” 

Ah. That explains how she got his name.

"And?” He prompts, “What did you think? You don’t strike me as the type who likes that sort of thing." 

"Oh, please. You think I’d debase myself by stepping foot in this establishment without due reason?" she scoffs as if affronted by the very idea of it, but seems to settle down, relaxing her shoulders and replacing her slightly annoyed expression with a more neutral one as she idly picks lint from her dress and then smooths it out. "I’m here on behalf of my employer, Mr. Vlad Tepes. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

“Can’t say that I have." Something about the name sounded familiar, but there was no way for him to really be sure he wasn’t just imagining it.

She looks at him, incredulous. "Well, I can assure you, he’s a very powerful man."

The way she says it has images running through Trevor's mind of men wearing suits with guns blazing, gambling houses filled with the heavy smoke of cigars, and a man smiling as he cracks his knuckles. A very powerful man could be many things, but given that this Mr. Tepes guy wants to hire a bodyguard straight out of some dirty underground fighting ring, Trevor is placing his bets on him being some mafia boss or something. And that’s a mess Trevor does not want to get mixed in with.

"That’s great and all, but I still don’t see what that has to do with me." He says gruffly, eyes narrowed.

"I’m getting to that. You see, Mr. Tepes has a son, Adrian. Recently he’s been receiving death threats. We have no idea who's sending them, or why, and as you can imagine, Mr. Tepes is beside himself with worry. He’s given me the task of finding and recruiting a capable bodyguard for the boy."

"So… you want me to be that bodyguard, I'm guessing?"

"Yes. I’ve seen you fight, and I can say with confidence that you’ve impressed me. You’re quick on your feet, and your reflexes are fast. You’re obviously strong. Judging from what I’ve seen… I believe you just might be the man we’re looking for."

He wasn’t sure what to make of that. The praise was unexpected, but it sure as hell felt good. It wasn’t often someone pointed out his skills like that, even though it’s really no secret -at least in Trevor’s eyes. Guarding some kid didn’t sound too hard. The death threats were probably just bluffs anyway, something to put the kid’s old man up in arms, or put pressure on him to do God knows what. Still, this whole ordeal was a little odd, even for Trevor’s liking.

"Hang on," he says, slowly, "don’t people normally collect resumes for this kind of thing? Put out flyers or whatnot?"

She waves a hand as if she can just shoo away his worries. "A piece of paper won’t divulge whether or not a person is a capable fighter. I talked to Mr. Tepes, and he agreed with me that this would be the best way to access our options. Are you interested in the job or not?"

Trevor took a sip of his beer as he mulled over the proposition. Sure, it was strange. Some mysterious beauty shows up out of nowhere and offers him a job? Trevor almost wants to laugh at the absurdity. Maybe it’s not that funny, maybe it’s just the beer, but either way, he stifles a chuckle. 

“Is something funny?” She says, wryly. 

"No, not at all.” He assures her, clearing his throat and gathering himself. A deep breath, and he’s back to business. “How much will I be paid if I take you up on your offer?"

"Payment will be discussed between Mr. Tepes and yourself. But I assure you… You will be paid very, very well."

He likes the sound of that. Really likes it. A steady job that pays well and doesn't involve getting the shit kicked out of him on a regular basis (hopefully), and all he has to do is guard some kid.

"I’m interested."

"Good." she says, obviously pleased with his response. She pulls out a slip of paper and a pen from her purse, and scribbles something down in elegant writing as Trevor tries to peek over her hand to read it. She finishes and passes it over to him. He takes it, and notices her long, red painted fingernails as he withdraws his hand. Something about them sends shivers down his spine; and not the good kind. Eager to look at anything but her hands now, he examines the paper. It's an address. "Be there at noon sharp. Don’t be late. And please," she pauses, her face scrunching up in disgust, "wear something clean, or at the very least, presentable"

He looks down at his shirt and notices just how dirty it is. Dried sweat, dust, and a bit of blood (whether his or his opponent’s, he doesn't know). “Uh… right. Presentable.”

