#but no one would ever care. they never paid attention to his own skils and talents.

[mikkokomori]

Oh.

[tired-biscuit]

Praise

pairing: Naruto Uzumaki/Fem!Reader

Word count: 10.1k

Warnings: 18+ content [minors dni!!] praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie.

quick note: this is smut taken from the naruto fic i am currently writing, titled comfort character (found on ao3.) it includes the last!naruto, set in a modern au where he shifts realities and lands into reader's world.

---

NARUTO - by now more or less accustomed to his new reality - was spending his evening by lazily sprawling across the majority of y/n's couch, watching Youtube videos of Minecraft let's plays.

Waiting for yet another gameplay video to load, Naruto's eyes instinctively flicked across the room. The summer-sky blue irises within instantly brightened after landing on the girl who sat on the small, wooden bar stool. He smiled at the sight of her.

Finding content he wanted to watch had taken him a while to figure out, although fortunately for him; the everlastingly sweet y/n had been kind enough to jump to his rescue by showing him the ropes of how the webpage worked for as long as it took for him to use it on his own.

And that was how the otherwise skilful Shinobi had ended up stretching both legs on top of the small coffee table in front of the sofa that Friday evening; tapping away like an expert on the touchpad of the laptop residing on his lap.

y/n on the other hand, paid him no heed whatsoever.

Completely engrossed into the canvas standing on the easel before her, the young artist was focusing the entirety of her attention into her favourite pastime; painting.

The latest image - rich, opulent fields of wheat, stretching row after row underneath a summer sky of clear blue - had been the main reason Naruto had felt somewhat neglected for the last two nights in a row.

She had been painting like a maniac. Every single late afternoon, y/n sat before the easel and hunched over it into the late hours of the night, until even he was too tired to keep his eyes open.

He usually fell asleep watching her sit there; curling her shoulders inwards and working her paint-coated fingers across the canvas with expert strokes of various shades and colours. Every single time he had woken up in the middle of the night, Naruto found himself shrouded in the darkness of her cosy living room, wrapped in a blanket he never remembered grabbing. Even the easel shared his loneliness at that time.

The door leading to her bedroom was shut closed whenever he looked, because he simply had to look. The last time he had been in there was when she fought against him like her life depended on it.

He never bothered trying to approach the room again, despite wanting to. Never mustered enough courage to knock on the wooden door in the middle of the night, and ask if he could slip underneath the covers right next to her to not feel as alone.

'Coward,' Kurama commented in an instant, the sneer of his fangs tight.

Naruto brushed away the jab with a subtle frown.

Granted, she was ignoring him.

Fucking hell, he was one of the strongest Shinobi there ever came to be! One that had no trouble looking terrifying villains like Madara and Kaguya right in the eye, before slamming their heads in.

Still, what use did he have of such profound daring, when it diminished entirely as soon as it came to taking a shot with a girl? A simple, human girl might he add; with no powers, nor chakra, and one he could surely break in half with just one hand alone.

But neglected or not, the luscious brush strokes her hand gave the canvas tonight, held Naruto's attention for far longer than he'd care to admit. She worked gracefully, and with such intense passion that he couldn't help but admire her. No wonder that the first episode she had shown him of his original reality included Sai.

She was an artist. A creator of something beautiful, just like his friend.

He would do it, if it meant that she'd love him - in the same way she loved art.

The evident love she had for art made Naruto yearn to receive the same treatment she was giving to the canvas, even if he'd have to risk getting his body covered in paint.

He'd still do it if it meant that she'd focus on him entirely; and only him. If her eyes would sparkle with pride as she'd behold her creation right after she'd finish shaping him into something glorious.

And despite feeling rather content by just watching her and daydreaming about things like that most of the time; tonight, even that had been spoiled. Why?

Because her current appearance frustrated him. In all aspects.

After all, in order to fight the unyielding summer heat, y/n currently sat on the darn bar stool in nothing more but yet another silken nightgown; leaving her long, smooth legs completely bare and unprotected from his wandering eyes.

He loosed a sigh after the third time. Crossed one ankle over the other by the fourth, and promptly ignored the video that had been playing for a long while already by the fifth.

The Uzumaki wasn't sure if she had done it on purpose or not, but the sheer, lilac nightgown she had put on certainly left nothing to the imagination. And he had plenty of that to spare.

Naruto could not stop his eyes from outright devouring the curves hiding beneath the silk because of it; could not stop dragging his gaze across her plush thighs, the gentle arch of both of her knees, her calves, and right down to the tips of her toes, before backtracking up and repeating it all over again. And again, and again, and again.

The thought scared him. Made him feel vulnerable for whatever reason.

She was practically glowing; bathing like a deity in the warm, orange rays of the setting sun to seep from the open window on her right side. With her bottom lip tucked underneath her teeth and her brows pinched together in profound focus, she reminded him of a Goddess.

It made him want to freeze time itself and burn the image into his memory forever. To take a picture of her and keep it inside the breast pocket of his jacket - close to his heart for all eternity.

So, he rather focused on the impure side of his mindset; of how as much as he wanted to appreciate it, he also yearned to defile that blinding purity of hers. To spoil her goodness by fucking her senseless, like the despicable sinner that he was.

Naruto cringed at the mistake he had made. Thought about punching himself in the face right then and there at his lack of manners, too.

He caught himself wishing to kiss that glimmer before licking it right off of her warm skin. To savour the taste of salt it'd bring. Right before he'd force his tongue into her sweet mouth, so she'd be able to taste the tang, too.

And so in feeble attempt of remaining decent yet again, the tortured male forced himself to instead pay heed to her hair; which she had tied into a loose, high ponytail.

However, the few rogue strands that had successfully escaped the colourful scrunchie were now sticking to the nape of her neck and were slightly damp from the thin layer of sweat to glimmer on her skin.

'You're hopeless,' Kurama drawled, 'Utterly hopeless.'

Naruto couldn't look the beast in the eye when he said, 'I know.'

"What is it, Naru?" she spoke all of a sudden.

His desires got him going all over again. Sent him into a spiral of pent-up sexual frustration which he, for the love of God, did not know how to shake off.

Frustrated, he voiced a quiet groan and tipped his head back against the backrest of the sofa. Scrubbed a tired hand across his face then, whilst trying to ignore the sudden rush of hot blood to pulsate through his groin.

He caught her eyes fixate on him when he finally managed to coax her into looking him in the eye. Saw her gaze dip to his chest then, as well as the loose, grey sweatpants to hug his waist. Only for a second, though. Always for only a second - just enough to make him think of it as an accident.

At the sound of the cutesy nickname she had given him, Naruto fluttered his eyelids open once more and looked at her.

The non-verbal complaint he had voiced must have tugged at her attention, because she was looking at him just the same now; with her body turned towards him completely, the brush still residing within one paint-splattered hand.

So he returned the favour, because she'd think nothing of it, too. He eyed her up quickly. Up and down - only for a second.

They stared at each other. Circled.

"Nothin'," he lied finally, studying the blush which had begun to bloom on her cheeks. "It's just really hot."

"Yeah," she uttered, twisting the paintbrush between her thumb and index finger. "It's the hottest day of the year today, I think."

"Ah," he hummed in reply, keen eyes following the movement of her digits. The heat was the reason why they had decided on staying inside today, rather than exploring the city like they usually did.

He had been slightly embarrassed to admit that the names of the drinks were too complicated, and thus overwhelming. Fortunately for Naruto, she had gathered enough courage to order for him. And so he got an iced white chocolate mocha with extra whipped cream, and fell right in love after the first sip.

She still had so much to show him, and he was eager to experience as much of her world as she was willing to offer.

Over the past few days, she had taken him to the cinema, the mall, one especially boring museum about art he didn't know how to comprehend, lots of fun restaurants, a tea shop and the local Starbucks where she worked.

Seriously, she had to practically fight him off the damn straw so that he could take a breath. He liked it that much.

Perhaps he'd put his Shinobi skills to some good use and win her a stuffed animal. She'd certainly like that, right? And he'd look cool whilst doing it, too! That'd score him some points, and then maybe he'd get the chance to kiss her, and take her to bed, and spend the entire night scoring even more points, until there'd be nothing left to score.

A fast food restaurant titled McDonalds was next on the list. And an arcade. After Googling whatever information he could find and gather on both; the Uzumaki could barely wait.

Still, what he was most excited about was the funfair set to happen next week. He was already planning on taking all the rides, stuffing his face with popcorn and cotton candy, and seeing all the neon lights.

Toying with the laptop on his lap, Naruto sank his teeth into the tip of his tongue. "Mind if I take off my shirt?"

The sly question caught her off-guard. Made her eyes widen and turned her even more bashful than she already was. He'd have to tread very, very carefully from this moment onward.

Seconds passed. And then;

"No," she said at long last, swallowing hard. He watched her whirl around and face the canvas again. Her spine was stiff when she quietly added, "Go ahead. I don't mind."

That must have been a good sign, right? Right?

"All right," he said, tugging the t-shirt over his head. He could see her straighten in her chair at the sound of the cotton brushing against his skin. He caught her glance at him quickly over her shoulder, but before he could even smile at her, she whipped right back around again.

'See?' the beast within him sighed, 'Completely smitten by you.'

'Are you sure?' Naruto muttered, 'Because if you're wrong about this, I might-'

'I am positive,' the Nine-Tails interrupted, 'It is obvious after all, can't you see it for yourself?'

'No.'

'You humans are blind. And foolish.'

A file.

Naruto bit back the snarky remark forcing its way up his throat, and rather tried gathering his wits.

He closed the video with a quiet sigh. Messed around with the touchpad out of habit, and just as he was about to shut the laptop; something caught his attention.

With his name on it.

He didn't think twice. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Naruto knew that he was trespassing a certain line when he hovered the mouse over the file. But it had his name on it, so it certainly had to be something he was permitted to see, right? It said 'Naruto', after all; not Sasuke, not Kakashi. It was his name plastered underneath. His!

Click!

The file opened. Naruto's eyes scanned over the dozens of digital drawings inside. All wonderfully made from as far as he could tell in their tiny icon form. Colourful and precise artwork, or crudely finished sketches of black on white - the variability was endless. But no matter the differentiating art styles, all of the pieces shared something in common.

They were all of him. And they weren't just any drawings of him.

They were pornographic mayhem.

Smirks, and complacent grins. Naked, broad shoulders and spine, accompanied with rough hands greedily wrapping around soft curves that he'd enjoy touching for real, too. Bandages scraping soft skin, the gleam of his teeth against a throat he did not recognize wolfish.

Naruto clenched his thighs in attempt to stop his dick from lifting the damn laptop right from his lap. Blinked and clicked the next image, because of course he would. And gawked.

He continued to click through them, his heart beating faster with every image to pop up next. His pulse pounded inside his ears.

Most of them were abstract, but Naruto still recognized the exact shade of his hair in a piece where a paint-flecked hand was grabbing a fistful of it, smearing messy lines of silver right through the golden strands. As if in pleasure.

A drawing of a male caught dragging his pink tongue midway the crook of a neck he was pretty sure was y/n's greeted him, now. The shape of the woman's lips was nearly identical to her own, despite that in this specific piece they were slightly pursed from the way the broad, bandaged hand held her by the jaw; the long digits curling around her throat and demanding respect - forcing it out of her. He eyed the whisker markings to adorn the man's cheek, as well as the peculiar bandages. That was supposed to be them, there was no other explanation.

Holy fuck, she had drawn them in those sinful artworks. All of them.

Naruto swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing at the spit to venture down his throat, "y/n?"

Her paintbrush halted mid-stroke. "Yes?"

He paused for a long while. Stared at her tense posture and swallowed the thick saliva to gather inside his mouth for a second time. His tongue kept running across his teeth.

Naruto wasn't sure where he was going with the conversation when he asked, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"What?" she uttered, twirling the brush between her fingers, "No, I don't. Why?"

He ignored her question, "Did you have one before?"

"Yes."

"How many, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Two." She paused, "Why are you questioning me about my past relationships all of a sudden?"

Naruto turned her answer over. So, he could assume that she almost certainly wasn't a virgin after two ex-boyfriends, right? It'd also offer an explanation for the detailed artwork and where she got the inspiration from. She was experienced. He could make a move and perhaps not risk scaring her off completely with it. She might not be as innocent as he had thought at first.

'She is just as filthy as you, judging from the art,' Kurama sneered, 'If not even filthier.'

The Uzumaki mused, 'What happened to polite and clever?'

'She isn't just clever. She is a prodigy when it comes to deceit.'

'How so?'

'She's managed to fool us both into believing she's nothing more but a helpless fawn, when in reality there is a wicked feline hiding beneath her skin.'

'And what am I, then?'

'You, my dear friend,' the Nine-Tails snickered, 'Remain a coward.'

y/n's entire body turned rigid when she felt his warm hand rest on her shoulder all of a sudden. His skin burned hot - outright blazed against every single one of her nerve ends when he curled his fingers around the bone so gently that she'd think they weren't there at all if it weren't for the rough callouses to scrape her skin.

Naruto glowered at his companion. His pride couldn't take it anymore; couldn't allow him to remain the wuss Kurama had titled him as.

So in order to prove the fox wrong; Naruto slowly, and ever so silently brought himself up to his feet. Stood up, and took those short couple of steps it took to reach the girl across the room.

He ventured upwards. Touched the crook of her neck and collected the dewy film of sweat that had made her skin glimmer in the first place. Her toes curled against the footrest at the intimate touch, the paintbrush in her hand trembling as he explored her. She quickly pulled it back from the canvas to save herself from the chance of ruining the painting.

His quiet chuckle met her ears, the sound thundering within his broad ribcage. It made her pulse erratic and her chest tighten. It took all the willpower she could muster to not lean back into him.

"Don't you ever get tired," he drawled boredly - arrogantly, tracing two fingertips across her shoulder blade now, "Of painting on the same type of canvas over and over again?"

It took her a moment to calm down enough to trust that her voice would not waver or fail her completely when she answered, "Why do you ask that?"

She didn't.

"I was just wondering, is all," he replied in a voice that was nothing like his own, cautiously toying with the thin strap of her nightgown.

She could feel his broad palm travel down the slope of her shoulder; his index finger smoothly slipping underneath the silken strap. It caused her to shudder, goosebumps overtaking her skin. He tugged on the silk now; once, then twice more. As if testing her limits and pushing the line of when she'd tell him to stop.

And then Naruto finally said, "How about we switch it up a little?"

The question was barely above a whisper to leave his mouth.

It brushed along her earlobe; wrapped around her numb brain and tightened the rein hiked to her mind, until his voice had become the only thing she could think about. Until it had become the only thing she wanted to think about.

Breathing turning shallow, y/n had long since turned hopeless at remaining calm. The unfamiliar touch running along her shoulder and neck was driving her insane. With every tender swipe, the blonde male that stood behind her relentlessly toyed with the smooth, silken strap of her flimsy nightgown.

With every turn, he pushed it lower. Kept going, until it just barely clung to her shoulder, as if he was waiting for it to fall - by accident or not.

"Naruto," y/n breathed, posture tense. He laughed quietly at the lowly whimper she had laced his name with.

She felt his digits ghost along her collarbone, now. Her eyelids fluttered shut when he gently traced the feeble bone, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip - chewing.

He stopped for a moment when he touched the delicate sun pendant of her necklace. Hesitated. As if he were afraid he'd break her in the same way he'd break the dainty, golden trinket at even the smallest amount of pressure.

He could wipe them off the face of the Earth - the humanity she belonged to. Could make them kneel before him, like knights would before a king. Could emerge victorious in every clash he'd face and bathe in triumph like a musing God of War, seeing their erosion as nothing more but an ordeal.

And he had good reason for it. Naruto actually could crush her to dust if he ever expressed the wish. Could ruin her bit by bit, until there'd be nothing left of her but atoms.

And not just her.

And Naruto Uzumaki had been shaped out of iron.

All those years being subjected to battles consisting of never-ending gore, grimness and slaughter, had built Naruto's body, mind and spirit sturdy enough to withstand threats and horrors unequalled to those that humans of this reality endured.

Against him; they stood no chance. Men of this world were made of brass, after all.

