#I have not been in the proper state to enjoy my tea this morning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fridgemagnethusband · 2 years ago

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Die Schöne und das Biest

Interlude II: On the Subject of Flowers

Hello buttercups <3 I've just this week settled into a real schedule after starting a new job a couple months back, so I'm only now feeling like I'm in a place where I can confidently write again. I prooomise you a real chapter is coming soon, but in the meantime, please enjoy interlude part 2, electric boogaloo <3

February 12, 19XX

The morning before last, the Duke passed on a letter summoning me to the estate of the venerable Lady Beneviento in one week's time. The man does not readily give away his mood, but I find I’ve come to be able to accurately gauge his disposition over the years, and recognized a sort of hesitation in his actions. When I asked about his apprehension, he only gave a measured smile and stated that it would be unwise to decline the Lady’s invitation, but urged me to practice vigilance in her company all the same.

During my brief time here, I’ve come to understand that Lady Beneviento is quite reclusive, but have not otherwise heard anything that makes me believe I need to be cautious in her presence. Still, the Duke has been undeniably kind to me since my arrival, and I am inclined to trust his judgment on account of the fact that he has so graciously put a roof over my head and sells my tinctures and salves to my mistrustful new neighbors. They seem content enough to overlook the fact that I’ve made them so long as they don’t have contact with me directly, which suits me just fine. I only hope they can put their suspicion aside long enough to visit me should they need a remedy with a more specific application, which is what I suspect the Lady’s summons are about. Time will confirm this.

February 19, 19XX

I’ve returned from my visit with Lady Beneviento, whom I found to be a most courteous host despite her supposed preference for solitude. I was summoned in the hopes that I could help to treat the uneasiness of her mind and perhaps her sleeplessness should I have the proper means. I told her that the two may very well go hand in hand, with the former causing - or at least exacerbating - the latter, and that if my recommended treatment of chamomile and lemon balm tea did not help alleviate the symptoms of her insomnia, I would prepare her a powdered valerian root to use in addition to the tea as a sedative before bed. Either way, I have been asked to return in another week’s time to join her for tea and to reassess the treatment if needed. I did not ask about the sources of her anxieties despite my curiosity, with her garb being indication enough that she is in a period of mourning. I’ll have to needle the Duke into telling me which of her relatives has passed, and will bring her flowers in testimony of my condolences at our next meeting.

On the subject of flowers, I noticed an unfamiliar variety of yellow blooms on my way to the estate. I meant to ask Lady Beneviento if she knew what they were, but could not find an opportune moment to broach the topic and did not get the sense that she cares for such things on account of her home’s decor, which largely consisted of dolls. I didn’t think one plant would be missed, so I unearthed a small cluster on my way home to be potted as soon as I returned. Perhaps next week, I will find the time to inquire either with her or the man who was tending to the headstones in the family cemetery. In the meantime, my new friends will grace my humble porch.

March 16, 19XX

I’m growing to enjoy our weekly visits. They are always under the pretense of treatment, but I don’t know that we ever spend more than a quarter of an hour discussing her condition. The rest of the time is filled with zacusca and tea and dolmas, and - much to my surprise - talk of local plants. I could not have been more wrong in my assumption that Lady Beneviento doesn’t care for them; she seems to have a keen interest in them, and as such, I have given her my copy of Alkaloids of Mountainous Plants to read. She regrets that I couldn’t meet her groundskeeper before he passed, as he seems to have known more about (what I assume is) the yellow Aconitum leading up to the estate. In the meantime, she has urged me not to handle it, citing their likely poisonous qualities; I am not unaware of the potential for aconite poisoning, but assured her I would not for the sake of her peace of mind. She needn’t know about those I borrowed.

April 23, 19XX

Late (Early?) - Frantic knocking at the door nearly frightened me to death as I was working at the table with G. I do not receive customers during the middle of the day, let alone during the small hours of the morning. When I opened the door, I was greeted by torrential rain and a young couple huddled underneath the overhang of the roof with their small daughter in tow. I ushered them out of the cold, and directed the father to lay her out on the bed so that I might assess her. They reported the girl had been complaining of severe stomach pain, and that they put her to bed in the hopes that her concurrent fever would break. When she became unresponsive in the middle of the night, they brought her to me. I set to work on stripping the child and sponging her skin to promote dispersal of body heat, and when her fever finally subsided some time later, I sent them home with a tincture of wormwood and walnut hull, along with strict instructions to return or call for me should her condition worsen again. I took the relief in their faces as payment, and have a strong hope that perhaps word of mouth will garner me more trust and business in the future.

(I regret having to shut G in the wardrobe for the duration of the couple’s visit, but he says that it is comfortable enough in my presence.)

April 30, 19XX

It seems word of mouth travels faster and farther than I might have hoped. The Duke has informed me that my wares have sold out, and that there is a mounting demand for my wormwood and walnut tincture. Each time I’ve found myself in the square to replenish stock, I’ve been hurried under one roof or another, and have been all but begged to treat what seems to be the same illness at different stages. It seems to start with severe fatigue and a fever, progresses into nausea and vomiting, and ends with the most dreadful, unproductive cough. Initially I suspected improperly prepared fish to be the culprit, and advised against eating anything that wasn’t thoroughly cooked through, however, this does not seem to be the common thread between the afflicted…

At the risk of being accused of heresy or following hunches, I believe it is exposure to something in the church. I cannot say what exactly they are being exposed to, as I do not attend, but if I had to venture a guess I would attribute it to either spoiled wine or bread. Unfortunately, there do not seem to be many opportunities to meet with the village head - Mother Miranda - outside of dropping in on one of her sermons. Perhaps I’ll ask Donna (she has insisted I drop the honorifics) if she knows of a better way to bring the illness to her attention. Should there not be one, I will simply have to brave the church for the sake of the sick.

May 7th, 19XX

To say I upset Donna during our visit today is an understatement.

Our social call started just the same as any; with her delightful cooking, hot tea, and easy conversation. At one point she mentioned that she’d heard from the Duke that my wares were selling quite successfully, and that she was glad to hear that I was finding more work here. I believed her attitude to be genuine despite our previous discordance when discussing why I had decided to leave my village for this one.

It was at this point that I brought up the illnesses I’d been treating; I detailed the collective symptoms of the villagers, and suggested that perhaps something that is being consumed at the church is contributing to this widespread ailment. This seemed like an appropriate enough time to ask if or when I could have an audience with Mother Miranda outside of sermons, but I had scarcely finished posing the question before the teacup in Donna’s hand crashed to the floor. She reached for me as I knelt to pick up the pieces, and I felt the tremble of her delicate hands over my own.

“Please. You mustn’t bring attention to it. To yourself.”

I tried multiple times to explain to her that I have a duty to look after the people I treat, even at the risk of putting myself in confrontational situations, but she only clasped my hands harder, as though that could make me understand.

“I admire your devotion, truly, I do,” her voice wavered and her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. “But Mother Miranda is not a woman you should cross if you truly wish to build a comfortable life here.”

“Cross her? If bringing an illness to her attention is enough to be considered crossing her–”

As quickly as I had grown angry, I fell silent. Donna released her grip on me to lift the veil from her face, and my gut twisted as our eyes met for the first time. Knotted scar tissue heavily disfigured the right side of her otherwise perfect face, but this was clearly not the source of the pain behind her piercing hazel eye.

She breathed my name, pulling me from whatever stupor I must have been in.

“Swear to me that you’ll stay away from her.”

The poor dear seemed so distraught at that moment, I agreed outright in the hopes that it might quiet the panic in her voice. However, I do not believe this to be a promise I can keep if I’ve inferred the meaning of her actions correctly. I will have to ask the Duke what he knows of this.

Taglist: @artist-bby @ambiguous-g @honimello @butterflysist3r @spac3witch @xyinparadise @fantrashtic-emily @emmathedestroyer@eleeloo @strayczennies@reddbishop @cakelover365 @jackysenpaii @lilcocakitty @pinemangojuice

#die schöne und das biest #karl heisenberg #resident evil village #re8 #karl heisenberg x female reader #karl heisenberg/female reader #donna beneviento #self insert #reader insert #fluff #angst #eventual smut #slow burn

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yinjiyang · 1 year ago

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evcryopeneye:

@yinjiyang continued from x

“Ever since the world was created, it’s never been okay.” She clarified, taking a sip of plum wine. Jinmi was sure that she should stop drinking, she was drunk…though what was the point in stopping? There was no one here to hold her to the standards of the heavens, if she wanted to get drunk, who was going to stop her?

“You want me to let you into a secret?” Well, the secret was probably darker than she would have come up with had she been sober. “I was cursed when I was born.” While her mother thought she was doing the right thing, Jinmi couldn’t help but be angry about it, upset, heartbroken, and everything in between. It was after all, her choice to feel, love was hers to make and experience. The moment the pill had shattered in her chest, the world came flooding into her veins.

Emotions that Jinmi had never felt, overwhelming and yet enthralling and agonizing at the same time. To realize you had spent your life, feeling things differently…or rather not feeling at all…was a revelation that had ripped her heart out, and then stuffed it back into her chest. “I couldn’t feel love, in retrospect, the world felt so cold without it.” That she hadn’t even noticed. “Gods, they think they feel differently from humans but it’s not true at all, the line between the heavens and the earth is much finer than you think. We feel just the same…but time brings….temperance in a way.”

Ever since the world was created? Well, Yin Jiyang could attest to that. If everything was always okay all of the time, then this Universe would be rather boring. His smile continued as he listened to her speak, a quiet chuckle resonating in his throat. He enjoyed this side of her; alcohol tended to bring out the honesty in others, the true thoughts lingering in the backs of minds that they yearned to say but were too afraid, too proper, or too considerate to speak aloud. He certainly had no desire to stop her in her endeavors to become the most inebriated patron of this tea house. "Oh, I love secrets," he replied honestly, his posture shifting a bit as he rested his elbows on the table, propping his chin upon a shelf of interwoven fingers, watching her with curious and soft eyes of night. She had his undivided attention. It was in the dark that people often kept things hidden, the darkness and the night where they dared to share their innermost secrets; for him to say that he loved them may have been an understatement. Cursed at birth? Oh dear. "How so?" he asked, deeply interested in learning about this curse; was it still in effect? Did she require assistance to break it? He would certainly be glad to assist her on that front if that was the case. He continued to listen about this horrible thing that someone had done to a child goddess. He had to agree with the majority of her words; Time certainly did bring temperance. At this point, Jinmi still did not know the truth behind Yin Jiyang, the truth of just who exactly the priest was--what he was--and though perhaps there had been a few opportunities to provide her with that information, he had kept it a secret of his own. If he were to mention some odd things now about personally knowing gods and demons, would she even remember in the morning given her drunken state? "In my travels, I have met some who feel love and the pain of love lost so deeply they would view your curse as a blessing," he confessed with sincerity, a serene and pensive smile resting upon his face. "Perhaps the one who cursed you thought they were doing you a favor."

#evcryopeneye #evcryopeneye - jinmi #plum wine and tea #traveler verse #{ oh no. no no no. no bed for you li'l flower. he must hear more! }

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runnning-outof-time · 2 years ago

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Pls can you do “Why is it always you?” for some cozy fall tommy fluff?

Thanks for sending this in, anon!! 🥰❤️

Thank you for helping me celebrate hitting 2K followers! Want to read more blurbs from this celebration? Check out this post!

A Pointless Argument

Tommy Shelby

Warnings: mentions of smoking and drinking

After an upsetting discovery, (Y/N) storms out onto the grounds of Arrow House to have a word with her husband.

“Why is it always you?” (Y/N) asked as she approached the table and chairs that Tommy was sitting at.

“Why is what always me?” Tommy asked her, barely opening his eyes to look at her as she stopped in front of him. He didn’t even bother to sit up from his lounged state; his hands still clasped over his stomach and his head resting against the back of the metal chair.

“You always take the last scone in the morning, Tommy…always,” she told him, her distaste for the situation clear in the words she spoke.

“Who’s to say I took it, hmm?” he defended himself, still not sounding like he cared a great deal about the problem at hand as he shut his eyes again, “it could’ve been Charlie…could’ve been Anna,” he then tried to throw the blame onto their children.

“It was you, Tommy, and I have proof that it was,” (Y/N) stayed steadfast on her point, taking her argument a step further as she was ready to back it up with evidence.

“Yeah?” Tommy opened his eyes again so that he could look at her; to see if she was bluffing. She looked pretty serious at the moment, and he was wondering if he’d be able to get her to cave this time.

“Yes,” she nodded definitively.

“What’s your proof?” he asked her, his eyebrows raised.

“Frances told me that you asked her to bring it to you in your office this morning. You ate it with your morning tea while you were reading the newspaper,” she outlined her evidence, making sure to add as much detail as she could.

Tommy let out a sigh as he stared off at the treeline of changing colors. “I should probably hire new help now, eh?” he asked her then, his sudden question catching (Y/N) off guard.

“What? No…you can’t fire Frances,” she told him, an incredulous look now present on her face.

“She’s sold me out too easily,” he gave his reason.

“She only told me what I already knew,” (Y/N) defended the woman who worked for them. “Besides…” she trailed off then as she moved even closer to the seat that Tommy was sitting on. She nudged his thigh with her knee, making him sit up properly in the chair so that she could sit on his lap. “I’m rather happy that she actually got you to eat something…it’s been at least a week since you’ve had proper food,” she said as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders so that she could steady herself on her new seat.

“I’ve eaten this past week,” he tried to defend himself.

“A few mint leaves does not count as proper food, Tommy,” she disagreed with him, a ‘you’re being serious right now?’ look on her face.

“There isn’t a problem with eating mint, love…” He stayed steadfast on his viewpoint, “makes my breath smell good.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but giggle at his statement. “You can eat anything you want, Tommy…your breath’s still gonna smell like cigarettes and whiskey,” she told him in a matter-of-fact tone.

Tommy rolled his eyes at her comment before he hooked his hands around her waist. She rested herself against his chest and got comfortable as they enjoyed what would probably be one of the last warmer autumn mornings.

“I will say that I like it though,” (Y/N) said softly after a few moments had passed.

“Hmm?” Tommy hummed, opening his eyes only slightly to look over at her.

“The way you smell,” she clarified, “with all these years we’ve been together…it reminds me of home now.”

The corner of Tommy’s lips curved upwards before he pressed a kiss to her temple. “You smell like home too, love,” he mumbled into her hair before inhaling the sweet, calming smell of her shampoo.

(Y/N) smiled as she curled her fingers around the collar of the shirt he was wearing. Some more time passed by silently before she spoke up again, “I’m still not happy that you ate the last scone,” she mumbled while picking at the threads of his waistcoat.

“I thought we were finished with the pointless arguments,” Tommy sighed, knowing all too well that he would not be hearing the end of this for the rest of the day.

———

Tagged: @mgcllovdrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @golden-hoax @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @lovemissyhoneybee @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby blurb #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #root2kfollowercelebration

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thestalwartheart · 2 years ago

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Hello! If you're still taking one word prompts, maybe either "hoodie" or "pillow" for 00q? And no pressure at all to respond to this quickly, the muse can't be rushed. :D

Thanks for the ask, friend!

I had a million ideas for both of these, but I went with some soft pining/character study/fluffy/late-night MI6 vibes for the prompt 'hoodie.' It's set sometime between Skyfall and Spectre.

Available below or on AO3. Enjoy!

The clock flashes eighteen minutes past four. It’s one of Bond’s favourite hours to wander the halls of MI6.

He used to put it down to the lack of paper pushers around, but that wouldn’t be telling the whole story. After her husband passed, Mansfield used to be a fellow late-night visitor. She’d often ignored him, quite rightly, but there are a few precious memories Bond has of nights where, over a measure of whisky or three, he managed to draw a curl of a smile from her. On one particular occasion, it had widened to a bright, loud bark of laughter.

Tanner, too, is something of a regular during the hours between dusk and dawn. He’s unlucky enough to have the same sort of family life as an agent — that is to say, none at all — so it’s never a surprise to find him in his office, ready to lament the state of government or the running of the country.

No one, however, is more frequent a visitor than Q. He’s part of the furniture now, Tanner once told him, early in Q’s tenure as Quartermaster. Settling in well.

Over the course of a long and frustrating year, full of stops and starts at chasing down Spectre, Bond has learned Q’s late-night patterns. He works past the early evening, taking virtually no notice of the mass exodus between five and six pm. It’s in the late hours that he resurfaces from his work to notice the time. And there he’ll sit, still in one of his corduroy suits that crease more and more over time, bemoaning another night lost to keeping the country safe. Usually, it's his cats on the receiving end of the rant. They're here more than Tanner and Bond combined.

The first few times Bond caught him at it, he’d spared a thought for how terribly uncomfortable Q looked. That was until a few months ago when Bond had spotted him making a tea run at two in the morning. Now, Bond knows that's usually the hour that sees Q swapping his work suit for tracksuit pants and a t-shirt. The t-shirt that first night featured a logo for some daftly-named tech corporation whose biotechnology could have existed in a dystopian novel. So have most of the t-shirts since.

