#and as she doesn’t currently have a ladle….
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my thought has been, ever since adaine got that scooter, was that it would make a great blunt-force weapon
#just as we head towards the row here#and as she wanted to keep riz’s sword earlier#and as she doesn’t currently have a ladle….#liveblogging#wait no weapons. oh forget it punch em in the face girl
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Arajin Tomoshibi/f!Reader/Marito Jin
Summary: A misunderstanding leads Arajin to realizing he's not quite over his crush on you; it's even harder ignoring his own feelings when you also manage to peak his volatile boyfriend's interest.
A/N: This takes place in a AU without magic and honki people. Suggestive language, but no smut: part 2 coming soon! Enjoy!
wc: 2.3k
“Let Arajin go!”
Marito felt something smack the back of his head, right dead center of his bun; he slowly turns enough to see you holding a ladle high above your head. You flinched, but held the utensil higher. Arajin shrugged off Marito’s arm; his soul might have ascended from his body, seeing you standing in the middle of the street.
“What are you doing?!”
“It’s okay; you start running, I’ll hold this jerk off!” Your knees shake, threatening to buckle under you at the glare Marito is casting your way. “Run!”
“Wa-wait! It’s not what you think!” Arajin sputters, hands raised as he gets between you and Marito. “What are you even doing here? Mom said you were on serving duty today; just go back to the restaurant-”
“Ara-teen, do you know this little beast?” Marito’s lips form a slow, cold smile. “That must be it; otherwise, I sure hope she has a good reason for attacking me so rudely on our date.”
“Date?” You blink, lowering the ladle to your chest. “Arajin, you…know this guy? So, he’s not bullying you?”
About ten minutes prior, you, a server at the Chu Chu Chinese Restaurant, had been tossing a couple of trash bags out in the dumpster when your eyes spied Arajin walking past with someone you didn’t know. The taller boy’s arm was slung over Arajin’s shoulders and he was talking animatedly, but your immediate assumption was that this stranger was shaking down Arajin for money or favors. You didn’t know at the time Marito Jin was in fact a gang leader, but currently you’re apologizing profusely for your “attack”; Arajin and Marito sat across from each other at an empty table as you explained to them what was going through your mind.
“I feel so dumb.” You bow your head in Marito’s direction specifically. “I really am sorry, I jumped to conclusions; I’ve been worried about Arajin having a tough time at school and I guess…I assumed the worst. I’m so sorry, Jin-san.”
“I’ll let it go this time.” Marito says coolly, barely glancing your way. “I wouldn’t normally let you live after such an offense, but for Ara-teen’s sake, I’ll excuse your rudeness.”
Arajin gulped: there’s no way he can tell you Marito is actually not only a juvenile delinquent but a dangerous psycho. No, it’s better you don’t get involved in any of this; Arajin’s known you most of his life. His mother and yours had been friends forever and when your mother passed, you had been all but adopted. You made ends meet working at Chu Chu; you were earnest and hard working but something of a worry wart, at least when it came to Arajin.
“You really don’t have to worry about me,” Arajin tries to sound casual and breezy as you set down two cups of hot tea. “Marito might seem scary but he is a…well, he’s very…he would never, uh…”
Okay, maybe it’s dishonest to try and tell you Marito is a “good” person but Arajin really doesn’t want you to be concerned; if anything, he knows Marito is going to be the first person to throw down on his behalf should anyone even try to hurt him. Now, whether or not Marito will be inflicting any of that pain himself, that’s something Arajin can’t quite say for sure.
“Is your head okay?” You look around Marito’s head; you lightly touch the spot you made contact with. “I can get you some ice.”
“Wow, you are wound up tight.” Marito slaps your hand away, but it’s more of a light swat than anything. “Ara-teen, tell her to calm down and bring us food; it’s bad enough our date got interrupted, I’m starving.” he whined as you left to fetch them some appetizers. “Also, you didn’t ask how my head was…”
“You said it didn’t hurt though,” Arajin grumbles under his breath, blowing on his tea. “I can’t believe this. What on earth was she thinking?”
“Is she your guard dog? A little beast like her couldn’t hurt a fly.” Marito snickers, teeth baring wolfishly. “Don’t tell me she thinks you need her to protect you.”
“It’s more like…she’d step in to help anyone.” Arajin smiles a little himself; he remembers how hard you were shaking, the real fear behind your bold glare. “She’s crazy, that girl.”
“Hey, who are we talking about here?” You come back to their table with two plates loaded up with food. “Arajin, so mean.”
“No, I didn’t mean it how it sounded!” Arajin scrambles to explain himself. “You were really cool back there actually.”
“Aw, come on, you and I both know I’m useless in a fight; that was all a bluff.” You address Marito. “Besides, he’s the one who looks cool. I really like your hair and piercings.”
“Flattery won’t get you on my good side.”
“No, I’m serious.” You tell him with some surprise. “I’m sure you get this a lot, but you could be a model or something; of course, Arajin’s still the cutest. He’s off the charts when it comes to being a cutie pie.”
“Ugh, don’t make fun of me.”
“Come on, no need to be modest in front of your date.” You tease. “He knows what I’m talking about, right Jin-san?”
“I’m an expert.” Marito agrees, fixing Arajin with a knowing look. “You should see how cute he looks when-”
“KNOCK IT OFF!”
“Soooo scary!” Marito cackles. “Is your face red from anger? Or something else?”
“You’re both awful.”
Arajin scoffs but inwardly he’s getting…tingly. It’s almost like both you and Marito are flirting with him, giving him all this attention. He has to remind himself you’re just being nice.
Marito takes a chicken skewer and tears a bite of juicy meat off with a satisfied hum. “Hm, these are different.”
“Oh that one is my recipe.” You grin. “Arajin, do you like it?”
“It’s delicious.”
“Yay!”
Arajin feels his chest swell at the look of pride on your face; honestly he would happily swallow unseasoned glass shards by the spoonful if you asked him to. You were wrong: if anyone’s cute it’s you. God, he’s only been back for a few months; Arajin thought by now you wouldn’t have the same effect on him, especially now he’s seeing someone. To be fair, with Marito he wasn’t exactly given a choice, but still.
“Feed me, Ara-teen!” Marito leans over the table and points to his open mouth. “I want a dumpling.”
“You have hands!”
Arajin’s cheeks flush and he hopes you don’t notice. He uses his chopsticks to take a dumpling and pops it into his mouth, ignoring Marito’s whimper, but hunger wins out and he takes a dumpling for himself.
“Here, don’t forget the sauce.” Arajin slides the bottle over to Marito. “You always eat too fast and forget to use it.”
“Aw, thanks honey~”
“Don’t. Call. Me. That.”
“Yum!” Marito licks his lips eagerly. “These really hit the spot.”
“I hope you like them; I still feel bad about earlier, so I doubled the portion.” You smile sweetly, hands clasped to your chest. “I made them with lots and lots of love, just for you two!”
Arajin almost chokes when your hands form a heart shape; Marito pauses mid bite as you shoot them with a “love beam” and giggle childishly.
“Chu!” You blow them a kiss. “Please let me know if you want anything else; have fun on your date, Arajin-it was nice to meet you, Jin-san.”
Arajin can barely stop himself from staring as the skirt of your uniform flounces around your thighs and your hips sway with every step.
“I see how it is.” Marito leans over the table with a sly smile. “Ara-teen, bad boy. You’re practically family, aren’t ya? Does she know about your little crush? Or were you childhood sweethearts? Don’t say it’s so, I’ll be jealous.”
“No, no, no! We’re barely friends, my mom knew her mom, she’s just…”
But Arajin can tell Marito isn’t buying his excuses; of course he’s thought about you that way.
“I liked her.” Arajin confesses quietly. “She’s cute and she's a good person: I admire her, that's all."
Cute, brave, sweet, and only the most perfect girl and Arajin knows he doesn’t have a chance in hell. Besides, you don’t see him that way; he might as well be your kid brother, the way you fuss and act so protectively.
“I can see it now: two love birds who grew up together, getting married and running this place, a few kids maybe, real domestic. Blegh.” Marito rolls his eyes. “I bet your mom would be thrilled; is she planning the wedding? You're not just playing with me to pass the time, are ya?”
“You know mom likes you; you shocked her maybe, but she thinks you're funny and cool.” Arajin replies with a small smile. "Not that she wouldn't be happy with anyone as long as they treat me well. The only thing that would make the old hag happier is maybe if you and I and-”
“We all got together? You, me, and that little beast?” Marito picks up a dumpling, almost gingerly with his chopsticks, inspecting it with an odd half smile. “Nah, more like…a nervous little kitten who doesn’t know how to use her claws yet. She needs training.”
Arajin watches Marito carefully; he’s been acting off all afternoon. More so, at least.
"You heard what she said: besides, she hates fighting." Arajin remarks, passing Marito the whole plate of skewers. "Go on, these are your favorite right?"
"They're best when you make 'em though." Marito winks, basically salivating as he picks up another stick. "I bet you've had a lot of her cooking, huh?"
"Why do you keep bringing the conversation back to her?" Arajin sighs; his teas gone cold but he's too anxious to call you back over to bring more. "My mom teaches her and she has me for a guinea pig. Actually when she started cooking it was awful."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, always over salted or undercooked or burned, you name it." Arajin recalls various failed dishes he had been assigned to taste test. "She'd do it over and over again though. It was important to her. Mom would tell her food can be an expression of personality; I guess that's why she put so much effort into doing better."
Every time, you would go to him with a hopeful spark in your eyes; even now you're self conscious about how your food tastes. Arajin would say the practice paid off, but considering he would consume poison made with your painstaking care, maybe he's not the one you should've been going to for critiques.
"Her food tastes like her." Marito smacks his lips in satisfaction. "I taste it."
"The saying isn't really literal." Arajin smiles in exasperation. "What are you even tasting?"
Marito leans his chin on his hand; he has a much more subdued expression and the abrupt change on his demeanor isn't lost on Arajin. Marito is being serious.
"Filling warmth."
"Filling...warmth?"
"It's kinda like," Marito drawls. "There's heat in my belly; I already ate so much, I know I shouldn't eat more, but I can't get enough. Don't ya taste it?"
"Yeah, well," Arajin scratches his cheek. "I'd say it's comforting? Something like that."
“So, you do have a crush."
"Marito, lower your voice please!"
"Says the one squealing like a little girl; gotta say, I’m a bit disappointed in you, Ara-teen. All this time and you never tried to claim her? Normally you woulda been kissin' her ass and the ground she walks on, but you're holding back?” Marito asks, almost as if he’s genuinely curious. “You’re so odd: fiery and bold one minute and all shy and timid the next.”
“I mean, we’re…together now, so what does it matter? Come on, it's not funny, Marito. We're on a date but you keep trying to-to goad me into flirting or something.” Arajin glances around, but no one seems to be paying them any mind. “You act like you want me to make a move on her.”
“Maybe I do.”
Arajin watches, gaping as Marito sinks his teeth into the last dumpling; he’s staring towards where you’re speaking with his mother behind the bar counter. You’re nodding, looking fairly serious now, at the ready and eager to help. Arajin can feel his heart fluttering again and he jumps when Marito’s foot slides to tap his own under the table; Arajin looks up but Marito’s eyes are still on you, a strained smile playing on his lips, as if he's trying to not laugh.
Although everything on the table has been devoured already, Arajin wouldn't know it from the hungry way Marito scans your face, the way his tongue darts out as if to savor any trace left of the meal you had brought them. He looks ready to lick the empty plate clean: except, his eyes are still on you.
Arajin squirms in his seat and at the same moment, you seem to have noticed them staring. You wave sweetly, smiling at them; Arajin could dissolve into a puddle as Marito reaches under the table to grasp at his knee.
"Hey, ya know what we oughta do? Let's adopt a kitten."
"What?!" Arajin gasps, words cut off as Marito slides his wandering hand further to his thigh. "Stop teasing, this really, really, isn't funny..."
“I thought you liked when I teased you?" Marito giggles maniacally. "Anyway, she did say with lots and lots of love for us. Or are you so worked up you can't remember?"
"I don't think she meant..I-I couldn't-"
"Please, Ara-teen? Pretty, pretty please?" Marito coos and simpers; there's a hint of pink rising in his pale cheeks. “I wanna play with that kitten.”
#bucchigiri?!#marito jin#arajin tomoshibi#marito x arajin#fem reader#x reader#reader insert#alternate universe#marito x arajin x reader#marito jin x reader#arajin tomoshibi x reader
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When the dragons fly(book 2)
Beneath the autumn leaves, you decide to have a friendly sparring session with Maedhros. But when Helena came to share some exciting news, she had unwittingly sparked a flame of change in your elven friend's heart, leading you to suspect his real identity.
Chapter 12
Warnings: some sparring, teasing, possible flirting? mentions of Morgoth and lost hands, some soft moments between you and Mae, yelling at brothers, and mentions of a possible coming war.
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The wind blew through the red and yellow leaves of the trees. Squirrels raced around the trunks, and the birds flitted among the branches, singing their last tunes before migrating south. The signs of the coming winter were evident in the nature around you but it did not discourage you from outdoor activities, such as brewing jam for the next stock and watching Maedhros train Aelon and Eweniel, who had decided to join in for the fun.
“One, two, three, good!” Maedhros said as Aelon and Eweniel were blocking and striking an even pace.
You smiled while mixing the jam with sugar.
“Focus Aelon!” Maedhros said, but then his training sword slipped toward Aelon, hitting the little boy in the hand. Aelon yelled, dropping his stick to the ground and clutching his hand, seemingly in pain.
“Sorry!” Maedhros’s face fell with concern as he tried to take a look at the little boy’s hand. Aelon suddenly kicked him in the knee, eliciting a groan of surprise from Maedhros.
“Get him!” Eweniel yelled as the two then tackled Maedhros to the ground and began wrestling with the elf.
The children laughed and Maedhros gently tried to defend himself, releasing small laughs and giggles.
You smiled at the sight and couldn't help but feel captivated by the sound of Maedhros’s laugh. Though you had heard him hum and chuckle in amusement before, this was perhaps the first time you had heard him truly laugh, and it filled you with a sense of joy and warmth.
“We have beaten you! Will you surrender or be destroyed?” Eweniel grinned as the two lay on top of him. Aelon giggled.
“Hmm… let me think,” Maedhros had a sneaky look on his face as he lay against the ground, pondering. "How about... neither!" With a swift motion, he scooped the children into his arms as he stood up.
The children shrieked in laughter as Maedhros hoisted Eweniel onto his shoulder and tucked Aelon under his arm.
"Hey! Not fair!" Aelon protested, laughing as he dangled upside down.
You couldn't help but release a few giggles yourself at the sight.
"Alright, it's time to calm down now!" you called out, and Maedhros gently set the two children back on their feet.
“Sorry! Did I hurt you when I kicked you?” Aelon asked apothetically.
“Not at all. It was an excellent surprise,” Maedhros chuckled, ruffling his hair. He then walked up to you as Aelon and Eweniel ran up to your porch to grab the snacks you had left there waiting for them.
“They like you,” you said as you glanced at the two. “And Aelon has gotten better each day. He might even be ready to train with a sword soon,”
“I agree, and if you allow it. I could commission someone to design a sword suited for Aelon,” Maedhros stated, making you stare at him with surprise. “That… would be quite generous of you,” you replied.
“Well, I noticed that your village doesn’t seem to have a forge,” Maedhros said.
“No. We order our weapons and most of the necessary equipment from the town. We don’t have anyone experienced in the art of forging, so there was never a point in building a forge,” you explained.
“I would be fine with you commissioning a sword for Aelon, but I’m afraid we don’t currently have the money for a privately designed weapon,” you said.
“There’s no need for that. Consider it a gift from me. Aelon has been an excellent student,” Maedhros shook his head with a smile.
“Well… if that’s the case, then thank you, Nelyo. That is very kind of you,” you smiled, and he nodded.
You then set the ladle on the table and started stretching your arm, which was now uncovered from the bandages, revealing red scars from the warg’s fangs scattered across your skin. Your arm was still in rough shape, but the pain was long gone.
“And talking about swords and training. It’s been a while since I’ve done any combat exercising,” you said while flexing your fingers. “My arm has healed well since the last month,” you then looked at Maedhros.
“So, will you be willing to have a little duel with me?” you asked.
“Are you certain? I think you should not exert yourself too much,” Maedhros asked with concern laced in his voice. You only chuckled.
“I will be fine. We humans might be different from you elves, but we’re not that fragile,” you said. “So… do you want to duel? Or has wrestling with the children left you too scared to face someone of your own size?” you challenged with a playful tone.
Maedhros looked at you before cracking a smile. “Fine then, if you insist,” he said as you two grabbed the training swords. Aelon and Eweniel watched with intrigue as you two faced each other.
“Fair warning, my fighting style can differ quite a lot from yours,” you said then swiftly attacked, making Maedhros stand back and block your attacks. He was startled but quickly composed himself.
You continued exchanging blows until you surged forward, swiftly pressing the side of your training sword against his neck. He countered by using his right arm to push you back while maneuvering his training sword behind your nape. In response, you seized his wrist with your other hand and pushed him back.
The two of you reached a stalemate, pushing each other’s weapons away while simultaneously attempting to press your weapons against each other.
“You certainly know how to strike quickly, my lady,” Maedhros said as you kept pushing each other away.
“Well, sometimes ending the fight quickly is the best option. And you know the saying, the bigger the enemy, the quicker you should be,” you replied as you two then pulled away, stepping back for another round.
You walked around each other till Maedhros decided to strike first.
He continued trying to hit you while you blocked, finding a joyful challenge in it as Maedhros was using his left hand to wield the training sword. You do not think you have ever faced someone who wielded the weapon on their left hand.
You felt a pleasant rush through your veins. Maedhros was an excellent swordsman. You could only imagine what he could do in an actual fight.
You struck his wooden stick away, pushing the point of your training sword toward his throat, but he was quick to do the same.
You two came to another stalemate with your arms leaning against each other and the points of your training swords at your necks.
“I must say, you fight well with your left hand,” you said.
“When I lost my right one. I trained hard to ensure I can still with my left one,” Maedhros explained. “And you fight well too. Not many can get this close to me as you,” he added as you freed each other again.
“I can definitely get closer,” you said, then rushed toward him. You jumped on top of him, making him fall backward from your weight.
As you both fell, you instinctively placed your hand behind his head to prevent it from hitting the ground. Once on the ground, you crouched on top of him, holding your training sword toward his neck.
You looked into his eyes as they stared back into yours.
“My father ensured to train me hard enough that I could take on even the most formidable opponents. And if this was a real fight, you would be already closer to death,” you explained, and he only smiled back. “And so would you,” Maedhros said as he held the tip of his weapon against your side, which he could plunge instantly into your rib, killing you with him.
You smiled as it became another stalemate.
You then stood up, helping the elf off the ground.
“Cool…” Aelon said with wonder as he watched the duel with candy inside his mouth.
“You think they flirting?” Eweniel grinned.
After ending the duel, you and Maedhros returned the training swords to their places. You then returned to your place behind the pot, stirring the boiling jam. Your ears then heard the clinking of glass jars, and you saw Helena approaching you with an excited smile.
“(Name)! (Name)! I got some exciting news from the outside world!” Helena said as she set the box of empty jars beside your workplace.
“Well, what has happened?” you asked.
“Someone stole a silmaril from Morgoth!” Helena revealed.
Maedhros’s ears perked at the mention of the silmaril. He glanced toward you and your friend, quietly listening while your friend explained the news.
“You know the silmarils? Apparently, they’re valuable jewels from Morgoth’s crown?” Helena questioned. “Yes. I’ve heard of them,” you answered as Helena continued.
“So… apparently, some elven princess and her mortal lover had marched into the dark lord’s fortress. The princess enchanted the whole court to fall asleep, and her lover then carved one of the silmarils out of the dark lord’s crown with a knife,” Helena explained.
“And then they just walked out of there with the jewel in hand,” she added with a grin.
“I don’t know if that was done with a purpose or out of foolishness, but if they succeeded in leaving Angband alive— I praise their courage,” you stated.
“Well… I heard that the two lost the jewel momentarily to a wolf, who ate it along with the man’s hand. But then they got it back, slayed the wolf, and got happily married after giving the silmaril to the princess’s father, who had demanded it as the bride price,” Helena added and then took a deep breath. “I need to hear more details to know the whole story,” she sighed.
“Well, that is indeed one wild story,” you remarked while continuing to stir the jam.
