#this is what happens when i bottle everything up

[yuikomorii]

AYAYUI IDOL AU: Chapter 2

// It’s time for the second chapter! This one focuses more on the conversations with other characters than on Ayayui interactions, but I’m really curious to see if anyone can guess who the second Diaboy to meet Yui will be. 👀

This story isn’t meant to be a harem or anything like that though, but all the Diaboys will meet Yui at some point. I hope you enjoy this chapter until the next one! 💖

Chapter 1

Place: Dorms

Ayato: Good night.

Laito: Nighty night~!

— Ayato enters his room —

Laito: ( Hmm… he seems unusually quiet. He hasn’t said a single word the entire way, which is so unlike him. )

( It’s as if something’s weighing on his mind, that he’s deliberately keeping to himself. )

( Something must have surely happened to him when he went outside, but why won’t he say anything? That’s weird… )

— stretches and yawns —

Anyway, there’s no point in overthinking it. As long as it doesn’t damage his and our reputation, it’s not worth worrying about.

Place: Ayato’s room

Ayato: ( Phew, I managed to slip into my bed without waking Shu up. )

( The last thing I needed was a lecture about sneaking off to the club as an idol and nearly getting caught. )

( Haa… what a mess. I really made a fool of myself today, didn’t I? )

( If it weren’t for that girl, I’d probably be in the hospital right now, all over the news for alcohol poisoning. )

( Man, that would’ve totally wrecked my career… )

???: Heh, where have you been?

Ayato: …!

( Was that—)

O-Oi, you’re not sleeping!?

Shu: I was until a certain someone tripped over the WI-FI cable and woke me up.

Ayato: ( Fuck! )

Shu: But whatever, I answered your question, so now it’s your turn to answer mine.

— opens one eye and looks at him —

Ayato: ( Wait… I could just make something up and play it off as the truth! )

( Heh, exactly! There’s no way he’d be able to tell it’s a lie! )

Just practicing. I want to be the best version of myself for the next concert, y’know?

Shu: Hmm… I see.

And now, what’s the real answer?

Ayato: …!?

( How did he— )

Hah? W-What do you mean? I’m telling the truth!

— Shu opens both eyes and looks at him —

Shu: You went there, didn’t you?

Ayato: …!

( This guy… he can see through me! )

How the hell did you know that I went to the night club!?

Shu: Heh~? So I was right after all. You really did go there, huh?

Ayato: ( You… You fucking tricked me! )

Look, I know I’m not the best at keeping things together, but don’t tell Reiji! I beg you!

If the leader finds out, the staff will know, and once the CEO hears, I’m done! He’ll fire me in a heartbeat, no questions asked!

Shu: You’re overreacting. No idol is gonna get fired for just going to a night club.

Ayato: Man, you just don’t get it! It’s not just about going there— it’s what went down while I was there!

Shu: Oh? Now you’ve got me curious. What exactly happened?

— starts piping —

Ayato: ( Why do I keep getting myself in this!? )

( Haa… but I guess there’s no point in running away from my issues anymore. )

Basically, I was very tired and thought of over drinking to get my mind think of something else, but the alcohol and exhaustion made a really bad combination, so my chest started aching.

I went outside to get some air, but the pain just kept getting worse until this random chick found me and gave me her water bottle.

Shu: Wait… so you got caught?

Ayato: Luckily, no! As crazy as this sounds, she didn’t recognize me.

Heck, she even asked for my name after I called her a cab! But of course, I’m not that dumb. I knew it would have been way too risky to tell her my name.

( Honestly, I don’t even know why I was so anxious about it. In the end, everything worked out just fine, and I bet that girl will forget all about it in a few hours anyway. )

Shu: Hmm… you do realize that might have merely been an act, don’t you?

Ayato: Huh? What do you mean…?

Shu: Women are sly as foxes.

They’ll play all innocent and clueless, behaving like they have no idea what’s going on, but in reality, they’re just getting exactly what they want without anyone even realizing it.

Heh, it’s almost impressive how they pull it off.

Ayato: Wait… so you mean that girl knew who I was and only pretended not to so as to stalk me? But if that’s the case, then——

Shu: Haa… no need to scream, it’s almost 3 in the morning.

I’m not saying she’s a stalker, but you should probably be more cautious.

You know how fangirls are. If they see you talking to any girl that’s not them, they’ll lose it. Better to just watch out and avoid any unnecessary trouble.

— closes eyes again —

Not just for you, but for everyone else around too.

Ayato’s monologue

Shu’s right. I need to step up my game and start taking this job more seriously.

Being an idol isn’t just a paycheck; it’s a responsibility that goes far beyond me.

Every choice I make carries weight, and not just for my future, but for the company’s and everyone I work with.

Yeah… Exactly. If I let my career fall apart, it’s not only me who’ll feel it— the whole team, every project, and all the hard work we’ve put into this place will take a hit as well.

That’s why, from now on, I’m done making stupid decisions that could mess everything up. My focus is on my idol activities and nothing else.

I should have realized from the moment I signed the contract that living like a normal teenager just isn’t part of the deal anymore.

*Timeskip*

Place: Hotel kitchen

Yui: ( Working here is surprisingly relaxing. Not only that, but the co-workers I met seem very nice too! )

( I’m really excited to put my cooking skills to good use. From what I remember, this hotel has a great reputation, therefore it’s truly amazing to learn from such experienced professionals. )

???: Noooo!!!

Yui: …!?

( It’s coming from the storeroom! )

— quickly opens it —

???: ….!

Yui: Hana-san!

I-I heard you scream, are you alright?

Hana: Wa—… Was I really that loud? This is so embarrassing… I’m so sorry!

— covers face with hands —

Yui: Ah, there’s no need to worry about that, it’s fine.

More importantly, what happened? Did something scare you?

Hana: No, I’m not scared, more like… disappointed.

In case you haven’t heard already, the SAKAMAKIS are filming a special episode for their YouTube channel at three different locations, and guess what? My two favorite members are coming to this hotel in 4 days, but the issue is... it’s happening right when I’m not on shift…!

— starts crying —

On top of that, I promised my sister I’d visit her in Fukuoka, since we'll both be off work at the same time, which means that there’s absolutely no way I can meet them now!

This is such terrible timing…!

Yui: ( SAKAMAKIS… Based on Hana-san’s intense reaction, they must be some sort of important public figures, no? )

Oww… it does sound unfortunate, but you shouldn’t give up hope completely. After all, you live in Japan, so I’m sure there’s always a chance you’ll get to meet them!

Hana: It’s not as easy as you say…

They will return to Korea soon, and who knows when they’ll promote in Japan again? This was my only opportunity to see them outside of the concerts… and I couldn’t even manage to get any decent seats there.

— pouts —

Yui: ( Wait, did she say ‘concerts’? )

Ohh, I see. So they’re idols!

Hana: Eh? You… You actually don’t know the SAKAMAKIS—!?

Yui: W-Well… I’m sorry, the name doesn't really ring a bell, and to be honest, I can’t say I’m familiar with the idol world in general.

Hana: But come on, you must have at least seen their faces before, right?

— shows her a picture of them —

Yui: ( Will she be let down again if I say ‘no’? )

( Hmm… But truth be told, these boys are undeniably good-looking, and it’s clear that they must be hardworking as well, considering how they manage to juggle such hectic schedules. )

( I can easily see why they’ve captured the hearts of such passionate fans. )

— eyes suddenly widen —

( The red-haired one——! )

— blushes —

Hana: So, who did steal Yui-san’s heart~?

Yui: Ah, n-nobody…!

— gets embarrassed —

It’s just that the boy in middle… he got an incredibly well-featured face. I don’t know how to put it into words, but he simply appears unreal.

( To think that a human could look like this… it makes me a bit envious. His eyes and face shape are especially pretty. )

— Hana starts laughing —

Yui: ( Eh? Did I say something wrong? )

Hana: Get in line, that’s Ayato-san!

Hmph… just the thought of not being able to see his tiny, perfect face up close makes my heart ache.

Yui: ( Hana-san… she really seems to love this group a lot. )

( I can't help but think that if I were in her shoes, I'd feel hurt too not being able to see someone I admire so much… )

Hey, Hana-san… I know it’s not exactly the same as having it personally from him, but if it’s possible, I’d be more than willing to ask Ayato-san for an autograph on your behalf!

Hana: Eh—? Would you really do that for me!?

Yui-san, you are the best!

— hugs her —

Yui: I-It’s nothing, really.

Hana: Wait a little—! Now that I think about it, you could also totally grab a photo with them! Isn’t that wonderful?

( I can’t believe it! This way I’ll be just one person away from Ayato-san! )

Yui: Uuh… I’m sure it’d be a nice memory to look back on, but wouldn’t it bother you if I did? After all, you’ve been their loyal fan all this time, not me.

Besides, there’s no guarantee that they would agree to take a picture with an ordinary person such as myself.

Hana: That doesn’t matter, silly! They’re super chill with their fans, and everyone says they never turn down a picture request— unless they’re busy, of course. There’s no way they’d refuse you, especially not in a setting like this.

You also mentioned being captivated by Ayato-san’s visuals, so fan or not, I think anyone would jump at the chance to take a picture with such a fine man~!

Yui’s monologue

Hana-san and I continued to talk about it for a while, and during our conversation, she suggested a few of their songs for me to listen to on my way back to the Airbnb.

At first, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but as I played each one, I was pleasantly surprised.

While I’m still not very knowledgeable about this group, the melodies, the lyrics, and even the energy in their performances were captivating in a way I hadn’t expected.

That Ayato boy… he seems like someone who was born to be on stage. Such charisma and beauty… It really makes me wonder how he acts off-cameras.

Hana-san has clearly supported the SAKAMAKIS for such a long time, and to finally get the chance to meet them, only to have it slip through her fingers, must be heartbreaking.

A part of me can’t shake the feeling of guilt, even though I know very well that it wasn’t my or anyone’s fault.

It might not be a fair comparison, I know, but it reminded me of the boy I met yesterday.

He has probably forgotten about me already, but just like Hana-san dreams of meeting her idols, I find myself wishing to meet him again.

Author’s note:

* In case you're wondering why Ayato is sharing a room with Shu and not Laito, many companies assign roommates to idols randomly. The idea is that idols are supposed to get along with everyone, so the arrangement is made to promote harmony and teamwork, regardless of personal preferences.

[thomamaru]

Brushed Numbers and Lingering Words

Synopsis: You were always admired by others by your sharp analysis in English. Rin itoshi, on the other hand, was known for his swift math solving skills. So what would happen if you both ended up on the same team for a quizbee? Chaos.

Tags: Rin Itoshi x gn!reader, sarcastic Rin, academic rivals trope, lotssss of teasing from Rin, fluff

The announcement came abruptly during homeroom, and with it, a new responsibility you hadn’t expected.

“The school has chosen two representatives for this year’s quiz bee,” the teacher began, her tone as bright as a fresh cup of coffee. “(Y/N), for humanities, and Rin Itoshi, for mathematics and sciences.”

Your head snapped up. You glanced around, wondering if there’d been some mistake.

Rin Itoshi? Seriously?

Rin sat across the room, perfectly composed as though the teacher had just complimented him on his haircut rather than volunteered him for a major academic event. His teal eyes met yours briefly, his expression unreadable, before he returned to scribbling in his notebook.

When the bell rang, your curiosity got the best of you. You hesitantly approached him.

“So… looks like we’re partners.”

Without so much as glancing up, Rin replied, “Partners? That makes it sound like we’re splitting the work evenly.”

Your brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ll handle the important stuff,” he said, finally looking at you with a faint smirk. “You know, things that don’t involve reciting poetry.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms. “Do you always have this much charm, or is it just for me?”

“Depends,” he replied casually, closing his notebook with a light thud. “Do you always take everything personally, or is it just because you know I’m right?”

You blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. This was going to be a long partnership.

---

The first training session in the library was about as smooth as you expected—which was to say, not smooth at all.

“You know, you could try to take this seriously,” you said as Rin flipped through a set of sample questions, barely paying attention.

“I am taking it seriously,” he replied, setting the packet down. “I’m just not panicking, unlike you.”

“I’m not panicking,” you snapped, though the furrow in your brow betrayed you.

Rin tilted his head, regarding you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Right. You’re completely calm. That’s why you’re holding that pen like you’re about to duel someone.”

Your grip on the pen immediately loosened, and Rin chuckled under his breath.

The two of you fell into a rhythm of reluctant cooperation. Despite his irritating sarcasm, Rin was sharp, dissecting complex problems with ease. And despite his dismissive attitude, he listened—though he rarely admitted it��whenever you pointed out gaps in his reasoning.

But it was the accidental touches that threw you off.

Your hands brushed when you both reached for the same sheet of paper, and the contact sent an unexpected spark through your chest. A quiet “sorry” escaped his lips, and for a brief moment, you thought you caught a flicker of hesitation in his usually confident eyes.

It was nothing. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

---

As the day of the quiz bee approached, you found yourself pacing outside the classroom, clutching your notes nervously. The responsibility of representing the school suddenly felt much heavier than you’d anticipated.

“Are you planning to wear a hole in the floor?”

Rin’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. He stood a few feet away, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

You opened your mouth to retort but hesitated, glancing at the water bottle in his hand. “What’s that for?”

“For you,” he said, holding it out. “You look like you’re about to faint. Can’t have you passing out before the competition.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, crossing your arms. But when he didn’t move, you reluctantly took the bottle.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice softer. After a moment, you added, “Good luck, by the way.”

Rin’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “We don’t need luck,” he said. “We’ve got my brains and… whatever it is you bring to the table.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips.

---

The auditorium buzzed with anticipation, and you felt your nerves coil tighter with every passing minute. As the participants were seated, Rin leaned closer, his teal eyes sharp with amusement.

“You’re shaking,” he observed, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” he interrupted. “Relax. We’ve got this.”

His voice was steady, almost calming, and you found yourself nodding despite the teasing.

When the questions started, everything faded except the two of you. Rin handled math and science questions with a precision that left you momentarily speechless, his solutions flowing so naturally it was almost mesmerizing.

“Focus,” he murmured, nudging you lightly when a question in your area came up.

You answered confidently, earning an approving nod from him. “Not bad,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

The quiz bee continued, the two of you working together seamlessly despite your differences. Each small interaction—a shared glance, a subtle brush of hands—felt like a thread tying you closer together.

---

When the results were announced, you and Rin were just one point shy of first place.

“We were so close!” you said, laughing despite yourself.

Rin’s brows furrowed as he scanned through the score sheet, his analytical mind already dissecting what might have gone wrong. “One point,” he muttered, his tone laced with frustration.

“Hey,” you said, nudging him lightly. “It’s not the end of the world. We still did great.”

He glanced at you, his expression softening. “You’re taking this a lot better than I expected.”

“Maybe because I enjoyed it,” you admitted with a small smile. “Working with you, I mean. It was… fun.”

---

“Fun,” he repeated, as though the word was foreign to him. But the faint smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t disagree.

---

The week following the quiz bee, you expected life to return to normal. To your surprise, the school had other plans.

By Monday, posters of the quiz bee results were plastered in the hallways. Your names were printed in bold letters—Rin Itoshi and (Y/N)—Second Place Winners! Teachers spoke of it during class, while students congratulated you both whenever they passed by.

“Looks like we’re the new school celebrities,” you joked to Rin as you walked together toward an assembly.

Rin shrugged, unbothered. “They’ll forget about it in a week.”

“I don’t know,” you teased. “Some people are really excited to know you’re good at more than soccer.”

“Don’t push it,” he said dryly, but there was a faint, amused glint in his eyes.

When you reached the auditorium, a staff member gestured for the two of you to come up onstage. A podium had been set up with a banner behind it that read, "Congratulations, Quiz Bee Participants!" The school wanted to make the most of your achievement.

As you walked up, Rin let out a barely audible sigh. “This is unnecessary,” he muttered.

“It’s just a picture,” you whispered back. “Smile, and we’ll get this over with.”

Once onstage, a student photographer directed you both to stand beside the podium. You positioned yourself on one side, with Rin on the other.

“Ready?” the photographer called out, adjusting the camera.

You turned toward the camera but hesitated when you caught a glimpse of Rin in the corner of your eye. Unlike his usual aloof self, he actually looked… relaxed. He even had a faint smile on his face, which somehow made you look longer than you intended.

That’s when Rin noticed.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, redirecting your gaze. But the teasing smirk creeping onto his lips made it clear he didn’t believe you.

As the photographer called for final adjustments, Rin suddenly reached out and brushed something near your temple.

“Your hair,” he said simply, fixing a stray strand with surprising gentleness.

The soft touch sent a jolt through you. Your breath hitched, and before you could react, Rin looked back toward the camera.

The photographer clicked the shutter just in time to capture the aftermath—Rin, standing tall with a small but confident smile, and you, completely flustered as you looked up at him instead of the lens.

“Great shot!” the photographer exclaimed, unaware of the flurry of emotions in your chest.

You climbed down the stage after Rin, trying to gather your thoughts. “What was that about?” you asked, slightly out of breath.

“What was what about?” he replied nonchalantly, glancing at you with feigned innocence.

“The hair thing!” you blurted, your cheeks warming.

“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “It was bothering me.”

“You could’ve just said something,” you muttered, still flustered.

“Would you have fixed it yourself if I did?” he countered, smirking. When you stayed quiet, he added, “Didn’t think so.”

Despite his usual teasing, there was a subtle warmth in his voice. You couldn’t tell if he was doing this on purpose or if Rin Itoshi really was this obliviously charming.

---

Later that day, the photo from the assembly was pinned on the school’s bulletin board. It didn’t take long for students to notice the details.

“Is (Y/N) looking at Rin in this picture?” one whispered.

“And Rin’s smiling?! I didn’t even know he could smile,” another chimed in.

You buried your face in your hands as you overheard the gossip. Rin, on the other hand, seemed unbothered as usual.

“What’s the big deal?” you mumbled when you caught up to him after class.

He tilted his head, smirking. “You’re overthinking again.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Relax,” he said, his voice unusually soft. “It’s just a picture. Besides…” He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “You didn’t look bad.”

Your heart stuttered at the unexpected compliment, but before you could say anything, he added:

“Just try not to get a big head over it.”

And with that, Rin walked away, leaving you to wrestle with the mix of emotions he always seemed to stir.

You were just his partner for a school event.

Days passed, but the memory of the quiz bee lingered. In class, Rin couldn’t help but steal glances at you, his mind replaying moments he thought he’d brushed off.

That’s all it was.

And yet, when your laugh echoed across the hallway, or your hand brushed his while passing a note, Rin found his thoughts straying in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

And though he would never admit it, the memory of your shared moments during the quiz bee was one he wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

A/n: this story might be based on my own experience,,, :P

[meraki-sunset]

so your crow strider au gave me inspiration for my own au, but i've built up the idea in my brain so much that now im scared to try to put it to paper (oops) did you ever deal with this while making crow strider? (and if you did, how you got over it would be much appreciated thanks fhdjks) also your art is cool :]

Hi, sure, i encountered a few blocks when writing CSAU and other projects. I think my method comes down to a couple rules

You need to know how the story ends from the start, so everything in the story leads to the end. Things can change about the contents of the story as you write it and you change your mind about the events that will transpire in it, but you need an end goal you can build your story towards. Most importantly, this is what allows you to add foreshadowing for said ending and structure the narrative in a clear direction. Otherwise, you might come up with a cool ending too late and regret some choices from past chapters that now don’t help this new ending you want

On that same note (and i’ll proceed to copy and paste from an old post) You need to have a Word document with a rough timeline of the events from start to finish. You need to know how it ends from the beginning and how they get there. It can be really, really vague, but it has to be there. It can go like

. They start the game, the trolls bother them.

.both games go to hell

.scratch

.trip, develop relationships

.new set of kids/teen drama

.old kids they get there

.to hell again

.John retcons everything

.new timeline

.they win

And that's homestuck simplified, Those are your Acts. With them, you will know where you're going and if you need to change something earlier. Everything will be constantly up to change of course, but you will be going from point A to point Z more easily.

From there, you go to every point in that list and create a Word document for all of them. I have them in different folders to have every act separated and in order.

A folder for each Doc for every Act, Numbered, and in each one make more lists like that one telling what happens, for example

WordDoc1 - ACT 1 "They start the game, the trolls bother them"=

.John needs to get his game

.introduce Rose

.introduce the trolls on pester chats

. John gets the game

.introduce Dave

.etc

And those are your chapters. Now you can know the extent of what you want to do and if it makes any sense.

I addition to that, every Folder can contain not only the Word document for the Act but also relevant texts and art that are connected to the Act, so evey folder is all about that specific act and any inspiration for it.

Another piece of advice I can give you is to hint at anything important. That's a rule of comedy; actually, the comedian usually closes the show with something related to the first things they said.

That works for everything, and makes people go, "Oh the thing! The meaningless thing they said earlier, it was a clue all along!"

Interconnect it like a web, and that web will stop the story from falling

Homestuck is so ridiculously interconnected that you lose track of the stuff and objects that repeat that have no way to be where they got to be, songs and people and events that are too similar to not be connected but nobody addresses, things like that make it feel like you're dealing with a universe and not just a line of events.

3. Yet another thing, it's something I'm still trying to assimilate, and is that less is more, sometimes things don't need to be said, specialy not bluntly, and an expression, a gesture, a flinch can summarize them. Backgrounds can be reduced, and ideas can be conveyed.

one example is, In homestuck, it's never said that Dave was raised with lack of food. He never sais it, but it's shown in how happy he was to find a warm bottle of juice in his closet, how there is only weapons on the kitchen and no sign of food, how he later sais he never learned what the purpose of a fridge was until he saw it on tv. If someone is lacking something, don't have them say, "i grew up without X thing" show what filled that space in the absence of X thing.

Instead of some character saying, "My dad was never there for christmas" have them say how they thrited for presents at the local goodwill, payed with their lawn mowing money and put the presents under the tree themselves for their siblings and mom.

4. Something that I always have in mind when writing the dialogs and sketching the scenes, is

"I have an idea; what's the easiest way for someone to get the idea, to get the feelings i want to transmit from the idea?" I made the art something I could handle drawing hundreds of times, simplified the coloring, the aspect symbols, the way I draw backgrounds, the way I write dialogs, etc.

That will save you time and work and could prevent you from getting stuck with a project too big to handle

5. This is the most important one: The first draft’s only purpose is to exist.

Writing is like playing darts sometimes; you only get closer to hitting the center by missing it and learning what not to do. That’s an actual rule on animation and a motto on the Disney office. “Get it wrong as quick as you can,” because when you learn what you’re doing wrong is when you start learnign what doing it right means.

If it helps, title your first draft “the dumb version,” because that’s what it is—the version to get the idea out of your head, and then you built over it.

On the same note, once you write "the dumb version" don’t correct it. Rewrite it. It’s annoying, I know, i know, but fixing and fixing a text only carries the mistakes from the first draft, and everything looks kind of disconnected, because it ends up being a Frankenstein text of all the versions of the story mixed together.

This also applies to art; that’s how I handle both writing and drawing; if it’s not working, hold onto the core idea, new page, restart.

Rewriting it puts it in perspective; it feels like a text of its own, with a clear intent in mind.

I think that’s all I have. Making a story is mostly about managing your strengths and weaknesses, organizing and not being scared of it not being perfect.

Hope this helps.

[venomwrites]

This fic was inspired by both the concept art of Vi using a Kiramman banner as a blanket during the pit fighter era and Caitlyn saying that arrests need cause. Cross Posted to Ao3

“Hey, Cait?”

Caitlyn glances up from her book to see Vi emerging from the bathroom. There’s a frown on her face as she holds the brown bottle of antiseptic in her hand. Caitlyn tries to think of what she could be upset about or what she could need it for. Vi is quiet a lot of the time though. More content right now to sit in front of the fire than to do anything that would get her injured. When she leans against the bathroom frame, all Caitlyn can see is unbroken skin. Her eyes are fixated on the bottle as she turns it over in her hand. Finally Caitlyn cannot take the silence any longer. 

“Yes?” She prods gently, “what is it?”

“Why is this here?” Vi asks in the same tone. 

“It’s antiseptic?” Caitlyn offers, unsure of the question. A brief flash of frustration creases Vi’s face, “it’s usually in the bathroom. Unless there’s somewhere else—“

“No, I mean,” Vi runs her thumb around the cap, “why are you getting your antiseptic from Zaun?”

