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pinkrelish · 2 years

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The White Wolf of the Woods

💌 Mail Carrier!Reader x Obito!Lives AU 💌

Chapter Summary: Obito's life did not prepare him for the nuances of flirting, but that did not matter. He still denied himself the pleasure of succumbing to his desires. You deserved better than some lonely exile like him. When he pressed his knee into yours under the table while having dinner, he convinced himself it was nonchalant, despite his racing heart. When he had you wrapped in his arms, it was to teach you a cooking lesson. When he almost kissed you on the couch on movie night--twice--it was an accident.

At least, that's what he told himself, even as you let it slip you were seeing someone else, and the jealousy he felt was anything but appropriate for a friend.

Chapter: 3/4

Words: 21k

Read: AO3 / FFnet

Chapter 3: Autumn

You weren’t the most observant person. Not the best at puzzles. Not the greatest discerner when it came to those “spot the difference” hidden image books as a kid, but even you could tell the picture on the seed packet staked into the soil wasn’t quite what was growing in front of you. “Can you come here?”

The top half of Obito’s face peeked from over a bushel of wide floppy leaves one row over. His hair was dusted in golden pollen from the yellow flowers shaking under the stress of his blade as he sawed through the stem of a summer squash. “Is it another spider?”

“You’ll find one in your bed tonight if you keep it up.”

Grunting, he pushed himself to his feet and came around to your side. He crouched to your level, and in doing so, placed himself peering over your shoulder; to where his frustrated exhale hit your cheek and his knee was a pleasant pressure on the small of your back.

The corner of Obito’s mouth sloped into his usual frown and it was all you could do to not learn each intricate curve of the scars engraved into his cheek when he leaned forward and plucked the laminated paper from the garden bed, mulling over the large, orange, spherical pumpkins in the photo, and the measly, flat, sickly white one fitting into the palm of your hand.

“There must’ve been a mix up with the seeds at the store,” he sighed. “All that work to grow that little thing.”

“I think it’s cute. It’ll be the perfect decoration for the table, don’t you think?”

He agreed, but remained unswayed. “I wanted the big pumpkins though.”

“How come? Either way they’re not edible, right?”

He readied himself to correct you on their edibility, but he clammed up. He couldn’t explain why he wanted them. Couldn’t explain why he encountered difficulties recovering his composure when he discovered your proximity, biting his tongue when your nose came into focus after almost colliding with it. Couldn’t get a hold of his emotions long enough to stop his staring. Couldn’t help himself from diverting his attention from your eyes, to your nose, to your plump, precious grin.

“They make good jack-o-lanterns,” you filled in where he left off, in the beckoning space between your mouths. Snapping him out of his intrigue and severing his blatant wonderment at the softness of your lips.

“That’s an activity for children.” He was back to his usual self.

“Maybe, yeah. But if it’s one you never got to do as a kid and wanted to do it now, that’s okay too.”

Heat crawled up his throat under your rapt surveillance. “I-I forgot my knife. Over there.” Expelling a flustered swear, he dropped the marker and shook his head, returning to the row he was working on and nearly flattening himself to the dirt to escape your view, mumbling something about caterpillars on the spinach again. Providing you the perfect opportunity to tuck the picture of the pumpkin into your notebook for later.

Once you harvested the rest of the ripe vegetables without a single word exchanged, Obito hoisted the woven basket onto his hip and opened the door for you, placing the bounty on the countertop beside the sink while you laid out his old towel to dry off the produce after he washed it. The tattered towel had been demoted for causes like since you replaced it with a new set last week.

You tried your best not to fall into the trap of watching his capable hands work the brush across the russet potatoes, turning the water earthly brown with the same organic matter outlining his manicured fingernails, but, lost in your admiration, you dried the same eggplant over, and over again. His nails were kept short. Practical. Water dripped down his muscular forearms, flowing over his veins as he inspected the tomatoes; appreciating the effort it took to create life from scratch, like you appreciated the steady rise and fall of his chest as your breaths synced.

Visit by visit you grew closer, and with the first bloom of friendship, you lost yourself to his unintentional charm. A fact you stopped denying three weeks ago when you attempted to hold his hand and he did not refuse you any longer.

Disrupting him in the middle of rinsing a cucumber, you caught sight of the time and gasped. “I should get going!” He looked at the clock too, schooling the pinch between his brows.

“Already?”

“Sorry,” you said, rolling down the sleeves of your cardigan, “but I’ll be back for dinner.”

Pulling himself from scrutinizing the time, Obito ran his wet, calloused palm over the back of his neck and kept his gaze down. He passed a sweeping glance over the vegetables left to clean and shifted his weight, turning to you slowly. Stalling as if he needed to prepare himself. Leaning back on the counter, crossing his arms, observing you from under his heavy brows only when you were about to leave.

“Did you eat lunch yet?” he blurted out.

You shrugged. “I had a protein bar.”

“Protein bars are not a meal,” he scolded; a deep rasp present in his voice matching the irked creases on his forehead. “Give me a second.”

Quick like it was routine, he grabbed ingredients from the fridge. Lecturing you at each swipe of the butterknife across the bread, spreading mayonnaise. Folding the ham slices in the precise fashion he knew you preferred. “That’s nowhere near enough nutrition for your level of activity. You really need to take better care of yourself. What about those recipes I gave you for simple meals to make on the weekends so you had easy food to microwave in the breakroom before coming here? And what about those snacks I sent you home with? Don’t tell me you ate those for dinner–” He smashed the sandwich closed and handed it to you. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Smirking wider, you accepted your free lunch and made a swift backwards exit out his kitchen door. “You see, if I did all those things, I wouldn’t be able to keep tricking you into making me a sandwich. Bye, sucker.”

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered to himself, trudging to the front window of his cabin to glare at you. And wave goodbye. Because you always turned around to wave at him right as you reached the bend in his driveway. It felt like bad luck if you didn’t.

“Bye,” he mouthed, watching your lips form the word too as you waved the sandwich at him with an all-too-wry grin at his defeated face in the window. His expression could be taken as him being jaded at your antics, but with the high sunbeams and low shadows of his deteriorating porch roof obscuring him, his features subdued to something much more forlorn when you escaped his view.

Obito walked back to the kitchen. Passing by your knick-knacks, your chair at his table, your framed decor, your calendar. He picked the rooster themed kitchen towel off the floor and wrung the damp fabric between his fingers. Twisting it and twisting it.

This is how it should be. This is what he knew would happen when he suggested you come here less often, seeing him a few times a week when your schedule allowed. It was better this way. Establishing a healthier work-life balance to ensure you had more energy for yourself.

But..

The clock’s minute hand ticked far too soon for you to be leaving. You looked at the time and departed before he was ready. Cutting the days shorter and shorter, magnifying the hours between stays longer and longer.

This is how it should be, but..

The slow withdrawal of your attention devoured his thoughts in the overbearing absence of your presence in his house. Inciting a craving like no other to keep you there when he should not. Wanting you to take up space in his cabin with all the seconds you could spare, but not knowing how to be so blunt in asking for this favor when it was clear you had other–better–things to do.

“Is this my punishment?” he asked the ceiling at complete opposites with himself from months ago. “I can’t have one thing go my way?”

~~~

You opened the door to your apartment and immediately considered its worth as a shield, scurrying behind it and daring to spy a single glimpse at the shadowy creature within, and his glowing eyes of immeasurable disappointment aimed in your direction.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” you apologized to him, ”today was an Obito day.”

Approaching the hurdle seated on your sofa with a bowed head and clasped hands, you addressed your unamused orange tabby cat with utmost respect. At his cranky command, you sprinkled a few extra kibble in his nearly-full bowl and offered him a mouse toy stuffed with catnip.

“I’ll be with Obito tonight, too, so you won’t see me for a while.” Your heart raced hearing yourself say it out loud. Speaking a not-date into existence.

Surely, it wasn’t a date when it had become so regular. People didn’t call what you’ve been doing “dates”, right? Temporarily living with someone as their caregiver, then making it a point to eat at least one meal with them every few days since.

It was practical. You were hungry. And it was.. nice to spend an evening not alone in your apartment.

He staggered on his three legs and batted the mouse for you to toss, which you obliged. He chased it down the hallway amongst mounds of dirty laundry and precariously stacked magazines. “Maybe I should clean up before I go..” you said, just as a crash sounded from the bathroom and he came trotting out with a face displaying pure innocence despite the tube of lip gloss rolling behind him.

~~~

“I can’t believe you made me do all the cooking when you’re this good.”

“I’m not that much better than you. I follow the recipe.. and don’t burn things.”

“But look how thin you’re slicing the bell pepper!”

Obito looked at the red pepper he was cutting for the stir fry and compared it to the green one you were mangling, for lack of a better word. Throughout your stay over the summer your dishes improved in quality and flavor, but one thing was consistent: your bad habits. Having never learned proper techniques, your work was inefficient and unsightly at best.

About to correct you, he debated the best way to phrase his remarks without letting his exasperation slip through in regards to you being a grown adult in dire need of basic kitchen skills. However, his animosity dissipated the second your face appeared around his bicep. Situating your chin in the crook of his elbow to watch his amateur method; honed over two decades of wandering the earth utterly alone with no other options than to fend for himself, and all it took was one woman’s curiosity to make his confidence crumble.

The knife in his hand trembled. Any ill feelings towards you escaped in the faint breath he held watching your eyelashes flutter as you examined the placement of his suddenly inept fingers losing their grip on the slick vegetable peel.

“If-If you could–uh–back up,” Obito pleaded, swallowing thickly when you gave him a questioning glance.

Years he spent training dignity into his body. Grace, eloquence, charisma. All to undertake the name of a shinobi greater than himself: Madara.

Years forgotten in the turn of a clock and a dwindling facade. Regret, impatience, a sense of loss. Obito crumbled witnessing your friendly resolve contort to an aura of dejection. Shrinking away from him and going back to your pepper with an unreadable expression.

He knew why your change in demeanor bothered him, and for once, he didn’t loathe his intrinsic urge to soothe you. The words, “I’ll show you,” tumbled from his clumsy mouth, and the simultaneous sparks of understanding–of picturing exactly what he meant by his proposition–stunned you both. You stood still replaying the scene like a movie. He blushed darker, and darker still, realizing what he said.

Obito moved behind you. Standing in a way you didn’t have to look each other in the eye. This was preferable. At your back, he inched closer, to where your skin tickled from his shirt touching yours. Inching more; dragging his knitted socks along the sides of your feet, broaching the idea of his hips meeting your spine. His arms enveloped you, tilting his head to see over your shoulder while his hands found your wrists. Curving his chest to take you into his hold the same as his fingers fit themselves over yours. Discovering every ridge, every wrinkle, every soft tissue under the joints, every harsh scar winding down his pallid white skin. Thrilled to be embarking on an adventure unsuitable for mere acquaintances. Instead of admiring the rise and fall of his chest from afar, you were the cause of it. Swallowed into him whole. Becoming aware of the nervous pounding in his rib cage, huddled against the secret of his body bending to yours.

“Pinch the blade between your thumb and index. Lighter.” Under his guide, he slid your thumb into place. Your forefinger followed his lead. You lessened your grip as instructed. Made the mistake of turning your head, seeking his approval.. It had been so long since you had come to know the vulnerability of a man’s throat.

Obito never knew the enlightenment of a woman’s head resting on the crook of his neck, thus revealing an excruciating ache to keep you there until he was no more. Exposing a vicious yearning in his soul that would not rest until he succeeded, and the desire to do so struck him so candidly, water sprang to his eyes. He did not explain the surfacing emotions away, for you did not ask him to. Understanding the hitch in his breath like you understood your needs were the same as his. Melding into the comfort of his arms to nurture your shared interests.

“And my other hand?” you prompted him from his thoughts, sending your words to graze the edge of his jaw with a momentous degree of gentleness.

“Right,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. He flipped the pepper so it was skin side down and clawed your fingers out of harm’s way. “It’s easier to cut this way.” Working as one, he steered your hands, ordering the pepper into neat slices while his lips were parted in concentration, gifting you with soft exhales brushing past the baby hairs curled around your ear.

All too soon, you moved on to the onion, the garlic, and the chicken. Separating when necessary to wash your hands, but joining again when the distance became too unbearable. Asking him to show you how to dice things as finely as he did, and never paying attention long enough to learn. He articulated the lesson in a thorough manner, but your gaze was elsewhere. Prioritizing the way his mouth moved over whatever he was saying.

“Where did you learn to cook?” you unintentionally interrupted him.

The shrug he gave enclosed you for a blissful, prolonged moment. “I’ve been alone most of my life, even as a kid. I taught myself through trial and error.” From the corner of your eye, you saw him staring at his white hand. “Even when I didn’t need to eat, sometimes it was nice to have something to do.”

“Did you have other hobbies before we met?”

Before we met. Like it was a significant event in both your lives where they changed for the better.

You liked the sound of it. Before we met. He liked it as well.

“No,” he answered, “and now you keep me busy enough I don’t have the time.” He gave another wry grin to stave off your hunger for a true smile.

Coming to terms with the fact the pale pink strips of chicken had been sitting on the cutting board for a length of time neither of you would address–considering it would be admitting how long Obito continued to hold you without reason–he stepped away from you and adjusted the burner on the stove. Distracting himself with the skillet, giving you the grace to fan your face and reign in your thoughts about your favorite customer.

~~~

While the chef himself put the finishing touches on dinner, you set the table and pulled out his chair for him as he walked the skillet over. He made your plate. You filled the water glasses. When he reached over for another helping of chicken and bumped your knee under the table, it had advanced from an accident. Over the days it became habitual. A subconscious decision to a solid choice. This was it. This was the routine. Having dinner with Obito in comfortable silence. A nice silence; broken by hums of enjoyment, compliments, and the occasional question. Awkward at first, like it always was, but as you fixed your eyes on your plates, and focused on anything besides the scorching embrace minutes ago, you settled into the new ordinary together.

His leg relaxed against yours. No longer did he jerk away. No longer did he check your reaction and jolt. He kept it there. Unlike the first few anxious meals together–full of nervous sweating and vapid musings–you maintained your heart rate, and he maintained his position.

“So, how did you get all this furniture up here anyway?” you asked. You learned a while ago to approach topics with care. Obito lived a vastly different life from you and finding common things to discuss was difficult. Of course, he didn’t shy away from his past, but relating to you when it came to anything beyond the last two years usually ended with him clearing his throat and picking at his callouses as he meandered his way through a dreadful sentence.

His life was hapless, but you were happy to be sitting next to him. You said, “I hope you don’t expect me to haul you a new mattress up this mountain.”

“Most of what’s here was from the last owner.” He wiped the corner of his mouth on his sleeve, surveying the barren den. “I didn’t need much else delivered besides the washing machine–which Kakashi brought himself. But.. I have been thinking of ordering a few things.”

“Very light weight things, I hope.”

He cocked his head at your frightful stare and waved you off like you owned all the muscle in the world. “A small side table to put at the end of the couch for a lamp or something. And maybe a coffee table.” It was obvious he was covering his mild enthusiasm, squirming in his seat and checking your face. “That’s it. Is that too much?”

“I’ll bring you anything you ask for.”

And you meant that. Truly. You’d make it happen.. Within reason.

Avoiding your reverent eye contact, Obito pushed his chopsticks around his plate. Wrestling his inner turmoil to the point of bouncing his knee against your outer thigh. “I apologize if I came off as rude earlier. You’ve far exceeded what was expected of you since we met. You cooked for me. Cleaned for me. Dedicated your time to taking care of me over the summer. Your food was amazing. Delicious, even, and I needed it. So what if you didn’t know how to cut an onion. That doesn’t make you any less competent-”

“Obito?” He looked up from his muttering, hosting a pitiful frown tugging at his scared lip. “You didn’t say anything like that out loud..” You narrowed your eyes. “Were you thinking it?”

“I.. Maybe.” Knotting his fingers on the table brought them closer to yours resting around your drinking glass. “What I’m trying to say is I appreciated you cooking for me when I was..” Tapping your knuckles on the back of his hand caused his jaw to flex in the dim light coming from the kitchen. “Earlier I was also thinking about how much you improved. I mean it, and I should’ve led with that instead.”

What an interesting man you’ve made him into. His past wasn’t alleged, but seeing him in his current state, the juxtaposition was great.

“Aw, am I melting your little heart, Obi?”

Oh, what a wicked spell you cast on him. Adding a wink to your teasing grin. Adding a wink to his name, cutting it short. Though, the raw sincerity in his praise turned you into the flustered one. “Maybe you are.” A truth neither of you were equipped to deal with at present.

Quickly shoving the rest of the cold food in your mouth and pushing back from the table with a loud screech from your chair, you rushed to excuse yourself. “I should get going. Dai needs his dinner, too.”

“D–?” Obito froze. You moved around him; picking up your plates, putting on your shoes, pulling on your sweater and untucking your hair from the collar. Still, he sat at the table. Blank faced. Processing. Motionless in the stark reality of you saying someone else’s name.

“My route is busy tomorrow, so I won’t be able to stop by the store and pick out a side table until Monday. Is that okay?” Maybe he nodded. You were already turning in the doorway to wave at him. “Bye, Obi!” You giggled at the nickname and disappeared beyond the small porch light.

Dai needs his dinner, too.

Dai.. His.

“Who’s Dai?” Obito mumbled in the direction of your empty chair.

~~~

Monday couldn’t come soon enough.

After a grueling weekend of overtime with your coworkers helping sort packages following a mishap at the distribution center, you were more than grateful to have a quick route of only letter mail in the morning and the afternoon off.

Walking the streets of downtown Konoha, you adjusted Obito’s unassembled side table under your arm, and slowed your pace in awe to gander up at the municipal workers stringing orange lanterns across the cozy shop’s walkway. A banner above you whipped in the wind, welcoming all to the upcoming celebration. The alleys were decked with twinkly lights and hung charms spouting good fortune for the turn of season. You hadn’t attended a festival in years, and upon remembering them, your brain filled in the blank space of going alone. Coloring in a visual of someone standing next to you with his haori’s sleeve draped over your linked hands.

Sighing wistfully, you veered onto a side street towards Obito’s cabin, ready to give him the first thing he rightfully asked you for.

Rather, you dragged yourself up the mountainside to dump a burden into his outstretched arms.

“You’re really just going to sit there and watch?” Obito gestured to the many slabs of wood circling where he sat on the floor in front of the fireplace.

“I’m tired.” To prove so, you yawned and slouched further into the recesses of the couch, pouting extra hard the longer he adorned his face with a bored expression. You prodded his shoulder with your toe. “Don’t you have an extra blanket and pillow? I seem to remember bringing them a few weeks ago..”

It was a simple request expelled in a compelling lilt, Obito knew that. An ordinary ask between friends. An implication. An expectation. A desire to rest your eyes. Perhaps you had taken naps in many homes, but this was an intimacy foreign to him. No one had ever found peace and comfort and safety at his side long enough to nap.

“You want to sleep on my couch?” he repeated with a heaviness in his tone. An infinite depth in his intense stare.

Your voice escaped in a feathery exhale, “If that’s alright.”

It must’ve been alright with the way he jumped up and slid to his doorway in his socks. Yanking open the dresser, testing the strength of the last remaining handle. He was quick to return, but it wasn’t until you laid your head down, and he averted his gaze, did you realize it was his pillow. Not the extra you bought. His one pillow. From his bed. His pillow. You’d recognize the scent anywhere.

Cuddling the fuzzy blanket to your chin, you thanked him. “It’s been a long couple of days.” Your explanation was sealed with an abating, drowsy will to keep your eyes open. Blinking up at him standing in the middle of the room; an unsure sway in his stance, of which you consoled by nuzzling into the pillow like he did that one day at the end of summer.

The conflict in his eyes subsided. “Get some rest.”

~~~

Obito did his best to quiet his nerves. Wincing when he dropped a single screw. Gritting his teeth when he had to hammer a nail into place. Whipping around to check you were still asleep after he knocked his knee on a sharp corner and let loose a curse. He did his best to smother his unrighteous indulgences, and yet, as he completed another step on the instructions by sliding the drawer into place and thus finishing the project, he grew aware he was leaning against the couch again. Far from the first time he found himself magnetically drawn to your presence. Lord knows he felt the tug in his heart from the very first time you met. But this? What he was doing while you were asleep? He shouldn’t.. It was wrong. You were taken.. Unless he misheard.

Dai? Die? Dye? You could’ve said a different sentence entirely.

At least, that’s what he told himself when he thought about you having someone to go home to. To wake up to.

He tried to suffocate the ripple of envy, convincing himself in some twisted sense of joy that you chose to spend your half-day with him, which meant you valued him more than whoever you were seeing. If you were seeing someone.

Regardless, Obito felt like a king when he sidled up to the couch, pressed himself firmly against the side, and rested his temple on your exposed forearm. His eyelashes grazed just above your wrist, neighbors to your hand. And when your fingers curled–maybe on instinct, maybe seeking another to complete their circle–he became the champion of the gentleness of your palm. Beholding the demure brush of his jaw along the heel of your hand. Drowning in his impulses. Stopping once his lips reached your thumb.

Enraptured, he listened for your dreamlike inhales. Your faint exhales on the back of his neck.

Accepting his fate as a tempted man, he achieved his need for physical touch, and left it at that. A fleeting caress while you were sleeping. You weren’t even touching him–he was touching you–but it was a semblance of what he could have had if he were born of a different fate. If he had led the honorable existence you deserved; and if you were undoubtedly single, this is what he could have had. If he were brave enough to ask and receive.

Even so, with the little skin contact he earned, his worries relaxed into thoughts of optimism.

Even so, he sighed into your palm and tore himself from his longing before he had a lapse in judgment and discovered just how considerate your fingers were cupping his cheek.

Even so, with his back turned, he did not bear witness to your eyes screwed closed, steeling yourself against the yearn to smooth down his hair from tickling your arm. He did not see the slight twitch of your forefinger in the direction of his nape. Did not notice the sympathy in your eyes, nor your poor performance of pretending to wake right then.

You stirred into a sitting position and awed over the finished side table. “Oh, nice! It’ll look good next to the couch. Not too out of place with the other wood furniture.” You tried to sound as natural as possible, but with Obito’s shyness under your observance, and your urge to rub the spot on your arm where the heat from his cheek was dissipating, the air in the room changed from amiable to awkward.

Still, you smiled through the adversity taking your heart hostage, aching with a need to gather him in your arms and tell him it was okay to want to be held.

“It’s–yeah–it’s fine there,” Obito said, finally, standing back while you walked the side table next to the armrest where he usually sat, facing the blank wall next to the fireplace; you’d caught him more than once sitting there alone in the dark with a mug of cold coffee in his hand.

That reminded you. “Your coffee table will be next, I think.” You tapped your chin. “Just need to find one I can carry.”

“You don’t have to go through the trouble..” He was already wringing his arm. “The side table is big enough, my coffee can go there,” he mumbled his way through another meek excuse to evade your generosity.

“Stop acting like a bother,” you bulldozed over his self-doubt. “I can start looking for one today while I’m out shopping. Dai didn’t like the salmon I bought him, so it’s back to the canned chicken, I guess.” You snorted and gave an elaborate shrug after letting go of the doorframe to slip on your shoes, opening the front door to bright red roses blooming between the gaps in the porch railing. “I tried to spoil him with the fancy stuff, and that’s what I get.”

You turned to wave goodbye and caught the tail end of Obito rearranging his face from an expression so glum it caused your stomach to clench. You couldn’t understand what was wrong, so you assumed the worst: you were too harsh on him earlier, using a curt tone when telling him to stop calling himself a bother. Yes, that must’ve been what soured his feelings.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, but you should know..” you started. His interest was piqued. Obito was visibly hanging onto your every word, leaning towards you with a greediness in his undivided, unwavering, blatant attention. It was all-consuming, and flattering to be fully engrossed by him. “You’re not a burden. Never have been, never will be. Whatever you need, I’ll get it.”

“I know.” He jerked his chin at his voice cracking.

“Do you, I wonder?” Throwing on your hat, out you went. To your life. To your city. To your grocery store. To your familiar faces on your way home. To your bed. To your.. someone.

Leaving him alone. Alone in his cabin that was only cozy when you helped warm it. Alone with his thoughts when you waved right before the bend in his driveway and ducked under the branch of yellowing leaves blocking his line of sight.

It was all but confirmed. You have someone waiting for you at home. Maybe?

Obito hung his head and released a frustrated growl through the tightness in his throat. With his hands covering his face, he groaned, “I’m so fucked.”

~~~

Sitting across from Obito at his dining table, you flipped through the hardback cookbook you ordered a few days ago in preparation to plan out dinners for the week. It had become a frequent occurrence that you’d pick out a meal and were missing exactly one ingredient, so you suggested having an afternoon where you sat together and made a list to take to the grocery store because whoever writes these recipes really thinks the average person has ungrated nutmeg and four different cheeses on hand–

However, Obito was once again vying for your input before you could read another line of the page you were on.

“Should we choose one from here?” Obito’s large hand encroached your peripheral as he slid the infantalyzing Cookbook for Singles towards you. You gave him nary a glance, much less a chance of consideration. You returned your nose to the book you already had open in an attempt to re-read the same sentence for the third time.

“Don’t you think we can handle something more advanced?”

He hesitated. “Is it not still.. relevant?”

“Uh, I mean, those recipes are a little too simple in that one, don’t you think? Here, why don’t you pick out one of the other magazines I got from the bookstore. They were expensive. And use more than just salt and pepper as seasoning.”

Running his fingers over the trenches of scars on his forearm, cheeks red with shame, he conceded and put the cookbook away, choosing to unwrap a magazine sealed in plastic to bury his woes in. Mind too unfocused to realize it was upside down until you got up to leave–early–and teased him about it.

~~~

It took you a week, but you were proud of the coffee table you found. You brought it to Obito almost in one piece, leaning the tabletop against the porch banister, handing him the legs and screws from your mail bag. You expected him to appreciate the furniture, yet he seemed less than enthused; lips thinned into a grimace whereas the corners of his eyes were crinkled with disappointment.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, standing near the steps. He was across from you idling in the doorway, fiddling with his sleeve cuff, gaze drifting anywhere except at you. You waited for him to respond to your question, but he continued his indecisive movements. Obito had been in a strange mood lately, and this was no exception.

Patiently, you raised your eyebrows and gave him room to sort out his thoughts. Etching the image of him rubbing his hand over the back of his neck and squeezing his nape into your mind palace, along with the subtle flex of his chest under his gray t-shirt as he struggled to speak, yet remained silent. There was a question in his eyes, but he refused to ask it. You knew him well enough to understand that much.

In fact, you knew his tendencies as well as your own. You were also awfully cognizant of the fact you had trouble voicing the things on your mind as of late when it came to the man who graduated from modest daydreams to obsessive cyclical notions of more. He was never not who you were thinking about when the girls in the breakroom were talking about dates and crushes. Stammering nonsense when your coworkers asked about your mysterious customer at the end of your route who took all your free time. If they knew the truth, that you were serving Obito Uchiha, they would faint. You quite liked the idea of that.

He was so silly, not telling you what was worrying him, just like you were silly bottling these feelings and locking them away. There was no reason to deny what you’ve known for months, but you couldn’t confess. The fear of rejection, of ruining his progress, of muddying his trust, halted you. You had to suppress yourself until it was clear he was ready to hear them. Until he made the first move. A real move. Like asking you on a date. Or outright kissing you. Something neither of you could misinterpret.

To preserve what you had, you would wait until he made a move. If he ever made a move.

“Dai’s appointment is at 2 o’clock, so I should-”

“Should get going,” he finished, a bitter sadness in his tone. He didn’t say it in a spiteful way, but the host of emotions overtaking his speech were difficult to parse. A certain hardness to his words cutting you like stone, then a soft exhale of apology in his sagging shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” You twisted the strap of your mail bag. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise. With a big surprise!” Excitement rushed in your veins as you remembered what day it was, knowing your week of coordination behind his back would soon pay off.

“A surprise?”

“A big surprise,” you said, holding your arms out wide, roughly the size of a large gourd. He did not get it. But, whatever was distressing him lessened its strength, allowing him to step onto the planks of his porch to see you off. Walking into the dappled light, if only briefly.

You said, “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

And he questioned, “Early?”

“Early,” you replied, not giving him any more clues.

It was hard leaving him there, but if you wanted to make Daidai’s neutering appointment on time and finish your coworker’s route to ensure you scored his day off tomorrow in exchange for him doing your route, you needed to say goodbye to Obito.

It was never easy. You supposed at one point it might have been, but not anymore. Not for a long time has it been easy to walk the bend in his driveway aware you wouldn’t see him until the sun rose again.

~~~

The jean jacket you hugged around yourself was a poor replacement for your bed. It hardly stopped your teeth from clacking, or your frosty breath from showing. It did not warm the crisp air stinging your lungs, nor did it provide shelter from the bits of hay floating in the wind. You were up bright and early, as promised, waiting for the Autumn Festival to open.

Dai’s surgery went well and was spending most of the day recovering at the vet’s office. He was in good hands, though, that didn’t stop you from tossing and turning the entire night, no matter how much he scratched you when you hustled him into a carrier.

And yet, your fatigue was forgotten the moment a man dressed in a jonin vest got one word deep into his speech about the history of the festival. You were off! Sprinting for the older woman’s booth at the front and skidding to a halt, wrapping your arms around the biggest pumpkin available. So large your fingers could not touch when you strained to lift it. Others must’ve spotted it last night as well, for they too scrambled from their spots at the beginning of the street and raced for your pumpkin, but you defended your territory, baring your teeth at anyone who dared reach for it.

