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realcube · 3 years

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you flinch during an argument pt2

navi | masterlist | part one

thank you to anon for this request

characters ♡ sugawara, bokuto & akaashi

tw ♡ cursing, angst, mentions of abuse, hurt to comfort, hinted ptss, mentions of ashes/cremation & parent! reader in bokuto’s

KŌSHI SUGAWARA

♡ a grimace; the expression sugawara had been wearing for the last 10 minutes as he bickered with you in the kitchen while cooking his meal prep

♡ “i just don’t understand why you need to study for hours on end. at this point, i think you’re just making excuses to avoid me.” sugawara spoke, his incomprehensible tone making it impossible for you to decipher whether he was being kind or condescending, or whether that last comment was supposed to be a joke

♡ “why would i do that?” you inquired innocently, keeping your gaze fixated on preparing your own meal. honestly, he didn’t deserve even a shred of your attention after elongating the conversation to no end. “exams are less than a week away and if i don’t pass then the last two years will have been for nothing. not that i’d expect you to understand.”

♡ you acknowledged that was a low blow, but your mind told you to just blurt out the first thing that you knew would make him shut up, and it unfortunately worked.

♡ immediately feeling a wave of wave of regret wash over you, you shuffled over to his place at the kitchen counter, pressing your cheek to his arm to show affection before muttering, “sorry, i didn’t mean that. please don’t take it personally, kōshi.”

♡ usually an act like that would put an end to one of your silly squabbles but today was different

♡ out of the corner of your eye, you noticed something come flying towards you and — contextually — it didn’t take long for you to figure out that it was sugawara’s hand

♡ that was enough reason your mind need to take the following course of action: your arms shot up to shield your the side of your face while your knees bent, brining you closer to the ground while your eyelids squeezed shut

♡ although after a few without the expected impact, your eyes fluttered open and you dropped your guard, allowing yourself a few moments to collect yourself before looking up at your boyfriend who’s demeanour had changed completely from a few seconds ago

♡ now, his face was pale and his jaw was tight. as for his eyes, not so long ago they were faux-soft, now it was as if he had witnessed a crime; his pupils were constricted and his eyes were wide. he still stood tall as always but he appeared to be frozen in place, with his arm — that you had deemed a threat — looming above your head

♡ you glanced up for a moment just to take a look, and upon noticing how his hand was cupped, you realised that his intention was to pat your head. it was a gentle gesture which he did often to show affection so you couldn’t help but wonder why you’d ever assume he was going to inflict harm on you

♡ “(y/n)!” he finally managed to choke out, hastily retracting his hand back to his side, “are you alright?”

♡ you were unsure as to why he was asking such a question, considering that he didn’t even lay a finger on you, but you answered none the less, “i’m fine, are you?”

♡ it was clear that you didn’t think much of your actions, which made sugawara even more concerned. if he were to be completely honest, he wanted nothing more than to pull you into a hug and prattle on about how much he loved you and how he would protect you with his life for hours on end, but he knew that’d be an immature way to deal with such a situation so acting in an adult fashion, he stood at a respectable distance from you and spoke concisely

♡ “why’d you flinch?” he blurted out, feeling like a complete idiot as you replied almost immediately with, “i’m not sure.”

♡ your nonchalant and unaffected attitude made him wonder if he was making a big deal out of your simple action, since you didn’t seem that bothered by it at all. however, his morals spoke louder than logic and told him that he needed to resolve this issue, even you didn’t view it as such.

♡ “i swear i’d never do something like that.” was all he could think to say. so he decided it was best to stay silent right now, allowing you to head up to your room to study without another word spoken.

♡ the next hour or so was spent trying to think of something to say to you. evidently, he was at a loss for words and all he could do was bury his face into his arms and mentally curse himself for being so confrontational over such a trivial problem

♡ eventually, he came to the conclusion that you’d probably want some space so for now, he’d allow you to study in peace and come out to talk when you are ready

♡ but he is still sugawara, so expect there to be a place of sliced fruits outside your bedroom accompanied by a little motivational note

KŌTARŌ BOKUTO

♡ arguments with bokuto only came once every blue moon since you both seemed to agree almost all the time, and even when you didn’t, bokuto would either apologise within less than a minute or simply oblige because he hates seeing you mad at him, or just mad in general

♡ but sometimes — no matter how much he apologised — you’d still resent him for whatever he did, and a part of him just felt like that was so unfair. perhaps it was a childish thought, but why can’t you just understand that he made a mistake and move on? after all, he always learns and it’s rare that he makes the same mistake twice, so why are you still angry?

♡ plus, he always forgives you immediately when you do something wrong. he just wanted the same treatment and he realised this at the worst moment possible.

♡ “saying sorry won’t fix it!” you barked, wiping away the tears as they fell from your lashline. your skin felt like it was on fire but you paid no mind, just focussing on remaining stable and not losing yourself to a crying fit, “it’s gone forever now, i hope you are happy.”

♡ bokuto seeing you upset more than anything, and knowing that he was the cause of your tears only made things worse. he felt so worthless.

♡ the only words combatting the voice in his head telling him that he couldn’t do anything right, were the ones reassuring him that it was simply an accident and that if he had known that there were ashes in that jar, he would’ve been more careful when walking around it.

♡ “i don’t know why i take this from you.” he muttered under his breath but still loud enough for you to hear. of course, you thought you had misheard him as you knew him better than to say something so audacious, “huh?”

♡ “i don’t know why i take this from you!” he repeated, but this time he lunged forward to yell it right in your face so you’d hear him for sure. “there’s nothing i can do to fix it now, so why can’t you just forgive me?! i’m so sorry and i’d do anything to make it up to you yet you are still so fucking nasty to me! no one wants to be with a stubborn bitch!”

♡ blinded by rage, it took him a few moments to realise that you weren’t standing as you were before he lunged at you, but rather you had stumbled backwards and were now on the ground with your hands raised in defence

♡ as much as he wanted to continue with his momentum and yell at you while you were down, his subconscious acted fist by outstretching his hand to help you up, “(y/n), why are y--”

♡ he cut himself off as something finally clicked in his mind, helping him realise that he was the reason you were on the ground. you must’ve flinched and fell backwards when he suddenly moved towards you, but why? i mean, it’s not like he was gonna hurt you. so were you just surprised? well, if you were just shocked by his movements you probably wouldn’t be defensive and appear terrified.

♡ upon coming to this conclusion, bokuto dropped down to his knees and shuffled towards you, evidently having calmed down as his cheeks were no longer red with fury and his eyebrows had separated.

♡ “i’m so sorry.” he mused with wide-eyes, his blank expression and stare kinda scaring you as not even for a moment did he release you from his gaze.

♡ ‘sorry’ appeared to be the word of the day

♡ “i’m sorry too, kō.” you admitted, lowering your head and allowing the hair that hung down in front of your face to shield you from bokuto’s penetrating stare. “i know you didn’t break it on purpose, so of course you are forgiven.” you knew the feeling of frustration all too well, and you were ashamed that you were cause of it for bokuto.

♡ like magic, your statement pulled bokuto out of his trance and back to reality, where he was able to beam and throw his arms open to offer you a hug, “you don’t need to apologise. c’mere!”

♡ you hesitated at first, but there was truly nothing more comforting than the sight of bokuto’s bright smile and glistening cheeks under the golden sunlight which seeped in from passed the blinds; it was almost angelic. hence you found yourself leaning into his arms without a second thought, finding solace in the way his shaky breath tickled the warm skin of your neck

♡ though he didn’t say much in the moment, the image of you cowering in fear away from him will permanently be inked into his mind

♡ but that’s not to say his words didn’t have an effect on you

♡ your kid grew up knowing endless forgiveness and tolerance from both you and bokuto, as whenever you saw your son’s golden eyes gaze up at you through a stream of tears, all you could see was bokuto, and all you could hear was him calling you a stubborn bitch

♡ it was almost funny how your brain made that correlation, but rather than laugh, you simply smiled and kneeled down in front of your son, cupping his cheek in your hand, “it’s fine. i forgive you.”

♡ the poor boys glossy gaze flickered between you and the shards of the mug he had chosen for you scattered across the floor

♡ his teeth gritted together, presenting an expression of anguish which was only highlighted by both of his fist curling into balls before he lunged forward to throw his arms over your shoulders and bawl into your chest, “i’m so sorry!”

♡ you pouted, glancing between your son and bokuto who just stood with an awkward smile on his face, watching the scene while knowing full well that it was mostly his fault for entrusting a fragile mug to a four-year-old

♡ although, it wasn’t as if you could stay mad at either of them; you love them too much

KEIJI AKAASHI

♡ arguments with akaashi were rare. after all, communication is key in a relationship and he ensures that you both tell each other everything. hence you can see the irony in the situation where his order of transparency is exactly the reason you were so pissed off.

♡ “please tell me what’s wrong, dear.” akaashi almost whispered, trailing behind you like lost puppy while you stormed towards your front door in order to lead him out

♡ “i’m tired, i said i‘ll tell you later.” you groaned, feeling guilty for being so impatient with him but you truly didn’t have the energy to argue or explain how you were feeling tonight. really all you wanted was to get some rest and discuss everything in the morning but akaashi clearly felt like there was something deeper that needed to be unpacked first.

♡ “you say that but you’ll probably be too tired tomorrow as well.”

♡ you quirked a brow, taking a pause and leaning against your doorframe just as you were about to lock him out, “and so what if am? goodnight."

♡ “don’t be immature.” each word sharper than the last, they stung your eyes.

♡ “tomorrow, akaashi. love yo—"

♡ the next few moments were a blur. It was as though your body reacted on it’s own to seeing akaashi reach out towards your face, so without a moment of consideration, you found yourself jerking away from his touch; appearing alarmed while your heart rate skyrocketed for reasons beyond your knowledge

♡ once your mind was finally able to comprehend what happened and absorb the context, it didn’t take long for you to figure out that he outstretched his hand so he could tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ears, an act of affection he performs often yet it just happened to slip your mind

♡ akaashi yanked his arm back to his side, staring at his hand — eyes filled with disgust — as if he were presented with a murder weapon. despite that, his self-loathing was short-lived as he immediately inquired, “are you okay? do you need water?” he wasn’t really familiar with the ideal procedure he should take in a situation like this, so he used his judgment which told him that water was the solution to most problems, hence this should be no different.

♡ before you could deny his offer, he was already rummaging through his satchel in search of his water bottle, and once he found it he was quick to hand it to you

♡ after taking a few sips of water, you placed his bottle back in his bag and zipped it up for him, “thank you.” you murmured, not sure as to whether you should apologise or just play it off as if nothing happened. however, guessing by the dazed look in akaashi’s eyes, it would be safe to assume that these events have been permanently inked into his memory

♡ for the first time ever, he was truly at a loss. usually people would look to him when in trouble – or even danger – but now he was the threat, the cause of your stress

♡ perhaps it was because of how long you’ve been together, or maybe it was due to the fact you converse so often with him, but you could read akaashi like an open book. where others see a deadpan, dull setter; you see your boyfriend who is just in desperate need of affirmation from time to time

♡ a few minutes ago, you could’ve sworn you didn’t have enough energy to smile or communicate your feelings but here you were now, wearing the sweetest grin you could muster and humming in a honeyed voice, “i really do love you, keiji. and i’m not afraid of you either.” to emphasise your point, you leaned forward to plant a brief kiss on his cheek and tuck an imaginary loose strand of hair behind his ear, all while he stood speechless. not that you expected a reply anyway.

♡ “i love you too, dear.” akaashi finally uttered after an elongated period of silence.

♡ it was amazing how much you could tell simply from his eyes. his irises no longer vibrated as if they were pending an eruption, and pity behind his gaze seemed to have dissipated slightly. there was still somewhat of a glassy look to them, but he could say the same about yours.

♡ “goodnight. i’ll message you in the morning.” he smiled, mimicking the kindness in yours well as he turned around, promptly heading towards the bus stop with a final wave of his hand

♡ and he didn’t lie either. not only did he text you goodnight again, at exactly 6AM you received a notification from none other than akaashi himself reading:

♡ ‘good morning, sweetheart <3 how’d you sleep? i’m about to head to the shop, do you need anything?’

♡ although you denied his offer, he ended up buying you your favourite drink anyway

#sugawara x y/n #sugawara angst #akaashi angst #bokuto angst #akaashi hcs #akaashi keji x reader #sugawara headcanon #hq sugawara #haikyuu sugawara #sugawara scenario #sugawara imagine #sugawara kōshi #akaashi x you #hq akaashi #hq bokuto #akaashi headcanons #akaashi x reader #👾angst

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whumpurr · 3 years

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Adrien and Sawdust part 7

cw: pet whump, whump recovery, male caretaker, male whumpee, dehumanized whumpee, conditioned whumpee, dissociation, self harm, bodily mutilation, blood, knives

masterlist

Adrien almost fell multiple times as he ran downstairs as quickly as he could. His feet stumbled and he nearly fell down the stairs but only managed to keep himself upright by the handrail and the sheet speed he was going at.

He didn’t see Sawdust at first, but he knew that he was in the kitchen. He heard sobbing and wailing from behind the counter, and he followed that.

“Sawdust! Hey, hey, I’m-” He hooked around the corner of kitchen island and was greeted by the bony form of his pet, bright red blood streaming down one side of his head and soaking into his shirt and hair. One of Sawdust’s hands, now freed from the duct tape, was cupped over his ear, fingers all red with blood. Adrien dropped to his knees next to the pet.

“Hey, it’s okay, shit, I’m gonna call someone.” His hands hovered around Sawdust for a moment before going to fish his phone out of his pocket. He dialed the emergency number for the hospital and crushed the phone to his ear with his shoulder, using his hands to gently urge Sawdust’s hand away from his ear.

“Hello?” He said into the phone as soon as he got someone on the other line.

“Hello, sir, what’s your medical emergency and address?”

“My pet he- fuck- I think he cut his own ear off? I need help.” Adrien said, trying his best to keep his words concise. There was a beat of silence from the other end before the person returned.

“Sir, are you speaking about your… pet?”

“Y-yeah? One of the person ones? Should I uh- should I have called a vet?”

“No sir, I’m afraid both hospitals and veterinary clinics do not service those kinds of pets. Have a good day.”

“Hey, hang on-!”

The line went dead.

Sawdust was still howling on the floor, and the blood was beginning to drip onto the floor.

“Sir, Master, your pet is sorry!” Sawdust sobbed. “Sor-sorry for the- the mess on the floor, sorry, Master!” His voice was high and reedy and rough from the screaming, Adrien could barely understand his words through his tears and wobbly lips.

“It’s okay, let me see, let me see.” He reached up and snatched a roll of paper towels from the counter, gently adjusting Sawdust’s head so he could look at the wound. He couldn’t even really see that much through all the blood, it made him a little sick to look at. He tore off some of the paper towel and pressed it to the wound, using his other hand and more of the paper to wipe away the blood from around it as best he could, but more blood just kept gushing out.

“Your pet, I-” Sawdust hiccupped, “I’m your property Ma-Master! I shouldn’t h-have damag- ngh- damaged your property!” He screamed. He was shaking so much, shivering all over. His whole body was taut and tense, not pulling away but certainly not leaning into any contact with Adrien.

“Shh, it’s alright, try to breathe, okay? You’re gonna be fine.” Adrien tried to soothe Sawdust, even though his own voice trembled. The pet was crying so hard that he almost couldn’t manage a breath.

The blood cleaned up quickly, Adrien at least getting it to the point where he could see the wound. It was a jagged, uneven, diagonal cut across the shell of Sawdust’s ear. Adrien didn’t know where the piece that he cut off went, but he didn’t really have time to care about that.

“I have a first aid kit somewhere, will you be okay if I go get it?” Adrien said, tentatively pulling his hands back, only for Sawdust’s bony, bloody fingers to wrap around his wrist. The grip wasn’t tight at all, and Sawdust didn’t pause his wailing to look at Adrien, but Adrien was compelled to stay. He remained on his knees and continued to hold the paper towel over Sawdust’s ear.

“Okay, we can uh- just do real first aid stuff later.” He nodded, trying to seem resolute. “You’re gonna be okay, just-”

“Ma- Master,” Sawdust squeaked out. He reached one of his shaky hands out, and picked up the bloody knife, leaving a smear of bright red on the white kitchen floor. Resting the knife on Adrien’s lap, he continued to cry. “Please p-punish your pet, your pet is so- so- sorry-”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Adrien snatched the knife and put it behind him, further away from his pet. “I’m not gonna do that, I won’t hurt you. You didn’t- look, I just won’t punish you.”

That sentence forced a scream out of Sawdust that was so hoarse and so pained, so entirely filled with despair. It looked and sounded like that declaration hurt more than the actual injury did. All the strength was sapped from his body, he was sat on his folded legs and leaned down until his forehead was against the cold tiles and just wailed, hands pulled close to his chest. Adrien chase his head down with his hand, keeping the paper towel to Sawdust’s ear in the hopes that it will stop bleeding.

He watched the feeble, bony figure on his kitchen floor. Adrien was at a loss for what to do.

Sawdust was at a loss for what to do. He didn’t understand. His master took away his ears, he forced him to eat, he ran right to his pet after it damaged his property, and he wouldn’t punish it.

What was Sawdust even good for?

He wanted nothing more than for Master to just punish him already, absolve him of the guilt of all these bad things he’s done. The guilt of the mistakes, of forcing Master to care for him and feed him and house him. It wasn’t fair.

Sawdust didn’t deserve any of these kindnesses. They made his head and heart hurt, they made him want to cry and beg. He had hoped that this would either satisfy master so he could get his ears back, or that it would anger Master enough to finally hurt him. He couldn’t stand living in this state of limbo forever, Master not praising him but not truly punishing him either.

He’s never had to think so much before. He wasn’t supposed to think like this. In his old life he had to do was follow the directions from his master, and let his stupid head grow even dumber from disuse. But now he was constantly guessing what he was supposed to do, why Master had him in the first place. Why was master devoting so much to a stupid pet who didn’t have a purpose? One who didn’t deserve it?

Did Sawdust… not deserve a purpose?

His head hurt.

Sawdust screamed and screamed towards the floor. Adrien didn’t know if it was right to put a hand on his back, but he did it anyways, stroking that expanse of skin as soothingly as he could manage.

Finally, finally, Sawdust stopped wailing and went limp and panting on the floor. Adrien pulled the paper towel back, and it didn’t seem like more blood was welling up in the wound for now.

“Come on, come on,” Adrien dropped the bloody clump of paper on the floor and scooped Sawdust up in his arms. The pet’s face was lax, eyes distant and not seeming to track or recognize anything. He was loose in Adrien’s arms, save for the occasional sniffle or jump in his chest as his breath hitched. His eyes were red and his cheeks were wet with tears.

Adrien laid him down on the sofa in his living room, deciding that he’ll just throw the cushions’ covers in the wash if he had to. With Sawdust in such a state, he didn’t reach out when Adrien left to get the first aid kit.

Adrien had to gently push and pull Sawdust’s head to get him to tilt it so he could apply the ointment and gauze onto it and wrap it up. The pet didn’t even wince when Adrien handled it.

“I don’t know if you… If you can hear me, I guess.” Adrien sat down on the floor by Sawdust’s head, “But I really, really don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m sorry.” He felt kind of stupid talking to Sawdust when he was like this, showing no response.

“Obviously you’re not- not happy here, I don’t know. Should I find someone else to take you? I don’t know anyone, but I, I could probably find someone.”

Sawdust blinked slowly, and shifted a little. A little bit of recognition came back to his eyes.

“It’s fucking obvious I haven’t been doing a good job with you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’ve given you a home that makes you feel like you need to do- do this to yourself.”

Silence stretched between them. Sawdust’s fingers twitched where they rested on the fabric of the couch.

“I should’ve thought more about this before I did it.” Adrien reached out and ever so gently pet Sawdust’s head. “I’ll try to find someone that can take you, give you a better home.”

With small, stained, damaged fingers, Sawdust weakly held on to Adrien’s wrist.

taglist: @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @neuro-whump @whump-me-all-night-long @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpzone @whumpcreations @dancinglifeboat @pinkraindropsfell @looptheloup @cowboy-anon @meetmeinhellcroutons @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #pet whump #pet whumpee #adrien and sawdust #whump recovery #whumpee #caretaker

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punkpresentmic · 3 years

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Traitor Aizawa AU Pt. 3 — 1, 2:

Shouta ran away in the middle of the night. When Hizashi woke up, it was to an empty bed, to fists pounding at their shared suite, to UA in lockdown. Hizashi was immediately forced outside & taken in for questioning.

Shouta had left Nezu a resignation letter, in his own unmistakable handwriting. It's blunt, concise, & it contains detailed descriptions & evidence of his betrayal. It makes no excuses for his actions & it does not discuss his motivations.

When Shouta visits that night weeks upon weeks later, he says nothing of the letter & nothing of his motivations. Shouta is silent as Hizashi sobs, dutifully keeping his Quirk erased as asked. It's been a pressure building on Hizashi for far too long, so when the dam breaks, there's no stopping it. It's an unwelcome but necessary catharsis—one he needs because of Shouta, one he can have because of him. Hizashi cries himself to sleep in his husband's arms.

& in the morning, again, he wakes up alone. It could have been a dream, but this time there's a note on his nightstand. It's painfully simple, the script rushed: I'm sorry I couldn't be here when you wake up. I'm sorry it has to be like this. I want to talk with you soon. I love you, Hizashi.

He should report this. Shouta betrayed UA, he's a wanted villain, & he expressed interest in taking Eri. Hizashi should turn in the letter.

Hizashi makes himself a coffee, & he sets the letter in front of him, & he stares at it blankly while the Sun rises slowly outside. The moment the light hits it, it's like the decision has made itself. Hizashi puts the letter through their paper shredder, tucks the pieces into his pocket, buys a muffin at a coffee shop, & throws half of them away in his napkin in one trash can, half of them in another down the road. He doesn’t tell a soul. Not Nemuri. Not Eri. Not Nezu.

He has to see Shouta again.

It’s two weeks before there’s another Shouta sighting. One day Hizashi comes home & senses the difference immediately. &, oddly, it's not a bad different. He knows exactly what it means. So, he takes off his gear in the entryway. Locks the door. Takes a few calming breaths before he calls into the apartment: “Honey, I’m home.”

He steps into the bedroom. Sure enough, Shouta is sitting on the bed.

Hizashi stops. He looks like shit. Exhausted, face sallow like he hasn’t been eating, eyes red & irritated like he hasn’t been using his eye drops. It occurs to Hizashi that his prescription probably ran out. He can remember the last time he picked up a bottle from the pharmacy; he’d teased Shouta about his 'special eyes' that regular eye drops don’t work on. “How did you know I was here.” His voice is rough too. Hizashi wants to offer him water, a meal, something. He hovers in the doorway.

“I’ve felt your absence since you left. Of course I know when it’s changed.”

Shouta says nothing. Hizashi relents slightly, asks him if he’s eaten. As expected, he gets a shake of the head. Hizashi turns on a heel, brings the both of them tea & leftover takeout. Shouta scrunches his eyebrows in confusion when Hizashi hands him what’s always Shouta’s order. Hizashi shrugs, nonchalant as if he didn’t take up ordering it after Shouta left. Shouta opens his mouth to speak, but Hizashi holds up a hand. “Eat.”

& they do, in silence. Shouta is positively ravenous. Hizashi has so many questions. So many questions. But he shares this strange meal with his husband, wordlessly offering Shouta what he doesn’t finish as well. Finally, Shouta clears his throat. “You didn’t tell anybody about me.”

Hizashi doesn’t have it in him to glare—to make any expression, really. It’s all very… heavy. Fragile. Ephemeral. Breakable. Dangerous. Wrong. Hizashi purses his lips. “You’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do.”

He winces. "Hizashi, I wish I could tell you everything, but I can't."

Hizashi swallows the emotions that rise like bile in his throat, a potent mixture of fury & nausea. He has little control of what falls from his mouth. “You know, somebody referred to you as my ex the other day.”

Shouta’s expression is pained. He shakes his head & pulls his wedding ring out from its necklace tucked away as always in his ratty costume. Hizashi almost laughs. When Shouta commits to something, he commits fully, with his whole chest. It’s why so much of this doesn’t make any goddamn sense. It all threatens to choke him, but he laughs around the lump in his throat & shakes his head too, taking Shouta’s hand & squeezing hard to imprint the indent of the ring he put there into his palm. “It’s just not right, man.”

This time, Hizashi takes a page from Shouta’s book & bumps their foreheads together like a cat. Hizashi offers a watery smile. Shouta lets his eyes fall closed, inhales deeply. “I know it was too much to ask in my letter for you to believe that I'm still the person you believe me to be, but…” Hizashi freezes and pulls back, causing him to trail off.

“Shouta… what are you talking about?”

A flash of confusion, then fear crosses Shouta’s face. “The first letter I wrote to you. When I… When I left.” Shouta’s eyes search his for any sign of recognition, clearly troubled when he finds none. “I wrote everyone in my class letters. & Nezu. & Kayama. Hell, even Yagi—do you really think I wouldn’t face you of all—”

“—Shouta. None of those people received letters. Besides Nezu. I read your… resignation letter. Saw the evidence you laid out so logically for him. But I…” Hizashi’s blood suddenly grows cold. “Shou, the police took me down to the station that morning & searched the apartment. I didn’t think they took anything.” His breathing picks up. “They never told me anything about a letter—”

Shouta is barely breathing. Finally, after a long pause he swallows. “Nezu. Nezu must have found his first & arranged for a search & seizure. He would have extrapolated there were more.” He wipes a weary hand down his face, shaking his head. “You never… None of the students…” He covers his eyes, which must be aching. Hizashi has never been hesitant to offer physical reassurance to Shouta Aizawa, but he hesitates here & hates that he does. He pulls Shouta close with an arm over the shoulders.

“It’s alright,” he lies. Shouta knows. “We can talk now.”

So Shouta reiterates what was in the letter: what he’s done, how he loves him, how he wouldn't leave or do this without him if he had a choice, how he intends to return when this is settled, how in the meantime he would trust nobody else to watch over his students & Eri, how he needs Hizashi to trust that he is who Hizashi knows him to be.

“How am I supposed to be certain of that?” Hizashi whispers when he’s done.

It hurts him, Hizashi can see that. But all of this hurts. “I don’t know how to answer that.” They’re still holding hands. “But I want to,” he adds. “I want to prove it to you.”

“I want that too.”

There’s a tension in the air as they hover, faces close, uncertain if it would be okay to kiss each other. They think better of it, pull back with small sighs.

Instead, they discuss Eri. Shouta has been watching from afar when he can safely. He knew how she was struggling with her Quirk. He saw the doctor visits that hadn’t improved anything. He wanted to help. He also knew that he couldn’t sneak into UA forever, that the instant UA caught wind of it security would render it impossible & arrange for his capture. But if she’s with him, he can still help.

