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whataperfectwasteoftime · 3 years

Text

Born to Run / Chapter 8

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Marathon Runner f!reader (no y/n)

Rating: E (SMUT, 18+ only) - This chapter is M at MOST.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: impulsive!Marcus. Brief mentions of BDSM, including past unsafe experiences and implied unsafe BDSM practices.

Summary: The week passes. You go out with a friend, and Marcus has some plans to discuss with you.

SERIES MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

Wednesday

The next morning, you left Marcus’s cabin early to do your training run, returning to your own place to shower and work. Unable to get back to sleep after you had gone, Marcus sighed and got up for the day just as the first rays of sunrise began to streak across the sky. He made himself a cup of coffee, grabbed his book, and sat on the porch to read and watch the sky change colors as the day broke.

He didn’t want this to end.

Marcus suddenly sat up straight in his chair, book forgotten. What if--?

He hurried back inside and pulled his laptop out of his messenger bag for the first time since arriving here, and switched it on. He had to check to see if--

Aha! Marcus couldn’t believe his luck as he looked at the listing page for his cabin online. Nothing was booked for the rest of the month. Holy shit. He let out a breath through his nose. There was one more thing to check before he could--. Marcus picked up his phone.

“Federal Bureau of Investigation, Art Crimes Department, this is Patricia,” said a bored female voice on the other end of the call.

“Patricia! I-it’s Marcus,” he began. “I wanted t-”

“Marcus!” He had to move the phone away from his ear momentarily. “Marcus! How are you feeling? How’s the cabin?”

“It’s…” fuck, it’s what? “It’s... amazing, actually, Patricia. I wanted to say thank you for setting it up, and apologize for being so shitty about it before I left. I didn’t know how much I needed it until I got here.” There’s an understatement, he said to himself.

“I’m so glad. You have no idea--I was worried about you, wondered how you were do-”

“Hey, listen, I have to ask you something, I need a favor,” he interrupted. “Can you look up how many weeks’ vacation I have left?”

“What??” came the voice on the other end. “Are you--you can’t be staying longer?”

“Yeah, I am, I, uh…” Marcus groped for some sort of explanation, “I just really like it here, it’s nice, peaceful, just wanted to extend the trip,” he finished lamely.

“Riiiiiiiight,” Patricia drawled. “Well, I show you’ve got, ahhh… two weeks’ PTO left. You sure you want to take all your PTO up front like this? You’ve only been here a-”

“Great! That’s amazing. Perfect. Would you be able to put in the form for me today?”

“I--sure, Marcus. Whatever you need,” she replied. Marcus could sense her suspicion, but he didn’t want to try to explain why he was requesting an additional two weeks. She would likely be concerned if she knew he was doing it for yet another woman so soon after Theresa. He understood, really. It would raise his eyebrows, too, if he was on the outside looking in. Which was why he was too scared to admit the real reason he was staying.

“You’re a lifesaver, Patricia. I really appreciate it--appreciate you. And I’m sorry again for being a dick, before,” Marcus said, hastily.

“You were under a lot of stress,” Patricia conceded. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Marcus.”

“Me too,” he said with a little laugh. “Thanks again for the favor. I’ll, uh, see you in two weeks.”

Two weeks! It felt like such a gift. Two more weeks that he could stay here, with you. Without giving it a second thought, Marcus impulsively booked the cabin for the next fourteen days. He curled his fist and gave a little arm pump in victory. Then his face fell. I’m doing it again, he thought. I’m leaping before I know what’s beneath me. But he couldn’t face the alternative--getting on an airplane back home in just a few, short days. Shit! The airplane! He opened another tab and cancelled his flight, rescheduling it to Sunday in two weeks’ time.

Now that it was all taken care of, all that was left was to talk to you.

“BISH!!!! Where hav u been?? U havent texted for like 4 days and im going INSANE. Cam is driving me up the WALL and I need sum girls time.”

You finished reading the latest text from your best friend, Kris (short for Kristina, although she would likely punch anyone who attempted to call her that). She was loud, brash, and you loved that about her--her more outgoing personality caused you to follow her into social situations that you’d probably decline on your own. And, she had the uncanny ability to sense when something was up with you.

‘Sorry, K. Been busy with running and work, but I could go somewhere tonight, maybe.’

“MAYBE???? I think u mean YES!! I’ll get Charlie to watch Cam for the nite and we can get FUCKED UP”

You let out a little puff of air out of your nose in amusement. But she was right--you should probably meet Kris tonight instead of what you really wanted to do, which was see Marcus again. You were getting WAY too attached, WAY too fast. A little girls’ night might be good for you. You could get an outsider’s perspective on the situation with Marcus, and blow off some steam. The past few days had you feeling wound up, and not just sexually. You and Marcus were becoming very intimate, very quickly. You had talked for hours last night, learning about each other, trading childhood stories, sharing your dreams, your worries for the future… You felt vulnerable around Marcus in a way that scared you, a little. And that was when you two were just talking--you couldn’t even think about how vulnerable you felt underneath him, or on your knees with him behind you, methodically taking you apart, piece by piece. He brought out an incredibly submissive side to you; he made you want to be cared for, looked after--dominated, your brain unhelpfully supplied for you--and it made you feel unsettled. It wasn’t that you didn’t know you had that preference in bed; you were quite aware of it (hence the flogger in your drawer), but Marcus was bringing it out in a way you had never experienced before. Men before Marcus had heard the word ‘dominate’ and immediately jumped to hard, rough, impersonal sex that, even if part of you liked it, left you feeling unmoored and unsafe.

(You eventually switched to dating mostly women, after a particularly uncomfortable experience with a man who proudly called himself a “dom,” but you suspected he was using BDSM as an excuse to enact his darker fantasies. You immediately stopped seeing him after the first time, where he had promptly rolled over and gone to sleep without offering any sort of aftercare, leaving you wide awake, sore, and unnerved in an unfamiliar bed.)

With Marcus, giving up your control felt markedly different. It was hard to even apply the term ‘dom’ to Marcus’s personality in the bedroom. Every action he took seemed to come from a place of extreme care. He was soft-spoken when he directed you to do anything. His main goal appeared to be making you feel as good as possible. And then there was how he cared for you that first night, after he had managed to overwhelm your senses so much that you had cried in his arms afterwards. You could get addicted to this man far too quickly. You reminded yourself that this was not a long-term arrangement. He would be gone at the end of the week, and if you got too attached, it was going to fucking hurt.

You picked up your phone again.

‘Sounds good babe. Tonight at 8, usual spot?’

Kris’s reply came almost immediately. “YES BABE C U THERE <3 <3 <3”

You backed out of the conversation with Kris and pulled up Marcus’s thread.

‘Hey, I’m going out for drinks with my friend Kris tonight, but I’d love to see you tomorrow?’

Your message was marked as ‘read’ almost immediately, making you smirk, but you wondered at the long pause before he eventually responded, “No problem, gorgeous. Hope I see you then. xoxo”

‘Try and stop me ;)’, was your reply.

Thursday was cross-training day for you--no running. Thank God. You usually did some other light activity--yoga, biking, maybe heading to the gym for some weight training. Combined with Friday’s rest day, it gave you a well-needed reprieve before your long runs on Saturday.

As you drove to Marcus’s cabin in the evening after work, you thought about your conversation with Kris the night before. You told her everything, including (especially) the incredible sex--she shrieked when you brought up the flogger, causing nearly the entire bar to turn and stare at the two of you. You explained the circumstances behind your meeting--the attack, Marcus’s intervention, his intense gaze and the way he had insisted on helping you. You kept circling back to how incredibly gentle he was, how safe he made you feel. You told her his admission about Theresa and the reasons behind his short stay in Kentucky. You laid out all your concerns, all your feelings, and Kris listened intently, occasionally licking the salt off the rim of her margarita glass.

“So,” she said, “So. He’s like, perfect for you, but he has hella baggage and leaves on Sunday.”

“That’s the long and the short of it,” you shrugged, taking a long swig of your own margarita.

“I know this is not going to be news, but here’s what you gotta do,” Kris began. “You have some fucking fun with him for the rest of the week until he leaves, and whatever you feel for him at the end, well, you’re gonna have to just deal with it, and then bury it.” She paused to take another sip. “Go fuck a bunch of girls to get over him, do what you need to. You get your fun with him, and then it’s time to bury your feelings and move on.”

You raised your eyebrows. “That’s fucking depressing, thanks.”

Kris threw her hands up. “What’s the alternative?” she said, far too loudly. “What, you guys like, stay in touch and have a long distance relationship halfway across the country with a guy you’ve only seen for a week who has a history of being really impulsive?” She shook her head. “You don’t need that stress in your life.”

You raised your glass. “So, literally fuck Marcus and then figuratively fuck my feelings?”

Kris tapped her drink against yours. “You got it, bitch. Next round’s on me.”

You cut the engine when you arrived at his cabin and took a deep breath. You could do this. It’s just fucking, right? No need to make it more than it is.

Marcus’s smile when he opened the door to you was addictive. Your mood instantly lightened as he drew you inside and immediately set to teasing your lips with his own--nibbling, pecking, and tasting your skin as he deftly worked your mouth open with his own, eventually plundering your mouth in a searing kiss that had you nearly bent over backwards. God, this man loved to kiss. Guess it stands to reason that he’d be fucking amazing at it. Still smiling, he backed you up against the hallway wall and ground his knee between your thighs, his hands wandering up and down your body, not breaking the kiss.

“Beautiful girl,” he murmured between kisses. “Missed you yesterday.”

“Apparently,” you laughed, as he grabbed handfuls of your ass and squeezed, bringing you even closer to him.

“Shit. Shit. Before we-- before I completely lose my head, I have to, uh, tell you something. Ask you something,” Marcus was saying.

“Yeah?” You said, distractedly, as you rolled your hips against his knee and kissed him again, making you both moan.

“Yes. Fuck! Yes--hang on,” Marcus chuckled. “Let’s go sit down, I do really need to talk to you.”

Sobering, you released your hold on him. “Sure, okay, we can do that.” You followed him down the hallway into the living room and sat next to him on the couch. “What’s going on?”

Marcus took a deep breath, and then let it out. You started to feel apprehensive--what was this about? What was he so nervous to tell you?

“What if,” he began, then cleared his throat. “What if, I… didn’t, uh, leave for another two weeks?” Marcus asked. “Would that be-- would you want that? Would you… spend another two weeks with me?”

Your jaw dropped. “Marcus! You-- you want to stay here? For… for me?”

He took your hand, gently. “Here’s the thing. I--” he shook his head, almost in disbelief. “I like you, I want to… I want to stay a little longer, get to know you better. I’m--I’m not ready to leave, not yet. I hope I’m not totally off the mark here, but I feel like there’s… something… between us. Something I want to explore further.” Marcus looked down at your joined hands. “And who knows, maybe… maybe in two weeks’ time, we could--” he swallowed. “be together. If you want.”

You murmured his name again, barely audible. Your heart was in your throat. He wants to stay. He wants to see where this goes. All your concerns and hangups about pursuing a relationship with this man--a man you hadn’t known for even a week, a man who was only here because of a bad breakup--promptly flew out the window. Was that impulsive of you? Fuck, yes. Was there a big chance this was going to crash and burn? Fuck, yes. Were you going to do it anyway? Fuck. Yes. You opened your mouth. There was only one thing you could say.

“Fuck, yes.”

Taglist: @honestly-shite , @thirddeadlysin , @deepstarsco , @221bshrlocked , @mando-amando , @frenchyjuju , @farfromjustordinary , @chronic-nosebleed , @stilettoforbeginners ,@leslie-lyman , @gaiuswrites

#marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic #pedro pascal

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sparklingchan · 3 years

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Ruby Eyes|| Seo Changbin (Stray Kids)

Pairing : Reader(fem.) X Changbin

Word count : 7.3k+

Warnings : Mention of an accident, cuss words, divorce, a single kiss.

Genre : Romance, Soulmate AU, fluff, angst, best friends to lovers.

Description: Seo Changbin has done everything in his capacity to remove and replace you, yet fate seems to have different plans for the both of you.

A/N : Hello everyone ahhh I know it’s been so long y’all. So many things have been going on including exams and internships and I just didn’t have the patience to write :(( This one shot was written as a part of a collab event by wonderful, dear Ro!

I hope y’all like it!

"So, how's it being back, y/n?"

Your dad looks older now than he did the last time you saw him - probably two years ago, when you were leaving the country.

You missed him, really. You missed his warmth and his wisdom and how he was a sharp contrast to your mother, more calm and composed. Sometimes you wonder how your mother had even managed to get your custody after their divorce.

"Okay, I guess." You lie.

You didn't want your father to know how your feelings are all over the place, ranging from sadness to anger and longingness.

It's a weird thing to be experiencing such a cocktail of emotions when you'd convinced yourself these feelings had disappeared the day you left the old neighborhood, seven years ago. You had not felt any attachment towards the new neighborhood that you and your mother then went on to live for the next two years before you moved abroad for your studies. Yet you feel nostalgic now, as your father drives you through your old old neighborhood.

"How's mom?" He asks, taking a left to a road all too familiar to you, "Is she still going to therapy?"

You nod, "She's getting better, I think. The new country seems to have changed her. The therapy is helping too. She has many friends there now. "

At first when you were offered a job at one of the biggest publishing companies in the world, you were ecstatic. But everything soon died down when you found out you were posted at a branch in the country you'd left behind. It was your mother who'd convinced you to take it.

"I know you don't like being back, y/n." Your dad smiles sadly when he pulls over infront of your old house.The house that contains years of secrets, tears, lies and whispered confessions in front of the mirror stands in front of you, as grand and pretty as ever. It looks different but similar enough to make you tear up a tad bit.

"But I'm glad you're here. I really am." He says, "I renovated the house a little when you told me you were moving back. I hope it's okay."

You smile at the old man, wrapping your arms around him, "Thanks, dad. I missed you. I'm glad you're here, too."

He pecks your forehead, "I missed you, too, love."

Moving in doesn't take a lot of time since your dad had already set up everything. You just had to get some of your stuff and you were ready to kick start your stay.

That evening, your father leaves after making you promise to call him if anything happens at all and when the front door closes, you find yourself in the company of your old room.

You lie on your bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as you hum an old tune to yourself. And without meaning to, you find yourself thinking about him; The man you hadn't seen or talked to for a whole seven years. The man who'd tried his best to stay in touch with you yet gave up when you didn't reciprocate the same.

A horrific realization then dawns on you,

He'd obviously replaced you now.

The familiar clouds of grief loom over you, threatening to engulf you any moment now.

No. Not now, please.

Getting up from your bed immediately, you shake your head as you make your way to the mirror- the mirror that had encountered more honest tears and smiles and words than any human ever had. You stare at your reflection as tears escapes your eyes, the bright red iris of your right eye staring back at you when you rub your tears off.

You shiver.

"Shit, I forgot to wear the contacts."

Quickly grabbing your lenses from your bag, you put them on, concealing the scary blood red color of your right eye. You take two long strides across the room and pulling your favorite black hoodie over your head, you walk out of the door.

By the time you manage to leave the house, it's already 10:30 in the evening. A quiet calmness has fallen over the town, as the shops and restaurants near the market square slowly start closing up. Your feet are as if on autopilot, taking you to that one place you know would still be open; Yang's Café.

And rightly so, the smell of freshly brewed coffee reaches your nostrils when you walk through their main door, past the group of chatty teenagers waiting outside. This place hasn't changed much, you realize, the brown and golden hues of the place and the vintage coffee cups collection in the far corner of the Cafe are still the same. The only difference is that you're no longer here with your best friend right after school, you are here all alone on an evening too quiet for your liking.

"Y/n? Is that you?"

When you turn around to face the owner of the voice, you are stunned.

"Jeongin?"

Jeongin's family has owned this Cafe for three generations now, from his great-grandparents, his grandparents, his parents and soon enough it'll pass down to him. As a kid, you remember often playing with Jeongin at the park and teaming up with him during quiz competition. He was always sweet and always smiley.

But the handsome young man that stands in front of you doesn't resemble the Jeongin you once used to know, not even a little bit.

"What..what happened to you!" You exclaim, taking his face in your hands, "Where are the braces! And the specs and wow, would you look at the blue hair!"

Jeongin can only let out a few giggles as you continue squishing his face and complaining how big he's grown in only over seven years.

The customers give you weird stares but only the heavens above know how genuinely happy you are to see Jeongin, albeit the fact you almost couldn't recognize him there for a second.

"What have you done to my child?" You mutter when you've finally calmed down and Jeongin takes you to your seat.

"I have a mother, y/n, thank you very much," he laughs, taking a seat opposite to yours, loosening the Barista apron around his torso, "And I missed you too."

You attempt to pinch his cheeks but he is quick to dodge.

"So how have you been?" He asks through giggly breaths.

You sigh, "I'm good... I feel weird being back here, honestly but I think I'll get used to it soon. What about you?"

"I've been good. Graduated a few months back, now I'm working here full time." He ushers over a waiter, "What would you like, y/n?"

You don't even think for a second while responding, "An iced Americano, please."

The waiter notes your order and walks away before Jeongin pinches your arm teasingly.

"Ouch. What?"

"Old habits die hard, huh? You always used to drink an iced coffee whenever we hung out here. I am glad to see nothing much has changed," Jeongin laughs, "You and Changbin, too!"

That one name sends your entire mind into a frenzy. Changbin. Seo Changbin. The love of your life. The man who you wouldn't even go to school without, the man who had saved you from a terrible accident, also the man who probably no longer even remembers you.

And you realise, despite everything, your heart yearns for him, still- for you wouldn't be in so much pain at the mention of his name otherwise.

Jeongin seems to have noticed your discomfort because he immediately changes the topic, "Anyway, you have to try our new chocolate cake. It's heavenly, I'm telling you."

Your reason to leave the neighborhood wasn't a secret, really. It was public knowledge that your mother had blamed Changbin for the fatal accident you almost had.

You're grateful for what Jeongin does, and try your best to engage in conversations about the neighborhood and old gossip you'd missed out on. Yet all you want to do is drive out of the damn Cafe and find changbin.

"Y/n?"

Or maybe, Changbin will find you.

Behind Jeongin, you see the blurry image of a man that had once caused you great misery yet you had never felt as happy as when you were with him.

"Hi..hi, Changbin." You stammer as you see the said man walk towards your table.

The seven years have as if done some magic on him, because the Changbin that walks towards you in no way resembles your high school best friend.

With thick buff arms, new ear piercings and silver jewelry gracing his wrists and fingers, you have a hard time actually accepting the fact that Seo Changbin is really there, in front of you.

"Been long, huh?" He grins, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes and somewhere in the depths of your conscience, you realize it might have been your fault. You'd done everything in your capacity to break apart from this friendship, ignoring his calls, changing your number, even going as far as blocking him on all social media.

So, did you really expect him to welcome you back with open arms when you had caused him so much pain?

Jeongin brings an extra chair for Changbin to sit on and soon, the three of you are talking, maybe not like the old, happy days but it's still better than nothing. Changbin looks at you everytime you throw your head back and laugh, your eyes squeezing shut as his heart clenches in his chest.

You are really back home.

"So what have you been doing? I told you guys about me." Jeongin says, stealing a bite off of Changbin's cheesecake.

"Oh..you know," Changbin giggles, the tip of his ears turning a light pink shade.

You raise your eye brows in confusion.

"Been busy with the wedding and all."

Your heart drops. "Wedding? W-whose wedding?" You try to laugh it off but it's very evident from the way you're gripping your glass of iced Americano that it has affected you. A lot more than you actually thought.

"I'm getting married, y/n," Changbin smiles, "I'm so glad you could be around for the wedding."

Your grief stricken self has not gotten up from the bed since last night and you're thankful to Jeongin for finally checking up on you or else you would have gone deeper into the spiral hole of despair.

"Are you really going to be like this, y/n?"

You hate being miserable on the very second day of your stay. You hate depending on Jeongin. But you can barely move without bursting out into tears,so it seems as though there's no better idea than have someone take care of you at the moment.

"I'm sorry, Jeongin. " You manage to speak when he places a bag full of snacks and drinks on the dining table, "And thanks."

Jeongin chuckles, "Don't thank me, just yet. Guess who wants to meet up with you?"

Your eyes widen for a split second as you sit up on the couch, "Who?!"

No, he wouldn't, would he?

"It's not the person you think, y/n. Calm down." He laughs, "It's Bang Chan. Your senior, you remember?"

Oh, yes, the infamous Bang Chan. Shy smiles, dimples, curly hair, angelic eyes. Yeah, you remember the school's heartthrob. Very clearly.

"I was talking to him this morning and he said he'd be very glad to catch up with you again." Jeongin settles beside you, "It's not a date, y/n. He's an old friend. It wouldn't hurt, would it? You can't possibly sit here all day long crying about him."

You open your mouth to argue, but only air slips out and you realise you don't have anything to defend your miserable state with. You knew this was coming; when you cut off all ties with Seo Changbin, you knew this was coming.

Jeongin is right; you need to go out and meet new people.

You roll your eyes before pinching Jeongin's cheeks, "Fine. Give him my number."

He responds by pulling your cheeks as well.

The first day of work is weirdly gut wrenching.

You hadn't expected yourself to be this nervous but here you are, muttering under your breath as you make way towards the office.

"You'll be okay, y/n," you breathe in, "You've worked hard for this." And breathe out.

A few more minutes of self pep talking and you see all your hard work and expectations go down the drain as you feel a few droplets of rain fall onto your head. You look up and the dark, heavy clouds greet you.

