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muzzlemouths · 3 days

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[CW: Death/implication of death]

The clock reads a quarter to midnight when Sun powers on. Too early. He isn’t meant to come online for another six hours, and the daycare itself won’t open for another hour after that. He promptly runs a scan to determine the reasoning behind his premature entrance and when it returns inconclusive he turns to Moon. It is his metaphorical toes he is stepping on by encroaching on the night as he is, after all.

It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that settles like dust. A quiet that makes one aware of the breath that stirs within their lungs or, in Sun’s case, the gentle whir of an internal fan that perpetually keeps his system from running itself into the ground. A quiet so frequently interrupted by the welcomed voice of his other half…and yet, nothing. His question goes unanswered, left to gather with the dust, and he is forced to proceed as though these strange happenings haven’t disrupted his entire morning routine.

A routine further disturbed upon having to remind himself for the second time already that it isn’t morning, he isn’t meant to be going through the start-up procedure to begin with, and he can’t be blamed for the corrupted sense of awareness he feels as a result. Sure, the lights are on, and his systems, too, return with normal results after a precautionary scan, but there is a discomfort to all of this scratching at the inner plating of his frame. Something is wrong wrong wrong.

“…Moon?”

His second attempt at communication yields no better results than the first, only a vague static answering the call, murmur-soft background noise, as though someone had plucked a phone from its receiver and then walked away. Frustrating is what it was. To ignore him was childish at best, but at worst, it was concerning. His relationship with Moon was reasonably amicable even on the longest of days, he worked better with Moon than without, so the absence was unusual as much as it was alarming.

Alone with his thoughts for the foreseeable future, Sun decides there is little point to sitting around in the midst of this confusion when he could be using the time to busy himself with more important tasks, such as tidying up all the apparent dust around here. Better yet, he can get a head-start in preparation for that day’s activities. Something to keep his mind from wandering into worrywart territory, at the very least.

An ache stemming at the tail of his exoskeleton twinges with particularly horrendous vengeance upon finally convincing his legs to move. He buries the vocalization of a wince and carries on across the carpeted room with little more than a brief mental note to mention the pain to a mechanic if it worsens by tomorrow. No use in wasting company time for what he’s sure is only the result of one or both of them landing wrong after receiving a hug from one of the daycare’s more excitable children (or several).

Still, it makes the process of retrieving a stray toy from the floor that much harder when he sees it lying in wait by the slide. If anything, bending down to reclaim the doll only exacerbates the ache until it grows into a proper sting, now difficult to ignore. Yet ignore it he does, to the best of his ability. There are things to do and he isn’t about to let a pinch of soreness slow him down now. No, sirree! He has play equipment to wipe down, craft supplies to ready, and–

and…

His hand stops just short of reaching the doll, long yellow fingers curling inward, against his palm which is painted with splotches of salt and pepper, as though a bottle of dully colored glitter glue had exploded across his fingers and hand. He straightens again and lifts his other hand, noting a similar stretch of television static, one that carries beyond his wrist up the length of his forearm in smeared blotches and specks like splattered paint in dirty snow hues.

Messy messy messy. What could Moon have gotten up to that resulted in such a mess? He’d have made a face, had he a nose to wrinkle in the first place.

Instead he allows for one small tut of disgust to escape his voice box before turning his attention back to the doll, taking note of the static that stains the carpet beside its head, and just beyond it, too; a trail made up of one scattered drop after another.

Ever curious, he knows not what to do besides follow it, hoping for an answer to the many questions burning through his system. Each continuous speck leads him in the direction of the exit, every patch of static more plentiful than the last, and as he allows the strange color to guide him forward he begins to question not only its existence, but why it all seems so familiar, as though he’s seen it somewhere before.

There is little time to mull it over. He arrives at the service desk where the trail ends abruptly, and Sun pauses with the toe of his slippers stood just an inch before a stray, black shoe that might have sent him stumbling face first into carpet had he not already been looking down. A shoe isn’t the most bizarre thing to lose in a daycare of all places, and he decides right away that it isn’t anything to worry over, just another item to drop into lost and found, but where there is a shoe there is bound to be someone missing it and, well…

Sun finds the answer he’s looking for just a few inches behind the service desk.

Face down and tucked in on themselves as they are, cloaked in the desk’s shadow, it’s impossible to tell anything about the person beyond their age, and even that is somewhat uncertain — though the size 9 shoe left behind offers a decent clue. This discovery does wonders to quell the anxiety in Sun’s chest. An adult was much easier to escort from the daycare, given the lack of parental contribution it necessitated, and it looked like this one was just sleeping! An odd place to go about it, sure — against the rules, most certainly — but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a purposeful tap to the ankle.

So, that’s exactly what he does. Bending dramatically at the knee, head swiveling to one side, Sun’s fingers dance as though he intends on tickling the trespasser awake before extending his index finger and tapping twice in quick succession against the exposed skin between their pant leg and sock. “Rise and shine, friend!” He chirps, “It’s time to head home now.”

He’d have preferred the tried-and-true method of rousing someone (that is, a gentle rock of the shoulders), but given that their guest was currently resting in the one area that Sun was not permitted entry to, he was forced to resort to more…creative measures. Unfortunately, this action does not yield the results he is hoping for.

“Friend?” Sun calls again, allowing his voice to raise a decibel from the polite mumble it had been before. The laughter that cuts from his voicebox is nervous and too loud on its own, his anxiety returning tenfold. The points of logic he had used to reassure himself before were now quickly dwindling with each passing second in which he received no response.

With his steps now admittedly growing frantic, Sun tiptoes around the desk to the other side, hoping for a better view of their comatose companion. What happens instead is an almost comical flailing of limbs as his slipper takes to an unseen puddle of static like it were a banana peel, resulting in a scramble to keep himself upright that only comes to an end when he braces against the nearest wall for support. The distraction is agitating, but short lived. A commotion like that would surely have awoken anyone, no matter how deep in slumber they were, and the continued lack of response does nothing to relieve Sun of the stress threatening to fry his circuits.

“Friend, this is n-no time for jokes!” He asserts, speaking at full volume, now, every word drenched in tense frustration. His gaze falls to the puddle of static soaking into the bottoms of his slippers, that twinge of recognition rearing its head once more. “I’m not in the mood for games, right now, so if you’re only pretending to sleep—” his hand comes away from the wall feeling wrong, the familiar sensation of sticky static blanketing his palm and crusting in the grooves between his joints as it further dries. His fingers curl into a loose fist long enough to observe the way each digit smears against his palm and leaves behind a tacky residue that he can feel, but not see.

He looks up. There, on the wall, two handprints interrupt the static. The first is larger, an obvious testament to the humbling misstep he’d only just finished recovering from, but the other…it was far smaller, surely left behind by the same stranger currently snoozing away beneath the desk, and it ran from the lightswitch down down down to the floor, where the accusing hand now rested just outside the desk’s shadow.

How strange, Sun thinks, tilting his head to get a better look. The way the static paints their skin, it almost looks like—

“You’re doing so well, dewdrop, just a moment longer and you’ll be right as rain again!” Sun gives the small hand intertwined with his own an encouraging squeeze as the other, equipped with an antiseptic wipe, dutifully dabs away at a scuffed knee. His young patient, having tripped and burned her skin along the carpet, is nothing less than a trooper as he cleans the static from the shallow wound. Not even a sniffle!

He tucks the wipe into the flat of his palm and trades it out for ointment, smearing a healthy dollop of it along the reddened surface before wiping his finger along the striping of his pants and reaching for a bandaid; Chica pink with pizzas on one side and cupcakes on the other.

“There, now. I’m sure that feels better already!”

Blood. Viscous, cold, pooling at his feet. On the walls, the carpet. His hands. Cherry red like a lollipop and twice as sticky…or so he’s told. Nothing a robot of his nature is meant to see or understand. His censors make sure of it. Rather than allow him to see things are they are, the incarnadine color is suppressed behind a layer of static, as if he won’t care to acknowledge it at all beyond its existence on scraped knees and split lips. As if he is meant to ignore the way it feels in its abundance, caked against his palms and festering between his open joints.

Messy, messy, messy. He feels dirtied beyond repair, filthy in a way that even a deep cleaning won’t fix. The wires in his stomach feel twisted, begging to come undone, shorting like sparklers against their ports and threatening to make short work of bringing him down. His screens are flooded with alerts that warn of an inevitable shut-down if he can’t manage to pull himself back together, but moving feels impossible, an insurmountable task. He can not think past the sensation of someone else’s life soaking into the cotton of his slippers.

And what of their guest? Sun can hardly get himself to look again, pleading with the matter of logic itself as he is forced to reckon with the knowledge that this is a rest they may never wake from. But he does look. He has to.

He wishes he hadn’t.

The brief glimpse he endures before looking anywhere else is more than enough. From this angle, the static – the blood – paints a grim picture. In spite of this, Sun finds himself circling the desk a second time and preparing to draw the body – the visitor – out from under the desk. It is a daunting task, but a necessary one, by Sun’s account. If there is nothing to be done in such a hopeless situation then, at the very least, he owes this stranger the dignity of recognition and an attempt. He can claim to have looked for a pulse. Even so, he hesitates.

There is not one to be found; Sun knows this. He knows painfully well from the static lingering on his silicone that it is already too late. Oil is warmed by the processors it fuels, and similarly, blood is meant to be hot. The soles of his slippers are cold. The pads of his fingers, against even the raging inferno of his overworked circuitry, are cold.

The body is cold.

He perseveres, regardless, dragging the stranger out from under the desk by a shaky grip on their ankle one inch at a time, pausing every few tugs to look away and regather his confidence, trying so, so hard to tune out the ever-constant music as it merrily sings through the speakers.

He begs the underlying silence. “Please have a pulse.” Tug. “Please don’t be cold.” Tug. “I don’t know what to do.” Tug. “I can’t do this alone.” Tug. “You have to wake up.” Tug. “Please.” Tug. “Please!” Tug. “Please, please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseple—”

He knows this visitor. Not a friend, but not quite a stranger, either. His scanner attempts to process the identification of a man whose head is so thick with static that it returns as an error. His face is contorted grotesquely, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide with fear. They don’t look like they’re sleeping.

A security guard whose name fails to ping in his registry. Sun had spoken with him once, maybe twice before. He drank coffee by the mile and hardly stuck around long enough to do more than complain about the weather. Sun hadn’t been in a hurry to befriend the man, but he only wished the best for him. Squeezed a joke in where he could in an attempt to turn his frown upside-down. It had never worked before, but Sun was no quitter. Now he would never get the chance to try again.

“Focus, focus.” Sun carefully lowers the man’s foot back to the carpet again, choking on the sensation of bloodied clothes slipping through his fingers and resisting the urge to tear the rays straight out of his faceplate in response. He is inconsolably panicked and at a loss for what to do, two steps from outright laughing, the complete absurdity of the situation driving him to hysterics.

He needed to call security. He couldn’t call security. Security was–

Management. There were other employees that worked the night shift if Moon complaining about them making too much noise during naptime was anything to go by. If he sent out a general call for assistance surely someone would come and tell him what to do, even at this late hour. It was his best option. His only option.

“Don’t.”

The voice makes him jump clear out of his casings. He has half a mind to swear, but as it stands, Sun thinks the long divots he dragged into the service desk out of surprise are enough damage already. On top of everything else.

“Moon?” He whispers. “Nice of you to finally join us – and by us, I mean me and the deceased guest I discovered a moment ago. Do you have a clue what’s going on here?”

“Don’t?” Sun echoes, agitated, “Don’t what?”

“Don’t.”

If the tether keeping his sanity intact was fraying before, it’s now down to a single thread. “Why not?” He asks with great exhaustion, “Did you not hear me? This is an emergency! There is a dead body in the–”

“Call management.”

“I know.”