"y/n," he whispered her name now, paying heed to every letter with utmost care. His hand left her skin, making her stiffen at the sudden lack of warmth. She could hear the smile within his voice when he said, "Look at me, please."

She tried to ease the sudden tightness of her chest by sitting straighter at his somewhat courteous demeanor. He had asked nicely, yes. But the tone wasn't right. It had been far too assertive for what appeared to be only a polite request. She had a feeling he'd punish her if she refused it.

y/n's heart - heavy and pounding - felt on the verge of bursting by the time she finally decided to oblige and spin around in her chair.

She could already feel the warmth pooling between her legs; the heat making her thighs squeeze together. She was going to soak the goddamn chair if he continued to torture her like this.

Her toes curled around the footrest yet again when she was met face to face with his toned stomach. She tried her best not to gawk at the evident lines of rippling muscle; to resist from tracing them with both her tongue and fingers.

Sweat glimmered on his tan skin, the beads so small that she nearly narrowed her eyes in feeble attempt to see them better. The poor girl didn't dare allow her gaze to dip any lower than the first inch of the waistband of those cursed sweatpants hugging his hips.

As if reading her mind, Naruto chuckled, "My eyes are up here, ya know." The alluring outlines on his stomach flexed with the laugh.

Holy Mother, the sight nearly made her topple to the floor. Embarrassment heated y/n's face when she uttered a soft, "Sorry."

"It's okay." One corner of his lips quirked upward, "Take your time."

She wasn't completely sure if he was taunting her, or just trying to reassure her.

Finally gathering enough courage to look up at him underneath her lashes, she lost herself in the wild, raging sea that stormed within his eyes. They flashed with something she couldn't decipher when he smiled at her compliance.

Everything about her screamed submission at that point. The grin to tug at the corners of his lips was one of understanding.

"That's better," he murmured, eyes hinting red for just a split of a second, "Now, let me take a good look at that pretty face of yours."

"What are you-"

Her breathing actually stopped short when he suddenly grabbed ahold of her jaw with his right hand. Bandages scraped her skin as he rested his left one against the edge of the chair, trapping her between himself and the easel. Just like she had drawn him to do. Holy fuck!

"Pretty," he softly uttered now, turning her head from side to side as if examining a prized possession. She couldn't say anything when he drilled his eyes into her own and said, "Real."

The paintbrush in her hand tumbled to the ground at the compliment, the sound nearly echoing through the thick silence. It made her upper lip quiver slightly.

"Oh, God." she whispered.

"Well, aren't you a lil' klutz, huh?" Naruto bent down to her eye level, then; hovering just mere inches from her face with the most wicked smile she had ever seen him wear. The knuckles on his left hand flashed white as he flexed his fingers before curling them around the polished ivory wood.

"Making a mess like that," he clicked his tongue in faux-disapproval, shaking his head, "Not good."

"Naruto," his name was the only thing she managed to let out through pursed lips again. He touched the corner of her mouth when she said the word. It set her entire face on fire.

"I really like the way you say my name," he said, eyes fierce like thunder, lightning and rain. He smiled whilst mimicking the pronunciation, "Naruto. It sounds pleasant when it comes from you."

She didn't say anything. Just stared at him, drawing shallow breaths through slightly parted lips.

"Anyway," he sighed, eyes trailing across her nightgown and down to the paintbrush laying on the floor, "You still haven't answered my question."

"Sorry?"

"I want you to paint me."

"Pa-... Paint you?" she managed.

"Mhm... Well, paint on me," he corrected with a low hum. At her wide-eyed stare, he grinned again, "I want you to make me nice and pretty, y/n. Like you do with your paintings."

'But you're already nice and pretty,' she wanted to say, but didn't, because she simply lacked the guts. Instead, she blinked profusely and said, "What colour would you like?"

y/n hated how bashful she sounded; how her voice had quivered with the question. How it sparked a hunger she couldn't understand in that savage sea that continued to storm within his irises. He squeezed her cheeks together, gaze dipping to her lips before he let go of her jaw completely.

She tried to ignore the way both of his hands brushed the sides of her thighs when he gripped the bar stool again. Her failure was miserable.

"How about..." Naruto paused for a moment, his lips twitching at the corners again, "Silver?"

"Oh," she mumbled, swallowing hard, "Si-Silver, huh?" Did he by any chance see her drawings?!

"Yeah," he purred, catching her eyes swipe across the broadness of his naked shoulders, "I'm quite fond of silver, actually." Mother above, she was going to faint any second now.

"Okay," she managed to grit out, desperately trying to keep her cool, "I'll just..."

As soon as she tried to slip from the chair, Naruto pressed both hands on top of her thighs. She nearly yelped at the sudden contact, entire body growing rigid at the warmth to sear through her legs as he firmly held her in place. He was burning up like a furnace. It made her loosen a hushed whimper.

Naruto was quiet, too busy attempting to pacify the whiplash of his heartbeat at her timid reaction. With a smile as cunning as the one of the fox residing within him, he slowly crouched down, until he ended up kneeling on one knee right before her.

Her pulse pounded inside her ears as his hand travelled across her leg; rough finger pads slowly tracing her knee and dipping to her calf with the smooth movement. She fought for every breath, like it'd be her last. He seemed to know it, because the smirk to adorn his lips at how stiff she had turned was nothing less than complacent.

He looked up at her then, dark eyes connecting with her own, and there was just something about the docile position he was in that made feverish flames lick the walls within y/n's very core. He was just so fucking close to her; touching her like she had been made of the most delicate glass and his hand was the heat that made it bend. If she actually parted her legs right then and there, his head would end up right in front of the sensitivity that dripped just for him.

He'd actually be able to see the most hidden part of her. The thought made her head swim and her legs tremble as she tugged on the hem of her nightgown to keep it modest.

Fingers curling around her ankle, Naruto smiled again. "Don't you need a paintbrush to paint, y/n?"

She sucked in a sharp breath, "Y-Yes."

Chuckling, Naruto picked up the brush with his right hand and said, "Take it, then." He held it up for her, the sea within his eyes dancing with playfulness, "Unless you'd like me to paint you, that is?"

Holy fuck, this man was going to be the end of her! Perhaps he already was. She must have forgotten how to breathe and gone to Heaven, because nothing else sufficed as a good enough of an explanation for whatever was happening in that moment. She was either dead, or dreaming.

Still, there he was; undeniably handsome whilst looking up at her expectantly, and so utterly real.

"I'll paint you," she managed to croak out finally, ignoring the runny saliva coating her teeth as she took the paintbrush from his hand. Her fingers nearly sizzled with electricity when they touched his own. "Just, uh... Lemme get the paint ready."

"All right."

She looked down at him. The urge to run her fingers through his hair was persistent in making her palm itch, but she somehow resisted the temptation. Curling her digits tighter around the brush in order to really stop her hand from moving on its own, she nibbled on the inside of her cheek. "Hey..."

He let go of her as she pushed from the chair, her bare feet bouncing onto the warm floorboards. Naruto didn't move as she stood before him in all of her feminine glory.

Honestly, he just wanted to bury his head between those plush thighs of hers. Taste her, until he wouldn't be able to taste anything at all anymore. Lap up every last drop of her sweet juices of pleasure, like they were made of summer honey.

"Mm?"

She gestured towards the bar stool she had just pushed away from, "Sit on this chair if you want me to paint you, yeah?"

Naruto brought himself up to his feet at her request, his eyes unmoving from her own the entire time. He towered over her in mere seconds; making her look up at him, rather than down. They were so close to each other that their chests nearly touched. They even shared the same breath. The entire world seemed to freeze in that exact moment.

She looked away first before pushing past him finally. They both glanced at each other over their shoulders, seemingly unable to keep away.

He could see her spine straighten at the eye contact again. The movement made the nightgown tighten over her tits, until he could see her nipples pushing against the silk.

If it did, that is.

Naruto stared. Couldn't stop ogling at her chest, no matter that she probably noticed it. All he could think about was tracing a fingertip across both nubs right over the thin silk. Stroke and flick them, until she'd mewl and purr like a little kitten underneath his touch.

Biting back a groan, he shifted from one foot to the other. His impatience had gotten the best of him, as he was now only minutes away from tearing the nightgown right off of her. He just needed to see what was hiding underneath the silk. Touch it all over, too. He didn't have a clue how he'd stop himself when the time came for it.

Eyes glimmering with determination, he drawled, "You said you wanted me on the chair?"

She managed a timid nod, her entire face blazing in colour at the rather suggestive tone lacing the question.

Kurama - surprisingly silent throughout the entire affair - sighed in exasperation now, 'Foolish man-child, she's as red as a ripe tomato because of you!'

'Shh, Kurama.' Naruto brushed the beast away with an impatient flick of the wrist, 'I'm busy. Go to sleep, or something.'

'I'll sleep when night falls, you silly human.'

Naruto smirked in answer, 'That's fine with me, though I think it'll be a long one tonight, bud. I suggest you get some shut-eye while you still can.'

The Nine-Tails grumbled at his obscene humour. Secretly curious how the entire situation was going to unfold in the end, Kurama fell into inquisitive silence within his vessel for a second time that evening.

Content with the quiet to resonate within his mind again, Naruto plopped onto the bar stool y/n had gestured towards. Gaze turning expectant, he watched her pick up the tube of silver paint from the box brimming with art supplies and other clutter he didn't care for enough to inspect more thoroughly.

However, what Naruto did enjoy inspecting; was her - especially when she painted. After all, despite her timid and usually rather clumsy demeanor; y/n always worked swiftly and with intense focus whenever it came to using her paints and brushes.

Naruto wanted to kiss her. To own her mouth and scrape every inch within it with his tongue. Until the only words she'd be able to tell were how sweet his spit tasted as it mixed with her own. He blushed at the thought.

Even now, visibly nervous underneath his burning stare, she still held her ground when it came to art.

He could only marvel at her when she stood in front of him a short minute later, holding up a new paintbrush coated with silver paint; with her chin up, and her eyes stunningly fierce.

Blushed.

"What would you like me to paint?" she mumbled, pulling him out of his daydream. She kept avoiding his eyes, her gaze unsure to travel across his potent stature.

"Whatever you'd like, darlin'." Naruto replied smoothly, his smile beaming with twisted mirth. "Wherever you'd like."

She blinked at the cutesy nickname he had given her and the sly hint. Inhaled a shaky breath and gave him another curt nod, her cheeks yet again red from the profound blush to coat her skin.

"All right."

And then, y/n began to paint.

---

Adorned with pure, gleaming silver - Naruto had long since gotten used to the cool, sleek feeling the paint had brought upon his skin.

As evening turned to night, y/n relentlessly worked across the entirety of his torso, arms and neck; coating his tan skin in beautiful, rich tendrils in the shade of an argent moon. Like an ethereal being out of this world; Naruto had practically started to glow within the contrasting dimness of her cosy living room.

She couldn't take her eyes off of him. Naruto on the other hand, was just as dazzled by her.

Her bottom lip had ended up tucked underneath her teeth yet again as she painted; the action pure habit and the result of the focus she upheld throughout the entire half hour she had spent drawing on his skin. He had been fighting his damn instincts the entire time to not pounce on her, and sink his own teeth into that plump lip of hers, instead.

"Turn your head to the side, please." she breathed, dipping her brush into the paint again. Trying not to pay mind to how close she stood to him, she listened to her erratic hearbeat instead. The artist could practically feel the warmth radiating from his body as she leaned forward to trail the tip of her brush across his neck.

"Like that?" he replied, complying.

"Mm... I meant it more like this," she hummed, brows knitting tightly together as she cautiously caressed his cheek and hooked her thumb underneath his jaw. His head tilted at the angle she was searching for when she applied slight pressure, "There. Hold still, now."

He snickered when she began painting the crook of his neck. Flinched, too.

"I thought I've told you to hold still, Naru." she sighed but smiled, keen eyes flicking to meet his own for a short moment.

"Sorry, it really tickles." he loosed another giggle, his grin boyish, "Sensitive spot."

"Well, suck it up." she mumbled, trying to memorize its exact location for whatever reason.

"Nooo!" he meekly fussed in reply, laughter lacing the rasp of his voice.

"Oh, c'mon... Aren't you supposed to be some great war hero?" she teased, drawing another tendril up to his jaw as he twisted and turned underneath the brush. Though, when she suddenly leaned in and blew air onto the paint to make it dry faster; he stilled completely.

"On what?" she questioned in an instant, eyes focusing on the artwork instead of the sudden fire which had kindled within the summer-sky blue.

Naruto bit the tip of his tongue at the playful question she had set before him; at the sight of her pursed lips hovering a mere inch from his neck and which were an exact replica of the ones in that damn drawing he had seen earlier.

The tone of his voice had changed when he said, "Well, it depends."

The beat of silence to ensue between them made her heart race.

"Do you think I look the part?" he muttered, "Of a war hero?"

She turned his question over. Cautiously studied his features and his vigorous bearing before finally mumbling a faint, "Most definitely."

"Yeah?" He grinned.

"Yeah." Feeling a bit more daring this time around, she winked, "Especially when you're covered in paint."

"It's a good thing I have you, then, hm?" he spoke with a soft lilt to his voice, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. Paying mind to keep pressing all the right buttons, he said, "You can paint me before I leave for battle, and I'll win it looking like a proper war hero just for you."

"Is that so?" she mumbled, carefully tracing the paintbrush along one whisker marking on his left cheek, "You'd seriously win a battle for me?"

"I wouldn't just win a battle for you, y/n," Naruto spoke when she moved to paint his other cheek, his fingers travelling higher and higher up her legs. She shuddered at the sensation, goosebumps coating her skin, despite the summer heat to linger within the apartment. "I'd annihilate any stupid fucker that'd dare touch me and ruin your art in the process."

Spreading his legs apart so that she could get even closer to him, Naruto heard her breath catch in the back of her throat when he pressed his thighs against her in order to keep her locked in place.

She didn't look at him when he threw a glance at her from the corner of his eye. Didn't say anything when his palms subtly began tracing the back of her thighs either. Her hand shook slightly by the time she finished tracing the third whisker.

"Yeah?" she murmured, feeling his hands toy with the hem of her nightgown. He halted for a moment as if waiting for her refusal. One second, two, three; at the lack of a 'no', he began hiking it up. Slowly; carefully. Bringing forth more and more skin for his hands to devour.

"Yes," Naruto replied finally, voice gone hoarse. He looked her right in the eye when he said, "I'd conquer a goddamn war for you, darlin'. After all, what's another one?"

Her mouth had gone dry at the confession. Goddamn.

"It's a good thing I'm not painting you on a canvas," she tried to joke, growing smaller and smaller underneath his burning stare and overwhelming presence, "After all, I don't think I'd be able to find one big enough for your ego."

Something had changed within him. The tension was back.

He mused at the jab when he said, "I can think of some other things than my ego that'd be too big for the canvas, sweetheart."

She stilled, her eyes glossy from the growing haze between them, "Stop it."

She didn't actually mean it. He seemed to know it.

"What, y/n?" he whispered in reply, carefully slipping his hands around the curves hiding beneath her nightgown. "You want me to stop, 'cause you're scared of me, or somethin'?"

Naruto's gaze turned red for a second time at her hesitance; only for a moment. The unnatural sight of the carmine colour swirling and mixing with the blue, made the hair on the nape of her neck stand to attention. She swallowed thickly, her throat bobbing.

He watched her do it. Stared at her throat in such a predatory way, that it made her think he wanted to rip it out with his teeth.

Her eyebrows dipped together, the small 'v' in-between turning prominent, "I'm not scared."

Naruto smirked, his rough fingers stroking her; making her weak in the knees. "You're not?"

A pause. "I'm not," she said a little bolder this time, glaring at him.

"You're absolutely sure, sweetheart?" She let out a little squeak of surprise when he squeezed her ass all of a sudden and pushed her forward. The brush slipped from her hand for a second time as she pressed her palms against his shoulders to gain some stability. Naruto couldn't resist a quiet laugh when he said, "You seem a bit jumpy to me, you lil' scaredy-cat."

Her breathing staggered when she felt him hike up the silk even further. All until the sudden chill brushed her newly-uncovered skin, trying to tame the heat that blazed right between her legs. Her panties were soaked; absolutely drenched. She squirmed underneath his touch now, shoulders tense, "I-I'm not-..."

