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detectivestucks · 20 days

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A Jealous Hokage XIV

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader x Obito

Summery: The confrontation between you, Kakashi, and Obito does not go well resulting in Obito visiting you at your new job to apologize. Lady Tsunade gets involved.

Warnings: NSFW, dom kink, knee riding, squirting, slight choking, nipple play, anal play, unprotected penetration

Word Count: 7.7k

Art Credit: @akirasukuna

Part 13 New Here? Check out Part 1

A/N: Okay, so not as long but still long...but we're so close to the end!

Kakashi was starting to zone out at his desk when suddenly Obito comes bursting into his office.

“KAKASHI WE NEED TO TALK!”

Kakashi’s heart drops to his feet when he sees you suddenly in his presence caked in blood.

“Y/N, what happened?!”

You look up at Kakashi feeling flustered and embarrassed. Your brain was still reeling from the scene you left no more than three minutes prior. You begin to open your mouth to speak when Kakashi cuts you off.

“Wait, Obito, why are you-? How are either of you-”

There is no need for him to finish his question. Obito was following you just as Kakashi told him not to do and he teleported you here after you got yourself into trouble.

“Nevermind.” he says trying to collect his composure but still passing Obito a glare as to say he would deal with his insubordination later.

“She was attacked by the Stone!”

“Why would our allies attack her?! I just got a raven from the Tsuchikage-”

“One of their Black Ops didn’t trust her and he corralled three others to attack!”

“Eight others” you interject. “I’ll have you know I fought off five of them by myself. Stop treating me like I’m weak Obi!”

Yes, you were grateful to Obito for saving you but you knew exactly what he was trying to do by running to Kakashi like this.

“If you’re so strong why did I have to come and save you?!”

“Are we really going to ignore the fact that I was up against nine shinobi, one of whom was Anbu, and I held my own until help arrived?!”

“Yes! Cause help had to arrive!” Obito shouts.

“Wait, why did you have to wait for help to arrive, where is Naruto?” Kakashi suddenly chimes in.

“Exactly” Obito states, rounding on Kakashi “Where was your golden boy, Kakashi? He was nowhere to be seen while she was pinned to a tree!”

Kakashi’s face flashed a look of heartbreak. He scanned over your blood stained skin and uniform. He could only imagine how you felt pinned to that tree. Nine men had ambushed you. He never thought there would be so many people hunting you at once, nor did he think it would happen so soon. This was a mistake.

You saw the look on Kakashi’s face for what it was, your days outside the village walls were over.

“I believe Naruto was poisoned by the food they gave us.” you finally say, hoping it might help the situation. But Obito’s fury immediately undoes your efforts.

“How does he get himself fuckin poisoned, Y/N?! He’s one of the strongest shinobi in the world but he can’t tell his food’s been poisoned?!” Obito is livid and he turns towards Kakashi. “If you had just listened to me this would’ve never happened! She’s lucky I showed up when I did!”

“You need to calm down Obito!” you shout.

He’s only making the situation worse as you watch the wheels turn in Kakashi’s head. “You didn’t need to go into a full susanoo to cut down four men. Clearly you’re letting your emotions get the better of you!”

“And you need to stop being so calm about this, Princess! I told you that you were going to get yourself killed!”

“Well if that’s how you feel, then I guess you didn’t do a good enough job training me!”

“ENOUGH!” Kakashi was through listening to you bicker. “Obito, where is Naruto?”

“Probably back by the Stone.”

“When we’re done, go get him. He probably needs medical care.”

“Fine.”

“Y/N” You gulp. Your nerves are on edge. You still had so much adrenaline coursing through your body from the fight in the woods, not to mention your current confrontation.

“You’re done going on missions.”

“Kakashi no!”

“It’s too dangerous. You’ve only done three visits and look what’s happened.”

“I’m not going back to my desk!”

“You are and you will! Look at yourself! Do you really think you can walk into my office covered in blood and expect me to keep sending you out of the village?!”

“That’s not fair! Obito’s the reason I was doused in blood! It wasn’t nearly as bad as it looks!”

“NINE ninja, Y/N! Nine!”

“Kashi-”

“Lord Sixth!”’ he corrects.

You fall silent. Was he seriously asking you to call him by his title right now?! A title to which he hates being called? Hell no. You chew on the inside of your cheek, brows furrowed as you pull your courage together.

“You know what ‘Lord Sixth’? I’m done.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kakashi lets out an exasperated sigh, “Y/N-”

“No my Lord, I’m done. Accept my resignation and don’t bother chasing after me. We're through.”

Kakashi lifts his head as he is stunned into silence. He’s not sure if his heart is even beating as his brain contemplates your words.

You begin to cry as you talk, “After all the shit you put me through, I’m finally happy and you think you can just take it away after two missions?!”

“Y/N you almost died” Obito tries to help

“Stay out of this Obito! You’ve done enough!”

Obito quickly shrinks away, his eyes darting over to Kakashi, still frozen like a statue. His only movements come from the tears leaking out of the corners of his glazed eyes.

“This relationship is over.” A salty stream is freely pouring down your cheeks. “I can’t live like this anymore Kashi! I’m done.”

You run from his office towards your own. Rushing to go gather your things. You slam your office door open startling Shiho who was working late.

She shouts your name in surprise as she clutches her chest. The sight of your crimson body, blood dried everywhere except for a trail of clean skin carved down your cheeks by the hot tears falling from your eyes, was frightening.

“I’ve resigned, Shiho. I’m sorry.”

“Y/N are you alright?”

You ignore her question and just gather your many textbooks in your arms. They were heavy but thanks to the adrenaline that had yet to expire, you’re able to carry them just fine.

You storm out of headquarters and speed walk to your apartment, scaring several people in the streets as you go. With each step towards home you start to feel the tiredness creep in. Adrenaline finally slipping away.

For the first time in your life, you were without a job, a plan, or a goal. All you knew, as you sniffle back your emotions, is that this chapter with Kakashi is closed.

********************************************

“Hi Ms. Sarutobi! You getting flowers for your mom again?”

You smile at little Mirai. She came into the Yamanaka flower shop at least twice a week to buy flowers for Kurenai. Her messy dark locks and chubby little cheeks were just the sweetest. She stopped by on her way home from preschool whenever she was thinking about her mom. Every time you look into her red eyes, you find yourself hoping that one day you have a kid as thoughtful as her.

“Yes Miss Yamanaka! Can I have camellias for my mommy and lilies for my daddy?”

“You going to visit daddy today too?”

“Yes miss!”

“Well tell him I say hi!” you chipper as you wrap both of the bouquets separately

“Okay Miss Yamanaka!”

“Have a good day!!” you wave as Mirai’s little body leaves your aunt’s flower shop. The bouquets standing nearly as tall as her.

You have been working at the Yamanaka flower shop for the past few weeks. Taking on temporary pay while you figure out what you’re going to do long term. How drastically different your life is today than it was a year ago. What were you thinking trying to date someone like Kakashi? For someone so smart, how could you act like such an idiot? It was hard not to fall for the stupid silver-haired genius. He was everything you could’ve ever wanted... but at what cost?

The good news is that Kakashi had respected your request to not have him chase after you. He hadn’t tried to come talk to you or see you since the night of your resignation, which you appreciated. Despite initiating the break up, you were still utterly shattered over the entire ordeal. You didn’t think you had it in you to see how poorly Kakashi was probably doing right now. You know you hurt him. He had envisioned marrying you and honestly, you thought you would. The two of you had been together for over a year.

All this craziness started a year ago.

It’s a wild thought to have. If you had just kept your hands to yourself…you’d probably have been a well respected department head instead of working at a flower shop. Or maybe if you had just chosen Obito when he first asked you on a date. How different would your life be?

You wipe off your hands and walk to the back of the flower shop to take a break.

Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen Obito since the night of your resignation either. You would’ve thought he’d be the first one to knock on your door the second you and Kakashi called it quits. Perhaps his feelings for you were just born out of competition with Kakashi. That thought adds to the crushing weight over your heart.

Was none of it real?

You’re lost in your thoughts for hours as you take care of the customers entering the shop. You paint a smile on your face while your melancholy brain churns in the background.

Eventually you walk up to the door and flip the 'open' sign to 'close.' Wiping the sweat off your brow, you take off your apron, laying it on the counter and head to the back. As you disappear, you hear the bell ring behind you.

“Shop’s closed!” you sing to the stranger

“Come on, have a heart” you hear a familiar voice rasp. “I was looking for some flowers to apologize to a beautiful woman.”

“Obito?”

Your head perks up and you rush out onto the shop floor. He stands there as handsome as ever, scarred face looking a mix of cocky and sheepish.

“Princess”

“Obito” your heart floods with warmth but then you remember what he said “So you-you’re getting flowers for your girlfriend?”

“Well she’s not my girlfriend, but someone I care about very much.”

“I see.” you say, slightly chewing on your lip as you look around at flowers you think would be appreciated by any woman waiting for an apology.

“So what’d you do that you need to apologize for?”

“I’m the reason she quit her job and broke up with her boyfriend.”

You stand up straight, your eyes flashing over to him. Obito strides up to you, standing dangerously close.

“Princess” he grabs your hand, holding it gingerly in his “I’m sorry. I freaked out when I saw you pinned against that tree and I-” he closes his eyes trying to force out the words, “I acted on emotion instead of what was best for you.”

Tears well up on your lash line before spilling out onto your cheeks. You had no idea how bad you needed to hear those words.

“Obito…thank you.”

“I should’ve come sooner but I didn’t want to come when the break up was fresh. I-I wanted to give you time to heal. I’m so sorry that I contributed to your pain.”

You lunge forward, wrapping your arms around Obito’s neck, burying your face under his jaw. He wraps his arms around your waist holding you close.

“Thank you Obito, I really needed to hear that.”

“I’m so sorry Princess. I would do anything to make you happy.”

“You’d do anything?”

“Anything” he breathes into your neck.

You lift your face so that your glassy eyes could stare into his chestnut ones. You stand there in silence, lost in each other's gaze when you see Obito’s eyes fall to your lips. Your mouth parts as you're about to speak when Obito closes his eyes and leans in for a kiss.

Your eyes flutter closed as his lips crash into your’s. They’re soft but firm, working perfectly against your own. You can sense the faint smell of a campfire mixing with his musk. The trademark of an Uchiha’s fire nature. His lips move slowly, savoring your taste, not wanting to rush anything about this moment. He inhales deeply, and in doing so, not only allows your pheromones to consume him but take control.

He starts to suck on your bottom lip, pulling a small moan from you as you open your mouth, allowing the kiss to deepen, pushing your tongue into his cavern. He grants you access with a quiet moan of his own. The sound leaving you dizzy. Your tongues dance together as sparks fly between you. It feels like time is slowing down but your pulse still quickens. One hand travels up to his unkempt mane while the other digs into the muscles of his back. He grunts and steers you into the nearby wall, slamming you up against it as he continues to explore the inside of your mouth with his pink muscle.

One of his hands travels down to your hip and rubs light circle over it, occasionally allowing his fingers to sink into the flesh of your behind as he presses his pelvis into yours. The sounds of his satisfied humming ring loudly in your ears. The noises and feelings of being desired so primally fill you with lust. He had wanted this for so many months and now you were finally giving it to him. Allowing him to taste the fruit that had been forbidden for so long. The way his body responded to yours fueled your veins with fervor.

Obito pulls your leg up to wrap around his waist as he continues to grind into you. Lips never breaking from the heated kiss you share. You can feel the bulge in his pants begin to grow. It presses harder and harder against your center and you begin to drool thinking about how it would feel between your legs. Your soft moans grow needier and Obito can’t help himself. He grabs both of your hands, stealing them from off his body and lacing his fingers with yours. He slams the back of your hands up against the wall behind you.

Your leg falls from his waist and lands outside his leg. Desperate for friction you begin to rub against his thigh. His kiss has you worked up and you feel the arousal form from the coiling in your core.

Obito smiles into the kiss.

“Geez Princess. You feelin that desperate that you're trying to get off on my knee?”

“Yes” you pant, “need…more”

Obito begins to rock his leg up and down, rutting it up between your legs as you grind your folds against him. Slick is seeping out into your underwear as you let the fabric covering your sex tug at your clit. Losing all sense of shame, you moan loudly into his mouth, grinding harshly against him.

Obito feels as if he’s died and gone to heaven. You on the other hand hadn’t been touched since before your last mission. It had been nearly two months without so much as self gratification and now that someone was paying attention to you, you were greedily chasing your high. But this wasn’t just someone; this was Obito. A man who loves you, who’s saved you, who takes care of you when you need him. You begin to fiend for him. Your arms struggle against the wall wanting to grab him, scratch and claw at his back, pull his hair, but Obito’s grip only tightens as a smug chuckle leaves his lips.

“Never thought I’d see the day where you want me more than I want you... I’m going to enjoy this.”

Your breathing labors, you’re kissing him harder, pushing your chest into him. You were straining to soak up as much of him as possible, needing to fuse his body with yours. Your mind was swimming with lust as you felt the familiar build in your center. The spring coiled tighter and the intensity of your motions grew until the coil finally snapped.

Your breathing hitched as your walls clenched around nothing. Your heart racing fast in your chest as you fall limp against his muscular body.

Obito brings your arms back to his neck as his finger moves under your jaw, lifting your chin so that you are looking up at him again.

“I hope you weren’t going to get yourself off and just leave me like this.” He says as he seductively pushes his erection into you. An involuntary moan passes your lips and your eyes slightly cross at the thought of him inside of you.

“I’ll take that as a no.” he chuckles, “You weren’t going to forget about me.”

You feel your very mushy mind further dissolve into soup as his raspy tone resonates in your ear. Fuck, he’s so hot. How did you resist him all this time? How much loyalty must you have had for Kakashi to not allow yourself to fall helplessly into Obito’s web? It didn’t matter anymore, you were free to get caught in his snare and be devoured by him.

You close your eyes and lean into his mouth, taking custody of his bottom lip between your teeth and pulled back. As it slips from your grasp you open your eyes and with a serious glare you whisper two words Obito’s only heard in his dreams, “Take me.”

Obito’s eyes flash from brown to red as his sharingan takes over and his breathing becomes heavy. He lifts you, wrapping your legs around his waist and carries you over to the flower shop counter, setting you down and tearing off your clothes.

His mouth is all over yours in a much sloppier kiss as he rids your delicate frame of the concealing fabric. You claw off his shirt, anxious to lick and nip as the muscle underneath. The more skin that’s exposed, the more your lips stray from his mouth, tracing along his jaw, his scars and the column of his neck. You were sucking and biting and marking him without shame or care of who might see his bruises. The sexiest moans come from him each time you release your mouth after leaving a new mark. The slick already dripping out of your bare cunt puddles on the countertop with each sound from his lips.

Your hands make quick work of the front of his pants, pulling them down so that his hardened member springs out, slapping him in his abdomen. You bite your lip as your eyes widen in hunger, looking down on his manhood.

White precum oozes at the tip, leaking out a physical sign of his immense desire. You smear it with your thumb before bringing it to your mouth. Looking Obito dead in the eyes as you suck it off your thumb. He swears his heart stops as he watches your lips wrap around the digit and sees your cheeks hollow.

His jaw drops and his breathing becomes ragged. Your hands return to his erection, holding him at the base as you drop a glob of spit on his tip, letting it drip down before stroking him. Your spit acts to lubricate your hand as you tug along his shaft. Obito pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, dying to close his eyes from the blissful pleasure of your small hands wrapped around his length but he can’t bring himself to look away.

As your hands graze up and down you admire the curve of his member and the large veins running its course. You imagine how his shape will feel buried inside of you. How it will brush against all those spots that bring tears to your eyes. Before you realize it, a drop of drool falls from your lips and you quickly look up to see if Obito noticed. Your eyes are met with his and the cockiest smirk stretches his lips.

“You droolin over my cock, Princess?”

A flush covers your cheeks and you mumble, “Maybe a little.”

You cast your eyes down in embarrassment when Obito’s hand fists your hair and pulls back till your gaze meets his intense carmine stare.

“What was that?” he rasps

You swallow as you stare down your nose into his hungry glare

“Yes sir. I was drooling over your cock.”

Obito licks his teeth before his seductive smile splits his face. Keeping his tight grip on your hair, he leans into your ear and hums. “Don’t worry baby, you can have this cock all to yourself.”

“Thank you sir”

Obito’s eyes close as he groans at your words. He kicks his pants off the rest of the way and slots his manhood between your lower lips, sliding in its entirety with no preparation needed. You were sopping wet, anxious to have him inside of you and it was everything he made it seem in his genjutsu.

Just the insertion alone stole your breath and formed a creamy ring around his base.

“Gods damn, Princess. So fuckin tight”

Obito’s breathing was labored by the feeling of finally, finally having your walls restrict around him. It was better than any dream he had or any genjutsu he conjured. This was the most surreal moment of his existence. He pulls your forehead up to his and rests them together.

“I love you y/n, I fuckin love you with every fiber of my being.” There it is. The words he’s been dying to tell you. The ones dancing on the tip of his tongue for months. He finally said them out loud.

“Obito I-”

But you don’t have a chance to finish because he pulls you into another heated kiss. One hand tangled in your hair, the other wrapped around your upper body, pulling you into him as he begins to stroke in and out of you. You start to moan into his mouth from the strokes. It felt so sinfully good. His tip brushes all the right places and his girth stretches you wide. You feel stuffed full and you can’t get enough of him.

“M’gonna take care of this cute pussy and give her all the attention she deserves.”

“Yes sir, thank you”

“Keep callin me sir and I won’t be able to control myself, Princess.”

Obito’s strokes become harsher causing you to flail your head back in bliss, loud moans spilling from your open mouth.

His harsh snaps increase in speed and your brows pinch together in agonizing pleasure. “I’m sorry sir!” you cry as you lose all dignity. “I just want you to keep stuffing me with your cock.��

Animalistic grunts rumble from Obito’s chest, his pace quickening. The slapping sounds of his balls beating against your wet cheeks fill the room. Your creamy arousal seeping out and coating everything between your thighs, his entire pelvis, the entirety of your rear, and a good portion of the counter. You’re consumed by desire and can’t help the deadly grip it has over your body.

Obito’s speed picks up another notch and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your body falls limp on the counter as you’re fucked stupid on his length. Each of Obito’s hands grab both of your breasts as he uses them as leverage for his thrusts. Your body bounces off of Obito’s hips with each collision but he holds you at the counter’s edge by the grip on your tits.

His face dives into your chest, licking and sucking on each nipple as if it were his to own. He’d teeth on one while his fingers rolled the other causing you to choke on your own groans. It was filthy the way you consumed each other. The long build up of sexual tension all spilling out here on the flower shop counter.

While still sucking on your nipple, he shifted one of your legs over his shoulder to deepen the angle. You gasped at how far he reached, his tip brushing all the right spots. You fear your eyes might permanently cross from the pleasure. Rhythmic moans are pushed out of you to the beat of Obito’s hips. Your hands clutching onto his midnight strands, nails digging into his scalp as his tongue unrelentingly laps at your buds.

“Obito I-I’m gonna-m’gonna…”

“Say it pretty girl. Use your words.”

“M’gonna cum!”

Almost as if granting you permission, Obito pistons into you at rapid fire not just pushing you over the edge but launching you there. He wraps one arm around the back of your neck and the other pinches one of your nipples, tugging it harshly. When you cum it sprays out like a geyser, soaking his chest and dripping down his legs. You had made a huge mess and it thrilled him.

He pulls out of you to lap at your sex. His tongue poking in and scooping out the mix of cum and spray, feasting on your labia like a man starved. It was overstimulating and you were flinching and spasming with each minute movement.

“Obiiiiiii” you scream

Your entire core tenses up, you abdominals become sore from how tight you're squeezing.

“Please!”

You’re thrashing from sensitivity but his grip around your legs only increases. He restrains you with all his strength, too lost in his own ambitions to let you slip away. He’s gone deaf to your cries. All his senses honed in on your taste. How soft your skin is against his tongue, how sweet your creamy cum is. He licks in and around your entire sex, consuming as much of your essence as he can.

When he’s finally full he flips you over like a doll and sinks in from behind. Your eyes once again crossing from how his curve hits your squishy spots. Your panting and out of breath. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take but he’s not gonna stop till he gets his fill. He’s been waiting months for this moment. His unrequited love finally reciprocated.

He starts out slow, rolling his hips gently into yours. His still soaked front soiling your backside with each kiss of his pelvis. Every time he buried himself up to the hilt a guttural groan is pressed out of your diaphragm playing like music against his ear drum.

“Obi…thank…you.”

You say it in a soft tired whisper and a switch inside him flips.

His hands perched on your hips, grip you tightly as he begins to slam into you. Each collision sending a ripple of shockwaves through the flesh of your behind.

“Spread your cheeks.”

“Yes sir.”

Obito once more groans at the moniker. He shifts his hands up to your shoulders, giving him better leverage as you bounce off his thighs. He looks down watching how he disappears inside of you and it is a vision he will ingrain into his memory forever. He feels how his core tightens as he watches the wet slick coating his member grow more and more glossy.

Your cheek laying against the cool countertop is pried away by Obito’s hand slipping around your neck. His grip tightens and you gasp at the restriction, your fingers sinking deeper into your own spread cheeks.

Obito looks down noticing your neglected back door and spits on the puckered hole. He removes his other hand from your shoulder, trailing a finger down your spine all the way to where the spit pools at your sphincter. Chills populate down your spinal column as an involuntary whine slips past your throat. His constant pounding keeping your abdomen wound tight.

He pushes his finger in as you hiss, clenching around him in response. An amused hum flushes out of him as he begins to rim you. You cry his name between gasps of pleasure and he sinks his finger in deeper. He strokes it in and out of you till he finds where your walls clamp down on him and he begins to focus on that spot.

Stroking slightly with his finger and timing it with the thrusts of his pelvis. You dissolve into a babbling mess, nothing but a heap of flesh existing in this moment for Obito to use as he pleases. He tightens his grip on your neck, cutting off your nonsensical noises as he snaps into you impossibly fast. Your nails dig into your own skin leaving behind scratch marks on your backside as you cream around him, toppling over into another orgasm.

Watching the accumulation of your cum at his base spurs Obito on and he loses all control. He pulls his finger out of your rear and sinks his clutches back in your hair. He yanks on it, lifting your chest and arching your back like his personal whore. You lose grip of your cheeks and slam your palms against the countertop, supporting your weight as Obito pounds into you with his entire being, completely lost inside your velvet walls.

You scream as another intense orgasm wreaks havoc over your body and you spray everywhere. Obito looks down at the puddle you’ve created and shouts, “Fuck!”

He closes his eyes and grunts. His thighs clench as the tightness in his core breaks. His moans are deafening as he empties himself inside of you. Erratic strokes milking himself within your spasming walls.

“Shit. Fuck. Shit. I’m so sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to bust in you like that.”