Silence answers. Despite having a hundred and one snarky retorts building in between each crackle and pop of his voice box, Sun has nothing to say to that. Nothing good, anyway. It takes nine steady ticks of the clock for him to recollect his thoughts.

“You…you know?” He stutters, “How could you…” but he doesn’t finish the question, and he doesn’t need to. Realization strikes him with an iron fist for the second time that day and it is no less kinder than the first. “Did… you do this?”

It’s Moon’s turn to go quiet.

That silence stretches on for what feels like hours to Sun, each passing second more agonizing than the last, until he starts to believe Moon had simply disappeared like before. He waits, and waits, and finally decides to interrupt the silence with a repeat of the question, despite already knowing the answer. Moon beats him to it.

The tired sigh that escapes Sun’s throat is thoroughly earned. “Well, it’s too late to figure something else out, I already sent out the emergency ping.”

“Not sure,” he says, and Sun can tell from his tone that it’s the truth. “Blurry. My head hurts.”

A sound like nothing he’s ever heard before tears itself from Moon’s voicebox. A growl, if he were to put a name to it.

“Get rid of it, then.” Moon insists through the noise, “Clean up, clean up.”

“It?” Sun gawks, “Moon, that – that’s a person. He has dignity, a family!”

“Had a family,” Moon corrects, “dead, now. No dignity. Who will they blame?”

The question gives him pause. Surely there was a better way to go about this, a solution that didn’t have his morals (and wires, for that matter) all up in a twist. Yet the longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes Moon is right. Management hardly listens when he tries to explain that it was the children who broke a piece of playground equipment, not him! They aren’t likely to give his explanation of simply having found the body any mind, much less understanding. With his counterpart practically admitting to the heinous act, already, informing management of the body would sooner see them decommissioned.

“Running out of time,” Moon reminds him, “Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick–”

“Alright, alright!” He wails, “What should I do, then?”

“Clean up.”

“Where?” Sun looks around with the desperation of a teenager attempting to play hooky, rays practically nonexistent with how he’s tucked them away. His eyes search the room from top to bottom before landing determinedly on the ball pit.

“Good enough,” Moon tuts, a rather uninspired response to the happenings around him. Of course he isn’t panicking, it isn’t him who takes the body by its ankles and drags the dead weight across the carpet. It isn’t him who shoves aside enough plastic to carefully hide a corpse in. But it should be him worrying, it should be him panicking, because if management finds out about their secret, it’ll spell doom for both of them.

“You’ll get rid of it – him – properly once there’s no one around, right?” Sun finishes reshuffling the ball pit, mostly confident that the ill deed is successfully hidden from view. “I’m going to have to wash each and every one of these balls before the kids arrive in the morning.”

Right, the kids. When they arrive in just a few hours, will he have things tidied up? Will he be able to carry on as though nothing happened? He’s a brilliant actor – or he used to be, anyway, before the company decided he better fit the role of a nanny – but this is well beyond the scripts he is most familiar with.

“They’re close,” Moon warns him, “Don’t let them see–”

“I know, I know.” No time to dwell on it now, he makes quick work of crossing the distance between the ball pit and the exit, and manages to slide his head and torso through the gap between doors within seconds of it opening, scaring the living daylights of the poor employee sent to greet him in the process.

Unlike Sun, they do swear, clutching a hand over their chest and fitting him with a downright awful deadpanned stare. “Fuck, you couldn’t have waited a few seconds longer for me to come inside?” They hiss.

“Sorry, friend! Didn’t mean to spook you,” Sun chirps. He is careful to keep his bloodied hands safely tucked behind his back. “It’s just a mess in here, is all, and I’m rather embarrassed. There’s still equipment to clean, toys to organize, papers to fold–”

“Sure,” the employee interrupts, “It doesn’t really–” they pinch the bridge of their nose, exhaling with notably less exhaustion than Sun is feeling right about now, “I don’t particularly care. What’s the big issue that I was called down here for?”

“Oh! I just wanted to know if the next shipment of wipes had come in, yet. Like I said before, much to do! Always busy, busy, busy!”

Their stare turns into an outright glower. “That’s why you called the emergency line? For cleaning supplies?”

Sun shrugs, feigning ignorance. “Well, that’s an emergency to me. Apparently our standards are not the same.” He watches them roll their eyes with more enthusiasm than necessary. ”Do you know how messy children can be? It’s practically a barnyard in here, every single day, and don’t even get me started on how much of a health code violation it would be if one of them were to pick their nose and then–”

“Fine, I get it,” they snap, “I’ll make sure your damn supplies are delivered before the daycare opens. Anything else?”

“Told you they were annoying,” Moon chimes in.

“That’s everything!” He replies, “thank you a mighty amount, friend!”

“Mhm,” they mutter, waving him off with nothing more than the noncommittal sound. When they do turn to leave, it’s not soon enough, and Sun just barely manages to close the door with a whisper instead of a slam.

His back rests against it a moment later, and he allows himself to collapse from there, sliding down the smooth wooden frame until his tailbone reaches the floor. His knees twinge as they tuck against his chest, and he folds both arms atop, resting his temple against them and taking one long, much needed moment to just breathe.

It had only been half of a lie. There was much to do, much to clean, and only so many hours remaining to get it done. The wires nestled deep in his chest had calmed, yet the tremor in his hands continued, as it likely would until the very last speck of blood was washed clean.

“…Moon?”

“Hm?”

Sun tucks his knees ever closer. “Why…why did you do it?”

“…”

“I w-won’t be mad, promise! I’m sure this is all just one big misunderstanding, after all – a one time event, no biggie! But…was it out of anger? Fear? I mean, did he hurt–”

“In my way,” Moon replies.

Sun’s head lifts from the dark haven his arms provide, noting with growing exhaustion that, for the very first time, the lights felt too bright even for him. “What do you mean by that?” He asks, “Did he keep you from doing something?”

“…I don’t know.”

Again, Sun’s head falls against his arms in defeat, and again, not two seconds later, it lifts, determined not to lollygag any longer.

His legs creak with vocal effort as he gets back to his feet. “Well, no point in dwelling on it now, I suppose. I’m sure it’s nothing.” He takes in a wide view of the daycare – static trailing everywhere – and deflates with a sigh. “Guess I better get started. The sooner we get the place cleaned up, the sooner we can forget about all of this.”

He takes a step forward, and only that, swiveling on his heel when he catches last night’s roster from the corner of his eye. A single drop of static had landed and smeared across the name of a child meant to go home later in the evening.

Strangely enough, it appears they were never picked up.

Sun shrugs, gathering the paper in both hands and crumpling it into a ball to dispose of the smeared evidence. A simple mistake with the roster, that’s all it is. The parents often forget to sign their name after all. Accidents happen all the time!

The paper lands with a soft thunk in the nearest trash can and is just as quickly forgotten. Sun pivots towards the play area once more and heads for the supply closet, steadfast in his determination to be cleaned up on time, and feeling more confident than he ought to be about how things ended, all things considered.

More than anything, he is just happy to have all of this behind them.

#drabbles #sun fnaf #moon fnaf #sundrop #moondrop #no y/n #death cw #blood mention cw #can you believe it? tumblr user muzzlemouths posting a fic that ISN'T y/n related?#I needed an additional example for my app. lmao #anyway! if it isn't obvious this takes place at the very beginning of Moon's glitch #his First Kill(tm) even #hope it isn't too heartbreaking for all my fellow Moon enjoyers out there <3 stay strong

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days

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Muddled Waters 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your boss has a dangerous secret.

Character: Nick Fowler (mob au)

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.

You skewer candied cherries on a long toothpick and balance them over a martini glass. The deep blue drink with a layer of foam is perfectly aligned with the crystal brim. You stand straight as you top off the last of the drinks, a new batch for the waiting customers.

You put the small silver measuring cup aside and nearly cry out as the silhouette hovering in the corner of your vision moves. You touch your chest in surprise as you face Nick with a bashful smile. You didn’t even know he was around that day. Lately, he’s been absent more than not.

“Oh, hi,” you laugh at yourself, “I didn’t hear you...”

“I have a bad habit of that,” he grins, “some have compared me to a cat.”

You tilt your head, “some? You mean, me?”

He shrugs, “was that you?

“Maybe,” you turn and carefully move the stemmed glasses to a tray.

“New flavour?” He nears and stands close. You can smell his cedar cologne.

“Blueberry,” you explain, “bit sweet for my tastes but it fits the season.”

“Ah, sounds interesting,” he reaches and takes one of the glasses and you gasp.

“Nick!” You turn to him and he grins as he sips, the foam clinging to his top lip. He hums as he removes the toothpick from across the rim and nibbles off one of the cherries.

“Tasty,” he commends.

“Why-- Now I’ll to make another.”

“They can wait. It’s more than worth it,” he assures, still standing close as he slurps.

You work in the warmth of his looming proximity. He’s never had much of a personal bubble. Working behind a bar, you’ve grown used to being crowded. You measure and pour and muddle. You garnish and set the drink to replace the one your boss took.

“Right, ready,” you declare.

“Here, let me get those,” he slides the tray across the counter before you can react.

“No, you don’t have to--”

“I want to. Boss man’s gotta do some work around here,” he scoffs and lifts the tray. “You take a load off, sweetheart, I need those hands well-rested. No one else has that magic touch.”

You tisk and shake your head. He can be ridiculous. You won’t complain, he’s the least uptight boss you’ve had. The place isn’t too bad. Upscale with well-tipping patronage. It’s not your typical bar. Most of your work is done behind a wall as the customers drink in private rooms or in the common room where refined jazz wafts through the dim air. The whole place drips of exclusivity.

You clean up and wipe the counter before you wash your hands. Another order appears on the screen. Customers order on a sleek touchscreen, unbothered by servers amid their hushed conversations. You assume they are the types with private jets and luxurious yachts. Of course, they’re too special to drink like normal people.

You start up the next order. Spiced apple cider. A classic though it’s not often ordered. Two to put up. You mix the drinks in mason jars with thick handles. You finish them each with a cinnamon stick.

“Ready to go?” Nick has you squeaking again.

“God,” you throw your hands up and laugh, “how do you keep doing that?”

“Hey, not my fault. You’re in the zone. You know, you get all squinty,” he makes a face, “it’s like the whole world doesn’t exist. Makes me feel a bit small.”

“Mm, well, I guess you’re right. I should pay more attention to my surroundings,” you lift the mugs, “I got these, Nick.”

“It’s no problem, one of my buddies,” he wraps his hands around the jars, “been a while since I’ve seen him.”

“Oh, okay then,” you let him take the cups.

“Take it easy. You do too much.”

You smile tightly and lean on the counter. He goes and you turn around to tidy again. You can be precise. You like a clean station. You’ve worked with too many people who leave the bartop littered in lime peel and broken toothpicks. You can’t make a good drink if you’re working in filth.

But it isn’t just your work. You try not to let the personal seep in but you can’t help who you are. Things should be just so. Books should be lined up and sorted alphabetically and the dishes should be stacked neatly, and the carpet can’t be crooked.

You exhale and run your hands over your apron. Most people might envy your boss for his high company and exorbitant wealth, you just covet his coolness. He’s never bothered by much.

“Sweetheart,” he enters, this time with fair warning. You look up at his pet name. He always calls you that. “What’s that chocolate one you did last time?” He snaps his fingers, “you know, it was kinda creamy--”

“Brandy Alexander,” you answer, “yeah, uh, we’re out of dark creme de cacao. I put it on the inventory.”

“Inventory,” he nods and his blue eyes flick away guiltily, “yeah, I was supposed to do that.”

You cross your arms, “yeah, you were.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, I swear, I thought of it,” he crinkles his nose, “but it must’ve slipped my mind.”

“Mhmm,” you sniff, “well, you have been busy. I didn’t even know you were in town.”

He looks up and his cheek dimples. His gaze falls back on you, “lots of running around. Sorry, sweetheart, if it was up to me, I’d be right here, tasting all your delights.”

