#stack winds up and smacks the top of the stack as hard as they can

[d1gnan]

#fight club got me thinking about how when i was younger me and my friends would play this stupid game #where u get like 8 or so people in a big circle and put your hands in the middle one on top of the other and whoever is on the bottom of th #stack winds up and smacks the top of the stack as hard as they can #if u remove your hand from the stack youre out #and the game goes until two people are duelling each other which usually ends out of like boredom cuz the games would go rlly long since #nobody wanted to chicken out #but wed do it for so long my hands would be like bloated and purple cuz ppl actually used like full strength to hit the stack #there was this really buff kid who would wind up and ppl would drop out from fear of his move alone and after he hit the stack #the whole circle would like tremble #ive seen ppl talk about playing bloody knuckles but ive never actually witnessed a game of that #idk im curious what kind of stupid shit like that yall did #cuz that was like a core memory for me #tumblr polls #my polls #fandom polls #polls #poll time #in the polaroids i just posted too theres a before pic of our hands but someone else has the after one

[nobody-for-sure]

Language Barrier

Did I mention this fic is self-indulgent? Because it is. Also, not me hoping certain writers I respect accidentally stumble onto my work and enjoy it.

Chapter 4

(~2.3k words, see chapter list here)

You feel like an idiot.

You probably look like one, too. In the past twenty four hours, you've jumped off a fifty-foot wall, literally asked a god to kill you, and been shuffled back to the Knights' headquarters by three familiar faces who were definitely not expecting you to blurt out, "Please don't bow to me, we should check what color my blood is first, just in case!"

...To be fair, they were probably more surprised about not being able to understand you rather than what you said, but still. An idiot. You can already tell this is going to be one of those things you lie awake cringing about years down the road.

Your sole saving grace is the fact that it was still early when the four of you arrived back in town. So as the three women ushered you through the winding streets and up the stairs, you noticed only two other citizens milling about, both of whom seemed too preoccupied with their own business to take much notice of your group.

Of course, your mind is running a mile a minute the whole time. How was I supposed to know this wasn't an imposter au??? Because it certainly doesn't appear to be, if the kneeling and relieved looks are anything to go by. You try to tell yourself that you couldn't have known, that it was better to be safe than sorry once you saw the statue and heard the whispers, but it's hard to convince yourself as you watch Jean slump down into her office chair the moment you return, rubbing her temples and looking like she hasn't slept in weeks.

Apparently, hearing your god went for a stroll through town before jumping from a high ledge and disappearing will do that to you.

Lisa pats her back sympathetically while murmuring something you can't make out. Meanwhile, Amber energetically inserts herself into your field of vision. "Tgi o zkm aue mtonzetg xaue kigxm? Kbgn aue ejgkxrg tkzgk? Jrauc aue kqor mtonzksuy uz qtoxj?"

You stare blankly. She smacks a hand to her forehead in obvious abashment. "Nmg, yvuunc, exxuy, o zumxul... sxk... rro zyap zkm aue g yygrm lu xkzgc." She sighs a little - mostly at herself, it seems - before smiling sheepishly and gesturing wordlessly toward the conference table on one side of the room. Hesitantly, you move to take a seat. She beams. "Egqu! Rro kh znmox qigh nzoc zgnz xkzgc-"

"Xkhsg," Jean cuts in, making both of you look in her direction. She gives you a slight nod before focusing in on Amber. "Rro kqgz kxgi lu zgnz. Ykxknz ksuy krvukv jo kqor aue uz xknzgm jgkzyto."

Amber salutes, and Jean rattles off what you assume are orders of some kind before the outrider gives her a firm nod. Turning to you, she sweeps a bow before offering you a cheerful wave and disappearing through the office door. Lisa gives Jean one last pat on the shoulder before heading out herself. (Whether she has her own directives or she's simply out to brunch, you're not sure.)

Meanwhile, the Acting Grand Master rummages around in her desk before pulling out an alarmingly thick stack of papers. Yikes. You certainly don't envy her workload. You watch as she selects a couple sheets from the top, places them on the center of her desk, and proceeds to bring the rest... over to you. They're blank, you realize, as she sets a feather pen next to the stack in front of you. Curiously, you look at her, but she just gives you a vague smile and gestures towards them before disappearing out the door as well. You listen to the click as the door closes behind her. For a moment, you do nothing but stare at the plain stack of papers in awe.

Did... did I just get Klee'd?

Jean returns a short while later to find you scribbling furiously. You've already gone through four... five sheets of paper, though none of them are full. You give her the barest hint of a nod as she offers you a glass of water, before she returns to her desk and whips out a quill to do her own work.

You're writing down everything. People, mostly. Every playable character, future playable character, might-be-a-playable-character makes the list. You've got one for each nation that's been released so far, one for what you know of Sumeru, and one that covers both Snezhnaya and Khaenri'ah, labelled "People to avoid (just to be safe)". Good-looking or not, some of those people are definitely psycho; now that you're safe, you remind yourself that you're too young to die. Maybe after you've met all the other characters, finally seen Fontaine and Natlan, and learned how to do all that over-powered magic shit isekai protagonists usually do, then you can seek them out. But that's at the bottom of your list for now.

The top of your list being, obviously, figure out a way to communicate and find out what the fuck is going on.

You furrow your brow thinking about it. As things stand, it seems inevitable that you'll have to learn this strange language of theirs in order to get by, but... in all honesty, you're not sure you can. Not just because languages aren't your forte, but because you're literally not sure your vocal cords have the same capabilities theirs do. There are so many guttural sounds and long, vowel-less mishmashes that they often strike you as a keyboard smash vocalized. If it weren't for a few slight regularities you're starting to pick up on, you'd almost believe it was just that.

A light tap on the door makes both you and Jean look up. There's a soft click as it opens, and a giant stack of pancakes enters confidently.

Oh my god, that's Noelle.

Said maid-knight breezes over to the conference table, shifts the loaded platter easily to one hand as she offers you a delicate curtsy, then holds it out to you with a smile. Evidently, this ridiculous amount of food is all for you.

Come to think of it, I am pretty hungry, you realize. The apple you ate with Venti was surely hours ago now, if the amount of light breaching the windows is any indication. Hastily, you straighten up the papers and push them to the side. She sets the platter down and takes a step back, watching and waiting attentively as you spear a large bite and stick it in your mouth.

If the apple was good, the pancakes are heavenly. They're thick and fluffy, with just the right amount of sweetness, and they practically melt on your tongue as you dive back in for more. At this rate, maybe you really will eat them all. You did skip dinner yesterday, after all. (For no reason, in retrospect. Thanks, unnecessary paranoia.) Noelle beams when you give her a thumbs up and go for another bite, and in the background, you notice some of the tension ease from Jean's shoulders as well.

Then a hand reaches over the table and grabs your papers.

"Mmm!" you object, with a mouth full of food.

The culprit raises his hands in defense. "Es ykomuruvg, xaue kigxm, zah jo kqor uz kqgz g quur zg yonz, lo aue ztuj jtos," Kaeya says coolly, and you wonder when he even came in. It must have been right after Noelle, but you were too focused on the pancakes to notice. You eye him warily as he pores over the top sheet - Mondstadt - before sighing and shaking his head at Jean. "Kbo xkbkt tkky yonz zvoxiy kxulkh. Aue egs ztgc uz qyg xau erkbur tgoxgxhor, zah zo yquur kqor kbkc zum xau qxuc zai zau xul ya."

You assume that's the long way of saying "I can't read shit", because Jean sighs for the nth time as he returns the papers, not even bothering to flip through the rest of them. "Ykny mtoquur xul etg jtoq lu yjxuikx tu knz tuozgazoy znmox cut," she responds. "Zah kny ztykuj zikvdk uz jtol mtonzetg. Eh rrg yztauiig, yonz ztygc jkyuvvay uz tkvvgn."

At this, everyone in the room turns to look at you. You stiffen, and your gaze flits from face to face, trying to figure out what might have been said. After a moment, you offer them a shrug, not knowing what else to do. This seems to be an acceptable (if not expected) response, though, and Kaeya turns back to Jean. "Unc kyrk joj aue jtky xul?"

"Xul cut, zyap g krvaui yxknzu. Xkzlg egjxkzyke, o ztuj ztgc uz srkncxkbu sknz. O qtonz jzo kh zykh lo kc tgi kxamol zau erzigdk enc yonz yo mtotkvvgn lo kc tgi."

He nods, casting another glance your way before moving to sit down at the other end of the table. This seems to be the end of the conversation, because Jean lowers her head to refocus on her work, while Kaeya stares pensively into space, mindlessly running his thumb over the ridges of a coin in his hand. Only Noelle turns back to you and offers a reassuring smile.

She still has yet to say a word, and you realize that's her way of being considerate of your situation. Still, between her and Venti, you're starting to realize just how much you can communicate with only a look. You give her a small smile back, and gesture to the chair beside yours - she's been standing attentively the whole time, but she's going to be there a while if you're really going to eat all of these. She shakes her head and waves her hands as if to say she couldn't possibly, but when you gesture again, she relents and takes a seat. You give a satisfied nod and return to eating. For once, the silence is almost comfortable.

You're almost finished with the food when the next interruption comes.

Correction: you are finished, the food is not.

You push your plate back to Noelle, a slightly guilty look on your face, when there's a series of sharp taps on the door. You jump a little, but no one else does; in fact, Kaeya and Noelle have no reaction at all, while Jean only looks up long enough to say, "Kygkrv ksui to."

This time, it's Eula who enters, looking equal parts graceful and imposing as she strides over the threshold. She scans the room like a hawk, and when her eyes land on you, she takes several steps in your direction before dropping to one knee and placing a hand on her chest. "Zo yo g zgkxm xutun uz zkks aue, xaue kigxm. Nmaunzrg knz ztkxxai ykitgzysaixoi kxg zyus kzgtazxulta, kygkrv cutq zgnz o sg zg xaue kiobxky."

To your credit, you do not blurt out the same stupid thing as the last time someone kneeled to you. Instead, you give her a slight bob of your head, even though it's somewhat off-putting to see someone so prideful kneeling before you. On the other hand, you suppose it's actually quite in-character of her to be so formal, so you try not to be too bothered by it. "It's nice to meet you, Eula."

You think that might be the first normal thing you've said so far.

She gives you a searching look before dipping her head in acknowledgement and rising to face Jean. "Xul knz kqgy lu eitkoiollk, xkhsg jtg o zorvy knz zyor. Erkzgtazxulta, ujkhrg jtg kyuxiay zyas kh zau to knz jrkol kxkncksuy, kyagikh knz vsgi tu ktovytumgxj ygc ezvsk."

Jean nods, looking disappointed but not surprised. "Juuzyxkjta. Qtgnz aue xul mtoum rrg knz egc zau kxknz. Kygkrv kqgz g zgky, aue ejgkxrg cutq unc kxkc mtozogc xul, tknz."

Eula nods, dips her head to you again, and then takes a seat across from her fellow captain. Meanwhile, Noelle rises with equal grace and takes your plate, curtsying again before leaving without a sound.

This time, the ensuing silence is infinitely more awkward. You no longer have anything to occupy you, so you sit stiffly, listening to the tick of the clock on the wall. Eula seems to be doing the same, and Kaeya flips his coin idly. You're not quite sure what you're all waiting for, mind you, but you figure it's best to just go along with it at this point.

You consider working the lists some more, just to make sure you didn't miss anything, but you already know you didn't. Let's face it: anything worth remembering, you were way too invested in Genshin to forget easily. The mere existence of your little lists was just the result of sheer boredom, and not because you thought they'd actually do anything for you. Still, you're considering reading back over them, just to feel busy, when a sudden commotion erupts in the hallway.

Three voices blend together: one annoyed, one gruff, and one whiny. Evidently, the racket has caught the others' attention as well, because every single one of you is looking towards the door when it suddenly bursts open, revealing a straining outrider. "Tkbk lo xkzygs iaroj yvuxj knz ykmxgni, knz mtozig jtgxm xkzygs rrozy jkzykawkx xaue kitkykxv!" she exclaims, dragging... something you can't see from here... behind her. Hers is the annoyed voice.

The whiny one, possibly the 'thing' being dragged, responds. "Ng, ztgi kc zyap zxuy yonz zau xkzgr? O kbgn ykigrv uz kh, ymtuy uz mtoy!"

The last voice is drowned out by the scraping of chairs as both Jean and Eula rise to their feet. Amber gives one final tug, and she and a figure clad in green go tumbling onto the office floor.

Now you're on your feet as well. "Venti!?"

Rubbing the back of his head, the bard peels himself off the ground with a sheepish chuckle. "Urrkn, xaue kigxm."

You gape at him. Your brain is rapidly churning out questions: Why did you dump me at Windrise and leave? Why did Amber bring you here? How did she find you? ...Why was she dragging you?

All of those questions fly out the window, however, when Diluc enters behind him, looking past everyone else in the room to address Jean. "Sorry xul knz egrkj," he says calmly. "Yg you tgi kky, we zon tg jkzikvdkta vsah to knz jgux."

......whAT?!

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin sagau #genshin jean #genshin lisa #genshin amber #genshin noelle #genshin kaeya #genshin eula #genshin venti #genshin diluc #lbbynfs

[whentheresmoonlight]

Sand Lines ch7, Monday

Read on AO3

rating: teen

pairing: bakudeku

word count: 40.6k/40.6k

summary: It wasn’t a vacation. It was only convenient that Katsuki’d managed to trick Miruko into thinking it was.

Katsuki doesn’t need a break. Post-war life has been peaceful. Too peaceful. So under the guise of a vacation, Katsuki heads to the American southwest, the only place where he can do the thing he wants to do the most: blow stuff up. Big time. And it’s all going to according to plan for about five minutes, until Deku comes along. They’ve barely seen each other since graduation last year and Katsuki could, should blow him up for getting in his business yet again. Instead, they learn about post-war life in the way they’ve done everything: together.

first chapter - previous chapter

master list

They didn’t share beds again. It was too much, too soon.

A relationship should start with a strong foundation—that’s what idiots with unsolicited advice always said. The foundation came first and provided support for everything else, and nothing else could be built until the foundation was poured and hardened.

That wasn’t what Katsuki and Izuku were.

Their relationship was like sand.

There were fragments of it. Some strewn to the wind, some in the same place for a long time. But they were messy and shifting and by no means built with a solid foundation. But they say that with enough sand, eventually the weight from the top compresses the bottom most layer into something solid again. What once was sand would become stone. And the more stacked on top of it, the harder it would get. 

And right now, the new granules were pouring like desert rain. 

Their alarm went off while the sky was still as dark as it had been when they went to sleep. Their flight wasn’t a red-eye—little blessings—but they were still looking a good twenty-four hours of travel dead in the face. And that was if they experienced no delays. They’d lose a whole day traveling this way—it’d nearly be Wednesday by the time they arrived home.

They hadn’t packed the night before. The drive back to the motel after leaving White Sands was slow—Izuku had wanted to enjoy the starlight and Katsuki couldn’t blame him. And while it hadn’t been too late, the unholy hour that they’d have to wake up at had sent them both to bed, suitcases exposed and belongings spread throughout the room.

The only thing accomplished the night before had been dropping his cooler and umbrella outside a closed thrift shop. The rental car was empty of everything but sand.

Katsuki smacked around the nightstand to find his phone and shut it off before finally rolling out of bed. They had to pack, they had to eat breakfast, they had to check out of the room, and then they had to drive all the way back to Texas. Then sit in a couple tin cans in the sky for seventeen hours.

“Deku,” Katsuki grumbled, hurling a pillow in his general direction. “Get up and put your shitty super speed to decent use.”

A spark of teal lit up the room as Izuku caught the pillow with nary a drop of moonlight to see by.

“That do it for you?” he asked, cheeky before the lights were even on.

“I meant packing, shithead,” Katsuki said, flipping on the light. It revealed Izuku’s body to him, his bare chest and one thigh just beginning to poke out of the blanket, covered only by a thin set of boxer shorts. Attraction was a devil and Katsuki wasn’t ready for hell. Yet.

He looked away, walking to the sinks so he could brush his teeth and get his toiletries ready to pack. Maybe splash some cool water on his face and keep the blush at bay.

“It’s hard to use super speed in just a small room,” Izuku said, rustling behind Katsuki as he got out of bed.

“Sounds like a wimp who’s not up for a challenge.”

Izuku was beside Katsuki in a blue-green flash, hip-checking him as he reached for his own toothbrush. “How’s that?”

Katsuki gurgled around his toothpaste, some attempt at a growl, but the frothiness of his mouth stripped away the edge.

“Kacchan…” Izuku started, slowly putting a bead of toothpaste on his brush. “This wasn’t…just a vacation thing, right?”

“Wha?” Katsuki asked, taking his toothbrush out and talking around a mouthful of minty spit.

“Like…a vacation romance? That doesn’t follow us home?”

That was enough for Katsuki to spit out the toothpaste.

“Let me get this straight,” Katsuki said. “You think I’m gonna do this shit with you here, and commit to working with you full time, only to turn this shit into some G-rated fling?” Katsuki grabbed the hand in which Izuku held his toothbrush and shoved the brush into Izuku’s mouth. “Shut the fuck up.”

Izuku pulled the toothbrush out, a line of spit following it. “Well, you can’t blame me for wanting to make sure—you’re not really the easiest person to read.”

“We got ice cream together at a pink retro diner frozen custard palace,” Katsuki deadpanned. “If that ain’t clear, I’ll have to find whatever pride flag is appropriate, smack you with it, and then fly the blood-

soaked thing from my apartment.”

Izuku frowned. “You see how that might not be especially clear?”

The thing was, clear wasn’t what Katsuki had to offer right at this red-hot moment. Confused, sure. A little gay, fine. But clear just wasn’t in the cards, and judging by Izuku’s lack of words on the matter, the water he was wading through was just as murky as Katsuki’s.

Izuku had always looked to Katsuki for answers, but when they were young, every question had been simple. What’s this kanji? How’d you skip that rock? How’d you dribble that ball? Now they were both equally out of their depth and they’d both have to help each other figure things out in a way they’d only just begun to do.

Katsuki rinsed his toothbrush and put it down. Then he pressed a minty kiss to Izuku’s cheek. It was rough with little hints of morning stubble but plush and round with youth.

“Happy?”

Izuku’s face turned pink, almost orange in the yellowed artificial light. As Katsuki turned around to continue packing, he heard a squeaked little, “Yep!” and then the sound of a toothbrush vigorously going.

Without a hamper or a washing machine, the dirty clothes had ended up somewhat strewn around the room. They all had made it close to their respective suitcases, but not quite in and definitely not folded.

They’d all be going in the washer the moment Katsuki made it home, but everything would fit nicer folded, and he wouldn’t bring shame on his family if customs decided to open his suitcase and investigate.

Everything smelled of sweat and lingering deodorant. Wafts of the past week hit Katsuki as he folded every item until he got to a black shirt that was different.

It was the shirt Izuku had worn on Saturday. The shirt he’d been wearing when Katsuki lost his mind and kissed him. The shirt that had looked so funny on him but also staked Katsuki’s claim on him before he’d even known what he was doing.

It smelled like Izuku. His slightly more woodsy deodorant and multiple layers of sunscreen and sweat from a day in the sun. And it smelled like Katsuki too, his detergent, and his laundry all entangled. It was what they smelled like when they were intertwined, or if they did domestic things like laundry together. If they lived together.

Katsuki shoved the shirt in his bag. Too much too soon. No sleeping together and no imagining living together. 

“I’ll wash that!” Izuku offered suddenly, obviously done with brushing his teeth. Katsuki tempered his surprise, hoping it didn’t show on his body.

Katsuki imagined the shirt coming back to him smelling like Izuku’s detergent. It was a nice thought. It’d be an easy excuse to see each other again soon.

But Katsuki didn’t need an excuse now. And if he wanted a shirt that smelled like Izuku, he could steal one any time he wanted.

“Nah, I got it,” he said. And then he came across a bag that he’d shoved in his case, underneath the layers of clothes and other bullshit. “Here, this belongs with your stuff.”

Katsuki lifted the bag behind him, over his shoulder, face blazing. Izuku muttered things about not knowing what the bag was, not remembering buying it, and there was the telltale rustling of the bag being opened. Then there was a gasp. Then, the next thing Katsuki knew, he was being glomped from behind by a minty-fresh nerd. 

“All Might!” Izuku exclaimed.

“It’s Katsuki, actually,” Katsuki grumbled sarcastically.

“Kacchan!” Izuku cried. His hold was tight, unaware of his strength as he held the integrity of Katsuki’s ribs between his arms. “I love it, thank you!”

“Yeah, well,” Katsuki said. “Was a pretty good vacation. Should have some souvenirs.”

“Oh my gosh!” Izuku exclaimed, pulling back. Katsuki’s ribs were grateful, but a part of him missed the warmth of Izuku’s breath on his neck. “We need omiyage!”

Omiyage was a hassle when your friend group was twenty people strong. Between the two of them, there was no way they were bringing forty souvenirs total for their friends, not counting their parents and maybe some of their teachers and coworkers. Miruko, perhaps, if she deserved it after the shit she’d pulled. Then, suddenly, Katsuki had an idea.

“Finish packing and I know exactly what we can bring.”

*

Hours later, they’d made it through customs, both suitcases stuffed with the entirety of the motel’s continental breakfast, all wrapped in individual servings to give to their friends and give them the full experience of America. Honeybuns and breakfast cereals and, well, the fruit they’d actually eaten themselves. It made up for the week of breakfasts they’d skipped, or at least that was the logic Katsuki had given as he’d looked the checkout clerk dead in the eye and swept all the danishes into his bag. Fair was fair.

Since Izuku and Katsuki hadn’t bought their tickets together, their seats weren’t together either on the flight from Texas to Los Angeles or from Los Angeles to Japan. It’d be seventeen hours of horrible, mouth-breathing strangers, all making it even harder to sleep than it already was for Katsuki in a flying room full of people. Despite the jetlag and the early morning, Katsuki wasn’t convinced he’d sleep a wink.

“Boarding group D.”

Katsuki stepped forward to begin boarding the plane. Izuku had bought his ticket more last minute, maybe pulled strings to get on the same flight at all, so he probably had some shitty seat over the wing or right by the bathroom where the seats didn’t recline. Boarding group Z or something. 

The domestic airlines were shit. Tiny seats, no televisions, and the only food offered were tiny cookies and tins of juice. But the flight was less than two hours, and that was all that was on Katsuki’s mind as he stomped to his seat in the middle of the plane. It all went wrong before he even sat down.