Something cold creeps up Caitlyn’s spine. Vi’s blue grey eyes remain on her as she stares. Caitlyn swallows tightly, feeling as though she’s been caught doing something naughty. It’s on the tip of her tongue to say that it’s a common antiseptic. One that everyone can get with a few coins. Or she could mention the black market. Even though the label on the bottle says it was made in Piltover, it could have made it’s way there. Slipped past the rows and rows of Enforcers she had positioned on the bridge opening each crate with crowbars. It could have happened. But lying to Vi is not something she can bring herself to do again. Even if the desire lingers like the taste of liquor on her tongue. 

“It was just a few things—“

She’s not expect Vi to look quite so betrayed as she looks down at the bottle. Even though she has every right to feel betrayed. Betrayed and so much worse. But Caitlyn can’t bear the look at this late hour as Vi grips the bottle like a lifeline and looks at her like a threat. She gets out of bed, tightening her robe and coming around to the foot of it. 

“Can I explain?” She asks, “please?” 

Vi nods but doesn’t move. 

“I wanted to have cause for the arrests,” Caitlyn starts, “we investigated everything we could find. Including vandalism.” 

Vi closes her eyes in annoyance. 

“The banner.”

Caitlyn swallows tightly. 

“They said you were using it as a blanket,” Caitlyn forces herself to continue, “living in that room,” her stomach rolls at the memory of the photographs, “I decided every arrest and I saw those pictures—“

“You saw pictures of me?”

It takes all of Caitlyn’s strength to appear collected and nod at the tone in Vi’s voice. She doesn’t blame her. She wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see her in that state either. It was really just two photographs but the story they told still makes Caitlyn’s stomach roll. Vi curled under the banner, somehow impossibly tiny on an already small bed. Then Vi sprawled out on the bed with a bottle by her foot, arm’s strewn about. You could count her ribs in the second picture, even through the filthy window. It had been alarming how quickly she became gaunt. Everything in Caitlyn had screamed at the sight of her state. Screamed for her to run and get her. But then she remembered those photographs were only in her possession because she was in charge of martial law. So she had thrown them into the fire and declined to arrest someone whose only crime was desperation. 

“Yes,” Caitlyn says, “I declined your arrest—“

“How did you recognize me?” Vi cuts in, “only Loris and Jinx recognized me.”

“We slept next to each other for weeks,” Caitlyn points out, “how could I not recognize you?” Vi is quiet so Caitlyn continues, “I declined your arrest but I couldn’t just not do anything.”

Vi is quiet and Caitlyn wonder which insult will come out of her mouth first as she thumbs the label of the bottle. If she’s even going to want to yell at her. In a way, Caitlyn would rather have the yelling than the silence. But she can’t bring herself to interrupt Vi while she digests this latest round of betrayal. All Caitlyn can do is quietly try not to fidget and run through the list. Every time, it makes her cringe. Before Vi came back it was because she had no idea how she got away with it. It felt like so much, like such a risk. After, it was because she had no idea how to explain herself. When Vi was there, it felt woefully inefficient. How did one explain to someone that they betrayed them, abandoned them but also tried to intervene just enough so they wouldn’t die? It sounded impossibly cruel, even to Caitlyn’s ears. 

“So this and what else?” Vi asks finally. Caitlyn looks at her and her eyes slowly move towards her, “all of it?” She asks in a voice that is alarmingly small. 

“No,” Caitlyn says quickly and then winces, “I don’t think—“

But Vi is already on her feet, one hand dragging through her hair and the antiseptic clenched in her fist. Caitlyn knows where her mind is going. Panic thrums under her skin as she tries to correct this in some way that doesn’t have Vi running into the night in her pajamas. 

“It was barely anything,” Caitlyn protests. 

“You kept me alive!” Vi cries, her voice ringing with betrayal, “you—“ she drops back onto the bed next to her, “the whole time it was you.”

“No, of course not,” Caitlyn says quickly, “I hardly did anything. I’m sure a lot of it was Jinx—“

“Tenth stair, third crate, right side of the door,” Vi rattles off. 

Caitlyn presses her lips together. 

“I didn’t want you falling on anything,” she mutters tightly. 

It had to be obvious but not too obvious so it wouldn't get stolen. Vi had to be able to find it but not realize it was left for her. It wasn’t like it was anything terribly extravagant, but it was enough. Coins wrapped in tissues and tucked into cups to look discarded. Bottles of antiseptic. Rolls of wraps and gauze. At least once a month it was a half torn shopping bag arranged to look forgotten but containing menstrual supplies and a few treats. Again it was nothing that would bring attention to itself, nothing that would matter to anyone. Except someone who had never lived alone as an adult. Someone who might not remember how to get a meal that didn’t involve sliding a tray along a line. Vi looks at the antiseptic again and Caitlyn tries to string together something. Anything. But how did one even begin to explain this? She opens her mouth and closes it again when nothing perfect comes to mind. And then she sees the wetness in Vi’s eyes and her stomach drops further. 

“I should—“

“The bag was you as well, wasn’t it?” She says. Caitlyn only barely nods, “Loris said it was a great find and on my birthday,” she shakes her head, “you got me a birthday present.”

“It was your first birthday,” Caitlyn protests.

“You know I hallucinated you?” Vi says. Caitlyn stiffens, “when I was drunk I’d see you. I thought I was going crazy,” she shakes her head, “but you were there the whole time.”

“No,” Caitlyn says quickly, touching Vi’s forearm before she can overthink it, “no, I just couldn’t let you starve—“

“Or get an infection—“ Vi cuts in. 

“I just didn’t want you to die,” Caitlyn mutters. 

“Or not celebrate my birthday,” Vi says, turning the bottle over in her hands. She shakes her head again and looks at Caitlyn, “First time I busted my knuckles in the pit I just kind of figured what the hell,” she says, “I was just gonna leave ‘em. Or be drunk enough for the sting,” she strokes the label with her thumb absently, “I wouldn’t let Loris come up. Even though he asked. Fell flat on my face on the last step,” she shakes her head, “you pour them out yourself?”

Caitlyn fights the urge to melt in embarrassment. 

“I thought you would figure it out if they were full.”

Vi makes a noise of disbelief and Caitlyn looks for something to get her off the bed. It’s a cowards move but that is par for the course with all of this. How many nights did she spend in the bathroom cursing Vi and pouring out antiseptic until it was enough to take care of whatever was wrong with her but not enough for the bottle to look full? Any window of Vi coming back to her was firmly shut while Ambessa breathed down her neck, but she couldn’t just leave her to die. No matter how angry she was, she couldn’t do that. Not when there was a chance she could prevent it. Vi gives her an impossibly fond look and that is all Caitlyn needs to lurch up from the bed. 

“It was the bare minimum,” she says, “anyone would have done it—“

“Cait that’s not true—“

“Stop interrupting me!” She erupts finally. 

Vi pushes herself up. Caitlyn turns to the doorframe, wrapping her arms around herself. This was not what she thought was going to happen tonight. Certainly she thought they would have the conversation some day. But she was hoping for more time before Vi realized she was just as much of a monster inside. Just a little time. Except Vi doesn’t bolt for the door or yell back. She just joins Caitlyn in the entrance to the bathroom, like she has countless times before. When the panic wins and Caitlyn can barely bring herself through the threshold. Like she has any right to be afraid anymore. But Vi sits there and hums as she showers, hums so when Caitlyn sticks her head out she can hear she isn’t about to be attacked. She’s not sure if she can stand Vi humming right now, she doesn’t deserve it. Even less than she did a few hours ago and she didn’t deserve it then. 

“Why are you downplaying saving my life?” Vi asks. 

“I didn’t!” Caitlyn protests, turning around, “that was Loris and Jinx and you,” she tightens her arms, “I had a few bottles of antiseptic dropped where you would find them—“ Vi opens her mouth, “and you were still covered in half infected injuries when we were at the hospital so it didn’t even work.” 

Vi is quiet for a moment but Caitlyn isn’t fooled that she is going to accept what she’s said. 

“The water never went off,” she says, instead of whatever Caitlyn is expecting, “the place had electricity the whole time. I thought it was Loris,” Caitlyn opens her mouth to give the credit to him, “you never stopped paying him.”

Caitlyn shakes her head. 

Vi lets out a trembling breath. 

“You know I pulled down that banner because it was the only warm thing I could find?” She says hoarsely, “the only thing thing that felt safe?” She drums her fingers against the brown glass, “but it wasn’t.”

Caitlyn cringes at the memory of the picture. 

“You were taking care of me the whole time,” Vi says but there’s no anguish in her voice. Just that tone that slips in when something isn’t making sense, “I left you—“

“No I left you,” Caitlyn says, unable to hear her beat herself up about the fight one more time, “I was so angry I didn’t even think about the danger you would be in or how you would react,” she shakes her head, “I know it was nothing but it was all I could do.”

“Hey,” Vi is in front of her suddenly, fingers cupping her cheeks. The bottle rolls across the carpet, “this wasn’t nothing. Not to me.”

Caitlyn can’t help but turn her cheek into the warmth of Vi’s hand as her thumbs brush along her cheekbones. 

“I was still mad,” Caitlyn whispers, steeling herself for the motion to stop. 

But instead she’s greeted by a warm chuckle as it continues. 

“You take care of everyone you’re mad at?” Vi teases, like they both don’t know the answer to that question. 

Caitlyn guides VI’s hands down and clasps them in her own. It used to be so easy to do this. To tell people the perfect thing, to choose her words with such care they would get the desired result. But Vi has always been uniquely good at squirming past the games. She squirms past Caitlyn’s politicians tongue and curls somewhere deep in her chest. The places she’s been told never to truly let people in. But Vi curls there all the same, too far in to every truly be cast out. Even in those dark, awful moments when Caitlyn half wishes she could. When she tells herself it would be better if she could. 

“I knew this was your first time being alone in seven years,” she says softly, “just because we were apart didn’t mean I wanted you to suffer,” she looks down at their joined hands, “when I saw you were, I couldn’t just sit here.”

Vi tugs her fingertips into her palms and tangles their fingers together. She squeezes Cailtyn’s hands until she looks up to see Vi’s bright eyes looking at her. Vi says nothing but she drops her hands and folds her arms around Caitlyn. There’s something about Vi’s embrace that makes her body relax. It used to scare her. The guilt was cloying when Vi hugged her and she felt safe. What right did she have to feel safe when the world had just been destroyed? When they parted ways, one of the most cutting regrets she had was how quickly she ended their embraces. She can’t remember if she told Vi that or if she pieced it together, but now when Vi folds her into an embrace she always tangles a hand in something. Hair, her jacket, some layer so when Caitlyn pulls back there’s a tug that makes her pause. This time it’s her robe and Caitlyn feels her warm, calloused palm settle against her bare shoulder. 

“Thanks for getting me though it,” Vi says softly, lips close to her ear. 

Caitlyn presses her nose to the juncture of Vi’s shoulder and her neck. Vi smells like fresh soap and beeswax and lately her own conditioner. It’s rapidly becoming Caitlyn’s favorite smell in the world. She is stupidly grateful to breathe it in as another truth settles between them. Vi’s thumb rubs against her shoulder as Caitlyn sinks into her embrace. The nerves seem to escape her and she feels impossibly tired as Vi holds her. There’s a soft almost laugh as Vi shifts and slips her arms around her. It’s silly for it to feel so nice to be carried, but Caitlyn relaxes into the easy warmth of the embrace as Vi brings her back to bed. When she goes to pull back, Caitlyn catches her wrist. Vi smiles and slips into bed, wrapping her arms around her again. 

“So how many bottles did you throw?” Vi asks into her shoulder. 

“A lot,” Caitlyn replies, “why do you think the curtains changed color?”

Vi snorts softly against her skin. The notion of Caitlyn getting annoying and tossing around bottles of antiseptic as she tried to figure out how to care for Vi from afar without her realizing doesn’t seem to lessen how Vi feels about the gesture. If anything it makes her snuggle closer to Caitlyn. Her fingers undo the knot of her robe belt so she can be more comfortable before settling on her waist again. 

“Are you mad I didn’t tell you immediately?” Caitlyn asks into the darkness. Vi shakes her head against her neck, “why?"

“Are you mad I figured it out?” Vi asks. Caitlyn shakes her head in return. Vi pushes her hair back and brushes her lips against Caitlyn’s neck, “why would I be mad you saved my life?”

Caitlyn sighs. 

“When you put it like that I sound completely foolish,” she mutters. Vi smiles against her neck, “alight, fair point,” Caitlyn concedes, “I just wish I could have done more.”

“Come on, Cupcake,” she says, pulling her from the miserable thoughts with the nickname, “we both know it wasn’t that easy.”

They’ve played this out a million times before. What if they had emerged from that temple together somehow? What if Vi had been there when Ambessa made her declaration? Each route ends more bloody or sad than the last. War, death, imprisonment, heartbreak—a thousand gruesome fates. None of which end with them tangled in bed picking at wounds and nuzzling kisses over hurts. The best route Caitlyn can think of, the one Vi cajoles from her lips one terrible night, is Salo starting a war that leaves both of them dead. The one truth that seems to ring through is the separation saved both their lives. It’s a trade Vi makes without a second thought and only later does Caitlyn realize it’s because she’s done it before. Every night Caitlyn vows to do everything in her power to make sure she never has to make it again. 

“I’m glad it helped,” Caitlyn whispers, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad we’re here,” Vi tells her. 

For tonight, that’s more than enough. 

[telephoniii]

YOU’RE LOVE IS MAGNETIC… literally

☆彡 in which you drink a magnetic potion

Riddle Rosehearts x GN!Reader

Word Counter: 1.6K

Warnings: Reader is Prefect, possible OOC

A/N: We love Mr. Riddle Height-Doesn’t-Matter Rosehearts in this house!! I hope you enjoy :>

In your defense, mostly everything on Trey’s grocery list is edible.

When you were running errands for him, you couldn't help but be curious about an unlabeled drink he needed. It was a fun color! And it was pretty cheap too. So, naturally, you bought another one for yourself to try.

After dropping off the groceries, you popped that bad boy open and took a few sips.

It had a fruity taste that reminded you of strawberries. The taste made you think of Riddle and those strawberry tarts he adored. Since you were already in Heartsbyul, you figured it’d be nice to stop by and say hi to the housewarden.

“Oh, Prefect, it's nice to see you. Did you need something?” Riddle greeted, not expecting to see you. You seemed more cheery than usual, making Riddle smile. “I was just in the area and whatnot. What’re you up to?”

He opened his room door wider, allowing you to step in. “I’m studying. Professor Trein assigned my class a test this Friday due to a few troublemakers.” Riddle explained as he walked towards the desk in his room.

Stacks of books laid upon it which made you wonder, “How long have you been studying?”

Riddle glanced towards his bedside clock. “Approximately 3 hours.” You nearly choked. “3 hours? That's pretty admirable. I think I’d be out after 30 minutes.” The boy gave you an unamused look, raising a brow. “That’s not enough time to effectively review the material in a few days. I hope Ace isn't rubbing off on you.”

You gave the housewarden a small shrug and grin. “I don't think Ace studies at all.” He let out a tired sigh in response, the very thought of Ace just stressing him out already. With a sympathetic look, you lightly rubbed Riddle’s shoulder.

“Well, on the bright side, at least Ace is passing?” Your attempt to comfort him was mediocre at best. A better idea appeared in your mind. With your free hand— the other still resting on Riddle’s shoulder— you pulled out that fruity drink you had bought. “I saw this on Trey’s grocery list and got one for myself. It's some juice thing I think? I’m pretty sure you’ll like it! Try some.”

Riddle looked at you like you were crazy. “Prefect…” His hand flickered between you and the half-empty bottle in your hand. “You are aware that’s a magnetic potion, correct?” You froze.

…What? “Don’t tell me you actually drank that, Prefect.” Riddle’s tone was a mix of concern and disbelief.

“I…uhhh…” You gave him a sorry smile which was met with a displeased face. “You shouldn't go drinking random potions, I expected you to know better—” Riddle continued to lecture you as you realized a bigger problem… You couldn't take your hand off his shoulder.

“Uh huh… Yeah…” You mumbled, trying to nod along to what he was saying as you attempted to pull your hand away from him with no success. “And… and… Prefect?” Riddle murmured as he caught on to what was happening.

“What potion did you say it was again?” You cautiously asked with a nervous chuckle. Riddle paled. “…Let’s go find Professor Crewel.” You simply nodded in response.

Maneuvering out of his room with your hand stuck to his shoulder was oddly difficult as the two of you tried to avoid any other part of you touching. The way your hand was positioned was uncomfortable at best and cramping at worst. Yet, no matter how hard you pulled, it wouldn't come off of Riddle’s shoulder.

Riddle looked just as conflicted, quickly recognizing your discomfort. He tried to think of a way to put you in a more comfortable position before you two went on into the hallways. You couldn't help but admire how he looked when he was thinking. That small pout on his lips was adorable. You wished your eyes were a camera.

You then watched as his cheeks began to flush a hue of red. At first, you worried it was out of frustration from the situation before you recognized that his expression looked more… embarrassed.

Riddle slowly turned to you, his lip lightly quivering. “…Would it be more comfortable if I carried you?” You blinked in surprise. “You know we might be stuck in that position if you carry me, right? Meaning, yknow… you’d be stuck carrying me for a while?”

With a shake of the head, you argued against the idea. “I don't want your arms to go sore or anything. I’ll deal with the hand cramp and weird position.” At those words, a glint of determination appeared in Riddle’s eyes. He took it as a challenge.

“I’ll be fine, believe me.” He hummed, suddenly very motivated to do so. A hint of red still tinted his cheeks, though it had calmed down. Hesitantly, you agreed. Riddle can be pretty stubborn when he’s set on something.

You were still worried considering his stature. Compared to a lot of the other NRC students, physical strength didn't seem like his strong suit. “Jump and I’ll catch you on the count of three… 1… 2…”

As you were instructed, you jumped as he said three and tightly closed your eyes. Your nerves were going haywire. Unexpectedly, you were securely caught by him. Huh. You open your eyes with a tiny sigh of relief before you realize you wrapped your free hand around his neck. And now you can't remove it. Riddle seemed flustered by the touch, clearly not expecting it but not commenting as he cleared his throat.

“I’ve got my pen on me, I’m wielding a spell to make carrying you easier.” He explained, averting his eyes to the side. You nodded, a smile finding its way onto your lips. Riddle was pretty charming from this view.

With you now in his arms, you began to walk to Professor Crewel’s room. Any weird looks were ignored by Riddle.

Riddle wasn't one for lying but… “The prefect hurt their leg. I’m taking them to the health office.” …Is what he answered to any questions about why he was carrying you. Thank Sevens that Crewel’s office wasn't too far from Heartsbyul.

“Quite the position you're in, pups.” Professor Crewel hummed, hands folded on his desk as he looked between the two of you. “I believe I've got a method of separating the two of you. However, the potion itself doesn't go away till the end of the day.”

You grimaced at the thought of magnetically connecting to different people like this. Riddle subtly held you closer. Professor Crewel turned his gaze toward you. “I suggest isolation. Go to Ramshackle and don't let anyone else in, lest you want to end up like this again. Understood?”

“Understood.” You murmured back. Crewel got up from his seat, swiftly grabbing ingredients off a few shelves and tossing them into a potion pot. You watched with curiosity, tilting your head to the side. Sensing your interest, Riddle moved a bit so you could have a better view of what Crewel was doing.

Soon enough, the professor was stirring a pot filled to the brim with a glowing, light blue concoction. With a satisfied hum, Crewel grabbed a yardstick and shoved it in there; making sure the majority of it was covered in the mixture.

“This might burn a little!” He announced. In a blink of an eye, he stuck the stick between you and Riddle. You yelped at the feeling. It felt like you just touched a hot iron. The heat slowly faded away and became bearable in a matter of seconds. Riddle had a similar reaction, a frown blatant on his face.

“So, how long until—” You were cut off as your back hit the floor. Hard. Riddle’s eyes widened. “Prefect! Are you alright!?” You let out a small groan before standing up and brushing off the dirt. “Mhm. Peachy. Just— argh, wasn't expecting the rough landing.” Professor Crewel let out an amused laugh. “Let that be a lesson— don't drink unlabeled potions. Or most potions, period. I understand you come from a different world, but it seems like common sense. Naughty pup.”

You frowned but nodded. “Got it, professor.” Crewel went to put away the materials he used, cleaning off the yardstick. Riddle stretched out his arms a bit. Just as he was about to head back to Heartsbyul—“Hey, Riddle?” Turning to face you, Riddle tilted his head.

“Yes, Prefect?” You flashed him a sincere smile. “Thanks for carrying me. Maybe you could do it again— under better circumstances obviously. That was nice.”

Riddle felt his face heat up once more, stuttering over his words. “I-I… Y-You’re very welcome, Prefect…”

Internally, he couldn't help but wish for the opportunity to hold you again too.

.

.

BONUS

Riddle tapped his pen against the desk, staring at the book in front of him. You invaded his mind during his study time; you and that stupidly cute smile of yours.

He couldn't help but reminisce on how it felt to carry you. Intelligence over brawn has always been his go-to, though it felt strangely nice to be able to support you in that way.

He let out a sigh. Perhaps that was enough studying for tonight. It didn't seem like it was very productive anyway. As he got up, a small ding caught his attention. His eyes darted towards his phone as he raised a brow. Who could that be at this hour?

CATER; aren't u 2 the cutest little luv birds!! **two images attached

Looks like more eyes were on him than he thought when he was carrying you through the hallways… He very discretely saves those photos on his phone.

And one of those photos may or may not be his lock screen.

[missdynamighttt]

Hiii!! I was hoping if you could do an Angst abt Pro!katsuki who in one fight is against Villain!reader who was Katsukis friend/crush (u can choose!!) back in UA but Reader randomly stopped attending at school and this was their first encounter after reader left.

angst SCARES me, but this was fun!! im sorry if it took so long oml, i didn't know how to approach this at first because i am NOT a PURE angst writer, but i hope i did your request justice 💜💜

the alleyway was quiet, save for the distant echoes of sirens and the faint hum of the city. pro hero dynamight, katsuki bakugou, stood with fists clenched, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with adrenaline from chasing someone.

before him stood a figure from his past—a person he never thought he'd see again, let alone face in such a casual yet tense setting. the villain before him wasn’t just any enemy. it was you.

you, who had disappeared from ua without a trace, leaving behind questions and a void that katsuki could never quite fill. back then, he'd brushed off his feelings, masking them behind his usual bravado.

but now, seeing you here, standing against him as an enemy, he can't believe that he's finally found you after all these years.

"so you decided to finally show your face after these years. what the fuck happened? where have you been?"

all katsuki felt was anger and frustration. he was pissed at you for leaving without a word and pissed at himself for not finding you. before he could see you like this.

"it's been a long time, huh?" you say with a dry chuckle. "i'm glad that you still remember me though, dynamight."

katsuki scoffs. "of course i remember you, idiot! you just decided to leave without a word, how could i forget you when you just vanished?"

you give a small scoff at hearing katsuki's comment, feeling the anger and tension slowly building. you cross your arms over your chest, not looking away from him.

"oh, so now you give a damn about me leaving. didn't think you'd care enough to even wonder why I just disappeared and left."

katsuki's eyes narrow at your response. he didn't like that you were acting all nonchalant about everything. as if this whole interaction didn't matter.

he takes a few steps forward, not taking his eyes off of you. he hadn't seen you in so long, he actually couldn't believe that you were right infront of him.

"don't give me that crap! you just disappearing like that without a word or any explanation, what the hell was i supposed to think?!"

you feel annoyed and somewhat defensive at Katsuki's reaction. You couldn't stand the fact that he was acting like he cared so much about you when you know he didn't care about you at all back then.

"oh please, you never even thought about me back then. you were too wrapped up in your own ego to even notice that i was gone. let's not play this little game where you pretend that you actually cared."

it was like a cold bucket of water had been splashed onto his face. katsuki clenched his teeth at your words, feeling the anger bubble up in him.

"believe it or not, dumbass, i care about what happened to you! more than you'd ever know... every damn day i thought about you, wondering if you were okay. i've never, ever stopped thinking about you."

you had no idea how much he cared about you, how much he even thought about you. hearing katsuki's confession hits you like a pile of bricks. you had always had feelings for him back then too, but you never had the courage to confess your feelings. he just couldn't keep his feelings bottled up anymore.