Bloody brilliant.

You see the office goers around you jog quickly to the nearest shelter but you're short on luck today as your gaze falls on your watch and you realize you don't have enough time to wait for the rain to pass.

So you grab your office bag, cover your head with that and make a run for it.

The sole of your high heel shoes dig into your feet and a throbbing pain shoots through your body, as you wince. Note to yourself - never wear heels to office again.

You also secretly pray to the gods that your contact lens don't get washed off. Turning up at your new office on the first day with a blood red iris doesn't feel too fun, really.

"Do you need a lift?"

You had been so busy running to your office that you don't notice when a black car drives toward you and the driver rolls down the window, offering you a smile.

Seo Changbin.

Your heart skips a few beats.

"Y/n, do you need a lift?"

You blink back to reality when he clicks his fingers in front of you, "I-I mean if that's okay with you."

Changbin smiles, pointing to the passenger's seat, "Come on in."

When you're comfortably seated in his car, using his spare towel to wipe off the water from your face and hair, his questions start-

"So.." He steps on the break when the traffic light turns red, "How have you been?"

You look at the digital clock displayed on the cars' LED, and sigh. You're late to work and you're stuck in traffic with the one man you'd rather not be stuck in traffic with. Brilliant.

"Good." Your eyes are focused on the cars outside the window, "You?"

There's a moment of silence before he speaks again, "Fine."

Fine? Just Fine? Shouldn't he be over the clouds, now that the wedding is finally around the corner?

"Okay.."

"Actually, I meant to ask you earlier, y/n." He turns to you, a gentle smile playing at his lips, "I am throwing a party this weekend. I'd love it if you could come by. And I could introduce you to her."

You sink back into your seat, biting your lip, wondering if you want to ever know who her is. Your peace of mind is more important than meeting your ex crush's fiance, right? And if you do end up going to the party, whom would you hang out with? It's not like you know any of his rich friends and cousins and there's no way you'd hang out with Changbin and the said fiance.

You are about to respectfully reject the invitation when a sudden, seemingly good idea pops into your head.

Bang Chan.

You nod, shrugging, "Okay. I'll be there."

You clasp your hands together as he continues driving and you look out the window, unable to suppress the bubbling excitement.

"Great, then." He replies, suspiciously.

The evening of the party finally arrives, much to your dismay, you find yourself seated next to Chan. He's just the same as the guy in your memory; a gentleman.

"You look pretty, y/n." He had greeted you as he held the car door open for you, "I'm glad we could meet up."

His words turn your cheeks into a darker shade of red but your heart doesn't beat quite as furiously as you'd expect it to.

Muttering a small thank you, you seat comfortably in the car while Chan drives towards Changbin's family's old Farmhouse on the outskirts of the city. You've been there before - during summer holidays, he would take you there with his family. That place was only filled with happy memories of sunshine, swimming pools, watermelon juice and bonfires.

You swallow the grief that comes along with these memories.

"Are we here already?" Chan pulls over in a familiar driveway not even ten minutes later, jogging up to your door and clicking it open, like the gentleman he is.

"Yeah, we're here." Chan smiles, "Very less traffic tonight."

You guys walk through the huge metallic gate, making your way through the main door of the house.

"Uh..." People are crowded mostly around the front door and in the front yard, so you and Chan have to push and squeeze your way into the Farmhouse. You hate the feeling of sweaty bodies pressing against you (or holding Chan's hand for stability) but desperate situations call for desperate measures.

"I hate it here." You mutter when you later find yourself by the pool side, swirling the drink that you don't even plan on drinking and looking at all the flushed faces having the time of their lives.

Thankfully, Chan happens to be on the same boat as you.

"I'm sorry I dragged you here, Chan. We could have just gone for a movie."

Chan giggles, "Hey, it's alright. I don't mind, I'm glad I could spend some time with you after so many years."

His eyes shine and dimples deepen.

You whisper, "Yeah, me too."

Chan is a handsome man, good at all kinds of sport, good at arts, very smart and intelligent yet there's a part of you that knows you'd never be able to reciprocate his flirtatious words. It's sad, really, but that's just how life is.

"Wow, those two seem to be having the time of their lives." Chan chuckles, pointing at someone behind you.

It's quite dark outside, the only source of light being a few decorative fairylights hung at random places haphazardly.

Hiding behind a huge, tall bush, you see a couple, kissing each other like it were the last day on the planet.

The guy's hands roam all over the woman's body and the woman is so loud that even you could hear her sighs and moans. When she pulls away to catch her breath for a second, Chan asks you, "You know her?"

"Nope. I don't know either of them."

You look away; what kind of creep looks at a happy couple like that? (Not a creep, just a lonely and touch starved person)

"Should we check out the dinner table?" Chan suggests and you agree with a nod, "I hope there's no crowd there."

As expected, there actually isn't a crowd there - there's only Changbin, sitting and nibbling on a pizza slice while scrolling through the phone.

The moment your eyes land on him, your feet as if stop on their own and your heart bangs furiously against your chest.

He's breathtakingly gorgeous.

By the time you debate in your head whether or not you want to sit there and fill your stomach, Chan has already made his way to Changbin.

"Hey, Bin!" He greets him with a smile.

Changbin looks at Chan with an unamused smile, the same one from your high school days, when these two were named the biggest rivals on campus. You wonder if somewhere deep in his heart, Changbin had still not let go of that rivalry.

"Hey, Changbin." You manage to whisper before sitting beside Chan.

He looks almost angry.

"You should have the pizza. It's good." He mutters, turning to pass you a slice of pizza on a plate, "Help yourself, Chan."

Yup, there it is. The Seo Changbin that would kill to be on top. You feel worse about dragging Chan here now when neither of you were having a good time.

"Thanks, mate. " Chan replies.

Your ears ring with the sound of approaching footsteps, and when a pretty girl comes walking in and takes Changbin in her arms, your heart stings. Like a fresh wound.

"Y/n.." Chan whispers to you as you watch the two collide in a loving embrace, Changbin smiling at her and running his fingers through her hair.

Your heart hurts at how happy and content he looks.

You could have had that, a part of you thinks, if you weren't such a coward, it would have been you instead of her.

"Y/n," Chan calls you again.

"What?" Your tone is harsher than you intended, "What happened?"

You think Chan is about to give you the whole it-is-time-to-move-on talk but he doesn't, instead he points at the girl and whispers,

"It's her. The girl we saw earlier."

The rest of the night is blurry to you, all conversations, all gazes, all thoughts just feel ....like an awkward dream.

"We have to tell Changbin."

You're sitting at Yang's Cafe at 1 am the same night, watching Jeongin's brother guide his staff to clean the place up.

"I agree." Chan says, biting the inside of his cheeks.

While you, on the other hand, are completely zoned out, staring at the glass of water placed in front of you and watching the droplets on its surface race each other.

"Y/n, what do you think?" Jeongin asks when you don't take part in their discussions.

You sigh, "I don't know. I really don't. As much as it troubles me that Changbin is being cheated on, I don't want to get involved in their personal relationship. "

"Let's not tell anyone for now, then. But someday in the future, before that goddamn wedding, we have to tell him. He deserves to know." Chan agrees.

You purse your lips and close your eyes.

Chan is right.

Changbin deserves to know the truth.

"So, how's it being back in town, y/n?"

"It feels good. Weird, but good." You smile at your old teacher, "How have you been, Miss Oh?"

Your teacher adds sugar to the cup of tea in her hands and then looks at you, smiling - the same old smile, except with more wrinkles now, "I've been good. I'm retiring next year so I'm glad I could see you before that, huh?"

You nod your head, "I'm glad too. The school hasn't changed much, unlike what I had expected."

Other than the addition of some new labs and libraries, and the change in color of the walls, everything was still the same. No place in this old school building feels foreign to you.

"Ugh, these administration people I tell you, y/n, they're cheap idiots. They won't spend a single penny on infrastructure unless it's absolutely necessary." She complains as you giggle in response,

"They've always been like that."

Miss Oh gulps some tea from her cup, "Anyway, y/n, I have a class now. I would have loved to stay and chat, really, but I'm afraid that might get me in to trouble."

"No issues, Miss Oh. Go ahead. I'll just roam around the school a little more though, if that's okay."

After Miss Oh leaves, you step out of her cabin and walk the familiar corridors, reminiscent of the memories you have here. Studying a few minutes before tests, bunking classes, running to class when you're late, hanging out with your friends- these corridors have seen you grow in love, in friendship, in life. There's absolutely nothing that could ever replace these memories.

Mindlessly, you wander around the third floor, walking toward the end of the corridor before stopping in front of an old door, way too familiar to not try and push open.

While a part of you tells you it might not be a good idea to go into that room again, there's also a part of you that thinks it's a bloody brilliant idea.

Pushing the door open, you walk into the old dusty room, sighing in relief when you see a particular set of letters still carved on the wall.

CB and YN were here.

You finally let your tears run free, as you crouch down to touch the letters.

Your heart aches at how much you miss Changbin being an important part of your life and how much you miss being his top priority. And your heart aches for Changbin, who is so in love with his fiancé and has no idea he's being cheated on.

You almost want to leave this town and go back to your mother, away from this terrible mess. Yet you don't find it in yourself to act on those thoughts.

Maybe, it is your fear of abandoning him once again that stops you. Or, maybe it is simply the unconditional love you harbor for him.

* Surprisingly, Yang's Cafe is near empty that afternoon.

"Did something happen, y/n? You look really worried." Changbin has his arms crossed over his chest, looking at you with a tense frown.

"Um..it's kind of complicated." You sigh. For a second, you see the genuine concern and innocence on his face, and you wonder if it is worth telling him the truth at all because it would kill you to see him lose his smile but then, his engagement band shines on his ring finger and your stomach turns unpleasantly.

He has to know. From you. In person.

"Changbin, that day at your party...I saw something. " You whisper, "Something I shouldn't have. I should have turned a blind eye really but I can't. My conscience won't allow it. I'm sorry, Bin."

"Y/n, it's okay, just tell me," he reaches over and wraps his fingers around yours, soft and gentle, "You're scaring me."

"Changbin, your fiance is cheating on you. I-I saw her kissing another man that night. Chan saw it too." You feel sick even having to say this to him, "I think you should confront her."

He sucks in a deep breathe, his face completely void of any emotions as he extracts his hands from yours.

"I know." Is all he says.

His eyes drill into yours, as if accusing you of a crime. He looks angry. Just how he looked the day you brought Chan to his party.

"Why are you still marrying her then?" You question.

He sits up straight, "Y/n, I wish I could explain. But I can't. I'm sorry. And please, stay out of this, okay?"

"Why? Why should I stay out of it?" Your voice threatens to break, "I cannot watch my best friend marry a woman who's not loyal. You deserve better than this, Bin."

A sarcastic chuckle leaves Changbin's lips as he taps his foot against the floor, "Let me correct you, y/n. You were my best friend. Seven years ago. You're not anymore."

Your heart shatters.

A part of you knows you deserve this after ghosting him for seven long years. You were the center of each other's world at one point of time.How could you have been so selfish to ever think that your absence and lack of communication wouldn't hurt him?

"Changbin, I'm sorry for everything I did okay. B-but I never stopped thinking or worrying about you. Even for one second. And I still do."

Changbin pushes his chair back and stands up while you stay frozen in your seat.

"It doesn't seem like that though. "

"What do you even mean!"

"Chan. I mean Chan, y/n." He grabs his phone and purse, "Goodbye, y/n. I hope Chan turns out to be a better friend than I ever did." With that, the love of your life walks out of Yang's Cafe.

And for once, he doesn't even look back.

* "Y/n, don't let go of my hand!"

Changbin is panting heavily, his voice shaking with fear as he desperately tries to hold onto you.

He should have known it would be a bad idea to play badminton near the infamous cliff in your town yet when you had showed him your innocent smile and pleading eyes that day, he just couldn't say no.

Your sweaty hands clutch his, legs dangling over the edge of the cliff. Your free hand grabs the rough surface of the rocky cliff to keep yourself from falling.

You want to cry; but you're too traumatized to even let out more than a few terrified grunts. "Y/n," he yells, "I'm going to try and pull you up one more time, okay?."

You don't even remember how you had ended up in this situation; one second you were happily giggling, playing badminton with Changbin and in the next second, you found yourself hanging by the cliff, praying for your dear life.

With all the energy he has left, he tries to pull you up onto the surface.

"Y/n, you have to free the other hand. Let go of that rock." He pants.

You shake your head vigorously, you know you would not survive if you let go of the rock, you'd fall thousands of feet below into absolute nothingness.

"Y/n, please listen to me." Changbin pleads, now crying, "Please. I'll catch you, I promise. I'll not let you die. Just..please."

Changbin sounds like he's about to give up and in all honesty, you couldn't blame him really. Everytime your eyes fall on what's beneath you, a part of you loses hope.

"Please, come on, y/n," he's still pulling at your free hand, while his right hand awaits desperately to grab the other hand. A mixture or sweat and tears grace his face, making him shine under the bright afternoon sun. Your heart aches at the mere thought of never seeing him again- your friend, your childhood crush, your partner in everything.

Well, here goes nothing then.

You suck in a deep breath and let go the Rock, immediately reaching for Changbin. He is quick to grab both of your arms and in one swift movement, he pulls you up onto the surface.

You fall onto his chest, "Y-you saved me."

Changbin let's out a sob mixed with a relieved giggle, pulling you into his arms.

Your eyes feel heavy, as darkness slowly begins to engulf your vision.

"Oh God, I am so sorry this happened, y/n. It's all my fault." He cries, rubbing your back softly, "I'm so sorry. I thought I was going to lose you, oh God. Fuck!"

You want to tell him that it was never his fault, and that you wouldn't even be alive if not for him but your body betrays you and your body goes limp against his.

"I'm not leaving this neighborhood."

Your hands rest angrily on your waist as your mom frantically walks from your closet to where the suitcase is spread open on your bed, shifting all your clothes. She dumps them inside the suitcase, not bothering to fold them even.

"You will do as I say! That Seo Changbin tried to push you off of a cliff and heaven knows what he might do next!" Your mom yells back.

You sit at the edge of your bed, trying to keep yourself calm, "Mom, I told you it was an accident. I fell because I was going after the shuttlecock and didn't notice the cliff. Moreover, why would my best friend want try to kill me!"

Your mom let's out a sarcastic laugh, closing the suitcase roughly. She looks at you with eyes full of contempt and a part of you knows that there's no point in trying to convince her. Her mind is already made. Yet you refuse to go down without a fight.

"You're just sixteen, sweetie. You don't know anything about the cruel world, " your mother sighs, "Rich people are not friends with anyone. Changbin may be nice to you but he only sees you as a pathetic poor girl."

"Mom, we're not even poor!"

"Yes, I know. But those filthy rich businessmen consider everyone below their economic status poor. His family probably doesn't like him being friends with you which is why they asked him to get rid of you."

You think of Mrs. Seo's face in your head, always smiling and always welcoming. You remember Changbin's sister and how she'd promised to let you borrow her dress for this year's winter prom. And you think about Changbin- his face, his smile, his passion for music and his protectiveness towards you. Why would these people ever want to hurt you?

"Mom, you're being ridiculous right now! Do you even hear yourself!" You stand up from the bed, now beyond frustrated.

She walks upto you and grabs your arm tightly, nails digging into your skin as you whimper slightly. "You will listen to me. I am your mother and you will listen to me. " she growls, "Pack the rest of your stuff. We're leaving tomorrow."

When she finally walks out your bedroom, your first instinct is to dress yourself in your black hoodie and track pants, and quietly slip out of the back window of your room.

The cold air nips at your skin, goosebumps slowly appearing on your arms and legs but you're too preoccupied to pay too much heed to it.

You reach Changbin's house and like always, walk up to the backyard and climb upto his room through the emergency staircase.

When Changbin hears knocks on his window, he quickly removes his headphones, "y/n?"

He walks upto the window and let's you in, his heart more at peace now than it's ever been the entire day. The guilt from the accident you had earlier was clawing at his conscience.

His room is mostly dark except for his table lamp. You notice the lyrics notebook lying on the table, open with some scribbles and random phrases on the pages.

"How are you feeling?"

You sit at the edge of his bed, cross legged while he kneels on the floor to get to your level. His hands find yours naturally.

"Fine," you swallow the tears that have been accumulating since you left the house, "Changbin, I- we're leaving tomorrow."

Changbin is taken aback; his heart shattering into billions of pieces at your words.

"Leaving? What do you mean Leaving?" his voice trembles.

You lick your dry lips and tell him everything your mom had told you earlier. When his face twists bitterly, a part of you wishes you'd held your tongue yet a bigger part of you wants Changbin to know the truth now; you didn't want him sending you off with lies in his mind and the fear of him finding out some years later just killed you inside.

"I'm so sorry, Changbin. Mom's just not been okay after the divorce." Your voice breaks when Changbin refuses to look at you, "I know she's speaking bullshit. But there's absolutely nothing I can do to change her mind, I've tried I swear. I'm sorry, Changbin."

When Changbin finally does look at you, even in the dim lit room, you see the tears glistening on his face, mirroring the ones that roll down your cheeks. "Why are you sorry, y/n? I don't blame your mom." He mutters, "It was partly my fault. I should have taken more care, I-"

You cup his cheek, "Shh. Bin, are we really going to spend my last night here crying and blaming ourselves? We might never see each other again."

The words sink deep into his soul, and he nods. He wills his tears back in as he grabs your hand tighter.

"Okay. What do you wanna do?"

You smile a little, "You're not gonna like it though. "

"Stargazing it is then." He giggles a little as the both of you make your way to balcony attached to his room.

It is quiet outside, unlike the noise in your head and you feel the calmness spreading to you when you look up at the stars.

Changbin brings a picnic mat from inside and spreads it out on the floor, along with two pillows and a blanket.

"We'll stay in touch, yeah? If you ever need anything, I'll be right here." He reassures you, lying beside you, hands behind his head.

You smile yet you cannot bring yourself to promise him the same because you know your mother would do everything in her power to push the two of you apart, even to the point of physically hurting Changbin. You would never want that so you'd rather distance yourself and let Changbin forget about you. And maybe, just maybe fate would be a little nicer to you and decide to bring you into his life again. Many years later.

He presses a soft kiss to your head, "You'll always be my best friend, y/n. I don't care how far we are."

It takes everything in your being to not repeat the words.

"Changbin, come on we're getting you to the hospital this instant, okay?" Mrs. Seo is furious next morning, running from room to room, looking through the list of doctors she'd saved just in case of emergency.

When she looks at her son, sitting on the sofa with one of his eye irises turning a glowing red, she is reassured that this is an emergency.

"How did this even happen, mom? I swear I didn't try to do anything funny with my eye." He murmurs, scared, "It feels so itchy, gosh!"

Mrs.Seo looks at him with concern just when the doctor picks the call, "Oh, hello Dr.Lee! Thank god you picked up!"

After his mom walks out of his room, Changbin quickly types you a text,

Binnie: Hey. Did you leave already?

Y/nnie: No not yet. We've stopped at the doctor's.

Changbin's eyes widen in alarm.

Binnie: What why?

You look at your face in the decorative mirror at the doctor's waiting room, one of your irises burning into a bright shade of ruby.

Y/nnie: Mom's running a cold.

You close the messenger app before he even replies, deciding to change your number and deleting all your old contacts as soon as you move into your new house. And as much as it hurt you, this one text turned out to be the last time Changbin and you ever talked.

It has been raining all day, which means you were stuck in your goddamn house with nothing to do but cry about Changbin and your lost friendship and your broken heart.

After you manage to get some food into your body during dinner time, you crawl back to your room and look into the mirror as you comb your hair and moisturize your skin.

(Self care is important, y'all)

Your red iris stares back at you, taunting your mistakes and calling you a coward.

If only you had still tried to keep in touch with him, if only that stupid accident wouldn't have happened in the first place, if only.

Suddenly, a knock on your balcony door makes you jump in your place.

Shit. Is it a burglar?

You grab the closest thing that could be classified as a weapon - which happens to be an umbrella.

The knocking continues.

"Y/n, it's Changbin." He yells, "Can I please talk to you?"

You freeze in your spot.

Why in the world is he here? Does he have anything worse to say? Is he here to invite you to his wedding? But why would he sneak in through the balcony when he can easily ring the main door bell.

"Y/n, are you in there?"

You quickly walk upto the door and slide it open, revealing Changbin, completely drenched in the rain. His wet hair stuck to his face and "Shit. What the- God, come inside!"

He obeys and tiptoes inside your room, a guilty expression plastered on his face.

You guide him directly to the bathroom and offer him a towel.

"What are you even doing here, Bin?" You lean against the door frame, hands crossed over your chest.

He is drying his hair with the towel when he looks up at you as if to answer your question but he stops. His mouth hangs open as his eyes remain glued to your face.

And that's when you realize why he looks so surprised.

"Shit- fuck." You turn around immediately, "my lenses," you mutter to yourself.

But before you can even walk upto your dressing table, Changbin has caught your wrist and spun you around, pulling you closer to his body.

"Your eye." He let's out a shaky breath.

"Yes, I know. Please don't freak out. It's always been like this after -"

"After the accident." He finishes your sentence, "I know."

Your mouth runs dry as his face draws in closer, "What do you mean you know? What do you know?"

He let's go of your wrist and takes a step back, turning around so that his back faces you.

And when he turns to look at you again, you swear you could have passed out there and then.

"Y-you have it too." You whisper, weak in the knees, "You have a red iris too."

Changbin gives you a small smile, "Yes, y/n."