"A scaredy-cat?" he questioned, twisted amusement dancing within his eyes, "Prove it, then."

She could hardly take a breath when she asked, "How?"

Something really had changed in his usual cheery, laid-back demeanor, because now his presence was nothing but dark when he said, "Strip for me."

y/n stared at him; wide-eyed, "Wh-What...?"

"You heard me," he grinned, cocking his head lightly to the side. The movement was more animal than human. "Show me some skin, like you did in those pretty drawings you drew of us."

Her face shone bright red. He knew. Fucking hell, he knew. "Naruto, I-"

"Now." His smile had faded.

The lump to form in her throat made her let out a choking noise as she quickly gave a nod of her head in compliance.

"Good girl," he uttered softly now, dark eyes unmoving from her chest when she pressed her arms against it in order to keep the flimsy fabric in place. Her arousal nearly dripped down her thighs and right through the damn cotton at the praise. "Now let me see."

He kept his mouth shut when she obeyed his command, slowly tugging one strap down the slope of her shoulder; pulling it across the length of her arm - right until her hand had slipped underneath the thin ribbon of silk.

His jaw clicked into place when she mirrored the movement with the second one.

She did.

"Oh, sweetheart." Naruto whispered as soon as the nightgown slid to her waist.

And pounced.

It had been too long, and he was impatient, and starving, and going absolutely fucking berserk from all the teasing. This needed to happen tonight.

It needed to happen now.

Pushing from the chair, Naruto had nearly tackled her down to the warm floorboards in a single quick-paced shove. She whimpered when he pinned her wrists against the wood with one hand, pushing them above her head until she had ended up laying completely splayed underneath him.

His eyes devoured her front unashamedly now - deep, wild sea ogling at those marvelous tits of hers. The blush on her face was ferocious again underneath his piercing stare.

Naruto didn't even ask for permission as he pressed the flat of his palm upon her stomach, before venturing up towards her chest. Sliding one bandaged finger across the underside of her breast now, he chuckled. As if in disbelief.

"St-Stop staring at my boobs," she muttered, squirming underneath his tenacious grip. It practically hurt and her wrists were already turning red.

"What, you want me to fuck 'em, instead?" he sneered, the glint inside his eyes tantalizing. "'Cause I'll gladly shove my dick between those pretty tits of yours, y/n. Keep going at it, until they're covered in my cum, too."

y/n could feel his hardness press against her throbbing heat when he bucked his hips as if in warning. She could tell just how big he was from the outline; how fucking thick his cock was. Even through the sweatpants.

Her pussy didn't just throb at the realization. It pulsated.

"Naruto," she gasped, her legs tightening around his waist when he brushed a fingertip across her nipple, now. The bandages scraped the sensitive skin, making her foam at the mouth almost. His hips dipped down again; grinding, teasing. "Fuck... Please, I-..." He was distracting her. Turning her feral.

"Tell me how you want it, and I'll give it to you." he whispered, searching her face. He could see her pupils dilate when he flicked her nipple for a second time; her back arching at the sensation. "We can go nice and slow, or hard and quick; I don't care what you pick, really. All I want to do is shove my face into your tits and feel that sweet pussy wrap around my cock finally. I've been waiting for days."

He smirked. "You're a needy one, aren't ya?"

He pushed once more, making her grind herself on him. When he suddenly squeezed her breast with that rough, bandaged hand, it nearly made her see stars.

"Hard and quick...!" she sputtered out finally, pushing the heels of her feet against the small of his back in order to feel more of him, "I want you now. I-It's too much."

She couldn't answer, not when his hands suddenly left her to push the nightgown even further up her hips. The silk gathered at her middle, exposing her panties. Naruto clicked his tongue at the visibly drenched cotton. "Goddamn... You're completely soaked for me, y/n."

"I know..." she whimpered, face flushing from embarrassment as he dragged a single fingertip along her center, rubbing the cotton. "I'm sorry."

"Is it 'cause I'm your favourite?" he whispered, looking down at her.

He gripped the edge of them at her hip then, added three more fingers and tugged. The sounds of shredding fabric filled the room as he hushed right next to her ear, "Answer me. Are you dripping wet, 'cause I'm your favourite, sweetheart?"

y/n had turned speechless at how gorgeous he was whilst looming above her in the mellow twilight glow; his tan skin adorned with tendrils of striking silver beauty.

The girl sucked in a sharp breath when he slipped a finger underneath the waistband of her panties.

She nodded, mouth nearly drooling when he pressed a kiss upon it. His lips moved against her own in perfect sync; exploring and tasting every crevice within. He glided his tongue across her teeth, scraped it over the roof of her mouth. Until all she could taste was him and him alone. She couldn't have wished for anything more divine.

But surprisingly, it got even better when his hand slipped between her legs, his warm tongue pulling back to stroke her bottom lip lazily. "Say it."

"You're my favourite, Naruto." she panted in an instant, her nails digging into his shoulders; smearing the paint - the art. Zero shame.

God, he got hard as a rock at that.

Naruto dipped to her throat. Kissed it and smiled against the crook of her neck before dragging his tongue across it, too. The groan he let out at the taste of the salt on her skin made her chest tighten, "Foreplay?"

"N-No time for that!" she grit out, her voice fussy. The moan she sent towards the ceiling was worse than sinful.

"No," she cried out when he nonetheless slid two fingers inside of her pulsating heat. He pumped slowly, as if making sure she was ready.

She could see a muscle flutter within his jaw, his digits curling upward and pressing against her warm, slick walls when she gripped his wrist and tried to stop him. He fought back; pushing even deeper inside of her and sending her tipping her head backwards. Holy fuck.

"You sure?" he murmured, looking down at her. His pace quickened as if to mock her.

She only kissed him again. Even harder than before. Her toes curled against the small of his back.

"Fine," he breathed, licking her arousal from his fingers. He'd have to taste that sweet pussy properly some other time. "Gonna fuck you then, yeah? Hard and quick, exactly like you want it."

"Yes...!" she managed meekly, already pushing her hips upward. "Hard and quick." Just do it already!

y/n thought that he was going to fuck her right there - with her spine pressing against the floorboards, but it seemed that Naruto had something entirely different in mind.

Yelping when he suddenly yanked her upwards and settled her upon his lap in one swift movement, she nearly lost it as soon as she felt his hard cock rub against her dripping pussy. He hadn't even taken his sweatpants off completely; only tugged at the thick cotton just enough to offer her a place to sit. This really was going to be hard and quick.

Both of them were far too starved for something slow and mild, after all. Thus, the massacre in the making.

"Sit on my dick," he murmured softly now, sucking on the sweet spot just beneath her jaw, "Take every inch and make me proud, sweetheart."

Okay, she definitely must have died and gone to Heaven. There was no way that this was real! No way!

"Naruto," she cried out, her brows furrowing tightly together as she clawed at his shoulders, scraping the dried silver paint off of his skin, "I-I can't."

Still, the painful but at the same time deliciously burning stretch she felt sear through her lower stomach as soon as she started lowering herself onto him, felt real. Very real, indeed.

She gasped at the feeling of fullness; at the overcapacity. He was big and thick and it hurt in the best way possible. It hurt so fucking good.

His bottom lip quivered slightly before he sank his teeth into it to suppress a groan. She felt amazing; absolutely divine. Dopamine flooded his brain when she took another inch of him between her warm, sticky walls. Her pussy was practically eating him up; sucking in his girth like he had been made for the sole reason of pleasuring her.

She winced when she rolled her hips against him in attempt of taking more.

"Ow," she let out softly, biting her lip. So cute.

"Go easy, darlin'. You're tight and we didn't do foreplay, 'cause somebody was too impatient to do it, hah." Naruto cooed gently, kissing her panting mouth, "Nice and slow, and when you're used to me, then we'll go hard and quick."

"You promise?" she mewled as he trailed his fingers across her bare spine, his lips dipping down to her neck again.

"Of course," he purred, grazing his teeth across her collarbone, now. He snickered when he felt her flinch, "I'll pound you, until your little cunt can't take any more, and then some more."

"Oh-Okay...!" she mumbled, face searing red. She inhaled a shaky gasp when his mouth suddenly wrapped around her nipple, "Na-Naruto!" Her legs had started to tremble.

Naruto only hummed in reply, his thick eyelashes fluttering when she dragged her nails across his shoulders and back; clawing. He sucked, his warm tongue flicking and rolling across her sensitive nipple as he used his digits to play with the other one. She really had started to mewl and whine like a little kitten against him as he pleasured her chest. Exactly like he had imagined.

The way her hot walls clenched around his cock in response to his teasing, nearly made him see white. Goddamn, did sex feel good in this reality. Or maybe it was just her pussy that was that fucking good. Probably that, yeah.

He groaned against her tits when she finished easing herself onto him, her fingers running through his hair and grabbing a fistful as soon as her pussy kissed the hilt of him. They both cursed underneath their breaths, their skin slick from sweat.

"Good job, sweetheart." Naruto praised her, pressing a loving smooch onto her lips, "You're doing so good."

"Th-Thanks." She nearly came from the approval alone.

They started off slow. Cautious bucking and stretching, and loving kisses to the entirety of their flushed faces, even though both could just barely hold themselves back. Soft moans and praises bounced off the walls of the cosy living room as they explored each other and pushed their limits.

"That's it."

"Just like that, yeah."

"Oh, God."

"I'm so fucking proud of you."

It didn't take long for y/n and Naruto to lose their humanly morals and start fucking like wild animals, though.

With her dainty palms slamming against the floorboards, y/n's nails dug into the thin ridges of the wood as Naruto forced her onto her stomach. She couldn't see him through her blurry vision as she whipped her head back. Her eyes brimmed with tears when he filled her up again; this time from behind.

"Kami, you feel fucking amazing, y/n." he rasped into her ear, voice long since gone hoarse from all the sin, "Now lift up that cute ass of yours like a good girl, and let your favourite man show that sweet pussy exactly who it belongs to."

Her tits grinded against the polished wood as he filled her up again, and again, and again in painful, even thrusts. She cried out when his hand slipped underneath her and pressed flat against her stomach in order to keep her upright. She had spilled actual tears.

His weight kept pressing against her as he hovered over her trembling body, but she still managed to arch her back and lift her ass into the air a bit in order to please him.

The angle nearly made her eyes cross when he rammed himself inside her - pushing every thick inch right between her tender walls. She could feel her arousal spurt and stain her thighs. The lewd sound made her blush, her cheeks tingling with heat yet again. She was glad he couldn't see it.

And Naruto kissed them all away when their eyes met, the tip of his tongue gently collecting the salt. He didn't stop though, no matter that she cried. No, he kept fucking her; outright ripping her apart and tearing those parts to shreds. The chakra within him recoiled in satisfaction of finally finding some form of release. No wonder he was getting pent-up.

"Attagirl," he whispered now, hips still relentlessly moving, bucking, thrusting - drilling straight into her very core. "Look at you... So pretty while taking my cock."

"Fuck...!" she whined, her upper lip trembling, "Ah, fuck! Naruto!"

His hand found her own. She eyed the fading scars; the protruding veins pushing against tan skin as he interlaced their fingers together and squeezed. It only made her lift her hips even higher as her cheek pressed against the wood. Her tears mixed with her spit as she slobbered all over the floorboards.

"You look so hot right now," he loosed a shaky sigh as he pounded into her, chasing both of their climaxes at the climbing pressure within his stomach, "I can't get enough of you, y/n."

He really couldn't. He just wanted more, more, more - like the greedy bastard he was.

So, Naruto took the risk.

"Harder, Naruto." she groaned, tightening her fingers around his own. She could barely squeeze his hand at how exhausted she was, but she still demanded, "Please, go harder."

He was going to break her in half if he listened to her pathetic pleas, but she wanted it to happen.

He quickened his pace, forcing himself into her so deep that he actually kissed her cervix with the tip of his cock, and kept on hitting it until she had practically begun losing brain cells. At the sudden clenching of her walls, he could barely keep himself from spilling every last drop within her.

"Being a war hero brings you a lot of pussy, y/n," he whispered, the snarl on his lips tight, "And I've had a lot of women offer themselves to me, you don't even have a clue how many... But not one of them felt as good as you do."

Done and finished, his words pushed her over the edge. Completely, utterly shoved.

She let out a high-pitched whimper when she came; one that actually hurt his ears, but made him slam home right into her as she spilled everything she had all over his twitching cock. Gushing all over his length, her warm release sent Naruto's eyes rolling right into the back of his head, until there was nothing but white inside his eyes.

It was too much. Far too much.

"I-I'm close," he grit out through clenched teeth, still keeping her upright with his right hand by holding her stomach, "Where-"

"Inside! Fill me up, pl-please...!" she gasped out, tears rolling down her cheeks as he hardened his thrusts, making her whole body shake and push forwards. Her knees stung like a motherfucker from the constant friction against the wood as she squirmed around; her skin burning hot.

It only took him a couple more of jerky, uneven thrusts to finally reach his own climax and spill his thick, milky seed within her and coat her tender walls white right up to the very last inch. The waterfall of curses to leave Naruto's mouth was as obscene as the intimacy they were indulging in when he at long last succumbed to his undoing.

He pulled back. And pushed straight back in; nice and deep, to really make sure his cum stayed inside her fucking womb.

"Oh, goddamn... Fuck, fuck, fuck...!" Naruto couldn't even catch a breath whilst still cursing in low, breathless whispers. His lungs actually burned as he squeezed his eyes shut - his brow furrowing so harshly that it gave him a fucking headache.

She was shaking underneath him; actually shaking when he finally came back to his senses. The lilac nightgown was drenched with both her and his own sweat, her hair sticking to her neck and framing her face from the glimmer to reside on her skin. She was covered in silver; just like him. Intricate patterns adorned her skin - reminders of their lewd lovemaking.

Naruto kissed her bare spine and listened to the quiet gasp to leave her mouth. Her thighs were covered in her slick and his release; his cum trickling out of her abused pussy in glistening strings that stuck to her skin even though he was still inside her.

"y/n?" he whispered, the depth of his voice cracking slightly. Drip, drip, drip - she was actually leaking.

The poor girl fell flat against the floor, then; her arms and legs giving out and pulling him right along with her. Naruto was quick to take control of his weight to stop himself from crushing her. "You okay, sweetheart?"

She gave him a lazy flick of her wrist, her fingertips quivering with the action. And then she let out a low, annoyed sound when he slowly pulled out of her.

He snickered before slipping off of her and rolling onto his back. Fixing his sweatpants, Naruto swiftly picked up her exhausted body; scooping her into his strong arms. She only groaned when he pulled her on top of him, tucking her legs between his own and pressing her chest flush to his. The paint had long since been smeared everywhere, so neither of them minded the mess.

Naruto could feel how rapidly her pulse pounded within her ribcage. It matched his own.

"That was nice, mm?" he whispered into her ear, stroking her hair. The blonde Shinobi pressed a soft kiss to her sweat-soaked temple then, pushing the damp strands away in order to see her better.

"Mhm." was all she mumbled in reply.

"Tired?"

"Mhm."

"Want me to run you a hot bath?"

"Mhm."

"All right, cutie." Naruto chuckled, kissing her temple again, "You deserve a nice, hot bath for doing such a good job today. And for not being mad at me for seeing your drawings, heh."

She smiled at the praise. And because he'd get his ass beaten later for snooping through her stuff.

[wallwriterstuff]

The Good I Come Home To ||Leon S. Kennedy x Female!Reader|| Part 1

Warnings: Angsty, PTSD Leon being very jumpy and shell-shocked, mentions of sex. 

Words: 3318

Summary: Originally posted to my Archive of Our Own Account. 

Part 2 can be found here

Leon has kept it very casual with you for months, seemingly oblivious of the growing feelings you harbour. You have no idea just how badly it hurts him to leave you every time until he tries to cut you out of his life completely. You have other ideas. You just have to persuade Leon they're the right ones.