Hizashi shakes his head. “Shou, wherever you’ve been, it’s nowhere fit for a child. Your Quirk helps her, but her support network is here at UA. You were part of that network. & now you’re not. She is not leaving UA.”

Shouta shrinks, & after a moment he nods. He was always one to listen to reason. Hizashi, again, has to relent. As far as he can tell, Shouta only wants what’s best for her & it’s killing him not to be able to participate in that. So Hizashi elbows him lightly & pulls up pictures on his phone of all Eri has been up to lately, some of the students also making appearances. He leans Shouta onto his shoulder. It’s a tender moment. Almost normal. But all too soon it has to end. It’s not safe for Shouta to stay the night & there’s a certain window of time he has to catch to slip past security.

Shouta says he’ll return. He squeezes Hizashi’s hand as he goes to the window—the hand with his ring on it. Promises.

(pt. 4)

#isaythings #fic #traitor aizawa au #traitor!aizawa #angst #erasermic #but wait! there’s more! <3 #i will keep talking abt this whether or not any1 asks abt it & that’s a threat fjdjdj #but you’re also welcome to ask abt it 👀👀#in case it 👀👀#inspires smthn 👀👀

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merry-thieves · 3 years

Text

Alastair and the Merry Thieves being friendly toward each other...(in CoI)

I hope I found all the important scenes!

““I have tried to apologize. and to change,” Alastair said, and even through the door Cordelia could hear his voice shake. “How can I make amends for my past when no one will let me?” When James replied, there was real kindness in his voice. “You must give people time, Alastair,” he said. “We are none of us perfect, and no one expects perfection. But when you have hurt people, you must allow them their anger. Otherwise it will only become another thing you have tried to take away.” Alastair seemed to hesitate. “James,” he said. “Does he-””

“...and even told Alastair that his hair looked nice.”

“She’d had no idea James knew any Persian beyond a few words for food, “thank you,” and “goodbye.” Even Alastair was staring at him with a mixture of surprise and respect.”

““You told me before that Alastair kept your father’s condition from you during your childhood. That you never knew about it.” “That’s true.” “I suppose I never realized until tonight what a great effort that must have taken. It is not an easy thing to hide. And not an easy thing to confront someone about it, if you fear they have - such an illness.””

““Bloody hell,” said Alastair. “I hope James sent him packing with a flea in his ear.” “Good for James, which are words I never thought I would speak during my lifetime.” “James will understand that.””

So, James is the first of the Merry Thieves, what we know of, to be (sort of) genuinely friendly to Alastair

it’s not a friendship but James starts to respect Alastair for what he did for Cordelia all these years

in turn Alastair also respects James and actually calls him by his first name and not “Herondale” any longer

““That was the first decent thing Alastair ever did in his life. And to think I was here to see it.””

Matthew still can’t really stand Alastair but he’ll admit to Cordelia that Alastair is not always a terrible person

“Thomas cleared his throat. His hazel eyes were steady as he said, “I came to tell you that I’m sorry about you father. I really am.””

Thomas starting to think about Alastair’s feelings again ;)

“Matthew sat down with a thump. Thomas stared at Alastair with a dazed expression. Gideon looked pleased, if not a little bit baffled by every else’s stunned expressions. “Er - what?” said Christopher - speaking for them all, James felt.”

I don’t know, I just love how Alastair surprised everyone

also, Alastair protecting Thomas but I don’t think that he had platonic reasons

“Alastair kissed Cordelia’s forehead. As he did, he closed his eyes, and James felt the strange sense that he was getting a rare glimpse at the intensity of Alastair’s true feelings.”

James seeing the real Alastair :)

““I know you don’t care particularly what happens to Alastair, but I do.” She hadn’t meant she words to come out quite so pugnaciously. After a moment, James said, “Daisy, what Alastair did was quite brave. Not in the least because he did it for someone he knows dislikes him.” “it was rather selfless,” said Lucie. “Honestly, we do care what happens to Alastair.” “We do?” Christopher sighed. “I feel as if I can never quite keep up.”

So, we have James caring for Alastair’s fate

and we see that Christopher isn’t against liking Alastair but he will only do so if the others can forgive Alastair

which probably means that he has no personal grievances with Alastair (Christopher is simply perfect <3)

I tried not to include any romantic scenes between Thomas and Alastair but rather scenes with them actually speaking with each other

“Alastair looked amused. “Never before have I ever heard such a concise statement of the ludicrous philosophy with which you and your school friends go through the world, running toward danger,” he said.”

““My point,” Thomas went on, an edge to his voice, “is that I don’t think you believe the rude things you say. And I don’t understand why you say them. It doesn’t make any sense. it’s as if you want to drive everyone away.” He paused. “Why were you so awful to us in school? We never did anything to you.””

““Then you lot arrived, a bunch of boys from famous families, too well brought up to understand at first what went on far from home. Expecting the world would embrace you. That you would be treated well. As I never had been.” Alastair pushed back a lock of hair with a shaking hand. “ I suppose I hated you because you were happy.””

“But they had spoken more truthfully to each other in the last few minutes than they had in their entire lives.”

I think we can safely assume that Thomas likes Alastair and that Alastair likes Thomas after the Sanctuary

Alastair finally told one of the Merry Thieves why he did what he did and can tell Thomas that he sees his errors

Yet, I’m not sure if Thomas has actually forgiven Alastair or just tries to repress his memories of the Academy

“Alastair looked dismayed; Thomas, who was used to his uncle’s ways, shrugged. “You’ll get used to it,” he said to Alastair. “The more alarming the situation, the more frivolous my uncle’s demeanor becomes.””

Thomas talking to Alastair in a friendly way in “public”

““Do you want some seraph blades?” Thomas was about to protest that he’s already taken several when he realized Christopher wasn’t talking to him. he was talking to Alastair, who seemed to have remained at Thomas’s side.” “Alastair nodded his thanks and took the weapons. He headed to the front doors while Thomas was still fastening his jacket. Christopher followed -”

“Thomas exchanged a quick glance with the others. He had no intention of being kept back so he could stand at a window with a witch light. If the Institute was being attacked, he wanted to be out there, defending it. It was Alastair who moved first. He started down the steps, Christopher and Thomas on his heels. Thomas coughed as the air thickened around them, suffused with the rank, damp smell of salt, fish and rotting seaweed. As they reached the bottom of the steps, Thomas’s boots came down in freezing water. He could hear Christopher exclaiming about scientific impossibilities. “Well, it might be impossible,” said Alastair, rather reasonably,“ but it’s happening.””

“He sloshed farther into the courtyard, through the ankle-deep water, Christopher and Alastair nearby.”

“Christopher shouted hoarsely and ran toward his father as shilling-size drops of scarlet blood pattered down around him. Thomas scrambled to his feet and dashed after Christopher, hurling himself at the massive tentacle. He plunged his seraph blade into the rubbery treen-black flesh, over and over, dimly aware that beside him, Alastair Carstairs was doing the same.”

“Alastair clambered onto a pile of rubble, spear in hand, turning to help Thomas up after him.”

Probably one of the best parts in the book: Alastair, Thomas and Christopher fighting together

Christopher noticing that Thomas and Alastair are seemingly on good terms and immediately being friendly to him

“Thomas had taken Cordelia aside; James heard him say something about the battle, and the name Alastair, and he saw Cordelia brighten. So Alastair was alright; James realized he was relieved about it, and not just for Cordelia’s sake. Interesting.”

James starts to actually care about Alastair’s well-being, interesting indeed James

I’m starting to sense a new and fifth member of the Merry Thieves

““Alastair,” Matthew said.” “Stuff good terms,” said Matthew. “Alastair, Cordelia assures me that you have a heart. She says you’re different than you were at school. The boy I knew at school. The boy I knew at school wouldn’t visit my brother, just to spite me. Don’t make your sister a liar; she’s a better person than you are, and if she believes in you, you should try to be someone she can believe in. I know I do.””

Not exactly a friendly conversation but Matthew actually called him “Alastair”

Though, I’m not sure what to think of what he said after that; it’s a mix of acknowledgement that Alastair can be a good person and a threat

““Alastair!” he called, again, and Alastair turned, a look of surprise crossing his face. Alastair said something to his cousin, then beckoned to Thomas as Je mood some distance away, offering them a semblance of privacy. Alastair looked at Thomas inquiringly. Thomas, who had realized almost immediately that he had no idea what to say, shifted from one foot to another. “You’re all right?” he said eventually. “I didn’t get to ask you, after the fight.””

Thomas caring about Alastair’s well-being ;)

“We cannot pretend forever,” said Alastair. “eventually the truth must be faced. All of your friends hate me, Thomas, and with good reason.”

I wanted to end with this quote since it shows what Alastair thinks the Merry Thieves think about him

in reality: Thomas is in love with Alastair (but he definitely should face his own inner demons before starting a relationship with Alastair)

Christopher seems perfectly willing to forgive Alastair and begin a friendship with him when his friends also forgive Alastair

James cares about Alastair and respects him -> possible friendship on the horizon

So, everyone basically forgave him except Matthew

Matthew and Alastair did make progress but also not really

What did you think about this whole thing? Be free to tell me if I missed some important quote and if you would add anything to my comments!

Also, should I do something similar like this again? I was thing maybe a Gracetopher or Thomastair compilation?

@thegreatests @my-lady-of-roses @foxglove-airmid @blackasmysoul

#tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #tlh #the last hours #Chain of Iron #coi #choi #chain of iron spoilers #coi spoilers #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #james herondale #christopher lightwood #Matthew Fairchild #merry thieves

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kusagrasskusa · 3 years

Text

Kabuto and Adoptive Reader - "Shihaikigo"

Part 1, possible a part 2 (will be linked if it comes out)

Summer: Kabuto had been walking home from a fight and met a little girl there. She had a special kekkei genkai called a Shihaikigo, meaning "controlling marks," which contained the ability to control half the mind of an opposer. She's willingly taken to the Sound Village after she began to trust Kabuto and there she met Orochimaru. She would either be sent to another Sound Villager to be raised or stay under Orochimaru's watchful eye until her kekkei genkai gets stronger. If Kabuto were to aid Y/N in life and to raise her, he could be killed in order to break down Y/N. She's very distrustful in a lot of people but Kabuto since they met. Her kekkei genkai is something that is strong enough to rival a Sharingan or Byakugan so Orochimaru plans to use to for himself one day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laying there, on the sidewalk on a rainy night, helpless was a child with long, messy, hair and a soaked light-grey dress with red stains. She had no shoes, no home, no comfort, and nobody. She was essentially useless; helpless in this dark, cruel, magical world full of demons, heros, and killers. No matter where she searched for any kind of sanctuary or light, there was nothing. She was left with no motivation or thing to hold on to as right inside the very woods that surrounded the village she is in, was a clan hidden deep within. In this clan was very few powerful, but nonetheless meaningful and strong.

They managed to survive alone and strongly for centuries since their beginnings, as their kekkei genkai is the ability to control 25%-50% some signals heading towards someone's brain, which can therefore nearly control their actions and thoughts and feelings. Of course, such power comes with restrictions. The hair of the people in the clan is very sacred; although it could be cut, it limits the ability for them to use their kekkei genkai forever, even when the hair regrows. If their power is overused, they will be become sick and possibly will be paralyzed, mentally unstable, and others even among death.

This power is stores within three marks on the person's body; it doesn't matter where they are as long as it's on the head, neck, palm, or shoulders. The mark travels between the brain and fingertips, and the user then has to touch their opponent with their fingertips in order for their power to be in use. As mentioned, it has a limit so typically the user's kill is fast and clean. For it's dark advantages and evil disadvantages, this power is represented with horns and a halo;

This clan was feared quite a lot for it's abilities, and most people are raised to never use their abilities as it could be dangerous. But some people would use it on accident as it was surprisingly much easier to use than thought. And it was a certain child's accidental use of that power that caused her to be so helpless on the pavement of Konoha on a dark, wet night. It was empty and alone on these streets aside from the sound of slow footsteps immersing from the left side of her.

The six year old girl barely turned her head to the person walking passed her; he didn't even seem to notice her. But upon seeing his silver hair, a sparkle appeared in her eyes; it was too foggy to even notice the difference between this snake and the ninja she thinks he is.

"Kakashi, is that you?" Ahe asked weakly, slowly standing up. She pulled her arms to her chest, shaking as the cold rain began to rain down harder. The man in front of her stopped, paused for a moment, then slowly turned around k face her. "Oh...I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else." The girl's look returned to hopeless as she hung her head low.

"Why are you out here all alone at night? Where are your parents?" He asked emotionless as he pushed his glasses up, eyeing the helpless girl. The girl was silent for a moment before whimpering a little. Then all at once, she broke into tears and collapsed onto the concrete floor beneath her. The man stared at her hopeless form for a minute, watching her cry and whimper before he finally crouched down besides her. He pet her back before sliding his hand up under her chin, moving her head up so he could see her clearly.

"You are part of the L/N Clan, aren't you? You possess the Shihaikigo kekkei genkai, do you not? I can see marks on your skin." The silverhead asked, cockkng his head to the side. The little girl sniffed as she wiped away her fallen tears, her lip quivering as she nodded. After a moment, he hummed. "Why is there blood on your dress?" He asked as he wiped away her tears.

"I didn't mean to," she whimpered out. "It was an accident..." And just from that, Kabuto understood. The blood was from her parents; she accidentally killed them. He smirked lightly upon seeing her fragile body break down once more, but this time she lunged towards him and wrapped her small arms around him and clenched his clothes tightly. She cried into his chest as Kabuto brushed his fingers through her chair.

"It hurts, doesn't it? To have lost everything you had ever cared for just like that. And you fear the people around you will hate you; hurt you emotionally snd physically; kill you. It's truly frightening. Such a shame someone so oung has to endure such a thing, hmm?" He asked as he pat her back. She remained in her broken state, his more quiet and listening closely to him. "However, what if I told you there was a way to make these problems disappear? I know people who will except you and love you and raise you for who you are."

Y/N pulled away, her small hands wiping away her tears once more. "But...but...killers don't deserve happiness," she breathed out softly. Kabuto clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

"I think you'll find that everyone deserves happiness. Except," he paused, gritting his teeth as a wider smile appeared over his face. "Excpet those who try to take it from you because they have no idea what you've been through. Selfish people like that will never deserve happiness." Y/N pure yet terrified E/C eyes stared deep into his; she was so young, so naive and so gullible.

"I, for one, believe you deserve happiness. You're a little girl who made a mistake. That's all," he spoke, looking down at her with such manipulation in his eyes. "You deserve a good home with a warm bed for you and nice food. You deserve good parents and most of all, happiness. Don't you want that?" Y/N slowly nodded her head, never breaking her gaze into his eyes. She was so helpless that it was sickening for Kabuto to pry on such a little girl and obviously only for her kekkei genkai.

Y/N sniffed, sighing a shakey breath before replying. "Thank you...so, so much, suh-sir. I really do want things to go back to normal," she replied. She wrapped her arms around him again and sobbed away her last tears in his chest as he held her close. He was patient with her but the heavy rain and fog was making it very hard to see through his glasses. Suddenly, he burst out in a little laugh.

"How rude of me to offer this before I even introduced myself. My name is Kabuto Yakushi. What is your's?"

"My, my name? It's Y/N L/N," she mumbled as she pulled away from him for the last time. "I just really, really, want things to go back to normal. Please, take somewhere safe, please," she begged. Kabuto softly wrapped his larger hands around her waist and picked her up while standing up straight as well. He held her close smiling softly at her with closed eyes and a tilted head. Y/N smiled back at him and giggled for the first time in a while.

He than began his walk to his original path with Y/N in his arms. Along the long walk, he would ask a question about her age, clothing type, school life and grades, hobbies and other things, and he'd give his own answer as well. Anything to get to know each other. Puddles splashed with each step he took and the clouds seem to just get darker and darker. But luckily, about 30 minutes later, it all came to a stop once Kabuto had arrived to his destination: the hideout of Orochimaru or Otogakure.

"Stay here for a little please, Miss Y/N," Kabuto spoke lightly as he walked inside the underground home. "I must go talk to someone right now, but I'll be back with a surprise," he smiled at her as he left her by the entrance doors. She waved goodbye to him as a large smile remained on her face as she was happy to finally by out of the rain. Kabuto's face dropped as he walked to Orochimaru's room in order to discuss Y/N to him. On his way, what played in his mind was the conversation he had with her on his way here.

Such a young girl was capable of such intelligent responses and detailed storytelling. She may have stuttered here and there but overall she was very consistent and concise. She reminded him a lot of himself as he was willing to abandon his orphanage and family to make them live a better life out of fear for their lives. Y/N attacked her parents for nearly harming a few civilians out of thr goodness of her heart. The situations may have been different but deep down, his heart was just as pure as her's at one point in time.

"A member of the L/N clan, you say? My, my Kabuto, you found quite the prize," Orochimaru smiled darkly as he finished hearing the word of his pawn's finding. "Is she capable of using the Shihaikigo?"

"Yes. In fact, she ran away from her clan because she ended a life with it despite her young age," he explained with a dark smile on his face. "She has a very intelligent mind as well."

Orochimaru laughs were hushed as he considered his moves with the girl. "Perhaps after Kimimaro could be her, don't you think? After all, her kekkei genkai is worth as much as a Byakugan or Sharingan; what good is simply seeing chakra when you could control it? A power like that must be harnessed," he thought out loud. "How about this... A girl of her age can't comprehend what it's like to have a meaning or worth and what giving up her life for another would mean. We will raise her to be desensitized to any evil she sees before we break the truth to her."

Kabuto nodded, "Understood, Lord Orochimaru."

"Well, don't just stand there. I'd love to meet the child," he laughed as he looked Kabuto in the eye again, his smirk growing. Kabuto obeyed and walked out, returning again later with a soaked little girl by his side. She was so happy when she heard she could meet the one who would make her dreams come true, only to be met with fear when she saw the pale snake-like man himself. Her smile dropped and she started to shake; Y/N hid behind his leg, staring at the creature with fear in her eyes.

"Y/N, dear, you can't always judge a book by its cover. This man is Lord Orochimaru; it would be wise to-"

"Come now, Kabuto, this reaction is understandable really." The snake stared down at the little girl with interest glimmering in his dead eyes. He then extended his hand towards the little girl crouching down before her. "Give me your hand, darling. I don't bite, I promise," he laughed. Y/N's lip quivered as she looked up at Kabuto. He had an encouraging smile on his face that told her everything would be alright. That's all the validation she needed before reaching out to take Orochimaru's hand and have him pull her closer.

He held her chin and examined the three marks along her body (you choose where they are :)) before laughing once again. "You're kind is so incredible. That even a child managed to murder with it. Yes, truly incredible." Y/N's eyes widened with fear and she started to freak out even more.

"Mister Oro...Orochimaru, I don't understand," she mumbled fearfully. Orochimaru brushed his fingers over one of her marks and then stood up, patting her head.

"You'll understand one day, child. I promise you," he said as he looked at Kabuto. "Do you wish to help raise her or have other ninja do it?"

"I want to stay with Kabuto, Mister Orochimaru," the little girl called out. Kabuto's dark eyes looked down at her small form. He felt helpless against the adorable voice of the girl and sighed out loudly. She turned to Kabuto and took his hand, hugging it possessively. "Please don't leave me! I just met you and you're the only friend I got now! Please, Kabuto, I'll be good, I swear!" Orochimaru raised a brow, laughing.

"You are good with children, I see. Good. If you wish to take her, I'm sure you would have no problem finding food and clothes for her, right?" Kabuto crouched down by Y/N, her still hugging his hand, and chuckled before booping her nose. He could guess that Orochimaru may kill him in order to destroy her and use her in the future, but for right now, a little more time with the girl wouldn't hurt. After all, it had been quite a while since he had been near a child. In the back of his mind was always the home he grew up in and forever, he will miss it. If being around a single happy child will make him feel more at home, so be it.

The thing is, Kabuto doesn't care about Y/N enough to care about raising her; after all, Orochimaru may kill him. However the idea of having a piece of his past that was taken frkm him back meant a lot to him. So why throw it away? And the thing tipping the scale towards possible death was Y/N's adorable big E/C eyes and cute voice, just like some of the girls in his old home. Plus how she can expirence what it's like to be parentless and be able to relate to him kn a deep level.

"Alright, I made up my mind," Kabuto spoke.

"Kabuto, please," Y/N spoke, her dry eyes swelling up with tears again. "I want to stay with you." Orochimaru smiled at Kabuto patiently, awaiting an answer.

"I'll take her in. It's best to keep a watchful eye under such a kekkei genkai, isn't it?" He asked rhetorically. Y/N gasped loudly before smiling widely and hugging him so tightly.

"Thank you! I promise you woke regret it, haha!" Kabuto frowned, patting the top of her head.

"Let's get you cleaned up before we sleep, Y/N. While you bathe, I'll find clothes for you, okay?" He asked as he pulled away from her hug. Y/N smiled happily as she nodded grabbing his hand before desending out if the room with Kabuto. Orochimaru stayed behind, watching closely, laughing under his breath about how innocent she is and what his plans for her will be.

It had been an hour later when the two of them were ready to go to sleep. After all, although it wasn't mentioned earlier, Kabuto was dirty from fighting earlier that day and he needed to bathe as well. Of course, separate from when Y/N did. The silverhead's chamber was relatively large and minimalistic, though now more crowded with a little mattress across the room and two bags full of clothes for her age group. There was a big bed, a dresser, a mirror, and a bunch of candles around the room for a light source. There, of course, was no windows and no toys for Y/N to play with much to her dismay hut she was too tired to question.

"You will sleep in my bed tonight," Kabuto spoke as he helped Y/N climb into his bed. "If you need anything, let me know. I'm blowing out all the candles so if you need anything, you have to speak before you doing anything else, okay?" Y/N yawned and nodded in understanding.

"Yep. Thank you," she replied as she rubbed her tired eyes and laid down. Kabuto blew out each candle on every side of the room before he returned to the small mattress across the room. It was comfortable but it would be removed so as Kabuto would eventually get Y/N a chamber of her own to sleep in of course. He pulled the covers over him and set his glasses on the floor besides him. "Hey Kabuto?"

"Yes?"

"I love you as much as my real dad. Thank you."

Kabuto frowned, taking a moment to comprehend what she had said. "I care about you too. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite," she giggled before slowly falling asleep under the covers.

#kabuto x reader #kabuto #kabuto yakushi #kabuto yakushi and child reader #child reader #adoptive child reader #naruto x reader #naruto #naruto shitposting #naruto shippuden #orochimaeu is a snake #anime #shounen #reader insert #x child reader

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autistic-yuri · 3 years

Note

“He/she/they lost his/her/their soulmate,” Yueki?

Hehe. Hehe. HEHEHEHEHEHE

There’s an old woman who lives on Kyoshi Island. Everyday, she sits on her porch all day and night, stuck in old memories that she can never recreate. She’s been living there forever, and very few knew her full story.

There’s rumors, of course.

“She’s a direct descendant of Kyoshi,” One girl says.

“She was a rogue Kyoshi Warrior,” says another.

“She fell in love with the Avatar, who broke her heart,” a third says.

The fourth is more curious. “Why don’t we ask her?” She says.

“Well… she doesn’t talk to anyone,” the first says.

“My sister says to stay away from her,” the second says.

“She can’t speak!” the third one says.

The fourth one looks at the old lady, feeling dejected.

She goes home later, kicking a rock on the way home.

She asks her mom and brother about the lady. They are more concise.

“Well she apparently used to travel with the Avatar,” Her mother says, tossing a salad.

“And was a kick ass warrior!” Her brother says, with lots of enthusiasm.

“Why can’t I talk to her?” The young girl says.

“Well, its simply taboo.” The mom shrugs.

“I heard she only talks to the moon!” Her brother shared.

“It’s because she lost her soulmate,” The girls grandmother emerged from her room for supper.

“Mom, what?” The girls mother replied.

“Yep,” her grandmother didn’t say anything more.

“Grandma, soulmates don’t exist,” the brother obnoxiously responded.

“Shhhh, dummy. She knows,” The young girls eyes lit up, as she hopped over to her grandma. “Grammy, please please please tell me about her!”

The old woman looked down at her grandchild, and smiled. “No.”

The girl felt her heart shatter. “Why?” She sobbed.

The old lady ran her hand through the girls hair. “You must ask her yourself,”

“Mom!” The girls mother yelled again.

“I do?” The young girl said, with big eyes.

“Yes, bring her some moon offering, and she’ll tell you.” The grandmother smiled slyly and slipped the girl a tea packet, with a crescent moon shape on it.

“Mom, she can’t go do that,” The mother tried to stop these antics, but the girl was already running out of there.

“Sorry mom, I’ll do extra dishes!” She yelled back quickly.

The girl made it through town and down to the small house. Looking at it in the full moon’s light, it was an ethereal place that could be in the spirit world.

The girl approached and found a small rope leading up to a crescent shaped bell. She pulled on it, and a little jingle came out.

The girl bounced in front of the door for a few minutes until it opened, revealing the old lady.

She was sad looking up close, her wrinkles causing her face to droop. She looked like she’d been crying too.

The little girl didn’t notice any of this though. She just quickly took out the tea packet, and lifted it up to the elderly woman. “I want to learn about your soulmate.”

The old woman frowned, and took the packet. “Why?” She croaked.

“Because I’m curious and you’re the only person who can help…” the girl said sheepishly. The old lady’s eyes twinkled and she nodded.

The girl excitedly squealed, and the woman led her inside the house.

Inside the house were even more moon themed objects, along with a lot of painting and tapestries. The paintings and tapestries all depicted either the moon, the moon spirits, or a girl with dark skin and white hair.

The woman eventually opened the door to the balcony, which had a perfect view of the full moon. The sat down in a chair, next to a tapestry depicting the girl with white hair sitting in a pond.

She motioned to a rug, depicting to two moon spirits. The little girl sat down on it.

“So, you want to know about her?” The old lady said, not making eye contact with the little girl.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please, my name is Suki, call me that.”

“Okay Miss Suki.”

Suki seemed like she was about to correct the girl, but continued on. “This story has sadly been lost to time. Some tried to tell it, but it was never written, and all those who knew the oral story forgot to tell it. Including me.” Suki took a deep, remorseful breath before starting her exposition . “I was a member of Avatar Aang’s team. I traveled with them for awhile. Aang needed a water bending teacher, so we went to the North Pole.”

“The water bending teacher was a…” Suki stopped herself from using the word she was going to. “A prick. But there was a girl there. And she was the most beautiful person I had ever laid eyes on. Sadly, my best friend already had his eyes on her. So I simply didn’t try.”

Suki let out a faint laugh. “If fate hadn’t been a sneaky man I wouldn’t be lamenting this. One night, I couldn’t sleep. I’ve never liked sleeping. And as it turns out, the girl was a sleep walker.” Suki gained a smile on her face that was similar to the one that melted this girl. “I caught her from falling under the bridge and getting wet. She awoke and… it felt as if something connected.”