"But why? What does this mean?" You say, "Is it a symptom of some chronic illness?"

"It's a soul mark."

"What's a soul mark?"

"It's a mark that exists on the bodies of soulmates."

You feel a pang in your chest; like someone was squeezing your heart out of your chest.

"Right," You fall back onto the bed, dazed with the sudden piece of information, "And how do you know all this?"

Changbin kneels down in front of you, hands finding yours. He looks more relaxed than he did since the first day you come back to town.

It almost feels like you had been given back your old friend.

"I've been doing my research, y/n. After you left, this is all I've been doing." He says, "This is also the reason why I had gotten engaged. By that time, I had given up on finding a soulmate. So I just settled for whatever I got. I didn't even feel bad when I found out my fiance was not in love with me. For the world, we might look like a happy couple, but truly, it was just a marriage of convenience for our parents' business."

You bite your lips wondering how to respond to these words. He'd laid bare his heart in front of you, something you never thought he'd do ever again.

"What now?" You say, tired.

He intertwines your fingers, "Also, I'm sorry for yesterday. I shouldn't have said all that."

You nod, "It's alright. I know you didn't mean it. And for the record, I and Chan have nothing going on."

"And for the record, I also broke off my engagement."

Your eyes widen as a gasp leaves your lips, "What? Why?"

"Because when I told my parents that I do not love my fiancé, and that I have only ever loved you, they said my happiness was more important than their business."

When you don't reply to his words, he looks worried, "Hey, you don't have to feel burdened to like me back and all okay? Literally, if you want me to leave you alone, I will. I understand-"

You pull him by the nape and place the softest, gentlest, most sincere kiss on his lips.

"I feel the same way, dumbass." You sigh as you pull him into your arms.

He muzzles his face in the crook of your neck, playing with your hair from behind, "So what now?"

"Let's start with a date." You say, "Let's take it slow."

Changbin wraps his arms tighter around you, kissing your cheek, "As you wish, my love. "

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lilacandladybugs · 3 years

Text

Winnie the Pooh Rendition: In Which The Syndicate Throws Technoblade a Birthday Party

It was a bright and snowy as ever June day, one of those days where nearly everyone is still sleeping, and the summer air is a bit thicker than normal, and the snowflakes still bustle through the air. One of those June days where the polar bears lay around lazily and the song of birds from nearby treetops feels even more gentle than normal. It was one of those types of snowy Junes, the most Junest that anyone had seen, when Philza Minecraft realized it was Technoblade’s birthday.

“Oh dear,” Phil said, standing up from where he had been writing Wilbur a letter, “Today is Technoblade’s birthday, and I haven’t got anything planned.” This simply wouldn’t do. Technoblade would need to have a large birthday to commemorate how Clever and Loyal and Generous he was, as everyone in the Syndicate agreed.

“I must go tell Ranboo right away, and we can make some plans together.” And so Philza gathered up his armor and went out into the snowy June morning to Ranboo’s house, which was just across the lawn.

“Ranboo,” Phil began, “I had nearly forgotten that it is Technoblade’s birthday today, and we must throw him a party as soon as possible.”

“His birthday?” Ranboo said, blinking his large enderman eyes, “a birthday.”

“Yes,” said Phil, “and we need to throw him a party.”

“Well birthday parties are things that shouldn’t be forgotten,” said Ranboo, who had forgotten what a Birth Day was, “and we should make sure everything is just right.”

“Yes,” said Phil, “we should.”

Ranboo considered for a moment what a Birth Day might be, and what type of party someone would have for it. Perhaps Birth Days were days where you had something good happen, and you needed congratulating. In that case they might want to write him a book. Or maybe Birth Days where when something solemn happened, and you needed consoling.

“It seems,” Ranboo guessed, “That we should have a celebration.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Ah yes,” Ranboo nodded seriously, “of course, Birth Days are always for celebrating and being happy.”

“Well, yes, obviously. But what should we do to celebrate it?”

Ranboo remembered that Technoblade seemed to enjoy fireworks, and he remembered that sometimes people set off fireworks when they were celebrating an occasion. “What if we set off fireworks?”

“Oh,” said Phil, “yes Technoblade does like fireworks.”

Ranboo felt pleased with himself for guessing something correctly, “Yes he does.”

“But fireworks are not very customary on such occasions,” Phil continued.

“True,” said Ranboo, “not very custardly at all.”

Phil sat down next to Ranboo so that he would be in a better position for planning occasions, and thought about the firework idea, which still remained their only idea. “Well, I suppose we could have fireworks anyway,” he resolved, “given they are Technoblade’s favorite.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Ranboo said.

“I’ll go tell Nikki, nobody would want to miss a birthday party.” Phil stood up with new resolve to make Technoblade a lot of fancy fireworks for his birthday, “Thank you for helping me come up with ideas. Come around our house at three o’clock, and I will have woken Technoblade up for his birthday.”

“Goodbye,” said Ranboo, feeling as if the exchange had gone exceptionally well for not knowing what a Birth Day was, and feeling very excited to finally find out.

“Goodbye,” said Phil, glad he wasn’t the only one who had nearly forgotten. Nikki was in her bakery, where it was much warmer than outside in the snow, and the smell of something sweet, but not too sweet, hung gently in the air. Phil stepped in and instantly felt much better about everything.

“Hullo Nikki!”

“Hullo Phil,” Nikki said, pulling a cake her out of her oven, “It is Technoblade’s birthday today, and so I thought it would be a good idea to make him a cake.”

“Ah yes,” Phil said. He hadn’t even thought of making Technoblade a cake, even though such things were indeed customary at birthday parties. “Cakes are great for birthday parties. I would have made him one myself, of course, but I am not much of a cake maker, and more of a fireworks maker.”

“Cakes are good for birthday parties,” Nikki agreed. “and I am sure you are great at firework making.”

Phil also realized that Nikki had remembered Technoblade’s birthday before he had remembered it. Nikki didn’t need to know that, she was on a need-to-know basis, if you will. “I, too, have remembered Technoblade’s birthday, as all good and proper friends should, and I have decided that we should wake him up for his birthday at three o’ clock this afternoon.” He smelled the cake and looked very closely, but not too closely, at the purple icing that Nikki had just pulled out of her pantry. “Would you like to come to the party?”

“Of course,” said Nikki, “Have you already told Ranboo? I’m sure he would be devastated to miss out on it.”

“Yes, I did,” said Phil, “And I think we all would be.”

They stood there for a moment, thinking about how much everyone in the Syndicate cared about Technoblade, and how they had all grown incredibly fond of him, and how they would be devastated to miss out on such an Occasion as his birthday.

After they had given it a moment of consideration, Phil helped Nikki finish baking her cakes. Then he helped her carry them up to the cottage, and Nikki helped Phil set up a table outside with chairs, including one for Steve, and generally prepared for the birthday party. Ranboo, having never attended a party before, was practically buzzing with excitement, and talking to each of them very loudly about what he thought it might be like, and how much fun they were going to have.

At last, the party was all set up, and they went to poke Technoblade to get him to wake up from hibernation.

“Surprise!” They all said together when he opened his eyes, “Happy birthday!”

“Oh!” said Technoblade, struggling to stay awake, “Is it my birthday today?”

“Yes,” said Nikki, “You told me that June 1st is your birthday.”

“So it is,” confessed Technoblade.

“How old are you turning?” Nikki asked innocently.

Technoblade paused for a moment trying to remember.

“Ninety-seven,” he responded finally. This was not how old he was.

Fortunately, nobody asked him anymore questions about it and they all went outside to have cake and look at fireworks.

Nikki presented her cake with purple icing and cut everyone a slice.

“This is the best cake I’ve ever had,” Technoblade said, “Where did you get it?”

“I baked them myself,” Nikki said, glowing with happiness, “at my bakery. I’ve been baking again recently.”

“Cake is always better than pie,” Technoblade remarked, and everyone agreed, even Steve. “Except pumpkin pie is alright.”

“I don’t like pumpkin pie,” said Phil, “But I’ve only had it once, so maybe it isn’t that bad.”

“I could make some for you sometime.” Nikki offered, and they all agreed that if Nikki made it then it would probably be the best, and being the best, would be enjoyable even for someone like Phil.

When they had all eaten enough, Philza Minecraft stood up, and everybody stopped talking and were very silent, except Ranboo who had eaten a bite that was a little too large and was having a fit of hiccups.

“This party,” said Philza, “is a party because of our appreciation for someone who we all appreciate very much, and we are celebrating him turning…” Phil couldn’t remember how old Technoblade was either, “one year older.” He felt around underneath the table for his fireworks, “And I have got a present for him.”

Technoblade was very happy and smiling but he tried his best not to look too eager. When he saw what it was though he could not stop himself from smiling so much he was practically glowing.

Phil held up the present, seeing that Techno was happy and knowing that Ranboo’s advice had been very good advice, “They’re fireworks! I have spent all morning working on them, and I think they will be perfect.”

“I bet they will be,” Techno said, and he meant it, knowing that Philza Minecraft’s crafting knowledge far exceeded his own.

Now all of them were very happy, because Technoblade was happy, and Phil loaded some brightly packaged fireworks, lit them, and set them off in a vibrant display of colors against the white snowy backdrop. They made various shapes in the sky and came in different layers, some of them changed from one color to another.

Everyone ooh-ed and ahh-ed.

But Technoblade was confused. The fireworks did Not look special to him, they looked Dull and Patternless. This was very confusing and surprising as they were made by Phil Himself. But everyone else was ooh-ing and ahh-ing, and it seemed like the right thing to do, so he did it politely along with them.

After Phil had already set off three of his special fireworks, Nikki noticed that Techno looked confused and said, “Technoblade, can you see the fireworks?”

“Well, I can see the colors a little,” he admitted sheepishly, not wanting to upset Phil, who he was sure had worked very hard on them.

“That doesn’t sound right,” said Phil, “you should be seeing the colors a lot not just a little.”

“You’ve forgotten your glasses,” Nikki pointed out.

“Oh,” said Techno, now feeling very silly.

Ranboo saw an opportunity to be helpful even without knowing what a Birth Day party was. “I’ll go get them for you.” He ran into the house and back very quickly and handed Technoblade his glasses.

“Thank you Ranboo,” Technoblade said. Everything looked sharper now, he could see the snowflakes and Ranboo’s large enderman eyes much more clearly.

“Let’s try again,” Phil said, and he set off a few more of his fireworks and they all ooh-ed and ahhh-ed, and Technoblade did not have to fake it as he could actually see them this time, and they were beautiful, and everything that one would expect from Philza himself.

Since this was everything they had planned to do, everyone talked for a little while longer, just enjoying each other’s company and laughing. Then they drifted off, after saying their goodbyes, and congratulated Technoblade on his new age, whatever that might be.

But Phil and Techno stayed outside in the snow together for a long time and silently watched the sun set in the distance.

“When you finally wake up after hibernating, Techno,” Phil said at last, “what is the first thing you like to do?”

“I like find out how Steve and you and Ranboo are doing,” Technoblade said. “What do you do, Phil?”

“When I first wake up, I always wonder to myself what exciting thing will happen today.”

Technoblade nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes,” he said, “It’s the same thing.”

#technoblade #philza #nikki #nihachu #the syndicate #dream smp #winnie the pooh au #ranboo #i made another one bc my internet was out all day today #follow @mcytwinniethepoohquotes for more! there are five now :)

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krappykawa · 4 years

Text

i mildly like you more than like (pt. 6)

— in which an incessant fan girl, a kiss, and a little bit of denial makes oikawa tooru realize he might mildly like you more than like

description. you’ve been in love with oikawa tooru for longer than you can remember. having known him for the better part of nearly 11 years, you’ve come to accept that you’ll never be more than a best friend to him. but with the help of a few irritatingly persistent fangirls and a kiss that was only meant to drive them away, a tale of unrequited love might just prove to be something more.

word count. 7.9k

oikawa tooru x f!reader, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, some angst

parts. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

author’s note. ahhh final part!! this story has been a thrill to write and it really does hold a special place in my heart so i’m so so happy with the positive feedback it’s gotten from all of you! for those that have stuck around every week for an update, here’s the final part! i hope you all like it :D

author’s note 2. so sorry for the repost! something went wrong with the tags but i hope it’s fine now!

previously ...

It almost hits him like a truck then because huh, he’s in love with you. And yet, he doesn’t feel so different, he just feels lighter.

“Huh.”

“You finally figured it out then?”

Oikawa smiles to himself. “Yeah, I think I did.” He’s almost glad that you had to spend your lunch tutoring one of the first-years because he’s not too sure what he would do with himself if you were here.

A smile finds its way onto Iwaizumi’s lips. “Happy to see it, asshole. Just don’t keep her waiting on you for another three years.”

“I won’t. I don’t plan on wasting any more time now that I finally figured it out.”

“How do you plan on telling her then?”

“That I love her?”

“You love her?” A voice that’s not Iwaizumi’s nearly jolts him from his seat. He’d know that voice anywhere.

He turns to find you standing not far from where he and Iwaizumi are seated and feels the color drain from his face.

“You love her?”

The question echoes over the soft whipping of the night wind, poorly masking the sound of heartbreak that seems to reverberate within every uttered syllable in the three words that had just left your lips on their own accord. Three measly words, and yet - you can feel the way that your heart slowly tears itself apart.

Your love for him was kept silent for so long, a love that you only ever communicated through glances that lasted longer than they should have, arms that wrapped just a centimeter too tight to be friendly, and smiles that tipped upwards in a way that it only did for him. It was the fear of this - that despite everything you had to offer, the object of your affections would never see you in the light that you saw him.

And you hate it. You hate how fast he stands from the bench, hate how the wind whips softly over his hair and forces chestnut strands over his eyes, hate how under the pale moonlight and with someone else standing next to him, he’s still all that you see.

Maybe if you’d just let go of that fear and just told him, maybe you wouldn’t be standing here feeling this way. Or maybe he’d have broken your heart back then and he wouldn’t be in your garden in the first place. You decide that you’d rather be standing here, eyes locked with Oikawa in an awkward standstill than have that scenario come to fruition.

“How long have you been standing there?” is all he says.

You turn your gaze down to the wide slabs of rock under your feet, unable to look at him in the eye any longer. There’s no inclination to cry, which surprises you. Maybe it’s because you already wasted all your tears earlier on in the day and have now run empty. Or maybe it’s because the possibility that he had already fallen for Hishoko had already been echoing over and over in your head throughout the night.

“Not long. I only just came out,” you say as you tilt your head back up to look at him.

Oikawa seems to let out a breath of relief, which sends pinpricks further into your heart. You wonder what could’ve been so personal about his love for Hishoko that he wouldn’t want you knowing.

“Oh, okay,” Oikawa pauses. “Iwa-chan and I were just out here for a breath of air. Couldn’t sleep. You know how it is.” A small smile makes its way onto his lips, almost sheepish in shape. There are lies on his tongue, that much you can tell.

“So? You love Hishoko? That’s a pretty big deal for you.”

Oikawa’s mouth comes open, but no words fall out. An answer instead comes from beside him.

“No,” is all Iwaizumi says. He’s looking at you with a hard stare, as if you should be able to read the unspoken words in his sentence. For the first time, you can’t.

Oikawa’s head whips to Iwaizumi. From where you’re standing, you can just barely make out the minuscule movement of his lips and the glare he directs in Iwaizumi’s direction.

Your eyes follow both their expressions as Oikawa’s goes from panicked, to angry, to firm, and Iwaizumi’s goes from angry, to stubborn, to a firmness that matches Oikawa’s. You don’t know what to think of the staring match that seems to have started between the two, each both unblinking and equally as stubborn in their resolves.

The tense air between the two of them stretches on for far longer than it should, and for the first time, you think that Oikawa might be the first one to throw a punch this time. It’s not that these two haven’t physically fought before, but it’s never Oikawa that throws the first punch or kick. You wonder what could’ve happened to make Oikawa so firm in his glare. It’s almost off-putting to see it directed at Iwaizumi.

“Am I missing something here?” Neither of them immediately turn at the sound of your voice, but there’s a tick to both their jaws that inclines that they did indeed hear you.

Iwaizumi breaks eye contact first, but not without a snide click of his tongue. He crosses his arms as Oikawa’s face finally returns to a state that doesn’t resemble the devil.

“No. Iwa-chan and I just got into a little spat before you came out. Not a big deal. We’re alright now,” Oikawa says pleasantly. Lies. Lies. Lies.

You raise a brow at him. “So you managed to fix whatever shit went down between you two with a staring contest?”

“Don’t underestimate the power of Iwa-Oikawa, Y/N-chan,” he says again with that same irritating fraud smile.

The smile doesn’t relent. You feel whatever patience you have drain out. You wouldn’t have minded if he was just honest about lying to you, but there’s something about being treated like someone who hasn’t been by his side for 11 years that makes your blood boil. You don’t care if he has secrets (you’d be the biggest hypocrite if you got angry for that), but what you won’t tolerate is being met with this fake version of Oikawa that you’ve never known because you were there before he even had the thought to hide his real self around you.

“Cut the shit, ‘Kawa. Stop fucking lying to me,” you grind out.

The smile drops.

“I’m not lying to you.”

The lies on his lips stay firmly glued on.

You fix one hard stare on Oikawa before switching your gaze to Iwaizumi. His position hasn’t moved from when he crossed his arms, but his jaw is hardened even farther that you almost find yourself worrying for the well-being of his teeth. “Iwa? You see that he’s lying too right?”

“He is.”

Oikawa’s head snaps to Iwaizumi’s for the second time. “Iwa-chan.” Iwaizumi just holds a hand up to him and sighs.

“But,” Iwaizumi pauses, his gaze fixing on you with what might be sympathy. “For once in his goddamn life, he’s lying with good cause.”

Your gaze switches wildly between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. If it was anyone else that had said that, you would’ve engaged in a potential screaming match with Oikawa by now. But there’s something about Iwaizumi saying it that only makes you lose a bit of that bubbling anger. You know that Iwaizumi might have the most unbiased opinions for anyone that you know, so if he’s saying that whatever’s going with Oikawa isn’t something you’re meant to know, it almost feels like a defeat.

“Okay,” you finally say. You know that you’re not getting anything out of either of them if Iwaizumi is covering for Oikawa. The breath in Oikawa’s lungs seems to return and you wonder again what he so badly wanted to keep from you. Instead of asking, you just sigh. “I’m gonna head in then. Don’t stay out too late. You might get sick.”

Before you turn and head for the door, you swear that you see a flicker of regret in Oikawa’s eyes.

“Shoko-chan, can I speak with you?”

Oikawa walks up to Hishoko’s figure in the middle of a hallway. She’s standing next to the best friend he’s always hearing about, fingers wrapped around her best friend’s arm in a delicate manner. As Hishoko looks up at him and nods, he attempts to send the girl a friendly smile while he takes Hishoko away, hoping that he won’t get hunted alive for breaking Hishoko’s heart. He already knows from what Hishoko’s told him that this girl might love her more than anyone on earth, and he can only hope that her wrath isn’t as harsh as he deserves.

As he holds loosely onto Hishoko’s hand and pulls her beside a pillar that’s clear of people, he recites the speech he made in his head.

He would be lying if he said that he didn’t regret how the night at your house had ended, but he knew that it was for the best. He wouldn’t be able to confess his love to you with a clear conscience if he was still with someone else, and from how close you and Hishoko seemed to be, he takes that you wouldn’t be able to accept his confession (He hopes, he hopes. Iwaizumi’s reassured him that you feel the same, but he doesn’t want to assume) with a clear conscience either.

He recites his plan over and over again. Break up with Hishoko with as minimal heartbreak on her end as possible, wait a few weeks so that he doesn’t seem insensitive, then confess his love to you with something special that you’ll forget that you were mad at him for keeping it a secret in the first place. (He also feels like he owes you something special, especially after Iwaizumi told him about how long you’ve potentially been in love with him. Though Iwaizumi never really specified that you were actually in love with him for what he can only guess is respect for your secrets, Oikawa could feel the weight of the unsaid words just from Iwaizumi’s gruff words).

In getting caught up with his thoughts, he doesn’t even notice that he’s been standing in front of Hishoko in silence for who knows how long. He’s surprised that she’s not confused. Instead, she’s grinning.

“Shoko-chan, I’m-”

“Breaking up with me?” she interrupts before he can even get the rest of his prepared explanation out.

Oikawa blinks at her, unsure of how to react. He was expecting her to maybe push him away or maybe cry, but instead, she’s looking up at him with a knowing sparkle in her eyes. He takes a breath. “How did you … how did you know?”

Her smile only widens. “I would be a fool if I didn’t notice. I think I knew even back then, from the way you looked at her when you introduced her to me. No best friend looks at their best friend unless they’re in love with them.”

“Then why did you stay with me for so long?”

“I didn’t know at first. I … I thought all best friends looked at each other like that,” she says. Oikawa doesn’t miss the way that her eyes dart to where her best friend is standing against a pole in the adjacent hallway.

Oikawa stares at the two of them, and suddenly he understands. It really doesn’t surprise him. Hishoko’s relationship with her best friend was similar to his relationship with you now that he’s truly thinking about it. “Why didn’t you … break up with me sooner? You know … if you ..” he asks while cocking his head towards the girl that was still discreetly watching them.

Hishoko just shrugs. “I was in denial for a long time. I think I finally realized it when I kissed you after your game. You’re like the most wanted guy at school, and yet I just …”

“I get it.” Oikawa nods in understanding and Hishoko flashes him a grateful smile. “I think she might love you too by the way, if the way she’s looking over here is any indication.”