Maedhros was silently thinking to himself, progressing what he had just learned.
“Nelyo. Are you okay? You look startled?” Eweniel asked as both of the children looked at him. Aelon’s mouth stuffed with food.
“I’m fine, little ones. I was just thinking about something,” Maedhros smiled, and the two nodded, continuing to eat their snacks. His mind returned to the news he had heard. Despite the possibility of it being just a rumor, he could not help but feel bothered by it.
After taking a break, Maedhros continued training and having fun with the children. You finished making the jam and then started filling the glass jars with Helena, filling each jar with different flavored jam, and then sealing them to make them ready to be sold.
Maedhros helped you clean up your workplace after it started getting late and it was time for him to return home.
“Thank you for helping me clean up. You know what, take this,” you grabbed one of the jams and handed it to the elf. “Oh, I couldn't possibly accept this,” Maedhros shook his hand. “Nonsense. Consider it a gift from me. For— gracing us with your visits and making our lives more lively,” you smiled. “And besides, freshly made jam on bread is quite delicious,” you added.
Maedhros smiled, taking the jar from your hand while uttering a silent ‘thank you,’
“I’ve also been meaning to ask. Is everything alright? You have been quiet since Helena shared the news about the silmarils and all?” you questioned.
“Oh! So you…” Maedhros uttered, looking away shamefully. “Helena spoke loudly enough for all of us to hear. I don’t think you were eavesdropping,” you stated.
“Ah! Then, it’s nothing to worry about. I can assure you,” Maedhros fixed himself. “Well, you looked kinda startled, so I was just worried,” you said.
“I apologize. The last thing I want to do is make you worried,” Maedhros said with an apologetic tone. “But unfortunately, I must get going. There is… something I need to deal with at home,” he explained.
"Thank you for the gift again," he said, holding the jar. "Till next time we see," he said then left to retrieve his horse from the side of your house.
"Take care!" you called out as he left the village.
"Is he leaving already?" Aelon asked. "Well, it's getting late. How about you get ready? We need to take a quick hike to the mountains," you said. "Okay..." Aelon walked inside to get ready.
You looked back toward the forest, where your tall elf friend disappeared, and began to wonder. In truth, you didn’t know much about Nelyo. You knew he was a busy elf, had brothers, had exceptional sword art skills, and lost a hand in an incident, but he started acting differently when a Silmaril was mentioned.
You then remembered how he seemed hesitant to share his name upon your second meeting and began wondering if Nelyo was even his real name.
Nelyo? Who are you really?
At the hills of Himring, inside his study. Maedhros was working on plans after confirming the news that Morgoth had truly lost one of the silmarils to the elven princess and her mortal lover. He had also yelled at two of his brothers after hearing what they had done against the said princess.
The jar of jam you had gifted him stood open on his desk alongside a piece of bread. They were indeed delicious, just as you had promised, and even helped alleviate the anger he felt toward his brothers. Their actions had caused the loss of two potential allies and tarnished their reputation even further.
"You have been working hard since you came back?" Maglor stated as he walked into the room.
"Luthien managed to steal from Morgoth and walk out alive. If she can do that, then maybe Morgoth is not as invincible as we thought. There is a chance we could reach him and claim back what is ours," Maedhros explained, scribbling on the paper.
"Possibly, but how?" Maglor asked.
"That's what I'm working on. Maybe if we get all of the people of Beleriand to join together and attack him for a singular cause, then we can possibly overpower him," Maedhros said, continuing to work on his plan--- the plan to form a union and assault Angband.
"Does that mean you're going to go out less? I see you brought something back from that special place of yours," Maglor motioned at the open jam jar on the desk.
"It was a gift. Hands off," Maedhros stated.
"A gift from a special someone?" Maglor teased.
"Maglor..." Maedhros warned.
"Alright. I leave you to your thoughts. I do hope you do not stop going out to that place. I like how you return in a good mood," Maglor said and then left the room.
Maedhros stopped to think for a moment. You were a little escape from everyday troubles, and he enjoyed your company, but even you would find out the truth about him soon enough, and it would be over. He sighed, continuing his work. He will keep his promise till Aelon has learned everything he needs. He does need time to perfect his plan and create the union to put those plans into motion.
Taglist: @natchayaphorn @kimnamnu@thatrandomidiot182 @springfountain
#silmarillion x reader#silmarillion#tolkien#silm fic#middle earth x reader#when the dragons fly#hotd x reader#hotd#middle earth#silmarillion imagines#various x reader#targaryen reader#silmarillion x targaryen reader#maedhros x reader
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I'm living for the surge of jetko, it's delightful how you write both of them ^-^
for a prompt, maybe "please, put it DOWN"
or "let’s not go back. not ever." for Jetko (if you haven't gotten tired of these knuckleheads lol)
For this prompt game! (And also this one!)
(Can be read along with this and this and this and this and this)
Agni’s flaming balls, if Jet fucking sucks his teeth one more fucking time Zuko is going to fucking—
Nothing. Zuko is going to nothing, he tells himself, cutting off that thought and shoving it away and trying to replace it with the calming, soothing breath cycles Uncle always pressed on him as he jerks his focus back to the assembled governors and viceroys and Councilmen around him.
“Lady Tang,” Zuko says, paging through his notes and trying to force the grit of frustration out of his voice, “I really do think we should consider—”
“What we should consider is the way we’ve distributed water rights off the Earth Kingdom’s coast,” she cuts in, flapping a hand at him as she sips her tea, and Zuko sucks in another slow, calming breath and tries not to feel the way Jet’s eyebrow ticks up, amused.
“We should consider a more traditional governance structure,” Councilman Vukuq agrees like he always fucking does and there’s no way the two of them aren’t— “It’s ridiculous, really, how the current divisions are assessed.”
The gentle breeze to the ostrich horse may be a gale to the flutter bee, Zuko remind himself as Jet’s other eyebrow tick up, as Zuko yanks his inner fire back down so hard it stings because it was like trying to scoop fire into a ladle to get what divisions they have now. “Councilman, we all agreed just a year ago—”
“Yes, well, things change,” Vukuq says, flicking his eyes over Zuko. “Isn’t that what you’re always saying, Fire Lord?” he adds, snide, and Zuko’s skin feels tight from that look, from the way Jet props his elbow on the table and his head on his fist and smirks.
“As you should all be able to see in the report my scribes put together,” Zuko grits out, finally finding the report in question amongst his notes and pretending he doesn’t see the way Jet’s eyes go overwide and overly rapt, a mockery of awed attention that scalds after spending the past week thinking he was seeing flashes of the real thing. “The population shifts along the coast—”
“Reports, reports, always with the reports,” Lord Geheng rolls his eyes and the fact that Zuko is fucking wishing Kuei were here right now with all his cheerful, agreeable fumbling– “Sometimes a man just has to think with his gut,” Geheng continues, giving Zuko a haughty, pitying kind of look. “You’ll learn,” he adds, lips curled into something probably supposed to come across as kind, fatherly, and Zuko grips onto the edge of the table and shoves his flame down and tries not to light it on fire.
“Thank you for your advice, Lord Geheng,” Zuko forces out, somehow harder than usual to do with Jet sitting there, watching, just smirking wider when Zuko’s gaze flicks over to him against his better judgment and mouthing ‘you’ll learn’ like it’s a joke, like it doesn’t matter, like he’s shoving his finger into a bruise and leaning into it and fuck, Zuko knows he shouldn’t have brought Jet into this, should never have even asked. He was almost more surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth than he was by Jet’s slow blink and drawling acceptance and now somehow they’re both here, when usually its only Zuko, everyone staring at Jet’s hodgepodge of clothes and the livid hickey still high on Jet’s neck and giving Zuko looks like he’s Viceroy Hoang again bringing his latest—his—like Zuko’s a fucking child, like—
Zuko takes a deep, calming breath as he drags his attention back to the conversation in front of him, trying to exhale the frustrated knot in his chest, straightening, trying to put on his most poised, polite expression. “Be that as it may,” he cuts back in, silently congratulation himself for how smooth the words come out, how reasonable and even and ignoring the way Jet straightens and mouths be that as it—fucking imitating him, fucking— “Given the population dispersion in the late years of the war and after—”
“Sure you want to go there?” Vukuq says under his breath and also not under his breath at all, everyone pretending not to hear. Except for Jet, who actually lets out a low, “Ooh, ouch,” at full volume and Agni, they’ve already been at it for fucking hours and Zuko just wants to fucking—
Just wants to take a deep breath, and calm himself, and shove down the roiling tangle in his chest, and remind himself something about ostrich hoses and flutter bees, and that a vessel already full of anger cannot have any room for peace, and—
Jet is watching him. Smirking, leaned forward against the table and clinking his fancy little teaspoon obnoxiously against the sides of his fragile little teacup and making a—making a fucking visible jerk off gesture at him.
“Irrespective of the reasons,” Zuko hears himself saying, aiming a kick at Jet’s ankles and barely restraining the urge to hurl his own teaspoon at Jet’s head when Jet easily evades it, just smirking wider, “Population movement did happen. And traditional governance approaches do not make sense given the increased demands of—”
“Interior trade routes can account for that,” Lady Tang says, dismissive, and Jet snorts out loud like Zuko wants to.
“It’s fish,” Zuko says, incredulous, fraying. “You’re talking about caravanning fish across the desert.”
“I’ve heard its pretty warm there,” Jet says in a thick north coastal drawl, grinning sharp and wide when the assembles lords and ladies twitch at the sound, chewing on a—on a stalk of wheatgrass that he must have pulled out of his fucking sleeve or something, like he has a whole fucking stash up there, except he doesn’t, Zuko’s tried to find it while stripping him down, though how else he keeps—
“Yes, well,” Vukuq says, expression edged with something Zuko at his most charitable can only call distaste, “Smarter men than you are working on it, dear.”
“Oh, gosh,” Jet says, voicw going breathy, sitting up all wide-eyed and attentive and polite as Zuko’s swallows hard, fire gulping in his chest as his breath control breaks. “That’s so good to hear, there’s no better time than now,” Jet says earnestly and so clearly mockingly and Zuko feels the thin remnants of the leash around his temper turn to ash.
“Now that that’s settled,” Lady Tang is saying, the picture of genteel amusement, “Let us go back to the discussion of tax rates on our merchant class, which truly are far too—”
“No, how about let’s not go back, not ever,” Zuko hears himself saying overloud, nearly shouting, frustrated anger suddenly boiling up out of his gut, “While I’m sure you’d love to renegotiate your own tax rates, I think we’re all sick of you wasting all our fucking time with your blatant profiteering," Zuko snaps, ignoring the gasps around the room, the shocked outrage on everyone’s faces—except for Jet's, who’s air of feigned indifference has dropped for the first time all day to give way to a delighted kind of eagerness.
“Now see here,” Geheng straightens, bushy eyebrows drawn in disapproving, “There is no need for such unseemly displays, young man, this is—”
“Fire Lord,” Zuko corrects, smoke on the back of his tongue and Geheng jerks back, shocked, “And I think there’s plenty of need after this travesty of a negation,” Zuko says, smelling smoke too, which probably means he’s damaging the table but he doesn’t particularly care to check right now with his fire stretching and spilling out inside him and Jet looking at him, rapt.
“Fire Lord,” Vukuq says, chiding, stern, “Just because the negotiations have not personally favored your views—”
“Are you sure you want go there?” Zuko rounds on him, spiting the words, “You?”
“Are you implying—”
“I’m not implying anything,” Zuko snarls over top of him and Agni, it feels good to not have to modulate his tone, to check his volume, to carefully watch of every lilt and bit of emphasis, Jet leaning forward, eager, and that feels good, “I’m saying I don’t know why we even fucking pretend at it anymore, when you’re so blatantly in each other’s pockets.”
Vukuq is choking, sputtering, furious. “I should have known someone of your—”
“What, someone of my what, Vukuq?” Zuko challenges, exhilaration thrilling in his chest at the edge of threat in his voice, at the way Vukuq’s mouth works, silent, soundless in the face of it. “And Lady Tang I can see you picking up that seal,” Zuko says, snapping his attention to her and feeling wild with his hours of frustrated anger, his months of stifled indignation, with the way Jet is grinning approving and sharp.
“Lord Zuko,” she says, huffy, drawing herself up and Zuko feels a seething kind of satisfaction at that Lord, more than she’s ever given him, “I don’t know how things are done in the Fire Nation, but around here—”
“They’re done a fuck of a lot better than this,” Zuko says, incredulous, incredulous that they think something as small as words, as chiding, as shame can rein him back where they want him and if it’s worked before— “And we’re a fucking mess,” he adds, laughing, Jet cackling along with him, the sound like sparks in his veins, “The bar is not high. And yet somehow, you continually manage to faceplant over it.”
Vukuq pulls himself up, scrapes his eyes over Jet and then Zuko, snide and ugly. “It’s just like the Fire Nation to attempt to trample all over—”
“I will remind you, Councilman, that Fire Nation reparations still require the Fire Lord’s approval,” Zuko spits, the words coming easy and right when he doesn’t make himself think over them, “And I am the Fire Lord—” It’s almost dizzying, the adrenaline and anger and clear, crystal sense of focus and Jet’s nearly triumphant grin. “— and I will not be approving shit until I hear meaningful concessions. Because I assure you,” he adds, turning to Geheng before the man can say whatever drivel he’s opened his mouth to say, “The reparations are not for you, Geheng. I think we are all very aware of how little you need them after the war.”
Zuko’s breathes hard as the room gapes at him, stunned, uncertain. His breath control is in some wild, seething rhythm and the urge to tug it back under more familiar control trembles through him, just like the instinctive, learned impulse to apologize, to rein himself back and be calm and polite, to offer tea and amends and be reasonable.
But Jet is looking at him eager and impressed and genuine for the first time all day, and Zuko’s fire is blazing and for the first time—or maybe not the first time, not really, though Zuko’s always felt shame for it, for these loses of control that were so improper and ignoble and nothing like the calm consideration and measured words Uncle tried so hard to impress onto him—Zuko’s thrumming anger feels like an ally rather than an enemy.
“So, Fire Lord,” Jet says into the stunned silence, drawl thick and syrupy, all faux, smirking sweetness, the curl of his lips undeniably feral as he taps his teaspoon against his lips, drawing nervous looks, “Do you have a list of concessions you’re seeking?”
“Yeah,” Zuko says, feeling his grins sharp and feral in answer as he takes in the room, feeling bright and invigorated and exhilarated by the sudden clear certainty that he’s going to fucking get this one, “Yeah, I do, actually. If you'll look at the report that was sent to you..."
#asks and answers#ask game#We do love to cut loose and stop holding back in these parts#fic writing#my writing#Zuko#Jetko#Jet
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Ash Betrayed (Part - 9)
As Ash put the phone down, he heard Delia calling him from the Kitchen.
“Ash, who was it?” Delia asked from the kitchen, currently business cooking the breakfast.
Ash went to the kitchen and sighed, readying himself to have the talk (no, not the Pidgeys and the Beedrills).
“Mom,” Ash said.
“Yeah?” Delia asked as she continued cooking.
“It was Ilene,” Ash said. On hearing Ilene’s name, the Ladle felt from Delia’s hands.
“W-What?” Delia asked, turning towards Ash, who was walking towards her. Delia’s eyes were filled with Horror and desperation.
“H-How did she get the number,” Delia asked, to herself loudly, extremely scared.
“Mom………………………………………. I am sorry but it is time,” Ash said as he held Delia’s hands. Delia immediately understood what he meant.
“N-No!! No no no no no!!!!!!” Delia said as she left the kitchen.
“Mom!!!!” Ash said as he followed her. Delia climbed upstairs, saying no again and again. Ash was following her. She went to his room and Ash followed her. The Moment Ash entered the room, Delia, in swift speed, exited and slam and lock the door from the outside, locking Ash in his room. She slammed the door so hard that Pikachu, who was peacefully asleep on the bed, woke up.
“//What happened?//” Pikachu asked.
“Oh good morning Pikachu,” Ash said.
“//Did not answer my question but Good Morning to you too I guess,//” Pikachu asked as he went back to sleep.
Ash sighed as he looked at his situation.
“Mom let me out,” Ash asked.
“No!!! You are not going anywhere!!! Especially not to Rota!!!! You have are the World Monarch now! That is Pokemon Master in my understanding! Now you are not leaving!!! You are staying here me with!!!!” Delia said, standing infront of the door. Despite the fact that she had lock the door, the scared and desperate woman felt the need to personally ensure it remains shut.
“Mom! Come on this is not how things work and you know it,” Ash said with a sighed. He wasn’t worried about getting locked. He could jump from window of his room anytime he wanted to, but he wanted his Mother’s support in this.
“Don’t teach your Mom how things work young man!! I left Rota to ensure your safety and now you are telling me you want to join them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You may have fun putting your life in risk but I want my child safety!!!!!!!!! The Entire Aura Foundation is a meat grinder!!!!!! The Royal Family itself have lost multiple members due to Aura Foundation’s activities!!!! I refuse you to go!!!!!!” Delia said as she sat on the floor, remember a dying Red in her lap. His face was red with blood.
“Mom………………………. You know na if the Aura Foundation stopped doing the things it do, so many people will suffer, so many Delias will lose their As-” Ash was interrupted by Delia.
“Don’t you dare you metaphors on me!!!!!!! You didn’t even knew about the Foundation reality till yesterday night and now you are an expert about it?!?!!! You are not going that is final!!!!!” Delia shouted, coming on the edge.
“Mom-” Before Ash could say something, Delia shouted.
“WHY ALL MALE FIGURES IN MY LIFE WANT TO LEAVE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Delia shouted before realising what she just said. She facepalmed, thinking what to say to Ash now.
Ash was confused when she said that. Yes, he needed to go to Rota but that doesn’t mean he was going to leave her forever. Suddenly, Delia opens the door and looked at Ash.
“Mom, W-What was that? What did you mean by all male figures in your life wanting to leave you?” Ash asked. Delia sighed and hugged Ash.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ash and Delia were sitting on a coach. Ash firmly held his mother hand. Delia was rubbing her head, thinking what to say.
“Mom, you don’t have to,” Ash said.
“No, you have questions and as a mother, I should answer them,” Delia said as she looked at Ash.
“So, I did not came from a really good background Ash……………………………………….. In the Era of Kanto I was born in, the War with Johto had just concluded…………………………….. We have won the war but Kantonian economy was crippled. Poverty and unemployment ran high………………………… add that with the fact that I was born in a lower class family in Viridian City where my deadbeat dad did nothing but drank and gambled and my mom had to do three or four jobs as domestic help and pro-” Delia looked at Ash and then took a sighed.
“And Mom?” Ash asked.
“Nothing, forget it,” Delia said, not wanting to remember how her own dad forced her mom to work in the red light (Don’t search kids………………………… you are not ready to learn about the cruelty of the world and the crimes and indignities many women face every day. I am serious, you might think it doesn’t matter, it will, trust me)
“Anyways………………………….. So, even though he was a terrible father, he did taught me and Giovanni to be sharp and shrewd, albeit by swindling us of the money we had earn by doing odd jobs………………………… 5 years after my birth, Giovanni was born, and 5 years after that…………………………………. Arceus………….. that dreaded day,” Delia said as she wiped her tears off.
“Mom? What happened,” Ash asked.
“*Sighed* My Dad left us……………………….. he caught the eye of some rich chick for whom he left us………………………… He was a terrible husband but Mom did loved him……………………………. But after this betrayal, she decided all that matter was money…………………… she formed an all women gang with a group of women who have faced similar difficulties…………………............ Together, they form a gang, a gang which will later be called Team Rocket…………………………. Mom had a lot of influence over me and Giovanni and thus she was easily able to forge us Into the ideology of Team Rocket, the ideology was ‘Only Money Matters’, she wasn’t like that before………….……… But dad leaving her had a major impact on her,” Delia said as she looked at Ash. Suddenly, she remember what Queen Anne had told her before She left with Ash. ‘The Destiny of an Aura User can’t be changed or delayed, it can just be made easier or harder, and I can only what you are doing will make it easier for him.’
“*Sighed* Mom…………………………………………………. If you don-” Before Ash could complete the sentence, Delia stopped him.
“No………………………………………. I was wrong,” Delia said.
“Huh?” Ash asked in a confused tone.
“I remember Queen Anne telling me that the destiny of an Aura User can’t be changed or delayed, it can just be made easier or harder,” Delia said as she caressed Ash’s cheek.