"damn it, i've always cared about you, idiot. i wanted to tell you everything back then, but i never got the chance to.

"hell, i even had dreams about you... dreams where i told you how i fuckin' felt... but before i could say anything, you just... vanished."

shock and disbelief flood you as you process katsuki's confession. you couldn't believe that after all this time, he was telling you how he felt. however,

when you remember the circumstances, a pang of regret hits you as you shake your head.

"goddamn it... why are you telling me this now? we can't just act upon our feelings now, not after all i've done."

"i don't care about that... my feelings for you haven't changed. just tell me what happened. why did you disappear? what happened?"

you let out another dry chuckle at Katsuki's determination. you shake your head with a sad smile on your face.

"it's kind of funny, you know. back then, i would've been over the moon to hear you say those things to me. if you had said that you had feelings for me... i would've been the happiest damn person in the world."

you take a deep breath, looking down at the ground.

"before i left school... i was going through a really rough time. i didn't know where i was going to go or what i was going to do. i... couldn't handle it. then i got mixed up with the wrong kind of people who treated me right and.. i'm here now."

katsuki's anger and frustration start to fade, replaced with a mixture of sadness and guilt.

"why... why didn't you reach out to me? to any of us? after all we've been through, we would've helped you. we could've been there for you."

you smile humorlessly, a mix of pain and shame in your eyes.

"you don't get it. i didn't want to be a burden. i didn't want to put my problems on you guys when had your own lives to worry about. i didn't want to add to that."

katsuki couldn't believe what he was hearing. He never thought that you would've felt like that, but... he wished that he had known what you were going through.

"we could've helped you through everything, damn it. we cared about you... i cared about you..."

you look at katsuki and feel a pang of sadness and despair. you couldn't believe that after all this time, he reciprocated your feelings. but it was too late. tou were too far gone to turn back now.

"i can't just leave and expect everything to go back to the way it was. there's no changing it."

"you can still change," katsuki argues, the hope in his eyes glowing with desperation. "you can still come back."

you shake your head feverishly, head too overwhelmed with thoughts to think straight. "i-i can't. its too late for that."

katsuki watches as you prepare to leave, helplessness coursing through him. he couldn't just let you go. not when he was finally seeing you again after all these years. he couldn't just lose you again.

"no... don't leave. please. don't just... walk out of my life again..."

"katsuki?"

his head snaps up to look at you.

"yes? what is it?"

you smile sadly at him.

"in another life, i would've really liked... just doing laundry and taxes with you."

[bettystonewell]

What Happened Last Night? - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: After burning the Book of the Damned and escaping the Styne’s, you all have a night of harmless celebrations back at the bunker. At least, it was harmless until Charlie suggested a game of Never Have I Ever, and the rest of your night became a blur. Friends to Lovers 18+ only

Word Count: 3,300

Warnings: Language, Dubious Consent (implied drunk sex), SMUT in part two

Or read it on AO3 here

A/N: Hey 👋 This is my first time posting a fanfic on Tumblr. The names’s Beth (Aussie/Dean-girl/tired mum). I’ve been on AO3 (and Wattpad) for over a year now and thought it was about time I put my big girl pants on and join the community here because it looks fun (though the social media side of this scares my close-to-midlife-crisis-ass). So, yeah, newbie in terms of everything here - please be kind. If you recognise me from the other sites, please say hi 😊 This is a cross post - there are two chapters total. Let’s see how this goes!

in vino, veritas

in wine, there is truth

Five bodies sat around the mess room table that night, drinking their troubles away and eating their fill. 

You, Dean, Sam, Charlie, and Cas at the end, sitting on a wooden chair he’d brought in from the library to make more space for those of you who did eat.

"This won't work," you said to the other four, though it was technically directed at Charlie. Your tone was as condescending as you could make it under the influence of the alcohol you’d already consumed. 

Three beers and two sneaky sips of Charlie’s Harvey Wallbanger you’d taken while she wasn’t looking.

It was one less ounce of bounce in her step for your at-the-time more than tipsy gal pal and well deserved. Especially now she’d revealed her true intentions on why she’d encouraged you to partake in drinking in the first place.

In her overly enthusiastic state, she’d suggested a game to get “The Party Started.” A phrase she’d attempted to sing in vain as only you seemed to understand its reference. 

Though Sam might have had a clue. His mouth had turned up around the lip of his bottle he’d conveniently sipped during the rendition of the Black Eyed Pea's early noughties banger.

Dean was one hundred per cent clueless, of course. Nothing past the eighties was decent to him. Nothing except that one Taylor Swift song you’d caught him listening to when he thought no one was watching. 

He had sulked then and had been sulking on and off again since last night. Brooding over the fact he’d lost his one chance to remove the mark. Unbeknownst that Sam had not burnt the Book of the Damned like he, Charlie and Cas thought, but in a better mood thanks to the booze and pizza he’d brought home.

You knew better.

Both about his demeanour and what had really happened with the ancient text. 

You’d seen Sam swap it with a replacement and you’d promised him you’d keep your mouth shut. Something you were hating your past self for.

Past you was a fucking idiot.

A fucking idiot who was about to get drunk from a game of Never Have I Ever like Charlie had suggested, and at risk of spilling more than one can of beans if you didn’t think of something fast to stop it. 

Charlie, the conniving little… She knew way too much about you after the last time you’d had a few with her and the glint in her eyes that you’d seen when she suggested the damn game was enough for you to know that what she was planning was dangerous.

A drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts. Or something like that.  

And she was almost there. 

“What do you mean, it won’t work?” she said with far too loud a pitch that made even Cas uncomfortable. 

Well, more uncomfortable than normal.

“Umm. The angel, for starters.” You directed your gaze at Cas, realising too late that you were going to give him a complex. “I think most of our everyday human experiences are going to be a never for him. And whatever he did in heaven will be the same for us. It’s unbalanced.”

“You’re thinking too much. He’ll get drunk. We’ll get drunk. That’s the point of the game,” Charlie said.

But her grin left her when a gruff, “I won’t,” interjected itself into the conversation. 

Hah. Won’t. It was as if you’d sucked the happiness out of Charlie and taken it all for yourself to then rub it back in her face. “See. Cas doesn’t want to play. And Sam and Dean clearly don’t want to play either.” They'd said nothing against the suggestion and nothing against you now.

“Actually, you don’t have enough liquor here to get me drunk,” Cas added.

Don’t have enough… “Seriously?” You looked at him again and he nodded. An apologetic look on his face.

Which brought a ‘challenge accepted’ one into Charlie’s.

Looking around the room for support from the guys, you noticed Sam hiding a silent chuckle behind the bottle in his hand. 

While Dean, who had been quiet since Charlie had burst out in song, locked eyes with yours. “Well, if there aren’t any more arguments from you, sweetheart, let’s play.”

And you thought Cas’ claim that there wasn’t enough booze for him was a surprise.

Fuck. Your head was pounding.

Your mouth was drier than a desert with a chalky sensation in your throat and lips that felt like they had cracked. 

Yup. Cracked alright. They stung as you splayed your tongue over them, attempting to nourish the skin with what little wetness you had left in your mouth. A fat lot of good that did, though.

They weren’t the only part of your body feeling uncomfortable. Pins and needles from where you’d slept funny on your arm tingled from your funny bone to your wrist.

‘Ow. Fuck.’ Well, that hurt.

You were hung without a doubt, and just all over feeling seedy.

At least you’d slept some of the alcohol off and were no longer drunk. You thought.

The strands of hair that had made their way into your mouth and the saliva you strung along with it as you pulled it out would say otherwise. Urgh. Gross.

Had you been drooling? No wonder your throat was dry.

You groaned and forced your eyes open. Yes, you had. There was a wet patch on the white pillowcase below you.

Odd. You didn’t own white sheets. 

You’d decorated your room in the bunker with as much colour as you could. What with the hunting life full of black, brown, denim and blood, you didn’t need any of that spreading into your personal space. 

Of course, white was colour(ish), but again, you didn’t own white sheets, and your room didn’t have a solid wall where you were facing. Curiouser and curiouser. Your door was supposed to be right there. 

You were at the correct end of the bed for it. A headboard behind you and a pillow underneath you, meaning you were lying on the right side. Yet all you saw was more bricks, a tall boy in some kind of brown and clothes that weren’t yours scattered on the surrounding floor. 

Amongst them, a pair of jeans - okay, they might be yours. But the flannel? One plaid with various browns and greens. The very same Dean had been wearing last night?

Fuck.

Dean’s clothes. Dean’s room.

This was Dean’s room? 

This was Dean’s room. 

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. 

What were you doing here? The last thing you remember was… Fuck.

Those lips. Dean’s lips, plump and whiskey-tainted, had peppered kisses on you in more than one place. Over your mouth, your cheek and your neck. Lower... 

You’d learnt the spot at the base of your ear above your lower jaw was quite sensitive. Dean had learnt that, too. He’d also learnt a few other things if your tainted memory served you correctly, and you, the same about him.

The way his muscles contracted around his chest and back. Every little ridge, taut and firm, continued even down his arm and into his hands. Those talented fingers had a way of placing pressure in just the right places to make you blush. They’d found their way under your shirt and bra and…

Oh… Oh…

Had you slept with him and not remembered the main event? Was that possible with Dean? Your friend. The guy you’d wanted to be more than for the longest of time.

You've fallen for him the day you’d met. With that charming smile and those dazzling green eyes. 

And that was before you’d gotten to know him.

Now you knew the man behind the shit-eating grin. The playful, sometimes scary nerd (who refused to admit it) was loyal to those he cared about. A self-righteous martyr, who could be a bit of a dick sometimes and followed it too when the time was appropriate. 

Not that he’d done it so much lately. 

Except, maybe now.

You were screwed and without asking him, there weren’t too many ways to check if indeed you had been by him.

You turned your head slowly to find an empty bed next to you. 

Thank fuck. There was plenty of time to ask, but his bed was not the place.

You stretched your legs out, noting they felt normal. Stiff if anything, but not in a way you’d expect if you’d partaken in good sex.

Of course, that meant nothing. Maybe the rumours you’d heard about Dean were untrue?

Yeah right. 

You’d seen the satisfied faces from all of his past hook-ups as they fled his motel room the next morning. Possibly one in every state. He had brought none of them to the bunker though, meaning you were the first to sleep in his room. In his bed.

Go you... That was something to be proud of, not. 

You’d hightailed it out of his room after all that. Slinking off down the hall to your own to get changed out of the clothes you’d been wearing the night before. You hadn’t been wearing them when you’d woken up, of course. Oh, no. You’d been wearing one of his henleys, braless underneath, and your underwear surprisingly still on. 

While you’d think that would be a comfort for you, you knew that meant nothing. Though everything felt normal down there, so maybe it did. 

You weren’t sticky when you had a shower, but you noticed the love bites above your breasts when you looked in the bathroom mirror after it. There were bruises on your hips too. Ones shaped like fingerprints that fingers had pressed into you on either side. 

Hmm.

There was only one way to find out what had happened and once you’d primed and prepped yourself, wearing clothes that covered you from your neck to your toes, you made your way to the same room where everything had gone down the night before.

Stupid Charlie and her stupid fucking game. 

“Hey, Charlie,” you greeted when she saw you enter. Her eyebrows raised, along with her grin. “Where’s everyone else?” 

In other words - Where’s Dean?

Only Charlie sat at the table. The rest of the room was clear. There were no more pizza boxes, no more alcohol bottles and no one in the kitchenette. Not even someone’s head in the fridge. 

Just Charlie, with the smell of bacon and freshly ground coffee lingering in the air around her.

Coffee. You needed some of that.

“Sam’s got his head in the books again. Can you believe he was up before eight?”

Actually, you could and you hummed in response as you took your fresh cup of steaming goodness up to your lips to sip.

“I think Cas has left the building. We may have gotten him drunker than we thought.” She smirked. “And I figured you knew where Dean was.”

Your mouth spluttered over the rim of your cup. Coffee now dripped down your shirt and a few of the drops had landed on the floor. 

You flicked your eyes to your friend as you placed the cup on the table opposite her. Towels. You needed towels.

“Don’t give me that look. I saw you two after I left. And I checked on you this morning when I first got up. You weren’t in your room,” she said.

There was a knowing look on her face as you made your way between the pantry and back again that you ignored. Stooping down low to wipe the spill you’d made on the tiled floor below, only joining her once you’d discarded the paper towel in the bin along with your dignity.

Your hands went straight back to your cup, sipping on the rim and avoiding Charlie’s prying eyes.

“Come on. Let me live vicariously. What happened between you two?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

“You don’t know? I set this all up for you and him and you don’t know?”

“Ssshhh.” Your shoulders slouched, and you reached across the table to grab her arm. “I don’t remember, okay? I woke up in his bed but…”

“Did you two?” She made a crude gesture with her hands.

“I. Don’t. Know.” Your eyes were open wide as you enunciated every syllable to get your point across. 

“How do you not know?” Charlie blinked a couple of times. 

Drawing in a long breath, your mouth agape and ready to sigh it all out, you looked back at your friend and trembled your head in a quick shake. “I remember fooling around a bit but I don’t remember much more than that.”

“So you just woke up in his bed and don’t know how you got there?” she asked.

“I mean, I know how I got in his room, I remember that much, I think, but I don’t remember lying down or, you know.” The look you gave her was enough. You didn’t need to elaborate and even if you had wanted to, a heavy thud of boots echoed through the corridor outside.

Sure, it was possibly Sam, but that distinct gap between steps could only have been made by one bow-legged Winchester. And when Charlie’s face lit up opposite you and you heard the sound abruptly stop from somewhere near the door, you knew it to be true.

“Morning Dean,” she said. The chirpiness in her voice made you want to slap her silly but as you only had access to the hand that still held yours in the moment, you dug your fingernails into the skin below them instead. “Ow. You want some breakfast? There’s bacon still in the pan.”

Dean grunted and you felt eyes boring into the back of your head.

You refused to look behind you to where you knew he was pouring his own coffee by the sounds of it and released Charlie’s hand to pick up your cup. You took slow sips, keeping both your mouth and the rest of your body occupied while your elbows rested on the table, defending yourself from Charlie and her quips.

“How did you sleep?” she asked this time. Her eyes flicked between you both.

Could she be any more obvious?

“Fine,” he grumbled. “You got any more questions, or are you gonna leave us in peace to sort our own shit out?” 

Fuck.

You looked over at Charlie with a pleading look that said ‘Please don’t go.’ My how things had changed. But she grinned back at you and wagged her eyes, before standing and leaving the room in haste. Damn traitor.

As her footsteps trailed off down the hall, the room grew uncomfortably silent. Making your sips the loudest thing to have ever existed in the world. 

Your coffee was more bitter than it had been and you needed sugar pronto if you ever wanted to finish it.

You brought your cup down and placed it on the table before you to let your fingers fidget over the thin porcelain. Paying attention to each sharp angle between the curves and painted decorations. More so than was ever necessary.

Your eyes fixated on it, even as Dean took Charlie’s place across from you, watching you with caution. “So,” he cleared his throat. “How’d you sleep?”

Seriously? Taking Charlie’s line was how he wanted to start this. Well alrighty then. “Um. Fine, I guess. You?” You braved a glance at him, noting he was more serious in his disposition than usual.

“Like a log,” he said before silence filled the room again.

Right. You weren’t sure what you should say next. There was that big question on your mind, but you wanted, no, needed to approach it carefully. You didn’t want him to know you didn’t remember what if anything had happened between you. 

Not for his ego, but for yours.

You took another glance at him and saw his tongue run along the inside of his cheek, making it stick out under the five o’clock shadow he was yet to get rid of. He always looked his best like that. 

“I uh, I was surprised you weren’t there when I came back to my room just now.”

Wait. He was? “You were?” 

“Yeah.” There was a defensive twang in his tone. It was subtle, but it was there. “I only went to take a shower and then I found you’d bolted… I thought…” He shook his head.

He thought. Thought what?

You looked him up and down. It wasn’t just his tone that was unusual. The way he held his shoulders and the way he gripped his coffee cup before him was odd. In anyone else, you’d say they were lacking in confidence, but Dean wasn’t like this.  

The last time you’d seen him in such a way was after he’d killed Randy and the thugs in Pontiac and had come home dishevelled and broken over what he’d done.

“What did you think?” you asked, stretching your arm out to brush his hand across the table. Hoping that by doing so it might relieve whatever tension he was feeling.

There was a warmth there, that spread under your fingertips as your skin touched his and brought flashbacks to your mind of you touching other places on his body. 

You’d seen him with his shirt off last night. Been up close and personal with his tattoo and the scars that adorned his chest. You’d felt the dip in his spine and the pressure of his waistband pressing into your thumbs when you’d hooked them under the denim that sat around his waist.

Had you gotten into those jeans last night?

“Last night,” he said, watching your hand with interest. “After what we talked about.”

What we talked about? You’d stayed up well into the night with him. Long after Sam and Charlie had gone to bed and Cas had disappeared to do whatever Cas does. But just like your memories of what took place in his room were drawing blank, so too were whatever words you’d exchanged with him. 

All you could see were the grins and smirks he threw your way, and you nodded your head to stall. It didn’t do you any favours. 

He was looking at you with a scrutinising gaze and just as your cheeks had burned when he found that spot under your ear, they did the exact same to you now and gave everything away. “You. You don’t remember? Do you?”

You bit your lip and shook your head. “I ah. I’m drawing blanks. Some of it, I remember, but I couldn’t tell you what we talked about after the others left. And…” You hesitated.

“What?” His eyes locked onto yours and while they made you nervous, you couldn’t pull away. 

“Dean. Did we…” 

He seemed almost disappointed. But rather than wait for you to finish your question, or answer it even though it was as obvious as Charlie had been, he stood up, scraping the chair along the floor as he did so to storm off.

‘What the fuck just happened?’

You had drunk a lot and been drunk because of it. You’d spent time with Dean alone after the others had gone to bed and had talked with him about something. 

Something that led you to his room and into his bed. 

There’d been action. Kisses and touches. A bit of groping and clothes being removed. Small flashes of that continued to form in your mind. But while marks had been left on your skin and you’d stayed the night in his bed, you couldn’t remember the physical act of him being inside of you. Or you giving him a happy ending either for that matter. 

And now, he was disappointed.

Could it be that he felt the same way you did? 

————————————————————Thank you for reading! I’ll try posting part two same time next week - or you can read it now on AO3 here. In the meantime, I’ll be trying to work this site out (and finishing my WIPs whose updates are overdue… 🙃

[dreadnoughtus101]

hiii!!! I saw you were taking requests so I am taking my chance

Reader being nekoma’s third year manager and daichi having a crush on her.

And seeing each other at the training camp

ofc Tanaka, noya and yamamoto act like they always do when they see a pretty manager

thanks!!!also love your work!

Aww I love this!!

How Pretty

Daichi Sawamura

_____________________________________________________________

Nekoma and Karasuno were having a practice match during training camp. You, being a first time manager over a sports club, awkwardly followed behind when your team walked into the Karasuno gym.

"Don't worry, I'm nervous too." Lev piped up, "I noticed you look a bit nervous.." He trailed off when you looked up at him. "Why would I be nervous?" You chuckled, playing it off. You looked at all of the boys on the Karasuno team, and took a deep breath. You were helping your team unpack their bags, setting out their water bottles, when suddenly two boys from the other team ran towards you, screaming inhocerantly.

You jumped, and they immediately bowed down on the floor, "We're so sorry for scaring you! Our names are Tanaka and Nishinoya, please forgive us!" They practically screamed. You looked around to see both teams staring at you in silence, before one boy walked over yelling at them. "You two, back off!" You were grateful for the rescue, and confused on what was happening.

The two boys stood up slowly and were looking at you with a glimmer in their eyes, before running off giggling. You looked at the boy who rescued you, expecting him to be just like his team mates. "I'm really sorry about them.." He paused, looking down at you. "They just don't know how to act when they see a pretty girl." He chuckled. Your eyes widened, unsure of what to say, before he added onto his sentence. "I'm Daichi, Karasunos captain."

"Ah," You nodded, "I'm Nekomas new manager." You saw his brown eyes gazing over you, taking in your features. He only smiled before they called everyone to practice and you sat on the bench with Kiyoko. "Apologies for the two." She said, looking at you. "They can be a bit much, but they mean well." Her voice was calm and low. You giggled, "Are they like that often?" Kiyoko nodded, smiling "They go after any girl they can see." You looked at them, watching the teams play. "Being a manager at first can be scary, but it's pretty rewarding to see them win after all the hard work they put in." She said, watching them with you. "Hey, Kiyoko-" You both looked at each other and you paused for a brief moment, "What about..Daichi?"

She looked at you for a moment, unsure of what you were asking, "What about him, y/n?" You weren't sure if she was the right person to ask, but you already started the conversation. "Is he like.. flirty..?" You tried to sound casual, unable to hide the edge in your voice. She laughed and shook her head, "I've never really seen him with anyone, why?" You shrugged, "Just asking."

When you turned back to face the court, you saw him staring at you. Unsure of what to make about it, you just gave him a small smile. It was hard to read what his intentions were, but you would rather assume he was just being overly friendly than anything else. The rest of the day was full of quick and short moments of eye contact and smiling at each other.

When leaving, he followed by your side, thanking you for helping out with everything and held the door open for you.

· · ────────────────── ·𖥸· ────────────────── · ·

On the last day of camp, both teams had gotten together for a barbeque. You stuck next to Kiyoko, her being the only other girl you actually knew, surrounded by a ton of boys.

You both were sat at a bench eating your food, when Daichi suddenly sat next to you with his plate. "Hey y/n, it's been nice having you around." He looked at you, taking a bite of his food. You felt a blush warm your face, "Oh, thank you!" You stammered a bit, your eyes briefly meeting Kiyoko's, who was watching in what only appeared to be shock. "Could I get your number?" He said it calmly, as if it wasn't anything to be nervous about. You looked past him to see the two boys from the other day, Tanaka and Nishinoya, watching with their jaws dropped, holding two fully loaded plates in each hand. "Oh- uh- Yeah, of course."

You were sure your face was at least five different shades of red by now, while he was calm and collected, pulling out his phone and handing it to you. Your shaky fingers typing in your number, you heard what now sounded like a group of boys, giggling and shouting about you two. You saw Daichi shoot them all a dirty look and they quieted down. Handing his phone back, he gave you a big smile and thanked you before standing up and walking back to the group of boys from before.

You heard them all shouting and whooping, and saw Daichi do a fist pump in the air, laughing and high fiving them all.

"So clearly that was some sort of group effort.." Kiyoko said, breaking your trance. "

· · ────────────────── ·𖥸· ────────────────── · ·

You guys had been texting the entire night, him being the one to make the first move. You liked his charm, the way he was the one to make the first move and be assertive yet calm about it all. It started with small talk, asking about why you chose to be a manager for Nekoma, and why you would even want to go to that school to begin with. You found it funny how much he slandered your school.

When the conversation had started to slow down, he got more bold. He started asking you things like if you had a boyfriend, what your type was, that sort of thing. You started to reciprocate his energy, mirroring his questions with the same curiosity. It wasn't until he asked you if you were free that Saturday, that you started to get nervous. You of course, told him no, which lead to him asking if he could take you out for dinner at a nice restaurant. You agreed, your curiosity piqued. He seemed like a gentleman with genuine intentions, why not?

He offered to pick you up, which you agreed to. The both of you went to bed that night with a smile on your faces, imagining how the weekend would go.

· · ────────────────── ·𖥸· ────────────────── · ·

A few minutes before he was meant to be there, you looked in the mirror, flattening your dress out and checking your makeup for any imperfections, when you heard the knock you had been so expecting.

You opened the door to see Daichi in a white button up and black pants, holding a bouquet of roses to you. You saw a slight tinge of red to his face for the first time, as you giggled and thanked him for the flowers. Setting them in a vase, he stood with his hands in his pockets, admiring how beautiful you were.

He was sure to open all doors for you and let you go ahead of him. In the car, he had low music playing. "If you want to change it, I don't mind, this is just what was playing.." You had a small feeling that this was not "just was was playing" so you didn't, which gave him a small grin when you told him it was okay.