He pulls himself out quickly, shuttering at how his fast retreat brushed his sensitive tip, continuing to stroke himself so the rest of his cum empties on your backside.

“No.” you tiredly pant. “It’s okay. I’m on birth control.”

“Thank gods. I’m sorry, I got carried away.”

You stand on shaking legs to turn to him, grabbing his shoulders for stability. You breathily smile, tired eyes beaming at him. “It’s okay, really. I got carried away too.”

Just as you finish your sentence your legs give out and Obito catches you.

“Is there a bathroom or something we can clean ourselves off in?”

“Yeah, there’s one in the back.”

Obito scoops you up bridal style and carries you through your aunt’s shop to the bathroom, setting you down to help clean your sex and legs. Obito wipes off his chest, pelvis and thighs before picking you up again and carrying you to your clothes. He sits you down in a nearby chair, dressing you like a helpless fragile being. Kissing each part of your body before covering it with cloth.

Once you are decent, he goes and dresses himself, then heads back to the bathroom to get towels to clean up the mess on the shop’s counter and floor. You blush deeply as Obito remarks how much you squirted, forcing him to go retrieve additional towels.

You begin to swing your legs in the chair as you watch him. Eyes soaking up his muscular frame as he attentively mops up your mess.

When he is done, he turns to you. You notice how his eyes have turned back to their soft brown color. The intensity is gone and his loving nature returns, gushing from his very pores. He leans down and pecks your cheek.

“So where do we go from here?”

“I think for now, we go home.”

“Who’s home?”

“Mine of course.” you say with an innocent smile

Obito kisses your forehead. “Do you have any belongings you need to bring with you?”

“My pack is over there.”

He reaches over and grabs your bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he picks you up once more and uses Kamui to bring you home. He lowers you down onto your bed and plants a tender kiss on your lips before letting you go.

“I’m kinda hungry. You mind if we eat?”

“Sure Princess, what do you want?”

“We don’t have to go anywhere. I have leftovers in the fridge. Is that alright?”

“Of course.”

“You like dumplings?”

“They’re my favorite.”

You blush. “I guess that’s what they call serendipity.”

“I guess it is.”

You guide Obito over to your kitchen, holding his hand as you take out the dumplings and heat them up. Obito stands behind you the entire time, hugging you, unable to let you go. He was incredibly clingy but after these lonely weeks you welcomed it.

Once done eating you lay on the couch together, resting in Obito’s arms without the guilt of your feelings for Kakashi laying over your heart. Yes you still loved him but you weren’t built to date a celebrity. A normal relationship is what you need and Obito can give that to you. You nestle deeper into him, enjoying the bliss of something new.

Eventually you drag yourselves off the couch and get ready for bed. You phish out a new toothbrush for him to borrow and he strips down to his briefs, using them as his pajamas. You can’t help but ogle at how the gray spandex stretches over his bulge. He was definitely a shower, not a grower, and it was an arousing detail to note.

The two of you crawl into your bed, him spooning you from behind. As Obito wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, he thinks about how this was the happiest day of his existence. He knows he’ll never allow himself to forget it. Obito nudges your neck with his nose as he settles against you, the smell of your shampoo filling his nostrils and lulling him off to sleep. A deep satisfying and peaceful sleep that both of you found yourselves desperately needed.

**********************************************

The morning sun filters through your curtains, splashing its rays over your faces. You squint as you look over your shoulder at Obito resting so peacefully behind you. You softly roll over in his arms, trying to get a better look at him.

Your fingerpads trailed along the scarlines of his face that tore deep into his skin yet added so much character to his square jawline. Your eyes flitted over his shaggy tuft of raven hair that never seemed to be combed down. But if you’re being honest with yourself, you preferred it that way. Your eyes then follow your hand as it grazes over his bicep. You notice the blend of white skin with his nude tone and marvel at the power of Hashiraman cells. Your fingertips begin to trace the veins that span the course of his arms, feeding oxygen to the bulky muscle built upon every bone in his body. The man was more in shape than Kakashi, which was saying something.

You folded your arms in between your chests and continued to gaze up at him. How could a man be so intimidating to everyone he meets yet to you he is nothing but warmth? You bury your face into his chest, not ready to wake up yet. You want to lay just a little longer in his arms before you begin your shift at the shop.

As you rest your head against his chest you hear him softly moan and tighten his embrace. It makes you smile knowing how happy Obito is to be sharing this moment with you. The love of an Uchiha is a powerful force. It’s hard to push away feelings so strong. To finally accept his affection felt easy and right. You just wish you could stop thinking about Kakashi. It hurt so much to even think his name. Yet everytime you open your eyes to look up at Obito, you see a reflection of Kakashi in his features.

“Mmmm…” you hear the grumbling of his groggy voice as he squeezes you during his morning stretch.

“Obi!” you squeal.

“Sorry Princess. Don’t wanna let go.” he sleepily says as he rubs his cheek against your hair.

“I don’t wanna get up either but I have to go to work in a few hours.”

“Perfect. We can cuddle for a few hours.”

You giggle at his neediness. “No, I have chores to do, Obi. I can’t lay in bed!”

“Lies. There’s no chores.”

“Obi…” you try to tickle him but he only squeezes you tighter. “Obi” you kiss his jaw. “I’d love” another kiss to his neck “to say and cuddle but” you kiss him one final time, “I have things to get done.”

“Do we have to get up?”

“Yes Obi” you giggle again.

Why is he so cute?

You squirm out of his arms and start getting dressed for the day. He lays in your bed and watches you. It’s not till you say that you need to shower that he fully gets out of bed, insisting that he needs to join you to ‘conserve water.’ After a little bit of fooling around, you finally get clean and dry off, ready to get started on your to-do list after a spot of breakfast. While finishing your food Obito suddenly changes the course of the conversation.

“Princess, when are you going to get a real job?”

You give Obito a bit of a glare for his phrasing of the question.

“Well, I haven’t quite decided what I’m doing yet. However, I’m very tempted by Lord Garra’s offer. I even visited the Sand last week to look at potential housing.”

Obito felt his heart drop to his stomach.

“You’re moving to the Sand?!”

“Well, it’s that or learn a whole new trade.”

“But you don’t need to go to the Sand to do translations! You can do that here at the Leaf!”

“I can’t Obi. You know that.”

“You can’t run away to the Sand just to avoid your ex boyfriend, Princess! Stop acting like a child!”

“I’m not acting like a child! I’m accepting a higher position with better pay! It’s a promotion and if you love me as much as I think you do, you’d be proud!”

“But…” He doesn’t want to say it but he can’t handle the idea of you running away just when he finally got you.

“You can visit me. You can teleport into the village whenever you want.”

“I’m not supposed to do that though. It could cause an international incident.”

“It hasn’t stopped you before.”

“That was different.”

“Was it?”

“Yes Princess! It was!”

“Obito, what’s the big deal?!”

“The big deal is your leaving! And over what?! Some drama with Kakashi!”

“It wasn’t just some drama Obito! You know that better than anyone else!”

Obito goes quiet before he speaks again

“Am I ever going to be enough?”

“What?” You felt disarmed by his question

“Enough for you to be happy? Enough for you to stay?”

His eyes look up at you, their full intensity boring into your stare. You don’t know what to say. Work is important to you. You don’t want to sacrifice it again. Especially not over a guy, not a second time.

“Obito…It’s not about if you’re enough. It’s about not repeating the same mistakes.”

“I…I um,” Obito is trying to hide his hurt but he feels the sudden need to be alone. “I’ll see you later, okay Princess?”

“Obito, I’m sorry!”

“We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Obito, please don’t leave.”

“Have a good day, Princess.”

He kisses the top of your head as he hugs you goodbye, ignoring your pleas to stay.

“Obito, wait!”

He closes the door and disappears, making a quick exit to avoid further hurt. You sit at your table a mess of emotions.

This morning had been so good. Why did he have to ask that stupid question?

You grab the plates off the table and go to deposit them in the sink before heading out to run your errands feeling your chest tighten as you think about Obito.

************************************************

Kakashi is back at headquarters holding an intelligence briefing with the elders, Sasuke, and your replacement. Lady Tsunade joins them after finally making it back to the village after an extended trip around the great nations, enjoying her retirement. Having nearly a year’s worth of events to catch up on, she was naturally invited.

“We believe these markings on the wall of the temple speak of a second divine tree that will be planted after a century.” The new intelligence officer states, “Based on the age, we believe that is only a few years away.”

“That’s very troublesome news. And we’re sure the translation is accurate?” Lord Hamura asks

“Admittedly we’re not. It was the best we could do with the resources we have.”

“What does Y/N think?” Lady Tsunade interjects

Kakashi scratches his temple and casts his eyes towards the floor.

“What? Did something happen?”

Sasuke clears his throat and speaks on Kakashi’s behalf. “She quit a few weeks back.”

“She what?!”

“She was unhappy about being taken off active duty after there was an incident with the Stone.”

“Why was she on active duty to begin with?! She was supposed to be Department Head!”

Tsunade’s anger towards the news of your resignation was only made worse by the confusion she felt. Lady Koharu speaks up to clarify.

“Well actually, after it was revealed that she was in a romantic partnership with Lord Sixth we had told her we could no longer accept her candidacy.”

“You WHAT?!”

Tsunade’s fuse was short and the news of everything that happened while she was away enjoying her retirement had it lit.

“It was a conflict of interest.”

“You IDIOTS! She’s the most talented linguist in the five great nations and you care about who she’s dating?!”

“As you can see, we were right to worry. She didn’t respond well to direct orders from Lord Sixth when it came to her last mission.”

“Well you see Lady Koharu, that was-” Kakashi barely had the strength to say the words out loud, “That was my fault.”

Tsunade stands to her full height, anger feuling her words, “You numbskull geezers fail to see the full picture. Who cares who she seeing? We need her! Kakashi, you better prepare to beg.”

“Lady Fifth, I-I don’t think she’ll hear what I have to say right now.”

“Fine. I guess it’s up to me to fix the mess you three created.” The look of fire in her eyes has the entire room uneasy “She’s going to be Department Head. If that’s what it takes to get her back, that’s what she’ll get. She deserves the position anyways.”

The elders shrink before Tsunade as they nod in agreement.

Feeling the matter was settled Tsunade left the meeting to go find you and rectify the situation.

****************************************************

You're cutting the stems off a new batch of flowers in the back of the shop when you hear the bell ring. “Ino, can you get that?”

You overhear the sound of female voices followed by footsteps heading in your direction. “Ino, what is…it?”

Your words trail off as you realize Lady Fifth is standing before you.

“Lady Tsunade, to what do I owe the honor?” you bow your head as you address her.

“Oh drop the formalities, Y/N. We’ve worked together enough.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you here?”

“To bring you back, of course?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid. We need you back at headquarters.”

“I’m sorry. I know you have been gone a long time so you don’t understand, but I’m quite happy with my decision to leave.”

“Y/N, we need you. We cannot investigate the Otsusuki without you.”

“I’m sure Sasuke is doing just fine.”

“Y/N, your mind is quintessential to the success of our intelligence team. Come back to headquarters.”

“Lady Tsunade...”

“Y/N, I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“I can’t…after everything that’s happened.”

“You’ll be Department Head.”

“Wha…” The word gets caught in your throat. Disbelief widened your eyes. “The elders-”

“Have spoken. As a village advisor myself, I have every right to contribute to this decision and the elders agree with me. Like I said, I’m not taking no for an answer here.”

“You’ll-you’ll give me the job, just like that?”

“You earned it. It was never going to belong to anyone else.”

“Lady Fifth, I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll take it.”

“Y-yes, yes, of course, I’ll take it!”

“Good. I intend to stop by your new office on Monday. Make sure you’re there.”

“Yes ma’am”

With your confirmation, Lady Tsunade pressed an office key into your hand and retired from the shop.

You were left feeling a whirl of emotions. You weren’t looking forward to seeing Kakashi again, or working for him, but you did need the pay and it was your dream job. One you had spent five years working towards. The promotion that was rightfully yours now actually is! Kakashi drama aside, you hold the key to your chest and squeal in excitement.

You need to find Shiho and celebrate.

**********************************************

A bit hungover after a late night out with Shiho, you drag your feet across the village carrying your box of textbooks and office decorations. You wished you were on better terms with Obito so he could just Kamui you to the building but you hadn’t seen him yet to tell him the good news.

You fear you broke him yesterday morning with all that talk of going to the Sand. You want to find him and tell him you’re not leaving. Tell him you’re going to face Kakashi and start fresh as Department Head. But alas, it is Saturday morning so he wasn’t going to be at headquarters. Who knows where he spends his time beyond headquarters, missions, and bothering you...

In your new office, you lift the picture frame of you and Shiho from the Gala out of the box. It really was a beautiful dress you wore. You don’t think you ever felt prettier than you did that night. You grab another frame out the box. This one is brand new. It was a picture of you and Shiho from last night.

Is it professional to have a picture of yourself drunk on your work desk? Absolutely not. But is it a core memory you want to look at whenever you are stressed? Yes.

As you set the frame down you hear a man walking down the hallway. You notice his footsteps and your eyes lift just in time to see a white mane come to a halt in your doorway.

“Hi.”

Part 15 Masterlist

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ronpatrash · 2 years

Text

Kagehara weekend day 3: silence/fire

I wanted something to match with the previous one, so I drew Shuichi fighting back and it came out a lot more suggestive than I intended im sorry

Think of it as the detective trying to silence the murderous voice inside him

#koogonafridaynight #ndrv3 #spoilers #kagehara #shuichi saihara #tw choking #does it count as choking if it's just the mouth? nevermind #you must know that i thought my sketch was going so well and then i zoomed out and was like oh no horny....guess this is happening now #when shuichi snaps it's a good look tbh #it's probably why kagehara fandom exists #yells into the void #art by me

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darlingyanderes · 3 years

Note

Hi dear! I wanted to ask how do you think yan! Bakugo would react to a master escapist darling with a nonchalant attitude? Like when he comes home from patrol, he smells dinner cooking, but he remembers that he didn't do groceries today. And darling just replies with "I went shopping. Sit down and try this" but he distinctively remembers bolting the windows and changing the lock to a fingerprint one. I love how you write yanderes 🖤🖤 but you can ignore this if you're in a bind at the moment!

Thank you so much!!! I’m glad you love my writing :D! Also, I really love this prompt; escapist darlings are absolutely amazing lolol I hope you like what I wrote for you!!

Warnings: minor swearing, my terrible humor

Word count: 867

Spaghetti with meatballs - Yandere!Bakugo Katsuki x fem!reader

Although the setting sun had coloured the sky in an array of beautiful colours, Bakugo couldn’t exactly appreciate them. All he thought about was getting home as quick as possible.

He grumbled to himself, almost imitating the sound his stomach kept making. The only reason he was walking home this late was because he got busy chasing down some pesky villain. By the time they finally managed to catch him, his shift was already over, but of course he had to file some dumbass paperwork. To make matters worse, he didn’t have to time to eat a proper lunch or dinner, so he was absolutely starving.

His shoulders relaxed at the thought of him returning home. He’d open the door, and find (Y/N) safe and sound in her room. Poor, sweet (Y/N). She’s probably worried why he’s out for so long. She must be hungry, too. He should hurry back home and feed his cute little princess.

When Bakugo finally arrived home, he closed the door behind him and locked it securely. “I’m back,” he yelled. He knew (Y/N) wouldn’t be able to come out of her room to greet him, but it’d be soothing for her to know he’s back. He should cook her something really tasty to make up for how scared she must’ve been, all alone in the house.

His nose caught a whiff of something delicious. Tomatoes, garlic, basil; the smells combined into something amazing that made his stomach growl even louder. Were his neighbours cooking with the windows open?

Then he heard a noise from inside the house. It was sizzling in a saucepan, like something was being fried in oil.

What?

Bakugo stomped towards the kitchen, where the noise and the smell were coming from. He immediately froze when he saw (Y/N) standing there.

She was calmly cooking meatballs with her back turned towards Bakugo, occasionally looking at the boiling pot of pasta. On the countertop was a grocery bag filled to the brim with various items, including a wide array of ingredients for pasta and wine.

When she finally turned around and saw him standing there, she nonchalantly said: “Welcome back, Bakugo.”

Bakugo couldn’t even react. He swore he left a chain around her ankle when he left, but it was nowhere to be found. Where did that go? Furthermore, where did she get all that food from? He remembered he barely had enough to make fried rice today, so why is there a whole bag of food sitting on that countertop?

Completely stunned, Bakugo points at her ankle, the pasta, the meatballs, and (Y/N), stutter-screamed: “What the fuck- How did you- where, what-“

With no emotion in particular, (Y/N) replied: “I went shopping. You must be so hungry, I could hear your stomach growling. Here, try this.” She poked a cooked meatball with a fork and brought it to his mouth.

Her answer made his jaw drop in shock. Shopping? Does that mean someone delivered it to her? Or, did she go out to buy them herself? That’s impossible, both options are just completely impossible; the windows are closed airtight with no way of opening them, he made absolutely sure of that and he even checked if they were closed this morning. The door is locked with his fingerprint, as well. She wouldn’t be able to contact a delivery person nor open the door for them, forget actually leaving the house herself with money to buy food. How on Earth would she be able to do this?

(Y/N) pushed the meatball in his mouth after he still stared at her stunned. Although it was still a bit hot, the meatball had a rich savoury flavour, exactly how he liked it. Bakugo’s tongue almost melted under the pleasure of finally eating something after so long.

With an expectant face, (Y/N) asked: “So? How is it?”

Bakugo just nodded absentmindedly. “Y-yea, ‘s good.”

“Great!”

With a charming laugh, (Y/N) turned away to focus on her cooking again.

Bakugo chewed thoughtfully on the remainder of the meatball. Although she managed to slip out of their home, she didn’t escape nor report him to the police. In fact, she came back and cooked something nice for him. She had all the chances to run away, yet she chose to stay and do something nice.

A dumb smile made its way on his face. So in the end, she does love him? She’s such an angel, being so kind to him. He could let this little escape attempt slide one time. She’s just too precious after all, and it probably won’t happen again. She was just hungry because he came home so late, so she took matters in her own hands. That’s all. He simply has to be more careful not to get stuck at work like that again.

Over her shoulder, (Y/N) yelled: “I have a ton more recipes I want to try out. You’re lucky you kidnapped such a good cook! ”

A piece of the meatball got lodged in Bakugo’s windpipe as he tried not to choke on his surprise. More recipes? So, she’ll get out to buy more stuff again?

Nevermind, one escape attempt is enough; he’ll have to (Y/N)-proof the house.

#ask #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere bakugo katsuki x reader #yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugo #yandere katsuki x reader #yandere katsuki bakugo x reader #yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia x reader #yandere mha #yandere mha x reader #yandere my hero academia #yandere my hero academia x reader

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sweeterthansammy · 3 years

Text

Rough Rider || Bucky Barnes

Biker!Bucky Barnes x Female [Romanoff] biker!Reader; The reader is Bucky’s love interest.

Summary: In which Bucky finds interest in a biker chick.

Genre: Smut

Written in third person point of view.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, public sex, sex on a motorbike, mild choking, fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, mild language, and Bucky’s infatuation with a woman that knows how to ride a motorbike :)

Word count: 3.1k+

A/N: Kinda proud of this one 🥲

Important notes: The reader is Nat’s cousin. The reader is at least 21. I know jackshit about motorbikes and models so bear with me. Song used in fic: R U Mine? by Arctic Monkeys. Not BETA’d - all mistakes are mine.

Bucky entered the compound with a wolf whistle, his gloved hand pointing at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows as he approached the kitchen.

“Whose Harley is that out front?” he asked, completely disregarding Y/N who sat at the island, popping a cherry into her mouth.

“Mine,” she muttered, tongue swiping out of her mouth to lick the red juice trickling down her bottom lip.

Bucky looked from Natasha to Y/N, mesmerized by her E/C eyes and the way they basically pierced right into his. He looked back at Nat, silently asking “who’s she?”

“Y/N, this is Bucky, a complete delinquent that’s best friends with Steve. Buck, meet Y/N, my cousin who serves as a sister more or less.”

Y/N stood, a little black dress clinging to her figure, a leather jacket covering her arms. She extended an arm, shaking Bucky’s hand.

“Woah, strong grip there, buddy.”

He chuckled, removing the leather glove and shoving it into the pocket of his own jacket. She looked down at his metal arm.

“Oh, that’s the…” she trailed off, motioning with her hands to make the situation any less awkward than it already was, failing miserably. “Yeah, that arm.”

Bucky was truly a saint. After Nat had given her a rundown of his story, she couldn’t help but empathize for the man. He was simply broken and all she wanted to do was give him a hug and ameliorate him, it didn't matter if she knew him or not. As Nat was called by Steve to help him with something, she and Bucky remained in the kitchen. She broke the silence, popping another cherry into her mouth.

“Hey, wanna go for a spin?” she asked, jiggling her keys in the air as a way to catch his attention.

“Uh, sure, why not?”

As they were about to leave, she stopped in her tracks, eyes ogling at his motorbike.

“Holy shit,” she muttered, admiring the all-black Yamaha YZF-R6 standing in front of her. “This is yours?”

“Been mine since...since I can remember,” he chuckled, kicking at the gravel with the tip of his boot as she continued to analyze his bike.

“Race me.”

Straightforward, isn’t she?

“What?”

“Race me. Harley versus Yamaha.”

“What does the winner get?”

She thought for quite some time, grinning as she looked down at the beauty in front of her.

“Winner gets a ride on the loser's bike until I can think of something else...unless you have any ideas.”

He eyed the black Harley, red accents screaming his name.

“Deal.”

With that, they swung their legs over their seats, saddling up to take off with their beasts. Y/N buckled her helmet on, leaning forward to rev the engine a bit.

“Ready Buck?” she asked over the roaring of both of their engines.

He pulled up next to her, watching the way she planted both feet on either side of the bike.

“Meeting point is back at the compound. Got it?”

Assertive.

She looked over at him, struggling to find his icy orbs through his tinted shield.

“Got it?”

He simply nodded his head once, both riders looking forward before Y/N gave a countdown.

“3...2...1, go!”

Bucky had heard the wildest stories of Y/N, but he always thought that Nat was exaggerating when she said Y/N was the most badass person she knew. She took off, a trail of smoke following the traces of her bike as she zipped down the road.

Bucky was simply taking his time, muttering a quick “oh shit” to himself as he realized she was already around the corner. He used his charm to his advantage, coming to a full stop. He looked ahead, Y/N already backpedaling to check on him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, looking back as he panted.

“I think I got a flat.”

As she jumped off her bike and walked over to his, he revved his engine, taking off.

“Nevermind, I think I’m gonna beat your ass,” he winked at her, taking off.

“Hey- that’s not fair!”

She knew he couldn’t hear her but she got back on her bike, slowly cruising down the street. Eventually, Bucky came into sight, leaning on his bike with a smug look.