“Wow, you’re Dynamight!”

A whole week of blissful anonymity, gone in a moment. The plane broke out in quiet murmurs, and Katsuki caught a quiet, “Who’s that?” “Is that a hero?” He wanted to roll his eyes until they got lost in the hat that should have at least partially shrouded him from this nonsense.

And of course, the guy who he was seated next to was the one who’d started the whole thing.

He was some kind of bro. A deep tan on his arms, a faded baseball cap on his head. Maybe the same age as Katsuki himself. It was always so hard to tell—his class had aged so fast. Scars and lines of concern running all over their skin.

Katsuki sat down heavily, a grunt his only word of acknowledgement towards his row partner.

“So cool!” the guy continued, as though they were in conversation. “Were you on vacation?”

Training, Katsuki wanted to snap back, but that wasn’t quite how things had ended up, was it? “Yep,” he said shortly.

“Ah, that’s awesome,” the guy said, a bit of a drawl spilling out. He was probably from this dusty place. Maybe trying to do something bigger in Los Angeles. “You earned it.”

Katsuki wondered if that was the kind of platitude that all Americans said. If this guy just recognized Katsuki from an internet video he saw sometime or if he had a real idea of Katsuki’s stats, of what it had taken for him to get his license and go on to sit on this slow-boarding plane today. If he had any idea whether Katsuki had deserved it or if he was blowing off work because he was an asshole.

Maybe Katsuki was only wondering that because even after all of this, vacation still didn’t feel like a word meant to be spoken alongside Bakugou Katsuki.

“I love it when heroes chill,” the guy said, testing out the seat’s recline even though they hadn’t taken off yet. “Makes me feel like I’m not an idiot for, you know, not looking over my shoulder every minute and having pepper spray on hand at all times.”

Katsuki turned to the guy. His eyes were bright blue, like All Might’s. “What’re you talking about?”

The guy shrugged. “If you feel safe, I feel safe. If you can take a break, that’s a good sign, right? Even if you live on the other side of the planet. You been keeping up with what’s been happening in Japan?”

Shockingly, Katsuki hadn’t. He and Izuku hadn’t spent much time on their phones. Minimal texting, news updates, or social media. If something big had happened, he’d like to think he would have heard, but what else had he missed?

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” The guy shook his head with a small smile. “Seems like you haven’t missed much.”

At that point, Izuku finally made his slow way down the aisle, keeping his broad shoulders hunched in on himself so he didn’t bump into the seats on either side. He saw Katsuki immediately, because of course he did, and a big smile rose to his face, as though they hadn’t been in each other’s company every second of every minute of the last six days.

But somehow, Katsuki smiled back. Even as the guy next to him gasped, “Hero Deku!” Katsuki couldn’t push down the warm, sappy feeling that came with Izuku smiling at him.

“Kacchan!” Izuku exclaimed as he passed by. “See you soon!”

Katsuki could feel the flickering of the guy’s eyes between the back of his head and Izuku as he found his seat in the back of the plane.

“You traveling together?”

Katsuki grunted. A week ago, the answer was a hard no. Together implies some level of collaboration. Partnership.

“Yeah,” Katsuki said. “He’s…yeah.”

It took ages for the damn aircraft to take off. When it finally did, the tanned patchwork of the American southwest gave way to the rugged mountains which gave way to the smog and sprawl of Los Angeles. Less than two hours in the air.

As the plane taxied, Katsuki heard a voice hissing behind him. “Kacchan! Kacchan, I think we’re gonna have to run!”

Impossible. Their layover was supposed to be an hour and a half, which Katsuki had picked on purpose because he didn’t want to be stuck sitting in America for any longer than he had to be. But it was plenty of time to get from one gate to another, even in an airport as large as LAX.

Or it would be. If they ever found a place to dock the damn plane.

The time that it had taken them to take off in the first place had landed them behind schedule and now every moment spent driving around the airport ate into that hour-and-a-half time slot. Less than an hour now, actually.

When the plane finally docked, Katsuki was perfectly willing to elbow his way off the thing if it meant getting out faster. But it wouldn’t be worth his time if Izuku lollygagged in the back of the plane like Katsuki knew he would. Not because he wasn’t in a hurry, but because he’d let everyone go before him. No elbow throwing to be seen.

So that was how Katsuki came to stand just outside the plane, toe tapping impatiently, memorizing the map of the airport terminals on his phone, refreshing to make sure their location hadn’t changed at the last minute. 

“Kacchan!” Izuku breathed when he finally escaped from the plane. “Let’s go!”

They took off. Izuku had the momentum, so he was a step ahead, but he was grabbing Katsuki’s wrist and dragging him right behind until the wheels of his carry-on sorted themselves out and Katsuki caught up.

A laugh escaped out of Katsuki’s mouth, and it almost made him miss Izuku’s twin sound. Both of their laughter echoing together through the jetway. It was such a special sound, one that didn’t come out when things were always so serious. When they were always saving the day or training themselves up to do so.

They laughed when they were safe. They laughed when their job was done. They laughed when they were together.

“To the shuttle!” Izuku instructed as they burst forth into the boarding area.

They ran through the airport as one oversized force. Two huge, hulking heroes, hands intertwined, with luggage flailing on either side. When they finally made it to their gate, it had only just started boarding.

“Where’d they stick you for this one?” Katsuki panted, reaching for his phone to pull out his boarding pass, brightening the screen to the point of blinding for the scanner to be able to read.

“Oh, um…”

Izuku flashed his boarding pass at Katsuki, and Katsuki only had to read the seat number to know that the boarding group was A. Somehow, this loser had decided to pay out the nose for a first class ticket. Well, if there was ever a time to do it, an overnight flight was that time.

“Fuck you,” Katsuki said simply, keeping his own pass to himself.

“It was the last seat available,” Izuku offered weakly.

“Whatever,” Katsuki snarked. “Hope you’re passed out the whole time.”

Izuku grinned. “Me too, honestly.”

Katsuki didn’t even realize that their hands were still locked together, warm and sweating from the run, until Izuku let go in order to move ahead in line. Meanwhile, Katsuki’s group hadn’t been called yet, so he had nothing to do but wait.

The plane boarded. This time he passed Izuku on his way in, the nerd already stacked high with blankets and pillows. Katsuki’s seat didn’t have either of those, but there was a small TV and the seats were more plush and spacious than on the previous plane. If he could sleep, none of it would matter anyway.

He went unrecognized this time. Or if any of the Japanese passengers recognized him, they were subtle enough not to say anything.

Then Izuku showed up again.

“Excuse me?” he said, and for a second, Katsuki thought he was talking to him. He was about to give him lip about being so formal when he realized that Izuku was looking over his shoulder to the woman sitting beside him. “Excuse me, miss?”

“Yes?” she said, taking out an earbud and looking at Izuku with confusion.

“Well, uh, I was wondering if I could trade seats with you?” Izuku asked. “See, this is my friend here, and, um, I’d like to share the flight with him, if that would be possible?”

The woman looked befuddled. Eyebrows cinched, nose turned up.

“I’m very sorry for the inconvenience but, you understand, well, he’s…a very important person to me,” he blathered on. “And so I hope it’s not too much to ask.”

It was great that there were no eyes on Katsuki, as his cheek color burgeoned to a warm, bright pink. What did very important person mean anyway? What would Izuku call him if they weren’t in public?

Katsuki glanced back at his seatmate, still looking like she’d swallowed a piece of unripe bitter melon. He could sense her mouth about to open into a rejection when he butted in. “His seat is in first class.”

The woman’s face brightened. She was out of the window seat in five seconds, not even waiting for Katsuki to move his legs out of the way. Then Izuku was next to him and it was like they were back in the oversized SUV again, sitting side by side in surprisingly easy company.

“Hi,” Izuku said once he was settled. “I hope that was okay. I just figured…give it a shot, right?”

“Can’t stand a moment without me?” Katsuki asked, grinning. “What are we, brats again?”

“I could stand it,” Izuku disagreed. “I did for the last year. I just…don’t have to. And maybe I wanna make up for lost time.”

Time was something that the two of them kept losing. Through the bulbs of an hourglass were years of their adolescence, months lost in the war through comas and self isolation, and the last year of not knowing what they were doing. Sands lost to stupidity and circumstance.

“Good,” Katsuki said, and as the captain began speaking over the intercom, Katsuki leaned his head on Izuku’s shoulder. He was tired, and his body was still sore from all the training. Izuku was warm and his shoulder was broad and padded with muscle.

Katsuki didn’t even remember taking off.

Tuesday

The flight was long but getting through customs was short. The wait for their luggage was long but the ride to their apartments was short. Too short as they split their separate ways to separate parts of the city, the farthest apart they’d ever lived. Then, in the early evening in Japan and early morning in America, Katsuki went to sleep alone. 

Wednesday

The sound of the buzzer ringing pierced Katsuki from consciousness, and he was up and out of bed before he even knew what he was doing. Some Pavlovian impulse to open the door for whoever was downstairs, he supposed, but as he marched to the door and the morning fog lifted from his mind, it seemed more than likely that he would let them in only to blast their face when they made it to his door. The sun wasn’t even up yet.

It was too early for breakfast, but someone was getting cooked.

Of course, when he saw the grainy black-and-white security camera footage of an idiot lifting a plastic bag up and waving, he rolled his eyes and buzzed said idiot in. He’d decide whether to cook him or not when he got to Katsuki’s door.

Idly, Katsuki thought maybe he should just give the guy a key.

He hadn’t moved from the door by the time the knock came, and Katsuki whipped it open to reveal Izuku’s  face shift from surprise to happiness. “Kacchan!” he exclaimed. “I brought breakfast!”

Breakfast had no smell and the rustle of convenience store plastic, but Katsuki couldn’t complain since he hadn’t eaten anything since about the time they’d been flying over the International Date Line. When Katsuki peeked in the bag, he saw rice balls, drinkable yogurt, miso soup, porridge, and fruit. And that was just what was visible on top.

Izuku shrugged. “I didn’t know what you wanted? Kacchan needs his protein!”

Katsuki snatched the bag and brought it to the kitchen. He may have emptied out the fridge before leaving for his trip, but he still had hot water and could heat and reconstitute everything in minutes.

“I know I’m going into the office this morning,” Katsuki said as he started opening packages and Izuku leaned against the counter. “Last I checked, you don’t work till tonight. Why’re you awake?”

“Actually, I changed my schedule,” Izuku said, munching on a rice ball. “Not from now on or anything, just for today. Early shift.”

“Following me again?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been able to help it.”

It was shockingly domestic. The meals shared and carpooling and partnering up had been one thing—it had been bonding—but this was different. This was in Katsuki’s home when his teeth were not yet brushed, about to go to work and do what he did every day. It was integration. It was what they should have been doing the whole time.

“Soup,” Katsuki said, putting down a small, steaming bowl of miso soup and a set of chopsticks on the counter. Then, almost as an afterthought, he pressed a kiss to the side of Izuku’s cheek. It was rougher than yesterday with stubble from the day of travel, rushing over to Katsuki’s apartment without even looking at himself in the mirror.

They were both efficient eaters, always scarfing down food quickly before getting back to school or work, so it wasn’t long before they were heading out and taking the train together to headquarters. Their bodies were pressed together on the train, everyone stuffed tight with morning rush hour. 

It would be so easy to pull Izuku close, wrap his arms around his waist, rest his chin on his shoulder. But they weren’t there yet. They weren’t public—even if they were public, they didn’t have a label—and as it was, Katsuki didn’t know what to do with his hands. So he kept them at his side and focused on staying balanced on the train so that he didn’t go crashing into Izuku the next time the train stopped.

Although, maybe that didn’t sound so bad. It’d probably be easier.

*

“Thought you were slick, huh?”

Miruko kicked her legs on top of her desk, making a loud thump thump that sent paperwork and the packaged honeybun they’d just given her to the floor. Thump.

“Hope you’ve learned not to pull one over on me, blasty.”

Katsuki scowled. “Learned not to trust you farther than I can throw you.”

“So you must trust me quite a bit,” Miruko retorted. “I expect you’re stronger than ever after what you tried to pull.”

Miruko grinned and Katsuki bit his tongue. He couldn’t go against a compliment.

Izuku laughed and that drew Miruko’s attention back to him. “And you, changing your schedule at the last second so you could come in this morning?”

It felt like they were back in high school, sitting on a couch together with All Might sitting across from them. Once again, they were a fledgling team with hardly a clue about how to move forward together. They’d figured it out on the fly back then, and they could do it again now.

“Kacchan and I have some proposals that we wanted to talk about as soon as possible.”

Miruko put her arms out towards them. “Please.”

“Japan has been fine this last week,” Izuku started. “I looked up the incident reports and arrests, and I could show them to you but I already know that you know that Japan didn’t fall apart without us. So it would also be fine if we worked together, instead of spreading out our power. Other heroes will rise to the task, and we’d be happy to mentor sidekicks for just that reason.”

Izuku sounded a little stilted and stiff, like he might have typed the speech and memorized it before bringing it into the room, but it was all sound enough. Basically what they had talked about just a couple days ago.

Miruko looked to Katsuki. “Do you want to be hero partners with Deku?”

Katsuki nodded. “We should at least be given the chance to try it out.”

“I agree.”

Katsuki blinked. He’d expected at least some kind of a fight. Maybe a kick to the solar plexus.

“Look, we’re still settling after the war,” Miruko explained. “Our numbers are still down, and I think most of us are paranoid. We’ve been painting with broad strokes, trying to figure out how we can do things differently from last time, how we can set ourselves up for success. We tried separating power, but hey, if you boys want to try something different, let’s see if that works. Saving the world shoulda earned you both some kind of cache.”

“So…that’s it?”

“That’s it,” Miruko confirmed. “Well, I mean, you will have to fill out new paperwork, and the two of you definitely have to figure out how to make a new schedule work with this lineup, ‘cause I’m sure as hell not doing it, and so I guess that’s what you’ll spend the rest of the day doing instead of boom boom smash smash on the streets. Oh well!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, scooching his chair back and letting it screech against the floor. Whatever, it’d probably be best to rest up more before hitting the streets anyway. He was about to reach for the door when Miruko’s voice, sickly sweet, came from the desk.

“Oh, and Deku? How was your vacation?”

Katsuki and Izuku exchanged a glance. “You mean mission?”

“I mean vacation,” Miruko said smugly. “You think I really sent you to America to look after Katsuki? I thought you were smarter than that, sucker.”

“Wha—” Izuku looked back and forth between Miruko and Katsuki, bewildered, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that yeah, you were supposed to make Katsuki take a chill pill for once in his life, but to do that, you’d have to take a chill pill too. If you made him vacation, that’d mean that you’d have to do it too.”

It was so obvious Katsuki wanted to smack his head against the wall. Maybe through the wall. They’d both been severely played. And the proof of it spread across Miruko’s face from ear to longass ear.

Miruko grinned. “Bye now!”

The two of them left, and Katsuki made no effort not to slam the door on his way out. Ears that big, let them ring from the noise.

As they walked down the hallway to the elevator, their knuckles brushed against each other, and Katsuki’s fingers twitched in Izuku’s direction. But he kept them to himself, whispering to Izuku instead, “We can’t let her find out we’re together, or she’ll be even more smug.”

“Insufferable,” Izuku agreed.

“Are we…telling anyone?”

Anyone in their lives had a chance of being equally as insufferable, honestly, it was just a matter of duration. Most of their friends were annoying enough to cling onto it for a long, long time.

“I don’t think we have to?” Izuku said. “We’re still figuring it out. Here. We’re still figuring everything out.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki agreed. “We can’t let them see us be amateurs at this.”

“Number one only,” Izuku agreed.

They’d have to work for a few hours, fill out that paperwork and figure out the scheduling nonsense and whatever else Miruko tried to kick their way. But there was no reason why they had to stay at the office to do that. And after that, the rest of their day was free.

“Y’know, the weather looked clear today,” Katsuki said as they stepped into the elevator. “I bet we could go on a hike.”

“I dunno, Kacchan, there’s no food in my fridge,” Izuku said. “I need to go grocery shopping.”

“Actually, I do too,” Katsuki remembered, thinking about the sad condiments languishing in his fridge with no meat or vegetables. “You know what, we’ve gotta find out what that jam tastes like on pork.”

Izuku groaned hungrily. “Yes, Kacchan, please. If you do, I’ll make the rice.”

“Ugh, it feels like forever since I’ve eaten regular rice.”

“I know, I miss it.”

“Okay, rice, pork, we need a vegetable.”

“Chiles? They tasted so good.”

“The spice will come from the pork, so let’s do shishitos. I have the shit for a glaze in my fridge.”

The elevator popped open and in a few steps they were out on the streets, back in the humidity and rainy season of Japan, time zone still recalibrating, mentally unpacking. Their hands continued to brush together, swish swish with every step they took.

Another grain of sand through the hourglass. And the glass became one speck clearer.

#anjum writes #bkdk #bakudeku #dkbk #dekubaku #bakudekubaku #bkdkbk #dkbkdk #dekubakudeku #ktdk #katsudeku

[talenlee]

4e: Alternate Rewards

If you’re one of the many people who these days primarily interact with 4th edition D&D not through a set of physical books or even legally-acquired and properly indexed PDFs but rather through some kind of searchable javascript database, then you may have had some reason to stumble into browsing the items category. This category, typically, is arranged by alphabetical order, with the subcategories also in alphabetical order, meaning that while you may have popped it open expecting to browse Ankheg Armour and Armbands of Apparel, you instead get smacked first and foremost in the face with the category of Alternate Reward, shriven of any and all context describing what they are or how they work. You may even have read some of them and found yourself reacting to something like ‘oh this is cool, I would want that,’ then ‘how much is it, can I afford it in my character’s budget?’ and then a sudden sharp shock.

Because alternate rewards are really cheap, don’t take an item slot, and in some cases, offer nearly unique powers at bargain basement prices. Some that don’t offer unique powers just offer powers that normally only show up on items that have some other expensive purpose, like armour or weapons, and so you want to level them up anyway, meaning the effect never gets to be ‘really’ cheap.

But some of these things are so good for such a tiny amount of money spent, like:

Ioun’s Revelation is 680 gp for an item that just gives you a +2 item bonus to all skills. All of them.  That frees up any other items you may have wanted for a skill bonus.

Pelor’s Sun’s Blessing, famously strong boon for the Radiant Mafia coalition, gives you bonus damage equal to your constitution or wisdom when you attack radiant-vulnerable foes, which is to say all of them.

Corellon’s Boon of Arcane Might. This as its property, its property, adds an arcane at-will power to your repertoire as an encounter power. For the low low price of 680 gp, which is to say, meaninglessly small amounts to a early Paragon adventurer, you can have, say, Queen’s Clemency, a minor action any-target teleport 1 that the Bard gets at level 22. Or Dominant Winds, which gives you or an ally movement up to your dex mod as a flight speed.

And those might seem to you to be kinda unimportant things, and I would agree, but at a price point of 680 gp, the question becomes why doesn’t everyone have this. This is one of the problems of the Magic Economy in D&D, and 4e has it as a problem all the stronger because it tries to treat things as a coherent world that functions properly, where thing A is thing A even if it’s being held by two different people. The problem that follows from that is that something granting you (say) one free square of movement at level 1 is still granting 1 free square of movement at level 30, and a square is still a square. Rewards, because they so often stack, are still great, and items that don’t occupy slots tend to be even better. Space is the real premium. As long as you keep your armour and attacking items as top-notch as possible, the person with more toys and more tools is going to be able to do more stuff in less time and that’s just a way to make a character stronger.

Now I don’t want to sell this too hard. See, one of the things a lot of these Alternate Rewards offer is a Daily Power, and Daily Item powers aren’t free. You can only use so many Daily Powers in a day – one per tier per Milestone, which is a good bit of design that stops you from carrying multiples of a magic item with a daily power so you can just fire them off then huck them over your shoulder like you’re speed-solving Rubik’s Cubes that can also blow people’s heads up. That means that the flexibility offered by having these cheap low-level Daily powers is pretty meh, since odds are good that your highest level item has the best Daily Item Power you want to have access to.

On the other hand I don’t like Daily Item Powers, because I hate feeling like I’ve wasted them by not using them at the right time. I build for passives and encounter powers.

So okay, Alternate Rewards.

They’re kind of a problem.

But what are they? What’s with this category of slotless items that give you some shockingly cute abilities, for seemingly no meaningful reason? The thing is, they’re there to be exactly what they’re called: Alternate Rewards. They appear not in the item books like Mordenkainen’s Big Naturals, but rather in modules, where you could run players through it, and they could fight through standard content and get cool stuff for it, and at the end, rather than necessarily being handed goodies, they could be given blessings or special abilities from divine forces or amazing and important grandmasters of a technique teaching them how to do something cool, and because these cool abilities are meant to represent part of the character’s budget they have prices. That’s a cool use of the money system.

It’s also implied but never-really-hard-defined-how-and-why that these boons should fade in time. Y’know, like how over time you’ll replace a sword you got. Except that’s weird too, because these alternate rewards represent learning experiences and a relationship with a divine entity. What does that mean then? Your character just gets to a certain point and the Raven Queen asks well what have you done for me lately?

But they uh, they sit in the database like stuff you can buy.

Personally, I don’t think that these are bad items. Honestly, I think having them available to muck around with is really cool, and even trying to push the odd ones like Corellon’s Boon and Pelor’s Boon just makes things that are already good or interesting more flexible.  The problem is more about their cheapness and how that results in them being functionally omnipresent.

This isn’t limited to just Alternate Rewards, mind you. Dice of Auspicious Fortune are probably one of the best wondrous items in the game just because they occupy no slots and their use is on-demand and no-action. Any given character who can afford them is going to wind up using them, and it is more of a question of when than if. Personally, I feel that if you’re going to have anything in the game that becomes mandatory like this, it needs to either be folded into how the game works or it needs to go, just because having a choice that’s not a choice creates a power gap between people who do or don’t know, and it makes things in a big top-down view more boring. Much in the same way that 100% of teams running a Snorlax or every deck running a Sol Ring makes a game that promises creative expression, the presence of choices where the only thing asked is ‘why don’t you have this yet’ represent not a failing of players but a failing of the design.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#DnD4E #DungeonsDragons #Games

#DnD 4e #Dungeons & Dragons #Games

[bubblyhoney]

can i request a fic where sapnap takes the reader to his hometown? like the classic going to places he went to when he was younger. maybe playgrounds and ice cream shops idk

places i used to go

warnings: language of course, an allusion to virginap, my uneducated guess of what sapnap was like in highschool, tiny detail of long haired!sapnap, singular canon detail of underage drinking, jokish about marriage

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

words: 2191

A/N: you are a god, anon. i love comfy and nostalgic fics like these and it was so fun to write. if you hate it dont tell me but if you like it lemme know akskdjd

inbox/requests: open

-

The wind whips fast on your bare fingers, cool and quick and raising goosebumps in its wake. You blink in the haze of the early sunset, head lolled to the side of the headrest. It feels good.

