#ombree:oneshot

[ombreecha]

He Thinks

Clerith Week 2018 Day Two: Love Confession Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Pairing: Clerith Prompt: “I work at Starbucks and you come in so often that I know your daily order and write encouraging notes on your cup” au

The smell of coffee beans is strong as he works on unloading the truck. The cafe is busy and there’s no missing the way the workers do their best to keep up with the orders coming in. He’s simply the delivery man here to replenish their stock, but out of all his stops this is definitely the one he looks forward too the most.

He’s not sure if it’s that gorgeous warm chocolate hair locked in a tight braid, or if it’s those impressive smaragdine eyes that keep him coming back for more. There’s very few times he’s come and she’s not been working. The young barista always remembers his order and always has it ready before he’s off to his next delivery.

It had started over a year ago. She had come running back to grab a sleeve of cups from the top shelf. No matter how the woman tried—on the tips of her toes no less—she was unable to grab it. It was on the second jump she made that he reached above her head and pulled it down for her with ease. Maybe that had been his undoing. This woman had turned to him and that was the moment he saw those lips spread from their frustrated pout into that glowing smile he’s learned to associate with her—god, did he mention already how impressive those eyes had been?

Realizing he had been caught staring had been all he needed to remove his azure from her and mutter out the simple, “You’re welcome.”

Hours later she had taken his order and she had never forgotten it since. She knows he’s a fan of the blonde cappuccino—they have the running joke it’s because he’s a true blonde unlike the local dudes with dye jobs—but on the hottest of days she’ll spoil him with the iced variation. He’s not entirely sure how she notices when he’s needing an extra shot of espresso—are the bags under his eyes that noticeable?—but she does and she always makes sure to write something encouraging on his cup right under his name.

She was the one initiating their conversations. She always seemed to be the one running the show in this—wait what the hell was this even? He had contemplated that one time to many if he was being honest, but he still hadn’t found a real answer to it. He has no doubt they’re at least friends. They caught up with each other every time he delivered. She seemed to go out of her way to take her fifteen minute breaks right before he’d be on his way—or at least that’s what he tells himself.

At some point he knew that he held an interest in her. This woman was unlike the childhood best friend he lost touch with after high school. She’s not a first crush by any account, but he’s also twenty-four and he’s above crushes. He knows himself well enough to know that this is a woman he’d love to take out for dinner, or too a movie. The question, though, is if he’s let his imagination run wild.

—what’s that saying they always tell you? Oh, yeah. Don’t let your dreams be dreams kids.

Fuck. There he goes snorting at the thought.

As if on queue she’s running passed him and into the inventory room. There’s no missing how light she is on her feet even as she holds the bag of coffee beans and takes another order on her headset. She’s undeniably impressive at what she does as she recites the costs even with the touch screen not in front of her. Stopping just shy of being in her way he catches her mouthing a greeting his way before heading back up front with the needed coffee beans. Heat hits his cheeks and mentally he can’t help but scold himself—friendly reminder he’s not sixteen and this isn’t kindergarten.

He’s a grown ass man for god sake.

This woman’s always had this affect on him. He accepted it along ago, but that doesn’t mean it’s not embarrassing. It’s not as embarrassing as the time he choked and spit up his drink after hearing she was older than him—yeah, na that one had been pretty bad—or maybe not as embarrassing as the time he slipped and hit his ass on the pavement—god, he had never wanted to crawl in a hole and die so much—but it’s embarrassing nonetheless because friendly reminder he is, in fact, twenty-goddamn-four.

Shocking, really. Honestly, even he’s surprised he’s made it this far.

God, if his mother could see him now. Scratch that. It’s best his mother never knows just how ridiculous her child is.

The shipment’s not bad this round. It’s actually pretty light, but he takes his time. He wants to make sure she has a moment to take her break right before he leaves. He had made that mistake one time, and never again would he miss out on the opportunity to talk to her. The slower the store seems to become the more hopeful he’s becoming. He doesn’t have any true objective with these feelings—he, sure as hell, won’t be spilling them. That’s just another thing he’s accepted long ago. There’s no place for them and it’s already hard enough trying to explain to himself and not make excuses for why in the hell she talks to him to start.

Stepping into the back of the truck his fingers pull on the handle dragging the door down with a loud noise as it closes, and he gets the latch closed. Reaching into the driver side he grabs his clipboard, and pen before tucking the pen behind his ear. Walking in he sees her placing a lid on a cup, and he already knows it’s for him. Stepping firmly up to the counter he lays the clipboard down, “Aerith, could I get your signature?”

“Of course, Cloud.” she’s sporting that smile he likes so much, and it’s as he pulls the pen from behind his ear and hands it too her that he takes a moment to grab his drink.

Her signatures smooth, and just as girly as he had expected it the first time he had seen it. Her fingers have reached behind her and it’s here and now that he’s sure she’s going to take that fifteen minute break and see him off. Holding his cup up by the rim there’s curiosity in what today’s encouraging message will be.

Look for something positive in each day, even if some days you have to look harder than others.

Fingers press against his back and there’s no stopping the way he stills at the touch turning to see her standing beside him, “Cloud? You ready? I’m gonna take my break.”

The stammer he lets out only makes him all the more frustrated with himself, “Y-yeah. I’m ready.”

Even as he brings the cup to his lips and tastes the smooth blonde cappuccino he doesn’t remove his eyes from her. She’s walking in front of him and holding the door as they make their way to his delivery truck in the parking lot.

“That rush was crazy.” she’s letting out the smallest laughs as she takes the clip board from him to let him open the driver door.

“You have no clue how glad I am that I don’t have to deal with that kind of stuff.” he replies as he takes the clipboard back and throws it onto his seat. Pulling his cigarettes from his back pocket he continues to throw a glance her way.

“Still smoking I see.” she’s teasing him with that raised eyebrow and shift of her mouth.

He swallows thickly at this small little comment of hers. She’s never once made a comment about his smoking until now, “Does it bother you?”

“No, but you should consider quitting.” her fingers touch his arm and that has him hesitating to put the unlit cigarette in his mouth, “Ah—So Cloud—”

She’s rambling as she always does. He doesn’t mind. It’s just another one of those things she does that he enjoys. It’s how he finds out more about her without having to ask out of the blue. She never seems to hesitate to tell him how things are going for her. He’s learned her friends names over the last year, he knows she likes to garden, and he knows how much she likes to spend her time participating in habitat for humanity on the weekends. Part of him wonders if it’s not just been him letting his imagination run wild.

What if she has interest in him too? —she hasn’t let go of his arm.

Biting down on his lip he cannot stop himself from shaking his head. He’s being ridiculous. She’s just polite and if she feels anything it couldn’t possibly be anything on the romantic level. It’s that thought that has him lighting his cigarette finally and bringing the almost forgotten cup to his lips as he watches her do that habit of tucking a lock of hair behind her ear—does this woman have a clue how attractive she was even when doing these little things?

He thinks not. No. He knows she doesn’t.

This woman has never talked herself up in any way. She’s level headed, and she’s intelligent—and she’s definitely out of his league.

The sooner he throws away these feelings the better—before he makes a fool out of himself—but it’s been a year and he’s held onto them tight and there’s no denying the fact that today’s message upon his cup only furthers that belief. He’d definitely classify her as the positive in his mundane lifestyle. She’s a bright spot in an otherwise monotone world—he’ll never admit to to her though.

That’s a level of cheesy he’s just not willing to fall into. . .maybe.

Who the fuck was he kidding—he definitely isn’t willing to try some cheesy ass line like that on her.

He can see it now. She’d probably laugh her ass the whole way back into the building and he’d become to running joke for months to come. He’d never be able to deliver here again without needing to hide his face.

“You’re offly preoccupied today. Everything okay? I don’t think you’ve heard a word I’ve said.” she’s finally released his arm as she comes to stand in front of him. It rings with humor but there’s definitely a touch of concern on every word.

“I think I’m in love with you.” he says far too calmly, and without much thought barely hearing a word she’s said in her concern.

Silence stretches between them and then all at once he realizes just what in the world he’s let fall from his mouth. The panic has him choking on his newest inhale of his cigarette and fingers gripping the cup tightly, “W-wait. I didn’t—I mean—Listen. Uh—Aerith, you see I—” he’s stammering and he’s definitely not holding it together with this little slip up.

Didn’t he just tell himself he wasn’t about cheesy pick up lines? Didn’t he already resign to never say a word about these feelings?

Goddamn, though, he’s never seen her eyes look at him like that—those impressive wide smaragdine doe-eyes haven’t left his face since he spoke. His regret is thick and he’s pretty sure that if god struck him down here and now he wouldn’t even be mad about it. He’ll never be able to show his face here again—not without shame and humiliation, and hoo boy does he have plenty of that right this minute.

Welp. Might as well write this one off.

Was that creepy? Fuck yeah, it was—god-fucking-dammit.

Oh, if his mother could absolutely see her mess of a son right this minute. God knows she’d wonder where she went wrong, and why her son is as awkward as he is.

The more he rambles and tries to cover up his confession the more continues to spill the most ridiculous of things, “I mean I think your eyes are impressive—but I mean I didn’t really intend to like tell you that—and oh, my fucking god why am I telling you this—I swear I didn’t mean it like that—I mean I did because you’re gorgeous seriously, oh god. . . oh my fucking god—” it’s all in one swift moment that he drops his coffee and slams his hand over his mouth.

He’s flushed. He’s absolutely certain that his face couldn’t be redder than it is now. He’s lost his free coffee. He’s covered in it as it splashed all over the pavement and himself after hitting the ground. He’s never going to be able to look her in the face again. He’s more than positive she’ll never speak to him again.

Oh my god. Fuck. Shit. Goddammit.

This—this right here—was embarrassment on a whole new level. If he died right here and now it would be a godsend—god isn’t that nice though. God has this habit of really just making sure when he fucks up he goes big before he goes home, and man this definitely is probably the top contender for biggest fuck up in his last twenty-four years of life. This woman has yet to say a single word since he started this babble train that just seeks to dig him further into this hole he’s made for himself.

In gods name what is that thudding noise? Oh yeah, haha it’s his goddamn heart.

He’s probably having a heart attack. —oh, he could only fucking wish for one right this moment.

Daring to slide his hand off his mouth, “Listen. . .just forget this. Forget I said anything at all, please.”

There’s no missing the way mouth opens and then closes. It’s another few seconds before she opens her mouth again, “Cloud, if this is how you feel why would I forget this—but more importantly why didn’t you ever text me if you had interest? I feel like I’ve been misunderstanding for a while now.”

He’s pretty sure he’s suffocating—what in the fuck is she talking about? He’s not even sure what to respond with because he doesn’t have her number. How was he supposed to text someone who never even gave him her number? His throat constricts as he attempts to find how words work once again, and then after a moment he finds it within the tight feeling lodged in his chest, “You never gave me your number?”

“I have! I write it on the bottom of your cup every time I make you, your drink. That’s why I always make your drink. I kept putting it on there hoping you would use it. I started seriously thinking you had zero interest and were just being nice to me.” her lips curve in a deep tilt showcasing her obvious displeasure at having to admit such a thing.

Azure dare to glance down at the mess upon the pavement and it’s as soon as he looks down that he sees black sharpie on the bottom of the cup. His mouth feels dry as he takes in her own confession. This can only go so many ways, and at the rate he’s going he’s going to completely destroy any type of chance he has with her at this point, “I swear I never saw it until now—but, uh, I mean—Do you. . . or I mean would you like to—maybe, sorta, kinda—” it takes a deep breath to dislodge the words he feels trapped at the base of his throat, “. . .go out with me?”

There’s no missing the way she falls into that habit of pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, and the way she shifts her weight on her feet. The silence is deafening and he’s pretty sure that’s the only answer he needs to know he’s completely fucked this up in every way. Azure watch as her fingers come over her face and it’s then that her voice fills in the silence, “I don’t know about maybes, sortas, or kindas, but I would absolutely love to go out with you.”

At first he questions if he’s heard her correctly, and then all at once after a moment of his own weight shifting from one foot to the other he finally realizes he’s learned to breath again, and he might not have a heart attack—oh, and yes he’s heard her correctly.

Her fingers grasp his, “Your cigarettes gone out, you need to clean yourself up, and need me to make you a new drink. Come on.”

He can’t think of a single time he’s ever seen her act so—so flustered? There’s not a complaint in sight, though, as she drags him back within the building. The clean up is fairly simple although his pants will have to actually end up in a washing machine when he gets home tonight to remove the splatter stains.

She’s standing by the door with his coffee in hand and there’s no missing his name and what looks to be ten digits on the cup. There’s no missing the red tint upon her cheeks as the look at each other and he makes his way to her. Taking the cup from her he watches her twist her fingers behind her back before stepping on those tip toes of hers. It’s soft and it’s quick as her lips connect with his cheek, “Drive safe, and be sure to text me.” her tone is higher than normal and he’s assuming it’s probably all the same nervousness he feels right this moment.

A nod of his head, and a bit to his lip has him finally heading out the door—he’s feeling rather smitten with himself underneath all the fired nerves if he’s being honest.

“Ah, and Cloud.” she’s called out, and looking over her shoulder at him having yet to make it back behind the counter, “I think I’m in love with you too.”

Those eyes of hers are as impressive as ever, and that smile is absolutely glowing. There’s humor coating this repeat of his confession back to him, and that’s fine because if it means she’ll look at him like that some more he’d take all of her teasing. She had wrote on his drink today to look for something positive in each day.

He didn’t have to look to hard today. This whole thing with her, embarrassing as it might be, was his positive for the day. —Yeah, he’s definitely in love with her.

[ombreecha]

At His Expense

Clerith Week 2018 Day One: Slice of Life Fandom: Final Fantasy Pairing: Clerith Prompt: You live in the apartment above me and your water pipe burst and is flooding into my apartment and you can hear me yelling so you come down to my apartment to see what’s going on and witness me standing in my kitchen/bathroom/whatever, holding an umbrella, screaming at the water pouring out of my ceiling and crying because I have no idea what to do and we both just kinda stand there in shock as my stuff gets ruined and you let me crash in your apartment until my apartment gets fixed because you feel bad AU

Fingers twist around the hot water knob before lingering in the water that pours out into the tub. That subtle change from cool to hot comes and it’s got him pressing the stopper down. The summer heat is thick in the air and it’s got his clothes sticking upon his skin. He’ll take this early dip into the upper eighties over the winter that finally seems to have found rest. The sound of the tub is all he hears at first and then there’s a noise he’s not familiar with. It sounds like something bursting but a quick glance upon the tub makes him question if he’s heard it at all.

The smallest hum falls before he’s pulling up his plain white shirt. The sound of the tub filling is overtaken once again but this time by something slightly louder than the last and of a completely different tune. It has his fingers freezing in their attempts to remove his shirt and his gaze steady on the door of his bathroom. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other comes and then no more than another second later another noise—so obviously female—grabs his attention. This ones lower than the last but it doesn’t lessen the obvious panic that seems to be going on in the apartment below him. The desire for a bath is an afterthought as curiosity has him shutting his bathwater off. The woman who lives below sounds as if she’s running a marathon and while he’s never been interested in his neighbors before there is concern growing with every noise she’s making.

Another scream from down below has him heading out of his bathroom, and out of his apartment. He’s not running, but his pace definitely isn’t one of leisure as he makes his way around the corner, and down the steps. The closer he gets the clearer he can hear her, and the more people seem to poke their head out to see what all the noise is about.

He feels like a deer in the midst of headlights as he stares at her door, and shifts his gaze to one of the few daring to take a peek. Their eyebrows raise and it’s a shrug of their shoulders that tells him there just as confused as he is. One deep breath in and he’s taking those even steps towards her door almost questioning if what he’s about to do could very well be bad news. Whatever has this woman upset has her sobbing, and that by itself is making this all the more daunting. This could be over literally anything. It’s one knock, then two, and it’s when she doesn’t answer on the third he feels himself begin to panic.

Fingers give a twist the door knob wondering if it might be locked. It’s smooth turn has him opening the door. One last look behind him at the few who dare to linger and look from their homes has him clearing his throat, “Hello?”

It’s her call for help that has him pushing forward now panicked that something has gone terribly wrong. Turning the corner his shoes hit water and it has him slamming his hand against the wall to steady himself. Azure take in the floor filling with water, and then it’s as they drag themselves from the floor that they meet a pair of smaragdine. He’s not entirely sure where his oxygen has gone, or why he’s staring her down, once again, like a deer in the headlights, but this is where he is, and this is what he’s doing—and goddammit what are words and where can he find them?

This woman’s seen better days. There’s no way she hadn’t with her currently soaked as she stands with an umbrella over her head and the ceiling dripping here, and pouring there. The damage is increasing, and it’s a few flutters of her lashes before she’s speaking again, “Well don’t just stand there! Help me!”

Her words startle him making him shift back, “R-right.” there’s a touch of embarrassment on him, but there’s no time for that.

Every second that passes her situations getting worse, and the last thing she needs is him just gawking at her as her world begins to flood—oh, god, that’s an understatement if there ever was one.

The only thing he knows at this moment is that she needs out of this apartment, and after that he can worry about shutting off the water. His shoes fill with water, and the way his shirt becomes soaked as he grabs her hand and begins to take her out of the room. She’s pulling back as if refusing to leave at first but it’s a single look from him to get her to cooperate.

Forty-five minutes deep, and it finally becomes clear it’s his water pipe that’s busted. His pipe has flooded her home, and there’s a dread in how this is going to affect his living here. He can’t possibly see her letting go of the fact that a good portion of her items in the kitchen are damaged, and would probably need replaced. Pinching the bridge of his nose is the only form of relief he can find as he speaks with their landlord over the phone. He’s doing his best to keep from letting his frustration show in front of his newly acquired guest, but it’s hard when they’re both soaked and freezing in his air conditioning.

Sliding his phone on the table is all he can do  as he sinks within the couch beside her, “He won’t be able to send someone over to look at it till tomorrow. I’ve got no water at this point, and well. . .you don’t exactly have a livable space.”

The air she lets out blows her bangs forward, and it’s has she slides the towel he’s lent her off her shoulders and holds it out to him that she finally speaks, “I guess I’ll start looking at a hotel for the night.”