“I think you owe me something, doll.”

She simply chuckled, getting off her bike.

“That was fowl.”

She hopped off of her bike, holding onto the handlebars of her bike before he took over.

“Wow,” he mumbled, revving the engine.

“Go on, take ‘er for a spin.”

She watched as he took off again, not fighting the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“And just like that, you’re in love.”

She jumped at the voice that came from behind her, turning to face a man standing at around 6”2’.

“How’d you know?” she asked with a chuckle.

“Bucky’s a pretty good friend of mine. Hated him at first but I grew to love the man as we got older.”

She turned the slightest bit to look at him.

“He’s like a brother,” he assured. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam. I’m-”

“Y/N. Heard lots about you from the Black Widow herself. What are you doing out here anyway?”

“I was just visiting for a few days. Nat wants me to move out here but I don’t know yet.”

“Well, you should. You’ll be with us for the most part. Besides, Bucky’s making you his girlfriend before you even get the chance to pack your suitcase.”

“What makes you so sure about that?”

She could feel her cheeks burning up as he slowly made his way back to the compound.

“I know when my best friend’s in love. He has this look that fails to mask the fact that he’s in love.”

“Nat, last time we did that-”

“Don’t mention it. Just put your shoes on and come downstairs.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, grabbing a random pair of black high heels before going to meet Natasha downstairs. It seemed that all eyes were on her, everyone admiring the nymph in front of them.

“As I probably mentioned numerous times before-”

“This is your cousin, Y/N. She’s beautiful beyond words and she’s got a killer personality. Nat, I’ve listened to you go on about her for the past two weeks. She’s lovely, but you sound like a broken record at this point, sweetheart,” Steve interjected, offering Y/N a smile while taking Nat’s arm in his.

“She’s got a voluptuous ass too,” she heard Sam mutter under his breath.

“Speak up, sweetie,” she baited with a giggle.

The glare that bored into the side of Sam’s face was all but amiable, his fists copying the actions of his jaw as they tightened at his sides. Sam moved up a bit with a smug, glorious smirk, walking directly next to Y/N.

“You’ve got the man whipped and you haven’t even fucked him yet.”

She nearly choked on her saliva.

“Sam, cut it out,” she scolded the younger man.

“You know it’s true,” he lifted his arms in surrender to her sass, dodging her objection.

Drinking was hardly ever a good idea when Y/N and Nat were together. Y/N had gotten better over the years, knowing her limit with alcohol, but Nat let all hell loose. Unless they weren’t in the middle of a mission, she was taking shot after shot, drink after drink, until she was struggling to stand on her own two feet. Y/N was amazed sometimes as to how she could drink that much without throwing up.

“Another one, come on,” Nat tugged on her arm, the colored lights making her head grow fuzzy as they stood at the bar.

“Two shots of silver tequila, anything’ll do!”

Y/N gagged merely at the sight of clear liquid filling the little glasses.

“Anything else?” the bartender asked over the blaring music, Nat simply scanning everyone’s glasses along the bar.

“Whatever she’s having, the pink thing.”

She bit her lip to suppress a chuckle, earning a concerned look from an obviously drunken Nat.

“What?”

“I’ll be over there with Sam and Tony.”

“But your shot-”

“Take it - I don’t know, do something with it!”

Y/N pat her back, sliding past her as she made her way to the pair sitting at the booth.

“Not up for dancing?” she queried, looking back and forth between them.

“God, no! What, you want me to look like an idiot?”

“C’mon, Tony! Pepper had to teach you something,” she surveyed the nightclub quickly, a silver arm catching her eye rather quickly. “What about you? I’d love to see the ‘Round Brown’ in action.”

“The falcon comes to life in these settings,” he informed her, winking slyly.

She tucked her straw between her lips, a smooth fruity mixture cascading down her throat to suppress the guffaw that danced at the tip of her tongue. The music changed, the lights dimming to a deep, dark purple. She looked at Tony and then Sam, both of them looking around at mounds of bodies on the dance floor.

She followed their eyes, that damn metal arm catching her eyes again. Tons of women threw themselves at him, wanting to get just a little taste of that metal arm, soon leaving solemnly as he turned them away.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll be over there.”

Sam easily replaced Bucky, the ladies now feeling up on him as if he were some hunk of meat. She didn’t spare a word to Tony, only offering a lopsided smile as Pepper made her way over to the booth. Y/N slid from her seat, feeling a sudden warmth settle upon her skin as she made her way over to Bucky. He finally acknowledged her, pupils amplifying against his gunmetal irises.

She couldn’t help her lips from moving along to the lyrics, “I go crazy 'cause here isn't where I wanna be / And satisfaction feels like a distant memory / And I can't help myself, all I / Wanna hear her say is ‘Are you mine?’”

His eyes were all but sweet and bright, lust written all over his body as her fingers trailed up his chest, cupping his chin deftly.

“Well, are you mine? / Are you mine? / Are you mine?”

She cocked her head to the side, dismayed by his knowledge of the current song.

“Well, that depends, Mr. Barnes. If you want me to be yours, all you have to do is say the word,” she spoke quiet enough for only him to hear, tongue skimming along the edge of his ear.

By the way he licked his lips, she could tell that he wanted to do more than just verbally claim her.

She’s fucking dangerous.

She looked up at Bucky, fingers coyly playing with each other as if she hadn’t just given him a glimpse of a completely different side to her. His lips were on hers in an instant, hands palming her backside as they slowly inched further up her dress, eventually landing on a little strap of leather higher up her thigh.

He couldn’t help his hands from exploring every inch of her skin, nails leaving gentle burning sensations as they raked at her skin. He lost it when her back arched, her chest colliding with his as her fingers soon got lost in his hair, one leg raising to pull his body closer, if even possible. He pulled away abruptly, one hand cradling the underside of her thigh and the other right under her chin.

“I need you to fuck me, like right now, because I think I might pass out if you don’t,” she spoke gravelly, lips crashing onto his once more in a heated, sloppy kiss.

Her feet were swept from the ground in a matter of a few seconds, arms crossing against Bucky’s back as she dangled over his shoulder. Her eyes traveled over the black motorbike once they’d made it outside, squealing as he held onto her hips, pulling her down so she was seated in his lap as he laid back in his seat. Her hands were everywhere all at once, though seeming to avoid the area in which he needed her the most.

It was quite a scene, a cacophony of grunts and whimpers being evoked from the pair. Hearing the engine of his bike roar, Y/N pulled off, pupils fixated on his with her hands on either side of his face. The ride was quite something - full of lingering, teasing touches, sweet, albeit intense, kisses, and reprehensible whispers.

The faint light of a wacky gas station illuminated his silhouette, his flesh hand easily adjusting itself around her throat, the other working to slide her dress just up around her waist before pushing her underwear aside, running two fingers up her folds. She hummed at the feeling, fingernails digging into that of his arm.

“‘S that feel good, doll?” he asked incoherently, voice barely above a whisper as his tongue nudged into her mouth.

She nodded, earning a buoyant pinch to her cunt. Her insides were going feral, wanting nothing more than his cock.

“I need words, toots.”

“F-uck yes, but I-I want y-ou,” she stammered, groaning when his fingers clamped even harder around her clit, thumb stimulating her nub.

He chuckled as her legs attempted to fly shut, only being stopped by his large thighs that were parting them.

“But you already have me, doll.”

“I-I need you to fuck me,” she got out, fingers draining of color as she balled the leather of his jacket.

His fingers pumped in and out of her, curling against her g-spot once before pulling out. She mentally cursed him out for looking so hot, tongue swiveling around his digits to taste her remnants.

“Fucking delicious,” he crooned, tapping his fingers against her lips before having her own tongue pivot around his faux fingers.

She easily freed him of his bottoms, his cock springing to meet his veiled torso. Her eyes widened.

Jesus fuck-

“It’s rude to stare, sweetheart.”

She looked up at him, back down to his cock, and back up to his face.

“Hey, if you don’t wan-”

“No, god no. I still want you to fuck me. You’re just…bigger than average.”

He chuckled, dog tags clanging against his rumbling chest. Her legs were thrown over his thighs in seconds, tip barely prodding at her entrance. She could feel her skin burning up, eager to have him inside of her. He was taking far too long, manipulating her legs into many different angles so it wouldn’t be as uncomfortable. She griped aloud, palms landing flat on his pecs as she pushed him back against the seat.

“Impatient, huh?” he couldn’t help the cocky grin splayed on his face.

“Taking too long,” she grumbled, sinking down onto him.

She groaned at the feeling, being stretched out beyond her limit. Her head lazed back as if she had no vertebrae, hands getting lost in his hair as his hips bucked up into her. She cried out, legs tightening around his hips as she soon began to bounce on his cock.

“Attagirl,” he praised, hands cupping either of her breasts before flicking over her nipples.

With the way he twitched inside of her and with the way her walls clamped around him, both of them could tell they wouldn’t last too long. It was far beyond erratic and the words spurring out of Bucky’s mouth helped the least bit.

“This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

“Bet no one has fucked you this good yet, huh doll?”

Her legs grew tired as she felt herself lurching on the edge of her climax. She fought the burn, arms holding him impossibly tight as her walls fluttered around him.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart?”

She nodded, not being able to get out one comprehensible word. She came around him with a celestial moan, legs twitching ever so gently. His pace didn’t falter once, hands coming up to her waist as he fucked her through her high. Her eyes widened as she felt herself on the verge of another orgasm, Bucky’s pace relentless as he savored the way she felt so snug around his cock.

“Buck-”

“Fuck, you’re killing me, doll.”

He wanted nothing but to fuck the soul out of her, such pleasant sounds rolling off her tongue. It was a matter of seconds before he swung both legs over his bike, not leaving her body at any point, before hoisting both legs around his torso, hips snapping into hers as if his life depended on it. She yelped, his tip grazing at her cervix. For a moment, she saw stars, vision going blurry as he fucked her into oblivion, another release washing over her.

He slowed down a second, picking his pace back up until he was close. At that point, she was hardly even conscious, walls flexing around him with his nails creating crescent-like welts on her thighs. Her legs clung onto his waist, his hips coming to a halt before spurts of cum filled her. She finally opened her eyes when he’d pulled out of her, shivering at the feeling of his cum trickling out of her.

Bucky ventured off for some water and tissues, anything for a quick fix until they got back to the compound. The flashing of red and blue lights fully alerted her now, the siren growing louder as it approached the station. She looked up at Bucky who was walking out of the gas station with a bottle of water and a box of tissues, scrambling to her feet.

“Easy there, doll. I don’t want you passing out on me now.”

“Buck, we need to leave now.”

The sudden urgency in her tone drew a look of worry on Bucky’s face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stopping once they faced directly towards one another. “Did I do so-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she assured him, pecking his lips quickly. “But, I’m afraid that someone reported us to the cops.”

They drove right up the curb, pulling up next to a pump.

“But we didn’t-”

“Public nudity, Buck.”

“We weren’t even naked!”

“To be fair, your dick was out, sweetheart. Not to mention, you did fuck me in the center of a gas station.”

He looked over his shoulder, the eyes of two middle-aged officers stuck on him. As they made their way over to the pair, Y/N hopped onto his bike, Bucky hot on her tail before tapping her thigh.

“Show me how you ride, princess.”

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onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

Wilbur has never had wings. He has long since resigned himself to that fact. However much of his father's blood runs through his veins, it is not enough to grant him that gift.

Wilbur comes back to life, and his back begins to ache.

(word count: 6,141)

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

It’s stupid, but when his back first begins to ache, he assumes it’s old age.

The thing is that he doesn’t have any real frame of reference for what constitutes as old and what does not. His father is old, but his father has lived for literally thousands of years. Technoblade is not quite so old as that, but Technoblade never dies is more than just a catchphrase. Tommy is young, he’s sure of that much, but Tommy has days where he wakes up and his head and ribs won’t stop aching, remnants of that third death that have never quite left him, so Tommy is perhaps not the best gauge of what pains are and are not normal for a young person.

Wilbur doesn’t think that he’s particularly old. He’s still not yet thirty, unless he counts the void years. Then, he’s older than thirty. Then, he’s older than his own bones. He tries not to dwell on the void years, because dwelling on the void years gives him urges that he’s still learning how to ignore. Urges like informing everyone gaily and at length when the inevitable heat death of the universe will be, or giving everyone a graphic description of what happens at a microscopic level in the human body when it picks up a stomach bug.

The point is, he’s not very old. But he feels it, a lot of the time, so when he wakes up one morning and his back is killing him, he shrugs it off and goes about his day. It hurts, sure. It hurts kind of a lot. But he’s had worse. The void took him apart molecule by molecule and put him back together again so many times that he learned to love it, and compared to that, this is nothing at all.

Life in the Arctic has been—nice. It’s been nice, reconnecting with Phil, cautiously rebuilding his relationship with Technoblade. Tommy comes to visit a lot, and it’s odd, trying to juggle the kid he thinks of as a brother with his father and his father’s best friend, especially when there’s so much bad blood between the lot of them, but they make it work. And Ranboo is around a lot, and he’s a nice kid, and Niki stops by every so often, and it’s good to see her. No one else is very interested in coming to visit him, which is understandable, but she always smiles at him, and he knows that they’re still friends. Which is good.

He’s fairly sure that the four of them, Phil and Techno and Niki and Ranboo, have some sort of secret club thing going on. They always give him different answers when he asks about it; Niki blinks and tells him it’s a book club, and Ranboo does not blink because he does not have eyelids, but Ranboo claims that it’s a pet grooming society. So they’re lying to him for sure, and he thinks he could know the truth if he wanted to, if he tapped in just a bit more to those bits of void that have nestled in his heart. The temptation is strong, sometimes, but he resists.

He doesn’t want to mess with a good thing, is all. He’s found a peace here in the snow that he didn’t think he would be able to find outside of the grave. He is hesitant to call himself healing, but most days, when his head cries out for blood and fire and burning the world and himself along with it, he can push the idea away and carry on without trying to act on it. That is healing, perhaps.

Captain Puffy tells him it is, anyway, and he’s found that Captain Puffy tends to know what she’s talking about.

But so. His back hurts. And he expects it to stop after a while, because even old person aches surely can’t last forever. Except, it doesn’t, and in fact seems to only get worse over the next few days, to the point that he starts to worry that it’s going to begin interfering with his functionality. Which he doesn’t want. He needs freedom, freedom to go where he wants, even if where he wants to go usually isn’t very far. It’s the principle of the thing. He does not do well with confinement, with spaces that are too enclosed, and if this pain ends up laying him out in his room, he’s going to go insane.

Poor choice of words, that. But the point still stands, so he makes a decision. The decision is this: he’s simply not going to allow that to happen.

So he slaps a smile on his face and carries on with his business, and does his best to ignore the way his spine starts to feel like it’s cracking open and stabbing into the surrounding muscle. And he is a very good actor, if he does say so himself, so for the most part, no one seems to notice that anything is wrong. Phil asks him if he’s feeling alright, but he’s able to deflect by claiming fatigue, and Phil accepts the explanation easily. And the pain only increases, does not let up at all, but it’s a gradual sort of increase, so before too long, he figures out how to adjust to it. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

And then Tommy stops by for a visit, and they’re chatting outside for a moment, and Tommy says something stupid and ridiculous, so he smacks him gently upside the head, which Tommy takes objection to. And then they’re wrestling, which makes the pain flare a bit, but it’s manageable, especially since he gets Tommy pinned in about four seconds flat, which. Is concerning, a bit, because he is not particularly strong, physically, so if he can pin Tommy, there are a lot of other people who could also definitely pin Tommy.

But he’s probably not thinking about it the right way. This was a play fight, not a real one, and it’s difficult, sometimes, to remember that the server is currently at peace.

He pins Tommy, both of them panting and grinning in the snow, and he doesn’t let up until Tommy admits defeat. And then he gets to his feet, and here is where he makes the error: he turns his back.

The snowball impacts him right between his shoulder blades. He stumbles forward with the force of it, and his knees hit the snow.

Tommy is already cackling, is calling him a bitch. Wilbur barely has time to think oh, shit before something spasms, and it’s like something has taken a knife to him from the inside out. He hears a strangled little scream, choked and agonized, and barely recognizes the fact that it’s coming from him, because black spots are dancing across his vision and his lungs aren’t inflating properly and he can hardly think.

“Oh, come on,” Tommy says, a wide smile still in his voice. “Don’t be such a pussy. I didn’t even pack any ice in.”

He can’t reply. The agony is centered where the snowball hit, but it’s radiating outward, and the whole of his back feels like it’s burning and freezing all at once, and he shudders violently, breaths coming in short, quick gasps. He clenches his fists, braces them against his thighs, pressing down hard enough to leave bruises.

“Wilbur?” Tommy asks, more uncertain. And then, Tommy is there, kneeling down in front of him, and his face goes all wide and panicky. “Wilbur? Holy shit, are you dying? Are you having a heart attack? A stroke? Are you freezing to death? Have I just killed you with a snowball? You’ve got three lives again, right? Where are you hurt, Wil, come one, you’ve got to tell me, you’ve gotta tell me so I can fix it, are you—”

“My back,” he manages, “my back’s been—my back’s been hurting, it wasn’t your fault, it’s just—” He cuts off with another gasp as all the muscles in his back convulse, tensing and untensing and tensing again and sending a wave of stabbing pain through his nerves.

“Oh, Prime,” Tommy says, “oh, Prime, alright, you’re gonna be fine, big man, let’s just get you inside, alright? Can you walk? Nevermind, just—” Tommy hooks his hands underneath his arms and hauls him to his feet, slinging one of his arms across his shoulders as soon as he can get them in the right position. He lets out a little whimper, and hates himself for doing so, just a little bit, but fuck, that hurts.

The stairs are a trial. His feet drag, and he would trip and fall flat on his face if it weren’t for Tommy. But then, they’re inside Phil’s house, and Tommy sits him down on Phil’s ratty little couch, and he immediately curls in on himself, hands gripping his forearms as if the pain will go away if he hugs himself hard enough.

“Okay, shirt off, Wil, let me see,” Tommy says, and he blinks dumbly for a moment.

“What?” he asks, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

“No, just—you’ve got to let me see what’s wrong, yeah?”

“‘S old man aches,” he mumbles, but doesn’t try to fight it when Tommy begins manhandling his arms, pushing at his coat sleeves.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tommy demands. “You’re not that old. Who do you think you are, Philza fucking Minecraft? Come on, just let me see—” He finally manages to get the coat off, and then the shirt, and his skin erupts in gooseflesh as it’s exposed to the air. Tommy freezes.

“What?” he asks. “What is it, what’s—”

“I don’t,” Tommy says, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t, Wilbur, I don’t know what this is, I don’t—holy shit, that’s actually kind of scary. Um! No, nevermind, don’t pay attention to me, just keep um, breathing! Breathing is good! Breathing exercises!” He breathes in and out, loud and exaggerated. “See, just like that. I’m just gonna—”

And he puts a hand out, and before Wilbur can stop him, he rests it on his back. Light and cautious, but still too much, and Wilbur stuffs a fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. In the same motion, he flinches away, violently, but the damage has already been done. Because the contact hurts, a lot, but what’s worse is the horror, because in the split second that Tommy’s hand touched his skin, he could feel the way that it is wrong, that his back is wrong, that there is something terribly wrong. Because there are ridges protruding from his back, long and thick and raised, and it’s wrong and it hurts and Tommy’s right, actually, this is scary, he’s fucking scared.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tommy is saying, “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I won’t do that again, I’m so sorry, Wilbur, are you okay? Please be okay, please—”

He nods, though it’s more like he lets his head fall and then painstakingly brings it back up a little.

“Okay, I think we need—” Tommy says. “I think that I don’t know what to do, so I think we need—” He takes a deep breath. “Phil! Phil!” Loud, panicked, earsplitting. Wilbur winces. “Phil! He is home, isn’t he? Phil!”

A second passes, and then, drifting up from the basement, a distant, “Tommy? Everything good?”

“Phil, get up here right fucking now!”

There is a beat of silence, and then there are footsteps, quiet at first but growing closer, and they are quick, hurried. Phil must have detected the genuine fear in Tommy’s voice, because Tommy and Phil generally stand on very shaky ground with each other, so while Phil will typically indulge Tommy in his whims, it depends on the day as to how far he’ll go, how quick he’ll respond. But it’s only a moment or two before Phil’s head pokes out of the floor, his hands clinging to the ladder, his face twisted in confusion.

“What on earth is the matter?” he asks, and then breaks off as his eyes land on Wilbur, who—he must be a sight. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. But terror flashes across Phil’s face, and he is crossing the floor in an instant, hands hovering over him, fluttering helplessly, though thankfully, he doesn’t touch.

“What’s wrong, where are you hurt, what—” The words come out in a jumbled flurry, but he stops just as abruptly, and Wilbur knows that he is looking at the horror show that is his back.

“It hurts, Phil,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Phil says, sounding—still concerned, but perhaps marginally calmer? “Okay, you’re going to be alright. I think I know what this is.” He settles himself on the couch right next to him and opens his arms, and Wilbur doesn’t hesitate before leaning forward, slumping against him. Phil seems to know better than to put any kind of pressure on his back, and instead places one hand on his arm and the other on the back of his head, threading his fingers through his hair.

“Then what the fuck is it?” Tommy demands.

“Tommy, I need you to run over to Techno’s and ask him for something for pain, and something for sleep. Can you do that for me?” Phil asks instead of answering, and perhaps Wilbur should be terrified by the implication that he’s going to need either of those things, but the promise of some kind of relief overrides any kind of trepidation.

“Like fuck I will,” Tommy says, “Not before you tell me what the fuck is wrong with him!”

Another convulsion wracks him. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, and tastes blood. His breath is hitching, and he can’t stop it.

“Tommy.” Phil’s voice is sharp, but then, Wilbur feels rather than hears him sigh. “It’s wings, I think. I don’t understand why now, but I went through this a long time ago, when I was very young. I recognize the signs. So Tommy, please.”

Tommy makes a surprised little sound. Wilbur isn’t looking, has his face buried in Phil’s shoulder, but he can imagine the look on his face: the slack jaw, the wide open eyes. And then, there are rushed footsteps retreating, and the door slamming, and Tommy’s muffled voice calling out for Technoblade.

And then, Wilbur processes what Phil just said.

He twists his head around so he can see his face, regretting it a moment later. Any kind of movement seems to make the pain worse, and he has to take a moment to tremble through it.

“Wings?” he whispers. “How?”

He’s never had wings.

If he were going to have wings, he would have gotten them a long time ago. He remembers nights spent as a child, staying up and hoping for feathered appendages to somehow miraculously appear on his back, just so he could be more like his dad. He remembers the crushing disappointment when he finally accepted that no matter how much divine blood runs in his veins, it is apparently not enough.