Her gazes flicks back over to the girl in question and Oikawa can’t help but recognize the look on Hishoko’s face. Not that he’s actually ever seen what he looks like when he looks at you, but there’s an odd sense of familiarity at the look. After a few seconds, Hishoko turns back to him, her smile even wider than before. “Thanks, Oikawa-kun. Treat Y/N well, she’s an angel.”

“I know. I know she is.”

Hishoko grins cheekily up at him. “And tell her to text me, just because you and I are broken up doesn’t mean that I’m losing her friendship.”

“Will do, Shoko-chan.”

“Hishoko broke up with you? Tooru, what the hell?”

Though there was still a certain air of terseness that surrounded you and Oikawa, you knew that you had to talk to him the minute you heard from some gossiping group of girls that he’d been broken up with by his month-long girlfriend. Despite how much it had hurt you to learn that he was nursing such strong feelings for Hishoko, you still cared enough about his happiness that you would never have wanted him to be heartbroken over someone he really did love.

But the sight you’re met with when you finally find him is not a sight you would expect from someone who’d just gotten broken up with by a girl he potentially had strong feelings for.

When you find him standing with Iwaizumi under one of the cherry blossom trees, his face doesn’t hold an ounce of distress. You wonder what the hell might have changed between Saturday night and right now that could make Oikawa so relaxed about getting his heartbroken by the second girl he’s ever loved.

Oikawa’s gaze immediately finds yours as you walk up to them and whatever conversation he and Iwaizumi seem to be having is paused. You don’t miss the way that they exchange glances.

“Actually, I was the one who broke up with her. It was mutual, but she jokingly asked that nobody find out that I was the one who broke up with her. I figured I would do her that little kindness,” he says simply. “I meant to tell you earlier, but you seemed adamant on avoiding me. I was going to tell you later tonight by barging into your house and forcing you to speak to me but-”

That’s news to you.

“You broke up with Hishoko?”

Oikawa’s brow furrows. “Yes …?”

“But, I thought you said you loved her? Why would you break up with her if you loved her?”

Iwaizumi answers before Oikawa can. “He doesn’t. He never did.” This time, Oikawa seems to be prepared for Iwaizumi’s words and looks eerily calm rather than panicked.

The truth behind Iwaizumi’s words is evident, but if Hishoko wasn’t the person they were talking about before you stepped out into the garden, then who was? A tiny voice in your head supplies you with an answer, but it’s an answer that you’re sure your brain is just supplying in order to make you feel better. You pay the tiny voice no mind.

“Then … what was Saturday night about?” You look between the both of them. “What was I missing there?”

Oikawa’s staring at you once more, but this time he doesn’t look as if he’s searching for an answer. Instead he’s looking at you with something that you can’t pinpoint. You’re not even sure if the way he’s looking at you is negative or positive.

When Oikawa doesn’t make any indication that he’s going to speak anytime soon, you switch your gaze to Iwaizumi. He’s staring at Oikawa knowingly.

You can’t help but feel like there’s something huge that you’re missing here. What irritates you most is that you don’t know what it might be.

One moment, you believe that Oikawa’s in love with his girlfriend and the next you’re being told that he never loved her like that in the first place? You’ve known Oikawa long enough that he doesn’t throw around the word “love” when it comes with a romantic connotation. Not when he expressed to you that all he knew about his future was that he wanted to keep chasing volleyball, and he wasn’t entirely sure how many people would be willing to put up with that.

“I can’t say,” Oikawa finally says. There it is again, that odd tone in his voice.

The conversation is much too reminiscent of the same conversation you had with Oikawa in your kitchen that Saturday night. You wonder if this is the world’s way of making you realize your own hypocrisy. You know that you put Oikawa in the exact same position then that he’s putting you in now.

But Oikawa’s always been more trained in masking his emotions with whatever facade he wants to use. You on the other hand, have always let curiosity and anger have too much rein on your emotions.

“Iwa? What’s going on?”

Iwaizumi sighs. “It pains me to say this, but I think you should listen to him. He has a reason for not telling you right now, and it’s the only reason he’s ever come up with that’s made sense.”

That anger spikes again and you feel a stab of guilt at how hypocritical you’re being. “So you’re just going to keep me in the dark about why the hell you broke up on the girlfriend that you said you loved.”

“Iwa-chan wasn’t lying,” Oikawa says. “I don’t love her.”

“Then what …”

“Y/N,” Oikawa interrupts. This is the first time in 5 years that he’s ever said your name without the teasing ‘chan’ at the end. “I’ll let you know soon, okay? I promise.”

Your gazes stay locked on each other and there’s something about the depth of his look that you can’t seem to look away from.

You know that you could probably stand here and force him to tell you, but that’s not how the two of you worked. Your decade of friendship has gone through plenty of highs and lows, but it’s always been a relationship built on mutual trust and love.

There were times when he would promise you that he wouldn’t stay overtime to practice that you knew were lies, but you trusted him well enough to believe that he wouldn’t incessantly push himself to the brink like he might’ve used to.

There were times where he’d get in arguments with his sister that he’s never told you about, but he’d come to your house anyway and spend an hour just sitting in silence with you in the backyard because he knew that you trusted and respected his emotions enough to not push.

There were times when you sat in his bedroom and listened as he tried to pretend like his eyes didn’t light up at the idea of travelling the world to play volleyball, but you both trusted each other enough to know that when the time did come for him to admit it to himself, you would both figure it out.

So no, you won’t push, no matter how much you might want to. For the second time in two days, you say, “Okay.”

Oikawa knows he has to wait. He knows he can’t confess to you right away. He’s well accustomed to the ruthless rumor mill at Aoba Johsai, and he would hate for a repeat of second-year.

For his three years at Aoba Johsai, he’s seemed to become exempt from any nasty rumors (with the exception of the inevitable few that he just chooses to brush off), but he found that you were not. Late last year, Oikawa had gotten out of a short relationship, one that he’d ended because he was prioritizing volleyball a little too much, and he just couldn’t find it in him to compromise.

He of course expected the tears from the girl he was with, but what he wasn’t expecting were the tears from you. Somehow, a rumor had gone around that painted you in a terrible light with a few choice words that made Oikawa grip his locker with white knuckles. They’d dragged you into a situation that you weren’t even a part of because someone had gotten jealous of his close friendship with you.

So yes, he would wait. Even though he and Hishoko had ended on friendly and mutual terms, he wouldn’t give the nasty rumor mill anything to talk about.

He knows that you might be angry with him for keeping secrets so deliberately. But if there was something he never wanted to experience again, it would be watching your smile drop off your face as heard the rumors. He’d gladly let you be angry with him for whatever amount of time you wanted if it meant that he didn’t have to frantically search for you all over the school during lunch only to find you crying in an abandoned restroom because you’d been called a demeaning word that had no place being used to describe you.

Besides, the time he’s using to wait until his relationship with Hishoko has gone its rounds in the rumor mill has been time that he’s been using to concoct a surprise for you.

So far, his plans haven’t been working.

He’s been coming home late everyday from practice and staying up well into the night due to unsuccessful attempts at baking a cake. He’s well aware that you’re a baker and that whatever mess of a cake he might be able to concoct won’t hold a candle to the cakes you can make. But he wants to let you know.

Oikawa’s well aware that his rocky past with his relationships hasn’t set a great track record and he’s noticed more than once that you seemed to be surprised anytime that he showed an inclination for trying with any of his romantic relationships. He doesn’t want you to still think that way when he confesses.

He wants you to know that for all his faults and shortcomings, he’s not going to mess up with you.

That’s why he’s sitting at lunch with yet another crumbly piece of half-scorched cake. It’s been two weeks since his first attempt at a cake, and it seems that he’s severely overestimated his own baking skills.

“That’s the fifth piece of burnt cake I’ve seen you miserably eating this week,” Iwaizumi says from beside him.

Oikawa just shrugs. “I’m trying to bake a cake for Y/N-chan. I think my oven just hates me.”

“It more than hates you if your cakes always look like that pile of shit.” A voice says from in front of Oikawa. Hanamaki is looking down at the miserable looking cake sitting in his bento box with an amused grin.

Oikawa lifts his nose arrogantly in the air. “Like you could do any better, Makki,” he crosses his arms. “You nearly burned down Y/N’s house only two weeks ago.”

Hanamaki lets out a small laugh before taking a seat across from Oikawa. Matsukawa slides in next to him.

“Yeah, but Mattsun can.”

Oikawa turns his head in Matsukawa’s direction. “Mattsun? You … know how to bake?”

Matsukawa lets out a snort. “Yeah, dipshit. Who do you think makes the brownies?”

In hindsight, Oikawa probably should have known that. Matsukawa often brings brownies for the third-years to eat after practice on their way home, but Oikawa never knew that Mattsun himself had been the one to make them. He always just assumed that his mother made them.

“Why are you making a cake for Y/N anyway? It’s not her birthday isn’t it?”

“He finally got his shit together and is planning to confess to her. I think he’s already failed,” Iwaizumi notes with a glance at the cake that looks like something Takeru would make.

“Fucking finally,” Hanamaki says a little too loud. A few heads turn to their table, but Oikawa just smiles politely at them until they have the decency to look away. Once the eyes have stopped looking in their direction, Hanamaki speaks again, this time considerably quieter than before. “Mattsun’s gonna help, isn’t that right Mattsun? Only because it’s for Y/N.”

Matsukawa rolls his eyes before mumbling a reluctant, “Fine.”

“Why does Mattsun’s look like that? Mine don’t look anything close to that.”

Oikawa’s leaning against his kitchen counter, watching with a concentrated stare as Matsukawa skillfully coats the small, round cake in fluffy, white frosting. The cake this time came out perfectly cooked and came out of the pan without falling apart. Oikawa finds himself cursing all of the half-burnt cake sitting in his fridge for not cooking properly.

Iwa snorts. “Because you’re a shit baker Oikawa.”

“Shut up Iwa-chan! My oven just hates me!”

All he gets from Iwaizumi is a chuckle and an eyeroll. Makki laughs lightly.

“Hey, ‘Kawa. You said you wanted to write something on this?” Mattsun asks as he finishes frosting the cake.

Oikawa stares at the small cake and around at the three standing in his kitchen. Suddenly the phrase he wanted to write on there sounds far more embarrassing than it did when it was only him making the cake.

“No, I didn’t,” he says.

Iwaizumi looks at him. “You’re lying.”

Oikawa’s hands come up to cross against his chest. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Hanamaki leans against the counter and sports a grin that Oikawa thinks looks far too close to a hyena. “Come on, as long you weren’t planning to write a dick joke, it can’t be that bad.”

“Makki!”

Hanamaki holds his arms up. “Hey, no need to yell, captain.”

Before Oikawa can whine out another reply, Iwaizumi reaches an arm behind him and snatches the paper that Oikawa had used to first sketch out the cake he was attempting to make. Oikawa tries to snatch it back before Iwaizumi can read it, but Iwa pulls far away from him before he can get the chance to do so.

Iwaizumi’s eyes scan the paper with a mildly amused smile on his face. When he lifts his eyes back up to meet Oikawa’s, his eyebrows are raised. “Really, Oikawa? You were going with this line?”

“Iwa-chan, be nice to me!”

Hanamaki comes up behind Iwaizumi and snatches the paper from the shorter wing-spiker.

His mouth drops open as he stares between the paper and Oikawa. “You’re a sap! You’re a fucking sap!”

Oikawa groans, already wanting to shrivel up on the floor and just sit there. Matsukawa attempts to take a peek over Hanamaki’s shoulder. “What’s it say?” His eyes skim the paper. “Ew, gross. You’re even worse when you’re aware of your feelings. You’re like a walking romance manga.”

“Mattsun shut up! It’s special to me!”

Matsukawa waves a hand at him, but there’s a smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah whatever. It’s a little cute. It’ll be hard to pipe it on though. I’ll just make one of those little toothpick banners.”

The hands that Oikawa was previously hiding his face in fall to his side. “Wait, you’re actually gonna put it on there?”

“Only because I think Y/N will like it. Knowing you, you’ll mess up the actual confession part. At least, if that happens then you can just show her the cake and maybe save your ass,” Mattsun teases.

“Do any of you have any faith in me?”

“No.”

“Iwa-chan!”

You’re wiping down a dirty table when the bakery bell chimes to indicate a new customer. Rather than a new customer however, you’re instead met with the sight of Oikawa Tooru with his hair looking more coiffed than usual and wearing an outfit that you’re sure he’d taken straight from a Pinterest aesthetic board. Coupled with the soft smile that graces his face, he looks as beautiful as ever.

“How many loaves do you want?” You ask, already mid-stride on the way to your place behind the cashier with the expectation that he’s come for another purchase of the milk bread that seems to be his holy grail.

“Actually, I’m not buying anything. I came here to pick you up,” Oikawa says.

You furrow your brow at him. “My shift doesn’t end until nine.”

Oikawa makes a flicking motion with his hand. “I already had a conversation with your boss. He said he’ll let you off early.”

That makes you pause. You vaguely remember a conversation between you and your boss nearly two months ago when you left early to pick Oikawa up from practice.

With that memory also comes the memory of what happened after you picked Oikawa up, but you will the thought out of your head.

However, since then, your boss Hada-san told you that every time you left early, you would have to be make up with overtime hours. Since then, you hadn’t left early for any of your shifts.

“How did you manage to do that?”

Oikawa flashes that grin that seems to be second-nature to him at this point, his teeth flashing brightly. “Don’t question my charm Y/N-chan.”

You raise a brow at him across the counter.

Before Oikawa can say anything else, your boss pops his head out from the kitchen with flour littering his cheeks. He looks rather cheerful for a man whose bakery is empty on what is usually one of the busier days of the week. “Oikawa, hey! Don’t forget about tomorrow. My grandson’s practically dying to learn.”

It isn’t hard to figure out then just what Oikawa bribed your boss with. Oikawa greets the older man with a friendly smile and a promise that he’s more than excited to teach his grandson. Before Hada-san retreats behind the door, his statement of “Your boyfriend is a very lovely young man, Y/N!” makes you nearly choke on air.

You try to cover up your little malfunction by coughing into your sleeve.

“So, only your charm then?”

You swear that there’s a light redness to Oikawa’s cheeks. “Okay, maybe I promised to teach his grandson volleyball so that he can let you off early today. With pay.”

“With pay?” you gape as you look between him and the door your boss just disappeared behind. “Have I ever told you about how much I love you?”

“No, but you really should say it more often,” he says cockily at first. With a softer voice he says,”It sounds nice coming from you.”

You try to keep your face neutral. Even after everything, Oikawa’s breakup with Hishoko has only intensified your feelings for him. Especially since Hishoko herself has been bugging you about confessing to him ever since their breakup happened (though she won’t give you any other reason to do so other than just do it, trust me).

You start to strip the gloves off your hands as you say, “Alright, shut the ego up.”

“Get out of that apron then. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

Oikawa grins. “Well, you’re just gonna have to hurry up and find out aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes at the smug smile on his face before disappearing into the kitchen. At the counter, Hada-san is busy with creating a batch of cookies that will have to freeze overnight. You smile sheepishly at him when he looks up from chopping blocks of chocolate.

“That boy cares a lot about you, you know.” He lets out a chuckle. “He practically begged me to let you off early.”

You remember how he mistook Oikawa as your boyfriend earlier and shake your head at him. “We’re only friends, Hada-san. He’s just like that.”

“Friends?” He pauses his chopping once more to give you an almost incredulous look. “Really?”

You offer your boss a small smile. “Yeah. That’s all we ever are.”

He just shrugs. “You should tell him how you feel, you never know.”

“He doesn’t feel the same, it’s practically a lost cause at this point.” You try to hide the bitterness in your voice as you hang your apron up near the small rack at the far end of the kitchen.

Hada-san clicks his tongue. “Hmm, my head baker giving up? I don’t like to see that. But hey, it’s your life. Just make sure you don’t have any regrets.”

You wonder what could be so interesting about your miserable love life that even your boss is attempting to give you advice. “Of course, Hada-san.” You stop right before the door. “I should get going. I’ll see you on Monday.”

He lets out a small hum of agreement. You turn to push the door open.

“Y/N, one last thing.” You pause. Hada-san flashes you a small grin. “I think you need to look a little closer.”

“So. What’s the surprise?”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow at you. “It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, now would it Y/N-chan?”

“We’ve been walking for 20 minutes and you still jump at any mention of ‘surprise’.”

“Because it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

You groan and place you head in your hands. “I hate you,” you mumble.

“You love me.” Even though you can’t see him, you know for sure that Oikawa’s currently sporting a teasing grin on his lips.

You let your hands drop back down to your sides and your left hand brushes against Oikawa’s right hand lightly. You merely shake your head at him, already over the irony of those words. The two of you continue walking in a relatively comfortable silence.

“Okay now close your eyes,” Oikawa instructs. The two of you are standing at the edge of the park near Seijoh. Oikawa peers at you with an almost pleading look. You raise a brow at him. “Just do it,” he pleads again.

You have half a mind to pretend to refuse in closing your eyes, but Oikawa’s pleading eyes are ten times harder to resist when they turn golden under the setting sun.

“Fine,” you mumble before reluctantly letting your eyes flutter closed. You feel a larger, more calloused hand being slipped into yours and fight the urge to smile.

You let yourself be guided by the pull of Oikawa’s hand in yours and only hope that you don’t fall straight onto your face. The two of you only walk for a maximum of two minutes before you feel Oikawa’s hand starts jostling wildly as if he’s making exuberant hand motions with his other hand.

“Tooru? Can I open my eyes now?”

“No!” comes his almost panicked reply.

“Are you in any immediate danger? What’s going on?”

Instead of a reply, you feel the hand that’s intertwined with yours only move more jerkily. “I’m opening my eyes.”

Before Oikawa can even let out another high-pitched squeak, you let your eyes open.

Your mouth nearly drops open at the sight. In front of you is what looks to be a picnic blanket, a basket off to the corner, three guilty-looking Seijoh third-years, and one cake collapsed into two pieces on the picnic blanket.

“Makki? Mattsun? Iwa? ‘Kawa, what’s all this?”

“Y/N-chan, please avert your eyes. I’m about to commit three murders.” Oikawa briefly turns his head to you and sends you an exaggerated grin before directing a glare in the direction of Makki, Mattsun, and Iwa. “Please tell Coach that he will have to find a few new players for the team.”

You blink between him and the three figures staring sheepishly at the both of you.

Makki’s eyes switch between the ruined cake and you. “Surprise?”

Oikawa’s hand slips from yours as he places his head in his hands and groans. You’re left to stare at the three on the picnic blanket and at the cake laying in pieces on the ground. From it you can see vanilla cake, white frosting, and strawberries. Your baker’s instinct cringes at the fact that a perfectly good cake went to waste.

Iwaizumi clears his throat. You’re surprised that even he looks a little guilty. “Uh, I’m just gonna … take these two dumbasses away. You two … figure shit out.” His eyes flick to Oikawa. “Good luck.”

You watch as Iwaizumi drags Makki and Mattsun away from the picnic blanket. From where you’re standing, you can already see that an argument has started between them.

A sigh from besides you catches your attention. You turn to look at Oikawa to find him staring at the picnic blanket with hands on his hips and a frown on his face.

“Tooru? What’s going on?”

Oikawa’s frown only deepens. “This was meant to be the way that I confess to you.”

You swear that your heart stops beating. For a second, you almost panic at the very real possibility that your heart actually stopped.

“Confess … confess what?”

“I think you’re plenty smart enough to figure it out, Y/N-chan.”

If a brain could actually sputter and malfunction like a broken car, you’d say that your brain came pretty close to doing so. He’s right. You’re plenty smart and have been in enough relationships to understand what he’s implying.

But that doesn’t mean that it feels real.

You pause. “But … you don’t like me like that.” The statement is more for your own head to get a grip rather than an actual response to Oikawa. It’s hard to erase the constant nagging insecurity you have when it comes to him ever reciprocating your feelings.

“You don’t actually believe that do you?” Oikawa’s voice is mildly panicked.

“But Hishoko-”

“We broke up because I realized my feelings for you.”

You stare at him. “But. You like me? That doesn’t-”

Oikawa turns so that his body is completely angled toward you. Whatever ending you had for your sentence dies on your lips when that smile that’s only slightly upturned makes its way onto his lips and he says, “I’m in love with you, Y/N-chan.”

Your breathing stops for just a moment. Your lips part in surprise.

“You’re … in love with me?”

Oikawa looks at you like you’ve just said the most obvious thing in the world. “I called you at 3 A.M every night without fail even when I had a girlfriend that I could be talking to.”

“We always did that.” You shake your head. “Maybe not every night, but you still called sometimes.”

The tips of Oikawa’s small smile perk upwards the slightest bit. “I did it because your voice was the only thing that calmed me down enough that I could finally sleep.”

“Really?” You feel your mouth go dry.

Oikawa shakes his head and lets out a little chuckle. “I spent two weeks trying and failing to bake a cake while potentially almost burning my oven because I wanted this to be special. I even had this whole paper mapped out with how I would decorate it.” He pauses. “I think I was a little over my head with that.”

His gaze falls on the ruined cake that’s laying on the checkered picnic blanket. “We were supposed to have this cute little picnic that I read about on the internet and you’d forget that you were slightly mad at me for keeping secrets from you and then I’d slice a piece of cake for you. There’s even a little banner on the cake that Mattsun helped me make. I hoped that somewhere along the way, I’d figure out how to do the actual confessing stuff. But then we got here and apparently some kid ran into Makki while he was holding the cake and really Mattsun made most of the cake, but we were all really proud of it and now the cake’s a mess.”