Leon S. Kennedy was a complicated man in many respects, but it was easy to unravel all those complex layers if you started looking at his core values, his sense of purpose. To serve, to protect. Leon was built to be the bodyguard of humanity, the first line of defence between unimaginable horror and the things he loved. Every experience had moulded him into this hard shell of a man, so far from the one people used to know. It had been interesting, really, to see an old friend from the Police Academy approach him and see just how different they had turned out. They both had the eyes of experience anybody in the force acquired over time, but Leon’s were sterner, like an unbreakable stone as opposed to ice you could chip away at and eventually shatter. This old friend of his had a small-town job and apple pie life. He had the white picket fence and the wife who kissed him when he came home to freshly made dinner. His children were doing well at school.

Leon had listened like his life was a whole other world away. It was visible in his eyes, though he carefully kept it off his face, that the comparison between each man actually disturbed him. You hadn’t meant to see of course. It was pure coincidence you’d happened to be in the supermarket, walking down that same aisle. His old friend had hit the barricade you so often hit when you asked. You’d stopped questioning it after a few months of back and forth and the looming threat of losing him became a dark and unbearable burden.

“So er, heard about the huge explosion at Raccoon. Where’d they place you after that?”

“Nowhere. I work for the government now.”

“Oh damn. FBI?”

“Something like that.”

His job was the complicated topic. Classified and bad enough to put a certain brand of darkness behind his eyes when you asked, it was  best left untouched by your hands because it was hidden beneath the many layers of the man you’d only ever been allowed to scratch the surface of – literally and figuratively. Beyond his core values, the simplicity of Leon S. Kennedy lay in his needs. He was a flesh and blood man after all. He was guaranteed to need to eat, to do laundry, to shower, to relieve himself. These simple needs were what made him somewhat predictable to you. On his best days, when he text you days or hours before, you were almost guaranteed to be wined and dined. Okay so the wine and dine option was sometimes more like beer and take-out pizza but it was always paid for by him if you bought the alcohol.

When he was feeling a little less than okay, you’d get no outright statement of his desire to see you, but he’d hedge around the topic and wait for you to ask him, like he was afraid to be a nuisance. You’d only get this awkward and prompting behaviour from him an hour or two before he showed up which left you little time to prepare, but a quick shower was always on the cards. In his worst moments, he’d give no warning and simply show up at your house with smouldering eyes that demanded your attention and everything else you had to give him. God help you, you always gave him everything. As simple as his needs were, as his feelings on the matter appeared, yours were much more complicated. Leon S. Kennedy had made it clear from the start when he met you at the bar that fateful night, all chiselled jaw and playful eyes, that nothing serious was to come of this.

It had progressed to a proper agreement when you both seemed to just keep running into each other. You were free to date, if you so pleased, and he’d stop showing up. He’d be gone like dust in the wind, untraceable and impossible to bring back. You didn’t want that. Until the day either of you became tied down you had agreed you were exclusive. You sated each other only. It was hard to keep to that promise all the time when he was away for long periods, but you remained true to your word anyway, and that was how it had stayed for a solid eight months. Leon came back to a bed you kept free just for him and left in the morning like it was no more than a pit-stop on a long and winding road.

You suspected he wasn’t proud of it. You thought sometimes you could see something softer in his eyes, something that made you think he wished for something more than he was already giving you. There were moments his eyes lingered when he said goodbye, times his hands stayed on you a little longer than they usually did. On rare occasions, when he was just a bit too drunk after what you guessed was a bad job, you let him sleep it off with his arms around you and listened to the whimpers in his sleep with an aching heart. Leon consistently let you have his body, gave you the briefest glimpses at the big heart he held so carefully hidden away, but never once did he let you into his mind. As much as you loved being with him, you had never truly been with him at all. You’d never truly connected with him beyond anything physical. It pained you to know you never would. You cared for him too much. You saw the deep pain he carried with him everywhere, and you’d never be able to alleviate that load because he wouldn’t let you.

You had to pause the TV to be sure you’d actually heard anything at all, but when you heard the noise again it was stronger, bolder. Knocking. Glancing at the clock, you turned the TV off with a frown. There weren’t many people who would come knocking at this late hour, and you didn’t know if your heart was in it tonight to let him in when he would forever keep you out. As if on cue, when you opened the door to a dripping wet Leon, thunder rumbled and rattled the open window in the corridor of your apartment block. A small puddle of water had formed on the windowsill, dripping in as the harsh rain battered the glass. Leaving your door propped with the door stop you kept nearby for moments like these, you crossed to the window to close it and lock out the weather. You felt sullen enough without the storm clouds invading your house.

“Leon if you’re here to drink that’s okay but I’m not really up for-“ you cut yourself off, uncertain all of a sudden as to what it was he was here for. His needs were always so simple, the looks and actions associated with them something you had come to learn to recognise without much conscious thought. This was entirely new. Those piercing blue eyes were sullen, fighting between being as hard as sapphire and as soft as calm ocean waves. What was frightening was the depth of the ocean you saw. It was like staring into an abyss of torment. Red-ringed and with whisky on his breath, it didn’t take a genius to realise Leon had been crying and was in fairly bad shape. Hair soaked and plastered to his forehead, he stared at you through those horribly complex eyes, his mouth half open like he wanted to say something but couldn’t force the words out. He was pale, breaths even but heavy, like he had to physically remind himself to huff out each one.

Wordlessly, you took him by the hand. His skin was freezing to the touch and you guessed the faithful jacket had done little to keep the bitter cold from seeping into his exposed skin. Your theory was proven right when his cheeks were just as cold to the touch.

“I…” you thought he might say more but it was like watching a caveman learn to talk. There were only sounds, no words. He was usually very skilful with his tongue but tonight those talents were nowhere to be found. Pushing his jacket from his shoulders you hung it to dry over the back of your sofa, hoping the radiator would do its job and leave it toasty for him when he inevitably put it on to leave you again. You ignored the stinging in your chest at the thought. Leon didn’t need you to be petty right now. Truthfully, you were frightened. Leon’s carefully constructed composure had been shattered by something and you didn’t think you wanted to know what was strong enough to shatter this man’s rock hard exterior and cut him so deeply. He stood dumbly in your hallway, and you gently pushed him to the edge of the sofa to take off his shoes so they wouldn’t traipse water into your home.

“Shhh Leon, just come with me.” You coaxed him back onto socked feet, leading him down the hall to your bathroom.

“No…no Y/N I, I don’t…” he swallowed.

“Do you trust me Leon?” you asked him, keeping your voice gentle like you were cajoling a wild animal into eating from your palm. Leon nodded without question and you smiled slightly. “Then just follow for me now.” You kicked open your door and led him to the edge of the tub, grabbing a towel from the shelving units there and placing it on the sink.

“What are you doing?” he could barely speak above a whisper, looking confused and upset and lost all at once.

“I’m going to run you a nice hot bath before you catch your death. I don’t know how long you were in the rain for Leon but you’re frozen to the bone.” You said calmly, putting the plug in the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. Leon didn’t answer, merely watched you with the eyes of a man so lost in trauma he couldn’t find his way back to the surface world and make sense of the happenings around him. While you waited for the water to turn steamy, you rubbed at his hair with the towel in your hand to dry it. You knew something was incredibly wrong when he let you mess it up like that. There were very few instances you were allowed to touch his hair and you had to always, always comb it back into place or suffer the consequences. Occasionally, you took a break to fill the tub with some of your prized bath oils. Lavender, camomile, jasmine, all your favourite scents from a beautiful kit a colleague had bought you as part of secret Santa last year.

He didn’t comment as the room filled with intoxicating, relaxing scents, nor when you checked the temperature again and told him he could get in when he was ready. He held the towel in both hands, staring at the cotton as if it might hold some answers.

“Thank you.” He mumbled. You nodded once.

“Have you eaten anything yet?” you asked him. He nodded once, but he didn’t meet your gaze. He was lying you were sure. “Okay. Take as long as you need in here, I’ll be about when you feel ready to see me alright?” you promised, leaning up to kiss his cheek softly. Your lips lingered a little too long, but Leon didn’t move away. He closed his eyes as if the contact was all he had wanted and more. As the door closed behind you you heard the soft, muffled sob he tried so hard to bury in the towel, and your heart broke a little more. Something had shattered Leon S. Kennedy and it didn’t sit well with you at all to see him this vulnerable. He needed the space right now to get his mind back in order but once he did, when he was ready to face you, you weren’t sure you’d get an explanation from him. He’d shut down every time you’d ever asked for one before.

He’d woken screaming one night, lashing out so violently that if you had been sat upright there’d have been no way to avoid his fist and he’d have knocked you out cold. When you tried to ask what was wrong, he’d simply snapped at you to leave him be and left your apartment so fast there could have been a fire under his ass. So, what did you do? Did you just not even try? He hadn’t made a move on you, had specifically said no when he saw you heading in the direction of the bedroom. But if he wasn’t here for sex what was he here for? It only added to your anxiety that you really had no clue what he wanted if it wasn’t your body he’d come for, and though part of you thought that should make you angry, another part of you hoped that that meant it was something more that he was after this time. The kind of more you wanted.

No. You had to try for him. You couldn’t let him go on like this. He didn’t have to fight the war in his head alone, not when you were here. At least, if he wanted to go it alone, he could have someone stable waiting with a safety net if he stumbled. For now you’d let him linger and soak in the tub, and you’d make the most out of the ingredients you had in the fridge. If he stayed, he could eat it off a plate. If he didn’t…well, you’d make some in a container in case. Pasta bake had always been your father’s speciality and it had been your favourite as a child, was still your comfort food now. Chicken and bacon sizzled, pasta boiled, and you grated the cheese to the rhythm of your favourite song playing softly on the radio while the milk and butter warmed on the stove. You snagged a piece of bacon from the wok and let the salty flavour burn your tongue.

With your masterpiece constructed and more cheese grated on top, you slid the dish into the oven for it to crisp up and set your timer, setting about washing the utensils next. It kept your hands busy, kept your mind from wandering too much, but even the sudsy water couldn’t quite keep your mind from ticking over. Why had Leon come here in the pouring rain? What had spooked him so badly he’d thought, in his less than coherent state, that he needed to be here in your apartment? Did the fact he’d come to you mean anything at all or did he just happen to be nearby? You put the saucepan a little harder than necessary into the rack when it slipped from your hands, jumping and cursing to yourself at the loud clang it had made.

“Y/N!” Leon almost roared your name in pure, abject terror. Eyes wide you rushed for the bathroom, hands still soapy and dripping water. He was already out of the bathtub, naked and scrambling through his jacket until he came up with a gun of all things, aimed right at you as you burst through the door. A shriek escaped you and you immediately dropped to the floor, hands above your head.

“Leon it’s me!” you begged. Harsh breathing filled the room.

“Where is it?” he demanded. You peeked up at him from below your arms, lowering them slowly. He was half-crouched, eyes wild and fixated on the door that led back to your room. He offered you a hand. “Come on, get up and get behind me, where is it?” he repeated the question more firmly now.

“Where’s what? Leon I – there’s only us here. I just dropped a saucepan.” You breathed. His expression faltered, confusion flooding his features first , then guilt, and finally grief. His eyes closed and he inhaled deeply, held it, exhaled slowly. He lowered his gun after a few more deep breaths.

“I’m sorry.” He said, looking a little like a kicked puppy. You shook your head, slowly pushing to your feet so as not to startle him. His skin was tinged pink, little suds clinging to the ends of his hair. The timer went off in the kitchen and Leon flinched again, hand tensing around the gun. You soothingly placed your hand on his arm.

“It’s just the timer. We’re the only people here Leon, nothing’s going to hurt us. How’s about you dry off and come have something to eat?” you suggested. He blanched at the mention of food and you frowned. “You don’t have to eat everything, just a little bit, you look really pale.” You reached for the towel and held it out to him until he reluctantly nodded and wrapped it around his waist. You left the door slightly ajar and headed for the kitchen to switch off the damn timer. He was so jumpy, so eager to jump to your defence. You plated up a small portion, not wanting to put him off with a large one. You didn’t feel particularly hungry yourself but you’d had a proper meal earlier in the evening, a cup of tea would suffice, camomile and honey would soothe your nerves. Leon had a liking for peppermint you knew. Maybe if he was nauseous that would help him eat? Tea and pasta bake served you sat opposite his place, one hand wrapped around the handle of your mug and the other pulled up to your mouth, your teeth nibbling the side of your nail.

“You’ll make your thumb sore.” He lingered in the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he should sit down or run away. You dropped your hand and placed a more welcoming smile on your lips, nodding to the plate.

“Chicken and bacon pasta bake. It’s good.” You invited. Hesitantly, Leon shuffled to the chair and sat down. You didn’t push him to talk. Months of being with Leon had assured you that pushing would only clam him up further, and you wanted to pry him open tonight. With a sinking feeling, you realised it might be the last night you ever saw him. He’d let himself be extremely vulnerable to you already and you weren’t the type of person to see this kind of trauma and let it go unchecked. You’d want to check in on him, you’d want to help him feel better, and Leon didn’t appreciate the questions you’d have to ask to get the kind of help he needed right. He sighed slightly, picking up the fork and taking a small bite. He looked physically sick for the first few mouthfuls, and you made an effort to distract him with small talk about the weather, your day and all its mundane happenings.

He seemed enraptured by your very voice, soaking in every syllable that crossed your lips and mindlessly working his arm and mouth to clear the plate and drain the mug in front of him.

“Can I have a bit more? It’s really good.” He surprised you with his request but you obliged him, spooning some more on his plate.

“If you’re that partial to it you can take some home to.” You said simply. He nodded once, clearing the second portion with ease and looking much better for it. The colour had returned to his cheeks and he looked a little more put together than before. You settled back in your chair, watched him clean his plate and put it in the drying rack. It was a courtesy you’d never have asked for but were grateful for nonetheless. He didn’t turn around though, keeping his back to you and tightening his grip on the countertop.

[nillegible]

(Part 4 of Stay, the MY time travel fic. Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 )

So much that Meng Yao has seen in his second life has been disturbingly accurate to the memories that he still has of his former life, but the brothel is different. It feels much smaller than it did to a child who grew up there. Appears more garish than he’d seen from afar, after ordering the place to be burned down. Or perhaps these decorations are so like the gilded decor Koi tower that he hadn’t noticed, back then.

Meng Yao walks inside now, for the first time since he fled after mother’s death, dressed in simple gray robes of good make, sword and tassel marking him as a cultivator. His hair is deliberately done up plainly, as different from his mother’s as he can manage it. He does not wish to be recognized here, as her son.

“Please, please stop,” someone is crying out, and a tall, well-built young man – not a cultivator though – is dragging a woman outside by the hair. As Meng Yao steps aside to make way, he recognizes her. Anxin. It’s a new way to remember her face, twisted in fear and desperation, instead of in cruel, mocking laughter.

He lets them pass, and walks into the establishment. Two young girls, maybe sixteen, direct him to a table in the main hall and prepare tea. He responds to their flirtation politely; they’re just doing their jobs, after all; and waits for the Madame to be free.

I bet Father, never had to wait, thinks Meng Yao, but it’s an idle thought. Even his mother had not wanted Meng Yao to be like him, only to gain his favour and the prestige that entailed.

For all that he’s a cultivator now, one of considerable renown even if it does not match that of a Sect Leader or heir of a major sect. He waits patiently for the madame’s attention.

The young women at his sides stiffen into perfect posture, alerting him to the imminent arrival of their boss. “How can I help the honoured young master?” the well dressed, elegant woman asks finally, coming over to sit gracefully at his table.

“This one greets Madame,” says Meng Yao simply. “I am merely here to observe, and perhaps make a purchase.” She’s so practiced that her reaction is nearly entirely subdued, only traces of her glee at finding a customer to buy one of her girls’ contract are visible. Meng Yao pretends not to notice, just smiles, serenely.

“The Young Master is seeking a wife, then? My girls are each very accomplished, and I’m sure he will find one eminently suitable to his tastes.”

Meng Yao just nods, as if disinterested. “If madame would show me the suitable candidates…” then hesitates, carefully. “I am not seeking a wife. My Uncle’s wife has taken ill, and I hoped that if I found him a suitable concubine, there would be less disharmony in my household. I am unmarried, and finding good servants is difficult enough without him scaring the help away with his ways.” He scrunches his nose in faint distaste, and watches the calculation in her eyes.

“This one understands, the Young Master will not be looking for their skills in managing a household, then. There are women to match this criterion as well. Some of my girls are great beauties and will certainly captivate any man.”