“I’ll take this one!” you exclaimed at the baffled woman behind the cash register, raising your chin high and mighty against the adults around you muttering about your score and how their precious children deserved it more.

~~~

Shocked awake in a cold sweat, Obito acted on instinct. He threw off his covers and ran to the front yard in a state of disarray, ripping the door open so hard it slammed against the wall and swung on its hinges. He tripped. A twig snagged his pajama pants. One of his house shoes was left on the porch step like a princess’ glass slipper, the other was lost to a pile of crunchy orange leaves he barreled through as he yelled a heroic “I’m here!” after your first cry for help.

“What’s wrong?” Heart in his throat, he looked you over in a panic, jumping his gaze from one body part to another until he reached your dirty loafers and found nothing out of the ordinary. Once more for good measure, he visually assessed you for injuries, pausing at certain points–his favorite points–lauding the special way your lips lifted in a scoff. Observing your windswept hair and experiencing the rush of want in his muscles, reaching forward to brush the loose strands from your face, wishing to replace the breeze with his fingers combing gently through it.

He’d only been near you for seconds, and already his convictions were forgotten.

“Are you going to take this stupid thing or keep gawking at me?”

Confused, he panned down to the object pressed into his stomach and spoke with all the airy mystification of a child receiving an unprompted gift. “A pumpkin?” It was a gasp of awe. “You bought me a pumpkin.”

“Hurry,” you pleaded, fingers squeaking on the rind as it slipped from your hands, not seeing his were outstretched in the first place.

Obito whispered relief between his teeth at the divine intervention of a pumpkin of all things stopping him from acting the fool. Instead of your head cradled to his chest as his ridiculous mind ought to do, he held the pumpkin tighter to his middle than necessary, grasping at your fleeting body heat sinking through the long sleeves of the thin shirt he slept in.

“Phew!” You shook out your arms and patted the gourd he had a death grip on, sending a swell of vibrations to his core while you amused yourself at the hollow smacking sound it made. You glanced up at him for his reaction. The joy was shared, even if he didn’t smile; he was sure to highlight the ardency in his wide eyes when he regarded you, so there was no doubt your gift went underappreciated.

It was the least he could do. It was the most he could do.

You smoothed your hand along the grooves of the pumpkin, committing to the accidental clasp of your palm over the back of his fingers. Investing in an intimate touch he longed for. “It’s the exact variety you wanted to grow for carving.”

“You didn’t–This is too much–and–you don’t have one–” His denials came as they usually did, as a cumbersome and mopey spew of minimizing his feelings. You were being tender with him again. Valuing him. Showering him in more affection than he’d experienced in a lifetime combined. You were too sweet to him, especially considering the sinful themes of his daydreams keeping him awake last night. Someone like him did not deserve your gentleness.

“Just accept it and invite me inside, Obito.”

Not for the first time, he shut up and listened to you. Followed your lead. Embraced the impressive pumpkin and watched you unfold newspapers from your mailbag with numb fingers, bending over to where he could catch a glimpse under your jacket and see you were wearing a cable knit sweater with your standard pantyhose and tight skirt. He was beginning to wonder if you owned any other clothes, even as he changed into his standard navy blue cotton pants and white t-shirt himself.

“Were you working today?”

“Nope,” you said, snapping your fingers as something occurred to you, and heading to the kitchen to gather a random assortment of knives for him to carve with. “Got the entire day off. I’m yours.”

As casual as you made it sound–I’m yours–it was anything but when you set up his place at the end of the coffee table and made eye contact for what was meant to be a passing second.

Tension was held in the slight tic of his eyebrow. His parted lips. An impalpable whisper confining his tongue. An unspeakable luxury.

You were his for the day.

Obito failed to speak, so you supplied a distraction from your coy choice of words. “There’s no way I could’ve carried another pumpkin with me, so I’m gonna write letters to my friends back in Iwa.” You sat at the other end of the table and shook out your mail bag, dumping your stationary around you. Rolls of washi tape bounced, stickers sprinkled like snow, an assortment of lovely cards spilled from the table to the floor, and pens clattered wherever there was room left.

“I’ll start a fire for us,” he said.

Us.

You were his for the day.

~~~

Time passed in crackling logs and glowing embers tumbling to the stone hearth. In folded paper and seeds plunked onto a baking tray. Of black ink and stringy orange pulp smeared onto palms. Laughter and quiet. Noise and reflection. Mindlessness and thoughtfulness. It crept in introducing parts of one another’s past. In shins brushing under the table. In feet touching through pantyhose and socks. Time revealed itself in the culmination of hours spent agonizing over silly crushes.

Time crawled as Obito wiggled the knife into the same shape he’d been cutting out since he started. Eyes trained above the stem of the pumpkin, watching you lick envelope seals, press them closed, and add them to the top of the growing pile.

“It’s not like growing up as a civilian was always awful,” you said, carrying on the conversation. “Iwa’s Shinobi Academy was giant, and we attended a class of fifteen people near the back entrance to help protect us. Avoiding bullies really brought us together. Most of us worked in the government buildings downtown, so we were able to stay in touch everyday. Between my school friends and my post office friends, we made our own little close knit family. A lot of us became roommates after being emancipated from our families. But,” –you tapped the pink gel pen on your bottom lip– “that did make the dating pool incredibly small. We all ended up swapping spit with each other at some point. Oh–!”

Jealousy stung the pit of Obito’s stomach, inadvertently causing his hand to act on instinct.

A branch popped in the fire, lighting the scarred half of his face in haunting shadows, illuminating an unsettling glint in his heavy-lidded gaze. He extracted the knife from the Jack-o-Lantern’s eye socket. Pulling rind and guts. Dragging seeds out like macabre bugs to litter the newspaper on the coffee table. Triangle eye cutout on the tip of his kitchen knife like a head on a spike.

And as menacing as he appeared to others, you laughed.

“I didn’t date any of the people I’m writing to,” you teased, thinking his reaction was in jest, ignorant to the true resentment influencing his foul mood. “It’s not my thing to keep in touch with past flings, anyway. I like the present, and the future, much better. You know that.” He did. But he liked hearing you say it more. Your affirmations helped settle the beast within him. Tame him. Charm him into complying. Enticing him to unfold his legs so you could stretch yours out at the first nudge of your heel on his knee. Placing your legs in between his like you belonged there, as if his feet on either side of your thighs would protect you from harm.

“I take it you didn’t meet your Prince Charming?”

“Nope. Just a bunch of frogs.” You intended it to be a joke, but of course his mouth kept it’s tight line, turned down at the corners despite his best effort to keep his bad temper at bay.

“What’s it like.. dating in Iwa?”

You waffled, holding your hand out flat and rocking it back and forth. “As bad as Konoha, I imagine.”

Obito noticed your pause and glanced up at you, hearing your expectation for him to agree, but he shook his head and gave a small shrug, returning to his carving. Using his white hair and black eyelashes to shield the dullness in his eyes. “Do I strike you as the type of man who dates?” Even saying the word had his heart pounding in his ears, muffling your response which he sorely required to quell his anxiety.

“Are you?” you ventured.

“Kind of hard for someone like me to do that.” It was an easy answer. One he could physically, and practically, dismiss with a flash of his knife at his exiled life in a cabin in the woods on top of a mountain. A default response that gave nothing else away. Not his longing, not his hurt, not his raging grudge against anyone who had the pleasure of having you in their arms and taking it for granted.

“Do you have any interest in dating?”

“It’s not something I ever considered for myself.” To keep his mind busy, Obito slapped his palm on the pumpkin head to steady it and drove the knife into the stenciled gap-toothed smile, sawing at the jagged edges. But in the midst of getting out his frustrations, he missed the sudden way your face fell.

“Dating strangers sucks,” you said to fill the silence. “I got stood up a lot, even when it was my friends trying to set me up with someone they knew. It was just as awkward if they showed up, regardless. You’d think meeting someone for the first time would lend to talking about literally anything, but I rarely felt a connection with them. They were so boring; I’d rather be sitting at home watching TV.” Twiddling your pen in your fingers, you sighed at the miserable memories. “I’ve had long term relationships in the past, but the dating part wasn’t all it lived up to be. Maybe I watch too many romcoms, but I think it’s much more romantic to be friends first. Fall in love slowly. Deeply. Settle down with one another without realizing it, like it was the next natural step of the relationship.”

Your grin was one of godlike loveliness, and Obito fumed from across the table, unable to read your mind if the twinkle in your eye was attributed to the card in your hand decorated with glittery butterflies, or if it was for him? Or if it was for him?

Even now, Obito couldn’t do it. Couldn’t get the words out. Who’s Dai? Is he your boyfriend? Do you go home to him every night? Do you share a bed? Are you in love with him?

Clutching onto what little hope he had left, he worded his question innocuous enough to deny what he really wanted to know, “Have you made friends since moving to Konoha?” A friend like him. Or Dai. Someone you could.. see yourself with..

“I think so.”

He twisted the knife deeper, deeper into the heart of the pumpkin. Juices weeping like blood over his blade. Staring straight ahead and clenching his jaw due to what you did to him.

Under the table you were shaking your foot. He had the same nervous habit, but with how you were positioned, the movement rubbed his inner thigh. A spot no one else had touched except for him. A high, dangerous spot near the crease of his pants. Sensitive, so sensitive it had his nerves praising each quick graze. Stimulating a stir of motives he had trouble ignoring.

To save himself further embarrassment, he cleared his throat and suggested you start lunch, feigning interest in finishing his carving before getting up from the table and tiptoeing down the hall to the bathroom only once he heard you slicing radishes in the kitchen.

And it was as you placed the finished salad on the table, he returned to the den with flushed cheeks, sitting next to you like any other day. Except, today was different. Today you were his, and you had another treat in store.

“Can I come over Saturday night?”

“At this point you could show up unannounced and I wouldn’t throw you out.”

“Good! Be sure to wear your gray sweatshirt and sweatpants.”

~~~

Eager children pushed their way up cobbled streets, dashing from one game stall to the next, burlap sacks stuffed with candy bouncing on their hip, eyes shining under their masks from the festive lanterns hung above bales of hay. Spindly trees with gnarled fingers stole the moon, clinging onto the last of their brown leaves fluttering in the pitch black night. Somewhere, in a deep forest, a single hollowed pumpkin’s ghoulish face flared from the waxy candle in its mouth, acting as a beacon for the companionless girl roving the sylvan domain, and once she found her way inside the Home of the Lonely, the shuttered windows flickered with life.

“See! Now we match!” You spun in an unnecessary circle to show off your gray set of sweatshirt and sweatpants with the stripe down the side and logo embroidered on the chest just like his.

Obito was about as unamused as ever. “You bought the same clothes as me. Great.”

“We look cute together,” you baited him, laying your hints on thick by holding out your arm along his so he could see the stripes were the exact shade of blue and everything, as if it weren’t obvious. But to you, it was simply a ploy to be near him. To touch him through the layers of fabric. To play into your height difference, giggling at his dark eyes feasting on how you were dressed.

“They look better on you.”

“Wow. An actual compliment. This truly is a special occasion. I might just faint.” You put your hand on your forehead and tipped backwards, earning a groan from him at your antics.

“I’ve never seen you in casual clothes,” he said. “It’s different.. You look nice.” Maybe your glee was too obvious, clasping your hands to your face and cooing over him. He unintentionally copied you at first, bringing his hand to his cheek, unaware he was running his fingers over his scars while fixing his gaze on your hair. You wore it styled down for the first time, and when he detected he was staring again, he failed to eliminate his stutter. “S-So, why did you want to come over so late?”

You offered him a pitying, snarky titter. An evil cackle. A devious twirl on your foot and brandishing of your night of entertainment in your hands. On a dime, you stopped spinning, reached into your mailbag, and deadpanned, “We’re celebrating.”

He squinted at the thin plastic packages. “Movies?” He scanned the array of titles you fanned in your left hand, lifting his features in an impressed way at your selection. “Horror movies.”

“I didn’t know what you preferred, so I brought some slashers, some thrillers, a true crime documentary or two, and uh..” you trailed off, grabbing a few more from your bag, sheepishly avoiding eye contact at the pretty pink cases next to the black and red ones. “Some romcoms. You know, in case you get scared or whatever and want to watch something lighthearted before bed.”

“Uh-huh.”

You didn’t need to see him to know he was suspicious. “Anyway! Do you drink?”

Obito took the six pack from your right hand, then another, then a third, wondering what else your bottomless bag could hold. “It’s been years since I’ve drank, but the better question is how are we going to watch any of these? In case you weren’t aware, I was denied a TV, so my house isn’t up to date on state of the art technology.”

“Would you stop bringing that up,” you muttered. “Pardon me for not carrying an entire TV up a thousand stairs. I have my projector with me. Now, go make yourself useful and put the beer in the fridge while I set it up.”

Smirking to himself, he did as you told him. Besides, he needed the break. The time to open the freezer and let the artificial icy air compete with the heat on his throat. Cooling his skin, and his mind. He needed to keep a level head for this night to go smoothly. Gray sweatpants were not forgiving when he let his thoughts wander.

Carrying one of the six packs, he rounded the corner to the den at the exact moment you bent over to adjust the device on the coffee table, rocking your hips side to side as you lined up a white image on the wall in front of his spot on the couch.

Obito set the drinks on the side table and immediately opened one.

This would be a long night.

“Okay! Let’s pick the movies.” You clapped and gestured for him to sit on the couch with you. Digging through your mailbag, you found the rest of the DVDs and began reciting the synopsis on the back to him, snickering at the bad grammar on the B-movies, and waggling your eyebrows at the half naked ladies on the covers. Eventually Obito relaxed his hunched posture; unfolding his arms from his lap to help flip through the collection, musing about how when he was kid the only movies he saw were in theaters on the rare occasion he could afford it. He didn’t realize how convenient they were to watch nowadays.

“This one, I guess?”

You ‘ooh’ed. “Night Terrors III. That’s a good one. And how about one from this pile over here?”

“The romantic comedy pile,” he supplied, giving you a hard stare.

“Like I said, it’s to lighten the mood in case it gets too scary.”

“You mean to watch before you walk home alone in the dark.”

“No!” you huffed.

“Then–if you’re not afraid–pick whatever’s on top and we’ll watch that first.”

“First?” Your voice was but the squeak of a mouse. It was quite late and you only planned to watch two or three movies at most. A nail-biting horror, then an upbeat romantic comedy to make you laugh and soothe the paranoia before walking out into a creepy forest at the witching hour. Horror, then comedy. That’s the order you always watched them in. You supposed you could do comedy, horror, comedy–but then Dai might worry when you came home late.

“Unless..” His breath tickled your hair standing on end. “You’re too scared.”

Obito couldn’t be serious, teasing you like this. With Night Terrors III’s egregious run time, it had to be horror, then comedy, that’s all you had time for.

You made up your mind.

The horror DVDs in your lap slid to the floor and the stack of comedies tumbled into the projector as you scrambled for it with the Night Terrors III disc in your hand, intent on playing it first.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Obito laughed–maybe even smiled–when he grabbed the back of your sweatshirt and pulled you to the couch. But his sudden bout of silliness was knocked from him. He misjudged his strength and tugged you too hard. Again.

Your feet slipped from under you and a blur of gray rose to your face. You latched onto the solid object breaking your fall and slowly drew your gaze upwards: over the dizzying rise and fall of the embroidered logo, the divided tan and white column of a neck, observing a cheek marred with pinkened scar tissue peppered with grains of freshly shaved stubble, and a set of persuasive lips waiting for you to notice them. Obito sighed what oxygen was in his lungs, and you watched him do it, just as he watched you inhale the smallest gasp.

Intoxicating heart beats surged under your flattened palms. You squirmed to relieve the pain of his hip prodding your waist, serving only to bring you closer. He had you draped over him, using his body to break your fall, but his presence did not subdue the heady rush of excitement turning your world upside down.

His lips were most definitely trembling. You witnessed their every tic. Every motion of his tongue wetting them. Their dull shine, for which you had the remedy.

“Sorry–” He struggled to speak, voice quiet like a suppressed secret.

“It’s okay,” you said, shaking your head an imperceptible amount. It took all your strength to command your gaze up, away from his lips, to his eyes. His eyes. Oh, his ravenous eyes; devouring you the indecent way a friend shouldn’t. Fanning flames in places it shouldn’t. Clenching your thighs when it shouldn’t.

But, God, was it exhilarating being ravished by him.

With his arm pinned between you and the couch, you felt the flex of his bicep drawing you in. Fingers of steel letting go of your top to spread over your shoulder blades. Traveling the length of your spine to the curve of your lower back with purpose. With courage. A blissful endeavor.

“We can watch the slasher first,” he whispered, and you experienced every vowel, every constant, every wistful letter; the vibrations, the hums, the pauses. He could order you to do anything and you would comply.

He was powerful, he was strong, and he made you weak.

“No, no,” you soothed him. “We’ll watch the comedy first.”

You meant for your next move to be consoling, if not a bit flirtatious. You rubbed his chest back and forth in an arc from pec to pec, batting your eyelashes, glancing down at his lips and lingering there. The motion was intended to convey an absolute avalanche of hints, but instead of reading between the lines, he added a quick, “If you’re sure,” and stopped exploring your body before he entered the territory of more than friends.

Maybe Obito was the least observant man on the planet. Or he wasn’t ready. Or he was inexperienced. Or he was nervous. Or he wasn’t all that into you. He was difficult to read, especially when he coughed into his fist and ran his palm over his thigh as if your compromising position was something to be ashamed of.

Alas, you ducked under his arm and followed suit, finding your own section of the couch to dominate. Took your first breath not solely comprised of the minty scent of his toothpaste and reached past him to grab a beer for yourself.

This would be a long night.

Audibly swallowing, he began to say, “Really, we can watch Terrible Nights or whatever–”

“Shut up.” He shut up. “We’ll watch It Happened One Winter.”

Sitting an appropriate distance apart for casual acquaintances, you put the disc in and forced yourself to sink into the cushions after pressing play. The speakers funneled tinny music over the opening credits, suspending your stilted conversation in lieu of the title screen. The air of nonchalance you both emitted was apparent–sipping on your beers, heads facing forward, eyes strictly on the actress blotting her running mascara–but the separation between your bodies was a grievous error. Wide enough for two hands to fit.

Dust motes drifted past the projector’s beam of light. Around you, the den was illuminated by the story of a woman arguing with her boyfriend, of her not being treated right so she left their apartment in tears and bumped into an attractive stranger on the street, and his coffee bumped into her new coat. Soon, he would offer to pay for a replacement and she–frazzled from her boyfriend’s degrading words–would offer to buy him a new coffee. They would both laugh off the blundering first impression and agree to go inside the coffee shop and thus begin the start of their relationship. You knew the plot well, having watched this film hundreds of times when you lived alone in Iwa. Obito, however, was thoroughly engaged.

The scene transitioned from bright city lights to a quaint cafe for the actors to sell their witty banter while the man gathered napkins to dry off her coat. Obito leaned forward and rested his beer can on his knee; his other hand gripped the armrest, running his thumbnail over the fabric. His eyebrows were tucked in concentration, absorbed in the fictional couple’s first meeting. Wringing his mouth when the male lead touched the woman's hand from across the table and her inner monologue revealed how tender it was in comparison to her boyfriend’s.

“Does that actually happen?” he blurted, pointing at the screen.

“Does what happen?”

“Her leaving her boyfriend for the guy she just met. That’s where this is going, right? Does that happen in real life? Breaking up to pursue someone else?”

You shrugged, hoping to alleviate his bizarre hounding. “Sure. It happens. Sometimes you don’t realize how unhappy you are in a relationship until someone else shows you. She ruined his suit too, but instead of getting mad like her boyfriend would, he understood it was a mistake. He’s kind, and patient, and clearly in love with her from the start. See, he’s putting his arm around the back of her chair and giving her that lovey-dovey look you give someone when you feel the spark. That’s a clear sign he’s interested in her, but is respecting her boundaries. It’s very romantic.”

“In conclusion, she’s willing to leave her boyfriend–who she shares an apartment with–for this stranger because she feels a romantic connection.”

“Yes.”

“So, he has a chance with her.”

“Yes.”

“She’s leaving her boyfriend because she likes the other guy better.”

“Yes, Obito.”

“Okay,” he grunted and downed the rest of his beer, getting another for himself and cracking open the tab for yours before handing it over.

For the first time in weeks, he could relax.

Empathetic music swelled during the messy break up scene, then the mood shifted to smooth jazz once the couple reunited and the woman confessed her feelings. You repeated the lines quietly to yourself, whispering words of grandeur to no one. But Obito listened. He watched. He learned.

The couple arrived at her apartment door and Obito was captivated. The camera closed in and they tilted their heads. On the couch, he did the same. He leaned his head to the side, as did you. The movie went quiet, only the sound of their moans when, at last, they kissed. He heard you sigh, but he couldn’t look away. Not when the woman invited the man inside and Obito discovered another thing he was unfamiliar with.

Most people would find watching sex scenes together awkward, but not Obito. He was enamored. Viewing it like research. Fascinated by the actor’s ability to undress another person with ease, unhooking her bra like it was nothing and tossing it to the floor along with her blouse. Noticing where the man put his hands and what sort of response it gave. Following where he decided to put his mouth on her and storing the information for later, if needed. He may never get the chance to use it, but he could dream.

“You look like you’re watching a nature documentary!”

Obito whipped around and glared. Your hand was clasped over your mouth, trying your best to cover your snort, but it was futile. The more his face turned sour, the more you doubled over with another round of belly laughs.

“Whatever,” he moped, rousing a hiccup from you as you reigned in control over your mouth and what came out of it.

“Sorry,” you said, positioning yourself to where you faced him, bringing your knee onto the couch. “You’re so adorable, I couldn’t help it.”

He knocked his knee into yours. “Sounds like a strange way to admit you enjoy teasing me.”

“So you can read between the lines.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you answered. You stood up to go to the bathroom, pointing out you were leaving him so he could watch the rest of the sex scene in private, provoking him with a sly, knowing smile, to which he sneered.

~~~

You frowned at the bathroom mirror above the sink. Boring into your own image. Picturing what he saw. What he didn’t see.

Running your hand through your hair, it was still cold on your scalp from where it sat on your thigh, fingers open and palm towards the ceiling in hopes of being noticed. You left it there, overt and obvious, for an embarrassing amount of time, but it remained overlooked in favor of the picture-perfect romance happening before his eyes.

Maybe he saw your desperation and politely ignored it to save you the humiliation. Maybe he didn’t think your hand needed to be completed by another.

“Or maybe,” you spoke aloud to your hand, “he’s just an idiot.”

You blew out a long breath and leaned over the sink. Willing positivity to flow in and fight the negativity bringing down your night. Invoking the alcohol to quiet your thoughts about you being the one who could not take a hint.. “He did say this looked better on me.” You pulled at the cuffs of your sweatshirt and stepped back to truly appreciate the compliment. When he said it earlier, it came out of his mouth so swiftly, you babbled whatever came to mind first to dispel his sudden affability. But you had to admit, seeing yourself dressed down out of work clothes had a special sort of allure to it. Perhaps more so to him, who had never seen you this way; the way you would be dressed if this were a normal day and you two lived together. “He said I looked nice.” And you did. He thought so.

Accepting your fate, you finished freshening yourself up with a swipe of his chapstick across your lips, and left the bathroom in time to recognize the ending credits music.

“Ah, perfect,” he goaded you from across the room, holding something in his hand. “I was about to play this and didn’t want you to miss a second of it.”

“Great.”

Obito took the initiative to put the disc in this time, ensuring there were no tricks up your sleeve to play another sappy movie. The tray on the projector closed and haunting ambient noise rolled out like a fog over the room. You perched on the edge of the couch and wiped your clammy hands on your sweatpants. A vivid green forest played on the cabin wall; its cheerful colors in dissonance with the eerie chords.

“Relax.”

You flicked your gaze to the owner of the voice and could do anything but relax. Obito had sat forward to get a better look at you, his elbows on his knees and chin in his palm, eyes half closed from booze. He looked.. sweet. Not smiling, but nearly. So sweet. Until he opened his mouth again.

“Unless you want me to shut it off because you’re too scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you said and heeded his annoying advice by relaxing your tense muscles. He turned the volume up a notch on the projector and flopped on the couch, and like the oaf he was, he brought you with him.

The gap was no longer between your two bodies. It was defeated. Vanquished by Obito, who sat closer to the seam of the cushion separating you, causing you to dip towards his weight. You slanted until you were fully supported by him, the length of his body cozied to yours. The roundness of his shoulder at your cheek. His strong upper thigh bracing under the impact of your hand accidentally landing there.

His heart skipped a beat, but yours more than made up for it, hammering a sweltering flush to your skin. You let go of him and sputtered a lightning fast apology, praying you could save the rest of your dignity by wiggling into a better position, but it was useless. No matter how much you squirmed, you would eventually come to rely on him to keep you upright, slouching until you were curled into him, with his arm and leg too close to call this anything other than what it was. Cuddling.

Your hints were working. You had to believe your hints were working. You needed your hints to be working, because if this was an inebriated accident, you’d never recover from the tragedy of embracing him from afar.

~~~

Thirteen minutes into the runtime and you were making your second excuse to leave the room.

“Do we need more beer? I’ll get us more beer.”

“Remember to turn off the kitchen light this time.”

You grumbled choice words and flipped the switch, shuffling into the jet black den with a fresh six pack. You settled into your spot on the couch and swore he sat unfathomably closer. His legs were spread as well, taking up the space you depended on to not fall prey to your inclinations. Annoying.

~~~

By complete happenstance, you needed to wash melted chocolate off your fingers from the candy bar you ate. The blood-chilling, heart-racing suspenseful plucky violin strings playing as the murderer walked into the room of a sleeping girl with a knife behind his back had nothing to do with your sudden absence.

~~~

“Just gonna–” You pointed at the bathroom and got up.

“I know what you’re doing,” Obito called after you, ever observant. “You’re leaving right when things get scary.”

“No, I’m not,” you shouted from behind the closed door.

Alone, Obito finished another beer to avoid acknowledging the murder happening on screen. For a while he was critiquing the inaccuracies. How the victim should be gasping for their last breaths, not screaming. The sound effect of a blade slicing through skin when it should be a pop. Too much blood in some areas, too little in others. It wasn’t real. He reminded himself again; it wasn’t real. But it was hard to remember it wasn’t real when you were gone, leaving him to fend for himself. That’s why he needed you beside him. To bring him into the present.

His mail carrier. His reluctant acquaintance. His friend. His best friend.

No–you were more. You had to be, because if you weren’t, he’d never forgive himself for losing the opportunity to call you the best thing that has ever happened to him.

~~~

It was a coincidence you paced in the bathroom until the music died down and the shrieks ceased.

Opening and closing the door behind you, you crossed your arms and prepared to sit for an average of seven to eight minutes until the next killing, but when you hunkered into place next to Obito, you knew you belonged there for longer.

It started cautiously. Escalating minute by minute towards the climax. First, fingertips brushed a gray sweatshirt. Next, they bent to catch the material between the forefinger and thumb. Curling more to take it into their grasp. To feel the person underneath shudder out a breath, and wince. In the movie, the girl with chin length brown hair awoke, but instead of her nightmare disappearing, he stood before her, and she released a blood-curdling scream.

All at once, you clutched onto Obito’s arm and he, in turn, closed his eyes to the chase scene, his painful grip on your thigh wrinkling your sweats where his fingers dug in. Your stomach flipped at the thrills overtaking you–the fright, the giggly rush of endorphins, the relief–but being so near, you discerned Obito’s stifled panting and alarming pulse.

You lifted your face from where you childishly ducked it into his shoulder and kept your tone light, asking, “Are you okay?”

“It’s.. bad memories,” he said, blinking rapidly at the image of the killer’s pool of blood oozing on his cabin wall.

“Oh! Oh my God, I’m such an idiot.” You sprang forward and paused the movie on the black screen with tiny white names scrolling by. For him, it could end on a good note. The little girl won. He didn’t need to see the after credits scene. “I’m so sorry, Obito. I wasn’t thinking, playing something so insensitive.”

He shushed you in a croaky voice, “It bothers me less than you think, but.. it’s better when you’re here. Easier to deal with. And it’s better when I’m here too, right? You’re less scared.”

A statement lost on two people who dare not confess to its accuracy.

“Yes. I’m less scared when you’re here.”

Obito seemed to be lost in his thoughts. Retrograding to his former self. Hunching into his chest, nodding subtly to something you couldn’t hear, tracing the edge of the beer can with his thumb. You weren’t sure he was listening, but after taking a few sips he spoke again. “Can we watch another movie together?”

Time was of no consequence when it came to comforting him. “Of course.”

~~~

Romantic comedy. That was the genre name even when it leaned heavily into the romance and the jokes didn’t land. Obito was under the impression these were your favorites, considering you knew all the cheesy lines by heart, but when your temple came into contact with his shoulder, he was surprised to find you asleep. Though, at the same time, he was more than happy to practice the butterfly-inducing venture of putting his arm around you without the pressure of judgment. He could always remove it before you stirred, anyway.

He was learning. At his own pace. This was the second movie where they showed this sort of gesture happening. It had to be romantic, his heart told him so, skyrocketing when he cupped your chin to help raise your head. A delicate moment, entrusting himself to maintain composure with your face tipped back and your available lips a fraction away from his. This was romantic, his fumbling told him so. The charismatic men in the movies made it look so effortless. So easy. Obito meant to lift you gently, but in his tipsy blundering, he shoved you, and upon teetering on falling in the wrong direction, he threw his arm around your shoulders in effort to reel you back to him.

A sea of metal cans glinted around the projector; it was no wonder you couldn’t keep your eyes open, and he couldn’t keep his urges in check.

He was a boy again.

Carefree, whimsy, and proud of his juvenile accomplishments.

Your head rested where he felt it belonged, in the pocket his arm created stretched in a protective hold over you, your cheek on his chest. If you were to smile, your lips would graze the scars of who he was. Obito Uchiha. No better than the horrors in the movies you proclaimed scared you, yet, here you were, gifting him the luxury of pretending he deserved a happy ending.

He was a boy again. Lonely in this world that didn’t want him. Pathetic in his ways of stealing affection. Grieving what he did not know.

But as you snaked your arm around his belly and gathered his sweatshirt into your fingers, you released a dreamy sigh despite being in close quarters with an unredeemable monster. He was a boy, a teenager, a young man, an adult exploring a brief glimpse into a better life. One he could not bear giving up on.

The handsome man in the romcom held his lady tight. Hands formed to her waist and foreheads together, swaying to music. Dancing in a lavish living room teeming with velvets and tapestries, alerting Obito to another hurdle between him and the suave man he wished he was. He didn’t know how to dance, much less swoon you over his scratchy hand-me-down couch or his creaky wooden floors. Not to mention, if you were to fawn over him like the lady was, you would be wise to his scarred body for the first time.

He broke out in a cold sweat. You tucked your legs under you and bound his shirt tighter, warning him of your rousing. Dread sloshed in the pit of his stomach. Not only did you have impeccable timing waking up during the explicit sex scene, he hadn’t come up with an explanation for why his arm was around you.

Thankfully, mercy was granted. Instead of accusing him of being a creep towards his assigned civil servant, you nuzzled harder at his solid chest and continued to sleep. This could not have been a finer outcome. In his bout of drunken unholiness, he polished the beer he was holding and set it on the side table, freeing his hand for better purposes. He slid his palm along your fist, cradling it. Slotting his pinky around yours and crooking it slightly. Almost holding your hand again. Smirking at the actor’s orgasm face plastered across his den. He may be enjoying himself, but Obito was elated beyond a quick release. He was the hero in his own movie.

“I just–! Felt the spark with you the first time we met,” the woman in the movie raved. Another running theme Obito noticed.

The spark. At first Obito questioned what they were talking about, what it felt like, and the importance of this innate sixth sense. Did it hurt? Was it obvious? Did he feel it the first time you met? Or the second?

Did one know when they felt the spark if they’ve grown accustomed to living with it day after day, slowly, deeply, like it was the next natural step in the relationship?