“I should have expected this…………………………………. I don’t want to send you………………………. but now I am scared that further attempt to delay will just make things harder for you……………………………. I don’t want that for you,” Delia said as she stood.
“Start packing Ash, we are going to Rota!” Delia said as she hugged Ash.
Previous: Ash Betrayed (Part - 8) – @krishgupt on Tumblr
Next: Ash Betrayed (Part - 10) – @krishgupt on Tumblr
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Breaking Down Quagmire’s Tirade Against Brian
“You are the worst person I know. You constantly hit on your best friend’s wife. The man pays for your food and rescued you from certain death, and this is how you repay him? And to add insult to injury, you defecate all over his yard.”
Since almost the beginning of the show, Brian has been in love with Lois Griffin. There have been moments throughout the series that sees Brian trying to get with Lois, most notably in the episode “Play It Again, Brian,” when Brian tries to throw himself at her. This criticism towards Brian could be hypocritical on Quagmire’s part as he too tries to have sex with Lois. But in a later episode, he reveals to his parent Ida that he’s also in love with Lois.
Brian was a stray when he was found by the Griffins. When Brian was scheduled to be euthanized back in season 1 (and later season 17), Peter saves him from being put down.
Of course Brian poops in Peter’s yard; he’s a dog!
“And you’re such a sponge! You pay for nothing; you always say, “Oh, I’ll get you later,” but later never comes!”
This could reference the episode, “Patriot Games,” when Brian loses a $50 bet to Stewie, and defaults on his payment. As a result, he gets the ever-living shit beaten out of him twice. This wasn’t brought up on my first point, but throughout the show, among other side hustles for the sake of the episode or cutaway gags, Peter has worked three steady jobs at a toy factory, a fishing boat, and currently at a brewery. He makes Jack-shit, and probably most likely ended up buying Brian’s car. We’ll get to that later. My point is, Peter is the breadwinner of the house, and pays for everything.
“And what really bothers me, is you pretend you’re this deep guy that loves women for souls, but all you do is date bimbos! Yeah, I date women for their bodies, but at least I’m honest about it! I don’t buy them a copy of Catcher in the Rye and then lecture them with some seventh-grade interpretation on how Holden Caulfield was some profound intellectual. He wasn’t! He was a spoiled brat! That’s why you like him so much: he’s you! God, you’re pretentious!”
Brian’s longest lasting relationship was with a pretty airhead named Jillian Russel-Wilcox. Since their brutal breakup, Brian has tried to find love, but was only interested if she was smoking hot. Quagmire owns the fact that he dates women for their bodies, because he’s a sex-hound. Seriously, read The Catcher in the Rye. The protagonist, Holden Caulfield, is EXACTLY like Brian in every way.
Brian’s pretentiousness has been made even worse in recent seasons, where we see him act like he’s all sophisticated but really he’s just about as dumb as the rest of the Griffin family.
“And you delude yourself by thinking you’re some great writer, even though you’re terrible! You know, I should’ve known Sheryl Tiegs didn’t write me that more. She would’ve known there’s no A in the word “definite.””
BRIAN. IS. A. SHITTY. WRITER. Apparently, he can’t spell either. No wonder his novel did so poorly…
“And I think what I hate most about you is your textbook liberal agenda, how we should “legalize pot, man,” how big business is crushing the underclass, or how homelessness is the biggest tragedy in America. Well, what have you don’t to help?”
Brian actually did lead a campaign to legalize marijuana, but ended up leading another campaign to reverse the legalization so Carter would publish his infamous novel. And Brian along with Stewie has both destroyed the Superstore USA, so Brian has actually done a couple things.
“I work at the soup kitchen, Brian! Never see you down there! You wanna help? Grab a ladle!”
Case and point. Other than legalizing pot and destroying Quahog’s Superstore, Brian has not done diddly shit. Just grab a ladle!
“And by the way, driving a Prius doesn’t make you Jesus Christ!”
This is for ALL you hybrid drivers. YOU ARE NOT BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE. SHUT THE FUCK UP! I really like the South Park episode describing the attitudes of hybrid owners.
“Oh, wait! You don’t believe in Jesus Christ, or ANY religion for that matter! Because “religion is for idiots!” Well, who the hell are you to talk down on anyone?”
As an atheist, I’m gonna have to agree with Brian on this part. And I especially hate those “Jesus freaks” that are total assholes to those that drop as much as one f-bomb. Yeah, I went to Catholic school, and I did not enjoy one moment of that shit!
“You failed college twice, which isn’t nearly as bad as your father! How’s that son of yours you never see?”
I failed college a couple times. In fact, I actually JUST graduated at age 27.
Brian actively avoids his son Dylan! It isn’t until four seasons later he shows interest in him because he becomes part of the cast in a Disney Channel show, and Brian exploits Dylan’s fame to get a job in the writing room. Did I mention the name of the episode that shows that is “Brian Is A Bad Father?”
“But you what? I would forgive all of that, ALL OF IT, if you WEREN’T SUCH A BORE! That’s the worst if it, Brian: you’re just a big, sad, alcoholic bore!”
That one’s pretty self-explanatory. Emphasis on the “alcoholic” part!
“*sigh* Well, see you, Brian. Thanks for the fucking steak!”
I hope you ordered something expensive, Quagmire! Fuck Brian!
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bathtub
If he had to narrow it down, the three things Daniel loves best about Sadie are her generosity, her optimism, and the joy she finds in the simplest of things.
But that’s the thing of it, she always tells him. The catch. There are very few simple things in life. Only simple ways of looking at them. Daniel thinks about it when they have lunch one day after shopping for the kids’ Christmas gifts.
In all the times they’ve been around here, they’ve never stopped into this restaurant. It’s a chain all along the Midwest, but even the most suburban of suburbanites break a few chains here and there. Today, Daniel and Sadie decide to start linking a new one. After a good cup of cheese soup and a decent sandwich, Daniel figures it was worth it. But it’s their sudden choice to order dessert that really seals the deal, especially for Sadie (and, in the meantime, for Daniel to reiterate why he’s always been in love with her, even before he knew it).
They order a single sundae at the make-your-own bar, but when they come upon the ice cream and all its trimmings, they’re not standing at any bar. Far from it. In front of Daniel and Sadie is a bathtub full of vanilla and chocolate ice cream, followed by as many toppings as you can imagine, from caramel sauce to gummy bears. Daniel smiles at the charm, but Sadie looks overwhelmed by it.
“Daniel!” she says, grabbing onto his arm like she’s no bigger than their four-year-old daughter back at home. “Oh, Daniel! Look at that!”
He smiles and kisses Sadie right on the cheek. She blushes like the maraschino cherries she is currently ladling out of their container and into the glass bowl.
“I see it,” he says. “It’s perfect.”
Sadie grins at him and continues to scoop out rainbow sprinkles for the sundae they’re silly for ordering, but neither of them seems to care. Not now, not anymore. But it doesn’t matter. When Daniel said it was perfect, he wasn’t talking about the ice cream or the bathtub it came from. Not at all.
He was talking about the girl who fell in love with it. The girl who fell in love with him.
If only he could talk about her forever. Without stopping to take a breath. Forever.
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vegetable stew
Pairing: Kenma x Reader (f)
Contents: hurt/comfort; angst and fluff; body dysmorphia; eating disorder (negative thoughts, fat shaming, insecurity, mentions of starvation)
Word Count: 2.1k
Kenma has always been observant.
It was a large part of his success as a setter and even now his keen observational skills contribute to his career as a professional gamer. He tends to notice things others don’t and lately that means noticing how you’ve changed.
The more he thinks about it the more difficult it is to pinpoint the exact starting point of your behavior. Haven’t you always preferred baggy clothing?
He remembers the pretty blue sweater you used to treasure back in high school, wearing it every chance you got as soon as the weather report hinted at anything lower than 10°C. He loved that sweater too—not just because of the cute sweater paws it gave you or how it almost completely covered the shorts you wore beneath, offering an unobstructed view of your shapely thighs—but instead he relished in the way it seemed to make you feel. The confidence and joy in your expression was clear as day when you wore your favorite outfits and early on in your relationship he had quickly learned that somehow your happiness was synonymous to his own.
Hence Kenma’s current frustrations in seeing that spark of joy and self-confidence gradually diminishing in the past several weeks.
Although that particular sweater had long since left your wardrobe within the first few years of university, as well-loved and worn out as it was, the more recent favorites of yours have also seemed to have gone lately. It had been a while since you had worn the short yellow polka dot dress you had been so eager to show Kenma the first day you got back from the mall with your roommates. Every pair of shorts and colorful tennis skirts had also left your weekly rotation, leaving behind only dull sweatshirts with childhood cartoon characters and baggy joggers.
Objectively, Kenma hardly cared about what you wore. If fastening a potato sack around your form made you happy, Kenma wouldn’t bat an eye—the problem stemmed from the fact these clothes didn’t make you happy. Moreover, the bland clothing brought with them their own slew of behavioral changes.
You no longer wished to go out and you avoided taking pictures of yourself, your social media suffering from an obvious lack of cheeky selfies or “outfit of the day” posts as of late. However, the most concerning change of all was your refusal to eat.
Kenma had a habit of forgetting to eat himself. He rarely felt the mild twinges of hunger, his attention generally hyper-focused on something else whether it was a game, a video needing editing, or a class project he had pushed off for far too long. It was only when his own stomach growling would startle him or the hunger pains got unbearable that he would acknowledge the human requirement of sustenance (not that the instant ramen in his cabinets provided much nutrients anyhow).
You were much more in tune with your body and, unlike him, you looked forward to eating; scheduled your days around it, even.
Your mornings began with a balanced breakfast—a meal Kenma was rarely even awake in time for—followed by a generous lunch break in which you would intentionally put everything on pause. Regardless of how much work you had to do you always made time to put everything down and have a decent lunch. It was good for your soul, you would say. A time to live in the moment and relieve yourself of stress.
For dinner you often made it a point to eat with others, whether it was going to a rowdy Korean BBQ with some friends or a dinner date at home with just him, you enjoyed sharing a meal surrounded by the people you love. On top of it all, you frequently had snacks: small bags of crackers, slices of fruit, or a few cookies you made yourself.
You loved cooking almost as much as you loved eating; most of the times he invited you over you brought a large bag with you filled to the brim with ingredients he wouldn’t have a clue what to do with. You would chastise him about his awful eating habits, grimacing at the ramen and chip wrappers overflowing in the kitchen trash can before you diligently prepare a meal for you both, healthy and flavorful, full of the vegetables he hadn’t had since the last time he went home to visit his mom.
You made him look forward to meal times too, if only to see the way you light up when he compliments your cooking or the pure bliss when you take the first bite of your favorite side dish. Eating with you became one of his favorite parts of the day.
And so that last time you made him dinner—a steaming plate of curry with shrimp tempura—the normally delicious food suddenly turned sour on his tongue when he realized you had only made him dinner.
“I’m just not very hungry today,” you had assured him with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
Foolishly, he hadn’t said anything at the time.
Maybe you had a large lunch, maybe you had a stomach ache, maybe you just didn’t want curry today—at that point in time he had no reason to think there was something seriously wrong. He had no reason to think you were starving yourself.
It wasn’t until weeks later when all the evidence stacked up, the many different signs piecing themselves together like a puzzle until it was impossible not to see the picture, even if a few were still missing.
Your baggy clothing, your refusal to eat anything, your off-handed comments about how the female characters in whatever fighting game he was playing had such nice figures—it became crystal clear what you were doing and it made him feel sick.
Kenma doesn’t generally care about others’ looks; he tends to worry more on how he is perceived than how he perceives others but he is confident that he rather likes your body as it is. He would rather die than admit how often he finds his gaze wandering when your legs are bare or how his eyes naturally trace the curve of your waist down to the width of your hips his fingers twitch to touch—he has had many thoughts about your body, none of which have ever been negative.
Even so, he doesn’t mind if you want to change yourself. He isn’t foolish enough to think he has the right to dictate how you decide to present yourself to this world, but he refuses to allow the reason for your change to be one that stems from low self-esteem or insecurity.
When you step into Kenma’s apartment, weary from a long day of classes and the extra hours spent at the gym, the last thing you expect is to be greeted by the scent of some type of stew, warm and hearty. Your stomach clenches longingly but you quickly reprimand yourself—you already reached your tiny caloric limit for the day.
You have hardly made it into the living room when Kenma comes out from the kitchen, dyed hair tied in a low bun but messy, several strands poking out and sticking across his sweaty forehead. A dark blue apron is tied around his waist and his right hand holds a ladle, the perfect image of a frazzled housewife. If you weren’t so shocked by the scene you would have laughed.
“Welcome back,” he greets softly.
“Are you...cooking something?”
Kenma looks slightly embarrassed by your incredulous tone but not offended. In all the years you have known Kenma you have never seen him in the kitchen for longer than the three minutes required to heat up a bowl of noodles. Him slaving away in front of the stove for a bowl of homemade soup is nearly unfathomable to you.
“Vegetable stew...it’s my mom’s recipe,” your boyfriend explains sheepishly.
The mental image of Kenma shyly FaceTiming his mother as she patiently walks him through chopping up carrots and mixing spices makes your lips twitch upwards and you make your way past him to curiously survey his work.
“You didn’t have to go through the effort, I could have cooked you something, y’know,” you comment as you lean over the large pot on the stove.
The contents are a rich brown color with hints of potatoes, carrots, and onions peaking out. You’re gifted another pang of hunger and you quickly step back as if it would prevent you from falling into temptation.
Kenma quietly slips into the kitchen directly behind you, his chest nearly brushing your arm as he speaks.
“It's okay, I wanted to cook for us this time.”
You freeze.
Immediately, you break into a cold sweat, the prospect of eating sending you into a state of anxiety. You can’t eat—you don’t deserve to eat. Not when your arms are so flabby, your waist so undefined, your inner thighs so close to each other—
“I appreciate it,” you start.
Your voice sounds unnaturally high even to your own ears.
“But I’m not hungry—I had a really big lunch.”
Turning, you try to offer him an apologetic smile but his face looks off. His lips are pulled into a slight frown and his eyes seem to be looking through you, as if he knows you’re lying.
“Y/n...I don’t like what you’re doing.”
You attempt to laugh but it comes out hollow.
“I’m not doing anything bad, just dieting a bit.”
“I think you’re being a little extreme.”
You huff, starting to feel defensive. You don’t want to have this conversation, not now, not ever.
“Kenma, I’m totally fine, I promise.”
“I’m worried about you,” he insists.
“I’m telling you there’s nothing to worry about, I’m being safe.”
“Skipping meals isn’t healthy.”
“Kenma, being this fat isn’t healthy!”
The words escape before you can think to stop them and you can already feel the shame pricking at your eyes as you turn away. You don’t want to see your boyfriend’s look of disgust once he realizes you’re right, once he realizes how fat and unattractive his girlfriend is. Kenma is skinny, he deserves a petite girlfriend who is just as tiny, a girl with slender legs that look cute in shorts and a stomach that lays flat regardless of the time of day. He deserves the sexy girls in his video games, in shape from years of training and perfected suited for tight leather bikini tops.
You don’t realize you’re shaking until Kenma wraps his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into the side of your neck. He lets out a shuttered sigh and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he’s crying as well.
“I love you,” he murmurs against your skin, “and I don’t like seeing you hurting yourself. If you want to lose weight, I’ll help you. We can make healthy foods together and eat them together and exercise together—just please stop skipping meals.”
Your throat feels like it's stuffed with cotton so you can only nod in agreement, raising one hand to weakly wipe at the hot tears staining your cheeks.
The two of you stand like that, huddled in the middle of the kitchen, for several long minutes until the last of your tears have gone before Kenma gently pushes you to sit down at the coffee table. He prepares two steaming bowls full of vegetable stew for you both and you silently eat as Kenma tells you how low calorie the broth is and how many nutrients his mom said were in the vegetables he used. He tells you about a new fitness game on the Nintendo Switch that you two can play together. By the time you finish your meals, Kenma has already promised to wake up early to go jogging around the neighborhood together even though you know he absolutely hates waking up early and exercising when he doesn’t have to.
Your chest aches with how much he loves you, how far he’s willing to go just if he thinks it will help you and make you happy.
A small part of your mind begs you not to listen. It insists you’ll be fat forever if you don’t starve yourself; no pain, no gain. But the more rational part of you gazes into those soft golden eyes, filled with concern and love as he rambles on about the best sources of protein—all stuff he had learned from his professional volleyball player friend Hinata—and you know your answer.
Kenma loves you, he would do anything to see you happy and healthy and you would do anything to please him.
You love him more than you hate yourself.
#kozume kenma#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#kenma x reader#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu imagines#kenma imagine#kenma scenario#kenma x chubby reader#haikyuu x chubby reader
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Mortality
Zelink Week 2021 prompt #7/7 @zelinkweek2021
Word Count: 3,684
Incarnation: Breath of the Wild 2 (pre)
Additional Prompts Followed: Forsaken Fates, Lost Eternities
Inspired by this art by @morniae
A big thank you to @braidy-maidy and @linktheacehero for beta-ing!!
He wasn’t expecting a fairytale reunion as his horse trotted slowly, arriving at the Forgotten Temple with next to no fanfare. All sorts of geniuses from every race of Hyrule had gathered to study this place, to pull it from its lost state and unearth its secrets, to discover the reason behind its eternity and maybe even why its fate was to be forsaken and forgotten to all of history.
Link left his horse with the many others that were being cared for on the left side of the canyon and began to navigate the ruckus on foot. It seemed crowds of scientists and historians alike were out here securing their tents, making food, and languishing in a well-deserved rest. Link felt as if he stuck out like a sore thumb with his small brain, but no one paid him any mind, not even her.
In fact, she was nowhere to be found.
Perhaps he was expecting some fairytale reunion as he peered his head around every Sheikah, Goron, Rito, Zora, and Hylian in sight. He didn’t care that there was no fanfare, in fact, that may have made it even harder to spot her if it were a big deal that the hero of Hyrule had arrived. Thank Hylia these ruins were more interesting, that no crowd had congealed into a true tidal wave of obstacles. He missed her dearly, after all, no matter how short a time two weeks was in comparison to a hundred years.
He made his way all the way to the shrine in the back when he finally saw her. Zelda smiled when she spotted him and bounded over, clutching the Sheikah Slate.
“Thank the goddesses you’re here,” she said, pecking his cheek. “They haven’t made anything good for dinner in days.”
She walked right past him. Link’s mouth popped open as she practically flew to another inscription of the ruins being studied. Purah, following close behind Zelda, approached Link as he looked over.
“Two weeks she hasn’t seen me and I get a colder welcome than ten thousand year old ruins.”
Purah clicked her tongue and began to cross past Link.
“Sounds like you better get cooking.”
And so he didn’t see his blur of a girlfriend until dinner, when he was serving a ladle-full of meat stew to everyone who passed by with a bowl, salty chunks of meat and sweet carrots swimming in a broth that radiated a scrumptious scent for at least a mile.
The last person he served came up wearing a forehead beaded with sweat and sticky blonde hair from a hard-days work. As she approached, she lightly hit the empty wooden bowl against her hand, and pursed her lips taut with eyes almost apologetic. Her steps shuffled in the sand.
“Look who it is,” Link said before she could muster an apology. He looked more amused than upset, anyway. Zelda sat on her heels in front of the cooking pot and handed him her bowl.
“Sorry,” she said, “it was just a busy day. We think we’re close to finding--”
Link and Zelda’s eyes met. They both knew what she was going to say. The entrance to the caves. The hidden reason why this expedition was such an extensive operation. Only Purah and Impa knew the true reason, after all. Everyone else was just here for research. Bless their hearts.
They knew they needed to find it, but not finding it meant more of an excuse to not go down there.
Yet.
To not let go of the illusion of peace.
Yet.
To not face their mortality once again.
Not yet.
Link looked down to pour soup in her bowl. With everyone else fed--and Zelda more than likely went to the back of the line on purpose so that she would be the last one to eat--Link poured himself a bowl as well. They soon sat down in front of Zelda’s tent.
“When are Impa and Paya arriving?” Link asked.
“Tonight,” Zelda replied, but she swallowed hard, regretting taking another spoonful with a “mm”.
“Oh my gosh I almost forgot!” she said enthusiastically. “You should have seen it, Link. The reunion between Purah and Robbie? They just marched up to each other, both short, old, and wrinkled, said each other’s names and walked off. It’s hard to believe they used to be lovers.”