· · ────────────────── ·𖥸· ────────────────── · ·

You sat at a booth, across from each other. You admired how fancy the place was, chandeliers everywhere and polished cutlery wrapped in white fabric.

"Daichi, this place is really nice.. Can I pay for my half?" He looked at you, almost offended. "C'mon, Y/n, do you know how long it took me to get this reservation? The least you could do is let me be a gentleman." He gave a goofy smile, putting on a half serious tone. You giggled, agreeing, even though you had the slightest bit of guilt in the back of your mind.

To say Daichi splurged on you was a bit of an understatement, he ordered an appetizer, encouraged you to get anything you wanted, and dessert. The entire date was filled with laughter and smiles, with him even reaching across the table and holding your hand while you both waited for dessert to come out.

When the check came out, he refused to let you look at it, let alone offer any sort of money to pay. He showed no second thought paying for it and even leaving a nice tip.

The car ride back was nice, he held your hand on your lap, his face stained a blush with a small grin. He occasionally glanced over to look at you, which you returned with a sweet smile.

· · ────────────────── ·𖥸· ────────────────── · ·

When he dropped you off at his house, you two stood on the porch in the doorway, holding hands.

"I had a really great time, Daichi.. Thank you." You looked up at him, and he couldn't stop himself from smiling. You leaned up to him, breath shaky. He inched closer, before finally landing a kiss on your lips. Wrapping your arms around his shoulder and his around your waist, you both felt that you could've stayed there forever.

He pulled back, looking into your eyes.

"I think I love you..y/n."

[sunandflame]

Shards of Glass, Chapter 9

Summary: Kyojuro Rengoku, History Teacher on the Kimetsu Academy, is constantly having strange dreams about a Slayer who looks exactly like him. He thinks nothing of it until he recognizes a very specific person from these dreams and feels a very unique connection to her.

Pairing: History Teacher Kyojuro x Teacher Fem!Reader

Trope: Reincarnation / Sequel to Flame and Water (can be stand-alone)

Word Count: 3851

Warning: smut

Pinterest Board of Shards of Glass

Crossposted on AO3

Masterlist of Shards of Glass

“Could you take in two strays who were caught up in the rain?”

He looked at her in shock and immediately stepped aside to let her in, which she did. She was the last person he would expect here, but he wasn't expecting anyone at this late hour. He closed the door behind them and studied her, noticing how wet she was from the rain. Her hair stuck to her face and she shivered noticeably. Something black jumped out of her arm and immediately explored the area until the cat ran along Kyojuro's legs and purred at him.

So that was the second stray she was talking about. Kyojuro smiles at the feline and kneels on his haunches to pet the cat who is immediately smitten by him. The moment he looks up at Y/N his face turns serious as he rises up to clasp her arms in both of his hands. It’s obvious that something happened but he does not dare to ask, not now when she was shaken.  “You are freezing.” He rubs her arms to create warm friction. “How about you first take a shower while I make you some hot chocolate to drink?” Y/N nods with teary eyes and he leads her into his little bathroom.

~ ~ ~

The warmth of the water jet was a blessing to her chilled skin. She had surveyed the bathroom and had noticed how sporadically everything was arranged, as if he had just moved in here. She noted the two bottles that were on the floor of the shower and smelled them before using them. Amber and pine trees. An interesting combination, but one she had already smelled on him. She remembered the first time when his scent hit her nose as she stood close to him while they talked. She had to resist the temptation to move closer to him and sniff his neck, knowing how odd that might have looked. The fact that she now had the chance to use his shampoos and smell like him made her blush. Especially when she slipped into his hoodie and sweatpants after showering. She couldn't help but bury her nose in the soft material and sniff the soothing smell of Kyojuro.

She couldn't help but think of how he had looked at her earlier. His eyes wide in surprise. His golden-red waves that were in a messy bun. His white shirt that was so tight around his muscular pectorals, showing off the definition she never noticed before and oh god… Those gray sweatpants that sat so dangerously low on his hips. She felt the heat go to her head again and was about to jump back to take a cold shower, but this wasn't her apartment. She was only a guest. Y/N took a deep breath and looked into the bathroom mirror for a brush and combed her wet hair with it.

Shimizu purred and constantly rubbed against his legs as he prepared the hot chocolate on the stove. As he stirred the dark liquid with the spoon, several thoughts ran through his mind. What happened to her? Why was she outside at this time? Threatening herself with sickness? Why was she crying? Was she hungry? His thoughts were interrupted as he saw a figure from the corner of his eyes.

“She seems to like you a lot.”

Kyojuro turned to her and saw her standing at the door frame. His clothes were definitely too big for her, her eyes still puffy from crying and yet she looked beautiful. To see her in his clothes like this stirred something deep inside him and he felt his cheeks growing warmer. “Yes, it seems like it. I like her too.” He looked down at the feline with a smile and reached down to scratch her under her chin. “Just make yourself comfortable on the couch. I will come in a minute and then we can talk. If you want.”

She nodded and seated herself on his couch. Kyojuro seated himself next to her and handed her the cup. “Here, this should warm you up.”

With a grateful nod she took the cup and sipped on the hot chocolate. He didn't know why, but he watched her closely as she closed her eyes in pleasure, running her tongue over her upper lip. “Delicious…” she sighed out and gave him a smile. “Thank you very much, I really needed that.”

“You are welcome. If you need anything else, let me know.” He smiled back at her.

“Thanks, but I think the hot chocolate should be enough for now.” She took another long sip and remained silent. Kyojuro didn't know what to say either. What was he supposed to say anyway? She was the one who came to him drenched from the rain with troubles weighing on her shoulders.

The silence became more oppressive until Shimizu jumped between the two of them and meowed very loudly. They both looked at her in surprise and then started to laugh. “I’m sorry Shimizu, I should have offered you something too.” He got up and the feline followed him immediately. He put a bowl with water and some cooked rice that he had from the day before and watched how she started to eat. As his gaze turned back to Y/N, he saw her staring at a picture that was on the drawer. He went there and gave her the frame. It was a picture of his family.

She picked it up reverently and looked at it closely. “Senjuro and you took after your father. It’s like he copy-pasted himself.”

Kyojuro’s smile turned nervous as he scratched the back of his neck. “Yes, the Rengoku genes are actually very strong. This hair color goes back to the Sengoku-era.”

“Really?” She looked at him in surprise and chuckled. “I need to confess something. The first time I saw your hair, I thought that you dyed the tips red, but then I met your little brother in one of my classes and realized that it must run in your family. I always wondered if it was your father or mother.” Her gaze went back to the picture and her smile softened. “Your mother is so beautiful.” 

“Yes she is…” But his eyes were not on the picture, but on her. How she held it carefully in her hands, as if she knew how important it was to him. She put it carefully back and sat down on the couch, her smile dying out slowly. 

Her gaze became distant while she tightly grabbed her mug. Kyojuro was visibly concerned, still debating if he should ask her what happened. The silence did not make the situation better as the worst scenarios were going through his head until he decided to finally ask her. 

“Y/N… Why were you running so late outside in the rain? Did something happen…?” He didn’t dare to finish the sentence.

“Everything is fine…” She gave him a smile to reassure him, but this smile didn’t reach her eyes. 

He scrunched his forked eyebrows. “You are a bad liar.”

Now she couldn’t hold it back any longer and started to laugh. While she laughed, he was able to hear her pain and the tears that she was not able to shed anymore. “But probably still better than you.”

Now he couldn't help but smile at the inside joke that had developed between the two of them. “Y/N you know that you can talk to me, right? You are my friend and my confession didn’t change that fact..”

You are my friend.

I love you, Y/N.

Those words still lingered in her mind. "Kenji and I… We were fighting a lot the past week. The fights became bigger and bigger..." She finally spoke.

"He did not-" Kyojuro was assuming the worst.

"No, no," she immediately corrected him. "I... broke up with him..." She was still not looking at him. 

Kyojuro was surprised and he should be sad about hearing this. A break up, especially if someone had been together for such a long time, must be painful. He remembered how heartbroken he always was in his past break ups. A long silence occurred before Kyojuro decided to open his mouth. "I am sorry to hear that."

She put the mug on the table and leaned back to turn her head to him. "Are you really, Kyo?"

His eyes were now fixated on her plump lips that called his nickname so seductively. So inviting... imploring even. But he stopped himself before turning his golden red hues onto her eyes. "No, I am actually not." 

Was it her who came closer or was he moving towards her? He really shouldn’t do it. He really shouldn't take advantage of her in this situation. The air was filled with tension, the longing was in both of their eyes. 

“Kyo…” Her lips were whispering his name, waiting for him to finally make a move. Fuck it, he thought to himself and took her face in both of his hands and kissed her. Their lips clashed together and something inside them was like ‘finally’. As if his soul had been waiting for it over 100 years and was so desperate for her. The kiss turned hungrier and the sensation was so exhilarating that it strictly stirred his cock, which already started forming a tent in his gray sweatpants. 

It didn't make it any better when she grabbed his hair and desperately pulled him closer so that he fell on top of her. His hardened dick pressed against her. Only the thin layers of fabric separated them, but not preventing the delicious friction that made them both moan into the kiss. “Kyojuro…” Her voice is so whiny and desperate for him that it evoked something primal in him. 

Kyojuro felt as if a flame had ignited inside him, a flame that had been smoldering from the moment he first laid eyes on her. Now it was burning bright, consuming any lingering doubts and restraint he had left. He eagerly kissed her back, his tongue exploring her mouth while his hands gripped her waist tightly. His lips didn’t leave hers as his hands wandered down to her waist and hips. “Not here.” He was not sure if he said that more to himself than to her. It did not matter as he quickly stood up and grabbed her waist, to pick her up. Y/N immediately wrapped her legs tightly around him, kissing his lips, jaw, neck and everywhere else she was able to reach. That elicited a groan from him, making him dig his fingers into her thighs, where he was holding on desperately. It was hard to focus and if he didn’t have an ounce of self control he would have simply fucked her against the wall. However, this was their first time together so he opted to carry her into his bedroom.

Once in his room he draped her slowly onto his bed, his mouth wandering from her lips to her neck where he sucked and kissed the sensitive skin, eliciting all those sweet sighs and moans from her. He moved away from her, his body hovering over hers, to take a little to look at her. Again the sight of her in his clothes just made his heart clench in a way he never expected. His hands roamed over her body and pulled the hoodie over her head. He stared longingly at her bare breasts. Her nipples were already hard and eagerly pointing at him as they begged him to suck on them. He couldn’t take his eyes from her, before he snapped out of it as he realized that she was blushing under him. “Gods… You are so beautiful…” Murmuring words that were so familiar, creating a flashback in the back of his mind where he had said something like that before, but that didn't matter. What was important was that they were both here in the now.

There was something so intimate about being laid bare in front of him, seeing the desire and admiration in his eyes as his hands roamed over her body. Her blush deepened under his words, and she gently pulled his head down towards her chest. “Kyojuro… Please touch me…” She wanted his touch, nearly burned for the sensation his warmth gave her. He didn't need to be told twice and lowered his head down to take her nipple into his mouth, circling the hard peak with his hot tongue. The sudden shock of his touch sent waves of pleasure through her body and made her lower lip quiver. Her gasp only spurred him on further. His hand moved down to her waist, sliding under the fabric of her sweatpants to caress the sensitive skin there. He could feel how wet she was through the fabric, and the thought of it made him harder, if that was even possible.

He could feel the growing need to be inside her, to feel her from the inside, and the realization that they were on the same page seemed to fill his mind. He watched the response from her body and how she writhed under his touch. Those gasps and moans that he so craved; he wanted her to make more of those sounds. More, more, more… His hand on her waist began to slowly pull her sweatpants down, revealing more of her skin. His eyes roamed over her body, taking in every inch of her naked form. It was like being mesmerized by the most beautiful work of art in the world, and yet, it was the fact that this beauty was his to experience, to explore, that made it so much more intoxicating. 

He began to slowly undress himself as he watched her beneath him on his bed. His gaze was like a physical touch, as if he was already trailing his fingers over the skin he could see. He wanted to make her feel just as wanted and worshiped, as he continued to slowly strip, revealing his toned body. She couldn’t take his eyes off him. His hand moved down and gently caressed her inner thigh, the touch gentle yet possessive.

"Gods, you are so beautiful."

He could hear how she gasped as his mouth moved down her body, and the sound of her voice only made his body react more to her. He lifted his head a bit, looking at her flushed face, and watched her lips part as she took a deep breath while he spread her thighs apart. He could already see her glistening folds, so beautifully exposed to him. The sight sent a wave of desire through his body, and he had to take a moment to gather his own self-control as he leaned down closer, his breath ghosting across her sensitive skin.

“So beautiful," he echoed, his voice thick with need, "I want to taste you…"

Without giving her time to respond, he lowered his mouth to her core, his tongue swiping across her sensitive flesh in one slow, languid motion. The taste of her was so sweet, so intoxicating, that it took all his self-control not to just devour her right then and there.

As he continued to lavish attention on her, he felt her hands in his hair, gripping and tugging at the strands. The pain and pleasure of it only added to his own arousal, and he groaned against her skin.

"You taste so sweet…" he whispered, "I need more."

He continued to explore every inch of her, his lips and tongue relishing the sweetness and warmth of her body. As he listened to her moans increase in volume, he intensified his efforts, his tongue moving with more purpose and pressure, trying to draw out as many of those delicious sounds from her as possible. And with each lick and stroke of his tongue, he felt her legs shaking and trembling. He could tell how close she was to the edge, and he kept going, determined to bring her over that precipice. Her gasps and moans fuelled him as he worked his mouth between her thighs. He wanted to make her scream his name, to hear her come undone beneath his touch.

As her moans grew louder and more desperate, Kyojuro knew she was nearing her climax. He continued his assault, not letting up, determined to push her over the edge. He felt her thighs tremble and constrict around his head as she neared her release.

"Let go, my water lily" he murmured against her skin, not knowing where the pet name came, "Let me hear you come…"

And as if it was a command she cried out his name, pulling at his soft golden locks. “Kyojuro!” His heart nearly stopped as her voice, screaming his name, filled his ears. He could feel her body tense and shudder as she came, the sensation of her fingers in his hair sending a jolt of satisfaction straight to his core. He continued to gently lick and suck at her, drawing the orgasm out as long as possible until she finally collapsed back against the bed, completely spent.

He slowly pulled away, his lips and chin glistening with her juices. He stared down at her, admiring the sight before him, the view of her trembling body and flushed skin. The beautiful sight of her coming undone because of his efforts, all because of him. It filled him with a sense of pride… and an overwhelming need for more. "So exquisite…" he murmured, his eyes skimming every inch of her body. The sight of her, so undone by his touch, was enough to make him throb with desire.

He moved up her body, his lips moving along her stomach and over her chest until they found her mouth. He kissed her gently, letting her taste herself on his lips and tongue. His body was still throbbing with yearning, and he was fighting hard not to just push himself into her right then and there. But it was not him, but her who took the initiative. The feeling of her legs wrapping around him instantly spread an unsung fire through his body. He leaned down and his lips found the skin of her neck, kissing and sucking on the sensitive spot behind her ear. His hands roamed over her figure, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its track. He groaned into her skin as his hips involuntarily ground against hers.

"I… need you, now," he whispered huskily.

He could feel the slickness of her against his stomach, and it only increased his need to be inside her. He shifted slightly, his hands gripping her hips tightly, and lifted himself up to position himself between her thighs. His eyes locked with hers as he slowly pushed his cock into her, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he held himself back. The sensation of her tight, warm walls surrounding him was almost overwhelming. He buried his face in her neck groaning how perfect she felt. As he slowly started to move his hips, he felt as if he was losing his mind. The feeling of being inside her, having her completely at his mercy was almost too much to handle. He leaned down, his lips finding her neck as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin. He was lost in a hazy fog of ecstasy, the sound of her moans and gasps in his ear driving him to go deeper, faster.

His own control slowly slipped away as the pleasure consumed him. His hands roamed over her body, touching and exploring every inch to memorize the feel of her flesh underneath his fingers. He lifted her legs around his waist, getting a better angle and the new position drove him even deeper into her. And he continued to thrust into her, the pace and force increasing with each movement. He was completely lost in the moment, his mind completely overtaken by the pleasure of feeling her completely. His lips found her neck once more and he nipped and sucked at her pulse, leaving behind a trail of love bites in their wake.

Mine… his mind whispered fiercely, possessiveness creeping into him.

As he continued to dominate her with his body, he could feel her tremble and quiver under him. The sounds of her moans and gasps, the feeling of her body's response to his touch, it only fueled him to go harder, deeper. He could feel himself nearing his limit, the mounting pleasure becoming nearly unbearable. His breaths were labored as he tried to hold back his release, continuing to move his hips with each deep stroke. But the way she felt, her skin against his, the sound of her gasps and moans in his ear… it was too much.

"I'm… close…" he panted, his grip tightening on her hips as he tried to hold on just a little longer.

He could feel her body tightening around him, clenching and gripping him as if she was desperate to keep him inside. It was an incredibly delicious sensation that only added to his mounting pleasure. With each powerful thrust, the coiled heat within him grew stronger and more intense.

"I'm gonna…" he gasped, "Oh Gods… I'm gonna come…"

“M-Me too..!”, she cried between her moans as he felt her tight grip on him. Her voice sounded so desperate, needy and it was all it took for him to lose any remaining control he had.

He leaned down and his lips found hers, his tongue delving between hers, tasting her moan as he pushed himself deeper into her one final time. With a low, guttural groan he let go and succumbed to the pleasure, his body shuddering as he came hard, releasing himself inside her. He held himself there as the release hit him, his body shuddering and tensing as waves of ecstasy washed over. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breaths ragged and unsteady as he slowly came down from his high.

He collapsed on top of her, his body trembling with exhaustion and satisfaction. They lay there for a few moments, both of them trying to catch their breath and come back down to earth. He nuzzled his face into her neck, pressing soft kisses to her flesh as he tried to form words. But it was not possible. They simply stared at each other, her hand roaming over his face and pushing a blonde strand behind his ear. 

A profound, unspoken connection flowed between them. Their eyes locked in a gaze that spoke volumes more than words ever could. They marveled at the raw intimacy they had just shared, a sense of wonder filling the space between their breaths. Still panting from their lovemaking, their hearts seemed to beat in unison. Their shared silence was suddenly broken by soft laughter, a tender, joyous release that bubbled up from the depths of their souls. The giggles were not just amusement, but a shared acknowledgment of the beauty they had found in each other. 

A/N: Hello, my sweethearts! Who would have thought this story would ever get an update? (Not me!) I know it’s been a while, and I’m deeply sorry about that. Everyone who has been following me knows that I’ve been going through some real-life stuff, but things are getting better. I’ve been constantly thinking about this story and how much I love the plot I’ve built here, and I don’t want to disappoint anyone. But forcing myself was a big no-no, which is why it took so long. Again, I’m really sorry, and I hope I can make it up with this smutty smut. Since there’s no regular schedule for this story, please reply if you want to be tagged or not. Much love, your (Mommy) Sunny <3

Taglist: @flametrashira @mamayan @love-me-satoru @camilo-uwu @genshinsimpforlif @curlyblaze @oggy4god

[satansdarlin]

Marigold Margins

oneshot

Tim drake x Fem!reader, Established relationship, period comfort

notes: made this cause I was having terrible period cramps

word count: 4.4 K

rating: G

Warnings: None :)

The penthouse was unusually quiet when Tim returned home well past midnight. The board meeting had dragged endlessly, but your morning message calling in sick had lingered in his thoughts all day. A simple "Can't make it in" followed by a string of crying emojis had been unlike your usual professional demeanor.

The bedroom was dark save for the faint city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A mountain of blankets on the bed shifted slightly at his entrance, and he noticed the usually neat space was scattered with tell-tale signs of your day: empty tea mugs, a half-eaten pack of crackers, and what appeared to be a hot water bottle peeking out from the blanket pile.

"Baby?" Tim's voice was barely above a whisper. A muffled groan emerged from the blanket fortress. "Oh, sweetheart." His hand traced the outline of your form beneath the layers.

"I want to cease existing," came your pitiful declaration from somewhere within the cocoon. "Everything hurts. My back feels like someone's trying to fold me in half backwards."

"Not on my watch," he murmured, amusement threading through his concern. "Have you taken anything today?"

"Ibuprofen. Twice. Barely touched it." You shifted, and he caught a glimpse of your pale face in the dim light. "The cramps woke me up at three AM. Couldn't even stand straight enough to make it to the office."

Tim's expression softened. He knew how much you hated missing work, how seriously you took your position. For you to call in, it must have been truly unbearable.

"Why didn't you call me earlier?" He was already shrugging off his suit jacket, mind cycling through ways to help.

"You had the board meeting. The expansion plans." Your voice was muffled again as you burrowed deeper into the blankets. "I didn't want to... distract..."

"Hey," his tone grew firm, "your wellbeing is never a distraction."

He located the heated blanket, plugging it in and carefully arranging it over your curled form. The medicine cabinet in the bathroom yielded extra strength painkillers, and he filled a glass of water.

"Here," he offered both to you. "Small sips."

You emerged just enough to take the medicine, and he noticed the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead, the way you winced at even the small movement.

"I'm going to run you a bath - the really hot kind you like. And then I'm calling Indi."

"Why Indi?" you mumbled, already curling back into your nest.

"Because last time this happened, she brought that special tea blend that actually helped. And because she'll kill me if I don't let her know you're suffering."

A weak laugh escaped you. "You're too good to me."

"Just good enough," he corrected softly, pressing his lips to what he hoped was your forehead through the blankets. "Try to rest. I'll be right back."

In the bathroom, he started filling the oversized tub, adding the lavender bath salts you kept for especially rough days. His phone was already out, typing a message to Indi:

To: Indi

Message: Monthly visitor hit hard. She's in rough shape. Any chance you still have that tea blend?

The response was immediate:

From: Indi

Message: I’ll be there first thing in the morning with supplies. Tell her to hang in there. Making her favorite soup too.

Tim smiled slightly, grateful not for the first time for your support system. He returned to the bedroom, finding you had migrated slightly toward the edge of the bed.

"Bath's almost ready. Think you can make it?"

"If you help me?" Your voice was small, vulnerable in a way you rarely allowed yourself to be at work.

"Always," he promised, already moving to assist you. "Indi's on her way with reinforcements."

"Mm, you love me."

"Yes," he said simply, helping you stand. "I do."

.

.

.

In the morning, the sun had just barely crested over the horizon and you were bundled up in Tim's oversized Gotham University hoodie and a pair of well-worn sweatpants. The familiar scent of his laundry detergent mixed with the persistent aroma of Indi's infamous liver soup - a "family recipe" she swore by during these times. You were curled into the corner of the plush sectional, looking absolutely miserable as your sister wielded a spoon like a weapon.

"Come on," Indi coaxed, the soup spoon hovering dangerously close to your face. Dick was perched on the arm of the couch beside her, poorly concealing his amusement at the scene. "It's good for you!"

Tim, settled in the armchair nearby, let out a poorly suppressed snicker at your expression of absolute betrayal.

"If it's so amazing, why don't you all-" your indignant protest was cut short as Indi, ever the opportunist, shoved the spoon into your open mouth. Her triumphant "Ha!" echoed through the penthouse.

"You need the iron," she insisted, already preparing another spoonful. "Your color's terrible."

"It tastes like sadness and betrayal," you whined, pulling Tim's hoodie up to cover half your face. "Why can't I just take iron supplements like a normal person?"

"Because," Indi started, her voice taking on that familiar lecturing tone, "this is Grandma's recipe. It helped me, it helped Scarlet, and it's going to help you."

Dick leaned forward, his expression sympathetic but clearly entertained. "You know she's not going to give up, right? I've seen this exact scene play out with Babs."

"Traitor," you muttered, but accepted another spoonful with minimal resistance. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"I'm on the side of not having my girlfriend worry herself sick about her baby sister," Dick countered smoothly.

Tim watched the exchange with soft eyes, noting how even in your misery, there was something comforting about the familiar family dynamic. Your phone buzzed - probably Scarlet checking in for the hundredth time today.

"How about this," Tim offered, "three more spoonfuls and we can watch that terrible reality show you pretend not to love."

Your eyes narrowed at him over the hoodie. "Five episodes?"

"Three."

