#do you get so offended when someone doesn’t like broccoli?
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I remember when The Blair Witch Project first came out and nobody knew what to make of it. People were actually arguing whether it was real or not, or whether it was ethical… it’s hard to believe now, but was the 90s for ya
rb if you have a different answer than the above options and also to expand the test sample (!!!)
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apex-academy · 1 year ago
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Chapter 6: The Decay of Our Lives (#13)
When I leave my room in the morning, chunks of pulled chicken and a few stray broccolis lie forlornly on the movie night table. Next to the open ranch dip.
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”Did none of us put this away last night.”
Natural consequence of all the responsible people passing out, I guess. Still, yikes.
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“Maybe I can take care of this before Aidan gets out here.” Don’t need a spiel on how many germs can grow in a room-temperature cup of ranch dressing.
I dispose of the offending leftovers without issue. Maybe I could save some of the less dangerous dishes? Hard to be overly concerned about waste here.
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“The young master’s clearly got plenty of money to waste.”
Which can probably be assumed of someone called “young master.”
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By a robot maid.
But it’s not like the student files had writeups on everyone’s exact socioeconomic statuses. I won’t be taking Ichiriki off the suspect list, but I can’t cross anyone off on those grounds, either. 
And I can’t go back and double-check the files.
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What am I supposed to do? Just keep cooking and cooperating and hoping we aren’t forced to kill again? No telling when the next motive’s going to hit. I don’t want to just stand around waiting for it.
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But what else can I do?
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What do I have the strength to do, at this point?
Before I can spiral or un-spiral or anything else, a door clicks open. It takes me a second to catch back up with reality.
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“......”
I’m not the only one, apparently.
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“Oh, Kakumi! Good morning!”
Yeah, I’m complaining about my strength when he’s like this?
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“Morning.”
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“Looks like you could afford to sleep in a little more.”
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“I have no intention of doing so, thank you.”
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“I’m not sure that I could go back to sleep regardless.”
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“Just hard to nod off?” Or...
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“Nightmares?”
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“I’m not sure if I could call it that!” 
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“I did have a strange dream, though, yes. Still trying to shake it off.”
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“One of those kinds where you woke up within the dream, so now you have to spend the rest of your morning trying to figure out if it’s just going to happen all over again.”
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“Well, maybe more like the rest of the hour.”
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“Beats the rest of the week.” 
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“Where’d you wake up? Airport?”
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“An excellent guess!”
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“But no, I’m afraid not. It was somewhere more like the lab room.”
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“ ‘Like’ it?”
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“It seemed backwards, somehow. Though you’d think I’d have a harder time telling when the room was gutted of desks and valves and all those sorts of things.”
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“Hm.” Guess you have a “sense” for those things during the dream.
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“It was only me on some sort of cot, with some equipment around that I couldn’t make any sense of.”
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“You couldn’t make sense of some equipment? Perish the thought.”
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“Right?”
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“Though I suppose I wasn’t feeling terribly well, and it’s a bit more difficult to observe in the dark.”
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“And without glasses, but that wasn’t an issue anymore in the dream, either.”
Enthralling. I’m sure he’ll keep on with the story, anyway. Might as well stick around the dorm hall and wait for someone else to interrupt, unless I really want to spend my entire breakfast listening to this.
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“And then what happened?”
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“It gets hazier there.”
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“Maybe I’ll run into something later that will trigger the memory. I’ll be sure to let you know!”
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“Thanks.”
Just as he’s swearing he has more interesting dreams most of the time, a door swings open—silent, but far enough away for us to have fair warning. Not that there’s much we can do about it.
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“Ah, the sinners have already arisen, I see.”
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“Only a few of us so far!”
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Not even correcting her, huh. Better to just move on, anyway.
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“Any big breakfast plans?”
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“Seeing as some lesser creatures have seen fit to leave this realm...”
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“...not particularly.”
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“...”
Yeah, no more lining up for Yuki’s omelettes, that’s for sure. Or dorayaki. If you’d eat that for breakfast for some reason.
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Or if you’re someone who doesn’t need a reason to do things. I could name a few of those people here.
Tsunyasha tosses her boa-thing over her shoulder.
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“Well! I see no need to tarry here with you lot.”
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“Not even to tell us how superior you are?”
This time, Aidan actually elbows me.
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“Ow.” 
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"Surely you don’t need a reminder of that. Are you fools truly so quick to forget?”
She clicks her tongue, as if telling us not to bother answering.
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“I’ve no need to humor sinners. Share your pathetic regrets among yourselves, worms.”
She strides past with an extra little oomph, to put us in our place or something. Doesn’t quite give the full effect when she has to wrangle with the bedsheet-movie screen to actually leave the dorm. She curses something about silver and lime and finally pushes her way out.
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“...”
I sigh and turn back to Aidan.
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“You in a big rush to go after her?”
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“.......”
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“...”
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“...........”
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“Aidan?”
I wave a hand in front of his face, but his eyes don’t track it.
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Do I... need to take him to the Nurse’s Office?
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For all the good that is without a nurse. Were there first aid guides in there? Or would I need to stop by the library? Itsurou’s study hall, even? That would be a good bet if it’s something... potentially lethal.
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Or something else! There are plenty of not-dying things you have to research for stories, right? 
But before I can get too caught up wishing we at least had a librarian, if not a nurse, Aidan stirs again.
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“...Kakumi?”
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“That’s me. You okay?”
He slowly adjusts his glasses frames, lets out a breath, and nods.
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“Still waking up, it seems.”
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“You didn’t get drugged again, did you?”
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“Golly, I hope not.”
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“It doesn’t feel the same, I’d say. I’m just...”
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“...”
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“Tired?”
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“...A little bit.”
Yet you’ve been out here arranging whole movie nights instead of resting. Uh-huh.
Sidestepping the pile of half-hung sheet, I move to the doors.
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“You in the mood for eggs? I’ve been thinking of trying something different, and I could use a second opinion.”
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“...”
It’s less like he’s zoning into the stratosphere this time and more like he just sees straight through me.
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“Sure, I’ll give it a shot. Though I will warn you, I usually don’t do anything more adventurous than ketchup or hot sauce myself, so I may not have the most advanced palate for the judgment of egg dishes.”
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“Fine by me. I’m not the most advanced chef of egg dishes, either.”
Okay, successfully strong-armed him into not making his own breakfast, at least. It’s not much, but that’s probably half the reason he agreed. Small gestures are still better than nothing.
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Now let’s hope I don’t drop enough eggshells in his dish to make him change his mind.
[BACK] [NEXT]
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honeypiehotchner · 4 years ago
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Don’t You (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part two of Bye Bye, Baby
I love how this mini-series was totally impromptu but happened so fast. Gotta love my brain!
Loosely based on “Don’t You” by Taylor Swift! xx.
Summary: Aaron wants to talk. Do you?
Warnings: ANGST
Word Count: 2k this time oop
Bye Bye, Baby (Part One) || That’s When (Part Three) || Hotch Masterlist
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Hey/I knew I’d run into you somewhere/It’s been a while
The text message from Aaron has sat glaring at you on your phone screen for the past hour.
Hotch (BAU) Sorry for hitting you with my cart earlier.
You don’t know what to make of it. It’s obviously an attempt to start up a conversation after four years, but why? Why, after all this time, does he think this is okay?
It’s 1 a.m. when you call Dannie.
“I would tell you to go to sleep, but I just got in bed, so I can’t talk.”
You chuckle quietly. “Better than me. I’m still on the couch.”
Dannie exhales. “Did Jules stay up late again?”
“No, no, she… She passed out around nine.”
Dannie sighs. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I saw Aaron today,” you blurt, quietly, not wanting to risk Juliet hearing even a whisper of this.
“Aaron?” Dannie asks. “Like...Juliet’s dad, Aaron? That one?”
“Yep,” you mutter, rubbing your forehead. “The one and only.”
“Where?”
“The grocery store,” you say. “Our carts bumped into each other. I wasn’t watching where I was going, so it was definitely my fault, but he texted me a while ago apologizing for it.”
“Woah, he texted you?”
“Unfortunately,” you murmur, hating that you feel tears pricking at your eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Have you texted him back?”
“I don’t know if I want to.”
“I understand,” Dannie sighs. “Maybe just say it’s okay? Leave it short.”
“Yeah,” you nod, sniffling, wiping a tear away. “God, I’ve been fine all evening and it just...hit me when I saw his text.”
“You had to keep it together for Jules,” Dannie reminds you. “What did she say about him?”
“Oh, nothing,” you say. “She really wanted cookies, so she was focused on getting vegetables for dinner so she could have them.”
Dannie laughs. “That sounds like her. Did she eat all her vegetables?”
“Even the broccoli,” you grin. “So she got an extra cookie.”
The two of you laugh lightly, letting the silence settle.
“What do I do if he wants to get to know her?” You break the silence with the one question that’s been on your mind all night. “I mean, he’s a profiler. There’s no way he doesn’t know she’s his.”
“Okay, first of all, she’s yours,” Dannie says firmly. “Second, it’s all up to you. And her. If she wants to get to know him, then ultimately it’s up to you to decide if that’s a good idea and where would be safest for it to happen, if you want it to.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t stress about it tonight,” she says quietly. “Text him back in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“Want to surprise Jules with brunch tomorrow?”
You smile almost immediately. “Of course.”
+++
You wake from a restless sleep to Juliet climbing into bed with you.
“Good morning, munchkin,” you whisper, kissing her forehead. She’s still sleepy and will probably sleep for another hour in your arms, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.
As expected, Juliet falls fast asleep with her head on your chest. While she’s snoring softly, you grab your phone and text Dannie about brunch. And that’s when you’re reminded of Aaron’s text.
Quickly, before you can think twice, you reply. It’s okay.
And you move on to text Dannie, letting her know you’re awake and so is Juliet. After making plans to meet for brunch in an hour and a half, you lightly shake Juliet awake.
“Psst, munchkin,” you murmur. “Wanna have brunch with Dannie?”
Juliet pops her head up almost instantly. “Really?”
“Really really,” you nod.
She grins wide and your chest aches for a moment. She’s always had his smile, but you never realized how much it’s his smile until today.
Juliet scrambles off your bed to get dressed, and you take a deep breath before getting up, too.
+++
The entire day passes without a reply from Aaron. You don’t know what to make of it, but you do your best to ignore it.
Thoughts of him keep you awake almost all night, so by the next morning, you’re dying to get your coffee before you walk into work.
You drop Juliet off at daycare, then park your car at work, with somehow enough time to spare to walk to your favorite coffee shop before clocking in.
You spot Aaron as soon as you walk in.
“You better not be following me around,” you mutter as you stand in line behind him.
He spins around, his face softening when he recognizes you. “Hi. I’m not trying to, I promise.”
You nod slowly.
Don’t you/Don’t you smile at me and ask me how I’ve been
“How are you?” He asks hesitantly, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Good,” you reply. “You?”
“Good,” he pauses. “Busy.”
“Me too.”
The awkward small talk is ended by the line moving forward, putting Aaron at the front. He orders his usual, and steps aside. You order your usual, with a pastry, too, as a sort of condolences gift to yourself for the bullshit you’re enduring.
When you step to the side to wait, Aaron tries again.
“Sorry again for hitting you in the store with my cart,” he says. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“It’s okay,” you say, keeping your eyes away from his. “In your defense, I wasn’t paying attention either.”
He chuckles quietly and the sound sends a dagger right to your heart.
When his coffee is ready, he grabs it, and you internally beg him to leave without another word. But he doesn’t.
Sometimes I really wish I could hate you/I’ve tried, but that’s just something I can’t do
“This is probably too forward of me, but—”
Your coffee is up.
You step forward to grab it, and damn you, you look at him to ask him to continue.
“Can we talk?” Aaron finishes.
“Right now?” You question, following him to the door. He holds it open for you and you hate that you almost smile. “I have to get to work.”
“Me too,” he says, stopping on the sidewalk with you. “We could get dinner tonight.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Okay,” he nods. “No pressure. Just text me if you want to.”
“Okay,” you exhale shakily. “See you.”
You turn on your heel and nearly sprint down the sidewalk, chest heaving and tears welling in your eyes.
+++
“What do you want to do?” Dannie asks.
You met her for lunch to discuss your encounter with Aaron this morning, and so far you still don’t know what the hell you’re going to do.
“I want to tell him to leave me alone and never come near me again,” you blurt, but then you sigh. “I don’t mean that.”
Dannie smiles sadly. “I know.”
You don’t/You don’t know how much I feel I still love you
“I think I want to talk to him, but...I don’t know, I’m scared. I don’t think I can do a dinner. I’m sick to my stomach just thinking about this and I mean...I hate that I still love him. After all this I can’t even hate him.”
“It’s hard to hate someone you love.”
“Yeah,” you sigh. “Wanna help me text him?”
“Of course.”
After some trial and error, you and Dannie settle on this message.
Hey. I’d like to talk, but not dinner. What about a walk instead?
Aaron replies quickly.
Hotch (BAU) That’s perfect. Where is best?
+++
The park you chose is, regrettably, the one where you and Aaron had your first date.
In your defense, it’s closest and safest. And quiet.
Aaron doesn’t seem to mind the location, though, when he walks toward you. You’re sitting on a park bench, one that must be new because you don’t remember it.
As he gets closer, you see he has two cups of coffee in hand.
“I got your usual,” he says softly. “If you want.”
“Thank you,” you murmur, taking it from him, careful not to let your fingers touch.
Hesitantly, he sits next to you.
The two of you sit in silence for a while. You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and apparently, neither can he.
After too long, though, you break the silence. “Ready to walk?”
“Sure,” he replies, standing with you.
You venture down the trail, grateful that you changed into your sneakers before coming. It takes another few moments before the silence is broken -- by Aaron this time.
“Is she mine?”
You sigh heavily. You should’ve known he’d ask that first.
“Technically, Juliet is mine,” you reply. “But you are the father, if that’s what you’re asking.” You pause. “You’re the only one I was with, so there’s no doubt.”
“I wasn’t worried about that,” he says quietly. You can tell he’s looking at you, but you don’t look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried,” you admit. “I called three times. I got your voicemail.”
Once: When you decided officially to keep the baby. You were three months pregnant. You had almost thought he picked up when the line clicked, and then you heard his voicemail. You hung up and took a bath instead, phone forgotten in the living room.
Twice: Dannie was beside you. You were seven months then. You had caved and asked if it was a boy or girl. After hearing it was a girl, a part of you desperately wanted to tell Aaron. You remembered him saying he always wanted a baby girl. Your heart still ached from when he broke it, but you wanted to tell him. You got his voicemail.
The third time: You had just given birth. You named her Juliet. You wanted to tell Aaron. You wanted to know if he should be on the birth certificate. You wanted to tell him you had a baby girl. When he didn’t answer, the nurse gave you a sad smile, and left the line blank. Dannie held Juliet for a while so you could cry.
“You never left a message,” he replies, sounding offended.
“Did you really want me to break the news in a voicemail?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “But you could’ve said it was something important. I would’ve returned your call.”
“I called three times,” you remind him. “You’re a fucking profiler, Aaron. You think three calls meant it was unimportant?” You pause, grounding yourself. “I figured you were out on a case. I don’t blame you for that. I understand, I’ve been there. But after calling three times and not getting a single reply, I figured it was useless. I didn’t have the time or energy to worry about it anymore. I had a newborn to take care of.”
He’s silent for a while.
“How is she?”
“She’s fine. She’s with her Godmother. Probably watching Frozen.”
“That’s good.”
You can’t do this anymore. “If that’s all you wanted to ask, then I need to get going. No offense, but I really don’t have the time for small talk.”
“I understand, but…” He stops walking, staring down at his feet before locking eyes with you. “Would you— Would you be willing to give me a second chance?”
Don’t you/Don’t you say that you miss me if you don’t want me again
“Why are you doing this?” You ask, angry tears pricking your eyes. “Why?”
“I’d like to be a part of Juliet’s life. And yours. If you’ll let me.”
“I’ll ask her,” you reply. “But you can be a part of her life without being a part of mine.”
“You know that’s not true,” he says. “You chose this park for a reason today.”
“No, I chose it because it’s close,” you hiss. “Don’t you dare profile me. Don’t you dare.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, and for a second you think he might have tears in his eyes, too. “I’m sorry, you’re right, that was uncalled for.”
“Thank you,” you murmur. “I really do need to go.”
“Can I at least walk you to your car?”
After a moment of thought, you nod. “Sure.”
My heart knows what the truth is/I swore I wouldn’t do this
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redpandaramblings · 3 years ago
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The Art of Blind Dates. Deku x GN! Reader
This piece was written for @rat-zuki 's the deku agenda escapes no one collab. Happy Birthday to our favorite broccoli.
Content warning- This fic rated PG-13. Aged up characters, Allusions to sexual activity, swearing, gender neutral reader.
“You know, we really have to stop meeting like this.”
You jumped, the spray can you had been using left an unsightly streak of bright red across your masterpiece. You scowled behind your mask as you turned to face the man who had spoken.
“We do. You keep making me mess up my hard work!”
You smirked, pleased with yourself as you saw Deku, the number one pro hero, recoil at the sight of your mask. It had taken a few weeks to convert the All Might mask into an ahegao face, but it was worth it if it horrified your number one pain in the ass. Izuku blinked a few times, sighing and bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was clearly choosing to ignore your choice of disguise.
“I wouldn’t have to mess with your work if you chose to do things that were, you know, actually legal? You’re talented, Brushstroke. You could get paid to do murals or something instead of…” Deku gestured towards your latest creation. You were rather proud of it. It had taken a good amount of planning to manage to paint a fifty foot tall mural of pro hero Dynamight mooning the city with the bold caption ‘The Hero Commision can kiss my ass.’ It would be perfect if not for the red streak from where Deku had startled you. With a contemplative hum you shook your spray can and quickly turned the offending mark into a cartoonish lipstick print. Midoriya sighed heavily. “I’m standing right here, you know.”
“I know.” You grinned behind your mask. The voice distorter you used did nothing to hide your chipper tone. “I also know you like it. And you can’t tell me Dynamight wouldn’t love it. He literally said that on live interview!”
“Yes, but not with his pants down to his knees.”
You bent over, throwing your cans of spray paint and climbing gear into your duffle bag. It wouldn’t do for your nemesis to get his hands on some of the tools you used. Mei’s stamp was all over it.
“Which is such a shame. The man’s got cake for days.” You chuckled as Deku pulled a face.
He observed you, hands on his hips. “And where do you think you’re going?”
“Away, obviously.” You said as you threw the strap of your dufflebag across you.
“And I’m just going to let you go?”
“Oh no. You’re going to chase me like you always do. And I’m going to escape like I always do. And it’s going to drive you crazy because you can’t figure out how I keep doing it.” You began stretching, exaggerating each movement.
“A teleportation quirk isn’t that hard to figure out.” Izuku began stretching as well, rolling his shoulders and popping joints.
“Guess again.” You sing songed, bouncing on your toes.
“Wouldn’t have to guess if you just told me.”
“But that’s no fun. Unfortunately, I do have to be going. Catch you later, hot stuff!” And with a sprint, you raced to the side of the building and jumped off before activating your quirk.
Time slowed around you. It was like you were hovering in the air instead of falling. Freeze Frame was a quirk you had learned to perfect over the years. Between the quirk and the assorted gadgets in your bag and on your person, it was definitely enough to baffle the number one pro hero. Speaking of, you better work quickly before your quirk wore off and splatted you across the sidewalk.
Freeze Frame was named after what your quirk looked like from the outside. It was as if you teleported, or you had frozen time around you for everyone except yourself. In reality, you were a speedster. When your quirk was active, you were able to move at speeds so fast you were undetectable to others, and to you it seemed like everything was paused in time. You probably could have been a phenomenal hero or villain if you wanted. But currently, it was much more fun to thwart a certain green haired man.
With a press of a button, you deployed a grappling hook, snagging it on the building across the alley. You swung over, keeping a countdown in your head. Would you be lucky enough and have time to…? Yes. There! A balcony door was cracked open slightly. You gracefully landed on the balcony and used the door to slip into what appeared to be someone’s bedroom, thankfully unoccupied at the moment. Taking no chances though, you slip into the closet just as the effects of your quirk wear off. The other reason you had never turned to heroism or villainy- no matter how much you trained, you could only keep your quirk activated for ten seconds at a time. It wasn’t a lot. Plus you could only activate your quirk a couple dozen times a day without getting seriously ill. But it still was usually more than enough to be able to give any law enforcement the slip. Just like now.
Deku curses as he runs to the edge of the roof. You’re nowhere to be seen. “Brushstroke! Get back here, you damn brat!” He shouted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. One of these days he was going to figure out your quirk and how to counteract it. And when that day comes he was going to take you over his knee and… No. He shook his head, blushing to clear his thoughts. What to do with you. Well, he wasn’t sure yet. You weren’t a villain, really. More of a public nuisance. The murals you did showed a lot of talent and a good chunk of the population agreed with the social commentary behind them. But that didn’t change that you had painted ten foot tall asscheeks on a building without permission. And, technically, it was within his job description to apprehend you. “Brushstroke!” Deku called again as he made his way down to the ground. There was no sign of you anywhere. Invisibility quirk maybe? Though it would be unusual if you could turn all the stuff you had been wearing and carrying invisible as well.
Meanwhile, as Izuku was getting lost in thought, you were getting naked. You stripped out of your gear and paint covered smock, moving as quickly as you dared while still remaining quiet in your hidden location. Just because the bedroom had been empty doesn’t mean the rest of the place was, after all. You shoved everything into your dufflebag, pulling out a clean set of clothing from a zippered pocket. Getting changed was a simple affair, as was ruffling your hair, messily getting it to look like a different style. One of your favorite tricks happened when you pushed a hidden button on the edge of your duffle bag. The previously dull gray bag quickly morphed into a loud riot of tye dyed color. Chameleon bags, Hatsume called them. Still in a prototype stage, your friend and employer would probably make a mint on them if you put them on the market. After a final brush off and deciding you looked acceptably civilian, you peeked out the closet door. The bedroom was still empty. You crept out slowly. The balcony wasn’t a feasible exit anymore. Not without the gear you had had to store away. You were going to have to sneak out the front door. You activated your quirk, feeling a little queasy at having to use it again so quickly in succession. It was simple to race through the apartment and out into the hall within your short time limit. In fact, with your speed, you were easily able to exit the entire apartment complex. You still had a few seconds to spare when you shot out the door. You grinned at seeing the number one pro hero standing in the middle of the street. You knew you shouldn’t do what you were thinking. Instead you should use your last few spare seconds to put some distance between yourself and the large, green haired man. Instead, you quickly dug around in your bag and found your tube of lipstick. You applied a nice thick coat as you waltzed up to him. With a giggle, you planted a firm smacking kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a clear and perfect lip print. With a grin, you hurried back to the apartment complex. It was easy to make it seem like you were just coming out of the door as time snapped back to its proper speed. You watched, hiding your smirk as you observed the clearly frustrated hero scanning the crowds for any sign of you. His eyes passed right over you, barely giving you a glance. You almost felt hurt that he thought your normal look was that unremarkable. But that was the point, after all. As Deku continued to call out for your pseudonym, you turned and walked away, blending into the crowd. You were almost out of earshot when you heard a loud cursing exclamation that would have been more in character for a certain blond hero. You bite your knuckle to muffle your laughter. Someone had informed Deku of the lipstick mark.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You sipped from a bottle of water as you watched Mei work her magic. It was strangely relaxing to watch her in her element. Though it seemed chaotic the first few times you had witnessed your friend work, there was a clear method to the madness if you just knew where to look. And you knew exactly where to look now that you had been working with her for the past three years. You were simply listed as one of her assistants. Most days that involved a random jumble of cleaning, paperwork, schedule management, and coffee making. The real reason Hatsume loved having you around however, was days like this.
“Okay! Set!” She chirped happily. “You good to go now?”
You nodded as you slid down, and walked into the testing area. “Remind me what I’m looking for again?”
“Well, obviously the usual. Make sure it’s not lethal, of course. And then I want to make sure the grid is deploying at the right time. Should be about a quarter second after detonation.”
“As long as everything looks good, want me to be full blown dummy this time?”
Hatsume tilted her head, and considered a moment before nodding. “Yeah, should be fine. Have the explosive levels where they should be. If anything messes up it’s going to be the grid deploying too soon or too late and not restraining you right.”
You gave her a thumbs up as you got into position. She counted down, though that didn’t matter much to you, honestly. One of the best perks of your quirk was that it gave you insane reflexes. You waited until the moment you saw the detonation begin to happen and activated your quirk.
As usual, it felt like time slowed to a crawl around you. Hollywood directors would give a kidney to have access to the detailed slow motion you could experience every day for free. You walked around the device, looking it over. It was meant to be a capture aid for pro hero Cellophane, a small explosive that would shoot nets of tape in all directions. It had to be safe and effective. Better to have a few civilians stuck to the walls than to risk letting a villain escape, after all. You peered into the explosion that was slowly rippling outward. Everything looked good so far… Yep, there were the grids starting to deploy. Sure that everything was safe, you deactivated your quirk and instantly were thrown backward and stuck to a padded wall of the testing room.
“Looked great!” You called as Hatsume entered the room. “I think you’ve finally got it!”
While she cheered and began praising her baby for performing so well, you tried wiggling. No luck. You were stuck rather firmly. Apparently she had upped the strength of the adhesive. After a minute, Hatsume finally noticed your struggles.
“Oh good!” She chirped. “Looks like the new formula is holding up nicely. I mean, I still need to test it out against, like strength and fire quirks, but looking good so far.”
“Little help, please?” You ask, giving her a look.
“Maybe in a bit.” She said, turning her back and leaving you there, pinned. “Want to test how long it holds. Besides, I have some questions about your last escapade and how my babies held up.”
You let out a resigned sigh. Of course. Your friend had found out about your after hours hobby about a year and a half ago. Instead of discouraging you, it hadn’t surprised you that much when she blackmailed you. She wouldn’t tell the police or heroes…. If you used some of her experimental babies on your future excursions. You had been dubious. Hatsume’s babies could be a little dangerous in the prototype stage. But it ended up working great! Your pieces went from small tagging jobs to huge fifty foot murals. Though that had caught the attention of a few public figures, including a certain green haired pain in your ass.
“I didn’t use anything directly against Deku this time.” You sighed, going limp to test if the tape would hold your weight. It did. “Grappling hook works great. The painter drones are okay for filling in large areas, but aren’t able to do clean lines well. The gecko boots continue to be amazing, but the gloves need a lot of work. The control for when they release still isn’t great.”
Hatsume nodded, quickly making notes about everything you said. There was a bit of a quick back and forth where she asked questions and you answered. Though ten minutes passed and you were still stuck to the wall. She eventually sets her notes aside and turns to face you fully. “So,” she drawls. “You saw Deku again.”
“I always see Deku nowadays!” You groan. “I swear Mei, if I find out you’re tipping him off or something...”
“Aww, come on! He’s nice! Would you rather be dealing with Dynamight?”
You frowned, not meeting her gaze. “I mean, the variety might be nice?”
“You like that with the help of my babies you’re able to out fox the number one pro hero, admit it!”
“It might be a little satisfying,” you mutter.
“And it doesn’t hurt that he’s hot either! Heard you two get all flirty during chases. The tabloids loved the kiss mark, by the way. Enjoy finally kissing him?”
“Hatsume!” you groan. “Subject change, please! Anything else!”
“Anything?” she grins at you.
“Oh god, I’m going to regret this.”
“It’s not that bad, I promise! Just, would you be interested in a blind date?”
You blink. “A date?”
“Yeah! One of my friends from school has a lot of trouble meeting people organically. You know how the industry is. Ridiculous schedules, maintaining reputation, trying to make sure they like you for you and aren’t just a fan.”
“Yeah… I guess I can understand that.”
“Well, I just think you and him would be a great fit! He’s a huge nerd in a lot of the same ways you are, but a real good guy once you get past the awkward. Plus,” Hatsume dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper “I happen to know for a fact that he’s a fan of Brushstroke’s work.”
You sighed, rolling your eyes. “You know it’s extortion to try to get me to agree when you have me literally taped to a wall.”
“I know!” Hatsume chirped happily. “So are you going to agree? I made the adhesive pretty strong this time. Who knows how long it would take to wear off on it’s own?”
“Bitch!” You can’t help laughing. “Alright, alright, I’ll go. Just get me down from here!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You fidgeted with the ring you were wearing as you stared at the building in front of you. Maybe it wasn’t too late to bail? You don’t know exactly what you had been expecting when Hatsume had told you about the somewhat shy, nerdy man she had set you up with, but you hadn’t expected him to choose the fanciest restaurant in town as your date location. You were wearing your best and still felt underdressed. Well, if the date was a disaster, at least you knew what building you were going to spray paint next. The glistening white exterior would make for a great canvas. You chuckled quietly at your own thoughts.
Squaring your shoulders, you took a deep breath and marched in. You could do this. You were an infamous tagger. You faced off against the number one pro hero regularly. Your day job was working with Hatsume. You’ve got this. With an air of newfound confidence, you gave your name to the maitre d. It was a surprise when you were led through the restaurant to one of their private curtained rooms. This guy you’d been set up with was apparently going all out. Maybe you were going to like him after all, you thought as you were ushered in. Then you looked up.
Fuck.
Standing to greet you with a stupidly flustered look on his damn stupid handsome face was your nemisis. The number one thorn in your proverbial side. The giant broccoli himself.
That BITCH had set you up with Izuku Midoriya!
You froze. In the back of your mind you were aware that your mouth was hanging open. The green haired man shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Hi,” he said quietly, scratching the back of his head.
You continued to stare.
He cleared his throat, glancing to the side. “Sorry about the secrecy, but I think it’s understandable.”
You nodded weakly.
Izuku bit his lip. You realized with a start that he might be even more nervous than you are. As much as you planned to murder Hatsume later, this wasn’t Midoriya’s fault. You could get through this date at least. Eat some expensive food, drink the best wines, make some meaningless conversation, say your goodbyes, and then go home to plot the demise of your former best friend. Long, slow painful demise. Good thing about being an artist, you had lots of traps, so clean up should be easy. Looking at the worried expression on Izuku’s face, you realize with a start that you still haven’t actually said anything to him. You open your mouth to offer some sort of generic greeting. But what comes out is-
“I’m going to fucking murder Mei!”
Izuku blinks. Blinks again. Then he starts laughing loudly. He leans one hand on the table as he cackles. You stare before starting to chuckle yourself. Soon you’re both wheezing with laughter. You both slump into your seats, trying to collect yourselves. Midoriya speaks first.
“Yeah, I… I get that. I’d think that’s a common emotion when hanging around Hatsume.”
You can’t help your smile. “Only at least half of the time. But that’s what makes it fun. No one else like her.”
“That’s for sure.” Izuku leaned back in his seat, looking you over like he’s studying you. “So, I suppose we should actually introduce ourselves. I’m Izuku Midoriya. I do hero work.”
You laugh. “Y/N Y/L/N. I work for Mei and freelance art when I can.”
“Art, huh? What kind of stuff do you do?”
You’re briefly interrupted by the arrival of the first course. After the waiter leaves, Deku apologies. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to order for you, but this is one of those places where you pay them and they tell you what you’re going to eat.”
“It’s fine.” You say as you stare at the delicate wisp of some sort of thinly shaved vegetable with a dollop of strangely colored foam on top.
“You were saying what kind of art you do?” Deku cautiously was poking at the tiny fancy appetizer.
“A few different things really, but my passion is mural work. Latest job was in a maid cafe. They wanted something cute and floral, but they let me do what I wanted within that theme.”