But he did accept it. He accepted it years ago. There is absolutely no reason for him to be developing wings now, as a fully-grown adult, but Phil sounds so very sure, and his back hurts so very much, and perhaps that’s consistent with actual appendages trying to sprout out of him.

“I don’t know,” Phil says. “I’ve never heard of it happening so late, even in avians. Which, I’m not exactly, but I got mine when I was a kid like they do, and I don’t—I don’t know, Wil, I really don’t, but I remember what it was like, yeah? I know what to do. It’s gonna suck for a little while, but you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” he croaks, “okay—” and then he has to stop talking, because the pain flares again, bright and intense and holy shit, but it’s worse this time, because now that he knows what’s going on, he can feel them. He can feel things inside of him, pushing against his muscles and his skin in ways that absolutely should not be possible, and there is too much of him to be contained in his body, and there are things inside of him trying to escape—

It’s almost like the way he gets when he thinks about the void too hard. Except not, because when he does that, he feels the urge to dissolve away, gently and peacefully, to let himself back into the quiet that is not quiet and the darkness that is not dark, where all the knowledge of the world is at his fingertips, too much for a mortal brain to contain and remain sane. That is not this. This is his own body trying to explode. There is no peace, no dissolution; it’s messy and physical and Prime he just wants it to stop.

He shifts in Phil’s grasp, fruitlessly trying to find a position that takes the pressure off, a little bit. It’s no use, of course, because he can still feel something moving under the skin of his back, and his vision whites out, and when he comes back to himself, he’s shivering, shivering and shaking and sobbing in Phil’s hold, and he doesn’t remember when he started crying but he can’t seem to make himself stop. Phil is keeping up a steady stream of soothing nonsense, and he latches onto the sound of his voice like it’s the only lifeline he has.

And then the door bursts open, and Wilbur doesn’t bother trying to look, but there are two sets of footsteps, not just one.

“Here,” Tommy says, panting, and there are several thumps, and several clinks, glass on glass.

“Oh god, don’t—and he’s doing it, he’s just dumping all of that on the floor. Don’t break those, Tommy, those aren’t splash pots. Have you never handled a potion before.” Technoblade pauses for a moment. “So, what exactly’s wrong with him? The child was making no sense at all.”

Wilbur thinks he detects a note of concern. But he’s not thinking clearly, and it’s always hard to tell anyway, with Technoblade.

“He’s got wings growing in,” Phil responds, voice clipped. Wilbur feels his hand leave his arm, and he whines at the loss of touch. And then another spasm, and he whines again, pressing his face harder into Phil’s shirt.

“Oh. Huh. Yes, that makes perfect sense, of course.”

Phil’s arm dips a bit, and Wilbur finds himself being moved, his head gently tilted back. Phil’s face comes into view, pale and blurry.

“You want to drink this for me, Wil?” he says, and then there is glass at his lips, and he parts them immediately. He doesn’t like being knocked out, doesn’t like the loss of control that comes with it, but if he has to be aware for another five minutes, he’s not going to be able to keep himself from screaming aloud.

He swallows, grimacing at the taste. The effects start hitting right away. His mind detaches from himself, and the pain drains from him. Every muscle goes lax.

He exhales.

“There we go,” Phil murmurs, “there we go. It’s gonna be alright, Wil. I’ll be here the whole time. You’re gonna be okay.”

The world falls away. He lets it. He trusts his father to catch him.

----------

He wakes up a few times, and each time, it hurts. Phil is always there, and usually, Tommy too, and sometimes Techno, and he can barely move but they always see that he’s awake, and they give him a potion and he’s under again, and he’s glad for it, because those moments of consciousness are a spiral of pain and confusion and his thoughts flying apart because he barely understands what’s going on or why he’s hurting and he just wants it to go away.

And then there is the time he wakes up and he thinks somebody is cutting his back open, and he can feel his own blood on his skin, sticky and hot, and he thrashes, trying to get away, and that makes the pain so much worse, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is inhuman, and he fights until a potion is poured down his throat and it’s back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and people are talking in low, hushed tones. He can’t make out what they’re saying. He cracks his eyes open, and it’s Phil and Technoblade, deep in some discussion, both looking terribly concerned. He decides he’ll ask what’s wrong later, and then closes his eyes and goes back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and some part of him is moving, and he doesn’t understand what it is because it’s not any of his limbs, not his arms and not his legs, and it feels alien and foreign and his back feels like it’s been shoved under a woodchipper and then tossed through a paper shredder for good measure, and he’s not aware enough to know why, so he panics. There is a bit of the void that still dwells in his heart, and he calls on it, cries out to it, and it answers, comes rushing in around him, and his mind expands to peer into galaxies.

Philza is at his side a moment later, and he is able to look at him and see all the weight of years that lie behind his eyes, and all the years that lie ahead of him, and the moment of his death, all spiraling out like a tapestry and like a mass, and the music is atonal, confused, but a closer glance reveals it to be twelve-tone, order in the chaotic lines. Wilbur is with the void again, and his heart still beats, but it’s a near thing, and he could stop it if he chose.

“Do you want to know, Philza?” he asks, words spilling from his lips like rain, like the river, like the flood. “Do you want to know when it will happen? I can see it. I can see how some part of you wants it. All our histories are like tangled up threads, but they all come to an end, and I can see those endings, Philza, I can tell you about them if you like.”

Pain constricts Philza’s face, and Wilbur doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know who wouldn’t love the void and its peace and its everything.

“I know, Wilbur,” Philza says, “I know, but how about you come back to me now, okay? Come back to me?”

“We’re all little bits of code, Philza,” he informs him. “None of us are real. We’re little bits of code and words on a page and lines in a script written by our better selves. Nothing in this world really matters. We might as well have all the fun we can before the lights go out. Do you want to know when that will be, Philza? Not too long after you, Philza. Not too long at all. I told Tommy, he knows, he didn’t want to know but that’s alright, he’s better off for it, if he hasn’t forgotten.”

“Come back, Wil, come on,” Philza says, “you can do it. You’ve got a heartbeat, do you feel it?”

Philza takes his hand and places it over his heart, and—that’s right. He’s alive. He’d forgotten. The void spins, and then it tucks itself away again, waiting for the next moment he needs it, and he is left with only vague impressions of what he’s just said and a vague idea that everything hurts and something is wrong with his back and he’d like to go to sleep now, please.

“Alright, yeah,” Phil says, “here, you can have this, you can sleep. You’re doing so well, Wil, I promise it’s almost done.”

He takes the potion. Or tries to; Phil has to hold it for him.

“Okay,” he says faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he hears Phil say, very far away. “So long as you come back, everything’s okay.”

He goes back to sleep again. He thinks he wakes up a few more times, but he doesn’t really remember. He doesn’t really want to.

----------

And then: awareness.

The first thing he processes is that everything aches, deeply and acutely, but none of it feels nearly as bad as it did before, and not even as bad as it’s been over the past couple of weeks. It’s irritating, painful, but more than manageable, really, practically a relief. The second thing he processes is that he’s lying on his stomach, and that there is something weighing him down.

His mind puzzles over this for a moment. He tries to roll over, to see what’s going on, but something stops him, and then he remembers: wings.

He’s got wings. There are wings on his back. Growing out of him. A part of his body. Wings.

As soon as he realizes that, he becomes aware of them. And it is so very strange, to suddenly have access to two extra limbs, to suddenly have additional body parts to move about and control. It’s a feeling impossible to describe, and he has to take several minutes to process it, to try to become accustomed to it. It doesn’t really work, but he tries moving them anyway, just a bit of a flex, and—

Ouch.

He groans, shoving his face into the pillow. A mistake. That was a mistake. He’d rather like to go back to sleep now and pretend that none of this is happening.

But his vocalization draws attention, and then there is a hand on his shoulder, gently brushing him just enough to feel, not enough to pain him. He turns his head to the side, reluctantly, and Phil is kneeling beside him, his face open and soft and clearly relieved, his lips curling into a slight smile.

“Hey,” he says. “How you feeling, Wil?”

He considers this, and decides on honesty. “Bit like I’ve been caught between a piston and a wall for the past couple of days,” he admits. “Better than before, though.”

“Good to hear,” Phil says, and then his face goes a bit more serious. “How much of that do you remember?”

“Not much?” he says. “I don’t think? Impressions, I guess. I know I wasn’t having a good time. I’m glad I don’t remember it too clearly. I was out for most of it, yeah?”

“Most of it,” Phil agrees, and Wilbur thinks that perhaps there is something he’s not saying, but he doesn’t feel like pressing the matter. He can guess what it is, anyway; there is a chill in his chest, and his thoughts feel just slightly more fractured than usual, so it’s not hard to assume what might have happened. Not hard to assume where he might have gone. He’s sure he’ll feel terrible about it when everything stops feeling so surreal.

He has wings.

“It’s over now?” he asks, and winces at the way his voice cracks. “It’s done?”

Phil’s eyes do the thing where they go immeasurably soft and crinkly at the edges, and it’s love and relief and sadness all at once. “It’s done,” he agrees, and then hesitates. “You’re not gonna be able to fly on them for a while, but would you like to see?”

He doesn’t understand why Phil is being so cautious about it. Of course he wants to see. If he’s going to be put through hell, he wants to see what came of it. He wants it to be worth it.

“Usually, when wings grow in, they’re all downy and shit. Like a baby bird,” Phil says, probably in response to whatever face he’s sure he’s making. “Flight feathers come in over the next few weeks.” He pauses again, and Wilbur thinks he understands his reticence, now, understands the still-present concern.

“But that’s not what happened with mine,” he states, and Phil shakes his head.

“Yours are fully fledged,” he says. “Probably part of why it hurt so much. I don’t know why, Wil. But do you wanna have a look?”

Wordless, he nods, and Phil takes that as his cue to reach out and help him sit upright. It’s far more effort than it should be, compounded by the fact that his sense of balance feels all wrong, and that’s going to take some getting used to, he can already tell. And he’s sore, like he’s run a marathon or fought another half dozen wars all in one go, and his head spins a little bit when he finally situates himself. He closes his eyes against it, breathing in sharply.

He feels Phil guiding his wings forward, into his field of vision. He opens his eyes.

They are very big, is the first thing he notices. They would have to be, of course, to hold his weight up. Magic and suspension of disbelief only stretches so far. They are very large, and the feathers are very large, and they are very angular and neat as well, so neat that someone has to have arranged them while he was unconscious, because there’s no way that they came out looking like that.

The color, though. The color. He swallows, hard.

They are black, perhaps. They look black. But he knows on an instinctive level that they are black in the same way that the void is black, and that if someone were to stare at them for too long, they would realize as much, would realize that actually, they are not black at all, but rather some color or some lack of color that is beyond human comprehension. The void translates as black to the human mind because it is as close as the human mind can get to true perception, and most of the time, Wilbur remembers it as black, but it was not, and his wings are not, and he is never going to be free of it, is he?

On some level, he knew that. Knew that the void is in him and about him, and no matter what he does, it will never leave him completely, not after all the years he spent with it, intertwined with the infinite nothing. But now he has wings on his back, and they should be a connection between him and Phil, should be something to celebrate, but he stares at the plumage and feels sick to his stomach.

“Wil?” Phil asks. He sounds confused, sounds worried by his reaction. “You okay, mate?”

He’s not sure how to phrase this in a way that Phil will understand. Not sure that he wants to.

“Void,” he manages, voice a broken whisper. “They look like void, Phil.”

He looks up just in time to see Phil’s face crumple.

“Wil—”

“They look just like it, Phil,” he continues. “Just like it. And I know I’m not always good about, about being here, about keeping myself stable, but I’m trying. I try to ignore it when it calls, I try not to reach out to it, and when I fail, I, I try to come back, I do, I swear. I can’t—I can’t have these, Phil, they’re from it, that’s why I’m getting them now, maybe it triggered something, I don’t know, but I can’t, Phil, I can’t—”

He reaches out toward them, intending to do—something, maybe, and Phil must have a better idea than he does, because his hand darts out and snags his, stopping him in his tracks.

“No, Wil, don’t do that, okay? We can work on it, we’ll figure it out, but please don’t—”

“You’re up!”

He and Phil both freeze, and as one, look to the door. Tommy is standing there, grinning like nobody’s business, and Technoblade is lurking behind him, his face contorted into an expression that looks like he wants to murder someone but really just means he’s feeling very awkward.

Tommy glances back and forth between the two of him, and his face slowly falls.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Nothing—I mean, it all went right, didn’t it?”

He blinks. Tilts his head slightly. Gently removes his hand from Phil’s grasp, and then spreads out his wings behind him, putting them on full display, as far out as he can make them go, and it aches and he’s not going to be able to hold them there for long, but it’s worth it. He wants Tommy to see. Because Tommy will know. Tommy remembers. And unlike him, Tommy hates to remember. Tommy hates the void. So perhaps this is an act of self-sabotage. That’s what Captain Puffy would say. But he does it anyway, because he wants someone else to see and understand, understand in a way he knows Phil won’t be able to.

“I’ve got void wings, Tommy,” he says, and a smile splits his face. “See them?”

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he flinches.

Gratification is not nearly as sweet as he thought it would be. Actually, he just sort of feels like crying.

But then, Tommy’s brows draw together. And he steps further into the room, coming closer and closer until he’s standing right up against the bed, staring at the feathers. Wilbur holds himself very still.

“I see,” Tommy says slowly, “but Wilbur, I’m not sure you do.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and cranes his neck to try to see whatever Tommy’s looking at. For a moment, he doesn’t; there’s just the feathers, void feathers, death feathers, a reminder that—

But arctic sunlight slants through the window, and if he shifts his angle just a little bit—

The noise that escapes him is small and involuntary. He hopes no one calls him on it, but that’s the least of his concerns right now. Because the colors do not change, not exactly, but if he holds them to the light, the sun illuminates the feathers, haloing their edges in gold, and there is a sheen of color running across them, a sheen that ripples and moves as he shifts them in the sunbeam, and it is a beautiful, rich blue.

And they’re lovely.

“Oh,” he says, and Tommy laughs at him, the fucking gremlin.

“Yeah, fucking oh,” he says. “You’re such a moron. They’re so fucking ace, Wilbur.”

“I think that maybe you need to work on rememberin’,” Technoblade says from the doorway, “that you’re the sum of all your experiences, and not just one.”

Wilbur stares at him.

“Oh my god,” he finally says. “That’s so cheesy. Who the hell are you and what have you done with Technoblade?”

“Alright,” Techno grumbles, “see if I do anythin’ nice for you ever again. I didn’t come up here to receive this kind of treatment. This is an outrage.”

He laughs. He laughs, from the sheer relief of it, and his trepidation is melting away like snow in the sunshine, and he can allow himself to revel in it, to revel in the wings on his back, and he is sore and tired but this is what glory feels like, maybe, and perhaps he can fly into the air and there will be no wax to drip away.

Perhaps these wings are of the void, but they are of him, too.

And he looks to Phil again, and Phil is smiling at him, warm and happy. His own wings are flared out behind him, tattered at the edges, so many feathers torn or still missing entirely, and the more time that passes, the more and more likely it is that those feathers are never going to grow back, that Phil truly will never fly again. Phil has already resigned himself to it, he knows, but Wilbur has never given up hope, will never be able to bring himself to give up hope.

“It’s not fair that I can fly when you can’t,” he says quietly, and the room goes still and quiet. Especially when it’s my fault, he doesn’t say, though he knows everyone hears it.

“Wil,” Phil says, “nothing could bring me more joy than this.”

And Wilbur hears what he means: you, here.

So he flexes his wings and revels in the ache and revels in the sunshine and revels at his family, here, his father sitting by him and his friend-protege-brother poking at curiously at his feathers and Technoblade still in the doorway, not leaving even for all his grumbling. He revels in this, revels in this life, and for a time, the void recedes entirely.

And in its wake is the sunlight.

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havenoffandoms · 3 years

Text

Pipsqueak (Aiden/Lambert)

Based on Kashimalin’s 50 Types of Kisses prompt list.

Prompt: "Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference."

Pairing: Aiden/Lambert

Content Warning: referenced sexual content at the end of the chapter (nothing graphic)

Read on AO3.

Aiden is not short, thank you very much, nevermind how insistent Lambert is on the matter.

In fact, Aiden is a lot taller than most human men he’s encountered in his long life. He used to be one of the tallest (no Lambert, not lanky, but tall) witchers in his year at Stygga. Even now, over a century later, Aiden can safely say that he hasn’t met many people who can brag about being taller than him. He can count the exceptions on one hand actually, and they include Lambert and his brothers at Kaer Morhen. While we’re at it, Aiden would like to add that the wolves are unnecessarily tall in his humble opinion.

Seriously, there is no need for how tall Lambert and his brothers are. Aiden doesn’t know what kind of mutagens the mages at Kaer Morhen pumped into those kids, but the result is beyond ludicrous. While Lambert is pretty much perfectly proportioned, Geralt fancies himself an inverted triangle while Eskel is as wide as he is tall… and Eskel is very tall. Of course Aiden will look tiny compared to the wolves. He has to question whether the mages at Kaer Morhen inadvertently mixed up the batches, administering bear mutagens instead of wolf mutagens to the boys in Geralt and Eskel’s year. That is not the point, though. The point is that Lambert is being a grade A asshole, which has Aiden wondering if it’s worth going into a bloodrage right here and now just to teach his lover a lesson.

“Aww hell, pipsqueak, don’t be like that,” Lambert calls after him, but Aiden refuses to turn around as he proceeds to storm out of the kitchen. His blood courses hotly through his veins at the nickname. Why does he put up with the guy again? “Aiden, come back! I said I was sorry.”

“Fuck off, Lambert.”

“Will you at least tell me what I did wrong?”

Aiden suddenly stops dead in his tracks and whirls around all in one quick movement, his eyes almost flashing red with how enraged he is. It is only thanks to Lambert’s lightning-quick reflexes that his lover doesn’t end up walking straight into Aiden with how quickly he came to a halt. Lambert looks genuinely confused as amber eyes stare back at Aiden sheepishly like a puppy being scolded. Yeah right, like the prick doesn’t know what he did to put Aiden in such a state. Lambert is as bad an actor as he is a cook.

And Lambert is a very, very bad cook.

“You know exactly what you did, you little prick,” Aiden snaps, digging his index into Lambert’s chest for emphasis, “don’t pretend like you don’t know, it’s only making me mad!”

“Kitten, I honestly have no idea what-”

Aiden snarls, his sharp canines flashing dangerously in the dim light of the torches hanging from the walls, and the sight is enough to shut Lambert up. Admittedly, it doesn’t shut Lambert up for long, mostly because the younger witcher has no sense of self-preservation and doesn’t realise that poking an enraged Aiden can only end in disaster. Instead of backing off at the sight of Aiden hissing and snarling, like any sane person would’ve long done by now, Lambert stands his ground and smirks.

“You know, you’re really cute when you’re angry, shortcakes.”

That is it.

Aiden lunges at Lambert, and with the element of surprise on his side, manages to tackle the wolf to the ground. Try this one for size, dickhead. Aiden’s pupils constrict into a narrow line cutting vertically through the eerie yellow-green irises. He straddles Lambert’s lap, effectively pinning him into place, but said dickhead is still staring at him with that shit-eating grin… “First of all,” Aiden hisses through clenched teeth, “don’t fucking call me that, asshole. Shortcakes, pipsqueak, none of it! Got it? Second of all, the next time you offer me a step ladder to reach the pots on the high shelves, I will use my trophy knife to geld you, I will stew your balls and then feed them to your equally annoying brothers, got that?”

“Is that what your fit is about? The fucking step ladder?” Lambert lets out an incredulous laugh. “Aiden, you’re being ridiculous. Everyone needs a step ladder to get to the top cupboard, even Eskel!”

“And third of all,” Aiden carries on, ignoring Lambert’s very reasonable explanation, because fuck you, he’s not getting away with this, “you’re so damn lucky that I love you, because no one calls me pipsqueak and gets to see another day, understood?”

“I withdraw my earlier statement,” Lambert breathes huskily between them, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re not cute when you’re angry. You’re smoking hot, my pipsqueak.”

Aiden can’t help the surge of pride coursing through him at Lambert’s words, and against his will, his cock twitches in interest. Lambert’s smirk widens as he lazily thrusts his hips up, pressing his steadily growing erection against Aiden’s ass. The latter flashes his teeth again, the action giving him a downright feral look, the kind that drives Lambert crazy with desire. The wild look in Lambert’s warm amber eyes testifies of just how much the sight of Aiden straddling him turns Lambert on.

Aiden leans down until their faces are mere inches apart.

“I may be shorter than you, puppy, but I distinctly remember you choking on my big cock last night, begging for more. So if you want to get that privilege again, I’d watch that cheeky mouth of yours if I was you.”

Aiden pulls away from Lambert as he rises to his feet, then saunters away from his spluttering lover with a cocksure grin on his face. Aiden turns his back on Lambert and heads for the winding stairs, confident in the fact that the youngest wolf will follow him to their shared bedroom. Aiden has to work hard to hide the tent in his trousers, but it’s a price he’s willing to pay. He hears Lambert scramble to his feet and rush after him.

“What if I don’t check my mouth, little one?”

Aiden stops on the stairs and glances over his shoulder at Lambert, who’s now standing a couple of steps down from him, giving Aiden an artificial height. Aiden raises one eyebrow at the question, pivoting on his heels so he can look into Lambert’s eyes. His eyes are lust-blown as he holds Aiden’s gaze, but there’s also something else reflected in them, a spark of challenge that Aiden is so familiar with by now.

Lambert wants to be cheeky? Two could play at that game.

Aiden closes the gap between them as he leans down to steal a kiss from Lambert. Their lips meet in a brief and chaste kiss, an exchange that Aiden breaks off too early to Lambert’s taste judging by the wounded noise he makes as Aiden pulls away. In a sultry tone, his voice barely above a whisper, Aiden purrs his response.

“Since you insist on being a cheeky little bastard, you’re sleeping on the couch in the library tonight,” Aiden tells Lambert with an air of finality, before resuming his stroll up the stairs while pointedly ignoring Lambert’s indignant spluttering.

“Really? You’re making me sleep on the couch because I offered you a step ladder to stand on? Aiden, you’re being ridiculous. Get your ass back down here. Aiden!”

Aiden continues heading up the stairs, ignoring Lambert's calls. He makes sure he gives Lambert a fine view of his ass as he walks away.

Kiss that, Lamb.

#the witcher #aiden the witcher #the witcher aiden #aiden #lambert the witcher #the witcher lambert #lambert #lambert x aiden #aiden x lambert #lambden #laiden #havenwrites #kiss prompts

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animatedrapture · 3 years

Text

RINTOBER: [ Achilles' Heel ]

word count: 2,222

suna rintarō x reader

tags: ambiguous end, implied major character death, angst, implied sexual intercourse, toxic relationship, detailed pain(?)

song: achilles come down - gang of youths

a/n: HALLOWEEN SPECIAL because... death...?

a HUGE thank you, once again, to my wonderful wife, love of my life, bby @toffees-main 🥺 for proofreading the final piece and preventing me from sounding like a dumbass like, twice. also, thank you to @newfriendjen and @kaitycole for beta-reading the initial draft!