Suki, for the first time since starting this tale, turned to the young girl. “Now, soulmates are incredibly rare. One in a million people will have a soulmate, and many less will find theirs. But when you do, your souls are tied together, and you gain a permanent mark of theirs.” Suki lifted her sleeve all the way up to her bicep, where two fish swam, one white with black and one black with white. Just like the rug.

“Tui and La. They made it so that this girl was the only one like her. So of course she had a soulmate. Sadly, fate is as evil as he is sneaky.” Suki rolled back down her sleeve, and stared off again.

“We had so little time together, and I feel like we didn’t make the most of it. For, only a month after fate pulled us together, he ripped us apart.” Suki took a shaky breath. “The Fire Nation invaded and killed Tui. Without Tui, the world was thrown out of balance. But, as fate would have it, someone could save everyone. My soulmate saved everyone. But I lost her in the process.”

Suki began to cry, but continued on. “A-and the thing about soulmates is that if they die, a part of you dies with them. And sometimes I wish, so hard, that we weren’t soulmates. That it didn’t feel like a part of my soul is missing.”

Suki was full on sobbing now. “I helped end the war, for her. But I wasn’t happy. The second it ended I returned home and shut myself in, shutting everyone out. And my friends all eventually died too, joined her. But I haven’t. And I’m empty. And I just want her.”

The girl watched the old lady sob, unsure as to what to do. She eased herself up, off the rug, and approached the woman, gifting her a hug.

A child’s hug could be a drug with how good it felt. It could light up a person just with one small gesture. Children were so pure, and this was why Suki fought all those years ago. For the children. That’s why Yue died. For the future generations.

The child was silent until the woman’s sobbing desisted. Then she pulled away and asked, “Is that her?” She pointed at the tapestry. Suki nodded. “She’s pretty! What’s her name?”

Suki took a second to respond. “Yue.”

The girl went silent, and Suki wondered if something was wrong, until she muttered out happily, “That’s my name.”

And Suki cried again. Not tears of sorrow, but of joy. For Yue lived on, unlike she had thought.

That night, knowing her lover’s story would be told, she finally reunited with Yue. They shared a hug amongst the stars, as Suki became a bright star, shining next to the moon.

The little girl named Yue would tell their stories. She went home that night, did the dishes, and wrote the story down. She glanced at the moon and saw the bright star next to it. She named it Suki, and the next day, Suki was gone.

#asks #flowers inthepieshop #atla #yue #suki #yueki

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timerainseternal · 3 years

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It has occurred to me that Five’s life is basically one big stream of failed successes, which is very interesting since he’s a very competent character overall. We know he is extremely good at physical tasks (best assassin in the timeline and has the ability to manipulate space, yeah I think he has it covered), mental tasks (solved time travel with equations on his own, can consistently come up with pretty solid, if risky, back-up plans), and is resourceful and able to improvise. Sure, his social skills are pretty bad, but he even improves on that in season 2 with his attempts to bring his siblings together instead of being almost solely independent like season 1. This isn’t to call him perfect (he really isn’t) or anything like that, but just to point out that rightfully, he should be more successful in the show than he is. I know his failure is mostly because the writers can’t have him actually succeed, since his goal is basically to stop the conflict in the show, but I’m pretty sure he thinks the universe hates him a whole lot (and it does!).

To emphasize how constant this is, I’ve gone overboard and made a timeline of Five’s major goals, and how they failed. I’ve counted most of them as failed successes, in that he technically did complete his goal, but not in a way that mattered to his actual goal, or in a way that created new problems to solve. Below a read more, since I am incapable of being concise.

Time Travel:

The first, and biggest, failed success. He did succeed at time travelling! He just was unable to go back and got stuck in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Confirmed failed success.

Time Travel Back:

Well, it took him forty-five years and he accepted a deal to become a time-travelling assassin, which wasn’t getting out on his own steam. Despite that, it didn’t take him that long to finish his equations while at the Commission, so presumably he was pretty close to getting it at that point. Also, even though he was technically time travelling forwards from 1963, he was able to get all his siblings back in time like a week later without time to work on his equations between, so he probably would have been able to get back. In short, he did get back (though only to 2019 and not 2002, so he didn’t ever get back to when he left), but became an assassin, and also physically thirteen, in the process: failed success.

Prevent the Apocalypse:

This is a big one so I will break it down into steps as well, but it is also a failed success as a whole since he did not, in fact, stop the apocalypse (or he stopped the original one but caused a different one in the process, depending on your point of view), but he did protect his siblings and himself from it as well as give themselves another chance to fix it. Failed success.

Get Information on the Eye:

Did eventually get the information from MeriTech, which told him nothing about who the eye belonged to. Failed success.

Get Information from the Commission:

Found out who they were protecting, did decent damage to the Commission HQ, and managed to hunt Harold down. Success! But Harold was already dead when he found him and had already set the apocalypse in motion, and the Commission was only temporarily damaged and it gave Five a shrapnel wound. He was also lulled into a false sense of security by the apparent end of the apocalypse. Failed success.

Mental Healing:

Goes to put back Dolores, finally able to let go of her as a coping mechanism and realizing he can find other avenues of self-exploration and development. Wonderful, Five, I’m very proud! His absence from the Vanya situation keeps her trapped (since presumably he would have jumped her out of there?), leading to the apocalypse that is the root of most of his trauma. Whoops. A very failed success, and a very sad one too.

Stop Vanya from Ending the World:

Well, he doesn’t actually really help that much here? He agrees to kill Vanya but doesn’t succeed. This one is mostly on Allison. As a group, though, they succeed in not making her set off a sonic boom or whatever it would have been, but they do blow up the moon, so. This one is just a failure.

Escape the Apocalypse:

As mentioned, Five does manage to get them all out of the apocalypse safely and without bodily changes! He did scatter them across the sixties and landed himself in another apocalypse immediately, so: failed success.

Gather Siblings:

It's like herding cats. Luther says no, Diego breaks out of the asylum, everyone has a love life all of a sudden, etc. This becomes an ongoing goal, and one that has varying levels of success at different points. Success level: oscillating.

Find Reginald:

Well, they do find him. He also stabs Diego and Pogo scratches Five :(. Then they go to the gala, get attacked by the Swedes, but they do get Reginald’s attention which leads him to invite them to a light supper. This one is a successful fail, since they basically get Reginald to find them at a time and place of his choosing.

Get Advice from Reginald:

Well, this meeting leads to everyone getting un-adopted, and the advice Five gets isn’t helpful to his immediate dilemma. He also has to see Reginald again :(. However, the advice is useful later, so: failed success.

Make a Deal with the Handler:

It does technically succeed, this one, in that he is extremely good at murdering the Board, and the Handler does give him a briefcase. It does have a time limit because the Handler is awful, but presuming that it actually did what she said, and if the siblings had all shown up, it would have been a full success! In practice, however, given the actual results: failed success.

Gather Siblings (Speed Round):

He gets 3 (2.5, sorry Ben) of them, so fully half! Only half, though. And the others had planned to come (sometimes with others, you naughty rulebreaker, Vanya), but got attacked/kidnapped/knocked out. So, getting half is kind of successful, but in this case it was all or nothing, so it’s a straight failure.

Get Briefcase from Past Self:

He doesn’t murder himself, so that’s a kind of success! It’s the only one, though, since even though he told other-Five the right equation that doesn’t actually help him any, since he remains thirteen and without a briefcase. He also gets to kick Luther square in the nuts, which is a success of sorts. Still a failure, though, especially because as he deals with that, Vanya’s preparing to end the world accidentally again and he doesn’t even know about that.

Go With Vanya:

Admittedly, it seems like he kind of doesn’t have another goal at this point, but that’s okay, since the apocalypse of ‘63 has been prevented and this is finally granting full success to the goal of Gather Siblings! However, since he is being framed for the murder of the Board (well, I say framed. He did actually do it), the Handler can use that to justify all of the Commission agents showing up, and can use this opportunity to kill the whole Academy and get Harlan too. I mean, she totally would have done the same thing whether or not he killed the Board, but it’s a nice excuse, and Lila also hates Five. In any case, though he has technically completed the goal of going with Vanya and supporting her, now they have to fight a whole lotta people. Failed success, I guess.

Protect His Siblings:

This, really, is the only actual goal he has in the show, and everything else is the steps to get there. And he fails the first time around! Traumatic! Luckily he was able to turn back time in a feat of badassery, and turn the biggest failure--a situation where he watches his siblings die and cannot save them and will never be able to save them and they’re dead forever--into his biggest success--discovering a new and very useful power, saving them all from death, ending remaining threats [the Handler and the Swede, (though the Swede is technically the one to actually kill the Handler, Five did thwart her plan and semi-directly led to her death, and I think he deserves to be the one who killed her, so there)], making a truce with the Commission, and getting them a way back to an apocalypse-free timeline. Failure followed by success.

Go Back to 2019

They did go back to 2019, just not their 2019. They’ve been un-adopted and the Sparrows exist, but there doesn’t seem to be an apocalypse in sight. Failed success.

Basically what I’m saying here is that despite being one of the most focused, consistent, and results-driven characters on the show, he rarely truly, fully succeeds. The real message here is that Five needs a win, a break, something. I hope in season 3 he gets it, or at the very least gets the chance to go absolutely wild. He deserves it.

#tua #the umbrella academy #tua meta #five hargreeves #he deserves better #absolutely nothing really works out for him #also before this he was a child soldier #which he seemed to be good at but can we really call being good at being a child soldier a success?#i dont think so #to be fair the other siblings don't get that much success either #i think their counts might be a little higher than Five's #they just also get a little bit longer to process things than Five does #and also their goals aren't quite as cataclysmic when they fail #(except for Vanya #but I don't think the apocalypse was ever necessarily a goal per se #but more of a byproduct)

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writingsfromhome · 3 years

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Bad Timing I(.5)

A/N: This is the sort of backstory to Harry and you, I think it can be read on its own if you want, or before you read the first part too. It’s angsty af, but it has some death and sensitive topics jsyk. I tried to keep it concise but it got a little wordy as angst does. xx

Part 1

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

About 12 Years Ago:

“So are you coming to that party or not?” My roommate asks. She was one of the first people I’d met last year when we started uni and even though we came from different backgrounds we remained friends over the last year, even choosing to room together again. She got me to open up and find the extroverted part of me that was able to enjoy uni outside of academics.

“Ugh, I’m volunteering for the voting booths for the rest of the week. Maybe if I can make it?”

“You’re actually doing that?” She scrunches her nose. “I don’t get it. You’re just way too nerdy to be my friend.”

“And yet you loove me,” I squeeze her against me and she laughs. “It’s my mom, she said I had to do at least one extracurricular so I could meet friends this year.”

“You already have friends,” she points to herself, and with her came her group of friends that’d quickly taken me in last year.

And my mom doesn’t like that I hang out with you, I think. She thought we partied too much even though my grades stayed decent. “She wants me to have nerdy friends too, I dunno. They’re helping me pay my tuition until I get a job so I kinda have to play nice.”

“Parents suck,” my roommate flicks through her closet. I agreed, this was just something I would get through to get through. Then they would leave me alone for the rest of the year.

Little did I know the person they’d partner me with at my polling station was someone who would be in my life for the next decade.

“I’m Harry by the way,” he’d said after we received our orientation and assigned the building we were going to babysit the votes in. “Second year.”

“Me too! I’m Y/N. What’s your major? I’ve never seen you around.”

“Law--well I haven’t decided if it’s law but that’s what I’m in right now.”

“Really? Law?” I was openly judging, he just didn’t seem the law type.

“Well what are you in?” He demands.

“Business,” I cringe.

“Really? Business?” He has a cheeky smile on, one that would become familiar to me.

“Well, you just don’t seem like the law type. They’re usually more uptight, dress way too smart for me.”

“I know, it’s like, we’re not even in the courtroom yet,” he joins in and it makes me laugh--how he could poke fun at his own people. That’s when I knew we would get along fine, and I actually looked forward to the next few days getting to know him better.

“I’m definitely telling my mum about you, she’s been begging me to make friends outside of my circle. I’ll tell her I’m friends with a law student.”

“So we’re friends already?” We’d reached our booth and began setting up the partitions. He takes over when I set it up wrong.

“Obviously,” I say. “I actually like you which means you’ll have a hard time getting rid of me.”

“I’m alright with that,” he grins and I notice the laugh lines that are brought to life as he does. It somehow made him seem more genuinely.

We spend the rest of the time swapping stories, classes, rants. We check student IDs and hand out voting cards in between but it doesn’t feel like a drag anymore. At the end of the day, I invite him to the party my roommate was going to with our friends. If he was going, maybe I would too. He seemed like he might be fun at a party.

“Er,” he suddenly seems nervous. “I’ll have to ask my girlfriend, she wanted to hang out tonight.”

“Well bring her too!” I say excitedly. “Is she law as well?”

“No, she’s in the arts.”

“I like her already,” I push. “Bring her, my friends are fun you’ll learn how to have a good time.”

“I know how to have a good time,” there was the flash of his dimples again. “Text me the address.”

And thus began a friendship for the next four years, partying together, studying together (trying to), and hanging out in each other’s rooms. We would set each other up with other friends, double dated, went out for sunrise-hikes, and took long drives at night when we had to blow some steam off from being over-stressed, over-studied uni students. Our friend circles overlapped, the fabric of our lives eventually bleeding together. We were made of the same fibers, sticking together even after uni, when our friends got more serious about their careers. When they moved out of the country or to another city, we made sure to rent places close enough that we could still see each other often. And somehow, in the new chapter of our lives, without the partying and our other friends to buffer, we became closer than before.

We cared for each other--we didn’t deny that ever. And somehow that platonic love turned romantic as we depended on each other while we navigated adulthood. I can’t exactly pinpoint where things changed, but one evening our relationship was changed forever.

7 years ago:

“She literally wants me to stay until 7, and she was offended when I said no! I’m not even getting paid for that!” I was bitching to Harry about my shitty job.

“That’s bollocks” Harry shrugs. “Just say you’ve got family obligations or something.”

“I said that the one time she wanted us to come in on a weekend and she gave me shite work the following week! I just...I can’t afford to lose this job Harry.”

“That’s shitty, I’m sorry.” He takes the last swig of his beer. “Want another one?”

“I haven’t even finished this one,” I moan at my now warm beer that I’d been nursing for the last hour, too busy ranting to drink it. “It’s getting late though I should head home before it’s dark. Don’t want that nutter that hangs around my building to harass me again.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Harry suggests. He lived a 15 minute walk from me.

“No no,” I get up and take our dirty dishes to the sink. “I didn’t even ask about you, how was your day?”

“Same old,” he sighs against the counter. “I feel like I don’t fit in, everyone my age is finishing their law degree but I don’t think I want to.”

“I knew from the day I met you, you weren’t destined for the courtroom.” I pull him into a comforting hug. “Do what makes you happy, or what doesn’t make you want to say fuck it and quit your job to hibernate.”

“You really know the perfect thing to say,” Harry chuckles but he pulls me tighter against him. I stroke his back, reassuring him he’d be alright in the end.

“Y/N-” he pulls away to say something but freezes mid sentence. I raise an eyebrow but he’s still, staring at my face.

“Harry?” I ask, but he continues staring. “Hello? You alright?”

“Yeah,” he breaks into a sudden smile. That was weird--I make sure he’s okay before letting go.

Before I leave, I kiss Harry’s cheek goodbye--I was never shy in the affection I gave my friends and Harry’s bummed mood needed extra affection tonight. But what I don’t expect is for him to catch me before I pull away, staring intently into my eyes. The lighthearted energy between us disappears instantly as it dawns on me, how close we were, the unspoken feelings in his eyes, the hesitation before he presses his lips to mine.

I kissed him back then, barely understanding what was happening, before pulling away. I give him a smile but that’s just what he sees at the tip of the iceberg, underneath my mixed feelings churn away. My best friend just kissed me, and I wasn’t totally mad about it.

“It’s getting dark I-” I say as Harry says, “Sorry was that okay?”

We laugh awkwardly, neither of us sure what to do at this point. We decide to ignore it instead.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Harry lets me go and opens the door for me. “Watch out for the neighbourhood nutter yea?”

I stand in place, feeling the fibers of our friendship unraveling but feeling hopeless in mending the tear. “Take care Harry.”

I high tail it out, my thoughts going at an impossible rate as I sort out what happened. And we try to ignore it the next couple weeks,

We hadn’t made it official then, too nervous to face what this meant about our friendships. It was only at my sister’s wedding, that I realised what was wrong between us. I’d been mourning our old friendship, and avoiding him in the weeks since the kiss. But what I didn’t realise was that our friendship had been changing over the last year anyway, and getting drunk on champagne and dancing with Harry, while my sister celebrated the happiest day of her life, made me realise there was a cause for celebration here: a new chapter in our lives.

A couple days later, after a stressful day at work, I’d taken the tube to his flat and waited for him outside. He was surprised to see me there, not saying much except to open the door and let me in. As soon as he’d closed it, my lips were attached to his and we’d let our bags drop, coats, and any piece of clothing between us. After that night, we didn’t even try to deny how we felt about each other.

“I didn’t think I could ever be this happy,” he’s whispered to me after. I thought he’d fallen asleep but his whisper in the dark made me grin to myself. “Are you awake.”

“I am. Awake and happy.” I turn to face him, giggling. “Who knew this could feel so right.”

“Our first kiss was quite wrong though wasn’t it?” Harry says and it makes me laugh.

“That’s why I needed to do a redo,” I tease. “Can’t leave you to plan anything.”

“It wasn’t planned I swear, I was trying to be spontaneous.”

“Let’s not try ‘spontaneous’ again then,” I kiss him in the dark. He pulls me snug against him, I never knew how safe it felt. The safest I would ever feel, wrapped in the warmth with my best friend and now something else.

It was a good few months, testing the waters as our relationship underwent a transformation. All of our friends were supportive, but we never missed the glances between them. Apparently, they were waiting for this to happen. But as sweet as those first few months had been, finding out my mum was sick with a timeline was devastating. I came apart at the seams but Harry stayed through it all, holding me together. He’d proposed then, wanting my mum to be part of the ceremony. We had a small wedding, intimate but still magical. It was bittersweet, the amount of love and happiness I felt towards Harry and our loved ones around us as he said I do and as he took my arm and swept me across the dancefloor. But the amount of sadness crushing my chest kept me from being the weightless bride I always thought I would be.

Through it all, Harry stayed by my side. While we were hopeful, the day our hopes were dashed, the days and weeks I mourned. When my sister and her husband came to stay with their crazy toddlers and Harry kept them entertained giving my sister and I time together. I thought he was perfect, that I’d lucked out.

That lasted a few years, 3 and a half to be exact. There were months leading up to our split and we could point to a bunch of things that could’ve led to it. a) him wanting kids, and me wanting to wait or b) long hours we worked as we changed careers and tried to make our way up or c) how hard getting pregnant actually was. Maybe I pushed him away, or he didn’t love me enough to try and make it work.

I think I lied to myself, avoiding the tension creeping into the relationship. The tired excuses and time spent apart, the lack of usual affection, or casual conversations. I was an idiot, I realise every time I think about the end in retrospect. Maybe if I caught on earlier I could have fixed us before we fell apart. Maybe I could have saved us.

“There’s someone coming in Tuesday morning to fix the broken washer, will you be home?” I ask, still in bed and scrolling through my phone. I hadn’t meant to be up this early but Harry woke me as he got up and I couldn’t fall back asleep.

“No,” Harry responds, his back to me as he ruffles through the dresser. “I’ve got a thing that morning.”

“Well I’ve got to go in early Tuesday-I thought you might be home.” I say. I hear an edge to Harry’s voice but I try not to focus on it. He’d been a little cold all weekend and I was scared to think what it meant.

“You couldn’t be bothered to check in when you confirmed the date?” Harry asks harshly.

“I...guess not.” I put my phone down and wait for Harry to turn, maybe I could read his expression. Maybe he was stressed. “Harry?”

“What?” He turns, but he looks at me with no emotion. No stress, no frustration, not even anger. It’s the lack of emotion in his face that cause my eyes to prick with tears. Harry raises his eyebrows and I shake my head, untangling myself from the sheets so he doesn’t see any tears. I rush to the bathroom but forget to close the door out of habit.

“Y/N,” a kinder Harry appears by the doorway. His face has smoothed out the harsh lines, his eyes hesitant and cautious.

“What’s happened with us?” I blurt out. “Why are you so cold all the time? Am I doing something wrong?”

Harry’s face falls and he walks towards me but doesn’t touch me. “It’s nothing like that. It’s...I don’t know. We should talk.”

He reaches his hand out but I flinch away. “Did you meet somebody new or something? What are we talking about?”

“Let’s not do this here. Right now.”

“Why not!” I finally had enough. “I’ve been walking on eggshells for months Harry! I don’t know what’s wrong and I keep waiting for you to bloody tell me!”

“This isn’t working!” Harry raises his voice to compensate for mine. I’m immediately silenced by the volume, and then the words sink in.

“Is there someone else?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer, his gaze on the hanging vines by the window. My heart drops into my stomach like a boulder, and I find it hard to breathe. I clutch the porcelain sink and ask in a surprisingly even tone, “Harry. Answer me.”

“What we have, Y/N...it’s dysfunctional.” He says quietly, meeting my eyes. “It doesn’t matter if there’s someone else, we’ve been fighting for months. Things aren’t the same between us-”

“Who is she?” I ask. I needed to know.

“That’s not relevant,” he shuts my question down quickly. “I’m sorry Y/N, I...I don’t want to hurt you. I care about you, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t,” I’d pleaded. “We can go to counseling, talk it through-”

“I can’t Y/N.”

“Because of her.”

“No, because this isn’t good for either of us.” He’d walked up to me, cradled my face. “We’re not good for each other, not like this.”

“Who is she?” I yank his hands away.

“She’s...it doesn’t matter, I swear nothing happened between us Y/N. Knowing who she is isn’t going to help this situation--”

“It is! If it weren’t for her, you’d be willing to work on us--to see a future. You...Harry how could you do this to me? To us?” The tears come with no control. “You’re moving on before we’re even over. How are you giving up on us like that?”

“I’m not!” his voice booms in the tiled bathroom. “I’m not bloody giving up on us! I tried Y/N, so many times. I tried! You just keep pushing at me to be someone I’m not and-”

“I can say the same thing about you!” I throw the brush in my hands into the sink. “We were good! And you got it in your head you wanted a baby even though we’re young, oh my god Harry you kept pestering me to change my mind even though I told you I needed time!”

“It’s not like we could have a fucking baby anyway,” Harry says bitterly before realising what he’d said. “Shit-”

“There you go,” I mock. “I knew it. I knew you were holding that against me. And that,” I jab my finger into his chest. “Is what’s made you so moody, so mean and why we’re always fighting. You held it against me.”.

There was absolute truth to what I said. Last year, Harry had brought the baby topic up. I’d told him we were only in our mid-20s, we had a lot of time, and we still had a career to establish. But he would bring up the topic often enough that I’d given in.To make him happy. And months went by, trying for a baby. Went we finally went to our doctor, she’d told us why it was so hard, it could take us years she’d said.

Harry came home that day dejected, and left me feeling like a failure. I think it tore us up.

“You wanted a baby so fucking bad and when I couldn’t, it made me feel like a complete failure. And I told you that! And you did absolutely nothing to make me feel better. You held it against me, Harry! You didn’t even try to tell me it was okay.”

“It’s not so fucking simple,” he says, his cheeks flushed pink. Maybe it was anger, or maybe it was embarrassment from being confronted with an ugly truth.

“It is. And now you’ve upgraded to a newer model, maybe her version comes with a fertile womb.” I take the cheap shot.

He doesn’t say anything though. And I don’t know why that hurts more than knowing he’d fallen for another woman while he was still married to me. My best friend in the whole world had just broken my heart into a million irrevocable pieces.

“It’s a bunch of things Y/N,” he finally says. “That’s just part of it. We’re not...we’re just not working!”

“Did you even try to make it work?” I ask, swiping my sleeve across my face. “Did you ever think how I felt? How you made me feel Harry? You’ve been slipping away from me without talking to me-” I break off. I couldn’t speak through the heartbreak, the thunderstorm of grief threatens to consume me and my sobs are the only thing that manages to come out.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Harry tries to place a hand on my shoulder but I jerk away, moving to sit on the edge of the bathtub. “Y/N...”

“Just go,” I say through the tears.

“We can talk more about this later-”

"Just go,” I say louder.

Harry’s phone rings again from the bedroom and he sighs. But he leaves me, crying on the bathroom floor. The sadness that was always in my peripheral consumes me. I’d carried this sadness for a long time--ever since I found out my mum was sick, the sadness plagued me. I’d neatly packed it up once I decided to move forward with my life like my mum would want me to, but now it comes back tenfold, marrying the grief of losing Harry like this. And I stay on the floor crying my grief away for hours, eventually crawling into bed and sleeping the daylight away.

When I wake, it’s 6 and Harry isn’t home. I take that as a sign and get up to pack up a few things. I call my sister who still lived in London then, and crash on her couch, staying there for a few weeks and ignoring any call or text from Harry. When I need to go back, for my things, I find him sleeping on the couch with the TV on, something I always found endearing. But I can’t afford to dwell on how much it hurt seeing him like that.

He must have woken from the noise because when he finds me, he tries to stop me and tell me that we still needed to talk.

“About what?” I ask, just tired now. Too many tears shed and too many hours laying awake thinking about the exact moment we went wrong.

“Us,” Harry looked tired too. He was probably throwing himself into his work with nothing like me to hold him back, I think bitterly. His girlfriend had probably already been to our house--his house.

“What about us?” I barely look at him as I begin folding away all my clothes.

“I don’t know,” Harry sits on the bed. “Don’t you want to talk?”

“I’ve got nothing to say, do you?”

Harry sighs, “I don’t know.”

“Nice talk then,” I say, shoving the rest of my things in just so I could get out.

“I just want you to know I care about you Y/N, I don’t want to hurt you.” He says as I pack.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. If you cared about me, and you didn’t want to hurt me you wouldn’t have done this to us.”

“I wasn’t trying to--I didn’t mean to go and fall for someone else-”

“Just stop,” I cut him off. I couldn’t hear it, how the man I loved fell for someone else. I couldn’t break down here. Again.

He said he cared but it didn’t feel that way. It hurt more than I wished to admit. He knew what I’d been through and he still betrayed me, tossed my heart like it was replaceable. The cut he left in me ran deep.

As I leave he tries to talk to me, but I barrel past him. He still reaches for me and pulls me into a hug, I struggle against him but he’s too strong. He wraps me in his arms until I go still but it’s too much. A sob escapes me, and this time he lets me push him off and leave, my bag banging into my hips every time I take a step. As soon as I got into my Uber, I can’t stop crying. There was an infinite pool of tears where Harry was involved.