You nearly snort but instead just furrow your brow.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing,” you shrug and turn away, the screen showing another order. “Sometimes... the way you say things...”

He chuckles and leans his elbow on the counter, “I do like to choke on my own foot.”

“You know, I said before, I could make time for inventory. I don’t mind making orders--”

“Don’t bother,” he cuts your offer short, “I know people. I can take care of it. I’ll make a few calls tonight.” He stays as he is, angled against the counter as he watches you. He rests his chin on his knuckles and you glance over as you squeeze a lime dry.

“What?” You ask as you measure out the juice.

“How’d you learn to do all this?” He asks.

“I took a few courses, worked a few dives,” you say, “did a gig on a cruise ship. You know, you figure it out.”

“And you enjoy it?” He says, “I mean, I can tell you do.”

“It keeps my hands moving and my head from racing,” you explain as you mix the drink in a shaker.

“Sounds amazing,” he stands straight, “sooner or later, I need to find something to keep me busy. Something that doesn’t make me crazy.”

You garnish and he swipes up the glass before you can stop him.

“Well, you might just have a calling as a waiter,” you say sarcastically as you wipe your hands on a towel.

“I don’t know about that,” he grins, “I’m not much for taking orders.”

#nick fowler #the 355 #dark nick fowler #dark!nick fowler #nick fowler x reader #drabbles #series #au #sweet and spicy #muddled waters

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ikkosu · 2 days

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thinking about prowl wrapping his arms around his human's waist after a long day's work. he pulls them close with a grumble, about this and that — mech's who gets on his nerves, some other bot who delayed his report, sideswipe being a pain in the aft, lobbing in the main console again and breaking a window. many complaints. though, not too much it doesn't prevent him from nuzzling their chest, the soft scent of lavender flaring his olfactory senses. as always you smell so nice. his engines rev, a sound similar to a purr and prowl becomes limp in their hold, a cushion for warmth. naturally, humans are soft, a weakness he comes to realize that is their utmost advantage.

you're going to be his little pillow for tonight

#😔 prowl yearning hours #i love him so much aghhhhhsgsgsghsysyshegeyeyudjjdmd #PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE PROWL #transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #transformers idw #idw prowl #prowl x reader #drabbles

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epiclamer · 1 day

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This is the post you all have voted for… (i settled for smutty hurt x comfort since you guys were so close)

@save-the-villainous-cat happy two year anniversary baby <3

It wasn’t the end of the world, Villain had been injured in battle countless times before and it was never a problem. But, god, there was so much blood.

They weren’t a very optimistic person by nature, but things had never looked worse for them than at this precise moment. Stumbling blindly through friendly, neighbourhood complexes and past steadily blurring townhouses. Villain could practically feel their demise impending.

“Hey there, stranger~” The criminal gulped, eyes shooting around like a cornered animal looking for an escape. “You’re in pretty rough shape to be standing on two feet…”

Their eyes locked in on a figure—somewhere at the back of their mind they were flooded with a sensation of ease, though they couldn’t quite pinpoint why. They continued to stumble forwards and practically into the stranger’s arms anyways, for whatever reason it felt right.

“Easy— Easy there, Villain… just relax I’ve got you, I’ll take good care of you, huh?”

Warmth spread through the criminal’s mind at the sound of the other’s voice, then down into their muscles before seeping deep to their bones. They blinked and when they opened their eyes again they were laying in a tub, their feet resting at the tap where hot water poured down and into the bath.

For a moment they panicked, but a hand found its way to their shoulder and grounded them back to the present. They knew that hand, they knew that touch.

Hero.

“I’ve got you, baby~” They teased, grinning from ear to ear as they fiddled with the temperature to the water with their free hand.

It all came rushing back to the villain; the fight they had picked with their superior—on purpose—and whatever hope they had left dragging their feet to the hero’s house in a desperate attempt for attention survival.

Hero’s touch was warm where it laid by their collarbone, heating the skin to a feverish degree as it began stitching the villain back together. See, Hero’s powers only worked through touch (something the villain had learned a very long time ago purely on accident), but as much as their touch held only kindness, it did not extend to their healing abilities.

Because, god, did it ever hurt. Painful in some sick and horribly pleasurable way that Villain couldn’t seem to stop craving.

Their collarbone snapped back into place, the bone mending itself back together and their eyes flew open along with the sob that was wrenched from their throat. They flailed, partially to escape the hero’s torturous touch, partially to fall further into their grasp.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay… deep breaths remember?” The crime-stopper’s hand moved down their chest, giving their upper half the gift of a breath as they pained the rest of them.

The villain’s relief was only present for a fleeting moment, as they felt the hero’s fingertips trace the edges of the gash to their chest. Already the ripped skin pulled taught and their torn muscles seized up, under command of the other’s touch.

Villain knew what was coming.

They squirmed, the bath water submerging their legs in its warm embrace, Hero’s hand teasing at their wound, they couldn’t help but try and pull away. “Please—”

The hero shushed them, bringing their free hand to cup the villain’s chin. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” They pressed their hand flat against the gaping hole that should have been the villain’s abdomen, jolting them.

Villain screamed, it was dry and rugged, they recoiled from their nemesis but the only other thing there to hold them was the bath water. “Please, H-Hero, please—” Three more seconds and the criminal was sure to pass out.

Then it stopped. Before the villain could beg again, before they could lose consciousness, the pain stopped.

Cautiously, the villain’s eyes fluttered open, their enemy smiled sweetly back, fingertips now tracing the completely untouched abdomen of the villain’s. They looked normal, they looked okay, even after everything the hero had managed to restore them to their previous glory.

“You okay, gorgeous?”

Villain’s eyes met the hero’s once more, they were gentle yet somewhat mischievous. They nodded, brain completely fogged, maybe from the pain, most likely from the hero’s distracting gaze.

The area still pulsed with the ghost of a previous slash, but there was nothing, just the heat from the hero’s hands. It left a sweet aftertaste on their exhausted mind.

“Think you can handle another round tonight?” They waggled their eyebrows in emphasis, removing one hand to shut off the water to the bath as it began to cover the villain’s stomach.

Villain glared, but only for a moment, some of their usual snideness returning to their demeanour. “Can y-you be a little nicer?”

Hero hummed, eyes glued to their own hands as they made their way down to the inside of the criminal’s thighs, their hands beginning to resume their previous healing glow even under the water. “Really? I thought you liked it rough?”

The villain’s cheeks turned red, but they didn’t have time to retort before the hero placed their hands back against their skin and shut them up with a moan.

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brionbroadway · 3 days

Text

She is the only one to see it.

A kid with words that fit as well as his clothes, a rehearsed personality and purpose. A funhouse mirror, a reflection of Kristen that is so obviously wrong. The shirts hung too loose on her; her sentences were punctuated with question marks instead of periods.

In many ways, it is easier for Buddy, and in other ways, that’s made his life harder.

A deeply closeminded grandfather. A church that prioritizes his devotion to them over their devotion to him. A life that is determined for him.

A best friend who would slit his throat.

He did not have to question any of it, and now he’s lost the chance to.

Riz’s voice cuts through Kristen’s thoughts. Assurance that yes, they will figure out this mystery, yes, they will try to revive Buddy, yes, they will always help her—but first they have to get out of this room.

Kristen listens. She has doubted enough to know what to trust.

Through the remainder of the exam, Kristen keeps an eye on Buddy: a witness to him that she was meant to be to Helio.

Of course, she was the only one to see what truly happened to him.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #fantasy high junior year #d20 #d20 fic #drabbles #kristen applebees #buddy dawn

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mouthsfullofsharpteeth · 23 hours

Text

Alex kralie getting into ceramics after everything happened. Taking a class for 50$ a month. Now that he and Tim have a place and arent blowing all their money on motels, they can sort of afford it. Tim encourages it, even if Alex sees it as a waste. His argument is, Alex needs something to get out of the house for. Hes too much of a disaster to get a job, and before this he had just been laying in bed, still as stone and staring at the wall for all the hours that Tim was working. At least now he moves.

For the first few months, he makes nothing good. Mishapen pots and ugly mugs. He mushes so many projects together before they can even dry. Hating his work, disgusted by the crap his useless hands push together. When he first starts getting things back out of the kiln, he takes them home unglazed and throw them against the concrete of the parking lot. Tim arrives at their place to find Alex surrounded by broken hardened clay, and wonders if maybe this wasn’t the right thing to encourage. If maybe Alex wasn’t ready to re-enter society yet. Was he damaged beyond repair? Was there no fixing what the Operator had done to him both mentally and emotionally? Tim could feed him, make him sleep, keep him clean- repair the physical wounds. But he couldn’t fix Alex’s brain if it was already too broken.

But Alex went back to the studio again the next week. And after another month or so, Tim wakes up for work one morning, and is met with hot coffee, presented in a bumpy, shiny black and brown mug. Alex holds it out to him, one of his hands in the pocket of Tim’s sweatshirt that he must have put on.

(Neither of them have many clothes. Might as well share what they did have. Same reason they just used the same bed. Not like they could afford a two bedroom apartment anyway.)

“Thanks.” Tim stares at him, takes the mug. “Did you make this?”

“The coffee maker did,” Alex says, rubbing the back of his neck. Avoiding Tim’s eyes. He sits on the edge of the bed, near Tim’s legs. “Same brand we always buy.”

Tim raises a brow. “Right.” On the inside of the handle are the letters ‘AJK’. Tim feels a warmth fill his chest that has nothing to do with the coffee. He takes a sip.

“What do you think? Of the coffee.” Alex scuffs his socked feet on the carpet.

“It’s good. Really good. Thanks, Alex.”

The corner of Alex’s lip twitches like it does when he wants to smile but physically can’t bring himself to. Tim considers it a win.

“And it’s for me?” Tim asks to clarify.

“I gave it to you, didn’t I?” He mumbled.

Tim’s heart warmed some more.

He was right from the start. Tim was glad he encouraged this. It just proved his point- no one wasn’t worth trying to save.

#drabbles #my writing #timlex #tim wright #alex kralie #recovery au #marble hornets

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gas-way-war-own · 3 days

Text

#kj apa #fmab #paint #borderline personality disorder #glass onion #dibujos #drabbles #toshinori yagi #catherine tate #apink #ed not sheeren #Jurassic park #bollywoodedit

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twisted-tales-told · 2 days

Text

Regulus watches in mortification as James moves his leg a little bit further along the tree branch.

"Are you sure this is the decision you want to be making Prongs?" Remus yells with his hands cupped around his mouth.

"It's fine, I'm gonna reach it!" he shouts back. The "it" in question is a snitch that somehow got snagged between two branches at least ten feet up in the air.

"I'm dating this man," Regulus mutters. "He's an idiot and I'm in love with him."

Remus laughs, "that you are."

"At least I'm not dating my brother."

Remus raises his eyebrow and Regulus rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I do, but dating an idiot has its perks."

"Oh really? And what's that." Regulus hisses as James wobbles dangerously. "Love, I think you should come down now."

"It's fine, I'm fine!"

"They make life interesting," Remus shrugs. "We'd be holed up in our rooms getting pre-mature back pain from hunching over books eight hours a day without them."

"Got it!" James shouts, waving the hand holding the snitch in the air. No sooner does he say this is he toppling down.

Remus is quicker than him, casting a spell to cushion his fall.

"Good aim Moony!" James calls from where he's lying on his back, snitch still gripped tight in his hand.

"Learned that when Sirius thought he could do a backflip off his broom," Remus whispers before they walk over to check to see if James really is alright.