"Four, and you don't complain about the drama."

"Deal," he conceded, earning an approving nod from Indi.

"See?" Indi beamed, "Compromise! Now open up for the airplane..."

"I will literally fire all of you," you threatened weakly, but opened your mouth anyway.

Dick's laugh was warm. "Pretty sure you can't fire me. Indi and I don't even work with you and Tim is literally your boss,"

"I'll find a way," you mumbled around another spoonful of soup, but there was no heat in it. Just the comfort of being surrounded by people who cared enough to force-feed you liver soup and negotiate reality TV treaties.

Tim's hand found yours under the blanket, squeezing gently. Another spoonful down, two to go, and then maybe - just maybe - you'd admit that the soup was helping. But not out loud. Never out loud. You had a reputation to maintain, after all.

"Last bite," Indi announced triumphantly, wielding the spoon like a victory flag. "And then my work here is done."

You swallowed dramatically, collapsing back against the couch cushions. "If I die, tell Scarlet it was Indi's soup that did it."

"Drama queen," Dick teased, but he was already reaching for the remote. "Which trashy show are we subjecting ourselves to tonight?"

"Real Housewives of Gotham," you and Indi said in unison, causing Tim to groan softly.

"You promised not to complain," you reminded him, shifting to rest your head against his shoulder as he moved to join you on the couch. The heating pad was still warm against your abdomen, and his presence was steadying.

"I'm not complaining," Tim defended, adjusting the blanket around you. "I'm just... expressing concern about your taste in television."

Indi bustled around the kitchen, cleaning up the soup aftermath and preparing what sounded like tea. Dick had somehow produced a bag of chocolate-covered almonds from somewhere - your favorite guilty pleasure snack that you were pretty sure Tim had started keeping stocked just for these occasions.

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Scarlet

Message: Soup status? Did they get it into you? Don't make me come over there.

To: Scarlet

Message: Mission accomplished. Your evil minions succeeded.

From: Scarlet

Message: Good girl. Rest up. Love you.

"Scarlet checking in?" Tim asked softly, his fingers absently running through your hair.

"Mmhmm. Making sure the torture was successful." You nestled closer, the combination of warmth, full stomach, and pain medication making you drowsy.

"Here," Indi returned with mugs of her special tea blend. "This should help with the cramping."

"If it tastes anything like the soup..." you started to protest, but Indi's stern look silenced you.

"It's peppermint and ginger. Maybe a few other things. Family secret." She settled back next to Dick, who immediately draped his arm around her shoulders.

The show started playing, its familiar dramatic intro music filling the penthouse. Tim's hand hadn't stopped its gentle motion through your hair, and you could feel yourself starting to drift despite the theatrical arguing on screen.

"You can sleep," Tim murmured, just for you. "We won't tell the Housewives."

"'m not sleeping," you protested weakly. "Just resting my eyes."

Dick's soft chuckle suggested he didn't believe you either, but you were too comfortable to argue. The pain had dulled to a manageable ache, and the familiar voices of your favorite guilty pleasure show mixed with the quiet conversation between Indi and Dick.

"Thank you," you whispered to Tim, not sure if he heard it.

But his gentle kiss to your temple suggested he had.

The last thing you registered before drifting off was Indi's voice: "Dick, don't you dare tell Bruce about the soup recipe. Some things need to stay in the family."

.

.

.

Consciousness returned slowly, accompanied by the gentle hum of familiar voices. The penthouse - usually your and Tim's quiet sanctuary - had transformed into what could only be described as organized chaos. Tim was still asleep beside you, his breathing deep and even, one arm protectively draped over your middle where the heating pad had slipped.

The scene unfolding before you was like something from a Renaissance painting of domestic life. In the kitchen, Alfred and Indi were deep in conversation, recipe cards spread between them like battle plans. Alfred's eyes twinkled as your sister demonstrated what looked suspiciously like the proper way to dice vegetables.

"Master Timothy always did prefer the carrots julienned," Alfred was saying, his fond smile evident in his tone.

Near the window, Jason and Dick's hushed argument with Damian had something to do with proper gaming console setups - their gestures becoming increasingly elaborate while trying to maintain their whispered volume.

"Pennyworth's setup is clearly superior," Damian insisted, arms crossed.

"Yeah, if you're living in 1995," Jason countered.

Stephanie and Cass had claimed the bar stools, systematically working their way through what appeared to be Alfred's special triple chocolate brownies. They shared knowing looks each time they successfully nabbed another piece without drawing attention.

Your baby sister Petal had commandeered a corner of the room, her easel set up to capture the whole scene. Her tongue poked out slightly in concentration - a habit she'd had since childhood - as she mixed colors on her palette. The morning light caught her dark hair, making the purple streaks she'd recently added shimmer.

Bruce and your mom had claimed the comfortable armchairs by the window, sharing what looked like coffee and quiet laughter. Your mom's eyes crinkled at the corners the way they always did when she was truly relaxed, and Bruce's usual stern demeanor had softened considerably.

"I swear," your mom was saying, "teenagers are the same whether they're vigilantes or not."

"Tell me about it," Bruce replied with a knowing smile.

Near the dining room, Barbara was patiently explaining something about the smart home system to Duke, who looked both impressed and slightly overwhelmed.

"So you're saying Tim basically built his own AI?" Duke whispered.

"More or less," Babs confirmed. "Though don't let him hear you call it that. He's very specific about the terminology."

You couldn't help the warm feeling spreading through your chest at the sight of both your families so naturally intertwined. Pressing a soft kiss to Tim's neck, you felt him stir slightly.

"The cavalry arrived while we were asleep," you hummed against his skin, watching his eyes flutter open.

"Mm," he mumbled, taking in the scene. "Alfred's here. That explains why it smells edible."

"I heard that, Master Timothy," Alfred called from the kitchen, not even turning around.

You stifled a laugh against Tim's shoulder as he had the grace to look slightly sheepish. Your phone buzzed - another text from Scarlet:

From: Scarlet

Message: Stuck at the shop but Harkin insists on sending you his latest masterpiece. [Picture attached: a somewhat abstract crayon drawing of what might be you, surrounded by what appears to be every color in the crayon box]

To: Scarlet

Message: It's beautiful. Tell my favorite nephew he's definitely getting extra cookies next visit.

"How are you feeling?" Tim asked softly, his hand finding yours under the blanket.

Before you could answer, your mom's voice carried across the room: "Don't let her tell you she's fine, Timothy. She always says she's fine."

"Mom!" you protested, but there was no heat in it.

"She's right, you know," Tim murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You always say you're fine."

The smell of fresh bread suddenly wafted through the penthouse, making your stomach growl traitorously. Alfred and Indi shared a knowing look.

"Perfect timing," Alfred declared. "Master Timothy, if you would assist in setting the table? I believe we'll need the extended leaves for this gathering."

Your attempt to help was immediately shut down by no less than three people.

"Don't you dare," Indi warned, wielding a wooden spoon threateningly.

"Sit," Tim commanded gently, untangling himself from you.

"TT. Drake's companion should rest," Damian added, surprising everyone. When they stared, he shrugged. "Pennyworth says so."

Your mom approached with a fresh mug of tea, settling beside you on the couch. "How's my baby really feeling?"

"Better," you admitted, accepting the tea. "The soup helped. Don't tell Indi."

"Your secret's safe with me." She smoothed your hair back, just like she used to when you were little. "Though I think everyone knows by now. Family recipe and all."

The word 'family' caught you, making you look around the room again. Bruce was now helping Tim with the table, their movements synchronized from years of practice. Jason had somehow been roped into helping Alfred plate food, though he kept stealing bites when he thought no one was looking. Petal had convinced Cass to pose for a quick sketch, while Stephanie offered increasingly ridiculous pose suggestions.

"Speaking of family," your mom's voice was careful, measured. "Bruce and I were talking..."

"Mom," you warned, knowing that tone.

"Just hear me out. The penthouse is lovely, but that Manor has so much space. And Alfred mentioned something about the guest house being renovated..."

You nearly choked on your tea. "Are you and Bruce trying to get us to move to the Manor?"

"It would be practical," Bruce chimed in, apparently having bat-hearing when it came to Manor-related conversations. "Shorter commute for both of you."

"And closer to family," your mom added.

"We're literally having this conversation while everyone's here in our penthouse," you pointed out.

"The Manor has a better security system," Tim contributed, earning him a betrayed look.

"Et tu, Timothy?"

He raised his hands in surrender, but you could see the consideration in his eyes. Before you could protest further, Alfred announced that lunch was ready.

The spread was impressive - fresh bread, three different soups (including a conspicuous absence of liver), and what looked like enough food to feed a small army. Which, given the current occupancy of your penthouse, seemed appropriate.

"I can't believe you're all conspiring about real estate while I'm vulnerable," you grumbled, but allowed Tim to help you to the table.

"Master Timothy," Alfred said as he placed a bowl of your favorite soup in front of you, "perhaps we should also mention the plans for the greenhouse?"

Your eyes lit up despite yourself. Tim shot Alfred a look that clearly said 'traitor.'

"Greenhouse?" you asked, interest piqued.

"I was going to mention it when you were feeling better," Tim admitted. "Bruce suggested we might want to restore the east greenhouse. It's got good light for your herbs..."

"And it's right next to the guest house," Bruce added innocently.

"You're all impossible," you declared, but you were smiling.

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Scarlet

Message: They're trying to get you to move to the Manor aren't they? Mom just texted me. I vote yes. Better security.

To: Scarlet

Message: Traitor

The family meal continued around you, conversations overlapping, laughter filling the space. Tim's hand found yours under the table, squeezing gently.

"We don't have to decide anything now," he murmured.

"I know." You leaned against him slightly. "But maybe... maybe we could look at the greenhouse?"

His smile was worth the chorus of triumphant looks from both your families. 

You were watching Jason pass by your seat when something caught your eye - a familiar glint of metal on his key ring. Beside his motorcycle key and what you recognized as his Manor key hung a delicate rose pendant... and a very familiar brass key that you'd seen countless times at Scarlet's flower shop.

"When did you get a key to Scarlet's shop?" The question left your mouth before you could stop it, casual but pointed.

Jason froze mid-step, his expression flickering for just a split second - but long enough for you to catch it. Years of training with the Bats couldn't quite hide the deer-in-headlights look that crossed his face.

The pieces suddenly clicked into place.

"YOU'RE THE MYSTERY GUY!" The synchronized shout from you, Indi, and Petal made several people jump. Dick actually choked on his water.

"The one who's been leaving the poetry books?" Indi gasped.

"And the vintage botanical prints?" Petal added, her paintbrush forgotten mid-stroke.

"The reason she's been humming love songs while arranging flowers?" You finished, watching Jason's composure crack further with each accusation.

Tim's eyebrows had shot up so high they were practically in his hairline. "Jason, you've been dating Scarlet?"

"I... we..." Jason ran a hand through his hair, a rare sign of nervousness. "It's not... we were going to tell everyone..."

"When?" Bruce asked, looking both amused and intrigued.

"Eventually," Jason muttered.

Your phone was already in your hand:

To: Scarlet

Message: JASON TODD?!?! THE POETRY BOOKS WERE FROM JASON?!

The response was almost immediate:

From: Scarlet

Message: ...I can explain?

Message: Actually no I can't. Surprise? 😅

Message: DO NOT TERRORIZE HIM I SWEAR TO GOD

"How long?" you demanded, turning back to Jason who was now looking increasingly like he wanted to jump out the nearest window.

"Six months," he admitted finally.

"SIX MONTHS?!" The collective exclamation made him wince.

"Does this mean Jason is going to be our brother-in-law?" Petal asked innocently, making Jason choke on air.

Your mother gave Indi a pointed look. She was glaring daggers through Jason's back with a protective older sister aura that made her seem like the biggest threat in the room – which, considering the present company of vigilantes, was quite an achievement.

"Indigo..." Your mom spoke in a warning tone. Indi tore her gaze away from Jason's backside.

"You can't blame me for being cautious," Indi mumbled, fingers tapping an agitated rhythm against her thigh. "Last guy she was with knocked her up and left."

"Maybe that's why Scarlet didn't tell us," you murmured under your breath. The moment the words left your mouth, you saw Indi's expression shift from anger to understanding, her shoulders dropping slightly.

Your mother placed a gentle hand on her eldest daughter's shoulder and guided her toward the kitchen for a private discussion. Left in the aftermath, you looked up at Jason and offered an apologetic smile.

"Sorry. Indi is just... protective. She doesn't show it often, but you didn't just come into one of her sisters' lives – you're in her nephew's life too." You explained, watching Jason's expression carefully. "And well, Scarlet didn't let us hunt down her ex." You lowered your voice to add, "Not that it stopped me."

Tim quirked a brow at you, and you felt your cheeks warm slightly. "I may have gotten him blacklisted in most of Gotham's elite circles?"

Tim let out an amused chuckle, not at all surprised you'd basically doxxed the guy. His arm tightened around you slightly – proud, not disapproving.

"Well, if I see the guy on the street it's on sight," Jason grumbled, his jaw set in a way that suggested he meant every word. The declaration made you and Petal both smile.

"That's enough for a seal of approval from me," you declared, then turned to your youngest sister. "What about you, Rose?"

Petal nodded with all the gravity of a supreme court justice delivering a verdict. "Agreed, sister." She leaned over toward Damian, whispering something that made him roll his eyes but nod nonetheless.

The sight made your chest swell with pride. If you hadn't gotten that job under Tim a few years back, none of this would have happened. Your families would have never merged into this beautiful chaos. Damian and Petal would never have become best friends (though Damian insisted Rose was "delusional" even while being first in line at her art galleries). Dick and Indi might never have found each other – and now they were planning her upcoming tour together, Dick already committed to joining her on the road.

Your eyes drifted to Bruce and your mom, who had been suspiciously meeting for lunch lately. They thought they were being subtle, dodging questions with practiced ease, but you and your sisters had your theories. The way they gravitated toward each other, sharing private smiles over coffee cups, hadn't gone unnoticed.

And now Jason and Scarlet. Your phone buzzed again:

From: Scarlet

Message: Is the coast clear yet? Did Indi go full protective mode?

Message: Also please tell me you didn't mention the poetry he writes me 

To: Scarlet

Message: HE WRITES YOU POETRY?! 

Message: This keeps getting better 😈

You watched as Jason's phone buzzed, and his eyes widened slightly – no doubt getting a warning message from Scarlet about the poetry revelation.

Eventually, Indi returned, her expression softer but no less intense. She pulled Jason aside for what appeared to be both an apology and a series of creative threats about what would happen if he hurt her sister or nephew. From your angle, you could see Jason's expression shift from wary to respectful – recognizing and appreciating the fierce protection of family.

Your phone buzzed one final time:

From: Scarlet

Message: For what it's worth... he makes us really happy. Both of us.

Message: And Harkin adores him. Says he's cooler than Spider-Man now

Message: Just... don't let Indi scare him off? Please?

"How's Kori, Babs?" You looked over at Barbara who smiled warmly at the mention of her girlfriend. The way her whole face lit up never failed to make you happy – especially after everything they'd been through to get where they are now.

"She's doing good," Barbara's eyes sparkled with affection. "Actually, she's presenting at the National Astronomy Conference next week. She's been practicing her speech for days – keeps worrying her English isn't 'sufficiently academic.'" The air quotes made you chuckle.

"As if anyone could question her credentials," Dick chimed in from where he sat with Indi. "She literally navigates by starlight."

"Tell her I still want those space cookies she promised," Jason called out, then immediately looked like he regretted drawing attention to himself as Indi's protective gaze snapped back to him.

"Space... cookies?" your mom asked, looking both intrigued and slightly concerned.

"They're these amazing cookies Kori makes using a Tamaranean recipe," Tim explained. "They literally sparkle and somehow taste like stardust – if stardust was delicious."

"And completely safe for human consumption," Barbara added quickly, seeing your mom's expression. "Alfred helped her adapt the recipe."

"Indeed," Alfred confirmed from the kitchen. "Though I must say, some of the substitutions were quite... creative. Earth cinnamon is apparently a reasonable alternative to pulverized meteor dust."

"Scarlet's been trying to convince her to let us sell them at the shop," Jason mentioned, then immediately looked like he wished he could take the words back as everyone's attention returned to the revelation of his relationship.

"You've been hanging out at the shop?" Petal's eyes narrowed. "Is that why there've been fresh flowers in the Manor greenhouse?"

Jason's slight blush was all the confirmation needed.

"Kori's been teaching Jason the language of flowers," Barbara supplied helpfully, earning a betrayed look from Jason. "What? Kori told me. She thinks it's romantic."

"The fearsome Red Hood, learning Victorian flower meanings," Dick grinned. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Shut it, Grayson," Jason growled, but there was no real heat in it. "At least I don't write songs about Indi's eyes in the middle of patrol."

Now it was Dick's turn to blush as Indi turned to him with delighted surprise. "You write songs about my eyes?"

"I... that was supposed to be private, Jay," Dick muttered, but he was smiling as Indi pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Scarlet  

Message: JASON KNOWS FLOWER LANGUAGES NOW?! 

Message: Is that why my latest bouquets have been so specific??

Message: Tell him if the red carnations meant what I think they meant, then yes 🥰

To: Scarlet  

Message: You two are disgustingly cute. I'm telling Indi.

From: Scarlet  

Message: DON'T YOU DARE

Message: ...but also maybe tell her he's learning it properly? She always said a guy should know what he's saying with flowers...

"Scarlet says yes, by the way," you told Jason quietly, watching his face soften in a way you'd never seen before. "To whatever the red carnations meant."

The smile that spread across his face was enough to make even Indi's protective stance relax slightly.

"What did they mean?" Petal asked innocently.

"None of your business, Rosebud," Jason replied, but his voice was gentle.

"'My heart aches for you,'" your mom supplied casually, not looking up from her phone. When everyone stared at her, she shrugged. "What? I dated a florist in college. Some things stick with you."

You looked up at your expanding, complicated, beautiful family. Tim caught your eye and smiled, somehow knowing exactly what you were thinking.

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" he murmured, just for you.

"Yeah," you agreed, watching as Alfred began distributing fresh cups of tea, as Bruce helped your mom with something on her phone, as Damian and Petal bent their heads together over her sketchbook, as Dick pulled Indi into a comforting embrace, as Jason typed what was probably a very apologetic message to Scarlet. "Pretty amazing.”

.

.

.

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[goldsbitch]

Twelve grapes

chapter 2 - Red and Blue

Does he always talk so much?" Charles asks, wondering whether excessive talking is a requirement for Red Bull drivers. Max snaps right back. "Only when he's awake." Charles nods understandingly. "Must be hard for you," he mocks Daniel's tone.

or Charles spends the afternoon pinning over his ultimate rival.

warning: m/m kiss, 8k words

Fake it til you make it. But, Charles has been faking it for so long now, he can hardly remember what it feels like to believe in himself. He pushes through. There is no other option.

It only dawns on him after the dreadfully long medical exam, when he’s finally out of the car and watching the replays of Alonso launching himself over his Sauber. It hits him when he sees all the other people, worried and then relieved that he survived just fine. Another tell-tale sign is all the phone calls and messages he keeps getting, from just about anyone he's ever met.

But, there isn't fear inside of him - he does not allow that emotion entrance, ever. He is convinced that if he had, it would be over for him in the world of motorsport. And who is he without that?

Anger piles up inside him, which is not an unfamiliar feeling, but the intensity is on another level.

It feels like the paddock is trying to suffocate him. There are people, cameras everywhere and he would give anything to leave - like right now. He walks and walks and walks. Circles, triangles, whichever will confuse anyone watching the most.

The start of his first F1 season feels like a bittersweet dream. Him coming in, having three amazing races and then finding the person source of misfortune for the following ones. DNF's, crashes and who knows what else. There is always the debrief afterwards, where he has to sit and watch his mediocre teammate smirk with unmasked joy. Charles believes he is not a violent person, but if he really had to punch someone, it would be without a doubt Marcus Ericsson.

The more he spirals, the clearer the face of his teammate becomes, until Charles finally snaps, finds an alley between the technical trucks and proceeds to start kicking one of the tires with everything he has.

The-stupid-blonde-asshole. Untalented-waste-of-a-seat. He can't rob him of his chance at Ferrari. He is so close.

"Uhm, hm."

The excessively loud pseudo-cough snaps the young driver back to reality. Only then he realizes just how tense his whole body is and how his foot hurts from the numerous kicks he granted to the truck in front of him. He can't calm himself immediately. But, he stops and turns around, to evaluate the damage he would need to clear by not making sure enough to avoid any witnesses. He quickly concluded the worst thing to happen would be for a fan or a team principal to stand there. When he locks eyes with the person standing few meters into the alley, he makes a mental note never to assume he can imagine the worst.

Standing there, with all his grace and beauty is none other than Max Verstappen. He spares him one look and then goes on to examine the kicked tire. Charles is about to drown in embarassment when he hears him speak.

"Not bad for a French guy," he remarks with a smirk and stands back up. Why anyone would think teasing someone mid-rage is a good idea is beyond Charles. He avoids looking at him as he bites his lips in frustration and adds blond people of all hair shades to his list of enemies. Max's hair counts as blond, therefore that makes them two people he wants to kick, along with Marcus. As if he could read his thoughts, he runs his hand through the messy, post race strands, which sends Charles into the loudest sigh he probably ever mustered.

"You know, I have a special wooden desk back home for when I need to punch things," the Dutch says matter-o-factly.

"I don't have an anger problem like you," he snarls through gritted teeth, failing at proving his point.

"Right. I also have a cheeky bottle of whiskey in my driver's room, if you wanna take the edge off." Yes, alcohol after an anger spree practically screams healthy, Charles wants to reply - but doesn't.

His heartbeat is somewhat coming back to down to post-race normal, he rests his hands on his waist and stares at the tire once again. He gulps, turns his look back at Max, who is still standing there, waiting. Never before he thought that Max would be the one offering him help to find his peace of mind. He must be tired or sick. "Come on, Charles," Max states, but does not move. There is something incredibly grounding about his certainty. A wave of calm hits Charles like a tsunami. Out of nowhere, it's like time stops and the world around fades into a grey hue. Charles counts his deep breaths. Stoic Max stares at him, as if he knows something more than him. It's the tone he uses that grounds him the most. Charles would normally snap back into getting mad at that fact that three words and Verstappen manages to change his mood - but he is so tired. Sudden realization of that steers his answer. "Ok," he says simply and tries not to read into the smile that creeps onto Max's face. Charles can't get the song Pale Blue Eyes out of his head.

//

Charles is happy that unlike him, Max still has all of his five braincells working and chooses the least visible way into Red Bull motorhome. It is probably a miracle that he manages to sneak him in, though it was way later after the race than Charles assumed. His anger walk must have been minutes long. He suppresses any guilt about his team, who are probably searching for him. He likes Sauber people, but tries not to think of the as his team. Because they hopefully won't be for long. It's the thought about the ongoing Ferrari talks that get his riled up again. Maybe walking into the den of the devil - Red Bull - was the biggest mistake he made that day. A visible reminder of how Max already had everything Charles wished for. Top team that's capable of fighting podiums. A place that screams "Max' home". He is not a visitor, he is someone who the teams counts on in their plans for the future. Not only is Charles still angry, he feels smaller than ever, as he drags behind him. The perfect metaphor for his career so far. Anger is slowly getting replaced by despair. Typical Charles' spiral.

He sinks in deep into the couch in Max's room. A small glass with honey colored liquid is in his hands immediately after. This is the moment Charles remembers he hates whiskey.

"So, you're on a bit of a run of bad races, huh?" Max opens and sips his drink, without even a hint of having an intention of toasting. Then again, Charles has nothing to toast to. Yet. Despair gets overshadowed by the hope the Ferrari contract might be a way out of this "run of bad races".

"Yeah. The car just does not have it. Or maybe I don't have it and it's actually good that other people crash into me, at least the fans get a good show."

"There is a difference between self-criticism and self-hatred, you know?" Max says in an uncharacterically calm tone. Charles can't think of any other reply apart from an eye roll.

"However, you had an impressive start. I was actually worried," Max continues, making Charles's heartbeat freeze. "For a moment," he adds maliciously after few seconds of silence, bringing Charles back to life. Max was worried and now he pities him. Oh, how nicely paved the way to hell is.