~~~

The old cabin stretched its bones and groaned; its two inhabitants inside mimicked its fuss and noises of working through drowsy disorientation. The room had been bathed in black for several loud ticks of the clock in the kitchen. After the credits ran their course, the projector defaulted to stand-by mode, flashing nothing but a logo in the center.

“Obito,” you shook the dozing man who was putting a crick in your neck. “‘Bito,” you huffed, rubbing his stomach until he cut his snore short.

He sucked in the drool threatening to pour over his bottom lip and lifted his head, confused as to what was going on. “Did I–?”

“You fell asleep on me.” Selling your complaint, you rolled your neck back and forth, groaning about the pain of his head slumping on top of yours when he nodded off. You put your best acting skills into raising your arms above your head and yawning.

Taking it as his out, he removed his arm from around you, leaving behind a trace of his warmth like a ghost of the hug you wanted it to be. He didn’t try to justify why it was there, he just acted like it never happened. “It’s really late, isn’t it?”

“Super late.”

“Will you be okay walking home alone?”

“I know how to protect myself.” You made chopping motions with your hands, somehow kicking the coffee table in the process. Both of you cringed at the clanging ruckus of cans falling over to the floor.

“You sure do.” He stood. “I’ll take you through the woods.”

“As an escort? I’m so charmed, Mr. Uchiha.”

He scoffed and hurried you out the door to the chilly night. Try as he might to regress into the grump he was, you knew better. You knew the weight of those arms lifting branches out of your way. You knew the tempo of his gait as he paved your path. You knew the flutter of his heart as he stole another glance at you. You knew the complexities of his fingers pointing out a spider web to avoid. Their strengths and weaknesses. How he revealed his fears in his brutal grip when he became vulnerable to his memories, and his kindness when locking pinkies in the midst of a tender love confession happening in the fake world of the movie reflecting in his eyes.

His treasured touch reserved only for you. And only when you pretended to be asleep.

At the forest’s edge a grassy cliff and train tracks divided your and Obito’s lives from one another. Tree roots wove under the earth where you waited alongside him, blowing out puffs of air fogging the dome of twinkling lights radiating from Konoha like a premature dawn. During your last not-date he said he’d never gone this far. Not a single step into the trimmed cliffside maintained by the odd landscaper who regretted their job toeing the line of what lies beyond the whispering boughs.

“Do you want to walk me to the top of the stairs?”

Obito’s posture stiffened. His Adam's apple bobbed with a visible gulp. Plunging and leaping from the stored breath he refused to release. One foot outside his reclusion, that’s what you asked for. One step towards the train tracks. Nothing to you, everything to him; and as you dragged your knuckles down his forearm, he was taking more than one step. Borrowing your courage to complete something people took for granted.

Frozen manicured blades of grass crunched. Lumber train tracks thudded under the treads of his sneakers. Icy metal burned his hands wrenched around the handrail at the landing atop his mountain. The city he helped raze to the ground now stood tall, grand. Crowded with buildings full of families resting in the morning hour.

“Wow,” he whispered.

“You did it, Obi,” you congratulated him, matching his quiet amazement. Screaming internally at yourself for nearly ruining his moment with a hug.

“It’s so different from when I was little,” he said. “Where do you live?”

You pointed to the eastern sector. “Over there. Tiny building, can’t see it from here. One bedroom, one bath. Way too much rent.”

His face changed, losing his youthful awe for discovering what existed outside his secluded exile. “Is Dai waiting for you?”

“He’s probably asleep.”

“Mm,” he answered. A reserved response alluding to his white-knuckled grasp relinquishing the hand rail. Squaring his shoulders and addressing you with restraint present in his nuances. Clenching his fist, flexing his jaw, working through the morals which kept him from acting upon what was obvious.

You gazed up at him with hopeful, wanton desire in your eyes. This is where he should lean in and kiss you. It happened in both movies he watched. The man walked the woman home and kissed her goodnight. You weren’t exactly home, but there was no way he’d miss the hint. Your expectation was evident.

He did not take the hint.

“We forgot to pack up your projector and movies,” he said.

“Oh, it’s okay. I can get them some other time. Feel free to watch whatever you want.” You rocked onto your toes, throwing in a giggle at your forgetfulness. Adorable as you could be for him. Swishing your hips like the pretty girls in the movies. Still.. he nagged you about your well-being instead of taking the damn hint.

“I didn’t know how long your walk home was. Will you be safe?”

Again, you shrugged at the cityscape. “I’ll be careful. Do you normally worry this much about me–?”

“Yes.” It came sharp and without complexities. “Yes.”

“Don’t.” You smothered your months-long yearning and clapped your hand over his bicep in a friendly manner. As friendly as one could get when imagining their best friend’s lips on theirs. “But you can watch me go if you want.”

“I will,” he stated, “to make sure you’re safe. I’ll stay here until you’re home.”

“What a gentleman.”

You waited. And waited. He did nothing, so you left. Stair by stair, reminiscing on your night. Walking to your apartment unaccompanied. Ignoring the spike in awareness nagging you to fix your eyes on the top of the southern staircase at the person who haunted you most. Closing your door and locking it to symbolize pushing Obito out of your mind. Though, it never worked.

“Daidai!” Dai scurried from the bedroom and performed figure eights around your ankles, tangling your legs as you shuffled to the bathroom to run a makeup wipe over your face before crashing in your bed.

“Sorry I’m home so late,” you said in breathless earnest, grunting at his little paws stabbing your ribs, climbing on top of you to lay on your chest. “I cracked the code, I think.” You cupped his cheeks and doled out circles of pets along his scent glands. Your lungs vibrated with the intensity of his purrs. “Obito doesn’t like me after all.”

Dai gave a cranky meow.

“Or maybe he does! I don’t know. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. He’s just so–so–ugh!”

Dai gave a more positive meow and headbutted your nose.

“I know you missed me, Buddy, I’m sorry,” you said, halting your habitual rant. Once Dai acclimated to being an indoor cat, he became extremely affectionate and attached at your side. Ripping your heart to shreds when you had to leave him for such long periods of time. “It’s funny, if you were Obito’s cat, I’d see you all the time.” Between your normal route, your extended route from your coworker on maternity leave, and keeping up with who you owed what favors to, you were hardly home. Your free time was spent at Obito’s. “If you were Obito’s..”

Obito was lonely. You were too, but less so. Daidai needed a true caretaker. Someone who could dedicate their time to showering him with the love he truly deserved.

“If you were Obito’s cat..”

~~~

“Thanks for helping me out.”

Kakashi shifted the bag of litter higher on his shoulder and climbed the stairs ahead of you, smiling. His mask obscured the pleasantry, but his warm eyes told the story. “I was more than happy to assist you,” he said. “In actuality, I’ve been searching for a purpose to disappear from my desk all afternoon.”

“It’s a wonder you have your job with how often I pass by the creek and see you taking a nap under a tree.”

“Ha, you’ve caught me, huh?” He tilted his head. “Being Hokage isn’t a particularly difficult job, but I enjoy my time away when I can. Though, Shikamaru usually finds me before I fall asleep.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What did you tell him you were doing to be away this long?”

The sudden lack of eye contact was apparent.

“Oh, you know.. Aiding a damsel in distress, or something.”

“Am I the damsel, or is Obito?”

“Either!” he surmised after a pause. “I haven’t been able to escape my invaluable duties of signing papers approving of a third ramen shop on the main street long enough to visit Obito in a while. I’m looking forward to seeing him.”

“When was,” –Dai meowed from his carrier– “I know, Buddy, just a little longer,” you babied him, then spoke to Kakashi, “When was the last time you saw Obito?”

Kakashi turned at the last landing at the top of the staircase, allowing you a brief glimpse at the switch in his demeanor. Losing the sagely crinkles of joy at the outer corners of his eyes, a glint of time flying by in his dull stare. “Months? No. Nearly a year.”

“Oh.”

“Tell me,” he continued, starting on the footpath, “has he said anything concerning in front of you?”

There was no need to clarify. “He.. has. But I think his mental health has improved since the last time you visited. It’s too bad you’re coming here so late into the season, we’ve already covered the roses for the winter. He takes such good care of them. And yeah, he still struggles with finding a purpose, but I think me coming around so often gives him something to do.” You sighed fondly at the memories. Until your brain caught up with your mouth. “Not like that! Uh, anyway. He doesn’t sleep in anymore. He takes care of his house, and himself, without me asking. He cooks meals for us. I have lunch or dinner with him most days. Or both. I really shouldn’t because it affects my sleep schedule, and interferes with taking care of my own apartment–oh yeah, and it cuts into my routes, but I just can’t help it. I like hanging out with him. Obito has grown so much, I think he’s responsible enough to take care of Daidai. They need each other. And in a weird way, they’re a lot alike. They’ll be a good fit.” You almost bumped into Kakashi, who stopped mid stride. “Lord Sixth?”

In truth, he had been giving you a strange look for the entire last leg of your journey to Obito’s front yard. “Did you say you have lunch and dinner with him?”

“Yeah, totally! He’s really good at cooking and likes teaching me. We pick vegetables from his garden and he shows me how to slice them up. I have so many cookbooks from when I was taking care of him over the summer, it’s nice to choose recipes together. We talk–well, I talk–while we eat. We’ve learned a lot about each other, and yeah.” You hiked up your shoulders and moved past Kakashi before he could analyze your toothy grin. “He’s nice to be around once you get to know him. Even if he does grimace when I mix wet and dry ingredients together in the same bowl.”

“I was aware you came here often over the summer, but you still take those stairs every day during or after your mail route?”

“Yes, sir. So if you’d like to build me an elevator, I’d appreciate it.”

“Duly noted.. Er, are we not going through the front?” Kakashi asked as you veered off course to the side of the cabin, stepping over beds of reedy plants laying dormant until next spring.

“It’s usually locked. I always go through the back.” Resituating the bag of dry cat food on your hip, you opened the door without knocking and placed what you could on the kitchen counter. He lifted his eyebrows at this piece of information.

“No knocking?”

“He doesn’t mind. Obito!” You shouted his name, but no answer came. “Maybe he took a nap. Obito, wake up!” You called louder, entering the den with Kakashi standing beside you, peering into the hallway. “You have two special guests who have come to see you! Kakashi and Dai are waiting.”

The bathroom door ripped open.

Obito loomed taller than he had any right to be. Glistening from his shower. Tanned skin billowing with steam from the heat of his glare. Slick white hair stuck to his forehead. Harsh scars running rivers over his abs with lustrous droplets winding their way to the too-small towel slung loosely about the muscular contours above his hips, stunning his audience with a peek at the thick black hair trailing his stomach to the arousing flash of his upper thigh. He was posed forward like a threat, jaw set to intimidate, hands wrenched into fists. Ready and willing to fight for what was his.

His chest heaved with rage. Obito looked from you, to Kakashi, to the luggage in your hand. He blinked. He looked from your gaped mouth, to his friend’s coy expression, to the oddly shaped luggage in your hand, and the yellow eyes beyond its mesh paneling.

Kakashi spoke first, “I didn’t realize you two were this close.”

You slapped your hand over your eyes and spun around. “Put some damn clothes on!”

Obito yelped and shut the door.

You apologized to Kakashi. He just laughed it off, which was somehow worse than his teasing and did not help ease the tension when Obito reemerged wearing a pair of light wash jeans, a black shirt, and red flannel. Exceedingly handsome. Approaching you with a lightness in his steps, a friendliness to his aura. Confident. Like a great weight had been lifted from his chest.

“Sorry, I, uhm, thought there was an intruder and I–” Obito tsked at Kakashi’s egregious chuckling. “I really did. But.. Dai?”

The airy gentleness in his tone when focusing on you was one you’d never forget. Gone was the hoarse, scratchy voice he normally asserted when grousing at Kakashi. When looking at you, he softened. You were infatuated with both versions, naturally, but it was flattering being the special one he let his guard down for.

You knelt, and he did too, crouching to his knees in front of the carrier you placed on the floor. “Do you want to meet him?” Obito nodded. His face was blank from emotion. You dragged the zipper framing the door and his splendid lips parted with a gasp.

Out sauntered an orange tabby with one eye and three legs.

“This is Daidai, the stray cat I rescued a few months back.”

“Dai,” he whispered the name for the first time without anger. “This is Dai.”

Keen, Dai sniffed his surroundings, bobbing his head and twitching his tail, getting a feel of this new place with only one step out of the comfort of his carrier, pupils growing to big black lakes taking in the crowd of humans. Cautious, he swiveled his ears, listening to you instruct Obito on how to coax a grumpy cat like him, but your directions were cut short. Daidai plowed into his awaiting fingers. Rubbing his cheeks back and forth, driving them into the wood floor and trapping his knuckles, forcing Obito to pet him until he was satisfied.

“Ow,” he said.

“Yeah, he’s a cuddle bug when he wants to be.”

Obito made the mistake of sitting with his legs crossed. Also known as the perfect position to display an available lap for a cat to curl into.

Dai’s wobbly balance was endearing, earnings ‘aww’s from around the room. He plodded in a few circles on Obito’s calves to knead him into the ideal bed and laid down in a purring heap. Flumping like the chubby king he was, nuzzling into the warmth. Though, Obito was less than excited for the orange cat hair clinging to his clothes, muttering, “His claws hurt.”

You unhooked them from his pants leg. “It’s called making biscuits. It’s a sign he’s happy.” He snorted at that.

Petting the base of Daidai’s tail, the backs of your fingers brushed Obito’s stomach through his shirt, drawing his gaze away from the cat, to you, who was leaning into his arm.

“I’m not home a lot,” you spoke as gingerly as your touch. “Dai deserves more attention than I can give him. He’s older. A little grumpy, but a sweetheart, too. Once he trusts you he wants to be at your side all the time, and.. he already trusts you. He eats wet food for breakfast and dinner, and likes a bowl of dry food to be out for him to graze at whenever he wants. His litter box needs to be cleaned once a day. I brought all his favorite toys and scratching posts.” It was your greatest act of restraint to refrain from kissing his scarred cheek smelling of aftershave. “Can you take care of him for me?”

He uttered his answer as if the wind were knocked from him. “Yes.”

You may have responded with gratitude. Maybe you nodded, thanked him, and pinched your arm to see if you were dreaming; you don’t know, the pleasantness of his face was a reverie in itself.

However, in reality, Kakashi observed you two lock gazes and stare into each other’s eyes like two ripe lovebirds on their first date for an agonizing amount of time without committing to something more entertaining. It was as wholesome as it was awkward.

“So,” Kakashi cleared his throat.

“Right!” You flinched, remembering there was a third person in the room. “I’ll go find a spot in the bathroom and set up the litter box.” Collecting the aforementioned items from Kakashi, you scurried out of the den, dropping the bag of litter in the hallway not once, but twice, before he could convince you to come back.

“Well.. Okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s good to see you, Obito.”

Meekly, he responded in kind, “It’s good to see you, too.”

Kakashi folded his legs under him and sat next to Obito, holding out his hand out for Dai to smell. His Highness turned his nose up at the musty canine scent, then accepted a few scratches between the ears, anyway. “How have you been?”

How could one summarize how one has been in an entire calendar year to a friend who felt like a stranger?

“Good, I guess.” Obito straightened up and rolled his shoulders. “You?”

“Busy.” It wasn’t an excuse, but it sounded like one.

“Figured as much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Obito said. “You’re Konoha’s Hokage and I live out here in the woods. You’re busy. It happens.” No malice was meant, yet the sting hurt all the same.

Kakashi withdrew his hand to his lap and sighed into his chest. Lackadaisical, lazy, unbothered. That’s what he appeared to be when he put up his shield. And he may be those things, but they did not account for the overwhelming amount of guilt slowing him down, causing him to sleep at his desk, to lose time reminiscing on where he went wrong, missing what he once held dear.

Shaking his head, a grayed silver hair bounced against his forehead as he jerked his chin in the direction of the bathroom. “You two seem to get along well.”

Obito sneaked a glance at him from under his lashes. “Yeah, she’s nice.” He used his mangled hand of healed scars and Hashirama’s cells to trace the edge where Dai’s own right arm was amputated. “I’ve told her some of my past, but she doesn’t know why I look like this. She never asked. She’s kind like that.”

Doing his due diligence to steer the conversation away from the areas of Obito’s life which ended in disaster, Kakashi surveyed the abundance of art covering the walls. “You’ve certainly decorated the place since I last came by.”

It’s funny, Obito had grown used to the grandma style decor after a while. He’d hardly noticed it anymore. In fact, he couldn’t remember when you dressed up the dining table in the ugliest floral needlepoint tablecloth he’d ever seen. There’s no way he would’ve approved of it, even if he did think the colors were complementary, and the handiwork was truly masterful, and there was a particular rose he ran his pinky over when you both reached for the butterknife and grabbed hands on accident. “It’s all her stuff,” he mumbled. “She kept bringing it over the summer when I was sick. Felt like I had no choice but to keep them since she was doing so much for me.”

“It makes your place look lived in. Like a home.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “It does.”

From the unlit hallway, you made yourself known, attracting the interests of both men by saying, “Litter box is ready to go. Kakashi, did you want to stay for dinner?”

His stomach rumbled. “If that’s alright with you two.”

Obito rolled his eyes. “Of course it is.”

You cheered, “Of course it is!” After a pause you squinted in thought. “What should I make?”

“I have enough leftovers in the fridge from last night’s dinner if you want to heat them up on the stove,” Obito said and turned to Kakashi. “If leftovers are okay.. Or we could make something fresh. Or..” Poor Obito, he’d never had to entertain multiple guests before. He was working himself up into a worry over the smallest things, glancing from you to Kakashi, imploring one of you to make a decision for him.

“I’m just happy to eat anything that’s cooked for me,” Kakashi said.

“Leftovers is it, then! And Obito?” He blinked at you. You clasped your hands in front of you and swayed your hips cutely, pouting your bottom lip. “Can you start a fire for me? I’m cold.”

He was up and throwing logs onto the metal grate before Dai could land on his feet.

~~~

Night fell early. Tips of evening sun fanned above the bottle brush pine trees, bidding the mountain farewell too soon after rising. You were sitting on the floor at the coffee table, your bowl of soup half empty, a spoon on its way to your mouth forgotten about mid-air, besotted by the rekindling friendship between the two men on the couch.

“Did he ever–” Kakashi laughed. “Did he ever tell you about the old granny panties he stole?”

“Shut up!” Obito begged, face in his hands.

“He swears he was hanging up some old lady’s laundry, but when I passed by her house on the way to team sparring–which he was late for, might I add–he was running at me with them on his head, yelling about birds or something.”

Obito revealed his burning red cheeks. “I told you,” he enunciated. “While I was hanging them up there was a big gust of wind and they fell off the clothes line and landed on my face, and yes, I screamed, which startled the mockingbirds into diving-bombing me! You know what? I’m really regretting you being here.”

You patted Obito’s knee twice. Smoothing your hand over the slope of his thigh and leaving it there after the final consoling gesture. “Aw, it’s okay, Obi. I still like you even if you do steal old lady’s under–”

“Hush it.” The playful ferocity in his narrow-eyed glare sealed your coquettish lips. “How about I tell you the story of Kakashi catching a kunai with his left asscheck.”

“Still have the scar too!” Kakashi quipped.

The rest of dinner was shared rotating stories, each of you taking a turn to reflect on the silly things in your lives which used to be tremendous deals at the time, now serving as mindless fun. Obito knew most of yours–a byproduct from how much time you spent together–but he nodded at the appropriate beats and added tidbits to Kakashi about your coworkers to fill in the gaps you left out. To someone else this may seem boring. Not to Obito. He earned the right to know you better than anyone else. Besides, your gracious hand on his leg when he spoke was more than enough motivation to participate.

Winding down the party, Kakashi hooked a finger around the folds of fabric gathered around his neck and slipped his mask over the lower half of his face. You understood the cue and stopped fiddling with the hem of Obito’s jeans and pushed yourself to your feet, rubbing the aches you collected from sitting on the floor for so long. A third chair for the dining table was next on the house’s list of needs.

“I’ll take that,” you said as you stacked Obito’s bowl and spoon on top of yours, rounding the back of the couch to add Kakashi’s to the teetering tower balanced in your palm.

You spun to take them to the kitchen when Obito reached over and caught you by the cardigan. A small latch and tug at your sleeve for an hour, it felt, with how long you waited for his eyebrows to unfurrow and for him to speak in that gossamer voice he manifested only for you. It was so gentle, Kakashi held his breath.

“Don’t wash them by yourself,” Obito said, barely above a whisper. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

One did not require a trained eye to see Obito’s fingers skim the curve of your palm, nor the adoring light you regarded him in when he made sure to include you in stories from their youth, welcoming you into their old friendship like you welcomed them to the home of your heart.

“Take your time,” you requested of him and walked away. Obito watched you leave, engrossed in your movements until you left his sight, and even then, he immersed himself in your shadow cast outside the kitchen doorway.

Icha Icha did not compare. The insurmountable reverence passing over Obito’s face far eclipsed Jaraiya’s poetry. Lewd rhymes ending in titillating adventures held no candle to his friend’s unguarded expression.

“Have you thought more on your future?” Kakashi asked.

It was clear from his reflexive scowl he knew where this was going. “No. I haven’t.”

“Not even with–”

“Don’t.” Obito ended the discussion before it began. He closed off his body language from further investigation and fixated on the fire, daring it, too, to prod into the dark place it did not belong.

The mood flipped to the bleakness of Obito’s outlook on life. The mismatched hands he wrung were not souvenirs of his past, they were his future. Marked for eternity by his mistakes. The rough palms he wiped on his jeans were not from the honor of protecting people, they were the result of manual labor to keep himself fed. The white hair he combed through was not the fruit of growing old, with his scars acting as merry wrinkles from an endless amount of smiles, it was all shit. All a disservice to those he cared about most.

He wanted more. He craved more. By the searing light of hope at the end of the tunnel, he needed more.

Yet, his brain mocked him.

Antsier and antsier, Obito fidgeted, until at last, he broke. He used his thumb and index to pinch the bridge of his nose out of desperation to alleviate his throbbing headache and confessed, “I thought Dai was her boyfriend.”

Kakashi slid his gaze to the napping cat on the coffee table, then back to Obito. “You’ll have to explain that one to me.”

Expelling an exhaustive sigh at his own cowardice, he clarified, “Every time she came over she’d talk about “Dai this” and “Dai that.” Never once did she say he was a cat. When she’d leave me to go home early, she’d say she needed to feed Dai. I thought that meant she was having dinner with her boyfriend and didn’t want me to know.”

“Do you normally think someone would phrase having dinner with the loved one as “having to feed them?””

Obito groaned. “I know how stupid it sounds. You don’t have to rub it in.”

“On the bright side, now you know she’s single, so why not make a move?”

“Because–because.. I can’t.” He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I just–can’t.” Bowing forward, he curled his shoulders in to make himself as small as possible, picking at the flaky skin around his fingernails, focusing on anything but the impending doom swelling in his chest making it impossible to breathe through the tightness in his throat.

“Why not?” Kakashi asked delicately, keeping his voice below the sound of the running faucet. “It’s obvious she likes you as more than a friend, and you’ve devoted yourself to the very ground she walks on. Why not give it a chance?”

With the exact, nagging question he wanted to avoid being asked, everything crashed.

Obito bit back the pained noise escaping past his gritted teeth. The type of whimper a man made when struck with the fears he swore he’d never confront.

Emotions surged. His shoulders shook in bursts, as did his hands. He sniffed and turned away to swipe his knuckles under his eyes, pretending he could hide it. Once in denial, twice to fight the truth, a third and fourth time when he accepted this punishment was his repentance. He scrubbed the harsh cotton of his sleeve over his cheeks until they were matching scarlet and pleaded with Kakashi to understand the water lining his lashes. To drop this once and for all. “She deserves better.”

“And what does that mean to you?”

He spoke towards the armrest. “She deserves to live in the city. To settle down and start a family. To have a house, and a yard, and children that get to live a normal life. She deserves to find someone who can take her out on dates. Who can show her off and walk her down the aisle in front of her friends. Someone who s-she can love and–f-fuck.”

Who knew a fractured person could wallow so deep in their own misery they could not see the shattered pieces for what they were.

Kakashi closed the distance and laid a warm hand on his friend’s back. “Has she ever actually mentioned these things to you?”

“No.”

“Then have you considered these things you imagined as her dealbreakers never crossed her mind in the first place?”

“No, but..” Kakashi considered cutting him off, but Obito was moving more frantically now. Shrugging and looking around desperately. Slapping his hands on his thighs and lifting them, utterly hopeless. Stressed and at his ends frustrated with Kakashi’s lack of comprehension.

With effort, Obito managed to reign in his voice to a seething timbre, looking him directly in the eyes. “I can’t do anything for her, Kakashi.” His tears spilt to his shirt without care. “I can’t get a job. I can’t provide for her. I can’t leave my fucking house. I can’t visit her in Konoha. I can’t give her anything she wants. Don’t you get it? Don’t you think I want to spend every fucking second of my day paying her back for everything she’s done for me, but can’t? She doesn’t deserve my future. She’s too good a person for that.”

“She doesn’t care about those things.” He didn’t say it as a question to guide Obito to the correct answer; he was direct, intending to get through to him. “Don’t you get it? She doesn’t come here nearly every day, twice a day, with or without delivering you mail because it’s her job. She does it to see you, because she wants to spend every second of her day being your friend because that’s all you’ll let her be, and still, she convinces herself she’ll be okay with that because, at the very least, she gets to watch you grow into the man I knew you would become.”

“Kakashi–” he choked on a sob.

“Give her a chance. Give yourself a chance. You both deserve to know the potential to be happy.”

“I can’t.”

“Try.”

“She’ll say no.”

“She won’t.”

For minutes, they argued in the bathroom whilst Kakashi expressed regret for missing out on Obito’s progress under your care, and Obito washed his face with cold water, pondering the potential of his words.

Obito looked at his lifelong friend in the mirror. Someone who witnessed the worst parts of who he was as a human and forgave him. Someone who had more mercy than necessary. Someone who praised his smallest victories like he wasn’t a fuck up. Someone similar to.. you.

He imbued his voice with the raw sincerity he felt in his heart upon realizing his house was full, full of guests come to see him specifically. “It was good seeing you again, Kakashi.”

~~~

Kakashi’s head, shoulders, and hand poked from around the kitchen door frame. “I’m taking off,” he said. “The food was delicious; don’t let Obito take all the credit, he already admitted you baked the bread.”

Bubbling with laughter, you waved, sending a cascade of water dripping from your yellow dishwashing gloves. “Take care, Kakashi. And please,” you emphasized with a truer smile, “Please come by again. I think it really helped him.”

Nodding, he agreed, “I will,” and left.

The front door opened and closed. You picked up the cutting board Obito used earlier in the day and started scrubbing, passing the rag over the stained orange splotch in the center from a few weeks ago when you chopped more carrots than rabbits could dream of. You washed Obito’s spoon, his bowl; sloshing liquid in a trance, searching for his coffee mug, when you sensed a presence approaching you.

“Come to help me, Obi?” you asked, rinsing off a plate.

He didn’t respond, but you recognized the sound of his feet dragging, and the scent of his soap in your nose as he neared your side.

“I got most of it done already, but you can..”

His sleeve caressed your hair, alerting you in delightful tingles to his arm being draped along the shelf of your shoulders.

In the reflection of the midnight-black window, you watched him wrap his other arm around you. Weak at first, crossing it over your chest to your waist, the other rested behind your neck. He stood stock still. The grand scope of his embrace relaxed. Taking it in. Slowly. Deeply. Feeling you breathe against him. Learning the significance of your frame fitting into his. Indulging in his fantasy.

You were facing forward, he was turned to the side. His glassy-eyed stare was set above your head, boring into the clock above the stove. Keeping calm as the minute hand ticked by. Waiting. Waiting. Resisting the urge until.. until he gave himself permission.

He brought you in for the first hug he’d given since boyhood.

Euphoria bloomed. Giving into the visceral relief of him acting on his desires, of him submitting to you, of losing himself in the pleasure of his hands admiring you wherever he was allowed to. Overlapping his arms to pull you in. Tighter and tighter, digging your shoulder into his sternum.

“Thank you,” Obito murmured above you. You tipped back to study the marvelous way his mouth formed those words, and what a treat it was to be swept into the uncontrolled vulnerability of his actions. “For everything,” he finished as he lifted his chin, using the entirety of his palm to guide your head to the hollow space it created, tucking you against his chest. Entrusting you with the power you had over him.

Locked as one, he swayed you slightly. Rocking you, almost, in the echoey room away from the fire you depended on for warmth. Coping with the fact his stomach shouldn’t be this twisted in knots over hugging a friend. Just a friend. So deep in denial, he convinced himself you were just a friend.

The water on your gloves glided over the rubber to the metal sink you gripped to keep steady. You whispered as if he were an animal about to startle, “Do you want me to hug you back?”

He shook his head, messing up your hair sticking to his damp cheeks. “No,” he said. His fingers danced on your skin, increasing their limp strength upon his brain telling him this was wrong, that he should stop before he became too attached, that this was all he could have and he should be grateful for it. You may have been single, but it was obvious in your stance you did not wish to reciprocate. It was a harsh lesson he should’ve picked up on long ago. Kakashi was wrong about you. An unsurprising revelation, truly, and Obito felt stupid for believing it for the split second he considered you would settle for someone like him.

“No,” he repeated, on the verge of tears evident in his trembling. “I wouldn’t know how to let go if you did.”

“What if I’m okay with that?”

All tension left his body. His chest collapsed like the wind was knocked from him. “What?”

Tugging finger by finger, you removed your dishwashing gloves and placed them on the counter. With your head sitting on his chest at an odd angle, he realized you were looking at your reflections, making eye contact with him through the window. He roamed your expression with urgency, disbelieving the sight of your hands snaring his forearm.

Instead of rejection, he was met with your glorious face, encouraging and hopeful for more.

He could give you more.

He shifted his palm from the base of your neck, up, catching your hair between his fingers. Strumming his thumb along your cheek, he tested the newness of the sensation and craved reassurance, and in return, you closed your eyes and sank into the touch.

You gave him all the validation he needed.

Released to his vices, his yearnings escalated in desperation. His other hand climbed your body to join the one supporting your head; brazenly flowing over your hip, your waist, to the soft flesh of your shoulder, to your neck, grazing his knuckles along your jaw to your chin, tilting it up, and up until you rose to your tiptoes to meet him.

Your lips curled into the radiant smile you wore only for him.

His imposing stature faltered. Relying on you to keep him upright. Depending on you to support him as you reached into the abyss of his suffering and grasped whatever you deemed worth saving.

He cradled you to his throat. Your world went dark in exchange for the heat of his pulse covering your eyes. The bridge of your nose stroked the edge of his jaw, back and forth, nudging the palace beneath his ear and residing there, your new home. You held him. Winding your arms around one of his, confining him to your embrace with strength honed from carrying packages, and groceries, and gardening supplies up a mountain for the one man you sought refuge in day after day.

His arms crushed you beautifully. Your face was enveloped in the entirety of his palms, stretching the expanse of his obsession to touch you from your temple downwards, gliding his thumb along the curve of your lips. His chin rested atop your head, springing goosebumps where he pressed his nose to your scalp, and hummed a sigh along your skin.

Except, his fingers stopped moving. Then he breathed deeper, filling his chest, once, twice.

“Why do you smell like me?”

“I use the same shampoo as you. Conditioner and soap, too.”

A warm tear streaked down your temple.

Obito worshiped you for his epiphany by burying his lips in your wet hair, expressing his rejoice in simple words like delicate kisses to your forehead, “Of course you do.”

He was so close to performing the sign you were looking for. A hug was not a kiss. Dragging his lips across your skin was not a kiss. You could not assume them as so. You had to wait until he made the first move. It was too great a risk losing him if you confessed too soon.

But, none of that mattered at this moment. In his arms. In your arms. Praising you between the brows. Venerating him along the pale column of his neck. Both of you careful to disguise your true motives, to make the actions as small as possible, to have excuses at the ready if one were to ask..

Neither of you asked. Both of you too spineless.