“That’s where I went to high school.” Sapnap interrupts your thoughts and points a finger at a collection of tall brick buildings down a side street. The silver of the lettering is dull, but you can still feel the nostalgia.

“And you’re about to see the park that me and my friends used to hang out at after work and—actually, nevermind.” His arm drops to the middle console and he looks straight ahead with slightly pinker cheeks.

“Do what?” You ask, voice all sweet, and a grin grows on your face. You turn towards him and wiggle your eyebrows.

“Nothing. Homework.” He avoids your eye contact and hikes his hand up higher on the steering wheel. “Anyways— Do you want to get some food before we head out? I know a great place.”

You two were just coming to a close on your little trip to visit his family; it was his step-mom’s birthday and you decided to make a week of it. It was your first long-term trip with Sapnap, and also your first time meeting his dad’s side of the family. You were proud to say she loved you. His little sister took a little more effort to talk to you of her own volition, but soon enough she was on your side.

You have a couple hours to kill before making your flight back home, so Sapnap has taken it upon himself to give you a quick tour of his hometown.

“Yeah,” you decide, bottom lip popped out. “Can we get ice cream after?”

“Uh, duh.” The Neighbourhood’s Stargazing starts through the speakers and he reaches to turn it down. “I’m so ready to get home and sleep.” He stretches his neck in his seat, letting out an uncharacteristically inappropriate grunt when his bones pop. You make a disgusted face, nose wrinkling, but stretch your own back, slumping down in the seat. The day had been full of packing up and this horrible hike his dad liked to do early in the mornings, so you two were pretty beat.

“Okay, we’re here,” he announces three sleepy minutes later in his best attempt at a whisper. Lifting your head off of the corner of your seat, you blink in the setting sunlight as a yawn splits your face. “You’re so cute.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, and struggle to get your seatbelt off in that post-nap haze. You’d barely been asleep for thirty seconds, damn it. The air is a swampy heat when you step out of the car onto rocky gravel and nearly twist your ankle climbing over the curb. Sapnap catches you by the lower back, trying to hide his laugh but failing miserably. You slide him a dirty look, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can manage while limping towards the front entrance.

The door jingles when you two breach the doorway, alerting a bored-looking hostess that the circus has arrived. She looks at Sapnap a second longer than she should, eyebrows screwed together in silent confusion. But she leads the two of you to a booth near a large window, handing you sticky menus and promptly fucking right off to the host station. She nearly runs.

“Do you know her?” You ask, inconspicuously hiding your face in the search for their 24/7 breakfast menu. You feel his eyes on you.

“Don’t think so.” He leans on one elbow and slides his phone out of his jeans’ pocket. In the 25 seconds it takes for you to find their french toast and sides menu, he has browsed and closed his phone with an animatedly shocked look on his face.

“What?” You give him a weird look and put down the menu.

“I totally went to homecoming with that girl.” He eyes the hostess. You glance over at her again, meeting her gaze, and offer a polite smile. She turns away quickly, eyes wide.

“She’s cute,” you say, voice high and fake, and he drums his fingers on the tabletop as an amused look makes its way onto his face.

“Are you—?”

“What?” You reply right back.

“Nothing.”

Thank God the server comes up to your table then and starts asking for drink orders, or else you’d have to admit (sheepishly) you were a tiny eensy-weensy bit annoyed. Only a tad. But after requesting a Dr. Pepper and a water the conversation surrounding the nervous-looking hostess dies.

“I’m so hungry I think I feel my stomach shrinking.” You flop your head onto your arm on the table top and make a whiny noise into the stack of napkins your server left at the table. Sapnap rubs his thumb into the side of your forearm, touch warm and nearly dissolving the pangs of hunger and jealousy.

“You weren’t hungry an hour ago.” He lifts your hand to his face and plants a kiss on the back of it. Oh, pulling out the big guns, huh? “I would have made you something.”

You tilt onto your chin, pouting, and stare up at his cute face. His cute, scruffy, perfectly-kissable face.

“I think I got hungry staring at you for half an hour.” A mischievous grin grows on your previously-petulant face and he just shakes his head.

“I do have that effect,” he admits with cockiness in his tone, lifting his eyebrows and leaning back into the booth with his lips pursed.

The server returns with two glasses and takes your food orders onto their little yellow notepad. You chug the water down when they leave for the kitchen, getting your lap and chin thoroughly wet in the process. Sapnap just snorts at you and shoves the napkins your way.

“So,” you start, patting dry your jeans. “tell me what you were like in high school.” You cross your arms and settle into the booth, smirk on your lips.

“What I was like?” He parrots, sipping at his soda, looking thoughtful. “Firstly, a virgin.” You make a noise. Duh. Dude had a buzz cut his junior year. (You’ve seen the pictures. His step-mom particularly likes them.) “Secondly, I was actually— well, I wasn’t popular, but I had a lot of friends. We were all semi-athletic lonely band kids but we had fun. Had one girlfriend senior year but she went to Cal Tech in the fall and I didn’t. I, um, worked at a Dairy Queen in the summers and gained so much weight I had to lose all over again for Unified Track.”

“Relatable,” you comment, drinking noisily at your water. He fiddles with the paper straw wrapper and crunches it up into a ball. It goes soaring into your drink with a quiet “Kobe” and you just give him a look. He smiles toothily right back at you. “Stop being cute, I’m trying to listen to your story.”

“Oh, my bad,” he mocks. “Anyways. That’s what I was like in highschool.” You fish the paper ball out of your water and flick it wetly at his arm. It sticks and you choke on a laugh, cheeks puffed.

Two plates of warm food are set down loudly onto the table and you thank the server with a surprised smile, Sapnap mirroring you.

Two minutes of wordless chewing passes, minds occupied just by “food, me eat” instead of anything related to your previous conversation. You realize that Sapnap is one of the loudest chewers ever, and he realizes that you fail to notice the streak of maple syrup in your hair.

“C’mere,” he mumbles through a mouthful of omelet and hash browns and beckons you with his hand. You lean closer, chewing slowly, as he pats a napkin at the strands of hair trapped in syrup.

“Thanks, baby.” You take the napkin from him and pause your assault of the warm french toast before you to clean the sticky sugar out of your hair. He just watches you, half of a smile on his lips.

You two finish your food in record time. It’s borderline vacuum-like. There’s a short grace period where you just sit like two lazy cats, slumped down in the booth and holding your full stomachs. But the check comes soon after, and you both pay your way and are out of the restaurant without any mad dashes for the bathroom. A miracle, really, because of the American-like amount of butter you both consume.

“I’m a much more functional person now,” you mutter into the cotton of his shoulder, swinging your hand in his. He just hums in agreement.

“I guess we’re not getting ice cream, then,” he teases, and you just groan in response.

“I don’t feel like having diarrhea on a plane, unfortunately.” You sigh heavily when you have to split and get into your respective sides of the rental car.

The entire trip (somewhat roundabout because of the amount of side quests to show you things from his childhood) to the airport Sapnap is a chatterbox. He’s like this when he has sugar: either bouncing off the walls with energy or talking your ear off.

“That’s where my dad proposed to my step-mom. I was kinda young but I remember being surprised at how big the ring was— dude broke the bank for her.” It’s a little gazebo you catch a glimpse of through the trees in a park. It probably was an incredibly picturesque moment, and you can sense how much she must have loved it. With just meeting them this weekend, you can already see how much love those two have for each other.

You hope people can see how much you love Sapnap.

“Oh my God, it’s still there.” He points out the side of your window to what looks like a Dairy Queen that has been through World War 3. “My buddy Eric and I once spilled a gallon of that liquid ice-cream-shit all over the men’s bathroom.”

You shoot him a horrified look. “Why was it in the bathroom?”

He just smirks.

“—And that’s my Uncle Ron’s house. Had my first beer there.”

“And last, hopefully,” you add, pulling a disgusted face. The two story bungalow is cute, and one of your favorite colors: olive green. “That shit is nasty.”

He just shrugs and continues down the side street.

“Is this the park you were talking about?”

He pulls into the gravelly parking lot of a small clearing of tall trees, a picnic table and campfire sat squat in the middle. But he doesn’t respond, just turning the car off and climbing out. He reaches the passenger door without speaking, and opens it for you. You climb carefully out, confused.

“Come on.” He takes your hand and starts for a small path to the left of the picnic table. The mid-sunset shade envelopes the both of you.

“I hope this isn’t where you kill me.”

“No,” he snorts. “I just wanted to show you something.”

It’s just a few moments of stumbling through the damp underbrush before you’re coming face to face with a small, mossy pond that sits right underneath an incredibly old willow tree. He stops right on the edge of the rocky path and turns toward you.

“This your make out spot?” You ask between a grin as he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush to him. Your innocent smile fades when you feel the press of his lips to the side of your neck, light and ticklish. Oh.

“No,” he murmurs, and just breathes you in. “I came here once—the night before I graduated highschool. And I told myself when I really really loved someone I’d take them here with me.” He sways with you in his grasp, a gentle and song-less dance.

You grip his shoulder tighter in your hand and lean into him.

“That’s— awfully romantic, huh?” Your voice is quiet. Almost nervous. He just makes a noise of agreement.

“So here we are.” His voice is the opposite of yours, all strong and confident.

You two just move together for a moment. The sun breaks through the tree canopy, shining bright orange down onto the glassy surface of the pond. Crickets and frogs chirp back and forth as the willow vines swing in a cool evening breeze. You watch nature come alive around you, suddenly grateful for the man in your arms.

“Don’t propose,” you whisper, breaking the gentle tension. A laugh breaks the silence and he’s pulling away to look at you. Maybe in disbelief. A strand of hair falls into his eyes and you brush it away, fingers stilling on his temple and sliding down onto his cheek. Stubble scrapes against the skin of your palm and he stares at you through those meadow eyes.

You realize in that moment that he is exactly himself. Of course he is. He’s Sapnap, and everything that encompasses that. Dark and light and fiery and cool. He always has been, and always will be.

You realize you wouldn’t mind if he proposed.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. let me know what you think

#sapnap #mcyt #sapnap x gn!reader #sapnap x reader #sapnap x you #sapnap fluff #sapnap drabble #sapnap one shot #sapnap oneshot #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #honey answers #my lovely anon #sapnap fanfic #bubblyhoneyfics

[jobean12-blog]

Playtime

Pairing: Bucky x reader (Dad!bucky au)

Word Count: 1,112

Summary: You’re spending the night at Bucky’s and you two need some playtime but someone has other ideas...

Author’s Note: Thank you for this lovely request sweets! And thank you for your kind words, I’m really happy you’re enjoying them! I would never ignore you! I have some requests I’m still working through so I’m always so thankful for everyone’s kindness and patience! Inspiration strikes in all different ways and at different times! Dad!bucky is a love of mine so I hope you like this! Thanks again! Thank you all for reading and much love always! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Sweet, soft fluff filled love with a sprinkle of spice! ;) Dad!bucky <3

Bucky watches as you lay on the floor in his living room, carefully choosing the next block for the princess castle you’re building with his daughter. “Oh, good choice y/n! That one will look pretty.” Sam’s smile is permanent as the two of you play together, her sweet 4-year-old voice full of happiness, “I think we should make the tower real high!”

You agree enthusiastically and start to stack the blocks higher and higher. She squeals in excitement when you pick her up so she can reach and place more blocks on top. “What do you think Sam? Tall enough? Her chubby finger taps her chin, “hmmm. Let’s ask daddy!” You put her down and she runs into the kitchen, pulling on Bucky’s sweats, “daddy, please come see our castle.”

Bucky dries his hands and picks her up, resting her on his hip, “of course baby. Let’s go!” When he sees the castle, he makes sure to get overly excited and fawn over how beautiful it is. “It’s perfect!” Sam claps and kneels back down to look for more blocks. Bucky’s arm slides around your waist and he pulls you into his side, “I love seeing you two play together. She really loves this time with you.”

Your blush is hard to hide so you dip your head into his chest, circling your arms around his middle, “I do too Buck. Thanks.” As soon as Sam catches you two in an embrace she rushes over and wedges herself between your legs, hugging tight to as many as she can hold. “I want hugs too!” Bucky chuckles and kneels down, the three of you know squeezing each other tightly.

Once bath time and reading are finished you help Sam into bed and tuck her in, kissing her cheek before she and Bucky have their special nighttime routine. Bucky walks back into the bedroom and shuts the door before nearly launching himself onto the bed. “I’ve been waiting for this all day. No offense to Sam.” You purr against his lips, running your fingertips over the hard muscles of his back, “oh me too, especially after all your teasing this morning.”

Bucky has the audacity to laugh and you smack his ass, “it’s not funny. Interrupted or not you can’t leave a girl like that all day.” His large and warm hand slips under your shirt, “let me make it up to you then.” He’s just about to pull your shirt over your head when you hear the shrill voice of Sam from the other side of the door, “Daddy, I can’t find teddy.”

Bucky’s head drops to your shoulder and he groans before trailing several kisses along your neck and standing, “I’m coming sweetheart.” He shuffles to the door and opens it, slipping through and closing it behind him. Only a few minutes pass before the door opens again and he walks in with a devilish smirk, “now where were we?”

You part your legs so his large frame can settle between them and help him out of his shirt, yours following just a second later. His lips make their way down to the soft skin of your stomach and just when he reaches the waistband of your leggings you hear Sam call for you. “Shit!” Bucky grumbles, pausing and looking up at you. “Give her a minute. Maybe if we don’t answer she will get the hint.”

It’s hard not to laugh and you quickly cover your mouth, whispering, “she’s 4 babe!” Bucky hovers between your legs, placing open mouth kisses over the thin fabric of your leggings, “I can’t wait to get these off you.” Your laughter quickly turns into a moan when his mouth brushes against your most sensitive parts and you take a fistful of his hair in your hand, tugging him closer. He growls against you, hooking his thumbs into your leggings and slowly peeling them down.

“Daddyyyyyyy! Y/n! I can’t sleep!” Your head drops back to the pillow and Bucky sighs, pushing himself up and walking toward the door. “Wait Buck! I have an idea!” You stand up, throwing his shirt over your head and pulling up your leggings, “do you have Christmas lights handy?” He gives you a weird look but says, “yeaaaaa. Why?” Giving him a quick kiss and a wink, you reply with, “just get them and meet me in Sam’s room!”

He smacks your ass on the way out and you screech, making a bee line for her room and shutting the door quietly. “Hi baby. Can’t sleep huh?” Sam’s bottom lip trembles and you rush to her bed, tucking her under your arm and lightly brushing your fingers over her scalp. “You know what I do when I can’t sleep?” She looks up at you with big blue eyes that match her dad’s and you nearly melt, “what?”

You don’t say anything and stand up, gently pulling her from the bed and grabbing the pillows and blankets. “I make a fort!” She watches in silence while you carefully build a cozy space of soft pillows and warm blankets with just enough room for her to cuddle in. Bucky arrives just as you finish and holds up the lights. “Wow, that’s some fort!”

Sam jumps up and down, throwing herself at you in a flying hug, “thank you y/n! It’s perfect.” You give her a mischievous smile, “we aren’t done yet. Watch this!” You take the string of white lights from Bucky and plug them in by her dresser, carefully winding them along her wall using whatever is available. When you’re done her room is aglow with the soft twinkle of the lights and Bucky is standing there looking delighted.

“What do you think?” Sam can barely contain her happiness as she climbs into her fort and curls up. “It’s the best fort EVER! Thank you!.” You give her cheek a soft kiss and start to head out, but she quietly calls for you, “what is it baby?” Fiddling with the ears of her teddy she asks, “can you tell me a story? Just one. Before I fall asleep.” You happily agree and sit down by the bed, launching into a story about a princess who lived among the stars.

By the time you finish Sam is fast asleep and Bucky’s eyes have glazed over with love, “you’re amazing. You know that.” He’s seated in the rocking chair at the far corner of the room and you saunter over, standing between his legs. “I know. Hopefully now she’ll sleep through the night.” He pulls you down into his lap, “I hope so, because I literally can’t wait to get my hands on you.”

@addikted-2-dopamine @bugsbucky @breezy1415 @buckys-henley @bisousbucky @buckstaybucky @book-dragon-13 @chuuulip @eurynome827​ @hiddles-rose​ @hailmary-yramliah​ @hawksmagnolia​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @ikaris-whore​ @godofplumsandthunder​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ @jhangelface0523​ @jewels2876​ @loricameback​ @lorilane33​ @lokilvrr​ @littledarlinhavefaithinme​ @littleredstarfish​ @lookiamtrying​ @marvelandotherfandomimagines​ @marvelgirl7​ @nano--raptor​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @randomfandompenguin​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​ @tuiccim​ @this-kitten-is-smitten​ @the-wayward-robot​ @yansi1923​ @saiyanprincessswanie​

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #dad!bucky #dad!bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky fluff #bucky #dad!bucky au #dad!bucky fluff #dad!bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes au #bucky au #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #single dad!bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction

[ibis-gt]

moooore boxer au, directly following my little drabble from last night. there's good reason boxer cam and boxer laz haven't fought before, cos 6'8 heavyweight cam and 5'6 welterweight laz aren't even close to the same weight class, but laz is confident-leaning-to-arrogant enough that he thinks he can land some solid hits and dodge enough of cam's to at least not suffer a knockout loss in this supposedly-friendly spar.