#drabbles #jegulus #wolfstar #LISTEN #Its silly its goofy #I had fun with it

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owl127 · 3 days

Note

So I was at this women’s basketball game—it being March Madness and all—and this player that I find really really cute (she actually kinda looks like Lexa), wasn’t warming up. When the game started she went through the tunnel and back into the locker room which is kinda weird because even if you’re injured normally you still sit on the bench. But at halftime she came out and I noticed she had earplugs in and after a little Google I found out she has a concussion so she was probably in the locker room because it was too loud on the court. The rest of the game I was thinking about how someone could totally write a fanfic where Lexa is on a sports team, gets hurt, is sad she has to sit out, but has a little mid game locker room rendezvous to cheer her up and give her a thrill. Would you please please pleaseee be that someone?

Lexa’s ears itched to remove her headphones, but the shadow of a headache had started behind her eyes, so she let the noise canceling headphones do its magic. She walked behind the starting team and watched with a frown the pile of windbreakers grow at her feet on the bench while she remained covered. She fiddled with the dark red zipper, the squeaking of rubber against shiny vinyl grounding her while the visiting team entered the arena. Lexa looked away, her eyes darting at the faceless crowd of silver and maroon. The muffled noise of the fans, something she looked forward to at each game, mounted on the pain growing between her eyes. The blinking lights of the stadium did not help with the building dizziness, but she forced a smile as she waved back at a bundle of little girls with signs with her name shining in bright silver glitter.

Lexa Woods.

She bit her lips at the thought of disappointing little girls.

On the other side of the court, the away team warmed up. Lexa looked for a familiar blonde braid, but they were in a huddle, and the amount of blonde heads was borderline offensive for basketball.

“Oi!” A ball came in her direction and Lexa held the pass in pure reflex, but that didn’t stop her frowning at Anya. “You look miserable. Smile for the cameras. It’s the fucking final fours, Lex.”

Their team captain’s shouted words were not as encouraging as Anya thought, and Lexa threw the ball back on the court.

“I’ll be out of here in a minute,” Lexa said and pointed to her headphones. “These are not working as expected.”

A rare sight of kindness flashed over Anya’s face, but it was gone just as fast. She sat next to Lexa, her mouth close to Lexa’s covered ears. “We’re here because of you. No one doubts that. We’ll win this so you can crush it at the final.”

Lexa bit her lip. They needed to win, and her concussion needed to be fully recovered for that to happen, and none of that was a guarantee. She nodded, and the movement didn’t help with her growing headache.

“I’m going back in,” she excused herself, standing up. Anya’s face softened, nodding.

“Your head okay?” Anya asked at the same time a wave of nausea hit Lexa.

Lexa moved her palm in a so-so pattern, and before their couch yelled at her, she backtracked her steps into their home locker room. She didn’t look up at the calls for her name while ducking into the tunnel, focused on escaping the noise.

The locker room was messy, with open bags and unfolded clothes littering the floor. The smell of bleach and foot powder was familiar, with a hint of synthetic eucalyptus from the shower row. Lexa finally took off the headphones, her ears popping in relief. Layers of concrete and tile protected her from the loud crowd, and Lexa closed her eyes.

She could have made history tonight. Instead, because of a single nasty call at her last game, she cannot even watch from the bench.

“Fuck,” she mumbled, her lips trembling in frustration. She wanted to punch something.

“I know, right?”

Lexa’s neck turned at the voice, her vision blurring for a second as she focused.

She must be hallucinating, because in front of her was Clarke Griffin, point guard of the Arkadia Comets, and the usual pain in Lexa’s ass whenever they played. But why was she here and not on court? Her brain finally caught up with the full image and she noticed the clutches under Clarke’s arms and how her left foot didn’t touch the floor.

“I watched your last game.” Clarke’s dimples showed at a half smile. “I’m surprised you made it to the game tonight,” Clarke said as she sat heavily next to Lexa with a long sigh and the clacks of her crutches against the wooden bench. Her hands immediately massaged her injured thigh.

“What are you doing here?”

“There are stairs to the visitors’ locker room, and I really needed to pee. Can you believe they built this building for like, healthy people? There are stairs everywhere.”

“I meant…” Lexa pointed at Clarke’s whole deal, and differently from Lexa, the other player didn’t wear a uniform or a windbreaker, just a hoodie with her university’s colors.

“Pulled muscle. Bad enough to knock me out. I didn’t want the sponsors to see me with the crutches.” Clarke nodded in the direction of the plastic supports. Lexa noticed a bright blue athletic tape poking out from Clarke’s joggers all the way to her lower abs visible under the hoodie. Her cheeks flushed, and when she looked up, Clarke smirked at her.

“How did it happen?” Lexa cleared her throat, ignoring the way blue eyes went up and down her body.

“Not as hilariously as the block that took you down,” Clarke said with a shit-eating grin that Lexa wanted to wipe off.

“That was a fault!”

“Sure, babe.” Clarke adjusted in her seat, massaging her thigh again. “I’m sorry you can’t play tonight. I was looking forward to destroying you.”

That made Lexa smile. “In your dreams, Griffin.”

“Oh, but my dreams about you are quite different, Lex.”

And there she was. Griffin always played the mind game to destabilize Lexa. Whispers on the court, faces from the bench; Lexa hated it. She also felt a little joy in it, but ultimately, Clarke Griffin was a distraction.

“I’m sorry you’re missing the game, too,” Lexa said, unsure if her face showed her reaction to Clarke’s comment. By the way Clarke lounged on the bench and shifted closer, Lexa must have blushed.

“It was a good run,” Clarke said.

“You don’t think you can win?”

Clarke snorted. “Do you?”

“I trust my teammates,” Lexa said and crossed her arms. If Griffin didn’t have any loyalty to her team, that was her problem.

“Don’t get me wrong, darling—” the thin hairs on Lexa’s neck bristled at the pet name — “I love those bitches. But I dragged a bunch of future dentists and teachers to two final fours. You have other girls making draft picks in your team while I average astonishing zero bench points every game.”

“But you’ll be the first draft pick.” The truth rolled out easily on Lexa’s tongue, and she suppressed the bite of jealousy at the thought.

“And you’ll be second, unless they go insane.”

And here they were, top two draft picks dusting in the locker room while the semi-final roared above them.

Lexa shrugged, running a hand over her loose hair. Her usual braid or ponytail was a no-go with her headache, and her hair kept falling into her eyes. “If I get top four, I’ll be happy.”

“You will.” There was certainty in Clarke’s voice. “We are one of the lucky ones.”

“I know.” There was no hiding the struggle of women’s basketball. Sure, the league had promise and potential, but it was a shadow of the sponsorship and compensation of the men’s league. With limited teams, getting a spot as a professional was already an achievement.

“So, can you help me back to my locker room, princess?” Clarke asked, pointing to her crutches. Heat rose to Lexa’s cheeks, and she crossed her arms.

“Why are you always like this?”

Clarke, halfway to standing, sat back down on the bench. “Like what?”

“Why are you so, so…” Lexa searched for a word, but unwelcomed suggestions jumped to the front of her mind like “hot” and “sexy”, and she ended up going with, “infuriating! Why do you flirt with other players only to mess with their game?”

Clarke huffed, an unusual pink dusting her cheeks. “I don’t flirt with other players.”

“You’ve been pretending to flirt with me in every game for a year!” Lexa didn’t know she needed to vent about something tonight, but Clarke gave her the opening she needed.

“Wait, wait,” Clarke said, raising her hands in surrender. “One, I don’t do that to other players. Two, I mostly do it with you because I know it won’t affect your game. I need to have something against your resolve, and flirting with a straight girl is harmless enough. Besides, you’re hot, Lex. Wow, why don’t you react like this on the court?”

Lexa’s cheeks burned, and she rolled her eyes. Once she stepped on the court, nothing else mattered and Lexa would be hyper-focused on the game. But tonight, not being under the spotlight and off her game, Lexa was not immune to Griffin’s tongue. Compliments—Griffin’s compliments! She needed to change this line of thought.

“What on earth have I done for you to think I’m straight?” Maybe that wasn’t the correct shift in the conversation. Clarke lit up like a Christmas tree, her mouth opening for a second, then closing again, settling on a half smile.

“You never reacted to me before.” Clarke’s voice was a full octave lower, and Lexa might be in trouble. Lexa swallowed and fidgeted with her jacket zipper. “And maybe, yeah, I’ve been flirting with you not only because of the games,” Clarke confessed, the heat in her cheeks darkening.

Was Clarke flirting with her again?

“I was kind of hoping you’d be able to play tonight,” Clarke continued, “so I could watch you all night instead.”

Yes, that was flirting, Lexa’s concussed brain detected. She didn’t move as Clarke shuffled closer, their thighs touching.

“I tried to find you early on, but all your teammates were wearing braids,” Lexa said. At 21, Lexa should have a better control of her mouth, but alas, there she was confessing her charms to her rival.

“They wanted to show me support.” Clarke’s voice was close, and closer still as she said, “So you were looking for me?” But the expected grin or tease was not behind her words. Lexa gathered the rest of her courage and chanced a glance at the fellow point guard, finding nothing but… admiration?

Kiss her, Lexa’s obviously concussed brain offered, and Lexa’s heart race in adrenaline as she ignored the thought.

“You’re the best player,” Lexa reasoned, swallowing as Clarke invaded her personal space. “Of course I look for you on the court.”

“Well,” Clarke said, and her hand, a tad larger than Lexa’s, reached for Lexa’s own. “I look for you outside of the court, too. I watched the video on your channel about your work against bullying in your town’s high school. That was inspiring.”

Lexa’s heart swelled with something akin to fondness, but she blamed that on the concussion. “Thank you.” Lexa whispered, the moment asking for softness.

“You, Lexa Woods”—Clarke’s large hand closed around Lexa’s, warm and steady—“You are inspiring.”

It wasn’t every day that the league MVP said she was inspiring.

Kiss, kiss, her brain supplied.

Lexa didn’t have to wait for her body to listen to her brain. Clarke was MVP for many reasons, and not hesitating was one of them.

The kiss was soft and warm, and Clarke’s hand tugged lightly at Lexa’s neck. For the first time that day, Lexa breathed easily. It lasted a moment, as Clarke showed to be dexterous with her tongue, and then Lexa was breathless.

“My team will be here at half-time,” Lexa whispered when Clarke finally, reluctantly, pulled away.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want to kiss me again?”

Lexa wished she could say no to that smile, but she was learning that denying that smile was harder than to block Clarke’s 3 pointers.

“It means we can’t do it here,” Lexa said.

“I’m staying in town for an orthopedic appointment tomorrow morning. You could always stop by my hotel later tonight.” Clarke reached for her clutches and stood.

“My team will want me around after the game.”

Clarke smiled, one eyebrow raised. “Would you rather be in a noisy bar with your team celebrating, or watching the British Bake Off with me while making out on a king bed?”

Lexa’s cheeks warmed. “The British Bake Off?”

Clarke made her way out of the locker room, slow and steady. “We can watch it on mute, which helps with your headache, and watching it always makes me… hungry.” Clarke delivered the last word over her shoulders, licking her lips for extra dramatic effect. Lexa felt her face heating as Clarke limped out of the room.

Hours later, Lexa’s team had gained their place at the final. Her headache was under control, and her utmost satisfaction had nothing to do with the chocolate cake they ordered from the 24h hotel service.

#a couple weeks late but here it is #loved this prompt #drabble #drabbles #the 100 #clexa #lexa the 100 #clarke the 100 #why not make out with chocolate cake watching the british bake off?#sounds reasonable #clarke is a cocky little shit because why not

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madaqueue · 17 hours

Text

playlists

broke her daughter's legs in two | "bruno is orange" x hop along

synopsis: geto finds you after the village massacre, but things went differently

pairing: suguru geto x reader

themes/content: semi-canon curse au. angst. language. loss, death, mentions of possible abuse.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: a little angst to get me out of my smut era (jk i have so much more lined up lmao) anyways once again i highly suggest listening to this song while reading :)

“suguru?” you whisper hesitantly to the man standing in your doorway. the moonlight shines through the curtains of your dorm room, illuminating him just enough to make out his figure.

he says nothing, staring blankly ahead.

