#i think i will expand on this more when i prep it for ao3!!

[cetaceans-pls]

Hit Me With Your Best Short

happy birthday to @setsailslash, who got me into this (bat) hole and every day helps me dig it deeper. hope u got SO much good food to eat babe c:

jaybru, age regression, established relationship

-🚸-

Jason's pretty used to all types of things, but this one's a doozy. Villain-of-the-week this week's a frazzled-looking woman who keeps flipping between, uhm, Welsh, and shouting about de-throning Circe while she shoots lightning out her hands. Luckily, Gotham's Hot Swamp Summer is in full swing this mid-spring, and between the rocketing temperatures and humidity so full-bodied you're almost under water, the streets are real quiet as she shouts and zaps and, on 3 occasions, summons tigers.

Phew. Jason sends off a quick message to animal control (the genetic diversity introduced by emotionally-unstable magicians bringing endangered species into existence has, somehow, been a boon) and lets off a few potshots. He's trying to corner her into the deadzone between 14th and Bassett, that funny little intersection where magic and mobile data goes to die. Z says it's some strange trick with leylines, coherent magic waves interacting destructively to dampen power, and they'd only found the spot because there's a Mozambican seafood restaurant there that is maybe a little godly, and in her pursuit of a personal record in grilled prawn consumption Z had gotten her nice blouse all prawn'd up and could not prawn down them with just a spell.

Anyways. It's not the time to think about prawns, even if Jason always wants to think about prawns. He's herding sorcerer-lady closer and closer to Cantinho do Aziz, and he knows that once she's on the sidewalk then her power's going to sputter and die out, and he just needs to keep his distance, keep his cool, keep his-

Ah, shit. She's gotten another tiger in (good!), and she's called it right behind him (bad!). He doesn't have much in the way of Options for Escape, with Stripey roaring at him and lady yelling at him, but she's half a step away from losing power and Jason's a quick runner.

"Ah, shit," he says, dropping his gun then dropping his head before bum-rushing the Boss Babe. This is a good plan! Body-tackle her into the no-go zone then knock her out, preferably before he gets zapped and before he gets mauled!

Well. One outta two ain't bad.

-🚸-

When Jason comes to, he's on the cot in the medical bay, and his head is spinning and the floor looks awfully far far away. "Fuck me," he says, and then "Fuck me?" he says again, because that isn't his voice.

"Language, Master Jason," Alfred says, manifesting from the other side of the divider, holding a tray of tea and fried rice in his hands.

"Am I dying?" Jason asks very intently in his terribly high-pitched voice. He Loves fried rice but one of Alfred's very very few weaknesses is an inability to love and be loved by woks, so the only time they get stir-fry is when someone's not doing so hot.

"No," Alfred says, getting him set up. "And as such, this is not my best work. I just presumed you could do with some comfort, given..."

Jason sighs, and flexes his (tiny tiny) hand. "Yeah, given. How old am I, and do we knows how long I'm gonna stay like this? And did we catch the woman that did this?"

Alfred hands over a spoon after he's helped Jason sit up. "Twelve years old, I would say." Not fifteen, he doesn't say, so at least that's one less thing to worry about. "And we have apprehended the sorceress; she's still unconscious, so no help there. And unfortunately, given your condition and the ongoing situation in the 4th circle of hell, it'll be a while yet before we get a magician to come and check on you."

Jason groans. "There goes date night then, unless I'm gonna recover in 2 days." He tucks into his fried rice, and it's hot and a little greasy and kinda spicy and it's not Alfred's best work but it's nevertheless mighty mighty fine. "B handling this okay?"

Alfred inclines his head. "Once we got you home and checked that you were not injured beyond a, ah, temporal displacement, he left to finish clean-up of a little drug bust along Millionaire's Mile. He's handling this better than I've expected, in all honesty."

Jason chugs down his sweet milk tea, licks his lips. "When'd he go and get himself good at responding to stress?" he says, a little glad and a little irritated that Bruce isn't actually right by his side, hunched over looking like his guts are trying to eat him from the inside out.

"When indeed," Alfred says with great sufferance, face calm and eyes definitely not rolling. "He's been wearing a hole into the ground by the computer to avoid hovering. Do go and ease his mind when you can, Master Jason."

Jason rolls his ankles, his shoulders, his neck. Everything well, everything unbroken. He rubs at his chest, through the linen pyjamas that MUST be Damian's because what other child wears linen pyjamas, and notes the marked absence of an autopsy scar.

At least he isn't 15, though it sure is April. It's a miracle that Bruce hasn't run off to space, or come in here to shout at him. "No time like the present, huh."

Even if right now the definitions of both 'time' and 'present' are a little, uh. Uhm.

-🚸-

As expected, Bruce is by the computer, on a call with Superman and Wonder Woman, likely discussing the last apocalypse they averted in preparation for the next one coming in. Superman sees him first, obvious in his smile widening, sees him clear and dear even through the privacy blur Bruce has on, though the darkness of the cave and the limited quality of even the Bat WebCamera.

(Of course Superman isn't limited to regular human senses, of course of course, but Jason has this, hah, sense that Clark has some typa supernatural eye just on him, just for him, because he's the one that Died and Clark's very human in that he grieves and that he's not maybe too good at grieving, and Clark's very not because some nights when Jason's riding awful close to an edge he'll Feel that he's being watched, like a loving Sauron's got his eye on him in a way that goes beyond X-rays and electromagnetism.

It's almost off-putting, but Jason thinks if he can peer through the fifth-dimension unto a child that died then un-died but keeps doing things that could get themselves killed, he'd be all ogling all the time, so it's hard to keep a grudge.)

Superman's face is gently dissolving around the force of Clark's dimples, and Jason grins with his gappy teeth and says "Hi Uncle Clark!"

"Jason," Diana is smiling now too. "My, how you've grown."

It's silly, and she's laughing at her joke and she's laughing at herself, and Jason can't help but laugh too. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." He pauses, clears his throat, because his voice had cracked a little bit and 2/3rds of the Trinity are looking at him so warmly they could melt diamonds, but it's the last third that he's worried about. "I just got up, and I gotta talk to B. Is it okay if I steal him for the night?"

"Of course," Diana says magnanimously. "We will, after all, be seeing you for breakfast."

"Will we now," Bruce says flatly.

"No force on Earth's gonna keep me away from taking young Robin for a joyride 'cross the Eastern Seaboard, B," Clark says, grinning hugely. "If you're interested, that is."

Oh, man. What a flashback to times before. Jason knows he's a cute kid at the moment, mussed hair and big eyed and bare-toed, but he still feels like him, and it's been a while since he as himself had any type of one-on-one time with his (former?) idols. He feels a little wrong-footed, a little like saying 'I'm actually still an adult' and 'where were you when I was young and fresh out the grave', and the spitefulness comes sudden and comes ugly.

Something must show on his face, this soft round one whose muscles he's forgotten, because Clark's dimples smoothen out and it's Superman again, and the eye of Sauron that's on him turns a little cool even if it doesn't turn away. "Plenty of time to discuss this in the morning, so we won't keep you. Speak soon."

Diana frowns a little, before she nods. "Yes, we shall speak soon," she says like it's a blood oath, and then they're both gone, and now it's just Bruce in his BatChair and it's Jason in this body that just barely comes to Bruce's shoulder while he's sat down.

Bruce still hasn't looked at him.

"At least I'm not 15," Jason says at long last.

"That does not make it better," Bruce says, tight-jawed and facing his darkened screen.

"Can't make it worse." Sick of being ignored, sicker still of being yea tall when he used to have the barest height advantage, Jason clambers up on the chair, straddles Bruce's lap and grabs him by the chin as tightly as this child's hand can get. "You look at me when I'm talking to you," he says, voice still too too high to be menacing.

Bruce looks at him, then pointedly looks away. "Did Alfred tell you? I went back out, finished up my work, even after you got brought in like this."

Jason frowns. "Yeah, he did. We both thought that was mighty adult of you, doing the right thing."

"Was it? The right thing?"

Ahhh, there we go. The slightest sliver of eye contact, because say what you will about his obstinacy but once you've earned it, Bruce is so so good at following instruction. Jason snorts, and slides his hand down so it rests gentle gentle on Bruce's neck. "Yeah. I was fine, even if I'm like this, and needs must. Man's got a mission after all, right."

Bruce closes his eyes, and doesn't open them again like they're too too heavy. "You don't think there's something deeply wrong with a person who can look on the unconscious body of their, their, lover son-not-son and make themselves get up and leave? That I made myself decide that the mission is more important? That there's any singular thing would be more important than you?"

Jason usually gets real fed up real quick with Bruce's angst, on account of only one them having been the one beaten to death then exploded then resurrected into a thing of trauma and rage, but... Well. It's April. And dying Sucked Bigly but the whole time through he got to hold on to the truly unshakeable confidence that none of it had been his fault, a 15-year-old dumbass who had wanted so dearly to love so's he would feel all right to be loved in return.

Bruce doesn't get that unbearable clarity of being; the joker did the killing, but Bruce and Jason both know that Bruce has some portion of Jason's blood on his hands. And Jason can say don't mind it and just love me right right now and he gets to mean it because, y'know, it's his own damn blood, but Bruce doesn't have that right. Doesn't get to wash it off, doesn't want to wash it off, and it's his strong point (nobody this damn good at keeping tally of their sins) it's the thing that will kill him (nobody got this much hard hard earned guilt 'round their neck).

Jason presses his thumbnail against Bruce's jugular, and the reach of his fingers looks nonsensical next to the bulk of Bruce's neck, but still the man's breath stutters in response to this thing they've carefully carefully built between them. "First off, babe, I've never once said there wasn't something wrong with you. There's so much that's deeply, intractably wrong with you. You are not regular, you are not normal. None of us expect you to behave the way a regular well-adjusted person should be."

Bruce just grunts, lashes still lowered, demure and gray around the edges, stuffed up with regret and an inability to ease up.

"Secondly, I wasn't bleeding out with a bomb ticking down when you left. I was fine and healthy and whole, in warm jammies in a comfortable bed, and you rightly figured that you could leave me in Alfie's hands while you went and got shit done. When you gotta run for me, you do. Sometimes you don't make it," Jason says, tugging Bruce's hand and resting it on his chest, where a massive scar doesn't rest, "but you're always at least trying. Got plenty for you to beat yourself up over, don't need to be making shit up to add extra."

Bruce finally does look at him, full-on heavy-browed eye-contact. "Glad that you think I'm finally acting like a somewhat reasonable adult." His grip tightens over Jason's shirt. "I don't feel terribly reasonable at the moment. I look at you like this and there's a countdown in my head."

Jason grins, and it's not cute because this isn't a cute conversation. "Well, at worst you got 3 years to figure out how to get better, Bruce." He leans in closer, nuzzles their cheeks together. "I take it you're not a fan of me in this form."

Bruce carefully, tenderly nuzzles back. It's probably not unlike those Cute Animal videos, a panther kowtowing to a bossy tabby cat. "I like the one that came back the best," Bruce says in a quiet murmur. "The you that got to grow up and stayed good and kind despite all of the universe's efforts to the contrary." He chuffs a laugh. "Can't say it didn't feel good to be pursued by the Jason of the present, either. Unfortunately for you, seems like I like my men built solid enough to kill me."

Jason play-snarls, pretends to try and choke Bruce out. "You're such an asshole. Go back to being tormented 'bout how you've failed me, go on. At least you're cute and you're quiet when you're brooding."

Bruce nods along sagely. "Plenty of time yet in the rest of this month for me to put a good brood in. And one more thing, Jason. One more, ah, show of feelings felt."

Jason blinks, a little lost. "The hell are you on about?"

"If this doesn't work, we will not talk about it," Bruce says sternly, before ducking down to kiss Jason very lightly, very sweetly on the lips.

Oh, man, thinks Jason. This exact scenario has played in almost this exact same body, hey. Wait, what did Bruce mean, about feelings-

The combined mass and sudden force of Jason's rapid return to form is enough to destroy the axle of even the BatChair, and they go tumbling down. Damian's pyjamas are tattered beyond repair, torn even further when Jason reaches 'round to cushion Bruce's head before they hit rock(!) bottom(!), and he's Hulked out of his clothes with Bruce in an awkward embrace while a broken chair stabs him in the ass, and all he can see is Bruce's stupid smug face, all he can feel is a rough calloused hand on his autopsy scar, and all he can think of is true love's kiss ass bastard-

God. You can't say they're normal, but you sure can say that when push comes to shove, they sure as shit don't miss.

A/N: ah shit it was supposed to be a little spicy-horny but then it got real depressing but nevertheless kuro hope u enjoyed this!! i think a lot about how conceptually dying isnt worse than being the cause of death!!

#whale writing #jaybru #happy birthday kuro!! #squeaks in just uhhhh after the stroke of midnight #wrote this in one sitting but i did give it a quick lookover #i think i will expand on this more when i prep it for ao3!! #im fr sooooo obsessed w the concept 'who has it worse between the victim and the survivor' and who else does it like brujay!!

[leighsartworks216]

On The Count Of Three

Harvey x FTM!Farmer

I've been thinking about this idea for days, but I've only just been able to write it sort of like how I want it. I'm not 100% happy with the ending but trying to expand it out made it worse so I chose the less worse option (in my mind). Slightly inspired by my fear of needles and my third-degree yearns of wanting Harvey to take care of me

Warnings: needles, injections, mention of fear of heights, anxiety, references to Harvey's ten heart event, slight hurt/comfort, semi-implied transphobia (not addressed)

Word Count: 1,002

Masterlist

AO3

Harvey washed his hands in the bathroom sink. He wasn’t even thinking about it, so second nature to nearly everything he did at work. Instead, he thought mostly about what he needed to grab from the medicine cabinet.

A bandaid, disinfectant, a fresh needle, and the bottle of testosterone. He repeated them in his head like a mantra as he dried his hands off and began grabbing each item in turn. With everything secured in his arms, he leaves the bathroom behind and heads into the bedroom. 

The farmer fidgeted anxiously as they sat on the edge of the bed, watching him intensely as he set everything aside and ripped open the disinfecting wipe.

Harvey couldn’t help but feel honored to be trusted with this. Yes, he was a doctor, but it was nearly a year after their arrival in Pelican Town that they told him about their plans for medically transitioning. They’d admitted to him later that they were afraid of the people in this small town rejecting them or worse. They were so alone in Zuzu City for so long, they’d hate to feel that way again here.

This had become a sort of ritual after that. When the prescription first came in, they’d held it in their hands, staring down at it as they sat on the exam table, like it was an alien baby they were holding. He asked if they needed help the first time, to know what to do. But it quickly became abundantly clear when he tried handing the prepped needle off to them that they couldn’t do it on their own.

As he knelt down on the rug by the bed, he looked up at them. They were looking away now, staring hard at the wall. Their hands shook in their lap, fingers tapping uneven patterns against their thighs. The cold shock of the disinfectant startled them, but they just closed their eyes and tapped another rapid pattern against their skin. He set the used wipe aside and removed the guard off the needle, drawing the proper amount of the hormone into the reservoir before setting the bottle aside.

Each sound made them more visibly anxious. He could hear them swallow thickly, hear the slight tremor in their breaths. If he was any closer, he’d hear the rapid beating of their heart against their ribcage.

He took one of their hands in his, and kissed the slightly sweaty palm with deep fondness. He thought this was one of the bravest things he’d ever seen them do. Nevermind going down into the mines, every single week they faced their fear, trusting in him to get them through it. And every single week, he did, and every week after they were ready to close their eyes, grit their teeth, and get through it again.

“It’s alright, dear, I’ve got you. Take some deep breaths now, alright?”

The first inhale was shaky. The exhale was squeezed out like somebody trying to get air out of a bag before they closed it. He waited patiently as they repeated the doctor’s orders a few more times, each subsequent one becoming smoother and easier. He hummed his approval, encouraging them to keep going.

He kissed their palm again reassuringly before setting their hand aside with a comforting squeeze. When he let go, their next exhale was choppy and nervous. There was nothing for it; the sooner he got this over with, the sooner they’d actually be able to calm down.

“Okay, ready?”

They nodded, eyes shut impossibly tight as they prepared for the sting.

“On the count of three. One… two… three.”

He slid the needle into the appropriate depth, drew some blood into the needle, and pressed down on the plunger to inject the dose. Their hands clenched into tight fists, clutching at nothing or the blanket underneath them. They remained that way for a moment after he removed the needle and clicked the guard back in place and set it safely aside. He peeled open the bandaid, removed the two pieces protecting the sticky parts, and expertly planted it over the injection site.

“All done! How are you feeling?” He took both their hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over their knuckles to smooth out their fists. They sighed deeply as they finally opened their eyes to look down at him, blinking spots from their vision.

“Exhausted,” they admitted. Harvey was no stranger to how much energy being scared ripped out of a person. He kissed the inside of their wrist. “Thank you for helping me with this. I know it’s kind of stupid.”

He squeezed their hands. “Hey, it’s not stupid. I think being scared of needles is a very justified fear.”

They huffed. “I know, it’s just… We’ve been doing this every week for how long now? I shouldn’t be so scared, but even just thinking about it…” They shuddered. “Which is dumb because it just happened, and it barely hurt at all, so why am I still so freaked out by it?”

He stood up from the ground, letting their hands go to brush some hair from their face, cupping their cheek sweetly. “You remember our first date?”

A bubbly laugh erupted from them. They didn’t expect this to be brought up again after so long. “Yeah, I remember.”

He smiled. “I was terrified of going up in that hot air balloon. But I still did, because…” He chuckles bashfully. “Well, because you were so brave, I felt like I could do it anyway, if you were there. But I’m still terrified of heights!”

“So, you’d go up in another balloon if I was there?”

“In a heartbeat. I’ll always be scared, but if you’re there, I can be a little brave. Or at least try to be.”

They grinned, leaning into his hand. “I love you.”

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to their lips, mustache tickling their upper lip in an oh so familiar and pleasant way. “And I love you.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #harvey x reader #harvey x farmer #sdv harvey x farmer #sdv harvey x reader #stardew valley x farmer #stardew valley x reader #sdv harvey #stardew valley harvey #stardew valley #slight hurt/comfort #fluff

[carlos-in-glasses]

Commiseration Monday

Thank you for the tag @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut (and the idea!), @reyesstrand @theghostofashton @lemonlyman-dotcom @heartstringsduet @catanisspicy @alrightbuckaroo ❤️

The rules: While Ao3 is temporarily down, share a little something from a WIP to keep us going through the downtime! Preferably something we haven’t shared before, but whatever works for you!

Please have some Owen and TK time from a WIP (that in my head is called Flashback Fic), which expands on my fic Chasers.

Owen leads TK into the kitchen and sits him at the breakfast bar. "I'm going to make you a spring smoothie, and then you're going to tell me what's up. Is it about your mom? Or did you and Carlos have a fight?"

"I wish," TK says.

"What does that mean?"

"A fight is simple. This is way more complicated." TK shakes his head. A fight would also mean make up sex later, so there are certain pros. "And what is a spring smoothie?"

"Spinach, apples, almond milk, basil, chicory, arugula, fenugreek, and bananas of course."

"Of course."

"Don't knock it until you try it." Owen smiles. "And talk to me."

TK watches his father practically dance around the kitchen, gathering ingredients – and it rocks him, because no matter what’s going on in his life, Owen is always there to make smoothies and talk. He thinks of himself coming out at fourteen. Gay bashed behind the bleachers at fifteen. An addict at seventeen. At twenty-six, relapsing after a failed marriage proposal. Overdosing on his apartment floor. But within all of it, for his whole life, love knelt by his side in the form of his mom and dad.

"Last night, I was in a bad way."

“After that call?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were. Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“I don’t know. But Carlos called Cooper, and Cooper came over, and we talked it out. But when Carlos came home, I told him about, um–” Deep breaths. Deep, steady. “I admitted I almost relapsed the day after mom died.”

Owen stills, hugging two green, shiny apples in his hands like they’re precious. “Did he react badly.”

“No. I kind of freaked out. Kind of cried all over him.”

Owen smiles, sets the apples down and picks up a paring knife. “I’m familiar with your style.”

“Yeah. Well. At the risk of crying all over you and probably Buttercup right now, I keep thinking about you.”

"Me?" Owen asks, flattered but confused.

"And mom. And everything I put you through."

Owen looks at him seriously. Then he opens a drawer to retrieve a second small paring knife that matches one he already holds. He places it onto a thick wooden chopping board next to the two green apples and pushes it across the breakfast bar towards TK. "Wash your hands and help me make this," Owen says.

TK gets up, doing what he's asked without question, smiling to himself because he's a paramedic and doesn't need to be told to wash his hands before food prep, but they've gone back in time to his childhood, when Owen would tell him important things about life while engaging him in something practical. When TK was twelve, Owen came over to TK's new apartment with Gwyn on Canal Street and helped strip orange floral wallpaper from TK's room. While working away at the tired old flowers, which an elderly lady had once loved, Owen gave TK the sex talk. It was hetero in focus, but even then it was like Owen was nudging TK to tell him to stop if he wanted, if it didn't apply to him, or if he needed to discuss it in a different way.

TK shunted his wallpaper scraper up and down to remove a patch with particularly firm adhesive, taking a little plaster away with it.

"Anyway, if there's anything you need to know, or just want to know – if you're ever curious or upset or you have feelings for someone, I'll always want to talk to you about it. You don't need to be worried or shy."

"Okay," TK said, "Can I have some lemonade now?"

When TK cores the first apple, his hands begin to shake. He has to put the knife down. "Dad."

"TK."

"I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry."

Owen looks at his tearful son understandingly. He takes the apple from him, finishes slicing it, and waits for TK to carry on.

I'm late to this so I'm just going to tag @ladytessa74 because I was going to read your new fic tonight :( Otherwise this is an open tag to anyone who wants to do it - please genuinely take it as a tag and tag me back if you post!

#Commiseration Monday #Work in progress #tk x owen #My fic #Flashback Fic

[ipsl0re]

Continuing on from this ask from @bluemoonperegrine, my creative process for my fics;

Now, about 97% of the fanfic I’ve written belongs to a single series (that dominated the last 3 years of my life. In a good way). So this will explain the differences in my process between a standalone 700-word story and a 170,000 word series, when it comes to the prep. There is a little difference in writing, but that’s mainly just how I often write the start and end of the chapter at the same time, rather than in order like normal.

As a universal rule, I start with characters I want to see, and a situation to put them in:- that I haven’t seen before. My preference is for underserved niches- the stories where if I don’t write it, no-one else probably will. This is captured as a short sentence that summarises what I want to write. Now it diverges.

For shorter stories, this can launch straight off. Grab the prompt, get to the meat. For longer series, I have a start and a very vague end: for example, “the characters do something dangerous and now fully trust each other” was the ending of Private Investigations at first. Then, chapter by chapter, with at least a 10-chapter buffer, I make a summary of the chapter’s events- filling in later ones as I think of it & write the chapters before.

Actually writing? I do it at night: alone, often in bed, with the right music for the fic and the tone, sometimes with tea. Get the prompt, and just… expand it? Starting with fairly vague writing, I fill in the events with simple descriptions and slot dialogue between- that’s far more final, and often just empty quotation marks until I know what they say.

The first pass always leaves gaps, where I’m not sure quite what’ll happen, or how- but this is 30% of the process

The next 60% is jumping back and forth, running through the chapter from beginning to end filling out missing parts and detailing what isn’t. It also allows me to continually scrutinise and catch typos- since I’ve read the skeleton (with differing levels of additions) in full probably at least 5 times, even for shorter stories.

(If this part isn’t going anywhere, I just write a different chapter, procrastinate until it clicks, or sleep. The second option is the most common.)

That final 10% is the proofread. Reading through it once, making sure it has all the events and descriptions that I want it to (which is to say, making sure the story is final) and then doing that again after pasting it into the ao3 text editor- this time to check for typos, pacing, and formatting. I can’t stop and start with this process, so it’s just focusing on it for an hour or so and getting through.

Then, if I don’t have one ready, it’s time to write the ending note and publish.

I hope this was informative, since it was definitely too long.

[healerelowen]

 I gots some more headcanons and imagines for you all to feast on while I get a few things going.

Leshy prepping his nest before he goes to sleep, then he goes, “Hm, something is missing, oh yes!” Then he rushes off and comes back holding his partner like a kitten and softly drops them into the nest. 

P03 bonks people/things he loves with its screen. It’s not something that he’s learned to do in a relationship, no no. It’s a natural behavior that all bots do! Meaning that the Inspector, Melter, and Dredger all do this as well. Maybe even the Uberbots too. (This is based off of ShioCreator’s fic, “Almost Murder Was Not The Intention” on Ao3. I’m just expanding the idea more.) 

All of the others that live in the land of beasts (Angler, Prospector, Trapper, and Trader) their eyes also turn red whenever they’re angry. 

I like to imagine that the Challengers are the definition of ‘Fuck around and find out’. 

If P03 can purr, that definitely means that the other Uberbots can too;

-Archivist’s purr is soft and soothing, gently rumbling against the metallic frame of her body. 

-The Photographer’s purr is very low and deep, rumbling loudly as it gently bonks whoever or whatever it’s purring at with its ‘face’.    

-The Unfinished Boss’s purr has a rather odd pitch to it. Their purr occasionally will have a sort of beep or chirp at random.

-G0lly’s purr is high pitched and squeaky. Unlike the Unfinished Boss, G0lly will let out beeps and chirps whenever she gets even more happy and excited rather than uncontrollably. 

-Extra: P03’s purr is not too low and not too high, a solid middle ground pitch. Will quietly let out a beep or two on occasion. 

   Which Scrybe enjoys stargazing the most? (In order of greatest to least) 

Leshy

-Leshy enjoys stargazing whenever he can. He finds it a very relaxing activity, one of his favorites in fact. 

2. P03

-P03 would never admit it, but he actually is really curious about astrology, it's just not one of its main focuses. 

3. Grimora

-Doesn’t see stars as often as she would like to, but when she does, she enjoys gazing up at them with her ghouls. 

4. Magnificus

-Doesn’t stargaze as a hobby, however he does use them as reference for his art. 

The Reader in the Chaoscule has a scar on their right eye from Act 1. 

Everytime Leshy looks at it, he feels guilty. (I will provide a visual example sooner or later.) 

All of the Scrybes have a soft spot for kids. All of them (some more than others).

For example;

 Leshy would prevent the child from using any items to hurt themselves. 

P03 would probably go easy on them, especially if they’re struggling and might even teach them a thing or two along the way. 

Grimora would also go easy on them and if they’re struggling will give them a few tips to help them. 

Magnificus would probably take baby steps with them, teaching them about which cards to use for each turn, to the point where he’s hardly even playing anymore, he’s just teaching them about the Magick cards.  

A little sneak peek into the ending per say of the Second Stoat Card Au, P03’s partner definitely thinks about teasing P03 about him being a stoat, but then decides not to as that was traumatizing for it and they don’t want to overstep that boundary. Character development 101.  

When I said in my ‘How would the Scrybes protect their S/O’ post that nobody hurts Grimora’s partner, I did not mean she will ensue violence. Though that doesn’t mean she won’t give a sharp and stern talk to whoever hurt you. I could imagine that she has a sharp tongue and only uses this ability when she needs to.    

#inscryption #inscryption p03 #inscryption leshy #inscryption grimora #inscryption magnificus #the second stoat card au #the chaoscule #the unfinished boss #the photographer #the archivist #inscryption g0lly #the angler #the prospector #the trader #the trapper #inscryption dredger #inscryption melter #inscryption inspector

[ewebie]

2022: An Author’s Review

I've gotten in the habit (over the past 9 years) of posting an author's review of what I've done on AO3. Since I started my Patreon, I've been posting it here and sharing across Tumblr and Twitter. I think it's good to take stock, be honest about what was possible and look and what I want for the next year. So here it is:

2022... I must say that I had higher hopes for you. It was a busy and productive year, but I did spend a lot of my time healing from the past 2 years and dragging myself, kicking and screaming, into a healthier place.

I was forced to take time out of work for my own mental health in 2021, and kept a lighter schedule going into 2022. It was very very needed. And 2022 from a society perspective was not what I had hoped for. Hubs and I made a (temporary -- one year only) move back across the Atlantic, and I learned a whole new job (clinical adjacent... research).

Even with all the chaos of a move and work and... *gestures at everything* I did manage to accomplish a few things.Summary of writing in 2022:

I set out with the goal of posting something every month, and I succeeded through August. I settled down after that to really plow through some of my WIPs and get ready for a big push in Jan '23.

In January '22, I spent some dedicated time torturing giving Paia everything she's ever wanted. And kicked off a series of works of Papa Lestrade (and his 3 kids). Series became When You're Fast Asleep, the first one written called Deep Inhale.

February brought two more installments to When You're Fast Asleep: Foundational and Counter Riposte. Also very much targeting Paia. Because if I cannot lob fully completed fic attacks back at her for all the rabid plot-bunnies she sneaks into my DMs, then what's the point of our friendship?

For March, I broadened my attack to hit Moth as well as Paia... An indulgent little praisekink AU that hit up a few important interests, called Praise Worthy. And I finished the NYE fic I was working on that specifically used receipts from Moth and Paia that's just suit worship and proud indulgence: Silver and Gold. I also got Jinxed by V in the MRC and added a chapter to Safety First (my Kiss Kiss Bang Bang shorts collection) called G is for Grooming... because toilet plungers???

Though I technically finished posting in May, the April fic was another When You're Fast Asleep called How Your Heart, and I absolutely adore it (and attacked myself with it). And while that was posting, I was working away on the May-Mystrade (Maystrade challenge).

So that brings us to May - when things started to get really busy as I prepped to move, and the Mystrade is Crime collection, to which I submitted Bait and Switch (since KKBB and Sometimes I Feel... were already in existence and I wanted to go full evil).

June and July were mental... packed up 16years of life on one side of the Atlantic, moved to the other, got COVID, got better, and made my way to a State that I'd never lived in before, started a new job in a new environment, dealt with family health issues, celebrated a major birthday. A lot of stress... not a lot of writing.

August I put up Where To Draw the Line, because sometimes I cannot control myself.

September, I fell off the wagon. Not that I've not been writing, I've been writing continuously. But I went all in on some of my WIPs and committed to finishing Hayloft, which is due to start posting on Fridays in Jan...

Overall, I published shy of 50k words (though, I wrote just over 80k... there are some big WIPs in the works) with 16k hits and I now have 360 user subscriptions and 6000 bookmarks. It was a solid effort and I've spent the year only writing Mystrade -- though... I've expanded my reading ships (I'm looking at you Moth).