Link choked on his stew.
“What?”
“Did I not...mention that?”
Link was still coughing, eyes tearing up.
“No?” He croaked, before coughing a couple more times. “You’d think I would remember something like that.”
“Believe me I wish I didn’t,” she said, before changing the subject. “Oh yeah, how did the meeting go?”
“Horrible,” Link said between spoonfuls.
“What do you mean?” Zelda inquired, slightly disappointed. She had hoped diplomacy would work.
“If I had known that Kohga had an eight year-old hiding somewhere in that hideout, I never would have attacked him,” Link started. “Apparently we needed him to keep his son in check. The kid is so hell-bent on revenge that he didn’t even read the treaty. He’s determined to hunt us down until the end of our days. Even his guards think he’s taking it a bit far. I could see it in their faces when Sooga was going on and on about his forces being strong and ready to fight. Those poor men and women are tired.”
“I thought the Yiga wore masks?”
Link shook his head.
“Not anymore,” he replied. “Sooga wants them to be proud of themselves, whatever that means. Goddesses, that whole meeting was like getting a child to eat their vegetables. I’m pretty sure Riju was about to slap him at the end, the little runt recycling the dogmas of the Yiga that are ten thousand years old now. Even when I ask him why he said such things about Hylians, he doesn’t give a straight answer. He knows less about history than I do and I had amnesia. He’s just been conditioned, raised to hate.”
“That’s unfortunate, but not hopeless,” Zelda said. “I’m sure Riju and the rest of the Gerudo will be able to work it out if the entirety of the clan no longer backs him. Is there any danger until then?”
Link shook his head and swallowed his current spoonful.
“Not yet,” he said once he could. “The only reason they haven’t attacked here is because he wants to find the entrance of the caves as much as we do. He didn’t say it outright, but he’s waiting for us to do it for him.”
“That’s not frightening at all,” she said sarcastically. “We’ll have to increase security when we do eventually go down there, make sure he doesn’t follow us.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Zelda,” Link said. “He’s only eight years old, and he’s pretty short and lean.”
Zelda smiled as she sipped her soup.
“I remember a little eight year old like that who could best adult knights,” she said with a smirk. “People say he saved Hyrule.”
“Really?”
“Never grew an inch after eight years old though.”
Link scoffed.
“I can and will pour the rest of this stew over your head,” he said as he held it up. Zelda laughed, but put her arms out in defense.
“Don’t you dare!” She exclaimed. She stood up and began to back away “I’m a princess!”
“Not anymore,” Link said, forgetting about the soup and tackling her. They wrestled playfully, rolling down the rocky slope and laughing joyfully until they stopped suddenly in a gulch, Zelda hovering over Link and sharing with him panting breaths.
“I win,” she said.
“By chance,” Link argued. He brought a hand up and lightly coaxed her head to lower. It, however, did not take much effort, as Zelda more than willingly met his lips to his, exploring his mouth and enjoying the sensation. She felt her cheeks warm. Kissing was all they had ever done, so being flush to him was frankly exhilarating, but she didn’t mind it in the slightest.
They both heard the reigns of horses, the clatter of a covered wagon, the jingle of Kakariko-style bells, but it blended too much into the rest of the ruckus for them to think anything of it.
“Paya, you brought us to the wrong place,” Impa said. “I wanted to go to the research expedition, not a mating ritual exhibition.”
Zelda pushed herself off Link and attempted to fix her hair, composing herself as best she could. Link stood up, but he let his messy hair be.
“H-hey Impa,” Zelda said, walking towards her oldest friend. Despite her feeble frame and short stature, Impa hopped off the wagon like a child. “How was the trip?”
“Long,” Impa said, bruskly.
“She’s a bit cranky,” Paya explained as she stepped off and started to untie the two brown horses from the wagon. “Where do these go?”
“Over there,” Link said, pointing over to the mini-stable on the left of the canyon. “And your tent is the one next to ours. If you’re hungry, there’s probably some stew left.”
“Please,” Impa said, allowing the young man to lead the way to the appropriate cooking pot. She even let him help her walk when the terrain wasn’t the smoothest.
They had left Zelda alone, but it gave her the opportunity to help Paya with unloading the wagon, and to catch up with one of her newer friends before they all turned in for the night.
Zelda was surprised to find Paya as reserved as she was when they first met, but after a bit of grilling she admitted to Zelda that Impa had told her of their true purpose here, that sealing Calamity Ganon may not have been an ending they could trust. Her red eyes were sad and apologetic for learning the secret but Zelda wouldn’t have it, insisting to Paya that it was okay, that it won’t be a secret for long, and that Hyrule was going to be okay.
That last one was a lie Zelda thought about well into the night.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Zelda.”
He opened his eyes to the dark tent, the edge where tan cloth met a small patch of dry grass.
Link couldn’t believe a whisper was what woke him up. Still half awake and already turned away from the center flap of the tent, he kept his eyes closed, hoping he could doze off again.
“Zelda, wake up.”
Someone gently shook Zelda’s foot, and Link guessed the voice belonged to Paya.
Link felt Zelda’s arms slide away from holding him and he tried to slow his breaths. They both would feel so guilty for waking him.
“What is it?” Zelda asked, the rustling that followed suggesting that she got out of the tent. “Should I wake up Link?”
Paya must have shaken her head, or said something to suggest that it wouldn’t be necessary, because that was the last Link heard of the conversation.
He inwardly wrestled with the decision to get up anyway since he was, in fact, awake, but his comfort insisted otherwise and he drifted off before he made up his mind.
“Link.”
The sunlight was bright, even through the dulled filter of the canvas tent.
He felt Zelda’s hand on his shoulder, and he rolled over at the gentle prompt. Link found her green eyes.
“We found it,” she said. “An entrance to the caves.”
Link closed one eye and scrunched up his face. Zelda knew he did that when he was both tired and confused but with his messy bedhead she saw it as adorable.
Link moved his arm to the other, pinching his own skin somewhere around the wrist and, once he felt pain, his entire body sighed exasperated. He faced the top of the tent and closed his eyes far too tight to go back to sleep.
He opened the blue gems one at a time and took a deep breath.
“I assume we are leaving as soon as possible?”
Zelda nodded.
Link didn’t say another word when he got up and started getting ready, almost ignoring Zelda and how she sat on her heels in her own silent and undetectable bout of sadness. He even left her there in the tent but Zelda let him have his space, let him breathe his last breaths in this wild, fresh air, let him hear the birds and see the sun before she dragged him down to hell, back down to war, back down to fear and panic and worry and trauma and everything he had worked so hard to heal from.
It wasn’t until they were several steps into the caves that his stoicism really started to wear at her. One statement and all of him was left in the tent. He just…walked, looking forward, not saying a word. Zelda hated it as much as she did a hundred years ago. She tried to remember that he wasn’t really mad at her back then, so he couldn’t be mad at her now…
Right?
She looked over at his profile again.
Right?
“Link?”
The hooves of the large, blue ox behind them clapped along.
“I, uh…” she began when he gave no response. “I’m sorry about all this.”
“It’s not your fault,” Link said quickly and briskly.
Zelda’s lips parted. Her pacing slowed to a halt. If she hadn’t stopped pulling the ox along, it would have rammed into her.
Link looked over his shoulder when he realized he was the only one moving, turning around completely to see Zelda with a slightly furrowed brow.
“Why don’t I believe you?” Zelda asked.
He decided to look elsewhere as he hugged his arms close, the stone ground, the cavernous chasm above them, the rocky wall, anywhere but Zelda.
“I’m not mad at you, I...” he said quietly, “I’m just feeling a little off, okay?” He said quietly. “I had trouble breathing when I left the tent this morning.”
Zelda’s expression softened. She closed the distance between them and attempted to comfort him with a hand on his shoulder.
“You could have told me that,” Zelda said. “I’m nervous too. We have a right to be. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Yet Link still refused to look up.
“I almost collapsed, I felt so weak,” Link said. “The dread, the fear of facing it all again, the thought of losing you…it gathered, I felt it here.”
He placed a hand on his chest and he started to pant. His fingers began to clutch at the brown leather, the blue cloth and he stumbled to his knees.
“Link!” Zelda exclaimed as she grabbed him under his forearms, kneeling down with him. His breaths were shaky and fast, and he stared down at the ground.
“Link,” she repeated. “Link.”
The next sound from Link was the combination of a spurt of fresh paint and a croaking frog, warm vomit spilling from his mouth in smelly chunks of beef and carrots. It was instinct that Zelda stood up with a yelp and backed away with arms floating up, the gathering of vomit ending up mere inches from her toes. If she had stayed where she was, her pants would have been covered in Link’s partly-digested dinner.
“Oh gosh, Link,” she said once she got over the shock, rushing to his side and drawing circles on his back. He didn’t react though, only staring at the mess on the floor with his weight on his hands.
Zelda’s eyes stung with tears as she ran her fingers through his hair, some drops even lopping onto Link’s mess. She held him as best she could while still giving him the distance he needed, but that could never stop her from the occasional kiss on the side of his head and whispering sweet assurances of love into his right ear.
After a couple fruitless lurches of his back and neck, Link hurled a second time. As ironic as it was for her to hope for anything from the goddess anymore, Zelda prayed it was the last one.
“Zelda,” he said between heavy breaths. It was apparent his lungs were exhausted. He coughed a couple times.
Link looked into Zelda’s eyes, finally, although they veered towards horror, the green marbles conveying desperation for how to relieve this poor young man.
“I know,” she said, trying to smile. She wiped away Link’s tears. “I know.”
Wary of the mess near them, she brought him into a proper embrace, rocking him back and forth and holding him in such a way that she was sure he knew he was held. She wasn’t sure how secure he could feel on the cusp of embarking into danger, but she would try her best.
“I’m scared, too,” she said. “Down here is an untouched wild that was left alone for a reason we know not of. Nothing is scarier than the unknown, especially for us who have been hurt again and again by the unknown. Hope has betrayed us too much for us to readily depend on it, but we have to try.”
Link looked up, tilting his head to see her.
“How?”
Zelda lips parted. She stammered speechlessly. He seemed so hurt by her hopefulness.
“Together,” she said, attempting to fake her confidence. There was still a small question mark at the end of her statement that she didn’t mean to expose.
Link stood up and faced away from her. He crossed his arms.
“Do you know how long a version of Ganon has been terrorizing Hyrule?” Link asked. “How long he has been reincarnating?”
Zelda, who was now sitting on her heels, shook her head.
“No,” she said honestly.
“Do you know what makes us any different from the people who tried to stop him in the past?”
“No,” Zelda repeated, again, honestly.
Link nodded.
“I don’t either,” he said. “And that scares me.”
Zelda stood up.
“Link, we—”
“I can’t lose you!” Link exclaimed, turning around quickly. “I ignored it, okay?! All this time when you talked about there being caves, there being another journey, I ignored it! I put it off! I casted it aside! I focused on us.” His voice broke. “I thought that was all there would ever be…”
He placed his hands on his hips and collected himself.
“This morning it all collapsed,” he said. “Right before my eyes. Everything I could have ever hoped for.”
Zelda scoffed.
“Do you think I was happy to have found these caves?” Zelda asked rhetorically. “To have been woken up in the middle of night and told that this place I saw in my nightmares was indeed real, that I was to investigate a threat that hasn’t been faced in ten thousand years of Hyrule birthing warriors more capable than you? I had to keep a straight face, but Link, I wanted to scream so loud that even Lurelin could hear me!”
Zelda released her residual anger at the world in heavy pants of her breaths. Once she sighed herself calm, she snagged a small rag from the heaps of resources strapped to the patient and by now likely deaf ox.
Zelda stepped forward and washed Link’s stunned face clean of vomit.
“Then I thought of our future,” Zelda continued. “I was angry because coming down here means jeopardizing that. I scorned myself for how selfish that was. I told myself that this wasn’t about me and you, that this is about a peaceful Hyrule. That helped but...do you want to know what really helped?”
“What?” Link asked.
“The people of Hyrule want to live in peace, and so do we. They want to raise families without worrying about another Calamity.” Zelda smiled. “I think we do too, when the time comes.” She perished the thought. That was a long while down the road. “But this isn’t just about a peaceful Hyrule, it’s about our peaceful Hyrule. I’m no longer a princess, distanced from others by a pedestal, and you are no longer a knight, distanced from others by a sword. We actually feel like a part of Hyrule this time. Of course we loved the Champions, my father, but we aren’t acting as Hyrule’s weapons anymore. We don’t feel like cards to be discarded or pawns to be knocked off in a game of chess. All of this is voluntary. We can’t blame a kingdom or a calamity this time. The possibility of losing each other is already giving us stomach-churning guilt because no one told us to go down here. We came down here because we want to preserve peace for all of us, preserve peace beyond even our lifetimes.”
Zelda placed a hand on Link’s cheek.
“And we will,” she said. “We have to believe we will. If we don’t think we’ll get out of here, then there is no chance we will. This is our first on-our-own decision and it’s a damn risky one. We can always turn back if--”
“No,” Link interrupted.
Link’s hand went to hers and his thumb stroked her soft fingers.
“No,” he repeated, however shakily. “We are going through with this. I just need to process it, that’s all. I didn’t think we would actually be doing this. I think we both held on to the fantasy of peace. I definitely held on to it too much.”
He finally let her touch soothe him.
“I’m here,” Zelda assured him softly. “I’m right here.”
She took his hand and placed it on her heart, the rhythm of which pulsated through his own veins.
“I’m not supposed to be alive right now,” Zelda said. “I should have died an eighty year old queen about thirty years ago but here we both are, young and spry. These caves are filled with dangers we don’t know, but with my heart in your hands and your heart in mine I know we can dare to do the impossible again.”
Link met his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. He tried to breathe the way she was, to feel her calm and to adapt it into his own body.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m ready.”
#zelink#zelink week 2021#zelinkweek2021#zelda#link#forgotten temple#botw#breath of the wild#botw 2#breath of the wild 2#botw sequel#impa#paya#purah#robbie
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How Could You Love Me🥺🐬
Part Two: Redemption
Part One
Alpha Gang Orca x F! Omega Reader
Requested by: @obsidiansigns03
Words: 3.7K
Warning: NSFW (read further for the surprises). Sexual Content Below!!!
“Darling, I’ve told you about lifting heavy things!” Kugo Sakamata, known to most as Gang Orca, is such a worrywart. It seems he’s gotten even more worrisome for your safety as of late. You try to come up with a reason for his behavior but, you simply chalk it up to behaving as he normally does.
“Sakamata, I’ve told you I can handle it,” you’re currently moving around chairs in one of the new bakery locations you opened. Being the lazy person you sometimes are, you’ve decided to stack four chairs on top of each other and carry them to the small tables that littered the bakery space.
“Haven’t I told you to call me Kugo?” he quirks one of his nonexistent brows.
“Hmmm, you may have told me once or twice. I can’t really remember,” you grin.
“You want help remembering?” Kugo steps into your personal space, arms looking you into his chest. His eyes are now a raging inferno, drawing you in so close that you wouldn’t mind being burned.
“Woahhh there buddy,” you giggle nervously. You take a step back, putting the chairs in between both of your bodies.
“Can I please help?” it’s comical to see him give you his pout. Such an intimidating stature and yet such cute red eyes. “I promise I won’t take over. I’ll only do the lifting. Scouts honor!”
You look at him holding up four fingers (apparently, he thinks that’s the scout hand placement) and you purse your lips to stop yourself from laughing.
“Aren’t you supposed to be out there patrolling?”
“I just got off my shift. Now, please?” you didn’t get the chance to confirm since he was already hauling the chairs out of your hands. You decide to let him help with the decorating as you go to the back to get all the baking ingredients and equipment settled.
It’s been an amazing month since you’ve solidified your relationship with Kugo. Things haven’t changed much from how they were before; you still bake him cute, little confectionaries so he can snack after his patrols, you’re still his biggest supporter, and you’re still as close as ever. The only difference is your lack of trust in him.
Yes, you trust him to keep you safe and sound but, after the incident of him leaving before, you’ve grown weary of putting all your trust in him. You try your hardest to fully trust him but, there’s still that inkling doubt in your mind that something may happen and Kugo may run away from you once again. That inkling voice in your head always spouts nonsense about how you aren’t worthy enough to be with Kugo; you’re trying your hardest not to believe it. Despite your fears of abandonment, you still love Kugo with all that you have. You suppose it’s better to love him fully and bear the consequence than to allow your subconscious to ruin what you’ve worked hard to build.
One thing you didn’t know before you started dating was that Kugo is a very sexual person. You would’ve never imagined that the shy, bashful man before you is secretly a freak in the sheets. Well, from what you have done, you imagine that’s what he’s like. You still haven’t found the perfect time to fully...submit to one another.
By sexual, you mean that Kugo is very active. He’s spent almost every night at your home ever since the hospital discharged him and, almost every night, he’s done something to set your core on fire.
First, it started off with lingering touches on your skin, his blazing eyes almost telling you what would soon happen. His smooth skin always set small sparks off whenever you touched, making your eyes daze off a bit. Then, he would grab you roughly, pinning you beneath him on whatever surface he’s chosen to play with you upon. His large tongue always managed to reach the depths of your soul. Just thinking about it now makes you wet.
Kugo sniffs the air as he looks at you. Blushing like the buffoon you are, you quickly rush back to the baking area. You’ve learned that Kugo’s sense of smell is rather explicit. In other words, he can always smell whenever you’re aroused.
“Little one, what are you thinking about back here?” you’re trying to distract yourself with a ladle as Kugo follows you into the back. His eyes are zeroed in on you like you’re his prey. He seems to tower over you although, considering how large he is, you’re pretty sure Kugo towers over everyone.
“Taxes,” you fight your urge to facepalm. Out of all the things you could’ve chosen your lie to be about, you chose taxes.
“Really?” even though he knows you’re lying, he still plays along. He loves seeing the way you squirm and blush under his watchful eye. Perhaps, his love for dominating you comes from his instinctual need to catch his prey.
“Yeh, taxes are so awesome. Really cool,” why won’t you shut up?
“You know what I think is cool?” Kugo’s breath is fanning your front. He’s on his knees in front of you, his face directly in front of your stomach. His fingers have slipped underneath your shirt, playing with your stomach. In a quick moment, he has lifted you in the air, his arms hooked around your thighs to guide your core to his mouth. He’s careful of his teeth as he licks your clothed pussy. You whine out, tongue lolled out the side of your mouth. “The way you smell. It’s intoxicating. My own Nirvana.”
“Y/N, Kugo? Are you here?” you’re saved by Kugo’s mother. You’ve created a special relationship with her, often inviting her to things simply because you missed having a maternal presence. So, of course you invited her to your new bakery.
“Just pretend we aren’t here. She won't know,” Kugo whispers to you. You wiggle around as you try to get down. If there’s one thing you know about Kugo’s mother, she has no problem scoping the place out. “Please, baby. I’m hungry.”
‘No, Y/N. You must resist. You must resist his perfect, long, thick, tongue,’ you’re doomed. You nod down to him and stop wiggling, rubbing his head. At least you chose a bakery with high ceilings.
“I hope you both know I can smell you. You really think I didn’t s-” you stare like a deer in headlights as Kugo’s mother walks in on the both of you. If you think you were blushing hard earlier, this new blush has nothing on you. Your ears feel so hot. Your shame is on display. And, Kugo has the nerve to laugh. “Ohhhh, so that’s what this is.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
You glare down at Kugo and pop him on the nose. It’s his fault your boyfriend’s mother has seen you in such a position.
“No, it is not. I thought I saw a mouse so Kugo was just picking me up,” you could tell she didn’t believe the lie. Of course, you wouldn’t believe it either since Kugo was clearly likcing in areas that shouldn’t be licked in public. “Now, put me down Kugo.”
“But you smell so good,” you shot him a death stare. Now was not the time for him to be flirting. You swear this man has no shame.
Once you're set down, Kugo gets a call, alerting him that a villain is rouge in the city. Thus, he gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, hugs his mother, and leaves you alone to deal with the woman that birthed him. Sometimes, it seems that the universe really likes watching you struggle.
“Aheheh hehe, sooooo, how’s your day been?” you cringe at your tone as you continue messing with the ladle you were holding before Kugo had come to conquer you. “Do you like the bakery?”
“Cut the shit, Y/N. Since when have you and Kugo been sexual? You tell me everything but this. Has he been pressuring you? Do I need to go kick his ass? I’ve told him about his domineer-” Kugo’s mother was storming towards the door as she spoke.