There’s a touch of guilt even if this has been outside of his control. Swallowing thickly he dares to offer this complete stranger an alternative that he’s not even sure about himself, “Would you wanna stay here for the night?”

It’s all awkward. The entire way he said it was awkward. There was nothing not awkward about any of this—where’s his charm. . . oh yeah, he doesn’t have any.

“Ah, I don’t know. That seems like putting an awful lot on you.” she’s humming out between them as he takes the towel from her and runs it through his hair, “I mean you don’t even know my name—I don’t even know your name?”

He’s pausing and for whatever reason he feels his face heat up with embarrassment—because yeah, no, he is showing zero charm at this point and oh god this woman must think he’s a mess, “C-Cloud Strife.”

There’s silence between them at the drop of his name, and he doesn’t dare steal a glance at her. All at once the silence dies as she lets out a laugh, “I’m sorry—it’s just you seem so. . .nervous—” another laugh spills from her before she continues on, “I promise I won’t bite. My name’s Aerith Gainsborough.”

One blink, and then two, and the next thing he knows he gives a shake of his head as if processing the fact she’s laughing on his couch and calling him out for being nervous—nervous doesn’t even begin to cover what the hell he is in this moment.

As if on command he cannot stop himself from letting out a snort at the thought, and then he’s freezing and he’s whipping his head to her, and now she’s laughing harder. It’s addictive and he’s being swallowed by the flow she’s setting as he lets out a snicker trying his best to cover it up with the back of his hand.

“Honestly, though, I appreciate the offer but I couldn’t possibly trouble you further.” she’s soft in her words but there’s no stopping himself from finding himself trapped by the smaragdine.

“It’s no trouble. It’s the least I could do.” there’s a hesitation to these words, but they hold an entirely different aspect. He feels shy under her gaze and far more self-conscious than he should at the age of twenty-one.

She’s raising from her seat and stretching her arms above her head, “How about we get out of these clothes, and grab some dinner? We can figure it out from there?”

“I’ve probably got something in the closet you can borrow.” he’s following behind her in raising from the couch, and headed for the bedroom without a second thought.

He gives her the privacy of his room while he takes the bathroom to switch out of the saturated clothes. His clothes are baggy on her but they’re not bad. There’s something cute about the way she looks in his black sweats, and jean button up shirt. She’s rolling up the sleeves as he’s reaching for the worn out orange baseball cap from the coat rack, and it’s as he turns back to her to see her running her hands through her hair that he dares to let the smallest grin ghost across his lips, “Ready? What are you in the mood for Ms. Gainsborough?”

“Just Aerith is fine—hm, how about burgers, and shakes, Cloud?”

A tilt of his head and a nod is all he gives as he lets her take the lead, and head out first before turning and locked up his home. This woman has a bounce to her step, and it’s something he finds, surprisingly, enjoyable. Although there’s a certainty that there’s plenty of her humor to be had at his expense—that’s perfectly okay with him.

She seems to have no trouble taking control of the conversation, and allowing him to respond as he sees fit, and while there’s that touch of shy behind each response he’s finding these little things to his liking regardless. It’s not until they’re at the fast food joint, and in front of the counter that his mind completely freezes.

Was this a date? No—maybe? Yes?

He gives a shake of his head. He’s absolutely over-complicating something like this. They barely knew each other. There’s no way this is a date.

—but he sure as hell isn’t about to let her pay. His mother taught him better.

She barely has a chance to respond before he’s stepping forward and pulling his wallet out of his jeans, “Together. I’ll take—”

This woman is looking at him, and while the temptation to return her gaze is there he doesn’t dare too after having seized the moment to pay for dinner. Fingers slide his wallet back within his back pocket and it’s no sooner that she’s leaning into his view, “Hmm.”

Azure flutter for a moment at the look upon her face as she forces him to look back at her, “What?” he wants to pull away as his skin flushes with embarrassment.

“Oh, nothing.” there’s a linger amusement to this statement.

“Huh?” he’s not entirely sure what he’s missing.

What he does know is that this woman’s eyes are impressive—

He feels himself freeze in realizing what he’s let fill his head, and it’s only a moment later that he’s watching her lips widen into a smile, “No spacing out.”

This woman was dangerous. Absolutely. Entirely. Massively. —he’s not complaining, though.

This wasn’t a date, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make it a date.

She eats slow, and she chews with her mouth closed. She sips her shake quietly, and she likes to dip her fries in it. He cannot help himself from glancing at her, and every so often their eyes meet, and he immediately feels caught red handed. It causes her to let out the smallest of laughs between bites, and he’s almost positive that’s why he continues to do this. He wants to keep hearing that laugh.

“So. Cloud Strife. Tell me a little about yourself, hm?” those eyes of hers are make it clear there’s a tease behind saying his full name.

“Just Cloud is fine—” he’s clearing his throat, and using what she had said early.

Azure can’t seem to keep themselves from staring into those smaragdine filled with amusement. The smallest of smirks ghosts at the corners of his mouth before he takes a sip of his own drink.

It’s the second time tonight he’s decided he will gladly let her have her humor at his expense.

[ombreecha]

Fade to Black

Clerith Week 2018 Day Three: Aerith Lives Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Pairing: Clerith Summary:  It’s as if nothing else is real but she has to at least tell him how she feels. The lifestream can tell her what to do but nothing will change. Will she make it through the night—should she stay or should she go?

She can’t—no, she shouldn’t—break free.

It’s as if nothing else is real but she has to at least tell him how she feels. The lifestream can tell her what to do but nothing with change nor will this pain end. Will she make it through the night—should she stay or should she go?

Her heart could hardly even care. Did it ever even know?

This is the promise land, of course, and now all she’ll ever know. This is the land of supreme happiness that she had sought but he’s not standing next to her hand-in-hand. It’s all enveloped in white, but she feels as if she’s been swallowed in the night. Forever on, and on she’s grown lonely and she’s circling among the flowers, and the plants within her hate—is she hurting? Is she sad? Does she even know?

It’s bitter and it’s dark. This feeling upon her heart. It’s nothing but pain and paralyzing agony.

Emotionally she’s slipping through the cracks as she seeks to figure out who she’s meant to be and who she was. This promise land is a dark eternity on this carousel of agony—Maybe it’s a dream? Maybe none of this is real?

If she makes another move she can never turn back—there’s her mother, and then there’s Zack. She’ll lose them to these feelings, and they’ll fade into the back. If she takes another step will there ever be a time when her heart will return to white?

All these people that she’s seen in the lifestream—she doubts they’ll understand.

That man is hurting deep, and he’s lost his way again. He wants to see her once again, but that doesn’t lessen the doubt that lingers keeping her rooted deep.

Uncertainty envelopes her mind. It keeps her from breaking free.

Will there be place for her when she returns? That’s the question at hand.

She’s done all that she’s been asked but she’s at point in this life where she wonders if there’s a place for those who are broken within the light. If she tries to change does that mean she has to let go of this man? That’s enough to crush her will and submerge her deeper in the black.

There’s tire from the pain, and all the misery inside. She only wants to live and be there by his side. There is nothing else she could want—nothing else her heart would ever know. If she gives in here and now and she turns her back on all of this will she come back from the night?

None of it would matter—even if she told him how she feels. She’s the one who summoned holy but the lifestream has no intention of giving her anything back—will that tomorrow ever come?

She’s forgotten how to tell—had she ever even known? —with this darkness in her heart and this selfishness unwilling to relent.

What if her heart began to mend? What if he swallowed all her pain? What if he saw her and felt her feelings and brought it all to an end?

It’s that lingering question.

Should she stay or should she go—should she throw it all a way for a man who’d understand? —the lifestream and all of them still just couldn’t understand.

He’s one man, and that’s all they’ll ever know. They don’t see how on, and on she’s left circling in these fields feeling her heart vanishing as his anguish pours down upon her. This time she’ll take a stand or there will be nothing of her left.

They tell her it’s just a dream—and that none of that is real. If she didn’t know any better than it would be just another thing her heart would never come to know.

She’s so tired of this hurting her—this pain of his enveloping her. Looking deep inside herself and only seeing fright because she could fall apart. If she’s crying in the wind, or if she’s crying in the night would they take sympathy upon her and let her come back to life? She has to make a change if she wants to find her way back into the light.

If she takes this next step everything will change and it all starts to fade to black. All this hatred in her eyes is just more fright in disguise.

She’s forgotten how to see. She’s forgotten if she can.

Will there ever be a way? Would her heart return to him?

There’s a price—she doesn’t know what it’ll be—but that doesn’t lessen her need. Is it something she can overcome?—and all at once, yet again she’s falling—crashing down no longer welcome and never allowed to return again. It’s her heart thrashing against her chest as she feels herself unable to stop this descend upon the earth, and now those feelings of hers ring out because this is how she’ll go never able to tell him how she feels.

Water drags her down and than it’s her lungs filled with oxygen pushing back. She’s back here once again—yes, she’s back here once again. She doesn’t recognize those pillars, nor the shattered ceiling she had gazed at way back when. This dress and this jacket are heavy with the water soaking them.

Could this be yet another dream? Could this be but one more thing that isn’t real? Could she have forgotten where this is?

If she opened up her eyes could she find her way back again?

Can someone tell her who she is? Can they tell her where she is? Can her heart finally mend? Maybe they were right—all of it had been a dream and none of this is real. The pain is still there and she feels as if she has to find him—but she doesn’t know who ‘him’ is as it all had faded into black.

Remember there’s no such thing as turning back. Maybe here there’s a place for those are broken in the light.

It’s that splash of water that has her jerking back and finding her footing beneath the waters surface. She can’t move well and it’s as she gazes at those blues that she questions once again—can someone tell her where she is?

He’s paler than a ghost and those fingers are outstretched in what she can only guess is hope. That tremble of his lip and the way the water dips off those fingers shows his hesitation to withdraw that hand.

“Can you tell me who you are?” her voice is worn and it’s shaky—it’s almost as if she doesn’t know how to use it, “Can you tell me who I am?”

Those fingers of his drop within the water trembling before her eyes. That look across his face looks eerily the same—from where or when she wouldn’t know. There’s uncertainty enveloping her at seeing the curve of his lips dip deeper. Those eyes of his are lost unable to accept—she can only remember she had to tell someone how she feels.

Is she hurting once again? Is she saddened once again? She doubts that her heart even knows because there’s simply nothing of her left. The price has been steep and even as he stands before her here and now she cannot even tell him—she doesn’t know who she is let alone this man.

All this misery inside—and then he’s approaching quicker unphased by the water. There’s a pain deep within his eyes—he’s hurting just the same. This is not a dream, and this is absolutely real. The way he presses her against him as if almost afraid she’ll disappear.

This is something her heart absolutely knows. There may be nothing of her left but this man whoever he is won’t let her go.

There’s a need to feel that fright but an inability to tell him no. Maybe he too is one who’s broken in the light.

It’s that press of his forehead against her own and that breathing fanning her face that tells her that he’s lost in paralyzing agony—she knows this feeling just the same. She may have broken free but it hadn’t lessened this anguish. She still remained part of the night and now without a memory to her name.

She doesn’t know this church or this man—there’s a familiarity here and even with all this uncertainty she cannot break herself from him. There’s a memory desperate to make itself known—it’s out of her hands and out of her grasp. It’s a murmur of his lips and the tears that drop that have her fingers grasping his—his name is Cloud and it came with a shudder of a breath.

She may be back here once again, but that doesn’t mean it’s all over. She is not who she was, and he is finally with her hand on his but that doesn’t mean a thing—had this been the lifestream’s plan?

What had she forgotten in the night? What had she lost in that fade from black to white?

Could this man maybe understand? Had tomorrow ever come?

“I have to tell someone how I feel.” it’s a whisper meant for him—this is but another one of those steps.

She’s crying here and now, and she’s crying in the wind. There’s no night for her to hide in because she’s back here alive once again. Nothing will ever be the same but it’s okay because she’s back. That dark eternity and carousel of agony is now nothing but the dream and a lingering portion of something real.

It’s a whisper meant for her—she thinks its her name. There’s no need to rush. She may never gain her memory back again but she cannot continue to linger deep in fright. That man is waiting for her—even as he sits right before her.

It’s those fingers brushing away her tears—this man understands. Her heart absolutely knows.

[ombreecha]

Twelve Weeks

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rated: K? Prompt: She is stepping out of the shower when she hears something outside. She puts on her bathrobe and walks out of the bathroom only to find him sitting on her bed. Water drips from her pink locks as she takes him in: same pale face, hair mussed and necktie undone; beautiful. His eyes look at her face before lingering on the noticeable bulge on her robe. He already knows. She could never surprise him. “You’re home early,” she smiles, knowing exactly why. Idea: Anonymous  Note: Shorter than I’d like but I was digging some fluff tonight. Wholesome SasuSaku is always acceptable, imo.

Soap, and water mix upon her skin as she rinses herself off. The contented sigh that falls from her as she turns the nob of the shower shutting the water off. Fingers run through pale pink strands to rid it of the excess water. There’s the muffled noises from outside the bathroom door—it’s the sound of the front door closing and what could only be keys being set upon a table.

There’s no rush to wiping herself down and running the towel through her strands before grabbing the bathrobe that sits upon the hook of the bathroom door. There’s the subtle girlish grin that comes across her features. Anyone else would feel worry at hearing the door of their home being opened. Anyone else would be concerned at hearing someone make themselves at home when they should normally be alone. She’s not just anyone though—he might have been gone for the last few months on a business trip, but there’s no doubt he’s the one lingering within their apartment.

A hum of amusement comes as she’s making her way into the bedroom. Water drops fall from her pale pink strands as she drinks in his presence upon their bed—he’s a man of classic and refined looks. Pale complexion, tousled hair, and that blue necktie she gave him for his birthday just a few months ago undone and hanging loosely upon him. He’s always been one far more handsome than one should be allowed. Even in all the time they had been dating, even well after they had begun to live together, and even after she had agreed to marry him he had never looked less than handsome.

Those obsidian capture her gaze effortlessly, and there’s no missing the shift they make upon her mid section wrapped within the bathrobe. They linger and their drinking her in—it’s so obvious as it decorates his face. He’s not one for outward reflections. He’s entirely subtle as he digests her, and there’s no doubt in her mind that he had known long before he had entered their home. Legs shift weight from one to the other. She could never surprise him. It’s almost as if he had planned it all from the start.

“You’re home early.” she cannot stop the smile from spreading wider across her features.

“Ah—just for a day or two.” there’s humor laced within that hum of a response he gives, “Figured I should confirm something.”

There’s a certain level of arrogance upon his features as she finally steps from the door way to meet him at the bed, “Surprise—haha!” she’s giggling as his fingers have come to grasp her hand within his own.

“When did you find out?” he’s rubbing his thumb upon the back of her hand keeping his eyes trained upon the pale emerald that glow within this moment between them.

They were going to be parents—there’s no stopping this thrill between them.

“Hm—Ah, I wanna say I first went about two or three weeks after you left for your business trip. I was late.” she runs her fingers through those tousled obsidian locks of his, “Looks like you intended to surprise me instead.”

The grin that comes across his features is absolutely boyish even within their late thirties, “You didn’t seem too surprised.”

“Oh, I have been plenty surprised—I can assure you on that Mr. Uchiha.” she’s beaming within the bite upon her bottom lip.

“Well, Mrs. Uchiha, who all else was informed before me?” his fingers leave her hand within his tease to pull her closer to him—she’s still early with her at twelve weeks.

Fingers wrap around his neck, “I figured you’d like the honors of informing your mother. She won’t be able to ask when you’re going to provide her with a grandchild anymore.”

The snort that falls from him loud and sends her into another fit of humored light laughs. There’s nothing else to say between the two of them. They’re content with just holding each other like this. Soothing rubs come with her fingers deep within those obsidian, and the deep inhale he takes its undoubtedly one of contentment. There had been no stress when she had found out. She knew he would be more than happy to hear of her carrying his child.

She’s missed him in his time away, and to have him here to witness her growing baby bump is more than welcomed. Every phone call they shared within his time away had almost made her slip. She had almost given it away, but she’s sure he had caught on well before now. Keeping something from Sasuke Uchiha, of all people, was never easy. He always seemed to know, and he always seemed to be four steps a head of her in everything they did, “Are you nervous at all?”

“No. You’ll be a great mother.” he’s tender within his pull from her to look her into her pale emerald.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” she’s scolding him lightly, “Come now, what would you like for dinner?” she’s stepping away from him in hopes of getting changed only to have his hand upon her own again.

“You’re not cooking.” he’s firm within his statement making it clear there’s no room for debate, but he married her knowing she was stubborn.

“I’m a little over twelve weeks pregnant—not disabled.” she’s groaning with her pout, “I can do all the same things I’ve been doing.”

The glower upon his features is far to common, but it holds a certain level of childishness to it this round. The grasp upon her hand is released, and he’s shaking his head as he makes his way from the bedroom and down the hall. Fingers grasp one of her husband’s many shirts that sit within his dresser, and there’s a knowing smile upon her face as she slides a part of shorts upon her—she’s not going to be a fan of not being able to wear her regular clothes soon as it was.

Down the hall with fingers running through her damp locks and the raised eyebrow comes with seeing his white button ups sleeves pulled back to his elbows as he washes the spinach within the sink. He’s laid out the usual salads—tomatoes, olives, and shredded cheese. There’s a scrunch of her nose giving away her disgust, “No olives—oh god, definitely, none of those.”

His fingers halt within their cleaning to look at her. It’s a blink, and then another. The shift of his weight comes and she can see those gears turning before he realizes why. He’s shutting the water off and grabbing the container of olives and throwing them within the garbage, “What else makes you nauseated?”

“Well—more like I’m craving pickles. Olives seem to be the only thing that make me want to hurl the minute I see or smell them.” she’s sticking her tongue out in displeasure at the thought of them.

There’s a chuckle that falls from him at her overly dramatic explanation, and her feet bringing her to the fridge. Pulling the jar of kosher dill pickle spears from the fridge she’s quick to try and remove the lid before coming beside him for assistance, “You’ll spoil your dinner.” he scolds her lightly handing her the lid he has twist from the jar.

“I’ll be fine. . . so you thinking a boy or girl?” she’s quick in pulling a spear from the jar and taking a bite. The noise of excitement that leaves her brings but another snort from him and that grin seems to be etched permanently upon his lips.