“He can find beauties on his own coin,” Meng Yao huffs. “As long as she can perform her duties, who cares what she looks like? Will Madame show me the women? I will decide when I see them.” With such crude, miserly words, Meng Yao has saved himself having to browse through most of the women here, as well as much of the haggling. The Madame would not dare to inflate her prices above that of the prostitute’s contract, for fear he’d leave and just bribe one of his female servants to quietly accept the abuse.

Sure enough, after Meng Yao is settled in a private room, the women suggested to him are significantly older than the young ones entertaining downstairs. The madame excuses herself; there’s nothing much for her to do here, but leaves two clerks to explain the costs of each contract.

Meng Yao reads through them dispassionately, even setting aside Sisi’s contract when he sees it the first time, though in the ‘look again,’ pile, not the ‘too expensive’ one. Finally, he narrows it down to three, and the women are requested to attend them, in the small parlor.

Meng Yao keeps his face averted when Sisi approaches. There’s a sharp inhale when she sees him, and he looks up to catch her eye and quickly shakes his head, asking her to not give it away. Seeming to understand, she falls into place beside her two sisters, and allows Meng Yao to… consider his options. He picks Sisi as if on a whim, and then finalizes the purchase.

*

“Meng Yao?” she asks, when they’re left alone, shortly after. There is paperwork to be completed, and they’re brought tea while they wait.

“Aunt Sisi,” Meng Yao says softly. “It is good to see you again.”

“I didn’t expect… do you really have an uncle in need of a concubine?”

“Jin Guangshan has three brothers,” he answers. “But as I have not acknowledged him as my father, I do not have uncles.”

“I see,” she says. That sharp gaze means, go on. Means, what do you want of me, and it is too suspicious, too disturbing to wait until they leave the brothel to explain.

“I would have bought Mother out, if I could. I dreamed of the day. But she died and… Aunt Sisi has ever been kind to her. You were her greatest comfort, in her final days.”

“Meng Shi was a good woman,” she says shortly. There’s no softness to the words.

“I remembered that Aunt Sisi was an excellent seamstress. There is a shop well known to me, in Yunmeng, and the proprietor is willing to take on a skilled helper. The money is a loan from my Sect Leader, but it will be paid back over a year from my allowance. Aunt Sisi may pay me back over a longer time, we can work out the specifics of that loan, after you’ve settled your living at the shop.”

Sisi is quiet for a long time. “There is a merchant,” she says, “Who offered to marry me.”

“The one with the jealous wife?” he asks. “Does Aunt Sisi believe her life would be peaceful, in her household?” Not that she would even get a chance to live there, but there’s no way that Aunt Sisi could know that.

She doesn’t say anything else, nor does he, while they finish their tea, and eat the snacks laid out. Unlooked for good fortune, at the whims of those more powerful than him had never made Meng Yao feel grateful. He’s not going to expect it in someone else.

“I suppose I should thank you,” she says, only after they’ve left the establishment. He’s leading her towards the docks, to rent a boat to Yunmeng. He has all of her luggage sealed away in a qiankun pouch, though her money is in a purse clutched tightly in her hands.

“Aunt Sisi does not have to,” he says. “This one did not consult you, before choosing this for you. I apologize, for that.”

“Don’t bother apologizing,” she says. “It’s just a lot, without a moment’s notice. But I am grateful.”

“You’ll like Madam Yan, the tailor,” says Meng Yao. “She’s kind.” Of course, Meng Yao can practically see her disbelief; of course the tailor was kind to Meng Yao, a paying customer! What would she be like to an underling, and one with an unpleasant background? But Meng Yao knew more of Madam Yan than just the previous day’s meeting with her, when he’d talked to her and asked her if she needed the help of a talented seamstress who needed somewhere to go. Meng Yao’s skilful enquiries and opinions on the robes that he was having commissioned definitely helped support his argument that he knew what he was talking about, and that if he said someone was skilled they must be, but Meng Yao also knew a little of Madam Yan’s history because her daughter would one day be a Jiang disciple, and Jin Ling would be fond of the Shijie with the lovely robes.

He’s certain that he’s making the right choice, to leave Sisi with her instead of at the brothel, where she’d only face injury, scarring, and heartache.

(And then turn desperate enough to be hired for the most suspect of jobs, of being used in a murder plot, and then locked away for years. Meng Yao had been careful to give her a comfortable life, but he doubts that it was any happier than the lives of the koi in his ponds. He owes her this, even if she does not know why.)

The awkward air between them doesn’t clear, even as they hire a boat to take them the half hour upstream to Yunmeng, nor while they stop at an inn for lunch. He asks her if she’d like to rent a room to freshen up in before she meets her future employer, and she agrees. Meng Yao waits downstairs after paying for the room, returning Sisi’s luggage to her.

While he waits, he wanders between the shops nearby. He doesn’t have much money to spend on frivolities, he’s carefully planned out his finances for the next year to allow him to repay the borrowed sum as soon as possible, but browsing has always been fun. His eyes catch on a hat, scholarly, a bit shorter than Meng Yao’s own preference, and he stares for a moment.

So much ribbing in his previous life, for his height, for his name, for how he was more of an administrator than a son to Jin Guangshan, even during all those years where he was the only acknowledged heir. ‘I’m doing it all for you, Mother,’ he’d told himself, through all of it. Setting his signature hat on his head every morning, like a piece of armor. That everything he did was for his mother… and yet he’d killed so many people in her name.

People like her.

Meng Yao remembers the burning fury of hating being called a whore’s son, of people washing their hands when they touched him, like he was tainted, like the filth was on him instead of their sick, twisted minds. Of being refused a chance to carry his own nephew, shooed away and made to stand apart from the golden heir of Lanling.

My mother is not like those whores, he’d thought to himself, she’s nothing like those filth, and never regretted or repented for his choices until he saw Sisi’s scarred, terrified face among the women he’d ordered to be killed.

The frightened, sobbing women who had been used to kill his own father.

Meng Yao thinks of Anxin’s terrified face as she was dragged out of the brothel this morning. He has no idea what it was about. He doesn’t think it matters. Perhaps they truly would all be better off dying in a cleansing fire than living their sad miserable lives, as he’d reasoned to himself before. That they were deserving of such a death, for how they treated Meng Shi.

All of that… any of that, was easier than the truth.

My mother was a prostitute, and I was ashamed.

Nothing, no temple, no prayers, no statues of guanyin with his mother’s face could ever erase his crimes.

“Meng Yao?” asks a hesitant voice, and he turns around to smile at Sisi. She’s wearing the same subdued outfit she’d worn to leave the brothel, but she’s washed away the sweat from travelling over water on a hot day, and her hair has been redone. She looks like any other woman in the marketplace, though the loveliness of her face is still admirable.

“The shop is not far,” he tells her. “Shall we go?”

[Read part 5 here!]

[fairymadnessyeah]

Secrets in the Dark

Shigadabi week day 1

Ao3 Link

Summary: After a job well done, the party starts their journey home. But the path is tricky and the past sneaky when memories start to show their ugly face.

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Memories / Fantasy / Bittersweet 

"We'll rest here for the night," Tomura said as he watched the rest of his party drag their feet through the forest floor.

As Bounty-Hunters, their jobs were usually easy. They did what people didn't want to do. Nobody would search for a murderer or criminal and risk their life when you could hire them and let them do it for you. Nobody would go into a dungeon when they would go for the right amount of money. It didn't always go the way the client wanted, but that was their fault for trusting Bounty-Hunters.

This job was one of those examples. They had been hired to retrieve a dagger from a nearby hunted cave. The legend said it could reveal every secret someone had and, judging by the unhappy married life the lord who hired them had, he probably wanted to check if his wife had a lover. Too bad they wanted the dagger more. The quest took them two days, one to retrieve the weapon and another one to forge it.

It wouldn't be the first time they did something like this. Twice, an excellent alchemist and blacksmith, was the best at making doubles of things. The copies didn't last though, so once they were paid and started on their journey back home, the lord figured out their scheme. He sent a squadron after them, who chased them non-stop. When night fell, they had finally lost them but were too tired to continue.

"Wonderful idea, Tomura," Compress exclaims as he takes out a marble of his pocket and throws it to the ground. The marble explodes and reveals a giant tent, which they all enter.

"Ugh, I'm beat," Spinner moans and starts cracking his bones behind his scaley skin. "How far are we from Furesurbs?" he asks and collapses into the pile of cushions he slept on.

Furesurbs was the cannibal city of the continent. Only the bravest and most skilful of heroes had been able to go through it without ending dead. Or that was what the common people knew. Foresurbs was actually a lawless city. Thieves, killers, Bounty-Hunters, they all lived in peace with plenty full jobs to earn money. The hero who ever stepped foot inside was dead the moment he breathed.

"I'll track a course for tomorrow, for now just rest," he tells the others and takes out his map of the region. As a warlord, he was well-versed on many subjects. He was almost positive he was the only one who had had an education in some way. But then again, they didn't know much about Dabi or Compress.

Their group of Bounty-Hunters, The Vanguard Action, was not the usual group. If anything, their partnership shouldn't work. Why would it? A Warlord apprentice, an Alchemist with a personality disorder, a druid with a craving for blood, a known thief and con-man, a survivor from the Draco kingdom and ex-slave, a witch trapped in a man's body and a cursed runaway arsonist. Their teamwork should have been a disaster, a failure.

Yet, somehow, after half a year of travelling together, they had become such a tight group that Tomura was sure his Sensei would be disappointed of his attachment. But in an unlikely moment, the young warlock didn't care. His Sensei's approval and pride should be his drive, his greatest achievement. But his party -his friends- they meant the world to him, and he would make sure that when his time to rise came, they would get everything they wanted.

And bizarrely, he knew the feeling was mutual. From the hundreds of times they had had his back, to the quiet nights they spent comforting each other; Tomura knew his party would be there for him when it mattered. Magne, Toga and Twice repeatedly told him so, Compress, Spinner and Dabi showed it with their actions. They all said he had brought them together, that he had saved them in some way or another. That they were a family and they wouldn't let anybody come between them and their happiness.

Thought this journey would put that trust to the test.

"Stop playing with that, Crazy, it's not a toy!" Tomura was distracted from his routing by the disturbance. Toga and Twice were testing out the new dagger, passing it between them and asking questions, to which the dagger would burn if the one holding it lied. Magne was cooking while Compress and Spinner were sleeping, but were distracted by the mess.

Dabi, the one who scolded the two fools playing with the ancient and powerful tool, was up from his own nap and trying to get the dagger from the girl. "No! Wait for your turn! I'm using it now!" Toga threw her tantrum and tried to keep the artefact away from the older man.

"Yeah, don't be a party pooper, Dabi!  You trying to hide something, cursed boy!? " Twice said as he helped Toga.

The three entered a tug war, with Dabi trying to get the dagger and Toga and Twice trying to keep it to continue their game. The rest of the party soon lost interest in the usual shenanigans. It was a daily occurrence that the three would argue like siblings, and they went back to what they were doing previously. That changed when Dabi screamed. The dagger clattered against the floor as the arsonist held his bleeding arm close and cursed out loud in pain. They tried to get close to him and aid him with his injury, but he stepped away and told them he was alright before stomping out of the tent. He was probably going to his horse, Licen.

"Good job, you morons," Spinner tells them once Dabi is not in the tent. "Now he is going to be even more cranky," the lizard-looking man complains.

"Don't worry, once Dabi gets some sleep and food, he'll be as happy as he can be," Magne tells Spinner and stirs the stew she is preparing. "But you two better apologize and stop playing with that thing. Dabi is right, it's not a toy," she turns to the two blondes and scolds them.

"Yes, Big Sis Mag... Why don't you make me, Old Hag!?" Twice says.

Toga, however, doesn't. She is staring at the dagger with rapt attention and holding the blade in her hand. "Hey Tomu, what does Blue blood mean?" the youngest member of their group asks him out of nowhere.

"Usually it means the person is part of a noble family," he answers her. Toga always asked him stuff out of nowhere. She had lived away from cities and society for most of her life, and she didn't understand most of the new world that surrounded her. "Why are you asking?"

"That's the blood that came out of Dabi," she tells him and shows him the blade of the dagger. It wasn't a lot, but the small amount of liquid the blade had was blue-purplish colour. 

"That's impossible," Spinner comments about the implication of the blood. "Dabi hates royals and nobles more than any of us," he argues. And he was right. Even if rich families were the largest source of income for the lawless, there was no Hunter or Thief alive who didn't hate the higher society. Dabi did so with a passion and never stayed quiet about it. He could look past a lord or count that were in the rich inner circle of the kingdomes, but royals were a pest in his eyes. Tomura had noticed the small chain he had with stolen Royal rings the hunter had collected over the years. To think that somebody like that came from a noble family was ridiculous. Unthinkable even. 

"Can't it be that since he is cursed, his blood is blue now?" Compress cuts in.

"No, cursed blood is purple," he tells them. "Maybe he is a bastard from a noble family, or the descendant from a dead royal house. But it is none of our business, now is it?" he asks the rest of the tent, with a clear hint of dropping the matter.

It works though, and they all go back to their tasks. Magne gets help with dinner by Twice, and Toga cleans the dagger and places it in a scabbard that doesn't fit it. When they get to Furesurbs, they can have one made. The tent is plagued with silence until Magne announces it's dinner time. Dabi still hasn't come back by that time. Tomura is not worried. If Dabi wants to be a gloom and be alone, that's his problem. He doesn't need the fire user. Even if he is a great source of heat in cold nights.

When they finish dinner and Dabi still hasn't appeared, Tomura has had enough. While the others build a fire to keep warm, he takes his hooded cape and goes looking for him. Their camp is hidden between the plants of the forest they were in. Licen was still here, but the mare also had the heart of an apple at its feet. Dabi spoiled his horse like no other, always giving her an apple even if it meant hunger for him. Licen in exchange was the most loyal horse there could be, even if she was a stubborn mare that only let a few ride on her. So if she was still here, Dabi couldn't have gone far.

Tomura found him a few feet away from the camp, near a stream. Dabi was a sight to behold. He had patches of healthy skin but most of his body was covered in deep purple scales. His curse was slowly turning him into a monster. When he lost control, the scales would start to take over his body, covering more skin, and he would become more animalistic. It scared the crap out of them the first time it happened.

They had come to a crossroad with another group. The party of teenagers because, yes, they were a bunch of teenagers along with an alchemist knight and they had unfortunately been after the same target. They were both looking for the golden scabbard of All Might's famous sword. They wanted it for the money, but the kids needed it to unlock something, they were in a quest with pointless ideals of heroism. They had ended up clashing, and Dabi lost control, though he wasn't the only one. He was in battle against The half cursed prince, Todoroki Shouto, and as the fight grew heated, both men turned into monsters. Both groups had to separate them by force before they killed one another. Dabi didn't speak for two days after that, and they didn't get the scabbard.

However, curse and all, Tomura couldn't help but find the hunter mesmerizing. It was like he was made to distract him. His strong jaw, his deep hoarse voice, his dry humour and his eyes. Oh Divus, his eyes. Tomura could drown in them. Deep, bright blue orbs that he could stare at and get lost in at any time. Even now, in a dark moonless night, he could still see them. It infuriated him.

"Did you come here to stare, creep?" Dabi asks him, turning to see him.

"You missed dinner," he tells him and sees the other roll his eyes at him. "Let me look at your wound," he orders him.

"It's fine, I cauterized with my magic," he says but still holds his hand to him.

The wound is not deep, but it's large, it starts at the bottom of his finger and ends in the middle of his forearm, cutting through the purple scales. With a simple chant, his hand lights up in a red hue, and he starts healing the hunter. He can feel Dabi's eyes on him. Those blue gems piercing his being and somehow looking into his soul. He didn't know how, but Dabi was one of the people who were able to read him like an open book.

"Stop that," he tells him as he heals him.

"Stop what?"

"You know what..."

His relationship with Dabi was weird. Sometimes he wanted to kill him. The hunter loved to rile him up. He was lazy and disrespectful. He would attract trouble wherever he went. He could count the times they had been persecuted out of an area because of the messes him, Spinner and Twice had gotten in. However, he trusted him with his life.