3 years ago:

My trust and my heart had been been lost in the war between Harry and I. It only took him a month to mail my divorce papers which sat collecting dust on my dining table until he showed up at work one day and demanded I sign them by the end of that week. I’d taken the day off the day I mailed those in, mourning the end of something that was once so safe and beautiful.

When a close friend calls me on a warm July afternoon, I don’t consider her warning that I shouldn’t check Instagram. That I still had Harry’s friends on my list. I open Instagram before she can tell me why, and see it. Harry was getting married, again. To the woman he gave up on us for. I try to zoom in on a picture without liking it, she was pretty...and blonde. She looked familiar--probably from his office. It didn’t take him long.

It was like someone had taken a retractor to the wound I thought had finally scabbed over. The physical proof that Harry had moved on is just the salt on the wound.

I cry myself to sleep that night.

2 Years ago;

The guy in front of me drones on about his job, mansplaining to me how a mortgage worked as if I wasn’t in finance myself. I excuse myself to use the restroom, checking my phone to see a text from my sister. She’d moved to Scotland this year, to where her husband was from, and I’d missed her terribly in the last year.

A little birdie told me your demon-ex just got divorced 🥂

I stare at the screen, chest feeling tight. I felt vindicated somehow, but I also felt a small bit of sadness. What a fuck-up.

Good for him I had texted back. A part of me wanted him to hurt the way he hurt me.

I went back to my date with a renewed enthusiasm. I’d ordered more wine and got so drunk he was actually interesting enough to take home.

About 1 year ago

“Y/N,” a voice from my past says, one that haunted me some nights. I turn as I exit the shop I was just in. I blink at the sight before me, Harry in a vest and hat. He realises what I’m staring at and laughs awkwardly. “I’m in uniform.”

“You’re...police?” I look up to his face finally. He hadn’t aged a day, although the hat he wears makes him look a little silly.

“Yeah I joined the force uhm...almost 4 years ago now...law didn’t really suit me.”

I know what he was doing, trying to find a baseline to have a conversation. But he was dead to me, and I didn’t want to invite him back in when I was finally forgetting about him.

"Seems like you dropped a lot of dead-weight four years ago.”

I watch his face fall as he realises I wasn’t going to pretend to be friendly.

“Seems that way to you,” he says cautiously. “But that’s not how it happened.”

I shrug. “So. I heard about the divorce. Must’ve been hard being put through that.”

I knew I was being petty, obviously I never got the closure I want (according to my therapist) and I wasn’t over him hurting me the way he did (also according to my therapist). This was how I got my peace, and it wasn’t the best version of me but it was the only one I knew how to be right now.

“Yep,” he crosses his arms over his chest. “So, are you seeing anyone?”

He knew I wasn’t, I don’t know how but the way he stoops to my level I know he knows I hadn’t had a long term relationship since him.

“Not at the moment,” I say awkwardly. “Just focusing on my job...trying to get this promotion.”

“Sorry,” he seems to shake off whatever had come over him. “That was...nosy, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Having him be the bigger person sets something off in me, like there was an anger-bomb inside my mind where he lived and knowing that he was doing okay enough to be able to be the bigger person disrupts this calm I was trying to keep.

“Maybe you shoudn’t have stopped me to ask anything at all. We don’t have anything to talk about anyway.”

I turn around and start to walk away but he catches up, “I wasn’t trying to upset you-”

“Well you have a way of doing that. Please just leave me alone Harry.”

He huffs beside me, “After all this time, can’t we just bloody talk like two adults?”

I freeze and turn to him slowly. He seems to sense this was the wrong thing to say because he takes a step back. “After all this time? Are you serious? I was the one you left behind Harry when you went off to lives your best lift Harry. We’re not living the same life, and we’re not coming from the same bloody place. Don’t fucking patronize me and ask me to talk to you like an adult when you bring out the worst part of me. I meant what I said: I want you to leave me alone. And you know what, if we ever run into each other again, just don’t even talk to me. Pretend you don’t know me. I want nothing to do with you.”

He opens his mouth but his partner calls him from the shop’s entrance. He stays silent, letting me go. As soon as I turn the street corner I rush the rest of the way to the tube, collapsing into a seat and trying to sort out my breathing. It was a shitty feeling, knowing someone was going to be in your life forever because you shared so much history that even when that part of your life ended they were still there. There was so much apart of me, around me, that reminded me of him. And it felt so lonely carrying that around. I wanted to be done with him, I wanted my heart to purge him out. But it couldn’t stop carrying him around everywhere I go.

#Harry Styles #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #fic #writingsfromhome #harry styles x reader #harry styles series #detective!harry #backstory #this one made me sad to write #but ALSO #if there are any errors #no there is not

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silverhandy · 3 years

Text

I saw the devil (in me) - chapter 2

contains some heavy spoilers for the devil ending

chapter 1 I ao3

If he was expecting a profound sign that V is gone, he found none. Night City was just as Takemura remembered it - crowded, flashy, and devoid of taste, both figuratively and literally. Vendors were outshouting one another, each determined to lure a potential client into an inevitable culinary disappointment. Takemura found himself navigating through the busy market that an unfortunate shortcut led him through. In hindsight, he should have ordered a cab and arrive at the address Viktor provided unscathed and in a much shorter time, but he felt the need to stretch his legs, or at least that’s what he’d been telling himself. He still had plenty of time before the memorial service started and he didn’t want to arrive either too early or too late - the first one would no doubt result in a lot of uncomfortable silence and the latter would make it seem like he didn’t care. Takemura wasn’t too keen on either of these options and that meant a long stroll through the city.

He could never grasp why V seemed to like this place so much. She spoke about it often, cursing corporations, gangs, and ever present exploitation to kingdom come, but she also seemed to fit in like a perfect piece of the puzzle, a small, but necessary cog in a living, breathing machine. She moved through it freely, her loud confidence and necessary caution interchanging in a wild dance that made the entire city spin. Where V shined, Takemura found himself losing rhythm, coming from the strict, organized world of the Arasaka military, and eventually realizing that he’d never learn the dance that made one feel at home in a place like this.

As he approached Vista del Ray, a strong smell of old frying oil and fish gave way to more subtle scents, identical all around the world in places like this, Heywood or Shinjuku, it didn’t matter. Cigarette smoke floating up and chasing the wind, too much cologne on a young, elegantly dressed men that almost bumped into him, too focused on going through his emails to look ahead, a dinner burnt, tenants desperately attempting to air the apartment by opening a window as wide as it would go, which unfortunately for them wasn’t very far. All of that mixing, shifting, evolving into what could only be called a smell of desperation and longing for an opportunity.

Takemura left the main street and turned left into an alley, feeling the intense stares of a group of young men leaning heavily on a graffiti-covered, brick wall. He knew the type, so he just gave them a warning glare, aiding them in measuring the odds. As expected, none of them approached him, having done the math and realizing that they stand no chance. He wasn’t a local, so maybe if they stumbled upon someone else like him they’d go for it, but Takemura had Arasaka written all over his features, suit and tech.

El Coyote Cojo seemed like a bar identical to many others, but the second Takemura walked through the door, he was sure he was in the right place. There was no music playing, the room filled with a murmur of hushed conversations between all the people who came to say their final goodbyes. And there were quite a lot of them. Takemura felt the corners of his lips go up in a sad smile. Of course, V had a lot of people who’d want to be here, the open suite full of them, standing in their small, respective groups, some around the tall tables, others hunched over their drinks at the bar. From where Takemura was standing, he hardly saw any familiar face, but then again, in those short few weeks he got to know V, there wasn’t much opportunity to get to know all the people she was close with. There was no time for that and more importantly, he didn’t feel like it was his place to intrude into her personal life. After all, they were just coworkers, of sorts, helping each other towards a common goal.

That is, until that stakeout on the roof. If Takemura was to pinpoint a moment where he could in full confidence call V a friend, it was those few hours they spent going over the entry points to Arasaka Industrial Park, analyzing the routes of transports going in and out, coming up with yet another idea how to get in without getting shot on the spot.

Then they got pizza and the conversation naturally shifted into something more casual, them reminiscing on their pasts and their futures. How different things were back then. V in what might’ve been her best, determined to get her life back and him doing the same.

It seemed none of them got what they wanted.

Someone passed next to him, whispering something about him getting a move on under their breath, and only then did Takemura realize that he was still standing in the doorway, staring somewhere above the heads of the mourners. Glad that he hadn't caught the attention of everyone in the room, he took a few steps forward and then, finally, he noticed Viktor, waving at him from his seat at the edge of the bar.

When Takemura approached him and took a seat next to the ripperdoc, the first thing he noticed was that Viktor looked noticeably older, dark circles under his eyes only adding to the feeling. Dressed in a classy, black suit that sure has seen better days, Viktor looked out of place, almost like...

"I was already thinkin’ you wouldn't make it." he started, mindlessly rolling the nearly empty glass in his hand. "How was your flight?"

Small talk, then.

"Good enough, thank you." then, after a moment of deliberation, Takemura added. "I usually do not fly commercial."

"Oh? What on earth stopped Arasaka’s golden boy from taking an AV?" Viktor asked, calling a bartender with a wave of his hand.

Takemura hesitated for a moment, but before the looming pressure of every passing second making the situation more awkward had a chance to set in, the bartender, a tall, heavily tattooed Latino man approached them to take his order.

"Just water, please." the bartender’s brow shot up, as if asking Takemura if he was sure, especially considering the occasion, but seeing that his client wouldn’t backtrack, he simply pulled up a glass. When it was full, two cubes of ice clinking inside, Takemura looked back at Viktor, still patiently waiting for his answer.

"My higher ups don’t exactly know that I am here." he finally said, taking a sip from his glass to wash down the ping of anxiety he felt swelling up the moment he mentioned his unauthorized trip across the ocean. Not that it mattered anymore. The sword laid at the bottom of his suitcase, carefully wrapped in silk, just waiting for him to get some closure he apparently longed for so desperately.

This time, Viktor’s brow shot up.

"No leave to mourn a friend?"

"I’m afraid they would not consider it a reason important enough to neglect my duties."

"You clearly did."

"Yes, fully aware of the consequences that await. But I could not miss it, I suppose I needed some…"

"Closure? And they wouldn’t let you have that? No wonder they call it a soul sucking job. Sorry to pry, but why don’t you just quit? Put in a two months notice or somethin'?"

"It does not work like that. Not when you have been there for as long as I have."

Viktor clearly wanted to say something, but just as he opened his mouth, everyone present started walking up to the area on the left from the bar, gathering around a small table covered in freshly lit candles, V’s photo in the middle. She was smiling, little reflections of the candle flames dancing in her eyes. V’s hair was shorter than Takemura remembered, it must’ve been taken well before they met. In a better time.

It was Viktor who stood in front of the crowd to address them. His voice sounded strained at first, unusually high, but he cleared his throat, once, twice and didn’t let his voice break even once. He spoke with confidence, yet calmly, the same reassuring voice Takemura remembered from when he ended up in his clinic alongside V, with multiple gunshot wounds and some more or less minor lacerations.

After Viktor was done, a young woman with colorful hair took his place. Clearly battling with her shaking voice, she told about the time she and V went diving in the ruins of her childhood hometown. How she still had the camera that V fished out for her and how she’s still trying to fix it, but even if she won’t be able to bring such an antique back to life, a braindance they recorded together will keep a piece of V alive forever. After that, people started taking turns, each with their little story of what V meant for them. Takemura couldn’t quite focus, each new face blending with another, a never-ending litany composed of the good deeds of a woman that no longer was among them. When it was his turn to speak, Takemura hesitated.

"I did not know V for as long as most of you, but I am honored to have been able to call her a friend."

And that was it.

***

"A lot of people came."

"I’d say a third of them were fixers from every single part of this fuckin’ city. Never took them for a sentimental type."

"Me neither."

"You know...you know what she told me in those last few weeks? “Viktor, if you dare to shed a single tear at my funeral, I swear I’ll rise up from the dead again and kick yer sorry ass”. It was one of the last things she told me, anyway. Couldn't really speak much later on." Viktor took another swing from the bottle, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of an already ruffled suit jacket.

Takemura didn’t ask how V was doing in those last moments. Didn’t need to, when he arrived at the clinic professor Kusama didn’t spare him any of the details. Quite the opposite, she was elaborate, listing all the end-stage symptoms in a cold, clinical tone. Upon hearing them, a thought crossed his mind that if it was about him, he’d beg to be copied and stored into Mikoshi. But not her. V wasn’t a coward like him and faced her death the way he’d never be able to.

"Viktor, I am..so deeply sorry." he just muttered, unable to form anything more concise. What was he supposed to say, anyway? How did his remorse and guilt compare to Viktor’s pain, who got a front row seat seeing all the ways V was withering away, day by day? Who must’ve spent hundreds of hours at her bedside, making sure that she’s comfortable in those last moments while Takemura spent those months bundled away in an office reviewing mountains of meaningless documents, too scared to even call her?

"Nah." Viktor waved his hand, almost knocking over Takemura’s glass. "She wouldn’t want us to mope like this. Imma be okay soon enough. After all, grieving is a process and all that. What about you? Been holdin’ up okay?"

"Yeah." Takemura said, but his voice came out coarse. He cleared his throat. "As much as circumstances allow."

Viktor hummed, clearly not convinced. For a second Takemura was sure the other man would push the matter, but he dropped it. Two shots of tequila seemingly materialized on the counter before them when Takemura wasn’t looking, too focused on Viktor and his own thoughts.

"How ‘bout just this one and we call it a day?" Viktor asked, taking the glass into his hand.

"I suppose it can’t do any harm." Takemura replied, raising his own glass. "To V?"

"To V."

***

Paradoxically, only when cigarette smoke filled his lungs he could finally take a deep breath. He excused himself a few minutes after their fourth round of shots. It’s not like he didn’t enjoy Viktor’s company, but the doctor was too perceptive for his own good and with each sip of alcohol chipping away his composure, Takemura felt that steel grip on his throat grow tighter and tighter.

He was alone in an alley right next to the entrance, cold winter air slowly sobering him up. Most guests have already left, only a few hindered behind, talking in the same, lowered voices he heard before. Not like he could hear any of that through the music, an old rock song he couldn't recall. Takemura slowly exhaled, a cloud of smoke dulling the air in front of him. It was time.

"Do you mind?" a woman's voice, right next to him. Takemura cursed under his breath. He was getting careless, much too distracted for his own safety. He turned his head and to his relief, he recognized her. A friend of Viktor’s, this tiny blonde woman, she ran some kind of an esoteric shop in the front. Misty was her name. They chatted a few times during the weeks Takemura would drop by the clinic to check on V.

"Not at all." he replied and moved a little to the side, making room for her to lean on the brightly painted wall. She didn’t take the invitation and remained standing, her big, brown eyes staring at him in a mix of emotions he could only describe as pity. Or maybe it was concern? He couldn't tell the difference anymore.

"You know," Misty started, her voice even softer than Viktor’s during his speech. "your pain is not lesser than his."

Takemura’s hand froze halfway from taking another drag of the cigarette. "Excuse me?"

"I’m just saying you shouldn’t cut yourself off. Viktor does that too, but not like this. The pain will not disappear if you keep running from it. It’ll just chase you up, no matter what you do. It’s better to make peace with it."

He didn’t know what to say. If he was in his right mind, he’d probably make up an excuse and walk away, but her words struck a chord in him that made him freeze, not daring to move even a little.

"I have made peace with it" he finally said, putting out the cigarette on the stone wall. He’ll find a trash can to throw it in later.

"I’m not the one you need to convince, Goro."

"I..I am sorry, but I have to go. My return flight leaves in a few hours."

Misty gave him a sad smile.

"I hope you’ll soon see that you’re exactly in a place you’re supposed to be in."

#goro takemura #goro takemura/viktor vector #viktor vector #cyberpunk v #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 spoilers #takemura/viktor #the devil ending #serving only big sad today #writing

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theladykit · 3 years

Text

I received an excellent ask from @the-gay-lady-of-ravenclaw-tower and I was happy to answer it, but because I am a Tumblr old I accidentally replied to the first part of the ask instead of the second, and now it’s gone. So I’m going to reproduce it and include my answer below. I hope this can help others, too! Fair warning that I am long-winded and the post is very long as well. If anyone has suggestions about how to make it more readable (I have ADHD and long blocks of text are not my friend, so I get it), send me a message and let me know!

Hi, Ryn! Sorry if this ask is intrusive, feel free to ignore. You're the first non-binary person I've seen on here who's really fully an adult (to me grown up = older than 30-35) and I was wondering if you had any advice you'd like to share with younger queer/non-binary kids. In particular I was wondering how you navigate using gender-neutral pronouns in the workplace and how you build a community/found family with other queer adults. (1/2)

I'm 18, and it's easy to see other queer kids around me in college, but it feels like a bubble. I worry about the world outside of this microcosm and how to navigate queerness in the future. Seeing queer adults like you who have successfully made it through their 20s and survived in the "real world" while building a community is really hopeful for me, especially considering the world was much more hostile in your formative years than mine. Thanks :) (2/2)

Let me first apologize for taking so long on this ask, I wanted to give a considered answer.

I’m honored that you would ask in the first place. I take advice-giving pretty seriously, especially when someone is reaching out to me because they’re hoping to take advantage of any experience I might have from being on the planet longer. I want to introduce a couple of caveats, though, so you can take my advice in the context it deserves.

As you mentioned, I did grow up in a world that was quite a bit more hostile to queerness. On top of that, I’m sure you know we just didn’t have easy access to queer information, and it was a lot more visible when someone was seeking it. Because of this, I didn’t actually figure out my queerness (though I suspected for decades) until a few years ago. However, I’ve tried to throw myself into the queer community as hard as I’m able, and I was always a queer ally. So I’ve been on the fringes for a really long time, even though it’s only now that I’ve been able to experience it from a place of openness. On the other hand, I do think there’s value in that situation, as well, so, take all of this for what you will.

The other caveat is that I left the traditional workplace prior to my accepting my queerness. I have never had to deal with pronoun issues, and I also come from a place of having the luxury of a decent relationship with my original pronouns. I am non-binary, but I’m ok (for the most part) with people using she/her for me. That said, my background is in accounting, and the firms I worked for, on the whole, probably would not have been thrilled about neutral pronouns, much less neopronouns, especially with anything client-facing. Some of the feelings about this are changing, and some are not. It’s very industry-specific and employer specific, so I feel like the best advice I can give in this situation is to be safe, in whatever way that works for someone.

I would love to just say have the conversation with your employer in terms of pronouns and presentation and that if they’re not willing to accept even the idea of it, you know that they weren’t probably going to treat you with dignity and respect about being outside of the binary, but because society hasn’t caught up in their understanding and acceptance of anything but cisgender and heteronormative ideals, it is still a privilege too many are excluded from. Why human dignity and respect are treated as privileges, I shall never know, but that’s how it is for so many at this moment in time. So all I can say is try your best to assert yourself in whatever way is safest for you, and to know that there are lots of adults rooting for you and willing to help when and where they can, even if we can’t change everything immediately. It still sucks that we have to couch it this way, but I do think it’s important to remember that at least in some places we can have the conversation. It’s not enough, and it will never be enough until we don’t have to think about it anymore, but change is always going to be too slow for marginalized communities.

The found family is where I feel most comfortable answering. My peer group, the oldest Millennials, was really the first youth group to benefit from the presence of ubiquitous, reliable internet as a way to find new relationships, whether platonic, romantic, whatever. And I have to say, we found it in the same ways then as a lot of young adults do now: fandom spaces, very primitive means of social media (ah, the heady days of the message board), various websites and communities that we, along with a lot of other age groups, built. I personally met most of my found family through a fandom space, and while none of us really retain ties to that fandom anymore, our love for each other has only grown. The rest of my sort of extended found family, if you will, I met through in-person spaces, like the classes I took in college, things like that. I think one of the most important pieces of that puzzle is not being afraid to reach out through your interests. I also think that’s not so different from when I was around your age. The spaces themselves are a lot different to navigate, and I do not envy you with the sort of omni-present fight against purity culture, which we did not really have to address, but building a community is pretty much the same no matter if it’s online, in-person, formalized like a city, or anything else. It takes work and commitment and a willingness to see it succeed, and it will change and evolve a lot as you go on. Not all found family is permanent, and there’s nothing wrong with that, either. There are people who have passed out of my life, and rightly so, that I was certain at the time would be with me forever. But it’s ok. I grew as a person, and I grew in a different direction than worked for our relationship. I grew in a direction that brought me toward my found family.

I should also probably point out that my found family is, on the whole, not queer. A few of us are, or have ties to queerness, but there’s a variety of sexualities, genders, etc. I think you’re right to say that queerness can be kind of a bubble, but there are lots of people who want to embrace what may have started out as queer ideals because they recognize it’s how they want to live, even if they themselves are not queer. I think especially people my age and younger are realizing that they want families that are supportive and nurturing, and I am sorry to say it but that’s rooted in queerness in a way that most normative family dynamics are not. We’ve had no choice, we either had each other or no one else. Queerness, on some level, means found family—or at least queerness that doesn’t rely on trying to emulate the cisgender heteropatriarchy for acceptance. So the two ideas are really intertwined and it’s completely understandable why so many queer people gravitate toward families they built themselves. How to do that is as varied as any queer experience, but comfortingly, it’s still the same as any other kind of relationship at its core. Give it time, which is no one’s favorite advice, but that is the best I’ve got. Make sure you’re getting what you need in addition to helping others with what they need. Be kind and loving and supportive, and above all, bring compassion to the table every moment that you can. Empathy is good, too, but compassion and kindness will steer you better, I think, more often than empathy will.

I know this is an incredibly long answer, and this is as concise as I could make it. These are big questions, and I am not a concise person by nature. :) Good luck, and I’m here to talk if you need, and that extends to any queer young adults that want advice. We have to band together, we all have so many wonderful things to contribute, and I for one am looking forward to seeing what you and your peers add to the discussion over the years.

#queer life #found family #queer found family #advice

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se-ono-waise-ilia · 3 years

Text

Hinata’s New Toy Chapter 2

Summary: Kiba has some new thoughts about his beloved kunoichi after her breakup with Naruto. Hinata has new thoughts about Kiba too. Mature & smutty content, NSFW.

Read chapter 1 here on fanfiction.net

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto

----

Incessant knocking sounds startled Hinata as she lifted her head from her pillow. The need to squint her eyes indicated it was a sunny day, and the pounding of her head indicated she was extremely hung over. Reaching for her clock, she noticed it was 7am, Who on earth could that be?

Lifting her fingers to perform byukugan, she felt a wave of pain that went straight to her forehead, I suppose this is what peep holes are for.

Bracing her hands on the bed to push herself up, she noticed her beloved new toy was still there. Unwashed. The almost always appropriate heiress crinkled her nose in shame at the white crusty bits clinging to the silicone.

The awful sound of her door being beaten continued. The person behind it did not demonstrate the common courtesy of announcing oneself. Thinking it best to not clearly indicate she was home, she silenced the groans of discomfort she yearned to make, and tip toed to the door.

"Open the door, Hyuga. I'm here on behalf of Naruto."

It was Uchiha Sasuke.

Hinata thought ill of very few people, but the one person she could say that she truly wanted to call crude and inappropriate names was Uchiha Sasuke. She never liked the way he looked down at others as a child, and envied how easy most skills came to him. After he joined Team 7, she was concerned about the way he treated Naruto, and jealous that he soaked up all her crush's attention.

Now she understood that the intense relationship between them was just a precursor to, well, their current relationship.

Then of course he betrayed the village, joined a terrorist organization, then reconnected with Naruto and was announced "good" again, but went traveling, and then came back to steal her boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend, she was still correcting herself.

"Hinata," was the only explanation she got through the door.

Fortunately, there was a mirror by the door that told Hinata to re-do her bun, which she quickly did as the admittedly afraid kunoichi opened the door to the ex-terrorist/ boyfriend thief, "Uchiha-s-s-san."

Oh, how she hated how meek her voice was when she felt insecure.

The blast of cold wintery air was warmer than his presence. He look extremely inconvenienced, "Naruto said I need to apologize to you."

Hinata couldn't decipher if it was the pounding hangover headache or the audacity of this entitled man that had her internally fuming, Apologize?! For telling me to "get out" so rudely when I arrived to see Naruto. Or stealing him from me. Although, it's not like Naruto was completely innocent. He LET you act that way and it only took him over a week to decide something should be done about it. Where's Naruto then?! He's the one who was complicit in your rudeness and didn't respond to my break-up note in any way, shape or form. As if us breaking up was nothing worth discussing. Why isn't he here now, apologizing alongside you. The fucking nerve!

Alas, Hinata didn't say any of these rational thoughts. All she could muster was a simple, "Oh."

The 25-year-old wasn't one to say what she really thought regarding uncomfortable and negative situations. Avoiding personal confrontations was a key part of her social strategies (work related confrontations were another matter, the structure of the ninja work culture made her feel more comfortable voicing her opinions). And when involved in a social confrontation of the harsh sort, her strategy was to say or do anything to deescalate the problem at hand to make the entire confrontation go away as quickly as possible, even at her own expense.

So no, she regrettably did not demand answers regarding Naruto's absence in this matter, nor did she call Uchiha Sasuke the asshole that he was, is, and will forever be.

He seemed irritated at the awkward silence that he likely thought was her fault. Hinata tried to inhale the heavy lavender scent that always permeated her apartment, but was startled to find her apartment had many other contrasting smells to it that weren't entirely calming.

Memories of last night flooded her hurting head. Feelings of embarrassment, shame, and anxiety went straight to her nervous system.

Sasuke must have notice her nose twitch amongst her other symptoms of freaking out. He sniffed, and looked repulsed, "Your apartment smells like lavender, female genitals, and dog."

The blushing nin couldn't help but nod her head in a shocked, mortified daze. She wanted to breathe heavily (three count inhale, six count exhale), but Uchiha was right. Her usually spa-like apartment did smell like ... those things. The lavender and dog notes actually weren't new. But the middle part, how embarrassing!

Scrambling her known social strategies for a way to deescalate, she chose to change the conversation to focus on someone else, "N-naruto's place smells like stale ramen and sweaty men's clothing."

It wasn't intended to be a dig, but Hinata found herself proud that it came out with that tone.

For her efforts, she was gifted the response of an agreeable scoff.

To keep this remarkably successful change in conversation going, "It's worse when he makes clones. That one time he did sexy no jutsu in the apartment, it was overwhelming."

It came out so fast she didn't even stutter. It also came out so fast, it took her a moment to realize what she had implied. With significant terror, she looked into Sasuke's eyes to see accusatory confusion, "Explain," he demanded.

Vigorously shaking her poor hungover head, "I-I-I should air out the ap-p-partment and put on proper c-c-clothes."