Terribly bored of late, and starved for any other forms of entertainment, Bond has made it a mission to catch Q in his casual wear more often. He always looks endearingly embarrassed when Bond finds him, which, in all honesty, is immensely cheering. Every time Q runs his hands through his hair and glares filthily at Bond’s still-pristine suit, it improves Bond’s mood my a mile. Of course, the whole effect of it makes Q look as if he’s ten years younger than he actually is. It has Bond wondering, occasionally, whether it’s even proper to look at him.

He decides it doesn’t matter. Bond has never been proper in his life, and he’s not about to start in his forties. Besides, it’s always more fun to be decidedly improper around Q. A memory of the last time he’d found him at four in the morning comes to mind. It had been in the tea room, where Q was meticulously preparing his nth Earl Grey of the evening:

“Are the suits magically altered?” Q asked, irate at the difference in their attire. “Or do you just shed them to steam the creases every thirty minutes?”

Bond’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “Do you imagine that often? Me, ironing in the nude?”

“Less than you’d like, 007.”

“But you do imagine it.”

Q rolled his eyes, picked up his tea, and blew at the surface. Steam rose between them, scented with bergamot. “I have work to do.”

This morning, however, Bond hasn’t run into the Quartermaster at all. It’s not the first time Q has been hard to find, but it is unusual. Bond searches the usual hiding spots: the pool, where Q sometimes likes to take a break for a dip; the rooftop, where, every so often, he likes to take a break to smoke no more than one cigarette; Q’s office; Tanner’s office; and the conference room at the corner of the floor Q Branch is on. The last is a bit of a mystery to Bond — it’s as cold and impersonal as anywhere else in the building — but Q insists it’s where the most comfortable chairs are to be found.

“This agency doesn’t budget nearly enough for ergonomics,” he’d once grumbled. “Though I’d be willing to fix the problem myself if you agents didn’t blow up every last penny of my department’s budget.”

“That’s a bit of a misleading statement, isn’t it?” Bond replied. “Sometimes we throw them in the sea.”

Tonight, it’s in the conference room he finally spots Q.

He’s asleep, curled over his keyboard and dressed in a thick hoodie. The room’s motion sensor lighting has switched off, and the only remaining light in the room comes from the shifting neon blues and purples of Q’s screensaver that wash over his face in lazy patterns. He looks lovely, though not for the first time it strikes Bond how young he looks like this. The hoodie, a worn University of Cambridge one, is too large for him. Bond wonders if it’s his own and was simply ordered that way or if it’s on loan from someone else. Not a brother — Bond knows Q doesn’t have any family left. So a boyfriend, perhaps. Maybe an ex.

That dangerous thought is quickly subsumed by another. He’s going to do his back in like that.

A decision comes to him quickly, and Bond refuses to second-guess it. When he enters the room, the lights click on, but Q is evidently so tired that he only stirs for a moment. Slowly, Bond coaxes him off his laptop and shuts it. He’ll come back for it later. For now, Q is his concern. Bond lifts him, still in the depths of sleep, until he’s curled around the front of Bond, his knees dangling over one arm and his head resting on the other shoulder.

For the entire walk along the short corridor, Q hardly stirs, though every now and then, Bond will feel a snuffling breath at his neck or the tightening of Q’s hand on his arm. It sends a sprawling warmth through him each time, and he doesn’t bother to dismiss the feeling as he might do during the nine-to-five or in the field. There’s no one else around to bear witness, anyway. In any case, as soon as Q realises what’s happened, he’ll be so mortified that the security feeds will get neatly scrubbed. As he does it, he'll mutter creative insults under his breath, aimed at both himself and Bond. Bond can almost hear the rant now, something about Quartermasters needing to command respect and the very notion of professional respect being utterly undermined by bridal carries.

Not that Q should be embarrassed. This has been, by far, the best part of Bond’s day.

The cosy, ever-so-slightly worn Chesterfield in Q’s office is clear of some of its usual debris, so Bond lays him down before taking the thick, knitted throw blanket from the couch’s arm and settling it over Q. It’s navy blue and a perfect match Q’s hoodie.

Q shifts. His eyes squint open. Bond's never really managed to get used to his eyes in either the daylight or the black of night. Now, they're a startling, sparkling bottle green, as perilously bewitching as ever.

“Bond?”

“It’s all right,” Bond whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

For a moment, Q’s fingers tighten where they still rest on Bond’s arm. “Hm,” he whispers, voice and mind still muddled with sleep. “Bond. Stay safe ’n the field.”

Bond huffs, amused. Deep within him is a growing, insistent urge to sweep Q’s hair back off his forehead and place a kiss there. He resists it, as he has resisted plenty else with his Quartermaster. Instead, he tugs the blanket higher up and pats Q on the shoulder.

After retrieving the laptop and returning it to its rightful place with a cheeky note taped to the back, Bond takes a last look at the couch. Q is fast asleep again, his eyelids flickering through REM sleep. His dreams must be fairly peaceful because his lips are ticked almost imperceptibly upwards.

Lovely, admits Bond to himself. Beautiful.

Enough.

He pauses once more at the door, feeling glad for the smile at Q's lips and the good dreams he's having. At least someone around here is avoiding the nightmares for the time being.

"Sleep well, Q."

#00q #00q fic #my fic

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plxviofiles · 3 years ago

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pizza and deep conversations

☝️ originally posted by marvellegends

#kate bishop x fem!reader, soft angst, fluff !!

WARNINGS: one slightly suggestive joke 🙏

→ it’s hard to be angry at kate bishop, even when she wakes you up at 2 am in the morning for pizza after an exhausting Christmas day.

A/N: @neozworld I KNOW I KNOW you gave me a fluff prompt and this was supposed to be fully fluff but I included soft angst as well 😭 I know you’re not a marvel fan, but ty for listening my rants on natasha and kate and ty for this wonderful idea <3 ily.

A/N 2: idk if this is counted as a christmas fic? but I hope you enjoy reading <3 this is truly my favorite prompt. also hawkeye episode 3 !??! maya is so cool and <clintkate's dynamic3

! word count: 1.1K

“Babe. Babe. Babe. Babe.”

Look, there’s a whole lot of reasons why you were ignoring your girlfriend.

1. You were tired. So tired.

2. Why were you tired? Kate kept you up all night. And no, not for what you might think, but for watching chick flicks because Kate insisted that Christmas Eve was the best time to watch them.

3. You spent the whole Christmas day celebrating with the Avengers. With the idiocy of the boys (and by the boys you mean Tony, Thor, Sam, and Bucky), and with the combined teasing of Yelena, Natasha, Wanda, and occasionally even Kate, you felt like smashing your head into a wall.

4. It was 2 am.

“No,” you mumble in your sleep, pushing Kate’s face away with your hand. Kate huffs and swats your arm away, then starts to shake it over and over, “y/n! Wake up!”

It was times like this that your girlfriend reminded you of Clint’s kids. She always had energy and you were the opposite usually.

“Katie, I’m exhausted,” you manage to say, trying weakly to pull your arm away, “Please.”

“But I’m hungry,” she pouts, but to no avail, your eyes still closed, “You know what I need?”

You decide to give her the benefit of a doubt, silently praying that all she wants is crackers and tea (since you had that in the kitchen), but when you open one eye and meet her mischievous grin, you groan on impulse.

“Babe, I’m not getting up at 2 am to get you pizza,” you grunt with annoyance.

“Do you love me?” she asks you seriously, and you whine loudly, “Katie, please, just because I’m too tired to get you pizza doesn’t mean I don’t love you!”

“But you’re already awake,” she pleads continually, taking a pillow and swatting you with it, “Pleaseeeee!”

“ALRIGHT. ALRIGHT,” you shout tiredly, sitting up on the bed, “IM UP.”

“YES,” Kate pumps her fist in victory and you rub your sleepy eyes to meet the archer’s hypnotic blue ones. She blinks like she knows how much irritation is building up. You see that she’s already dressed and ready.

“How long have you been awake?” you question her, suddenly awake, and concern evident, “You need proper sleep, Katie.”

She threads her hand through her long black hair, sighing audibly and not looking directly at you, “I didn’t sleep.”

“Restless?” you whisper knowingly, intertwining your hand with hers and you realise for the thousandth time that it fits perfectly.

“All the time,” she whispers back, squeezing your hand in search of comfort.

You stay silent and kiss her knuckles, slowly and purposefully. Kate’s breath hitches in her throat.

“It’s hard being a hero,” you tell her, still holding her hand, “Whatever your hands do or are going to do, I love them.”

Kate tears up after a few seconds of resistance, and you instinctively wrap your arms around her.

After a few minutes of heavy breathing and loving rubs on her back, you detach yourself and wipe the tears under her eyes, eliciting a weak smile. Then, you pull a jacket on, throwing her your favorite sweater of yours, which she also loved to wear.

“Let’s go.”

The car ride was slow, peaceful, and quiet. Except for a few speeding cars, it wasn’t that lively given the time. Kate plays music on the radio.

You hum to the music, and the sound lulls Kate to a content state, the melodies of her favorite music and your voice filling her heart with warmth.

“Katie,” you whisper, grabbing her attention, and she turns to you upon hearing the nickname that only you and Clint get to call her.

Your hand finds its way to hers like it always does.

“You’re my hero, you know that right?” you say both teasingly and with seriousness, and Kate’s heart constricts.

“And you are mine,” she whispers into the dead of night, but you hear her, even when no one else does.

You wind down the windows and blast the music louder, and Kate finds enough in herself to laugh. Laughing was so much easier when she was with you.

You sang the song off key on purpose and Kate joins in, the same contagious smile taking place. You look over and smile, she was a better sight than the full moon.

“I love when you smile, it makes me feel like everything is going to be okay,” you tell her immediately.

Kate feels heat rush to her neck. You always gave compliments the moment you thought of them.

“How can you say something like that,” she stutters characteristically, trying to cover her face with her other hand.

“You always try to cover your blush when you’re alone with me!” you whine, disappointed, “I want to see the massive effect I have on you.”

“The effect I have on you is more obvious,” she tries to counter, smirking.

“Mhm, yeah keep telling yourself that.”

"I can't believe you almost started a war because there was no cola left," Kate chides you with a grin that represented her unbelief at her girlfriend's attitude. In her arms were a few pizzas (maybe one or two for Lucky).

"How is 'it's christmas and that's why we ran out' a good excuse?!" you complain grumpily.

"You're like the grinch you know, with your grumpiness and with the green sweater you're wearing right now-"

"Stop!" you start giggling, all the while still keeping your eyes on the road, "Don't antagonize me!"

"Right, right," you can practically hear the smirk on her face, "I'm sorry for saying you're the human embodiment of the grinch."

"I'm starting to regret bringing you out," you mumble quietly.

"Hey, I heard that!"

You roll your eyes and pretend you didn't hear her, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel.

Comfortable silence fills the car again. It started raining a bit ago, the raindrops staining the windows and the noise of it relaxing you.

"What Clint said during our meal today," Kate side eyes you, "The thing he said about-"

"About being a hero and about the risks of being one?" you finish for her, "And how you'll lose some things or people forever?"

"I know I sounded nonchalant but," she chuckles with little humor, "Yeah. It's scary isn't it?"

"You're not going to lose me you know. Not now. Not ever."

You want her to understand.

Kate struggles to answer, trying to find the right words.

"You're the last thing I'd want to lose," she fidgets with your sweater, "It was hard enough to win you over."

You laugh breathily but Kate's face still seems unsure.

"I mean what I said as much as Clint did," you reply firmly, "You're the last thing I'd want to lose too, you know."

Kate exhales slowly, and she smiles warmly at you.

"What would I do without you?"

"You'll never find out," you whisper, and the traffic light turned red, allowing you to grin at her.

And with the slight hint of snow on her hair, the redness of her cheeks due to the cold, the content shadow of a smile on her face, and her hand on your thigh, you pray that you'll never find out either.

576 notes · View notes

amjustagirl · 4 years ago

Text

Love knows not its depth (until the hour of separation)

pairing: Kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! warnings: a tiny smudge of suggestive content wc: 4.9k m.list ~ taglist. ~

a/n: this is my rendition of a grown up Kuroo. life has been a little hectic for me recently, so i’m only getting around to posting it now. pls be kind and i hope y’all love it <3

“I need a break.”

Kuroo continues to snore. You are unsurprised he doesn’t hear you. After all, he came home glassy eyed, smelling strongly of alcohol after yet another night of drinks with his boss before quickly falling asleep in bed. It’s what he does most weekday nights, leaving you alone at home to manage your two daughters and tuck them into bed.

“I’m tired, Tetsuro.”

You are too tired to even tell him how you feel. You have a career of your own, two daughters to raise, a never ending list of chores and errands that must be done. You are a mother, a wife, a career woman. You have so many roles to play yet there is no space for you.

You must do something, anything or risk your heart imploding in your very chest.

You cannot survive that.

The next morning, you call your boss, ask for a day off. Then you pack your girls off to your mother’s place with two little suitcases with toys and clothes enough for a long weekend before you take the train to Hakone, check yourself into the ryokan with a view of Mt. Fuji that you spent your honeymoon at - except this time, you’re alone (but then again, you’ve been lonely for so long, you hardly notice the difference anymore).

You dip yourself into the hot waters of the onsens, watch bamboo sway in the breeze. It’s been at least a year since you’ve been even able to take a bath uninterrupted. There’s always something - Aiko needing help with her homework, Fumiko whining for another piece of mochi, your boss calling to chase for yet another report, so all you’ve ever had time for is a hurried shower before placating your daughters or seating yourself in front of your laptop to deal with your boss.

Finally, you’ve stolen a day to yourself. It’s absolute bliss.

The water is kind to you. Its heat soothes your aching muscles, the rising steam steadies your breath. You walk out of the baths feeling refreshed, renewed, but when you enter your room you find Kuroo Tetsuro waiting for you.

“I’ve been calling your phone all afternoon”, he says, face pinched. “I was worried.”

“Were you?” you say before you can stop yourself. “Really?”

“Of course”, he says, uncrossing his legs to stand. “You’re my wife and the mother of my children, of course I care.”

Wife. Mother. Employee.

The roles that life has handed you haunts you again. There is no escape for you.

Your skin suddenly feels as if it’s stretched too tight over your frame. Your bones rattle, brittle. They threaten to break if you take another breath. Yet you laugh and laugh and laugh, the sound spilling from your lips filling the room, suffocating the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

“If you really cared, you would have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between bouts of laughter. “I tried fixing myself with a break but you can’t even give me that.”

Kuroo stares at you, equal parts horrified and confused. He takes a hesitant step forward towards you before thinking the better of it, swerving over to the kettle instead, clutching it as if it holds the cure to your madness.

“Calm down”, he says, “take a seat”, and you do. He offers you a cup of tea. You accept it, even though you’re still shaking from the aftershock of your laughter. “Drink”, he says, and you bring the cup to your lips, though you wonder absently why you taste salt in the bitter tea.

“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.”

You want to tell him that you’re not strong enough to do what’s expected of you. You want to tell him that you’re drowning from the weight of being his wife, the mother of his kids, from being a working woman that he can be proud of. You want to tell him that you understand his career is important, but so is yours, and you can’t carry the weight of the world alone.

But that would take too many words, and you are far, far too tired for that.

So you say blankly - “I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.”

His face falls.

You should remember that Kuroo Tetsuro, first and foremost, is a child scarred by his parents’ divorce. You should remember that you made promises that you and he would never put your daughters through that. But you’ve floated beyond hysteria into a grey indifference, your mind too broken, too tired, too numb to consider him when you can barely even hold on to yourself.

You don’t even notice the hot tears soaking through your yukata. You are deaf to his pleas to give him another chance. There is nothing left in you to give because you’ve poured all you’ve had into him, into your family, into your job. You are so, so empty, and you just sit and sip your tea and wonder idly if the warmth from the liquid you’re ingesting will make you feel a little more alive, or if it’s possible to ease the dull ache in your heart.

It is only when you wake up the next day and the sun is high in the sky that you register that he rolled out your futon for you, tucked you into bed, and kissed your forehead as a goodnight and goodbye. But all of this is washed away by the relief you feel when you read the note he’s left behind telling you that he’s returned to Tokyo, and to enjoy your break.

So you do.

You relish every bite of the meals you have at the ryokan. It’s nice not having to cook or scarf down your food at your office desk for once. You fill your time flitting between the onsens and curling up in your room with a book, taking frequent cat naps until tomorrow comes around again and it’s time to check out and head home.

There’s a brief moment of surprise when the reception informs you politely that your husband already paid your bill - but you suppose that’s just Tetsuro being efficient at racking up credit card points. The bullet train takes you back to Tokyo, and a couple stops on the subway takes you home.

“Okaeri”, you call softly out of habit, not expecting anyone to respond, but Kuroo responds with an even softer ‘Tadaima’, striding over to take your bags from you and usher you into the apartment. There are pink roses sitting in a vase, but you pay it no mind.

“The girls?” you ask, already headed in the direction of their room.

“I picked them up from your mom”, Kuroo responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed”.

A peek into their room and it settles your mind to see that your girls are safe and sound asleep.