“NO!” you yelled. She whirls around on you with wide eyes. You look at her with a mirroring fish expression as you cover your mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. He hasn’t pressured me into anything. Even if his presence is a bit...loud at times, I know he’ll stop the minute I tell him.”
“Oh. Then, why haven’t you told me about this?”
“It’s kinda embarrassing discussing my sex life with my boyfriend’s mother,” you blush as you think about it. “I swear, I trust you. I just think talking about sex is a little too much for me to handle.”
“Well, I’ll respect that. I just have one question: Did you talk to Kugo about what we talked about last week?” the look on your face told her you did not. She shot you a disapproving look. “Y/N, darling, you can’t keep this from him. Letting these thoughts continue will only damage you further.”
“I know, I know. I just can’t bring myself to talk about it. We’re in such a good place,” you were supposed to bring up your insecurities with Kugo but, you never found the right moment. Things were going good and you didn’t want to mess it up just because your subconscious was being a bitch.
“Just because you’re in a good place doesn’t mean you stop talking about the things that bother you. Keeping things to yourself is what causes problems. How do you expect him to improve if you can’t tell him the truth? Eventually, mating season will come and Kugo will become even more dominating than what he is now. You need to tell him,” this is why you love his mother. She’s such a blunt person, always telling the both of you when you’re wrong. “So, what are you going to do today?”
“I’m gonna make cute little orca cupcakes,” you yelp as she hits you in the back of your head. “Whaaaa? I’m literally running a bakery.”
“You know what I meant,” she hits you again for extra measure.
“Goodness, woman, are you sure you’re not really a hero in disguise?” she raises her hand to hit you again. “Okay, okay, no need to hit me anymore. I’ll talk to him tonight.”
“No, you’ll talk to him as soon as he comes to pick you up,” you pout.
“Mama Orca, I’m gonna be here at the bakery all day. He’ll go home eventually. I’ll just meet him there.”
“Nope, I’ve decided. I will text him to come back to the shop once he’s done with work for the day. Then, you’ll talk to him,” you gave her an exasperated look which she responded to by lifting her hand again. You’ve lost this battle.
You go on about your day, catering to the few customers that walk in. It’s always a delight to see their faces the first moment they bite into one of your pastries. They always compliment the chef, not knowing that they’re really complimenting you. You never correct them though, you don’t do it for praise. You do it because you like to make people happy.
It’s been a long day. Your feet ache from running around all day, your back hurts a bit from being hunched over the mixer, and you feel a slight headache coming on. Truthfully, you just want to go home and take a nap in your bathtub (Kugo’s told you time and time again not to do it but, that’s not going to get in your way of relaxation). Nevertheless, you stayed after closing time, waiting for Kugo to come pick you up.
“Is everything okay?! My mother said it was an emergency,” you gave his mother an incredulous look. Oh, yeah, you forget to mention that she stayed with you the entire time to make sure you didn’t try to run home. Whatever anyone ever says about the woman, she’s definitely a ride-or-die.
“You told him this was an emergency?”
“It is,” she gives you an innocent look. “It’s a love emergency.”
“Love emergency?” Kugo looks confused.
“Yes, a love emergency. Now, Y/N, tell Kugo what you were telling me a few weeks ago,” now, she didn’t need to say it like that. You can already tell you’re going to be in trouble once this conversation is over.
“Weeks?” yes, you’re definitely going to be in trouble with the way Kugo’s looking at you. “What have we talked about when it comes to our problems?”
“To always talk about them together so we can face them together. What’s my problem is your problem and what’s your problem is my problem,” you repeat the mantra he’s told you over the past month.
“So, what is it then?”
“Well,” you look at Kugo’s mother for a bit of extra encouragement. “I’ve been feeling some type of way about our relationship,” a look of heartbreak crossed Kugo’s face.
“Are you breaking up with me?”
“No, no, no. This isn’t that type of conversation. I love you and I love our relationship. I’ve just been feeling a way about what happened before our relationship. I know you try everyday to make up for what you did and said but, I always find myself thinking about it when I’m alone. I feel like I’m just not worthy of your love; I’m scared that one day you’ll realize what I’ve been thinking all along and you’ll leave me again,” you look away from his scrutinizing gaze. “I don’t want you to leave.”
The room is quiet for a few moments. Well, more like a few minutes. You waddle on your feet in front of him as he continues to stare at you. His stare never wavers, never falls from your form, and you’re beginning to think that you’ve pushed him a bit too far.
“Mother, she’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Kugo drags you out of the bakery, leaving your keys to your apartment. Well, it looks like you’ll be staying the night with Kugo. The car ride is silent as he drives you to his home, the air tense with no music and no words exchanged. The only thing reassuring you is his hand that rests on your thigh, rubbing circles on your warm flesh.
It seems like the ride is longer than the normal 25 minutes. It seems like forever till you’re pulling into the driveway of his secluded home.
“Go in the house and get undressed. I want you on the bed waiting for me once I walk in,” he pushed his keys into your awaiting hands. You wanted to protest but, the look in his eyes alerted something dormant in your mind that this would not be a good time to argue (not unless you wanted to end up naked outside for the world to see you).
You race into his home, running to his room as you undress on the way. By the time you cross the threshold, your nipples are pebbling with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. You lay yourself across the bed, looking up at the ceiling as you wait for his heavy footsteps.
“Darling, do I have your permission to please your body in ways you’ve never known?” a gush of wetness leaves you. Staring up at Kugo’s lustful red eyes, you feel safe enough to give yourself away. You nod. “I need verbal consent, love.”
“Please, just do what you want with me,” you groan as he wastes no time sliding down your body to your pussy. His warm blood makes the room even hotter as he lifts your hips up to meet his mouth. He’s always so careful with his teeth when he first licks up your slit. Just like the times before, he keeps your hips in such an iron hold that you can’t squirm away. His tongue is hot and coarse, long enough to lick your clit in one go. It starts off with long, calculated, jerky strokes but quickly ends up with him feasting on you.
You whimper as his tongue slips inside your hole, your legs spasming when he reaches his long arms up your body to pinch your nipples. Every time you look down at what he’s doing, you groan and the look he’s giving you. His eyes watch your every movement, always taking note of how your eyebrows furrow when his tongue does something you like.
You nearly jump five feet off of the bed when his tongue slides even deeper into your pussy. You can feel his grin once his tongue finds that spongy part of your pussy, attacking it mercilessly. You're shaking hard enough that his head shakes as well when your orgasm crashes into your body.
“Fuckkkk Kugo fuck , fuck, fuckkkk. Oh my fuckkk, please, can’t, OHHHH FUCKKKK,” you screech as he doesn’t let up; he continues to eat you out with no signs of stopping. You push at his head a bit and only then does he slide his tongue out of your delicious heat.
“What’s wrong baby?” he wipes his tongue all around his mouth without breaking eye-contact. “I told you this morning I was hungry. You told me I could use you however I want. You can’t take my tongue, baby? Is it too much for you?”
Your breath hitches in your throat as he licks you clit for emphasis, his fingers spreading your lips so he can easily suck your pearl into his mouth. You try to pull away but, his strong grip continues to keep you captive. Another orgasm later and he’s sliding back up your body. You hadn't even noticed his nakedness until now. Not surprisingly, Kugo is every bit big that you’ve felt before. Still, your eyes widen significantly.
“Calm down, baby. I promise to be gentle,” you scrunch your brows.
“But, I haven’t,” you blushed and jerked the air in front of your mouth. Kugo’s laughter booms around you, getting rid of any nervousness you had before.
“Baby, you know your pleasure is my pleasure. You don’t always have to give me a blowjob just because I like eating you out. Just enjoy yourself,” your positions are flipped. You’re laying on Kugo’s chest, your smooth skin rubbing against his own. You always thought he’d feel a bit different but, it feels so natural to slide your skin against his. “Baby, I want to try a different position for our first time. Something that’ll make you feel really good. Do I have your permission?”
“I trust you,” that was enough for him to turn you around reverse-cowgirl style and spread his legs. He slotted you in between his legs, you clits rubbing against his shaft.
“You can start whenever you want to. Don’t be pressured to take everything at once. And donnnnn ohfhhhh fuck yes,” Kugo leaned back as you started to drop yourself down on him. Your ass was softly nestled against his thighs, his dick already halfway in your heat. The searing pain of the stretch made your toes clench, the pain turning into pleasure as Kugo began to rub your clit. “Fuck, baby. You don’t gotta uhh take fuck yes baby.”
You ignored his heading and rammed yourself down the rest of the way. Only a bit of his dick wasn’t inside of you and you felt like you were on fire. As you tried to lean down on your chest, you felt his dick slide into your pussy deeper. You were trying hard to fight off your orgasm as you slowly slid yourself up a bit and pushed yourself down roughly. You said a punishing rhythm for yourself, Kugo cursing up a storm. You went to lean up when Kugo’s hand slapped your ass hard.
“Ohhh, no you don’t. Take that dick like a good girl,” you mewl as he pushes you back down and helps you guide your hips. He’s managed to work his finger into the tight rim of your ass, assisting your ride in that way as well. “Fuckk yes, baby. Take your dick. Take all of it.”
“Kugooo, not gonna last. Fuckk Kugo. FUCKKKK,” you scream as you cum again, urging Kugo you pick your hips up and plow into your pussy.
“You like it when I use your pussy? You like being a toy for my pleasure?” you couldn’t even answer through the moans. His brutal fucking was taking a toll as you laid your body all the way down, taking his thrusts like the good girl your are. “Babyyy, I’m gonna fucking cum. Ouu fuck, can I cum inside?”
‘Always such a gentleman.’
“Pleaseeee, yess,” not even a few seconds later, Kugo was spilling his hot seed into your womb. You’ve never had a man cum in you before and you’re glad you waited till this moment. It feels so personal between the two of you.
He pulled you off of him and laid you on his chest, his hands playing with your hair. He was letting you calm down before he showed you what he really brought you for.
“I wanted to wait till I did this,” Kugo sat up and slipped out of the bed. He kneeled next to you, fumbling underneath the bed for something. “Gotdamnit. I know I put it right here,”
“What’s wrong? Do you want me to he-” you’re getting ready to get out of the bed to help him search when he pushes you back down quickly. “Baby?”
“I’ve got it,” he pulls out a small velvet box. Your jaw drops, tears already forming. “I’ve had this here, underneath this bed, since the first time you came over and you kissed me like there was nothing else that mattered. I didn’t know when would be a good time to give this to you but, I know now that I shouldn’t have waited. I should’ve given it to you that night.”
“I know that we’re still early in our relationship but, I’d really like to marry you one day. And, you taking this ring doesn’t mean you have to marry me right away but, I hope you’ll come to realize just how much I love you. I’ve known you for over a year and I’ve loved you for eleven months. All it took was one month for me to see how you’re my person,” you silently nod and cry as you allow him to slide the ring onto your finger. “So, please, will you do me the honor of being my future bride?”
“YES!!!”
—————————————————————————-
TagList💕
@sakurashortstack @sinclairsamess
#gang orca#gang orca x reader#female reader#bnha#mha#bnha fanfiction#mha fanfiction#ao3#anime fanfiction#fanfic#anime
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a return to roots | 2
pairing: kita shinsuke x f!reader
summary: y/n is a rising star in the music industry, having almost everything you could have ever hoped for as a small-town country girl. now after releasing two triple platinum albums in consecutive years, you face the dreaded artist’s burnout… in order to recover, your manager suggests, you should return to your hometown in hyōgo for a long-deserved break.
genre: socmed/smau, slice of life
warnings/tags: timeskip!, mutual pining, slow burn? more like rekindling, slight canon divergence
masterpost
The hardest part is over, then. Suna was wrong.
Kita rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands harshly before sighing and setting his phone aside. Y/N was returning to Hyōgo. Not only that, but she was planning on returning to her hometown. Their hometown.
Kita stirred the miso paste into the pot of water, deep in thought. The last 24 hours had been spent in a daze. Really, he was supposed to have been sleeping at 12 in the morning, but the notifications on his phone had woken him up. Granny’d said he’d always been a light sleeper. And any interest in sleeping had been completely dispelled when the group chat with some of his high school buddies blew up. Contrary to the others’ belief, he had been up, scanning the back and forth conversation happening in the group chat, read the encouraging texts. How was he supposed to go back to sleep when Osamu had dropped that knowledge on all of them so suddenly? Kita had slept poorly last night, tossing and turning in his futon, his mind only occupied with thoughts of Y/N. Even counting sheep or focusing on breathing evenly had failed to calm his racing heart, to his dismay.
Y/N was coming back home.
The smell of something burning caught his attention, and he suddenly remembered the mackerel he had been baking. If the gods were truly watching Kita, they would be laughing; enjoying his currently sporadic behavior the way Granny guiltily enjoys watching what she dubbed “trashy shows”.
He ducked and pulled out the pan from the oven, sighing in relief when he saw that the fish weren’t too burnt. Perhaps the gods were feeling generous today, Kita mused, setting aside the miso soup and then ladling out portions for him and Granny.
“Shin-chan?” Granny shuffled out into the kitchen in her house slippers, peering over her reading glasses at him.
Kita looked up, a soft smile settling over his features. “Dinner’s almost ready, obaa-san. You can sit at the table; I’ll set it.” Granny Yumie nodded and then smiled sweetly before hobbling into the next room to wait for him.
Kita exhaled softly. If Y/N was coming home and there were going to be hangouts, then he would just have to make time. Yeah, that was it. He’d just have to work hard to prep the fields and sprout the rice this week, so he would have more free time when she came. He would work extra hard, Kita promised, diligently serving two scoops of rice into each bowl. There was nothing to worry about; no need to think any further on it.
Hard work always felt the best, anyways. It made him feel safe.
“Kuroo?” You wrinkle your nose, remembering how he had left you on read for basically the entire day.
“Y/N?” he mimicked back, making you roll her eyes. After a beat he kept talking. “I thought I should probably call since you were in peril,” Kuroo teased. You could imagine the smirk on his face.
“What, you’re done facetiming Kenma?” You sat back on your couch, in your Tokyo apartment. The living room was simply furnished but had an elegant and tasteful selection of furniture. When you had first bought them, the small voice in the back of your mind had cried over the price alone.
“I am, actually,” Kuroo replied. You could imagine him lounging too, probably changed out of his business suit by now. Life had been kind to Kuroo, as it had been to you. He was living comfortably in Tokyo as one of the higher-ups in the JVA’s promotion division, with a spiffy apartment which was a twenty minute walk from your own.
You rearranged the stiff pillows that were poking your back uncomfortably, and lied back on the couch instead. This was probably the most downtime you’d had in a long time. “I don’t understand why you can’t just hang out in person like normal people,” you muttered, putting your phone on speaker and then closing your eyes to rest them.
Kuroo only snarked back and then began speaking of his recent work projects and his excitement towards them. You only half-listened, slowly falling asleep. Your head jerked back up and you regained a sense of clarity, catching the last bit of your friend’s sentence. “…Kenma and I’s friend, the little redhead with the Black Jackals… uh, number 21, yeah, I’m having him and Kenma do a video collab for a promo.” After a moment of silence and lack of reaction on your part, Kuroo asked “Y/N?”
You struggled to keep your eyelids from drooping down. “…Kuroo?” Your head nodded off, trying to fight falling asleep.
“Yeah?” He seemed to have picked up on the change in your attitude. You could hear soft rustling on the other side, and imagined him sitting up or standing. “What’s up, Y/N? Is anything wrong?”
Your voice was a lot smaller than usual. “…what should I do about Kita? I don’t know if I wanna see him,” you mumbled. “It’ll hurt a lot.”
“Well, Y/N…” Kuroo hesitated. “Maybe you need to confront the past. You’ve never really told me what happened, but it sounds like you haven’t had time to think about it…” He trailed off and said something else, but you hadn’t caught it. You were too busy, already fast asleep.
a/n: the next part will probably have less words idk-
some ~fun facts~
- granny’s “trashy shows” are reality tv like kuwtk or the bachelorette… she gets together with her girlfriends once a week to watch it
- in japan you ALWAYS do two scoops of rice for each person. it doesn’t matter if you don’t want a lot; just do two little scoops. (according to my mom, who is japanese, born and raised)
- kuroo fuckin LOVES his job
- JVA stands for japan volleyball association
- miss rona, like in the haikyuu universe, does not exist here either ❤️
#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#kita shinsuke#kita shinsuke x reader#kita x reader#miya atsumu#atsumu miya#miya osamu#kuroo tetsuro#kenma kozume#ojiro aran#suna rintaro#haikyuu timeskip#farmer kita#hq smau#hq socmed#haikyuu!!
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cause & effect || chapter 7
➵ your work friend, kuroo, has a tiny favour to ask. unfortunately, that favour includes convincing his family that you’re very much in love with him and have been for a while now. let’s just say it’s easier than you’d assumed.
warnings: f!reader, mentions of divorce
wc: 5.7k
m.list | ch. 6 ↞ ch. 7 ↠ ch. 8
It’s frustratingly cold as you step out onto the street in the late afternoon, scarf pulled up around your cheeks and gloved hands stuffed in your coat pockets. Sure, it’s a bit stuffy inside a jumper, a jacket, and an outercoat, but it’s what you’ve got to do. It’s the sort of afternoon that you want to spend inside, curled up next to your heater as you throw on a shitty Christmas film. Instead, you’re going to brave the minefield that is your boyfriend’s mother.
Well, not your real boyfriend. But his mother doesn’t know that – and she’s certainly unlikely to be any less critical of you regardless. You’re not sure the whole ‘deceit’ aspect makes it any less stressful. If anything, you feel more pressure to play your part well; for his sake more than anything else.
The reason for this mess is waiting for you, leaning against the nose of his car, dressed in a surprisingly stylish black coat and red scarf. He looks so nonchalant, gazing down the street with the same expression he has when trying to figure out the most appropriate sign-off to a work email.
“Morning,” you yawn, shuffling towards him.
Kuroo grins at you, his nose and cheeks bitten red by the cold.
For how tall and intimidating he looks, he’s got a nice smile.
“You sure you can breathe in all that?” He teases, appraising your winter gear with a playful glint in his eye.
You glare at him, shuffling towards him in all your layered glory.
“Don’t tell me you��re one of those men who likes to brag about how he never gets cold,” you huff, tapping his foot with your own. He doesn’t seem the type to have such a lack of self-awareness, but it’s not impossible that he’d just say something like that to wind you up.
“Nah,” he grins. “I just go for fashion over comfort.”
“You’re doing a terrible job then,” you giggle. Of all the words that come to mind when you think ‘Kuroo Tetsurou’, fashionable is not one of them.
Kuroo places an aghast hand on his chest, the look in his eyes not quite matching up with his slack jaw. “And here I thought we were friends.”
“Aren’t friends supposed to be honest with each other?” You tilt your head to the side with a sparkle in your eyes.
The nervousness bubbling in your stomach is already subsiding. It’s a silly little thing, a bit of meaningless banter on a winter’s morning, but you feel better. Embarrassing, really.
“You wound me,” he chuckles, shaking his head. He stands to his full height, rolling his shoulders. “You ready?”
You nod. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Recognition flashes in Kuroo’s eyes, his expression morphing from relaxed to mildly perturbed. “Thanks for doing this, by the way.”
You wave a hand at him before promptly stuffing it back in your pocket. “No problem. Also, I get a free dinner out of it.”
Kuroo raises an eyebrow at you, but his expression softens slightly. Although, you’re not sure it’s enough to ease the guilt he must be feeling.
(“Are you sure?” Kuroo asks, his brow furrowed as he leans across your work cubicle. His voice is quiet, hushed, as though he doesn’t want anyone else to hear. “You really don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“You sound like a broken record,” you laugh. It’s true; as surely as the sun rises and sets, Kuroo asks if you’re sure you really want to do this at approximately one in the afternoon. Sometimes at two. “It’s fine,” you smile. “I offered, didn’t I?”)
“Well…” He sighs, turning around and opening the car door. “Ladies first.”
You nod as you slip into the passenger seat. The stale heated air burns the inside of your nose; a sensation you firmly associate with the winter.
Kuroo is quick to join you on the other side, legs a little too long to fit comfortably despite his seat being pushed back quite far. You smile to yourself; he really is a strange mix of all the confidence and debonair of a successful businessman and all the awkwardness of an overgrown child.