A pout finds its way onto Oikawa’s lips and you get the urge to kiss it off his mouth. You shake your head and focus instead on what he just said.

“All of that … for me?”

“What part of ‘I’m in love with you’ did you not understand Y/N-chan?” Oikawa chuckles lightly. “Oh, this might be a good time to show you what the cake was supposed to tell you. I think you’ll like it. It might just be my favorite quote of all time. The author was a genius.”

He walks to the fallen cake and bends down to sift through the remains. He calls you over when he seems to have found it. When you bend down next to him, you see that he’s pointing to one of those little banner things that you’ve stuck into cupcakes denoting ‘it’s a girl!’ multiple times. But what’s written on this banner isn’t “it’s a girl”. Instead, it reads “I mildly like you more than like.”

“You remembered me saying that?”

Oikawa turns his head to look at you. The combination of the look in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips nearly knocks the wind out of you. It does so because it’s not any different from how he’s always looked at you. You always believed that you would never get to be privy to Oikawa ever looking at you with love in his eyes and yet, he’s done it all this time.

“Take a look around you Y/N-chan,” Oikawa whispers. He shifts his gaze upwards. “Look at the tree we’re at.”

You stand. In front of you is the tree you pulled Oikawa against when you kissed him.

“I can’t believe you remembered that.”

Oikawa stares at the tree fondly. It’s almost as if he’s reliving the memory. “That kiss quite literally turned my entire life upside down. I would never forget the moment I first started to realize that I was in love with you.”

“So something did change because of that kiss? I didn’t imagine it?”

A chuckle escapes Oikawa’s lips. “If you mean that you sent my thoughts spiralling into overdrive, then yeah, I guess you could say something changed.”

You stay silent, your thoughts buzzing. You’re not questioning it anymore - he’s in love with you.

“Y/N-chan?”

You turn to gaze at him. He’s here and he’s proclaiming to you what you’ve wanted for so long.

“Kiss me.”

Oikawa’s reaction is almost synonymous to the reaction you had when he first asked you to kiss him to get rid of those girls. “What?”

For the first time since he began confessing, you smile up at him. “You know, cause if you do, you’d know that I might be a little bit in love with you too.”

Oikawa looks as if he might be frozen in place. His eyes are wide as he blinks at you.

“So? Are you going to do it or not?”

He shakes his head and seems to be moving with reality again. With a step towards you, he gently cups your jaw and tips his mouth down to yours.

His other hand comes down to hold your waist with light fingers, sending a shiver up your spine. Your hands come up to rest against his chest. Oikawa smiles against your lips when he notices the reaction he elicited from you.

This kiss is softer that the kiss you two shared before, but you can feel every single word that came from Oikawa’s mouth about his love for you being reinforced with the way his lips move gently against yours. The action is still dizzying to you, as if his lips are lined with something addicting. You’re more than willing to get lost in it.

Oikawa’s the first to pull away. When you open your eyes, his gaze still hovers lightly over your features warmly. His thumb stays situated at your jaw, moving in circular movements. You can’t help the grin that makes its way onto your face. “So, how was it? Any plans to get a girlfriend in approximately two weeks time without telling me?”

A laugh escapes his lips at that - a melodic sound that you want to bottle up. “No, but I do have plans on getting a girlfriend in approximately two seconds. I think she might say yes.”

“I feel incredibly sorry for said girl.”

Oikawa gasps in a playful manner. “Y/N-chan!”

You roll your eyes, but the widening grin on your face ruins the act. “Yes, I will take on the burden of being the person that’s liable to be annoyed by you 24 hours a day.”

Oikawa pouts, looking much like a child and a dog all in one.

“Don’t make that face.”

“You’re mean,” Oikawa huffs. You let out a laugh. “Tell me that you love me and maybe I’ll reconsider crying in the middle of this park.”

Oikawa turns his head upwards pettily, eliciting another chuckle from you. “I’ll do you one better.” You bend down and pick up the banner from the cake and hold it up to Oikawa with a grin.

Oikawa still doesn’t budge. In fact, he only tightens his crossed arms and holds his head so high that you start to wonder if his neck is doing okay.

An idea pops into your head as you stare down at the small banner written in Oikawa’s handwriting. The banner is still attached to a chunk of cake.

With a grin, you take the bit of cake stuck to the bottom of the banner insert and smear it onto Oikawa’s lips. His reaction is instantaneous.

“Y/N-chan!” His mouth falls open in shock. You laugh heartily at the way his mouth is now covered in frosting and cake crumbles. Oikawa flashes a competitive smile in your direction. “Oh no. You don’t get to get away with that.” Your laughter stops.

You see him pick up a bit of cake and set his eyes on you before you get the mind to start running. You know that this game of tag is gonna be a game that you lose because his legs are much longer than yours, but you run anyway. You’re only able to run a few feet when Oikawa’s hands come to snatch you at the waist.

You wriggle in his grasp as he smears the cake onto your mouth. The sweet taste of buttercram frosting enters your tastebuds and you get the random thought that this cake is delicious pops into your head.

The two of you laugh as your hands wrap around his neck and your head comes to rest on his chest, the fabric of his clothing muffling your laughter. His arms are wrapped around the small of your back. You wonder what you two must look like to onlookers at the moment.

With a final laugh, you look up at Oikawa. He’s still laughing, but you’re suddenly hit with the realization that he’s yours now. This Oikawa - the one that can’t bake for shit, that one that calls you at ungodly hours in the night, the one that gently strokes your jaw as his lips move against your own - is now yours.

His face is gorgeous as it contorts into a laugh that makes him tip his head backwards. And as the sun perfectly encapsulates his features in a golden light, you’re reminded that you’re sickeningly in love with this boy standing in front of you.

When his laughing stops and his gaze turns back to you, you don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck and pull his mouth down to yours.

This time, he tastes like frosting and vanilla cake.

taglist: @bumbledunce @angelkogane @waitforitillwritemywayout @mrsbakug0u @salty4tsukki @ppangiiroo @pharvhs @haksblade @whosmorales @yoitsseulgi @seijohreign @intheawks @smellssharpies @my-neighbor-todoro @fightcalum @yatoatyourservice @woo-youngs @fandomlover-universe @cowward @iwaizoom @keitsukki11 @airheadpillar @hockeycoaching @catchmeb-r-awling @gudetamalifestyle @starryhyun @babbykawa @chickentendo315 @bettys-other-shoe @darkshadowsofmetbh @anseoo @daydr3am3s @saucyleftovers @cleopatera @introvertatitsfinest @ughxghoul @smellssharpies

AHH that’s a wrap! i hope the ending was satisfactory and i would love to hear what you guys thought about the last chapter!

#oikawa x reader #oikawa headcanons #oikawa fluff #oikawa x y/n #oikawa angst #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa scenarios

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mxvladdy · 3 years

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heyy i just read your fic Case of the Munchies on ao3 and im Loving it!!!! its amazing!! i was wonder if youre accepting requests and if you haven’t done it could you write the same for the rest: mammon, levi, satan, belphi, dia, barbatos and smth for simeon and luke (ofc platonic) like how angles have a true form and that means they can never relax around mc and how solomon has so much power at his fingertips he can just snap and end them or smth like that? pretty please and thank you!!!!

A/N: Of Course! Of Course! I already did Mammon and Levi HERE so I’ll do the other four in this request! You sent me a lot of good ideas and I’ll sprinkle them out into other requests soon!

Hope you like it!!

Case of the Munchies prt 3!

Word Count: 4.2k

Characters: Satan, Belphie, Diavolo, Barbatos

TW: Mentions of eating and cook humans, very mild gore

Satan

As the only full-blooded demon of the seven, he has thought about it...just hypothetically of course. When you were new to the Devildom he did find your scent more appetizing than the others. It’s a good thing he has the most restraint and control of all his kin, especially when it comes to his more base urges.

He doesn’t hide this knowledge from you. It’s readily available in the library and his own room in the history books. He just won’t bring it up. So if you don’t say anything, he won’t either. What would he say anyway? “Yes, I’ve thought about it, up until it was outlawed it was a staple of our diet after all…” Ye, probably not the best thing to say.

When you finally brought it up he was exasperated. Did you have to bring it up during the few hours he had alone with himself? He wasn’t going to lie but the thought of hurting your feelings would just about do him in.

He will alleviate your worries if you have any. If Satan was anything, he was genuine.

Mini Fic

His wine curdles in his stomach, turning sour along with the take-out he had nabbed for the two of you to enjoy tonight. Drinks and dinner were becoming a staple in your T.V. night tradition. If one of you had had a rough day you would drop by your favorite shop of the hour and pick up a meal to share while you vent.

Today in particular had been a shit day for him. Failed experiment after failed experiment, and one bottle that didn’t explode on impact with the potion he dropped. Sigh. At least your comforting words soothed his wounded pride a little. You chuckle at his escapades glad to see he is not hurt at least. It was nice to have someone to see the humor in something that normally would have dampened his mood.

“You’re a pest.” He laughs at you while snapping his takeout chopsticks in half to use. “I need sympathy-hours of work wasted.” You snort into your own bowl of udon.

“You need words of praise like Beel needs another stomach.” Satan gasps in mock insult pointing a sauce stained chopstick at you.

“How dare you insult your host! After I toiled over this meal of-” What did he get exactly? Honestly, when he placed the order he was near boiling with rage at his careless fumble. It was to be a surprise for you, something to give you a bit of magic while supervised by himself. He knew how frustrated you were with your lack of magical ability in class so he wanted to gift you something grand. Now he has to wait months to try again.

Ah, well...nothing ventured nothing gained as they say.

You watch him sulk over his soup dumplings, his mile away from the comfort of your company and his room. “Come on blondie.” You poke him with your foot before burying them under his pajama-clad thighs on the couch. “Eat your ‘hard earned’ meal before I do.” You snatch up his D.D.D forgetting your own food for a moment to set up your favorite streaming service to cast to his small T.V. “Want to watch a bunch of humans fail miserably at baking?”

"I thought you would never ask."

Satan feels you stiffen in his arms two hours into your bake-off marathon. Your takeout boxes are cold and forgotten on his coffee table, a bottle of wine gone between the two of you. He glances down at you curious.

You were transfixed on the screen. The novice baker on screen was struggling to keep his monstrosity of a cake upright. It was the annual Halloween episode and this fool went for a Silence of the Lambs inspired cake. A good concept really, but very poorly executed. The fake body parts and sugar blood weighted the pastry down dangerously. If he were, to be frank, the cake was also tacky as hell. Heh, he'd have to try to make this for Lucifer.

"Does his abuse of the piping gun offend you that much?" He jokes wrapping an arm around you.

Your laugh is breathy and lacks its usual warmth. "It is excessive isn't it?" You look up at him. "Hey, Satan-have you ever eaten people before?"

"Uhh…" Great, how eloquent. This came out of nowhere, did Lucifer set you up to this? No-no you wouldn’t. Would you hate him if you knew? “I have.” He admits through clenched teeth waiting for your reaction.

“Didn’t Diavolo ban it?” He can tell you are doing the mental math in your head.

He chuckles dryly. “Well, you never asked if I did it legally.” You move away from his touch and pause the show. “I mean...I did it legally! ” His mouth runs freely, his brain screaming at him to shut up.

“Satan.” You cross your arms unimpressed.

“It was a new law and I never meant to eat it for the most part. It was at a time where I was still struggling to control myself.” Young and stupid as Lucifer had said defending him every step of the way when he would slip up. Was it sold on the black market now? Yes. Did he know how to get it? Sure, but he would never nor would he tell you about it either.

You nod thinking about his words. “I can empathize.” Oh, thank the Devil. “Have you thought of eating me?”Ahhh. “Oh my God, you have.” You chuck a pillow at him with a laugh.

He catches the pillow and clutches it to his fiery hot face. “Everyone did at first!” If he was going down then he was going to take every one of his brothers down with him. “I wasn’t going to act on it! It was a spur of the moment-why are you laughing!”

“Sorry, sorry.” You wipe at the tears in your eyes wishing you had your phone to take a picture of his blushing face. “I kind of figured you did.”

Satan looks at you incredulously. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more torn up over this?”

You shrug. “After everything we’ve been through? I admit it was a shock to think at first but I mean, you would have done it by now right?”

“Well, thank you?” He flops back on the couch, still clutching the pillow to act as a barrier between you two. He’ll take it as a compliment.

You scoot close, nudging his knee with yours. “You ok?” He nods. “Can I touch you?” He nods again eagerly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and squeeze. “Sorry, I made you uncomfortable.”

Satan chuckled, dropping the pillow to hug you back. “It’s ok.” He peaks your forehead. “Now, with that out of the way. Shall we finish this?” He swipes up his phone to hit play. You nod, flinging your legs over him to snuggle closer. “Good, I’m dying to know how he tries to save that thing. I’m putting money on icing.”

“You know.” You break the silence once more, unable to stop yourself. “I wouldn’t be opposed to being eaten...in some ways.”

Belphegor

After your first *ahem* encounter, he doesn’t bring up the whole food thing. He is afraid that if you learned about it, it would be the last strike for you and his relationship. Perhaps it’s paranoia on his part but better safe than sorry.

In all honesty, he didn’t eat it that much anyway. Killing humans was something he did often in his youth as a demon. A stupid attempt at revenge on his part. It filled the holes in his hearts to hurt those he believed killed his sister.

But to eat their flesh? Disgusting. He tried it a few times and it turned his stomach with every mouthful. He just hated them too much to even stomach them. He’s mellowed out with time but still never got a taste for it.

When you asked it was a shock but welcomed in a way. Like he could finally get this weight off his shoulders every time he looked at you.

Mini Fic

“It’s gross.” Belphie yawns, jumping up to sit on the high garden wall. He bends down to help you up placing you gently next to himself. The wind catches you by surprise threatening to topple you back from the wall before he rights you. He tosses his sweater over you with a nod of satisfaction.

You snuggle into the fleece lining burying your nose into the fabric. It smelled of elderberries and honeysuckles. Belphie watches you curl up into his side with a fond smile. “Seriously, you all are nasty.”

“Ouch!” You push his shoulder with a grin. “I feel like I should be offended on behalf of all humans.”

Belphie snorts, looking up into the bright colors of the night sky. “Good. Be offended. You, humans, are slimy.” You squawk indignantly. “It’s true, never in all my years would I willingly ingest it.” He shudders theatrically.

“Rude.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy? Lest I eat you?” He growls playfully, taking a swipe at you. He pulls you close to kiss the pout off your face. He stops only when your face is hot and your smile threatens to pull a muscle. “I’ll keep you safe, always.” He vows resting his chin on your head.

“Do you think other demons would try to eat me?”

“Have you met my twin?” He teases. He takes your jab to his ribs with a smile. “But if one of those lesser demons even tries to breathe in your direction I’ll kill them.”

“Ok, Mister sleeps till dinner.” You joke. His vow warms your heart a little, chasing away the small bit of fear that had rested itself in your chest. You saw how some demons looked at you at R.A.D, the longing and hungry looks got to be a bit much sometimes. A few older demons would discuss it loudly when they knew you were close by. Apparently, it was a long standing tradition of demons eating humans both body and soul when a pact was concluded.

Imagine what those brothers would do to them…

You shake your head hugging Belphie closer. You had nothing but his word that he would keep you safe, yet that was enough for you. Besides, he wasn’t one to follow the rules even at the best of times.

“I’m serious. You're off limits for everyone.”

You nod into his shirt, closing your eyes to enjoy the peace of the moment. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Diavolo

It is so far from his mind that when you say something it is like a rug was taken out from under him. He could be diplomatic about it, but you deserve better than a half-truth.

He was a wild child in his youth. Sometimes he would overindulge in his father’s heritage and gorge himself on his newfound powers and privilege. He would dine with the elders and eat with abandon under their proud eyes.

He regrets it now, in your company it brings up a slurry of emotions. Sometimes when he looks at you he sees flashes of his past behavior.

The urge is stronger in him than the brothers, a constant nagging tug in his guts, but he is strong. Stronger both in willpower and sheer physical prowess than them so the pull is more of an annoyance than a burning need. He can temper the hunger in other ways if need be *wink*

He fears what you might think of him if you ever found out the truth, but however you take it he will handle it in stride. He loves you too much not to.

Mini Fic

Dinners, when Diavolo could eat alone, were a rare and special treat. The solace of just being allowed to exist without constantly checking his posture or presentation was a blessing, just him, his thoughts, and a good meal. It was nice to have no paperwork to worry about staining this time or a tedious meeting where he couldn’t savor his meal. No, no this was good. He looks down at his heavily laden plate and smiles. Well, almost… Pulling out his phone he snaps a quick picture and sends it to you with a simple question. Join me?

Private meals were wonderful, but with you, they were perfect.

You arrive faster than he expected, flushed face and clutching a stitch in your side from rushing over. He almost felt bad before he saw the eager look in your eyes. Barbatos helps you with your school bags and coat before placing another plate of food across from the young lord. He winks at the prince before disappearing back through the door.

“Thank you for the invite!” You beam taking your seat across from him. “I hope you don’t mind that I'm not dressed for the occasion. I was just wrapping up a study session with the boys.” You look down at your rumpled lounge clothes.

Diavolo waved his hand disregarding your concerns. “I would emulate you if I had the time.” He looks at his own pressed school uniform. He had another meeting this evening, much to his distaste. “You look rather comfortable.” You smile in delight before tucking into your own plate.

You eat in a comfortable silence reading the room well enough to tell that he wished for some company but not needless chitter-chatter. Barbatos arrived moments after you put your fork down and left with the plate leaving behind a delicious smelling hot drink. You couldn’t put your finger on the flavor but it tastes spicy like cinnamon and coats your throat like warm honey.

Whatever was in the drink seemed to work some magic on the prince. His shoulder droop, his back sinking into the chair as his legs stretch out till they are close to brushing against yours. He starts talking over the drink, eyes slowly lighting up with delight. You drink, nodding along with him as he builds up steam. It was nice to see him so unguarded and light. You listen to him talk about simple innocent topics. You knew how he tried to have these conversations with the others to no avail. The brother’s always tried to stay clear of him, and Lucifer simply dismissed these things most days. Barbatos and the angels were a bit better but still listened mostly to placate him.

“Ah!” Diavolo stops mid-sentence as his door opens once more Barbatos holding a small platter in his gloved hand. Dia claps his hands in delight. “I’ve been wanting to have you try this with me for forever. The human palate is so different, but I hope this is tasty.”

“What is it?” You eye the covered plate curiously.

Dia says a word in infernal. It is harsh and guttural in his throat but his delight was evident in his tone. “It is like...a roasted nut? Sorry, it is difficult to explain but it has been a favorite treat of mine since I was a boy. I hope you like it too.” He opens the lid with little ceremony and tilts the bowl to you. Inside were several golfball sized pods piled on top of each other. Even from across the table you could feel the molten heat radiating from the porous black shell. It looked...ugly. Like a hunk of dried lava. You eye it suspiciously as Diavolo picks one up with his bare hands and bits it. The shell cracks under his sharp teeth, a fang catching in a weak spot with a noise that makes you shiver. Underneath the thick casing, you could see a dark red and fleshy core. He hums in delight pulling put the meat of the seed and discard the shell pieces onto an empty plate. He makes quick work of the innards already reaching for another by the time you casually pick up a seed.

The seed itself was dense and warm to the touch. You squeeze it, noting that the porous coating felt like a mass of steel in your hand. “Dia-how do I open it?” No way you could bite it, not without breaking your jaw in the process.

“Allow me.” He takes it from you and effortlessly cracks it. “It is a tradition to break them with teeth, instead of hands or utensils. Something about a show of strength. I just find it fun.” He shrugs, handing you the broken seed.

“Fun!” You marvel at his pearly fangs. “Those are some big chompers.”

“All the better to eat you with my dear.” He chuckles.

You blink in shock, eyes widening. “Would you? Eat me?”

Diavolo’s smile drops. “No.” He lies on reflex, his political nature kicking in. “No-no wait.” He shakes his head. “I...at a time would have without hesitation.” He feels you recoil. “It was common practice back in the day. To the common demon it was a great meal and for the ruling class a show. He looks down at the broken fragments of shell on his plate. Breaking the shell was far too reminiscent of other things. He squashes the unwanted wave of memories coming up. Instead, he looks up at you.

You sit quietly mulling over his words. You haven’t run yet. “Why did you stop?”

He leans back with a loud exhale. Why did he stop? There were many reasons, none he wished to divulge into at the moment, but he had to say something. “I grew up, and began to resent and regret it.” He used to read human stories of demons and his kind. They hurt their characterizations of him and his people. Yet, they had all been scarily accurate. He wanted to prove that they weren’t stagnating beasts, slaves to their desires. Even if it wasn't a popular opinion.

“I see.” You pick up the seed again. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to, and to apologize… such admissions must have ruined your appetite. If you wish to retire-”

“Is it weird if it didn’t?” You cut him off. You felt-not apathetic to the knowledge but close to it. It confirmed a lot of things for you and put certain things in perspective. You still felt safe with him even with this new bit of knowledge. Without a second thought, you pop the treat into your mouth. You gasp in delight. The flavor and texture were not what you were expecting, but was delicious all the same. “Can you open another for me?” You push your plate over to him.

“Of course!”

The food was as wonderful as his company.

Barbatos

You knew he cooked it. He probably knows a million different ways to prepare a human. He is also very blunt about his dabblings in the market.