"Rin, Rintarō, I love you!" You shouted from the bleachers; a proud smile decorating your features as you cheered for him right after he'd hit the ball to the other side of the net, securing EJP Raijin another point—so close to winning.

His gaze and yours were two opposites of a pole with a pull unparalleled—a pull science can only wish to decipher. He finds you as he rotates through the set up and there's a beam in his eyes, making him break out into a grin you just know he couldn't find it in himself to reserve for later.

That day, that match—Suna Rintarō was named the MVP of the game. He owed it all to you and the swell of his heart with each cheer he heard from you; your voice distinct as if it were the only one that mattered in that whole gymnasium. Perhaps, at least that time, you truly were all that mattered to him.

But not anymore.

The first—the first was the lack of replies, the dryer replies. I love you's met with Love you's and very little effort to hide the lack of sincerity beneath. It began through texts until it was the quick, snipped tone laced with the parsimonious manner he answered you. The act of it was much like an attempt to deprive you of water until you're but withering rose in his grasp that he would rather replace than try to plant again and save.

Just how long were you willing to go without the water you needed to stay alive?

"Rin, love, I'll prepare dinner for us tonight, come home early, okay? I'm cooking your favorite!"

"I'll try," was his reply as you watched each of his hasty movements through your shared bedroom.

"I prepared you a bento, too. It's on the kitchen counter," you continued as he attempted to ignore the way you looked at him similar to the way you look when you're lost and searching for something. He hums in response, and just as he was about to reach for the door, you call out to him, "Rin, where's my goodbye kiss?" in the usual tone you would pull back then when he would forget and pepper you with kisses in retaliation, offering an apology before heading out.

He looks back at you with exasperation, "I'm late, Y/N." He doesn't wait for you to answer before he has the door shut close.

That's how you know he also forgot the food you prepared on the kitchen counter.

Foolishly, the answer to the question was that you were willing to wait until your next life for his love to drown you into bliss again. It's that answer that's disrespectful to the mystery of reincarnation—but you're everything Suna Rintarō wanted you to be; that is, if it was a fool he wanted you to be, you would play the part better than any award winning actor to have ever lived could. Even if it was a miscreant he wanted you to be, some sort of heretic to the laws of the world and the conditions of love. You'd be everything he asked of you. After all, who were you if not his other half?

Who were you if not water to shape into whatever container he put you in, right?

The second—the second was the lies that slipped past such sinful crimson lips. Oh, by the heavens, as if the lack of fondness in the timbre of his voice as he spoke to you wasn't enough to put cracks to the cemented foundation of you and him. Cruel, it's so cruel—you wonder if you're lacking somewhere, have you changed? Are you no longer diamond in the sea of glitter—? Worth not of his time nor the beating of the caged heart you thought you've acquired?

Now when he speaks, even the very sound of his voice reverberates like a sharp spear piercing through your chest without mercy—as if you're Spartan in the Battle of Thermopylae. The lies that come along with them about how training ended late again, or that he's travelling for a match again—Huh? No, you don't have to come, Y/N. I need to focus.

Did he have to lie about who he's with, what he's been doing? It's laughable. As if you wouldn't kiss away the taste of anything that lingered in his lips, if it was blood, alcohol or the lips of another girl. Rintarō, did he not know you enough to know you would surrender to his will no matter what mud followed his footsteps?

Ah, but, what would admitting such things do to his pride? Maybe it's that—or maybe he liked the way the lies were like lemon and salt to a fresh wound. You think, you never thought you could be so masochistic.

Third—the third is the sharpness of his gaze. It's the same gaze, same pair of eyes you've loved for such a long time and you fail not to love to this very moment. You're softer than clouds but now most hollow in comparison to the unacquirable stars among the cosmos—you think they're there but they're just a burst of light, something that has probably died lightyears ago.

It's like chokehold, the fourth—the fourth is like chokehold and he, the assassin. Ruthless—he's ruthless when he looks at you as you're not more than a tedious chore to him and the ring on your finger held no promise of relentless love greater than what a deity could offer.

Foolish—you're foolish. Delusion is a coping mechanism to the ones whose realities have been robbed in front of them—delusion is what you're supposed to call it when you fill your head with all the excuses and all the things you tell yourself have to change. You used to be a masterpiece. A masterpiece to him; as though you're Holy Grail found in a gallery of things that could never begin to hope they would ever amount to you.

Delusion is ignoring the liquor in his lips, the intoxicating smell of his cologne mixed with alcohol and cigarette smoke. You're confused and your reality that seems to have been distorting more often than usual. You question the strings that premeditate fate when it's you feeling the drunkenness and hangover the next day when it should be Suna and the tabloids of "Suna Rintarō spotted in yet another bar." You wonder if each sunset and sunrise you watched with Suna was a mere fever dream when it's you who vomits on the toilet. You, who sobs on the bathroom floor.

"Sfumato," your friend tells you, "The gentle blurring of edges to make rendered objects appear as one with their environment." The edges blur when you call that delusion as love—you only have to wait long enough before both are truly one and the same. The pain disguised as martyr sacrifice to the greatest allegory of love to exist. This is what you're told. They say, "Y/N, you've confused love with delusion," and yet you don't listen.

You don't listen most of all when you're back underneath him but you feel like you're being bloodied all over, stained like wine to a white dress. Yet you allow yourself to indulge in the kisses he's abated you of, you revel in each time you ask him to tell you he loves you and he finally does as he luxuriates you of your desires and of your whines for love—nevermind that he was doing it for himself. After all, it is as the word suggests, a luxury.

Suna Rintarō had become a luxury you couldn't afford, therefore, he did not have any business of giving himself to you. Not unless he wanted to.

Is there such thing as a free reign over the heart of someone? Hand it over as they will but how long would they truly allow you to borrow it—? Borrow it because one never truly surrenders such a vital thing to human functioning. Yes, you are and you have been delusional to believe so.

"You own the entirety of my heart, Y/N," you're unsure whenever it echoes in your head. He brings you enough torture, why must your own brain create such clamor in your head. Was such pain necessary? Is pain to love much like Adam's rib to Eve?

"It's a promise ring, bunny," he said as he tucked your hair behind your ears—his gaze is intense, almost like you would disappear from his sight if he looked at anywhere or anything but you.

You stared at the ring that shone under the light of the restaurant, your vision blurring at the tears welling from your eyes and you try your best to choke in the sob that involuntarily escapes you.

"Hey, Y/N, what are you cryin' for?" He questioned with a chuckle, looking at you with amusement dancing in his eyes while his thumbs reached out to wipe away each tear that betrayed you—falling down your cheeks as he cupped your face.

"I-it's nothing, I—I'm just happy, love," you answer him through your tears.

There's a smile playing across his lips, he tells you, "'m just making a promise that I'll marry you one day, bunny, is all."

You nodded eagerly with a wide smile even as the tears that left you continued to fall, "I'm making a promise to say yes, Rin. No matter what," you answered him through your sobs, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Guess I should start practicing to get on one knee then, yeah?" He laughed as he pulled you closer, his arms around you, you giggled along with him—it felt like you were molded together to form one perfect piece, like the act of staying there for all of eternity, in each other's arms, would turn you into one. Entangled together in all the right ways—as if Rapture has befallen the Earth and that was your final state as did the universe.

The fifth—the fifth is the screaming, the fights. Who would have thought you would break like a mere twig stepped on in the darkest forest on this Earth? It was under his shoe did you break from; each word that left his mouth was scathing—they didn't feel like a stab or pins and needles to the human heart, they felt like burns of acid that slowly ate at your decaying soul, breaking heart, dwindling sanity.

"I don't get it, Rin! Why do you treat me like this?!" You screamed through your tears, your chest heaving as your lungs tried its best to support you, even when it's already been punctured by the shattered pieces of your heart that continued to beat in separate shards, digging further into your lungs, damaging your ribcage, piercing your throat.

"Please, God, just tell me what to do—Rintarō, tell me what I need to do to turn us back to the way we were, please," you begged, falling to your knees and you let the shattered items on the floor puncture your skin. You felt numb yet your whole body was buzzing. The pain from the pieces of glass from under you doesn't register in your brain because all you can feel is the pain that was spreading from your chest and out into your whole body.

Under his mercy had he turned you inside out and greedily taken every part of you—everything you surrendered on your own volition until you were nothing, not even a shell of yourself but more like a ghost floating through the air. It looked like a battlefield—and perhaps it was. Love was never something you come out alive from. Love was greedy, selfish, treacherous. Love is like an assailant you allowed to enter in the safety of your own home.

"Don't you get it? Y/N, I don't love you anymore!"

No. You think, no. No, it repeats in your head, over and over. Denial. You were in denial, at this conjecture, you were aware of even this.

"I stopped loving you long ago, Y/N. You were dumb enough to stay." Has he always been this truculent towards you? You wonder but you can't recall anything else but the echoing of his words. Words he used like a champion of the battlefield, liberating away the life of his enemies.

No. Don't say that. You don't mean it. No.

Suna thought you would be the arrow to his heel—the one to bring him to his knees in the most torturous of ways. In reality, maybe you were more his heel than the arrow. He was both Achilles and his actions, the arrow that brought him to his own demise.

Sixth—the sixth was sickening grief. You're so unfair. You're so selfish. How could you run away from him, only to scream his name and the tormenting shout of "I love you" that haunted him awake or in his slumber. How could you be so cruel? To let him fall to his knees in front you the way you made him to. Ruthless—you're so ruthless. The pain was the excruciating kind, crashing towards him like ocean waves bringing him farther from the shore and near to wherever you were now. How could you leave him like you did?

After all, what was he if there wasn't you?

📞 violet is calling... all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.

#RINTOBER #suna rintarou #suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna #rintarou suna #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #;cloud #haikyuu angst #suna angst #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro imagine #suna rintarou x reader

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aloraundomiel · 3 years

Text

I’ve decided to combine @rubinecorvus Wartober 2021 and @raincoffeeandfandoms Kisstober 2021 prompt challenges for double the fun and double the headache. :3

Day 3 - Vessel + Morning Kisses

Dick can tell what kind of day it’s going to be by the mug Nix chooses upon waking.

He shuffles into the kitchen, already running late and nearly nude, if not as naked as the day he was born. Occasionally there will be socks. His hair will be unkempt and sticking up in every direction, inexplicable if Dick has tugged on it through their sex the night before. Eyes closed as he’s drawn to the coffee pot like a moth to the flame, skirting the kitchen table and counter edges from memory.

Dick shakes back his sleeve, mouth tightening in a minute down turn as his watch ticks on insistently.

Nix scrubs a hand through his heavy stubble, peers over to where Dick’s standing in his mild irritation.

“You’ve missed the first train,” he slurs.

Dick tugs his sleeve back down, crosses the three strides it takes to get from the cramped apartment kitchen to the door and plucks his coat from the hook.

“I can make the second if I leave in the next couple of minutes. The benefits of cheap housing, being so close to the station. Are you coming?”

Nix barks a laugh and it’s no indicator whether he’s scoffing at the suggestion he could possibly be ready in minutes or at the notion of showing up for work at all. The possibility of either happening is slim to none and mentally Dick already starts to run down the list of tasks he’ll have to add to his own agenda today to ensure Nixon Nitration’s administrative offices continue to run smoothly without their employer. Not that any of the staff will be shocked by the boss not showing up at the office. The times they actually see Stanhope Nixon’s son per month can be counted on both hands. But Dick’s job is enough work on it’s own. Not particularly challenging, but he would like to stamp it with his own brand of efficiency and work ethic without constantly having to cover for Nix going AWOL.

Dick watches from beneath his lashes, stalking Nix’s movement to the cabinet where the coffee mugs are kept.

“Coffee first,” grumbles Nix, fumbling through the collection of ceramic vessels with a series of soft clanks and clings.

Dick waits, holding his breath. Though there’s a dozen different cups within reach, there will be three that dictate Nix’s current mood and mental state. If he chooses the white, unassuming diner mug, lacking any kind of decoration or detail, a full night’s sleep was had and the day will consist of the usual amount of humorous cynicism. If he goes for the slightly larger jadeite mug with the chip in the handle, the day will only be peppered lightly with bouts of irritability and spells of hopelessness and ennui, and some level of productivity and socialization will be maintained. If he reaches for the hand-thrown extra large stoneware mug with Adirondack pines circumventing it’s convex sides...Dick hopes he doesn’t reach for that mug.

“You sleep all right?” Dick prompts, hoping to get some insight into foretelling the selection before it happens.

Nix cuts a sleepy side-eyed glance at him across the counter, flashes that smirk that even in his bedraggled, rugged state makes Dick’s heart do a tiny wet flip-flop.

“Well not for the present company’s lack of trying.” He lifts a brow and drops his gaze lewdly down Dick’s front, rests it suggestively at the crotch of his khakis.

To hide the flush he feels spreading from the apple of his cheeks, Dick clears his throat and leans over to snatch his hat off the coat rack.

“Wasn’t my intention to keep you up all night-”

“Some parts of me, it was,” Nix drawls.

Dick continues with a grimace. “I just thought,” he insists, “it might be nice to spend some time together. Things have gotten busy at the office lately, and well.”

He trails off, chewing at the inside of his lip. It does seem silly now. Inviting Nix over to spend the night because he’d missed the feel of his skin against his own, missed the timbre of his unguarded laugh. Reckless even. Although the apartment building is the right amount of cordial and distant, he’s still got neighbors. And even the most loyal neighbors can talk. It’s ridiculous. Risking what he has with Nix on a single night’s basest pleasure. He’d told himself once they were back home, he’d figure something out. A way to love him without the secrecy and sneaking around, a way to care for Nix as he deserved to be cared for - without regret. Dick swore to be the first. The first to adore Lewis Nixon and not treat him as a burden to be endured. As a mistake to be suffered.

“Nevermind,” he says, rather glumly. “I’m glad you got some rest.”

Nix leans back to peer around the cabinet door, picking up on the change in his tone. His face softens, eyes opening fully for the first time since entering the kitchen and he abandons his quest for coffee to step around the counter’s edge. He reaches for Dick, runs a cautious hand down his arm.

“Hey, Dick, hey.” His eyes are the perfect compliment to a fine cup of coffee. Dick’s always been drawn to the color of Nix’s eyes.

“It was great,” Nix tells him, sliding his hand up to cup the back of Dick’s neck, gives it a squeeze. “Extraordinary. Transcendent. It always is. But I don’t always need you to fuck me through the mattress to enjoy spending time with you. You could let me take you to dinner.”

Dick can feel the crude words push his flush out to the roots of his hair. “Dinner?”

Nix leans in, eyes flicking between Dick’s and his mouth and back. “Yeah. You know. Dinner. And a movie. And maybe a little necking in the car in the back of the parking lot.”

His grin is annoyingly contagious and Dick stops fighting the magnetic pull, let’s himself be drawn into Nix’s gravity. “Like a date?” he murmurs.

“Yeah. A real date. I’ll pick you up, bring you flowers, spring for dessert, the whole shebang.”

Dick tilts his head, inviting Nix closer, draws his other arm up to cage Dick fully against the door.

“Careful,” he whispers, a hair’s breath away from Nix’s lips. “A man might think you’re sweet on him with all that.”

Nix’s coffee colored eyes twinkle, wide awake. “Good.”

He surges up to capture Dick’s mouth, kissing whatever smart reply he had building on his tongue away. Dick moans, buries his hands in Nix’s wild hair and kisses him back, licks at the seam of his mouth until he opens and allows Dick entrance. He tastes sleep-sour and there’s an echo of last night’s whiskey and that bitter, smoky afterburn that is all Nix and Dick laps it up greedily. All night he’s chased this taste, desperate for it, accenting it with the salt of Nix’s sweat and the sound of Dick’s name from his throat. And he still wants more.

Is this what Nix feels every time he reaches for his flask? Is this what addiction is?

He kisses Nix until his cheeks burn from the rasp of his stubble. He kisses Nix until his lips feel swollen and his heart full to the brim. Kisses him until he’s satisfied he can wait until it’s time to punch out from work and find Nix again to refill his need of Nix’s lips against his.

When Nix draws back, his breathing is just a tad uneven, his pupils a tad too large. Dick smirks, pleased he’s not the only addict between them.

“So,” Nix says, trying and failing to cover his breathlessness. “You name the day. And I’ll come steal you away for a whirlwind courtship. What do you say?”

Dick runs a thumb over Nix’s bottom lip, watches the way it catches in the tacky saliva still clinging to the swell. “I accept.”

Nix grins, catching the pad of his thumb and giving it a swirl with his clever, devious tongue. He releases it with an audible pop and pushes off the door, leaving Dick choking on a rather indignant whimper in his wake.

“You better run,” he advises. “You’ve got sixty seconds if you’re making your train.”

Snapping out of his spell, Dick tsks and glances at his watch again. He bends at the waist to retrieve his poor hat that got abandoned to the floor with all the smooching.

“Are you coming in today or not? I need to tell Janet or she won’t stop hounding me about it.”

Nix, already back at the coffee pot, lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Who can say?” he says airily, reaching into the cabinet. “I’ve got a big date to plan for, might need to take the day off and prepare.”

He lowers his hand and in it is clutched the plain white diner mug.

Dick beams.

“Fine,” he chuckles, already half out the door before Nix can finish filling his coffee. “See you later. Or not.”

There’s the sound of a sloppy, particularly wet coffee kiss being blown at his back as the door shuts and Dick finds himself grinning all the way to the train station.

It’s going to be a great day.

#winnix #dick winters #lewis nixon #band of brothers #fanfic #fanfic prompt #kisstober 2021 #wartober 2021

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thebadchoicemachine · 3 years

Text

Petting Party (pt 1)

Rundown of dimensions AU: Quackity’s from 1920s dimension called Prowa, Schlatt and Charlie are his business partners *cough found family cough* and they run a casino/speakeasy. Sapnap is a knight from a fantasy dimension called Quarry. Karl is like Dr.Who.

tw - Mentions of guns and alcohol (1920s mobster dimension)

This is really just the fluffiest full I have ever written.

•••

@thecatchat

•••

Quackity walked through his rooms, digging around drawers for his keys. He squawked a little in frustration as he rummaged. He felt so paranoid, like he was already short on time even though he was about half an hour early and it’s not like Sapnap or Karl would mind waiting. He just wanted this to go perfectly. They’d had dates in his world before, they’d even had proper ones where they weren’t running from cops or mobsters or some other guns/knife/bat-wielding foes. Heh, foes. He was starting to think like Sapnap… and he was starting to feel like Karl— where was his damn key? Karl had literal worlds full of stuff to keep track of, it only made sense he got turned around and mixed up, what was Quackity’s excuse?

Finally, a glint caught his eye and he snatched up the silver piece of metal, stuffing it into his sleeve and practically skipping to the front. Their home was really just the back half of the casino so he just walked through into the back room. Schlatt and Charlie were sitting at a table, various game pieces scattered across the top, counting cards, chips, and cash. Charlie seemed to be in the middle of a failed game of solitaire and was stacking up a house of cards while Schlatt was just old-fashioned sorting, looking rather bored. It was a quiet night for them. Probably a few drinks and catching up till bed after they double-check the games for cheating. Quackity would usually join them but it wasn’t strange for him not to show. He gave them a wave as he walked past, motion enough for them to look up and acknowledge him.

Schlatt only glanced up before returning to his work. “What’s with the getup?”

“I told youse, I’m going out tonight.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’m going out to meet my partners.” Quackity struck a joking pose. “No harm in good impressions.”

“Hey,” Charlie frowned childishly, “aren’t we your partners?”

Quackity chuckled, rolling his eyes, “Of course. My new partners, then. Actually, lemme see a cut of that doe, I wanna butter ‘em up tonight.” He snatched a few bills from the table and turned to make his exit.

“Wait,” Schlatt commanded, still barely looking up from his work. “Partners like you’re out for coffee to discuss getting new tables?” He took a sharp bite of his apple, eyes lazily growing dark. “Or do youse mean partners like I outta trail behind... y’know, keep you from gettin’ lead poisoning.”

“Uh...” Quackity blinked. “Partners like I’m off to a petting party.”

Schlatt choked. Charlie laughed while he coughed, moving to pat his back and smiled at Quackity. “Well, good luck.”

Quackity narrowed his eyes as he was almost certain he caught a ‘all knows you need it’ under Charlie’s breath. He played it cool and simply snapped, “Hey, I don’t need no luck. Certainly not from you.”

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to offend.” Charlie held his hands up, grin still plastering his face. “Was just wishing you the best.”

“Yeah... yeah,” Schlatt nodded, coming out of his state but still red-faced. Whether it was from embarrassment or lack of air Quackity couldn’t tell. He rolled his eyes again, smiling but waving goodbye without giving them a chance to drag him onto another conversation.

He stepped into the front, waiting patiently by the front of the door. Karl had said they’d meet him at the Vidrio, but should he wait inside or out? He paced, routinely adjusting his feathered headband and combing the actual feathers on his wings. He still worried he was overdressing a little but when he tried to lessen his look he panicked about underdressing. He wanted to look good for his boyfriends, a bit of makeup wouldn’t hurt that... would it? In the end, he’d settled on a simple pale blue dress, eyeliner, and a small headband. Nothing too gaudy but he still looked good. He looked good in everything, of course, he had absolutely nothing to worry about. So why was he all jittery? What, was he suddenly a dud? It didn’t matter. It was probably just because of the surprise factor.

He’d assumed they would come and get outfits at his place (no offense to them, they just really couldn’t go the way they usually dressed) but Karl had insisted they pick him up like a “proper date.” He didn’t know what Karl knew about proper dates or when he’d started to care about them, most of their dates involved some form of running for their lives. Quackity wasn’t complaining but he’d be lying if he said the idea of just being a snuggle pup for a change wasn’t wildly appealing, especially if it meant getting to have Sapnap and Karl got to hang out in his world and not just flee and sneak. There were some nice things here he felt he never got to show them.

He sunk into himself, suddenly feeling ashamed. It was bad manners, it was. Combining his work and love life to the point he may as well have made chumps out of his own boyfriends. He knew they didn’t mind, it was all new and fun for them and he was pretty sure Sapnap did the same thing. (He wasn’t entirely sure what his job was, like a knight sure but where was the line between work and just regular old Quarrian life?) Still. He should take them dancing more or something. Technically, that’s what he was doing here but he’d like to make a better habit of it, it really sounded like the bees-

A bright, impossible, but familiar, swirl interrupted his thoughts. He straightened himself, quickly fixing his headband one last time. His heart was pounding out of his chest— but not because he was nervous, because he was excited. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling like a giddy sap as out from the portal stepped Karl and Sapnap. His breath was caught in his throat as he got a good look at them. He wasn’t sure what he expected, nothing bad, but he mentally made a note to give them an apology for being SO wrong. Whatever he’d imagined, they looked a million times better.