“Thanks,” you say, back in the kitchen, checking the fridge for what you can whip up for breakfast for you and the girls tomorrow. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.”

“It’s fine”, Kuroo answers, scratching his head. His hair seems a little more rumpled than usual. “I’ll cover it. I should’ve realised you needed a break.”

“You sure? You don’t have to pay for me, I’ve got money of my own.”

“No, let me pay for it, please. It’s the least I can do.”

You shrug. “Okay”, you say gracelessly. “Thank you.”

He continues to watch you over the kitchen counter as you lay out bread, eggs, ham, cheese. It’ll do for a quick breakfast for the girls tomorrow, never mind the guilt eating away at you that you really should do better than feeding them processed food all the time. You’re so preoccupied with planning the morning rush, the best way to clear the stack of reports that must have piled up on your desk at work by now that you miss Kuroo rounding the counter to stare down at you worriedly.

“You haven’t had dinner?”

“Oh no, I had a bento on the train on the way back.” It’s second nature to you to brush away anyone’s concern. “It’s for the girls’ breakfast.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take them to childcare before work tomorrow. Sleep in and take a break.”

“Really?” You stare back at him, confused. He doesn't even take charge of the girls in the mornings when you’re sick, your mother always has to fill in your place. He only ever turns up on the first day of school each year.

“Yes, of course. In fact, I’ve rearranged my work schedule so I can take them to school all of this week at least.”

“Oh”, you say, brows furrowed in confusion. “Okay, I guess. Wake me up if you need my help.”

“I won’t”, he replies, with a cocky smirk that seems almost false. “Goodnight, love.”

You don’t think of Kuroo’s strange behaviour overmuch, falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

Kuroo continues to act strangely all of next week.

As promised, he takes charge of getting the girls out of bed and ready for school. But you’re taken aback when he starts coming home for dinner, completely floored when he hands you a whole armful of bath salts and orders you to take a relaxing, hot bath while he wrangles both the girls and the washing machine into submission.

He even calls your mother to ask her to babysit on a Saturday evening so he can take you out for dinner at a fancy restaurant that serves foam instead of food. You manage to stumble through conversation with him - a commendable effort, since it’s been so long since you’ve even held a proper conversation with him besides snatches of discussion about the girls.

At least until he states during dessert - “we can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.”

The mousse on your spoon melts by the time you put it down on your plate.

“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls? Is that what this is about?”

Kuroo shakes his head frantically, reaches across the table for your hand, but you yank it away with a glare. The extra rest you’ve gotten this week has injected a little more fight in you.

“I try my best to be a good wife and mother, but I’m sorry I can’t be perfect and be there for you and the girls 24/7.” You press down on the sliver of cake with a vengeance. Clink! goes the flat of your spoon against the porcelain plate. “I’m sorry for being selfish, but I don’t want to be reliant on you.”

You regret your harsh words when Kuroo slumps back into his chair, murmuring “I just wanted you to be happy. Forget I ever said that.”

He pays the bill and you walk home in silence. He bids you goodnight with a crumpled smile.

It finally clicks when you are startled awake by Kuroo’s shout of alarm.

You roll over, grabbing his shoulder to shake him awake from the nightmare that has him in its grip. His eyes jolt open, and the sight of your face makes him sink back into the pillow with a sigh of relief.

“Thank the gods you haven’t left.”

“Why would I leave? This is my home, isn’t it?” You mumble, turning your back to him again.

You feel the bed shift as Kuroo sits up.

“No”, he rasps, voice rough with sleep. “I was afraid you left me”.

Oh. So that’s what all of this is about.

You must stay quiet for far too long, because he gingerly crawls over to you.

“Dearest”, he says, your heart suddenly aching because you don’t remember the last time you heard him use that pet name with any amount of affection. “Darling”, he tries again, pawing at your back. You shut your eyes resolutely and refuse to turn to face him.

He doesn’t give up, even though the distance between you seems to yawn wide and wider with each passing second.

“Are you?” he asks, his words small, shrunken in the still, dark room. “Going to leave me, I mean.”

No, you’re about to say, the word balancing at the tip of your tongue but it feels wrong. Your break has given you the space to breathe, the time to think. It’s made you realise what you’ve said to him in the ryokan that night remains true.

This week has shown you that Kuroo can do better as a husband, as a father if he wants to. But he’s poisoned your marriage with neglect, forced you to dress up your sadness in silence, allowed your resentment to fester and simmer into frigid indifference. If you reassure him that you aren’t going to leave him, it’s only because you’re too tired to, not because you actually love him anymore.

“I don’t know, Tetsuro. Our daughters deserve to grow up with both their parents, but I’m not sure I want them to learn from my example that it’s okay to shoulder the weight of marriage, parenthood and a full time job all by themselves. Your dreams and career are important, I know, but I’m just so tired of being alone in this marriage when it was always supposed to be a partnership between me and you.”

You hear him choke back a sob. You should comfort him, but the exhaustion you feel at being honest with him, with yourself, weighs your bones down, forces you to sink further down into your mattress.

“I’m sorry”, he finally says.

“I’m tired, Tetsuro”, you whisper brokenly, clutching the blankets to your chin. “I think I deserve better.”

“I know. I’ll make it better, I promise.”

You want to ask him how, but your eyelids grow heavy, and you allow yourself to submerge into slumber.

You’re not sure what to expect, but the ground beneath your feet shifts. Things start to change.

Kuroo continues to take your daughters to childcare in the morning on the way to work as he did last week. That very weekend, he straps Fumiko to his chest, takes Aiko by her hand, and within an hour at the department store aided by a flash of his credit card, he purchases a dishwasher and robot vacuum for the house. He loads the dishes without you asking, runs the robot vacuum remotely once a day. It buys you time to breathe, a little more time to sleep.

He doesn’t always make it home in time for dinner, but he tries his best to rush home so he can read the girls a bedtime story and tuck them into bed.

“Dada”, Fumiko lisps, chubby fists wound around Kuroo’s tie. ‘I wanna hear another princess story!”

“No Fumiko! Papa promised to tell us how he met mama!” Aiko prods Kuroo’s side with the wooden doll Yaku sent from Russia that you know he abhors. ‘Keep your promises, papa!”

“Alright, settle down you monsters. I’ll tell you two stories if you promise to go to sleep right after that.” The girls cheer. “Now. Let’s see. A long, long time ago, your papa met your mama when she decided to beat him up because she thought he was trying to steal her food.”

“You were trying to steal my food”, you interrupt, leaning against the doorway amused. “You didn’t stop til I stabbed you with my fork.”

He glances up, surprised when you sit beside him on the bed. Then he grins.

“You left it on the table, dearest. What was a guy supposed to think?”

“Mama, please let dada tell the story”, Aiko interjects with a huff.

“Hurry up, dada! I want the princess story next!” Fumiko pulls at her silly dada’s shirt, pouting.

You both laugh. There’s a soft smile playing on his lips when his eyes meet yours.

Travelling all around Japan is still part of his job as a marketing director of the Japanese Volleyball Association. But now Kuroo pares it down to the bare minimum, makes sure he’s always back by the weekend at the very least to sweep the girls in his arms and shoo you off for a break of afternoon tea with your friends or shopping with your mom.

“Will you be ok when I’m gone?”

You hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.”

He bends down to kiss Aiko on her forehead, pinch Fumiko’s cheek playfully.

“Yes. Well. I’ll come home soon”, he says, quietly. You startle slightly as he brushes his thumb over your wrist, lets it drift over your pulse point. “Please wait for me.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes. “I’ll see you soon then”, you reply. His smile widens, his eyes are hopeful, bright.

On the weekends, he stops flitting off for work functions and events. Instead, now he joins you for lunches at the kaiten zushi near your house, indulging the girls by ordering yet another plate of sushi just so Aiko has another chance to win a toy from the gachapon and Fumiko has another chance at feeling grown up when she lifts the plate from the conveyor belt. He stops ducking out from dinners at the grandparents’ place - both his and yours. Your mom stops giving him dirty looks when he actually turns up more than three times in a row with sake in hand.

Once every so often, he even throws little parties for your family of four, going so far as to buy a frilly pink apron that makes your daughters giggle when he whips it out for the first time. After a few mishaps (and a number of frantic calls to Fukunaga), he masters how to make takoyaki and okonomiyaki, and in the colder months, he makes steaming pots of nabe and shabu shabu.

“Itadakimasu” you murmur, and the girls follow suit. “It tastes good”, you say.

He ducks his head bashfully, pink dusting the column of his neck.

“Thank you”, he replies. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

You start to savour the bubbles of happiness in your chest when you see how your daughters’ eyes shine when they see their papa whip out the pink apron. You learn to laugh when you hear the pitter patter of little feet, their delighted squeals and shrieks when they tell you the latest exploits their silly papa is cooking up - sparklers under the stars one weekend, a nerf gun fight, the next.

The weight on your shoulders grows lighter and lighter until one day you hardly notice it at all.

“What’s wrong?” you frown at the sight of your husband dashing out of your bedroom, hair a frazzled mess.

He whips around at the sound of your voice. “Oh. Oh.” He approaches you, slowly, carefully. “You’re still here.”

Your frown deepens. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed. Tetsuro, is everything alright?”

He nods. “It’s fine - I just... I just woke up and thought you were gone.”

You take a closer look. It’s dark, but the shadows of the night fail to hide the purple smudges beneath his eyes, the fine lines carved into his brow. His shoulders are bowed, his lips downturned and he looks broken, battered.

Your heart hurts for him.

“I’m here”, you say, beckoning him towards you. Physical affection has been scarce between you two for so, so long but he looks so distraught it’s only natural to pull him close, let him rest his head on your lap. “I’m here, Tetsuro. I’m not about to run off into the night – you know I don’t like the cold.”

He doesn’t laugh at your feeble joke. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?”

“Yes”, you say firmly, combing your fingers through his hair, rubbing circles along his back. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do.”

You can feel him sag in relief.

“You don’t have to work yourself to the bone for me. That’s – that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired, you need to take a break.”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “I’m fine. I can bear it as long as you don’t leave me.”

“Tetsuro –“

He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his.

“Promise you won’t leave me”, he begs, head bowed. “I know I’ve been a shit husband to you for so long. It’s no excuse, but I thought - ” he swallows heavily, waits until his voice stops wavering. “I thought we were ok, ‘cos we didn’t fight, not like my parents did before – before my mother left.”

“I was too tired to fight with you”, you say simply.

He nods once, jerkily. “I know – I know that now. When you disappeared that day, I didn’t know what to do. I went to your mom’s place and she reamed me out, screamed at me in front of the neighbours. I took the kids back, and it made me realise how fucking hard it was for you to do it all alone.” He inhales, closing his eyes as if the memory aches. “I know it’s late but I’ve changed, I swear. The girls need you. I need you. I’ll do anything as long as you stay.”

His fingers are freezing, but you do not pull away. Not when the desperation reflected in his irises makes your heart lurch in pain.

“It was hard”, you confess, and he shudders, struck in the chest by your honesty. “It was so hard, Tetsuro. You hurt me so damn much that I think I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was really functioning for a while. For a long while.”

“I’m sorry”, he whispers, and you nod shakily.

“I know”, you reply, reaching out a hand to cup his face, a bittersweet twist to your lips as he melts into your touch. “That’s a chapter of my life, of our marriage that can’t be re-written. We can’t rewind that. But the past few months have been so different. I – you’ve shown me you’ve changed. And I think –“

You fall silent.

He prompts you. “Dearest?”

You recall the glimmer of light in your daughters’ eyes every morning when he takes their hands to walks them to school. You hear the echoes of their laughter, the lilt in their sweet voices every night when they welcome him home. You think of the tea parties he throws, the blanket forts he builds, the frilly pink apron he wears without shame and the bedtime stories he weaves every night.

“I think”, you say, with a smile that reminds him of the rising sun. “I think we can make this work again.”

He stares at you until the weight of your words dawns upon him, and he surges forward to fold you into his arms.

“Thank you”, he whispers into the shell of your ear. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”

“Don’t thank me, you silly man”, you nuzzle into his neck sleepily, draping your arms around his waist. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.”

He laughs wetly, cradling you close as you fall asleep against his chest, soothed by his heartbeat and the tenderness in his gaze.

Fumiko wakes you up unceremoniously before the sun even rises by climbing into your lap, and you open your eyes to Aiko pouting, hands on hips, demanding to know what’s for breakfast, and dada, dada, make a ham sandwich, pretty please with a cherry on the top.

“You guys are little monsters”, Kuroo teases with dancing eyes. “Can’t even give your papa a break to snuggle up to your mama.”

The girls shriek in dismay. “Don’t be mean”, you admonish him gently.

He mock sniffs. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.”

Aiko and Fumiko crowd the sofa, clamouring to give their papa a kiss, but he stalls them with an imperious wave of his hand.

“This morning, only a kiss from your mama can chase my crankiness away”. His tone is teasing, but his shoulders remain tense.

“Nonsense. You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine”, you scold, swatting his arm lightly as the girls giggle.

“Yours do!” he protests, and you roll your eyes as you press your lips to the corner of his lips, laughing when he puffs out his chest and declares his day can now start, that everything’ll be as right as rain.

Some days are full of sunshine, whilst others are full of rain. That’s life – but it’s bearable, enjoyable even, now that you and Kuroo face each day together, thanking the sun when it shines, and splashing through puddles on rainy days.

Things recalibrate.

The mornings are his domain now – he’s a master at concocting the most random breakfast items to satisfy your finnicky daughters. Aiko sniffs when she informs you that she’d prefer her papa to braid her hair, thank you very much, and when you shoot a look of death at Kuroo, he can’t even keep his face straight, his trademark hyena laugh erupting from his chest.

You cook dinner in the evenings, appreciating the times when he can join you at the table, not counting the nights he can’t against him because you know he’s trying his best. The girls clamour for his stories every night, laughing when he teasingly scolds them for yanking on his tie, demanding goodnight kisses from both him and you.

Now you force Kuroo to take some time to himself, shoo him off for lunches with Kenma, get-togethers with his Nekoma schoolmates. “I know you can manage it”, you tell him archly, “but you need breaks so you don’t burn out, or worse – you’ll lose your hair and we don’t want that”. When he opens and closes his mouth without a smart retort, you smirk. You get your way.

Both of you organise parties and playdates, inviting your shared friends – Kenma, of course, is a frequent guest, Bokuto, who brings along Akaashi and his sweet tempered little son (who Aiko always manages to pick a fight with, much to Kuroo’s amusement). You host Kai, who always brings offerings of flowers from his garden, Yaku, when he’s in town with his daughter, son and alarmingly fat cat. The adults congregate in the kitchen with food and alcohol, cracking good natured jokes at Kuroo and his frilly pink apron, watching the children cause a ruckus in the living room.

But you cherish the quiet moments you share with Kuroo at night when the children are asleep in bed. The chats you have whilst soaking in a hot bath about your day at work, the snippets of stories he shares about his boss, his crazy colleagues, the warmth of his arm around you as you stay up to clear emails late into the night, the heated kisses he presses to the nape of your neck to distract you when he thinks you’re working too hard.

It’s a good life. You’re happy, and so is he.

A year slips by.

The seasons come full circle. You return to the ryokan, finding peace in soaking yourself in steaming pools, watching the bamboo sway, the sun rise over Mt. Fuji. But this time, you’re not alone. You persuade Kuroo that he, too, needs a break - deserves one, truly. So you leave the girls with your mother and take the bullet train down to Hakone.

He shoots you a smirk as you both emerge from the private bath he’d insisted on booking. You swat at him, pulling your yukata higher up your neck, scowling as he winds an arm around your waist to press you into his side.

“You couldn’t wait til we got back to our room?” you hiss at him.

He chuckles lowly in response. “Didn’t hear you complaining”, he retorts.

“We were in an onsen, Tetsuro!”

“A private one”, he says with a waggle of his eyebrows, laughing aloud when you try and fail to slap your hand over his mouth. “What d’you think I was going to do with my lovely wife? I’m not a monk, sweetheart”

You try your best to shush him, but his cackling manages to capture the attention of everyone in the lift.

“What a happy couple”, an old lady remarks, within your earshot. “They must be newly married”

You think she must be a little senile. Or a little blind.

Neither of you are in your first flush of youth anymore - there are streaks of grey in Tetsuro’s mop of hair, extra weight in your hips and lines in your faces. No one could conceivably mistake you for a pair of newlyweds.

“Nah”, Kuroo drawls easily into your ear. “Just your regular old, married couple.”

You don’t speak until you’re safely in your room.

“A regular, old, happily married couple”, you say, as he hands you a cup of tea. “That obaa-san got that part right at least.”

Kuroo chokes on the lump of emotion in his throat as you serenely sip your tea.

The tea tastes bitter (as it always does), but the kisses that follow are so very, very sweet.

#haikyuu angst #kuroo testuro #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro x y/n #kuroo x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo x y/n #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu romance #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader angst #Haikyuucafe #haikyuucreations #love knows not its depth

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nevertheless-moving · 4 years ago

Text

Suicidal Misunderstanding XXVI

Part I - - - - - - - - - Part XXIII - - - - Part XXIV - - - - Part XXV

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

“You’re late!” Krell barked.