He brings the strainer of washed spinach to the counter before grabbing a knife to slice within the tomatoes he’s placed out, “A girl.” he seems entirely too sure with his response.

“What if it’s a boy?” she leans upon the counter with her elbows resting upon it, “I think if he gets my godforsaken hair we should call him Momoiro.”

“It’s gonna be a girl.” he shakes his head, “Your hair is fine—wait you would name our child pink?”

“Well yeah. It would be fitting.” she doesn’t bother to share his gaze as she takes another bite of the spear pickle, “and please don’t pretend like it would be okay for our children to take after my hair color.”

He’s silent and the chopping does not continue and that’s what finally makes her drag her eyes to him. She can only blink with her cheek puffed from the pickle that sits within it half chewed. The slow chew she gives way to shows her registering his face so close to her own, “What?”

Those lips of his press against her own—it’s a tender little peck if anything—before resuming his intended task, “Let’s hold off on names for now—but it’s still going to be a girl.”

The puff of hair that falls from her at his determination that it’ll be girl comes, but it doesn’t sour her mood. She’ll let him have his way this one time and hold off on discussing possible names for their child. Swallowing down the food she’s finally taken the time to chew she grabs but another pickle from the jar, “Fine—fine. We’ll decide on that later. I’d love a boy, though, especially if they look like you.”

There’s a chuckle that falls from him, “Oh? Need more than one of me do you.”

A roll of her eyes over comes her with his little remark—he’s so sure and so determined for it to be a girl. She wants a boy that looks like him—forever handsome with that classic and refined look that’s been him in all this time. There’s the curl of his fingers within her damp hair as he rubs his fingers within her scalp.

Yeah—she definitely wants a child that’s like him.

[ombreecha]

Shelter

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rated: T Summary: She's alone, but she's not lonely—Thank you. Heavily inspired and based off Shelter.

What will become of her from now on?

After some time, she had stopped thinking of that. Or maybe she simply forgot.

There is a noise, and then there is the familiar walls of white—white, clean, and sterile. There is the repetitious beep that comes from the heart monitor, and then there is the mask that sits upon her face assisting her oxygen—exhale out, beep, now inhale.

Maybe she had forgot how to think at all.

The breath that falls from her is shallow as lids seek to raise from their slumber. There’s a blur of the lights over head, and the tickle of the pale coral strands that have tangled in her sleep. She’s breathing evenly with no assistance. There’s no noise to signal a heartbeat but the feeling of one within her throat. Her voice is soft speaking to only herself, “Nothing changes anymore.”

She could never find the right way to tell them. She could never find the right way to tell him.

She could never find the right way to tell them it was too late. She could never find the right way to tell him to give up.

Restful mind, and peaceful eyes. The sound is gone within this flower bed. There’s the softest of shifts as she rolls to her side clutching the tablet snug against her chest, and then a nuzzle to sink within the flowers that supports her head more. She tried, and she’s not awake in these motions and words. Her eyes are heavy, and she is lackadaisical within this virtual world—within her world.

A thought, and then a shuffle to sit forward. She’s clicking the tablet on, and hitting the icon.

No messages in 2539 days. But she’s not lonely.

The sigh exhale of her breath is soft, and it’s habitual. It’s expected. A yawn follows after as she gives way to a stretch to release the tension within her muscles, and then there’s the pleasing feel of the flowers underneath her head once more. She’s breathing in the scent. She’s basking within the lights that hang from the ceiling above her flowerbed.

She’s alone, but she’s not lonely—she’s up, and she’s moving, and she’s opening the tablet once more, and then she’s dragging the virtual pen across her digital canvas. Licking her bottom lip she ponders for only moments, and only seconds. Her mind is creative, and her fingers are moving. There’s desire for the sun to hang above her, and give her the warmth she thinks it would provide. She’s compromising her reality.

She wishes for the sun—she faintly remembers someone who resembled the sun. She remembers bright yellows, and startling blues. She’s creating, and she’s rebuilding the world around her. Large towers of earth, painted skies of blue, a sun of warm orange, and coaxing yellows. She’s watching and she’s waiting as it materializes here in her now. Fingers drag the pen over the delete button—she’s hesitating, and she’s halting in her practiced movements.

Running is all she can do as her toes dig into the grass she brings with childish strokes of her pen across the digital canvas. Her heartbeat is wild, and it’s heavy with excitement. There’s no plan for where it leads—she’s yet to decide. The flowers are growing and the trees are forming. She’s unhappy with one, and she’s dragging it from one spot to the next. Water is pouring from the cliffs, tall and high, down to the world below pulling tides of clarity.

Pale viridescent soak within the world only she could create. Fingers bring the pen from the tablet to rest at her side. Heels tip back. She’s falling upon the grass. The wind kisses her skin. The pale coral strands tickle her cheeks. Lips give way to the softest of smiles—it’s as if someone has come to lay beside her within this empty world devoid of all but her. They, her and this nonexistent being, are relishing in this feeling and this warmth. It momentary, but it’s happiness no less.

The air that trembles from her. The fingers that trail within the fabric of her yellow top. The lips that she presses tight. She’s holding it gripping the fabric within her grasp.

She’s alone, but she’s not lonely. It doesn’t bother her at all.

H o p e.

She wanted to hope. She was desperate for hope. She didn’t know how to hope anymore.

Her chest is tight and there’s a cry that threatens to fall. It’s her hand shielding her eyes that keeps it at bay, and the silence of just her that locks it away.

No messages in 2578 days.

Footsteps walk with confidence. There is no need for hesitation within this world of only her. She walks among the trees that hold no leaves. The muted world she has made lights the lanterns of red that hang from their branches glow with each step she takes. Her digital canvas shines within the world as her pen drags across it. There’s desire for the moon to hang above her, and light the way for her as she dreams it would. She is sterilizing her mentality.

She wishes for the moon—she faintly remembers someone who resembled the moon. She remembers pale white, and endless black. The ground is shifting. It’s raising in some places, but lowering in others. She’s redecorating the world. Large cliffs devoid of water, painted skies endless black, stars scattered among the painted sky, and the softest of clouds that allow the glow to pierce them. She’s watching and she’s waiting as it materializes here in her now. Fingers drag the pen over the delete button—she’s frozen, and her fingers shake in her practiced movements.

Sitting at the edge is all she can do as her legs swing in gentle motions. The wind blows with the smallest of chills at the stroke of her pen across the digital canvas. It’s cool in it’s caress upon her skin, and it’s comforting. Her heartbeat is slow, and it’s comforting within the quiet of night. Silence rings, but to her it sings.

Lids flutter shut as she inhales the night air. Fingers bring the tablet to rest upon her lap. Lids do not attempt to raise. The pale coral strands give the slightest sway with each movement. Lips give way to the softest of smiles—feet shuffle behind her within this empty world devoid of all but her. They, her and this nonexistent being, are relishing in this feeling and this solace. It momentary, but it’s happiness no less.

The closed lids shut tighter. The legs that swung in gentle motions leave their sway let her curl them to her chest. The lips that she presses tight. She’s pressing her forehead to her knees. The yellow is like the sun. The black is like the moon. The pale coral is like the earth in spring.

The earth would never touch the sun, nor would it touch the moon.

She’s alone, but she’s not lonely. It doesn’t bother her at all.

The glow of her screen illuminates beside her. Lids flutter open in startle sound that comes with it’s glow. She’s lifting her head to lower her pale viridescent on a canvas far to detailed and far to perfect in it’s design. There’s a shift, and then there’s a panic as the world she has created alone leaves her for white. Falling is all she can do. Falling is all she’s able to do.

She left behind the home that he made her.

Hatsumode. It’s where she sees a being of all her aesthetics walk in an outfit only for this occasion. They hold the hand of the back with fingers laced.  They smile at the yellow who has pressed his fingers to the small of her back in affection. There are giggles, grins, and smirks. They give their offerings, and they give their shakes upon the bells. They give their silent prayers for a good year to come.

The yellow is squeezing her free hand. The black is turning to her with the softest of smiles as she continues her descend below.

Her heart shakes loud within her ears forcing her fingers to dig within her shirt of yellow. There’s alarm, and there is panic. There is anguish as she sees this distant memory before her. The yellow is a blonde, and the black is him. There is a strangled cry as she becomes desperate to look anywhere but them.

She doesn’t have the power to look away within in her forever falling state.

The blonde is taking her to her favorite coffee shop, and he is taking her to dinner. The blonde is giving her gifts for her birthday, and he has lifted her from the ground spinning her as she gets accepted into her dream school. The blonde is dragging her from her dorm room with the largest of grins radiating in warmth, and he is picking her up from class with the smallest of smirks cool upon his lips. The blonde is forcing her to the movies but she loves it regardless, and he is giving her the most affectionate tap upon her forehead. The blonde is picking her up with no intent to tell her where he’s taking her, and he is asking to spend forever with her.

Her fingers reach out begging to hold onto these moments in time that filled her existence with joy once upon a time, “Naruto. Sasuke-kun.”

The blonde is concerned when she does not smile coming out of her doctors appointment, and he gives way to pinched brows when she dodges his questions about the same doctors appointment. The blonde is shaking her as she lays upon the floor of her home, and he is carrying her limp form into the hospital with fear decorating his face. The blonde has picked her up from the hospital no longer giving way to smiles radiating in warmth, and he’s there within his study trapped by papers scattered around the room with her name scribbled upon the top of them. The blonde rushes into the hospital room she has checked into, and he is researching at her bedside. The blonde is sobbing in silence as he holds her hand sitting beside her bed after a particularly painful chemo treatment, and he has taken her from the hospital into the darkest of warehouses.

The blonde is giving her the gentlest of kisses upon her cheek with shuddered breaths and sharp intakes. He is whispering promises to her as she sits plugged into the machine he has designed to keep her alive. She is crushed witnessing the tear that finally falls from his glassed over obsidian to drip from his chin.

She is crumbling within these memories. She is torn from her world completely and utterly with these moments on display before her. Pale coral stick to her face as the tears fall in painful gasps. She is screaming, and she is begging, and she is calling out for him. She sobs in pleas to let her give him—no, them—comfort. She wants to hold them. She wants to be the one taking care of them. She’s desperate to protect them from the pain her existence has caused them.

She hopes to give them shelter as they have done for her. She hopes to carry them along as they have done for her. She hopes to hold their hands as they have done for her.

Feet are touching the ground giving way to weakened knees with a strangled cry. She is no longer floating within the memories she had forgotten.

She’s alone, but she’s not lonely. They were giving her shelter.

There’s a noise, a beep of sorts, that chimes within the silence only interrupted by her cries. There is hope within her shaky fingers that reach for the momentarily forgotten tablet before her.  There is longing as she clicks the notification lighting the screen.

One new message.

H o p e. She would hope. She was filled with hope. She remembered how to hope.

Pale viridescent scan the message overwhelmed with that same longing heavy upon her heart. She knows they are there. She knows the earth has touched the sun. She knows the earth has touched the moon. She knows, with hurt decorating her face the earth, had touched them both. It had reached out and they had continued to take it’s hand in theirs. They had continued to love her. They had continued to do all they can to bring her back to them.

They had never forgotten her once. She had never been more loved.

“Even if these memories make me sad, I’ve got to go forward believing in the future. Even when I realize my loneliness, and am about to lose all hope, those memories will make me stronger.” her tears continue endlessly as she curls into herself with the tablet tucked within her arms.

“I’m not alone, because of you.”

Thank you.

[ombreecha]

Lights Out

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Pairing: Clerith Rated: T/Slight M Prompt: Incubus!Cloud and Aerith

Sheltered. Protected. Held up and bathed in light.

That’s the only world she’s ever known. Her mischievousness kept at bad in fear of making her adoptive mother worry. Fear in making the wrong move and causing her a panic she never meant to cause. She’s been blessed far more than those around her in this small town.

Her world is like that of a greenery. Delicate and handled with care whilst being stowed behind glass walls meant to protect yet provide her with the warmth of the sun. Maybe that’s why she’s grown so fond of this hobby—of those flowers that she waters daily and then plucks to sell for the simple price of one gil.

In before dark and kept away from whatever haunts within the night. Twenty-two and still treated as if a small child—too naive and too pure to handle the cruelty she can’t see.

She knows this woman who has raised her with such warmth and protection means no harm. She knows the people within this small town mean no harm just the same as they treat her no different.

That’s why when the lights turn on shining down upon those brick roads she makes her way home—because she’s not meant to know what goes bump in the night. It’s something she doesn’t know, and something she doesn’t understand. She only longs to see the good around her.

So that’s why when she gets her first true scare at night, because she’s lingered too long in the market place, she rushes home. She can’t help but feel like she’s being silly and proving them right. Her mother almost confused by how disheveled she looks as she rushes in the door and locks it shut.

Muffled apologies is all she provides trying to take back the concern lingering in her mother’s eyes before heading up the staircase with fingers pressed upon the wall to steady herself.

Silly. That’s what she’s being because she’s an adult and she can’t allow herself to just accept being naive.

Impressive eyes. She’s sure she had seen them.

Yet, they were gone the moment she looked over her shoulder. They were impressive and yet haunting.

It’s with the smallest of breaths and those heavy lids that she lays there almost chastising herself, and then the sweep of her lids falling to lay still as sleep over takes her. It’s a dream because those eyes she saw are staring down at her, and she’s already decided they didn’t exist. She’s a twenty-two year old girl with a rampant imagination.

The thud of her heart against her chest doesn’t produce even the smallest of stirring. Maybe it’s that mischievousness she’s locked away finally coming to the surface. All she knows is she’s curious as this man sits above her. There’s no question about where his hands are going—she wants to see what’s going to happen next in this dream of hers as he slides them upon her skin. She feels warm as he presses himself closer to her. The feel of his hair as it touches her only sends the smallest feelings through her.

Is this just some simple childish curiosity—or is it temptation? Excitement? Perhaps it’s thrill?

She’s twenty-two. She’s not stupid. She knows what’s coming when he slides her legs up. No. This behavior isn’t one expected of her. Her letting some man she doesn’t know touch her in such a way isn’t what’s expected of her. Her brain tells her that she shouldn’t be doing this. That her mother would be disappointed—it��s just a dream though, remember?

That’s right. This is just a dream. No one has to know.

What she doesn’t expect is her bodies own reaction to this heavy petting he’s providing. Those fingers behind her night clothes. That breath against her ear. That mouth he just pressed firmly against her own.

She wants to see what it’s like to no longer be trapped behind glass walls while the sun bathes her.

That’s why. Yes, that’s why she reacts without shame. That’s why she’s letting herself no longer be the innocent daughter, and the naive girl in town who sells flowers. That’s why she’s reacting by letting her voice out when she rolls her head back as he slides inside her.

He’s gorgeous.

This man she’s conjured up inside her head is something she’s sure is only in those books she hides beneath her bed. This man and his impressive eyes. This man and his blonde hair that she touches as she slides her hand upon his face before he takes her lips once again—and it’s here she wakes up drenched in sweat with her limbs tangled within bed sheets.

Out of breath. She feels completely out of breath. Shooting up from her bed doesn’t help.

It’s hard to look her mom in the eye. It’s hard to look anyone in the eye. That’s why when they call her name she barely notices. She barely hears them. She doesn’t want to hear them.

She feels like those eyes of his are everywhere, but they’re not because it’s just a dream.

That’s why when the day is over and as she’s shutting the light off she doesn’t know why she’s getting so excited once again. She doesn’t know why she’s anticipating something—

because it’s just a dream. If it’s a dream she doesn’t want it to stop.

And it doesn’t. It doesn’t stop. It keeps happening. He continues to ravishing her within her bed. He continues to make her head toss against the sheets. He continues to press those hands against her skin.

What embarrassment she had felt that first morning after has long since left her days into this. It’s disappeared within the air. She feels almost brazen about what comes the moment the lights are turned off.

He continues for weeks having his way with her, and her enjoying her way with him. He’s silently teaching her things. He barely makes a sound with only the occasional breathy groan, and subtle noise. He’s treating her how she longs to be treated. As an adult—as a woman. Not a little girl.

He’s letting her try her hand at so many things.

That’s why when the lights go out and she lays down she closes her eyes quickly longing for sleep to over take her—yet, he doesn’t come.

He doesn’t come the next day either.

When she’s waking up there’s disappointment to follow. The days that follow only make it grow. They make her question why she’s not having those dreams she doesn’t dare speak of. They make her question what she’s done. She remembers this man she’s made up perfectly, but he’s no longer waiting for her within the night.

She’s trapped. She’s trapped inside those glass walls once again.

The frustration is building. It’s festering up, and then it’s blowing over when she accidentally drenches herself with the watering hose.

She’s throwing it and swinging her arms. She’s cursing upon every breath she takes and then there’s the tears that follow after.

Perhaps she truly is a child. She’s throwing such a tantrum over things that don’t exist.

Over things that never happened. Over things she’s conjured within her own mind.

She doesn’t have the energy after such an act. She’s only lucky her mother didn’t see her acting in such a way. Although, she’s sure her mother had looked upon her face noticing her eyes puff from such a burst of frustration—such a down pour of tears—over literally nothing.

The lights turning off no longer give her comfort. Her head against her pillow no longer provides the relief she had been receiving. No. None of it. It’s not the same.

She’s not the same.

So when she closes her eyes with lids heavy and worn she doesn’t expect after a week of him disappearing to see him again.

She doesn’t expect him to give her the lightest of shakes. It makes her question if it’s normal to wake up inside of a dream. It makes her wonder why he’s sitting upon her bed instead of doing what they’ve always done. He just sits there with those ever impressive blue eyes staring down at her. It’s as if he’s looking for something. It’s as if he’s trying to find something upon her face—and then for the first time she watches as his lips move and he says her name.

Aerith.

She doesn’t recall ever telling him such a thing, but he’s a figment of her imagination, of course he knows it. As she sits up at the call of her name, which is nothing more than the barest of whispers in the night, his hand is there sliding against her leg and up her thigh.

That excitement he brings still comes from such a thing. Yet, somethings not right.

It’s obvious in the way he stops her hand from come to touch him, gripping it firmly. The shake of his head comes, and then that’s when she feels her breathing stop. Is this figment of her imagination rejecting her now?