He doesn’t eat it, hasn’t ever. He sees no reason to, especially since he doesn’t need to eat anyway there is no temptation. He did find the meals he created beautiful though.

Once he lived for the praises of the courts and his young lord. He was a master at all mediums he cared to work with. Time, decorum, or of the flesh.

He is 100% unashamed of his past with the dark side of the Devildom’s history. In fact, he is damn near proud of it. He is a demon and it was a part of his life, if that frightens you, well there is nothing he can do about it.

He’ll entertain your questions and will try to put any lingering worries at ease. Just don’t expect to be coddled when he does.

Mini Fic

Barbatos had very few personal pleasures in his life. His schedule simply didn’t have the space for such things. So why even bother looking for a pastime. It wasn’t until Diavolo gifted him with an old worn cookbook did he find it.

Cooking was a necessity for his prince, but with that little book, it became something he looked forward to doing. Slowly, he began to seek them out, filling his growing quarters with cookbooks and loose-leaf slips of paper. He enjoys reading them. Each book was a little time capsule into the cook's life and memories. Could a mix of spices really remind someone of the arid heat of their motherland? Or does following a certain way of aging meat really honor the writer's late grandfather’s memory? He tries them all, each recipe a little invasion to a happier time.

He wrote his fair share of cookbooks too in his day. Simple modifications to things the young lord liked to the odd machinations of his own imagination. He got good at experimenting with flavors and textures over the years, mastering certain cooking techniques and flavors just for fun. He didn’t share many of them, a lot of his recipes were just too complicated for most. Luke was allowed to look at his pastry books only. The little cherub was enamored with his techniques and wanted to learn as much as he could in the short amount of time he was in the Devildom. Admirable, but he made sure to keep some of his...less savory books away from the boy. He shudders to think what Simeon would do if he scarred the young angel.

You are the only one who has full access to his collections. Whether you liked to cook was inconsequential to him. He simply enjoyed sharing this interest with you. Some nights you would take it upon yourself to be his “sous-chef”. Which meant you sat in the corner of the kitchen and read out the ingredients and steps for a recipe he knew by heart. Sometimes you would add in extra steps in an attempt to stump it. Cute...but ultimately failed each time. So, most nights when you tagged along to the kitchens you just flip through his collection, reading his immaculate scribblings crammed into the corners of the pages or where he scratched out certain ingredients for more demon-appropriate foods and more sustainable options.

You had gone through many beautiful books before you found it. The cookbook was small and inconspicuous compared to most. Just a simple black cover with a well-worn spine. What made you take notice of it was just how dusty it was. That wasn’t like him to do. Barbatos would never let something get so dirty. You wished you never had opened it. You weren’t stupid by any means, but after reading a few pretty graphic recipes it had unsettled you. So you withdrew from Barbatos trying to forget about the book tucked away deep in the bowels of your school bag.

“You’ve been distant.” You choke, hand flying up to your chest as you swear your heart skipped a beat. Damn demon. Should put a bell on him. “What’s wrong?” His eyes are piercing, cutting away at your feeble defenses.

“Nothing…” You fiddle with your bag’s strap. Your eyes drop to the floor taking in the differences between his polished shoes and your scuffed boots.

“Of course not…” You could hear the skepticism in his voice. “I trust that if there was something wrong you would feel safe enough to confide in me.” His words hit like a ton of bricks on your shoulders. He sighs seeing that his words got no reaction. “Please?”

Wordlessly you rummage in your bag and thrust the book into his chest. “Sorry. It shook me up more than I thought it would.”

Ah. He knew this book all too well. For a time it had been his favorite, one to pull out with Diavolo had guests or a deal that needed to be sealed. He accepts the book, noting how much your hands shook. “I understand.” He slips the book into his breast pocket making a mental note to hide it in one of his lesser used rooms. “Would you like to discuss this? In my room perhaps?” You follow with a timid nod.

“Where shall we begin?” Barbatos asks the moment he closes the door to his room.

“You don’t seem perturbed.” You frown. Barbatos shrugs, pulling the book out and opening it. He had a lot of good memories stored here. Some of these were still considered signature dishes, oftentimes a visiting dignitary would lament to him about the good old days when he could show off his craft when flesh was plentiful. He takes pride in that still to this day even. For as much as he loved you, he would not be ashamed of this.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You shake your head when he says as much. “It just confused me. Do-do you see me as food?”

“I never saw humans as food, no more than I see demons or angels as it.” He picks at an imaginary bit of lent from his pant leg. “As for seeing you as food no. No matter how sweet your lips are, or how honeyed your words can be.” He smiles, taking impish delight in your squirming. “I merely did my job as a butler for my lord.”

“Oh- sorry for not coming to you sooner.” You felt foolish now. Barbatos waves it off, pleased to have this issue put aside so quickly and cleanly. “Wait-" You gasp as his words finally sink in. “Have you prepared angels before?”

He flashes you a mischievous smile putting a single finger up to his lips. “Perhaps~ do you wish to read that too?”

#obey me #om satan #om belphegor #om diavolo #om barbatos #fun request!

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love-amihan · 3 years

Text

| ʜᴏᴍᴇ | ᴊᴊᴋ | ᴀᴏᴛ | ʜǫ | ꜰɪʟᴏ | ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛs | ᴍɪᴍɪ |

PERSEVERANCE // OIKAWA TORU

word count: 2.0k+

warning: slight angst, reader is blaming themself due to failure of past relationship, might have spelling and grammar errors

song inspo: next to me by imagine dragons

amihan’s note: temporary banner bcs haven't got the chance to edit oikawa's. ahhh, i love this fic too, pardon my horrible transitions. here's your request bb @okakamaki happy reading!

!! small manga spoiler

best friend!toru x gn!reader (aoba johsai’s vbc manager)

“what comes to your mind when you hear ‘oikawa toru’?” the interviewer smiles brightly, holding the mic in front of you for your voice to be heard loud and clear.

the question makes you stop and think about it carefully. you look at the interviewer who’s standing out of frame, “oikawa toru?” you repeat after them, they nod at your words.

“ah him, oikawa toru... is a patient man,” you look at their eyes before looking around. “also a reliable person who puts everyone before himself,” the interviewer hums, letting you continue.

“most importantly, oikawa toru perfectly embodies egalitarian,” the interviewer retracts the mic to ask, “would you care to elaborate us on that, mx?”

you nod and lean down to say, “he believes in everyone,” your eyes staying in contact with the camera lens.

“thank you, mx,” the interviewer bows to you as you do the same, bidding goodbye with a smile before going back to your table.

────────────────────────────

oikawa toru is known by all, he has a lot of girls swooning over him, heck some male players have at least a small crush on him.

who wouldn’t? he’s perfect, positive energy is surrounding him everyday. he’s there to lift up everybody’s spirits, even yours.

“y/n-chan!” toru’s cheerful voice echoes in the gym. you turn and give toru a disappointed look. hajime, who was talking to you not long ago, follows suit, “the hell are you doing here, shittykawa?”

toru huffs, “to play volleyball of course,” approaching the two of you, he opens up his arms about to give you a hug.

you put a hand out, “no, it hasn’t been a day since you had your injury.” the captain, being the stubborn guy he is, “i’m all good to go.”

hajime grumbles, “i’ll kick him out,” you nod at his words, “please do.” toru looks at the two of you with his mouth hanging open, “don’t talk like i’m not he- hey iwa-chan! nooooo!” toru’s whines fade as he’s dragged outside by the wing spiker.

after taking care of toru, hajime looks at you with concern in his eyes, “are you sure you’re gonna be alright?” you snicker at him, “can’t believe i’m saying this but toru’s right, are you my mother?” you say in a teasing manner.

but instead of facing his wrath, the boy just sighs, “how many months has it been since you’ve last seen him?” you shrug, “don’t know and don’t care, haji” you say while avoiding eye-contact.

────────────────────────────

after the practice match ends, “y/n...san,” wakatoshi calls after you. you stop from speed-walking, back still facing him. shiratorizawa's ace stares at your back, mind running on what to say next.

he slowly approach you, hand reaching out. taking a hold of your wrist, he spins you around and engulfs you in a hug. tears start running down your face, your head pressed firmly against his chest.

meanwhile, toru, who did not listen and stayed even with your and hajime's protest, his smile falters watching the scene unfold.

issei blocks the view and turns him around, ushering him back inside the gym. “come on, i’m sure that’s nothing” the middle blocker tries to assure him.

“it’s not your fault,” wakatoshi mumbles, pulling away as he wipes your tears. you close your eyes, nodding along his words, “you’ll find someone better, i'm sure of it.” he's not one to cry but seeing him with red eyes and hear his sniffles makes your heart clench.

“but i want you,” you whisper, holding the hand on your face, looking up to him. wakatoshi shakes his head, “you know we can’t," his tone firm and stern.

he leans down, forehead touching with yours, both your eyes fluttering close, “it’s not your fault, okay?” wakatoshi reminds you once again, as if to engrave it in your mind.

“no, it is” you say while shaking your head, he holds your face still, with a stern voice he says, “none of this is your fault, y/n.”

slowly, he lets go of your face, whispering, “i’m letting you go. you’re free, y/n.”

your tears continue to stream down, taking some deep breaths trying your best to calm down. wakatoshi takes a few steps back, the two of you looking deeply into each other’s eyes.

────────────────────────────

your lips tremble at his words. he bows down to you, taking a moment before turning on his heel. your hand reaches out for him as his frame slowly disappears from your sight.

months had passed yet you can’t seem to forget wakatoshi, the closure is still fresh on your mind, replaying like it just happened yesterday.

you sit down on the floor, back leaning on the wall. good thing, there’s nothing much going on for today.

you hear some shuffling next to you, “toru, i said no. i’m not ready,” you say, not opening your eyes to check on the person, “ouch, you’re brutal. i’m surprised oikawa hasn’t given up yet,” takahiro states while wiping his sweat.

you sigh, looking at the boy beside you, repeating your words, “i’m not ready.” he hums, downing the rest of his water.

“you won’t get rid of him easily though,” he smiles, bringing a hand to ruffle your hair, “it’ll get better soon.”

────────────────────────────

toru’s smile gets wider seeing the gift you have for him, “i’m sorry, it’s not that much valuable,” you say as he takes out the hand-made bracelet, “what do you mean? i love it!” his hand fumbling, thrilled to wear the gift.

“you love anything that comes from y/n,” issei says, snickering at their captain. “but i do love it,” toru replies, “i’m glad,” you smile at him, his heart skipping a beat. “toru..?” you call out, the boy frozen in place, “this dork..” hajime mutters.

────────────────────────────

you hug your knees closer to your chest, sobs getting uncontrollable. destiny must have its ways with you two because like always, toru finds you in your vulnerable state. “y/n,” he mutters, approaching your fragile frame.

you look up to him, “i’m no good toru, it was all my fault,” you mumble against your knees, eyes red and puffy from crying. toru cradles you and pulls you close to him, his presence making you feel at home and secure.

“why would you even want me?” you sniff and wipe your tears harshly with the back of your hand, “you have everyone at your will yet…” you sob, “yet you’re here.” you can see the pain in his smile, “because the world seems to stop if i’m not with you.”

────────────────────────────

toru smiles at the camera, waving at it before looking back at the interviewer, “before leaving the country, as one of the well-known monster generation, do you have something to say?” the boy nods, looking at the camera.

“i’ll get everything i want and will be the one standing at the top with a big smile on my face,” confidence overflowing in his words.

hajime’s face scrunches up from their ex-captain’s words, they've graduated college and he’s still as ambitious as ever.

takahiro peeks from behind hajime and points at toru’s hand as he waves goodbye to the camera, “he still has that?” their eyes fleeting down on toru’s hand.

your eyes widen while watching toru’s last interview before going abroad, “toru…”

────────────────────────────

you groan, your phone’s been ringing for a while now, peeking at the clock, the red bold ‘2:00 am’ staring back at you.

not caring about the caller, you press the green button and mumble, “hello?” eyes fluttering close.

toru gasps and mutters apologies after apologies, “y/n-chan, i’m sorry i didn’t mean to call you,” he exclaims. you hum, “uh huh,” your mind on auto-pilot, his words not registering to you.

the boy on the other side of the phone smiles fondly, “do you find me attractive?” you nod, “yes,” you mutter.

he chuckles, “alright, i’m hanging u-” his farewell getting cut off by his own thought, ‘should i?’ he ponders, at least he can hear those sweet words even if you don’t mean it.

he gnaws on his bottom lip before uttering, “will you be my other half?” you mumble incoherent words while toru presses the phone against his ear more to hear you better, “i would love to,” his eyes widen, cheeks beginning to shade red.

“damn it, it's not fair how you still make me fluster even if you’re not aware,” he mutters behind his hand.

“have a nice sleep, love. sorry for the disturbing,” he ends the call with a sigh, his teammates looking at him weirdly, he sheepishly smiles and turns his back on them.

────────────────────────────

hajime groans, his expression screaming displeasure. “come on haji, he’s not that much late,” you say while poking his side, “ah, y’all missed me too much,” toru’s voice makes four heads snap in his direction.

it seems like nothing has changed, the group is still buzzing with never ending stories, it’s like no one aged at all. you smile to yourself looking around the table, “you okay?” you turn to toru and nod, especially him.

as toru strikes a conversation with you, takahiro opens up a topic that has not been brought up ever since high school, “you two are still not together?” toru shakes his head, holding his chest and fakes a hurt expression, “why must you break my heart like this, y/n.”

glancing at hajime, he nods to you while gesturing at toru, issei raises a brow to this, “wait… no way,” he mutters while takahiro looks at him, “what?” he whispers to him, you take toru’s hand where he wears the bracelet on.

his dramatic script coming to a stop, he looks at you, confused by the actions. “y/n-” you turn the bracelet around, a different color from how he usually wears it.

“you know i’ve always wondered why it’s a different color from each side,” he looks into your eyes, oblivious to what’s happening.

“that means yes, toru” you smile up to him, his eyes widening, “yes..?” he echoes you. “finally,” hajime mumbles with a big smile, you nod to his words, his eyes welling up in tears. “please tell me this isn’t a dream nor a prank,”

you shake your head and open your arms for him, he lets out a breath and tackles you in a hug. you chuckle at his actions while petting his hair, “thank you for taking a chance on me,” you mumble against the crook of his neck.

────────────────────────────

“congratulations on your win!” the same interviewer exclaims, a big smile on their face as toru clasps his hands together bowing in gratitude, sweat dripping down his pretty face.

“i have one question for you,” toru turns to the side leaning forward to hear the interviewer better, “ah yes, ask away” a charming smile plastered on his face, the same smile that made people all over the world swoon.

“what comes to your mind when you hear ‘oikawa y/n’?” the same question as yours, he continuously nods while taking a deep breath looking around as he thinks of the word.

he looks back at the interviewer, leaning closer to the mic. he stares at the lens, “oikawa y/n is my world.”

the interviewer smiles fondly, the action exactly like yours. “do you want to know what they thought of you?” toru looks back at the interviewer and wipes the sweat from his forehead. “but don’t tell them you told me,” he says while holding his index finger in front of his lips.

the interviewer chuckles and recites your exact words, “oikawa toru is a patient, reliable, and an egalitarian person,” the last word perking his interest, “egalitarian?” he repeats the word, looking at them.

they nod, “it means you believe in everyone.” toru’s eyes immediately softened, his fatigue fading away like magic, “did they really?” the interviewer eagerly nods, somehow feeling like a real-life cupid.

toru looks back at the camera smiling and shows the bracelet, kissing it together with the ring on his finger, “i’ll keep that in mind, mx oikawa,” he says while pointing at the lens.

taglist: @foxxtrot-116 @lumpiang-toge @chibishae34 @kirakirasaku @tohman @gay-bitch23 @crybabyjabby

#fandom;hq #aobajohsai;oikawa #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu oneshot #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa oneshot #request/s🍯

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wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse · 3 years

Text

Wishes (Aragorn x Fem!reader)

Word Count: 2207 Warnings: ANGST

AHHH OK so this fic was made in collaboration with @hey-its-nonny and it was so fun to write!

You woke in a restored Gondor, eyes fluttering open at the beams of golden sunlight seeping through your window. The day you‘d dreaded for months had finally come. It was the day Aragorn was to be wed to his love, Arwen.

You rose, already mourning your loss of your friend and your love. You didn’t know how you could stay, concealed in the dark. Hiding. Ignoring your emotions and acting as if they didn’t exist was a difficult task. But, if it meant Aragorn would be happy, you would try your best, unsure of what might come of it.

Slowly, you slid on your dress, the silky fabric brushing your legs. It was a beautiful gown, one that Arwen had made especially for you. It fit perfectly, snug around your waist and flaring out. In your favorite color, too.

The necklace Aragorn had given you laid heavily on your neck. It felt wrong to be wearing it to this event, but without it, you didn't feel whole.

And with a look in the mirror, you sighed, a saddened smile gracing your lips while you prepared yourself for what would be one of the saddest days of your life.

You thought back to a better time when everything was easier. When your love for Aragorn had bloomed.

It was a cold night. You and Aragorn had gone on yet another adventure together through the hours of the night. After plenty of frolicking and distractions, you’d both agreed that it was time to eat.

You’d decided a warm soup was the way to go, and Aragorn agreed with you on that as well. And while you waited for your meals, you talked around pointless things, avoiding the affection that was blossoming.

You were teasing him, pushing him around, baiting him. When he finally retaliated, he accidentally hit your soup out of your hands. The target for the food? your clothes. Your shirt was covered, and you stifled a laugh while Aragorn looked mortified.

You winced a bit at how hot your soup was, as well as the fact that you could no longer eat it, since it was so elegantly spilled on your shirt.

“Y/N, I am so sorry. Here, let me- I can-” The poor man rambled, looking for a cloth to dry your shirt. You couldn’t help but giggle at how flustered he was, though the fiery wrath of the soup was definitely a contender for your attention.

Yet still, you laughed, opening your bag with a hum. “Aragorn, I’m sure I have a spare shirt in my pa- What? Where is it?” You quietly gasped, Aragorn’s eyes brightening.

“Take mine, Y/N. I have a spare.” He stated, the red on his cheeks dissipating.

Your gentle hands gingerly grasped the shirt as you stood, sharply inhaling at the temperature of the soup. “I’ll be back.”

After a minute or two, you walked over to the table and sat down, cozier than ever in Aragorn’s off-white shirt. You offered a smile and caught Aragorn’s eye, his shocked expression warming your cheeks. “It is a little big, I will admit, but it will do until I get a fresh change of clothing.” You grinned, biting back a smile.

“Keep it.” Aragorn smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the slightest and sweetest of ways. “It looks better on you than it looked on me.” He stated, inhaling a breath after stealing another glance at you.

You still had that shirt, after all the time that passed.

Those were fond memories you had of him, but fleeting. You smoothed your dress down and slipped on your shoes. Another memory came to haunt you, the emotions overwhelming.

You were wandering Rivendell when you heard a giggle. You had turned a corner, finding Aragorn, his lips glued to Arwen’s. You cleared your throat, causing them to break apart, looking at you sheepishly.

Arwen spoke softly, “Oh, I am sorry about that. We didn’t know anyone else would come here.” Of course, she didn’t know that Aragorn and you had spent many hours in this same place. You avoided his gaze and hid your emotion, laughing instead.

“Oh I have so many things I could say, but most important of all, I could tell everyone!” You paraded around them, joking of course. They laughed along, not truly seeing how much this hurt you. And you would keep it that way.

The decorations were beautiful. You gazed upon the arch that Aragorn was to be wed under, trailing down the cascading vines and flowers. You counted at least a hundred guests.

If it weren’t for the emotions you felt at the moment, you might have smiled just because of how beautiful everything looked.

The bells rang, signifying that the ceremony would start soon, and you took a sharp breath. Your stomach churned like you were about to face the armies of Mordor alone. But it wasn’t the time to be afraid. It was time to be Aragorn’s friend.

The very man that your thoughts were formed around jogged up to you, handsome as ever. His armor contrasted his eyes beautifully, and the smile he wore made you melt.

“Y/N. Just the woman I wished to see.” He grinned, placing a hand on your shoulder while you returned the smile.

You hummed, straightening your back. “What do you need?” You asked, ready to do whatever he needed.

“A friend.” He replied, indicating that he was nervous.

“You’ll be fine, Aragorn.” You smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Everything will go smoothly, I assure you.”

The man nodded, a dreadful sigh escaping his lips once the bells rang again. Of all the things you’d said today, the three words that left your lips were some of the hardest to get out. “Go get her.”

Once everyone was settled, the ceremony began with Elrond giving Arwen away. You watched Aragorn closely, the way his eyes lit up when Arwen was unveiled, the pure love and devotion he had for her nearly killing you. You had no idea it would be this hard. Tears pricked at your eyes when they kissed and you were glad you could blame it on the “beauty” of the moment.

You watched Aragorn lead Arwen down the aisle, each step a dagger in your chest. No matter how strong you wanted to be for Aragorn, you couldn’t watch this any longer. Your strained smile slowly disappeared as they walked out of sight. You had to get out of there.

So, when he wasn’t looking, you quietly slipped away, allowing the tears to finally fall. What you didn’t know, however, was that he saw you walk away, more confused and worried than ever.

Once you were far enough, you broke into a sprint. You needed to get as far away from there as fast as you could. You slipped your shoes off, the cold and roughness of the stone adding to your anguish. Upon reaching the garden, you sobbed, collapsing onto the stone ground where you once stood. You couldn’t control it. Your shoulders softly shook as you cried, feeling nothing but sorry for yourself. You thought you could watch Aragorn give a special part of himself to Arwen. You really did. But you couldn’t.