"I don't need you to feel sorry for me," he spits out, party regretting that he ever followed Max, partly happy he can be unreasonably mad at someone without much of a consequence. He's always playing the good PR boy. It's all calculated, he is not in his final destination yet. His goal is not simply to be in F1, his goal is to crush it. And he is sitting across from the one who is on his way to have it all. Max dared to smirk as he kept casually leaning against the motorhome wall.

"I would never degrade you by feeling sorry for you, mate," Max reacts, his tone hinting he shared Charles's disregard for drivers pitying each other.

"Good," Charles concludes and sips from the horribly bad drink.

"Was the crash bad? I saw some replays and I'm surprised you're sitting here. I'd expect you be to locked with the medics," Max changes his tone to a more casual one. Like they weren't talking about a several G crash involving multiple cars and a world champion flying over his head.

"I think this was my worst one yet," he admits. "The medics let me go after making sure they do every test on this planet on me."

"So, tell me. You pregnant?"

Charles laugh as the stupid joke. He blames his tired mind. It is noticable that Max is pleased with himself. Who would have though he'd be sitting here, in a Red Bull driver room, after a massive crash, cracking dumb jokes with Verstappen out of all people.

"How long is the car going to take to repaire?" the Dutch asks, waking Charles up a bit. Was that why he brought him here? To lure information out of him?

"I'm sure it's fine. I have other cats to whip," he remarks quickly, already planning on starting to being the one asking questions.

"Wha-you're whipping cats?" Max frowns, half confused, half concerned.

"Yeah, why would-"

"Whipping cats?!" It is Max now who would be called the "angry" one in the room.

Charles doesn't understand why he looks so baffled. "Yeah, j’ai d’autres chats à fouetter, it's the mechanics problem to do so."

There is pure confusion in the room, before it finally clicks. "Mate, I don't think that translates directly. I don't want to give out advice, but don't go around saying you're whipping cats for fun," Max mutters.

"Um, does it not?" Charles speaks while red runs into his face. It's all the languages in his head, one jumping over another. How is it that everyone else seems to not make these mistakes anymore.

Finally, Max lets out a small chuckle. "Happens to all of us," he contradicts what Charles didn't even have a chance to say.

To say the door opens silently and smoothly would be an understatement. Daniel Ricciardo slams in, like the owns the place. Charles does not understand many things, the Australian driver will probably be on the top of that list. He automatically stiffs up.

Daniel closes the door and pauses, taking in the scene with his "punch me" grin. "Well, well. What do we have here? Max Verstappen and… wait, don’t tell me." He snaps his fingers theatrically. "Charles Leclerc. Sauber’s crown jewel."

Charles’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond.

Max observes without a reaction. Daniel does not wait a response. "Didn’t expect to find you here, mate. Shouldn’t you be back at Sauber, poring over data and figuring out how to make that car go faster than a lawnmower?" he sings his vowels in a tone so unpleasant to Charles's ears. Yes, Charles thinks. I should be. But I am not. Sue me.

Max shoots Daniel a warning look, but Daniel either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

He leans against the counter, his tone shifting, almost sympathetic. "It must be hard, though. Coming into F1, everyone expecting you to be the next big thing. Having all those hopes and dreams on your shoulders, only to realize... the car’s not good enough. That no matter how talented you are, sometimes you just can’t win."

Charles stiffens, his grip tightening on the glass. He feels his anger building up again and the urge to storm out growing inside. He closes his eyes with the hope that maybe once he opens them again, the Australian will be gone.

Daniel smiles, almost kindly. "But hey, chin up. Every legend has to start somewhere. Even if it’s at the back of the grid."

There’s a beat of silence. Charles swallows hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. Max, sensing the shift in mood, stands abruptly.

"Daniel," he says sharply. "Enough."

Daniel puts his hands up in defense. "Chill out mate, I'm just surprised he is here and I wanna cheer him up. But, Charles," he turns away from Max, "you're always welcome here. As a visitor, you know. Just to be clear," he says and ends it with his iconic, punch-worthy smile. To add another layer to Charles's pile of discomfort, he goes and puts his arm around Max, like the overly touchy friend he must be. Max does not seem to be phased by it. Charles tries not to think about how often that must happen. It's hard to control the cocktail of emotions, so adding a hint of jealousy to it is making his glass overflow. The older driver pinches the younger one's cheeks and Charles can't help but roll his eyes and shift his focus on the nearly empty glass of whiskey. One more minute of this and he is out.

To his luck, since Daniel seems to have run out of jokes to throw around, he spins on his heel and starts walking away. "I'll leave you guys to it then. Charlie, if you want, we are going out later in the evening, text me if you wanna join," he says and walks out. Charles finds it amusing to think he'd have Daniel's number saved. Once the door closes behind him, he can finally breathe again.

"Does he always talk so much?" Charles asks, wondering whether excessive talking is a requirement for Red Bull drivers.

Max snaps right back. "Only when he's awake."

Charles nods understandingly. "Must be hard for you," he mocks Daniel's tone.

Max nods back overly dramatically. "Yes. It is. Especially when the noise blocking headphones are just...not good enough."

Charles puts his head in his hand, exhaustion creeping in.

Max seems to not notice that and continues in their talk. "You really don't like him, do you?"

There is a smirk forming at Charles's lips. "And do you like him?"

Only he knows with what kind of undertone he is asking. The jealousy still present in the air. He hopes Max does not pick up on it. Or does he? It's a confusing day.

"Yeah. He's a good friend," he murmurs back, blue eyes now locked with the messy green ones. "Do you want a refill-"

Charles can't cope anymore. No more whiskey.

"Max, why are you being, so..." he interrupts him and immediately pauses, searching for the right word to define what ever he had been so doing. And since he can't find anything better suited, he inevitably ends up with: "...nice."

Out of all the things he would describe Verstappen, this was probably the last of them. Truth be told, the only reason he followed Max to his motorhome in the first place was the immortal curiosity Charles was born with. Anything that involves Max seems to draw him in. All of the arguments - which there hadn't been many these last few months - all the snarky comments and exchanges, frowned upon looks and lines shared through media...Charles knew, deep down his biggest weakness was just how much he wanted to be accepted by Max. The allure of Verstappen - Charles imagines that's how everyone feels about the Red Bull driver.

"I don't bother spending my time on thinking why I do, or say, things," he proclaims nonchalantly, providing Charles with something that feels like the key to the enigma of it all. Well, of course, that would explain hell of a lot things about this man. He stares at him, as he keeps his casual lean on the table and fiddles with his glass. There is something about that statement that Charles finds hard to believe. But he decides to keep that question for the future.

It's only now that Charles realizes he is not calm, in fact, he is the opposite of that emotion. Tense, on edge. Like before jumping off a cliff. He wasn't like that before Daniel interrupted them, only once he left them alone again. The contrast of just how much he hated Daniel's presence and if fact appreciated the lack of it starts to hit. Charles had been in different driver's room before. But, never in Max's and it was never kind of like this. Suddenly, he is hyper aware of his every move, how small this rooms feels, contrasting its actual size. The couch underneath him is too hard and the icy glass is starting to hurt his fingers. He gulps. Max has never looked so tall before.

"You're weirdly quiet. Getting calmer now?" Max asks and interrupts the thought spiral Charles fell into.

"Yeah, all calm now," he lies and almost burn holes into Max with his stare. He wants to stay in this moment forever. There is nothing pleasant waiting for him out there.

Charles winces after taking a last sip of whiskey. "You don’t even like it," Max notes, watching him. "No," Charles admits. "I hate it. It tastes like someone melted a campfire and put it in a glass." Max laughs, genuinely this time. "Then why did you take it?" "I don’t know. Peer pressure?" "Next time, just ask for a soda. You can still be mad with a Coke in hand."

Charles just nods, without needing to respond. Max takes a deep breath in and a pause, before he speaks again.

"When are you leaving Spa? Do you have time this evening?"

Charles's response would have been very different hadn't been for Daniel's invitation. "I'm not going out with you and Daniel," he says firmly.

Max rolls his lips. "So, you do have time."

There is a tingle somewhere deep inside him. An urge, curiosity and the inability to say no to Max. "I'm leaving at midnight," he replies and it sounds more like a question.

Max grants him one of the most obnoxious smiles this century has seen. "We'll just have to make sure you're back on time. Go to the hotel and pack your things in advance. Oh, and don't wear white sneakers."

//

Charles is totally normal about it. It's a perfectly acceptable reaction to pack in a time a pit stop crew would be impressed by. Cancelling a gaming session with one of the engineers he had scheduled for the evening was also a perfectly ok thing to do. The pacing around the room and nail biting until his finger tops bleed is maybe little over the top, but he is alone in the room. He's allowed to freak out.

He and Max are mere acquaintances. The definition of friends not really applying to them. It would be totally ok for him to hang out with his usual suspects, but this was new. Was Max luring him into a trap? Was he going to have him strip naked and then have his Dutch friends jump over from the bushes and laugh at him?

Charles is someone who freaks out ahead of things. He considers that to be an advantage for racing, panicking on flights rather than in the cockpit.

He unpacks and then repacks his suitcase, just so that he has something to do. Curses himself for only bringing one pair of dark blue sneakers (and white ones, of course).

He has been like this for the last hour. Waiting on Max to text him he can finally go downstairs - because he is not going to let him know that he is pacing nervously. He is not going to sit in the hotel lobby, like some loser that has nothing better to do than to wait at him.

Charles blames the headache on the crash.

The sky gets progressively darker when he start giving up on Max ever texting him. Charles is a stupid, stupid boy, for believing he was talking seriously about making plans with him.

This hotel room ceiling isn't the most interesting piece of art work, but Charles would be able to repaint it by memory by the amount of time he spends laying on the unmade bed and staring at it. There is a little crack in the left corner, slight elevation between the hallway and the bedroom and a knock on the door.

A knock on the door. His mind goes immediately to the handsome Dutch driver (not that the image of him ever left since they departed, really), but he quickly gets himself up and adjusts his expectations to reality. It's probably someone from Sauber checking on him. Or his manager with some updates, he also rarely texts before coming over.

Deep breath and he opens the door. His face is calm, but if someone took Charles's pulse, they'd probably send him straight back to the medical centre. Max is standing there, looking calm and composed as ever. Back in his casual non-team wear. If it were up to Charles, he'd finally take him shopping for some flattering clothes. This is not doing him justice at all. Thank God his face is protected from the effects of that ugly stripy t-shirt.

"Hey, man. You good to go?"

Most people would send a text—or, at worst, ask reception to make a call. The fact he must have asked for his room number (and the more alarming fact he managed to get it from them) and then came all the way up, is concerning.

Max's brows furrow. "Have you lost the ability to speak in the last two hours?"

Charles slaps himself mentally. "Funny. Hello to you too."

A totally concerned-free smile spreads on Max's cheek and he walks past him to his room. "Let's grab your bag and get going, we're on a schedule."

Before he has time to blink, he is standing in a hotel elevator and Max Verstappen is carrying his bag.

//

There is the usual crowd of people mingling around the hotel - crew members, reporters, some overly excited fans. Charles tries to hide as Max leads them through shortcuts, this place obviously being his playground. Charles manages to relax himself a bit when he realizes nobody probably managed to get a picture of them walking together. Another miracle of the day. 

The sports car, older model, but obviously worked on, growls to life as Max turns the key. The engine’s rumble reverberating through Charles’s chest. He sits stiffly in the passenger seat, his fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of the seat.

There is an old school smell of a cheap gas station car scent that punches through his nose. Max seems to be extremely comfortable in the car, as if he’s had it for years. 

Without much of a conversation, they depart. The car smoothly jolts forward, tires screeching slightly as Max accelerates out of the hotel parking lot. Talk about subtle. Charles is sure the sounds of this vehicle must have had half of the heads turn. The streets of Spa blur past them, the small town lights quickly giving way to the empty countryside roads. They drive on roads between fields, sometimes pass a small lump of forest. Max is treating the road as an old partner, smooth sailing - but definitely on the edgy side of things. If Charles hadn’t known Max as a Formula 1 driver, he’s think he was some small town tuning guy. 

"You drive like this on the track too?" Charles mutters after minutes of silence, trying to sound casual.

Max grins, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "No, I’m much faster on the track,“ he says as he hits the top of the hill a little too fast and sends them nearly flying before they land back on the road. He laughs and it is in that moment when Charles realizes that THE Max Verstappen is just another car guy. 

The countryside passes them by and Charles has to admit there is some sort of magic to it. It’s different than the roads around Monaco, more rustic and northern. Less glam and more roughness. Had he grown up here, he’d probably spend his teenage years cruising through. 

„Did you used to drive here a lot when you were young?“ He asks, head lots in his own thoughts. 

Max does not reply immediately, but then he goes onto explaining that yes, he has driven through every road this place is surrounded by. As early as when he was fourteen. Charles rolls his eyes and makes few comments on the incompetence of the local police. 

//

„Is there a specific place we’re going to?“ Charles asks after what feels like thirty minutes of driving, glancing nervously at the dense trees closing in around them. He is not checking the time, his trust lies with Max on that.

"You’ll see," Max replies, his tone maddeningly cryptic and sends the car into another turn in a way that would have then crash had there been any car in the opposite lane. Charles is not bothered by Max's driving, he knows he is more than capable of judging the situation. Had the driver been anyone else, he'd be out of the car after the first turn. His faith lies in the fact Max probably does not want both of them dead.

"Great," Charles mutters. "This is how horror movies start, you know."

Max chuckles, flicking the headlights to high beam as they zip down a narrow country road. "Relax, Leclerc. If I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it on the track. More fun."

Charles throws him a glare. "Very comforting. Thanks."

Max doesn’t respond immediately, his focus sharp as he takes a turn far faster than Charles would.

"You’re tense," Max remarks, barely hiding the amusement in his voice.

"Oui, I wonder why," Charles shoots back with lips turned upwards. It's a different kind of adrenaline, to completely give in and follow his lead.

Max glances at him briefly, his smirk widening. "You don’t trust me?"

"I trust you to try and scare the shit out of me, yes," Charles remarks.

"Good. Keeps things exciting."

Charles tries not to wonders what exactly "things" means in this scenario. He notices that he left all of the worries and stress of today back at the hotel. It feels like they'd been on the road for days, in the good way. Time works in funny ways.

//

The road grows narrower, the trees taller and denser. They block nearly all of the remaining sunlight. Charles realizes he hasn’t seen another car, or even a house, for several minutes.

"Seriously, Max. Is there a destination we're going to?" His tone is sharper now, just a hint of panic in it.

"You ask too many questions," Max replies smoothly, his hands steady on the wheel.

"Forgive me for being curious when you’re driving me into the middle of nowhere," Charles says, his voice rising slightly, tone set on teasing mode. He hasn't noticed, but he is scrunched in the seat, leaning on the door and completely comfortable, despite the potential death threat of this all.

Max chuckles again, clearly enjoying himself. "Are you always this dramatiqué?" he mocks his accent.

Charles turns to him, exasperated. "Dramatic? You’ve practically kidnapped me. It is what it is, I have to face the situation. I am ready to cooperate. Should I start preparing a ransom note? "

Max tilts his head thoughtfully, his smile teasing. "Who would pay for you, Leclerc?"

"Funny," Charles deadpans, though his heart skips at the flirtatious edge to Max’s tone.

He leans over to examine the dashboard. "At least we have enough fuel to last us long."

Max looks in the same direction and bites his lip.

"What?" Charles asks, double checking if he hadn't read it wrong.

"Yeah, that thing has been stuck like this for years."

Charles lets out a loud breath. "Putain, Max."

//

Max finally parks the car as they reach something resembling a gate and a fence (he, of course, does not park like a normal person, but drifts the car in - Charles is not even surprised at this point).

"We're here," he announces and kills the engine.

Charles examines the creepy surroundings and sighs.

"What's up with you now?" the cheery Dutchman asks him.

"I'm trying to pick which God to pray to."

He hits his arm playfully. "Come on, enough with the drama, you're gonna like this," he says convincingly and gets out of the car. Charles has no intention of not following him, his blood flowing in the opposite direction than usual. Or at least that's how it feels.

He walks few steps behind him and takes in the scenery. The damp grass, leaves and small stick crunch below their feet. A distinctive humid forest smell is something he hadn't felt in forever and it's surprisingly refreshing to take a deep breath. He tucks his hands into the sleeves of his jacket, trying to fight the chilly air. Max appears to be unaffected by any of it and walks with intention. He passes the small cottage, which looks like it needed a renovation twenty years ago. Charles was expecting that to be the their final destination, so when Max walks by it, he nearly trips on wet leafs, trying to follow his direction. He hopes it went unnoticed.

It all starts to make a bit more sense when they pass the first two cars, parked in a place where normal people would plant a tree. He starts to realize this must be some sort lair of the Verstappen family or their close friends. The further deep they go into the forest / garden, the more car parts, tires and general junk they pass. Charles has many questions, but the anticipation of what is that Max actually wants to show him stops words in his throat.

Right on cue, Max starts speaking on his own, gradually slowing his steps. "My dad and I would come here in between races and we'd fix old cars together. It's a good place to test parts and repair karts. But it's become so messy over the years," he comments as he has to kick a random door frame blocking their way. "One day I'll come over for few weeks and clean it all up. He's never going to do that on his own."

The intimacy of this information is something Charles wasn't ready. He keeps his silence, sensing Max does not need a reaction anyway.

"But, there is a plus side to this being currently a shit hole," he stops and turns around to face Charles, who mimics his move. Even in this dim low light, Max's eyes shine like something out of this planet. "We can fuck some shit up," he grins like a little kid he was just few years and hands Charles an obscurely massive hammer that he picked up somewhere along the way.

Charles gives him a questioning look, before slowly accepting this strange object. Max's grin does not leave his face.

Charles stares at the hammer in his hands, its weight unfamiliar but oddly grounding. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Max gestures ahead, and Charles’s eyes follow to where an old, rusted Volvo car sits under a drooping tree. The windshield is cracked, the paint flaking off like dead skin.

"Whatever you want," Max says casually, leaning against a nearby pile of tires. "But I’d start with the windshield."

Charles’s jaw drops slightly. "You want me to, what? Smash it?"

Max nods, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself. "It’s therapeutic. Trust me."

"Max, this is ridiculous."

They stare at each other and Charles feels guilty all of a sudden, for dismissing his idea so bluntly. He sighs as he faces second instance of peer pressure from the other driver within the span of few hours. He wonders which choice exactly he made this morning that steered his day in such a different direction. Had someone told him he'd be smashing cars with Verstappen in the evening, he'd laugh in their face.

"Just try it. One hit. I won’t tell anyone."

Charles hesitates, his grip tightening around the hammer’s handle. The thought of swinging it, of letting loose, feels... disturbing. But then again, everything about this day has been weird. Maybe that’s the point. Max babbles along, as he always does once he starts, something about getting all the emotions out.

Charles ignores the rest of his speech and tries to imagine this is just like any other sport, be it tennis, golf or anything that involved swinging. He takes a deep breath, picks up the inexplicably heavy hammer and swings it against the windshield. The material is surprisingly sturdy and the hammer bounces back, driving the force into Charles's body, as if to mock him. This pisses him off, he can't have Max laughing at him and calling him a "pussy". He tightens his lips, adjusts his stance and swings once again.

Finally, a crack appears at the point of impact, the quiet sound of breaking multiplied by the silence of the forrest. This is followed by a muffled cheer behind him. Charles is still surprised at how much force he needs to use to actually make any damage on the old plastic laced glass and it rilles him up. He is not going to walk away from here being beaten by a windshield older than him. He swings again.

And again, again and again. Each impact comes with bigger force until the glass start to crumble apart. He does not feel cold anymore, the old fire he barely tamed this afternoon fully back up.

Marcus. Alonso. Stupid lawyers making things too complicated. The reporters. Sauber. Ferarri. Ferrari. Ferrari.

The pieces are not only crumbling, but now they're falling in every directions - and Charles feels alive. Ferrari. He moves a bit to smash every little part that still survived in the corner. Ferrari. The structure of the windshield is completely falling apart. Ferrari. He smashes the big pieces that are pathetically lying on the ground, mushing them down into nothing. He lefts out a heavy breath. Ferrari.

I will be a Ferrari driver next season.

Only when he lets go, no more damage left to be done on his victim, he realizes he said those words out loud. He is met with a curious stare of Max Verstappen. Charles slipped up when he wasn't suppose to. It's been brewing in him for weeks now. Only his managers know. He figures not even Sauber knows.

"Nothing is final yet. It could still fall to shit," he clarifies, staring at Max with anticipation.

Max shifts his weight from one leg to another and blinks few times. "Nice. I hope it works out for you."

Charles is careful now, coming down his high, facing the consequences. "Please, don't tell anyone," he almost pleas, worried that this info getting out might somehow sabotage the whole mission.

The mood changes. Surely, he must feel it too. This is no longer "two bros smashing shit together". Oh God, please, does he notice the way the air stopped moving? Is his mouth also dry? His skin fired up with unholy electricity? Max as unreadable as ever. It's making Charles's brain spin. He would give everything, almost anything, for a quick glimpse into the brain of the enigmatic guy standing in front of him.

He isn't a teenager anymore, but Charles knows the boy is not fully a grown up yet. His features are a mixture of the hard lines and angles of and adult athlete, but all of that is still combined with youthful - Charles would dare to say naive - softness. It must be something in the damp air. Maybe he is suffering from fresh air reverse-toxic shock. His lungs so used to the painful unnatural environment of a racetrack, that it only takes few minutes in the forest to make him feel dizzy. He has to draw his gaze away for a moment. Deep down he knows he's going to appear as a creep, eyeing his rival, with an open mouth. If he could, he'd choke on the words Max's says and drown in his eyes for hours. But, that is not normal. Max is just few centrimeters taller than him, but it feels like he is towering over him. Charles's main concern should be that he had just revealed a precious information to the competition. He has to actively remind himself what the objective is - and that it does not have anything to do with just how long Max's eye lashes are.

"You know I wouldn't tell anyone," Max says, momentarily kicking Charles out of his haze.

He stands still, frozen and barely reacts to the smile Max sends his way. Once again, it's like Max is drinking a third brew of the same tea Charles is having - the smirking boy unaffected by the bitterness.

He takes two steps closer to Charles. "My turn now," he whispers and reaches for the hammer Charles forgot he was holding. Max passes him by and the Monegasque stays still for a moment, trying to memorize the feeling of Max's fingers lightly brushing his own.

//

The trip back is like a negative photo, contrasting the brightly colored banter they shared when they were driving in the opposite way. The car is quiet, so quiet in fact Charles's in praying for Max's stereo to work. It does and now their drive is accompanied by some bad radio station, speaking in a language he does not understand. Like a third passanger in the car, laughing Charles directly into his face. You don't even understand the radio. How can you believe you'll ever understand what you feel right now.

Darkness has fallen some time ago and it's the first time Charles actually whips out his phone, to check the time and his messages, but mainly to distract himself and avoid looking at Max. Because suddenly, the Dutch boy is too close. He doesn't know why, but it's like Max has found a way how to make it physically impossible to be in his presence - yet this car, with Max in the driver's seat, is also the only place on the planet where Charles wants to be. There is comfort and excitement. Comforting excitement. Charles must be going crazy, he thinks and ignores all messages on his phone and reverts back to watching the dark countryside.

"Text your team that you'll arrive directly to the airport," he hears a pragmatic order from the driver's seat. Charles dares to look at him, but his eyes are glued on the road. He obeys without a comment. The realizations only hits him at that moment. Max has probably ditched way more people than he himself did, in order to go on this ride into nothingness. There are probably people waiting at him at several bars, his motorhome and few volunteers lined up to follow him to his hotel room. And yet, there he is, sitting next to him, driving on nameless roads.

"Did you have good time with me?" he asks, like the anxious boy he is. It's not a brave question, it's full of unspoken uncertainty and a worry, that Max had hoped for him to be a more entertaining company. Is that why he doesn't speak as much as he did on the way here?

Charles knows the way to doom is to push Max Verstappen. That boy won't do a single thing he does not believe in, unless the contract under he is makes it impossible. He hopes he is not pushing right now.

"You know this is the first time you've looked at me since we left the cabin?" the Dutch proclaims, ignoring his original question. And he is right, Charles is hyperaware of that.