Sapnap was in a white dress shirt. He had on a maroon vest and black tie he clearly didn’t know how to wear but wore well nonetheless. He had his hair slicked back, completely showing his pretty silvery, misty, eyes. Quackity noted the headband he usually wore in his hair was tied in a ribbon around his neck. Sapnap just couldn’t be without it, he warmly mused.

Karl had on something with colors in patterns like Quackity had never seen before, not in his world at least, which— of course, it was Karl. Beautiful, strange, mysterious, adorable Karl. The top of the pantsuit was made of several pale shades of green. They washed over it like waves of seafoam, a strip of pale purple lace swirled around it, almost mimicking a deconstructed form of his usual crazy attire. A herringbone cap was pulled over his head, shaping brown curls.

Quackity stared, absolutely gobsmacked, until his brain caught up to his eyes. Sapnap was saying something and waving his hand a little. Quackity blinked, shaking himself out of it. Egad, he was goofy for them. Luckily, Karl and Sapnap didn’t seem to mind his zoning out. In fact, Karl seemed to find it tickling, he clearly held in a giggle as Quackity snapped to. Quackity guessed this wasn’t the first time he’d found himself stunned. It certainly wouldn’t be the last either.

“Hey, jackpot,” Sapnap gently flicked his forehead. “I asked how you think we look.”

“You... good. You look good. Mmhmm,” he managed to squeak out, finally remembering to close his mouth. Slick. He was slick.

“I’m glad you like it,” Karl chuckled. “I know you don’t really trust me to dress myself for nice places in Prowa.”

“Hey, I never said I didn’t trust you!”

“You never said it, no.”

Quackity gave Karl a small punch in the shoulder. He flinched way more than was warranted, stumbling dramatically, but a broad smile settled on both their faces.

“Aw, sugar! Did I hurt you?”

“Yes!”

“Hey, hey! Sir,” Sapnap stepped between them, also joking. “What is wrong with you, daring to assault my beloved in front of me?” He threateningly toward over Quackity, grabbing his shoulders and backing him up against the wall. His eyes flickered with playful malice. He leaned in close, expression caught between a smirk and a snarl, completely aware of the growing blush on Quackity’s face. “I’ve half a mind to challenge you, and another half to crush you right here for your audacity.”

“Aw, my knight in shining armor,” Karl sarcastically patted Sapnap’s shoulder, thoroughly less impressed by the display than Quackity. “Whatever would I do without you here to defend me from this sweet, cuddly, small, duckling?”

“Hey!” Quackity snapped defensively. “I could fuck you up if I-“

“Ey, Q! Have you seen-“ Schlatt stopped upon seeing the scene, turning on his heel and walking right back into the back. “Nevermind. Not my business. None of my business. Absolutely not my business…”

“I-“ Sapnap dropped his boyfriend (who crumpled onto the floor in laughter), instantly turning a shade twelve times redder than Quackity had been. “I am so sorry.”

“Ah- Schlatt?” Karl called over Quackity’s wheezing. “Schlatt, it’s fine-“

“NONE OF MY BUSINESS!” A shout came from the backroom.

Quackity dropped his face into his hands, his chortling turned to full hysterics as he sat curled up against the wall. His dress, which he had been so unreasonable nervous about moments before, creased and probably picked up some grime from the floor. He didn’t care at all. Now that his boyfriends were actually beside him he could care less if he was painted green and orange. He had no one to impress, at least no one who would let anything bad happen over a stupid look. “Oh,” he snickered, the burst dying down. “Oh wow.” He wiped his eyes as jubilant tears stung, apathetic as he’d become he hoped his makeup didn’t run. It wasn’t necessary but he’d still like to look nice for the occasion. He pulled himself to his feet, brushing off his outfit and sighing. “Ah. He’s got a point though, really should be saving that for the party.”

“Speaking of which—“ Karl snapped his fingers in a jazzy rhythm. “Are we ready to go?”

“Yes, let’s!” Sapnap turned with Karl as all three of them began to speed out the door.

Quackity made sure to bump in front of them before they made it out, he was not letting Karl anywhere near the wheel.

The car ride was bright and lively although quiet. Quackity couldn’t help but grin just being next to these goons, one could practically feel Karl vibrating with excitement in the back, even Sapnap seemed to be enjoying the drive (he’d never quite gotten over the time Karl had offered to drive... Quackity could barely blame him for remaining he cautious and paranoid around automobiles). The blanched twilight hummed overhead as they made their way through the streets. It was relatively empty this time of night, too late for errands but just before everything started to swing. They pulled into the end of the road and all stepped out.

“It’s a bit of a walk the rest of the way,” Quackity explained. “Especially cause ‘s considered… ‘impolite’ to pull attention.”

“Hmm…” Sapnap nodded, glancing behind them.

“What’s up?” Karl put a hand on his shoulder.

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“It’s fine, I just-“

“Just what?”

“Uh, maybewecouldgoseeSchlattandCharlie?”

“Huh?” Karl blinked.

“Is… Schlatt and Charlie coming? Could we go get them?”

“N-no?” Quackity stammered, surprised to say the least. “This— uh- ain’t exactly the kind of party you bring your family to. Not ‘less they got dates of their own... and you know Charlie ain’t keen on that stuff.”

“Okay, well, maybe we could spend some time with them for a while at the casino? Before we commit here. The night is young!”

“I means, I’m pumped for your sudden urge to hang out with them and all, but I kind of wanted to spend time with the two of you.”

“Ah-“ Sapnap shrunk into himself. “Of course, I- me as well, I’m so sorry to imply otherwise. I was just thinking Charlie may like to hear about the slimes...” He trailed off, fiddling with the headband around his neck, just the slightest hint of panic on his face. He was very good at hiding it but Quackity and Karl knew him better than that. They shared a glance, this had nothing to do with Charlie.

“Spice, are youse nervous?”

“N-no!”

“You sure? We don’t gots to do nothing you don’t wanna.”

“Yeah, it’s just-“

“Chivalry and all that?” Karl chimed in, sympathetic. “I know our courting isn’t exactly conventional.”

“No. Well, not exactly. Ah... think I’m merely... flustered?”

“Flustered?” They spoke at once.

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just… romance in my world is so different. Much more complicated. It involves a lot of the other’s family and specific sets or roles for meetings, it changes depending on how long you’ve been together and what kingdoms you hail from, so such and so forth. I’ve never been a martinet for the rules but, the way you describe these kinds of parties, I- I- find myself… lost.”

Karl blinked. “So, you’re used to having a bunch of guidelines and, while you don’t miss them, are floundering without the stencil?” Sapnap nodded at the ground. He took a breath and shook his head, clearing his mind before bowing slightly. He held his left arm over his chest, middle knuckle up with his pinky and thumb slightly out, keeping the rest of his hand balled in a fist. Quackity recognized the symbol by now as something like a salute of the Nether kingdom. It was used to show respect while speaking. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes, remembering the formality was only habit.

“I apologize for my trepidation,” Sapnap held a bashful tone. “I am just not used to courti-“ he paused, searching for the word, “dates being so… open. I don’t mean that as an insult to your world! I only-.”

“Okay, buddy,” Quackity pushed Sapnap upright by his shoulders. He seemed confused but obliged. “I get it’s polite and nice for you but, if you really love me, please never do this again.”

“Do... what?”

“You have a habit of getting all formal when you’re worried you’re messing up with us.” Karl shrugged.

“I do?”

“I don’t know.” Quackity tapped his chin. “Let’s see.” Without warning, he grabbed Sapnap by the shoulders and takes him downward, planting a firm kiss right on his lips. He tensed a little as he felt a sudden wave of hotness wash over him (that was to be expected from surprising a demon) but stayed in the moment. As he pulled away, Sapnap blinked a few times, stunned although the faintest hint of a smile shone through. His gelled hair fell just a little messy.

“What the fuck, Quackity?”

“There we go! Back to normal! You see the difference?”

“I- I guess so!” He nodded, a look of mild surprise mixing his comprehension as if he’d just realized what color his own eyes were.

“Now, did youse like that?”

“Yes?”

“You want more?”

“Yes...”

“You wanna go inside?”

“Yeah.” Sapnap energetically nodded, slamming the car door shut, slicking back his hair again, and holding out his arms. “Yes, I do.”

Karl jumped between them, linking arms on his side before Quackity had the chance, and holding out his own instead. Quackity shot him a look but took it, joined by Sapnap in confusion at the sudden demand to be in the middle. Karl only smiled as they made their way down the street, nearly skipping at the attention until he lowly murmured, “So… do I get a kiss?” Quackity opened his mouth, smiling, but was cut off by Sapnap swiftly swooping in and planting one on Karl’s cheek.

“Oh- you-!” Quackity squawked, envy and agitation peaking his tone. “I was gonna-!”

“Well, I did.”

“Boys, boys, I do have two hands… and two cheeks,” Karl half-sang, leaning over to Quackity awaiting his kiss.

“Oh, no. Fuck you. You’re gonna have to wait for it now,” Quackity pouted. Sapnap let out a taunting laugh as Karl gasped in mock offense. Well, probably mock. Regardless, Quackity only smirked and turned to face a door in the wall next to them. “Besides, we’re here!” He unlinked his arm, rattling out a little pattern into the door. It opened slowly, revealing a dapperly dressed serpentine blocking the view inside. He smiled wildly as the warm smells and colors hit him regardless, it had been a while since he’d been to one of these, long before he ever met them and certainly not while they were dating, but he missed them.

He couldn’t wait to share this.

#karlnapity dimensions #ksq dimensions content #karlnapity fluff #woah those are words I wrote

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justalittleficsideblog · 3 years

Text

Care for a dance?; Itadori Yuuji

Prompt: Satoru holds a sort of prom for students, you anxiously wait for Yuuji. But when he arrives, he says some things you’ve been waiting to hear forever.

pairing: Itadori Yuuji x fem!reader

genre: Fluff!

Word count: 1,583

This is my first ever fanfiction, I hope to get better in the future but I hope you all enjoy! <3 also, if you would like to make requests, feel free to do so!

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You made your way across the dance floor, eyes glued to the entrance as you waited for that one pink-haired boy to walk through.

You sighed heavily, leaving against the wall, drink in hand.

Damn sorcerers and their dramatic antics

You chuckled beside yourself. It's not like you yourself were not a sorcerer, you were quite skilled in the cursed arts, in fact. However, in an attempt to give the tech students a sense of “normalcy” from other schools, Satoru decided to have the students set up their own mini prom. You were against the idea at first, alongside Medumi (although you weren't sure if he was actually listening to what Gojo had to say in the first place), but Itadori’s eyes practically glowed at the idea of a western-type dance.

“Please y/n! Doesn’t it sound fun?? A dance and lights and music and--”

“Fine, yuuji,” you sighed as Satoru beamed in contempt. You quickly turned away from Itadori’s puppy eyes. But you couldn't just say no to him, and you weren’t quite sure why.

Because you like him dumbass

“Oooh, so does this mean we get to see y/n in a dress for once?” a mouth appeared on the side of Itadori’s face, cutting off your train of thought.

Itadori slapped his own face, hard.

“Aww,” you teased. “Does Sakuna want to see some skin?”

Itadori blushed, but quickly slapped a hand over his arm as it spoke, “No, well of course, but it would be nice to see Yuji here get all flustered.”

“S-shut up!”

You laughed, as much as a threat Sakuna was, you had to admit he had his quirks. Itadori glanced toward Satoru in a silent plea to change the subject. The teacher complied, laying out the rules and dress code for the event.

“Hehe, have fun with this one kids, I'm off to do some sight-seeing.” and with that he turned and walked off.

“This is pathetic, why do I have to get wrapped up in this shit,” Megumi growled, also striding off toward the direction of his dorm.

You heard a distinct whispering from behind you, which you assumed was most likely Sukuna saying something to Itadori. When you turned back around, said pink-haired boy made brief eye-contact with you before quickly looking away with his hand on his cheek.

---------

That interaction led you to where you were now, leaning against the wall alone in a dress that made you feel like suffocating.

Well, you thought. At least I look good

You wondered what Itadori would be wearing, would he think you looked good? Would he even notice you? Or would he steer himself in the direction of a taller girl with a nicer ass?

You sighed, shaking your head to get rid of the thoughts.

“It’s not like it matters anyway.”

“Oh? What doesn’t matter?”

You choked on your drink as you turned to see Satoru looking ravishing as ever in a black suit, leaning over you with his drastic height.

“Oh- uh, … nothing in particular,” you swallowed thickly.

Gojo smirked,”Well if that’s the case… he should be here shortly by the way.”

You scowled at your teacher as he chuckled and dashed off while you heard expensive shoes click clack against the polished floor. Megumi and Itadori had arrived.

“Yo, y/n!” Itadori waved while bouncing excitedly. Megumi nodded in acknowledgement, giving you a once over before taking off towards where Satoru wandered off. You had to admit, Yuuji looked….well, good. Really good. The dress shirt he wore fitted him perfectly, accenting his hair and eyes as he moved even in the slightest.

He cleaned up well.

Itadori came up to you, snack in hand, stopping in his tracks as he got a good glimpse of you. “You look, uh, well- you look really--”

“You look smokin’ y/n” Sakuna made yet another surprise appearance on Itadori’s hand.

“Ahh! Nevermind him, sorry I was just going to say--”

You Interrupted, “So I don't look smokin’?”

His eyes widened and he took a step back, “N-no, I just think you look… pretty.”

You cackled, noise being drawn out by the music blaring and flashing lights decorating the space. “Relax, Yuji I was just teasing.”

His shoulders dropped somewhat, releasing the tight grip he had over his hand where Skuna’s smart-mouth was. His eyes glanced over your form, noticing how the dress fell over your frame.

“It sure turned out kinda nice, huh?” You asked, turning to face him head on.

“Yeah… the music is amazing too! I dont think ive heard this song before.”

“Really? It’s such an overplayed song in my opinion.”

Yuji’s face grimaced, “Ill be right back, hold on a second.”

Your smile fell as he walked away, but quickly you became confused as he wandered up to the DJ, whispering something in his ear, looking back at you and smiling.

The pop-song had ended just as he made his way back to your side. Your stomach tingled as he approached, turning as he stood flush against your shoulder.

“Hey y/n… uh,” he kicked his foot against the ground a second.

Wait… there's a slow song starting, did he-- no way, your eyes widened at the realization of what he had requested at the boothe. No freakin way--

“Do you wana dance?” he choked out, practically shouting so he could be heard above the speakers blasting soft notes across the stage.

You stared at his outstretched hand in surprise, you thought your little crush had been completely one-sided. There was no way-

“y/n?”

You snapped back into reality, he was asking for a dance, it didn't mean anything, right?

“Y-yeah, of course!” you stammered, tripping over your words.

Thank god it’s dark in here

He beamed, grabbing your hand and leading you out onto the dance floor. He hesitated a bit with his other hand, nervously laying it on your waist where there was a bit of fabric covering it. He seemed to choke back some words, opening his mouth and closing it promptly as your body was held flush against him.

Your face was red hot as you fell into place against him, linking your hands around his neck. Which felt surprisingly strong.

“Uh… anything on my neck?” Yuuji glanced down, peering at you oddly.

“O-oh, no nothing. Just lost in thought I guess.”

He smiled, which caused your chest and stomach to practically be set on fire at the sight of it. You needed to get your shit together.

“Hey,” he began. “You… look really pretty tonight. And, yeah I know I already said that, but like ya know… i'm glad you came.”

“Well,” you start, trailing your hand up his neck. “ I couldn’t disappoint Sukuna now could I?”

Yuuji huffed, obviously irritated at the mention of his crazed possessor.

“Yeah … well it’s not like his compliment actually matters.”

You chuckled, admiring the way he looked down at you, swaying your bodies in perfect synchrony. You admired the features on his face, trailing down to the little freckles and marks underneath his eyes.

Damn, you bit your lip, he’s really attractive.

“O-oh?”

You froze. Ah shit, did you say that out loud?

Yuuji looked down at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted.

Thankfully, the slow song came to an end and you let go of him. But, Yuuji’s arms stayed locked in place, not letting you out of his grasp so easily.

“You really think that?”

Your stomach churned, chest tightening in the realization that yeah, you said he was cute.

“W-well,” you stammered, looking everywhere but him. “I mean.. Maybe..?”

Finally letting go, you both walked back over to the dark corner where he found you.

“Do you wana go outside? It’s kinda stuffy in here..” You trailed off, still refusing to look him in the eye after your previous embarrassment.

He followed after you, grabbing the door for you and holding it open so you could pass through first. Glancing up, you noticed how beautiful it was outside. Moon casting a beautiful glow down on the both of you, you caught his eye.

“Listen, uh y/n.” He blushed, bringing his hand up to scratch the back of his head nervously. “I really want to get something off my chest..”

“Yeah?” You looked up at him, causing his own heart to skip a beat.

“I- I think I really like you. And, I don’t mean it in a friendly way… well obviously not in a creepy way, but; I just catch myself wanting to be near you, and I think about you all the time”

He glanced at you quickly before looking out ahead of him, your gaze burning into him.

“I… just really want to protect you and kiss you? Is that weird? God, that’s weird. You know what nevermind this was stupid. Listen, I need to go--”

You grabbed his hand before he would run away.

“Come here you big idiot.”

Mustering everything you had inside of yourself, you grabbed his cheeks and slammed your lips on top of his. At first he was frozen, his biggest fantasy finally coming to life. He eased into the kiss, hugging you closer to himself as he cupped one half of your face.

Pulling away you giggled, “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

He smiled dreamily down at you, eyes glazed over in a sense of euphoria.

“D-do you wanna do that again?”

You grabbed his face once more, smiling into the kiss.

“Fucking finally,” Sukuna’s mouth grinned from the side of Yuuji’s face.

#jjk x reader #itadori x reader #jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuuji #jujutsu kaisen imagine #this is my first fic and honestly i wrote this on a whim when i was sleep deprived #i hope you all enjoy #<33!#yuji itadori x reader #yuuji itadori x reader #megumi x reader #gojo x reader

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hongism · 4 years

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 27

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 4.1k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act four ➻ part two

When Hongjoong said that you would reconvene the next day to discuss the plans further, you expected it to be quick and easy. Instead, one day turned into six and a half days that consisted of playing a waiting game. No one was allowed on the bridge aside from Seonghwa – even Mingi was told that he couldn’t take his regular post at the captain’s side, which left the bitter taste of curiosity in your mouth. And since you and Seonghwa are on a break from your regular physical activities, you haven’t been able to ask him what the hell is going on because he spends all his time on the bridge talking with Hongjoong because you don’t get to see him. You aren’t bitter or anything – honestly and truly, you aren’t – but it does feel a bit strange to go from sleeping in the same bed as someone every other day and having a certain level of intimacy with them to not even seeing the back of their head for almost a week. The one time you did see Seonghwa, it was so brief that if you had blinked, you would have missed him and the rushed greeting and farewell he gave you on his way to the bridge.

Maybe you are a tad bitter, but only because you would have appreciated a better explanation than the silence you got instead.

Hongjoong’s strange and unexplained delay in conducting his plans led to a spike in stress throughout the crew. You would assume that having this downtime and not having to do anything would be something they enjoy and look forward to, but that’s limited to being able to leave the ship on said downtime. No one has been allowed to set foot off the ship according to a vague order over the ship’s intercoms. Despite the much-needed rest, you have to admit that even you are growing tired of it. You spend your days reading about Sirens in your room, sparring with Jongho or San, or just milling about the ship with little purpose because there isn’t much to do. More quality time spent in each other’s presence isn’t always good though. This whole situation has caused a spike in Wooyoung’s complaints about the food primarily because Jongho has been the only one cooking in Seonghwa’s absence.

“I’m just saying that if you lowered the heat on the stove, maybe the food would be so burnt!” Wooyoung’s voice rings through the mess hall before you even reach the archway leading into the room.

“That’s called flavor, Wooyoung!” Jongho argues back, dark head of hair coming into view as you cross the threshold. You don’t even bother looking over to where the food waits because if Wooyoung is this loud in his complaints already, then it’s worse than usual.

“The eggs are black, Jongho. Black! How do you even manage to do that?” Wooyoung scoffs, leaning back in his seat as he motions down at his plate. Yeosang is at the man’s side as always though he doesn’t engage in the conversation happening before him. He still bears the same cloth sling that he’s been wearing since that explosion in the marketplace. As much as he insists that he’s fine, Yunho continues to make him wear it just to be sure that he won’t tear anything.

And, speaking of Yunho, he’s the first to greet you as you draw closer to the table. He lifts his hand to offer a gentle wave but says nothing more than that because Jongho is still hellbent on getting the last word.

“Look, I don’t appreciate this kind of attack. Your tone is very hostile and accusatory, and I’m not really vibing with it in all honesty.”

You huff out a weak laugh at Jongho’s comment, stepping around the man to sit between Yunho and San when they make space for you.

“I’m not vibing with eggs that look like gravel! We can’t all vibe with what we wanna vibe with!” Wooyoung protests as he slaps his hand against the table. The silverware and plates shudder at the impact, but Jongho remains unblinking, lips drawn into a fierce pout.

“Suit yourself. More for the rest of us!”

“More for you,” Yunho cuts in with a quick shake of his head.

“And only you,” San adds a moment later.

“All of you are cruel. At least I can rely on Y/N to treat me better than this.” Jongho angles his chin towards you, and you resist the urge to look over at him. You’re certain that he’s going to be wearing those damn puppy dog eyes that he’s too good at, and you are more than slightly susceptible to. “Wow, nevermind! She’s not even gonna look at me.”

“Careful, Jongho. She might be cranky. She hasn’t fucked in maybe a week with our dear lieutenant always on the bridge.” Jongho chokes on his coffee, Wooyoung’s eyes all but bulge out of his head, and San coughs to cover the laugh that threatens to breach his lips. Only Yeosang maintains a sense of normalcy, but you can spot the hint of a smirk as he hides behind his coffee mug. You swing an elbow into Yunho’s side, hitting him square in the ribs, and he yelps from the impact. “Ow! Hey, rude!”

“Fuck you,” you huff.

“Oh? Okay, what time? I’ll gladly clear my schedule for some fun.” Yunho props his elbow up on the table and angles his chin to look you in the eye. You glare in response to the teasing gleam there, opting not to give him the pleasure of hearing another response from you.

“Breakfast is always so much fun, isn’t it?” San teases, pulling his arm up to rest on your shoulder.

“Can’t we have one breakfast with Yunho making things about sex?” Wooyoung whines as he slumps forward on the table.

“Why is everyone cranky except for me?” Yunho scoffs. “It isn’t like you all have never had sex, I don’t see what the big issue is! Why can’t I just chat abo–”

“Can it, horndog!” Wooyoung interrupts, and he chucks a wadded up napkin at Yunho’s forehead a moment later.