~~~

At the top of the staircase, you descended a step, expecting him to stay on the landing to say his goodbyes, but of course, he was full of surprises tonight.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

Obito scanned the horizon and shrugged. It wasn’t so scary when you were here. “I want to.”

He joined your step, and took the next one of his own accord, eliminating some of your height difference. You sized him up and descended further than him, two steps this time. His ego accepted the challenge, moving past you, daring you to keep up.

And when you couldn’t keep up with his stride, you grasped his sleeve above the wrist and he waited. He waited for you to catch up, for you to shove his shoulder, for you to call him a jerk for being faster than you, and he waited until you were pointing out the buildings you were naming to close his eyes and imagine this was a future he could obtain.

At the halfway point, he stalled, and you stopped with him. He shrank away from the handrail to a nook in the mountainside protected by the stairwell where the city’s illumination did not reach. There was a noticeable lack of streetlights near this side of town. You managed your way home through the dilapidated houses on familiarity alone. The reason why this section of Konoha remained abandoned stood beside you, and he was well aware of his reputation, seeing the stark wilt he caused in person for the first time.

“Right here is fine,” he said, tugging you an irrefutable fraction closer to the alcove.

Your bad habit of swaying back and forth when given the opportunity to earn his attention reemerged. You slipped your fingers under his sleeve cuff and grinned. God, you’d never grow tired of flirting with him. When Obito blushed, it was as if your world was complete. More so, when he learned the importance of reciprocation and rotated to where his thumb and forefinger entwined yours, capturing you for a beat of his heart, and letting go.

You wondered if he also knew the importance of your left ring finger as he squeezed it. The tic of awareness in his eyebrows said he did.

“Remember to feed Dai again when you get back,” you whispered. There was no need to talk louder.

He placed his hands in his pockets, arms tight against his sides, shuffling his feet to expel his nerves. “I will.”

Silence clung to the space between your teeth. You didn’t want to leave yet, but couldn’t form a conversation to keep you there. Obito didn’t mind. He cherished the periods where you distracted yourself. How else would he get away with staring at your lips this long?

You yawned. “Well, it’s past my bedtime, I think. Early shift tomorrow.”

“Will you actually eat breakfast this time?”

“No promises.”

“Thought not.”

You forced what laughter came, and positioned yourself to leave. Granting him a second chance to sweep you off your feet, confess his undying love, and kiss you under the canopy of stars.

Regretfully, he did not stop you. He nodded goodbye and turned away, heading up the stairs to his cabin in the woods.

You curled your fingers inward from a wave he didn’t care to see and dropped your hand to your side, disappointed despite the tender embrace he gave you in his kitchen.

Feeling the weight of his indifference sagging your shoulders, you continued traveling in the opposite direction of him.

“Oh yeah,” he said. You spun around. “I meant to give Kakashi a letter earlier, but forgot.. I guess you’ll have to come by tomorrow.”

“Guess I will,” you drawled coyly, already smiling. “Lunch or dinner?”

“Both. I.. really want to see you again for both.”

No question at the end of his statement. No stuttering in his demand. No second guessing if he should ask for less. He knew what he wanted, and he posed it with the brave lift of his chin, thankful your eyesight could not discern how badly he was sweating at this distance.

“Both, huh?” You pretended to think about it. “I think I can do both.”

“Good. Uh, great, I mean. Bye.” He couldn’t leap up the stairs fast enough.