Plan for 2023: Starting in Jan, I'll be posting The Hayloft (aka "The Farm AU"). One chapter a week... until done... Which... will be midyear. There’s a few bigger projects that I’ve back-burnered or have been plodding along with, including "the sad one" and "the Pretty Woman one" and some complex, multichapter things. Trello has been excellent this year to keep my bunnies sorted and in some sort of order.

Working titles of a few:

Lesser Things

Used Books

The Marshmallow Experiment

Huff and Hush

The Time Has Come

Attack the Cheese Block

Of Legwork and Dogs Bodies

Make Yourself

I hope to keep adding shorts to Safety First and Badges and 'Brellas. And I have 2 birthday pieces that I'm working on, and hope to get out in Feb/March. I'm not going to aim for monthly new works, since Hayloft is going to take a lot of attention, but I do hope to publish more words than 2022.

Many thanks to everyone who has beta'd works for me through the year (this year was mostly Paia -- many times for her many many sins). Thank you to the Asylum (nee Jail) - you're all gremlins and I-A-Door-You! Thank you to the MRC for being just... whatever it is you are. And the OGC - because intercontinental chat groups are their own, special nonsense!

I want to thank everyone that has left kudos and comments and reblogs and likes. Anyone who has dropped me a message or a thought and has generally enjoyed or encouraged my writing this past year. ILY all!!

#2022-2023 #author's review #annual review #On writing #writing milestone

[bktaro]

seven-three (part 3)

pairing: nanami x f!reader

themes/rating: explicit, 18+, clubs, bars, masquerade parties, rough sex

tw: daddy kink, spitting, sex toys, dirty talk, creampie, cockwarming, anal, voyerism(ish), squirting

wc: 9.5k

ao3 | part 1 | part 2​ | part 3

Nanami Kento had a hardened shell surrounding his personal life. Clocking out at five ‘o’clock on the dot every day, he left little to no room for others to get to know him better— leaving him as an unsolvable mystery amongst the office.

Likewise, you too aimed to clock out at five ‘o’ clock. You preferred routine during the workday, finding comfort in maintaining equilibrium and peace and wanting to do nothing more or nothing less than what was required of you.

Little did you know the two of you shared an interesting weekend hobby.

a/n : hi all! thank you for waiting so patiently. this chapter is a personal favourite of mine (of all time), and i'm so excited to finally share it with you all. i originally wanted to make this a one shot smut, but i’ve been wanting to expand it into a mini fic. not sure if tumblr is the place for uploading that type of content, but please let me know if it’s something you would be interested in reading!!

anyways, enjoy this nastyyy chapter!! 

An absolute masterpiece— that’s what Nanami thinks you are. A magnificent work of art, somehow misplaced and laid out on the bed in front of him instead of an exhibit in some renowned museum.

Every inch of you is enticing to him. From the strands of hair sprayed across the pillow case caressing the back of your head, your chest that rises up and down in anticipation, the glistening sheen of sweat of your body illuminated under the peaking moonlight from the windows, and his favourite, your legs that are propped open just enough for him to see droplets of your juice threatening to leak on to the bedsheets below— he’s mesmerized by it all . By no means was he an intensely religious man, but in the moment he couldn’t be more thankful for God’s utmost greatest and most beautiful creation— women .

He considers himself to be a good and honest man, yet nowhere close to a saint to be deserving of what God had offered and placed right in front of him. Nanami thinks it has to be a dream— and just maybe the best damn dream he’s ever had. You just look too good to be real, splayed across the bed naked with nothing but desire in your eyes, waiting only for him.

But when his hands roam to explore the soft flesh of your bare skin, feeling you shudder slightly under his touch alongside the tiny whimpers leaving your lips, Nanami knows— and silently thanks God— it’s real. You were real.

His gaze on your body is intense with hunger, so much so you could practically feel his eyes digging into the depths of your skin, and you begin to think it’s deep enough to reach even into the surface of your soul. Mixed with the grazes of his fingers, it’s an alluring sensation despite the minimal touch on the areas most needy, causing you to let out a louder whine and roll your hips just the slightest into the mattress in the search of any sort of physical relief.

“Please…” Your voice comes out shaky, pupils directly looking into his above yours. “...I need you.”

Unable to hold back, a low, nearly inaudible grumble vibrates in his throat at your actions and words. Perhaps he’s the one who saved a nation in his past life, something remarkable of that sort to be lucky enough to be alive and present in this very moment. Or he truly really was just one lucky ass bastard, somehow having a Goddess of a woman practically begging him to fuck her right underneath him.

True, you were the one granting him a wish, but by no means did that mean he couldn’t help grant a few of your own wishes at the same time. Alongside the original, he now had an additional goal that was simple: give you the experience like none other so no other partner could ever compare to him. And of course, Nanami is nothing but confident he’ll be able to achieve just that. Failure was never an option in his books— especially not now.

“Patience, pretty girl.” Nanami whispers, fingers softly caressing the side of your jawline. “First, open your mouth again for me.”

You oblige without hesitation, mind still partially woozy from your second orgasm minutes ago. Nanami grins at the view of your semi dazed expression, tongue hanging out before his instructions to even do so. Gently, he allows a string of saliva to fall from his mouth and into yours, watching the glob of foreign liquid pool onto the pad of your tongue.

“Stay just like that, and don’t move an inch until I say so.”

You do just as he commands, remaining still the best you can for the few seconds you can feel him shuffling on the bed to reach into the bedside drawers. Despite being clouded in the aftermath of your orgasmic high, when you hear the cluttering of his hands rummaging through the contents of the drawer your mind wanders to the possibilities of what Nanami was searching for. Lube? Condoms?

It then instantly dawns on you what else it could be. The rustling of a cardboard box being opened is enough of a signal to confirm your thoughts even seconds before Nanami returns with the suspected item in hand. A sex toy, replicating the shape of a generous sized penis and colored in a translucent purple hue dangles above your eyes, causing them to widen once more.

“It’s nowhere as good as my cock, of course...” Nanami begins, leaving another soft, comforting kiss in the crook of your neck. “...but we need to get that sweet little hole of yours ready for me, don’t we?”

He doesn’t wait for your reply, a trend of his throughout the night thus far, placing the tip of the dildo on the surface of your tongue. A satisfied hum vibrates in his throat when he watches your lips wrap around the rest of the toy, taking it deeper into your mouth while keeping your eyes locked onto his.

You work your tongue up and down the rubber surface, tracing the ridges and coating the surface with as much saliva as you could. Nanami can’t help but to silently watch in awe your head bob up and down the toy, a part of him almost becoming jealous that it isn’t his dick back in your mouth instead.

After a few more rounds of making sure the toy was properly lubed and ready, Nanami pulls the toy away from your puckered lips. He smirks at your disappointed whine at the sudden retraction, bringing a hand to caress the top of your head in reassurance.

“No more, you’re making me start to get jealous of a fucking piece of rubber.” Nanami whispers, continuing to stroke your hair and soon after leaving a gentle kiss on the edge of your forehead. His hands halt their movements moments later, moving to tilt your chin up towards him forcing you to see the coy grin now spread across his lips.

“Tell me, are you ready to get fucked stupid, doll? To have that pretty little mind of yours be filled with nothing but my cock?”

Watching the string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to the tip of the now glistening rubber tip of the toy break off, you nod your head frantically. You were more than ready, desperate in desire for more. Even without saying a single word, it was written all over you— in that moment there was nothing more you wanted in the world than him .

Lucky for you, Nanami was fluent in reading the writing of the unwritten plea of a girl searching for the remedy for her lustful trance. He was an intelligent man, after all. Yet, no matter how incredibly alluring you were to him, somehow at the same time you were just as cute, eyes wide blinking up towards him just like an actual doll. He thinks only an insane, evil man would be crazy enough to leave someone as cute as you in the distress you were in.

Thankfully, Nanami considered himself a good man— once again, not a saint of any sorts, but simply a good man. And as a good man, he wouldn’t let you suffer any longer.

Nanami shifts his body, moving to crouch in between your spread legs. You’re so wet, pussy glistening with a layer of the sweet sheen he just couldn’t get enough of, holding himself back from licking it all up then and there. Perhaps he didn’t even need you to prep the toy with your joint saliva— you had more than enough lube naturally already, and you could feel it too.

So you’re shocked when you feel him spit on your cunt— and you're even more surprised when you feel his fingers spread the mixture of liquids from your cunt down to your ass, and slip a finger teasingly into your hole. You can’t help but let out a loud moan at the sudden unexpected intrusion, feeling a bit shy at the position yet already immensely satisfied with the bare minimum of a touch.

“Oh, darling,” Nanami grins, watching your sudden jerk in movements at his actions, pussy clenching at nothing in front of his eyes. “You like that, don’t you?”

You did, you really did— and there was no reason to lie and say you didn’t.

“Yes… please give me more.”

“Where do you want it, doll? In here?” Nanami asks, removing his finger and hovering the tip of the dildo by the entrance of your cunt, before slowly bringing it down to graze over your ass instead. “Or maybe here?”

It’s almost like a game to him, perhaps his new favourite game, seeing just how far he could tease you and watch you whine and wriggle in desire.

“Anywhere…”

Yet, it’s a game Nanami was running out of will for him to continue to play.

His body adjusts once more to hover above yours again, cupping the side of your cheek to bring your lips upwards into a kiss. It’s another gentle kiss, calming and reassuring in nature, feeling the warmth of his body on yours that makes you wonder if time could be kind enough to stop right then and there forever.

But your wonder shifts back into reality, reverting to what you really were desiring at the moment when you feel the tip of the dildo finally sink inside you, breaking the kiss and replacing it with a moan into his mouth. Your hands come up to grip the blades of his broad shoulders, head tilting back in pure relief.

“Oh god …”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

All you can do is whimper out a wordless response, nodding your head instead. It’s good— so fucking good, to finally get your aching hole tended too, yet you still feel as though something is missing. You know all too well what it is, and Nanami chuckles because of course, even though your face twinges in pleasure and soft moans escape your lips the deeper he pushes the dildo in, he too already knows.

He thinks maybe in a previous life he had already explored you, well aware of every single area you were most sensitive in and how to make you feel good because it’s almost scary how he knows you all too well already. Despite never having laid a single finger on you before tonight, he’s already fluent in reading the language of your body and what you’re truly wanting long before you even muster the strength to say it.

So he could give you what you want right then and there. But he also could keep his favourite game going— just a little bit longer than he planned too.

“Yes… so fucking good… but… I-I want… you.”

“You want me?” Nanami asks, almost too nonchalantly compared to the twitching of his hard cock at your plea. “The toy in your ass isn’t enough for my slutty girl?”

“No…I want your cock… inside me.”

A dildo now deep in your ass was more than pleasurable and nice, but the both of you knew feeling his pulsating cock in your aching cunt is what you desired even more . To feel him, all eleven inches throbbing inside of you, fucking your tight hole senseless.

And he’ll give up his favourite game and give you just that. Nanami is a good man, after all.

“I’ll share your mouth and ass with this toy— but from here on out your pussy is mine and only mine.”

Nanami moves in an instant, roughly spreading your legs just a bit further with his own, pushing your knees apart in order to fixate himself properly in between. A shudder travels up your spine once more feeling the hot flesh of his cock against your bare skin, the length caressed and rubbing in between your cunt up and down while the tip grazes just teasingly against your swollen clit.

“You’ve been so good for me, sweet girl.” Nanami leans forward on his forearms beside each side of your head and murmurs into your ear, breath hot against your skin. “Now it’s my turn to make you feel so fucking good.”

It’s the last bit of words you could properly understand and digest before your mind melts into mush, turning into nothing but putty right into the palm of his hands. The room fills with nothing but the sound of two harmonious moans when the head of his cock finally dips inside your cunt, the nails of your fingers digging deeper into his shoulders in desperate search of something to grab onto.

“Breathe baby.” Nanami whispers. “You can take it all.”

He’s big — so big it’s a mystery to both you and him on how he’s able to continue to push into you inch by inch, your cunt squeezing him tighter the deeper and deeper he goes. Alongside the dildo deep inside your hole, it’s already too intense— and when the last inch of his cock finds its way inside you it breaks the last sheer remainder of strength you have left. Your mind becomes woozy once more, back arching off the bed while your hands roam to grip the back of his hair as your body twitches on his cock, releasing a loud moan that overpowers his simultaneous one and echoes throughout the room.

Nanami’s eyes widen in realization in the aftermath, watching your body loosen and relax onto the bed, fingers loosely locked behind his neck.

“Already?”

You feel your face turn warm, and once again you're thankful for the mask that partially covers the redness of your embarrassed cheeks. Yet, you think it’s still not enough to hide behind, releasing your fingers from behind him and raising up both your hands to conceal your face instead.

“Shut up…”

“No, don’t be embarrassed.” Nanami chuckles, reaching for one of your hands to pry them away from your face and bringing it to his lips to leave a kiss on the inside of your wrist instead. “I’m glad I can make you feel that good… not to mention it’s was also extremely fucking sexy watching you cum on my cock.”

You begin to think it’s truly a hidden talent of his you were lucky to see. He seemed to just have the right words everytime to put you in such a lust filled trance again and again— and you just couldn’t get enough.

“You have to make me do that again at least five more times, daddy .”

A cheeky grin creeps up on Nanami’s face. You wonder if it’s because of the flirtatious manner of your words, or if it's the soft moan you let out instantly when you feel his cock twitch inside of you that serves as a silent response to your words itself.

“It’ll be my pleasure to watch you cum, darling.” Nanami pins your wrist in his hand down above your head and into the mattress, kissing your lips with his in between his words. “Over and over , again and again until you can’t take it anymore.”

There’s a part of you that wonders if his lips had some sort of transparent chemicals difficult for the human eye to see. You were beginning to find yourself already addicted to the feeling of them, especially against your own. Soft like previously or hot and passionate like now, his kisses were nothing but hypnotic, drawing you effortlessly faster and deeper into the abyss of Nanami Kento.

You’re only snapped out of the trance of his kiss when it’s broken once again with a moan escaping your lips, feeling the length of his cock slowly slip out of you. The sudden emptiness leaves you aching for something more, clenching against nothing in the hopes of hugging even just an inch of him from escaping you.

“No…” You whisper, your free hand coming up to grip the back of his shoulder in an effort to push his body closer to you. “Put it back in…”

Your efforts show no successful action, his frame much too broad and built to be waived by the strength of just one of your arms. But your plea yields different results, a low, rumbling groan vibrating in his throat and the head of his cock sinking back inside your pulsating walls.

His movements are slow and gentle at first, allowing you to feel and grip every inch of his cock enter and leave your cunt. Rhythmic in pattern, Nanami’s hips work in what feels like matches the beat of your heart, filling you up and emptying you again and again, his soft grunts of pleasure quiet and low, but loud enough to sound like a subtle melody to your ears.

Gradually, the pace of his hips thrusting into you increases the more he feels your cunt adjust and mould into the shape of him, alongside the sound of your moans filling the room increasing in volume. The tips of your fingers can’t help but curl against his back with the rising pleasure, digging into his skin and scratching the surface, surely bound to leave marks to serve as a momento for the night later on.

You think maybe Nanami is angry momentarily at your markings on his skin, his hand that pinned yours down into the mattress above your head releasing for only a second to roughly grab yours behind his shoulder. Bringing that hand to join your other, Nanami now held both your hands down by the wrist, restricting you from freely moving.

“Bad girl. That’s gonna hurt later.”

The now familiar smirk reappearing on his face hovered over yours was more than enough to tell you he wasn’t angry at all. It was the opposite in actuality— the stinging pain would just remind him later on how he fucked you just that good, and his cock throbs just merely at the thought already.

“Punish me then.” You spit out. “Don’t be gentle like you do with good girls— fuck me like bad girls deserve.”

Nanami lets out another groan, and you can feel his cock twitch mid thrust inside of you. Somehow, he was more turned on than he already was— his vision shifting you from the complying, good girl you were in his eyes to the slutty, needy fuck doll you wanted to be.

He readjusts to sit partially upright, releasing his weight holding him up by his forearm and instead using that arm to grip onto the meat of the back of your thigh. Pushing your leg upwards his arm wraps around your thigh, spreading you open more and tossing your leg above his shoulder.

“I’ll fuck you just like a bad girl then.” Nanami mumbles, the grip on your wrists becoming stronger. “I’ll fuck you like you’re a little slut that knows nothing but getting stuffed with cock.”

You can’t help but clench your cunt at his words, feeling yourself get wetter in response. Nanami feels it too, your excitement squeezing his cock even tighter, and he flashes you a quick tiny, knowing grin that lasts only for a few seconds, before roughly snapping his hips back into you.

His pace is fast, still rhythmic but now much faster— pounding your cunt at a speed that makes it difficult for you to even catch your breath. Your leg held up and on his shoulder spread your cunt even further than before, allowing him to reach deeper inside of your cunt and just barely hitting your most sensitive area, causing you to cry out every time his cock mercilessly pounded deep into you.

Seeing your eyes roll back, Nanami moans at the feeling of your pussy clench around his cock even tighter. It’s a sign he’s familiar with— you were close, and he thinks it's the perfect moment to release his grip from your wrists. Your hands instantly curl into fists, gripping at nothing in pleasure while with his now free hand, he brings it to tend to your swollen clit, rubbing the bud with the pads of his fingers.

“Fuck… if you do that I’ll… I’m…”

“You’re what?” Nanami groans, his fingers pressing harder circles onto your clit. “Say it clearly.”

“I’m gonna cum.” You whine, arching your back off the mattress and grinding on his cock the best you could. “I’m gonna fucking cum…”

It’s overwhelming. You’re sensitive to the touch, already overstimulated with his cock pounding your pussy, fingers rubbing your clit, and dildo still shoved in your ass. But it feels so damn good that the familiar knot in your stomach releases once more, curling your toes and sending you into bliss.

Nanami curses under his breath, slowing the movements of his hips before pulling completely out to watch your body relax on the bed once more. Your breaths come out in haggered pants, struggling to catch your breath, and you feel the Nanami’s weight sink into the bed beside you, the callousness of his hands soon after rubbing up and down the skin of your legs in an attempt to soothe the shaking of them down.

“You’re so gorgeous when you cum.” Nanami murmurs, breath warm against the shell of your ear with his body now laying beside you on his side. “So. Fucking. Gorgeous.”

His hands find their way to inch upwards from your legs to your hips, gently turning you around to face your body towards his. Fingers instantly find themselves in their habitual spot, just underneath the surface of your chin, lifting up your lips and trapping them into another fiery kiss with him.

The kiss breaks when Nanami pulls away with a smirk, releasing his hands from your body to lean backwards onto the mattress on his backside. A hand holds the back of his head propped upon a pillow behind him that leans against the headboard of the bed, legs spread and open in a way that almost serves to proudly display his fully erected cock, his other hand pumping the shaft covered with a sheen of your liquid.

A lump forms in your throat at the sight, a reaction formed as a result of a mix of nervousness, embarrassment and excitement. You still had no idea just how he was able to pound into you with something of that caliber, and how now he was suggesting now you were supposed to fuck yourself on it. Yet, the glistening liquid belonging to you coating his cock— a tad embarrassing in retrospect—  was a clear indication that he was in fact able to fit it all inside you, and the pleasure was that you’ve never experienced before.

Despite growing increasingly exhausted and tired, you still wanted him again. Again and again, you wanted nothing more than him .

You feel your cunt throb at the thought, biting your bottom lip down in the hopes of holding back the drool you might just let escape, hungry for more of him. And you would be a complete fool to think Nanami doesn’t notice your entranced expression, the tiny smirk on his face transforming into a larger, smug grin instead.

“Doll.” Nanami calls, a single finger rising into the air gesturing to you to come closer towards him. “Why don’t you come here and ride my cock?”

It’s a request you're more than willing to fulfill, finding your body moving on its own accord onto your hands and knees, slowly crawling forward towards him. Your palms rest flat on top of his chiseled abdomen when you finally reach close enough to touch him, utilizing the surface to balance yourself on to your knees to straddle both sides of his body.

Nanami’s hand pumping his cock retracts, joining his other supporting his head against the headboard when your hands travel to wrap around his length. Gathering another pool of saliva in your mouth, you let the trail spit drop down to the head, using your hands to twist and jerk his cock, coating the surface with the liquid.

“Oh fuck .” Nanami hisses, face suddenly wincing when one of your hands roam just a touch lower, squeezing on his balls. “You’re a little minx.”

A staggered groan escapes his lips watching you drop your body lower, beginning to grind your wet cunt onto the shaft of his cock. You feel one particular vein, perhaps the same protruding one from earlier throb at the warmth of your cunt rubbing back and forth on his, causing the corner of your lip to hitch upwards.

“What are you going to do after tonight?” You ask with a small grin, continuing to grind yourself on him. “You won’t be able to stop thinking about me.”

Nanami chuckles, instantly shooting you a confident smile back.

“Darling, what a ridiculous question. I thought you knew your pussy was going to be mine and only mine after tonight.”

In an instant, his body swiftly sits upright, giving you little time to react and forcing you to abruptly halt your movement. Your eyes widen, letting out a startled gasp when you feel an arm snake around your waist from behind, pulling your body close enough towards him so his chest was now pressed up against yours.

“I’m greedy, you know. I want to keep you to myself, and I don’t like sharing what’s mine.” He begins, voice low and fingers coming to grip your chin to lock your gaze onto him. “And I also know you won’t be able to stop thinking about me either, so this works for us well, doesn’t it?”

Nanami leans forward, trapping your lips with his into a sensual kiss, serving as almost a metaphorical action in sealing the deal to his words that were nothing but truthful in nature.

A part of you completely agreed that in hindsight it was a rather ridiculous claim to be so hooked onto the other so quickly. You could more than understand the foolishness in agreeing to only reserve your bodies for one another after merely a single sexual encounter.

Yet you already could imagine how lackluster any other partner would be in comparison to the sex you experienced with Nanami thus far, only becoming better and better with each passing second. And as much as part of you screams internally of how uncharacteristically weak you were to him, falling right into the palm of his hand exactly how he wanted you, you just couldn’t help it. If it wasn’t already so painfully crystal clear before, Nanami Kento was definitely not your ordinary hook up at all— he was much more enticing, luring you every bit through whatever spell he had casted onto you.

Gojo would have to wait for his threesome longer than anticipated— you had signed the dotted lines on the metaphoric contract, returning the kiss with just as much passion and lust.

“There’s some truth to that, I suppose.” You give him a tiny grin against his lips and a wink when you pull away, and Nanami answers in a hearty chuckle.

“That’s a good enough response for me.”

“Is it really? Somehow I don’t buy that.”

“Words don’t hold the entire amount of truth— I’m a firm believer that actions speak louder instead.”

You let out a startled gasp, feeling Nanami’s large hands suddenly snake down your body, roughly grasping onto the curves of your ass.

“And what I’m saying is I’d rather see you start bouncing on my cock— only if you really agree, gorgeous.”

Nanami releases his hands from your body, falling back onto the mattress with his hands returning against the headboard. Holding the back of his head, he’s arguably waiting almost too calmly for your next move. He had given all the power in your court, allowing you to choose the next course of action.

And when he watches your body readjust, steadily gripping onto his cock and angling it to sit yourself on top of it, he can’t help but let out a wide grin, silently celebrating his victory.

“Hold on baby. I want you to turn around and ride it— show me how you can bounce that ass.”

You do just that with no hesitation, turning yourself swiftly around, straddling him with your backside faced towards him. The new position itself makes your cheeks grow warm in both excitement and embarrassment, all your most intimate places now on full display for him to see.

It takes every ounce of strength in Nanami’s entire body to hold back from letting his cock bust right then and there as soon as he watches you slowly lower yourself and take him in, your soft moans once more breaking the silence in the room. The sight is so lewd and erotic to him, focused on nothing but how his cock continues to disappear inch by inch inside you, tightly gripping him as if you were holding on to dear life and the purple dildo still sticking out of your ass.

“Oh my god, baby .” You moan when the final inch slides in, now balls deep on top of him. “You’re so fucking big, baby… filling me up so good.”

Nanami’s mind begins to teeter violently at the combination of it all, your words, the lewd sight and sounds, and he’s no longer confident in how much longer he can hold back from reaching his peak. And when you begin to move, allowing yourself to bounce up and down his cock, he knows he's a goner sooner than later.

His hands reach forward to grip onto either side of your hips, simultaneously grinding his upwards in sync with yours helping you reach the deepest parts of your cunt with every bounce increasing in both intensity and speed. The head of his cock brushes past your most sensitive area, feeling him just right in the pit of your stomach that makes you cry out a moan that echoes the entire room and clench onto him even tighter.

The purple toy glides teasing in and out of your ass with every assisted bounce on his cock, and the view is almost taunting to Nanami, becoming embarrassingly jealous once more at the inanimate object. But it also leaves him curious just how much more you could take, so much so his hands move quicker than his brain, wrapping his fingers around the toy and beginning to pump it in and out inside of you.

Curses drop from underneath your tongue, falling partially forward on the palms of your hands, fingers gripping onto Nanami’s legs in overwhelming pleasure coming from both your holes now getting fucked. Yet you find it impossible to stop yourself from moving your hips up and down, not wanting the pleasure to end even for a second, continuing to take now both his cock and dildo inside of you.

“Fuck… I can’t…it’s so much… filling me up.”

“Yes you can, baby. You’re doing so good, taking it all in... I can feel you getting so much wetter and tighter just for me.”

You’ve grown even wetter now, becoming even more drunk on lust the moment your second hole became another slutty little hole, with the temporary only purpose to be used for pleasure purposes. Nanami also grows more and more drunk on lust seeing your body react, watching the way you squeeze on both his cock and the dildo, your own slick now dripping out of your cunt and down your thighs. The movement of his hips become increasingly sporadic and less rhythmic, mind clouded with nothing but the need to continue to fuck you senseless.

“Say it, you like getting both of your holes fucked by me, don’t you?”

“I love getting both my holes fucked by your big cock.”

“You want to be filled with my cum, don’t you, dirty girl?”

“Yes...please fill my slutty hole with your cum...”

You’re a moaning mess, the air around you filled with nothing but the lewd squelching noises, Nanami’s grunts pounding into you, and your cries of pleasure. With one final thrust of his throbbing cock, you feel the hot load of Nanami’s cum shoot inside your cunt, a shiver traveling up your spine as you simultaneously reach your own orgasm at the sensation.

A moment of serenity envelops the room; you have collapsed fully now onto his legs, Nanami unmoving, cock still deep buried inside you with his cum now trickling out of your cunt and onto his cock. Only the sounds of panting can be heard from the both of you, blissfully recovering from your post orgasm high.

But of course, it lasts for just a moment. Nanami wasn’t one to let things last longer than necessary, after all.

“I didn’t get to see you cum.” Nanami states, shattering the silence in the air. “Do it again.”

You can’t help but blink a few times, turning your head slightly back to look at the man behind you.

“ What ?” Surely you heard wrong, right?

You didn’t. It was exactly as you heard, confirmed when Nanami flashes you another half grin, just a peek of the whites of his teeth showing through.

“You heard me. I missed seeing you cum, so sit on my cock facing me and do it again.”

“You’re crazy.” You let out a small scoff in disbelief, only to transition into the corner of your lips tugged upwards in an excited smirk you fail to hold yourself back from hiding.

“Am I?” Nanami questions, reaching forward to teasingly squeeze the meaty flesh of your ass that triggers you to release a whimper at the touch. “Your little pussy that just throbbed on my cock is telling me differently— you like this idea too.”

His hands move once more, slowly pulling the dildo out of your ass that in return brings about another soft groan to rumble from your throat. Nanami is already a sucker to the sound, growing incredibly weak to it mixed with the sight in front of him of both your cunt and asshole clenching at the sudden loss, instinctively gripping whatever you could to remain filled up. His dick hardens once more at the sensation and sight, twitching against your walls again.

“Guess actions really do speak louder than words, huh?” You grin, your words come out in between breathy moans, eyeing him from just over your shoulder.

“Exactly, you’re one to catch on quickly.”

Nanami’s hands roam again, tossing the purple dildo to the side of the bed and placing his hands to grip either side of your hips. When you feel them gently squeeze your skin, you take it as a sign to readjust your position, briefly lifting yourself off of him, only to sit back down on his cock when you turn back around to now face him.

You lean forward, both your hands softly grasping either side of his neck to pull him in for another kiss, both sloppy and needy in nature. It only breaks when Nanami lets out a low moan, feeling you teasingly clench your cunt around his cock.

“Fuck, stop doing that.”

“Why should I?” You ask, grinning once more. “Maybe I want to see you cum too.”

“If you keep doing that, you definitely will.”

You let out a gentle laugh against his lips, bringing your lips back onto his. Nanami’s hands find refuge on the sides of your hip once more, sitting back upright to deepen the kiss, further exploring your mouth with his tongue.

One hand slowly begins to dip from the side of your hip, on to your thighs, his fingertips trickling skillfully back and forth in the inner part of your upper legs. It’s only when his fingers suddenly move upwards to caress the swollen bud of your clit in steady circles you interrupt the kiss once more, tilting your head back and letting a breathy moan escape.

“Feels good…”

Nanami catches sight of the skin of your neck, the smooth and soft surface now fully inviting him the more you tilt your head back. Similar to a magnetic pull, his body is drawn instantly, lips finding themselves attacking the sensitive skin.

“It does, doesn’t it?” His words come out muffled, in between the kisses against your neck. “Especially when your clit is extra sensitive from getting fucked so hard.”

Your fingers curl once more against the blades of his shoulders, feeling the hand remaining on your hip beginning to guide you in moving back and forth.

“You make me feel so good too darling, knowing you’re just filled with my cum, and warming my cock so good just like this.”

You’re immensely spoiled. At least, that’s the thought that races throughout your mind feeling Nanami work carefully on all the most sensitive areas of your body. As rough as he could be, Nanami concurrently treated your body as if it was a sacred possession tending attentively to all the areas that could give you the most pleasure, in return making you feel as if you were on cloud nine with every kiss, nip and touch. And when the pressure of his fingers against your clit grows harder, and the large, firm hand on your hip directs your hips to grind on his cock faster, the all too familiar pressure in your stomach builds once more.

It arrives faster than Nanami thinks— he too is already fully aware of your little whimpers and increased movements that indicate your upcoming release.  But he really isn’t surprised, you were only growing more and more sensitive and overstimulated with every second passing that now perhaps even the tiniest bits of effort from him were enough to make you clench your cunt around him just the way he liked it.

This time, Nanami makes sure to watch your face thoroughly, drinking in every twinge in your face, bite to your lower lip, and moan that drops from your mouth. It’s a shame to him the mask of yours, as pretty as it is, covers him from seeing the entirety of your face just on the edge of cumming, but Nanami prefers to think you make it up in other ways. The shaking of your legs growing weaker despite hips moving faster, the bouncing of your breasts with every movement, and his personal favourite in contrary to his slight teasing for it earlier— your nails that scratch up and down his back, desperately clawing away in the hopes of reaching for something— he’s enthralled by it all, how the gorgeous, well put together woman he saw hours before at the bar was the same as the one in his arms on the verge of her sixth orgasam of the night.