he is wrong. 3600 words. warnings for a little blood and violence, disclaimer that i literally only know boxing from anime and webcomics so some of this is gonna be Incorrect Terminology

~~~

Laz and Sal step into the gym's arena and see Cam chatting animatedly with a short, curly-haired guy. Cam glances over his shoulder when he hears the door open and somehow lights up even brighter. He waves and calls out to them, then plants a hand on the turnbuckle and vaults over the top rope, easily swinging his 300-some pound bulk in a graceful arc clear. 

Laz's throat tightens and his already racing heart starts working overtime. This guy shouldn't be anywhere near as nimble as all that. He's an aging slugger whose most famous matches involved him sitting still and tanking hits.

He's just showing off, Laz reassures himself. It's an intimidation tactic. Let's see him three rounds into the match when I've given him a couple straights.

"Hey, great to see you!" Cam's voice booms out as he crosses the gym floor. "I'm so glad you took my offer. I've been watching you pretty closely as of late - you've got real skill! But I just had to find out how you are firsthand." He extends his hand for a shake, then pauses as he sees Laz already has his gloves on. Cam laughs, a short, booming sound that seems to shake the room. "Okay, down to business already, huh? That's fine! Let me get changed and I'll join you." 

He settles for slapping Laz on the back, which nearly knocks him over, and offering Sal a fistbump, which Sal returns shakily. Cam ambles off towards a changing room. As he passes by the mat, he holds up a hand, and the curly-haired guy tosses his gloves at him, which he catches deftly. Then he stops on his heel and whirls around, clapping a hand to his forehead.

"Oh! How rude of me. You probably don't know Luther, he's my boyfriend and occasional second.'' 

Luther waves. "That's me! Nice to meet you." Laz nods, and Sal waves back. 

"Lazarus...'' Sal begins, but Laz cuts him off. 

"Don't worry so much. Just a friendly fight, right? That means he'll take it easy, and I'll knock his head off while his guard is down.'' 

Sal can't help but laugh, a high-pitched, almost frantic giggle that explodes out of him without warning. Laz is always so keyed up, like he turned the dial to 11 and snapped it off. He's deadly serious of course, but he’s not bothered by Sal's laughter. He starts to bounce on his toes, swaying side to side a little, then takes a swift step to the left, back to the right, circles an invisible opponent, and - onetwothree, quick jabs in succession that trail down his phantom foe's body, no doubt leaving them stunned.

Cam comes back out of the changing room, now outfitted in a pair of black shorts and classic red gloves. He smacks them against each other a few times and beams at Laz.

They climb up into the ring together. Sal hovers behind one corner, while Luther calls out from the other side.

“We’re goin’ three rounds, one minute between each! Standard ten count, three downs in one round is a TKO. Keep it clean, fellas! And go!” He dings the bell to start the round and leans on the turnbuckle, watching intently.

Laz moves side to side, keeping his eyes on Cam. The larger man has a gentle smile on his face. Well, he’d soon wipe that clear. Laz just needs to wait for an opportunity and slip inside his guard. They’d see how that legendary endurance stacked up against Laz’s counter.

Cam moves forward and closes the distance, leading with a jab. It’s almost offensively lazy, clearly just testing Laz’s reflexes. He dodges around it and lets out a huff. I’m not going in on something that obvious, he thinks to himself. Give me something real, old man, this isn’t kindergarten.

Cam grins as though he can hear Laz’s thoughts. He lets loose with a quick combo, faster than Laz would have expected from a slugger his size. Laz dances around the first hit, blocks the second, and steps in under the third, landing a hit on Cam’s stomach. It’s his first sign that he might be in over his head. It’s like punching a concrete wall. That layer of fat must hide a solid slab of muscle. Cam barely moves, even though Laz put most of his weight behind the blow. Laz dances back out of his reach as quickly as he can, narrowly avoiding a right hook. 

Okay, okay, okay. Your opponent’s bigger and stronger than you, he’s got the longer reach, and he can take what you’re throwing at him. Stay on the defensive, don’t let him get you riled up. Laz tosses his head to get his hair out of his face - how many times had Sal urged him to wear a headband? Well, too late now - and starts circling, trying to get a better angle. Cam turns with him. That smile from earlier has settled in and kicked its feet up now. It’s going to take some doing to wipe it off his face. Laz can feel his temper start to rise. It’s something he’s struggled with his whole life - he just gets so angry sometimes. He’s usually able to channel it into something productive, cool anger instead of burning rage, but something in Cam’s demeanor is starting to set him off. Cam’s guard isn’t fully up. It’s like he’s taunting Laz - you’re so small, your reach is so short, I bet you can’t even hit me up here. Try it. Laz slows his breathing and focuses on Cam’s hands instead of his face. Try and knock his head off and you’ll only prove him right. You’ve got to keep it together now and explode later when it won’t get you clobbered. 

Cam comes at him with a few more jabs, putting on some pressure. Laz slips them each in turn, backing up and watching him whiff. He’s starting to catch on to Cam’s rhythm. It’s pretty simple - two jabs with the left, one with the right. Two left, one right. Two left, one right. Laz is trying to keep the ring in mind and not let himself get backed into a corner, and that’s why Cam’s sudden change in rhythm takes him by surprise. One left, and suddenly a right that catches him just as he’s shifting to anticipate the second left. He blocks it - he’s no rookie, he knows to keep his guard up - but it shudders through his body like a cymbal crash. Jesus - if I'd taken that straight on - but there’s no time to think about the hypotheticals. He’s stuttered in his movements and Cam is closing in on the opening, backing him up against the ropes. Laz ducks left, right, blocks another hit that makes his arms ring with pain, and then ducks right under Cam’s arm and spins around him, dancing away with quick hops. By the time Cam’s turned to face him, Laz is bouncing in the middle of the ring again.

“Good!” Cam calls out, and Laz wants to hit him so bad he could scream. “You’re slippery as all hell. That little trick’s won me a match or two, y’know.”

Laz grits his teeth and resumes his defensive stance.

“More of the strong silent type, huh?” Cam says conversationally. “I like a little chatter myself. Good to touch base every now and then. Anyway!” He makes a sudden lunge forward, winding up for a devastating straight. Laz sees his opening and takes it.

He slips under Cam’s punch, using his short stature to his advantage. Just inside Cam’s guard, he crouches low and explodes upwards, slamming an uppercut into Cam’s chin. Cam stumbles back, head tilted to the ceiling. Laz closes on the opening, landing blow after blow now that his guard is down. He’s about to go for a straight when Cam’s head snaps back up along with his hands. Laz doesn’t have time to slip or dodge, he’s already committed to the punch, and time seems to crawl to a halt as Cam’s right glove speeds towards his face. Red fills his vision and he has time to think: ah, fuck.

He gets up. He does not start swinging just yet, opting to hang back a moment and take stock. Cam looks a little ruffled, a few hairs loose from his immaculate bun, some red marks on his body that will no doubt bloom into bruises later on. He shifts his jaw from side to side and licks his lip, which has split open, letting a trickle of blood down his chin. Laz is much worse for wear in their exchange. Sweat drips down his forehead and nose, and his cheek is throbbing with pain.

Lazarus has been punched in the face many times before; getting your nose broken in practice a few times is how you learn to block your head. Cam’s right couner feels like all those nose-breaking punches joined together Voltron-style to fuck his specific shit up. It connects with his left cheek and eye, which almost immediately begin to swell. Laz staggers backwards, head reeling, trying to keep lucid enough to avoid a follow-up. Cam hangs back and watches, which is almost worse for Laz’s pride than if he’d kept trying to beat Laz into the mat. Cam is breathing hard, though, and clearly he felt some of those blows. Laz leans against the ropes and tries to see through the haze of pain that’s settled over his vision. His head feels like it’s been encased in concrete. God dammit, push through, he growls in his head. You’re not made of glass. Get up and get swinging. Show him why he should take you seriously.

The bell dings. Round one is over.

Cam grins and heads to his corner, where Luther is waiting to give him a kiss and fret over his injuries. Laz slumps back against the ropes again, letting out a heavy sigh. He trudges to his corner, where Sal is biting his thumbnail down to a stub.

“Well, how’m I doing?” Laz asks.

“I’m surprised you’re still standing!” Sal quavers. “It looked like he was going to smash you into dust! I mean, did you see that counter? I could hear the impact from here! And the way you fell back, I thought for sure you were going to hit the canvas. Lazarus, you’ve got to play this safe!”

“Encouraging as always,” Laz grumbles. “I’m not doing that bad, c’mon. He’s only landed the one hit. Y’know, if you don’t count the ones I blocked.”

“Sorry, I just - you know you have the Leeroy match coming up, and he’s no pushover. It’s really important if you’re trying for a shot at the title, and I can’t have you getting injured here. But you’re doing really well at slipping his jabs and you’re clearly the faster and more maneuverable fighter. You just need to know when to quit. I could see him recovering from a mile away, and his core’s really strong. Those gut punches aren’t going to do much good unless you can land a hit on his solar plex, that’ll take anyone out of commission for a moment. The punch to his chin was good, keep an eye out for his slower swings and try to slip inside his guard a few more times. You’re not going to win this by knockout, probably not even by downs, but you can give him something to think about at least.” The longer Sal talked, the calmer he got. The gears had started spinning in his head, grinding the raw anxiety into the grist of innovation. “Frankly, I don’t think you can win this fight,” he said, voice steady and sure now. “I mean, you’re simply outclassed in weight. Best you can do is stall it out and go for a tie. Just as long as you don’t go down, you’ll be fine.”

Laz tilted his head to one side, thinking it over. “Not too optimistic, there.”

“It’s just a friendly,” Sal said weakly. “And he’s several weight classes above you. Don’t take it too seriously? Please?”

“Fine,” Laz sighs, conceding at last. But you mark my words, I’m gonna give him at least one more hit that cleans his clock. He smiles too much.”

“This is exactly what got you in trouble in the Miyata match,” Sal groans.

“No it’s not! It’s nothing like that! And anyway, I’m still proud of that match, I don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘trouble’,” Laz lied. “Look, one more good hit. That’s my goal for this round, and then I back off and play defense til the bell rings.”

Sal doesn’t look convinced, but their minute to talk shop is up. The bell rings for round two, and Cam strides forward, smacking his gloves together with a loud thwack. Laz rises to meet him, jaw set. One more good hit. He’ll wait as long as it takes. That anger is back but it’s cold now, no longer the bubbling cauldron in his gut, rather a cool composure settling over his mind. His objective is clear, his goal is right in front of him, and he’s got all the patience in the world.

That is, he had all the patience in the world, right up to the point when Cam winks at him.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Winking? Winking?! Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am? Well, he’ll be winking permanently when I drill him in the eye so hard it closes up for good.

Cam actually laughs as Laz lunges forward, sharp jabs bouncing off of Cam’s raised gloves. But it’s the laughter that clues Laz in. Cam is toying with him, of course he is. He can’t take the bait, he’ll only play right into Cam’s hands. He has to relax. The angry boil is reduced to a simmer as Laz’s calmer analytic mind takes over. He’s no fool and he won’t rise to the bait. He backs off again, dancing out of range. Come and get me, big guy, he thinks, and when your sloppy footwork betrays you, I’ll nail you between the eyes. 

Cam advances, not willing to let him out of range. He seems a little more cautious now, though - he won’t forget that uppercut in a hurry. They trade careful jabs, each blocking or ducking the other’s strikes, and for a moment it seems like they’re both playing it safe. Then Cam goes for a sneaky gut shot that Laz deflects, and Laz slips in under Cam’s guard and lands another shot on his chin. He slips back out as quick as he can, not wanting to get caught committing again, and Cam presses, shaking his head sharply to clear it. Laz notes with satisfaction that Cam is no longer smiling. He doesn’t look upset, though, merely focused. Good. Take me seriously.

Cam starts up his rhythm again. He’s been pressing a little more aggressively than Laz had expected all match. It makes some sense - a swarmer is a good counter to Laz’s more careful fighting style, and having to fend off constant attacks doesn’t leave him much room for mistakes. But Cam is a slugger, used to ending fights quickly with a few punches, and the strain of keeping up this offense is starting to show. He’s just a little slower, and the blows that land are just a little lighter. A bubble of excitement rises in his gut. If Cam keeps trying to overwhelm him, he could potentially wear him down and win this. He’d agreed to stall, but… 

There it is. Just for a moment, Cam’s guard goes down. Laz steps in and drives a straight right at his nose, but Cam gets a hand up and it glances off. Laz bounces back, dodging a wild swipe, and goes for a body shot while Cam’s still in the followthrough. It lands, and Cam grunts. Laz is starting to sport a grin of his own. Finally, a sound out of the big guy that isn’t snark. He skips forward, aiming jabs at Cam’s head. The relentless pace is really taking the wind out of Cam’s sails; he eats punch after punch before he’s finally able to get his hands up and defend again. He staggers back in a defensive position, and Laz presses hard. He’s not about to let Cam get a second to breathe, if he can keep the pressure on and land some good hits he could actually win -

Too late, he realizes Cam’s game. It happens again. He commits to a straight, just in time to see Cam’s right coming for him. He gets his hit in first, the advantage of his proximity and speed closing the gap before Cam can, but a split second later Cam’s glove knocks into his chin enough to lift him off his feet. He feels one brief moment of weightlessness before he sinks into darkness.

~~~

“Ten!” someone shouts.

“Whuh,” Laz says, opening his eyes. For some reason, he’s lying down. And his face hurts really bad. Then it all comes flooding back and he sits up, his vision blacking out in protest. “Fuck.”

“Oooh, just missed the count!” Cam says, walking over and holding out a hand. “Good show, though. For a zippy little pipsqueak, you sure can throw a punch! I was seein' stars for a minute there. How’s your jaw?”

“Fuckin’ hurts,” Laz says. “How’s your ribs?”

“Fuckin’ hurt!” Cam laughs. “C’mon, let’s get some ice on that and talk shop.” Laz takes his hand and tries to pull himself upright, but his legs don’t want to take his weight. Cam takes notice and kneels down, getting Laz’s arm around his shoulder.

“Up we get,” he grunts, straightening up. Then he looks down and sees Laz’s feet dangling a good six inches off the ground and bursts out laughing. “You really are tiny,” he guffaws. “Why the hell’d you agree to fight me?”

“Why the hell’d you offer?” Laz grumbles.

“Well, to tell you the truth,” Cam says, walking the two of them towards the corner, where Luther and Sal have stepped onto the mat. “I hate retirement. I miss the ring. I wanna get back into the game somehow, so I figured I’d see how the up-and-coming competitors are doing. And frankly, kid, you’re not half bad.” He unslings Laz’s arm from his shoulders and guides him over to the little chair set up against the turnbuckle. Sal holds a bag of ice to the swelling on his eye and cheek. Cam sighs as though admitting defeat. “So fine, I’ll do it. I’ll train you.”

Sal and Laz gape at him for a moment. Luther clasps his hands to his chest and sighs dreamily.

“I already have a trainer,” Laz sputters. “And there’s nothing I want to learn from you. No offense or anything, but look, you’re not - “

“You’re in shock,” Cam said, nodding solemnly. “I get it. It’s fine, take a few minutes to really let it sink in. Cam Mersharc, five time world champion, agreeing to train you, I mean, it would throw anyone for a loop.”

“Listen, you deluded old man,” Laz starts to growl, but Sal puts a hand on his shoulder.

“What we mean to say is, of course we’re flattered and thrilled by the offer, but there’s a contract, you see, so it’s really legally out of our hands…”

“Oh, sure, no problem. Luther, honey, you still friends with that lawyer?”

“Sure am,” Luther chirps. “I’ll give her a call, schedule a chat, we’ll have you out of that in no time.”

Sal glances at Laz and shrugs. “Could be useful just to see what he has to offer..?”

Laz scowls and glares up at Cam. “Okay, old man, what’re you thinking?”

“Obviously your footwork’s impeccable and your speed is top notch. You’ve got a brain in there, too, I could see it working the whole time. Your strength is okay for someone your size, and your endurance could use some work. You train with me, I’m gonna round you out. Technically and physically,” he says, playfully tapping Laz’s chest. “Put some meat on those bones, tighten your core, bulk up those arms. Don’t give me that look, you won’t move out of your weight class. Just a little extra padding so when someone gives you one of these - “ His fist stops a half inch from plowing right through Laz’s gut. He’d barely seen Cam’s arm move - had he been holding back in the fight? Or was that head injury messing with his vision? “ - you don’t fold like an omelette. Whaddya say?”

Laz weighs his options. It never hurt to round out a little. It almost sounds like Cam’s offering to shift him towards being a boxer-puncher instead of an out fighter.

“Well… can’t hurt. But if I think you’re full of shit, I’ll tell you to your face. Don’t expect me to start fawning and kissing the ground you walk on just ‘cause you beat me.”

Cam laughs and slaps Laz on the back, nearly knocking him to the mat again.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pipsqueak! Now, get down and give me twenty.”

“What? Now? I still have my gloves on.”

“Sorry, was I not clear? On the mat. Twenty push-ups. If you’re doing them wrong, I’ll make your friend sit on your back. Go.”

Laz drops to the mat, cursing up a storm. Cam nods as he watches him bob up and down.

“Oh, yes. This is going to be the start of something wonderful.”

#writing #cam and luther #underbelly #boxing au #not gt #size diff tho uwu #writing fight scenes is so hard ;-; #i will improve i promise....

[bumblebee-moreno]

Awkward meetings (GN!reader)

Request: "Awkward first meeting for all the boys" and "Awkward first meeting and You lost something very important to you and they’re helping you look for it with Frankie Morales" for @luminescentlily

(Boys included are: Din, Javier Peña, Agent Whiskey, Frankie Morales, Max Phillips, Marcus P, and Marcus M.

Warnings: None?

A/N: Sorry this took so long to write. I had to leave a few boys out due to writer's block (Ezra, Tovar, and Zach Wellison), and I wanted to get this posted rather than continuing to stare at the screen in hopes of my brain miraculously functioning. To make up for my lack of inspiration at least a little bit, I added Marcus Moreno. Hope that's ok :)

Din Djarin

You feel a tug at your pant leg. Looking down, you are greeted by a pair of large watery eyes and big green ears. “Well hello there,” you smile, crouching down to be closer to the small child. “Where’s your family?”

He simply responds by lifting his arms towards you. You take that to mean he’d like to be lifted up. Scanning through over the crowded marketplace, you search for someone who the kid might belong to. You really have no idea what you’re looking for, having never seen anything like him, but you search nonetheless.

“Hey!” an angry voice calls out behind you. You whirl around, and before you know what’s happening, the child has been torn from your grasp and there’s a blaster to your head.

“I wasn’t going to hurt him I swear, I was just trying to find his family,” you blurt out, raising your hands in surrender.

The figure in front of you doesn’t respond at first, keeping his blaster pointed at you while he inspects the child for injury.

“Why did you have him?” The voice from under the helmet demands.

“I just found him by himself and I wanted to make sure he found his family,” you explain, voice shaking. “Are you his… Does he belong to you?”

“… yes.” He cautiously returns his blaster to its holster.

“I’m sorry,” you relax. “I didn’t mean to scare you. He’s just so… small. I didn’t want him to stay lost.”

The Mandalorian clutches the kid close to his chest as if he’s afraid they’ll be separated again. “Thank you.” He nods his head just enough for you to see the motion.

Javier Peña

“Shit, I’m going to be so fucking late,” you mutter to yourself, walking as fast as you can without sending the tall stack of papers in your arms flying.

On your way down the hall, you start going down your mental checklist.

‘Closed the window so the cat doesn’t escape? Check.’

‘Turned off the lights? Check.’

‘Locked the front door? Fuck.’

You stop in your tracks. How could you forget to lock your front door? You spin on your heel and run back towards your apartment, your one free hand switching between searching for your keys and adjusting the unstable tower balanced on your other arm.

In your haste to get your apartment locked so you can get to work on time, you fail to watch where you’re going.

Your body smacks into another. You fall backwards, losing your grip on the meticulously organised files. They scatter across the floor, completely losing the order you’d spent all night putting them in. The wind is knocked out of you for just long enough to hear the man you ran into grumping about how you should watch where you’re going.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I’m running late, I should’ve been paying more attention.” You pull yourself to your knees and start gathering your work off the floor. You’d normally stand and make sure the man you ran into is okay, but things at work are tense as it is, and being even later than you already are isn’t going to reflect well on you. Especially now that all of last night’s hard work needs to be done over.

You expect him to get up and walk past you. After his reaction to being practically tackled, you wouldn’t expect him to give you more than a second thought. But then a stack of papers lands on top of the one you’re already holding.

Your eyes shoot up to meet his. “You okay? You hit the ground kind of hard there,” Your neighbour asks.

You swallow thickly. “y-yeah, I’m fine,” you give a shaky smile. “How about you?”

“I’m all right, just running a bit late,” He offers a hasty smile before helping you to your feet. “I gotta get to work, but um, I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, momentarily forgetting how late you are.

Agent Whiskey

‘Ugh I really needed this day off,’ you type underneath the photo before pressing send.

You place your phone on the edge of the tub before relaxing back into the warm water.

It isn’t long before your phone buzzes. Your eyes widen in horror at the response:

‘I think you’ve got the wrong number, darlin’.’ It’s paired with a photo of a man you’ve never met.

He is kinda cute though. You’d never think the whole “unironically cowboy” thing could ever work but… No. No. You can’t be thinking that kind of stuff. You just texted a stranger a photo of you in the bath for fuck’s sakes, you can’t be attracted to him after that!

You frantically scroll up to examine the photo you sent, breathing a sigh of relief when you confirm that the photo you sent didn’t have anything too revealing in it; between the angle of the camera and the bubbles in your bath, nothing too embarrassing is visible.

‘Shit, I’m so sorry, that was meant for a friend ’

You pick up the shred of paper your best friend scribbled their new number on while you were at lunch with them yesterday, to figure out what happened.

‘not a problem, It’s a nice distraction from this god awful meeting I’m stuck in’

You frown. ‘You’re in a meeting and you’re texting a total stranger?’

You return your gaze to the phone number in your hand. “what in the fuck,” you say aloud to yourself. The second to last digit. It’s supposed to be a 4. Not a 9.

A shaky photo appears on your phone. It’s obviously taken from peeking just the camera of his phone over the edge of the table.

‘Damn, that looks like a serious meeting, shouldn’t you be paying attention?’ If you were texting at work, especially in a meeting, you’d have your ass handed to you unless someone was dying (and even then, it would depend on what kind of mood your boss is in that day). And this guy is just casually texting you, a stranger, during a meeting with people who look like they make more money weekly than what your whole car is worth.

‘I’m a bit more concerned that I don’t even know the name of the person who texted me such a lovely photo 😉’

‘It’s Y/N.’ you send. ‘And please delete that picture, that’s kinda private’ you ask, crossing your fingers that he respects that.

‘Already done. Mine’s Jack, since you obviously weren’t going to ask 🤠’

A soft smile appears on your face. Maybe it is kind of okay that you accidentally typed in the wrong number. Or… it will be after you (lovingly) cuss out your friend for having such bad handwriting.

Frankie Morales

“Shit.” You mutter to yourself, searching through your pockets. “shitshitshitshitshitshitshit” You swear you just had them. Or… maybe you left them on the counter back at the library?

You turn around to run back, rifling through your bag. You only make it a few steps before you’re knocked backwards to the ground.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” you blurt the moment you catch your breath again. Barely sparing a glance towards the man you ran into, you start gathering your books.

“No, no. I’m sorry,” the man insists. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He helps to gather your books.

“You okay?” he finally asks.

You look up at him and freeze. He’s really cute. In the ‘I give the best hugs in the world’ kind of way.

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. “I just think I lost my car keys at the library, and I’m running late for lunch with a friend.” You mentally kick yourself. You just ran over the only attractive man you’ve seen since moving here, and then the first thing you do is overshare?

“Oh, did you want some help looking?” he immediately offers.

“I wouldn’t want to be any trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugs. “I’ve got lunch plans I’m desperately trying to find an excuse to get out of, so you’re helping me, really.”

“Okay, um… sure,” you nod. “an extra set of eyes looking wouldn’t hurt.”

“Cool. I’m Frankie.”

You introduce yourself and shake his outstretched hand.

The two of you make your way back towards the library.

“so…” you break the uncomfortable silence. “Lousy lunch plans, huh?”

“…yeah,” Frankie falls silent for a moment. “A couple of guys I used to serve with invited me out and I didn’t really have an excuse to say no.”

“Don’t get along with them?”

“We used to be friends, but I’m kind of rethinking that lately.”

“Oh,” you debate asking more questions. But then again, he doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t want to, right? “Did… did something happen?”

“Convinced me to go to South America a while back, which would’ve been fine, except we kind of got stuck there, and my wife was left alone with the baby.”

Your stomach dropped at this. You’re not even sure why; you just met the guy, you really have no reason to be disappointed he’s taken.

“Was she at least understanding?” You ask.

“huh?”

“Your wife.”

“Oh,” Frankie chew his lip for a moment. “no. When I got back, she was… possessive. Searching my phone, never letting me go out with friends, that kind of stuff. Separated a few months later.”

“Oh,” you try to ignore the fact that your heart skipped a beat; you can’t be excited—that’s insensitive. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be.” Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, actually. I was helping you find your keys, and here I am ranting about my whole tragic backstory as if you actually cared.”

“I don’t mind.” You actually like listening to him. But you keep that to yourself.

“You shouldn’t have to listen to all that though—”

“Shit!” you interrupt him. “I’m such an idiot.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Frankie looks like he’s assuming the worst.

“…I didn’t lose my car keys. I walked here. And lunch with my friend is next week.” You chuckle bitterly. “I was so lost in my head I completely forgot she rescheduled. Sorry I wasted your time.”

“It’s okay,” Frankie laughs. You can’t help but smile at his lopsided dimple. “Hey, since you don’t have lunch plans and I want to get out of mine… Can I take you out? You can tell me your life’s story since you already know mine?”

“Sure,” you smile, though half of you is screaming to just leave the country to escape the embarrassment.

Max Phillips

“Ew, no.” you scrunch your nose.

“Hey, you’re the one that lost the bet.” Eva insists.

“I am not kissing a random stranger.” You sweep your gaze across the crowded café.

“It was your idea.” Eva sips her tea.

“That was because I thought I was going to win.” You cross your arms across your chest.

“You don’t get to opt out just because you’re a sore loser.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know them, what if they have a disease or something? Gross.” Your stomach turns at the idea.

“Okay, fine.” Eva sighs. And, for a fleeting moment, you have hope that she’s given in. “Kiss that guy then,” she points.

You turn. “Oh my god, Eva. No.”

“What? He doesn’t look like he has a disease,” Eva shrugs.

“He looks like a frat boy.”

“He’s cute though.” Eva leans in a not-at-all-subtle way to get a clearer view of him.

“I hate you.” You stand up. “And when I’m done, you’re buying me an entire bottle of vodka to wash my mouth with.”