How does this happen?

“Why?”

“I’m dangerous.” his response is immediate, and cold upon the ears.

“I don’t underst—”

“That’s the precisely why I stopped coming to you.” that gaze of his is pure steel as if to ward her away.

This man before her is the only one to ever make her feel as if he sees her as a woman. Not a child. She’ll be damned if she doesn’t get a reason, “Why?”

There’s a momentary silence. A second of time in which she watches the hesitation upon his brows before she feels her breath catch in her throat as his lips come to her ear.

That whisper in her ear doesn’t help to regain her ability to breathe. It only makes it more prolonged. She barely even notices when he stands up from her bedside.

“B-but—” she dares to try to find the words to respond to such a claim.

I’m an incubus.

It’s those footsteps he takes towards her window that make her jump with a startle to try and stop him. Her grip upon his wrist there as she haphazardly tries to get off her bed slamming her knees upon the floor, “Wait—please.”

What protected world had she been in? Was this what her mother had tried to protect her from? She clearly couldn’t have known this is what haunts the night. She still doesn’t even full grasp what he means when he says he’s an incubus—her imagination had truly run rampant in her desire to be seen as an equal. As an adult.

As a woman.

“Why me?” her voice sounds so small in this moment, and it eats away at her that she’s being looked upon as if she is no more than a child—after everything they’ve done.

The banging upon her door startles her further. Hearing her mother’s raised and concerned voice just makes everything feel so much more overwhelming. He’s kneeling and then it’s with another whisper within her ear that she feels her heart pound against her chest. The nod of his head comes and it’s as she turns to answer her mother’s frantic banging that he’s gone.

Easing her mother isn’t hard. A simple excuse of falling off the bed seems to placate her easily. It’s weeks after that, that she doesn’t turn the lights out.

It had to of been a dream. Yet, it’s perfectly clear it wasn’t.

She’s spent those nights with the lights on crying wondering everything. Questioning all that knows. It’s then when she finally decides to accept it and turn the lights out she’s not prepared for him to be standing there at her window.

As if he’s been waiting.

[ombreecha]

Wild

Series: Lifetimes Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rated: M Prompt: Halloween x College Note: Continuation of Ten Shades of Red, Definitely, Someone Else , and Classic Mind, and So Fine.  Love me some goddamn College AU.

His fingers fumble with the buttons of the tacky and cheap fabric. Subtle glances go upon the mirror and as he’s shifting it together he can’t help but grimace. He’s not one for parties and he’s not one for social drinking, but she had asked him to go. Who was he to tell her no?

The way she had brushed a lock of that pale pink back and the way her eyes had skimmed across his face as she proposed going to a Halloween party had coaxed him forward, and the wildest of thoughts about what she’d wear had been tempting enough to make him agree.

The loudest of snorts falls. He has dabbled in curiosity leading up to this moment. She won’t dare a whisper nor a hint of what she intends to wear—and it’s killing him if he’s being honest.

They’re still not together—her confession isn’t on deaf ears though. He’s considered it. He’s contemplated it. He’s dabbled in it.

He just hasn’t seized it. Why is the bigger question.

He can literally reach out and touch it but there’s a definite hesitation. He’s not considering anyone but her and she doesn’t appear to have her eyes on someone else either—someone else didn’t get a confession he did.

Clearing his throat has him glancing at the ridiculous police officer costume he’s daring to walk out of his apartment in. There’s no stopping the thought that he looks like a cheap imitation of his father, and that has him humming in disapproval.

He can guarantee even as he slides the ridiculous hat on his head that she’ll produce that dusty pink he enjoys so much. Taking the time to contemplate their relationship is useless right now—he’s far to curious in seeing what she’s chosen to wear.

The jingle of keys comes as he slides them across the table and grabs a hold of a black leather jacket at the doorway.

The drive is quiet with his stereo turned down. The closer he gets the wilder his thoughts shift. There’s the reminder he shouldn’t let himself get too wrapped up in it—a sexy nurse would be nice though.

She is a pre-med student after all.

This is Sakura though, and the instant thought of her being covered from head to toe is also a probability. She enjoys thrillers. What if she wears something tattered and torn—oh god, there goes the possibility of not having risqué expectations.

He’s not doing himself any favors.

Parking before her dorm only seeks to make him bite his bottom lip before sending the text.

They’re not together. He hasn’t answered her feelings just yet. They can handle that soon enough. They’re just two friends going to a college party. Just friends—because he won’t step over the line.

The movement at the doors has his eyes sliding off his phone and swinging the drive door open. There’s a dryness to his mouth, and the subconscious lick of his upper lip as if that’ll fix the problem.

A shift of his gaze and he’s caught the stares. He doesn’t blame them—this twoman over twenty wouldn’t possibility notice the head turns.

She’s too busy trying to look confident.

They’re entirely warranted. Reality was better than imagination. It’s not a sexy nurse, and it’s not her clad from head to toe. It’s something just as nice as a nurse but not as risqué as ones he had considered.

The way those opaque tights hug her legs—wait, are they tights or are they thigh highs? That exposed collar bone and tight corset of black has his eyes roaming—is this the first time she’s worn something that low in front of him? The sway of that orange and black mesh skirt—she has to be wearing thigh highs with what that skirt gives away.

That hat on her head is adorable and the only thing that tells him she’s dressed as a witch. It’s risqué but it isn’t overdone. It isn’t too much.

He’s yet to say a word as she’s standing before him. Gloved hands of black up to her elbows fidgeting in front of her has him swallowing. Even in heels she’s smaller than him. He’s not complaining but that view of her cleavage is a lot as he stares down at her.  

“You should have stayed in the car—everyone’s gawking at you.” it's a muffled whine between the two of them and god is this woman wild.

She’s absolutely wild for thinking someone is staring at him and not at her, and she’s definitely off the mark for being as smart as she is.

The press of his fingers upon her back slide down as he walks her to the passenger side. The train of mesh is not a negative as he helps her in. It’s got him feeling warm as his eyes trail over her legs, and enjoying that infamous soft thank you even more.

He’s of classic mind, and she looks so fine in her little witch getup. He likes it—oh god, does he like it.

Her shoulders have washed away their tension now that they’re in the car and headed out. He’s half hearing what she’s saying and giving the barest of responses as he swindles and steals looks upon her.

That dusty pink has yet to leave her cheeks, and that’s got the ghost of a smirk upon the corners of his lips.

Parking within the yard of the host’s home is not as bad as he expected it to be, but the hordes of people trailing at the entrance has him taking in a breath. Her movements are soft but laced in nervousness.

“Oh god—I shouldn’t have worn this.” the way her cheeks fill with air in her childishness is one he’s seen one to many times.

It amuses him just as it always has as he exits the car and begins sliding off his leather jacket laying it upon his arm and opening the passenger seat.

She’s gained the habit of holding out her hand and he takes it gingerly as he’s been taught well before now. Helping her out of the car earns him that soft thank you—will there ever be a time when she doesn’t give them?

Sliding the jacket upon her shoulders earns him those pale green and it’s a dip of his head to her ear that has him finally letting that grin escape from just the corners, “I definitely think you should have worn this.”

There’s a subtle shake to her with him humming against her ear and pulling back grants him a deeper dusty shade of pink upon her.

This party is all that he knows it would be as they enter. It’s warm with the mass of bodies, and it’s loud with the blaring music.

The wide doe eyes she’s painted in furthers his amusement as they make their way through. The loud squeal of the blonde is what he expects and is barely overpowered by the speakers. There’s cups within their hands immediately and the scent of smoke, and sweat that hangs in the air as they go deeper within the house.

They could be at home watching another one of her favorite thrillers—but he’s not complaining as his eyes follow her. She’s gone one minute and back the next in repeated fashion.

The forceful hand against his back has him turning and it’s no surprise there’s a blonde behind him filled with impishness, “Imagine you at a party of all things.”

It’s only a moment before his eyes are back upon her. A sip of the spiked Gatorade follows along with a roll of his shoulders in response.

“So, ya lock that in yet?”

“Did your mother pick out your costume?” his witticism is in full effect.

There’s an obvious pause from the blonde and then the pinch of those blonde brows, “What do you mean? I look cool!” there’s a ridiculous amount of pride as the blonde puffs out his chest dawned as a gladiator—the blonde has clearly had his share of alcohol if the scent of booze was any indicator.

He has little to no desire to discuss his hesitation to step over that line with him. He reminds himself it’s not that he’s against it—maybe it’s the fact he’s severely overthinking it.

“Besides, who dressed you? You look like your damn dad.” the howl the blonde lets out awards him a shift of eyes and a twitch of his mouth.

The drag of his tongue upon the top of his teeth comes, and then the sip of his drink fills his mouth. There’s no missing the heads that turn and the way they scale up her form. There’s an obvious attempt when a male he’s unfamiliar with gains her attention, and then she’s gone from his view as a girl stands in front of him.

He has zero clue who this girl is, and he isn’t particularly interested in finding out either. His mother raised him to be polite though—and so he answers when it’s necessary. He learns her name and learns she’s studying literature. He listens to her continuing to coax him for a conversation, and watches the way she tries to garner his attention with small touches upon his arm.

A flicker of his obsidian behind her and Sakura’s nowhere to be seen. The blonde next to him is his scapegoat and that’s how he excuses himself with the claim of running out of something to drink.

The amount of people makes maneuvering difficult. From bumping into some and being shoved into others he’s muttered enough apologies for one night. The kitchen is just as packed and the amount of onlookers for the two in the corner making out has him rolling his eyes.

Grabbing more spiked Gatorade comes first, and the whistles and yells echo within the house. The spectacle the two are making of themselves isn’t enough to keep him from searching out the woman of pale pink, and pale green. She’s there on the couch with a new male beside her and her blonde roommate to her right.

He’s barely ready for it when another body slams into his making him spill some of his drink upon his hand and the floor. The loudest of laughs comes and it’s coated in a slurred mess.

It’s enough to grab his attention from her and the newest one to attempt to win her over. He’s not concerned necessarily—it’s gonna take a lot more than that to coax her from his side—but that doesn’t mean he’s not keeping watch.

It’s one more drink after this one, and two hours in. It’s three times as loud as he thought this event would be, and four plastic cups connecting as they go on about the most miscellaneous of things. Five loud yells—he swears someone just did some lame ass attempt at an Indian call—and six glances her way.

He likes this—no, he just likes her. He definitely likes her in that witch getup.

That males shifting closer to her and she’s so naive and unaware at the attention she’s gained as more males have come to sit upon the coffee table. That blonde friend of hers is far too engrossed in whatever their discussing—oh, yeah he should probably pay attention to his own conversation.

The click of fingers has his eyes running back to his own friend dressed as a dog no less. He always knew something was off about—oh fuck, what was this kid’s name? Kiba? They went to middle school together.

“Aye, Uchiha!” the yell is loud and has even grabbed the attention of pale green eyes.

The attempt to take another swig of his drink is halted at the call of his surname. It’s only a moment later that he’s extending his hand out and bumping shoulders with one he knows all too well.

“It’s been a while. I didn’t expect—”

“Yeah, yeah I know. No one expects me to come to these kinds of things.” he’s leaning against the wall and shoving his hand within his pants pocket.

“A cop, though? You look like your father.” there’s the smallest of snickers following it.

“Real funny, Neji.” the snort he lets out is entirely too loud.

“He’s not really here for any other reason than that one over there.” that’s comment is enough to make his head whip to the claim Kiba’s made.

The press of the plastic against his lips is in hopes they’ll leave the subject alone, but this is college, and people are nosy and so when the questions start flowing he immediately shuts it down, “We’re not dating. We’re friends.”

“You seriously gonna look at me at tell me you haven’t—but dude them legs.” the nudge to his shoulder has him having to readjust himself against the wall.

They’re none to prepared when the seven yells to chug fill the house, and eight people come rushing past to see what all the commotion is about. The smaller plastic shot glass being pushed his way has them looking about and throwing it back. Naruto’s come to join them no longer left with the random girl from earlier. It’s been a while since he’s seen them so he’s not complaining.

After all, he’s been filling his time with this girl he calls a friend, and not a girlfriend.

How many drinks is this when another comes within his grasp. Nine? His already feeling decent. There’s that obvious slur to his words, and he’s grabbed at least his ten looks her way. There’s the smallest of smirks hinted upon the corner of his mouth is seeing whatever male that had been seated beside her is gone and a few more girls surround her.

So maybe that’s why when he’s become slightly engrossed in his conversation he’s not ready for her to be standing before him. She’s got the smallest shade of red upon her cheeks—it’s not the ten shades of red he loves on her. It’s different. He thinks he enjoys this regardless.

Whatever conversation they had been having is immediately dead as her fingers press against his chest and all of a sudden he’s caught between staring at those pale green or that more than inviting cleavage.

Did her mouth always look this inviting? God only knows. What he does know is how much he likes this—whatever this is.

There’s no second guessing himself here and now, and he’s pretty sure it’s all because of this liquid courage inside of a red cup that he’s pressing firmly against Naruto’s chest. He doesn’t even care if the blonde’s successfully taken it. All he knows is he’s going to step over that line, and it all starts with his fingers sliding up that neck, and making their way within pale rose-colored strands.

This woman over twenty was far too cute for her own good—tonight she’s more than cute. Tonight she’s aggressive, she’s got some raciness to her, and tonight she’s far bolder than normal.

He’s typically of classic mind, and god, does she look fine—too fine. Tonight’s not typical though, and that’s why he challenges that boldness of hers. That’s also why he’s firm in pressing his mouth to hers and coaxing her own open. He can almost hear the yells that literally explode next to him but he’s far too interested in sliding his tongue into her mouth.

It’s that feeling of her hands reaching up and removing that ridiculous hat off his head that has him aching. She’s definitely just as interested in this as he is.

His mother taught him many things—to be a gentlemen, and to definitely know time place, and occasion. That is the only thing that makes him pull away and grab her hands to stop them from tempting him any further than they already have.

Hot breathed, and a flash of his eyes to one of them—was it Neji, or maybe it was Kiba?

They all look the fucking same who the fuck cares. He’s firm in his grip upon her hand, “Have yourselves a good night.”

Pulling her through is simple enough. He leaves no room for rebuttal before grabbing his jacket and sliding it upon her shoulders. She’s wobbly in her heels and that’s more than enough of an excuse to have him lift her up confirming that, yes, they are in fact thigh highs.

He likes it—oh god, yes, he likes it. He likes her pressed against him even more.

Her arms are tight around his neck as he makes his way with her to his car. He’s buzzed. He’s probably past buzzed and if his mother finds out he’s about to drive while intoxicated she’ll lose it, but who said she has to know this minor detail.

He’s hot blooded right this minute, and that’s all he knows. Who the fuck was he trying to play when he said they were friends.

They’re definitely not friends.

That drive? Who knows. He’s more than pretty sure he parked decently. He didn’t kill them, and that’s what counts. He’ll be pissy about this later. Right now, though, he’s busy. He’s got other things on his mind, and all of those things are her.

God, imagine if she had gone with a sexy nurse. Would he have even made it this deep into the night?

It’s her hand in his and them being far too loud in opening the door. She’s letting out the highest of giggles behind him before he’s dragging her in and lifting her against the door and wrapping those legs where they should be—around his hips with her heels against his ass.

She’s warm for being dressed so risqué. He reminds himself to slow down, and to not be so aggressive, but then she tugs upon his hair and that’s out the window, and set to be reviewed for later. He’s past hormonally charged, and hot blooded especially with that noise she just let out as he presses his lips against her throat.

He likes this witch getup. He’s willing to bet he’ll love it off her too.

It’s all too much as she’s letting out heated breaths and producing the best shudders. Fingers skim over those thigh highs that have had his attention since the beginning of the night. It’s got his blood pumping loud in his ears and a rush of pants escalating from her. She’s pushing and their stumbling back as they make their way through his apartment. Kisses lingering and hands touching—oh god, she just cupped him. Her grip isn’t too tight, and that roll of her palm and brush of her fingers has him letting out his own sounds. The grip upon his door handle from behind him is far too tight as he swings the door open, and that push of hers has them tumbling back upon his bed.

He wants to take this second—this moment—however brief it is to thank god that he left his desk lamp on.

He wants to see her. He wants to see her for just a moment longer in that outfit before he takes it off her.

Air seems nonexistent as she’s on his lap rolling her hips, and that friction has him pulling on the zipper in the back. It’s left her in just that mesh skirt and god is he ready to tear that off her just the same. That  ten shades of red is across her cheeks and while it’s not the same one laced with embarrassment he loves this one even more—does she know what she’s doing to him when she looks at him with half lidded eyes and her mouth parted just slightly?

Her fingers are fumbling with his button, and if he wasn’t too busy running his hands up her thighs and enjoying the way they feel in his hands he’d help. She’s ripping the gloves off after her failed attempts become too much, and that’s got him pulling the black corset out between them.

Thank you god, and thank you desk lamp. Cause, yes, he does love her out of it.

He loves the way she shivers as his hands run up her skin, and the way her mouth parts with every little noise she makes. They are far too cute—but they’re so much more than cute. They make him lift her up  and his fingers tug upon her skirt. They’re intoxicated and fumbling but that’s not making any of this less exciting as he takes one of breasts into his hand and slide his tongue across her nipple.

Has he mentioned how much he loves the way she’s tugging upon his hair as he takes it into his mouth? He definitely loves that too—those someone elses aren’t causing these reactions. She’s in his apartment, on his lap, and god, she just said his name.

His whole body is peaking at that simple breathless drop of his name. Pulling her upon the bed gives him just the angle he needs to yank that skirt finally from her thighs and toss it across the room. Those pale pink strands are so pretty across her shoulders and back as she keeps herself on all fours looking back at him from. His imagination had been wild leading up to this moment, but they have nothing on this—with her ass in the air and just a simple pair of black panties separating him from where he wants to buried.

He’s more than ready to go as his thumbs hook upon the sides of her panties and then the curiosity grabs his already foggy mind. He only sees the way her pale green widen for a moment before he’s tugging them up and running his tongue against her. Her ass is raising higher to give him better access and he’s loving the way her voice becomes muffled within his sheets. The quake of her legs has him licking harder and faster. Those cries are filling his room, and every little sound is exactly what he wants to hear.