She seems satisfied with that and gets up from her seat. “Good. It’s been nice meeting you, Trevor. I hope to see you soon.” She turns to leave.

"Wait." he pipes up before she can walk away. She halts and turns back to give him a pointed, questioning stare, "What's your name? Seems a little unfair that you know mine and I have no idea who you are."

"Carmilla. I’m a personal assistant to Mr. Tepes.”

And with that, she leaves.

[bangbangchanie]

I'm Yours~ Hyunjin

Summary: Hyunjin comes home, and all he see is you in a burrito blankets on the floor.

Paring: Hyunjin × Reader

Warning: Mentions of a bad mental health day, fluff and Idk SQUISHY Hyunjin

Request:Can I have a tiny fluffy fluffy of hyunjin coming home to his s/o and she has been going through alot and he just takes her to the room and sings her to sleep (sorry I'm really fluff deprived)

Admine Peachey 🍑 is the Hyunjin stan but I need to write the fluff guys~ Admine Whinnie 🐻

You weren't one to show the world your bad days, always pushing through them. To prove to yourself that you can over come and just reward yourself from going through the day with a slight forced smile but wrapping yourself into your favorite blanket as American Horror Story plays in the background.

And today was one of thoese days.

Maybe it was the school assignments, or the rent that was due in three days, maybe it was the leaky foist in the bathroom. Or the broken heater. But you just crashed. Going to class only to fail a test, going to work o ly to pick up a double shift. Only to be told your pay check was gonna be a day late.

So when you got back to your shitty studio aparment you kicked off your shoes and stripped out of the clothes of the day. Hair being pulled into a messy bun as you throw a large sweater over your body. The smell of your boyfriend wrapping around you as you press the TV remote to turn it on. Grabbing your blanket your lay it down in the ground. Body laying on one side, then rolling yourself loudly into it. Sitting up to press olay on the Cult session of American Horror Story.

Your eyes stayed on the screen, not seeing your boyfriends name popping up in your phone screen, which had been thrown on to your start mattress. When the jiggle of keys made your head turn, to watch your black haired boyfriend open your front door. His face was covered with a black face mask. He was wearing a tucked into black long sleeves, his ripped Jean's lead to his black Van's. As he kicked them up, he finally looked up and made eye contact with you. The take out bag stay latched in his hand as the duffle bag fell to the floor.

"Bad day baby?" He asked making you huff as you turn back to the TV. Your eyes watching the screen as you hear his feet load agains your concrete floor. The take out food smelling up your chilled apartment. "Hungry?" You shrug till you take a deep breath in, "I got boiled Pork."

"I could eat." You mumbled shuffling around, to face him, his body moving with the open plate of food. His body sitting in front of you as he feddntou for a couple minutes. "I hate life."

"But I'm here."

"I didn't say I hated my life, I just hate life. Like being an adult isn't fun Jinnie." You whined making him sigh as he took the almost empty plate and stood up. Placing it on the kitchen counter he moved back to in front of you. Pushing you to the ground he nodded for you to unroll the burrito blanke you were in. As you did he moved about your bed, moving the pillows to one side and adjusting the heater fan you had bought to the end of the bed.

"Come one baby, let's snuggle." His mumbled making your nod as you move your body onto the slightly old mattress. His body moving to rest next to yours. His arms wrapping around your sheets as he flicks the switch that was placed next to your bed the aparment litt shutting off.

Your nose nuzzles agains his shoulder as his legs drape over yours, twisting your legs togethers as he moves the down of your in your sides. You head in his chest as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Your hands moving to grip his shrit as you let out a deep breath you seemed to be holding in.

"I love you Jinnie." You mumbled making a smile lift up on his face as he tightens his hold around you.

"I love you to sweetie...I'm gonna sing for you." He mumbles making you let out a laugh, as his slight scratchy voice past his lips. "Why are you laughing?!" He treated after you broke out into a fit when he tried to reach a high note. Your eyes were closed as you shook your head.

"You're just a dork."

"Yeah but I'm yours."