The more you think about it, the more it makes sense that he’d be the one to ask this of you. But it’s on your own volition that you sit in his car, about to head off to see his mother.
Maybe this is going overboard. But something about his face while he was on the phone to his mother still bothers you. The panic, the exhaustion, the fear – he’s never acted like that with his dad’s side of the family. Something’s obviously up.
But you’re not sure how to casually mention that in conversation. ‘Oh, hey, I noticed things were kind of tense when you were on the phone to your mother, do you want to talk about it?’ It’s not even your place to pry.
At the very least, you want to support a friend ‘in need’. That feels reasonable enough.
✧ ✧ ✧
The drive is painfully silent.
You try your best to make light conversation, but it’s hard. Kuroo’s too deep in his own head to have a proper discussion. The joviality he’d greeted you with this morning quickly dissipated, replaced by an unusually sombre expression.
He’s never usually this quiet. There’s usually a quip, or perhaps a small observation he’d like to share. Seeing him this quiet, this withdrawn… it’s unusual. Well, for you, at least. Perhaps the Kuroo you knew was just a front, a mask securely fixed on to make workplace relationships run smoothly.
But… you’d like to think you know him better than that by now.
Forty minutes feel like eighty. But thank God it’s over.
He doesn’t even need to announce that you’ve arrived. The palpable air of dread that fills the car is indication enough.
That, and the fact that you’re currently parked in front of what appears to be a very standard house of the upper middle class. It looks rather fancy, with perfectly tended-to hedges and white walls. It almost looks like a show home, albeit a lot smaller.
“You ready?” Kuroo sighs, turning to you with tired eyes.
You nod. “I’m ready to charm the pants off your mum.”
You regret the words before they’ve even left your mouth.
Kuroo snorts. “Really? That’s the turn of phrase you’re going with?”
“I could run off and live a long, loving life with your mother,” you shrug. “You never know, ‘Tetsu’.”
He shakes his head with a smile. “Now that’d be a plot twist.”
“Mhm,” you nod.
Something in your gut wants to linger in the car, to put this off as long as possible. You don’t know what to expect; his father’s side of the family had been a breeze, perhaps even more kind and welcoming than you deserve. But something told you that won’t be the case with his mother.
Kuroo doesn’t knock on the door, nor does he shoot his mother a message. He fishes around in the mailbox and pulls out a pair of keys, reluctantly opening the front door.
You’re dumbstruck by how pristine everything is. It looks as if it’s been cleaned recently; probably in anticipation of your arrival. But you can’t comprehend this place ever being anything less than perfect, though. You can’t envision disorder here, neither in the little hallway or the charming little living room.
There’s something distinctly different about this house. It’s a little cleaner, a little more put together. Where Kuroo’s paternal household seems to revel in its rambunctious sincerity, this one seems more concerned with order.
Everything is where it should be; the design opts for minimalism over sentimentality.
There are still photos on the wall – a gangly, teenaged Kuroo smiling blithely next to a girl who looks a lot like him, a baby you don’t recognise, a group of people you’ve never seen before staring at you with tight smiles…
“We’re here,” Kuroo calls out.
“Yes, dear, I heard the door,” a woman’s voice calls back. Your stomach is tight, wound up like a pocket watch. “Come to the kitchen, would you?”
Kuroo glances at you before complying, shuffling towards the kitchen with the same reluctance as a petulant twelve-year-old boy. You follow, tottering after him as quickly as possible.
The kitchen is just as orderly as the rest of the house; a miracle, given the fact that Kuroo’s mother appears to be making curry.
She’s as tall as you expected her to be. She doesn’t share her son’s penchant for messy hair; instead, she looks like the sort of woman who’d be composed no matter what. She does share her son’s strong jaw and sharp eyes, and it seems like she’d look just as good in a suit.
Suffice to say, you’re even more intimidated.
“Dinner’s ready, Tetsurou,” she sighs, hand on her hip and ladle in hand.
“We just got here,” he blinks, gormless.
“That’s why I told you to arrive at six,” she says.
You and Kuroo exchange a look.
“Thank you for being so prepared,” you say reflexively.
His mother offers you a smile in response. It doesn’t seem insincere, at least.
“Is Akari coming?” Kuroo asks.
You know that name – his sister. She must be the girl in the photos.
“She couldn’t make it,” Kuroo’s mother replies nonchalantly.
You watch Kuroo’s face as it flickers almost imperceptibly with understanding. There’s something like relief in his eyes – but also something like annoyance. Perhaps both.
“And Haruki?”
There’s something to the way Kuroo says that name that sets you on edge.
“He’s working late,” his mother replies with a moment’s delay. Maybe she just took some time to process the question – but there’s enough dead air for you to be suspicious.
That’s when you remember.
(“So, your mum’s remarried?” You ask, tilting your head at him.
Kuroo grimaces on the other side of the table. “Yeah. To a lawyer.”
You chuckle, taking another sip of your lunchtime boba. “I take it that’s a bad thing?”
Kuroo bristles. “Well, he just… I just… we never got along, you know?”
“Ah,” you swallow. Incompatibility with a parent’s new partner is its own minefield, fraught with hurt feelings and expectations. “So, your mum remarried, and you stayed with your dad?”
“Mhm,” he nods. “Mum took Akari.”
“That’s your sister, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you talk to her often?” Your gut shifts. Siblings ‘separated’ in a divorce. Fraught allegiances, maybe?
“Yeah,” he takes a sip of his own drink. “I saw her last week.”)
Haruki must be the stepfather.
“I see,” Kuroo murmurs. This time, the look in his eyes is definitely relief.
“Go sit yourselves down,” his mother says, waving a hand at you two. “I’ll bring it out in a second.”
Kuroo obliges quickly, making a beeline for the dining table. You follow in suit, terrified of the prospect of being left alone in the kitchen with his mother. Kuroo pulls out a chair for you and you slide into it, folding your hands in your lap.
Well, the energy here is certainly… different.
Next to you, Kuroo sits with a clenched jaw. The only other time you’ve seen him like this is when dealing with particularly obnoxious sponsors; the ones that’d make even the most calm and patient of your colleagues want to tear their hair out.
But he shouldn’t have to feel like this, should he? It’s his mother’s house. Somewhere that’s supposed to be a home for him. And yet he looks so… so…
You nudge him with your elbow. He turns to you with a start, eyes wide. A smile is all you can offer him, as optimistic and genuine as you can muster.
His eyes soften ever so slightly; and, if you’re not imagining it, you swear you can see the whisper of a smile beginning to form on his own lips.
“Here you go,” his mother chirps, appearing so suddenly you’re not entirely convinced she didn’t just materialise out of smoke.
She sets a plate of curry down in front of you.
It looks gorgeous. Robust, richly coloured, with rice that looks like it’s the perfect consistency… it’s the sort of curry you’d expect to see on an advertisement, or maybe on a delivery app (where the image draws you in, only to leave you deeply disappointed when the real curry shows up looking significantly less appetising).
“Thank you,” you smile at her. Funny that your mood’s suddenly picked up, hm?
“You are most welcome,” his mother chuckles, sitting herself down in her own seat across from the two of you.
The three of you say your thanks before picking up your spoons. If there’s anything you can all agree on, it’s the fact that you want to dig into this curry immediately.
“Have you spoken to your sister recently?” Kuroo’s mother asks, scooping up some rice.
“Uh, yeah,” Kuroo nods, swallowing roughly. “I called her yesterday.”
“Did you tell her about your new girlfriend?”
“Not yet,” he mumbles, cheeks starting to glow.
“Afraid she’ll tease you?”
Kuroo genuinely chuckles at that. “You really think me such a coward?”
“You say that like I’m not also deathly afraid of your sister,” his mother smiles, “she could verbally tear me apart without even breaking a sweat.”
Kuroo’s chuckle becomes a genuine laugh. The sound brings you more relief than you could’ve ever imagined.
Even his mother seems to soften a bit.
She finally looks straight at you, a gentle smile on her face. “I hope it’s to your liking, dear,” she hums.
“Thank you,” you smile back, taking a spoonful of curry. It’s so good – warm and rich, with the sort of texture and flavour you’d expect from a comfort meal. You wonder if her penchant for cooking has passed down to her son.
“I take it’s a success, then?” Kuroo’s mother smiles wryly, tilting her head at you. You blink at her with wide eyes and round cheeks. Had you… done something?
“Don’t tease her,” Kuroo chuckles.
“I’m not teasing,” his mother tuts. “I just pay particular attention when someone’s trying my cooking for the first time.”
A surprisingly comfortable silence settles over the table as everyone tucks into their dinner, taking a moment to enjoy this dish that tastes like a warm hug.
Kuroo’s mother is the picture of smug satisfaction, revelling in the implicit praise of a silent dinner table. Although, you can’t blame her; if you could make a curry this good, you’d surely be acting the same way.
You’re grateful for the silence. Silence means you don’t need to be quick on your feet, trying to weave a realistic story. This woman seems perceptive; more perceptive than you’d like. Where his dad’s side of the family seem to place trust that Kuroo’s telling them the truth, it feels as though his mother would be able to unravel this little pantomime in an instant.
“So how long have you two been together now?” She coos, looking between the two of you with a sly smile.
You look to Kuroo, trying your best to suppress the panic in your eyes. You hadn’t actually asked what the answer to that question would be. Foolish, really.
“It’ll be, uh…” Kuroo clears his throat, raising an eyebrow. “A few months now?”
You nod along, taking another mouthful of curry. Curse the swirling in your gut – this meal deserves to be enjoyed wholly, not forced down during a bout of anxiety.
“And you were working together before this?” She asks.
“Mhm.”
You reach over and take Kuroo’s hand on instinct. Your grip is firm, tense. Kuroo squeezes your hand back. The amount of comfort it gives you is shameful; this isn’t real. He’s just a friend. A colleague.
“Ah,” Kuroo’s mother smiles. “So, it really is a workplace romance.”
The way she says it implies that the fact amuses her. Why? Had she not expected that for her son? Did she look down on a workplace romance? Perhaps some people might find it unprofessional, but… it’s not real. Not that you’d tell her that.
She asks a few more questions; where you’re from, what you like to do, what you studied in university.
You answer as truthfully as you can. The less lies you have to keep track of, the better. And, you hope, it might add some credence to your story – even if part of you worries that his mother might disapprove of you.
Not that it matters. You’ve had more than enough of this ‘method acting’.
The questions slow, although you’re not sure Kuroo’s mother is satiated. There’s a certain glint in her eye as she looks between the two of you.
“So,” she asks, her voice like cream, “when am I getting grandchildren?”
Your face flushes hot. The question isn’t being directed at you – well, not really – but the thought is enough to send you into a mental frenzy. Children? But you’re so young, and they’re a big commitment. There’s so much to think about – schooling, mental wellbeing, financial support—
“Be patient, mother,” Kuroo shakes his head, letting the question roll off his shoulders.
He must get asked this a lot, you think.
“You’re getting on in years, Tetsurou,” his mother purrs.
You resist the urge to frown. If Tetsurou was past his prime, then does that make you an old crone?
“I’m only twenty-four,” Kuroo mumbles. No matter how frequent a question like this, it’s always annoying.
“And?” His mother raises an eyebrow at him.
Kuroo rolls his eyes. You swallow down a laugh with a sip of water.
“And,” Kuroo croons, rolling his head to the side, “I’ve got to focus on my career.” He threads his fingers with yours effortlessly, holding up your clasped hands for your mother to see. “And so does she.”
Your heart is pounding now, blood thrumming in your ears. If none of your words are enough to convince his mother that this is ‘real’, then surely your darkening cheeks must do the trick.
“Well now,” his mother coos, “seems like you’ve got it all worked out.”
Something’s off. It’s in the way Kuroo’s mother looks at him. In the weight of the silence that’s engulfed you. In the way he squeezes your hand a little tighter.
You’re missing something. You can feel it in your gut. There’s an important piece of information you’re not privy to, or perhaps a part of Kuroo’s personal history that you haven’t been told.
Regardless of what it is, Kuroo and his mother seem to be having a silent war over it.
“I never asked,” you cut in, desperate to bring an end to this tension, “but what do you do for work?”
Kuroo’s mother blinks at you for a moment, as if she hasn’t quite processed what you’ve asked. “Oh, I’m a teacher.”
“What grade?” You ask. If you keep this ball rolling, then maybe you’ll all survive the evening.
“Middle school,” she nods, “although truth be told, I feel like I should’ve gone for elementary.”
“Why?” You smile. “Are the pre-teens too hormonal?”
Kuroo’s mother sighs, sitting back in her chair. “You wouldn’t believe how foolish some of those children can be.”
“Tell her about those boys who tried to make a flamethrower during chemistry,” Kuroo chuckles. He’s smiling, but he still looks beleaguered.
“Oh my God,” his mother groans. You worry for a moment; is she mad? Upset? Embarrassed?
None of those, apparently. She launches right into the story, complete with hand gestures.
You laugh along. Next to you, Kuroo’s shoulders slump a bit.
It may not be a victory, but the energy in the room has definitely shifted. You’ve got something to talk about. That’s one problem out of the way.
All you want to focus on now is getting Kuroo through the rest of the evening.
✧ ✧ ✧
A few more hours of idle yet painful conversation maintained primarily by you, and you’re ushered off to bed. It’s barely even nine thirty, but you’re ready to pass out and stay comatose until the morning. And an early rise means you can leave even earlier.
You’re not sure what to make of this place. There’s love here. You’re sure of it. And you think Kuroo’s aware of it, too.
But it’s a different kind of love; one that’s shaped differently, that’s taken on a distinct pallor. A certain distance, maybe? Love expressing itself primarily as nagging concern – something that often doesn’t feel much like love at all. It’s a kind of love that’s difficult to swallow, one that makes you want to push someone away rather than seek them out.
But you can’t be sure of anything. You only know so much. And quite frankly, your head is starting to hurt from all the thinking and worrying.
The room you’ve been relegated is Kuroo’s old bedroom, but you wouldn’t have guessed. There’s not much of him here; a few Shounen Jump’s here and there, a dusty volleyball sitting on the bookshelf next to a cheap-looking cat trinket.
There’s not much to imply that a teenage boy ever lived here, let alone a working adult. You wonder, briefly, how often Kuroo comes to visit. You can’t imagine he stays long.
The man in question looks far too big for this place, anyway. Even the double bed shoved up against the wall doesn’t look long enough to fit his entire body.
Unfortunately, it’s the only acceptable place to sleep in the room. There’s not even a couch for you to lie on, or even a spare futon.
Maybe you should’ve thought of this before agreeing to visit his mother for the evening.
But it’s too late now; the two of you are stationed on opposite sides of the room, both uncomfortably aware of the fact that there is, believe it or not, only one bed. You’re not against the idea of sharing a bed, even if for one night, but the prospect still feels… strange. Embarrassing, even.
Kuroo clears his throat, taking another perfunctory look around the room.
“I’ll just sleep on the floor,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Oh, no, I—”
“I dragged you into this,” he smiles. “It’s the least I can do.”
You open your mouth to protest, but he’s already leaving the room. The door swings shut behind him softly, leaving just the slightest crack.
You take a quick moment to change in your pyjamas, sitting yourself down on the bed with a sigh.
There’s no way this whole charade wasn’t going to have its uncomfortable moments. You were well-aware of that when you’d entered into it. But it has certainly thrown you some curveballs. If you’d asked yourself three months ago if you’d thought you’d end up sitting on a bed in a stranger’s house, after what was perhaps the most uncomfortable dinner of your life, waiting for your fake boyfriend to return as he sought out a blanket so he could sleep on the floor, you would’ve thought you were quite mental.
But you don’t mind. The thought of Kuroo having to go through this on his own, being lambasted with questions about why he hasn’t settled down and why he isn’t expecting a child… That must be frustrating to bear solo.
You hear voices in the hallway. His mother.
“Oh, she gets cold at night,” you hear Kuroo say, “so we usually use two blankets.”
His mother tsks. “That sounds rather high maintenance.”
Your stomach twists a little at that. So, you didn’t succeed. As soon as you’re out of sight, the façade drops.
“God forbid she gets cold,” Kuroo mumbles.
There’s an awkward pause. Somehow, the silence feels more honest. Like both Kuroo and his mother can talk with no holds barred without you there. Seems there’s a lot you still don’t know.
“I just think the two of you don’t have much chemistry.”
The words jolt through you. It’s not real. Your relationship isn’t real. But for some reasons, those words sting. Is it because they mean you’ve failed to do your job well? You were supposed to be helping Kuroo get his mother off his back, not give her more things to pick at him for.
“Excuse me?” Even Kuroo sounds frustrated.
“She’s no Ritsuko.”
It’s the way she says the word that betrays its relevance.
The silence that follows is pregnant with tension.
Ritsuko must be an ex. But that’s none of your business. He’s not your real boyfriend.
“I don’t want her to be Ritsuko.”
You’ve never heard Kuroo’s voice like that. It’s sharp, tight, unfamiliar.
“I still think you made a mistake, Tetsurou.”
“Would you just drop it?” There’s an edge to his tone, like his voice is armed with a kind of sharpness that people don’t tend to direct towards their parents.
“Well, you know what they say,” his mother sighs, a familiar kind of parental condescension in her voice. “Mother knows best.”
“If you want me to respect your choices, then you have to respect mine.”
Those words seem to strike her silent, the only sound the thumping of feet along the hallway.
The light of the hallway spills into the room as Kuroo pushes the bedroom door open, scowl on his face and blanket in hand.
You sit up a little straighter.
Should you say something? Were you supposed to have heard that? It seemed intense…
“Can I have a pillow?” He asks. The edge in his voice is gone as he turns to you, the resentment in his face replaced with exhaustion.
“Sure.” You reach behind you and grab one of the pillows, passing it to him.
“Thanks,” he sighs.
He pays you no mind as he starts preparing his ‘bed’ half a step away from you, tossing the blanket on the floor haphazardly. His back is turned, but you don’t need to see his face to know he’s scowling.
“Hey, Kuroo?”
“Hm?”
“Are you okay?” You ask gently.
He sighs, his shoulders sinking. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about me.”
It’s almost comical, how ineffective that request is.
You reach out and take his hand. You’re not sure why; it’s instinct, more than anything.
But Kuroo turns around and looks at you, his eyes wide. The expression makes him look a few years younger, confused and hopeful.
“I’m willing to listen, if you need it.” Your voice is so, so quiet. Is it the right thing to do? Is this what he wants to hear? It’s hard to say. All you know is that he doesn’t deserve to go to bed in such a foul mood.
Kuroo swallows roughly, still staring at you. His hand tightens around yours. His palm feels rough; was that due to the years of volleyball?
He sighs, sitting himself next to you on the bed and leaning back against the wall. He’s still holding your hand.
“It’s just…” His voice is delicate; perhaps even childlike. “Every time I come here, it feels like I’m fourteen again.”
You nod. It’s easy enough to understand – and you’re sure a lot of people feel similarly – but…
“Why?”
Kuroo blinks rapidly for a moment, closing his eyes. “It’s like… any progress I’ve made is dashed, and I’m back to square one.”
“What do you mean?” You rack your brain for any idea of what he could be talking about. Kuroo’s always seemed so secure, so stable. Even when he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he goes at it with such confidence that it makes you feel like he’s got it all under control.
But that’s Kuroo at work.
It seems that his private life was an entirely different stadium – one he can’t navigate so smoothly.
He opens his eyes and looks at you.
There’s a lot he wants to say. You can see it in his eyes. Yet something seems to hold him back.
“I have a hard time letting people in,” he admits.
“Really?” That surprises you. And yet, it doesn’t.
Kuroo is the perfect picture of cordiality, with an enviable ability to get along with most people he meets. He’d been lavished with praise for it at work numerous times.
But cordial doesn’t mean vulnerable. And now you think about it, you can’t quite imagine him letting his walls down all that often.
“Mhm,” he nods. “I… struggle with being vulnerable.”
You nod slowly. The ‘shape’ of Kuroo becoming clearer in the fog. “If you don’t mind me asking… why?”
Kuroo drags his bottom lip through his teeth for a moment, deep in thought. “I think it’s because I’m afraid I’ll get left behind.”
It startles you. The honesty.
Maybe it’s because you’ve just been talking about vulnerability. Or maybe it’s because you’d given him the platform he needed tonight. But you couldn’t have prepared for the weight of those words, nor the way he said them.