If something happened, he knew Dabi would be there. He was his right-hand man. He could leave the Vanguard Action with him without worrying things would collapse the moment he left. Dabi and him on some late nights, when neither of them could sleep, would be there for each other. Tomura had told the arsonist secrets he didn't even share with Kurogiri. And Dabi had told him things none of the other league members knew. They had bonded in some sort of way.

And sometimes, even when the raven was just a few centimetres apart from him, he wanted to be closer. Tomura was not afraid to say he finds the hunter attractive, scales and all. He was as hot as a fireplace and as a warlock, whose dark powers sucked all the warmth from inside him, he had many times cosied up to the fire-user to get warmed up. All of the party had. There were times he would see couples on the road and imagine it's him and Dabi. There was also the dream accident.

A few months ago Magne convinced him in trying her new sleeping potion. They had just come from a good-paying job, so using the free time they had, he accepted. The concoction was supposed to trap him in a dream for a few hours and rest his mind and body. Tomura tried it, following Magne's instruction and soon enough fell asleep. When he opened his eyes, he could tell he was not awake. The first indication was the changing background. The second hint was Dabi entering the room and kissing him without a hesitation. In that two hour nap, Tomura was caressed, worshipped and loved by Dabi. But even if it was a dream, it felt so real. When he woke up, he couldn't look at the hunter without remembering his dream. He avoided Dabi for an entire day. He still felt awkward about it.

"There, done," he tells him and quickly takes a step back from the raven. "Now come to the tent, we have a long journey tomorrow, and your food is getting cold," he turns, giving his back to his party-member, but stops when he hears the other speak.

"You're not going to say anything? About the blood?" he sounds... nervous, which is very offputting, since this is Dabi who's talking. He always talks in a monotone, leaving people guessing what he meant by his tone.

"It's none of my business," he responds. "We all have our secrets, Dabi. If you ever want to tell me, I'll listen," he heads back to the tent and hears Dabi silently walking behind him.

The rest of the party is already in their bedrolls when they arrive. They aren't asleep, just laying comfortably around the small fire. Dabi sits in between Toga and Compress and starts eating his bowl of stew. Shigaraki goes back to his maps and tracing a road, idle chatter fill the tent as they all get ready for bed, but Tomura interrupts all of that.

"We have a minor inconvenience," he announces, and they all turn their attention towards him. "If we take the easy road, it might take us a while to get to Furesurbs. But we can cut that time to three days if we don't avoid some of the more dangerous areas,"

"What areas?" Dabi asks.

"For the first day of the journey, we have options. We are surrounded by three of the most magic-hated cities, Servusurbs, Magumless and Torquecastra. If we want to avoid them, we need to go around them, but that is going to add three days to our travels. Though we could go through the Aurum Mountains, using the mines. Although I doubt we'll find a way past it without help, and that is going to cost us a lot of money," he explains.

The rest of the group is pensive for a moment. Torquecastra is a fortress, getting in they might be able to achieve, but getting out is going to be tricky. Servusurbs would be easier to get in and out, thanks to their slave business, but Spinner was not going to set foot in that place again. That left only Magumless, but the place was very strict with their magic laws. All those who possessed magical abilities had to be collared and sorted by colour, and they could only enter if they had an escort.

"I know a way we can get through Magumless," Compress says. "There are underground tunnels we can go through, used for smuggling magic-ingredients in. If Dabi doesn't show off his flames and Magne hides her potions, we would have enough escorts to get to them," he explains and looks at the ones who would have to get chained along with him, Toga and Shigaraki. They all nod, agreeing to the plan.

"What about the second day?" Magne asks.

"We have two options if we don't want to spend another three days travelling, Libidine forest or the Erat fields," Tomura explains and watches everyone groan.

Libidine forest was a death trap. The place was plagued with Succubuses and Incubusses and it was theorized to be sacred ground for them. If they caught you, you were either sacrificed or used as breeding stock. They would have to be on high alert if they went there, but that wouldn't mean they would make it out.

The Erat fields were the same. A spell was cast in the form of a mist on the place that created illusions to confuse travellers. Going alone was a sure death, but since they were a group, they might just make it. They would just have to keep each other grounded.

"What about the Nix mountain range? It would be a day more, but better than any of the other options," Dabi says.

"We are not prepared to spend two days in a frozen hell," he explains. "And it's wyvern season," Dabi grunts at his logic. "Erat is our safest option," they all nod, agreeing with him.

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 The next day of their journey went well, luckily.

They arrived in pairs to the city, and once they were registered and inside, they would meet in an arranged location. Magne and Compress went first, then Toga and Twice and lastly, Tomura with Dabi and Spinner. The city of Magumless had a metal system to identified magic. Steel collars meant useful harmless magic, bronze was useful harmful magic, gold was useless harmless magic, silver was useless harmful magic, and black iron was dangerous magic. Tomura was collared with one of the laters.

They almost arrest him when he entered the city after the collaring. But Dabi, whose clothes covered his scales, stopped them, lying about a life debt he owed him. The guards luckily left them alone after that. Spinner, who was acting as his stead for the day, might have a lot to do with that. Nobody would come in between a man with a warlock and a giant lizard monster at his beck and call. Once they reunited, the trip went on smoothly. They weren't able to take out the chains until they reached the other end of the city, but below the city, they didn't have to be on constant alert.

By nightfall, they were all out of the town and camping by the side of the road. It took them another day to get to the Erat fields. They decided to wait for the next day to cross it and camped a few meters away from it. The next morning, they all woke up already dreading the journey before them.

"So what exactly are the fields going to do?" Spinner asks in his big lizard form asks as he carries Tomura, Twice and Magne. "I know it's supposed to be illusions, but what kind? Monsters? Or something like that?"

"The stories vary," Compress answers by his side, riding a magic-made horse Tomura conjured, Toga behind him. "Some say you see your past, your happiest moments, and you desire to go back keeps you in here. Others say you become delirious. You turn into a future of yourself that may never happen and get trapped inside the fantasy," As theatrical Mister Compress was, he was right. The stories were told by those who were able to survive the fields, and the only consistent theme in their tales was that they would never go back to it.

They soon got their answer, though. Magne suddenly let out a scream, scaring all of them and making some of them unsheath their swords. Luckily it was a false alarm. Magne just panicked because out of nowhere it looked as if she had been burned to death. When Shigaraki had met her, she was in Furesurbs running away from her family of witches. They didn't accept her as herself and gave her an ultimatum, be normal or die. She ran away and joined them.

One by one, they all changed. Twice suddenly looked like a teacher -(he was once offered to teach at the university of Libriratum, but he refused)-, Toga turned more druid-like (she had been raised by druids, but got kicked out when they didn't approve of her magic), chains and whip welts appeared on Spinner (he had been sold and bought as a slave until Tomura saved him), and Compress looked like he had been hanged (he had escaped from prison before they were able to do it). Tomura didn't change much. Instead of looking like a warlock in his black clothing and magical jewellery, he looked like a farmboy. His shirt turned rough and scratchy and his hair, which was a platinum and identified him as a Master of the Dark Arts, changed into its original black colour. Toga also complained about his smell, but she was the only one who noticed. Dabi was the last one to change. And boy, were they not ready...

The first hint they had that he changed was the metallic clangs and Twice's gasp. When they turned to look at Dabi, the person they knew was gone. Their cursed leather-wearing hunter with a hot temper and a cold stare was nowhere in sight. Instead of him, the dead prince of the Flame Kingdom rode beside them in his stead.

Golden armour on his legs, a white silk cape with golden trims flailing on his back, a blue regal vest with King Enji's emblem, his skin clear out of any scale, red hair sweeping with the wind and adorned with a golden crown encrusted with gems. Even his horse had a golden armour and a brand new leather seat. His crossbow was gone, as well as everything else and only his sword remained by his side. The only reason they knew it was Dabi was because of his eyes. The same blue as they ever been.

None of them dares to utter a word. They just stared at their friend as they walked. It was so weird to see the man so adorned and wearing so much expensive stuff. Especially since this was Dabi. The guy who had spent an entire job without a shirt because he wanted to cut expenses to afford some more food for his horse. He didn't cover up until Tomura bought him a new shirt.

"Stop. Staring." said guy says after a while, his eyes never leaving the path ahead. His request fell on deaf ears though. He sighs frustrated at his peers gaze. "You can ask one question each. After that we don't speak of this. Ever. Again." he grunts.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead? A GHOST!?" Twice exclaims with his usual tact.

"I never died, I just faked it and ran away," Dabi tells them.

"Why? You were living in a castle, with servants, freshwater and food and everything you could ask for, why give that up?" Spinner ask.

"I don't need much to be happy," Dabi shrugs. "'Sides, being king wasn't worth the price,"

"Do you have one of those lovely royal rings?" Compress suddenly asks, staring at his new attire with interest.

"I do. You take it, and I will cut off your fingers and feed it to Toga," Dabi warns, and it's enough to ward off the old thief.

"My turn! My turn!" Toga exclaims happily. "Let's see... Oh, were you ever betrothed?" she smiles and Tomura feels his blood heating up.

"Twice," Dabi answer with a grimace. "First to a princess who died before I could ever see her and then to the daughter of my fathers' army general as a prize after their last campaign," Tomura doesn't like this question.

"Don't you miss your family?" Magne asks softly.

"Sometimes, but they seem to be alright without me..." he answers surely remembering the last time he was his brother.

'His brother... the half cursed prince...' Tomura remembers, and his gears start turning in his head. It couldn't be a coincidence that they both were cursed. The two princes of the same kingdom, of the same family, supposed to inherit the same land? It didn't sound natural. Curses were like a string they had a start and an end, but they were also personal. Only a person could be cursed. Objects or other things could be blessed or damned, but curses were the result of a human. But who could have done that?

He had lived in the Flame kingdom for a while, and even if he didn't, it was no secret how much the people loved the heirs of the Royal family. The four siblings were praised for their selflessness, kindness and compassion. Princess Fuyumi taught how to read outside the palace to whoever passed by. Prince Natsuo was a diplomat who had given the people of their kingdom lower taxes. Prince Shouto was a brave warrior and a gentle soul. And Prince Touya, Dabi, he had had the closest relationship with the people. He was known as the Free Prince before his death. Always running from his duties and spending time with the peasants outside the castle. The kingdom had mourned his death for months. They had expected a great ruler from him, even greater than... the current... king...

"Was the king the one who cursed you?" Tomura asks, hoping to be wrong.

"Yes, he did,"

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 They all turned back to normal once they were out of the field. They took a moment to rest after it, the experience draining them all. None of them had a past worth going back to, so being reminded of everything they had run away from or escaped had hit them quite strongly.

They didn't stay there for long though, and soon enough they were at Furesurbs. Toga, Twice and Magne decided to go to Kurogiri's bar to unwind when they arrived while the rest of them went to their quarters. Being Sensei's apprentice, Tomura had been able to afford a big enough place for all of his party. They were near the bar where they got their jobs, and they were able to guard each other's back while in there. Their line of work gave them more enemies than friends, and they were stronger united than separated. Not to mention it was cheaper than any other inn or place they could rent.

Dabi was laying in his bed, unable to fall asleep when he heard a small knocking in his door. Believing it was one of his drunk partners, he ignored it. They would get tired soon enough and leave. He wasn't feeling up to being with anybody at the moment. But when the knocking came again, he figured whoever was doing it wouldn't stop until he opened the door. He gets up with a groan and opens the door, ready to send whoever it was away, but his words die in his mouth when he sees who it is. On his door is his leader, Shigaraki Tomura, with a crazed look in his eyes and a scratched up neck.

The guy doesn't even wait for him to let him in he just pushes him to the side and gets in. He is only wearing a loose pair of black pants and a black shirt with a simple pair of boots. His silver hair is messed up, and he is mumbling in a low voice.

"Tell me more about your curse," he demands once Dabi closes the door.

"...What?"

"Your curse, how does it work!?" he asks again.

"Why the sudden curiosity?" Tomura had never inquired about his curse. Ever. So what could have changed?

"How does it work, Dabi? Don't make this more difficult!" he goes off again, the scratching getting worse.

"No," Dabi crosses his arms. "Why do you want to know? Do you think once I'm cured you can use me to take over the kingdom? You want to use me for your world domination!?"

"JUST TELL ME, DAMNIT!" the warlock screams.

"TELL ME WHY!?"

"I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE!" Tomura finally snaps at him, leaving Dabi speechless. "Curses usually end in death! You can't avoid it! You either finish it, or  it  finishes you! Now tell me everything you know about it so I can try to stop it!"

Dabi is quiet for a few minutes as Tomura hyperventilates after his rant. "... you can't," Dabi breathes. He had given up a long time ago. "The curse is the missing half of my brothers. One day we will turn into monsters and kill each other for the throne. Once my brother is crowned king, the curse should be broken-"

"It won't work," Tomura interrupts him. "Curses are conditional, if your brother wants to be king, he needs to fight you," the warlock tells him. Dabi feels as if he was shot through the heart when he says it. He falls to his bed defeated and stares at nothing.

"It won't happen," he hears Tomura mumble under his breath as he walks to the door. "You might have given up on it, but I won't. I will find you a cure, and I'm going to remove that curse from you," he tells him and flees the room, leaving an ex-prince behind with a heart that won't stop beating, as if trying to jump out of his chest.

[aconstellationofmemories]

Good Parents

This fic is dedicated to @unicornbeauty290, who has her big day ahead of her soon. I wrote this as a way to commemorate the happy ocassion. It's not good but I hope you like it, Liyah. I challenged myself with this one. Just know that I'm dead from writing this fic. (How dare you rush the birthday girl, haha.)

Bonus points to those who caught the Clannad reference!

Word Count: 2.6k (my longest yet omg).

AO3

--------------------

“Gray-sama! Over here.” Juvia tugged Gray by his arm. He let her pull him as she weaved them through the crowd.

Earlier at the guild, she had gabbered about a popular dessert shop and the satisfied reviews from their customers. Their desserts were supposedly spectacular, especially their ice sherbets – a must try, she said.

Although in reality she spent half an hour just talking about the shop’s desserts, he felt like it was an eternity. He would never admit it to her – he couldn’t hurt her feelings, no matter how boring it was – but he had zoned out a few times.

Her chatter stopped abruptly when she stared up at him with puppy eyes and asked him to try their popular dessert with her. She had said something about how it’d be a memorable occasion if he accompanied her on one of their anniversaries.

When she put it that way, he didn’t have it in him to deny her. Coupled with the loving way she gazed up at him, like he was somebody special, and he was a goner.

So here he was.

Getting dragged, and not complaining about it.

Gray didn’t know who he was anymore.

With her skilful manoeuvres, they arrived at the dessert shop in no time. She turned to him enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Gray-sama, can you pay for Juvia?”

He frowned, puzzled by her request. "You don't have any money?" he asked in a neutral tone.

"Juvia does but she'd like you to."

"All right." It was his plan to buy it for her in the first place.

"Gray-sama's treating Juvia!" she exclaimed in disbelief.

"Huh?" He wasn't getting where she was going.

"But Gray-sama shouldn't mind paying." She suddenly turned serious.

He never felt more confused in his life. "Why?" he dared to ask.

"Because it's for Juvia."

He sighed. Despite being on the receiving end of her fantasies countless times, they never failed to befuddle him. She appeared as excited as a child who was about to get her first taste of a sweet. He didn't have the heart to dampen her excitement, so he played along with her.

Yeah, he needed a brawl with Natsu later to confirm he was still Gray.

“One blueberry sher–”

“Ya naughty little thief! Ya ain’t getting away this time!”

He glanced sideways to the direction of the noise just in time to see a boy tossed to the ground. The baker towered threateningly over him, casting a looming shadow. The child cowered and crawled back a few inches, a bread in his lap.

“P-please...” the boy pleaded, his voice breaking.

“I need to teach ya a lesson, ya little thief,” the baker spat out.

With his hand raised, he smacked down to hit the boy.

To the man’s surprise, a streak of ice swiftly crossed his path and blocked his slap. His palm hit a pointed shard of ice and instantly withdrew his hand in pain. “What the...”

Standing protectively in front of the child, Gray levelled the man a glowering look. “It’s you who needs a lesson.”

He heard Juvia rush to the child’s side from behind him. “It’s all right, you’re safe now,” she tried to console the boy.