And you hated yourself for it. You held your head in your hands, sniffling quietly into the silence. You never got to tell him how much better he made you. You never got to hug him as Arwen would. You never got to laugh at his flirtatious jokes like Arwen would be able to. You never got to kiss him as Arwen would. But then again, why would he ever kiss someone like you? You weren’t even half as pretty as her.

Too lost in your own sorrow, you didn’t hear Aragorn’s footsteps approaching. Something about rangers, they always knew how to stay quiet and test the situation. Upon seeing you, he removed his crown, kneeling beside you with worry written on his sharp features. “Y/n? Y/n, why are you upset?” The worried man asked, gently grasping your trembling shoulders.

You flinched under the touch, shrinking away from the touch. “It is nothing, Mellon. Please, go be with yo- Arwen. Were you not just betrothed?” You asked, wiping away the salty teardrops on your cheeks.

While you stood to leave, Aragorn mimicked your actions, blocking your exit. “Y/n, please. I only wish to help,” He pleaded, following your gaze. He gently grabbed your chin, sending a shiver down your spine while he forced you to look at him.

“Aragorn, please let me go.” You sniffled, lip quivering while your eyes begged him to leave.

Aragorn frowned, giving one final attempt at helping you. He couldn’t know. He could never know. “Was it Arwen? Gandalf? I do not know what could have upset you in such a way.” He frowned, brow creased in worry.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. No more games, or guessing, or hiding from it. You’d tried so hard, only for it all to come crashing down in flames before your eyes. “It’s you, Aragorn!” You cried, hot tears streaming down your cheeks while throwing your hands out.

You laughed a sad laugh, backing away from the man you’d loved for countless years. “It’s always been you.” You croaked weakly, your voice brittle and defeated. Aragorn was still confused. He cautiously stepped forward, taking your hands in his own. “Y/n, what do you mean?” He asked, clearly worried that he’d hurt you in some way.

You shook your head, biting your lip while you trained your gaze on the ground. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just-” You smiled, shaking your head as you met his gaze. “Just go be with her. You need to be with her.”

But instead of walking away, Aragorn shook his head. “Y/n, we cannot keep circling amongst each other like this. Please, tell me what I’ve done to hurt you.” He pleaded, worry and remorse engraved in his expression.

You took a shaky breath, tearing up once again. “I can’t, Aragorn.” You admitted, the cost of saying the words far more than you were willing to give. “If I do, I will have to leave.” You choked, willing away the tears.

Aragorn sighed, determination set in his jaw. “Whatever you are facing, Y/n, whatever comes, I will face it beside you.” He stated, confidence and truth behind the words. You hated how perfect he was. Always an amazing friend, but not for much longer.

Finally, after a minute of silence, you decided that if you were going to leave Gondor for the rest of your days, you might as well make it memorable. “Forgive me, Aragorn.” You pleaded, leaning in to steal a kiss from Aragorn.

He hummed in surprise, but didn’t back away, eyes fluttering shut. You relished in the feeling, your hand on his warm, stubbly cheek. It was incredible. Until the both of you realized what was happening. You gasped, backing away from the kiss. “I-“ You stammered, quickly going into a panic. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” You breathed, stumbling out of the garden.

You felt like such an idiot. All of the nights wasted in tears rushing back to haunt you as you ran away from the love you’d held onto so dearly. You ran as fast as you could for the forest, clutching the necklace Aragorn had given you. Habit.

Little did you know, Aragorn decided to run after you, desperate to clean up the mess you’d made. You ran, skillfully weaving throughout the trees to lose Aragorn.

Once you thought you were far enough, you leaned against a tree, dirt marks along your arms and legs. That was the last time you would ever see Aragorn. You wasted it. So, you cried. Then you decided you would move on. Start over.

Aragorn approached, careful not to startle you. You looked up, resting your head against the tree with an irritated sigh. “I can’t stay.” You whispered, your defeated tone letting Aragorn know just how much of a toll this took on you.

Aragorn frowned, the glisten of a tear catching your eye. “Why? We can forget it happened, Y/n. We can make this right.” He suggested, a pleading in his voice that you’d only heard a handful of times. It hurt.

“We can’t. I have to leave.” You replied, forcing yourself to look at him. “I love you, Aragorn. I always have and will. Nothing can ever change that. So, unless you have miraculously realized that it is not Arwen, but me you love, which I highly doubt, I’m leaving.” You explained, standing with a sigh, knowing Aragorn would try to follow.

He stood, watching while you unclasped the necklace Aragorn gave you. “Goodbye, Aragorn.” You spoke defeatedly, gently grasping his hands to place the necklace in them.

“Y/n, anything you wish, I will do. Just stay.” He asked one final time, slow tears falling down his cheeks.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wiping away his tears with your thumb. “I wish I were Arwen.” And with that, you walked away, thankful that Aragorn didn’t try to follow.

taglist: @lady-latte

#Aragorn #aragorn x reader #lotr #lotr writing

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carry-the-sky · 4 years

Note

Hi could you do 14. touch on a bruise for brio please?

ahhh thanks for sending this one in!! have some post-s3 angst, hahaha. :)

(also on ao3)

The next time she sees him, he’s bleeding.

Okay, maybe not actively, but the jagged line of stitches etched above his ear looks like it’s seconds away from ripping open. Beth takes in the nasty bruise blooming along his jawline, the cut splitting his bottom lip.

“Um,” she says.

Rio smirks. “What’s up?”

“I—” she sputters, because he’s just standing there with that stupid, smug expression, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to drop by the showroom after hours looking like—that. “You—what happened?”

“Not your division, darlin’.”

He says it lightly enough, but Beth reads the undercurrent of warning in his voice like a neon sign. He wants her to drop it.

Well. She’s not feeling very incentivized to give him what he wants at the moment.

“It is when you bring that”—she pointedly eyes the stitches—“into my showroom. Those look awful, by the way. Did he do them?” She juts her chin toward Mick, who’s lurking in the doorway.

The two men share a look, and Mick folds his arms across his chest. “Maybe I did,” he grumbles. “YouTube’s got tutorials for everythin’.”

Beth glances between them both. She’s about to open her mouth—to say what, she has absolutely no idea—when Mick snorts, shaking his head at the same time that Rio’s mouth twists into a grin.

“Nah,” Rio says, still smiling as he casts a glance back at Mick. “Nah, he didn’t. Your concern’s duly noted, though.”

Mick makes another sound in his throat that he quickly covers by turning it into a cough. Beth’s face flames, but she draws herself up and meets Rio’s gaze head-on. Let him try to get a rise out of her—she knows better than to take that bait.

“Fine. What can I do for you, boss?” she says, spitting out that last word like it’s acid.

Rio’s eyes fall to the floor, but Beth can still see the ghost of a grin lingering at the corners of his mouth, like he knows he got under her skin. Like he’s won. For one furious second, she imagines how hard she’d have to hit him to split his lip, leave a bruise. She imagines hurting him and liking it.

But she doesn’t really have to, does she? Beth still remembers the weight of his gun in her hand, how the recoil from pumping the trigger once, twice, three times made her hand ache for days afterwards. She remembers him choking on his own blood, the sound of it filling up the loft—

No. No, she hadn’t liked any part of that. It’s a catch twenty-two; she hates him, she wants him dead, gone and out of her life, his name crossed out in permanent ink, but then—sometimes she doesn’t. It’s the not-knowing that keeps her circling the drain, pushing that damn boulder up the hill only to watch it come crashing down again and again.

She thinks she might hate that even more than she hates him.

Beth blinks, coming back to the office. Mick’s staring her down like a hawk, but Rio’s gaze is more appraising, head tilted to the side in a gesture that’s so familiar, so him, it makes her stomach flip.

“Just here for my cut,” he says, as nonchalant as if they’re discussing the weather. She hears the unspoken words as clearly as the night he said them—you, me, we. It’s just business.

Beth holds his gaze a second longer, then tugs a black duffel out from under her desk. She hands it off, dropping the straps like they burned her to avoid brushing her hand against his when he takes it from her. If he notices, he doesn’t show it.

“What, no mama bag this time?” he says, then presses his lips together like he’s trying not to grin.

Beth glares at Mick, who just shrugs. She snaps her eyes back to Rio, barely managing to unclench her teeth before asking, “Anything else?”

“Yeah, Mick’s gonna check the books.”

Of course he is. Beth isn’t exactly shocked, but it still feels like a slap on the wrist, another reminder that there’s a hierarchy and she’s the furthest thing from sitting on top. Even this, the operation she pieced together herself, the system she built on equal parts desperation and determination—even this isn’t hers.

You wanna be the king, you gotta kill the king.

Yeah, she tried that. Technically she’s still trying, but she shoves that thought down deep and ignores the twinge in her chest.

Rio’s already turning to go, slinging the duffel over his shoulder. “Next week, yeah?”

Maybe it’s the way he says it, like he’s glad he can pawn her off on someone else because he has better things to do with his time, or maybe the stress and exhaustion from these past few months are finally cracking her foundation—the reason doesn’t really matter. Beth can’t—won’t—let him have the last word.

“You should really get those stitches looked at,” she says.

He pauses, then looks back at her. In the low light, his eyes almost look black.

“I’ve had worse,” he says, and the words hang between them for a moment, heavy as a loaded gun.

Beth swallows. “Still. They could get infected.”

Something slides across Rio’s face, sharp and predatory. It’s the look he gets when he sees an opportunity, and Beth feels her stomach drop.

“Yeah?” he says, turning around so that he’s facing her again. He drops the duffel, and Beth can’t help flinching at the thud it makes when it hits the floor. “Sounds like you’re volunteerin’.”

“No, that’s not—”

But he’s moving, sliding into the chair on the opposite side of her desk. Beth’s eyes dart to Mick, but he just arches an eyebrow, not even bothering to look up from the list of sales projections he’s been checking.

Rio leans back in his seat. “A’ight, doc, fix me up.”

Beth stays where she is. The irritation that’s been bubbling just beneath the surface ever since he walked through the door is reaching its boiling point, but there’s something else humming under her skin, crackling like a live wire. He can leave whenever he wants—he was halfway out the door a second ago—but instead he chose to stay.

They’re circling the same drain, each of them waiting to see who will get sucked under first.

“I’ll—get the first aid kit,” Beth says, stepping around the desk only to be stopped in her tracks by Mick, who clears his throat audibly and pulls his jacket back to reveal the Glock tucked against his side.

Beth resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Really? You think I’m stupid enough to try something with both of you here?”

Rio doesn’t answer, just fixes her with an amused look.

“Fine,” Beth snaps, taking a step back. She nods at Mick, tips her head in the direction of the door. “It’s in the bathroom across the hall.”

Mick gives her a two-fingered salute and ducks out of the room, and then it’s just her and Rio.

He’s still—watching her. He looks relaxed enough, legs spread a bit and his hands clasped loosely in front of him, and if Beth didn’t know better, she’d say the expression on his face is almost neutral. But she does know better. His eyes are what give him away, flashing with the same electricity that’s thrumming behind her sternum. He’s waiting for her to make a move. She knows, because she’s doing the same thing.

God, she hates how much she likes this.

She barely registers Mick coming back—it’s only when he tosses the first aid kit onto the desk that she jumps, startled back to herself.

“Thanks,” she says, injecting as much sarcasm as she can into the word.

Mick’s mouth twitches, but he goes straight back to the books, sinking into a chair in the far corner of the office. Beth rolls her own chair around the side of the desk, lowers herself slowly into a seated position beside Rio. This close, she can see each individual color in the whorl-patterned bruise that stretches up toward the hollow of his cheek. She lets her eyes drag across it, then up his temple. The stitches look—well, not great. It’s clear they were done hastily, probably to prevent as much blood loss as possible, but the wound is seeping.

“Damn, that bad, huh?” Rio asks, reading it on her face.

Beth stares down at the kit in front of her. Her first aid knowledge extends about as far as patching up a skinned knees and Benadryl for minor allergic reactions—removing possibly-infected stitches from her crime boss’ head isn’t even in the same zip code.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you want me to do,” she says, abruptly exhausted.

Rio adopts an expression of mock concern that does nothing to ease Beth’s urge to slap him. “Oh, no?” he says. “What part’s trippin’ you up?”

Beth shuts her eyes for a second, briefly wonders why the hell she didn’t let him waltz out of here when she had the chance—except she knows why, and so does he, and when she looks again—

He’s practically beaming, that smug tilt at the corners of his mouth dialed up about a thousand percent, and it’s like a puzzle piece slotting into place. This is just another game—he’s messing with her, playing with his food before eating it.

The low buzz of electricity inside her ignites.

He’s not the only one who’s hungry.

“No, you’re right,” she says, popping open the first aid kit and digging around until she finds the antiseptic wipes. “I should at least clean those stitches up. Maybe even remove them, start fresh.”

She glances up, and that’s the only reason that she sees him falter, a blink-and-miss-it record-scratch behind his eyes before he recovers, slides the mask back on. Satisfaction floods through her. She can play his game.

“Whatever’s good, ma,” he says with a shrug. “You’re the boss, yeah?” He echoes her earlier emphasis on the word, grinning when he sees the barb land. “Shit, that’s my bad—poor choice o’ words.”

Beth rips open a wipe. “This might sting,” she says, pressing against his line of stitches, hard. She’s rewarded with him hissing a breath through his teeth, the hand at his knee balling into a fist.

“Easy, mama,” he grits out.

Beth flashes him her sweetest smile. “I’m sorry, is that too rough? I thought you liked that.”

Mick makes a noise like he’s choking, and Rio looks over, eyes bright with amusement. “Ay, cállate la boca.”

“Didn’t say nothin’,” Mick mumbles, still staring intently at the books.

Beth presses her tongue behind her teeth, swallowing a pinch of annoyance as she switches tactics. “Aren’t crime lords supposed to have, I don’t know, some sort of medical professional on retainer? For situations like this?”

“Nah,” Rio says with a shake of his head. “Why, you gunnin’ for a promotion? ‘Cause I gotta say, your bedside manner could use some work.”

And something inside her roars, because this is how she’s going to get him. She dabs gently at the wound beneath his stitches, swiping a thumb over the sutures. Rio winces, jerks back—

She sees it, the moment he drops the mask.

Beth leans forward. She brings the antiseptic up to his face again, stops just short of pressing it to his skin, as if to ask, okay?

She sees it, the moment he drops the mask.

Beth starts at his temple, softly scrubbing at the caked-on blood that’s streaked down from the cut above his ear. Her hand moves lower, fingers gliding over his cheekbones, and she’s not sure if she imagines his breath hitching when she reaches the bruise at his jaw. She drags her thumb across it, then back again. His skin is warm, under the pads of her fingers.

“How am I doing now?” she breathes, barely above a whisper, and she knows she doesn’t imagine him dipping a glance down to her mouth. Their faces are inches apart, close enough for her to count the shades of brown in his eyes. Her fingers trace lower, toward the curve of his lips—

His hand comes up to grasp her wrist, tug it away from his face. “Don’t,” he growls, low like thunder. A warning. “Don’t do that, Elizabeth.”

He’s looking at her again, but she almost doesn’t recognize the emotion swimming in his eyes. He’s—terrified. Of her. For a fleeting second she lets the thrill of it run through her, buoyant on the feeling of power, the feeling that she’s won—

(—she did it, she shot him, she’s free—)

The moment pops like a soap bubble, and she’s empty, hollow, everything good inside of her scooped away until this is what’s left. This is who she is. And maybe this game they’re playing was never meant to have a winner.

The realization leaves her numb.

She’s vaguely aware of Mick slipping the books back onto her desk, and when her eyes flick back up to Rio, his mask is firmly back in place. Steel, untouchable.

“I’m all better now, thanks,” he says, and then he’s pulling away, pushing up from the desk, slipping out the door. She watches his silhouette until it dissolves into shadow.

She’s alone.

#brio #beth x rio #brio fic #nbc good girls #my fic

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scarecrow-supremacy · 4 years

Text

Arranged Love | Pt 4

Thank you to Mrs. Hatake for requesting this prompt to me!

In which: f!reader is interested in being in a fwb like relationship, but is forced into an arranged marriage with the one and only, Hatake Kakashi. Both (y/n) and Kakashi only agree to marry for the sake of convivence. (y/n) with her needs, and Kakashi with his wish to revive his clan.

AO3 Chapter

Lime/Smut warning

*Lime, but the next chapter will probably be smut ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)*

Infinite things I could hate about you

The way you walk

The way you talk

The way you capture my mind

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick...

You counted the soft noises of the clock, knowing full well that your alarm clock was bound to go off at any moment now. You could have gotten up to start your day early, but you, quite frankly, lack the motivation to do so. Anyways, it was your day off. Being productive is highly overrated... You mentally uttered. Why get out of bed when you could cuddle with your plush lavender body-sized pillow all morning? You groaned, your actions making your further realize how friggen lonely you felt within. If only the pillow could have been a person...

You glared daggers at the rose gold engagement ring upon your finger. Technically, you really weren't lonely. Hell, there was a part of you that would have preferred to be alone again. Why him?! Annoyed thoughts swarmed your mind, keeping you from attaining proper relaxation. Of all people...Why him? You pulled your pillow closer to your chest, burying your face into the cool silken cover and squeezing it tightly. Why, why, why? Your mind paced. It wasn't that you were thinking about him, Hatake Kakashi, so much. It was how you thought about him that filled you up with despair.

New feelings...shining in a new light.

What is wrong with me?!

Your eyes traveled to your stomach, your diary still opened up to the page you were writing last night. The whole diary idea was Kurenai's, back when you were made jonin, around the age of 14. She knew you weren't the best with opening up to people. So to let out your pains, she had recommended writing about them. And in honesty, you were glad that you had decided to take her advice. Writing did make you feel better. Ranting out all of your troubles without any worries of being judged. As of these days, most of your entries were about Kakashi or how you wanted to relieve yourself. It's almost concerned you that you wrote about him so damn much. Just shove him aside!

"Urg!" Your groaned, gathering the willpower to get up from your blanket cocoon and take a nice and warm shower, "Sulking won't do any good..." With a sigh, you entered your kitchen, telling yourself that you'd shower after grabbing something to replenish your hunger. It was glaringly obvious that cooking wasn't your forte. In fact, you were absolutely horrendous at it. Honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you somehow managed to burn water while trying to boil it. You, the woman dubbed Ibara-hime, the Thorn Princess, could not cook if your life depended on it.

After contemplating what you could make without burning your kitchen down, you simply made yourself a cup of your favorite herbal tea to energize your body. It wasn't much, but it helped wake you up.

Ding dong, the bell to your apartment rang. "Gimme a sec!" You called out the person, throwing on your flak jacket just for formalities. "Oh..." Your face fell, yet your stomach fluttered, "It's you–"

"Yeah, it's me," one Hatake Kakashi mocked the tone you had greeted him with, running his fingers through his silvery hair. You didn't want to think much of it, but his hair just looked so soft...

"What do ya want, Hatake?" You put your hands on your hips and pouted.

Kakashi groaned as he made himself welcome inside your quaint home, "I'm bored," He simply told you, plopping himself right in the middle of your couch. What a dick, you muttered, having to sit on a chair instead of the sofa. "Wahh..?" You whispered as Kakashi's eyes took in ever single bit of you. Your skin started to burn, although his gaze wasn't exactly giving off a positive vibe. "Stop eyeing me like that, Hatake." You mustered up the courage to spit out.

"Oi, it's not my fault," Kakashi sassed, "Take a look at what you're wearing, yariman." Slut, his deep and rich voice had called you.

Anger stirred up inside of you, along with embarrassment, causing your skin to feel as if it was on fire. You felt yourself get flustered as you looked down at your short skirt, which had rid up your legs, and lacy dark green bra that had been reveled by your unzipped vest. "O-oh!" You breathed, your hand going to zip up your flak jacket, yet was slapped away before you could. "What the hell, Hatake?" You flashed him a bewildered look.

Kakashi chuckled smugly, the smirk under his mask apparent, "Don't... I kinda like you dressed like this." He stated matter-of-factly.

"But you j-just," You stuttered out, "called me a..." you trailed off, averting you eyes. Urg, the audacity of this pervert, your inner self spoke. "Perverted idiot."

"Call me what you want," Kakashi grabbed your hand, "I'm your perverted idiot, forever." He laughed softly. Woah, he never acts like this...

"Did somebody drug you?" you sweat-dropped, unintentionally blurted out your thoughts, "You normally don't act like this."

Kakashi sent you a wary look, but you could tell he felt slightly hurt by your remark, "No..." he replied cautiously, "I just thought...it would be good to loosen up."

Your expression softened ever so slightly, "Oh..." the two of you sat in pin drop silence.

"You know," Kakashi ventured, "dark green is my favorite color."

"Hatake!" You yelped, instinctively covering your chest, "I'm going to take a shower!" You turned you back to your dreaded fiancé, stomping out of the room to go bathe.

"I might as well join you then," Kakashi shrugged, causing you to stop dead in your tracks.

"I'm sorry what?!" you exclaimed

"I haven't showered yet today."

"Urg..!" He's drugged, I'm sure of it... you thought, finally giving in to Kakashi. "Kitanai yarō!"

"Well," Kakashi tapped his foot, carefully placing his flak jacket upon the silken sheets of your bed, "aren't you going to strip down?" He asked as he started to remove the cloth bindings from his thigh and ankles.