“what happened?” you ask, rubbing sleep from your eyes. he slowly starts walking towards you, a pit of dread forming in your stomach as he silently approaches your bed.

you shouldn’t be afraid. you know you shouldn’t. he’s your best friend.

but you also know what happened - you had read the report earlier today.

112 villagers died.

not a single person left in the village.

concluded to be that of suguru geto’s curse manipulation.

geto set fire to the village and fled.

subject to execution.

the weight of his body at the end of your bed causes it to sag slightly as he sits next to you. the smell of ash, blood, and death hangs on his clothes.

the cicadas chirp outside your open window, filling the air between you until he takes in a shaky breath, shoulders raising ever so slightly.

“i had to,” he mouths, the words barely audible.

his eyes stare straight ahead, empty.

“had to what?” you prod, gently reaching a hand up to his back. he flinches at your touch.

“i had to save them.”

you wouldn’t understand, he thinks. nobody else will ever understand.

the things he saw in that village, the way they hurt them - the two girls. it wasn’t their fault. and yet, there they were. they put them there. in that fucking cage, like animals.

the young girls begged him, tears in their eyes. “please don’t tell.” “please don’t yell.”

he was good. he knew he was good. he had to save them.

suddenly, the old woman behind him, their captor, spat back at them, “don’t speak. you’re both going to hell.”

he did what a good person should do. he saved them.

the world is not kind to sorcerers - he knew this all too well. especially in places like these, the outskirts of society where sorcery was equated to evil and condemned, they hurt them. they blame them. they punish them. the world is a dangerous place for sorcerers.

as he sits in your bed, he starts to shake. no tears leave his eyes, but his breathing becomes ragged, shoulders heaving as he stares into the distance in front of him, eyes unfocused.

in the quiet of your room, all he hears are the crackles of the flames. he didn’t even hear the screams, the pleas, that fell from their traitorous lips. because he was doing good. he was saving them.

your voice pulls him back to reality slightly, still unable to tune out the ringing of bloodshed from his ears. “suguru,” you murmur, “whatever happened, it’s okay.”

he wants to believe you, he does. he wants to feel your hand stroking his back, but it just feels like everything is a million miles away. he’s watching himself break down in the moonlight of your room. he wants to be good.

“i killed them,” he finally utters.

the words make you flinch, even though you knew they were coming.

“i killed all of them. the entire village.”

“why?” you ask, not wanting but nevertheless needing an answer, an explanation, for what happened.

“i had to save them.”

“save who?”

“the girls.”

a sigh leaves your lips in relief. you knew it, you knew suguru wouldn’t just hurt people. he must have seen them, they must have been hurt, and the only way to help them was to burn the village down. you needed this to be true, to reassure yourself as much as him. you knew he was good.

he was your best friend, after all, and right now he needs you.

you think back to the last time you saw him before this mission, how different things were, the morning he left.

–

the two of you sit on a picnic bench, shaded by one of the trees in the courtyard outside the school. geto holds an orange in his hands, peeling it with a small knife. he was always so careful with things like this, never daring to nick the soft flesh of the fruit, a care he brought with him into every aspect of his life. he was always calculated, a quiet thoughtfulness that came second nature to him.

your eyes trace over his hands before moving up to his face, the dark circles under his eyes a physical manifestation of the exhaustion you had seen growing in him the past few weeks.

“suguru?” you get his attention.

“mhm?” he murmurs, eyes never leaving the orange as he continues working his knife around it.

you sigh, not knowing how he’ll react to the question you’ve been dreading. “are you…are you okay?”

his hands freeze for a moment, body tensing, before he returns to his movement. “mhm,” he affirms.

you want to reach across the table, grab him by the shoulders and yell that you know he’s lying, that he is so clearly and undeniably not okay, that he just needs to talk to you and you’ll do anything you can to help him.

but, of course, you don’t. instead, you tilt your head back as your gaze shifts up to the sky, bright blue through the leaves above you.

“you know,” you start, scanning the branches that shake softly in the wind, “i heard that people used to eat oranges in the morning if they weren’t feeling well, the idea of a fruit-curing fever, something in it warming and soothing. they thought it could heal sickness.”

“mmm,” suguru hums softly. without another word, he splits the orange in two, handing you half. “worth a shot,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

–

remembering him, his kindness and hurt, your body language softens. “that’s okay,” you explain, more at ease now that you know he acted out of compassion. “where are they now, the girls? we can go help them, together.”

geto is silent. his eyes slowly move from the floor up to yours, a new darkness in them.

“suguru…” you start.

he just stares.

“w-what did you do?” you stammer, fear reappearing in the pit of your stomach, your hand freezing in place on his back.

“i saved them.” his voice is low, resigned. “it was too dangerous for them. they couldn’t live in this world, a world built to hate them. i needed to protect them. i needed to help them. and i did,” he pauses to take in a sharp breath between his rambling. “now, they won’t have to live in a world that would hurt them. it was too dangerous. i helped them. i did. i saved them.”

as he talks himself in circles, his grasp on everything becomes undone. he loses himself in his words, the mantra he so desperately clung to, the one he needed to say until he believed it.

he was good. he saved them.

your eyes widen as the realization sets in: the girls are dead. just like everyone else in the village. just like the reports said.

as he babbles out the same explanation, shock takes over your body. you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t move, the only words leaving your mouth are “it’s okay,” over and over again, the sounds mixing with his in your room, chaos swirling in the night air as you both drift away from this reality.

“it’s okay” “i protected them” “it’s okay” “i helped them” “it’s okay” “i saved them” “it’s okay”

suddenly, your body jolts forward as you sit up in bed. the action surprises suguru into silence as he watches you, eyes following your every move as you walk to the small kitchen in your dorm room, taking an orange out of a bowl that sits on the counter.

you shove your thumb under the thick peel, tearing at the flesh of the fruit as you pull it apart in strips. juice leaks down between your fingers and drips onto the counter. holding the fruit in your palm, your bare feet carry you back to suguru. holding out a hand, you both sit in silence and eat the orange.

your voice is raspy and worn as you speak to him.

“you saved them.”

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sentinelpri · 1 day

Text

To Be Selfish (NSFW)

Kakashi Hatake stands at the village gates with a ratty binder in his hands, flipping between multiple pages as the cool morning air blows through his silvery locks.

A map, blurry pictures of the two men he’s been ordered to kill, descriptions of their jutsu, and a note with their most recent location following an encounter with another one of Konoha’s Anbu, who was found just over a night ago.

It should be enough information for the two of you to succeed.

The time on his watch shows that it’s just past six in the morning. The sun is rising and painting the sky blue, purple, yellow, and orange in its wake. It’s cool, but not cold, though the incessant breeze in the air makes goosebumps raise on Kakashi’s arms while he waits for you.

Kakashi was ordered to meet you here at five thirty. Supposedly, the Hokage informed you of the rendezvous location as well. Kakashi was late due to him stopping to see Obito, Rin, Minato, Kushina, Might Dai, and his own father at the cemetery. Now, it’s half an hour past the time you were supposed to meet him and you still aren’t there.

Kakashi isn’t sure if you’re ditching him or if you’re going to show up late on purpose to piss him off. As the captain of Team Ro, he’s always tried to maintain decent relationships with his subordinates; you, Itachi, and Tenzo. However, the moment you were added to the team, it was clear that you had a bit of a crush on Kakashi. You were getting too close, trying to coddle him on missions, making him food, bringing him gifts, and constantly putting yourself in harm’s way for him.

Though you’re much different than Rin, your behavior wasn’t. Kakashi still has nightmares about his old friend impaling herself on his chidori almost every time he tries to sleep for his sake, for the village’s sake- and he knows that, if something like that happens to him again, he’ll fall into the darkness and be unable to get himself out of it.

He can’t lose someone again. He’s too damaged to do it again.

Admittedly, his solution to the problem may not have been the best one he could’ve come up with. Instead of having a genuine conversation with you about his past and telling you that he isn’t in the mental space to get attached to another person right now, let alone one who’s constantly in danger while working in Anbu, he did what was easy and pushed you away. He chewed you out for defending him during missions, belittled your abilities, avoided you at all costs, and rejected anything you tried to give or do for him- and rather than the cold indifference he’s so used to pushing people away with, he did it in the most hateful way possible, just to make sure it worked.

And it did. His plan worked better than he ever wanted it to. Now, instead of the puppy-like crush you had on him before, you hate him. Kakashi is fully aware that it’s his fault, but he’s too embarrassed to come clean to you. He also knows that he doesn’t deserve your forgiveness for how he’s hurt your feelings. So, he continues to pretend to hate you. Neither Itachi nor Tenzo have dared to ask about it, but it has negatively affected the team dynamic during training and missions.

Kakashi starts to assume that you aren’t coming and turns to leave, but right then, he hears slow and quiet footsteps approaching. He looks over his shoulder to see you in full armor, (h/l) (h/c) hair pulled back and your (e/c) eyes sparkling under the rising sun. If Kakashi’s body goes hot, he blames it on the impending sunlight, rather than on his love for you.

It’s not you that makes him burn bright red from the top of his forehead, to the tips of his ears, to his neck, to the top of his chest…

Okay, maybe it is.

But you don’t need to know that.

“It’s not like those two to be late… They’re not late, are they? Why is it just us?” You ask, looking around as if you’re waiting for Itachi and Tenzo to appear. Kakashi can’t help but be disappointed by how bothered you seem that it’s just him. “I’d rather really not be stuck alone with you. The other two are much more personable.”

“Seems like Tenzo and Itachi are still in recovery after the last mission, so they couldn’t come along. Honestly, though, this shouldn’t require too much manpower. I don’t know why the Hokage is having me take you,” Kakashi coldly replies, even though the Hokage told him whether or not he made you come on this mission was up to his discretion since he’s the captain of Team Ro.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You huff.

“It’s supposed to mean that I could do it by myself.”

“Then why am I here if I could be in bed right now, you fucker?”

“Just in case.”

“See, you’re not nearly as confident as you say you are.”

“Don’t question me. I am your captain.”

And, as always, you immediately question him.

“What are we doing, anyway?”

“We’ve got a couple of B-rank assassins on our hands from Kusa. Our job is to take them out and dispose of their bodies.”

“There’s only two and they’re both B-rank? Why are they sending us?” You scoff, rolling your eyes. “That’s honestly a little insulting considering we both have S-ranks in their bingo books over there.”

“While neither of them are particularly talented, their combo ability is dangerous,” Kakashi says. When you open your mouth to ask yet another question, Kakashi interrupts by rambling on, mostly because he’s skirting around explaining the enemies’ jutsu to you… It’s rather lewd and uncomfortable, to say the least. “That’s why S-rank shinobi are required to take them down. Don’t underestimate your opponent just because of their bingo book ranking. They could always be downplaying their strength.”

“Well? Spill; what is it that these guys do?”

Kakashi freezes. In order to succeed in this mission, you have to be aware of what your enemies are capable of. Still- it’s awkward to actually have to talk about something sexual, especially with you.

“It’s, uh… Sex pollen,” He stammers out after a little too long.

“Sex pollen?” You tilt your head back and laugh, pointing a finger at him as if he’s joking- no, as if you’re making fun of him- even when you can clearly see the embarrassment that’s painted on his face. “Like in those weird fucking books you read?”

“Oh, shut up,” Kakashi turns his body to avoid your gaze. Honestly, he prefers the way you were before- sweet and considerate of his feelings- but he also knows that your constant teasing makes him want you even more than he did before for whatever reason. He continues to avoid your eyes, but hands you the binder full of information about the shinobi you have to assassinate and their location so you can read through it. “Anyway… Yeah. The jutsu caster releases a type of pollen into the air from nearby plants that acts as an intense aphrodisiac. It’s apparently so intense that, once you’ve inhaled it, it takes effect within half an hour and leaves you unable to do anything until you find relief.”