Ahsoka stepped back, startled by the abrasive greeting. She glanced at the chronometer, bewildered.

“Apologies, Master,” she said, bowing politely. “I came as soon as mid-hyperspace docking engaged. Was the meeting not scheduled for 0500?”

Yeesh he’s crankier than Master Kenobi without morning tea.

“It was moved to 04:30—don’t they teach whelplings to check their comms?” He replied, stepping forward to tower over her. She stared upwards at the unfamiliar Master, not certain how they had gotten off on such a bad start.

...did he just call me a whelpling? what—what does that even...

“It was my fault, sir,” Rex said, tone and body rigid. “The intership comms—”

“I did not give you permission to speak—” Krell’s eyes raked across Rex’s pauldron. “—7567. Consider this your only warning not to interrupt me again.”

Ahsoka sucked in a breath, too shocked to respond.

“Yes, sir,” Rex replied tonelessly.

“Next time you will be here when I say. Understood, girl?” Krell didn’t wait for a response before turning around with a dismissive snort. Ahsoka bristled, instinctively falling into a dueling stance. She opened her mouth, but before she could marshal the appropriate curse words, Rex laid a hand on her shoulder.

She looked at him sharply. “Not Respectful?!” she yelled silently, jerking her chin angrily. Or, more specifically, ‘Not-not hostile?’ falling into callsigns, something she usually reserved for enemy territory, which was apparently now the RESOLUTE!

“Please,” he begged with a tilt of his visor and a twist of hands. “Please. Later.”

Ahsoka clenched her fists, gaze sweeping the room.

“Not now,” Cody signaled behind Krell’s back, a brittle edge to his force presence that she didn’t like.

She reluctantly let her arms fall.

“Do you have something to say?” Krell asked dismissively, not looking at her as he pulled up their sparse intel on the Utapau system.

“No. Not at the moment,” she grit out.

“Hm. It’s no wonder that so much time spent learning from inferior prey species would leave you...soft. It is something I will soon...correct you of.”

“I look forward to sparring at your earliest convenience,” she half-said, half-snarled. The mood in the room grew subtly fearful; a brief spike of raw panic, almost too quick and controlled to sense, flared off of Rex. She took a deep breath, attempting to center herself. ‘Later,’ she thought like a mantra. ‘Later.’

“I suppose I can also set aside some time for a proper warrior’s meditation— it would be best to make sure that you haven’t inherited any of your grandmaster’s...mental fragility.”

The fear in the room grew heavier. Krell was either willfully ignorant or actively enjoying it.

Once more, her fists closed and her mouth opened.

“No,” Cody signed frantically. “No, Stand down.”

“Are you defective?” Krell asked, turning his attention to the Marshall Commander. “Why are you flailing your hands while your superiors are speaking?”

“Just attempting to check on the status of the comms,” Cody replied.

“Communication issues were supposed to be resolved yesterday,” the Besalisk snapped.

“My fault entirely,” Cody said neutrally.

“Yes. It is. And I will be remembering that. It seems that the 212ths famed effectiveness has been overblown—not surprising considering the state of your General. There have been a number of issues I’ve noticed since coming on board: sloppiness in dress code, scribbled lists of ‘nicknames’ where there should be clean walls—”

“Are you referring to the fallen soldier memorials?” Rex asked, deadly calm.

“Whatever you call it,” he said dismissively. “I expect it will be scrubbed off by this afternoon. Not to mention your armor—I know your previous General was dangerously unsuited for the rigors of battle but I am running a war. The colors are a distraction in the field, and unnecessary. And another thing—”

Cody struggled to tune out the verbal barrage as his fingers itched—whether for a blaster, as Rex was subtly twitching towards, or to curl into a fist, as Ahsoka was actively doing, he didn’t know. This was who they were replacing Obi-Wan with? This was who Mace told Rex to trust? This was the General who he was supposed to sacrifice his men’s lives in protection for? They were scarcely out of orbit and the ‘Jedi’ had already actively insulted his best officers, degraded the value of every clone’s life and death, repeatedly mocked General Kenobi’s condition, and now he was disrespecting Ashoka. How the fuck was he supposed to keep her safe from this nightmare of a Jedi if she rose to all of his barbs—

His furious musings were interrupted by a commotion at the entrance to the bridge. His gut coiled with dread, not wanting to see the fallout. Krell would definitely lash out at whoever was responsible for the interruption. Boil inhaled sharply; across the room, wordless surprise began to ripple across ramrod stiff backs.

Then Ahsoka called out, tone shockingly and incongruously bright.

“Master!”

“General!” Waxer cried in relief and delight, “You’re alright!”

Cody spun around, and there, haloed by the soft light of the early morning corridor stood Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Indeed I am—I’m terribly sorry if I’ve put any of you out. Might I say it’s very good to see you all.” The achingly familiar and alive Jedi flashed a grin at Cody, who just stared back numbly.

“With one notable exception, of course,” Obi-Wan continued, striding forward. The movement revealed a grim-faced Anakin Skywalker, nearly hidden by his Master’s presence despite their height difference. Or perhaps Cody wasn’t paying attention before. Skywalker slid into the shadow at his Master’s side as General Kenobi’s smile turned towards Krell and grew brittle.

“Kenobi,” the Besalisk sneered. “Shouldn’t you be wailing in a padded room?”

“Hmm,” Kenobi hummed thoughtfully, stroking his beard and looking bemused at the attempted taunt. “No, I think I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” The good humour slid abruptly into a sneer, voice and face suddenly more contemptuous than Krell’s. “You, on the other hand, are on my bridge and in my way.”

“Thank fuck,” Boil muttered, several vode clicking their heels in agreement.

"This is my ship now,” the Besalisk growled. “The Jedi High Council themselves appointed me as High General of the Third Army while you were off pissing yourself in a dark room.” His scaly lip curled and he puffed himself larger, again either unaware of or deliberately ignoring the waves of emotion rolling off the troops surrounding him. “You should have stayed where no one would have to watch your pathetic fits. Now, 2224, as your General, I order you to lock this man in the brig before he can cause any more of a disruption.”

Cody finally broke his gaze away from Obi-Wan to stare in disbelief at the four armed idiot. Obi-Wan’s grin widened.

“Come now, Krell, did you really think no one would notice your betrayal? Did you honestly believe that not a single Jedi Master would sense your fall? That no one would pick up on your pathetic intentions to flee the Republic and beg Dooku to please take pity on you?” He stepped forward, undaunted by the massive shadow the reptilian Master was casting.

Krell's face twisted. Cody wasn’t sure if he was more enraged by the implication of treason or cowardice.

“You’ve LOST your MIND!”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, you’ve said. It’s getting a bit repetitive, not to mention distasteful. I mean, really what kind of craven—”

“GO TO THE BRIG BEFORE I DECIDE TO KILL YOU!” Krell snarled, all hands falling to his sabers.

Responding to the threat, every clone in the room drew their blaster, pointing them at the raving fallen Jedi. Krell drew his lightstaves, but before he could ignite them, Anakin suddenly stood in between the two Masters, striking a defensive pose and vibrating with leashed fury.

Obi-Wan kept talking, as though the room wasn’t a breath away from utter carnage. “As a High Council Member and duly appointed High General of the Grand Army of the Republic, I hereby strip you of your rank within the Order and relieve you of your military rank and privileges. Furthermore, you are under arrest for your callous mistreatment of sentient life, conspiracy to commit treason—”

Krell lunged forward with a murderous roar, and the bridge descended into full chaos.

Cody had scarcely moved his men into better positions when one of Krell’s hands fell to the ground in a blur of blue. Kenobi’s saber was finally out, deflecting every blow that slipped past Skywalker’s guard. Or rather, he and Anakin fought as a perfectly unified singular entity to disarm Krell (quite literally as the case would have it, a lower left forearm still writhing on the ground in their wake).

Ahsoka hovered at the outskirts of the duel, repeatedly tensing and falling back, itching to help but unwilling to interrupt the flow of combat as a lethal distraction. The clones found themselves in the same situation, eager to defend their Generals but stymied by the cramped space and unfathomably rapid movements. Lightsaber combat often moved in bursts of speed but the three combatants were abnormally unrelenting, limbs and sabers only clearly distinguishable in those brief moments where they remained locked.

Here, Anakin materialized, throat caught in Krell’s right arm, before disengaging with a kick. There—across the room now—Krell was held in place, Obi-Wan’s blade dangerously close to his throat before being thrown back. Then they were gone again—the eye of a hurricane whose winds began to painfully buffet the assembled spectators.

For a moment Krell pressed down on General Kenobi, the smaller Jedi starting to visibly buckle under the weight. Then a blur of light and Krell’s upper right arm fell to the floor, still gripping a green lightstaff.

The room grew bitterly cold as Krell howled in fury, throwing back equipment and men as he lashed out in the force. Cody managed to keep his feet as his back hit the wall, desperately attempting to regain his breath as he struggled to steel himself against what could only be the wild push of an uncontrolled dark force user.

The sensation of frost biting at his skin was almost familiar, sharp in the way of Dooku, but the physical punch was not nearly as focused. Anakin and Obi-Wan stumbled for a moment before leaning into the icy gail, nodding at one another.

Moving in sync, the two pinned the massive warrior against a wall with a spin and push of their outstretched hands. Krell continued to roar, implacable despite his decisive and almost embarrassingly rapid loss.

Obi-Wan darted forward, grabbing the Besalisk’s head between his hands and finally raising his voice, shouting a single “ENOUGH.”

The word reverberated around the room with enough force that several troopers fumbled with their weapons, one shiny even dropping his blaster as he staggered back. Krell’s eyes rolled back in his head and he sagged in place, unconscious and missing one third of his limbs.

The soldiers on the floor began staggering into their feet, immediately closing in on Krell, blasters at the ready. Ahsoka balanced on the balls of her feet, blades in hand, but Krell remained still. Obi-Wan tucked his saber away, clearly signaling the end of combat—Anakin followed suit a moment later. Considering the fact that it had been barely a few minutes since Obi-Wan stepped on the bridge, Cody rallied rather impressively, in his own opinion.

“Orders, sir?” he asked, stiffly saluting his General. His apparently completely fine, totally alright, walking around normally General.

Obi-Wan reached into a fold in his robes and pulled out a small leather sack. Grimacing, he pulled out a metal cuff with strange markings and an oily sheen. He clasped the cuff to Krell’s remaining left arm, removing a small crystal to lock it in place, before dropping the gem in the bag.

“That was a force-suppressing cuff,” he explained, handing the satchel over to Boil. “Between his injuries, my force command, and that he should stay under for the next few hours while he’s being treated for wounds. Once medical’s finished with him, attach the remaining cuffs and transfer him to the brig.” The orders were crisp and not particularly enlightening, but after days of confusing and heart-wrenching bantha-fodder and then Krell’s demeaning sithspit, the familiar Coruscanti accent was more refreshing than rainwater in the desert.

“Yes, General. Boil, Waxer—you’re in charge of the prisoner. ‘66 clean up this room.” Cody commanded, delegating on autopilot. Delegating the orders that Obi-Wan gave out loud with his voice that Cody could hear.

“Yes, sir!” Waxer said happily. “And might I say—it’s very good to have you back on board, General Kenobi, General Skywalker.”

“It’s good to be back,” Obi-Wan (General Kenobi, he’s back, and you call him General Kenobi) said softly, corners of his eyes wrinkling like—it didn’t matter.

“The Generals will debrief Rex and I now, if neither of them have any other orders for the moment,” Cody continued, professionally ignoring any inane internal commentary.

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Kenobi agreed, as though responding to a typical exchange, as though the last time they had been in the same room Obi-Wan hadn’t been in a self-induced coma following attempted suicide and Cody wasn’t currently on the edge of a breakdown.

Skywalker, he noted, just nodded, glaring at the wall Krell was propped up against. He clearly wasn’t ready to pretend that the last week had been normal, thank fuck.

“What do you want me to do?” Ahsoka asked quietly, putting away her sabers, gaze flickering uncertainly between the Jedi.

“You’re with us, of course,” General Skywalker replied, just as softly, speaking for the first time since turning the bridge upside down. Or right side up, depending on your point of view. Ahsoka beamed, straightening with pride.

“Commander Cody,” Obi-Wan said, in that same kriffing normal tone of voice. “Would you be so kind as to also send a runner to summon Kix and Bones to my office? Everyone will need to read in, but as we’ve had to disable communications—for very good reason—it’s going to take some time.”

Ahsoka opened her mouth, but Cody just nodded, beyond questions. “Of course.”

The group walked out the door, any awkward silence between the 212th General and Commander more than drowned out by Rex and Ahsoka’s gushing over their incredible takedown of Krell. Although, contrary to his typical ego-tripping, Anakin seemed to shrink at the praise, looking guiltily at Obi-Wan from the side of his eyes.

“It—had to be done,” Skywalker said awkwardly, hand twitching over the holster strapped to his side. Cody winced under his bucket. Is this the first time he’s picked up a lightsaber since—oh fuck is that his lightsaber—

“It did,” Obi-Wan confirmed, reaching out to squeeze Anakin’s shoulder. “And we were able to take him alive, which means he can be held accountable for his crimes in a fair trial.”

Anakin instantly brightened. “We did pretty good, huh? Fighting together?”

“It was awesome!” Ahsoka agreed enthusiastically, making a dramatic motion, as Obi-Wan’s gentle smile faded. “That fucker didn’t know what hit him!”

“Apologies for leaving you with him, even temporarily.” Obi-Wan’s tone grew gravely as they stepped inside the quiet office, gaze flickering towards Rex and Cody.

“If I had known attacking him was an option, it would have made things a lot easier,” Rex replied, carefully jovial.

Ahsoka’s enthusiasm faltered.

“I know we should wait for the other officers, but—was this your plan? Was this what Master Windu meant on the platform...”

“Yes, I’m sorry—I never would have left you alone with Krell for even this long if I could help it,” General Kenobi responded seriously, face growing somber as Skywalker’s expression darkened. “But there are...more eyes and ears on Coruscant right now than we can account for.”

The Tortugan padawan nodded serenely, then punched Obi-Wan directly in the face.

“How could you!” she yelled, tone breaking and eyes growing damp. “How could you lie about that!”

Anakin leapt forward, pinning her arms in a bear hug, which she struggled against, kicking wildly.

“Snips, No,” Skywalker said, desperately soothing. “It wasn’t like that, I swear!”

“Oh Ashoka, you misunderstand, I’m so sorry, I should have—” Obi-Wan rubbed his nose, wincing. “I would never fake my death in that manner, I promise, that was not a deliberate deception—”

“Then you did try to kill yourself?” Cody asked, feeling strangely disconnected.

“You what,” Kix said in a strangled whisper. Apparently the Open Circle Medics had arrived at some point in the commotion.

Obi-Wan flinched, pressing fingers into the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know how I was expecting this conversation to go,” he muttered.

“Just hear him out—it’s not what it seems,” Skywalker pleaded, but Bones was already at General Kenobi’s side, manhandling into a medical examination.

“I did not actually attempt to kill myself—”

“But Skyguy said you did! How could you use that as a cover! Do you know how much I blamed myself?” Ahsoka sobbed, tears spilling out as she suddenly tipped past the point of putting on a brave face.

Rex made a low sound but Cody simply stared at his General, who was gently batting away the top medical hands of the 212th and 501st.

“Ashoka—no—that never would have been your fault,” Obi-Wan tried to say.

“I know that, obviously!” Ahsoka said fiercely, taking a deep breath and stilling herself; Anakin maintained his grip as tears continued to fall. Cody felt like he was fully outside of his body, unable to process the rapid fire exchange of guilt and betrayal that made something echo beneath his own breastplate.

“But I’m a shiny who you’ve had to keep alive in a warzone and I know how much it upsets you when I mention something and you realize that I didn’t have the sort of initiate experience that people used to and I knew you weren’t taking sleeping enough but I thought it was ok since you were this untouchable Master but that was so stupid because I’ve seen you bleed and I know you’re just a squishy human and—”

Obi-Wan collapsed to his knees in front of her, wrapping her in a fierce hug as Anakin hovered protectively above the pair. “Oh Ashoka, I’m so sorry—my mental state is not your responsibility and I promise I didn’t deliberately leave you in the dark like that.”

Ashoka sniffled. “So...it wasn’t a ruse to throw off the Separatists?”

“No, of course not, no!” Obi-Wan said hastily, drawing back so he could meet her gaze. “I admit my rather abrupt raising of shields after reaching out yesterday morning was done with the partial-intention of fostering confusion, and I apologize for the distress that must have caused, but the initial, ah, self-harm was not in anyway intended as a trick.”

Ashoka’s eyes grew very, very big and Cody grew so still that Anakin was briefly concerned he had, in fact, had a heart attack and died while standing.

Obi-Wan winced, slapping a hand to his face, which caused him to wince again. “That’s not what I meant either! I’m not suicidal—”

“But you were?” Bones asked, throat hoarse with gradually increasing but carefully restrained stress and fear and confusion.