So when you finally do cum once again, letting the more than familiar build up knot in your stomach loose once more, Nanami is of course, mesmerized by it all, filling the air with his own moans at the feeling of your cunt clenching around him tighter than ever before. Yet, not a single ounce of how turned on you made him dwindle, somehow only intensifying— especially amplified at the hint of the sunrise beginning to seep into the room past the sheer curtains of the window beside the bed, reminding him of a little promise he had made to you earlier in the night.

He doesn’t give you much time to think about it, a few mere seconds at most if you were truly to keep record. Although a fan of foreplay and buildup, he was already far too lost in lust and desire to wait any longer. Your body slumped against his chest, head on his shoulder, breaths heavy and arms wrapped around his neck is the perfect position for him to lift you from the back of your thighs up almost too effortlessly, a startled yelp leaving your mouth at the sudden movement.

“Hush, it’s okay baby.” Nanami soothes, a tiny chuckle following, feeling your arms strength and your legs wrap instictintly around him. “You did so good, and now I just wanted to show you what I promised you earlier.”

A sudden jolt of coldness attacks your backside, sending a shiver to run down your spine. You let out another gasp at the abruptness of it all, only to be responded with the tiny grin on Nanami’s lips, ushering you to turn around and look behind you.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?”

His grip behind your legs loosening and steady hands resting on yours hips once more gently assisting your weak legs in standing up. There were zero lies in his words, confirmed when you turn around and see the view for yourself peeking through the partially opened curtains of the floor to ceiling windows.

The familiar city before you was now blanketed with an orange hue matching the color of the sun rising from a distance away. The current time remains a mystery to you, but what you could gather was that it was the hour of the day where the city just began to stir awake, the sounds of traffic and humans minimal, and only the true early birds of the world awake and roaming the streets. It was tranquility at its finest, rare to see in the normally bustling city you called home, and a spectacular view that makes you stop and stare in awe.

“It is.” You whisper. “I forgot this city can look this gorg—”

You’re unable to finish the sentence, abruptly cut off midway through. A loud moan replaces it instead, your body falling forward and both your hands flat against the glass in front of you for support when you suddenly feel the head of Nanami’s cock slide back in from behind you unexpectedly, cursing under your breath at the sensation.

“I wasn’t talking about the city.” Nanami smirks, fully aware you’re eyeing his every move through the subtle reflection of the glass. “I was talking about you . This sexy body, this pretty face, this ass, and this pussy… this fucking pussy … words couldn’t describe how it makes me go crazy… my god .”

You let out a louder moan, fingers curling against the window feeling Nanami’s thick and long cock quickly filling you up balls deep. Contrary to before, this time he spent little time teasing you, going slow and making sure you felt every single inch. You had already become accustomed to his body, and Nanami had been accustomed to yours— Nanami no longer had the patience to wait to fuck you senseless once more.

His hands briefly leave your sides, reaching up towards the curtains instead. Grabbing each one on either side of your bodies, Nanami pulls the fabric away, allowing more light to enter the room, and more of the window exposed from the protection of the curtains to the outside. Your eyes widen at the realization, but when Nanami’s hands grip at your waist once more, pulling his cock out and then slamming back in, words of argument become difficult to formulate.  

“Wait… there could be people outside…” You manage to mumble in between the mewls releasing at the sensation of his cock slowly sliding in and out of you. “What if they see… that’s embarrassing…”

“I said I’d fuck you so everyone could see, didn’t I?” Nanami hisses, thrusts beginning to increase in speed. “And even though you say that your pussy throbbing on me is telling me you like the idea of people seeing you get fucked up against this window, don’t you?”

He knows you too well. And as scary as it should be for someone whom you practically just met to know you this well, to you the rush of it all is more overpowering— all you can do is let out a tiny grin because he was right. Something about him railing you against the window of a penthouse hotel room, in full view during the sunrise of a beautiful morning for anyone at the right place and time to see was enthralling.  

“You’re right, baby, it turns me on so much that someone might be able to watch me get fucked hard by your big cock.” You moan, feeling the tip of his cock brushing against your womb. “Everyone watching me get used as your little slutty fuck doll makes me so wet.”

Nanami does nothing but groan loudly at your words, serving more than enough as a response. His hands ghosts upwards to reach to tangle into the back of your hair, fingers gripping the strands and pulling them back rough enough your entire body follows suit. With your back against his chest, Nanami takes a step forward, pushing your breasts and the side of your face against the window, and all your hands can do is still support his rough movements by clawing away at the window.

“Whose pussy is this? Tell me if you want me to fuck you harder.”

“Yours, It belongs to you!”

“That’s my girl.” Nanami coos, grip on your hair becoming stronger. “My slutty girl.”

The sound of skin slapping and moans echoes throughout the room, Nanami’s hips snapping into you harder with every passing second, pushing you back and forth against the window. Your knees buckle instantly when Nanami’s cock brushes past your most sensitive spot, releasing a moan that comes straight from the depths of your lungs.

“Right there,” You gasp, eyes fluttering shut, too overwhelmed with pleasure. “Oh my god, right fucking there—!”

Nanami grins, knowing he’s found the spot that makes your toes curl in pleasure, eyes roll to the back of your head, and legs shake, threatening to give out at any moment. And when his thrusts pinpoint that specific spot, rhythmically hitting on beat to a silent song that makes your head spin once more, both you and him know all too well what’s to come next.

“It feels so fucking good,” You cry out, endless strings of moans and curses dropping from your lips. “I can’t… I’m gonna—”

“Don’t hold back. Cum baby, cum all over my cock.”

You don’t— not even in the slightest bit. You let your mind grow numb, the high of the orgasm riding your entire body, allowing Nanami to give his last few thrusts, only an unworldly noise leaving your throat. Your body jolts in a way you’ve never experienced before, so much so Nanami has to snake an arm around your waist, holding you steady upright from collapsing from your now completely weakened knees.

“Baby, look at me.” Nanami calls, voice soft with a twinge of startled concern. “Are you tired? We can stop now if you want.”

His movements cease, slowly pulling his length from you emitting a groan from both of you. You muster up the strength you have remaining once more to stand upright, looking behind your shoulder and give him a small, reassuring smile, shaking your head side to side.

“No… I’m still okay, thank you for asking.” A hand reaches backwards, latching on to the side of his neck to bring him down for a brief and comforting kiss. “You’re actually such a sweetie, you know?”

Nanami shrugs his shoulders when you let him go, clearing his throat and reaching to scratch at the back of his neck. His actions were uncharacteristically bashful compared to what he had shown you throughout the night thus far, and it was both intimate and refreshing to you to see another side of him you haven’t seen before.

You wanted to know more about him, effortlessly encapsulated by the growing enigma that was him — Nanami Kento. The more you learnt about him, the more you wondered what other side of him he could possibly surprise you further with.

However, for now, there was another issue present to solve in the current moment. The feeling of Nanami’s rock hard cock, long and stiff looming over your backside, reminded you that he had pleased you so well up until now, and it was now his turn to be absolutely spoiled by you.

You lean forward once more, bending fully over to display your ass towards him. Looking over your shoulder once more, a small grin forms upon your face watching Nanami’s stunned expression, eyes fixated right on your assets showcased in front of him.

“I can’t let you just stay this hard, baby.” You whisper, your hands reaching behind you to spread both of your cheeks open.  “I want you to let it all out inside here.”

“Fuck,” Nanami curses, watching you wriggle your ass back and forth against his cock. “How did I get so fucking lucky with you?”

“Because you’re a good man… with a blessed cock to follow. Now hurry up and fuck my ass.”

The once cold glass of the window had now turned warm, condensation coating the surface of the glass with droplets of water— except for where the silhouette of your body that was pressed up against the window was not too long ago. The sight is erotic and incredibly lewd, and a part of Nanami wonders if he even had the strength to make it inside you.

But he does nonetheless, moving slowly to allow the tighter hole to adjust to his impressive length and girth. You weren’t a stranger to anal at all, but you definitely weren’t accustomed to someone of Nanami’s size, slightly wincing in the initial discomfort. Nanami takes notice of this, gently soothing the sides of your body in encouragement.

“Baby… you’re taking me so good. Let me know when you’re ready for me to move.”

A few more moments is all it takes, the discomfort quickly dwindling and pleasure replacing its spot. When a breathless moan parts from your lips, fingers scratching the surface of the window in front of you once more in search of more pleasure, you start to move your hips slightly, taking in the rest of his length.

Nanami’s hands grip the sides of your waist once more, beginning to guide your hips up and down his cock. You squeeze him tighter than ever before, Nanami watching the inches of his cock disappear, stretching the tiny hole more than you could take.

“ Fuck. You’re squeezing me so fucking tight, darling.”

A new pool of wetness forms from your cunt, and mixed with creaminess of Nanami’s cum inside from earlier you feel the liquids begin to drip in between your legs, running down the insides of your thighs. Removing one hand from the window, you dip your hand in between your legs, examining the slick in between the folds of your cunt. Bringing the fingers back up to your mouth, you make sure to look at Nanami over your shoulder before sticking your tongue out, humming in satisfaction while licking the liquids off your fingers.

“You and I taste so good together.” You grin as best as you can, eyes partially closed and brain fucked out to the core, bringing your hand out behind you towards him in offering. “Don’t we?”

Nanami groans loudly, rejecting your offering. Instead, you feel the palm of his hand pushing the small of your back down once more, forcing you to look forward once more and to hold back onto the window. His hips pick up, increasing its speed entering in and out of you, but this time you feel his chest against your back, a hand snaking forward and fingers rubbing your clit back and forth.

“You’re gonna fucking be the death of me princess.” Nanami whispers, breath heavy against your ear. “But I can play against you and your little minx ways.”

His body moves faster, an outburst of the last bit of his remaining stamina bursting in both his hips thrusting into you, and his fingers moving against your clit frantically back and forth. Numbness clouds your mind once more, eyes shutting close and rolling to the back of your head.

“That’s fucking right baby doll, you tease me like that and I’ll make that pretty little brain of yours turn stupid with nothing but cock on your mind.”

It was too much. In your overstimulated, over sensitive current state, the combination of everything was just too much. The tension in the pit of your stomach grows, this time differently than previous— more intense, striking you in a way you’ve only felt just a few times in your life.

“Oh my god—” You cry out, eyes shut closed so tight you can feel the formation of a few tears in the corners of your eyes. “No— I’m gonna—”

The synchronization is almost artistic. The way your body convulses underneath his, liquid squirting from your cunt across the lower part of the window and onto the floor below, joined merely seconds later by the drips of Nanami’s cum painting your insides that overflow outwards onto the floor below. Your knees finally give in, falling onto the ground in exhaustion and Nanami finds himself accompanying you in an instance, the last of his stamina escaping him and fatigue overwhelming him.

It’s arguably messy. Definitely to most not the most desired situation, laying on the cold, marble floor surrounded by the physical fragments of both your orgasms. But when you turn around to face Nanami, softly panting in an attempt to recollect his breath from his high, the back of his hand resting on his forehead in exhaustion, you can’t help but let out a small, weak laugh. And when Nanami’s eyes flicker towards you at the sound of your laughter, he can’t help but join in as well, fully understanding the beauty of the moment.

Something about it was almost ironic. You were in the most luxurious penthouse suite, experiencing the most sexy, alluring nearly dream-like night with a man almost too good to be true. This part now was most likely the most realistic portion of the dream-like night, yet, it was your favourite.

It was perfect. Imperfectly perfect. You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“I’m going to wash up. Care to join me?”

“You know that’s not gonna work.” You reply, pointing up at your mask. “We can’t keep these on in the shower.”

“I don’t care anymore, you’re more than just a quick fuck to me now.” Nanami smiles, a hand reaching forward to tangle with yours.“I already know you’re gorgeous, but I want to see your entire face for myself.”

You wanted to. You really did. But the reality looming over you was too strong to ignore. Despite being your prince for the night, in reality, he still remained your colleague in the office. You knew mixing pleasure with work was never a good idea, and you knew the responsible choice was to remain keeping the two separate.

“Not yet.” Your hand squeezes his back. “Let’s keep up the mystery a little longer.”

—

“Marlboro’s? These are impossible to find here, how’d you get your hands on this?”

You climb back onto the bed, shaking a towel into your damp hair with one hand in an attempt to dry your hair, nudging at the red cardboard box that laid on top of Nanami’s lap. Nanami shrugs, taking two cigarettes out of the box, placing one in his mouth and offering the other in your direction.

“Connections.”

Taking the cigarette, you toss the damp towel onto the armrest of the nearby chair. You join Nanami under the covers of the duvet, and when you situate yourself to mimic him in leaning against the headboard, he reaches over his bedside table for the metallic lighter.

“What, did I just fuck some wanted gangster or something?”

“Not at all,” Nanami chuckles, finding humour in your accusation. “I’m just a regular salaryman… with an interesting part time job.”

He lights the tip of your cigarette first, lighting his own shortly after. A short silence fills the air when the both of you simultaneously take the first drag, seeping in the bitter flavor.

“I won’t ask.” You wink at him, and Nanami rolls his eyes in response. “Keeps you more sexy, like a mystery, you know?”

“What do you smoke then?”

“Blackstones.”

“Awful.” Nanami scrunches his nose in a cringe, instantly tossing the red cardboard box onto your lap covered with the duvet. “Take this pack on me, and treat yourself to something not garbage once in a while.”

“Cigarettes are garbage in general. Literally poison killing you slowly— but for some reason I can’t stop.

Nanami nods in agreement, taking another drag.

“I could never give up — especially cigarettes after sex. Something about ending the night with a good cigarette is the cherry on top.”

“Blackstones taste like cherry, so that could be literal if you wanted it to be.”

“Huh, makes sense.” Nanami pauses, turning to you with a cheeky smile. “You kind of tasted like cherries and tobacco when I first kissed you.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows raise, reciprocating his coy smile back “What about now?”

Nanami leans forward, his free hand reaching to cup the side of your neck, lifting your face upwards towards him. Your eyes flutter closed when your lips meet his, gently caressing with yours and delicately exploring you, drinking in every single flavour he could.

“A mix of tobacco,” Nanami grins against your lips. “And a little bit of me.”

#Nanami #nanami kento #nanami fanfic #nanami smut #nanami reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk x you #smut

[space-mermaid-writing]

House Arrest [Loki X Reader] Chapter 2

Summary: You are Clint’s 'little' sister and actually a trained Shield agent. But you gave that up a few years ago and became a Chef, because you wanted a normal live. Then one day Natasha shows up at your door and takes you to the Avenger Tower for a while for security reasons.

Tags: Reader is an former Shield Agent, chef!reader, Reader Barton, 2012 Avenger vibes, everything is still alright, Slice of Life, Avengers Family, Loki has a good heart, still the god of mischief, Slow Burn, mention of food and cooking

Read it on AO3

Chapter 2: Not the new kitchen help

You can now call a cozy apartment with two rooms and a nice bathroom your own. You have stored your things in the bedroom and are now looking around the tower. The living rooms seem to be spread over several levels. Either there are really a lot of people living here or they tried to keep a little space to avoid stepping on each other's toes all the time. Living and working together can be quite a challenge for some people. The floors above consist - judging by the signs - of labs and various development rooms. Most of it is probably technical stuff, but some of the doors also have concerning warnings, and you don't want to spend your first day trying to figure out if they're genuine.

You find the outdoor platform with the big A and see, then it’s connected to some sort of party or lounge room. There are several couch sets and a rather nicely equipped bar. Overall, everything is very spacious and you're sure you can walk around here for a few days without anyone noticing your presence. At least once, you think you've lost your bearings for a moment, but then you find your way back to the elevators. On the other hand, there was surprisingly little going on up here.

All floors below the living area seem to be offices, at least the names of the elevator buttons suggest that. You don't feel like visiting them right now, because the exploration tour has left you pretty hungry. The last meal was also your breakfast this morning and now it's almost afternoon. So you look for the room that interests you the most anyway. And you find it near the lounge: a wonderfully large kitchen with fantastic equipment. You explore it with interest and notice that it‘s visibly little used. Among the people and other beings here, there seems to be no one enjoying cooking. Saving the world probably takes up enough of their time. As you open the refrigerator, a voice suddenly comes from somewhere, startling you briefly at first. "Good afternoon, Miss Barton. If you have any requests regarding the food or ingredients, please let me know." You look around, but can't see anyone. "My name is JARVIS," the voice explains. "I am an A.I. and I am available to assist you." "Uh-huh...hello," you merely reply, processing this information. Jarvis, meanwhile, continues talking. "Welcome to the Tower. The other Avenger members have been notified of your arrival in a memo." "Okay, thanks." It‘s a bit weird talking to a room, but apparently modern technology has already reached the next level here. Hearing nothing more, you start inspecting the contents of the refrigerator. The result is quite sobering. "It's all just fast foods," you grumble. "Would you like to suggest changes in the selection?", Jarvis asks. "Yes! Please and thank you." "You're welcome to make a shopping list, and I'll have everything ordered." Why not? Regardless of whether a computer can really do it, you nod. "Okay." "A personal tablet will be calibrated for you. You can pick it up from Mr. Banner."

A few minutes later you find yourself in the labs on the upper floors. The sterile lit hallway reminds you much more of Shield than the lower floors. You turn a corner and have to go down some stairs that lead you into a large room. Here, tables are jumbled with various types of modern computers and equipment. Further back is a robotic arm soldering a hard drive all by itself with a quiet whir. It’s a dream for any technology enthusiast. From one corner, you hear typing and beeping, followed by quiet murmurs. That's where you turn, looking at the whiteboards on the wall along the way, where complicated calculations and drawings could be seen. Then suddenly, right in front of you, a hologram appears in the air and you stop, rooted to the spot. "Oops!" "Oh, sorry." A head pops up from behind a nearby screen and you recognize Bruce Banner. His face is always shown on the news whenever there's been a shot of Hulk. But now you're more interested in the hologram as you take a closer look. It shows a nebulous, pulsating entity. "What is that?" you ask the scientist. "We got some cosmic stones. This was in one of them." "It's moving. Is it alive?" "Living would be an exaggeration, but there is energy present. My name is Dr. Banner, by the way." He reduzes the size the hologram so it's out of your way. "Barton, nice to meet you." "Clint's sister, I read the file. He never mentioned you though." "I didn't want any attention, but didn't quite work out, I guess." Bruce smiles sympathetically and reaches for a cup of tea, which, judging by his expression after the first sip, seems to be cold. You ask for the tablet you came for, and Bruce looks around searchingly. There are a few of them in the room, but the display of one lights up, drawing your attention. You see your name displayed and simply conclude that it's the right one. Briefly you say thank and goodbye, before you go back to your room and start making a shopping list. Please fresh ingredients and please deliver today.

Afterwards, you browse around a bit. The tablet, like every electronic device in the house, seems connected to the main computer and to Jarvis. You pull up a few files on your new housemates and read them curiously. At least the parts that are publicly available. You also take the opportunity to look for your own name. Because even though you know that your records were officially destroyed when you left, you know that no data is ever really gone. So you're almost surprised when you find only a few sentences about yourself and not even a photo. Mainly it was about your and Clint's entry into Shield at a young age as orphans. You had received a pretty good education, which may have also kept you from going off the rails. Besides hand-to-hand combat and firearms training, your specialty was handling knives, while your brother took up bows and arrows. For foreign missions, you had also had to learn various languages and had chosen the widely spoken Spanish and Russian. But you didn't work for Shield for a long time, instead opting out of your career early on. It just wasn't the life you wanted to lead. So you changed cities and mingled with the civilian population. And before you knew it, your talent with a knife led you into a traditional apprenticeship as a chef. You enjoyed this work more than having to fight to death, and you even expanded your knowledge and skills during a year abroad in France. But there is very little of all this in your records.

You set the tablet aside and stretch out on your new bed. Normally, you would be in full swing at work right now. A glance at the clock reveals that it's already early evening. Rush hour in most of the restaurants. But here? Without a task or a plan, there's not much you can do. On the other hand, a little vacation wouldn't hurt you.

At some point, the tablet gave a soft ping and when you checked, it was a notification that the refrigerator and all the pantries had been restocked. By now you are very hungry and you heard nothing about a joint dinner time, so you decide to cook yourself something. Out of sheer habit and to avoid getting your clothes dirty, you put on a chef's jacket and apron you brought from home and go into the kitchen. There's a radio in one corner that you turn on. Jarvis really did get everything you had asked for. It was a dream come true. Now in a much better mood, you grab a pan and get to work. From the freezer, you pull out a fish, which you gut and fill with fresh herbs. It goes into the pan first. Then it's the turn of the potatoes, which are peeled, boiled and rolled in rosemary.

You're so absorbed in your work - you've just poked a knife into the boiling potatoes to see if they're already done - that you don't notice a visitor, who had entered the kitchen at some point, until he makes himself known. "I'll have the course menu and a white wine to go with it." Somewhat confused, you look up as you hear the man's voice and see Tony Stark standing at the sideboard across from you. He notices your look and returns it with a smile. "I didn't realize we hired a new kitchen help." You frown and take a sharpening rod in your free hand to sharpen your knife while not taking your eyes off Tony. "Oh, I'm not a new kitchen help," you clarify. "I'm a chef." "Excuse me. Then would the chef please serve me the course menu and a white wine?" The trillionaire indicates a polite bow, but you merely turn to the stove and take the potatoes off it. You then retrieve a plate from the cupboard. "Jarvis", you direct your voice to the computer, hoping it’s still listening. "Would you please explain to Mr. Stark that I'm not here to cook for him and that he'll have to order his course menu, if he really wants one, from the Chinese place next door?" "Mr. Stark, I'm supposed to-." "I heard her, Jarvis," Tony interrupts the A.I., eyeing you a little more closely now. "That does make me wonder what you're doing here, Miss...? Aside from the fact that there's no Chinese working next door." "Then you should make one move in there," you replay amused. As you do, you wipe your fingers on the cloth you've hung on the apron at your hip and prep your dish. Just as Tony is about to say something clever, the door opens and another person walks in. You recognize Thor at first glance. "What's that delicious smell in the air?", he asks, looking around curiously. You smile and point to the stove. "I was just cooking. There's still some left for you to take." With that, you want to go to your room, but Tony stops you. "Oh, he gets something, but I don't?", he complains. You shrug your shoulders. "He didn't want a whole menu." With that, you disappear through the door and go back to your living quarters. There you quickly change into something comfy and make yourself comfortable on the couch, where you watch an episode of your favorite show while you eat. A little company would be nice, but you don't feel like meeting more people you don't know yet. And you don't feel like searching for Natasha in this huge complex. So you’re fine with being by your own right own.

After dinner, you continue watching the show, but eventually you realize you're getting tired. It really had been an eventful and long day. So you quickly take your dirty dishes back to the kitchen. But just as you're closing the dishwasher, Tony comes back in and leans against the frame with his arms crossed. "So… you‘re a Barton." Apparently he had spent a few minutes of his precious time gathering information about you and then waited for you to reappear. "Surprised there's another one?" you ask with a smirk. He takes that as a sign that you're not holding a grudge against him. He pushes himself off the door frame and comes closer, now leaning his arms on the kitchen island. "Nothing about Legolas surprises me anymore. Met his wife and kids the other day. Nice family. Are you guys a whole circus?" "Not anymore." You shrug. "So, what’s your deal?", he wants to know. "You left Shield in your early twenties. What's normal life like out there? No one waiting for you to come home?" You turn on the dishwasher and grab a water bottle from the supply. "Life is nice. Often stressful, but I have to worry a lot less about getting killed." You don't answer Tony's last question. It's really none of his business. "That is when you're not being yanked out of that life and brought into the house of superheroes", you add. "You'll get used to it. Both that we're super and that we're heroes. I promise." You laugh at his words. Tony seems to be a real egocentric, but also a humorous person. "Well, let's see", you reply, "Now if the welcome speech is over, I'd like to go to bed." "I won't keep anyone away from their beauty sleep. Good night." You wish him the same, then head back to your room, where you make yourself comfortable on the large bed. The strange surroundings were unfamiliar, but not you don't feel uncomfortable and so you soon fall asleep.

#Loki #Loki x Reader #House Arrest #Chapter 1 #my writing #Clint #clint barton #hawkeye #loki laufeyson #imagine #chef reader #mcu #marvel

[qitwrites]

growing pains 

Fandom: Boku no hero academia 

There’s an absolutely atrocious, disgustingly gooey feeling curling around Bakugou’s chest.

He wonders if Recovery girl has any medicine for feels.

OR

5 times the Bakusquad tells Bakugou they love him + the one time he says it back

(AO3)

Ashido is many things. Book smart isn’t one of them.

No really, she’s got so much going for her with her dancing, her strength, her versatile quirk, her perky attitude and even her distinctive appearance, but she’s not one for the books. She doesn’t like them, and they clearly don’t like her back.

Her grades thoroughly reflect this hate-hate relationship.

Ashido tries though, she really does- even if it’s just cramming a few days before the exams, she tries to study. Yao-momo had even gone out of her way to help, but it just doesn’t do the trick. She knows she needs to get her act together and figure this out because she can’t be a hero with a failing grade, and the anxiety and fear starts taking its toll, leaving her restless and upset.

So, when Bakugou sees the pink-haired, pink-skinned pain-in-the ass sulking in the common room, he’s horrified by the words that leave his mouth-

‘Want my help?’

Ashido doesn’t even glance at him at first, choosing to stare at the wall forlornly. She slowly looks up to catch his eye, looks around, realizes that they’re all alone, snaps her eyes back to his and her jaw drops.

‘Me?’ She points a finger at herself. ‘You’ll tutor me?’

‘What did I just say dumbass?’

‘I just- BAKUBRO, THANK YOU!’

‘Shut the fuck up and get your shit. We’ve got our work cut out for us. And raccoon eyes?’

Ashido turns to look at him, eyes bright and shiny.

‘Tell anyone about this and I’ll kick your ass.’

Ashido beams. ‘It’ll be our little secret!’

To her credit, he sees her try. She’s distracted and constantly jumping up and down, too jittery to be in one place, but she also pushes herself to focus, to really absorb the material. Bakugou’s rough with her, the way he is with Kirishima, but he’s generous with the praise too, or as generous as he’s capable of being. It makes him feel all kinds of gross, disgustingly soft and gooey things when Ashido’s eyes go warm with pride when he pays her the smallest compliment.

They work hard for the two weeks leading up to the exams. Kirishima joins them for every session in addition to the stuff he does with Bakugou separately, and between the three of them, they manage to cover most of the syllabus quite thoroughly.

The day before the exam, Bakugou sees the nerves rolling off Ashido.

‘Oye!’

She flinches and turns to look at him, throwing him a sheepish smile. ‘Yes, Blasty?’

He bristles at the nickname but recognizes that there’s no malice, no intention to mock, nothing really- just a nickname meant for a friend. She isn’t provoking him- she’s just nervous and falling back on old, comfortable habits.

He grunts, ‘You nervous?’

Ashido chuckles. ‘Course I am! Don’t wanna let you down, you know?’

Bakugou smacks her lightly on the head with a roll of practice sheets.

‘Who do you think tutored you? Don’t underestimate our sessions. Get in there and fucking obliterate those stupid tests.’

Ashido’s smile grows more confident, and she gives him a huge thumbs up, bumps hips with Kirishima and jogs over to her seat. The bell rings, and the exams begin.

The tests are not bad. Bakugou notes that a good majority of the papers contain material that he’s covered with the two properly, and works his way through the problems, the equations, the literature, all of it. In the very back of his mind, in a place he barely refuses to acknowledge, he hopes that they’re doing ok.

A week after their final exams, Bakugou is walking back from the training centre when he sees a ball of pink approaching him at an alarming speed.

‘BAKUBRO!’ Mina hollers, arms raised over her head as she outright sprints at him.

Bakugou furrows his brow, chest expanding as he gets ready to yell at her when she interrupts him-

‘I passed EVERYTHING!’ Her smile is humungous, wide and warm and genuine to its core. ‘AND I ACTUALLY DID WELL!’

Bakugou doesn’t even realize he’s smiling back, that feral, triumphant grin he has when he beats someone during training or takes down a villain. He’s proud of himself, and he realizes, with a surprising amount of acceptance, that he’s proud of her too. Really damn proud.

He’s a bit slow to realize that she hasn’t stopped barreling towards him though.

‘RACCOON EYES, DON’T YOU DA-‘

Ashido collides right into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Bakugou curses the entire way, but Ashido out-laughs him, her body shaking with joy.

‘Thank you!’ She beams down at him, pulling him into a warm hug. ‘You have no idea what this means to me.’

Bakugou wants to push her off, wants to stand up, spew out some curses and stomp away, back to his room.

But he’s also proud. He’s also happy for her. He’s also glad she did ok. That she worked hard and was determined to make him proud and that she isn’t going to get held back or expelled or something.

So, he blames it on the summer heat when he not only doesn’t push her off but rests a hand on her shoulder, gives her a quick pat, counts to 10 and THEN shoves her away.

Ashido pulls off easily enough, still laughing. She bounces back to her feet, dusts off her track pants and offers him her hand. The blonde looks at it, huffs, and takes it with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Ashido yanks him to his feet with a strong, firm grip and her eyes go soft and warm and radiant.

‘Thanks again, Bakugou.’

‘Tch, whatever. Fuck off.’

Ashido giggles. Her phone suddenly starts ringing and she pulls it out of her pant pocket.

‘Oh, it’s my parents, I gotta take this!’ She starts walking back to the dorms. ‘Let’s go out this weekend, get some food at the mall. My treat!’

‘I don’t want to fucking do-‘

‘Bye babe. Love you!’ And with that, she’s gone, her laugh echoing around the courtyard.

There’s an absolutely atrocious, disgustingly gooey feeling curling around Bakugou’s chest.

He wonders if Recovery girl has any medicine for feels.

---

Bakugou knows for a fact that Sero is 90% memes and 10% tape.

He has no scientific evidence to back up this claim of course, but he’s definitely right.  

The thing about Sero is that the longer you spend time around him, the more you can appreciate his stupid sense of humour, his great taste in mangas, and his ability to make the people around him smile.

Bakugou hates him completely, or so he tells himself. There’s no scientific evidence to prove on the contrary either, thank god.

So, with his shitty sense of humour and his easy-going nature, it’s natural to find Sero with a smile on his face. Not the kind of sunshine happiness that Kirishima has, but more of a mellow, easy joy. His body language exudes a relaxed vibe, immediately making the people around him lower their guard, and he shares a love for healthy food with Bakugou, earning him the blonde’s begrudging respect.