Charles lets out a short laugh, the kind that’s more exhale than sound. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

Max’s lips roll into a grin as his eyes flick back to the road. "I’ve heard that before. But I think you like it."

"Don’t flatter yourself." Charles rolls his eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. 

"Too late," Max fires back smoothly, his grin widening. "Besides, you’re the one who agreed to smash my old car. What does that say about you?"

Charles straightens up, almost offended. "I did not-"

He is quickly interrupted by the Dutch. "You did not what - you didn't smash my car? Is that what you're saying?" He is clearly amused with himself and to prove that he playfully smashes the steering wheel.

Charles is silent, inhaling so much air to calm himself down he might actually explode. Impossible, this man was sent from hell to torment him.

"And didn’t that feel good?" Max continues smoothly, his voice dripping with chilli honey. Sweet, but punching.

Charles doesn’t answer, which only makes Max’s eyes widen.

"Aha! You did like it," Max says triumphantly.

Charles huffs, crossing his arms. "I never said that."

"You didn’t have to." Max’s tone is smug, his confidence infuriatingly unshakable. "Admit it. You enjoyed smashing something for once instead of, I don’t know, smiling politely and saying merci."

Charles snorts. "You think I’m polite?"

"Painfully," Max replies, his tone still teasing but just sharp enough to make Charles sit up straighter. "Like you’re afraid to let people know what you’re really thinking."

"And what are you thinking, Mr. Painfully Blunt?" he says more like a joke and does not expect and answer.

To prove Charles wrong, once again, Max turns slowly to face him. He makes sure each word he says has enough time to ripe. "That it's obvious I had a good time with you, Leclerc."

It's the same as trying to ignore a deafening sound. Even if you block your ears, it still pierces through. It creeps up into your chest in waves invisible to the naked human eye. A loud beat that makes your chest alive and your throat stuck - because whatever you might say, it won't be heard over the noise anyway. It does not need addressing, but it's impossible to disregard.

If I slip up, even for a moment, it might ruin everything we’ve both worked so hard to pretend doesn’t matter.

To completely counter anything he is trying to suppress, Max casually puts him hand on Charles's thigh - on Charles's thigh. The part of the human body between the knee and the hip. It's a true test to stay normal about it.

"Don't get lost in your head again, Charles," he says ever-so-casually and removes his hand to put it back on the steering wheel.

If they were to crash and die right now, Charles probably wouldn't mind. He's about to have a heart attack anyway.

//

It was getting more than clear they were reaching the final destination, even if only by the decreasing amount of trees growing next to the road. City lights and signs pointing to the airport giving away that this trip is about to end.

If Charles started this afternoon angry, he is ending it confused - about himself, about what kind of person Max Verstappen actually is and how is he suppose to go about his life after this. It's not a new information to him that he likes guys. But it is the first time he has to face having a tiny, minor, minuscule crush on another driver.

As they near the airport so much he can see the small plane he is about to board with the closest of his team, Charles speaks again.

"Maybe drop me of one street away...Just so that people don't have questions."

It's a pragmatic suggestion and he hopes Max does not read anything into it.

"Fair," is the response he gets and is somewhat satisfied with.

This time, Charles braces himself for another "drift park", but is met with a casual and very precise parking on Max's part.

They sit in silence for a moment. Charles wants to do something, but he can't put a name on it.

"Well, it's been fun. Thanks," he says almost coldly and pulls the thirty years old door handle.

Nothing.

Next to him, there is a chuckling noise. Charles tries again, but the only effect this has in the increase of volume on Max's laugh.

Fine, two can play this game, he figures and turns to him with a raised brow.

Charles meets his gaze for a long moment, the weight of the playful challenge hanging between them. "You know," he says finally, his voice low, "I could just climb out through the window."

Max snorts, leaning back and pressing the unlock button with a flourish. "Be my guest. The the dramatic diva you are.“

"You use that word a lot, you know?"

Max keeps his act on. "I think it's time to leave now," he teases and does absolutely nothing in order to open the car.

Charles leans back, also not intending on moving. There is warmth in his chest and it's spreading all over his body. The smile he has on his face is one he can't prevent.

"Is it now," he questions, and tries to open the door once again, this time without even looking at the handle. None of them expecting any other result.

After few shared looks, Max clicks some random button on his side of the car to unlock the doors. The soft click feels like a challenge. 

Charles lingers, his hand resting on the handle but not pulling it. "You know, for someone who claims not to care, you sure put a lot of effort into keeping me around."

Max raises an eyebrow, his grin turning slightly lopsided. "You noticed?"

"I’m not blind," Charles replies, leaning back into the seat, a flicker of playfulness in his expression.

Max looks at him for a moment, something sparkly in his gaze before he nods toward the door. "You better go before I change my mind."

He tries opening the door once again and this time it really does.

Charles moves back and exists the car, pit in his stomach growing. He has to wait few seconds for Max to get and open the trunk with his keys. Illuminated only with the back lights, red mixing with yellow, he moves automatically, never letting Charles go off his sight. He hands him his bag and receives a little "Such a gentleman," comment from Charles. And then they keep standing there, as if Medusa herself turned them into a stone.

Charles feels possessed. Like he’s not in control of his movements anymore. He lost that ability somewhere in the woods. 

He is pretty sure he’s shaking from the panic that drives him.  His body is floating two meters above the ground. 

Max’s eyes burn into him, as if it was all a dare. 

The boy is standing too close for his own good. 

Charles is pretty sure there is acid running through his veins.  He knows, he is absolutely certain, he will regret whatever he is about to do. 

There will be no going back. 

Should I touch him, it will the perfect way to ruin this newly found friendship.

Max does not move or walk away. 

Fuck it, he thinks and slams his lips again Max’s.  Knock the wind out of me, Max Verstappen. 

It is quick as a lighting, but bright as such. He reaches over to the back of Max’s head and holds him still, but giving him enough freedom to pull away. I’m begging you, please don’t. 

It’s cathartic to know what his plump lips feel like against his own. He holds his lower lip between his own and moves, once or twice. He knows his time is running out. For a moment, he allows himself to drown in this real life fantasy. Max’s lips are soft and addictive. It’s like running a marathon is the time you would do a sprint. 

He fights the urge to continue and moves back. Knowing this one moment, lasting only few seconds will be locked in his fantasies forever. 

He pulls away and tries to avoid looking at Max’s face, knowing well enough that whatever he finds there, won’t be pleasant. 

„I’m sorry,“ he murmurs and almost runs away to the airport. 

Festival of shame is about to begin, but the insides of his body still burn with excitement and desire. He kissed Max Verstappen and he didn’t pull away immediately. 

Their first and only kiss. 

It was a mistake, one that Charles will have to apologize many times. 

But he’ll be happy to die for. Feeling this alive should be illegal.

He does not look back. His bravery ran out the moment he put their lips together. 

Oh, God.  I’m stupid, I’m stupid, stupid, stupid.

[quotidian-oblivion]

So I woke up today and found the house empty. Turns out, my dad was at work, my siblings were at Islamic summer camp classes and my mom was out shopping and no one would be home for a few hours.

I was left unsupervised for several hours straight at home.

And so, in all my teenage rebellion glory, I decided to have chocolate milk for breakfast. Because you know this girlie pop loves her choccie milk.

And so I quickly freshened up and eagerly leapt to the kitchen for my delicious breakfast. I didn't wanna go all the way to the store and purchase a choccie milk, so I decided to make my own.

I got the milk, sugar, cocoa powder, drinking chocolate powder, ice and blender. All the basic ingredients cuz we didn't have much at home (which was why my mom was out shopping).

Now the thing about the blender is that my mom often refers to it as her precious gold. The blender is sacred in this household and whoever so much as even sets it down too hard, invokes the wrath of my mom. So, in order to preserve my life, I took great measures to make sure nothing happens to it. But while pouring the milk, I paused.

I knew that the blender had a minimum capacity for it to do thr blending, but I didn't know what. So I just poured it till the first measuring line. I made my chocolate milk, meticulously measuring each ingredient with my soul and even adding some coffee to it.

And then, it was done! But with everything blended together, the choccie milk had somehow risen in volume even though all the ingredients were milk and powders. So I grabbed the biggest glass in our house and that thing is HUGE. It's as big as my water bottle.

But even after filling the glass to the brim, there was still, like, half of the contents of the blender left. I shrugged and plopped an ice cube in, resolving to drink the other half after I did my chores. So I drank the first glass and since I was hungry, it didn't take long. I was chugging the glass like a man who had just gotten through a breakup, paid bail and had staggered into the first bar he found.

I did my chores and stuff then poured the rest of the blender contents. It filled the entire glass yet again. Fyi, half the contents were not foam. The foam took overall 4% of the space, the rest was pure chocolate milk. Idk how my quarter-blender chocolate milk turned into a three-quarters-blender chocolate milk, but I'm starting to think now that there is a reason why my mom loves that blender more than her husband and children and the reason might be that I think the Spirit of Chocolate Milk decided to cross over from the Spirit World and take the mortal form of Blender (I recently started watching atla).

Anyways, it took me a while to chug the entire chocolate milk. And when I did, I fell sick.

Now, you might ask me, "Quo, why didn't you just share it with your siblings when they got back?" The answer is: If I had to trade chocolate milk as ransom for my siblings, I would shoot them myself.

(For legal purposes, this is a joke, but the seriousness is there)

And I couldn't very well share it with my parents because they're recently started talking about physical health and gyms, enhancing my gym-phobia and increasing my desperation to start a badminton club myself because the only physical exercise I find comfortable is taking a racquet and beating the shit out of cocks. Shuttlecocks. So if they found out that I had, most likely, roughly a litre of chocolate milk for breakfast, they would freak. So I had no choice but to finish it.

Anyways, as soon as I finished the huge ass glasses of chocolate milk, I started to feel the consequences of my unregrettable and unsupervised actions.

My stomach became sentient and decided to master water-bending and bend the water inside itself to torture the shell that held it. I felt like puking my breakfast out, but no way in hell was I gonna let my stomach get in the way of my one true love. So I refused to puke out the chocolate milk.

I endured the attack of the Puke Nation and finally prevailed. And of course, lamented to my friends about it because I'm a dramatic bitch.

I quickly washed the blender and the glass and cleared everything out just in time as my mom and sisters came home.

And guess what she brought for me. No, guess.

She got me chocolate milk. She went to the store, saw a bottle on clearance, and bought it. And if I don't drink it today, it will expire.

Anyway, it's been 6 hours, that's enough time to give my stomach a break from a litre of chocolate milk, right?

If I don't update, you can correctly assume that I committed death via chocolate milk overdose. Drink on, soldiers 🫡

[mephisto-reporting]

The love you’ve shown for Jealousy, Jealousy with Sylus has been absolutely overwhelming, and I can’t thank you enough. I finally got around to going through the comments and messages today, and while the support has been incredible, I’ve also seen some negativity about how the reader reacted in the story.

Let me just say—I hear you. A lot of you are asking for an alternate ending with Zayne, and someday, I’ll make it happen. (When I figure out the perfect way to wrap it up, because it needs to hit just right.)

I also noticed some comments about not liking that the reader got back with Sylus, and I want to address that.

Here’s my perspective:

When I wrote this piece, I was trying to stay true to the original request. The person who asked for this specifically wanted the misunderstanding between the characters to be resolved, and I wanted to honor that. It’s a messy situation—people are messy, emotions are messy, and not everything ties up perfectly. At the start, Sylus and the reader weren’t committed to each other; they hadn’t even labeled their relationship as friendship, let alone anything else. They were two people who kept their emotions bottled up, letting misunderstandings build, and both of them had their own insecurities. They weren’t perfect, and neither of them had figured things out yet. But the ending showed them trying to be honest and open with each other, which is all I really wanted to capture.

It’s totally okay if this story didn’t resonate with you or if you wanted something different. But remember, this was someone else’s request, and I don’t want people to feel discouraged from asking for what they want to see just because others might take issue with it.

If you’d like a different take or an alternate direction, send me a request! I can’t promise I’ll write everything, but if it speaks to me, I’ll give it a shot.

Thank you for reading, for understanding, and for always sharing your thoughts with me. You all make writing so worth it. 💕

Much Love,

Lina

[eeuni]

like him ! b.e

angst, fluff, daddy issues, sh & ed

you had experienced a loss that time would not fix. your father was going around in your mind, after years without knowing about him, you still carried him in your heart everywhere. he was not in a coffin underground, but far away from you. very far away, much more his love. ever since you could remember, his fights with your mother went beyond the limit, broken glass, bleeding knuckles and screams could be seen and heard. after those fights he would grab his things, ready to leave and not come back, telling you that he didn't want to leave you, but he had to do it so he could come back the next day, as if nothing had happened.

you grew up not knowing what to expect, terrified that he would leave again, tired of seeing him leave and come back. he would sit you on the chair, your mother and him crying, repeating that it wasn't your fault but that they were going to start a divorce.

one more lie.

you fell asleep with a bitter taste, at fourteen, what else can you do? bleeding thighs, mirrors covered with sheets, nights without leaving the bed that seemed like your body was slowly beginning to rot. your father took you to the river, taught you how to use a gun, made you laugh.

and for a moment everything seemed to be stable, at least for a year. another fight ruined happiness, confidence, the desire to stay alive. now he has finally left home. "he's coming back tomorrow" you believed.

It had been so long since you saw your father walk through that cursed door. empty house, relapse, therapy, and a new man in the house. your mother's boyfriend. what a detestable thing. your mother complained that you never went out, that you were always sad, that you missed your dad but he was not a good person.

of course you knew, you knew what he had done, but not by his own decision. you left that house behind, you traveled to another country, you looked for a different nickname, you started smoking and being alone as always but in another place.

while you were studying and working you met zoe, your new friend. you discovered that she liked the smiths, so you decided to invite her to lunch. now at 21 you ordered a bottle of alcohol. she told you about billie.

oh, billie.

the beautiful black-haired girl who gave you a smile all the time, who took you to the best places to eat, bought you flowers, did everything in her power to make you look good and happy. you liked her instantly, fell in love within months, and your fear appeared out of nowhere, one summer night.

billie adjusted the sheets of her bed where you now slept almost every night. she hid in your chest, watching you from below smoking a cigarette. her eyes were shining.

"that smells like shit." she spoke, laughing.

"yeah, i know, but it's different when you smoke it." you put out the cigarette, billie had bought about two months ago a cute ashtray with flowers on it for you to use. "you know what? i think i'm broken."

billie looked at you confused, you had said that out of nowhere. "the other day a friend and i were talking, she told me about the love she feels for her friends and partner." you kept talking. "and i was like 'how do you not be afraid? ' "

"about what?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"you know...that you don't know how to love and that in one moment you want to give them all the love in the world and in the second you don't want that person to repeat that they loves you or even touch you." you explained.

she thought about it for a moment, finding it difficult to speak.

"can i tell you something?"

when billie asked that you froze. if that was what you were thinking, you wouldn't know what you would do. you swallowed, sat up better on the bed and looked at her curiously, with fear.

"...yes."

"i think i fell in love with you."

a burning sensation formed in your stomach. of course you loved billie very much, so much that sometimes it was overwhelming and perhaps the fear of not knowing how to love her stopped you from taking any steps that would indicate that you need her. you loved her from afar, in silence, admiring her beautiful being for months.

"what if i hurt you?" was the first sentence that came out of your trembling lips. billie's gaze softened, placing a hand over yours. "what if i don't know how to love? what if i'm a copy of what my father is?"

tears began to form in the corners of your eyes, you began to feel the need to tear your skin off at the thought that you were living it all in your father's body, with his ideas, his traumas, his wounds that continued to bleed. you couldn't hurt her, even if that meant keeping all the love you had for her to yourself and taking a step back.

"hey." she caught your attention, you looked into her eyes again. "what your father is is not synonymous with what you are. you are not in his skin. you love in such a beautiful way, i noticed it. with me, your friends, with people you don't even know. would your father do what you do every day for the people you love?"

you saw him in the back of your mind, grabbing his bags and leaving you for the last time. the first time you wished for him to come back and he wouldn't. by this time you were crying, fighting with yourself.

"you don't mind loving someone who has disorganized attachment?"

"i don't mind loving someone like that, because i know very well that you can overcome any difficult moment." she smiled softly. "and that you love me too much to keep me away."

you laughed at billie's words. she was right, you had created a connection with her where you simply needed her.

"you're right." you proved her right. "i love you too much to keep you away."

"so...that means you're in love with me too?"

she asked, her excitement building behind her heart because she was sure you would say yes, even though a part of her was still afraid. you nodded.

you bit your lower lip and before billie could say anything you captured her mouth in a kiss full of sweetness. you felt every foreign wound beginning to heal. the foreign wounds that your father left on you.

no doubt your expressions were perhaps like his, your way of walking or smiling.

but your way of loving would never be a murder committed by the one where he left the lifeless body on your shoulders. with billie you would learn to leave all that pain aside.

(...)

two years later, billie was now your girlfriend, you lived together with shark. you were sorting through a couple of boxes containing things from your childhood, you looked through a diary you hadn't seen in a long time.

"she said that i made expressions like him.

my waist and my posture like him.

so do i look like him?"

a tear fell. you grabbed a pen, sitting down on the cold floor. you started writing in that old diary from your childhood.

"you can look like him

but you don't love like him."

you heard billie's sweet voice calling you to dinner. "my love?" she asked. you wiped away your tears but before you could compose yourself billie walked into the room, instantly getting worried. "baby! what happened sweetheart?"

she came over, crouching down beside you. you smiled.

"im just very happy."

you answered. your girlfriend's gaze fell to that old diary, reading those words. she didn't say anything, she just held you tight against her body, kissing your forehead. "i'm so proud of you."

"i'm proud of myself too."

you finally learned that life doesn't end when your father walks out that door of your childhood.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 41

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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: All That Glistens Is Not Gold

Notes: /

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  41/47

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One moment you were in a room with Pym, and now you found yourself alone and laying down in a bed in one of the bedrooms of the castle. It was enough to frighten anyone and cause panic, it truly felt like no time had passed.

“Pym?!?” You sat up in the bed and felt dizzy and nauseous right away, you had to lay back down again.

The door opened and Merlin stepped inside, a sigh of relief escaping him upon seeing you conscious again. “Pym is having supper.” He walked to your side. “Fear not, I do not believe that you fainted from the fall.”

You found comfort in how calm he sounded. “Then what happened to me?”

He picked up a plate with a sliced pear on it, offering you a piece. “When did you last eat, and what was it?”

You had to think for a moment. “I had some bread this morning. I wasn’t really hungry.”

“I fear your body disagrees with you on that matter.” He held the piece of pear right under your nose. “Something sweet will help you feel better. Go on.”

It was a bit uncomfortable to eat while laying down, but Merlin stood by to make certain you didn’t accidentally choke on it. “I fainted because I didn’t eat enough?”

He gave a slow nod. “Indeed. With everything going on, it is common for hunger to go unnoticed until it makes us ill.”

“Is my head alright?… "

“I have had centuries to learn all there is to know of healing, whether it be from a curse or sickness, you have my word that you will be well.” He took a vial with a strange looking liquid from his satchel. “But just to be certain, drink this.”

The whispers of the Hidden were in your ears at the sight of the vial. “That contains magic.”

He was surprised to hear that you could tell. “Did the Hidden let it be known?”

Your brow furrowed. “Yes. And I can smell it from here, it doesn’t smell normal.”

He put the vial in your hand, looking at you curiously. “It will not taste well either, but this bottled magical concoction will help with any pain your head causes you.”

You eyed the vial. “It’s not poison, is it?”

Merlin was amused by it. “Poisoning one of the last to carry the Fey Fire in their blood would be foolish. If only you knew how I risked my life to have just a small jar of it.”

You sensed he was truthful and drank the vial, he had been truthful about the taste of it too. “Thank you, Merlin. Not just for helping me, but for helping all of us.”

A gentle smile appeared on his face. “You are very welcome. I have stood aside in this battle between Manblood and Fey for far too long, it took me losing my daughter to see how wrong of me it was. I will continue the fight she could not.”

“A noble choice.” you told him.

He disagreed on that, “It would have been noble if I had made that choice before losing her.”

You could see that guilt was eating at him. “No one is free of mistakes, Merlin, it is how we handle them that is important.”

He fell quiet for a moment, seeming to ponder on that thought. “I will go and tell Pym that you are awake. The poor girl was quite shaken after she saw you faint.”

Poor Pym… “Tell her that I’m alright and that she hasn’t done anything wrong.”

He gave a nod, opening the door and finding Gawain standing outside ready to knock. Gawain greeted Merlin and stepped into the room, closing the door behind Merlin. Gawain came right to your side to help you sit up a little and adjusted the pillow behind your back for support.

“You had us worried.” He said, putting the plate with sliced pear into your lap. “How are you feeling?”

It was easier to sit up now, the small bite of pear was starting to help. “My head still doesn’t feel good, but Merlin gave me some medicine for that. Don’t worry, Gawain, I’ll live.”

He pointed in a scolding manner. “You’d better.” Upon seeing you frown he explained, “The Ash Man threatened to fight the Hidden if you did not wake again.”

You tried to be serious about it, failed and chuckled instead. “How does he plan on doing that?”

He sounded confident on the matter, “He may just be mad enough to find a way.”

True. “Tell him to behave. He will listen to you.”

“I have.” he assured. “And once Merlin told us you would be alright after some rest and a meal, I gave Lancelot some tasks to focus on to keep him calm. That man is a bottled storm.”

You took another piece of pear to eat. “Best to keep him busy. Or that storm unleashes.”

Gawain headed to the door again. “I will have someone bring you a meal to eat. Soup was made.”

Poor, poor Pym. She would not have been happy with that. “Thank you, Gawain. Do tell Lancelot, and Percival, that I am alright.”

He opened the door to step out. Just then Percival darted past Gawain and into the room right towards you, in his hands was your satchel.

“Tell him yourself.” Gawain chuckled.

The knight left you to handle the boy alone, who promptly went to stand by the side of the bed. Percival put the satchel down beside the bed.

You noticed him glance down at the slices of pear. “Do you want some pear?”

It looked like he wanted to say ‘yes’ but he stopped himself. “No. You should eat, or you’ll faint again.”

He had sounded so worried… and it was adorable how he tried to look like he was not worried at all.

“Come sit with me.” You patted the spot beside you. “I’d love some company.”

The boy took the offer right away and plopped down on the edge of the bed. “Merlin said you’d be alright. You will be alright… won’t you?”

The loss of his friend had scarred the child’s heart. Too many goodbyes, too many loses.

You hoped to put his mind at ease. “I will be back on my feet in no time. Don’t you worry about me, Percival. I’m stronger than I might appear.”

He pressed his lips shut, as if he hoped not to say what he did, “I hope so.”

Wait… was that in response to you being back on your feet again soon or…

The cheeky grin that appeared on his face gave you that answer.

You snatched hold of his arm, pulling him into you, ruffling that wild hair. “You little rascal!”

“I’m not little!” He tried to squirm free, a joyful laugh escaping him.

Finally you let him go. “Still a rascal!”

Percival was still chuckling and a little out of breath from the playful attack on him. “And you’re a minx.”

You barely held in the gasp, it was stated like it was a fact to him. “Where did you learn such a word?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Lancelot once said it really quietly when you were walking away and he thought no one could hear.”

“He said that, huh?” That sneaky twit…

The boy nodded, ratting out the Ash Man. “What does it mean though? He wouldn’t answer when I asked.”

Speak of the devil, the door was opened quickly and there stood your worried husband. A quiet sigh of relief fell upon seeing you conscious again.

Your eyes narrowed at him. “Ah, there you are. Just in time. Percival was just asking me what the word ‘minx’ means. Does that sound familiar to you?”

His relief turned into confusion, then concern and ultimately guilt. Like a child caught in a crime. “Percival, why don’t you go and see if the Green Knight needs your help?”

“But-”

“Now.”

The boy grumbled whilst getting up from the bed and glared at the Ash Man until he was out the door, leaving the door wide open behind him. Lancelot sighed, closing the door.

Your brow arched. “Well?”

He shuffled a little where he stood. “I may have referred to you as such. It was not my intention to have the boy overhear it.”

Of course it wasn’t. “Uhu.”

Whenever he felt out of his comfort, he would fold his hands behind his back and try to appear taller than he already was. It was so easy to tell he feared being reprimanded over it.