The night continued on and was surprisingly easy. The food was delicious, the wine was better, and you were pleasantly surprised by the company. Maybe it was the wine softening you up, but as you looked across the table where Izuku was animatedly talking about how influential All Might’s example had been for him, you admitted to yourself that the green haired man was very handsome. And funny. And interesting. And you were trying very hard not to think about the way Midoriya’s large scarred hand wrapped around the delicate wine glass. It was a surprise when the final course was finished and Izuku was quietly taking care of the bill. He escorted you out of the building and you both stood awkwardly outside. Deku cleared his throat.
“If it’s not presuming too much, I’m not quite ready for tonight to end. Is it alright if I walk you home?”
“I’d like that. Like that a lot, actually.”
He smiled at you, and it was like the sun. You walked and talked animatedly. The conversation was so easy and fun, and a little flirty. Somewhere along the way your hands brushed together and holding hands became the most natural thing in the world. Time flew by as you walked together, your true destination long forgotten. You were only brought back to reality when out of the corner of your eye you saw a massive mural of pro hero asscheeks. When Izuku saw what you were looking at, he groaned.
“Could you please not check out my friend’s ass while we’re on a date?” He joked, gently elbowing your ribs. You laughed.
“I mean, you can’t blame me. It’s hard to miss.” You made a mental note to tell Mei that her paint formula was holding up beautifully.
“It’s a little embarrassing. Brushstroke is talented and all, but every mural is a time I couldn’t catch them.”
Maybe it was the wine still buzzing through your system. Maybe it was the thrill of it. Maybe you just wanted to see those beautiful green eyes widen. But you couldn’t help the next words out of your mouth.
“Well you might have an easier time if you ever actually figured my quirk out.”
“Yeah I…” He stopped. Stared. “You…” He stared harder, pulling away slightly as he looked your figure up and down. “You!!!”
“Surprise?” You laughed, and grinned at him. He was always so handsome when he was angry. You weren’t scared at all as he hauled you close.
“Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?”
“Pretty good idea, actually.”
“You’ve been leading me on goose chases for months!”
You grinned “Yes, will be our anniversary soon.”
Izuku groaned as he wrapped his arms around your waste. “You irredeemable brat!”
You would have replied, but in the next second he was fiercely smashing his mouth against yours. The kiss started harsh and desperate. The results of months of teasing and flirting. It gentled as the two of you stood there in the night, soft and sweet and full of affection the two of you had yet to put into words. The thought occurred to you that you’d have to thank Mei later. Your eyes opened as the two of you pulled away for breath. You started giggling almost immediately. Izuku pressed his forehead against yours.
“What’s so funny, darling?”
You smirked. “I never thought we’d have our first kiss while being mooned by Dynamight.”
Izuku groaned loudly before sweeping you up into his arms. You squawked and clung to him.
“That’s it.” He rumbled. “I’m going to spank you when I get you home, you fucking brat.”
“Promise?” you giggled.
You didn’t mind in the least when he shut you up with another kiss.
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artist-issues · 2 years ago
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Reblogging this because ya’ll still want to run your mouths.
Okay, you know what, "HellCheer" fandom?
Grow up.
This site is FOR looking at all types of media, fan work and professional, mainstream and indie, and then SAYING HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT IT. Doesn't mean you have to like what people say. Doesn't mean you have to agree. Doesn't mean you have to be offended.
What, didn't anybody ever cook a meal, and you decided to inform them that you didn't like broccoli? Didn't anyone offer you coffee, but you don't drink coffee, and in fact you think it's an unhealthy beverage? Because that's all Doverstar did. She looked at your coffee and said "personally, I'm not a coffee drinker, and I think coffee is silly." And you wanna get bent out of shape?
how insecure do you have to be to find one person in a sea of like-minded individuals who happens to not agree with you, and then spend time typing up long, nasty responses? You don't have anything better to do?
You wanna be the kind of fandom that says "everybody is entitled to their opinion...unless I have to see it and I disagree with it, and heaven help you if you DARE dislike something I MADE."
That the kind of fandom you wanna be, "HellCheer?" You don't claim Doverstar? Thank God. Because who would want to be claimed by that kind of fandom? What rank company you're so thrilled to exclude her from.
Guess what? In the professional industry, where adults work and pour their actual souls and livelihood into their art, they get rejected. They get told what they've done isn't what the studio is looking for; the producer doesn't like it, the execs want to go in a different direction. Then, if they're successful with their execs and it gets produced, the critics don't like it. The critics and the fans hate it, too. If this is the kind of hissy fit you're going to throw when one person makes a list of traits they don't like in one particular niche of fandom, no wonder a fandom is the only place you're creating. Your skin isn't thick enough to turn this into a craft.
So here's MY opinion, and I'm throwing it into the water for the sharks to shatter their teeth on: Doverstar is the best fanfiction writer to ever put anything under the "HellCheer" tag. When she uses the tropes she hates, it's tasteful and it's built up and it's salt on a strong, delicious foundational meal of good storytelling. It's not just a plate of salt, all taste, no substance. UNLIKE what Doverstar claims, I have actually read the majority of non-M and unrated fanfic for HellCheer that has accurate grammar and some grasp on paragraph breaks. I have only made it through a handful of them. Because Doverstar's is head-and-shoulders above the rest.
So keep tossing crap in her inbox and spending all your time defending yourself against an imaginatedly-personal attack that wasn't directed at you, and came from someone who actually has something great going for her. Someone who remembered that PEOPLE are on the other side of that post you don't like, and that nobody with class or a basic understanding of mature human decency spends so much time typing up mean-spirited crap and high-school drama text posts to directly attack an opinion she simply disagrees with.
Doverstar has class. She's kind. So she took her post down because it offended some of you.
I do not have that measure of class or kindness. I am a full-fledged hypocrite in this matter. You want to argue, come argue with me. I don't get tired. I don't get hurt over this crap. I have time.
Doverstar has nothing to do with this reply, did not ask to be defended, and would not want me to stir the pot, but I'm stirring it. so y'all can direct your subsequent ferocious responses to me if you've got the nerve.
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nadisabug · 4 years ago
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Anything You Want
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Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x reader
Warnings: reader is kinda depressed, idk she convinces herself that no one (Kei) could like her, so warning for that, no spoilers though, ooc Tsukki, I am so sorry this was a one am fever dream im sor-
Summary: As old childhood friends of Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, it doesn’t make sense why Tsukishima and you fight so much.
A/N: Ahh I’m so sorry I woke up out of a cold sweat to write this whole thing in one sitting at one am im just 💛love💙 him!! Also!!! I hit 150 followers!! So excited!!! I love you all so much!! Thank you!!!!! (ps requests are open pls send some in)
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Haikyuu!! Masterlist
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"Kiss me Kei!"
"What? Tch, no that's gross."
"But I'm the mommy!"
"So?"
"You're the daddy! You gotta!"
"I don't even wanna play this dumb game."
"It's not dumb! Pleeaaasseee Kei-chan! For me?"
"Fine, come here."
The slap of the ball hitting the gym floor startled me out of my daydream. My eyes snapped up quickly to the game before me. Did we score? It took me a minute to even register what was going on and who I was looking at. I looked to the referee on his stepladder, waiting for him to call the point.
The whistle blew. He raised his arm. Boys in black and orange jerseys shouted. I clapped and cheered.
It all felt so robotic. But then I looked at him. Then the world shifted into slow motion and began to flow more naturally.
He raised his arm to wipe the sweat off of his brow, the movement mesmerizing. Even the jerk of his body when a teammate patted him on the back seemed graceful. Elegant. He pushed his glasses up a bit and glared at the offender. He turned to say-
"Y/n?" Once again I was startled from my thoughts. My head snapped to the right side where Yachi was standing next to me. She had a concerned look on her face. I swallowed, my dry mouth only producing a lump in my throat. "You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," I responded quickly and looked back to the game. "Just focusing is all." This time I fought not to look at the boy. I didn't want to look at him anyway. I didn't. I didn't.
Finding my eyes drifting back to him, I launched into conversation to pull my mind from him.
"How's the girls team going?"
I was on the girls volleyball team as a first year. I only made the team because I was the only libero and, being honest, I was the best at receiving. I was abnormally short, so I knew I couldn't pull off many other positions.
Well, maybe I could.
I watched as the short, orange haired boy flew across the court and landed an impossible to receive spike. I still wasn't used to that combo no matter how many games I watched. Then again, I only had reflexes, not the raw power that that boy had.
I sighed and tore my eyes from the game to look at Yachi. I slumped onto the railing a plopped my head in my hands. "We need more practice games, honestly. The way we're going we're not going to win our match."
"Don't say that Y/n!" Yachi cried.
I shrugged and looked back at the game. My eyes found blonde hair naturally. "Its true. The girls don't practice enough. I think getting our asses completely handed to us will turn the team around. I just feel bad for the third years who will suffer from it."
Yachi didn't have a response to that. She changed the subject quickly and we chatted until the game ended, the whole time I focused on the freakish number ten instead of the boy I knew deep down in my heart I really wanted to watch.
"Nice net drop, broccoli brain," I smirked and clapped my best friend on the shoulder.
His shoulders slumped and he sighed. "I didn't even mean to do it," he bereaved.
"Fucking who cares?" I snorted. "Got us a fat point and they never saw it coming. Just remember how it felt and do it again."
"Y/n," Yama whined and tried to shake me off.
"Y/n giving you crap again?" A rich voice came from behind me, sending shivers down my spine. "That's rich coming from Pipsqueak."
"Says Mr-cant-block-for-shit," I shot back, turning around so that I could stick my tongue out at him.
"I'd like to see you try to pick up a real serve, not that-"
"Hey, hey, cut it out!" Yama stepped in between us, putting a warning hand on us both. "We're all friends."
I glared at Tsukishima but backed down. I didn't want to upset Yamaguchi. I knew how much he hated it when we fought, seeing as it was his two best friends.
I had known Yama since elementary school, when I saved him from some bullies. One day when we were clearly out matched, Tsukishima saved us in his aloof, roundabout way. From then on we were inseparable.
That is until the second year of middle school when Tsukishima and I started fighting all the time. Despite that, we still hung out together. Who knows why he put up with my constant antagonism, but he always reciprocated and never complained.
We got on the bus soon after the game, headed to the school. I was on the girls bus, them on the boys. When we got back to the school we met up again.
When we came to the usual splitting point, Yama spoke up.
"So I'll walk Y/n home," Yama offered like always. I was about to accept when Tsukishima spoke up.
"Nah, I'll do it." Yama cocked an eyebrow. "It's out of your way, Yamaguchi. She lives closer to me."
We all knew this, but the point had never come up before.
"Okay," Yama said warily. "Are you sure you don't want me to come anyways?"
"Tch, we're fine, I don't need a babysitter." Tsukishima rolled his eyes.
"Okay," Yama shrugged. He took a few steps backwards before he said goodbye and started off in the opposite direction.
Tsukishima wordlessly took off in the direction of our houses, so I followed. I was wondering why he suddenly offered to walk me home, but he offered no clues as to why. He used to walk me home before we always fought, but after that he stopped. This was the first time he walked me home in years.
So we walked in complete silence.
When we reached my house, we stood there awkwardly for a moment, looking at it. I wasn't sure what to say, but before I could figure it out, he spoke.
"Why do you hate me?"
I was startled by both the question and the sudden shattering of silence. I turned to look at Tsukishima. He wasn't looking at me, just straight ahead. I tried to read his facial expression, but like always, it was stone cold.
"I don't?" I answered uneasily.
Tsukishima sighed. "Yes you do, you always act so pissy towards me. You even tense up when I'm near."
"I do not," I frowned. I tried to think if I have ever done anything like that, but I drew blank.
"Yes you do," Tsukishima sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. "We..." He paused. He brought he other hand up and rubbed his eyes, pressing his two fingers into his eye sockets. After a moment he threw his hand down, clearly having made up his mind, and turned to look at me. I felt hot under his intent gaze, his eyes searching mine for an answer I was afraid I didn't have. "We used to be close when we were little. What changed."
It wasn't a question. It was more of a statement. It was like he meant to say something different.
So I said it for him.
"We changed."
He scoffed, his face twisting into his signature cynical look. "Bullshit."
"No, that's the answer. Maybe you're not asking the right question," I shot back, confidence fueled by his venom.
He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it soon after. His brows furrowed and his lips pressed together. It was more emotion than he was exhibiting earlier, and for some weird reason, it made something in me happy.
"Why are you so mad at me?" He finally asked, face relaxing a bit. He seemed genuinely curious as to the answer.
His sincerity almost made me explode with anger. How could he not know? He was the most insufferable person in the entire world, what wouldn't I be mad about.
But then again, that was wrong. He never mad me mad with his snide comments and dirty looks. It was all in play and it never really bothered me, ever since we were kids, and he knew that too. So I couldn't lie and say it was his personality because I loved his personality. It was something else. Something I was afraid of admitting.
I grit my teeth. What did it matter if I said it or not? It's not like he'd understand anyway.
Once I made up my mind I met his eyes.
"Because you will never give me what I want."
"And what is that?" His voice was soft, wispy, breathless. Afraid.
Your love.
I couldn't say it. Bile rose in my throat and tears prickled at my eyes. I opened my mouth but quickly shut it. I wouldn't say it. I was too afraid.  My eyes fell to the ground, and with them, all my confidence.
All at once my mind began to barrage me. He will never love you, he could never love someone like you. He-
He laughed.
He fucking laughed.
My mind was thrown to a complete and total standstill by the absurdity of it. I looked back up at him with watery eyes in confusion.
"I thought you were smarter than that," he grinned, one corner of his mouth charmingly quirked upwards. "Than to decide what I think."
"What?" I mumbled nearly incoherently.
"We both know if you ask I'll do anything for you, so quit your crying, Pipsqueak."
I opened my mouth, completely surprised by his confession. He'd do anything for me? That couldn't be right...
But the more I thought about it the more I realized it was true. He had always done everything for me. Whenever I needed him he was there. It was me that started the fighting, all because I let my mind tell me that he could never love me, that he never would.
I met his eyes once again, this time brimming with happiness.
"Kiss me, Kei."
"Fine," he dramatically sighed, hiding a small grin. "Come here."
And he did.
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Taglist:
Taglists are open! Shoot me an ask or a dm with what fandom you want to be tagged in and I’ll do it right away! :)
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cherrynojutsu · 3 years ago
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Title: Like Gold
Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.
Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.
Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)
AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes
Trigger Warning: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
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Chapter 5/?: Housewarming
Sasuke spars with Naruto for the better portion of the afternoon into evening, until they are both sufficiently exhausted and slightly sunburned, on the condition that he will eat anywhere but Ichiraku’s and anything but ramen for the dinner his friend is trying to goad him into after. Naruto agrees all too quickly, grinning too much for his liking, and saying a little duplicitously, “That so? Happens that I know a place!”
The blond refuses to tell him where he’s leading him after their fight finally concludes in a draw, weaving tiredly through village streets around six at night with bruised ribs. Sasuke begins to suspect it’s an elaborate ruse to lure him to his house to eat. Sure enough, eventually they turn a corner and marigold, cobalt, and fuchsia invade his line of vision.
“You’re so stupid. I’m not eating anything you’ve put your hands on.”
Naruto laughs, evidently not the slightest bit offended. “Don’t worry, Hinata-chan made me a bunch of food for the next few days! There’s more than enough to share, and I haven’t touched any of it.”
Sasuke grumbles, but his friend assures him that at least some of it’s not ramen, so he acquiesces cautiously and follows him through the threshold of his home.
It is pretty nice, as Sakura said, though he’s sure that’s because of the dobe’s wife and not him, and what he’s comparing it to - Naruto’s old apartment, littered with trash and expired food items in the fridge - doesn’t set a very high bar in the first place. The house has wood floors, and a spacious kitchen with plenty of storage, at least from what he discerns when he first walks in. He assumes he’s going to be forced on the tour shortly to view the rest of it.
There is an absolute mountain of pre-prepared food in clear containers when his friend opens the fridge. Sasuke will admit pretty much everything looks good, though he’s not sure what specifically the dobe plans on them eating. He’s not sure Naruto knows, either; he stares at the contents of the fridge for a long minute, squinting as if making a life-changing decision.
“...Does she think you can’t feed yourself or something?” Sasuke deadpans.
Naruto laughs nervously, in a way that gives Sasuke the impression that Hinata Uzumaki might not be as quiet and reserved as most people assume, at least behind closed doors. His friend almost sounds fearful, as if there may be consequences for him if he doesn’t eat what his wife has prepared for him in her absence in its entirety.
“...Or she just knows you’d eat instant ramen the whole time she was gone, otherwise.” This time it’s not a question.
Naruto has the grace to at least feign embarrassment. “Well, uh, you know what they say… Quickest way to a man’s heart is through his food, or whatever!” Sasuke wonders for a short few seconds what kind of repercussion Hinata could possibly be holding over him, but then remembers Kakashi’s warning earlier in the day, and decides abruptly that he doesn’t care to further pursue that train of thought.
Eventually they decide on vegetable and shrimp tempura with plain onigiri, all premade. Sasuke is hungry, and tempura has a high caloric intake. Naruto dumps the tempura in a mysterious device called an air fryer to warm, and while they wait, the blond shows him around.
It’s commodious, with extra bedrooms as Sakura said. Most of the furniture is rich dark wood, accented with slightly vibrant colors, inclusive of the walls, that are perhaps a little intense for his own preferences. It is obvious that Naruto helped pick the paint colors, but he assumes Hinata must like them, too. The Hyuga are an old clan, deeply rooted in tradition as the Uchiha had been; Sasuke imagines that many of the interiors at the Hyuga residences are varying shades of white, gray, or brown, also with darker wood, as many of the Uchiha households had been; a more colorful interior would have been a change for her. He supposes a proclivity for brightness makes sense, given that she’d married Naruto. Their house overall smells vaguely like jasmine blossom and nectarine, though not overbearingly so. Naruto’s apartment had never smelled like that, so it must be Hinata’s doing. Sasuke spies a candle the color of honey that might be the source, perched on a corner table.
It sits next to a framed copy of their original Team Seven group portrait. Sasuke eyes it as they pass through the living room again to the back door.
It opens up to a sizable backyard situated on the north side of the house, framed with a fence for privacy and a number of lush trees, dangling greenery swaying in the breeze. A small garden sits in the far back left corner, the area with the least tree cover; it’s been recently tilled and sowed, small sprouts beginning to poke through the soil.
“We get lots of fireflies back here in the summer. Hinata-chan loves them, so we sit back here all the time! She’s thinking of getting a birdbath, too,” Naruto mentions fondly, a bit more hushed than his usual timbre; he must have some good memories back here already.
“It’s nice.” Sasuke remarks at the end when they go back inside, because it is, and his friend grins from ear to ear, stupidly proud. Then the timer dings from the other room, and they eat.
Hinata’s cooking is good. Sasuke sorts out all of the sweet potato chunks to shove onto Naruto’s plate, but eats the rest: squash, bell peppers, eggplant, broccoli, and shrimp, coated in spiced breading that tastes slightly of rosemary, along with the onigiri, more simple but also filling.
Naruto prattles throughout as always, but chews his food before launching into each new topic; it really must be a habit by now. Sasuke doesn’t hold the scroll over his head just yet; he figures Saturday night will be enough opportunity for that. Instead, he solidifies plans for another spar, this time late Saturday morning, because through the nearly endless chatter he has learned that Naruto’s schedule includes normal weekend days off, unless assigned a mission.
The dobe asks him to go drinking with him afterwards; he declines, but thanks him for dinner. Eventually, he departs, after his best friend reminds him for the fourth time today to meet up at Ichiraku’s on Saturday night at six.
As he walks home, lone hand in his pocket, Sasuke finds himself pondering once again what Sakura’s living space will be like. She doesn’t strike him as someone who would like darker wood, for some reason. It’s an apartment, so it will be smaller than Naruto’s house for sure. He assumes it’s probably one bedroom, like his own.
The cadence of crickets creeps in again as he leaves the more lively area of town, buoyed into something quieter by the swishing of leaves through the trees. It’s a sound he craved on his travels often. There are similar sounds elsewhere - insects and trees are not uncommon - but something about Konoha’s particular lilt sticks out in his memories. A clement wind from the north carries an aroma tinged with flowers and loam. When he turns the corner, the breeze blows just right to shift his hair away from his left eye, and his neck heats as he thinks of Sakura’s words from this morning, not for the first time today.
Once he gets back to his apartment, he strips, then tosses his clothing directly into the washing machine, before enjoying a long, near-boiling shower; after the workout he’s had, he needs it. He thinks as he scrubs that this way he won’t need another one until after he gets back from seeing Sakura tomorrow. He contemplates whether they will eat somewhere, since he’s meeting her at the hospital at four. He’d liked the tea shop; she probably knows of other places worth trying.
He is so exhausted that he saves washing his dishes for tomorrow and falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. His last thoughts are of gentle jade eyes and kind words murmured in an exam room.
Sasuke is thankful that he doesn’t have another nightmare, but his brain decides to fill the time in other demiurgic ways involving soft fingertips, and when morning comes, he does need another shower, after all; this time, a cold one.
He pinches his nose guiltily as frigid water engulfs him, until his teeth are near chattering. Once that’s done, he throws on a black shirt and pants before grabbing a book. He huddles up under his comforter to chase away the chill, drowning his thoughts in icy history ripe with distraction rather than lasciviousness.
He finishes it eventually, convinced towards the end that he needs to acquire a small lamp; he doesn't like overhead lighting in general, but he especially doesn’t like it for reading. His teeth have stopped clacking together, so he gets out of bed and spends the first portion of the day washing dishes, sharpening his chokuto, and then making lunch, seared beef with green tea noodles and miso dressing. It’s simple, but good, and filling. His throat hurts less than yesterday, but he has another cough drop after, because it helps.
He washes and dries the dishes from today, putting them away before he leaves his apartment to pick up a few more groceries to fill the time. The market he visits is sold out of loose leaf sencha tea; the one he’d visited the first day in his apartment hadn’t had any, either. He settles for a small box of single-serve packets for the time being, and has a cup upon his return to his apartment. It’s not bad, but it doesn’t taste quite as fresh. He reads more of his other book for a bit, until it’s time to leave to meet Sakura at the hospital.
He leaves a little early again, because he’s eager to see her.
Sakura greets him cheerily, lovely with a tote bag on her shoulder that is starting to become familiar. She tells him that she dropped off his paperwork earlier today, and that his bloodwork has all come back normal. He thanks her, and they spend a nice late afternoon together, roaming around while she points out areas of interest, most of it new development on the more southern part of the village. Wandering with her is much preferable to solivagant ambling on his own, he is coming to find.
He learns that Sunday and Monday are indeed her days off, unless there is an emergency; she mentions that she has a standing date with Ino every Monday morning for training and lunch, but other than that, she keeps her free time pretty open.
“Would you… like to do something on Sunday, then?” He asks carefully, hand twitching a little in his pocket and stomach churning a little in nervousness, though she has given him no reason to be. He hopes he’s not being avaricious by asking for too much of her time. She might prefer to spend some time alone on her days off.
Glittering green eyes beam up at him in response. “Of course,” she answers, and the storm brewing in his belly settles while the vines reach upwards into his chest cavity, because she says it with an inflection that implies there’s nothing she would rather do.
“I think it’s supposed to rain,” Sakura tells him as they walk further southwest; they’re nearing the edge of the village now. “So we probably don’t want to walk around too much. I usually…” Her eyes flick to him, and then away, as if self-conscious. “I usually curl up inside with a book on rainy days. Or... watch documentaries. Sometimes I play go or chess.”
A ghost of a smile overtakes him, because reading on a rainy day is very characteristic of her, but so are the other two things, which he hadn’t known.
Then she’s asking, somewhat shyly, “What do you like to do, on a rainy day?”
It’s a good question; he hasn’t been home for a rainy day in a long time. When he was traveling, he would find shelter - an inn, or the inside of a tree or a cave - and do various tasks that needed doing, like sharpening weapons or writing a letter to her. On those days, he would also often read her old correspondence to him, too, but he’d be embarrassed to admit that to her.
When he was younger, though, he would complete any neglected chores in the morning, and then spend the rest of the day reading, though he did it mainly for productivity to the point of distraction. Sasuke did not like being cooped up in his house for long periods of time, for obvious reasons. Occasionally he would venture to a training ground anyway, if the rain was more light drizzle than downpour, but most of the time he opted not to, because getting sick would delay his progress more than sitting out a day; he could advance in other ways, look into new techniques and practice taijutsu forms inside, if he really focused.
If it rained heavily for more than a day or two consecutively, though, trapping him in the house, he tended to struggle more with it. Sometimes he would stare at a kunai or shuriken left behind in Itachi’s room for too long, and end up sticking his wrist out a back window to watch the water cleanse the wound he’d carved into his skin until it coagulated. It wasn't something he did often, because he knew it was stupid and weak despite the small semblance of control it afforded. It also wasn’t something he only did when it was raining, but being entombed in that house due to inclement weather poured salt into his baser self-destructive tendencies, irritation burning until it was too much and it had to escape his skin to go somewhere. When it rained, it felt like it was an opportunity to rinse it out of him, a tiny increment of relief, rivulets reaching down to turn him over in the grave of dark wood and dull paint colors it felt like he was suffocating in.
Sasuke would go get groceries most of the time, before it got to that point, even if he didn't need them, just to get out of the house for a bit and away from the temptation. He’d come back soaked, tracking water everywhere before curling up in his bed to try to chase away the chill with more distraction, books or scrolls or trying to watch something. Eventually he’d warm up on the outside, but his insides still felt icy for a long time, most days.
He's in an apartment now, though, a long way from what used to be the Uchiha District. He takes a grounding breath that he hopes is subtle, trying to emerge from the glaucous recollection and subsequent smothering feeling lining his lungs. “...I do any chores that need doing, and then I like to read, too,” he finally answers. It's the truth, now. Keen but soft eyes hold his for a moment, and he worries maybe he didn’t fully succeed at the subtlety, but she doesn’t press. He’s thankful for it; he doesn’t want to think about that when he’s with her.
They make plans to have lunch and spend the afternoon reading their respective books at her apartment. He might finish his other book by Sunday’s end; maybe she would go to the library with him again Monday afternoon, if she’s not too busy. He wouldn’t mind playing go or chess, either, if she asks him. It would be a challenge; he hasn’t played either in years. He’ll save it for Sunday, though.
“I can cook,” she offers, looking very pleased, which makes his heart flutter in his chest. “Maybe soup and something to go with it, if it’s chillier? I have a slow cooker I can start it in, the morning of.”
He agrees immediately; he likes soup, and it’s been a while since he’s had a good bowl. Most of the soup he made on the road was limited to whatever ingredients were readily available, with simple water as stock. The result was usually something bland, warming but not hearty by even the barest standards; soup made in a kitchen is much better. He’ll eat any kind, really, especially if it’s cold out. He wonders what Sakura’s cooking is like; she excels at most everything she does, so he imagines it must be good.
By just after five, they’ve ended up at a fairly new and distinctive quadrant of training grounds a little beyond the southwest edge of the village, sharp quartz rock jutting up from uneven ground in several spots and a small creek running down its center. Parts of it sit at a raised elevation, offering a unique vantage point of Konoha. Sasuke realizes as he eyes the surroundings that he would like to train here sometime; the craggy terrain could prove an interesting element to contend with, an exercise of both the mind and body. He’s glad she showed him; he wouldn’t have ventured to this side of town for a long time, on his own.
“Are you hungry?” He asks, thinking he could buy her dinner if she knows any places nearby. It’ll be busier now that it’s dinner time, once they get back into the village, but he doesn’t mind.
Sakura doesn’t answer at first, and instead starts to fiddle inside her bag. His brows knit in confusion, but then she pulls out two bottles of water, two bento boxes, and two pairs of chopsticks.
They’re in reusable containers, not takeout ones, which means she must have made them herself. Sasuke stares at the one she gives him, dumbfounded; it’s filled to the brim with cooked rice topped with black sesame seeds, tonkatsu with sauce, shredded cabbage, green beans goma-ae, and a large number of tomato wedges. Her own has less tomato; a few grapes round it out instead. He also notices the tonkatsu sauce is already poured over hers, but his is in a small sealed container, so he can eat the pork plain if he decides he doesn’t care for the tangy but also slightly sweet dressing.
“I thought we could eat these here... if you want. We could avoid the dinner rush that way. I made the sauce a little less sweet than usual, but I still wasn’t sure, so I thought I’d let you decide,” Sakura offers, soft and kind. He’s too stunned to say anything right away, so she adds somewhat sheepishly, “If... you’d rather get something else, though, that’d be fine, too.”
He thanks her very quietly, then, a little dazed and throat closing up, because he would not rather get something else; he hasn’t had a bento in a long time, let alone one that was prepared specifically for him. The training ground is empty, so they hop up one of the small cliffs and eat it there as she suggests, in view of Hokage Rock framed by trees. It is very good, clearly made with fresh ingredients; the pork is juicy on the inside and texturally crunchy on the outside. The sauce is good, too; not too sweet. He makes sure to eat all of it, as well as to tell her he enjoyed it at the end. She flushes at the compliment; she is very pretty, pink hair and pink cheeks to match.
"How long do you think it'll be before Naruto's up there?" She asks him after they’ve been sitting there for the better part of an hour, food long finished and eerily echoing his thoughts from a few nights ago.
Sasuke regards the mountain, empty space next to Kakashi's likeness. He recalls dinner yesterday at his friend’s home, Naruto sharing food with him made by his wife, and Ichiraku’s the day before that, how he no longer talks with his mouth full, and how he has not pressured him to share about Sakura. Sasuke is sure his rare tact won't last forever, and that he'll be hounded about his relationship with her eventually, but he has appreciated the space gifted to him. For all of their teammate’s fatuousness, he really has grown. If he can get an increment better at deciphering scrolls...
"Not long," he responds eventually. "Five years. Maybe six, with the sculpting."
Sakura nods in agreement, an evocative smile playing at her lips; she must suppose the same.
He speculates, then, tearing his gaze away from her mouth, who else they will see on the mountain in their lifetimes, in the empty space extending to the right. He thinks Naruto is the type to live to be pretty old, especially if Hinata is coercing him into eating balanced nutritional meals now; he might make it to a point where he actually retires from being Hokage, like Tsunade, or Kakashi, eventually.
The next Hokage could be in the village already, maybe in the Academy still, or a Genin. Sasuke remembers a scrawny kid with atrocious camouflage techniques who used to follow Naruto around and challenge him to battles over the position; it may have been the Third's grandson. He hadn’t seemed particularly talented at the time, but then again, neither was Naruto at that age. It’s possible that the kid has progressed since then. It’s also possible, though, that the next Hokage has not even been born yet.
Sasuke walks Sakura home a couple of hours later, dark violet light of dusk cast on her through diamonds on her doorstep. Her expression is the same as the other night, eyes sparking with gold affection, so he kisses her again, hesitantly hoping it’s okay, because he really wants to. Apparently it is, because she rests her hands on his shoulders and kisses him back without an ounce of uncertainty. His hand is free this time, so he rests it on her waist carefully, and enjoys a sweet breath of spring.
XXX
Sasuke arrives at Ichiraku’s at six on the dot to find both of his teammates already there, with an empty seat left between them and three glasses of water on familiar currant red counters. He is unsurprised to see that Kakashi’s not here yet. There’s an empty seat to Naruto’s left that is clearly being saved for their old sensei using one of Naruto’s sandals, off his foot; it’s pretty busy, being a Saturday night. He also notes Sakura’s tote bag situated beneath the counter, underneath the stool she’s sitting on; perhaps her afternoon with Ino went longer than anticipated, and she hasn’t had time to go home yet.