He pauses for just a moment raising up to catch a glimpse of her face pressed against his bed. The halt earns him a frustrated whine and the turn of her head giving him those pale green looking back at him as he runs the back of his hand across his mouth. Just as with that skirt, and corset he wants to see them off her. He doesn’t want to tease her anymore.

Quick and fluid he’s sliding the wet material down and to her knees. He’s about to slide the already unbuttoned shirt off before she lets out another noise full of disapproval.

“Keep it on.” it’s heated and laced in demand.

He wouldn’t have thought her to have a thing for uniforms. For a girl who seemed so innocent she was far from it—he’ll likes that, god, does he like it.

There’s no stopping the harsh swallow that simple request makes him produce, and as a reply he simply bends back down sliding his tongue against her. The slide of his tongue between her folds makes her quake once again. It’s got him hungry and it’s got him wanting more as she fights between raising higher to give him more access and thrusting against his tongue.

Her voice is higher and then he’s all to aware of why. He can’t continue otherwise he’ll go before he’s even begun, and so even when she lets out a whine full of dissatisfaction he can’t help but let out a grin. He loves listening to how pleased she is when he does things to her, and that’s why even though he has to be careful not to lose control he slides his fingers in slow, and deep eliciting the those sounds he loves once again.

The pace he sets is built up. It’s not all at once, and god, she’s just so wet and warm. Oh, yes, he likes this. He loves this. He wants more of this.

He can’t believe he didn’t go over the line before now. There’s no excuse for torturing himself like this.

The light his desk lamp gives off makes him love it even more. It’s just enough to let him see the way she’s gripping his fingers as they pull out and go back in, and that’s enough visual stimulation to make him bite his bottom lip and let out a low groan.

He should have taken her the night he took her to dinner after teaching her how to parallel park. He should have taken her that time in his kitchen when he thought someone else had gained her interest. He should have taken her when he brought her back to his place after she confessed.

He should have. Could have. But he didn’t—he is now, though.

This isn’t how he had foreseen it. This isn’t how he imagined it. But he’s more than okay with it. He’s definitely glad he agreed to go with her to that party.

He can make all the excuses for his hesitation all he wants, but she was definitely his then, and all the times before it if tonight has taught him anything.

The drag of his zipper isn’t heard with the moans she’s letting out with each pump of his fingers. The pull upon his pants doesn’t bring them too low—no, he just lows them as far as necessary so he doesn’t have to stop what he’s doing.

The loss of his fingers inside her makes her push up upon her elbows and push her ass back against him. He can’t help but tease her over such a response, “So impatient.”

He doesn’t even give her the option to respond before sliding gripping himself and begin pushing himself in. It’s just the tip at first as he slides deeper pulling upon her hips to grind deeper and against her. His own shudder is unable to be kept at bay, and there’s no missing the way her voice has become muffled with the help of her hand.

This is where he can’t stop himself. This is where he’s lost himself. He’s firm in his grip upon her hip, and her waist. He loves the way she’s so warm and wet. He loves the way she grips him. He loves the way she—

“Sasuke-kun!”

Oh god, he definitely loves that even more.  

He’s trying to remember to be easy with her, but then he thrusts harder, and hits inside her deeper. He had liked the way it looked as his fingers went in and out of her. He loves the way it looks when he slides out nice and slow slick with her before pushing himself back in to enjoy all that warmth.

He barely picks up on his own voice joining her own, or in the way he’s building up speed. He’s overcome with those wonderful wet sounds coming with every thrust. Harsh and deep he’s slamming against her.

Fuck—is there anything he doesn’t love about her in this moment?

Even the way those pale pink slide and move with each thrust has him reeling, and so close to the edge.  The way her hips buckle and she’s pressed against the bed doesn’t halt him in the slightest. Deeper, and deeper. Harder, and harder. Faster, and faster. That’s all he can think.

She’s that ten shades of red he loves. She’s definitely has always been his. She’s never been someone else’s. She’s a classic, and far too fine to not be his.

He wants to hear the way she comes. He wants that hand off her mouth, and that’s exactly what he’s going for when he presses his cheek against hers and groans in her ear. That hand falls away from her mouth allowing her fingers to curl against his pillow and then it’s one thrust, two hot breaths, three begs, four high pitched whimpers, and on thrust five she’s over the edge and tight upon him.

On six he becomes more than determined, and on seven he’s pressing kisses against her ear. Eight makes it’s way hard, and with the ninth he feels himself tumbling over the edge. Ten comes in deep and it’s here he loses himself.

There’s no stopping the way he moans out her name deep, hot, and exhausted. His release is done with the hard press against her as he rocks himself empty inside her. Their covered in sweat, and the scent of sex has soaked the room.

Sluggish and slightly off balance he’s raising trying in vain to catch his breath. She’s in no better shape with the way her lids slowly lift. He’ll clean them up later. He’ll do a lot of things later.

All he’s concerned about right this minute is wrapping his arms around her and them sleeping off the booze. Pulling the comforter out from them has them fumbling before sliding under it. Those arms of hers comes around his waist, and his around her shoulder. He’s definitely more sober than when they started. That scent of vanilla comes with him pressing his nose within her hair.

The smallest of yawns escapes him and he barely has time to note how she’s fallen asleep already.

Lids fluttering down and then when they finally raise again his apartment is flooded with light from the window. He wants to get up and close the curtains but there’s a weight upon his shoulder and it’s slightly uncomfortable—no, it’s definitely uncomfortable, and made his shoulder numb.

A glance down makes it suddenly clear why and then there’s a flutter of his heartbeat. Swallowing thickly he’s trying to place it all together, and it doesn’t take much. He remembers the way he had pounded her into his bed, and the way she cried his name out. He feels his cheeks warm at the thought.

Slowly he eases himself out from under her noting her scattered clothing and realizing he’s still in this ridiculous outfit. His throat feels rough, and the first thing he needs to do right now is get some coffee. He can do this. It’s not like he hadn’t considered it.

Grabbing his glasses from the desk he makes quick work of grabbing a shirt, and sweat pants. Down the hall and into the kitchen he runs a hand through his hair. Fumbling around in the kitchen it’s barely a thought to grab the pancake mix from the cupboard. He’s not complaining about what happened. He’s more than pleased with himself. Clearing his throat he gets the keurig started and their coffee ready.

She’ll want milk with her coffee—if he threw in some chocolate syrup would that make it that mocha she buys when they go to that little cafe? He doesn’t know but at this point he’ll give it a shot. It can’t be that difficult.

His coffee is made first as he works on getting the pancakes ready. The slow way in which he moves makes it clear he’s tired, but again he’s not complaining. Looking back on what he does remember he’s beyond pleased. That flushed face, and those sounds. He feels hot again, and he needs to think of anything other than the way he made her quake beneath him as he filled her up.

Fuck—that’s not how you do that.

A noise grabs his attention, and he swears to god he almost swallowed his tongue. Turning slowly there’s no missing her face in those ten shades of red he just loves. She’s gotten one of his shirts out from his closet, and god, has he mentioned how much he loves her in them?

This is what he had been hesitant about. He didn’t want things to become awkward between them. He didn’t want her feeling embarrassed or out of place. A deep inhale has him settling his own nerves as he stands there with a spatula in one hand and the other on the handle of the pan.

Opening his mouth he immediately closes it. Turning back around he flips the pancake over before grabbing her cup from under the keurig. They don’t speak a word as he pours the milk, and syrup into the cup being sure to stir it thoroughly. She’s made her way to the pan and kept her eyes on the food and it’s here and now he knows he needs to break the silence and ease some of her embarrassment.

He’s extending the cup and then he sees the way she’s got her eyes looking upon the floor about to take it from him. That’s more than enough for him. He’s not sure what she thinks but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t find out.

The cup never makes it to her hands as he places it on the counter and then he’s lifting her up with a startled noise falling from her lips as he sits her on the counter. That subconscious habit of licking her bottom lip is not helping right this second—what if she—no, no, focus.

He was so sure last night she was his. He’s not so sure right now and that takes priority.

Clearing his throat he gains her eyes back on him. He’s quiet in his grip of the coffee cup and bringing it back to her hands. That infamous soft thank you falls between them and that helps to ease his nerves.

He only turns briefly to switch out the pancake so it doesn’t burn, and start the next before giving her his attention once more. There’s a soft swing to her legs as she sits there sipping her coffee. Her eyes have yet to leave him.

Standing comfortably between them he’s got his hands firm upon the counter as he brings his face closer to her. It’s enough to get her lower the cup to her lap. There’s no missing the way she swallows.

“Sasuke-kun.”

He only lets out that habitual noise in response. He’s interested to see where she takes this.

“I like you.” her voice sounds so small in that moment, and that’s enough to remind him that, yes, she is definitely his.

The smallest of grins sits upon the corners of his mouth as his own voice finally comes out with the low hum behind it, “Ah—do you?”

That habit of slicking her upper lip happens once again at his response, and that’s what he takes as a sign to let his hands make their way to her thighs and press his lips to hers. It’s nothing like last night. It’s not as firm or challenging.

This woman over twenty was far too cute for her own good, and perhaps that’s how she got him wrapped around her finger the way she does.

Her arms have made themselves around his neck. He has no clue where she’s put her coffee cup, and he doesn’t honestly care. When they pull apart she’s still wearing those ten shades of red he loves—he thinks a few more shades have shown themselves, though.

“Do you want chocolate syrup on your pancakes?” it’s just a breath between them, and then she’s got that smile blossoming across her face.

“Yes, please.”

They’re definitely together.

[ombreecha]

Role Reversal

Series: Same Skies Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rated: T Prompt: Where Sakura has not yet came back (late to her expected arrival date) from her A-rank mission. could you try giving it a humorous twist? Note: My dude I mean I tried to give it a humorous twist but honestly I think everything is funny so I’m not the best with humor. There’s a reason @kingofthesharingan says I’m going to die laughing. Basically what I’m trying to tell you is I’m laaaaaame.

Twenty-four hours late. This isn’t a concern—not yet—and that’s why he turns on his heel when it becomes obvious she’s not coming home today. It’s an A rank mission. Nothing she couldn’t handle. It’s not abnormal for it to take a bit longer than normal.

It’s not as though he needs to greet her when she returns. She’s capable. —far more than him or the blonde in most occasions.

That doesn’t mean much though when he just heads to the gate to greet her. Role reversal in a sense. She’s always greeted him home, and now he’s following that pace she’s set.

Footsteps forward, and hours later. Sleep comes some time right after.

Mundane and quite that’s his days when he’s not accepting missions. Sweat drenched upon the training grounds, and small trips to the market for the bare minimum in the evenings.

It’s was twenty-four hours at the start, and then it’s forty-eight. Seventy-two hours later, and there’s truly no need to feel concern.

She’s strong. She doesn’t need him to play protector especially over a little tardiness—punctual or not it happens to everyone.

That doesn’t mean it isn’t starting to develop.

Only when it hits one-hundred and twenty hours later and that small unnerving feeling in his stomach begins its dull ache as he stares at the gates does he start to question things. The crowd of people are going here and there, but there’s zero sign of anything pale rose, and sea foam green. The shift of weight from one hip to the other, and a tilt of his head. Inhalation and then the twist of his lips before he’s turning back upon that hill as he has every day he’s expected her back.

No. He’s not concerned. This is Sakura Haruno.

She’ll be just fine on a rank A mission.

The subconscious drum of his leg as he eats his food is never even noticed, and then sleep right after.

Decorated in sleep and half aware it’s the morning after and the rubbing of the pad of his hand against his eyes. A yawn following as eyes drag their way to the light that spills through the middle of the mostly closed curtains. His brain feels fuzzy but that’s like most mornings.

He eats the smallest of breakfasts. He’s got one hand what more do you expect from him.

Anything more is a waste of effort.

His mind unconsciously checking upon the clock without reason. Every second that hand is ticking has that ache pulsing. There’s no reason for concern. He’ll see if she arrived deep within the night.

The question falls and there’s an irritation as the gate’s attendant drags his finger across the pages. She’s pale rose, and sea foam green—it’s not hard to miss. There’s no real reason to check if they’re all being open and honest with themselves.

She’s well liked, and appreciated by anyone he’s ever spoken to—not that he speaks to many. They’d know if she had returned.

The attendant barely has a moment to open his mouth before they’re shut down by a voice that comes from behind him. This does nothing more than increase that building frustration.

The roll of his head comes as he sets his eyes on those blues brimming with absolute mischievousness. Mouth twitching and the grinding of teeth comes before he’s opening he’s addressing him, “What is it Naruto?”

“Lookin’ for Sakura-chan?” lips turned up and eyes absolutely calling him out, “She’s not back yet.”

“Whatever.” there’s a huff that falls making it clear he doesn’t enjoy whatever tease this blonde is conjuring forth.

Shifting around and hand nestled back within his pocket, and he’s doing everything to maintain a strong stride. Footsteps behind him make it clear the blonde has no desire to let him off the hook just yet.

“She’ll be back before you know. No need to get so concerned.” there’s a rhythm and a tune to his voice.

“I’m not concerned.”

“Teme, you’ve checked the gate everyday she’s been late.”

“How would you know?” it’s a hiss if anything.  

“Who doesn’t know?” he’s no longer willing to shuffle behind taking in Sasuke’s pace and walking beside him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he refuses to look anywhere but at him—that random civilian walking past him, that shop that he’s never even considered walking into, or even that restaurant Kakashi’s taken them to once or twice are far more appealing in this moment.

“What doesn’t it mean?” there’s a chuckle following this throwback of his.

“Naruto, unless you have something you need I’m going home.”  he’s not friendly in the way he makes it clear he’s done and over this roundabout conversation.

“Oh, come on. It’s interesting seeing you guys reverse roles.” he stops firm raising his arms and placing them behind his head.

He finally looks at him not comprehending what the blonde’s getting at, “Reverse role?”

“Well yeah, Sakura-chan is always waiting on you to come home. Now you’re a fidgeting mess waiting on her for once.” he’s beaming as he says it so lightheartedly.

His lips press firm at the comment and there’s an even greater aggravation in feeling like he’s being ridiculed by Naruto of all people. He wants to bite back but that’s an even greater waste of time then making a large breakfast.

A wave of his hand dismisses him from this game he feels like Naruto’s trying to con him into playing. Scrolls and food upon his dinner table as the sun is setting and he can’t help but feel as if the irritation is shifting and molding as his eyes flicker to the wall clock. That subconscious drum of his knee is all the more apparent. It’s faster as that irritation turned to aggravation sets in with Naruto, of all people, getting in his head.

Role reversal? This is a role reversal?

Did she do this? Did she check everyday?

He hasn’t checked everyday that she’s been delayed—that’s an outright lie.

It’s not like she needs him to greet her at the gate anyways—it doesn’t lessen the fact he feels its part of what they do.

She greets him every time without fail. He wants to greet her at the gate every time without fail.

This right here is a waste of time, and a waste of effort.

There’s no reason for the way he feels his mouth twitch as his eyes shift once more upon the wall clock. Maybe he was right. Maybe he is a fidgeting mess.

No. Naruto is anything—literally anything—but right. He’s fine. He’s just got jitters from being away from missions longer than expected.

He’ll ask Kakashi for a mission tomorrow. He’ll get a mission that gets him out of these quite mundane days.

He won’t. Who the fuck is he trying to kid?

She isn’t back. What the hell was taking her so long?

Maybe that’s what has him pushing aside the half eaten plate, and ignoring the scroll beside it, maybe that’s why he’s rested his head upon his hand, and maybe, just maybe, that’s what has him clicking his tongue as he follows the hand that turns within the clock.

This is ridiculous it’s only been—who the fuck cares how long it’s been? This is Sakura Haruno—punctual, and never late Sakura Haruno.

Naruto wasn’t concerned—but he’s not Naruto. Naruto should be concerned.

What the hell was the blonde’s deal?

What if something had happened? What if she was having issues on her mission? Wasn’t this a solo? What if she needed their help?

Stop—pause—rewind. He can’t do that to her.

She’s not a genin—she’s a rank higher than both of them right now. There’s no reason to act like she can’t handle herself.

She’s more than capable.

He’s pushing up from the table. That dull ache is getting deeper and that’s just another thing to make him go from vexation to indignation.

Was this payback? Was she fucking with him? No—that’s even more ridiculous than Naruto is.

Naruto is anything but right—but he’s not necessarily always wrong either.

He was always leaving. Traveling. Seeking out the world with clearer eyes. She was always waiting. Going through day after day. Welcoming him home.

Did she sit here when he was late and with no word? How often did her eyes glance upon the clock and question where he was and what he had seen? Is this what waiting for someone was like? Is this what she put up with?

This dull ache. This irritation turned to aggravation. That aggravation becoming vexation. That vexation morphing into indignation.

The grind of his teeth has his jaw tightening and mouth shifting. Bottom lip between teeth and he’s become even fed up with even himself at this point. He’s going in circles, and there’s nothing productive about what he’s doing.

Rustling sheets and a momentary blackout—he’s not even sure when he fell asleep as he tossed and turned annoyed with her and annoyed with himself.

Even as his eyes flutter open and sunlight spills inside the room making him yank the comfort off and sitting him he can’t stop that annoyance from the night before flooding into his morning.

His mother would say he had woken up cranky.

That was then and this is now, and maybe that’s what has him changing and heading out the door without even taking the time to make breakfast. The sun feels like it’s risen early just to mess with him, and that’s why he’s heading for the training ground. He needs to at least spend his time doing something.

Anything at this point. —yet, this isn’t the direction of the training grounds. The streets are filling as he’s making his way through the village.

He’s a man on a mission and, so help him god, if she comes home today he has no clue what he’s going to say with all this build up.

Footstep after footstep. The yell of the blonde, and ignoring him just the same.

Naruto’s caught the unspoken hint he’s in no mood, and as those gates are coming into view and he’s making his way forward there’s no doubt in his mind that, that small frame, and white cloak are her. There’s dry mud splattered upon the bottom of it, and that hood hiding that pale rose and sea foam green.

This pace is a march and it’s got his hand tightening and twisting into a fist before he’s right before her. Those small hands gloved in leather pull back her hood, and before he can even begin to open his mouth she’s beat him to it, “I’m home, Sasuke-kun.”