You quirk a brow up at that, confusion lacing your expression.

“Find relief?”

Kakashi sighs.

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

“I need all the details I can get if we’re going to fight these people, Kakashi. Don’t be such a prude.”

“Relief as in… Orgasm with another person. Pretty much, you’re left without the ability to fight, so the enemy has an opening to kill you while you’re vulnerable. If you somehow manage to escape them before it takes effect, but don’t find the ‘relief’ you need to break the jutsu, it’ll put so much pressure on your heart from the increased blood flow that you’ll die after a few hours- that is, if you can resist the urge to screw whoever’s closest. It’s much different than natural human arousal, or even anything that any medications could cause.”

“It’s strong enough that even skilled shinobi can’t resist it? And why can’t you just masturbate to get rid of it?”

“Apparently even strong shinobi are vulnerable- it just takes longer for it to take affect. If you try to make it go away by masturbating, it won’t work. One of our guys was found dead from it recently because he went solo and tried to take care of himself after inhaling it, and they managed to get a sample of the pollen from his lungs and nasal passageways to take for testing, but the medical core hasn’t been able to come up with an antidote just yet. They said it’s very complicated and that they’ve never seen any other pollen like it. In the meantime, they want us to take care of the two; they’ve gone rogue from their village and been using this ability to kill any shinobi who try to capture them, and they’ve even used it to rob innocent civilians so they can afford whatever lifestyle it is they’re living as rogues.”

“Wait, you said there were two of them. If there’s one using this pollen jutsu, what does the other one do that’s so dangerous?”

“While the first is from a clan that can use this pollen-based jutsu, the other is from a neighboring clan that has a natural immunity to the released pollen. In Kusa, the two clans are known to work together for missions frequently,” Kakashi explains. “So the jutsu user would be able to inhibit us with the pollen, while the shinobi with the immunity would strike immediately after and remain unaffected, as to allow the jutsu user to focus on keeping us under the influence of the pollen.”

“Sounds tricky.”

“Precisely. It seems that they’ve been blessed with these kekkai genkai but are still relatively unskilled and have been wounded by shinobi unaware of their abilities. Even though they killed him in the end, the last ninja we sent out apparently wounded them both really badly before he went down,” Kakashi finishes. He takes the binder from your hands and returns it to where it was in his backpack. “So if we can find them in time and strike while they’re vulnerable, we’ll be able to take them down without an issue.”

“And that’s why you brought me, right?”

“Yes,” Kakashi answers. You were born with a rare kekkai genkai that not only allows you to sense chakra from a much further range than the average sensory type, but also allows you to sense whether the person’s primary chakra is wind, lightning, earth, fire, or water. “As talented as I am, I’m no sensory type.”

“So, really, you couldn’t do this by yourself,” You grin, playfully smacking Kakashi’s shoulder.

“I could use my hounds and do it by myself just fine,” He argues. “You, however, require less chakra use from me since I don’t have to summon you.”

“I bet you wish you could.”

“I’m glad I can’t. It’s not like we need to be any closer than we’re made to be,” Kakashi sighs, but he finds that all he wants is to be close to you. Still, there’s no making amends for how he’s treated you lately- all in a fucked up attempt to push you away just because of his own issues. “Last I heard, they were on the border between here and Kusa, on the north side. That’s around where they found the Anbu they killed, and with how injured they supposedly are, there’s no way they’ll make it too far without running into us. If we make good time, we’ll be able to find them.”

“You really trust in my tracking abilities that much?” You question.

You’re looking for validation. Kakashi can tell. Lately, he’d tell you ‘no’ or that you’re just more convenient than any alternatives, but even if it feels impossible, he wants to fix things. So, he tries to choose his words carefully.

“As much as I hate to admit it…” Kakashi pauses, then responds. “Yes, I do, but don’t let that get to your head.”

“Fine,” You huff and walk ahead with your arms crossed over your chest. “Let’s go, then.”

As much as you love Kakashi Hatake, you also despise him.

The two of you arrive on the south side of the border between Konoha and Kusa after a long, awkward, silent journey. Kakashi didn’t utter so much as a word to you during the multi-hour walk.

When the two of you arrive at the cabin, you thank whatever god is out there for the fact that Tenzo exists. Shortly after you were assigned to Team Ro, the brunette started using his jutsu to build small cabins for you all to stay in, particularly on certain borders or in certain cities that the four of you frequent often for missions. With Kusa being a developing ninja nation compared to the major five, Konoha ninja are sent there frequently to assist them- and, behind the scenes- to keep them under control, lest they upset the balance between the ninja nations that has only just now started to settle after decades of war.

The cabin is good, but still one of the worst ones. You don’t mind it much as you’re mostly just excited that you don’t have to sleep outside in a tent.

Being on a mission with Kakashi is stressful enough.

When you walk in, you’re reminded that there’s only one large bed. It wouldn’t be unusual for you and your three teammates to share it, but now that it’s just Kakashi here… Your heart flutters in excitement.

Much to your disappointment, however, as you shut the door behind you and set your bag down, Kakashi starts to complain about the arrangement.

“Only one bed. Of course, the one time we get landed in a place with one bed, it’s when I’m on a mission with you instead of one of the others,” Kakashi shakes his head and carelessly drops his bag to the floor. He doesn’t even spare you a glance as he sits on the edge of the bed and pulls out his stupid book. It’s crazy to you that he reads romance novels all the time, yet ignores your obvious feelings for him. “And the thing’s big enough for four people… I’m going to ask Tenzo to start making more beds when he assembles these mission cabins for us.”

“Oh, please, Kakashi,” You reply and sit on the back of the bed. “I’ll be sure not to lay anywhere near you. Hell, I’ll sleep on the floor if you want.”

“No, don’t,” Kakashi quickly objects. The tiny bit of his cheeks that peeks out from beneath his mask is dyed bright red with a blush. “Your uh… Your back will hurt.”

You blink at him, then ask-

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes,” Kakashi answers as if he’s not being weird about this. You just continue to give him the most incredulous, judgmental stare you can possibly muster. “Our mission could be compromised if you’re in pain.”

“Okay, great! You’ll sleep on the floor, then,” You respond with a shit-eating grin that you know pisses Kakashi off more than anything.

“No, I won’t.”

You shrug.

“Then I’ll sleep in the floor and compromise our mission.”

“Just get in the bed,” Kakashi grumbles and strips down. You watch before you can think better of it, but if Kakashi notices, he doesn’t say anything. Your mouth waters at the sight of his bare back, muscles and pale skin covered in a flurry of scars. The defined muscles he has shift underneath his arms and shoulders as he- disappointingly- moves to the very edge of the bed and lies on his side with a blanket dragged on top of him to cover up his body. His mask remains on his neck, which bothers you, but you know better than to pry about why he wears the damn thing 24/7. “I promise I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”

At that, your heart skips a beat. Unless you want him to? Does that mean that he wants to? You struggle to speak, stuttering over the words you’re trying to force out. The worst part of you wants to make fun of him, but all you can do is ask him to clarify what he meant.

“Unless I want you to?”

“That came out wrong,” Kakashi quickly mutters and squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look at you. “Just… Lay down. I’ll sleep on the edge. Pakkun will keep watch for us outside and wake us up when enemies come or when eight hours have passed- whichever comes first.”

“Fine,” You sigh and strip down to your underclothes as well. You swear that you feel Kakashi’s eyes on you, if only for a second, but when you check to see if he’s peeking, his eyes are still screwed shut. You lie on the side of the bed opposite to Kakashi, facing away from him and staring at the wall to save you the embarrassment of getting scolded or told to go away like he would’ve done back when you made your feelings for him obvious. “Goodnight, Kakashi.”

“Goodnight, (y/n).”

Kakashi wakes up in the middle of the bed. He’s always moved a lot in his sleep, but he’s still surprised to find himself turned onto his other side with his arms wrapped around…

You?

Yes, you. You’re fast asleep, snuggled into Kakashi’s chest as he holds you in his arms. Your face appears so peaceful like this, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks and your sleep-rustled hair framing your face. You’re only in a tank top and the shorts you wear under your uniform, so your warm (s/c) skin is pressed up against Kakashi’s. He notices the soft peaks of your breast squished against his chest and decides that enough is enough. He’d hate for you to wake up and see him holding you like this, especially when it wasn’t intentional.

He pulls away from you and checks the time on his watch. It’s only been six hours since the two of you went to sleep, but that should be more than enough. He’s stayed up for days at a time for missions before and he doesn’t want to waste so much time sleeping that the enemy manages to get away.

Careful not to wake you up, Kakashi showers in the bathroom, changes his clothes, and goes outside to talk to Pakkun, who he had keeping watch overnight.

“Pakkun, anything to report?”

“I sent Biscuit to scout everything nearby. Seems like animals can’t sense this pollen from the reports you showed me before,” Pakkun answers. “But he sniffed out a couple ninja close by. They’re north of here, staying in a small shack. He said they smelled nervous but that he didn’t know if they were aware of you being nearby or not. Need us to guide you to where they are?”

“No, thank you. You’ve been working for more than six hours straight now, so you’ve done enough,” Right as Kakashi says that, he hears your footsteps. You stand in the doorway just a couple feet behind, listening in. “Plus, I’ve got (y/n) here to help me pinpoint them now that you’ve given us a general direction to work with. Please, go rest.”

“Stop acting like I’m old and need to rest all the time, Kakashi. It’s not like I’m on death’s door,” Pakkun huffs, scratching his paws against the dirt floor. “Not that I don’t appreciate the extra naps…”

Pakkun disappears in a cloud of smoke. Kakashi looks at you over his shoulder. Your hair is damp and the pleasant scents of perfume, soap, shampoo, and conditioner waft off of you in gentle waves. He assumes you must’ve showered right after he finished and went outside to communicate with Pakkun.

“Let’s go,” He says.

You silently nod. The two of you pack up, erase any traces of your shared presence from the cabin, and head out.

Once again, the journey is silent.

You and Kakashi travel up north by foot, staying in the trees of the forest so you can’t get ambushed from above or below. Neither of you talk, even as you get close to where the enemies are supposed to be. Kakashi still feels awkward about how he woke up this morning, and he isn’t sure whether or not you cuddled into him last night on purpose- or if you even know that it happened. You seem like you’re still mad about the spat the two of you had about the sleeping arrangements.

“I’m sensing two strong chakra sources up ahead… About half a mile,” You pause, stopping on a random branch and closing your eyes so you can focus on sensing the chakra signature. Kakashi listens and places a firm hand on one of your shoulders to keep you steady. “They’re high Chunin level, maybe low Jonin if they’re injured or trying to mask their chakra. I’m sensing water and earth in one of them… And the other is totally unfamiliar. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

“Wood style is a combination of water and earth, so it wouldn’t be crazy to assume that someone who uses a plant-based kekkai genkai would use a combination of water and earth style. The other one is immune to the pollen as well as various types of poison but hasn’t been sighted yet using any elemental jutsu, so who knows what kind of chakra they have… These must be our guys. The jutsu has a range of about thirteen hundred feet, so we can’t alert them of our presence or we’re done for.”

“What should we do?”

“I’m surprised you’re consulting me,” Kakashi responds, to which you open your eyes and shoot him a sharp glare. “Hide your chakra and be as quiet as you can. We’ll stake out to see what they’re up to and get the drop on them.”

“Okay.”

The two of you eventually locate the shack you were told the enemies would be in. There’s a small window that you can see through as the two of you hide on the branch of a tree, seemingly out of sight from the two men. One of them is a brunette who sits at the table with his back facing the window. The other is a blond who stands across from the other, facing the window. Both are in standard Kusa ninja uniforms, and the blond has a standard Kusa forehead protector with a slash cut through it.