"Y-yeah..." you flushed softly, "J-just gimme a second." You dashed off, tossing my clothes into your basket of dirty laundry and grabbing a towel to wrap around your bare body, "Okay..." you mumbled, peaking your head out from the bathroom. The tension in the room was heavy and hot, almost uncomfortable. It was...something you had never felt. Hence, you couldn't put your finger on a way properly to describe the situation. Yet heat rushed to your core, even the tiniest smidge of arousal turning on your mind. You felt like your every movement was being recorded in Kakashi's mind. His gaze digging into your soul like a kunai in delicate flesh. Like his– No, no, no, no! No pervy thoughts, (y/n)! Stay classy, you ordered your mind, preventing it from trailing off. We have a dignity, remember?

You hesitantly got into the shower, testing the waters for the proper temperature. "Ahhh," you moaned ever so slightly, the raining down of the water slipping down your body and rejuvenating your sores from the previous night's round of nightmares. "Oi..." Kakashi started to speak as he entered the shower from behind you, ending up grunting incoherently. You shook your head, sighing in disapproval whilst rubbing from body wash into your soft (s/t) skin. You felt a pair of hands brush past your hair, reaching for the hair conditioner, "Rose and sandalwood, eh? No wonder you smell like a garden and incense shop." Kakashi breathed down your neck.

You tried your best not to look back at him, your heart racing for reasons you tried to reject. Nope! We can't be falling for him! You let out a slight gasp as Kakashi's hands found their way to your hips, tracing the gracefully toned muscles of your stomach. "Kakashi...what are you doing?" You whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the running water.

"I read your diary," you could practically heard the smirk on Kakashi's face, "I think I can help you with your needs..." Kakashi licked the helix of your ear. A shudder went down your spine, a foreign though crossing your mind. Maybe, just maybe, we could make this work... your mind ventured. "Kami, I've been having some problems myself, big problems..." Kakashi told you, his voice velvety coffee as he nipped at your neck. His hardening length pressing against your round ass. You could feel your walls start to clench; you were surprised that your body was reacting to Kakashi's touch like this.

No disturbance could get in the way of this exhilarating moment, right?

"(Y/N)! RAIDŌ ASKED ME OUT! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!" The voice of Mitarashi Anko screeched, she wandered into your bathroom, "YESS!"

"Anko..." You cringed, clenching your fists, "W-wrong t-time..." You moaned as Kakashi's finger teased your clit.

"What?" Anko called out, "I can't hear you over the water. Could ya speak up."

Kakashi pumped faster, "You heard her, louder." His intentions directing towards your moans, blessed music to his ears.

You sucked your breath, "N-never m-mind, Anko!" You managed to force out, trying your absolute hardest to not moan.

"Wait...Is that..." Anko's voice trailed off, "Kakashi's mask, and his..."

"A-anko! Pl-pleas j-just..." you bit your tongue, "go. Ju-just tell me l-later!" You begged her, turning to look at Kakashi with pleading eyes. Not now, Kakashi, you tried to convey with your widened (e/c) eyes.

"OH HELL NO! SORRY!" Anko cried out, causing Kakashi to pull his fingers out of you with a let down sigh. The smoke of Anko's hasty teleportation jutsu lingering for a few moments.

The mood had officially been broken. Thanks a lot, Anko, you mentally swore. But holy hell, you were about to get laid. Shamefully, you looked at the floor as Kakashi rinsed our your hair. "I–" you tried to speak, yet your voice faltered as you took a moment to observe Kakashi's face.

"Are you still in for it?" Kakashi raised his eyebrow; his left eye lidded.

"Oh! Uh..." your heart suddenly fluttered, "Y-yeah." You told him shyly.

Kakashi flashed you a smirk, "How about we just dry off, then..." He winked at you.

Yep, I'm convinced he's drugged... There's no other explanation...

Infinite things I try to love about you

They way you walk

The way you talk

The way you capture my mind

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elvendara · 3 years

Text

Sugar and Spice Day 3

July 14th

Rock concert (Rockstar/Fan)

“Five minutes till curtains up!” the man ran backstage shouting over the din. Saeran expected a knock on his door shortly and sure enough, it came. Without waiting for an answer, the man opened the door to let him know the time limit. Saeran locked eyes with him through the mirror and nodded.

Once the door was again closed, he stared at himself. He’d long ago bleached his hair white to differentiate himself from his twin. Saeyoung worked in the shadows, it wouldn’t do to have a famous brother who looked exactly like him. He also utilized colored lenses. It served two purposes, he didn’t need to wear glasses, in fact, his fans didn’t even know he needed them, and the mint green was a stark contrast to his regular, amber-colored eyes. The pink tips were a more recent addition, but he liked them.

Black eyeliner was expertly applied, years of practice making it almost effortless. He took a sponge and smudged it, giving himself that perfect edgy look. The earrings were already in, silver crosses dangling on each side of his face. Ironic really, considering he didn’t believe in God. The thick black silver studded collar was snuggly around his neck as was the matching cuff around his right wrist. He stood and grabbed his leather jacket, sliding it on and glancing into the full-length mirror he had been given in his dressing room. He was comfortable in this persona. The music had been a way for him to deal with his life. Writing down his anger, confusion, and loneliness was a way to get it out of him. It became bigger than him pretty quickly and he found that hiding behind rock stardom meant he didn’t have to answer any real questions about his true self. It worked. Except it kept him lonely and alone. He’d come to terms with spending the rest of his life that way. It was easier than imagining being real with someone. Who could ever love the real him anyway?

He smirked at his reflection as he laced up his biker boots. Time to bring the house down!

He was soaked in sweat but didn’t feel tired. In fact, he felt invigorated, like every time he finished a concert. Feeding off the audience was one of the biggest perks to his career. Someone handed him a towel and he wiped his face with it.

“Great show Saeran!” one of the concert coordinators told him. She held a tablet to her chest and had a handful of fans behind her. Five doe eyed girls and one shy looking boy. Well, now that he looked closer, he was definitely a man, close to his own age. He looked sheepish being with the teenaged groupies. “These are the VIP’s for tonight’s afterparty. Thought I’d introduce you before you change.”

“Nice! Great to meet you, I’m glad we’ll be hanging out tonight. Hope you have a good time. Congrats on winning the backstage passes.” He regurgitated. There wasn’t always an afterparty but there were some special guests, rich, who had paid for the whole thing, so he’d been pressed to oblige them with an appearance. He hated the politics of being famous, but he did love his fans. It was because of them that he could enjoy what he did. If it was up to him, he’d fill the party with fans and not rich entitled groupies. He knew he would spend the night fending off offers to ‘get to know each other better’ all night.

“Oh my GOD! It’s really you!”

“Wow! You’re so HOT!”

“Ahhh, my friends are never gonna believe this!”

The girls were just cookie cutter versions of every other girl he’d seen. He couldn’t blame them; it’s how they sold his image. The man looked embarrassed; he wouldn’t even look him in the eye. He took the chance to check him out. He appeared to be a tad shorter than himself, with blond hair and pink clips holding back his bangs. He wore one of his concert shirts and tight-fitting skinny jeans. His nails were painted alternating pink and black with the black ones having his band’s logo on it, a mint green eye. So he really was a fan. Cute too.

“Uh, well, like the lady said, I have to go get changed for the party, I’ll see you all there. And be sure to grab your swag bags before you leave, don’t let them rip you off there! There’s a CD with a snippet of some of our new songs.” He winked and walked off. There was a lot of oohing and ahhing as he left.

He took a quick shower and dressed in a ripped black T-shirt, black jeans and his biker boots, putting all his accessories back on and reapplying his eyeliner. Taking a deep breath, he turned and walked out to the convention center next to the arena. Of course he wasn’t alone, he had security that surrounded him and paparazzi snapping pics as he made his way to the party. They screamed questions at him that he didn’t answer, he smirked, the signature look the media had come to know him by. Surrounded by so many yet feeling so alone. Making it next door took longer than it should have because of the circus around him, but make it he did.

Once he was inside he was taken by the arm by the coordinator who had introduced him to the fans, he couldn’t remember her name but she seemed nice enough. At least she didn’t flirt with him like other women did and took her job seriously.

“You’re here, great, first you should go say hi to the Han family, they’re the ones footing the bill for this afterparty, then you can have a few minutes with the fans before talking to some reporters…”

“Whoah.” He stopped in his tracks and could swear she left skid marks with her heels she’d been going so fast. “I want more than just a few minutes with those fans, and who are all these people anyway?” He saw his bandmates and some of the roadies, but everyone else was a stranger.

“Nobody you need to worry about, uh, I’ll see what I can do with the schedule.” She seemed frazzled but clicked away on her tablet while heading off again. He assumed he should follow, so he did.

“Mr. Han, I appreciate you taking the time and effort for this function.” Saeran greeted the elderly man.

“Ah, of course of course, anything for my new bride!” he had his arm around a young woman who was clearly less than half his age. The rumors about C&R’s head were obviously true. Standing on his other side was a tall and elegant man who appeared to wish he was anywhere but here. He’d seen that face plastered on magazines of all sorts. The heir apparent, Director of C&R, Jumin Han. They nodded respectfully at each other, Saeran feeling sorry for the man and having to deal with his father’s escapades, but the old man seemed like a descent sort. After a few minutes of his ‘wife’ fawning all over him, making him feel uncomfortable, the coordinator pulled him away. He was thankful to her for saving him.

She escorted him towards a section in the back, past all the dancing and the loud music, that was closed off. The music was still loud but at least he could hear himself think. In the section the fans sat, eating and drinking snacks on the coffee table. They all stood up and rushed him. Well, the girls did, touching him and giggling. Where were their parents? They didn’t look old enough to be out. They sat him down and pressed against him. The blond man sat to the side in a chair and continued to sip his cola and eat the snacks, sneaking a look now and then. He wished he could just be alone with him and have a conversation. At least he wouldn’t try to crawl on his lap like these girls seemed to want to do. Well, maybe he wouldn’t mind if the blond tried that.

After about 30 minutes, which felt like a lifetime, the coordinator gathered up the girls and took them out. It was past midnight and he guessed he had been right about their age, couldn’t have minors out at all hours of the night. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It felt like they had leached some of his life force out and he was drained.

“I guess that happens all the time to you huh?”

Saeran sat up abruptly, how could he have forgotten about the blond?

“Sorry, I’ll go if you want to be alone.” He stood and Saeran panicked.

“NO!” he stood, banging his knee on the coffee table, sending him on his ass back on the sofa. He grabbed at the knee, eyes scrunched, “Ow ow ow…”

“Let me see.” Suddenly there was a presence by him as the blond sat beside him, his fingers touching his knee. Because of the ripped jeans, it was easy to see his skin in that area. “Doesn’t look so bad, at least you didn’t break the skin. You’ll have a hell of a bruise though.” The blond raised his gaze to Saeran and he finally got to see the full view. Wow, those eyes knocked him out, was that color even natural? Maybe he was wearing amethyst-colored lenses like what he himself wore. His face was kind, a soft pink flush growing across his cheeks and bridge of his nose. It was adorable.

“Ah, that was really stupid of me. But…I’m glad you didn’t leave. We didn’t even get a chance to chat.” Saeran tried to regain his coolness but found he couldn’t seem to be bothered to try and act in front of this man. “Uh, what’s your name?”

“Yoosung. Don’t have to ask yours I guess.” He smiled, lighting up the entire room.

“Yoosung…I like it.”

“Thanks. I…uh…like you. I mean…I…your music…I…I…like your music…and…uh…I”

Saeran laughed and waved off Yoosung’s explanation.

“So you’re a fan huh? And what…a doctor?” he asked, placing his foot on the ground gently, still rubbing his knee.

“Not quite. But I am going to medical school. And yes, a BIG fan!” his eyes got large, as did his smile. “Your songs spoke to me when I was at a really low point. I don’t know, it felt like you knew what I was going through and understood my pain.” The smile faltered as his thoughts went back to those days. Saeran reached out and placed his hand on Yoosung’s, yes, he knew what it was like to be in pain, he could see it in his eyes.

Their eyes met, an understanding passing between them.

#my posts #fic #Yooran #Yoosung Kim #Saeran Choi #mysme #mystic messenger #Sugar and Spice #Day 3 #July 14th #OK #I know these are supposed to be Saeran as Spice #but damn if he isn't the sweetest baby boi!#He just wants to be loved!

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haravath0t · 4 years

Text

parol (with filipina!reader)

Warnings: angst (if you squint), immense fluff, and a big word count (sorry)

Summary: The holidays are approaching and reader shares some of her favorite Christmas traditions with Bucky as they decorate, but a little incident happens. To lighten up her spirits, James surprises her on Christmas Eve.

A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you had a great Christmas and New Year! Now with time in my hands I was able to complete this work! I rarely see any Filipina!Readers so I wrote this, as Christmas and my heritage is something I hold close to my heart. It is my first one shot, so bear with me! I hope you all enjoy!

*italics indicate flashbacks!

Today was not your day. You wanted to go home after doing reports and paperwork, surprise Bucky with a nice dinner and pumpkin pie, video call your family that lived in the Philippines to open the gifts you shipped over to them, and call it a day. However, luck was not on your side. Oversleeping, last minute additional reports, agents that were slacking off during training, misplacement of papers, everything you could never dream of happening all in one day happened. You walked over to Bucky, who was leaning against the black car waiting for you as he toyed with the car keys. “Hey, sweetheart, come on why don’t we- you okay?” He asks, concern apparent in his voice as he watches you angrily open the door. “Swell.” Bucky knew better than to push you into talking based on the way you slammed the door and did the better option as he drove you two out of the headquarters to your shared apartment: wait till you talk. “It’s been a bad day,” you sigh in frustration as you look out the window, relaxing when Bucky nods in understanding. “It’ll be alright, sweetheart, talk to me.” And so you did, which led to you both agreeing on having take out for dinner to save yourself from more stress. The two of you were carrying bags filled with take out and lovely desserts as you went into the apartment, leaving you to close the door behind you with your feet. Unfortunately harder than you had intended to. The laughter had died when you heard the sound of something breaking not too far from you both, causing your whole face to drop. The once brightly lit parol, had shattered into pieces, leaving the lights inside to flicker. That did it for you. The tears that have been threatening to fall from your eyes all day have started to drop. “Y/N…” Bucky starts softly, cutting himself off when he sees you quietly and carefully approach the now broken parol, trying to pick the broken pieces up. “Y/N, careful,” Bucky says worriedly, putting his set of bags down to stop you from hurting yourself. “It’s… it’s broken Buck…” you say in disbelief and disappointment, sniffing as you wipe your tears. “Hey. It’s going to be alright, sweetheart. We can work something out-” “It’s my only parol.”

“It’s okay, hey we still can video call-” “My family had opened their presents by now.” Bucky was stumped for you to say the least. He couldn’t even figure out what to say to you over the quiet dinner table when you barely picked up your food and when you immediately retreated to the bedroom, quiet sniffles echoing. He knew that feeling all too well, having something so connected to your identity be taken away in a moment’s notice. He knew one thing though. He wanted to make you feel at home, and he was going to do something about it.

---

“What do you have there, baby doll?” Bucky questions as he watched you open a square shaped box. He smiled when you didn’t respond, a little habit of yours that he has loved knowing that you could not contain your excitement. “A parol!” you squealed, revealing a carefully crafted ring with a star shaped piece in the middle. It was made of red, white, green, and yellow dyed capiz shells. He had never seen anything like it before.

He continues to look at the parol, blush forming on his cheeks in embarrassment when you laughed at his curious gaze. “Parols are pretty much Christmas lanterns back in the Philippines. They normally are shaped as stars and they light up at night! It definitely shows the Filipino Christmas spirit,” you explain to him as your excited eyes meet his. Bucky loved hearing you explain your culture, especially since you have been quite homesick since joining the team and having a place of your own. You did not want your family to know too much of what your job entailed. With that being said, whenever you got a chance to immerse yourself in the culture you grew up with, you always took the chance.

“Want to help me hang it?” You ask, already finding the right spot for it. “Of course doll, let’s go” he replies with a smile, following you to the window to help. Bucky had to admit, the parol looked wonderful. He watched the lantern in satisfaction as it lit up in wonderful patterns, a sight he can’t wait to become accustomed to. “Must really take long to make these,” he remarks as his eyes admire the lantern. “It does… especially these, but they’re all beautiful.” You sigh happily hugging your boyfriend as you watch the parol, twinkling bright as the snow slowly fell gently outside the apartment’s window.

“God I missed this. You wanna know something?” Bucky’s eyes turned away from the lantern and looked at you intently.

“Yeah?”

“This has been around since I was a kid.”

“Really, now?”

“Mhm! I always grew up being surrounded by the culture and my family and I always loved showing it off during the Christmas season. Of course not like in the Philippines though, but we always tried to remember home here. I hope you don’t mind. I asked my parents to bring it over, so I can have a piece of them with me.” The way your face fell in melancholy and embarrassment did not come unnoticed by Bucky. “I don’t mind at all, sweetheart. This is our place, right? Besides, it adds a little flare to our little place doesn’t it?” he questions with that charming smile, making you reciprocate it back in relief before you kiss his cheek.

“It does… thank you.”

---

A knock sounds through the now quiet apartment, making Bucky immediately make his way to the door. “Oh, Mrs. Y/L/N. Thank you for coming.” He says, gently taking your mother’s hand and bringing it up to his forehead just like you taught him. “Ahhh, bless you, bless you,” your mother responds while giggling, making her way into your apartment and sitting down on a couch. Bucky watched in surprise as she took out several simple materials from one of her plastic bags: string, small string lights, bamboo sticks, colored cellophane sheets, rubber bands, and colored tissue paper.

“That looks different from the one she hung up a few days ago.” Bucky commented in surprise, only for your mother to look up at him with raised eyebrows. “You don’t expect me to make one that expensive looking, do you? No! I’ll buy one for you two later. But for now, let me teach you how to do it the traditional way. Come here.” Your mother beckoned, making Bucky smile as he took his seat next to you, excited for what’s next.

“Yan! (There we go) What do you think? Pretty good right?” Your mother smiled, clapping quietly as Bucky smiled proudly at the simple parol he had just finished making. It was a simple one for sure unlike the incredibly detailed one you both hung, but he desperately hoped you would enjoy at least a substitute for the meantime. “Wow..it’s nice… thank you…” he started, only to have your mother wave her hand nonchalantly. “Ayyy… it’s no problem. I’m glad you made the effort to do this for her. Thank you.” She laughed when Bucky’s cheeks started to turn red and pinched them before standing up and taking the rest of her bags to the kitchen. Bucky was then confused, from the additional bags in the kitchen, the urgent sounding phone call in what seemed to be Tagalog, and your mother’s quick paced actions. “Is there a way I can help?” He asks, shyly. Your mother couldn’t help but laugh once again, dragging him into the kitchen with her. “I called her father so we can do this.”

“What are we going to do, exactly?”

“Bring home to her!”

You sighed in relief as the door of your apartment was getting closer and closer. It was luckily a better day, just training and meetings before you were able to go home. You were very much ready to be greeted by your lover’s arms and wind down. However, that wasn’t the case, for when you closed the door, a familiar scent filled the air. “Wait a minute,” you whispered in disbelief, hurrying to the kitchen and saw several foods that you have terribly missed: pork barbecue, chicken afritada, bibingka, and rice cakes. You squealed with joy when your mom and dad yelled surprise, not hesitating to hug the both of them excitedly as joyful tears ran down your cheeks. “I’ve missed you guys! How did you come here?! What?!” you question in awe and denial, which made your parents smile. “You have to thank your boyfriend for that one, anak (child)” your dad replies to a smile. “I called them over. To hopefully cheer you up.” A shy voice says. You turned around in surprise to see Bucky walking shyly to you with his arms behind his back. “That’s not the only surprise he has for you anak! Bucky, show her! Show her!” Your mother beckoned, resulting in yet another confused look from you. Bucky smiled shyly and revealed to you the parol that he had made earlier, causing another gasp to leave your lips and more tears to fall.

“Buck… you made this?” Bucky smiled shyly “I did… I remembered you mentioning that people were able to make them, so I asked your mom to teach me, so we can have this for the meantime. I know it’s not much but-” His words were then cut off as you tightly embraced him, then went up on your tippy toes to shower your boyfriend with thankful kisses. “Oh, it’s more than enough, Buck… thank you. Thank you, so much.” You truly were grateful. You were aware that it may have not been easy for Bucky to call them up, let alone build a parol, and you were amazed beyond belief. The two of you hung the small and simple parol that lit up softly in the dark night, admiring the cute sight as your parents took pictures of the two of you with smiles beaming on their faces. “Come on then, you two, let’s eat!” your dad exclaims, laughter filling the walls of the apartment.

“I can’t believe you,” You whispered to Bucky, holding his hand as you both walked to the table. “Couldn’t let my girl go through her favorite holiday being sad, can’t I? What kind of boyfriend would I be? I figured you could have a piece of home with you for the holidays, so I wanted to give my girl a surprise..” You giggled and nodded and kissed his knuckles, your eyes meeting his wonderful blue ones.

“I love you so much, Buck. Thank you. But my home wouldn’t be complete without you in the picture, couldn’t it?”

“Neither would mine, baby doll.”

You took a final look at the parol and back at Bucky, smiling in content as he led you to the dinner table. You held that parol close to your heart, as it showed the efforts and the simple actions that you two took into making each other happy. The fact that Bucky would do this for you was remarkable to you, and that alone proved to you that it didn’t matter where you were, for James Buchanan Barnes was now always there to proudly remind you of home.

Tags: @world-of-aus @whew-oh-em-gee @lordyitsjordy @tomholland-96 @letstalkaboutsebbaby

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