It’s a cheeky little smile across her face and the way her teeth show as she looks up at him—that’s all it takes to make that annoyance caught in his throat and his shoulders roll back. That ache is calm and nonexistent. The fluttering of lashes and then the dip of his vision from her to the ground.

He’s feeling sheepish—self-conscious about how he’s strolled up to her, “Welcome home. Sakura.”

“Sakura-chan! You shoulda seen it! He waited for you every damn day!”

He chokes openly and the whip of his head as his hand flying out of his pocket to stare the blonde down. Evidently Naruto hadn’t caught the hint—he was going to murder him.

Mouth open and eyes far to wide. Throat dry, and warmth creeping up his throat.

“Oh? Ah, is that so? Sorry Sasuke-kun. I had sent word to Kakashi-sensei that somethings had come up. I thought he would have told you my change in date.” she’s tilting her head to try and gain his attention.

She had sent word. They had neglected to tell him.

This is why Naruto wasn’t concerned. This was Sakura Haruno—punctual and always sure to send word.

This sure as hell wasn’t her doing—it was theirs.

Embarrassment? Anger? Maybe it was both. Maybe that’s what the warm feeling is creeping upon his face.

Whatever it is doesn’t matter.

“Naruto.”

[ombreecha]

Too Good

Series: Endurance Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rated: M Prompt: my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick AU Notes: I’ve literally been saving this prompt since like September of last year. The first time I saw it I just fuckin knew I had to do it at some point. You can thank @kingofthesharingan​ and my weekly NSFW Monday too because Monday sucks so why not make it a day to look forward to.

Chilled air, and puffs of white coat everything in sight. Her hands are gloved but that doesn’t stop her from rubbing them together to provide herself with more heat. Christmas is around the corner and the company party is even closer. It’s her first time attending. Anxious? Absolutely. Scared? Beyond her wildest dreams.

Her seniority with the company wasn’t high. Six months she’s been employed by Uchiha Corp, and it’s been a blessing if anything. Her boss is a lovely woman. When she had been interviewed the woman had held such stiff air about her. Poised. Serious. Collected.

Mikoto Uchiha was anything but stiff, serious—let alone collected. They couldn’t be further from the truth. Now as for poised? Absolutely. The woman had some serious elegance to her. It made it perfectly clear that she had been breed for such things. She can’t help but look up to this woman who had so much on her plate, and still managed to be kind, charismatic, and loving.

What she hadn’t expected though was how much her boss had begun to push. What was her boss pushing? How perfect her son was for her. There’s a burn upon her ears. Every time she brings this boy up she can’t help but feel embarrassed. There’s no doubt that Mikoto had probably raised a wonderful son—but she’s not entirely sure about anyone born with a silver spoon in their mouth.

That’s not even bringing for the possible conflict of interest that lies in such relationships. She likes her job. The last thing she needs is for it to be ripped out from under her all over some rich kid who may or may not be attractive.

She’s not doubting Mikoto’s genes—but she just can’t help but be skeptical. There is such a thing as too good to be true.

The commute home isn’t long and the only positive is the subway is heated. The rock of the train car isn’t bad. It’s become a part of her daily life, and while at first she had struggled when she moved her it’s barely even felt. All she knows is she needs a good night rest before she attends this company party—and meets this all too talked about son.

There’s a thick swallow and a groan as she remembers her bosses teasing. She had supposedly spoken just as much about her to him as well. There’s no way he wasn’t dreading this as much as herself. Hopefully. Okay. So, she’s not so sure. She’s heard a lot but that doesn’t mean she knows anything about this kid outside of the boasts coming from an obviously proud mother.

A groan escapes her lips as she peels her heels off her feet and leaves them scattered about in the entry way. Her bag hits the floor not far behind as she seeks to get herself relaxed and comfortable. Swapping from suit to a night shirt she’s dug from the bottom drawer is easily done. A bowl of ice cream, and some television is just the right combination to washing away the office tension from her shoulders.

A hum, and a flicker through channels as she lays upon the couch as unladylike as possible. If only her boss could see her now. Yeah—her boss has probably painted her as so much more than she really was. Fingers roll through her hair before swiping her phone right off coffee table. That thought right there has brought back the tension in full force. Groaning is all she can do as she flips through the screen.

Swinging her leg over the other she can’t stop the habitual light motion that follows. There’s always one way to get herself relaxed and she’s not afraid to use it. Puffing her cheeks she’s tapping away at the keyboard. The individual she’s texting would most likely fall into the category of a one night stand. It had been just the fix she had needed months ago. Work was at an all time high in the stress department had the time and one thing lead to another—she had ended up in a bar for a quick drink before heading home when he had run into her at the counter.

No names exchanged. Just clothes hitting the floor and him pressing her against her bed. Her mother taught her better sure, but sometimes a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do. It had been exciting. Sloppy, and intoxicated, as well, but exciting nonetheless. Humming is all she can do as she thinks back to that moment. They hadn’t met back up since that first time. They still refrained from exchanging names, but what they did exchange was numbers. Once in a while she’ll shoot him a text requesting a simple picture because that’s what gets her through the stress at work anymore.

She says it’s simple, but never in her wildest dreams would she had thought this boy would comply. —and he does every single time. No questions asked.

It’s an odd little arrangement, if she’s being honest, considering the lack of personal information, but she’s not complaining. It keeps things from being messy and god knows she’ll probably never run into him again unless they set it up. All of this is good enough for her.

So when her phone goes off there’s the smallest of smiles spreading across his face. It had been more than good and maybe that’s what had pushed her to ask for it the first time, and the time after that—and that’s whats gotten her brazen enough to ask for it whenever she’s needing some alone time.

Dick pics weren’t exactly something she was notorious for requesting. —but she’d be damned if she didn’t ask him for one once in a while.

That quick look over and she’s feeling warm. It’s not hard to just think of the way his hands had gone over her skin, or how his breath had been right against her ear before he made his way down.  Sliding his fingers upon her stomach and then wrapping around the around the band of her panties he had tugged them up at first which she hadn’t been prepared for, and then in only another moment—a second—she could feel his tongue going over the fabric and against where she wanted him most. The tug upon them had her hips lifting to give him an easier time to remove them. Lips against her thigh and the way he slid them down her legs had her panting.

He hadn’t been shy when he had thrown them behind him and across the room. All of this is vivid and she’s already accepted it’ll be a long time coming before she’ll stop using that one night as her primary masturbation material. That’s all she has to tell herself when she’s dipped her own hand underneath her panties.

Her fingers can’t possibly replicate the way his tongue had dipped in between her folds, nor could they give the exact same feeling that came with he had slid it over her clit. It’ll do though—she doesn’t need much. The buck of her hips is all too remembered. He had slide his hands up her sides and pressed his hands flat against her pelvis to keep her steady as he continue to have his fill of her.

Her neck stretches back letting her head roll against the couch cushion. Lips open and a moan escapes her as she starts with one finger working herself slow and evenly. It wasn’t as frenzied as he had been. Starved is what she would of considered him in that moment. Sliding her tongue against the roof of her mouth is barely noted as she takes another glance upon the requested picture of the night.

It’s got her hot and ready as she thinks of how it had slide inside of her. That first initial penetration was always the most satisfying. Filling her up, and with her leg draped over his shoulder. He wasn’t loud but those hot breaths back upon her skin had been more than enough. He spoke on grunts and the occasional groan as he started out slow.

Adding another finger doesn’t do him justice but she, just as with everything else, had accepted she would never be able to replicate the way he had felt. None of that stops her from enjoying what she’s doing to herself nonetheless. When she quickens her fingers pace she’s arching and letting out hot breaths. She’s enjoying herself far too much—thank god for this man and his dick pictures.

The release she feels is bittersweet to a point. It’s explosive because she’s picturing him slamming into her and nibbling upon her ear, and then it’s over all too soon. The way she rolls her head back as she rides it out reminds her briefly of the fact her fingers are much too small compared to him literally filling her up and stretching her up. That thought right there has her riding it out longer before settling her hips down upon the couch.

Catching her breath she brings her hand from out of her underwear and swings herself forward. Clean up is quick and simple, and damn does she feel better. Who cares about the company party? She got off and that’s all she cares about in this moment before shutting the lights out and nestling into bed.

The next day isn’t bad. A shower, brushed teeth, and a small look within the mirror has her ready for whatever happens. All she’s gotta do is politely reject whoever her bosses son is. This little arrangement of hers is more than enough.

Heels click against the office floor and the filing of her paperwork is for the most part easily accomplished even if their filing system needs some serious work.  The occasional glance over her wrist watch comes as the clock ticks closer and closer to the company party.

The press of her finger hitting the final punch upon her time card for the week is oddly satisfying, and so as she follows behind others to one of their many large meeting spaces she can’t help but feel like all that anxiety had been for nothing. Scared? What’s there to be scared of?

Mingling is easy. She gets along with most of her coworkers and thankfully she’s yet to run into her boss let alone her son. The foods decent, and the drinks refreshing. She’d never drink heavily in front of her coworkers so she goes for the simple things like hard cider and sipping on water.

Just as she’s locked in a conversation with a boy of obsidian hair and one of the biggest smiles she’s ever seen fingers have made their way upon her shoulder. The turn of her head comes and there’s no surprise to be had when it’s her boss.

Smiling is easy especially with a woman like Mikoto before you. She brightened a room, and the smile she’s always got upon her own lips is contagious.

“Ah, Sakura-san I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” there’s the smallest of laughs and then a step back from her as she seeks to introduce someone behind her—no doubt the son.

“Sorry I hadn’t seen you with there being so many of us.” the smile she has is genuine and then as her eyes move see this highly praised son does it start to slip from her lips.

One moment, and then two. They’re just starting at each other—and for the love of god tell her she’s just seeing things. Tell her that this man before her isn’t the same man from months ago. Tell her that she’s lost her mind and that she’s obviously seeing things.

Those lips of his are tilting upon the corners and then there's the hooding of his eyes as they trail from her feet up to her eyes once again. He’s analyzing her as much as she is him—perhaps he doesn’t remember her. Maybe, just maybe, she’s the only one recognizing the situation at hand.

If you had told her, her one night stand would have been with her bosses son she would of laughed in your face.

Equally though if you had told her she’d been requesting dick pics from her bosses soon she would told you that only happened in those romance novels she had loved in college.

The swallow she makes is thick. Uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe this feeling in her chest.

“Sakura-san, are you okay?” there’s concern etched within the question.

Flickering her eyes from one pair of obsidian to the other and she’s plastering the fakest of customer service smiles upon her face. Working at a Starbucks part-time had served her well for moments like this.

“I’m perfectly fine.” she gives a nod of her head and then sets her eyes back upon this man she had literally just the night before masturbated to.

Those lips are shifting into the truest of smirks. He’s not letting it just rest upon the corners. His shoes are firm with each step and then with an ease and grace she can’t remember him having outside of the rough and exciting moments in bed so many months ago does he grab her hand and bring it up to his lips.

Her cheeks are warm and she wants to bury herself right here and right now. Anywhere but here would be an absolute blessing—but that’s not an option because god literally seems to be enjoying himself with this little stunt.

“My mother’s told me so much about you, Haruno Sakura-san.” he hasn’t let go of her hand, and he’s not released her eyes either.

There’s a hesitation and then the forceful removal of her eyes as her fingers grip upon her pencil skirt. If the earth would please just open up right here, and right now that would be amazing.  She’s not asking for a lot. Just a simple miracle in which she’s swallowed whole—and not exactly like she had been months ago by this man staring so smitten down at her.

“Likewise, Uchiha Sasuke-san.”

[ombreecha]

Annoying

Series: Lifetimes Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rated: T Prompt: who the fuck cares—continuation of Pretty p.s I may have been listening to dis sweet ass OVERWERK Daft Punk Anthology remix while writing this #omfgkillmeplease #refusetoconfirmordenyit #weallknowiwasOTL p.s.s Ceejles bomb art is to blame for this

The temperature is changing and the colder it gets the more he despises his commute to work. The huff he’s letting out is visible for just moments before disappearing. He’s later than he normally is with the holiday season coming in and there’s no doubt she’d be up and getting ready for class.

He doesn’t see her as often as one would expect—they’re on completely different schedules.

Months ago Naruto had come upon his door step asking for the favor of a lifetime. He had asked him to let this complete stranger move into his home with a cat no less.

He had pegged her as absolute trouble. He had been right. She’s not a bad kind of trouble, but she’s trouble nonetheless.

Steps crunching in snow and his wad of money tucked deep within his apron. That last customer just wouldn’t leave. That customer was the bad kind of trouble. Smitten with his looks and an immunity to alcohol like no other—it was beyond annoying.

The twist of his door knob has him rolling his shoulders and shrugging off his winter jacket. The lights are off and it’s with a yawn escaping that he’s leaving his shoes at the door way and making his way down the hall. Fingers work upon the aprons knot and the ball of fur upon his feet is almost comforting at this point. The nuzzle against his leg signals the end of the second roommate he had been completely unaware of as it saunters its way down the hall. He’d find it odd at this stage if her cat wasn’t greeting him.

Apron discarded upon the table and keys following come in. A shower is all he seeks to warm himself before he crawls deep within the comforter. Footsteps heavy against the wood flooring and the turn of the door knob. His brains completely shut itself down as he scratches at his stomach from underneath his shirt blankly taking in this woman of trouble clad in one of his many towels bent over the counter and brushing her teeth. The slowest of movements comes with his intrusion as they make eye contact with each other in the mirror. His eyes are the first to leave slowly trailing down her—

“You’re home late.” she’s muffled with her tooth brush deep inside her mouth as she looks over her shoulder at him.

He doesn’t walk in on her usually. He can’t even begin to process how this is going to go down.

It’s eight in the morning and all he cares about is getting his long awaited shower and nuzzling deep within his comforter—her cat is absolutely going to join him.

He’s started leaving his door cracked for that exact reason. This woman can’t be normal.

Wouldn’t most women be screaming at someone just walking in?

Why is his shirt half way up? Oh that’s right he was scratching his stomach before he found himself hazily staring her down in just a towel. Has he even looked at her face?

No. He definitely isn’t looking at her face. He’s looking at her—

A hum is falling from him in the realization, and his lips are moving without even so much as a thought, “Take your time.”

Their roommates no longer strangers. It’s inappropriate to stand here any longer and take in this girl he’s still figuring out like this. It’s been months since she’s moved in. He’s not complaining at the sight. He’s far from complaining and that’s the issue here.

Cause she’s absolute trouble.

He’s finally dug his hand out from under his shirt as he sits on the living room couch barely awake, and barely aware of the cat that’s sitting upon his lap letting out the lightest and steadiest of purrs. The hand on his shoulder has him jumping at the touch and his eyes opening and seeing a pair of vibrant viridian gazing back down at him.

“I’m headed to class. Go grab your shower, Sasuke-kun.” she’s whispering as if it’ll wake him up more than her touch already has.

Lose pale rose not held back by a braid are still wet and tickling his cheek. She’s far to close—she has no concept of personal space he swears to god, but just as quickly as their tickling his cheek their gone once again.

Out of the house with a click of the door and he’s sitting there suddenly all too aware of him passing out on the couch. The scoop of the animal is lazy but doesn’t cause a fuss. She had claimed Dorie was well behaved, and she hadn’t lied. Another yawn uncontrolled and he’s completely dismissing the bath. His beds waiting and Dorie is more than ready for a nap.

A shift of the comforter and a stretch upon the bed before he’s finally pressing his head deep upon the pillow. There’s the smallest of thoughts to place his phone on the charger but its dismissed a second later. Sleep is all that matters.

And, god was her ass nice. Ugh—she’s annoying.

The hours are there, and then he feels himself shifting just slightly catching on quickly there’s something between his legs upon the comforter. The cat hasn’t left him, and so as he reaches for his phone and pulls it from his work pants he barely questions anything. He doesn’t feel like he’s slept long, but the blinding light from his screen says otherwise. It’s two in the afternoon, and if he’s figured out her schedule as much as he thinks he has he knows she’ll be home from class shortly.

Pushing up on his forearms he’s reaching for the charger he had neglected to use. He’ll need it charged for work, and that shower he had intended to take absolutely is a need now. Sliding his legs around the cat comes, and it’s only moments later that he sees it’s back is humped up as he stretches and lets out its own yawn.

Head under the shower head, and body warmed by the hot water he feels himself relax and the grogginess of sleep washing off the longer he stands there. Lather, rinse, repeat before he’s shutting the water off and stepping out onto the mat. Another yawn comes but it’s not the same as those that had come right after work.

It’s as he’s changing that he hears her call announcing she’s home, and only a bit more before he’s walking out in a fresh pair of sweats and a hoodie. He’s far from put together but he’s got a bit longer to relax before he needs to head out and he’ll take a moment to enjoy some coffee.

He hasn’t spared her a glance. This is how they’ve been since she moved in. It’s not always silent. They speak decently to one another, but they don’t go out of their way to interrupt the other’s routine. The burning sensation from his mug feels good against his finger tips as he tilts the coffee pot over to pour what he essentially considers crack in a cup.

He doesn’t need his hood up but it makes him feel warmer. Their heat is on, and she’s good about not touching the thermostat—he’s pretty sure it’s more about the fact nothing seems to disturb this woman. He’s never really seen her bundle up in their home, and that’s good enough for him.

Steps soft he’s coming around the sofa with his crack in a cup in hand. Nestling into the couch it’s a quick glance at her sitting on the opposite side. There’s the sudden realization she’s wears glasses—does that mean she wears contacts? Then there’s the sudden dip of his eyes that grazes her cleavage in that definitely out of season red tank top.

Did tank tops usually dip that far? Since when did they—

Oh, no he’s ogling his roommate of all people. This has to stop.

His eyes flicker to the turned off television and then the feeling of something small and warm upon his lap follows it. Fingers brush against the cats head and it’s purrs are the only thing filling this room. Perhaps she has the right idea. Out of season or not this hoodie feels far too warm all of sudden.

He’s blaming it on work, and lack of sleep mentally, but then his eyes are trailing across the coffee table, down to the floor and then following up her exposed leg, and past the brief appearance of light pink shorts mostly hidden by the large college book. The grip upon the handle of his mug tightens as they trail up once again and then there’s the briefest of shifts from her as she props her head against her hand. It’s more than enough to scare him to look away and take one more drink.