“Kuroo…” You murmur. You’re not sure what there is to say. All you know is that you feel that, too. Maybe less intensely than him, but you understand.
“That, or I’ll break someone’s heart,” he sighs, running his hand spare hand down his face. “Every time I’m here, mum grills me about being single. Every damn time. And she likes to bring up…”
He trails off. You can make a good guess of what the rest of that sentence might be.
Ritsuko. It’s not your place to ask; but you can’t help but be concerned for him.
You let the silence sit for a moment. This conversation is for him – it’s his choice what you do and don’t discuss. Who knows, maybe asking about this Ritsuko would just bring him more distress.
“Mum really wants grandkids, if that wasn’t obvious,” he scoffs, running a hand through his hair.
You smile a little. “I figured.”
He presses his lips together, looking up at his ceiling. “I don’t… I don’t want to marry some poor girl while I’m young just to pump out a child or two to please my mother. I don’t want to start a family if it’s just going to collapse around the kids because me and their mother weren’t right for each other.”
It’s coming together in your mind. The need for a fake girlfriend. The fact his grandmother would be concerned enough to arrange a miai. The fact that, during your entire time working next to him, you hadn’t heard anything about a partner.
Kuroo Tetsurou is starting to make sense.
“That sort of thing can really affect kids, you know?”
“Yeah, I do.”
His hand tightens around yours once more. You’d forgotten he was holding it. But, you suppose, touch from someone you trust can be a wonderful antidote for nerves.
“That, and…” He squeezes his eyes shut again, frowning. “It wouldn’t be fair on whoever I married just because it’s the ‘right’ thing to do according to my mother. It wouldn’t make either of us happy.” He pauses, his voice lowering ever so slightly. “It’d just be a waste of everyone’s time.”
“It sounds like a lot of pressure,” you say. It’s the truth.
Kuroo chuckles. “You could say that.”
He swallows, finally letting go of your hand. “Thanks for coming tonight, by the way. You saved me a lecture.”
“No problem,” you smile. “The food was good, at least.”
Kuroo cracks a small smile. You’re glad for it. He shifts forward on the bed and stands up, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m gonna try and sleep.”
“Good idea,” you nod.
Kuroo flicks the light off and the two of you settle down into your respective beds, shifting uncomfortably under the sheets. Yours feel new; a bit stiffer than you’d like, with all the firmness of that damned blouse you had to wear in high school. Uncomfortable as it is, it’s not the reason you feel so restless.
Today keeps running through your mind, random moments deciding to hang in your mind with startling clarity. Nothing had gone wrong, but it feels like nothing went right. It’s this strange limbo, a skinny path running flush against a mountain, hugged by a steep, seemingly unending drop.
Something clicks into place. Something about how Kuroo sees himself.
Kuroo Tetsurou doesn’t feel whole; he feels like a patchwork, a collage shambled together, drawn from a whole range of other people. Things that seem so certain to other people are lost in a fog for him; ideas about love, about family, about security.
For Kuroo, there’s doubt. A fear that something will fall apart. A fear that he’ll repeat the same mistakes as his parents – the feeling that he already has.
Divorce tends to do that to people. To families. It’s not as simple as a family unit being cleft in two. Instead, it’s like they’re torn off into chunks, bits of themselves overlapping with bits of everyone else, but with edges that don’t line up nicely anymore. Even when the parents tell their kids they don’t need to pick sides, it feels like every choice you make, every little thing you say, betrays an allegiance that can be weaponised. It leaves people as a bunch of glued together fragments without a place to belong.
Some kids respond with a staunch loyalty to one parent, simplifying their experience into a straightforward tale of good and evil. Others are left adrift, lost in the knowledge that perhaps both parents are wrong, perhaps both have performed acts of cruelty against one another.
But it’s impossible to known which Kuroo is. You have your suspicions, of course, but you know better than to make assumptions.
You roll over onto your side, seeking out his shape in the dark.
“Hey, Tetsurou?”
“Yeah?” His voice is already laden with sleep.
“Thanks for opening up to me,” you murmur. “I really appreciate it.”
There’s silence for a moment. Then, a confused little chuckle. “Shouldn’t I be thanking you?”
It doesn’t sound like he’s teasing you. Thank God.
“Well, it can’t’ve been easy,” you say, trying to find the right words to express yourself. “So… thanks.”
He hums in response. “Yeah, well… thanks.”
Nothing more needs to be said.
As you finally drift off into an uneasy sleep, you hope that, at the very least, you’ve managed to bring your friend some comfort.
#kuroo tetsurou x reader#kuroo x reader#kuroo tetsurou x you#kuroo x you#kuroo tetsuro x reader#cause and effect by rowan
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The Shy Newcomer Sneak Peek!
I thought it would be fun to post some excerpts here and there as I continue to work on rewriting the summer arc of The Shy Newcomer (TSN). Some subplots are branching off in really interesting ways, and I can’t wait to share them with you. I really hope I’m currently working on Kai’s birthday party - now with more hijinks and drama!
I’ve added a little preview of a rough draft of Cliff and Popuri chatting around the watering hole for your reading pleasure. I’m really getting excited about adding the siblings to more scenes, and I hope that you enjoy!
Cliff watched the mayor twirl Claire with a chuckle. He had been in enough situations with overzealous dancing partners to be familiar with the feeling. Drunken behavior was unpredictable at the best of times, and in a crowded festival, the potential for chaos was only amplified. He took a sip of punch and watched as she performed a perfect spin, extending her hand gracefully. Pride swelled up within him.
I-I taught her that...
Beautiful.
Under the lights of the beach shack, her hair gleamed, adorned with the beautiful lei Kai had given her. He touched his own, realizing with a gulp that they matched one another. His eyes darted around the room and his suspicions were confirmed – no one else had the same variety of orchids in their crown leis.
Kai made us match on purpose...
Or... it could be a coincidence...
Kai had sorted through the leis thoughtfully before offering Cliff one.
He's teased me about her before...
“Everything alright, Cliff?” Popuri approached the table and leaned in toward him, letting out an innocent giggle. “You were making a bunch of strange faces just now.”
He hated that he could feel his cheeks burning; hiding his facial expressions was something he felt fairly confident in, and the thought of slipping up left him uneasy.
“Ah, I... I was just d-deep in thought,” he sputtered, adding a nervous laugh for good measure.
Again, those large garnet eyes were watching him intently, just like the day he first visited the poultry farm with Karen and Claire. He took the ladle to the punch bowl.
“Ah, did you come over here for some punch? I can pour you some if you want.”
Popuri shook her head with a wince and filled her paper cup with pineapple juice. “After Ann's party, I don't think I ever want to touch alcohol again. The next day just isn't worth it. I swear that headache lasted for at least two days.”
He didn't feel it was wise to point out that the bottle of schnapps she had hidden in the folds of her nightgown and continually drank throughout the night had helped much.
“You didn't... tell anyone I drank that much, did you?” It was Popuri's turn to look embarrassed. “I mean, anyone that wasn't at the party.”
Cliff shook his head, a little confused she would ask in him that in the first place.
“If Rick found out, I'd never hear the end of it. He's always going on about how I don't care about anything but having fun. It gets so irritating being treated like a kid all the time.” She took a heavy swig of her juice. “Just because he doesn't like coming to the beach anymore, he always decides to take it out on me.” Another chug and a heavy sigh. “Well, either me or Kai.” She watched her mother dance with Kai. He gave her a gentle spin and she laughed, her skirts and hair fanning around her.
Cliff wasn't exactly sure how to respond, but Popuri continued. “And it's not like he doesn't drink. He goes to the bar, and I've seen him come home drunk. Some people just can't hold their alcohol.” She rolled her eyes.
Cliff bit his tongue, giving a nod in reply.
“I just wish Rick could understand. It's like... he doesn't care about anyone's happiness – not even his own. I don't know how Karen can put up with it.” She finished her drink and crushed the cup in her hand, her rosy pink manicure a stark contrast to her white knuckles.
She looked back up at him, her own cheeks flushing. “Sorry for ranting like that. I know you probably didn't care to hear any of that, but I just thought... well... you seem like a pretty cool person, and you'd understand. I had fun at the party, and it was nice to get to know you a little better.”
“Yeah, it was nice... a-a good time,” he stammered.
Popuri tossed her cup in the trash with a smile, her attention focusing on where Karen was and taking a small step towards her. She gave him a friendly nod, stepping away.
Cliff found his voice. “And... it's okay... to be frustrated at your brother like that.”
She stopped and turned back. “Thanks. I knew I liked you,” she chuckled.
His smile was shaky as he rubbed his arm. “It's just... important to let him know how you really feel, though. Because if you bottle it all in... y'all will just feel worse.”
The laughter left her face and was replaced with furrowed brows and a tired sigh. “If only I could get him to listen, though!” She offered him a final smile. “I'll keep trying. Thanks, Cliff.”
#the shy newcomer#tsn#the shy newcomer fanfic#harvest moon fanfic#story of seasons fanfic#fomt#mfomt#btn#hm64#hm for girl#hm cliff#hm claire#hm popuri#sosfomt cliff#sosfomt claire#sosfomt popuri#harvest moon claire#harvest moon cliff#harvest moon popuri#tsn sneak peek
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Holding the Moon
Empty practice grounds were like empty taverns to Kaladin. He was so used to seeing the place full of light and activity, that finding it without either of those things was downright unnerving. Usually, he couldn't go two steps without hearing the sound of weapons clashing or people grunting as they sparred. There were always a few ardents around, training warriors or maintaining the equipment. There were always spheres in every lantern bracket. A poorly lit training ground was an invitation to injury.
Tonight, there was only one person here. Only one sphere for light. It was rare for Kaladin to find Adolin here without his shardplate, but tonight he only wore simple sparring clothes. He had a sandbag set up in the middle of the room. He was punching the absolute crap out of it. No grace or finesse to his movements. Just one wild swing after another, like an overeager man breaking rocks.
The drafts of Dalinar's autobiography had come on Urithiru like the Everstorm. No stormwall, no abrupt onslaught of fury like you got with highstorms. Instead it came on slowly. From the Kholin scribes who copied it out, to their families, to the officers and workers of the tower, the contents of that text spread like fevers in the Weeping. In under a week, highprinces and water carriers alike knew that Dalinar Kholin had burned a city to the stone, and in the process, killed his own wife. Adolin's mother.
As soon as he heard, Kaladin made sure to check in on the younger Kholins. How could he not? One was his friend, the other still technically a subordinate. Both of them had already known- Dalinar had the decency to warn them before the news went public. It was hard to tell how Renarin was taking it. Kaladin had always had difficulty reading that kid. But Teft was keeping him occupied with training, and Rock was better at being a sympathetic ear than Kal had ever been. So Kaladin tried not to hover.
As for Adolin… You're the tenth person to ask me that, bridge boy. Leave me in peace. And Kaladin had. It seemed the respectful thing to do. Once Shallan got back from whatever infiltration kept her currently out of contact, his friend would have all the support he needed. It wasn't until Syl summoned him to the practice grounds in the middle of the night that Kaladin reconsidered that assessment.
"He told me he was fine," Syl whispered, "but I think he's lying. He sounded like you when you tell people you're fine."
Kaladin grunted. "Of course he isn't fine Syl. But if he needs to work his feelings out with training, we should probably let him." Almighty knew Kaladin had been there. Exhausting the body till you had no room to think about your grief had its merits. But damnation it hurt to see it happening to Adolin. Adolin, who sometimes seemed like nothing could dim the sun behind his smile. Adolin, whose eyes now stared ahead like empty pits.
"Yes, but he shouldn't have to be alone," Syl said. She took the form of a skyeel and wound around Adolin protectively.
The sandbag dented inwards as Adolin let off one last punch. With the slow acceleration of a falling tree, the sandbag toppled over. Adolin bent double with a groan, exhaustionspren puffing around him like jets of dust. Immediately, Kaladin was there with a ladle of water. Adolin accepted it, as he did the next ladle Kaladin brought. Then he tried to wave Kaladin off. "I appreciate the thought," he said, "But I don't need you to mind me."
"Maybe I just wanted to get in some late night spear practice." Adolin gave him a flat stare. Kaladin gave in. "Ok, fine, I wasn't. Syl was worried about you, and she brought me."
"Syl?" Adolin looked surprised at that.
"She explores the tower at night."
"Huh. Well, tell her I'm glad she cares." Apparently Syl was still invisible to him. "But I'm good here." He turned to reset the sandbag. It was at that point the prince's hands caught the dim spherelight, and Kaladin realized Adolin's knuckles were bleeding.
Kaladin's surgeon's instincts woke like sleeping axehounds who smelled the rain. He grabbed Adolin's hands and dragged them under the light. "Storms, Adolin, how long have you been at this?!"
Adolin tried to pull his hands out of Kaladin's grip, but Kaladin hung on. The scrapes were hardly the worst injury Kaladin had ever seen. In fact, as training accidents went, it was downright minor. But for his hands to get this bad from punching a sandbag? Adolin would have had to have ignored significant pain for a very long time. Check that he hasn't sprained something. Kaladin felt at Adolin's wrist. "Does it hurt when I press here?"
"No." Adolin pulled harder and finally yanked himself out of Kaladin's grip. "Honestly Kal, it's not that bad. Renarin can heal me later."
"Renarin can-?" Kaladin sputtered. This storming man. "That doesn't make it ok for you to hurt yourself, Adolin."
Adolin looked away. "I need this, Kal. If I don't exhaust myself, I… I obsess over all of it."
Kaladin softened at that. Storms, but he knew exactly what Adolin was talking about. How many times had he done this exact thing after Tien died? Worked himself so hard until his mind had no strength left to think about how much he hurt? He could remember at least one time when Sergeant Hav had needed to order him not to keep training through injuries. "Well. At least let me treat this before you do anything else."
Adolin raised an eyebrow. "Seems kind of pointless. I can just have Renarin heal it instantly."
"Your brother isn't here. Unless you plan to wake him up over this, you'll let me treat this the normal way."
A shadow of a smile flickered across Adolin's face, like the sun shining through thick clouds. He gave a tired mock salute. "Yes, sir!" Kaladin rolled his eyes.
Fortunately, the practice grounds kept basic medical supplies on hand in case of training injuries. After washing off the blood with water, Kaladin was able to daub Adolin's knuckles with lister's oil and wrap them in bandages. Adolin made a small grunt as he did. "Too tight?" Kaladin asked.
Adolin shook his head. "No, no. It's just- I'm so used to seeing you flying about like a paragon of soldierhood. I forget you know how to do things like this."
Kaladin didn't know what to say to that. He tied off the last bandage. "You'll probably want to change these out tomorrow."
"Or I can take it to my brother with the divinely-granted healing abilities and have him fix it completely."
"Or that."
Adolin glanced at the fallen sandbag. "You think you could help me set that up again?"
Kaladin gaped. "You want to keep going?!"
"I'm not too tired to think yet. So yes, I want to keep going."
"Your hand!"
"Protected now by these nice bandages you provided."
Kaladin crossed his arms. "No. Absolutely not."
Adolin's face darkened. "Fine." He leaned down to pick up the sandbag.
Kaladin grabbed his shoulder. "If you don't put that down right now, I'm summoning Syl to cut it in half."
Adolin turned on him. "I appreciate your concern, Kal," he said, voice tight, "But it's time for you to butt out."
Kaladin was completely unmoved. "If you keep going, you will hurt yourself."
"I told you. I need this." His words were angry, but it wasn't an angerspren he drew. It was an agonyspren, like an upside down face on the floor. The raw pain in his eyes was hard to look at. It was like looking at an open wound, still bleeding and vulnerable.
"You don't have to stop working out," Kaladin said finally. "But you do need to do something else. Something not so hard on your hands."
"Like what?"
He thought about it. "Spar with me."
"What?"
"Spar with me. Quarterstaffs, or hand to hand. You'll have a harder time breaking your hands on me, at least." And it would give Kaladin more control over the situation.
Adolin glanced at the battered punching bag, then shook his head forcefully. "No. Fighting an actual person… That's a bad idea for me right now."
"I've got Stormlight. You don't need to worry about me."
Adolin barked out a horrified laugh. "What?! No! Weren't you just telling me that being able to heal yourself doesn't make it ok?!" Kaladin pursed his lips, annoyed at himself. Adolin had him there. Perhaps Kaladin should have wondered why he had such a double standard about this, but now wasn't the time to examine that. Instead, Kaladin pulled two blunted practice swords from the equipment racks and handed one to Adolin. The prince stepped back. "I told you, I'm not going to-"
"Zahel's been teaching me sword katas," Kaladin interrupted. "One of them takes two people. You know the one?" Adolin nodded slowly. "Run through it with me." Kaladin offered the practice sword again. Adolin stared at the sword for a long moment. Hesitantly, he took it. Kaladin set the pair of them two sword-lengths apart in the middle of the practice grounds. Then, they began.
Two-person katas were more like a choreographed dance than actual combat. Kaladin lunged in for a prescribed strike. Adolin stepped back for the proper block. Adolin swept Kaladin's sword to the side in an exaggerated imitation of real combat. Kaladin would step aside and twist it into a disarming motion. The blades clicked softly with each careful exchange. The point was to practice responding to your opponent's moves until it became embedded in your muscle memory.
When you knew a kata well, they became a kind of meditation. Your body carried you through the forms, while your mind floated free. Kaladin could see that peace settle over Adolin like a warm blanket, and he knew he'd done the right thing. When they reached the end of the kata, Kaladin saw Adolin's shoulders tense, and the peace started to evaporate. So Kaladin returned them to the starting position, and started them again Adolin's eyes unfocused as his body feel into the trace of a kata he knew by heart. Kaladin started them through it a third time, and Adolin pushed to go a little bit faster. Kaladin let him. That was how it was supposed to go: you started off slow to be sure you got the forms right. Then you sped up, until you moved at combat speeds.
By the fourth time through the kata, sweat was beading on Adolin's forehead. Kaladin was making mistakes, but he didn't care. Tonight wasn't about Kaladin mastering the sword. It was about helping Adolin forget his pain for a little while.
By the fifth time through, the practice swords flashed through the air like windspren. Kaladin breathed in a little stormlight to keep from faltering. When they finished, Adolin finally stopped. He didn't bother finding a seat to rest. Instead he collapsed on the sand where they stood. The practice sword landed with a thump next to him. Adolin lay there, panting like a bellows amidst a swarm of exhaustionspren.
Kaladin fetched more water from the barrel. Adolin drank it greedily. "Thank you," he gasped.
"It's just water. It's no trouble," Kaladin said, settling down on the ground next to him.
"Not just for that. Thank you for not making me talk."
"Oh, well." Kaladin chuckled ruefully. "That wasn't hard. You're not a subtle man, princeling. If you wanted to talk, you'd talk. All I had to do was not argue."
Adolin huffed a laugh. They sat there for a long moment. Slowly, Adolin's breath calmed down to something reasonable. The little stormlight Kaladin had taken in puffed away. "Does it bother you?" Adolin asked. "Knowing what my father did?"
It was a good question. Kaladin took his time answering. "Yes, it does bother me. I followed your father because I believed he was different from other lighteyes I served. Better. Finding out he'd done that? It's… well, 'upsetting' seems an inadequate word, but I've got nothing better." He took in a deep breath. "But the Ideals teach that it's always possible to change into a better person. And Dalinar's done that. He's still doing that. So in a lot of ways, nothing's really changed for me."
Adolin ground the palms of his hands into his eyes. "In my head, I know he's not that man anymore. Hell, I can even admire him for working so hard to be better. I still love him, and I want to forgive him. But damnation. I just can't."
"Maybe you don't have to forgive him," Kaladin said softly.
"What?"
"It's easy to talk about how wonderful it is that someone's grown when they haven't hurt you personally. If you'd asked me that question about, say, Gaz? You'd have gotten a very different answer."
Adolin nodded slowly. "The thing is, I think about what Mother would say, if she saw me now. I know she'd want me to forgive him. She'd have forgiven him in a heartbeat. She forgave everyone... everything." His voice cracked, and he broke down into sobs.
Kaladin felt completely lost. Not because he was a stranger to crying people, but… well, usually Adolin was the one helping Kaladin through emotional breakdowns. Kaladin felt like he'd been handed a weapon he'd never held before and tossed into the ring with a master.
What does Adolin do to help me? Usually, he kept Kaladin distracted. Gave him a goal, or something to focus on. Anything to keep Kaladin from getting stuck in his own head. He took one look at Adolin, curled up and sobbing on the floor, and knew that wasn't what he needed. He didn't have the gaping void of emotion that sometimes took Kaladin. But if not that, then what?