[galacticjoelle]

Kiribaku Oneshot/Minific

This was inspired by my most recent post and I hope you guys enjoy it! Note: I’m not the best writer

————————————————

Katsuki fell. He fell hard. These foreign feelings finally got through to his thick skull when he and Kirishima were walking to the dorms after training. Kirishima and he had been recently hanging out more often, mostly because Kirishima is fearless and couldn't care less if he was blown to dust. Kiri had always tagged along, usually resulting in Bakugo being dragged somewhere later. This time, Kirishima was begging Bakugo to let him play his music playlist instead of his. Bakugo finally gave in to make kirishima shut up. “FUCKING FINE! Shitty hair...” Bakugo said, snatching his earbuds out of his pocket. Kirishima looked at Bakugo before playing his list and plugging in the red earbud.

Bakugo looked ahead at the road, seeing orange and red leaves coloring the concrete floor. Soon his ears were filled with a soft piano. “The fuck is this sh-” His voice softened as he glanced at Kirishima. Kirishima had the softest smile on his face as the lyrics started. “Fuck.” Bakugo thought. Kirishima began to mumble the words under his breath and Bakugo listened, not to the song. Bakugo’s attention was on Kirishima’s voice. It was soft. Smooth. It wasn’t his usual tone, big, loud. His usual tone was like the bright screaming red of passion. This tone was like the pink in a sunset. Bakugo had to force his gaze back to the ground as he found himself staring for too long. “What the fuck... “ Bakugo felt his throat begin to tighten as he listened on. Kirishima’s voice never skipped a beat. “Love like you…” His voice trailed off. It was so enticing to Bakugo. His breath shallowed as he felt his face flushed. At this point he didn't mind if the song didn't fit his tastes. He listened on. “I always thought I might be bad now I’m sure that its true cuz, I think you're so good and I’m nothing like you.” Kirishima’s voice grew louder, his confidence now shining a bit. Bakugo got stuck on those words. His heart stopped for a second. Like it had hit home. “Not possible. I don’t like anyone. If I did people would look down on me. I’m not that fucking stupid that i’d fall for someone.” Bakugo thought as he heard Kirishima’s voice fade out, signalling the end of the song. His gaze fell on Kirishima once again, seeing Kirishima’s content smile would have made him run to the hills if he hadn’t stopped himself. “Right?”

“Oi Shitty Hair.” Bakugo said harshly as he ripped out Kirishima’s earbud. “The fuck did you make me listen to?” Kirishima looked at Bakugo, his eyes wide. He started beaming. “Its ‘Love Like You’ from Steven Universe!” Bakugo looked at him for a while and turned his gaze back in front of them, the dorm now visible. “It fucking sucks. We’re listening to my music next time.” “Awwwww Bakugo, come on…” Kirishima pouted. If Kirishima didn’t know better, he wouldn't have noticed the hesitation in Bakugo’s voice.

Now Bakugo was laying in his bed, with a phone in his hand and earbuds in his ears, a familiar soft piano playing. Was Bakugo reading into this too much? Maybe. Was Bakugo falling deep? Definitely. The more and more he replayed it, the more and more he realized that he had been shoving down an unknown feeling. “Did Kirishima put this song on specifically? No” he thought. But it did make him think. It made him think about how much Kirishima had changed him. He wasn’t so hot headed compared to the beginning of the year. Did he look up to Kirishima? Sure, why not. He was passionate and determined. He couldn’t stop thinking about how everyone loved him. Like something about his smile could entrance and influence anyone in the room. Then there's this stupid smirk he has. When he looks at Bakugo after he’s probably blown something up. Kirishima had this smirk each time and usually after he would follow his steps. They would destroy everything in their way. Bakugo couldn’t ever think about not having him by his side.Then he thought about the All for One incident. Bakugo was afraid to admit that he was truly scared, afraid that he was going to give up. Then he wasn’t, because Kirishima yelled out to him. Saved him. Bakugo was never like Kirishima. He was so nice so amazing so strong so caring so… loving. It finally clicked. “I’m a fucking idiot.” He jumped up, ripping the earbuds from his ears and stuffing his phone in his pocket. “Fuck it.” He had to change this tight feeling in his chest. Quick.