Tugging upon the hood his fingers dip within it’s collar giving it the smallest of tugs as if it’ll cool him a bit more. It’s the dead of winter, and yet he’s overheating.

She’s annoying. But, god was the view nice.

His throat constricts, and his cheeks heat in response. Eyes run for the wall—he wants to look anywhere but at her.

Shaking his head he tries to clear it of such indecent thoughts. Leaning forward he watches about shifting the cat too much as he grabs a hold of the remote and turns it on. A click here, and few more there. He has a thing for trashy television, and so when it falls on Judge Judy he feels relief because this will keep him focused on something other than this roommate of his.

His mother taught him better—she’d scold him for such behavior. He’s an adult, and a man though—that’s the lamest of excuses but it sounds nice in his head regardless.

The focus he has on his show keeps him from barely noting the way the couch dips occasionally as she shifts or readjusts. He may have mistakenly caught another glance of her. Bent forward as she scribbled upon a loose piece of paper nonetheless. The clearing of his throat comes after that particular moment. He himself shifts just a bit on the couch as the television regains his attention. Chin against the palm of his hand, and then a bit later the run of his fingers through the back of his head.

It’s all clean and all clear. His wandering mind hasn’t regained control, and then all of a sudden she’s standing up and that isn’t subtle at all. Obsidian immediately move to her and watches the way she lays the large and heavy book upon the coffee table. Her arms are rising and then there’s the tilt upon the balls of her feet. The curve of her back follows and the slow rise of her tank top doesn’t lag behind as she tilts one way, and then the other.

She’s annoying—this woman is annoying. What the fuck.

It’s not a question it’s a statement. Just what the fuck was she doing to him? He didn’t have these issues before he agreed to let her move in and now things feel like their not as simple. This is all he needs to flick the television off and pick the cat up from his lap leaving his coffee mug upon the coffee table. He has to leave for work shortly. There’s no time for this.

She’s not even doing anything. Yet, by god is she annoying.

The switch in clothes comes and the grip upon his apron isn’t all that gentle as he works to tie it together tight. Dorie rubs against his leg just as they had earlier this morning when he had arrived home and then it’s her voice behind him capturing his attention. She’s bending down and scrooping the ball of fur up, “Stay warm, and have a good time at work.”

The blankest of stares is upon his face as he takes in her face and the way her mouth moves. His lips press firmly together, and then shift of his mouth comes. A swallow and finally he answers her, “Ah, yeah.” the nod of his head follows.

Turning he’s grabbing his coat and sliding it on before heading out the door and trekking through the chilled air to begin his evening. Hands stuffed in his coat pockets and chin buried within the collar a huff of frustration leaves him.

Life used to be simple. She’s absolute trouble.

[ombreecha]

Flora verses Fauna

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Pairing: Clerith Rated: T Prompt: Vampire!Cloud and Aerith; You can love her but you cannot keep her. Note: Yuuuuuuuume feels linger in all of this. Truest of true stories.

Lids fluttering and fingers helping to shield hover above his face. The sun is warm, and the sun is bright. He should still be sleeping, but thirst still reins even when the sun is up. The rumors are wrong—they just prefer the night. There’s nothing keeping them from roaming when the rest of the world steps loudly upon the earth.

Where he sleeps doesn’t matter to him as long as he’s close by. She’s the prey. She’s the victim. She’s the one he’s hunted. Smaragdine eyes, and warm chocolate hair. Soft pinks, and floras painted in yellows. Colors too bright compared to his own—they only match the blood that stains.

It’s undeniably true there is pain where there is beauty.

The deepest of breaths and then the rise. The shift of his head to look down upon her as she sits within the abandoned church. Taking her now would be easy. It would be simple. It would be the lion upon an antelope. The wolf to the lamb. He doesn’t, though. He wants to, though.

There’s something bittersweet about this particular hunt. There’s something sweet about how those fingers dig within the soil.

Tongue against teeth and the slow drag of his gaze from high above. Peeking and peering from that hole in this abandoned palace of God has become his life. He doesn’t follow her home. He doesn’t drag her within the ally. All he does is watch. He watches for her return the next day, and the day after that. He watches as goes about life so unaware—so unaware how he could end it all with the barest of efforts.

Caught and locked. Held down, and unable to be released. There’s a lock and key for the doorway between a man’s imagination, and his attainment.

That’s why he watches. That’s why he waits This woman. This girl. This flora verses the fauna.

Beastly as the rumors tell the tale. Greedy with hunger. Morals insignificant for one who travels through the world untouched. More beast than man—they’re disowned by God. There’s a hum at such a thought, and the follow of muted blues upon this flora as she walks between the pews.

Reason. Rhythm. Rhyme. None of it makes sense. It’s an essence. It’s a light.

This disgusting hesitation. This intense fascination. This greedy hunger for that exposed neck. He should have taken it the minute he saw her. He should have never staked out where she resides. He shouldn’t have watched with mild curiosity.

All of it had grown and all of it had coaxed him further along. Teasing, and haunting. That was what he was meant to do, and yet she had done it without so much of a glance his way—without so much of knowing he existed to devour her whole.

Human’s don’t interest him. Yet, she does. They’re food meant to sustain him. A meal and nothing more. She’s transcend such a thing. He had dabbled in taking her for far too long. He had thought to long on this particular kill. He had begun to question if he could sit here watching over here in this place disavowed by God. Watch her in God’s place just as God had deserted his kind.

She had become a radiant existence somewhere along the way. Flora had poison the fauna.

No one was untouchable—even with such a thought. That’s why he doesn’t enter her realm. That’s why he stays perched upon this rooftop. The hunger and the greedy are mighty. The desire even mightier. If he moves while she’s still lingering, while her scent still comes within his nose, there’s no doubt he’ll devour her.

Yes, this is how beasts are killed. This long exhausting journey, and she who existed as if to give him such insatiable thirst.

He doesn’t fear death—he welcomes it. He fears her, who had bewitched him so.

Heartbeat within his ears. That scent filling his nose. It’s calling and loud within his ears. This instinct. This craving. She’s harmed herself, and harmed her chances. He only has so much will power. Just another sign God had cruelly abandoned his kind. Sitting here being tempted and called. Sitting here being tormented and forced to battle against what he knows he should have done long ago, and what needs to be done to end it all so he can finally leave this place.

He’ll be driven into madness if he doesn’t eat as he desires too. That is as beasts do.

More, and more. He’ll want more. He won’t stop at just a taste. He’ll take too much—regret so much more.

No sunlight to warm his scalp. No he’s done what he had prolonged. Entered her realm, and gave her a fright. Broken through the floor with such a landing, and footsteps even as he corners her.

Lion to the antelope. Wolf to the lamb.

Aged walling, and that bead of sweat that slides down her face as she stares up at him. Smaragdine eyes and warm chocolate far too coaxing. A radiant existence that won’t last another day. Terror across her face as he stares down so unrelenting. She’s brought this upon herself. He’ll still be alive by the end of it. She’ll still be dead before it’s over.

Grip tight upon her shoulders and his face far to close to hers. Inhalation. Deeply intoxicating, and all the more enticing. Tilt of his head and mouth opening ever so slowly. She’s trembling within his grasp, and the thrill it gives him is almost too much to bare. Closer and closer still. The taste of her sweat earthly and floral upon his tongue.  

All he has to do is step through to gain his attainment. A greed far too harsh too bare with that copper dancing upon all of his senses.

The swallow she makes is loud. His hold upon her becomes tighter. He’s aching—and he’s pulling away. He wants to devour her so much. He wants nothing more. He does. He does so much.

Teeth gritting and his forehead pressed against her own. She’s not speaking. She’s only shaking with fingers tightly gripping her dress. He wants to watch over this flora. He doesn’t want to stop watching as she goes about her day to day. So that’s why he tries in vain to rein himself in. It’s too late. He’ll fail, and then he’ll leave her upon that floral bed she had cared so much for—

Tripping upon his feet and falling back. Pushing her away is the last of his will as his fingers curl upon the broken down church pews. Connected stares as she presses her hands against her chest. She must realize there is no God to save her.

Watching her. Wanting her from afar. He had been so happy.

Now he’s in despair. He’s scared of what he’ll do to her. Everything had been so sweet until he had just tried to devour her whole. Her existence had been so comforting and quite even as it drove him insane.

Loving her from afar. Torturing himself with being so close and yet so far. Yes. He had been so happy within his masochistic paradise.

“Who are you?”

The rumors are wrong—they don’t devour because they do not feel. They devour because they don’t want to feel.

[ombreecha]

More

Clerith Week 2018 -late as fuck final edition- Day Seven: Interrupted Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Pairing: Clerith Rated: M /// Plot? What Plot? Dedicated to my amazing clerith squad -- @stray-arrows @clerithraven @capuca @roseyrosho @stellanox @moldin  @aerithly and everyone else over at the Clerith Discord Server. Note: Ya’ll were good wholesome Christians and then I sadly I arrived. Also shout out to @clerithraven for deciding who was gonna go down on who.

Warm—it’s the only word he can come up with as he rolls his head back. Fingers curl and his mouth parts. Warm doesn’t even begin to cover this feeling. It’s so much more than that. It’s hotter than that—it’s scorching. The thud of his heartbeat pounds against his chest and vibrates in his ears. He’s been overtaken, he’s been brought into submission, and he’s lost all ability to stop this.

He barely has time to think with each little touch—there’s also those sounds she’s making. How had they gotten here? What had brought them to this point? Weren’t they about to go out for dinner with friends? Wouldn’t their friends be here soo—he can’t even finish the thought. She’s made him whip his head back and the harshest of breaths fall with it. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Those fingers continue to touch and squeeze. That tongue of hers is sliding and pressing in all of the right places. The desire to open his eyes is there but the ability is fleeting and out of arms reach as his breathing escalates and it’s what covers the air and the walls around them.

His ears twitch catching a noise coming from her—she’s pleased with his reaction. His fingers curl tighter around the edge of the counter top, and even as he tries to fill his lungs with air he struggles to keep himself grounded. The slow roll of his head comes once again as he dares to look down at her. He wants to touch her—he wants to brush her fringe from her face and see how much of him is inside of her mouth. He wants to see those doe-eyes looking up at him—god, even deep into their three years of dating they’re as impressive as ever. Shaky and hesitant a set of his fingers uncurl from the counter top. He doesn’t want to take her by surprise as he feels that tongue of hers curl around his tip. It’s enough to make him shudder and let out a constricted groan.

Fingers brush within her hair pulling her fringe back. His fingers are twisted in that warm chocolate—the grip is tight—and god he could come from seeing her lips wrapped around him like that. She hadn’t even pulled his pants down. All she had managed was to unzip him and pull him from his boxers. His breathing increases and becomes more labored the more he watches her lips slide up and down him. His breathing hitches as he watches her pull his cock out from her mouth and run her tongue along the slide of it. It takes him biting down upon his lip to keep him from letting out that throaty moan that is desperate and lingering in the base of his throat. She’s teasing as she keeps those impressive smaragdine locked on his cerulean and there’s no doubt in his mind she’s enjoying seeing him so flush and under her control.

Wide-eyed and completely overwhelmed he watches as she slowly slides him back into her mouth with those small fingers curled around the base. Hitting the back of her throat has him letting out a hiss and his fingers release his grip upon that warm chocolate he loves so much.

More. He wants more. He wants to feel her in other ways.

He wants her to touch him underneath these constricting clothes—he wants to touch her in every way possible.

The hotter he gets the more he feels like she’s suffocating him. There’s temptation to slide the zip up sweater off—she’ll smack his hand if he tries and the last thing he wants is for to have a reason to stop going down on him.

If he could have it his way it would absolutely be reversed—he’d love to just hoist her up on this counter he’s trying to hold onto for dear life and have her turn into a puddle. He’d love to spread her legs and have her quiver when he swirls his tong—oh, god-fucking-dammit he almost wants to beg her to suck on him just like that again.

The squeeze she’s given him in response for his moan has him desperate to pull up up the sweater just to watch her continue to bob her head up and down his length, “Aerith, if you keep going I’m gonna come already.” he says in between shallow breaths.

All she gives him as a response is a hum that vibrates him and the slowest of movements in taking him deeper into her mouth. The slowed pace isn’t calming him down it’s exciting him and there’s zero doubt in his mind that she knows this.

She knows. She knows every place to touch, and every way to get him going—she knows that he loves watching him slide into her mouth.

What doesn’t this woman know?

If he’s lucky his friends won’t show—or they’ll say fuck the dinner completely. He doesn’t wanna go to start, and that was before she pressed him against the kitchen counter and started having her way with him. One hard suck and he’s throwing his head back and re-secured his hold onto the counter once again, “More—Please.”

Her response is a simple one of faster licks, and sucks and a rhythm equally increasing. The sounds of every thing she does to him are loud and in his ears—it’s got him wanting to drown in all of the heat she’s making him feel.

It’s all so wet and god-fucking-dammit is it making him feverish.

It’s got his mind desperate and coaxing him to just take her on this counter top. He wants to slide that cute white summer dress up her legs and have his way with her, he wants to see those cute panties that he knows she’s picked out, he wants to slide them down her legs, and more than anything he wants to feel how wet she is inside.

“Tell me what you want, Cloud.” she’s sliding her hand up his leg and underneath his shirt as she presses kisses along his length.

The voice she’s used is low and soft—but it doesn’t make it any less dangerous. That voice means she’s intending to drive him mad. The heat upon his cheeks comes knowing she won’t give him more till he answers, “I wanna go down on you—Let me taste you—please.”

Even after all this time speaking to her like this makes him flush with embarrassment—but she likes it and he wants to keep like this.

“We have a dinner with friends—you can’t eat just yet.” her voice is light as she slides her hand up his length and then flicks her tongue across his tip.

The whimper he lets out has him rolling his head back, “Please. Please, Aerith.” he’s hoarse and desperate.

“What else would you like?” she’s whispering out sliding him back inside her mouth only to slide it back out just as fast.

“Let me come inside you—I wanna feel you wrapped around me as I fill you up.” his words are just another whimper with heated breaths at each little lick, and slide within her mouth.

“We don’t have enough time for that either—would you like to come inside my mouth?” she’s playing him into her hand and coaxing him in the direction she likes, “I’ll let you do whatever you want when we get home.”

The strangled cry he lets out echos into the house, “Yes—please. I need it.”

His knuckles turn white before he finally releases the grip upon the counter. His fingers slide up his shirt finding those fingers sliding across his stomach, and the other set finds its way into that warm chocolate once again.

There’s a noise of surprise that comes from her as his hips twitch and jerk forward sending him deeper into her mouth. The moan he lets out comes and with it the whimpers just continue to fall. Those fingers once wrapped around his base release him as he pumps into her mouth and twist within his pants.

It doesn’t matter how good this feels he has to see the way he continues to thrust into her mouth almost unforgivably. It’s erotic, titillating, and lascivious. It’s one of his favorite things to watch—only second to watching the way his cock slides in and out of her from behind.  

Oh, god-fucking-dammit there’s no stopping him picturing her bent over this counter and him pushing up that white summer dress with that kind of thought. He’s on the verge of climax just thinking of the way she wraps around him so tightly as he slides out of her and that sinful noise she makes as if she’s begging for him not to slide out.

He’s close. So unbelievably close to filling her mouth and watching her swallow it all.

He knows he’ll end up jerking as far back into her mouth as possible when he spills—he can’t help himself.

He’s on the brink and he’s on the edge—and now he’s frozen and his throat has locked up.

His head whips to his left as they still to a complete stop. He can’t find his voice, but he can’t slow down his breathing either. It’s what fills the silence as her hands grip his own hand and leg tightly. She’s locked in silence as well with only the smallest of inhales following behind his own.

The can hear a muffled scream from behind the front door, and that’s all she need to hear before she’s clearing her throat and rising from her knees in a rush. She’s got him pressed against the counter hard as she tucks him back in and works to get his pants back in place. The whisper that comes out is soaked in panic, “Cloud, say something! Tell them we’ll be out in a minute!”

His hearts made it almost impossible to hear her—and it’s for all the wrong reasons.

There’s a tinge of anger at having been interrupted, and embarrassment close behind it.

“Be out in a minute!” he’s following behind her as she starts to make her way into the bathroom.

Fingers work hard to fix her hair he’s ruined in his desperate need to come and claim her mouth, and it’s only a moment later she’s turning to adjust his own clothes, “Don’t just follow me go keep them busy for a moment while I fix myself up.”

The rose upon her cheeks is all he needs to know that she’s found her embarrassment in being interrupted along side his own—if he had it his way he would open the door and tell them to fuck off before dragging her into their bedroom and having her exactly how he wanted.

No way in hell would she let him do that, though.

He’s quick to close the door behind him as he goes to make conversation—and by conversation he means to let them bullshit and him add a smartass comment here and there as it’s needed.

They say nothing immediately, and at first he can’t figure out why—until Barret brings his naivety down upon the floor, “What in the hell happen’ta you?”

One blink, and then two, and then it’s by the third he looks down confused only to see his clothes disheveled. That heat still can be felt on his cheeks too, if that wasn’t bad enough, “I was sleeping—you woke me up.”

“You lyin’ sack of shit. The fuck you take’n me for?” Cloud has never wanted to punch Barret in the face for calling him out as bad as he does right this minute—god as his witness.

The opportunity to defend himself doesn’t come though as the door behind him opens and Aerith’s coming beside him, “Tifa, Barret! It’s been too long!”

Cerulean can’t stop themselves from looking at her, and it’s all in this moment that he tries to figure out how in the hell she’s pulled off whatever wizard trick she’s performed in the short time she put herself back together. This woman was just down on her knees asking him if he wanted to come into her mouth—now she looks like she’s ready to enter the classiest of places without a hair in place.

A thick swallow comes as he continues to eye her. How many times has she not pulled this in their relationship? You’d think he would see it coming—but he never does and he’s always the one who gets caught. He shouldn’t be surprised she can pull herself together like this, but he is and that’s not ever going to change.

It’s the smallest of chatter and him tugging on his shirt to try and sort out his disheveled appearance before he’s following behind to make their way towards their vehicles. Fingers curl upon the door handle and it’s before he can even open it that he feels her hand upon his shoulder and her breath against her ear, “I’ll make sure to make it up to you tonight.”