“Fine! Just remember that one day, I’m gonna stop talking altogether, and you lot are going to regret having ever been mean to me about talking too much.” Yunho purses his lips, drawing his arms up to cross over his broad chest, and Wooyoung shakes his head in response.

“No, no, you idiot! Shut up because someone is present,” he hisses out. His index finger comes up to jab in the opposite direction, and you have to swivel your head to see what exactly he’s pointing at. Yunho does the same, but his expression melts into a neutral one in an instant. Mingi stands at the other side of the room, oblivious to the eyes upon him and as stoic as ever. The talk at the table falls quiet. It’s such a sudden shift that it sends you reeling, especially since you haven’t seen Mingi in the mess hall since – well, you can’t recall ever seeing him here. The tension and discomfort in the air is palpable. You consider breaking the silence, but Yunho’s flitting eyes and Wooyoung’s suddenly stiff muscles convince you not to. Rather, it’s Jongho who cuts through it.

“God, can’t you all act normal around him?” He pushes himself up and turns to where Mingi lingers near the edge of the room.

“I’m confused,” you mutter, shifting your head to look in San’s direction. He looks back at you with lips drawn tight together. They relax after a moment, and San opens his mouth to say something. The words never come out because Jongho interrupts the train of thought with a booming tone that echoes through the hall.

“Hey! Mingi just said he loves my eggs, you rat!” It’s obvious who the comment is directed at, and Wooyoung is quick to respond with an equally loud scoff.

“He is only saying that to make you feel better. He knows how bad they really are!” Wooyoung huffs. You try to relax your shoulders as the hanging tension begins to thin and dissipate. Jongho all but drags Mingi closer to the table where you all sit, but once the pair gets within three feet of you, Mingi halts. Jongho tugs his arm a little to no avail because Mingi still shakes his head and refuses to budge.

“I think… they would feel safer if I stay at this table instead,” Mingi says, tone hesitant. His tongue darts out to drag over his lower lip, and his gaze lands on each person at the table before settling on you. Jongho doesn’t push him any further though and lets Mingi move towards the other table instead. Yunho lets his gaze flit between Jongho and Mingi, watching the silent exchange before huffing out a sigh and standing up himself. He goes to sit beside the taller Berserker without a word and doesn’t bother bringing his food or coffee with him as he drops to the bench, elbows propped up on the edge of the table. He’s almost tall enough to stretch across the space between the tables with his legs alone, and you’re sure that he could if he put in the effort.

You don’t face forward right away. Mingi’s presence looms behind you like a ticking time bomb. Even if the tension is slowly ebbing away, you can still clearly see that everyone is on edge. Maybe it is only because you’ve all been stuck on the ship for so long, perhaps everyone is on edge and tense because of that, but you know that Mingi is an influential factor regardless. It’s suddenly everywhere in the room: in Yeosang’s sharp eyes narrowing on Mingi’s form, Wooyoung’s shifting weight as he glances over at the Berserker every so often, the hand that San inches across the bench to brush against the nape of your back. Jongho and Yunho stay close to Mingi, but it doesn’t seem like a gesture meant to be solely friendly. It looks more like a blockade than anything else. The way Yunho stretches his legs out to cover more distance, his body facing towards your table rather than the opposite way, and Jongho finding a statuesque position evenly between the tables with arms pressed firmly against his hips.

It isn’t necessarily Mingi or his aura that makes you uncomfortable and tense. It’s the crew’s reaction to his presence in the mess hall that does that. Normal conversation slips back in, though it doesn’t help to ease the discomfort churning in your gut.

“What the hell is taking Hongjoong and Seonghwa so long anyway?” Wooyoung asks, slumping over the table after pushing his plate of unfinished food out of the way. “It’s been a week. What kind of plans are they making for a week?”

“Big ones?” San offers with a half-smirk stretching his lips.

“Haha, you’re so funny, San. Have I ever mentioned that? How funny you are? Because you’re fucking hilarious.” Wooyoung doesn’t try to hide the overexaggerated roll of his eyes.

“In all seriousness though, I have no idea. They could be playing a waiting game, just like the rest of us.”

“A waiting game for what?” Wooyoung shifts a bit in his seat. Yeosang glances over in his direction and seems to pick up on something that no one else does because he pushes closer to the dark-haired man until their shoulders rub against each other. The simple touch releases some of the tension in Wooyoung’s shoulder in a fraction of a second.

“Given where we are, it would be no surprise if they needed to wait like the rest of us,” San explains through a sigh. “Especially with what happened the last time you were out and about in the city.” If you didn’t already know what San is referring to, you would be able to tell just from the way Wooyoung and Yeosang look at one another, eyes sad to a degree, and Wooyoung pushes a hand back to brush against the one that hangs out of Yeosang’s sling.

“It’s been a long time since Hongjoong was this patient,” Jongho notes as he finally takes his eyes off Mingi. “Do you think something happened?”

You know why he’s patient all of a sudden. The reason is you. Your identity as a Siren, your revelation to him a little over a week ago, and the fact that Hongjoong has two Sirens in his grasp rather than just one. You can’t very well come out and say that however; you don’t need the rest of the crew treating you like anything less or more than what you are. Nor do you need them doubting your abilities all of a sudden like Seonghwa did (another thing you aren’t bitter about in the slightest). If it were up to you, you would make sure that none of them found out. The underlying need to be appreciated and wanted for who you are rather than what you are outweighs the desire to explain Hongjoong’s patience.

“I’ve got no clue.” San shrugs, casting Jongho an uninterested glance before returning to his coffee.

“Being on Kebos sucks ass.” Wooyoung huffs air through his nose, but the sound is masked entirely by a sudden clatter behind you. San’s grip shifts to your hip and squeezes tight before he turns around. It’s a split second shift, and the tension spikes tenfold. Wooyoung claps his hand over his mouth, eyes growing impossibly wide. You dare to turn with the rest and stare directly at Mingi. The sight before you, however, is an entirely normal one.

Mingi sits in the same position as before. He hasn’t even budged. You wouldn’t be able to tell that something is wrong if not for the next words that come out of his mouth.

“We’re on… Kebos?” It isn’t clear who he is talking to because he keeps his chin dipped to his chest.

“No! Uh, I just meant that — I was thinking about it. We were talking about it. Earlier!” Wooyoung exclaims as he drops his hand to the table. That turns out to be a mistake, however; he releases a cry of pain the second his hand connects with the metal, pulling away and cradling the limb to his chest. Yeosang lunges to shield Wooyoung from view, but he doesn’t move fast enough thanks to the awkward position at the table and one of his arms being out of commission. There’s a flash of crimson trickling down Wooyoung’s arm. Yeosang’s weight slams into Wooyoung, and the two topple off the bench and thrash a little before hitting the ground at a painful angle. Wooyoung takes the brunt of the impact, Yeosang falling on top of him with a grunt.

When you glance down at the table again, there’s a knife beside Yeosang’s plate, one that has the same shade of crimson as Wooyoung’s arm coating the blade. It isn’t difficult to figure out what happened. San notices the knife the exact moment you do. He jerks and stretches across the table to knock it off the edge, and the blade clatters a few times before skidding across the metal floor. You don’t dare move a muscle. San leans closer to you, lips grazing the shell of your ear as he turns back to Mingi.

“Move to the other side of the table,” he mutters. “Don’t make any sudden movements.” You’re tempted to nod, but the warning in San’s tone prevents you from even doing that much. So instead, you slide across the bench as slowly as possible to do as asked.

“Hey, Mingi,” Jongho starts. From your new position, you can clearly see what was going on, and Mingi’s gaze is firmly fixated on the spot where the bloodied knife just sat. “How’s the weather up there?”

Mingi doesn’t respond. His hands are trembling in his lap without cease, and even as San slides to block his line of sight, he remains stuck in place.

“Mingi…” Yunho stretches a hand towards the Berserker. He barely makes contact with the man’s shoulder, but it triggers a visceral response in Mingi. The speed he moves with is almost a blur. Next thing you know, Mingi has Yunho sprawled on the floor with his hands straining around the healer’s neck. “F-Fuck. Jongho, ge–” Mingi cuts the words short by squeezing tighter.

“Mingi, can you hear me?” Jongho asks, stepping closer to where Mingi has Yunho pinned. He moves slowly still, no rush or panic in his steps or tone. “Mingi.”

“Y-Yes, yes. Yes, I can – I can hear you.”

“Can you still move your hands?”

“Not re… no, yes. I can.” Mingi’s fingers flex around Yunho’s neck. He relieves some of the pressure on the other man, letting him gasp in deep breaths of air.

“You need to let go of Yunho.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“No! No, I can’t. They–”

“You’re hurting him, Mingi,” Jongho murmurs, squatting beside the pair. He doesn’t reach out to touch Mingi the way Yunho did, but he doesn’t need to. Mingi listens, understands, and slowly but surely his grip on Yunho’s neck alleviates until it’s gone altogether.

“I-I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to — I wasn’t trying t–”

“It’s okay, Mingi.” Jongho drops a hand to Mingi’s shoulder at last. This time, Mingi sits still and lets himself sink into the touch. Jongho tugs him ever so gently off Yunho, allowing the older man to roll out from under Mingi’s weight and get to his knees further away from Mingi. “Can you stand up?”

“Yeah… yeah, I can.”

“Cool, let’s get up then, yeah? We can talk somewhere quieter.”

The silence in the room is suffocating, so you aren’t what on earth he means by that, but Mingi just nods in agreement and pulls himself to his feet. Jongho’s hand remains clenched around his shoulder. There’s too much pressure around his knuckles for it to merely be a comforting touch; it’s a secure and robust grip, one that keeps Mingi in check as Jongho guides him out of the mess hall without even looking back. You aren’t sure how much time passes, but no one moves for a long time after both Berserkers leave. Yunho’s chest heaves as he reaches up to rub at the reddened skin around his throat. Wooyoung and Yeosang are still on the floor behind you, both sitting up now, and San remains rigid like a statue in his seat across the table.

“Wooyoung, let me look at your hand,” Yunho says after a long while, voice a bit raspy. Wooyoung scrambles to get to his feet and meet Yunho halfway.

“I-I’m sorry. I forgot. I know I wasn’t supposed to say anything but I–”

“It’s not your fault, Woo,” Yunho murmurs as he pulls Wooyoung’s hand away from his chest and examines the cut on his palm. “He was doing well until I touched him so… the blame falls on my shoulders as well.” A sigh escapes him. “You won’t need stitches, but I need to clean it and dress it. Head to the medbay; I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. Yeosang, you can go with him.”

“You aren’t coming right away?” Wooyoung inquires, head tilting to the side in echo to his question.

“I need to tell Hongjoong what happened.” Yunho brings a hand up to his pale hair and runs his long fingers through the locks, eyes squeezed shut for several seconds.

“Y/N and I can do that, Yunho,” San interrupts. He motions to where you’re sitting, and the sudden attention has you straightening your back and nodding a few times. “Take care of Wooyoung and yourself first.”

You expect some sort of denial from Yunho, but one glance at Wooyoung has him nodding in agreement before leading the way out of the mess hall. You and San are suddenly very alone in the large room. The weight of what just happened begins to sink in, one thing nagging at the forefront of your mind more than anything else.

Mingi apologized. Not just a half-assed emotionless apology either. His tone held guilt, and it was clear that he genuinely felt back about nearly choking Yunho to death.

“Hey…” San is suddenly at your side, hand rubbing between your shoulder blades, and you jerk your head to look up at his face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you agree quickly.

“That’s not a pretty sight, I know.”

“I’ve never seen something like… that. Fights, sure. But t-that was so–”

“Sudden?”

“Exactly,” you confirm through a sigh. With a small shake of your head, you push up from the table and step over the bench to stand beside San.

“Mingi is a hand grenade with a hairpin trigger, but he isn’t that way intentionally. He is trying to get better. We have good days and bad days with him, then we have days like today. Rough but productive. There was a time when Mingi wouldn’t have hesitated to kill Yunho, and there was a time when he couldn’t even be in the same room as us.” San offers a shrug before motioning to the other end of the mess hall opposite the doors Yunho and the others left out of.

“So, this is normal or…?” You trail off before finishing the question, staying close to San’s side as he leads the way to the bridge.

“Yeah, you could say that. I know it’s not something that you’ve gotten the pleasure of seeing or witnessing, but this has happened several times since you joined the crew.”

“He didn’t want to hurt Yunho,” you note in a quiet tone.

“Of course, he didn’t. He never wants to hurt anyone, especially not anyone on the crew. He wants to have a reason to hurt someone before doing so. He has no qualms with hurting or killing someone who hurts one of us first. Or even threatens us for that matter.” San hesitates to look down at you. “Mingi is a lot like you and me in actuality. He has these ghosts of the past that haunt him. A guilt he’s grown into and a burden on his shoulders. The person he used to be isn’t the person he wants to be now. Unlike us, however, he doesn’t have the luxury of knowing and understanding his own emotions. He was conditioned to ignore them and block them out. Robbed of basic knowledge on how emotions work. So he has a harder time because he has to relearn what it means to feel things. It’s one thing to kill and feel nothing, but another to kill and not understand why you’re in pain.”

“Then he had a visceral reaction to hearing that we’re on Kebos because of what? Since this is where he was born and raised? Or because he feels like he’s being forced back?”

“Part of him fears that he’ll be the same person he used to be, and that being on Kebos will reawaken that part of him. Or that he won’t be able to hold the voices back and turn back into the monster he used to be.”

“The voices?” You glance at San out the corner of your eye.

“Yeah, like flashbacks but without the visual hallucinations.” San cracks a small smile.

“I know what you mean by voices, smartass. I was asking about what he hears.”

“I know, I know. He hears the cheering from the arena most of the time. Cries for blood and death. Other times he will hear his master’s voice telling him to kill. But from what I understand, it’s constant. They never leave him alone, even when he’s asleep.” San comes to a halt, and it’s only when you glance forward that you realize you’ve made it to Hongjoong’s office. There’s a faint din coming from inside, rapidly exchanged words that you can’t make out, but you’re certain that it’s Seonghwa and Hongjoong. San knocks his knuckles against the door several times. The voices fall silent, then the sound of Seonghwa clearing his throat breaches the door. Three seconds later, the door slides open to reveal the dark-haired lieutenant. He looks like he hasn’t slept a single day in the whole week that has passed since you saw him last, but you don’t have time to dwell on that fact because San is already speaking on your left.

“Mingi had an episode in the mess hall.”

✧✧✧ a/n: okay ngl i feel like this chapter is a bit of a mess so im sorry for that ;-; i couldn’t get a chance to sit down and write it in one sitting and make everything as cohesive as i wanted and i ended up cutting some bits so that i could shift them into the next chapter instead so we’re left with this hot mess 😭

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ceo-of-daichi · 3 years

Text

Characters ~ Barista!Bokuto x GN!Reader

Summary ~ When a handsome barista catches your eye you can’t help but be drawn to him. Does he have the same feelings? Or is he the same with all his regular customers?

Genre ~ Fluff, Coffee Shop!AU

Warnings ~ Literally none...

Word Count ~ 1.8k

A/N ~ THIS IS MY SECRET SANTA FOR @nonexistent-social-life !!! Hope you enjoy babie, for some reason this took me like 2 solid weeks to get where i wanted it!!

The bustling life of campus engulfed you as you made your way out of the lecture theatre. Immediately surrounded by people of all different backgrounds and from all different paths of life, the atmosphere always made you smile. Much less suffocating than the lecture theatre you were just sat in. As you broke off from your friend group with promises of seeing them tomorrow, your feet guided you straight to the coffee shop.

The path so familiar as your feet lead you through the nooks and crannies of campus. The coffee shop was quaint and in one of the outbuildings just off campus. You loved the typically ‘student’ feeling it gave, multiple people constantly sat with laptops open and books splayed out across the worn tables.

It was getting close to christmas and one thing you loved about the little cafe was they did the best peppermint mocha you had ever had. You don’t know if it was because of the sprinkle of chocolate they put on top, or the absolutely stunning guy who worked there making it for you. But something about it made it taste magnificent. Like a crisp winter morning or the press of a lover's lips on yours under the mistletoe.

As you pushed open the heavy door the scent of cinnamon and chocolate hit you like a truck, a smell you are all too familiar with. However it still made your stomach flutter with anticipation. Walking up to the counter you noticed the barista who you always saw, his broad shoulders and strong arms always looked so inviting, not to mention the excited smile that was always upon his lips.

‘How can i help you today [y/n]?’ He asked, flashing you his signature toothy grin causing your heart to pound in your chest.

‘Please can i have a peppermint mocha today Bokuto-san?’ You asked, returning his infectious smile. He smiled at you the same way everyday, yet every time he did it made your stomach flip and you stumble your words.

‘Coming right up! I’ll bring it over to your table when it’s ready.’ He said as he started to make the drink. You always sat in the same booth and Bokuto knew that, he knew you came in everyday but he could never understand why. Little did he know that he was the reason you walked out your way everyday to come here. Sure there were coffee shops on the way to your dorm. But none with an extremely handsome barista.

As you sat yourself down in the booth you got your phone out, not paying attention to your surroundings while you scrolled through instagram. Unaware of your friends observing you from across the street.

‘What are they doing here?’ One of your friends asked, none of them even knew the quaint place existed.

‘Maybe they just wanted a coffee?’ Another one said, all of them knowing there were much more convenient coffee shops than this one. It wasn’t long before they got their answer as Bokuto carried your coffee over to you, smiling wide.

Looking between each other they suddenly realised why you walked out of your way to this place, why you didn’t want them going with you and why you always looked so happy after. A plan started to form as they headed home, leaving you to your unofficial coffee date with the handsome barista.

‘Thank you Bokuto-san!’ You say enthusiastically as he places the drink down on your table. The contagious smile he always adorned still on his lips, you wondered if he knew just how good looking he was? How kind he was? These questions always passed through your mind when you talked to him. Although you hadn’t much past your coffee order and the odd hello if you saw him on campus.

You barely knew anything about him yet the thought of knowing him made your heart rate speed up and your face flush. You thought of asking him to sit, to chat to you more. Maybe even asking him on a date. But everytime he managed to turn round just that split second too fast, walk away just before the question could leave your lips.

As you pressed your drink to your chapped lips you realised while in thought he had already left, you watched as he smiled at the next customer. You wondered if maybe he was like that to everyone? But for some reason there was a glint of something more in his eyes as he talked to you. Maybe you were imagining things, the way he looked at you could very much be the same way he looked at every regular who walked through the heavy wooden doors.

As the warm liquid slipped down your throat you couldn’t help but smile at the taste. It was always so good, no matter how much you drank it. Finishing up your drink you realised you didn’t have an excuse to stay any longer. Getting up you took your cup over to the counter, smiling widely at Bokuto as you did who was busy making another drink.

‘Will i be seeing you again tomorrow [y/n]?’ He asks as you head towards the door, the question catching you slightly off guard.

‘Yep, at the same time I always finish lectures! See you then!’ You turn and give him a small wave as you leave. Thoughts swirling around in your head as you walked back to your dorms. Does that mean… he looked forward to seeing you everyday?

After this you made more of an effort to talk to him as he served you, getting to know him bit by bit. However you couldn’t seem to build up the courage to ask him out. You kicked the leaves angrily as you headed out of the cafe once again without a date with Bokuto. How come you couldn’t do it?

It's just a simple question! But it didn’t seem so simple when he was standing in front of you. His biceps hugging his uniform just that bit too tightly, his hands looking as perfect as always. Oh how you wished they were holding yours. But you couldn’t do it. Weeks passed and your friends got sick of just standing by and hoping, praying you would ask him out.

In their eyes it was obvious you both had feelings for each other. Both of you are just as blind as the other, completely oblivious to the lingering touches and slight glances. You just needed a push, and your friends were not scared to help you out.

They were certain all Bokuto needed was a little bit of convincing to ask you and so that's why they decided to enter the cafe 20 minutes before you today. Setting their plan in motion.

You let out a steamy breath as you snuggled further into your coat, the walk to the cafe seemed to take twice as long today. You didn’t know if it was because of the cold or the fact you were so deflated. It seemed that every time you thought you were getting somewhere with Bokuto it backfired.

Maybe he didn’t like you at all. As your brain continued to have a war with itself you reached the familiar heavy doors that lead into the cafe. You wondered if today they would feel heavier?

The first thing you noticed as you entered was how busy the cafe felt today. Multiple booths were taken, surprisingly by groups of people babbling and bitching about their days. As you scanned the room you noticed your regular booth was free, you took it as fate as you headed towards the counter.

‘Hey Bokuto!!’ You said as cheerful as ever, expecting him to grace you with his beautiful smile as always. However today when he turned to you today his smile didn’t have the same twinkle as usual. He looked nervous. Brows slightly creased as he waited for your order, knowing it would be the usual.

For some reason what your friends had told him earlier still hadn’t settled in. It felt like a fever dream. As you said your order, he wasn’t listening. Too busy watching your lips as they made shapes, how he wished to just sweep you up off your feet already. Writing down your usual he nodded, suddenly losing all the confidence in his voice. Worried if he spoke it would come out cracked.

As you headed to your booth you wondered what had gotten into Bokuto. He could barely look you in the eye, nevermind talk to you. You watched him carefully as he prepared your drink, something felt off.

Approaching your table he put down your drink, but this time stayed. He stood in front of you a small blush brushed across his cheeks. Looking at your drink and back at Bokuto you raised a brow at him slightly.

‘Look [y/n] I just think you are the most beautiful person in the world’ He blurted out causing you to almost choke on air.

‘W-What?’ You questioned, your eyes wide as he babbled away about how he had liked you for a while and never had the confidence to say anything. You couldn’t hear him, your eyes had glazed over and all you could hear over and over was that he liked you. He liked you as in more than a regular customer, more than a friend. He wanted to get to know you.

And god did you want to get to know him more too. You wanted to know how he felt when he had his arms wrapped around your waist. Your head pressed into his shoulder as he rubbed circles in his back. You wanted to wake up next to him, desperate to know how his face would look peacefully asleep. And more than anything, you wanted to know what his lips felt like pressed against yours.

Bokuto at this point thought you had gone into a state of shock as you just stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open. Before he could ask what was wrong you had pulled him down and pressed your lips against his in a quick but meaningful kiss.

His lips felt soft, but worn from the cold weather. You wondered what your lips felt like to him as you let him pull away. The ridiculously catchy smile back on his face. But this time it was different, it was full of love. And your heart has never felt more full.