Bakugou finds the tape hero sitting at the kitchen island on a Tuesday night. It’s past Bakguou’s bedtime, but he’s hungry enough to warrant a midnight snack, though he’s not expecting any company. Turns out, neither is Sero.

‘Oh, hey.’

Immediately, Bakugou’s shackles are up. Because Sero isn’t smiling. He isn’t teasing him, there’s no humorous lilt in his voice, no mischievous glint in his eyes, nothing. He’s hollow almost, his skin pale and his eyes sunken in. Even his breathing seems off, too fast and too shallow all at once.

‘What are you doing up?’ Bakugou asks, quirking a brow.

‘Could ask you the same.’

Sero is barely looking at him. He has his phone in a vice-grip, and he looks like he’s going to throw up.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

Sero jolts at that, eyes darting all across the room, and he can’t seem to look at Bakugou. Can’t seem to sit still or calm down. Bakugou can taste his anxiety, and it’s making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He feels protectiveness - strong and vicious and ridiculously overpowering - all the way in his toes.

‘Nothing, ha, I’m fine.’

‘Tapeface, I’m not fucking blind. If you don’t want to fucking talk about it, fine. Just don’t lie to my face.’

Sero finally looks at him, and he looks lost and scared and helpless. Bakugou’s never seen him like this, and the protectiveness surges.

‘I- I didn’t expect anyone to be awake. I’m not sure, you know, how to talk about it. I don’t even know what to do.’

Bakugou grunts to show him he’s listening before turning around and slowly pulling things out of the fridge. He remembers Sero’s love for fruits and soy and all things healthy and decides to make some Mapo Tofu. Not because Sero will like it or anything, the blonde just really likes Mapo Tofu, ok?

Bakugou begins the task of pulling pots and pans out of the cabinets and gets to prepping the ingredients. He keeps himself busy and fills the space with the comforting sounds and smells of food because he is an expert at being unable to talk about his feelings. To articulate his thoughts sans anger and rage and panic. And he finds that it's easier, even if only a little, to talk when the focus isn’t just on you. When there’s stuff going on, when there are other focal points. It’s less scary.

‘My mom is getting surgery.’

Bakugou pauses in his movements. He stays still long enough to indicate to Sero that he’s listening but goes back to work so the focus is still on the food, so Sero will continue to speak. His voice is uncharacteristically soft and so pained, and something in Bakugou churns horribly. He works more softly, so he can hear everything.

‘She’s had medical issues all my life, so it’s nothing unexpected. She gets surgery pretty often, but it’s never any less scary.’

Bakugou can’t even imagine what that’s like, to have a parent regularly undergo medical treatment and surgical procedures.

‘It’s the first one since I got to the dorms. I’ve never been this far away, and I can’t-‘ Sero’s voice chokes. He breathes deeply and continues ‘-I can’t calm down. I begged them to let me come home but they refused, said I need to see this UA thing through, do my own thing, all that.’

Bakugou continues to cook. The kitchen smells warm and spicy, and the sound of sizzling spices saturates the space between them, and he thinks he can sense Sero calm down a little.

‘I get it. I do. They're right and logically, I can accept that. I just. Fuck, this is horrible.’

Bakugou doesn’t offer any words of comfort or advice because what does he know? He has no idea what Sero is going through, and anything he says might sound insincere or plain insensitive. So instead, he cooks. He cooks the meat, mixes in the spices, and tastes the broth. He works fast and efficient, his movements practised. When it’s done, he plates up two bowls, and sets one in front of Sero, taking the seat next to him. Sero’s at the head of the table, so Bakugou ends up on his right.

Sero stares at the bowl and then looks up at Bakugou.

‘Mom makes me Mapo Tofu when I’m upset,’ he grumbles by way of an explanation. The blonde proceeds to douse his serving in extra chilli oil and peppercorns because he made the overall dish at a much more tolerable spice level. NOT for Sero or anything, just because. You know. For the fuck of it.

Sero stares at the bowl of food silently before picking up the spoon.

‘I haven’t told the rest because I couldn’t find a way to talk about it.’

Before Bakugou can figure out a way to respond to that, Sero continues, ‘I’m glad you know, is not so bad to have someone to talk to. Or at, I guess.’

Sero digs in, and after the first bite, his eyes light up.

‘Holy fuck,’ he breathes, ‘this is so good.’

Bakugou smirks, digging into his own bowl and humming in agreement. It’s probably the best Tofu he’s made so far.

‘Shit man,’ Sero says in between big bites, ‘I freaking love this. And you. But mostly this. But also, you. Like 65-35? Maybe 60-40.’

The blonde snorts and Sero’s grin gets wider. They eat in relative silence, with the occasional comment from Sero and the sounds of them kicking each other playfully under the table. When they’re done, Bakugou rinses the bowls in the sink and joins Sero on the couch in front of the TV. It’s gotten ridiculously late, but he doesn’t want to leave him alone.

Sero rubs the back of his neck. ‘I uh, I don’t want to go to my room right now.’

Bakugou leans over the couch, grabs two throw blankets from a bin nearby and flings the yellow one at Sero.

‘Play that cool documentary on speedcubing,’ he barks out, tucking himself under his own red blanket. Sero gives him a wide-eyed look before navigating to the right piece on Netflix. He gets comfortable under the throw, and they fall asleep to the sound of people solving Rubix cubes at inhumane speeds.

Shoji finds them like that in the morning and gently shakes them awake. Sero’s phone has a message from his parents, telling him everything’s alright, and that’s the only reason Bakugou forgives him for gathering the blonde in a big, warm hug before the sun is even up.

He crawls into his own bed 5 minutes later, and his heart feels lighter than ever.

Maybe an antacid will help with all of these stupid, horrid feels.

---

Bakugou doesn’t like people.

As a general rule of thumb, he dislikes them almost instantly. People are loud. They’re invasive, annoying, clingy, and they never smell good.

People are also cruel and selfish and use you as they please.

Bakugou doesn’t like people; until he comes to UA.

Because the people in UA are loud, invasive, annoying, clingy, and never smell great either.

But they’re kind. They’re smart, driven, capable, funny. They work hard, they play hard, and they’re mostly selfless. They don’t flock to him simply because he’s got a great quirk or something. Truth be told, they’re all pretty formidable themselves. Grossly underdeveloped and years away from being at his level, but Bakugou knows that with time, all of his classmates will reach insane heights. They wouldn’t be in UA otherwise.

So Bakugou tries. Mostly because his stupid squad won’t leave him alone, but he tries.

When people hang out in the common rooms, he’s downstairs with them. If there’s a stupid Christmas party, or it's someone’s birthday, or the class wants to go out shopping or to play in the pool, Bakugou tags along with them more often than not.

There is a compromise though. With a social battery as small and easily drained as his, it isn’t uncommon for the class to find Bakugou chilling in a corner with his headphones in, simply taking in the vibe rather than actively participating. There’s no bad blood over this though- they kinda get it. Not everyone is as friendly or as vibrant as Kirishima or Kaminari. They’re honestly just glad he’s there at all, so they do their best to make sure he’s included while letting him set his own pace.

Bakugou’s in one of his recharging phases when he spots Jirou.

The earphone jack hero is wandering around, looking a little worse for wear. There are people from both 1A and 1B milling around, talking and laughing in the common areas, and the energy in the room is almost stifling. The blonde doesn’t miss the way Jirou covers her ears at one point.

From what he can tell, Jirou is an ambivert. She enjoys the company of others often, but she’s also perfectly fine being on her own, with a book and some music to keep her company. Right now, she seems exhausted, her own social battery running dangerously low.

Bakugou catches her eye. She gives him a small wave and he sticks his tongue out at her, pulling the skin under his eye down on one side. It’s petty and dumb, but he sees her huff a laugh and slowly meander towards him. Bakugou goes back to closing his eyes and tipping his head back, enjoying the familiar texture of the common room couch and the sound of the music in his ears drowning out everything else.

He feels the couch dip next to him, close but not too close. Jirou doesn’t touch him, doesn’t bother him, doesn’t shake or poke or otherwise engage him. She just sits there, stock-still.

When his eyes slip open again, Bakugou sees that she’s got her hands in her lap and she’s mimicking his posture, comfortably seated on the couch with her head tipped back. Her signature headphones are nowhere in sight though, and her eyes are open and red.

Distantly, Bakugou wonders if she’s forgotten them. That would suck ass- he’d be lost without his own pair. And Jirou’s relationship with music is on a level no one else can fathom- it’s literally part of her DNA, her quirk, her identity.

Bakugou isn’t sure what compels him to do it- maybe it’s because they both like bugging the hell out of Kaminari. Maybe it’s because Jirou is no-nonsense when it comes to hero work, which he can respect. Maybe it’s because, beneath all the teasing and smart-ass comments, Jirou has often looked out for him, advocating for the need for personal space when the idiot brigade drains him.

Whatever the reason, Bakugou finds himself pulling out his right earbud and holding it out for her, a silent invitation.

It takes maybe 4 seconds for him to feel the bud lifted gently from his fingers. Jirou is careful to not jar his own earbud when she adjusts his in her right ear, and Bakugou moves to raise the volume a little.

It is a bit annoying, yes, to have one ear open to the noise around them, but it’s not unbearable- far from it. He’s got some reggae on right now, a genre he indulges in when he needs to calm down and just relax his body.

When he turns to look at her, Jirou’s got a smile on her lips. Her feet are tapping to the beat effortlessly, and her fingers are mapping out the tune on an invisible fretboard. She opens her eyes and looks over at Bakugou, and her smile widens, crinkling the edges of her eyes.

Thank you, she mouths, flashing him another blinding smile. It makes Bakugou huff.

‘Whatever,’ he murmurs under his breath. The look in her eyes could not be mistaken for anything else- unadulterated gratitude and a heavy dose of love.

These gooey feelings are going to give him an upset stomach, Bakugou’s calling it right now.

---

Bakugou doesn’t even notice the pattern till Kirishima points it out to him.

It goes a little something like this- Bakugou feels off during training, or maybe doesn’t do as well as he’d expected on a test or project, or something just doesn’t go right. So naturally, he’s in a piss poor mood.

The squad’s antics don’t do much for him then, doesn’t really raise his spirits or anything, and he usually goes back to his room, slamming his door shut and pacing around like a caged tiger.

And that’s when his phone rings. The caller ID reads Pikachu.

‘What the fuck do you want?’

‘Bakubrooooooooo,’ Kaminari croons, and Bakugou wants to break something.

‘Fuck of-‘

‘You ever wonder if cereal is soup?’

All the fight drains out of Bakugou, leaving only confusion in its place. ‘What?’

‘Yeah, I mean, is cereal like a sub-category of soup or something? Wouldn’t that make sense?’

‘Dunce-face, what the fuck? That doesn’t even make sense? You don’t cook cereal?’

‘Yes, but you could eat it with a soup spoon. That should count for something.’

‘I hate you. So much.’

‘Aww, love you too bro. Ok, gotta go, byee~’

Bakugou stares at his phone, shocked and confused and annoyed.

But no longer angry. No longer pacing about, no longer in a foul mood.

Another time, after a particularly bad bout of training, ending with aching forearms and snarls of frustration because he needs to get better but it’s not happening fast enough, Bakugou wants nothing more than to scream into a pillow and maybe eat some hot sauce.

Again, he gets a call from Kaminari.

‘Wha-‘

‘Do you ever just think about pizza and cry?’

‘Huh?’

‘Yeah, I mean, I think humanity reached its peak when it invented pizza, you know? And that makes me cry. Such perfection.’ He can picture Kaminari making a chef’s kiss gesture, and it pisses him off.

‘This is why you called me? Are you fucking with me?’

‘It’s really an honest question Bakubro. Don’t you ever tremble at the sheer magnificence of pizza?’

‘Delete my number.’

‘No can do. Gotta go, love you, bye!’

And again, he’s gone, just as quickly as he arrived. And again, Bakugou is left feeling baffled and miffed but no longer angry, no longer itching to scream and claw and break something.

He still eats some hot sauce though.

Kirishima is with him after one of his bad days, sitting on his bed and trying to pacify him.

‘It’s ok, it-‘

‘Shut up, Shitty hair! Fuck-‘ His hands tremble with the need to just do something, vent somehow, to break the tension in his spine. He doesn’t want to snap at Kirishima, which is why he never lets him tag along when he stomps away to his room after a bad day, but the redhead can be ridiculously caring sometimes and Bakugou doesn’t want to hurt him.

He doesn’t know what else to do though.

‘Shit, I- you need to leave, get out before I-‘

His phone rings. Pikachu, it says.

‘Dunce-‘

‘I’ve decided that, in the event of an apocalypse, you and I are teaming up together.’

‘Wha-‘

‘I know you’d much rather team up with Kirishima, cause he’s so strong and handsome and he’s your best friend, but he’ll be fine. I, on the other hand, will die immediately. So, it’s just you and me Blasty.’

‘Fuck right off, why would I-‘

‘We could name ourselves the atomic blondes.’ Kaminari suddenly makes a whooping noise. ‘Damn, that’s perfect Bakugou! I gotta print tee shirts right now, we’d look amazing.’

‘I am not wearing anything that matches you, miss me with that shit.’

‘I promise it’ll be black, and like, soft, with skull patterns or something.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘I gotta go anyway, but you’re stuck with me Bakubro. Anyway, bye, love you!’

They end the call, or rather, Kaminari cuts it before Bakugou can get an insult or two in there, and when he looks back at Kirishima, he sees a big, goofy smile on his face.

‘What?’ he grumbles, tossing his phone on his bed.

‘He does that often?’

‘What, call me and say really random, really stupid shit? Yeah, all the damn time. I need to block his ass.’

‘Kinda sweet though, huh?’

Bakugou cocks his head. ‘What’re you talking about? It’s a fucking pain.’

‘Yeah, but you don’t seem as mad anymore.’

‘I-‘ And yet again, Bakugou is disgruntled and confused and irritated at himself, for getting swept up by Kaminari’s pace, but he’s not angry. All the fight has mostly bled out of his limbs, and he feels more or less normal if only a little on edge. Nothing too difficult to deal with.

‘Son of a bitch,’ Bakugou breathes. Kirishima’s smile is a tad wider, and he scoots over on the bed, making some space for Bakugou while he pulls out his laptop, ready to load up some shitty videos.

‘Tell him about this and I will never speak to you again,’ Bakugou grumbles finally, settling in next to Kirishima, leaning most of his weight into the redhead.

He feels Kirishima’s chest rumble with laughter.

‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

Bakugou wonders if anyone’s ever tried to harness the power of feels to run turbines or some shit, because this stuff’s turning out to be overwhelmingly powerful.

---

In terms of quirk compatibility, Bakugou has found his perfect match in Kirishima.

The blonde’s quirk is perfect for offence. Granted, it’s exceptionally versatile and he can handle his own just fine, but with Kirishima, he feels invincible.

Red Riot is unmoving, unabashed, and utterly unbreakable. He knows Bakugou inside out, knows his moves, his tactics, his signals. They fight like a well-oiled machine, adjusting and improvising with ease. Fighting alongside Kirishima, alongside Red Riot, is like breathing. They almost dance around each other, and between taking down villains and conducting search and rescue, they’ve made themselves a formidable hero pair even before graduation.

So, it’s not uncommon for them to be paired up even when they’re working and interning under different heroes. They’re that good.

They’re on a mission together when things take a turn for the absolute worst.

Most of the pros are down, caught in the crossfire or too busy protecting the civilians to engage in combat. There are fires blazing everywhere, smoke congesting the air around them so much that Bakugou can barely breathe.

Riot stands next to him, breathing slightly laboured but otherwise unhurt. Bakugou has a cut on his forehead, blood running down his face, but he feels ok. Good enough to rush into battle and do his part in subduing these shitty villains.

But experience has taught him better than to run in with no plan, even when he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager to rush into the action. Experience has taught him that without a moment to catch his breath and restructure the plan to achieve their goals, he’ll be doing a lot more harm than good. It’s frustrating as all hell, but he’s a hero in training. You learn this stuff on the job.

‘What do you think?’ He asks the redhead.

Kirishima straightens out his back, hands on his hips. ‘The elemental quirk user will probably be the biggest pain in the ass.’

Bakugou nods. ‘It seemed like a water quirk. We need to get her away from the buildings, away from the piping. There was also that shitty smoke user, he’s the reason the air is barely breathable.’

‘Yao-momo’s masks would’ve come so in handy right now,’ Kirishima muses with a smile.

Bakugou grunts in begrudging agreement but doesn’t comment further on it. ‘There should be three other villains, all with high-level quirks. I’m not sure which other pros will free up to help, but we have to isolate them, move them towards the construction site,’ Bakugou points somewhat East of their current location, ‘as per the plan.’

Kirishima nods in agreement and catches Bakugou’s eyes and the blonde’s breath hitches.

They don’t talk about it, but here’s the other thing- they’re probably going to get hurt, maybe even fatally. Not because they’re weak or they want to or anything, but the villains seem endless. They’re fucking strong too, and even with an army of heroes, the villains seem to come at them harder and faster the longer this battle goes on. Bakugou can feel his own stamina start to vain, and he knows Kirishima will hit his limit too, slower than the blonde but still. There will come a point when Kirishima’s skin won’t harden and Bakugou’s blasts will lower in intensity till all he can manage are sparks.

And even then, he knows they will fight with their fists and their bodies and their teeth. That’s what heroes do- they put everything on the line, for the people and for justice.

More often than not, they lose their lives for it.

Well, for what’s it worth, Bakugou could not have asked for a better partner by his side in such shitty, dire times. Kirishima’s soft smile seems to reflect his sentiments.

‘Hey, Katsuki?’

The hero code of conduct frowns upon the use of personal names in costume. You have a hero name for a reason, and it helps preserve your sense of anonymity and privacy, even if it’s pretty useless at its job.

For Kirishima to name him, and first name him at that, just goes to show how serious the situation is.

‘Yeah, Ei?’

‘Make me some hotpot when we get back, ok?’

Bakugou inhales deeply, coughs because of the stupid smoke, and his fists clench tight enough to leave crescent moons in his palms.

‘Only if I’m in the mood, Shitty Hair,’ Bakugou retorts, his voice far too soft for the King Explosion Murder hero. But that’s ok- here is only Eijirou, Katsuki, and the world burning around them. Soft is ok here.

Kirishima’s familiar belly-deep laughter gives him a boost of energy.

‘Let’s kick some ass.’

Bakugou feels, for one glorious moment, like he can take on the entire world.

They take their first few steps before Kirishima steps in front of him, blocking off his path. When he looks up to catch his eyes again, the blonde’s protests and insults die in his throat.

Kirishima’s gaze is trained on him as he slowly reaches forward and grabs Bakugou’s right forearm with his right hand, fingers digging into the muscle. It’s a firm, solid grip, reassuring and warm and so very familiar. His eyes are bright, bold, and wine-red. And they’re so full of love, brimming with the kind of affection, respect, and adoration that Bakugou never thought he’d be subjected to. Kirishima opens his mouth as if to say everything his body is already telling Bakugou.

‘I know,’ Bakugou interrupts, voice hoarse. Because he does know. The redhead is his best friend in the entire world, his person, his rock. ‘I know, Ei.’ His own fingers wrap around Kirishima’s wide forearm, gripping tight with calloused, too hot fingers.

Kirishima flashes him another soft smile past his headgear before letting go. He waits for Bakugou to catch up and they walk together, side by side, equals.

When they see the first villain, doing her best to uproot an entire building, Bakugou casts one last look at Kirishima, sees his positively feral smile, and charges with the force of a wild beast.

There are no feels there, just adrenaline, rage, and trust so thick, even concrete would crack under its weight.

---

When you’re training to be a hero, things can go wrong.

Accidents happen. People don’t move out of the way fast enough, or there’s a domino effect of some sort, or the aftershocks of one attack reaches a place it shouldn’t.

Bakugou’s switched up his training partner, choosing to train with Iida to fine-tune his aim and work with a fast-moving target. His blasts hit the mark sometimes, but not always. The gym is huge, so they aren’t really risking anyone with their training; at least, that’s how it is for a while.

But then, Bakugou takes aim and blasts at Iida, Iida dodges swiftly, the attack takes out a portion of the rock formations in the gym, and suddenly there’s a landslide headed right at Hagakure and Kaminari.

Bakugou doesn’t even think about it; his body moves before his brain catches up, and he’s suddenly in front of the two, arms raised to obliterate the debris when he realizes that a portion of the mountain had been laced with explosives for someone else’s training, and his quirk would make things exponentially worse. With the last few moments he has, Bakugou shoves Chargebolt and Invisible Girl away roughly and gets buried under the avalanche of debris.

The last thing he thinks he hears is a chorus of voices yelling Bakugou before his vision goes black.

---

And that’s what Bakugou remembers when he wakes up to white. White walls, white curtains, white sheets.

Unfortunately, the noise isn’t white. It’s annoyingly and stupidly loud.

‘There are too many of you here,’ Recovery girl says, sounding exasperated. ‘He will be fine, he just needs to regain his strength.’

‘Sensei, a whole section of a mountain fell on him, how can he just be fine?’ Jirou questions, sounding severely distressed.

‘Plus, this happened while he was saving me,’ Kaminari chips in. ‘I’m not leaving him.’

‘I have a secret healing quirk of my own,’ Ashido bullshits. ‘He’ll feel so much better when he hears my voice. I have to stay, it’ll be a crime for me to go.’

‘I can tape his wounds?’ Sero offers sheepishly.

He can hear Recovery Girl’s sigh from the other end of the room. ‘And you?’

‘He’s my person.’ Kirishima says it like it’s enough of an explanation.

Recovery Girl clicks her tongue. ‘Overdramatic, the lot of you. Play rock paper scissors or something, but I’m only allowing one of you to stay. The rest of you are going back to the dorms.’

The room bursts into noise again and Bakugou’s head feels like it’s splitting open.  

‘HOLY FUCK, SHUT UP!’ The blonde roars from his bed. ‘I LOVE YOU GUYS, BUT IF YOU DON’T STOP YELLING, I WILL BODILY THROW YOU ALL OUT THE DAMN WINDOW.’

His own yelling does more harm than good to his throbbing head, but the noises stop completely so at least it did its job.

He’s alone for a blissful second before a crowd of five idiots surroundS his bed. Kirishima’s face peers into his, smile wide and eyes crinkled around the edges.

‘Hi, how you feeling?’

‘Like someone ran me through a garbage disposal and then put me in a microwave.’

‘Such details, much prose,’ Sero quips, earning him a chop from Ashido.

‘Blasty my love, can we do anything?’

‘Yeah, shut the fuck up and let me sleep.’

Jirou squeezes his calf from the foot of the bed. ‘You gave us a real scare there.’

‘I’m fine,’ Bakugou grumbles.

‘He will be,’ Recovery Girl reiterates, pushing them away and standing next to him. ‘I’ll do another bout of healing once you’ve recovered some of your strength. You can go back to the dorms before bed.’ She turns to his classmates. ‘Only one of you.’

They look at one another and everyone but Kirishima starts shuffling away reluctantly.

Kaminari lingers behind before quickly giving Bakugou a gentle hug. ‘Thanks,’ he whispers into his ear before pulling off and following after the others. Bakugou rolls his eyes and curls onto his side, yelping when he puts some weight on his tender side.

‘Easy,’ Kirishima mumbles, easing him onto his back. When Bakugou is finally comfortable, Kirishima drags one of the chairs lined up against the wall next to the bed and plops down, exhaling. Bakugou opens a tired eye to look at him and sees Kirishima with a stupidly smug smile on his face.

‘What?’

‘You love us, huh?’

Bakugou had hoped they hadn’t caught that, even though he’d screamed it loud enough for the entire building to have heard. Apparently, a cliff falling on you doesn’t stop you from blushing.

‘Fuck off, you were hearing things,’ he says anyway, because what is Bakugou if not in full denial about so many things?

Kirishima’s laugh is loving not mocking, and he puts his hand on Bakugou’s elbow.

‘Good to have you back Kats.’ He gives it a gentle squeeze. ‘Get some rest huh? I’ll be here when you wake up.’

Bakugou gives him a weak glare, but he can’t muster enough rage and anger because the absolute worst part is, he meant it. Because apparently being a rage-filled hero in training doesn’t make one impervious to feels.

Bakugou feels so betrayed by his own thoughts and emotions.

But right as he loses consciousness, he finds himself wondering if he minds all that much and he decides he doesn’t, almost not at all. The answer doesn’t really surprise him either.

He falls asleep to a cool breeze brushing over his skin and the sound of Kirishima humming under his breath.

#boku no hero bakugou #boku no hero academia #boku no hero headcanons #bnha #mha #my hero academia #bakusquad #bakusquad shenanigans #katsuki bakugou #kirishima eijirou #bnha ashido #sero hanta #denki kaminari #jirou kyouka #jirou is in the bakusquad #bonding #bakusquad bonding #fluff #so much fluff #and so many feels #all the feels TBH #this is platonic kiribaku but also who am i kidding looooool #bakugou has his potty mouth #but he's trying ya'll #supportive squad

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 6/?: Roots

It's pouring rain by the time Sasuke awakens, a tempestuous sort of hush awash a village swathed in grey. He's gotten a very good night's sleep, only waking once around five to groggily hearken as the pitter patter of droplets began against the asphalt and metal of the roof. He'd watched the beads of liquid slowly connect to others, forming small rivulets pulled downwards by gravity on the glass of his bedroom window, before he made the decision to try to fall back asleep. To his bewilderment, it had actually worked; a rare occurrence, as it usually doesn't. No dreams, no nightmares, just blissful emptiness, like he was allowed for once to drink in the moisture of rest like a tonic, exuding into his being much like the precipitation trickling into the soil outside.

It's nine thirty when he rolls out of bed, reluctant to leave the warm requiescence of his comforter, but also wanting to give himself plenty of time to get ready. He'd like to shower before he heads over to Sakura’s, and he also wants to eat something light for breakfast first. He decides on ochazuke, because it’s relatively easy to prepare and he thinks he would like more tea; two birds with one stone. There are sesame seeds in his cupboard that he could sprinkle over the dish, at the end. He sets a portion of brown rice to boil before brewing a cup of the caffeinated green sencha to eventually seep over it.

It smells really good as it permeates into the hot water, earthiness propelling upwards and sinking into his nostrils. He'll have to thank her again today, now that he knows what her gift actually contained.

While he lets things stew, Sasuke considers the kitchen table, where he left the remainder of the gifts yesterday. Now is as good a time as any to find a place for each of them, he supposes. He makes quick work of washing the paring board before setting it aside to dry. The cough drops find a home in his bathroom's mostly empty storage behind the mirror; he takes the two lozenges left from the hospital and puts them there, too, to use before he opens any of the new packages.

He decides that the photo should go on the bedside table, next to the clock. He can always move it, if he changes his mind. It catches his eye for longer than is strictly necessary.

Eventually he returns to the kitchen, removing the strainer from the tea and stirring the pot of rice twice as he waits for it to finish cooking. The barrage has lessened since daybreak, not overly loud, but enough to create an ambient sort of background noise that is a nice change of pace; less of a storm and more of a quenched thirst for the earth, emptying from rooftops down the gutters and into the ground. Sakura’s building is older, too; it probably will sound much the same at her apartment.

He savors the ochazuke once it’s finished, a simple but enjoyable way to start the day, caffeine threading its way into his system gradually. Washing the dishes is his next task, followed by an extremely lengthy shower, temperature near thermogenic. The bruises from his two spars with Naruto are still sore, but not terrible; the heat feels good on the marred skin. Water drifts across more bruising that has bled into existence overnight on his shins, before it sinks between his toes and vanishes down the drain. He’s not sure why he watches it; it just seems compelling today for some reason, everything pulling downward.

When he’s dry, he throws on a comfortable pair of black pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt. He doesn’t want to read more of his book since he has a little less than half left of the one on kenjutsu, so he decides to complete some meal prep instead, testing out the paring board by chopping and slicing various produce; mushrooms, bell peppers, broccoli, carrots, tomatoes, green onions, and burdock roots are slowly removed from his fridge, cleaved into neat pieces, and then returned to their respective assortment of bags and containers. The small bits of metal attached to the board allow for cutting goods with ease, a bit ingenious. It works extremely well, much more efficient than the hassle of summoning a clone to simply stand there holding each item still. It’s not that he doesn’t have the chakra to spare, but it feels more dignified this way.

After enough time has passed, Sasuke pulls on a pair of grey socks, sandals, and his cloak before he leaves, library book concealed and protected by the black garment.

It’s marginally chilly outside, but not terribly cold like it would have been earlier in the morning. Petrichor overwhelms him, an aroma he is well acquainted with. He is reminded of the scent of the foliage the handful of times he passed through the Land of Rain, and also of drizzly days spent as a child here in Konoha. Every bit of vegetation he glimpses on the way to Sakura’s apartment complex is drinking up the liquid greedily, drop after drop of nourishment with which they will sustain themselves and use to grow.

The puddles are starting to join in their crevices, small streams of gentle cascades forming. It captures his attention like the shower drain did earlier, and it feels nostalgic for some reason, like there is some forgotten secret that the land beneath is whispering through the medium of interconnected pools, rippling outward until they touch more solid soil.

His hair is a bit damp when he arrives at her building just prior to eleven. Illumination flows from beneath doorways of variegated colors; everyone else is inside today, too. The tonality is similar to the harmony overheard at his own apartment, as he expected; he finds it comforting.

He knows he’s a little early, so Sasuke takes his time going up the stairs. Once he reaches the sage green of her threshold, he raps twice and waits, studying Sakura’s plants in their terracotta pots. There are a few amongst them that he doesn’t recognize, which is curious, given that he’s wandered so many places and has grown familiar with a vast diversity of flora. There is lucky bamboo pushed towards the back of the array, in the area that gets the least amount of light. A spider plant is to its left, and a golden pothos, along with a snake plant, are sandwiched to its right, towards the corner. A lilac moth orchid blooms near her door, a paler variety than he has seen anywhere else. Coral kalanchoe spill out the side of a taller planter, next to pink and pistachio mums, faded yellow butterfly ranunculus, and a small vessel filled with white daffodils, sunny insides flourishing outwards. There are succulents, too, tricolor lavender scallops sprinkled throughout several of the ceramic containers, along with a strain he doesn’t recognize.

Yarrow and jewelweed emerge from smaller pots on the edge of the spread, which makes him wonder if the few plants he’s unfamiliar with are being grown for useful purposes rather than decorative. Perhaps she keeps them for her work crafting antidotes; he knows that the roots of plants can often carry medicinal benefits. One of them is quite odd looking, now that he is peering down at it closely; dark plum-colored stems spread upwards with circular leaf-like shapes at the crown, trains of spiky white flowers budding from them. Another one he can’t identify has a tiny whitish yellow flower, dwarfed by the huge wrinkled leaves that surround it.