He can only stare at her and all of a sudden he’s never been more determined to get through a dinner in record time in his life.

[ombreecha]

City Lights

Clerith Week 2018 Day Four: Free Choice Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Pairing: Clerith Prompt: Cloud is on his bike texting when he notices that suddenly lots of people are running and Aerith is one of them, crashes into him gets Cloud and his bike on the ground. confused and mad. bloody nosed Cloud wants to yell at her but she pulls his bike up and pushes him to drive and run away with her and he does. but not sure what she did to run away Maybe a demo against shinra polluting the environment and it got ugly. ///  Prompt courtesy of @moldin

The cities louder than normal. The mass of individuals isn’t too far and can’t be missed as smaller groups stand upon the corners yelling for any willing to hear them. Fingers cradle the cigarette allowing another exhale as he leans against his motorcycle. He’s finished his last delivery for the day and it’s almost time to wrap up and head on home. There’s a distaste for the abundant mass of individuals—their protests had costed him time during his routes. Time was money, and they were costing him money with their picket signs, and march through the city.

He’s never put much thought in the headlines accusing Shinra of polluting the planet. That’s none of his business—he’s not interested as long as they keep paying him. The deepest of inhales has his ashes falling from the tip of his cigarette. Smoke fills his lungs and drifts from his nose as he leans his head back choosing to focus on the sky than those wasting their time in protest. Even now he wouldn’t consider himself a fan of the city. He was born in a small town—it wasn’t in the country, but it definitely wasn’t something as large as Midgar. The air held a musky scent and it lit up the skies at night.

The vibration in his pocket has him bring his eyes back down and his free hand that had sat upon the handle bars to make their way to retrieve the device. Another drag of his cigarette comes—he’s sure the text he’s received is work related—and he lingers for just another moment more before pulling the cellphone from his pocket. The exhale he lets out this time produces the smallest of smirks as his cigarette sits with his mouth. It’s not a work text, but one of his coworkers requesting a bar night.

Fingers tap away at the screen ready to accept the invitation. Ears perk at hearing a louder than normal holler and then the thundering of feet. A second is all he’s given to see people spilling down the street passed him—there’s fear, and panic across their faces—and suddenly he feels like he’s in a whirl wind as people fly from all directions. Standing firm his head can’t stop it’s whip from those that have made their way past him to those making their way towards him. There’s zero explanation for the sudden panic—and then all at once he feels a solid form collide with his. He’s falling back—cigarette already tossed away from him at the force against his chest and his footing becoming lost as he stumbles against his motorcycle. This crash is gonna hurt—and by fucking god whatever just hit him better have a good excuse because the sound of his bike against the pavement sounds expensive.

Cloud Strife doesn’t do expensive—he also doesn’t deal with people toppling over him.

Lightheaded but still coherent he lets out a groan not yet taking in what actually hit him hard enough to fall down with his bike. His nose hurts like an absolute bitch though—Jesus Christ is that fucking blood? There’s a scowl across his lips as his fingers come into view after having touched his nose. Bright read covers the tips of his fingers and the longer he gazes at it the more flushed he feels himself become. Azure drag themselves up from his fingers as they take in a woman—she’s petal pink with an impressive smaragdine. One second, and then two pass—impressive or not what the hell’s her problem?

His mouth dips getting ready to spill his vexation but she’s moving quickly and pulling up his bike—struggling to a point but she’s got the job done nonetheless. He feels his frustration escalating in how she thinks it’s okay to just touch his property—lets be honest he’s more pissed she didn’t help him up and apologize first. It’s all happening too fast. She’s moving quickly and grabbing his hands to pull him up from the ground.

“We’ve got to go! Come on!” panic rolls off of her in waves as she pushes him towards his bike.

He barely has time to look back at her and see the panic in those impressive smaragdine, and the raised up warm chocolate brows. It’s enough to get him to comply. He’s being carried away by her pace and he barely has time to even think let alone refuse. Fingers pull out his gloves from his black leather jacket sliding them on, and take his sunglasses from the collar of his jacket. Just as he’s brought his bike to life he feels her arms wrap around his waist. His foot kicks the stand away and it’s no sooner he’s pulling out and in the direction the masses make their way for.

There’s too many running and too many to weave through. Fingers tap upon his leg seeking his attention. He can barely catch her voice over the sound of his bike, and the wind passing by them. There’s no missing her intention as he makes a turn heading down a side room, and working his way through the city. There’s no time for questions or embarrassment at first. She’s nestled so tightly against him that it makes him question if she’s ever been on a bike before. He has a million things he wants to ask—what happened, who was she, where did she want to go exactly, and—oh fuck, he lost his goddamn phone.

Weaving between cars is far easier than behind people. The further they get from the protests gone wrong the more this woman seems to physically relax. Those thing fingers never lose their tight hold, but she’s far less rigid than when they took off. She’s no longer burying her face between his shoulder blades, but choosing to lean the side of her face against him instead. There’s a touch of protectiveness as they take the entrance to the highway. His fingers come to grip her hand as he speeds further. The squeeze of his hand against hers makes her give a squeeze around his waist.

There’s heat on his cheeks at this small insignificant motion from her. Uncertain of where to take her all he can think is to take her to the outskirts. The feel of her chest against his back tells him she’s letting out the smallest of laughs around a turn—he can’t hear her over the engine nor the cars heading the opposite direction. Taking the next exit he slides to a stop at the stop sign. At no point does she ask him anything, nor does she tell him if she has a destination in mind. All she does is simply slacken her grip to let her hands rest upon his lap setting his cheeks ablaze once again.

All of these things are insignificant but they’re also things he’s not expecting. —this whole evening has been one big ball of what the fuck after all.

His bike slows to a stop finally making it to the cliff viewing over the city. Fingers slide up his sunglasses, and his foot sets his stand in place. Sitting up he dares a glance over his shoulder. She’s let to release him fully and seems completely immersed in the city lights that glow against the sky that’s started to fall into night. Those impressive smaragdine glow as the sky paints her in hues of orange, and purple. He feels words forming at the base of his throat and before he even has a chance to speak one of them those smaragdine come to take him in.

The flex of her fingers can be felt against his leg, and then all to quickly she’s removing them and apologizes are spilled forth, “I’m so sorry—oh my god we need to fix your nose.”

Oh—that’s right his nose is a bloody mess. Wonderful. Absolutely. Fan-fucking-tastic.

She’s off his bike not even a moment later and just like how this all started he finds himself being swept along with her pace. Those fingers once wrapped around his waist grip the soft petal pink dress before pulling and tearing at the bottom, “H-hey! What’re you doing?” he suddenly feels far to conscious of the distance between them.

“Oh shush. Don’t start putting up a fuss now.” her lips purse together before shifting in obvious displeased.

Her fingers dab at his nose working to remove the dried blood staining his upper lip. The pain is still there sharp and tender. The hum she lets out is soothing though, keeping him from speaking as he continues to digest this woman before him, “What happened?”

The protests against Shinra aren’t something he’s interested in—but he’s definitely interested in what her part it in all is.

“Shinra sent out their security and they started attacking protesters.” the scowl across her face isn’t like the displeased look from before. This ones filled with a distaste far stronger, “They kill our planet, and then attack those of us just wanting the pollution to stop. It’s disgusting.”

He’s not even sure what to respond with—Shinra was technically one of his employers. A hum rolls of his tongue as those brows of hers begin to ease themselves. Those fingers of hers, long and slender, grip his jaw and that’s more than enough to make him stop breathing with wide eyes unable to look anywhere but her.

Those fingers of hers tilt his head one way then another. All these motions are soft, and there’s no missing the way her eyes run over every inch of his face, “It’ll probably hurt for a few days. I’m really sorry I just ran into you like that. I was looking back and then just ran right into you.”

“It’s fine.” he wants nothing more than for her to let go of his face as his eyes flicker from her to the city daring to light up the evening sky.

“I’m Aerith.” her tone is light as she lets go of his face, “Though, I guess it’s a little late for proper introductions.”

Azure can’t help but watch as her hands slide over her arms, “Cloud. Cloud Strife.” he gives a nod of his head as she takes a seat beside him. She’s settled for nestling her hands within her lap, and that’s all he needs to see before he’s sliding the zipper of his jacket down, and nudging it off.

It’s a single glance her direction before he slides it upon her shoulders. That heat takes over his cheeks and daring just one more glance her way he can’t help be unable to take them from her face. Those lips of hers are spread wide and there’s a warmth behind those smaragdine.

He’d give this stranger his jacket every time if she looks at him like that again.

There’s no explanation—maybe it’s those impressive eyes, or that smile wide and bright that’s got him hooked. He’s just a simple man who does deliveries, and she’s a woman who participated in the protests. He doesn’t know her from anywhere but here and now, and she likewise doesn’t know him at all. There’s an interest there though. There’s a desire to get to know her. He wants to know how to get her to look at him like that again.

“What do you do for a living, Cloud?” she tugs the front of the jacket seeking more of its warmth, “I’m a florist.”

“I run a small delivery business.” he suddenly feels self-conscious as he tells her this.

“I see.” she’s humming as if amused by something, and all too sudden he realizes it’s probably because his cheeks are on fire by every little thing she’s doing.

He’s not sure what she’ll say if he tells her he does deliveries for this company she holds such a passionate hate for. There’s a desire to keep in from her—he doesn’t want to offend her. Would finding out he was doing a delivery for Shinra make her hate him just the same? It’s enough to make him swallow thickly. That even voice of hers has his attention. She’s talking of such little things. Nothing of real importance. These things are so small and insignificant but he welcomes it all.

This woman is different. She holds an air entirely of her own. She came colliding into his world, and she’s swept him in her pace more than once since this began. Those city lights have nothing on her. He’s not a fan of the city, but he could be.

He doesn’t know where this little chance meeting will go. All he knows is he doesn’t want it to stop here.

[ombreecha]

Confidence

Naruto Secret Santa Project // @narutosecretsantas For: @jellystraws Fandom: Naruto Pairing: NejiTen Rated: K Request: Tenten-centric; Tenten dressed up; cute and fluffy Prompt: Stood up by your date so someone just sits down and pretends they’re your date so that people stop throwing you pitying looks and it ends up being a great date Note: Hello! I was your Secret Santa this year! I’ve never written a one-shot with Neji and Tenten being the focus! It was a nice challenge for me to write something cute for them! I hope you enjoy it!

There’s hope she’s just being overly sensitive as she sits at the table intended for two. Her dates a no show, and she’s done her best to play within denial. She questions if she’s said something wrong for her date to have stood her up. They had seemed to hit it off, but there had been the subtle hesitation when it came to their dinner plans. The urge to rise from her seat and pull on her coat dances with each second that ticks by. There’s excuses pouring within her mind that they were just held up, that she wasn’t actually being stood up, but she’s not one to ignore the signs when her eyes fall upon her unanswered texts.

The longer she sits in this chair the harsher the stares of pity from those around her feel. Finger fumble with her phone, and the long list of regrets she has about this whole thing are what follow the poorly made excuses she had made for her date. She’s not even registering the soft drum of her foot upon the floor—it’s a subconscious habit after all . Eyes of cinnamon shift upon the entrance, and fingers tug upon the thigh length skirt of deep rich red as she begins the process of trying to decide just how long it would take her to make a run for the door.

Another tick of the clock and she’s just about to raise from her seat. She’s caught by the pull of a chair and the seating of one male—and it’s very much not her date. The drumming of her foot stops, and cinnamon can’t stop themselves from running across this person so unknown. Chocolate strands, possibly a shade darker than her own locked within a braid, and eyes of pearl immediately catch her attention. He’s dressed classic—he looks good in his muted blue button up, and beige colored sweater cardigan—and he’s saying something. Embarrassment floods her cheeks now realizing she’s tuned him out just to gape at him. Shutting her mouth is quick as she’s leaning forward, “Ah—”

“Sorry to have kept you waiting. Traffic was horrible.” his voice is far smoother than it should be allowed and there’s a hint of a grin upon his lips.

“It’s nothing—uh. . .” she’s shifting her eyes as her voice trails off.

Those eyes once harsh upon her with pity look on in curiosity, and then there’s the low tone that grabs her attention once more, “Neji.”

Lashes flutter in slow recognition, and then she’s dropping her own name, “Tenten.” fingers lose their place upon her skirt to play with the sleeve of her white scoop neck sweater.

The grin that dared to hint upon his lips finally paints itself across his face. He’s looking absolutely smitten with the drop of her name, and then a wave of fingers to gather the waiters attention. His choice in soba with dried fish catches her interest, and she’s following right behind with a simple order of tempura udon. It’s awkward at first—the shared glances between pearl and cinnamon, and the lingering silence after the waiter has left. She’s not even sure how he’s ended up sitting at her table, and she’s unsure if clearing her throat is the correct way to cut through the silence.

“So, what brings you here tonight?” her cinnamon seek to look anywhere but him as they look around the restaurant.

“Hm, figured you could use some company.” the hum that vibrates from his throat is what’s shifts her eyes upon him briefly.

“You didn’t need to.” the twitch of her mouth comes at his questionable pity.

“Then I did it so I could have some company.” it’s that intake of air and him turning his head in her direction to settle the matter.

She wants to object but she’ll follow his lead—it’s not like it could get much worse if she did. He’s confident there’s no mistaking that. He’s calm as if this is nothing out of the ordinary, and she can only hope she’ll unwind enough to follow the pace he’s making. He only gives the smallest of smirks, and the occasional smile as he leads them from one conversation to the next. He’s simple in what he asks—there’s a subtle hesitation she notes as if he’s doing his best to avoid prying too deep. He’s not demanding as he sets to see who he’s chosen to save from embarrassment. She’s not one to beat around the bush either and the occasional response she makes has him raising a brow and then that grin paint itself across his face. She almost feels comfortable enough to fall into the habit of playing with her hair locked within the loose braid.

They cross those get to know topics—ages, what they do for a living, hobbies, and interests. He’s a year younger than her, he has a desk job that he claims is nothing too impressive, he practices marital arts, and he favors his weekends free. There’s no missing the way he bites his lip to hide his grin when she tells him she’s one for archery, and has, as she puts it, ‘wicked’ aim at darts. She’s caught his attention when she lets out her love of detective novels.

“I take it you read the classics then?” he says as the server brings their food in front of them, “Doyle a favorite?”

“He is, but I’m also fond of Chandler, and Phillips.” she can’t seem to remove her eyes from him as she brings the wheat noodles to her mouth.

“Phillips?”

“The Ice Harvest—it’s a classic noir.” she’s amused at how he eats his soba so—proper?

“Ah, maybe I’ll look into it.” he’s letting out a hum within his response before taking a bite of the dried fish.

The pace he had set is one she’s fully submerged within. The embarrassment and hesitation from when this started has washed away, and she’s finding she’s enjoying this get-to-know session their holding. This man is smart, and that confidence makes itself known with every move he makes, and every answer he provides. He had said his job was of nothing important but his table manners make her question such a thing, and the air about him dares to defy what he’s claimed. The dab of the napkin upon his mouth makes her all the more certain she’s not wrong. They click though and that’s more than enough for her.

They dismiss dessert and he cuts her off in saying it’s one check not two. He’s intending to pay for her meal and she can’t stop the scowl upon her face as the waiter seeks to bring what he’s said.

“You don’t have to pay for me. You’ve helped me out enough.” she’s giving a pointed look his way and there’s no doubt he’s brushing it off as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket.

“Men should always pay.” there’s that confidence making it all the more clear he’s not one to back down—she’s stubborn though, and she’s had more than her fair share of pity for one night.

“I can pay for myself. I don’t want to owe you more than I already do.”

“Another date will suffice.” he’s pulled his card, and he’s shifting his eyes off the waiter who has brought their check to give her his own look making it clear he’s not playing—she’s not buying into though. He’s definitely gotta be joking.

It’s enough to quiet her down, and more than enough when he’s rising from the table first to slide her coat from the chair. She’s not sure what makes it so easy to follow his lead—it’s gotta be that confidence she’s almost sure of that. She’s sliding her arms within it, and taking the gentlemanly offer. Fastening the buttons gives him enough time to finish laying the tip upon the table, and then press a hand onto her back. It’s also enough to make her cheeks burn with just a dust of pale pink as he leads them out the doors not missing a beat.

She’s questioning how enchanted she’s become with this male in such a short amount of time. He’s intriguing and she likes that. He’s confident but he’s not demeaning. He might just be the right amount of all of it if she had to be honest. Leading seems to be a natural quality as he asks where she’s parked, and as they make their way to the car he’s making the simplest remarks about the food they’ve just had.

This male standing at her car with her was not what she had planned for the night—but she’s far from complaining. His hands make their way within his pockets as if he’s expecting, and the momentary silence that lingers is but a second or two before he’s opening his mouth again, “You never answered me on having another date.”

The flutter of lids comes and she’s just now realizing he was serious in what he said—in what little time she’s known him she feels as though she should have caught onto that, “Oh, uh, yeah I’d like that.” She’s reaching for her phone tucked away within her coat. The act of exchanging numbers makes her wonder if that tint of pink has deepened as she dares to open her mouth, “I had a good time.”

There’s no explaining the continued lingering of her eyes upon him, and the shift of her weight upon legs clothes in black tights follows it. There’s a wonder if she can delay this from ending right this moment. That grin paints itself across his features so easily, and a softening look follows in its place.

The hum that falls from him makes a puff of chilled air float within the air between them for just a few more of those seconds. He grabs the handle of her car door opening it for her and showing off more of that gentlemanly charm. She slides within the seat before he dares to lean towards her, “I did too.”

He absolutely makes her want to stay, but all good things have to come to an end.

There’s the hesitant farewells, and him finally closing the door for her. It’s not until there’s some distance between him and the car before she’s tapping her face with her hands and letting out a noise.

First meetings were awkward and this one was no different. He was confident, and he was charming. He held some traditional values with all of those actions he’s displayed. It all seems a little too good to be true to be honest—that’s okay though because he had asked for a second date, and the chime of her phone a second later has her grinning.

His names flashed across her lock screen with the notification, and her fingers are quick to grab her phone.

My god was he confident—he’s already asking for her schedule.