Suddenly, one specific memory from last night came to the forefront of her mind. She squeaked with an even higher level of mortification as she patted her shorts, No underwear, oh no, "Kiba!" she squeaked and started to fan herself as a hot flush of embarrassment took over.

She was sure Sasuke was still looking at her with unnecessary critique, but no longer cared. The fact that she gave Kiba not just her panties, but her worn post-vibrator panties, with the implicit specific purpose of him smelling them while he...

Hinata leaned against the doorframe as she started rubbing the spot in her hand that was an anxiety reducing pressure point.

"If I get Inuzuka, will you convey to Naruto I apologized... and will you explain the sexy no jutsu incident?"

She found herself staring into his mismatched eyes, blinking in confusion. He nodded, then teleported away.

What just happened? Did he leave? Or is he going to get ... oh no!

Slamming the door in a panic, she used chakra enhanced speed to open all the windows in her apartment, put all used laundry into a basket with a blanket covered over it as at least some form of scent containment, sprayed an obscene amount of perfume on it (peony scented), put the still unwashed vibrator and lube into her nightstand drawer, and rushed into a shockingly cold shower with her toothbrush. Not knowing if she'd have enough time to wash her hair, she left it up as she hastily brushed her teeth sans paste, and scrubbed herself raw with lavender & vanilla scented soap.

The aggressive knocking at her door minutes later startled her, resulting in her hair getting an unplanned rinse, Maybe it's just Sasuke. He'll have to wait at the door.

"Hinata!" shouted a voice that was absolutely not Sasuke's, "Are you OK?! This asshole pulled me out of bed and said you needed me. I'm coming in!"

Informing Kiba of of the location of the emergency key was now a deeply regrettable decision.

Hinata managed to hastily throw on her luckily modest bathrobe before Kiba burst through the door. Then the bathroom door. Only garbed in pants.

He sniffed her, gave her a quick body scan, turned off the shower, then grabbed her cheeks with his warm hands to aim her face up towards his, "Are you OK?"

Even though her cheeks were already flushed with the exertion of prepping her apartment and the cold from both the open windows and the freezing shower, Hinata knew she was likely turning a strange mix of blue and beet red, Kiba cares about me and he's so handsome.

These observations weren't new to Hinata. Kiba has always cared for her safety, and he was objectively a ruggedly handsome man with an intentional curation of impressive muscles. But since last night, Hinata all of a sudden felt attraction to these qualities.

"Hinata-chan?" Kiba asked again, rubbing her loose wet tresses out of her face with his gentle fingers.

Gulping, she managed to nod. Her shirtless friend let out a sigh of relief as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, He was actually worried something had happened to me. It was just a misunderstanding. I'm sorry you felt scared on my behalf, Kiba.

She felt herself sink into his warm and dry body, feeling the dusting of chest hair tickle her cheek.

"Our deal?" Sasuke interrupted their moment. Hinata truly hated that man. As much as she loved that this weird situation brought Kiba to hold her, the poor nin had to run through the cold without shoes nor a top in fear that something was wrong.

I never agreed to any deal with you, you presumptuous rude man. You never even actually apologized. And I have no desire to discuss your sex life now or ever. I hope Naruto spills boiling hot ramen on you. A whole bowl, she mentally insulted him with all her might.

Alas, she kept it all inside. A growl vibrated from Kiba's chest as he tightened his grip on Hinata. Honestly, the flushed girl was more than happy to allow Kiba to demonstrate anger and resentment on her behalf, as he often did, "What the actual fuck, Uchiha?"

Hinata also appreciated that while she had extensive internal private thoughts describing her more negative expressions, Kiba was able to edit it down into concise and direct phrases.

"Tch," the awful man emoted, "Naruto sent me here to apologize-"

"And did you?!"

Sasuke paused, then directed his eyes to Hinata, "I apologize."

Kiba rolled his eyes, "Asshole."

Hinata couldn't help but nod in agreement against Kiba's delightfully firm pecs.

"Hinata, please explain the other part now."

"What's this fucking deal?" Kiba barked at him, tightening his hold on her. Possibly in a protective manner, or affectionate. Or both. Either way, Hinata was in heaven being held by a shirtless Kiba who was also talking back to the scariest ninja in the world without a hint of fear.

Sasuke narrowed his mismatched eyes, "She accepts my apology and gives me information, in return she indicated a need for you."

"Me?" was the detail he prioritized. Burying her head into his chest seemed like the best response. Her hands may or may not have found a comfortable resting position on his obliques.

"I have places to be, Hyuga," it sounded like Sasuke was gritting his teeth in annoyance. In Kiba's arms, she felt safe ignoring him.

Kiba growled during most conversations, but he was particularly consistent in this one, "No, she does not accept your apology. Not like yours matters to her anyway. Naruto's the negligent ex-boyfriend who didn't appreciate her, and let his new boyfriend toss her to the curb on his behalf. Fuck you, Uchiha. Go deep throat Hinata's ex."

Kami, did Hinata want to drag Kiba's face down to her face and give him the hottest kiss of her life, like the ones she reads about in romance novels. And her robe would just happen to fall off during this steamy kiss.

The aroused girl wanted to keep this fantasy going, but she knew if her body reacted, Kiba would definitely smell it. So she finally looked to Sasuke, and felt all sexy vibes disappear.

Sasuke didn't seem affected by Kiba's excellent speech, nor did he leave. He was doing that thing where he glares at people while thinking through his next move. Always intimidating, even when he's simply thinking.

Kiba had no time for that, "Kami Uchiha, what will it take for you to not be a prick to Hinata and leave?"

Folding his arms, "For the information I seek from Hinata, I will use more courtesy in the future."

Then he scanned Kiba's body with a look of ... appreciation?

"Is there any practical application of exercising your body to feature that many abdominal muscles?"

Kiba must have been surprised, as Hinata had to restrain a whimper of loss when he separated his sinewy body from hers to look at his own stomach. Not growling for the first time in this conversation, "Ninjas don't really benefit that much more from them, I just do the extra exercises and diet to make them look this way," he eyed Sasuke mischievously, "You checkin me out, Uchiha? What will Naruto think of that?"

Sasuke blushed, and it was Hinata's absolute favorite face he had ever made. And then he pouted, pouted, as if his pride withheld him from saying what he really wanted to say.

"Full offense to your pride intended, I'll teach you the exercises some other time if you leave," Kiba grinned as if he was absolutely confident in his ability to win this confrontation.

With extreme reluctance and minimal eye contact, Sasuke nodded.

Kiba made a shooing motion, but not before Sasuke looked to her with expectance.

Covering her face with her hand, "Just have him do the jutsu, but stay in his male form."

Sasuke only blinked with a "Hmm," before teleporting away.

"He's the actual worst," Kiba sighed, "but having him check me out was the weirdest ego booster. Is it OK if I hate him slightly less for it?" He looked to Hinata for approval.

She embraced the chance to blatantly check out Kiba's body herself.

Kami, he is ripped. In her line of work, she's exposed to fit men all the time. But Kiba...he did the most creative sorts of crunches to sculpt his body.

She felt her mouth salivating as her eyes drifted further down to where a V shape made an arrow to his manhood. The trail of hair helped guide the way, but that V...

She noticed he shivered, and realized all her windows were open and wintery air was coursing through her apartment. Shaking herself out of her inappropriate staring, "C-c-ccould you c-c-close the w-w-w-windows while I-I-I get-t-t dressed?"

Her stuttering was doubled by the clattering of her teeth as she felt ice-like hair penetrate her skin and frigid air wrap around her exposed skin.

He shook his head in a dog-like manner, and left to do her bidding.

The freezing girl shuffled and shivered to her bedroom and closed the door. The need to be warm overcame her sexual cravings that had dominated this past week. Ripping through her dresser, she donned her warmest shirt (dark purple), leggings (light purple), and socks (sparkly dark purple). The long-sleeved shirt clung to her curves in a flattering manner, so she resisted to the urge to cover herself with a heavy sweater for the possibility of ... does Kiba like my body? I don't quite know if he covered his eyes last night, oh Kami, why did I do that?

Her hair was an inconsistent mess of wet and dry, so she restyled it into the thousandth messy bun of this week.

Worried for the comfort of her half-naked teammate, she went to the travel section of her closet to pull out an extra change of clothes for Kiba. He used to have this endearing habit of forgetting climate changes when they traveled as genin, and Hinata brought backups for such occasions.

But that was when they were still teenagers. Before Kiba filled out. With broad shoulders and a trim waist. Unsure if the old black sweater and socks would fit, she hesitantly exited the safety of her bedroom in her warm monochromatic clothes.

All her windows were secure, and Kiba was in her kitchen with the kettle on the stove and his face buried in her tea box.

"I don't know if this still fits, but..."

He smiled smugly at the sweater, "You can have that, Hinata-chan," as he took the socks.

Her half-naked friend seemed to be avoiding eye contact with her and her body. Feeling slightly rejected, she chose to use a tactic she often read in her favorite steamy novels: putting on the male's clothes. She tugged the black sweater from Kiba's younger years over her head, and found it snug around the chest.

Alas, her tactic seemed to fail as he swiftly turned back to the kitchen without a second look, and brought his face unnecessarily close to the tea box. Why was he taking so long to pick his tea? Hinata then felt shame at her previous thoughts, Oh no, I'm so desperate for him to give me the savoring look I gave him earlier. Does he feel awkward about last night? We did drink a lot, and I said a lot, and I seduced him maybe a little, took off my pants and panties...

Holding her groans of embarrassment within, she used her social strategy of picking a neutral topic of conversation, "Where's Akamaru?"

Holding a bag of chamomile tea extremely close to his face, he continued to avoid eye contact, "He'll be along soon enough. I yelled to him to bring my travel bag to your place while he was growling at Uchiha," he scrunched his eyes closed and ran his non-tea-bag hand though his gorgeous bedhead, "Kami Hinata, when he showed up, I thought the worst. Uchiha is an asshat, but the missions he deals with are serious shit. More horrifying than ANBU shit. Seeing him and hearing your name..."

Hinata went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. Forgetting her attraction to this man, she simply held her teammate of near thirteen years in the most soothing manner she could think of, "I'm OK, Kiba. It was a misunderstanding. A very strange misunderstanding. I'm so sorry."

He covered her arms wrapped around his middle with one of his. Speaking with almost a whisper, "You're important to me. So important," and he gently squeezed her wrist.

Tears lined her eyes. She felt touched he cared this much about her. Hinata returned Kiba's squeeze around his middle, "You're important to me too."

The moment was sustained until the tea kettle whistled, as did Hinata's anxiety that always found ways to interfere with beautiful moments.

Her anxiety brutally made her realize she should be ashamed for desperately throwing her body at one of her dearest friends last night and earlier in her bathroom.

Kami, last night she treated him as a ticket to her next orgasm. Not the kind and caring teammate she held in her arms.

Letting go of her friend, she moved to the couch to smother her face with one of her less embroidered pillows, I did that awful thing I read about in books when the self-serving girl treats the man who's crazy about her as a dick to ride rather than a person. How shameful.

And where her anxiety failed to punish her, the miserable hangover picked up the work. In addition to the pressing headache, her stomach growled with an uncomfortable hunger for greasy and spicy food.

Fortunately, Kiba was one of the few people who was familiar with hungover Hinata. She heard a mug being set on her coaster on the coffee table, followed by the clamoring of pans and cabinets. How on earth was Kiba the better host out of the two of them? Not only has he spent years adding decor to her apartment with gifts, he also cleaned her kitchen last night for Kami's sake.

Not feeling quite closed in on by all her mental, emotional, and physical feelings, Hinata dragged her weighted blanket on top of herself and curled up into a ball.

----

The next thing she knew, she felt a tentative hand rubbing her back through the heavy blanket, the smell of spicy fried rice filling her nose. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up, Did I fall asleep? Was it a dream?

Upon clearing her eyes, she was treated to the site of a shirtless Inuzuka making the table with two bowls of steaming fried rice with lots of red chili flakes decorating the surface, "Kiba?"

"You fell asleep. Itadakimasu," he chuckled at her before shoveling rice into his large, oh so large mouth.

Might as well be a dream, she mused, forcing herself to have a sip of tea and sit properly for a meal, "Itadakimasu."

The scrumptious mix of fried rice and egg with spicy seasonings allowed Hinata a period of peace she hadn't known in the longest time. Meals from these past few months have been overcome with unresolved tension, the pain of denied and buried emotions, or the misery of loneliness.

But not with Kiba. Although he didn't have the most sophisticated culinary skills, he made the basics with that laid back feeling that all too often eluded Hinata. He balanced her so remarkably well.

With that thought, about halfway through her bowl, Hinata actually did succumb to her emotions. Dropping her bowl on the table, she attempted to cover her face as hot tears poured down her cheeks and her body shook with the waves of loud sobs.

A pressure dropped the couch cushion under her as warm and safe arms enveloped her.

She didn't know if the break up had finally sunk in, that the man of her dreams was an underwhelming disappointment as a boyfriend. Or, if it occurred to her that the artificially inspired orgasms this past week via her vibrator and unrealistic romance novels had been empowering and delightful, but also a fantasy unlikely to come true.

Or, the terrifying realization that Kiba meant everything to her.

And she didn't want to treat him as eye candy, her next orgasm, her rebound, or anything of the things that she had been treating him like since last night.

She wanted him to officially be her everything. But she already fucked that up with her impulsive, drunk, and lust clouded actions.

Needing to atone, she turned her body around and wrapped her arms around his neck with a possibly suffocating hold, "Kiba!" she cried. Sorry wasn't a word worthy of his heartfelt ears regarding the way she had treated him. So she cried his name over and over again into his hair as he held her with a proportionally tight grip, his face also buried in hair. She might have considered loosening her strong grip if it weren't for the encouraging way he cupped the nape of her neck, as if telling her to stay as long as she needed.

So she stayed, and cried until her sobs regressed into deep breaths, until her tears had stained her cheeks and she found herself blinking away the few remaining, until she realized Kiba had been rubbing her back with soothing circles, until she realized his other hand was squeezing the back of her neck in an effort to ease tension, until she was able to focus on Kiba's heartbeat as a calming beacon.

She felt herself melt into his arms as the last of her tears fell. And that's how they stayed for an unmeasurable amount of time.

When she felt stiff from the way she had been clinging to him, Hinata slowly released her arms and sat back on her haunches to fix his tear stained hair. She met his eyes and was surprised to find they were lined with silver, as if he too had needed an emotional release of his own.

Hinata brushed a lone tear from his eye with her thumb, and he leaned into her touch. She felt herself breathe shakily at the intimacy of his reaction.

Kami, she wanted to kiss him. But...

Wiping her cheeks and nose with the sleeve on her other arm, "Kiba, last night was ... I don't want you to think," he looked into her eyes with the wary search for something she couldn't identify. Hinata needed to finish a sentence, so she chose the one thought that truly counted. Not an apology, a truth: "You mean everything to me."

If felt good to finally voice a vulnerable thought. Kiba had always been a safe place for those.

Kiba's animalistic eyes pierced hers, as he remained as still as she had ever seen him. And Hinata wasn't afraid to stare right back.

She felt a shiver pass through him, not unlike the one from this morning, "You are everything to me, Hinata, and I can't believe I didn't realize it sooner."

Her heart soared out of her chest.

As if he realized what he had said and implied, he retreated his hands and began to shift away from her, nervousness painting his face.

Hinata had never kissed with such urgent instinct before.

It wasn't until she felt Kiba's lips moving against hers that she came to and realized what she had done.

Retreating with an embarrassed squeak, she felt heat rush up to her ears as unfiltered thoughts poured out of her, "Kiba you mean everything to me and I don't want you to feel like a rebound because you are so much more than that and I know you caught me staring at you so many times because you have such a beautiful body and you are so handsome but that's not all you are, you cooked such a lovely breakfast and you take care of me by buying me treats for my anxiety you are the sweetest man I've ever met and I hope I didn't ruin anything by my actions last night, I can't believe I gave you my panties but I wanted you to think of me the way I began thinking of you and I would never do such a thing for anyone but you and that's because I see every part of you and adore every part of you and want to please your nose as much as I want to please the rest of you and-"

Her rant was cut off by his mouth. He kissed her as she only thought people in books could be kissed: with passion and hunger and desire. She returned in kind as she held his face with her hands.

As Hinata wondered where his hands could be, for they weren't on her, Kiba broke the kiss with heavy breathing and his own unfiltered rant, "Fuck. Wait, no, I don't mean it like that. Hinata, I'm wild about you. You mean so much to me and I don't want to fuck this up by going too fast. You're too damn good for that. I feel like I need to court you and romance you like they do in all those slow burn erotic books I privately read too. I want you, Hinata. I need you."

Hinata found her face dangerously close to his again. She finally noticed his hands were destroying two of her lovely embroidered pillows with his claws. Then her eyes followed the trail of devastatingly tendons and veins bulging from his strained forearms, to his chiseled shoulders, and sculpted chest, "Fuck, Hinata, when you look at me like that, it makes me want to touch you. I know I shouldn't say this, but...I want to..." he bit his tongue to hold back.

Nothing in the world existed but Kiba and his evident desire for her, and she hadn't even looked down yet.

Taking it slow sounded like a practical idea. In theory.

In reality, she desperately needed to know what he wanted. Leaning forward and again cupping his face in her hands, she simply kissed him, lips against lips, no movement, inhaling via the nose, heavenly. Parting with barely any space between their lips, "Tell me," she ordered.

His eyes roamed to her mouth, to her neck, her her chest, to the place between her legs. Her sitting position on her heels kept her legs closed, keeping the scents on her arousal safely trapped. For now.

He seemed to only be capable of vocalizing a defeated whine.

Hinata knew this was a moment to prove she could take it slow, to make Kiba feel like he meant more to her than a spontaneous fuck. If Kiba and her were serious about this, which she knew in her heart they were, she could take it slow. She would.

As she placed one foot on the floor, opening her legs. She heard the fabric of her long gone decorative pillows rip even further as Kiba's pupils dilated and he snarled. Snarled.

Daring a look down at his pants, she saw the physical evidence of his desire. And she wanted to snarl back.

She didn't know if she launched herself to straddle his lap or if he finally released the pillows to pull her onto him and tightly grip her backside, but the reality was that they were now breathing each other's air as their bodies ground together. The barrier of clothes didn't stop the wondrous pleasure and excitement that coursed through them.

This rubbing was so intense it had Hinata's jaw loose and fingers weak as she rode her man. Kiba's strong and controlling grip had her moving up and down his length at just the right pace. His teeth were bared as his forehead almost touched hers, and Kami did it turn her on.

"Kiss me," she moaned. She felt his mouth capture hers, hot and claiming. It slid to her jaw, her neck. Then she felt claws pierce the fabric of her leggings with an erotic pressure against her skin.

Then she felt it. That crawling sensation through her body starting from her core that indicated she was on the edge, "Inuzuka," she whimpered. His face arrived in her line of sight, and his eyes were full of lust and adoration as she came undone.

Everything stilled except the hands that continued her movements against him, as she felt her brain connect to her center in a burst of pleasure that had her gasping.

Draping her arms over his shoulders as the glorious sensations lessened, the instinct to please him took over and she leaned in to bite his earlobe and whisper, "Inuzuka, cum."

She found herself on her back with his arms wrapped tight around her. He thrusted into her, hard. He tilted his head to gaze at her, eyes half-lidded, and she watched him experience his own mind blowing orgasm.

When his body ceased its jerking motions, he shifted his weight to the side to rest his head on her breast as they both just breathed. She lazily played with his hair. He slowly rubbed her hip bone.

Then there was scratching at the door with a recognizable bark.

Neither of them made a motion to move.

Another bark. Kiba half heartedly shouted, "Give me a minute."

He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at her, a goofy smile plastering his face. She giggled back at him, and leaned up to meet his lips with an appreciative and happy kiss. She felt him grinning as he nearly collapsed his body on hers, if it weren't for the third bark. Kiba ignored it as he peppered her jaw with kisses.

Feeling exceptionally happy yet also concerned for her dearest canine friend, "Kiba, Akamaru might be getting cold!" She chided while her fingers betrayed her, weaving their way through his messy hair. His mouth found one spot at the juncture of her jawbone that made her want to squirm.

"The Hokage wants to see us," A flat-toned Shino said through the door, immediately quelling their affectionate activities. She motioned for them to get up, and he pouted.

Slithering off the couch, she made her way to the door as he covered his stained pants with her blanket.

The mirror informed her that her already messy hair was officially a disaster, especially the back part that had rubbed against her couch cushion. But it was just Shino, so she took the hairband out as she answered the door to let her two teammates in.

"There's been a change in our mission squad, and we are to report to Hokage-sama," Shino greeted them in his usual business-first, mannerisms-second style, "Good morning. Did Kiba sleep over?"

Hinata was attempting to fix her hair by brushing and braiding it, "No, he arrived early this morning for unexpected reasons."

Kiba held the travel pack Akamaru gave him strategically over his front as he made his way to the bathroom, "I thought Hinata was in trouble. False alarm. Uchiha Sasuke's an asshole."

"Kiba stayed to make me breakfast, and then..." She felt herself blushing. Should Kiba and her remain discrete? But Shino is their teammate, and deserves to know about the change in their relationship for a variety of reasons. Yet, the idea of announcing their confessions and activities so casually didn't seem quite right.

Fortunately, Shino's blunt perceptions saved her the hardship of handling the situation, "I see. You two are good for each other."

Smiling shyly, she put on her ninja sandals as Kiba came out with his usual ninja garb. They made eye contact, and the tension between them brought her to him. She felt her face smile widely without her consent as he leaned down to nuzzle their cheeks together and he whispered in her ear, "We'll talk later," she felt his nose twitch, "As much as I adore this scent, I won't be able to focus around the Rokudaime."

"Oh, of course!" she squeaked as she took off her sandals and dashed into the bedroom for fresh panties and pants. Speaking of which, she was reminded that these leggings now had claw marks in a quite noticeable place. Biting her lip, she put them and her panties to the side to give to Kiba later.

----

Fuck, was it hard to focus on the Hokage when Hinata was fiddling with her braid oh so cutely.

The memories of last night at her place, last night when he was in his room, and this morning on the couch flooded his brain. Most significantly, the confession of how much they meant to each other.

But that's the part he's trying to comprehend with as much maturity as possible: she cares about him on an emotional level, but her body is pretty much in heat.

Kiba knows what he wants with absolute certainty: Hinata.

But he doesn't want a fling, or a short term relationship. He wants her for the long run, and he wants it to be romantic as fuck.

Here's the problem: although she doesn't want to treat him like a rebound, her body is showing all the signs of a person who's craving some fantastic fucking.

Could Kiba do that? Yes, but it would ruin his long game strategy of the cliche slow burn plan. He wants his relationship with Hinata to be like one in his romance books. Which he realized he admitted he reads to Hinata during his rant this morning.

Yes, he reads romantic and erotic novels. They are very entertaining and educational. As a teen, is mom and sister not only gave him the talk about safe sex, but also a talk about how to have good sex. And reading about it via these books was his favorite way to up his game.

Admittedly, their dry humping this morning threw off his plan. But damn, it felt amazing. He also owed Hinata some new embroidered pillows.

"Hinata is to be removed from your upcoming mission. We will place another sensory nin on your team to compensate," The Rokudaime's words shocked Kiba into focus.

"Why the sudden change? We leave tomorrow," Shino questioned.

Kakashi sighed, "Apparently, the Hyuga clan have been invited to the Winning-of-the-War anniversary event in the Cloud a month early. As a gesture to make amends for past conflicts, among other agendas," he stared as the ceiling, avoiding eye contact with his subordinates.

Kiba looked to Hinata, who was staring back at him. Her face indicated she had no idea about this invitation. She blinked her eyes at him with a hint of disappointment.

She was going to miss him.

Then her eyes drifted further down his form, and she let out a wistful sigh.

...And his body. Kiba never thought there would be a day when he wanted to shake Hinata out of her sex-crazed state. But here he was. Simultaneously turned on and resentfully objectified. Is this how girls feel when he hits on them with hookup intentions? Now he gets it.

----

The day progressed with Shino and Kiba working with their replacement team member, Yamanaka Ikuyo, while Hinata went to her father discuss her family vacation to Kumo.

Kiba hoped she started the conversation with, "What the fuck?"

He chuckled and continued his day dream while Shino went over their usual team formations and adjusted them to the Yamanaka's sensory style. Ikuyo seemed to be a seasoned pro, and was excited to have a detective style mission, so her motivation made her easy include on their plans.

The sun was setting after a long day of planning, so Ikuyo parted from them to independently study the mission scrolls and her new teammates strengths. Kiba didn't understand such a level of discipline, but appreciated it as it gave him an excuse to invite himself over to Shino's for dinner. Bug boy didn't mind.

Even though they all had clan households they could reside in, modern Konoha culture had this new trend of adult ninja taking a few years to live on their own before settling back into clan households for good. Kiba was the first on Team 8 to get his own place, Hinata followed suit with tremendous encouragement. But Shino didn't lean into the trend. He hated feeling left out of social things with his friends, and the possibility of being left out of family events made him even more depressed. So he happily resided in the Aburame household.

Which was the safest place for Kiba to go. Hinata and Kiba would only be in the same village for one more night before her trip. Such a one-night-only situation was the ideal vibe for a steamy and desperate sex-fest. Which sounded spectacular and like the night of his dreams.

Unfortunately, it would not only ruin his long game of romancing Hinata properly, but it may also ruin their romantic potential entirely. And that idea scared the shit out of Kiba.

What if after a glorious night, Hinata felt like she got-it-out-of-her-system? What if they didn't talk afterwards, and she went to Kumo thinking they are now just casual fuck buddies? What if it enabled her to see him as only a sexual object, and not a viable romantic partner? Or what if she did what she said what she wouldn't do: treat him as a rebound, and then after a month apart, she just wouldn't be interested in him?

These insecure thoughts plagued him every time he drifted into a day dream of all the ways he wanted to touch her, and all the ways he fantasized about her touching him. Instead of playing attention to Ikuyo's explanation of her skills (he would figure it out in real-time), his thoughts alternated between sexy images, the consequences of them sleeping together too soon, and then the best part: what if he stuck to his plan and he truly had everything.

Visions of endless handholding in the village, cuddling in her spa-like apartment, walking Akamaru together at sunset, buying her fresh flowers, moving in together and taking care of her, cooking for her his greasy friend rice whenever she wanted, saving money to buy her a very special and very dainty piece of jewelry...

Those were the fantasies that made Kiba feel invigorated, motivated, and most seldom seen: disciplined. He would stay with Shino tonight as an extra measure, maybe write Hinata a romantic note, and dream about her for a month until he could truly have his shot with her.

Maybe this month apart would be a good thing. She'd have a respectable amount of time to get over the break-up with Naruto, simmer down her rebound seeking sex drive, and then he could commence with his ultra-romantic slow burn plan. Just like in the books.

Just as Kiba was feeling confident in his fantasies and plans while drinking tea with Shino on his porch, all was foiled when Hinata landed in front of them.