You giggled. “Bye, Obi.”

~~~

That night, Obito slid his arms through the cool, silken sleeves of his clan’s haori, tying it at his waist and climbing into bed. Draping himself in opulence tantamount to your own touch on his naked skin. He wore the collar cuddled to his face, inhaling the scent of him. And you. Sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks.

Taglist: @wind-becomes-lightning @hkzv @royaltywidows @uchihashisuii @hatakebabys @smutteedreams @revefantastique @skeletxncrew @nocturnal-onlooker @sharingangirl @theirony-of-choking-on-this-dick @candyopala @reeplaysvideogames @animepickle7 @mrsbakashi @glass-grapes @whatshernameis

#obito x reader #obito #obito uchiha #naruto #uchiha obito #obito smut #obito uchiha x reader #obito x y/n #obito uchiha x y/n #obito x oc #reader insert #akatsuki #x reader #naruto fanfic #naruto smut #naruto fanfiction #fanfiction

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inej-ruination-ghafa · 2 years

Text

PLAYING WITH THE BOYS

PART 4; YOUR MONEY DOESN'T MATTER

Warnings: swearing, mentions of cheating, mentions of character death, grief, allusions to sex, nothing major.

Summary: Robin hadn't expected to have such a heart to heart with him and now she was unsure of what to do.

Wordcount: 2.8k

Robin was sitting in her kitchen, drinking some water as she waited for Bradley to turn up when her 15 year old sister walked in.

They'd always been close despite their sixteen year age gap and shared everything with each other. She was only 9 when she'd heard of the man nicknamed Rooster who broke her half-sister's heart and only eleven when the accident happened that stopped her sister from flying anymore.

"You look nice, why are you all dressed up?" You got a date with a cute naval aviator?" She questioned, sitting down on the bar stool next to her. Amelia was right, Robin did seem a bit dressed up. Compared to her normal office-like attire, she was wearing a black jeans and a dark green corset top with her signature leather jacket over the top.

"I don't know what you're talking about Amelia," she said, taking another sip from her drink.

To make matters worse, the doorbell rang and before Robin had a chance to get there, Amelia had sprinted to the door, opening it up. She gawked at the attractive older man in front of her before turning around to look at Robin in shock.

"Hey Amelia, you probably don't remember me, it's Br-" he started and she cut him off.

"Bradley Bradshaw," she stated, welcoming him into the house, her mouth still slightly agape.

He looked like he had cleaned up as well for the night in a pair of blue jeans, his white tank top and a Hawaiian shirt over the top - although that is what he always seems to look like.

"Hey Rob," he said, a soft smile on his face as he looked over at her.

She picked up her bag, walking over, "I'll see you later okay 'melia," she said and her sister scrunched her face up.

"How late is this date going on for?" The girl asked as she looked between her sister and the attractive man in their hallway.

"It's not a date, I'm catching up with an old friend," she said, not seeing the way that Bradley's face sank at the word 'friend', "And I won't be home too late,"

The two walked out of his door and towards his car and she chuckled, "You still have this old thing," she said, running a hand over the door before jumping into the passenger's seat.

"We had a lot of fun in here didn't we?" He questioned with a chuckle.

She sighed, looking away from him and remembering all the times he had held her in the back as the sunset or the time she'd been bent over the hood in the seclusion of his garden. And then all the pain came flooding back in, remembering as she'd watched him drive off into the distance without saying a proper goodbye.

"I don't want to talk about that right now," she said.

He nodded, understanding her request as he began to drive. Amelia and Penny were watching from the window as the two began to drive off, not looking at each other.

"How much do you bet she'll bring him home tonight?" Amelia asked, turning to her mum.

"Amelia!" She exclaimed, shaking her head before looking out the window again, "Ten bucks,"

In the car, Robin and Bradley had made small talk about the mission, nothing deep and the air was tense and awkward. She recognised the road he was taking immediately and sighed.

"We're going to the hills?" She questioned, one arm resting on the door as she turned to look at him.

He nodded, smiling at her before continuing to focus his eyes on the road. He knew how much she loved the hills and the sight when the stars were out so he was hoping it would be easier to talk to her if she was in a familiar setting.

She sighed, "You mean the place you took me for our first date?"

"Well, second date. Our first date was at the small restaurant near the Hard Deck," Bradley stated, turning to look at her before the gravelled pathway forced him to focus on the road.

"I don't know if I'd call it our first date, but let's agree to disagree," she said as the car came to a stop.

They were the only ones in the parking lot at the top of the hill and she smiled as she looked out at the stars in front of her. Despite having lived here for the last three years, she hadn't come back to the place that held so much sentimentality.

She leant her head against her hand, looking out at the night sky, not even acknowledging his presence at the moment. From here she could see everything, the beach, the small cafes and restaurants, the hangars, it was all there.

Bradley just gazed at her. In the night sky with the moon being one of the only main lights to illuminate her face and he thought she was beautiful. He had missed this more than he would care to admit.

He wanted to reach out and tuck the hair away from her face and he wanted to brush the pads of his coarse fingers across her smooth skin like he used to do.

There were many things that she had always loved about him, one being his strange personality. He was stubborn and cocky but around her he showed his soft side. Everyone on base had noticed that, nobody daring to mention it to him despite how obvious it was.

They made polite small talk, about their jobs, their life, their family. Neither quite knew how to get back into the rhythm they had when they were both friends but were definitely getting there.

"So when did you move back here?" He asked, leaning back in the chair and looking over at her.

"Three years ago. Mum had bought the bar, I'd just gotten my job at Top Gun and so I moved in with them again and it's been great," she explained, looking over at him.

In the moonlight he looked just like the boy from seven years ago and it hurt a bit but she would never admit that to him.

"You uh, you got a boyfriend around here?" He asked, trying to seem cool about it.

She just chuckled, "No, I've had a few in the last seven years. Didn't work out great," she explained, not going into detail about it, "I'm sure Rooster has been getting tons of ladies though,"

He laughed, looking over at her, "Oh yeah, tons but they didn't stay," he joked. Bradley was lying. He didn't want to tell her that although he had flirted with hundreds of women and slept with a handful of them, he wasn't able to date one. None of them had ever compared to Robin.

Every time he'd start dating a woman, or at least try to, he'd get scared. They weren't funny like she was or as confident or as annoying. They didn't like to watch cartoons on a Sunday morning like a child or like pineapples on pizza or play the sudoku game that their dad sends them to do any of the things Robin liked to do. None of them compared, not even a little bit.

The silence was awkward, neither of them knew what to say as they looked out at the sunset. They'd come here before when they were in Top Gun. It was always beautiful and it always ended with them making out.

"Why's you ghost me?" Robin blurted out, the words tumbling off of her tongue before she could stop them.

Bradley tensed up, unsure of what to say. How does one tell the girl of their dreams that they were too scared that they would end up like his father. How could he tell her that he didn't want to fall in love with her and have kids only for him to die and leave him in the same way his father did.

He let out a shaky breath, "What do you mean?" He asked back, turning to look at her.

Robin's face had gone red, a habit of hers whenever she was nervous or awkward. "I mean, we were doing so well. We spent five weeks together and then the whole next 6 weeks of summer when neither of us had any missing together here," she sighed, "I thought there was something between us,"

"There was," he stated.

She just scoffed, shaking her head, "Brad, you didn't answer any of my calls, you ignored me for a month so I gave you your space, I know you need it sometimes. So I called Maverick,"

"You called Maverick? About me?" He questioned, a look of genuine shock on his face.

"Yeah. He told me you had spent the last month at your mother's. So I drove 12 hours, over 800 miles from here to the other side of California to your house," she explained, tears welling up in her eyes.

Guilt overcame Bradley as he saw the girl he cared so much about get upset over something that he'd done. He regretted it now but he still doesn't see any other choice. It was easier if he broke her heart now then leaving her a widow in the future.

"You went to visit my mother?" The questions just kept coming as he realised her side of the story.

"Yeah, and I never made it there because I saw you and some pretty blonde walking down the street, your arm around her shoulders. So I left," she explained, biting her lip as she began to feel the tears welling up in her eyes.

"I didn't cheat on you," he stated, eyebrows furrowed together as he looked at her.

He couldn't believe that she had thought he'd cheated on her. They had broken up by that point and anyway, it was just a friend - one who he did eventually sleep with - but at the time they were just friends.

Robin scoffed, trying to discreetly wipe the tears from her eyes, "Yeah right, why don't I believe you?"

"I had my reasons, you've got to believe me that I did it so you would have a better life, one that wasn't with me," he explained, taking her hands in his. The soft touch of her hand against his made him melt slightly into her touch, just wanting to hold her forever.

To his surprise she didn't jerk her hands away, instead keeping them in his. "I would have been happy with you Brad, you didn't try," she stated, looking away from him for a second before looking back into his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, eyes guilty and full of regret as he wondered what his life would have been like if he'd just stuck it out.

Would they be married? With kids maybe? Would they have drifted apart amicably knowing that they'd tried?

"I just don't understand why, I think that's the only issue here," she said, pulling her hands back and placing them in her lap so she didn't have to feel the sickening sense of comfort she had from his warm touch.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

Bradley couldn't articulate his words properly. How do you tell your ex-girlfriend that you still love her after spending seven years apart?

He could still remember the day his father died when he was only small. His mother had collapsed on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably and he knew at that moment that if he was to be a pilot like his father, he was never going to be able to do that to someone that he loved.

It was silent after that. There were still so many questions left unanswered and so many things left unsaid but they had time to open up to one another again before the mission.

"I, uh, Maverick told me why you dropped out of being a WSO," he said, breaking the awkward silence by making it even more awkward.

"If you're here to tell me that it was an accident and that I should get over it, I don't want to hear it," Robin said, a bitter tone to her voice as she looked away from him.

Around 6 months after they had broken up, she still had no contact with him. She had been flying as the WSO with her best friend, Allana 'Lock' Mahoney, when the plane malfunctioned and the girl panicked. Despite both of their efforts to try to keep it in the air, they began to hurtle down into the mountains they had been training in. They had ejected but Allana had hit a tree on the way down.

When Robin had found her, the girl's head had been bludgeoned in and there was no chance of survival at all. She was dead on sight. Robin had broken her leg, something that had healed rather quickly but was a physical scar of the trauma she went through.

"Lock's death wasn't your fault," he stated and she sighed, shaking her head with a frustrated laugh.

"You don't understand. As a woman in this business, I have to work ten times harder than you do. When she crashed, she crashed because she was a woman who couldn't handle flying a plane," she explained, her voice raised.

Bradley had never thought about it this way, he'd always been the best of the best and although he knew the prejudice that the girls faced in this business, he had never thought about how it had affected her.

"I quit because I was scared but I also knew that even though I was cleared for her death, I would never be seen as a good pilot ever again," Robin was tearing up at this point.

"Come here," he whispered and he nodded, allowing him to pull her in for a hug.

She treasured the warmth of his touch and how the elated feeling hadn't gone away after all this time. She still found the same comfort in his touch and she assumed he felt the same by the tight way he held her, like he didn't want to let go.

She pulled back, allowing him to gently wipe the tears from her eyes before she recoiled, sitting back in her seat.

"I could have really used you then Brad," she said, pursing her lips together, unsure of what to say next.

"I'm sorry love, for everything," he said and she wanted to think that he was being truthful but she wasn't sure anymore.

"Please don't call me that," Robin stated. He had always called her that when they were together and even now she could still feel the butterflies in her stomach as he said that.

But she hated it.

She should hate him more than anything else in the world but she didn't. In fact, she had missed him. She missed running her hands through his hair at night, or the nicknames he'd call her. She missed it all.

They sat and talked until the sound of planes died out in the distance. They laughed together like old times and for a minute they both saw glimpses of the past and the future that they could have had.

Bradley swore under his breath as he checked his watch, not realising they'd been sitting there for four hours talking to one another.

"We've been here four hours!" He exclaimed.

"What!" She reached over, grabbing his wrist and reading the clock face, "Shit! My mums gonna be so mad," Robin looked over at him, a dumbfounded look on her face, "What are you doing stupid, drive!"

He chuckled, starting up the engine and beginning to drive back to her house.

When they made it back she jumped out, running to the door before turning round and looking at him. He had this peaceful smile on his face, one she never expected to see again but not she had she never wanted to unsee it.

"Thanks for tonight Brad, I really appreciate it," she said, flashing him a toothy grin before opening the door, waving goodbye before walking inside.

She sighed, leaning her head against the door as she allowed the giddy smile to appear on her face.

Amelia raised an eyebrow as she stood at the end of the hallway, looking at her sister, "So he's just a friend?" She questioned, putting the word 'friend' in quotation marks.

"Shut up," the older girl sneered, still unable to wipe the smile from her face.

Series Masterlist Part 5

A/N, This is the longest chapter I've done but I hope that you enjoyed it because I loved writing it. My exams have started again so the post may be a bit delayed but I'll try to get them up as soon as possible.

Taglist:

If you want to be added you can message me or send me an ask or just comment, I don't mind

@n3ssm0nique @sparrows-corner @littlewhiterose @serrendippity @clairejpg @marytvirgin @uglyratlmao @blessupblessup @daniekay7190 @ipractical-joker @sydneejean @storyteller-le @mmkkzz @theforevermorereject

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daenqyu · 4 years

Text

— they walk in on their crush changing

includes: bakugou, kirishima, todoroki, midoriya, and tamaki

warnings: kinda suggestive?? swearing

a/n: i saw multiple tiktoks about this and wanted to write something about it sooo yeah. some of them are a bit longer than others because i got carried away oops. hope you guys like it !!

( gif isn’t mine !! credits go to @orbital-audio )

bakugou katsuki:

listen, i feel like bakugou would act like he doesn’t care at all

but he’s definitely blushing and can’t look at you straight in the eye

he just wanted to let you know that since kaminari and mina forced him to help them study, you could come too

so he made his way to your dorm room while looking at his phone

and he doesn’t even knock so you’re quite startled

although you don’t blame him because he’s always hanging out in your room and vice versa

“hey we’re gonna have a study session later tonight, in case you wanna come” his eyes are glued to his phone as he talks, but you still feel embarrassed that he’s in the same room as you while you’re changing

after a few seconds go by with no response from you, he finally looks up from the device

“i’m talking to you-” the breath gets knocked out of him when he sees you’re in the middle of trying on different outfits

and apparently you were about to try a new one because you’re just in your freaking underwear

bakugou may be a lot of things, but he is not a pervert

so he’s quick to turn around to face the door, his eyes tightly shut even tho he can’t see anything as it is since you’re behind him

“you dumbass, don’t you know how to lock a fucking door?! is not that hard for fuck’s sake”

you almost want to laugh at the blonde’s state

you’ve never seen him like this before so you might as well tease him about it

“didn't your parents teach you it's impolite to enter a room without knocking first?”

oh he can hear the smirk on your face and he wants nothing more than to go up to you and wipe it off himself

but he knows you’re still in your underwear

and while it’s true he’s a gentleman, he’s also a man

seeing his crush in her underwear will most definitely get a reaction out of him

he curls his hands into fists by his side, jaw clenching because he knows you’re probably enjoying this

“just shut up and get dressed”

“is my room, i can stay like this if i want”

“put. something. on”

his tone annoys you

who the hell is he to tell you what to do?

“and what if i don’t want to?”

you’re just buffing of course, you’ve already put on one of bakugou’s shirt that you stole from him a week ago

his patience is running out

and he’s mad at himself because fuck, why does he have to like you so much?

if it was any other girl he couldn’t have cared less and would’ve just walked out

but it’s you, his crush

you’re so different from everyone else and it makes his blood boil because feelings are stupid and he should be focusing on becoming the number one hero, not some silly high school crush

“okay i'm dressed”

a sigh of relief escapes his lips as he turns around, but it doesn’t take long before his eyes are wide open as he takes in your figure

you’re wearing his shirt

it ends just above your mid thigh and it falls around your figure loosely, obviously too big for you

bakugou can feel butterflies in his stomach at the sight

why are you so pretty?

“what was that you were saying when you walked in?”

you’re so calm and collected, walking around with only his shirt on

normally he hates when people wear his clothes, but it looks so good on you he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed

“we’re having a study session tonight,” his voice is low and he fixes his gaze on the wall behind you. “and you can come too, if you want to that is”

“wait that’s a great idea, i’ve been falling behind on english recently”

he nods and you frown at his actions

sure bakugou can be quiet, when he’s not mad, but he looks rather…shy?

you smirk once again, knowing what this is all about

“don’t tell me the bakugou katsuki has never seen a girl naked before?”

“the fuck are you talking about?”

“well is either that or you like me because why else would you be so red right now?”

he groans when you say that

anyways he uhhh got tired of you not getting all the hints he’s been dropping and just straight up corners you against the wall

your heart is about to burst out of your chest at the close proximity and the feeling only intensifies when he smirks

he leans down, lips merely inches away from your own

“seeing as you’re not pushing me away right now, i say you like me too, dumbass”

well he’s not wrong soooo

you end up kissing after that✨

( gif isn’t mine !! credits go to its rightful owner )

kirishima eijirou:

oh boy, this poor baby

he would be the type to apologize around 100 times and even when you told him it was fine and that you didn’t care, he would still feel guilty

ok so what happened was you were getting ready for your date with kirishima

because yes, he finally asked you out and you couldn’t be happier with life at the moment

and he wanted to know how much longer you were gonna take since he was already done

but you wouldn’t answer his texts

spoiler alert: you were just showering but he was too impatient and also he just wanted to see you again hehe he’s so cute

anyways,,

he makes his way to your room and knocks on the door

it’s more of like a warning because he doesn’t even wait for a response, he just barges in

you had gotten out of the shower like 3 minutes ago and were in the process of drying your hair in the middle of the room, your back facing kirishima

“hey y/n how much longer do you think- shit!”

his voice scares you, but you don’t move because you know it’ll be worse if you do

so you stay frozen in your place

kirishima notices the droplets of water falling from your hair and down your spine before slowly falling down the curves of your-

he flushes completely, his face now matching his dyed hair perfectly, and he turns around with both of his hands covering his eyes

“i’m so so so sorry! that was so unmanly of me. i should’ve just waited until you texted me, but i missed you and wanted to see you so i came over and didn’t wait for an answer and then i saw you and oh god you’re naked and-”

“kirishima,”

he shuts up when he hears your soft voice calling his name

“yeah?”

“calm down”

after that he just stays quiet, trying to calm the erratic beating of his heart and not let his imagination run wild

you should be the one that’s flustered because your best friend and crush just saw your bare ass

but if anything, kirishima’s the one who feels like he’s about to faint from seeing so much skin

he thinks it’s really unmanly of him to see you naked without your consent so he’s on the brink of an existential crisis

meanwhile, as kirishima rethinks all of his life choices, you finish drying your hair and continue to put on your outfit, knowing kirishima wouldn’t turn around any time soon

he’s still facing away from you even when you’ve finished dressing up

you giggle, thinking about how cute he is before tapping his shoulder

“you can look now, kiri”

even with your permission, he’s still hesitant about his movements

he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything so that’s why he genuinely doesn’t know what to do

kirishima turns around slowly, eyes now focused on the floor

“i’m really sorry about that, y/n. i didn’t mean to i swear and i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable but-”

“kiri, i’m not mad at you”

“you’re not?”

“of course not, i know it was an accident”

well thank god because he wouldn’t forgive himself if he made you upset

“besides, you were eventually gonna see me naked”

it was a joke

supposed to be

but kirishima whips his head your way and his eyes almost pop out of their sockets

a part of him is shy sure, but the other part wants to run laps after hearing you say that

“well yeah but that’s different…” he scratches the back of his neck nervously and your heart swells for the boy in front of you

he really is so sweet

he just wants you to be completely comfortable around him

how could you not be in love with him?

“how about we forget this ever happened, i finish getting ready, and then we go on our date? hm?”

he nods eagerly after hearing you say that, if you’re happy then he’s absolutely content

you smile at him before standing up on your tip toes and leaving a chaste kiss against his cheek

of course he blushes again

he’ll never get tired of your cuteness

or you in general

but this time he’s more confident when he pulls you to his chest in a tight hug

“the view was really nice by the way”

“kirishima!”

“what? i'm just saying you should be proud”

“you’re so stupid”

“stupidly in love with you that is”

he’s got a dumb smile on his face after he says that

and it only widens when you take his hand in yours to sit him down on your bed

yup, he’s head over heels for you

( gif isn’t mine !! credits go to its rightful owner )

todoroki shouto:

out of the five of them, he’d DEFINITELY be the most chill about it

sure, he’d still feel embarrassed and what not

but he wouldn’t make such a big deal about it

simply because he doesn’t want to make things awkward between you two

so he decides it’s best if he just keeps acting like he normally would

you texted him to come over so you could watch some movies together

and he had some homework to do but it’s not like he was gonna pass up on the opportunity of spending quality time with you

unlike the other first years,

todoroki actually knocks and waits for your response

because he has manners, period.

“come on in!”

you said it was okay to come in

so why the hell are you in the middle of changing shirts?????

he wastes no time in closing his eyes

refusing to keep looking at you when you probably don’t even know he’s watching

“um y/n?”

“yes?”

“what are you doing?”

“i’m changing, isn’t it obvious?” your chuckle makes his cheeks heat up

was this amusing to you?

because he was seconds away from having a heart attack

however he doesn’t show it

instead, he just continues to keep his eyes closed while trying to think about literally anything else except your bare skin

key word: trying

because he can’t seem to get the image of your clothed breasts out of his mind and he thinks he’s about to go insane

he also scolds himself because a gentleman shouldnt do that

but you don’t seem to care at all and that confuses him so much (???

“why do you have your eyes closed?”

“are you done changing”

“yeah”

when he opens his eyes again you’re sitting down on your bed, laptop placed in front of you as you scroll down on netflix

now fully dressed

he lets out a sigh of relief before clearing his throat and sitting down next to you

and he thinks he’s being slick and smooth

but he’s not

he’s actually almost completely stiff

and when you subconsciously brush your knee against his, he flinches

you frown at his reaction

“are you okay?”

“yeah, why do you ask?”

“because you’re acting weird”

“am not”

“you are”

the banter goes on for a while until you finally figure it out

the way his eyes occasionally look down on your chest only to quickly look away with a blush on his cheeks it's what gives him away

“wait, are you embarrassed just because you saw my boobs?”

cue todoroki wanting to get the hell out of your room

“i’m not embarrassed”

“your blush says otherwise, todoroki”

he doesn’t know what to say afterwards so he just sits there with a pout on his pretty lips and his eyebrows furrowed

he’s so shy and cute🥺

“if you want to, you can take your shirt off so we’ll be tied”

your tone is teasing as you continue to scroll on your computer, not really giving much thought to what you said

except you forgot todoroki takes everything quite literally

the grin falls from your lips as soon as you see todoroki, indeed, taking off his shirt

“w-what are you doing?!”

“you said we need to be tied”

“todoroki, that was a joke!”

the roles have been reversed because now you're the one who’s all flustered and looking away from him

he blinks once, then twice before smiling at you

“now who’s being shy?”

“i- shut up and watch the movie”

( gif isn’t mine !! credits go to its rightful owner )

midoriya izuku:

he would die

not literally duh

but he’d want to disappear right then and there

you know that one scene where hatsume is pressed up against him and he blushes a shit ton and is just like “b-b-boobs”?

well yeah he’s like that

except he can barely talk because of how embarrassed he is

he’d also, like kirishima, apologize a lot

he literally just feels like he committed a crime

and you’re like “midoriya, it’s not that deep”

but he’s just upset with himself

you had told him earlier that you needed some help with your homework

and since he’s such a wonderful friend, he didn’t hesitate to tell you that he’d be more than happy to help

so now he’s happily walking to your room because he loves study dates with you

even tho they’re not dates at all

but still

he loves them

especially whenever you get a question right and you just look up at him with big puppy eyes, waiting for him to praise you

and he does

because you deserve it

you work so hard and he admires you for that

ok BAcK to the point,,,

(i’m sorry i just love this man so much, he makes me so soft)

here’s the deal

midoriya knocks on your door right?

but you don’t hear it because you’re blasting music on your speaker while singing your heart out

so he lets himself in

tho he wants to run back out when he sees your naked back is facing him

you’re changing; that’s the first thing he notices

the second thing he notices is that you’re standing in front of a mirror

and you’re not wearing a bra

he yelps before turning around and you jump because you hadn’t noticed him

“izuku? what are you-”

“i’m so sorry y/n! i didn’t mean to invade your privacy like this a-and i didn’t know you were changing and so i opened the door and then i saw you and oh god you’re not wearing a shirt which isn’t bad you know, i m-mean i'm not saying you look bad because ha believe me you don’t but-”

“oh my god dude, would you relax?”

you laugh as you finish putting on your hoodie

he frowns, you’re laughing? in a situation like this?! are you okay???

“again, i’m sorry and it’s okay if you want me to go because it’s weird and i don’t want you to feel uncomfortable because of me so-”

“ok izuku, first of all stop talking,” he quickly shuts his mouth, still facing the closed door so you don’t see his tomato-like cheeks. “second, turn around,” you place your hands on his shoulders to make him look at you and he tenses at the touch, but turns around anyways

you offer him a kind smile, the one that makes him fall harder for you everyday and that’s enough to ease his nerves a bit

“third, quit freaking out. it’s not like i’m gonna kill you or anything”

“b-but how are you so...calm?”

“uhh because i don’t really care?”

he doesn’t know why, but his heart hurts a little after hearing you say that

is not like he expects you to actually reciprocate his feelings but,,

he didn’t have an effect on you whatsoever? not even a little bit?

“and besides, it’s you so i don’t mind”

“what do you mean?”

you shrug, smirking at the green haired boy, “well you like me, right?”

he almost stops breathing

maybe he did for a few seconds

he looks at you, a mix of emotions flashing through his expression

is he relieved? is he scared? is he happy?

he doesn’t k n o w

neverthless, he nods shyly, looking away from your captivating gaze

“and i like you so it’s okay”

midoriya.exe has stopped working

someone PLEASE calm this boy down

he’s about to explode from feeling so much happiness

“you do?!”

“of course” you smile at him one last time, before interlacing your fingers with his and sitting down on the rug next to your bed so you can study

or maybe you got a little carried away and ended up cuddling all evening while eating ramen

but that’s besides the point

( gif isn’t mine !! credits go to its rightful owner )

tamaki amajiki:

sweet little baby

he faints :D

no but seriously

he does.

are we surprised?

nope, not at all

he can’t look at you for more than 5 seconds without getting nervous as it is,

but after he saw you half naked?!

yeah no, that’s too much for tamaki

his body shuts down because he cannot handle it

nejire told him to go check up on you because you seemed off at school

which tamaki also noticed because he’s very observant with people (especially you) but he preferred to not say anything

of course his first response to nejire is straight up: no

he’s too shy

and he’s scared because what if you get mad at him? or tell him to go away?

he thinks it’s better to give you your space and if you want to talk to him, then he’s more than ready to listen

but nejire wouldn’t shut up about it

then mirio butted in too and they were just whining a lot and he got tired of hearing them talk

now here he is, standing in front of your room with a shaky hand hovering against the wooden door

much like todoroki, he knocks and patiently waits for a response

which he receives quickly

“who is it?”

“tamaki”

“ahh tama, let yourself in!”

he blushes at the nickname and finally opens the door

he’s about to go sit on your desk chair or something

but then he sees you

you’re only in your underwear, struggling to put on a hoodie

and then you jump to try and get it on

and that makes it worse because you’re wearing a b r a

long story short,

he falls to the floor :D

the big ‘thud’ startles you and even more so when you see tamaki’s unconscious body on the floor

“shit, tama are you okay?”

it takes him a good 5 minutes to open his eyes again

he feels a cold towel pressed up against his forehead and he frowns at the feeling

when he turns his head around, he notices that he’s laying down on your bed

but you're nowhere to be seen

“thank god you’re awake”

your voice comes from behind him and that’s when he realizes he’s not only laying down on your bed, but also on your lap

“you really worried me!”

cue him blushing like there’s no tomorrow and stuttering

“s-sorry. i was just s-surprised to see you c-changing and i’m sorry i didn’t tell you i was coming b-beforehand”

you shake your head, “that’s okay tama, i’m not mad at you”

he just nods because he’s afraid he’ll say something dumb if he talks

you brush your fingers through his indigo hair and he swears he can feel himself falling more in love with you in that precise moment

you smile down at him

“what did you come here for anyway? not that i mind, but you know”

“nejire told me y-you seemed down today s-so i came to check up on you”

butterflies flutter in your stomach at his sweet words

“aww you’re so sweet, but i’m okay. i was just feeling sad”

he sits up to look at you better and he doesn’t miss the way you pout when his hair is no longer in between your fingers

which makes his heart speed up

“are you okay?”

his question is so genuine and he seems so concerned, it makes you want to keep him in your pocket forever

“i am now”

he smiles at your response, happy that you feel better

“i’m glad”

“now come here, i wanna play with your hair”

and who is he to deny such request?

8K notes · View notes

elysianslove · 4 years

Text

secrets that you keep; iwaizumi hajime

synopsis; in which his best friend is secretly a camgirl. part 1, part 2

pairings; iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

genre; smut

trigger warnings; i highly recommend reading the first two parts before this. they’re only drabbles that introduce everything! anyways, this is absolute filth. don’t read this if any of the stuff mentioned could trigger you, please! masturbation, camgirl stuff, one mention of the word ‘daddy,’ self choking, degradation, humiliation, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, a lot of choking, accidental breathplay, not proofread unfortunately

she knows.

does she?

it’s an ongoing inner battle he’s been having for weeks now, ever since he’d been directed to that trending video of yours. he sees you in his dreams, hears you loud and clear, moaning and crying for him, and worst of all, he feels you, so perfectly, against his, around him, and it’s overwhelming in the worst way possible. even maintaining eye contact is tiresome at this point.

but he does wonder whether you know or not, more often than he should— were you deliberately calling out for him, in hopes that he’d find this video somehow? or had you said it because you’d assumed this is your safe place, that there’s no way he’d be able to find these videos? had it been a slip up? or, more accurately, multiple slip ups? what were the chances anyways, that it had been an accident, or unintentional, or intentional and he had been losing sleep over it, or that he wasn’t the hajime you were crying out for?

his heard hurt. awfully. there’s already the constant worry of regulating his breathing around you and cleansing his thoughts of anything he’d seen of you the moment you meet, but this added dilemma is in no way helping. every day that you text him for a coffee date, or a night out after a rather stressful week, or a night in at your apartment, and he agrees, his mind diverts immediately to where it shouldn’t as soon as he lays eyes on you. and the worst part of it all is how aware he is of how wrong this is. he knows it’s wrong to choose the revealing shirt over the other when you ask him for his opinion, just because he wants that effortless glance at your cleavage. it’s also so wrong of him to give a higher rating to that obscenely short dress than that other, knee length one because of the way your thighs squeeze when you sit. it’s definitely wrong of him to offer clasping your anklet, the one he’d gotten for you, the one that had been the dead giveaway to your secret online persona, just because your legs feel so soft against the rough pads of his fingers, when he resists the urge to trail upwards, upwards, upwards—

it’s fucking ridiculous.

he can’t believe just how deep of a rabbit hole finding one of your videos is, how it’s impossible to climb out and away, and even worse, how he keeps falling deeper. the one time he decides to jerk off to porn. it’s really ridiculous.

about a week ago, three weeks after finding that video of yours someone had uploaded— which had been taken down because of copyright, and hajime personally thinks that’s fair, considering there’s a reason you pay people to watch your videos and look through your photos, otherwise you would’ve taken the liberty to post everything for free yourself— hajime gives in, and subscribes to you. it’s with a randomized account name, something he tried his very best to make as anonymous as possible, so that it would in no way lead back to him. he doesn’t check in on your account as often, also having taken the time to turn off notifications and not have anything sent to his email, and it’s mostly out of shame. he already feels dirty enough having seen this much of you, even more that he’s fantasized about you. he’s not about to make it worse for himself.

every once in a while, though, especially days where he’s sure he’s completely free of responsibilities, he logs on, and finds your page. it just so happens that tonight, you’re hosting a live stream. swallowing his pride and shame, literally so, he shifts on his bed, sitting up straighter, and clicks to join.

he’d been a little late apparently, because you’re already bare, sitting on a chair. your legs are lifted up, knees bent and hooked over the chair’s arms, the camera angled to show everything, from your cute eyes to the flesh of your ass. there’s a vibrator in your hand, buzzing lightly as it hovers by your clit, dipping between your folds, sliding back up again to rub lazily at your clit. beneath you, on the chair, is a small damp spot, leaking from your cunt. hajime stops himself before his jaw falls slack at the sight of you, and instead, he clears his throat, gritting his teeth and watching carefully.

you’re not so talkative during your videos, just exclamations of pleasure and (the most beautiful of) noises, so he hadn’t expected you to be during your lives. to his surprise, you are, and it’s filthy.

whimpering lightly, you press the vibrator harsher on your clit, your other hand traveling up to squeeze at your breast. “m’so needy,” you admit with a soft pout, adding, “want you to tell me what to do, mmh.”

he’s assuming the ‘you’ is the audience, whoever’s willing to speak up, and it’s then that he notices the chat option. his eyes flicker curiously to it, hands twitching where they sit fisted at his lap as he sees the chat explode with orders and commands and suggestions for you.

one writes, stuff urself full, and hajime gapes.

another commands, wanna see u cry tn, and hajime privately agrees.

someone else writes, gonna squirt princess?

hajime’s hands twitch again, and he frowns, digging his nails into his palms. you’re ignoring all the suggestions, and it’s obvious because you’re reading through them, mouthing some of them, giggling at some, curiously gasping, ‘oh,’ at others, eyebrow quirking. the vibrator trails down to your hole again, and you experimentally dip it inside slightly, shivering visibly as the vibrations rush through you, and the moment he hears you moan so loud, he thinks, fuck it, and his hands reach for his keyboard.

choke yourself.

fuck, fuck, fuck, he did not just do that.

his heart is racing embarrassingly fast beneath his ribcage, loud and pathetically deafening in his ears as he watches your eyes read through the rest of the messages, and you’ve stopped mouthing them, your eyes are widening— which one are you at now? are you just going to ignore him? why wouldn’t you? of course you—

“you’d like that, huh?” you teasingly slur, a lazy, cheeky grin painting your lips, your teeth biting down on your lower lip and your hand— your hand—

it’s trailing upwards, upwards, upwards, until it finds its way around your throat, resting lightly, and just as he sees your fingers squeeze at the sides of your neck slightly, carefully, you pout at the camera, looking straight at him, and asking, “like this, daddy?”

a low fuck wheezes past his lungs, and his hand quickly presses down at the bulge in his sweatpants, squeezing and rubbing at his clothed dick as he watches you, entranced. people watching you with him have taken to thanking him for the idea, and to praising you, calling you a good girl, cursing, rapidly typing out something along the lines of you’re so hot i wanna fuck you so bad, and god, hajime hates that he relates to something as stupid as that.

your hips roll and your head falls back, hand not once leaving your throat. if anything, your grip tightens. you click on the vibrator, and the buzzing becomes louder, your moans with it, as if you were competing. you cry and gasp and sob, writhing in your own hold, your thighs tensing and your hole clenching around nothing as you harshly rub the vibrator against your clit. your cunt gushes and drips as you bring yourself closer to your orgasm, as you cry out a string of, “m’gonna cum, so close, so close!” and a mixture of lewd curses, until finally, you cum. you’re sent over the edge, legs swinging on the chair, high pitched squeals falling from your lips— which hajime can’t decide are real or not, or whether he wants them to be or not. you thrash and cry, tears, as promised to some other watcher, dripping down your cheeks.

the last straw however, is your comedown from your high, sobs hiccuping and muscles twitching, eyes half closed and body limp as you mewl out, “hajime, hajime, hajime,” like you’re not even aware you’re doing it. like it’s subconscious.

hajime swears again, a deep, low, “fuck,” and looks down to find a damp spot on his lap. he really came from barely any friction, all because of you. this really is as ridiculous as it gets.

the next time he sees you, there are the faintest of bruises on your neck. it’s not so obvious that just anyone would notice, but ever since becoming hyperaware of everything that is you and everything that you do, it’s hard not to have them be the first thing he sees. to ensure that the atmosphere between the two of you remains easy, he flicks at your neck and tuts with a smirk, asking you jokingly if you were in your hoe phase.