“Yes!” Eva cheers triumphantly. A few people shoot her expressions of annoyance at the outburst.

You storm over to the man and pull him in by the collar. His lips barely brush against yours before you’re stomping back to your friend. Though, for a moment, you actually consider staying to talk to him. Eva was right, he definitely isn’t hard on the eyes.

You push the thought from your mind and collapse back into your seat, scowling at your friend.

“You’re literally the worst human being on the planet,” you huff.

“You’re just being dramatic,” Eva laughs.

“Am not.” Okay… maybe you are, but Eva can’t know that.

“Fine. We’ll go get you a drink once I’m back from the bathroom.” Eva skips off, still laughing about your reaction.

She’s barely out of sight before her seat is filled by the stranger you just kissed.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I lost a bet,” you don’t look up at him, instead choosing the glare at a stain on the wooden table.

“I figured as much.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “I also figured I have the right to at least know the name of the person who just kissed me.”

You reluctantly introduce yourself, still refusing to make eye contact with the man.

“I’m Max. And, if you want to apologise for kissing me without my consent,” he throws a napkin with a phone number scribbled in red sharpie onto the table in front of you, “You can call me.”

Marcus Pike

You hum quietly to yourself, unable to stop smiling. It’s been so long since you’ve gone on a real date. You turn on your shower, but instead of water coming from the showerhead, it starts leaking from the base of the hose.

That can’t be good. You turn off the water and fiddle with the shower. Maybe it just came loose.

You reach for the handle to try the water again. But before your hand can even touch the cool metal, the entire shower head disconnects from the wall and clatters to the shower floor.

Letting out an exasperated groan, you start gathering your clothes into a bag. You really don’t have time for this today. Crossing your fingers your neighbour is home, you head next door.

You’ve never actually talked to him, but you figure he’s probably a safer bet than the crazy old neighbour on your other side; the way he looks at you whenever you run into him gives you the jitters. And not the “he’s a creep” kind of feeling you get when anyone else stares for too long. More like the “he’s probably got a taxidermy cat in his living room and a human body in his closet” kind of feeling. So the neighbour you’ve never even introduced yourself to will have to do.

Your knock echoes through the quiet air. Shifting from foot to foot, you wait impatiently for an answer.

The door clicks open, leaving you face-to-face with your neighbour, who is way cuter up close than you expected him to be.

“…hi,” He greets you as if he’s startled by your presence.

“…hi…” you bite your lip and tear your gaze away from his face to examine your shoe. “I… Well, I live next door, and well—”

“I know,” he interrupts.

“I-What?”

“I’ve seen you… around. We get home from work at the same time, so…”

“Oh.” You chew on your lip for a moment. “Look, my shower broke, and I have a date I have to get to, and well…” you drift off. Are you really asking your irresistibly adorable neighbour who you’ve never met if you can use his shower?

“Oh. Okay, did you want to use mine then?” You pretend not to notice how pink his face has turned.

“Would you mind? I just—I’m running late and I don’t have time to figure out what’s wrong with mine before I leave and still have time to get ready to go.”

“Sure, Come on in,” He shuffles out of the way to allow you space to enter. “Down the hall, second door to the right.”

“Thank you so much,” you smile awkwardly. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You walk as quickly as you can without breaking into a run to get to the bathroom, leaving Marcus frozen in the doorway.

This is not how he imagined meeting you. Not that he imagined that at all. And he definitely hadn’t spent hours trying to figure out how to ask you out. Because that would be weird.

And he just let you use his shower to go on a date with someone else.

Fuck.

Marcus Moreno

“Excuse me,” a voice speaks up from behind you, just barely audible over your music. You turn around to find that the voice belongs to a young girl.

“Hello,” you greet taking out your headphones.

“Do you see that guy over there?” she asks, pointing across the cluttered bookstore to a man struggling to balance a tower of books while skimming the shelves for more.

“The one in the glasses?” you confirm.

“That’s my dad,” the girl nods. “He thinks you’re cute, but he’s too afraid to talk to you.”

“Oh,” you say, unsure whether you should be flattered or amused.

“He says it’s ‘cause he doesn’t want to weird you out,” she elaborates, “but I think he’s scared you won’t like him back.”

The man glances up, and, upon seeing his daughter talking to you, rushes over. He pauses only briefly when he trips over a box of books placed in the middle of the walkway.

“Oh, here he comes, act natural,” the girl whisper-yells just before her father arrives. “Oh, hey dad,” she greets him nonchalantly.

“Missy, what did we just talk about?” he scolds.

“I know, I know,” she rolls her eyes. “I shouldn’t go up to strangers and tell them my dad thinks they’re cute even when he totally does.”

Missy’s dad freezes, a look of horrified embarrassment washing over his face. “You… You told them what?”

“I’m going to shop some more,” she walks away, winking at you.

“Hey, you get back here, young lady,” he calls after her, struggling not to raise his voice above a murmur in the middle of the peaceful book shop. His daughter ignores him.

He groans under his breath. “I’m sorry about her,” he turns back to you.

“It’s okay,” you laugh. “I’m Y/N,”

“Marcus.” He looks down at his armful of books. “I’d uh… I’d offer a handshake but…”

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile. Marcus smiles back. You allow a moment of uncomfortable silence before speaking up again. “So… you think I’m cute?”

“What? No! I mean, Yes. I mean…” Marcus’ face scrunches up in embarrassment. “Yes? But not… not in a weird way. I wasn’t like… admiring you or anything. That’d be… weird.” Marcus hangs his head with an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry. I’ll just shut up now.”

You smile again at the flustered man in front of you. After a moment, you pull a pen from your sweatshirt pocket.

“Well, here’s my number,” you say, writing as clearly as you can across his forearm. “You can text me if you decide you do think I’m cute… In a weird way.”

You walk to the counter to pay for your books, sincerely hoping he decides to text.

---

Taglist:

@pascalisthepunkest @trashbin2 @anatanotegami @beesting77 @northernpunk @pumpkin-stars

#Din djarin #Javier Peña #Agent Whiskey #Frankie Morales #Max Phillips #marcus pike #marcus moreno #gender neutral reader #gn reader #pedro pascal

[ssamie]

two. sea of strangers

oikawa tooru x fem langa!reader

(hq x sk8 the infinity)

warnings: spelling mistakes, swearing, 2k+ words, u have langa’s blue hair sorry

gen masterlist.            “snow” masterlist.

"its really hitting me now!" reki exclaimed as he dramatically draped his arms around her frame "you're really leaving?!" he exclaimed as he eyed her countless luggage with distaste. 

"yes reki.. im sorry" she said as she held him tightly by the waist, keeping him upright as he slouches against her torso 

"man, you're really embarrassing" miya muttered out with a sniffle as he attempted to poke fun at reki. "crying and all.." he muttered as, he too, tried to contain his tears. 

"you're one to talk! you're gonna go all red if you hold your tears in!" reki exclaimed as he ruffled miya's hair through his hoodie 

miya grumbled but finally succumbed and fully latched himself onto her back, clinging desperately as he hides his face into her hair "if you leave you're gonna be demoted from heroine to slime" he meekly threatened as he weakly punches her shoulder 

"hm, then we won't be on the same level anymore.." she muttered back as she placed her hand on his head to comfort him 

"exactly.. so you shouldn't leave." miya huffed out 

"sorry miya.. but i have to" she frowned and met eyes with her mom, who simply gave her a reassuring smile in return. 

"there's really nothing we can do but hope for a safe trip" cherry chimed in as he plucked miya and reki off of her "it will be quite a loss but, she won't be gone forever" he said. 

"yeah, but behave out there, rookie" joe mused as he slung his muscular arm around her, making her stagger a bit "dont want ya getting into accidents and shit" joe laughed as he ruffled her hair with a soft smile 

"yeah, we'll visit you after you've settled" shadow said as he jogged over to them, just having finished helping nanako carry her bags 

"hey.." he whispered to joe as he nodded towards reki. joe immediately understood and pushed her towards the redhead. "well go on then, have one last hug with your dearest best friend" joe mused "maybe a kiss as well" 

y/n huffed as she covered her warm cheeks and sheepishly walked towards reki. "um.." she mumbled out, suddenly finding the words get caught up in her throat. "the plane boards in five minutes.." she said 

"i know" reki replied with a sad smile. "what should we do for those remaining minutes? i really don't know anymore" he chuckled 

"um.. what about.." she trailed off as her hands hesitantly met his. "..this?" 

reki blinked and immediately followed along. a smile slowly crept up on his lips as they do their signature handshake. she gulped as the heat on her face worsened by the second. by the time their hands would meet to make an infinity sign, she was fully ready to drop it and leave. 

though unexpectedly, reki pulled her to his chest and squeezed her tight, holding her by her waist with one arm, while the other reaches out to caress her hair. 

"bye, y/n." reki whispered, his lips dangerously close to her ears, making her already flustered state worsen. 

"i'll make sure to see you again. don't find a new partner while you're gone, alright?" he whispered 

though his tone was laced with slight doubt and desperation. she held her hand over her beating chest and nodded. 

"i'll never find someone like you, reki." she said with a tone of sincerity. "let alone someone better." she whispered with a love filled smile. 

reki smiled back and fully engulfed her in a bear hug, swaying their bodies back and forth as he dug his face into her neck 

she gulped and slyly covered her cheeks with her hands. she was most certainly in the verge of overheating from too much joy that had her heart pounding and her palms sweating. 

"oi, oi! don't leave us out!" joe chimed in with a laugh as he slung his arms around them both. "yeah, stop hogging her you slime!" miya hissed at reki as he greedily wrapped his arms around her waist

"hey, i'm the best friend! you're the slime in the situation!" reki hissed back 

soon enough, y/n was getting suffocated under five men who thought it was a great idea to stack themselves on top of her. "can't.. breathe.." she squeaked out as she tried to gasp for air

nanako watched their exchange with a smile of amusement. though they had to move along as to not miss the flight. "y/n, its time to go" nanako said with a smile as she grabbed her daughters hand. she waved at the boys one last time and walked away, with y/n beside her. 

"BYE Y/N, REMEBER OUR PROMISE!" 

"BYE REKI! I WILL!" 

"stop screaming at the airport!" cherry smacked reki's head with a scolding glare 

"ouch! sorry, geez!" 

"ah, the air here in miyagi is very different, huh?" nanako hummed as she looked around the empty streets surrounded by trees and bushes

"i guess so." y/n replied with a nod as she walked past her mother and entered the empty home.

the huge truck filled with their furniture and belongings was parked by their new home, with the men carrying them inside. nanako frowned and followed her inside. y/n simply walked quietly to her new room which was situated upstairs. 

as she arrived, she scanned the room, eyeing the bed on the corner and an empty closet on the other side. "hm." she hummed as she further inspected the place 

nanako watched in anticipation as dread and nervousness filled her nerves. "d-do you like it, sweetie?" she asked, her voice lightly shaking. 

"its okay." y/n replied as she dropped her bags on the floor. 

nanako sighed in relief and patted her on the back. "the movers are gonna help me fix this place up, so why don't you look around the neighbourhood for a bit?" she suggested 

"i might get lost" y/n said. nanako shook her head and handed her her skateboard "no you won't, it's a pretty small town!" she said "and if you do get lost, just call me or ask around, okay?" nanako mused as she urged the girl downstairs and out the door 

"but mom-" y/n couldn't finish, seeing as nanako had slammed the door and was waving her goodbye through the windows

"bye~ have fun~" nanako mused as she waved 

y/n looked back at her with a deadpanned expression and sighed. she got on her board and skated along the smooth concrete, looking past the fairly big houses and few cars driving by. 

"hey hey iwa-chan~ i came to pick you up for practice like the good best friend that i am!" a distant voice cooed out

"shut up shittykawa, it's seven am. you're giving me a headache." another voice, this time more gruff and annoyed, said. 

y/n hummed in curiosity and looked ahead of her. they were quite far, but their loud arguing could be heard a block away, so she didn't have that much trouble. "a ball?" she muttered to herself as she looked at the ball tucked in between the brunette's arms

"weird.." she mumbled before speeding up, not wanting them to see or interact with her in the slightest. 

"hm? are there new neighbours?" the brunette asked. "obviously dumbass. they moved in just a while ago i think." the other replied 

"ooh~ i wonder if there's a cute girl that-" oikawa cut himself off as he felt a gush of wind fly past him

he curiosly turned around, but was only met with a quick dash of something blue. "what is it?" iwaizumi asked him, confused as to why his friend suddenly stopped in his tracks for apparently no reason at all. 

"did you see that, iwa-chan?" oikawa asked him as he pointed to the next block, trying to show him the person, but all that was visible was them turning the corner and disappearing from their sight. 

"there's nothing there." iwaizumi said with an unamused glare "are you messing with me, shittykawa? it's so early in the morning please give me a break" he sighed 

"no i'm serious! there was someone there! i saw something blue!" oikawa defended with a shriek 

"shut up.." iwaizumi grumbled in exasperation 

suddenly, oikawa gasped and excitedly hit his arm. "do you think it could be aliens?" he whispered with narrowed eyes, while iwaizumi simply stared back at him in distaste. 

"shut up!" 

"school already?" she asked with a look of dread as she listened to her mother talk about her schedule as they sit on the dining table. 

"but its hard to make friends.." y/n grumbled out with a grunt 

"yes, sweetie! we have to get you settled in as soon as possible so you'll be more comfortable" nanako explained "plus you can make friends with kids there so you won't be alone all the time, don't you want that?" she asked 

"you and reki became friends pretty quickly, didn't you?" nanako mused "so i'm sure you'll be fine!" 

"reki.." she mumbled out as she stared down at her food with a sad frown, a gloomy aura suddenly surrounding her as she silently sulks. 

"ah crap, maybe i shouldn't have mentioned him" nanako muttered to herself, starting to sweat bullets as she tried to rack her brain for what to do. "a-ahm well!" nanako cleared her throat and shot y/n a shaky grin. "you're a very pretty girl! im sure people will be the first ones to approach you!" she said 

"so you won't really have to do any of the work" nanako reassured her "they're normally very interested in transferees especially since you're foreign." 

"okay then.." she muttered out, though she was still unsure. "im gonna clean up now" she said as she stood up from her seat and made her way to the bathroom 

"sure, but wake up early tomorrow okay? i'll help you get ready!" nanako called out, only to receive a faint 'okay!' in response. 

once she heard the bathroom door close and the water start running, she let out a huge breath of relief and slouched back on her chair. "AGH! i accidentally made her sad!" nanako exclaimed as she pulled don her hair in distress 

"should i call reki? her friends? what do i do?!" she shrieked out. she then looked over to the photo of her husband and sulked 

"help me oliver!!" 

"okay, hasegawa y/n-san, you're in third year class 6" the assistant told her with a kind smile "its on the third floor and the room by the stairway. it should be easy enough to find." he said "unless you want me to guide you?" 

"no, i think im okay." she declined with a quick bow "thank you though." 

"come in!" a voice called out from inside 

she kept her face straight and as she followed the directions, up until she reached the classroom she was assigned. "3-6" she read the sign. she then knocked on the door and waited patiently for the teacher to let her enter. 

she followed and slid the door open, closing it behind her and walking to the front of the class, all while keeping her eyes trained on the floor. 

"is she american?" "dang, she's pretty!" "i hope she sits with me.." "what's with her hair?" "as long as she doesn't steal oikawa-senpai, im fine with her" 

she could hear all of their murmurs, though she simply chose to ignore it, not wanting to interact with them as much as possible. she gripped the strap of her bag and raised her head to face them, keeping the monotonous expression as she side eyed the teacher for permission to speak. 

he then nodded and urged her to go. "mind telling us about yourself?" he asked 

"my name is hasegawa y/n." she said, keeping her eyes straight ahead and briefly scanning a few students 

oikawa and iwaizumi looked up and watched her in curiosity. they were seated at the very back, watching her every move. iwaizumi wasn't super interested, only a bit curious about their foreign transferee. although oikawa is overflowing with both interest and curiosity. not only was he happy to have a cute girl as a new classmate, but he was quite sure he had seen her from somewhere before. 

"..." the class was silent as they waited for her to say more, though was only met with nothing. 

"that's it?" the teacher asked, slyly urging her to say more 

y/n looked over to him and back at the class. "i came from canada and moved to okinawa to here.." she said 

"... anything else?" the teacher swetadropped. she then furrowed her brows and asked, "why? is it bad?" 

"no, you're good." the teacher responded as he waved his hand dismissively. 

oikawa chuckled in amusement, making iwaizumi look over to him with a raised brow. "what?" iwaizumi asked 

"nothing, she's just funny" oikawa replied with a grin 

"alright, you can sit in between rika and iwaizumi, seeing as it's the only vacant seat left." the teacher said 

y/n nodded and scanned the room, looking for the people he had mentioned. she merely blinked as a girl with long black hair, which she assumed was rika, excitedly waved at her. 

"hasegawa-chan! come sit with me!" rika exclaimed with a smile. y/n followed and squeezed through the rays of desks, sighing once she sat down on her assigned desk. 

"..." she gulped and nervously pulled out a book and turned her head down, feeling multiple eyes bore through her. 

but by far, the most eerie and intense stare she had received was from rika, who was not so discreetly peering at her over her book, watching with sparkling eyes as she stared. 

"hi-" y/n couldn't even finish her sentence as rika excitedly perked up and shook her hands. "hi! I'm orimoto rika! you can call me rika though" she whisper shouted with a grin 

y/n blinked in surprise and gave her a wobbly grin, "hi, rika-san.." she muttered "um, you can call me y/n if you want.." 

"okay, y/n-chan!" she replied with a gleeful grin "hey, wanna join me for lunch later? it must suck to eat lunch without anyone. you can join me and-" 

the teacher abruptly cleared his throat and shot rika a pointed look. "orimoto-san, i know you're excited but please save the talking for later" he said. "right! sorry sensei!" rika laughed sheepishly as she retreated back to her desk 

y/n side eyed her one last time before looking back down at her desk, bringing out a pencil and messily sketching on the paper 

"hey" the boy beside her whispered 

she glanced at him and blinked in confusion. "im iwaizumi, nice to meet you." he said with a curt nod of acknowledgement

she didn't immediately respond but quietly inspected him "nice to meet you.. iwaizumi-san" she said. she smiled to herself as iwaizumi nodded once again and simply went back to minding his business. 

iwaizumi was chill. nice. 

she had mentally agreed with herself that she did in fact like iwaizumi. he was very different from reki's overall 'vibe' but it was comforting in a way. 

now.. the boy beside him.. she still wasn't sure if she should just ignore his overwhelming presence or give him a fake smile to satisfy him. 

"yahoo~ y/n-chan~" oikawa cooed with a flirty wave "hey~ im oikawa tooru" he introduced with a smile as he leaned over iwaizumi's desk to get closer to her and wave once again 

"..." she side eyed him and quietly nodded, opting not to respond as she slouched down to hide her face behind the book she was doodling on

beside her rika spluttered and watched with wide eyes as the girl blatantly ignored the oikawa tooru, himself. it seems not only rika had seen the interaction, or the lack of it, more so. 

the girls near her either gasped in genuine surprise or sighed in relief, having found that the new girl was in fact not a threat. 

iwaizumi, however, was simply snickering and trying to contain his laughter as oikawa stares blankly at her with his face as pale as a ghost. 

it seems everyone was enjoying themselves. she sighed and simply rested her head on her desk, wanting nothing more than for class to be over. 

"hey, eat with me later, okay y/n-chan?" rika said with a smile 

y/n looked up at her and simply nodded, blowing the stray strands of hair away from her face as she stares at the ticking clock on their wall. "i wonder what reki's doing.." she mumbled to herself 

she sighed and sat up straight, keeping her eyes on the teacher who was mindlessly continuing his lecture. 

under her breath she mumbled, 

"i wanna go home." 

i added a random 'oc' but i used rika from jjk's name lol. there's gonna be two more i think, but they're not that important lol, just some filler characters ig 

sorry for the spelling and grammar mistakes :<

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyū!! #hq x y/n #haikyuu x y/n #hq x reader #hq x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x manager #haikyu x y/n #oikawa x you #hq oikawa #oikawa x y/n #oikawa x reader #oikawa fluff #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x y/n #reki kyan x y/n #reki kyan x you #reki kyan x reader #reki x reader #langa hasegawa #sk8 infinity #skate the infinity #sk8 x reader #sk8 the infinity x reader #miya chinen #seijoh x manager #aoba josai x reader

[goodfemalecharacters]

because there’s nothing I do better than spite-write.  an AU where Sam and Eileen meet in 2002, when Sam is at Stanford.  1k.

Eileen doesn’t expect to see anyone in the library this early.  Don’t college kids have hangovers to sleep off on Saturday mornings?  And yet, she’s not alone in the stacks.

The kid in question is probably her age, maybe a year or two older, and he keeps staring at her when he thinks Eileen isn’t paying attention.  It’s annoying because the back of her neck won’t stop pricking, even though she knows some snooty rich Stanford student is hardly a threat.  Not for a seasoned hunter, anyway.  And no matter what Lillian had to say on the subject, Eileen is plenty seasoned.

It’s getting really hard to concentrate with the kid’s eyes on the back of her head.  It doesn’t help that he’s kind of cute in a floppy, puppy-ish sort of way.  He’s probably never worked a day in his life.  He has a stack of books next to him that’s nearly as tall as he is sitting down, which is really saying something.  Surely he doesn’t need that many.

Eileen rolls her eyes and returns to her book.  It’s in Greek, and she hates trying to read Greek.  Latin, she can handle, but Greek drives her up a wall.

The kid wanders behind her, ostensibly to run his fingers over the books on the shelf next to her, but Eileen can feel his eyes on the back of her head and then on her notes.  She fights back the urge to scoff.

“See something you like?” she snaps at last, whipping around to face him.

She very nearly smacks face-first into his chest because he’s standing almost directly behind her.  The kid takes a half step back, his shoulders colliding with the bookshelf.  He’s really a deer in the headlights, and for a second, Eileen almost feels bad.

“Um.  Sorry.” 

He puts his hand on his chest and moves it, counter-clockwise.  Eileen can’t stop herself from smiling.  He smiles, too, broad and dimpled.

“Actually, it’s the other way.”

He corrects it instantly. “Sorry.  I took a class last semester, but I didn’t have room in my schedule for the follow-up.”

“Most people don’t know any,” Eileen says with a shrug. 