Taglist ~ @honey-makki @savvamuras @scorpiosanssexy @sugawara-sweetheart @watermelonsugawara @taeya-san @mrs-kuroojinguji @arixtsukki @whootwhoot @cadenceh2o @mxchi-xo @minibobabottle @gemini-writes @gxdlyissei @massimosprincess @daichis-kitty @honeybunny-sawamura @kisskissfailmylife

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tk-writer · 4 years

Text

Saiou Week Day 2 - Despair Disease

i’m late to the party (as always) but here’s my one (and probably only) contribution to saiou week 2020!

word count: 1301

~~~ “So… you’re saying he can’t tell any lies?”

Saihara directed his question to Nurse Tsumiki, keeping his gaze fixed on a bed-ridden Ouma. His cheeks were completely flushed, and he had tiny beads of sweat that were starting to pool on his forehead. His chest fell in an uneven rhythm, rising up and down as his body battled a wicked fever. He looked so small and frail in this state that Saihara silently swore to stay there until his fever broke, at the very least.

“Th-that’s r-right,” Nurse Tsumiki stuttered as she twirled a strand of chopped hair. “There w-was an outbreak of despair disease on campus this week… Ouma-kun m-must’ve caught it during lecture…”

She handed Saihara a cool, damp washcloth so we could wipe some of the sweat dripping down Ouma’s brow. He grabbed some ice from the bucket beside the bed and wrapped it in the cloth, then pressed it against his round cheeks. Ouma’s eyes fluttered open, and he turned his gaze towards the doting detective.

“... Saihara?”

“Hey, Ouma,” Saihara said with a weak smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. And hot. And… kinda nervous…”

“Why are you nervous?”

“Because… you’re so close to me…”

Saihara’s eyes widened, and he froze for a moment in contemplation. He knew that Ouma’s symptoms were different from the others who’d fallen ill; while most of them spoke only in lies due to delirium from their fevers, Ouma for some reason was the complete opposite. Even Tsumiki couldn’t explain why the despair disease was acting as a truth serum for him alone.

Either way, he was going to take advantage of the opportunity to get some real answers from Ouma, as dubious as it was. It’s not like he would discover anything different about the ultimate supreme leader, right?

“Why does that make you nervous?” He asked with genuine curiosity.

“Saihara-chan is so cute… and I really like him…”

Hearing those words set fire through Saihara’s veins and dyed his face a deep crimson. He turned back to Tsumiki and barked another question, his voice slightly panicked.

“Tsumiki! Are, are you sure he can’t lie?!”

Tsumiki let out a meek little cry and put her arms in front of her face, backing up a few steps in case of another outburst. The detective felt pity and wished he hadn’t raised his voice so suddenly.

“Y-yes! Everything Ouma-kun says is his truth, I’m sorry!!”

“It’s alright, I’m sorry for yelling like that. I just wanted to make sure.”

Again, his gaze returned to his purple-haired classmate. It was odd, his face was still pretty red from the fever, but it seemed like he was actually blushing now…

“How long have you liked me, Ouma?” Saihara half-whispered, feeling a little flustered himself.

“Since the day we met… but I started liking you more after we were partners in bio that one day...”

As he babbled on, the detective snuck his hand under the bedsheets and found Ouma’s laying limp at his side. He took it in his own and squeezed gently. It felt clammy and cool, contrasting with the heat radiating from the rest of his body. He wished he could wave a magic wand and make this sickness go away. He hated seeing him like this, even if it meant getting the truth out of him.

“What do you like about me?” he asked, rubbing his thumb against the back of Ouma’s chapped knuckles.

“Your eyes. They’re a really nice color. I don’t get to see them a lot, ‘cuz you’re always looking at the floor. And your eyelashes. They’re so long, but they’re pretty. And the way you always ask me questions. You’re the only one who really wants to know me. And you let me lie all the time. And it’s funny when you get all shy when I make dirty jokes. And… and…”

He was starting to ramble, which led to a coughing spree that concerned Saihara greatly. He picked up the glass of water on the table near his bed and put it to his mouth, instructing him to drink until it was all gone.

“Shhh, just breathe.”

He placed a comforting hand on his back and rubbed circles until Ouma’s breathing was somewhat back to normal.

“Sorry, Ouma. I shouldn’t be asking questions like this when you’re so ill.”

“I don’t mind. I like it. I like you. Will you be my boyfriend?”

Taken aback once again, Saihara choked back his own cough as he recoiled from the question.

“Why don’t we talk about that when you’re feeling better?”

“Ookay…”

He stayed until Tsumiki’s medicine finally kicked in and his fever broke, draining some of the reddish color from his skin. Ouma was drifting in and out of sleep, so he decided it was best to leave him be.

“I have to get going now, but you should get some rest. Okay?”

“Ookay…”

Saihara stood up and made his way to the door, nodding to Tsumiki while she bowed so low she almost fell over. Before he left, however, he heard a weak voice trailing across the room.

“Saihara-chan?”

“Yes, Ouma?”

“I think I might be in love with you. I wanted to say that before things go back to how they were.”

The detective’s cheeks burned at the confession, but he responded with a smile and words of reassurance.

“They won’t, Ouma. Don’t worry.”

~~~

“Shumaaaai! I’m all better now!”

A childlike voice greeted Saihara as soon as he entered the hospital room. He was relieved to see Ouma up and about after laying in bed for almost a week. Tsumiki told him that his fever finally broke for good the night before, and it seemed like he was almost back to his old self.

“I’m so glad. I was really worried about you.”

“Awww, really? Saihara-chan was concerned about little ole me? What an honor!”

Ouma flashed a toothy grin while clamping his hand behind the back of his neck, which told Saihara that he really was back to his normal self. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed his playful banter and silver-tongued comebacks.

“Hey, do you remember what we talked about when you were sick?”

As soon as he asked, the signature poker face returned in full force. All traces of emotion drained from Ouma’s face as he stared back at the detective with thin lips pressed tightly together and eyes devoid of expression. It was a dead giveaway, one Saihara had learned after many long years of friendship with the biggest trickster he’d ever known.

“Hmm… nope! I just remember sleeping a lot and Shumai holding my hand while I was in bed. You’re disgustingly sappy, you know that?”

The raven-haired man felt the corners of his lips turn up as he prepared himself for the next move, playing along in Ouma’s little game.

“Alright. Well, in that case, I guess I can’t answer your question.”

“... What question?”

“Ah, nevermind. Anyway, I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’ll see you in bio, okay?”

He turned around and took a few steps towards the door, but stopped in place when Ouma called out to him. With his back turned, he smirked while knowing what was coming next.

“...Wait!”

He looked over his shoulder and saw a determined Ouma staring at him, eyes ablaze with determination.

“Please… tell me your answer.”

Saihara would’ve teased him a little more, but watching Ouma take off his mask and bare his soul to him convinced him to play nice. He mentally patted his own back, proud of himself for dragging the truth out of the notorious liar without the help of an infectious disease.

He gave him his answer and relished the blush that crept across his face once the words finally hit him.

“Yes, Ouma. I’d love to be your boyfriend.”

#saiou week #saiouma #oumasai #ndrv3 #non tk #just a regular old tooth rotting fluff fic!#even after all these years i still SIMP for these two bozos #i wrote this in under an hour and its probably horrible so im sorry!!!#thank you anonymous for the STELLAR ask that inspired this!!

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cutiepatoodie · 3 years

Text

Floo Powder and Charades P.1

Y/N floo’s to the Burrow after a massive fight with their mother, they find themselves in the middle of the weekly Weasley family game night

Pairing: Fred Weasley x GN Reader

Warnings: abusive mother, angst, also tooth-rotting fluff

Word Count: 2k

Cross posted on ao3

You slam your door and crumple into a ball, silent sobs wracking your small body as you fight to keep them back. The urge to scream rises in your throat and you fight it back, tamping down on your fear to better hide from her. But it doesn’t seem to matter, you can hear footsteps pounding up the stairs, heavily beating in time with your rabbit-like pulse, closing in on your bedroom. And you can feel it automatically kick in, mind working to calculate how long you have before she reaches you, whether you can escape, where you can escape but-

“Y/N L/N get your ungrateful ass down here you little shit.” And you can hear her heavy breaths, dragged in through bared teeth, lips curled in a snarl. “Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.”

And you almost want to laugh because this seems like anything but talking.

“After everything, I've done for you and you have the gall to disrespect me? Get out here filthy bitch!” The door rattles as her heavy-handed fist fights to twist the doorknob, violently slamming it back and forth as the locking mechanism holds true. “Open the goddamn door or else I'm knocking it down myself!”

Stumbling away from your door you know that there is no escape. Your mom is going to force her way in no matter what you do to stop her. Fresh waves of tears were making rivers down your cheeks but the idea of wiping them seemed too exhausting, mind already resigned to your inevitable fate. Blearily looking around you remembered the small box you kept on the mantle on the other side of your room that Ron had given you for your birthday. Instinct takes over and struggling to overcome your leaden feet you rise, stumbling to the boarded-up fireplace. Your hands grip the wood and try to pry the boards away, mind desperately catching onto the sliver of hope. This was your only chance to get out of this house. Having to go to Azkaban for improper use of magic at this point seemed better than staying locked up in her house.

The banging on your door was getting louder and more repetitive and as your nails scrabble to find purchase on the aging wood, digging in with the strength of survival fueled desperation. Finally, after what felt like forever you hear a crack and one of the boards break giving you more leverage to take down the rest and you clear just enough for you to climb through.

“What’s all that noise in there? Y/N open the fucking door.” And finally, the lock gives way with a groan as your mother bursts inside, hair tangled and chest heaving, flexing with rage and fury. This is it, she’s finally going to kill me this time. The small box heavy in your hands is the only thing grounding you. The thought of your mother crossing into the only place in the house you felt remotely safe from her taunts and screaming makes your chest tighten, breath leaving your lungs in a panicked whoosh. You can barely feel your fingers as they fumble with the box’s delicate clasp revealing the small amount of glittering powder inside. Throwing the powder into the hearth you choke out a small “the burrow” before being zapped into the floo network.

And even before the flames have properly cleared you can smell farmland, the rich, earthy scent of hay, grass, and freshly turned soil laden underneath the softer scent of warm vanilla, cinnamon and something uniquely home. There were so many voices. Blending together, some words appearing clearer than others.

“Not knowing how to dance!”

“Good one Georgie but I’d say He’s outrunning a Moose!”

“Maybe he’s trying to swat a fly?”

“What if Dad’s trying to play quidditch?”

“It’s probably some muggle thing anyway. Do you know what he’s on about Harry?”

“Uhhh, it could be… Y/N?” Harry yells, astonished, while looking straight at the fireplace where his friend had just appeared.

“What do you mean Harry? Y/N is staying with their mother over the break.” Hermione is quick to reply as silence falls over the living room. Everyone turns towards the fireplace to see you caught like a deer in headlights, disheveled and unexpected in the Weasley’s living room.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t know where else to go. I can floo back home. You know what nevermind, I can just leave. Where do you keep the Floo Powder?” You were rambling now going off apologizing for coming in unannounced. You know your voice is cracking and fighting against the fresh sting of tears that prickle at your eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry darling you can be on the twin’s team. Arthur was just about to tell us if we had won or not.” Molly’s voice is so soft and comforting. She gestures to the open spot between her and Fred in front of the couch. Without much thought, your legs bring you there sitting down, back pressed to Hermione’s legs as she reaches down to put a kind hand on your shoulder. Molly pats your knee with reassurance and the game continues.

“All of you were wrong, I was swimming!” Arthur announces, pleased to have won the round.

“If that’s how you swim it’s no wonder we never go to the beach.” Fred chortles, clutching his stomach and leaning into George for support. The familiar tug of a smile pulls at your lips and soon enough you are laughing the tension out of your muscles. As the beams from the setting sun started to cast a peachy pink glow around the room Molly stands up and excuses herself and Arthur to start putting dinner together. A familiar tension grew thick in the room. No one wants to be the one to bring it up but everyone is thinking it so Ron finally speaks up.

“Who’s up for a quick scrimmage in the backyard before dinner? We’ve probably got another two hours before the sun sets.” The seven of you make your way to the shed in the back yard to grab the brooms. Upon reaching the doors Harry pulls you aside.

“Hey, I know I’m not the best with feelings but… if you need anything, from any of us, we’re here.” Harry awkwardly pats you on the back, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Thanks, Harry, but really I’m okay. I’m just stressed about that potions project Snape assigned for us to have done when we come back in April and I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t the only one going crazy over it.” You let out a breathy laugh and Harry can see that the smile plastered on your face in no way reaches your eyes. He looks at you, seeming to weigh the worth of calling you on your shit before relenting with a huff. “Yeah Snape never misses a chance to be a damn prick.” You know that he doesn’t believe you, but it does not matter since he’s not pushing it.

The teams were decided, Ginny, Ron, and Harry, against you and the twins. Hermione was reffing and made sure to agree to settle any fight that came up over scorekeeping. The three on three went on for about an hour before Fred caused a distraction so that you could catch the snitch. Returning down to earth your knees buckled and you decided to lay on your back for a bit before standing up again. Everyone followed suit, laying in the fresh grass covered in drying sweat and a few scrapes and bruises.

“I can’t believe we beat the famous Potter in a game Y/N. You have to tell Cedric that when you go back to practice.” Fred said, lazily punching your shoulder. You didn’t mean to flinch. It was an accident but by how tense Fred was on the grass beside you, it was obvious he had noticed.

“If you’re going to ask if I’m okay, just don’t. You did nothing wrong, okay Freddie?” Your voice felt distant as you tried to reassure the lanky beanpole to your left. You sat up feeling a bit more clear headed and yelled. “I call the first shower!” before running back into the comfort of the Burrow.

The water rolled off your body as your muscles finally were able to relax. The familiar sounds and smells of the Burrow were doing wonders for your anxiety. You poured some soap into the palm of your hand and absentmindedly scrubbed dirt from your skin. While washing your mind began to wander through the events of the day. Thoughts of your mother tried to creep back in but suddenly there was a banging on the door as it swung open.

“Close the curtain Y/n I need to take a leak and Georgie is taking forever downstairs.” Fred called before the sound of a zipper rang through the bathroom. Your heart was pounding as you tried to bring yourself back to the world around you. The toilet flushed and the sound of the sink was barely audible through the beating of your heart. The doorknob started to turn and before your brain could catch up the words were out of your mouth.

“Can you stay?” It came out so softly Fred could have sworn he made it up. His cheeks dusted pink and thank goodness for the obnoxious shower curtain Molly insisted on putting in their bathroom which covered him from your gaze. He cautiously sat on the toilet seat afraid that if he made too much noise you’d try to push him away again.

“Do you want me to ask around for some clothes you can change into? I mean if it were me I wouldn’t want to put my quidditch clothes back on.” Fred scratched the back of his neck staring down at the floor.

“Oh yeah I didn’t even think that far ahead to be honest. I mean if it's okay just like a hoodie and a pair of shorts would be awesome. I’m almost done in here anyway.” Your voice sounded more like you than it had all day. Fred released a breath he did not realize he was holding. He just wanted you to feel safe.

“Yeah of course! I’ll uhh go and grab some clothes and a towel and uhh yeah meet you back downstairs when you're dressed is that okay? I know that you wanted me to stay but I kind of have to leave if you want me to get ya some clothes. Or I mean I can always text Gin and see if she can bring some….” Fred devolved into muttering about what the most effective way to grab you some clothes and not leave you alone longer than is comfortable.

“Freddie it’s okay, I’m not going to break. Your room is right across the hall and I already have a towel in here with me.” Hearing the teasing smile in your voice calmed down his nerves. Why did he feel so nervous anyways. You had been around the burrow for a while and it shouldn’t be making him this nervous. With a quick be right back he slipped out of the door. Grabbing a pair of shorts and his newest Christmas sweater his mother knitted for him last year he padded back to the bathroom. The water wasn’t running anymore so he figured he probably should just set the clothes outside.

“Hey Y/n I’m just gonna put these outside the door. So uhh whenever you're ready I'll see you downstairs.” He placed the clothes in a neat pile and scuttled to the head of the stairs.

Pulling Fred’s sweater over your head made you feel way calmer than you first had expected to. It was warm and cozy and smelled of firewood and smores. It was quite big on you but that did not matter. Drying your hair one last time with the towel you left the bathroom hearing the voices of your friends from all the way down on the main floor. A smile spread to your lips knowing that no matter what happened next did not matter because right now you felt safe.

#fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #harry potter #harry potter fic #fred weasly fic #fluff #angst #Mays Masterlist

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animatedrapture · 4 years

Text

[ say it back ! ]

word count: 1.6k

(listen so it breaks your heart better 🤩)

it has always been in the back of his mind, always nagging at him as it sat there, suppressed. it was that nagging in the back of suna's head that constantly pushed him to become more affectionate than he probably should be towards you. that you loved him and you meant every word of it.

in the very back of his head, way farther than this, is the fact that he loved you too—of course. of course he did. it was just that it confused him out of his own wits just what kind of love it was. it was confusing because the two of you always has been like this, close—so close; and if there's anything about you that he was afraid of, it's the possibility of getting his feelings mistaken for something more than just really good friends—because fuck, the rift that would create between your friendship was something that couldn't be mended so easily, if it could be mended at all.

but it was as if the universe has decided for him already as he listened to kenma explain what was going to happen in the stream, that it was time he finally faced it.

oh but what if she doesn't win even once?

huh.

but you will, he thinks. you'll win, because that's just who you are. you make things happen like brighter days in his eyes or warmth in his chest all over, you make things happen like your eighteenth birthday and falling in love with your best friend.

that's when it happens, the silence and wide eyes, the look your friends gave you as it slowly sunk in that you did. you won against kenma.

see? you make things happen like that. like making his heart hammer against his chest because again, fuck, what does he do now?

but you looked so beautiful even through the screen, your eyes wide and sparkling in such an awestrucking way, smile bright and cheeks slightly flushed it almost made him dizzy. you looked so happy that the words of tsukishima just earlier rings through his head, "as if he'd reject you."

yeah, as if he'd reject you.

🍒

it dawns to suna later in the night as he tried to fall asleep; that of course, it's been right in front of him the whole time. he loves you. he didn't know when it started but he knew he loved you three years ago when he had you in his room on your eighteen birthday; he loved you when he placed a kiss on your forehead during graduation as his mom captured the moment, a picture that sat on both his room and yours back home; he loved you when you helped him move his things where he is now, two floors above your apartment; he loved you in every match he had that you never failed to show up in; he loved you every moment you had slept in his arms.

🍒

suna stood in the lobby of the building, waiting for you with one of his hoodies in hand because he just knows you'll be too agitated to remember that it's early, and it's cold. the elevator dings, it's been about twenty minutes since he'd agree to meet with you. ah, and you're chewing on your bottom lip, you're anxious—but he is too.

he watches you realize how cold it is as you walked towards him, eyebrows furrowing together and your arms moving to wrap around yourself. when you're standing in front of him, he shoves his hoodie to your face and you think, ah, of course he knows. he wasn't your best friend for years for nothing, after all. he waits for you to slip it on and soon enough, you're drowning in his scent and the hoodie that was obviously too big for you as the hem reached just above your knees.

he has his hand resting on your back as you both walked towards the cafe.

you place your phone down on the table the moment you collect yourself. every inch of your movement felt watched—how couldn't you feel like this when you're being subjected under suna's sharp and observant gaze?

it takes all the will inside your chest to even look up and meet his eyes, and the moment you do, his eyebrow shoots up. it should've been more intimidating than this, you think. you've seen other girls in high school be on this end of suna's gaze as they confess to him, hoping for even a glimmer of chance; but that's what makes you different right now. right now—yes, you can feel the intensity from his mere gaze but it's not the same, his eyes looked... warmer. so much warmer than the one you saw so many times back in high school. each one you've watched always with some kind of ache in your heart as you hoped he wouldn't accept their confession.

suna just looked like he was patiently waiting, coaxing you to finally say it with your own words. so what else would you choke on your words for? when he's looking at you like that, like you can open yourself inside and out in front of him. so you try to speak. that is—you try.

but your mouth turns dry and suddenly you forget how to produce sounds with your own voice and then you hear him sigh; he sighs because he knows.

you start to panic when he started to get up from his seat across from you, and you think, oh god im fucking this up, aren't i? but it vanished just as quick as the thought surfaced in your mind when you see his hand held out to you as he stood beside where you were seated and you take his hand, of course.

there was no one you trusted more than your best friend, suna rintarou, after all.

much to your surprise, suna leads you back to your building. well, yours and his building. his hand that clasped yours from the cafe all the way now, in the elevator where you stood and waited til it reached his floor, provided so much warmth; it was as if he was telling you everything was going to be okay.

still, you wonder, why is he taking me to his place after i heavily failed a confession?

"c'mere and sit on my lap," is the first thing he says to you after you enter his apartment and walked to the couch—and you swore you almost choked on air just then.

you wear your emotions clear as day, so when you gape at him, eyes wide as saucers as you stood in front of him, his hand still clasped with yours, he only tugs you lightly with a roll of his eyes.

"c'mon, princess," he continues, watching you carefully. he wonders a little, you tell him on a daily basis that you love him, you sit on his lap to cuddle during movie nights with the miya twins even when he protests, you've teasingly flirted with him without an ounce of hesitation all these years.

why are you acting so bashful all of a sudden?

so he sighs again, really, you're the only one he'd work this much for. he spells it out for you, "you said it made you feel safe, right? you can tell me here, even hide your face all you want."

there's that familiar sparkle in your eyes right then, and a smile tugs on the corners of your lips that you can barely hold back; because that was suna rintarou right there, the one you knew and the best friend you've had for years. the one who always knew when and how to use even the most minuscule things he knew about you.

so you give in. nevermind that you've embarrassed yourself to him after finding out that this whole time, he's watched all of kenma's gameplay videos, even the ones with you as kenma's guest where you somehow manage to bring up suna no matter how only very slightly related an information in the game is to him.

most importantly, nevermind that you won a game against kenma kozume himself just to finally decide that it's time for you to confess to suna rintarou—this time where you make sure he knows you're serious and you aren't just teasing him with i love you's or that you're only saying it as a friend.

sure, suna always knew you weren't just playing around. that no matter how lighthearted or half-assed you've said it before, you meant it; it's only that those words would always be taken far away to the back of his head like ocean waves, drowned by the decision three years ago where both of you promised not to cross that line.

along that promise, all the times you've teased him, and how you've thrown around the three little words a little too many times, you've convinced yourself that maybe he just doesn't take you seriously anymore on the matter.

you bury your face into suna's chest, hearing the rhythmic ba-dump ba-dump of his beating heart, and you think it skips every random moments, but maybe you're just imagining things. you sat on his lap and he holds you like he always does. yes, this does make you feel safe.

before you can choke on your words again or forget to breathe, you finally say it.

"i'm so very painfully in love with you, rintarou"

and yes, he loves you. he loved you so much it was painful, too.

ah, but, was that love enough to risk such an anchor-like friendship?

《 masterlist || next 》

[fourteen: elusive redamancy]

fun fact:

🍒 suna rintarou did not say it back.

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#suna rintaro smau #suna rintarou #suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #haikyuu smau #[🍒]sayitback #[🍒] — sayviolet

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