“No!” Obi-Wan said desperately, Anakin considered poking Cody, whose force presence was flickering out of perception in an extremely worrying matter. “I thought that I was hallucinating, but I very much understand that I have things to live for now, that was the other goal of reaching out—”

“So you thought you didn’t have things to live for before?” Ashoka questioned, voice wobbling between outrage and sadness.

“...Please let me start from the beginning.”

“I think that would be best,” Captain Rex said, utterly neutral.

“Right.” Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Why don’t we all sit?”

Everyone obediently did so, the speed at which they fell in slightly discomfiting Obi-Wan.

Cody forced himself to focus fully, pulling off his helmet so he could finally look at Obi-Wan without the visor, grounding himself with the fact that, whatever Obi-Wan was about to say right now, he really, truly was here. Anakin shot him a sympathetic glance across the table.

“If I might be permitted to try once more without interruption—”

Everyone nodded fiercely, leaning in and radiating guilt in a way that reminded Obi-Wan uncomfortably of chastised children—or beaten animals.

“I’m sorry, Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka said, ducking her head. “We’ll listen, we promise.”

Cody and the rest of the troopers nodded again in sharp agreement.

“Right. Well.” Obi-Wan sat down slowly. “No need to apologize—I’m—I truly am sorry for worrying you all so much. It all started, from your perspective at least, last Zhellday night, when I experienced a—to be frank vision isn’t completely accurate, it was far too detailed—”

He paused, expecting an interruption that didn’t come; the table leaned in, even Anakin, who had heard this before. The Jedi Master cleared his throat.

“From my perspective, I traveled back in time roughly four years. As far as I am aware, such a detailed warping of the perception of time is unprecedented in force-sensitive history, but, then again, I did live through...rather unprecedented times. Regardless of the mechanics, I was extremely disoriented to find myself in a bar on Coruscant…I assumed I was having a vivid flashback.” The table remained silent as Obi-Wan frowned in thought.

He shook his head, smiling sheepishly. “I am afraid that my attempts to wake up could indeed be reasonably mistaken for—attempted self-harm but I assure you that was not my intention! After I failed to return to the ‘present’, well...it took a great deal of time to correct me of my assumptions. But after yesterday, I am convinced that I am indeed, now, something for which I am extremely grateful. The High Council is equally convinced of the veracity of my vision. I have...a significant amount of knowledge that has unfortunately proven true.”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat again. He wasn’t used to speaking this long to this group without interruption, but the room was acting unnervingly obedient.

“Do you have any questions so far?”

“Is waking up from a vision like that common? Are you likely to...get confused like that again?” Bones asked immediately, deadly serious.

“That’s not what you want to know,” Ahsoka said, waving her hands impatiently. “Master, the only way you could get to that point while awake and not realize that you were awake is if you were completely cut off from the force—and that’s dangerous.”

“Yes. I was hiding from the Sith,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “I didn’t know the extent of his ability to sense me.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Ahsoka grit out, the vode in the room watching the Jedi go back and forth with increasing confusion.

“It’s easier to spot a far away light in total darkness,” Anakin said solemnly.

“The kriff does that mean?” Kix asked, frustrated by the conversation and particularly bewildered by the fact that General Skywalker was falling into vague metaphor.

Ahsoka gasped, knuckles paling as she gripped the table. “There weren’t...any other Jedi?” The troopers sucked in a breath of sudden understanding.

“I don’t want to see the temple burning,” Cody remembered, the choked words burnt into his memory past the power of alcohol to erase.

A swell of unimaginable grief slipped past Obi-Wan’s control to etch itself across his face. “Like I said,” he answered hoarsely. “I’m...quite grateful for the second chance.”

"Then we lost the war,” Rex said. “In the future you saw—the Republic lost.”

“I’m afraid it’s worse than that,” Skywalker commented darkly.

“I don't blame you for trying to kill me, you know,” the General said, stumbling drunk into the hovercar.

“Worse than all the Jedi dying?” Bones asked, incredulous. General Kenobi’s face tightened.

“Before we go on—” Skywalker interjected, side-eying his Master.

“Right, of course,” Obi-Wan said, sounding pained. “Gentleman, I’m afraid before I disclose anymore, I’m going to need your comms. And your weapons.”

Cody had his on the table before the rest of the room could process the order.

“I know you would never fire at me if you were you.”

“Why?” Ahsoka asked indignantly, as Anakin carefully summoned the disconnected gear.

“I think Palpatine must have been controlling your minds somehow.”

“Because in the future you saw, the Jedi weren’t killed by an enemy, were they?” Cody answered, throat dry and skin clammy.

Rex, Kix, and Bones whipped their heads around to stare at the Marshall Commander, looking shocked.

Rex slammed his palms to the table, gaze locked on Cody. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “There’s—force—I don’t know how to tell you this, it’s—of all the horrors I’ve known—”

“You have slave chips in your brains,” Anakin interrupted bluntly. “It’s why we couldn’t even risk having this conversation until the army was cut off from any possible communication—we spent all night trashing every part of the system. We couldn’t take the chance of them triggering while the company was compromised.”

Cody felt his body drifting away—he had been waiting, dreading the explanation of some—neurotoxin—or dark Sith magic not…

Not something already inside him.

“What the fuck do you mean slave chips?” Kix asked.

“Like bombs?” Ashoka asked, horrified.

“I—” Anakin closed his eyes. “No, worse than that, actually. Didn’t think you could do worse than a bomb in your body, but you learn something horrible every day, right?”

“Sir,” Rex said, hands clenching and unclenching. “With all due respect, cut the melodrama and explain what the fuck the ‘slave chips’ do. Exactly.”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “In my...vision the vode turned on the Jedi. That was how we were wiped out. I only survived by chance.”

“No,” Rex refused. “That’s not possible.”

“The chancellor issued something called Order 66.” The four clones stiffened to attention, causing Ahsoka to lean back and Anakin’s hand to drop to his hip.

“That’s—I don’t even know what that is,” Kix whispered.

“I know.” Obi-Wan said gently. “I know. But the way you responded—it’s familiar, isn’t it? Yesterday, after I finally realized when and where I was, we began searching—I only learned hints in my first life—but it was enough—we finally found it in a level five atomic scan, just barely detectable. A bioengineered control chip, likely implanted before decanting.”

General Kenobi carefully reached into his robe and pulled out a data stick, as well as a clear slide with something greyish-pink and translucent suspended inside. “It’s heavily encrypted, but it explains...the future I saw, though I didn’t understand it at the time. You must understand, it’s not a matter of fault, or willpower—the chip is embedded in your frontal lobe—"

“Oh,” Bones murmured, gently touching a hand to his forehead. “It just—overwrites our ability to make choices. That’s—”

The room fell dead silent as the medic failed to finish his sentence.

“But you can get it out?” Rex rasped.

“Surgical instructions are here,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing at the data stick. “Both for human and droid surgeons—I’m—I’m so sorry this has been done to you, I should have—”

“We need to get it out. Now,” Cody commanded brusquely, cutting off the General before he lost his mind.

“Right,” Kix said out loud, as the 212th medic nodded furiously in agreement. “We’ll head straight to the Negotiator’s medical bay, get a room prepped.”

“I need to check in with the Dauntless,” Rex said suddenly. “We’re not supposed to be attached during hyperspace travel this long, someone might spook and try to reestablish comms, no matter how thoroughly you tore them apart.”

Anakin exchanged a grimace with Obi-Wan before standing at the Master’s nod.

“I’ll come with you,” General Skywalker said. “None of you should be without an escort.”

“As far as we could tell—and we ran quite a number of tests—the chips don’t have an algorithm to activate upon discovery,” Obi-Wan added quickly. “But just in case...”

The four clones shuddered.

“I’ll come with you to medical,” Ahsoka offered immediately, earning somber smiles.

“And I’ll stay and discuss next steps with Commander Cody,” Obi-Wan said softly. “There’s only so much I can say while you’re still compromised but I want you to know—we do have a plan. To end the war, to save your brothers.”

Rex cracked a genuine smile at the Jedi. “Of course you do.”

“You can count on us,” Bones swore.

“I know I can.” General Kenobi’s voice left no room for doubt.

Soon he and Cody were alone; the General closed the door firmly and sat back down, pulling out the chair next to his Commander instead of returning to the head of the table. Obi-Wan took a deep breath, turning to face the other man, but Cody spoke first.

“I fired at you,” Cody croaked.

“And I left you to be enslaved by the empire,” Obi-Wan replied, voice as brokenly. “You and all your brothers.”

“You didn’t know—”

“I should have. I should have known the vode would never turn on the Jedi, though force knows you of all people in the galaxy had the most right—”

And suddenly Cody was tackling his General, Obi-Wan’s chair tilting dangerously backwards before being caught by the force, the sudden introduction of an armored Marshal Commander throwing it off balance.

“How can you say that!” Cody yelled in Obi-Wan’s startled face, gripping the front of his tunic and shaking him slightly. “The Jedi—not including Krell—are the only ones who ever treated us like humans—how can you say—”

Obi-Wan bowed his head, unable to meet Cody’s eyes. “The war is a lie,” he rasped. “I led good men to their deaths for a lie—”

“I—whatever you’ve learned—you didn’t know, and now that you do, you’re doing everything you can to save us! You remember us killing your entire family—”

“It wasn’t your fault, and it never happened—”

"You remember it.” Cody felt unreasonably furious, hands shifting to grip the sides of Obi-Wan’s head, forcing him to meet his eyes, desperate to make a thousand swirling thoughts clear.

“You watched us tear your world fall apart and you still care about us, because of course you do. You—you couldn’t walk away from the war anymore than I could, don’t try and pretend otherwise. We both have the resources, the training, to disappear from this mess—but deserting never even occurred to me until I realized—until I thought the war had broken you and I wished you had run away—that I had—”

“Cody—” Obi-Wan said in a strangled voice. “I couldn’t—there’s so much I regretted not saying, but now that I have a second chance, I—I don’t know how to tell you how much you mean, not just to the galaxy, to the war, but to me, how scared I am of breaking the trust between us—I—” he took a shuddering breath. Cody’s heart pounded as he watched the Jedi steel himself.

“From the moment I met you, you were—you are golden in the force, it’s breathtaking, but more than that—” Obi-Wan reached forward, hand shaking as his fingertips brushed the side of Cody’s face. “I’ve never trusted anyone like I do you—I’ve never been trusted like that—like this. You’ve seen me at some of my worst, and still you never faltered, you just...you glared at me, and then you helped me up and we made things better together and you took my breath away—take my breath away—”

“You drive me insane,” Cody whispered. “I don’t understand why you can’t see how good you are, you care more about the vode then anyone, you care more about enemy soldiers than you do yourself, and it drives me mad.”

Obi-Wan smiled like he wanted to crack a joke but Cody ignored it, not letting the moment go, determined to at least try and get the words out. “I’m always so—so embarrassingly happy just to spend time around you, even when the galaxy is going to hell—I want—you have no idea how much I want to just—sit next to you. I’ve spent two years watching you use your words to patch my brothers up with and tear your enemies down. I want all of that‚ I was raised to expect terrible things but you’re so good. I—”

The Commander broke off, suddenly realizing how close their faces had gotten, how blue Obi-Wan’s eyes were. His heart beat faster beneath his chestplate and he stared in fascination as a pink flush spread across the Jedi’s face. Obi-Wan’s hand traced the curve of his cheekbone; Cody gently tipped his General’s chin upwards—

The door opened and both their heads whipped around to see Waxer standing in the door frame, corners of his mouth starting to turn up as he drank in the scene. Cody realized that Obi-Wan’s face was so close because he had flung himself at the other man’s lap.

The chair toppled over as Obi-Wan apparently lost focus on the balancing act.

“Kix asked me to get you two but I can tell him you need a minute—” he said, and Cody could hear the shit-eating grin, even though he was currently face down, half-way sprawled on top of Obi-Wan.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. We’ll be along shortly,” General Kenobi replied smoothly.

“Yes, sir!” Waxer responded, obnoxiously cheerful.

The door closed. Cody pushed upwards, body giddy and electric as he stared down at the impossible man below him.

“I suppose we should go,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“Right,” Cody agreed, not moving. He pretended not to notice the obnoxious grating noise of Obi-Wan slowly pushing the toppled chair away, and how it allowed Cody’s shins to fall, more comfortably bracketing the General’s legs.

Obi-Wan stared at him with an unfathomable expression. “I really am very glad to see you,” he whispered.

“So am I,” Cody replied helplessly.

“...Sorry for crying on you on the way back to the temple.”

“Any time. Thanks for figuring out the whole mind control thing.”

“Of course. We should…really get that taken care of.” Obi-Wan made no move to push Cody off.

The commander swallowed heavily. “You know—brain surgery can be risky—I’d hate for you to have any regrets, if something were to happen...”

Obi-Wan burst out laughing, an edge of hysteria bubbling out as he clasped his palms to his face. Cody watched breathlessly as the Jedi chuckled, then took a few shuddering breaths, before letting his hands fall to reveal wet eyes.

Cody instantly started to pull backwards, but one hand was hooked on the front of his breastplate, the other on the back of his head, and he was being pulled down and then there were lips meeting his and

Oh.

Cody melted, absently wishing he wasn’t wearing armour as he reveled in the solid warmth beneath him. The Jedi tasted like field rations and ozone. Cody wondered giddily if he always tasted like lightning, or if that just happened on special occasions.

Obi-Wan clung to the Commander as though he were afraid he might disappear.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about doing that,” Obi-Wan gasped, when Cody finally pulled back for air.

“I bet I’ve been thinking about it longer,” Cody murmured into the Jedi’s neck, marveling at the movement of Obi-Wan’s chest below him as it filled with breath. “Time travel doesn’t count!” he added quickly, as he felt the Negotiator gathering his wits to respond.

Commander Cody pushed upward again, basking in the closeness, the fast beating heart he could feel—he almost wanted to cry, because the thought of that heart stopping while he was far away had kept him awake at night and now—now it was closer than ever.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to retort and Cody would hardly be a decent Marshal Commander if he let a tactical opening like that go unchallenged.

Part XXVII

#star wars #clone wars #star wars fanfiction #time travel fix it #angst with a happy ending #my au #suicidal misunderstanding au #star wars au no 27 #i do very much appreciate comments #also #everyone say thank you to @willowcrowned for betaing #trigger warning #uh #pong krell #pong krell is his own warning #mental health negativity #canon typical violence #suicide mention

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kuroopaisen · 4 years ago

Text

brat || gojou satoru

➵ gojou wants you to pay attention to him. and no, he doesn’t care about how annoying he’s being.

wc: 2k

warnings: gn!reader, gojou is Annoying, mild spoilers i guess?

a/n: hi welcome to my gojou brainrot i would like to escape and yet i cannot,,, will i deliver more mindless fanfic? who knows!

You sigh, turning the page of your book with an exhausted kind of resignation. Had you even comprehended what’s in the last paragraph? Or had you just let your eyes gloss over it, admiring the shape of the letters without actually taking any of them in?

Reading a book isn’t so difficult under normal circumstances; sure, you’ve got your own concentration to wrestle with, but that’s an (occasionally) tameable beast.

The man sprawled on the couch next to you, however, is not.

“Are you done yet?” Gojou hums, sticking his legs straight up in the air.

“I’ll be done sooner if you shut up,” you mumble, starting from the top of the page for what feels like the thirty-second time in the past five minutes.

Gojou’s not handling the boredom well. He’s spent the past five minutes cycling between humming Danse Macabre in an octave too high to be comfortable while swinging his legs in circles and poking your cheek as he crouches next to you on his knees.

“You’re the one who said I could come over,” he chirps, completely unfazed by your words.

“I never said that,” you mumble.

It’s not a lie. Earlier today, Gojou’d asked if you were going out tonight. You’d said no. He’d decided to take that as permission to crash at your place.

Although the onus is at least a little on you; he has a habit of doing things like this. You’ve got to be one step ahead of him if you want to win against him on a petty debate like that.

A head of white hair wriggles its way onto your lap.

“Satoru?”

“Hm?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m bored,” he hums.

That much is obvious. But you know it’s not that simple; he’s bored, yes, but more importantly, he wants your attention. Even your chest flutters at that.

“You’re a grown man,” you smile. “Entertain yourself.”

A well-worn coquettish smile plays on his lips. “I can’t tell if you’re being lewd or not.”

You slap his chest.

“Ow!” He gasps, placing a hand over his heart. “I can’t believe you’d be so cruel to me!”

“Then stop being annoying.”

“I’d like to think I’m ‘charmingly playful’.”

“Do you take constructive criticism?” You tilt your head at him, biting back a smile.

“I would,” he muses, “if I weren’t already perfect.”

“That ego of yours is going to get you into serious trouble one day,” you grin, flicking his forehead gently.

He lets you, grinning back. “Ah, but you see, my dear,” he hums, grabbing your hand before you draw it away and lacing your fingers with his. It’s a bit of an awkward angle, but you don’t mind.

“I’m simply stating the truth.”

“Well, the truth hurts,” you mutter, “so it’s no surprise no-one wants to hear you gassing yourself up.”