Both of them turn their heads as he approaches, brightening and greeting him in unison beneath fluorescent lighting.
“Teme!”
“Hey, Sasuke-kun.”
It is terribly nostalgic. He takes the place between them, responding, “Sakura. Dobe.” The streets themselves are busy, but within the actual enclosure of Ichiraku’s, it’s not as loud.
“We haven’t ordered yet,” Sakura tells him good-naturedly, smiling and pushing him a menu. His gaze lingers on her for a second before looking down at it. She’s pretty beneath fluorescent lighting, too.
“We’re not fucking waiting for Kakashi-sensei, though. I’m hungry , and who knows when he’ll turn up? He’s probably reading one of his stupid books and lost track of time again,” Naruto grumbles, peckish, from his other side. His friend’s stomach growls, as if on cue.
Sakura laughs, then sighs from his right. “He’s probably lost in a pile of paperwork. At least this time it might be true.”
“...He might be trying to finish breaking the cipher on that scroll you can’t seem to solve,” Sasuke quips smugly towards his left, eyeing the menu, though he doesn’t really need to; he knows his order already.
He is way too satisfied by Naruto’s huff. “Ugh, I’m fucking sick of staring at that thing. It makes me feel like my brain is melting. I wish he’d just give me a mission. I want to fight something.”
“I’m sure you’ll both get one eventually,” Sakura remarks with confidence. “Try to enjoy the peacetime a little. It’s a good thing. Besides, if you really want to, you can just go battle it out at the training grounds...” She eyes them both with a critical and calculating scrutiny now, a single pink brow arched and something in her tone shifting. “...Though by the bruising, I’m sure that’s already happened.”
There is a fist shaped smear of violet he knows is on his forearm, clearly visible from her vantage point. At least his ribs are hidden; there are nasty bruises on three of them from the first spar, and another two developing from this morning. Naruto looks a little scared, when he glances over at him; despite the fact that the blond is laughing nervously, his hand is held awkwardly, obviously trying to shield the bruise he has on his chin, turning purplish-blue by now.
It was another draw. Sasuke expects he’ll be able to beat him, next time. He’s found he’s a bit rusty, not having too many excuses to use his more advanced techniques in a long while.
Sakura rolls her eyes after a tense moment, and the spell is broken. “If either of you break anything, just don’t be stupid; come to the hospital or my place so I can fix it.”
“Sure, sure, anything you say, Sakura-chan!” The dobe responds next to him, hesitant laughter still tinged a little with fear. Sasuke nods, then thinks for about the fifth time today that he’s going to see her apartment tonight.
Once Sasuke slides the menu back, Naruto catches Teuchi’s attention; the blond orders garlic tonkotsu, Sasuke orders hakata tonkotsu, and Sakura orders shoyu ramen. It’s the same as what they used to get when they were kids.
It’s a nice evening for this, he thinks.
“So what’s new at the hospital, Sakura-chan?” Naruto asks conversationally. “Anything exciting?”
Sasuke shifts his gaze to his right, where Sakura looks as if she’s giving it a lot of thought, lips shifted to the side; he forces his eyes upward. “Eh, nothing too exciting, yet. Just appointments and research, for the most part. I’ve got some long-term projects I’m working on, but I’m just kind of waiting to see how the data pans out at this point while I monitor. It’ll be another month or so yet for anything concrete there, I think.” She cocks her head to the side a little. “I’ve got a transplant patient we’re waiting on an organ for, so we’ve been trying to prep her so she’s ready; different medicinal cocktails, testing, and such.” She pauses. “Tsunade-shishou sent over some things that arrived this morning, though, and one of them was a sample of a new poison found in a few Shinobi in Wind. I guess that’s… interesting. She’s going to work on it, too, so hopefully we get an antidote quickly, but I started some tests on it today.”
Sasuke’s lips turn downwards. That doesn’t sound good.
“Ehhh, between you and Granny Tsunade, I’m sure you’ll find an antidote soon!” Naruto chirps positively from his left. Then he quiets, in a manner that suggests he’s cogitative. “How bad?”
“Well, it’s slow enough progression-wise that they’ll live if we find an antidote in time; they’ve got at least a month, we think. Maybe more, if Tsunade-shishou keeps siphoning it out via the Delicate Illness Extraction Technique. It’s not... pleasant for the patient, obviously, but it works. She’s already run most of the preliminary tests; calcium chloride, pyridoxine, sodium bicarbonate, so we at least have some stuff ruled out.,, There might be others eventually, though, so it would be best to nip it in the bud and have an antidote readily available, really.”
“...What do you know about it so far?” Sasuke asks. “In terms of the type of toxin.” Having been dosed numerous times with poisons to build up resistance, he knows he is essentially immune to many of them, but a new one popping up is never something one should disregard in their line of work.
Jade shifts to him. “We suspect it might be a mixture of several venoms, plus a heavy neurotoxin. Epinephrine doesn’t work at all, though; that’s why we’re leaning towards it being a combo. Something has to be continuing the effects while that cycles through the system.”
Neurotoxins are troublesome; a mixture with it is nothing to scoff at. “It causes paralysis?” He questions.
Sakura inclines her head in a nod. “Immediately after Tsunade-shishou uses the Extraction Technique, though, they gain some movement back, so if we can find an antidote, it won’t be permanent.”
There is a contemplative silence.
“So what you’re saying is, you’re gonna kill a lot of rats,” Naruto finally jokes from his left, gauche as ever and clearly trying to lighten the mood.
“They’re mice, not rats,” Sakura responds, rolling her eyes. “But yes. We probably will. Necessary sacrifice, I suppose.”
There is a substantial length of time that feels heavy, even with the distant background noise of people going about their evening.
Sakura is the one to break it. “What about you, Naruto? Anything new? Hinata’s on a mission, I heard. What have you been doing to fill the time?”
Sasuke glances back to his left, where Naruto is grinning suspiciously.
“You mean other than kicking the shit out of teme?”
Sasuke narrows his eyes. “As I recall, both spars were draws, dead last .”
Naruto laughs, unbothered and waving his hand jokingly. “Eh, really I dunno. Mostly just helping Kakashi-sensei at the office. He’s torturing me with homework , since Hinata-chan’s gone.”
Suddenly their food is being placed in front of them. His smells good, charred pork belly swimming in spring onion, nori, mushrooms, noodles, and ginger. Sakura says thank you to Teuchi, and then he hears her break her chopsticks. She doesn’t miss a beat. “Hypothetical mission assemblages again?”
Naruto groans as he snaps his own chopsticks. “Yeah, it’s a nightmare. I know most of the people our age fine enough, but you basically have to memorize everyone’s abilities, strengths, and weaknesses, or you spend hours doing it because you have to refer to The Binder.” The way the dobe articulates The Binder makes it sound ominous.
“Huh. Now that I know it’s a nightmare, I’ll make sure to give you even more of it,” a familiar voice lilts behind them.
The three of them turn, and Kakashi is behind them, clad in simple Jonin dress instead of Hokage robes, for all appearances completely unbothered by the fact that he’s nearly twenty minutes late.
All three of them give him a withering look, slightly tinged with nostalgia, and say nothing.
“Sorry. Got lost in a pile of paperwork.”
Their old sensei removes Naruto’s shoe from his saved seat, and places it directly on the blond’s head. It promptly falls off and nearly lands in the idiot’s bowl of ramen as he splutters to catch it. Kakashi orders hakata tonkotsu without even glancing at the menu, same as Sasuke.
“So. Isn’t this nice,” The Hokage drawls. “How are we all? Enjoying the springtime?”
“It’s good! Hinata-chan planted a garden! We’re gonna have broccoli, and sweet potatoes, and maybe even pumpkin!” Naruto responds as he shoves his shoe unceremoniously back onto his foot before reaching for his chopsticks again.
“The weather has been nice," Sakura pipes up from behind him, though her tone of voice makes it sound as though more than that has been nice. Something in him twists pleasantly.
“...It’s good,” Sasuke comments last, before taking another bite of his food. It’s an understatement.
Kakashi looks content, head nodding in agreement. “Everything’s really greening up. I think it’s going to be a good year. No wars on the horizon, either, at least that I know of; that’s always preferable. Gets one into a reflective headspace.”
“About what, having time to read porn in your office?” Naruto quips sarcastically in between inhaling bites of bean sprouts and noodles, though Kakashi doesn’t seem at all fazed. Sasuke hasn’t seen any orange books in the times he’s visited the Hokage’s office so far, but he’d been sure they were stowed somewhere within easy access.
“Can’t a Hokage take a break to enjoy fine literature once in a while?” Their old sensei asks good-naturedly, but Naruto rolls his eyes as Sasuke, and he assumes Sakura, continue to eat their food at a normal pace.
“Fine literature? As if ! You forget I’ve read all those books. They’re full of good ideas, sure, but they’re still fucking porn ! And anyways, no, you can’t take a break. Not when you’re piling homework on me like I’m in the Academy still. I know , by the way.”
Now Kakashi’s smile turns a little nervous. To most people, the change would be imperceptible, but it’s there for those that know him well. “Know what, exactly?”
The blond’s eyes narrow accusingly. “That you’re actually using my homework to put together squads for real fucking missions! I shouldn’t have to find out from Shikamaru. In the Academy, they expel kids for that shit.”
Judging by the caught expression on Kakashi’s face, there is at least some element of truth to this, which means Naruto must be doing an okay job, at the very least. Interesting .
“So a sensei isn’t allowed to appreciate and value the advice of a cherished student?”
“Whatever. Just keep giving me days off when Hinata-chan’s home and maybe I won’t tattle to the other kages.”
Kakashi smiles. “I can do that.”
There is a beat where everyone besides their sensei is quiet, taking a few bites of their food. Sasuke’s is good; he’s hungry. Going near all out against Naruto has given him a little more of an appetite, the past few days. He’s been trying to eat more, as Sakura suggested.
“Sakura, I received an interesting letter from Tsunade today.” their old sensei drawls after a bit. Sasuke shifts slightly. She’s swallowing a bite, and looking curious.
“About the poison?”
Sasuke glances back to his left in time to see Kakashi nod. “The poison, and also other worthwhile projects. Let me know if you need any funding for such things, and I’ll find a way to take care of it.”
Sasuke wonders what kinds of projects, but assumes it might be rather confidential when Sakura blinks, then nods, answering simply, “Thank you, Kakashi-sensei; it’s greatly appreciated.” Perhaps it has to do with her research.
Naruto finishes off his first bowl, and orders another. Now that he’s not inhaling food, he begins chattering again.
“So anyways, when are you gonna send us all on a mission together again?! I feel like I’ve been trapped in that office with you like an old croney for eighty-four years.”
Suddenly Kakashi appears very tired, eyes narrowing in exhaustion. “If you feel trapped now, I’d hate to see how you feel in five years or so.” He pauses, as Naruto narrows his eyes at him and crosses his arms. “I have a lost cat mission you could complete, I suppose. Or would you rather clean up the river? It’s good weather for it. Water’s warming up.”
Naruto looks at him indignantly. “As if. I want a real mission!! One that suits our strengths.”
The way Kakashi considers Naruto then is fond. Sasuke vaguely recollects a time where Naruto begged the Third for a ‘real’ mission a long time ago; that must be what he’s remembering.
“Well, the problem with that is that Sakura formally outranks you,” he finally retorts. His food shows up a second after he finishes talking.
Naruto groans. “This shit again?” Sasuke assumes this must be a running thing Kakashi likes to hold over his friend’s head. Technically it’s correct; Sakura had told him she’d made Jonin at the exams in Earth Country a while back, in one of her earlier letters. He’s sure she could have made Jonin sooner, but she’d been occupied with things at the hospital, he thinks. Naruto and himself, meanwhile, had never taken the exams, though it hadn’t affected their ability to take A and S-rank missions, given their role in ending the war; they held honorary Jonin positioning in all but the actual title itself, and weren’t held back from missions because of it in any way, but still, Sakura is the only one of their team that has taken them officially and passed. Naruto had told him that Tsunade didn’t want to promote Sakura like that, despite her contribution in ending the war, too; he’d assumed it was because the Fifth didn’t care for Sakura’s promotion to be in any way weighed down by assumptions of nepotism, especially with her taking over the hospital. Kakashi hadn't, either; he'd assumed for the same reason. Naruto and Sasuke getting special treatment regarding what missions they can accept is fine, because currently they hold no official titles, but with Sakura heading the hospital, it’s a different matter.
“How many times are you gonna hold that over my head?! Quit fucking around already. It’s not my fault Granny Tsunade wanted to show Sakura-chan off to all five nations, and besides, I was literally there, so it’s not like I don’t know.”
Sasuke blinks in sudden interest, as Kakashi quips, “If you were there, why didn’t you take the exams yourself? I seem to remember someone getting banned from the Kage’s seating area. That looks great for a future Hokage candidate, by the way, and was fun to try to de-escalate with the elders of Earth Country. Maybe you could have set a better example if you had also been taking the exams… Though I suppose it would have been embarrassing for you when Sakura beat you in three seconds flat.”
Sakura laughs a little to his right as if she is amused as Naruto complains some more, while Sasuke considers that he has never been given a detailed account of her performance at those exams, though he’s sure it was excellent. He’ll have to ask her or Naruto about it.
Naruto’s still whining. “Come ooooon. Just ONE teensy little mission. No bullshit. We’re all back; you basically have to, it’d be illegal NOT to. It can even be a B-rank.”
Kakashi doesn’t miss a beat. “I have a nice C-rank you two could probably handle.” Sasuke twitches a little, because he knows that’s directed at him, too, now. “Simple escort to Sand. Don’t want to take a prestigious Jonin away from her important work at the hospital, though, for such a measly thing.”
Sakura’s laugh twinkles. “Send Shikamaru. I’m sure he’d love to go.”
Kakashi grins, as if he is in on a joke. “Yes, Naruto, Sasuke, and Shikamaru. That would be an interesting team, to say the least, though perhaps a little overpowered. I’ll think it over… If nothing comes up that we desperately need Shikamaru for, that is.”
Naruto grumbles and turns to finish emptying his second bowl of ramen as Sasuke surmises inwardly, finishing off his own, that it would be an interesting team, even if it was just an escort. From what he knows, Nara is a capable leader and excellent strategist. He’s sure Shikamaru doesn’t like him very much, which is more than fair, but watching Naruto annoy someone else for a change would make the heated trek to Sand bearable. He wonders what Sakura’s comment was about, though. Maybe it was sarcasm, regarding most peoples’ general disdain for the sweltering weather there.
Sasuke notices, as he pushes his bowl forward, now empty, that Kakashi still hasn’t touched his food. He makes a mental note to keep an eye on that. When he glances to his right, he sees that Sakura has finished hers, too.
The restaurant is starting to clear out a little, it being closer to seven now. Naruto finally stops mumbling insults towards Kakashi, and instead peers at him as if he’s waiting for something. Maybe he wants to go home; his friend might have plans after this, though he’s not sure what they would be, given his wife is away.
“...Sorry to disappoint you, Sasuke, but we’ve been less than honest about dinner tonight,” Kakashi begins after meeting Naruto’s gaze. Sasuke’s brow furrows in puzzlement, and the dobe starts grinning smugly. When he glances the other way towards Sakura, she smiles, too, and looks a little guilty.
“It is also… a housewarming party.” The Hokage grins. “Though we thought we’d just have it here, and you could take your gifts home with you tonight.”
Sasuke frowns. “You didn’t need to-”
Naruto butts in, indignant and cutting him off accusingly with a pointed finger, “And don’t even TRY to say no, because I got you the best gift.” Sasuke has a brief premonition of his sparse kitchen cabinets suddenly filled with a month’s supply of instant ramen, and it takes everything in him not to roll his eyes. The dobe motions to Teuchi, gesturing towards the inner portion of the ramen stand, just below the counter. Sasuke then recalls the bag beneath Sakura’s chair, and frowns deeper, turning to her; though he’s sure the shoe box was free, she’s already given him the drying rack, which he’s sure was not. She didn’t need to get him anything else.
She just grins at him, eyes flashing with mirth as if she finds this amusing. He’s about to say something - he’s not sure what - when Naruto taps him on the shoulder. He turns, and the most poorly wrapped gift he has ever seen in his life comes into focus, a long thin mess of too much tape and intensely colorful paper, scrunched together haphazardly as if put together by a child with little motor control, and shoved directly into his face.
“...Why did you wrap it?”
His best friend rolls his eyes. “Because it’s a PRESENT, jackass. Besides, you guys wrapped yours too, right?!”
When Naruto looks from their old sensei to their teammate, Kakashi wears a jovial smile that tells him he didn’t, and Sakura doesn’t say anything behind him, but Naruto narrows his eyes, and that’s enough to tell him that she didn’t, either. “What the fuck, you guys are the worst! This is supposed to be a party!!”
Naruto sets the gift down on the counter in front of him, and Sasuke frowns at it stubbornly for a short while. The three of them are staring at him expectantly, though, so he sighs and reluctantly starts to peel the shoddy wrapping job away, curious as to where the idiot got instant ramen that comes in a long skinny box. He’s careful as he peels, so the paper doesn’t fly away in little chunks and litter the restaurant or the ground around them.
His brow creases as he peels away the final bit of paper and tape, because it’s not ramen, after all. Naruto’s gift is a paring board of a unique design, new from the store in an unopened box. The picture shows a maple wood finish, but with small skewers jutting vertically from it on the bottom center, on which one can spear vegetables or fruit to help hold it in place while slicing. It also has a corner guard on the upper left with an edge sealer to help keep other things one wants to slice, like bread or sushi, secure. In addition, it says it has silicone feet, so it doesn’t move around when you use it.
He didn’t know anything like this even existed. It is a surprisingly thoughtful and helpful gift, one that he’s sure comes from a deep understanding of the challenges that come with living with one arm, though Naruto has had the prosthetic, now, for a while.
Sasuke studies it for a long moment, genuinely touched. “...It’s nice. Thank you.” Truth be told, it’s more than nice, and will be incredibly useful. He won’t have to summon a clone anymore to cut things.
Naruto laughs and slaps him on the back, prompting Sasuke to glare at him. “Beat that, losers!” Kakashi smiles and casts his eye towards Sakura behind him, so Sasuke turns, brows furrowed again. She’s pulling a white container out of her bag, now in her lap, and then sliding it on the countertop next to Naruto’s gift.
He can see now that it’s a first aid kit. He looks back to her, meeting green eyes and slightly tinged cheeks. “I thought there might be some things you didn’t have, after traveling for so long.”
This is odd, because all ninja travel with a rudimentary first aid kit at the bare minimum, and Sakura of all people knows this; it’s an occupational hazard and frankly foolish not to. He stares at it as if it is a riddle, trying to figure out what could possibly be inside. Perhaps medicine or painkillers? Even those come in standard first aid kits for ninja, though. A hefty stock of food pills? He supposes he could take those on missions with him, if needed.
He’s sure both Kakashi and Naruto are thinking the same thing, but they don’t comment on it.
Finally, he responds, meeting her eyes, “Thank you.” He’ll open it later, when he’s alone, to see what’s actually in it. She really didn’t need to get him anything.
Her smile grows wider, and her eyes catch the light, gilded fervor that he thinks he could drown in. “You’re welcome.” After a beat, she glances at Kakashi, so Sasuke tears his irises away from flashing jade iridescent with metallic lambency and turns, too. When he does, he sees that Kakashi’s bowl is now empty. He tries to resist an annoyed twitch; he doesn’t know how he keeps pulling this off, after so many years.
Then his old sensei reaches into his vest and pulls out what appears to be a frame; it must have been tucked there this whole time, for safekeeping, out of sight.
When he reaches past Naruto to gift it to him, Sasuke realizes it’s their original Team Seven picture, in the frame he saw sitting on Kakashi’s desk the other day.
His eyes sting as it’s pressed into his hand, thoughts of mask hypervigilance forgotten in an instant in favor of an overwhelming sense of plenary peace and belonging. There is a small inner voice emanating from a house lined with dark wood and darker penchants, gnawing and protesting that he is deeply undeserving, but he extinguishes it for now, just for tonight; the world is not going to end because Kakashi gave him a picture rife with memories. Fighting to remain detached is what got him into trouble in the first place.
Sasuke blinks a few times, and a paper-thin layer of sediment peels away, messy and getting everywhere, like the wrapping paper he tried to collect earlier to avoid a similar problem. Then he utters, “Thank you,” quietly, but loud enough for all three of them to hear.
“No problem. I can get another copy developed from the village archives for my desk,” Kakashi replies, smiling. “It’s good to have you back.”
Time passes somehow both quickly and slowly. The four of them sit there for well over another hour, visiting casually about topics that aren’t as heavy as perplexing poisons. Sasuke moreso listens than genuinely communicates, but he comments every now and then.
Naruto chatters about an elaborate date he’s going to take Hinata on when she gets back to the village, involving feeding ducks at her favorite pond. Sakura mentions that he should bring cinnamon rolls, because that is Hinata’s favorite treat, and Naruto exclaims that he knows, but he also asks Teuchi for a pen to write a reminder on his hand, so he doesn’t forget to pick them up the day after tomorrow when she’s supposed to get back.
Kakashi mentions how he’s supposed to be getting some new mission requests in on Monday morning, so he might have something for Sasuke by then; the dobe is indignant when it doesn’t also include him, and launches into another five minute whining session.
Sakura tells a story about Sai and a misunderstanding involving an order of art supplies that she heard from Ino that morning; apparently, Ino works at the hospital on occasion, both to do some part-time medic duties and to help Sakura, which Sasuke was unaware of. Naruto shudders when Sakura brings up Sai, Ino, and art supplies; Sasuke gets the distinct impression that there is a story there, but doesn’t ask.
It is a little after eight when Kakashi mentions quite astutely that everyone is probably tired and should get going. Naruto laughs mischievously, then, meeting Sasuke’s eyes.
“Teme, what do ya say to all of us going out for a drink or two after this? There’s a fun place just down the road from here.”
Sasuke blinks, because that sounds objectively terrible on any night, let alone a Saturday, and it is not the first time since his return to the village that Naruto has mentioned going to drink; he really wants to get him drunk for some reason. Even though Kakashi has just said they should wrap it up, he looks at Sasuke as if waiting for a response anyways, as though he would actually go with them if they all chose to.
“Can’t. I have plans.”
Naruto huffs and grumbles under his breath about the plans probably involving training or reading or watching his laundry air dry. “Alright, alright. But you can’t escape it forever. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to accept.”
Sasuke smirks, then. “If you can beat me in a spar, I’ll go. Dobe.”
A fire has been lit in blue eyes. “You’re ON.”
Kakashi then sets enough money on the counter for all four of them, at which point they all begin to stand. Sasuke and Sakura both say thank you, but Naruto begins protesting that if he knew he was buying, he would have eaten more. Kakashi smiles cryptically. “Which is why I didn’t tell you. The Hokage position pays lucratively, but I know from experience you’ll eat me out of house and home.”
Naruto and Kakashi wave goodbye and set out to the west, in the general direction of their respective residences. Sasuke and Sakura both watch them go with something like amusement; he can hear Naruto complaining until he’s halfway down the street, which is a feat, because this area of town is still quite busy.
He turns to the gifts and stacks them carefully in preparation to leave, finally; they are all flat, so they’ll be easy enough to carry. They really didn’t need to get him anything... but he is appreciative, gaze lingering on them for a little longer than an instant.
Sakura is smiling at him when he turns to her, weight shifted to the side casually. “Do you want to drop those off first, or bring them with you?”
Sasuke thinks of the time; he still doesn’t know when she usually goes to sleep. “...I can bring them with.”
Her lips quirk upwards more, and she nods. They start walking east, him gripping the gifts carefully.
The moon has risen a bit higher in the sky by now; the streets appear much like a desaturated dreamscape, cloaking everything in a layer of alleviation. They pass under street lights casting flaxen ambiance, as well as other smaller hints of glow from various lit-up signage, tinctorial flashes washing over them both occasionally, only to be rinsed clean as they pass into astronomical dusk again. Sakura’s hair is surprisingly reflectant, brief notes of neons catching atop pale pink: electric blue, candy red, apple green.
“Naruto’s going to hold you to that bet, you know,” Sakura pipes up to his right once they’ve made it a block away, tilting her head upwards, expression soaked with mirth.
“Tch. Don’t remind me.” She laughs a little in response. It’s a lovely sound, dulcet in his ears.
They’re coming up on a bar that appears to be pretty crowded, people spilling out onto the street outside. Wordlessly, they both change course to cross to the other side of the street, avoiding the gathering of people, for which he is appreciative; he’s still not much one for crowds. They’re almost to the main stretch of road where they’ll turn south to go to Sakura’s; just two more blocks and the people should disperse a bit.
As they cross, Sakura informs him, “I’m pretty sure that’s the one he was talking about, by the way.”
“...Great,” He murmurs, frowning. He really doesn’t drink often. A place like that wouldn’t do much to encourage him to.
“It’s not so bad, if you go on a weeknight. Less people.”
He considers, then questions, “...Have you gone drinking with him?”
She averts her eyes, as if she’s a little embarrassed. “A few times... Usually it’s for celebrations, though, not just us. Birthdays, that sort of thing. I’ve gone with Ino more.” She ponders for a bit longer, as if shuffling through memories. “I guess I’ve gone with him and Kakashi-sensei a couple of times, though we don’t always go to that one. Once we went with Tsunade-shishou to that casino.”
Sasuke is pretty sure he knows the answer to his next question, but he asks it anyway. “...Is he any good at gambling?”
A short but rich giggle blooms from her throat that makes his lip twitch upwards. “No. His betting history is just as bad as shishou. He’s worse at baccarat than she is, actually, which is quite an accomplishment. She hadn’t won in a long time, before she beat him.”
It stands to reason that Naruto would be bad at table games, but the fact that he’s bad at arguably one of the easiest ones to learn amuses him more than it should. “...Will probably be awhile before I get dragged with him, then.”
“Probably,” Sakura agrees.
They turn south towards her apartment, and sure enough, the people milling about in the streets begin to thin. Being a Saturday night, there are more lights on than usual around this time, but they’ve arrived into an area of town that doesn’t really cater to a night crowd like bars do; the lit windows here are mostly residential.
Plants are continuing to unfurl everywhere in Konoha, though the rain tomorrow will probably be good for them. It stands to reason that it will get even more lush, after; perennials are starting to bud back to life, soon to join the annuals already adorning most buildings’ exteriors and windowsills. There’s a breeze picking up tonight, too, slightly shuffling leaves and the fabric of awnings attached to the buildings they walk past, a quiescent whispering that seemingly drowns out the usual sound of crickets. It might be cold enough for soup tomorrow; he’s looking forward to it.
Sakura notices, too. “Kakashi was right; everything is greening up. The rain will do some good tomorrow; we haven’t had some in a bit.”
“...Probably,” he echoes her words from earlier. Her hair is fluttering a little in the wind, too, eye-catching and gossamery. Sasuke wonders if it’s still soft like silk. He had accidentally felt it several times, on various missions when they were younger.
They reach her building, and she noiselessly opens the glass door for him. Sasuke steps aside so she can pass after she shuts it behind them. Then he’s following her up the stairway, something like anticipation unfurling in him, much like the greenery he noticed on the way here.
Sakura unlocks her door, glancing back at him for a moment with her hand lingering on the doorknob. Then she turns to push it open, and he trails behind her carefully.
He follows her into a small enclosed area - a dedicated entryway - with a threshold straight ahead leading into the rest of the space. It is dim until Sakura flips on the light of a compact but surprisingly luminous lamp to their right, and he sees that the entryway area itself is painted the color of pale cream. The floor beneath them is aged wood, light in color, that appears to extend into the rest of the dwelling. A single wall-mounted shelf floats to the left that holds several multifarious storage containers: one woven, one white, one that looks like an antiquated rice basket. Out of the top of the last one peeks the well-worn handle of a spade; it must be gardening supplies. Beneath the shelf are hooks studded to the wall; Sakura is stepping towards them to shrug off her bag and hang it from one of them, next to a green jacket and a red and pink coat with fur trim.
There is a console table made of aged wood that near matches the shelf - white oak, he thinks, because it’s not as richly colored as normal oak - to the right. It might be an antique; it is close in color and stain to the flooring, though not an exact match. Her fiction book from the other day sits atop it, a bookmark protruding from around halfway through its pages; he assumes she must keep any non-work-related library books there, when she’s not reading them. Beneath the table is a patterned rug in neutral tones, on which rest a small collection of sandals that are not entirely lined up straight, as well as a pair of green rainboots. It is the only part of the entryway that does not appear overly organized.
Sasuke begins to toe off his sandals as Sakura does, too. She crosses over to the table and opens up one of the drawers, placing her lanyard of keys inside. “You can set your gifts here, if you’d like,” she offers helpfully, gesturing to the table and sounding almost shy, so he does. He turns to grab his sandals and sets them neatly on the rug beneath the table.
She reaches beyond the enclosing wall to the other side, flipping what must be a lightswitch; the rest of the overhead lights in the next area of space flood on. She angles her head back towards him, shifting her weight to the side a little. “I’m afraid it won’t be as long of a tour as Naruto’s.”
It’s small, but cozy. They step into an open space with a wall trailing to the right and openness extending to the left, which houses her living room. The ceilings are high for an apartment this size; it makes it feel bigger. Two towering bookshelves line the west and south walls, and a small dining table sits in front of the window on the north end, over which hangs a simple but worn pendant light, sap green in color; it is reminiscent of the kinds one usually sees at indoor markets. Between the two spaces lies a comfortable-looking sage green couch, classic but also well-worn, placed in front of a small entertainment center. He notices that the furniture pieces are all of slightly different construction, not a matching set, though the colors of everything are very similar to the flooring. On top of the surfaces are various decorative knick knacks: little glass jars in varied colors with dried flowers, another lamp, a candle. The entire open area is painted a pale, pale desaturated viridian; Sasuke likes the color. From what he can see of the room past the expanse of wall to their right, it is painted a different color - linen white.
“Sai and Ino helped me with the paint colors when I moved in.” She pauses. “Well, Sai helped. Ino mostly just helped narrow down color selection. It needed painting anyways; my landlady said I could do pretty much anything as long as it wasn’t black or something.” She walks over to the lamp on the end table by the sofa, and switches it on. Then she wanders over to switch the pendant light over the table on, too.
Sasuke nods, still absorbing. There is an expanse of framed photos to his right, on the space leading up to what must be the kitchen. There are many, leading all the way down the wall, arranged in more of a collage fashion than straight across. He scans them quickly, and is surprised to see that their original Team Seven photo isn't among them. He knows it must be elsewhere in her apartment; she is too sentimental to not have it displayed somewhere. It makes him consider where he’s going to put the one Kakashi has given him.
“The layout is kind of unique,” Sakura continues, walking back towards him through the living room area. “There’s not really room for a dining table in the kitchen, so that table over there-” She motions towards where she just was, in front of the north window, “-is used for that. It’s kind of nice, that way; you can look out the window when you eat.” Sasuke notes upon further inspection that there are a few small plants sitting in the window there, similar coloring to the ones on her doorstep. A thriving jasmine plant is hung higher up, against the glass, fronds twisting downwards. He finds he can picture Sakura eating there easily.