Kirishima’s peaceful nap was ruined with an abrupt knocking on his door. His hair was messy and to put it short, it was a bird’s nest. Kirishima groggily gets up from his desk, still not noticing the english paper stuck to his face. He stumbled to the door, bumping into various clothing and items on the floor. Kirishima let a yawn escape his lips as he stops in front of the door. “Who is it?” He says as he opens the door with his eyes only slightly cracked open. His eyes shoot open when he’s met with hard sharp eyes. “Bakugo! Why’re you here?” Kirishima quickly shakes himself awake, causing the paper to fall. Kirishima’s face grew hot. “I didn’t notice that on my face????? I’m probably a mess.” Kirishima thought forcing an awkward grin onto his face. Bakugo stood there. Still. “The fuck do I say? Do i just confess right here? Do i have to recite a poem like in those cheesy as fuck movies? Does he even think of me like that?” Bakugo thought. He didn’t think of what to say beforehand. Another moment in his life when he was a fucking idiot. “What the fuck am I doing???” He began to panic but didn’t let it show. Kirishima noticed the stiff silence and said, “You wanna come inside? It's a mess so I’m sorry!” Bakugo kinda just stood there, weighing his options, join him or detonate the fucking building. Bakugo was never the one for awkward moments and this was the worst time to have one. “Fine k-Shitty Hair.” Bakugo stormed in, passing Kirishima and placing himself on the messy bed. Kirishima didn’t fail to notice Bakugo’s slip when addressing him.

“Soooooo, what’cha wanna do? Video games?” Kirishima said as he closed the door behind them. He looked at Bakugo and noticed the expression he was making. He was thinking. Thinking on just how he was gonna tell Kirishima that he realized that he had pushing away some feelings. Thinking on how to tell him that he’s a fucking idiot. “Kirishima, I was wondering…” It was too late now. He had to tell him something. Kirishima noticed his struggle and stood up to the plate. “How bout we just- uh- study?” He knew how to deal with awkward situations but how the fuck did you deal with an awkward Bakugo? Kirishima kinda just stood there, not knowing what to do. Bakugo was like a puzzle piece. One that no one had yet to figure out. Kirishima was one of a few who were curious what would happen if you had solved the piece. Seeing Kirishima in thought had frustrated Bakugo, even more so, it made him anxious. So he did the one thing he was thinking about. “Eijirou.” A cold voice had pierced Kirishima’s ears as he looked up, seeing a pair of hard red eyes directly in front of him. He could feel his throat tighten and his face flush. Before they knew it, Bakugo had his lips on Kirishima’s. Now he’d done it. He kissed his best friend out of sheer anxiety and… love? Bakugo still faint to the word but at this point, all he could just focus on the fact that he felt a second pair of lips pushing into the kiss. Kirishima had kissed back. He kissed back. Bakugo pulled back with a dumbfounded look. “What the fuck did I just do?” A soft laugh filled the air as Kirishima closed his eyes, tears threatening to fall. “I don't know what you did but I just know that it caused me to love you.” You could’ve sworn that Bakugo had gone blind by looking directly at the piece of sunshine. Bakugo just stood there, his arms loosely around Kiri’s waist. They were both interrupted with a familiar tune that had just been noticed. Bakugo forgot to turn off his music. Had it been playing this whole time? How did they not notice??? Kirishima lowered his hand into bakugo’s pocket and pulled out the phone. Bakugo just watched as Kirishima pulled the earbuds from the jack and let the music play out loud. “When I see the way you look shaken by how long it took, I could do about anything, I could even learn how to love like you.” He looked up at Bakugo with a grin stretched on his face. “You were listening to the song I put on?” Bakugo just huffed and dropped his head in the crook of his neck. “Shut up.” “Love you too… Katsuki.” Katsuki fell. He fell hard.