"Tea?" Shino offered without a second thought. Kiba was clenching the edge of the porch, trying not to mouth breathe as he stared at the woman of his dreams, who was wearing a lovely yukata reserved for clan meetings. A yukata that had fallen off one shoulder with the abruptness of her landing.

"Yes, please," she replied in a frustrated manner. Not frustrated at them, but by the the undoubtably disagreeable meeting she had with her family. She took her graceful body to lean against a nearby pillar, and stare at the night sky.

The silvery light of the moon bounced off her milky skin, and Kiba wanted to confess all his desires to her in that moment.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Shino helpfully offered as Kiba unhelpfully gazed at his angelic beauty.

Said angel shook her head, "I'd rather not,"

Her eyes then met Kiba's, and the tension from this morning snapped into place. It felt like slow motion when she stood up straight, walked to him, and offered temptation, "Walk me home?"

Yes, of course. He'd do anything she asked. He'd walk her home, kiss her forehead goodnight at her door. Kiss her neck goodnight her living room. Kiss her lips goodnight as he languidly made love to her under the moonlight streaming through her bedroom window.

He found himself falling into these fantasies as he stood in front of her, staring into her twin moon-lit eyes, showing how much she yearned for this as much as he did.

"Kiba requested to stay here tonight," Shino interrupted. The emotional nin wanted to simultaneously throttle him and shower him with thanks.

Hinata's eyes drifted to Shino, then back to Kiba's in confusion.

Shino, never failing to bluntly insert his perceptions into awkward moments, "I don't think he wants to be your rebound hookup before you leave for a month. That would hurt his feelings."

Even though every word out of his friend's mouth was the truth, it made Kiba lower is eyes in shame that he couldn't find those words for himself. Hell, if it weren't for Shino, he might go home with her to avoid telling her how he really feels.

"Oh..."

Then an unexpected pain hit Kiba's chest. She didn't deny any of Shino's words. No matter how much they meant to each other, the reality was that the timing of their feelings of affection overlapped with Hinata's desires of needing a validating night of sex.

Kiba went to Akamaru, who was lounging against the house. He sat cross legged next to his beloved partner, and pet him in a self-soothing manner.

Shino didn't stop being blunt, "Hinata, although you and Kiba are good for each other, perhaps now is not the time to kindle such a serious relationship, considering you and Naruto only broke up a week ago."

He could feel her grow uncomfortable with the unwanted observations and advice. Kiba wanted to pummel Shino for saying such cutting truths, "Shino, enough," he growled under his breath.

But Kiba couldn't face this anymore. Now was the time to wish Hinata well, give her a platonically affectionate wave, and leave to the guest quarters.

Standing up and forcing his face into his classic arrogant look, "We have a mission first thing, Hinata-chan. Shino and I are a bit caught off guard not having you with us. We'll miss you."

Whistling to Akamaru, "We'll say goodnight, and see you in a month after you show those Cloud nin how badass the Hyuga clan are," he forced out a wink and a toothy grin.

But then he noticed her eyes were welling with tears, and he felt his own eyes begin to water as well. They would figure it out after her mission. Dropping the inauthentic arrogance, he allowed himself to use a more affectionate tone, "See you later then."

Oh, how he wanted to hold her. But he knew if he did, he wouldn't let go without revealing his most vulnerable thoughts. So, he turned away from her with a wave.

"Kiba!" she cried before her scent surrounded him just before her arms did.

His hands instinctively covered hers as she held him from behind as she did this morning. After telling her she means everything to him. He interlaced their fingers together and squeezed. He felt tears through the back of his shirt, "Kiba, I-I-I didn't mean to treat you like that. P-P-Please forgive me."

He didn't know how much more his heart could take today, "It's OK, Hinata. I understand," he found one of her anti-anxiety stress points on the inside of her arm, and rubbed it gently.

She pressed harder against his back, and he wasn't going to let go of her arms until he knew she had recovered.

"Kiba, maybe when I've returned, you and I could..."

Before he knew what he was doing, he used one of her arms to bring her to his front, one hand cupping her cheek, the other holding her hand against his heart, "No way am I gonna let you say that now. When I get to Cloud for the celebration, you and I are gonna party our asses off and drink all their good sake," He saw a hint of smile on her face, "And when we get back to the Leaf, I'm gonna ask you out on a proper date. It's gonna be romantic as fuck."

She leaned her cheek into his hand and gifted him with a lovely smile. For the second time today, he brushed residual tears from her cheeks with his thumb. He wanted to end it there, but he sudden'y realized that there was one important thing that she should know, "And while you are in Cloud," he took a shaky breath and stepped away from her. He couldn't hold her for this next part, "You recover from ... that guy... however it makes sense to you. It's OK."

In other words, he was encouraging her to find a rebound there. The details of what that would mean made him sick to his stomach. But it would be OK, because he would ask her out in a month and they would have their chance then.

That's at least what he told himself.

Her eyes did that thing where she looked concerned with eyebrows scrunched together and up, eyes big and blinking, lower lip jutted out in protest. Yet she managed to nod in understanding.

He wanted to run away and destroy something. But he couldn't let that be their last interaction. Grounding himself with the thought of their first date to come, "What kind of flowers would you like?"

Oh, the things those fluttering lashes did to him. His angel smiled up at him, "Peonies."

Not trusting himself to say anything else, he nodded and returned her smile.

"I'll walk you home, Hinata," Shino's timing was often too on the nose, and Kiba was grateful.

She nodded to him, then looked back to Kiba. After a moment of thought, she grew on her tip toes to lean into him. He didn't dare move as she gave him a tender and warm kiss on the cheek. And then, the new light of his life was off with Shino.

He didn't know how much time had passed between when he was standing and when he was on his knees. At some point, Akamaru sat in front of him and pressed his head against Kiba's.

It was probably only 24 hours since she gave him those perfumed panties. And somehow a day later, he felt like he had given her his heart. Kiba shrugged against Akamaru's fur, "Not quite the romance in the books seen in books, but we'll get there."

Akamaru gave a bark of agreement.

----

A/N What a day in the life of Kiba and Hinata!

So, this story might be longer than the originally intended three chapters. Oops. I have the next chapter half written. The smut tho... yeah.

Also, the way Sasuke checked Kiba out?! The thought of them being work out buddies brings me so much joy. It's like a bro-style crackship.

Reviews please!

#kibahina #naruto fanfiction #kiba inuzuka #hinata hyuuga #hinata hyuga #hinata kiba #sns #Sasuke Uchiha #sasuke #naruto shippuden fanfic

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suchdan-veryphil · 4 years

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You Need To Back Up-Domestic!Kylo Ren Imagine

Me: Why is my fic not getting any notes?

Also me: *Didn’t upload, just saved as a draft*

Request:

Anonymous said: “Wouldn’t you like to know” was pure perfection and the way you wrote kylo *chef kisses* I need more dramatic puppy ren please I’m begging you 🥺 can I request kylo x reader bickering throughout the day? If that makes sense? Like couples squabbling?

Word Count: 1,539

Trigger Warnings: Swearing possibly? Sexual innuendos.

A/N: First of all, thank you for your chef kisses. That’s the best compliment I have ever gotten on a piece of my writing bhahah. Here you go, anon. I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it. I wish I could write this forever. I had more things in mind for them to squabble over. I might make a babble out of it.

-------

I woke up knowing that he was home for the day. It was a nice change for once, having him there.

We made breakfast together, took a shower together, had a clean laundry fight, and eventually started a movie. I set it up as he made the snacks. I laughed while I watched the large man carry in two bowls of popcorn, multiple bags of chips, and a bag of loose sweets into the living room.

“Bring anything for me?” I teased, pausing the movie so that he wouldn’t miss anything.

“Nope, and I am not sharing,” he went along with the joke as he placed the snacks on the table and gently pulled me into his side to cuddle comfortably as we took a moment to get comfortable. Once settled, I turned the movie on and rested my head against his chest.

“Can I see the remote?” Kylo reached his arm over in the direction of the remote control in a failed attempt to grab it. I leaned over and held it up for him to take before he paused the movie and turned the subtitles off.

“Woah, what are you doing?”

“Turning off the subtitles. I can’t concentrate on the movie,”

“I like the subtitles, they help me understand the content better,”

“You can’t hear it?”

“That’s not what I said,” I reached for the remote and grunted as he stretched his arm up so that I couldn’t reach it.

“If you can’t hear, we’ll turn it up,” Kylo turned the TV up and pressed play.

“No, now it’s too loud!”

“You really need the subtitles?”

“Yes! How do you not know this already?” I spun my body in a way that allowed me to grab the remote and turn the TV down.

“We never really have time to watch movies together, I guess. Fine, turn them on,”

His voice never raised, his tone remained clear and concise, and he didn’t say anything in a way that made me feel badly.

“Thank you,” I turned the subtitles back on and got comfortable once more to watch the movie.

Kylo ran his hands through my hair and I rubbed mindless circles on his stomach. We didn’t get days like this very often, in fact, the last time he and I had a day to do nothing was before he killed Snoke.

His hands continued to run though my hair and I could feel the heaviness of my eyelids getting stronger. Before I knew it, I woke up tucked into the blanket on the couch with Kylo watching a new movie, sans subtitles.

I stretched a little bit and looked up to him. “Hey, sorry I fell asleep..” I yawned and stood up to see all of the wrappers from the candies and the crumbs from the snacks. I laughed a little and grabbed them by the handful.

“You’re a mess,” I teased as I walked into the kitchen to empty the contents of my hands.

“I was going to clean those up, I didn’t want to wake you-”

“No it’s fine. I was up.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I was joking when I called you a mess, I’m sorry if you took it personally,” I turned to look at him and tilted my head a little.

“No, I don’t take it personally I just - I don’t want you to think that you have to clean up after me,”

“Kylo, my sweet sweet Supreme Leader, I’ve been picking up after you for two years.” I smiled a little, but he didn’t find it very funny. He looked away before turning off the TV and sitting back on the couch.

“I’m not that big of a burden-” I cut him off before his temper rose and he began to jump to extreme conclusions.

“You are not a burden, I was just joking, I’m sorry if it was insensitive.” I walked back over to behind the couch where he was sitting and rubbed his shoulders a bit before kissing the top of his head.

“It’s fine, let’s just drop it.” He put his hand over mine and looked up so that we were looking at one another.

“What do you wanna do? It’s your first time having a day off in, goodness I don’t know how long,”

Kylo shrugged his shoulders. “I just wanna stay in, even the thought of going out right now is making my head hurt.”

I smirked a little and nodded, knowing that he would never voluntarily go out into public only to be surrounded by people. Kylo’s patience was thinner than anyone’s I’d ever met. To test it was to set yourself up for a long night.

“I like the sound of that.”

“Why don’t we get some organizing done? I honestly think I’ll lose my mind if I just sit here all day and do nothing,” Kylo stood up slowly and picked up some of his snacks and drinks to bring to the kitchen. I shrugged and looked around the home. It looked pretty organized to me, but who was I to oppose to the idea of mindless housework with my favorite being in the galaxy?

We started in the bedroom. We cleaned up after our clean laundry fight from that morning, organized our closet, changed our sheets, and went through our clothes that we haven’t worn in months. It didn’t take long before moved into the bathroom and then the kitchen. I sat on the ground while I browsed through the contents of our pantry.

“When is the last time we went through this stuff?” Kylo asked as he went through the fridge and freezer.

“The last time I went to the market...” I paused a moment and looked at the pantry’s contents and started to group them into different categories of foods. Cans of vegetables, chips, granola, pasta, cans of sauce, and things along those lines.

“When was that?” His voice was a little sharp, poking me in the side slightly.

“Like, last week. Why what’s wrong?”

“Half of these things are about to expire, Y/N.” He was placing frozen foods on the counter top, not even looking at me.

“Okay? That’s why we cook them before they expire,”

“We surely can’t cook all of this before the end of this week.”

“End of this week? What gave you that idea?” I put down the can of beans as I stood up and walked over to inspect the unworthy food items on the counter.

“That’s when you’ll be shopping next, no?”

“Yes, but we can still cook these things before they go bad, Kylo. Why are you putting these on the counter? They’re fine. They haven’t even been opened yet.” I grabbed the bags of frozen fruit we used for breakfasts and desserts.

“We can’t use them, we have to throw them away.”

“That isn’t how that works, oh my Force.” I gathered the bags on the counter and went to place them in the freezer.

“What- stop that. What are you doing?”

“I’m putting them back! They will go bad if we let them thaw out,” I shoved the items back on the shelf as I squeezed myself between Kylo and the fridge.

“Y/N, I love you but you need to back up.” Kylo took them back out of the freezer, ticking me off a little bit. “Are you seriously getting upset?”

I locked my jaw to contain myself before I shook my head. “No...” I lied.

“I sense it. You’re getting angry. I just want us to have fresh food, Y/N.”

I took a deep breath and sighed. “I know that, but there’s no need to throw out food that is frozen and is absolutely fine to consume.

We faced each other, each of us holding up our frozen food item. The staring contest lasted all of a minute before I watched him slowly put the food back in the freezer.

“Thank you.” I set the contents of my hand onto the counter beside the rest of the poor unwanted food before I walked over to the pantry again and finished up my project. I soon heard the freezer door shut and Kylo speak.

“I’m done organizing.”

I took a look around the pantry and moved a few things around before replying, “Me too.”

“No, I mean forever,” Kylo then sat in his usual spot at the dinner table.

I closed the door to the pantry and turned to face him. “Forever?”

He replied with a nod, not looking at me. I held in my giggle as I walked over to him and sat on his lap, wrapping my arms around him.

“Well, we got through three rooms...” I paused as I rested my head on his shoulder.

“Yea.. but we can never do that ever again,”

I looked up at him and smirked, “well, not together at least.”

The chuckle that escaped him let me know that he was over any kind of tension there may have been over the frozen fruit.

“I can think of something else that we can do together,” he said softly, somehow not losing any depth to his voice, as he kissed the side of my face.

“Lead the way, Supreme Leader...”

#kylo ren #kylo x reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagines #kylo ren fluff #requested #star wars #Star Wars Fic #star wars imagine #ben solo #ben solo imagine #ben solo one shot #ben solo x reader #ben solo deserved better #domestic!kylo ren

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seyaryminamoto · 4 years

Text

Seyaryyy, it's been a "long" time since I asked you something spoilery about Gladiator =D.

... So, I was writing a pretty lengthy and detailed answer, switched to another tab for a second, and when I came back, my answer was gone and the tab had refreshed! :’D FUN.

... Okay. I’ll try to be a little more concise this time around. As the questions are pretty spoilery, I’ll hide them under the cut too :’D

My question will be about Zhaozula of course. That marriage will happen and things won't be so nice in part 3 in general.

But you mentioned that she won't be on bad terms with her husband all along.

So, will she try to find comfort on him with everything going on? Like accepting it and trying to make the best? Is he going to kinda fall for her or something like that?

And is Rei going to play an important role in part 3??

Sorry if it's too spoilery but as you know, this marriage is something I totally look forward to. I'm waiting for it since the 2nd reviews party.=')

Your wording of what I said about Azula not always being on bad terms with Zhao makes me think I either didn’t explain myself properly, or details of my plans have changed gradually since then...? Either thing is entirely possible, I must admit.

A quick search reveals that I said, 5 years ago, when you asked if they’d get ever along...:

Yeah, surprisingly, but prior to the whole marriage mess they will get along a little better, and will have to work together to resolve a particular problem. Zhao likes the idea of being some sort of mentor to Azula in regards of the Gladiator Business. Azula doesn’t like his behavior much when he gets like that, makes her feel underestimated, but she’s going to make the most of the advantages Zhao offers either way... so yeah, she will work with him when she deems it convenient or necessary. They won’t be BFFs, but Azula will grow to tolerate the man a lot more in the forseeable future.

All this is referring to Part 2 alone, I have to admit. While yes, a lot of my plans have changed and Zhao ended up being a lot more complex than I originally thought he’d be (so not everything in this answer applies 100% to what’s really in the story these days), back when I answerd this question I was referring to Part 2 alone, hence the brief clarification that “prior to the whole marriage mess” they’d get along better. This answer applies exclusively to things that would happen before they’re arranged to marry, not after (a lot of these developments are things we’ve already seen happen throughout Part 2).

Anyways, Azula has been in good terms with Zhao for a while now, since chapter 138 or so, and while there’s ups and downs, their relationship is honestly at its best through Part 2, by far. At the end of Part 2 it will start decaying again, and throughout Part 3 it will only continue to do so.

Without giving too much away, I can say Zhao will try to be generous with Azula in Part 3, to give her as much space as she needs, he will want to be patient so she can adapt to their new situation. And while being as nice as he can be, in such a not-nice-at-all situation, he won’t realize he’s playing into her schemes exactly as she needs him to. By the time he takes notice of this, it’s too late for him to do anything about it: the damage is done, and he isn’t pleased in the least that Azula manipulated him at will.

This will result in Zhao reacting rather adversely towards Azula, and their relationship goes downhill since then. Azula won’t really make any other moves against Zhao after this, won’t even try to manipulate him again, but Zhao won’t see her as someone who needs help anymore. Rather, he sees her as a threat and danger to himself, and every small move she makes, he assumes she’s making it to screw him over somehow, even if that’s not the case.

So... while I’m afraid you won’t really be happy with this answer, their relationship is really at its best right now, before the marriage arrangement even comes to anyone’s mind. Zhao will also take to doing certain things in Part 3 that I honestly don’t think you’ll be happy with... but it’s stuff that ties in with what little we know about his personal life at the moment, so I hope it won’t feel out of place since it’s what I’ve always planned. Either way, I can sum this up by saying Zhao tries his best for Azula at first, until he feels she took advantage of his kindness to turn him into a mindless puppet she was stringing about for her own benefit. After he reaches that conclusion, there’s really no amending this relationship anymore.

Hence, no, Azula never really is in a position where she would seek comfort in Zhao in any sense, for, at the point where he’s at his nicest, she’s at her darkest, and doesn’t want his kindness and consideration. By the time she starts to recover, she has already made her big move and Zhao becomes a lot more hostile towards her, so there’s no attempt to find comfort later on either.

If Azula hadn’t come up with that scheme, there could be a chance Zhao would develop some sort of emotional attachment towards her... but he really doesn’t see her as a romantic interest for himself, even if he can certainly admire her looks, but he’s really not that romantic a man in Gladiator. He outright told Sokka, back when he realized Sokka had feelings for Azula, that he should move on and find other people because he’s young and will get over it...

“...there are other women, you know. I realize you may think she's the only one worth loving, if I were your age I would think the same, but part of growing up is accepting you can find the right girl at the right time, rather than to obsess with the same one forever.”

That was a slightly sneaky way of me to show what Zhao’s personal views of romance are. While there’s obviously a potentially romantic way to develop characters like these, by giving them a significant relationship with someone who will teach them to let go of their skepticism about true love and whatnot, that’s not what will happen with Zhao, especially because of what Azula’s schemes result in.

And the truth is, Azula’s schemes are the only reason why she agrees to the marriage arrangement at all, so... there’s really no possible happy outcome for this relationship in Gladiator. The whole thing is born in the worst of circumstances, between two people who are between reluctant and outright unwilling to be with each other, no matter if they were on good terms shortly before these developments happened... so I’m afraid it won’t be quite what you may have hoped it was. Sorry if my wording was confusing before, or if my plans have changed too much, but there really won’t be much in the way of positive development for that marriage, once it happens.

And now, as for Rei...

... Truthfully, I don’t want to spoil this, but Rei is going to become one of the first good things to happen to Azula in Part 3. The bond between them is seriously heartwarming for me, and I know it sounds weird that Azula will get along so well with Rei when I’m basically saying her relationship with Rei’s father will be a downwards spiral... but Rei, goes without saying, isn’t her father. What Azula already knows about her, at the earliest point in time in Part 3, is enough to establish an initially small bond that will grow tighter as the story progresses.

Rei has had a very complicated life so far. She will serve to show a glimpse of Zhao’s nicest side... yet her very existence is also a highlight of some of Zhao’s nastier flaws. He has been quite kind to Rei and he’s very protective of her, yet... he’s also not kind enough, if that makes sense? He has always been distant with Rei, he’s not exactly a man who knows how to be a father (I mean... she’s serving as a maid at his household? That’s not quite what most people would do with their children, even if they are illegitimate, ESPECIALLY their only child...), so their relationship is already complicated: once Azula is factored in, it gets even more complicated :’D

I don’t really want to give away a lot about Rei, but she is veeeery important in Part 3. I will admit, her role in the story changed gradually -- I always conceived her as Zhao’s illegitimate child, but back when she first showed up (chapter 138) I honestly had no idea what her ultimate role would be. I actually ended up regretting briefly the idea of featuring her as Zhao’s illegitimate child since I thought it’d cause unnecessary drama, and I damn near backtracked on it, to feature her as just his maid and nothing more during Hahn’s Gambit... but then I pondered what Part 3 could look like if Rei, as Zhao’s illegitimate daughter, was part of the equation. And, boy... the result was magical. Thus, instead of backtracking, I went full-speed ahead with making Rei his illegitimate daughter... and here we are!

I seriously look forward to writing Azula and Rei’s relationship, it’s one of the things I’m most excited about in Part 3. While Azula’s relationship with Zhao will be very complicated and not in a cute way (at least, not for me? could be you’ll enjoy it anyhow, I don’t know xD), her relationship and dynamics with Rei are just wonderful to me. I’ve tried to contain my hype about her character, but people on Twitter have known me to suddenly scream “REEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!” in completely out-of-context tweets just because she gives me too many feels whenever I think about her x’DDDDD I figure that will speak for itself regarding how much her character means to me (and to the story).

I hope this is a comprehensive enough answer for both your questions!

#kigozula #gladiator spoilers #regarding a certain... complicated sort of family #I hate Part 3 because on one hand there's so much I'm apprehensive about #AND YET #there's some stuff I'm DYING to write #... and Rei is one of them #*gross sobbing*#reeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiii....#submission

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sergeanttpoliteness · 5 years

Text

➹one love confession, please➹(peter b. parker x reader)

The sad and divorced man who’s become a regular for the past year is constantly spilling his emotions to you, his favorite bartender. This wasn’t something new; you can’t count with both of your hands the times you’ve heard someone recount the odyssey of their life. But these flutters in your stomach were definitely something you didn’t experience with your customers, and you definitely did not end up making out with them at the end of the night. Maybe Peter B. was your only exception, though.

(PART I)

word count: 12.3k (oof)

warnings: cursing, alcohol, and mentions of sex (let me know if i missed something!)

a/n: it’s five am where i live and this is already awfully long so i’m gonna make it as brief as i can. first, i’m sorry it took eight months, but at last, it’s here, and i’m so happy and proud of it ! thank you a million times for the amazing support this story got, seriously. second, this was also for @connorshero 1.6k followers writing challenge, and i can’t express enough how ashamed i am that it took so long lmao, i’m a clown. it’s here, tho, and i hope i hear your thoughts and that y’all enjoy it (:

taglist: @fanbase-jumper

Never in a million years would you have deemed possible a human could undergo through such a crushing feeling of dread, yet, sadly, you found yourself to be wrong, for there you were, a pressure smothering your lungs and an iciness washing over you. You never would have imagined yourself hiding in the bathroom from a certain Peter B. Parker, either; but then again, contrary to your previous thinking, there you sat on the closed toilet seat, your eyes squeezed shut, breathing heavily as a frostbite in your heart eclipsed any other thoughts in your head.

For the last few days, you had tried to repress a memory which physically pained you as you worked at the bar, almost as if it were nothing more than a bizarre dream you had one night, or a movie you watched as a little kid and couldn’t figure out as a grown-up whether it was real or not. It didn’t take long before in your restless little brain, that date did not exist in the calendar. So… strange, how all of sudden you couldn't remember anything from that night. Yeah, nothing happened. There’s no reason or possible explanation as to why you nearly dropped dead to the ground every time the entrance opened, or why your lower stomach erupted like a geyser refusing to rest whenever you caught a glimpse in the mirror of the bruises on your neck and, just maybe, somewhere in the back of your head, recalled how they came to be in the first place; how the small vessels burst, why they’re there. Your self-induced amnesia surprisingly worked. Yeah, like a charm. Until you looked up for the billionth time and it wasn’t another false alarm. The fortress of protection you constructed collapsed as if it took no effort to build it, because there he was— there stood Peter, just a few feet away from you.

Of course, you panicked; hysterically searched your surroundings for an excuse to leave, but no one wanted to bother you when you most needed it. Terrible luck, indeed. You only had two choices (although, really, you most likely had more): you could be, you know, smart and face your problems, or, Peter, to be more concise, or you could run away to hide and wait it out in the bathroom. So, after analyzing it thoroughly for approximately two seconds, what did you do?

Get the fuck out of there, obviously; you threw your towel, sped out of the bar, and instantly headed to have the meltdown of the century in the bathroom.

You screamed into your hands as you relived everything in your head, stomping your foot on the floor tiles. Remorse didn’t suffice anymore to explain the sharp pain in your stomach. You’d sabotaged yourself— you got a nip that night, a morsel of something greater, a catalyst for ‘what if’s and a total loss of self-control, because once the temporary high didn’t satiate you any longer, you’d seek it again. Regardless of your constant imbecility, you weren’t oblivious: it was nothing more than a distraction for Peter’s troubles and conflicting emotions over a woman he’d married, and it would never mean anything to him. It never would, despite how much it meant to you.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out, narrowed eyes reading the recent message while your heart went ballistic.

‘You can’t stay there forever, he’s starting to get suspicious.’

You breathed out, partially relieved. It was your friend. You texted him earlier as you lost it in the bathroom stall, as one does. You were close to getting on your knees and start praying to any superior entity that he was simply imagining stuff like most of the time, attempting to read in between the lines when, in reality, all Peter did was drink his whiskey served over ice, totally unconcerned. Yes, perhaps, you running away didn’t signify ‘subtle’, and the fact that you two hadn’t shared a word or texted ever since you fled his apartment a week prior didn’t brighten the situation at all. Why should it matter if you chose to continue escaping your issues? You could stay there forever, and it was no one’s business. The bar’s urine-scented bathroom could be your new home.

Your phone rang again. ‘Dude, c’mon.’

Goddammit.

Your friend shouldn’t have the power to knock some sense into you with just two messages, but he did anyway. You required an abundance of courage you did not carry to hesitantly walk out of the stall, and then the bathroom. You were sure your heart could hop out of your chest, as gruesome as it may have been, at any moment as Peter’s figure came closer and closer to you with each dreadful step you took. It wasn’t as dramatic in real life, most likely (most definitely). But as if you finally understood your situation, the charisma awakened from its sleep and, in an instant, you let out a disappointed ‘aw!’, replacing your terrified features with an exaggerated pout. “Oh, man! Somebody else already took your order? Unbelievable.”