Gojou laughs. His hair tickles your inner thighs and you’re almost convinced to give in. But it wouldn’t be good form to feed his ego after chiding him for it.

You’re well-aware his ego’s already gotten him in trouble – many times, in fact. But Gojou seems to have a way of wheedling his way out of anything.

And, of course, you know that his ego doesn’t come from nowhere.

Doesn’t stop it from being annoying, though. The fact it’s at least partially well-founded makes it worse.

You take a deep breath, turning your attention back to this blasted book. Gojou will just have to wait.

“Why are you even reading that brick?” He muses, tapping the bottom of the book’s spine with one long finger. “You look bored out of your mind. And, you’ve been on the same page for the past five minutes.”

“You know,” you tilt your head to the side, a sour look on your face. “‘Adult stuff.’ Upskilling and all that.”

“Ah,” Gojou grins. “Career work.”

“Mhm,” you sigh. “And some of us can’t just learn on the job.”

Although, you ponder, the thought blurred with gentle melancholy, some of us aren’t constantly risking our lives.

Gojou always tells you not to worry; he’s the strongest jujutsu sorcerer there is, after all. But even that’s not enough to lull you into an uneasy sleep, to bring you warmth when your bed is cold.

You’re never truly at ease until you feel him slip into your bed in the early hours of the morning, his arms slinking around your waist and pulling you towards him. It’s like clockwork how he buries his head in your shoulder as every muscle in his body relaxes. He always thinks you’re asleep – and honestly, it’s easier to let him keep believing that.

What you’ve got isn’t exactly a ‘relationship’. At least, not in the most traditional sense of the word. Gojou’s never pretended to offer you that. But it’s not so simple as a ‘friends-with-benefits’ arrangement.

Gojou Satoru doesn’t suit the domestic. But he relishes in it, the same way a child might enjoy playing at high tea with little plastic teacups and cupcakes made of playdough. Some might find this frustrating – the idea of existing in this grey, a dark, nebulous unknown stippled with moments of affection and vulnerability.

But there’s still comfort in it; a sense of understanding, a place to let loose and relax. Being part of this world is hard. It’s so cruel – sending children out to fight things they barely comprehend, letting them suffer and even die. And what do they have to show for it? A future of doing the same thing while also having to navigate just how shit the world of sorcerers truly is?

Why aren’t more of your colleagues angry about this? One counsellor isn’t enough to maintain the wellbeing of these children. Do the higher-ups even care? Well, you know the answer to that question – it’s enough to make you want to throttle each and every one of them—

“Hey.”

You clatter back to earth, met by a pair of electric blue eyes. It’s easy to forget just how striking they are; it’s like they can stare right into your very core, laying out secrets you never even knew you had.

“Hm?” You blink at him. You can’t risk him knowing you’re worried. He doesn’t stand for that sort of thing; he’ll just tease you for being concerned about him. Though, you’re well-aware that he enjoys being doted on.

“You’re spacing out,” he smiles. “Again.”

Sure, he sounds like he’s joking. But even he can’t disguise that little flash in his eyes, the slight tension in his face. It’s the same expression he has when he talks about that new student of his.

Gojou understands you better than you’d like. Every little tell, every tiny hint towards what you’re actually thinking. It’s near impossible to hide anything from him; it’s irritating, really.

But, at least he’s got the decency to leave the direction of the conversation in your hands.

You weigh it for a moment, deciding how exactly to respond. Should you play it off and throw his brattiness back in his face? Or should you pry open that conversation like the doors of an old temple?

Today’s not the day. Neither of you are ready for that.

You stick your tongue out at him. Perhaps it’s not how an adult should behave, but you don’t care. Neither does Gojou.

“I think,” he sighs, plucking the book out of your hands and tossing it across the room, “it’s time you took a break.”

You yelp a moment too late, watching your book slap against the wall and flop to the floor. It’s only a paperback – thank God – but you’re not ready to fix another dent in the wall caused by the force of mayhem known as Gojou Satoru.

“And I have been waiting long enough,” he grins, wrapping his arms around your neck and launching forward.

“Satoru—”

It’s too late. He’s got you pinned beneath him – and not in a sexy way. All six feet and three inches of him is laid flat on top of you, your face smothered by his chest.

You punch his side weakly.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he laughs.

“Fine,” you try to say. All you get is a mouthful of Gojou’s shirt. You slip your hands up said shirt and tickle his sides.

“Hey, hey, hey—” He splutters, grabbing at your wrists.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” You smirk, continuing your assault.

Gojou whines, propping himself up by his palms and arching his back like a cat in an attempt to shake you off.

“Get back here,” you grin, lifting your torso in response.

His arms are immediately wrapped around you, pinning your own arms to your sides. You yelp in surprise, finding yourself laid gently against the couch with your face pressed against his neck.

“Much better,” Gojou chuckles, still on top of you as he nestles his head into your shoulder.

It’s not the most comfortable position, but that’s rarely a priority when it comes to Gojou. You wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t just his way of goading you into relocating to your bed for ease of cuddling (although you have your doubts that it’s the only thing on his mind).

“You want attention that bad, huh?” You chuckle, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck.

“Mhm,” he smirks, bringing his head up to get a proper look at you. “I’m a busy man, you know. I don’t think you’re appreciating my free time enough.”

“And yet, you never seem to leave my damn house,” you muse. “I’m starting to think you don’t actually have a job.”

Gojou laughs, leaning down and kissing you properly.

“That’s not an answer,” you say against his lips.

He ignores you, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You sigh, conceding. His lips are so soft yet so persistent, somehow both desperate and playful. He’s aggravatingly good at this sort of thing – before Gojou, you didn’t really understand what it meant to be a ‘good kisser’. But of course, he manages to excel at this, too. And annoyingly enough, he’d been right to brag about it.

He brings one hand up to cup your cheek and moves another down to your waist. It’s a surprisingly chaste move for him, but you don’t mind. You tangle your own hands in his hair, resisting the urge to tug it. If you do that, you’ll officially lose any chance of getting more reading done tonight. Although your ability to focus on anything other than him is waning quickly.

When Gojou pulls back, he’s got that look in his eyes. The one that always makes your cheeks flush, makes your heart feel a little lighter. The one that almost makes you say something stupid.

Thank God you always have your wits about you.

“You get five minutes,” you sigh. “And then you’ve got to let me finish the chapter I’m on, okay? Then I’m all yours.”

Gojou’s grin blossoms with delight.

He slots himself beneath your chin and rests his cheek against your chest. A hand snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You smile, propping your chin on the top of his head and wrapping your arms around him.

Despite all his big talk, his irksome demeanour, even his obnoxious height, Gojou Satoru loves to be held.

You always oblige. He never asks – that’s too close to admitting weakness.

But you understand. He needs this. Sometimes he just wants to be tended to.

Being let in like this is an honour. He’s letting you be part of his life, despite his grand plans. Plans that, when he’d told you them, shifted your whole understanding of him.

Gojou represents change.

You have to have faith in him. You have to believe he’ll make good on his promises and turn the sorcerer world on its head. It’s no easy burden; and despite what he claims, even he falters in the face of something so monumental.

But despite all that, he’s still him. He hasn’t let the weight of his goals crush him; at least, not entirely. He finds the little joys, indulges in mundane delights, sees the humour in things.

Gojou Satoru wants to change the world, but he still lets himself be a part of it.

Perhaps that’s why it’s so easy to love him.

Even if he can’t offer the stability and promise of a stable relationship.

Even if he’s a little brat.

#gojou x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo saturo x reader #gojou x you #gojou staoru x you #today on: rowan can't shut up!#free me from this hell!

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thewritingginger · 3 years ago

Text

;) Alphabet - Alucard p.5

Heres is the final part of our sweet bb boy Adrian’s wink wonk ABC HCs :3

Fandom: Castlevania Letters: J, Q, V, X, Z Warning(s): NSFW 18+ below cut - Minors DNI, Gender Neutral

Enjoy ~

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J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Maybe a couple times a week on average

Being with you definitely resparked his sex drive

So he has been one to masturbate at the thought of you when apart for longer periods of time

Usually jerks off either in bed, especially if in the morning, or in the shower

Will use oils or even soap if in the shower as lube but sometimes just uses his spit when he don’t got time for all that lol

Likes to massage his balls sometimes while he masturbates cuz he likes it when you do it 😉

Allows him to imagine you doing it more clearly in his head than his own hand

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Not his first choice

Prefers to have a proper session so he can properly satisfy you

Isn’t against them tho, especially if you want to

Alucard also can’t deny the slight thrill it gives especially if in a semi public/ somewhere you could get caught

In a modern au he’d be down for a quickie in the back seat of a car or even in the front seat if you’re daring enough 😏 - tho not very often cuz its not very comfy for either of you

Next best thing would be in either a closet or perhaps even the bathroom which may have or have not happened at a friends party before *sips tea*

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Alucard isn’t that loud during sex

Mostly just grunts and moans and words of praise/ dirty talk

“Just like that, my love!”

“You look so beautiful taking me in.”

“Ah, say my name again! I want to hear that sweet voice of yours.”

However when he is reaching his end he will let out a few drawn out moans and says your name like it’s the only word he knows

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Pretty average length about 6 inches

Is girthier tho, not coke can status but you’d definitely want to make sure you’re warmed up before you get to business

Slightly curves up

Not very veiny but does have a prominent vein along the underside of his shaft

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Can depend

Some nights he may fall asleep holding you after once you’re taken care of

Most nights tho he is more in a dream like state, holding you and stroking your hair and/or bare skin, as you fall asleep

Also as a dhampir it’s not like he really needs much sleep to begin with so he just enjoys holding you for the most part.

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Hope ya enjoyed the last part of Alucard’s smut alphabet

I know I might not be the best at these but I do really like doing them obviously lol if you want to see more, sfw or nsfw (if 18+), let me know :3

Other parts - p.1, p.2, p.3, p.4

Till next time 💛 ~

#netflix castlevania #castelvania #castlevania alucard #castlevania adrian #alucard #alucard tepes #alucard x reader #adrian tepes #adrian x reader #*nsfw #*nsfw alphabet

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svchengss · 3 years ago

Text

hey barista! | l.dh

summary | befriending the barista from your local cafe doesn’t seem too bad

pairing | lee donghyuck x fem!reader ft. jaemin who’s a rlly cute side character in this :(

genre | fluff, angst, slight humour (?)

warnings | a kiss?? i don’t think there’s any but if i missed anything do lmk !!

word count | 3k+

s. tg | @hyuckefi [my apologies since i didn’t release a proper teaser for this 🙏🏻]

author’s note | this is my first fic exceeding 1k words so if u enjoyed reading this, please leave some feedbacks !! rb’s are also appreciated :D ALSO I SUCK AT SUMMARIES LMAO PLS IGNORE THAT

just another day of working at palm coffee, the same old routine. cleaning the countertop and tables before opening up the cafe, prepping the ingredients - more for top favourites! - and examining the machines to make sure they’re working properly. that’s some of hyuck’s daily routines as a barista. he didn’t mind them though, he loved his job. he couldn’t specify the reason why but all these tasks are genuinely interesting to him.

seeing you drop by the cafe is a normal occurrence for him. since you are a regular customer after all, the rest of the staff already know you well. heck, they’re even good friends with you. jaemin hangs out with you more than he does despite being jaemin’s childhood friend. except for him, he doesn’t really know why. he’s not really shy, considering the fact that he’s a social butterfly. he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything to you, the only times he did so was to take your orders when the rest of the workers were busy in the store.

upon hearing the doorbell chime which signals a new customer entering the cafe, hyuck blurted out the usual line. “hello, welcome to palm coffee! how can i help-“, looking up from the cash register only to find you in a disheveled state. “-you?” he eyes you up and down, noting how a few strands of your hair were out of place, the nude lipstick smeared on the left corner of your mouth and your outfit looks really rushed.

“sorry, what was your name again, hyuck right?” you quickly glanced at the nametag hanging nicely on his apron. “i’m in a rush right now, can i get a,” you scanned over the menu behind him, “uh, white coffee, please?”.

“that will be six dollars. you can use the restroom in the meantime to, you know, touch up your makeup and stuff,” he takes the bills from your hand, putting them in the machine in front of him before flashing you with that warm smile of his. you wished him a quick thanks before disappearing into the back of the place.

now that was embarrassing.

your eyes scanned over the hall to find your friend before hearing her shout your name from across. damn, why does she have to be so loud? stares were directed towards you as you walked up the stairs to your designated seat. all the chatter going on in the lecture hall became quiet as soon as your professor placed her things on the desk, which means class has started.

after hearing a two-hour lecture and writing some notes - where suddenly song lyrics and scribbles appear - the words you’ve been waiting to hear finally echoed through the speakers.

“class is dismissed, thank you everyone for listening,” mrs. hui’s voice later being flushed out by the buzzing voices of the students walking out the hall, determined to finish their own activities. you stuffed your ipad and papers into your light yellow jansport backpack before going out to meet vic who’s waiting for you outside.

“i’m exhausted, what did she even teach just now?” vic sighed to her heart’s content. you can’t blame her, today’s topic was quite complicated. circuits analysis or something? you can’t really wrap your head around it, your brain being stuffed with all the information. vic kept on ranting about the problems she faced from the moment she woke up, making you giggle at some comments she made.

“wait for me, i’m almost done,” he folded his apron neatly before shoving it into the drawer and grabbing his bag from the counter to join jaemin, who’s waiting at the front door with the keycard. hyuck accepted jaemin’s request to help him with some shopping for his sister’s birthday party next week. obviously, the rest of the staff were also invited.

jaemin divided the shopping list into two, allowing hyuck to find the rest of the things with ease.

“now where are the streamers…” he muttered out loud enough for himself to hear, crouching down to browse through the party decorations on the shelf. or he thought so, as you could hear him sighing clearly in dire need of the certain decoration, that you decided to help him out.

“um, hyuck? i think the party streamers are in the aisle beside this one? you look a bit troubled there,” you chuckled lightly. the heat flushed to his cheeks, feeling dumbfounded.

“really? uh, thank you for the help,” he gave you a small grin that could hardly be seen if you didn’t spot the corner of his lips. and with that, he’s long gone with his shopping basket.

you are fond of the atmosphere you’re in right now. the decorations left you in awe - white and pink silk hanging from the wall with silver letter balloons spelling out happy birthday stitched onto them. you can see jaemin’s sister, eun-ji, being carried out of her room with a small flowy white dress and wearing a golden bow on her head, her brunette hair being tied into ponytails. the na family really adore their youngest girl.

meanwhile, there are only a couple of adults your age attending the party - jaemin’s co-workers, some of his other friends which you aren’t familiar with and hyuck. he looked rather chill, with an oversized beige sweater and white jeans to suit the party’s theme. you’re not quite bad as well, your hair combed nicely and kept neat with a headband, a white sundress with strawberry patterns on it fit nicely on your figure, complemented with a heart-locket necklace placed on your collarbones. before reaching jaemin’s house, you made sure to drop by a local store to get some gifts for eun-ji. she’s a very well-mannered kid which made you adore her very much.

“y/n? very glad to see you here,” hyuck said as he approached you, offering you a plate of cake which he cut.

“i could say the same to you too, mr. lee,” you let out a soft laugh. he made sure to keep a mental note over how pretty you looked today.

“y/n, hyuck! glad you two broke the ice, did you know how hurt i was seeing you two act like strangers whenever y/n came by the cafe?” jaemin enveloping you into a small hug before fake pouting. you can only laugh at the fake debate the two guys in front of you were having. after conversing with hyuck and jaemin for quite some time, you realised that he’s a cool person to talk to, where all this time, you thought he hated you for some reason. before leaving, you made sure to thank mrs. na for hosting the party and off you went home.

following the previous encounters, hyuck felt much more comfortable around you - even hanging out with you during his shift where you would do your assignments at the cafe he’s working at. every now and then, he would also invite you to hang out with him and jaemin. however, what he didn’t realise was how he slowly pent up feelings - romantically.

ding dong!

he pressed on the doorbell button with a box of doughnuts in his left hand. the three of you were supposed to be having a movie night, but jaemin got caught up with his groupwork which leaves the two of you alone.

“hey hyuck! come in,” you gestured, arranging the cushions on your sofa to make it look more organized. the interior of your rented apartment is calming, the light grey walls suiting the navy blue sofa and furniture with darker undertones. the walls are also not left empty, with modern art portraits hanging from it.

“i brought donuts, your favourite, right?” he opened the box, placing it on the coffee table while you set up the television. you wished him a quick thank you before grabbing two canned drinks from the refrigerator, handing one to him and pressing play on the remote control. you two weren’t quiet throughout the whole movie, with snarky comments on how hot the actors were or how stupid they were being were made.

he didn’t know you were sleepy though as all of a sudden, he could feel the weight of your head on top of his shoulder. it was a rather awkward situation as he didn’t move at all so you could sleep comfortably. before long, he joined you and dozed off to wonderland. the next morning, you were more than embarrassed to find yourself cuddling up to him, with the next movie still playing on the screen.

seeing your figure outside the front door made hyuck more excited to greet you today. after making a quick order for a green tea latte, you fished out your purse from your handbag, feeling frantic if you’ve lost it outside. luckily, you were the only customer in line as the rest of them were already seated and carrying out their own businesses.