“so vulgar, hajime,” you sarcastically retort, teasing him. “you like calling me mean things?” and he has to avert eye contact because all his walls crumble so quick.

it’s just the two of you tonight, in his apartment, all your other mutual friends having cancelled at one point or another. it’s not an unusual occurrence; more often than not, the two of you are alone. however, it’s been a while since you’d been alone, privately. a while meaning ever since hajime had discovered your side hustle of a sort. he hadn’t been purposely avoiding this— no, maybe he has, but to be fair, he’s still yet to recover from the initial shock.

it also doesn’t help that since today had meant to be a relaxing night in, you’re dressed casual, but in the hottest fucking way possible. he hopes he hadn’t been blushing as hard as he thinks, and feels, he was, when you’d first stepped into his home. on your hips is a short, black skirt, flowing out to your upper thighs, where just above your knees start a pair of dark thigh highs, squeezing at your thighs and accentuating your legs as you strut around his apartment, feet bare of any shoes or slippers. he can’t decide whether it’s cute or just plain hot. somehow, with you, it’s both. your shirt is off the shoulder, a dark, navy blue bardot, and beneath it, peeking out to rest at your collarbones, is a black bralette. he can barely just see the intricate lace designs, but it disappears and dips beneath your shirt before he can see more of it.

you’re spread out on the couch, laying along it on your stomach, a pillow tucked in your arms and beneath your head, your clothed legs bent and swinging up in the air. he sits right by you, thigh right by your head, his body as tense as ever. it’s impossible not to be you, not with you in such close proximity to him when only a few days ago he’d watched you make yourself cum, and had heard you whimper out his name after. who can blame him, really?

with your eyes trained on the screen, he hadn’t been expecting you to speak up.

“iwa, what type of porn do you watch?”

he nearly chokes, eyes widening as he spares you a glance. your legs continue to swing innocently, your eyes unmoving, your voice unwavering. the suddenness of the question certainly threw him off, but it’s your nonchalance that really shocks him. but, considering everything, it really shouldn’t have.

“uh, what?” he offers weakly, wincing slightly at the barely there crack in his voice.

you sigh, shifting to sit up. you plant yourself on your knees, spreading them apart slightly to get comfortable, and shrugging at him. “i’m just curious,” you say. “or,” your eyes squint cautiously, your head cocking to the side slightly, “do you not watch porn?”

challengingly, his arms lift up to cross at his chest, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes momentarily glance at the way his biceps bulge. it makes his confidence spike slightly, nervousness ebbing away. “what type of porn do you watch?”

you gasp dramatically, joking, “take a girl out to dinner first, my god.” he laughs, relaxing lightly at the banter, before his eyes fall back to you. you inch forward curiously, cautiously, still on your knees. now closer to him, you ask again, “seriously, i’m really curious! confirm my suspicions for me.”

“oh?” he quirks an eyebrow. “so you think you know?”

at this, you offer him a knowing smile, eyes slightly half lidded. you’re somehow even closer now, leaning towards him with your hands resting on the small space between you and him in the couch, helping you in lifting yourself up slightly on your knees as you say in a low voice, “baby, i think everyone knows.”

at the sight of you by his side, he feels himself shiver, and an idea invades his mind before he can even process it. “oh, do you now?” he’s not sure where this boldness is emerging from, especially with how cautious and shameful he’d been and felt for weeks now, but he accepts it either way, because the way you’re staring at him like that, he never wants to let it go. and although he wants to drag out this intense eye contact even longer, in order to do what he wants to do, he has to break it, reaching for his phone instead. unable to contain your curiosity, you peak over, watching with confusion as he types out a link.

the blood drains from your face when you recognize your page on his browser, and he’s logged on— he’s subscribed.

“what type of porn do i like to watch?” he wonders rhetorically. the phone is pushed aside, and he sits up straighter so that even on your knees, he looms over you. his eyes are skimming over you, along your body, up to your neck, to your lips, to your shocked, wide eyes. and just as his hand trails up to your throat, his palm resting at the base and one finger tapping lightly, he says, “the type where my favorite girl cries out my name when she cums for the world to see.”

the hand around your throat—

“you,” you breathe out, and finally, finally, when your brain makes sense of everything, your body relaxes, sags against him, leaning more into him until his hand’s properly wrapped around your throat.

with your mind hazing over, you reach over, and kiss him.

he meets you halfway, as if having expected it, lips pressing harshly against his. his hand tightens as he pulls you closer, lifting you up slightly and bringing you closer to him as his mouth parts, breathing you in, and kissing you deeper, lewder. you shiver and gasp, hands grasping at his wrist and forearm, not to push him away but rather to urge him closer, as you kiss him back just as eagerly. it seems like hours, with his hand around your neck, tight and a daunting reassurance, and your lips wet and hot against his, but eventually, his hand slides down, the other mirroring it, finding their way to your waist, squeezing and bunching at the skirt as he, with complete and utter and shocking ease, lifts you up off the couch.

you gasp as he stands up with you, your legs quickly wrapping around his waist as he pulls you to him. as he blindly walks the two of you to his bedroom, he breathlessly asks in between your kisses, “is this— you sure this is okay?”

with a sharp tug at his hair, you jokingly spit out, “iwa shut up.”

he tosses you onto the bed, allowing you a minute to strip yourself of your shirt while he slips out of his own, before quickly falling above you, caging you in with his arms as he kisses you again. “not iwa,” he quietly asks of you.

for a moment you’re confused, before everything clicks again— your slip ups— and your legs lift up, wrapping around his waist and pulling his hips closer to yours just as you mewl out, “hajime, please.”

god, he is way easier than he thought he was.

his entire body shudders above you, one hand lowering to push at your skirt to grind his hips down against yours until his clothed crotch meets your bare cunt and— holy fuck, holy fuck.

“fuck, you slut.”

you gasp at both his words and the feel of his bulge pressing down against your clit, his lips meeting your neck instead. “you do like calling me mean things,” you say, and he scoffs, his hand traveling upwards to squeeze at your breasts instead.

“you like me calling you mean things,” he notes, and you let out a muffled moan as he pinches at your nipples through the bralette, lips biting and sucking at your neck.

“i do,” you pant, arching up into him. “i do, i do.” his hands are fumbling at your chest, and god, they’re so large, so big and warm and harsh, it’s fogging up your brain.

“yeah, yeah, fucking whore,” he growls, pushing himself slightly on his knees, hands tugging at the bralette. his fingers dip past, gripping the fabric tightly, and as he says, “can’t fucking— take this shit— off,” he tears through it, knuckles whitening as he pulls it away from your body, or what’s left of it. the frills of the ruined bra fall off the edge of his bed, and he watches your wide eyes and gaping mouth follow it, so he grabs at your jaw, twisting your gaze away from it and grunting a low, “shut up.”

you pull away from the kiss, breathing heavily as you say, “that was so fucking hot, hajime,” before kissing him again. he parts his mouth as you lead him to you again, tongue easily meeting yours.

it’s a messy kiss as he slips himself out of his sweatpants, taking his boxers with it and discarding them somewhere in his room. his cock slaps against his stomach, a single string of precum messily staining his tan abs. your eyes are quick to gaze down, lips painted a dazzling grin as his hand finds his cock, squeezing at the head and smearing his precum along.

“knew you were fucking big,” you gasp, eyes trained on him as he strokes himself above you, and he is. he’s so big, thick and heavy, and veiny and your mouth waters at how that’s going to feel when inside of you, stretching you out so good, so much better than any of the toys you had at home. “i thought,” a squeal hiccups out of you as both of his hands grab at your hips from beneath your skirt, one sticky and warmer than the other, “about you all the time.”

your confession draws his attention, and when he’s pulled you close enough, two of his fingers trail to your cunt, quirking an, “oh?” just as he dips his fingers inside. the lack of resistance he’s met with is surprising, and he chokes out, “did you stretch yourself out before coming here? fuck yourself on some fake cock?”

tightlipped, you moan, brows furrowed and back arched into him. god, his fingers were not enough. “yes, yes,” you gasp, head falling back. despite not needing to, he still fingers you, his thick digits fucking into you slowly, driving you insane by the second. “yes, i— pretended t’was you,” you whine loudly. at your words, he curls his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist and pressing his palm directly on your clit.

“do you always?” he lowly asks, dipping closer to you as he fucks his fingers deeper. his fingers were inside of you, the cunt he’d spent over a month marveling at through a screen, the pretty pussy his dick had drooled over for hours. you’re real, as real as ever beneath him falling apart, making a mess of your black skirt, drenching it with your arousal.

you moan out a hum, nodding dumbly as his fingers vibrate with the intensity of speed inside of you, your toes curling in your thigh highs and face twisting to press into his mattress. “always,” you cry out, like a promise. “always think of you— hajime!”

it’s an unexpected orgasm, hitting you so fast and quick that it’s outright dizzying. it has you lifting your hips up into his fingers and palm, grinding and trembling, your legs falling and spreading open, shaking wildly by your side and above you as he fucks you through the orgasm.

“hajime, hajime, hajime,” you chant, words trailing off into tiny sobs and shuddering breaths as your hips slowly fall back onto the bed, body still trembling with aftershocks.

you’re fucked out beyond words already that you genuinely don’t feel a thing until he’s pressing inside of you, the fat head of his cock stretching you out. he’s really no match for your toys, and if seeing him hadn’t been enough confirmation, the feel of him pressing inside of you definitely is. he doesn’t ease himself in slowly, urgently grabbing the back of your thighs with either hand, keeping your legs spread for him as he bottoms out.

“fuck, fuck, knew you’d feel so good,” he grunts, brows furrowed harshly as he digs his fingers deeper against the flesh of your thighs, forcing your legs closer to your chest, and somehow pushing himself even deeper within you. you whine and mewl, toes curling and uncurling and legs trembling. “knew it the moment i saw your pretty pussy creamin’ around that thick cock.”

at the reminder that he’s watched and witnessed you, multiple times, that he’s subscribed to you willingly and curiously, you clench down around him. you feel him twitch inside of you, groaning loudly as he falls closer to you, your legs falling to his waist.

“you like knowing i was watching you?” he sneers, his hand reaching up and gripping at your face, squishing your cheeks and forcing a pout on your lips. your eyes nearly fucking cross as he rams into you, his fingers digging into your jaw. “you like that i fucked my fist every night to you? to your pretty cunt and your pretty noises and your pretty face— yes, good girl, that one.”

your eyes do cross this time, spurred on by his words, your tongue peaking out through the small gap he allows with how harsh he’s gripping your face. he’s pushing out little mewls and cries from you, but otherwise, you quite honestly feel braindead.

“fuck, you’re a gorgeous little slut,” he gasps. “all mine to fuck and use.”

you’re quick to nod rapidly, whining and moaning for him as you grip at his biceps. you’re choking on your breath as you struggle to keep up with him while he fucks you into the mattress, so fucking hard and rough that you’re sure there’ll be an indentation of you once you leave. you can feel your cunt gushing, and you can hear it too, squelching loudly with every thrust of his hips, every time his cock fucks into you. your skirt feels sticky and gross, and so does the rest of you, but you’ve never, never, felt this euphoric, this blissed out.

your stomach tightens impossibly, the tension gradually increasing as your walls tightly squeeze and clench at his cock. slowly and surely, the pressure within you increases, your hands flying to hajime’s arm, the arm whose hand grips your face, which quickly moves to your throat at your simple gasping warning that you were close.

“gonna cum, gonna cum, hajime, fuck!”

he tightens his grip, pressing harsher on the sides of your neck as your eyes shut tightly, your head falling back once more.

“yeah, come on, show me how pretty you look cumming on a real cock,” he whispers by your ear, using the hand that’s around your throat to lift up your head, before roughly pushing it back down, squeezing tighter. “you like it this rough?— shit, shit, you’re tightening.”

you scream, voice cracking and broken as he slams into you again, his hips grinding against yours momentarily, pelvis hitting your clit— and you’re gone, thrashing in his hold, fat tears streaming down your cheeks as you sob and heave, your body shaking uncontrollably beneath him, hips shaking as your orgasm rocks through you. it’s not a few seconds later that he’s spilling inside of you, accidentally pressing his palm down against your throat as he cums, blocking your airway momentarily.

“hngh,” he gasps deeply, cock twitching inside of you as he cums, hips barely grinding. you’re gasping, a little painfully, struggling to take in any air as he blinks dazedly, before he finally takes notice. “shit, shit, i’m sorry.”

his hand flies away from your throat, and you inhale sharply, coughing lightly as air fills your lungs all too suddenly. the strength of this man, holy fuck.

“i’m so sorry; are you okay?”

chest still heaving, you fall onto the bed, body relaxing as you try and regulate your breathing. “s’okay, i’m okay,” you reassure him, hands reaching up to pat at his cheeks and comb through his messy, sweaty hair.

he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and it’s so endearing that you nearly forget he’s still inside of you. but you feel the shift of his cock, feel his cum slowly start to ooze out of your cunt, and he winces from the oversensitivity, shifting away to instead pull out of you. his soft cock falls from your cunt, a steady flow of his cum following. hajime has to physically resist from reaching out to fuck it back into you.

“i’m sorry i wasn’t careful ‘nough with the—“ he makes a gesture with his hands around his neck, “—the choking.”

you laugh lightly, tiredly, hands slowly caressing at his sweaty biceps. “stop apologizing,” you reassure him again, shrugging with a small smile as you add, “just be more careful next time.”

his breath gets caught in his chest, and he only softly exhales when he falls on the bed, to your side, carefully repeating, “next time.”

from beside him, you lift yourself up on your side on your elbow, palm cradling your head, trying your best not to wince in pain. “hajime?”

he spares you a glance as he mumbles, “hm?” opting to stare at the ceiling and contemplate whether what had just happened was real life or not.

“do you wanna do a video with me?”

he all but chokes.

end note; please this took me like 4+ hours. please please please don’t flop, and more importantly, i really hope i don’t disappoint. i know this has been a long awaited piece, so i’m praying and hoping you guys love it.

love you all, mwah <3

#haikyuu smut #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime smut

2K notes · View notes

strawberrymilkgeorge · 4 years

Text

Part Five. "You guys gossip about boys without me?"

warnings: swearing, mentions of emotional abusive/manipulation word count: 3.2k (not including pictures)

behind the screen (irl dream x f!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

Y/n dropped her phone on the bed and slowly rolled off and onto the ground with a soft THUD. She grunted, falling harder than she expected but the dull pain now present in her right shoulder felt deserved somehow. Why did she think she deserved it? Maybe because she was an unconfrontational worm even when the person needed to be confronted because he hurt her more than anyone ever had.

She closed her eyes and wiggled to get comfortable on the thin carpet in her room. Laying on the ground was relaxing to her, forcing her gamer back to straighten to how it was intended. It helped her think, being on the floor. She didn't know why but she didn't question it. Just laid on the floor in acceptance with the dirt and forgotten candy wrappers.

Why didn't she want to respond to Peter? Well, years of being with him and even the months of not being with him had taught her that her ex liked to get his way and liked to take his anger out in her verbally when he didn't.

You could say she's heard some terrible things over very simple inconveniences.

Y/n slowly pattered to her desk and slid on her headphones, finding the discord server Dream said he and George were on. It was a server that a lot of their friends were in, one that Y/n hardly went in since she still hadn't met a lot of them and wasn't super comfortable with talking in it yet.

She scrolled through the various text chats, one for boredom, one for stream questions, one for memes, one for pictures of pets, one for.... discussing the inevitable takeover of rats...? Y/n wasn't sure what that was about but she knew she didn't want to find out. The list went on. She was pretty sure they had made a channel for every possible message someone could ever send.

There were equally as many voice channels, most of them titled with the names of different games for when they only played with each other and didn't stream. Some of them were just random names and she noticed there was one to match the rat takeover text channel. Okay, who was responsible for that?

After what felt like an entire scavenger hunt and with many new questions in her mind, Y/n finally found the voice channel Dream and George were in and clicked on it. It was called memerz-only.

"I'm not a memer, am I allowed in here?" she asked. She hadn't realized how messed up her voice was since she hadn't talked all day.

"Holy shit, Bug, you sound awful."

She scoffed a laugh. "Thanks, Dream. Really means a lot." She did sound pretty scuffed. Her voice was a little scratchy from not talking literally all day.

"You doing okay, Bugsy?" George asked kindly, to which she hummed.

“I just have one quick question...”

“Mhm?”

“This is simple, please don’t elaborate further. There’s a channel on this server... did you guys mean rat as in BadBoyHalo’s dog or rats as in rats?”

Neither of them spoke for a minute before George understood what she was referring to. “Oh! Rats as in rats.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Yeah, Quackity—“

“No!” she interupted. “No! I said I don’t wanna know. I really don’t. I’m too afraid to understand.”

“Wha- HA, okay.”

“Good choice, Bugsy. I wish I didn’t know what it’s about. It’s a lot weirder than you’d think.”

“Now that that’s settled,” Dream said with a laugh. “How are you doing, Bug?”

"Neither of you are streaming, right?" she asked, doubling checking the twitch app on her phone to be sure.

"No."

"So I don't have to pretend to be happy and bubbly?"

"No, you can be as mundane as you'd like," Dream said. "We don't mind."

"Yeah, honestly, most of the time when Dream and I are on calls alone it's just us being super boring and hardly talking."

"That's..." she paused to find the right words and decided with, "actually really cute. You guys just enjoy each other's presence."

George scoffed and Dream giggled. "See, even Bug says we're cute, Georgie! Why can you tell me you love me?"

"I'll leave right now if you don't stop," George threatened. "Can we go back to how Bugsy's miserable?"

"I'm not miserable, I just..." she hesitated. She had already told George about why she was having a bad day, but Dream?

She didn't want to tell Karl because she knew he would yell at her. She didn't want to tell Sapnap because she didn't trust him not to tell everyone (on accident, of course). For some reason, it was a different kind of hesitation than with the others that made her not want to tell Dream. She didn't want to tell him because she didn't want to be... embarrassed? Maybe that was it. She thought it would be embarrassing to tell Dream about how her ex-boyfriend treated her like shit and how now he wants to get back together with her. Plus, she knew how everyone else individually would react but Dream was a complete mystery. Maybe he'd yell at her too and say she's stupid for being affected by an ex. Maybe he'd break down crying for some reason? Who knows?

"You don't have to tell us," Dream stated. "Seriously."

"It's embarrassing," she said, tucking her feet beneath her on her seat. As she said the words, she decided they felt right. She was embarrassed. "But George already knows."

Above everyone else, Y/n was okay with telling George about her situation because he and her tended to talk about their troublesome relationships quite often. He always came to her for advice and she to him. They were very similar in their ways of thinking and seemed to have lots of similar dating stories, even if neither of them knew what the hell they were doing. She knew he'd never judge her for thinking unclearly since he tended to do the same.

George hummed, not knowing what to say since she hadn't said much. She could tell he didn't wanna say something that might make Dream more nosey and start hounding her about telling him.

"What hap—never mind. Not my business," Dream said quickly.

"No, I mean, I kinda wanted to talk to George about it again anyway so I guess you can join in on the gossip." Guess my mouth decided for me on this one, she thought.

"Wait, what? You guys gossip about boys without me?"

"Oh my gosh, don't say it like that, Dream," George groaned. "Bugsy and I talk about relationship problems a lot, yes. Not just boys."

"How did I not know this?"

"Because you don't know a lot of things?"

"It's normally George sending screenshots of text conversations with girls and asking me how to let them down gently," Y/n explained with a giggle.

"Or Y/n talking about her asshole ex."

"George! What do you and Karl not get about not calling him names?"

"I'm so lost," Dream mumbled.

Y/n sighed. "Okay, well," she cut herself off with a groan. "It's so embarrassing. Basically, my ex asked me to 'chat' this morning which is code for he wants to get back together—"

"Do you know that for sure?" Dream asked.

"Yeah, we already decided that," George snapped. "Let her finish."

"Sorry."

"So he wants to get back together and I feel stupid for wanting to listen to what he has to say."

"How is that embarrassing?"

"Because he hurt me and I feel like an idiot because him even suggesting that means he doesn't realize how badly he hurt me. It makes me feel like, I don't know, like all the time I spent being upset was for nothing," Y/n explained in a soft voice. "And because his simple, like, five word text made me freak out all day to the point of exhaustion."

"I don't think you should be embarrassed, Bugsy," George offered.

"Have either of you, uh, have you ever considered dating an ex?"

"Didn't you just say he hurt you badly?" Dream asked. "You aren't thinking of getting back with him, are you?"

"No... but I want to stay friends so maybe I should hear him out?"

"Well, I've never gotten back with an ex," he said bluntly. "But to be fair, all my relationships have ended badly or for bad reasons so I've never wanted to see any of them again. Staying friends depends on why you and he broke up, I guess, but..."

"Um, how do I put this..." she trailed off. "He was mean to me."

"Then no? Simple."

"But I've forgiven him and I think he's changed."

"People don't change that easily. Didn't you break up like, a few months ago?" George asked.

"Yeah, but—"

"Honestly I think if a guy was ever mean to you he doesn't deserve any more of your attention," Dream decided. "So, no. Don't even be his friend. Don't listen to a single thing he has to say."

"That's what I told her," George agreed.

"If that were the case, you guys shouldn't be friends," she argued. "You're mean to each other all the time."

"But we know it's a joke," George defended.

"So you're saying if someone is ever purposefully mean to you just once, you drop them forever?"

"Well, no," Dream said. "Not exactly. But it sounds like he was super mean to you since it's why you broke up."

She took a deep breath. She didn't want to go into detail. She was already uncomfortable enough talking about her personal life so much, but she trusted both of them and needed to get it off her chest and they were there and willing to listen. They had already established wanting to listen to her if she wanted to speak and right now, she wanted to speak. Maybe not the full story, but at least some. "He, um, well, the mean things he said, he said because he was trying to get me to see what he thought was the truth about myself."

Both of them were silent for a few moments. "I'm still confused," George admitted.

"Me too... But you don't have to tell us." Dream explained again. She thought it was sweet that they kept reassuring her that.

"I know, but I want to. If it's not too much for you guys..."

"No, go ahead, if you want."

"Uh, he lowkey emotionally manipulated me by telling me I wasn't good enough for anyone and stuff and how he was the only one who could ever love me. The second part he said truly believing that he was being romantic. There are a lot worse and specific things engraved in my brain but that's the gist of what he would tell me. He made me believe that I could never leave him because I could never be loved by anyone else. But he said it all in a way that... he thought he was just... letting me in on something no one else had the guts to tell me."

George gasped. "What?! Bugsy, I'm so sorry, I didn't know it was like that."

"Woah, what the hell? No. Absolutely not. Don't give this guy a second thought. Cut him off for good," Dream said sternly, angry that anyone would say that to anyone, especially to someone like Y/n. "Wait, so, you broke up with him?"

"Yeah. After Karl yelled at me a lot and explained his outside point of view, I finally realized Peter was gaslighting me and emotionally abusing me and stuff so I dumped him. I guess right now I'm just upset by it because I thought we were past this and I was healing and him reaching out affected me again. I'm just emotionally exhausted. Like I said, it hurts to know that he doesn't realize what he did to me."

"I'm really sorry, Bug," Dream said softly. "Gimme his address and I'll punch him for you."

She laughed through her nose. "That's okay. Thanks."

"Yeah, she can go set his house on fire if she wants. She's proven that already."

"Shut up, George," she said with a small laugh.

"Wh......at?" Dream stuttered and George briefly explained.

"Well, Bug, just so you know, in case you weren't aware, you're really cool and sweet and funny and we really like having you around–" Dream started.

"Oh, ugh, no don't do this," she tried to joke but he ignored her as he continued his speech.

"–and you're way too good to be hanging out with either of us, and whatever that asshole was showing you wasn't love. 'No one could love you like he did' because what he was doing was not love, it was abuse." Dream's voice had a certain gentleness to it as he spoke that comforted Y/n and made her believe him. He was blunt but it didn't stab her in the heart like it should have.

If Y/n ever cried, she might have just then from how sweet they were both being. But she didn't because that wasn't something she did. She never cried over anything Peter said, never cried during movies, and didn't cry then. But she did smile very fondly at the Discord screen in front of her.

"Thank you, Dream."

"You know I'm not good with words, but, yeah, what Dream said," George said. "I'm sorry you had to go through that thinking it was normal. Please, please, do not get back together with him and please don't be friends with him."

"He's fine as a friend though."

"Bug. Whether he's fine as a friend doesn't matter, he doesn't deserve to have you as a friend. He treated you like shit, it's okay to be a little cold to him."

She sighed. They were right. "Okay." There was a long pause before, "thanks, guys. Sorry for coming in here and dumping my problems on you—"

"Don't be sorry," George said. "We're the ones that asked you to come in and share. We knew what we signed up for and don't regret it."

"Seriously, Bug, we care about you. You're allowed to, you know, talk about yourself." How did he know that's what she meant by that sentence? The way he could read her mind was heart-warming.

"Also, George knows this but Dream, there's a strict no-telling policy about this kinda thing. Please don't tell anyone."

"I wouldn't even think of it," he promised. "My lips are sealed."

"Good."

A soft animal noise came from one of their mics and Y/n strained her ears to listen. "Was that a cat?"

"Patches has entered the chat," George joked.

Dream chuckled. "Yeah, my cat just jumped on my lap."

"Aw, you have a cat? Lemme see lemme see lemme see!" Y/n begged. "Partly because I would love if we could stop talking about my ex-boyfriend and the other part because I love cats."

"There's pictures of her in the pets channel on Discord—"

"No, no I want a picture of her on your lap. Is she all snuggled up?"

"Yeah, she is."

"PleASE, Dream. I need to see the snuggly cat."

"Fine, fine, if you insist. Give me a second."

A few moments later, she got a DM from Dream and smiled at the picture. His room was dark but the computer screen cast a cold glow over a ball of fur on a lap clad in sweatpants. "Awww, she's so cute."

"Dream, I wanna see it too," George whined. "Send it to the pets channel."

"I'm literally making this my lock screen," Y/n informed, making Dream laugh.

"No, George, it's only for Bug. She's had a bad day so she gets exclusive Patches content."

"What? That is so messed up."

"You know what's messed up, George?" Dream asked. "You never come to me with advice on how to reject girls. We're on the phone for 12 hours a day but you can't talk to me about girls? Do you know how that makes me feel?"

"You'll just make fun of me."

"Why would I? What makes you think that?"

"Because Sapnap and I make fun of you? So obviously you and him would make fun of me?" George said with a laugh.

"....that's fair."

Y/n locked her phone and clicked the home button to admire her new lock screen. "I love her," she whispered.

Dream and George both laughed. "I'm regretting sending you that. You're gonna, like, make a shrine or something."

"What would be wrong with that? She's precious. She deserves a shrine."

"Yeah, Dream, you're the one that feeds her gormet cooked food," George teased with a laugh. "You probably have a shrine."

"That's normal! That's what people feed their cats! That's completely normal!"

"I don't," George countered.

"Then what do you feed your cat?" Dream asked.

"I dunno, normal cat food?"

"Wait! You have a cat too??" Y/n asked. "I feel like we're missing a huge detail and it's that George never told me he had a cat."

"And a dog."

"WHAT? GEORGE! Send me pictures!!!!!"

"I can't right now, it's like three am. They're sleeping. Look in the pets channel."

"You're the worst," she grumbled, clicking and scrolling to find his pets. She saw a lot of cute pictures of other peoples pets along the way but couldn't find George's.

"Hey, do your animals have English accents?" Dream asked, making Y/n laugh.

"What?" George scoffed. "You're so stupid."

"How would that even sound?" Y/n asked.

"Like..." Dream thought, preparing to test out how it would hypothetically sound. "Meow," Dream meowed in his best accent, failing miserable.

"Oh gosh, never do that again," Y/n begged.

Dream laughed into his mic. "That was disgusting. George, I really hope your pets don't have accents."

"They're animals, so probably not. And if they did, it definitely wouldn't sound like whatever that was."

"Oh come on–"

"OH I FOUND THEM." Y/n announced as she found a message from George in the pets channel with the message 'heard we're sharing our pets'. "GEORGE. THEY'RE SO CUTE."

"Are you gonna make them your background picture now?" George asked.

"What, no way! It's Patches!" Dream scoffed.

"Yeah, I'll make George's pets my home screen. Oh, what a good day." As soon as she said it, a metal bowling ball fell to her stomach, reminding her of all the reasons it was, in fact, not a good day.

She got off after a while, feeling the weight of a particular idiot man's stupid simple text catch up with her again. She thanked Dream and George for letting her join, they invited her to always hang out with them, and she went on her way.

Y/n fell on her bed and curled up under the covers as her mind started to wander from Peter to Dream. She was really glad she met him. He was a really good person and he was always so incredibly kind to her. George and Sapnap and Karl were all great friends, so caring and understanding and always looking out for her, but Dream was different and she didn't know why.

Maybe it was because he seemed untouchable still, like he had no reason to hang out around someone like her. But he wasn't untouchable in the celebrity was since he had a large following, because all of her friends did and they didn't seem untouchable. Then what was it? What set him apart from, say, Karl? She trusted Karl with her life and had known him for quite a while. She knew Dream for maybe a few weeks and almost trusted him the same amount.

Why?

She picked her phone up off the bed and pulled up Twitter, deciding to DM Dream since he was already existing in her mind rent-free. Might as well make him pay his rent by bothering him.

*********

PREVIOUS | NEXT

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A/N: EEEEEEEE I hope that all made sense lmaaoooo basically yn ex = gaarrbbaaagggeeeee and ruined her self-worth a lot!! not poggers!!!!!! THANK U GUYS FOR BEING SO SWEET ALL THE TIME ALL FOR ALL THE POSITIVE FEEDBACK ON ALL THE CHAPTERS!!! I love seeing you guys make predictions and tell me how aljkDFB chapters make you feel bc same :/

taglist: OPEN (at the time) @hydrate-tion @loraleiix @tinaswagbd @charsdummb @smileyyuta @1ghoste1 @cerberus-hellhound @gaysludge @queestionmark @carnations-red @letsloveimagines @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @boiled-onionrings @a-cryptic @fee-btheweeb @letsloveimagines @erwinss @just-a-stan @axths @kayleigh2703 @furiouspockettoad @sometimeseverythingsucks @powerpuffyn @itshaileyn @millavalntyne @automaticcomputerpaper @nikkineeky @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @sprucekot @jabby16 @mae-musicbitch @hungoverhellhound @dreamyteam @kuroo-icedtea @stuffforreferences @menacingaesthetic @sapphic-soot @fangeekkk

#rpf #real person fiction #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream x y/n #dreamwastaken x y/n #mcty x reader #mcyt x y/n #clay x reader #dream smau #dreamwastaken smau #smau #social media fic #dream social media fic #social media au

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secretbangtnn · 3 years

Text

Best Of Me| Two

Pairings : →ot7 x reader, poly!BTS x reader

Genre : → vampireau, yandere!au, age gap, gore, obsessive behavior, ddlg/caregiver, poly, fantasy, supernaturals

summary : It’s quite unusual to find a little baby on your doorstep, especially that their area was not of the poorest - you could say that a vampire town was efficient with money and snobby creatures. However over time the first idea of just giving back the little girl seems more and more radical and those moody vampires slowly start perceiving deeper feelings to human they even wanted to kill.

previous | next

notes ~ I did it!!! Omg im so happy I finished it, hopefully the next one are going to come sooner. The first chapters are going to be with a baby oc - im sorry if its boring, but after it we can start with the real plot, the things are gonna get dark. Hope that you will like it, and remeber to give me some feedback - im whore for a comments and ask and beside they motivate me very much

taglist :

@missseoulite @gukkculture @silscintilla @the-falling-star @apollonshootafar @mwitsmejk @lovinggalaxies @b-e-t-x-s-o @jisoosbitch @ariverflowsonthemoon @maboiisuga @peachescream1723 @sichajeon

Cries everywhere. Sobbing so loud that all the birds disappeared from their little birdhouse outside the window. And as funny the view was, a big ball of stress and nerves started collecting itself in the rather calm manor. Reason of all this mess was just one, so easy to notice.

“Jungkook!” Just like a ball of nerves now the big ball of dirty blankets and clothes hit the young vampire, making him stumble a little. Obvious disgust on his face with a piece of distaste on his tongue which just a second ago had been caused by the same thing he now fisted in his hands.

“You didn’t have to throw it at me!” Barked Jungkook staring at the broad shoulders of his oldest brother. Child now a little calmer, however still sobbing slightly, keeping the atmosphere at bay.

“You have brung the kid so you will hold the things he made. Be happy that I'm not forcing you to change the diaper instead.”

Disgust on all of their faces is now being something normal, having kids in the same room as them, definitely does not go well with hundred years old vampires. The only one without a gag reflex seems to be Seokjin, acting like a pro mother, just after her 3rd pregnancy with the next on the road. However all of them agreed with the statement that it was all but Jungkook's fault, which came with consequences for said boy.

Thus now sitting on the couch, five of the ramaing vampires, looked with a bored expression at the panicked and nearly vomiting jungkook. Youngest of them always had a soft stomach, never being the one to clean after disasters, forcing people to basically clean after him, and maybe that's why all of them felt such a satisfaction upon them while staring at the shitty situation.

Literally shitty.

Stumbling a little from the intense smell, Jungkook started to try getting rid of the used diaper in his hands, holding it with his fingers dingling it as far from his face as he could. Maybe the smelly object was not the only thing that should be named like a feces, knowing that a person who should just throw the diaper away, purposefully walked closer than intended to a couch with older vampires, stumbling not that accidentally and making the thing in his hand fly straight to a lap of a reading Namjoon.

A moment of silence, only lasting for a short second. Namjoon was never the one to shout or get mad, rather prefering to act calm and well put together, believing in a peace making and solutions not requiring usage of violence but when the heavy baggage on his lap suddenly started to warm his lap, he completely crushed his persona as well as book in his hands.

“Ups...hehe.” Jungkook laughed awkwardly, knowing well his fate. Doe eyes looked at the tall man, standing a little farther than him, just behind the couch. Jaw tightened so were the hands, keeping the last strings of calmness that were floating on very dangerous water.

“Listen, before you actually do something think of the time when you destroyed my ps4 and

I did not even complain.” Hands just before him similar to the way you would to with a wild animal, and in Jungkook's opinion, it was not that far from the truth, observing how Namjoons jaws nearly crushed from the tension.

“Okay okay, we all need to calm down, It was just an accident.” Cut in red head, standing in the middle of the war zone. It was stupid idea, definetly not the brightes of the sunny vampire, even if it came from the good intentions. Hoseok, just like an innocent child that got stuck in a big people argument, was the one that got hurt in the end.

And everybody knew that when Hoseok gets mad it's the extremity that anyone in this room is scared to experience once again. There is silent agreement between the rest of the brothers that was made after one of Hoseok's outburst, promising that no matter what the devil can’t come out.

The apple of discord laying now upon redhead’s feet, innocent like a little kitten that just waits to be petted, but in this case it wasn neither a fluffy ball of fur and definitely not something that should be touched.

Silence so loud, banging in their ears with an uneven breath. Second after second, rest that were not included in the middle, counted sitting on their heels with nerve wracking feelings.They stared as Hoseok’s shoulders rose and went down with each puff of air from his flared nostrils, neither of them dared to move, preferring to stay in a safe zone.

Just as red headed one wanted to take his first kill, a loud laugh echoed in a room, coming from a little child in Seokjin's arms, that probably just came back from being cleaned up. A fresh smile on its face, eyes sparkly looking straight at the scene.

“What are you doing, idiots?” Asked Seokjin, a visible vein on his forehead, sticking out under his free hand that now pinched a bridge of his nose. His eyes catching a glimpse of the used diaper, right on his favorite carpet. “You had one thing to do, one thing Jungkook.”

“It was an accident I swear on my ps4!” He tried explaining, shaking his arms. Seokjin saw to much lived too long to believe it, everybody knew it but even than they acted like bunch of idiots when something like this happen.

“Namjoon destroyed it, you said it yourself.” Spoke Jimin, sitting on a couch with a happy smile, pleased with himself. Younger's head immediately halted in his way, a look of betrayal on his face.

“You midge…”

“I don’t care, just clean it up, in the meantime me with the little snack are going to cook something, right my little cutie?” Cuted the older while caressing the child in his arms, turning his voice in a baby one. And just like this the scene came to the same point, the only difference was that neither Namjoon or Hoseok were in the room, probably running away as fast as Sekojins came.

Jungkook sighed, squatting down to take care of the said thing. Again the disgust and a feeling of nausea hitted him with a side giggles of his blonde haired brother.

Going into the kitchen he spotted the child that looked at him as soon as he appeared. Little smile and sweet laugh, making him soft and mushy for a while.

“I hope you know that you gave us a big problem with bringing a human child there.” Seokjin spoke, not looking from a cutting board, himself to immersed in said action

Jungkook knew, earlier thinking of it like a mere action, something that they can get rid of as fast as a lollipop wrapper. But it was not, and now looking at the kid, he realized how his careless behaviour could weigh down not only on his family but the whole society of vampires.

“I’m-”

“Don’t just apologize, we need to take care of it as fast as we can, in the meantime doing everything to not harm it. If someone finds out it’s going to be a bigger problem, probably even straining the relationship with human - and that’s something we do not want.” Cuted older, in the end turning around pointing the sharp knife on Jungkook.