“Don’t meddle in business that ain’t yours, young fella,” the baker warned, glaring at Gray.

“It’s sure as hell is mine when you’re hurting a kid,” he countered, his voice hard.

“This wee thief can’t keep his hands off my breads. I ain’t letting him off the hook. And now I ain’t letting you off the hook either.”

The baker charged toward Gray and swung his fists at him. Gray, now sans his jacket, deftly dodged his attacks by evading to the side. He bounced back a few steps and placed his hands in his Ice Make stance. “Ice Make: Hammer!” A large ice hammer appeared out of thin air above the man and slammed down on him. The attacked knocked the man out cold.

“Let’s see if anyone buys from you after this,” Gray muttered in distaste.

The crowd that gathered while they fought shouted their cheers for the ice mage. He ignored them and pivoted on his heels to check on the boy. The child peeped at him from behind Juvia while clutching her dress.

“Gray-sama was amazing as always.” She offered his discarded jacket.

He took it and put it on. “How’s the kid?” he scanned the shy boy.

“Besides some old minor injuries, he’s okay. Juvia thinks he’s starved,” she replied, concerned.

“What’s your name?” Gray asked. The child didn’t answer. He tried another approach. “Wanna eat something?” He smiled a little to reassure shy fella.

The boy’s eyes immediately brightened. “Yes!” he said, fisting Juvia’s dress and the stolen bread in his small hands.

“Come to my shop!” a lady from the crowd stepped forward with her offer. “I’ll treat you guys for kicking that high and mighty arse.”

“Well, it isn’t necessary... We can pay for our meals,” Gray said awkwardly, raising a hand to the back of his head.

“You young ones hush and come over, will you?” the lady demanded.

“Let’s go, Gray-sama!” Juvia tugged his arm for Mavis knows how many times it had been today.

While he appeared somewhat annoyed by her public displays of affection, he was in fact secretly enjoying it. The sensation of her soft curves against his was a lovely bonus. Another thing I would never admit to her. She was crazy enough as it is; Gray didn’t need her craziness to be multiplied upon his confession.

--------------------

As soon as the waiter served the plate of curry rice, the child jumped right in to feast on it. Gray and Juvia reminded him repeatedly that no one was going to steal his food, therefore he could eat slowly. The normally timid boy paid no attention to them as he munched on his food. The plate was wiped clean in mere moments.

Gray nudged the second serving to him, and he gobbled the meal down just as quickly. With the second plate licked clean of any leftover, the boy rested against his seat and patted his bulging stomach.

“Are you full now?” Juvia asked cheerily from beside him.

Her voice jolted him back to his fearful self as he straightened. His nervous hazel eyes flickered to them. “T-thank you...for saving me and feeding me...”

“It was nothing,” Gray said nonchalantly.

“Don’t mention it.” Juvia smiled brightly at the boy. “Do you have a home?”

He fidgeted in his seat and squeezed his hands. “T-the street is my home. I was abandoned.”

The boy might as well have grabbed hold of Gray’s heart and squeezed it than his own tiny hands. He had expected the answer, but it didn’t make him any less pained to hear it confirmed. There was a flicker of a grimace on the ice mage’s face before it passed.

Juvia gasped, a frown marring her features. “That’s so sad.”

“I-I don’t have anywhere else to go.” His gaze dropped to the ground.

“I know a place,” Gray said. The boy lifted up his head, his interest piqued. “They’ll take care of you. Do you want to go there?”

The boy remained silent.

“We can’t just leave you in the streets,” Juvia said softly.

“W-will I have food?” He fixed his gaze on Gray for the first time.

Of course, the first question he asked was about food. Gray wasn’t one to indulge in pity – it never got you anywhere – but he couldn’t help the slight tightening of his heart for the boy. His heart ached a little when he imagined the suffering the child must have gone through.

“Every day, whenever you want,” he said softly.

The light returned to his eyes. “Yes, I do!”

Apparently you just had to mention food and the boy was on for anything.

--------------------

The sun had dipped down the horizon and painted the sky with shades of orange and purple when the trio arrived at a church. Back when they were kids, Cana had mentioned to him that she lived in this church orphanage before she joined Fairy Tail. They took good care of her, she had told him, even though the Father was odd. Just the other day, he heard that she brought Wendy to visit the children at the church.

“I must fix the child’s fashion sense,” Father Block said, contemplating as he fixed his critical gaze on the boy’s tattered clothes.

“Seriously, Father? The kid is homeless, for God’s sake.” Of all the things, Gray couldn’t believe he had to point that out.

“Worry not, I’ll give him a brilliant makeover.” The Father’s eyes gleamed with all the ideas he imagined.

“That wasn’t what I was worried about...” He was beginning to doubt it was a good idea to bring the boy here.

He glanced over a couple of steps ahead of them where Juvia sat on her haunches in front of the boy. Their conversation was barely audible from where Gray and Father Block stood.

“But...” the boy squeezed his hands and stared at the ground. “I-I’ve never mixed with people. What if they make fun of me because I-I’m different? What if I don’t fit in?”

“They won’t. The children here would love to be your friends, Juvia knows it.”

“I-I’m scared,” he admitted.

She brushed back the hair from his face and smiled comfortingly at him. “It’s all right to be scared; you’re starting a new adventure. But this time, you won’t be alone. You’ll have friends to cry and laugh with and they will hold your hand.” She gently held his small hand in hers. “You’ll be all right. Juvia promises there will be happy times ahead.”

Tears began to well in his pure, innocent eyes as he stared at her. Swallowing back his tears, the boy nodded his head at her. She gave him a proud smile and hugged him.

Gray could feel his cold heart thawing in his chest as he watched them. Juvia was by far the most caring person he’d ever met. They were polar opposites – Juvia and him. Where he preferred to withhold from affectionate gestures, she went out of her way to express her love. Where he was an arse who chased people away with his frigid behaviour, she was the loving person whose presence was the glorious light after the spring rain.

Gray didn’t know what she saw in him to have stuck by him despite his coldness. What did I do to deserve her?

When he pondered about it, he realised they weren’t that different from Laxus and Mira in that regard. However, in their case, he couldn’t understand why sweet Mira put up with the lightning bastard. Gray was an arse – with how openly he displayed it, one could even say he was proud of it – but even he wasn’t as big of a smug arse as Laxus. He snickered. Both of us don’t deserve our woman.

Juvia led the boy back to Father Block. Unlike the scared and withdrawn child he was all along, the boy seemed to have abandoned some of his fears as he held his head up. He appeared the most confident Gray had ever seen him. Must have been Juvia.

“We’re leaving him in your care then, Father,” Gray said.

“We will take good care of him,” the priest replied. He offered his hand to the boy who promptly took it. Without hesitation, Gray noted.

“O-one thing...” the boy braced himself to look at Gray in the eye. “I-I hope I will be like you one day.”

Caught by surprise at his admission, he stiffened in his posture. Be like me?

“I want to be s-someone who protects the weak, just like you.”

Stunned, Gray was rendered speechless for a few moments before he blinked out of it. He ruffled the boy’s hair and gave him a small smile. “You should stop by Fairy Tail sometime. We can teach you magic.”

“Gray-sama’s right! You can play with Wendy-san too.”

“Ah, Wendy. The children had so much fun with her the other day,” the priest reminisced.

The boy’s eyes widened in wonder at the prospect. “Mmh!” he uttered in agreement, nodding excitedly.

--------------------

Having said their goodbyes to Father Block and the boy, Gray strolled alongside Juvia with his hands deep in his pockets. He anchored his attention on the ground. There were certain things which had been bothering his mind. Once they were a safe distance from the church, he mustered the courage to voice his concerns.

“Do...do you think I’m a good role model, Juvia? If I had a kid, would I be a good father?” he blurted out.

“Gray-sama.” Her voice was suddenly serious. She turned to fix her kind gaze on him and smiled. “Gray-sama is already a good man. Gray-sama would be a good father as well, just like father-in-law.”

Tensing at the mention of his father, he suddenly halted in his steps. The memories he had of his father played in his mind – how he felt on top of the world when Silver sat him on his broad shoulders, the snowball fights they had in the snow, and his dad’s boisterous laughter filling the walls of their home.

His heart constricted painfully in his chest. The time he spent with his father was achingly short.

Yet, despite having so little time together, Gray remembered he felt safe with him. If he was afraid to try out a new thing, or if the past was caging him in a mental prison, Silver always nudged him forward into the future. Most importantly, he believed in Gray.

In short, Silver was both an outstanding father and an honourable man.

Gray wasn’t sure if he could be as good as his dad – or if he was good enough for anyone to look up to him.

“You think so?” His uncertainty leaked into his voice.

She smiled confidently at him. “Juvia is certain. Gray-sama is Gray-sama after all.”

Staring at her with in stunned silence, he allowed himself to feel her faith washing over him. It seeped into every fibre of his being and cleansed his doubts, instilling confidence in their place.

The corners of his mouth curved up slightly in a rare display of a soft smile.

Recalling how she comforted the scared child earlier, he inhaled in some courage to say his thoughts out loud. Say it, you idiot. He forced his next words out.

“I-I think you’d be a good mum too, Juvia,” he said awkwardly with slight heat in his cheeks.

“Gray-sama!” she exclaimed, shocked. She stared him with a luminous glow of happiness in her eyes.

Shit. He was glad that the attention was diverted from his feelings of inadequacy, but her daydreaming posed another headache. Her wildly exaggerated ideas could get out of hand quickly.

Gray immediately took a deep breath. He sent up a quick prayer to whichever god was listening to save him.

“Juvia would be happy to have Gray-sama’s baby,” she said dreamily. She clung to him, lost in her own world.

Flustered by her sudden change in demeanour, he stumbled sideways with Juvia still clutching his arm tightly. The colour in his cheeks rivalled the bright hue of the sunset sky.

“I never said that!” They were on entirely different wavelengths.

“There’s no need to be shy, Gray-sama. Juvia understands.”

“The hell you do!” He didn’t want to know what exactly she understood.

“How many children does Gray-sama wants?”

“None!”

“But Gray-sama, we have to get married first. When is our wedding date?”

He didn’t bother trying to correct her by that point. She was too far gone to hear his words properly. Mavis knows how she’ll interpret whatever he would say.

The gods must be having the time of their lives watching his torture. Curse them, he thought with a faint smile on his face.

[depulsorpg]

WHATS IN YOUR FILE.

NAME: Bartemius “Barty” Crouch Jr. GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cismale, he/him. HOUSE & YEAR: Ravenclaw, 7th. BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood. AFFILIATION: Death Eaters.

WHAT DO THE RUMORS SAY.

POSITIVES: Studious, imaginative, skilful. NEGATIVES: Cynical, cruel, aloof . LOOKS LIKE: Cody Christian.

WHAT IS THE TRUE STORY.

Loves his mother dearly, but despises his father.

Suffered a lot of cruelty from his father during his childhood.

Has a thirst for knowledge, somewhat of a prodigy.

Finds most people quite irritating to converse with.

Has a slight obsession for the Dark Arts, finds them fascinating.

I 1958

Your peers came into this world as the apple of their fathers’ eye, their heirs, the ones they had been waiting for all along. Meanwhile, you came as a nuisance, a disruption to your fathers carefully laid out plans. Your young mother blissfully cradled your tiny frame in her arms, finally having found a purpose, something to put all her passion into. Until now she had only been a girl, living all alone in a big mansion that had never started to feel like her own but now she had a purpose, now she was a mother. Your dad saw you for the first time almost two days after you had been born. “Work.” He muttered under his breath to the young woman holding his child. You were named after him anyway; it was the proper thing to do after all. And while your father could barely manage to look at you for another two seconds, your mother’s fingertips carefully caressed your cheek. “Barty.” She mumbled reverently, overwriting your fathers wish. You would never become Bartemius like your father, you were hers from the beginning so you proudly wore the name she gave you.

I 1964

With your nose scrunched in disdain and anger, you watched the son of one of your mother’s girlfriends run through your garden like a berserker, disregarding the flower your mother so carefully and lovingly planted just a week earlier. You had watched her closely, fascinated by the care she took. She had explained to you that the young plants were fragile, that you needed to be very careful so that they would have a chance to grow and become strong and beautiful. Your beloved Mother, she always knew too much of fragility. When the heat of the midday had started to tire her you told her to sit down and finished the work, recreating her every step, being careful not to destroy any of the delicate petals. You had felt her proud and adoring gaze on your back.

Now she wasn’t saying anything as the careless boy trampled the little flowers that had sparked such joy in her. You knew she was too polite to do so; you knew she didn’t want to anger her friend. You, however, had no issue doing so. Rage was pulsating through your veins as you stormed towards the other kid, as fast as your legs would carry you, and pushed them into the little creek running through your garden. Pleasure fulfilled you as you watched him sputter and cry out for his mother. He had deserved it. Your mom scolded you a little, asked you what you were thinking to push the other boy into the water but you could see in her eyes that she knew. She knew what you had done and she was grateful for it. If anyone understood that beautiful and delicate things needed protection it was her.

I 1967

More often than not these days you found yourself with your head bowed over a book and whenever your mother spotted you like that she ruffled through your hair and called you her “smart boy”. Pride lit up her eyes whenever you showed her how good you were doing with your teacher. It was so easy to make her happy and proud, at least whenever she was actually around. These days she spent a lot of time in her bed, managing only the slightest of smiles whenever you slit through the bedroom door to visit her. Your father wouldn’t even have noticed unless hadn’t you begged him to call a doctor for her.  

The next day you diligently waited outside your mother’s bedroom for the doctor to come out again, worry burying creases into your youthful face. When he came out though all he told you was that your mother was fine, that she just needed rest and quiet for a while. He gave you a pitying look as he laid one hand on your shoulder and told you not to disturb her too much. You could see it in his eyes, that he wasn’t being entirely honest to you, that he didn’t think you were old enough to understand. That night you tried asking your dad about it, which only prompted him to let out a snort and shaking his head. “Your mother was never equipped for real life.” He just mumbled, which was all the information you would get from him that night. Anger started swelling in your stomach as you looked at him with disbelief, how could he say something like that about his wife? There wasn’t an ounce of worry for her in his gaze, he just plainly didn’t seem to care.

That day sparked a newfound interest in medicine for you as you were hellbent on finding out what illness actually ailed your mother. Days were spent in the library, instead of meeting up with your friends in order to enjoy those last days of summer. The house was eerily empty and quiet with your father at work the entire time and your mother barely ever leaving her bed. The doctor had told you not to disturb her but every now and then you still sneaked into her room. You wanted to ask her about her symptoms, but whenever you started inquiring, she just took your hands in hers and told you not to worry. How silly of her to think that was even possible.

I 1972

Coming back to school after the summer was bittersweet. School was alright, you even enjoyed most of the classes and some of your peers weren’t even too bad. However, it also meant leaving your mother all alone. She had seemed fine when you left, waving you goodbye from the door of the mansion. You had made her promise not to be alone too much, knowing all too well how isolation worsened her condition. It didn’t help much that word about Audrey Crouch’s mysterious disease had spread over this last year, turning her into somewhat of a spectacle for her usual girlfriends. You knew worrying wouldn’t help you much, but it was what you did the best. While all around you your housemates were excitedly sharing stories about their summer you solemnly unpacked your books. All too often you felt like an old man among kids, as your concerns seemed all too different from theirs. It was hardly tolerable to hear them making tiny issues out to be disasters when your life had never granted you such luxury.

Over the last year, you had been able to figure out that your mothers’ ailment was most likely one of the mind, not the body. A theory your father obviously didn’t care about, which he had made abundantly clear by throwing his glass at the wall behind you, missing by only centimetres. The thought of how much more choleric he had apparently become over the last year also didn’t do much to stop your worrying about your mother’s well-being. Over the summer your father had paid you more attention than ever before, seemingly hell-bent on picking arguments with you over just about anything but especially your mother. Having spent years without a care about her, his sudden involvement only made your blood boil with familiar hatred. After all these years of ducking from his gaze, you weren’t going to continue like that. Finally, you were at the same height as your father and both of you knew that the time of his undisputed authority had gotten to an end.