Sakura crosses over into what he assumes is the kitchen; he follows, and notes as he does so that there is a faint aroma of tea, though it is a challenge to place the flavor. It’s simple, but with nice floor to ceiling white cabinetry, aside from a single area in the corner where there is open shelving of the same wood finish, as well as a window on the east wall, over the sink. This one appears to be lined with a small herb garden, more mismatched terracotta pots perched in the windowsill. The countertops here are also wood, in a similar colorway as the rest of the wood he’s seen so far. Most of what’s stored on the open shelving appears to be general dry goods, flour and sugar and oatmeal in clear containers. There is also a fern-colored teapot, decorated with a white floral design, sitting on the end of the shelf for easiest access; she must make tea often. There is a knife set on the counter, as well as a few ceramic containers holding various utensils such as whisks and wooden spoons. Nothing appears out of place, and there are no dishes in the sink; she must keep it pretty tidy. In the only empty corner, there is what he assumes is a pantry door, as well as a small wooden stool. He realizes then that she must not be tall enough to reach the top of the cupboards.
“Sai said keeping it a lighter color would make it look bigger. I think it helps. It’s pretty nice, otherwise.” She glances at him, then away, slightly flushed as if she’s nervous. He realizes, reciprocally, that he is kind of nervous, too, being in her space with her alone.
“Not much left but the hallway,” she adds after a moment, leading him out of the kitchen and further, to a hallway leading east. There are three doors towards the end of it; one to the left, one in the middle, and one to the right. Two of the three are sitting open; the small room straight ahead holds a stacked washer and dryer, as well as cabinets that match the ones in the kitchen. Once he follows her a few more steps, he sees a hamper, as well. The walls appear to be painted a lilac color in the laundry room, slightly darker in hue than the rest of her space thus far. The flooring is different, too, in the laundry room; a white tile, inlaid with a touch of black sparingly in a symmetrical pattern. The style of it is very in tune with the age of the building, reminiscent of an older time.
“Left door is the bedroom.” She gestures towards the closed door, then points to the next one. “Middle is the laundry room; that’s also where I keep any cleaning stuff, like the broom or mop.” She nods then towards the bathroom, so he steps closer to peer inside; it is painted a light sand color, with the same white tile accented with black, only here it also goes halfway up the wall. “And that’s the bathroom.” The same white cabinets appear here, too. It has a tub/shower combination, and a plain white shower curtain. It appears spotlessly clean. A window lies above the sink on the east wall, with another hanging plant dangling in front of it, towards the corner so it’s not in full light all of the time; it looks like a satin pothos. There is also a small wicker stool, on which are folded powder-white towels, and a small glass tabletop lamp, an interesting statement in a bathroom.
He remembers that there are three lamps she’s turned on already. She must not like hard lighting. He tries to resist the urge to smile, because neither does he.
“It’s nice,” he compliments as they make their way back to the living room area. It’s more than nice; he really likes it. Everything about it is as her as he expected it to be, more of a home than an apartment, eclectic combinations painting a picture very indicative of the life she lives here. Sasuke muses that it is especially characteristic of her that she would like different colors throughout the rooms, and that the colors fit their respective spaces well. He finds himself wondering what color she selected for her room, what color she deemed the most calming, though obviously he would never ask.
A deep blush inks it way onto her skin, and she smiles, seeming very pleased. “Thank you, Sasuke-kun.” Her gaze flits away, then back again. “Would you want to maybe watch something? I could make some tea, decaf, if you’d like.”
He nods.
“Okay; I can show you what I have.”
They go back into the kitchen. She opens one of the cabinets, the one nearest the teapot; the entire bottom shelf is filled with packaged tea, labeled jars of loose leaf, sugar, and a container of honey. The shelf above it contains teacups that match the teapot, and more jars of loose leaf, though these ones are labeled caffeine free. There are a few small boxes of packaged tea there, too; she must sort them separately based on caffeine content. The third shelf contains a few miscellaneous mugs and glasses. It’s quite a collection; he understands the mixed aromatics of different tea flavors he noticed earlier. It’s unique, enjoyable without being overwhelming, small hints of sweet spice and citrus drifting into the kitchen space more now that the cabinet door is ajar.
“Most of my packaged teas have more specific flavors, desserts and things like that,” Sakura mentions. “For loose leaf, I’ve got quite a few; caffeine-free ones are oolong, chamomile, lemon ginger, jasmine…” She shifts some of the jars to the side of the middle cabinet to reveal the ones behind it. “Silver needle, white coconut creme, Earl Grey, caramelized pear…”
“...Earl Grey sounds good,” Sasuke murmurs, moving slightly out of the way. She tips her head in acknowledgment before pulling that jar down, then reaching for the teapot.
“I’ll make some; I like Earl Grey at night. Do you want any cream or lemon or anything like that in yours? I have some in the fridge.” She moves to start the water boiling, removing the strainer from the teapot before she fills it. After it’s on the stove, she begins sifting loose leaf from the jar into the strainer so it’s ready.
“...Lemon would be good.” He likes adding lemon to Earl Grey; it makes it more tart. He feels like he should help, so he adds, “I’ll get it. Do you want cream in yours?”
Jade eyes flick to his, and her cheeks color a little. “...Yes. It’s on the top shelf of the door. There’s…” She pauses, as if embarrassed. “There’s normal creamer there too, but I have a coconut milk sweet cream that I like with mine. Just a little bit. It’s… meant for coffee, but…” When he smiles knowingly back, she looks away, back towards the teapot.
He opens the fridge; it’s extremely well-stocked. He doesn’t hover too long before he reaches to grab a lemon and the creamer she mentioned from the door’s upper shelf, but he notes there is a large container of strawberry topping on the top shelf towards the front, as well as a clear container with what may be banana nut muffins. She really does have a sweet tooth, he thinks, amused.
He shuts the door, and she procures a small cutting board from another cupboard and a knife to slice the lemon into wedges. She’s also grabbed two teacups, the ones that match the teapot.
“Thank you.” She’s smiling as he sets down the lemon and the creamer. “I can finish making this, if you want to maybe pick what we watch?”
“...What would you like to watch?”
Sakura blinks. “I’m honestly fine with anything. I’ve got some movies in the cabinet of the entertainment center… Otherwise I have cable to flip through, too.”
She must not go to bed too early, since she mentioned movies. He decides to ask. “...When do you usually go to bed?”
Something in her eyes softens. “Usually ten or eleven. It’s my weekend now, though, so I can stay up late, if you pick something longer.”
He nods, and she turns to slice the lemon halves into quarters, so he pads back to her living room. When he opens the cabinet below the television, he finds it nearly filled to the brim with movies. He settles down to siphon through them, skimming through various synopses. He comes across five or six shoved to the corner of one side haphazardly; those must be the ‘bad’ movies she watches with Ino. The rest of them that he finds sound fairly interesting. He ultimately picks one called A Tale of Archery; the summary makes it sound like a period drama with a twist. As he sits there, he tries to remember the last time he watched a movie; it was probably after he returned to Konoha but before he left for his journey, a rather stupid one with Naruto in his old apartment.
This one should be better. He hopes, brows furrowed, that it’s one she likes; he assumes she must like most of them, given that she owns them.
Sasuke stands with it as Sakura comes out with the tea, cups placed on small plates with dainty teaspoons. “Oh, that’s a good one,” she mentions. His heart flutters, and he feels a little less nervous. He puts it into the player on the next shelf before standing as she sets her plate and cup on her coffee table.
“Thank you,” he says softly when she hands him his, two slices of lemon perched on the side.
She smiles at him, dimple appearing, before grabbing the remote and flicking on the television so it starts setting up. “Do you mind if I shut off the overhead lights? I’m... not much one for hard lighting.”
“Not at all.” The space will be well-lit without it, with the lamps.
He takes a seat on the sofa while she walks over near the entryway. Sasuke realizes now that the couch isn’t terribly big; probably just enough for one person to lie down on, if they wanted to. It’s comfortable, as he’d anticipated. He sets his plate and cup on her coffee table so he can squeeze the lemon wedge into it, grabbing the spoon to stir as the overhead lights go out.
With the lights off, it is very cozy.
Sakura takes a seat next to him, not too close, but not the furthest away she could be, either. She fast forwards through the opening portion of advertisements as he stirs.
By the time he brings the cup to his lips to take a sip, the opening credits are playing. She sets down the remote and stirs her own cup once more, before also taking a sip.
It’s good; flavorful but not too intense, with a hint of bergamot orange rind and maltiness. The lemon gives it a slightly more acidic twist. He’s not much one for creamer, unless he’s in a rare mood on a cold fall or winter day, but he can see how the coconut milk sweet cream would compliment the taste, if one liked sweet things.
“It’s good,” he murmurs, meeting her eyes for a moment.
She glows at the compliment; he can make out a blush in the dim lighting. He feels his own neck heat up.
The movie is pretty good. It tells the story of a bygone feudal era a long time ago, peasants and samurai and daimyos with estates sprawling across countrysides lined with rice paddies. An archer passes away, and his son follows in his footsteps and becomes respected competitively. The twist is that the father actually went into hiding, and returns at the end of the movie.
It’s close to eleven when it’s over. Their teacups sit on her coffee table, long emptied.
Sasuke feels very content, and a little loath to leave, if he’s being honest. She seems slightly tired when she meets his eyes, though, so he slowly stands and reaches for his plate and cup. She does the same, and he trails after her to the kitchen, following her lead; she empties the lemon rinds into the garbage, so he does too. She then rinses her cup clean in the sink, extending her hand for his after.
“...What time should I come over tomorrow?” He asks in a hushed tone, when she turns to him. He’s not sure if the walls are thin or not, and they’re in the kitchen, so it’s not against her neighbors’ unit or anything, but he still somehow feels he should speak quietly; it’s somewhat dark, dimly lit only by cast light from the lamp in the other room.
Her countenance changes to one of consideration. “I was thinking maybe around eleven? I should have lunch ready around then.” Her eyes flicker to his, and her lips curve upwards; he tries not to look at them too long. “If that’s okay.”
He nods. “I’ll be here, then.”
Her lips curve upwards more. “I’ll walk you to the door,” she offers softly. He turns, and she follows.
“Do you like avocado?” She asks him as they shuffle into her entryway, where he stoops to retrieve his shoes. “I was… thinking about making avocado grilled cheese, to go with the soup.”
He glances upwards. “...I do.” He’s never had a grilled cheese sandwich with avocado before, but it sounds like it would taste good. He wonders again what kind of soup she’ll make; she knows his food preferences well, and she hasn’t asked, so it must be something she knows he’ll like. It makes his heart flip behind his ribcage a little.
“Oh, good. I’ll make that, then.” Her eyes drop down to her feet for a second as he rises back to his full height, sandals situated; it’s hard to tell in the lack of light, just the one lamp turned on in here, but he’s pretty sure she’s blushing again.
Her next words are near a whisper. “Thank you for… hanging out.” Multi-faceted jade seeps into him again, seafoam ebbing around dark pupils. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it, after yearning for it for so long. “I had a nice time.”
He takes a quiet step closer to her, heart suddenly twisting in his chest as he tries to swallow his nerves, because she looks so happy, and it’s making his breath get stuck inside his lungs.
“...Me, too,” he whispers, barely audible before his lips brush hers gently.
It feels different, kissing her in the privacy of her apartment rather than on her doorstep. It’s like they can finally take their time, no real chance of interruption. His mind comes up with the word intimate, and his neck warms. Her mouth is all plush affection, bergamot and lemon and a subtle sweetness, stirred, that isn’t too much, accented by berry. It makes him want to try all of the varieties she has in her cabinet, even the sweet ones, just to see what they taste like on her lips in the hours that follow.
Delicate hands brush his shoulders, fingertips skimming the lower part of his neck, subtle beckoning but also gentle, respectful of boundaries, so he decides to corrode, give in and do something that he has wanted to do for a very long time. He cups her cheek with his hand, careful and barely there, gingerly sweeping a thumb over flushed skin, gliding atop a freckle that rests further back on her cheekbone. He’s had it memorized since they were kids.
The strands of pink he inadvertently touches are as soft as he remembers.
Her face is ablaze when they draw back from each other, tender smile and viridescent eyes laced with ardency just for him. Warmth pools in his belly as he studies her, decay long soothed and forgotten as he carefully strokes her cheek once more before he pulls away.
“...Good night, Sakura.”
The dimple makes one last appearance for the evening. “Good night, Sasuke-kun.”
XXX
Sasuke opens the first aid kit upon his return to his apartment, having been curious about what was in it all evening. Vines grasp his heartstrings as he discovers what’s inside.
There are two jars of loose leaf sencha tea that he’s sure came from the tea place they’d visited together a few days ago; one is labeled caffeinated, the other decaffeinated. Along with it is a basic tea infuser, new in its package. There are also three blue packages of cough drops, mentho-lyptus flavor, so they won’t be sweet.
Jade irises, he thinks, are also mollifying, for when the corrosion is done, an aether easily risen into, floating to the top.
Sasuke brews a mug of the jar labeled decaffeinated to enjoy before he goes to bed, a helpful succedaneum with which to conclude an evening well spent. It's not exactly the same shade of green, he thinks, before taking it to his living room so he can look out his window as he savors it, but it's close.
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greenninjagal-blog · 4 years ago
Text
Trouble
Hi yeah its me, and look I’m already back with a new fic for the new year :D cherish this moment I don’t think i will have have this turn around so quick again. For the TSS Fanworks Secret Santa Exchange because I was a pinch hitter :DD @nerdywriterhaven I hope you enjoy!
Summary: Patton has a thing about boardgames and Virgil has a thing about Logan. Together they figure it out. 
Word Count: 7900
Quick Taglist: @alias290​ @chelsvans​ @coyboi300​ @dante-reblogs @dwbh888​ @glitchybina​ @faithfulcat111​ @felicianoromano​ @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries​ @jemthebookworm​ @killerfangirl3​ @mrbubbajones​  @musical-nerd18​ @nonasficcollection​ @stricken-with-clairvoyancy​ @the-sunshine-dims​ @themagicheartmailman​ @themultishipperchild @thenaiads​ @treasureofpriam​ @vianadraws​ @welovelogansanders​  
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Patton shows up at Virgil’s dorm room just slightly after six pm on a Tuesday with two thermoses of soup that are still warm to the touch, a halloween tupperware of chocolate chip cookies that had been passed between him and Virgil so many times that Patton really doesn’t remember whose it was originally, his laptop, phone, the chargers for both, and the board game Trouble.
Virgil, predictably, shuts the door in his face the second he sees the game box hidden under all the other things in his arms. Patton also thinks that Virgil tells him to go away, but it’s muddled by the door.
Instead he shuffles all the supplies to his left arm and knee, and knocks again on his door just below the leftover tape from the nametag that his RA keeps putting up and Virgil keeps ripping down because he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he sleeps. His knuckles hum with the rap, datatata dat dat! And he smiles even when there’s the sound of something being thrown at the door from that side.
Patton chooses not to hear it because he’s a good friend and an even more stubborn houseguest.
The door a little bit down the hall opens up with the usual fanfare of someone who is running late to a night class-- which of course is the charm of Roman Prince. He looks nice, as usual, and Patton even thinks that if he hadn’t been wearing two different colored shoes, no one would even know that he had probably just woken up from a nap. The music of his room blares out into the hall with a rap song Patton thinks is Hip With the Kids these days, but Patton himself can’t make out any of the actual words.
All the much better because he’s pretty sure it’s Remus’s music and Remus likes his songs like he likes just about everything else: dirty, scandalous, and offensive. Not that Patton is good friends with either of the Prince siblings, but he’s heard the rumors floating around about both. Roman smiles at him, with glittering white teeth and dimples and soft warm brown eyes that could have been made of melted chocolate.
“Oh! What a spectre!” Roman says, seeming to forget that he’s on the way to a class at the sight of Patton standing at Virgil’s door. “Tell me, angel, what brings a glorious sight such as you to our dorm buildings on this amazing day?”
Virgil’s door swings back open before Patton can answer and Virgil hisses from the darkness, the way he’s usually prone to do whenever Roman or Remus or their blatant disregard for the rules about music volume at two AM is brought up.
He looks not much better from the glimpse Patton got before the door was closed in his face earlier: he’s still pale to the point of looking sickly and dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, with his eye shadow smeared and his hair not brushed at all. There’s a red imprint on the side of his face that Patton thinks matches a crease in his blankets or pillows from where he probably tried to suffocate himself on and off all day between anxiously texting Patton all about “the absolute worst day of my entire life and no I’m not even exaggerating this time Pat”.
“Hi Virgil!” Patton says, as Virgil reaches forward and to take a thermos and the tupperware from his arms and glare unbidenedly at Roman. “I brought dinner!”
“I hate you,” Virgil says, and does not mean because he loves Patton’s Broccoli Cheddar Cheer Up Soup and he’s been in need of cheering up since Patton had seen his messages at noon on his way to his second class of the day.
Roman gasps like he’s offended on behalf of Patton who is not offended as much as endeared to his best friend of several years. “Virgil! How could you act so callus towards a beautiful muse such as this?”
“Get lost, Princey,” Virgil tells him firmly, grumpily, Virgil-ly. “He came here specifically to make a pun about my pain.”
“I do it with love,” Patton adds. “And I brought cookies to make up for it.”
Roman looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information and Virgil doesn’t give him time to find out because he kinda hates Roman-- although Patton always tells him that “hate” is a strong word and Virgil always says he means it anyway. Patton supposes that if he, too, had hallmates that played music louder than life up to the early hours of the mornings during Finals Week, and then cranked it higher when he knocked on the door to ask them to stop, he might also strongly dislike them.
Virgil ushers Patton into the dark room and then kicks the door closed while Patton is waving goodbye at Roman.
It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light level: Virgil was certainly making use of those thick blackout curtains! It made the whole room look like it was three AM, rather than six PM! There are blobs of stuff all around the room, piles of clothes and blankets that Virgil prefers to have on the floor rather than put somewhere where he’s not going to trip over it in the middle of the night, but Patton supposes that’s just how Virgil’s always been.
“If someone breaks in, they’re gonna trip over this shit and I will be out of here long before they can get back up,” Virgil had said the first time Patton had suggested maybe, possibly cleaning something until they found the floor.
The desk where Virgil did his school work is empty and the textbooks and computer that normally covered it are all on the ground like a massacre from what Patton can make out. Virgil shuffles through the room and ends up turning on the purple lava lamp that Patton got him three years ago so that they could at least see each other and the faux-floor, and even then he doesn’t look happy at needing that much. The elevated bed had the blankets ripped up from it and turned into a nest with Virgil’s phone light peeking out from the depths like some underwater cave with a sea monster in it waiting for an unsuspecting diver.
“Remind me, how you got into this building?” Virgil says, tiredly as he pries open the cookie container. “It requires a key and last time I checked, you don’t have one of those, Pat.”
“As if a key would stop me from checking on you!” Patton replies. He plops himself on a pile of clothes and clears away another spot for Virgil to collapse next to him, so that Virgil can’t exactly escape. “Now, what is this about Logan again? You were being kinda vague and world-ending-y again. ”
Virgil lets out a moan around the cookie he shoved in his mouth and drops to the floor next to Patton, to munch angrily or just upsetly without actually offering an answer, because he’s Virgil and he’s allergic to talking about things that upset him. Patton sets down his other thermos, his laptop, and his own phone to make room for the game between them.
“Must we?” Virgil asks as Patton sets up the board with a practiced hand. Even in the near darkness of the room he knows exactly what he’s doing, and could probably figure it out with no light at all.
“Of course!” Patton says. “You sounded like you were in Trouble.”
“ Sorry to disappoint.”
“It’s rather Risk -y of you to be self deprecating while within hugging distance.”
Virgil doesn’t say anything for a moment, just swallows the bite of his cookie and stares at the colored pieces in front of him. The board game is well worn and well loved-- one of the first ones Patton had ever gotten and one of the first ones he ever convinced Virgil to play with him. Although “convinced” is a strong word for how Patton had just been staring at the board numbly with red rimmed eyes when his father had asked Virgil to come over and try to coax him into eating something, anything, please .
They’d lost three pieces of the red team and one of the yellow and two of the green, but that’s okay because Patton generally played blue and Virgil had custom ordered four purple pieces for just the two of them a few years ago.
Carefully, placatingly, Virgil reaches a hand forward and pops the dice bubble for his number. He gets a four.
Patton gets a five.
“How many times have we played this one, Pat?” Virgil asks, in a voice much softer than before. In the faded purple light and the shadows, it’s hard to see the number on the die, and harder to see exactly what Virgil is thinking about with his eyes hidden like that. His nails are bitten down to the quick, ruining the black nail polish he spent an hour applying last weekend over their shared Biology notes.
Patton shrugs as he reaches forward to take his turn and pops the bubble. Honestly he didn’t think he could calculate the answer if Virgil pressed: this was their go-to game, this was his go-to pun, this is what they did even when the world was falling apart at the seams. It was easier to focus on moving playing pieces a couple pegs than it was to focus on the sound of a heart monitor or raspy breathing or bony pale fingers that shook when they tried to hold anything.
It was easier to find a way to win when the instructions were so clear, and the rules were so fair, and the consequences of losing were just having to put the game back in the box.
Virgil doesn’t say anything more and Patton doesn’t force him to, although he desperately wants to. He wants to reach out and catch Virgil’s hands in his own, he wants to give him a squeeze, he wants to wipe away the tear tracks in his makeup and he wants to tell Virgil that whatever it is, Patton will be there for him.
He wants Virgil to look at a game for once and have fun.
But the only sound in the room is the popper when they roll the die back and forth.
Patton gets the six first. He moves his second leftmost piece to the start and hits it again for a three.
Virgil stares his blue piece on the board for a long moment, without blinking. His hands lie limply in his lap and the tub of cookies sits at his knee. The purple light makes his eyes glisten sweetly, wetly, sadly, with a resignation that Patton knows and wishes he doesn’t. The lump in his throat swells up.
“Virgil?”
Virgil blinks. And then blinks again.
“Why should I even bother at this point?” he asks. He runs a hand up to his hair and tugs at the locks.
“Virgil, this is the opening of the game,” Patton says. “You can’t give up alrea--”
“But it’s not like I’m going to win,” Virgil says and Patton sucks in a breath sharply.
Oh. It was one of those days.
Patton thinks that he should have been expecting this; it had been a decent amount of time since Virgil last had refused to finish a game, and Patton had almost thought that maybe they had kicked those thoughts for good! That through sheer willpower and perseverance and proof to the contrary, they might have managed to rework how Virgil approached a challenge. That at one point Virgil might laugh and smile even when he wasn’t in the lead--
And yet, Patton’s sitting with one piece three spaces ahead of Virgil and Virgil is ready to call it quits. The game had just started. Patton had only been sitting in the room for a total of five minutes. Virgil hadn’t talked for more than a couple sentences.
It’s one of those days, except that Patton doesn’t think that it’s ever been this bad before, because usually they at least made it to the one piece around the board in Trouble , through to one check in Chess , through to one hotel being built in Monopoly , or one train ticket completed in Ticket to Ride .
“This is a sign, isn’t it?” Virgil continues. “I’m just being stupid even considering it. Of course I am. I always am. Nevermind, I don’t want to do this today Pat. Thanks for the soup and the cookies and I’m sorry that I made you walk all the way--”
Patton reaches out and snags Virgil’s arm before he can get all the way off the ground. The board nudges to the side dislodging several pieces into the surrounding void, but Patton thinks that he can replace a hundred playing pieces.
He cannot replace his best friend.
Virgil’s skin is cold, even though the room was comfortably warm, and he’s soft to the touch-- which is never what Patton expects when he gets those lightning quick hugs, when Virgil rests his head on his shoulder during movie nights, when they go shopping and there are crowds that make Virgil want to run for the hills and only Patton’s hand in his keeps him grounded there. Virgil is soft despite the jagged persona he puts on to drive away other people, and he hasn’t gotten any sort of touch in a while because he shuts up the moment that Patton’s own warmth floods over him.
The room holds the silence for an eternity: Virgil frozen halfway up from the ground, and Patton latching on to him like he can pluck all the reasons Virgil is upset out of his mind through osmosis. The lava lamp makes him look unreal, makes the silence ring louder, makes the lump in Patton’s throat grow larger.
“Virgil,” Patton says, “please.”
Please tell me what I can do. Please allow me to help. Please let me in.
“It’s stupid,” Virgil says.
Patton wants to laugh, because nothing that ever hurts Virgil has ever been stupid. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”
Virgil bites his lip and inhales with all of his chest.
“You didn’t go to any classes today. You’ve been crying. You’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.” Patton says. “Something happened. And it can’t possibly be stupid because nothing that affects you like this is can be anything less than something huge.”
Patton feels Virgil’s hand curl into a fist like he can hide his shaking when Patton is right there .
“Do you remember Logan Ackroyd,” Virgil says. “The senior a year older than us who I had Sociology with last year?”
The same Logan who took extra notes for when Virgil missed class and emailed them to him. The same Logan who offered Virgil a granola bar when he overheard that Virgil had missed lunch. The same Logan who helped Virgil break into the auditorium after school hours to search for his missing earbuds.
The same Logan who has eyes more knowledgeable than the entire galaxy, who wears a tie to class, who smells like coffee beans and pen ink and looks like he’d give really good, safe hugs.
The same Logan who Patton has never once met, but feels like he knows intimately thanks to Virgil’s starstruck rambles.
Logan must be something great and amazing. Patton has known that for a year now, from watching the months slip away and suddenly the ghost of Logan joins them on every outing, summoned by the blush over Virgil’s ears and the soft smile on his lips and the way that Virgil steadfastly won’t meet Patton’s eyes like it will prevent Patton from noticing the way that the senior is always on Virgil’s mind. Logan is kind. Logan is smart. Logan has a new book every day. Logan has a voice like the ocean waves.
Logan, Patton thinks, should have been more careful if he caused Virgil this much distress. Because there are things that Patton would do for Virgil that not even a cold blooded killer would consider doing.
“Yeah,” Patton says, with a smile soft and dumb and innocent. “You guys have Analytical Science together this year, right?”
Virgil lets go of his lip, and breathes out a breath that sounds like more relief than Patton is supposed to hear. “Yeah. Yeah. He, uh… yeah.” Virgil shifts back down, shifts so that he’s on his knees and Patton is right next to him, and they’re still touching and that warmth is stronger than the shadows made by the blobs in the lava lamp.
“Janus… Janus asked him out yesterday,” Virgil says, using his other hand to pluck at a thread in his jeans.
Oh. Patton doesn’t think cookies and soup were enough.
And golly, Patton doesn’t think Logan is as smart as Virgil is always saying he is either, because if he said yes in front of Virgil, he must have been the stupidest person on the planet.
Virgil is quiet, dismissible, a shadow in his own skin even on his best days. But he is not un-noticeable.
He carries an aura around himself that storms and thunders and promises danger to those that get too close. His laughter is a threat first and a comfort second. His smile is a knife blade that even Patton sometimes wonders if he might find in his back one day. Virgil was someone that you noticed and you stayed the fudge away from.
Unless you were Patton, who hadn’t been afraid of Death from the moment he watched his mother cough up blood over the cards to CandyLand, watched his mother turn into a real-life game of Operation, watched her breathing get ragged and her fingers struggle to hold playing cards between them.
Logan hadn’t been scared away by Virgil’s thunder, and somehow he had weathered the storm that Virgil put up to protect himself and lived securely in the eye of the hurricane. And somehow he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, had taken advantage of Virgil’s softening heart just to shatter it.
“He didn’t…” Virgil says. “Janus… he didn’t really mean it. I don’t think. It might have been a joke because they’re friends but Logan told everyone that he would only consider dating someone who could… could…”
“Could what?”
Virgil’s eyes flick down to the Trouble game board, to the pieces lost in chaos of the floor, to the box they hadn’t needed except for transport. Patton feels his heart thud in his chest before he crawls up his throat and he tastes it in his mouth along with the remains of the raw cookie dough he licked off the spoon while cleaning up.
Virgil’s words come back to him in whispers. But it’s not like I’m going to win. This is a sign, isn’t it? I’m just being stupid even considering it.
“Someone who could….” Patton says, “beat him in a boardgame?”
Virgil yanks the thread on his jeans sharply and nods without meeting Patton’s eyes. “I told you it was stupid.”
“Virgil,” Patton says. “This is great! We’ve been playing games together for years! You can beat--”
“That’s the thing!” Virgil says with his shoulders curling up to his ears and burying him in layers of excess fabric. “Pat, I can’t even beat you in a board game and I know all your strategies!”
“I don’t think that Trouble actually has any strategies. It’s really luck of the roll--”
Virgil peeks out of his hood enough to give Patton a miserable glare. “When was the last time I won against you, Pat? Be honest.”
Patton purses his lips. “I don’t think that’s fair, kiddo. I’ve been playing games since I was able to understand the rules--”
“You don’t even remember, do you.”
“It was Dominos and you won by twenty points.”
“Nice try, but you purposely miscounted and you actually won by two.” Virgil reaches out for another cookie and offers it to Patton without making any move to pull his other hand from Patton’s hold.
“You would have a lot more wins if you didn’t insist on not finishing games sometimes!” Patton says. “You never know the ending of a game until you play it out!”
“I could tell you that Logan was going to beat Janus in Chess the moment the opening moves were made,” Virgil counters. “He won in twelve moves and then the next game in six.”
Patton opens his mouth, but Virgil shoves the cookie in before he can actually say anything.
“And God Rest Remy’s soul because Logan obliterated him in Trivia Pursuit.” Virgil continues, “He turned Roman to mincemeat over Scrabble, and not only beat Remus in Poker, but won one hundred dollars off him too. I also watched him win in Othello against some kid he tutored in Calc, a game of Mancala with an art kid who was doing it for clout, and Stratego which he won before I finished reading the fuuuuuudging rules and made his opponent cry over it.”
Patton swallows down a bite of cookie that he didn’t not chew well enough because he feels it tear up his esophagus as it goes. Virgil politely ignores him dying for a second and offers him his own thermos of soup to help it down, before remembering that he’s supposed to be brooding and staring at Patton for too long makes him soft.
“Not to make a pun here, but no dice; I legitimately cannot beat Logan,” Virgil says. “He’s just… so good. At everything. What is the point in humiliating myself with this? Even if I find a game so obscure that he’s never heard of it and doesn’t have a strategy built for it, just going up to him and putting the board between us is like-- that’s telling him that I’ve had this massive stupid crush on him for ages and what if he doesn’t even like me? What if I win and then he has to date me because he said so but he actually hates me? What if--”
Patton coughs so hard he thinks he might have dislodged his own lung, which is fine!! Because at least it got Virgil to snap back to him and table his panicky spiral for later.
“Weren’t you,” Patton croaks, “Weren’t you already going to confess to him? You bought the chocolate kisses and you sent me pictures of them in your bag right before class last week.”
Patton can’t see Virgil’s ears because of his hood but he knows that they’re glowing red from the way that Virgil can’t meet his eyes again.
“I just….I did but then he….” Virgil nudges a pile of questionably clean band t-shirts with his socked foot. “He said he wasn’t interested because class was starting and I still don’t know if he meant an actual kiss or a Hershey kiss because he had to leave class early to pick up his kid brother from his middle school because he was sick with a fever and then I was too mortified to bring it back up-- See Pat, I can’t even come up with a creative way to tell Logan that I wanna listen to him ramble about jellyfish immortality and play with his hair or tell him that I wanna know what the flavor of his chapstick is-- which, by the way, I did say to him and he told me was cake batter and that I could find it at the corner drugstore because he thought I was looking for recommendations-- There is no way to subtly tell him that I want to date him.”
“Then maybe… don’t be subtle?” Patton suggests, and then points at the game between them. “Boardgame?”