He came to stand beside the bed, his tone half-serious, “Must you insist on trying to make me a widower today?”

“I’m trying not to.” you jested.

It did not make him smile, and that was how you knew he was still shaken from it. A slight frown set on his face as he looked at the floor, as if he wanted to hide how shaken he was. “Your markings have gone back into hiding I see.”

“Have they?” you hoped the question would make him look at you again.

He simply nodded, then took in a deep breath, tilting his chin up to the ceiling for a brief moment. “Are you certain you wish to stay here?”

Your smile fell. “What?”

His eyes locked on yours, searching for the answer. “Had the gods not opened that door, you would not have fallen and you would not be here like this now-”

You stopped him right there. “Lancelot, I fainted because I haven’t eaten well today.”

He said what he needed to say, “If you feel unsafe, we will leave.”

You sat up more. “The fall was an accident, I can feel it. And the fainting was my fault. I don’t feel unsafe here.”

He was quiet for a moment, then picked up the satchel from the floor and took out the journals to hand them to you. “Forgive me for showing caution. I may never put my trust into any deity again.”

Once a monk, a loyal servant of the god the paladins prayed to, but he would never be so blinded by faith again.

And you were happy he was able to listen to the voice of reason inside of him. “I understand that.” You reached out and gave his arm a squeeze. “Gawain said he gave you some tasks to keep you distracted. What have you been doing whilst I was here?”

He summed some of it up, “Taking inventory of what we have and what we need. Near half of the bed linen in the castle is too worn down to use. Much needs to be washed, some is good to use. We will have a lot of work to restore this place to it’s former glory, I fear. There are broken windows that will need to be repaired, the stables need to be tended to…”

There was so much to be done. Some parts of the castle needed to be stabilized. Doors needed to be repaired or replaced. And the whole place was covered in a layer of dust that would take time to clean away. But underneath all the flaws was a glimpse of the beauty the castle had once held, and deep down he knew he could restore it. This could be home, as it once had been to the Fey.

It was clear he was a bit overwhelmed by it all, the work, your health, that fear of failing the Fey. “We’re not alone in this, Lancelot. We can do this.”

His eyes softened at the sheer determination in you. He sat down on the edge of the bed, curling a finger under your chin to let his intention be known when he leaned in. The opportunity of a kiss was stolen away when Percival barged into the room with a bowl of soup. Lancelot was quick to sit up straight again, cursing internally.

The sweet child came to personally hand you the soup. “Careful! It’s warm.”

You gave Percival your sweetest smile. “Thank you, young knight.”

Percival beamed with pride over to mention of his title and fulfilling the task the Green Knight had given him. He turned to Lancelot. “The Green Knight said he still needs our help.”

Lancelot tried to hide his reaction over having to leave your side again while you were still recovering. He stood up from the bed, glancing at you to see you nod in understanding. Duty called, and this time the work was to better life for the Fey. There would undoubtedly be busy days ahead, days where you’d work hard and to be able to do that you needed to rest and get your strength up again. And that is what you did once they left the room.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Later, in the midst of the night, the dipping of the mattress pulled you out of your slumber. Your vision was still a blur from sleep when you made a disapproving noise and lifted your head off of the pillow a little. The scent of him reached your nostrils with ease from how close he was.

“Lancelot?” you mumbled still half-asleep.

He hushed you, kissing your cheek whilst putting an arm around your waist. You could feel him lay down behind you.

He sounded very tired, “Will you let me rest here?”

You took hold of his hand and brought it up to hold it to your chest, scooting back a little to be closer than he’d probably thought he was allowed to be.

He hummed content. “Trying to push me out of the bed, are you?”

You matched the jest with your own, “You’re the one who crawled in and took up my space.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“No.”

That earned you a lingering kiss to your cheek. He held on tight, as if he thought you’d fly off into the night. “Are you feeling better?”

You let him rest his face in the crook of your neck. “I am. And you? You sound exhausted.”

He did not deny that it was true. “It has been an eventful day and I am glad it has ended.”

That did not sound very good. He must have tired himself out. Creating Fey Fire, the journey here, the visions and then the work this castle needed on top of that.

You curved into him more, a little playful. “Tomorrow I believe I will be back on my feet and able to help. And I’m going to make sure that you don’t overwork yourself, because I know you have a tendency to do so.”

His hand flew to your hip upon feeling the playful push of your behind into him. “I will not let you help unless you are truly better.”

“You won’t ‘let’ me?” You snorted a little arrogantly. “I will decide that for myself, thank you.”

If he thought you wouldn’t do exactly that, he was in for a shock. His protectiveness was sweet, but it was not going to stop you from helping tomorrow.

He dared it. He dared to jest, “Sometimes I miss the days when I could just put some rope on you.”

You sat upright instantly, grabbed your pillow and smacked it against his side. “Out.” Again. “Out of the bed!”

He shielded himself from another hit of the pillow with his arm. Even in the darkened room his smirk was visible. “You do not mean that.”

You were more baffled by the audacity than you were angry. “Did you truly just jest about how you once kept me tied up?!”

He took hold on the pillow too. “I was merely jesting.”

It made you roll your eyes and snatch the pillow from his hands. You scooted away from him, creating a distance, and laid down nearly at the last bit of space on the edge of the bed.

He disapproved of the spot you had chosen. “You will fall off if you sleep there.”

You closed your eyes, mumbling under your breath, “Perhaps I’d rather be on the floor.”

He did not know why seeing you get feisty made his blood run faster. It simply excited him, feeding a natural instinct in him to be the one that could weather the storm you cast down upon him.

He got closer again, gliding his hand over your shoulder and arm. Laying himself back down again just like before, only now he was vying for attention. Quietly he inhaled your scent and made a content sound. “I prefer you to be on the bed with me, where I can have you close.”

When you ignored him, he simply grew more motivated to get your attention. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, brushed the tips of his fingers over your arm. He knew what he was doing when he lowered his voice to a husk. “I know you are not angry. You would not let me do this if you were…”

You struggled to keep still when he proceeded to kiss your neck. “If you come near me with a rope again, I’ll strangle you with it.”

He chuckled and kissed your neck again, then the side of your head. “As is your right.” A squeeze of his hand on your waist made you ticklish and he did it again upon noticing it. “I do enjoy your fighting spirit. It excites me.”

You tilted your head to look at him. “Is that why you decided to wake me up and annoy me?”

A cheeky grin was plastered on his face. “It was not planned. But I do not mind this result.”

“You miss the excitement from battle and decide to cause it in the bedroom. I am not surprised.” you blurted out matter-of-factually.

“Well…” He clicked his tongue. “An angry wife is a formidable opponent .”

You pecked his cheek. “And don’t you forget that. Now sleep, you are looking pale.”

“No.” His brow arched.

“Why not?” you sighed.

“First this.” He tilted his head, locking his lips to yours briefly. “Goodnight, my love.”

It was all it needed to cause the fluttering in your stomach to overwhelm you. “Sleep well, Lancelot.”

With one last kiss to your forehead he laid down to rest behind you, holding you close. It was quiet for some time, his breathing was getting deeper and slower.

“You feel so very warm…” He was close to sleep.

You held on to his hand as you fell asleep. Grateful for the chance to sleep in a proper bed again.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  The next day, when you presented yourself ready to help, Gawain was relieved. The task you were given was simple. To go to the village and purchase the linen and wares that were needed. How you were to carry all that? Well, Lancelot and Arthur were send along. Gawain did agree with purchasing a wagon and horse to make it easier to transport everything. The journey to the village was… interesting to say the least. One moment the Manblood and Ash Man got along perfectly fine, the next they were rolling their eyes and annoying each other.

You were almost at the village when your patience ran out and you all but shouted at them as they rode a little ahead of you. “Good gods! Can you two just shut up if all you say is meant to bother the other?!? I have no interest in having to delay our task just to prevent the two of you from trying to kill each other!”

Arthur and Lancelot fell quiet immediately, like a pair of scolded children feeling the eyes of their parent burn into their backs. That silence did not last long.

“I wouldn’t be the one who first draws a weapon.” Arthur knew exactly what would rile Lancelot up.

Lancelot scoffed loudly. “Is that not what you did when we met again in Gramaire?”

“I had every right to have a sword at your throat. You tried to kill me the first time we met.” Arthur said.

He muttered under his breath, “How many times will you bring that up again…”

“Forever if I can.” Arthur deadpanned.

“Enough!” you barked the order.

Another silence fell. This time a shorter one.

“Gawain trusts me to complete this task without problems.” Arthur looked at Lancelot.

He arched a brow back at him. “Gawain ‘trusts’ you?”

Arthur tried not to let it get to him. “I’ve know Gawain longer than you.”

He did not hold back. “And still he has yet to show you the amount of trust that he shows me.”

“It is because you’re Fey. If you were Manblood he would have murdered you.” Arthur said casually.

He fired the jab to Arthur’s pride, “Or perhaps he knows I will not let my ego cloud my judgment.”

You did not warn them again, sick of hearing the continuous attempts to irritate each other. It was like listening to bickering children and to avoid having to hear it for the last bit of the way, you spurred Bear on and rode past them to get ahead. Their bickering continued a little quieter and by the time you reached the village it had changed into normal banter again. The horses were left under the care of a stablehand of the stables next to an inn, you paid him and promised extra when you’d return.

Arthur came towards you, gesturing at you a little awkwardly. “I’ve noticed you are wearing a different bodice today. It suits you well.”

It made you look down at it as well. It was one of the clothes you had salvaged from your old room in Ravenwick. “Thank you. I’ve had it for a while but wasn’t sure if it would look good on me.”

“It does.” He was glad the compliment was received well.

The one who did not receive the compliment well was the Ash Man who approached a moment later, his eyes said it all.

And as if to toss oil onto a flame, Arthur smirked at him. “Have you noticed how lovely she looks today.”

Lancelot knew it was meant to provoke him. “I have.”

You looked between them, sighing. “Let’s go and see if we can buy a wagon and horse from the one who owns these stables.”

You went over to the stablehand again and asked him where the owner could be found. The owner was in the inn, having his midday ale. And when you entered the inn, others were having their midday ale as well it seemed. With the description of the stablehand you found the owner sitting at a table with others and you introduced yourself first.

His nose had turned red from the ale he had drank. “What can I help you with, lass?”

Straight to the point it was. “We are looking to buy a wagon with a horse from you.”

“That’s a costly matter, lass. How do you want to pay for that?” The old man put a hand on your behind.

Arthur was quick to notice the movement from Lancelot and he planted a hand on his chest to stop him. The rest of the table laughed it off.

By remaining calm, you hoped to settle the deal without any hiccups. You took the hand off of your rear, feigning your best smile. “With coin, of course. How much will it be?”

“Two coins of gold!” He said it loud, half-jesting because he didn’t think you could ever afford it. “One for the wagon. One for the horse. They are worth the price.”

You reached into your satchel and put down his asking price. “I believe this is correct, is it not?”

The whole table stared down at the gold, having quieted down abruptly, the man scratched his beard.

The man took the coins and quickly put them in his pocket. “Uh… it’s the white spotted horse… I’ll show it… come.”

Lancelot and Arthur stepped aside, letting the man pass so he could show you your purchase. The wagon was not in the most perfect shape, but you counted yourself lucky that you were able to buy a wagon at all. The horse was a strong stallion who had experience with pulling the wagon.

The man turned to Lancelot whilst you and Arthur inspected the wagon. “I have more horses for sale, if you are interested?”

“No.” He was short, barely even acknowledging the man.

Arthur looked at Lancelot a little worried, knowing that he was still fuming internally about what had happened earlier. “Lancelot, what do you think of the wagon?”

He came to stand beside you. “It will do for now.”

You whispered to him, “You alright?”

“I am calm.” he said, more as a reminder to himself to stay so.

The tension in his jaw and the way he tilted his chin up just a tiny bit gave him away. He had hated to see the man touch you. At least he stayed in control over that anger now and it was oddly attractive.

First you looked to see if neither Arthur or the man were close enough to overhear, then whispered. “Don’t be jealous. You can touch my rear too later.”

His eyes snapped to you and upon seeing the wicked smile on your lips the tension in his features vanished. He looked so innocently flustered. A nervous smile settled on his face. A quiet scolding, “Don’t do that. Not here.”

You lightly bumped into him on purpose with your side. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just acting like a minx right now, aren’t I?”

The smile turned into a smirk, entertained by the throwback to the previous evening. He turned to you, leaning in to whisper right back, “Yes, you are.”

Arthur cleared his throat loudly, noticing the close proximity the two of you were in. “So we agree on this sale then?”

Lancelot gave a nod. Arthur proceeded to chat with the man a bit more and thanked him for a well-struck deal. The man returned to the inn to spend some of that earned coin again.

Arthur hopped onto the wagon, taking the reins. “There’s a merchant up ahead, in that building there, that sells what we’ll need. Are you walking or…?”

It was only a few houses away, you could manage. “We’ll walk.”

        There was so much to buy for the Fey, for the castle… And this merchant sold clothes and fabrics. It had to be one of the best days of that woman’s life when you nearly bought her complete inventory of wares. The fabrics could be used for so many purposes, and one could easily make bed linen, bandages and curtains from them. The clothes felt surreal to buy. You thought of all the Feys who’s homes and belongings had been lost to the war. All the children wearing clothes that were either worn down severely, or too big or small, would find joy in having some good clothing to wear again. Everyone helped folding the wares and loading them onto the wagon.

Lancelot had seen Arthur struggle to fold a pair of trousers and had not commented on it, showing that there was improvement happening between them. While loading up the wagon, you put a stack of clothes aside for Percival, hoping the boy would like them.

Soon the wagon was filled with new hope and wares, and you had retrieved the horses. Lancelot had tied the reins of Arthur’s horse to Goliath’s, as Arthur rode the wagon back to the fort. Arthur struggled in silence to steer the wagon, zigzagging from time to time.

Lancelot had noticed the struggle. “Perhaps I should-”

Arthur had felt it coming. “No. No, I can steer this wagon. It’s fine.”

The Ash Man send you a look, you tried not to laugh when the wagon swayed overly to the left again.

Arthur suddenly began to slow the wagon down, eyes set on the forest surrounding him. “Lancelot.”

One look was all Lancelot needed to know that something was wrong. He rode up to Arthur. “What is it?”

Arthur kept his voice low. “I think we are being followed.”

He did not show how alarming it was. “Keep going as you are. Stay calm. I will go and inspect it.”

From the corner of your eyes you had seen something move, there was a split second where you thought it was a bird. But then Bear reared up in fright of the burning arrow that had landed right in front of his legs. A scream fled your lungs, the sudden rearing of the horse caused you to fall out of the saddle.

The next burning arrows barely missed Goliath, Lancelot dismounted fast and send the stallions away, because as long as they were near the horses were a target. He moved to your direction until Arthur loudly warned him of the next set of arrows coming his way. There was barely enough time to dodge the arrows, from the trees the assailants charged at him and Arthur, their target was clearly the contents of the wagon. And unfortunately you, Arthur and Lancelot were their obstacle. They had send that arrow towards Bear on purpose, causing a distraction and preventing you from having an advantage on horseback against them.

Arthur jumped down from the wagon to help you and Lancelot, and immediately had to defend himself against these attackers. There were many, at least ten, all Manblood. You got up to your feet and barely had enough time to draw your sword to ward off the woman that lunged at you. Chaos had erupted from all sides. These thieves were ruthless and impatient, you saw Arthur get struck in the face by one of them. The same happened to Lancelot mere seconds later when four of them gathered up against him. The woman attacking you was growing angrier by the second, and as she lifted her sword into the air to strike it down upon you you sank down to your knees and send your sword upward into her chest. One of her comrades had seen it happen and there was not enough time to free your sword before you had to evade him. He swung at you with his axe and you grabbed his arm to block the attack, you held on, knowing that letting go meant getting wounded. The man roughly moved half a turn and made you trip over his feet, you kicked the back of his knee right away to get the idea out of his head that he was just going to put that axe into your skull, it send him to the ground too and the fight for the axe began. You balled your fist and struck his nose hard while trying to pull the axe from his hand.

A strong tug at the back of your jacket broke you away from him, and then you were being dragged over the grass while you tried to pry the hand from behind your neck. The cold steel of a blade touched the side of your throat. Just then, Arthur hit the ground, a sword was held to his throat as well. Lancelot was still cutting through them, meeting their violent attack with his own.

The one threatening Arthur drew his attention. “Drop your sword!” He saw Lancelot look at him, then at Arthur, then at you. “Kneel on the ground, hands behind your head, or we’ll gut them like pigs!”

The broad man that held on to your jacket chuckled ominously, then proceeded to drag you over the ground towards the wagon and only then did you notice it was your own sword you were being threatened with.

Arthur saw them drag you to the wagon and understood their intent. “No! Lancelot!”

What choice did he have? If he continued to fight whilst you and Arthur were held at the blade this would end in tragedy.

Arthur received a hard kick to the stomach for that and tried to crawl away to no avail.

“Leave him be!” Lancelot let the sword fall from his hands and knelt down as they had ordered.

They bound his hands behind his back and fortunately they did not see the importance and value of the sword near their feet. Arthur was bound by rope too, left to struggle to get himself into a seated position. Your eyes locked on Lancelot’s, your worried ones found his to be eerily calm.

“Lance-” you couldn’t say what you wanted before you were being pulled further away.

“Be not afraid.” he answered the question he could read from your eyes.

The broad man held your hand up all of a sudden. “Gerold! Look here. Gold!”

You closed your hand into an iron grip when realizing he was going to steal your ring.

He twisted your hand, digging his dirty nails into it to pry it open. He nearly broke your finger to get it off. Another came to look inside your satchel to search for valuables, you prayed the bracelet did not slip past your sleeve as it would certainly tempt them to steal it too.

“Gerold…” The scrawny man held up one of the golden coins that was found in the satchel. “This one is worth more than she appears.”

Gerold looked at the wagon full of newly purchased wares, at the coins found in your satchel, and he came to his conclusion. “There’s more where that came from. She’s coming with us.”

The nasty comment made you want to strangle the life out of the scrawny one. They forced you onto the wagon, some of the thieves got on the wagon as well whilst others went to retrieve their horses.

Lancelot called out to Gerold, “I will bring any gold you desire if you leave her be!”

Gerold was disinterested. “Unlike her, you do not have a satchel with gold on you. We are taking her.”

The wagon began to move, those on horses rode along to guard it. A few of them stayed with Lancelot and Arthur, keeping them under control until the wagon was at a safe distance. You kept calm as they bound your hands behind your back as well. It was an odd calmness, one that hide the storm brewing underneath your skin. This wagon, your ring, you were not going to abandon it. Lancelot and Arthur were alive, and safe now that those thieves had left them there. They believed you were the key to the gold they so desired, if only they knew what you planned to do to those who threatened your newfound home.

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[weeping-statue]

Hi! This is abit more of a darker/triggering ask so if it makes you uncomfortable thats 100% ok and u can skip this! but i was wondering if you could write antonio (idv) comfort fic with a reader whos struggling with sh or trya recover from it Please! Have a good day/night! ♡

“The knife isn’t always the best option.”

Contains; Self harm; bullying, comfort, sensitive topics; Antonio; Naib; Norton; Alva; and Victor;

Alva's can be platonic or romantic.

Key; Anima mia=my soul

You were doing so well, but bottled up emotions shatter easily during stressful times. When your loving boyfriend realizes you’ve started again, he’s heartbroken yet nonetheless supportive.

Antonio

He would refuse to leave your side after it comes to light that you’re hurting yourself again.

He loves you a lot and losing you is out of the question.

Antonio knows exactly what to do in these situations, since I feel like he’s either gone through this before on his own or with someone else.

Antonio had you in his arms while sobbed on the floor. A discarded knife tinged red and a clear reminder of your failures.

“It’s alright, Anima mia. You’re not alone, and you’re not in trouble. I’ve got you, everything will be okay. This will pass.” He reassured you, making small circles on your back, and gently kissing your head.

His words only made you cry harder, you wanted to stop feeling guilty. You just wanted to stop letting him find you this way.

Maybe if weren’t such a disappointment you’d be able to do the simplest thing.

Antonio knew what was probably going through your head at that moment and smiled, “Do you know how proud I am of you? My love, you never fail to impress me. I look up to you in some aspects, and you give me a reason to wake up in the morning. It’s a feat very few can achieve. Let me take care of you for tonight at the very least, I’ll grab us dinner and run us a bath. How does that sound?”

You nodded and turned your head away from the blade that just seemed to taunt you. Instead opting for staring at his shirt in shame.

Naib

He keeps a close eye on you 24/7

You’re always being monitored, even if it’s extremely subtle or obvious.

You’re the main reason why he wakes up in the morning.

Naib refuses to lose you.

“Put.. Put the knife down,___” naib carefully inched towards you like you were a wounded animal. He didn’t want to startle you and make the situation worse.

The knife shook in your unsteady hands, as you fought to make a decision, but ultimately dropped it anyways. Letting it clatter to the floor.

He quickly rushed to your side after it dropped, checking for any injuries. When he didn’t find any, Naib brushed some hair out of your face, resting his forehead against yours. “You can’t keep scaring me like this. What happens if you do go through with it? You’d really leave me all alone?”

“I don’t know.” You mumbled, at least you were being honest.

Norton

He already worry’s about you, probably more than he should, so this is just adding on.

He makes sure you share a room after the first time he witnesses one of your breakdowns.

It’s not that he believes you can’t take care of yourself, he just doesn’t want you to burn yourself out.

At night he’ll always wait for you to sleep first, and he watches you fondly or sadly, depending what occurred that day.

Norton and you had a rough day. It started with shitty matches, then rude teammates, and then a small argument between yourselves.

The reminder of it made him sigh. Finally after confirming you fell asleep he’d shift to spoon you. Taking his hand to gently run up and down your arms, being mindful of the scars that he learned to love.

“If only you knew how much I need you in my life, ___. I’m not good with words, but fuck, I love you so much.” He whispered to you, placing a kiss on the back of your head.

Alva

He’s more in tune with your emotions than yourself.

He understands that things can get hard, and doesn’t let it define you.

He wants to see you flourish, he is a mentor after all.

Alva will stay up with you until you fall asleep in case you’re afraid you might do something you’ll regret.

He also doesn’t mind cleaning your wounds, of course it makes him sad, devastated really, but it’s you, and he’d do anything for you.

Romantic;

Alva kisses away your tears, as he reassures you, your loved.

He makes sure that you bathed, and washes your hair for you.

He’ll hold you at night as well, letting you hide in his chest.

“It’s alright my dear, I’ve cleaned up all the blood, you can look now.” Alva says, and you finally open your teary eyes. Seeing him bandage up the last bit of your legs.

“Next time you feel this urge, or even feel upset, come find me. My door is always open to you.” It comes out firm but gentle, like he genuinely cares. Something no one has showed in this awful place a lot.

Your about to open your mouth but he shuts it down, knowing what your about to say, “No, you are not a bother, No I don’t care how late it is, and yes I do care about you. I love you, and it pains me to see you like this.”

“Alva, I can’t do this to you what happens if-”

“Then we’ll figure it out together. You and me.”

Victor

He cried the first time you came too his door bleeding.

Wick was right there next to you both nudging at your leg as he bandaged your stomach.

He couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he could lose you either from the games or by your own hands.

It pained him deeply when he find used razor blades in your trashcan or a hidden knife under your bed.

He wrote you a letter a couple times begging you to talk to him.

Pouring his heart out to you that he needs you and loves you deeply.

On occasion Victor would knock on your door late at night wondering if he could sleep with you when his paranoia got too much.

A knock; then two more.

It was around 11pm and Victor had shown up again holding his pillow in one arm and wick in the other.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” You said lowly, since other people lived on your floor too.

He nodded and walked inside, setting wick down on the end of the bed.

“Do.. you mind if you hold me? I miss you, and I’m scared.” It was barely audible but you heard it. He could talk, sometimes, only when he felt it was necessary. So it wasn’t too much of a surprise when he said this.

“Yeah, come on.” You ushered him to get into bed. Slipping in next to him and letting his head rest on your chest.

You felt his shaky and nervous fingers trace patterns over your scars. Delicately memorizing each and every one.

You didn’t mind, because you trusted him.

But deep down, it hurt you inside that you were causing him this pain. This worry.

I finally did it! I posted.

I’m hoping to post more soon