It was true, the delicate stattlement between those two societies is still new, fresh and hot, ready to burn anyone's fingers, anyones who is to carless. The today is a better world, something that all of the brothers know, remembering dark times - some of them being not older than mere hatchling then. World was a dangerous place to live in, vampires hunting humans, humans hunting vampires, a competition that never got settled, and they hope it never will.

“Try feeding it and come to the living room after you are done. We will discuss the next actions - good luck.” A little wink at the end, Seokjin wiped his hands off on the way patting the younger's back, harder than normally.

“Wait what?! You are not being serious right now, right?” Asked confused Jungkook, fastly turning around to an already disappearing figure. Cold sweat on his body as he looked at the smooth face of the older, that defended a flying kiss to his shocked self. “Why can’t you do it?”

“I can. But the human seems to take a liking to you.” And how absurd it sounded, the baby really looked at Jungkook like some god, sparkly eyes always following his bigger figure.

“Seokjin! Don’t leave me please, I can’t do it.”He whined, looking for the said man, to his luck he was nowhere to be found. It was going to be alright - he tried to believe in those words now clutching baby spoon, that he was sure they did not have, and a mashed food, looking more like dog food than actual meal.

His Eyes staring right into the sparkly and to obnoxious happy, making him even more irritated. In the end, Jungkook hated little children, being and acting like one himself

Little hands stretching towards him with a toothless smile on the side, getting bigger as Jungkook came closer. That was it, taking a big breath he come to the other side of the table - almost touching the stool where the human sat. Ready and determined to get the task done, treating it similar to a quest in the game, he took the little spoon with some of the smashed food, and started to get closer to the child's mouth.

And as the brothers again started to live their normal life, thinking that at least for now, everything is settled, a very obvious squeal shook the while house.

“HYUNG!...IT WANTS TO TOUCH ME! GET IT AWAY, GET IT AWAY!”

___

All of them now sitting on the couches and armchairs, taking nearly all of the space. Some of the observing the crawling baby with prominent couriousty some of them with disgust even fear, not knowing what future the baby will bring.

Namjoon although feeling the little distaste, knew or better had a plan with what to do.

Smile on his lips not reaching his eyes, however stumbling on the way of eye contact with some of his brothers.

“Okay so, definitely we need to do something with...this.” Said Jimin, look on his face full of distress and disgust resting on the child, that as if it knew of Jimin’s attention looked back full of giggles and reaching hands.

“That is obvious, we can’t keep human child.” Barked Yoongi, the one which rather prefered to stay quiet in those metters.

“Jungkook should take care of it, It’s not my fault he is to stupid to not question a left human on a doorstep.” Smug smile now on Jimin's face, as he gave the side glance to the said male, happy with triggering the younger temper.

“As If you woul…”

“Okay we get it Jimin, it was Jungkook's fault, but still it can affect us all, so try to be at least a little bit helpful or shut up” Interrupted Seokjin staring at both of them in turn. The oldest obviously tired of all of the drama, massaging his scalp, to relieve the tension a little. “Let's start one by one, any ideas?”

Silence, a loud silence throwing the tension to the already burning fire. Seokjin's vein once again appeared on his forehead, making Jungkook nearly knock from a terrifying sight of it. It was pulsating, green and bumpy.

“Maybe let’s put it back?” Asked the quiet voice, Sekojin ready to snap at the stupid idea thinking that some of the youngers don’t know limit of the unfunny jokes, only to find innocent eyes of Hoseok.

“That’s … well that is AN option, thank you Hoseok - keep it up. Any other ideas?” Seokjin’s hands molded into a thump, giving the tired smile to Hoseok, knowing of his still busing nerves.

“Why are we even trying so hard, throw it away i say.” Jimin mumbled while staring at the little child going his way, quickly putting his feet on the couch, scared of a chance of being touched by the human.

Tired sight left mouth of the olders, his vein fading a little - to Jungkook luck, and his hands now clenching his blonde lock. He was helpless, disappointed in his brother's ideas and intelligence. He was sure that, that was indeed an end, his family will be arrested for keeping human, and vampires are going to lose a peace they fighted for.

Everything because Jungkook wanted to take unfamiliar child to their house.

“What about the orphanage that opened like one month ago, can’t we just leave it there?” Cuted Namjoon, making everyone snap their head. Seokjin nearly crying, wanting to kiss his brother as much as choke him for his slow process of thinking.

“Couldn’t you say earlier?!

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ibuki-loves-you · 4 years

Text

SDR2 boys with an S/O who is like Mikan

Warnings: Mikan's personality/actions

Mod Ibuki: Back at it again with the Mikan series! I had absolutely no idea what to put for Nekomaru and Imposter Twogami, so please let me know if you want them I'll try to add them. Thanks for the overwhelming support, means so much! More to come, enjoy!

Hajime:

Instant protectivity

No fucking joke

As soon as you met, he was by your side 24/7 making sure no one bothered you

If anyone ever made fun of you, mean Hajime commence

"What did you just say? Do you know how rude that is? Back off, and don't come back. Don't let me hear you say that again."

If you ever took a fall in front of him, suggestive or not he'd pull you to him as soon as possible

"Shh, shh, it's okay. It's okay, don't worry. It was an accident, don't worry."

He found that petting your hair calms you down very quickly so he does that very often

If you ever offered to take your clothes off for him, he'd be opposed the minute the words came out of your mouth

"No, no no no. No, S/O. I don't need to have sex just because I'm in a mood. That's taking advantage of you, and I'd never do that. I love you, alright? Please don't offer that to me unless you yourself want it."

The one time you thought he was angry with you, he got very upset

"S/O, baby, no. I'm not angry with you, the others were just annoying me a bit. If anything, I'm a lot happier now that I'm with you." "R-Really?" "Yeah! I get so happy around you. I love you." "I-I love you t-too, hehe!"

Overall, Hajime is very protective and loves you very very much

He won't let anything happen to you

Nagito:

Nagito adored you the minute you met

Although he felt as if it was selfish, he wanted to be around you at all times

He just wanted to protect you

If anyone ever made fun of you, he'd scare them

No joke, Nagito can be very intimidating when he wants to be

"Hey, S/O! Get on all fours and bark like a dog!" "O-Okay..." "S/O, please don't. You don't have to do anything. As for you, you really must be pathetic. I'm gonna assume you're talentless. How worthless."

If you ever offered to take off your clothes for Nagito, he'd cry on the spot

"M-My hope, y-you don't have to do that just to make me happy! I-I don't want that! I'd much rather have a conversation than sex, especially because it's only to p-please me. P-Please don't offer yourself to me unless you w-want to do it with trash like myself..."

Nagito's self deprication would go through the roof if you thought he was mad at you

"W-What!? God I really am the worst, aren't I? I made you think I was angry with you! A-Angel! I promise, I am not mad at you! I-I don't think I have the ability to be mad at you! P-Please, don't ever think that. Never."

If you fell in front of him, he'd be very fast to pick you up, albeit with a red face

He never wants you to feel exposed or embarrassed

"Love, it was an accident. Please don't cry, it's okay."

Nagito would go to hell and back for you I swear

Kazuichi:

When Kaz first saw you, he was immediately attracted to you

Of course, when he got to know you he was concerned

Why were you so shy?

He stayed by you a lot to make sure you were alright

If someone started making fun of you, he'd immediately start screaming

"Hey!!! What's wrong with you!?! Leave them alone or else!!"

Sometimes it works sometimes it gets him laughed at

But it's the effort that counts

If you ever offered to take your clothes off for him, he'd get really confused

Like we're you asking for sex?

But then it clicked that you were trying to make him happy

"S/O, no. Never. Don't ever offer to do that for me because you think I want it. I don't! If you're gonna offer that, offer it because you want it!"

If you thought Kaz was mad at you, poor boy would be very confused again

"M-Mad? S/O I could never! Babe, I'm not mad. I can promise you that. Never ever! Never in a million years! How could I get mad at such a cute face?"

If you ever took a fall in front of him, he'd try to catch you but probably fail

Whether you fell in a suggestive position or not, he'll scream and squeeze you into his chest after the fall

"I got you, S/O! Don't worry!"

Kaz will protect and attack anyone who dares hurt you

Fuyuhiko:

Fuyuhiko got annoyed at first

He was very conflicted

Peko pointed out that he most likely had feelings for you

Ah, so that's why he felt those protective urges

If anyone ever made fun of you, Atua only knows if they made it out alive

"The fuck you just say!? You better take it back, bitch/bastard!! I'll fuckin' kill you!"

He definitely sent Peko on them after

If you ever took a fall in front of him, most of the time he'd catch you because he has fast reflexes

But if he didn't then he'd help you up as soon as you hit the floor

"S/O! You alright? How the hell did you manage that? C'mon, baby it's okay..."

If you ever thought he was mad at you, he'd blow up at himself

"I'm a fucking dumbass! God dammit! S/O, n-no, I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you. Shit. I'm mad at myself, baby. I-I never want you to think I'm mad at you, because I'm not. That bitch Hiyoko pissed me off again, not you. I-I'm sorry I made you think that."

You offered to take your clothes off for him one time and one time only

He shut it down quick

"No, S/O. Don't offer that. Please don't, just don't. That's your body, and it's beautiful. It shouldn't be shown so easily. I love you so fuckin' much, and that's because of you, not your body. That won't please me, you yourself will."

Let him protect you, Fuyuhiko will never let anyone hurt you, ever

Gundham:

You were an interesting mortal

You managed to attract the dark lord to you with a mere look?

Impossible!

Gundham was around you very often

And if he wasn't one or more of his devas were

They loved you

People usually don't make fun of you

The way he carries himself keeps people away from you

If anyone ever tried to make fun of you (which is rare, Gundham is very intimidating even when he doesn't try), he would flip the fuck out

"Pardon!?! How dare you say such a thing to a wonderful person as themselves!? Must I harm you!? Fiend!!"

If you ever took a fall in front of him, he would try to catch you but would be too late

"H-Huh!? I-I'm sorry, my love. D-Don't fret, it is alright. It was an accident, d-don't cry..."

His personality gets so soft around you it's amazing

If you ever offered to take your clothes off for him, he'd freak out

"M-My love!? No, my dear. Your body is not what I wish when I'm in a foul mood. I wish for you and your comfort. Your body is far to beautiful to be shown to the eyes of others so willingly. Pick carefully who sees such a blessing sight."

If you ever thought Gundham was mad at you, he'd instantly try to soothe you

"Dearest, I may have a devilish temper, but never would it be caused by you. You are precious, far too much so for me to be angry at. I love you with all my heart, my dear. Please don't forget that."

Bless this boy <3

Izuru:

Izuru found you interesting

The minute he realized he wasn't bored by you, he was around you like a lost puppy

Your safety was his number one priority

If anyone ever tried to make fun of you, keyword tried, they'd have to be pretty bold

Izuru is fucking scary

"S/O~Can I have a little private show? It'd make me very happy~" "Repeat yourself." "..." "Go on. What's wrong?" "..." "That's what I thought. I ever catch you near them again and I will be sure to end your worthless existence."

Okay, you would never fall in front of him

He knows when it's gonna happen, so he literally always catches you

And when he does he knows you're embarrassed, so he pulls you to his chest and plays with your hair

"No need to be embarrassed, S/O. It's normal to fall. It is alright."

If you ever thought he was mad at you, he'd be a little upset actually

"I can assure you, I am not angry. I am actually a little upset right now. Weird..." "I-I'm s-sorry! I-I can't do anything r-right!" "I have never felt this before, so thank you. You can do no wrong, love. I promise. I barely get angry, let alone at you...I love you." "R-Really?" "Of course." "I-I love you m-more! Hehe!" "Impossible."

If you ever offered to take your clothes off for him he'd immediately deny you

"If we are going to do something so intimate I want it to be because both of us want to. Not because one wants to please the other. I don't need pleasing, having you in my presence is enough to make me feel, uhm, bubbly? I believe happiness. So, happy. Come here, I believe affection is needed here. I would like to hold you."

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dorimena · 3 years

Text

𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖞 𝖕𝖙.𝟏

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; monoma neito

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 5.1k of filth,

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; nsfw, Overstimulation, edging, dacryphilia, degradation/humilliation, cursing, cockwarming, crossdressing, school girl kink (?), mommy kink, pegging, cum play+eating, dom!fem reader, sub!character

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; whiney Monoma, loud sex, Monoma in a skirt, soundproof dorms, mentions of other 1B characters, aged-up character, Monoma is 18 in this

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; this was meant to just be some long fic, but I find it easier to just divide it into 2 parts while I figure out how to write out the scene I actually wanted to get to. I got carried away. This is what I've been doing during holy week. My religious school would be ashamed of me. This has been proofread, but if there are still any mistakes, I apologize.

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦.; incomplete/in progress.

Monoma had a shit week.

It all started on Monday when his school pants ripped conveniently from the back as he bent down to pick up his fallen notebook. They didn’t even look like they would rip! So how did they...? All he could hear during his inner turmoil and growing embarrassment were murmurs of pity, whispers of curiosity, and his homeroom teacher calling his name countless times to send him back to the dorms to change. Permission slip in hand and underwear out, he silently nodded and made his out, all while ignoring a burning sensation in his eyes and sudden dryness in his throat.

(Walking out the doors with his blazer tied around his waist, he swore he heard a familiar giggle and mockery coming from a smart-mouthed girl.)

Tuesday came bulldozing so suddenly that it ran over him. Well, really it was Yaoyorozu’s canon that almost ran him over.

The day, in general, was normal, none of his classmates made comments about the minor incident the day before, well, except for Y/N who asked if he sent his pants to be fixed or not. (He didn’t, so she demanded him to hand it over to her.) He didn’t go back to the dorms after their last class, since he has to carry out classroom cleaning duties after he accidentally pushed Bakugou into the mud last week. No, seriously, it was an accident. First off, he didn’t see the mud. Second off, he was messing around with Kaibara’s quirk, which spooked Nirengeki who was somehow walking close by to the hot-headed explosion man- and… well, Monoma mistook Bakugou for Honenuki. For some odd reason. How insulting to his intelligence and great memory skills.

So after such a tiring task of brooming, wiping, dusting, and inspecting, he expected to be knocked off his feet with whatever Kendo decided to cook for dinner, not Yaoyorozu’s canon. God, and he shrieked! Who fucking shrieks?! He’s 18, he’s not supposed to shriek! Unless you’re pegging him just right-

Wednesday only sucked because you canceled your biweekly study session in favor of hanging out with the girls in 3A. Now, regardless of what people still say, he has matured and slowly grew out his competitiveness and “jealousy” over class A, and doesn’t really have much issue with most of them (mainly because Shinsou somehow helped him become more “friendly”). However, how dare you choose the girls over him! You’ve never done that.

(And whether or not he was moody and pouty is just a hallucination of yours, he swears it.)

The only bad thing, if you could even call it that, that happened on Thursday was that it slipped his mind how much time he had left to use Tsuburaba’s quirk and lost against his good ol’ pal.

Friday though… Friday was just really weird and he hated how it only felt weird for him. Maybe it’s pent up frustration with how the week went? Maybe it’s the pouty baby in him still being butthurt over Wednesday’s missed study date? Maybe it’s you staring at his legs and ass? Maybe it’s the way you look so delectable in your hero outfit? Maybe- well, now he was just overthinking it, and he rarely ever does! He was tempted on asking Shinsou to, y’know, brainwash him so he could forget this weird feeling of him feeling weird.

Now comes Saturday.

Today is Saturday.

Today is 10:06 pm on a Saturday.

You’re over at his dorm for the already mentioned biweekly study date. He should feel happy, considering you brought over some snacks, ordered take-out from his favorite French restaurant, even played with his hair every time you guys had the 15-minute study break.

But he’s not happy. He’s not unhappy, but he isn’t happy? Again, the weird feeling he felt the day before hasn’t really left and it’s been crawling around his skin, only getting worse when he saw you coming in with pants.

It’s not supposed to make him feel not happy, but you usually come over with a cute skirt or dress, showing enough of your thighs and panties to keep him up at night, fantasizing about them wrapped around his head, suffocating him as he eats you out so delicately or ferociously, littered with his desperate bites and kisses, making him whine out in horny pain-

“Monoma?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed in worry as you ditch your phone to look over at your whining boyfriend. “You okay there?”

Shit. He must’ve gotten lost in his thoughts. “Yes, I am perfectly fine, darling.”

Now that’s weird. He’s speaking so softly, and he only ever does that after he’s cum at least a few times, or when he’s totally relaxed and ready to call it a night. Well, there are those few times where he lies and he speaks about the same.

Humming, you smile sweetly at him.

“Are you sure about that, baby boy?”

Oh, that sent a shudder through his body, his white shirt suddenly feeling too thick and his shorts feeling a bit constricting. In other words, he’s now turned on.

He stays quiet, however, because he feels like his voice will give away his actual feelings, whether it continues being soft or it decides to crack and show how he’s ready to give himself away to you.

“Neito. I asked you a question.”

“No, mommy! I-I mean, I don’t know…” He huffed out, embarrassment now outweighing his neediness. God, why did you have to pull out the mommy card?! You’re so wicked. Did you not know how horrible his week was and now you want to be mean to him?

“What do you mean by that, baby?”

“Well, I’ve had a horrible week, mommy! You should know that!”

“Don’t dare yell at me, Neito. Mommy’s trying to be patient and understanding, but if you’re going to just be a brat, then I should just leave you in time out, right?” Monoma gawked, his whole body and attention turned towards you as you got off of his bed, arms crossed and disappointment showing on your face. Really? You’re disappointed? Just as he opened his mouth to talk back, you spoke first.

“And here I brought one last gift for you. I’m here trying to be such a caring, doting girlfriend, and you start making assumptions about my efforts? Bad boy!”

Wait, gift? These were gifts? Oh! You… you were trying to comfort him? God, guess he was a bad boy.

Seeing him deflate, eyes losing whatever snark they possessed, you sigh and walk towards your bag near the door. And this made him stand up so quickly he lost his footing and slightly fell forward, shocked that you could be leaving already, which you aren’t. Startled by his sudden movement, you quickly take out a plastic bag and hold it in front of him to show the last gift.

It was quiet between you two, staring at each other before looking down at what you are holding.

“What is that?” He’s the first to speak, blinking as he tries to figure out what the dark blue item could possibly be. It’s pleated, though, so-

“Is it the skirt you’ll change into?” And you laugh, shaking your head as you walk back to the bed and sit.

“Not me, baby. You will change into it.” He’s going to be wearing a skirt?

Blinking once more in confusion, he giggles awkwardly before frowning.

“You’re joking, right?” Now it’s your turn to frown.

“No.” And you smile confidently. “I promise, if you wear the outfit in here, it’ll lead us to the actual last gift, hm?” You bat your eyelashes like a little girl asking her dad for a new Barbie doll, or whatever it is they bat their eyelashes for. You’re curious to see what he’ll do.

And you didn’t have to wait long for his decision to be made.

Sitting on your naked lap, thighs trembling in either overexertion or overstimulation, is a certain sweaty, defiled blond male with gorgeous teary, periwinkle eyes trying their best to focus down on you.

After he swiftly and elegantly changed into the outfit, it came to show on his mirror that this wasn’t some random crop top and skirt combo, but a whole schoolgirl uniform: apart from a cropped school girl top and the pleated navy skirt, there were white thigh highs and cute hair clips.

Turns out, you misunderstood his ‘subtle’ hints of some kinky schoolgirl skirt sex; you thought he was offering, with the way he’d bat his pretty eyelashes at you and stare at your skirt during lunch. Really, he was implying you stay with it on, somehow.

Regardless of who was wrong, the fact your pretty boy is squirming uncontrollably with your strap-on deep inside him is something you just have to engrave in your mind. Who knows when you’ll be able to buy another skirt his size? You can’t wait to render it useless.

“Y-You’ve been thin-thinking for too-oo long!” Monoma whines, bringing a hand to wipe away his bothersome tears he doesn’t want you to see, huffing at the end before moaning loudly as you roll your hips upwards, the tip of the dildo teasing his sweet spot.

“Mm, I didn’t say you can speak yet, did I? Guess mommy spoiled you too much.” Sneering, you shift on the bedsheets under you while placing your hands on his thighs, slowly raking your nails upwards. You try your best to avoid the white thigh-high socks, not wanting to make him ticklish and forget why you’re even touching him there.

Monoma shakingly gasps, squirming even more as he tries to have his pathetic, precum weeping dick grab the attention of either one of your hands but ends up staining the clothing covering it. Rolling your eyes, you smack the hairless skin hard enough to watch it quickly flush red and hear him groan, whether in pain, arousal or both.

“Stop it. You’re making me angry with how selfish you’re being. Isn’t mommy supposed to be satisfied first? Or did you forget our rules, baby?”

“N-no! No! No, I- no!” Is whining all that he can do? He’s been whining or moaning for the past hour, with the occasional groans or gasps. You don’t want him to only whine, you need to see him cry.

Cry prettily as he did on Monday when he thought no one was looking back at the dorms. Watch him struggle to keep his whimpers of humiliation at bay. Make him forget all about his silly pride and stupid competitiveness against a class who doesn’t really see him as a threat, but just a crazy motherfucker (or so says Hagakure.)

“No what, Neito? ‘No mommy! I do know the rules!’ or ‘No mommy! I forgot the rules!’ C’mon, baby. I thought you knew how to speak properly? Now you’re making Bakugou seem eloquent.”

Oh no, you’re upset at him. Monoma gasps in offense, though, at the implication that the anger and pride-driven Bakugou is better than him at speaking. Ouch, okay, that actually kind of hurt but it was kinda hot? Kinda not? What’s wrong with him?

Yeah, what’s wrong with him? You’re expecting him to go on with his speech of how Bakugou isn’t anywhere near his expertise and social skills, how he’s clearly more coherent than the other, or the typical ‘how dare you’ sentences. What you didn’t expect was him to whimper and clasp his hands together as if asking for forgiveness so soon.

“No mo-mommy! I do know! Th-The rules, th-that is! I know ‘em!”

“Then you’ll stop moving so much and let mommy continue marking you? If you do, and I’ll be repeating this for the last time, Neito, mommy might let you cum first, mm? Sounds good?”

“Ye-ES!” Okay, maybe you should’ve waited until he answered to land another slap on his thighs, although this one was close to his dick. Oh well, at least he’s making other sounds, but no struggle or tears.

Leaving nail marks around the pale, smooth skin, even carving your name on both thighs with light scratches, you’re in awe at how he’s trying not to move too much. Then again, he is your sweet baby boy, who thrives and gets off of making you proud of him and cumming because of him.

Lifting your eyes from the satisfying reddening skin to his face, you’re struck with awe again: finally, as if some god were listening to your wishes, you see him blinking rapidly as a new batch of tears quickly accumulate on his lashline and slowly trickle down his red cheeks before being furiously wiped away by him. Seems like this has been going on for a bit, seeing how his eyes are slightly red and his hands, clasped back together, if not tighter, look kind of wet. He didn’t want you to know he was trying not to cry and then failed so beautifully.

Gosh, and here you were expecting him to be a brat, to defy your authority over him, to challenge you like he usually does.

(If only you had some mind-reading quirk, you would’ve known he actually had been planning his next moves.)

“Good job, baby! You let mommy mark you so pretty with her hands, and look! Mommy’s name is on your thighs, so that next time you touch yourself you won’t forget who you belong to- I mean, who you’re a baby boy for.”

You’re basking in happiness, in pride, in complete bliss while he thanks you in small whimpers, hips twitching and hole clenching around your strap. Right, you forgot how long he has been cockwarming you; guess he deserves an even better award. He never manages to hold back for so long when sitting on your silicone cock.

Rubbing your palms around his thighs without moving your stare from his face, you command him to put his hands to use and lift the hem of the skirt, getting a good show of a new dribble of precum dropping heavily onto your pelvis. His dick is even shaking just as much as his body, pulsing even more than any other past encounter. It’s also competing against Kirishima’s red hair for the title of the “most red thing ever to exist”.

Monoma’s opening and closing his mouth, eyebrows furrowed in question and silent begging.

“You can speak now.”

“M-Mommy, you pro-hah-mised t-to make hn-me cu-um!”

“...Watch that tone, little boy.” You glowered before continuing. “Remind mommy what she promised you and explain why you deserve it.”

Now you’re being unfair again and Monoma doesn’t want to deal with how you’re suddenly trying to milk out his responses to the way you want. Crossing his arms and glaring down at you, he mutters, “Wh-why should I? Did y-you forget?”

Humming, you move your hands to his hips, rubbing your thumb on the cheap material covering them before beginning to lift him off, at least trying to. “Guess mommy should go back to her room since her baby boy decided to be a little bitch.”

“No!” That’s startling on both your ends hearing such a loud, anguished tone come out of him. Bottom lip trembling and quickly putting his hands to grip tightly at the skirt, Monoma holds back a sob.

“I’m so-sorry, mommy! ‘m not a-a, um, little b-bitch. I’m sorry.” Ending with a whisper, he slowly puts all of his body weight down on your lap, wanting to keep you there and make it impossible to lift him off, and hangs his head in defeat. (Really, it’s because of shame, but you’ll never hear that from him.)

Do you not realize how hard he’s shaking? He can feel his heartbeat in his ears and hear it from his brain. He’s all sweaty and flushed red, his pupils dilate every time you look deep into them. He’s seen the way your eyes light up when glancing at his weeping dick, and he loves how wet it looks, it feels, it sounds, whenever he shifts.

Most importantly, other than his neglected manhood slowly turning a shade of purple, his prostate has been teased for so long that he just wants to ride you hard enough to find bruises tomorrow and hypothetically ‘destroy your cock’.

“If you’re sorry, you’ll tell me what I want to hear. I’m not going to repeat what I asked for.”

Gulping to ease down the shame building up in his body, he lifts his head enough to catch your gaze before softly responding.

“Mommy, um, promised I-I get to cum… she’ll m-make me cum if I-I stopped movin’ s’ much.” Goddamn it, Monoma, get yourself together! “I d-deserve this be-because I stopped. Was a g-good ba-um, baby boy.” He loves hates it when you make him do this, even if not often.

Satisfied with the answer you’ll probably only ever hear once and as clear as possible, you nod your head.

“Then fuck yourself on my cock, Neito.”

No need to repeat yourself. Every little noise he tried so hard to hold back, every twitch and shudder he tried so hard to subdue, every twist of his face to show off the agonizing pleasure is quickly overcoming his insides and dick.

He’s whimpering so loudly, so shamelessly, as he bounces greedily on your lap. Loud and wet skin slapping against each other, and you at first thought, through every lost huff of air, that it’d be his ass connecting to your lube-covered thighs. Instead, your eyes shift towards his crying cock, the way spurts and spurts of precum are left on your lower abdomen, how this furiously blushing extremity keeps slapping itself onto you with every one of his desperate bounces. It’s even wetter than moments ago, you would’ve thought it’d be lube.

Monoma opens his eyes, which seemed to have closed at some point, and looks down at your face, huffing out airy whines of ‘what’, not knowing what you’re looking at. His dick has been wet with his precum for the past hour, so what could be new?

Until he looks down at himself and is mesmerized with how his dick, heavy with unreleased cum and flushed with blood, is tainting and slapping against your beautiful skin with his horny juice- wait, how stupid is he to refer to his precum as ‘horny juice?’

Stupid enough to forget to close his mouth and make his built up drool mix in with the mess below, his whimpers and whiny moans turning into high-pitched cries of your name and loud moans, a normal person would worry about their neighbors. The more he stares at himself, the louder he gets and the sloppier his hips gyrate.

Until he suddenly feels the tip of the toy punch against his prostate.

“Ahn! AGAIN! A-aga-again! Nngain!” Monoma screams, eyes crossing and welling up with old and new built-up tears, ready to drip down. He’s gripping and pulling the hem of his skirt in all directions, his hands never staying still even when a light rip could be heard upon a harsh pull. He recreates the same move, thighs quivering and tensing, begging to be closed. Each accurate hit to his sensitive spot forces out a louder cry and threatens his tears to let loose.

His movements get sloppier and lazier. Seems like he’s tiring out, which isn’t good. Sure, you’re hoping to make him cry with pretty tears and ugly sobs, but you were also hoping to make him do so repeatedly. Then again, if he’s tired out, there wouldn't be much fight or snark from him and maybe you can still make him cry freely.

Good thing you know how to execute fantastic sneak attacks against him.

Under the pillow where your head is situated, you reach for a not-so-small device that kind of looks like a walkie-talkie. Monoma sees this when trying to focus his sight, tensing up at the thought that maybe you were recording this for some benefit or blackmail. But why would you want to blackmail your own boyfriend? Had he done something not to your liking?

The answer came in the form of loud buzzing and sudden quaking starting from deep inside him.

“Wh-wh-wha-what is- hnngh, st-sto-op!” Monoma wails out, almost falling onto your body with how powerful the vibrations are churning hot inside of him. His vision is getting blurry, blocked by the tears that finally, finally are let go and kiss his cheeks with every hot trail left behind.

“You, oh, want me to stop?” He can kind of see your wicked grin, the mockery in your tone and amusement oozing out making him let even more tears fall. Why would you want to stop?

“St-sto-op?! No? N-no! No! P-pluh-plea- nnnghh!”

Ah, so he’s gone dumb. He doesn’t realize he said to stop. Well, now you can either continue watching him break on your lap and admire the waterfall of precum and fresh tears and make him continue working for his orgasm; or, you can tease him some more while turning up the intensity of the toy, now that it’s pleasuring you for once. The way it tickles your clit is enough to make your panting much more noticeable and thighs tense. You wonder how a setting at 4 could already drag out such reactions from the blond male. Enticed now, you decide to go with the second choice.

“P-pluh-plea…? Didn’t think y-you’d be stupid! Where did m-my smart-mouthed baby go? Ugh.”

“N-n’where m’mmy! ‘m h-here- Fuck! Fuck, pl-please! Please! Mo-more? Nngh!”

“You’re slurring, b-baby. But, you a-asked politely.” You hover your thumb over the ‘+’ button, hips grinding upward to drag out some more tears, more cries, more whimpers as you melt into the bed.

“Mommy’s g-gonna count to 10, al-alright? Ugh, then you’ll c-cum, mm. Understand?”

You’ve never seen so much eagerness come from Monoma before, well, not unless it’s because he knows he’ll win at something or get to prove his worth even more. But the way he nods reminds you of a bobblehead: empty in the head, cute to look at.

“G-good. Don’t forget t-to keep riding m-mommy’s big, th-thick cock.” You then lower your voice, sending shivers down his spine even with how hot he feels. “Understand?”

You don’t wait to see more of his eager nods. You press down on the button until it reaches the maximum intensity, which makes your hips jolt up so harshly, thrusting the silicon toy back up to him that it’s enough to make him squeal. Now that’s new.

As much as you’re enjoying how satisfying the stimulation is on your wet cunt, you can’t help but moan out loud Monoma’s name as the boy’s reduced to short-lived squeals and rapid hiccups, so rapid that you’re beginning to think he might be hyperventilating. Worried, you bring your thumb to reduce the intensity before feeling him grind so desperately on your lap. So without any more distractions or hesitations, you quickly begin the countdown.

“Ten.” Monoma repeats with a strained moan, his hands flailing about as he tries to grab purchase onto something, letting go of his ‘forgotten’ skirt.

“N-nine.” Monoma finally plants his trembling hands onto your shoulders, pinning you down enough to give enough strength to his arms. Hovering over you, you frown at his skirt-covered dick.

“Ei-eight.” Monoma tenses his thighs as much as possible to stop the shaking. Even if it didn’t do much, he begins riding you again with more vigor and desperation than previously. A high-pitched whine of your name quickly leaves him as his sensitive dick receives friction from the fabric covering it, the stain that had dried over time reviving as more precum marks it.

“Seven- shit.” Monoma’s trying to look down at you. He can’t really see much of anything, not with his tears never stopping or his mind not setting back into an intellectual phase. He can barely think to say anything else but lewd chants of your name and ‘please’, ‘more’, ‘faster’. It’s not until he moans out a timid “f-fu-ugh- fuck!” that you pay mind to the rapidly growing heat in your stomach.

“Six! Fuck, Neito!” Monoma’s continuous chants and growing volume suddenly sound babbled as he drools down on you, his saliva hitting your chin before you growl up at him. No words are exchanged as he swallows the liquid that had accumulated, although with difficulty. His thighs are beginning to burn and shake with exhaustion, quaking even worse than when he was cockwarming you. His riding turned into hard bouncing, finally stealing your breath away physically and providing some movement on the other end of the silicone toy to press harder onto your clit.

“Fi-five!” Monoma’s eyes cross for the second time, staying longer in that position as he chokes on his scream, all because you’re beginning to meet up with your own thrusts. Your feet planted on the bed as you let go of the control for the vibrator, gripping onto his hips tightly to match him with you. You’re beginning to moan so sweetly, gasping out his name loud enough for him to-

“Cl-clo-ose! F-ugh-fuck! Fuck! Clo-oooose!”

“Ho-hold it! Hold i-it, baby, a-almost the-there!” God, the heat is growing so deep in you that you know this will be violent.

“Four- shiiit.” Monoma’s sobbing now, ever since you told him to hold it. Mission accomplished, so far. He’s blinking rapidly, trying to get rid of the tears and allow him to actually see you. He needs to see your lewd faces, ignoring the fact he is probably rivaling yours. The intense need to cum is building up far too quickly for him to even catch up and he just wants to cum right here, right now. But if he does, you’ll punish him. So, he tries his best to hold it.

“Three! Three, Neito!” Monoma’s trying so hard to not cum, to not even think about it, but how can he if his prostate is being overstimulated and his cock keeps receiving such familiar friction, enough to make him sob even louder. He’s not going to make it.

“T-two! Lif-ft your sk-skirt!” Monoma can’t or else he’ll fall on you. But you’re grabbing onto him so hard that he hasn’t felt the need to support himself on your shoulders. Using whatever energy he has left, he throws himself up to his old sitting position, making his bouncing sloppier and unsynchronized with your thrusts. He quickly grabs onto the wet hem, biting his lip as he tries to swallow and control his sobs. Lifting it, he’s rewarded with the sight of his slick covered cock, so red and noticeably throbbing that his eyes slightly roll to the back of his head.

“One! Fuck, one!” Monoma’s mouth opens wide, his throat constricting as every choked moan and cry tries to escape while his ass begins to tighten alarmingly fast around the toy. He jumps when he feels something wrap around him, quickly looking down at himself again to see, then feel, you viciously stroke him. And that does it.

“Cum.”

Monoma gasps as he relaxes his thighs and lets go. One more hit to his prostate and he’s…

He’s quiet.

Your eyes are as wide as dinner plates as you watch him reach his orgasm: on you, in all his beautiful glory, is Monoma Neito. A guy whose back is arched at a certain angle you’re sure it’s uncomfortable. A guy whose nipples are completely being seen through the drenched crop top. A guy whose mouth is leaking trails of drool, but not as much as his eyes are leaking streams of unstoppable tears. A guy whose face is so red and sweaty, his bangs are striking to the skin and his eye color pops out more. A guy whose only warning of his cum leaving his body, as much as his soul had, is to roll his eyes so violently to the back of his head and convulse forward.

You forget about your orgasm as you try your best to support his body in the current position, not wanting him to fall on you or backward. Well, maybe you should’ve let him fall onto you.

His cum spurts seem to be gold medal Olympians in ‘how far can we reach’ and ‘how much can we be’. The first one barely misses your eyes, but the second one hits you on the forehead. With each spurt leaving his twitching cock, Monoma hiccups whiney and loud words of gratitude and mercy, hips jumping up, torso jolting forward. His knuckles are white upon the unforgivable grip he has on his absolutely ruined skirt, slowly but surely being dirtied with each load forced out of him with the still-buzzing toy inside him.

This whole scene is enough to remind you about turning down the intensity of the vibrations while grinding slowly, both to help milk him out his incredibly overwhelming high and to bring you back to the tip of paradise.

By the time he’s done, he nearly collapses on you but first lifts himself, somehow, off of the toy before leaning back onto your lifted thighs. He’s still twitching, the color of his face slowly coming back as his eyes dry up from the tears. The socks have moved a bit down on his legs and most of the pretty hello-kitty themed hair clips are barely fastened on his hair. You’re pretty sure some are littered around the bed.

Monoma’s eyeing his mess curiously and taking in a cum-covered you before he scoops up some of his cum, tastes himself and you both moan softly. You turn the toy off, still rolling your hips as much as possible to ride out your harsh, hot, and wet orgasm. You’re pretty sure you somehow squirted, but that doesn’t matter too much right now.

Because the moment Monoma came back to his senses and made eye contact with you, you find yourself living in a slow-motion picture: with a shaky hand, he uses the same fingers to write down his first name before scooping up as much of his excess cum and, without any warning, moves forward to thrust his fingers in your mouth, dragging the pads of his fingertips down onto your tongue as you swallow.

Pulling his fingers out slowly while giggling breathlessly, his signature smirk grows onto his blissed-out face.

“H-how do I ta-taste, m-mommy?”

#bnha smut #mha smut #monoma neito smut #monoma smut #sub bnha #monoma x reader #monoma neito x reader #ლ; blasphemy #𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖒𝖆

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kimnjss · 4 years

Text

tricky part | knj

⤑ series: plot twist

⤑ pairing: rapper!namjoon x rich girl!reader

⤑ genre: fluff?? (idk, man. i think they’re cute.) ahem, some smut... nd we get a little angsty, of course.

⤑ rating: explicit

⤑ word count: 8.1K // unedited.

⤑ warnings: (mentions of alcohol abuse). slight dirty talk, cursing, fingering, nipple play, handjob, unprotected sex, cumshot, doggy style, light hair pulling, multiple orgasms... i think that’s it.

⤑ chapter song: tonight (i wish i was your boy) - the 1975 (the entire song is namjoon is swear...)

⤑ A/N: hiiii! this is wicked late ., i took a nap today nd it was amazing . let me know what you think !! x

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 17:09

It takes longer than usual for you to get ready, stuck in the mirror contemplating whether or not what you're wearing is good enough. If maybe you should put your hair up instead of letting it fall freely. Would it be showing too much? But you wanted to show a little, right? This was a date after all, who didn't tease a little on the first date?