Virgil scowls at the game like it had personally offended him. “But I can’t beat him. And if I lose and by some miracle he still wants to be seen with me, then he’d be breaking the very rules he set up and everyone else who lost is going to be pissed at both of us and I can’t do that to Logan.”
Patton bites back the then don’t lose that he wants to say. It seems so obvious to him. He doesn’t really see why Virgil doesn’t think he can win one single game. There isn’t even a rule that says Virgil can’t come back and play again-- which isn’t that the point of games? That you can play them for a little while, pack them up, and then come back to them later? That you sit down with friends-maybe-more and you play and have fun ?
Not for the first time, and not for the last time, Patton wonders why Virgil ever played games with him at all. He knows the first time was pity because he found Patton sitting on the floor of his bedroom with Trouble on the ground in front of him and staring at it numbly because he had cried all the tears out of himself already at the hospital, at the funeral, at the everything that had come after that he couldn’t remember. The first time it had been to get Patton to react because he had been so lost, but every time after that Virgil had made the conscious decision to pick up the pieces.
Even if sometimes he had put them back down halfway through and Patton hadn’t figured out how to convince him that the point isn’t to win as much as it is to have fun.
Virgil twists his wrist loosely in Patton’s grip so that he’s holding Patton back, his cold fingers somehow feeling comforting rather than startling. Patton has always loved that about him, although he’s never sure how that works. The coolness of his touch is familiar, but the vulnerability of Virgil reaching out is something newer, something special, something fragile and Virgil holds onto him like he’s expecting Patton to let go at any moment and Patton steadfastly refuses to let him drift off. Patton squeezes his wrist gently, lightly, softly.
I’m here. I’m not leaving. We’re in this together.
“I think that Logan can make decisions for himself,” Patton says with words so featherlight they barely move the air. “Remember the dominos? Any player can choose to lose, whether it be miscounting or it be refusing to finish the game in the end. But if you never even offer to play with him… Logan can’t make that choice, Virgil.”
Virgil holds his gaze for a moment, two, three, and there’s something in his eyes that shies away from the glow of the light, something slippery and weak and scared. Something that Patton is afraid to put a name to, lest it disappear from him forever.
Something that causes Virgil to squeeze his wrist back.
Together. Us. We’ve got this.
“So what game do you want to play with Logan?” Patton asks. “We can go look at my collection if you want? I loaned out Backgammon to a girl in my Shakespearean class, but other than that I have the usuals with me.”
Virgil takes a deep breath. “Can we…” He says. “Do it tomorrow? I don’t want…” He squeezes Patton’s wrist again and Patton can fill in the rest of the blanks with his own interpretations. He is, after all, fluent in Virgilese, as much as Virgil is fluent in Pattonish.
“Yeah, yeah,” Patton says and shifts through the piles of clothes that act as cushions so he’s right next to Virgil, pressing their shoulders together, leaning his head on Virgil’s collarbone, and reaching around him for another cookie. Virgil moves the tub between them and then pulls the Trouble game board in front of that.
He hesitates for another moment-- they’re missing two of Patton’s blue pieces to the floor, and one of Virgil’s purples to a pile of sweatshirts-- but the fact that Virgil drops forward and presses the bubble to roll the die makes Patton’s chest warm.
He gets a six, and then a four and that thing in his eyes seems to grow just a bit stronger.
That is, of course, when the rap music from next door starts up loud enough to shake the entire room and Patton wonders if Logan would still be up for playing a game with Virgil when he’s incarcerated for second degree murder.
Patton, at least, gets a hug out of it, when he tackles Virgil to the ground before he can get to the door, and he manages to coax Virgil back to their area, back to the floor, back to the game, and then later into the blanket-fort-and-movie-night that they watch with one earbud each and their foreheads pressed together late into the night.
***
Patton’s mother developed lung cancer when he was seven. He remembers it in vague flashes: the blood, the shakiness, her fall to the floor because they had never had any sign of it happening until it was too late to do much about it. He was told it was because his maternal grandparents both smoked a lot when she was growing up and she spent the weekends helping them around the house still.
The doctors said she had a year. She got eighteen months.
He barely remembers her face from his own memories anymore, all of them blurred and twisted by the passage of time that he almost got swept away in entirely. Her picture still hangs around the house, though, and he guesses he’s lucky in that regard. He liked how he could see her every time he passed by the stairs, even after his dad remarried and he had grown up and the telemarketers stopped calling the house to tell her that there was an interesting charge on the credit card she didn’t have anymore.
He still wakes up sometimes with his heart beating in his ears and his eyes blinded with tears and his lungs refusing to cooperate because of nightmares about forgetting her entirely, of seeing her stand up to call out to his dad, of seeing her cough out blood and then fall to the floor right in front of him as his dad is running down the stairs. He still wakes up and feels his heart aching where she might have once been if everything had gone just a little bit different. He still wakes up and wishes that he could go back to sleep because at least in his dreams she’s still there waiting with a deck of cards and a smile that says, “Alright, Buster, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you this time!”  
Usually those types of days he labels as “Bad Ones”, and he finds it harder to crawl from under his blankets to do pretty much anything.
Virgil knows immediately when he sees Patton staring at his black laptop screen that it’s a Bad One.
Patton loves that he knows not to ask, hates that Virgil can read him so easily, wants to cry because it’s been so long and shouldn’t the edges of that pain have gone away by now? He wants to pull Virgil’s purple comforter back over them and drift back off into the blissful warmth while pretending that the idea of a game right now didn’t make his hands shake.
She hadn’t left Patton specifically a lot of things, but the things that she had left him had been boardgames. Things that she had collected over the years and kept on a shelf in the study for them to play after work and school: Candyland, Trouble, Snakes and Ladders. She had a whole shelf for him when he got to an age where he could understand more complex concepts: Ticket to Ride, Pandemic, Mysterium, Star Realms, Settlers of Catan.
After she was gone… Patton had stared at that shelf and wondered if she had ever thought that maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to play some of them with him.
He wonders how many of them he could have beat her at, how many of them she might let him win in, how many of them they would love to play together and how many of them they would both play through once and then wrinkle their noses at because it wasn’t what they thought it was going to be.
He wonders and maybe it’s a bit too much because he’s stomach is rolling nauseously and he thinks that if he has to look at a game he’ll actually throw up this time.
Virgil doesn’t say anything, even as he gets up and Patton remains buried under too many blankets and the alarm on his phone goes off again for his morning class. The darkness is safe and warm and Patton thinks he understands why Virgil likes it so much as he closes his eyes and tries not to think of a woman who is long gone and in the ground.
“Breakfast?” Virgil whispers at some point.
“Cookies,” Patton mumbles back.
Virgil had carted a hand through his curls and then the door to the room had opened closed and locked behind him. Patton thinks that was nice of him-- to lock the door like he was protecting anyone from coming in and stealing his valuables even though Patton was there. Or maybe since Patton was there? Patton presses his head into a pillow that smells vaguely like chocolate cherries and black licorice and other things that screamed Virgil, and thinks that Virgil might consider Patton a valuable that needs to be protected and kept safe.
Sometime later Patton wakes up with Virgil lying beside him, headphones on and typing on his computer with one hand while dragging fingers through Patton’s curls with the other. It’s impressive of him by itself, but not nearly as impressive as the fact that Virgil’s hood is down and the blackout curtains are parted enough to bring in a decent amount of light.
Virgil blinks at him and removes one earmuff. “I read that flowers need sunlight to grow,” he says in lieu of explaining the rays of light cascading into the room over the two of them.
Patton wants to laugh, and thinks he might if it were any other day and not this one. He settles for a somewhat bent smile and Virgil reaches to somewhere he can’t see and brings back a muffin from the Campus Cafe.
“Chocolate Chip,” he says. “Which is like a cookie, but better because it’s a muffin and I said so.”
Patton can’t really tell if the tears that prick in his eyes are from the lingering sadness or the softness of just a simple gesture from his best friend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.
It’s a muffin, not something he should be crying over, and he repeats it even as he takes a bite from the top and Virgil pretends like he doesn’t see Patton scrubbing his cheeks as he chews. It’s a muffin, but Virgil got it just for him and Virgil came right back here and sat with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone and sad and and and--
And if Patton liked anyone romantically like that(™) he thinks he would have fallen straight into love with Virgil.
“Did you miss class?” Patton whispers.
Virgil shrugs. “Nothing important. I sent an email to my teachers saying that I wasn’t feeling too good and didn’t want to risk accidentally spreading anything to anyone, which already helps because I didn’t go to class yesterday and I’ve already turned in all my work for the week for most of my classes. Besides, you were here and I didn’t want to just leave you all alone-- what if Roman started playing his Disney compilations at 160 decibels again?”
“You like Disney, though.”
“I also like my hearing and my best friend,” Virgil says like it’s nothing, like it’s obvious, like it shouldn’t be making Patton tear up again because Virgil is just so nice.
“I’m sorry,” Patton whispers.
Virgil moves his computer and jostles around on the bed until they’re lying side-by-side even though the bed was definitely not made for two persons. He presses his head to Patton’s, and he’s cool and soft and safe.
Together. We got this.
“Your mom?” He asks.
Patton nods, with a lump in his throat that makes all the words he wants to say crumble to ashes on his tongue. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Pat,” Virgil says.
“But… Logan…”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Virgil says. “And, full offense, but no boy is going to be more important to me than you regardless of how fuuuuuuunkily hot he is. Funkily, yeah, sure, that’s a word that I definitely was going to say right there.”
Patton feels the laugh build up in his chest, against all the odds in the world, and it tastes like chocolate when it rolls out of his mouth.
Virgil bumps his shoulder, and grins. “Look, I’m trying here. Cursing is in my nature!”
“Thank you,” Patton says. For everything.
“No prob, Bob,” Virgil says. I would do it all all over again and never change a thing.
“I’m not Bob! I’m Pat!”
Virgil’s laugh is like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm, like a rainbow cascading through the sky, like being caught after a fall. Patton gets the energy to smile back when he hears it and that alone nearly makes him want to cry again.
Patton twists the blanket under him between his fingers and takes a deep breath. “Did you…” He says before pausing to swallow back the taste of his own stomach acids he’s not sure is entirely imaginary. “Did you pick a game? For Logan?”
Virgil’s nose twitches, which means the answer is a sound no. “It’s not that important right now. You’re not feeling up to--”
“ Vir -gil,” Patton says and Virgil’s nose twitches again.
They share a look for another minute, two, three, before Virgil exhales and looks away.
“Fine, fine,” he says. “I didn’t pick out a game yet. I actually saw him in the Cafe earlier with Janus and he waved, though, which was awesome until I waved back and forgot to look where I was going and walked straight into a glass door. At this point it’s going to be a miracle if Logan doesn’t laugh in my face when I ask him to play anything with me.”
“He won’t laugh at you,” Patton says and Virgil slides his arms up and crosses them so he can bury his chin in them like he doesn’t believe Patton at all. “From what you’ve told me, Logan is really nice isn’t he? And the other day didn’t you say that he went on a rant about Pluto being a planet? I think that’s just as silly as you walking into a door.”
Virgil hums to show he’s listening, even if he isn’t taking the words to heart as much as letting them filter through his ears. Patton licks the last of the chocolate muffin from his fingertips and blinks away the urge to hide away from the rest of the world when he spies the box for Trouble on the ground next to Virgil’s desk trash can.
Virgil follows his gaze to the box and he purses his lips, although Patton isn’t sure if its from the fact that he’s remembering that neither of them won last night, or if he’s thinking about odds of beating Logan again or if he, too, is thinking about ghostly fingers trying so hard to move playing pieces that they can no longer touch.
Patton rolls over and stares at Virgil’s ceiling instead, counting his breaths until he feels like the static between his ears isn’t going to overwhelm him.
“What game do you want to play?” Patton asks.
“I won’t win.”
“I didn’t ask what game you wanted to win,” Patton points out. “What game do you want to play against Logan?”
Virgil is quiet, but he sighs so heavily that Patton can see his bangs flutter out of the corner of his eyes.
“This is going to sound stupid,” Virgil says, and again Patton remembers that nothing Virgil ever says has ever once been stupid. “But I don’t want to play against him at all.”
Patton frowns, rolling his head to the side to take in Virgil’s gaze that is already looking at him. His dark eyes are there and the something in them that Patton doesn’t want to put a name to is there again, shining just like the rays of light between Virgil’s blinds.
“I mean I want to play a game with Logan, just not against Logan. It’s stupid, okay? I was just thinking about the cooperative games back at your house that we used to play with your dad and step mom-- you know like the Unlock , Escape-room-in-a-box games? Or maybe Flashpoint? Or Forbidden Island? I was just thinking how shit I am at making my own decisions in Pandemic and Logan is really good at strategy so I bet that working together we’d be able to beat any game.”
Patton breathes deeply, sharply, and tries to ignore the piercing pain in his chest at the mention of the games. Virgil winces like he wants to take the words right back out of the air and hide them somewhere where neither of them have to face them at all.
“I don’t…” Virgil says, “I don’t want to play against him and lose. I’d rather play with him and win. Again: it’s stupid.”
Patton closes his eyes, and sees the shelf his mom left him full of boardgames she picked out long before he was past chewing on building blocks, of him at eleven years old finally getting the courage to drag a kitchen chair to the case and pick out a game while Virgil stood by to make sure he didn’t fall and to remind him that it was okay if he didn’t didn’t feel strong enough to try, of the two of them sitting at the kitchen table with the game directions between them that don’t really make any sense because it there’s no directions on how to attack each other when his dad comes home early and freezes at the sight
He might not remember his mother’s face outside of photographs he doesn’t remember being taken, but he remembers clearly the softness of his father’s expression when he dropped into the seat next to them and asked if they knew how to play this one yet.
“It’s a cooperative game,” his dad said, with a voice shaking and eyes wet. “That means we all work together to get to the goal at the end. Each player is going to have a different superpower-ability-thing that they can do that will make it easier for us to win as a team.”
So no, Patton doesn’t think that it’s stupid at all. It’s hard to do things by themselves, it’s scary, it’s difficult, it’s frustrating. That’s why when Virgil is texting him that the world is ending because of a boy, Patton will always show up at his dorm with soup and cookies and a game for them to play together instead of telling him that he’s being dramatic and silly. That’s why when Patton is missing a woman who hasn’t been in his life for twelve years now, Virgil will always stay with him to remind him that he’s going to get through it, instead of telling him to suck it up.
It’s much easier to win when they’re on the same side.
And Virgil has only ever had fun when playing games that he wins, hasn’t he?
“Why don’t you?” Patton asks suddenly.
Virgil must have nodded off because he jerks suddenly when Patton speaks up, “huh?”
“Why don’t you play a cooperative game?” Patton asks. “What did Logan say specifically about the whole dating thing?”
Virgil rubs an eye and squints at him tiredly. “I told you, he said he would only date someone who beats him at a game. I don’t--”
“Did he say beats him, or beats the game with him?”
“Neither?” Virgil says. “He literally said to Janus very loudly, “I will only consider someone a viable romantic partner if they can win in a game with me.””
“In a game with me,” Patton repeats. “ In a game with me. Not in a game against me!”
It takes Virgil a long, breathless moment to comprehend it, but it’s clear the moment it hits him. Virgil jerks so hard that he tumbles off the bed entirely and to the ground in a fumbling of long limbs, blankets, dubiously cleaned clothes, and his computer-headphones combo. Patton yelps and leans over to check on him but Virgil doesn’t even look like he noticed.
“Holy Shit,” He says, “holy shit, Pat.”
“Language.”
“ HOLY SHIT!” Virgil yells, and then he laughs and covers his mouth like he’s trying to bottle up the sound. “Patton! Patton! He didn’t say against!”
Virgil’s eyes sparkle, the light through the window makes his dark hair shine and just looking at him Patton thinks he’s never once seen him so happy before, so delighted, so excited.
So full of hope.
The next thing he knows is that he’s sitting up and Virgil is wrapped around him in a hug so tight, so soft, so cool and wonderful that those pesky tears come right back to his eyes. Virgil hugs like he’s unafraid of anything for just this endless moment, like he’s never been unsure of physical touch before, like he’s done it a million times before and Patton shouldn’t feel his breath catch in his lungs lest he shatter this dream with an exhale.
He’s standing at the eye of the storm that is Virgil, and he’s never felt so safe before in his life.
“Thank you,” Virgil whispers, “I, uh, I’m sorry for the sudden hug--”
And then, of course, Remus’s music comes back with a vengeance that rattles the ceiling tiles overhead and makes Virgil hiss and break the hug. Patton thinks that he could forgive it, if it weren’t for the unmistakable sound Disney’s Mulan soundtrack also ringing in the air, like it was trying to be heard over the rap music. Dust sprinkles from the tiles overhead.
“I’m going to kill them both,” Virgil vows, but Patton is quicker. He lunges forward before he even knows what he’s doing and coils around Virgil as tightly as he can, and just hugs him, his best friend, the guy who’s always been there for him, and who deserved all the happiness that he could get.
“Pat?” Virgil says.
“If Logan doesn’t treat you right I’m going to make sure no one finds his body,” Patton says.
And Virgil’s laughter makes it sound like he doesn’t quite believe Patton, but that’s okay. Virgil is still looking for reasons to play a game if not to win, and Patton is still trying to find a game that makes him smile, and together they’re going to figure out how to get Virgil to win with Logan.
But for now the hug is good, and the company is nice, and they have the game Trouble packed away ready for the next time they want to play.
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13uswntimagines · 4 years ago
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Tater Tot Emergency (Soran x Child!Reader)
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Request: I was wondering if you could do a soran imagine with the reader as their kid but the team doesn’t know and their kid is very sick with like cancer or something along the lines of that
Authors Note 1: So I changed this request up a little bit because I felt really uncomfortable writing about cancer. It brought up some really bad feelings and felt really heavy, so i changed to appendicitis instead.
Authors note 2: I’m not sure how i feel about this one, but i hope you enjoy it. Let me know what ya think or hit me up if you have ideas or just want to say hi. 
Emily and Lindsey loved camp. They loved seeing their team, and they loved playing footie. Yet, they weren’t as excited to be there as they usually were. Instead, their minds were more focused on a little girl just down the road hanging out with Lindsey’s mom for the duration of the camp. A little girl that had been in their life for just under a year, who they had never been away from before. They had heavily debated taking you to camp, but in the end, it was decided that meeting the entire team (besides Kelley who had been there during the adoption process), would be a little too overwhelming for your tiny body. They weren’t hiding you, they just didn’t know how to break the news to the rest of the girls. 
“Mom said that she finally got the tater tot to go down for a nap,” Lindsey sighed, sitting heavily on the bench next to Emily, who wrapped her arm tightly around Lindsey’s waist. 
“How was her fever?” Emily asked, leaning her head on Lindsey’s shoulder and eyeing the various pictures your grandmother had sent them. It sucked to be away from you in general, but right now it sucked all that much more because you were sick. You had come down with what they thought was a stomach bug, and all they could do was pray that it passed soon. 
“Holding steady at 101, and she couldn’t get her to eat,” Lindsey grumbled. 
“Did she try giving some to Roary first?” Emily laughed, grabbing Lindsey’s phone and examining the picture of her little one cuddled up with her stuffed Triceratops. You didn’t do anything without Roary, and your moms had used that to their advantage several times. 
When you didn’t want to eat your veggies, well Roary loved broccoli. When you didn’t want shots, Roary went first to show you that it wasn’t all that bad. The two women would be forever grateful to your Aunt Kelley for getting him for you. 
“Yeah, She even tried ice cream,” Lindsey mumbled, her eyebrows furrowing in worry. 
“And the munchkin still didn’t go for it?” Emily questioned exasperated. You never turned town icecream. It was your absolute favorite food ever and their Trump card. It was the one thing that could get you to do just about anything. Lindsey shook her head slightly. “She must not feel good,” Emily huffed. 
She hadn’t wanted to leave you in the first place, but your grandmother had convinced them that it was just a stomach bug, and you would be fine for the three days they would be at Camp. Now, she was entirely rethinking that decision. 
“What the hell are you two talking about. Who’s Roary?” Pino interrupted before Lindsey could respond, plopping down on the bench next to the two blonds, who shared a frantic look. 
“Um…” Lindsey started, not quite sure how to explain to the other woman that they had a 4-year-old daughter. A 4-year-old daughter who was currently not feeling too great. 
“Alright ladies, let's get back to work,” Vlatko called, catching the attention of the women who had crowded around Emily and Lindsey, who both sighed in relief. The crowd began to disperse, walking towards the field, except one woman. The only woman who knew that you existed, who sent both worried looks. 
“Everything alright?” Kelley asked, eyeing the two women’s distress. 
“We hope so,” Emily muttered, sulking back towards the field. 
It was halfway through practice when it was decided that everything was most certainly not fine. 
“Hey Linds, your phone is going crazy,” One of the coaches called out after Lindsey’s phone had buzzed for the 6th time in the last 5 minutes. Lindsey rushed over to the bench, grabbing the offending device, her eyes widening as she answered the next frantic all. 
“Hey Mom, everything Ok?” Lindsey asked, trying to sound calm, even though she most certainly didn’t feel that way. If her mom was calling then it had to be bad. She listened for a few seconds, her face becoming more worried with each word. “You’re talking too fast,” She said quickly, as Emily jogged up next to her, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “Are you at Memorial or NorthWest?” She asked, biting her lip and gesturing for Emily to start picking up their stuff. “Tell them to do it, we’ll be there as soon as we can,” She finished, hanging up the phone and shoving it into her pocket, and gesturing towards Vlatko, who came running over along with the rest of the team.  
“I got the bags,” Emily said as she heaved up both her and Lindsey’s bags. She didn’t know exactly what was going on, but she knew that it was serious and they needed to move now. 
“We need to go, now. My mom had to take her to the hospital.” Lindsey barked out towards Vlatko. He nodded, immediately. He knew about you by necessity, that way he would understand if any emergency were to happen. 
“Of course, do you need someone to drive you?” He asked, his back straightening and concern leaking into his voice. 
“No, we got it. Ready babe?” Emily said distractedly, checking to make sure that she had all of their things. 
“Who? What the fuck is going on?” Megan exploded, as several of the women behind her nodded. Sonney and Lindsey had been acting strange all weekend. They were glued to their phones and always whispering conspiratorially to each other. The women were going to get to the bottom of it. 
“Our daughter is having emergency surgery and we need to go, now.” Lindsey spat over her shoulder, grabbing Emily’s hand and moving towards the exit. Several of the women gasped, while others just looked on in shock. Kelley rushed forward, placing a hand on the women’s shoulders, and forcing them to turn around. 
“If you think you’re going by yourselves, you’re both out of your fucking minds,” She growled. She might not be your mother, but she cared about you and from the tears in both women’s eyes, they were in no state to drive. One person in the hospital was enough, they didn’t need any more emergencies.
“Guys,” Emily started, holding her hand out in a placating fashion. 
“No. She’s our niece and we always show up for family.,” Alex said firmly, standing behind Kelley and crossing her arms. Sure, they had just learned about you, but that didn’t make you any less their family. There would be time to quiz your mothers about you later, but right now, they just needed to support them. 
“Let’s get going then,” Kelley said grabbing the keys and rushing towards the vans. You were in trouble and they needed to get moving. 
“Lindsey, over here,” Lindsey’s mom called the moment she saw her daughter enter through the emergency room doors. Emily and Lindsey quickly made their way over to the woman, the women of the USWNT following behind them like lost puppies. 
“What happened?” Emily demanded, her mother-in-law nodded hastily. 
“Her temperature spiked, and she was in so much pain, so I brought her here. They said her Appendix burst,” she explained in a rush. Lindsey’s hands migrated to her hair, agitatedly pulling at the strands, while Emily rubbed her hands into her eyes with a groan. How the fuck did this happen while?
“Ah, you must be Mommy and Mama?”A tall, bald man in a white coat and scrubs approached the women,“And you must be the rest of the team?” He smiled gesturing to where the team had taken up residence in the cramped waiting room. 
“Is Y/n ok?” Lindsey rushed out, Emily nodded, wrapping her arm around her wife and looking at the doctor expectantly. They didn’t know what they would do if… the thought was too painful to even imagine. They shouldn’t have left you, even if it was with your grandmother and they were only a few miles away. 
“She’s stable now. The surgery was a success, we were able to remove her Appendix, and she’s currently getting set up in a recovery room,” He listed professionally. 
“But she’s going to be alright now,” Emily asked, desperation leaking into her tone. 
“Barring any infections and some pain around the incision, she should be fine. Kids typically bounce back pretty well,” The doctor nodded and all of the women took a sigh of relief. You weren’t totally out of the woods, but you could be alright.
“Can we see her,” Lindsey quieted, sniffling lightly, and trying to discreetly bring a hand up to wipe her nose. She felt a tissue being placed in her hands by a woman behind her, and she murmured out a thank you. 
“I’ll have a nurse come get you as soon as she’s been settled,” The doctor affirmed, smiling lightly, and turning to go talk to the nurse at the nurse’s station. 
“You two go in first, we’ll hang out here until she’s awake and ready to meet us. We don’t want to overwhelm her.” Tobin spoke quietly, rubbing Lindsey back, as Christen did the same for Emily. 
Lindsey and Emily’s breath left them as they entered your room and took in your appearance. Your little body looked so tiny in that bed, the numerous wires connected to you making you look impossibly more fragile. They couldn’t help the smile that cracked across their face at the sight of Roary laying beside you, a bandage wrapped securely around his middle in the place she assumed yours was. 
They carefully made their way over to you, Lindsey sitting on your right and Emily on your left, both women grabbing your tiny hands. 
“I can’t believe they bandaged the Dino too,” Lindsey laughed as she ran a hand through your wispy Y/H/C hair, brushing it away from your eyes. 
“Kel will be thrilled she’s so attached to that thing,” Lindsey whispered, running her fingers lightly over your cheeks. She smiled when your nose scrunched up cutely. 
“Mama?” You mumbled, your Y/E/C eyes fluttering. 
“Hey baby, Mommy is here too,” Lindsey smiled, leaning over so you could see her better, her thumb running soothing circles over your cheeks. 
“Hey monster, try not to move too much ok? You hurt your tummy,” Emily said softly, placing a soothing hand on your chest, to stop you from trying to sit up. 
“Dey fix Roary too?” You asked, squeezing the stuffed dino under your arm more tightly. The women smiled indulgently at you. 
“Yeah, and he said he’s feeling much better. What about you?” Emily asked, running her hand soothingly through your hair. 
“I’m otay. Can I have water?”You asked, Lindsey, raising her eyebrow at you.“peas?” You smiled mischievously at your mama, batting your eyelashes, and she rolled her eyes. 
“Kelley wants to know if her, Alex, Chris, and Tobin can come in?” Emily grumbled, glancing up from where she was texting updates to the USWNT group chat.
“Might as well bring in the whole crew,” Lindsey mumbled under her breath. Where one went the others were sure to follow, and though this wasn’t the perfect moment, she knew that the other women were worried about you. 
“Hey baby, there are some people who really wanna say hi, wanna meet them?” Emily questioned lightly, brushing the hair away from your eyes yet again. 
“You Team?” You asked, your eyes lighting up in excitement. You had only heard stories about the women from your Mommy, Mama, and Aunt Kelley. If they were half as cool as Aunt Kelley said they were, then you couldn’t wait to meet them (especially your Aunt Alex because Aunt Kelley made heart eyes every time she talked about her).
“Yeah, baby,” Lindsey said softly, replacing Emily’s hand on your chest to slow your excited wiggling. 
“Aun Kelwey?” You cheered. You loved the woman (not as much as you loved your mamas, but pretty close). She always told you fun stories, and she had given you Roary. 
“She’s there too,” Emily smiled lightly at your obvious excitement, standing and moving to go retrieve the said women. You and your Mama didn’t have to wait long before Kelley came busting through the door with the rest of the team following much more carefully behind her. 
“Hey short stack” Kelley smiled as she entered the room, (gently) tickling you and kissing your cheeks. The room’s atmosphere lightened at your giggles, and Lindsey and Emily shared a knowing look. 
“You knew?” Alex demanded, glaring at her girlfriend as the entire team trickled into the room. 
“Of course I knew that Frat Daddy junior had a junior of her own,” Kelley smirked, settling into her chair, watching as you tried to keep your eyes open. 
“Tired baby?” Lindsey asked quietly after a few minutes of watching you fight your obviously heavy eyelids. 
“Wanna meet the team,” You wined, quietening at your mama’s stern look. Just because you were sick didn’t mean you got to be a brat. All of the women awed at your dinosaur yawn. 
“Sleep baby dino, we’ll still be here when you get back,” Kelley said softly, rubbing your leg, as Alex did the same thing on your other side. They would be here for as long as you were to support you and your mothers. Plus, your mamas had some explaining to do. Now that they knew you exited, you had 20 other Aunts who were going to help you get better.
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yutahoes · 4 years ago
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Otou-Chan
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Yuta Nakamoto x Reader (Y/N) Smut
(Chapter Eleven)
Summary: 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐰𝐚 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝.𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚’𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.
Warning:  Fluff, Mentions of Sex, Teasing, Male Masturbation
Word Count: 2.3k
Masterlist
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️
11. Daddy
When six pm came, Ten went first while bidding the girl goodbye. Since she came to work late, she volunteered to clean up before leaving. "(Y/N), your boyfriend's here," he claimed and she rolled her eyes. "Hey, get inside. She still has things to do," he claimed before she could revolt. Yuta was already by the door in his dress shirt and slacks, different from the dandy boy that morning. Well, he really meant business now. The Japanese guy had to only bow at Ten who waved goodbye at the girl while mouthing that he's a catch, making her smile.
"You still have lots of things to do?" And she nodded while closing Jungwoo's computer. "Should we have a raincheck on that dinner?" he asked and she nodded, suddenly apologizing. "What time are you going home?"
She stopped to look at him who was staring straight at her. "I'm staying the night," she claimed that made him surprised. "My dad is getting out tonight and I don't really want to face him," she said sincerely while sitting down on her chair. "Besides, I'm late earlier. I can't go to work late tomorrow."
"Stay at my place." he offered and she shook her head. "I'll drive you early tomorrow. We won't have sex, I'll be really busy tonight," he claimed and she smirked. "Then go home, Yuta," she exclaimed then went back to her drawing. She's really cold-hearted, isn't she? Why is she pushing him off like this? And why is he so attracted to that?
Without any word, Yuta just left that made her sigh. It will be one long, cold night. She started editing her work which is really a work of progress, but she can't shake off the thought of Yuta. His lips, his biceps, his body, his cock, his eyes... Those eyes that drew her in, wanting to pull her to him. But she cannot have these feelings for him, he's too far to reach and somewhat, she can't really reach him. A knock on the door disturbed her, surprised that it was Yuta with a plastic bag on hand. Why is he still here?
He showed the bag which has take-home food from a steakhouse nearby, that insanely good steak house which boasts their high price of beef. "Dinner. I can't take you out so I guess I'll take you in," he said with a smile that made her so weak that she opened the door wide for him. Damn that smile, it makes him so lovable that she's hating how her heart kept on thumping on her chest. He went straight to what he believed was her table since it's the only spot with the lights on, smiling as he spotted what was on her tablet. (Y/N) quickly snatched it from him, hiding it. "You've been fantasizing about me so much," he claimed that made her glare, pouting at how she got discovered in making a sketch of him. "You are really talented." The sentence surprised her, does he really think of that? She muttered a silent thanks while blushing that made him smile. "Let's eat," he said while taking out the container from the plastic bag. "I don't know what you want so I ordered the same thing we had back in Paris."