He reacted as though he overheard the most unbelievable noise— a call from God itself or extraterrestrial life, because he could’ve gotten some whiplash by the way in which his head jerked up.

Peter cleared his throat, unsure of what to do with his hands as he showed you a tight-lipped smile. “Uh, hey! Hey…” He exclaimed and you winked at him. “I thought you weren’t here, or something.”

You thought for a moment. For real this time. You couldn’t say ‘I was just having a breakdown in the bathroom’. “Nah, my boss just needed my help… with stuff,” You waved your hand, aware that your boss had left an hour ago. He hummed and nodded, downing his shot. Wait. Your eyes returned to his glass when you fully took it in. It wasn’t whiskey served over ice.

You pointed at the empty drink in his grasp. “What’s that?”

He glanced down at it, raising a brow. “What, you’ve never seen a shot of vodka?”

“No, no, I mean— yeah, but what the hell happened to your whiskey?”

Peter pressed his lips together, shrugging one shoulder. “I dunno, guess I just… got tired of it?”

The corner of your lips tugged down momentarily. “Ah, I see…” You distracted yourself with a glass, cleaning it despite its already pristine look. You just needed anything to focus on other than Peter. “This is so tragic, your whiskey days have come to an end.” You joked, laughing quietly and disguising the aching in your chest.

He tilted his head, quirking an eyebrow and grinning a confused smile. “What’s wrong with vodka?”

“It’s just… so boring.”

An incredulous grin stretched across his face. “More boring than whiskey?”

Your smile faded, a frown taking its place. “I… I’m guessing I had just grown used to it— I don’t know.”

For the first time in a whole year of weekly meetings and ongoing chatter, an uncomfortable silence sat amongst you two. And for the first time, too, you did not know what to say. “Y/N?” You looked up at him attentively, although you did not want to hear what he had to say at all.

Peter avoided your gaze, instead focusing on his lap, and opened his mouth, closing it when you couldn’t think up any words. “I think, uh… we gotta talk, right? About… y’know.” Your face heated up as red as a field of roses.

You laughed nervously, your hands on the bar as you slanted forward. “...About what?”

“Just, about what happened, and that thing you said the morning after—”

“Did I say anything the morning after?” You cut him off, wishing you’d stuck with your plan of moving into the bathroom.

To your horror, your biggest fear unfolded as Peter let out air through his nose, chuckling without humor.

“Are you gonna try to convince me it was a dream again?” You nearly passed out as Peter cited the words you so vividly remembered uttering. “‘You’re just dreaming?’” It all came back to you, everything— your forced memory loss received a fatal blow as memories bombarded your brain: Peter’s face twisted with puzzlement and sleep after you blurted out your utter nonsense and— how could you forget, oh God, how could you— the cherry on top, your uncomfortably intense five-second staring contest as you headed for the door and dashed out of his apartment.

“‘Wake up?’” He continued and you merely blinked back at him. He didn’t need to fucking quote you and remind you what a joke you were— who does that? But also, who tells the guy you just hooked up with that he’s dreaming after he caught you in the midst of trying to sneak out? B-B-Bingo! Of course, of course it had to be you out of all people.

You stood frozen, like you did that embarrassing morning, begging your head to stop it with the callbacks and breathing out. “What if it was a dream? You never know.” You said, unwilling to give up your idiocy. Peter stared at you, his lack of amusement terrifying you further.

“A dream.”

“Yeah.”

He rubbed his face. “Jesus Christ, Y/N—”

“What?”

“Stop acting like an idiot, please.”

“Peter, you literally could’ve brought up anything else other than this.” You hissed, exasperated. “Any other fucking thing.”

“I can’t not bring this up.”

“Well, why not? I surely can.”

“‘Cause it was weird.”

You grimaced and covered your face with your hands, muffling your words, “Oh my God, I know, I fucking know. What did you want me to do—”

“I don’t know, maybe just talk, you know!” He suggested with raised hands, the harsh sarcasm in his voice deepening your pained expression. “Wh-why did you even say that?! Like—”

“I didn’t want to be there! I just wanted to leave, okay?!” You admitted loudly, uncaring of your blatancy. When you didn’t hear him, your shaking hands slowly unveiled your face. A man two seats away eyed you two as he drank, while Peter stared at the counter with knitted brows, digesting what you said.

“Do you wish it had been a dream?” He asked quietly. You began to tap your finger, your lips shaping the words you wanted to speak, but didn’t exactly know how to.

“No. That’s not it, I…” You croaked out. You couldn’t continue when you noticed what you thought was a flourishing desire in his eyes which you saw that same night back at his place. Just say it. Your fingertips thudded the wood faster, your feet shifting, voice stuttering. Say you’d do it again.

“It was just a one-time thing, right?” You whispered. Then, you doubted if that lust had simply been a delusion your brain fabricated. That, perhaps, you yearned for something bigger so badly you’d projected your own silly cravings onto the man, for all trace of that weakening glimmer was now nothing more than the familiar amity the always held.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Right.” You breathed out.

“It was just a one-time thing.” He repeated as if it were obvious.

“Yes.” You both nodded, unable to look at each other straight in the eye without squirming. As soon as some clients called for you, you shared a last glance before you left. When you returned, all you found were some crumpled dollar bills and no sign of Peter.

You didn’t buy him a gift. And neither did he, but he did send you a message saying, ‘Merry Christmas!’, and there exists a possibility that you broke down crying whilst drunk because of the smiley face he wrote along with it, but that’s something you wouldn’t ever disclose— even if it happened one more time during New Year’s Eve as your head pounded with the people around you religiously blowing their party horns. That was it, though. You didn’t see him at the bar, which a part of you could only be thankful for, but the remaining kicked itself for not fixing things when you had the chance to. For not being honest when you could have.

Your friend yet again with his wisdom from the gods told you to stop wasting time and move on with your life, albeit not as kindly, as if saying it in such a way wasn’t hurtful enough. However, after being too sensitive for two seconds, you sucked it up and knew that he was right.

You managed to keep Peter out of your thoughts most of the time, focusing on your job and getting additional money with your paintings to treat yourself. You could go out more with your friends, buy a new TV, maybe save for the vacation you’d been dreaming of for the past years. For some time, as there was no Peter in your head nor at the bar, it was just like before the man nearing his forties and with a really, really nice nose sat down in front of you.

You could only maintain him out of your orbit for so long, though.

You sat at another bar two blocks down your place, hunched over and your eyes glued on your cell phone’s screen, anticipation pulling imaginary strings connected to your fingers which fidgeted, tossed the device from hand to hand. Your friend was the fourth person you texted in the last thirty minutes, an act born from desperation, perhaps; created upon an urgency for an anchor, a quick fix that would momentarily patch up the heaviness in your chest that made an unwanted visit too many times to your liking and dissipate all the thoughts in your head. You needed something, a distraction, anything— hell, you’d even texted your boss, a known shopaholic, asking if she wanted to go shopping. But everyone appeared to be doing something that night, too engaged in their own affairs to remember you. It was selfish, you understood, to think that way; they had lives, after all. Nevertheless, that selfishness was a blemish you couldn’t vanish as the three dots emerged, followed by the exact same message you dreaded: ‘Can’t tonight, I’m with dad. What about tomorrow?’ There was no tomorrow, though. No, you ached for it right now, in that instant, something.

Peter.

No. You couldn’t. Another decline was a final blow you couldn’t withstand, anyway, especially from him. However, you weren’t the one making the decisions anymore. Your heart manipulated your limbs, and in a blur, you’d searched his contact. Too soon to your liking, you heard that tedious beeping, your heartbeat then the sole noise in your ears once it halted. All of a sudden, you couldn’t talk, your words lodged in your throat, because it was strange to hear that voice again and it was too much for you right now.

“Y/N? Are you there?” Peter said after you didn’t make the slightest sound, hesitance evident in his tone, for he wondered whether it’d been an accidental butt dial. You took in a big breath and pressed your phone closer to your ear, your elbows aching from the hard counter they rested upon.

“...Hi.” You scrunched up your nose, shaking your head at yourself.

“What… what’s up?” It was odd, you both knew, because when did you ever call each other, and when was the last time you two talked? But turning a blind eye to your friend’s advice, you itched to fulfill your own cravings that night— it didn’t really matter what kind, but just a friend was all you needed, just someone.

You stuttered for a while, internally grateful he remained silent and waited for you to clear your mind. “Nothing. That’s why I’m calling, I guess. Just wanted to talk.”

“To talk?” You could hear the engines of driving vehicles in the background and you frowned, scratching the back of your head.

“Sorry, are you busy? I didn’t mean to bother you. I can call another time—”

“No, no!” He stopped you, your heart growing wings, fluttering and capable of flying out of your chest with how gentle he sounded. “I just got done with something and I’m going back home, you don’t have to hang up.”

You hit the tip of your shoes against the bar, tense brows still not relaxing. “Oh, okay…”

“Are you at work?

“No, my shift ends at a normal time on Friday’s, thankfully.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I see— so you’re home alone and bored?”

You observed the place around you, focusing on the bartender and then on your drink. “Eh, not exactly.” You closed your hand into a fist, struggling to not dissect the skin around your nails like an animal in a biology class. “I know this is unusual, we never really talk outside of the bar and we haven’t seen each other in a while, but…”

“It’s kinda our first phone call, isn’t it?”

You smiled, your lip trembling. “Y-Yeah. Our first phone call.” You almost cursed when your voice wavered.

“Hey, you alright?”

You sighed, scratching your head. “Not gonna lie, I’ve been better.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“It’s stupid, I don’t know. It’s a Friday night— everyone’s out having a good time, and I’m just… here, in a bar and on my own.” You shrugged, your nails carving the timber.

“It’s not stupid.” He murmured and you snorted, unconvinced. “If it makes you feel any less alone, I’m not exactly out partying and having a good time, either.”

“Do you even still party, grandpa?”

“Just ‘cause I’m old, it doesn’t mean I still haven’t got the moves.”

“It definitely sounds like you don’t.”

“Don’t sound so sure, you haven’t seen me at my best.” Seeing him wasn’t necessary, you could easily imagine his teasing grin.

“Hm, yeah, I’d immediately take off my clothes if you pretended to lasso me at the club.” You both giggled and you hugged yourself, glancing at the empty stool beside you, biting the inside of your cheek. “Do you maybe want to come and have a drink with me?” You shot your shot, to your thumping heart’s dismay. Guessing by the click you distinguished, he probably just got back home.

“...Have a drink with you?”

“J-Just to hangout, you know.” You quickly explained. “Chat for a while. I can pay, if you want.”

You waited for a response, a rejection. But it didn’t come.

It was quite embarrassing, to say the least, that after he agreed and you hung up, you almost dropped your phone with how the fright weakened your arms as you tried to send him the bar’s address. You eagerly waited, too, like a damn puppy anticipating its owner’s return at the end of the day. Using your phone’s selfie camera, you checked your appearance, tidying up all just to make yourself look way more put together than you actually were, even if you were in a bar, alone, and, well, drinking. Despite your awaiting, though, you were taken off guard when a man chose to settle down beside you and cleared his throat.

“I gotta say, it’s weird to see you on the other side of the bar,” Peter smiled as a greeting. Your eyes scanned him, taking in his presence, struggling to process it as if he were a ghost. In your defense, it did feel as if he hadn’t been part of your world for the last two months.

You chuckled, shyly moving your view to your beverage. “Sorry, I won’t be playing bartender tonight.”

“Too bad, I like it when you give me free drinks.”

“Technically, you still are getting free drinks from me tonight.”

He huffed, a crooked smile lingering on his face. You called for the bartender and side-glanced at Peter, quietly asking what he wanted and biting back a disappointed grunt when it wasn’t whiskey served over ice. Whatever. It was just a drink. You two didn’t share a look after that small interaction, though, your face flustered, redder than the bartender’s awful and painful-to-look-at-from-how-bright-it-was shirt. You preferred to believe it was the alcohol, regardless of the truth that you hadn’t drunk that much yet. But your skin burned since he was there, and suddenly, the last disastrous meeting you two experienced replayed way too loudly in your head, the scorching sensation only spreading further and gaining more vigor with the possibility that it did the same in his, too. The unspoken and evident discomfort was enough to make you assume that it definitely was on his mind.

You made the effort to spark up a conversation with the dreaded small talk. ‘How have you been?’, ‘Anything new?’, ‘The weather’s been pretty cold lately, huh?’— blah, blah, blah. Nonetheless, neither of you had more to say other than short, boring responses. It became so unbearable, you knew the only way you could get through this night— seeing as you couldn’t leave after he’d just gotten there— depended on your current and whoever many you could afford future drinks. Quite an alcoholic mindset, perhaps, but there was no way you were the only one or that Peter didn’t have the same wish as you.

Holding your third drink, tispy thoughts pressed you to climb out of the hell you were in. You turned your body to face him, nudging his leg with your foot. He’d been paying attention to a wildlife documentary and an animal hiding from its predator before he lifted an eyebrow and nodded at you. “What?”

“Where have you been?”

A crease formed between his brows as he found it hard to differentiate this question from the one you asked earlier. “I told you, I haven’t really been up to much—”

You shook your head. “That’s not what I asked. Where have you been?” Peter pursed his lips, contemplating.

“New York.”

You hummed, bringing your drink up to your lips. “Okay. So if you were here, how come I haven’t seen you since, uh—” You pretended to count in your head, tongue poking out of your mouth as you summed with your fingers. “—December?”

“I was busy.” You narrowed your eyes.

“I thought you hadn’t been up to much?”

“I… haven’t,” Peter said slowly, too far in to escape the contradiction. You bit your lip before finishing your half-empty drink all in one go, head spinning, the weight in your stomach drawing you down to the Earth’s core.

It’s difficult to perceive the line between overthinking and legitimacy. It’s so fine and faint, like a message written with chalk in the middle of the neighborhood’s road that can only be deciphered if you stare at it long and closely enough after the days have passed by and the rain showered upon it. On one side, the message was nothing more than scrawls and nonsensical letters, an unnecessary distraction on the road disrupting you from reaching your destination on time. But then, there was the other side: the truth. A truth that, funnily enough, you reached by overthinking in the first place. Which was what occurred when you suspected the reasoning behind the lack of Peter in your life could be pinpointed to the man purposefully avoiding you; and, right now, grasped that, after all, it wasn’t just another case of irrational overanalyzing.

“Do you hate me?” You blurted out, your eyes going round with the disappearance of your filter. Confusion overflowed Peter’s head and spilled into his expression, adorning his face.

“Huh?”

“Do you hate me—”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Where the hell did that come from, though?”

“You’ve been ignoring me.” You stated the obvious, visibly hurt. Peter denied with his head the misconception, sighing.

“It wasn’t intentional.” He assured you not just with his words but his gaze, too. You pressed your lips together, not fully convinced.

“Was it not?” You asked with a small quirk of your mouth. He stared at you, embarrassment crawling across his skin.

“Alright, maybe it was.” He admitted sheepishly. You let out air through your nose, turning on your seat.

“So you do hate me.”

“Y/N,” Peter called for your attention, although he knew it was half-joke. You returned your attention to him. “If I hated you, would I be here, sitting next to you?” He questioned, motioning around him. You shrugged one shoulder, a grin growing on your face.

“I don’t know, maybe you’re just being nice.” You said and he groaned jokingly, sporting his very own lopsided grin.

“I’m being nice because I like you.”

Your smile fell for an instant, but you put the expression back up, reminding yourself that, once more, it didn’t go further than platonic. “Good. But you were mad, then.”

“No, not exactly.”

“You left without saying goodbye last time.”

Peter frowned, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I did. Sorry.” He apologized, the sincerity interlaced in his voice worsening your state. You wanted to place your hand on your chest, as you diagnosed with your zero quantity of medical knowledge that you had a high chance of having a heart attack before the night came to an end.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Why?”

“Well,” You placed your chin on the palm of your hand, moving your eyes elsewhere. “First, for being a dumbass back when we hoo—”

“You know what? You’re fine.” He interrupted you. “Save yourself some time.”

Your brows snapped together. “But—”

“You were right. Let’s just not talk about it and move on, alright?” He waved his hand, grabbing his drink. “If you do talk about it, I think I’m actually gonna get up and leave.”

You laughed, nodding. “Ah, I see. So that’s why you’ve been ignoring me, then?”

His actions halted in the midst of taking a sip. “Maybe.” He answered vaguely.

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t just run away from your problems, Peter.” You pointed out like the hypocrite you were, particularly after that was exactly what you were doing not too long ago. Peter, unaware of this, however, had to admit you spoke the truth as he rubbed his nose with his knuckles, grumbling.

“You see, you say that, but I’m still gonna continue doing it.”

“No, you’re not, because we’re going to discuss this like adults—”

“As an adult, I’m telling you that all is good and I’m over it.” He finished with a warning tone you couldn’t take seriously and you giggled. “Next topic.”

“Okay, grandpa. Sure thing. All is good.” You grinned, the ice in your heart melting off as he copied your countenance.

“For real this time.”

“Yeah. For real this time. Can I be honest with you, though?” Peter waited for you to go on, paying close attention, his gaze soft. You stared at him for a moment too long ‘till your eyes moved to your hand now feebly holding your empty drink. “I missed you. Kind of. Is that dumb?” You mumbled, your voice small.

You couldn’t properly see him, but through your peripheral vision, you didn’t catch any movement. That’s when you prepared to scream ‘sike!’ to his face— a real-life undo button to delete the emotions you couldn’t take back and shove down your system anymore. However, it felt… good. For once, it wasn’t spilling your guts out and regretting everything as you attempted to cram your organs back into you; you had plucked out a thorn that’d been hanging inside the palm of your hand for far too long. It was liberating. And you peered up at him, expecting that relief to be temporary, but his tender features didn’t let that happen.

“...No. I missed you, too.”

You both smiled.

The conversation began to flow. Words started to spill, and although you weren’t at the bar, you enjoyed that exact same security and blissful buzz. You realized then— a revelation that did not help your case— the location didn’t play an important role, and perhaps it never did; bar or not, if Peter was there, you’d still feel stupidly and overly content. Your worries faded away as you two caught up with no drop of MJ’s name, but some lingered anyway, because change was inevitable, looming over you. Laughter left your lips, his hand rested close to yours on the counter. You noticed, but couldn’t bring yourself to pull away, to walk away from the euphoria tainting your body. More liquor entered his, over time you stared at his mouth one, two, three, four seconds too long as you became intoxicated along with him, and so did he with yours.

“C’mon, tell me.” You pouted for an instant, interchanging it for a drunk smile. “Your secret dies with me.”

Peter slammed his fifth drink down, cheeks tinted pink. It was wrong, indeed, to take advantage of his condition and try to get out of him something you’d wanted to know for the longest time, and that he kept to himself as if it were government classified information. In your drunken brain, it did not seem too far off. Perhaps he went on outrageous underground missions. You laughed at yourself. Peter didn’t seem like a spy-type of guy. Unless…

“Do you, like, work for the government?” Peter screwed up his face at your absurdity.

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

Peter opened his mouth, a giggle escaping. “I can’t.” You dragged your stool closer to him, as you weren’t close enough already. Actually, when did you get so close? It didn’t matter. You analyzed his face, hoping that somehow, if you looked at him long enough, you’d gain the ability to read minds and crack into his. Peter drew his lower lip between his teeth, studying you like you were the most interesting being. You didn’t know why, but you felt tempted to move that strand of hair that always hung in front of his forehead away from his face. As any rational person wouldn’t, you did, your thumb brushing against the barely visible scratch that started the conversation in the first place.

“What are you thinking?” You questioned, brimming with interest. He went crossed-eyed as he tried to follow your hand.

“About stuff. Whatcha thinkin’?” He asked back, his view traveling down to your lips. You bit your lip.

The closeness, your full-blown pupils, the actuality that you could lean closer to him and you’d meet his lips. It all seemed too familiar. And so you wondered, if you did move and kiss him, if you stopped resisting and glanced down at his lips, too, what would happen?

“I don’t know. What does it look like I’m thinking?” You asked, lowering your voice. The stench of alcohol should have been enough to stop you both from advancing any further, but Peter licked his lips, smirking.

“It seems to me like you wanna fuck me.”

You gasped, hiccuping. “Oh, my! I didn’t know this part of yours, Peter B. Parker. Is it just the alcohol speaking?”

“Maybe. But is it true?”

“What?”

“What I said.”

Your upper body swayed closer to him, tired, dizzy, and wishing to lie down. You gripped his shoulder and helped yourself add some distance, your other hand landing on his knee. “Maybe.” You simply said. Your eyes remained interlocked into one another, your hand running up his shoulder to his neck, and then all the way up to the back of his head, sensing his goosebumps. “Maybe…” You repeated as your touch on his knee traveled up his thigh. Peter took in a sharp breath, his hand unconsciously wrapping around your wrist.

You couldn’t help it anymore. You leaned in and captured his mouth in a rough kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. Pull away, a voice said in your head as you felt his tongue momentarily slide against your bottom lip. Pull away, the nagging voice went on and you did, shaking your head.

“I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen again.” You whispered, yet your mouth came back into a messy kiss, even messier hands craving touch. Breaking glass startled you two apart and you looked down, sighing when you saw your drink’s contents all over the ground. “You owe me a drink.” You panted, your lips swollen.

Peter scoffed, his half-smile blurring your vision as he tilted his head towards your ear. “Nothing has to happen if you don’t want it to.” He said, mouth ghosting near your cheek despite his words, yearning to continue. You pecked his jaw, lips resting against his hot skin, careless about the other customers in the bar.

“I do want something to happen, though.”

You both ignored the conversation your sober selves had. ‘It was just a one-time thing, right?’. Peter slammed your apartment’s door closed whilst your lips were still connected, your hands clumsily coming down to try to unbuckle his belt. ‘Yeah’. His own hands aided yours, the clinking of his belt buckle speeding up your heartbeat as if it weren’t already dangerously fast. ‘It was just a one-time thing’. Peter groaned into your mouth, tasting like liquor, like something you’d both regret the next morning but did not care about the consequences, even if it was a lesson you’d already learned. Not at the moment.

But nothing happened.

You couldn’t recall much the next morning. The first proof that it didn’t go further from a make-out session was that you woke up in your bed, alone, and wearing the same clothes as the previous night. The second evidence you gathered when you barged into your living room and there slept Peter on your couch, his appearance also identical to the one in your hazy memories. He didn’t remember anything. As you struggled to cease your trembling legs, he simply laughed and asked if he got so wasted he had to crash at your place. You shrugged and smiled, still capable of tasting his lips and vividly feel his hot breath.

From then on, you avoided drinking or being too exhausted to have any common sense when you were around Peter. One day he invited you to go out and have a few drinks again, to ‘repay’ you, and to which you responded as calmly as you could that you had other ‘plans’; other plans that, truthfully, were faker than the disappointed expression of yours that followed. Then, as if you couldn’t ever reach a state of peace, he asked again a month later, and you had no other choice than to invent a faulty reason for why you didn’t feel like drinking that night, the next night, or the one after, even if, according to all the drunk stories you’d recounted to him in the past, you never really turned down a drink or the opportunity to get inebriated. Guilt poisoned you when he never brought up the idea after that, fingers crossed that he didn’t get the impression you didn’t want to meet him in other circumstances other than the bar; regardless that that’s exactly what was going on. Every other night after he helped you with closing the bar, you’d also nod goodbye at him and stand in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting until he turned around the corner so your feet could dreadfully carry you to the subway station, your now-unfixable car present in your head like an aggravating piece of gum that stuck to your shoe.

Nothing could be more vexing than this, though.

Eventually, you began to wonder. Perhaps, yet again, you were as weary as that time you slept with Peter, seeing as you couldn’t think straight, almost as if you’d suffered from a concussion and all your neurons died, to your utmost dismay. But there was a dissimilarity: the unfortunate detail that, unlike physical fatigue, mental exhaustion wouldn’t pack its bags and wave farewell after a night-long sleep. Not when immediately after you woke up, the same worries still found their home within your head. So your imagination took it as an initiative to force feelings and schemes onto you, ones which involved the stomach-churning plausibility that maybe, just maybe, Peter liked you back and you could happily come clean. You had to laugh. But then you really started to wonder.

You needed at least six reasons to follow through with it. First. He was the one who made a move months ago. Second. He wasn’t drunk. Third, you listed in your head, you kissed. Again. And, fourth, this time he might have been drunk, but if he did it both as a sober man and a drunk one, it had to mean something, right?

You were struggling to distinguish the line between overthinking and legitimacy again.

You went to work that day, decided, the fifth reason simply being that you couldn’t get him out of your head, but the sixth reason missing. A truck landing on you would probably do the job, you thought. You didn’t mean it whole-heartedly, of course. But, apparently, the universe didn’t know about sarcasm and how it worked since, an hour after the thought passed through your head, it sent you a nice little gift and Spider-Man just so happened to get in a fight near the bar and an actual truck broke through the walls of the pub.

“I can’t fucking believe a truck landed right here. This is why I hate living in this city so much,” You scoffed, holding a towel wrapped around ice up to your bruised forehead as you observed the gigantic hole where the truck happily invited itself into. Peter barely reacted to your comment, too focused on disinfecting the wound in your arm. You pulled the makeshift ice bag away from your head, screwing your eyes shut. “I’m starting to get a headache from how cold this is, can I—”

Peter grabbed your hand and forced it back up to your forehead, shaking his head and focusing again on your arm. “No, trust me, it will reduce the swelling.”

“Should I be worried that you know so much about injuries?”

“I’m just trying to help.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, looking down at your lap. “I know. Thanks.” You smiled, recalling the urgency in his voice after he called you, saying he’d seen what’d happened on the news. He moved on to the gauze and began to bandage your arm, making sure his movements were delicate lest he hurt you more. “I met Spider-Man, though. I think I can finally die in peace.” You caught the way the corner of his mouth lifted upward.

“Really? Did he apologize for almost killing you?” Peter grumbled, accepting the scissors you offered him to cut the cotton fabric. You released a huff of air, admittedly offended and immediately going to defend the masked superhero.

“He didn’t almost kill me, it was the other guy. Bad guys, you know? They’re everywhere.” He huffed. “He checked up on me and offered to take me to the hospital, though. Pretty cool guy.”

“And why didn’t you say yes?”

You contemplated his question. “Stranger danger.” You shrugged. Peter laughed softly, muttering ‘fair enough’. “It also wasn’t necessary. I didn’t want to interfere with his, uh… superhero duties…”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. “Isn’t making sure you’re okay part of his duties?”

“I guess, but I’m fine, it’s no biggie.”

“Y/N, you could have died.”

“But look at me,” You patted your torso, then holding your arms wide open. “I didn’t. You’re making it sound much worse than it actually was.” Peter ran his hand through his hair, exhaling tiredly.

“Whatever,” He said, hesitance showing through his eyes. “I just think the guy should be more careful. His job is to protect the people, not to… hurt them.”