But this was Namjoon. Sensible, cautious, easily frazzled Namjoon. Would it turn him off? Or fluster him so he's showing off that cute dimpled smile of us. The one that he let slip when without even noticing it, cheeks flushing pink as he tried to avoid eye contact. Gosh, he was so cute!

Okay! Perfect solution, you're thinking as your eyes find the hair elastic on your dresser. You'd bring the hair tie and feel things out, read the room, and with the first desire to jump his bones, you'd tie your hair up. Giving him a perfect look at your shimmery collarbones, thank you Fenty, and the slope of your neck. No doubt he'd find himself thinking about pressing his lips against your skin at the sight of it.

Boys were simple. All of them. A mere flash of skin and they were putty in your hands. Joon was cute with it, though. So you'd let it slide.

Your phone lights up, humming against your sheets. His name flashes in bold, waking up the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. Weird. He must be here, no doubt outside waiting for you right now. He'd think you looked nice, right? Grant you one of his lingering stares that he's always so quick to avert.

That's when you knew you caught his eye. Pride warms your chest each and every time you're catching him. It took a little bit more effort to get Namjoon to turn his head. Yet, he was still a boy at the end of it. He'd end up looking at you one way or another, it's all about how you present it.

Which is exactly why you were yellow. A yellow two-piece that highlights the best parts of you. And you're sure you've made the right decision when you catch the stutter in his step, eyes flickering from your face to your legs then back again. Forcing himself not to look away the entire time you're walking up to him, black platform heels carrying you with ease. Only a few inches below him with them on.

“Hi,” You're saying with a grin, hand reaching out to grasp his bicep. Giving it a little squeeze and watching the way his eyes go wide. He's wearing sweats but still looks so good. As if he's stood in front of you in a three-piece suit, although you might be exaggerating.

He doesn't shake you off but doesn't exactly relax in your touch either. Fingers tapping against his thigh and you can't help but wonder if he's holding himself back from touching you. Lame. “You're wearing yellow,” He says after a moment, stating it as fact rather than something that was intentionally done for him and his attention.

Eyes rolling on a laugh, you're nodding your head. “Yeah. You like yellow,”

“I do,” His nod is curt and his tone is military.

Huffing, while stepping forward, easily pulling him a bit close to you. “Okay, rule number on to this date...” Lifting a single finger for reference. His eyes flicker to it before he's looking back down at you. “You're not allowed to think tonight, got it? No analyzing, calculating. Weighing the options. Just do and talk, get loose.” Giving his shoulder a playful shake, you're shocked to hear the laugh that falls from his lips.

Like an actual, really pretty laugh. “Alright, deal.” A proud smile threatens to split your face when you feel his hand lift, hesitant at first but landing on the small of the back. Albeit, just to guide you, but it's still something. “Let's get going,” He's guiding you with the gentle hand on your back, barely touching you but you're stomach was doing backflips.

How quickly the roles reversed. Hands clasped in front of you, urging yourself to calm down. To stop acting like some thirteen year old who still hasn't had their first kiss. You were twelve years and eighteen kisses past that. Get it together.

“Where's your car?” Stepping on your tiptoes, attempting to peak up the street to spot it. “Actually, what kind of car do you even drive? I've never seen it?” Eyes shifting up toward him, a quizzical look on your face.

You're missing the soft, “I don't...” That falls from his lips because you're brain is working overtime to guess what car he could possibly drive. “Hm, you kinda look like a Chevy guy... maybe a Honda? But, I could be wrong. Definitely not a sports car, though.” You couldn't imagine Joon in one of those loud, low to the ground car.

Whipping through traffic as if where he had to go was much more important than all the other people on the road. Yeah, that didn't fit.

He's taking offense to this for some reason, nose scrunching, and hands finding his hips. His steps even come to a halt. “Hey. Why not a sports car?”

You're letting out a laugh, not at him, of course. Just at how adorable he looks right now. Actually pouting, with his arms crossed in the middle of the sidewalk. You've never seen him like this, not even sure where this new Joon came from. But he might be even cuter than the Joon you knew and had a huge crush on.

Moving toward him, not even bothering to stop yourself from poking his pouted lip. “Come on, that's totally out of character. You're practical and sensible. You wouldn't splurge on a sports car, that's not even durable. Those cars get torn apart in accidents,” He's not really mad, obviously. Which is why it doesn't take long for him to lose the face.

“So which one is it? Honda or Chevy?”

A large arm is dropping around your shoulder, tucking you into his side as the two of you continue your timed steps down the sidewalk. “Neither. I don't have a car. Or my license,” Eyes nearly popping out of your head with his words, stopping in your tracks to get a good look at him. Just in case you might've heard him wrong.

But he shows no signs of correcting himself or clarifying what he had just said. “Wait. So how are we going to get there!?” Did he expect you to walk!? All the way to Daejeon? In these shoes... they were cute, but not the most comfortable. And they didn't need to be because they weren't meant for walking 100 miles at a time!

“We're gonna take the train, of course. How else?” He's not even looking like he knows he's talking nonsense.

Like, honestly. Did he expect you to ride a gross train dressed like this!? What if you got robbed? Or kidnapped? Or worse, thrown up on!? This outfit was irreplaceable, one of a kind. No way could you take it on a train, that wouldn't do. “No. That won't be necessary. I'll just call one of my drivers, they'll come get us,” You've got your phone out before you're even finishing your sentence.

Namjoon is quick to pluck the device from your fingers, a sly smile playing on his features as he tucks it into his pocket. “Let those people spend time with their families. It's Sunday. There won't even be that many people,” Two firm hands placed on your shoulders, he's turning you effortlessly. “The train, it'll be fun.”

“You're the only guy, in the universe that thinks riding the train will be fun.” He's laughing again and it's not cute as it was a few minutes ago. “Oh no, I meant fun for me. You're gonna hate it,”

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 17:37

Just as you predicted, the train is gross. And sticky. Crowded and sweaty. Joon holds you close as you weave through the sea of people, fingers laced with yours. Although you know it's purely for survival purposes, the flutter in your heart still rises from feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

You try not to make a huge deal about it. People rode the train every day and considering how many of them were in here, they've all survived. You'd be fine. Especially with this six-foot angel clearing the way for you at every turn.

Joon finds a seat for the both of you against the wall. Close with your thighs pressed together and he still hasn't released your hand from his grasp. It's cozy beside him, warm. Leaning your weight on to him, you try to be subtle but probably fail. He's concentrating on something on his phone and from the quick peak you were able to sneak, you see he's checking on your reservation for tonight.

Stomach flipping at the tiny fact he made a reservation for you two. It's so Namjoon to want to be triple prepared for anything, but the fact that it's in your favor makes you happy. No idea why, but that was the truth of the matter. More often than not happy when you were around him.

Even cramped in this stinky train, his hand in yours was enough to convince you, you were in the back of a limo. The unfocused chatter around you replaced with soft music that you'd play. Probably something he likes to listen to. His taste in music was quickly becoming yours the more time the two of you spent together.

He's dropping your hand for some reason that you don't realize until you're looking up to see him standing. Offering his spot to some brat with a broken leg. What the heck? Were you supposed to hold hands with this kid? Up without a word, didn't even bother to ask if you wanted him to get up.

Joining the other people standing, holding on to the railing and you're quickly deciding you don't like the distance. He watches as you stand to your feet, nose brushing against his chin. “Sit,” Gesturing to your now empty spot, earning a raised brow from him.

“Come on, Yn. Your feet are gonna hurt. Just relax,” He tries to lower you back into your spot, but you're moving to the side with a shake of your head. “I'll be fine. Just sit,” Catching the stubborn glint in your eye, just begging him to argue, he chooses to drop it. Switching spots with you and sinking into the empty spot.

Not even a second after he's settling into the cushion, you're dropping yourself onto his lap. Arm wrapped around his shoulders, legs between his. Bum pressed firmly into his thigh. “Did you really think I was going to stand?” You laugh. He doesn't even look the least bit surprised, eyes rolling – but you catch the smile on the corner of his lips.

His hand finds the outer part of your thigh, holding your body steady as the car jostles. He doesn't move it even after the machine has settled, has even taken to tapping out a rhythm against your skin.

It's nice. Your new favorite song.

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 21:17

You had to hand it to the guy, Kim Namjoon knew how to put a date together. Pure perfection from beginning to end, you're not sure if it's his careful attention to detail or the small possibility that he wanted to impress you... you've decided to go with the latter.

The entirety of dinner was spent talking about everything and nothing. Actually getting to know each other aside from the surface level, 'I make good music and you screen it while balancing your massive crush on me,'. He was telling you about the time he first met Yoongi: second year of high school, Yoongi was a really cool Senior, the type of cool guy that everyone knows, but like doesn't talk to anyone. He found Joon making out with some cheerleader in the band room, her hand down the front of his jeans... and made it all of his business to tease him about it for the rest of the semester.

Never would you have deemed Joonie as the type to take part in such excessive PDA, and although he insists it was not his idea... well, agree to disagree.

You were even telling him about the first time you got blackout drunk, which resulted in you being banned from every last Shake Shack. The only thing you remember from that night was getting in the car to head to the club, already started pre-gaming beforehand. But as Jungkook likes to tell it, you were a melting pot of 'types of' drunks.

Started the night trying to fistfight the bouncer, after only fifteen minutes in the club, which resulted in you... and all of your friends being kicked out. Went from not-so-discreetly trying to mount your boyfriend at the time, Jackson, to crying on the bathroom floor Shake Shack all before you were puking in the booth, after swearing (a million times) that you 'weren't gonna throw up'.

Followed by a screaming match between you and Hoseok as he apologized a thousand times over to the employee he had to call over for the mess, trying to assist her while she tried her best to keep a smile on her face. Jungkook carried you to the car, full-blown had to haul you over his shoulder as you screamed curses at your brother.

You don't remember any of that, though. Next thing you remember from that night after getting in the car to leave, was waking up to the sound of loud video games, hanging half-naked off the side of Jackson's bed.

You're more embarrassed than you though, telling that story out loud. how bad you used to be. That was the worst of it, but the other times weren't too great either. Of course, you've calmed down a bit. Really tried each and every time you were sent away to clean up your act. And you were good for a few months after you came back, and then you were not.

Surprisingly, Joon doesn't look disgusted when you tell him. And you're not sure if that's a good thing or not. Either he's extremely understanding or he was expecting your most embarrassing story to be something of the sort. You hope for the former but suspect the latter.

In reality, though. Namjoon found himself trying to figure out just what could've been going on in your life that you felt like any of that would help. He now knew with you there was always something hidden, a reason to your behavior that you oftentimes liked to brush off. Must've been bad. You probably had a hard time.

The highlight of the night, though, was hands down the play. You're not even sure if he knew what it was about when he chose it, but you were falling in love from the moment the current went up. Characters so vivid and engaging, dealing with real-life shit all while living in fear of the darkness that looms over their tiny village.

It wasn't hard for you to get totally immersed in the show, laughing along, getting upset, crying. And Joon stays seated by you the entire time, holding on to your hand. Not so sure when he picked it up, but he hasn't let it go in a while. Not that you were complaining. You liked the tiny shocks that followed every brush of his fingers.

He smiles when you laugh, laughs when you get upset, and wipes your tears when you cry. You're so sure, he missed the entire show.

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 21:20

“You know, my best friend's an actor. Kinda a big deal at his agency... I could talk to him?” Joon throws in casually as the two of you make your way out of the theater, talking as he tosses his empty popcorn carton into the garbage. As if he didn't just drop some life-changing news.

You've heard of his friend, Kim Taehyung. Was an extra in his very first big drama role, a historical one where he faced an untimely death. The two of you never crossed paths and shared zero scenes together, but it was still pretty cool. To you. He didn't know you from a hole in the wall and the last thing you'd do was act like anyone's biggest fan.

But, this? What Namjoon was offering... that could be huge. The start that you needed and you wouldn't even have to go through your father. You could do it all on your own... kinda. “Oh! That would be amazing, Joon!? Why didn't...”

As quickly as the excitement hits you, it's being knocked right out of your body. The job that you already have and everything else that surrounded it. No way could you accept this. “Actually,” You're forcing a smile for Namjoon to see, “Let's put a pin in it. I want to focus on the company,” You wonder if it sounds as robotic as it feels.

“Why? You hate that place?” His hand has found yours again, arms swinging slightly as you walk. There's this curious look on his face like you're not making any sense. And you're not.

Why wouldn't you jump on the first chance to ditch that hell hole? The opportunity was right in front of your face, so why wouldn't you take it? You must be an idiot. Stockholm Syndrome? “Can I tell you a secret?” You're whispering despite the fact it's just the two of you on the street.

“Sure,” Gently, he's pulling you just a bit off of the path. Figuring whatever you have to tell him might be something he wants to sit down for, so he's getting comfortable on a bench, tugging you down beside him.

Not once letting go of your hand. “Hoseok is putting out an album in a few months. He's been juggling that and work-work. The time when my dad came down to talk to me... about the whole Hyungwon thing, he said he'd tank the album if I didn't start acting right,” That actually does surprise Joon, eyes going wide as a barely audible gasp leaving his lips.

You can just about guess what he's thinking, 'what kind of father...?'. And the easy answer was, yours. Your type of father would. Your type of father has. “That's why I need to stay focused. I can't screw up, he's been working so hard. I wouldn't be able to live with myself I ruin everything for him. Again.” That was a story for another time.

“Yn. That's fucked up. Does Hobi know?”

Scoffing, your eyes roll automatically. “Of course not and don't tell him. He thinks our dad is the best. 'Strict, but the best'.” Your tone changes slightly to mock his deeper voice. “Thinks he's hard on me only because of how I act and while I know that doesn't help, that wouldn't change anything. We're all just pawns in his game. His stupid Legacy.”

It's weird because you don't even sound sad. Just numb. Like you've accepted that this was how the way things were and this was how they were going to be. He wished there was something he could do, stand up to your dad for you, tell him all the things you're afraid to. But that would be stupid, for him and for you. It wasn't his place and he'd only make it worse. No matter how badly he wanted to just step in, there was really only one thing he could do.

Your hand is much smaller in his, soft and cute. Nails painted a pretty deep blue to compliment the yellow of your dress. Squeezing softly, he's lifting his lips into a smile for you to see. And since he's been trying to take your advice and stop thinking so much, he's lifting your hand. Pressing feather-like kisses against your knuckles.

The gesture so sickeningly-sweet, you're not sure if you should puke or cry. Or both. He's looking up at you, smiling really wide before he's moving closer, lips finding your forehead making you feel warm all over. Butterflies holding a wrestling match in your stomach and you might just burst into tears.

“I can't interfere with your family. Especially when you're not asking me to. Just know, if you ever want to start doing what you really want I'll support it. I'll support you.” You feel the pressure building behind your eyes, the thickness in your throat. All over three stupid words that you had no idea you've been waiting to hear.

It's overwhelming. Desperately fighting back the wetness that teases your waterline. With a hard blink and a huff of air – you're pushing a smile onto your face. Aware of how fake it looks, but it'll have to do as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” You're grinning, hand patting his knee before you're hopping up from your spot beside him on the bench.

A hand extended down to him. “Come on, dessert on me!” You giggle because it feels right. And he takes your hand, allowing you to pull him from to his feet. Tugging him along behind you with your face pointed to the night sky. Not saying anything until you're sure your voice won't break.

And even then it's a quiet mumble, “You've earned something sweet.”

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 21:59

Your hair has gone up. Revealing the slope of your neck and the shimmer on your collarbones. And as you predicted, Joon watches you through the entire process. Lips wrapped around your ice cream cone, holding it in place as your hands move quickly to pull your hair out of your face. His gaze dropping to your mouth as you lick mess the treat his left from your lips.

Hook. Line. And sinker.

“Do you have any weird kinks?” You don't even look at him when you say it, focus on creating a peak on your ice cream cone.

Joon's choking a cough out around his shaved ice, eyes blinking hard as he clears his throat, lifting his gaze up to you. “Excuse me, what!?” An easy laugh falls from your lips, shoulders shrugging slightly. Taking pride in how easily you could fluster. “You know... weird kinks. Things that get you going, but are kinda weird,”

“Like a fetish?” You're shrugging, barely interested in the choice of word. “I'm sure there's a difference, but for the sake of this. Sure,”

He had to have something, there was no way he didn't. Everyone had something and you refused to believe that he was even composed and well thought out in that area. There had to be something that made him lose his cool. Had to be.

“Uhm,” He's clearing his throat, cheeks seeming to grow darker the more time you spent staring at him. “I wouldn't say it's weird, but I like...” His attention falls to his dessert, twirling his spoon around in the frozen shavings. Would you think it was too weird? Consider it a deal-breaker and decide to not talk to him again. You probably wouldn't even care, there wasn't much that you cared about he was finding.

But, you could surprise him. And what if... wait, why was he even stressing about this in the first place!? “Why are you even asking me this?” Such a random topic interrupting your peaceful silence staring at the water.

Again, you lift your shoulders in a shrug. “I'm curious. Here, I'll tell you mine.” You pause to flash a breathtaking grin up at him. “Put your hand up,” Joon doesn't even hesitate to lift his palm, heart stuttering when you're pressing yours against his. As if you're comparing sizes and he can't help but curl his fingers down into the space that's left.

“See that? What you just did? Drives me crazy. And also...” Hand dropping from his to lay flat on his chest and on reflex his muscle is tensing, pecs jumping underneath your touch. It's actually so sexy you contemplate dropping to your knees right then and there. You suppress the urge, but don't make any moves to lifting your hand. “Big hands? And muscles. Phew. Throw in a pair of cute dimples and it's over,”

It's obvious at this point that you're literally referring to him, not intentionally of course. He just happened to check every last one of those boxes. “Why's that?” He's staring at you with these eyes that you've never seen before. Dark and filled with want.

You liked it.

“Makes me feel cute and small, I guess. Like if you... or any guy, but let's just say you, were to use your big hands to pick me up and hold me there while we-” His eyes go wide when he catches on to the end of your sentence, rushing out a frantic, 'Oh okay, I get it!'. Watch as you bursting into a fit of giggles.

He ignores you, taking to peering around the bridge, checking for anyone within earshot that might've heard what you were about to say. Only to find that you two were the only people out here. Unless he was worried about judgmental glares from the birds, you were fine.

“So...” He's starting only after he's done his full scenery check. “You like feeling small, then? That's interesting,” Forever impossible to read, no idea what he meant by interesting, but as always you were running with it.

Steering this night, which had been an amazing date, in a direction that was a little less PG. Brow arched and a smirk playing on your lips, you move into his space. Hand sliding down the front of his body, meeting his waist. Holding a soft grip on the fabric of his sweater, you rise onto your toes, nose just inches from his.

“And? What do you plan to do with this information?” Could swear a small gasp falls from his lips, feeling your free hand tug on the long drawstring of his pants.

There are a million and one thoughts running through his mind right now. Every last one of them revolving around you. How good you look underneath that skirt, how good you smell standing this close to him. The way he could see the faint freckles on your cheeks, faded from your makeup. Yet, through all of his mangled thoughts, there's one that stands out amongst all of them.

You're so beautiful.

And not in the ways that you'd think. Yes, your face fit the standard, and the confidence you carried yourself with was more than deserved, but there was more. Beautiful underneath all of that and he could see it and even with this new stiffness tenting at the front of his jeans, it's all he can focus on.

Soft giggles fill his ears, coming from you realizing the way he was staring at you. Not saying a single word, just looking. “You're stalling. What's yours?” Taking a step back, you allow him a chance to breathe. Just barely noticing the twitch of his arm, ready to pull you close to him again.

“Okay, fine.” Joon's saying with a roll of his eyes, not the annoyed one that you've grown used to. It's playful, cute paired with the smile on his lips. “I like...” Large hand reaches out, landing firmly on your hip, effectively catching you off guard but he doesn't even give you a second to react before he's twisting your back toward him.

A shiver dancing down your spine as the tips of his fingers gently trace the link in the middle of your back. Actually having to bite down on your lip to keep from any noises slipping out in response to his light touch. “That. It looks sexy,”

Now you know how he feels when you tease him. Breathless and flustered all because he touched your back!? Come on, it was about time you got your shit together. Turning in his grasp, your features morph feigning confusion. “You like backs?”

“No! Not just backs. I Mean the dip... and if there's dimples back there. That's always a plus,” He says with a shrug, but you know exactly what he's doing. It was your game, basically invented it.

But judging from the flutter in your chest, he was better at it. “I have dimples back there,” It sounds dumb to your ears, like 'duh, he knows that stupid.. that's why he said it,' but you can't think of anything else to say. Thoughts clouded with how good being touched by him felt and coming up with ways to get more of that.

And he's moving as if he's read your mind, arm wrapping around your waist. Pulling your body to him with this newfound boldness that has a shocked gasp falling from your lips. “I know you do,” His voice is so deep and so sexy, only loud enough for the two of you to hear. You could spend hours just listening to him talk, no doubt. God, you needed to get it together.

“Oh, yeah? You've been sneaking peaks?”

He nods. Like, doesn't even bother to try and hide behind some half-assed explanation why he might've noticed, just owns it. He's so hot. “I'm very observant,” His words have you wondering what else he's noticed about you. How much time did he spend just 'observing', as he liked to call it.

You could figure that out later, there were much more pressing matters at hand right now. Kissing him. Through with the back and forth, you needed to feel his lips against yours. The fragmented memory of the first and only time was quickly fading, you needed something fresh.

With your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, you lean into him. Chin tilted up and eyes slowly falling closed, you're just inches from his mouth when that deep voice of his is breaking through. “Are you gonna kiss me?”

“Wow, you are observant,” Breathing out a laugh, you're nodding eyes lifting to find his. He even looked good from this close. “Wait.” His quick movements startle you, a not so cute squeal filling the night air as he bends to lift you, effortlessly wrapping your legs around his waist.

You're both laughing, like side aching chuckles. And you're certain you've never seen him like this before. Eyes forming crescent moons as loud snickers fall from his grinning lips. He's pretty. You're so dazed by that simple fact that you don't notice the way his laughter has died down into soft breaths.

Not until silence is falling over both of you and he's leaning up to press his lips against yours. Large hand lifting to tangle in your hair as he kisses you.

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 23:29

And he doesn't stop kissing you. Not on the train home where you sit on his lap and he swallows every last one of your whines. Not on the walk to your place where he keeps his arm around your shoulder, occasionally leaning down to press kisses against your cheeks. Even stood at your doorstep, you're still like teenagers who just discovered making out.

“Do you want to come up?” You're murmuring against his lips, sentences barely coherent through the push of your lips.

He's registering your words a few moments after you've said them, pulling back to reveal the worried expression on his features. Doesn't say anything, though. Like he's stuck between taking you up on your offer and whatever concern is plaguing his mind.

And then it's hitting you. “Hoseok's out with some girl. Just in case you're worried about that,” You don't miss the way his face relaxes, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. Pulling a blase expression, moving into your space again. “Why would I be worried about that?”

Eyes rolling, you let out a laugh. “Oh, my mistake.” You mock, turning to unlock your front door. Joon is following steps behind you into the house, no sign of Hoseok in sight. Not like he'd really care, on Namjoon's part. Just give you an ear full about how your actions would affect the company.

So, you're glad he's out. In no mood to hear any of that tonight. “Do you want a glass of wine?” Namjoon is following you into the kitchen, nodding along to your words.

He just can't seem to take his eyes off you. Followed your movements from the pantry to the cabinets all the way to the island where you poured alcohol into glasses for the two of you. Watched the way your lips tickled the neck of the bottle, sucking up the droplets that had spilled, dark eyes finding his the moment you're pulling back.

Daring him. To do something. Anything. Joon knew he needed to be bold. Impulsive. Throw caution to the wind and deal with the consequences later. It's how you got what you wanted all the time and right now, he wanted you.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he's rounding the island. Closing the space between the two of you. Hand cupping the side of your face as he wraps an arm around your waist. His gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips, rhythmically. “I don't want wine,” Your heart hammers in your chest.

“What do you want?” You ask, although, you already know the answer.

He takes to showing you rather than telling you, using the grip he holds around your waist to lift your body onto the counter. Stepping into the space between your legs before he's covering your mouth with his.

This kiss is much different from the others, no longer testing the waters. There's determination behind each movement of his lips. Both hands gripping your waist, pulling your body forward until his hips are pressed to yours. His tongue slips past his soft lips to graze your bottom lip. And you're opening up for him without a moment of hesitation, fingers tangling in his messy locks, and pulling – a low groan emerging from the back of his throat.

He's pushing his body flush against yours, hips lifting rightly and you feel the twitch of his cock through his sweats. Sweet moans fall from your lips with every roll of his hips, deliberately pushing down desperate to feel more of him. Your senses are filled with him. The taste of his tongue, the sweet smell of his cologne, how good it feels to have him pressed up against you.

Strong hands roam around your body, gripping the fabric of your skirt tight enough to have it inching up the smooth skin of your thighs. Gently cupping the back of your neck to hold your head steady as he licks into your mouth. He can't seem to make up his mind, greedily wanting to touch all of you at once.

You're meeting everyone of his upward thrusts with a downward roll of your hips, moans growing louder between the two of you with each brush of your most sensitive parts. And you want more. Legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, you needed more.

“Fuck, princess.” He's gasping out, not leaving a moment to spare for you to marvel at the pet name that fell from his lips so easily. His mouth makes steady work on your neck, suck red blotches into your skin as the palm of his hand moves down the front of your body. Sneaking underneath the hem of your skirt, your body jolts when he's pressing the tips of his fingers to your slit through the soft fabric of your panties.

Pretty moans fill the room as he teases you, fingers tight in his hair. Heady becoming heavy for your shoulders as the pleasure he's ensuing washes over you. “Namjoon,” You're gasping, hips bucking up when he's pressing his fingers against your sensitive clit. Above the cotton, but each stroke has electricity cruising through your veins.

He chuckles as your whines become more insistent, hips following the movement of his fingers. “That feel good?” Head bobbing frantically, your legs spread wider for him. So sure, you're soaked all the way through from the way he's palming roughly at your panties. He's confirming your thoughts with a groan and a breathy, “You're so fucking wet,”

“Please, Joon. More.” Panting as your hips lift up toward him. He's grinning wide, pressing a soft kiss to the skin of your neck before he's nudging your panties out of the way. “So greedy,” He teases, at the same time his fingers find your clit. He's pressing lazy circles into the sensitive nub, taking his time despite the needy roll of your hips. “Tell me what you want,” Dark eyes travel up the length of your body to your face, you don't even bother to mask the moan that slips at the sight.

An experimental finger teases your entrance, sneaking in past the first knuckle before quickly pulling out and repeating the same action. If it wasn't for the solid stiffness pressed against your thigh, you'd guess that he was torturing you for the hell of it. But judging from the steady rut of his hips, he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

You couldn't wait any longer, though. This moment has plagued your thoughts since the first time you were meeting him. What it would be like to be with him like this. Have him fuck you. You'd surely die if it wasn't now. “Fuck me,” The words come out more whiny than you originally intended but, hey. “Please, Namjoon.”

“Soon, princess.” He promises, sinking his middle finger into your tightness. Eyes flickering between your bodies so he can watch the way the single-digit disappears within your walls. So fascinated with the movement of his own fingers and egged on with your pretty moans, he's quickly pushing another finger in.

Namjoon's mouth finds yours, swallowing every last one of your hushed moans as he fucks into you. Scissoring you open with his long fingers, free hand tugging at the bottom of your top until it's around your waist, tits spilling out. He's groaning against your lips as his palm cups you from underneath, thumb lifting to brush against your nipple.

His head is lowering until he's able to latch his lips around the hardening bud. His sharp teeth graze over it slightly, gentle tongue washing over the slight pinch of his bites. You're whimpering at the feeling of his thumb pressing into your clit, back falling against the cool countertop as your hips move in tandem with his fingers.

It's not long before he's nudging a third finger past your walls, lips moving to mouth on the other side. Thumb moving expertly over your clit while his fingers provide such a delicious stretch, you're squirming beneath him. Searching for something to grip onto as the pressure begins to build in the pit of your stomach.

You take to tugging his hair, pushing his face against your chest as your back arches off of the counter. Wanton moans filling the room, you're being so loud but you can't find the strength to quiet down. Not while he's making you feel this good. And then all at once, he's pushing in deeper, fingers curling and brushing against that rough patch of skin hidden deep inside of you.

“Oh, fuck! Don't stop, don't stop.” You're chanting over and over, hips rocking into his palm and Joon has no plans of stopping. Not when you sound like that, each whine and whimper shooting straight to his cock. He feels the way your walls flutter around his fingers and he's quickly lifting his head to watch your face.

There's a sheen layer of sweat on your forehead. Eyes rolled back as your lashes flutter, lips slightly pursed. Jaw falling slack, a breathless gasp slipping at the same time he feels a gush of wetness surrounding his fingers. Incoherent mumbles of thanks fall from your lips as your body shakes. He keeps his fingers buried inside of you, thrusting slowly until your words are dying down to soft breaths.

Opting to give you the time you may need to regain your composure... which only lasts a few seconds before you're sitting up. Arms and legs pulling him toward you. “Fuck, that was so good.” You say through a laugh, mouth finding his in a sloppy kiss as you work to pull his sweatshirt from his body.

Joon follows your lead, working on tugging his sweats out of the way. Your soft hand meets his, gently pushing it out of the way and dipping into the front of his boxers. Palm closing around his thick shaft and your eyes are going wide, fingers not being able to meet around the base.

“Holy, fuck...” Your hand drags over his length, more so measuring him than anything. Excitement igniting in your chest the longer it takes for your hand to meet the tip. Which is leaking with precum at this point, you feel it when your palm finally covers the tip and then use it to make moving your hand back down easier.

His hips follow the movement of your hand, attempting to fuck into the opening your palm created. Spaced out as the pleasure slowly clouds his mind. He looked so good. Chest and stomach flexing as he moves, shining underneath the dull kitchen lights. Brows furrowed and jaw clenched, making dimples appear at the sides of his mouth.

Your free hand slides down the front of his body until the tips of your fingers are brushing against his balls. Massaging them underneath the slight pressure while your wrist twists over his cock. “Yn, baby. Wait... fuck,” His hips are stuttering to a stop, hand reaching down to still the movement of your palm.

“I won't last,” A soft pink dusts his cheeks as he looks up at you, eyes glossed over and barely focused. He's letting out a breathless laugh before he's leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I wanna fuck you first,”

The admission is waking up something entirely different inside you. Something you can't easily place and are in no mood to decipher. Instead, you grin, returning the kiss to his lips before grinning. “Fuck me, please.”

That's all he needs to hear before he's taking a step back from you, not giving you a moment to feel his absence before he's sliding you from the counter. Hands on your hips to turn your back to him, his large hand resting on the middle of your back. “Bend over,” Voice deep in your ear, you'd very much walk off the edge of a cliff if he was asking you like that.

You bend forward without any protest, the cool granite pressing against your exposed nipples. Joon holds a hand just above your ass, the other wrapped around the base of his cock – guiding himself toward your aching core. His thick head nudges against your tight hole and you both gasp as you swallow him in.

He takes his time, allowing you to feel every inch as he slips in. And you don't miss the way his thumb has moved to rest in the indent just above the swell of your ass. Pulling your body toward him with his grip. His huffed breath tickling your back the moment he's bottoming out.

Palms formed fists beside you, concentrating on your breathing as you get used to the feeling of being stretched this way. Slowly, he's pulling out until the head is catching at your entrance then he's pushing his way back in, your body sliding up on the counter with the movement. The stuttered movement of his hips slowly shifts into a steady rhythm that has a string of moans falling from your lips.

Strong, bruising thrusts into your backside paired with the gruff groans that escape his throat. He's so deep, the tip of his cock nudging against your g-spot with each thrusts forward. “Fuck, look how perfectly you take my cock, baby.” He groans, eyes glued to the way your lips are wrapped around him.

All you can muster back in response is a weak whine, a garbled cry of big he was... or how good he feels. Mind nothing but mush at this point, the overwhelming pleasure from the way he was fucking, softening your brain. Either way, he takes the incoherent noises as a compliment, speeding up the snap of his hips.

You all about lose it when he's reaching down to grip your hair, lifting your body onto his, keeping a steady movement of his hips as he reaches around you to find your clit. Rolling it between his knuckles until he's feeling that familiar squeeze around his shaft. Soaking up every whimper and every cry as he brings you closer and closer to release.

“You gonna cum again for me, baby?” Gasping out, your head bobs up and down, back arching in hopes to steal more than what he was willing to give you. “Please, make me cum.” He can feel the way your walls flutter around him, the whine in your voice. And since he's inclined to give you whatever you want, Joon's angling his hips in a way that he knows will make you cum.

And it's not long before the pressure is snapping in the pit of your stomach, loud cries filling the room as your hips lift into a shake. Walls clenched so tight around his cock, it's enough to nudge him over the edge. He fucks into you with great fervor, leaning your body back onto the counter as his hips snap against yours.

Thrusts becoming sloppy and untimed as he feels himself falling apart, an odd mixture of curses and your name falling from his lips as he feels his body tense. He's pulling out as a hurried afterthought, hand acting as a lame substitute for your wet core as he strokes himself to completion. Spilling onto your back with a strained groan.

And then the kitchen goes silent, nothing but the sounds of your heavy breaths and the hum of the fridge filling the room. Neither of you says anything, both trying to come back to your senses. A few moments pass before he's hearing the soft sound of your giggle, body rising off your stomach to turn and face him. He looks so dazed and fucked out, cheeks flushed and eyes blown. Hair a mess and breath ragged. He looked so hot.

A hand finds the back of his neck, fingers tangling into the soft hair there. Joon's grinning when his eyes find yours, an arm wrapping around your waist. Pulling you closer, because it never felt like you were close enough. “We just fucked,” You state the obvious, can't find it in yourself not to.

It was nice. You liked it. You liked him. Everything about him, you just found yourself liking. His laugh. His smile. How easily he was annoyed. The cute dimples. The sound of his voice. You liked him.

“Yeah, we did.” He's replying, a little breathless but he still manages to lean down to capture your lips with his. A short kiss that has you leaning up, silently asking for me. He denies you with a cute shake of his head. “Let's go upstairs. I wanna go down on you,” Okay, bold Joon was something you were definitely going to have to get used to.

He's twirling you around when you don't move to lead him, large hand dropping to tap against your ass cheek, pulling a giggled squeal from your lips. “Ah!” You're laughing when he's reaching to do it again, instead taking hold of his hand. Fingers easily intertwining as you tug him behind you.

His back pressed to yours, cock growing hard against your backside as you lead him up the stairs and into your room. The sound of laughter only growing between the two of you.

Yeah, you liked him a lot.

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 23:58

Your body is warm against his, back pressed to his chest. Soft moans filling the air as he holds you close, pushing into you, chasing yet another release. This time in your bed. With you in his arms and it feels different. It feels nice. It makes him wonder... what's next? If there's something more for him to hope for.

He wanted to be with you, to put it simply. Never would've imagined it'd be you, but now he can't imagine it being anyone else. But things just sometimes worked out that way. Namjoon wanted to be yours, but in turn, he wanted you to be his.

Somehow, he felt like that might be the tricky part of it all.

— daughter of the ceo of the biggest record label, it’s obvious she’d get whatever and whoever she wants. but what happens when she’s meeting the one person that refuses to play into her spoiled brat act?

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