"You remember what we had in Paris?" she asked and he nodded, showing her the wine that they exactly had during their first dinner together. "Your memory is pretty good."
Yuta just smiled as he sliced the steak for her. "I remember everything about you." then handed her the food container. "Go on, eat," he ordered that made her nod. "Busy day?" he asked while eyeing the work on her computer screen. An email was opened which is addressed to someone named Johnny Seo with an attachment. "So you really are an adult manhwa writer," he claimed more than to himself than to her.
(Y/N) had to laugh at that, did she not tell him about that? Or did he just doesn't believe her? "Wait, I thought you'll be busy tonight," she asked pointing her fork at him.
"I am," he claimed as he put broccoli on her fork that made her smile, eating it wholeheartedly. "But you agreed to have dinner with me so I had the night cleared out," he claimed that made her look at him. "Am I disturbing you?"
She shook her head as an answer. "Until what time do I have you?" Yuta answered ten pm and she glanced at the computer screen to see the time, she still has an hour left with him. "An hour? I don't think you roll like that and we have to finish our dinner." The guy had a confused look at her that made her sigh. "Sex, Yuta," she exclaimed. "One hour isn't even enough for you..."
The guy had to laugh at that. "You never fail to amaze me, (Y/N)," he claimed that made her stop. What does he mean by that? "I don't know whether to feel complimented or offended by that." Before she could react, he continued. "But I won't have sex with you tonight. Look at you..." he said then gestured to herself. "You can barely sit properly and I'm not that sadistic enough to abuse you." That made her blink, maybe what she said is really out of line. Why does she always think of sex when Yuta is involved? Maybe this is just like that coffee shop date back in Paris, simple and heart fluttering. "That brings me to my proposal. If you don't want to have a relationship with me, then I'll treat this as a business."
(Y/N) was listening clearly while staring at him intently. "Can you stop staring at me like that? You're making me crazy, I can't focus." And she giggled at how desperate he sounded. "Finish your food," he ordered that made her nod although she's already full. "Let's agree on something first. I don't want to call you my slut or my whore, or a fuck buddy at that matter," he claimed that made her look at him but he just tapped his fork on her food container. "Since you want it to be pure business, let's have ground rules. We need to have limitations. But first, what do you really want from me?"
The question threw (Y/N) off guard, what does she really want from him? Why did she suggest this setup anyway? "Well, you see, I'm an adult manhwa illustrator and I'm currently working on a project that will be my debut in the manhwa world," she explained and he nodded, focused at her. "And I needed inspiration, a model. That's when you came to the picture." Again, he nodded. "After I went back from Paris, Johnny agreed to let me have my own work to publish and I figured that I can get help from other manhwas or books but it's different, the way sex is when felt and read."
"So you need me for that?" he asked. "To feel sex, to experiment what you had in mind." And she nodded, suddenly not meeting his gaze. Why is this so embarrassing? "Okay then, I'll be your model. You can use me if you feel like it but you'll have to pay me." That made her choke on her drink. Pay him? He knows that she had financial trouble and yet he's asking her to pay him. Of course, there must be a catch on that. But is having sex with her isn't enough for him? "You'll go on dates with me." He really had his ways, doesn't he?
The girl nodded and he grinned. "So it's a deal then?" he asked and she kissed his lip that surprised him. "It's a deal," she claimed then ate her food. "Don't you have any ground rules or limitations?"
The girl bit her fork, looking at him at the sudden question. He's such a great negotiator, maybe that's why he' so good with his business. "Then what do you want from me?" she asked, mirroring the same question he had earlier.  
He smiled at her and she gasped at how angelic he looked, a total irony. “I want to take care of you,” he claimed while tucking a loose hair behind her ear. “I’m serious when I said that I wanted to adopt you.”
But the girl chuckled at that which made him raise an eyebrow at her. What’s so funny? “Adopt me? As a pet or as a daughter?” He smirked at that, it can be one way or the other. “Should I call you master? Sir? Daddy? Appa? Abeoji?” Damn it! The things he wanted to do to that mouth just to shut her up. “What do you call a father in Japanese?” This girl, really.
“Otou-san.” he said with a smile. “But you cannot really address me as –san, we’re the same age.”
“Otou-chan, is that right?” she asked and he gave a haughty smile. The girl ate the vegetable on her plate, letting the fork linger in her mouth. “Otou-chan.” Yuta pursed his lips. Why does she sound so good speaking in Japanese?
Yuta removed the fork from her mouth. "You really make me want you," he said in a low voice. In no time, (Y/N) was pulled on his lap, her hands on his chest going down. They started kissing, tongues battling against each other. His hand was on her side, rubbing circles while the other was tugging her hair. He started attacking her neck and she moaned at how he sucked the soft spot on her skin that makes her breathless and tingly. Yuta's mouth is really so good that it turns her on so much, making her really wet. She started grinding on his lap that made him groan. She could feel how hard he's being and started rubbing his throbbing arousal with her hand that made him curse in Japanese. “You’re fucking beautiful, baby.”
The girl laughed then gave him a quick smack on the lips. “Fathers shouldn’t fantasize their daughters.  That’s weird, Otou-chan.” she said cutely but he just pulled her closer. “The things I want to do, (Y/N). Thank God I’m not sadistic enough.” The girl feigned a shock, mouthing ‘You’re not?’ that made him laugh.
A ringing of the phone disturbed the two of them, making (Y/N) move back to her seat. "It's ten pm already," he claimed as he took the phone which registered Doyoung's number. "I have to work," he claimed then canceled the call. He lightly glanced at the girl who was just staring at him. "Damn, I don't want to leave you." He pulled her chair closer to him. "Can't you just stay the night with me?" 
(Y/N) smiled then shook her head. "You wouldn't finish your work if I get too close to you." And he nodded as if agreeing to what she said. Another ring and she lightly glanced at his phone. "You should really go." he nodded then stood up, cleaning up the food containers and putting them back in the plastic bag. He quickly threw it by the garbage can and smiled at the girl who was looking at him. He bid farewell and she gave him a naughty smile that made him squint his eyes at her, "Take care, daddy." she said that made him look at her once again. Fuck, this girl is really something.
--
Yuta cannot really focus on the web conference he had with some foreign investors. Why do they have to start at ten-thirty when they can just talk at eleven? Maybe he still had time for (Y/N) and take care of this arousal. He remained poker face the whole time, his business-like image, in front of the computer screen but under the desk, he was holding his cock. Why does she need to call him daddy and make him crazy like this? Honestly, he doesn't know that he had it in him but he wanted to hear her shout his name while he pounds her tight hole. He wanted her to whimper under his touch and beg for her daddy to make her feel good. He wanted her so much that when the conference ended, he immediately closed his laptop and started jerking his cock as if fucking her. Damn, the things he can do for this girl. He can't wait to feel her again and all he could think of is when will she need him.
But she never called again even if days passed. Did she forget about him already? And he thought there's something going on between them. But can he disturb her like this? What if she hates him for being clingy? This is really frustrating. "(Y/N)?" Jaehyun repeated once he asked about her. The three were out again because of Taeyong's request, just because Doyoung called and told him about Yuta being distracted at work. "She's really busy with the manhwa lately, I don't think she's going home because of that," he claimed that made Taeyong look at the other guy who was listening intently. "It's a big break for her if Johnny decides to publish her work." And Yuta nodded at that, she did mention that. The reason why she wanted to be in this set up with him. "But I think it's a go, she'll just need a sponsor for the finance."
The guy smiled but before Yuta could answer, Taeyong suddenly spoke up "I'll do it, I'll sponsor her." that surprised the two of them. "If she finds out that you sponsored her, do you think she'll be happy with that?" he asked and the other nodded. She didn't accept his money in the first place so sponsoring her would really push her out of his life. "Besides, Jaehyun is helping the two of you. I wanted to help too. I just wished that you would get fucked after this." he teased, making the younger laugh and Yuta annoyed.
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️
Chapter 10 / Chapter 12
102 notes · View notes
ezzydean · 4 years ago
Note
Number 19 of the winter prompts with rare pairs of your choice both as the mistletoe misfits and their “victims” thank you!
So this is... yeah.  Better late than never and all that I suppose. 
5+1 - Five times Iwaizumi & Tsukishima got other people under the mistletoe and one time they were caught under it
ONE
Hajime freezes when he hears the distinct sound of someone pointedly clearing their throat behind him.  Unfortunately freezing makes him go a little bit wobbly — he feels it reflects more on the condition of the step stool he found in the supply closet than it does himself thank you for asking — and he barely manages to stick the pushpin into the ceiling before he half steps half topples off the stool and slowly turns around.  Tsukishima is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, wearing an unimpressed look on his face and a sweater that reminds Hajime a little bit of the kind of ridiculous things that Oikawa always manages to find around the holidays.
“I’m the mature, responsible one,” Hajime says before Tsukishima can even open his mouth.  “No one will believe you if you try to rat me out.”
“Sawamura would,” Tsukishima counters.  “He trusts me.”
“He’s too busy trying to keep Tanaka from convincing Hinata to dye his hair purple to really pay attention right now.”
Tsukishima raises an eyebrow.  “Gee.  I wonder who put that idea in Tanaka’s head.”
Hajime shrugs.
“Do you think this is too obvious of a place to leave the mistletoe,” he says instead of admitting to anything.  “Or not obvious enough?”
Tsukishima glances up and then past Hajime into the next room.
“Depends on who you’re trying to catch with it.”
“Whoever I can.”
Tsukishima nods, gesturing for Hajime to move out of the way.  “Hey Kuroo,” he calls into the next room.  “C’mere a sec.”  He grins at Hajime.  “Pick a person.”
Hajime spins around and gestures frantically at the first person he makes eye contact with.  Nishinoya hurries over and nearly collides with Kuroo in the doorway, clearly too worried about the way Hajime had been waving him over to pay attention to what was going on around him.
Kuroo and Nishinoya laugh and start going through the motions of waving each other through the doorway when Tsukishima clears his throat.  He smiles sweetly when they look at him and points to the mistletoe hanging above their heads.
“Seriously, Tsukki?”  Tsukishima scowls at Kuroo but keeps pointing at the mistletoe.
Nishinoya looks up and laughs, cheeks flushing.  Kuroo rolls his eyes at Tsukishima but leans down and gives Nishinoya a kiss that, from Hajime’s perspective, Nishinoya seems to enjoy quite a bit despite how innocent it is.
Kuroo straightens up and rolls his eyes one more time before wandering back to whatever he was doing before Tsukishima called him over.  Nishinoya watches him go, cheeks flushed and eyes glittering.
TWO
The suspicious look Kenma gives him from the armchair as he tucks his phone under his leg would probably make a lesser man falter.  But Kei’s known Kenma for over a decade and has worked with him in the IT department for the last three years.  So he’s been on the receiving end of more than his fair share of suspicious looks from Kenma.
“Whatever you’re planning the answer is no.”
Kei huffs softly and gives Kenma an offended look.
“I am not planning anything.”
“Please.  I’ve seen you talking to Hajime.  I’m not an idiot.”
Kei shrugs.  “At least you don’t automatically assume he’s innocent and I’m the bad influence.”
“I’ve been the lead IT person for four years.  I’ve worked with Hajime for five.  Trust me.  I know he’s no more innocent than you.”
“I would say that hurts.”  Kei glances over his shoulder at the burst of noise and laughter that pops up from the kitchen.  “But your words haven’t hurt me since we were twelve and you called me a lanky broccoli flavored popsicle.  Whatever that meant.”
“It meant you were as appealing as a broccoli flavored popsicle.”
“So I’m an acquired taste.”  Kenma nods.  “I can deal with that.”  Kenma rolls his eyes and reaches for his phone, conversation ended in his mind, and Kei steps back.  “Let it be known I was gonna warn you.”
Kenma frowns at him and then his lap is full of flailing arms and a solid body.  Kei glances at the doorway that Hajime is peeking out from, looking surprisingly innocent considering he had just shoved Futakuchi hard enough to topple him into Kenma’s lap.
Futakuchi finally manages to get a grip on the arms of the chair and goes to lever himself up when Kei clears his throat and points up.
“I will plant a virus so good it will take you years to recover from it.”
“Just kiss him already.”
Kenma gives Kei a rather rude gesture but he pulls Futakuchi in for a kiss that the other man melts into.
THREE
Satori had seen the mistletoe hanging above the fridge.  Hell he had watched Iwaizumi climb onto the counter to stick it to the ceiling; he had been pretty impressed that Iwaizumi hadn’t fallen flat on his face considering how drunk he appeared to be.  It’s not like any of them are all that sober at this point so it’s not like he’s judging the man at all.  In fact he’s counting on the fact that none of them are all that sober because then they’re more willing to go along with his shenanigans.
Though some of them would be willing anyway.  They’re just that awesome of coworkers and friends.
“Are you the guard here or something?”  Satori grins and gives Wakatoshi a wink.
“Or something.”
“You planned the mistletoe didn’t you?”
“More like I’m taking advantage of something that was here when I arrived.  Using the territory to my advantage.  You want in the fridge?”
Wakatoshi smiles a little and leans down to kiss Satori’s cheek.
“Yes, please.”
Like he said.  He’s taking advantage of the territory.  He gets a kiss on the forehead from Sawamura.  A kiss on his hand from Kuroo.  Three kisses from Noya in about five minutes because he kept coming back in for more shots.  Kenma stares him down until he opts to step out of the way — the last time he pissed Kenma off he hadn’t been able to log into any network in their five building company for almost a month. and despite what some people think he’s not completely stupid.
Just a little reckless sometimes.
“Have you seriously just been standing in front of this fridge all night?”  He glances up at Tanaka’s voice and grins at him.  Recklessness often pays off.  Which is why he does it.
“I have been.”
“You know most people come to a party to socialize.”
“Basically every single person who has come to this party has come into this kitchen.  I am socializing.”
“By blocking the fridge?”
“By blocking the fridge.”
Tanaka glances around the kitchen and sighs.  “And if someone wants into the fridge because that’s where their drinks are?”
Satori grins even wider and tilts his head before he flicks his pointer finger up and gestures towards the ceiling.
“One kiss to get into the fridge.  That’s the fee.”
“Have you seriously been waiting here all night and just kissing anyone and everyone who comes along?”
“I mean. More or less.  I don’t necessarily mind kissing any of them but I will admit that I have been hoping for one particular person to come along more than the others and I haven’t kissed them yet.”
Tanaka raises his brows and eyes Satori.  “Oh?  And who would that be?”
Satori crooks his finger at Tanaka.  “C’mere and give me a kiss and I’ll tell you.”
He’s only been wanting to kiss Tanaka for about two years now and the moment their lips meet he knows that it’s been worth the wait.  Every moment of the last two years has been worth it.
“Tanaka what’s taking so long to get my—”  He has no idea how long they’ve been kissing when Tsukishima comes into the kitchen.  “Seriously.  Seriously?”  Tsukishima sighs and mutters something but Satori is too busy making up for two years of not kissing Tanaka senseless every chance he got to really listen.
FOUR
“It’s kind of hard to watch,” Hajime says as he sits on the couch next to Suga and grimaces.
“Yeah.  They’ve been like this since high school.”
“That long?”
“That long.”
“Damn.  And I thought Oikawa and Makki were bad.”
Suga snickers.  “Oh they were.  These two are almost worse somehow.”
Hajime tilts his head as he watches the two men across the room.  “It’s impressive in a frightening way.”
“It really is.”
They watch the other men in companionable silence as the men laugh and talk, heads tilted together gently.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Tsukishima says and Hajime looks up in surprise.  He swears Tsukishima hadn’t been there just a second ago.  But now he’s perched on the arm of the arm of the couch next to Hajime.  “Put us out of our misery, Suga.  Please.”
Tsukishima hands Suga something.  Hajime can’t see what it is but it makes Suga’s eyes light up and he gives them both a wild grin before shooting off the couch and hurrying across the room.  Hajime figures Tsukishima will get up and take Suga’s seat but he just stays there perched next to Hajime as Suga grabs Mattsun���s attention and starts whispering to him.  The way Mattsun smiles makes Hajime wonder for a brief moment what kind of chaos Tsukishima just unleashed.
Then Suga is clambering onto Mattsun’s back and Mattsun is striding over so Suga can dangle the mistletoe in his hand over his unsuspecting victims.
“Daichi,” Suga calls out.  “Chikara.  I love you both and I know you both very well.  So just trust me when I say just kiss already.”
Daichi’s cheeks flush and Ennoshita looks ready to kill Suga but the entire living room starts to chant for them to kiss and Ennoshita shrugs and pulls Daichi into a deep kiss that has the whole room bursting out in cheers and whistles.
“So,” Hajime says.  “Who’s next?”
FIVE
He will deny it to his dying day but Kei actually does kind of have a soft spot in that dark pit he calls a heart for a certain overly enthusiastic ball of sunshine and happiness.  He doesn’t want to date Hinata but he does like to make the little shit happy when he can.  It usually doesn’t take much.  A cute cat meme or a meat bun left on his desk here.  The absolute destruction of an opposing company whose CEO thought Hinata was an easy target there.  Little things.
The look Iwaizumi gives him when he suggests giving Ushijima the mistletoe with a little bit of instruction is highly uncalled for.  It’s far too soft and fond and it makes it look like Iwaizumi thinks Kei is sweet or something.
“Do you want to do this or not?”  Iwaizumi snorts at Kei, which is also uncalled for.  “Look just give him the mistletoe and leave Hinata to me.  And stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m some puppy who just learned a new trick or something.”
“Whatever,” Iwaizumi says as he grabs the mistletoe from Kei.  “Just get him to us in a couple minutes.  I’ll make sure no one else is there.”
He watches Iwaizumi wander out of the room and takes a moment to brace himself.  No matter how long he’s known Hinata he needs to prepare himself to interact with the guy.  There’s just so much energy there.  It’s a lot to take in.
After he gathers himself he heads for the front porch.  He’s pretty sure he saw Hinata head outside a few minutes ago.
“Hey,” he says as he leans against the railing next to Hinata.  “How’s it going?”
“Not too bad.”  Hinata chuckles.  “You’ve been busy tonight.”
“Didn’t know you were keeping tabs on me.”
“Well when half our coworkers are suddenly making out it tends to draw some attention.  Especially since before this party all of one couple was already a couple.”
“That’s fair.”  Kei bumps their shoulders together.  “You wanna make another couple happen tonight?”
Hinata peers at him curiously.  “Who?”
“You and the tall wall of muscle you drool over during your lunch breaks.”
Hinata perks up.  “I like the sound of that.  But do you think he does?”
“Iwaizumi is talking to him now.  From what I’ve seen while you’ve been drooling it’s a safe bet that he does too.”  He pushes away from the porch railing and starts to head back inside.  “You coming with to find out,” he asks over his shoulder.  “Or are you going to chicken out?”
“Lead the way Tsukishima.  I’m not afraid of anything.”
Kei leads Hinata to the home office in the back corner of the house.  He can practically feel Hinata vibrating behind him and he shakes his head.  He opens the door and ushers Hinata inside.  Iwaizumi is leaning against the desk next to Ushijima but he pushes away from it when Kei and Hinata step inside the office.
Iwaizumi pats Ushijima’s shoulder and smiles at Hinata.
Hinata heads for the desk and Ushijima stands up straight when Hinata gets to him.
Kei doesn’t work with Ushijima much so he can’t read him the greatest but he thinks the guy actually looks nervous as he pulls his hand out from behind his back and holds a sprig of mistletoe above Hinata’s head.
Hinata smiles up at Ushijima and nods enthusiastically.
PLUS ONE
Tsukishima pulls Hajime out of the office just before Hinata and Ushijima’s lips meet.
“So,” Hajime sighs happily.  “Job well done all around I think.”
Tsukishima laughs softly and nods.  “We did good.  Though you weren’t nearly as sneaky as you seemed to think you were.”
Hajime waves his hand as they walk down the hall.
“Being sneaky wasn’t the point.”
“What was the point then?”
Hajime leans against the wall next to the hall closet and Tsukishima stops in front of him.  Hajime’s gaze flickers to the ceiling and then he watches as Tsukishima looks up and a smile slides onto his face.  He reaches out and grabs Tsukishima’s sweatshirt, tugging him closer with a grin.
“Come on and kiss me already.”
“Well if you insist.”  Tsukishima lets Hajime tug him forward until he’s pinning Hajime against the wall.  “Happy Anniversary, Hajime.”
“Happy Anniversary, Kei,” Hajime mumbles against his lips.
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alolowrites · 4 years ago
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Crowded Bird Cage
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Summary: Hawks enjoys having you around. Your pet bird, Sora, is still a work in progress. 
Author’s Note: I wrote this drabble on a whim since my brain is having trouble writing out a full fic for the hero camp bingo event. Please enjoy! 
Word Count: 556
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Hawks wishes for the day his ideal life comes true.
Less trouble on the streets means more free time he could spend with you; it’s as simple as that. Yet, simplicity is nonexistent in Hawks’ little world. Luckily, you are understanding and don’t mind when the hero randomly pops into your life. It keeps you on your toes.
However, Hawks wants to spend even more time with you. He craves to have you beside him, itching to fall asleep in your heavenly arms after a long day on patrol. So when you agreed to move into his apartment, Hawks’ wings flutter in excitement. He makes space for your arrival, but also realizes there is another companion tagging along too.
Sora, your rambunctious pet cockatiel.
The small bird stands only twelve inches tall and weighs roughly the size of a tennis ball. Dark gray feathers cover his body, with white markings appearing on the wings. A bright yellow face and splendid orange cheek patches only add to the bird’s majestic beauty. Somehow the color scheme perfectly captures Sora’s vibrant personality.
Now, Hawks thought having another bird would be no problem; heck, he’s a bird himself! Who else can connect better with Sora than him? However, Hawks underestimated one small detail—Sora’s unwavering loyalty toward you.
“Ow!” Hawks pulls his hand back, glaring at the cockatiel perched on your shoulder. “Babe, Sora bit me again!”
“You know he gets a bit cranky when someone invades his personal space.”
“But, I wanna give you a kiss hello!”
“I know you do,” you hum, affectionately scratching Sora’s head. He jumps onto your finger, and you put some distance so he doesn’t bite Hawks again. The hero sulks like a child as you give him a quick peck on the lips. You laugh before cooing at the bird, “Sora, can we say ‘Hi, Keigo!’ You love Keigo, don’t cha?”
Sora ruffles his feathers and puffs up into a fluffy ball. You meekly shrug at Hawks, who crosses his arms, completely offended. The bird flies up to your head; it’s his favorite place to sit besides your shoulder. Sora spares a glance at the hero before preening his feathers; Hawks’ golden eyes narrow at the pet.
“C’mon, let’s eat!” You carry two plates to the table. Hawks follows closely behind, his wings twitching a bit. Surprisingly, dinner goes well as Sora munches on a tiny broccoli. He usually tries to steal food off your plate when you’re not looking. Hawks savors the delicious meal you cooked and reaches over to hold your hand. Sora immediately attacks his fingers as if someone pulled on his tail.
A sharp hiss escapes his lips. Hawks annoyingly chews off a piece from his yakitori while Sora scurries away. The bird’s clinginess toward you is strong, but Hawks would be damned if he can’t enjoy some alone time with you. Hawks’ patience is wearing thin, so he decides to put his foot down.
“You gotta learn how to share, buddy,” Hawks points an empty skewer at the bird. Sora squawks in protest, and you shoot your boyfriend a deadpan stare. “What? Sharing is caring!”
“He’ll come around!” Hawks yelps when Sora nips his finger, and you giggle into your hand. You playfully add, “Eventually…”
“Damn bird.”
Guess this bird cage isn’t big enough for the two of them.
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confused-stars · 4 years ago
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Dusk is Dawn, Day is Night (Up is Down, Left is Right) - aka cloudfam au
Chapter Two on Ao3
or right here, for your convenience! (also here’s my ko-fi!)
Tenko sat atop one of the biggest trash hills on Dagobah Beach and watched the twig of a teenager try to move a way too big piece of debris. It was... kind of funny to watch him struggle, heels digging deep into the sand. But on the other hand, Tenko knew the kid had really been trying for weeks. This beach could be cleared pretty quickly if Tenko just used his quirk, but Toshi had explicitly told him not to.
But also Toshi wasn't here right now.
Tenko began climbing down the trash pile, years of practice scaling unstable debris making his movements quick and confident. He landed in the sand and pulled off a glove as he approached Midoriya. "Hey, let me get that for you."
The kid jumped, having apparently not noticed him before, but he stepped away when Tenko reached out. "Um, I'm actually supposed to be doing this for t-training..." The piece of trash - part of an old armchair from what Tenko could surmise - crumbled into dust.
"What All Might doesn't know can't hurt him." He shrugged, tugging his glove back on before he stuffed both hands into the front pocket of his hoodie.
Big, green eyes were staring at him in awe. "You're Dust Cloud! I've seen so many videos of your work in rescue, you're amazing, you clearly put so much thought in the way you apply your quirk, there has to be so much physics at work trying to figure out how to only disintegrate parts of a fallen building and not hurting the hostages in the process. How does your quirk work? It needs all five fingers, right? And it's more of a mutation than an emitter because you can't turn it off? Kacchan is kind of like that because his sweat is always explosive, no matter what. Oh, do you control where the decay spreads and how far when it's a large area? Is it true that you once rescued Endeavor's whole family from a villain attack? Are you-" Tenko slapped a hand on the kid's shoulder. "Please stop." He was a lot. Toshi hadn't been lying about that.
"S-sorry!" Midoriya was flushed entirely red and Tenko had to fight back a smile. He'd always thought he wasn't great with kids, but his family had left him no choice but to learn.
"Just slow down a bit if you're actually expecting answers," he suggested mildly, "C'mon, water break. I've been watching you for a while, you need to hydrate."
Midoriya made a soft noise in the back of his throat. "... you've been watching me?"
Tenko shrugged. "All Might couldn't make it today so he asked me to drop by and make sure you don't overextend yourself," he explained.
Midoriya stared at him. "I didn't know you worked with All Might!"
Tenko headed over to where the kid had dropped his backpack, Midoriya trailing after him. "I don't work with him, technically. But he trusts me." He paused. "Enough to tell me how he's planning on giving you his quirk."
Midoriya seemed to short-circuit for a moment. Tenko couldn't blame him. There would probably be a lot of that in the future for the poor kid now that he was involved with Toshi. It was just secrets upon secrets with him. Tenko being one of them.
"Are you still with me?" Tenko asked at the distant look in Midoriya's eyes as he pulled a water bottle out of his backpack and took a few large gulps. When he was finished, the kid nodded. "I just didn't... he hasn't mentioned you. N-not that there was much time to... he's always so busy, so-"
"Slow. Down." Tenko was going to get a headache. Oh, Oboro and Hizashi would adore this boy. Shouta would, too, but he'd try to deny it. And Himiko would be thrilled. Maybe they'd end up in the same class together.
Midoriya swallowed. "S-sorry."
Tenko sighed. "I'm not offended he didn't mention me. Don't worry about that. There's a lot he'll need to fill you in on, and he'll do that on his own time." Like who else knew about One for All, for instance, because it would be important for Midoriya to know who to trust. And it would be important for him to not only be relying on Toshi. As much as Tenko loved his dad, he wasn't actually a great teacher, and in his urge to do everything right all the time, coupled with years of traumatic experiences, he often forgot to consider other perspectives.
“He’s mentioned that, yeah,” Midoriya murmured, “There’s a lot more to this quirk than just… a quirk, isn’t there?”
He was clever. Good. It wasn’t that Tenko didn’t trust Toshi’s judgement, but it was still good to make sure for himself. “There’s… a lot,” he confirmed. They’d have to talk through how and when to reveal which pieces of information. It wouldn’t be fair to let the kid run into things blind, but overwhelming him was also a risk.
This absolutely could not be left to Toshi entirely. Tenko wasn’t the best for it, either. Shouta might be, his deadpan way of delivering information was often comforting. Or Oboro, with his easy empathy. Midoriya seemed like he might need someone gentle to help him along.
“Listen, kid…” Tenko cringed at himself. He wasn’t even that much older than Midoriya, it didn’t feel natural. “There’s a lot of people in your corner here. I’ll talk to All Might, and we’ll figure out how to prepare you for all this. Cleaning trash can’t be all you do. He cares about muscle a bit too much, if you ask me.” Tenko, of course, was mostly lean muscle, too, but the way Toshi used One for All had always been so reliant on strength. It didn’t have to be, though, clearly, when looking at Tenko’s grandmother. And Midoriya needed to grow stronger, yes, but it was doubtful that his fighting style would end up anywhere close to All Might’s. Tenko reached out and awkwardly put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Being a hero is about backing each other up, yeah? We’ve got you.”
___
After dropping Midoriya off at home, Tenko wandered the streets, moving in the vague direction of his own apartment. Meeting the kid had been a lot to process. Tenko liked him. He seemed like he’d make a good hero. If he’d make a good Symbol of Peace remained to be seen.
There was no doubt that Midoriya couldn’t be the next All Might. He looked up to him, but he was nothing like him. Maybe that was a good thing. A new generation always promoted change, and while the country would eventually flounder without All Might standing strong to protect it, maybe Midoriya would find his very own way of taking up his mantle.
He certainly had a lot of thoughts in that broccoli-like head of his. Hopefully he’d be able to adjust to the quirk itself alright. Toshinori had his plans for that, but it was a bit of a point of contention between everyone who knew about One for All. Or everyone involved in this situation directly, anyway.
Toshi had refused to contact Gran Torino about it, which Tenko kind of understood, but he was willing to take the first step himself if the old hero’s expertise was needed. Nighteye was another person whose help they could probably use, especially considering that he had a lot in common with what Tenko already knew of Midoriya. If nothing else, they’d be able to strike up a great conversation about limited All Might figurines or something like that. But, once again, Nighteye wasn’t someone Toshi was willing to talk to.
Shouta, of course, insisted that he’d have to get over his personal issues if he wanted to help his successor along to the best of his ability, and Tenko agreed. He just also knew Toshi needed some more time to think things through. And it wasn’t like they were in that much of a hurry.
As long as All Might didn’t get into any big fights and stuck to his time limit, he should be able to uphold his status for another couple years, until Midoriya was finished with high school, at least. That should be doable.
The first thought Tenko had when the window of the store on the other side of the street shattered was ‘oh, please, don’t let this be a sign’.
He broke into a sprint without even a millisecond of hesitation, past the stunned civilians who were just now beginning to turn in the direction of the incident. The shattering of glass had been accompanied by a dull, deep sound, almost like a heavy bass turned up too loud. Tenko had felt it shake his body faintly, even being a little bit further away.
“Call an ambulance!” he shouted over his shoulder at the nearest bystander, who hastily began fumbling with her phone. Tenko left her to it.
He jumped over the broken glass and carefully pushed the door open. There was no screaming or yelling going on, at least, which meant this probably wasn’t a villain. Hopefully.
“Hello?” he called, “I’m a hero! Is anyone injured?”
“Back here!” came the answer, a little delayed, and followed by a cough.
Tenko rounded a shelf that seemed to have had all its contents blown out that were now scattered across the floor, but the shelf itself miraculously still standing – courtesy of construction with both earth quakes and quirks in mind, most likely. The first thing he found on the other side was an older man slumped on the floor and holding his bleeding head. The vest and nametag he was wearing told Tenko that he was staff, and the clear-eyed look of relief told him that the injury wasn’t life-threatening at the very least. There was no use freaking out about head-wounds more than necessary, they always bled a lot.
That wasn’t the main reason for concern, though, and as Tenko took in the scene, his heart sank.