They appear as if they have been tended already, the loam damp as it is outside with no opportunity for warmth to dry them as of yet, though this verdure is more tame, less wild. She must water them in the morning. All of them are so different, yet they are all alike, too, stringy germinations and rhizomes expanding to suffuse through their similar planters.

Her door clicks open, and he shifts. Sakura smiles up at him, sunshine on a rainy day accented by a dimple, wearing an extremely comfortable-looking outfit: an oversized cream crewneck that slips off one of her shoulders a little, and a juniper pair of jogging pants that he thinks would be too long for her if not for the gathering at the ankles.

"Good morning, Sasuke-kun," she greets, eyes he loves radiant on his. "It's almost ready; come in."

He responds, “Morning,” and follows her inside, placing his library book on the console table momentarily, where her lamp is already switched on. As he shrugs off his cloak and toes off his sandals, she drifts back to the kitchen, something likely needing her attention there. He notices as she goes that there is an extremely fuzzy pair of beige socks on her feet.

As he hangs his cloak, he realizes that her apartment smells like roasted tomatoes and toasting bread, overpowering any vague notes of her tea cabinet in a way that makes his mouth water.

Sasuke reaches for his book from the console table and goes further into her living space, where the rest of her lamps are also turned on already; no hard lighting. He assumes they'll read on her couch, so he sets the text on the end table, closest to the side where he’d sat the previous night. There are two blankets thrown over the sofa now that weren't there yesterday, one appearing plush that is a color somewhere between mauve and lavender, and the other one a knit heather grey. It’s probable that they came from her bedroom; perhaps the walls are some variant of violet, a color he would not have expected.

As he turns, intending to join Sakura in the kitchen, his eye catches on a familiar photo, and he stops. Perched on one of the few empty areas of one of her bookshelves is their original Team Seven portrait, in a pale wood frame, near white. It's different in finish from the other frames adorning her walls near the kitchen, much lighter in color.

He is struck by it for multiple reasons; it wasn’t there yesterday, meaning it probably has also come from her bedroom, and it is very close in finish to the wood of the uchiwa fan he gave her as a birthday gift. He hasn’t seen it; Sasuke knows most women keep ornamental fans like that in storage for safekeeping. He vaguely recalls his own mother used to keep hers, though less ornate and made of paper rather than silk, in boxes, stored securely for future use at festivals and such in her closet. She’d shown them to him, once, and he’d seen her carrying them on special occasions, from time to time.

Sasuke studies the picture and the wood grain for a long moment, gaze softening. He wonders if she moved it out here to make him feel more at home.

He breaks his contemplation by making his way to her kitchen finally, where Sakura is flipping a grilled cheese sandwich over in a pan, one of two. A slow cooker lies atop the counter, lid condensed with moisture, with plates, bowls, and spoons laid out next to it.

It smells really good.

Green eyes fall on him, bright and filled with exuberance. "These are on their last minute, I think, so if you wanted to, you could dish up the soup while I finish them. There’s a ladle in there.” She gestures towards the drawer beneath the counter where the slow cooker rests. “It's tomato miso; I hope you like it. It should be done by now.”

His stomach suddenly feels tied in knots in the best sort of way. A gilding of warmth spreads throughout his entire being, veins and arteries and capillaries slowly immersed in something numinous.

“...I’m sure I’ll like it,” he murmurs, reveling in the blush that inks its way onto her cheeks, all the way back on her cheekbones to surround the freckle he’d touched yesterday. She looks away shyly, grinning like he has given her some grand compliment. The corners of his own mouth twist upwards.

Sasuke pulls the ladle from the aforementioned drawer, where it sits amongst other utensils, setting it in one of the bowls already placed on the counter. When he removes the lid, his olfactory senses instantly flood with a wave of savory miso; by the aroma, she must have used red, middle range, a perfect foil for the acidity of tomatoes. When he grabs the ladle again, he stirs it a few times; quartered shiitake mushrooms, kombu, scallions, and tomato chunks - he thinks they are of the plum variety - circle the pot, filling it near to the brim just below the surface. Sakura has made a considerable amount of it, much more than is needed for a single meal for two.

He shifts the plates closer to the slow cooker, bowls set atop them, before ladling soup in, careful not to spill and making sure to get an even mixture of produce with which to fill the broth in each. He rinses the ladle clean, and she mentions that there are small plates in the cupboard to his upper left, to rest the ladle on; he grabs one as she moves to open a different cupboard behind him.

Sasuke returns the lid to its place to trap in the slow cooker’s heat, rotating the dial from hot, past low and into the warming setting. When he turns back to Sakura, she’s shutting the stove off and moving the pan to a cool burner. Both of the sandwiches are resting on a cutting board, sliced diagonally.

The sandwiches smell really good, too. She veers the halves onto the empty space of the plates using the knife, before leaving it, along with the paring board, in the sink.

They each grab a plate and spoon before heading to her dining table, in front of the northern window. The dangling market lamp is already turned on, and fat droplets are slipping down the glass.

It’s a calming lunch they share, a steady lulling of inclement background noise alternating between bites of sandwich and spoonfuls of soup as they watch the street below. The avocado is good in grilled cheese; it’s something he would have never thought to add. Sakura dips hers into her soup, so he tries it, too, and finds he likes it even better that way. The soup on its own is something else, though; filling and savory, near perfectly spiced. She’s a good cook.

“It’s good. Thank you,” he compliments halfway through as she chews and swallows a bite.

She beams at him. “You’re welcome.” She studies him before adding, “There’s enough for leftovers, if you’d like any more.”

He nods and takes another mouthful, looking out the glass thoughtfully. The residential buildings across the way are also lit up, soft light blurred through the fractals of raindrops.

“Do you think Naruto’s doing his homework on a day like today?” Sakura asks eventually.

“Tch.” He turns his gaze to her. “I doubt he’s even awake yet.”

Her grin is mischievous. “You’re probably right. It's his weekend. No Hinata around to wake him up? Definitely still asleep.” She sighs exaggeratedly. “Kakashi-sensei will be so disappointed. Though it’s better than copying someone else’s, I guess.”

“...Did he used to copy yours?” He’s more amused by that prospect than he should be, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

Sakura furrows fine pink brows as if she knows that he knows the answer, too, but she’s still smiling. “He used to ask if he could. I was too good of a student to let him.”

“...Figures.” A ghost of a smile overtakes him, a cleansing sort of sentimental fondness for bygone days during which their third squad member was at his most annoying.

“I think Shikamaru used to let him. It was too much effort to say no that many times.”

Sasuke exhales through his nose, a rendition of a laugh as she takes another bite of her sandwich, dipping it first in the soup and looking amused. Nara would.

He also takes another bite, and mulls over his next words.

Swallowing beforehand, he inquires, “...What’s in Suna?”

Sakura blinks in surprise, analytical eyes quickly working out that he’s referring to her comment yesterday at Ichiraku’s. She turns to the window, smirking and chewing her food as if considering something of great importance. The dimple sinks in and out as her mouth moves; he averts his eyes back to his plate before he gets caught staring.

When she swallows, she’s quiet for a long moment, then says ambiguously, “I’m not sure I should say anything. Insider knowledge.”

Interesting. Sasuke is sure she has the same friendly camaraderie with Nara that she has with everyone else, but he assumes the insider knowledge must have actually come from Ino; she is the type to know everyone’s business, given how much she apparently shares her own with Sakura, and she is Shikamaru’s teammate, though they're both Jonin now.

“...No hints?” He presses, pinning her with a stare. Now he’s more curious; it must be something good, if it’s a secret of this magnitude.

She bites her lip, still grinning, then bites into her sandwich, watching precipitation race down the glass.

“One,” she finally acquiesces, as if it’s a monumental conspiracy. He raises an eyebrow in anticipation.

“It’s in Suna sometimes. Other times, not.”

He narrows his eyes and suppresses an urge to twitch, because that could really be anything, given their line of work, but based on her bemused expression, he’s not going to get more than that. He settles for studying her until she looks elsewhere, a shy giggle escaping her throat as if this is very funny.

“Sorry. Not mine to tell.” She raises another spoonful of soup to her lips.

“...But Kakashi knows?”

She swallows. “Oh, yes. He might have known before anyone else caught on.”

“Naruto?”

Sakura appears to be deliberating. “...Mmm, he’s more observant than when we were kids, so he might. I kind of doubt it though. They’re pretty good friends now, but…”

Sasuke hadn’t known that. He waits for her to finish her thought, staring at her pointedly. Her gaze flicks back up to his after a second.

She shrugs, then. “He’s a good strategist. I kind of think he’ll hold a higher-up position, once Naruto becomes Hokage, if Kakashi-sensei doesn’t promote him before that. He’d be an asset as an adviser.”

Shikamaru became the chief coordinator of the Shinobi Union, after the war. That type of advancement would make a lot of sense. He would be well-suited to assist the Hokage even now, moreso in a few years. It speaks to Naruto’s increase in awareness, Sasuke thinks, that he would be planning ahead to compensate for areas he is less strong in by appointing sensible counsel. A clan head is an astute choice, especially one who has put in efforts to make peace.

It’s odd, to think of the roles everyone in their generation has come or will come to fill, the more he considers it. Distinctively different plants with roots distending into analogous vessels, like the terracotta ones on Sakura’s doorstep.

“Nara’s a good choice for that,” Sasuke finally says, realizing he should respond.

Sakura inclines her head before lifting her bowl to her mouth to drink the last of her broth. She’s finished her sandwich now. He’s about finished with his, too.

This is nice, he thinks as she smiles at him before glancing outside again. “It’s really coming down now, huh?”

It’s the type of question that doesn’t really need an answer, but he nods anyway, because it is. Meager ponds are collecting in the street, rills tracing pathways over the awnings of the building across the thoroughfare. Pitter patters on the roof have grown in intensity to rival those of the early morning. It reminds him almost of the summer monsoons Konoha tends to get, though this clearly isn't one, still being in the throes of spring. Moisture is good for roots, he supposes.

He sips the last of the broth from his bowl, and she looks back to him. “Would you like another bowl? Or maybe some tea? I can brew some while I do the dishes.”

Sasuke considers the offer. It was a pretty filling meal, the soup piquant and packed with produce as it was. “...Tea would be good. I can help.”

Sakura seems like she’s going to protest, so he adds, “Thank you for the sencha… and the rest. I didn’t have loose leaf yet; I like it.”

She flushes, smiling at him softly. “You’re welcome.”

A silence filled by drizzle passes in which they regard each other, and then she’s standing to collect her plates, so he follows her example and grabs his own before trailing behind her to the kitchen.

It’s early enough still that they can have caffeinated tea, so she cycles through the loose leaf options she has as the sink fills with suds; matcha, chai, ginger peach, white monkey, and rose bouquet white. “The white monkey isn’t as sweet as it usually is; I think I got a unique batch. It’s more woody and peppery than anything; I’ve been mixing it with matcha.” There are the pre-packaged versions, too, but she doesn’t read them off, since they have more specifically sweet flavors, like caramel vanilla, banana dessert, and strawberry shortcake.

He picks white monkey at her recommendation of it not being too cloying, and she grabs one of the banana dessert pre-packaged tea bags for herself. Sakura makes short work of setting the water in the kettle to boil before procuring two teacups and siphoning some of the white monkey blend into a small strainer she pulls from another drawer.

Once she’s done that, she unplugs the slow cooker and reaches for something from a lower cupboard - two hand towels - to put on the counter; he assumes one is to utilize as a dish mat and the other is to actually dry with.

“If you really want to, you can dry… But you’re a guest, so you don’t have to,” she murmurs, expression affectionate in a way that makes his neck warm.

So Sasuke helps. She washes and rinses - her dish soap is lemon-scented - and strategically sets each piece atop the first towel he’s laid out. He dries one side of the plates and bowls, then flips them over one-handed to dry the other, stacking them on the clean expanse of counter to his right. It doesn’t take very long with them working together. When she goes to empty the sink, she gives it a scrub and a rinse with the soapy sponge she’s been using, efficient as always, before rinsing any remnant suds from her own hands.

“I can show you where everything goes,” Sakura says, so Sasuke helps her put things away, too, mentally cataloging what’s in each cupboard for future reference. Her storage system is well thought out, organized in a way that makes the most sense for the layout of the space.

When she reaches upwards to put the cutting board back in its place, the sleeve of her top slips further to one side, gravity pulling the fabric downwards on her slender frame and exposing some of the skin of her upper back. There is a dusting of tiny freckles just above the interior portion of her left shoulder blade that he hadn’t known was there. The way they are scattered reminds him of serpens caput, missing only one of the constellation’s general equivalent of stars. He forces his stare away, ears reddening, when she turns to remove the pot from the slow cooker.

“Thank you for helping.” Sakura adds coconut creamer and sugar to her own cup of tea, stirring. “Would you like lemon with this one?”

Sasuke thinks, still a little distracted by dainty freckles, before shaking his head. If it’s woody and peppery, he’ll probably like it fine on its own. She pushes his teacup towards him on the counter with a look that tells him to test it, so he does, and finds he was right; it’s herbaceous, with a scant amount of woodiness and pepper lurking underneath. Maybe the tiniest hint of sweetness, but barely.

“It’s good,” he tells her quietly, before taking another sip.

Apparently the grey blanket is reserved for him; she takes the lavender once they head to the living room, curling up on one end of the couch with it, tea and her book on the table. Based on her bookmark, she’s about halfway through hers. Sasuke does the same on the other end, mirroring her pose, back propped towards the side of the couch with feet extending to the middle rather than going off the front. He keeps his knees slightly bent so he doesn’t invade her space too much, though he doesn’t think she would mind.

He steals one last glance at her before opening his own book to get lost in the different ways to wield a blade. The rain on Sakura’s roof is ataractic, accented by the pleasant smell of tea, the sensation of a full belly, and a warm blanket that smells like her, though it’s more raspberry this time than any lingering antiseptic.

It’s nearly three by the time he finishes his book, mind swimming with descriptions of sword forms. Sasuke peeks at her and sees she’s almost done, too, so he rereads the more engrossing passages, the ones that were particularly well fleshed-out. He’s so relaxed that he thinks he could fall asleep despite the caffeine, if he closed his eyes for more than a few minutes; focusing on rereading should help him stay awake.

Sakura closes her book after a bit; he looks upward at the sound, meeting green.

“How was your book?” She asks, lips twisting upwards; she must have noticed he finished his, despite still reading her own.

"...Good."

“Learn anything?”

“...A bit.”

Her smile widens as if she is amused; maybe he should elaborate, but he’s not sure if practical applications of swordsmanship are something she’s interested in.

Evidently they are, because she questions, “Care to share?”

Sasuke begins explaining the concept of iaido, derived from iaijutsu, the samurai skill of drawing one’s sword and cutting in the same movement, rather than cutting from an assumed stance after already drawing the weapon. It’s a simple idea, one he’s experimented with in the past, but there had been illustrations on a few of the pages showing different forms, and two of them he has never attempted. The pictures helped; he thinks to himself when he visits the library again, he’ll seek out one containing more visual aides.

He expounds upon the chapter on dual swordsmanship, too, primarily utilizing one sword to attack and another to defend; the defensive stances detailed are some he would like to try, specifically tailored as they are to be used with one arm. Some of them he’s already used intuitively, but one of the forms captured his attention, involving a slight variant sweeping of the blade to repel an attacker that would situate them at a more advantageous angle. It could be useful, if he ever needs to draw an enemy into a trap.

“Interesting,” Sakura remarks, and it seems genuine. Maybe it is interesting, in the case of someone who has, at least to his knowledge, never used a sword. He would like to ask her about medical ninjutsu sometime. “So it was a good read?”

He inclines his head to indicate yes. “...And yours?”

Sakura grimaces. “It… wasn’t terrible, I suppose. I didn’t really like the author’s writing style. Ino and I differ in that regard. She reads things more for the story itself than the way it’s told, so sometimes this happens.”

Sasuke raises an eyebrow so she’ll clarify. She shifts slightly, bringing a finger to her chin in thought. “It was too… straightforward. Limited and repetitive vocabulary, not a lot of dialogue structural variation, though it’s well-researched; I’ll give it that. It takes place during the second Shinobi War. A civilian woman’s husband going off to battle, they have to evacuate the area, the costs of conflict, that sort of thing. The ending was sad…” Her voice trails off, punctuated by the plunk of deluge, then she adds, “I guess it makes sense that the protagonist would think in limited language given the rudimentary basic education structure of everything back then, but it’s not very… poetic. It was like the author felt nothing as they wrote it, a kind of detachment from the whole thing.”

He suppresses an urge to smirk, reminiscing on her letters and extensive vocabulary. “...You like poetry.” It’s just an observation, but it’s something he hadn’t known about her, prior to now. Very Sakura.

Color floods across her cheekbones, and she looks at him with an expression that is very tender, as if there’s something else she would like to say. He could stare for hours, entranced by her as he is. “...I do.”

Sasuke wonders, then, if any of the books on her bookshelves are poetry books. He hasn’t read the titles carefully. It occurs to him that she might have more books in her bedroom, now that he’s thinking about it. When he was younger, he used to keep many of his own in his room, too, sorted by genre.

“Did you finish your other book already?” Sakura asks him, then, expression inquisitive.

He nods, eyeing her as he contemplates what he would like to say. He decides not to phrase it as a question this time; he wants her to offer, so he knows he's not requesting too much. Give her an out. She trains with Ino in the morning on Mondays and has lunch with her after, but she hasn’t said anything about her plans for the afternoon.

There’s still something in him that’s nervous, tightening as he speaks, careful to specify time. “...I was thinking of going tomorrow afternoon to get some new ones.”

Her smile unfurls slowly; Sakura really can read him well. “...I was, too.”

His chest rushes with warmth, anxiety released in a single relieved breath; it's not too much, then. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and that seems to encourage her, because she adds, “Ino and I are usually done with lunch by around one. It’s supposed to be nice out, I think. We could…” Her voice trails off, as if she’s considering. “...We could meet at the library around one thirty, and then maybe… take books to a quieter area to read, after. If you want. I... think I know a spot that should be fairly dry by then.”

“...I can meet you here,” Sasuke offers in a low voice, a confession he's more comfortable with now. The way she glows in response as she agrees is captivating.

Sakura invites him to play go with her, after. He agrees, because he wants to, and also because he doesn’t want to leave just yet. They set up the board on her dining table, a gridded battlefield of sorts beneath the market light.

She absolutely demolishes him in the first round, carefully surveying the board before each play of her white stones with careful calculation and syllogism. It’s to be expected, because she has always been smarter than him, but also because he hasn’t played in years and is woefully out of practice, ill-prepared to deal with this sort of onslaught. The second round is closer, but he still loses. It’s a challenge, as he knew it would be; Sasuke finds her moves to be quite roundabout, more about the long haul tactics of trapping than any short and quick route to victory. There are times where he realizes he unknowingly played right into a ruse more than five turns previous.

It’s four thirty by the end of the second match. Sakura’s attention flashes to the clock once as she puts away the board; he helps, sorting his own black pieces into their respective container. He will have to head out soon, though he’s not looking forward to it. He is quite comfortable here, with her.

“It’s still coming down out there,” she muses as she rises to store the box, peering through the glass before turning to make her way to the bookshelf she’d retrieved the set from earlier.

“...It is.” He gazes out the window, distracted by the puddles and their ripples below them in the street. It feels almost as if something is tugging on him to focus on them, suggesting something orphic, beyond simple rainwater.

The soft clicking of teacups and small plates being collected from her coffee table resounds behind him, so he turns to her, thinking he could offer to help wash them.

“I made enough soup for leftovers, so if you want to take some home, you can.” Sakura says, before the words make it out of his mouth. Outwardly he remains blank-faced, but something in him sighs. He’s not really sure what he's going to do with the rest of the day. Sparring with Naruto would be unwise on a day like today; he’d probably catch a cold. He could go by a store and buy a book to read, he supposes.

Being back in Konoha is odd like that. He used to just… walk, if he didn’t have anything to do on his journey, or read her letters, but now that he has had the opportunity to spend time with her, he selfishly just wants more of it. Time spent alone seems dimmer in comparison.

He would like to take some soup back to his apartment, though. It was kind of her to offer; he should probably say something.

She looks contemplative when he looks to her, though, carefully clutching porcelain, and thank you lingers in his throat, unspoken.

“Or… If you would like to stay for dinner, and do something after... you could.”

The faintest of stings begins behind his retinas, something long in the tooth stirring, aged roots buried so deeply he had perhaps forgotten they ever existed in the first place. He thinks it is the feeling of being wanted, of having a place in someone’s home.

He hopes she’s offering because she genuinely wants him to stay. She has a mountain of responsibilities, he knows, although it is her day off.

“...You’re sure?”

Pink brows furrow as if she’s confused how he could ask such a thing; she shuffles her weight slightly from one foot to the other. “Of course.”

An interlude passes in which the torrent measures time, the beat of a ballad that is very old. Her next words are hushed, pianissimo lyrics that he’s sure she has no idea just how much he has yearned for; she’s biting her lip and peeking at him from beneath pink lashes as she says them.

“I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.”

The daunting prospect of a lonely evening evaporates completely. His tongue feels tied up in his mouth, but he nods, hoping she can read in his eyes his gratitude; he’s fairly certain that if he spoke, it would come out hoarse, not at all suitable as a response to the song she has just offered to him.

Sasuke thinks that she can see it just fine, because she gives him a breathtaking smile that could sustain him for a long time, a drop of honey added to an overflowing teacup in which he sips the surplus, with a tinge of an aftertaste that isn’t too sweet for his liking.

The dishes are tackled together. After they finish, she reheats tomato miso soup and cooks two more sandwiches for supper. Another meal is shared at her dining table, overcast skies overlapping into evening, the lights from the windows of Konoha glowing more and more as time passes. It’s just as good the second time, flavorful and filling.

They watch a geology-focused documentary on her television about lava, earthquakes, and landslides. Sakura questions him afterwards about the little time he was in the Land of Volcanoes, south of the Land of Mountains. He hadn’t stuck around for any extended time due to the extreme heat, but what time he did spend there is seared into his memory due to the intensity of it. He had come rather close to one of the region’s volcanoes, within sight of a smoking center mere miles away with lava tendrils trickling outwards, in the process of cooling but still alarmingly hot.

It makes him feel more appreciative for the rain here today, recalling it. Here in Konoha, he could touch the streamlets if he wanted to; he doesn’t need to keep a distance.

They follow up the documentary with a movie after; this time he tells Sakura to pick one. It’s unique, including some fantasy elements, about a struggle between the gods of a forest and the humans living on its edge that consume its resources. The protagonist is cursed by an animal attack, and seeks out a cure from one of the deities. While traveling, he sees other areas in which humans are ravaging the earth and warring with the gods of nature, a thought-provoking contrast considering they’ve just viewed a program detailing the inner mechanisms and wrath of volcanic eruptions, much like gods of nature in their own rights. The conclusion is open-ended; though the hero tries to broker a peace between humanity and the spirits, there is no feeling of resolution or success, no guarantee that one side will mediate with the other. It isn’t quite what he expected it to be, but he notes that the characters were quite realistic, allowing for the viewer to identify with them and better experience what they must be feeling secondhand; it was not told in a detached sort of way as she’d said the book from earlier had been.

Sakura makes earl grey tea, after, and they visit for the better part of another hour, quiet voices awash in auriferous lighting, relaxed by bergamot malt and lemon slices. She inquires about his travels, which places overall were his favorite in the four other great nations. The way she looks at him as he answers makes his heart thump, as if she is hanging on his every word.

It’s near eleven at night by the time he rises for the entryway. The kiss they share before he leaves feels like the drizzle of the rainwater outside, mellow collections grown slowly but surely deeper from time spent together, inexplicably telluric like submerging into soil.

He steps in a few unavoidable collected pools of moisture on his way back to his own apartment, drenching his socks. It makes him feel strangely nostalgic again for some reason, a reminder of a place’s capacity for change, to absorb something and thrive again.

Sasuke has seen many parts of the world now, absorbed as much as he can through his brother’s eyes, and has just relived his favorites by describing them to Sakura. She didn’t ask him about his favorite place in the Land of Fire, though.

It may easily become Sakura’s apartment.

XXX

When he sinks into slumber, he is pulled further downwards into a memory from a very long time ago, something quondam that has since dissolved.

The recollection is hazy in the ways that dreams are, slightly murky as if he is viewing it through a puddle tinged with the loam of Konoha, but perhaps there is something about Sharingan vision even unactivated that embeds the visual acuity into one’s optic nerves, to live there in perpetuity for eventual retrospect. It is one of his earliest memories, he thinks; he would have been maybe four, meaning Itachi had to have been nine or ten, though there is no one he can ask to confirm.

There had been a summer monsoon, perhaps the first one he was old enough to remember, water temperate enough to exult in without catching cold. Their mother warned them not to be outside too long in the storm, and occupied the covered porch, observing them to make sure they heeded her will. There had been no precipitation for a while prior - he thinks there may have been a drought - so the moisture was welcome. Plashets collected in their sprawling yard, causing Mikoto Uchiha’s prized white lilies to appear as if they were emerging from small lakes. She had expressed concern that they may drown upon Sasuke’s examination of them, framing the boundary of their home, but he, in that naive viridity that small children have before the world beats it out of them, thought they were strong enough to persevere.

“I’m sure you’re right, Sasuke,” his brother had said supportively, before showing him a path that allowed a step in every puddle on their family’s grounds. They had raced to the far end of their property and back; he had clumsily fallen at the end of the first pass, getting soaked, as if he wasn’t already from the warm rain coating both of them from the ashen sky above. Mud stuck between his toes, squelching and cushioning his fall while simultaneously making him filthy. It had sloughed off so easily back then in the deluge, corroding all at once and bleeding into the mess of their yard to immediate murky liquidity.

Itachi helped him up by his left hand, getting covered in his muck before the water rinsed their digits clean, and then he was being challenged to a second sprint. Sasuke emerged victorious this time, though now, looking back with eyes that are not his own, he realizes his brother obviously let him win, trained Shinobi that he was by that point. Coming to terms with that is horrifying, because he can see now that his brother was still just a child, wisdom beyond his years be damned. Sasuke is sure Itachi would have to have killed people on missions by then, completely at odds with the soft-spoken and gentle countenance he portrayed at home.

Eventually there was enough drizzle that miniature rivers of connected pools formed, capillaries of nourishment interlacing everything. Sasuke had been fascinated by the changing landscape, until Itachi had ambled up to the porch to speak with their mother. Disappointment swept into him like a tide; he had thought that his brother didn’t want to play with him anymore. But then their mother had risen and gone indoors, and Itachi motioned for him to join him at the edge, beneath the awning.

She came back carrying a small pile of paper, which confused him. He’d watched, enthralled, as Itachi folded one of the pieces into something reminiscent of a boat, simple yet perfect.

“If you put them by the gutter, the force will push them sailing across the yard,” his brother had said; he remembers the inflection so clearly, strange because it is from a time when Itachi was young enough to have the voice of a child, so unlike the rich timbre he’d held later in life.

He had trailed after his brother to the gutter, and sure enough, the paper boat was propelled by the rain streaming down from the roof; it took off as soon as Itachi let go. Sasuke had stomped after it with approximately zero grace, mud coating him up to his ankles, until it reached the boundary fence, saturated through and less buoyant due to the barrage of droplets dampening it from above.

The absolute joy he felt, when he had sprinted back to tug on his brother’s sleeve to ask if he would show him how to make one, and he’d agreed. They’d returned to the pile of paper guarded from the elements by their mother, and Itachi showed him each step, creating another one alongside him as an example. His small hands were not very coordinated back then; his boat hadn’t turned out as nice, all wrinkled sloppiness instead of crisp, clean folds.

“You just need more practice,” Itachi had murmured. “My first one was messy, too. I’ll help you.”

Larger hands had closed around his, creating skillful creases and shaping with dexterity. The second boat turned out much better. Sasuke had given his first one to his mother, then, so she could race, too. Remembering the smile, the genuine look of motherly gratitude she’d given him, bruises something in his soul, precipitation on frail roots entombed deep; it reminds him of the struggle of swallowing a gulp of water after traipsing through the desert, dry mouth making it almost painful, a gargantuan effort that takes everything in him not to look away.

She’d followed them from the porch over to the corner eaves, staying under the cover to avoid getting drenched, and the three of them had released their creations. Sasuke thinks they had to have given him a small headstart, surrendering theirs just after his, so his boat would make it to the other end of the yard first. He’d run after it, Itachi meandering along behind him at a slower pace, while their mother stayed beneath the awning.

His brother had smiled at him as he jumped puddle to puddle in glee. They’d grabbed the now-soaked paper boats at the conclusion of their path, and brought them up to the porch to set in a pile. Then they constructed and raced more, a veritable treasure of a late morning. For his last of the day, Sasuke had tried folding one on his own again, and it turned out better than his first attempt. Though a little lopsided, it hadn’t capsized, sailing strong in the current unaided just like Itachi’s.

Their mother had made them shower and then drawn them a hot bath after, to ensure they were clean and warmed. She had parted his toes to get the mud stuck there out, soil spiraling and dissolving down the drain as he watched. He’d splashed Itachi in the bath after, and folded one more boat with a piece of paper his mother brought him, so he could see how much time it took for it to sink without getting flooded from above, an experiment in buoyancy.

She made miso soup with rice for a late lunch, with something from their aunt and uncle’s shop as a treat after, some variety of warmed pastry. Itachi had let him try his in addition to his own; Sasuke’s had been strawberry, but Itachi’s tasted of peach, gooey sweetness to top off a perfect day that wasn’t even over yet. Their mother must have made herself some tea, too; he remembers the aroma of jasmine filling the space, warmed by lamplight cast on dark wood. When she’d told Sasuke it was time for a nap, he’d become extremely sullen, because he didn’t want to sleep; he’d wanted to spend more time with his brother. It wasn’t often he was home for a full day, prodigy that he was by then and always on missions.

Itachi had surprised him. “I’ll take a nap, too. It's important to rest sometimes. You can join me, Sasuke.” His refusal morphed instantaneously to greedy acceptance. Sasuke crawled into bed with his brother in his room, huddled in the comforter for warmth as the deluge continued for hours, the dousing on their roof and peaceful breathing composing a conciliating symphony with which to lull him to sleep. Eventually he'd succumbed, tuckered out and content, though he'd tried to stay awake as long as he could so he didn't miss out on time with Itachi.

Ten year olds don't usually take naps. His brother may have feigned sleep just to get him to do as their mother wanted. That realization is trenchant, too, sharp like a blade, because it’s a cycle that would repeat itself until Itachi’s end, Sasuke never understanding until the moment had passed, always a step behind and looking backward instead of forward.