“We’ll wait until they move to do something or start talking to each other. Then I’ll use my chidori, break through the window, and kill them both,” Kakashi strategizes. “Your job is to follow close behind me. When I hit the first one, there will be a split second for the other to try and escape or counter me if he’s skilled enough. If he tries anything, kill him or find a way to keep him in the path of my chidori without getting yourself hurt.”

“So, what, you get to do everything and I’m just here as your contingency plan?”

Kakashi rolls his eyes at that.

“Pretty much, so get over it.”

Just then, the blond shinobi starts to talk to his partner. His face changes. He appears paranoid and panicked. Is there any way he could have sensed you and Kakashi? …No, if that were the case, they would’ve moved to attack by now.

Everything seems to be going well enough, and the two men seem distracted. He makes eye contact with you and gives you a nod to let you know that you should ready yourself for combat.

You nod back.

Kakashi channels his chakra to his hand to activate the chidori. With how fast it is, neither enemy should be able to do much of anything in retaliation- at least not in time to cast the pollen jutsu on him, especially with you acting as back up.

Kakashi takes a deep breath and looks over at you. His heart starts to beat harder in his chest. Arousal shoots throughout his body like electricity. For a moment, he assumes it’s because of your presence, but then he catches a scent that’s… Sweet, just like how that pollen has been described to smell.

Kakashi looks at the enemy again. The one sitting with his back to the table seems relaxed, as the one standing upright a few feet in front of him is holding a hand sign; casting a jutsu.

“Shit,” He whispers.

“What is it?”

“Are you stupid? Or can you just not smell anything? We inhaled it, it’s sickeningly sweet,” Kakashi hisses, shaking his head to try to get the smell out of his nostrils. It doesn’t work. Just then, you slap your hands over your nose, seeming to have gotten a whiff of it too. “The enemy must have been using his jutsu as a precaution!”

“What do we do?” You demand, panic lacing your expression.

“Kill them now before they have the chance to take advantage of our weakened state,” Kakashi orders, and knowing the dire situation, you don’t argue with him.

“Yes.”

The two of you continue with the original plan. When Kakashi charges through the window with a ball of lightning attached to his hand, the two men look incredibly shocked to see that he’s even standing, and don’t have the time to counter him. Within a minute, both are dead on the floor of the shack, but the effects of the pollen don’t subside. Kakashi rushes to wash the blood off of his hands in the sink while you sit on the floor with your (s/c) cheeks flushed and pathetic little pants falling from in between your lips.

“This is bad…” Kakashi covers his masked nose with his hand, but it doesn’t help in the slightest.

“What does it matter? They’re both dead now! Shouldn’t it wear off?”

“That doesn’t mean anything- just because they’re dead doesn’t mean that the jutsu doesn’t have any effect. That’s like saying a fire style jutsu won’t burn a forest down after being shot at a tree just because you killed the user afterwards,” Kakashi scoffs, but he’s barely even able to form logical thoughts, let alone get the words out. Any normal civilian would’ve fully succumbed to this pollen by now and either had sex with the closest person or died. “Go look and see if you can find an antidote on him or the other one.”

“Why do I have to do it?” You complain with a pouty lip.

“Just do it! The pollen’s already starting to get to the both of us, and if we don’t figure something out soon, you know what’s going to happen.”

“Shit,” You gasp. You’ve quickly searched both men’s weapon pouches and bags, but based on the defeat in your voice, Kakashi assumes you didn’t find anything. “There’s nothing but kunai and paper bombs!”

“What about in their pockets?”

You quickly search the mens’ pockets.

“Nothing!”

“God dammit,” Kakashi straightens his back, then roughly grabs you by the bicep and drags you up so you’re standing on your feet. “We have to get out of here, now.”

“Shouldn’t we split up?”

“Are you insane? If they have any back up coming and they catch us alone with the state we’re about to be in, we’ll be killed. You know it’s not uncommon for rogue ninja to work together in large bands. This could be a hideout, and if more of them come back and find these ones dead, we’re done for!”

“What, like an enemy catching us fucking nearby instead of alone would be any better for us?” You shoot back. Kakashi can’t help but be angry that, regardless of your previous feelings for him, you’d literally rather split up and risk both of you dying than dare to have sex with him. “At least if we’re alone, we die with some dignity!”

“Why does dignity even matter at this point if we’re like-” Kakashi groans and gestures wildly to himself; his head, which is fuzzy with lust, and his dick, which is hard as a fucking rock- then to you. “Like this? I refuse to compromise our lives to save your pride!”

“So, what?” You yell back, throwing your hands up in frustration. “We have to do it or we die?”

“I can’t reasonably violate your consent, but if it’s what we have to do to stay alive, and you’d let me,” Kakashi breathes out. He’s so ashamed of himself for letting this happen to the two of you that he can’t even meet your eyes. “Yes.”

“Look, Kakashi,” You gather your composure for just long enough to form rational thoughts and tell him- “I know you don’t like me, but we have to figure something out. Let’s get back to camp and resolve it from there.”

At that, Kakashi sighs.

“Who ever said I didn’t like you?”

Unsurprisingly, you don’t respond. Your mind is so clouded that all you can do is focus on getting back to the cabin without tackling Kakashi to the ground and taking him for yourself right then and there.

Worst of all, Kakashi can’t say that he’s doing much better.

When the two of you return to your hideout, you find yourself sitting hunched up in the corner. Meanwhile, Kakashi is restless, suggesting alternative solutions that both of you know won’t work.

“It’s getting worse,” Kakashi murmurs, frazzled and aroused. You’ve never seen him in either state let alone both at the same time. Kakashi is your captain, the rock of your team. As much as you act like you hate him, and as much as you boast about your own power, his consistent strength and talent at getting your team out of bad situations is what keeps you from spiraling in circumstances such as this. Now that he’s spiraling, you’re even more panicked, knowing that there’s no way out of this. “I can barely think.”

“I can see that,” You say the words as condescendingly as you can, but if you’re being honest, the sight of Kakashi’s length straining against his already tight pants is enough to make your situation worse. Even with the thick black cloth of the Anbu uniform, you swear you see all seven- or maybe six?- inches of it twitch. You force yourself to roll your eyes and look away from the man, who frantically paces the room. “If your dick gets any harder, it might burst through your pants. Seriously, looks like you could cut fucking diamonds with that thing.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing much better,” Kakashi snaps back at you.

You offer nothing but a sardonic sort of cackle in return regardless of the fact that his words are true. You were so hot that you stripped yourself of your shoes, socks, pants, and armor as soon as you made it through the door of the cabin- Kakashi’s presence and your dignity be damned. You wore the stupid ‘sexy’ (f/c) bra and panties that you keep in your underwear drawer at home, on the off chance that you’d act on your feelings during this mission and get the chance to have sex with your captain.

You laugh even harder at the thought of that- if only you’d known just yesterday what would happen. Now, the two of you are in this cabin together, hormones going crazy, drenched in sweat, in desperate need of relief, with you in your soaked panties and Kakashi’s clothes soaked in blood.

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed.”

Kakashi sits on the floor in front of you. He’s close- too close. It takes everything in you not to climb on top of him and rock his world.

“Why do you think I don’t like you?”

Of all things… Of all things, in the situation the two of you are in, horny out of your goddamn minds and using what little restraint you have left to keep from jumping each other’s bones without consent, Kakashi is asking about your feelings.

You thought you were easy enough to read.

You thought that, eventually, Kakashi would look at you and figure out that you’d loved him from the start and still do, even after everything the two of you have said and done to each other.

Apparently not.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” You snarl, gritting your teeth and clenching your legs together in hopes that it’ll put an end to the arousal pooling between them. If anything, the friction makes it worse, as even the slightest pressure on your clit has you biting your lip to keep from letting out any noise. “It’s not like you care.”

“Of course I fucking care,” Kakashi yells. You’ve seen him angry, sure, but you’ve never heard him yell. You snap your head around to look at him so quickly that your neck hurts as your (e/c) eyes go wide at his words. “Why do you think I had you come with me on this mission in the first place?”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I love you,” Kakashi suddenly confesses. He holds his head in his hands as he pulls his knees up to his chest. Your ears start to ring so loud that you don’t hear the rest of what he says. “And I thought I could do it by myself, but I knew Itachi and Tenzo were still in the hospital, so I dragged you with me anyways because I was selfish and wanted to spend time with you alone for once- and now we’re like this, and it’s my fault.”

“You shouldn’t love me,” You object, cheeks red and mind racing. You’re not sure if it’s the confession or the pollen that’s causing it, but you find that your heart is beating so hard and fast against your chest that you can’t even swallow because you can feel it in your throat. “That’s not right- it can’t be! Why would you be so cold to me all this time if you loved me?”

“Because I was stupid and didn’t know how to handle my feelings. I was scared of losing you like I’ve lost everyone else I’ve gotten close to, so I pushed you away… But I promise you, (y/n), I love you more than anything.”

“It… It can’t be.”

“It can’t? Then tell me how to stop, (y/n). Tell me how to stop loving you,” Kakashi demands. He pauses, carefully waiting for a response. He pulls his forehead protector off and tosses it across the room. It hits the wall then falls to the floor with a clatter. Briefly you wonder what it would be like for him to use that sort of brute force on you, but you’re distracted by Kakashi’s ungloved hands on the sides of your face and his eyes peering into yours; one a deep charcoal and one a brilliant ruby red that you swear glows against the darkness of the house under the night sky. “No, seriously. Spare me.”

“I thought you hated me,” You whisper, closing your eyes to avoid Kakashi’s.

“I don’t.”

“What, so you brought me back here instead of having us split up so you could fuck me? Because you love me? Is that what you want?”

“You’re kidding me,” Kakashi shakes his head at you and jerks his hands away from your skin like you’re poison. He turns his back to you, groaning. “This is the opposite of what I want. I…”

“You what?”

“I never thought you’d return my feelings again after how I treated you. I still don’t expect you to,” Kakashi sighs. His gaze flickers from the wooden floor to your face. Finally, when his eyes meet yours, you see the genuine emotion in his face- and you’re able to swallow your pride. “But if you did, I wanted our first time together to be…”

“What, romantic? Sweet?”

“Yeah,” Kakashi answers, then scoffs. “This must be hilarious to you.”

At Kakashi’s apparent defeat, you soften. Even after everything that’s happened… You can admit that the two of you have been meaner to each other than what was ever necessary.

“A little bit. I can’t say I didn’t expect it, though. I’ve seen the books you read,” You offer an awkward sort of half smile and scoot forward so you can rest a reassuring hand on Kakashi’s shoulder from behind. Unsurprisingly, he flinches at the touch. Thankfully, though, he doesn’t move away or tell you to stop. “But I’d lie if I said I didn’t want the same thing.”

“You mean you…?” Kakashi trails off and looks back at you from over his shoulder.

“Mhm,” You nod.

Kakashi hurriedly turns around to face you again, putting both of his hands on your shoulders and gripping them tight.

“I don’t want you to have sex with me just because of- of this,” He says, frustration lacing his voice, to which you offer a half-hearted shrug.

“We don’t have much of a choice, unless you want to die here,” You climb into Kakashi’s lap and yank his mask down before he can object. The garment hangs loosely around his neck. You continue as you take in the sight of his face; so beautiful, with scarred porcelain skin, red cheeks, and soft-looking lips. At this point, most shinobi- and every average civilian- would’ve broken and given in to the urges of the sex pollen jutsu by now. You’re also desperate to get some sort of relief- and more so, desperate for Kakashi himself after having waited so long for this. “The quicker we get it over with, the quicker we can go home, and the higher chance we have for survival.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Kakashi grumbles and carries you to the bed, where he sits with his back against the bedframe and your body still in his lap. You flinch when he reaches into his weapons pouch at lightning speed, only to be pleasantly surprised when he flicks a kunai upwards to cut your armor, shirt, and bra into pieces. The garments fall onto the floor and leave you exposed to his lust-glazed eyes. “Let’s get started, then.”