Back at Hogwarts however, you needed to remind yourself how to be a boy, how to walk a little less straight and speak a little softer. Not that you were good at it, blending in, or that you really cared for it either. Your only friends were those you had known for as long as you could remember and even in their eyes, you could spot the bewilderment at his behaviour at times. However, while others with similar patterns of behaviour were secretly called weirdos or even freaks, you were more of a mystery than an outcast. For some reason, your harsh words and the smug smirk you had fashioned for your façade seemed to intrigue people, even though they weren’t the kinds of people you were even remotely interested in associating with. Popularity had never been far up your list of priorities anyway.

I 1977

The light of your wand was the only thing spending even the slightest bit of illumination as you squinted in order to make out the words written on the pages before you. Small illustrations accompanied one of the rare texts about dark magic you had been able to acquire. What had started as an eccentric hobby was now your main field of interest, leading to you spending your nights up and reading instead of sleep. Dark bags below your eyes had long since become your constant companion, alongside ruffled hair and raised irritability, even though that last one was more of a permanent character trait than a momentary condition.

You long since left the lanky boy, that consisted mostly of anger, behind. Or maybe you had just become a more polished version, hiding the rage behind smooth words and a hollow smile. Most people were still insufferable to you, especially those your own age but you had learned to hide your contempt. These days you channelled your more destructive instincts into this, dark magic. The words still prompted a sinister grin to appear on your lips. Busying yourself with learning about one of the things your father despised the most had been the initial motive for your intrigue with the Dark Arts but those days had long passed, while your interest stuck with you.

Therefore, when you had heard about the Dark Lord and his following it didn’t take much to convince you. You could feel that there were big things happening, that history was being written and you so badly wanted to be part of that. There was such an allure to this movement that seemed to have just the right place for you. You finally found the darkness that had been brewing inside of you for many years mirrored in those around you. It certainly seemed that maybe this is where you, the boy with the dark thoughts and ambitions, might find your place after all.

WHAT ARE YOUR RELATIONSHIPS.

EVAN ROSIER: Friend, one of the few people he gets along with. RABIA SHAFIQ: Vaguely irritated by, but also admires. DIRK CRESSWELL: Enemy, often fights with.  ISOBEL CLEMONTE: Attempting to manipulate. THEO STEBBINS: Potions partner, cannot get along with. 

[mochalattaehyung-blog]

Seoul ☕️ Namjoon

✩ 1840 words | Namjoon x reader one shot

✩ A quaint little café seems innocent enough, but when you see the cute musician in the corner you to not expect to be whisked into a whole new frenzy of emotions

↠ A/N : I may or may not have stole a couple of quotes from films for this, but I think it’s cute and I hope you like this ☁️

-

It’s a cold morning, the kind where your own breath visibly floats around you with the cool air, every rooftop covered in a thin layer of twinkling frost. You don’t miss the shiver that runs through your veins as you wrap your woolly scarf further around your neck and face, just wishing the sun would peak out a little bit from its place behind the greying clouds.

It’s Tuesday afternoon and all of your lectures for the day have finished. Sadly, the depressing white walls of your dorm just wouldn’t do any longer and you decided to leave the clammy place in favour of an expedition through Seoul. You’ve always loved this bustling city, full of energy and people. It’s never lonely here, whether that’s a good thing or not. You must say that whilst it is one of your favourite places, it’s also one of the least. At night it becomes a struggle for you to understand the maze-like streets and in the early mornings car horns just never seem to leave you and peaceful sleep alone. You suppose love and hate are alike, mixing together in a fiery passion which calms the storm inside of you every now and then. Seoul isn’t a bad place to be.

Whilst you roam the streets, you find yourself drawn to a beautiful café across the road. It’s shrouded by trees of the birch kind, trimmed to suit the sleek style of Seoul. Few leaves fall at the door of the café, the whole building seemingly lined with gold. A large, thick window pane with white lettering on it reveals the name to be ‘Honey Café’, and much more inside. You can see tables which seat couples and families alike, everyone focusing deeply on muted conversations and steaming drinks. You feel opposite, your own breath providing your steam out in the cold atmosphere. Slightly reluctant due to a lack of money, you decide that it’s worth a try.

The minute you enter the place, you feel elated somehow. The whole place smells like a pot of honey; golden and warm. You feel a shine on your lifted cheeks as you smile, the sweet smell mixing with the sound of coffee beans hitting each other in the barista’s hand as he pours them into the grinder. Behind the counter, the staff seem happy enough to work at their own pace, their nimble fingers creating beautiful concoctions which seem to tame all of your questioning thoughts.

What captivates you most is the music, loud and in the present. It leads you to find the source, a man sitting on an oak stool, dimples forming on his tan cheeks as he strums away at a guitar, singing along to a beautiful song who’s melody you immediately fall for. It balances the harmony of the place, but also intrigues your mind.

The man seems so happy and content to be sitting there, simply singing away mindlessly. He’s wearing a thick green cardigan, along with a cute smile that warms your eyes. His eyes are focused solely on nothing. His skin is like golden syrup, pouring everything into this one song that flows like water through the café. To the customers, it’s merely a sound, but without it people would definitely notice.

He looks up, completely missing you and instead looking out of the window. Your heart stops it’s exaggerated beating. This isn’t some romance film, Y/N. You aren’t going to lock eyes and become soulmates. Shaking your head, you join the queue towards the counter. With the music still teeming in the air, leaving the café seems a stupid and vague concept. How can you leave this heavenly like place this?

Soon enough, it’s your turn to order. Knowing full well that the bitter taste of coffee is one that you despise, you decide on hot chocolate. Slightly embarrassed of your childish order, you pay for the drink with blushing cheeks and find a seat on one of the tables. It’s round and pretty, with coiled metal legs that catch your foot and cause you to trip—still pretty though.

The man begins another song, pausing a little to rest. He looks around again, smiling at a few people that clap at him. You decide to form a plan that will get him to possibly notice you. After every song, you’ll clap just a little louder than everyone else. Thankfully, you chose a rather close seat to the window, and he seems to look out of it a lot, which gives you moderate hope.

Sipping on the hot chocolate, it comes to your realisation that the liquid is far too hot, causing you to jump as the scalding liquid meets your lip. Turning red at the collar, you scratch your nose nervously in hopes that no one saw. Especially not the man. He seems like the guy that probably likes the kind of poetry that everyone posts online and never reads again, but he actually reads it. He’s the kind who annotates books and actually takes art into consideration rather than just taking a meaningless picture. You realise that your rather in depth opinion of him is a little far fetched, scoffing at yourself.

When his next song begins, piano drifts into the once thick silence, his skilful hands creating a mixture of notes that form a rather pleasant tune. When he begins to sing, you find yourself humming along to the new found tune, enjoying the downcast but still tempting medley of notes. You finally feel warm as the chocolate drink runs down your throat, the big white mug creating a sense of belonging. You only get these kind of mugs in places like these, it’s like a trademark and you feel honoured to be a part of it. As weird as it sounds.

You don’t realise the darkening sky and faces leaving the café, the whole ambiance of the place becoming a blur. In the end, the orange sky creates enough of a shadow for the street lights to turn on and you realise just how long you’ve been listening to this man sing. He still hasn’t noticed you, favouring the floor rather than looking anywhere else. You finish the last of your drink and are just about to pay when a tap comes to your shoulder.

Your hopes are at their highest, hand coming up to fix your hair just in case. Turning around, surely enough it’s the man. He seems to have clambered over here, limbs much longer than you had previously given him credit for. He’s immensely tall, creating a nice height gap between the two of you. His scent is earthy, not that you smelt him of course. You would never do that.

“Hello.” You decide to say, taking note of his small stutters. His voice sounds deep, but you are too caught up in your curious obsession for the mysterious man to take note of the finer details. His long fingers are intertwined, fiddling and fussing. It’s adorable, you almost find yourself cooing.

“H-hi. I noticed you clapping at my music. Not many people really care about it.” His voice most certainly is deep, like a crackle of firewood mixed with the intensity of a crashing wave. You decide that you need to start thinking poetically, since your stereotype has stuck to you so dearly. Perhaps he would’ve appreciated that ensemble of descriptions.

“It really fit with this place, were they your songs?” You ask, engineless interested in the boy in front of you and his music. The questions is merely a catalyst to an endless conversation which has him erupting into a frenzy of his adoration towards music and how each song was created. You find yourself on your third hot chocolate when he has finished the music talk, filling your mind with all kinds of new information. The way he wrote his song, Seoul, has you mind blown. It did exactly with your perception of the city’s balance between love and hate, making you strike up your own string of theories which have him laughing.

“You really like my music?” He says, almost seeming deflated as he asks the question. He probably hasn’t had too many good replies to it, which dampens your mood a little. The sky is almost pitch black, spade a few wisps of grey clouds.

Before you can answer, his voice fills the silence of the almost dead café, “Have you ever seen the hell in someone’s eyes, and loved them anyway?” He looks at you with that teddy bear face of his that you have definitely not associated with a million different stuffed animals of yours, dimples coming from his round cheeks which makes you smile warmly. He is charismatic, he is gentle. He hates poetry, which shocks you.

“What do you mean?” You say, resting your heavy head onto the palm of your hand, the other gripping your big mug. You study him for the hundredth time tonight, his sandy blonde hair falling into a comma-likely style on his forehead, converse clad feet tapping against the tiled floor. Both of your innocent nervousness mixed with the stuttered sounds coming from the radio work together to create a perfect night. This is one of the best moments of your life. With the street lights illuminating his face from the enormous window tin sit by, you feel like a star. You feel love for the first time. And it’s all that the movies made it out to be. Perhaps even more.

“When I asked you the question, your eyes just seemed so conflicted.” He says sincerely, sipping on his own small mug of coffee. The cup seems so tiny in his large hands, but he holds it with so much care that it comforts you. All of these strange emotions make you wild, why does the way someone holds a cup comfort you?

Namjoon, is his name. The man that over thinks and worries and stresses. The man that isn’t afraid to tell you those things. They boy who loves all kinds of movies, especially the romantic french kind. The hopeless chef who can’t cook to save his life. The music producer who used to sell his music to make a living and is now seconds away from being signed to a label and beginning his dream. The man that seems too incredible to exist. Namjoon.

“I just wish people would have paid more attention to your music, it took me on a journey, Joon.” You sound so lovesick that it hurts. A bell rings and you realise it’s the one on the counter, and the way employee is ringing it to signal that he is about to close up. Giving him a small apology and a smile, the two of you leave the café, your new favourite place. Holding all of his gear, he moves everything to one side of his body so that his left hand has the chance to grip yours.

“What if I take you on a real journey?”

[bumblestingz]

@spacedoutstatic gave me the prompt: "This doesn't seem like a good idea" "No duh, that's the point!"

Word Count: 1233 (it’s a lot longer then I thought it would so I’m putting it under a ‘read more’ thing)

My ocs!

TW/ Swearing, self-depreciation (anything else, tell me)

"This doesn't seem like a good idea"

"No duh, that's the point!"

“I actually fucking hate you, this is why I fucking hate hanging out with you, if the other three were here I wouldn’t be forced into doing this stupid shit.” My heart did not sink at that. No way, no how.

“Oh come on, you love hanging out with me.” I poked at their stomach, which was like a solid rock but I didn’t really pay attention to that. They shooed my hands away with a snarl. “Like hell I do! Fuck off. I’m not getting caught by the fucking police for trespassing.”

“No, come on, what are the chances-”

“Chances are pretty high, dumbass. They don’t put high fences and the yellow ‘no trespassing’ sign around any establishment.” The night finally grew to its darkest, the moon shined down split in half. And the wrinkles indented into their brow, the fire in their eyes, did not help the excitement in my heart. Our town was filled with broken down places that held the ‘no trespassing’ sign. Didn’t stop any teens, and no one ever got caught. So what are the chances? Right?

“Nah, the police don’t care. Also, no one ever gets caught. Ever!” I flashed them a cheeky smile, intertwining my fingers with the thin, wired metal.

“I hate you so much.” They grumbled at me as I struggled to get a good place for my foot. It took a good few tries before the toe slotted in the little cube made in the fences. I heard a huff come from behind me.

“You're impossible, here.” They kneeled down, cupping his hands together. “You have no fucking streets skills, no matter how you try and act.” They grumbled under their breath that blazed out into the chilly night. Their face scrunched up into their thin coat. Fuck. They look so fucking cute, all grumpy. Oh, how they would murder me if I told them that. Gingerly I place my foot into the cupped hands, balancing myself on the wobbly fence.

“You ready?”

“Yep! Ready then I’ll ever b-” They fling me up and I almost forget to let go. The cold air crashed into my skin, I gripped onto the thick bar on the top of my fence without thinking, scrambling for my feet to find some hold.

“Holy shit.” My breath trembled and the fence thrusted hard, so much I swore I was just gonna get flung off. A figure blurred before me and the bombshell blonde landed perfectly squatted on the ground. All air flung out of my lungs as they whirl around and look at me. Acting, standing, like they didn’t just do something incredibly... skilful. Yes, that’s the word/

“You gonna move your ass or not. Because this was your dumb idea, remember?” They narrowed their eyes at me and for some reason, in this bitter cold, it got extremely warm.

“Uh, yeah!” My voice screeched to an ear-bleeding pitch and I wish the world would just not for once. And that my foot could get a hold onto that fucking wiring.

“Why do you make up these plans if you can’t go through with them.” Pouting, I pressed my forehead against the freezing metal, attempting to calm down the trembling in my body.

“Are you fucking kidding m-” They halted themselves and the sound of distant footsteps echoed through both our worlds. Next thing I knew the fence jolted with enough power that it actually did fling me off, landing me on my ass. About to spout out something to Casey, a spotlight is flashed on them.

“Hey! Kid, put your hands up and slowly turn towards us. You have the right to remain silent. If you do say anything, what you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult with a lawyer and have that lawyer present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire.”

I looked at them in horror. All Casey did was give me the look of ‘run you fucking idiot.’ And I just stumbled to my feet, tripping far enough into the dark to not be seen. They clicked handcuffs around their wrists, tugging them away with a force. They didn’t protest or fight, nothing. When did I start to cry, why was I such a fucking asshole. I just let my friend get fucking arrest for something they didn’t even wanna do, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Yet, when they get out, they just call me a fucking idiot. Telling me ‘that’s a stupid reason to cry about.’ Stating ‘you can cry about anything unless it had to do with me.’ I’m a piece of shit, but they kept saying it was no big deal. No big deal that it was on their permanent record, no problem that they paid bail with their own money because they would never let their mom have to deal with that. No big deal, how can they act like it’s no big deal, it was my fault. All my fault! Yet, they never blamed me once, why did it make me feel more guilty. I don’t think you know what you do to me Casey, but I’m a fuck up and I fucked up. And it just had to be you who got all the fucking recoil.

“If you don’t stop fucking moping around, I’m gonna punch it off of you.” They snarled at me the next day at school. I was about to respond with an ‘i deserve it.’ But I caught myself.

“I’m just, ah, I’m so fucking sorry okay. You were right it was stupid, so fucking stupid. And you didn’t wanna do it but I brought you into it. And you got screwed over even though it was my whole idea, and, and, and-” Something lodged into my throat and my vision burned, growing clouded. Why am I such a fuck up?

“Listen, okay, yeah you did something stupid. Sure, but I really don’t care. Like I was fucking annoyed that I had to sit in the room in the fucking weird ass silence with my own thoughts for like I don’t even know how many hours. And the money-”

“I can pay you back.” I croaked out, sputtering. Their eyes widened at my outburst, peering down at my hands gripping their forearm. Heat crept up to my face, letting go like they were made of fire. You can definitely argue they were.

“No, I’m fine. I said everything was good. So can you please stop moping around like a kicked puppy! I literally don’t give a shit! Just don’t-” They pointed a stern finger at me. “Don’t make me do any more stupid shit unless the other shits are theirs. Because if I’m getting thrown into the police station, I’d rather have you guys stuffed into their as well. So the county can just realise the fucking children I have to deal with.” I bursted out laughing and they shook their head, but I could see them creak a smile as they looked away.

“I’m still gonna feel like shit.”

“Fine, but know I actually don’t give two shits, it was no big deal.”

Damnit Casey, I just had to go fall in love with you. Didn’t I.