You scowled playfully, kicking him lightly. “Dude, fuck off, don’t talk shit about him like that. He’s Spider-Man. Give the poor guy a break.” He didn’t say anything, though, stirring your concern as you realized he seemed off since he first arrived. “Are you okay?” You inquired, frowning.

Peter glanced up at you before rubbing his face. “Yeah. It’s just been a long day.”

“Every day is a long day when it comes to you, isn’t it?” You joked lightly, nudging him a second time. “You helped me, now let me help you. What’s up?”

He moved his head from one side to another. “You’re always helping me.” He said almost as an apology, smiling sadly. You smirked back, standing up from your seat next to him to jump over the bar. You grasped an empty shot glass, checking no small debris had made its way into for the sake of Peter’s health (now, that’d be a hell of a lawsuit) before you slid it towards him.

“It’s my job as your bartender.”

He peered down at the glass and then up at you. Chuckling defeatedly, he took ahold of it, and you read it as ‘ah, the hell with it’ as you reached for the bottle of vodka. “I fucked up.” He whispered while you poured the liquid.

You screwed the cap closed, your eyebrows lifting high. “How come?”

Peter placed his head in his hands, nose crinkling. “I, um… talked to MJ?” And just like that, your mood took a fall as well, an inaudible ‘oh’ fleeting past your lips. “It’s the first time we talked in a long time.”

“...And?” You asked anxiously, folding your arms across your chest. Peter clutched onto the shot of vodka, watching the liquid dangerously reach for the edge of the glass after he slowly tipped it.

“Well, she’s trying to move on.” Surprise crossed your face. “And I was so distraught by it for the rest of the day that I really fucked up at work.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“That maybe I should move on, too.”

Your arms fell down to your sides. Maybe you really did hit your head too harshly, you thought, as your body started to feel heavy and you had to support yourself on the bar, for all this information you were hearing at once was colliding against you more vigorously than the pieces of wood which fled towards you earlier. Swallowing to bring moisture to your throat, you continued with the million-dollar question pestering you.

“What’s stopping you?”

You regretted uttering the words, something you seemed to be doing too much to suit your taste as of lately. However, Peter, although the question troubled him the same way it did you, clasped his hands together and you studied him whilst he went through every thought in his head and through every feeling, seeking an explanation he himself needed to know as well.

“I’m not sure if I want to. But I know that I have to.” He finally breathed out. You leaned forward, not satisfied, needing to hear more and more even if it’d hurt, because nothing was more vexing than this feeling.

“But you love her,” You said matter-of-factly. Silence. Your heart pounded rapidly enough you could sense it in your head. “Right?” You asked, embarrassed by the apparent desperation in your tone.

“Huh?” Peter snapped out his thoughts, blinking up at you.

“You love Mary Jane?”

He bit his lip as he went back inside the isolated room of his brain after only just sneaking his head out, evidently growing stressed. “It’s okay,” You brought him back out, sacrificing your curiosity as you gently smiled at him. “You don’t have to answer.”

Peter exhaled thankfully, downing his shot. “What’d you wanna tell me earlier, anyway?” He asked expectantly, his voice scratchy from the liquor. Oh. Yeah, right. Plans might have changed an hour ago, yet for some reason, you still wanted to come clean to Peter. However, right now, after hearing about Mary Jane, you forgot about the sixth reason and remembered why you never did in the first place after all this time.

“Do you… want to go get a drink?” You cursed your imagination for not working when it was necessary. Peter’s forehead creased with astonishment as if he never thought he’d hear that sentence again (in his defense, though, it’s exactly what you were planning to do).

“You finally wanna go and get a drink?”

“Hey, just be glad I’m feeling like it.”

It was an understatement to express you were feeling like it.

You continued searching for that sixth reason for the next weeks, even if the entire world knew that after you found it, you’d keep your lips sealed. Your friend put your friendship at risk when, during your September lunch with your boss, he couldn’t resist but telling her about your ‘secret crush’, saying he simply did it for a third opinion, but neither of you gained no new eye-opening advice for your boss dragged on about how Peter could be ‘the one’, which honestly worked in scaring you away from the topic. One day after, as you couldn’t fall asleep, you deliberated the reasons why you should forget about Peter.

One. He’s your friend. Your really good friend. You liked him being your friend. He’s funny, a nerd, and you could talk to him forever, even if it was merely absolute nonsense. Two. He’s a lot older than you. Not that eight years mattered that much, but it could. You were just entering your thirties whilst he was nearing his forties. Even if he’d made it clear kids weren’t his cup of tea, he could change his mind. You weren’t ready to settle down yet, despite most people reminding you the clock was ticking and you should start considering it.

Three. The iconic Mary Jane Watson. Peter’s ex-wife whom he loved dearly. He might have not talked about her since he mentioned the idea of moving on, but you knew it was easier said than done. If you opened up, he could shut you down and reveal he’s still in love with MJ. Or worse, if you two did wind up dating, he could decide to leave you for her. Four. Your friend helped you with the fourth one. He had yet to tell you about why he’s bruised most of the time. It admittedly awakened the cynicism in you, for it could be something which had the potential of putting you at risk, or get you killed. Plus, if he did not want to give you an explanation, it meant he didn’t trust you enough.

Five. You couldn’t lose him. You already almost did. Your absurd crush could be the last straw and get rid of him for good. If that was the case, then you’d do anything to muffle your heart singing its love songs when he crossed your mind or simply stood in front of you. You’d do it, even if it’d hurt.

Again, you couldn’t come up with a sixth reason. You established, then, that whichever reason you uncovered first, would be the final word. Your friend knew both a sixth reason for why you shouldn’t forget about Peter and why you should that, trying not to influence you any further, he kept to himself; it being clear in his head which one he hoped you’d find first.

It was another Friday night. You’d just returned home after wasting your money on some restaurant that definitely was not worth the price (goddamn New York) when your phone blared its ringtone in your pocket. Your heart clenched as you read the name and were about to answer immediately, until you stopped yourself. Counting eight seconds in your head, your thumb slid across the screen after you got to the last number and picked up the call. “Peter?” You were audibly and justifiably perplexed— why has he calling you at… you checked the time— ten P.M,? It may have not been the first one anymore, but phone calls were still a rare occurrence between you two.

“Hey! Are you busy?” His breathing was heavy, which made you wonder what he possibly could’ve been up to before he called you.

You opened your apartment’s door and blindly searched for the light switch. “No, I just got back home, actually.” You muttered, and then voiced a victorious exclamation when the room lit up in front of your eyes. “Why?”

He inhaled profoundly. “Cool. Great. Yeah.”

You guessed the barely distinguishable quiver in his voice could be defined as uneasiness as you sat down on your couch’s armrest, squinting.

“Is everything okay?”

“...Yeah. Yeah!” He repeated, firstly too quietly but now with faux confidence. “I needed to talk to you.”

Ah, hell. You had one important question and one only: when would you get a break from confrontation and those words? The last time you and Peter ‘needed to talk’ didn’t exactly go as smoothly. That in mind, your organs plummeted down into an expanding black hole in your stomach as you brought your fingers up to your lips. “I’m all ears, as always.” No, not really, but you didn’t exactly have any other choice.

“Okay, okay. Um, I, uh… what am I doing?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“I wanna say sorry in advance.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

You could solely hear what sounded like wind. “You’re not gonna believe me, so just, just look outside your window.”

The black hole having devoured the contents in your system, you raised to your feet and sped to the window, not capable of painting in your head a single picture of what in the heavens the man could be planning. You unlatched the lock and glided the window upward, your head gradually peering out. Your eyes went as big and round as the full moon glowing above you when you saw it.

You stared dumbfounded, close to pinching yourself to do a reality check. It had to be a dream. A strange dream. There was just no way. No fucking way, it was absolutely impossible. It was beyond the innumerable existing possibilities that Spider-Man looked back at you, stuck against the wall. Similar to someone’s lack of subtlety, it couldn’t have been any more evident. You didn’t even need a big brain or to think, to analyze deeply as if it were a riddle in a newspaper. Because it was just right there in front of you, plainly obvious and transforming your blood into ice: the phone he held up to his face.

“Hi…” Said the masked hero. And so did Peter through the phone call.

Your phone slipped from your grasp, yet you didn’t glance down at it. You continued to gawk at the man as he flicked his wrist and saved not only your phone, but simultaneously also your bank account from having to spend hundreds of dollars on a new one. You did not mutter a thanks, let out no relieved sigh when he gave it back to you. You just stared.

“I know I’m pretty cool to look at, but can you please say something?” He laughed nervously. Ignoring him, you took a step back and retreated your head, eyes close to falling out of their sockets. The phone in your shaky hands rang a second time and you answered without needing to look at the contact.

“H-Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Peter, what the fuck.”

“I’ve done this so many times but I still don’t know what to say.” He groaned to himself. You put your hand on top of your head, disbelieving.

“Get in.” You abruptly ended the call and plopped down on your couch, clutching your stomach, blinking furiously after black dots uncontrollably twirled in your vision. You heard a thump, the floor shaking slightly; however, you didn’t turn around to look at your guest, instead focusing on the wall in front of you. It wasn’t until the cushion beside you sank with the man’s weight that you blew up. “Holy shit.” You cupped your face with your hands, laughing out of pure shock. “Holy shit… holy shit!”

“Don’t freak out.”

“How am I not supposed to freak out?!”

Peter— Spider-Man shrugged, his white lenses wide. “I don’t… I don’t know.” He admitted.

You scanned his mask, the mask you’d become familiar with after seeing it so many times on TV and pictures. Somehow, however, regardless if you knew that mask and the person behind it, you couldn’t believe its authenticity. “Take off the mask.” He didn’t move or respond. “Please.” You begged.

You first saw the stubble. Then his lips. Then his crooked nose, and soon, those eyes. The whiskey eyes. Peter’s whiskey eyes. Your hands wound up on his broad shoulders, and for some reason you yourself couldn’t work out, it just dawned upon you how muscular they were. Your eyes came back to his face. Yeah, that’s Peter. That’s Peter B. Parker. Peter Parker was Spider-Man. All the revelations crashed against you quick, glass shattering in your head, everything suddenly making sense. The bruises. His constant fatigue. Everything.

“Peter… oh my God.”

“I know I-I kept this from you for a really long time, and I know it’s hard to fully digest it, but I did promise I was gonna tell you one day.” He said, the corner of his lips twitching. But you weren’t smiling— all the terrible fights you’d watched on the news throughout the years flashed in your head, going all the way back in time to when you first discovered Queens’ brand-new superhero as a seven-year-old.

You gasped, covering your mouth. “You’re telling me you’ve been at this since you were a fucking kid?”

Peter let his mask drop to the carpeted ground, his back sliding down the sofa’s backrest. “Since I was fifteen, yeah.”

“Peter…”

He grimaced at your concern. “I know it sounds sad, but it’s not… it’s not that bad.” He promised you, but you couldn’t take him seriously. You picked up your legs, sitting cross-legged and playing with your fingers as you continued to go through your racing questions.

“I used to look up to you when I was little.” You revealed quietly. Peter scoffed, grinning playfully.

“What, you don’t anymore?”

You shook your head vigorously. “I do. Shit, I still do. I never thought I’d meet my childhood hero the way I did, though.”

“Sorry I’m just a sad, old man.”

You rolled your eyes, prodding him with your elbow. “You’re so much more than that.” All humor fled his expression and he shut his eyes, throwing his head back.

“Am I? I constantly feel like I’m letting everyone down.” He huffed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he spoke. There it was, of course; he couldn’t talk about Spider-Man in a non-degrading way.

“You’re fucking Spider-Man!” You exclaimed, not accepting his utter bullshit, but he was willing to accept it as he peeked one eye open to look at you.

“I know, you always say that.”

You gave up in trying to change his mind and shifted closer to him, copying his position, unable to focus on your view of the boring, mundane ceiling; so you turned your head to see Peter getting lost in the white square. “You really didn’t have to tell me. This is a big secret.”

“It’s alright. I trust you.” You were glad he kept staring up as you felt the blood rush to your face.

“You do?” You asked, your chest warm, illuminated with glee. Peter glanced at you, nodding nonchalantly.

“I mean, yeah. I really do.”

You turned your face away from him, your muscles close to tearing from how big and proudly you grinned. “Spider-Man trusts me.” You hushed to yourself.

Peter breathed out, exasperated, his eyes fluttering closed again. “Stop.” He pleaded, laughing himself nonetheless. You bit your smile back, moving to sit straight in what your friend liked to call your ‘parent worried about their kid’ sitting position.

“I guess I was right for worrying, huh?” You smiled sadly, taking in the severity of the situation. He poked his cheek with his tongue, shaking his head.

“I don’t want you to worry.” He sighed. You snorted.

“That’s dumb. You’re saying you’re always putting your life on the line? Of course I’m gonna worry.”

“Well, I worry about you, too.”

“How come?”

“If you’re close to me, then you’re putting your life on the line as well.”

You frowned, squeezing his arm to comfort him. “No, don’t say that.”

“Y/N, it’s the truth, though.” He fully sat up to turn toward you, his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s the worst thing about this. How many times have the people I care about gotten hurt? All ‘cause of me?”

You remained speechless. Moments later, he placed his hands flat against the sofa, preparing to stand up. “Y’know, I get it if you want to keep your distance from now on. I actually think it’d be a good—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” You warned him, expression stern. “It’s stupid.”

“I almost got you killed that other time—”

“You didn’t almost get me fucking killed, for Christ’s sake!”

Peter’s jaw tightened and he ran his hands through his hair, that strand of hair falling back in front of his forehead. “Whatever. You can’t be so sure, anyway.”

You pressed your lips together, knowing that he was right. You nervously placed your hand on top of his. “Can I hug you?” You asked like a child, giving him a half-smile. Peter looked down at your hand before his eyes moved to you.

“Sure. Y-Yeah.”

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him hard, your eyes squeezing shut. You felt him slowly embrace your waist, scared of underestimating his strength. “I’m glad you told me. It must have been really hard.” You murmured against his chest. He chuckled humorlessly, his cheek on top of your head.

“You have no idea.”

“I’m gonna be here for you no matter what, okay? Whether it’s to vent or for some weird spider shit. I…” Love you. “You’re my friend, dude.”

After he left that night, you’d never been more conflicted about your feelings. It was a conundrum; a whole headache-inducing brain-teaser. You’d striked out the fourth reason why you should forget about Peter, the original five down to only four, but you still searched for that sixth— now fifth reason. As if it didn’t scramble your brain enough that it left you dazed and your thoughts impossible untangle, Peter unknowingly joined the game with the objective of rattling you up more.

You noticed he didn’t disappear without notice ever again, and if he did, he didn’t leave you hanging, rather he sent you a text the day after with an entire clarification. Then, you caught onto the increasing meter of his touchiness: new and unexpected hugs, holding your damn hand— although that only happened twice, but still. Your overdramatic friend didn’t even need to point it out.

One Saturday, he sat down in front of you, and before you could greet him, he surprised you. “One whiskey served over ice, please.” He smirked. You gaped at him, laughing, face astonished.

“What’s up with that?” He shrugged, grin never disappearing.

“I dunno, I guess I missed it.”

You never thought you’d continue hearing ‘one whiskey served over ice, please’ ever again. But you did.

This year, you did give him a present for Hanukkah and Christmas. A painting of one of your favorite photos of his that he showed you one day; a day you so vividly recalled, for he asked you to come with him to take pictures of an exhibition at a museum, and you accidentally broke a statue after you leaned against it in the attempt of doing an extravagant pose. To your surprise, he gave you one, too: a photo album with pictures from that day, and a message that read, ‘Merry Christmas!’, accompanied by a smiley face. In the blink of an eye, it was New Year’s Eve again, except that this time, you and Peter were talking.

You came out of the party’s bathroom, unable to tear your gaze away for the fourth time from Peter’s New Year’s Eve message, until you bumped into someone and had to force yourself to pocket your phone. You lazily swayed to the music, your vision blurring out, turning it harder to find your friend amidst the people. While your body was there, all your five senses working perfectly, feeling the heat from the enclosed space, the music vibrating in your chest, the smell of alcohol and smoke fixed in your nostrils, your mind lived in December 20th. December 20th being last Monday: a date that continued to echo in your head, the entirety of the day playing from the beginning until the pitch-black hour of midnight. It played, played, played relentlessly, exhaustingly. December 20th, it continued, a stupid date that your drunk self could not let go of.

You distinguished your friend in the crowd, comfort kissing your body and your tired legs guiding you to him, until you moved a person aside and saw the full view of his lower body grinding against a girl all over him. “Ah, fucking gross,” You groaned, pushing the unlucky same guy as you took a turn and headed for the glass door leading out to the balcony.

You firstly bumped into the door thinking it was open, but successfully slid it open and made it out into the winter weather, the city more awake than ever twenty minutes before the New Year. But you weren’t focusing on the future. No, you held onto last Monday, gripping it so tightly it hurt, hanging onto it as if you’d be nothing once it left. You stumbled towards the bench to your left, falling defeated on it. December 20th. You turned on your phone, squinting down at the screen, eyes struggling to focus through the brightness. Last week. You opened your contacts and without hesitation called a number, bringing your phone up to your ear, humming along to the beeping whilst you awaited for the person to pick up.

“Hello?” Peter said. You hung up, eyes wide. What the fuck were you doing? You didn’t answer your own question, though; you pressed the button to call again.

“...Hi?”

You ended the call a second time, growing frustrated with yourself. Having finally made up your mind, you called him one last time, jumping when he answered in what appeared a worldwide record-time. “Y/N, what the fuck—”

“Peter! You answered.”

There was a short silence. “I did.” He agreed, undeniably puzzled. You slumped against the wall, muffling your dopey laughter with the palm of your hand. You could hear… ah, wait. You could see, not hear, his face in your head with no problem: his furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

“How are you?” You wanted to hear about his day. What had he eaten that day? What had crossed his mind? Hopefully you’d made an appearance at least once. That’d be nice.

“I’m good, thanks for asking.” You hummed happily. “How drunk are you?”

You shook your head, failing at rubbing the haziness out of your eyes. “Just a bit tipsy, maybe.”

“How much exactly is ‘a bit tipsy’ for you?”

“How many phone calls have we had?”

A question out of the blue, you knew, and you were expecting yet again the quietness as he processed your sudden need to quiz him about such insignificant rubbish. Well… did he think it was insignificant? So many questions bouncing off your skull all at once, worsening that awful migraine you could already feel coming… or was it the booze? No, who cares. All you cared about at the moment was his response, because knowing how many fucking phone calls you’ve had wasn’t that hard unless you didn’t care.

“What?” Really? He was going to make you repeat yourself? You dug the heel of the palm into your closed eye, white fireworks blowing up in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Like, for these past two years. How many phone calls?”

“I… don’t know, maybe like three?”

Your face fell ever so slightly. “It’s six, actually.” You heard an unenthusiastic gasp.

“Wow, that’s great.”

“Do you remember the sixth one?”

“Isn’t this the sixth one?”

“This is the seventh one.”

“Okay, and why are you giving me a class about how many phone calls we’ve had?”

“Because you don’t remember the sixth one. I’m sure you don’t even remember the fifth one that well.”

He remained quiet for a moment. “It’s a blur.” Peter murmured.

“You were drunk…” You shut both eyes now, trying to dig through the fog to recall. “It was after you came to the bar…” Peter’s embarrassed stutters, similar to his inebriated ones, helped to uncover the memory further.

“I-I was drunk, yeah,” He admitted, “just like you are right now.”

“And what did you say?”

He laughed uncomfortably. “I think you remember better than I do.”

You grinned. “You’re embarrassed.”

“Of course I’m embarrassed, Y/N.”

“Well, what about the sixth time you called me?”

“I seriously can’t remember a sixth time.”

“It wasn’t a failed booty call.”

He breathed in harshly. “Ah, I’m glad, I guess.”

A frown took over your features. “You really can’t remember?” You needed him to. He had to. Or else... or else…

“I swear on my aunt.”

Your heart shattered, the sharp pieces prodding and hurting your chest. “So… so I guess you didn’t mean what you said?” You mumbled to yourself, realization sobering you more than you wanted it to.

Peter couldn’t help but begin to panic a bit at the mention of expressing something without his knowledge, or at least without his not drunk self’s knowledge. You immediately grew conscious of it for this time, the silence was different. “...What did I say?” He questioned, somewhat afraid. You didn’t speak. “Y/N? What did I say?” He pushed more urgently.

“It doesn’t matter,” You changed your mind. Calling was just another bad idea. You took your phone away from your ear for a second, jumping off from your seat, but your foot accidentally knocked over your drink. You stared down at the growing pool of alcohol staining the floor, seeping underneath your shoe. Blinking, you looked at your phone, at Peter’s name, and the numbers of the counter below it rising, marking each of your thumping heartbeat.

The sixth reason. You needed it to stop you right now; an instruction to back out, the reassurance that it was still an option and it didn’t stop being one long ago. But as your finger came down to end the call for the better, your head screamed, freezing you.

Sixth. You were in love with Peter Parker.

You dropped back down on the bench, eyes glazed over. That was it. The sixth reason. Peter. The man nearing his forties and with the loveliest messed up nose. The customer you met last year and that continued to come to bar you worked at just to talk to you, his bartender. The guy you laughed with, sang with, slept with, became too close with, fell in love with. You put the phone back up to its right place, anxiously licking your lips. “Look, I’m gonna regret this. I know I am. But that hasn’t stopped me in the past, so why should it now, right?” You chuckled, your eyes wide.

“I’m really concerned about that phone call, though.”

“Peter,” You glanced up at the sky, gulping. “I’m so glad I met you. I really am.”

“I-I’m glad I met you, too.”

You smiled momentarily. “Good. Working at the bar had become such a pain in the ass, and it still kinda is, but then you came that first time, and you called me ‘kid’ which annoyed me, but I was still hoping that maybe you’d stay, you know?”

“Why?”

“Because…” Your free hand came up to aid the other which trembled too much, grasping it tightly. “I don’t know, it was weird, I just couldn’t… I-I really wanted to get to know you. And it took some time but eventually we did talk— you said that stupid pick-up line and somehow it worked. I really need to higher my standards.”

“Hey, it was a great pick-up line.”

“It really wasn’t.”

“You gave me your number, didn’t you?”

The corner of your mouth twitched upward, and you laughed softly at yourself. “I did, I did. And I’m glad I did, even if you were just trying to get your mind off of MJ.” The truth stung as it glided out of your mouth.

Peter thought for a moment before continuing, “Maybe I just wanted a friend.” But it lacked sincerity, and you both could recognize that.

“But, Pete,” You bit your lip, looking down at the mess you’d left on the ground, the sole of your shoe now sticky. “Am I really just a friend?”

More silence. You breathed in, your chest moving up. “Be honest with me, please.” You begged, your voice hushed.

“Okay.”

Your stomach began to cramp up. “That time we hooked up,” You paused, the eerie shortage of noise on the other side of the line pushing you to go on. “Did it mean anything to you? Was it anything more than just a distraction?”

“I…”

“Or what about that other time at my place? Why did nothing happen?”

“We were too wasted. It was wrong.”

“So you do remember.”

“I do.”

You placed your hand on top of the other, beginning to pace around. “Are you lying about that phone call, too?”

“What is it with this phone call you say? What happened?” He repeated, desperate and with a hint of irritation. You approached the railing, placing your elbows on the metal.

“Just… be honest with me.”

“I am, Y/N.”

You kneaded your forehead with your knuckles, shaking your head. “I can’t take it anymore. It’s been too long, and it’s so confusing. You’re so confusing. Or maybe I’m stupid, I don’t know. There’s… there’s this thing, I know you can feel it as well, and sometimes it’s as if there’s a chance that you might feel the same way I do, but then the next minute it’s as if not, a-and it’s so confusing.”

“Feel the same way you do? What do you mean?” He clearly knew what you meant. Your eyes traveled around the city, the cold and strong breeze nearly knocking your body backward. If he knew, why couldn’t he simply outright admit it? Why, all of a sudden, was it taking him so long?

“The phone call…”

He groaned. “Y/N, just please tell me why you’re so hung up on that phone call?”

“It was last week. You said you liked me.”

You said it. He heard it. He finally heard it, and you waited for anything like an idiot, yet it never came. You checked if you had accidentally hung up the call, but when you saw that it was still going, you sighed and decided to end it for once and for all. “We can be anything. Anything, okay? I can just be your bartender, you can be my client, we can be friends, w-we can be more. If it’s not supposed to be, then just as long as you’re there, I really won’t mind. Just, please… I’m begging you…” You whispered, not capable of discerning whether your body quivered from the winter or the fear brutally gnawing on you.

“Be honest.”

Peter held his breath. “Y/N…” You waited, shoulders shaking, the stupid fucking silence clutching you by the neck as you waited. Just say it. Just say it—

“I’m still in love with MJ. I’m sorry.”

Oh.

“Oh.” You said aloud, voice cracking. “Wow.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No. Pete, no, I’m…Thank you. It’s just kinda hard to take it in, but I...” You tightened your jaw, your throat aching, swallowing back your pity. “I will. Thank you for being honest, though.”

“I really hope this doesn’t ruin things,” You could barely hear him: your brain too loud compared to his voice. You shook your head frantically, scrunching up your nose to hold back a sniffle.

“Never. I love you.” It wasn’t the way you wanted to say it. “You’re my friend. And I’m not going anywhere because you said I was stuck with you, remember?”

He laughed, a beam of light that almost mended your fractured heart. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten about that.” You smiled brightly, wiping the tears you’d tried so hard to stop from running down your cheeks. You stood straight, but it was only for a mere second, for your arms plopped back down onto the railing from the lightheadedness which threatened to bring you down.

“Okay,” You slurred, the bile rising up and burning your throat. “I’m gonna leave you. My friend will hate me if I miss the countdown…”

“Sure. Happy new year… be safe.”

You giggled, waving your hand at no one, really. “Don’t worry about me grandpa, I do this every year.” You doubted the idea that popped in your head, but voiced it anyway, “And if you need any help with MJ, I’m here. I can give you a discount at the bar for a date night!” The excitement you forced onto yourself was salt on the wound.

“I’m not sure if that’s a romantic idea, but thanks, I’ll think about it.” You both hesitated, waiting for something once again. But when you realized that it’d never arrive no matter how much time passed, you nodded quietly and unwrapped your arms from yourself, preparing to let go of that feeling you’d clutched onto for the longest time as well.

“I’ll see you around.” You finally said and hung up. You stared at your phone, grief by your side, holding your hand. Yet, to your surprise, a weak smile started to creep on you, relief slowly sewing your heart together. You told yourself that the heaviness in your heart didn’t matter, because at least you had Peter. At least he would still be there, at the bar, with his whiskey served over ice.

As you stumbled to your feet, ready to join your friend and drink away your bittersweet ache, your phone began to vibrate. Your brows twisted together and you looked down, sliding your thumb across the screen.

“Peter?”

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