“You owe me a new lingerie set, asshole. You better buy me one when we get back, because that was expensive, and I wore it for you,” You scold at the sight of your bra, undershirt, and armor cut to shreds and being thrown to the floor by one of Kakashi’s large hands. “Armor, too.”

Kakashi doesn’t even dignify your orders with a response- instead choosing to focus on your other comment

“You wore them for me, did you?” He hums You stare in awe at the sight of his exposed face. “That’s… Actually really sweet, (y/n).”

“Don’t be such a sap,” You scold and move so you can take your underwear off and toss them to the floor. “And while we’re at it, it’s unfair that I have all my clothes off while you’re still fully dressed.”

“Then help me get my clothes off before this pollen makes me lose my mind. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

You do as told and help Kakashi strip off his socks, pants, and boxers. Your eyes go slightly wide at the size when his hard dick springs out from underneath his clothing.

You climb back into his lap and pause.

“I never thought I’d see you like this.”

“I never thought I’d get to see you like this either,” Kakashi smiles. You realize that, even after this, you would like to see his smile more. Seeing his face without that stupid mask on it is refreshing after so long of only receiving that cold one-eyed stare of his. “Can I touch you?”

“Sure, just do it slowly to start with.”

“I can do that.”

Slowly, just as he promises, Kakashi touches you. He starts with squeezing your thighs and your ass. When you shudder at the motions, he continues by running his hands up and down the length of your waist, then moving them back up to cup your tits and fondle them tightly. His lips are on you seconds later; on your belly, up to the center of your chest, peppering your (s/c) skin in kisses before one of them is wrapped around your nipple. He sucks the bud to full hardness and pinches the other between two of his fingers, then alternates until both are fully stiff under the cool air.

The effects of the pollen are starting to get to you. You were the one who instructed him to take it slow, but waiting for him to give you the relief you so desperately need is killing you. You can feel the thoughts in your head becoming less coherent.

Kakashi pulls his mouth away from you and reaches between your legs. At first, he simply touches your folds and playfully explores the area as if he’s teasing you. Just as you’re about to scold him for doing so, two fingers are being thrusted in and out of your soaked entrance. You groan and curl forward. You’re so, so relieved that you’re finally being touched, but so frustrated that you still need to cum for the pollen to wear off. Kakashi uses his thumb to toy with your clit and watches his drenched fingers disappear into you with intent.

“A-Ah… Don’t look at me like that,” You pout, glancing at the wall past Kakashi’s shoulders. “You’re making me self-conscious.”

“There’s nothing for you to be self-conscious about, especially compared to me,” Kakashi responds in a low tone. Your eyes snap back to him. What does he mean, compared to him? Regardless of his hand palming you and his deft fingers teasing your clit between your slick folds, you find yourself staring at Kakashi’s body. What could he have to be self-conscious about…? He has a perfectly sculpted body, beautiful porcelain skin, soft silver hair, dainty thin lips, and sharp eyes. The only things you could think of would be the infinite amount of scars he has, but you’ve never thought anything of them. “You’re beautiful, always, but especially like this.”

“You don’t have anything to be self-conscious about either, you idiot.”

Kakashi doesn’t say anything to that, instead looking at where he’s thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt, and then up at your sweat-dampened face.

“You ready?” Kakashi asks, to which you nod your head.

Kakashi gently pulls his fingers from you and lines the head of his cock up with your entrance. It’s large enough that your eyes widen at the sight of your hips being pulled down onto it. You’re so wet that he gets it in without much trouble, but the tightness and the friction of it has both of you letting out a choked sort of noise and melting into each other.

“Kakashi,” You cry out as you struggle to take his length all at once. Even with the slight amount of prep he did mixed with the pre-existing slickness from the pollen, it’s so large and thick that the stretch borders on painful. “Kakashi, I can’t-”

“What, you can’t handle me?”

“I can-” You start, then gasp when Kakashi’s hands on your hips shift your lower body closer to him. Your tits are pressed flush against his upper chest, your belly brushes against his shredded abs, and you’re filled to the brim with his cock. When he bucks his hips up into you to meet the bounces of yours, he slips a hand between your legs and massages your clit. With a sharp inhale, you manage to force out the following words as you dig your nails into his shoulders. “I can handle you.”

“Typical (y/n). You’ve always loved to challenge me,” Kakashi whispers, nipping at the shell of your ear as he does. “Fuck…”

Kakashi pulls back to look you in the eye. In the darkness of the cabin, the two of you are only slightly illuminated by the moonlight that pours in through the window. The one other light source is the ruby red glow of Kakashi’s sharingan. It feels like it’s piercing through you as you watch the tomoe swirl. You realize that he’s recording this moment, this love, for himself.

Maybe he’s loved you for longer than you thought.

That love is evident in the way he stares at you like he’s obsessed, evident in the way he touches your body like it’s a masterpiece, evident in the way he fucks up into your body like he’s been waiting forever for this, evident in the way he whispers sweet nothings to you like you’re something to be cherished instead of just a teammate or even just a friend.

Kakashi wraps his arm around you and holds you close so he can fuck you hard. It’s been a bit since you’ve done anything with anyone- Anbu is a cold, hardening organization and most of the time, at the end of the day, you just want to collapse onto your bed and cry yourself to sleep. On the occasions that you’ve dated or slept around, however, it’s been with civilians. It’s always been that way, just because it’s easier to not see them after everything inevitably falls apart. So, you’re not used to being flush against chiseled muscles covered in scar-mapped skin, nor are you used to being fucked with the strength and energy of a shinobi such as Kakashi.

Most importantly, though, you’re not used to someone who loves you fucking you. Pollen aside, this is more like making love than fucking with how Kakashi rushes to press your lips together and kiss you until you feel like you’re drowning on it. He pulls back, just briefly, to nip at your neck with his fangs and suck hickeys into the skin along your shoulder and the side of your neck, before pushing his lips back against yours. It’s so messy and desperate that a dribble of spit drips down the side of both of your mouths, but neither of you care enough to pull back and wipe it away.

Kakashi shudders and sighs into you when the walls of your hot, wet cunt tighten around his cock. He takes that as encouragement to help you along and keeps pistoning up into you in rhythm with his thumb circling your clit until your ears are ringing and stars light up behind your eyes. Pleasure tears through you.

“I love you,” You moan against his lips as you finish, too relieved by the electric feeling of release that courses through your veins to be embarrassed.

Meanwhile, Kakashi seems to revel in it; your vulnerability, your presence, your body, your overstimulation.

“Sorry, what was that?” Kakashi teases. “I couldn’t quite hear you over all the noise you’re making.”

“I said I love you,” You murmur and rest your forehead against Kakashi’s while holding his face in your hands. “I really do mean that.”

You slump into Kakashi, weakly continuing to grind down onto him so he can finish, too. He moves his hand away from your clit to let you recover to some extent, but keeps thrusting up into you. You reach up to wipe the drool on the corners of your lip that comes from how Kakashi is making your mouth water. You’re overstimulated and you’re not sure if Kakashi’s hardness lingering inside of you is painful or pleasant or both.

“I love you, too,” Kakashi breathes out. “You look like you’re doing better, but I’m not quite done yet. Do you need me to move us?”

“Y-Yeah, I think so,” You nod. Your orgasm knocked the wind out of you and your legs and arms are shaking like crazy with the strain of riding Kakashi’s large cock while strung out on this pollen. You slow to a stop with Kakashi still throbbing inside of you, in need of release. You don’t know if it’s been five minutes or five hours. “Please, take over.”

“On your knees,”Kakashi slides out of you with a slick noise and grabs you by the hips to flip you around. He bends you over and pushes you onto your arms and knees before pushing his length back into you. You cry out at the sudden intrusion and blush at the slow trickle of your wet arousal dripping down your inner thighs. “There you go, you’re taking it so good… Fuck, I’m close…!”

“Then cum so we can leave already,” You grunt. Your head is spinning so fast that you’re barely able to get the words out. At first, you were at least able to muster the strength to stay on your hands and knees. Now, with Kakashi’s hips slamming against your ass at an increasing pace, you can’t keep it up. You drop to your forearms. The pleasure and pain is all so overwhelming with the pollen coursing through your body that your arms give out and have you stuck with your face buried in the bedsheets and your ass held up in the air by Kakashi’s rough grip on your waist. “Seriously, I’m about to cum again, so hurry up and finish before I pass out or something…!”

“Don’t act like you don’t want it, (y/n),” Kakashi growls and reaches up with one hand to thread grab you by the hair and twist your head just enough to make you look back at him. “If I weren’t so desperate for you, I’d make you beg for it.”

You let out a loud, breathy whine, but you don’t dare to argue with him- lest he actually make you beg. That’ll have to wait for next time.

Hopefully, there is a next time.

Kakashi’s thrusts finally start to become more rough and haphazard, signaling to you that he’s getting close. You muster your last bit of energy to throw your hips back against his. Pathetic little cries leave your throat and echo through the night air of the dark, lonely cabin as Kakashi’s fingers and thumb dig into your hips so hard that you’re sure you’re going to have a hand-shaped bruise come morning.

Kakashi suddenly lets out a loud groan and stills with his cock buried in you as deep as possible. That last thrust mixed with him coating the walls of your cunt with his cum drags you over the edge once more. He pulls his hand from your hair and lets go of your hip so he can put his hands on the bed on either side of you and bend forward to rest his cheek against the middle of your back.

“Kakashi…” You start, but you’re unsure of what you want to say.

After that- after everything- what could you say?

“(y/n)...” Kakashi whispers and presses a kiss into the skin of your back before pulling out and laying down on the bed.

You flip over as well, lying on your back, just as Kakashi does. The two of you catch your breaths while staring at the ceiling. You turn to your side to face your lover (?), who you rush to touch once more.

“Do you feel any better?” You ask while tracing a finger up and down Kakashi’s bare, sweaty chest.

“Yeah, I think the effects are wearing off. Sorry if I was a little rough with you, I was just… Under the influence of the pollen. Not that it’s any excuse. I’m a little embarrassed now, thinking about the things I said,” Kakashi takes a deep breath, exhales, and turns to check on you. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. We should be good now, I think.”

Weirdly enough, you can’t bring yourself to snap at him like you would’ve just hours ago. You try to stand from the bed so you can get dressed, only to stumble from the strain that was put on your body. Kakashi rushes to catch you by the arm and pull you back down to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Want some help?” He offers, moving to sit next to you on the bed and putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Um, sure…”

Slowly, Kakashi cleans the two of you up, helps dress you in clean and comfortable clothes from your bag, fixes your hair, puts your forehead protector on over your head, and gets himself dressed and ready to go. He stands and puts both of your bags over one shoulder to carry them. You remain sitting on the bed, simply watching his every move.

“You’re quiet,” Kakashi points out.

“Not much to say after all that,” You mutter. “Except… I do love you back, if you really meant what you said. If it was just the pollen talking, then you can pretend I’m joking and we can go back to hating each other, and-”

“I meant it. I really do love you,” Kakashi interjects. Then, he steps forward and tenderly pushes a stray lock of hair away from your eyes. “I wanted to talk about this more, but we should go dispose of those bodies back at enemy grounds and make sure that there’s not any more of them. The pollen that was released back there should’ve worn off by now.”

“Fuck, I forgot about that entirely…” You sigh and scratch the back of your neck. “Do we have to include what just happened to us on the mission report?”

“I think I’d literally rather die than tell anyone back in Konoha that we fucked because of sex pollen,” Kakashi laughs, shaking his head. “Now, let’s get going before the Hokage starts getting suspicious about why it’s taken us so long…”

With that, the two of you leave the cabin, your head on Kakashi’s shoulder and your hand in Kakashi’s hand.

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