Hugs. He likes hugs. Granted, he usually reserved them for Shallan and close family, but Kaladin had no other ideas. He crawled over to where Adolin lay. Slowly, as if reaching out to a feral axehound, Kaladin put his arms around the other man. Adolin hesitated only a moment. Then he collapsed into Kaladin's arms, sobbing into his shoulder. They sat there for uncountable minutes. Kaladin held the prince, stroking his hair softly. He thought of his own mother, and how she'd sometimes comforted him like this when he'd been a child, woken by nightmares. What would it have been like, to lose that as young as Adolin had?
Slowly, Adolin's grief subsided like a river after the storm. "Your mother sounds like a wonderful person," Kaladin murmured into his hair. "I'm sorry I never got to meet her."
"You've no idea. I'm sorry she didn't get to meet you or Shallan. She'd have loved you both."
"Can you tell me about her?"
And Adolin did. He told how she liked reading stories of far-off romance. About the care and delicacy she put into her glyphwards. About her love for simple pleasures. Beautiful sunsets, calm evenings by the fire, the smell of incense. Kaladin held him and let him talk well into the night.
#the stormlight archive#my fanfic#kadolin#kaladin stormblessed#adolin kholin#cosmere#brandon sanderson#my post
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Chapter 2 of my Heisenberg x Reader fic is finally out!
Smut below the cut:
The large door slams behind [Y/N], blocking out the cold air. Brushing passed Heisenberg, she tosses the logs down on the fire, urging it to roar back to life.
He’s staring when she glances over her shoulder. When he’s caught, he looks away bashfully, pretends to really be focusing on the pictures on her wall.
“Take your coat off,” [Y/N] demands as she stands.
“What?”
“Your coat. Take it off.”
Heisenberg narrows his eyes, grips at his hammer. “What are you playing at?”
She smirks. “Cute. I don’t plan to undress you, despite what Serena’s pheromones might be convincing you.”
“They have no power over me,” he denies, setting his hammer down.
[Y/N] merely raises an eyebrow at him, extends her hand for his jacket.
The thought of being undressed makes his gut flip for some reason so he busies himself by removing the coat and handing it to her. His hands are shaking so he clenches and unclenches his gloved fist to try to warm up his fingers.
She disappears into another room for a moment before returning with a glass and a whiskey bottle. His coat is placed on a nearby rack, moved closer to the fire to dry it off.
“To warm you up,” she suggests, handing him the whiskey and glass. “I’ll run you a hot bath.”
“N-no, that won’t be necessary,” but his body is chilled through and he’s pulling a chair closer to the fireplace in order to warm up.
[Y/N] leaves once more, ignoring him completely.
“Ignorant bitch.” Opening the bottle, he pours himself some whiskey, takes a sip. “Good booze, though.”
Heisenberg wants to inspect the books on a nearby shelf, but the warmth of the fire is too enticing. He realizes that he’s still feeling a little dazed after the incident with the tree-lady. There’s still a heaviness in his gut, a vague need that he doesn’t want to acknowledge right now – and he’s sure it has everything to do with those pheromones.
[Y/N] returns at the worst moment; right as he’s flashing back to the incident in the snow – his hands tracing over skin…he hasn’t touched someone like that in…-
“Bath’s ready,” [Y/N] announces. “If you are.”
Forearms pressing to his thighs, he leans forward, hoping he can cover himself until it’s safe to stand up.
He tries distracting himself with chatter, but he’s struggling on where to begin. He has so many questions.
“How many Cadou experiments live here?” he decides to start there.
[Y/N] sits on the chair nearest him. “Well…the ones that aren’t failures?”
“Failures?” he repeats.
“I mean, I guess we all kind of are. Miranda’s island of misfit toys – those of us that didn’t have influential families; those that had powers that just didn’t make the cut to exist in the main village.” The conversation is very distracting for his current predicament. “You have…-Lycans, aren’t they?” he nods. “Think of our Wendigo in a similar manner.”
Heisenberg gets it now. “And the rest?”
“Like I said: there’s no ruler, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
“And Miranda?” he drones.
[Y/N] goes still now. “I think your bath will get cold.”
Heisenberg stands in an instant, uses his free hand to grip at her throat. He crouches.
“You’ll answer me. Now.”
[Y/N] nods against his hand, her gaze drifting from his eyes to his lips. “She’s always monitoring – even when we think she isn’t.”
“Are they devout?” he nods toward the door, asking about the other villagers.
“Not entirely,” [Y/N] chokes out.
“Are you?”
“Are you?” she retorts.
With a huff, Heisenberg lets go of her throat, stands, cusses.
It’s not that he wants a bath, but it surely would warm him up. Plus, they’re at a standstill; one of them has to make a move in order to progress. But if he admits his disdain for Miranda, will she tattle? Can he trust her?
She’s left him alone upstairs so naturally he’s scoping out the place. Nothing fancy: two bedrooms and a bathroom. She’s got crystals strewn about in odd places, candles lit, all the curtains drawn. It’s quaint.
The door doesn’t lock, which is unfortunate. Heisenberg grumbles the entire time he’s undressing, but the steam from the hot water is making him feel better already. It’s…inviting. He’d never admit it aloud.
Feeling foolish, he settles into the steaming tub with a sigh – not realizing how chilled he actually was, how sore he’d been. The small table beside the tub makes a convenient place to put down his whiskey, right beside the soaps. He imagines [Y/N] placed the table in here for a similar reason; that or reading in the tub.
He has plenty on his mind – many more questions he needs to ask [Y/N] but he can’t – not until he knows whose side she’s on.
Despite his best efforts, his mind still drifts. [Y/N] isn’t…unattractive by any means. He’s sure his wandering mind has everything to do with those pheromones from that tree-lady, but the way [Y/N] was looking up at him when he had his hand around her neck…
“Fuck,” he hisses as he looks down through the clear water.
Hard. Again.
Shifting deeper into the tub, he tries to ignore it, enjoy the warmth, heat up…but he can’t shake the need in him.
Agitated, he decides to clean up a bit, surprised she didn’t leave him with flowery-scented soaps.
Fighting instinct, Heisenberg refuses to relax any longer – lest he falls asleep in this tub. His hard cock is still distracting. Well, it’s this or be disjointed all night; let his eyes travel all over her body instead of focusing on the answers he desires.
Her skin felt so soft…it felt so good to touch someone in that way.
His closed fist is moving around his cock before he even realizes he’s doing it; the slight whooshing of the water too loud for his taste. Right now, the thought of [Y/N]’s laughter as she sees him like this – teases him for being needy. It’s downright insulting.
Embarrassing to be masturbating in some stranger’s home; shameful, yet…sort of…erotic?
Thumb gliding over his tip, he arches and bites back a moan. He lets the water glide around him while he exhales through his nostrils.
Close. Too close.
He hears the whistling wind outside, decides to swallow down the remainder of the whiskey before he gets serious with his intention. There’s a nagging feeling that he needs to get this out of his system in order to really focus on what he’s doing here. Damn that temptress.
Heisenberg steps out of the tub, wraps himself in the soft towel [Y/N] left for him, and starts stroking his cock again as the water drains.
Closing his eyes, he lets himself fantasize…images of Serena, of [Y/N], his scarred hand on her soft skin, the way she looked at his half-chub, how she felt pressed against him. How long had it been since he’d let himself fantasize? Longer, still, since he’d touched anyone in a remotely sexual manner.
And there was a reason for that.
Because he couldn’t stop himself.
It’d been so long that he knew it would be the floodgates opening – a total fucking disaster for whatever poor soul gets his attention. He’d start and not want to let go. Heisenberg had shrouded himself away from his animalistic desires for so long, he’s almost nervous to see who he’ll become if the levee broke.
Well, he’s about to find out.
Fist pumping around his cock, he lets himself feel this pleasure. It isn’t long before he’s biting back grunts as he spills into the draining water, frantically chasing that release.
It’s enough to take the edge off, but it also isn’t nearly what he truly desires.
Dressing, he cracks his neck and takes a second to refocus, button up, shove down what he just unburied.
Right.
His goal is to learn this village, know what [Y/N] knew, maybe make an ally – a useful ally, might he add.
If only he could get passed that mouth of hers.
•••
[Y/N] is in the kitchen when he comes down – whiskey bottle a little lighter, clearly, she’s been drinking too. It smells amazing in the house and he realizes she’s mixing a pot of soup.
“I hope you’ll have some…and then I think it’s best if you leave.”
“Leave?” he repeats her. “Oh, no, I’ve got questions and you’ve got answers. I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”
The name wasn’t endearment but she still heats up anyway. A Lord calling her this? Unreal.
“I just…I really think it’s best for you,” she ladles soup into a bowl for him, places it on the kitchen table.
“What, you turn into a Lycan at midnight?”
“Nothing like that,” she dismisses.
“Then what?” he puts himself in her personal space, towers over her, likes the stirring in his chest. “I’m not moving until you tell me why.”
She looks contemplative – frustrated.
“It’s because of Mother Miranda, okay?”
He cocks his eyebrow at her. “S’that so?”
“I answered you, can you move?”
He raises his hands, side-steps, turns toward her as she takes a few steps back.
“You and Miranda talk much?”
She’s silent again, places her own bowl on the table. “Eat before it gets cold.”
“Rather powerless to be making these kinds of demands,” he teases.
“And in my presence, so are you.”
The menacing look he gives her makes her freeze. In an instant, she’s pushed up against the wall; his forearm against her neck, body pressing harshly against hers.
His gaze flicks down to her lips as she lets out a shaky – almost erotic – breath.
He doesn’t even say anything, simply presses his thigh between her legs just to hear that sound again. She bites her lip to muffle it, but it’s there, and he can feel a jolt in his abdomen. The excitement that blooms in him is surprising.
“So, I’m still having a reaction from that bitch’s pheromones – what’s your excuse?”
She’s embarrassed, called out, and it looks cute on her. He shifts his thigh just slightly but enough to earn a startled look.
“H-Heisenberg, I’m sorry.”
He hums a, “don’t be” before ducking to kiss her.
She kisses him back, meeting tentatively until his fingers knot in her hair and pull. It’s like he’s awakened something in her too, the way she’s hungry for more. Her hands drape over his shoulders as he removes his forearm from her throat. Hair still damp, he’s hatless and she thinks it’s handsome.
“You should eat,” she finally manages between heated kissing.
“Mmmm, yeah, I should…”
The innuendo makes her heated, pawing at his shirt yet almost trying to push him away.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, sir. It’s Serena’s power still.”
“And how, exactly, do I stop it?”
“This’ll just feed into it more,” she says this, but her eyes are taking in every inch of him that she can see – the crush she’s developed starting to make itself known. “It’ll wear off in time, but…” his fingers trail down her neck, lower until he cups a breast. “You aren’t exactly helping speed up the process.”
“May as well have fun with it, right?”
[Y/N] inhales sharply as his lips meet hers again in a hurried kiss. She doesn’t pull back right away, but lets him linger there before her better judgement kicks in.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she tries to sound demanding, harsh, but her voice waivers.
“Says who?”
“Says Miranda.”
Talk about a boner-killer. Heisenberg takes a step back, watches [Y/N] try to right herself. He narrows his eyes, sits down at the table.
“So, you do talk to her?”
[Y/N] shakes her head, sitting too. “When she sent me away to live here, she told me to stay away from the village – from you all.”
They’re silent during the time it takes them to eat their soup; him trying to focus on her words but still finding his mind drifting to more physical things, and her crossing her legs while barely tensing them just to try and get some stimulation.
She’s flustered, he can see that, but he’s sure it’s from the confession she just made.
“How ‘bout another drink?” he grabs the bottle and [Y/N] jumps up to get him a new glass, following orders.
He’s another half glass in by the time she gets the guts to say, “For the record, I’m not devout.”
At her words, he remains silent and she doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. He could turn her into Miranda for that – clue her in that one of her creations isn’t praying to her every day. She’d wondered about the others – how the Lords took to Miranda’s demands and regulations.
“Really now?” he finally replies.
“Figure I’ve got a target on my back anyway. What’s the point in keeping it from you?”
He quirks a brow at her. “And what’s your plan if I tell her that?”
She shrugs. “I’m sure it won’t make much difference in the long run.”
The hollow look in her eyes is telling.
He leans back, finishes off his drink. “Noted, dollface.”
She deadpans at him, ignoring the nickname. “You’re not gonna scurry off and tell her any of that?”
“Why? Should I?”
“I mean, no.”
“Well, then?” he laughs at the stunned look on her face. “Look, I want the bitch dead more than anyone else. We just gotta play the game for now. And her finding out about those of us that aren’t devoted to her? Not a good game plan.” She wants to respond, but she looks shocked. “Ah, what, surprised?”
“You…want to kill…Miranda?”
“Yeah,” he says it so nonchalant, like it’s nothing.
It’s subtle, but she lifts her glass and clinks it with his in a sort of toast.
So, they’re in agreement then?
#karl heisenberg x oc#karl heisenberg fanfic#karl heisenberg#karl heisenberg x reader#heisenberg x oc#heisenberg x reader
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Old Guard hc #41
Prompt number: 5 - “Unacceptable, try again”
Fandom: The Old Guard
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Tags: joe x nicky, fluff
Nile shakes her head, “Unacceptable, try again.”
“Nile-,” Joe starts with a groan, mentally, physically and spiritually exhausted. “We’ve been practicing for six hours, I’m starving.”
It’s four in the afternoon and the only thing they’ve eaten all day was the two slices of toast in the morning and water. If Joe didn’t eat something soon, he’s going to crumble into skin and bones. Then they really are going to lose the competition.
Suddenly, Nile’s hands are fisted in his shirt, her face inches away from his. “Nicky and Andy have probably already mastered the Renegade and are working on the Toosie Slide. We’re still on Blinding Lights and need to do the Vibe after,” she says, a hint of hysteria creeping in at the end. Joe swallows and slowly nods, trying his best to subtly pull away from her. Nile looks like she’s out for blood and Joe really doesn’t want it to be his. Nile tightens her grip on his shirt, “I am not getting on a horse, Joe.”
He doesn’t tell her that one day, she’s going to have to get over her ridiculous fear of horses, because even though the world is moving towards modernity at a faster rate than the previous centuries, there are still parts of the world that demanded a more discrete mode of transportation.
He does have some sense of self-preservation after all. No matter how small and finicky it seemed to be at times.
He pats the hands currently holding him, giving her his most convincing smile, the one that sometimes fools Andy. “We’ll win.” Probably. It’s 50-50 at the moment: they either win or lose. “However, if I don’t eat something in the next twenty minutes, I’m going to pass out and you will be riding a horse whether you like it or not.” There’s a couple of seconds of intense scrutiny, where Nile is trying to figure out if he’s bullshitting her or not. He’s not. He’s really, really not. His rumbling stomach backs him up and Nile releases his shirt with an apologetic pat that Joe waves off. It won’t be the last time Nile will want to strangle him.
Andy and Nicky are both in the kitchen when they walk in, with what smells like Japanese Curry cooking on the stove. Awesome. It’s been a while since Joe ate this type of curry, a little over eight months ago, if he remembers correctly, when they were in Los Angeles for that job at the ports.
Joe immediately makes a beeline for Nicky, wrapping his arms around his husband’s waist and resting his head on his shoulder. “Smells good,” he comments, taking another deep breath to inhale the sweet spices.
“Me or the curry?” Nicky asks, continuing to stir the pot.
Joe presses a quick kiss to Nicky’s neck. “Both,” he says and is rewarded with a tiny smile.
Dinner’s served five minutes later, Nicky ladling generous portions onto each plate and Joe placing it on the table. It’s a quiet dinner. Andy and Nile spend the entire time staring each other down, taking aggressive bites of curry and noisy sips from their glasses. Across from Nicky, Joe has tangled their feet together, bumping ankles every time they move.
Overall, it’s a good dinner.
After, when Andy and Nile are occupied cleaning up, Joe nudges Nicky’s foot with his. Nicky raises a questioning eyebrow, cocking his head a little to the side. After centuries together, Joe really shouldn’t find that small act cute. This time, Nicky nudges his foot and right, he started this. Joe makes sure that Andy and Nile are still busy in the kitchen before motioning to the front door with a nod.
Nicky huffs, it’s a small sound, impossibly soft yet full of amusement, and stands up to walk outside, Joe right on his heels. As soon as they’re outside, the front door firmly closed behind them, Nicky pushes him up against the side of the house. Alright, a couple of things might have been lost in translation, Joe thinks as Nicky’s hand creeps under his shirt. He’s unsurprisingly okay with this.
“You couldn’t have waited until nighttime?” Nicky asks, lips a breath’s away from Joe’s. By the way he’s currently groping Joe, he doesn’t seem too upset about their current predicament.
Joe can’t help looking down at Nicky’s lips, they’re right there. All he has to do is lean in and then he’ll be-no. That’s not what they’re here for. At least, not yet. “I need you to let us win,” Joe rushes out, before he completely forgets why he even asked Nicky to come out here in the first place.
“Huh?” Joe drags his attention away from Nicky’s lips to meet his husband’s eyes, barely suppressing a shiver at the heat he finds behind those blue eyes.
“Lose,” Joe eventually says, nodding as he remembers that yes, they need to lose. “I don’t think we should push Nile on this one.” In the past few months since joining their team, Nile has never said no to any of the training they’ve thrown at her. Flying planes, jump starting cars, sword fighting, all things she has willingly subjected herself to despite some of their more unconventional training methods. “She’s really terrified of horses.”
Nicky hums, leans forward to brush their noses together. “And what will I get?”
“The satisfaction of helping your teammate and husband?” It’s taking all of Joe’s willpower not to bridge the gap between their lips. He can practically taste Nicky already. He just knows that if they start, he’s not going to be able to think about anything other than Nicky for awhile. “Me?” Joe adds when Nicky remains silent.
“I already have you,” Nicky says and to prove his point, he moves both hands down to cup Joe’s ass. Oh fuck. Joe’s hand fly up to Nicky’s waist, fingers twisting in the material there, pulling the fabric taught around his shoulders.
Fuck, he didn’t think that one through.
“Joe,” Nicky says, “Eyes up here.” His lips are quirked up at the corners and Joe wants to groan. Why are there so many places he wants to kiss? “My lips are not my eyes.”
Smug, smug bastard.
Devastatingly pretty, though.
“Is that all you have to offer?” Nicky asks once Joe has managed to meet Nicky’s eyes.
“What do you want?”
Joe really hopes its sex.
“I want,” Nicky starts, squeezing Joe’s ass and leaning in to press soft, open-mouthed kisses all along his jaw. When he reaches Joe’s ear, he pauses.
Joe can definitely get behind this want.
“I want,” Nicky starts again, this time in a whisper. Joe shivers, sucks in a sharp breath, ready to agree to whatever Nicky is going to say next. “I want you to fix the heater.”
Joe nods, because yes, he can definitely—wait, what? Joe opens his eyes, and when did he close them? “You want me to what?”
Nicky leans back, looking too fucking pleased with himself. Smug bastard. “I want you to fix the heater,” he says, slower this time and in a completely normal voice.
“But-I-what?” Joe definitely missed something. Nicky’s hands move from his ass to cradle his face. Which, no! Go back!
From the way Nicky chuckles, he figures he says the last part out loud. Joe doesn’t care, this man was literally there in Brussels and nothing could be more embarrassing than that. “I am freezing at night. I want you to fix the heater.” The heater. Right, the heater. The heater that’s in the crawl space. Fuck, the crawl space.
“I don’t want to go in the crawl space,” Joe whines. He hates crawl spaces. It’s always disgusting down there, home to a billion spiders and rats. If he wanted to be in that kind of environment, he would have gone to Paris.
“Andy is going to do something to me for purposely losing. I think the crawl space is a very generous offer.”
He has a point.
Dammit.
Nicky smiles, already knowing that Joe is going to take his offer. “You can do it tomorrow,” he says, all sweet, like it matters what time of day it is when you’re in the crawl space. It’s dark in the morning and it’s dark at night.
“How kind of you,” Joe responds sarcastically. Then, remembering his hands are still in Nicky’s shirt and their deal was made and sealed, asks, “Want to make-out now?”
Even though Joe will have to put on the awful body suit and go down to the crawl space tomorrow, he counts this one as a win and it has everything to do with the way Nicky pushes him up against the house.
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