In the middle of all the destruction stood a tiny girl, hands pressed to her ears and shaking her head rapidly as she sobbed. A woman was kneeling in front of her, though a little ways away, seeming hesitant to touch her.
Tenko would estimate the girl to be about four years old, which made her the perfect age for…” “Her quirk,” said the woman, looking up to Tenko with wide eyes, “She just… this is the first time…”
Tenko understood all too well. He reached for the emergency pager he kept in his pocket and pressed the button. If he was very lucky, Eraserhead would be the one to answer his call. But either one of the other two would be great, too, after all, they knew better than Tenko did how to deal with a scared child who couldn’t handle the destructive power of their quirk.
“What are your regular methods of calming her down?” he asked, very carefully moving around the child, not getting too close just in case, and keeping his hands up in a hopefully soothing position. He wished he had his hero costume. Right now, he just looked like some guy with an admittedly not too reassuring looking face, and his habit to wear black on black wasn’t helping. He did put on a small, soft smile though, when the girl’s eyes snapped to him, and while she didn’t stop crying – now interspersed with small hiccups – she also didn’t blow up again, which was Tenko’s main concern.
“I… I just try to take her away somewhere quiet…” the woman who was probably her mother said. She was cradling her arm to her chest, clearly trying not to let on that she was in pain, but Tenko had been trained to recognize that kind of thing.
“Alright, thank you. Are you okay with staying in her line of sight for now?” Getting civilians out of imminent danger was always the first thing that needed to be done, but mothers and children were something else entirely. Tenko didn’t trust that the girl wouldn’t panic even more if her mother left her alone.
“I… yes. Of course.” The woman nodded, face set with determination now.
Tenko glanced around the scene again and took a breath. There were several hero action figures strewn about, most of them broken in some way or another. Some of them were making the noises of messed up voice boxes, repeating the lines that had been recorded for them, or just beeping incessantly.
He pulled off one of his gloves and crouched down, still feeling the girl’s eyes on him as he began to pick up the loud figurines one by one, the cacophony of background noise slowly fading as his quirk worked.
The girl’s crying was subsiding, too. But as Tenko looked up at her, her eyes were glassy and she was trembling slightly. She was going into shock. But she was slowly lowering her hands away from her ears, and that was all Tenko needed.
“Hey,” he said very softly, “It’s okay. Your Mama’s okay, and I’m a hero. I’m here to help, see? I got rid of all the noise.”
The girl sniffled slightly, but nodded.
“Oh, sweetheart…” Her mother seemed to be struggling not to run and wrap her daughter in a hug, but Tenko was glad she wasn’t doing it right now. It had to be incredibly difficult to fight against her own instincts like that.
“I hurt you…” The little girl’s voice was numb, too calm, stating a fact as she stared down at her hands. “I did… I did a bad thing.”
“No, no, I’m fine. I’ll be fine, honey, this wasn’t your fault,” her mother reassured her quickly, speaking a little too fast, hasty in trying to reassure her daughter.
Tenko wasn’t sure that would help. “Would you like to come outside with me?” They would have to take the backdoor to avoid all the onlookers, the gawking crowd that would already be waiting outside. Anything that would set the child off right now would result in even more injuries. Or worse, if they were unlucky.
The girl glanced at his hand, but Tenko put his glove back on and smiled. “See, my quirk doesn’t do anything dangerous when I’m wearing these. We’ll find something like that for yours, too, okay?”
She nodded slowly and reached out a hand, towards him rather than her mother. That was good. She trusted him as a hero to take care of her, even at this age. Having hurt her mother, it made sense she wouldn’t want to touch her right now.
There would be a lot of counselling needed for her to recover from this. But the worst had been averted, and when the girl’s tiny hand slid into Tenko’s, he held fast.
Ten minutes later, Tenko was sipping the free coke the store owner had given to him as a courtesy and watching the ambulance drive away – on board: the little girl, her mother, and a mildly uncomfortable but ever-professional Eraserhead. He’d keep any further quirk accidents from happening, even though everything had calmed down considerably now.
“It’s weird how we’re the kind of people who just attract trouble wherever we go,” Oboro said beside him, leaning his elbow on a cloud, his eyes also fixed on the back of the ambulance. He’d been patrolling with Shouta, and so they’d both come to answer Tenko’s call. And even though Tenko had had everything under control, seeing him show up in his hero uniform had immediately put him at ease. That was what heroes were supposed to do.
“I’m just glad I have a hero license so I can actually do something about the trouble now,” Tenko said. He’d always itched to solve problems, maybe that was part of why he loved video games (and his actual, real life job) so much, and the time before he’d had his hero license had been hell. Growing up surrounded by heroes didn’t help, either. He’d wanted to join them on patrols at six years old already. That was around the time Nemuri had helped him design his first hero costume.
And the thing was, even when Tenko hadn’t been allowed to seek out trouble, trouble had still found its way to him. He wondered if other heroes were like that, too, just people who had been unlucky all their lives and wanted to fight back. Probably not. Tenko just had uniquely bad luck.
Oboro laughed next to him. “Remember the phase when you wanted to become an esports professional?”
Tenko elbowed him in the side. He did not need to be reminded of that. He’d just been an embarrassing teenager and mostly it had been his way of protesting how hard UA classes were. He hadn’t honestly considered it… had he?
“I could still do that,” he pointed out, “Or I could start streaming video games. I bet a ton of people would love to watch.” A lot of his fans appreciated how he’d sometimes start rambling about video games in interviews, after all. Apparently it made him ‘relatable’. Even though he doubted he actually was, once someone got to know him. His best friend was an ever-grumpy burn victim for a reason.
“You could,” Oboro agreed, “I’d be in. We could set you up at the agency and stream together.”
And just like that, Tenko didn’t like the idea anymore. It was really a miracle how fast that could happen. “You know what, I think I’ll stick to private gaming.”
Oboro gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded! You just don’t want to be seen with me on camera!”
Tenko rolled his eyes, trying hard not to smile. “We’re on camera together all the time. I just don’t want to be seen with you on camera where it seems like it was my choice.”
“How can you say that? About your favorite uncle?” Oboro pouted, clearly over exaggerating on purpose, and Tenko finally broke and laughed.
“Sorry to break it to you, but you’re just not cool anymore.”
Oboro crossed his arms, but then immediately lit up again. “So you used to think I was cool at some point?”
Tenko snorted. “Uh, obviously.”
He may have looked up to Shouta because he was badass, as a teenager, but Oboro would always receive a special kind of admiration from him. It was only fair. After all, who knew where Tenko would be without him?
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Wasting Time | Diego Hargreeves
✦ pairing — Diego Hargreeves x Plus Size Reader
✦ word count — 4.1k
✦ summary— you’re an anti-love loner who somehow managed to get matched to someone by an enthusiastic and friendly pro-love super person.
✦ warnings — some angst, I think this has some comedy, probably language, Asha (OC) is a sweetheart and I would die for her, fluff.
✦ a/n — this is a repost due to tagging issues from a week-ish ago
❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎
Your mom left the restaurant in a hurry. She had a friend to meet up with, she reminded you a few times throughout the meal as she complained about your lack of romantic partner and friends.
Romance wasn’t for you. It didn’t even make sense. There wasn’t much to it, you had never seen it end well.
As for friendships, you had never been good at bonding with people. Back in college, you had hollow acquaintanceships at best, transactional relationships like most tended to be.
You were supposed to meet up with your mom to catch up after a couple of busy weeks, but you had sadly forgotten how intense she got with the topic of love.
She acted like you would never be happy on your own. Perhaps there was some truth in there, but if there was, she would have to take responsibility because she was complicit.
A random person tapped your shoulder. Craning your neck to the side to acknowledge them, you waited for them to say whatever it was they needed from you.
“Hi! I’m Asha!”
“I’m not interested,” you breathed out, looking past her to ask for the check.
Asha sat down in front of you. “I know you think love is a waste of time, you’re not the first and you won’t be the last, but all of you are wrong.”
You were sure Asha’s intentions were pure, but you didn’t need to hear fairytale-like arguments for love. And you definitely didn’t feel comfortable around eavesdroppers.
She followed you to the parking lot, spewing things about how beautiful romance was. Nothing you hadn’t heard before in songs and films. Which meant everything she was saying was bullshit.
Pulling the door of your car open, you snapped at her, “Could you please leave me alone?!”
You wished it had worked. She started following you throughout the day, smiling at you and asking you if you had changed your mind.
Surrounded by sweet smell and beautiful colors, you walked through the farmers market. You didn’t even understand how had she been able to follow you by foot when you were driving, but you wouldn’t let her ruin this.
“Strawberries are aphrodisiacs.”
“They taste good in smoothies,” you countered, paying for the berries and nodding as a thank you to the vendor.
Someone grabbed Asha by the arm. “What do you think you are doing?”
Asha gasped, smiling brightly. “Diego! This is perfect.”
A sharp sting went through your arm. You had always attracted mosquitoes, but their bites had never made you feel weird.
And boy, did you feel weird. The urge to hug the man in front of you overcame you, and as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, he opened his arms for you.
“He’s cuddly, right?” Asha’s sweet tone filled your ears.
Well, yes. His shirt was soft and he smelled good, extremely good — holy shit, why couldn’t other men smell like him?
“Your hair smells so good,” he blurted.
What a nice voice! His words and tone gave you goosebumps. Your stomach flipped as his arms tightened around your waist, prompting you to take a better whiff of his cologne.
You hoped he would never let go of you. It was hot outside yet you needed his warmth like you needed air.
Wait, what?
You pulled away from him, trying to find an excuse as to why you had hugged a stranger.
And why had you liked it?
Asha grabbed your hand and placed it on top of his. “This is Diego,” she introduced him to you, “he’s meant to be your romantic partner for life.”
Diego sighed, withdrawing his hand. “What have I told you about doing this?!”
“She wasn’t joking?” You asked, eyes going back and forth between the two.
He shook his head. “Have you heard of The Umbrella Academy?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Yeah. All of you are superheroes.”
“Her powers are like Cupid’s.”
“Cupid’s behavior was childish at first,” Asha defended herself. “Mine isn’t.”
You waited for the punchline of the joke. It never came. He was 100% serious and you were bound to him now.
“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to get to know each other!”
Her words hit you instantly. “We don’t know each other,” you exclaimed, “I’m sure we won’t miss the other or anything...”
“We can just avoid each other!” Diego completed your thought, nodding along. “Perfect. I’m sorry for my sister.”
You swatted a hand. “No biggie.”
Oh, how wrong you had been. You spent your entire afternoon eating strawberries and watching tv, wondering what Diego was doing.
The subsequent days weren’t too different. Not from the strawberry part, you ran out of those too quickly.
You had many questions, less about the bond or whatever it was called and more about him. What he liked and disliked, why he did so...
It was stupid and pointless.
❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎
You stretched, whining. You couldn’t sleep, no matter which position you tried or what remedy from the Internet you put to the test.
A knock was bestowed upon the door. You whined again, throwing your sleep mask onto the bed and reaching for your pajama pants.
You turned the lights on as you crossed the apartment on your way towards the door. Noisily, you unlocked it.
Diego waved at you, trying to smile. He had a busted lip that was bleeding just like his eyebrow.
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
“I— I d—don’t...”
You frowned, grabbing him by the front of his vest to pull him into the apartment. Closing the door, you softly asked, “Do you need water?”
Diego shook his head, lifting his hands for you to give him a moment. You extended an arm, inviting him to take a seat in the living room.
Observing how swollen his face was, you walked toward the kitchen and looked for something to put on the area.
Fuck, you should’ve saved that ice just in case. Oh, well, a pack of frozen cauliflower and broccoli would do.
You pressed the cold bag on his cheek, waiting for him to hold it to let go of it. He grunted a thank you.
“Did your vigilante thing go wrong?”
Diego moved the bag for a moment to speak properly. “I felt like shit and needed to see you. I feel better now.”
“Yeah, that’s called codependency.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
You sighed, throwing your head back to rest it against the wall. “I am not blaming you.”
”You’re taking this too calmly. How?”
“I’m used to being by myself all the time, it looks like you are not.”
“You don’t feel like you can’t breathe without me?”
“No.” His disappointed look was the worst thing you had ever been forced to see in your life. The pang in your chest stopped when you told him, “I feel better when I see you, though. Less anxious.”
“Why do you think it is?”
You shrugged. “Maybe love doesn’t feel the same for everyone. Or whatever Asha did to us.”
His heart skipped a beat. “That sounds nice. Us.”
“Are you going soft on me?”
Diego pursed his lips together, glaring at you. He immediately hissed.
You took the bag off his hand and put it back into the freezer. Exchanging the pack for a ziplock bag with pineapple, you carefully rested it on his jaw, making sure it touched his lip too.
“Baby...”
“Don’t,” you warned him, ignoring the thrill down your spine upon hearing the pet name.
❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎
Every night you waited for him to knock upon your door, and although he didn’t do it every day of the week, you always opened.
He had hugged you once or twice in greeting. Much to your dismay, it had felt nice.
This specific time he hugged you tighter, holding you for as long as you allowed him to. It saddened you, knowing this was the highlight of his day. And yours.
Before meeting him, you went to bed early and woke up at dawn. Now you happily skipped sleep to hang out with him.
Diego was nice when he wasn’t being overbearing, funny even. But you would never tell him that.
“Can’t you make your sister undo it?” You asked, opening a bottle of beer for him. His favorite brand, which you had started buying after he brought a pack a few weeks ago.
He took a swig of beer. “It can’t be undone, that’s the point.”
“I won’t feel cheated on if you find someone else,” you assured him.
“But I want you!”
“Diego, I’m not made for this, okay? It doesn’t matter if I want it or not.”
“I have the worst fucking luck in the world,” he lamented, gulping down half of his beverage. “My girlfriends either die, try to kill me and my family, or hate me.”
“If it makes you feel any better, the only boyfriend I’ve had got married to the cousin I hate the most.”
“He’s a dick. I’m hotter than him.”
Well, you weren’t going to deny that. Pouring yourself some wine, you lifted the glass to clink it with his bottle of beer.
“Is he the reason why you hate love?”
Putting the glass down after taking a gulp, you shook your head. “Not really. He was more like... the confirmation? I always thought it was a waste of time, and too absurd, and corny — but everyone I knew had a partner and I didn’t want to be left out. When he dumped me for my cousin and married her, I was proven right.”
“Well, duh.” Diego rolled his eyes playfully. “You didn’t date someone you liked.”
“I’ve never liked someone.”
“I’m offended.”
“Willingly, smartass.”
He pointed with his bottle. “What about your mom?”
“I tolerate her.”
“Dad?”
“Would kill him if I could get away with it.”
“Siblings?”
“I hate my stepbrother.”
“Asha?” He teased.
You confessed. “Oh, well, she’s nice. She means well, at least.”
“What about me?” He insisted.
Shrugging, you refilled your glass. “You’re not bad when you’re talking casually.”
“Is this about my stutter?”
“Of course not, I’m not an asshole. I just hate it when you talk about me like you need me to survive when you clearly don’t.”
“I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“Closest thing you’ll get me to give you one.”
Giving you a cocky smile, he moved to sit down beside you on the floor. ”You didn’t deny it, you know?“
“Didn’t deny what?”
“That you’re my girlfriend.”
You shoved him playfully, shaking your head as you tried not to laugh. “Will you ever give up?”
“Realistically?”
Both of you chorused, “No.”
“Exactly.”
It was fabricated infatuation. He wanted an idealized version of you, like everyone did when they had crushes only to find out everything they like about their significant other or love interest is a lie made up by their own brains.
Leaving the glass to the side, you drank straight from the bottle. “Would you like me even if Asha hadn’t...”
“Yes.”
You chuckled incredulously, “Why?”
“You’re smart, responsible, really pretty — and believe or not, you’re nice.”
You cupped his cheek, blinking rapidly. His skin was soft to the touch, a little warm too. Diego leaned forward, holding your chin between his index and thumb. His lips were so close, you could practically feel his bottom lip on your upper lip.
Fully realizing what was going on as your eyes threatened to lie closed, you turned your head to the side. Your hand fell to his shoulder, middle finger grazing his neck.
“Stop leading me on!”
“I can’t help it!”
“Just give in,” he whispered on your cheek. “I won’t break your heart.”
“I will break yours.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You just complained because I lead you on.”
“And you said it wasn’t on purpose. People make mistakes in stressful situations.”
You shook your head, completely moving away from his touch as you stood up. “Feel free to crash on the couch for the night.”
Diego didn’t say anything, but you heard him leave minutes later from your bedroom.
❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎
Asha had insisted on befriending you. She wasn’t bad company — although too bubbly and jumpy from what you were used to, she was willing to tone it down for you.
As bad as it sounded, she also served as a distraction. And who were you kidding? It was nice to have a friend.
You waited for her to finish her ice cream cone to speak, mostly because you were scared she would stamp it on your face.
“Would you find a way to undo it if I admit to having understood the importance of love?”
Asha smiled, playing with her hands on her lap, on top of the yellow skirt you had suggested would fit her perfectly. “Why would I undo it if you understand that now?”
Focusing your eyes on the dogs playing on the grass, you admitted, “I don’t like it, I feel weak. And having someone only care about me because of your influence doesn’t help.”
“I can’t match people who are incompatible.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? That Diego and I are meant to be together because of some sort of fate?”
She giggled. “No, you just fit well together. But maybe you want it to be different...”
“I just want to have control over this, Asha! I feel like I’m going crazy.”
“Why?” She tilted her head as she asked. It was like the idea was foreign to her.
“Because I miss him!” Your voice lowered then, “And I know he misses me too. He has to whether he likes it or not.”
“But you want him to do it on his own.”
You nodded, ashamed, as you felt her bright eyes on the side of your face.
“I don’t influence or manipulate what people think or feel, (Name),” she explained, resting a warm hand on your thigh in attempts to comfort you. “I only match people who will feel things similarly. That’s the gift I’ve given you and Diego, I’m sorry you haven’t been able to see it like that.”
That wasn’t comforting at all. Not now. If she had said it earlier... meh, it wouldn’t have worked. She knew you well, it seemed.
Turns out you weren’t as closed off as you liked to think.
Asha grabbed your hand, standing up as she looked at you with those big eyes of hers. They shone with determination, and for the first time since you befriended her, you felt a little scared of what she would do.
But you trusted her. Standing up, you made sure your cellphone was in your pocket and allowed her to drag you wherever she wanted to take you.
Asha made a few stops. You saw her use her powers on two gals who were clearly on a friend-date at a restaurant. According to Asha, they both were scared of telling the other how they felt. Childhood friends, she explained.
The other stop was at a coffee shop where she ordered one of those extremely sweet frappes. She made you taste it, and although you weren’t a fan and would never order something like that, you had to admit you were starting to see the appeal.
But the third stop... oh, boy, that one was unexpected. You stared up at the gymnasium’s sign, confused and a little bit offended.
“Are you implying I should start working out?”
Asha snickered. “I’m strongly suggesting you should talk to Diego.”
Right, he worked at a gym — how could you have forgotten? Scratch the unexpected part, this was the most Asha thing ever.
The place was busy with people from all genders, some of them were taking laps and others were training on the rings.
“Okay, (Name),” you whispered to yourself, “you can do this. How hard can it be?”
Too hard. The closer you got to where he was standing, the hardest you found it. Embarrassing yourself had never been something you had been through, ignoring people for decades had given you a lot of advantages and that had been your personal favorite.
You turned on your heels, determined to leave and never come back. This was such a bad idea! You were in his territory, vulnerable, and only accompanied by his sister who would probably be on his side.
“Can I help you?”
You jumped, immediately turning around. Fuck. Your throat locked up. Diego nodded upward, encouraging you to speak. He looked good, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tank top — all black as he usually did.
You couldn’t look at him in the eyes as you examined the place, looking for Asha. It didn’t look like a place where she would enjoy herself, but no one ever knew with her; she was full of surprises.
“She left already,” Diego deadpanned.
Your mouth hung open. You weren’t really surprised, but words weren’t willing to come out. This was the first time you had tried to articulate a meaningful apology.
The fake ones were so easy! You were even able to get poetic with those, making promises you didn’t intend to keep to people you weren’t going to see ever again because there had never been a reason to stay.
“You didn’t go to the market yesterday.” He tried to say it casually.
“I went to visit my mom.”
“Oh, I see tolerance is going well.”
You huffed a laugh. “Something like that. Not much luck with my stepbrother yet, though.”
“At least you’re trying.”
“I should be more open, I suppose.”
“Yeah.”
You allowed silence to settle. You needed it to, it had been your best friend for so long that you didn’t know how to cope without its looming presence.
You were nervous, this was your only chance to apologize. What if he didn’t accept the apology?
“I’m sorry, Diego,” you mumbled, “I didn’t want things to go this way.”
“You didn’t want things to go at all.”
“Why would I?” You didn’t want to fight him, but you were desperate for him to see things from your perspective.
“There are a lot of reasons. I don’t think people can be happy completely alone.”
“Okay, you’re right, but you wanted me to jump into something more. Such a big leap when I’ve been living and doing most things on my own since I was 19 is scary.”
“Want,” he corrected you.
You both stood with your backs against the wall, watching the people training as they threw punches. He crossed his arms, focused on the youngest of the trainees.
You turned to look at him. “I know Asha can’t undo the bond, but you don’t need this type of connection to date someone.”
“Maybe that’s why it never worked.” Diego shrugged, sticking his bottom lip out. “I like how this feels. He added, “When you’re not turning me down.”
“So never?” you joked.
Diego chuckled, eyes still on the young trainee. He looked like a teen, no older than 15. “When we talk like this. Or when you empty your freezer to treat my swollen face...”
“Oh, so you only like me for my frozen veggies.”
“God, I wish.” Diego placed his hand on your shoulder, “Give me a moment. Don’t go!”
Nodding, you watched him approach the teen. They exchanged a few words — well, Diego seemed to be questioning the poor boy who only gave short verbal answers or moved his head to reply.
Diego threw his arm around the teen, pulling him close into a half-hug. Both got closer to you as Diego guided the teen towards the exit, still chatting.
“Thank you, Diego,” the teen said with a nod as Diego withdrew his arm from his shoulders. “Good night, Ms,” he acknowledged you.
“Good night,” you answered politely.
Diego smiled, huffing through his nose.
“Has he been training here for a while?” you asked once the young trainee had left.
Standing closer to you now, he told you more about the teen, “Brandon started last month. He’s a good kid. Stubborn, but his heart is in the right place.”
“Like you?”
Diego lifted his eyebrows, unable to hide his smile. “Did you just compliment me?”
“What would you do if I said yes?”
“You won’t like my answer.”
You bit your bottom lip. “Try me.”
He freed your lip from your teeth with his thumb, caressing it. “Don’t tempt me, baby.”
Your face heated up. God, the things Diego was doing to you...
Grinning, he bopped your nose. “You are adorable.”
“I am not trying to be adorable,” you said, scrunching your nose.
“That’s part of the charm.” He looked up, checking the time on the clock above you. “I’m technically free in less than an hour.”
“Don’t you have other things to do?”
Diego wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Rolling your eyes, you hit him on the shoulder with your fist. “The other things!”
“Oh, yeah.” He rubbed his shoulder even though you hadn’t hit him hard. “I can do them even later.”
“We can talk even later,” you tried to reason with him.
He tutted. “I know you, and you’ll find an excuse.”
You didn’t understand what Diego had done to you, or how Asha’s powers really worked, but you were willing to compromise, to show him you wanted to talk to him and fix things.
So accompanied by a sigh, you made a gesture with your hands, indicating that you would wait for him to be done.
You had never been so eager to spend time with someone, not even as a child when your neighbor would come over for a play date.
Diego casually offered his hand to you, patiently waiting for you to either take it or reject him.
Unsure, you inched your hand closer to his. He gazed down, taking the trajectory of your hand in. Sighing contently when your palm finally rested against his, he wiggled your fingers open.
His fingers fit between yours perfectly, his palm was warm and calloused, slightly scarred. Suddenly Asha’s judgment didn’t sound too bad.
Swinging your clasped hands, Diego asked more about what you had done the past week. You kept to yourself the part about missing him, but shared everything else — including that horrible fight with your dad, and the movie Asha made you see at a midnight screening.
He told you about his apartment-hunting journey and how tedious it was. You recalled his offhand comment about wanting to move out of the boiler room, so you kept to yourself the fact that he would need another job to be able to afford it.
Ruining the night was the last thing you wanted to do.
Dropping the keys onto the coffee table, you walked directly into the kitchen. He followed you, turning the lights on.
Diego opened your fridge to take a drink out and chuckled happily. “Aww, you bought my favorite beer even though we were mad at each other.”
You stood behind him, reaching for the jug of water as you corrected him, “I wasn’t mad.”
“Well, I was.”
“Not anymore?”
“Nope.”
You smiled to yourself, pouring water into a glass. He grabbed the jug from your grasp, storing it in the fridge for you.
Mirroring your smile —outshining it in your opinion— he said, “You’re so beautiful.”
“You’re flirty today.”
“I wasn’t flirting.” Diego feigned offense.
Frowning, you picked your glass and took a gulp of water. Asha tired you out earlier by dragging you all over town, but compared with how disappointing hearing him say that was, the tiredness was fine.
Placing the bottle on the counter, he clarified, “I meant that I was only stating the obvious.”
You put the glass down. “I am not used to this, sorry.”
He rested his hands on your arms. “It’s okay. I just want to know something...”
You hummed. “Anything.”
“What made you change your mind?”
You fiddled with the unbuttoned shirt he had thrown on top of his tank top. “I can’t sleep when you don’t visit.”
“That can’t be it.”
You conceded, “It’s not everything, but it sums it all up.”
“How slow do you want to go?”
You shrugged. “Do I look like I have a clue?”
“No,” he laughed. Diego inched a hand up to your neck, thumb rubbing your cheek. “Can I kiss you? I promise you can push me off you whenever you want, I won’t get mad.”
“Okay.”
Softly, he pressed his lips against yours. The slow kiss was a nice change from what you had experienced in the past, Diego wasn’t kissing you to get something more out of you or to forget about somebody else — Diego was kissing you because he wanted to do it, because he wanted you.
You pulled him closer, gripping the collar of his shirt. He smiled into the kiss, dropping his other hand to your waist.
Having Diego this close was everything but a waste of time, you decided, kissing him harder as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
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the-hopeless-haze · 4 years ago
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Someone to Know You Too Well (Being Alive Chapter 5)
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PREVIOUS CHAPTER
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CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of domestic violence & homophobia
It’s easy again between the two of you when you come back from Massachusetts, but it isn’t the same. You’re in a much better mood, and Rafael’s glad you went, especially because you come back with good news about your brother - he should be finishing his GED in the fall.
But just because things are good - it doesn't mean Rafael is calm. On the contrary, that makes him even more nervous. Good things don't have the habit of sticking around.
But for whatever reason, you are.
Spring turns into summer - where did the time go? - and you’re always dragging him to the beach when your schedules permit. You seem to be more in your element there than anywhere else he’s ever seen you, what with the sun causing your skin to glisten with sweat and saltwater, the hot wind blowing your hair, the permanent smile on your face. He learns that your father used to have a summer house in the Cape where you spent your summers until he sold it after the divorce, but your love for the water never faded. And apparently your father’s never did, either, as his new house with his new wife resides on a lake. But the ocean is much more turmoiled than a lake is, and if Rafael were more of a poet, maybe he’d draw some resemblances between you and the ocean, but that’s overwrought. The world didn’t need another hackneyed poem about why his troubled object of affection reminded him of the waves. Clichéd comparisons aside, he can see why you love it so much.
Rafael isn’t as opposed to these dates as one might assume. Maybe it’s his Cuban heritage; in his blood after his ancestors spent so long working and living by the sea on that godforsaken island that betrayed them, but he feels a sort of kinship with the ocean, too. You tease him the first time you see him in shorts and sandals, saying you half-expected him to show up in his three-piece. He didn’t tell you, but he comes to the beach alone quite often, or there’s always yacht parties where he can nurse a glass of scotch, just keeping score between all the married couples there; who cheated on who, what wife wanted nothing more than to divorce her husband, what husband was calling their wife a bitch... Most days, he prefers the precinct for company over the stuffy culture law school brought him into...he swears marriage makes people crazy. It made his mother miserable, his father wrathful.
And maybe one could argue that his mother had an inclination for melancholy or that his father was just a mean-spirited man regardless. But the marriage vows certainly brought out the worst in both of them. An ill-fit, sure, but they’d thought it would work out when they met each other, didn’t they?
Another reason he’s anxious is that the squad is getting closer to figuring it out by the day. Rafael is good at concealing his emotions, he thinks, but it’s difficult to hide anything in a room full of some of the best detectives in New York City. Sometimes he even catches Olivia looking at him differently when he glances discreetly at you - and he’s dreading the day he gets the chewing out he deserves.
And third - you start remembering things he says. It’s almost frightening. Of course.... you had to have a good memory for the spoken word - you couldn’t take notes on everything a witness said. But still.
You remember dishes he orders in restaurants and attempt to recreate them in his kitchen. You bring him coffee, just the way he likes it, on your days off that he’s on, or sometimes you manage to sneak away to bring it to him during your breaks. You know he likes you in red and green and blue, bright, vivid colors that bring out the colors of your eyes and hair, and you make sure to wear them. Sometimes he thinks you’re psychic, or you have some kind of womanly sixth sense; because oftentimes you’ll wear the same color of his tie. One time Carisi even made a comment that the two of you were going to prom together, and you’d swatted him on the arm but smirked at Rafael the way you did; when you knew you had him down cold.
And maybe you did.
But you didn’t know everything about him, yet, how could you? It’d only been four months.
Rafael's hands tremble at the thought of telling you what was on his mind. He needs some liquid courage if he's going to tell you anything. He's had awful conversations with women concerning this topic, and he's prepared for tonight to go wrong, too, you screaming at him with tears running down your cheeks, and then work, oh, work would be a living hell. Maybe he'd transfer to another district. Jesus Christ, he couldn't handle that again, so soon. Maybe it was best to keep quiet. Maybe this is why he shouldn't have been so stupid to date a detective in his district, in a unit he worked closely with. What if this did go wrong? It was hard, being able to see each other outside of work sometimes, and it was hell trying to hide it from the SVU, but god, he'd miss you if you left even if he wasn't entirely ready to commit to you.
But you deserved to know, didn't you?
"Hey, Rafi? You doing alright there?" Your voice cuts in, clear as a bell, the way it always did when he lost himself in thought.
"Yeah, uh, I'm fine," he says, loosening his tie and taking it off. You were cooking again, fish, and it smelled heavenly, and god, he didn't want to lose this but he didn't want to tell you either and by not telling you, he could lose you. Weren't you supposed to know your partner? Did you really know him if you didn't know these things?
"You sure? You look like you're nervous," you say, an edge in your voice. God, did you think... maybe you thought he was going to break up with you. Fuck.
"Yeah. I'm nervous. Okay?" he snaps, but he doesn't mean to. He takes another sip of his scotch.
"Why the hell are you nervous? Afraid of some broccoli?" you joke, but your smile doesn't meet your eyes. He'd scared you. Fuck, he was such an idiot.
"I need to talk to you. Okay?" God, why couldn't he be normal like you and just spit it out?
"Okay. Then talk. But if you want me to leave I'll just get out. I don't need to hear the reasons why," you say, turning back to the food.
"No!" Rafael gets up quickly, hugging you from behind. "No. I don't... that's not what I want to talk about. No. This is going good, better than I thought it would."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Fuck me. I keep talking myself in circles," he mutters under his breath.
You turn around, but he keeps his hands around your waist. You're close, and he pecks your lips. You chuckle. "You're a dork. Just spit it out, Rafi."