When he’d awakened later in the evening, he’d smelled food cooking, miyabi soup and some kind of grilled fish. Itachi hadn’t been beside him anymore, but after blinking groggily, his brother had appeared like an apparition in the door frame.

“Dinner’s almost ready, Sasuke.”

Drizzle is still pummeling his apartment building when he rouses in a dark bedroom, alone. No one appears in the door frame this time as he blinks unsteadily, throat choked before the silent tears come, because this memory aches, haunting his heart like some kind of drowned spectre, dripping muddy stains onto clean floors. Sasuke moves to wipe them away with his left hand, the one Itachi used to help him up from the mire, until he remembers that he doesn’t have a left hand anymore. Making a paper boat now would take twice as long.

Everything in him hurts, marcid marrow writhing in his bones as if they are dead roots that have gotten a drink after a decade spent in drought, someone trying to nurse something deceased or rotting back to life. He goes to the memorial stone under the tenebrose cover of two in the morning, but it doesn’t feel like his brother is there. All he has of him are the eyes drowning in his sockets and excruciating retrospection, intermixing with the rain soaking him outwardly.

I miss you, he thinks as he tries not to asphyxiate on the memory, hoping that his mother at least hears his thoughts here, echoed in the ponds collecting around the stone that bears her name. He has to leave eventually, because he starts picturing white lilies emerging from miniature lakes, full of life and swaying with wind and torrent, instead of cold and motionless grey granite, and he thinks he is going to start sobbing.

Sasuke returns to his apartment after the better part of an hour and stares out his living room window, nursing a miniscule cup of sencha tea, weak so as not to unsettle him too much. The weather lets up eventually, turning from a drench to a drip between the fine branches of the cherry blossom tree across the street. The puddles slowly begin to sink in, though there are remnants of dirt collected in the grooves of the pathways due to the overflow. The tree is starting to lose its petals; they float atop the collected areas of water, a hint of hope buoyant atop sorrow like a paper boat.

He isn't at all hungry, but Sakura said he should try to gain weight, so he forces down a very early breakfast of plain rice, tasteless, before he goes to rifle through the box in the closet. He averts his eyes as he lifts the lid, fumbling to turn the photo upside down without looking at it and moving it to the bottom of the container before sifting through Sakura’s letters.

He picks a favorite of his, one she wrote to him while he was passing through the Land of Savanna, the first autumn season of his journey.

Sasuke-kun,

I was so happy to see your hawk on the horizon today. I gave him some water since he had a long journey.

The way you described the grasslands changing color in Savanna was lovely. The trees are changing here, too, shedding all of their leaves and making the roads a sea of color. Naruto slipped on a scarlet one the other day coming out of Ichiraku’s. He almost dragged Hinata with him, but thankfully no one was hurt. That's providence, I suppose, though it's not a red thread.

Soon it will be the season for chestnut-flavored everything. Stout squirrels come next, and Tsukimi will be happening, too. I've only ever seen it here in Konoha and once in Sand, while we were on a mission. You'll have to tell me if the moon looks any different where you are. Don't forget to make a wish.

The air is turning crisp here, like the leaves, so I imagine it will be there, too. Please stay warm.

I miss you.

-Sakura

Sasuke comes to the realization then that he’s sitting in damp clothes, and that he is kind of cold; he hadn't thought to grab his cloak earlier, too overcome with mourning. He carefully puts the letter back, and makes the decision to take a hot shower. The heat makes him feel incrementally better, thawing him from the inside out. It also makes him realize his mouth feels dry; he’s probably dehydrated, and needs to drink more than a weakly brewed half glass of tea. He prepares another cup, stronger this time.

A mission summons arrives around nine. He uses the mirror of his bathroom to make sure he doesn't look too disheveled - the shower helped, he thinks, though he’s slightly pallid - before heading to the Hokage’s office.

He's the first one of those requested to arrive, though not by much. Naruto is sitting in his designated chair with the scroll again, looking for all intents and purposes like he just woke up.

"Teme?! Eh, really?!" The dobe turns in his chair to glare metaphorical daggers at Kakashi, who pointedly ignores him. "You're seriously not sending me with?! Bogus."

Kakashi simply inclines his head towards him, not even sparing Naruto a glance. "Sasuke. Good morning. Ready for a mission?"

He nods mutely, wondering what it could be. Naruto whines some more, but Sasuke tunes him out. There's nothing like his teammate’s complaining that grinds on him in the morning, though he’ll inwardly admit it is helping to coax him back into some sense of normalcy.

His replacement walks through the Hokage’s door next, impassive as always. He inclines his head politely at Sasuke, so he returns the gesture. Naruto heaves a sigh. "Oh, come on!"

Sai doesn't miss a beat, turning to Kakashi, absolutely devoid of any kind of emotion as he delivers Sasuke’s favorite invective. "Is Dickless not coming?"

Sasuke barely manages to suppress a snort as Naruto guffaws, launching an entire container of pens at Sai. "STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Not all of Sai's nicknames are poorly chosen. He loathes the one he has for Sakura, but Sasuke doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing Naruto’s. It improves his mood measurably.

Shikamaru Nara saunters through the doors last, looking extremely apathetic already. Shrewd eyes flick to Sasuke’s momentarily, too quickly for him to read anything from them, then to Sai’s, then to the pens Naruto is picking off the floor, before settling on Kakashi.

Interesting. So it’s the escort mission, after all.

Naruto is outright mad now, glowering but past the point of saying anything as he returns to his seat in silence. It seems he at least knows when to give up, these days.

"Now that I have you all here, I'm afraid I must break the news that this won't be a terribly exciting mission. Simple escort to Sand for our diplomat tomorrow. It may be a bit… overkill, but there will only be three of you on the return trip, and my newest batch of missions didn't have anything terribly exciting in it. It's better to complete something useful with enough time to get back in case we need you for bigger tickets next week; it can't be helped." Kakashi shrugs, before adding, "Sending Sai should shorten the trip and make it less taxing, at least, flying birds and all. Shikamaru will lead, like usual."

Kakashi goes on to disclose that they'll be leaving at dawn tomorrow. Apparently it's only a four day round trip with his replacement's jutsu involved; this means they’ll leave on Tuesday morning and be back on Friday evening, should nothing go awry. It’s not likely that it will; Suna and Konoha are strong allies at this point.

“Any questions?” Kakashi asks at the end of the briefing. Neither Shikamaru nor Sai say anything; he doesn’t, either. An escort is simple enough, especially one of a fellow Shinobi.

His old sensei smiles in a way Sasuke feels is directed mostly at Shikamaru. “Alright, then. Dismissed.”

Nara strolls lackadaisically out of the office as Sai follows. Sasuke gets the inkling that this will be a rather silent journey, between the three of them. He’s a bit thankful he hasn’t been assigned a mission with more talkative comrades, at least not for his first one back.

“Teme!” Naruto pipes up as he turns to leave as well, so Sasuke lingers. “Wanna spar this evening?”

His brows knit together while Kakashi looks between them, as if amused. Sakura has not invited him over for the evening, but he thinks of soft words yesterday anyway.

I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.

“The day before a mission? You’re stupid. Pass.” Sasuke says, both because he’s hoping to spend the twilight hours with her, too, but also because he knows it will annoy the hell out of Naruto. They really shouldn't go all out the night before one of them leaves for a mission anyways; if one of them breaks something, Sakura will be stuck fixing it, and it’s supposed to be her day off.

Naruto looks miffed, a lone blond brow twitching, so he adds, “...Saturday, early morning. If you’re even awake. Dobe. ”

Before he turns away from Naruto’s spluttering, he catches an all too knowing gleam in Kakashi’s visible eye. Sasuke is suddenly sure that their old sensei is well-acquainted with Sakura’s work schedule. He can feel the hole being burned into the back of his head by blue eyes and a single dark one as he leaves the Hokage’s office, the dobe still struggling to come up with a response to his quick refusal.

He feels marginally better as he walks leisurely back to his apartment, noting along the way that more of the puddles are already beginning to dry up.

Sasuke fixes something more substantial for lunch, since he knows Sakura will eat with Ino; a chicken curry, fragrant with garlic and ginger and carrots, poured atop rice. He doesn’t have any potatoes, so he substitutes with other produce, a unique mix for curry; bell peppers, green onions, and burdock roots. It’s not bad, but maybe he’ll pick up some potatoes when he gets back from Sand.

He is looking forward to going on a mission again, he realizes as he eats. It’s probably going to be a rather routine one - it’s not likely that they’ll face any enemies in friendly territory - but it will be good to be amongst allies again, contributing to fulfilling a purpose, however slight. Sasuke thinks maybe he should make more of an effort to interact with Sai. It appears as though he and Sakura are close, if he’s been to her apartment; Ino was there, too, he supposes, but still.

Sasuke spends the remainder of his time doing the dishes and making sure everything in his fridge is wrapped well, to ensure it doesn’t spoil in the time that he’s gone.

XXX

Sakura’s hair is damp, pink more saturated than it normally is, when he meets her on her doorstep; she must have showered. The scent of mixed berries is renewed, and suddenly he is certain that it has to be some kind of soap, perhaps a body wash. She has her single fiction book in hand.

“Hi,” she says, grinning up at him with a disarming beauty that makes his heart skip. Her hair clings to her neck when she locks her door behind her; Sasuke focuses on a ranunculus bloom instead, noticing that there are two small cuttings of the flowers missing, taken from its rear portion, until she turns back around.

“...Hi.”

“How was your morning?” She questions kindly as they make their way down the stairs and out the glass door, spring sunshine filtering in.

He blinks once as he considers how to answer. “...Fine. I had a mission briefing.”

Sakura’s lips quirk upwards. “Anything exciting?”

He exhales through his nose, a shadow of a laugh. “No. Just an escort.”

Jade eyes twinkle. “Ah, I’m guessing… Sai and Shikamaru.”

“...Kakashi might listen to your squad suggestions more than Naruto’s.”

She chuckles a little. “No, it’s just that he usually sends them for that. You must have replaced Naruto; he’s the third squad cell member, most of the time. Sai’s jutsu makes it a quicker journey, especially with Temari’s fan techniques; she can create updrafts.”

Sasuke thinks he vaguely remembers a blonde woman who is Gaara’s sister; that must be the diplomat. The sibling of the Kazekage would be well-suited for such a job.

“...Maybe I’ll find out what’s in Sand.”

She smiles while biting her lip. She’s very pretty.

“Maybe,” she finally offers cryptically.

They weave through the road on their way to the library, taking care to avoid the water still lingering; it has sunken into the earth for the most part by now.

Sasuke checks out three books this time. One is another on historical samurai, this one with more illustrations as he’d wanted. The second is a historical account of the establishment of Nunogakure, in the Land of Silk. He had passed through the country twice, and had always been interested in learning more about its history, given the establishment of its hidden village by kunoichi and their record of hostility with the ruling daimyos. The third is a fiction book about an old man at sea, suggested to him by Ichika as she scans Sakura’s books, then his.

“It’s kind of proverbial, and not terribly lengthy. You seem like the type who would like it,” the librarian offers, so he adds it to his pile. It’s not quite an old lady giving him vaguely prophesying teacups, but it sounds interesting enough. He appreciates her kindness; not everyone in Konoha gives him this particular brand of easy acceptance after the debacle that was his past. Sasuke thinks perhaps showing up with Sakura helps. Ichika looks at his empty sleeve for a long moment this time; she must not have noticed the last time he was here, the unfilled end of it hidden by the counter.

Sakura says there’s a spot towards the slope of Hokage Rock that drains off the cliff, a hill that should be dry enough to sit on, so they meander upwards. It’s on the western side, just at the juncture where the grass begins to give way to harsher stone. A wild cherry blossom tree that he spotted from a half mile away is clinging to the precipice, a bit off the beaten path. It must have sturdy roots, he thinks, reaching deep into the dirt and bedrock to give it the strength to soar upwards even here on uneven ground.

As they near it, he observes that it’s losing its petals, too, late in blooming like the one across the street from his apartment; small green buds are starting to take the flowers’ place.

They read for a bit under its branches, sprawled out on the hillside. She was right; the ground is dry here, already soaked into the soil or run off the slope. It’s not too warm or cool out, an enjoyable spring day where everything is freshly watered. The book Ichika recommended is pretty good, full of oceanic metaphors, some of which he finds unnervingly relevant. Sakura might like it; it’s written somewhat artfully. He gets about a third of the way through its pages as the sun begins to hang lower in the sky.

It’s around four when he allows his focus to wander away from his book to her. He's been leaning up against the tree, in the only spot someone could; the rest of the area by the trunk is too asperous to sit comfortably, roots twisting ruggedly, but strong. Much stronger than white lilies, hardy enough to weather even the harshest storms. Sakura is on her back a few feet away, book open above her and pink hair settled in a halo on the grass. She looks extremely comfortable, as if lying like this in the small amount of shade offered is something she does all the time. Maybe this is a place she visits often.

Her book is titled Hazel Wood; he can tell by the cover it must be fiction, but he's not sure what exactly it's about. He's thinking maybe he’ll ask her later. He's also thinking maybe he should ask if she wants to do something after this; he would like to, if she's free.

She shifts slightly, and he slides his eyes to the skyline so he doesn't get caught staring, very suddenly becoming conscious of the fact that he’s been admiring her for the better part of a few minutes. When he looks back over warily, she is picking up a stray petal and situating it between the pages, sticking out like a bookmark to mark her place. Then she regards him, smiling like she's amused.

He arches a brow, unsure what could be funny, but she's setting her closed book neatly aside and pushing afoot to close the distance between them. He tilts his head up towards her as she walks to the tree trunk, and then she's reaching out. Two fingertips skim his scalp, and then she's handing him a cherry blossom petal that evidently had been caught there.

"A bookmark, if you want one," she offers, her expression saying she is incredibly entertained.

He blinks once before taking it, lone hand brushing hers for a millisecond. He's distracted by how soft her fingertips feel again.

"...Thank you." He puts the petal in his book to mark his spot as she straightens.

Now would be an opportune time to query her evening plans, but she beats him to it. "Would you want to stop by the market quick with me and then come over for dinner?" Comely green melts into charcoal when he looks up. "I was thinking of making teriyaki atsuage and cucumber salad, but I'm out of cucumber."

His agreement is immediate, insides twisting pleasantly.

As they head down the hill together to beat the evening rush, books in hand, a single crow passes overhead, swooping low towards the center of the village extending before them.

That’s providence, he thinks, though it’s not a red thread. He stares at it like he’s seen a ghost until it disappears.

He helps her cook this time. Sakura handles the cutting and chopping while Sasuke seasons and turns the tofu as it fries in one of her pans, mixing together mirin and soy sauce to create the teriyaki dressing while she slices cucumbers and tosses them with other ingredients; she loads the salad with peanuts, sauces, garlic, and red chile flakes.

It’s another gratifying evening together. They play three rounds of chess this time, and it’s just as challenging as go; she cycles through positions intuitively, sometimes with seemingly little thought involved. Sasuke thinks she might be analyzing her next moves in her head during his turns, having a few planned out and simply narrowing it down based on whether he moves a rook or a pawn. He comes close to winning the final match, at least. With more practice, he might win once in a while.

Sakura offers to make tea again, after. He accompanies her to the kitchen, and when she opens the cupboard, his throat closes, because two new jars of loose leaf sencha from the tea shop have mysteriously appeared, one for the caffeinated shelf and one for the decaffeinated shelf.

Sakura’s expression is tentative. “I thought maybe sencha this evening. I… picked some up on my way back from lunch, earlier today.”

He nods weakly, tongue-tied and endlessly grateful.

She makes some for the both of them, finishing off her own with sugar and honey. Sasuke watches her swirl the spoon in the now fading luster of her kitchen, thinking the way she takes her tea is like her very being, so sweet.

Verdant eyes peek up at him when she walks him to her entryway, hours later. He sincerely hopes that she’s enjoying spending time with him as much as he is with her.

Then, Sakura’s voice lilts up to him, a quiet murmur, "Will you… come see me, when you get back?"

He blinks, sugar and honey pouring into him now, because it’s almost an answer to the question in his head that he hadn’t vocalized. Then his brow furrows, because maybe he’s failed at conveying that he'll spend literally any amount of time with her that she allows him. Sasuke knows his communication skills aren’t the best, and he has never been in any sort of romantic relationship, so everything is new territory, stunted by his lack of practice.

Her gaze flits away from him. "Just… so I know you're okay."

Oh. She means coming to see her right after debriefing, so she'll know he's returned safe. Something pleasant pools in his belly, sinking to the extremities in a way that feels nurturing. He realizes he is taking too much time to respond; she looks nervous.

"I will."

Jade centers back on him, reassured now, and he's not sure how he's going to go four days without it, this limitless green that soothes him to no end.

"Oh. Good. Thank you." Her expression changes to one that is considerably more relaxed, a tender look directed upwards that he has never seen her wear for anyone else.

Sasuke presses his lips to hers for a long time before he departs, a soft goodbye he’s hoping will convey all the words that are caught in his throat, gratitude and affection that have been stewing there since they were thirteen.

He thinks he feels love press back from hers, a delicate flickering that makes him ache, and perhaps providence. Sugar and honey, too. Sweetness doesn’t hurt him like the recall of pastries does, when it’s experienced secondhand like this.

XXX

The mission goes smoothly. Sai's jutsu does speed things up considerably, and the Sand delegate, Temari, uses her giant fan to give them a boost in places that are lacking in higher gales. He rides with Sai on the way there, while Shikamaru and Temari drift on the other; Sasuke thinks the separation must be so she can use the jutsu, strategically getting behind his replacement's bird to give him a boost before Sai can control it and have theirs catch the subsequent updraft, too.

Sasuke and Shikamaru fulfill lookout roles, him scanning ahead and Shikamaru scanning behind. It is refreshing to see the land from above, giving way from forests to grasslands to the beginnings of desert edges. He finds himself thinking about what his hawk saw, all of the times he brought correspondence to and from Sakura. It’s not as hot this way, traveling through the air with breeze ripping around them, though they make an effort to stay hydrated, still.

Sai is quiet, but Sasuke is, too, so he can't knock him for it. He wonders, scanning the horizon for the upteenth time, if Sai knows what's in Sand that interests their squad leader. He would have to, dating Ino, but he doesn't feel comfortable asking him something like that.

They spend most of the first day in relative silence, only spying a single squad of comrade ninja from Suna traveling hundreds of feet below them, just leaving the desert. Towards the end of it, as they finally cross into the first area that is truly all sand as far as the eye can see, Sai surprises him by speaking.

"Beautiful says Ugly is stupid happy that you've returned. I am certain that Dickless is, too."

The effect the words have on him is a little jarring and complex. There is the immediate familiar disdain for Sai’s inaccurate nickname for Sakura, intermixed with immature amusement at Naruto's epithet. A feeling of brotherhood follows, and his heart blooming with something tender, vines twisting or perhaps not-so-dead roots getting another drink. Stupid happy doesn’t sound like a phrase common to Sai’s vernacular, leading him to believe it was Ino’s exact wording, likely after spending the morning with Sakura yesterday.

He thinks it over as they soar over the last bit of terrain for the day, sorting through the different emotions. His answer isn't hesitant; it just takes preparation for him to muster the gall to vocalize it to someone he's not terribly close to.

"...I am, too." It’s an understatement.

XXX

They arrive back in Konoha on Friday evening, as scheduled. No issues, just more lookout duty and enjoyable wind offering relief from the heat. Peacetime is nice; anyone they saw to or from Sand was an ally, no foes. They only utilize one of Sai’s creations on the return trip, Shikamaru still observing the rear but this time atop the same bird as them. It’s a slightly longer trip, without the diplomat to speed things up, but they still make good time.

It's a bit after six when they leave Kakashi’s office, mission report paperwork folded neatly into his satchel. Naruto wasn't there; Sasuke assumes he's either been sent on a mission or has gone home for the day already. He supposes he’ll find out tomorrow, if a banging erupts on his apartment door after sunrise. It must have stormed again recently; the soil is damp, and everything is faintly greener than it was before.

He finds he missed it, the smell just after it rains that was decidedly not present in Suna, even if it does bring hard memories.

“Good work,” Shikamaru says simply to both of them as they step outside, ready to go their respective ways. It’s not necessary for him to say it, but Sasuke appreciates the acknowledgement. He’s aware it is probably not easy to trust him, after everything. Not everyone has the same confidence in him as Team Seven does.

Sai nods towards Shikamaru, then turns to him.

"Tell Ugly I say hi." His tone sounds almost kind as he turns to part ways from them in the street. Shikamaru glances at Sasuke for an instant, expression not containing an ounce of surprise, but he doesn't say anything as he turns to head the other way.

Tentatively, Sasuke starts out in the direction of Sakura’s apartment. She should be home right now, if she didn’t stay late at the hospital. He wonders as he gets closer if maybe he should wait a bit; she might be in the middle of cooking, or eating dinner.

He wants to see her, though. He's missed her greatly, and she did say to come by; he tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

Soon he's knocking on a sage green door that is beginning to look familiar. The plants are still damp indoors, too; maybe it rained as recently as this morning. It has to have been overcast for a good portion of the day, for the sunlight through the diamond window to not have dried the moisture from her watering them just yet.

Sakura opens the door wearing a smile; it grows wider upon seeing it's him, like she can’t help it.

His heart skips a beat when she says his name. "Sasuke-kun."

"Sakura."

She steps aside while holding the door open, a silent invitation for him to come in, so he does. He stands in her entryway uncertainly for a second, until she offers, "I'm making tenmusu; there's enough for two. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Everything in him relaxes, any and all ambiguity dried by her kindness in an instant. "...I would. Thank you."

Little flecks of gold shimmer in the lamplight, facets atop something burgeoning with warmth. There is love there, in her eyes and upturned lips. He wonders if she can see it in his, if she has any idea of the true gravity of his feelings for her, all of the things that flare to life in his belly at the mere thought of time spent here.

It’s a break in routine, but there is something he would really like to do, something he has been working up the courage for over the past few days, so he takes the risk, pulse quickening; he hasn't kissed her anything but farewell yet, really, aside from their first, which was somewhere in the middle.

It is better than he imagined, vespertine devotion saying hello rather than goodbye. He skims the freckle on her cheek again as his lips brush hers, hand tender against her skin and silky pink locks. When she leans into his touch, he finds himself wishing there was a way for his soul to graze hers, to tell her the utterly selfish thing he wished for after her letter so many moons ago. Sakura’s soul would be warm to the touch, he thinks, like freshly-brewed tea or the flux of a summer monsoon, but much more illimitable, and endlessly ardent.

Her hands on his shoulders are becoming a familiar weight, grounding him like the roots of her namesake.

When they part, she blinks up at him once, and then suddenly her arms are wrapping around his center instead of his shoulders, pulling him close. His heart swells, and he hooks his lone arm around her waist.

She smells like home, he realizes. "...Tadaima," he murmurs against her hair.

"Okaeri," she responds, soft and sweet against his chest.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #2nd longest chapter to date idk how it got this long it just kinda happened lmao #also the paper boats scene was like one of the first four passages i wrote that ultimately became this fic #anyways that's providence

[pricemarshfield]

i dig you

A fluffy, angsty Amberprice fic. Chapter 2/2. Read the chapter on AO3 here, or the full fic here.

It's hard to drive with only one hand, especially a truck as big and old and clunky as this one, but Rachel doesn't plan on letting go of Chloe's hand for anything short of divine fucking intervention right now. Right now, Chloe's happy--definitely still drunk, which means definitely still a little volatile, a little quick to anger, but smiling right now, looking out the window like Arcadia Bay's not such a terrible thing to look at, here on the way out.

Out. God, it feels like the whole world's opening up, and that's exciting, that's wonderful, unless Rachel missteps and it'll just expand until they're nothing, just someone on the side of the road.

But that's not important. She's not gonna think like that right now. She can get into a big crazy anxiety freak-out in her own head, later, once Chloe's fallen asleep. For now, she squeezes her hand again. Chloe squeezes back immediately.

The drive to her house takes awhile longer than the drive from Blackwell to Chloe's place. Chloe lives on the--not the bad side of town, because she's through falling for her dad's smug, self-assured way of seeing the world, but definitely the...less wealthy one. It's not something Rachel likes to think about, especially not once Chloe had confessed to giving away a couple hundred they could've used to get out of here so that her mom wouldn't have to pawn her wedding ring, something Rachel had gotten angry about for a minute, something that had led to a full-on screaming fight in the junkyard.

Rachel had basically had to grovel for forgiveness. It's one of the times she's had to that she thinks was actually justified.

You can see the difference between their two parts of town as Rachel drives. She crosses one intersection, and the houses stand taller, colors brighter, more uniform, no chipped paint or cracked windows in sight.

There's also plenty of campaign signs scattered about here, her dad's annoying face peppered everywhere. Chloe must catch Rachel's face, because she leans in conspiratorially, like someone else is here that could hear them, and says, "If I were driving, I'd run it over."

Rachel laughs, startled out of her confusing mood, and says, "Keep an eye out for one that isn't above a curb. I don't think your truck could take it."

"My truck can take anything," Chloe says, then snickers at it. "Take anything, that's what she said."

"You dork," Rachel says. They're getting close to her house, now, and the houses are all second-story, all have wide, pretty lawns with flowers, all have stained-glass windows. She'd used to love those, especially the ones in her house. They're not there anymore. She'd gotten drunk and angry and didn't have Chloe's lighter that time, so she took her anger out by throwing a rock through the glass in the front of the house.

It shattered really, really satisfyingly, but now, when she pulls up, there's just a single pane of glass, tinted so that no one can see through. She'd lied and said she was looking for the spare key and just dropped the rock and it had fallen just in the wrong way, that she wasn't fucking drunk, God, why does James have to be so fucking paranoid?

Neither of them had believed her. Rose pretended to, at least.

Rachel has the art of sneaking into her or Chloe's house down to a science, and Chloe's muscle memory makes up for her being drunk, and they're up the stairs and in Rachel's room without making a creak or anything. She taps her hand against Chloe's in a silent high-five, back to excited. Chloe's all bright eyes and excitement, grabbing a duffel bag that's been underneath Rachel's bed for "when they're ready" for almost a year now and shoving random things in there.

"Chloe, c'mon, I don't need all that crap," Rachel says, kneeling down next to her. "I mean, this is--my Theater 1 textbook, are you trying to tell me something about my acting skills, Price?"

Chloe giggles, a sound she doesn't think she's heard ever, and Rachel can't help but beam at her. This, this is what it should be, this is what she wants! She wants Chloe to keep looking at her like that, happy and ready to take on the world and at Rachel's side forever. "No! You know I think you're--I mean, you're good at acting, you know that."

"I do," Rachel says, and risks a quick kiss to Chloe's cheek, because she can't not kiss her. Chloe actually puts a hand to her face, which is just about the sweetest thing, even if it makes Rachel feel bad about the fact that Chloe's so taken aback by it. "Want to help me pick what clothes to bring?"

Chloe sighs, but she's still smiling. "Sure. But we're not doing full fashion show, I want to be out of here before sun-up."

They have, like, six hours before sunrise, but Rachel doesn't actually want to do a fashion show, either. It's just--something, Chloe picking what she'll wear. Rachel's closet isn't that big, but she's packed so many clothes in there that a few fall over onto the floor when she opens the door. The first shirt she pulls out is Firewalk, which she shoves in the duffel bag right away.

"Aw, sentimental," Chloe teases, poking her cheek. Rachel bats her hand away. The next shirts are all boring, discarded without a conversation. Next is her costume for one of her first plays. It doesn't fit her, and it makes no sense to bring it, but she holds onto it for a long moment anyway, the bright red and completely historically inaccurate dress that she wore the first time she stood in front of a crowd and knew they were all watching her.

"You wanna do cosplay?" Chloe asks, voice gentler than the words would imply, and Rachel puts it firmly in the do not bring pile.

"We'll get it back when we get a place," Rachel says, and Chloe nods. "I'll ask them not to touch any of my stuff."

"That'll just make them think you're coming back," Chloe says, voice dull.

Rachel shrugs. "Not my fault what they assume."

That fixes it; Chloe's back to smiling. She vetoes one shirt, approves most of the rest, and then the bag's half-full and Rachel realizes that she's got so many other things to get through. Her tarot decks take up room, and then her flashlight is huge, but they can carry that one, and Chloe's face goes bright pink when she makes a beeline for it, so.

The bag fills up fast, and Rachel's left thinking...she wants more. They have a whole truck, they can fit a second bag, right? But deciding what to bring: she wants her bullet journal, she wants her pipes, not just the weed left in a little baggie, she wants she wants she wants.

"I know that look on your face," Chloe says, and it comes out bitter and mean, and Rachel's already prepping to defend herself. "You're chickening out?"

"I don't want to leave all this behind," she says, and sounds very young and very stupid.

"It's just--stuff! Who gives a shit!" Chloe says, loud enough that Rachel instinctively shushes her, which just pisses off Chloe more, even though she quiets down. "I knew you'd do this. I can't believe I got my fucking hopes up, you want to leave me, not Arcadia Bay, where are my goddamn keys--"

"Chloe, no," Rachel says, because Chloe is still drunk enough that Rachel can picture her in some fiery wreck of a fucked-up cycle that Rachel would never forgive herself for. "Chloe, come on, we just need to plan more, I still want to leave Arcadia Bay with you--"

"Fucking Bigfootville, I hate this fucking place, and I hate--"

Rachel doesn't want to hear another rant about this place, doesn't want Chloe to be pissed at her, really doesn't want her behind the wheel, and she just wants Chloe to be happy like she was not twenty fucking minutes ago, so she does the only thing she can think of, and kisses her.

Chloe doesn't step back, leans right into it, hungry for the kiss in a way that has Rachel's toes curling, a little. This isn't anything like Frank; it's better and sweeter and feels like something she could do forever. Minutes later, or maybe hours, Rachel eventually pulls back. Chloe's not smiling like she was earlier, but there's a raw hope on her face that's so much better, that hurts so much worse.

"Oh," Chloe says.

"Of course I wanna leave with you," Rachel whispers, right against Chloe's lips, and she shivers. "I just wanna do it right. We need more money, for one."

"Okay," Chloe says with a nod. "I can do that."

When Rachel leaves Arcadia Bay with Chloe, it'll be a victory march, the start of a grand new adventure. But for now, this: Chloe's hand in hers, a bag under the bed with all her favorite things...it's enough.

#amberprice #rachel amber #chloe price #life is strange #my fics #fic: i dig you

[yukipri]

Marco’s Bauble Part 7 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

I ended up spending most of this past weekend setting up the Mermaid AU on AO3, so I do hope y’all will check it out over there!