“sorry, but i think this might be yours,” you turned around to find a tall-looking guy handing out your black purse. a wave of relief washed over your soul, thanking the latter profusely.

“mind if i buy you a drink? i hate feeling like i owe someone,” you offered, which he gladly accepted.

“i’d like a double espresso, please,” he kept his hands into his pockets.

“and your name, sir?” hyuck looked mildly bothered.

“yukhei,” he ran his slightly blonde hair through the slender fingers. hyuck hated how cocky he looked, feeling more annoyed than ever over the scene that was played in front of him just now. he hated how yukhei looked at you.

why should he get jealous? he’s just a mere friend to you, that’s all. you have to stop overreacting, hyuck.

those words kept running through his mind all day.

“dude, are you okay? you looked-” jaemin opened the staff room, interrupting him from the self-talk he was having, “-distracted,” finishing up his sentence.

“nope, i’m just fine,” he said, bringing the honey smile back onto his face. jaemin nodded before disappearing back to the front to serve the customers.

stop being so jealous, hyuck. you’re just a friend. not more, not less.

“jaemin, how do you know if you like someone?” that question is kind of shocking to him, especially if it’s coming from hyuck. of course, he’s had a crush before but it was during middle school. just a silly, little crush. growing up, he’s never had one - not even in high school.

“you’ve asked the right person,” jaemin managed to do his obnoxious voice, even while driving the car. he’s right, he is the matchmaker of the friend group, just how many relationships worked out because of him? eyes still focused on the road - he’s a responsible driver of course, he began to explain the feeling to hyuck, making his points loud and clear.

“first of all, you start feeling a little too happy whenever you’re around them. and no, this is not the oh-we’re-best-friends-forever type of happy, it’s the i’ll-make-you-the-happiest-person-on-earth one. not to forget, you will also experience some kind of turbulence in your heart, expect them to be jumping around a bit. or a lot, whichever suits you the best.

you also tend to feel nervous around that person. like, stuttering your words in obvious or non-obvious ways, feeling faster heartbeats than usual, you name it. oh! if you’ve ever felt jealous whenever they are around someone else, i mean, in affectionate ways, you might have one. however, my tip is for you not to act out of your mind. you don’t want to ruin whatever relationship you have currently, do you?” even when driving, he still managed to deliver his points with full precision and accuracy.

nodding his head, hyuck took some mental notes to be thought through when he gets home.

hyuck stared at you, whose figure is snoring soundly on his lap. he assumed you must be feeling exhausted, mid-terms just ended after all. while threading his fingers through your hair, he remembered what jaemin said to him weeks earlier.

1. being happy around them

like jaemin said, it is normal to be happy around your friends. but being with you, it kind of gave more joy for him. not to mention that he started to catch himself smiling over your texts and being reminded of you over small things - your favorite donut topping, the name of that one stray puppy you gave.

2. feeling nervous around them

his heart would beat a lot faster whenever you get closer towards him, whether accidentally or to mess with him.

3. getting jealous over someone else

he shouldn’t be jealous of how yukhei looked at you. but he seriously can’t help it. and the way he’s always there during your hangouts. he doesn’t care if he seems petty, yukhei just isn’t in his favour.

his deep thoughts came to a halt when you called out his name, eyes still half-closed, attempting to open them a bit more.

“did i interrupt you or something? gosh, i’m so sorry,” you quickly stood up but he pulls your body back onto his lap, asking for you to stay.

“what are we?” that question caught you off-guard. the same one that has been at debate in the back of your mind these days.

i don’t know hyuck, it’s complicated.

“what do you think we are, hyuck?” you shot the question back at him, your gaze piercing through his soul.

“i don’t know. it’s just-”

“are you sure?” a deep sigh left your lips. have you been interpreting his body languages wrong? did he only see you as a normal friend, nothing more?

“sorry, i’m not feeling well. see you later hyuck, bye,” you tried your best to shoot the sweet smile of yours but only a faint one seemed to appear. once you stepped out of the room, he buried his face into his hands.

god, what have i done?

“don’t feel too down, y/n. maybe there’s something more that he couldn’t bring himself to say?” vic suggested, handing you some tissue.

“i don’t know, i seriously have no idea. why can’t he just say it?” you continued to sob into her arms, she pitied you, especially in your condition right now. but she can’t do anything to help you, other than consoling and listening.

jaemin knew something was wrong, from your rare visits to the cafe to hyuck not being himself lately. something was definitely wrong and it’s between the both of you. sure, hyuck might be saying that he’s fine again and again, but his expressions can’t lie. the sweet smile of his is long gone and his jokes are no longer heard. whatever it is, jaemin is determined to solve it. he just wants his best friends back.

looks of dismay can be read all over hyuck’s face when the person facing him is no other than the guy himself, yukhei. still, he tried to control his composure, not making his inner feelings any more obvious.

“so what brings you here?” he took a sip of the mineral water, still making his throat rough from the tension hanging in the air.

“look, i’m not here for any fights. i know you like y/n, everybody can see it. and honestly, you were oblivious to your own feelings,” he rubbed his hands together. the latter’s puzzled face made him continue his words.

“i’m not trying to make her like me, or whatever you’ve been assuming. sorry if i gave the wrong message but you are the one who should make a move. i can see from the way she looks at you, the feelings are mutual,” he straightened up the denim jacket outside the white shirt wrapping his figure.

letting out a heavy sigh, hyuck’s face begins to soften up. “no, i should be the one who’s sorry. i’ve been such a prick to everyone around me lately, especially you,” he took of the cap from his head, messing up his hair.

“no problem, bro. it’s understandable, i guess. now good luck with her, please treat her well,” the two guys exchanged a fist bump for the problem solved. jaemin leaned his back against the wall, smiling and feeling satisfied.

you called out jaemin’s name but to no avail. he invited you to his apartment but seeing that the lights are out, it’s clear enough that he hasn’t finished whatever he was doing yet. just as you were about to leave, you saw hyuck at the other side of it, both your faces mirroring the same look of confusion.

“so, uh, how have you been doing these days? it’s been a while since we talked,” he chose to break the silence. now, you two were sitting facing each other by the balcony. inhaling the breeze, you paused for a moment before responding to his question.

“i’ve been feeling, not as usual. definitely not happy but not that sad,” you pushed some of the loose hair strands hanging on your forehead behind your ears before asking about his.

“you know what, i’m just going to be direct with you. i, lee donghyuck have been holding feelings for you since i don’t know when. yeah sure, i wasn’t really sure at first about what i was going through. i guess i was just scared of how you would react,” he scratched his ears which are not feeling itchy at all, but rather an attempt to distract himself from the overwhelming emotions deep inside him.

not wanting to waste time any longer, you placed your right hand onto his cheek, standing on the heels of your feet to bring your two lips together. the kiss was short before he pulls you back in for another, this time a more passionate one. he could feel you smile against his lips before enveloping your body into his arms.

“i’ve missed you, you know?” he whispered, his voice tender, directing right into your ears before you replied with how you missed him more. the both of you continued to whisper sweet nothings while embracing each other’s presence.

jaemin looked at the both of you from a distance, his heart swelling with pride.

— another pair of lovers matched, cupid jaemin signing out.

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otonymous · 4 years ago

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Glutton For Your Flavour (Obey Me: Beelzebub - NSFW)

Description: You’re about to become Beel’s next meal Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Spoilers for Lesson 5 of MS (hard). Please note potential trigger warnings: dub-con (as an inadvertent result of somnambulism), cunnilingus in two flavours (soft and rough), squirting and overstimulation, slight size kink, very faint hints of tetraphilia, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it blasphemy, slight fear (monstrous descriptions) Word Count: ~2900 words (~14 mins of smut & shenanigans) Author’s Notes: My very first fic for the Obey Me fandom! I know I’m late to the party, but I’ve recently started playing this game and the story and its characters are so amusing I had to write about it. This piece may not be to everyone’s taste, so please, please, please note the potential trigger warnings listed above and skip if it’s not your cup of tea. That being said, hope you all enjoy the read! 💕😆

🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔

“Bad luck to be sharing a room with Beel, but what can ya do after he destroyed yours while destroying the kitchen, and all for a dumb custard! Be careful — he might mistake you for a snack and eat ya in the middle of the night, hahaha!”

Mmm.

The scene fragments, Mammon’s face wavering as his voice grows faint, consciousness seeping into dark corners like sunlight cutting through fog. And when you open your eyes, you can’t quite place where you are for a moment, straddling the line between dreamscape and reality.

Ahh…

You sigh. There it was again, the sensation so pleasant it had roused you from the deepest slumber.

Further blinking off the haze of sleep, you take in your surroundings: a large bed lying empty across from yours in a room almost cavernous in size and just as dark save for a candle burning low on a desk, the glow of its flame orange like the hair that was currently brushing soft against your inner thighs—

“BEEL?! WHAT THE HELL?!”

“So tasty…not…enough…need more…want to…eat…zzz….”

Eyes still closed, the demon’s face is shiny even in the dark, slick from cheek to chin with what must’ve been a copious amount of his saliva and your arousal, you blush to realize. And when he doesn’t budge even after a swift kick to the face, you are ashamed to find the Lord of Flies’ show of strength sending yet another throb to your already pulsing clit.

He does wake though, Beelzebub’s amethyst eyes opening wide before he falls backwards onto the cold stone floor to realize what he had inadvertently done in his sleep. And as the always-famished sixth born looks from the shredded remnants of your panties to the pool of wetness on the sheets where his chin had rested, he becomes even more tongue-tied than usual.

“I…uh…I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…I dreamt I smelled something delicious and I was so hungry…and somehow I’m here, on the floor…I don’t even know…I-I’m so sorry!”

His cheeks grow so flushed they remind you of the red spider sandwiches he packed away during dinner, stuffing them two by two into his mouth until Satan smacked his hand away for trying to take more from his plate. The expression on his face is so full of remorse that even if you were angry, you’d be inclined to forgive the demon who was currently grovelling at the foot of your bed, swearing he would hand himself over to Lucifer and Diavolo first thing in the morning to be strung up and hung upside down for a fortnight, even (gulp) forgoing food for a day or two.

“Beelzebub…Beel…BEEL!” You shout, interrupting his self-inflicted tirade. “It’s okay, you didn’t mean it. You were sleepwalking. You don’t have to go to Lucifer and Diavolo about this.”

“No, I have to. My behaviour was inexcusable—”

“BEEL! Let’s…just…try to go back to sleep, okay? We have our midterm in Devildom law tomorrow morning and I really don’t feel like failing just because I didn’t get enough shut eye. So please, can we just pretend like this didn’t happen?”

Those orange brows are still furrowed when Beel finally lifts his head and nods. But then his gaze is falling again on the wet sheets and the shiver than runs through that larger-than-life body seems to send another wave of anxiety through the demon. He makes a mad dash for the door, murmuring something about getting a snack from the kitchen and “you can have the room tonight” before it slams shut behind him.

He doesn’t return for the rest of the night.

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The exam was so disastrous even Mammon didn’t bother sneaking another peek at your paper after the first two questions. And even if you had somehow managed to get back to sleep after last night’s ordeal, it wouldn’t have changed the fact that you were still distracted by the memory of Beel’s mouth on your pussy:

His long tongue, serpentine as it delved deep between swollen folds to taste you with gusto.

The way he rolled your clit between those plush, soft lips before sucking it into his hot mouth, over and over again.

The throbbing between your legs that refused to cease long after the Avatar of Gluttony had left the room you were temporarily sharing, sleep only forthcoming once you had succumbed and reached beneath the sheets to finish the job he had started, your moans licentious even to your ears as you pretended your fingers were his.

It was a pale imitation, of course. That much you could see for yourself, stealing a glance at Beel seated two rows down — quill twirling between long, dexterous digits when he wasn’t putting ink to parchment.

But those gigantic hands were just a small part of what made Beel demonically attractive, as if the word “small” could be applied to him at all: tall and built, there were times when even you envied the ease with which he maintained that perfect physique despite his penchant for shovelling enough food to feed all three realms into his mouth on the regular.

The same mouth which brought you so much pleasure the night before.

Ahem.

Clearing your throat, you pretend not to see the smirk that spreads across Asmo’s delicate face, hoping the lusty demon sitting just to your left wouldn’t pick up on the very secret thoughts you were having about his brother.

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[Private Chatroom]: Satan, Levi, Mammon, Asmo

Satan: This is going to sound crazy, but doesn’t it seem like Beel’s…hungrier than usual? Is that even possible?

Levi: OMFG! You should’ve seen the state of the kitchen this morning after Beel decided to camp out there overnight! It was a total war zone, like that epic battle scene in Vol. 5 of TSL lololol. Soooo good XDDDDD

Mammon: Hey! He’s gonna eat us outta house and home at this rate! Shouldn’t we stop him?

Satan: You do it, Mammon. Aren’t you always saying that there’s nothing The Great Mammon can’t do?

Mammon: …..

Asmo: Please, as if anyone — angel or demon — could come between Beel and a meal.

Satan: Why was he camping out there in the first place? Was there something wrong with his room? I don’t remember him complaining about anything since he got shacked up with the exchange student.

Levi: Not like he could, seeing as it was his fault to begin with and a direct order from Lucifer.

Asmo: Maybe we should ask her. I’m sure she knows something about what’s inciting his hunger judging by the way she kept staring at him in class today fufufu 😏 She almost failed her midterm because of it, isn’t that right, Mammon?

Mammon: ‼️‼️

[Mammon has left the chat]

Levi: He is sooooo transparent LMFAOOOO

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Gasp!

Pressing a hand to your mouth, you try to contain your shock at the sight that greets you when you peek around the corner into the kitchen:

Curved, ebony horns sitting majestically atop a head of disheveled orange hair. Thick, corded muscles that ripple across a broad back — readily apparently because the creature bent over a mountain of food on the ground was wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms, loose and slung so low over narrow hips that the sharp V defining his groin is visible even from the distance at which you stood.

Because this wasn’t quite what you were expecting to find when you made your way to the kitchen in the middle of the night to search for Beel, thinking to approach him about the peculiarity of his recent behaviour: the way he now ate constantly and was less satiated than before, the fact that he seemed to be going out of his way to avoid you even though you shared a room.

In fact, he hadn’t said so much as another word to you after he gave you two dozen of his prized custards the morning after the incident, apologizing again until you had to be the one to make him swear he wouldn’t breathe a word of it to Lucifer. The demon even made a beeline for the door as soon as he saw you emerge from the bathroom tonight, fresh from a shower.

It wasn’t hard to guess where he was headed.

Even still, you tried to focus on your textbook, reading the same line over and over again as you waited for Beel to return so you could have a proper conversation with the demon you made a pact with. And when you could wait no longer, you made your way towards his favourite room in the House of Lamentation — silently, so as not to draw the attention of the eldest sibling.

But the growls coming from the direction of the open fridge this time sounded like Cerberus himself, enough so that you find yourself rooted to the ground, unable to take another step forwards or back.

You had never seen Beel like this before, tearing into whatever he could get his hands on with a savagery that made your heart stop. Teeth, lips and tongue devoured without second thought in a way that was simultaneously terrifying and…

Throb.

…arousing.

Suddenly, he stills, throwing his head back to sniff the air once…twice…and in a flash, he is upon you, towering over your head as he rises to full height — bigger and taller and much more intimidating than you’ve ever seen him before.

You should have been scared. Any person in their right mind would have if they found themselves cornered by a demon of Beelzebub’s calibre. But the hands that balled into trembling fists at his sides made you feel oddly secure, your deepest instincts telling you that not all was as it seemed.

“You need to leave. Now…please.”

“What’s going on with you, Beel? I just want to help—” You reach for his arm. He jumps back as if burned.

“I SAID YOU NEED TO LEAVE! I-I…can’t hold back…for…much longer!”

Handsome face screwed up as if in pain, Beel turns to put as much distance as possible between the two of you, squatting on his haunches with his head in his hands when he murmurs:

“I…I don’t know what’s going on with me. This has never happened before. I’m hungrier than I’ve ever been. I eat and eat and eat and it still isn't enough. The last time I felt satisfied was when…when…”

His voice dies down to a whisper.

“…when I tasted you.”

Throb.

Putting out a hand, you steady yourself against the wall, knees suddenly weak at Beelzebub’s admission. Or perhaps it was due to relief, the tension that had been steadily building in your strained relationship with the demon released to know that you weren’t the only one who desired to revisit that night’s events.

So you gather your courage, stepping softly towards the demon who crouched on the ground next to the lit fireplace, the heat radiating from the hearth warming the flesh you had deliberately left bare when you lift the hem of your night gown to expose yourself to Beel.

“What are you doing?! I told you, I can barely hold back—”

“Then don’t. I don’t mind, Beel. I…I like it too.”

Amethyst eyes darken as they look up into yours, orange flames reflecting off pupils blown wide. And when he speaks next, the deepness of his voice echoes in your body, as if its source were to be found within your own soul.

“Ask and ye shall receive. I won’t touch you until you do.”