It’s rare to find someone who bothers.  There’s Lillian, obviously.  But even she gets frustrated sometimes.  A few months ago, she’d made Eileen lookout on a hunt, and the ghost—identifiable to Lillian through its moaning—had turned out to be invisible.  Eileen had noticed it eventually, thanks to the dust on a bookshelf moving in a gust of wind, but it had been too late.  

(Eileen forcibly shakes off the memory of Lillian screaming loudly enough to shake the floorboards as Eileen stitched up her arm with shaking hands.)

“They should,” he says, awkwardly.

A smile tugs on the corner of Eileen’s mouth. “Yeah.  They should.”

The kid sticks out his hand.  Eileen hesitates for a brief second before taking it.  There’s a faint memory of calluses on his palms, which takes her by surprise.  She schools her expression back into something neutral by the time he meets her eyes again.

“I’m Sam.”

“Eileen.  Did nobody ever teach you staring is rude?”

He releases her hand so he can put both of his in the air defensively. “Sorry.  That’s usually my spot.  I’m not used to seeing other people up here, especially this early on a Saturday.” 

She raises her eyebrows. “You usually sit in the mythology section?”

“It’s quiet.  Besides, I’ve always sort of been interested in that sort of stuff,” Sam says with a shrug. “Classics major?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” It explains the Greek, anyway. “Big classics fan.”

It’s not like it’s against the rules for a member of the general public to be in this library.  But it would definitely raise more questions if Sam discovered that she wasn’t a student.  Stanford is a big enough school, even if Eileen’s too-big canvas jacket and mud-caked boots make her stick out like a sore thumb.

“I think I’m gonna be pre-law, but I’m a freshman, so I’m undecided so far.  There are too many interesting classes to take to commit yet.”

He takes the opportunity to lean over her shoulder again.  Eileen lets him.  It’s not like he’s going to be able to understand much of it anyway.  He smells like cheap shampoo, the kind that Lillian snags from the few motels they stay in that provide it.

“The word you’re missing there is ‘minotaur,’ I think,” he says, brow furrowed. 

Eileen looks down at it again. “What makes you say that?”

Sam shrugs. “Sometimes these things can be really metaphorical.  The more direct translation is labyrinth-dweller.  The most famous thing I can think of that lived in a labyrinth was—”

“Minos’ minotaur,” Eileen finishes, jotting it down. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

The first vic had been stabbed in the stomach.  They’d been thinking that it had been a weapon, but what if it had been a horn?  

When she looks up, Sam is all dimples again.  She smiles back.  It feels like when she and Lillian reach a conclusion at the same time, but better, because Sam hasn’t snapped at her about finding the answer quicker.

“Wait.  You can read Greek?”

Sam nods. “A little.”

Knowing the word ‘labyrinth’ in Greek is more than a little, but Eileen doesn’t say so.  For the first time, she notices a certain thinness to his cheeks, and a certain nervousness to the way his eyes dart around the room.

He didn’t have enough to eat as a kid, he’s assessing exits like his life depends on it, and he knows Greek off the top of his head.  Eileen wonders if he has a knife in the pocket of that big brown hoodie to match hers.

For a crazy, wild moment, she considers asking him.  Then, she crashes back down to reality.  If she and Lillian don’t get a move on, the Minotaur is going to strike again.  She can’t let an innocent person die because she’s too busy flirting.

“Thanks,” she says, gathering her papers together. “That was the last piece I needed.”

The papers crumple together in her duffle bag.  Eileen usually likes to keep her research tidy, but her last file folder ripped a week and a half ago, and they’ve been too busy to replace them.  She shoves the book in, too.  She’ll jog out of the library if the little alarm sounds.  Lillian prefers it when she can see the research firsthand.

“Oh.  You’re welcome.” Sam smiles. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

Another smile creeps up on her face before she catches it. “Why?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to talk Greek mythology with someone who knows their stuff,” Sam jokes.  Then, “Plus, I just earned my first free coffee at the shop down the street.”

Eileen feels a ‘yes’ at the tip of her tongue, but she forces it back.  She scrambles to think of a plausible excuse instead.

“Can’t.  I’ve got a study session.  I’d love to, though.”

His face falls, but he recovers pretty quickly. “Maybe another time.  Here.”

Sam hurries back over to his own table and pulls a piece of paper out of his notebook.  Eileen stands, hauling her duffle over her shoulder.  He nearly knocks over his stack of books in his haste.

“My number.  For when you’re free to talk about King Minos,” he says, holding it over.

Eileen folds it carefully and places it in her pocket. “Thanks, Sam.  Really.”

He signs ‘thank you,’ back to her, even though it doesn’t really fit.  Eileen hasn’t smiled this much in so long.  Her cheeks hurt.  She feels Sam’s eyes on the back of her head until she’s out of his sight, and she’s red to the tips of her ears.

Twelve hours later, once Lillian and Eileen have killed the Minotaur, Eileen takes the little scrap of paper and lets it flutter on to the floor next to its bloody corpse.  If Sam has really gotten out of this life, she’s not going to be the one to drag him back in.

No matter how nice his smile is.

(thanks to @uglyorangejacket for being so excited <3)

#spn #eileen leahy #sam winchester #saileen #sam/eileen #spn fic #stanford!sam #pre series sam

[cupcakemolotov]

Far From the Shallow Now

Synopsis: Caroline needs to get her head on straight after the ball and is still awake when Klaus drops by.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence × Pre-Relationship × Technically Tyler and Caroline Are Still Together × No cheating × Still Mostly Tyler Friendly × A Moment After the Ball × a what if × Domestic Fluff × Sort Of ×

A tiny pieces would be part of the random snippet series. Just a bit of a what if Caroline had been up when Klaus dropped off the drawing. You can read it here on A03 if you prefer.

                                                       -

The kitchen smelled like her childhood. Warm brown sugar and melting chocolate, the memory of afternoons spent baking with her dad were precious moments that still ached. Pre-vampire Caroline has really hated cooking, and she’d found her opinion hadn’t changed much over the past few months. But baking? With its necessary precision and attention to detail, even the most finicky of recipes soothed her. It had been her dad that had first put a wooden spoon in her hand, who had sighed at her scrunched nose and red face and smoothed her bangs.

“Come on, Care Bear. Let’s try a new recipe today. I’ll let you pick.”

But those memories had been filled with afternoon sunshine and the blare of a radio, and they had been a long time ago. Long before the silence between her parents had grown cold and Bill’s business trips had taken longer and longer. Her childhood was bittersweet and it clogged her throat to think of all the things she’d lost.

But that was for another night.

Tonight, all she had was the silence of her home and the shadows of the neighborhood around her. With her mom working the graveyard shift, she had the house to herself. It had been a relief to come home to shadows and silence after the noise and color of the ball. A chance to process and detox, push away the memory of Klaus’ hands on her skin, the boyish, curling smile on his face and the anger as she’d walked away from him. Breath shuddering in her throat, she stirred the cookie dough a little more thoroughly.

A little pre-baking cleaning had helped calm her juggling nerves and here she was, getting worked up again. The fridge was stuffed with sympathy casseroles, and she’d thrown out dozens of wilting flower arrangements. The cards were neatly stacked and organized in piles alphabetically and according to whom she still needed to reply to.

Her mom probably wouldn’t even notice.

Tomorrow’s project would involve freezing what was left of the food that her mom would eat, she’d already packed the leftovers into Tupperware so she could return the pans to her neighbors. But her dad had taught her to never return a dish empty, so at least her midnight baking would have a purpose. Absently licking at a smear of cookie dough, Caroline watched the clock on the oven click over past 3 AM, and mentally counted her blood bags. She’d need an extra tomorrow, to offset her lack of sleep, but her mind couldn’t stop spinning.

Is it so hard to believe I fancy you?

She’d showered as soon as she’d gotten home, needing to remove Klaus’ lingering scent from her skin. She scrubbed herself pink with her favorite soap, and stood in the shower far longer than needed. The dress was already folded and packed in the box it had arrived in, her bra and underwear at the bottom of her dirty clothes hamper. Now she was sitting in her kitchen in old cheer sweats, and surrounded by two dozen cookies while she worked on the next batch.

And nothing had managed to stop the wheels spinning in her head.

Running a hand down her face, Caroline tried again to decide how she felt about the fiasco that had been her night. The dancing, the hunger and lust in his gaze, those falsely boyish smiles and the rage that had burned when she’d flung his diamonds back at his face.

Klaus had meant every word he’d said and none of it. That was the game he played. Perfection and coercion, falsely sweet words that clung like poisoned honey. It’d been easier to push aside her curiosity, that niggling fascination for how his brain worked before he’d turned his gaze towards her.

Klaus was a monster. But he was a smart one, always steps and steps ahead of his enemies. She didn’t want him, she needed to not want him, and she was pretty sure he didn’t want her either, and it stiffened her shoulders to think he saw her as the distraction Damon insisted she play or his very own potential Trojan horse.

She would never betray her friends.

But Caroline didn’t want to die.

Eyes closing at the thought, she took a careful breath. The games Damon played were dangerous. Esther, Bonnie, all his siblings were spinning on a course that could only lead to collateral damage, and she was sick of it.

Tyler too sometimes only saw her as useful. Her dad had died helping him and still the last time they’d talked he’d wanted her to play more games. As if she wasn’t drowning in grief and what if’s, as if her world hadn’t been twisted as violently as his, as if she wasn’t trapped in a spiderweb she had no idea how to escape. Her fingers tightened on the wooden spoon, and she exhaled slowly.

She and Tyler hadn’t chosen what had been done to them but they could choose how they responded and she was starting to feel less and less comfortable about the bitterness he carried. The hard edge of rage. Whatever had happened when he left and found Hayley had sharpened parts of Tyler she hadn’t known were there and she wondered what he saw when he looked at her. If what he saw made him as uncomfortable as it made her.

Lips flattening at the thought, she reached for the bag of chocolate chips and froze at the sounds of her front door opening. Eyes snapping up, body going taut at the potential threat, her stomach knotted at the sight of Klaus stepping into her home.

For a long moment, they just studied each other.

In the hours since she’d left the ball, he’d ditched his jacket and bow tie, his white waistcoat nowhere to be found. His hair was no longer so perfectly arranged, he’d rolled his shirt sleeves to bare his forearms, and if that wasn’t enough to spike her blood pressure, he still wore his suspenders. Hidden behind the counter-top, her nails dug reflexively into her palm. He’d been stupidly good looking earlier at the ball with his sly smiles and dimpled promises, but this? Rumpled, lips bitten red, his gaze dragging along her body with a slow perusal that set her nerves of fire was something else entirely.

Klaus smiled slow, cheeks creasing, all of the anger from before tucked beneath charm and guile. “I’m surprised you’re still awake, love.”

“Your family is exhausting,” she agreed tartly, straightening her spine. “But of the two of us, I’m the only or who is expected to be here at all. Kind of rude, just bargaining in, don’t you think?”

He gave an elegant little shrug and strolled closer. Her jaw flexed, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet box and setting it on an empty space on the counter. “I do have an invitation. And perhaps it is also just as rude, don’t you think, to return gifts?”

Shoving the wooden spoon back into the cookie dough before she was tempted to smack him with it, Caroline settled a hand on her hip and faked her bravado. “It’s way ruder to offer gifts with so many strings in the first place.”

An amused glance from beneath his lashes before he peered at her cooling racks of cookies. “Most women enjoy apology jewelry.”

“I must have missed the apology.”

One dimple peaked high on his smile and he snagged a cookie. “I didn’t realize you baked.”

She narrowed her eyes as he took a bite, his clear dodge. This entire conversation felt surreal, a little bit domestic, and a lot concerning. Wasn’t she just thinking about how dangerous he was? This, this charm, only highlighted that danger. He slipped so easily from mood to mood, as mercurial as the wind and she needed to remember that.

Promises or no.

“It’s not like we really exchange small talk. And that’s the only cookie you get. I have a dozen dishes to fill and I need this done before mom gets home.” She tipped her chin towards the dining room table where the clean dishes and tinfoil were waiting for her. She was willing to bet he'd already noted the dishes, but so what. “So why don't you get to your point and leave?”

Klaus made a thoughtful noise as he finished the cooking, dusting his hands of crumbs. “Need help?”

“From you? Absolutely not.” The words slipped out before she could catch him and find something politer to say. This was her grief, her method of coping. He didn't get an opinion and he didn't get to pretend they were friends. Not when he wold kill all of them if he thought it necessary. This? This mess and this grief and this small thing to help her mom was hers.

The smile died on his face but she didn’t flinch. She didn't know what he read on his face, but his head tipped in a silent acknowledgement. Instead of baiting her more, his hand returned to his pocket, and this time he produced a rolled up piece of parchment.

Caroline looked at it warily. “What is that?”

“Part of the apology,” he murmured as he set it delicately on top of the box holding the diamonds. “The bracelet is yours love, no strings. Do with it what you will. As for the rest.” He paused, blue eyes narrowed as he studied her, a hint of gold burning the edges of his iris. “The games my mother plays are not kind to her pawns. Be sure you don’t find yourself in over your head, Caroline.”

She lifted her chin to hide her tremble. “Threats?”

“Call it a warning.” Klaus said. “Likely the only one you’ll get.” Just as quickly, that sense of danger melted under another smile and he snagged a second cookie before turning and sauntering away at her protest.She slid her tongue between her teeth at the sight of just how well his pants were tailored and the way the suspenders highlighted the length of his back. The image was going to be burned behind her eyes for days.

As if he could sense her gaze dragging down his spine, he cast one more boyish smile at her as he opened her door. “The cookies were delicious, love. I do so look forward to learning what other secrets you're keeping.”

She watched him go, barely breathing, a mix of alarm and arousal mixing with adrenaline. So many layers. The hidden threat in his words, the reminder that he could walk into her home whenever he wished. The return of the bracelet, that little bit of claim he’d laid on her life.

An apology.

Swallowing, she wiped her shaking hands on her sweats and reached for the parchment. It unrolled to show the familiar lines of her face and the perfect image of a horse.

Thank you for your honesty.

Swallowing, she set the drawing down and didn’t know what to think.

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfic #I am on a roll #woot #only a billion more files to go #oh well #one at a time and all that

[goldenraeofsun]

Remember Me, Honeybee

Part I

Two hours into the farmers market, and Dean’s had enough. Even the gorgeous day outside, sunlight streaming down from a cloudless sky, does nothing for him.

Next to him in their produce stall, Sam rearranges their vegetable display with all the intensity of Bobby Fischer facing off against the Soviets. He adjusts an eggplant a few inches to the left, eyes it critically, and moves it back where it was.

Yesterday, Dean got sunburned from too many hours in the sun harvesting. But before he could even think about a shower, a visitor pounded on their door because some neighbor ratted them out to local Fish and Wildlife. So on top of dealing with a peeling forehead and an aching back, Dean had to take care of Ms. Rosen nearly breaking and entering to get at Sam or his watercress - she wasn’t really clear on which was her priority.

Sam, the cowardly sasquatch, bolted the moment her car tires pulled up to their farm.

It took an hour to get Ms. Rosen to leave. First, Dean had to show her Sam’s pet watercress plants at the edge of their property. According to Ms. Rosen, they’re an invasive species, which Sam could’ve mentioned to Dean at some point. Then, Ms. Rosen explained the $150 fine - all the while heavily implying she could dock a few bucks if left alone in a room with Sam.

Dean forked over the money. Sam’s virtue got to live to see another day.

At least Becky gave Dean plenty of blackmail material. If Sam pisses him off one more time, guess who’s getting Sam’s phone number faxed straight to her field office?

Dean was looking forward to sharing the whole story with Cas when they pulled up to the farmer’s market that morning. But his favorite beekeeper, potter, and candlestick maker is notably absent again.

As Hannah steps away from her stall to replenish her display, Dean seizes his chance. “Be right back,” he calls to Sam as he darts out behind their table.

When she catches sight of him, Hannah turns her back to lift a crate of soaps that would’ve left Dean sore for days. Goddamn angel strength.

“I may be a dumb human,” Dean starts, “but even I know that angels don’t get sick.” His voice drips with disdain. “Where’s Cas? The real reason, this time. Not that BS you fed me last week.”

Hannah sighs, her normally refined tawny wings fluttering in barely-concealed agitation. “He’s… indisposed.”

Dean folds his arms over his chest. “Cas has been here, rain or shine, every market for two whole friggin’ years. Is he,” he forces out the words, dread trickling down his spine, “dying or something?”

“No.” Hannah shakes her head. “He’s not mortally ill. He’s just indisposed.”

Dean gawks at her. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You have customers,” Hannah says shortly.

Dean waves off a soccer mom armed with a bushel of kale and a hungry leer. “Sam’s handling the orders.” He points at the line in front of Sam, and the lady walks off in a huff.

“Is that right?” Hannah asks innocently once Dean’s attention darts back to her.

“Cut the crap,” Dean says sharply. “Why hasn’t Cas shown for the past two weeks? The real reason. None of that indisposed bullshit.”

Hannah sighs. “You’re keeping me from my own customers.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “So you’d better talk fast.”

Hannah makes a face like she smelled Sam’s post-Chipotle farts. “Castiel was cursed.”

“What?”

“Keep it down,” Hannah hisses, leaning in. “He - well, it’s a long story. Our cousin, an archangel, cursed him.”

“For fuck’s sake, why?”

Hannah’s lips purse. “Gabriel has been very hard to contact for the details. He apparently thought Castiel was moping too loudly or too frequently. ”

“Moping?” Dean echoes, his brow furrowing. “Cas always seemed fine to me.”

Hannah shrugs. “Ask Gabriel. Now, if you don’t mind,” she lifts her nose into the air, wings straightening, “I have customers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean retreats to his vegetable stand, his head swimming.

Dean never saw himself as a farmer until his health nut little brother decided to ditch his high-paying (and stressful) lawyer job to play Green Acres, and Dean, naturally, followed since there was no goddamn way Sam knew his way around a tractor. Sam was more likely to mow down his own gigantor foot than move a clod of dirt. Luckily, to Dean, an engine’s an engine.

At the farmers market, Sam’s booth was placed next to Cas’s. On their first day, Cas walked over with a complimentary jar of honey. He was stilted and awkward, sure, but he was also the first one to welcome them into the fold.

Lost in thoughts and worries about Cas, Dean almost gives a customer a twenty dollar bill instead of a one, blanks on when their summer squash will be in season, and accidentally rings up asparagus as broccoli.

“Look,” Sam says after apologizing for Dean’s latest mistake, “why don’t you head back and check on the tomatoes? It’s winding down here.”

Dean dubiously eyes the hubbub of people browsing vegetables.

Sam gives him a light shove towards their truck. “Just go. I know you don’t want to be here, anyway.”

Dean grimaces. “It’s that obvious?”

“To everyone and their grandmother,” Sam says under his breath.

Asparagus Man at the front of the line nods gravely.

“Thanks,” Dean says sourly to both of them.

“Go check on Cas,” Sam says as he gestures for the next customer to step up to the register. “Swing by and pick me up in a few hours.”

* * *

At the foot of the unpaved driveway up to Cas’s house, Dean cuts the engine. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, debating with himself. Cas might not want visitors.

But Dean brought pie.

Homemade, of course. And if it was supposed to celebrate Sam’s birthday tomorrow, what Cas doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Sam likes cake better, anyway, because he’s a freak.

Dean grabs the pie, shoves open the door, and strides up the dirt road to Cas’s house before he can talk himself out of it for good.

This is what you do for sick friends, anyway. Charlie drove all the way up to the city with chicken noodle soup, Settlers of Catan, and prime gossip on Benny’s on-and-off-again thing with Andrea when Dean had the flu a few years ago.

Dean is just being a good friend. It’s not weird.

He knocks on Cas’s cobalt blue door, his heart beating double-time behind his ribs as the seconds wear on with no answer.

Dean dawdles on Cas’s welcome mat. He tries again. Cas’s house isn’t exactly small, with its pottery studio in the basement and wax room in the back. Cas might be in his nest, on the can, or in his garden by the hives. Hell, with this mysterious curse, Cas might not be home at all - but stuck in some angel hospital being poked and prodded by docs. He probably should have squeezed Hannah for more details.

The door opens as Dean contemplates, for the hundredth time, bailing with his tail between his legs.

“Hello?” Cas says, peering curiously at Dean.

“Cas,” Dean says, relieved. From one cursory look, Cas seems normal. His hair’s fucked up, of course. His dark wings are equally unkempt, feathers sticking out every which way. All typical Cas.

Cas blinks. His mouth opens, closes, and opens again. But no sound comes out.

“You’re up,” Dean says stupidly. Of course Cas is up, or he wouldn’t have been able to answer the damn door. Dean shifts his weight to his other foot. “Hannah mentioned you’d, uh, been cursed,” he says awkwardly.

Cas relaxes a fraction. “Ah, yes, I was.”

Dean gives Cas another once-over. “I just found out this morning, so I thought I’d stop by. Bring pie." He holds up the pie as evidence. "See how you are. But you look good.”

Cas squints at him, his head tilting. “Thank you?” he asks like he had a half-dozen responses in his head and chose that one at random.

“No prob.”

Cas’s gaze darts down to the pie in Dean’s hands for the first time. “Would you like to come in?”

Dean grins. “Yeah,” he says, stepping inside. “I’ll take this to the kitchen. I’m starving. Do you wanna eat it now?”

Cas gestures him forward. “This way.”

Dean throws him a funny look but follows him to the kitchen he’s been in about a hundred times before - for Cas’s annual Spring Equinox party, for a handful of dinners with other farmers in the area, for water breaks in between weeding Cas’s bee-friendly garden.

Afternoon sunlight from the beautiful day outside streams through the large windows that overlook the back porch and garden. It illuminates the kitchen table, absolutely covered with what looks like all of Cas’s beekeeping books.

Dean clears enough space for pie and strides over to the drawer for the baking utensils, saying over his shoulder, “I hope you’re hungry.”

When Cas doesn’t answer, Dean hastily turns back around - only to find himself practically nose-to-nose with Cas.

Dean takes an instinctive step backwards, his ass smacking the drawer closed again. “Dude,” he says in a strangled voice. His heart pounds in his chest at the close proximity and intense look in Cas’s eye. “We talked about this. Personal space.”

Cas retreats, his brow furrowing. “My apologies,” he mumbles. “I must have misread the situation.”

“I - yeah - I guess,” Dean stutters as he grabs plates and stacks two forks on top.