Please note that on AO3, this Marco’s Bauble story is going under the title On the Courtship of Monkey D. Luffy. I didn’t really know where this series was going when I began writing it, and “Marco’s Bauble” was most definitely a starting point, but it’s expanded well beyond that now, as you’ll probably see in this update ^ ^; I haven’t decided yet whether I’ll rename all the parts on Tumblr or not.

BUT in the meantime, I’ll continue posting updates in advance here on Tumblr (and on Patreon even further in advance ;D), so here’s an update for this week!

In which Sabo confronts Koala.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 3

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble, Part 4

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble, Part 5

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble, Part 6

~~

Hmm, Koala thinks. So this probably counts as a "kabedon."

A kabedon, according to the young new recruits who'd explained it to her, is a situation in which one person, ideally tall and attractive, leans over a second, ideally smaller person, boxing them against a wall with their arms, essentially pinning them in place. Koala thinks it sounds like menacing posturing, but the recruits insisted that if done by the right person, it's a terribly titillating scenario, the kind you'd find in romance stories.   

It happens to be the situation that Koala finds herself in now, with her back against the side of Merry's cabin as Sabo looms over her, effectively blocking all exits with his arms braced against the wall on either side of her.

Sabo, Koala grudgingly thinks, probably not only qualifies, but is likely the recruits' very definition of tall and attractive.   

Right now, he's doing that thing where his eyes are half-mast, dark and unreadable as they peer down at Koala through the curtain of blond locks that have fallen across his face. It's a look that Koala knows has half of Baltigo swooning, and she's heard people call it Chief's Sexy Look.   

Koala feels very strongly that those are a poor choice of words, because from personal experience, she knows it's a look that's usually followed immediate, brutal interrogation that often ends in screams and excessive bloodshed. 

"Koala," he breathes, in that voice that has stolen the hearts of half the Revolutionary Army, and has convinced more than one unfortunate soul that perhaps, they might survive this encounter after all.   

But Koala knows better.   

Because his next words are, surprise surprise, "What are you hiding from me about my Luffy?"

He smiles then, and it looks misleadingly gentle, and Koala can see why strangers may mistake him for a benevolent princely gentleman.   

But Koala knows Sabo. And all she sees is the manic sadism behind the oh so very fake expression.   

She cringes, because no, there is absolutely nothing romantic or exciting about this situation at all. All she feels is Doom.   

"Hmm?" she says, keeping her hands behind her back so he can't see them twist. In these situations, Koala's more than well aware that the more she talks, the more she incriminates herself.   

Many who observe their partnership are under the impression that Sabo's just the overpowered guy who beats people up and destroys shit, while Koala provides intel. And while it's true that Koala has intel, Sabo's the one who often personally extracts it from their most stubborn sources.   

In other words, what Sabo wants, he usually gets. It's usually a comforting thought, but not today.   

"Hmm?" Sabo parrots back, eyes lazily tracing over her face, and Koala frantically tries to keep her expression neutral as he searches for an opening. 

It's like when they were children, Koala thinks, when they played interrogation games with each other as assignments for Inazuma's class. Except this time, it's not Koala's grade on the line. And while Koala knows that her partner would never actually hurt her, he's also very capable of making life pretty miserable for her if she doesn't spill.   

And right now, she has a secret she'd really, really like to keep away from Sabo.

The secret being, y'know, the fact that someone proposed to his dearest baby brother.   

And even though it's extremely unlikely that Luffy understands the significance behind the gesture, she considers the gift hers, which, for all points and purposes...means she accepted.   

Koala does not want Sabo to find out about this, from her, at least right now, before she has more information.   

But, Koala glumly remembers, she's never actually managed to win any interrogation games against him.   

"You know," he says, voice deceptively light, and Koala wants to groan because here we go. "Luffy and Ace mean the world to me. They're not just my past, they make me who I am. Even when I didn't remember, they were with me, and I was with them. They're everything to me."   

Koala won't break. She tries to look for an opening without shifting her eyes, but Sabo's not an amateur and there are no escape routes.   

"It would truly be terrible, if something happened to one of them, something that should be stopped, that I could have prevented if only I had known."   

He's poking her defenses. He wants her to say, you're blowing this out of proportion, it's not that big a deal, or maybe you're overthinking this. Possibly even lie, I'm not hiding anything, or even counter, what makes you think I'm hiding something?   

Koala knows better. Those are all traps, all openings that he'd pounce on, and she's seen him rip people apart for falling for them. Koala won't give him the chance.   

He leans in close, and whispers in her ear, voice low and dark in a way that would make his fans cry, and his enemies cry too but for an entirely different reason. "You wouldn't know something that'd prevent me from fulfilling my duties as Luffy's older brother, now would you, Koala?"  

Well, Koala thinks snidely, depends on what you consider your brotherly duties, and whether they include homicide and starting a war with an Emperor.   

She says, "Mmm."   

Sabo, or rather his mouth, smiles. His eyes are a void. Koala's not used to be on the receiving end of this particular stare, and she isn't enjoying a moment of it.   

"Alright. If that's how you want to be. Let's figure this out together, now shall we?"   

Sabo's voice is calm, exaggeratedly patient, like a therapist. He never talks to Koala like this, but Koala still recognizes this particular tone, and cringes as she realizes which interrogation pattern he's chosen. It's one she's ill equipped to counter at the moment, and he no doubt knows it.   

Koala braces herself. Blank face, she tells herself, even breathing. He's using his stupid over-powered Observation Haki to keep track of your pulse.

"Well," he begins, "I know it's already about Luffy, because you're more nervous about me talking about her than Ace." It's stated as fact, and Koala blinks rapidly to moisten her eyes because she knows the real deal's starting now, and she'll have to avoid blinking when it might give her away.   

"And it must be something you found out during your Fishman Karate sessions, because you don't have any other time together, at least when I'm not watching."   

Koala isn't remotely surprised that he's monitoring everyone; after all, she's been doing the same. She wants to sigh but keeps it in.   

"It's probably something physical, because Lu can't keep secrets if she thinks of them as secrets, so it might have been something you saw...a scar, or a mark on her body? No? Then an object she has on her...Ah, there we go."  

Fuck you, I didn't give you any tells, Koala thinks indignantly, but she knows that expressing any annoyance will only confirm his guesses, and continues to refuse to speak.   

"You've been going to the kitchen more often than usual, but not during meal times, or even prep times, but rather lulls...times that you have no business in the kitchen, and times where only cooks are present, cleaning up or otherwise doing tasks that don't require their full attention...the perfect time to chat."  

Maybe I wanted a snack, Koala thinks, but keeps her mouth shut, because Sabo already knows when and how she snacks. This interrogation really isn't fair.   

"And as for the cooks in question...well, if it were Sanji, I'd just ask him myself, but you knew I wouldn't do that, right, Koala? You know I could get it out of him, so if it was him, he wouldn't know anything of value. But I don't think he's involved at all."   

Sabo looks at Koala expectantly. Koala stares right back at him, though her eyes feel very, very dry.   

"So the question now is, why would my dearest partner want to protect Thatch, Fourth Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates and temporary first cook of the ASL Pirates?" Sabo talks as though he's asking himself, but he isn't, and Koala's not fooled. She keeps her face blank. "I doubt it's a personal thing, after all, his intentions towards Luffy couldn't be more obvious, he announces it at least once a day. And given my partner's obvious little lesbian crush, it doesn't seem in her best interests to help him, no?"   

This does get a reaction from Koala, and her breath leaves her in a whoosh. Fine, make it personal. If he's figured out this much, it's only a few more steps till the answer, and at this point what does it matter. Koala glares, relishing freeing her face from its mask, and for a moment Sabo's back to his usual self, giving her a cheeky wink as though to say told you so. But then Interrogator!Sabo is back, because he's not quite done yet.  

Whatever. She tried, alright. It's not like she owes the Phoenix anything. She leans back against the wall, bringing her arms in front of her chest, and scowls, hoping her expression projects exactly what she thinks of Interrogator!Sabo at the moment. Sabo likewise drops his arms, because he knows she's no longer going to escape.   

"You're not protecting Thatch himself, because if you were we could solve it here, and it never needs to get out of hand. So you're protecting someone connected to him. The fact that you're being so stubborn, tells me that it's not just a personal thing, but something that could cause an incident, that would likely affect the Army. Which means, obviously, a Whitebeard pirate.   

"But I don't think it's just any Whitebeard pirate. They're someone high profile enough that it would be a big deal if I were to confront them, possibly jeopardizing any potential future alliances the Army forms with them, or drawing the eyes of the World Government. Which, they're already watching us, which makes me think it's gotta be someone even bigger than Thatch..."   

Which, of course doesn't leave much.   

"It could very well be old man Whitebeard himself," Sabo says, but he's shaking his head. "But something tells me it's not. And I know that some very interesting little blue birds have been stopping by the Merry, likely with letters for Thatch, but possibly also with unsolicited deliveries for my baby brother..."  

Your baby brother, chill with your possessiveness, does rubbing it in feel that good? Koala sniffs.   

"And as for why it's a big deal...you wouldn't be so secretive over a crush. Everyone on the crew has a crush. That can be dealt with. This is a few steps beyond, something you think would make me mad, right, Koala?”

Sabo pauses a moment, but it's for dramatic effect, because Sabo knows that Koala knows that he already has an answer.   

"So tell me, Koala. What did Marco the Phoenix give Luffy to try to claim her as his bride?"   

And well, there you have it.

"Bravo," Koala says dryly. "I see you're qualified for your position, Chief. I'll be sure to inform the Boss."   

Sabo tips his hat, and even though she allows herself to relax, Koala keeps her eyes trained on her partner.   

He's taking this calmer than she expected, to be honest. Interrogator!Sabo still hasn't fully faded from his face, but he's no longer giving off sadistic vibes, and has that little frown that tells Koala he's still sorting through his thoughts. His ability to remain composed is likely affected by the fact that they're still in Paradise, and the Whitebeard Pirates and the New World are still quite a ways away.   

Which is good, because it means Sabo can't just impulsively cause a massive incident on the spot. But it's also bad, because it means he's got more time to plot, and Sabo can come up with some pretty devastating things if given the opportunity.   

"Sabo, I barely know anything myself, and neither does Thatch," Koala says, finally willing to speak. "I'm working on getting more information. Don't plan anything rash yet. It could all be a misunderstanding."   

Sabo slowly nods, still quiet. Koala sighs.   

This might be a good time to bring up a certain topic, she realizes. She'd been thinking about it for a while now, but had wanted to give him more time.   

She first thought about it when the night after he regained his memories, she sees Sabo slip away from the Merry to pursue the ship that's transporting the slavers who tried to sell Luffy at the auction house. The slavers have already been passed in the hands of Army agents, all of the enslaved have been freed and are on their way to safety, and Luffy's back with her crew. Their job should have been over.   

Sabo comes back before dawn, accompanied by Ace who had likely transported him with Striker. He seems calmer than the night before, but Koala doesn't miss that his gloves are still damp from recently being washed.   

There've been other incidents too, in the short period they've traveled together. Koala's seen Sabo dangerously close to snapping (and actually snapping) more during the past few weeks than their entire decade together. And on one hand, it's understandable, but on the other...   

"You know," Koala begins, as gently as possible. "she's no longer the child you left behind. She's an adult. Even if this ends up being nothing, she may still find someone, one day. What are you going to do then?"   

If Luffy's in physical danger, protecting her is one thing. But what if it's something that she chooses?   

The change is subtle, but Koala notices when the last of the Chief of Staff fades from Sabo, as his head tilts downward ever so slightly. And all of a sudden he reminds Koala all too much of the tiny, battered child who stared at himself in the mirror when he thought everyone was asleep, touching his scars and asking, Who are you?

"I can't lose her, I can't lose either of them," Sabo says quietly, and he overlaps completely with the lost child, and ah, Koala thinks, because she gets it.   

That child, that self who was missing for so long, is back now, inside Sabo where he always belonged, where he always existed but couldn't be recognized. That child now takes up so much space, too much space, and still hasn't been fully reconciled with the adult that Sabo's grown up to be. Simpler, childish emotions and desires that feel too vibrant and raw, clashing with the adult's more weathered world view, aggravated further by all the darkness that Sabo's seen in their line of work.   

Sabo's less concerned about Ace, Koala knows, because even though Sabo loves both his brothers, Ace is like his other half. They don't protect each other, but function seamlessly as a single unit, a unit with one priority that stands above all else.   

Luffy.   

Luffy, who as a child, Sabo was able to protect from anything and everything in their isolated microcosm. Luffy, who as an adult, Sabo knows all too well is more vulnerable than ever, as proven by the very situation in which they reunited.  

A gilded glass tank, hidden away behind dusty curtains, with a dark, motionless shape crumpled at the bottom. Chains, chains, and chains upon bruised skin, and bubbles rising from parted lips, getting smaller and smaller as she slowly fades...

That was bad enough, but Koala doubts Ace or any of the others know exactly what the fate of a captured mermaid is, at least in the way that Koala and Sabo do.   

Koala understands, she really does.   

But she also knows the importance of freedom, not just to Sabo, but likely to Luffy and Ace as well.   

"Would it be losing her?" she asks, and child!Sabo flinches.   

"We vowed to be free," Sabo says, and he still sounds lost, like he doesn't know what the word means anymore. "And we will be." His hat shadows his eyes, and Koala can't imagine how they look at that moment. "But I don't want her to go where I can't follow."   

"Then follow," Koala says, because what else is there to say? "Follow, if that's your freedom. But you can't stop hers."   

"I know."   

She couldn't have known how Sabo would take her words.

~~

Part 8, we see more of Thatch.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

As always, any comments are immensely appreciated and help motivate me to create more for this AU! ;A;

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

#OnePieceMermaidAU #One Piece Mermaid AU #fic #text headcanons #Sabo #Koala #genderbend #longpost #long post #pre-SaboLu #should I still even post fics on tumblr or is that a waste of my time? ^ ^;;;

[afinepricklypear]

**Update: The works mentioned in this post have since been taken down. The “message” was removed by AO3 because it was a violation of their TOS and it seems the author chose to remove their “opinions” piece.**

Despite the ongoing world crisis, I hope everyone is doing great as the year comes to a close and prepping for a safe holiday season.

I don’t really post here a lot, but I just wanted to talk about a problem that exists in every fandom and has recently come up for me in the BSD fandom. This problem is typically referred to as: toxic behavior, however, I sort of hate that term because it’s an umbrella term that encapsulates a wide array of behaviors that is purposefully vague so as to imply everything can be toxic, which means the definition changes depending upon the person, and ends up getting thrown around to describe any behavior that a person dislikes. That said, most people can agree that the term ‘toxic behavior’ includes “shipper wars” and harassing people because of their “ship”.

Yesterday, a user on AO3 going by the penname E_C_arts posted a message titled “deer Soukoku fans” and giving it the not-innocuous summary “please we’re begging you, please stop”. Clicking through leads to a rather prime example of this particular flavor of toxic fandom behavior, guised as an attempt to defend those who were allegedly victims of this self-same behavior, also a lovely example of emotional manipulation.

Although what’s currently posted (and what I managed to screen shot below) may not seem terrible on first glance, if not a little cringey, and can be easy to agree with (don’t bully people that write for a ship you dislike), this was not their original message and has been edited since being posted and, and only after receiving the number of comments it did and which they’re now noting as “proving their point” – a point which they erased, thus manipulating perceptions. I wish I had gotten a screenshot of the original, but if you scroll through the comments, you can find some people that quoted it.

This person most definitely did open their “message” to Soukoku fans by literally telling them to “stop writing” for it. They claimed there was some unspecified AU (or maybe multiple unspecified AUs) that had been overwritten for, that it was overused, and not original. They went on to talk about how the abundance of soukoku content was turning off new fans to the series (don’t even know how that logics…) and bullying people from creating content for other ships, basing these irrational sentiments off some false claim that removing everything with the soukoku ship from the fandom would only leave behind a sad, inacccurate (and oddly specific) 305 posts.

Evidence of their now deleted perspective can be further seen in another post they made to AO3 a couple days before this ugly rant. Titled simply “My unpopular BSD opinions”, they didn’t manage to garner much attention and went mostly ignored because, well, it’s your opinions about the show and that’s whatever. Of course, when you click into it, the very first “opinion” shared, is that they hate Dazai x Chuuya. Okay, that’s an opinion everyone is entitled to, and that’s fine. You don’t like the popular ship, that’s…not exactly an unpopular opinion, there’s quite a number of people that don’t ship soukoku. No problem. Until, they go on to elaborate.

Despite the title of this piece being ‘their opinions’, they state as ‘fact’ that its confirmed that this is “not a thing”, so ‘please stop shipping them it doesn’t work, it’s way too overused for it to be “funny” anymore’ (I’m a little confused about this wording, because Shipping is Serious Business™, so…not sure there are too many soukoku shippers doing it because they think it’s hilarious or whatnot, in fact, most soukoku fics are tagged ‘angst’, which we all know, angst is very ‘haha, lol’…but whatevs). They then include the same sentiment they expanded on in their Dear John to soukoku fans and subsequently deleted: “Please stop, there are too many au’s with almost the exact same plot Chuuya and Dazai being together, its really difficult to find any non-Dazai x Chuuya au’s”.

On the surface, once again, there are some “truths” to this sentiment. DaiChuu is a popular ship and there is a disproportionate amount of soukoku ship fics on the fandom comparative to other ships (soukoku comes in at a whopping 10,000+ currently, with the next popular ship Aku/Atsushi sitting at a decidedly less 2500+). It’s really not that difficult to find non-DazaixChuuya fics, if you know how to use filters on AO3, but there are going to be less to read from when you filter it down, and depending on your ship, you may find yourself in a fic desert, and I can certainly understand why someone young and lacking in rational thought processes might want to blame the popular ship for this predicament.

The problem with this logic, and it permeates every fandom, not just BSD, is that the shippers sharing and loving their ship are not to blame for your lack of ship content. You just don’t have a popular ship. If all the people who love soukoku stopped creating content for it, as this person is ‘begging’ them to do, that’s not going to increase the amount of content for your ships, because the reason that content isn’t being created is because there aren’t enough shippers for it. So, the only way this person’s logic works, is if what this person is actually saying, isn’t that they want these people to stop creating content for the BSD fandom, they just want them to jump ship, stop creating content for soukoku and start creating content for their ships.

Any creator/fan is going to have a visceral reaction to that: who the fuck are you to tell me what to create? And for free, no less!

This moves us more towards a clearer definition of what is toxic fandom behavior. In short, its telling anyone how they should interact with or interpret their favorite content. I mean, even Word of God does not have this power. That’s because every single fan in a fandom is an individual human being. They are possessed of their own autonomy, and as a creator I know, that once you put something out into the world and give it over to others, you have little control over how people consume and feel about your work. You can tell them your intention, but that’s not going to sway them to interpret it that way, and that’s…just the way it works.

Now, the elephant in the room needs to be addressed. It’s easy for me to be ‘offended’ by this person’s post and not see their complaints because I am a soukoku fan. I’m also the target of this person’s rant, and one of those people this person is attempting to emotionally manipulate into writing for other ships in the fandom for which I have no preference. But I am capable of seeing the other side of this argument.

First, because I do have other fandoms in which I am part, and for which I have a rare-pair ship. For example, I am a Gundam Wing fan and a 2x5 (Duo/WuFei) shipper. I’ve posted two 2x5 fics on fanfiction.net. While 2x5 is not the rarest of rarepairs in the Gundam Wing fandom, it is significantly eclipsed (as are almost *all* ships in the fandom) by the 1x2 (Heero/Duo) ship. Do I hate 1x2 shippers for my lack of 2x5 content? No. I just appreciate what I’ve got all the more, and I’ll create content for it when I feel compelled, and I sure the fuck won’t implore 1x2 shippers to stop writing for their fave and write more for mine because I want more 2x5 – that’s sheer entitlement, right there, pure and simple. I also ship 3xD (Trowa/Dorothy) in Gundam Wing, which *is* the rarest of rarepairs – I think there’s only, like, two stories in existence that features this pair on the entirety of the internet. I’m also a RavenxMurphy (Murven) shipper in The 100 fandom and I do not hate Bellarke fans because…those people are scary and have canceled the show’s creator for not delivering on Bellarke, and in BSD, I ship Atsushi/Lucy (yes, I said it, they’re cute af and I hope Asagiri delivers on that ship). I also low-key ship Yosano/Ranpo (sorry, Ranpo/Poe shippers, I understand the appeal, I just think him and Yosano is sooo cute, please don’t kill me…), and I also ship Yosano with Kunikida – all of which are some of the rarest in the BSD fandom.

Second, because I have seen and called out shipping harassment in the BSD fandom, so I am well aware that this kind of thing exists – as it exists literally everywhere and in every flavor. Against soukoku shippers from antis and by soukoku shippers against shippers putting Dazai or Chuuya with any other characters and by soukoku shippers against other soukoku shippers that are, uh, “doing it wrong”. None of these is appropriate. You’re not fighting fire with fire if you’re an anti-attacking the popular ship, you’re just creating a bigger fire and burning the entire fandom down. You’re not defending your ship if you are a soukoku fan attacking non-soukoku fans, you’re just punching down by attacking a less popular ship. And top/bottom arguments aren’t just toxic, they’re also deeply entrenched in fetishization of same sex pairings through a forced heteronormative lens and is, kind of, sort of, actually homophobic in its basis (yes, I said it. It’s ignorant and homophobic and trying to argue with ‘personality/physical traits’ as evidence of who serves what position in the bedroom can be emotionally and mentally damaging to members of the LGBTQ community. Claiming that Chuuya should be bottom because he’s shorter/smaller, or that Dazai has ‘bottom energy’ because he’s more flamboyant and ‘feminine’ is straight up discrimination – a shorter guy can definitely be top, and a manly man can be bottom, it’s not a behavior based on perceived gendered traits, it is just a fucking preferred sexual position, and no, you are not ‘fixing it’ by purposely using positions for these characters that eschews the stereotypes either. Trying to justify positioning by personality/physical traits at all, in any way, shape, or form is just not okay – if it’s your preference, it’s your preference, no justification needed, just recognize that it is *your* preference and arguing what’s ‘right/wrong’ positioning is just plain wrong).

But this brings us to a different issue: bad actors and blaming a whole community for a ‘few rotten apples’. I could easily lump this one person in with everyone that does not ship soukoku and deem them all toxic, aggressive, entitled, bullies attempting to harass soukoku shippers off the platform. Or I could see them for what they are, individuals with individual motivations and drives and morals that also happen to share the same shipping preferences. Is it true to say that there are no soukoku fans that engage in the behaviors described by E_C_arts? No, there are definitely those that do, as there are antis that engage in that same behavior against soukoku fans. But this person also asserts that soukoku fans turning ‘every BSD post about soukoku’ is also a toxic behavior. To which I refer you back to one. This is how they engage with and interpret the work. Don’t yuck on someone else’s yum. People want to gush about how cute they thought soukoku were in an official art, or that they felt there was some hidden (or not so hidden) interaction between them that validates their ship, or their inspired to create soukoku content based on it, so what (for the record, it irks me too when people go ‘see it’s canon and Bones totally ships it’, because it’s unlikely, given BSDs genre, that any romantic relationship will be confirmed, soukoku notwithstanding). It is not, in fact, toxic to gush over it. Let them have their fun with it, let them enjoy their ship. Now, if you go and make a comment about liking the art for other reasons and they reply to you about “…but also soukoku”, then still, that’s not toxic, that’s just them enjoying the content the way that they enjoy it, so let them enjoy it, and you opened yourself to engagement without any qualifiers for the type of engagement you were soliciting, you can’t then backtrack and go ‘but I’m not a soukoku shipper, they should’ve been able to read my mind and known that, it’s totally toxic of them to share their personal reasons for loving the show in response to my sharing my love for the show’. But if you comment about another ship, and they reply to you “…ew, gross! It’s 100% soukoku” then yes, that’s toxic. A lot of people fail to make this distinction, that they are, maybe, merely being triggered and not actually harassed, by feeling like their ship isn’t being validated because they see another ship all over the place and everyone they engage with ships it.

It’s also toxic, to take an experience with one person and hold every soukoku shipper in existence responsible for that one person’s inappropriate behavior. The truth is, that bad actors amongst soukoku fans are not unique, not to the ship and not to the fandom and not even to fandom culture in general. Every group in existence everywhere has bad actors in it that, while the group disavows their behavior, they continue to be held accountable for those individuals and judged by them. For current events, look at how the BLM movement has been blamed for bad actors (many of whom were not actually BLM activists) that took advantage of the protests and started riots and chaos. A small percentage of people were involved in these behaviors, but the entire movement, despite speaking out against rioting, continues to take the blame for it. For me, that’s the root of toxicity. We need to start holding individuals accountable and stop blaming people who have no control over those individuals, because they share a few similar beliefs or interests. That’s throwing the baby out with the bathwater. But the shippers as a whole are not to blame for the actions of a few, and the reason that it feels that there are so many more soukoku fans that do this is because of volume, there are so many more soukoku fans. It’s basic math. If two percent of fans are these toxic kinds of shippers, then there’s going to be so many more of them in a larger population than a smaller one.

I try to call out toxic behavior, no matter if it’s my ship being lambasted or one of my fellow shippers doing the lambasting, whenever I see it, but the trouble is, I don’t typically go into fan content that isn’t for my ship and, thus, I don’t see it. The same goes for the vast majority of soukoku fans out there. We’re here for soukoku content, we’re seeking out soukoku content, and avoiding what isn’t soukoku content. But here is my offer to all of those who are outside of my ship. I like to argue. If someone is harassing you for having a non-soukoku ship, call me, let me know, I will argue with them for you. I will explain to them in no uncertain terms, and in many unpleasant ways, that they do not represent the soukoku shipping community and they are an embarrassment to us. Content for any and all ships is welcomed and encouraged within the fandom. Write, draw, contribute, be a part of the fandom and express yourself, please. If you are a soukoku shipper (or even if you’re not), and someone is harassing you about your top/bottom preference, call me, let me know, I will argue with them for you. I will explain to them why their justifications for which character should be top or bottom in a same sex pairing is grossly misrepresentative and exploitative of the LGBTQ community and rather disgusting. Do not assume that because we seem to remain silent on these types of harassment that it’s because we are in agreement with them, it is only because we haven’t seen them – why would we, we’re not going in those spaces that weren’t created for us. Ask the community for help, don’t attack the rest of us for the poor actions of a few that we were not even aware of. Let us help you in policing them, rather than assuming we don’t care. We are just too busy staying in our lanes, but if you need us, we are here. Majority of us want a clean, friendly, welcoming community for creators of all types as much as you do.

All of this aside, there are spaces and places for these debates and AO3 is not it. Posting this kind of message is actually a violation of AO3 TOS, constituting as harassment, which is defined on the AO3 TOS as “…any behavior that produces a generally hostile environment for its target…”( https://archiveofourown.org/tos#IV.G.). This general behavior also falls into the realm of another kind of toxic fandom behavior: hijacking a platform/tag for your own purposes that is a direct contradiction to its express usage (otherwise, known as trolling). AO3 is for posting fan-made content that contributes to a deeper understanding and expansion upon the original work. Using AO3 to attack people who are using AO3 for exactly what it is designed to be used for is an abuse of the platform. It’s not okay and invites similar content that will ultimately interfere with the original purpose of the platform. AO3 is for fan content, not for your own personal rants about other people in the community, please keep it that way

I do also want to note, that this person choosing to edit their post after receiving the justified ire from fans (notably soukoku and non-soukoku fans alike upset by the audacity of this person, who, as far as can be told, has never themselves contributed fanfiction to the community, to tell people what they can and cannot write) for their original comments, is a form of manipulative abuse called ‘gaslighting’. They are now claiming to be a victim that “never said to stop writing”, despite that having been the literal words they used in the opening of their original post. They are now pointing at these comments as “proof” of their point that soukoku fans are aggressive bullies that attack without cause when there was definitely cause from the original comments. This person clearly has bigger issues than just lacking shipper content for their personal preferences on the BSD fandom.

To all of those who are afraid to share content for your ship because you think you’ll be harassed, as evidenced by this person’s claims, that is simply not true. While there might be one or two people that say something, we all get them no matter if you have a popular ship or a rarepair ship, haters are gonna hate – I’ve gotten my share of hateful comments towards my ships too, but there are many more people that share your ship and are interested in your content, in fact, some of them are starved for it. While having a rarepair might mean you’ll garner less interactions with your content, you have a better opportunity to form a deeper bond with the people that do interact, and they may be more appreciative, because what you’re delivering to them is so much harder to come by. The existence of one ship does not affect your ship’s popularity, and if it simply went away, that doesn’t mean that your ship would receive more attention – in fact, it might mean the show itself would receive less attention.

Create and let others create and use platforms for their appropriate purposes, and most importantly, when it comes to addressing toxic behavior in a fandom, look to yourself first. Are you placing the blame where it belongs? Are you addressing the root cause of the problem or swinging blindly and attacking innocent bystanders in the process? Will what you say actually help the problem? Or will it contribute to the issue, and maybe even create an issue that didn’t exist before?

#fanfiction #fanfic #bsd #bsd fanfic #soukoku #daichuu #dazai x chuuya #shipper war #toxic fandom behavior #toxic people #toxic #AO3 #bullying #harassment

[jeranasblog]

Everything is about trust

Notes: This is my exchange fic for @starkerkink​​ and my lovely prompt partner is TellMeNoAgain. I really hope you like it <3 (and thanks a lot for editing, Mads)

Rating: E

Pairing: Peter Parker/ Tony Stark

Summary:   "During a fight, Tony tells Peter to drop back, and Peter swings forward, earning himself a stupid injury and giving Tony a minor heart attack. Tony's had enough- it's time to teach Peter what happens when bad boys don't listen."

Warnings: Dom/Sub, Punishment, Orgasm Denial, For further warnings (especially smut) check Ao3

Read on Ao3

Peter sat in the back row of the classroom, the wall to his left and Stuard, a student who was always sleeping at school, to his right. Even though they currently had physics, Peter’s favorite class, he had still decided to shut his brain off because he probably knew everything he could learn today anyway. Usually, he still participated since his grades were very important to get into MIT, but thanks to his boyfriend, he wasn't even coherent enough to explain the theory of relativity even if he wanted to. 

 Everything had started yesterday during an Avengers mission. Iron man, better known as Tony Stark and Peter’s boyfriend, had warned Peter not to come too close. Another villain had decided to attack New York City, nothing special so far, but he had used mean poison that burned through all layers of clothes. Not through an Iron Man armor, though, so Tony had ordered Peter to stay back and let him handle it. 

 Peter had wanted to obey, really, but then the monster had run towards Tony, and Peter had panicked, so he had thrown himself in front of Iron Man. A drop of poison had landed on his hand which had not been covered by his suit because Peter had adjusted his web-shooters a minute ago and his gloves had bothered him. 