Nipples hardening beneath your gown, the rush of heat that floods your core makes you shudder when you say,

“Please, Beelzebub…I want you to eat my pussy.”

Back hitting solid wood, you barely have time to gasp before you are pulled to the edge of a long table in the centre of the kitchen, a long tongue running up the insides of each thigh in turn before they’re propped up onto broad shoulders, Beel’s breath blowing hot on the space in between.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can hold back. I’m just…so famished, so desperate to taste you again—”

His words cut off in a low growl as he presses his lips to your folds, saliva dripping from his mouth mixing with the juices that already painted a glistening sheen on pink flesh. You fight to bite back a moan at the vehemence of his hunger, the sheer greed of his tongue — flicking at your clit until your back arched off the table, heralding the arrival of the cream that leaked only to be swept up by Beel licking from end to end of that swollen seam. And when that still wasn’t enough, you nearly swooned to feel that serpentine tongue penetrate, reaching depths that surely only a demon would be able to achieve as Beel sought out more of your flavour.

He buries his face deeper into your pussy, nose nudging your clit as arousal smeared over the entirely of his visage. The vibrations of his voice further stimulates your locus of pleasure, punctuating the lewd, wet sounds when he says:

“You smell so delicious. All the time. And tonight, when you stepped out of the shower…I couldn’t take it, not with the way your scent flooded my senses. I had to leave or else…this would happen.”

“Oh Beel…you should’ve told me sooner.”

Mind lost in a haze of lust and body boneless from riding out wave after climatic wave, you reach down a trembling hand without thinking, fingers innocently tracing along the smooth ridges of the onyx horns that lay against your abdomen.

Suddenly, his breath hitches at your touch and the Sixth Prince of Hell is throwing his head back, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in a moan loud and deep enough to reverberate off stone walls, clattering stacks of dishes in cupboards and making you come once more — legs convulsing upon his shoulders as you feel a preponderance of fluid gush forth from your body right into Beel’s waiting mouth.

The pleasure was such that you’ve never known before, so good that surely, it must be bad in some way, shape or form. But you hadn’t the energy to ponder further.

No, the only thing you’re aware of when your vision goes black is that Beel’s mouth is still on you, feasting upon a pussy that continued to respond to the teasing movements of his lips and tongue even as you ceased to think.

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Cheddar. Pickles. Ketchup and mustard.

The smell is what rouses you, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what you saw when you awoke in your own bed: mountains of cheeseburgers arranged on platters filling up every available surface in the room you shared with Beel.

“You can sleep for longer if you want. I told Lucifer you’d be skipping class today because you’re not feeling well. Are you…feeling well?”

Beelzebub lifts his head from where it’d been resting at the side of your bed, the rest of his body laid out on the floor as if he were guarding you like an oversized dog. Those puppy dog eyes, full of concern, didn’t help his case either.

“I’m fine, Beel. Better than fine, actually. I feel fantastic!” You smile, moving to sit up in bed. The demon springs from the ground, putting an arm around your shoulders to help prop you up, and your heart can’t help but warm at how protective he was being.

He breathes, relief flooding those handsome features. “I’m glad. I was afraid I lost control last night and had to carry you back. You were just…so tasty and…satisfying…”

Those amethyst eyes glint as they travel to the apex of your thighs, and all of a sudden, he is grabbing at those human world cheeseburgers, shoving them into his mouth two at a time.

“Have some,” he says between bites. “They’re my favourite and I thought you might like them too. Besides, you need to eat if you’re gonna keep up your energy.”

You reach towards the nearest platter, taking one for yourself. “Energy for what?”

Beel looks at you, expression completely serious when he says, “For the next round tonight.”

Throb.

🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔

Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

#obey me #shall we date obey me #OM #swd obey me #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #OM beel #obey me smut #OM smut #obey me beel smut #obey me fanfic #fanfiction #my writing

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rheawritessometimes · 4 years ago

Text

A Not-So-Bad Deal

{ Childe x GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Babysitting Childe has its ups and downs. Series Masterlist

{ Warnings } Swearing, Injury, Physical Intimacy, Mild Spice, PDA, Not Beta Read, Barely Proof Read.

{ Notes } Reader is implied to have commitment issues. Accidental flirting, because intentional flirting is awkward and hard. Didn't explicitly state what each breakfast item was, but they're based on popular Russian breakfast foods. Ahah, not me setting myself up for yet another part?? Masterlist

{ Word Count } 2,955

The sentiment of spending Childe's recovery with him being a simple endeavor was quickly thrown into the garbage when you were awakened before the sun had even begun to peek over the horizon to the sound of what you were sure was a break-in. Rolling out of the bed with your sword materializing in your hand was done entirely on instinct, you were still too groggy to have any proper thought. Stealthily exiting the room, you made your way to the source of the noise, the kitchen.

Needless to say, you were more than annoyed to find that the 'break in' was actually a familiar Harbinger making breakfast, tearing apart the kitchen in the process. Your sword dematerialized as you brought a hand up to massage your temples to ward off a headache. Childe was humming cheerily in the middle of the mess of ingredients and cookware, some of which you were certain had not been necessary to whatever it was he was making. There was no way that many bowls were necessary for any recipe.

The Snezhnayan flashed a bright grin when he saw you, but the gesture did nothing to ease the scowl that had settled onto your features. That didn't seem to dampen his mood in the least, he merrily continued preparing what appeared to be enough food to feed a lot more people than were currently occupying his apartment. Was he expecting a lot of company this morning?

"I thought we made a deal that involved you resting and not cooking enough to feed a small army at ass in the morning," you remarked, the sarcasm laid on thick enough to be dripping from each word. Much to your frustration, this only made him laugh as he turned the stove on.

"Well, I usually wake up early but this morning I had nothing to do since someone broke my bones. So, I decided to make a nice breakfast for my guest to enjoy with me," he responded with faux innocence, though there was laughter in his voice that easily gave him away. His words were still effective in making you feel a little guilty, so you wordlessly brought the dishes you were fairly certain he was done with to the sink and began washing them.

The two of you fell into a comfortable quiet after that, you were busy cleaning a mountain of dishes and Childe's focus was on frying a few eggs and cutting up a bowl of strawberries. You were mindful to stay out of the way as Childe cooked and he made an effort to set the cookware he was finished with beside the sink for you. The rhythm you two had quickly settled into felt startlingly domestic, something you reminded yourself not to like, and certainly not to get used to.

"Maybe I did make a little too much," the Harbinger muses somewhat sheepishly as he looks at the table he had just finished setting. It was without a doubt too much food for only two people, the table at risk of collapsing under the weight of it all. You could only nod in agreement.

"Your guard might appreciate a plate," you offered, as though one more person would make much of a difference against the mountain of food. You had to admit, everything did look delicious. The table was laid out with fried eggs, some porridge, a few sandwiches with sausage on them, what appeared to you to be some kind of crêpes, pancakes of some sort, the bowl of cut strawberries, and a kettle of tea. It would be no trouble finding people willing to eat the excess food.

"I suppose my subordinates deserve a nice breakfast," the redhead sighs dramatically, "They're lucky they have such a nice boss."

"Mhm, and if you ever fall out with the Fatui you could certainly find a job as a cook," you reply after sampling a forkful of his work. Living in Liyue had you more accustomed to chopsticks, but it was evident after going through Childe's kitchen that he did not own a pair. As a witness to his attempts at using them, you weren't very surprised by this finding. A fork was easy enough to figure out, anyway.

"I'm glad you like it," the redhead responds with a grin, quickly busying himself with his own plate. As he eats, he begins to talk about having similar breakfasts with his family in Snezhnaya. This turns into him recounting learning how to make these dishes with his mother and you quietly listen along, making the occasional comment and smiling fondly at his memories and the way he became more animated as he spoke about his family.

The sun had emerged by the time each of you had eaten what you could, and you cleared the plates while Childe ordered his guard to distribute the remaining food to his subordinates stationed in Liyue. You were halfway through cleaning the dishes when the Snezhnayan waltzed into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. He contented himself with watching, not bothering to even offer his assistance.

"I was thinking we should do something. I've been cooped up for too long. Maybe a casual hike up Mt. Aozang?" he suggested, causing you to pause in your ministrations and glance back at him with a raised brow. No hike up Mt. Aozang would be a casual one considering the terrain and potential enemies of the area.

"It's been less than a full day," you pointed out, "And, hm, what was it? Oh yeah, and you have a few broken ribs."

"What are a few broken ribs to a Fatui Harbinger?"

"It's a no, Childe," you firmly insisted, causing him to groan and mumble about you being a 'spoil sport'. It was easy enough to ignore him as you finished up with your small chore.

"I'm using your shower," you informed him once you turned away from the sink. He only hummed in response, still pouting against the counter. It was all you could do to not roll your eyes at his childish behavior.

"What am I even supposed to do for six weeks if I can't go out and fight things?" he whined, and this time you did roll your eyes.

"Well, maybe you can still improve your fighting," you mused, "Have you ever tried working on your strategy? Because that could definitely use some improvement."

The Harbinger huffed indignantly at your words, taking the mature route and sticking his tongue out at you as you left the kitchen to take a shower. He could pout to himself in the kitchen while you had a relaxing shower.

The apartment's bathroom was on the smaller side, but it was still easily workable and didn't feel at all cramped. You had brought with you your own toiletries, but that didn't stop you from poking around Childe's well-organized things out of curiosity. There wasn't anything of particular interest so you decided to just get cleaned up and figure out what to do for the day.

Leaving the bathroom wrapped in a towel and feeling refreshed, you made your way to the guest room to pull out something to wear for the day. You decided on something comfortable, it didn't seem like you'd be going out today anyways and if you did you could always change into something more suitable. After getting dressed and taking care of a few more things, you left the guest room in search of Childe.

It was a simple task finding the Harbinger, he was seated at the table flipping through the pages of a book. You were more than surprised to see it was a book on battle strategy, although you noted it was one focused on group tactics to be used in war organization. You supposed it shouldn't have been any great shock to find he had such books, considering his position as a Fatui Harbinger who was known for his knack for combat. But to actually find him taking your advice was not something you had expected.

"Finally done with your shower?" Childe asked, looking up from his reading, "Good, you were stinky."

His tone made it clear he was joking, and you gasped in mock offense. You both laughed at this, his cerulean eyes shining with amusement. You weren't sure you'd ever seen eyes more beautiful than his.

"Anyways, I was thinking we should go for a walk around the harbor and have a late lunch a Wanmin. Then we can just wander looking for stuff to do, or we could go out to that one boat. Or maybe Zhongli will be at the market and invite us for tea," Childe suggested, setting the book down on the table. You raised your brows at his 'plan'.

"It's been a long time since I've had any time off and I don't know what to do," he justified, crossing his arms over his chest. You only shook your head, smiling softly at his pout.

"Alright, I wouldn't mind a walk around the harbor, at least. Lunch at Wanmin sounds good too. We'll see what happens afterward," you conceded, watching his expression immediately brighten. Just a walk shouldn't be too strenuous, so you weren't terribly worried about his bones. Plus, you wouldn't be able to keep him in bed all day and this was a much better alternative to him going out and finding a fight.

"Let me just get changed into something more presentable."

It wasn't long before you were walking along the docks of the harbor with Childe. You were hand in hand with him, the redhead had grabbed your hand early on, intertwining your fingers with a cheeky grin. You didn't resist when he did this, comfortable with showing the small amount of affection even in public.

Looking out across the calm waters of the harbor, you couldn't help but think it matched the blue of the Harbinger's eyes. While he had an excellent poker face when necessary, Childe's eyes were often very expressive, allowing an easy read of his mood at a glance. Smiling fondly at the thought, you squeezed his hand gently before moving on.

The rest of the day progressed just as pleasantly, both you and Childe enjoying the sights of Liyue before getting lunch at Wanmin as he'd planned. After eating, you browsed the various stalls of Liyue's busy market, admiring the vast array of goods on display.

As the Snezhnayan had earlier predicted, you did meet Zhongli at the market and he did invite you two for tea. You wondered if he had planned it with Childe, but the polite man seemed entirely surprised to have encountered the both of you.

Tea with Zhongli turned out to be quite a lengthy endeavor, and you were rather exhausted by the end of it. He had recounted the history of Liyue well into the evening, in a way that reminded you of a professor during a lecture. It was Childe who was finally able to excuse the both of you, after several hours of education on the historic importance of Silk Flowers.

"Well, I did make a promise that I would rest, so I'm afraid we must be going."

"Ah, yes. It is always good to keep your promises," Zhongli agreed sagely, his words carrying a strange gravity. With polite goodbyes, you left with Childe to return to his apartment. The walk back was through darkness thanks to the hour, but the streets of Liyue were lit and there was still plenty of activity.

It was no surprise that both you and Childe were ready for bed by the time you made it through the door. He mumbled out a mostly unintelligible apology for how long tea with Zhongli had lasted before kissing the top of your forehead and disappearing into his room.

You stood in the hallways shocked by the affectionate gesture for a few seconds before deciding it would be best to just go to bed and forget about it. Surely the action was purely the result of exhaustion.

This time when you woke up the sun had already risen. Silently, you thanked Morax for not having to wake up to Childe's noisy breakfast-making. Even if his cooking was really good, without sleep you'd eventually become rather cranky, to put it lightly.

Exiting the spare bedroom, you found the Harbinger sprawled out on the couch looking through a stack of papers. You assumed it was Fatui business, something which you wanted nothing to do with at the moment. Maybe at another time, you would be interested in their secrets, but as of right now, they weren't really your problem.

"How are you feeling? In any pain?" you asked casually, making your way to the kitchen to retrieve some ice. Regardless of his answer, it was still advised to ice his side regularly.

"Mm, I'm fine. Took some of the medication earlier," he replied, most of his focus still on the documents in his hands. You briefly wondered how often it was that the Eleventh Harbinger did paperwork as opposed to fieldwork. You would have assumed he had a secretary or something for this kind of thing, though you supposed it made some sense for him to do it if he wasn't out in the field.

Leaving the kitchen with another makeshift icepack, you noticed he had set the papers down on the coffee table and draped an arm over his eyes. You raised a brow at this but didn't say anything as you placed the icepack on his side and sat on the couch where there was space beside his legs.

"I don't think I can last six weeks like this. I'm already dying of boredom," he confessed, raising his arm to see your response.

"I'm not sure I can last six weeks either," you replied snarkily. It seemed lost on him as he nodded in agreement before furrowing his brows and scowling at you. Realization.

"Hey, wait! What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, sitting up quickly and wincing at the resulting pain. You picked up the icepack that had slid down and pressed it against his side until one of his hands came up to hold it in place.

"It means I think sometimes you're a bit much," you laughed in response, ruffling his hair and causing his scowl to deepen. He swatted your hand away from his hair using his free hand, and you only smiled in amusement.

"I'll have you know I'm a fucking delight and you adore me," he asserted, staring you dead in the eyes with a challenging look. Now that he was closer, your eyes were drawn to the light smattering of freckles that crossed his nose and dusted both cheeks. From a distance, they weren't really visible, but now you could clearly see them.

"Mhm," you agreed absently, bringing a hand up to lightly cradle his jaw, swiping your thumb slowly across his cheek. It was only when he started leaning in that it dawned on you exactly what you were doing and how intimate it seemed. By the time his lips were pressed against yours, heat had risen to your cheeks and you were certain your face was a brilliant shade of scarlet. Luckily his eyes were closed so he couldn't see you in such a state, but you had a feeling he was able to feel the heat radiating off your cheeks.

Despite your flirtations having been unintentional, you didn't push Childe away. Instead, you wrapped your arms loosely around his shoulders and fell into the slow rhythm he had set. You heard the soft thump of something being tossed onto the coffee table, but you were distracted from that when his hands found your sides and he pulled you into his lap.

A soft breath left you when his lips moved down to your neck to place gentle kisses there. The featherlight touch had goosebumps raising across your skin and you were almost embarrassed by your body's reactions.

"Alright, maybe six weeks won't be too bad," Childe murmured against your neck and you could feel his smile. It made your heart flutter, you weren't sure you liked that.

"Oh, what made you change your mind?" you asked innocently, a hint of laughter in your voice.

"Mm, I wonder." His lips began trailing back up your neck and over your jaw until he sealed them over yours again. The drag of his tongue across your bottom lip had you opening your mouth for him without a thought. In response, he pulled you closer to him, one hand reaching up to tangle in your hair.

When he finally pulled away, he smirked at your flushed appearance and the fact you were a bit breathless. The way he looked at you made butterflies flutter in your stomach and when his ocean eyes dropped to gaze at your lips you felt the overwhelming urge to flee.

"I need to go. I want to get you some proper icepacks from Baizhu and I should probably do some grocery shopping for you," you blurted, standing up. His arms fell easily away from you, but he looked up at you with a surprised and what you thought might be a slightly hurt expression.

"Um, okay," was all he could say as you retreated to the guest room to get dressed in something more appropriate for going out in public. Changing didn't take very long and you made sure to bring Mora along as you fled the apartment with barely so much as a 'goodbye'. Childe was still sitting stunned on the couch as you breezed out the door.

Running away was always a good way to deal with your problems.

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