Cas falls heavily into a seat at the kitchen table. Silently, he moves enough books around for them to sit and eat.

Dean eyes the haphazard piles as he takes his own seat. “D’you have a problem with one of the hives or something?”

Cas shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says, his brow furrowing. “But it’s hard to tell.”

Dean snorts as he cuts them both slices. “I thought you knew everything about bees.”

Cas shoots him a dour look. “I did,” he says pointedly.

“Did?”

Cas fusses with a pamphlet on colony collapse. “I’m trying to catch up, but there is a lot of information to learn.”

Dean frowns. “Catch up to what?”

“To where I was,” Cas says, head tilting.

Dean sets the pie server down to focus on Cas, since he’s not making any goddamn sense. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cas looks at him like Dean’s the one who lost his mind. “I don’t remember how to take care of them.” After a beat, he clarifies, “The bees. I’ve spent the better part of two weeks relearning how to maintain the hives, harvest honey, check if there is enough honey to harvest...” he drifts off, looking more than a little lost.

Dean blinks. “That’s the curse?” He grimaces as he forks off a generous corner of pie. “Dick move on Gabriel’s part. That’s your goddamn livelihood.”

Cas tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “He didn’t just make me forget the bees.”

Dean chews at Cas thoughtfully. “What else? Please tell me you forgot that time with the goat and a hooker.”

Cas stares at him. “I don’t remember anything.”

Dean’s next bite of pie freezes halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean anything?” he demands.

“I didn’t think it needed explaining,” Cas says waspishly, as all the pieces finally fall into place for Dean. “I thought Hannah told you about it.” His feathers rustle against the back of his chair.

“Hannah only said you were cursed!” Dean flails, “Not that you have goddamned amnesia. Do you know what pie is? Do you know who I am?”

Cas blinks, a little taken aback by Dean’s reaction. “I retain my general knowledge. I know what pie is,” he says. “I don’t remember eating it, but I know it is meat or fruit wrapped in pastry.”

“Oh my god.”

Cas’s gaze falls to the uneaten pie in front of him. “And, no, I don’t know who you are.”

Dean blinks, all the blood draining from his face. He forces out, “You’re serious.”

“I’d hardly joke with a stranger,” Cas says frankly.

Dean lets his fork drop back to the plate with a clatter.

Cas peers at him curiously. “The curse erased all my personal memories, but I was assuming we were friends, is this right? You know your way around my house, and Hannah wouldn’t have divulged my condition to just anyone.”

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly, “we’re friends. I - my brother and me, we have a stand next to yours at the farmer’s market.”

“Oh,” Cas says. “Work colleagues, then.”

Dean snorts. “A little more than that.”

Cas bites his lip. “But you told me to respect your personal space. If we were -”

“Woah!” Dean cuts in before Memento can come up with any more bright ideas, “We’re close friends, alright?” he says before Cas can get another word out, “But not… like that.”

Dean doesn’t even know if Cas goes for humans. Most angels don’t. Cas never mentioned any romantic partners, and Dean never pressed. Better to keep that box locked up tight. Cas never shied away from giving his opinion to Dean or anyone else. He’s the most blunt, sincere person Dean knows - angel or human.

If he felt anything for Dean - the barest speck of more-than-friendly feelings, he’d have said something.

“Oh,” Cas says, and, behind him, his wings droop the smallest fraction.

Dean scans the table and pushes Cas’s worn copy of The How-To-Do-It Book of Bee-Keeping by Richard Taylor his way. “Test me.”

“What?”

Dean shovels more pie into his mouth. “As’ me anyfin’,” he mumbles.

Bemused, Cas opens the book to a random page. “How do you use a bee escape?” he reads aloud.

“Do you know what they are?” At Cas’s headshake, Dean holds his fingers about three inches apart, “They’re little plastic doodads with little bee-sized holes in the middle. You slide ‘em in the hive right before you’re about to harvest. Once they’re fitted, you smoke out the bees, one comb at a time. Once they’re out of the way, you can scrape off the honey.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Do you also keep bees?”

Dean can’t help his loud laugh. “God no,” he says as he closes his mouth around another bite of pie. “I’m just a farmer. But I’ve helped you out a few times.”

At least twice a month since Dean moved to this corner of semi-rural America, but who’s counting. Honey is only harvested once a year, but Cas can always use an extra set of hands in his garden. Or around the house. Dean’s worked off more than one argument with Sam by kneading clay in Cas’s pottery studio basement.

“So you know all this from me,” Cas says dubiously.

“Sure do,” Dean says, smacking his lips as he debates another slice of Cas’s get-well-soon pie. “You’re a good teacher, and once you get on a roll about the bees, it’s kinda hard to shut you up.”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” Dean says as he cuts himself another (smallish) slice. “I look hot in a beekeeper suit, anyway.”

Cas frowns, confused. “Do most humans find baggy coveralls and heavy veils sexually appealing?”

Dean snorts. “That was a joke.”

Dean doesn’t mention that he finds the beekeeper getup hot as hell as long as it’s Cas wearing it.

It’s just - Cas doesn’t usually bother with the veil since he likes to have a full range of vision when caring for his bees. Dean once let a whole comb drop on his foot at the sight of Cas bent over, wholly concentrated on the hive, a barely-there smile hidden in the corners of his mouth. His blue eyes were luminous in the bright sunlight, and every few seconds he would lick his lips, probably to wipe away the beads of sweat gathering on his upper lip.

“Oh,” Cas says, a faint blush touching his cheeks. His gaze drops to his plate, and his wings sag behind him.

Dean mentally kicks himself. Cas might still have all a whole encyclopedia shoved in his brain, but jokes will fly right over his head like so many of Cas’s precious bees. Since Dean started hanging around, he had been getting better with the jokes and references, but Total Recall Cas got that goddamn factory reset, so Dean has to cool it for now.

“Forget it,” he tells Cas. “I’m an asshole.”

Cas squints across the table at him. “You are not.”

“Huh?”

Cas carefully spears off a bit of pie. “You came by to check on me, offer me food,” he slips his fork into his mouth, eyes closing as he savors the tart cherries and buttery pastry, “stay and talk.”

“I, mean, yeah,” Dean says, wrongfooted, “we’re friends. ‘S the least I could do.”

Cas has another bite. “This is really good.”

“Thanks,” Dean says before he crams the rest of his slice into his mouth. He studies Cas as they both eat, an uncomfortable foreboding settling deep in his stomach. Now he sees it, how Cas doesn’t look at him with any familiarity. It’s more like, to Cas, Dean is some fucked up jigsaw puzzle slash zoo animal. Eventually, Dean has to ask, “Are you going to get your memories back?”

Cas shakes his head, his expression hardening. “I’m not sure.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “Are you serious?” He braces both elbows on the table. “But you were cursed - there’s gotta be a way to break it. That’s how curses work, right?”

Cas exhales a slow sigh. “Gabriel did say there was a way to break it.”

“And you haven’t yet?” Dean demands, almost offended on Cas’s - his Cas’s - behalf. “You’re okay forgetting your whole life?”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Are you insane?” he hisses, his feathers puffing up like an angry cat. “Of course I am not ‘okay,’” he says, air quotes and all, which Dean hasn’t seen since he told Cas they were lame. (He felt bad about it for a week afterward and gave Cas a free apology pumpkin. First of the season.)

“I am able to navigate the outside world as well as a human toddler,” Cas continues heatedly. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past two weeks?”

Dean huffs an impatient breath. “What have you tried so far?”

Cas grimaces. “Gabriel said it could be broken like all curses could be broken.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I have no clue,” Cas says frankly. “I spent a week in Heaven’s archives and libraries. The most common way to break curses is by consuming a stone taken from the stomach of a goat -”

Dean makes a gagging noise.

“-or bathing in the blood of a virgin at the new moon.”

“Not any less gross,” Dean says emphatically. “Where the hell are you going to get virgin blood? Are they talking about, like, a whole virgin? Or does born again count?”

Cas shakes his head. “The new moon was four days ago.”

Dean frowns. “Did you have to do the blood thing?”

From the look on Cas’s face, Dean isn’t going to make him watch Carrie anytime soon.

“So I went to more obscure magic,” Cas continues. “I tried bathing in a natural source of water. And then I ran a bath and filled it with salt, since salt repels evil.”

“All I’m hearing is lots of bathing so far.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I lit sage in every room and burned three types of wood. I wore an evil eye bracelet. I sprinkled consecrated water blended with honey over the threshold.”

“No dice?”

Cas throws him a baleful look. “I have ants now.”

Dean snorts. “Well that sucks,” he says, since what else can you say when your best friend swaps all his memories for a Bug's Life?

Cas sighs. “From my notes and research, I can’t leave the hives completely unattended, so I’ve spent the past few days trying to figure out how not to kill them,” he says, gesturing to the rest of the kitchen table. “Once I’ve determined if the bees will survive on their own, I can look back into the curse.”

Dean purses his lips. “Have you prayed to Gabriel? Tried to convince him to take it back?”

“Every day since it happened,” Cas says, his face somber.

“Alright,” Dean says, grabbing Cas’s empty plate, “I can’t help with the curse stuff since I save the teen witch adventures for Sabrina. I can help with the bees, though, if you want.” He gets to his feet and dumps the plates in the sink.

Once his back is turned, he frowns as he thinks his words over. Who knows if this Cas actually wants him around? This Cas doesn’t know him from Adam.

To the dishes Dean says, “The next beekeeper is a few towns over. I could give him a call for you, if you’d rather have him. Cain’s mostly retired, so he’d probably have the time to show you the ropes.”

“Is Cain an angel?”

Dean laughs over the splashing water. “No, he’s a crotchety old bastard who would rather live with bees than people. You get along.” He sets the rinsed plates out to dry and faces Cas. “I’m sure you have his number in your phone too, come to think of it.”

Cas meets Dean’s cautious gaze with his usual soul-searing stare. “I wouldn’t mind if you helped me. Maybe I could call Cain if there are any advanced problems we can’t figure out together.”

Dean smiles. “Sounds like a plan.” He jerks his head towards the backyard. “You wanna get suited up?”

“Now?” Cas asks, alarmed.

“No time like the present,” Dean says as he walks out of the kitchen without waiting for Cas to follow. “Come on, we’re wasting daylight.”

* * *

Cas stares at his beekeeper suit, hanging in its usual place on his screened back porch, next to his gardening gloves.

“You okay?” Dean asks. “You’ve got a spare in your shed, so I’ll grab it on the way.”

Cas picks up the suit like it’s about to bite him.

“’S a good thing I’m here,” Dean says as Cas slowly unzips the front. “It’s always a bitch to get your wings covered.”

Cas’s wings slump. “I have a feeling this is going to be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Hey,” Dean says, taking a step forward, “no, it’s your bees. You love them.”

Cas frowns. “But I don’t remember how.”

Dean grins. “Then you’re a lucky son of a bitch who gets to fall in love with something all over again.” He sighs wistfully. “What I wouldn’t give to erase Star Wars from my brain and watch it again for the first time.”

“What is Star Wars?”

“A trilogy of movies from the 70s and 80s,” Dean says, his smile widening.

Cas nods. “I’ll have to rewatch them, then.”

“Damn right,” Dean says. “I gave you the DVDs for my birthday last year, so they should be around here somewhere.”

“For your birthday?” Cas asks, eyebrows rising. “Isn’t gift-giving normally the other way around?”

Dean shrugs. “But I’d been bugging you to watch ‘em with me for years. Trust me, it was an awesome birthday.”

Cas opens his mouth like he’s not sure where to poke holes in Dean’s story first, so Dean reaches for the wing covers. “I think we should do the hard part first.”

“You’re currently the expert,” Cas says as he sets the suit aside.

Dean frowns as he takes in Cas’s black wings, reflecting muted tones of magenta, purple, cobalt, and green. Normally, Cas rocks the sex wing look - a few feathers askew here and there like someone raked their fingers through them - but now his wings look more like Cas stuck his alulas in an electrical socket.

Without thinking, Dean says, “It’s gonna be hard to get them in the wing covers. They’re a little messed up, dude.” As Cas’s face falls, Dean adds quickly, “Nothing a little grooming can’t fix.”

Cas flushes. “I haven’t been able to reach my whole wingspan on my own. Hannah offered-” he breaks off, his gaze skittering around to settle just over Dean’s left shoulder. “But I don’t know her, not really, so I was uncomfortable accepting.”

Dean takes a step back. “I mean, you don’t need to do it. I’ll have to touch a couple feathers to get these on you, if you’re okay with that.”

Cas swallows. “No, you’re right. My wings are a mess.”

Dean’s fingers practically tingle with the urge to reach out and smooth down the closest feathers, but he shoves his free hand deep into his pocket instead.

“Can you help me?” Cas asks.

Dean quietly dies inside.

Cas’s wings flutter in anticipation, and Dean is so, so weak.

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly as he drops the wing cover and approaches Cas’s back. “You sure, man? I - I’ve never done this before.”

Cas turns his head. “Never?”

Dean clenches his hands into fists. Don’t touch. Not until he says so. Dean can keep his goddamn hands to himself. Cas deserves that much.

“Do you want me to walk you through it?” Cas asks softly. “I know how, since it’s only personal memories about my life that seem to have been affected.”

“Ah,” Dean hesitates, a hundred and one wing kink porn videos flashing through his head like popup ads. “No,” he coughs, “I know the mechanics.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”

Dean fidgets in place. “‘S like picking beans, right? Don’t pull on them too hard. They’ll come off if they want to come off. Make sure nothing is sticking out at weird angles.”

Cas makes a face. “Did you just compare my wings to legumes?”

“Maybe?” Dean says defensively. “Look, I know vegetables, and I know what your wings are supposed to look like. What else do you want from me?”

Cas’s mouth opens, but no words come out. With a sigh, he faces forward, presenting his wings for Dean.

Dean inhales a deep breath. Christ, his hands are goddamn shaking. Get a fucking grip, Winchester. He lightly touches the base of Cas’s left wing.

Cas shivers, the feathers rippling.

Dean yanks his hand back.

“Sorry,” Cas says sheepishly. “You took me by surprise. Please continue.”

Gently, Dean grazes the base of the wing again. The feathers rustle like under a moderate breeze, but Cas doesn’t tell him to stop, so Dean keeps going. He feels along the surface of Cas’s wings, most of the feathers slipping, glossy smooth, under his fingertips - until he catches the first snag. Nerves rocketing up to eleven, Dean tugs lightly on the first feather out of place.

Cas sucks in a breath.

It comes loose, and Dean has a fleeting, stupid thought to steal it for himself. But he lets it flutter to the floor.

Dean soldiers on, biting his lip as he tries to keep himself from grabbing handfuls of feathers and burying his face in Cas’s wings. Meticulously, painstakingly, he combs through the mess. As he moves closer to the second joint, Cas’s feathers, which had been subtly shifting the whole time, stiffen.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Cas nods, stilted. “Please continue,” he says, his voice rough.

Dean frowns. If Cas is uncomfortable and doesn’t want to tell him, Dean’s not going to be the asshole who turns a blind eye to the signs. He withdraws his hands, and Cas’s wings -

They flare out, seeking Dean’s touch.

Without thinking, Dean blurts an astounded, “Dude.”

“Apologies,” Cas says, and, from this angle, Dean has primetime viewing of the back of Cas’ traffic light-red neck. His wings retreat to fold stiff as a board behind Cas’s back.

“Hey, no,” Dean says as he lays a hand along Cas’s wing, petting it gently. “I just wanted to check in with you.” He grins lopsidedly, not that Cas can see him. “Communication is important.”

Cas coughs. “Indeed,” he says, and his voice still sounds off. “Please continue. I,” he breaks off, turning a little in place so Dean can see half of his face, “I was enjoying it.”

“Good,” Dean says with a little too much enthusiasm. “I - uh, me too.”

Cas blinks. “You were?” He frowns. “Grooming is… boring. A chore.”

“Not for humans,” Dean says as he picks up where he left off. “We don’t have big fancy wings to lug around everywhere. They’re-”

“What?” Cas waits, clearly expecting an answer.

Dean sighs. “Cool,” he supplies lamely. “Your wings are cool.”

Dean can’t see Cas’s face with his back turned, but his wings fluff up ever so slightly, so Dean counts it as a win. “I’m glad you think so,” Cas says quietly.

“’Course,” Dean says, easy as pie. He pulls on another feather, and, when it doesn’t come out, tucks it back into its proper place, “I’ve never seen an angel with wings like yours. Malachi’s got dark grey ones, and I thought they were your shade of black, but they’re not. Plus, he’s an asshole.”

Cas chuckles. “I don’t see how him being an asshole has anything to do with his wing color.”

“No, but, if you ever run into him - an angel with dark grey wings - now you know.”

“So you’re only looking out for me.”

“You don’t know this yet,” Dean tells him conspiratorially, “but I’m awesome.”

“Yes, I’m beginning to see that for myself.”

Thank God Cas can’t see Dean’s face. Equally embarrassed and pleased, Dean rambles, “You should also watch out for Metatron - the white-winged dude who runs the thrift shop down the road. He’s been angling to set up shop at the farmers market for fucking ever even though he has a storefront for all his crap. Whoever said white wings meant purity was full of shit because Metatron’s a douche.”

Cas laughs, and Dean nearly slumps over in relief.

He can still make Cas laugh.

“Hannah, she’s okay,” Dean continues as he combs through the rest of Cas’s secondaries and coverts before he gets to the primaries, large and built for flight, and completely within Cas’s reach to groom himself. “But her partner, Duma, hates you for some reason, so I’d steer clear of her.”

Cas’s wings dip a few inches. “It doesn’t sound like I’m on good terms with many angels.”

Dean lightly runs his palm over Cas’s flight feathers - while he’s back here, he might as well. “I guess not,” he admits because Cas is right, “but they’ve all got massive sticks up their asses, so you’re better off.”

“They’re family.”

“They’re dicks,” Dean corrects. “Come on, you’re goddamn cursed with amnesia , and not one is here helping you out? Dick move for dick angels,” he finishes.

“Hannah visited.”

“Like I said, Hannah’s okay,” Dean says as he straightens up.

“At least you’re here,” Cas points out.

“Yeah,” Dean says bitterly as he brushes out bits of fluffy down near the base of Cas other wing, “After two weeks.”

“You said you didn’t know.”

“I should’ve.”

“How?” Cas asks, sounding baffled.

Dean scoffs as he cards his fingers through the shorter feathers near the bone of Cas’s wing, “You didn’t show at the farmers market. You always show.”

“But-”

Dean shakes his head. “I should’ve known something was up.” He yanks a little too hard on a feather, and the brittle shaft breaks between his thumb and pointer finger. Dean lets it fall to the floor in disgust. “But Hannah said you were sick, and I didn’t know if you were the type who wanted company or everyone to stay the hell away. And then I talked to Sammy, and he said angels don’t really get sick like we do.” He exhales a slow breath, consciously holding himself back from tearing any more feathers out. Cas doesn’t deserve that, especially after all the shit he’s dealing with.

“We do get sick,” Cas says, his voice breaking through Dean’s morose reminiscing of the past week, “But never with the type of illnesses that can be treated outside of Heaven.”

“That’s what Sammy told me,” Dean says heavily.

“You were worried?”

Dean pokes him in the muscular part of the wing. “Of course I was worried.”

Cas’s head tilts, but not enough that Dean can make out his expression. “Because we’re friends.”

Dean swallows. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “because we’re friends.” He tugs on a few more feathers, and one comes loose. He holds it between his fingers for a beat, rubbing his thumb along the vane. With a sigh, he moves onto Cas’s other flight feathers. He gives them a few long strokes, unable to help his smile as he feels at the power, the potential, all hidden in Cas’s wings. But, eventually, he has to straighten up.

“All done,” he says with forced cheer as Cas turns around to face him.

Cas blinks a few times like he’s coming out of a trance. “Thank you,” he says gruffly.

He spreads his wings.

Dean’s breath catches in his chest, and his awe must show all over face, judging by Cas’s barely-there smirk. But, dammit, Dean’s going to enjoy the sight. Cas never puts himself on display like this, preferring to play the nerdy beekeeper in a trench coat rather than an almighty Angel of the Lord.

Cas turns his head to inspect Dean’s work. He gives an experimental flap, sweeping all the old feathers littering the floor up into the air. “Thank you, Dean,” he says sincerely. He folds his wings back, and Dean’s heart aches for something he never had in the first place.

“Don’t - don’t mention it,” Dean chokes out.

A fluffy piece of down drifts down to settle on Cas’s nose. He goes cross-eyed to keep it in view.

Dean cracks up. Grinning, he reaches up to brush away the offending bit of down.

Cas catches his arm in an iron grip, his own face oddly intense.

“Cas?”

But before Dean can finish his sentence, Cas pulls him closer and seals their mouths together.

Dean lets out a muffled (completely manly) noise of surprise against Cas’s lips before muscle memory takes over. As Dean kisses back, Cas makes a light soothing rumble in the back of his throat, his touch gentle and warm. Dean’s other hand grasps desperately at Cas’s shirt, anchoring him in place. An electric, bubbly feeling is exploding in his chest, a wild kind of joy Dean normally would tamp down, tell himself, watch out for the other shoe to drop.

Other shoes like Cas’s missing memory.

Dean freezes, and it takes him a long moment to realize Cas isn’t moving either. His grip on Dean’s arm has gone slack. Dean opens his eyes to find Cas’s eyes wide open and glowing with an electric blue light.

Fuck.

Dean’s watched his fair share of angel-on-angel porn and more than his fair share of angel-on-human porn, and kissing’s not supposed to do that.

Dean takes a stumbling step back. “Cas?” he tries.

But Cas doesn’t move. He doesn’t give any sign he heard Dean at all.

Dean falls forward, tripping over his feet. He grips Cas, hard, by the shoulders. With his heart in his throat, he gives Cas a small shake. “Cas?” he tries again, and his voice sounds alien to his own ears, loud and breathy with his panic. He shakes him harder. “Cas!”

Several agonizing seconds pass, and the light slowly dims from behind Cas’s eyes, leaving behind his normal blue.

“Dean?”

Dean’s knees nearly give out with relief. “Hey,” he says weakly, “Nice to have you back, buddy.”

Cas blinks a few times. He swallows, a strange expression coming over his face.

“You okay?” Dean demands. “What the fuck was that?”

Cas stares at him. “That was the curse breaking.”

Read Part II here!