 Thankfully, Peter wasn’t completely human and after an hour of tears and screams, he was as good as new again, no troubles, really. But Tony, apparently, disagreed because he had lectured Peter for over an hour this morning. He had even come to the small apartment in Queens, and May, the traitor, who also thought Peter’s actions had been stupid, listened to Tony and did nothing but smirk. So dramatic, both of them. 

 Unfortunately, Tony knew him too well, so he had already assumed the lecture wouldn’t stick. After an hour of screaming and yelling, he had grabbed Peter in front of May and brought him to his room, carried over his shoulder like a small child. Peter’s face had burned and he could only hope May wouldn’t mock him with it until the day one of them died. 

 As soon as the door closed behind them, Tony’s attitude had changed. He acted less like a disappointed principle and more like Peter’s Dom. Not good. Especially since Peter had about thirty minutes left until he had to leave for school and there was no way Tony would allow him to skip it for sex. 

 For a moment, Peter had thought he might have been wrong because Tony had crowded him against his wall and pulled down his pants.

 “Turn around, boy. Show me your hole. I won’t wait today.” Who could blame Peter for thinking he would get Tony’s beautiful thick cock at this moment? Right, no one. 

 But of course, Tony wouldn’t reward him after the stunt he had pulled last night. Instead of his boyfriend's length, a cold metal toy was pressed inside of him. Thankfully, it was already lubed and not that thick because Peter hadn’t been prepped enough. This would be doable. The toy wasn’t thicker than one, maybe two inches. But as soon as Tony had pulled up his trousers, he had smirked evilly and pulled a remote out of his pocket. 

 Oh, god. The girth of the toy was not only increasing, it apparently had an integrated lube shooter function as well because Peter could feel how something slick splashed against his insides. He whimpered like a whore while he tried not to tremble and fall on the ground. 

 “Shhh, baby. Don’t worry. I’ll drive you to school and pick you up after. You just have to get through the day.” 

 Peter moaned pathetically while he tried unsuccessfully to lessen the friction against his sweet spot. He just had to get through the day, he wouldn’t even have to take the subway. Easy.

 It was anything but easy. Every hour, the horrible toy expanded half an inch and released more lube inside of him until Peter was scared he would leak on the chair. He was constantly aroused and it was torture to hide his hard on in his pants without anyone noticing. Ned had asked him multiple times why he was so jumpy today and Peter’s answer had been nothing more than a dismissive grunt. Thankfully, his teachers had left him alone. 

 When the bell rang after the last hour, Peter jumped up and regretted his move instantly. The not-so-small-anymore dildo shifted and rubbed full force against his pleasure point. His eyes rolled back and he had to suppress a loud moan in the middle of his classroom. 

 “Look at that, Peter is in a hurry,” Flash scoffed. “Probably all too eager to see his Sugar Daddy.”

 Peter was too aroused to give a fuck about Flash, so he smiled brightly and winked at him. “So true. I can’t wait for him to fuck me in his million-dollar car.”

 And before Flash could say anything in return, Peter had already left. 

 ~*~

 The ride home was torture. Tony hadn’t been busy apparently, so he had picked Peter up personally. His boyfriend didn’t mention the stupid toy once, not even when it suddenly inflated even more, and to Peter’s horror, started to vibrate. 

 Peter had spent the entire ride moaning, sobbing, and begging for mercy, but Tony only looked at the road even though the car could drive on its own. This was all because Peter had been a little bit injured. Tony was so dramatic.

 When they finally entered the bedroom, Peter was a mess. He couldn’t even walk anymore, so he was crawling behind Tony, struggling with every step. His pupils were blown wide, his hair disheveled, and his pants were decorated with a huge wet spot right in the middle. 

 “Strip, boy.” Tony’s voice was firmer than usual, and Peter would have thought his boyfriend was unaffected if he hadn’t seen the bulge in his pants. “I want you naked on the bed, ass up. You have two minutes. If you don’t obey, I won’t let you come for a month.”

 A month? No, Tony couldn’t do that. That would be torture.

 Peter had never stripped as fast in his entire life. Not even thirty seconds later and he was kneeling on the bed, ass up and legs spread. His face was pressed into the pillow, so he couldn’t see Tony, but his Spidey senses told him exactly what his boyfriend was up to. 

 Tony towered over Peter and finally, Peter could feel hands on his ass, spreading his cheeks to reveal the hole in between.

 “Baby, you’re so stretched. Look at that.” Tony’s finger wandered alongside his rim and made Peter moan in pleasure. “Let’s see how full we can stuff you, Peter. I think it’s only fair that you feel it after, don’t you agree?”

 “Uh-huh.” Peter didn’t even understand what his boyfriend was saying anymore, but he would do what Tony wanted him to anyway.

 “Alright, let’s get you trained properly, Peter. Maybe you’ll learn this time?”

 Before Tony pulled back to fetch the remote, he took one last look at Peter’s straining hole. Peter couldn’t stop himself from tightening around the thick toy, eager to show his boyfriend how good he could be for him. 

 “Don’t tempt me, baby.” 

 The words were accompanied by a firm slap directly over Peter’s abused rim. The student sobbed in pleasure, pressing his ass closer to get another blow. Pain coursed through his body, an overwhelming burn, and his skin tingled deliciously. He wanted more, more of his boyfriend, everything of him.

 “Mr. Stark. Please, again. Please.”

 But Tony only chuckled lightly. “Do you think you’ve earned it?”

 Peter wanted to scream yes, anything to get more of that delicious pain, but he knew from experience that lying would make it worse. “No, Sir.”

 The pleased hum told Peter his answer had been the right one. 

 “That’s correct, baby, you’ve been bad and we both know it. Stop whining now, boy.”

 Any protest died on Peter’s tongue and he closed his eyes, accepting what was about to come. He knew Tony wasn’t done with him and that he wouldn’t get his boyfriend's cock anytime soon. Instead, he had to make do with the awful thing inside of him, probably handmade from Tony himself. One perk of being with a billionaire engineer was Tony’s unlimited patience to build the perfect sex toy, something Peter couldn’t even order online. 

 “Let’s see if you can take it completely.” Tony looked at him as if he was an experiment rather than a human being and the humiliation made Peter wail in pleasure. This man would be the death of him.

 He could sense that Tony fumbled with the remote, but it was still a shock when the toy expanded again. Peter could feel how stretched he was and his rim slowly started to hurt. The only reason Tony could still keep going was Peter’s spider mutation. A simple human would have caved by now. 

 “That’s it, sweet boy. You’re taking it so well. Just five more times and it'll be over with.”

 Five more times? Suddenly, Peter knew why this was a punishment. Until now, it hadn’t been a real struggle aside from a small burn, but Peter wasn’t sure whether he could take even an inch more in his straining hole. 

 “I can’t, Sir. Please, that’s so much. I'm already so full.”

 Tony smiled at him and pressed a kiss on his forehead, but he didn’t put the remote aside. “You know I can’t let you go after the little stunt you pulled yesterday. Either you use your safe word, or you get it over with.”

 He looked at Peter expectantly, but the student remained silent. He wanted it, he just couldn’t admit it. When Peter still hadn’t protested after a couple of minutes, Tony pressed the button again. Twice.

 The pain was agony. Peter wailed and squirmed on the mattress, his fingers digging into the sheets. Fuck, it burned like fire, but at the same time, it was so good. He felt full, fuller than he had ever been and Peter didn’t know anymore whether he wanted to pull the toy out or get more of the delicious stretch. But despite the pain, his cock was hard, leaking onto the mattress until the sheets were practically soaked. 

 “I’m sorry, Sir.” Peter’s voice was nothing but a whimper, high-pitched and pathetic. He felt so raw, so exposed, and he couldn't deal with the thought of Tony being upset anymore. 

 “I know, boy, I know. Only three more, then everything will be forgotten, baby.”

 Peter sobbed during the next two times Tony made the toy expand. An endless string of words left his lips, pleading to make it stop, begging to take it out, but not once did he safeword. He wanted this, not only because he craved to be good, but also because despite all the pain, the friction felt delicious inside of him. 

 When Tony pressed the button for the last time, Peter almost came. He was just laying there, his legs giving in until his body crashed into the mattress. He had never felt so full before, his little hole stretched to the brim, and every movement, even taking a breath, sent a mixture of pain and arousal through his body. 

 Tony stroked his back, told him what a good boy he was, that he would learn his lesson, but Peter wasn’t capable of doing anything but breathing. He was afraid Tony would pull the toy out, leaving him open and empty again, so he savored the last minutes and drifted with the pain. 

 His rim was very likely red and sore, pulsing from the abuse and begging to close again, but Peter didn’t worry. It wouldn’t even take the entire night until everything would heal, a huge thanks to his spider biology, so he could enjoy the feeling, knowing he would be good as new again tomorrow. 

 Tony gave him a few minutes to come back to himself before he pressed another button of the remote and shrunk the toy back to its normal girth again. Peter felt empty, even though he was still filled, but his hole was used to something so much bigger by now. And on top of that, he could feel the huge amount of lube dribbling out of him, soaking the sheets and running down his thighs. 

 It was filthy and so obscene that Peter could feel his cock twitching again, still trapped against the mattress. He wanted something bigger, he wanted the real thing and not some metal toy, even though it had been crafted by Tony himself. 

 Thankfully, Peter didn’t have to beg and he could feel fingers wandering over his abused hole and pulling out the toy. It hurt a tiny bit and Peter welcomed the pain, closing his eyes in pleasure. 

 “I’m going to fuck you, baby,” Tony announced, his tip already positioned in front of Peter’s hole. “But I don’t think I’ll let you come today.”

 The words felt like denial, and Peter teared up, turning his head to look at his boyfriend. He had already gotten his punishment, hadn’t he? Why was Tony still denying him? Just the thought of being a disappointment hurt and Peter couldn’t stop the tear that ran down his face. 

 “Oh, baby, don’t look at me like that,” Tony cooed and pressed a kiss on his back. “Do you know what the punishment is for?”

 Of course, Peter knew. Bratty boys get punished. 

 “I-I didn’t l-listen to you,” Peter hiccuped and fought not to press his hips back, impaling himself on his Daddy’s cock. He wanted to feel that everything was fine again. He wanted Tony’s forgiveness and he wanted to come.

 “Baby, that’s only part of it. You endangered yourself, even though I had it under control. Tell me honestly that you wouldn’t do it again.”

 Peter remained quiet. He couldn’t say that. He loved Tony with everything that he had, and he didn’t always think rationally during fights. Keeping his boyfriend safe was his top priority and if that meant getting scolded like a child afterward, it would be worth it. 

 “See, that’s exactly what I mean. I know I’m human, baby. I know you heal faster, but I have my suit. I need you to trust me, Peter. When I tell you I’ve got this, I’ve actually got it. Do you understand me?” Tony waited for him to nod before he continued. “I need your trust, baby. In the field, in our relationship, in bed. If I know you don’t take me seriously, this isn’t going to work. JARVIS analyses the fights, baby, and he can’t calculate if you don’t stick to the plan.”

 Peter swallowed. He had never thought about it this way. Saving Tony had been the only thing on his mind. Suddenly, Tony’s previous lecture wasn’t a joke anymore. Peter could’ve avoided the injury and could’ve saved Tony the same anxiety and worry that Peter himself felt. Trust was everything, on the field and outside of it. 

 “You won’t come, today. I need you to trust me, so no one gets hurt.”

 The student cried when Tony’s cock entered him, not from the burning pain, but from the emotions that wrecked his body. He had made his Sir feel like that, it was his fault Tony questioned his trust, and it was his fault the mission could have gone south. 

 “Baby, don’t be upset now, just let it happen. I know it’s not your intention to make me feel like this, and you’ve already received your punishment. Just be a good boy and tighten around me. You’re not perfect, I’m not perfect, but we’re here to learn together.”

 A warm wave of emotions coursed through his body and Peter felt grateful to belong to this man. Tony made him a better person. He explained what Peter did wrong and helped him to become better. He didn’t know what he would do without his dom. 

 Peter drifted in the arousal, accepting that he wouldn’t come today. He just had to be a good boy now. Obscene noises filled the room with every single one of Tony’s thrusts, emphasized by the huge amount of lube Peter was stuffed with. He wanted Tony to come, wanted to be forgiven.

 His body drifted when he finally felt his boyfriend’s cum filling his body, Peter’s cock still leaking onto the mattress. He didn’t protest as Tony moved him until he was pressed against the billionaire’s chest. It was warm, it was quiet, and Peter’s own arousal got pushed in the back of his mind. 

 “You did amazing, baby. I love you,” Tony whispered in his ear while he pressed kisses all over Peter’s face. 

 Peter could feel Tony's arms around him, holding him and creating a safe space for him to fall into. Before Peter could drift away, Tony made him drink a few sips of water. 

 “Luv you, sir.” 

 Tony pulled him even tighter against his chest, making him bask in the glow of the arc reactor. 

 Peter felt calm and protected, his mind pleasantly numb while he drifted into the sweet space Tony always brought him to. Even though he was sore, even though his cock was still so hard that it hurt, Peter felt satisfied and happy. Tony had forgiven him, Tony loved him, Tony was happy. 

 "Take a nap, sweet boy. You were amazing. I love you so much. When you wake up, I'll make you come."

 He closed his eyes and snuggled closer against his boyfriend’s chest. They were perfect together and Peter would prove to Tony that he trusted him. 

 “I understand your concern, Tony, but you know that it wasn’t my intention to hurt you, don’t you? I trust you, I really do. I just haven’t thought about it.” Peter had to make sure Tony understood. 

 Tony gave him a smile and pressed a kiss on his forehead.“I know, baby. Just think twice next time, alright? I can’t even stand the thought of losing you.” 

 Peter smiled and nuzzled closer against Tony’s chest. He would think twice next time. His injury had been unnecessary and he could have saved them both a lot of trouble if he had just listened to Tony before.

 It was quiet for a while, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Peter fell asleep while a hand stroked his hair and the beautiful deep voice whispered in his ear how perfect he was. 

 When he woke up again, it didn't even take a minute until he came all over Tony's hand. 

#starker #starkerkink2020

[dettiot]

Fic: late-night interruption 1/?

late-night interruption Author: dettiot Rating: G (for now) Ship: Anidala Characters: Obi-Wan, Anakin,  Padmé,  Sabé, Rex

Summary: When Obi-Wan receives a late-night comm from Sabé, he’s not sure what to expect. But what he learns will change many lives . . . and the fate of the Republic.

Note: This is an expanded and revised version of a ficlet I posted on my Tumblr. I loved this idea so much and a lot of people wanted more, and the follow-up ficlets just didn't scratch the itch for me. So I hope you enjoy this!

Also posted on AO3!

Chapter 1 

As the blue holoimage of Master Yoda faded away, Obi-Wan Kenobi let out a breath. “Well.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say? ‘Well’?” 

“No, that is not all I have to say, Anakin,” he said, looking at his former Padawan. “But where to begin? That’s the question.” 

“How about with the Council playing right into the Separatists’ hands by keeping us bouncing around the Outer Rim like this?” Anakin said, turning to face him. “While we’re chasing droid armies, Dooku and Grievous are planning something, I know it.” 

Folding his arms over his chest, Obi-Wan gazed down at the holotable, even though there was nothing on display. Because it was hard to deny Anakin’s words. For the last six months, they had been moving around the Outer Rim, fighting battles at a clip they hadn’t seen since the early days of the war. 

Battles that felt pointless. Like a distraction, a misdirection, allowing the Separatists to conceal their true plan. 

“What do you think they’re planning, then?” Obi-Wan asked him. 

Anakin shrugged. “Whatever it is, it’s bound to be big. The Separatists have been losing ground for the last year. Almost like they’re letting themselves be pushed out to the edge of the galaxy, so no one will think they’ve got a big offensive in them.” 

“Going by that logic, their next move will be to attack the center of the galaxy,” Obi-Wan said, stroking his beard. “Like Coruscant.” 

“Yeah,” Anakin said, looking worried. “That’s what I thought.”

The silence that fell between them was heavy and thick. Full of words they wouldn’t say, emotions they wouldn’t acknowledge. 

As he looked at Anakin, Obi-Wan was struck by just how old he looked. Anakin wasn’t even twenty-three yet, but he looked much older. But even more than that, he just looked . . . 

His hair was disheveled and unwashed. His clothes smelled of smoke and bore more than a few singe marks. And he was definitely too thin. 

No matter how bad things were, Obi-Wan made time to shower, to change his clothes, to eat. He might be as short on sleep as Anakin, but otherwise, he attempted to take care of himself. Because such efforts paid off in the long run. It was hard-won knowledge, learned as his youthful energy faded in the face of continuous challenges. 

But Anakin was stubborn. Convinced of his invincibility. And he didn’t respond well when he felt Obi-Wan was telling him what to do. 

“I suppose we should be thankful the Council is being cautious. It allows us to take advantage of the downtime,” Obi-Wan said, eyeing Anakin. 

“You say cautious, I say dangerously inactive,” he grumbled. 

Well . . . it was hard to argue with that. But the point of this wasn’t to get into a fight with Anakin about the Council’s position. It was to encourage him to get some rest. 

“Be that as it may, we should both try to get some sleep,” Obi-Wan said firmly. 

For a moment, Anakin looked at him, and even opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. It was rare for Anakin to hesitate like that--so rare that Obi-Wan took a step towards him. 

“Anakin?” 

As quickly as the moment came, it went. Anakin shook his head and stepped back. “Nothing, Master. You’re right, we should take advantage of this break to catch up on our rest.” 

It was tempting to press Anakin, to step up to the door he had opened for a moment and ask for admittance. There had been something bothering him for the last few months, Obi-Wan knew. Ever since their last visit to Coruscant, Anakin seemed to be mulling something, to the point of outright brooding.  

But Anakin was an adult now. If he chose not to talk to Obi-Wan about whatever was in his thoughts, that was his choice. And as difficult as it was to let Anakin struggle when Obi-Wan felt like he could help, he knew he should respect Anakin’s decisions. 

“Yes, indeed,” Obi-Wan said, following Anakin out of the private conference room and towards the hanger bay. For flexibility, they had been traveling on separate ships, to allow them to split up when needed. But that flexibility had come at the cost of Obi-Wan monitoring Anakin. 

Captain Rex fell into step with them. “Generals,” he acknowledged them. “Any word on what’s next?” 

“Still waiting for it,” Anakin said, sounding disgruntled. 

With his typical equanimity, Rex just nodded. “Sure to come soon, sir.” 

“Only if we’re lucky,” Anakin said. 

Anakin and Rex kept talking as Obi-Wan followed them, contemplating the matter at hand. He didn’t want to pry, but . . . if Anakin wasn’t sleeping, it would catch up with him. Usually at the worst possible time. 

No, if he was going to get his former Padawan to actually rest, it would take going behind his back and arranging for him to not be disturbed. And if there was one thing Obi-Wan Kenobi was perfectly willing to do, it was to be sneaky. 

“Did we get the transmission of the Chancellor’s latest speech?” Anakin asked Rex. 

“Yes, sir. Waiting for you when we get back to the ship,” Rex said. 

There was an exchange of glances between Anakin and Rex. Something about it made Obi-Wan take another look at the two men. Remembering those times lately when Rex had seemed to be covering for Anakin while he was doing . . . something. 

Obi-Wan gave his head a shake. He was becoming paranoid--a sure sign of his own exhaustion. As soon as he took care of Anakin and saw him and Rex off to their ship, he was going directly to his quarters. 

And then Anakin literally walked into a wall and Obi-Wan made up his mind. 

“Anakin, are you all right?” he asked, stepping forward to offer him a hand up. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Anakin said sheepishly, rising to his feet on his own power. His cheeks were flushed and he rubbed a hand over his face. “Just tired.” 

Turning to Rex, Obi-Wan said, “You should pilot the shuttle to the Resolute. If Anakin did it, you’d probably wind up flying into a black hole.” 

“Master,” Anakin said, his voice practically a whine. 

Obi-Wan gave him a look. “Why don’t you go prep the ship for launch? If you do it properly, I’m sure Rex would be more comfortable putting his life into your hands.” 

That wasn’t quite enough to pacify Anakin, but it got him onto the shuttle, just as Obi-Wan wanted. He turned to Rex. “Captain, I’m ordering you to hold any of Anakin’s comm messages until he’s gotten at least eight hours of sleep.” 

Rex shifted his feet a little. “You sure about that, General?” 

Translation: Rex was fully prepared to throw him under the speeder if Anakin found out. Which, to be honest, was just what Obi-Wan expected Rex to say. 

“Yes, I am,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ll deal with Anakin if it comes to that.” 

“Understood, sir,” Rex said, his sense of worry easing slightly. “I’ll take care of General Skywalker, never you fear.” 

“I have no doubt of that, Rex,” Obi-Wan said with a small smile. 

With a crisp salute, Rex followed Anakin up the landing ramp of the shuttle. It only took a few moments for the ramp to lift and for the ship’s engines to spool up. With Anakin on his way to his ship, that meant Obi-Wan was able to head to his quarters. 

A few minutes in the sonic shower and a ration bar was enough to make him feel ready for bed. But he still sat on the floor and dropped into a short meditation, doing his best to clear his mind before bed. He had found that a few minutes of meditation before sleeping was enough to help hold off the worst of his nightmares. 

He just hoped tonight that he would fall asleep quickly. 

By the time he rose from the floor and pulled back his covers, Obi-Wan was yawning. Slipping between the sheets, he closed his eyes and felt the warm, dark blanket of oblivion fall over him peacefully. 

XXX

As she trailed behind Padmé, Sabé was struck with a sense of déjà vu. It had been years since she had served as a traditional handmaiden, but it was rather remarkable how all the old skills came back to her. 

Keep her head lowered but her eyes up. Make a note of every person and droid who crossed their path. Stay two steps behind Padmé, fading into the background whenever anyone approaches her. Listen to every conversation without appearing to hear anything. 

Yet serving Padmé as an aide instead of a handmaiden was very different. On Naboo or during their trips off-planet, Queen Amidala had played a different role. A role with more respect, more autonomy. 

Now? As a Senator? Sabé didn’t know how Padmé could deal with the lack of control, with having to sway other Senators to her point of view. 

But then, that was why Padmé was the Senator and Sabé was the aide. Her old friend and former Queen had all the skills needed to be a Senator, while Sabé preferred to gather information and work on the fringes or in the dark. 

It was only due to Padmé’s condition that Sabé was here at all, stepping in to allow Dormé to double for Padmé more frequently. 

Because even though it was probably obvious to most people who looked at her, Padmé had refused to make any public announcements about her pregnancy. And Sabé knew why, could understand why . . . but she didn’t have to like it. Not when it meant Padmé had to keep working, had to keep pushing herself instead of taking it easy.

Sabé found herself worrying more and more about Padmé’s child, even as her worries for Padmé herself increased exponentially. 

Without the mid-adolescence growth spurt Sabé had experienced, Padmé had remained the same height as when she was a fourteen-year-old queen. Her figure was slight, and even though Sabé knew Padmé was strong and physically fit . . . it seemed like her swollen belly dwarfed her figure. 

The moment Sabé had seen Padmé upon her arrival on Coruscant, her first thought had been how could a woman so small be having such a large baby? Sabé had immediately asked about Padmé’s prenatal care, but her friend had waved aside her concerns. 

“I’ve regularly seen a med droid and I’m in good health,” Padmé reassured her. 

She had opened her mouth to argue that a med droid was fine in a pinch but no replacement for an actual healer, but the tightness of Padmé’s mouth, the strain in her eyes, made Sabé hold her tongue. 

At least Padmé had asked her to come, Sabé had tried to console herself. She was Padmé’s oldest friend, the first handmaiden selected upon Padmé’s election as Princess of Theed and future Queen of Naboo. Padmé must have had some concerns about her health to ask Sabé to come, instead of pretending everything was fine.

And since her friend had asked her to come, Sabé had of course gotten on the first ship to Coruscant. Nothing would prevent her from helping Padmé. 

It had only taken a few days for Sabé to see just how much Padmé needed her help. Her work schedule was even more punishing than it was when she had been Queen. It wasn’t just the hours of reading and research, either. Achieving anything in the Senate seemed predicated upon tedious socializing: cocktail parties, dinners, nights at the opera and the ballet . . . 

No wonder Padmé looked exhausted even before you considered she was seven and a half months pregnant. 

But tonight would be different. There were no social engagements, and it was still fairly early. They could go back to Padmé’s apartment and Sabé would order some dinner while Padmé bathed. If luck was with her, Sabé could convince Padmé to actually relax by watching a holomovie or talking, instead of doing more reading. 

When Senator Bendon approached them, Sabé was very tempted to nudge Padmé along. They were nearly to the speeder dock, where Padmé’s pilot and security escort was waiting for her. They were so close to escaping!

But of course Padmé wouldn’t ignore a colleague, so Sabé hung back as Padmé, with help from C-3PO, spoke with Senator Bendon. 

However, as Sabé watched her friend, she couldn’t help feeling like something was wrong. There was a tension in Padmé’s shoulders--a tension, she now realized, which had been there since Sabé had arrived on Coruscant.

Padmé’s body suddenly flinched, and Senator Bendon made an Ithorian gesture that seemed to represent concern. 

“Senator Amidala, are you all right?” 3PO translated. 

“Yes,” Padmé lied. Her voice was breathy and thin, and she half-turned towards Sabé, who was already stepping forward. “I’m sorry, Senator, but I was on my way home--”

The other senator made a few noises and 3PO said, “I’m sorry to have kept you. Have a good evening, Senator Amidala.” 

Sabé supported Padmé, who leaned on her heavily as they walked to the speeder dock. 

“Padmé, is it--?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Lips tight, Padmé nodded. She said nothing further until they were settled in the speeder, zipping through Coruscant’s traffic towards 500 Republica.

“I . . . I’ve been having contractions for a week, but--but it’s too early,” Padmé said, her face white and beads of sweat appearing on her forehead. 

It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. How could Padmé let herself be in this condition for a week without saying anything? Sabé held tight to her frustration, as a way to ignore her guilt. Because how could Padmé have contractions for a week without Sabé noticing? Without anyone noticing?

“We’re nearly home,” Sabé said, putting all the comfort and reassurance she could into her voice. “When we arrive, we’ll call for a healer. No arguments,” she warned Padmé. 

Silently, Padmé nodded, then reached out and gripped Sabé’s hand. “Sabé--please call Anakin. I want--no, I need him here.”

“Then we’ll get him here,” Sabé said gently. “Just breathe, Padmé.” 

Padmé nodded again, then let out a soft groan and squeezed Sabé’s hand tightly. 

“Faster,” Sabé called out to the driver, gently stroking Padmé’s hair. 

XXX

It wasn’t the first time the chiming of his comm had awoken him in the middle of the night. It wasn’t even the first time tonight, due to Admiral Yularen notifying him of a course change. But his sleep had been so deep, coming after too many nights with too little sleep, that it was hard to respond to another interruption. 

But Obi-Wan simply called on the Force to clear away some of his exhaustion as he picked up his comm. 

“Kenobi.” 

“Sorry to wake you up, General, but I’m getting a comm for you and the person on the other end won’t take no for an answer,” one of the communication officers said briskly. 

Sitting up, Obi-wan rubbed his eyes. “Who is it?” 

“No name, but they said when you met, you knew them as someone else?” 

Obi-Wan frowned. That wasn’t exactly clear, and his sleep-addled mind wasn’t helping him figure this out. He reached out to the Force, seeking guidance, and felt a small flicker. A nudge, urging him to listen to the unknown person. 

“Put it through,” Obi-Wan said, running a hand through his hair and tugging his tunic into place.

His mouth dropped open in confusion and surprise when he saw the person displayed on the holo. For a moment, he thought it was Senator Amidala, but, no, it wasn’t her--it was–

“Sabé?” he asked, surprised and confused. The former handmaiden still bore a strong resemblance to Padmé, but it was now easier to spot the differences between the two women and make the proper identification. But that didn’t help him understand why Sabé was contacting him. 

“Master Kenobi, I’m sorry for this interruption,” she said after a graceful nod. Her face was smooth and blank, her voice even, but there was something in her presence that made Obi-Wan feel on edge. Because deep down, Sabé was very worried.  

“Not at all. Although I am surprised to hear from you, I admit,” Obi-Wan replied. 

Sabé took a deep breath. “Yes, of course. But–but it is urgent I speak with Master Skywalker, and unfortunately, the communication officers on his ship were less willing to assist me.” 

It appeared that Rex had followed Obi-Wan’s orders to the letter. He couldn’t regret the order, not with how tired Anakin had looked. Even if he was now put in the position of playing middleman between Anakin and Sabé. Who, Obi-Wan noted, had carefully avoided telling him why she needed to speak to Anakin.

“I didn’t know you were in communication with Anakin,” he prodded. He blamed having just been woken up for the not-so-graceful approach he took. 

She seemed to blink. “I’m not,” she said, hesitating for a moment. “I assumed that wherever you were, Master Skywalker would not be far away. Or that you would be able to contact him when I could not.”

“That is true . . .” Obi-Wan said, pondering her words and investigating her presence, even though it was difficult to do so via a holo connection. The fact that Sabé was not a stranger to him helped a little, although given the way Padmé and her handmaidens switched places, Obi-Wan still wasn’t sure if he knew any of her assistants that well. 

And he knew, from his conversations with Padmé over the years, that she considered Sabé her closest friend. Which made him wonder if Sabé was reaching out to Anakin on someone else’s behalf. 

When he considered everything, Obi-Wan knew what he should do. 

“How can I help, Sabé?” Obi-Wan asked, ready to assist in any way he could.   

“All I require is to be connected with Master Skywalker,” Sabé said evenly. 

Of course, she wanted something he wasn’t sure he should help with. Especially not when he reached out to the Resolute for Anakin’s presence and felt the still calm radiating off him. If he wasn't asleep, he was definitely resting, which made Obi-Wan feel relieved. At least something was going to plan tonight. 

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid that’s not possible right now,” he told Sabé, trying to make his voice gentle. “But I would be happy to pass along a message--” 

“It’s an emergency,” Sabé interrupted. Her placid mask cracked, alerting him to the truth in her words. “Please, Master Kenobi.” 

“Perhaps if you told me more about this emergency, I would be able to assist you,” Obi-Wan said, not willing to disturb Anakin for anything less than the fall of the Republic.

A flicker of emotion showed on Sabé’s face and in her presence, a spike of anger and annoyance and--fear? He could tell she was gathering herself before she spoke, and Obi-Wan wondered what she was going to say. 

And after he heard her words, Obi-Wan almost found himself wishing the Republic was falling.

“Senator Amidala has gone into premature labor, and she wants the father of her child to be there.” 

End, Chapter 1

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