"I don't want... I don't want this to turn into a fight."
"I don't either, whatever it is. But I need to turn the fish over or your smoke alarm's gonna go off," you say. “Hang on a minute.”
He grips the counter for support and he hates you so much, it’s rage he’s feeling now, and he has to swallow it down, tell himself this was good for him, this was happening for a reason, and that you were different the men and women that had walked out on him before. Or what about those he’d never felt close enough to tell? That was a longer list.
You finish the fish in a few minutes, tell him the potatoes are going to be a few more in the oven, and you start the broccoli on the stove.
“Okay. Talk to me. I’m listening,” you say, smiling at him, but he can tell you’re still scared, still wondering what he’s going to say.
“I’m bisexual,” he blurts out, and he doesn’t know if it would’ve been better if he beat around the bush.
You’re silent for a few seconds, then you smile at him. “Oh, honey, that was it? I thought it was something bad. Jesus, you scared the hell out of me, Rafi,” you say and hug him tight. He hugs you back, somewhat in awe of your reaction.
“You... you... don't care?"
“Rafael, I'm honestly offended that you think I'd be that prejudiced. Of course it doesn't bother me.” You pull away, still holding onto his arms, looking at him that way you did now, that look that doesn’t feel too different from a punch in the gut. "Why did you think I would be upset?"
Rafael shrugs, still at a loss for words.
“Well... for the record, I’ve hooked up with a woman, you know,” you say, turning back to the broccoli.
“Y-you have?” Well, that was a surprise.
“Yeah. I don’t know if I’d ever date a woman, but... I gave it the college try, had experiences. It was fun. It was a coping mechanism if you think about it too much, but it helped me, I think,” you say, and shrug, turning to your side to better face him as you sauté the broccoli. “I mean...we were friends in college. And she took her time with me, you know...in ways college boys wouldn’t.”
“Mm,” Rafael says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Bet she did.”
You blush beet red, laughing nervously. “That’s not what I meant... although, yes... she was thorough. But no. I meant she respected me and didn’t get upset when I wasn't ready to put out, you know? She let me set the pace and she was the first person I’d been with that gave me that. But... anyway... enough about that. I really appreciate that you trust me enough to tell me. Do you feel better?” you ask, looking up at him.
He nods. “Believe it or not, you’re the only woman that hasn’t flipped out on me when I said this.”
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. No one should feel that way about that.” You lean up, kissing his cheek.
Yelina was the first woman he told, and she didn’t take it well. Immediately, she flew off the handle, accusing him of wanting to leave her for a man - but there was no man. It was just something he'd come to terms with after fighting with himself for so long, and he wanted her to know because he thought he loved her. But he backtracked for her, he pled with her, they both cried, and their hour-long phone conversation ended with Rafael saying that he was just confused, and wasn't really bisexual. He’d never felt more lost in his entire life than when he hung up the phone that night, and it took him a long time to be assured of his sexuality in the same way as he was before he called her.
Some of the women were better than others, but he hadn’t told all of them and he’d never been met with outright acceptance...until you. And maybe it’s a byproduct of the politics of your generation or your own dalliances in same-sex affairs... but whatever it is... you’re still taking him in with open arms, and he feels like he doesn't deserve that.
“You hungry? It’s all set.”
“Yeah. It smells great, (y/n),” he says, his mouth watering at the potatoes you pull out of his oven. God, who knew how good an apartment could smell when you used it to cook?
He has memories of his abuelita cooking, of his mother, but he never stayed in the room and watched them work. His father always said it was a woman’s job, and it went on the long list of things he could never forgive him for. Watching you cook, he realizes it’s an expression of caring and that his father had ignored the league of male chefs there were in the world in support of a chauvinist ideology. Rafael wishes he could cook more than his embarrassing repertoire of eggs, grilled cheese, and boxed macaroni; he wishes he could do something for you.
He swallows it down. This was too much too soon, wasn’t it? What was he doing?
He doesn't have any idea. A relationship should tie you down to the earth, make you remember you inhabit it, but he's been in his head far too much lately. So dinner is quiet, almost painfully so, because he can't stop the thoughts racing through his head and manage to make conversation with you.
Evidently, you realize that too, kissing him deeply after you both cleaned up the kitchen. "Are you okay, honey? You still seem stressed."
"I'm fine." God, you calling him “honey” went right through him. No one really ever used pet names on him before, probably because he was too stiff. How did you know the simple use of that melted him to the core, made him momentarily forget his reservations?
"You certainly don't seem fine. Did something happen at work?"
"Just stop," he murmurs, avoiding your gaze. Why did you care? Why should you care? You were starting to get too close for comfort - but god forbid you start pulling away.
But you do, physically, at least. You let go of his hand, and hurt flashes through your eyes. "Do you want me to leave?"
"No. But I don't want to talk, either."
"Rafael--"
"Don't."
"Okay," you nod, pursing your lips, and you take his hand back in yours. "Do you want me to just sit with you?"
He nods wordlessly, topping off your scotch glasses and meeting you on the couch. You don't touch him at first, but then you take his right hand back in both of yours, massaging through the cramps in his palm from writing scrawled notes on his legal pad. "You don't have to," he says quietly.
"I want to," you respond, pressing your lips to his cheek. "Let me take care of you. Turn around so I can massage your shoulders."
"(Y/n)..." he protests, but he has a feeling you know what he needs better than he does, so he doesn't argue with your firm glance.
You're tentative at first, but you find a rhythm, and he feels the tension dissipate as you work your hands across his shoulders and upper back, and all he can think is that he never did one thing in his life that would warrant this tenderness.
And then.... you run your hand across his side, featherlight, until he's chuckling in spite of himself. "Jesus, (y/n), stop it," he says through laughter as you tickle him with more intensity, your fingers skittering across his stomach.
"I think you should make me," you challenge.
And he's breathless, trying to catch your hands in his own, but he can't stop laughing, either, as he tries and fails to gain leverage against you. You dodge him every chance you get, but at this point, you can't tickle him as much you jab at his sides and stomach. Eventually, his fingers dig deep into the flesh of your waist, and you let out a shriek - and it's then that he enacts his revenge, his long fingers dancing across your thighs and up your stomach until he looks up at you. You're giggling and blushing, your hair splayed out across his couch... and you look back, your laughter slowing as he leans down to kiss you. All he intended was to brush his lips against yours, but your hand comes to the nape of his neck, and your tongue slips past his lips, and you're seemingly still intent on leaving him gasping for air. "Trying to kill me?" he pants, smirking against your lips as he pulls away.
"No. I just know you needed the laugh," you say. "I know you said you don't want to talk, Rafi, but I... I think you should. I want to listen."
Rafael sighs heavily, gently moving off you and helping you sit back up. "I lied to you,” he says softly, not meeting your eyes. “I lied. SVU is difficult at times... for more personal reasons. I didn't go through anything like what you had gone through and believe me... I'm not trying to draw comparisons. But..."
“It was your father, wasn’t it?” you ask softly.
Ah. You know. You read him like a book. He nods. “Yes. He wasn’t a good man.”
“I didn’t... I just, you rarely talk about him, and I just assumed there was a reason why.”
“There was.”
“Do you want to talk about it?"
Rafael nods, finding the strength to meet your eyes again. “He... he would hurt my mother. I didn’t face the brunt of the abuse, she did, for me. But he... if I... he’d hurt me, sometimes, too, hit me if I talked back. He’d never hurt me the way he hurt Mami, but he was abusive toward me as well. I spent a lot of time at my abuelita’s apartment because of this, and she is...she’s the best woman I know. She did all she could to keep me safe. Ultimately, though, in high school... I came out to my mother and her. They didn’t understand it, really, and gave me some good old Catholic shaming. I still loved them, even if it was hard at the time. They didn’t dare out me to my father. They didn’t know what he would do. Well... I had a boyfriend that last year of high school, and my father saw us... and... you can guess what happened.”
“I’m so sorry, Rafi,” you whisper, scooting closer to him.
“I had to go to the hospital,” he whispers, unable to fight the tears. It feels like something’s closing in on his throat. He takes your hand for support, running his thumb over your fingers. “He somehow managed to break one of my ribs. I... he kept saying, ‘I pay for Catholic school for you to end up being a faggot?’ And I... kept thinking, kept saying, ‘no, Padre, you don’t understand,’ kept begging him to stop. He didn’t until he heard my rib crack and... I think he understood, then, that he’d crossed a boundary. It was one thing to him to hurt his wife, he hated women, but his child, his only son? I never told my mother what happened, because it would’ve just worried her and I was terrified. I just... I just said someone at school beat me up. My father... he was never good to me or my mother, let that be clear, but after that, it was almost like he was ashamed, I guess, because I had something over his head that he knew my mother would leave him for. Anyway... he died about 15 years ago.”
You tuck your legs underneath you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” you say softly, kissing his cheek. “No one should have to go through that. Your mother is a strong woman, you know that right? Didn’t you tell me she runs a charter school now?”
“Yes. She does. Single-handedly, really. I owed it to her to make something of myself.”
“You did, Rafi, you did. I know she’s proud.”
“I hope so,” he mutters.
“You’re a better man than your father,” you murmur, rubbing his back. How did you know that was what he needed to hear? Even still, it didn’t feel real. What basis did you have for that?
“The jury is out on that one,” he mutters. “I haven’t had a child to destroy.”
You pull away from him, sit back on your side of the couch. “Rafael. Look at me.”
He exhales slowly, and does, meeting your concerned eyes, the ones all the victims that have come through your precinct have seen, and he hates that.
“Did it hold you back? Is that why you haven’t had children?”
Your voice is small like you almost don’t want to say it, don’t want to put a voice to it, and he wishes you didn’t, he wishes you stayed quiet. He leans back against the couch, a few silent tears leaving his eyes of their own volition.
But you knew him. You knew why. You’d hit the nail on the head once again.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, Rafael. Please,” you say, and he looks over at you to see your eyes welling up too. “It’s not my business. I’m sorry. D-don’t be mad at me.”
He doesn’t say anything, just leans over and grasps you in a hug. You start crying, murmuring your apology over and over again. Your whimpers in his ear could kill him if he let them. You pull away from him with shaky hands on his shoulders, gripping on his suspenders for support. “I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have—“
But he kisses you and he can feel your shock as your body tenses up against him. “Don’t you ever fucking say you’re stupid again,” he murmurs against your mouth. “You’re too smart for your own good.”
“Rafael, I overstepped.” You move your hands back to your lap.
“Maybe you did,” he shrugs, wiping his eyes with his shirtsleeves. “But you were right.”
You’re silent. He can tell you feel guilty; you’re wringing your hands and only looking at him when he’s not looking at you.
“I’m not mad at you,” he says, and you visibly relax, leaning over to hug his waist. “I never realized it... until... this woman I dated, her name was Yelina. She wanted a whole white picket fence deal, lawyer husband, three kids, money. And I... I couldn’t give any of that to her at the time. I didn’t want to get married, I was terrified of having a wife. I didn’t want to have children... I was afraid I’d turn into my father and hurt them the way he hurt me. So she left me for my best friend at the time.”
“Oh, honey. You’ve had bad luck,” you say, your voice slightly muffled against the fabric of his shirt. You rub his back comfortingly. “She wasn’t a smart woman. Couldn’t she see you were in pain?”
“I...guess not. Maybe I didn’t even really know I was then. She wanted kids, marriage, all of that, right away, and we were young, then, younger than you. But she didn’t want to wait for me to work out my issues. I can't really blame her. I still haven’t now, so maybe she was right to leave me. Who she left me for... well, that didn’t exactly work out in her favor. I prosecuted him for child pornography about a year ago.”
“Ah. Perhaps she should have learned about delayed gratification before leaving you.”
Rafael chuckles at that. “Why are you saying that?”
“Look who you turned out to be. She knows she made the wrong choice now.”
“I don’t know about that. Maybe neither of us were the right one for her. I’m still my father’s son. I could still turn out...how I feared.”
“I don’t see that in you, Rafael,” you say softly.
“My mother didn’t see it in my father, either,” he says, rubbing his face with his hand. “Part of it is genetic. It has to be.”
“People throw down the deck that they’re dealt and demand a new one all the time,” you tell him. He wraps his arm around you.
“But do they get one?”
“I think so,” you say. “If they fight hard enough and they have the resources. Some of it is luck, no doubt... But you can.”
He feels guilty, because he knows you’re thinking of your brother, who can never outplay the cards he was dealt.
“Well, I guess I never wanted to play the game and risk it," he says bitterly.
“Well, what about now?”
“Who’s going to marry me now, have kids with me? I’m an old man. That ship has sailed,” he says, hating himself and you, a little. Maybe you’d leave now like Yelina did. You were young and pretty, and you could find a man closer to your age that would father your children if that’s what you wanted.
“Do you really believe that?” Your voice is small again, treading lightly. Maybe you were scared for your own future if you stayed with him. Maybe you should be.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he murmurs. He knows what he can’t believe: the fact that you’re still here, still holding onto him like your life depended on it. And you knew him, now, you knew what kept him up at night... and you were still here, acting like he was all you wanted.
“I just want you to know that I’ve been held back, too, Rafael. Abuse does that. I couldn’t have meaningful relationships with anyone for a while, and sex scared me. It still does, sometimes. You’re...you’re one of the few who’s waited this long for me to be ready and not gotten upset. I just want to thank you for that. And that’s how I know you’re not your father because from what you’ve told me, I don’t think he would’ve been as forgiving toward me. You can break the cycle, Rafi. You can if you want to.”
“You shouldn’t be thanking me for that. I’m not going to force you into doing something you’re not ready for.”
“Proving my point, Rafael,” you say, squeezing his arm. “Would your father have that same mindset?”
“Well...no. Probably not.”
“Would your father go to law school with the intent of helping the helpless?”
He shakes his head. His father didn’t do anything to help anyone. "That's not why I went to law school, either. I went to get the hell out of that barrio."
"Why'd you choose SVU then? There are much more lucrative paths you could've taken with a law degree. Why is it every time I try to show you that you're a good man you insist on fighting with me?"
"Because I don't deserve to be put up on a pedestal, (y/n). I'm just trying to survive," Rafael says, shrugging. "I'm not some martyr for a cause, or a Christ figure or--"
"I didn't say that you were. But you’re also not your father, Rafael, and I don’t see any danger of you turning into him, either,” you say and he hopes you’re right, he hopes you know him better than he knows himself, and that you see something in him he’s never seen, something all the men and women before you never saw either. “You still have time.”
“Not as much as I used to,” he says, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? Rafael sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Look at the two of you, both damaged, both broken by what the world threw at you, but here you were, together. Were you healing each other or hurting each other? He can’t tell, at the end of the day.
You sit up a little, and he loosens his grip around your shoulders. You kiss him softly, comfortingly.
All his anxiety about this night is gone, but it isn’t replaced with relief like he’d hoped. Instead, there’s this gnawing ache, this need to tell you to leave, that he was bad news and was going to break your heart, that he was over 40 and didn’t know how to love anyone that wasn’t his family. Why couldn’t anything scare you away?
Part of him knows he doesn’t want you to leave despite all this, even if he’s terrified. You must know, too, because you stayed.
Tags: @caked-crusader​ @thatesqcrush​ @law-nerd105​
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softbiker · 4 years ago
Text
Steve Rogers Oneshot
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Warnings: talk about body image/dysmorphia, past ED’s, veganism (idk if that’s a warning???)
Word Count: 3.2k
A/N: This is...very self-indulgent. But oh well. A continuation of the Agent 14 series, in which Steve finds another diet he wants to try and he needs some help getting started. As always, let me know what you think! 
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Sam finds him one afternoon, staring into the glow of the open fridge, in full superhero stance with his feet planted wide. Nothing abnormal about super soldiers looking for a snack; those boys can really put it away. But this one looks like he’s conducting an interview with the refrigerator contents - in his hand is a small notepad, a worn down pencil stub poised over it, and Sam can see little scribbles and tally marks covering the page.
“Uh…Steve?”
“Hm?” Steve doesn’t turn around, but Sam can see his deep-set frown in profile, harsh refrigerator light illuminating his lowered brows.
“What’re you doing, man?” Sam takes a couple steps closer and peers around those massive shoulders into the offending appliance. “That your grocery list?”
Steve finally looks up, blinking. Absently, he taps the end of his pencil against his chin.
“No, not a grocery list,” he frowns. “I’m just…taking stock, I guess.”
“We do inventory of the fridge now?” Sam sidesteps him, reaching for the orange juice. He still drinks straight from the carton and Barnes can just kiss his sweet ass.
Steve ignores him, sparing only an eye roll in response.
“Don’t worry about it,” he sighs, in a way only Steve Rogers can sigh about groceries. “Just got an idea, that’s all.”
Sam sips his orange juice as he watches him leave the room, more worried by that phrase than anything else Steve could’ve said.
**********
“I’m sorry - you want us to what?”
Steve crosses his arms and gives Clint his most authoritative frown.
“I’d like us to try a plant-based diet,” he repeats, looking at the faces scattered around the common room. This little “family meeting” didn’t warrant using the conference rooms on the upper floors; he had let everyone get cozy after dinner, helped dig through the couch cushions for the remote, and then made his little announcement.
“That means vegan, right?” Natasha says from her armchair, eyes on her phone in her lap. She’d started googling as soon as he proposed this little challenge.
“Woah, woah - hold up,” Sam raises a hand, sitting forward on the couch. “I know you’re not asking me to quit eating meat, Rogers.”
“And dairy,” Steve confirms.
“Eggs, too,” Wanda adds helpfully.
“No meat?” 41’s fingers curl into her baggy bacon-print PJ pants. Her lower lip wobbles. “No-no ice cream?” She looks to Clint, who immediately folds his hand over hers.
“There are plenty of plant-based alternatives-” Steve starts, his tone soothing.
“Is this because of that documentary you watched?” Bucky grumbles. He’s leaning on the back of the couch, eyes narrowed at his long-time friend. “What was the name…the one about the athletes who don’t eat meat…”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Steve glares back at him. “There’s plenty of evidence to suggest it gives them an edge in athletic performance, so why not-”
“Oh my god, Steve, we’re literally a team of superheroes,” Sam groans. “Earth’s mightiest heroes, and all that jazz. We’re already mighty! We don’t need this! I don’t need this!”
“That so?” Steve raises an eyebrow. One hand digging into his pocket, he produces the little notebook he was scribbling in a couple days before. “I’ve been making some notes-”
“Oh boy, here we go,” Clint mutters.
“In our fridge, the percentage of animal products is a little over 60% - that’s crazy high, guys.” Steve licks his lips, glancing at the skeptical faces around the room as he flips a page in his notebook. “Not only that, but as a whole, our consumption of takeout and highly processed foods has really gone up lately; the team ate a total of 23 meals from fast food restaurants in the last 2 weeks.”
“You’re monitoring our food, Rogers?” Natasha is looking at him now, though he almost wishes she weren’t. Her undivided attention is not for the faint of heart. Steve musters himself and pushes ahead.
“Look - let’s just try it, give it our best shot and then, in a month-”
“A month?” 41 cries, clutching Clint’s hand. “A whole month? But…but what about Bite?”
Oh. He’d forgotten. Sam and 41’s cherished food festival, held every July - a whole park full of food trucks, unlimited samples, live music. One of their photos from last year’s Bite was proudly displayed on the door of the fridge: 41 and Sam each chowing down on a massive bacon cheeseburger - a cheeseburger with Krispy Kreme donuts as the buns.
“Well…” he hesitates
“No. Uh-uh. No way.” Sam folds his arms across his chest and sinks back into the couch cushions. “There is no way you’re making us miss the best event of the year for another one of your health kicks.”
“Sam-”
“Besides! You and Tin Man can eat as much pizza as you want and still outrun a car,” Sam huffs.   “No reason to make the rest of us suffer through another one of your diets. Not to mention that I’m not interested in just eating salad and broccoli…that’s depressing.”
Shoulders falling, Steve sighs and drops his notebook in his lap.
“Okay, well. Sam has spoken,” he says, quirking an eyebrow. “Anyone else?”
“Mm, I’m with Sam on this one,” Bucky shrugs, unbothered by Steve’s answering look of betrayal. “Sorry, pal, I guess I just don’t see the point…and besides, we had to go hungry for half our childhood. I’m not gonna live on rations now.”
Steve folds his hands in his lap, staring down at his knuckles with what looks for all the world like a pout. Maybe he should’ve made the team watch the documentary first…that would’ve gotten them excited. Hell, even he was inspired - after all, if a non-enhanced guy could train to carry over a thousand pounds, surely there was some kind of benefit to this lifestyle.
“Alright, how about this,” he pulls his last card, his last idea. “If I can make a meal that will convince you vegan food is actually good, would you agree to try it for a little while?”
Sam and 41 turn towards each other; he raises an eyebrow, she responds with a shrug.
“We can accept these terms,” Sam agrees. “But you’re really gonna have to wow us.”
“Yeah,” 41 nods, settling in next to Clint. “Bring out the big guns.”
From his place behind the couch, Bucky’s shoulders quake with silent laughter.
“You really played yourself on this one, pal,” he chuckles, shaking his head. Reaching across the cushions, he gives 41 a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, squirt. Your ice cream isn’t going anywhere - I’ve known Steve for a long, long time…” He smirks at a now exasperated Steve.
“…and Steve Rogers can’t cook for shit.”
**********
Steve Rogers, in fact, cannot cook for shit. But he’ll be damned if that will stop him from trying.
He’s swiping through recipes and grocery lists on his Stark pad, wondering if baking his own bread would be as easy as it seemed, when the text comes through.
Hey soldier. I heard you were going on a diet. That true?
Steve snorts and chews his lip, thumbs hovering as he thinks over his reply.
Yeah, it’s about time I got in better shape.
Feeling a bit silly, he watches the little dots in the text bubble as she types back a reply, and tries not to feel too pleased with himself at the cluster of laughing emojis she sent.
Well, listen. I’ve been vegan for a while, actually, so if you need any help I’m here!
An eager leap in his heart, and his thumbs fly over the keyboard once more.
Oh, really? In that case…I’m not sure if I can really handle cooking by myself. I have a terrible track record in the kitchen.
Another laughing emoji. They didn’t teach you that in the army?
Shockingly no.
Someone (Wanda? Peter?) may have told him something about double texting, but he can’t help himself as he quickly follows up his text with another.
Anyways, I’m desperate. And the team is desperate for me to not burn down the tower, haha. Can you help a guy out?
Waiting for a reply, his knee bounces under his desk and he clicks the pen in his hand over and over, hardly hearing the annoying little noise as his thumb reflexively twitches on the button. When her response buzzes on his screen, he almost flinches.
Tell you what. Today is my day off, and I needed groceries anyway. Trader Joe’s in an hour?
**********                                                                                                   
“What on earth are those?” Steve stares incredulously at the basket. “And why are they…not orange?”
“They’re called Hawaiian sweet potatoes and they just grow that way,” 14 laughs as she reaches for a display of squash next to the potatoes.
“That’s not a sweet potato - I know what a sweet potato looks like,” Steve says, obstinate brows crowding together. Shaking her head, 14 just turns away from the squash towards the avocados on the opposite side of the produce aisle.
“Oh boy, you’re gonna learn a lot being vegan…” she sighs. She squeezes a couple of avocados, testing ripeness and feeling the size before she chooses two and adds them to one of her produce bags. With a satisfied nod, she settles her hands on her hips. “Okay, next on the list: tahini.”
Looking at the cart, Steve can’t tell what his dinner is going to be.
“Tahini? What are we gonna do with that?” He wonders what it is, too, but doesn’t ask.
“Eat it, Rogers.” Smirking over her shoulder, she grabs the front of the cart and pulls him along towards the condiments aisle. “What on earth would you do without me?”
“Die a carnivore, I guess,” he shrugs.
“Hm. Tragic.”
 **********                                                                                                  
“It’s practically foolproof - all you have to do is cook this, roast the sweet potatoes, and then we’re gonna throw it all in together.”
“Never underestimate my ability to totally ruin a meal.” Steve says, stirring the quinoa. An adorable scrunch wrinkles his nose as he turns to where she’s dicing the avocados. “Ask Bucky. Even army rations taste better than my cooking.”
“You must be very confident in yourself to admit that,” she smiles back. Cheeks warm, he turns back to the pan with a shrug.
Silence stretches between them for a few moments, the quiet of shared work - from the other room, they can hear the TV playing, occasional laughs from Sam and 41 as they catch up on episodes of Brooklyn 99. Outside the windows, the summer sun sinks steadily lower, golden hour glow illuminating the skyline and filtering into the kitchen. She’s barefooted, chipped blue polish on her toes, and her feet pad lightly across the tile floor as she moves her bowl of avocado chunks over to the island. The little sound makes his heart hungry.
“So,” he clears his throat. “How long have you been, uh, plant-based?”
“Hmm. I guess about 6 months or so?” She taps her fingers absently against the marble countertop as she thinks. “Yeah, that sounds right.”
“Wow. Why did you start?”
“Someone dared me,” she winks at him. “No, but really. A friend challenged me to do it with her for a month…and then I realized I felt great and didn’t miss the animal products so much.” She shrugs. “I had more energy, I felt stronger, my skin looked amazing - trust me, after a week, you’ll practically be glowing.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder with a melodramatic flair, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, a playful smile dimpling her cheeks.
He laughs with her, shaking his head. “Oh, thank god. My skin is a nightmare.” His sarcasm sparks her laugh again, and it inflates his chest even more. He feels light, easy, weightless as the dust motes floating through a sunbeam between them.
Her giggles die down when her phone timer buzzes, signaling her to check the roasting potatoes in the oven. Sidestepping him, she leans down carefully in front of the open door, waves of heat assaulting them both as she pokes and prods the vegetables with a spatula. “Perfect,” she closes the oven door with a satisfied nod. “Just a few more minutes. And it looks like that’s almost done, too.” She gestures to his pan and hands him a lid to cover it. “You can go ahead and turn the burner off - the water has cooked out, so we’ll just need to let it sit.”
With the rest of their ingredients prepped and waiting in a neat row on the island, they slide onto a pair of barstools as 14 sets another short timer on her phone. Steve takes a sip from his beer, leaning an elbow on the counter as he turns to face her.
“Have you always liked to cook?” he asks. In his mind, there are a million questions - they roll over each other, constantly trying to push their way out of his mouth, his overwhelming curiosity wishing he could crack open her shell through sheer force of will. Instead, he drums his fingers against the counter, picks at the label on his beer bottle, scratches his beard, and waits for her to speak.
“Oh, no, not at all,” she laughs at the question. She’s not facing him, but she smiles, fingers lightly tracing the stem of her wine glass. “Actually I used to hate it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Surprised?”
Steve is surprised - her kitchen confidence certainly impressed him. Not once has she consulted a recipe, or googled how long to roast potatoes in the oven, how to make lemon tahini sauce. Things that would’ve left him completely stumped and likely going hungry.
“A little. You really seem to know your way around a kitchen, that’s all.”
“Well…” she takes a deep breath, and he can see the shape of it forming in her mind: whatever it is she’s about to tell him, whatever she’s preparing to say - it matters. With a fortifying gulp of wine, she knots her fingers together and forges ahead. “I used to have a lot of…um, body image issues, you know? Super critical of myself, low self esteem…it got pretty bad for a while.” She doesn’t elaborate, because he doesn’t need to know and how could she even begin to tell it? Too many cups of coffee and too few meals, the feeling of a toothbrush in the back of her throat. It hurts her now, the memory of that girl who thought that making herself less would somehow make her enough. She reaches for the wine again. Steve stays quiet, his eyes watchful and soft. It hurts him, too.
“Yeah?” he murmurs.
“Yeah.” Glancing at him, she licks her bottom lip, before turning her eyes back down to her hands. “Anyway - cooking helped me learn how to actually take care of myself.” A half-hearted little shrug, a self-conscious smile. “That’s really all there is to it.”
He nods, holding her gaze, his eyes flicking back and forth between her own. Her shoulders curl where she sits a little hunched at the stool, bare feet tucked up on a bar that ran between the legs of the stool, one knee bouncing rapidly. A minute ticks by, then two, the kitchen gone quiet and warm, hazy with the smell of a good meal.
“You know, a long time ago, before I was…this-” He gestures to himself, his big shoulders and tree trunk thighs, the massive everything of him. “- before the serum, well, I’m sure you’ve seen the pictures. Or a documentary,” he smirks, a little rueful. “I was less than half the size I am now - short, skinny, no matter how much I ate my ribs stuck out. Buck used to try to help me train, doing pushups or learning how to box, but I was still so weak. A strong breeze could’ve knocked me over, probably - plus, I had asthma, and I was always getting sick with one thing or another…honestly, it’s a miracle I didn’t die before the army got me.”
It coaxes a mirroring smile from her, one elbow propped on the island. She shuffles on top of the stool, turning to face him fully.
“I thought…I don’t know, I thought I’d feel…different. Better, once I was stronger.” He shakes his head, chuckling at himself. “But it was more like…I was just in the wrong body. I kept bumping into things, hitting my head on doorframes; I took up more space than I thought I should.” Letting go of his beer, he spreads his hands in front of him, turning them over alternately and staring at the broad palms, the strong fingers, crisscrossed with veins and scars. “Drove myself crazy trying to sketch. I kept breaking my charcoal, snapping pencils…it was like trying to draw with another person’s hands.”
“Did you get used to it?” she asks. The hand not occupied with her wine glass reaches out to gently take hold of his wrist. A delicate thumb drags across his pulse, and she looks down at the lines of his palms, still uncalloused and pink. Her hand cradles his large one as she brings her eyes up to his own.
“More or less,” he shrugs. “Sometimes I still pass a mirror and do a double take.” More often than he would admit, in fact. He thinks of all the mornings he comes home from a brutal run - double marathons, barely sweating - and sees himself getting into his shower, a god he doesn’t recognize staring back at him.
She nods. She understands.
“Taking care of yourself helps. I think - it never quite goes away, but…” her smile is sweet. Hopeful. “The little things. They help.”
Turning his wrist, he grasps her hand with his own. Her skin is soft and warm; smaller fingers slide between his thick ones. Once, a long time ago, their hands would have been the same size.
Just as he opens his mouth to speak, her phone buzzes, vibrating against the counter and startling them both. As she withdraws her hand, she grins up at him.
“You hungry, Rogers?”
“Starving.”
**********
They take their bowls into the living room, joining Sam and 41 on the couch. Steve does his best with the chopsticks at first, but he still hasn’t gotten used to it. In the name of efficiency, he switches to a fork so that he can shovel the food into his mouth faster.
“Woah - what is that?” Sam leans over to get a better look. He sniffs the air. “Damn, it smells amazing.”
“It’s called a Buddha bowl,” 14 says, politely covering her mouth to conceal the sweet potatoes she’s still chewing. With her fork, she strategically arranges the next bite, collecting a little bit of everything: quinoa, potatoes, tahini sauce, avocado, greens. “Because it’s pure bliss,” she adds, before neatly shoving the next forkful into her mouth.
Steve hums in agreement, his own cheeks stuffed full. His bowl is half empty already. Peaking around 14’s shoulder, Agent 41 licks her lips and makes eye contact with Sam.
“I mean…maybe, we could try making some?” she shrugs her shoulders. “With a little Yum Yum sauce, too, I bet that would be good…” Sam is already nodding in agreement, pulling out his phone to look up a recipe.
“Don’t worry,” 14 smiles, patting her friend’s thigh. “I made plenty for everyone.”
As the other two scramble up from the couch and into the kitchen, she catches Steve’s eye and winks.
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