#profoundnet #angel castiel #beekeper castiel #farmer dean #fluff #wing grooming #amnesia #mutual pining #friends to lovers #rae writes fic

[scoundrels-in-love]

Climb on your tears like a ladder to a rose, baby (There's a time to rest, There's a time to move on)

Three times Brienne doesn't have a birthday party and the one she does.

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Brienne-centric | Angst and Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Grief | No Major Character Death | Birthday blues | And gradual growth | Happy, Hopeful ending

Also on AO3.

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Disclaimer: This work is in no way or form related to author's personal life or personal wish fulfillment. /s

That said, early Happy New Year, everyone! Thank you for sharing so much love and creativity, whether in procuring new content or amazing comments, or pressing that kudos button!  Best of wishes in the 2021, may we all find healing or at least a glimpse of hope it is possible.

I

Brienne is ten and there is a movie on the large, chunky TV that sometimes needs to be smacked to work right. Specifically, there's a birthday party scene, complete with pretty banners and colorful balloons in shapes she didn't know were sold, and they're singing Happy Birthday and the child is blowing out birthday candles. Making a wish. The girl shares it with her friend later and Brienne scoffs, because everyone knows you're not supposed to say your wishes out loud. (That way, your dad's eyes don't get sad when he knows he can't fulfill it.)

Other than that, she doesn't really think about it much, never has. It's as foreign to her as the palm trees and sipping juice from a coconut. She supposes it's real to someone, somewhere, but not to her. People of Tarth have a different song to sing, but most of them don't sing any at all, nor did they blow out candles before they picked the tradition up from Mainlanders recently.

At least, that's what Brienne thinks. It's not like she's been to any birthday parties. But that's what her dad has told her of how he grew up. And that's how it continues in their household.

She gets a tight hug and a kiss on top of her head and a few presents, and a cake that doesn't have a shiny candle in it, but tastes just as good.

It's good and it's warm, when winter winds run hungry for snow to chase, and she doesn't wonder if she'd be like that kid in the other movie, the one to whose birthday party no one came.

She doesn't.

II

She is twenty three and she is picking out her own birthday cake. Her eyes skip over the number candles, because she's far too old for that kind of thing, and she doesn't even want the cake. She just doesn't want to think how sad he'd be if she didn't buy it. It’s her first after his passing and the thought of his worry is sharp. It’s never been deserved, but inescapable, because that’s what parents do, except she never managed to do what children are supposed to - to provide and take care so the final years are long and kind.

The cake blurs slightly as she exits the store, across the street from her apartment complex that seems to have lost the last of its colors in these winter months and the few strung up Sevenmas lights highlight that.

Brienne thinks her peers would call her insane if she told them she thinks winter in King's Landing is a lot more bleak than the ones she spent on Tarth. There is sharp quality to the contrast between the pale sky and darkening, rich color of water, even the jagged cliff edges stretching toward the horizon. It keeps one vigilant, wakeful. Here, the mild autumn grows more dulled and wraps everyone in an unassuming cocoon that slowly drifts toward spring, which finally hatches not quite rested.

But they have called her uglier things, too.

"Words are wind," her dad would tell her, but the wind isn't the same here, it doesn't take anything with it, only swirls dust around her. Brienne chokes on it, chokes on the echo as well.

Her father had loved the best he could, loved her truly, and if that rent ravines in her ribs, prone to collapsing in on themselves until she stacks them up again like a house of cards, then what hope of being loved gently, wholly, purposefully does she have?

She misses being hugged and told it's okay even when it's clearly a lie. She misses the certainty that her own love wasn't selfish. "He is in a better place now," they had told her, as if it didn't mean she had failed him utterly, repeatedly, until she had carved a crypt in the stone with her pacing?

Brienne falls asleep crying in a bed that doesn't feel hers, but she can't remember last time anything did.

III

Brienne is twenty eight and she pauses at the hallway mirror to fix her ponytail. There is half eaten cake on the kitchen table, bought at half price as leftover from Sevenmas, and a freshly opened wine bottle. It's the same kind her dad had brought her for her eighteenth birthday and she's never bothered to find another one she likes. (It tastes like the kind of summer she's never had.)

In this light, it's hard to tell if the shadows beneath her eyes are from the bit of mascara she had tried to scrub away a minute ago or the exhaustion she unintentionally cultivates like a little succulent garden on the windowsill.

She doesn't focus on the ugly or the beautiful of her face now, it's not what caught her attention. Brienne just stares at her reflection and thinks how she looks neither young nor old, that she just is. And that she has no idea what it means.

Shouldn't she know? Shouldn't she know by now? Shouldn't she be past the age where she is grabbing at dream colored smoke? Shouldn't she...

Brienne looks away before the first tears fall.

She eats her cake and thinks how her dad had told her that hawthorn and cranberries alike turn almost sweet after the first frost. How many frosts have been there now? Brienne's lost the count and the feeling of warmth alike.

She ends up drinking a little too much of the wine and going to bed early, looking at the single candle-look alike flickering on the table and willing herself to sleep after this completely ordinary day that should’ve been something, but it never is. (She isn’t.)

+ IV

Brienne is thirty six and her sides hurt from laughing.

She extracts herself from the couch corner, which Jaime immediately expands into like a lazy cat while flashing her a grin. When she comes back, he might try to coax her into his lap and maybe she will even concede.

She opens another juice carton and refills her glass, leans against the counter and watches her friends arguing over a board game in the living room. It's odd, to know you belong and yet to be so aware of it in this moment, and she cannot quite throw herself back in there, even though it is no mirage she could simply crash through. Instead, Brienne follows the cool and tethering moonlight that has looped itself around her feet.

She steps out into the garden - because that's a thing she has now. There is a thin, crunchy layer of snow that will bite through her fluffy slippers any moment now, chasing her back inside. But for now, she cranes her face toward the sky, sending white little puffs of breath chasing after clouds that slip across the moon.

The door opens behind her and she doesn't look who it is, because there's no one here that she'd want to hide away from. She's lucky, Brienne thinks, that trust was never a truly foreign concept to her, though she's had to learn how to expand it and recognize its many forms like a toddler would with a shape sorter.

Arms wrap around her waist and Brienne allows herself to lean back and rest against Jaime's chest as he props his chin on her shoulder. She considers telling him that she's fine, because she likes to say that, now that she knows how it feels to truly mean it, even if it's not every day. Instead, she allows the bittersweet ache in her chest to mend itself with his quiet warmth.

She hopes that next time she dreams of her dad, she can tell him of this night, to not worry quite so much, and that peace sounds a little like the sound of her friends' laughter drifting through the door left ajar and Jaime humming in her ear.

#Jaime x Brienne #braime #braime ff #rainy writes stuff #my fic

[soulwillower]

rude boy • richie tozier

part 2    part 3

(richie tozier x reader smut)

requested: hii💕 could u do a richie smut where he kinda hates her and so does she...but the sex is good lol? i got inspired by rude boy by rihanna haha

warning: swearing, unprotected h8 sex (WRAP IT B4 U TAP IT), unedited

[losers + reader are aged up to college in this.]

1.9k words

♡

you sigh as the last customer walks out the front doors of the diner. your boss walks over to where you stand at the counter, wiping it off with a rag. "they're finally gone?" she asks and you nod. "right, well i'm gonna head out. can you and richie lock up?" she asks as she pulls a sweater over the uniform, sounding exhausted. you resist the urge to gag at the name of your coworker, but you nod nonetheless. "yeah, of course."

she leaves a few minutes later and you pull at the collar of your stupid retro diner uniform. it's red and black and awfully cheesy.  employees are allowed to choose between a matching red skirt or black slacks - it's an old school kitschy diner on the outskirts of derry that pays shitty. but a summer job is a summer job, and the tips weren't awful.

but the worst thing about working at the diner came in the form of a 6'2 nightmare with a sharp jawline and a serious nicotine addiction. richie fucking tozier.

he was loud, obnoxious, a slacker, and a scrawny, phony asshole. you've never liked him and he's never liked you, but he's been a server here the longest and you were the most responsible, so you two were trusted to close the diner together most nights. didn't mean you got along though, not at all.

during shifts, richie always played music on the jukebox and serenaded loudly to every boy and girl who stepped foot in the diner as they sat at the counter and swooned. he barely did his work and got way too generous of tips - you're certain it's solely because of his looks, because he is an awful server and an even worse human. but he has curly, fluffy dark hair, freckles, and a face sculpted by aphrodite. he always smelled like cologne and cigarettes, always had his shirt unbuttoned way lower than necessary, and walked with a stupid bounce in his step that some people considered charm.

as you finish mopping up the dining area, you hear footsteps and your eyes catch richie's beat up, lyric-scribbled red high tops. "richie! i just mopped there!" you yelp at him as you snap your head up to stare at him in anger. he just shrugs, "you missed a few spots anyways." he says through a mouth full of chocolate milkshake.

you fight the urge to slap the glass out of his hand, "could you stack the chairs?" you ask him, trying to stay civil. last time you and richie locked up together, he'd thrown a glass and shattered it. you'd both gotten in huge trouble.

"why can't you?" he asks, his voice awfully teasing. you glare at him as you sit down, throwing the mop as it hits his chest. he catches it against him, the handle making a clacking noise when it hits the star of david chain on his bare chest. you scoff, why did he have to wear his uniform unbuttoned like that?

"fine, i'll stack the chairs. you mop." you grumble, getting up to lift the chairs. you hear a screeching noise but you refuse to look, knowing he's sitting and that would just fuel your fire. as you lean over one of the booths, something makes your head turn and you see richie just in time for him to snap his eyes away. your eyes widen - he was just checking you out. god damn these fucking skirts. "what are you looking at, tozier?" you spit venomously. as much as you don't want to admit it, he looked really hot just then.

"shut the fuck up." he grumbles, getting up and locking the doors before walking back into the break room. once you finish out in the dining area, you walk towards the back to see him checking over the kitchen. "hey, did mike take out the trash before he clock-"

"yes, of course he did, y/n." richie cuts you off. you cross your arms, "i'm just trying to get our job done! christ, richie, you make me so fucking mad." you spit. he turns to look at you, his eyes bold and his cheeks splattered with pink and freckles. "i hate that i have to fucking deal with you. i should fire you." he hisses, turning off the dishwasher and walking out of the kitchen. you follow him, hot on his heels, until you're both in the break room.

"you're a fucking nightmare to work with, richie! and you're not my fucking boss!" you yell, glaring at him.  "well the chart begs to fucking differ." he spits, a chipped black fingernail pointing to where the employee chart lists your names, him being slightly higher than yours because of experience. you think briefly you might deck him in the face.  "we're payed the same, you fucking bonehead!" you all but yell, stepping up to him. "and i do so much more work than you! all you do is flirt with everyone until they take pity on you and give you a tip."

you expect him to scream back at you, but instead he looks extremely pissed while taking a step closer. "do you know how fucking jealous you sound right now, y/n?" he hisses. something makes you turn bright red in the face, but you scoff at the absurd accusation. "jealous? of who?" you all but yell, your arms flying up. it's only now that you notice that he has you with your knees against the break table.

"of all the people i fuck." he says, his voice calm but sinister and dangerous. you scoff again, "i hate you." you say, leaning towards him. something about the way he looks makes you want to hit him as hard as you can but also shove him against the wall and make out with him. he chuckles as if something about what you said was funny, "i don't hear you denying it, princess."

and that's it. the princess, that's all it takes for you to smash your lips against his forcefully. it's a kiss that it so rough it's almost violent; fueled by hatred and adrenaline and something akin to attraction. he's pushing your lips harshly into the table behind you so that you're sitting on it, him immediately stepping between your legs. your hands are on his neck and they thread into his hair as your teeth clash and noses hit each other. you hated him so fucking much.

his hands move up so he's grabbing your bare thigh with one hand, the other cupping the back of your neck and pulling you closer to him. you pull away and immediately attach your lips to the column of his neck, not wanting to have to look at his face. 

he ruts up against you and you feel the outline of his cock, making you moan against his neck. his hand slides up and under the hem of your skirt, squeezing your ass as you suck a bruise into his neck. he pulls away from you quickly, looking at you with fury before kissing you again.

 it knocks the wind out of you with his force but you quickly recover, dragging your hands down his chest and tracing his bulge with your fingertips. he grunts as he pulls away and looks at you.

you're gasping but you recover your breath and shoot him a glare. "are you gonna fuck me or are you just going to stare at me like a goddamn airhead?" you spit. he glares at you and pulls you up by your shoulders, spinning you and bending you by the waist so your cheek is pressed against the cool of the table. "yeah, this is much better." he replies snarkily as he pulls your skirt up and grinds against your ass. you moan quietly and you hear him undoing his belt buckle. you're aching and you can feel excitement bubbling in your stomach, wiggling your hips slightly in need.

what you don't expect is a harsh smack to land on your ass, making you gasp in arousal. his hands squeeze your ass and you look back to see him pumping himself, sliding your panties down your legs. your eyes widen slightly, noticing how big he is, but you groan in impatience, "can you hurry up already?" you spit.

he glares at you and suddenly thrusts in all at once, making you scream. he fills you up perfectly and you drop your head to rest on the table as he starts to thrust. 

he's not forgiving; he fucks into you hard and deep and you have to bite your hand to keep from moaning his name in pleasure. you'd never hear the end of it. his hands grip your hips so tightly you know there'll be marks tomorrow and he’s muttering swear words quietly, adding to the wetness between your legs.

 he's hitting the perfect spot inside you and one glance behind you shows his face just as contorted in pleasure as yours is. you hate to admit it, but he's fucking hot and the expression is perfect on him.

he's fucking you into the table and as he pulls your hips back to meet his thrusts you can't help but whimper his name. you can hear his smirk in his voice, even when your eyes are clenched shut. "didn't know how desperate you were for me."

you groan, half in pleasure and half because you hate how good he's making you feel. "i fucking hate you s-so much, tozier." you say, trying to stop your moans but failing miserably. his hips are snapping into yours and you clench around him, knowing you're about to cum embarrassingly fast.

he hums at your words tauntingly, "whatever, princess. i know you’re about to cum on my cock." he mutters the words and you moan again, your toes curling in pleasure. he thrusts deeper into you and you let out a strangled scream as you hit your peak. your fingers grasp on the edge of the table as richie plows through your high, chasing his own.

you start to whimper, feeling overly sensitive. he chuckles darkly, "you're fine." he mutters, his hands squeezing your ass. he thrusts a few more times before his hips stutter and he finishes inside you with a low moan. his chest is pressed on your back and you can't seem to catch your breath, feeling limp and extremely pleasured. 

holy shit.

he pulls out of you, making you whimper at the sensation and he pulls up your panties, rubbing the seat of your clothed core with his thumb and pulling your skirt down. "fuck you." he whispers in your ear and then he gets up, pulls his pants up, grabs his keys and jacket, and leaves.

 you lay there on the table breathing heavily, unsure what the fuck just happened but knowing you loved it way too much.

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #mike hanlon #stanley uris #bill denbrough #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #losers x reader #losers club x reader #richie tozier #jewish richie tozier

[southsidestory]

Hey! I LOVE all of your writing! Thanks for sharing your work with us! I saw that you like kakasakura... any chance you would ever write for them? 🙏☺️

Thank you so much, nonny! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing.

As for KakaSaku... well, there’s definitely a chance I’d write for them, because I already have. 😅 I’ve just never posted it.

But since you sent me this sweet ask, I’ll share the first scene of a KakaSaku fic I’ve been toying with. FYI even though Sakura is a chuunin and this is in the period when Naruto is traveling with Jiraiya, Sakura is 18. Because I said so, and this fanfiction land, where my rules are the only rules lmao

.

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Kakashi’s mission ran over. It turned out that quietly assassinating a samurai lord constantly surrounded by underlings wasn’t as simple as he’d expected. The assassination itself was almost absurdly easy, but getting Lord Akinobu alone long enough to do it wasn’t. He ended up spending almost two weeks in the Land of Iron before an opportunity presented itself.

The trip back to Konoha was uneventful. He should report to the Hokage right away, but he felt a shower and nap were in order first. After he woke up, he watered Mr. Ukki, who had withered a little in his absence. Kakashi suspected that his house plant was indestructible, but two weeks was a long time even for it to go without attention.

He would ask someone to look after Mr. Ukki when he went on missions, but he didn’t have anyone. His neighbors resented him for coming and going at all hours, and his friends were… well, kept at arm’s length. Which was how he liked it. But unfortunately his independence meant poor Mr. Ukki sometimes went without water for a while.

Kakashi meant to go directly to the Hokage tower, but he spotted Gai buying watame from a street vendor and couldn’t resist getting two for himself.

“You only did that to one-up me,” Gai said sourly.

Kakashi continued on, cotton candy in hand. The blue one was the same soft shade as the sky overhead, and the pink was almost the exact color of Sakura’s hair. Like the smooth inside of a conch shell, or the cherry blossoms she was named for.

He hadn’t seen Sakura in three or four months, and he wondered how she was faring. He heard about her occasionally from his fellow jounin. What a skilled kunoichi she’d turned out to be, with the promise of becoming as strong as the Hokage herself someday.

Not much surprised Kakashi, but Sakura did.

He handed the blue cotton candy to a passing child, whose mother immediately yanked it out of his hands and glared daggers at Kakashi. The little boy wailed and reached for the spun sugar treat while his mother lectured him about not taking food from strangers.

Kakashi ate the pink one as he meandered his way toward the Hokage tower. By the time he arrived, he’d finished the cotton candy. He pulled his mask back up over his face, dropped the plastic stick in the lobby trash can, and went up the stairs to Tsunade’s office.

“You’re late,” she said, without looking up from her desk.

Kakashi leaned against the wall, tempted to pull Icha Icha out of his kunai pouch, but Tsunade’s temper and monstrous strength were a formidable combination. He’d like to keep his nose unbroken.

“It was hard to get Akinobu alone.”

Tsunade snorted. “You were the youngest shinobi to be promoted to chuunin in the history of Konoha, and you know a thousand jutsu. You’re creative enough to kill a measly samurai in a timely manner.”

Kakashi didn’t argue. Fighting with the Hokage was an exercise in futility.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I ought to dock your pay.”

He shrugged. “If you want.”

He had a nice nest egg set away, thanks to his thriftiness and over ten years of A-rank and S-rank mission rewards.

Tsunade sighed. “I expect your report on my desk by twelve tomorrow. And I do mean twelve in the afternoon, not midnight.”

Kakashi nodded with all the deference he could muster. “As you say, Lady Hokage.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, even though he did plan to turn in his mission report on time.

Probably.

Someone knocked on the door, and Tsunade called, “Come in.”

It was Sakura, carrying a stack of binders and looking very harassed. “I got those files you asked for, shishou—”

She stopped dead, green eyes wide as she looked up at him.

“Kakashi-sensei!” Sakura’s words were ruthless and so painfully high that he almost winced. 

She hurried to set the binders on Tsunade’s desk, then turned back to him.

"Hey, Sakura. Long time no see."

The surprise fell from her expression and something harder took its place. 

"Yeah," she said. "Been busy?" 

"I was on a long mission," Kakashi said. 

She raised one rosy eyebrow. "Oh? Four months long?" 

Apparently Sakura hadn't grown out of her passive aggressive streak.

"Two weeks,” Tsunade said. “And it shouldn't have taken that long.”

Sakura smirked. "Are you losing your touch, Kakashi-sensei?" 

He laughed a little. "Don't get too big for your britches. I can still take you."

She opened her mouth, no doubt to toss some retort at him, but Tsunade beat her to it.

“Don’t be so sure. You might be surprised by what she’s accomplished.”

“With a proper teacher,” Sakura said sweetly.

Kakashi scratched the back of his head. “Don’t blame me. If any students besides Team 7 had ever passed the bell test, I would have had more practice before you guys.”

“Please. You didn’t have any problems teaching Sa—” She paused for a moment, and in that brief silence Kakashi heard everything she wasn’t saying. She shook it off and went on. “You taught Sasuke fine. Naruto too sometimes, even though he was dead-last in our class.”

Kakashi canted his head. “Sasuke and Naruto were focused on becoming better shinobi. You were too busy nursing a school-girl crush.”

That was a low blow, but he wasn’t going to take all of the blame here. Sakura was as responsible for her lack of growth as a genin as he was. 

She clenched her fists at her sides. “So I wasn’t worth your time? Is that it?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“You might as well have!” She took a few steps toward him, glaring ferociously enough to intimidate a lesser man. Too bad for her he’d seen worse than a spitting mad chuunin. “At least you’re finally honest enough to admit it. Not that you haven’t already made it astoundingly clear how weak you thought I was.”

Tsunade stood up and put her hands on her desk. “If you’re going to brawl, take it outside.”

Sakura’s chest was heaving with ragged breaths, her gaze fierce. She barely topped five feet and might weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet, but size didn’t mean much for a kunoichi of her caliber. Especially a girl trained by one of the legendary Sannin.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s go to the training grounds.”

“Come back and challenge me when you’re a jounin.”

He ruffled her hair, and Sakura smacked his hand away.

“Don’t treat me like a child, Kakashi!”

That brought him up short in a way that her temper tantrum hadn’t. She never called him by his name alone.

“Then don’t act like one.” He looked to Tsunade. “Am I free to go?”

She waved at him vaguely. “Get out of here before Sakura kills you.”

Kakashi took the shortest route home, barely hearing the hustle and bustle of the village around him. Mrs. Kurosawa, one of his neighbors, berated him for something on his way up the stairs to his apartment, but he didn’t bother to listen. He locked his door behind him, took off his hitai-ate, pulled down his mask, and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. He should read, maybe watch TV. Reruns of his favorite soap opera would start airing in an hour, and he needed to catch up before watching the new episode. Immersing himself in Marriage Contract would help him wind down from his overdrawn mission.

And his fight with Sakura. Which, if he was honest with himself, bothered him more.

He shouldn’t have called her feelings for Sasuke a school-girl crush. He’d watched Sakura’s childish infatuation grow into love, and diminishing it was downright cruel.

Some people would say that thirteen was too young to understand love, but Kakashi knew better. Shinobi learned hard lessons of the heart long before other children. Rin had loved him, and Obito had loved Rin. Kakashi didn’t know who he’d loved. He lost them both before he could figure it out.

Maybe if their team could bring Sasuke home, things would turn out better for Sakura.

He hoped so.

#kakasaku #kakasaku fanfiction #kakasaku fanfic #kakasaku fic #ks fanfiction #my fanfiction #kakasaku drabble #asks #nice people #Anonymous